Small acts of heroism

Jason Moser

Photo by Tobias Rehbein from Pexels

In this week’s parasha of Vayeshev we read about Yehuda and Tamar. Yehuda has three sons, of whom the eldest Er marries Tamar, but Er dies without children. Onan refuses to complete the Yibum by having children with Tamar, and God kills him as well. Yehuda delays marrying Tamar to Shela, the youngest son, as he fears for Shela’s life. As time passes and it becomes clear that the marriage is not happening, Tamar resorts to dressing as a prostitute thereby tricking Yehuda into having sex with her. She takes his staff and signet ring as surety for future payment. However, when Yehdua later tries to pay his debt – the prostitute has vanished.  Tamar becomes pregnant, and as this becomes impossible to hide, she is sentenced to death for being unfaithful. At this point she privately sends the staff and signet ring to Yehuda, who publicly acknowledges that she is free of wrong-doing (as she is pregnant from him), and thus the death penalty is reneged. Tamar has twin sons Peretz and Zerach.

We are all see the highlight of the story in the final act, when Tamar is being taken out to put to death and Yehuda finds the courage to admit he was wrong and not Tamar. This is taken, with good reason, as one of the outstanding examples of Teshuva in the Torah.¹  Yehuda could so easily have remained silent and no one would ever have known of his role. He had to stand up, admit he was wrong and take the blame for what happened. “צדקה ממני” “She is more righteous than I” or perhaps we would say ‘She is right, I am wrong’ – a difficult confession to make even to oneself, let alone in such a public encounter.

However, I wish to focus on another part of the story. The story is one unit, of 30 verses. It is built in a chiastic structure ² which indicates that the critical point of the story is in the middle, the dramatic high point. This falls between verses 15 and 16:

טו) וַיִּרְאֶהָ יְהוּדָה וַיַּחְשְׁבֶהָ לְזוֹנָה כִּי כִסְּתָה פָּנֶיהָ.

טז) וַיֵּט אֵלֶיהָ אֶל הַדֶּרֶךְ וַיֹּאמֶר הָבָה נָּא אָבוֹא אֵלַיִךְ כִּי לֹא יָדַע כִּי כַלָּתוֹ הִוא וַתֹּאמֶר מַה תִּתֶּן לִי כִּי תָבוֹא אֵלָי.

What happens at this point? Why is this so central to our story?

I want to suggest that very little actually happens at this time, and that is the central message of the story. I want to base this on an idea I draw from Clayton M. Christensen, How will you measure your life ³:

Unconsciously, we often employ the marginal cost doctrine in our personal lives when we choose between right and wrong. A voice in our head says, “Look, I know that as a general rule, most people shouldn’t do this. But in this particular extenuating circumstance, just this once, it’s OK.” The marginal cost of doing something wrong “just this once” always seems alluringly low. It suckers you in, and you don’t ever look at where that path ultimately is headed and at the full costs that the choice entails. Justification for infidelity and dishonesty in all their manifestations lies in the marginal cost economics of “just this once.”

Christensen illustrates this point with the story of Nick Leeson, the twenty-six-year-old trader who bought down the world’s second oldest merchant bank – Barings Bank - in 1995 after 233 years of glorious history by running up debts that finally grew to £827 million ($1.3 billion). Leeson had access to a special “error account” (a type of account used for storing small errors in trading) to deal with discrepancies which were too trivial for London head office to be bothered with. As Leeson describes it, in order to protect a young trader who sold when she was supposed to buy, he used the error account to cover a loss of £20,000. Thereafter, having discovered the use of the account, he used it to hide a loss of $1.7 million. Leeson followed a "doubling" strategy: every time he lost money, he would bet double the amount that was lost in order to recoup the amount. This had been successful for him in the past, including once in 1993 where he was able to cover a £6 million negative balance in the error account and after which he vowed not to use the account again. However, Leeson had to maintain his reputation as a trading genius and soon found himself hiding his losses there again. As the losses grew higher and higher, Leeson fabricated cover stories to explain why he needed more cash from London. 

The beginning of the end occurred on 16 January 1995, when Leeson placed a short straddle in the Singapore and Tokyo stock exchanges, essentially betting that the Japanese stock market would not move significantly overnight. However, the Kobe earthquake hit early in the morning on 17 January, sending Asian markets, and Leeson's trading positions, into a tailspin. Leeson attempted to recoup his losses by making a series of increasingly risky new trades, this time betting that the Nikkei Stock Average would make a rapid recovery. However, the recovery failed to materialise.

