Torah Under Wraps

by Yoav Sorek

translated by Daniel Tabak

Their publications are not allowed to get out. Their roiling Internet forums are blocked by filters. The articles they publish omit the names of professors considered verboten. A cohort of Haredi scholars [1] challenge the academy and their natural surroundings, unafraid to deal with subjects deemed taboo in the yeshiva world. Few Religious Zionists have penetrated this alternative ivory tower, but one of them—Eitam Henkin, may his blood be avenged—succeeded in breaking down barriers.

*

“One needs to strengthen oneself with faith; one should not entertain philosophical questions nor even glance at the books of philosophers,” said Rabbi Nahman of Bratslav already at the end of the eighteenth century. This motto is particularly popular today, in the post-modern era of “religious strengthening,” in which religiosity is perceived as synonymous with simplicity and unsophistication. Yet that very approach also runs counter to the Jewish mind, which is by its nature anything but naive. The legacy of Jewish erudition constitutes part of the DNA not only of the academy, but of even the most Haredi sectors of the yeshiva world, and it finds expression in the spirited Jewish Studies scholarship flourishing under the radar in circles that are presumed to recoil from it.

Israelis distant from the world of Jewish Studies were offered a glimpse of it in the amusing film “Footnote,” but it portrayed only the nerve center of the field’s academic milieu, when in reality a great deal more is out there. In the reading rooms of the National Library, and in many houses in Bnei Brak and Jerusalem, many scholars sit and study the same topics as academics but without academic degree, without traveling to conferences, without aspirations toward an academic appointment. The history of medieval and modern rabbinic authorities, the stories of their compositions, the manuscripts and their provenances, variant customs, disputes both ancient and alive—all of these preoccupy a non-negligible group of yeshiva graduates, Haredi in dress and behavior, who publish articles in “non-academic” journals of Torah scholarship and produce corrected editions of sacred texts, some of which can even be considered quasi-critical editions.

They number Hasidim and Mitnaggedim, the truly God-fearing and those trapped in the Haredi lifestyle who cut corners, those lacking any academic title and others who have earned one—sharp and knowledgeable one and all, still faithful to, and actively participating in, the intra-Haredi discourse. Some of them evidence a dual non-conformism in their lives: on the one hand, they have opted to put distance between themselves and the safe space of the yeshiva, pasturing in the treacherous fields of scholarship; on the other hand, they are Haredim who hail from circles thoroughly suspicious of academia and would not dream of lending credence to its guiding assumptions. Nearly every remarkable personality in the field originates in the circles of Ashkenazi religious zealots, yet the scholarly discussion—which takes place not only on journal pages but in the lively Internet forums of Be-Hadrei Haredim and Otzar HaHochma—is not private, and sometimes a handful of others participate. Rabbi Yoel Catane of Yeshivat Sha‘alvim, editor of the journal HaMa’yan, is one of those others, as his home is in the Religious Zionist world, and his publication represents the enlightened German Zionist Orthodoxy of bygone years. The late Eitam Henkin also was one of them—a Torah scholar and brilliantly wide-ranging scholar who took prominent part in the back and forth of these torani scholars.

In National-Religious society, there are, to be sure, many others involved in Jewish Studies scholarship, but one would be hard-pressed to find the same kind of polemical verve that exists amongst Haredi scholars. According to K., a young Haredi scholar, the passion attests to the fact that the scholarly endeavor is for them an existential need:

“The Haredi does his research in order to mask his own crisis of faith in a world that forbids thinking. Those who try to identify the composer of a liturgical poem or the copyist of an unknown manuscript, and those who uncover a forgotten rabbinical position held by R. Joel Sirkes, and those who wade through tomes to reconstruct a partially extant word in an Akkadian inscription, are all really fleeing forbidden thoughts. They release the tension between the silent extinguishment of faith in the Haredi world and the soul aflame with newly forged ideas by running for the hills of manuscripts and book archives.”

K.’s criticism begins with the Procrustean bed of Haredi yeshiva education:

“The Haredi kollel fellow is force-fed a diet of Torah study characteristic of the Lithuanian yeshivas of the previous century. Should he not be of a mind to rebel completely, the only somewhat legitimate pursuit open to him is Jewish Studies. In that way he can edit the novellae of the Rosh to tractate Nazir without raising too many eyebrows. For that reason Haredi scholars, at least initially, are more involved in editing and less with research or writing articles. And if they are open to producing scholarship, the closer the subject matter is to our time, the better: better on the modern rabbinic authorities than the medieval ones, better on the medievals than the Ge’onim, and God forbid not on the Talmud—don’t even mention the Bible. Preference is given to writing biographical pieces and endless discussions of historical chronology, such as clarifying the years of rabbi X’s rabbinic post in town Y, rather than anything deep about his method of study.”

Not everyone agrees with K.’s psychological diagnosis. “Some have ventured into the academic world not out of frustration with the kollel world, but because they were introduced to scholarship in minute doses and became enchanted by it,” says R. Yosef Mordechai Dubovick, a Boyaner Hasid who recently completed his doctorate on Rabbenu Hananel. He says that this field presents something the young prodigy would find difficult to resist.

“We have been taught and trained to question, explore, plumb the depths and not be satisfied with a superficial reading or understanding. When the intellectual yeshiva student is exposed to new tools and unfamiliar hermeneutical lenses and modes of understanding, his natural curiosity—nurtured so well—gobbles them up.”

“It’s ‘spontaneous academia,’” says Rabbi J., who would prefer to avoid equating it with academia. “It develops independently, without institutional bodies to dictate rules and regulations. It is anarchic, autodidactic, and exhilarating. It is a breathtaking demonstration of unfettered intellectual ability.”

