REVIEW: Discussing the Question
Ori Lifshits, Siha al ha-Sheila: Sippura shel Psikat Halkakha, me-Yomano shel Rav Kehilla (Maggid Books & Yeshivat Siach Yitzchak)
Various articles and books have been penned by community rabbis seeking to describe their view from the pulpit. Few have successfully interwoven descriptions of their daily encounters and conversations with congregants together with their rulings on the complex halakhic issues they encounter. Instead, the genres of rabbinic autobiography and rabbinic responsa, are generally regarded as two completely separate fields.
Among those books written by rabbis reflecting on their careers, very few have been penned by those leading Israeli communities. Admittedly, part of the reason for this is that over half of Israeli synagogues do not employ a formal community rabbi (and the overwhelming majority that have rabbis do so on a part-time basis). Still, the paucity of such records undoubtedly contribute to the fact that being a community rabbi in Israel is actually a far less understood position as it is for those on the job in the diaspora. (Full disclosure, I serve as a community rabbi in Jerusalem.)
This brings us to Rabbi Ori Lifshits’ recent Hebrew book, Siha al ha-Sheila: Sippura shel Psikat Halkakha, me-Yomano shel Rav Kehilla, or Discussing the Question: The Story Behind Halakhic Rulings, From the Diary of a Community Rabbi.
As R. Lifshits explains in his introduction, for a period of six years alongside his teaching role at Yeshivat Siach Yitzchak, he served as the Rabbi of Kibbutz Tirat Tzvi. With a unique voice his Siha al ha-Sheila blends autobiography and responsa by exploring a range of moments, encounters, and halakhic queries that he confronted as a community rabbi. R. Lifshits does a splendid job describing a broad selection of men and women who approached him with queries over the years, and by doing so exquisitely highlights how so much of a rabbi’s work involves not only Torah scholarship but also human interaction, empathy, and kindness; not only “Torah,” but primarily “Torat Hesed.”
However, R. Lifshits’ book explores a deeper layer, one which he arrives at through his identification as a Religious Zionist, his fealty to his teacher R. Shimon Gershon Rosenberg (Rav Shagar, 1949-2007), and the teachings of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov. This is no small biographical detail, but a disclosure of his influences and the attitudes he has adopted in halakha, Hasidism, and spirituality.
Specifically, Lifshits mentions in his introduction how R. Nachman of Breslov compares halakha to the human circulatory system—“the halakhot are comparable to the procession of blood which ebbs and flows within [its own natural] order,” and how, quoting Rav Shagar, “halakha constructs an order of reality; it designs a world, and it gives it an anchor which affects our body language, our movements, our biases and our manner of speech.”
In terms of the book’s structure, its 409 pages begin with a short preface which is then followed by four sections dealing with different areas of halakhic leadership and guidance: Synagogue; Shabbat and Festivals; mitzvot for the individual and the society; and end of life issues, with each section being divided into between 4-7 different cases and rulings. The final 50 pages contain references to further sources and detailed discussions relating to the answers and rulings given by R. Lifshits.
For example, in the section dealing with synagogue life, R. Lifshits has a subchapter titled “Broken Peace: On the Mistake of the Rabbi” where he speaks about one of the few communal situations where a rabbi must make a significant in-the-moment decision. Quoting one of his teachers, R. Mordechai Vardi (Lifshits’ predecessor Tirat Tzvi; currently rabbi of Rosh Tzurim), he writes: “[While there are many questions which arise for a rabbi] where one can seek advice, check, and make a call … there is one area for which you need a [thorough] command where, when a question arises, you have little time to deliberate and you don’t have the opportunity to consult someone. Moreover, this situation can also arise on Shabbat. And what am I referring to? A mistake in a Sefer Torah” (41).
[Read the book’s front matter and sample chapters.]
