First, I find it necessary to revisit a point from my first post in the series. I argued that the primary goal of a Rabbi is to facilitate the greatest degree of Torah observance as he can. For hundreds of years, the Rabbi and the Rabbinical schools were the only bodies which possessed the knowledge and ability to teach Torah. As the the only available resource, the Rabbi's roles and responsibilities were clearly defined, and his authority was usually unquestioned. Today's Rabbis are not alone in their access to Torah. Today's laity is significantly better educated than it has been in the past. Consider the countless opportunities of elementary, middle, and high school programs, as well as the yeshivot and seminaries in Israel. The laity posses more of the skills necessary to research and learn Torah on their own. While much of the laity choose to ignore their resources, the committed non-ordained Jew can readily study to the point where he or she equals or even surpasses the knowledge of his or her Rabbi.

Pride: In the Name of "Rav"

To account for this relatively recent phenomenon, I would like to borrow a Brisker hiluk and distinguish between the shem and halot of Rabbi. The shem, or title, of Rabbi can be relatively easy to obtain. I know several people who call themselves Rabbi solely based on their taking R. Zalman Nehemia Goldberg's open book Yoreh Deah exam. Some do not even pass official tests, but after years of study are given an "ok" by their Yeshiva to be called Rabbi. Including the other denominations, there truly is no standard for who possesses the title of Rabbi.

On the other hand, the halot, or in this case "function" of a Rabbi, is slightly more objective. In order to be an effective Rabbi, one has to be competent and knowledgeable in Jewish law. Some Rabbis are better than others, and many non-ordained people are better then some Rabbis. For one example, my Revel professor Dr. Ya'akov Elman does not have smikha from any institution, yet commands knowledge of Rabbinic writings from virtually every time period. Though not a Rabbi in title, he certainly could have the function of one.¹
The conventional view of Rabbis has been to automatically bestow the halot upon anyone who has the shem. This perception is not just among Orthodox Jews, but it is even more dominant in the other denominations. Former HUC president R. Sheldon Zimmerman was forced to resign his position amid a sex scandal. From what HUC students at the time told me, the CCAR suspended his title of Rabbi, thus prohibiting him from practicing. HUC then responded by saying that it seemed inappropriate for their Rabbinical school to be headed by a non-Rabbi.

The confusion of shem and halot continues in the debates of Rabbinic legitimacy. Officially, Orthodox Judaism does not accept the ordination of the Reform and Conservative movements,² and this is still a point of contention within the other movements. In this case, it is the Rabbis themselves who place far too much importance on the title. I would argue that whether or not one "accepts" the shem Rabbi from a particular institution is irrelevant, especially when compared to the importance of the halot of a Rabbi.

Women Rabbis

An intriguing development the next generation will face will be regarding the possibly ordination of women. Long held as a principle of Conservative Judaism, Orthodox schools will automatically reject the notion. Some might think that the to'anot or Nishmat programs in Israel are precursors to officially ordaining women. I've even heard theories that YU's Women's Kollel may start ordaining women in the next few decades.

While women today may lack the official title of Rabbi, many posses equal or superior halakhic knowledge than male Rabbis. If I was faced with a question in hilkhot niddah, I would sooner ask one of Nishmat's yoatzot than anyone from my smikha class. I know who was in my class, I know what was taught there, and I know that they know virtually nothing about niddah when compared to the Nishmat program. This shouldn't be surprising considering that the Nishmat program is two years of intensive full-time study in the laws of Niddah, and YU's program is two morning a week for one semester.

However, there is another side to this issue which I have not seen addressed. That is, are the women themselves ready to accept a Rabbinic role? I ask not out of competency or knowledge, since women can be taught as well as, if not better than men. However, as with many significant social changes, the first generation of women Rabbis will be faced with skepticism from their congregants. Based on my interactions with several of the more strong-willed women, I have found that there is a risk of ego getting in the way and a need for personal validation.

I'll give one example. In the final meeting of my MeORot year, I heard the female intern of HIR complain that despite the progressive culture of the shul, she still was not being respected. For example, she said that whenever she would cite a halakha, people would consistently look up the source. The intern felt this was indicative of disrespect since she felt that the congregants were not taking her knowledge seriously. Furthermore, she asserted that they would not (or do not) double-check the male Rabbis when they lecture.

Perhaps she is right in that the congregants didn't take her as seriously as they would the male rabbis, and maybe it's solely because of her gender.³ For whatever the reason, is this really a problem for a Rabbi?
I could be unique on this, but if every time I gave a shiur I caused people to open the books and learn the sources on their own, I'd be thrilled. People who would otherwise be doing other things would be learning Torah because of something I said, and perhaps improving their own observance in the disputed or other areas. Even if people would disagree with me, they would still have to think and study to formulate a coherent response. Even in disagreement, the result would be that I stimulated more Torah study in the congregation.
What sort of Rabbi could possibly view this as a negative?

Furthermore, if I in fact did make a mistake, I would want to know about it ASAP. It is imperative for me as a Rabbi and a Jew to have the best understanding that I can so that I can observe Torah the best that I can. Granted, there are respectful and disrespectful ways to argue with a Rabbi, but no Rabbi is above being challenged or critiqued.

