Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

A Parable of Two Ships

Rabbinic wisdom speaks of a well known parable about two ships were sailing near the shore; one headed toward the open sea, while the other headed toward the harbor. Everyone was cheering the outgoing ship. But very few cheered for the incoming vessel. A sage observed, there is something paradoxical about all this. The outgoing ship should not be cheered, for nobody knows what lies ahead in wait for it. Nobody knows what stormy seas it may encounter; what dangers might lie ahead of the person as she continues her voyage.  But everyone ought to be cheering the incoming ship, for it has clearly reached the port safely. The ship concluded its journey in peace. Loved ones were now united; life begins anew once more. . . .

We are here to pay tribute to a most remarkable woman, Esther Avruch,  whose voyage through life was full of danger, loss, joy and triumph.  survived the horrors of the Holocaust and made a wonderful life.

Esther’s Life

Let me tell you a little bit about Esther’s life. She was born July 15, 1929, in Sochaczew, Poland, the daughter of Avrum-Scholum  and Miriam Fleischman.  She was the third youngest of ten children, Esther, and one of her sisters were the only family members to survive the Warsaw Ghetto and the Holocaust.

Like many children in Eastern Europe, religious families sent their children to Catholic schools to learn secular studies, while spending the rest of the day learning about Judaism. (My father also attended Catholic school with all of his siblings–despite the fact that they were Hasidic Jews; this was quite common in Eastern Europe because there were no public schools.) Esther learned at the one of the first Beth Ya’akob schools for Jewish girls. Esther could still remember the songs she learned in school. She dressed up like a Jewish princess whenever she attended services, which she always loved doing. Esther also learned to speak several languages that included, Yiddish, Polish, and Hebrew.

Every week, she used to clean her home for the Sabbath; she had a very happy childhood. Esther especially loved dressing up for the Sabbath in her finest clothes.

The Beginning of the War Years

As Hitler approached Poland, anti-Semites used to say, “Just wait till Hitler comes to Poland . . .” The situation grew worst in Sochaczew, and the family decided to leave for Warsaw, where they thought life would be safer.

In one of the buildings they were hiding, a German bomb exploded the building but miraculously nothing happened. This happened on September 3^rd of 1939.

One of the worst experiences occurred on Yom Kippur when all the Jews were huddled at the synagogue, when the Nazis started bombing it.  Esther’s sister Raisel, was injured in the attack; they ran away to their home where they hid in the cellar.

For now, everything was ok—or so it seemed. There was no water, and little Esther had to shlep miles  to bring just a few buckets of water. Warsaw was conquered by the Nazis, and the family had no choice but to go back to their home town. After the Nazis took over, every Jewish home was burned to the ground; the Jews had to wear armbands with the Mogen David insignia on it. As if the Nazis were bad enough, many Poles proved that they could be  just as cruel, and would beat the Jews, and seize their food and water.

Miracles

After a while, Esther and her family were reunited with their father and brothers in Warsaw. Despite the theft of their food and water, Esther did her best to survive and survive she did. When typhus broke out, it was the wisdom of their mother, who protected her children. Anyone going to a hospital, simply never returned.

Starving for food and drink, simple Polish peasants, like a miracle from God, shared their food with the family. They were friends of Esther’s father’s business partners. They acted morally and with compassion. As the war continued, the Germans threatened to kill any Pole who would dare save a Jew. The pious Polish Christian family was gunned down, one by one, for daring to save the Jews.

Esther’s mother, Miriam, always shared with what little food with others who were starving as well.

Throughout the ordeal, Esther did her best to maintain contact with her brother Scharma, who was working at a Polish factory in Warsaw. During that time, she managed to smuggle bread to her brother. At one point, she was caught and beaten by the Nazis for helping the Jews.

Another kind Polish family got her a fake birth certificate, and she then assumed the name Marsia Rakowsa. Because the Nazis never suspected that Esther was Jewish because she had blond features. This act of kindness enabled Esther to survive the war. With this birth certificate, she was able to obtain a ration card, which also helped her escaped getting arrested. On more than one occasion, Esther had to face the German officers and tell them she was an orphan, after her parents were killed in a bombing raid. She attended Church services,  sung Christian songs and nobody suspected that she was Jewish.

