Yet Another Soloveitchik Book?

By Ethan Isenberg

Since the passing of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, known as the Rav, there have been hundreds of memorials written by students, friends, family, and admirers.  In the weeks immediately following his passing, eulogies were published in a plethora of newspapers and journals, including The Commentator, Tradition, Jewish Action, The Jewish Press, a special booklet published by the Maimonides School, called “Legacy”, and many others.  Most of the pieces from Tradition were collected in Man of Halakhah, Man of Faith, edited by Menachem Genack, and the lion’s share of the eulogies were published in Memories of a Giant.  Reading the pieces together, one gets a sense of the many roles played by the Rav: singular teacher, caring man of chesed, profound thinker, eloquent speaker, sensitive posek, and farsighted community leader.  With all of these roles covered, time and time again, one might question whether there is a need for yet another book of reflections on the Rav. 

Mentor of Generations: Reflections on Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik gives us no less than fifty five pieces on Rabbi Soloveitchik.  They cover the Rav’s years in America, with the main focus on his shiur at Yeshiva University.  The full range of time is covered by his students, from Henoch Cohen, who, as a teenager, learns in the Rav’s short-lived Boston kollel in the late 30s, to Kenneth Brander, who is his last shamash [attendant] at RIETS in the mid-80s.  Many of the contributors have spoken and written before about their memories of the Rav.  So, it’s not surprising that many stories are repeated here. 

As a result, much of the memories serve more to amplify noted traits of the Rav, rather than introduce observations that are new.  Since most of the pieces are written by former students, the focus is most often on the Rav’s shiur at RIETS, where he taught from 1941 to 1986, as well as summer sessions in Boston at the Maimonides School.  And similar emotions and reflections are shared by each student: The sense of awe — and fear that they will be called upon to speak; the anxiousness with which they would prepare for the 2-3 shiurim each week and attempt to keep up with the Rav’s near-impossible demands; and the utter astonishment at the Rav’s ability to clarify and resolve difficulties within the gemara, the Rambam, or the various Rishonim.  Similar anecdotes are told from different decades: the Rav stopping the shiur upon a challenge from a brave student, only to re-think his entire train of thought and start anew; or refusing to be told how he approached a sugya in the past, wanting to tackle the topic from a fresh start.  The additional voices serve to broaden the chorus and really drive home just how integral certain traits such as intellectual honesty and a passion for creativity are to the Rav’s personality and method of teaching. 

The most impressive judgment, however, comes from people whose background gives them a certain amount of objectivity or authority.  It’s one thing for a student from a yeshiva day school to describe the shiur as difficult.  It’s quite another when Aharon Bina, having studied in the Ponovezh Yeshiva for over a decade, finds himself completely unprepared!  When Fred Sommers, an accomplished philosopher, speaks about the Rav’s uncommon “independence of mind and method” and an “incisiveness, intellectual honesty and effortless brilliance” that he has not found in anyone else (with the exception of the famous scientist Francis Crick), that says a lot.  Similarly, Samuel Danishefsky, a professor of chemistry, states that the Rav is more impressive than any scientists he has ever met, “in terms of originality, scholarly depth, range of expertise, and elegance of communication skills.”

Most of the pieces in Mentor are in the form of personal anecdotes.  These stories often provide a glimpse into the Rav’s personality that is far more effective than a polished speech or even, dare I say, a dvar Torah.  His absolute integrity shines through when, after performing Azarya Berzon’s wedding, he cashes a check in the name of Maimonides rather than in his own, just as it does when he insists on Emanuel Holzer giving an accurate explanation of Hilkhot Shechitah in front of the U.S. Congress.  His sensitivity is brought home in Kenneth Brander’s haunting account of the Rav pacing the halls of his apt at Y.U., or staying up all night, because of how a psak on an issue of halakhah may affect someone’s life.  Despite the Rav’s seriousness, he also has a humorous side, as demonstrated when he jokes about why he doesn’t move to New York, or when he explains that talking about the oiliness of the food in a local eatery is not loshon ha-ra because it’s a d’var yadua le-kol. 

One of the traits that most fascinated me came through in the terrific chapters by Heshie Billet and Mordecai Feuerstein.  The Rav is so incredibly intense and focused that he does not let go of a problem until he solves it.  A difficult Tosafot or Rashi could keep him occupied for an entire weekend, or in one astonishing story, in his home study for fourteen hours straight (leaving his wife, Tonya, visibly exhausted when she greets guests at the door)!  When he ends shiur, he continues to think about the sugya, often for hours without eating, and in one incident, convinced that he is bound by a neder to finish the perek, continues to give shiur for a total of seven hours – only relenting after performing hatarat nedarim!