A Scholar is Born

Rabbi Dr. Zvi Leshem, Director of the Gershom Scholem Library at the National Library of Israel, has occasionally bumped into scholars from the very heart of the Haredi world. “They are not the typical kollel fellow because the scholarly approach is not that of yeshiva students,” he says. He continues:

“Look, when I began working here I met a senior rosh yeshiva from a respected hesder yeshiva, and I told him about those who come from the yeshiva world to do research here. He was at a loss. “What sort of thing do they research?” he asked me, and I responded in turn with the example of Hemdat Yamim.[2] “Why would they research Hemdat Yamim,” the Torah scholar asked me, “when they can buy it in any seforim store?” That is the mainstream approach. Those who embark on scholarship are atypical.”

They may be exceptional and individualist, but one unmistakable quality binds them all together: they are autodidacts. This is evident in how they handle material in a foreign language. Some of these scholars have never studied English or German systematically yet refer to non-Hebrew sources in their articles. Each apparently bridged the gap in his own way.

Anyone interested in this phenomenon is invited to open, for example, a volume of Yerushaseinu, an annual tome published by the Institute for German Jewish Heritage (Machon Moreshet Ashkenaz). Some of the articles published therein would be perfectly suitable for any standard academic journal; among the numerous footnotes adorning the pages one finds references to scholarly literature in Hebrew and other languages. Other publications include Yeshurun, Moriah (published by Machon Yerushalayim, which for decades already has been involved in the professional editing of medieval and modern rabbinic literature), the Chabad journal Heikhal Ha-Besht, and others. Torani scholars fondly remember the journal Tzfunot, which met its demise over a decade ago, and in the meantime they publish in Torah supplements to Haredi newspapers, primarily in Kulmos of the newspaper Mishpacha. Likewise, the new scholarly journal Chitzei Gibborim – Pleitas Soferim, published in Lakewood, NJ, is at the moment taking its first steps.

Prominent names in the field include Mordechai Honig, a Hasid from Monsey who is extremely knowledgeable in medieval rabbinic literature; Yaakov Yisrael Stahl, a scholar of Franco-German Jewry forced to lower his profile in connection with academia; Moshe Dovid Chechik, a historian who until recently co-edited Yerushaseinu and currently co-edits Chitzei Gibborim; Yehudah Zeivald, a Boyaner Hasid who is quite busy with philosophy and Hasidism; Yitzchak Rosenblum, who had to move from Kiryat Sefer to Bet Shemesh on account of the library he opened, and currently teaches at the Haredi yeshiva high school Nehora; Yaakov Laufer, a scholar who focuses on linguistics and on the conceptual mode of Torah study; Betzalel Deblitsky, a prodigious zealot from Bnei Brak who runs the forum associated with Otzar HaHochma (the monumental digitization project of the Jewish library); Nachum Grunwald of Lakewood, NJ, a Chabadnik who grew up a Satmar-Pupa Hasid and serves as editor of Heikhal Ha-Besht; Aharon Gabbai, a rising star from Bnei Brak who graduated from a Lithuanian yeshiva, of course; Yechiel Goldhaber, slightly older than the rest, a historian and bibliographer whose scholarship is famous, and for whom the National Library is a second home; and Avraham Shmuel Taflinsky, who has toiled for the past few years in uncovering the sources of the aforementioned Hemdat Yamim.

Once we are mentioning the denizens of the National Library, mention must be made of the all-important tool in their scholarly work—the Internet. The global web of knowledge enables Haredi men from conservative yeshivas, whose library holdings are what you would expect, to come in contact with Jewish Studies scholarship and its historical-critical mindset. Most Haredi scholars have a home Internet connection, but not all. Zvi Leshem relates that some come to the library not to peruse ancient manuscripts or converse with the university’s scholars who use it as their place of study, but simply to work at a place that provides Internet access.

“In the digital age, Jewish Studies scholarship has successfully managed to wiggle its way, however constrainedly, into Haredi and yeshiva circles via databases such as Otzar HaHochma,” Mordechai Honig relates. “Until recently, it was the books. The birth of a Haredi scholar was generally triggered by incidental exposure to academic scholarship that invitingly charmed him. For me, it was Ephraim Urbach’s The Tosaphists, which I purchased at age fifteen.”

No one can deny the love story between digital media and the world of Haredi scholarship, with the latter exercising its acumen also in its use of technology. Along those lines, a weekly Internet journal popped up several years ago which, in the course of a couple years, became an especially favored forum for the group of torani scholars. It bore the name Datshe (ДАЧА), a Russian word that made its way into yeshivish slang, which evokes a leisurely space in which people enjoy life, a kind of rare legitimation of self-indulgence and letting loose a bit. The journal, founded and edited by Yitzchak Baruch Rosenblum, was, according to its subtitle, “where sages of Israel come to relax.” The publication insisted upon respectable discussion and high-caliber argumentation, but one also could find among the directives to its readers and writers the following note of caution, which furnishes an additional explanation to the choice of digital format: “Please preserve the low profile of this publication. One can print it for ease of reading but should not show it to just anyone. Wisdom belongs to the discreet.”[3]

Instead of Polemic, Shock

Along with Internet databases and online journals, forums also have an important place in the discourse of these scholars. After many long years in which the forum Soferim u-Sefarim on the site Be-Hadrei Haredim served as the water cooler for torani scholars, the baton was passed to the forums of Otzar HaHochma. A lengthy, fascinating thread recently began there, for example, whose purpose is to generate a list of “dissenting opinions [made by lone rabbinic scholars],” that is, halakhic positions taken by well-known decisors over the generations when their colleagues were of a different mind. The thread reveals the foundational analytic-halakhic erudition of the discussants, expert not only in bibliography and history but also in a wide range of positions expressed by medieval and modern rabbinic authorities on scores of issues.

The administrator of the Otzar HaHochma forums is, as was said above, Betzalel Deblitsky (under the username “Ish Sefer”). What had been permissible on Be-Hadrei Haredim the fearless zealot Deblitsky bans, censoring discussions and silencing voices he deems unworthy of being heard. But even those who miss the great openness that marked the forum of yore understand that the change is permanent—discussions of relevance within the scholarly community take place principally on the new forum.