Just prior to the what was to be the famous Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, she found out about the plan of the Jews to fight back, and that she needed to prepare herself a special bunker where she would remain safe.  Instead, she decided to take her chances on the Polish side rather than remain in the bunker.  Esther said to herself, “If I am to die, I would rather die in the open air, than die in a bunker.”

Esther’s intuition saved her once more, for after the Germans came in and crushed the revolt, there were no more survivors in any of the bunkers. If people were not killed immediately with their families, they were shipped to the Treblinka concentration camp. She recalls that while her brothers Scharma, Yitzchak, and Benjamin were in the trains, they jumped from the train as the Germans began shooting at them, killing Isaac in the process.  Scharma was knocked out for a while, only to be robbed and attacked by the Poles in a forest nearby. That was the last time she saw her brother Scharma.  Eventually, he was captured and killed by the Nazis. Continue Reading

Ramat Shlomo, East Jerusalem. Lower right corner: replica of 770 Eastern Parkway, the world headquarters of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement. (AP/ Ha’aretz.)

The picture surprised me. At first I thought somebody photo-shopped the picture, thus superimposing the picture into the background, but this was not the case. Aside from looking completely out of place, I am amazed the Israel government would even allow a building that was not made up of limestone. One must wonder why the Chabad architects would choose a style that sets it apart from all the rest? The answer is only too obvious: Chabad loves being “different.”

For those of you who don’t know, there is another facsimile of the 770 Headquarters in Kfar Chabad. Something tells me they are planning to franchise the model. McDonald’s and Pizza Hut may have some competition in the next decade or so.

I’m a member

And I approve this message.

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Yochanan composed another great melody I think everyone will enjoy.

Apologies to the Animals:

Let me apologize if the following material seems obtusely worded. Some rabbis have a serious problem expressing coherent thoughts that appeal to common sense. Clearly, some of our ancestors were lacking in this department. The Talmudic style of reasoning called, “pilpul” (“peppered” didactic reasoning) can appeal to the inner sophist we all have. At times, I like to refer to this style of argumentation as, “rabbinicspeak,” and to understand or argue with it, you have to almost think like a mental contortionist.

Continuing with our last thought, how could Deborah in the Bible (Judg. 4:4) serve as a judge, according to the Talmudic and medieval rabbis?  The 13th century of scholars known as the Tosfot, try to make sense of the problem posed. To their credit, Tosfot offers at least adds fluidity to much of its interpretation; they are a lot like the girl with the curl, when they are good . .  . you know the rest of the story. The same may be said of the Tosfot interpretations.

Ba’ale Tosfot discuss the problem from a variety of perspectives:

A. One answer proposed suggests that that Deborah was a judge because her community accepted her. Tosfot also admits that a woman is considered to be an equal in every matter of jurisprudence, except when it comes to serving as a witness. [1]

B. The Jerusalem Talmud rules that a woman is not allowed to act as a judge [2]; the case of Deborah is the exception–and certainly not the norm. Deborah was chosen by virtue of the Shekhinah resting upon her.[3]

C. Alternatively, one may accept a woman to serve as a judge, just like two litigants may accept a relative to serve as a judge–provided each party agrees. [4]

D. Some scholars say that Deborah could only “teach,” but she could not render legal decisions–only men could do that.[5] Continue Reading

This past week, the Jewish Star updated its article about the maverick Modern Orthodox named Rabbi Avi Weiss, who recently backed down from a confrontation with the RCA (Rabbinical Council of America) over his decision to offer ordination to a Sara Hurwitz, as an Orthodox rabbi.

Frankly, I am not surprised at all by the series of events that ensued. Surprisingly, Agudath Israel spokesman Rabbi Avi Shafran admitted that the issue whether women may become rabbis or not is not a matter of “Torah law,” or not; in his opinion, it is morally wrong. Shafran remarked, “[If] Weiss had the backing of a world-class posek (halachic decisor) he would have a claim that he’s not departing [from the mesorah], but he does not have any such backings on the recognized Orthodox spectrum, chareidi or central. He’s changing the face of mesorah without anyone of stature behind him.”

I am curious: Where does the Torah speak about rabbis in the first place, since “rabbis” did not exist in biblical times?

But wait, it gets more interesting than just that.

Rabbi Shafran further argues that the ordination of a woman ran counter to the concept of tzniut, (modesty). It includes the idea that women are demeaned, not honoured, when they are placed in the public eye,” said Rabbi Shafran, “and that a position like the one suggested here is violative of that concept.”