As I also referenced in the first post, the honor and ego of the Rabbi must always defer to the honor of the Torah - regardless of gender.
For women to be effective Rabbis, they too must decide if they want the shem or halot of being called a "Rabbi." If women just want the title or recognition, then it's quite possible they will never be respected. If they want the halot of being a Rabbi, then as long as they are teaching and spreading Torah it should not matter to them who takes them seriously.

Will there be Orthodox women Rabbis? In terms of shem, see below. In terms of halot, they already exist and have been around for centuries - whether or not people have noticed or cared.

Not Quite Predictions

What I'd Like to See

YU - As much as we would like to see the Rabbinate as a sacred position, in reality it is still just another profession. Consequently, YU could do a much better job in training its students for the real challenges of the Rabbinate, including shul politics. The Rabbinic Training Program (RTP) classes are a good start, but relegating them to Friday mornings not only ensures that no one will take them seriously, but it also increases the perception that it's not as important as anything else. Yes, the day is full as it is with the smikha program and its co-requisites. But YU could establish a specialized track which would specifically focus on training pulpit Rabbis, and fully integrate this with the rest of the program, perhaps even with the Kollel.

Chovevei - In the meantime, YU could use a healthy dose of competition to wake itself up and hopefully improve itself. Chovevei seems like the best alternative , but I'd like to see two things happen. First, as I suggested, Chovevei needs a superior ordination, ideally that of the full Israeli Rabbanut. In order to compete and to have a voice, it needs to have impeccable credentials. I have been told that the RCA is pressuring Israeli Rabbanut to prevent the Chovevei students from even sitting for the exam, but I'm sure with enough donations to the right places this problem can be rectified. Second, Chovevei should - and from what I've been told has started to - tap into the large Jewish community which doesn't live in the New York area. Yes, there are in fact Jews who live outside of NY. YU Rabbis tend to shy away from doing shlihut in exile, so the market is definitely there. This will allow Chovevei to slowly build a critical mass of congregations. Once armed with the credentials Rabbanut smihka, and having a sizable constituency, then Chovevei can freely act independently of the RCA or any other body's official recognition.

What You Can Probably Expect⁴

While I am confident that President Joel will effect significant changes in all aspects of YU, I cannot even begin to guess how the Rabbinic program will be effected. Chovevei will probably not change their ordination, but they will send their graduates out of the NY region, and they will make a difference in the neglected American communities. YU will have no official position, but Chovevei's graduates will not be accepted by the RCA, at least not until they become much larger in size and influence. Within the next 25 years, one of the two - perhaps both - will ordain women, either as "Rabbi" or as some other invented title. Within the next 50 years, they might even be hired by a shul, and even then I would bet against them serving without a male co-Rabbi.

Conclusions

I'd like to leave you with a story.

The first year RTP (formerly SR) classes are mostly introductions to various careers in the Rabbinate. For one of the lectures on education, one of the RIETS administrators came down to speak to us. He first asked "who wants to go into hinuch (Jewish Education)?" Most of the students raised their hands. "Why do you want to go into hinuch?" The resounding answer, "To learn!" Expecting this answer, the Rabbi calmly explained, "No. If you want to learn, go to Kollel. You go into hinuch because you want to teach."

He then continued by asking what are some of the challenges a teacher faces. I said "competency."

Rabbi: What do you mean?
Me: Well, if you're a teacher and you want to be employed, you have to be ready to teach whatever the principal wants you to teach, regardless if you're qualified.
Him: Exactly. You come out of smikha, you might know how to teach gemara, but that doesn't mean you know anything about how to teach Nach.
Random Guy in Back: Oh come on! How hard could it be to read Yehoshua and Rashi to a bunch of fourth graders.⁵

I couldn't tell if the Rabbi looked at him with disdain, pity, or regret for him having been accepted to Rabbinical school in the first place.

The point is this. YU is full of people like the Random Guy. If you focus on those types, you will understandably have a pessimistic view of the future of the Rabbinate. However, it will also be quite skewed. Of YU's Rabbinical students, most will not "use" their smikha at all and will go get normal jobs. Of those who remain, even fewer will take pulpits. What this means is that those who remain are usually the most committed of their class. Furthermore, these will also be the more intelligent and serious rabbinical students. Among those interested in pursuing Rabbinic careers, several friends of mine are also working toward PhD's or other advanced degrees - you just won't hear about them for a few more years.

Despite all the real problems in the Orthodox Rabbinate, I do not think all is hopeless. YU and Chovevei will continue to produce their share of quality Rabbis, and those who don't want the title will continue to grow in their own way. Recognizing the difference between the shem and halot should help minimize the tensions not only within Orthodoxy, but between the other denominations as well.

1. Although if you'd ask Dr. Elman himself for a pesak halakha, he'd say that he isn't a Rabbi.
2. In another classic R. Tendler moment, he once told us in shiur that he called a Reform rabbi "Doctor." The puzzled Rabbi corrected, "But I'm not a doctor." To which R. Tendler responded, "True, but you're not a Rabbi either."
3. I can think of other reasons, such as delivery. Rabbi Linzer obviously possesses a thorough command of almost everything and it's evident in his shiurim. Consequently, people may trust his interpretations more than they would with someone else.
4. Based on where things are now. Not a guarantee. Predictions subject to change.
5. Yes, that's a direct quote. I was sitting next to Ben Resnick who nearly had a coronary.

