Castles in the Air: Why ‘Modern Orthodoxy’ has never existed (Part 1)

A winter’s day in a deep and dark December. I am alone. Gazing from my window to the streets below on a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
Well, I can only say/mumble the first line to myself with any conviction for another few hours so I might as well make the most of it. I would also have to amend the second line to ever-present thin layer of ice. Incidentally, usually only Dylan merits the ‘italics’ treatment, but I feel that Paul Simon deserves the promotion as S+G have at least as many quotable lines and a far higher proportion in a fairly short career. Incidentally, if anyone knows of any vaguely competent contemporary lyricists I would be interested in hearing about them. Ed Sheeran is passable I suppose. I quite liked a few Passenger songs. I like Springsteen’s lyrics mainly because they make you imagine that you are driving down an American dust road in an epically significant convertible truck and have experienced it all. G-d bless America. The voice helps as well. I have little respect for singers who actually try and sing. Hoarse/ deep rumbling wins any day, viva Mark Knopfler. I digress.

 My title implies that I am taking the jump and becoming one of those people who comments on everything vaguely intellectual in the Jewish world, pinning words like sine qua non and ontological onto them, lets everyone know that I know about the dead-sea scrolls and making a hullaballoo about it on Facebook (yes I just used the word hullaballoo). The sarcasm of the above sentence will hopefully protect me from that fate. Hopefully. I like an uninterrupted forum to rant. It also implies that I'm going to conclude: Therefore everyone should be Chareidi. I warn you now that this is unlikely unless I take a time capsule back to sixth form. I have simply tried to learn from messers Kellner and Shapiro how to sell fairly parev material with classic titles such as 'Must a Jew believe anything' and the 'limits of Orthodox theology' (notice that limits sounds very like limitation which makes it appear more controversial).

  

In addition, as ‘New years’ approaches, you think about certain things. Yes I know it’s not Jewish and I don’t attribute significance to it in any meaningful way, but a change of the calendar year does evoke certain introspective feelings of Time, Time, Time see what’s become of me or, to quote the Floyd ‘And then one day you’ll find seven years have gone behind you no-one told you where to run you missed the starting gun’. And this brings me to one of my favourite topics: community and identity. What is it that really unifies us and brings us together in a meaningful sense/ how do we create that if we don't feel it? How should we aspire to live as Jews in the 21^st Century? Is there a singular utopian vision? Can we ever find it in the larger group as well as individual relationships? 

 Sitting here in London I struggle to find answers, but certain things have struck me about what might be called Modern Orthodoxy and I thought it might be interesting to express them in words and see if people have any views on them. 

In short, MO’s biggest strength and weakness is that it is defined principally as an idea rather than through concrete symbols. What many choose to see as a religious ideology or lifestyle choice, it seems to me, is in fact simply a particular expression of the religious spirit. The most distinctively ‘MO’ communities are those which have defined themselves by a particular course of action, usually in the dilution of religious strictures or innovative modernising programmes which many see as blurring the lines of Halacha. In response, many claim that this is not the ‘real thing’ because it doesn’t live up to the ideals espoused by certain rabbinic leaders, and this leads to the refrain of ‘It’s an ideal that can never work in practise, too dangerous etc.’ I am going to try and suggest something which seems pretty strange and try to explain it over the next few posts by looking at a few examples of the ‘integrated’ approach and how it expressed itself. The problem is that whenever I write too seriously I want to get side-tracked so as not to want to be ‘that guy’. So I make plans and fail to stick to them.

 My suggestion is this: Modern Orthodoxy has never existed, and can never exist as a religious ideology. It can only exist as an expression of the individual spirit. This differs from an ideology in a few ways that come to mind: 1.It is not a choice of lifestyle or something you subscribe to. It is a necessary spirit which everyone has within them and for many people is an essential part of being a religious Jew. 2. 'It' cannot be used to build communities around it as there are very few formal rules, or concrete symbols unlike in the Chareidi world. YU? American Orthodoxy, not ‘modern’. Very American Orthodoxy. 

Playing around with words? Maybe, but I will attempt to justify it. R. Hirsch in the 19^th Century? Medieval Spain? Rambam? Anyone community that ever studied/encouraged philosophy? All had ‘Modern’ elements but I will suggest that this was not their defining feature. I will conclude by suggesting that we maybe think about communal identity in ways that are not binary. I don't either have to be in box a or b. (Workers of the world, unite!) I may get stuck along the way but that’s part of the fun.

     

To conclude the intro, this started when I was highlighting different parts of the Kuzari a few months back before getting side-tracked (you notice a pattern emerging) R. Yehudah ha-Levi, in explaining the Jewish attitude towards observance of mitzvoth as opposed to fasting and ascetic practises writes through the mouth of the rabbi: “Did we not agree that one can only approach Gd through deeds which He commanded? Do you think that this closeness can be gained just by submission, humility, and the like?” Yet I noticed that for many thinkers in Jewish history, this rhetorical question is certainly not obvious. The desire for 'Devekut', a form of tangible connection with Gd beyond mere observance of commandments dominates large portions of Kabbalistic literature from the 16^th Century onwards, finding its most potent expression in the writings of Hasidut, and Maimonides makes it clear that without the philosophical quest, man can never reach his full potential. A full discussion of different approaches towards this topic is interesting and I recommend the opening chapters of David Hartman’s book on Maimonides which delineates different approaches towards this issue (and makes it somewhat clear how he wants Maimonides to think at the same time). Good day.

Art Galleries and their religious value. It's not as pretentious as it sounds, promise...

It's been a while since I've written anything, for various reasons. I was vaguely thinking of publishing something on some thoughts that I've had on why I feel that Modern Orthodoxy cannot really be considered an actual religious movement but rather a certain individual spirit which cannot build a community on its own, but I'll save the fun stuff for another time when I've been able to write down my ideas properly.

