Rav Yisrael Tzvi Weinberg Zt'l The Father and Grandfather of The Tolna Rebbes Shlita

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LASTING LINK

 By Pearl Herzog | NOVEMBER 23, 2016

All credit goes to the author and the mishpacha Magazine.

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Rav Yisrael Tzvi Weinberg, who passed away this past Succos, left behind the fulfillment of his father-in-law’s last hope: the continuance of a chassidus on the verge of oblivion

When Rav Yisrael Tzvi Weinberg a young Torah scholar from Toronto married Gitel the only child of Montreal’s Tolna Rebbe Rav Yochanan Twersky ztz”l he never imagined he’d be the pivotal link in a chain going all the way back to the Maggid of Chernobyl whose eight sons spread chassidus all over Russia and the Ukraine.

Father of the current Tolna Rebbe of Jerusalem Rav Yitzchak Menachem Weinberg shlita and grandfather of Tolna Ashdod Rebbe Rav Amitai Twersky shlita Rav Weinberg passed away last month at age 88. Yet he left behind the fulfillment of his illustrious father-in-law’s hope — the continuance of Tolna chassidus the rich heritage that was on the verge of fading into oblivion.

Who was this rabbi — who grew up in Toronto in the 1930s and ’40s came to Eretz Yisrael as an idealistic moshav rabbi held an influential position in Israel’s Ministry of Religious Affairs was a master talmid chacham and baal chesed with the peyos and up-hat of a typical chassidishe Yid — and who merited seeing five generations of eineklach in Eretz Yisrael and both a son and grandson as rebbes continuing the venerated Tolna line?

 

Open Homes Forever

When the Tolna Rebbe’s daughter Gitel Twersky was to meet her future husband Yisrael Weinberg back in 1948 she was thrilled to learn that he was a close chassid of Rav Moshe Langner the Strettiner Rebbe of Toronto — a well-known composer of niggunim and the first chassidic rebbe to establish himself in Canada… and her zeide. Her mother — the Tolna Rebbetzin — was after all the Strettiner Rebbe’s daughter.

Gitel and Yisrael discovered that they had a lot in common in addition to the Strettiner Rebbe. Weinberg born in Iliyev Galicia on 22 Adar 5688/1928 emigrated to Toronto with his parents when he was six years old. He was the only boy among three sisters and she was her parents’ only daughter. And both his parents came from chassidic homes as well. His father Reb Tzadok Weinberg a staunch Lubliner chassid was one of the first babies named after Rav Tzadok HaKohein of Lublin and his mother Bella (née Kaufman) came from a family of Rozdov chassidim. Both had grown up in open homes which was to be a marker for the bayis ne’eman they would later build together in Eretz Yisrael. The Tolna Rebbe’s beis medrash in Montreal was especially popular with European immigrants; the Rebbetzin had an open home where anyone could come and go (that included not only the indigent but prominent rebbes such as Rav Yoel Teitelbaum of Satmar and Rav Yaakov of Karlin-Stolin) and the Rebbe took dozens of bochurim under his wing and even married them off. Similarly Reb Tzadok Weinberg a successful furrier and developer had a generous heart and opened his house to all. Rebbes and rabbanim would frequently stay at the Weinberg home when they came to Toronto to collect for a variety of causes.

During the period of the Holocaust and pre-state Israel the stakes for the Jewish People were higher and the barriers lower. Reb Tzadok Weinberg served as the executive vice president of the Mizrachi movement in Canada; and Gitel’s mother a chassidishe rebbetzin also found a way to express her love for Eretz Yisrael and the Jews living in the Holy Land. She would address women in her ladies’ auxiliary and raise money for packages that she would send to the poor in Palestine. The Tolna Rebbetzin was also a gifted poetess. In one of her Yiddish poems entitled “Mir Yidden in Galus” (We Jews in the Diaspora) she writes how we Jews in galus keep coming up with farshidene teirutzim (all kinds of excuses) regarding moving to the Holy Land. “Come quickly before you become too sick and too old ” she advised. “Our hope is that we will have another million new olim and our dream is that this will help bring true peace.”

When Yisrael Tzvi was still a young bochur Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky — who was a rav in Toronto at the time and with whom young Yisrael learned — insisted that he be sent to New York after his bar mitzvah and so off he went to Torah Vodaath. Later he supplemented his Torah learning by studying under Rav Yoshe Ber Soloveitchik and Rav Yerucham Gorelick at Yeshivas Rabbeinu Yitzchak Elchanan. Thirsting for spiritual enrichment from chassidic rebbes as well Yisrael frequented the beis medrash of the Lubavitcher Rebbe as well as the chassidic courts of Kopycznitz Boyan and Bobov. He even used to frequent the beis medrash of the New York Tolna Rebbe — the Montreal Tolna Rebbe’s father — never dreaming that Rav Dovid Mordechai Twersky would one day become his grandfather.

