How to Celebrate Rosh Hashanah When Your Judaism Is Shaken to the Core

Normally, at this time of year, I would take a passage from the Torah, Talmud, or some other Jewish text that relates to Rosh Hashanah. I would take that passage, analyze it, and come up with some sort of insight that can carry us through the Jewish year of 5778. This year, I don't have that luxury in my life because I am dealing with the loss of someone who was dear to me. Baruch Hashem, thank G-d that individual did not pass away. Although I shared many intimate moments and developed a strong bond with said person, what this person ended up doing to me recently was injurious enough where making up for the damage caused is impossible. One thing that this is done is change my view on humanity a bit. A redeeming feature of Judaism is that it reminds us that we are imperfect beings, but that G-d has given us a framework that provides us with second chances and the ability to do better through what Judaism refers to as teshuvah. Much like we learned with the Pharaoh in Egypt, an individual can fall into a pattern of behavior that can obscure our humanity to the point where they are irredeemable. A default assumption in Judaism is to believe that in spite of our flaws, we have the capacity to improve upon ourselves and be better than we were before. However, my past relationship with the aforementioned individual reminds me that either some people don't want to work on themselves or that some individuals are incapable of working on themselves. I still believe most people can improve upon themselves, but some people are truly beyond redemption.

Unfortunately for me, my recent loss did not just impact my relationship with this person, but also with my religiosity and how I feel about Judaism. Although I believe in an impersonal G-d, I have found myself in a position I have not found myself in years: angry at G-d. Rather than remember the benefits of living a Jewish life or how I have grown throughout my Jewish life, all I can feel is the pain I have endured as a result of Judaism and the costs of living an observant Jewish life. I feel adrift about my Jewish identity and Jewish practice in a way that I never have before. Fortunately, I have an exceptionally supportive Jewish community, family, and overall social network that is helping me stay afloat, but that still doesn't help me with how I proceed with Rosh Hashanah. How do I continue maintaining introspection while looking forward to how I can be a better person and Jew this upcoming year when I wonder whether I still even want to practice Judaism or be Jewish?

I am sure I am not the first person who has undergone an arduous trial in life during this time of year. Based on recent conversations I have had with my Orthodox friends, I know that I am not the first Orthodox Jew to go through, for lack of a better term, a "crisis of faith." Even in the Orthodox world, there are people who struggle with their Yiddishkeit and what it means to be Jewish. It is just that much like other topics in the Orthodox world, they are considered taboo. Instead of addressing these issues and helping people grow spiritually, the Orthodox world has a propensity to sweep these issues under the rug. With that being said, here are a few things I am going to keep in mind for the High Holidays (Yamim Noraim), as well as some advice for those of us whose hearts or minds are not necessarily or fully into the "holiday spirit" this year:

1. A Jew is supposed to struggle and question. It is nice to think that being religious means unwavering support and never doubting or questioning. This is simply not true. This is not simply a matter of "three Jews, five opinions" or how the Talmud, and indeed Judaism as a whole, has been a discussion and debate that spans over the ages. Being able to struggle is literally a namesake of the Jewish people. The Jewish people are referred to as Israel (ישראל). In Hebrew, the word means "one who struggles with G-d." This name was given to Jacob after he fought and struggled with the angel in the biblical text. If we do not struggle with, doubt, or question Judaism, we are not doing it right. 
2. Yom Kippur is not a hard deadline in finishing processing, grieving, or moving forward. This might seem counterintuitive given traditional Judaism's take on this time of year. At this time of year, Jewish tradition teaches that there is a Book of Life and a Book of Death. At Rosh Hashanah, G-d inscribes names in the Book of Life, and at Yom Kippur, G-d seals the Book of Life, thereby sealing our names in the given Book. While interesting imagery, this is not meant to be taken literally. As we see upon analyzing the prayer of Unetaneh Tokef, this is meant to be a metaphor. This time of year is not an opportunity to manipulate G-d in helping us cheat death for another year, but rather to make us think about the ephemeral nature of life. It is meant to bring us closer to G-d. It also reminds us of the fragility of life. This time of year is meant to inspire. At the same time, the Yamim Noraim do not magically solve all of our problems or remove our pain. The nice thing about Judaism is that it focuses on the journey, not the destination. Rosh Hashanah is meant to rejuvenate and inspire, which means that this time of year is meant to be a starting point, not an endpoint (Talmud, Yoma 87a).  
3. Take it one day at a time and do what you can. On the one hand, a Jew is supposed to step it up a notch at this time of year. In the High Holiday prayer books (machzorim), we see the phrase of "teshuvah, tefillah, tzedakah help us avert the Divine decree." We are supposed to do more repenting, praying, and giving money to causes per Jewish law than we do during the rest of the year. On the other hand, I had a good friend tell me in this context that "If you don't bend, you will break." To quote Ben Hei Hei in Pirkei Avot (5:26), "the reward is in proportion to the exertion (לפום צערא אגרא)." Rashi comments on this passage in Pirkei Avot that the reward is in proportion to the effort and difficulty needed for its performance. This passage means that G-d understands what you're going through, and that G-d is well aware of the mitigating or exigent circumstances. In the context of Rosh Hashanah observance, what this means is this. Ideally, it would be great if you go full-out and do mitzvahs galore. But if you don't, G-d understands. The main mitzvah on Rosh Hashanah is to hear the shofar blowing. Even if you are in a tough spot and only go to one service to hear the shofar, G-d will give you even greater kudos since He knows what you're going through. G-d wants Jews to do mitzvahs, but G-d also understands that for the vast majority of people, Jewish practice and dedication to Judaism has its ups and downs. 
• As I wrote a couple of years ago, the Nazarite provides an example of how taking even a few small steps can help us grow immensely, especially during the Yamim Noraim. It doesn't matter if you're making small steps. As long as you're moving forward in your life, that's what ultimately matters.
4. Forgive yourself and cut yourself some slack. I don't say this point because it's easy because I can tell you I struggle with this, especially given recent days. This time of year is about forgiving others, asking G-d for forgiveness, and asking others for forgiveness. There is a lot of forgiveness, but there is one aspect of forgiveness that is often overlooked: forgiving ourselves. I looked at this idea within the context of the Ashamnu prayer, which I know isn't recited until Yom Kippur, but it is still apropos. Why is forgiving ourselves important? Especially when we feel down, it is all too easy to look at the High Holiday liturgy and feel even worse about ourselves than we do. Yes, reflect on the right and wrong you did this past year. At the same time, if you want to do better this upcoming year, if you want to move forward from your struggle, and if you want to be the best version of yourself, then you have to forgive yourself. We are human, and as such, we will err and fall. We will do so many times. What defines us is not how we fall, but how we get back up. Part of getting back up is forgiving yourself so you can do better. If you can remember that, Rosh Hashanah will be more pleasant.  

Our lives are a process. How we feel about Jewish practice or G-d or Torah can and does fluctuate. It is part of the human condition. Will I return to a non-Orthodox denomination? Will I forsake religion altogether? Will I return to Orthodox Judaism after processing my loss and figuring out what I want in my spiritual and religious life? Quite frankly, I don't know. I want to do what makes me happiest and provides me with the most meaning in my life. While my relationship with Judaism and G-d is currently hurting, I am in the process of seeing where this healing process takes me. Much like I hope for myself, I hope for those of you struggling with their Judaism at this time of year, that you may find solace and peace in your relationship with G-d. 

Why Women Clergy Should Have a Place in Orthodox Judaism

Last week, the Orthodox Union stirred up some controversy by releasing a response on the professional role of women in the synagogue. While it is hardly a surprise that the Orthodox Union (OU) feels this way, what is contentious is that the policy bars Orthodox female clergy, known as a  Maharat (acronym for "leader of Jewish law, spirituality, and Torah"; מנהיגה הלכתית רוחנית תורנית), from serving as clergy in over 400 of the OU's member synagogues. In its response, the OU outlines three facets that constitute its halachic methodology: legal sources, precedent, and a "relevant halachic ethos." Going off of those three concepts, the OU then goes into how Jewish law does not allow for women to become kings or communal authority figures of any kind (including judges), and also tries to argue that a woman taking on this role is a violation of modesty (צניעות; tzniut). Even though the OU's response fully recognizes that "current women's roles in society, even in Jewish society, are undoubtedly different than in the past," they still conclude that women should not be clergy. This is further emphasized that for the OU, having a "relevant halachic ethos" means having separate gender roles in which men and women have different goals. The fact that not allowing for women clergy has been tradition (מסורה ; mesorah) is what the OU defines as "a Torah ethos."

