Introduction | xi | ||||
A Parable: It's in Our Hearts | xvii | ||||
Opening Reflection: A Personal Note Family Takes Precedence Over Causes | xix | ||||
I. Foundations: Yesodot | 1 | (16) | |||
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3 | (4) | |||
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7 | (5) | |||
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12 | (5) | |||
II. Pillars: Amudim | 17 | (20) | |||
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19 | (3) | |||
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22 | (3) | |||
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25 | (3) | |||
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28 | (3) | |||
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31 | (6) | |||
III. Principles: Ikkarim | 37 | (1) | |||
CHOOSING THE CAUSE | 38 | (26) | |||
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39 | (3) | |||
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42 | (4) | |||
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46 | (3) | |||
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49 | (4) | |||
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53 | (6) | |||
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59 | (5) | |||
MAKING PARTNERS | 64 | (38) | |||
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65 | (3) | |||
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68 | (4) | |||
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72 | (4) | |||
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76 | (5) | |||
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81 | (6) | |||
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87 | (6) | |||
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93 | (3) | |||
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96 | (3) | |||
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99 | (3) | |||
DESIGNING THE STRATEGY | 102 | (35) | |||
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103 | (3) | |||
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106 | (4) | |||
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110 | (3) | |||
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113 | (4) | |||
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117 | (4) | |||
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121 | (3) | |||
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124 | (5) | |||
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129 | (4) | |||
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133 | (4) | |||
THE HUMAN FACTOR | 137 | (39) | |||
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138 | (3) | |||
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141 | (4) | |||
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145 | (4) | |||
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149 | (5) | |||
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154 | (4) | |||
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158 | (3) | |||
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161 | (4) | |||
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165 | (4) | |||
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169 | (4) | |||
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173 | (3) | |||
THE AFTERMATH | 176 | (25) | |||
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177 | (4) | |||
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181 | (3) | |||
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184 | (3) | |||
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187 | (4) | |||
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191 | (4) | |||
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195 | (3) | |||
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198 | (3) | |||
Closing Reflection: A Personal Note Coping with Adversity | 201 | (4) | |||
A Parable: It's in Our Hands | 205 | (1) | |||
Acknowledgements | 206 |
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Chapter One
The Partnership Between God
and Humankind
The last word of the creation story is la'asot , "to do." God, in effect, tells us, "I've created the world incompletely, imperfectly, and leave it to you to finish that which I have started. In partnership we will redeem the world."
The image that has most defined my activism is that of the ship St. Louis .
Packed with almost one thousand Jews, the German vessel slowly made its way across the Atlantic in 1939, docking just off the coast of Florida. The ship's passengers were desperate to come ashore and be free.
It was not to be. Then U.S. president Franklin Delano Roosevelt refused to allow the passengers to disembark. In the end, the boat was forced to return to Europe, where the vast majority of those aboard met their deaths during the Holocaust.
Although the plight of the St. Louis was widely reported in the press, American Jewry did not do its share to help. There was a deafening silence. No Jewish organization during those dark days dared to petition the president to open the doors. And the doors weren't opened. After all, we cannot expect the president to do what we do not demand he do.
From my earliest days in the rabbinate I have heard people ask how one can believe in a God who permitted the death of the Six Million. As I grow older, this question becomes more difficult, even impossible to answer. But the story of the St. Louis teaches that the question is not only "Where was God?" but also "Where was humankind?" God didn't build Auschwitz; people did. And God was not responsible for the deafening silence in the free world as the devastation continued.
In fact, as has often been argued, it wasn't the enemy who broke the back of European Jewry, but the silence of those who could have done more. The persecution by the enemy could have been overcome; the silence of one's own people could not.
The idea that we must always ask ourselves if we're doing our share is steeped in Jewish sources. God created the world imperfectly for the benefit of humankind. Had the world been created totally good, there would in reality be no good, says Rav Avraham Yitzhak HaKohen Kook, the first chief rabbi of Israel, for "good" is a relative term. There is good only when evil exists. In the words of Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler, there would be no challenge in a perfect world. There would be nothing to overcome. As Rabbi Chaim Volozhin notes, without evil, one could not opt to do wrong, and since to be human means, to have freedom of choice, in a perfect world we would be stripped of our humanity.
Thus, the last word of the creation story is la'asot , "to do." God, in effect, tells us: "I've created the world incompletely, imperfectly, and leave it to you to finish that which I have started. In partnership we will redeem the world."
As much as we yearn for redemption, this theory contends, redemption also yearns for us. As much as we await the Messiah, the Messiah awaits us. As much as we search for God, God, says Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, searches for us.
One of the great Chassidic masters taught the idea of partnership well: "Where is God?" asked Menahem Mendel of Kotsk. "Everywhere," replied his students. "No, my children," he responded. "God is not everywhere. He is where you let Him in."
The Torah discussion of the Exodus from Egypt, the paradigmatic event that shapes the core of our understanding of redemption, illustrates our point. Having just left Egypt, the Jewish people find themselves surrounded by the sea in front and the Egyptians behind. Turning to Moses, they complain, "Are there no graves in Egypt, that you've taken us to die in the desert?" Moses reassures them, "The Lord will do battle for you, and you can remain silent."
In the next sentence God tells Moses, "Speak to the children of Israel and tell them to move forward." This approach to the situation on God's part is rather striking in view of Moses's prior promise that God would imminently succor His people. The bleakness of the moment is compounded when one considers that moving forward would lead the Jews directly into the churning waters of the sea.
