Two Types of Modern Religiosity and a View on Traditionalism (Column 501)

The manifestos have concluded, the celebrations for the 500th column were canceled, and now we’re back on track.

Following the last column I received several responses and suggestions that prompted me to clarify a few points. I will focus here mainly on three: the first two concern my stance toward semi-political associations and platforms, and a fundamental distinction between my views and seemingly similar views that have been circulating in recent years in the marketplace of ideas under the heading of modern religiosity (and in fact, postmodern). At the end I will comment on the relation to traditional identity.

My stance toward rabbinic associations and organizations in general

More than once in the past I have been asked to join this or that rabbinic association. I’m very reluctant to do so, for several reasons. First, there is the question of the group’s identity itself. Do I accept its composition and aims, and do I trust its members? Are they truly Torah scholars, truly committed to halakha, and is their judgment acceptable to me? The Talmud (Sanhedrin 23b) says that the refined of Jerusalem would examine who sits with them at a meal, who signs a document with them, and who sits with them in judgment. When you join a beit din panel or any organization, you must be prepared for a situation in which your colleagues outvote you and you must sign their ruling even though you opposed it. That is possible only if you have full confidence in their level, integrity, and the fundamental direction of your colleagues’ thinking.

Beyond that, there is the question of the group’s self-definition as a “leadership” of this or that kind. To my mind this perpetuates the problem rather than solving it. You want leadership, and the leadership now is flawed and failing? No problem—let’s bring you another leadership. In my view, the very yearning for leadership is the problem. Sometimes it’s an illusion altogether that people are seeking leadership, and it is very convenient for self-appointed “leaders” to live within it. In the previous column (the manifesto) I wrote about the phenomenon of “notables,” as in an Arab village. If you want to move something in the national-religious public, you turn to a collection of “notables” (who, for some reason, call themselves “senior rabbis of religious Zionism”) and they arrange everything. In many cases this is done in the dark of one of these “notables’” offices (who, of course, were appointed to it by none other than themselves).

A third problem is that I’m allergic to a situation in which a group of people speaks collectively. In such a case, my personal positions are presented to the public by a spokesperson or by various committees of people, and not “from the horse’s mouth” itself. Anyone who wants to know what I think should ask me, not my spokespeople. Statements like “we think” or “Organization X believes that _” make me shudder. Exactly like the collective beliefs instilled in us in religious education (how many times have I heard questions phrased: “But after all, we believe that _”). This applies particularly to positions like mine, which are generally not really consensual and in many cases are not always understood correctly. Therefore I trust only myself to present them (and even that is not always justified).

On the other hand

Despite all of the above, I know that in order to promote agendas, organization is necessary. One person cannot really change anything. This is what people tell me again and again after the manifesto (the previous column) and in general. They suggest various platforms that can help advance the religious-modern idea, and I fully understand the logic in this. But this necessary compromise gives me hives, for the reasons I’ve detailed. I am certainly happy to sign this or that proclamation on a particular issue after I have examined it and found that I agree with its content. But I am not willing to be a member of an organization that speaks with one voice on a whole set of issues, and does so also in my name. Even if the organization publishes several opinions, it is still not certain that my opinion will be faithfully represented there (usually that is not the case).

I will not deny that this purism works to my detriment. A lone voice crying out in the wilderness cannot really change much, since it lacks significant specific gravity. But generally I do not aspire to defined goals and targets (the manifesto spoke about forming an identity, not creating a party or an institution), and therefore perhaps the problem is less severe. Ideas seep in their own way, and I believe in sending out “your bread upon the waters” in the realm of ideas. We should help processes emerge and advance, but we should not expect that we will be the ones to make the change. That is too pretentious. In particular if I see my goal as clarifying the picture and elucidating basic concepts and principles—that is, theoretical aims intended primarily to provide backing for the broader and more practical processes. There organization is less necessary, and in fact mainly harmful. At the implementation stages, indeed, there is no escape from various associations, but they should preferably be local and aimed at a very specific purpose.

Later in the column I will point out a fundamental distinction between my views and those similar ones circulating in the marketplace of ideas, and through it I will again illustrate what I have explained here: that joining various associations is problematic for me.

The “Beit Hillel” organization

The Beit Hillel organization is the natural candidate to advance these ideas. When it was founded they approached me as well, but I did not want to join, mainly for some of the reasons above (and a few more). Upon its founding its identity took shape, and already in its title we see “Attentive Torah Leadership.” My general impression (also from reading its materials and foundational declarations) is that its primary goal is to address the general public and present a moderate and inclusive Torah that is relevant to everyone. Ostensibly a lofty and exalted goal. Sanctifying God’s Name (kiddush Hashem) and preventing its desecration (hillul Hashem) are foundational values in halakha.