It's intriguing that the OU is riled up about the postulation that "halachic history evidences a precedent of precluding women from serving as clergy or receiving ordination" because it "always has been normative." As Tevye said in Fiddler on the Roof, "our old ways were once new," and that plays out even in the last century. There wasn't a particular precedent when the Bais Yaakov movement was started in 1917. Remember that before the Bais Yaakov movement, girls did not receive a formal primary or secondary religious education because whatever they learned, they did so in the home. This change was revolutionary, but as the Chofetz Chaim pointed out in his ruling, it was necessary. It wasn't until the 1970s that Talmud was formally taught to women in a post-secondary setting. There was a time when women studying Talmud was forbidden. The bat mitzvah did not make its debut in the Orthodox world until the latter part of the 20th century. Even the position of yoetzet halacha, who is a female authority figure who can actually render a halachic ruling in the context of taharat mishpacha (family purity laws) and ironically has more halachic authority than a Maharat in terms of making rulings, was only created within the last few years.

Those who are against the idea of female clergy base their opposition on strict gender roles between what is male and what is female. It is the idea upon which the OU bases its "halachic ethos." The changes regarding the role of women in Judaism that were mentioned in the previous paragraph were significant changes because it not only signifies that the role of gender is not absolute in the Orthodox world, but that the Orthodox world is capable of adapting such changes. As a matter of fact, the OU does implicitly acknowledge to a certain degree that gender roles can at least theoretically change:

"The existence of female scholars throughout the history of our nation is, in our understanding, ample proof that the notion of semikha for women was conceivable. However, a continuing mesorah existed that dictated against it. We find it implausible to say that the question of female ordination has never presented itself throughout the history of our mesorah." 

I can also go into how strict gender binary doesn't exist in Judaism, at least as starkly as naysayers opine. One example is with the prohibition on men wearing women's clothing, and vice versa (Deuteronomy 22:5). Not even that biblical prohibition is an absolute. If a man wears a skirt, it is prohibited because it's women's clothing. But if a man wears a kilt, which is a skirt-type garment that is very, very similar to a skirt, it's permitted. Why? Because what constitutes as "gender-bending" is baed on societal norms. Additionally, the Talmud mentions multiple times two categories of people that do not neatly fit into either male or female categories. The first is one who has male and female characteristics, or the androgynous (אנדרוגינוס). The second is the individual who is neither clearly male or female, what is known as the tumtum (טומטום). Even if you want to downplay these categories as exceptions, it does not negate the fact that the Talmudic rabbis were able to deal with a world without a black-and-white view on gender roles.

What's even better is that we do not need to look at changes made in the 20th century or Talmudic categories to see women have strong, communal roles. The Rabbis believed that Sarah had a stronger level of prophecy than her husband, Abraham (Rashi Breshit 21:12). The wife of Manoah, although unnamed, is considered to be closer to G-d than her husband (Judges 13:8-11; 13:22-23). The same goes for the unnamed Shunamite woman (II Kings 4:8-10; 4:22-23). Devorah the prophetess judged the people Israel (Gittin 88b, Baba Kamma 15a, Niddah 50a). Miriam and Hannah were also prophetesses in the Bible. Even without going into post-Talmudic texts, we can see that precedent is set for women to teach and instruct.

We can get into the legal arguments, such as the idea of communal authority (serarah) not applying when the community voluntarily accepts the person as its leader (Moshe Feinstein, Igrot Moshe, Yor'eh De'ah 4:26), as is with clergy. You can read the arguments for (also see here) and against female clergy for yourself, but at the end of the day, I believe this issue is much more about sociological issues than legal issues.

Is the Orthodox world ready for women to take on such a leadership role? What effects, both good and bad, does such a change have not only in the individual synagogue, but in the greater Orthodox world? Is the fact that a Maharat does not formally sit on a beit din, does not count for a minyan, or does not lead services enough for more religiously conservative Orthodox synagogues, or is the mere existence of female clergy divisive enough to the point where even Haredim or Centrist Orthodox Jews meeting part of the way is too unconscionable? Another way to frame that last question: is this issue irreconcilable to the point of a schism, or can there be a way for the Orthodox Left and the rest of Orthodoxy to co-exist? Was this divide inevitable, regardless of whether female clergy were ordained or not?

These are questions I cannot answer for certain because I do not have the clairvoyance to do so, nor can I dictate how recalcitrant centrist and Haredi rabbis will be on the issue. What I can say is that for those who bemoan the existence of female clergy, I dare you to either speak with Orthodox female clergy or go to a service with a Maharat present to experience it for yourself. I can tell you from having a Maharat at my own synagogue that the fears are decidedly overblown and unfounded. This is not simply a matter of the Maharat being an inspiration for girls and women to want to be more Torah-observant. The whole point of a Maharat is to teach Torah and Avodat Hashem, which she does. I would contend that a Maharat is actually better than a rebbetzin: a rebbetzin gets the position vis-à-vis the nepotism of being the rabbi's wife. A rebbetzin may or may not get the hang of it over time. A Maharat goes through multiple years of halachic training that includes laws on tzniut, as well as pastoral training, which makes her more capable and competent to handle the day-to-day operations. What's more is that certain people will be more comfortable consulting with female clergy than with male clergy on certain halachic questions. Depriving both women of the opportunity to serve the Jewish community and congregants of the contributions that female clergy can offer is a disservice. Another disservice is the OU trying to ban such proliferation while using the slippery slope fallacy or a fanciful version of the argumentum ad antiquitatem, instead of talking with a Maharat or congregants of a Maharat to better understand the issue before rendering a ruling. The fact that the OU did not take its own advice of "go and see what the people are doing (Eruvin 14b)," which the OU cited in its own response, shows how divorced the OU's decision is from observable reality and changing trends.

This is not the first time the OU has made such a controversial ruling regarding gender. A similar phenomenon happened with the mechitzah in the mid-20th century. At this time, there were a significant number of synagogues that were not using the the mechitzah. However, the OU pressured Orthodox synagogues to make a mechitzah contingent upon OU membership. Who knows how the Orthodox world would have evolved in terms of gender roles if the OU did not exert such pressure? Maybe the mechitzah would have become a thing in the past for all synagogues except the most Haredi. Maybe the divisiveness on gender issues would have caused a schism sooner. Maybe the OU's ruling on the mechitzah was merely superfluous. We'll never know, but it does seem that the OU thinks that it can repeat history. However, what the OU might not realize is that much to its chagrin, the Jewish world is more influenced by the greater world than it can imagine. In secular society, the role of women has changed, and that has spilled over even into the Orthodox world. How one conceptualizes gender has changed in the past half-century (especially with the women's rights movement), and if the OU thinks it doesn't have bearing with regards to female clergy, it is sorely mistaken, especially given that there is a obvious and growing demand for female clergy. The divisiveness does not ultimately from those synagogues who want female clergy, but from the OU declaring by fiat what constitutes as Orthodoxy, which only serves to act as a wedge by two groups of Orthodox Jews that should be working more collaboratively instead of perpetuating in-fighting. Such declarations do not resolve complex issues in the Orthodox world, but exist to exacerbate the already-existing tension.

What can be concluded here is that Judaism not only allows for women to take roles of teaching and instruction, but even more importantly, Judaism can handle a world in which gender roles do not exist in absolutes. Yes, there will be challenges to make sure that it doesn't turn into egalitarianism or that the divide between genders is completely lost. And yes, the Jewish tradition teaches us to be mindful of gender differences, even if the reminders are symbolic in nature. However, Judaism has been able to withstand changes to gender roles that were considered revolutionary at the time, and I think that it is able to do so again with female clergy.

Interfaith Marriage in the American Jewish Community: Where Can We Go From Here?

There are few topics that seem to be at odds with my libertarianism and Judaism, but interfaith marriage is one of them. This hits home not simply because I read a recently published op-ed from Israeli newspaper Ha'aretz, but more so because I personally know Jews who are part of interfaith families. As a libertarian, I believe in a free society in which consenting adults should be allowed to make their own choices, provided they are not harming anyone. On the other hand, I am of the opinion that a Jewish home is strongest when both of the partners are Jewish, and that interfaith marriage is statistically more likely to weaken that foundation. What exactly is at the core of the discussion of interfaith marriages in Judaism? To what extent are the challenges to interfaith marriages insurmountable? What are the arguments for and against interfaith marriage? There is a lot to cover, and it is not necessarily easy for it all to coalesce, so bear with me as I attempt to express all my thoughts on the topic.