R. Lifshits explains that, in light of his teacher’s advice, he studied these halakhot and kept a handbook at the ready for almost the entirety of his tenure—and no significant issue arose. But then, in one of the final weeks on the job, as Parashat Pinhas was being read, it was noticed that the letter vav in the word “shalom” was broken (Numbers 25:12).. R. Lifshits decided that this rendered the Sefer Torah to be pasul, and since the community had not yet read three verses before discovering this error, “I ruled that we should return the Sefer to the ark, and [that we should] take out a different Sefer Torah and continue to read from the point where this mistake was found” (43).
After the conclusion of the Torah reading, Micha—a knowledgeable member of the community—approached R. Lifshits with a Torah Temimah in his hand, and he then showed him the Talmudic view of Rabbi Nachman that “The letter vav in the word shalom is severed” (Kiddushin 66b). R. Lifshits thanked Micha and realized that he needed to verify the issue as soon as possible.
Before proceeding it is worthwhile noting that such situations are not rare. Sometimes a rabbi has to make a snap decision. And notwithstanding some review of the halakhot, most are not experts in every area of Jewish law. Accordingly, rabbis make decisions on the basis of what they know in a moment, and every once in a while it may occur that a member of their congregation points out that they should have taken additional issues into consideration. However, as the reader soon discovers, this is just the beginning of the story.
As part of his service to the kibbutz community, R. Lifshits would frequently visit the local old age home on Shabbat afternoons, and among the residents was a woman named Miriam Glazer. Miriam’s son David fell in the Yom Kippur War; three years later, having never recovered from the loss, Miriam’s husband Arieh died. Over time Miriam became more frail and moved into the old age home. On that Parashat Pinhas afternoon, R. Lifshits found her looking crestfallen.
“The Sefer Torah that they read from this morning is the one that was written in memory of the sons of the kibbutz who fell in the Yom Kippur War including my son, David, along with Shimon Springer and Yehuda Halperin,” she related. “Their names are embroidered on the cover, and it pains me that an error was found in the Sefer Torah and that it was returned to the ark during the prayer service” (44).
With Miriam on the verge of tears, the rabbi struggled to find anything to say to console her. He did try to explain that the work needed to fix this error was minor, that the rest of the Sefer Torah was in excellent condition, and it would quickly be returned to use. Still, “it was clear that this issue carried great symbolism, and so, any fault found in the Torah written in memory of her son stirred her pain in relation to his loss.”
This nexus of halakha and the sensitivities of community members, or, put differently, of Torah and hesed, is where most rabbis dedicate most of their time and where they need to be at their best in terms of responding to issues and challenges with emotional intelligence.
When R. Lifshits researched the “broken vav” question after Shabbat, and discovered the longstanding, legitimate tradition for this scribal curiosity, he realized he had ruled in error:
As a community rabbi, your authority is primarily established by your halakhic knowledge and in the faith that members of your community have in you when they ask halakhic questions and when you answer them…. And so, the knowledge that I erred, and that my error was not insignificant, and moreover, that it was an error that did not occur in private but, instead, occurred in public, stirred within me feelings of embarrassment.
R. Lifshits then explains more about the specifics of the halakhic legitimacy of the broken vav (adding further details in the appendix), and shares his exchange with an expert sofer. He then concludes by telling us:
The next day I rushed to update Miriam about what I had discovered, and I also prepared a shiur for the community where I presented the issue to them along with the various commentaries and halakhic debates on this matter and how I had erred on the previous Shabbat. But even before that, I ensured that we read the next week’s portion from the Torah written in memory of the fallen sons. I felt that a level of peace was restored to the synagogue (53).
Elsewhere, he describes a conversation from early in his time as rabbi with Daniel, whose mother Shulamit had just died. Daniel was an only child, and his father Shmuel had passed away twelve years earlier. Over the years, Daniel’s wife Sharon developed a deep bond with her mother-in-law, bringing her to synagogue every Shabbat, gong on tiyulim with her, and driving her to appointments. When Shulamit died, Sharon was abroad visiting family, and Daniel asked if it was possible to delay the funeral until Sharon would arrive back in Israel?