Zeal, parenthetically, is a relative matter: the strict filter Netiv, which runs according to the guidance of a confidential rabbinic board, blocks the Otzar HaHochma forum on account of its content being deemed subversive and problematic. To take but one example, the forum has an intense, politically-charged discussion surrounding one of the veteran decisors of the Edah Haredit in Jerusalem—R. Yitzhak Isaac Kahana. A broadside that circulated in Jerusalem against R. Kahana’s book Orhot Tohorah and his lenient rulings on questions regarding menstruation inflamed not only the physical Haredi street but the virtual one as well, engendering scathing posts on the forum in support of each side. A symptom of one of the forum’s pathologies is partially manifest in this case: the deletion of threads by the moderator, who perceived them as deviating from the Haredi party line. Over three pages of posts inexplicably disappeared from the site, only to return the next day, redacted.

Rabbi Eitam Henkin was among those disappointed by the limits set on the forum’s discourse as compared with past fora, but he nevertheless realized that this was the place to be. Under the username “Tokh Kedei Dibbur,” Henkin took part in discussions on the forum, and at the same time carried on extensive personal e-mail correspondence with scholars who were active on it. This became the gateway through which Israeli reality penetrated the Haredi ivory tower—users discovered that the man murdered together with his wife, in front of his children, in the middle of Sukkot, was none other than “their very own” Rabbi Eitam. The forum was filled with emotional threads of eulogy and anguish, memorial initiatives and activities to be done in his merit, and the revelation of the many connections that Henkin had weaved amongst his Internet friends.

It is difficult not to resort to superlatives when speaking about Eitam Henkin. Anyone who had followed his abundant Torah publications — which were marked by eloquent prose, intellectual honesty, and the self-confidence of someone on home turf — had trouble believing the subject of conversation was so young. Even the conversation about him on the forums sketches a fascinating profile. The user known as “Meholat Ha-Mahanayim” wrote:

“The distinguished victim, may God avenge his blood, was wondrously knowledgeable about the entire history of our people, and specifically the history of Lithuanian Torah scholars and their writings. I merited corresponding with him a bit here, and as much as he was honest, fair, and truth-seeking, he was also intensely and diligently exacting […] None of his responses contained any triviality; his prose was shot through with words of Torah and wisdom, brimming with old wine […] One could discern his constant drive for the truth from his responses. He was never too flustered for a retort, and he always based what he said on the most solid of foundations. Even when he argued for an alternative position, he was a fair and honest opponent, unafraid to admit he was wrong when necessary.”

None other than Deblitsky (“Ish Sofer”), who is so distant from Henkin’s worldview and rarely treats anything with a velvet glove, eulogized Henkin at length. The forum’s moderator wrote:

“His statements stood out in their richness, sharpness, and precision—they have no equal. The wide range of people who corresponded with him is astounding. Despite their working in various fields, his correspondents unanimously attested to the immense benefit they gained from him and to the rich sources with which he magnanimously and pleasantly inundated them. Many a time in answering some inconsequential question, he would—as soon as you could say Jack Robinson[4]— whip out one of his many lists, chock-full and cornucopian, while noting that he was collecting additional material on the matter and it would have to wait until a future opportunity […]

Many have mentioned honesty and artlessness among his noble qualities. I would like to emphasize one thing that no one like me realized until they fell prey to it: his sharp and resolute style tended to invite polemic, but anyone who responded harshly as a tit-for-tat comeback found himself embarrassed and pathetic upon discovering the affable and unpretentious man behind those words.”

Further on, Deblitsky touched on Henkin’s transcendence of the entire sectoral framework. According to him, Henkin noted in a personal communication “that his unique pedigree as a son and grandson of American rabbis who did not fit in with any of the specific groups of Torah-observant Jews enables him to view himself as free of the shackles of sometimes artificial classification and group affiliation. One could say that this feeling largely allowed him to cast a critical eye upon and evaluate phenomena from all sectors without bias.” Deblitsky claimed this to be evident in the independent stance Henkin took in a slew of polemics, in which his misgivings and speculations were spelled out numerous times in private messages, as he took pains to publish in the forum only those things that he could wholeheartedly stand behind.

“I, for one, find exaggeration on both sides,” wrote Henkin to Deblitsky regarding the polemic within the forum surrounding the figure of the late Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein. “Be it the disparaging vitriol about him […] or, on the other side, those feigning innocence, as if he was just another link in the chain of Torah sages throughout the ages, some of whom have always engaged to some degree in general culture.” Henkin conceded to Deblitsky that even within the National-Religious community opposition to Rabbi Lichtenstein had existed: “It was undoubtedly quite grating for a regular yeshiva student (excluding those from Har Etzion and to “the left”) to see citations from non-Jewish culture and the like in a Torah article. In this case (of criticism within the National-Religious community—Yoav Sorek), however, opposition to that approach was disjoined from ad hominem attacks.”

“We should be very sad that ‘sectoral’ boundaries make no exceptions for Torah giants,” wrote Henkin in another e-mail to Deblitsky.

“The definitive assignment of each person into specifically this community or that one is often artificial. It is absurd that the public considers many comedians, musicians, and low-brow entertainers (for purposes of this example) as “Haredi” because they attended heder and wear a hat in the synagogue, while thousands of families who give their all for Torah and are punctilious about every jot and tittle (not to mention that for them television, secular newspapers, and the like are not even up for discussion) are “not Haredi” because they wear a colored shirt and also rejoice on Yom Ha-‘Atzma’ut. Although people can only see externals, they can ascertain what they will have to account for in the Heavenly court, whether they will be asked about Torah study, honesty in business, and hoping for the redemption,[5] or whom they cast their vote for in national elections.”