First, the religious arguments. Deuteronomy 7:3-4 prohibits marriage between the seven nations that were occupying the land of Israel at the time. The reason (7:4) is because the Israelites might come to worship the deities of the non-Israelites. The Talmud takes this passage to mean that any marriage with a non-Jew was prohibited (Avodah Zara 36b). On the other hand, Deuteronomy [23:4-9] potentially implies that interfaith marriage was permissible because the grandchildren of Edomites or Egyptians that were in interfaith marriages with Jews were considered to be Jewish. Traditional commentators, such as Maimonides (Mishneh Torah, Issurei Biah, 12:17-25), interpreted this passage to mean that the grandchildren were grandchildren of converts. There seems to have been a couple of interfaith marriages in the later biblical text, such as King David marrying the daughter of the King of Geshur (II Samuel 3:3), or Bathsheba marrying Uriah the Hittite (II Samuel 11:3). However, the later prophets in the Hebrew Scriptures are explicitly against interfaith marriage (Malachi 2:11, Ezra 10:10-11, Nehemiah 10:31), and goes as far as excommunicating those that refuse to divorce their non-Jewish spouses (Nehemiah 10:31). One could debate whether these prohibitions were on marrying all non-Jews or simply against the seven tribes mentioned in Deuteronomy 7:3-4 since they had a particular reputation for being idolatrous and immoral. In either case, the Talmud applies the prohibition on interfaith marriage for all non-Jews (Kiddushin 68b). The Shulchan Aruch also gets into which prohibitions are biblical, and which are rabbinic. Traditional Judaism assumes that a Jewish marriage can be between two Jews, regardless of whether they were born Jewish or converted.

With the religious texts out of the way for a moment, let's point out another reality: most Jews in America are not Orthodox and are not religious (Pew Research, 2013; NJPS, 2001). Given the lack of religiosity among American Jews, the religious arguments are not going to have much sway over most American Jews. Most American Jews do not necessarily want their children to be Torah observant, but there is a general desire for non-Orthodox Jews for their children to remain Jewish. Even in the non-Orthodox world, there is a desire to keep Judaism and the Jewish people going.

However, there is another reality to point out: most Jews marry outside the faith. As the Pew Research Center results from 2013 show, about six out of ten Jews married outside the faith. This is significantly higher than it was before 1970, when it was only 17 percent. What was once considered taboo has now become commonplace in the Jewish community.

Those in interfaith marriages argue that they make it work. Like all marriages, they have their unique challenges, and for interfaith couples, religion is a big one. Enough Jewish partners in these marriages enter it hoping that they can both have Jewish children while not coercing their partner to convert to Judaism. How well does that work?

Before I continue, I would like to state that I am not here to overgeneralize by saying that interfaith marriages are all failures. I have seen interfaith couples that have made it work, and I have seen Jewish couples where the marriage ends in bitter divorce. Heck, I have even met non-Jewish partners that were more engaged in synagogue life than their Jewish partner. That being said, there is enough to be said about how interfaith couples statistically fare in comparison to Jewish couples.

Intermarriage is virtually nonexistent in the Orthodox world, and still uncommon in the Conservative movement. Intermarriage is most common among Reform and unaffiliated Jews (Pew Research). While the Pew Research survey doesn't explicitly show practice or belief among intermarried Jews, Pew shows that Reform and unaffiliated Jews are less likely to believe in and practice Judaism. Findings from the National Jewish Population Survey (NJPS) in 2000 are more to the point by saying that children of intermarried Jews are much less likely to have Jewish connections than those of in-married Jews (see below). The NJPS from 1990 has similar results. There is also some research to suggest that interfaith marriages in America are more likely to end in divorce (e.g., Sherkat, 2004), as well as a British study to show that interfaith marriages are twice as likely to end than marriages with two Jewish partners (Graham, 2016).

Even if a certain couple is interfaith, I am willing that many would admit that it is much easier to keep the home Jewish if the home is a single-religion home. If not, there will come a time where parents will have to provide answers about religion, one's understating of it, and how to approach spirituality. Otherwise, it is confusing for the child because the child cannot answer questions such as "Who am I," "What do I believe in," or "What is the meaning of life?" When both parents celebrate Jewish holidays and maintain a Jewish household, there child has more than a fighting chance to maintain Jewish identity and clarity, and all the more so when both parents are Jewish and are greatly invested in a Jewish home. As a side question, how can you expect the child to be engaged when you can't even convince the non-Jewish spouse to be Jewish? And it doesn't just limit the children of intermarried couples. It affects the spouses, as well. The Jewish spouse who is married to the non-Jewish spouse makes compromises to the point where it is significantly more difficult to live an engaging Jewish life. Unless the non-Jewish spouse makes a sincere conversion, as opposed to the perfunctory type simply to please the future in-laws, then observing Shabbat or any other ritual is not going to be as meaningful, in no small part because the non-Jewish spouse is not invested in Judaism the same way. Nurturing a Jewish family starts, continues, and ends in the home, and that works better when both parties are invested in Judaism and have common ground, especially with something as vital and central as religion.

This is not a matter of anecdotal evidence or my personal opinion that is based on being part of Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox communities. Professionally administered censuses and surveys confirm that intermarriage makes it much less likely that an individual maintains their Jewish identity than those who are part of a home with two Jewish spouses.

This then leads to a follow-up question: should we make the best of it since it is already here? Pew Research found that out of the religious groups out there, Americans have the most positive feelings towards Jews. As long as Americans have an overall positive view of Jews, intermarriage is not going anywhere. Because of that, some are of the opinion that we should genuinely welcome interfaith couples and do whatever we can to make sure that the children have reason to stay Jewish. Inclusion is a value, but only to a certain point. The Reform movement actually took steps in making sure that interfaith couples are included. Reform Judaism was the denomination to adopt patrilineal descent in 1983 precisely because it wanted to include interfaith families. As Pew Research found, half of all couples in Reform Judaism are now interfaith. This permissibility unquestionably helped precipitate in the spike of interfaith couples.

Even assuming interfaith marriage isn't going anywhere and regardless of how individual marriages may or may not work out, what we can see is that in the big picture, interfaith marriage does not help to ensure Jewish continuity. What's more is that the intermarriage rate doesn't need to be this high. Using the United Kingdom as an example, the interfaith marriage rate is only 26 percent, which is around half what it is in the United States. And there needs to be a sense of urgency because there are significantly less Jews than there are Christians in this country, or even the world. Judaism is a beautiful religion with centuries-old traditions and teachings that I would hate to see go by the wayside.

Regarding the Ha'aretz article, it doesn't see interfaith as a problem. It simply dismisses the naysayers of "ethnopolitical entrepreneurs" without even providing a single benefit of interfaith marriage. Even so, it does bring up a good point, which is that there there are barriers to maintaining a Jewish life. I believe that for Jews to want to live an active Jewish life, they need to feel engaged. Especially with all the freedoms we have, Judaism has to be able to compete in the marketplace of ideas and life choices. We can no longer lean on the explanation of "this is the way our ancestors did it." Whether it sounds more egocentric, the truth is that we need to make sure that the synagogue is fulfilling its congregants' needs. It is difficult to envision that goal when there are barriers to that engagement.

The Ha'aretz article focuses on the cost aspect, which has truth to it. Raising children is expensive enough these days as is. Throw on the additional costs associated with the Jewish day school tuition crisis. For those who observe Shabbat, housing is limited, and thus more expensive, since one is required to live within walking distance of the synagogue. There is also the cost of kosher food, the extra time one has to take off for the holidays, the list goes on. But it is not just cost. That unintended consequence of the Reform movement adopting patrilineal descent is that it tore further divide in the question of "Who is a Jew?" According to the Conservative and Orthodox movements, a Jew is one either born to a Jewish mother or one that goes through a valid conversion. The children whose only Jewish parent is the father run into issues if they want to interact with the greater Jewish world because the other major denominations don't consider them Jewish. This not only messes with the psyche of this individual that wants to become Jewish, but it further divides the denominations. There is no easy answer as to how to bridge that gap, and I can't pretend to know how to do so. And if that weren't enough, Jewish observance has become more strict in the past century, and even within the past decade. For those who want to become observant, the increasing stringencies can become so stifling that people who might want to observe more might be turned off by the excessiveness. I'm Modern Orthodox, and even I think there are aspects of Orthodox Judaism that go too far. It is less attractive for non-Orthodox Jews who otherwise would want to bring in more Jewish tradition in their lives. On the other hand, it doesn't mean you still can't live a meaningful, engaged Jewish life with a higher level of observance. And it doesn't mean that it is impossible to surpass these barriers. Orthodox Jews are case in point. I know that experience first-hand. Sure, it involves taking those extra days off of work for the holidays, not going out Friday night, and making a whole series of commitments. This is not saying that I expect every single non-Orthodox Jew to become Orthodox because I know that is not realistic. Conversely, if you want to live a Jewish life, you'll put in the time and effort to do it.