 

Across the Ocean

The wedding of Rabbi Yisrael Tzvi and Gitel Weinberg in 1948 was a huge affair attended by many rebbes and rabbanim. The couple remained in Canada for just a few months before they boarded a ship to Eretz Yisrael leaving a life of comfort and luxury behind.

“It was a different generation” says Mrs. Rivka Malkiel the Weinbergs’ oldest daughter who was born several months after the couple moved across the ocean. “There was no contradiction between being a chassid and getting your hands dirty — literally building Eretz Yisrael.” She says her father’s role model was Rebbe Yeshaya Shapira brother of the Piaseczner Rebbe and known as the Admor Hachalutz who came to Eretz Yisrael in 1920 and led the Hapoel Hamizrachi settlement movement infusing its members with yiras Shamayim and chassidic warmth. (In 1943 he finally realized his life’s dream of farming his own plot of land but the horrifying news out of Europe caused his heart to stop and he passed away that year in the home of his brother-in-law Rav Chanoch Bornstein of Sochatchov.) Article 1 Article 1 Article 1 Article 1 Article 1 Article 1Article 1 Article 1 Article 1 Article 1 Article 1 Article Article 1 Article 1 Article 1 Article 1

The couple didn’t schlep many luxury items with them but one thing Gitel brought with her from Canada was the exquisite wedding gown she had worn the year before. It was a magnificent display item that had graced a wedding salon vitrine in Canada and she lent it to numerous kallos including the many she and Rav Yisrael married off and escorted to the chuppah.The young couple moved to Israel in 1949 and settled in Bnei Darom a newly established religious moshav not far from Ashdod where Rav Yisrael took it upon himself to serve as spiritual leader. He corresponded regularly with Rav Elimelech Bar Shaul the chief rabbi of Rechovot for complex sh’eilos that came up and often visited the Chazon Ish in Bnei Brak to discuss with him mitzvos directly relating to the Land of Israel so that he could properly pasken for his compatriots in Bnei Darom.

Gitel’s parents Rav Yochanan and Rebbetzin Twersky visited Eretz Yisrael just in time for the birth of their first grandchild Rivky and stayed with them for a period before returning to Montreal. But by the time two more children were born in Bnei Darom the Rebbe and Rebbetzin had decided to make their own move. And so in 1953 in the zechus of Rav Yisrael and Gitel the Tolna Rebbe bid farewell to his Montreal kehillah and followed his only daughter to Eretz Yisrael.

They initially settled near the Tchebiner Rav on Rechov Abarbanel in Jerusalem’s Rechavia neighborhood; meanwhile the Weinbergs left moshav life and moved to the new Bayit V’gan neighborhood which was then the western edge of Jerusalem.

Rav Yisrael Weinberg, like his father before him, had a beautiful voice and served as baal tefillah in Bayit V’gan’s Sochatchov shtiebel, where he also learned daily. (At the shivah for Rav Yisrael last month, many who came said they remembered Rav Yisrael schlepping his heavy Gemara to the shtiebel to learn. When they would ask him why he didn’t just use a Gemara from the beis medrash, he’d respond that he wanted the extra sechar for carrying it.)

The Tolna Rebbe and Rebbetzin eventually moved to Bayit V’gan as well, and opened a beis medrash at Rechov Hapisgah 60. Rav Weinberg, who had great kavod and admiration for his father-in-law, would later split his Shabbos and Yom Tov davening between the Tolna and Sochatchov shuls.

Over the years, the Tolna beis medrash became a magnet for all types of Jews, and anyone who’d ever been there surely remembers how the Rebbe was a walking image of self-negation. He never saw himself as better than the most difficult cases around him, and it never bothered him that his own honor was constantly being trampled on by the guests of his open home. They sat at his table, in his seat, in his space, but he didn’t care — he was a simple servant of Hashem. Many considered him the tzaddik nistar of the period. But with no sons, who would carry his legacy to the next generation?

 

Carrying the Torch

“Zeide never saw himself as a rebbe,” says his oldest granddaughter Rivka Malkiel, whose brother Rav Yitzchak Menachem Weinberg became the current Tolna Rebbe following her zeide’s passing 18 years ago, and whose son Rav Amitai (Malkiel) Twersky serves as the Tolna Rebbe of Ashdod. “Zeide always said he’s just the gesher, the bridge, to the next Tolna Rebbe. He himself, he said, was a simple chassid — a chassid of the Beis Yisrael and the Pnei Menachem of Gur [the Rebbe would regularly walk from Bayit V’gan to Geula for tishen, standing like a soldier in the shurah together with chassidim 50 years younger], and also of the Rachmistrivka Rebbes.

