What Is Modern Orthodoxy? Between Authority and Essence (Column 477)
In the two previous columns I sketched a fairly detailed map of situations and mechanisms of halakhic change. Within that, I already hinted—at least regarding the legitimacy of those mechanisms, even if not regarding their ability to be inferred—that in my view modern Orthodoxy can and should move toward the characterization I want to propose now. Still, before that I must complete one more point: the question of authority. Until now I dealt mainly with the conceptual question of whether “conservative change” is possible (which sounds like an oxymoron). I tried to show that vis-à-vis the principle of the Torah’s eternity, change is indeed possible as long as the fundamental principle is preserved. But there is another question I have not tackled yet: namely, vis-à-vis the obligation to the Talmud (not vis-à-vis the Torah’s eternity). Here the issue is not the conceptual possibility of conservative change, but a formal halakhic question: how—and whether—it is possible to legislate against the Talmud. In the previous column I explained that the values of Hazal are not necessarily the Torah’s values, and that they wove their own values (drawn from various sources) into their interpretation of the Torah; hence there is no obstacle to our doing likewise. The obligation is to the Holy One, blessed be He, not to Hazal (except insofar as they interpret His will). Even if conceptually it is possible to disagree with them and yet remain faithful to the Torah and its Giver, there is a halakhic rule that obligates us to listen to them. I also touched on this when I distinguished between obligation to the bottom-line halakhic ruling and obligation to the underlying value structure. But the matter of authority still needs to be clarified to complete the picture.
The angle of authority: factual vs. value-based change
In prior columns I distinguished between two types of change:
-
Halakhic change based on changed facts; and
-
Halakhic change based on changed values.
I explained that when we deal with factual change, we are not opposing the Sages but merely applying their rules differently; whereas with value-based change, it looks like we are frontally disagreeing with them—and even if that is conceptually possible, the problem of authority arises here as well.
By way of brief introduction: Two sugyot address authority and the possibility of change in halakha. One (Beitzah 5a) states: “A matter enacted by a vote requires another vote to permit it”—meaning, if a law was decided by the Sanhedrin, changing it requires another Sanhedrin, not less. By contrast, Avodah Zarah 36a (and many parallels) says: “A court cannot annul the words of its fellow court unless it is greater than it in wisdom and in number.” From Rambam, beginning of Hilkhot Mamrim ch. 2, it emerges that he distinguishes: for de-Oraita matters the first rule applies, while for de-Rabbanan matters the second applies. That is, de-Oraita rulings decided by the Sanhedrin can be changed by a later Sanhedrin without needing to be greater in wisdom and number; but de-Rabbanan enactments can be changed only by a Sanhedrin greater in wisdom and number.
Moreover, at least for de-Rabbanan, the restricting rules apply even if the reason for the decree has lapsed. According to Rambam, even then a greater court is required; Raavad disputes this and holds it suffices to have a court by number (i.e., a Sanhedrin). Note the distinction between changed circumstances and the annulment of a decree’s reason (ta‘ama). When circumstances change such that the reason no longer applies, we might think the decree falls away; yet it appears that even halakhic change due to changed circumstances requires at least a formal court and perhaps even one greater in wisdom and number.
How does this square with what I described earlier? Conceptually a conservative change may be possible, but halakhically there seems no room—certainly for rulings decided by a Sanhedrin. Since we lack a Sanhedrin today, it would seem we cannot change or annul laws—even when circumstances have changed. And with value-based change, the difficulty is even sharper, for there we would be disagreeing halakhically with the decisors of earlier generations rather than merely applying their words to new circumstances. In the last column I argued that conceptually this is possible; but here I wonder about authority: can this be done without a Sanhedrin? I will divide the discussion into several sections, each taking a different angle.
Between annulment and changing the mode of application
First, an important clarification: changing circumstances is not identical to the lapse of a decree’s reason. When the reason lapses, that leads to annulling the decree—and then the authority constraints apply (a Sanhedrin greater in wisdom and number per Rambam, or at least a Sanhedrin per Raavad). But in the previous columns I dealt with cases where the reason does not lapse, only the application changes in light of the new circumstances.
The Talmud’s own example of a lapsed reason is decorating the markets of Jerusalem with fruit for the Regel (Beitzah 5a): after the destruction of the Temple, the reason for the decree no longer existed. That is an example of annulling a decree. By contrast, contemporary cases such as modest swimwear do not require annulling a decree, but properly applying it in the changed reality.