So instead I'll turn to another hobby of mine, visiting art galleries. I have just been on a trip with a friend to Spain and I have a few preliminary remarks. Firstly, I realised how interesting it is to visually experience the circumstances in which people have lived. Toledo, for example, with its winding,hilly streets and striking views helped me imagine what it might have been like to be a Jew there in the 13th and 14th centuries; what it must have been like to live in the shadow of several very imposing churches knowing that cordial relations were never guaranteed. Barcelona too, with its shadowy narrow streets in the medieval quarter retains its intensity when you eventually manage to escape the hub of irritating tourists such as yourself. Gerona, home of the Ramban, Rabbeinu Yonah and the Ran with its tranquillity, panoramic views and orange trees. Makes you wonder how peaceful times might have affected attitudes towards all sorts of things and understand why there are so many poems praising Spain and its beauty.

But as we came to Madrid, there was one thing on the agenda: Art galleries. So on Tuesday, I spent a day visiting the Museo del Prado and the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum. 
From a very young age, I have always loved art galleries. Reading that line I would say to myself: This guy needs to get over himself. Reading it a second time I would say: This guy needs to get over himself. And yes, reactions are usually fairly similar:  "Art galleries? Ooh, cultured." "you're so cultured (sarcasm)" " pretentious (insert four letter word of choice)" "What do you see in it?" even, occasionally "teach me how to appreciate culture" " I bet you love classical music as well". “Posh boy”. Needless to say, it’s not something I usually do with friends. So for the first time, leaving my friend in the hotel, I decided to think about what it was that had always struck me about them.

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Usually on areas of 'culture' there are two very polarised schools of thought. There are the ‘scientists’, or the peasants as I call them, who simply cannot for the life of them understand why anyone would waste their time on these things beyond wanting to look cultured. With their steely reductionist tendencies I am reliably informed that I could save the money and look at the pictures online. 

Yes, when you visit a European city you must see the sites. Why? Well, because they are there and famous and you can say you've seen them before heading to the nearest pool/beach.

 And then there are the good old fashioned snobs who simply dismiss this incredulity with a casual "you wouldn't understand". Or, “philistines”. Now normally, I happily associate with the latter group and allow the scientists to feel satisfied that my lack of functionality represents a fundamental character flaw. But this time I decided to think of a response to ‘what I see in it’ and give it some sort of definition. This was partly triggered by a plaque dedicated by the owner of what had previously been a private collection saying how art “moved people and brought them together”. I immediately visualised that sentence being read by a certain friend of mine (you know who you are) and couldn't help grinning. But then I thought about actually trying to define the visual process slightly beyond the mere realm of feeling in words. I realise that I am treading a fine line here between actively appearing to be a massive ‘get over yourself’ but I will give it a go:

The thing about Art is that, at least in theory, it combines two profound realms of human experience: nature and human creativity. One of the main reasons so many seeking spiritual experiences go out into the woods and into far-off countryside is that the natural world is striking for its beauty. Nature, in its wildest form, is quite mesmerising. It is hard to accurately capture this in a word but perhaps it is  simplicity. No cars, work, agendas, corruption, fakery, deception, interviews or CVs. Whilst trying not to sound too much like a 19^th Century Idealist, I find it interesting that trips to the countryside or the Heath can make problems from the ‘big city’ appear illusionary. Especially in London. Everything seems fast, hurried and suited. A lifestyle, which to quote Dire Straits, runs on 'heavy heavy fuel'.

A painting has the ability to capture the sensation associated with nature in that it reduces life to its fundamental and simple elements. Ok I'm going to do this and accept the consequences: 

The Haywain, by John Constable, to be found in the National Gallery, London. (Up the stairs straight ahead as you enter, first room, on your left ;-) ). I am no expert in anything artistic and have never studied it formally. I have no idea about technique beyond what I can immediately see. But I think this is a fairly good example of what I'm talking about. The calmness and quiet serenity of nature is portrayed. Tranquility, calm and yes, good old nostalgia. But it freezes it. Because a painting, like any art form, is not simply a reproduction of something (“Why can’t they just take a bloody picture, didn’t they have cameras back then?”) but it also is the investment of the artist's mind and thoughts into the work. The different elements, the little dog, old cottage etc. combine to create an experience and communicate it with the viewer. 
A bit like a piece of music, it stirs in different ways: 
It can be the romantic tranquillity favoured by landscape artists, the tragedy of war, psychological insights into personalities through their facial expressions, or simply depictions of honour, majesty or pain. A good example of this was one of Goya's paintings that I saw the other day:

 

Either way, the viewer is moved because through this medium basic, deeply-felt messages which they can relate to are communicated. Because it is frozen, moreover, it doesn’t just leave and lie forgotten. It stays and is transfixing, allowing the viewer to briefly transport themselves into the scene and reminding them of things that may be self-evident but are rarely thought about. Enchanted and stirred, the individual sometimes remembers long-forgotten parts of themselves that have been lost along the way. 

 Or alternatively, it can do none of the above. A bit like music, it just depends on the individual. To many, the above description may be wishy-washy nonsense. Fair enough. This isn't a question of teaching someone to 'be cultured'. Once it becomes a box ticking exercise, like most box-ticking exercises, any quality it may have contained becomes lost. 

But this leads me to a larger point which I have encountered in religious life. What I find interesting is that 'The Arts' are rarely seen to have intrinsic value in the ‘frum’ world. Yes, if you are talented, design a sefer Torah, use it to beautify a shul or something similar. But its value is instrumental, not intrinsic or substantive. The ability of an art form to stir the soul and provide access to a relationship with G-d is rarely mentioned, acknowledged, or probably thought about.

I understand that for many people this whole concept appears bizarre and irrelevant to religious life but for others it could perhaps enable them to view themselves and the lives they lead as being of profound spiritual worth. The suppression, ignorance or patronising dismissal of a whole vista of human experience can create a perception within the hearts and minds of those who do relate to it of a rather bland, conformist religiosity which ignores the individual spirit as a conduit of G-dliness. That is a great shame.  

Incidentally, the 'intrinsic' approach is epitomised by R. S. R Hirsch and whilst I generally try to avoid broad generalisations, with even a casual perusal of his writings this becomes self-evident. See his eulogy for the German poet Schiller translated by Marc Shapiro: http://www.yutorah.org/lectures/lecture.cfm/745805.  