The post Understanding The Rabbinate appeared first on YUTOPIA.

Perhaps the greatest personal challenge a Rabbi faces is distinguishing or balancing his professional life with his personal life. Unlike most professionals who have the option of leaving their work at the office, the Rabbi is always a Rabbi. Wherever he travels, the Rabbi is expected to act impeccably as a representative of Judaism and his congregation. Depending on his congregation, the Rabbi must always be on the job, whether he is on "vacation" or even if it's late at night. If a Rabbi is stopped on the street, he is expected to be able to answer any halakhic or haskafic questions, and sometimes to perform counseling on the spot. For two examples, my father was once called back from a Florida vacation because he needed to perform a funeral and he was woken up at 2:00 AM by an irate parent complaining that the Shul's nursery school was diluting the apple juice.¹ There really isn't any time that a Rabbi can simply say, "I'm off now" - or at least with respect to the congregants.

This can get especially difficult in familial relationships. Rabbi Jonathan Rosenblatt of the RJC warned a group of us in Gruss about being a Rabbi to a spouse or being a Rabbi to the family. The needs of a congregant are sufficiently different than the needs of a family, and so require different relationships. But since the Rabbi must be prepared to be a Rabbi within his own home, there is no physical distinction where he may psychologically differentiate between his personal and professional responsibilities.
I've seen many Rabbis develop different personas - my father being one of them. With these types of Rabbis, there are noticeable differences between them being "on" and "really on." Although they will not necessarily shirk their responsibilities, their mannerisms, tone of voice, and even responses may be different. For example, a Rabbi giving a derasha or shiur, or mingling with the congregation at Kiddush, will address his congregants differently than if he would be approached in his house. He will still be "on," but to a different degree.

I'm a little different in this regard. Perhaps because I'm a son of a Rabbi I've assimilated many traits which might seem Rabbinic. Through simply observing how my father has addressed, advised, and counseled countless congregants, I've seen how words and gestures can be used to inform, convince, or comfort and I've adapted my own personality accordingly Additionally, my mother has also contributed in this regard; though she will never admit it, she does play the role of rebbetzin quite nicely. At any rate, being raised in a Rabbinic family has understandably affected my own personal development.

Instead of having two different personas - one personal and one professional - there is simple one. Me. People ask me halakhic or hashkafic questions all the time, and I try to answer as best as I can. People come to me with personal crises, and I try to help them work through their issues. If I can't do anything, I'd still listen, try to understand, and then refer them to someone who would be better suited. All the above might seem as Rabbinic traits, but I've been doing this long before I've been ordained. At some point, it just became part of me. It's not that I see myself as a Rabbi, but as a good friend.²

Me being me also affects my official Rabbinic roles. My derashot in the bridge shul were often riddled with bizarre literary or cultural references - many of which are assumed that Rabbis do not or should not know.³ When I give shiur or learn with someone privately, I explain things not as a Rabbi, but as I personally would.⁴ When friends of mine read my papers, or even this blog, they tell me that, "they can hear me saying" what I'm writing. Even when people come to me for help, there's so much of me infused in how I talk to someone.

Occasionally, I've found this amalgam to be confusing. Sometimes people come up to me because of my title as a Rabbi and expect a certain type of detached relationship. Rabbis are not usually threatening and are most often open to talking to people. Sometimes these turn into friendships, but even then lines are blurred.

In real friendships, and including dating relationships, there ought to be a balance of giving and taking between the participants. Rabbinical roles, by their nature are one-sided with the Rabbi giving and the other receiving attention, care, concern, time, effort, etc. Too many of these relationships can be extremely draining and unhealthy for anyone, including Rabbis.

Look at a marriage for example. Good Rabbis ought to be trained in active listening and putting in time and emotional energy to understanding his spouse. While this is important if not essential to maintaining a healthy marriage, this communication cannot be completely one sided. The Rabbi may understand what his spouse wants and needs, but it is inappropriate for him to suppress his own feelings for the sake of appeasing his spouse. When the Rabbi continuously ignores his own needs and feelings in deference to his wife, he does himself a disservice and perhaps will make him unconsciously resent his marriage.

In different circumstances, I have experienced this feeling several times and it's not terribly pleasant. Since I have a dual role with friends, I do not mind giving time and energy to them and I do not expect anything in return. Giving constant unreciprocated emotional support is draining, but I don't begrudge my friends for that.⁵
In terms of dating, I'm a little more demanding. One person I recently dated was unusually needy. I had spent considerable time and energy trying to work on building a relationship, but after spending many hours (if not days) talking through her feelings and needs, actually became upset when I started to insist for some degree of reciprocity and a more equitable balance of emotional support. The Rabbi part of me would have no problem giving freely. The "Josh" part of me is beginning to realize that I couldn't live like that.