In the halakhic “mashal,” Meiri’s instruction to change our stance toward non-Jews in light of their improved moral conduct is a change in the application of both de-Rabbanan and even de-Oraita rules due to changed circumstances—and tellingly, he shows no anxiety over the absence of a Sanhedrin (14th century). Similarly, the prohibition of “lo titgodedu” (not to create separate courts/communities) once meant two courts in one city; today, the operative unit is a community rather than a city (often defined by origin, but not necessarily). Already in Talmudic times the place determined law regarding local custom; today, the social community does. As I have argued elsewhere (e.g., on joining a minyan via Zoom; on lighting Shabbat candles online), sometimes the relevant “place” is a website rather than geography. These are applications of existing rules to new circumstances, not annulling rules because their reasons lapsed. Therefore, one should not apply here the formal rules for changing enactments—neither for de-Oraita nor de-Rabbanan.
Annulment of enactments despite the formal rules
In my book (see chs. 8–10) I collected dozens of examples of decisors who did annul decrees and enactments when their reasons lapsed—not merely change applications—seemingly contrary to the Talmud’s authority constraints. I explained there that the Sages employed a range of doctrinal tools to enable such changes. For example, Rosh writes in a responsum (and in Tosafot ha-Rosh to Bava Metzia 90) that when the reason is manifestly clear, one may annul the enactment (he says this regarding ta‘ama di-kra even for de-Oraita). Others wrote that when continuing the law under new circumstances causes significant harm, it may be nullified. Others pointed to cases where the law’s reason is explicit (not just an interpretation), allowing purposive interpretation, and so on. I also added the mechanism of “freezing” laws and showed from Rambam that it is entrusted to courts of every generation.
In those chapters I explained the historical backdrop: after the loss of semikha and the Sanhedrin, we have been living through a millennia-long “historical accident.” A normative system cannot allow itself to ossify in the absence of the formal authority required for change. Over time, needs for substantive halakhic changes accumulate (and their number grows at an accelerating pace), and they all get stuck on authority. That is unreasonable, since all understand that the changes are necessary and the harms severe. Consequently, sages in every era (including our own) find and formulate indirect ways to circumvent the Talmud’s formal constraints on changing halakhot.
(Examples: Minyan Corona, post 69988, post 74852, post 8982.)
All this, however, can be said regarding factual changes. Those are shifts in reality that force us to adapt halakha, perhaps even to annul laws. What about value-based change? Here we are in open conflict with Talmudic and early rulings. It is neither a new application nor annulment due to new circumstances; it is simply disagreement with existing halakhot. The conceptual question (within a conservative frame) I already discussed. In such cases, the question of authority arises in full force: can we disagree with binding Talmudic law when we lack an authorized institution (a Sanhedrin) to do so?
Between the Talmud and the Sanhedrin
I have written several times that the Talmud does not have the same authority as the Sanhedrin. The Sages of the Talmud were not semukhim sitting in the Chamber of Hewn Stone; they lived and worked in Babylonia. Moreover, their authority does not derive from infallibility or sheer greatness, but from our acceptance of them upon ourselves (see Rambam, Mamrim ch. 1–2, on the halakhot cited above). The question is: what is the nature of that acceptance? Is there, in effect, a “lo tasur” with respect to Talmudic rulings? It is hard to argue so, since “lo tasur” applies only to a Sanhedrin of semukhim in Eretz Yisrael (except for the lone view of Sefer ha-Hinukh in mitzvah 496).
Thus it appears we are dealing with a different kind of obligation—not anchored in “lo tasur.” “Lo tasur” is a top-down authority (we are obligated from Above via the chain of semikha); our commitment to the Talmud is bottom-up, i.e., arising from communal acceptance (like mara de-atra, a community’s rabbi). If so, “the mouth that forbade is the mouth that permitted”: when the people are the source of an institution’s authority, the people can also modify its force.
Implications for value-based change
This dovetails with the previous column’s claim that our commitment to the Talmud is to the bottom line halakha, not necessarily to its value premises. If we are the ones who accepted Talmudic authority, the scope and limits of that acceptance are themselves subject to analysis—just as we saw in the Talmud’s attitude to the Mishnah and in the Rishonim/Aharonim’s attitude to the Talmud. It follows that the commitment does not necessarily apply where circumstances have changed and the underlying rationale no longer obtains; certainly we can set limiting rules for Talmudic authority similar to those Sages formulated for changing halakhot in every generation.
Beyond that, the background I sketched—centuries passing and the inability to challenge the Talmud blocking changes agreed to be necessary—might lead to the conclusion that, even if we are committed to the value infrastructure, that commitment is limited in cases where real harms are created and the sages of the current generation deem change necessary. It is unreasonable to harness halakha in perpetuity to a value system that prevailed in Babylonia 1,500 years ago, especially when contemporary values openly contradict it and conduct guided by it appears (not only to outsiders, but perhaps especially to insiders) bizarre and detached. Again: this is not merely hillul Hashem, but a substantive consideration (“for it is your wisdom and understanding,” Deut. 4:6).