Henkin wrote the following when describing Rabbi Dov Lior’s Torah greatness. “I can say unhesitatingly that we are talking about a serious heavyweight in Torah erudition and jurisprudence who has the entire Talmud and Shulhan Arukh in his head—incredible!” Still, he noted that the Haredim do not respect him simply because his stance on Zionist matters “meant he was to be associated with only one camp and perforce rendered off-limits for the other camp, even if for him the only thing in his world is Torah, pure and simple. (Elements of Western culture or academia, which are accepted in large segments of his camp, he derides at every turn.)”

In these citations of Henkin one can hear the Haredi lilt. As Deblitsky and others in the forum pointed out multiple times, Henkin had the ability to converse with various people in language they were comfortable with. In private communication with another user in the forum, Henkin disclosed that when he would write on Otzar HaHochma, he would adopt the appropriate style and cautiously promote topics close to his heart.

What motive could there be for entering this lion’s den? Henkin had faith that every place has its bright spots, and he was happy to become acquainted with people he would not have otherwise met. He described himself as “attempting to pursue peace, even in a place where they pursue the likes of me.” As he wrote another time under the username “Tekhelet Domah” in the somewhat-calmer forum of Be-Hadrei Haredim: “I try my utmost not to hate anyone and not to write off any community that believes itself to be doing God’s will, even those which, in accord with their own aforementioned belief, would write me off and disparage my Rebbe in an unacceptable way.”

Professor in All But Name

After Henkin’s murder, a debate arose between his acquaintances and family over the the respective value he assigned to the two antipodes of academic study and religious study. Not surprisingly, the tension between the two constantly taxes many torani scholars. In the Otzar HaHochma forum and others, it is not uncommon to find a venomous and disparaging treatment of classic academics, who are caricatured as wasting their time on the trivial or unnecessary because they do not know how to study Torah, plain and simple. In the acerbic language of one forum contributor: “they are incapable of studying a page of Talmud without Schottenstein and a dictionary.”

In this way, the methodology of the elderly professor David Halivni, for example, has been pilloried and subject to sharp ridicule, perhaps also on account of his past affiliation with the Conservative movement. Along the lines of the approach with which he is associated (which presumes that most Talmudic passages were edited by a generation of anonymous sages, termed stamma’im, during the Savoraic period), the user “Afarqasta De-‘Anya” writes that he read Halivni’s introductions to two tractates and concluded: “Halivni did not write them himself; rather, he composed specific passages in which even he did not fully understand what he was writing or what he intended. His editor and publisher added stammaitic passages, thereby integrating the scattered pieces into what appears to be a single, unified text.”

This derision may, of course, result from an inferiority complex afflicting those with no proper academic training, or from the ignorance of those whose intellectual horizons do not extend beyond the narrative in which they were raised. In any case, it is far from being the consensus of the community of torani scholars: some have integrated into academia in recent years, others recognize that the yeshiva world’s disdain toward Jewish Studies is outdated. As Dubovick notes, Jewish Studies of this past generation is not what it had been previously, when scholars had no connection to the traditional study hall, and their scholarship at times revealed their ignorance and at other times could not sort the wheat from the chaff. In this generation, the preeminent scholars in the field are also serious Torah scholars.

Yet, anyone who publishes in Haredi journals or seeks legitimacy from the Haredi street cannot write without inhibition. “They must be careful about how they write, whom they cite, and even what titles they bestow,” explains Zvi Leshem. “I recall someone here who wanted to cite Rabbi Saul Lieberman’s Tosefta Ki-Feshutah, but he could not figure out which was the worse option—writing Rabbi Lieberman or Professor Lieberman. In the end he simply omitted his name.”

Though many of them already bear the title Dr., generally the torani scholars are not in the academic race for positions and recognition, and that fact profoundly impacts their lives. “The disconnect from the academic world and all its rivalry makes it easy for a scholar to share his wisdom with his colleagues, without having to worry about material or future scholarship being stolen, as well as to partake of his colleagues’ wisdom,” says R. Yoel Catane. “At the same time, the pressure to publish quality articles in the academic world, and the need to subject one’s research to peer review, occasionally yields excellent results that cannot be achieved in torani scholarship.”

“The fact that we are not part of that competition,” explains G. to me, “grants us peace of mind, intellectual freedom, the freedom to choose our areas of research without the need for prerequisite courses that are not entirely necessary, and the freedom to develop our ideas as we see fit. I see Haredi scholars benefitting from the sort of freedom enjoyed by the first generation of scholars in the Wissenschaft des Judentums movement.”

Between Seclusion and Entrenchment

The heightened awareness of Jewish sages to the development of their tradition preceded by centuries the Wissenschaft des Judentums movement, which set the critical modern gaze upon the Jewish library. Across the generations there were Ge’onim, medievals, and moderns engaging in textual criticism, historicizing customs, unearthing deep-rooted errors, and looking askance at what the ignorant perceived as a “Judaism” that could not be questioned.

Even from the narrower, more modern perspective of relations between the academy and Haredim, the group that forms the subject of this article certainly cannot claim originality. The “Bibliography of the Hebrew Book,” a superb academic project that catalogs all titles printed in Hebrew and other Jewish languages through the ages, is currently led by Yitzchok Yudlov, an erudite Haredi with no academic schooling. Among the founders of the project Rabbi Shmuel Ashkenazy (Deutsch), raised in Batei Ungarin, stands out. Ashkenazi, one of the most famous Haredi scholars of the book, serves today as an honorary member of the Mekize Nirdamim Society, a venerable publisher identified with the Wissenschaft movement. Two Haredi scholars also stand out among the employees of the National Library: Yehoshua Mondshine, an independently-minded Habadnik known for his scholarship on Hasidism, who passed away this past Hanukkah[6] after a terrible illness; and Meir Wunder, may he live a long life, a bibliophile and historian who wrote, among other things, his monumental project Meorei Galitziya (Luminaries of Galicia). A similar undertaking for Hungarian sages was brought into being by the late Haredi scholar Yitzchak Yosef Cohen, who worked within the framework of Machon Yerushalayim, the most famous of the Haredi publishers with a scholarly inclination. Also worthy of note are Yitzchak Yeshaya Weiss and Moshe Alexander Zusha Kinstlicher, both prolific scholars in the field of rabbinic history, who edited the now-defunct Tzfunot.