Despite the assimilation of Rabbinic traits, there still needs to be a distinction between professional and personal relationship. In my case it happens to be a little more difficult, but I'm learning to deal with it.
If you'd see me in an informal setting, or decide to randomly IM me, you might find me personably. If you see me as a Rabbi, I could be considered unique or a heretic. I don't necessarily act like a Rabbi - for better or for worse - and I probably don't think like you'd expect one to either. If viewed as just another person, I'm just friendly guy who happens to know some things about Judaism.

Either way, I'm just trying to be me.

1. The argument was that she was paying full tuition and therefore deserved full apple juice. Yes, she was insane.
2. Or at least I try to be.
3. Fortunately, only a few people picked up on those, and they knew me well enough.
4. Best example I can think of offhand is that I once compared a Kabbalistic concept of the dangers involved in having "wrong" kavannah with the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters.
5. I don't get upset with individuals but with the circumstance of imbalance in general. It's partially my fault as I'm not so comfortable asking people for help, but that could just as easily be genetic as it is Rabbinic. Maybe it's worth exploring in another post, but this is enough psychoanalysis for now.

The post Life As A Rabbi appeared first on YUTOPIA.

Most Modern Orthodox Jews will blame the "system" or Rabbinic intstitutions for perpetuating a corrupt system. The Rabbis are simply looking out for themselves, and so continue the patterns of dishonesty though their schools and organizations. But while there may be some merit to this position, it fails to address why such a system is allowed to exist and to continue. Assuming that the Rabbiniate is as bad as some people say - a presumptuous suggestion in its own right - then what would the factors be that caused this unfortunate situation?

First we have to distinguish between the system and the individuals. For any given cross-section of a society, you will find ethical and unethical people and the Rabbinate is no different. While there is a valid assumption to hold the Rabbi to a higher moral standard, this does not mean that all rabbis are ethical. To the best of my knowledge, no Rabbinical school in the world has a morality quotient for accepting or ordaining students. For the Rabbinical schools, as with any other professional school, the competency and morality or its graduates is dependant on the state of the students before they enter the institution. No matter how good the school is, its success is always limited to some extent by the caliber of its students it accepts.

Furthermore, the school is limited in whom they can accept for admission, and they cannot always be as selective as they may like. Schools must accept a minimum number of students to maintain its academic reputation and in some cases financial obligations. While they will still have academic standards, necesity forces schools to admit less than totally ideal students. Stronger applicants will normally become stronger graduates and vice-versa for the weaker ones. However, if the applying class is weaker overall, a school may be forced to accept weaker students, even at the expense of its production quality. In this way, Rabbinical schools are not only affected by the nature of the students who attend Rabbinical school, but also by those who decide not to attend Rabbinical school.

If Rabbinical schools can only produce Rabbis as good as their students, then presumeably, better and more ethical students would produce a better and more ethical Rabbinate. The question then should be why do the potentially better Rabbinical students not go enter the Rabbinate altogether? Offhand, I can think of several people from my computer science classes who are smarter, more knowledgeable, and more personable than I am. Their abilities and commitment rival if not surpass many professional Rabbis.

Why do these highly capable Jews shun the Rabbinate?
As the old joke goes, "it's not a job for a nice Jewish boy."
Despite the glibness, this old yiddish joke is characteristically astute. When looking at the realities of what a typical Rabbi has to go through, it's amazing that anyone at all would take the job.
My copy of MSDCS's Current List of Congregations Seeking Rabbis, reads like a shidduch form. Popular descriptions include "passionate, energetic, dynamic, thoughtful, and energetic" among many others. Of course, what each shul means by any of these terms is ambiguous at best.

Most shuls have common requirements such as delivering sermons, preparing and presenting weekly, bi-weekly, or even daily shiurim to various audiences, while being accessible to his congregant's needs. The Rabbi will hear personal halakhic questions, provide private counseling, train Bar Mitzvah students, perform weddings and funerals, and even when not officiating, he must attend every congregant's life-cycle events.
Oh - and Shuls which don't plan on paying much money "encourage the Rabbi to seek other options for parnassa" while fulfilling his obligations to the congregation.

Some congregations stipulate that the job permeate the Rabbi's personal life. Some congregations expect the Rabbi's house to be a warm and welcoming place for the entire community, defined of course, by the discretion of the shul. Furthermore, some shuls looking for Rabbis are also looking for official, yet unpaid, Rebbetzens. One congregation, paying about $47,000 writes, "While his wife should feel comfortable pursuing her own career, as the Rebbetzen she will relish the opportunity to give shiurim and welcome people into their home." Another synagogue expects the "wife, while pursuing her own career, embraces the role of Rebbetzen as an active partner with her husband in communal affairs." The congregation not only dictates the Rabbi's professional career, but it also imposes itself on his personal life.

And it gets worse.