In the previous column I explained that value-based considerations can operate in two different ways:
-
New interpretation of the law in light of contemporary values; or
-
Conflict between halakha and morality: the halakha stands, but morality—understood here as a category outside halakha—obligates a practical decision that may diverge in conduct.
The difference between these paths depends on whether halakha is grounded in moral values or in specifically religious values (I hold the latter). Even so, when there are genuine interpretive options, aligning interpretation with moral principles is not only possible but desirable. Where that is clearly impossible, the second path remains: an extra-halakhic moral decision.
As I noted there, we are not obligated to adopt Hazal’s moral values. Even if those values undergird some binding halakhic rulings, that does not compel us to embrace them as our ethical compass. In short: the fact that my values differ from Hazal’s does not mean I must cave. Halakhically I will submit; morally I will stand my ground—producing a conflict between halakha and morality. In comments I also distinguished between commitment to the form (the legal boundary) and to the value rationale—the former exists, the latter need not. The boundary is blurry, but real; the resulting description is a continuum without neat criteria, yet any honest observer will acknowledge this is the state of affairs.
Additionally, I argued that sometimes the original halakha did not rest on a distinctively Torah value but adopted a prevailing social value, and thus we cannot view that value as intrinsically halakhic. For example, the claim for qualifying women as witnesses because equality is today a crucial value: it may be that Hazal did not value inequality per se, they simply lacked the value of equality. If indeed the world now holds equality as a genuine value (not merely among non-Jews but among Jews as well), this could justify change.
Back to the question of authority
Bottom line: authority does indeed restrain our ability to change halakha—especially where the change is value-based. We cannot ignore the Talmud’s constraining rules. Sometimes we will have to refrain from change despite thinking it necessary, because of authority. But it is unreasonable to treat this as an absolute bar (and decisors throughout the generations did not). It does suggest that even if we do not require a Sanhedrin, significant consensus among contemporary sages should be expected before making value-based change. Such change is delicate and risky; it should not rest on the judgment of an isolated figure, however important.
In addition (and perhaps as a complement), a value-based change should be self-evident. This is not a matter of idiosyncratic moral taste. Where a practice is past nisht—i.e., unthinkable, plainly wrong—the value shift justifies halakhic change. That is precisely what past nisht means: not merely “unlikely” or “improper,” but inconceivable to act that way today. Again, this is not only about hillul Hashem but a substantive consideration (like R. Unterman’s “ways of peace”). In such a case one can invoke Rosh: the limiting rules (e.g., needing a greater court in wisdom/number, or even ta‘ama di-kra) do not apply. One might say that such a value shift counts as a kind of factual change: the contemporary world is substantively different from Hazal’s, warranting halakhic adaptation. Then I am not “arguing” with Hazal; I am convinced that if Hazal lived today they would say the same. In that case the change is not a disagreement but a new application to new circumstances. If, however, the value shift is not that unequivocal, then change would require a Sanhedrin and full adherence to the formal constraints—and is not possible today.
This complex picture brings us to the second half of the column: how to apply it in practice. How can we know what changes fit within legitimate midrashic conservatism and which go beyond it? Are there proposals we can reject as illegitimate even within such a flexible framework? My claim is yes. Before that, I will try to define modern Orthodoxy—against both non-modern Orthodoxy (for whom some midrashic-conservative moves will be unacceptable) and Reform (where certain moves are not conservative at all). For this I will draw on all the foregoing.
Defining modern Orthodoxy
The core problem peeking through my map is that all halakhic streams—from Haredi through modern Orthodox to Conservative—are, in practice, midrashically conservative. They differ in degree and ethos, but functionally they all engage in midrashic conservatism. Only Reform lies outside it.
What, then, is the principled difference between the three “conservative” streams or types of argument? One could say it’s just dosage (how many and how far), but that reduces the matter to sociology. I seek a substantive marker—a kind of argument a non-modern Orthodox would reject as such. (Incidentally, I do not think Conservative Judaism has a substantive definition; the arguments overlap with modern Orthodoxy except for dosage and sociological factors.) What I will try to mark here is the difference between modern (midrashic) conservatism and non-modern (midrashic) conservatism, irrespective of the “peshatist” conservative ethos of Haredi society.
Basic definition: Our task is to distinguish two kinds of midrashic conservatism. Both accept adapting and reapplying halakha to new circumstances—that’s a given (without it there is no conservatism). The difference lies in two points:
-
Modern Orthodoxy is willing to employ value-based change (not only factual). We saw examples of this (and also saw limits, based on authority, in the first half of this column).
-
For it, the source of those values is consciously external—the modern world’s values.
Non-modern Orthodoxy relates negatively to modern values—at least when they do not match traditional ones. For it, value-based change is off the table; it does not seek to align halakha to foreign values and opposes such moves. In principle the world is in moral regression (away from the “true” values), except for rare points of convergence with tradition. Unsurprisingly, there is no place for value-based halakhic change.
