Literary, Psychological and Historical Sensitivity - r.Lichtenstein
From the series "DEVELOPING A TORAH PERSONALITY" in Yeshivat Har Etzion
Based on addresses by Harav Aharon Lichtenstein
Adapted by Rav Reuven Ziegler
LECTURE #12. Centrist Orthodoxy: A Spiritual Accounting
LITERARY, PSYCHOLOGICAL AND HISTORICAL SENSITIVITY
Speaking for myself, however, I can emphatically state that my general education has contributed much to my personal development. I know that my understanding of Tanakh would be far shallower in every respect without it. I know that it has greatly enhanced my perception of life in Eretz Yisrael. I know that it has enriched my religious experience. I know that when my father was stricken blind, Milton’s profoundly religious sonnet “On His Blindness” and its magnificent conclusion, “They also serve who only stand and wait,” stood me in excellent stead. I also know - and this has at times been a most painful discovery-that many of these elements are sadly lacking among the condemners of culture on the Right.
Psychological sensitivity in those circles is grossly deficient. Just recall, if you attended the funeral of a great rabbi, how abstract, repetitive and inane the eulogies were. When R. Aharon Kotler zt”l passed away, there was what was considered at that time a huge funeral downtown. There was a long row of eulogizers- rashei yeshiva and rabbis-but the only person who began to give an insight into the fire which animated that giant was Irving Bunim, a layman. When one’s psychological sensitivity is lacking, the result is that much of Torah-whole parashiyyot and personalities in Chumash-are simply misread, in the sense of gilui panim ba-Torah she-lo ke-halakha (false interpretation of Torah), with a marvelous tradition of midrashim often distorted beyond recognition.
Historical sensibility is, at best, greatly constricted, and the mandate of “Remember the days of old, consider the years of many generations” (Devarim 32:7), which, as the Chatam Sofer pointed out, addresses itself to the reading and understanding of history, is largely ignored. This constriction has several ramifications. At one level, it limits the ability to understand properly many texts and contexts of Torah; at another, it jades the awareness of historical challenges-of which Zionism is perhaps the most prominent-and the responsibility to participate in the historical process at a public as opposed to a private level; at a third, there is often simply a distortion of reality.
This hit me in the face about ten years ago. I was asked to coordinate a program (run by Yad Avi Ha-yishuv in conjunction with several kollelim in Yerushalayim) to train rabbis who would serve in the Diaspora for a period of time. I decided to bring all the students together for a day of study at which they or their rashei yeshiva would give shiurim revolving around a certain idea. Since they wanted to become community leaders, I suggested that the conference deal with the topic of leadership.
I met with one of the students, a fellow who was considered a bastion of his kollel, and he said to me, “I don’t understand-what is there to discuss? Why should we be wasting a day to deal with such a topic?” I asked, “Don’t you think this is important for someone who is going to become a rabbi and a leader?” He replied, “It’s very simple. A leader is someone who acts like the Chazon Ish.” I asked, “Is that the only model of Jewish leadership?” He said, “Certainly.” I responded, “Do you think that Moshe Rabbeinu spent his day exactly like the Chazon Ish?” He said, “Surely.” I countered, “Well, there are verses in the Torah that tell us about his activities. . .” He answered that those verses, apparently, were all before parashat Yitro, but after Yitro-he was just like the Chazon Ish. I continued, “What about the Rambam?” He said, “Surely. How else would the Rambam spend his day?” I answered, “With regard to the Rambam, there are clear records; he tells us in his letters how he spent his time. Surely the Chazon Ish would never have spent his time treating the sultan’s concubines in various harems. . .” But that passed him by completely.
Finally, the lack of historical sensitivity often produces the shortsighted use of power in dealing with the secular community for which the overall religious world in Eretz Yisrael today pays such a heavy toll.
This brings us to the last point I mentioned before, the question of less complex perceptions of the human condition. As opposed to what can emerge within a more Centrist context, an uncultured approach often tends to be superficial and simplistic. However, I am far from suggesting, God forbid, that whoever has not received a cultural exposure must, of necessity, think in these terms-but the tendency is there.
Centrism at its best encourages a sense of complexity and integration, and this in several respects. First, inasmuch as a person of this orientation looks to the right and to the left, he is more likely to reject the kind of simplistic, black-and-white solutions so appealing to others. Second, again by dint of his basic position, it is more complex, because it encompasses more of reality. It relates to more areas of human life, to larger segments of our communal and personal existence. Third, not only in quantitative terms but qualitatively, a Centrist approach is more inclined to perceive shadings and nuances, differences between areas and levels of moral and spiritual reality; more inclined to understand, for instance, what the concept of devar ha-reshut is all about;more inclined to reject the popular myth that the answer to every single problem can be found in the Shulchan Arukh if only one knows how to deal with it. For those who lack a certain exposure, these insights are often more difficult to come by.
