On the Eve of Independence Day: A Final Call to American Jewry - Haggai Segel's Article in This Week's Mekor Rishon

Immigrants emigrated by the hundreds of 
thousands from Arab countries? Why not 
North America?

Here is Claude's translation of Haggai Segel's Hebrew article from this week's Mekor Rishon. I have not checked it for accuracy, but even with small errors you get the point.

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On the Eve of Independence Day: A Final Call to American Jewry

Israel is about to turn 80, yet our brothers in the United States still delay their coming, save for a small handful of true Zionist righteous souls. The time has come to tell them clearly what we think about that.

During Chol HaMoed Passover, between one air raid siren and the next, in an underground study hall in Jerusalem, a young relative of mine was brought into the covenant of Abraham our father. They named the newborn Adir Tzion. His proud father explained in English that the name honors the famous American fighter jet — the stealth aircraft — that the IDF used so effectively in the war against Iran. The charismatic mohel also spoke in English, between the Hebrew blessings and songs.

English is a language with a strong vocal presence on our streets. When I was a child, no one spoke English on the street or at the corner store. My late mother, a native of London, had no neighbors she could chat with in the language of Shakespeare and Churchill. Moroccan, Polish, Romanian, Hungarian, French, and Yiddish dominated the conversations of the adult population around her. Russian and Georgian began filtering in at the start of the seventies, and Amharic from the eighties and nineties — but those are gradually fading. Only English is rising and flourishing as a second language.

It is possible that immigrants from other countries make a greater effort to switch to Hebrew when outside their own homes, due to the diasporic connotations of their native language and the prejudices of native-born Israelis. Immigrants from North America and Britain have no similar complex. English is the world's leading medium of communication, the language of diplomacy and high-tech, and certainly the foreign language most familiar to native Israelis. So, amid all the sounds of English, one sometimes gets the feeling that half of American Jewry has already made aliyah in the last generation — like the mother of little Adir Tzion (his father made aliyah from Britain). Sadly, this impression is very mistaken.

The largest Jewish diaspora in the world — Israel's last great demographic hope — trickles here drop by drop, in a manner so stingy it borders on an insult to the vision of the Return to Zion. It has never streamed here en masse the way other exiles did: Morocco, Yemen, Iraq, and others. The Russian diaspora has shrunk dramatically in recent generations, from roughly 800,000 in 1970 to only about 120,000 today, while the American diaspora has only grown. Even when we are jubilantly informed of a "record-breaking aliyah from the United States," it amounts to the meager joy of a destitute man who received a dollar from his millionaire cousin — not even a tenth of a percent of what that cousin could afford.

Since the founding of the state, approximately 180,000 Jews have made aliyah from the United States in total. According to data from the Ministry of Aliyah and Absorption, 3,773 people made aliyah in 2025. That is only six hundredths of one percent of the estimated American Jewish population according to the tireless demographer Prof. Sergio Della Pergola — 6.3 million. That estimate is somewhat generous in how it defines Jewish identity relative to strict halachic standards, but our Law of Return is also fairly generous and accommodating of intermarriage realities in the diaspora. For every ten thousand American Jews, only about five made aliyah in the past civil year. In 1971, the true all-time peak year, just over eight thousand made aliyah — a mere thousandth of the total Jewish population in that vast diaspora. In other words, even in the peak of all peak years, only ten American Jews out of every ten thousand troubled themselves to go to the land of their forefathers — and there is no doubt it is indeed a great deal of trouble and an exhausting spiritual effort. A native-born Israeli will not understand this.

Israel is about to turn 80, yet our brothers in the United States still delay their coming — all but a small handful of truly Zionist righteous souls. The time has come to tell them clearly what we think about that.

Other wars produced even thinner aliyah numbers. In the first four years after the founding of the state, only about two thousand American Jews arrived, compared to roughly 700,000 immigrants from all other diasporas. None of Ben-Gurion's pleadings, anger, or threats helped. He was the most demanding prime minister on the subject of aliyah, and did not hesitate to sharply insult Jewish leaders across the ocean. He stated outright that their Zionism was hypocrisy, and that if they were Zionists, then he was no longer a Zionist. I wrote an entire chapter about this in my book Mashiach B'Sdeh Boker, and in the end I had to note that it didn't help. They didn't come. The gates of Russia were opened near the end of Ben-Gurion's era, when the Soviets still ruled the Kremlin; the gates of America remained locked by choice.