Leeson left a note reading, "I'm sorry" and fled Singapore on 23 February. Losses eventually reached £827 million (US$1.4 billion), twice Barings' available trading capital. After a failed bailout attempt, Barings, which had been the UK's oldest merchant bank, was declared insolvent on 26 February. After fleeing to Malaysia, Thailand and finally Germany, Leeson was arrested in Frankfurt and extradited back to Singapore. ⁴

How did Leeson end up causing such damage – the collapse of a once great bank, his own imprisonment, loss of career and divorce? The answer is that he took the first step – it was just a small one, and it seemed that the consequences could only be minor. However, it blurred the line and then each additional step made it worse. He could have admitted to the first mistake and dealt with the reaction. But it was easier to take the other path, which seemed to have no consequences at all. Each step is a marginal, negligible, change from the previous one. However overall the result becomes vast. Thus began a snowball effect that ended with a spectacular crash.

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave, 

When first we practise to deceive!” (Sir Walter Scott). 

I think that this is the critical point of the story of Yehuda. Until now, Er and Onen have been wicked and punished for it. Yehuda has taken the decision not to marry Shela and Tamar with an apparently reasonable suggestion that Shela is too young, although the underlying issue is fear for his third son’s life. Despite the passage of time, Yehuda has chosen not to act, to remain passive, since Tamar is far away, returned to her father’s house. However, now he has to decide. His wife has died and he is travelling away for work. He sees a prostitute. It is a small decision, seemingly without repercussions. It is not the overwhelming dilemma of whether or not Shela should marry Tamar, but a simple, mundane, possibly commonplace choice. Should he use her services or not? Surely no-one will ever know. “When Yehuda saw her, he thought she was a prostitute, for she had covered her face”. What should he do? – “He went over to her by the roadside and said, “Come now, let me sleep with you.” The turning point, as the Torah needlessly emphases, is that ‘he went over to her’ וַיֵּט אֵלֶיהָ אֶל הַדֶּרֶךְ . This phrase is unnecessary, and nothing would be missed were it to be excluded. However, the Torah is showing us that Yehuda made a decision – and his decision is to take the low road. From here the tangled web extends and envelops, until someone’s life is at stake. Yehuda could never have imagined that this would be the end result of such a small, meaningless, encounter. 

This is the central idea in story. The dramatic turning point from which this tragic story alters course, resulting in the final scene with its resonant “she is more righteous than I”. This public announcement is clearly an act of bravery, an act of repentance to be revered and emulated. However, the root cause that takes Yehuda to this point is the accumulation of small, private, actions, highlighted by Torah as the decision to sleep with a prostitute. One such routine choice leads to an entirely unexpected conclusion. 

Our stories need not end with such dramatic effect – but still we need to weigh our every action, even the smallest, as we cannot see where the path will lead.

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I want to build upon a distinction that Rav Soloveitchik makes in his essay Catharsis, where he discusses the difference between classical (Greek) heroism and Biblical heroism:

In his agony the classical aesthete invented the image of the hero. The mere myth of the hero gave the aesthete endless comfort. At least, the classical aesthete said to himself, there was an individual who dared to do the impossible and to achieve the grandiose. In short, the hero of classical man was the grandiose figure with whom, in order to satisfy his endless vanity, classical man identified himself: hero worship is basically self-worship.

The classical idea of heroism, which is aesthetic in its very essence, lacks the element of absurdity and is intrinsically dramatic and theatrical. The hero is an actor who performs in order to impress an appreciative audience. The crowd cheers, the chronicler records, countless generations afterwards admire, bards and minstrels sing of the hero. The classical heroic gesture represents, as I said before, frightened, disenchanted man, who tries to achieve immortality and permanence by identifying himself with the heroic figure on the stage. It does not represent a way of life. It lasts for a while, vibrant and forceful, but soon man reverts to the non-heroic mood of everyday living.

In contrast to classical aesthetic heroism, Biblical heroism, as portrayed in the narrative about Jacob, is not nurtured by an ephemeral mood or a passing state of mind. It is perhaps the central motif in our existential experience. It pervades the human mind steadily, and imparts to man a strange feeling of tranquility. The heroic person, according to our view, does not succumb to frenzy and excitement. Biblical heroism is not ecstatic but rather contemplative; not loud but hushed; not dramatic or spectacular but mute. The individual, instead of undertaking heroic action sporadically, lives constantly as a hero. Jacob did not just act heroically upon the spur of the moment. His action was indicative of a resolute way of life; he was not out to impress anybody. This type of heroics lasts as long as man is aware of himself as a singular being. ⁵

The classical hero is the one who steps in to save the day, who rushes into burning buildings, who faces grave danger in battle. The Yehuda who faces the crisis of whether to step forward and save Tamar is the classical hero.

