Daf Ditty Moed Katan 21:The Joy of Torah and Aveilus

Guillaume Azoulay

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§ The Sages taught: These are the activities that a mourner is prohibited from engaging in:
He is prohibited from working, and from bathing, and from anointing himself with oil, and
from engaging in sexual relations, and from wearing shoes.

And he is prohibited from reading in the Torah, and in the Prophets, and in the Writings,
and from studying in the Mishna, in the midrash, and in the halakhot, and in the Talmud,
and in the aggadot. But if the public needs him to teach them these things, he need not refrain
from doing so.

There was an incident that the son of Rabbi Yosei died in Tzippori, and Rabbi Yosei entered
the study hall and expounded there for the entire day.

RASHI

Tosafos

‫ת וס פ ות ד " ה וא ס ור לקר ות ב ת ור ה‬
‫ בתשובת רבינו יצחק זקני כתב כי רבינו יעקב היה אוסר בימי אבלו באיוב ובקינות ובדברים‬-
‫הרעים שבירמיה‬
(a)
In a Teshuvah of my grandfather Rabbeinu Yitzchak, he wrote that R. Tam forbade in his Avelus
[learning] Iyos, Kinos (Megilas Eichah), and dire matters in Yirmeyah;

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 (.‫מדלא תני ליה בשמעתין כמו ט' באב שילהי תענית )דף ל‬
1.
This is because they were not taught in our Sugya, like [they were taught] regarding Tish'ah b'Av at
the end of Ta'anis (30a).
‫ובימי זקנותו חזר והתיר‬
(b)
In his old age, he (R. Tam) retracted and permitted.
‫ובירושלמי אמר אבל שונה במקום שאינו רגיל‬
(c)
He may be Shoneh (learn) where he does not normally learn.

‫משמע ששונה כמו בט' באב שאומר בפרק בתרא דתענית )שם( אבל קורא במקום שאינו רגיל‬
(d)
He may learn like on Tish'ah b'Av, about which it says in Ta'anis "he may read [Tanach] in a place
where he does not normally read."

‫וה"ק התם כל מצות הנוהגות באבל נוהגות בט' באב ואסור לקרות בתורה כו' אבל קורא‬
'‫במקום שאינו רגיל וקורא באיוב וקינות וכו‬
(e)
There (in Ta'anis), it means that all Mitzvos that apply to an Avel apply on Tish'ah b'Av, and one may
not read Torah... However, he may read in a place where he does not normally read, in Iyov, Kinos...
‫משמע לכאורה דאבל וט' באב שוין כדקאמר בירושלמי‬
(f)
Avelus and Tish'ah b'Av are the same, like it says in the Yerushalmi.

‫ומיהו אבל שונה במקום שאינו רגיל משמע דהא דוקא שרי ולא באיוב ובקינות ובירמיה‬
(g)
However, "an Avel may learn in a place where he does not normally learn" connotes that only this is
permitted, but not Iyos, Kinos and Yirmeyah.
‫( אסור בדברי תורה שנאמר האנק‬.‫ומה שהביא רבי יצחק ראיה לאסור מדקאמר לעיל )ד' טו‬
‫דום ומשמע הכל‬
(h)
It is forbidden, for above (15a) we forbid Divrei Torah to an Avel, for it says "He'anek Dom." This
implies that all Divrei Torah are forbidden!
‫( משום שנאמר פקודי‬.‫אין נ"ל ראייה דלא קאמר אלא מדבר המשמחו כדאמר בתענית )ד' ל‬
‫ה' ישרים משמחי לב‬
(i)
We say [that he may not learn] something that gives Simchah, like it says in Ta'anis (30a), for it says
"Pekudei Hash-m Yesharim Mesamchei Lev."

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‫תדע דכולהו לאו דוקא דהא קאמר אסור בתפילין שנאמר פארך חבוש עליך ואינו אסור כל‬
.‫ימי אבלו‬
(j)
Not all of these [Halachos] are precise. We say that he is forbidden [to wear] Tefilin, for it says
"Pe'ercha Chavosh Alecha", and it is not forbidden all the days of his Avelus.

It was related that a calamity, i.e., a death in the family, once befell Rabba bar bar Ḥana, and
he thought not to go out to deliver his exposition. Rabbi Ḥanina said to him: Is it not taught
that if the public needs him to teach them these things, one need not refrain from doing so? He
then thought to place an interpreter alongside him, who would sound his words to the public,
as was normally done for such an exposition. Rav said to him: It is taught in a baraita similarly:
Provided that he does not place the disseminator alongside him.