“Because he saw himself as the bridge, and because he didn’t have sons, he begged his grandchildren to take on the mantle and continue the dynasty,” Mrs. Malkiel continues. “He used to say, ‘When I get to Shamayim they’ll ask me, What happened to Tolna?’ “

Rav Yochanan Twersky’s father, Rav Mordechai of Tolna, came to America with two brothers — Rav Meshulam Zishe of Tolna-Boston and Rav Moshe Tzvi of Tolna-Philadelphia. Rav Mordechai made his home in New York’s Lower East Side.

“The Boston and Philadelphia rebbes didn’t leave acting rebbes for future generations, and Zeide realized that if his grandchild didn’t succeed him, Tolna as a chassidus would be lost,” Mrs. Malkiel explains. “My father made it very clear time and again that he, although a son-in-law, was not ‘in the running.’ My brother — the current Rebbe — is the oldest grandchild, and after Zeide was niftar, the chassidim said he was obligated to take it on to preserve the dynasty and fulfill the Rebbe’s request.

“He knew he was in line,” she says of her brother, who has developed a worldwide reputation as an expert mechanech, baal eitzah, and brilliant Torah scholar. “But he really didn’t want it at first. He learned in Gur all the years and was close to the Gerrer Rebbe. He said, ‘I’m a Gerrer chassid; how can I become a rebbe?’ In the end he saw that there was no choice, so he decided to take it upon himself.”

And as for Rivka’s son — the Tolna-Ashdod Rebbe — Rav Yochanan’s great-grandson?

She explains that she is the only one of her siblings who lived near her parents, the Weinbergs, in Bayit V’gan all these years since her marriage, and so her own children also grew up under the care of her grandfather, the Rebbe.

“Zeide told my son Amitai, who essentially grew up in his house, ‘I want you to be rebbe too, even if your uncle Yitzchak Menachem also is.’ He was just 22 at the time — today he’s not even 40 — but there’s a precedent for that,” she says. “Rebbe Mordechai of Tolna was a 13-year-old boy in Russia when his father died and the chassidim made him rebbe.”

Rav Yochanan Twersky requested something else of his great-grandson Amitai Malkiel as well — to change his name back to Twersky after his marriage. “Zeide wanted to have a continuation of the name, which goes all the way back to the Maggid of Chernobyl, but he had no sons to carry the name,” says Rivka Malkiel. In any case, she says, “Malkiel” wasn’t her husband’s original family name either — it was originally “Beigel,” but when her father-in-law, a Bobover chassid, came to Israel from Krakow, he wanted a more contemporary-sounding name. His own father’s name was Elimelech, which is “Malkiel” backwards.

What does it mean to Rivka, being a sister and a mother of rebbes? “Well,” she says, “It definitely obligates you, but chas v’shalom you should have gaavah from it. You know you come from such a home and it’s mechayev you to be just a little better, to push yourself a little more.”

Her father, Rav Yisrael Weinberg — scholar, searcher, independent thinker, and eclectic chassid of Tolna, Sochatchov, and other courts — later became a chassid of his own son and grandson.

 

Songs of Shabbos

As he was a lauded baal tefillah, another chassidus that was close to Rav Yisrael’s heart was Modzhitz. When Yisrael was still a youngster, the second Modzhitzer Rebbe, Rav Shaul Yedidyah Elazar Taub, visited Toronto a number of times and, as a guest in the Weinberg home, taught him many Modzhitzer niggunim. While he was learning in New York, young Yisrael would often go to the Rebbe to hear him sing and to learn the melodies.

Reb Shloimeh Weinberg, Rav Yisrael Weinberg’s third son, related that his father had a phenomenal memory when it came to the niggunim of Modzhitz and remembered every “kneitsh”; he was considered an expert menagein, sought after by subsequent Modzhitzer rebbes and chassidim who came to him to learn the many ethereal marches and tunes of Rebbe Shaul Yedidya Elazar.

Rav Weinberg’s neginah wasn’t relegated to the chassidic musical archives. Friends and admirers basked in his davening on a regular basis, and Rosh Hashanah was a special treat. Because the holiday is two days, each year Rav Weinberg was able to divide up — he was the baal tefillah for Mussaf at the Sochatchov shul on the first day and at the Tolna beis medrash on the second day.

