2008 Woodie Awards
Tribute to My Teachers
Charles Sheer
Issue date: 3/8/05 Section: YUdaica
- Page 1 of 1
The ideological debate that dominated Yeshiva College when I entered in 1960 set the intellectual parameters of my life, both personally and professionally. "Synthesis" was the buzzword of the campus: how to integrate Torah and Madda. Although there were various takes on the nature of each element and their respective places in our lives (and in the life Yeshiva and in the Orthodox community beyond), synthesis of Torah and Modernity was the presumptive Hashkafah of Yeshiva. Our concern was how to do it, not whether the religious life could/should/must entail a serious engagement with Western Civilization.
The text that encapsulates the challenge (or torment) of that undertaking is the Rambam's responsum [#41 in "Pe'er ha'Dor,"] to the Provencal scholars of Lunel. This group, led by Rabbeinu Yonatan HaKohen, had written in essence a book review of Mishnah Torah. Rambam's rejoinder to this group of scholars opens with a magnificent cover-letter in which he declares his passionate life-long devotion to Torah study, the beloved bride of his youth. However, he admits, there have been others who compete for his affection. Various co-wives were brought in to the home, initially - he insists - to serve her as assistant cooks, bakers, etc. In the end, the amount of time that remained for "conjugal bliss" with his beloved wife was diminished, "for my heart was divided into many compartments because of various sorts of hokhmah."
Rambam's remarkable candor and his willingness to express in public this profound tension gave license to the debate about synthesis. His self-revelatory and startling metaphor rang true even in the '60s. Many of us who had been seduced by the worthy charms of "foreign women" we encountered in Modernity and - to the dismay of some - even in the halls of Yeshiva, found solace in his words. The Rambam does not apologize for his dalliance; these women are "co-wives" who have a place in "her" home. They are not "Women of the Night." But, as in all cases of competing loves, there are only two options; somebody wins/loses, or the lover of many, remains in constant tension due to multiple competing lovers.
I felt blessed during my seven years at Yeshiva because I saw a number of models who had negotiated this tension and, to various extents and in different ways, had come to some resolution. I wish to tribute them in this essay.
In 1960, Yeshiva had one undergraduate men's College and three Judaic programs, each with a different curriculum, educational objective and student body. The Jewish Studies Program (later known as the James Striar School) was for individuals with modest Jewish learning background. Under the masterful guidance of R. Moshe Besdin, it sought to teach Hebrew skills, basic texts, beliefs and practices. Not only did it reach out to previously unaffiliated individuals, it succeeded to the extent that some of its alumni became rabbis and Jewish communal leaders. The Teacher's Institute offered a rich variety of Jewish studies classes taught in Hebrew by a very strong faculty, rabbinic and professorial. It produced teachers, strong Zionists and Hebraists, and granted a fine general Jewish education. RIETS was quite similar in its basic structure as today's RIETS, with its focus primarily on Talmud and commentaries. The shiurim were delivered in Yiddish by outstanding Roshei Yeshiva from the great yeshivot of Europe; only the Rav taught in English - the King's English, no less! None had a college degree; many had respect for the college education we were receiving; some questioned or rejected it. (My Rebbe of two years, R. Yerucham Gorelick, whom I loved dearly, was openly disdainful of Torah u-Madda.)
I came to YU from a yeshiva in Los Angeles. I was assigned to a "shiur" taught by Rabbi Dr. Moshe D. Tendler. For the first time in my life, I heard Torah taught by someone who was gifted with profound and encompassing mastery of Talmud and Halakhah, together with similar expertise in the world of science. Here, in my first year at Yeshiva, was a living example of one whose life entailed both Torah and Madda - literally - and had managed to bridge the gap between these worlds. I wondered what kind of daily conflict he must endure as he elected to close the volume of Shas he was studying in order to undertake his scientific research or deliver a bio lecture. As I undertook my struggle between competing worlds, I wondered whether my rebbe had worked out some formula to divide his day (and heart) between medical research and Talmud study. The example of R. Tendler - like the Rambam centuries ago - demonstrated to me that is was possible to embrace both worlds and live in both.
In Yeshiva College my English professor offered another model of successful integration - Dr. Maurice Wohlgelernter, a RIETS musmakh affectionately called "The Reb." He was passionate about his teaching, and he had the reputation for the following: first, he gave failing grades to every freshman for his first few compositions; second, he would lecture about poets and authors while encircling the classroom desk in some kind of daily hakafah; third, when a student wished to make a point in an exam about a given author, he had to cite a verse or passage from the author. No proof; no points given.
