Why Orthodoxy? Part III of III

This series of posts summarizes a non-proselytizing talk I delivered at a Conservative Temple a while back, on “Why I am an Orthodox Jew.” I decided to post it after Gil at Hirhurim started posting a series on "Why People Become Orthodox." You can find the latest in that series here.

In Part I I talked about the passion of Orthodoxy, contrasting Kafka’s critical description of his father’s Judaism with Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik’s description of his own, impassioned Torah study experience.

In Part II I talked about the credibility of Orthodoxy’s tradition-bearers and the diversity of Orthodoxy’s appeal and reach.

4) An Intellectual and Practical Challenge
Orthodoxy appeals to me because applying tradition to modernity is a huge challenge.

Orthodoxy requires intellectual breadth and depth, to handle issues as wide-ranging as surrogate motherhood and downloading music from the Internet and genetically modified foods.

Orthodoxy is practically challenging, too, but that is to Orthodoxy’s advantage. Here’s Naomi Schaefer Riley speaking in the Wall Street Journal, in an article entitled "Reviving Judaism":
Religious groups that have grown the fastest in recent years (including Orthodox Judaism) are the ones that demand the most of their adherents, not the ones that offer religion (and refreshments) cafeteria-style.

On the other hand, I look back at Kafka’s comments and see what happens when religion is not challenging.


5) Hope for the future
And, last but not least, Orthodoxy has great hope for the future.

In this I don’t only refer to the standard statistics about the future of each denomination, its intermarriage rates and its rates of disaffection. (Although I do take pleasure in noting Marshall Sklare’s 1955 prediction in “Conservative Judaism: An American Religious Movement” – Orthodox adherents have succeeded in achieving the goal of institutional perpetuation only to a limited extent; the history of their movement in this country can be written in terms of a case study of institutional decay.) I refer also to the way Orthodoxy looks at the future of Judaism, the Jewish people, and the world, at what is, and at what we could make of it.

I refer you to this 1975 talk by Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, entitled “Concepts in Jewish Education”:

[Commenting on Genesis 44:19-20, Yehudah speaking to Yosef, viceroy of Egypt: “My master asked his servants, ‘Do you have a father or brother?’ And we told my master, ‘We have an aged father and a young child of his old age…’”]

He [the teacher of Rabbi Soloveitchik] said: Joseph was not talking about a visible father…but about a mysterious hidden father… he inquired about existential parenthood, not biological parenthood. Joseph was anxious to discover whether they feel themselves committed to the origin… Do you look upon your father as branches look upon the roots of the tree? Do you look upon your father as the foundation of your existence? Do you look upon him as a provider and sustainer of your existence?...

Are you modest and humble? Do you believe that the old father, who represents the old tradition, is capable of telling you something new, something exciting, something challenging that you did not know before, or are you arrogant, insolent, vain, and demand independence from the father?

He addressed himself to the one who had a reputation as a prodigy, whose father was a blacksmith: Who knows more, Izhik who knows 150 pages of Gemara by heart, or his father Jacob the blacksmith who could hardly read Hebrew, can hardly daven? Are you proud of your father, are you humble? If a Jew admits the supremacy of his father in effect he recognizes also the supremacy of the universal father, who is very, very, very old and is called ‘atik yomin’.

…You can then also interpret in the same manner the second question: “Do you have a brother?”... Does your time awareness encompass the present, or the future as well? Does my existence embrace my parents, family, friends or generations before me? Do you plan not for the world of today, but for the world of tomorrow?

Do you believe in the improbable, in the fantastic? Do you behold a vision to make the improbable and fantastic happen so that it can turn to reality? Do you believe what the future can bring?

The brothers responded: Yes master, we do have a very old father. We feel that we are all deeply rooted in him… Yes master, we have a young talented bright child with a shining eye representing the world of tomorrow. This child is challenging us to make the generations unborn yet possible and to make non-being emerge as something real.

I am Orthodox because I love the fervor.
I am Orthodox because I believe the history of our tradition.
I am Orthodox because I appreciate diversity.
I am Orthodox because I embrace the challenge.
And I am Orthodox because, to paraphrase Rabbi Soloveitchik, I believe in the improbable, in the fantastic. I behold a vision to make the improbable and fantastic happen so that it can become reality. I am Orthodox because I believe in what the future can bring, and in what I can bring to the future.

Why Orthodoxy? Part II

Again: This comes from a non-proselytizing talk I delivered at a Conservative Temple a while back, on “Why I am an Orthodox Jew.”