There are, in a somewhat related vein, other issues on which we differ because of our differing orientations. For example, sub- sequent to God’s universal covenants with Adam and Noach, there was a special revelation to the Patriarchs and then to Kenesset Yisrael, the Congregation of Israel. Is the latter to be regarded as superimposed upon the basic categories of “the image of God,” or is it something totally different? The Centrist instinct is to assume-even if both are correct-that the sharpening and heightening of the universal spiritual reality is part of what the sanctity of Israel is all about.
Second, with regard to areas of practical Halakha, there are differences over how far and how fast one should push in order to arrive at a kind of foolproof practice. How high should the “fence around the Torah” be raised, even when raising it too high has an impact on other values, and even when raising it disregards the impact which it has upon the standing of the kehilla, the basic (and if it is basic, it is in some sense centrist) community as it has existed from generation to generation? The mentality which is totally immersed in certain specifics may often lack the spiritual energy to involve itself in other areas and might not give these considerations sufficient weight. Minutiae are, of course, critical to halakhic thought and experience, and the adherence to standards in their implementation is an essential ingredient of any form of serious Torah commitment. But these need to be viewed, and, within certain limits, defined, with reference to general spiritual and axiological factors.
Here we could deal with specific areas of halakhic decision-making, but whoever is involved knows that much of what today is considered as yirat Shamayim was thoroughly rejected by the Rishonim. For instance, the Rosh (Sukka 3:13) discusses the definition of an arava (willow), and says that the simple reading of the Talmudic discussion would indicate that it must grow on the banks of a river (at least according to many opinions). Then he says, “But I have not seen that our rabbis are concerned with this”-and we are dealing with a biblical commandment! His answer is not, “If that is the case, never mind what our rabbis did-we will be better and wiser;” rather, he suggests an alternate understanding.
To take another example, the Kesef Mishneh (Hilkhot Terumot 1:11) discusses the question of whether a gentile's fruits upon which he performed meruach (levelling) in Eretz Yisrael are rabbinically obligated in terumot u-ma’asrot (tithes and gifts). Although this is subject to a dispute among Rishonim, the prevalent practice had followed the Rambam’s lenient opinion. He then writes about a contemporary rabbi who thought he was being pious by following the stringent opinion of other Rishonim, and persuading others to do the same. The Kesef Mishneh says categorically and vigorously: God forbid that we should change the long-standing practice of the kehilla, as it would be disrespectful to our predecessors and present them as sinners.
Here, again, we have an issue which to some extent divides us. This might perhaps be extended, but I do want to move on to the second major issue of which I spoke before, and this is the attitude toward Zionism and the State of Israel in general.
Based on addresses by Harav Aharon Lichtenstein
Adapted by Rav Reuven Ziegler
LECTURE #12. Centrist Orthodoxy: A Spiritual Accounting
LITERARY, PSYCHOLOGICAL AND HISTORICAL SENSITIVITY
Speaking for myself, however, I can emphatically state that my general education has contributed much to my personal development. I know that my understanding of Tanakh would be far shallower in every respect without it. I know that it has greatly enhanced my perception of life in Eretz Yisrael. I know that it has enriched my religious experience. I know that when my father was stricken blind, Milton’s profoundly religious sonnet “On His Blindness” and its magnificent conclusion, “They also serve who only stand and wait,” stood me in excellent stead. I also know - and this has at times been a most painful discovery-that many of these elements are sadly lacking among the condemners of culture on the Right.
Psychological sensitivity in those circles is grossly deficient. Just recall, if you attended the funeral of a great rabbi, how abstract, repetitive and inane the eulogies were. When R. Aharon Kotler zt”l passed away, there was what was considered at that time a huge funeral downtown. There was a long row of eulogizers- rashei yeshiva and rabbis-but the only person who began to give an insight into the fire which animated that giant was Irving Bunim, a layman. When one’s psychological sensitivity is lacking, the result is that much of Torah-whole parashiyyot and personalities in Chumash-are simply misread, in the sense of gilui panim ba-Torah she-lo ke-halakha (false interpretation of Torah), with a marvelous tradition of midrashim often distorted beyond recognition.
Historical sensibility is, at best, greatly constricted, and the mandate of “Remember the days of old, consider the years of many generations” (Devarim 32:7), which, as the Chatam Sofer pointed out, addresses itself to the reading and understanding of history, is largely ignored. This constriction has several ramifications. At one level, it limits the ability to understand properly many texts and contexts of Torah; at another, it jades the awareness of historical challenges-of which Zionism is perhaps the most prominent-and the responsibility to participate in the historical process at a public as opposed to a private level; at a third, there is often simply a distortion of reality.
This hit me in the face about ten years ago. I was asked to coordinate a program (run by Yad Avi Ha-yishuv in conjunction with several kollelim in Yerushalayim) to train rabbis who would serve in the Diaspora for a period of time. I decided to bring all the students together for a day of study at which they or their rashei yeshiva would give shiurim revolving around a certain idea. Since they wanted to become community leaders, I suggested that the conference deal with the topic of leadership.