For more Jews to be engaged in Jewish life, it takes two to tango. The individual Jew has to be willing to make something of it. Although we live in a society of instant gratification, spirituality and religion are processes that take time to foster and grow. Again, the individual Jew has to want it. With that being said, the Jewish institution, whether that is the synagogue or local JCC, needs to better engage Jews into becoming Jewish. We have to go beyond a practice that merely pays homage to the past. This is a marketing problem. We need Jews to be excited about Judaism, and I mean all Jews, even the ones that are presently not engaged. Even if Jews are not practicing every single last mitzvah, having them be excited about a few mitzvahs is better than total disconnect. That being said, I am aware of the challenges that would ahead for such a lofty vision. As much as I am not thrilled about the high levels of interfaith marriage, I also concede that interfaith marriage is not going anywhere. It should be discouraged in the Jewish world. We are such a small people that we cannot afford to thin our ranks further. The whole point is to insure that Judaism lives on for generations to come. Faith cannot suffer too much dilution lest Judaism becomes something completely foreign to what it traditionally and historically has been. If possible, we should encourage Jews to marry other Jews, or at least to encourage that the non-Jewish partner convert. But the issue is more than simply discouraging the practice of interfaith marriage that erodes Jewish engagement.

Interfaith marriage in the Jewish world is a very intertwined issue facing the Jewish community. It brings up the question of whether interfaith marriage caused Jewish disengagement. I think the disengagement is a result of the increased level of acceptance of Jews in American society, which made it easier to assimilate, but I also think that interfaith marriage exacerbates the disengagement. An overall lack of Jewish education in the non-Orthodox world does not help with any of this. Interfaith marriage also interplays with lower birth rates in the non-Orthodox community, among other disconcerting factors. I don't necessarily fear the downright extinction of Judaism, but given demographic factors (e.g., birth rate, levels of engagement), it wouldn't surprise me if the majority of Jews in America within the next generation or two are Orthodox. I am Modern Orthodox, mind you. While I think that Orthodoxy is much closer to how Judaism should be practiced, I still think that there are some valid criticisms that would need to be addressed, and I do think that a more pluralistic American Jewry is healthier for all sides to keep each other honest. But getting back on the main track, the question is how to have proper educational interventions and strong social networks that instill a sense of Jewishness of all Jews, including the children of interfaith marriages. There are no easy answers to this one, but what I can say is that if we don't address greater Jewish engagement, we will see a decline in Jews, especially in the non-Orthodox world. The Lubavitcher Rebbe didn't care about denominational affiliation. He cared about the people of Israel, and he cared about keeping Judaism alive and well in this world. Whatever the answer(s) may be, they need to focus on engaging Jews and making sure that we have that connectedness of being one people.

Why Women Can and Should Recite the Mourner's Kaddish

Not quite two weeks ago, British Chief Rabbi Ephraim Mirvis made a semi-shocking announcement: women should be allowed to say the Mourner's Kaddish (קדיש יתום). While I will be going into further detail momentarily, the Mourner's Kaddish is an Aramaic prayer recited at all prayer services (usually at the end) for those mourning the loss of a loved one. Traditionally speaking, one is generally obligated to say the Mourner's Kaddish for one's parents, spouse, children, and siblings. Another tradition surrounding the Mourner's Kaddish is that it is only recited by men. In popular culture, this is illustrated by the film Yentl, in which Barbara Streisand plays the protagonist of Yentl. When the character's father unexpectedly dies and everyone is at the funeral, they are trying to figure out who should recite the Mourner's Kaddish because Streisand's character was the only surviving close relative of the father. In great defiance to the establishment and to the horror of those around her, she grabs the prayer book and starts reciting the Mourner's Kaddish. While this movie does portray the role of the woman in European, Jewish life at the turn of the twentieth century, whether women can recite the Mourner's Kaddish is still problematic for many Orthodox communities. Even with such organizations such as the Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance (JOFA) that support women saying the Mourner's Kaddish, there are only a select number of Orthodox synagogues that allow for it.

The first question I would like to answer is whether a woman can be allowed to say the Mourner's Kaddish under the Jewish legal system (halacha). The first mentioning of the Kaddish in connection with mourning is an eighth-century text called the Masechet Sofrim (19:9). The oldest version of the Kaddish text is found in the siddur (prayer book) of R. Amram Gaon, circa 900 C.E. Interestingly enough, early medieval writers, including the illustrious Rambam (Maimonides), never mention the practice of reciting Kaddish. The fact that Rambam never mentioned it implies that the practice of reciting Kaddish is not a Biblically mandated (d'oraita) practice. The practice seems to have formally taken hold as a custom in thirteenth-century Germany. The fact that the practice of Kaddish takes on the status of minhag (custom) already gives us more leeway to permit a woman reciting the Kaddish.

The first responsum that deals with the topic of women reciting the Mourner's Kaddish, and the one that has most prominence, is that of R. Yair Chaim Bachrach in his work Chavot Ya'ir. In this work (#222), he brings up two primary reasons why a woman could be allowed to say the Mourner's Kaddish: 1) It would be a sanctification of G-d's name (Kiddush Hashem); 2) there is a bona fide quorum of ten present (minyan), so there is no fear of counting women in the minyan. R. Bachrach's ultimate reason for opposition is not halachic in nature, but was because that it would weaken Jewish customs as a whole, and that it would allow for people to subjectively create their own customs, which unto itself is a subjective reason that has different applicability for each community.

There are secondary reasons brought up for its prohibition. R. Shimon Frankfurter believed that "a woman's voice is lewdness." I already covered the topic of a woman's voice (קול אישה), and I can tell you that given the context of the Mourner's Kaddish, any concerns surrounding lewdness or licentiousness are totally unfounded because if one is sexually aroused or triggered by a woman's grieving, I can safely assert that the female mourner is not the one with the issue. R. Frankfurter also believe that it would violate the idea of kavod tzibur (congregational/public dignity), but even that concept is limited to reading from the Torah. Even with some of these concerns, we have to keep in mind that great rabbinic minds such as R. Moshe Feinstein, R. Yosef Eliyahu Henkin, R. Yosef Soltoveitchik, R. Yosef Dov Soltoveitchik all permitted such a practice.

I want to come back to this topic of halachic permissibility more in a bit, but I want to touch upon some other questions: Why does one say the Mourner's Kaddish? What is it the function of the Mourner's Kaddish? Part of the recitation of the Mourner's Kaddish is supposed to be for the departed. In normative, traditional Jewish eschatology, the departed soul spends 11 months purifying itself in the netherworld (גהנום) before formally entering the afterlife (העולם הבא), which is why the tradition is that a child (or other closest relative) is supposed say the Mourner's Kaddish for the full 11 months: to help ensure that the purification process goes smoothly. It doesn't take place for the full 12 months because under this eschatology, it would imply that the individual were a particularly wicked human being.

Jewish views on the afterlife, however, are not so universal, and not everyone might necessarily hold that belief of what the soul goes through within the first year of departing from this world. Regardless of your views of what happens in the afterlife, there is another party that decidedly benefits from reciting the Mourner's Kaddish, and that is the mourner. How does it help the mourner?

A bit about the Kaddish itself. Aside from the text being in Aramaic, which was at one point a lingua franca of the Jewish people, the text also does not make a single mentioning of death, bereavement, the departed, or the mourner. The text is about G-d's name and sanctifying G-d. This is important when mourning because it could all too easily result in anger, resentment, or frustration with G-d. Rather than losing faith in G-d, the Kaddish is there to reaffirm our faith in G-d and committing oneself to Torah and mitzvahs, thereby sanctifying His name. Sanctifying G-d's name, which is known as קדוש השם, is actually a mitzvah. 

Not only is it a mitzvah, but it is a mitzvah that is incumbent upon both men and women at all times, which also supersedes the idea of mitzvot aseh shehazman grama (women being exempt from time-bound mitzvot) because sanctifying G-d's name is not a time-bound mitzvah. Since the Mourner's Kaddish is a manifestation of sanctifying G-d's name, there is no valid reason that women should be prevented from performing this mitzvah. If anything, preventing a woman from saying Kaddish would be a violation of the commandment of לפני עבר, which is the Levitical commandment of not putting a stumbling block before the blind (Lev. 19:17), but also understood as a prohibition of against others from committing violations of the Torah. Essentially, not allowing women to say Kaddish is a violation of the Torah.