From Daniel’s question, it was clear that he wanted to wait for Sharon before holding the funeral. In fact, I sensed that this was not just an expression of his desire that his wife be with him and provide him support as he mourned his mother, and that it was not just the desire of Sharon, but also the wish and an expression of honour for Shulamit for whom Sharon was like a daughter (287).
Still, when it came to researching this question, R. Lifshits felt pulled in different directions, with the mainstream halakhic view requiring that burials take place as quickly as possible, although knowing full well that certain cases tolerate minor delay if done to increase honor for the deceased. Still, he explains:
At that time I did not feel that I had enough self-confidence to decide how to rule in this case. A rabbi and posek often needs some form of intuition, or what R. Asher Weiss describes when he says “my heart tells me” (libi omer li) which enables a rabbi to decide the right path from the thicket of halakhic opinions and approaches. When I am “holding” in a given sugya, then I feel that I am familiar with its course and its twists and turns, and I feel more comfortable rendering a halakhic decision regarding questions that are brought to me. As long as that is so, I feel that I have the support of the halakhot that I have studied. This was not the case here—and I felt that now was the time to seek the advice from my teachers and rabbis (289).
There was pressure; this was a time-sensitive question in need of an answer. R. Lifshits then describes a bit of a goose chase, attempting to reach authorities with whom he typically consults and on whose opinion he relies, unable to catch them or get definitive guidance. In the end, having heard a range of opinions, he realized that he was back to square one and unsure how to advise Daniel. At this point he turned to a rabbinic mentor—not for a halakhic ruling, but rather for some sage advice. Bottom line: He felt confident delaying the burial so that Sharon would be able to attend.
The family was deeply grateful but at the shiva
an extended family member … pointed out to Daniel that he had delayed the funeral and allowed his mother’s body to remain unburied overnight. This individual did not realize that the person sitting next to him … was the rabbi of the kibbutz who had ruled that this delay was permissible. So when Daniel told him, “Here is our rabbi who can explain why we delayed the funeral,” this individual leaned in to hear me summarize the whole issue, and I believe that as a result, he was eventually convinced by the ruling (294).
Rather than depicting a romanticized image of the rabbinate, Siha al ha-Sheila provides a refreshingly honest and vulnerable depiction of some of the questions, situations, and challenges which rabbis are called upon to address. It charts how a rabbi evolves and gains confidence over time. And it highlights how halakha needs to be balanced with empathy and humanity. As the author himself explains while reflecting on the halakhic guidance he provided to someone in desperate need for a compromise for the sake of shalom bayit: “Halakha is not just what is written in the Shulhan Arukh, or just what you have learned from your hatan teacher ahead of your wedding. Instead, halakha is what occurs when people ask rabbis questions and when they provide answers, including when the solutions that the rabbi suggests are not ideal (lekhathila) but instead are less than ideal (bediavad) solutions…. In fact, when this is what is needed … one could even go so far as to say that ‘this is true halakha’” (180).
Siha al ha-Sheila is an engaging book, packed with rich insights and thoughtful advice about being a community rabbi—including topics such as when to make changes and when not (26); the importance of respecting already established customs (31); the rabbi as educator (107) and agitator (116); the way in which a rabbi is regarded as an ambassador for God (195); the responsibilities and limitations of a rabbis authority (202); and the dangers of rendering halachic rulings too quickly (287). Yet beyond this, it achieves what few have done beforehand—fusing an honest rabbinic autobiography with thoughtful halakhic reasoning and responsa, while opening a window to its readers about the experience of serving as a Religious Zionist community rabbi in Israel.
Johnny Solomon is the Chief Learning Officer of WebYeshiva.org where he teaches and works as #theVirtualRabbi, and serves as the rabbi of the Ramatayim Tzofim Synagogue in Ramot, Jerusalem.