Why real problems can't be 'solved': Pain, The futility of inspiration + the necessity of struggle.

Inspiration. Consolidation. Growth. For most of my religious life, spirituality has been described to me in those terms.  There has been the assumption that a true relationship with G-d requires dazzling inspiration followed by an inevitable lull and then a concerted effort to return to that original ideal. That somehow, by recharging and focusing on this wonderfully ambiguous concept 'growth', the religious personality is nurtured and sustained. The ideal, it would appear, is to reach a stage where the excitement of youth is permanently ingrained into the personality. The religious individual in some ways is one in whom one can see this process. They strain at the leash with positive energy. You know they feel it. You can see it. If they lose it, which they invariably do over time they must at least pretend until they once again regain that mindset. Because that is the aim of life, right? To keep that flame burning or else face the murky abyss of mediocrity. How do you know who has reached it? Well, they talk about it. Frum guys should talk about learning primarily and every now and again about growing and self-improvement. Frum girls vice versa. Then you knew. For sure. 

Except for three things that would linger in my mind: 1. It seemed very false, though I couldn't always place why. 2. When 'the music died'/ the going got tough, this ideal didn't help, it just made you feel worse. It seemed to ignore the fact that not everyone actually wants inspiration. Cue more guilt. 3. That feeling/rush of emotion was, like everything else, an emotion. And like all other emotions, could not be forced. The more you aspired for the specific feeling, the less likely it was to come. It all seemed oddly unnatural.

So what's wrong with being fake if it leads to this ideal? Well, only that in any other relationship that I had any other experience with in the rest of my life fakery spelled non-existence. If my relationships or decisions in life had been based on similar foundations which did not actually resonate, I would discard them and quickly become disillusioned. The character traits of truth, integrity and sincerity were ones which are so basic to existence that our forefather Ya'akov Avinu is characterised by them. 

Unlike integrity, inspiration could never be regarded as a quality, per se. It was either a mask which could reflect an internal reality or could be something which had been learned over time. To cite a few soundbites from 'The Seven Habits' "only basic goodness gives life to technique" and "it is character that communicates most eloquently". Charismatic inspiration, in whatever form, often just blurred the lines and made it more difficult to see the person inside.

In addition, as I left my teens and the enclave of the Yeshiva, starry-eyed inspiration seems like a childish form of religiosity. It wasn't just cynicism either. Something I learnt from a young age is that it is often those who say little that have most to offer. Those who have internalised moments of inspiration into a more developed and subtle personality impressed me far more than those who tried to wear it on their sleeves. Instead of performing the requisite actions that the manual had told them they should do, they quietly and profoundly served G-d in a way that resonated deeply. They were good, kind and gentle. 

It is this that led to my second point and in a sense was a proof that this paradigm wasn't the only ideal. When the going got tough, I perceived not only in myself but in several close friends, this model became something of a burden and a cause of resentment. And no matter how much you could try and cover it, in the words of Smokey Robinson "if you take a good look at my face, you'll see the smile  looks out of place, look at little closer it's easy to trace the tracks of my tears." Now you could always argue ad infinitum that this was simply a case of not internalising the ideals enough, but based on the above paragraph there seemed enough reason to suggest that this wasn't the case. At the very depths of the human soul was not the yearning for an inspired existence but something far deeper and far less tapped into.

As ever, it was Dylan that sort of triggered the thought process. It is a general truism that artistic creativity is often stimulated by very powerful and often painful personal experiences. Pain sure brings out the best in people, doesn't it?  In a way that sometimes seems uncontrollable, the artist will spill out his or her tangled and tortured emotions onto the page or canvass, with the deepest feelings and experiences distilled into one or two words or phrases. And I never heard anything as powerful as the song 'Tangled up in Blue', the opening track of Dylan's Blood on the Tracks, an Album he wrote during the deterioration of his marriage in 1974. In particular, it was the following line which I think touched on something so fundamental:
  And in the end the bottom fell out and I became withdrawn. All I really knew how to do is keep on keeping on like a bird that flew, tangled up in blue.

 In this verse, several themes are raised that are so important. Firstly, the powerful image of 'withdrawal' as a reaction to unhappiness, alone in a corner, inconsolable. Secondly, the response. There is no attempt to 'solve' the issue. A world-view based on the need to return to some primordial inspired state will constantly seek to solve the 'illness' or the 'lack' within the individual. It will constantly aim for the light that is elusive and out of reach and pretend that there is no abyss.  It will leave you at the mercy of people who claim to have 'answers'. But Dylan attempts no such answers. He keeps on keeping on without denying the reality of the pain he is experiencing. Mathematical problems can be 'solved' but human ones are far more complex and can't just be fixed like a machine. He remains tangled up in blue. But he still flies and perseveres. Why? Simply because he must.

 Inner resilience, religious strength and aspirations for greatness do not arise from inspiration. Inspiration burns bright and can appear all-encompassing. It feels real. It is a wonderful feeling and  a desirable one. But it is just an emotion. And when the chips are down it usually goes away. Some will argue that it is essential to the development of the religious personality but I would  suggest  that it can simply provides plastic comfort which masks the real issues involved and can be as dangerous as useful. It can blind rather than cultivate. In the cold, frightening reality of life it will not develop a stable core. It is, by definition, superficial(not in the negative sense of the word but rather that it is skin-deep). It can not simply be 'internalised' in a linear manner because it is not the thing that needs internalising. It represents nothing essential to the human character but rather is a delightful bonus or stimulant which provides pleasant peaks in life's journey. 

 So what is this  'keep on keeping on' resilience that is at the heart of human experience?  In my mind it is this that Ya'akov Avinu teaches us as the man of truth. Truth doesn't just mean not telling lies. It really means perseverance and struggle to do the right thing and live in a way of integrity even if we don't always get it or understand why and face many challenges along the way. And I can't think of a better word to describe it than 'struggle'. Struggle is often associated with difficulty and therefore pain and unhappiness. But for me it has less to do with emotional response to something and rather it just expresses a need for movement. For purpose. For goodness. For G-d. To grapple. To fight. 
This does not mean that we must now sit down, define it precisely and write up a formula for how to achieve this. No, it is far more subtle than that and can't be confined, defined or packaged. It is an engine which pushes us and is a permanent reminder of our duties in life. It touches the reality of existence.