The Gemara asks: But how, then, should he act so that he can be heard? The Gemara answers: It
is like that which is taught in a baraita: There was an incident and the son of Rabbi Yehuda
bar Ilai died, and Rabbi Yehuda entered the study hall. And Rabbi Ḥananya ben Akavya
entered after him and sat by his side.

Rabbi Yehuda bar Ilai then whispered his lecture to Rabbi Ḥananya ben Akavya, and Rabbi
Ḥananya ben Akavya whispered it to the disseminator, and the disseminator sounded to the
public what had been told to him. In this way, it became known that Rabbi Yehuda bar Ilai was in
mourning.

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Summary1

Our Rabbis have taught: These are the behaviors that are prohibited to the mourner – [the mourner
is] prohibited in melacha (work), washing, anointing, sexual intimacy, wearing leather shoes, and
is prohibited from reading in the Torah, the Nevi’im and the Ketuvim, [and is prohibited from]
learning in the Mishna, Midrash, Laws, in the Talmud and the Agadot1.

What distinguishes this list of five (or six) prohibitions from the lengthy analysis on 14b-16a?

First, this list directly parallels the dinim of Yom Kippur2and Tisha b’Av3. Linking the experience
of private mourning to that of national mourning (Tisha b’Av) is a powerful reminder that no one
ever mourns alone. By paralleling Yom Kippur we again have an echo of the idea that mourning
and loss come as the result of sin which demands atonement and repentance.

Second, Tosafot4on the page (s.v. elu devarim) claim that this list only contains actions from which
the mourner is prohibited as opposed to behaviors that must be done.

The connection between the experience of mourning and Yom Kippur / Tisha b’Av is evocative.
The prohibitions on Yom Kippur are called ‫עינוים‬, innuyim refer to behaviors that are meant to
make us feel physical discomfort. One of the more complex Halakhic questions that we are going
to have to address is to what extent, if at all, those same behaviors during aveilut are meant to
cause physical discomfort to the mourner. Is the point of mourning to give a structure to the
expression of grief or to experience innuy? We will continue to return to this distinction as we
work through some of the individual behaviors.

Note: This was written before we began sheltering in our homes. One of the core prohibitions
during the week of shivva forbids leaving our home. In this difficult time, as many are
sitting shivva for their loved ones, we are all struggling at home and praying for healing.

Footnotes
1. One might wonder what a text from the time of the Mishna, a berayta from the first or second century, means when it
uses the word “Talmud.” For an interesting approach see Rashi to Bava Metiza 33a s.v. Talmud who explains what we
think of as a noun that refers to a specific book as a verb which refers to a method of analysis. See Narrating the Law, by
Rabbi Dr. Barry Scott Wimpfheimer page 23 note 78, in his cogent analysis Dr. Wimpfheimer notes the phenomenon

1
https://roshyeshivatmaharat.org/2020/03/introduction-to-the-prohibitions-of-the-mourner-3-moed-katan-21a/

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 and points to this very comment of Rashi. I am grateful to recall learning this very text with Rabbi Wimpfheimer as a
Rabbinical student some twenty years ago.
2. See Masechet Yoma 73b, 74b, 77a where these practices are learned from Biblical verses. Shulchan Aruch Orach
Chayyim 611:1.
3. See Masechet Ta’anit 30a – in this case the laws of mourning are presented as the starting point that is extended to a fast
day – Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chayyim 554:1.
4. See also the Meiri 21a s.v. Elu Devarim who tries to take Tosafot a step further. The Ritva simply says that this list is
incomplete and that the full list falls in Masechet Semachot

More Mourning Rituals

As we continue to learn the rites of mourning, we encounter some interesting parallels. Before
speaking of those, the basic content of today's daf can be summarzied as discussions around:
• whether mourners sit or stand in comparison with those going through chalitza
• overturning the bed
• learning - is the mourner going to be comforted by learning? or distracted?
• wearing tefilin on the first, second, third days of mourning
• greeting people/being greeted at days 1-2, days 3-7, up to day 30, up to 12 months
mourning
• when and how we speak words of consolation to mourners once past the 30-day
mourning period
So the Gemara is quite clear - generally we are not learning about mourning rituals that were in
place at the time of writing. And when we are looking at established rituals, the rabbis are often
unclear as to why we do those things. Over and over, the rabbis tell us what different Sages did in
different communities. Based on these actions, the rabbis decide what should be formally
ritualized.