Even Natan Alterman implored them to come. In August 1967, after a hundred thousand Palestinian war refugees registered in a single day for Operation Return Home to Judea and Samaria, and the right was seized with security anxiety, Alterman wrote in the newspaper that he was more troubled by the fact that not even a hundred Jews had registered for aliyah that same day. "This fact is a bolt of lightning illuminating the growth of an absurdity, which not only the security authorities need to take notice of," the poet wrote, explaining that "aliyah is necessary for us so that the efforts of the Jewish people's revival, and its arguments with the nations of the world to open the gates, do not ultimately stand before open gates that are empty with no one coming — and do not become a global joke, where the only question will be who laughs first, us or the world around us. If things unfold that way, clearly it will not be the Jewish people who laugh last."

The Jewish people has since laughed with joy many times — during Operation Solomon, for instance, or the enormous aliyah from the former Soviet states — but the continued stubbornness of American Jews in resisting redemption is indeed grounds for global ridicule at our expense. Because of it, because of them, we have not yet managed to resolve the demographic problem. A mass aliyah after the Six Day War could have enabled the settlement of a million Jews in Judea and Samaria, could have saved Gush Katif and the Yamit region of blessed memory, and of course the Galilee and the Negev. The IDF's manpower shortage problems would have been resolved despite the ultra-Orthodox draft-dodging — at least the ultra-Orthodox live here and contribute as best they can to solving the demographic problem. But our brothers in the American diaspora chose to remain on the banks of the Hudson, and we chose to silently accept their staying there.

No one hurls harsh words at them in the spirit of the Amora Reish Lakish's rebuke to the Jewish community of Babylon — the America of his day — which remained indifferent to the Zionist enterprise in the time of Ezra: "I hate you before God. Had you made yourselves like a wall and all gone up in the days of Ezra, you would have been compared to silver which rot cannot touch. Now that you have gone up like doors, you are compared to cedar which rot can affect" (Babylonian Talmud, Yoma 9b).

American Jews go up neither like a wall nor like doors. We send them emissaries, we melt with admiration at the initiatives of Nefesh B'Nefesh, occasionally muster the courage to hint that they ought to make aliyah — but we have long since stopped morally condemning the decision of the vast majority to cling to the diaspora. By our values and theirs, this is of course a legitimate choice; by the Jewish principle of free will as well. But by those same values and that same principle, it is our right and our duty to tell them clearly what we think of them. Enough flattery.

Dear brothers, you are betrayers (traitors - בוגדים). You betray us and you betray yourselves. When you pray three times a day "Sound the great shofar for our freedom, and raise a banner to gather our exiles" — you don't really mean it, because the shofar has already sounded, and there is no longer any technical or political obstacle to the ingathering of our exiles, only a selfish obstacle on your part. There are still many Jews in Europe, Australia, Canada, and South America as well — but you are ten times larger than them statistically, your absence is felt many times over, and no marginal benefit, financial or political, can cover for it. Therefore there is no longer any escaping the drawing of conclusions.

After all, Israel is about to turn eighty. Seventy years have already passed since Rabbi Soloveitchik's stirring Independence Day address — "Kol Dodi Dofek" — in which he mourned the continued slumber of "the faithful of Judaism" in America despite the wake-up calls from the Land of Israel. How long can we wait? What else needs to happen to you or to us before you pack your bags and board a plane?

Perhaps the time has come to issue an ultimatum: Dear brothers, if you do not come here en masse within five years — by Independence Day 5791, 2031 — we will stop sending you emissaries and dismantle the Jewish Agency. There is not much point left in their mission or its existence anyway. Those who wanted to make aliyah have already done so. Those still deliberating should decide quickly. The Chief Rabbinate should simultaneously declare that in 5791 it will stop including diaspora Jews in the halachic calculations of "the majority of its inhabitants dwelling within it," which pertain to certain Torah commandments connected to the Land. Such a declaration would shake primarily religiously observant Jews — but they are also the ones who pray three times a day, or at least once a week, and may yet repent.

