Judah Maccabee

By Michael Fagenblat
The significance of Hanukah has vividly transformed in modern times. The Talmudic rabbis were conspicuously reticent about the historical and political connotations of the festival. The Book of Maccabees, which records the historical rebellion lead by Judas Maccabeus, was not included in the Jewish Bible, even though pre-rabbinic Jews regarded it as part of sacred Scripture. As a consequence we don’t read the scriptural record on Hanukah as we read, for example, the Book of Lamentations on Tisha b’Av or the Book of Esther on Purim. Hanukah, moreover, is not mentioned once in the foundational rabbinic document, the Mishnah, and its appearance in later Talmudic discussions celebrates the sacred miracle of the oil more than the historical resumption of Jewish political sovereignty. It seems clear that the Talmudic rabbis were markedly reluctant to embrace the historical and political significance of the festival and preferred to concentrate on the purely sacred miracle of the lights instead.

The contrast could hardly be starker with the significance of Hanukah in modern Israel. Here we find the opposing interpretation approaching the status of a consensus. Major currents in religious and secular Zionism view Hanukah as the symbol par excellence for celebrating the resumption of Jewish political sovereignty and “the Jewish return into history”. A stark example is provided by the fate of Psalm 106 in modern times. The second verse, Who shall praise the power of Hashem!, is transformed into a celebration of the political accomplishments of the Jewish people – Who shall praise the power of Israel! mi yim’alel gevurot yisrael.

We can observe two principal shifts of focus from the rabbinic to the modern Israeli understanding of Hanukah. The first concerns the location of the miracle, the second its source. For the rabbis, the miracle of Hanukah is to be found in a sacred realm withdrawn from political and historical life, in the oil of the temple lamp and the Talmudic academies that keep its flames flickering. By contrast, for many modern Jews the true miracle lies precisely in those historical and political events that the rabbis marginalized, in political sovereignty. It is not secularization but modernization that brought about this transformation. Religious Zionists, for example, also look to the historical and political aspects of the festival to perceive the true miracle of Hanukah, and the lights of the Temple and the Talmud now flicker in the light of History.

Similarly, for the rabbis the source of the miracle is none other than the Holy Blessed One, whereas modern Jews tend to emphasize that the source of the miracle lies in Jewish agency, or is at least mixed up in our agency. Even a Hasidic Rebbe like Levi-Yitzhak of Berdichev, writing in Poland in the late 18^th century, seems to express the modern penchant for agency over passivity. Why, he asks, do we add the prayer “for the miracles—al hanisim,” on Hanukah but not on Passover, when the latter commemorates far greater miracles such as the plagues and the splitting of the sea? His answer: because on Hanukah we brought about the miracles and they are therefore all the more blessed.

What is gained and what is lost in reevaluating the significance of Hanukah in this way? It is not simply a matter of accepting or rejecting miracles, since both ancient and modern Jews, religious and even secular, see the miraculous in Hanukah, just in different aspects. The transformations of the miracle of Hanukah are transformations of what claims us, of how we are claimed. The flickering of events in which we see light.

But does the claim of the miracle always come from the past? If its values and symbols are opened by our responses and changing interpretations, does not the miracle still fix us to the past, to events that have long passed and perhaps ought no longer be so meaningful? The miracle must also illuminate the future, otherwise it degenerates into dead metaphors that cannot sustain genuine reanimation. And here lies the danger of the miracle. For we have all survived the miracles of the past, but the future’s miracles are far from assured.

Living with miracles is risky business. A candle can start a raging fire. As much as we are asked to see the miracle, we must therefore also find the right place for it in our lives. This is why the Psalmist whom we encountered above, who proclaims the great power of Hashem which modern experience finds in historical and political Israel, immediately reserves this vision of the miracle for “those who keep justice”. Maimonides offers another, by no means incompatible, way. At the end of his Laws of Hanukah, which urge us to proclaim the miracle in full glory, Maimonides reflects on the place of the miracle in ordinary life. If one has enough money only for oil for the Hanukah lamp or the household lamp, which one to choose? Buy oil for the house, he says, because the intimate peace of a household, of one person living with another, is greater than proclaiming all the miracles, “for the whole Torah was given to make peace in the world”.

Michael Fagenblat, Monash University (Australia), is a Templeton Fellow in Philosophical Theology at the Shalem Center for 2011-12.

A 'Yechi' kippah, as per the story in question

By Rabbi Meir Rabi

A Great Story, a Disastrously Distorted Conclusion, or What’s Wrong with Super-Orthodox Thinking

Let me say at the outset, I am making observations about a frailty of humanity ; its ability to inflict on itself outrageous, mind bending, distortions.

Only a bizarre, foolish perversion could encourage the publication of the story below, in spite of it glorifying what is so obviously crooked. Only severe delusions could be responsible for so many readers who savour this and other such stories. In this story a crude, arrogant, obstinate man praises his shortcomings as being his saviour rather than seeing them as almost bringing about his own destruction.

By Rabbi Tuvia Bolton, as published on the Moshiach.ru website.

Dr X is the main doctor for the community of some 20,000 Satmar Chassidim in the city of Monroe New York.

The casual reader might not grasp the awesome novelty of this but I will try to explain.

Satmar Chassidim are among the most charitable people in the world. Their acts of kindness and aid to the needy are of epic proportions and what is advertised is only a small percentage of what they actually do.

But they take no credit, neither for this nor for their remarkable devotion to G-d and His Torah. Rather their pride is in their opposition to Zionism. To them, Zionism, Zionists and anyone that supports them are evil.

Only Moshiach, they say (as do all other Jewish sources) will gather all the Jews, certainly not an atheistic based movement like Zionism, and they hate anything and anyone that disagrees with them on this.

Therefore, years ago when the Lubavitcher Rebbe praised the Israeli soldiers that pulled off the Entebbe Raid, they came out with a strong condemnation and declared a ‘cold war’ on Chabad.

(Which is, in fact, totally unfounded, being that Chabad, especially through their Chassidic teachings, is devoted to bringing Moshiach against the basic tenant of Zionism: that Jews can solve all problems and end the ‘exile’ on their own.)

What magnifies the novelty of Dr X in Satmar is that he wears a Yarmulka that bears an embroidered declaration, in the spirit of Chabad, that he is waiting to coronate Moshiach.

Just a few months ago Dr X visited us here in the Yeshiva and told the miraculous story of his appointment.

Several years ago he saw an advertisement that the Satmar community in Monroe was seeking a Doctor and, being that he had to provide for his wife and budding family, he applied and was called for an interview.

When he arrived at the interview and they saw his credentials, portfolio and recommendations they were very pleased and were considering hiring him on the spot, until he took off his hat. Suddenly their eyes affixed on the letters decorating his Yarmulke “Long live King Moshiach” and for the rest of the conversation they heard nothing he said.