As has been often noted, the Rav’s high standards translate into big expectations for his students.  He not infrequently lashes out at the shiur for being unprepared while he had spent much of the previous night grappling with the Ramban or Tosafot.  Perhaps the most representative example, again told by R. Billet, is when the Rav apologizes to his students before Yom Kippur for occasionally berating them during the year.  He then adds that he has never before seen such a group of students less committed or dedicated to the truth!  With that he concludes, “G’mar Chatimah Tovah!”

Although the Rav’s edge is somewhat blunted by the late 70s and 80s, he remains just as dedicated.  Howard Jachter expresses amazement when, already old and frail in 1984, the Rav announces that he will be giving shiur on the korban Pesach, because he hasn’t yet covered that topic.  Together with Doniel Lander, Binyamin Blau, and Kenneth Brander, Jachter paints a portrait of a man so committed to teaching Torah that he ignores his personal pain, as well as his doctor’s orders, in order to teach in his last remaining years.

Many of the same well-tread controversies about the Rav’s legacy are brought out again for an airing.  Several contributors decry the revisionism of the left and/or the right.  According to Abba Bronspigel, the Rav privately expressed displeasure with the (leftward) direction of Y.U. and Modern Orthodoxy, while Daniel Greer states that the Rav was misrepresented on the issues of women’s hakafot and the Manhattan eruv.  Meanwhile, both William Herskowitz and Haskel Lookstein recall the Rav lamenting to them about how his students have moved to the right!

Yosef Blau tries to put some of these arguments in perspective by pointing out that the Rambam himself was subject to debate and controversy in the years after his death, until this very day.  And Shalom Carmy attempts to defuse some of the tension around the more “gossipy” topics by tackling them head on.  The issue of whether or not the Rav used the term “Torah u-Madda“ (Norman Lamm recalls one time when he did!): The Rav wasn’t into slogans.  Whether or not he said Hallel with a berakhah on Yom Ha-Atzmaut (Bronspigel and Moshe Meiselman have written that he pretended to do so in public): He wrote a responsum allowing it without a berakhah, but may or may not have personally done so.  His stance on land-for-peace: He had specific concerns at different times, but it’s not possible to extrapolate his views today, when the military experts themselves are unsure.

What is hopefully clear is that these questions are not really fundamental to the larger issues.  Regardless of the Rav’s adoption of a slogan, it’s clear that he whole-heartedly embraced the value of a secular education.  There’s no other way to explain his six-plus years at the University of Berlin, the influence of neo-Kantians and Christian thinkers upon his own philosophical ideas, his championing of a robust dual-curriculum at Maimonides, his advice to countless students at RIETS to enter graduate school, and his close identity with Yeshiva University and what it stands for.  Nevertheless, David Shatz and Shalom Carmy each endeavor to explain the rationale behind the Rav’s attitude towards chakhmat goyim, since the Rav himself rarely states it publicly.  (Meanwhile, practically every contributor finds it necessary to state that for the Rav, talmud Torah was primary, as if there was any doubt about this.)

Similarly, the issue of Hallel with a berakhah on Yom Ha-Atzmaut is really a red herring from the more fundamental issue of the Rav’s attitude towards religious Zionism.  Here, the picture is more nuanced.  On the one hand, he clearly states that he sees the founding of the State of Israel to be a divine miracle, and this is spelled out pretty clearly in Kol Dodi Dofek and his published speeches to the Mizrachi.  He serves as the honorary chairman of the organization from 1953 until the end of his life (albeit with some tension), and it’s hard to believe that he would do this if he didn’t identify with it, even if his is a non-messianic strain.  On the other hand, he never returns to Israel after his initial visit in 1935, not even to visit, and this is something that Aharon Bina admits causes him some discomfort.  Not only that, but he often advises his students not to make aliyah!  Now, there are various answers offered for this, among them lingering heartbreak from the way he was treated in 1935; a lack of confidence in Israeli institutions and the press; concern over abandoning American Jewry (both on the part of himself and his students); a feeling after Tonya’s passing, that he can’t go without her; the desire to prevent discord with his Charedi cousins; contentment; and old age.  Regardless, it’s likely that, as a relative of his put it to me, religious Zionism “wasn’t something that he felt in his kishkas,” to the same degree as other issues. 

One thing that seems to be clear about the Rav’s stance on issues is that he expects people to think for themselves.  As has been often pointed out, he defers the ultimate decision on demonstrating for Soviet Jewry to the experts, just as he does for a medical issue.  And he is tolerant enough to counsel anti-war students on how they can protest the Vietnam War, while he himself is a major hawk.  As Shalom Carmy puts it, he is a leader, not a spokesman. 