But, his contribution to my life was that he taught us how to read a text by examining the language fully and exactingly. When he analyzed a poem, he uncovered the meaning of every metaphor and considered all possible nuances. He emphasized that we needed to interpret the text fully, appreciating and enjoying its artistry. He was an enthusiastic about his material and he communicated his love of literature to the class.
Rabbi Dr. Maurice Wohlgelernter was an English professor who taught us to approach literature the way one analyses a page of Talmud. The result: we learned how to read a text - ANY text - whether it be secular or holy. Torah and Madda were both enriched for me because of the Reb's teaching.
The proof of his impact on my life is easily demonstrated. The two volumes of English Lit that I studied with him are a mere arm's-length from the computer at which I write. Next to them is a volume of poetry I used for one of his courses. It is by now, tattered and torn from use: I used to give poetry readings from this volume in a camp for many years, passing down the mesorah from the Reb. And, it is probably no accident that the course I am teaching in the university is entitled "The Bible as Literature."
My last two influences were both faculty who were new to Yeshiva in the early '60s. Both were rabbis who had recently finished a PhD at Harvard: R. Aharon Lichtenstein and Dr. Irving "Yitz" Greenberg.
Simply put, I majored in "Yitz" Greenberg, professor of history, at Yeshiva College. I took every course he gave, especially in American and European intellectual history. (One year he created a new course on the Mussar movement which offered a fascinating historical and ideological appreciation.) He initiated me to an intellectual journey that has continued life-long by exposing me to thinkers - Jewish and non-Jewish - such as R. Yisrael Salanter, R. Samson Raphael Hirsch, R. Eliezer Berkovits (whose "God, Man and History" was probably the "Bible" of Modern Orthodoxy at that time), as well as St. Augustine, Luther, Schleiermacher, Jonathan Edwards, Horace Bushnell, Erich Fromm, and others. Many of these have become part of my interior life. The issues they examined and their varied approaches to living and thinking continue as guides/goads to this day.
I believe I became a campus rabbi because the university environment was the ideal context to think and work in the world that Yitz Greenberg introduced to me decades ago.
At Columbia, our students are exposed to literatures, arts and sciences from many cultures. They engage seriously with thinkers and ideas that are our cultural and intellectual bedrock. During this time, many develop their vocational goals or learn skills they will need to enter the marketplace. The focus of the university is clear, as are its priorities. In the demanding setting of an Ivy League campus, Judaism is perceived as a luxury or side-show.
Given all these factors, serious Jewish students will endure - possibly for the first time - their inaugural collision of competing worlds. Only now, the number of suitors has increased geometrically. There are so many options that the campus Jewish community - and its rabbi - is sorely challenged to create a Jewish community that can sustain and enrich the lives of Jewish collegiates.
One of the most valuable lessons I learned from Yitz was that this conflict of values and ultimate commitments was simply part of the natural course of living as a committed Jew in any age. The challenge of synthesis may be wider and deeper than it was in the world of Maimonides. But, in either case, a vibrant and dynamic Judaism will not only survive, it can thrive and inspire and guide. It can come out quite well, even when compared to whatever is in first place in contemporary society.
Yitz Greenberg gave us the confidence to recognize that it was possible to combine these various worlds. Although traditional Jewish life will face many challenges on campus, it can emerge like Yaakov after the night battle, strained after the encounter with The Other, but stronger and more resolute as a result. The challenge of Torah and Madda could be met, even on campus.
My final model - R. Aharon Lichtenstein - inspired my generation at Yeshiva as he has done for countless numbers these past three decades from Israel. I recall the first time I heard him speak in Rubin Lounge at an Oneg Shabbat. Shabbat on campus was the central religious/social moment of Yeshiva life in those years. Each Shabbat hundreds of students attended meals, davening and the various programs that were held, such as this talk by a then-professor of English. His profundity was apparent, but it was his use of Matthew Arnold and Shakespeare, in conjunction with rabbinic and Talmudic texts, that was unique to my experience. I never heard a rabbi who was fully conversant in English literature, and who used these resources seamlessly in conjunction with traditional Jewish sources.