There is, conceptually, another non-modern stance: one could reject value-based change not because of modern values per se, but due to authority constraints. Adherents accept midrashic-conservative modernity in principle, but due to authority will not implement it in practice. My sense is that authority claims mostly join other objections rather than lead them. Those who truly believe change is needed tend to find halakhic ways to do it—at least in most cases. It is no surprise that most non-modern conservatives also explain why this is the right way and point to flaws in contemporary culture.
Necessary caveats
Even non-modern conservatism engages in midrashic adaptations based on facts (not values). For example, Meiri’s change toward gentiles rests on changed gentile behavior, not on embracing new values; it exemplifies a sober (non-frozen) conservatism. By contrast, the claim to change attitudes to gentiles on the basis of equality is a modern value-based move.
Resistance to Meiri’s suggestion often stems from intellectual ossification: the assumption that Hazal’s factual diagnoses are eternal essences that cannot change; or the claim of authority lack. These assumptions are problematic (Hazal did not, and could not, enjoy infallible factual knowledge). Similarly odd are approaches that see every law as a gezerat ha-katuv with an unknowable reason—thus foreclosing change. Even if one entertained this for biblical laws (and even there it is tenuous), many halakhot in our time are rabbinic in origin, which by definition involved reasons and human legislation (see Rambam, Mamrim 15). Such views sit awkwardly with any discussion of change but, on closer look, undergird the “peshatist” conservative ethos.
A note about past nisht: sometimes this invokes modern values (e.g., the value of honoring others’ religious practice as a civic norm), and sometimes internal Torah values. Many decisors reject proposals like intentionally invalidating secular marriage kiddushin because it is past nisht for Jews to build homes “not according to Moses and Israel”—an internal value, not a modern one. There are also cases where non-modern conservatives rely on values imported (consciously or not) from the surrounding world but seek Torah sources to anchor them. This blurs lines, but the distinctions still matter.
Interim summary: a general map
Midrashic (non-Reform) conservatisms all express obligation to halakhic rules (including the recalcitrant sinner who does not comply). This is a taxonomy of arguments, not of social groups.
Before moving on, three general comments:
A. Does U.S. Modern Orthodoxy fit this definition?
In my essay on secular courts and modern Orthodoxy (presented to a forum around the Yeshiva University orbit), I used the example of the prohibition to litigate in secular courts. Several listeners insisted that change must be grounded in traditional sources and analysis; they would not accept my claim that, although there is a prohibition, there is no viable alternative—a past nisht style argument. This is midrashic sober conservatism, but not “modern Orthodoxy” as I defined it, since it prefers to discover the needed values inside the sources (factual-application midrash) rather than avowedly importing external values. Often the values and methods proposed are a thin veneer over midrashic conservatism. (See my piece: On Modern Orthodoxy—Winks and Uses.)
B. Is Religious-Zionism “modern Orthodoxy”?
At the outset I distinguished these, claiming there is no essential link between them beyond a shared opposition to Haredism (each to a different facet). The common Religious-Zionist justification rests on Torah-based values: a mitzvah to settle the Land (ideally with sovereignty), advancing redemption, and so on—classic peshat readings rather than midrashic conservatism. Thus, in principle, there is no necessary connection between Religious-Zionism and modern Orthodoxy, though of course individuals can be both. Calling for a state because of modern political values (self-determination, national rights) would be a modern argument, but that is secular Zionism’s claim, not the religious one. I’ve written more extensively on separating the hyphen between “religious” and “Zionist”: e.g., post 74916, and “The Third Path—on Religious Zionism without a Hyphen” (essay 1, essay 2), and related pieces like What do the Haredi Anti-Draft Protests Have to Do with Elections?, post 5041, and post 71318.
In my view, the real watershed in Israeli religious society is not Haredi vs. Religious-Zionist but Haredi vs. modern Orthodox (liberal) conservatism. On this axis, Hardal (Haredi-national-religious) is firmly on the Haredi side. The only link between many Religious-Zionists and modern Orthodoxy is the “Zionist hat,” not their conservatism itself. My impression is that a large majority of Religious-Zionism (and many Haredim) actually practice modern Orthodoxy in substance, but the ethos and leadership obscure this, leading many to think that to be truly religious one must be non-modern. It is time to shed these anachronistic labels and redraw the map—also politically-ideologically. My aim here and in the surrounding trilogy is to offer a systematic program that can coalesce a currently unaligned public around it.