What, then, distinguishes the members of this young group from all their predecessors? Perhaps it is the fact that the integration that had once seemed so organic has become more complicated as a result of two parallel processes: the seclusion of Haredi society, and the entrenchment of the academy’s formality. The world of the learned, from all walks of life, for whom knowledge and curiosity are essential, has been replaced by the reality of evaluative categories within the halls of the academy, and an inflexible, censorial “hashkafah” within the Haredi camp. Few are those who seek to restore the former glory of scholarship, back when its throne did not have to be an academic chair nor its crown a black hat.

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A DUAL DESTINY

The doctoral advisor of Eitam Henkin, may God avenge his blood, was convinced that his student had chosen academia over the halakhic discourse of the yeshiva. Others attest that Henkin viewed halakhic discourse, in fact, as paramount.

*

Although his world was built upon foundations quite different from those of his Haredi interlocutors, Eitam Henkin had no difficulty finding a shared language with torani scholars. An autodidact to the core, he also held fast to the truth, was intellectually curious, loved profound discussion, and was prepared to swim against the tide. And as can be expected from anyone who has an independent love for knowledge, it turns out that he also wrote for—or at least corrected and made changes to—the Hebrew Wikipedia. On his user page, under the username “Shim‘on Ha-Eitan” (which he used in other contexts, such as on the site Mida), he opted for a pithy self-description that speaks volumes: “a Jerusalemite with diasporic roots, whose world is Torah and whose occupation is writing and research.”

Henkin began his doctoral research under Prof. David Assaf of Tel-Aviv University. He dedicated it to the biography of R. Israel Meir Ha-Kohen of Radun, the Hafetz Hayyim (1839-1933), one of the mythic personalities who have exercised incredible influence on contemporary Orthodoxy. Assaf, who deeply admired Henkin, published a eulogy on his blog Oneg Shabbat that aroused immediate contention. He wrote:

“Eitam was a wunderkind. I first met him in 2007. At the time he was an avrekh meshi (by his own definition), a fine young yeshiva fellow, all of twenty-three years old. He was a student at Yeshivat Nir in Kiryat Arba, with a long list of publications in Torah journals already trailing him. He contacted me via e-mail, and after a few exchanges I invited him to meet. […] We spoke at length, and I have cared about him ever since. From his articles and our many conversations I discerned right away that he had that certain je ne sais quoi. He had those qualities, the personality, and the capability—elusive, unquantifiable, and indefinable—of someone meant to be a historian, and a good historian at that.

I did not have to press especially hard to convince him that his place—his destiny—did not lie between the walls of the yeshiva, and that he should not squander his talents on the niceties of halakha. He needed to enroll in university and train himself professionally for what truly interested him, for what he truly loved: critical historical scholarship. […]

Eitam, hailing from a world of traditional yeshiva study that is poles apart from the academic world, slid into his university studies effortlessly. He rapidly internalized academic discourse, with its patterns of thinking and writing, and began to taste the distinct savors of that world.”

In the continuation, Assaf heaps praise upon his young student. The sharp opposition that he posed between “the niceties of halakha” and critical scholarship, however, engendered grievances on the part of several Oneg Shabbat readers, particularly those familiar with Henkin’s other side. His brother Dr. Yagil Henkin criticized Assaf’s piece relatively delicately. “He believes Eitam saw himself primarily as a scholar, not a rabbi with plans to fill a rabbinic post,” he told Yosef Ehrenfeld in the newspaper Shevi‘i. “I have a different take on the matter […] His first and foremost desire was to be a Torah scholar, but he also wanted to be an academic scholar. In everything that interested him and everything he engaged in, he strove to do his best, to go the extra mile.”

Rabbi Dr. Michael Avraham protested Assaf’s denigration of Torah discourse, leading with the following cynical preface:

“I am unable to restrain myself from making the objective academic comparison (apparently the product of systematic methodology and critical-historical scholarship) between “squandering one’s time on the niceties of halakha” and “entering the precincts (heikhalot) of the academy.” I won’t lie: a quiver of holiness washed over me upon reading those words, but I nevertheless summon my courage and dare to murmur something in the heart of the sanctuary (heikhal). May its priests, Levites, and prophets forgive me after kissing their sacred, perfumed feet.”

Offended, Assaf responded with a stinging riposte of his own, explaining that he was not deriding the yeshiva’s methods of study; rather, he was convinced that Eitam, as a young man who had needed to choose his intellectual path, was inclined more towards academic methods of study and writing. This assertion would seem to fit the activity of Eitam’s final years, but it somewhat contradicts the testimony of Deblitsky, according to which Henkin viewed his thoroughly halakhic composition about Sabbath law—a book that has yet to be published[7]—as his most important work.

Translator’s Notes:

This article was first published in Hebrew in Mekor Rishon (30 October 2015), and is translated here with permission of Mekor Rishon and the author. The translator would like to thank Shaul Seidler-Feller for his invaluable assistance. A groysn shkoyekh!

[1] A preliminary terminological distinction in order to forestall confusion:

• A hoker is someone with the skills to conduct sustained research on a topic of interest and produce noteworthy scholarship. Such a person may have academic training and credentials, but the subjects of this article, for the most part, do not. I translate ‘hoker’ as ‘scholar.’

• A hoker torani is such a scholar who happens to be firmly ensconced in the world of Torah, and whose research interests center around topics related to that world. Owing to the lack of suitable English adjective, I will leave the adjective in the Hebrew, yielding “torani scholar.”

• A talmid hakham is someone with measurably significant Torah erudition, but that knowledge does not necessarily have any bearing on his ability to produce scholarship. I will retain the standard translation of ‘Torah scholar.’

