2008 Woodie Awards
Cherishing What Was, Living With What Was Not, Dreaming About What Could Be: My Days at Yeshiva
Eliyahu Stern
Issue date: 3/8/05 Section: YUdaica
If Yeshiva University's intellectual low-point was Philip Roth's pronouncement in the New Yorker Magazine that the sick rage packed into the prose of Portnoy's Complaint was a response to two hours of inquisition he experienced at Yeshiva College, then Yeshiva's high point has to be the brilliant debates between R. Irving ("Yitz") Greenberg and R. Aaron Lichtenstein published on these pages over thirty years ago. Echoing the great Talmudic disputes of Abayye and Rava they argued the past, present, and future of Orthodoxy, Judaism and the World. Though there was little money in its endowment, in the late sixties Yeshiva was theologically rich. By the time I entered the college's hallowed halls in 1999, the great debate and intellectual fervor of that earlier era had ended and it was clear and obvious that R. Lichtenstein had won the battle for the beit midrash of Modern Orthodoxy, R. Greenberg had won the war for the hearts and souls of American Jewry, and Yeshiva had lost both.
Though only a decade of seniority separated R. Greenberg from his students, he towered over Yeshiva during the 1960's. His classes were packed, his audiences hung on his every word and his intellectual adversaries trembled each time his lips moved. When his three page interview in The Commentator appeared in 1966, his views on Orthodoxy, America, Vietnam and Sexuality had already become a blueprint for Modern Orthodox baby boomers negotiating Judaism with the social and political upheavals of the nineteen sixties. Nonetheless, from the minute his words touched the pages of The Commentator the campus ideologically erupted like never before.
The core of R. Greenberg's message was the prophetic call for Orthodoxy to reengage the temporal. The Mosaic covenant and Jewish law demand that God's word never leave the colorful and complex scenes of humanity. Rooting Judaism back in the ground of the social, R. Greenberg outlined what would come to be a staple of his landmark post-holocaust philosophy, the idea of tzelem Elokim. Here, individuals are charged by God to engage each other with the dignity and respect they would normally associate with the human-Divine experience. People are not mere human beings; they are God's children.
Perhaps the most daring and bold claim made by R. Greenberg was his application of tzelem Elokim to the realm of sexuality. For R. Greenberg, "the basis of [a] new value system should be the concept that experiencing a woman as tzelem Elokim is just as much a mitzvah as praying in Shul." Speaking a year before the Summer of Love, R. Greenberg argued that Judaism had much to teach American society in the way of seeing sexuality as a positive, healthy and religiously sacred mode of expression. Likewise, he called for an honest and frank reassessment of the concept of negiah - which, by that time, was being broken on a daily basis by tefillin dates and not-so kosher night-seder "chavrutas." Though R. Greenberg's critics felt most threatened by his views on this matter, it was far from the only theologically groundbreaking claim made in the interview.
Already in R. Greenberg's words one sees the seeds of what has come to be known as post-denominational Judaism. Likewise, he also called on academic Jewish studies to lead the way in cultivating an empowering vision of Judaism in which "Jewish history is a history of human approaches to the Divine approach - to Torah, Prophetic and Talmudic values and mitzvot." To be sure, R. Greenberg's bravery was not without some limitation. In his follow up article explaining and justifying his ideas to his critics, R. Greenberg claimed that he was being misunderstood and unfairly maligned. He curtailed much of the scope of his breathtaking vision leaving many of his supporters scratching their heads and his detractors snickering with contempt.
Perhaps the most notable of Greenberg's critics was the sharp-witted brilliant Talmudic scholar R. Aaron Lichtenstein. With a Harvard PhD in Literature to match Greenberg's in History, Lichtenstein's voice was respected not only in the beit midrash but also on the campus at-large. In a two page letter, R. Lichtenstein "ticked of [some] areas of agreement and disagreement" with R. Greenberg's interview. Lichtenstein takes umbrage with Greenberg's more-open approach to Conservative and Reform Jews and raises concerns with some of his ideas regarding sexuality. Most surprising and forgotten, however, is that R. Lichtenstein's critique is not primarily directed at the substantive arguments made by R. Greenberg but rather the caviler and bold approach adopted by him.