In addition to sanctifying G-d's name, the mourner is also honoring the memory of the departed individual. When looking at it from the eschatological point of גהנום, it is a declaration that you believe that the departed one's sins will be forgiven. It also shows that you respect the individual enough that you are willing to honor the individual's memory, even postmortem. For this reason, I would argue that while not obligatory, one would still be able to recite Kaddish for a grandparent, close friends, Holocaust victims, or even non-Jews. 

Being able to honor the departed is a way to help grieve. A way to help grieve in a traditionally Jewish context to help one realize what really matters is something both men and women should be allowed to do. Women should not be deprived of that ritual because of baseless slippery slope arguments. Instead of providing a disdain or disintegration of Jewish customs, allowing women to partake in the recitation of the Kaddish is a reaffirmation of the importance of Jewish traditions. The Kaddish exists to show respect for loved ones. Instead of preventing women from performing a mitzvah that honors the departed and helps with the grieving process, I hope for a day where Orthodox communities everywhere allow for women to partake in this important sanctification of G-d's name.

Why Orthodox Judaism Should at Least Tolerate Homosexuality, But Probably Won't

Same-sex marriage is not only one of the hottest-button topics in America, but it has also gained significant momentum. Although nothing is a guarantee in life, with the current trend line, same-sex in all fifty states is all but inevitable. Even with increasing tolerance and acceptance of homosexuals and same-sex marriage, not to mention that more and more think the argument against same-sex marriage is simply nonsensical, the Orthodox Jewish community is maintaining its ardent stance against homosexuality.

Although I am not Orthodox, I receive emails from the Orthodox organization Aish HaTorah. In it was a link to an audio shiur by Dr. David Luchins about how to "show non-acceptance of behavior yet give respect to the individual." Although the political commentary dates the shiur back a few years, the shiur is still relevant. Luchins' thesis is that you can separate the sin from the sinner because "halacha only judges actions, not intent or sexuality." Luchins was sporadic and off-topic, but I still have to ask whether in the context of dealing with homosexuals in an Orthodox community, can one love the sinner, but still hate the sin?

Before I begin to answer that question, I have to state that although Orthodox Jews across the spectrum of Orthodoxy view homosexual acts as forbidden, there are a relatively wide range of reactions. I'm not a fan of describing a group of people in general, blanket statements. When discussing issues in Orthodoxy, I tend to say that "the further Right you go, the more it's true." In this case, the further to the Right you go, the more animus there is against homosexuality and homosexuals. How far of a spectrum are we dealing with here? It goes as far to the Left as R. Shmuly Yanklowitz's reaction of "civil same-sex marriage is acceptable, but I'm still not sure about religious same-sex marriage" to the far Right's reaction of "homosexuals don't exist, and anyone who does that is proverbially sticking it to G-d (R. Moshe Feinstein, Iggrot Moshe, Orach Chayim, vol. 4 no. 115)." There are views in between, including "you can change your sexuality," "you can overcome this sinful impulse," and "we don't condone homosexual behavior, but we, as a community, are going to treat you like a human being." It is the latter view that Luchins was going for. He wants a framework in which you can have a major qualm with homosexuality, but still treat homosexuals as human beings. Although certain rabbis have signed on to that approach, which is a step in the right direction, "love the sinner but hate the sin" doesn't work, and I'll tell you why on the whole, it isn't being done in practice.

As Luchins himself said, in Judaism, G-d judges actions, and not one's intent. Judaism has such a strong belief in free will that it is decidedly axiomatic. Even so, I will say that free will does have its limits. With regards to homosexuality, even though we haven't determined the exact cause, we do know that one's sexuality is not a choice. Nevertheless, we do have choices about how we act. On the other hand, sexuality is a primal, base force in human nature, and is very much a part of being human.

[As a side note, this is why I find the call for celibacy a largely futile one, which is why I think it's ironic that a group of people so adverse to change, is willing to ask homosexual, Orthodox Jews to stay celibate, something that is essentially as halachially unprecedented as same-sex marriage. Others recommend a homosexual man marrying a woman in the hopes that "he'll find the right woman." Too bad sham marriages don't work. And under an Orthodox paradigm, same-sex couples are forbidden, so it really puts gay Orthodox Jews who want to remain observant/frum in a bind.]

The problem with Luchins' approach is that with the axiomatic concept of free will, one de facto cannot separate the sin from the sinner in Jewish paradigm, which makes sense since "love the sinner, hate the sin" is a Christian concept. In order for sin to exist, it requires an agent (i.e., a human being) to be actualized. Without an agent, sin is a mere abstraction. What's more is that people have a difficult time separating the two precisely because of that reason. As such, the homosexual is perceived as "anti-Torah."

How bad are homosexual acts viewed in a traditionalist mindset? As Luchins brought up, "Any conversation with homosexuality [in Orthodoxy] starts with the words 'it is assur (forbidden by Jewish law),'" and that is how the vast, vast majority of Orthodox Jews feel. I also think this view is misguided because in Jewish hermeneutics, there are multiple ways to interpret a verse, and confining a verse to a single interpretation, especially one that is tenuous, is contrary to the Jewish tradition of interpretation and reeks of intellectual laziness. Even so, "all homosexual acts are forbidden" is the Orthodox norm, and in all probability, that won't change anytime soon.

There are better ways to interpret the prohibition in Leviticus 18:22, but a few factors will solidify the Orthodox opposition to homosexuality or homosexuals. One is the biblical penalty. Although the death penalty was de facto talked out of existence by the rabbis, it is still the one proscribed (Leviticus 20:13), thereby speaking to its gravity. According to some, homosexuality falls under the prohibition in Noahide Law of sexual immorality (גילוי עריות). As an extension, גילוי עריות is so severe that it's better for one to martyr himself than commit the sin. The other three considerations have nothing to do with Jewish law. One is that one tends to fear that which he does not understand. Judaism teaches us to transcend that feeling, but there is enough anecdotal evidence to show the difficulty behind that. Two, Orthodox Judaism has stark gender roles. You think women donning tefillin is bad enough? What about men having sexual relations with another man? From this paradigm [with which I do not agree], a man "acting like a woman in the bedroom" is unacceptable. Three, Orthodoxy has not done the best job of adapting to change since the Enlightenment Period, and it has only been more pronounced in recent years. The fact that the Haredi fertility rate has increased doesn't help either because they make up a larger percent of the Orthodox Jewish community. This is made worse by the fact that they have gained more power in rabbinic and religious institutions, which means that normative Orthodox practice is dismayingly moving further and further to the Right (aka Haredization of Orthodox Judaism).

It does not matter how axiomatic "love thy neighbor as yourself" is to Judaism, that we should treat people with dignity (כבוד הברייות), or that if we were honest enough about ourselves, we realize that we all make mistakes (Ecclesiastes 7:20) and that we are in no position to judge people until we have walked a mile in their shoes. Orthodoxy generally views halacha in such black and white terms, even in spite of rabbis historically having an appreciation for the nuances and complexities that are engrained within reality, that homosexuality, and by extension, homosexuals, will be viewed as anti-Torah, no matter how much Jewish homosexuals are dedicated to the Torah, performing mitzvahs, or contributing to the Jewish community. Until the Orthodox view on homosexual acts changes, the communal [and in most cases, individual] Orthodox response will remain a visceral, antagonistic one that will only push homosexual Jews away from observance.

Kol Isha: Let Women Sing Already

Music is considered a universal language. It can invoke many emotions in people. It can inspire, it can move one to tears, and it can bring one to an ecstatic joy. In Jewish law, however, vocal music can have another result, and that is sexual arousal, at least, that is if you are a man listening to a woman sing. This concept is known as kol isha (קול אישה), literally meaning "[a] woman's voice." The premise behind קול אישה is that the woman's voice is an intimate part of herself, and extension, her sexuality. The view that a woman's voice is nakedness (קול אישה ערבה) is classified in the Talmud, which, if you haven't already guessed, is forbidden in traditional circles. What makes this prohibition intriguing is that it is not biblical in nature. In fact, we see enough instances in the Tanach in which women sing in front of men without divine admonition (Exodus 15:20-21, 1 Samuel, 18:6, 2 Samuel 19:36, Ezra 2:65). The blanket prohibition is based on later rulings that are based on a couple of discussions in the Talmud. We first see this view in tractate Berachot 24a where the sages (חז׳׳לֹ) are trying to discern what ערבה (nakedness) is.