[2] A compilation of customs, prayers, and kabbalistic practices printed about 300 years ago that has had tremendous influence ever since. It nevertheless generated controversy regarding its author’s identity and its content due to suspicions of Sabbateanism.

[3] Cf. Prov 11:2.

[4] The closest idiomatic equivalent of tokh kedei dibbur, Henkin’s username.

[5] cf. Shabbat 31a.

[6] Hanukkah 5775 (24 December 2014). A tribute has been published on these pages by Eli Rubin, “Toil of the Mind and Heart: A Meditation in Memory of Rabbi Yehoshua Mondshine,” the Seforim blog (13 December 2015), available here (http://seforim.blogspot.com/2015/12/toil-of-mind-and-heart-meditation-in.html).

[7] The book, Zeh Sefer Esh Tamid, has since been published by Mossad HaRav Kook in April 2016.

Further On A Forged Letter of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik

By Mosheh Lichtenstein

Rabbi Mosheh Lichtenstein is a co-Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Har Etzion.

He is a grandson of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik.

It was recently brought to my attention that various readers of the Seforim Blog have expressed skepticism regarding the determination that the letter found in President Chaim Herzog’s archives and supposedly written by my grandfather, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik zt”l (hereafter, “the Rav”), is a forgery.

Moreover, some of the commentators have engaged in various conspiracy theories regarding the motivation and the accuracy of the claim that this is a fake letter. See here. Although I do not usually attempt to argue with such claims or engage conspiracy theorists and strongly suspect that penning this response will not necessarily convince those who refused to accept the original clarification, I will, nevertheless, attempt to present the evidence that the letter is indeed a forgery since I fear that future researchers may also question the denial and view the letter’s status as an unresolved issue.

Moreover, since there may be sincere individuals who are indeed skeptical of a forgery claim regarding a letter whose subject is a controversial figure and may suspect that there is an agenda behind the denial of the letter’s legitimacy, I am presenting the evidence for their review and evaluation. Thus, if those who expressed skepticism are indeed sincere and open to evaluating the evidence, it is my hope that they will review the evidence presented below and recognize that the letter is fraudulent.

At the outset, I must re-emphasize what was clearly stated by the editors of the Seforim Blog (here); i.e. that the determination of our family members who saw this letter and judged it to be a “crude forgery” was entirely based upon an examination of the signature, stationery and other such considerations and totally independent of any opinion, positive or negative, regarding the subject of the letter. Having stated for the record what should be obvious, I will now present the considerations themselves.

1. First, and this alone should suffice, is the error in the spelling of the name. The Rav spelled his name דוב with a vav in the middle and not דב without a vav. I have never seen a signature of the Rav without the vav and I challenge all of those who doubted our claim to produce a signature of the Rav, in his handwriting, without a vav. As there are a multitude of “semikhah klafim” signed by the Rav, as well as numerous letters that he wrote, I assume that this can be readily verified. I would add that, unlike dates or plain text, it is rare indeed that people make typos in their signature.

2. The Rav’s signature in the letter contains an additional conclusive indication that the Rav didn’t write it which is the mention of his father and his title. The Rav would use the title אבא מרי when referring to his father in his halakhic writings and famously utilized it in the title of a major work, Shiurim le-Zekher Abba Mari (Jerusalem: Mosad ha-Rav Kook, 1984). However, he never used it when referring to his father, Reb Moshe Soloveichik, in his signature. Usually, the Rav signed his name without mentioning his father but if he did mention him, he always used the Brisker title of הגאון החסיד or variations of it and never אבא מרי. Thus, he might sign בן הגאון החסיד or בהגאון מהר”מ – see Iggerot ha-Grid pp. 139-140 for two such examples – but not אבא מרי as in the letter under discussion.

The vast majority of the letters that I have had occasion to see, as well as those published in *Community, Covenant And Commitment: Selected Letters And Communications*, ed. Nathaniel Helfgot (Jersey City, NJ: Ktav, 2005), and originally written in Hebrew, contain the Rav’s name alone without any reference to his father whatsoever. Moreover, my impression is that the younger the Rav was and the more “rabbinic” and traditional or ceremonial the context (such as HaPardes), he might refer to his father, while in more political or non-rabbinic settings and the older he gets, he rarely signs as his father’s son. This is doubly true of the years when he had physical trouble writing (for examples of 2 late letters in very rabbinic settings in which his father is not referenced in his signature, see the letter published in the beginning of the first volume of the first edition of the Shiurim le-Zekher Abba Mari and/or the letter written to Rabbi Shemariah Gourary in October 1978 and published in a Chabad journal upon his petirah in 1993).

The bottom line is that the vast majority of all his letters don’t mention his father and this is esp. true in the later years. Thus, the very reference to his father in a very late letter to a secular political figure like Chaim Herzog might already raise suspicions about this letter, but the crucial point is that even when mentioning Rabbi Moshe Soloveichik, he is never referred to as אבא מרי. Presumably, the person who wrote this letter was aware of the Abba Mari title because of the book (which had just been published a year earlier), but unfamiliar with the Rav’s normal signature mode and thus blundered into applying the wrong title to Rabbi Moshe Soloveichik.

In an aside, I’ll also mention that the person who wrote this letter was not only woefully unequipped with knowledge of the Rav’s signature, he also didn’t know how to spell אבא מרי properly. Unlike the Rav, who was aware of the phrase’s origin in the Shas (Kiddushin 31b and Sanhedrin 5a) and its usage by the Rambam in Mishneh Torah (Hilkhot Talmud Torah 4:3 and Hilkhot Shehitah 11:10) to refer to his father and, of course, spells it properly, the writer of this letter can’t even spell the title that he chose properly (although I can’t rule out the possibility of a typo, I cannot but have the impression that this is yet another instance of the work of someone who simply doesn’t know what he’s doing).