Despite dedicating his life to his congregation, the Rabbi has embaressingly little job security. Few Rabbis are given lifetime contracts, and are therefore up for review ever few years. The Rabbi has no official bosses, but a board which is subject to constant change and its own craziness and infighting. In any given congregation, a wealthy or insane congregant can hold a grudge - real or imagined - and make it his or her mission to get the Rabbi fired. The Rabbi will be blamed for the productivity of his office staff, but will be denied the ability to hire and fire appropriate personell. If not enough shul members participate, the Rabbi will be critizied for not getting people involved. On the other hand, if the congregants who participate are incompetent, the Rabbi will be blamed when programs fail. There doesn't need to be any rationality. If just one machar in a 500 familly shul wants the Rabbi out, he'll work to get him out, or make the Rabbi's life a living hell until the Rabbi leaves willingly.

The difficulties are not just in the social areas of management, but they also extend to areas of halakha where the Rabbi can be fired for actually having intellectual integrity. For example, a Rabbi in a shul is faced with a controversial halakhic topic - let's say women's prayer groups. The Rabbi does his research and reaches his conclusion based on however he was trained, and reaches his conclusion. He may think it's permitted and should be done, permitted but shouldn't be done, or his research could honestly lead him to the conclusion that women's prayer groups are intrinsically forbidden. He could be right, he could be wrong, but the Rabbi researched the issue as honestly as he could have. But regardless of his ultimate decision, the Rabbi's rulling will inevitably alienate members of his congregation. If the upset members are on the board, or are upset enough to eventually become members of the board, the result may be the Rabbi's contract not being renewed.

And what does it mean for a Rabbi to lose his job? For one, the Rabbi loses his salary, perhaps at an age where he is too old to find other employment, but too young to retire. If the Rabbi was living in a wealthy neighborhood, what little salary he was getting probably was spent towards costs of living. Speaking of which, if the Rabbi's housing was part of his contract, then when his contract isn't renewed, the Rabbi is also homeless.
And this happens all over, all the time.

Cheerful thought, eh?

This should not in any way be taken as a defence of rabbinic corruption. Rabbis who behave unethically deserve to be criticized. I don't blame the Jewish community for the corruption of some rabbis, but I do hold them responsible for pre-emtively chasing away the moral, competent, and committed, people from the Rabbinate. The congregational system is itself obtrusive for a Rabbi to act with integrity and honesty, for the Rabbi is under constant evaluation and any given decision may determine his future employment.

To lesser extents, these difficuties apply to other Jewish professions. High-school teachers, youth directors, and others, all service a very demanding and impatient community. To keep the diverse interests in check the Rabbi needs to be a politician and stroke the right egos and consistently compromise, or worse, manipulate, simply because this is what he needs to do to keep his job.

Holding Rabbis accountable for their misdeeds appropriate, crucial, and I could even say halakhically obligatory. But the sanctimonious question, "why aren't the rabbis ethical" is only part of the story.

We also need to be asking "why aren't the ethical becoming rabbis?"

I'm not sure we'd like the answers.

I know the past few posts have been somewhat pessimistic. The next few ones will be a little more positive.

The post Defending the Rabbinate appeared first on YUTOPIA.

Contrary to popular beliefs, halakha and religious social policy are not necessarily one and the same. Halakha is objective normative law presented in definitive terms of, mutar - permitted, assur - forbidden, or hiyuv - obligatory. Furthermore, halakha is binding on all Jews regardless of location or ethnicity. Simply, halakha is in fact, Jewish Law.
Policy on the other hand, is not law, but guidelines for practice. For example, an action may not be required, but a Rabbi may deem it appropriate for an action to be mandated. For an example, think of a Rabbi instituting a new custom, ritual, or interpretation which doesn't contradict halakha. Similarly, an an action may be permitted, but a Rabbi may decide to prohibit something due to potential negative ramifications. Policy statements are usually distinguished not by prescriptive legal statements of obligation or prohibition, but of ethical or subjective statements such as "ought" or "should."
This does not mean the public policy has no halakhic consequences. When a Rabbi of a shul legitimately establishes halakhic policy for his shul, that policy becomes normative law for that congregation. Part of the rabbinical law allows for a communal rabbi to establish his own mandate. When a rabbi does this, his pesak becomes normative for his own congregation. However, while his own community is rabbinically obligated to follow their rabbi, other communities are not. As the terms suggest, policy is a suggestion - perhaps a strong suggestion - but it is not law.
Not surprisingly, there is much confusion between the two concepts of halakha and policy. Even worse, is that this confusion perpetuates even more halakhic uncertainty though Rabbis' own pesak halakha.
If a Rabbi uses the halakhic terms of assur or hiyyuv when non exists, he risks criticism, and perhaps a loss of respect for creating a rule when none exists. The Rabbi may face claims of arrogance for inventing a law, or perhaps risk claims of dubious logic all intended to justify his a priori conclusion. In short, he compromises his integrity.
On the other hand, if a Rabbi writes a strongly worded suggestion, then his words may still be misinterpreted. If a Rabbi refrains from writing in the legal terms of obligation or prohibition, then he risks the public ignoring his position, or even manipulated for a different agenda.
To illustrate this tension and its ramifications, I like to give involves two different decisions by Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik. In 1959 R. Soloveitchik wrote a harshly worded responsa regarding praying in a synagogue which had mixed seating of the sexes. Of the more controversial positions he took, R. Soloveitchik wrote that mixed seating violated a biblical commandment, the requirement for a physical barrier (mehitza) for prayer between men and women was a rabbinic obligation, and that it was preferable to avoid hearing the shofar blown than to hear it in a synagogue which did not have a mehitza.
Halakhically, this responsa is troubling for several reasons, the primary one being his invention of a midrash halakha on Deut. 23:15 to validate his intuition.¹ From the perspective of policy, R. Soloveitchik's concerns were very much justified. At the time, the Conservative movement was seen as a legitimate threat to Orthodoxy and this was the "dividing line" if you will which Orthodoxy would not cross. From a halakhic perspective, R. Soloveitchik's responsa is disconcerting, such that his most devoted students have difficulty explaining his position. Even biographer R. Aharon Rakeffet-Rothkoff admitted² that R. Soloveitchik was probably writing using the authority of hora'at sha'ah - a temporary injunction for the greater good of the Jewish community.
Why then couldn't R. Soloveitchik simply have said that his ruling was because of hora'at sha'ah? I suggest it is because then his ruling would have had a fraction of the influence. Unless he unequivocally ruled that a mehitza was obligatory, people would have contended that it was essentially optional, thus supporting the Conservative position.
To support this second side of the equation, I offer the example of women's prayer groups. As wonderfully summarized by Simcha, R. Soloveitchik never explicitly prohibited the groups, but it is clear from his other writings and practices that he did not approve of them. However, since he never ruled prohibitively, some students argue that not only are women's prayer groups not prohibited, but they are also within the tradition of R. Soloveitchik himself.³ R. Soloveitchik intended to establish policy, but his lack of halakhic force allowed others to more easily ignore his policies.
When a posek writes anything in print, it becomes a matter of public record. Anyone with a knowledge of Hebrew or English can read most halakhic works, without being formally trained in any aspect of Jewish law. Consequently, any written piece of Jewish law is subject to, and often the victim of gross misinterpretations.
As a Rabbi's audience grows, so do his responsibilities in formulating an accurate legal ruling which will be followed as intended. A shul Rabbi writing for a weekly bulletin need not be as concerned as a more prominent Rabbi writing complicated halakhic decisions. When published, people can and will interpreted responsas in whichever way they see fit. It is the responsibility of the Rabbi to be careful with his words (Avot 1:11) - to be clear with his words to the laity, yet sophisticated enough for the elite. With the great power a prominent Rabbi wields, he must also face this great responsibility.