I like this Rambam in Moreh Nevuchim (1:50) a lot: "If you belong to those who are satisfied with expressing in speech the opinions that are correct or that you deem correct, without representing them to yourself and believing them, and still less without seeking certain knowledge regarding them, you take a very easy road." External manifestations of feeling, faith and devotion are all very well but scratch the surface and never penetrate deeper. Inspiration can never stimulate this profound curiosity.

It is this that also comes across in the Rambam's description of philosophy:
(Guide I, 34): One of the parables generally known in our community is that comparing knowledge to water. Now the sages, peace be on them, explained several notions by means of this parable; one of them being that he who knows how to swim brings up pearls from the bottom of the sea, whereas he who does not know, drowns. For this reason, no one should expose himself to the risks of swimming unless he has been trained in learning to swim".

Rabbi Dr. Isadore Twersky, one of the great Maimonidean scholars of the 20th century and father of R. Moshe Twersky H'Y'D comments on this: "Like swimming in deep water, the pursuit of philosophic knowledge demands multiple skills, patient preparation, and extraordinary tenacity. The training is long and hard but indispensable if one is to achieve the goal and enter the palace". 'Keep on keeping' on is the stimulus to broaden, to explore, to generate, to achieve, to keep fighting. Humanity are restless and adventurous creatures and we must reach the summit and enter the palace, in whatever manifestation. Whilst there will be pitfalls along the way it is this that keeps us going because it is real, and no matter what the dangers of this quest are the rewards will always outweigh the risks - because this the the greatness of humanity. 

It is this that I have learned to admire most in people. Those who are aware of this engine and all that implies. They do not necessarily burst from the seams with exuberant zeal. They do not dazzle or leave you feeling fuzzy inside. But they are real people. Flesh and blood. They mess up. They do not pretend that they are constantly on a high from life. But their calm sincerity and goodness represents something far, far greater than any hyperactive imitation ever could.

It is also this that saddens me when I think about the projected models of the inspired individuals that we are supposed to aspire to be like to fulfil criteria in social systems. Is he/she frum? How frum? They ask. What do you mean by that? I reply. "You know what I mean - You can just tell". Yes indeed,  generic questioner, I know exactly what you mean. But I can no longer tell. 

I recently saw the film Interstellar. *Spoiler alert* In a manner similar to 2001: A Space Odyssey  which is a classic that I only saw a few months ago it raises questions about the nature of existence and the universe. But it includes an element that space odyssey hints at but never addresses specifically (maybe that is its brilliance as a film because it stimulates wide-reaching thoughts): What is more important, the big/cosmic things like the future of the planet or the small and personal things family? What is more real? 
 That was a struggle that continued throughout the film. In the end, despite Cooper's original proclamation that humanity was meant to explore and not merely to consolidate, by the end all he wants to do is see his daughter again.
 Blinded by the bigger picture he realised too late that the great and unexplored universe represented something far less substantial than the family he left behind to die. Whilst Space Odyssey seems to question man's ability to conquer and know the universe,  Interstellar seems to accepts the futility of the quest of absolute knowledge and focuses inwards again.  Whilst Hollywood cliches featured about love crossing all dimensions, the message was important. For the things and people that matter we will forever persevere, regardless of the logical impossibility of the situation. Keep on keeping on. 

 This quote is particularly poignant:
 Dr. Brand: Do not go gentle into that good night; Old age should burn and rave at close of day. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

History + the shared experience of the Jewish people.

Yesterday morning four people were murdered in Har Nof davening Shacharis. Scenes reminiscent of the holocaust. It put things into perspective. Ideological concerns and boundaries suddenly disappeared as the naked face of death left its mark. Permanent. Tragic. Absolute.

 There are times in life when the things that really matter appear before us with such clarity that all else fades into insignificance. I've learned to understand that these are simply moments, flashes of lightning in the night sky which leave as quickly as they come. It was these moments in the summer when we perhaps related to the fear of being forced into bomb shelters several times a day. The moments when we prayed for the return of the kidnapped boys. The moments when we really felt like Jews in the total sense of the word. Felt the guilt of living in the diaspora, of not being with our brothers and sisters in their time of need. But it made me focus on a topic that I wanted to do this week on R. Yehudah ha Levi's emphasis on the importance of Jewish history. 

So what is the religious significance of Jewish history and why is it important? In a sentence, because otherwise I couldn't truly feel solidarity with other Jews in their times of suffering. Or experience, in Dylan's words, this emptiness inside to which I just could not relate, brought on by a simple twist of fate. 
To some, history is merely a documentation of things that have happened in the past. It involves finding and analysing documents and critically scrutinising them to piece together worlds that no longer exist. Libraries are full of gathered facts in endless tomes pertaining to the lives and actions of particular individuals. The study of the past can also be reduced to finding pieces of evidence and trying to de-construct all the previous narratives surrounding and explaining them. But by placing too much faith in the 'historicist' approach it is easy to forget that whilst surgically piecing together evidence can create skeletons of the past, it can never really recreate an experience, the humanity or the essence of the lives that were once led. It is intrinsically limited. 

But through the lenses of R. Yehudah ha Levi, Jewish history is very different. It takes on a fundamental significance. This is because to the Jewish mind history is several things: It is purposeful and is part of the divine narrative. Whilst the final destination or coming of the messiah may not be known, history sill provides a context to suffering and hope to those undergoing pain. It is also the sum total of collective experiences and memories. The rabbi relates to the king of the Khazars the story of the Exodus , life in the land of Israel, the pain of exile, the collective highs and lows of the Jewish people, and importantly how this remained an essential part of the Jewish consciousness hundreds of years later. The Hebrew language is given a particular sanctity, the Jew is placed as a heart to the body and finds himself in a position of eternal significance in the ultimate scheme of things, regardless of his predicament. 