3. The letter includes the title איש בוסטון together with the signature. I’d love to see another letter of the Rav in which he signed himself as איש בוסטון. Until such a letter is produced, I regard this as an additional example of the fraudulent nature of this letter since the Rav didn’t use such a title to identify himself. He was not Paul Revere and apparently did not consider איש בוסטון to be a defining characteristic.

4. A crucial element in assessing a signature’s authenticity a graphological examination. In our case, the signature of the Rav in the Herzog letter simply fails the most basic graphological test. Since a graphological analysis is by definition subjective, I preferred to present the verifiable objective evidence regarding the Rav’s signature prior to raising this point. I also feel obligated to preface my claim with two preliminary comments about the legitimacy of handwriting comparisons:

a. Halakhah and the American banking system that has utilized handwritten checks for decades as a prime form of payment rely upon comparison and recognition of an individual’s signature. The concept of kiyum shtarot, a major legal mechanism in Halakhah which is crucial to all legal documents, is predicated upon comparing signatures.

b. The Rav’s signature is quite distinctive and remained consistent throughout the years. A clear line runs between all his signatures, from youth to old age. In his later years, the signature is more frail and less forceful than his earlier signatures, but the basic form is constant and readily recognizable. The signature that appears in the Herzog letter is so starkly different from his recognized signature that this is a plain case of black and white and not a grey area. Had it been a grey area which required a judgement call, I would never make such a subjective claim, but the contrast here is so great that it does not require a judgement call. To utilize a Talmudic concept from a somewhat different case of graphological assessment, an average ינוקא דלא חכים ולא טפש could easily make this call.

To back up this claim, I suggest that the interested reader see for himself examples of the Rav’s signature in these years. An example from June 1983 is the letter printed in the first volume of Shiurim le-Zekher Abba Mari (first edition).

A later example, and even more relevant example, from Winter 1984 (probably January-February 1984) is this (from a dedication he inscribed to me in the Shiurim le-Zekher Abba Mari that he sent me):

One can notice 2 things in this signature: 1. Its basic consistency with his younger signatures 2. the frailty of his writing. The signature in the letter to President Herzog, in contrast, is inconsistent with all of the Rav’s signatures and does not express the frailty of his aging motoric skills, despite supposedly being written months later.

For a somewhat earlier, albeit still late, example, one can see the signature in the haskamah published by Rabbi Menachem Genack in his sefer ברכת יצחק, written in Jan. 1979.

In summary, the signature itself in the document under question is so full of errors that if it were a get, you could say that it contains almost all possible פסולים as it includes א. שינה שמו ב. ושם אביו ג. ושם עירו ד. ואינו מקויים .

From the signature, let us turn our attention to the stationery. Anyone who has seen letters of the Rav knows that the letterhead is always the Rav’s name and usually, but not always, his address as well. He does not use Yeshiva University stationery nor RIETS stationery. I have never seen a letter written by the Rav on a YU letterhead. He was not the Rosh Yeshiva of RIETS or president of YU – he was Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, the Rav, and his stationery reflects this.

It must also be emphasized that this particular letter is purported to have been written in Boston where the chance that the Rav used YU stationaey is nil. I was with the Rav in Boston during the summer of 1984 and I can attest to the fact that he did not have YU stationery in his study that summer (nor at any other time that I was in Boston).

Thus, it seems fairly obvious to assume, although I cannot verify this, that ‘the writer of this letter’ had access to YU stationery which is dispensed to hundreds of locations but not to the Rav’s private stationery and, therefore, chose to present the Rav as writing on YU stationery, unaware that by doing so ‘he’ is undermining rather than bolstering the credibility of his forgery.

Actually, what ‘the writer of this letter’ is doing is even more bumbling since ‘he’ is not using proper YU letterhead stationery either; if one looks carefully at the letter that was reproduced at the Seforim Blog, it can be noticed that it is written on paper designed for internal correspondence as a memo and is not formal institutional stationery of the sort that is appropriate to use in correspondence with a head of state.

Another suspicious element is the copies of the letter that supposedly were sent to Rabbi Norman Lamm, Dr. Burg and Rabbi Michael Strick. Aside from the fact that to the best of my knowledge, it was not the Rav’s custom to copy others on his letters and this alone is room for additional suspicion, it is unfathomable to think that he would have Rabbi Strick’s name as one of those copied to his letter. Was the Rav even aware that Rabbi Strick worked in YU’s Israel office? Even if so, why would he copy him on a letter to Herzog which does not deal with YU affairs? For that matter, why would he copy Rabbi Lamm?

Since the Rav did not ‘CC’ people and was unaware of Rabbi Strick’s position, this, too, is an additional reason that at least parts of this letter must be considered inauthentic and the work of others. [If one were to argue that this anomaly is reason to support the letter’s authenticity as a lectio difficilior, I would counter that such an argument would be reasonable, if it could be established that the Rav was aware of Rabbi Strick’s role in YU Israel, but since this is definitely not the case, he couldn’t have copied on a letter someone who he was unaware of his position. Thus it is not a more difficult reading, but rather an impossible one and, therefore, proves its inauthenticity rather than its authenticity.]

Next, let us turn our gaze to the top of the page and the salutation of בעזרת צור ישראל וגואלו. Once more, I challenge anybody to produce a letter or document in which the Rav used such a phrase to refer to the KBH in a similar context (or any context, for that matter).

Although one could conceivably argue that he did not normally do so but changed his custom when writing to the president of Medinat Yisrael, I would not accept such a line of reasoning because of the reasons outlined below, but I would also emphasize that the Rav’s letter to Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion does not contain such a phrase nor do any of his other letters to various Israeli Religious Zionist leaders. All of these letters were published in *Community, Covenant And Commitment: Selected Letters And Communications* and are readily available for examination. If one were to argue more ingeniously that he used the phrase only in a letter to Chaim Herzog because of his father, Rav Yitzhak Isaac ha-Levi Herzog’s involvement in the formulation of Tefillah Leshalom Hamedinah, he would have not only to claim that the Rav was attempting to compliment Herzog but also to establish that the Rav was aware of Rav Herzog’s role in the formulation of that text. Personally, I am quite skeptical of this for a variety of reasons, but I will not insist upon it in this discussion.