The rabbis discuss rituals that might have taken place in the past. They share stories regarding
different practices. The rabbi with the most clout tends to create the halacha which has been
taught, then, from generation to generation for literally thousands of years.

Again it is jarring to confront the origins of our current ritual practices. Sometimes very
established, seemingly meaningful rituals are actually based upon "maybes"; interpretations made
thousands of years ago. What if those interpretations were simply opinions of those with social
stature, education, and power? What if those very important mourning rituals are based on sources
that I cannot grasp - or with which I disagree?

Ultimately, and I come to this over and over, Jewish rituals continue to provide me with comfort,
community, and questions. The fact that generations have said these same prayers before me,
bowed at the same time, sat in lower chairs when in mourning and not worn tefilin at certain times
when mourning - all of these rituals are imbued with the meaning that has been instilled in each of
them over those generations. I don't need to understand and I don't need to agree - I just need the
rituals.

But i do need to learn - to know the sources behind the traditions. Hence daf yomi.

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Rav Avrohom Adler writes:2

The Gemora cites a braisa which delineates the laws of the mourner. A mourner is forbidden to
engage in labor; nor can he wash or anoint himself; he cannot have marital relations; he cannot
wear leather shoes; he is forbidden from studying Torah, Prophets, Writings, Mishna, Medrash,
halachos, Talmud and Aggadah. If the public needs him, he should not refrain from teaching them.
There was an incident and the son of Rabbi Yosi from Tzipori’s son died and he went to the Beis
Medrash and taught Torah to his students the entire day. The Gemora states: Although we allow a
mourner to teach Torah if the public needs him, he should not set up an interpreter (to demonstrate
that he is in mourning).

The Gemora states: Rabbi Eliezer said: A mourner is forbidden to don tefillin the first three days
of mourning. From the third day and on, he is permitted to don tefillin and even if a new person
arrives (and he might think that this is the mourner’s first day), he is not required to remove the
tefillin. Rabbi Yehoshua said: A mourner is forbidden to don tefillin the first two days of mourning.
From the second day and on, he is permitted to don tefillin and even if a new person arrives, he is
required to remove the tefillin. The Gemora cites the Scriptural sources for these halachos. Ula
states: The halacha is in accordance with Rabbi Eliezer regarding the removal of the tefillin (if a
new person arrives from the third day and on, he is not required to remove the tefillin) and the
halacha is in accordance with Rabbi Yehoshua regarding the donning of the tefillin (from the
second day and on, he is permitted to don tefillin). The Gemora concludes according to Ula: If a
new person arrives on the second day, he is required to remove the tefillin. Rava rules: Once he
dons the tefillin on the second day, he is not required to remove them. The Gemora asks: Isn’t
Rava the one who holds that the primary mourning period lasts three days? The Gemora answers:
Since it is a mitzva to wear tefillin, we allow him on the second day of mourning to wear them and
he is not required to remove them.

The Gemora cites several braisos that discuss the stringencies of the first three days of the
mourning period: He is prohibited from working even if he is a poor person who is sustained
through charity. Afterwards, he may work in private. A poor woman mourner, after the third day,
may spin with her spindle in private. A mourner does not leave his house the first three days of
mourning even to comfort another mourner. Afterwards, he may go out to comfort them, but he
sits together with the mourners and not with the consolers. A mourner during the first three days
of mourning should not greet his friend and should not respond to his friends greeting. From the
third day of mourning through the seventh day, he may respond to his friends greeting but he may
not greet them. Afterwards, he may greet them in the usual manner. The Gemora cites an incident
with Rabbi Akiva where he greeted the public who attended the eulogy for his sons. The Gemora
answers: This was permitted for he was displaying respect to the public.

The Gemora cites a braisa: After sheloshim, one can greet mourner in a regular way, but he should
not console him. The Gemora cites another braisa which contradicts this: One may console a
mourner during the first twelve months but he should not offer greetings, afterwards, he should
greet him but he should not console him. The Gemora answers: The latter braisa is referring to a
person who is mourning on the loss of his father or mother; the period of mourning lasts longer
2
http://dafnotes.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Moed_Katan_21.pdf

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and the mourner should not be greeted until a year after the death. The former braisa is referring
to a person who is mourning on the loss of other relatives; he may be greeted in the regular way
after the sheloshim.