The rest of the Jews there are already mentally disconnecting from us at an ever-increasing speed, partly to justify the shame of their voluntary exile. Too many readily submit to antisemitic propaganda. Some have even sunk to the low of supporting Hamas's invasion of Israeli territory on October 7th. Those who don't believe it can read on the Haaretz website the extensive interview with Ariel Angel, editor of the successful anti-Zionist magazine Jewish Currents. What do they have to do with us? What do we have to do with them? Judaism is not genetics — it is above all an idea, and the Land of Israel is one of its central pillars, not scaffolding that can be removed and still expect the building to stand. A mass aliyah to Israel soon would be a rescue aliyah for American Jews. Somehow they will survive the rising tide of antisemitism — but their Judaism will not survive without the Land of Israel.

The Diaspora Challenge that I Called TMore than Twenty Years Ago - My Article in Jewish Action 2004

 

This Pesach, I arrived at shul to find a new edition of YU Torah-To-Go - always a fun read. Except this issue focuses on the critical communal challenge of Aliyah, and states rather dramatically that Diaspora Judaism is at a new croosroads. In light of growing anti-Semitism at home, and the pull of Israel, many in the issue argue that (Modern Orthodox) Diaspora Jewry needs to make some important choices about its future. 

This issue has already garnered much discussion (and I'm here in Israel!) and an early response from Professor Adam Ferziger in which he notes the issue, promotes his most recent book, and makes the important point that Aliyah is not always running away, and that Diaspora Jews make tremendous contributions here in Israel - and should think about aliyah in this manner as well. (On a personal note, there's a small but growing trend of Jewish educators coming to Israel and staying in Chinuch, rather than retraining in another field).

I raised the issue of the "brain drain" on Modern Orthodox communities more than twenty years ago, in an article that I called, "In Search of Leaders" in Jewish Action magazine of the OU. At the time, it also generate much discussion, including this article in the Orthodox forum by Yoel Finkelman, and others. 

Also, after we made aliyah in 2008, many many people commented that I wasn't following my own advice from my article. Sadly, neither they nor many of the letter writers, read my article carefully.

For reasons that are not clear to me, the archive for the particular issue was corrupted, so I'm sharing the original article here should you care to read it.

You can read the responses online (still up) here.

The Line in Shemoneh Esreh that Changed, and What it Tells us about Ancient - and Modern Jewish Communities in Israel and the Diaspora. Part 1.

Religious Jews around the world recite the following two blessings during the Amidah (otherwise known as Shemoneh Esreh) three times a day, every weekday throughout the year. The first blessing we pray for the rebuilding of Jerusalem, and in the second we pray for our national salvation through the Final Redemption. We recite:

וְלִירוּשָׁלַֽיִם עִירְךָ בְּרַחֲמִים תָּשׁוּב, וְתִשְׁכֹּן בְּתוֹכָהּ כַּאֲשֶׁר דִּבַּֽרְתָּ, וּבְנֵה אוֹתָהּ בְּקָרוֹב בְּיָמֵֽינוּ בִּנְיַן עוֹלָם, וְכִסֵּא דָוִד מְהֵרָה לְתוֹכָהּ תָּכִין. בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְהֹוָה, בּוֹנֵה יְרוּשָׁלָֽיִם. 

אֶת־צֶֽמַח דָּוִד עַבְדְּךָ מְהֵרָה תַצְמִֽיחַ, וְקַרְנוֹ תָּרוּם בִּישׁוּעָתֶֽךָ, כִּי לִישׁוּעָתְךָ קִוִּֽינוּ כׇּל־הַיּוֹם. בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְהֹוָה, מַצְמִֽיחַ, קֶֽרֶן יְשׁוּעָה.

At first glance, nothing here seems out of the ordinary. Of course it doesn't, because we've been habituated to this specific text for our entire lives. But when we look more carefully at the blessings themselves, we notice that part of them don't make sense. Take the brachah for Yerushalayim. The first three lines of the brachah seem fine.