The crucial point regarding the use of צור ישראל וגואלו is that the Rav would never use such a phrase. Without entering into a protracted discussion of the Rav’s attitude to Zionism in general, a topic that much has been written upon, I will allow myself to state that while undoubtedly supportive of Religious Zionism, he was deeply opposed to three elements of Israeli Religious Zionism that he encountered in his contacts with the Israeli Religious Zionist sector. The first was the ideological position that Jewish Nationalism and its political expression are of the highest religious value. The second, not entirely unrelated to the first, was the perspective that viewed the establishment of the State of Israel and its subsequent achievements as highly significant stages in the Redemption. Regarding those who held to a position that he described as the attachment of “excessive value to the point of its glorification and deification” [of the State of Israel] (*Community, Covenant And Commitment: Selected Letters And Communications*, page 164), he defined them as delusional (the original Hebrew uses the phrase “הוזים” which is translated in the published text as “dreamers,” but which actually has a much stronger connation of delusion within it) and in total error. He was also very distant from a historical appraisal that saw the Geulah as imminent. As anyone who has read *Kol Dodi Dofek* or *Hamesh Derashot* is well aware, the Rav emphasizes the Man-God relationship in the context of Zionist history rather than the imminent realization of the promised Redemption.

An additional element that the Rav strenuously objected to was various expressions and formulas in liturgical or halakhic settings that were disconnected from traditional forms of expression and exuded a strong sense of a break with the past and the creation of a new religious language. I would not overstate the case if I stated that such expressions actually caused him to cringe. He certainly was emotionally distant from such phrases and did not use them. A famous example of this was his insistence upon the term “Eretz Yisroel” rather than “Israel,” but there were many such examples, some better known (e.g. translating the text of the ketuba into Hebrew), some not so well known. Even wearing a white shirt on Shabbos (“Israeli style”), rather than a suit, would sometimes annoy him if he sensed that it was an expression of non-traditionalism and “anti-Galut” sentiment. I can attest to this first hand כי מבשרי אחזה זאת. I spent time with my grandfather, the Rav, as a wide-eyed 17 year old youth who often expressed his Zionist sentiments in front of him and occasionally raised his ire by doing so. Once, discussing a related topic, he admitted to me that reciting a certain text was rationally the proper thing to do, but, nevertheless, expressed a personal emotional reluctance to do so because of its novelty and lack of traditional moorings.

Therefore, although this is admittedly a subjective criterion that I am attempting to avoid, I cannot believe that any letter that the Rav wrote or authorized – even to a head of state whose father was Rav Herzog – would contain the phrase בעזרת צור ישראל וגואלו.

Finally, I must point out an issue of content regarding the letter. As I stated at the outset, I am not judging the letter based upon any presumed attitude of the Rav regarding Rabbi Meir Kahane. However, the content of the letter is extremely problematic for totally other reasons. As can be seen, the letter concludes with a clear admonition and rebuke to President Herzog in no uncertain terms regarding his level of observance. Not only does the writer allow himself to criticize Herzog’s standards of public observance, an obviously sensitive topic for someone raised as an observant Jew, he also doesn’t shy away from introducing the extremely sensitive and intensely personal issue of Herzog’s relationships with his parents and children in light of his problematic observance of Mizvoth.

I will allow myself to state that the Rav that I knew, and I assume many of the Seforim Blog’s readers as well, would never enter into such personal matters and grant unsolicited advice and judgement upon his correspondent’s personal life and relationships. For that matter, I cannot imagine that any rational individual who is requesting a favor from a person of stature would conclude his message by rebuking the person and making it clear that he is a disappointment to his parents. Why the writer of this letter thought that this is a reasonable text is beyond me, but if he chose to concoct such a text, I do claim that the Rav would not, and could not, have written such a text. While this is admittedly subjective and, therefore, I do not rest my case upon it but rely upon the above-mentioned considerations, I do believe that the Seforim Blog’s readers should be alerted to this perspective as well.

I will not continue to discuss this letter, although much more could be said about it. In conclusion, I will add that I believe that many of the points that I raised above suffice to individually prove that this letter is utterly false; however, it is also important to emphasize that there is a significance to their cumulative effect. Thus, even if one can argue or suggest alternatives to a particular claim, the accumulation of so many suspicious characteristics is an additional consideration to recognize that the text is much too problematic to be trusted or relied upon.

Ironically, whoever thought to send this letter to President Herzog and to appeal to his zekhut avot as part of a letter requesting support for Rabbi Kahane was probably barking up the wrong tree by doing so. Rav Yitzchak Isaac ha-Levi Herzog, whose authority is celebrated in the letter, had the following to say about the issue of retribution and Jewish-Arab relationships in times of terror attacks, published on the front page of the newspaper Davar, Friday, July 8, 1938, and translated into English several months later in Contemporary Jewish Record 1:1 (September 1938):

Why did someone want to counterfeit a letter in the Rav’s name is a question that may be unanswerable, even if we were to identify the person who wrote the letter. It is certainly unanswerable without identifying the writer. It should be recognized, though, that the primary motivation may not have been a political agenda to validate Rabbi Kahane, although it is obvious that the writer’s opinion of him is somewhat favorable and that he is attempting to advance the Kach party’s agenda, but may be rooted in other realms. For instance, the writer may have had a psychological need to empower himself to speak as the Rav, for a variety of reasons, and realized this by counterfeiting a letter in the Rav’s name and sending it to a prominent and famous person.

Whatever the motivation may be – political or psychological – we must recognize that this is a letter that that was not signed or authorized by the Rav and that is what matters.