Similarly, the historical context provides a sense of being something more than an isolated individual trying to make ends meet in an indifferent universe. It places you inside something bigger than yourself as you face up to the realisation that you cannot truly achieve without the help of others. Rav Soloveitchik's use of the phrase: "lo tov heyot adam levado" (It was not good for man to be alone) as a description of the existential need for companionship, comes to mind.  By thinking about the bigger picture and the wider context of life you suddenly see other people and the idea that somehow you are all linked.

And it is this that gives the Kuzari an enduring significance in emphasising the importance of shared history and collective Jewish experience. Because when the dam breaks open many years too soon, it is to our families, friends and loved ones that we turn to regardless of where we have got to in our intellectual and personal developments. The recognition of the importance of the human need for others and that the concept of bein adam le chaveiro is more than a description of a particular type of mitzvah but perhaps the deepest form of human need transforms the religious experience from being a personal one to an all-encompassing one. 
For me this is the importance of the broad exploration of Jewish history, because through it we can access something beyond our immediate selves, can live the experiences of the Jewish people and perhaps, even for a few brief moments, feel a real sense of solidarity and Achdus that is often so elusive.   

Special Post: Moses Mendelssohn and the 250 year challenge of Modernity.

Unfortunately, I have not been posting as often as I would like to in recent weeks so I thought this might be a good opportunity to share a talk/discussion that I gave on Friday night at my house (For more details see 'Shabbat Salon' facebook group). It was on the subject of Moses Mendelssohn, a character who has fascinated me for a number of years and a man whose life exemplifies what I see the very real challenges faced by the Orthodox Jew in the modern world today. This is a long piece but I hope to succinctly highlight a few of the more critical challenges and themes of his life and times. My sources for this information are a combination of Alexander Altmann's classic biography of Mendelssohn, the Encyclopedia Judaica article on him and Rabbi Rakeffet's shiurim on YU Torah:

Firstly, some background. Whilst it is very difficult to claim with any honesty that the world of the 'Ghetto' (the walled parts of the city where Jews were forced to live in most of Europe spanning a period of around 300 years) was any sort of religious utopia, it did have some distinctive characteristics which are important to appreciate in the context of the 18th century. Firstly, rabbinic leaders had significant power and were responsible for the legal as well as moral conduct of the Jewish communities. The ability to impose the Herem on recalcitrant and rebellious individuals was a serious threat. Excommunication would invariably lead to beggary and quite possibly death at the hands of the local authorities. If you defected from observance you rarely left the community. 

It is also important to emphasise that in Central and eastern Europe Talmud Torah was the context, focus and frame of reference for daily life. R. Noson Hanover, in describing the destruction wrought by the Chmielnicki massacres in 1648-49, depicts a scene where most households contained  scholars and budding Talmidei Chachamim. Whilst it is clear that not every household produced first-rate talmidei chachamim, excellence in Talmud Torah was the aspiration for every intelligent youngster. Particularly talented individuals such as Mendelssohn in the 1740s would follow their Rebbeim to the big cities or seek out the leaders of the generation to learn from them. They would be funded by a system called 'Teg' where local families would effectively adopt one of these scholars into their houses, feed them, and sometimes marry them off to their daughters. 

But it is also clear that by the mid-18th century cracks were beginning to appear in the walls of the ghetto. The winds of change from the outside world carrying the spirit of humanism and enlightenment which placed an increasing focus on man at the centre of universe rather than God was beginning to take its toll on the sheltered Jewish world too. The question of whether the Jew was 'happy' in the Ghetto is a contentious one, but regardless of how Jews themselves felt, they required the approval of the outside world to indulge any curiosity with foreign ideas. 

The Shabbatai Tzvi episode in the mid 17th century had caused divides and upheavals within the Jewish world, with antinomian splinter movements forming across Europe even after the furore had subsided.  By middle of 1700s cracks in the Ghetto walls had become a breach, exemplified by a Teshuva from the Rav of Alsace-Lorraine R.Yaakov Steinhart about men and women who rented a hall for mixed dancing for Shavuos holidays. In addition, as Jacob Katz demonstrates in his classic book on Jewish history Tradition and Crisis, the power and authority of the rabbinate had declined markedly since its medieval heyday. 

-    The decisive breach, it can be argued, came about due to the actions of one man, Moses Mendelssohn, or R' Moshe Dessau, whose dates are 1729-1786. Mendelssohn was the Great Grandson of the Remo and an observant Jew from the day of his birth till the day died, a first rate Talmid chacham, evidenced from his correspondence with R. Yaa'kov Emden (Notice the picture of his wife, Fromet Gugenheim who covers her hair fully).

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-          As I mentioned earlier, Mendelssohn's early years comprised of a classical Yeshiva education. As the student of the classic commentator on the Talmud Yerushalmi, R. David Hirschel Frankel ( The 'Korban Eidah'), Mendelssohn decided to follow his Rebbe to Berlin at the age of 14 as Dessau (his hometown) had no yeshiva. Berlin was a large and prominent city and a budding centre for the increasingly popular enlightenment trends. Whilst the Berlin Ghetto walls were locked at night, by day he was able to move around, and gained exposure to discussion groups and Salons, becoming sensitive to the intellectual trends around him in the western world beyond the confines of Ghetto life.

  

   By all accounts in possession of formidable intellect, Mendelssohn taught himself German, Greek and Latin and spent his days avidly studying different philosophical works.  Winning many friends and admirers along the way, Mendelssohn developed a reputation as a thinker of note amongst gentiles as well as Jews and the key turning point of his intellectual life came in       1762, when he was awarded the prize for philosophy by the Royal Academy of Sciences, beating Immanuel Kant to first prize.

    As the intimate friend of several prominent enlightenment thinkers, notably Ephraim Gottfried Lessing, the local government eventually allowed Mendelssohn  to leave the ghetto. The significance of this was not so much that he was allowed to leave, as others had been invited for their financial skills and usefulness to the local rulers, but rather the reason for his invitation. Mendelssohn was valued as a liberal and intelligent Jew and seen as someone who deserved this chance on human merit alone. Additionally, Mendelssohn left the ghetto and never looked back, embracing the world outside out of choice. Having established himself outside the walls, Jews followed him, first in a trickle and then in a flood, as Jew and gentile were reunited once again. 

