On Free Will and Its Meaning (Column 354)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

“And behold, R.A. [=Ibn Ezra] is a faithful spirit who conceals a matter, while I, the talebearer, reveal his secret.”

(Ramban, Leviticus 16:8)

“Rabbi Yehuda ben Beteira said to him: ‘Akiva, either way you will ultimately be held to account: if, as you say, the Torah concealed it and you reveal it; and if not, you cast aspersions on that righteous man.’”

(Shabbat 96b)

“What is [the meaning of] ‘to the One who covers (Ancient of Days)’? This refers to one who covers matters that the Ancient of Days covered—and what are these? The secrets of the Torah. And some say: this refers to one who reveals matters that the Ancient of Days covered—and what are these? The reasons for the commandments.”

(Pesachim 119a)

A few days ago I was sent a paper by Moshe Shapira that discusses free will in Haredi society and the need to expand it a bit. I will begin by saying that the article was published in the journal Tzarikh Iyun (full disclosure: the editor, Rabbi Yehoshua Pfeffer, is a friend of mine), which gives expression to moderate critiques (at least in phrasing) from within Haredi society. There you can find articles by Haredi men and women writing about problematic points in the conduct of Haredi society—particularly regarding professional training, openness to the broader world, art and self-expression, the status of women, sectorialism, attitudes toward Israeli identity and secularism, Haredi leadership, activism and politics, “da’at Torah,” military service, attitudes to various fields of knowledge and occupations, and so on.

This is a refreshing and new phenomenon (preceded in spirit by the journal Adrabah) that, to my pleasant surprise, is gradually gaining a foothold in the Haredi world. In my impression it has not even met with the torrents of bans and criticism I would have expected toward such phenomena. Contrary to the norm, the writers in Tzarikh Iyun sign with their real names (as far as I understand) and write what is on their hearts on these sensitive topics. But it is easy to see that the platform and context oblige them to write moderately and cautiously, and despite the courageous critique I find there, in many cases it is hard to avoid the sense that what is being said does not fully express what the authors would like to say. I assume that sometimes this is caution toward the outside, but it seems quite clear to me that no less than that, there is also the phenomenon of “the heart is not revealed to the mouth” (a person does not allow themselves to seriously raise overly radical possibilities, even within their own thoughts). Moreover, most of the critiques that appear there are indeed presented as calls to correct from within, but in substance they undermine Harediness itself (see below).

Returning to the above article: although I of course fully identify with what he writes and also appreciate the courage to write it, as I read it these feelings were all the more aroused in me. I will try to demonstrate them here through a critical reading of his words. My critique should be read in this context: I will point to contortions, conceptual mixtures, and inconsistencies, and to the way he reveals a handbreadth while concealing two. Yet I think what wants to be said peeks quite clearly through the cracks even if there is an attempt to hide or blur it. Needless to say that with these revealed-concealed handbreadths I very much identify. Furthermore, I appreciate his courage, but I also criticize the fact that he does not carry it through to the end. In what follows I will try to show that those concealed handbreadths are not just my own wishes but are present between the folds of his words. Therefore I ask forgiveness from R. Moshe Shapira, a faithful spirit who conceals a matter, for my being the talebearer revealing his secret. To my judgment these secrets fall under the category of ta’amei Torah (reasons of the Torah) and not sitrei Torah (secrets of the Torah) (see the citation above from Pesachim).

Background: The Phenomenon of the “Anusim”

The background to the article was the film “Bamisstarim” (“In Secret”), about the phenomenon of Haredi “anusim” (compelled ones), which aired on television and put on the table the expanding phenomenon of men and women who conduct themselves and dress as Haredim but beneath that veneer there is a religious, or at least Haredi, vacuum. They call themselves “anusim,” since social pressures cause them to conceal their worldview and even their practical conduct, sometimes even from their extended family and even those in their own household. Some do not hold on (and some would say, muster the courage and take the necessary step) and after a time leave Haredi society; in many cases this creates a deep and painful rift in the extended family, and also in the nuclear family. For more on the phenomenon, see here.