And yet, this trend is the exact 180-degree opposite of my own. I too strive for a liberal Torah and religiosity, and as such it will likely be more accessible to additional people and groups. Perhaps it will even lead to a kiddush Hashem and prevent hillul Hashem. But I have no goal whatsoever to achieve that. At most it is a side effect. I have no interest in “including” additional groups, or in currying favor with anyone. On the contrary, if my words find favor in the eyes of too many people, I examine myself sevenfold, because I likely erred somewhere. My proposals for revolutions and changes and for adopting modern and external values are based solely on the notion that this is the correct way to serve God. This is truth, not inclusion or an attitude toward other groups, conceptions, or individuals. I would say it even on a deserted island. If those motivations are rooted mainly in inclusion, or in kiddush and hillul Hashem (what is called in less polite language “ratings,” though here in a positive sense), I am rowing precisely to the opposite shore: austere truth in all its dignity. Kiddush and hillul Hashem are of course very important values, but they are not my motivation, because in my view in most cases they are not a correct basis for ruling or changing halakha. I would not touch even the tiniest halakhic “nub” out of a consideration that it will find favor with secular, traditional, or Reform Jews, or that it will “include” them. On the contrary, if it does find favor in their eyes, I would try to avoid it. I have no interest in including them.

It is true that halakha includes a trend of adopting rulings and interpretive methods that are accepted by the public and avoiding rulings that distance the people in the fields from the Torah. But to the best of my judgment this applies to the people in the fields who are obligated to halakha, not to groups that are not obligated to it.[1] And even then it must be done sparingly and with great discretion. The Torah is not a means to create social cohesion; it has its own aims, which are not the gathering and unification of the people of Israel. The commandments are intended to achieve ends of their own (what I have often called “religious values”), and if people do not understand that, that is no reason to forego achieving those aims. The unification of the people is a means toward those aims, not the other way around. Therefore I am emphatically against compromises, painful or otherwise, in order to include other groups.

Similar voices

In recent years, a number of voices similar to those I described have been heard. Rabbi Ido Pachter repeatedly argues (see his book Judaism on the Spectrum) that we should change the definition of Judaism to include more shades: starting with traditionalists and Mizrahim, continuing with Reform Jews, and ending with secular Jews. Recently he overreached and claimed that Haredim are not on the spectrum (conversion to Haredism is invalid). A similar though more moderate direction can be found in Rabbi Ronen Lubitch’s book Should We Go with the Streams?. So too with Dr. Elhanan Shilo (in his book Existential Judaism) and a few others. All speak, in different hues, about Jewish religiosity as a spectrum, and call to recognize this spectrum ab initio and include it all within the religious and halakhic framework. One could say that this is postmodern religiosity.

At times I receive approaches from these and other figures who see me as a partner to their conceptions, and indeed the similarity can be deceptive. But in my impression, all of them are driven by motivations entirely foreign to me. They are trying to propose a Jewish identity that is diverse and inclusive, that addresses groups beyond those obligated to halakha (I am careful with the term “Orthodoxy,” which I too do not accept as a necessary basis for halakhic obligation). Usually this comes with widening the canvas and offering halakhic and philosophical options broader than customary. In that sense I am with them. But, as noted, my motivation is different—and indeed the opposite.

For my part it is precisely important to know and sharpen who is with us and who is against us. Not in the sense of denouncing or attacking them (I have often written that if a person truly believes in his path, at most he is coerced by circumstance, certainly not wicked and not deserving of any denunciation), but to understand what is included in Judaism and what is not. For me, definitions matter—even if they are broader. I am against blurring and fuzziness and various spectrums, unless it follows from conceptual analysis (I have written more than once about fuzzy logic). Ambiguity is not a value, and therefore I have no aim to blur definitions or abandon them. I certainly aim to update and clarify them, precisely to be exact and not to blur. The fact that conceptual analysis usually leads me to broader definitions is a result (a side effect), but certainly not the motivation for my moves.

In summary, I believe in modern religiosity, whereas those conceptions are perhaps closer to postmodern religiosity (this is, of course, a rough generalization only to sharpen the point).