וְלִירוּשָׁלַֽיִם עִירְךָ בְּרַחֲמִים תָּשׁוּב / וְתִשְׁכֹּן בְּתוֹכָהּ כַּאֲשֶׁר דִּבַּֽרְתָּ / וּבְנֵה אוֹתָהּ בְּקָרוֹב בְּיָמֵֽינוּ בִּנְיַן עוֹלָם

But then, when we come to the fourth line, we change topics entirely.

וְכִסֵּא דָוִד מְהֵרָה לְתוֹכָהּ תָּכִין / בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְהֹוָה, בּוֹנֵה יְרוּשָׁלָֽיִם

Why suddenly, do we switch from our focus on Jerusalem to the seat of King David? Now you might argue that David's seat makes perfect sense in this blessing, because it will be reconstituted in Jerusalem, of course. But then, the brachah returns to the subject of Yerushalayim for its conclusion. And, the very next brachah turns to the subject of King David.

אֶת־צֶֽמַח דָּוִד עַבְדְּךָ מְהֵרָה תַצְמִֽיחַ, וְקַרְנוֹ תָּרוּם בִּישׁוּעָתֶֽך 

Why does the prayer add a line about David in the previous brachah if David is the subject of the very next brachah. Moreover, this brachah also seems to switch subjects mid-sentences. While the brachah begins with King David, it then takes a very sharp turn from the specific redemption of King David, to a much broader divine salvation. 

כִּי לִישׁוּעָתְךָ קִוִּֽינוּ כׇּל־הַיּוֹם. בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְהֹוָה, מַצְמִֽיחַ, קֶֽרֶן יְשׁוּעָה

While originally David was the driving force for our future redemption, suddenly the blessing "forgets" about King David, and we turn not to our Messianic King, but instead to the God himself - for it is His salvation, and not David's which we pray for at the conclusion of the blessing.

So, just to sum up, we noted that:

• The brachah for Yerushalayim begins with a prayer for the city, but then adds and element about King David, even though the next brachah focuses on David.

• The next brachah begins with King David, but then abandons him mid-brachah, choosing to focus instead on Divine salvation.

What happened? Why do these brachot take such interesting turns?

It turns out that these two brachot underwent fundamental shifts from their original language. These shifts reflected additions to the tefillah as Judaism faced internal threats and turmoil, as well as ideological shifts that drove a need to change the language of prayer. In addition, they may well reflect a divergence of opinions between the rabbinic communities in Israel, and their counterparts in the Babylonian Diaspora.

To be continued...

The Conservative Revolutionary - A Window in the Psak of Rav Moshe Feinstein zt"l

This past Shabbat in Mekor Rishon, Rav Shabtai Rappaport, who is married to the granddaughter of Rav Moshe Feinstein, published a long retrospective on his relationship with - and undertanding of - perhaps the greatest American posek of the twentieth century. 

The article traces his history with Rav Moshe, his powerful impressions of this great man, and a critical section on Rav Moshe's understanding of how to issue halachic rulings. I'm assuming that the editors of the paper appreciated the irony in Rabbi Rappaport's claim that Rav Moshe was a halachic conservative, when they named the piece, "The Conservative Revolutionary." 

While the full piece in Hebrew is not yet up on the site - I will like to it when it goes up - I took the time to have ChatGPT transcribe and translate the part of the piece that relates to Rav Moshe's halachic rulings. I think it's accurate, but there might be minor errors. Nonetheless, I found the description of Rav Moshe's view on psak both fascinating and critical, due to its understanding of the need for a psak that adapts to changing realities, alongside a steadfast refusal to admit to the innovative and adaptive spirit at the heart of this type of psak. 

Rav Moshe’s Methodology in Halachic Ruling

In my view, Rabbi Moshe was a complete halachic conservative—but not conservative in the sense of stagnation. Rather, conservative in the sense of deep-rooted fidelity. He saw himself as a faithful continuator of the halachic tradition across generations and did not believe he had the authority to innovate on the basis of the “spirit of the times.” He wrote many times that we do not have the right, through one pilpul or another, to render our predecessors mistaken, Heaven forbid. What they ruled, they ruled in accordance with the law. It is inconceivable that a generation would declare something untrue, even inadvertently, due to ignorance of reality. Our responsibility is not to correct earlier generations, but to clarify the halacha from the foundations they laid.