In the second paragraph of his response R. Lichtenstein makes it clear, as he does on a number of occasions that, "I agree wholeheartedly with the aim - but I take issue with your mode of pursuing it." Specifically, R. Lichtenstein is disturbed with the conversational and experimental nature of R. Greenberg's ideas. For R. Lichtenstein, Torah and those participating in Torah discussions should be like scientists and doctors using only the most exact and perfect linguistic formulations.
For R. Lichtenstein, Modern Orthodox Jews should approach halakhic conversations in the same manner as did the ultra-Orthodox Brisker Rav, R. Yitzchak Zev "Velvele" Soloveitchik, whose words "assumed the character which medical advice has for a responsible doctor - the same caution the same aversion to potential error." R. Lichtenstein called on R. Greenberg to "remember we are dealing with human lives and their spiritual destinies. Where you a medical doctor - rather than as my [son] Moshe calls its [sic], a 'study' - doctor, would you be as ready to embark so freely on this kind of experimental enterprise?"
Though R. Lichtenstein never explains why Greenberg, a rabbi, should try to mimic some secular scientist or why his understanding of Judaism must follow in the same rules that Darwin followed, he nonetheless eloquently expounds on the kind of fear, trembling and responsibility that he believes must dictate the parameters of Halakhic and Torah conversations. R. Lichtenstein brings support for the importance of such an approach to Torah-speech by pedantically stuffing his sentences, in a Bartlett's Quotation-like manner, with the sayings of modern Protestant writers.
R. Lichtenstein ends his letter with the hope that "od chazon lamoad," that perhaps in the future he would be able to respond more substantively to Greenberg's article. That dream, however, never came to fruition. Only a few years later, both would be on different sides of the globe, respecting the other from a distance. The discontinuation of the kind of debate they engaged in was part and parcel of larger developments happening at Yeshiva. The University began focusing on replenishing its endowment and making itself a fiscally sound institution.
As Yeshiva's coffers filled its mind, it was slowly being emptied. Along with R. Greenberg and R. Lichtenstein, R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik (who noticeably would not publicly take a side in the above debate), R. Emmanuel Rackman and R. Norman Lamm all walked the halls of Yeshiva in the late sixties. By the time that I entered Yeshiva, only one of these giants was left. Instead of arguing over an ethics of sexuality and the pros and cons of Jewish denominationalism, the intellectual stakes during my time revolved around whether Professor Saul Lieberman, one of this past century's greatest Talmudic scholars, deserved the honorific of a "gimal" symbolizing Gaon in front of his name or merely a "reish" symbolizing the lesser status of rabbi. Instead of grappling with academic Jewish studies, students were told if they wanted to read a biblical text ke-peshuto, according to its sensus literalis, they should take the 1 or 9 train 65 blocks downtown. Instead of discussing the moral value of social justice, students and faculty convened a Tehillem rally praying that Divine justice prevent the appointment of the president and international director of Hillel, an outstanding pluralistic organization, to be Yeshiva's next president. Finally, instead of R. Yitz Greenberg dazzling Yeshiva classrooms, his mere presence in the late nineties at the then Yeshiva-sponsored Meorot Fellowship program engendered, what one journalist dubbed, a "McCarthy-like" witch-hunt against all those associated with one of America's most influential rabbis. Open debate was replaced with a diseased tyrannical culture of shtuch [cynicism], crippling the very notion of having an "idea."
However, more than anything else, what I learned during my time at Yeshiva was the importance of kavod ha-briyot, basic human dignity, as the starting point for all debate and conversation. Throughout the Greenberg and Lichtenstein back-forth, both sides shared a deep respect for the other and their position. For this reason, when I finished semikha, my mentors were not the so-called "Torah u-Madda" superstars but rather an eclectic mix of erudite, caring, and considerate human beings such as R. Zevulun Charlop, R. Baruch Simon, and the late R. Walter Wurzberger, zt"l; and professors such as Ruth Bevan, Alan Brill, Elisheva Carlebach, Yaakov Elman and Hayyim Tawil.