Back when the Tolna Rebbe still lived in Rechavia, he heard that a position had opened at the Misrad Hadatot — the Ministry of Religious Affairs. He advised his son-in-law Rav Weinberg to apply, and thus began close to three decades of Rav Weinberg’s work within the Israeli government. Initially he was employed in the kashrus division, but he soon rose in the ranks and became director of his own department. It was to his credit that after the 1967 Six Day War when the Kosel fell back into Jewish hands, a mechitzah was instituted there and attendants were placed so that there would be a modicum of respect at the Wall.

At the same time, when the Shimon Hatzaddik neighborhood was returned to the Jews, they discovered the area had been degraded and made filthy by the Arabs who left animal sheds filled with dung there. Rabbi Weinberg secured a budget from the ministry and had the place cleaned up and transformed. But mostly, Rav Weinberg used his position to help hundreds of yeshivos and institutions receive their due benefits from the state. He had close relations with many roshei yeshivah who knew they could count on him and rely on his warm and helpful manner.

Rav Weinberg always seemed to be smiling, but that didn’t detract from his wisdom, or his ability to help out another Jew in any kind of trouble.

One time an American bochur was walking in Jerusalem’s Old City and came across an Arab who had started up with a Jew. As the Jew fought back in self-defense, an Israeli policeman suddenly appeared and began to restrain and even beat the Jew. This bochur whipped out his camera and began photographing the event, and then both he and the other Jew who had been beaten were arrested and put in jail overnight without being afforded the opportunity to make a phone call.

The following morning, the American bochur, who happened to have Rav Weinberg’s telephone number on him from the time he’d spent a Shabbos at the Weinberg home, thought of a way to get help. He told the duty officer that he needed medication desperately. Could the policeman please call this Rav Weinberg to bring him his medicine? The officer made the call, telling Rav Weinberg that they were holding a particular young man who needed medicine from him right away. Rav Weinberg, ever astute, immediately understood that it was a ploy to enlist his help in getting the bochur out of prison. Rav Weinberg hurried over to the jail and signed papers attesting that he was responsible for both the American bochur and the other fellow who’d been arrested.

Make Yourself at Home Rav Weinberg was always ready to help people, and it wasn’t just about navigating bureaucracy. In their home, which their myriad guests referred to as “Hotel Weinberg,” he and his rebbetzin hosted hundreds and hundreds of people from all over the world. These included widows, divorcees, geirim, baalei teshuvah, Israeli soldiers, students who had no family in Israel, sick people with no one to care for them, and people who introduced themselves as relatives even though they may have been fifth or sixth cousins and weren’t even sure how they were related. They would either come on their own, or were directed there by Rav Weinberg’s shver, the Tolna Rebbe, who was a magnet for just about anyone who didn’t have his own base.

Rivka Malkiel remembers how her father would sometimes sleep on the couch after giving away his bed to a guest. He didn’t want to wake his children to give up their beds and didn’t think twice to offer his. He and Rebbetzin Gitel were a team, taking in strangers who sometimes parked themselves in the Weinberg home for months on end and were treated like family. The Weinberg children say they can’t remember ever celebrating a Shabbos without a guest.

Rav Weinberg’s  grandson, the Tolna-Ashdod Rebbe,  pointed out the symbolism of his  zeide’s passing on the first day of Succos, which is the ushpizin of Avraham Avinu — the epitome of chesed and hachnassas orchim.

Shira Graz, the Weinbergs’ youngest daughter, related that on the Erev Shabbos before the passing of her mother two years ago, her parents were staying at her home in Ramat Shlomo, and Shira’s husband approached a local gemach for an oxygen tank for his mother-in-law.

When the head of the gemach discovered it was for Rebbetzin Weinberg, he exclaimed that he had been waiting 30 years to express his hakaras hatov for what she and Rav Weinberg had done for him.

As a talmid in Yeshivas Kol Torah in Bayit V’gan, he had become quite intoxicated one Purim. He had been dehydrated and very weak and had collapsed in the street not far from where the Weinbergs lived. Many people just walked by, perhaps noticing him and then continuing on their way — looking at the poor fellow with disdain and leaving him, as he says, “vi a hind (like a dog).”

However, when Rav Yisrael and Gitel Weinberg passed by, they immediately decided to take him into their home. Rav Weinberg helped lift the poor bochur, who could not stand up, and brought him to their home where he was given a bed and fluids. The Rebbetzin nursed him until he was able to get back on his feet and walk out on his own. He’d never forgotten the special treatment he received, and was grateful for the opportunity to in some way repay their kindness. He was given that opportunity only two days before Rebbetzin Gitel’s passing.