A student asked him a question about his remarks. In his response, R. Lichtenstein asked the student whether he had in mind a particular concept as expressed by author X, or maybe he had in mind the point of view of Y. Now, the 18-19 year old student who asked the question had probably never heard of these two individuals, or read their works. But, what impressed me was that R. Lichtenstein was genuine in his expectation of his audience. He thought it appropriate to presume that we could have read these texts, or that we should see them as part of our world. They belonged in a conversation on Shabbat dealing with a "Jewish" topic because such writers/texts enhance life, and wisdom is wisdom is wisdom. That these thinkers were gentile, possibly distant from religion in general, and Judaism in particular, was not an issue so long as their ideas mattered. And that was what was important. That Shabbat talk was over 40 years ago but the impact is still fresh.
Of course, R. Lichtenstein's greatest contribution to my growth was during the three years when I had the privilege of being a member of the Kollel. I recall the great clarity and order of his shiurim. He demonstrated how to present a page of Talmud or a Rambam from a developmental perspective, focusing on the basic concepts first, and weeding out for later treatment, texts or issues that should be set aside. I often recall how, in my preparation for a chabura, I had been seduced in to focusing on an obvious or interesting aspect of the sugya, only to find that he set it aside in his presentation since it was not the central issue to be tackled. I often think about how I organize a lecture, using him as a model.
He also served to educate some of us in the methodology of R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, whom we all called the Rav. Like many in Yeshiva, I strove to gain admission to the Rav's shiur and, by my senior year, had succeeded. I realized, after two years, that this move was premature, and that what was most appropriate for my growth in learning was basic exposure to more pages of Talmud - straight and unadorned, without the sophisticated conceptual analysis - the grand sweep of Brisker derekh. Also, the Rav was a demanding rebbe in those years, and I found the atmosphere in the shiur to be tense. Although I cherish those years in the Rav's world, I found that I did not really get the method of Brisk until the more structured introduction via R. Lichtenstein. His skills as a pedagogue enabled me to click with this approach during my semikha years in ways that have endured.
R. Lichtenstein was, for me, a crowning presentation of Torah and Madda. His formative role in my learning during my Kollel years, together with his love for and utilization of literature to enhance religious thinking and observance, are treasures that have endured.
From the start of my college career at Yeshiva through my semikha years, I had the remarkable opportunity to witness Torah and Madda being incorporated in the lives of outstanding models.
These four teachers provided me with interests, commitments and values that shaped my life as a Jew and, ultimately, as a "Rav b'Yisrael." I remain in their debt as my teachers and models, as I am indebted to Yeshiva University which provided the context for me to be exposed to such unique personalities.
Rabbi Charles Sheer, YC '65, BRGS '67, RIETS '67, is the Jewish Chaplain and Director Emeritus of the Hillel at Columbia University and Barnard College. Rabbi Sheer is an adjunct professor of Jewish Studies at the City College of New York.
The text that encapsulates the challenge (or torment) of that undertaking is the Rambam's responsum [#41 in "Pe'er ha'Dor,"] to the Provencal scholars of Lunel. This group, led by Rabbeinu Yonatan HaKohen, had written in essence a book review of Mishnah Torah. Rambam's rejoinder to this group of scholars opens with a magnificent cover-letter in which he declares his passionate life-long devotion to Torah study, the beloved bride of his youth. However, he admits, there have been others who compete for his affection. Various co-wives were brought in to the home, initially - he insists - to serve her as assistant cooks, bakers, etc. In the end, the amount of time that remained for "conjugal bliss" with his beloved wife was diminished, "for my heart was divided into many compartments because of various sorts of hokhmah."
Rambam's remarkable candor and his willingness to express in public this profound tension gave license to the debate about synthesis. His self-revelatory and startling metaphor rang true even in the '60s. Many of us who had been seduced by the worthy charms of "foreign women" we encountered in Modernity and - to the dismay of some - even in the halls of Yeshiva, found solace in his words. The Rambam does not apologize for his dalliance; these women are "co-wives" who have a place in "her" home. They are not "Women of the Night." But, as in all cases of competing loves, there are only two options; somebody wins/loses, or the lover of many, remains in constant tension due to multiple competing lovers.
I felt blessed during my seven years at Yeshiva because I saw a number of models who had negotiated this tension and, to various extents and in different ways, had come to some resolution. I wish to tribute them in this essay.