After a very short time they closed the meeting with, ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’, didn’t even shake his hand and that seemed to be the end of it.

Although things looked dim, Dr X still had hopes.

But after five weeks passed and he heard nothing he gave up and began searching again, but nothing better presented itself.

Then, in the sixth week after his interview he received a telephone call. Satmar wanted him to come for another interview.

This time when he arrived and sat down opposite them they did not beat around the bush, they pointed to his head covering and said, “That Kippa” (nickname for Yarmulka)….

But before they could continue he interrupted them, “My friends, this kippa is part of the package. If you want me you want it, and if you don’t want it, you don’t want me. This is the first time we are talking about this and the last. If you hire me then in my office I will be the boss and you cannot tell me what to do, but outside of my office, in your community, you are the boss.”

They looked at him blankly and again said. “We’ll think it over.”

And, sure enough, a week later they called him and he got the job!

Now the story begins.

About a year later, one of the most influential members of the community came to him complaining of persisant stomach pain. It was rumored that this Chassid had over 100 million dollars in the bank, and he was in charge of all the finances of the community, assuring that everyone got paid fairly and on time etc.

After a thorough examination, Dr X gave him some pain pills to hold him over, and advised that he have a colonoscopy (a harsh intestinal examination) as soon as possible.

A few weeks the same Chassid returned and asked for more pain pills. “Did you have the colonoscopy?” Dr X asked. “Maybe later” was the reply.

“Dr X removed his glasses, stood, pointed at the door and said firmly, “Get out of my office …. NOW!”

“Excuse me!” The Chassid said indignantly. “No one talks to me like that here! I can have you fired in a second, do you understand?! You’re only here to serve us, so watch what you say!”

Dr X wasn’t affected. “In my office I am the boss! If you don’t like it then you can fire me! But as long as I’m here, you either do what I say or get out of this room. Either you leave here now, or you can fire me!”

“Okay! We’ll see who leaves!” said the Chassid as he angrily exited and slammed the door behind him.

A month later the Chassid returned with a large present for Dr X; a huge, pure silver, wine Cup of Elijah for his Passover table and a story.

“I had the colonoscopy test like you said and they found a tumor. A malignant tumor! They said it was the last minute, that there still was hope and that another week it probably would have been be too late.

They sent me to the operating room immediately and, well, thank G-D, they said that the operation was successful and they removed it completely! You were right. If you hadn’t yelled at me I would have pushed it off and who knows…so you saved my life!”

“Now I want to tell you something” The Chassid sat down and continued. “Do you know why it took six weeks for them to call you, back then when you were hired? Well I’ll tell you.

“Because when you took off your hat in that first interview and they saw that kippa of yours they thought you were crazy. I mean, you know what some people here think about Chabad. Well they figured you would hide your being Chabad and they would ignore it too. But not you! You threw it in everyone’s face.

“Anyway, no one wanted to hire you, but for the next five weeks they just couldn’t find anyone that had your credentials. And, not only that but before you took off your hat they really liked you. So they came to me for advice what to do.

“So I thought about it for a few minutes and told them like this. I told them to call you again and ask you if you’re willing to change that Kippa. And that if you say ‘yes’, that you’re willing to take it off they should NOT hire you because it’s a sign that you don’t believe in your principles. But if you refuse to remove it then it means you’ll be honest with us and won’t hide anything and they should hire you.

“So it ends up that because of your stubbornness we hired you and because of your stubbornness you saved my life! Another doctor would have worried about his job and let me do what I wanted.

“So it ends up that …. Well…. I saved myself!!! I gave them the advice to take someone as stubborn as you.”

However, I believe that authentic Jewish Life is devoted to correcting such distortions. Unfortunately it appears as though it is used sometimes and in some arenas of Jewish Life, to promote and glorify distorted thinking.

Here is the distorted conclusion of the story below.
“So it ends up that because of your stubbornness we hired you and because of your stubbornness you saved my life! Another doctor would have worried about his job and let me do what I wanted.
“So it ends up that …. Well…. I saved myself!!! I gave them the advice to take someone as stubborn as you.”

Here is the proper sensible conclusion as it ought to be.
“So it ends up that because of my stubbornness and arrogance, I would have killed myself, and because of your stubbornness you saved my life”

And here’s another perverse perspective of this story – would a doctor, should a doctor, may a doctor, adhering to Halacha and common sense, refuse the opportunity to serve a Jewish community rather than compromise superficial and artificial principles?

And another perspective of this story - Would a breadwinner who is responsible for supporting a family, should a breadwinner who is responsible for supporting a family, may a breadwinner who is responsible for supporting a family, refuse an opportunity to support his family due to these types of principles?

At a recent trade show in Hong Kong, a Steve Jobs shrine was constructed, to display the frames. Image: nvisioncenters

By Rabbi Meir Rabi

I read that there is a very, very long wait to get Steve Jobs look-alike spectacle frames. I wonder what sort of a thrill, they who wait so patiently, actually experience when they first see the world through those look alike frames. Is that how Steve saw the world?

Let that simmer for a while whilst we speculate about Avraham requesting his servant, his loyal trusted servant, Eliezer, to embark on a mission upon which the future of the Jews and the world depended – finding the proper wife for Yitzchak. Eliezer is a remarkable man, Avraham trusts him with his fortune. He is Avraham’s secretary of state and prime minister-president and chief of the military – all rolled into one supreme coherent expert. He is the Rosh Yeshivah of Avraham Avinu’s academy. And he is the one who is trusted and entrusted with the task of overseeing and guaranteeing the continuity of Avraham and Sara’s precious gift to this world, the mission of ensuring that G-d’s promise will be accomplished in the best possible way.

So why does Avraham not trust him?

Why does Avraham insist that he take an oath? Why must Eliezer promise that Yizchak’s wife will not be from the daughters of Canaan?

There was someone else who Avraham would not trust. A great man. A man who according to the Tanna DeVei Eliyahu preached for many years that humanity should recognise the one and only G-d. Yet Avraham would not make an alliance with him to promote his holy work.

The Gemara explains that when MalkiTzeddek came to pay homage to Avraham following Avraham’s great military victory and success in redeeming Lot, MalkiTzeddek made a serious blunder. MalkiTzeddek praised both HaShem and also Avraham, but he praised Avraham before he praised HaShem.
Avraham could not form an alliance with a person carrying such a defect.

Avraham demands the oath for a small detail; ensuring that Yitzchak will not be wed to a woman from the daughters of Canaan. Avraham absolutely trusts Eliezer to find the woman with the correct life outlook and attitude to build the future Nation of G-d, this requires no oath but Avraham still has lingering doubts that Eliezer may look for this woman amongst the Canaanite tribes.