We are not privy to the esoteric system of spiritual rewards, but the Weinbergs were granted many blessings during those decades of selflessly helping others. Rav Yisrael merited to see five generations of progeny before his passing. His grandson Rav Yeshaya David of Beit Shemesh (Rivka’s son) made a shidduch with his daughter and the son of the Karliner Rebbe, and she recently gave birth to a baby girl, named after her great-great grandmother Gitel.

 

It’s All About Seder

Rav Weinberg kept a diary for several decades, in which he would record the events of the day — including the news relating to the wider Jewish community and Israel. And for more than forty years, he would send a weekly letter to his parents, excerpting parts of his daily diary in order to keep them part of his life. Those letters would be read at a public Melaveh Malkah that Reb Tzadok and his wife would host weekly in their home in Toronto.

The current Tolna Rebbe of Jerusalem, Rav Yitzchak Menachem Weinberg, who is distinguished by — among many other endeavors — his daf yomi shiurim (even available for listening on El Al flights), attributes his own predisposition toward “seder” and personal organization to his father. Rav Yisrael taught his son that no matter how well a bochur learns in yeshivah, if he’s not organized, his accomplishments are worth little.

Rav Yisrael Weinberg himself was an expert on personal seder. Whatever he learned he recorded. In this manner he was able to finish Shas eight times, and complete the Yerushalmi Talmud and many other goals in learning that he set for himself.

During the last twenty years of their life together, Rav Yisrael and Rebbetzin Gitel learned together every night, including Shabbos. Some of the topics they covered included commentaries on the parshah, Pirkei Avos, Midrash and the meaning of zemiros. When he was once asked about this unusual arrangement, he said it was very good for a marriage.

For all his own spiritual riches, Rav Weinberg would always demur when it came to his father-in-law. Since the latter didn’t have sons, he gave his own boys over to the Rebbe to help raise them; the Weinberg children were almost as often in the Rebbe’s home as they were in their own. Even when it came to leading the Pesach Seder, Rav Weinberg — in deference to his father-in-law — didn’t lead his own Seder for almost five decades until he was 70 years old. Only after the Rebbe passed away in 1998 at the age of 93 did he first begin to act as head of his family.

Today Rivka Malkiel lives in her zeide’s apartment on Rechov Hapisgah, the beis medrash of which is still open on Shabbos — and where, until his passing last month, her father Rav Weinberg still accessed the energy of his holy father-in-law.

As self-effacing as Rav Weinberg was, he was also the axis of influence, the facilitator, and for his own children, a living example of what they could aspire to. Yet sitting next to his son oiven ohn at a tish and at the weekly Shalosh Seudos, greeting all those who gave his son honor and drank from his wisdom, the facilitator became the chassid. Indeed, Rav Yisrael became a chassid of both his son and his grandson, serving as his own bridge to ensure that the spirit of Tolna chassidus would endure.

—Rachel Ginsberg contributed to this report

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Issue 636)

Hands Across the Ocean: A Review of Rabbi Aharon Feldman’s The Eye of the Storm By Rav AHARON LICHTENSTEIN Zt"l

 

Hands Across the Ocean: A Review of Rabbi Aharon Feldman’s The Eye of the Storm

AHARON LICHTENSTEIN All Credit goes to him and the jewish action.

 

 

 

The Eye of the Storm: A Calm View of Raging Issues
By Rabbi Aharon Feldman
Yad Yosef Publications
Jerusalem, 2009
244 pages

Few contemporary roshei yeshivah have been endowed with the capacity to write a volume such as The Eye of the Storm; and of the coterie that could, many, if not most, are probably disinclined to venture the undertaking. We are therefore somewhat beholden to Rabbi Aharon Feldman–a talmid chacham of repute and the head of Yeshivat Ner Israel of Baltimore, an illustrious Torah center that has contributed much to further the cause of serious learning and implementation of Torah in North America–for having mustered the ability and the determination to cope with the issues herein discussed. Moreover, he has articulated his positions with vigor tinged with passion, fusing personal conviction with public policy, with an eye to giving vent to the force of his personality and attitudes.