In 1960, Yeshiva had one undergraduate men's College and three Judaic programs, each with a different curriculum, educational objective and student body. The Jewish Studies Program (later known as the James Striar School) was for individuals with modest Jewish learning background. Under the masterful guidance of R. Moshe Besdin, it sought to teach Hebrew skills, basic texts, beliefs and practices. Not only did it reach out to previously unaffiliated individuals, it succeeded to the extent that some of its alumni became rabbis and Jewish communal leaders. The Teacher's Institute offered a rich variety of Jewish studies classes taught in Hebrew by a very strong faculty, rabbinic and professorial. It produced teachers, strong Zionists and Hebraists, and granted a fine general Jewish education. RIETS was quite similar in its basic structure as today's RIETS, with its focus primarily on Talmud and commentaries. The shiurim were delivered in Yiddish by outstanding Roshei Yeshiva from the great yeshivot of Europe; only the Rav taught in English - the King's English, no less! None had a college degree; many had respect for the college education we were receiving; some questioned or rejected it. (My Rebbe of two years, R. Yerucham Gorelick, whom I loved dearly, was openly disdainful of Torah u-Madda.)
I came to YU from a yeshiva in Los Angeles. I was assigned to a "shiur" taught by Rabbi Dr. Moshe D. Tendler. For the first time in my life, I heard Torah taught by someone who was gifted with profound and encompassing mastery of Talmud and Halakhah, together with similar expertise in the world of science. Here, in my first year at Yeshiva, was a living example of one whose life entailed both Torah and Madda - literally - and had managed to bridge the gap between these worlds. I wondered what kind of daily conflict he must endure as he elected to close the volume of Shas he was studying in order to undertake his scientific research or deliver a bio lecture. As I undertook my struggle between competing worlds, I wondered whether my rebbe had worked out some formula to divide his day (and heart) between medical research and Talmud study. The example of R. Tendler - like the Rambam centuries ago - demonstrated to me that is was possible to embrace both worlds and live in both.
In Yeshiva College my English professor offered another model of successful integration - Dr. Maurice Wohlgelernter, a RIETS musmakh affectionately called "The Reb." He was passionate about his teaching, and he had the reputation for the following: first, he gave failing grades to every freshman for his first few compositions; second, he would lecture about poets and authors while encircling the classroom desk in some kind of daily hakafah; third, when a student wished to make a point in an exam about a given author, he had to cite a verse or passage from the author. No proof; no points given.
But, his contribution to my life was that he taught us how to read a text by examining the language fully and exactingly. When he analyzed a poem, he uncovered the meaning of every metaphor and considered all possible nuances. He emphasized that we needed to interpret the text fully, appreciating and enjoying its artistry. He was an enthusiastic about his material and he communicated his love of literature to the class.
Rabbi Dr. Maurice Wohlgelernter was an English professor who taught us to approach literature the way one analyses a page of Talmud. The result: we learned how to read a text - ANY text - whether it be secular or holy. Torah and Madda were both enriched for me because of the Reb's teaching.
The proof of his impact on my life is easily demonstrated. The two volumes of English Lit that I studied with him are a mere arm's-length from the computer at which I write. Next to them is a volume of poetry I used for one of his courses. It is by now, tattered and torn from use: I used to give poetry readings from this volume in a camp for many years, passing down the mesorah from the Reb. And, it is probably no accident that the course I am teaching in the university is entitled "The Bible as Literature."
My last two influences were both faculty who were new to Yeshiva in the early '60s. Both were rabbis who had recently finished a PhD at Harvard: R. Aharon Lichtenstein and Dr. Irving "Yitz" Greenberg.
Simply put, I majored in "Yitz" Greenberg, professor of history, at Yeshiva College. I took every course he gave, especially in American and European intellectual history. (One year he created a new course on the Mussar movement which offered a fascinating historical and ideological appreciation.) He initiated me to an intellectual journey that has continued life-long by exposing me to thinkers - Jewish and non-Jewish - such as R. Yisrael Salanter, R. Samson Raphael Hirsch, R. Eliezer Berkovits (whose "God, Man and History" was probably the "Bible" of Modern Orthodoxy at that time), as well as St. Augustine, Luther, Schleiermacher, Jonathan Edwards, Horace Bushnell, Erich Fromm, and others. Many of these have become part of my interior life. The issues they examined and their varied approaches to living and thinking continue as guides/goads to this day.
I believe I became a campus rabbi because the university environment was the ideal context to think and work in the world that Yitz Greenberg introduced to me decades ago.
At Columbia, our students are exposed to literatures, arts and sciences from many cultures. They engage seriously with thinkers and ideas that are our cultural and intellectual bedrock. During this time, many develop their vocational goals or learn skills they will need to enter the marketplace. The focus of the university is clear, as are its priorities. In the demanding setting of an Ivy League campus, Judaism is perceived as a luxury or side-show.