Two kinds of pragmatism

I believe I have already noted here a distinction between two kinds of pragmatism. Philosophical pragmatism, which I have often written against, subordinates the “is” to the “ought.” It determines truth by what is useful (and effectively assumes there is no truth or that we have no access to it). In this sense it shares the meta-conception of skeptical and narrative postmodernism, according to which there is no way to reach truth (though they are usually presented as opposites; see, for example, Gadi Taub’s The Dwarf Rebellion), but it proposes, because of this, to adopt the useful as a criterion for truth. The problem is that this is, of course, fabricated truth. You invent truth because that is what is useful to you, and in any case you have no alternative.[2] This is essentially turning the opium of the masses into a l’chatchila ideal. But truth owes you nothing, and there is no reason for it to coincide with what is useful.

There is another pragmatism, according to which the fact that something is useful is an indication that it is true. I do not see the logic in such arguments, unless perhaps one believes in the guiding hand of providence that ensures this (in some contexts evolutionary arguments might lead there). But at least it is consistent. If someone thinks the useful is an indication of truth, then it makes sense that he would choose the useful as a criterion for truth.

This distinction recalls the difference I pointed out with the approach of Beit Hillel and those like them. The spirit that blows through their words is pragmatic in the first sense (subordinating truth to usefulness. And again, we are speaking of what is spiritually useful, of course—not self-interest). Whereas I am perhaps willing to accept pragmatism of the second kind. Sometimes acceptance by the public is an indication that the approach is true. This brings me to a halakhic example.

A decree that has spread among most of the public

In the past I wrote here (I now found it in column 277) about the halakhic rule that a decree or enactment must spread among most of the public in order to be accepted. The Talmud determines that a decree that has not spread among most of the public is void. It is commonly thought that this is a kind of pragmatic compromise: indeed it would be proper to act thus, for that is what the beit din in its wisdom understood, but the people in the fields cannot uphold it and the Torah was not given to the ministering angels. One must take them into account and nullify the decree. I explained there that in my view the plain meaning is exactly the opposite. If the public does not accept the decree, it is apparently incorrect. Those who sit in the study hall or on the bench are detached from the world, and therefore they must receive feedback from the people in the fields. The latter correct the errors that stem from the scholars’ intellectual detachment. In such a case, acceptance by the public is indeed an indication of truth. This is pragmatism of the second, reasonable, and acceptable type.

But, as noted, this refers to the people in the fields who are obligated to halakha and strive to fulfill it. A public that in principle does not strive to uphold halakha—its non-acceptance of some halakha tells us nothing.

Let us now return to our discussion.

What about coalitions: is there a practical difference?

At bottom, the picture that all these groups present can be very similar to mine. They too speak of flexibility and of importing external values. But if I am right, then their motive is different—and indeed the opposite. They do this to a large extent in order to include and make the Torah accessible to others (“ratings,” albeit in a positive sense—multiplying love for the Torah and for the Holy One, blessed be He; still an instrumental approach), whereas I do this even if it will not include others—simply because in my view this is the correct way to act.

I will say more. It is possible, and even very likely in my view, that after I present many of them with the question, they will agree with my approach. But in my impression, the spirit that blows through their words is different. It may be that this manner of presentation is intended merely to point out the benefit and necessity of the approach, and not that this is necessarily its substantive basis (regarding which they might agree with me that it is a substantive value-based foundation and not merely various inclusions). It may also be that the very framing can change the conceptions, and I would be very pleased if that were so.

Seemingly, what I have described so far is only a difference in motives and motivations. The picture and the practical goals are similar. This means that there is certainly room for a coalition between my conception and such groups and ideas, since we are striving toward the same practical aims. Of course I do not see anything wrong with them. I simply disagree, and at bottom there is much in common.

However, another question now arises: is there also a difference in substance here? Will my practical picture be identical to the picture arising from those conceptions? My answer is no. The resemblance is far from perfect (and because of it, all sorts of people claim I am a fanatic Haredi and don’t understand where to place me on the religious map). I will illustrate this with a few examples.

First example: the status of women in the synagogue

The well-known ruling of the rabbis and rabbinic women of Beit Hillel regarding a female orphan reciting Kaddish has already drawn my critique, and I will not revisit it here. I will only note that I fully agree with their permissive ruling, but my motivation to permit it is not to ease women’s distress and enable them to express themselves fully in the religious sphere (a not inherently illegitimate rationale). My motivation is that there is simply no reason to forbid it. Therefore I would not need any halakhic source to permit it (that was the main criticism I made of them there). There is simply no reason to prohibit it. Therefore even if women were not in distress, I would tell them to say Kaddish. Conversely, if there were a halakhic problem here, then even if they were in distress I would not rule that way (sometimes there is room for leniency in exigent circumstances, but I won’t go into that here. I’m speaking about the principled approach).