If I may intrude a personal vein, Rabbi Feldman’s persona arouses in me latent but very warm memories. We were classmates during 1942-1943 in the shiur of Rabbi Yaakov Bobrovsky, zt”l, at Talmudical Academy of Baltimore– I, a spindly nineyear- old immigrant of limited social skills and of dubious acculturation; he, a bit older, firmly entrenched in both a home of Lithuanian rabbinic stock and in his native American milieu. We were both eager, and bright; he, beyond that, to me, a tower of strength. He befriended me and invited me frequently to his home. I still fondly recall the chilling warmth of joint sledding in Druid Hill Park on Sunday afternoons. As my family moved to Chicago after a year, the friendship gradually dissipated. There was virtually no further contact of note–not even when, some years later, we both found our tents simultaneously pitched under the aegis of mori verabbi, Rabbi Yitzchak Hutner, zt”l, at Chaim Berlin. But the memory and the appreciation linger.

Beyond luxuriating in reminiscence, I mention this point because it helped mold my anticipation in reading the book and reviewing it. In sum, despite the fondness, the memory and the current reality did not fully match. Over the years I had encountered some of Rabbi Feldman’s writings, and had read them with interest. Apart from The Juggler and the King, which had served as a link to the Vilna Gaon’s machshavah, several of these earlier writings have been reprinted in the volume under review. These include: “Credo and Credence,” impressive for the candid quest for the certitude of faith; “Rabbinic Authority (Da’as Torah),” a blend of wise spiritual and pragmatic counsel, but shorn of excessive normative demands; and the widely circulated “Letter to a Homosexual Ba’al Teshuvah,” a balanced epistolary response which exudes sensitivity without conceding ideological or halachic ground. To these may be added, from this volume, the chapters on “Gedolim Books” and “The Chazon Ish,” which for those unfamiliar with the genre can provide a measure of perspective; and which, as regards the latter, brings us face to face with that towering magisterial exemplar of ironclad discipline, the fusion of intellect and will. In addition, the chapter on “The Steinsaltz English Talmud,” presents a fair and judicious account of a tool that has progressively serviced fresh adherents.

And yet, further reading induced a more troubled response; and, in time, its roots became increasingly clear. This volume and many of its components were written with considerable gusto; indeed, with no small modicum of anger–hopefully, not of the sort excoriated by Chazal and banished from the Rambam’s moral universe, but, despite the subtitle, “A Calm View of Raging Issues,” anger nonetheless.

As regards both tone and substance, this quality appears to have been, in part, consciously selected to characterize the volume and to define its prospective audience. In a brief preliminary introduction, entitled, “Why Read this Book?”,we are informed that it was not intended for those who do not share the author’s definition of Judaism, “nor for those who are not confused by any of the issues with which it deals” (p. 2). Rather, it was intended to enlighten the confused and to extend purgative solace to the misled: to minister, in Macbeth’s memorable phrase, “to a mind diseased,” ideologically. The optimal mode for realizing this aim was apparently perceived as the castigation of opponents, and occasional shrillness; hence, the predominant polemical thrust of The Eye of the Storm.

Emulating Rabbi Yosef Chaim Sonnenfeld, Rabbi Feldman asserts: “I, too, humbly submit that the criticisms in this book are directed towards those parts of the Jewish people which are not Jewish” (p. 4). In the interest of both accuracy and fairness, it should be added that the sequel reads, “My love for the Jewish people remains undiminished.” However, when we note that the source and precedent cited had not merely sought to justify criticism but to be stirred to hatred; that “the parts which are not Jewish” did not allude to unhalachically converted pseudo-Jews but to presumed ideological aberrants; and when we realize that these include a very significant segment of the Israeli yishuv, as well as its Diaspora supporters–many of us will, understandably, be shaken.

Perhaps I ought to be more specific. The targets of the critique are first and foremost, Zionism, feminism and, to a lesser extent, aspects of Chabad, with sectarian denominations such as the Reform and Conservative movements omitted, deemed as unworthy of serious discussion. For our purposes, I shall focus on the first two as the most prominent.

The brunt of the attack is borne by Zionism, and, understandably so, inasmuch as, on the one hand, it is described as “the most successful of all modern movements” (p. 2), and yet, on the other hand, it is perceived as wholly devoid of Jewish significance or commitment. Hence, the reality of its status as nevertheless “enjoying the unstinting support of the vast majority of religious Jewry” (p. 3) seems enigmatic. This anomaly is both befuddling and threatening, as it raises the specter of mass apostasy and the prospect of resultant retribution, variously described in Tanach. Hence, we are told that in order to ward off potential calamity, it was essential to reject the Zionist ethos in toto. “It is out of love for the Jewish People that I found it necessary to expose the vacuity of Zionist ideology” (p. 3).