The Biblical hero is different – and here I diverge from Rav Soloveitchik’s treatment of the subject⁶ . Heroism of the Torah is not to be found in the great acts of daring-do, the one-off events, the historic moments. Heroism is found in the mundane, in the day-to-day - in taking the right decision, however small the decision is – and then taking that decision again and again and again. Each time you choose the high road, the correct path – then ‘the individual, instead of undertaking heroic action sporadically, lives constantly as a hero’.

”The safest road to hell is the gradual one - the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.” (C. S. Lewis)

The story of Yehuda and Tamar is not the story of the heroism of the grand finale. How many of us are likely to be in such a situation, or anything equivalent? The real story, for us, lies in the middle – where Yehuda, as with so many of our biblical figures, fails and falls. He makes the wrong decision – a small decision, apparently inconsequential - and continues on his mundane travels. However, the Torah shows us the impact of each and every choice we make, and rapidly presents Yehuda with the seemingly inexorable chasm of decision when Tamar is to be put to death. Each small choice counts.

This is also a message of the Chanuka lights. We follow Bet Hillel, lighting one candle the first night, and then increasing the number every day. Here too, we are saying – the heroism that we need, the strength to fight the vast Greek army, arises not in a single moment, but is built up day-by-day. By continually choosing good, choosing life, in every small decision that we take, we build the moral fiber needed to keep the flame of Judaism burning across the generations.

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

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1 See for example, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, https://rabbisacks.org/covenant-conversation-vayigash-choice-and-change/ or https://rabbisacks.org/vayigash-5774-unexpected-leader/^↩
2 For further details on the structure, see Professor Yonatan Grossman, The Story of Yehuda and Tamar? Three Structures and Three Readings, or Rav Elchanan Samet, Yehuda and Tamar - A Story Within a Story?.^↩
3 Christensen, C. M., Allworth, J., & Dillon, K. (2012). How will you measure your life? New York, NY: HarperCollins. See also https://hbr.org/2010/07/how-will-you-measure-your-life^↩
4 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nick_Leeson. See also https://www.irishtimes.com/news/the-man-who-broke-the-queen-s-bank-1.31807^↩
5 Joseph B. Soloveitchik, “Catharsis,” Tradition 17 (Spring 1978): 38-54, esp. 41-42^↩
6 For the Rav, heroism is to be found in capacity to withdraw, to overcome oneself, to purge or to purify one's existence. See Rav Ronnie Ziegler, Introduction to the philosophy of Rav Soloveitchik, LECTURE #7: "Catharsis," Part 1 https://www.etzion.org.il/en/8-catharsis-part-1^↩

A tribute to Rabbi Sacks

Since hearing on Motzei Shabbat of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks’ death, a feeling of great sadness has enveloped me, a lump sits in my throat and tears tickle my eyes. In the following I hope to set out what Rabbi Sacks meant to me, and why I, and so many others, are feeling such a sense of profound loss. In this I will depart from Rabbi Sacks’ teachings and rather than move from the particular to the universal, I will start with the more universal elements and end with the particular.

Firstly, Rabbi Sacks was a great teacher – I could sit captivated by his lectures for hours, or become immersed in his books or his writings. In particular, he was a great story teller. But not just for the sake of telling stories. Rabbi Sacks followed the example of Bereshit, and told stories to make points vivid, so that they would not be easily forgotten. In this he was a philosopher who made a case by giving examples rather than by abstract reasoning.[1] Thus we can easily recall the story of the man and the starfish on the beach “to this one it makes a difference”[2], or the visceral horror we feel when we hear of the Chinese man who chose to save the communist official from the wreckage in an earthquake rather than his own son. [3] Alternatively, and with equal dexterity and effectiveness, Rabbi Sacks could reveal the results of an experiment or study to make his point – from the Robbers’ Cave study[4] to the ideas of the algorithms Generous and Tit-for-Tat in cases of Iterated Prisoners’ Dilemma[5]. In all of these cases, the story stays in your mind – and the moral or ethical point with it.