The reason for Avraham’s doubts are disclosed when Eliezer seeks clarification regarding Yitzchak possibly moving to live at the wife’s location.

Allow me to digress for a moment and ask: did Avraham actually say that the wife sought for Yitzchak, should come to Yitzchak? No, he did not. So what prompted Eliezer to ask about such an eventuality? What was going on in Eliezer’s mind that triggered this line of thought?

It must be that while he innately understood that Avraham would have been displeased, Eliezer though failed to appreciate just how opposed Avraham was to such an outcome. And this was the need for Eliezer to be bound with an oath. This was the subtle flaw in Eliezer that was invisible to all but Avraham.

Avraham after rejecting that option, goes into a lengthy declaration about the G-d of the heavens having led him from his birth-place; a most perplexing expectoration and an enigma at that point of the narrative.

Rashi makes one observation regarding this – why does Avraham now refer exclusively to G-d of the heavens when only a moment ago when binding Eliezer to an oath he referred to G-d of the heavens and the earth?

Avraham is alluding to the fault that divides him and Eliezer, his trusted and loyal disciple. Today, Avraham explains, G-d is recognised as both G-d of the heaves and the earth but it was not always like that. “When I was living back home G-d was unknown on this earth. In spite of my best efforts, the place where I lived was unreceptive to the truth of G-d. But wherever I went after I was instructed to leave my birthplace, G-d also became the G-d of the earth because I made G-d popular amongst the people.”

This was Avraham’s life mission and Eliezer, for all his wisdom and for all his close following of Avraham’s every move, did not grasp the core and significance of Avraham’s life ambitions. He still failed to grasp that G-d’s plans for Avraham and his children could not possibly be pursued where Eliezer had proposed, in a land and amongst people who are hostile to G-d being recognised as G-d of the earth.

I suspect this rasps against today’s (in some quarters) general guidance and inclination, to seek and gain rabbinic or Torah approval in all non-Halachic matters. Indeed we could probably think of a couple of justifications and even advantages to be gained by Yitzchak moving back to his father’s birthplace. However, the true Talmid is not the one who has simply documented the customs, habits and styles of his master, and follows them blindly or with limited analysis. The true Talmid is he who has internalised the essence of the master. More than that, the master’s moment of greatest fulfilment is when his student, after having gained this clarity, proceeds upon his own path and no longer needs to crudely mimic his master but becomes his own master in serving HaShem.

Wearing those long awaited spectacle frames is but a crude mimicry of Steve. It may even be an impediment to the wearers, preventing them from gaining their own look and view on life.

This article was originally published on  kosherveyosher.com

The Treasury at Petra, one of Jordan's most popular tourist sites, perhaps in part due to these three gentlemen

By David Werdiger
Q. Why do the Irish have the potatoes and the Arabs have the oil?
A. Because the Irish had first choice.

Natural resources are both a blessing and a curse. While they can be a source of wealth and prosperity for a country, they are something that is obtained with relatively little effort. As such, they can invariably lead to laziness and complacency. Just have a look at rates of literacy and innovation in so-called “rich” Arab nations – they are among the worst in the world. While there are many reasons for this, their economic dependence on oil was certainly a contributing factor.

In Australia, we are running a two-speed economy in the current mining boom. Demand from China and India for the stuff we have in the ground is one of the reasons our economy has stayed out of the deep recession affecting other countries. But what of the non-mining industry? Retail is weak, business confidence and investment is down, and people don’t see any light at the end of the tunnel.

I was thinking about all of this as I pondered this week’s Torah portion, Lech Lecha, in which God promises the land of Israel to Abraham. There are two angles to this:

Israel is variously described in the Torah as a land flowing with milk and honey; a land of brooks, waters, and fountains; a land whose stones are iron and from whose mountains you will hew brass; and so on. This doesn’t seem to correlate with the Israel we know today. Agriculture has not come easy, water is scarce, and there is little in the way of natural resources. So what’s the big blessing? I’m not about to launch into an exposition and explanation of how we might understand these attributes and what they mean (because I don’t know). However, I think the lack of natural resources in Israel is itself a form of blessing, because it has led modern Israel to be one of the leading knowledge economies in the world. Israeli companies are world leaders in technology and innovation. Israel’s economic success has been built not on the stuff in the ground, but on its people, and that is a resource that won’t run dry in 2050 like an oil well might.

The other thing that came to me today was about another natural resource found in abundance in the Middle East, but one whose economic potential has not yet been fully realised. What is the world’s biggest industry? Tourism. Imagine the huge untapped market for biblical tourism that could be unlocked if countries like Iraq were more open to the western world. Christians and Jews would flock to visit ancient cities and to follow the historical trail of the Patriarchs.

Historical sites are a far better natural resource than oil. They don’t deplete, and a strong tourism industry leads to cultural exchange and tolerance for others. And a bit of tolerance for others wouldn’t go astray in the Arab world.

Yes, I know it’s a bit of a pipe dream for a group of Jews to celebrate the weekly Torah portion of Lech Lecha by visiting Ur (the birthplace of Abraham), but as they say, “if you will it, it is no dream!”

This article was originally published here at David Knows.

Hagar & Ishmael Expelled, by George Soper

By Joel Lazar

A sad tale is told in this coming week’s parashah, Lech Lecha. It is the heart-wrenching tale of an insulted and jealous master, the matriarch Sarah (still ‘Sarai’ here) and a scorned maidservant and concubine (Hagar) who falls pregnant and is driven from home. How are we to make sense of the seeming arrogance of a subject towards her master and the justification of her harsh response?

It is very rare that a woman’s pregnancy is mentioned in any significant detail in the Bible. The birth of a child perhaps; the building of a legacy, the beginning of a new life; the traces of a new story. Thus, when a pregnancy is granted attention by the text, we are drawn near; much like with Jacob and Esau where the text and commentators describe the epic battle between the forefathers of two nations transpiring within Rebecca’s womb.

Mention of Hagar’s pregnancy here is significant. Hagar uses it as fuel for ridicule and inadvertently elicits the wisdom of Proverbs (30:21):

“For three things the world is disquieted, and for four it cannot bear: for a slave when he becomes kind; and a fool when he is filled with food; for an unloved woman when she is married; and a handmaid that is heir to her mistress”

Hagar’s actions seem to reflect an almost unforgivable level of arrogance and haughtiness from a woman sitting on the lowest social rung of society.

In curt response, Sarai imposes a more strenuous work routine on Hagar; one that evokes the Jewish slavery under Egyptian task-masters – that of inuy. This treatment drives Hagar away from her only home whereupon she is ‘found’ by an angel of God who declares that he has heard her “affliction” and consoles her in her pain.