Rabbi Steven Pruzansky of Teaneck, NJ, expresses a similar position in his blog: “There are two greater objections: the utter disregard of norms of tzniut, with which ModOs generally struggle, and the corruption of the methodology of psak that transmits the Mesora and Jewish cultural norms and societal values. The only way to consider in this context the compelling Jewish value of “the glory of the King’s daughter is within” (kal kevuda bat melech penima- Tehillim 45:14) is essentially to discount it and say it has no relevance in the modern Western world. Thus, this ideal of Jewish femininity – the disinclination to seek a public spiritual role, cited by Chazal hundreds of times – is simply written out of the Torah system. And why ? …” Continue Reading

Abraham Joshua Heschel (1907–1972) posits that the Sabbath is an “architecture of sacred time.”[1] He poignantly argues that while it is true that all peoples of antiquity venerated certain places as holy, the Torah places a far greater emphasis on the sanctification of time versus the sanctification of space. It is no coincidence that the word for sanctity is first associated with the Sabbath. When God blesses the Sabbath day (Gen. 2:3), it literally becomes, “a sanctuary of holy time.”

Sabbath rituals exemplify Judaism’s quest to sanctify time. To the pagan, the notion of holiness is inextricably related to sacred space; as a result, there is a tendency for the primal psyche to project its concept of the divine into an object that is found in the phenomenal world. But the Sabbath is radically different. With the Sabbath, as Heschel notes, human beings leave the realm of holy space and enter into the realm of holy time.[2]

Judaism teaches us to be attached to holiness in time, to be attached to sacred events, to learn how to consecrate sanctuaries that emerge from the magnificent stream of a year. The Sabbaths are our great cathedrals; and our Holy of Holies is a shrine that neither the Romans nor the Germans were able to burn; a shrine that even apostasy cannot easily obliterate.[3]

The Sabbath also exerts a profound economic impact upon a society. As a symbol of sanctified time, the Sabbath releases men and women from the tyranny of a consumer-driven market economy. Keeping the Sabbath must be more than just a mere activity—it must foster a renewal of the soul. The Sabbath symbolizes the ideal state of creation where every creature great and small, stands in cosmic unity together in honor of the Creator. As a symbol of rest and renewal, the Sabbath signifies an inner serenity that permeates the spirit. Continue Reading

The Middle East has often been synonymous with the metaphors of despair and angst. This story began about six years ago, when a young Israeli Arab law student and musician named George Khoury, was accidentally killed by a drive-by Palestinian terrorist, while jogging in East Jerusalem’s French Hill neighborhood. The terrorists exclaimed afterward, “Oops, we thought your son was Jewish. Sorry . . .”

To most people, a victim of terrorism is just a statistic–unless you happen to personally know who the victim was. George was an  Israeli who lived among Palestinians, in a Palestinian neighborhood of Jerusalem. While he was a high school student, he participated in interfaith projects with fellow Christians, Muslims and Jews. His death was so tragic because it was so unnecessary.

George’s father, Elias, is a respectable attorney in Jerusalem, has fought for Palestinians clients that had their lands confiscated by the Israeli government. Elias Khoury believes violence is a poison that is harming the Palestinian people. In memory of his beloved son, he made an unusual decision that has stirred controversy among his fellow Palestinians and Arabs–both within Israel–and well beyond Israel’s borders.

Elias decided to pay for an Arabic translation of Israeli writer Amos Oz’s autobiography, “A Tale of Love and Darkness.”Amos Oz is beloved as a moderate and a dove, and Elias wanted the Palestinian community to learn about a different kind of Israeli, whose vision might help co-create  a new and more tolerant peaceful co-existence for Israel and the Palestinian people. Perhaps this new literary project would also give redemptive meaning to his son’s tragic death so that other young people might be spared from the endless cycle of violence.

The Arabic version of the book, “A Tale of Love and Darkness,” went on sale late last month in Beirut, Lebanon. So far it has received pretty favorable reviews–especially by Abdo Wazen, cultural editor of the pan-Arab newspaper Al Hayat. As to be expected, some have reacted critically toward the book’s publication as well. The book is due to be distributed more widely in the region in the coming weeks. The book will soon be released in Egypt and Jordan.

Perhaps the pen is mightier than the sword.