I will add that I am not familiar with an organized and official ruling from them on women reciting the Sheva Berakhot at a wedding (there are responses, such as this one by Rabbanit Chana Godinger), or on women’s Torah reading and aliyah (though see here an anonymous essay from their site). I estimate that issuing such a permissive ruling is more difficult, if only for fear that it will be perceived as an excessive leniency (Reform-like). In my view, Torah reading is plainly permitted and does not require too much argumentation. An aliyah to the Torah should, in my view, also be permitted. As for the wedding blessings, there is room to permit (though here halakhic work is needed). All of this, in my opinion, is indeed permitted. In some cases it is not because of women’s distress but because there is no reason to forbid. And in topics where there are sides to be lenient and to be stringent, there it is more appropriate to use the consideration of distress and need.

Second example: conversion

The same applies to conversion (see on this in column 469). I have often been asked how my stringencies in conversion (I see no place for any compromise regarding acceptance of the commandments. One who did not accept the commandments seriously and intentionally at the time of conversion is a full gentile, even if the beit din that converted him thinks otherwise)[3] accord with my leniencies in other areas. Why don’t I understand that we must be lenient here to solve severe social problems and ease people’s distress? My answer is that I do not “stringent” or “lenient” in halakha; I infer what seems to me correct. Sometimes that yields leniency and sometimes stringency. This is one of the differences between an approach whose aim is inclusion and kiddush Hashem—which generally tends toward leniency—and an approach that strives for halakhic truth in the given circumstances—which may arrive at conclusions of leniency or stringency.

I would never conceive of being lenient in conversion because there are social problems in the state. Secular people here created a severe problem with the deliberate import of hundreds of thousands of gentiles (as Rabbi Peretz of Ra’anana, who served as Interior Minister, rightly argued, and for which he took flak from all ends of the political spectrum and most ends of the religious spectrum), and now halakha must find ways to kosher the unkosher? Halakha is not an instrument for solving social and political problems. Halakha operates according to its measures and modes of conduct, interpretation, and ruling. The resulting consequences the society and the state must either swallow or vomit up—and best of all, ignore (separate religion from state). But that is a problem for the state, not for halakha.

Indeed this is a bill and its receipt attached. Alongside the stringency in requiring acceptance of the commandments, I propose (see in the column cited) a picture that greatly eases the definition of the acceptance of commandments required in conversion. In my view, it is sufficient that the convert understands that the system obligates him (and that he will be punished if he transgresses it). There is no need for an intention to actually keep the commandments, and certainly no need for actual observance. Without entering the claim itself, I will say again that here too I do not do this to ease someone’s burden or to solve anyone’s distress. “He who is in pain should go to a doctor” (Bava Kamma 46b), meaning: if it hurts you, see a physician (not a rabbi). I simply think that conceptual analysis shows that this is truly the correct halakhic picture. In principle it is correct even in a world that is entirely conservative Haredim who are punctilious about every jot and tittle, living and acting within a Jewish halakhic state à la the Taliban. In my view, one who does not act thus turns a kosher Jew into a gentile, and one could even say that there is here an excessive leniency (he exempts a kosher Jew from all the commandments).

Third example: the attitude toward traditionalism

It is very common to assume that there is an interest in bringing traditionalists closer and viewing them as part of the religious public. After all, they have a warm corner in their heart for halakha and Torah; they respect the rabbis and the Torah, but are a bit weak in observance. I think the attentive leadership aims, among other things, at this public. By contrast, I have written more than once that to me a traditionalist is far worse than an atheist. The traditionalist knows his Master and rebels against Him (does not observe halakha), whereas the atheist is entirely coerced by circumstance (a “captive infant”). I have no interest in including traditionalism, creating a “religiosity spectrum” that speaks to it, and certainly not one that recognizes it.[4]

Of course it depends which traditionalist we are speaking about. I refer here to a traditionalist who is aware of his religious and halakhic obligation, but it just doesn’t suit him at the moment. He cuts corners and drives on Shabbat to a soccer match after prayers, turns on the TV, and the like. That is unlike a person who fails occasionally because he cannot hold out. Such a person is not a traditionalist but a religious person who failed. Traditionalism is defined as a fixed and systematic mode of conduct, not as a local failure. There are, however, other kinds of traditionalism: those who do not really accept the full scope of halakha but see it as a kind of folklore, atmosphere, culture, and the like. In my view these are not traditionalists but secular people with folklore of a religious hue (like bringing first fruits, or alternative kibbutz-style holidays). They do not accept the authority of halakha, but see it as a charming family tradition worth preserving. It may even be dear to their hearts emotionally, but so long as there is no conception that this is binding truth, we are speaking of secularity (that is, a conception not obligated to halakha).[5]

Here too this is an example of a stance not aimed at including other groups or at leniency, but at striving to reach halakhic and conceptual truth.