This brief account begs a question that cannot be ignored: Were Sarai’s actions justified?

On many levels, Sarai seems to be a character deserving of criticism. Both the text and the angel that finds her weeping confirm that Hagar indeed suffered affliction at the hands of Sarai.

Further, no less than thirty-six times does the Bible demand of us not to oppress the stranger in our midst. Worthy of note is the oft-quoted reason for this edict; “for you were strangers in the land of Egypt”. That Hagar is described as an “Egyptian maidservant” is significant; it is a prescient hint of the lessons the Jewish People would one day learn as slaves to foreign rulers and the moral responsibility that would consequently be placed upon their shoulders. In most, if not all, instances whereupon the Torah mentions the relationship between the Jewish master and non-Jewish slave, there is no mention of the obligations of the slave; no prescription of the duties and respects he or she owes to the master; only rights.

But how should a person in Sarai’s situation truly have been expected to act towards a maidservant and ‘foreigner?’ What could be expected from the member of a society of which Sarai was part?

In a pre-Sinaitic era, it may follow that Sarai and Avram’s dealings with Hagar are to be judged not in accordance with Jewish ethics but rather by reference to the universal standards of their contemporaries.

The Hammurabi Code (Law 146) gives a more precise outline of principles adopted by contemporary society to deal with circumstances identical to that of Sarai, Avram and Hagar:

“If a man takes a wife and the wife gives her maidservant to her husband and he bears sons (through the maidservant) after which the maidservant demands equality to her mistress on account of her giving birth to sons, her mistress shall not sell her for money; to slavery she must subject her; together with her (other) maidservants shall she be regarded”

The situation in which our biblical characters find themselves was not uncommon. The existence of maidservants, mistresses and tensions within a household demanded a legal regulation of practice. According to the code above, it was both legal and socially acceptable for a mistress to inflict her maidservant with a more strenuous work routine and a reminder of her place within the nuclear family, namely, outside of it.

Sarai (supported by Avram, whether actively or passively) acted as her contemporaries did; asserting dominance in her household and denying her maidservant equal status. Further, unlike the Hammurabi Code, which permits the subjugation of a rebellious maidservant who has already given birth, Hagar’s womb is not yet ripe when she ridicules her mistress, possibly further justifying Sarai’s harsh response. Pregnancy was far from an assurance of birth in those times.

Given Sarai’s psycho-emotional and socio-historical situation, each to be considered in equal measure, what fault can we find in her actions? On what basis could we find such a scathing rebuke as Ramban’s (on Genesis 16:6): “our mother sinned in this affliction [against Hagar]; so too did Avram in allowing it to happen…”?

In the eyes of Ramban it could not be any clearer – our forefather and foremother sinned greatly. His commentary continues, “God heard her [Hagar’s] affliction and gave her a son [Yishmael]…to afflict the descendants of Avram and Sarai with all kinds of afflictions”.

In attempting to reconcile these polar ethical expectations, we may find a powerful message:Sarai and Avram’s behaviour served the minimum standards required for the stability of a functioning society, but added nil to the moral fibre of it. Ramban’s view of moral uprightness (commentary on Deutoronomy, 6:18) is poignant here:

“…man should do what is good and right in every matter; he should include in that a compromise beyond the letter of the law”

It was incumbent upon Avram, to whom the Zohar (parshat Lech Lecha) ascribes the trait of chesed (kindness), to guide his household in the ways of kindness, beyond what any natural or social law might have required of him. In failing to do so, Sarai and Avram fell into the temptation of society’s minimalistic ethical demands and were deaf to the higher demand of God.

***

What system therefore should guide the character and practice of the modern-man? One may turn to universalistic, subjective or intuitive ethics. Yet subjective ethics are just that – subjective and unstable –subservient to the dominant culture that perchance holds the world in its palm. As that civilization is inevitably toppled by another, its ethics easily fall with it.

Otherwise, modern-man rests his morals on the law, such that actions that receive no socio-legal critique ultimately become the norm or even the desired norm. Yet this has obvious limitations. Slavery, for example, was once accepted (legal) and now is not. Does that mean slavery was ever right? Moreover, governments are severely limited in their capacity to enforce moral behaviour on their citizenry, nor should they desire to. As Eliezer Berkovits points out in his book, Not in Heaven:

“The moment a society attempts to rule over the conscience of its members…dictating their personal value system, it becomes immoral and cease[s] to be a democracy…[however] it [the Torah] does involve the private conscience; it does present the Jew with an entire system of values, with a complete way of life to be followed”

Judaism must battle the torrent of societal approval and always take a check-and-balance. Judaism requires us to go beyond; to be eternally critical of the status quo (sometimes for no other reason than it is just that) and to ceaselessly ask: How can we go one step further?

This idea is based on a shiur given by Dr. Chezi Cohen at Yeshivat Maale Gilboa

Arak - usually eventuates in remorse

By Alex Kats

After the dread of shule choices for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur have passed, I turn to the loathing that I have for the festival of Simchat Torah. If there was one day from the Jewish calendar that I could expunge, it would certainly be that one. Some people might think that it is strange that I loathe a festival, particularly one that has the word simcha (joy) in its name, but my distaste for the festival stems from the fact that the happiness is misplaced, and the real joy that should be associated with the festival is often lacking. Allow me to explain.

At its essence, Judaism is all about the Torah. Without it, all that we know about being Jewish would be entirely different. The expected morals, ethics, laws and rituals of Judaism as well as the morals and ethics of monotheism and of the three major monotheistic religions come from the Torah. The English translation of the Old Testament of the Bible that we call the Torah is still the highest selling book of all time. The Torah in Judaism ought to be our spiritual compass and our guiding light.

Simchat Torah, as described in some of the liturgy, is an independent festival tacked onto the end of the week-long celebration of Sukkot. It signifies the end of the annual biblical cycle, whereby the weekly reading of portions of the Torah in the synagogue each week comes to an end. The tradition according to the sages is to then roll over the Torah and start reading again from the beginning. Simchat Torah therefore is the celebration of the conclusion of the cycle and the immediate start of the next cycle. Yet this festival, which was inaugurated to celebrate the Torah and make it joyous, has become corrupted.

Today, Simchat Torah and Purim can easily be confused. Both have become the festivals of drunkenness and disorderly behaviour. But whereas on Purim such actions might be warranted or at least justified in some circumstances, should they really be acceptable on Simchat Torah? My biggest issue with the day is during the part of the synagogue service in the evening and morning known as Hakafot. At its minimum, this is a time when all the Torah scrolls are removed from the ark, and a procession is conducted with various members of the congregation carrying the Torah scrolls seven times around the bimah. After that, the final portion from the Torah is read, immediately followed by the first portion. It sounds like it should be a swift and respectable part of the service, but in most synagogues it has become anything but.