And yet, I remain befuddled. Let me state flatly and clearly, that, on this front as on several others, I share Rabbi Feldman’s vision and his priorities. Fundamentally, we grew up with similar values and have both retained and intensified our commitment to Torah values and their place within personal and communal life. Still–or perhaps, therefore–I ask: At one end of the spectrum, is it indeed desirable– or even possible–to engage in a foray of utter denial of Jewish worth to what the Zionist enterprise, albeit regarded as a monolithic behemoth, hath wrought? Must we, may we, be so radically judgmental as we deplore certain lapses in religious motivation and result? Is the reclamation of Eretz Yisrael, accompanied by gradual progress towards rov yoshvehah alehah, Jewishly neutral? Can we blandly overlook the infant country’s commitment to kelitah, arguably the most monumental initiative of post- Biblical chesed, as if only atheists and Christians valued caritas?

And at the other end of the spectrum, we encounter “efforts to bring the Jewish People back to the values of the Torah” (p. 3). But is this to be motivated and energized solely by the danger that engenders love? Aren’t we, Rabbi Feldman and myself as well as our fellow religionists, charged with the duty of tikkun olam in the spirit of Malchut Shamayim, rather than as a Marxist Utopia, simply and purely because that is the Will of the Ribbono Shel Olam?

This volume and many of its components were written with considerable gusto; indeed, with no small modicum of anger.

Finally, a note regarding both tone and substance, I presume that I am not the only reader who would have preferred a more balanced and judicious critique to the rancor that, at times, fills pages with total denigration of Zionism. Something to the effect that Zionism and the State it had established had contributed much to the character of Jewish life, but that much of its vision and reality remains woefully deficient, so that Torah Jewry needs to strive creatively, and, if necessary, to fight vigorously, in order to restore our full commitment to our national heritage. Some recognition of Religious Zionist claims regarding Divine assistance would be far too much to expect, and for this purpose, not crucial. What I have suggested, substantively and not just tactically, would still be quite meaningful, however. I believe that this formulation approaches the views of the Ponevehzher Rav, as I knew him. I also recall that when a rosh yeshivah from a prominent anti-Zionist Torah family was taken to tour Yamit, he remarked, with intuitive admiration– and perhaps with flashes of memories of Eastern Europe–“Zay vos Yidden haben da oyfgeboyt!” (“Just see what Jews have accomplished here!”) And I hope that an analogous response could continue to fill a capacious Torah heart today.

The second primary object of Rabbi Feldman’s ire is more social than political; but it, too, is suffused with ideological and normative concerns. The area in question is feminism–or, more specifically, Jewish feminism (for some reason, consistently capitalized). The centerpiece of the discourse is “Halachic Feminism or Feminist Halachah?”, nominally a review of Jewish Legal Writings by Women, but substantively a vehement tongue-lashing of the movement, its leaders and spokeswomen, their pronouncements in general and their halachic excursions in particular. We are told repeatedly that any participation of the writers in the discourse is intellectually and religiously presumptuous. However, his designated readership notwithstanding, Rabbi Feldman evidently recognizes that the standards of judgment to be included will need to be objective, and he takes on the cudgels accordingly.

As we might have anticipated, the sharp discussion proceeds apace–passionately expressed and cogently written, with the message that, whatever may govern competitive sports, here a gender handicap is out of the question– clear and implicit. Regrettably, however, the critique itself while generally on the mark and impressive, does not always meet the relevant standards. Surprisingly, some flaws are particularly problematic in the context of halachic discourse in two respects–that of general theory and that of detailed application. As regards the former, for instance, we are told that, “It is a fundamental principle–although often unknown or ignored–in determining Jewish law that halachah is determined by the cumulative decisions of generations of commentaries and decisors. Thus, an opinion of the Rishonim, when codified by the major later authorities, is inviolable” (p. 4). Dominant? Certainly. But flatly and categorically definitive? A question to be asked. I vividly recall hearing the summary of mori verabbi, Rabbi Aharon Soloveitchik, zt”l, of this issue’s parallel controversy between the Ba’al Hama’oer and the Rabad, as to whether Rishonim could disagree with Geonim: “If one has broad shoulders, he can contravene Rishonim. The Sha’agas Aryeh disagreed with Rishonim in many places.” Of course, the prerogative of challenge, if it exists, is not fully or routinely available to all, and is reserved for subsequent halachic leadership. In practice, it is therefore of miniscule application: and in this respect its intrusion into the controversy in which Rabbi Feldman’s adversaries have here become embroiled is of minimal moment (although the situation may differ when Rishonim were themselves divided on an issue). The argument per se, however, is important, and entails a measure of questionable overkill. Can any halachist familiar with the historical tergiversations of bein hashmashot, pregnant with practical relevance, accept this apodictic generalization at face value? An overall directive, assuredly. But sweepingly comprehensive, hardly.