What’s interesting is that this seems a strong departure from an address the Rav had delivered to the second conference of Agudath Israel of America, in 1940, in which he basically championed the concept of emunat chakhamim or da’as Torah (without using either of those names).  What happened?  It seems from the Rav’s famous speech to Mizrachi, called “Joseph and His Brothers”, that he felt the Gedolim in Europe had been dead wrong about the Nazi threat (which, according to Alvin Schiff, the Rav himself foresaw) and realized the limits to rabbinic insight.  Aharon Lichtenstein has mentioned this in the past, and here, Saul Berman recalls the Rav explicitly making this point.

Therefore, I find it rather strange that both Nathan Epstein and Julius Berman employ “da’as Torah“ to characterize the Rav’s position on specific issues.  Yes, it’s reasonable that, given the Rav’s reluctance to come out publicly on issues, he only does so where he feels an important need.  And yes, in these cases, maybe he would give his students less leeway to depart from his stance.  But “da’as Torah“?  It doesn’t fit with his general approach. 

What may come as a surprise to people is the Rav’s tolerance and flexibility, not only on policy issues, but with regard to halakhah as well.  First of all, the Rav respects the authority of community rabbis and of family minhagim, and is careful not to override them.  He tells Haskel Lookstein to follow his father’s minhag with regards to Shabbat elevators, and refuses to get involved in a controversy in the U.K. regarding the use of microphones on Shabbat (although this may also be the result of his own experience with controversy over this in his early days with the RCA).  The Rav also respects the ability of his own students to make their own halakhic decisions – within bounds.  As Saul Berman and other students describe, his first answer to their shailah is: “What do you think?”  He then guides the student along in his deliberation, not only telling him, “No, that’s wrong,” or, “yes, I agree with you”, but also “yes, you can paskin that way.”

Two stories wonderfully demonstrate both the Rav’s halakhic flexibility, and his tremendous sensitivity, one told by Mordecai Feuerstein about a shailah on the kashrut of a get, and a second related by Saul Berman about the Rav and Lubavitcher Rebbe’s stances on adopting a female child.  Within the book, some try to differentiate a mere student in the Rav’s shiur from someone who truly has the right to consider himself a talmid of the Rav (or to call the Rav his rebbe).  In response, Mayer Lichtenstein puts it best when he says: “A true talmid learns from his master how to think and not what to think... while a hassid imitates his master but doesn’t learn from him.”

Beyond these common themes, there are a number of gems within the book that are well worth a read. William Millen, Seth Mandel, and Itzhak Goldberg describe the special connection the Rav has with the Maimonides and wider Boston Jewish community.  Zevulun Charlop describes the Rav’s relationship with Dr. Samuel Belkin, Y.U.’s second president, while David Luchins touches upon his relationship with his famous brother, Aharon.  Charles Weinberg gives an insider account of the Rav’s initial consideration of the open position of Chief Rabbi of Israel, in 1959, while Mayer Lichtenstein describes relating to the Rav as both a student and a grandson.  Morris Laub paints an evocative description of the Rav’s Tuesday night shiurim at the Moriah Synagogue (the only piece written contemporaneously), a piece that the Rav himself complements, while Jeffrey Woolf describes the rich shiurim in Boston, and how the Rav’s ability to incorporate general culture changes Woolf forever. 

A few particular anecdotes provide insight into the Rav’s personality and life story. Henoch Cohen and Bernard Lander give a sense for why the Rav has so much trouble getting his own shiur at RIETS in the 30s (and, initially, the early 40s).  Even though he is not comfortable in his position in Boston, the Rav still makes trouble for himself by disparaging the school’s ideal of synthesis (or Torah u-Madda?) in a bizzare guest lecture at the 1937 chag ha-semikhah.  According to Lander, this incident leads Yeshiva President Bernard Revel to deny the Rav a position at RIETS, although he is able to continue teaching a philosophy class at the school (there’s still an extant copy of his final exam from 1936, which prefigures several central ideas of U-vikkashtem Mi-sham and The Halakhic Mind).  Victor Geller, in his book, Orthodoxy Awakens, claims that it is Leo Jung of the Jewish Center who ensures that the Rav will not teach in both the College and the Yeshiva.  In any case, I’m not sure what to make of the Rav’s speech.  It could be his way of expressing his aforementioned displeasure with institutional slogans.  It’s possible that he is trying to stake out his place in the more ultra-Orthodox community, in consonance with his association with both Agudath Israel and Agudath Harabonim.  In particular, the latter group had been particularly quick to pounce on Revel for any perceived heresy in his dual curriculum.  Either way, this does mesh with other evidence that the Rav, in his early years in America, has a tendency to sometimes rub people the wrong way.  Take for instance the story repeated by both Aaron Rakeffet in The Rav and Hershel Schachter in Nefesh HaRav, in which Rabbi Soloveitchik gets thrown out of a shul after insisting that they change their (admittedly problematic) minhag of not duchening on a Yom Tov that falls on Shabbat.  Or the charges initially brought in Boston, as described by Seth Farber in An American Orthodox Dreamer, that relate to his ability to get along with other community leaders (leaving aside the additional attempt to frame him for tax evasion and the like).  Regardless, as indicated by a relative of his to me, the Rav eventually learns the art of diplomacy (especially after suffering through the kashrut ordeal).