I myself noted this phenomenon some ten or fifteen years ago in an article commissioned from me by the editorial board of the journal Hama’ayan, which the board ultimately decided not to publish for their own reasons.

Note: “Anusei Hattvunah” (“Compelled by Reason”)

My article dealt with the phenomenon of being “compelled,” but focused on a more specific shade of it, called there “Anusei Hattvunah” (the term comes from the people themselves, not from me). This is a group of people who think differently from their Haredi surroundings, with a much more open and expansive mode of thought, and naturally they conceal their views from their environment. This is in contrast to the usual “anusim” under discussion, namely members of the Haredi community who do not believe and are not committed to the commandments at all—i.e., secular people in Haredi wrapping. I only briefly touched on that there and more so elsewhere.

I will note that in my eyes the “Anusei Hattvunah” deserve great esteem and not only compassion, unlike the regular “anusim.” The regular “anusim” should in fact draw the conclusions and courageously leave the society—and many do not. Some also reached their conclusions not through systematic, intellectual inquiry and reading, but due to feelings and/or impulses, or perhaps a sense of distress, oppression, and mere narrow-mindedness. Of course one can understand the difficulty, and I certainly am not claiming that all religious and Haredi people arrived at their path through systematic study and inquiry, nor that among the “anusim” there are none who reached their state through thought and examination. Still, it is clear that the regular “anusim” bear significant contributory fault for their situation. If they disagree and do not find themselves—they should get up and go, despite the difficulties. By contrast, the “Anusei Hattvunah” whom I met and describe in the article are, for the most part, believing people who, through their intellectual and spiritual reflection and an independent, courageous effort of many years, have formed positions different from the Haredi conception in which they were raised, or at least amassed substantial doubts about it. These are believing and committed people who think differently. Beyond the fact that with them it is usually not a matter of impulse but of worldview, they also have no other affiliation group to which they can defect (in response to my questions they repeatedly said they do not find themselves in the religious-Zionist or modern-Orthodox world, for various reasons—some, in my opinion, simply due to lack of familiarity. Hence they always dreamed of the city of “Kedoshit,” which would constitute a Platonic ideal model of their socio-religious utopia). For these reasons they try to create such a group within the Haredi world and therefore also do not defect from it (not only out of fear). In this sense they are more authentic and far more impressive in my eyes than the regular “anusim.”

Back to the Article

After presenting the background, Shapira notes that the usual responses to the “anusim” are curses and bans, denial of the phenomenon’s very existence or, at best, of its scope, and at best—ignoring it. He argues that regardless of the extent and importance of the phenomenon or the appropriate response to it, Haredi society must draw conclusions from it about the importance of granting a person the ability to choose—even in a limited sense—and implement this within itself. There is no doubt he is right, but to sharpen my point I want to go a bit deeper into his arguments and their presentation, and I will do so in the order they appear. I think the continuation of the column is a chapter in subversive reading—that is, deconstruction in its positive sense. I will try to expose the concealed handbreadths from within the folds of the revealed handbreadth.

First, I will note the beginning of his words. Shapira comments there that he finds it hard to believe the scope of the phenomenon. It does not seem plausible to him that there are many who go to synagogue on Shabbat morning and at the same time desecrate Shabbat in secret. I too do not know the extent of the phenomenon, of course, but I do not know how he reached his numerical estimates. By the very nature of the phenomenon of “anusim,” its scope cannot be known. This, by the way, is itself one of the problems in a silencing society that does not allow discourse. Not only is the “compulsion” there problematic, but also the inability to discuss and understand it and its scope. Incidentally, the other side that appears in his words immediately thereafter expresses a lack of understanding or familiarity. A secular person who begins to believe in God will certainly face no simple difficulties, and it is quite possible that he too will conceal it and be “compelled.” True, there will not be sanctions against him as there are in the Haredi world, but the feeling and the attitude of the surrounding environment can be very unpleasant, and I have no doubt that there too there are “anusim.” Nathan Alterman’s song “The Little Cleric” is not a bad expression of this phenomenon (even if from another era). This is also true regarding right-wing opinions in left-leaning societies and circles (and to a lesser extent the reverse). There is clear testimony about this (among others from Yuval Steinitz, who during his tenure as a university lecturer set up a support group for right-wing intellectuals and academics).