You can be sure this literary work will send shock-waves throughout the Muslim world–from Algeria to Tehran.

Elias writes in his preface to the Arabic translation, “This book tells the history of the rebirth of the Jewish people,” he said as he sat in his law office. “We can learn from it how a people like the Jewish people emerged from the tragedy of the Holocaust and were able to reorganize themselves and build their country and become an independent people. If we can’t learn from that, we will not be able to do anything for our independence.” [1] Continue Reading

Understanding the “Real” War Against the Internet

Strangely, Rosenblum neglects to mention the most important aspect about the  Haredi war against the Internet–they fear its self critiquing and self-examination much more than the erotic websites.  Banning the Internet promotes the conspiracy of silence it desires.  Ynet news uncovered a document where the rabbis denounce the websites – the majority of which are daily news publications unsanctioned by the ultra-Orthodox establishment – on grounds that they “pursue all manners of news and gossip that defame our public” and “spread slander, lies and impurities to thousands.”

Haredi rabbis want to create a hermetic seal that will prevent their people from critically examining its community’s leaders, many of whom have been exploiting their flock in almost every conceivable way for decades.

In the same Ynet issue, Jerusalem “modesty squads” says computers containing “abominations” found in apartments rented by yeshiva students, calls on capital’s residents to “stand guard” and have forbidden the ownership of computers in the yeshivas.

The real animus against the Internet is not so much toward the erotic sites, it is toward the news services that openly criticize Haredi power and undermine their authority. Micromanaging or lobotomizing its Haredi community cannot solve the problem here.

What the rabbis are really trying to prevent is the emergence of self-reflective Haredim who are willing to take a hard and serious look at the level of dysfunction within its community. There was a time when child-molesters in the Haredi community could hide and get away with a cloak of unanimity. The Internet has made it virtually impossible for pedophiles to hide. Nor will the Internet hide the financial shenanigans we see among many of the most prestigious leaders of the Haredi community–they too, are now accountable. Continue Reading

One of my favorite concepts in logic is the reductio ad absurdum (Latin: “reduction to the absurd”)  argument, which is a logical method of argument that proves the falsity of a premise  by following its implications to a logical but absurd conclusion.

“Fortifying the Walls of Conversion” ?

Today, at a conference dedicated to “fortifying walls of conversion,”  the Israeli Chief Rabbi Yona Metzger expressed moral support for Rabbi Sherman, who annulled thousands of conversions carried out by Rabbi Chaim Druckman, who has been the past acting  director of the National Conversion Authority in Israel.

In the past couple of years or more, Haredi politicians in Israel have on a number of occasions tried to oust the rabbi, most notably under the corrupt leadership of Prime Minister Ehud Olmert , but Rav Druckman refused to go and there was nothing his critics could do to force him to leave. Even after his departure from the directorship, Haredi politicians and rabbis are still trying to overturn all of his conversions, which may affect the status of about 15,000 converts in Israel.

Explaining Why Revoking Conversions is Wrongheaded

The concept of revoking a conversion is a recent innovation in rabbinic law. As we have posted in other places, the Shulchan Aruch (Code of Jewish Law) does not sanction revocation of conversions at all. Should a convert return to his former gentile roots, the halacha still considers him as a “sinful Israelite.” [1]

A Greek Should be Thankful for Three Things . . .

At this point one could ask: What sort of teachings might have inspired Rabbi Judah to formulate these three blessings? There may be two possible sources: Greek or early Christian writings. Of the two choices, I believe the Greek influence is more dominant. However, as we shall soon see, the liturgical texts found in the Cairo Geniza  suggest that the early medieval liturgical scholars may have had Christianity in mind, since the  Graeco-Roman culture was supplanted by the Catholic Church. This, I think, is pretty historically plausible.

In the writings of the 3rd century biographer Diogenes Laertius, he attributes the following statement: “But Hermippus, in his Lives, refers to Thales what has been by some people reported of Socrates; for he recites that he used to say that he thanked fortune for three things: first of all, that he had been born a man and not a beast; secondly, that he was a man and not a woman; and thirdly, that he was a Greek and not a barbarian.” [1]

One could argue that the negative rabbinic statements concerning women must be seen within a broader social context; that is to say, the rabbis’ opinions were formed to a certain extent by the dominant cultural attitudes of its time, which happened to be decidedly Graeco-Roman.