C. A note on conservatism in general
Elsewhere (cols. 172, 492) I wrote that I oppose conservatism and innovation as such: adopting or rejecting claims merely because they align or clash with the status quo is non-substantive. Claims should be judged on their merits. Here, however, the setting is different: in halakha, conservatism means preserving what God commanded. There is a substantive rationale: what God commanded is true and binding. Thus in the halakhic context there is reason to accept or reject an argument because of its relationship to tradition—understood properly as the transmitted will of God. The “map” here charts ways of preserving—different kinds of conservative midrash—not aesthetic loyalty to the past.
Looking ahead: distinguishing from Reform
I have mainly tried to characterize modern vs. non-modern conservatisms. The remaining question is the mirror image: how do these differ from Reform? Can one actually draw a bright line, or am I simply presenting a Reform program? In the next column I will examine the arguments of the Reform Rabbi Moshe Zemer for Reform halakhic changes and show the differences—arguing that the picture drawn here remains conservative and not Reform.
(See also: post 62661, post 63914.)
Discussion
You are repeating my point. The meaning of your claim is that the Religious Zionist movement has always been divided between Hardalim and Modern Orthodox, and in these years that is being realized in practice. That is exactly what I said. But note that Religious Zionism is what the two groups have in common, and as such it is an idea distinct from Modern Orthodoxy and independent of it.
One should also distinguish between the psychological-sociological influence of the Springtime of Nations, which arouses a religious movement, and ideological claims from a non-religious source in the name of the values of the Springtime of Nations. I completely agree that sometimes the religious arguments are only a cloak, and my remarks are intended, among other things, to free us from the need for façades drawn from religious sources.
With God's help, Jerusalem Day—Jerusalem–al-Quds 5782
To Chayota – many greetings,
If Religious Zionism stems from the national awakening in Europe, then now that Europe has decided to unite all the nations into a single European community – why should our share be diminished?
The time has come for us to establish here as well a multinational, multicultural 'Middle Eastern community,' in which, from Afghanistan in the east to Morocco in the west, Arabs and Jews, Christians, Druze, and Muslims, Sunnis and Shiites, will live in tranquility and brotherhood!
With the blessing of all-embracing unity, Shams Razael al-Fanjari
You wrote: "The accepted rationale for the Religious-Zionist position is based on Torah values. The claim is that, halakhically, there is an obligation to settle the Land of Israel also in a sovereign state framework, and so on." I think that is a restrictive definition; you did not address at all the innovation and the rebellion inherent in joining forces with Zionism. You turned them into Hardalim from the outset, and that is not the case.
To Shams of the many strange names – things develop, movements do not remain frozen in place, so what? That says nothing about analyzing the beginning and the foundation. And by the way, even today there is constant movement between nationalism and universalism, and it would do us good if we too knew how to listen to that movement.
I did not turn anyone into a Hardal from the outset, and I repeated that again in my previous comment here. My claim is that the main halakhic innovation of Religious Zionism is that there is an obligation to state sovereignty (even in cooperation with secular Jews). In that sense, there is nothing here that has to do with Modern Orthodoxy. A subgroup among them acted explicitly or implicitly from "secular" motives, and that is the kernel from which Modern Orthodoxy in our day could develop. I do not see what we are arguing about. It seems to me that everything is agreed upon.
But since you raised the issue, the decision to cooperate with secular Jews (which I mentioned in my remarks) is, in my view, tactical, and I do not see it as the main innovation. I have not seen that from the tenth century onward a religious movement arose to settle the Land and establish a state, even though there were no secular people then. Joining the secular was a means to realize the religious value. If I lived in a society where only gentiles had donkeys, I would cooperate with them so that I could redeem a firstborn donkey. So too in establishing a state, they cooperated with secular Jews because that was the situation, and without them it would not have come into being. Therefore, in my view this is a relatively marginal innovation. But as stated, this is a side discussion and does not touch the main point of my argument.
Take a boy and a girl in Poland who join the Zionist club, HeHalutz or the Religious HeHalutz, get excited, go for training, and eventually immigrate to the Land to establish a kibbutz. Was all of this done as a halakhic act to fulfill settling the Land? That was certainly there in the background, but it is doubtful that it was the main thing.
With God's help, 28 Iyar 5782 (118 years since Rav Kook's immigration to the Land of Israel)
To Chayota – many greetings,
And perhaps instead of trying to adapt ourselves to every passing wind that arises, and in its light (or its darkness 🙂 updating our values, and constantly being influenced and dragged along – we should understand that religious values, national values, and universal values alike are part of our eternal Torah
The Torah, which commands the commandments between man and God and the commandments between man and his fellow; commands the conquest of the Land and dwelling in it, and the dissemination of Torah to the nations of the world; commands building a Temple on the 'mountain of the Lord' so that 'My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples,' from which Torah will go forth to all the nations; expects all to accept the yoke of the kingdom of Heaven, but that this should be in the sense that 'they accepted His kingship willingly upon themselves' – the Torah includes all values – those that are in fashion, called 'modern' in foreign parlance, and those that for the time being have 'gone out of fashion' 🙂
The Torah is compared to 'mustard,' which contains within it all flavors – sharp and sweet, sour and salty – and so we too should aspire to a Torah that includes 'Haredi-ness'—that is, 'vigor' in biblical language (as in 'Why have you trembled for us with all this trembling?'); 'religiosity,' faithfulness to fixed laws; 'nationalism,' which emphasizes the uniqueness of the people of Israel; together with 'liberality,' from the phrase 'dear to everyone,' full of love for everyone created in the image of God.