Additionally, Rabbi Sacks was a superb teacher of Torah. His reading of Torah was, I think, distinguished by two unique characteristics. The first was asking simple questions, often about what is unsaid on the actual page. This is a form of Midrash, developed and honed for our times. Thus, in this week’s parshat shavua, Chaya Sarah, on the description of Avraham’s serene death, Rabbi Sacks’ asks how that can be when he has received little, if not none, of all that was promised to him by God. The answer is, of course, both profound and relevant to all of us. 

“Perhaps, though, the most important point of this parsha is that large promises – a land, countless children – become real through small beginnings. Leaders begin with an envisioned future, but they also know that there is a long journey between here and there; we can only reach it one act at a time, one day at a time. There is no miraculous shortcut – and if there were, it would not help. The use of a shortcut would culminate in an achievement like Jonah’s gourd, which grew overnight, then died overnight. Abraham acquired only a single field and had just one son who would continue the covenant. Yet he did not complain, and he died serene and satisfied. Because he had begun. Because he had left future generations something on which to build. All great change is the work of more than one generation, and none of us will live to see the full fruit of our endeavours. Leaders see the destination, begin the journey, and leave behind them those who will continue it. That is enough to endow a life with immortality.”[6] 

The second, and more unique, approach was that of seeing the wood for the trees – of finding meaning in the overall arc of the text, and not just in the specific verses, chapters or even stories. This can be seen in Rabbi Sacks’ identification of the chiastic structure, for example, of the books of Bereshit and Shemot as the building of the Tabernacle echoes the creation of the world[7], or of seeing the whole of Torah in this manner (history/future – present – holiness – present – history/future).[8] Or in seeing the lack of four dimensions of human responsibility in the stories leading up to Abraham, and then (combining the two ideas referenced here) Abraham taking responsibility for each of the four.[9] Rabbi Sacks had an ability to step back and view the arc of the moral universe – as he liked to quote from Martin Luther King - “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” These factors, and others to be discussed below, form the foundation of Rabbi Sacks’ masterful commentary on the siddur and mahzor, and in particular the introductions to those works that drew on all these themes.  Additionally, we must add that Rabbi Sacks frequently drew on findings in all areas of human study in order to illustrate and explain points made in the Torah. Thus, to give but one example, the command to not hate the Edomite or Egyptian is explained by Iterated Prisoners’ Dilemma as mentioned above.[10]

This brings out another facet of Rabbi Sacks that left us all in awe – his complete command of so many areas of human knowledge. He could discuss and quote thinkers from all of history, as well as the most up-to-date studies and books. He could, and did, use ideas from philosophy, economics, biology, psychology and many more. We were left in wonderment at the breadth of the sources that Rabbi Sacks brought. Many times, having read the development of an idea that Rabbi Sacks brings, whilst nodding along throughout, I found myself wondering how I could possibly convey such an idea to others while being unable to bring the complete intellectual foundation on which the idea rested. My rendition of such an idea would be merely a ‘pale copy’ of the true idea which was both buttressed and embellished by such a vast range of sources.

However Rabbi Sacks did not have a dry philosophical outlook. We have mentioned above his predilection for using stories. Additionally, he understood the power of music – “There is an inner connection between music and the spirit. When language aspires to the transcendent and the soul longs to break free of the gravitational pull of the earth, it modulates into song… The history of the Jewish spirit is written in its songs.”[11] This was stressed on a practical level, as advice for inspirational parenting[12] , or in the release of albums combining Divrei Torah and songs to accompany the siddur, or to celebrate Israel.[13]

Furthermore, Rabbi Sacks saw and felt poetry. Thus, for some examples, he saw poetry in the first song of Adam when he was presented with Eve, the soul soaring at the sight of the other: 

“We actually see him wake up and see a woman for the first time. You know what he does at that point. He says the first poem on record: ‘Zot ha’pa’am – This time [I have found] Etzem mi’atzamei – bone of my bone Basar mibasari – flesh of my flesh Lezot yikarei ishah – she shall be called ‘woman’ Ki mi’ish lukahah-zot – because she was taken from man.’ We see, we feel, his joy of discovery. We actually are seeing through the immense significance of one human being.”[14] 

Or in his commentary on the siddur on the phrase 

“אבינו אב הרחמן המרחם רחם עלינו Our Father, compassionate Father, ever compassionate, have compassion on us – with its twofold repetition of “father” and threefold mention of compassion in the space of six Hebrew words is one of the most concentrated expression of the love and trust we feel for God.”[15]

Moving to a slightly more particularistic view, this incisive use of the full wealth of modern study discussed above also exemplified the extent to which Rabbi Sacks was a role model for us, growing up in the Modern Orthodox (or Religious Zionist) world. We believed in combining Torah Ve’Avodah as a synthesis – and here was our Rabbi Sacks, who bestrode the world like a colossus with knowledge of Torah on the one hand, and complete immersion in the modern world on the other. If for a moment others doubted or criticised our studies or academic pursuits – we could always turn to the figure of Rabbi Sacks for inspiration.

