Of Wolves and Men: A Nuanced Assessment of People (Column 29)
With God’s help
A few days ago I saw the play "Wolves" at the Cameri, written by Hillel Mittelpunkt. The play deals with a staunch Revisionist family, and the events take place shortly after the political upheaval of 1977 (Likud’s rise to power). The play is definitely well worth seeing, and it stirred quite a few thoughts in me, some of which I wanted to share here (and to try to do so without spoilers).
The Plot
The play tells of Ze’eva, no less (obviously named for Ze’ev Jabotinsky), whose late husband Avraham (apparently named for Avraham Stern) was a polemicist and ideologue of the Irgun. Just to complete the picture of the names, the family friend is called Amidor (an unmistakably Uri Zvi Greenberg-esque name), and his daughter Yaira (a proudly Hebrew name, apparently also after Yair Stern), and so on. Standing opposite them all is Ze’eva’s brother, an openly gay man and proud cosmopolitan (the representative of the new Tel Aviv in this Revisionist drama). Beyond him, in the background, there is also a treacherous and wicked Mapai-ist neighbor with whom nobody speaks (though they may sell him the house in order to raise money). And surrounding all this is a strong sense of persecution, along with satisfaction over the political upheaval of ’77 ("At last, we showed them").
As the play unfolds, we learn that they hid an Irgun man from the British, and in the end he was turned in by someone. The suspect is of course the homosexual, cosmopolitan brother (the treacherous Tel Avivi—how could it be otherwise?!). Stories of disappointed love and betrayals come to light, family and political intrigues, a parade of political hypocrisy, self-serving concealments, and more. I must say that we enjoyed the play very much, and I even noted to myself with admiration that the Cameri Theater, a known and unmistakable bastion of the Tel Aviv left, was putting on an empathetic play about persecuted Revisionists. Tiki Dayan, the lead actress (excellent, as always), even said in a newspaper interview that after preparing for this play she had begun to understand the feelings of "them."
Afterthoughts
But when we left, I thought a bit more about what we had seen. In the end, without giving away the details, it turns out that almost nobody comes out clean. One commits adultery and betrays, another informs, a third is hypocritical, a fourth is a bastard, a fifth is a polemicist whose whole activity consists only of talking and writing (as has always been the way of the Revisionists, whose strength lies in their mouths rather than in their deeds), and so on. At the end of the play, the politician son (a counterpart of Bibi Netanyahu) delivers a hypocritical and ridiculous political disquisition, while all the other Revisionists stand beside him, clicking with their tongues and clapping their hands (while Yaira next to him is doing mannerisms that had me rolling on the floor with laughter. I think people did not notice her. So whoever goes to see it, pay attention). That speech is the final hammer blow from which nobody emerges clean anymore (even the majestic Amidor falls here). One could say that at this stage almost only the gay brother remains clean and pure, clinging to his pure cosmopolitanism (and perhaps also Dovaleh the son, the only one who speaks directly and courageously and without games, and it is no wonder that he is forced out of the picture).
In fact, without our noticing it, almost none of these characters comes out clean. A veritable rally of hypocrites, adulterers, and traitors. Somehow we were left with the impression that all the pathos, the ideology, the slogans, and above all the Revisionist sense of persecution are nothing but one great façade. Behind it stand small people, who commit offenses, intrigues, betrayals, and petty human smallness. The Revisionist balloon was left punctured, without a drop of air, on the theater floor.
It seemed to me that at the end of the day, Tel Aviv still does not really manage to give the hated Revisionists—the ultimate "other"—either credit or empathy. If at first my feeling was that this play looked like a European theater production about an African tribe in Zimbabwe, in the end I understood that this is a play about enemies, not merely strangers.