Halakhah is meant to bring balance and coordination among all the eternal and human values, to give each value its proper measure, in order to create a complete and harmonious value system. To the extent that we achieve clarification, we can be leaders and have influence.
Regards, Admon Akavia Lichtman-Lederer HaMeiri
Or perhaps not?
Religious Zionism was indeed always divided in two from an intellectual standpoint: the Mizrachi as opposed to the disciples of Rav Kook and Degel Yerushalayim. And the same is true today: Merkaz HaRav versus Yeshivat Gush Etzion and their offshoots.
But Rav Kook himself certainly held that there is room for national and moral motives alongside halakhic motives (for example in the essay Drops of Light, and many others), except that he held that they all stem from a common source—from the Holy One, blessed be He, through the revealed Torah, the hidden Torah, revelations of the soul, and the history of the world.
Is he closer to midrashic conservatism or to Modern Orthodoxy? I think to midrashic conservatism. Though I recoil from the term conservatism in the context of Torah. Torah is revolutionary and not at all conservative.
Clearly. Even today the people out in the fields are not intellectuals. The leadership that formulates the arguments dictates the path, and they join in. When I speak about arguments, I am speaking about the ideology.
The youngsters certainly joined the secular Zionist movement as religious people.
Now I see that Shatz nicely represents the centrists' approach; one can see in his words how Rav Kook's position, which justifies motives that are not Torah-based, becomes for him midrashic conservatism.
Chayota, why not? Don't dismiss such sensible words with a straw.
Indeed, my response was not polite. I will elaborate and say that I do not like forced harmonizations of the style of 'everything is contained in our holy Torah.' True, our holy Torah expands and develops and swallows into itself foreign and newly arising elements from outside until it is no longer recognizable that they entered into its midst. The world is an interesting creature, changing and renewing itself; some claim that even the Holy One, blessed be He, is responsible for this, and Judaism activates its internal balances in relation to it, usually quite successfully. This is not the place to demonstrate that point, but even the aggadot that I love, which are an integral part of the Talmud, were apparently born under the influence of the Greek plays, and I will not elaborate here; of course they were transformed and duly converted. In short, I do not like it when people are accused of kowtowing to foreign and new winds. It is the way of the world that things change, and people too.
With God's help, eve of Rosh Chodesh Sivan 5782
The theaters and circuses that Hazal knew were places of cheap amusement, full of cynical mockery or cruel violence—things that Hazal loathed to the depths of their souls, and against which they warned their listeners to keep away as from fire. It may be assumed that the opinion of the Greek classicists was not much more positive regarding their cheap 'Levantine' imitators.
Aggadah grew out of the Torah reading in the synagogues, which the enactments of the Men of the Great Assembly in Ezra's day intensified, aspiring to create a broad stratum of the common people—simple folk, farmers, and craftsmen—filled with knowledge of Torah.
On Sabbaths the hardworking Jews would gather in the synagogues and read the Torah, both in the morning and at Minchah. And naturally, repeating a familiar text can become boring, and therefore in every place they found ways to give flavor to the words of Torah so that they would draw the hearts of their listeners, lest they wander idly in the streets like 'street-corner sitters.'
The synagogue was an impressive and unique Jewish creation, without parallel in gentile culture. Among the gentiles, education was the possession of the rich and the aristocrats, whereas among the Jews there was an aspiration that 'all your children shall be taught of the Lord.'
There were many Greeks and Hellenists who mocked the Jews, both for their 'atheistic' Temple devoid of statues and for their idleness, which caused them 'to spend more than a seventh of their lives in idleness.' But there were many who looked with admiration at the Jews as 'a nation of philosophers.' Some of them came to the synagogues to hear the reading and the sermons, and some of them—including not a few from 'high society,' such as the monarchs of Adiabene, Helena and her son Monobaz, Bloria, Onkelos, and many others like them—converted. A Roman writer in the period after the destruction complains that 'there is no house in Rome without a Jew in it.'
It seems that even members of the Hellenistic aristocracy who had been raised on the philosophy and high art of Greece found in Judaism a world of faith and values immeasurably deeper than Greek culture, 'which has no fruit, only flowers' (in the words of Rabbi Yehuda Halevi).