Moreover, the originator of this liturgical blessing, Rabbi Judah HaNasi, (ca. 135-219) used to frequent the company of many of Romes’ high society members, and was believed to even been intimate with the Emperor Marcus Aurelius (ca. 122-180 CE.).

Charles Carlston sums up the Greco-Roman world’s view of women: “ . . . on balance . . . the picture drawn is a grim one. Women . . . are basically ineducable and empty-headed; vengeful, dangerous, and responsible for men’s sins; mendacious, treacherous, and unreliable; fickle; valuable only through their relationships with men; incapable of moderation or spontaneous goodness; at their best in the dark; interested only in sex–unless they are with their husbands, in which case (apparently) they would rather talk. In short, women are one and all ‘a set of vultures,’ the ‘most beastly’ of all the beasts on land or sea, and marriage is at best a necessary evil.” [2]

A Second Possible Source of Rabbi Judah’s Statement

As we mentioned above, Rabbi Judah may have been directing his criticism to new Christian faith. According to Paul, “Here there is not Greek and Jew, circumcision and uncircumcision, barbarian, Scythian,  slave, free; but Christ is all and in all.” In Paul’s vision of the new Christian faith, the traditional distinction that characterized the old rabbinic view of Judaism no longer applied. For him, the gospel doesn’t confer on one class of people a privileged position in the social order–God doesn’t play favorites; God saves us all in the same way and for the same end.

Do not think for a minute that Paul was necessarily a social liberal–he definitely wasn’t. But he did know how to appeal to perspective converts! For the record, Paul had no problem encouraging slaves and women to mind their societal places–all of which he wholeheartedly endorses. Paul was the world’s greatest salesman–he knew what to say in order to sell his faith–but we shall have to return to this point in another discussion.

This passage is interesting because if we read the Geniza texts of the Siddur, we find language that is very similar to the Pauline passage cited above: ברוך אתה יי אלהינו מלך העולם אשר בראת אותי אדם ולא בהמה ואיש ולא  אשה וישראל ולא גוי מל ולא ערל חופשי ולא עבד “Blessed are You …who has created me a human and not beast, a man and not a woman, an Israelite and not a gentile, circumcised and not uncircumcised, free and not slave.”

Early rabbinic passages also do not reflect particularly well on women: Continue Reading

Sometimes even the most obvious biblical passages can be perplexing. One interesting verse is a case in point:

“Therefore, do not say, ‘What shall we eat in the seventh year, if we do not then sow or reap our crop?’ I will bestow such blessings on you in the sixth year that there will then be crop enough for three years. When you sow in the eighth year, you will continue to eat from the old crop; and even into the ninth year, when the crop comes in, you will still have the old to eat from” (Lev. 25:20-22).

It is difficult to determine how seriously the ancient Jews observed the שמיטה‎  “Sabbatical Year” (literally “release”). The fact that people attempted to keep it at all, given the hard economic realities, is  remarkable.  The inhabitants of Jerusalem in the 5th cent. B.C.E. swore to let the ground remain fallow during the seventh year (Neh. 10:31). During the Maccabean revolution, the Syrian army led by general Lysias, took over the fortress of Beth-zur because food was in short supply during the sabbatical year when the attack was made. Its people “evacuated the city, because they had no provisions there to withstand a siege, since it was a sabbatical year for the land” (1 Maccabees 6:49, cf. vv. 53-54).

Josephus records that both Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar remitted Israel’s taxes during the Sabbatical years.^[1] Tactius also attests to the Jewish observance of the Sabbatical year but attributed the custom to “indolence.”^[2]

Given the animosity between Judea and Rome, the Romans demanded that the Jewish remnant of Judea continue paying the crop tax. No exceptions were made whatsoever for the struggling Jewish population of the land.

In the aftermath of the failed Bar Kochba revolution, the rabbis modified the law regarding the Sabbatical year during the Roman period to allow for food to be grown in order so that the people should survive, and be able to pay its taxes to a hostile Roman government.

What makes this an intriguing passage is the fact that the Sabbatical year continued to be observed even in a post-exilic era and most Halachic authorities ruled that the Sabbatical year was still a rabbinic obligation.  The only reason the Sages exempted the farmers was because the imminent danger they faced should they have disobeyed. Other authorities insisted that it was biblically required, while others still maintained it was a nothing more than a pious custom.^[3] Continue Reading