1. For a thorough analysis of this responsa, see my father's Mehitza Midrash and Modernity in Judaism 28, 1 (1979) 147-159.
2. In personal conversations, once with my father, and once with myself when I was at Gruss.
3. In an uncharacteristically accessible article, R. Aharon Lichtenstein criticized the Edah organization in a letter to the editor for this very reason.

The post The Perils of Pesak appeared first on YUTOPIA.

In contemporary halakhic disputes, it is not uncommon to find these two groups on opposite sides - especially regarding modifications to existing practices or customs. A Rav may wish to innovate, and a Rosh Yeshiva would wish to preserve the status quo. The real question is not the nature of the new or modified practice, but who has the real authority to promote change in normative Judaism.

Two of my primary teachers gave similar analogies explaining the differences between the Rav and the Rosh Yeshiva. Haham Yosef (Jose`) Faur compared the Rosh Yeshiva to a law professor and a Rav to a judge. In the American legal system, law is decided, determined, and implemented by a judge. It is the responsibility of the judge to not only know law and legal theory, but to be able to intelligently apply the law to the people before him.

The law professor focuses on legal theory. He studies cases and evolution of law. He tries to predict how the law ought to be as well as deciphering trends, past, present, and future. As a scholar, the law professor will know more law cases and would most likely know more legal theory than a judge.

However, the law professor does not actually make the law, but he merely responds to it. Only once a judge makes his decision can the law professor have something to work with. In terms of creating the law, it is ultimately in the hands of the judges. For example, R. Faur explained that law professors can debate the Supreme Court's decision regarding the 2000 elections and conclude that Al Gore ought to have won. But while they can present theories explained the flaws in the Court's decision, law professors have no authority to actually change the law and to bestow the presidency to Al Gore. You can argue why Al Gore ought to have been president, but not that Al Gore actually was president. Similarly, the Roshei Yeshiva may argue why a law ought to be a certain way in theory, but they are not in a position to actively impose or affect halakha.

R. Moshe Tender's analogy explains the reasoning behind this logic. In the words of R. Tendler, "God forbid you have a Rosh Yeshiva making pesak for you. You want a Rosh Yeshiva making pesak like you want a mathematician to build your bridges." Even though a mathematician may be an expert in his theoretical field, unless he is a trained engineer, he will lack the basic competency for implementing those rules to achieve a practical result. Does the engineer know more about equations? Probably not. But the engineer's skill isn't in understanding the theoretical intricacies at the same level, but of knowing how to implementing them to create a new structure in reality.
Similarly, a Rosh Yeshiva may often know more sources than a Rav. He may also have a better understanding of halakhic theory than a Rav. However, the skill of a Rav is not primarily in his raw knowledge of halakha, but his ability to implement halakha in the real world to real individuals.