     During the 1760s Mendelssohn devoted most of his time to pure philosophy, focusing on general issues such as the immortality of the soul and the existence of God. Yet several events occurred in his life which made him turn to the affairs of the Jewish community, both in a theoretical and practical sense. in 1769, John Lavater, a Christian clergyman, challenged Mendelssohn to prove the superiority of Jewish religion. Taken aback by this demand, Mendelssohn refused on do so on three grounds:

 Firstly, that the Torah was only for Jews and was devoid of missionary tendencies, secondly that “fundamental conceptions should not be subjected to debate, even if they are based on error, as long as they serve as the basis for the morality of the society and do not infringe upon natural law”, and thirdly that as members of an oppressed minority, challenging the majority religion would be foolish on political grounds. Yet the Lavater affair dragged on and it took several years for him to leave Mendelssohn alone. Probably as a result, Mendelssohn developed a nervous mental disease which affected his ability to concentrate and lasted seven years, where he complained of being unable to think for long periods of time. 

With the Lavater affair came the realisation that there was a massive difference between him and his colleagues, and as a result decided to devote himself to the needs of the Jewish community. He fought personally against anti-Jewish decrees in Switzerland (1775), and represented the community of Koeningsberg (1777) in proving that prayers were not anti-Christian and didn’t need a supervisor.        

-          Yet Mendelssohn is a controversial figure largely due to his views on the Jewish religion. A child of the enlightenment trends of the 17^th and 18^th Centuries, Mendelssohn placed an emphasis on reason as the sole medium through which man gains knowledge, and the eternally valid and innate ideas of absolute truth. His broad-minded approach to life, which embraced foreign cultures and ideas, played a significant part in his position visa vis the Jewish community.   In his treatise for tolerance to Jews, he called on the Jews to abandon attitudes opposed to freedom of man and freedom of thought such as the Herem and accept non-religious government appointed judges. 

-          Many accused him of going too far – his classic work 'Jerusalem' which attempts to establish Judaism as a religion of reason was stimulated by a letter from an apostate accusing him of rejecting rabbinic authority: “How then can you, my dear Mr. Mendelssohn, continue to adhere to the faith of your fathers yet shake the entire structure by removing its very foundation since you deny the ecclesiastical law, given by Moses, which derives its authority from divine revelation”

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     It was this new and far more fundamental challenge that Mendelssohn found himself forced to defend – why did he not embrace the universal religion that he was so keen on emphasising and abandon the particularism of Judaism? How could he reject coercion if he believed in Torah min ha Shamayim?  The answer he gave was one of the first, and it must be added, unsuccessful attempts to reconcile the worlds of enlightenment philosophy and Torah min ha Shamayim. 

     He divided church and state into separate realms. According to Mendelssohn, man derives truth from reason alone, but unlike medieval Jewish thinkers thinkers who saw revelation and reason as complementary, redefined Judaism not as a religion but as revealed legislation. What distinguished Jew from non-Jew was not religion but unique laws taken as historical facts witnessed with incontrovertible clarity, which also prescribed rules of life that guide the individual to divine truths. The explanations he gave for the mitzvoth were largely based on historical and expedient considerations. This led later thinkers to accuse him of promoting a 'fossilised' Judaism. Whilst he tried to establish true loyalty to state and also to the Torah, he couldn't remove the practical opposition between the two.

     In addition, he promoted the study of the Hebrew language and German over Yiddish as part of acculturation on the part of the Jews, and his major work of biblical translation was Biur, a commentary on the Torah which was translated into German, an essentially traditional commentary although containing a few modern conceptions and aesthetic aspects. The translation of the Torah into German aroused aroused anger of many Rabbis, who saw the dangers in moving the study of Torah away from the strictly religious realm, but this did not deter Mendelssohn, whose views are expressed in the quotes below. 

When he died in 1786 he was mourned throughout the Jewish world, and upon the 100th anniversary of his death, he was commemorated in Berlin as a hero of the Jewish community.

Even from this brief look at Mendelssohn's life you see the many issues that arise from his approach and the extreme challenges he faced. His legacy is certainly ambiguous: Did he undermine Judaism by attempting to subject it to rationalist views? Was he simply trying to swim against a seemingly unstoppable tide? Could he reconcile the tension between the traditional Judaism that he had grown up with and loved greatly and the rationalism of his circle? He criticised the social and cultural background of Jews at the time, yet steadfastly maintained his loyalty to Halacha. Was his attempt to portray Judaism as one of deed as opposed to creed undermining the religious core of the Jewish faith? He sought to elevate his new found worldly experience to the realm of religious action yet was clearly unable to transmit this to his students or children, many of whom converted to Christianity. Yet the same applied to far more traditionalist rabbis who are revered to this day so can he be really faulted for this? Did he really propagate the notion of a ‘fossilised Judaism’ as the Reform tried to claim? 

Certainly, many Rabbinic thinkers of the 19^th century sought to disassociate themselves from Mendelssohn. His translation of Biur is famously attacked in the will of the Chasam Sofer. Yet he lived in a world which had become intoxicated with the freedom that the collapse of the ghetto walls had provided. The rabbinate had been weakened greatly, and outside the ghetto their power was extremely limited.

The following excerpts from Mendelssohn's writings demonstrate this very tension and for me are powerful examples of his tireless attempt to fight with the two worlds that were such important parts of his life in a way that can only be described as deeply religious:

On Love of the Torah:

1.    The experience of many centuries also teaches that this divine law book has become a source of knowledge from which a large segment of the human race draws new insights or corrects old notions. The more you search in it , the more you will be astounded at the depth of the insights hidden in this…the more closely you approach it and the purer, the more innocent, the more loving and longing is the glance with which you look upon it, the more it will unfold its divine beauty… 

2.    Letter June 29,1779 on decision to change focus in life after illness:

According to the first plan of my life, as I designed it in my better years, I was far removed from ever becoming an editor or translation of the Bible. I wanted to confine myself to having silken materials manufactured during the day and to being in love with philosophy in my free hours. However, it has pleased providence to lead me towards a different path. I lost the ability to meditate and, as a result, initially the major portion of my happiness. After some examination I found that the remainder of my strength might still be sufficient to render a useful service to my children, and perhaps toa considerable part of my nation, by giving into their hands a better transaltion and explanation of the holy scriptures than they had before. This is the first step toward culture, from which, alas, my nation is kept as such a distance that one might almost despair of the possibility of an improvement.