From this did not emerge stagnation, but rather a profound dynamism. In Rabbi Moshe’s world, halacha is not an abstract system suspended in midair; it applies to reality—and our perception and understanding of that reality is a living, constantly evolving process. The conception of reality held by earlier generations is not a fixed and immutable doctrine carved in stone, nor does it bind us. When our understanding of reality changes, this does not mean that the Torah changes. Rather, the manner in which we apply it requires renewed clarification. Not because the generation is more modern, but because the knowledge at our disposal has changed. Fidelity to tradition demands fidelity to the reality upon which it operates.

For this reason, Rabbi Moshe often relied on his son-in-law—my father-in-law—Rabbi Prof. Moshe David Tendler z”l, who stood by his side in understanding contemporary scientific perspectives. In this respect he had disagreements with several poskim who sanctified the medical assumptions of earlier generations. Rabbi Moshe was revolutionary precisely out of rooted conservatism, carefully distinguishing between eternal Torah truth and changing scientific conceptions.

So too, for example, in his ruling regarding the determination of the moment of death. In earlier generations, when electrocardiographic monitoring did not exist and precise tools for measuring cardiac activity were unavailable, death was determined based on accepted external signs. We are not permitted to conclude that they erred and buried a living person; they ruled according to the knowledge available to them. However, in a generation that possesses precise medical instruments, if monitoring shows cardiac activity—the person is alive. The halacha has not changed; what has changed is our ability to clarify reality. Indeed, fidelity to tradition obligates us to use the intellectual tools of our time in order to rule correctly.

The same applies in the social sphere. The Talmudic principle “Tav le-meitav tan du mi-le-meitav armelu” (literally: “Better to sit as two than to sit as a widow”), from which various halachic implications were derived, reflects a reality in which a woman saw marriage as an almost absolute value, despite a husband’s flaws. Rabbi Moshe argued simply that in our present reality this assumption is not necessarily correct. A woman in our generation is not prepared to remain married at any cost, and may at times prefer remaining single to living within a harmful or dysfunctional framework. In accordance with this understanding, he ruled that it is possible to annul a marriage retroactively if it constituted a mekach ta’ut—a mistaken transaction—according to contemporary standards. If the underlying social assumption has changed, a posek may not continue building upon a previous premise as though nothing has occurred. This is not the adoption of foreign values nor an ideological revolution; it is a faithful clarification of the reality to which halacha applies. In this matter as well, he stood courageously against those who disagreed with him.

In Rabbi Moshe’s view, reliance on rulings and on the books of earlier decisors is not the essential work of a true posek. Authentic halachic decision-making is a new edifice that the posek constructs through careful study of the Gemara and the words of the Rishonim and Acharonim, and through that process redefines the relevant halachic categories. Such psak makes it possible to rule leniently even where others are stringent—and obligates stringency where others are lenient. However, when a ruling is merely transmitted from books or from other decisors, it does not carry that authority. If it has spread and become accepted practice, one may rely upon it within the boundaries of established custom, but one may not derive new conclusions from it. For that, one must descend to the roots.

For this reason, he opposed the publication of abbreviated halachic summaries extracted from his responsa. For someone who did not ask the original question, the value of the responsum lies not in its practical bottom line but in the detailed analytic process. A posek’s final ruling is addressed to a specific questioner in a specific context; the reader may weigh its reasoning, but bears responsibility for determining whether the ruling applies to his own situation. Out of methodological humility, he saw himself as a teacher offering his students a conceptual framework for their own judgment.

Another clear example of his approach to changing reality is his ruling regarding milk in modern countries. The rabbinic decree concerning chalav akum (“milk of non-Jews”) was enacted to prevent the possibility that non-kosher milk might be mixed in. The traditional definition of such milk is milk that a Jew did not supervise at the time of milking. However, in modern countries there exists a regulatory system overseeing the dairy industry, and there is no practical possibility of mixing in prohibited milk. Rabbi Moshe ruled that such milk is effectively supervised by virtue of its production process and is therefore considered chalav Yisrael. This was not the abrogation of a rabbinic decree nor a flashy leniency, but rather a clarification of the underlying rationale of the decree and its precise scope of application.