In Berachot, R. Yitzchak starts off by saying that ערבה is an exposed handbreadth (טפח), which, as you can imagine, is not particularly that much. I am glad that חז׳׳לֹ rejected R. Yitzchak outright by saying this only refers to when one's wife says Shema (also see Raaviyah, Masechet Berachot, vo. 1, on. 77; Ritva in his Hidushim on Masechet Berachot). Some of the sages try to go further than that limited context. Shmuel says that a woman's singing voice is ערבה, and cites a verse from the Song of Songs (2:14) as a supposed prooftext. If you look at Rashi's commentary, the voice is the Jewish people crying out to G-d. Why? Because in Rashi's interpretation of the entirety of Song of Songs, it is an allegory of the love between G-d (the man) and the people Israel (the woman). Look at the Artscroll edition of Song of Songs, and I will tell you right now there is no recognition that the book can be translated literally, most likely because of the Orthodox taboo about sex in general. But if we're going to interpret the verse literally, even though the tradition has been to interpret it allegorically, we might as well throw in some context because what's the point of interpreting anything if we're going to strip the context from a verse and attempt to make blanket prohibitions? This is a poetic passage (emphasis on "poetic") of two individuals who deeply love one another. This is not an ephemeral fling, but rather a profound connection based on true love. This could explain why חז׳׳לֹ tries to limit the prohibition to something like one's wife (אישתו) saying Shema.    

Even when looking at the other mentioning of  in Kiddushin 70b, it is Shmuel (again!) who points out that this in the context of a married woman exchanging greetings with another man (commentary of R. Yitzhak Alfasi). Looking at the passage in its context, it is the adulterous intent of the relationship that is the issue, not the voice of the woman itself. Interestingly enough, HaMeiri's commentary (R. Saul Berman, p. 53), as well as Rav Hai Gaon, shows that if a man can "control himself," he is permitted to greet the woman. It could very well explain why a handshake in business transactions, which could be considered a violation of shomer negiah, is actually permissible. Also, since neither Berachot 24a nor Kiddushin 70b explicitly state that "it is forbidden," it is reasonable to assume, much like R. Yitzhak Alfasi did, that these passages were not to make halachic rulings, but were aggadic in nature (also see here).

For me, reality dictates how we view halacha, not vice versa. Taking a look at the first two tractates of the Talmud, this is indeed the case. In tractate Berachot, the blessings we make are based on the reality of the object or event being blessed, not our perceptions thereof. When looking at the nuanced rulings in tractate Shabbat, the permissible or prohibitive nature of a certain act changes when the reality of a given situation is altered ever so slightly. The same goes here when we ask ourselves "is the voice of a woman prima facie a form a sexual arousal?"

If a woman's voice were inherently arousing, women would have to be prohibited from speaking, which is ridiculous. It's probably why later rabbis confine the prohibition to singing only (Rama, commentary on Shulchan Aruch, O.C. 75:3; Beit Shmuel's commentary on S.A., O.C. 21:4). Even if there is something about women singing that is sexually arousing, why do we find exceptions in modern-day halacha? For one, if you're listening to the radio and a female vocalist comes on the air, most rabbis permit one to listen to the vocalist (Maharam Schick, Even Ha-Ezer, no. 53) because there are no visual stimuli (which is problematic for those who argue that the female voice is inherently arousing). There is also the question of whether women can sing זמירות (songs sung at the table during Shabbat and Yom Tov). The answer for this question is based on the Talmud (Megillah 21b), which states that "two voices cannot be heard simultaneously (also see R. Yeheil Weinberg, Seridei Eish, 1:121)." In Divrei Cheifitz, it is also explained that it is permissible in this case because women are not sexually appealing in this context.

The inconsistent application of preventing a woman's voice is all the more reason to question the prohibition. Let's ask a few more questions regarding the nature of the prohibition. Even if you want to argue that men tend to have a stronger sex drive as a basis for prohibiting a woman's voice only, women also have a sex drive and can also be attracted by a man's voice, so why is it that men aren't prohibited from singing? Even if we forget for a moment that not everyone is heterosexual, why can't we recognize that not everyone is sexually aroused by the same thing? Furthermore, why do we prohibit women from singing when there are situations in which women singing are not sexually arousing, but situations in which women talking can be sexually arousing? After all, flirtation is typically spoken, not sung. If we're that worried about women tempting men to commit sexual licentiousness, why not prohibit women from speaking? Much like with speaking, there are contexts in which singing is arousing and situations in which they are not.

The intention behind the prohibition of קול אישה was to prevent singing in a licentious and flirtatious context, which is a far cry from a blanket prohibition on women singing.  Furthermore, the slippery slope argument that is used, i.e., singing will automatically lead to licentious sex, is tenuous, especially since a woman's singing voice is more commonly heard than it used to be. The problem with traditional, Jewish sexual mores is that they assume that all women are temptresses and all men have zero impulse control. All this premise does is gives us the false impression that we are merely sexual creatures, and that it is impossible to transcend sexual desires to have meaningful, spiritual relations with other human beings.

I am not stating that we should not have sexual mores or that the sexual mores of Western society are perfect (because they really aren't). What I am saying is that what should be done is apply the mores on a case-by-case basis, as well as a person-by-person basis, because different people will react differently in certain cases. Intent matters greatly. To quote Maimonides (Hilchot Issurei Biah 21:2), "and for one who looks at even the little finger of a woman to take pleasure in it is one who looks at her genitalia, and even to hear a voice of an ערבה or to see her hair is forbidden." Maimonides' prohibition is conditional upon sexual arousal, i.e., the prohibition only applies if it is for the intent of sexual stimulation or arousal (also see R. Saul Berman's teshuvah on the topic).

This leniency is not absolute because if the potential for licentiousness is present, the prohibition still applies. For example, if there is a concert with a blatantly lewd singer, that would be a clear case of "don't go to the concert." Since there is an applicability to both women and men, individuals should view it as a personal chumra based on what they know about their sexuality and sexual attractions (even the Ritv'a [p. 4], a 13th century rabbi, agreed on this matter) since no one knows that facet of their lives better than the given individual. Conversely, if the singing is innocent in nature, then there is no halachic issue because there is no worry of sexual sensuousness (e.g., women singing sacred songs; R. Weinberg, Sereidei Eish II, no. 8; S'dei Chemed, Klalim, Ma'arechet Ha-Kuf no. 42). Not only do I think this more nuanced, case-by-case take on modesty (צניעות) lines up better with the reality of the human condition, but I think it also creates a better sense of spirituality, particularly for women who would like to sing as an expression of spirituality. Rather than stifle women, I hope that those in the Orthodox community realize there is halachic basis to allow for a leniency, thereby giving Jewish women another avenue to better connect to G-d.

Parsha Tazria: Doing More Than Paying Lip Service to Opposing Lashon Hara

"The pen is mightier than the sword." This cliché exists for a reason: words have power. This is why Judaism realizes the importance of words, hence the emphasis on speech ethics. This emphasis also play a role in this week's Torah portion. Much of this week's portion discusses צרעת, which is commonly translated as "leprosy." Jewish tradition teaches that this leprosy is brought about by לשון הרע (lashon hara; literally meaning "evil tongue," refers to gossip and other forms of bad speech ethics). This lesion makes an appearance in a later Torah portion when Miriam speaks against her brother (Numbers 12), as well as when Moses spoke lashon hara about himself (Exodus 4:6). In the former appearance, Moses singles it out as the single most important lesson for the next generation to learn (Deuteronomy 24:8-9).

In spite of what Moses heeded, Jewish religious establishments, particularly Orthodox ones, put more emphasis on keeping kosher and Shabbat. Why? For one, it's easier to keep kosher and Shabbat, especially when you're in a community that observes it. Second, it's easier to regulate kashrut and Shabbat than it is what comes out of one's mouth. Even so, I wish that observant Jews were as meticulous about avoiding lashon hara as they were about keeping kosher or Shabbat. And it's not limited to Orthodoxy. I don't see non-Orthodox movements actively campaigning against lashon hara as a form of tikkun olam. Why am I so gung-ho about the idea of cracking down on lashon hara?

Looking at the description of צרעת in this week's Torah portion can help give us a foundation for my ardor. I found three facets of the description of צרעת of particular interest.