3.    Controversial position on Jewish religion in letter to inquisitive student, 1783:

To say it in one sentence: I believe that Judaism knows nothing of a revealed religion in the sense in which Christians understand this term. The Israelites possess a divine legislation – laws, commandments, ordinances, rules of life, instruction in the will of G-d as to how they should conduct themselves in order to attain temporal and eternal felicity.

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Letter to Sophie Becker in 1785 in reply to her question about struggling with faith vs rationalism + how it had taken the childish fun out of life, fascinating reply (Altmann p.719):

…Philosophy is meant to make me happier than I would be without it. I must remain true to this vocation. I stay with her so long as she is a good companion; when she pulls supercilious, frosty, or even sour faces and gets into a bad mood, I leave her alone and play with my children…I rejoice in every religious custom that does not lead to intolerance and hatred of men…You say that the philosopher does not pray – at least not aloud or in song but, at most in thought. Dearest Sophie! When his hour comes and he is attuned to praying, the philosopher will, against his intent, burst into word and song. The most common man, it seems to me, does not sing in order that Gd may hear him and be pleased with his melodies. We sing for our own sakes, and this the wise man does just as the fool does.”

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R.Yehudah ha Levi and the fight against box-ticking.

R. Yehudah ha Levi is widely regarded as the medieval thinker who most clearly encapsulates the religious spirit of the Jewish people. In his travels and wanderings he composed songs, poems and liturgical prayers as well as his magnificent work on Jewish philosophy and thought, the Kuzari. What stands out about the Kuzari in particular is its emphasis on the importance of Mitzvoth and actions, the particular importance of the Jewish people, divine revelation as the axis around which all else revolves and the land of Israel. 

When I first read it in translation a couple of years ago I was struck by how readable it was in terms of structure and subject matter, and its lack of apologetic tone or excessive emphasis on medieval philosophic speculation gives it an enduring relevance to the contemporary reader. Although I have never formally studied his writings beyond this casual perusal, I have decided to devote a number of posts to R. Yehudah ha Levi and the Kuzari due to my interest in him as a character and the important and interesting themes his writings raise.

 Born in Toledo in central Spain in 1075, R.Yehudah ha-Levi was educated in Lucena, Southern Spain, becoming acquainted with various branches of Jewish learning at the school of Rabbi Isaac Alfasi and forming close relationships with some of the Rif's outstanding pupils such as R' Joseph ibn Migash. He chose medicine as his profession but showed a particular fondness for poetry early on and became familiar with the world of Graeco-Arabic philosophy. His talents as a poet earned him the admiration of his senior, Moses ibn Ezra. He married in Toledo and appears to have had one daughter.

It is particularly striking how prominent a place the land of Israel plays in the life of R.Yehudah ha-Levi. His life is marked by a strong desire to return there as the focal point for a Jew's relationship with God. This yearning, expressed in poetry and synagogue liturgy, finally found full fruition  in his decision to move there after the death of his wife. I saw a particularly nice quote that he wished to "do away with the contradiction of daily confessing a longing and of never attempting to realise it" - Oh Had I eagle's wings, I'd fly to thee. And with my falling tears, make moist thine earth.

His journey was turbulent, however, and it is unclear if he ever arrived at his destination. In Egypt, he had to struggle against the protesters and pleadings of friends to remain there to persevere on the route trodden by his ancestors in the desert. It is reported that he was greeted in Tyre and Damascus by local communities. After this, however, the chronological record ends, although the story is told that upon coming to Jerusalem and seeing the holy city he sang his beautiful elegy Zion ha-lo Tish'ali whereupon he was ridden down and killed by an Arab horseman who had dashed forth from a gate.

His life's works are marked by their yearning for God and to be near to Him, as well as an uncommon religious passion and fervour. In a sense they are windows into the religious personality. For me, there is one particular fascinating and recurring theme in his works that I think is worth commenting on, namely, the very striking contrast between living for an ideal and paying lip service to it.  

In a striking passage of Moreh Nevuchim that I recently studied, the Rambam describes how for most people, faith is just something they talk about as a social norm, a bit like associating with a particular football club. Real Emunah leaves an imprint of G-d on the soul like the a recollection of a true friend, representing a reality that is truly alive. Similarly, in the Kuzari, the Rabbi confesses his shame that despite the land of Israel playing such a prominent role in the relationship between G-d and His people, very few actively tried to return. 
There comes a point in life where sometimes you stare into the abyss that separates what you say you want from life and what you actually want from it. Throughout all his writings, Yehudah ha Levi vividly portrays the restless torment he feels at trying to cross this divide and epitomises a startlingly profound quest for authenticity.

Whilst I mentioned this when I discussed the post-Yeshiva resignation, even in the unlikely scenario where the similarities will be noticed, the point needs reiterating. For many, the world of ideals finishes in their early twenties. 'Discoveries', 'quests' and 'journeys' end in a comfortable box or social category which is easily defined and slots us into a particular system and that is that. Endurance and consistency are usually the limits of idealism after that. 

Reading the writings of R. Yehudah ha Levi is an exposure to a single-handed critique of this monotony. Restlessness, turbulence and ultimately the glorious soaring of the religious soul come to the fore in sometimes breathtaking style. I am struck by how  tirelessly he strives for religious meaning in all areas of life, in the personal, national and universal sense. It also affirms for me the importance of developing the individual within religious society and the value of the endless quest. Yes, not everyone has the passionate soul of arguably Jewish history's greatest poet but there is a great deal to be learned from the very spirit of his writing, as well as the idea of the inherent worth of every Jew and the importance of their contribution to the world.