I will now take the opportunity to address one of the responses to my manifesto, since it relates indirectly at least to my words above about traditionalism. The attitude toward traditionalism reflects, deeply and fundamentally, the distinction between the two conceptions I have described so far.

Implication: a critique I received of the manifesto

Unfortunately I am not on Facebook, but someone sent me a critique of the manifesto that was posted on the site’s Facebook page. I would like to take the opportunity to respond to it, because through it I will illustrate the attitude toward traditionalism and its connection to the distinction I made above.

Assaf Leibovitz writes there as follows:

Indeed an interesting analysis, though it lacks another dimension of analysis, namely, the traditional identity. In my view it is the third identity, with an emphasis on its religious-ethnic and class context. Your basic assumption is that if a person says he is a liberal and thinks he is a liberal, then he is indeed such. But since you have already used “false consciousness,” one could question this as well. The ethno-class dimension posits another option: a traditional, liberal, and Zionist Judaism in the formula proposed by Likud. This is a public that in practice acts in a liberal and modern manner on issues of women, LGBT, the IDF, and more, alongside a national and traditional Jewish faith-based outlook.

The fact that liberal religious Jews do not see in this identity an obvious intuitive ally, and that it is precisely the hardalniks who claim ownership of it, proves that ethnicity, class, and habitus carry great weight in political organization. In addition, this indicates that liberalism is an elusive concept and that racism, separatism, and intolerance can also exist in a liberal religious space (cf. many towns and kibbutzim). This is also the reason why the modern-religious identity remains a small niche, and unfortunately this article, in ignoring the traditional identity as a real, concrete option for dialogue and partnership, proves that it will remain such.

And in response to Chayuta he writes:

Ignoring the traditional identity, which in a proper world should have been the obvious intuitive ally of liberal religious Jews, demonstrates that this is not just ideology. There is a great deal here of class and ethnicity and sociological belonging. That is why national-Haredim and national-religious Jews still feel they are the same sector despite the gaps between them. That is why Haredim will not see the hardalniks as part of them.

In short, I’m not fond of those who look at the system and explain to everyone why it is not behaving “properly” instead of understanding its deep internal logic—a logic that holds up a not-so-flattering mirror to liberal religious Jews. And what most drives me crazy is how someone who lived in Yeruham (!) for years could be blind to the identity that existed right next to him.

If I gather what emerges from his words in these two passages, there is here an accusation that my words (together with liberal and modern religiosity in general) are racist, because I did not place on the map the third or fourth identity of Mizrahi traditionalism (in his words: Likud voters. So who is the racist here?). How could my eyes have been blind to the identity that flourished right next to me in Yeruham?! “Wild, huh?”

More on matters of taste

Since Assaf has shared his taste (whom he is and isn’t “fond of”), I will allow myself to share mine. I am really not fond of professional victims (who sometimes professionally victimize others). Those for whom whatever you say or write will be interpreted as discrimination and racism—toward them or toward others. If you include traditionalism, you’re a racist (why didn’t you include Bedouins or secular people? Why do you address Mizrahim separately? And why do you attribute traditionalism specifically to them?). And if you don’t include them, you’re also a racist. You surely recognize this amusing and infuriating phenomenon.

Why am I not fond of them? Because victimhood fills their entire screen, and therefore they are unable to see anything as it is and address arguments on their merits. It does not occur to them that there are much simpler and more compelling reasons for the phenomenon before them, and they prefer to jump straight onto the trendy racism bandwagon and attribute everything to racism and victimhood. To see this, let us look a bit at Assaf’s holy words.

My response to his words

First, I truly wonder why he thinks the Mizrahi-traditional identity does not appear on my map. According to his own view, it does appear. That is precisely the third identity I speak of. For some reason, in his view it differs from the liberal identity I described, but he himself says that they are actually natural partners because:

This is a public that in practice acts in a liberal and modern manner on issues of women, LGBT, the IDF, and more, alongside a national and traditional Jewish faith-based outlook.