As a young adult in the Modern Orthodox world in England in the 1990s, Rabbi Sacks’ thought, always expressed so profoundly and so eloquently, reflected, amplified and clarified what we believed in. Indeed, at this time I can no longer say how much Rabbi Sacks’ thought reflected what we already believed and held to be true, and how much we believed or held things to be true because of Rabbi Sacks’ thought.

Born after Israel’s miraculous victory in the Six Day War, a clear Kiddush Hashem for all those who chose to see it, we were members of a generation who no longer felt the need to hide their Jewishness. We knew that we were different, that we were not part of the mainstream English world – and yet we were not trying to keep out of sight. In this respect, Rabbi Sacks provided for us a role model – as an orthodox Jew, a Rabbi, but someone who mixed with kings and princes, who spoke with leaders of nations, but on his terms. How our hearts filled with pride when we heard of Rabbi Sacks meeting the Queen or speaking to the Prime Minister. We didn’t have to stay in the shadows when Rabbi Sacks took the limelight.

Relatedly, Rabbi Sacks gave us reasons to be proud of our Judaism. While Orthodox Rabbis had previously shone within the four cubits of the Orthodox world, Rabbi Sacks shone beyond. One of the central tenets of his thought, and the basis for much of his action, is that Judaism has vast amounts to teach the world. He set out to teach everyone in the world, irrespective of race, colour, or religion. But not just to teach – to teach Torah! In the year 2000, Rabbi Sacks gave an address in Windsor Castle to an audience including Prince Philip. Rabbi Sacks began his lecture by acknowledging the unique experience of growing up in a castle. Such a prince or princess would learn the history of their home and the expectations, protocols, morals, and obligations that came along with it. 

“Jews don’t own buildings like Windsor Castle”, he continued, “We are not that kind of people. But we own something that is, in its own way, no less majestic and even more consecrated by time. The Jewish castle is built not of bricks or stone, but of words. But it too has been preserved across the centuries, handed on by one generation to the next, added to and enhanced in age after age, lovingly cherished and sustained. As a child I inherited it from my parents, as they had inherited it from theirs. It is not a building but it is nonetheless, a home, a place in which to live. More than it belongs to us, we belong to it; and it too is part of the heritage of mankind.”[16] 

Rabbi Sacks told us that as Jews we had something that was even more important, even more impressive, than Windsor Castle – and we took note and held our heads high. We could learn and follow his lead – 

“And I just add, as my commentary on Jewish life, that do not think that those who live behind high walls, a self-imposed ghetto, are necessarily the strongest Jews. The strongest Jews who those who are able to live without those high walls. Confident in their faith they can engage in dialogue with other people’s faith – or other people’s culture.”[17] 

Rabbi Sacks, following in the footsteps of Avraham Avinu, was a knight of our faith carrying it out into the world for all to learn from.

However, Jewish pride raises the issue of our relationship with the world. How should we interact? How and why are we different? What does it mean to be the chosen people? We were proud to be Jews – but were we really different, special? Here too, Rabbi Sacks gave us the answer. His answer, most fully elaborated in “The Dignity of Difference” was that Jews taught the world to honour those who are not like them. We were always a small people, a tiny minority – and yet we continued to exist, to be unlike everyone else, so that everyone could learn to treat the “other” as they would themselves want to be treated. Judaism is one version of monotheism, which has much wisdom to teach the world, but was intended only for Jews. Other religions also have their place. 