This point is linked to a related tendency. In confronting issues of pesak, Rabbi Feldman repeatedly assigns greater gravity to recent summary decisors, be they even of relatively lesser stature, than to primary Rishonim, whose specific opinions on a certain matter may have been sidetracked. This tendency is, admittedly, not without foundation, and Rabbi Feldman can justly point to the formulary halachah kebatrai as its Talmudic source. However, the principle does not stand alone and can be overridden by other germane factors, personal stature included. The Mishnah in Eduyot (1:5) implies as much when it explains that rejected minority opinions are retained as part of the corpus of Torah, precisely in order to sustain the prospect of reversal by a later qualified beit din. The dustbin of history is not always so voracious.

A somewhat analogous tendency may be occasionally perceived at the plane of minutiae. With respect to women’s tefillin, we are told first “that the classic authorities agree unanimously that women are forbidden to wear tefillin” (p. 96). Shortly thereafter, we read of “the nearly unanimous [my italics] array of the classical poskim cited above who prohibited women wearing tefillin” (p. 96); but then again read “of unanimity among halachic authorities to forbid it” (p. 99). Strictly speaking, of course, if we use Rishonim as a yardstick, neither statement is accurate. A practice which was regarded as open to acceptance by the Rashba, the Ritva, the Meiri and less prominent Rishonim–all of whom asserted, minimally, that while the Yerushalmi cites conflicting views as to whether authoritative chachamim had protested against Michal’s (the daughter of Shaul Hamelech) wearing tefillin, the Bavli, whose views ordinarily prevail, assumed unequivocally that they had not–can hardly be peremptorily dismissed for lack of support. As to the statement that the Vilna Gaon held, contrarily, that the Bavli could be aligned with the Yerushalmi (p. 96), I believe the Vilna Gaon’s remark can be readily interpreted as conjecture rather than fact. Or again, inasmuch as the practice was nowhere proscribed by the Rambam or the Mechaber in Shulchan Aruch and, on some readings, was even permitted by the Ba’alei HaTosafot–it cannot be said to have been rejected, either unanimously, or nearly unanimously. Are not the giants here cited “classical authorities?”

Moreover, in the very same paragraph in which the Maharam is cited as a source for extending the scope of the term guf naki (a clean or pure body) to include pure thought devoid of salacious content, the author of the Orchot Chaim, a fourteenth-century Provencal compendium, clearly indicates that he, at any rate, thought the extension has no bearing upon women, who, in his opinion, are apparently not defiled by sexual ruminations. And indeed, he quotes the Rashbag as holding, without qualification, that a woman may wear tefillin and recite their berachah. I presume that Rabbi Feldman felt that these points could and should be outweighed by other factors. For my part, I would submit that given the complexity– rather than the supposed simplicity– of the issue, we can readily and emphatically agree with Rabbi Feldman’s judgment, to the effect that traditional prevalent practice should be sustained. But let the basis of that position be clearly understood, and let us beware of passion infringing upon precision. Assuredly, we can emulate the model cited in the Gemara (Ketubot 83a-84b), and common in legal practice, of accepting juridic conclusion, but for different reasons.

Other sections stir lesser levels of passion in most readers, although some–for instance, the essay on “The Slifkin Affair: Issues and Perspectives”– may touch some raw nerves as well. These are, however, marginal elements, enriching to some and irksome to others, but hardly a basis for evaluating a book or its author. These are best judged by the significance of purpose and the quality of execution. With an eye to both, this volume serves its intended audience well. It deals with devarim haomdim berumo shel olam, the unum necessarium of the Torah life and its hashkafic foundations; and it deals with it in language and categories his particular audience will appreciate. Given my own inclination, I would have wished this collection a bit broader, a bit deeper and permeated with a mellower mood, so that Rabbi Feldman’s talents could serve and enrich a wider circle. However, this factor in no way vitiates its value for those for whom it was written, who will assuredly not regret having read it.

Finally, if I may, I close as I opened– on a personal note. Dear Reb Aharon: That pair of juvenile prattling sledders is now well past seventy-five. Each has, besiyata diShmaya, in successive contexts, respectively, learned much Torah and has been blessed with the ability and the circumstances to enable reaching out and personally transmitting to others that which we have been endowed. It stands to reason and is, presumably, mandated by joint mission, that our worlds meet and attain mutual fruition. As we both painfully know, however, this occurs all too rarely.

Must the walls that separate our communities and our institutions soar quite so high, the interposing moat plunge quite so deep? Shall we never sled again?

Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein is rosh yeshivah of Yeshivat Har Etzion in Israel.