To start with, although the procession need only go around the bimah seven times, as a means of injecting so-called simcha, in most synagogues this procession can take two or more hours with an innumerable number of circuits. Each circuit is often accompanied by a monotonous Hebrew song or prayer extract, and as the circuits progress, they often get faster, louder and more chaotic. Moreover, for some unknown reason, alcohol is often added to the mix. Many shules sanction the provision vodka or whisky shots just before or during the Hakafot, and even in the shules that declare themselves dry, someone usually produces a flask or two of vodka. Considering this happens during the Hakafot – one of only very few times when all the Torah scrolls are out of the ark – the consequences are sometimes disastrous.

I have heard of cases of severe injuries during the Hakafot and I have personally seen in Melbourne and elsewhere, circumstances where some of the people dancing with the Torah scrolls would otherwise be too inebriated to legally drive, but somehow are entrusted to carry G-d’s words around the bimah. On one occasion, in the middle of the Hakafot and with Torah scrolls all around him, someone who could barely hold himself upright, swore and screamed very loudly when a guy danced passed him and accidentally stepped on his foot.

Even if the people holding the Torah are not the ones that are that drunk, is there really a place for drunkenness and such behaviour in the synagogue and in front of the Torah? It is fair to say that as a result of all this, Hakafot have become an approved form of synagogue anarchy, and that the focus is much more on the simcha than on the Torah. It is a particular shame because this festival comes at the end of a month of festivals, and right after Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur when we vow to be better in the upcoming year, but so often Simchat Torah brings out the worst in some people.

Apart from all the other issues, the Hakafot as practiced in most orthodox shules, also alienate the women. While the men dance and get drunk on their side of the divide for close to two hours, the women either look longingly at the action, or leave the sanctuary altogether. That certainly isn’t inclusive and hardly seems joyous. One solution, to solve that issue at least, even in orthodox circles, is to give one of the Torah scrolls to the women and to allow them to do their own Hakafot in another part of the shule. But to me that sounds like an afterthought or temporary fix to a greater problem. On top of that, even on the men’s side, as the Hakafot drag into their second hour of chaos, and as a dish or a window invariably gets broken in some part of the synagogue, the children usually leave because they have come to the end of their tether, and only a hardcore quorum of men remain to finish off the circuits. Eventually everyone returns for the actual Torah reading, but by that point most people are either delirious, exhausted or simply over it, and the Torah reading – which should be the highlight of the festival and is the reason why everyone is there in the first place – becomes an uninspiring and lacklustre footnote to a crazy day.

My usual way of dealing with Simchat Torah, or at least the Hakafot element, is to visit as many shules as possible during this time, thereby avoiding participating in Hakafot at any of them. And as a result of all this, if I had the opportunity, I would cancel Simchat Torah entirely. Of course, that is impossible, so what I really would like to do is redefine and reinvigorate the day. In my utopian world, the service would be made more joyous by an understanding of what the festival is all about, and by an infusion of joyous tunes that everyone could sing along to. The alcoholic Simcha would come after the service and would never enter the synagogue. Each person, male or female, would have the chance to hold a Torah and then participate in a reading with translation, interpretation and real comprehension. This would become the real highlight of the service, and it would mean that each person would leave the service with a greater understanding of what the Torah is about and how it is relevant to them. If that is not joyous in a religious sense on a day like this, then I don’t know what is. Everyone, without exception, would then be invited to a joyous meal where each person would be made to feel special, worthy and joyful.

All of this may not ever be possible because the way Simchat Torah is celebrated these days is unlikely to change anytime soon. But I did hear of a group of people last year in New York who are as fed up by the festival as I am and for a few years now have been leaving the city for Simchat Torah and celebrating it much like I have described above. This year I will certainly try to find a shule that is more inclusive and joyous without the need for alcohol, and hopefully over time, if other people here and abroad also feel that Simchat Torah has descended into something that it ought not to be, then maybe they will join my cause.

For related articles

• Simchat Torah – Fight Night
• Wallet, cup, temper – drinking on Simchat Torah

And God tempted Abraham and said to him, Take Isaac, your only son, whom you love, go into the land of Moriah, and offer him there for a burnt offering upon the mountain which I will show thee. – Gen. 22:1-2

On second day Rosh HaShanah, during those quick breaths between the schmoozing, we listened and read bits of the story of ‘The Binding of Issac’. No one can have a neutral response to this story.

You admire Abraham’s faith, or berate his madness. You may have a reaction of anger toward both characters; Isaac for his absolute lack of agency, and Abraham for his inability to stand up for his child as he did for the evil-doers of Sodom and Gomorra. You may think of child abuse. And your heart will most certainly weep a little for Sarah.

Lately I have been struggling with this event in the biblical narrative which really is the foundation upon which the three major religions are built. In Judaism it is the final test of Abraham which secures his inheritance and relationship with God; in Christianity it has been interpreted as a prelude to the sacrifice of Jesus; whilst in the Muslim narrative Isaac is replaced by Ishmael.

The text is difficult, dramatic, painful and heart wrenching and leaves me questioning: “Did Abraham replace ‘morality’ for ‘obedience’?”

First I want to analyse the text a little. The bible is structured upon a technique called ‘gapping’ which means that it couldn’t fit everything into the text so we need to be careful readers and pick up patterns to fill in the holes we might find. One of the first instances that this happens in our story is when God calls to Abraham and commands him to sacrifice Isaac. God could have just said “Oy! Go and kill Isaac” but instead there is a build up and narrowing down of who exactly God wants sacrificed. There is almost an implied dialogue – word’s in brackets are my interpretation of what’s missing:

God: “Take now your son”
[Abraham: Who?]
God: “Your only son”
[Abraham: Ishmael?]
God: “The one you love”
[Abraham: Which one exactly?]
God: “Isaac.”
[Abraham: Oh…]

The sentence structure is very similar to “Go, from your house, from your birthplace, from the land of your father to the land that I will show you,” which is the original ‘God-Promise’ to Abraham that begins his journey. Only here, there is no promise of a reward.

The elongated command to sacrifice Isaac is there to emphasise the love-bond between the two. To explain to the reader that this isn’t someone Abraham wants to kill. With each specification of who his is to take, the tension increases.

It’s like when a mother gets a call from the police saying; there’s been an accident, someone in your family has been killed, someone you love, your one and only son. It’s a dramatic technique.