Another powerful moment comes in a comment related by Norman Lamm, in which the Rav remarks that his students never send him Rosh Hashanah cards.  It’s a searing statement about his need for companionship, and how his students either don’t realize it or feel unable to bridge the gap.  The Rav similarly bemoans to Fabian Schonfeld that a number of both people and institutions that he had assisted did not reach out to him after Tonya’s passing.  Surely, it doesn’t help that the Rav was raised with a philosophy that one should not show his true emotions, a behavior which he seems to emulate with his own children — or at least his grandchildren, as described by Mayer Lichtenstein.  Yet, the irony, as Mayer remarks, is that this same person who feels uncomfortable expressing his emotions in private, even when it comes to kissing his grandchildren, delivers lectures to thousands of people in which he shares extremely emotional and intimate moments.  And anyone who has read the Rav’s published writings encounters a passionate, poetic voice, far from the rational, controlled religious personality described in Ish Ha-Halakhah. 

In any case, whatever the reason, it seems clear that the loneliness the Rav speaks of is more than a statement of existential philosophy.  In many ways it’s real and personal.  This comes home in the recording of one lecture the Rav delivers to social workers in the late 1950s, in which he differentiates between “aloneness” and “loneliness”.  Aloneness, he explains, is the experience of not having anyone around you, which can be a creative experience. Loneliness, on the other hand, is the inability to communicate, and this can be a destructive experience (compare the two types of loneliness mentioned by Moshe Wohlgelernter in my film).  I think relevant to this is not only the trouble the Rav has with communicating experience, which he speaks about in Rakeffet’s The Rav, as well as the famous essay, Al Ahavat Ha-Torah U’Geulat Nefesh Ha-Dor, but also the lack of interest of some of his students in what he has to say, something that is mentioned both in Rakeffet, and in several accounts in this book. 

And one would expect that an additional source of anguish and loneliness is the dismissal, and on occasion, attacks, directed at the Rav from within the yeshiva world.  To be sure, several contributors do take pains to point out the respect (albeit, sometimes partial) from such notable personalities as Elchanan Wasserman, the Satmar Rav, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Yaakov Ruderman, and, of course, the Rav’s own cousin, Moshe Feinstein.  Yet, at the same time, there are surprising incidents such as those witnessed by Mordecai Feuerstein and Aharon Bina that illustrate the disappointing tendency for certain rebbeim to treat the Rav one way publicly, and quite another in private. 

As I said, one would expect this experience to make the Rav bitter, or at the very least sad.  Yet, several students point out that he never expresses such feelings to them, and, on the contrary, he contributes generously to charities from some of the very institutions that treated him badly.  The most dramatic example of the Rav not holding a grudge is described by Feuerstein.  In the aftermath of the kashrut investigation in Boston that eventually cleared the Rav’s name and pointed to the accusers as having defamed him, the Rav has two separate encounters with a former accuser: in one, he wishes the person a “G’mar Chasimah Tovah“, while in another, he actually helps save that person from prison!

Interspersed with the largely anecdotal material in this book are several analysis pieces worthy of reading.  Both Michael Chernick and Hershel Reichman each provide an interesting analysis of the RIETS shiur.  Lawrence Kaplan, the translator of Halakhic Man, provides some extended comments provided by the Rav during the course of the translation, that were not incorporated into the published version.  Shlomo Pick gives a quick tour of the Rav’s insights on the various holidays, which is rounded out by Itzhak Goldberg on the Rav’s minhagim and specific nusach for the High Holiday prayers, and J. J. Schacter’s addendum to the recently published book he edited on Tisha B’Av themes and the kinot.  In one of the only analyses of the Rav’s thought to appear in the book, Eugene Borowitz, the famous theologian from HUC, attempts to explain why Ish Ha-Halakhah and U’vikashtem Mi-Sham are so different, by theorizing the different purpose behind each of the works.  I take issue with his explanation because it doesn’t really fit with the chronology of the writing of the works, but his arguments are definitely worthy of consideration.

Ultimately, while Mentor of Generations does tread over some well-trodden ground,  there is much in the book to make it worth a read.  Some of the anecdotes provide insight into under-explored territory, others add new perspective to that which has been previously noted.  Still others merely add more voices to established conclusions.  Either way, there should be something for everyone in this welcome addition to the Soloveitchik legacy. 


Ethan Isenberg directed Lonely Man of Faith, a documentary film on the life and legacy of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik.