…the Jewish relationship to wine has remained rooted in religious practice. Despite challenges in simply finding a bottle [or an amphora] of wine, our ancestors were able to maintain their wine traditions. I would venture to say that we Jews have the oldest codified relationship to wine of any people on earth. In this light, how could wine be anything but critical to Jewish life?
Jeff Morgan, quoted in Rob Eshman, “People of the Vine”, The Jewish Journal (30 August – 5 September 2013), 26.
Intermarriage, like all marriage, is a relationship of power. How the power is divided depends on two things: gender and who negotiated for what, either before or after saying “I do.” If intermarriage has the potential to strengthen the Jewish people (along with institutions of education, such as summer camp or trips to Israel), it is critically important to understand the influence of the gender of the Jewish member in the marital union. Analyzing gender—the roles of both men and women combined with the relationship between the two sexes—is key to a full understanding of the meaning of Jewish intermarriage because gender informs how men and women raise children.
Keren McGinity, “The Hand that Rocks the Cradle: How the Gender of the Jewish Parent Influences Intermarriage”, AJS Perspectives (Spring 2013), 42.
When Obama addresses Jewish audiences, he comes across as a liberal rabbi. He presents Jewish values as synonymous with progressive politics and draws heavily upon American Jewish history, name-dropping noted civil rights rabbinic activists like Abraham Joshua Heschel and Joachim Prinz. The American story, he seems to say, is the Jewish story—an ever-advancing universalistic ethic.
Booker, on the other hand, though committed to similarly liberal ends, presents more like his Orthodox mentors. He leans on traditional texts, from the weekly Torah portion to the Pirkei Avot, and is more likely to reference Hillel than Heschel. He keeps a stack of religious books on his desk, including an Artscroll Tanakh—the imprint of Orthodoxy’s most prolific publisher. When speaking Hebrew, his pronunciation sometimes slips into Ashkenazic, rather than the Sephardic-inflected tones of Modern Hebrew favored by non-Orthodox Jewry. And like his Chabad companions, Booker does not conflate Judaism with one particular political platform but rather plays up its spiritual uniqueness.
It would be tempting to dismiss these affectations as accidents of proximity, the incidental result of Obama and Booker being introduced to Judaism by different teachers. But they are not. They reflect deep-rooted divergences in both men’s political outlooks. …
Barack Obama has built his political career on downplaying difference. …
But where Obama conflates, Booker differentiates. He celebrates the sharp edges of identity that Obama works to soften—even when they are in tension with his own ideals. … He respects the dignity of difference, and the integrity of identity, which endears him even to those—like many in the Orthodox community—who do not share his progressive political views.
Yair Rosenberg, “New Jersey Senate Candidate Cory Booker Knows His Torah. So What?” Tablet (12 August 2013) {http://www.tabletmag.com/jewish-news-and-politics/140767/cory-bookers-jewish-story?all=1}
While the other movements are engaged in soul-searching on how to deal with dwindling and aging membership in synagogues, the challenges to Orthodoxy are how to deal with its burgeoning numbers: how to cost-effectively educate the hordes of children the Orthodox are having, how to expand ever-growing synagogues, and where to establish new communities where housing costs—for large homes—are low. But from college campuses, to urban communities of singles and young couples, to suburban communities with families and empty nesters—the numbers all show that Orthodoxy is an attractive type of Judaism, one that is easily replacing any fall-off, and is actually expanding through a relatively high birthrate and an expanding professional outreach movement.
It would stand to reason that Orthodoxy’s greatest challenge—in America, Israel, and around the world—would be having too much self-confidence and sense of triumphalism.
Rabbi Asher Lopatin, “Challenges and Opportunities for a Robust Orthodox Judaism”, Conversations Issue 17 (Autumn 2013/5774), 51.
It may be that Open Orthodoxy’s niche, and the important role of the hundreds of future ordainees of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah, the Modern and Open Orthodox yeshiva in Riverdale, New York, will be not only to open the tents of Orthodoxy to anyone interested—and in a sense of mutuality, learning from each other—but to go beyond welcoming to actually making the journey to where our fellow Jews are. Both Hareidi and Chabad outreach welcome all Jews to come to Orthodox homes, Orthodox Shabbat tables and Orthodox places of prayer—and that is admirable connecting. A confident, self-assured Orthodox community will be able to go even further and connect with students, young adults and families where they are. This means learning together with Reform, Reconstructionist, and renewal teachers and students; it means being willing to be on panels even with other rabbis or leaders who will be saying things that are not consistent with Orthodoxy; it means being willing to have Orthodox students spend time with non-Orthodox students, and then Orthodox families find ways of going to the non-Orthodox homes for Shabbat. All without compromising the beliefs or the practices of Orthodoxy!
Rabbi Asher Lopatin, “Challenges and Opportunities for a Robust Orthodox Judaism”, Conversations, Issue 17 (Autumn 2013/5774), 57-58.
While relations with the government and non-Jews were full of potential dangers and pitfalls, Rava’s need to deal with dissidents in his own community was no less delicate and complicated. As the Maharsha recognized, Rava’s community also contained people who were skeptical of the authenticity of Torah she-be’al Peh and of rabbinic authority (amei ha-aretz; see Maharsha on Mak 22b s.v. kammah tipsha’ei, where he points to Sanh 99b-100a), and Rava had to deal with such people as well. As the Gemara testifies, he kept them in the community by responding to their arguments when necessary, but also by employing a certain ironic humor at times (Sanh 99b-100a), and veiled threats at other times (Shab 133b). It would seem that Rava succeeded, at least in his own lifetime, but it may be significant that none of his talmidim stayed in Mahoza after his petirah; R. Nahman b. Yitzhak reestablished Pumbedita as a place of learning, R. Papa moved to Naresh, and Ravina apparently went to Mata Mahasiya, a suburb of Sura. It may be that none of them felt able to take up the challenge of dealing with Mahoza’s Jewish community, or as one of Hakirah’s editors suggests, they felt unable to deal with the royal court across the river – or both.