Abraham tries to avoid the command, but God doesn’t let him get away easily. Emmanuel Kant in his book ‘The Conflict of the Faculties’ says:

“…but if God should really speak to man, Man can still never know that it was God speaking, it is quite impossible for Man to apprehend the infinite by his senses, distinguish it from sensible being and recognise it as such. But in some cases Man can be sure the voice he hears is not God’s; for if the voice commands him to do something contrary to the moral law, then no matter how majestic the apparition may be, and no matter how it may seem to surpass the whole nature, he must consider it an illusion.”

In Kant’s opinion Abraham failed the test completely, he should have apprehended the voice he heard, saying, “If you want me to butcher my son, you must not in fact be God at all”. Kierkegaard tries to validate what Kant is denying in his Fear and Trembling, he shares the thought with Kant that the sacrifice is immoral, but he believes that God’s will transcends the moral order. It is a teleological suspension of the ethical.

They start off early the next morning; rabbinic tradition interprets this as a sign of Abraham’s eagerness to fulfil the word of God, but it seems to me that either he received the vision in his sleep, or he delayed starting his trip. Why didn’t he leave straight away?

It gives me chills when I read how the father and son then walk together, the son looks up to his father of the age of hundred and says, “My father,” to which Abraham responds, “Yes my son”. The possessive pronominal suffixes, ‘my’, solidify the deeply emotional connection between the two.

There are two people with them who are identified by the Midrash as Ishmael and Eliezer, two of the three potential heirs to Abraham’s wealth – Isaac being the third. (I don’t include Lot, he’s a douche). The reason that I bring up the ‘heir’ thing is that without an heir to inherit Abraham’s wealth, the promises God made to him cannot be fulfilled.

Abraham stops after 3 days of walking and tells the two unnamed men to wait as they go up the mountain to pray to God. But Abraham says, “We will go up, and we will return” (וְנָשׁוּבָה). Questions:

• Does this imply that Abraham knows it’s a test?
• Is he lying to prevent Isaac from freaking out?
• Or is it both? i.e. is it something he hopes will come true, that they will return together?

Maybe he has faith in the promise from God that he will be a great nation, and he know he can only become a great nation if he has a living son who can procreate. Because if your parents don’t have kids, you won’t have kids.

The wood that is meant to burn his body to ashes as a sacrifice is laid upon Isaac. It’s like making someone dig their own grave.

Side note: It is not absolutely clear how old Isaac is, but he would have to be old enough to be able to carry enough wood to burn his body. Which could also mean that Isaac is 5 years old; a 5 year old can only carry a small amount of wood but also needs less wood because their bodies are smaller. Morbid mathematics.

“The two walked together” or “walked as one”. The Midrash says Isaac is 37 years old. He knows what’s going on, but he walked with Abraham as though he is on board with the cause.

You would think that, but then Abraham actually needs to tie Isaac up. You don’t need to tie up someone who is willing to be sacrificed. At the same time, Abraham couldn’t tie up his strong son without consent. Maybe Isaac is on board, but is worried he’ll have involuntary flinching and then he’ll get a small cut that will render the sacrifice invalid.

The Book of Jubilees suggests that the reason for the test is that the angels of God could see Abraham loved both God and his son, but want to see who Abraham loved more.

When the countermand comes for Abraham to stop there is a similar dialogue to when Abraham was commanded to make the sacrifice, which the Midrash unravels. The Rabbinic tradition explains that an angel went down and told Abraham for stop but Abraham responded “The Almighty Himself commanded me to offer my son to Him—only He can countermand the order: I will not hearken to any messenger!”

You would think that if someone was really apprehensive toward carrying out a task, he would take any opportunity to avoid the task. But not our Abraham, he is caught up in this blind trance and wants to carry through with it. You can see this because when the ram appears he just goes and kills it! Firstly, rams belong to people, they don’t grow wild. Even in Israel today if you find a ram and decide to slit its throat, a shepherd will shoot you. And secondly, God doesn’t commant Abraham to kill the ram; he has the kill look in his eyes and needs to carry out the action.

There is a Midrash that says the sheep’s name was Isaac. A direct substitute for Isaac. There is also a Midrash says that Abraham looked identical to his son, only when Abraham’s hair turned grey could people differentiate between them. So the ram becomes a substitute for Isaac, who is a substitute for Abraham.

Verses 15 through 18 are classified by academics as the earliest interpretation of the Akeida (binding), which were actually inserted into the text. God speaks to Abraham “a second time” and we get the original promises again from Genesis 12, only here it is a consequence of the obedience of Abraham, previously it was baseless: “Go from your land and I will make you a great nation etc” [paraphrase]. Yay Abraham! You’ve destroyed the relationship with your son, but you get showered in material possessions! A fair trade.

In verse 19, “and Abraham returned to the young men,” where is Isaac? Abraham descends the mountain alone. There is no dialogue between Abraham and the rest of his family after this event.

The lists of names that come after this break the tension and move the story along. Abraham’s brother Nachor has 12 children, a parallel birth of a nation to that of Jacob later on. Nachor has 8 children with his primary wife, and 4 by secondary wife – Jacob too has 8 children by primary wives (Rachel and Leah) and 4 by his secondary wives (Bilha and Zilpa). Abraham’s grand niece, the daughter of Bethuel is Rebeka, Isaac’s future wife and second cousin.

This Akeida is a climax in the Genesis story; after that event the story mellows out a bit. I still have the question “Does Abraham replace morality with obedience?” Yeshayahu Leibowitz’ in his The Meaning of Halakhah (1953) says:

“Ethics, when regarded as unconditionally asserting its own validity, is an aesthetic category par excellence… The Torah does not recognise moral imperatives stemming from the knowledge of natural reality or from awareness of man’s duty to his fellow man. All it recognises are Mitzvot, divine imperatives… Halakhah [Jewish law and practice] as a religious institution cannot admit the category of the ethical.”

Which is a similar view to Kierkegaard’s mentioned above, that God’s will is above ethics. I’m not so satisfied with that: Abraham argued his guts out for the sinner in Sodom and Gomorrah but said nothing to God regarding the life of his son.

Regarding the Ancient Near East and sacrifice we learn that sacrifice doesn’t necessarily involve killing. In Leviticus when they discuss the method of ‘burnt offering’ they don’t mention the killing at all. The Haftorah for this Torah portion is that of Hannah begging God for a son which she promises to give back to him in service. This is equally as sad but is it an example of a sacrifice that doesn’t involve killing at all? Also in the Temple there were grain and fruit libations which were sacrifices that did not involve killing (sorry fruitarians). And we’ve all heard our parents say, “Do you know what I’ve had to sacrifice to give you this?” – lets just hope its a “what” and not a “who”.

So maybe Isaac was sacrificed on that mountain top, but wasn’t killed. Or maybe he was only sacrificed in the form of a ram. What’s clear to me is that the father-son relationship was what was given up. Abraham chose God over his son. They didn’t walk together as one down the mountain as they did on the way up.