“[T]hat is what Judaism came into the world to protest against. Judaism is God’s protest against empires. God says it is not so. No people is entitled to force its beliefs on any other people. ‘Down here, in the world that I made, there are many cultures, many faiths, many civilisations – each of which was made by Me, each of which therefore has its own integrity, its own gifts to humanity, its own contribution to make its own voice, its own language, its own character. I want,’ says God, ‘to communicate that truth to the world. Therefore I will choose one people, a small vulnerable people, not particularly righteous – in fact, very often particularly bolshie – and I will command that people to be different to show the world the dignity of difference. The reality of difference.’”[18]

“The proposition at the heart of monotheism is not what it has traditionally been taken to be: one God, therefore one faith, one truth, one way. To the contrary, it is that unity creates diversity. The glory of the created world is its astonishing multiplicity: the thousands of different languages spoken by mankind, the hundreds of faiths, the proliferation of cultures, the sheer variety of the imaginative expressions of the human spirit, in most of which, if we listen carefully, we will hear the voice of God telling us something we need to know. That is what I mean by the dignity of difference.”[19]

We also struggled with faith and science, Bible and evolution. Here too Rabbi Sacks simply dissolved the problem. Science asks how, while religion asks why. 

“To put it at its simplest: science takes things apart to see how they work. Religion puts things together to see what they mean. And we need them both, the way we need the two hemispheres of the brain. Science is about explanation, religion is about interpretation. Science analyses, religion integrates. Science breaks things down to their component parts; religion binds people together in relationships of trust. Science tells us what is, religion tells us what ought to be. Science describes; religion inspires, beckons, calls. Science practices detachment; religion is the art of attachment, self to self, soul to soul. Science sees the underlying order of the physical world. Religion hears the music beneath the noise. Science is the conquest of ignorance. Religion is the redemption of solitude.”[20]

We believed strongly in what is known as Tikkun Olam – we felt injustice and needed to fight it. Rabbi Sacks taught us that we were hearing the call of the Torah, imbued in us from the days of Abraham. 

“[God] needs our help. That is why He chose Abraham. Abraham was the first person in recorded history to protest the injustice of the world in the name of God, rather than accept it in the name of God. Abraham was the man who said: “Shall the Judge of all the earth not do justly?” Where Noah accepted, Abraham did not. Abraham is the man of whom God said, “I have chosen him, so that he will direct his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing what is right and just.” Abraham was the father of a nation, a faith, a civilisation, marked throughout the ages by what Albert Einstein called “an almost fanatical love of justice.” I believe that Abraham is the father of faith, not as acceptance but as protest – protest at the flames that threaten the palace, the evil that threatens God’s gracious world. We fight those flames by acts of justice and compassion that deny evil its victory and bring the world that is a little closer to the world that ought to be.”[21]

If we ever felt disappointment in Rabbi Sacks, it was in what we saw as his failure to weigh in on divisive topics in the Jewish community. We wanted to hear his clear lucid voice of reason cut through the smoke and flames of emotive dialogue. Yet, very often, he refrained. At the time, we felt that we were missing his leadership. However, I think now that this merely shows how caught up we are in the moment, while Rabbi Sacks continued to see the big picture. Rabbi Sacks did not enter these disputes because ultimately there was nothing to be gained from them. This was a principle of his from his earliest writings: 

“Small things have divided us, and in dividing us have made us small… If Torah is not allowed to speak with its true stature, then the rabbis and teachers we produce will not have their true stature. And if Torah is ideologized, politicized, and used to deligitimate other Jews who also believe in and care for Torah, then it will bring not peace but conflict to the world… For the challenge is not about right, left or center, but about smallness or greatness. Will Orthodoxy see itself forced into defensiveness by assimilation and secularization? Will it retreat yet further into its protected enclaves, while the rest of the Jewish world disintegrates? Will it build an ark for itself like Noah while the rest of Jewry drowns? Or will it see itself challenged by this unique moment to lead the Jewish world? For that is the challenge. To make sure that every child has a Jewish education, as intellectually demanding and inspiring as the best secular education. To teach us how to be Jews in our secular involvements as well as in our private lives. To teach us what it is to create a society, in the golah and especially in Eretz Yisrael, based on ‘compassion, justice and righteousness, because these are what I desire, says God.’ To teach every Jew, left, right and center, to find his or her place in the Torah. Above all to rise above the smallness and recapture the greatness of Torah that once inspired every Jew by its grandeur, its compassion, its sheer nobility: the Torah written in fire, given in fire, the Torah that set Jewish souls on fire.”[22] 

Rabbi Sacks rose above these disputes, and set Jewish, and non-Jewish, souls on fire.