Recently, a ray of hope has once again emerged at Yeshiva from the torch of its new president, Mr. Richard M. Joel. While the academics of the institution seem presently beyond repair, Joel has made tremendous strides at promoting an ethos of kavod ha-briyot. His vision of communal engagement and involvement with the larger American Jewish world has the potential of reclaiming, what my friend R. Yehudah Mirsky so beautifully described as, "the great humanist vision of Yeshiva University."
Rabbi Eliyahu Stern, YC '01, BRGS '02, RIETS '03, is currently a doctoral candidate and a Koret Fellow at the University of California, Berkeley.
Though only a decade of seniority separated R. Greenberg from his students, he towered over Yeshiva during the 1960's. His classes were packed, his audiences hung on his every word and his intellectual adversaries trembled each time his lips moved. When his three page interview in The Commentator appeared in 1966, his views on Orthodoxy, America, Vietnam and Sexuality had already become a blueprint for Modern Orthodox baby boomers negotiating Judaism with the social and political upheavals of the nineteen sixties. Nonetheless, from the minute his words touched the pages of The Commentator the campus ideologically erupted like never before.
The core of R. Greenberg's message was the prophetic call for Orthodoxy to reengage the temporal. The Mosaic covenant and Jewish law demand that God's word never leave the colorful and complex scenes of humanity. Rooting Judaism back in the ground of the social, R. Greenberg outlined what would come to be a staple of his landmark post-holocaust philosophy, the idea of tzelem Elokim. Here, individuals are charged by God to engage each other with the dignity and respect they would normally associate with the human-Divine experience. People are not mere human beings; they are God's children.
Perhaps the most daring and bold claim made by R. Greenberg was his application of tzelem Elokim to the realm of sexuality. For R. Greenberg, "the basis of [a] new value system should be the concept that experiencing a woman as tzelem Elokim is just as much a mitzvah as praying in Shul." Speaking a year before the Summer of Love, R. Greenberg argued that Judaism had much to teach American society in the way of seeing sexuality as a positive, healthy and religiously sacred mode of expression. Likewise, he called for an honest and frank reassessment of the concept of negiah - which, by that time, was being broken on a daily basis by tefillin dates and not-so kosher night-seder "chavrutas." Though R. Greenberg's critics felt most threatened by his views on this matter, it was far from the only theologically groundbreaking claim made in the interview.
Already in R. Greenberg's words one sees the seeds of what has come to be known as post-denominational Judaism. Likewise, he also called on academic Jewish studies to lead the way in cultivating an empowering vision of Judaism in which "Jewish history is a history of human approaches to the Divine approach - to Torah, Prophetic and Talmudic values and mitzvot." To be sure, R. Greenberg's bravery was not without some limitation. In his follow up article explaining and justifying his ideas to his critics, R. Greenberg claimed that he was being misunderstood and unfairly maligned. He curtailed much of the scope of his breathtaking vision leaving many of his supporters scratching their heads and his detractors snickering with contempt.
Perhaps the most notable of Greenberg's critics was the sharp-witted brilliant Talmudic scholar R. Aaron Lichtenstein. With a Harvard PhD in Literature to match Greenberg's in History, Lichtenstein's voice was respected not only in the beit midrash but also on the campus at-large. In a two page letter, R. Lichtenstein "ticked of [some] areas of agreement and disagreement" with R. Greenberg's interview. Lichtenstein takes umbrage with Greenberg's more-open approach to Conservative and Reform Jews and raises concerns with some of his ideas regarding sexuality. Most surprising and forgotten, however, is that R. Lichtenstein's critique is not primarily directed at the substantive arguments made by R. Greenberg but rather the caviler and bold approach adopted by him.
In the second paragraph of his response R. Lichtenstein makes it clear, as he does on a number of occasions that, "I agree wholeheartedly with the aim - but I take issue with your mode of pursuing it." Specifically, R. Lichtenstein is disturbed with the conversational and experimental nature of R. Greenberg's ideas. For R. Lichtenstein, Torah and those participating in Torah discussions should be like scientists and doctors using only the most exact and perfect linguistic formulations.