But my main concern here is the question of choice that he recommends. Let us try to understand precisely what we are talking about: what is the existing situation and what alternative does he himself propose?

What Is “Haredi Choice”?

Shapira begins by saying that Haredi society does not really care whether its members observe the commandments out of identification and choice:

In Haredi education there appears to be no real value to a person’s choice. Our education educates to do: to keep Shabbat, to observe the commandments, to dress in a certain way, to send the children to these institutions and not to others. But within all this, do we care whether a person chooses this—i.e., identifies with his actions? Does it matter to us whether a person accepts the community’s norms out of desire or out of a sense of coercion? I fear the answer is negative.

He refers to performing these actions under compulsion and not by choice. Note that the list includes both Shabbat observance and mitzvah observance—halakhic norms that obligate any religious person—and also particular Haredi cultural norms (sending children to heder, to Haredi school and yeshivah, or Haredi dress). This mixing is very important, for later he qualifies the critique and focuses it only on the cultural layer, seemingly ignoring the importance of choice with regard to religiosity itself and the observance of the commandments.

He then writes:

The idea of free choice in Haredi education is not identical to the idea of choice that expresses inner will and identification. In Haredi education, a person has choice, but the range is binary: whether to accept the Haredi way of life or to deny it and sin. This concept of choice is very different from the secular principle of freedom of choice. In the general world, freedom of choice means opening horizons before a person’s will; a person’s will is free, and he is called upon to realize it as fully as possible. By contrast, in the Haredi world there is only one possible choice: to obey the community’s norms. Any other choice is illegitimate and is not even defined as choice, but as surrender to the temptation of the evil inclination.

Here his claim is that the Haredi world also recognizes the idea of choice, but only at the general level (whether to be Haredi or not) and not in shades and nuances—in modes of Haredi expression and outlook, etc. It is clear that the Haredi world does not allow either type of choice and, indeed, presents people with only two possibilities: Harediness or empty secularism. It is well known that in the Haredi world there is no serious consideration of other religious shades, and in that sense they are not presented as options. But it seems to me that this passage does not touch the question of choice but the presentation of the options before the chooser. Haredi society does not allow choice in anything—not whether to be Haredi or not, nor in anything else (except perhaps the breakfast menu or the sevara used to resolve R. Akiva Eiger’s question). In addition, as part of this, it presents the Haredi person with a distorted black-and-white picture of the surrounding world, but that too is part of the same trend of negating choice (for secularity is not an option, so there is no problem portraying it as the anti-Christ with whom one must contend). But the presentation of options and the encouragement to choose are two different aspects.

Throughout his piece Shapira mixes these two meanings of free choice: the number of options presented to a person, and encouraging the person to choose their own path out of identification. These are two entirely different meanings (even if related), yet consistently throughout his writing they appear blended. I do not know whether this is an innocent conceptual mistake or part of the contortion I will point out below.

Now comes a first qualifying passage:

It is important to stress already here that although I relate critically to the absence of the value of choice in Haredi education, I do not think we should adopt the radical liberal idea that the only value meant to guide a person is self-realization, and that this value grants equal weight to every human choice, with no possibility of objectively preferring one way of life over another. I emphasize the difference between the Haredi world and the Western world, but between these polar options there are also middle paths. In my view, one can adopt certain aspects of the value of choice, even within a framework that educates that keeping Torah and commandments leads a person to the best life, and that obedience to God’s will is not voluntary but an absolute obligation. The Jewish idea of ‘acting for its own sake’ expresses appreciation for a person’s personal identification with his actions and for a deep belief that he is doing what is right in God’s eyes, and not only in man’s eyes—that is, for action that stems from a person’s inner will. In other words, one who gives up his will because of the divine command is a choosing person—provided that the recognition that this is God’s will is his own recognition, and not that others recognized it in his stead without his identifying with it.

The depiction of radical liberalism as if its sole value were self-realization is a distorted description. I do not think there is such a society in the world. On the contrary, some declare such statements but do not in fact act in accordance with them. Almost no one in the world encourages people to choose a path of contract killing out of identification and self-realization. Every society in the world has a given set of values not handed over to the choice of the individual, but only to the decision whether to act by them (and be righteous) or not (and be wicked). The definition of righteous and wicked is general in every society I know.[1] Therefore what he writes here is not a distinction between Harediness and the Western world, but between Harediness and a more open religiosity—but of course he does not wish to present that.

Beyond this, while reading the passage I wondered where the modern-religious shades are in his discussion. They do not appear as an option at all, and this is very strange in an article that criticizes the black-and-white presentation common in the Haredi world. But I think this is not accidental, for introducing choice into the Haredi world would, in effect, make it non-Haredi. There is no such creature as a Haredi world with genuine choice. A Haredi with choice is some shade of modern (or liberal) religious Jew. I think Shapira senses, at least intuitively, the flaw in his critique of the Haredi world. In what he proposes, he is in effect suggesting its dissolution, not its improvement—but this cannot be written, so he prefers to set up a fictitious alternative and fight it.[2] Incidentally, in my impression (supported also by acquaintance), among those who leave the Haredi community, there is a negligible minority who choose a different religiosity; most move to full secularism. This is one of the prices of the black-and-white picture presented to the Haredi person, and Shapira himself is captive to this conception, perhaps unwittingly.

Also in the second part of the passage there is a mixture of two different things. On the one hand, he writes that he does not recommend radical freedom of choice—that is, one that relates to the very observance of the commandments and religious identity. Only within that framework does he propose speaking about different shades that should be chosen among out of identification and not coercion. Yet he concludes with the value of choice regarding any ethical action, including the observance of commandments and God’s will. So does he support encouraging choice at this fundamental level as well, or not? Is observing commandments not out of choice acceptable, and only choosing a religious shade without choice is valueless? Why? Either our actions should be done out of choice, or not. Again, I sense here contortion—a dissonance between what is written and what one would like to write. This may stem from fear of “the evil eye” (and then it is conscious), or from “the heart is not revealed to the mouth” (and then it is not conscious).

Immediately thereafter he brings a few examples from the secular world in which there is an option to choose a personal lifestyle:

The absence of the value of choice at the conceptual level is expressed in practice in a very narrow range of choices. Before the Haredi person there is a very limited selection of life styles. The Haredi man is educated that there is only one proper path: study in yeshivah and kollel. There are other life styles, but they are not considered proper, and in many cases one who chooses them will be considered to have deviated from the royal road, a “fringe” person.^[1] Until recently, the Haredi girl had two options: to be a homemaker or (in addition) to go into teaching. Today there are indeed additional ‘tracks’ in the seminaries, but it is hard to say that they reflect an autonomous choice of a different lifestyle.^[2] In the Western world, by contrast, from a very young age children are encouraged to develop a personal style. Each child is supposed to develop a personal hobby, a unique musical taste, and a preferred sport. Later, various life styles and fashions are open before a person through which he is supposed to express his character and cultural preferences. The employment options before him also express a choice of lifestyle. A person can choose a musical career, become a hi-tech worker, or turn to academic research. Of course, not all options are open before every person, but the social ideal is to allow each person as broad a range of choice as possible.

Note that this concerns dress, music, occupation, and other minor matters. From this one could understand that his critique deals mainly with Haredi dress and music and not with belief itself and religious commitment. Yet above, the concealed handbreadths already peeked out, dealing also with choice regarding belief itself and observance of the commandments, and certainly regarding the mode of observance and religious way of life (and not only neutral cultural choices). Again, it is easy for him to focus on topics where the critique may be accepted, or at least not excommunicated, but it is clearly apparent that his intention is also to the concealed handbreadths and not only to the visible buds and blossoms.

He then proceeds to discuss the means of social pressure customary in the Haredi world, and there he focuses the discussion even more on cultural conduct (dress, employment, etc.), again completely ignoring the more essential choices withheld from the Haredi person. He complains that such pressures on marginal issues are cloaked in a religious mantle and are presented as if they were Sinai-given Torah and that one who deviates from them denies the fundamentals of faith. He is of course right, but what about the prevention of choice in matters that truly are fundamentals of religion (belief and commandments)? In his view, do actions in that realm that are not done out of choice lack value? There is no importance to choice there?

If one believes or observes commandments only because one does not dare to weigh and examine their true position on these matters—does that faith have any value? Is it even faith? Are such commandments truly commandments? Shapira hints more than once that in his view the answer is negative, but this is not explicitly expressed anywhere in his words. On the contrary, the qualifying passages that recur again and again (the revealed handbreadth) attempt to claim the opposite. Seemingly he presents a picture of an ideal society that is Haredi in its character and halakhic education but flexible in matters of dress and occupation, etc. Without entering the question of whether this is even possible (see my critique above of Rabbi Pfeffer’s article), does he truly mean this? To me it is clear that he does not. But if not, in what sense will the ideal society he describes and proposes remain Haredi?

Then comes the second qualifying passage:

This does not mean that Haredim belong to their communities against their will, as perhaps the propaganda around the issue of the “anusim” hints. Most Haredim identify with the core values of Haredi Judaism, which are a life of faith and meticulous observance of Torah and commandments. In all likelihood, they would continue to keep Shabbat and eat kosher even if we removed from them all the levers of social pressure. Haredim do not turn on the bathroom light on Shabbat, even when no one sees, and they will not even secretly tear toilet paper there. Those who do not believe that keeping Torah and commandments is a good way of life usually leave Haredi society and do not continue to live a double life like those “anusim.” Still, the phenomenon of the “anusim” exposes the price of the absence of education for choice in our society. Haredi social pressure has become such a significant force that even those who have entirely lost faith in the path continue to belong to it for reasons of mere convenience. Is this how we want a life of faith to look?

I am not entirely sure about his assessments, but beyond the factual dispute I wonder what that identification he is certain exists is worth if it itself is created as a result of pressures, coercion, and lack of options. Does he think there is a genetic difference between Haredi society and other societies? Why is it that there, religious commitment exists irrespective of pressures, and in other societies it somehow does not arise or is less enduring? Is this not related to social pressures? Note that at the end of the passage he again speaks explicitly about pressure to observe commandments (and not only to wear Haredi clothing), and he wonders whether we would want a society whose members belong to it because of pressure. But what about the ideal society he proposes, in which there would ostensibly be precisely such pressure regarding observance of commandments together with flexibility regarding marginal cultural aspects—would he want to belong to such a society? In light of the hints within the text I dare guess not, and therefore I permitted myself to reveal his secret.

“The Results of Non-Choice”

Under this heading Shapira asks what is so bad about a situation in which there is no choice. Will this dissolve Haredi society? Is social pressure an effective tool for preserving the Haredi framework? (The answers of course depend on the scope of the “anusim” and dropouts—this being the best-kept secret in the country.) But these are instrumental questions (that see choice as a tool to achieve other goals). Immediately thereafter he moves to the more important plane: the intrinsic value of choice, regardless of results. He discusses this on the psychological-emotional plane and on the ethical-religious plane. I will cite his words:

On the psychological level, the absence of education for personal choice leads to inauthenticity, to one thing in the mouth and another in the heart, to sweeping problems under the rug due to social pressure, to frustration and to a sense of disconnect from the values by which a person lives. We must honestly admit that such phenomena are indeed common in our society and far more widespread than the phenomenon of the “anusim.” Take, for example, the familiar norm of “two cell phones.” Are people who keep two phones not a kind of “anusim”? These people live double lives and do not identify with the behavior they strictly maintain for appearances’ sake. Such double lives beget cynicism and bitterness and, to put it mildly, do not contribute to a person’s happiness and emotional stability.