For all the reasons above, many feel close to Rabbi Sacks. Yet, I feel a special closeness, as do many of my friends, despite the fact that I did not have a personal connection with him. This is because for us Rabbi Sacks was not just a blazing star in the firmament of Jewish thought – he was our Rabbi. He grew up in England, as did we, and attended the same schools as us or our friends, went to the same colleges and universities as us and our friends, and supported the same football teams as us and our friends. He loved Bnei Akiva and viewed any meeting as being “home ground”, surrounded by friends – and not just because his children attended the movement. He was always happy to come and address us, and we were delighted to have him. Furthermore, we grew with Rabbi Sacks and his thought. We started with him at Traditional Alternative seminars, and then in his first works, which dealt more with the Jewish world. For Gimmel Machane in Bnei Akiva which is about the ideology of the Movement, we simply took Rabbi Sacks’ book “Crisis and Covenant” and endeavoured to teach a different chapter every day. To know Rabbi Sacks and his thought was to know the zeitgeist of Bnei Akiva UK. As we had questions – Rabbi Sacks provided the answers. As we read or learnt Rabbi Sacks, we understood what we stood for. As Rabbi Sacks developed more fully ideas that were only nascent in his earlier works, he expanded our understanding of ourselves. For this reason, I find it nearly impossible to give a Dvar Torah without quoting Rabbi Sacks – the ideas that are so central to my self-understanding derive in great part from his thought.

In this, I can only quote what Rav Aharon Lichtenstein said of his teachers – 

“What I received from all my mentors, at home or in yeshiva, was the key to confronting life, particularly modern life, in all its complexity: the recognition that it was not so necessary to have all the answers as to learn to live with the questions. Regardless of what issues--moral, theological, textual or historical--vexed me, I was confident that they had been raised by masters far sharper and wiser than myself; and if they had remained impregnably steadfast in their commitment, so should and could I. I intuited that, his categorical formulations and imperial certitude notwithstanding, Rav Hutner had surely confronted whatever questions occurred to me. Later, I felt virtually certain the Rav had, so that the depth and intensity of their service of God was doubly reassuring.”[23]

For me, when I had questions, Rabbi Sacks had the answers. Even when I didn’t understand the answers, I could rest assured in the fact that Rabbi Sacks, so far sharper and wiser than myself, had considered the issues and reached a conclusion.

Rabbi Sacks said that he never lost faith in God, but sometimes he doubted his faith in man. Regarding his cancer, he said 

“I adopted exactly that attitude. So on both occasions I felt, if this is the time Hashem needs me up there, thank you very much indeed for my time down here; I’ve enjoyed every day and feel very blessed. And if he wants me to stay and there’s still work for me to do, then he is going to be part of the refu’ah [healing] and I put my trust in him. So there was no test of faith at any point—just these simple moments at which to say, ‘b’yado afkid ruchi’ [‘In his hand, I place my soul’]. That was my thought. And since we say that every day in Adon Olam, I didn’t feel the need to write a book about it. It was for me not a theological dilemma at all.”[24] 

For himself, based on his relationship with God, he had absolute acceptance. For the state of the world, for others, he believed in absolute responsibility. In this too, Rabbi Sacks mirrors Avraham Avinu, who does not protest the command for the Akedah, and yet argues vigorously, and indefatigably, for the people of Sedom.

Rabbi Sacks was the Abraham of our generation. He was a knight of faith, teaching the world the beauty and wisdom of Judaism – ויקרא שם בשם ה' א-ל עולם he called out in the name of God, Master of the universe. He protested the palace in flames, and called on all of us to do likewise. 

“We encounter God in the face of a stranger. That, I believe, is the Hebrew Bible’s single greatest and most counterintuitive contribution to ethics. God creates difference; therefore it is in one-who-is-different that we meet god. Abraham encounters God when he invites three strangers into his tent.”[25] 

He was truly נשיא אלקים אתה בתוכנו a prince of God in our midst.

ואיננו כי לקח אותו האלקים

Rabbi Sacks can rest in peace, like Abraham, knowing that he has made a start. It is up to us to continue.