The 'drift' toward Judaism was halted by the decree against circumcision in the days of Emperor Hadrian, which at first included all the inhabitants of the empire and led to the Bar Kokhba revolt. But Hadrian's successors understood that it was enough to strictly forbid circumcision to gentiles in order to prevent conversion. The Jews too learned the lesson and raised the barriers of separation from gentile society.
The 'Jewish germ' continued to gnaw at the brains of the Greeks and Romans in the form of Christianity, which offered 'instant Judaism,' without circumcision and the minutiae of the commandments, monotheism combined with paganism—'one who is three,' and the like. In the end, Emperor Constantine of Rome accepted Christianity, and the gods of Greece and Rome faded away.
Both the 'church' to which Christians go on Sunday and the 'mosque' to which Muslims go on Friday are a clear imitation of the synagogue to which Jews go on the Sabbath.
In other words: a poor but determined nation can, over the course of hundreds of years, exert a world-shaking influence on global culture.
Regards, Admon Akavia Lichtman-Lederer HaMeiri
Paragraph 2, line 3
… of 'the common people,' simple folk, …
Paragraph 8, line 1
… to gnaw at their brains …
There, line 4
… the pagan-monotheistic syncretism conquered the empire, and 'in the end'…
I meant something much simpler, the dialogic pattern of
Sorry, it jumped. I meant the dialogic pattern of—he said to him, he said to him—and not circuses and theaters. We have stories in the Pentateuch too, and there is no need to run to the Greeks to gather them.
Mizrachi before the Holocaust, in Europe—the great rabbis who were in it did not see a contradiction between religion and Zionism, and therefore cooperated [Springtime of Nations].
Rav Kook [he was preceded by the Baal Shem Tov, the Gra, mainly their disciples, the Or HaChaim and the Chatam Sofer, afterward the rabbis of Hovevei Zion] cries out 'the beginning of the redemption' while he is a member of the Council of Torah Sages of Agudat Yisrael until the day of his death. And when World Mizrachi does not really go along with Rav Kook's redemptive line, he establishes a new movement called 'Degel Yerushalayim,' and that is its role: to promote consciousness and deeds of the beginning of redemption.
On the political level it did not really take off in his lifetime, but today Religious Zionism in Israel is, by and large, apparently mainly in the path and doctrine of Rav Kook and his continuers ['the beginning of redemption']; but in the U.S. this is called 'Modern Orthodox,' and it is more in the line of Rabbi Soloveitchik [who served as a member of the Council of Torah Sages of Agudat Yisrael in the U.S., and after the Holocaust, when he saw that rebbes and rabbis were coming from Europe and founding a conservative, framework-and-community-based Judaism instead of an idea-based one, a beggar's Judaism instead of a productive one that integrates with the necessary caution, he says: you learned nothing from what happened in Europe, and resigns from the Council of Torah Sages of Agudat Yisrael USA. In time he is appointed president of World Mizrachi]. He is more in the line of Mizrachi, which sees this as Springtime of Nations + The Voice of My Beloved Knocks, and less as an unequivocal determination of 'the beginning of redemption.'
With God's help, eve of Rosh Chodesh Sivan 5782
I do not know whether Rav Kook used the expression 'the beginning of redemption' regarding the return to Zion in our generations, but certainly he saw the process as 'the light of salvation dawning' upon the people of Israel and as preparation for redemption. In Mizrachi there was Rav Reines, who was careful not to define Zionism as preparation for redemption. He emphasized the dimension of saving the Jews of Europe from the persecutions of the haters of Israel, and for that reason he was inclined, like Herzl, to accept the 'Uganda Plan.'
But that was not the only voice in Mizrachi, and there were quite a few who spoke (following Hovevei Zion) of Zionism as preparation for the coming redemption 'little by little.' This position was held, for example, by Rav Herzog, who, when it was suggested to him during the Second World War not to return to the Land of Israel because the German armies stood at its threshold, replied: 'It is a tradition in our hands that there will not be a third destruction.' And in the Prayer for the Welfare of the State, composed by Rav Herzog and Rav Uziel, they called the State of Israel 'the beginning of the flowering of our redemption' (see also the article by Rabbi Ari Yitzchak Shevat, 'On Hazal, Rabbi Herzog, and the certainty that there will not be a third destruction' (Tzohar 21, viewable online).
Rav Kook's aim in establishing 'Degel Yerushalayim' was practical:
A. To integrate into the work of building and settling the Land also religious circles whom partnership with secular Zionism deterred, and therefore he proposed that 'Degel Yerushalayim' should deal with encouraging immigration and religious settlement without dependence on the Zionist movement.