Well then, by his own lights this is exactly the third identity I spoke of. Interesting why he thinks I did not relate to it? Ah—because, with his penetrating eyes, he discerned that when I related to liberals I (even if I did not say so) meant only Ashkenazi liberals and not Mizrahi ones. Racist that I am. According to his view, it seems I should have drawn a dual identity map: Ashkenazi and Mizrahi Haredim; Ashkenazi and Mizrahi religious-Zionists; Ashkenazi and Mizrahi modern-liberals; traditionalists only Mizrahi; and likewise Reform and secular (who, in his opinion, are only Ashkenazi) whom, due to my racism, I did not include at all. Actually, why only such a division? What about Poles, Czechs, Algerians, Tunisians, Belgians, and more? And after all that, I am the racist here. “Wild, huh?”

So here is a free lesson in reading comprehension. My eyes were not at all blind to the traditional identity (which is not necessarily Mizrahi, certainly not in recent years). I know it well, and as I explained above, I even lament it and view it as worse than atheism (racist that I am). In my view it is not a religious identity, certainly not more than the Reform identity. I also did not include the Bedouin, the tropical-equatorial, and the Hindu identities in my map, if only because they are not part of the map of Jewish-religious identities. I likewise did not include the traditional identity because, as I explained above, in my view it is not part of that map.

But never mind—that would have required him to know my stance on traditionalists, and there is no reason he should. The larger problem is what emerges from his words even if he does not know my stance. If, in Assaf’s opinion, I should have included all the identities that are natural partners to my conceptions, there are far better candidates than the traditionalists: Reform and Conservative Jews (the latter are not, in my personal opinion, a separate identity) and secular Jews. If I do not want coercion and want to give equal treatment to everyone, who are more faithful partners to us than secular and Reform Jews?! And yet, for some reason, Assaf does not wonder why I did not include these two “religious” identities on my map. “Wild, huh?”

I have a guess as to why this happens to him. Apparently, in his view, secular and Reform Jews are Ashkenazi, and Ashkenazim by definition are not victims (as they used to say in Gush Katif: an Ashkenazi does not victimize an Ashkenazi). Traditionalists, on the other hand, in his view are Mizrahi, and therefore they are by definition victims. As I said: professional victims see built-in victimhood everywhere. A person is shown only what is in his heart. That, I think, is why he passes in silence over the former (Reform and secular), whom I did not include on the map, while protesting the latter (traditionalists), whom—according to his own view—I did include (for they are liberals). An upside-down world I have seen. I at least am comforted by the fact that I equally “discriminate” against Ashkenazim and Mizrahim. Equality is a candle to my liberal feet.

This is the not-so-deep internal logic of my words, and for some reason Assaf’s eyes were blind to it. But I must say that it does not at all drive me crazy, for I know well this blindness: the kind that finds blindness in everyone else but itself. It is a blindness that prevents one from discerning one’s own blindness and attributes it to others—“he who disqualifies, does so with his own blemish.” There are many examples of this among the arguments of professional victims and their helpers, and I leave that to you.

I will conclude with an apology to Assaf for allowing myself to give him a bit of a public thrashing. It’s just that the very typical arguments he raised call for it. So I extracted some sparks from them (well, that’s my Hasidic identity) and used them to sharpen my conceptions further.

[1] Of course there are cases where these concepts address gentiles, but generally it is not correct to change halakhot in order to receive proper treatment from gentiles.

[2] It reminds me of Peres’s immortal remark: what is their (the right’s) alternative?! He assumes that if there is no other alternative to peace, then one must choose the bad one. The option that there is no path to peace at all does not exist in the eyes of such an inveterate optimist. One may also recall here, lehavdil, Rav Kook’s saying about the superiority of failing in baseless love over failing in baseless hatred. There too I noted that best of all is to fail in neither.

[3] Of course, if the beit din thinks that factually there was acceptance of the commandments, that is a different situation. There, even if in my view there was no acceptance of the commandments, my view is nullified in the face of theirs.

[4] Incidentally, with regard to counting toward a minyan the relation is, of course, the reverse: a traditionalist of the type I defined here counts toward a minyan, since he believes in God and prays to Him, while an atheist does not (he is, in my eyes, akin to adding a potted plant to nine praying men).

[5] I will not enter here my claim that religious feeling and experience have no importance or value in themselves (except perhaps as an expression of conception and faith, which do have value). I have addressed this more than once in the past.