The very idea of his perseverance to reach the land of Israel against all odds is an excellent example of being real with religious ideals. It reminds me of something that struck me when doing research last year on the phenomenon of Shabbatai Tzvi's mass following in the 1660s. It wasn't only surprising that people followed a false messiah, it was also that they followed a messiah at all. The memoirs of Gluckl of Hameln poignantly express the feelings of the ordinary Jews who sincerely dreamt of the arrival of the Moshiach and genuinely anticipated his arrival any day. 

This heartfelt yearning which seems to come from the roots of the Jewish consciousness and historical memory, I feel ashamed to say, seems like such an elusive concept in the post-Modern world. R. Yehudah ha Levi asks of us whether the Jewish people still long for their creator, for a return to the land of Israel, for that mind-set whereby spiritual and religious ideals are something more than things that we write down to further our chances in, shall we say, other areas in life? These are all powerful questions that reading the Kuzari raised for me and I will endeavour to start looking at different themes in the upcoming weeks. 
For those who remember, my post with some of the medieval poems in them has been delayed and I will hope to get round to it soon.

The obligatory Dylan:

Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Make everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It’s easy to see without looking too far
That not much is really sacred

Do we need to sacrifice individuality for the 'greater good'? The Kevin Pieterson Scandal as a case study.

As odd is this seems, I have always been a big Pieterson fan. Great to watch, capable of playing the brilliant innings, and surprisingly orthodox in technique, I have never held him in the contemptuous regard that I save for specialist 20/20 batsmen. The controversy which has erupted upon the release of his book this week has struck a particular chord with me because of the nature of the debate. Peculiarly, I agree wholeheartedly with both sides. It resonates particularly as I see this particular dynamic being played out in so many other scenarios in life and it seems to support my attitude that most life lessons can be learned from Test cricket.

So let's set the scene: 

On one end of the crease we have KP. He sees himself as the victim of a bullying and dictatorial regime run by the bullish Andy Flower and supported by the laddish ringleaders like Prior and Swann. Immensely talented, clearly sensitive and possessing a genuine desire to win personal and national honours, he is hurting badly. For him, all he required from the English Test team was a framework to express himself, and release the individual spirit capable of turning games around in a session or two. He wants friendship and acceptance because that is how he will thrive. This is not him being purely selfish or egotistical as everyone likes to accuse him of being. He feels that if everyone was given this opportunity they too would flourish and succeed.

 Authority, discipline and intensive regimes are anathema to him, not because they are evil but because they are only needed in small amounts and stifle his creativity. He is the individual longing to express himself fully, wanting to realise himself and maximise his output. Not at others' expense, mind. So when he encounters the professionalism of Andy Flower he sees an institution, a machine. Someone who he describes as being someone who simply was in the right place at the right time whilst the team of talented individuals peaked.

For the team, you see, is a compilation of individuals working to their maximum output which is only achieved when they are allowed to flourish as individuals. The world of conformity and 'the machine' has no place in sport. Whatever anyone says, the team will only do well when the key cogs are scoring centuries or taking five-wicket hauls. David Gower would look down approvingly from his moth-plane. 

For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despise their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
Cultivate their flowers to be
Nothing more than something they invest in.

And from the other end of the crease we have Andy Flower. And probably Cook, Strauss, Bell, Trott, Vaughan, Gooch and several generations worth of players who might be considered quintessentially 'British' batsmen. For them the team is everything. Team spirit, 'momentum' and unity are not abstract terms to them but represent something fundamental to the game they love dearly. Loyalty and resilience; national pride. 
After all, how can exceptions be made for the one individual whose disregard for the rules could potentially jeopardise the whole team's attitude and performance? Obviously, the individuals must be catered for, but the mindset of each individual must be for the greater good of the team and the bonds created within the team are essential for that. Yes, there is intensive discipline and professionalism but in the modern game that is essential to ensure that everyone achieves peak performance levels. 
Sometimes do things gets a bit competitive and heated? Yes, but this is life, you deal with it and move on. KP sees this as a culture of bullying and cleaques? Well, that's probably because never understood the need to think bigger than himself. Immaturity. Child-like. Little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously. 

KPs and Flowers are scattered everywhere. Maybe they are personality-types, or maybe we all have these attitudes within us to a certain degree. On the one hand the individual desires to achieve excellence, personal brilliance and fully accomplish their potential in whatever field. The idea of enforced conformity is synonymous with the suppression of  God-given gifts. Sometimes there seems nothing worse that having to abide by social norms which are not attuned specifically to our personalities, our hopes and dreams. We can gloomily anticipate a miserable and compromised existence. The Machine looms large with its stealthy combination of lethargy and inevitable acceptance and the individual longs to crush it. 

And yet the Flowers of this world come along and show us other things that seem more important, seem bigger, and seem worthwhile investing in despite all that. Family, friendships and relationships, the wider community, the Jewish people. These things can never be achieved alone. 

KP recognises the Flower position but thinks that these things can be achieved by leaving the individual to their own devices, to tread upon that path themselves. Flower sees the need to sacrifice the individual for the sake of the team not as a compromise but ultimately as a finer expression of that individuality. And the wheel goes round. 

So either KP is derided for being childish and selfish whilst he knows he is describing a painful emotional reality. Or Flower is called cruel, heartless and a happiness-drain whilst he knows that he selflessly dedicated himself for years for the good of the team. Different ways of seeing the world. Tension. The individual vs. the community, self-actualisation vs. the greater good of those around you. 

Perhaps I just take cricket too seriously. Either way, it is sad to see how miserable KP felt about the whole thing and how it seemed to overshadow all his accomplishments with the bat, in his own mind at least. It is very clear how this 'being misunderstood' shtick that he has complained of for years left him with a real sense of loneliness. In his final bow as a professional, the rather wistful words come to mind:

 You are right from your side and I am right from mine. It's been one too mornings and a thousand miles behind.

Or perhaps the angrier version from a live performance in 1976 in the midst of a relationship crisis is more appropriate:

You've no right to be here if I've no right to stay. It's been one too many mornings and a thousand miles away.