The Significance of This
Let me allow myself here to adopt the perspective of Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev. It is told that when he saw a Jew wrapped in a tallit (prayer shawl) and tefillin repairing the shaft of his wagon outside the synagogue, he lifted his eyes to heaven and said: Master of the universe, see how great Your people Israel are, and how attached they are to You. They pray at home, they pray in the synagogue, and they even pray while repairing their wagons. At first glance this sounds ridiculous and empty, but on a second look there is much truth here. Why did that man bother at all to put on tefillin and go to the synagogue? Let him stay at home and quietly repair his wagon in peace. Some will say that this is social pressure, but it seems to me that this is a mean-spirited view. There is something much deeper here, and worthy of appreciation. That man felt an obligation to pray and to put on tefillin. True, his urges pull him toward repairing the wagon in the middle of the prayer, but he does not give up going to the synagogue. So he goes with his tefillin on and repairs the wagon. Seen this way, there is truth in Rabbi Levi Yitzhak’s words. It really does express a sense of obligation. That man, despite his urges and his constraints, does not give up prayer and tefillin.
The point is that we have here a glass that is half full and half empty. The question is how one looks at it, and at which half. Seen in this light, those small people who seem swollen with slogans and Revisionist ideology are people with urges, pressures, and constraints like every one of us. Sometimes they succumb to all of these, and sometimes they do not. But they still remain attached to the ideology in which they believe. They cope with the difficulties, but they do not surrender, at least not on every front. They fall and rise. They engage in intrigues, but for the sake of the party and the ideology. And if they themselves and their interests also profit, they are not necessarily disturbed by that. Yet the bombastic ideological rhetoric continues to issue from their lips.
Looking at Role Models
The education of children always makes use of role models. In religious education this is of course even more pronounced. The figures of the Hebrew Bible and the Talmud, as well as the sages of all the generations, are role models in our education. Religious historiography has a hagiographic tendency, that is, to depict them as non-human figures. Figures of splendor, devoid of flaws and crowned with every virtue (Even by his deeds a youth makes himself known ["even a child is recognized by his deeds"], "he finished the entire Talmud at age eight, and by age ten his teacher had already declared that he had nothing left to teach him," "righteous in deed and helping the downtrodden from the age of three," etc., etc.). Rays of glory surround the figures portrayed in children’s books as though they were angels. No wonder these figures are depicted as belonging to higher worlds. We have no grasp of their deeds and qualities, but precisely for that reason it is not really possible to learn from them (except perhaps for some ideal utopia, which also has a certain value).
This is flawed education, in at least two respects. First, as stated, we cannot truly learn in any concrete way from such fictional figures. What is the point of depicting role models who are angels from the womb? It is like setting the eagles of the sky before runners as their model. Second, and much more problematic, it is simply a lie. All these people were flesh and blood, with urges and constraints, with agendas and interests. They surely fell more than once, and made mistakes more than once as well. They had urges, and more than once they succumbed to them. And in addition to, and despite, all this, they had achievements (despite what people tell about them, some of them really did complete the entire Talmud).
When one hears a firsthand story about a great rabbi and sees that he too looks after his own interests and stands his ground, that he is offended or gives offense, is hurt or hurts others, it sounds strange and implausible. But that is not so. They were all flesh-and-blood human beings, like me and like you. Their greatness lay in the fact that, although they were flesh and blood, made of ordinary matter, they labored and attained scholarly, intellectual, and moral achievements. They fell and rose, in the spirit of A righteous person falls seven times and rises again ("the righteous falls seven times and rises").
Once I met a very well-known Swiss Jewish mathematician who used to come every year to work with us at the Weizmann Institute. The theorem we attributed to him was the Eckmann theorem (that was his name): every car of length X can fit into any parking space of size X+epsilon, and the time the parking maneuver takes is proportional to 1/epsilon. Jean-Pierre Eckmann was neither knowledgeable about nor involved with Judaism or Torah (though his daughter was volunteering on a kibbutz here in the Holy Land), but for pleasure he read Maharal and the Hebrew Bible translated into English. He said that one of the most impressive things for him was that Scripture presents its figures without concealment and without whitewashing. These are human beings, with flaws and virtues. They are flesh-and-blood heroes, unlike what is customary in ancient mythical literature, whose heroes are godlike (though certainly with flaws, but flaws that are forgivable, like those of gods and not of human beings).