Given all these factors, serious Jewish students will endure - possibly for the first time - their inaugural collision of competing worlds. Only now, the number of suitors has increased geometrically. There are so many options that the campus Jewish community - and its rabbi - is sorely challenged to create a Jewish community that can sustain and enrich the lives of Jewish collegiates.
One of the most valuable lessons I learned from Yitz was that this conflict of values and ultimate commitments was simply part of the natural course of living as a committed Jew in any age. The challenge of synthesis may be wider and deeper than it was in the world of Maimonides. But, in either case, a vibrant and dynamic Judaism will not only survive, it can thrive and inspire and guide. It can come out quite well, even when compared to whatever is in first place in contemporary society.
Yitz Greenberg gave us the confidence to recognize that it was possible to combine these various worlds. Although traditional Jewish life will face many challenges on campus, it can emerge like Yaakov after the night battle, strained after the encounter with The Other, but stronger and more resolute as a result. The challenge of Torah and Madda could be met, even on campus.
My final model - R. Aharon Lichtenstein - inspired my generation at Yeshiva as he has done for countless numbers these past three decades from Israel. I recall the first time I heard him speak in Rubin Lounge at an Oneg Shabbat. Shabbat on campus was the central religious/social moment of Yeshiva life in those years. Each Shabbat hundreds of students attended meals, davening and the various programs that were held, such as this talk by a then-professor of English. His profundity was apparent, but it was his use of Matthew Arnold and Shakespeare, in conjunction with rabbinic and Talmudic texts, that was unique to my experience. I never heard a rabbi who was fully conversant in English literature, and who used these resources seamlessly in conjunction with traditional Jewish sources.
A student asked him a question about his remarks. In his response, R. Lichtenstein asked the student whether he had in mind a particular concept as expressed by author X, or maybe he had in mind the point of view of Y. Now, the 18-19 year old student who asked the question had probably never heard of these two individuals, or read their works. But, what impressed me was that R. Lichtenstein was genuine in his expectation of his audience. He thought it appropriate to presume that we could have read these texts, or that we should see them as part of our world. They belonged in a conversation on Shabbat dealing with a "Jewish" topic because such writers/texts enhance life, and wisdom is wisdom is wisdom. That these thinkers were gentile, possibly distant from religion in general, and Judaism in particular, was not an issue so long as their ideas mattered. And that was what was important. That Shabbat talk was over 40 years ago but the impact is still fresh.
Of course, R. Lichtenstein's greatest contribution to my growth was during the three years when I had the privilege of being a member of the Kollel. I recall the great clarity and order of his shiurim. He demonstrated how to present a page of Talmud or a Rambam from a developmental perspective, focusing on the basic concepts first, and weeding out for later treatment, texts or issues that should be set aside. I often recall how, in my preparation for a chabura, I had been seduced in to focusing on an obvious or interesting aspect of the sugya, only to find that he set it aside in his presentation since it was not the central issue to be tackled. I often think about how I organize a lecture, using him as a model.
He also served to educate some of us in the methodology of R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, whom we all called the Rav. Like many in Yeshiva, I strove to gain admission to the Rav's shiur and, by my senior year, had succeeded. I realized, after two years, that this move was premature, and that what was most appropriate for my growth in learning was basic exposure to more pages of Talmud - straight and unadorned, without the sophisticated conceptual analysis - the grand sweep of Brisker derekh. Also, the Rav was a demanding rebbe in those years, and I found the atmosphere in the shiur to be tense. Although I cherish those years in the Rav's world, I found that I did not really get the method of Brisk until the more structured introduction via R. Lichtenstein. His skills as a pedagogue enabled me to click with this approach during my semikha years in ways that have endured.
R. Lichtenstein was, for me, a crowning presentation of Torah and Madda. His formative role in my learning during my Kollel years, together with his love for and utilization of literature to enhance religious thinking and observance, are treasures that have endured.
From the start of my college career at Yeshiva through my semikha years, I had the remarkable opportunity to witness Torah and Madda being incorporated in the lives of outstanding models.
These four teachers provided me with interests, commitments and values that shaped my life as a Jew and, ultimately, as a "Rav b'Yisrael." I remain in their debt as my teachers and models, as I am indebted to Yeshiva University which provided the context for me to be exposed to such unique personalities.
Rabbi Charles Sheer, YC '65, BRGS '67, RIETS '67, is the Jewish Chaplain and Director Emeritus of the Hillel at Columbia University and Barnard College. Rabbi Sheer is an adjunct professor of Jewish Studies at the City College of New York.