I met with one of the students, a fellow who was considered a bastion of his kollel, and he said to me, “I don’t understand-what is there to discuss? Why should we be wasting a day to deal with such a topic?” I asked, “Don’t you think this is important for someone who is going to become a rabbi and a leader?” He replied, “It’s very simple. A leader is someone who acts like the Chazon Ish.” I asked, “Is that the only model of Jewish leadership?” He said, “Certainly.” I responded, “Do you think that Moshe Rabbeinu spent his day exactly like the Chazon Ish?” He said, “Surely.” I countered, “Well, there are verses in the Torah that tell us about his activities. . .” He answered that those verses, apparently, were all before parashat Yitro, but after Yitro-he was just like the Chazon Ish. I continued, “What about the Rambam?” He said, “Surely. How else would the Rambam spend his day?” I answered, “With regard to the Rambam, there are clear records; he tells us in his letters how he spent his time. Surely the Chazon Ish would never have spent his time treating the sultan’s concubines in various harems. . .” But that passed him by completely.
Finally, the lack of historical sensitivity often produces the shortsighted use of power in dealing with the secular community for which the overall religious world in Eretz Yisrael today pays such a heavy toll.
This brings us to the last point I mentioned before, the question of less complex perceptions of the human condition. As opposed to what can emerge within a more Centrist context, an uncultured approach often tends to be superficial and simplistic. However, I am far from suggesting, God forbid, that whoever has not received a cultural exposure must, of necessity, think in these terms-but the tendency is there.
Centrism at its best encourages a sense of complexity and integration, and this in several respects. First, inasmuch as a person of this orientation looks to the right and to the left, he is more likely to reject the kind of simplistic, black-and-white solutions so appealing to others. Second, again by dint of his basic position, it is more complex, because it encompasses more of reality. It relates to more areas of human life, to larger segments of our communal and personal existence. Third, not only in quantitative terms but qualitatively, a Centrist approach is more inclined to perceive shadings and nuances, differences between areas and levels of moral and spiritual reality; more inclined to understand, for instance, what the concept of devar ha-reshut is all about;more inclined to reject the popular myth that the answer to every single problem can be found in the Shulchan Arukh if only one knows how to deal with it. For those who lack a certain exposure, these insights are often more difficult to come by.
There are, in a somewhat related vein, other issues on which we differ because of our differing orientations. For example, sub- sequent to God’s universal covenants with Adam and Noach, there was a special revelation to the Patriarchs and then to Kenesset Yisrael, the Congregation of Israel. Is the latter to be regarded as superimposed upon the basic categories of “the image of God,” or is it something totally different? The Centrist instinct is to assume-even if both are correct-that the sharpening and heightening of the universal spiritual reality is part of what the sanctity of Israel is all about.
Second, with regard to areas of practical Halakha, there are differences over how far and how fast one should push in order to arrive at a kind of foolproof practice. How high should the “fence around the Torah” be raised, even when raising it too high has an impact on other values, and even when raising it disregards the impact which it has upon the standing of the kehilla, the basic (and if it is basic, it is in some sense centrist) community as it has existed from generation to generation? The mentality which is totally immersed in certain specifics may often lack the spiritual energy to involve itself in other areas and might not give these considerations sufficient weight. Minutiae are, of course, critical to halakhic thought and experience, and the adherence to standards in their implementation is an essential ingredient of any form of serious Torah commitment. But these need to be viewed, and, within certain limits, defined, with reference to general spiritual and axiological factors.
Here we could deal with specific areas of halakhic decision-making, but whoever is involved knows that much of what today is considered as yirat Shamayim was thoroughly rejected by the Rishonim. For instance, the Rosh (Sukka 3:13) discusses the definition of an arava (willow), and says that the simple reading of the Talmudic discussion would indicate that it must grow on the banks of a river (at least according to many opinions). Then he says, “But I have not seen that our rabbis are concerned with this”-and we are dealing with a biblical commandment! His answer is not, “If that is the case, never mind what our rabbis did-we will be better and wiser;” rather, he suggests an alternate understanding.
To take another example, the Kesef Mishneh (Hilkhot Terumot 1:11) discusses the question of whether a gentile's fruits upon which he performed meruach (levelling) in Eretz Yisrael are rabbinically obligated in terumot u-ma’asrot (tithes and gifts). Although this is subject to a dispute among Rishonim, the prevalent practice had followed the Rambam’s lenient opinion. He then writes about a contemporary rabbi who thought he was being pious by following the stringent opinion of other Rishonim, and persuading others to do the same. The Kesef Mishneh says categorically and vigorously: God forbid that we should change the long-standing practice of the kehilla, as it would be disrespectful to our predecessors and present them as sinners.
Here, again, we have an issue which to some extent divides us. This might perhaps be extended, but I do want to move on to the second major issue of which I spoke before, and this is the attitude toward Zionism and the State of Israel in general.