One might argue nevertheless: we are willing to tolerate the psychological difficulty so long as we succeed in preventing dropping out and complete abandonment of religion. Here the ethical-religious aspect enters. What benefit is there in coerced religiosity? Does God desire burnt offerings and sacrifices? Will He be elevated by the pleasing aroma of a kollel student who is forced to attend the Minchah-Ma’ariv service to hold his marriage together? Is it not preferable to have fewer people who espouse religious values with a whole heart and willing spirit than many whose heart is not with them? Moreover, when we place at the center of the question those who would leave religion if the levers of pressure were removed, we forget the enormous price paid by those who stay, and even more so, by those who loathe Harediness precisely because of the absence of choice. Social pressure causes high-quality, sensitive, and refined people to be emotionally expelled from Harediness and to live their lives at a high but cold and forced religious level. The psychological distancing resulting from the absence of education for choice is expressed in the religious life of every person in society, and it turns religious life itself into an alienated matter with which the person does not feel personal identification. A person’s cynicism does not stop with his attitude toward acceptance mechanisms in seminaries; it is ultimately directed at meticulousness in mitzvot themselves—at the long tzitzit of one kollel student and the particularly mehudar etrog of some Hasid.

Also in terms of the honor of Heaven and the honor of those who keep religion there is an advantage. The Haredi way of life, and meticulousness in commandments and fear of Heaven, will be considered of much higher value once they are no longer a badge of submission to communal norms. Moreover, the very assumption that if choice were possible the masses would stream beyond the borders of Harediness is an assumption of weakness that greatly belittles the ideological and cultural assets that Harediness has to offer. Hence perhaps the call should indeed go out that the efforts devoted to preventing breaches in the wall of religion be devoted instead to lighting candles of wisdom and warmth within the home. Such a change of direction will lead to a situation in which no person who desires life will wish to leave the Torah, and we will not need to be on guard to prevent dropping out by force.

If so, he is indeed speaking about choice also in observing commandments and in foundational values, and not only in the margins of cultural questions such as dress, etc.

It is no surprise that immediately another qualifying paragraph arrives:

It is important to emphasize: I do not see freedom of choice as an absolute value that overrides other values. In its extreme version, the authenticity of the choice is the principal yardstick for the quality of any way of life. This approach contradicts the belief that the Torah teaches a person the best way of life. Nonetheless, I think that faith in the Torah does not contradict the value of choice in a narrower sense that ascribes importance to a person’s inner agreement and sees a lack of perfection in good deeds done due to external coercion. This kind of choice not only does not contradict heeding the Torah’s command, it can even lead to it. Only a person who seeks inner truth will strive to understand what God really wants from him and what is really the right thing to do, even when there is no social pressure upon him to do so. A person who longs with all his heart to fulfill God’s will is a choosing person—provided that he himself sees a certain action as God’s will, and does not do it merely because obscure forces have decided that God’s will is that girls wear skirts of this fabric and not another.

This contortion I could no longer understand. He speaks about the fact that ethical conduct that is not done out of choice is valueless, and then qualifies by saying that his words concern a qualified sense of choice and not the radical version (which he earlier, mistakenly, called Western liberalism). What is that qualified sense? He speaks here explicitly also about choice regarding the very religious-Haredi way of life itself, including observance of commandments and belief. If even regarding this one must grant free choice, where are the qualifications? In what sense is the choice he proposes not radical?

Moreover, even conceptually and logically there is great confusion here. For even according to him, choice is not a value among other values. Choice is a condition for the value of values; i.e., one who does not choose a given value is not upholding it (there is no value to his ethical conduct). Therefore all his language that speaks of choice as a value, and the comparison between it and other values, is simply confusion—or yet another contortion for the reasons presented above.

He concludes that granting freedom of choice is worth the instrumental price (since choice is not only an instrumental value):

I do not ignore the fact that there will be prices that Haredi society will have to pay in order to allow the value of choice and personal identification to exist. Without doubt, Haredi society will not remain in its current form if it adopts these values. In today’s Haredi Judaism, keeping religion and the integrity of the community take precedence over the value of the individual’s choice, with all that this implies. Nonetheless, it is imperative to consider the high price of the absence of choice—a price exacted both from those who do not withstand the pressure and from those who do withstand it, but it robs them of fervor and inner identification. Awareness of this price is a necessary preliminary stage before any further attempt to strengthen the community’s levers of pressure.