Mitzvot and Stories: A Thought on Parshat Yitro

I just started the M² The Institute for Experiential Jewish Education fellowship on Pedagogies of Peoplehood, and I will be spending the next year thinking a great deal about stories - how they affect us, teach us and even shape us. 

The most famous passage in this week's Parashah - Yitro - and probabaly in the entire Torah, is the Ten Commandments - the Aseret Hadibrot. Yet, many Sages throughout history went out of their way to de-emphasize the importance of these Ten Commandments. Commenting on the ancient custom to stand during the reading of the Ten Commandments Rambam wrote, "In every place that their custom is to stand, one must prevent them from doing so due to the loss in faith that ensues, in that they assume that there are gradations in the Torah - that some commandments are exalted from others - that this is exceedingly bad." (Teshuvot Rambam #263) 

And yet, we do stand for the Ten Commandments. They are special. They have their own name - unlike any other set of mitzvot in the Torah. I wonder about the role of the story of the Ten Commandments - the fact that these specific mitzvot were in fact commanded to the entire nation by God Himself. The Torah describes in great detail the special, miraculous nature of the Revelation. The story is what gives these commandments their special significance. They are laws in the Torah like any other, but somehow, because of how, where and when they were given - they were more than simple laws. Somehow, they represent a code, and a special covenant between God and His people. The two tablets, containing these Ten Commandments, became a symbol of that bond that we symbolically display in nearly every house of worship. 

Imagine that the Torah simply related the Ten Commandments without the story. Would they mean something to us without the miracles that surrounded them? How does that story contribute to and change our perception of these particular laws?

Interesting Elements of Masechet Nedarim

Readers of this blog will know that I've been focusing my efforts on Kitah, my work at Herzog Global, as well as on the Mishnah Yomit program (not to mention to RZ Weekly Podcast). So this blog isn't nearly as active as it once was. Here's a video shiur that I made recently as we concluded Masechet Nedarim in the Mishnah Yomit program.

Preparing for the Light at the End of the Tunnel - Video Dvar Torah for Parshat Beshalach 5781

 How do we have hope in such a challenging time? We must follow the example of the righteous women of Israel who demonstrated their faith in the future through their actions.

Rabbi Schachter, the Mishnah and COVID-19

Message in the Mishnah for May 12 2020 (Mishnah Yomit Temurah 5:1-2)

The COVID-19 pandemic which crippled Jewish communities around the world raised a number of challenging halachic questions, especially as Jews prepared for Pesach from the confines of self-quarantine. One issue that arose was the question of how and whether one could use newly purchased utensils before ritual immersion (tevillah), which is normally done in a mikveh. Most mikvaot were closed for immersion of utensils, and immersion in a natural body of water proved impractical if not impossible. Was there another way?

Rabbi Herschel Schacter, Rosh Yeshiva at Yeshiva University, ruled that indeed there was. According to the Shulchan Aruch (Yoreh Deah 120:16), one may transfer legal ownership of his metal and glass utensils to a non-Jew, relieving the owner of the requirement of immersion, at least temporarily. Rabbi Schachter expanded this leniency, and ruled that in the case where one could not physically transfer ownership to a gentile, he or she could even renounce ownership of said utensils via email or social media. (I did not actually see any such posts – but that would have been fascinating!)

What was the basis for Rabbi Schacter’s ruling? It starts with today’s Mishnah Yomit.
The Mishnah suggests a way for the owner of an animal about to give birth to a bechor (first-born, which, if it turns out to be a male, he will have to give to the Kohen) to avoid the “bechor penalty” and keep the animal for himself. If you want to understand how it works, you can learn the Mishnah here. But even more important is the language utilized by the Mishnah.

“Keitzad ma’arimim al ha-bechor” – “How can we act deceptively with regard to the first-born?” (Mishnah Temurah 5:1) In other words, how can we “trick” the Kohen out of his first-born?

While this language sounds troubling, the Sages were teaching us that sometimes the utilization of legal loopholes is not only acceptable, but necessary. They even called recognized that it looks like trickery, using the term “leha’arim” – “to act deceptively”.
We find examples of legal loopholes throughout Jewish law. The sale of Chametz on Pesach and the sale of the Land of Israel during the Shemittah years are two prime examples. Another Mishnah teaches us that Hillel Hazaken introduced pruzbol as a legal loophole to ensure economic activity during the difficult Sabbatical years.