A MOURNER STUDYING TORAH

The Gemora states that a mourner is forbidden from studying Torah. Rashi explains: The studying
of Torah makes one happy and a mourner is required to be in a state of anguish. The Ramban asks:
Doesn’t every person have an obligation to learn every day? He answers: One can fulfill this mitzva
with the recital of krias shema in the morning and in the evening. . The Ritva is uncertain whether
a mourner is permitted to learn those topics (Iyuv, certain parts of Yirmiyah) that one is allowed
to learn on Tisha b’Av. He cites from Rabbeinu Yitzchak that he is permitted. Tosfos HaRosh
writes that it is customary for a mourner to study Moed Katan where it discusses the laws regarding
a mourner. The Meiri cites an opinion that a mourner is forbidden from studying any Torah since
he is required to remain silent and it is not dependant on learning which results in joy to the heart.
He adds that it is also permitted for a mourner to glance at seforim which led a person to
repentance.

The Chacham Tzvi rules that if someone is accustomed to reciting Mishnayos by heart and he is
concerned that he will forget them if he interrupts this learning, he may continue to do so. The
Aruch Hashulchan cites a Yerushalmi: If someone is literally sick without studying Torah, he is
permitted to learn. He concludes: the poskim do not bring this down because it is highly unlikely
in our generations.

The Rogatchover Gaon applied to himself. It is said that the Chasam Sofer wrote his teshuvos
regarding mourning while sitting shiva for his mother. Chazal say that Esau was waiting for
Yitzchak to die until he would kill Yaakov. The Keli Yakar explains: Esau understood that Yaakov
will be protected by the studying of Torah; once Yitzchak dies, Yaakov will be mourning and will
be forbidden to learn and this would be the opportunity he was anxiously waiting for. The Beis
Yisroel asks: Couldn’t Yaakov be protected with the learning of the topics that are permitted to
learn?

He answers: It is the joy from the learning that protects a person and a mourner doesn’t have that
joy.

Can one fulfill mitzvas nichum aveilim over the telephone?

The Rambam says that there are two facets to mitzvas nichum aveilim: The first is to comfort the
mourners who are distraught over the death of their loved one, and this is done by expressing one’s
sympathies and condolences. A personal visit to a house of mourning is a show of respect and a
source of comfort to the mourners in their time of sorrow. The second part of the mitzvah is for
the sake of the deceased.

By visiting the home of the deceased during the Shivah period and consoling the mourners who
are sitting there, one is performing a chesed with the soul of the departed individual. [It is possible
that the text recited in the house of mourning is worded in the plural—ha-makom yenachem

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eschem—even when consoling a single mourner, because one is consoling the soul of the deceased
as well as the mourner himself].

Rav M. Feinstein rules that while it is possible to console a mourner over the telephone, it is not
possible to do chesed with the soul of the deceased unless one actually comes to the house of
mourning. Nor does one accord the full honor due a mourner through a mere phone call. Thus, if
one can, he must be menachem avel in person.

If, however, he truly cannot come in person, he should still call the mourner on the phone to
console him and thereby fulfill at least part of the mitzvah. The mourner may come to the phone
and accept a caller's words of condolence. He may not, however, speak about other matters or ask
about the welfare of the caller, even if the caller is a child or close relative.

TEACHING TORAH DURING AVEILUS

Rav Mordechai Kornfeld writes:3

The Beraisa states that although an Avel is not allowed to learn Torah during his Aveilus, if the
public needs him ("Rabim Tzerichim Lo") he may teach Torah to them. The Gemara says that
Rebbi Yosi indeed taught Torah publicly when he was an Avel, as did Rabah bar bar Chanah and
Rebbi Yehudah bar Ila'i.

Is this Halachah still practiced today? May a person who is an Avel teach Torah if the public needs
him?

(a) The SHULCHAN ARUCH (YD 384:1) rules that an Avel whom the public needs is permitted
to teach Torah. The SHACH adds in the name of the KOLBO and the MAHARSHAL (Teshuvos
#66) that "Melamdei Tinokos," teachers of children, are considered to be providers of a public
need and therefore may teach even during their period of Aveilus.