In the end I came out truly confused. On the one hand, again and again he explains that his proposal is not to grant complete and fundamental choice in everything (not Western liberalism, God forbid), but only choice among limited shades within the Haredi framework. On the other hand, his rationale is one that applies equally to the core of the religious-Haredi way of life itself, and he even writes this explicitly several times between the lines.

Had I thought this was mere confusion or inattention, I would have kept silent. I do not intend to quibble and split hairs in his words as one would with the language of Scripture or the Rambam, and it is neither right nor honest to do so. We all err and sometimes present things inconsistently. But in my view these contortions and contradictions stem from the constraints I described above, and are typical of the overwhelming majority of articles in the journal in question. It is clearly apparent that the author wants two hundred but says only one hundred. He reveals a handbreadth and conceals two—whether consciously or unconsciously. I think it is important to expose this, if only to reveal to the mouth what was in the heart.

It is important to make clear to people that critiques of this sort do not come to repair Harediness but to abolish it at the root, and in effect to call upon people to adopt an open religious way of life. Incidentally, even if one adopts only the revealed handbreadth of Shapira’s critique—choice only regarding external features—the danger to Harediness is very great (not for nothing do Haredim take care not to allow even that). But if one adopts the concealed handbreadths as well, nothing remains of Harediness but a heap of bones. You surely understand that in my eyes this is not an accusation but a description. Each person can determine their attitude to this description according to their own view.

Incidentally, these contortions remind me of the attempts to define a secular Judaism—even though if you remove halakhah from Judaism, you are left with a heap of bones (see my series of columns 336–9). This does not at all prevent various thinkers from engaging in abundant casuistry to define secular Judaism. The same is true of defining “open Harediness.” The “open Haredim” learned from secular Jews to ignore logic and to engage in words. A very typical (and irritating) phenomenon in our postmodern world.

Closing Chord

In Rabbi Nachman’s well-known story of “The Turkey” (listen also to Hanan Ben Ari’s delightful song), the king’s son went mad and thought he was a turkey (hindik). He took off his clothes, crawled naked under the table, and ate grains, as Jewish turkeys do. The sage who tries to cure him also goes naked under the table and eats grains with him for a while. Then the healing process begins:

Then the sage signaled to the household to throw them shirts. The sage, the “turkey,” said to the prince: “Do you think a turkey cannot walk with a shirt? One can be dressed in a shirt and still be a turkey! For in one place I saw turkeys wearing shirts.” And both of them put on shirts.

After some time he signaled and they threw them pants as well. The sage also said to him: “Do you think with pants one cannot be a turkey?! etc.” until they put on the pants, and likewise the other clothes. Thereafter he signaled and they threw them human food from the table, and he said to him: “Do you think that if one eats good foods one is no longer a turkey?! One can eat and still be a turkey.” And they ate.

Then he said to him: “Do you think a turkey must be specifically under the table?! One can be a turkey and be at the table!” And so he treated him until he completely cured him.

The moral is understood to the discerning.

What Shapira is essentially saying is that a Haredi can wear colorful clothes, go to work, study any academic field, wear a knitted kippah, engage in art, read all literature and scholarly material, think freely, live in a settlement, serve in the army, and choose all his paths and values—and still remain Haredi. Just like the turkey. Likewise say our liberal Jewish colleagues, who explain to us that even without halakhah you can be considered a Jew. Happy is he who believes…

To complete the picture, one must of course have a discussion of the substance as well. Is it really possible to allow genuine choice in religious education—choice that encompasses the foundational values and not only what to wear, what to do for a living, and what to read? The question is also from what age and in what forms? And how does one contend with impulses? And what about the harms? I have addressed this more than once in the past, but this is not the place.

[1] See on this in the fourth notebook in vol. 3, in the discussion around the words of Ari Elon.

[2] A similar critique can be found in my article in the same journal on my friend Rabbi Pfeffer’s piece, “Toward a Haredi Middle Class” (3 Sivan 5777).