Rabbi Schachter in his ruling, recognizing the challenge of COVID-19 and the need for creative halachic solutions, followed this longstanding rabbinic tradition explicitly, writing in the Hebrew version of his ruling, “yesh lehatir ha’aramah,” it is appropriate to allow [halachic] trickery.

Rabbi Schachter appreciated the tenuousness of his ruling, noting that once the crisis abates, people should immediately immerse their utensils. But his creativity and willingness to employ legalities in a time of need followed a long tradition of rabbinic creativity, found in the earliest halachic resource we have: our Mishnah.

For more on legal loopholes in Jewish law, see this article in Hebrew written by Rabbi Yisrael Rosen, zt”l, the founder of Machon Tzomet in Israel.

Reuven Spolter is the founder of The Mishnah Project. You can join the Mishnah Yomit program by subscribing on WhatsApp or Telegram

The Pace of Tefillah: In Defense of the Daily Minyan - the People Who Show Up Every Day

Rabbi Barry Kornblau recently shared this Facebook post, which garnered a great deal of attention about the breakneck speed of the morning minyan. The post contained a chart of different speeds at which we speak, and the length of time it would (or should) take to recite the entire Tefillah. Here's the chart:

Rabbi Kornblau wrote:

This Shabbat, my sermon noted that my upbringing in Reform Temple Beth El of Great Neck properly taught me, among other things, one basic halachah: the requirement to recite all one's prayers and blessings with feeling and understanding. One cannot do this while reciting the siddur at the speed of an auctioneer (daily amidah of 3 minutes, for example) as is routine for many Orthodox Jews; instead, one must speak slowly and enunciate deliberately - as is fitting for addressing the Master of All.

The post prompted a lively discussion, much of which centered on complaining about the speed of the daily minyan in most shuls. Over the years, I too have joined this chorus of complainers, wondering how people say "all the words" so quickly. My conclusion was usually that they don't.

I would like to offer some push back.

The chart makes no distinction between the various segments of Tefillah. Using a simple word count, the chart calculates that Amidah, at 824 words, should take about a third as long as Pesukei D'zimra, which clock in at 2,064 words, and Kriat Shema, at 248 words, should take a full minute at "slow auctioneer" pace. Nowhere does the chart note that Pesukei D'zimra is halachically considered customary at best, the Amidah is D'rabanan (according to many poskim), while Kriat Shema (at least the first paragraph) is a D'oraita - a Torah commandment. It seems reasonable to me that the halachic significance of a specific section should have some impact on the speed at which it is recited.

Moreover, as my friend David Brofsky notes in a comment to the post,

Aside from conversation taking into account the other person, most of davening is not a conversation, but rather, reflective statements. In other words, WE are the audience of pesukei dezimra, shema, ashrei, etc. Whether or not that means we should say these passages quickly, or very slow (as a meditation) is an interesting question, but they are not similar to a conversation (maybe closer to the audio book..) 

Psukei D'zimrah (as well as most of birchot Kriat Shema and much of the concluding portions of Tefillah) focus on Divine praise. On the other hand, Amidah is supposed to represent a conversation with God, while Kriat Shema focuses on our acceptance of the heavenly yoke as well as other elements of our faith. While it's certainly preferable to praise God with feeling and intent, it is obligatory to recite Shema with focus and concentration, and Amidah must be recited with focus - and with the personalization that transforms prayer texts into true worship. (Also, the chart completely ignores Korbanot, which seem to be ignored in modern shuls, but some of which have greater halachic significance than much of Pesukei D'zimrah. See Peninei Halachah here for more information.)

Personally, I have no problem with speed-reading (or "auctioneering" through Pesukei D'zimrah) if that means that a person spends more time on the more important parts of davening. I would love to see a siddur in which the importance of the prayer is reflected in font size and number of pages, giving the user the sense of importance of each section.
Moreover, Rabbi Kornblau's initial point - his comparison to his Reform upbringing, is flawed for a simple reason. Reform Judaism has cut out much of davening, leaving just enough prayer to allow people to focus and concentrate.