(b) The REMA, however, adds two limitations to the allowance for an Avel to teach publicly. He
rules, based on the MORDECHAI, that a Talmid Chacham who is an Avel may teach Torah to
the public only by whispering to a "Turgeman" who then expounds the Talmid Chacham's words
to the public. The Talmid Chacham is not allowed to lecture directly to the public.

The Rema also rules that a Talmid Chacham is permitted to teach only Halachos in public, and
only when no one else is capable of issuing a Halachic ruling. He may not expound on non-
Halachic matters which the students do not need to know in order to conduct themselves properly
in practice.

According to the Rema, why is a Melamed Tinokos who is an Avel permitted to teach children?
He fulfills neither of the Rema's requirements: he does not use a "Turgeman," and he does not
issue Halachic rulings when he teaches.
3
https://www.dafyomi.co.il/mkatan/insites/mo-dt-021.htm

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Some Acharonim (see BE'ER HA'GOLAH) have a different Girsa in the words of the Rema,
according to which he permits an Avel to teach to the public without a "Turgeman." Even
according to the Girsa in our texts, this limitation perhaps applied only in the days when it was
common to use a "Turgeman," and for the types of learning for which a "Turgeman" was usually
used.

The MAHARSHAL explains that although the Melamed Tinokos does not issue Halachic rulings
when he teaches the children, he is aware of the significant responsibility that he bears and he does
not derive pleasure from the Torah he teaches. Since the prohibition against learning or teaching
Torah during Aveilus is because of the pleasure one experiences from Torah, the Melamed Tinokos
is permitted to teach.

Another reason for why a Melamed Tinokos is permitted to teach the children is because his
teaching is considered a "Davar ha'Aved," and an Avel is permitted to do a Melachah for a Davar
ha'Aved after the third day of his Aveilus. Indeed, the TAZ rules that a Melamed Tinokos may
teach the children only after the third day of his Aveilus.

If the Melamed Tinokos or Talmid Chacham does not want to teach during his Aveilus, he
certainly is not required to teach. The Gemara says only that he "does not have to refrain" from
teaching, but not that he is obligated to teach (SHEVET YEHUDAH).

GREETING AN AVEL

The Gemara concludes that one should not greet an Avel with "Shalom" until thirty days have
passed since the beginning of his Aveilus. If the Avel is mourning for the passing of his father or
mother, one should not greet him until twelve months have passed.

What is the Halachah in practice today?

(a) The RITVA and CHIDUSHEI HA'RAN write that they have not seen this Halachah
observed, but that they do not know why it is not observed.
The SHULCHAN ARUCH (YD 385:1) quotes the Halachah as recorded in the Gemara and
writes that greeting an Avel with "Shalom" is prohibited.

(b) The REMA (YD 385:1), however, writes that people are generally lenient and greet a person
who is an Avel for a parent after thirty days (and if he is an Avel for a relative other than a parent,
after seven days; DARCHEI MOSHE). The Rema suggests that the reason why the prohibition
against greeting an Avel as recorded in the Gemara is not practiced today is that the form of
greeting common in the times of the Gemara differed from the form of greeting which is common
today.

The DARCHEI MOSHE (OC 89) explains that in the times of the Gemara, when they greeted
each other with "Shalom Aleichem," they also bowed down. The Gemara prohibits extending only
that form of greeting to an Avel. Today's form of greeting -- merely saying "Shalom Aleichem"
without bowing down -- is permitted.

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The SHACH and MAGEN AVRAHAM (OC 554:21) write that l'Chatchilah a person should be
stringent and observe the Halachah as it is recorded in the Gemara, but if someone acts leniently
he does not have to be rebuked.

While in Mourning

Steinzaltz (OBM) writes:4

What if someone is “sitting Shiva” and hears that a friend or a relative has passed on? Can he go
and join the funeral procession or visit the house of mourning?

According to the Gemara, during the first three days such an avel (mourner) cannot leave his home,
but afterwards he can go to the house where others are “sitting Shiva“; there he should sit with the
people in mourning rather than with the comforters. Rabbeinu Yehonatan and the Ran understand
that this limits the mourner to attending the funeral (and home) of relatives, which explains why
he joins those who are “sitting Shiva.” Most rishonim, however, do not distinguish between
relatives and others.

Tosafot point out that this is the source for another tradition – that we allow mourners to come to
the synagogue on Tisha b’Av. Since on the Ninth of Av all Jews are in mourning, as they indicate
publicly by their behavior on that day (sitting on the floor, removing their leather shoes, etc.),
the avel can take his place among them on this day.