B. To work for the 'revival of the sacred,' for building the spiritual life of the people of Israel in their land: religious education in the new yishuv, fostering literature and culture of faith, Torah-gathering enterprises such as the Talmudic Encyclopedia, Halakhah Berurah, and a commentary on the Gra's glosses to the Shulchan Arukh, and the like, which would collect and organize all the halakhic material of all generations as a basis for halakhic confrontation with modern problems; the establishment of a world assembly of rabbis to discuss solving halakhic problems; the establishment of a central yeshiva whose students would grow not only in Talmud and halakhah but also in Jewish thought, in order to find a remedy for the soul of the generation through a proper explanation of Judaism.
All the great plans that Rav Kook assigned to 'Degel Yerushalayim' were later adopted by various groups—Zionist and Haredi—and not infrequently it is דווקא the lack of awareness of the redemptive significance that increases the motivation and self-confidence to realize great projects.
Regards, Admon Akavia Lichtman-Lederer HaMeiri
Recently, the testimony of Rabbi Neta Tzvi Greenblatt (rabbi of Memphis), who knew Rav Kook in his youth, was published. Among other things, Rabbi Rosenblatt related that Rav Kook heard a Torah scholar who was enthused by the building of the Land and said that one sees here 'the footsteps of the Messiah.' Rav Kook replied to him that as long as the Vatican still stands in its place, we have not yet reached 'the footsteps of the Messiah.' It seems that there are stages in the growth of redemption, and 'the footsteps of the Messiah' is among the more advanced ones…
A. Seemingly, the conceptual discussion of conservative change is relevant only regarding authority (substantive and/or formal). If there is no authority and every Torah scholar today has the power of Hazal in every respect, then everyone will interpret according to what seems right to him, and there is no (any?) importance to the question of whether this is conservatism and of what kind. Clearly the Tannaim did many things—in interpretation, in derashot, in their own independent reasoning from which they generated laws (for example, whether there is retroactive clarification), and the Amoraim too (and also the Rishonim) did not refrain. Without the assumption that change is problematic—that is, the assumption of authority—what importance is there to the discussion whether this is change or not?
B. It seems obvious that a main difference between modern conservatives and non-modern conservatives is the question of authority: whether it is primarily formal (modern conservatives) or also substantive (non-modern conservatives), no? Formal authority by itself is rather a broken reed.
On Rav Kook's 'Degel Yerushalayim,' see Rabbi Avraham Wasserman's book, Kore LaDegel – Rav Kook and 'Degel Yerushalayim,' the Forgotten Alternative to the Zionist Movement, Har Berakhah Institute, 5780. Also his lecture series on 'Degel Yerushalayim' (on the 'Yeshivat Ramat Gan' website), and his lectures: 'The Revival of Degel Yerushalayim' and '"And he went to their souls" – a new self-definition' (on the 'Yeshiva' website).
See also the articles by Rabbi Dov Bigon, 'Banners of an Eternal Nation and Degel Yerushalayim' (on the 'Kipa' website), and Rabbi Yehuda Zoldan, 'Rav Kook's Degel Yerushalayim – the sprout that did not blossom' (on the 'Makor Rishon' website), and the literature cited in the entry 'Degel Yerushalayim' (movement) on Wikipedia.
Regards, Aaleh
It can be said briefly that the difference between 'the Banner of Zion' and 'the Banner of Jerusalem' in Rav Kook's thought parallels the difference between the 'Covenant of Fate' and the 'Covenant of Destiny' in The Voice of My Beloved Knocks by Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik.
General Zionism too sought in Zionism not only the existential aspect of the people's return to independent life in its land, but also the value-laden vision—whether the vision of Ahad Ha'am and the like of the free 'new Jew,' or the vision of the just egalitarian society of the Labor Movement.
By contrast, Religious Zionism saw the value-laden vision in the renewed connection of the people to the creation of a 'complete stature,' in which there is a joining of spiritual life with practical life, and the expansion of Torah life from the narrow circle of individual and communal life to a society and a state that represents and realizes, as a public and as a state, the Torah and its values.
With blessings for a good month, Ami'oz Yaron Schnitzler
A. Indeed, correct.
B. Not necessarily, but in many cases that is the situation. There can be non-modern conservatives who accept only formal authority, but still adhere to it.
Religious Zionism is very aware of the influence of the Springtime of Nations and the national awakening in the world on Zionism; it merely covers itself with, or adorns itself with, the halakhic command to settle the Land as a support, an excuse, or an additional layer. But both things, both motivations, exist simultaneously and do not contradict each other. In this respect, Religious Zionism is not conservatism but a great innovation, a departure from everything the leading rabbis of the generation taught, in Europe at least. Joining forces with secular Jews, with all that entails, in order to build a Jewish state in the Land of Israel, as an ideal that competes, for example, with the ideal of Torah study. The fact that today there is a split within Religious Zionism is a natural development between its two foundational tendencies: the part that stems from a secular cultural innovation in the world, and the part that stems from religious sources.