The first is that one's clothes are torn (בגדיו יהיו פרמים; Leviticus 13:45). I found this to be interesting because the tearing of one's clothing (קריעה) is done as a sign of mourning of a loved one. When we speak lashon hara, what should we be mourning? Judaism considers lashon hara to be akin to murder because just as blood is drained in murder, so is the blood drained from one's face when embarrassed in public (Bava Metzia 59a). Gossip is actually a triple murder threat because it harms the person who speaks it, the person about whom it is spoken, and the person who hears it. The Jerusalem Talmud (Peah 1:1) likens lashon hara to an arrow because it can slay those from afar, as well those who are near.

The second facet is that the leper has to call out "impure" (טמא!) to those around him (Leviticus 13:45). One thought is that the outcry is a plea to elicit compassion and prayers on one's behalf (Talmud, Mo'ed Katan 5a). In a similar vein, this outcry can be a  projection of one's failures (Talmud, Kiddushin 70a). In order to get help, the first step is to admit it. The fact that a commandment to do so is implied makes us realize just how difficult it can be to admit our problems. When we verbalize them, it brings us closer to recovery.

The third sign is that when one has the lesion, one has to isolate themselves from the rest of the community (Leviticus 13:46). This is to remind us that when we speak badly, our words disconnect ourselves from others. Speaking badly about other erodes trust in others, which causes distance from those who habitually speak lashon hara. Why is lashon hara so distancing, I mean, aside from the fact it causes harm? When an individual steals or murders, the motive is to typically gain something for oneself. With someone who speaks lashon hara, it's worse in this case because the motive is entirely negative. The individual is knocking down another individual without gaining tangible benefit for oneself because there generally is no motive or reason. It is evil for its own sake (R. Joseph Telushkin, You Shall Be Holy, p. 341-342). 

It is not just the Torah that teaches how we blemish ourselves with improper speech, but the entirety of Jewish tradition. Here's but one example:

The destruction of the First Temple was caused by the sins of murder, idolatry, and sexual immorality, which are the three sins for which one is to martyr themselves (Sanhedrin 74a). That exile only took place for about seventy years before the Second Temple was constructed. The Second Temple was destroyed because of lashon hara (Yoma 9b, Rashi's commentary), and we still don't have a Third Temple. What does that tell you? The sin of lashon hara has so much gravitas that it outweighs murder, idolatry, and sexual immorality (Erchin 15b).

The Chofetz Chayim points out that by speaking lashon hara, one violates up to 31 mitzvahs. He went far as saying that a significant curtailing of lashon hara would herald Moshiach. If Jews were half as gung-ho about stopping lashon hara as they were in the observance of Shabbat or keeping kosher, we very well could bring about the Messianic Era.

Are the Haredim Right to Be Protesting Compulsory Military Service?

This past Sunday, thousands of ultra-Orthodox Jews in Israel were protesting in Jerusalem about members of their community being required to be drafted in the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF). Since the creation of the State of Israel in 1948, there has been an exemption of ultra-Orthodox Jews serving in the military so they can pursue their religious studies. Many of these ultra-Orthodox Jews receive welfare checks from the Israeli government so that they can continue with their religious studies. Apparently, the rest of Israeli society is getting fed up with this special treatment, and I hardly can blame them. I would like to divide the remainder of this blog entry into two sections: 1) a brief look behind the secular argument behind compulsory military service, and 2) dispelling the notion that "G-d wants us to study Torah all day," and 3) a conclusion around the topic of economics.

I. National Military Service
As a libertarian, it should be no surprise that I shudder at the thought of the government forcing individuals to compulsively serve in the military. In a free society, if a threat is existential enough and the fervor of patriotism is strong enough, there should be no need to conscript anyone because citizens will want to serve their country. That is why it seemed so paradoxical for the United States fighting for freedom in WWII while conscripting soldiers. This, of course, is a deontological argument against conscription. Amongst other things, a society is a reflection of its values, culture, political climate, and the external and internal threats it faces. It would be preferable if we can co-exist my trading freely with one another instead of going to war. Not all countries have the luxury of that option, and given its surrounding hostile countries, Israel is one of those countries. Israel has a cold peace with Egypt, which is contingent upon Egypt's stability. Syria, Lebanon, and Turkey, amongst other countries, maintain their animus and hostility towards the Jewish state. Until neighboring countries can get along with Israel, the Israeli government will continue to maintain its high demand of soldiers via conscription. It's nowhere ideal, but given the circumstances, it's the best the Israeli government can do.

II. Judaism and Torah Study
According to Pirke Avot (1:2), the Torah is one of the three pillars upon which the world stands. This is not to diminish the importance of Torah or Torah study, but to remind ourselves that Torah study is to be combined with an occupation (דרך ארץ) because without both, one is prone to sin (P.A. 2:2). The great Sages realized this point, which is why so many of the famous Torah scholars had jobs in addition to their scholarly work so they can maintain their economic self-sufficiency. Hillel was a woodcutter. Maimonides and Nachmanides were physicians. Rashi owned a vineyard. The Rashbam tended livestock and the Ramchal was a diamond cutter. Historically speaking, the few who studied Torah all the time were well-to-do families who had the means to finance that lifestyle. It was not a lifestyle meant for the masses. Rabbi Shimon taught that the essential thing is not study, but deed (P.A. 1:17). Torah study is important because we need a general understanding of the parameters of Jewish law. However, we also need to act on it and do as many mitzvahs and good deeds as possible, which means getting your nose out of your books to perform those deeds. There needs to be a balance between study and deeds, as well as one between study and work.

III. Economics and Conclusion
There is also a question of economics to consider. In economic terms, the Haredim and the Israeli government have saturated the labor market with an artificially high demand of Torah scholars. As previously mentioned, not everyone is meant to be a Torah scholar by profession, and not everyone needs to be a Torah scholar. Even if some were meant to be, some of the greatest rabbis supplemented their Torah study with another occupation. If the ultra-Orthodox population is growing at a faster rate than the rest of Israel, shouldn't we question whether Israel can handle a demographic that is so heavily dependent on the government's welfare, especially when they are not providing anything of significant economic worth in return? Also, doesn't the Grace After Meals (ברכת המזון) say that one should not be dependent on the gifts of man? Instead of being scornful for the "decadent, secular Israeli government," shouldn't these individuals be thankful for the sustenance to be able to sit around and study Torah all day without making at least proportional contributions to the Israeli economy? This is not a self-sustaining model, and the fact that the ultra-Orthodox have been able to get away with mooching off the Israeli government for over sixty years is astounding. It's a shandeh that their self-righteousness would sap an economy and a nation of greater potential. If the ultra-Orthodox want to perpetuate poverty, fine, but they should not do it on the state's dime (or in this case, shekel). Considering "Jewish values," why would someone want to live a lifestyle that intentionally puts them in a state of poverty? Midrash (Shemot Rabbah 31:14) states that if you put fifty plagues on one side and poverty on the other, poverty outweighs them all. There is a reason why Jewish law puts a cap on giving tzedakah: to make sure one in not in such dire straits to receive tzedakah themselves. Judaism does not believe in a vow of poverty, and to perpetuate this inaccuracy in G-d's name is the real audacity.

As I pointed out a few weeks ago when analyzing Israel's economy, integrating the Haredim into the greater society is a challenge to economic progress. At the very least, if the Israeli government is going to maintain conscription, the ultra-Orthodox should not get a pass. If we want to get Haredim integrated into society, the Israeli government should go beyond conscription for these individuals. The Israeli government should stop treating the Haredim like they're G-d's gift to the world and treat them just like any other Israeli citizen instead of coddling them with welfare and conscription exemptions. Only then will they be contributing members to society.

Wrapping Our Heads Around the Idea of Women Wearing Tefillin

Recently, there was a controversial decision of Salanter Akiba Riverdale (SAR), a Modern Orthodox day school, allowing female students to wear tefillin (commonly translated as "phylacteries"; תפילין). While SAR is not the first yeshiva to allow this, SAR's actions nevertheless caused an uproar. If this isn't anything unprecedented, why the hullabaloo? Is a woman donning תפילין a violation of Jewish law?

The origin of the exemption of a woman from donning תפילין is the Mishnah (Berachot 3:3). The basis for this exemption is the notion that donning תפילין is a מצוה עשה שהזמן גרמא (time-bound, positive mitzvah), from which women are exempt. Interestingly enough, we see enough exceptions to this rule. Targum Yonatan ben Uziel, an ancient Midrashic, Aramaic translation of the Torah, viewed donning תפילין as a form of cross-dressing. Some agreed with this theory, but most halachic decisors rejected this notion because תפילין is not considered clothing. Another objection is due to the concern of having a pure body, or a גוף נקי (Piskei Riaz RH 4:3). With respects to גוף נקי, Rambam ruled (Hilchot Tzitzit 3:14) that the impure, like those who are ritualistically pure, are required to don תפילין. Also, words of Torah were not susceptible to טמאה (Berachot 22a), which means that נדה would not be an issue. Within the context of תפילין, the Talmud (Shabbat 49a) defines גוף נקי as flatulence, which is not limited to women. It can be easily argued that גוף נקי is not a sound basis for prohibiting women from donning תפילין.