Another difference between the first three days of aveilut and the rest of the week is the exchange
of greetings. At the beginning of the mourning period, no greetings are permitted at all. In the latter
part of the week, a mourner can respond to a greeting, but he cannot initiate one. Once the week
is over, he can speak to people as usual.

The issue of greetings is taken very seriously by the Gemara. In Massekhet Berakhot the Gemara
emphasizes the importance of returning greetings and tells stories about the greatest of Sages who
made it their business to greet every person, no matter what their social standing or status. This
sensitivity is what encourages the Sages to permit returning a greeting even at a time when
greetings are, for the most part, forbidden. Even during the first three days of mourning, when
the avel cannot respond to others, he should not simply ignore the greeting, but rather should
explain that in his present situation as a mourner he cannot follow the normal behaviors of polite
interaction.

4
https://steinsaltz.org/daf/moed21/

11
The Gemara teaches that a mourner is not allowed to study Torah.5

Ritva deals with the question whether a mourner may study sad or tragic passages of Torah, as we
find is permitted on Tisha B’Av, when everyone is in a state of mourning for the destruction of the
Beis Hamikdash (see Ta’anis 30a). On the one hand, we find that there are aspects of Tisha B’Av
which are more stringent than a mourner. On Tisha B’Av no washing is allowed at all, including
with cold water upon one’s hands, which is allowed a private mourner. From this perspective, we
could argue that learning sad passages of Torah should be allowed for a mourner. On the other
hand, a private mourner has certain stringencies not found on Tisha B’Av. He must cover his head
(‫ )הראש עטיפת‬collapse the tables in his house, and he may not leave his house. Perhaps, therefore,
his study of Torah should also be more curtailed more than we find on Tisha B’Av. Ritva
rules according to Rabeinu Yitzchok, that a mourner may learn Torah subjects
which contain sad or tragic content, just as is allowed on Tisha B’Av.

Tosafos HaRosh also rules leniently, and he adds that the custom was that mourners studied the
halachos of mourning featured in Massechta Moed Katan. As far as the rationale for the opinion
which prohibits a mourner from learning even these Torah topics, Tosafos and Meiri explain that
a mourner is supposed to be silent even from casual speech.

Therefore, his abstaining from normal Torah topics is not specifically due to his need to avoid
gladness, but it is due to his need to remain silent, even from topics which cause distress. There is
a difference of opinion among the Rishonim whether a mourner may study the halachos of
mourning, or if he may only study the sad and tragic topics which are specified for study on Tisha
B’Av.

Ritva writes that it is permitted for a mourner to study halachos of mourning “in order to know
what to do.” This suggests that regular study of these halachos is not allowed, even though these
are unhappy topics, unless it is for a practical purpose for him to know how to conduct himself.
Tosafos and Ravya seem to hold that study of tragic topics and the halachos of mourning are in
the same category, both being permitted.

The mourner is forbidden to study the Torah, the Prophets or the Writings. Nor may he learn
the Mishnah, the Midrash, the Braisos, the Talmud or the Agadah.

This prohibition for the mourner to engage in Torah study is indeed codified (1); however, an
exception is made for the laws of mourning and topics of a similarly sorrowful nature, such as Iyov
(2). In this matter, the Poskim disagree whether a mourner is obligated in the Mitzvah to study

5
https://www.dafdigest.org/masechtos/MoedKatan%20021.pdf

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Torah for the permitted areas of study or not. Rav Yehuda Ayash (3) opines that a mourner is ‫)פטור‬
fully exempted) of the obligation to study Torah. Thus, if he desires he may study the permitted
areas of learning, but if he does not desire to do so, his inactiveness of study is not deemed a
transgression.

Rav Ovadiah Yosef (4) advances an interesting proof to this view based on the singular opinion of
the Geonim (5) that on any day during which one may not study Torah, such as a mourner or
Tishah B’Av, it is forbidden to recite Birkas HaTorah (the blessings over the Torah).

Rav Yosef questions this being that there are Torah topics that may still be studied, thus why aren’t
Birkas HaTorah recited (6)? It must be that the Geonim maintained that in those circumstances
one may study the permitted Torah topics, but one is not obligated to do so, and therefore one does
not recite Birkas HaTorah (7).