For R. Lichtenstein, Modern Orthodox Jews should approach halakhic conversations in the same manner as did the ultra-Orthodox Brisker Rav, R. Yitzchak Zev "Velvele" Soloveitchik, whose words "assumed the character which medical advice has for a responsible doctor - the same caution the same aversion to potential error." R. Lichtenstein called on R. Greenberg to "remember we are dealing with human lives and their spiritual destinies. Where you a medical doctor - rather than as my [son] Moshe calls its [sic], a 'study' - doctor, would you be as ready to embark so freely on this kind of experimental enterprise?"
Though R. Lichtenstein never explains why Greenberg, a rabbi, should try to mimic some secular scientist or why his understanding of Judaism must follow in the same rules that Darwin followed, he nonetheless eloquently expounds on the kind of fear, trembling and responsibility that he believes must dictate the parameters of Halakhic and Torah conversations. R. Lichtenstein brings support for the importance of such an approach to Torah-speech by pedantically stuffing his sentences, in a Bartlett's Quotation-like manner, with the sayings of modern Protestant writers.
R. Lichtenstein ends his letter with the hope that "od chazon lamoad," that perhaps in the future he would be able to respond more substantively to Greenberg's article. That dream, however, never came to fruition. Only a few years later, both would be on different sides of the globe, respecting the other from a distance. The discontinuation of the kind of debate they engaged in was part and parcel of larger developments happening at Yeshiva. The University began focusing on replenishing its endowment and making itself a fiscally sound institution.
As Yeshiva's coffers filled its mind, it was slowly being emptied. Along with R. Greenberg and R. Lichtenstein, R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik (who noticeably would not publicly take a side in the above debate), R. Emmanuel Rackman and R. Norman Lamm all walked the halls of Yeshiva in the late sixties. By the time that I entered Yeshiva, only one of these giants was left. Instead of arguing over an ethics of sexuality and the pros and cons of Jewish denominationalism, the intellectual stakes during my time revolved around whether Professor Saul Lieberman, one of this past century's greatest Talmudic scholars, deserved the honorific of a "gimal" symbolizing Gaon in front of his name or merely a "reish" symbolizing the lesser status of rabbi. Instead of grappling with academic Jewish studies, students were told if they wanted to read a biblical text ke-peshuto, according to its sensus literalis, they should take the 1 or 9 train 65 blocks downtown. Instead of discussing the moral value of social justice, students and faculty convened a Tehillem rally praying that Divine justice prevent the appointment of the president and international director of Hillel, an outstanding pluralistic organization, to be Yeshiva's next president. Finally, instead of R. Yitz Greenberg dazzling Yeshiva classrooms, his mere presence in the late nineties at the then Yeshiva-sponsored Meorot Fellowship program engendered, what one journalist dubbed, a "McCarthy-like" witch-hunt against all those associated with one of America's most influential rabbis. Open debate was replaced with a diseased tyrannical culture of shtuch [cynicism], crippling the very notion of having an "idea."
However, more than anything else, what I learned during my time at Yeshiva was the importance of kavod ha-briyot, basic human dignity, as the starting point for all debate and conversation. Throughout the Greenberg and Lichtenstein back-forth, both sides shared a deep respect for the other and their position. For this reason, when I finished semikha, my mentors were not the so-called "Torah u-Madda" superstars but rather an eclectic mix of erudite, caring, and considerate human beings such as R. Zevulun Charlop, R. Baruch Simon, and the late R. Walter Wurzberger, zt"l; and professors such as Ruth Bevan, Alan Brill, Elisheva Carlebach, Yaakov Elman and Hayyim Tawil.
Recently, a ray of hope has once again emerged at Yeshiva from the torch of its new president, Mr. Richard M. Joel. While the academics of the institution seem presently beyond repair, Joel has made tremendous strides at promoting an ethos of kavod ha-briyot. His vision of communal engagement and involvement with the larger American Jewish world has the potential of reclaiming, what my friend R. Yehudah Mirsky so beautifully described as, "the great humanist vision of Yeshiva University."
Rabbi Eliyahu Stern, YC '01, BRGS '02, RIETS '03, is currently a doctoral candidate and a Koret Fellow at the University of California, Berkeley.