The Talmud goes in this direction as well. It presents its heroes in a very human fashion. There are stories about failures and achievements, as well as about flaws and urges. These are sages of flesh and blood, who err and sin, grow jealous and fall, and sometimes also rise. Afterwards people try to educate us into believing that all this is only according to their exalted level, but that in truth these are seraphim or gods beyond our rank. We have no way of comprehending their deeds, but clearly they did not sin.
This is, of course, a distortion of the truth, but this distortion is also harmful. In that way we have no ability to criticize their behavior, nor to learn from it. And certainly we cannot disagree with what these sages say, for after all we are dealing with angels. As stated, this is not the truth. These were flesh-and-blood people, with urges and failures, exactly as described in Scripture or the Talmud. David sinned—sinned indeed—and so did the other heroes of Scripture and the Talmud. Every last one of them. The sages of the Talmud made mistakes in Jewish law, in science, and in general, and they sinned and repented and fell and rose. They were all flesh and blood like me and you, without divine inspiration and without other folktales, and they themselves—and certainly their words—ought to be approached critically.
Contemporary Implications
Perhaps this is also the right way to look at politicians or cultural heroes. Some of them truly belong among the spineless, and it is a pity that they are what people focus on. But regarding some of them, one should remember that although their weaknesses are exposed—and it is a pity that all this does not interfere with the admiration that young people, and not only they, feel for them—still, on the other hand, older and more clear-sighted people should not focus only on the weaknesses. These are flesh-and-blood people, with urges and weaknesses, and it is still possible that values really matter to them and that they really act for their sake. Cynical commentators (cf. Hanan Kristal) attribute everything to interests and agendas, to urges and the pursuit of honor and power, focusing their gaze on the empty half of the glass. We must not ignore it, but we should remember that there is also a full half. Despite the weaknesses, they try. They do not always succeed, and perhaps never do, but still, let us give them some credit.
Back to Wolves
If we return to the play, it seems to me that from such a perspective its heroes emerge as flesh and blood, yet certainly worthy of appreciation and empathy. These are people made of ordinary stuff, who struggle with their urges and with their human traits, yet do not abandon the ideology and the values in which they believe. They are well aware of their weaknesses and sometimes succumb to them, but that does not prevent them from continuing their ideological discourse and activity, which at times appear bombastic and anachronistic, even ridiculous. From a distance they look small, but from up close one can see, through the bombast and the ridicule, amid all the falls, also their very human greatness.
Conclusions
If every time we encounter a human failing within ourselves we declare that we are in no position to speak and act in a value-laden and ideological way, then we have thereby left values to the ministering angels. But our sages taught us that The Torah was not given to ministering angels ("the Torah was not given to the ministering angels"). We must be righteous people. Not the kind who never fall, but the kind of whom it is said A righteous person falls seven times and rises again ("the righteous falls seven times and rises").
It is customary among us to think that people are judged by their deeds and not by their desires and longings. But in a certain sense, when judging people, we must attend no less to what they think and want than to what they actually do. The sages teach us that The greater a person is than his fellow, the greater his inclination is than his ("the greater a person is, the greater his impulse is than his fellow’s"). The desires and the values determine who the person is, no less than their actual realization.
Discussion
Daniel:
And what is the explanation for “Whoever says David sinned is merely mistaken”?
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Rabbi:
And what is your explanation for the words of Nathan the prophet, who rebukes him for his sin?
The Gemara itself explains that whoever says David sinned is mistaken because anyone who went out to the wars of the house of David gave his wife a bill of divorce. That is, he did not sin with a married woman (because she was effectively a widow, or retroactively divorced). But clearly he sinned morally by sending Uriah to the front and by taking his wife.
I always understood it this way. Later I realized that this is the central thesis of Rabbi Medan’s book on this topic; see there.
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Ayin HaKoreh:
With God’s help, 23 Elul 5766
Incidentally, Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥmani, who speaks in defense and minimizes the sins of David and Eli’s sons, does not do so only for national leaders. Even regarding the concubine in Gibeah, about whom Scripture says, “And his concubine played the harlot against him” — Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥmani takes the verse away from its plain meaning, reduces the woman’s failure to something very slight — a fly found in the dish, a hair that got tied up — and places the heavier responsibility דווקא on the Levite, who “imposed excessive fear in his household.” It seems that this was the quality of the sages of the Land of Israel, who were called “pleasantness”: to judge every person, from the great leader to the simple woman, favorably.
Regards, S. Z. Levinger
It is worth noting that Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥmani’s approach is lenient toward the gavra, the person who sinned, but on the other hand is very stringent regarding the ḥefẓa, the object or substance of the sin, and looks even at a minor sin under a magnifying glass, saying that there is a situation in which a man has relations with an unmarried woman yet is morally charged as a full adulterer, or a man who took care of his workers’ wages is judged morally as one who takes a bribe. This places very great responsibility on a person not to belittle even what may seem in his eyes to be “small matters.”
B.:
Self-righteousness is a certain kind of fanatical perfectionism, and at the far end of fanatical perfectionism lies falsehood, because no person can live up to those insane standards—not even the fanatical perfectionist himself.
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Rabbi:
The question is who exactly is self-righteous here: the slogan-chanters, or those who criticize them for their human flaws?
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B.:
The critics, of course.
Rabbi:
I’ve just now remembered something I read in Rabbi Yitzḥak Hutner, in his book Pachad Yitzchak on Purim. He cites the verse from Proverbs, “The refining pot is for silver and the furnace for gold, and a man according to his praise” (Proverbs 27:21). He explains that a person is measured by what he praises, not necessarily by what he does. He is measured by his utopias no less than by his performance. One who praises righteousness and goodness is, at base, a good person, even if his impulses pull him downward and make him fall. And that is exactly my point here.
Daniel:
The rabbi wrote in the post that the sages of the Talmud erred in halakhah. Does the rabbi think there is any binding text at all, or is everything subject to each individual’s personal criticism? I understood that in the rabbi’s view there are additions even in the Tanakh, which would mean that basically I can doubt everything—whether it was given from Heaven, and if it was not from Heaven maybe it is a mistake.
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Rabbi:
Indeed.
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Daniel:
If there is no basis at all that is certain (to the extent certainty is available to human beings), what value do Torah and the commandments have? How can I know whether Sabbath observance or any other commandment is really a true commandment? Maybe it was Moses’ personal interest or Joshua’s mistake or one of the transmitters of the Torah?
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Rabbi:
You cannot know anything with certainty. Not the existence of the Holy One, blessed be He, or the giving of the Torah themselves, and not even the law of gravity. So do you never board a plane? We make decisions under conditions of uncertainty. And even in situations of doubt, that is what the rules for doubts in halakhah are for. So too regarding the text of Scripture (as the Rema writes, that we follow the majority of textual versions), and likewise regarding various commandments. What appears in the Torah has the presumption of being binding unless it becomes clear otherwise.
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Daniel:
Why does what appears in the Torah have the presumption of being binding?
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Rabbi:
Because if one accepts that the Torah was given by the Holy One, blessed be He, at Sinai, then it is binding unless it is proven that this is a later and mistaken addition (for a later addition is also binding unless it is mistaken). See my fifth notebook on the site.
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Daniel:
1. In the rabbi’s view, is there any hierarchy between Tannaim and Amoraim, Rishonim and Aḥaronim?
2. Would the rabbi dispute a Tanna on the basis of reasoning?
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Rabbi:
1. There is a hierarchy between Tannaim and Amoraim and the Rishonim. After all, the Amoraim accepted upon themselves not to dispute the Tannaim, and the Rishonim accepted upon themselves not to dispute the Amoraim. The Aḥaronim do dispute the Rishonim. In any case, these are not mandatory rules in the sense that one may never depart from them; every rule has exceptions. Halakhah recoils from overly rigid treatment of rules.
One should know that the hierarchy is not connected to the question of who is more correct, but to who has more authority.
2. No, but not because he is necessarily right; rather because we have accepted the authority of the Tannaim. The same applies to the Amoraim. But that is where it stops.
All this is explained very well in my book on halakhah, which will, God willing, be published soon.
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Daniel:
Can the rabbi explain why we accepted the authority of the Tannaim and Amoraim, and to what extent this is binding, or will I have to wait for the book?
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Rabbi:
Are you asking why we accepted the authority of the Tannaim and Amoraim, or why that is binding?
The reason they were accepted is that otherwise the Torah would have fallen apart after the destruction, and with the beginning of exile they wanted to build a binding framework within which halakhic discourse could proceed. Had they done this around a text like the Shulchan Arukh, it would have been disastrous, because it would not have allowed flexibility for different communities and circumstances. Had they failed to establish a framework, that too would have been disastrous, because the Torah would not have remained without an organized national structure. The brilliant solution was to fix a canonical text whose essence is give-and-take rather than bottom-line rulings. That allows flexibility while providing a framework for the discourse. All opinions are supposed to fit that framework and be argued within it.
Why is it binding? Because we accepted the Torah as a people, and therefore it binds according to what the ציבור that accepted it decides. Rabbi Shlomo Fisher elaborated on this in his book Beit Yishai, derashot, no. 15.
Yisrael:
Wow, what an article—like cold water to a weary soul. I come from Chabad, and I was always bothered by the way the Rebbe is viewed as an almost non-human entity, and that view applies not only to the Rebbe but to all the Chabad rebbes throughout the generations. And I, insignificant as I am, wonder: what do I have to do with them? How can I, an ordinary person, learn anything from them at all? Such an entity, from my perspective, cannot be a role model.
With rabbis like Sheinberg and Berland, can you also see their greatness—that despite their impulses they “managed” to reach some sort of spiritual achievements? Can they too be appreciated according to their desires and aspirations?
Personally, I find it hard to see the greatness of people like these, who talk lofty talk but whose deeds are as low as the lowest of men. But maybe that is because I was indeed educated to look at great people as spotless human beings.
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Rabbi:
I certainly can see the greatness of such people (if there is any; I do not know those two). They should be condemned for their inability to restrain themselves and cope with their impulses, and at the same time appreciated for the fact that despite their powerful impulses they reached achievements. There is no contradiction at all in such a complex attitude.
Incidentally, as in my remarks here, so too regarding the Chabad rebbes, one should remember that the problem is twofold: 1. It is impossible to learn from them if they really are perfect (as you wrote). 2. It is simply not true that they were like that.
The last Rebbe, in my view, really was a great man (although, pardon me, Chabad as a sect really repels me. See my column on sects), and still he had a significant share in the messianic phenomenon and the other nonsense that took place around him. Again, this is a complex figure, and there is no contradiction between an admirable side and a less admirable side. On the contrary, sometimes the lower side is a reason to appreciate the loftier side even more. Think about it.
S. Z. Levinger:
With God’s help, 20 Elul 5766
Certainly, with respect to people in general, it is proper to judge the “whole person” favorably and to focus on his positive aspects. Even so, in my humble opinion, it is worthwhile to seek out exemplary figures who, through steady labor, succeeded in strengthening the good sides and raising their “point of choice” several stories above the average level, and to aspire to come a little closer to their stature. No one expects us to be like Roi Klein, who sacrificed his life to save his comrades, but even so, on our own level too, we can demand of ourselves to sacrifice a bit of our comfort and convenience for the sake of others.
The Torah, admittedly, was not given to ministering angels, but still one seeks that the “exemplary figure” be “like an angel of the Lord of Hosts,” so that we may seek Torah from his mouth. One of the qualities of the angels is that they are “mighty in strength, who perform His word,” and in this a human being can be greater than an angel, for a human has an evil inclination with which he must struggle heroically.
In this the heroes of the Torah were unique: even if they fell greatly, they knew how to repair the damage and do a “root treatment” for the fall. Judah, who failed in the sale of Joseph as a slave and in separating him from his father, repairs this by “going to the opposite extreme”—a willingness to remain a lifelong slave in place of his brother, who was “caught red-handed” stealing, מתוך the insight: “For how shall I go up to my father if the lad is not with me?”
There is a Hillel who aspires to the mittelpunkt, to remain at the “middle point” of mediocrity, because after all “everyone is like that”; and there is a Hillel who calls on us to be among the disciples of Aaron, “loving peace and pursuing peace, loving people and bringing them near to Torah.”
Regards, S. Z. Levinger
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Rabbi:
This is not about judging a person favorably, but about understanding who he is. When relating to him, one should focus on the positive, but when assessing his personality and wanting to learn from him—especially when dealing with an exemplary figure and not a concrete person standing before us—it is very worthwhile to see the whole picture. Beyond that, as I wrote, relating to a person’s shortcomings is an important part of judging favorably (see the commentators on the Mishnah, such as Rabbenu Yonah and others, on Avot regarding judging favorably).
What emerges from my remarks is a somewhat different interpretation of the requirement that the rabbi appear to us like an angel of the Lord of Hosts. If he really is an angel in our eyes, we will not see him as a model.
And regarding mittelpunkt, you assume that this describes the aspiration, and then it is indeed a problem. But if it describes the person as he is—this is intellectual honesty. And judge the whole person favorably.
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S. Z. Levinger:
However, Maimonides has already taught us, both in his commentary to the Mishnah “Judge every person favorably” (Avot 1:6), and in the Sefer HaMitzvot in his explanation of the commandment “In righteousness shall you judge your fellow” (positive commandment 177), that there are different aspects here. An average person should be judged favorably when the scales are evenly balanced, whereas one established as righteous should be judged favorably even in situations where that is harder to do. It seems that the general background of the personality contributes to the way a specific act is interpreted.
Regards, S. Z. Levinger
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Rabbi:
Indeed. That is what I wrote. To judge favorably does not mean to deceive oneself, but to assess the person correctly and not go by superficial appearances. If someone is a great righteous person, then presumably he will not commit some small, ordinary sin. This is a matter of common sense and not crooked reasoning (as in the well-known interpretation in the name of Rabbi Chaim of Brisk, which in my opinion is incorrect).
And still, of course, one must understand how we are to reach the conclusion that this is a great person if we rely on tendentious and unreliable stories. The presumption that a person is great has to be formed before we decide on a policy of judging him favorably.
Amir:
This column reminds me of the controversy in the Haredi הציבור over the book Making of a Godol, written by Rabbi Natan Kamenetsky, about the life stories of his father [one of the greatest American rabbis of the last generation] and other great figures he knew, who were portrayed in the book not as seraphs and angels who were already unraveling “Ketzot” at age three, but in a realistic way, with all the falls and failures and youthful pranks they had before becoming great and influential Torah scholars.
In the Haredi ציבור they were very angry about the book. Some, as I heard, burned it publicly, and they even went to Rabbi Elyashiv of blessed memory in an attempt to have the book banned. Rabbi Kamenetsky argued to his opponents that beyond the fact that fairy tales about the great men of Israel are a sin against truth and the facts, from an educational standpoint this genre of hagiography defeats its own purpose. After the reader sees how the great figures were supposedly born literal angels, he will never even think of learning from them and their deeds, because he will say to himself, “What do they have to do with me?” But if he knows they were not born “great” and became so only through much effort and many falls and recoveries, then he will know that he too, if he works hard, can also attain greatness in Torah and character, etc.
I think Rabbi Kamenetsky made a fine argument.
P.S.
Because of the controversy over the book, it became a kind of rare underground book that is almost impossible to obtain, and the existing copies accordingly sell at a fairly high price.
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Rabbi:
Hello Amir.
It did indeed reach Rabbi Elyashiv, and there were all sorts of ugly things around the matter. It seems to me that in the end a censored edition came out, and even that did not help him (the ban is still in force). And as is well known, bans have always only helped book sales. I’m desperately looking for someone willing to publicly ban my books (privately I already have a few 🙂 ).
But the cases are not comparable, because in that book what was disqualified was not youthful pranks but entirely legitimate things (at least in part; I haven’t read the book). It’s just that the Haredim decided that reading literature or poetry and the like is somehow improper, and therefore considered something that demands concealment (within concealment). Whereas I am speaking about things that really are failings, not according to the distorted Haredi criteria.