Another point, Kierkegaard sees Abraham as being “double-minded”, torn between obedience and faith. When Isaac asks his father, “Where is the ram?” Abraham responds, “God will provide it.” Abraham cannot bring himself to speak of what God commanded him to do because his faith in God tells him that God will not let him go through with it. His obedience keeps him walking up the hill in “fear and trembling with a dagger in his hand. Kierkegaard goes on to say that:

“One may stay ethical, and have a satisfying life. Or one may go farther and embrace in fear and trembling and in dread and awe the faith in one’s own choices, facing the terrifying possibilities of being deceived and of deceiving oneself.”

Its starts with the “I choose” and continues with the “I shall now act”.

Levinas, in Existence and Ethics, sees friction between the religious fervour of Kierkegaard’s “leap of faith” and morality, he views it as a subversion to ethical foundations and suggests that you need external justification and cannot just rely on internal isolated passion.

Nietzsche says:

“The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege for owning yourself.”

Each time Abraham does something separating himself from the tribe, he leaves his environment. He leaves his homeland to become a nation and then he leaves his encampment for the Land of Moriah to sacrifice Isaac. Maybe the real reward Abraham sought after was owning himself.

George Schneider is an Australian who lives in Israel. This article is an edited version of George’s original published on his blog Takin’ a Blog: A Migrant’s Tale

Collingwood football star Harry O'Brien, seen here presenting a football to the Dalai Lama, mixes his spirituality with his football career. Is that a scarf-tallis Harry's wearing?

By David Werdiger

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine posted on Facebook: “The sounds of the Shofar can only mean one thing – the countdown is on to the impending footy finals. Go [nickname of AFL team that I can’t bear to put in writing]!” The relationship between AFL finals and the holiest days of the Jewish calendar – Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur – is paradoxical, incongruous, and uniquely Melbourne.

Maybe people have mixed feelings about that “one day in September” (and I’m not even referring to the film of the same name)  – they both invoke powerful, emotional wishes for success, a build-up over many weeks, a loud siren sound that pierces the air and electrifies the atmosphere, and a religious fervour.

AFL has so much in common with religion that many fans describe it as one. It has all the cultural elements of religion – uniting family and community, inter-generational transmission of values, passionate loyalty and one-eyed defence against “non-believers”, a host of rituals, and regular attendances – how many people would say they go to the footy “religiously”? Indeed, what Rabbi wouldn’t want people to be as “religious” about attendance to shul as they are to the footy? (To which the shul member replies, “If you provided as passionate and uplifting experience as 70,000 screaming fans at the MCG every week, I’d be there religiously too.”)

Fortunately or otherwise, my High Holyday prayers have not been distracted by thoughts of my football team for many years. But what happens when the two religions clash? There are many stories to draw upon, most famously in the US when Sandy Koufax didn’t play in the 1965 World Series because of Yom Kippur, or when NFL games were rescheduled two years ago because they affected New York fans. Closer to home, the famous pre-Neilah words of Rabbi Lubofsky OBM on Yom Kippur 1966 (“I would like to announce that St Kilda has won the Grand Final – now get back to your praying”) is embedded in St Kilda shul folklore, and David Smorgon’s decision not to attend an AFL final on Rosh Hashanah in 2009 was met with praise from all circles. Situations like these are a Kiddush Hashem, when public figures step up and declare unequivocally that their Judaism comes first.

But while it looks like Judaism trumps AFL, it is only by the slimmest of margins. The Jewish “finals” come before AFL finals, but on a regular Shabbat, football seems to get priority among most fans. Indeed, one shul I know of has an unwritten rule that the Shabbat service doesn’t go much past midday during season.

The 2011 AFL Grand Final will take place on Shabbat Teshuvah (the Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur), which this year falls immediately after a Thursday and Friday Rosh Hashanah. If there is another replay, that would fall on Yom Kippur itself.

While some of us look back on a long season (year) of ups and downs, and think about what we would have done differently, and how we’d like to change for the future (and some of us are thinking about our own lives, not our footy teams), perhaps it’s an appropriate time to reflect on the roles of football and religion in our lives. There is certainly scope for comparing our relative commitment to each, and our attitudes and behaviours. Do you talk about religion at the footy? If not, then why do you talk about footy at shul? Would you ever arrive to the game after the opening bounce? If not, then why do you come late to shul? Conversely, perhaps our Rabbis can learn a thing or two from football culture to help people be more religious, about their religion?!

Wishing everyone a Shana Tova – a year of health, happiness and blessing.

While some people like to go to multiple shules on the Yamim Noraim (high holidays) for the variety of experience, Ari Gold (of Entourage) goes to different shules on Yom Kippur to put together business deals

By Alex Kats
Each year at about this time, a few weeks out from Rosh Hashana, I start to feel a little nervous and anxious, but not for the reasons that you might expect. Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur of course are the days of awe when Jews atone and are judged, so it is very common for people to dread their imminent arrival. In fact, in some places and some communities, the entire month of Elul leading up to the festivals is a month of reflection and submission, such is the foreboding nature of the festivals. But my trepidation has little to do with solemnity, or even with the nature of the festivals themselves.

You see, for the last eighteen and a half years, I haven’t once missed going to the synagogue on a Shabbat morning. Some weeks I do virtually nothing Jewish, but I still nonetheless somehow make sure to turn up in synagogue on a Saturday morning. And even when I travel, I make sure to be in a city with a shule, at least over Shabbat. I think I have been to more than 500 shules in more than 20 countries. It is by far the greatest outward weekly expression of my Judaism.

I enjoy the social, cultural, religious, liturgical, musical, traditional and culinary elements of the Saturday morning service, and each week, one or a few of those elements speak to me and keep me inspired to come back next week. For these reasons and others, even when I am home, I like to vary the shules that I go to. In Melbourne alone I’ve probably been to more than 30 different minyanim over the last decade, and continue to mix things up. It is not uncommon for me to go to Chabad one week, Shira Hadasha the next week and Gandel Besen the following week. I also sometimes get to Hamayan, Shaarei Tefilah or Mizrachi. And these are just the somewhat regular ones. Despite all these though, Beit Aharon at Gandel Besen has become my somewhat regular and preferred shule, but by no means the only one I go to. And therein lies my dilemma for Rosh Hashana and rest of the festivals.

Most shules around the world use Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur as the time to raise funds and build up their memberships. After all, those are the days when most shules are at their peak, so it is a perfect opportunity to pitch to a captive audience and raise funds for the shule and for other worthy causes. It makes sense that it is also a good time for regular congregants to renew their memberships, and usually a membership fee also includes a seat for Yom Tov.