Denizens of a Yeshiva live in an idealized world - the Jewish Ivory Tower. Between these walls, ideal halakhic theory can reign supreme. Students and teachers can easily accept upon themselves any stringency they wish. They may, and often do, attempt to fulfill even the most arcane requirements simply because they can.

In the first Edah conference, Rabbi Dov Linzer explained this phenomenon regarding the Aruch HaShulhan and the Mishnah Berurah. Initially, the Aruch HaShulhan - a community rabbi - was more accepted in the global Jewish community and the Mishnah Berurah was followed in yeshivot. As the rabbinical students left the yeshiva to the communities, they replaced the community's primary text of halakha with their own. What is important to realize is that the shift was not based on any intrinsic merit of the Mishnah Berurah over the Aruch HaShulhan, but of the cultural preference of the rabbinical students.

However, applying this perceived ideal to the Jewish community at large is simply foolish and inappropriate. The Jewish community is far too diverse such that it does not make sense to issue strict halakhic rulings as normative for everyone to follow. Perhaps on an individual level it makes sense, but not for the society at large.

Roshei Yeshiva will often belittle a Rav because they, "do not know enough" or are otherwise unqualified to make halakhic decisions. In many cases, this is unfortunately true. Others, though less erudite in halakha than their Roshei Yeshiva colleagues, they have a greater sense of people and society at large. As such, they may not have the depth and breath of textual knowledge, but they should have the skills to find what they need and to apply the halakha intelligently.

Of course, this assumes that the Rav is properly trained.

Since most, if not all rabbis study in yeshivot, one would assume that they would need additional guidance to apply theoretical halakha to the community. However, this is far from the case in most rabbinical schools. As students in a yeshiva, Rabbanim are not trained not by other Rabbis, but by other Roshei Yeshiva. The typical YU musmach usually spends no more than one academic year doing shimush (internship) with a Rav, and even then there is no guarantee that he will learn how to be an effective Rabbi. It is a flaw within the rabbinical schools themselves that community rabbis do not receive the training necessary to be effective rabbis.

One motive for this negligence, albeit cynical, would be to protect a hegemony of religious power. As each student leaves and spreads the words of his Rebbe, his Rosh Yeshiva gradually increases his halakhic authority while slowly gaining legendary status. Roshei Yeshiva train the future rabbis and send them out to the Jewish world with just enough training that their students must always come back to them. Since the students are not trained as Rav, they lack the skills necessary to be effective Ravs. They have shiurim of theories and notebooks of opinions, but no idea how to answer basic questions, let alone larger ones. Unless students are taught a systematic method of halakha, then they will never be able to learn and discover on their own and certainly will be less likely to help their congregants appropriately. By crippling their students in this way, Roshei Yeshiva accomplish two simultaneous goals. First, they actively perpetuate the myth of "not being worthy" by not training their students to actually be worthy Rabbis in their own right. Secondly, by having students who are forced to go back to them for pesak, they reinforce their own "acceptance" rate in the Jewish comminity. As these Roshei Yeshiva's students spread the word of their Rebbe, the teacher slowly attains legendary status and so becomes even more of an "accepted authority."

Many secular law schools struggle with the theory/practice dichotomy - between teaching law and training lawyers. But unlike their religious counterparts, there is no personal advantage to be gained from creating intellectual clones. The ideal traditional Rabbi should be trained not only in halakha, but in human and social nature. The Rav ought to be compotent in both areas, but in reality, very few are. Worse, the way many yeshivot educate their students, very few will ever be.
Coming Soon: My take on the Modern Orthodox rabbinical schools, the future of the Rabbinate, and personal experiences.

1. I will discuss in detail the state of the pulpit rabbi in a future post. This one focuses on halakhic authority.
2. R. Tendler once gave a medical ethics lecture to the Navy. He explained to our shiur that when civilians come to the military, they are given the military equivalent of their civilian title. When the Navy translated R. Tendler?s official title of "Rosh Yeshiva" to "Head of the School," they gave him the same rank as the head of their own school. Admiral Moshe Tendler was very much amused.

The post Rav vs. Rosh Yeshiva appeared first on YUTOPIA.

For observant Jews, this ambiguity may carry dire religious consequences. On one hand, Jews should supposedly follow their religious leaders to guide them in proper practice. However, when one hears conflicting opinions from different sources, how does one know what should be done? Were one to follow the "incorrect" rabbi, then s/he could transgress fundamental laws of Judaism.
A common solution offered to this problem is one of following "accepted rabbis." Simply put, if lots of other Jews find this Rabbi authoritative, then logically you should too. The authority is derived through some tacit social acquiescence. Furthermore, some proponents of this theory continue that you as an individual - be it laity or even a lesser rabbi - lack the autonomy to challenge or disagree with those who are superior to you. Rather, one should "have faith in the sages" that they are correct, or minimally beyond the scope of whatever questions you might have.

However, there are several problems with this mentality. First, the reasoning is circular - the rabbis are accepted because the people respect their authority; and people should therefore only respect the accepted rabbis. Conveniently, people always and only follow "accepted rabbis." QED

Furthermore, there are no qualifications for which communities are included in this process. An argument along the lines of "the frum community" gets to chose is also circular in that "the frum community" must follow its selected rabbis in order to be called "frum" in the first place.