Just look at the amount of words that one must recite in the daily prayer, not including the additional Tachanun on Mondays and Thursdays. A commenter on the post noted that there's a "kavanah" minyan one Sunday a month in Teaneck which takes seventy minutes. On a Sunday (actually the best day to take a long time to daven).

As Rabbi Brofsky noted, we're not talking about having a conversation at all. We're reciting texts, that don't change. Imagine trying to do that in English, day after day. Just recite the US Constitution (4,543 words) day after day, without fail, for your entire life. How long could you do it? How long would it take before people were flying through it, skimming or speed-reading or auctioneering? (Answer: Not long.)

I have spoken to many people about this issue, many of whom have said privately (and quoted rabbis and scholars) that they almost never recite all of Pesukei D'zimrah. Or that they haven't recited Kedushah with the community in years. The "unspoken" secret is that it's a mouthful - a lot to say - and perhaps we should be a bit more forgiving of people who either don't say it all, or say it faster than you or I think they should. Today, I don't feel that it's realistic to expect most people to spend 70-90 minutes in meditative prayer each morning.

In a recent episode of This American Life, host Ira Glass opened the episode describing his visit to shul to recite Kaddish for his mother.

And it was the anniversary of my mom's death. And we're Jews, so you're supposed to go say Kaddish, this old prayer that's one of the central prayers in Judaism at the anniversary of somebody's death. And so my dad, and my stepmom, and I were at one of the daily services that observant Jews go to every day in Baltimore where I grew up.
And I always liked going to synagogue as a kid. We went a lot. And so it was nice going back. I know all the Hebrew prayers by heart. And [LAUGHS] I don't know if this is good or bad, but not having sat in a synagogue in over a decade, it really hit me how every day is a rerun.
Do you know what I mean? They never do a new episode. Every day, the same words, same songs in the same order, stretching back hundreds of years. They read a new part of the Bible, part of the Torah some days. So there's that, but all the rest basically exactly the same every day.

We don't give the standard "daveners" who come each and every day enough credit. Prayer is clearly important, and of course focus and concentration are critical. But there's also great value in showing up; in being part of the minyan, day in and day out. In saying the word and being part of the prayer process.

I sometimes get the feeling that people often criticize the daily minyan from the outside: "I don't go because it's too fast." Or, "They don't say all the words anyway. How much can it really mean?" It means a lot - even if they do say it very, very fast. Because the people who get up and make it to minyan each day - which is a Herculean effort in my mind - are doing something that the vast majority of observant Jews are not: they're showing up.

They're showing up so that everyone else who wants to has a place to say kaddish. They're showing their sense of allegiance to the community in a meaningful and tangible way. They're actively engaged in an act of prayer and devotion to God - even if they don't really understand many (if not most) of the words.

And when those times come in life when they really do need that prayer and connection - and those times come for all of us, they already know where to go and what to do, because for their entire lives they've been showing up.

Tech in the Shomer Shabbat Home

A while back, Google introduced the Google Home Hub, a kind of alarm clock-tablet-speaker that people can place around the home. One of the features of this home hub is what the company calls "Ambient EQ" - which "dynamically adjusts the color temperature and brightness of your display to create a non-intrusive smart display experience. Using the sensor on the top of the device, Ambient EQ adapts the display brightness and color temperature to match the surrounding environment, so that your display resembles a physical photo."

In other words, the device will automatically adjust the color on the screen based on the light in the room. Sounds great - and it is: you turn off the lights, and the screen goes dark so that you're not blinded when you're trying to sleep. You open the window shades and it adjusts so the screen always looks great.

Of course, this sensor and the automatic changes raise halachic issues for the Shomer Shabbat consumer. You can always just turn the feature off (see here). But I'm wondering: does the halachah require people to disable such a feature? It seems to be a psik reisha (an immediate, direct response) to a change in light. And it also seems to be "nicha lei" - I do like my screen to look its very best. But do I care enough? I imagine that at some point these sensors will become so ubiquitous that we may not even have the option of turning them off (which will necessitate someone developing a Shomer Shabbat version of whatever Google Home operating system these things use...)

What do you think? Is it a halachic issue? A chumrah?