Here, Rabbi Ahron Soloveichik notes a distinction between the terms hatzalah and yeshuah . Both terms relate to being saved. Hatzalah , however, invokes no action on the part of the person being saved. The person is completely passive. Yeshuah , in contrast, is a process whereby the recipient must do his or her share in the rescue.
When emerging as a people in Egypt, we experienced hatzalah . God, and God alone, took us out of Egypt, says the Haggadah that we read at the seder. As a newborn is protected by its parents, so were the newborn Jewish people protected by God. Throughout the first chapters of the Book of Exodus, the operative word is hatzalah .
Once out of Egypt, the Jewish people, much like a child who grows up, were expected to assume responsibilities. Mose thought hatzalah would continue, but God declares, no--the sea will split, but only after you do your share and try to cross on your own. Hence the sudden shift in expression from hatzalah to yeshuah as the Jews stand near the sea.
Rashi, the master commentator, makes this point about God's response, "Tell [the people] to move forward." In his words, "This is not the time for lengthy prayer." The message is clear: You have already immersed yourself in prayer. Now is the time for action. The sea does not split, says the Midrash, until the Jews try to cross on their own.
I remember my son Dov, as a small child at the seder table, asking: "Why do we have to open the door for Elijah the prophet? He gets around quickly and drinks a lot. Couldn't he squeeze through the cracks?" At the seder table we reenact the redemption from Egypt even as we stress the hope for future redemption. Appropriately, we begin the latter part of the seder experience with the welcoming of Elijah, who the prophet says will be the harbinger of the messianic period. But for the Messiah to come, says Rav Kook, we must do our share, open the door and welcome him in. Sitting on our hands is not enough.
There is a lesson here for contemporary times. Israel is under great pressure to make concessions against its best interests. Oppressed Jewry in the Soviet Union, Ethiopia, Arab countries, and elsewhere are struggling for freedom. Jonathan Pollard, a victim of a perversion of justice, is languishing in his solitary cell.
I often asked my parents where their generation was fifty years ago. Too many had too little to say. Let us bless each other today that when our children and grandchildren ask us the same question--where were you when Israel and oppressed Jewry were on the line--we will have the answer. Let us pray that we will have done our share and opened the door and let God in, and recognized that the question is not only "Where is God?" but also "Where is humankind?"
April 1989
Chapter Two
Balancing Public Protest and Quiet
Diplomacy
The horror of the Shoah taught us that we should never again depend solely on the diplomatic approach. Sometimes the more direct approach is necessary. Applied exclusively, neither technique is likely to ensure the safety of Jews in peril. Used in concert, however, the two techniques offer the hope of a more positive result.
During the past several decades, key segments of the Jewish community opposed public protest as a means of succoring oppressed Jewry.
This is not a new phenomenon. The debate concerning the efficacy of public protest goes back to biblical times, all the way back to the altercation between Jacob and Esau, brothers who clashed over who would inherit their father Isaac's blessings. In the end Jacob received the blessings, but he was advised by Rebecca, his mother, to flee for his life in order to escape his brother's wrath.
Twenty-two years after their separation, Jacob and Esau met again. That rendezvous was considered by classical commentators to be the model for the way Jews; represented by Jacob, should confront the enemy, represented in the biblical text by Esau. The Book of Genesis tells us that on eight separate occasions Jacob bowed to Esau. Some commentators suggested that Jacob's repeated bowing to his aggrieved brother was an apt illustration of how Jews should interact with non-Jews. In the words of Sforno, "Jacob's humility and obeisance stirred Esau's pity."
Others insisted that Jacob's behavior was wrong--the perfect example of how proud and dignified Jews should never act. Nachmanides (Ramban) notes in his commentary that the rabbis criticized Jacob for sending messengers to Esau with a missive beginning, "Thus says your servant Jacob." These rabbis insisted that by doing so, Jacob made himself Esau's servant. They argued that the Jews similarily took the first step leading to the loss of their independence and the destruction of the Second Temple by sending ambassadors to Rome to ask for a treaty.
The conflict within the Jewish world of that era as to how to relate to the all-powerful Romans reached its crescendo with the dispute between Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai. In the wake of the sack of Jerusalem and the burning of the Temple, a Roman leader whom Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai had befriended asked the rabbi his heart's desire. Rabbi Yohanan requested that the Romans allow the Jews to set up a Torah center in Yavneh, a wish that was promptly granted. Rabbi Akiva retorted that Rabbi Yohanan should have demanded much more. He should have asked for Jerusalem. To which Rabbi Yohanan responded that had he asked for everything he might well have received nothing at all.
The Talmud records that on his deathbed Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai advised his students to fear God as much as they feared human beings. Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik suggests that here the Talmud is indicating that at the end of his life Rabbi Yohanan was unsure he had made the right request of the Roman leader. Perhaps he had been too fearful of the might of Rome and ought to have relied more on God and demanded the salvation of Jerusalem.
Still, it would seem that Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai was vindicated by history. After all, it was his rival, Rabbi Akiva, who later supported Bar Kokhba's failed attempt to revolt against Rome and reclaim Jerusalem--an abortive rebellion that cost many hundreds of thousands of Jewish lives, forced untold thousands more to leave the land of Israel and go into exile, and extinguished the Jews' last hopes of regaining some measure of independence from the Romans.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from PRINCIPLES OF SPIRITUAL ACTIVISM by Avraham Weiss. Copyright © 2002 by Avraham Weiss. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.