That is all well and good for people who go to shule just a couple of times a year, but always to the same shule, and it also works for people who go each week to the same shule. But for me it is always a quandary. Particularly during the festivals, I like to visit many shules to get a bit of inspiration from each one. Whereas sometimes I might go to three or four different shules in a month, on festival days I might go to three different shules on the one day. I don’t think it is practical or worthwhile to buy membership and seats at all the shules I might want to go to, even if I could afford it, so that is why I dread this time of year when shules start to send out reminder notices encouraging congregants and others to buy seats for Yom Tov.

Last year, for the first time in years, I didn’t dread this time of year because I was in New York. To start with, I was away from home and knew that I would only be in New York for a short period, so I didn’t feel any kind of loyalty to any of the shules that I went to. As such, for six different services over the course of Rosh Hashana and Shabbat, I went to six different shules on the Upper West Side. Apart from that, even if I wanted to express a sense of loyalty by paying a fee, at two of the shules I wouldn’t have been able to do so.

The minyan that I went to on the first day of Rosh Hashana was called Kol Haneshama, and met in a basement basketball court of a Manhattan Jewish school. Despite the temporary nature of the location, it was one of the best services I have ever been to. The community meets once a month on a Friday night and on occasional festivals. The core of the community is made up of long-time New York residents who never quite felt at home at any other shule, whilst the rest were itinerants like myself, from across the river, across the country or across the world. This was a service specifically for people who wanted to come to shule on Yom Tov, but felt like they didn’t really have a shule where they felt comfortable. As such, it was offered for free. Despite that, there was a lovely ambience with cosy furniture, an inspiring and very relevant sermon, a world class retired chazzan who had previously spent time in Australia and South Africa, and was joined around the Bima by his adult sons and their friends who provided the vocal backing, and a great Kiddush. There were also plenty of books and articles for those who wanted to read rather than pray.

On the second day, I went to a minyan called Darchei Noam, which also met in a Manhattan Jewish school, but in a slightly more salubrious classroom. The service was not quite as inspiring, but it too was free and essentially serviced the same people, though was slightly more egalitarian and didn’t have a world class chazzan. It also didn’t have a fancy Kiddush, but I did see quite a few people on the second day who were also at the other shule on the previous day. It may have lacked just a little bit of organisation, but was immensely inspiring because the two sermon givers spoke about their personal 9/11 experiences, the aftermath for the Jewish community, and how the days of awe inspire them. Their talks also inspired us, particularly since last year Rosh Hashana fell on September 9 and 10.

By the end of Rosh Hashana, I was feeling the awe that these days are supposed to bring. Probably for the fist time in a long time, Rosh Hashana had truly resonated with me, and I think the shules that I had gone to and their nature, played a really big part in that. This year however I am back home and the imminent sense of dread has returned. Knowing the community and the shules in town like I do, I know that this year for Rosh Hashana and the other festivals, many of them will be true places of inspiration and rejuvenation after a difficult year. Many are bringing out international chazanim who I’m sure will be great, and even the local chazzanim are usually quite excellent. But the dread remains.

As my most regular shule, I feel certain sense of loyalty to Beit Aharon, but I would ideally like to go to two or three different shules over the course of the festival. I know I should pay for a seat, but it seems almost unnecessary and foolish to pay for seats at two or three different shules and only use each one on one of the days, and have it sit idly on the other days. Hopefully, I will be able to make an arrangement with the various shules that I want to go to about my intentions, and then maybe my dread will pass. Hopefully I will be able to be inspired and rejuvenated in Melbourne this year like I was in New York last year, until at least Simchat Torah. Of all the festivals, that is my least favourite, but that is a story for another time…

Stay tuned for part two: The worst festival of the year

What is a rabbi?

What is the significance of a rabbi within the Jewish world? Are they even necessary to live a Jewish life?

We are all familiar with the Catholic model of religious leadership where a person cannot lead a full religious life without a priest in their lives. There are many ceremonies that are necessary in the lives of every good Catholic that cannot be performed without a priest. However, in Europe there have been many stories passed down how many devout Orthodox Jews lived completely isolated, without connection to rabbis.

What is a rabbi necessary for? How much should they be a part of our lives?

Historically there was the concept of ‘official’ semicha, a chain linking every rabbi that received this ordination to Moses, the original rabbi who began the chain by ordaining Joshua. These rabbis had a unique religious standing, until the chain was broken at some point after the destruction of the Temple (it is unclear when it was broken).

The terms rabbi and semicha have since been used to describe our approximation of the ‘official’ positions.

Since then the rabbis have essentially lost all of their power. Anything that we would imagine is necessary for a rabbi to perform is possible to be done by a layman with the requisite knowledge. From marriage to funerals and anything else, the ceremony can be performed by a knowledgeable layman, while circumcision and shechita are performed by people who have a particular skill set that is independent of rabbinic learning.

The only thing that the title rabbi signifies is that a person has a particular level of knowledge, and so the rabbis sitting on the religious courts need their particular semicha to signify a particular level of learning, similar to a university degree but there is nothing special that he can do relative to others.

If you would speak to many older people, they will complain of the cheapening of the title rabbi with the proliferation of easier ordination programs, so that the title means less today then it ever did in the past. Everyone ideally needs to be educated, but not everyone needs to be a rabbi.

So why is there a rush for shules to have rabbis?

Many of the shteibls in prewar Europe did not have rabbis. There was often a rabbi of the town or the region, but not one for every shule.

This idea has been confirmed to me by my grandfather who told me about his town in Poland where there was one rabbi for a town of several thousand Jews, but numerous shules.

Each of these places survived through education. Many of the members of the communities would have had a solid and very extensive Jewish education; hence there would be a significant number of people in the shule that would be capable of answering many of the halachic questions raised by the congregation. They would also have the requisite knowledge to perform any of the life-cycle events that we now feel cannot be performed without a rabbi.

I am not suggesting that rabbis are unneeded, or that communities that decide that their future lies with a rabbi are doing something contrary to Jewish tradition. However the same is true if a congregation does not want a rabbi, it is a very Jewish concept. It could almost be called an authentic Jewish position that we do not rely on the education of others, but that we focus on our own education and knowledge. It is incumbent on us to know, not to fall back on the knowledge of others.

The central part of any community has to be the education of its members, and ensuring that they are capable of guiding themselves, therefore any rabbi who is intellectually honest should be working towards making themselves redundant. In any community, the rabbi should be attempting to educate the members to the point where they know enough to live a complete Jewish life without him, even if only in theory.

It is far more important to have a shule that is a place of learning rather than having an learned individual at the head.

Yaron Gottlieb is embarrassed to be called a rabbi.