In Part I I talked about the passion of Orthodoxy, contrasting Kafka’s critical description of his father’s Judaism with Rav Y.D. Soloveitchik’s description of his own, impassioned Torah study experience.

2) Credibility
Beyond the passion of Orthodoxy, I find Orthodoxy more credible, by dint of its tradition and of those who have conveyed the tradition.

It seems clear to me that there must be a tradition accompanying and explaining the Torah’s text, for everything - even the ability to identify letters and words - requires a tradition. This is true for any published text, and certainly for one conveyed across generations, cultures and continents.

Hillel said as much in his conversation with a would-be convert who didn’t want to know about rabbinic teachings (Shabbat 31a):

A non-Jew came to Shammai and asked, ‘How many Torahs do you have?’
To which Shammai replied, ‘Two: The written Torah and the spoken Torah.’
The man said, ‘I trust you for the written Torah, but for the spoken Torah I do not. Convert me on condition that you will teach me the written Torah.’
Shammai rebuked him and removed him angrily.
The man came to Hillel, who agreed to convert him.
On the first day Hillel taught him א ב ג ד.
The next day, Hillel reversed them.
The man said to him, ‘Yesterday you didn’t say that!’
Hillel replied, ‘Aren’t you relying on me for this? So, too, rely on me for the spoken Torah.’

This point has been made many times since the days of Hillel, and it remains true today.

More than that, though, I trust those who have conveyed the Torah, because of their expertise in it. That Abbaye and Rava are able to speak to issues of law and ethics in all of the diverse areas they address, as can their predecessors and their students, with an incredible breadth of knowledge at their fingertips and an incisive analytic ability they bring to bear on every page and line, demonstrates their expertise in the Torah they conveyed to us.


3) Diversity of Appeal
The third of my five reasons is the Diversity of Orthodoxy.

I hear a lot about how Orthodoxy seems so monolithic, but that’s far, far removed from the truth. Orthodoxy is not a rigid set of rules; rather, it’s an approach of respecting tradition and applying it to modern situations. And because it isn’t a set of specific rules, it encourages diversity bounded by tradition.

The following beliefs are all legitimately Orthodox:

Every woman should have the right to choose an abortion
The American government should prohibit abortion

Jews should get together with Christians to discuss issues of mutual interest
Jews and Christians should not get together for such discussions

The Israeli government should be willing to trade land for the sake of achieving peace
Land in Israel should never be given away

We have great diversity in Orthodox personalities: Poets and Pietists, Exegetes and Literalists, Mystics and Rationalists, Intellectual elitists and Populists.

All sorts of isms exist within Orthodoxy – Zionism as well as Anti-Zionism, Feminism, Humanitarianism – and their common denominator is that Orthodox approach of applying tradition to modern situations.

Often within the same personality we find great breadth:
Rambam – Doctor, Philosopher and Talmid Chacham
R’ Yosef Karo – Mystic and Legalist
Sara Schnierer – Outspoken advocate for women’s education and tz’nuah eishet chayil
(In fact, this diversity is so broad that it gives us problems – we have all kinds, even Neturei Karta.)

There are Orthodox communities which emphasize Torah study, there are Orthodox communities which emphasize Prayer and closeness to Gd, and there are Orthodox communities which emphasize social work.

I know there is diversity in Conservative, in Reform, etc. But, to me, this is a different kind of diversity; it’s diversity in which all spring from the same tradition and are trying to fit into that tradition, and are finding a place for their uniqueness.

More to come in the exciting conclusion, Part III.

Why Orthodoxy? Part I

Gil at Hirhurim is running a series of views on Why people choose Orthodoxy, starting here. His theme reminds me of a talk I gave at a Conservative synagogue a couple of years ago. They invited in a series of rabbis from different approaches – Conservative, Orthodox, Reconstructionist and Reform – to talk about why they follow the approaches they do. I had the unenviable task of giving the first week’s presentation, but I did end up enjoying it. I have an audio recording somewhere... I'll have to see if I can dig it up.

Disclosure: Technically, I didn’t “choose” Orthodoxy – I grew up in an Orthodox home, and have varied from that Orthodoxy only to go a little to the left or right. However, I have chosen Orthodoxy insofar as I choose to continue to live this life in this way, every day, and I used my session to explain why I do that.

And one more important point: The goal was not to proselytize. I didn't go out there telling people to be one thing and not another. I am quite aware that some of the things I described about Orthodoxy exist elsewhere, in Judaism and beyond, and sometimes in stronger doses than exist in my own Orthodox life. My purpose was only to answer the question: "Why am I Orthodox?"