Finally, this model presents an inconsistent role the masses play in determining Jewish law. Laity and lesser rabbis cannot determine halakha themselves, but somehow, they know enough about Jewish law and its procedures to bestow such an honor to someone else. They aren't trusted with Jewish law, but they can somehow offer their own ordination of "acceptance." Consequently, defining the role and authority of the rabbi based primarily on communal mores and tastes leads one to even greater questions as to the nature of Jewish law.

To fully realize what the role of the rabbi ought to be, we must consider why and how it was established from its inception In truth, the Rabbinate was an invented institution. During the second temple period, the Sanhedrin created the title to provide a degree of objective authority and to combat the rise of sectarianism. Initially, it was the Sanhedrin which had the right to ordain the rabbis, but was later transferred to the Nasi, finally settling on a joint approval. While there is no indication of the objective standards used to qualify as a Rabbi, the primary value was placed on knowledge above all other criteria.²
Most of the rabbis recorded in the Talmud lived after the dissolution of the Sanhedrin, and consequently did not have the same formal "ordination" as their predecessors. However, though lacking the title "rabbi," the Talmudic sages established the rules and limits for the those in what could be called a "rabbinic" position.

Most discussions about Torah sages emphasize the Talmudic statements describing how they should be treated by the laity. One should fear your teacher as one would fear heaven (Avot 4:12) and one who violates the words of the sages is worthy of death (Berachot 4b). However, few discuss the obligations placed on someone in such a position. As a representative of Torah, the rabbi is held to a higher social standard. This includes being careful not to trouble the congregation (Berachot 31a), being courteous with everyone he meets (Yoma 86a), and dressing in a refined manner "a sage who is found with a grease stain is worthy of death." (Shabbat 114a) Because the Rabbi is in a position of leadership and power, he must also take on its responsibilities. The honor is not intrinsic to the person, but to the Torah which he represents.

Additionally, while the sage is often compared to the Torah itself (Y. Moed Qatan 3:7 83b), the Talmud does acknowledge that some sages do in fact deviate from the torah mistakenly (Ketuvot 64b) or even intentionally (Haggigah 9b). In these cases, the public obviously does not follow the wayward rabbi for the honor of torah supersedes that of the rabbi.
This ethic is expressed explicitly in the dictum, "?? ???? ??? ???? ??? ??? ?????? ???? ???" - wherever there is the desecration of God's name, we do not defer honor to the Rabbi. The Talmud provides three examples of where this ethic could be applied. First, if a rabbi realizes he is wearing a forbidden garment (shaatnez), he must remove it even in public (Berachot 19b). The other two examples allow for intervention when one sees Jewish law being violated. Ravina taught a law in front of his teach R. Ashi to prevent someone from sinning (Eiruvin 63a) and Pinhas unilaterally executed the deviant leaders of Israel (Sanhedrin 62a) and did not give deference even to Moses.

For the Rabbis, there is an objective Torah and halahka to which even they are held accountable. Even the sages of the Sanhedrin were limited by rules and regulations for their innovations or reinterpretations - all of them had to conform to objective principles (Hullin 2a-b).

With the popular model of communal acceptance, Rabbis could essentially create their own laws willy-nilly. For one extreme example, the Conservative movement permitted driving in a car on Shabbat to go to synagogue. Like most of Conservative halakha, this highly controversial position was not simply mandated, but a formal responsa had to be written, debated, and approved by its committee before it was established as normative. If one is born and raised in the conservative movement, thereby following the halakhic interpretations and rulings of his rabbis, then Orthodox Jews would not be able to claim the person is violating Shabbat, for he is simply following his rabbinic leadership.

While most Orthodox Jews would probably argue with this conclusion, most function similarly. When a rabbi - modern or medieval - contradicts the Talmud, it is written off either as a different interpretation or done based on the "secrets of the sages and those with understanding." Or as the Yom Kippur service³ continues, ????? ??????? ?? ?? ??? (Psalms 25:11 - paraphrased).⁴

Ultimately, the goal of the Rabbi is not to maintain his own honor or even the honor of the institution of the rabbinate but to facilitate the teaching of Torah. R. Shimon Ben Azai lacked the ordination of his colleagues, but his wisdom was unquestioned and was consequently treated as a colleague (Sanhedrin 17b, Kedushin 49b). Even the sages who instituted the rabbinate realized that their creation was secondary to the importance and Truth of Torah.

1. While there is an additional semikha of "Yadin Yadin" for civil laws, there is no distinction in title. Furthermore, the lack of this ordination doesn't always prevent other rabbis from ruling on civil matters.
2. While Brachot 27b, mentions wealth, pedigree, and age as reasons for not appointing different people to head the Sanhedrin. However, this was a case where all candidates were relative equal in wisdom. The other factors would lead to greater respect, but would be meaningless if they lacked the wisdom.
3. Slichot, actually.
4. Yes it's an attempt at a joke. And no, I'm not going to explain it.

The post What is a Rabbi? appeared first on YUTOPIA.

The post Rabbi Week On YUTOPIA appeared first on YUTOPIA.