Although one is exempt, this does not automatically mean that a woman is prohibited, either. The Talmud (Eruvin 96a) states that "Michal, the daughter of King Saul, used to don תפילין and no one protested." Even with this example, normative practice has been that women are not to don תפילין (Rema, Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chayim, 38:3).

In spite of the Rema's ruling, there is plenty of precedent allowing for women to don תפילין. Rambam (Hilchot Tzitzit 3:9) ruled that women can don תפילין, but did not recite the bracha because the phrase "אשר קדשנו במצותיו" would not apply [to those who were not commanded to do a mitzvah]. Sefer HaChinuch (Mitzvah #421) rules under a similar vein, by saying that a woman is not obligated to don תפילין because it's a time-bound, positive mitzvah, but if she wants to, there is no objection. The Tosafot agrees with the permissibility, but disagrees with the "אשר קדשנו במצותיו" part (Tosafot, Ran RH 33a). In addition to Rabbeinu Tam and Rabbi Zerahia HaLevi, Rabbi Moshe ben Yaakov of Coucy also agreed with allow for donning תפילין to be permissible and optional for women (Hagahot Maimoniyot Tziztit 3:9).

If a woman is donning תפילין because she wants to act like a man or "stick it to the Man," then the intention is not pure, and I would have a problem with that. Conversely, I have never seen anyone question a man's intentions of donning תפילין that were solely based on his gender, which I find all the more odd because it is my understanding that traditional Judaism claims [at least in theory] that women to be on a higher spiritual plane than men, hence why it's one of the reasons why they are not obligated to perform the mitzvah of donning תפילין. Even so, the Rashba stated that a female who desires to don תפילין to fulfill a g-dly commandant, a woman can use Michal bat Saul as an example to justify the donning. If it is ruled permissible by prominent rabbis, there is no harm in a woman performing the mitzvah, especially when it is more laudable for someone to do a mitzvah voluntarily than one who is commanded to do so (Bava Kama 38a, 87a).

Views on women have changed drastically enough over time, which has the ability to alter halacha, or at the very least, our perceptions thereof. The Jerusalem Talmud (Berachot 2:3) forbids donning תפילין because it is a form of studying Torah, from which women traditionally had been banned. If this is true, then the prohibition should have been lifted in 1917 when the Bais Yaakov movement was born and subsequently allowed women to study Torah. Aside from the Bais Yaakov movement, women were permitted to study Talmud in the latter half of the twentieth century. If the reason for not allowing women to don תפילין is because of a link between Talmud Torah and תפילין, then the link is severable.

Progress in the arena of "Judaism and women" goes beyond studying Torah. Take the recent development of the bat mitzvah ceremony. In even more recent times, R. Avi Weiss ordained three women to be a maharat, which is a religious leader that is comparable to being a rabbi. Furthermore, the idea of partnership minyanim is highly contentious. Other debates being hashed out are whether women can read from the Torah, dance with the Torah, or start a women's tefillah group.

When you view the issue through the lens of sociology and religious politics, as opposed to the halacha itself, the contention is threefold: 1) too much change is taking place too quickly, which violates the preservationist mentality of the modern-day Orthodox establishment that fears the slippery slope over the minutest change, 2) women are being shown enough inclusion where it irks a sizable amount of influential individuals, especially those who would rather not see women empowered and 3) since many consider donning תפילין to be "a man's mitzvah," this will be seen as a further blurring of gender roles, which is problematic for the Orthodox because Orthodoxy has very rigid gender roles.

Religious politics set aside, the halacha is pretty clear on the issue. Although it was not a practice of the vast majority of Jewish women to don תפילין and women are not technically obligated to don תפילין, there is legal precedent for permitting women if they choose to do so. If a woman finds that donning תפילין brings her closer to G-d and makes her a better Jew, we should encourage her to perform more mitzvahs, not less. We should encourage her to find spiritual meaning in her Jewish practice.

The reason why women and תפילין has been so contentious is because those in the Orthodox world are reaching a crossroads, a crossroads in which the leaders of Orthodoxy have to decide how they will view gender roles. Some Orthodox Jews want to maintain rigid, stringent gender roles in which a woman's role is to procreate, tend to the needs of the children, and take care of the house. Other Orthodox Jews do not view the topic as bifurcated as the ultra-Orthodox do. The issue of women donning תפילין is a case study of said divisiveness (As a brief side note, the issue of "Judaism and homosexuality" touches upon the gender bifurcation as much as "Judaism and women," which is why they are two exceptionally hot-button issues in the Orthodox world). As schismatic as the topic of gender might be, the extent of disagreement will shape the direction in which "mainstream Orthodoxy" heads. Will Orthodoxy as a whole continue to view women as mere baby-makers, or will Orthodoxy create a venue in which women can also fulfill their spiritual need to connect to G-d?

Pirkei Avot 2:4: Submission?! Is That Even a Jewish Value?

The word Islam (اسلام) comes from the same root as the Arabic verb "to submit" (يسلَم). In Christianity, one of the tenets is to submit oneself to Jesus. Based on a passage of Pirke Avot I just studied with my dear friend and chevruta, Judaism claims to have something similar in way of submission. Here's an English translation of Pirke Avot 2:4:

He [Rabban Gamliel] said, "Treat His will as if it were your own will, so that He will treat your will as if it were His will. Nullify your will in the face of His will so that He will nullify the will of others in the face of your will."

I do not have a part with the first problem of this statement. Much like one would not scrimp on a huge investment such as a house, one does not settle for less on one's own spiritual life (Ruach Chaim). One is to treat their relationship with G-d that is as intimate as the ideal marriage. It's like any covenantal relationship: a marriage is about harmony in the home (שלום בבית) and understanding the other partner to the point where one compromises where needed. Like any other relationship, it is a two-way street.

Once I came across the second portion that talked about nullifying one's will, that is when I found it to be very problematic. The verb בטל is used in the passage as "to nullify," in the sense of "to cease" or "to abolish." According to the Kozhnitzer Rebbe, there are times that we should pray to G-d to take away our free will. Unfortunately, there are many Orthodox Jews that feel this level of unquestioning obeisance.

I know it's easier to succumb to groupthink or conform to an establishment than it is to have an authentically independent mind, but how can a Jew think that submission is a Jewish value? The name of the Jewish people is ישראל (Israel), which literally means "[He who] struggle[s] with G-d." Asking a Jew to nullify the very thing that provides the namesake of what it means to be Jewish is asinine. Essentially, if you're not struggling with or questioning your Judaism, you're not doing it right. This is especially true when we consider that the last time G-d explicitly said anything in prophecy was well over a millennium ago. Even with that in mind, all of this assumes that the tradition has been transmitted absolutely perfectly, the rabbis have correctly understood G-d's will 100% throughout history, and also assumes that the halachic system doesn't have any glitches. I cannot make any of these assumptions without having some reservations, hesitations, or doubts on my end. As a result of the skepticism and struggling with G-d, Judaism becomes a modus operandi that allows me to ask the bigger questions of life and analyze my beliefs and practices on a regular basis and on a more profound level.

If G-d wanted to make us as angels, trust me, He could have and He would have. But G-d endowed us with free will. He endowed us with the ability to question. Think about the Passover seder: the child who cannot even ask a question is lower on the totem pole than the evil child (*gasp*). Abraham questioned G-d before He destroyed Sodom and Gommorah. Moses questioned G-d by reminding G-d about His promise to the Jewish people (Exodus 32), after which G-d subsequently "changed his mind." These are but some of the examples in which Judaism illustrates its famous reputation for permitting one to ask a good question and not live in spiritual passivity and complacency.

Pirke Avot is a text of ethical ideals, but the problem with setting such high standards is that being human means making mistakes and being unmistakably imperfect. As laudable as it might seem to eliminate all our flaws to the point of nullification, it is just not possible. It is a verse such as this one that engenders the all-or-nothing mentality that permeates throughout much of Orthodox Judaism. I am all for Jews studying Torah and performing mitzvahs as much as humanly possible, but let's do so with an appreciation and understanding of the human condition.