Yaakov Elman, “Rava as Mara de-Atra in Mahoza”, Hakirah 11 (Spring 2011), 68.
We do not find an Amora in all of the Bavli expounding a vav after the time of Rav and Shmuel, who, as members of the transition generation between the tannaitic era and that of the Amoraim, were in a special category (Rav Tanna hu’ u-palig, Ket 8a, Git 38b, BB 42a, Sanh 83b). The system of midrash halakhah was already closing down, though we find that Rava could still expound mi’utim and make use of some other middot.
Yaakov Elman, “Rava as Mara de-Atra in Mahoza”, Hakirah 11 (Spring 2011), 78.
The Assyria of yesterday could, for modern Israel, be Turkey, Iran, India or China tomorrow. Being initially called in to resolve local differences or protect Israel from an attack by an immediate neighbor, they may find the temptation to meddle in Israeli affairs too great to resist. Perhaps none of these states would actually seek to control the Jewish state. Economic influence, however, is an entirely different matter, and a powerful outsider, initially viewed as a protector, might impose one-sided trade or economic agreements on a weakened Israel. The fact that the United States has never done so, despite Israel’s dependence on Washington for its support in so many ways, simply underscores the exceptionality of the United States and its unique role as a superpower. Others simply will not behave the same way.
Dov S. Zakheim, “The Geopolitics of Scripture,” The American Interest (July/August 2012), 13-14.
Of course, the ultimate pesak is not bound to the peshat of any one Amora, even when we decide according to his view. A sugya can combine the views of one Amora with the principles of another in order to apply the halakhah in question to various situations. It is up to the poskei ha-dor to determine the relevant halakhah for their time. That is why halakhah ke-batra’ei, the halakhah follows the later opinion (within the limits of Masorah, of course). But if Talmud Torah is pursued with the proper derekh, or, more precisely, with one or more of the proper derakhim, then, as Rav Hutner זצוק”ל pointed out, the result is “a positive creation of new Torah values.”
Yaakov Elman, “Rava as Mara de-Atra in Mahoza”, Hakirah 11 (Spring 2011), 64-65.
In Shab 116a the Gemara reports that various Amoraim disagreed as to whether they should attend an interdenominational discussion in a Bei Abidan. While Rashi (as quoted by Tosafot in A.Z. 17a, see below) understands this phrase as referring to an idolatrous temple, Tosafot suggest that it was merely a neutral place where discussions were held on various matters (see Tosafot A.Z. 17a, s.v. harheq mealeha), and presumably not a place for religious discussions—even though it is clear from the Gemara that there were kisvei qodesh kept there. Tosafot conclude that the Bei Abidan was not a place of minut (meqom minut mammash) but rather a place where gentile scholars would gather to debate their laws (nose’im ve-notenim be dinim). Indeed, Rav would not go, Shmuel would, and a certain Mar b. Yosef went enthusiastically, while Rava excused himself because of the difficulty of reaching that particular Bei Abidan. It is noteworthy that Tosafot seem to have had a different girsa in Shabbat, since they note that R. Nahman went and endangered himself. If this girsa is correct, it may have been the experience of his own rebbe that convinced Rava not to go to these debates, simply because of the dangers to which such attendance could lead. Despite all of this, however, it is noteworthy that kitvei ha-qodesh were kept there, indicating that there was some religious dimension to the discussions, and the fact that Rav could refuse to attend indicates that these were not medieval style “forced debates.”
Nevertheless, Rava was careful to maintain good relations with the non-Jewish communities around him, and thus did not refuse outright, but pointed to a large palm tree in the way, which, even if uprooted as the government offered to do, would leave a large hole in the road leading up to the Bei Abidan. Indeed, his excuse is plausible, since we know that his rebbe, R. Nahman, travelled in a palanquin (presumably carried by four men) (Git 31b), and Rava himself (when he became a dayyan of the Resh Galuta?) would do so as well (B.M. 73b); as convenient as a palanquin was for the passenger, a large hole in the ground would have made passage difficult and dangerous. He would send Bar Sheshakh, apparently a pagan Babylonian, gifts even on idolatrous festivals, since he was certain that Bar Sheshakh was not himself an idolater (AZ 65a). He also maintained friendly relations with Issur the Ger, and even once based a pesak on information he had gotten from him (AZ 70a). In this connection it should be noted that Mahoza, Rava’s town, was a suburb of the Persian winter capital of Ctesiphon—it was right across the river, and as a consequence, many non-Jews lived there. Both the Jewish Resh Galuta and the Christian bishop of Ctesiphon resided in Mahoza (called Kokhe by the Christians). We can understand then why there were many gerim in Mahoza (Qid 73a), as opposed to Pumbedita and Mata Mahasia, where R. Yehudah and R. Ashi observed that there were none (Ber 17b). The Mahozan Jewish community was, for better or worse, much more open to outsiders than Pumbedita’.
Yaakov Elman, “Rava as Mara de-Atra in Mahoza”, Hakirah 11 (Spring 2011), 66-68.