 

[1] Based on Avishai Margalit, see To Heal A Fractured World p. 11

[2] To Heal a Fractured World, p. 72

[3] https://www.rabbisacks.org/wp-content/uploads/1990/11/1990_reith3.pdf

[4] The Home We Build Together, p. 175

[5] https://rabbisacks.org/covenant-conversation-noach-true-morality/

[6] https://rabbisacks.org/chayei-sarah-5781/

[7] The Home We Build Together p. 138,

[8] https://rabbisacks.org/covenant-conversation-5768-tzav-on-sacrifice/

[9] To Heal a Fractured World, p.133-147

[10] https://rabbisacks.org/ki-tetzei-5774-hate/

[11] https://rabbisacks.org/covenant-conversation-5772-beshalach-music-language-of-the-soul/

[12] https://youtu.be/RmpB0O1-0ys

[13] https://rabbisacks.org/israel-home-of-hope/

[14] https://rabbisacks.org/faith-lectures-what-is-faith/

[15] The Koren Rosh HaShana Mahzor, Ashkenaz, p. 368

[16] The Chief Rabbi’s Haggadah, pages 7-9

[17] https://rabbisacks.org/faith-lectures-revelation-torah-heaven/

[18] https://rabbisacks.org/faith-lectures-jewish-identity-the-concept-of-a-chosen-people/

[19] The Dignity of Difference, p. 21

[20] https://rabbisacks.org/great-partnership/

[21] https://rabbisacks.org/a-palace-in-flames-lech-lecha-5780/

[22] Orthodoxy confronts Modernity, p.140-145

[23] https://jewishaction.com/religion/faith/the-source-of-faith-is-faith-itself/ The Source of Faith is Faith Itself, Harav Aharon Lichtenstein, The Jewish Action Reader-Volume 1,Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America, New York 1996.

[24] https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/community/articles/jonathan-sacks-goes-global

[25] The Dignity of Difference, p. 59

Jewish Observer on Daas Torah

I thought this was a nice summary of the Daas Torah view on Gedolim:

The Jewish Observer, June 2006, Volume XXXIX No. 5 p. 31

Shlomo Gottesman - “Nothing is hard if you will it”: Travels with Rabbi Aaron Leib Shteinman שליט"א

“Zeh sefer toldos haAdam.” The Midrash explains that the Ribbono shel Olam showed Adam every generation and its leaders: dor dor umanhigav. Those manhigim, sometimes not well-known until they step in to leadership positions, were imbued from creation with a special siyata dishmaya and the foresight to see the complex exigencies of Jewish history on a multi-dimensional plane. Their vision necessarily includes the future implications of current decision making, with all the attendant subtle ramifications. In the merit of the tzibbur and the Torah, they are given the strengths and skills to shoulder the awesome achrayus that comes with their position. We might not always be privy to or understand their thought process, but our confidence in them is the raison d'etre of emunas chachamin, and one of the bedrocks of our theological structure.

Rav Soloveitchik on Religious Pluralism

"The fourth question remains to be considered. Should we perhaps relinquish our rights as a religious group in this matter because of complications which might arise on the level of public relations? The answer is definitely in the negative. Let me elaborate this thesis. The Jewish religion has never monopolized the media of salvation nor has it identified itself with the intolerant doctrine of religious catholicity. In other words, it never maintained that our faith is destined to become universal in order to save mankind from damnation. Our prophets and scholars have taught that all men who live in accordance with Divine moral standards will share in the transcendental summum bonum which was promised to God-fearing and God-loving people - hasidei umot ha-olam yesh lahem helek le-olam ha-ba.

However, this tolerant philosophy of transcendental universalism does not exclude the specific awareness of the Jews of the supremacy of their faith over all others. As a matter of fact, the act of appraising the worth of one's particular religious experience on the highest axiological level constitutes the very essence of the transcendental performance. The religious consciousness, by its very nature, is endowed with a charismatic quality. The homo religiosus is convinced that his unique relationship with God is the noblest and finest, and he is ready to bring the supreme sacrifice for the preservation of his religious identity. The feeling of axiological equality of all faiths as a component of the individual religious experience is a contradicto in objecto. Religious tolerance asserts itself in the knowledge of the existence of a variety and plurality of God-experiences and in the recognition that each individual is entitled to evaluate his great unique performance as the most redeeming and uplifting one. Tolerance has never demanded of the religious personage to eliminate the sense of axiological centrality from his feelings. This is exactly the standpoint of the Halakhah which maintains that, while it is forbidden to impose our faith upon others by force, it is our sacred duty to defend our convictions against any onslaught, even at the expense of our very lives."

Soloveitchik, Rabbi Joseph B. Community, Covenant, and Commitment: Selected Letters and Communications of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik. (ed.: Nathaniel Helfgot), Jersey City: Published for the Toras HoRav Foundation by Ktav Pub. House, 2005. pp.21-22