I started out with the story of a woman who goes into a post office and asks for a book of stamps for her Chanukah cards.
The clerk asks, “What denomination?”
“Oh, good heavens!” she replies. “Have we come to this?! Well, all right, give me 50 Conservative, 2 Orthodox, 37 Reform and 11 Reconstructionist.”

I continued to explain the five major attractions I feel in Orthodoxy:
-Its dynamic energy and fervor
-Its credibility
-Its diversity
-Its intellectual and practical challenges
-Its vision for the future

1) Dynamic Energy and Fervor
I cited Franz Kafka’s essay (“My Father’s Bourgeois Judaism” a.k.a. "Letter to My Father") on the Judaism of his youth, in which he wrote the following to his father:

Four days a year you went to the synagogue, where you were, to say the least, closer to the indifferent than to those who took it seriously, patiently went through the prayers as a formality, sometimes amazed me by being able to show me in the prayer book the passage that was being said at the moment, and for the rest, so long as I was present in the synagogue (and this was the main thing) I was allowed to hang around wherever I liked.
And so I yawned and dozed through the many hours (I don't think I was ever again so bored, except later at dancing lessons) and did my best to enjoy the few little bits of variety there were, as for instance when the Ark of the Covenant was opened, which always reminded me of the shooting galleries where a cupboard door would open in the same way whenever one hit a bull's-eye; except that there something interesting always came out and here it was always just the same old dolls without heads….
That's how it was in the synagogue; at home it was, if possible, even poorer, being confined to the first Seder, which more and more developed into a farce, with fits of hysterical laughter, admittedly under the influence of the growing children…
How one could do anything better with that material than get rid of it as fast as possible, I could not understand; precisely the getting rid of it seemed to me to be the devoutest action.

In contrast, I see great passion in the beliefs and practice of today’s Torah-observant Jews, across a spectrum that runs from the Charedim of Bnei Brak to the JOFAs of Manhattan.

Listen to Rav Soloveitchik’s famous words on the passion in teaching Torah today (you can find more here):
The old Rabbi walks into the classroom crowded with students who are young enough to be his grandchildren. He enters as an old man with a wrinkled face, his eyes reflecting the fatigue and sadness of old age.
The Rabbi is seated and sees before him rows of young, beaming faces, clear eyes radiating the joy of being young. For a moment, the Rabbi is gripped with pessimism, with tremors of uncertainty. He asks himself, "Can there be a dialogue between an old teacher and young students, between a Rabbi in his Indian summer and students enjoying the spring of their lives?" The Rabbi starts the class in Talmud, uncertain as to how it will proceed.
Suddenly, the door opens and an old man, much older than the Rabbi, enters. He is the grandfather of the Rabbi, Reb Chaim Brisker… The door opens again and another old man comes in. He is older than Reb Chaim, for he lived in the seventeenth century. His name is Reb Shabtai Cohen, known as the Shach, who must be present when civil law is discussed. Many more visitors arrive, some from the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries, and others harking back to antiquity--Rabbenu Tam, Rashi, Rambam, Raavad, Rashba, Rabbi Akiva, and others. These scholarly giants of the past are bidden to take their seats.
The Rabbi introduces the guests to his pupils, and the dialogue commences. The Rambam states a halacha; the Raavad disagrees sharply, as is his wont. Some students interrupt to defend the Rambam, and they express themselves harshly against the Raavad, as young people are apt to do. The Rabbi softly corrects the students and suggests more restrained tones. The Rashba smiles gently. The Rabbi tries to analyze what the students meant, and other students intercede. Rabbenu Tam is called upon to express his opinion, and, suddenly, a symposium of generations comes into existence. Young students debate earlier generations with an air of daring familiarity, and a crescendo of discussion ensues.
All speak one language; all pursue one goal; all are committed to a common vision and all operate within the same categories. A mesora collegiality is achieved, a friendship, a comradeship of old and young, spanning antiquity, the Middle Ages, and modern times. This joining of the generations, this merger of identities will ultimately bring about the redemption of the Jewish people. It will fulfill the words of the last of the Hebrew prophets, Malachi, "And he [Elijah] shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children and the heart of the children to their fathers" (3:24). The Messianic realization will witness the great dialogue of the generations.
After a two or three-hour class, the Rebbe emerges from the chamber young and rejuvenated. He has defeated age. The students look exhausted. In the mesora experience--giving over from generation to generation--years play no role. Hands, however parchment-dry and wrinkled, embrace warm and supple hands in a commonalty, bridging the gap which separates the generations.

Continued in Part II and Part III.