However, both Rav Yikusiel Yehuda Halbershtam (8), the Klausenberger Rav, and Rav Ovadiah
Yosef (9) write at length to challenge point by point the view of Rav Yehuda Ayash, and conclude
that the requirement to study Torah exists even in these conditions (10), but is limited to the Torah
topics permitted.

As we see on today’s daf, a mourner is not allowed to learn. When the Rogatchover Gaon, zt”l,
was in mourning he didn’t stop talking in learning. When he was asked how he could act against
the Gemara in Moed Katan 21a and the Shulchan Aruch and all mefarshim, he explained, “It says
in the Yerushalmi that a mourner is permitted to wash if he has sores on his head since he is anyway
in pain. I am literally in pain without learning!”

When Rav Tzvi Pesach Frank, zt”l, lost his sister, they had the levaya and then the Rav of
Yerushalayim did a very unusual thing. He took out a Gemara and started learning for an extended
period of time. Eventually, he stopped learning and put the Gemara away. When asked to share
the basis of his acting leniently, he said, “Pikuach nefesh overrides anything with very rare

13
exception. I felt like I was in this situation, so I learned until I recovered sufficiently from the
shock so I could bear it. I then stopped because it is forbidden to learn!”

The Chida, zt”l, talks about a certain Rav who would learn the laws of mourning alone when he
was mourning. He would learn in depth with a lot of alacrity and would jot down any chiddush
that came to him. Eventually he printed this in a sefer. The Chida writes that this is prohibited
since there is no greater joy for a baal Torah than this!

The heter to learn the laws of mourning is only to study the simple meaning, as the poskim write
about learning on Tisha B’av. Even so, the Maharsham, zt”l, writes that the Chasam Sofer, zt”l,
clearly learned the laws of mourning in depth while in mourning. The Beis Yisrael, zt”l, said, “It
is forbidden to learn while in mourning because this brings one to joy.

We see from here that learning without joy is not really learning!”

Mourning together
SARA RONIS WRITES:

As we approach the end of Moed Katan, we find ourselves in the midst of a block of material
primarily devoted to the laws of mourning. Our daf describes a very specific and sad case of
someone who has just lost a family member when they hear that someone else is also bereaved.
Can they go to their friend’s shiva?

Our rabbis taught: A mourner during the first three days after his bereavement may not go to
another mourner’s house. From this point forward, he may go, but he may not sit among the
consolers, but rather in the place of those being consoled.

Where one sits at a shiva house is highly regulated. We read in Moed Katan 15a that mourners
should sit in low chairs or on the ground, while visitors sit near them but in standard chairs.
This beraita states that after the immediate shock of his own loss, the mourner can visit their
bereaved friend, but must sit with the mourners, not the visitors.

But why? The Gemara doesn’t say but I’d like to propose two answers.

First, the practical. The Gemara cites another braita immediately after this one:

Our rabbis taught: A mourner, during the first three days, is prohibited from extending
greetings. From the third day to the seventh day, he may respond, but he may not extend
greetings to them. From this point forward, he may extend greetings and respond in his usual
manner.

Mourners are prohibited from extending greetings to others during the entire seven days of their
shiva. But human beings are social animals and greeting each other is a key social ritual; most of
the time, not saying hello to someone is considered rude and it might be difficult to do. Perhaps

14
one reason that the visiting mourner sits with the other mourners is to signal to others what laws
they are meant to follow, so they know why this non-family member is not saying hello.

Second, the emotional. To put it mildly, mourning is hard — emotionally and even physically
painful. Sadness and grief can be suppressed or ignored, but those feelings will usually find a way
to bubble up at some later date. Shiva gives people time to process, alone and in community, before
moving forward with their lives. When a mourner hears of someone else’s loss and runs to comfort
them, that abrupt and premature shift out of their own mourning could rob them of time they need
to process their own grief.

Airplane safety videos always warn passengers that in case cabin pressure drops and oxygen masks
are deployed, one must “secure your own oxygen mask before helping others.” While this is an
important safety rule for air travel, it also applies self-care: When times are really hard, the rabbis
remind us, tend to yourself before taking care of others.

Our daf offers an intelligent solution to this dilemma, a way for the mourner to care for themselves
while also caring for others. You should put aside your own mourning, the rabbis counsel, but you
have to keep your own oxygen mask on to be able to help others.

Rabbi Johnny Solomon writes:6

Our daf (Moed Katan 21b) informs us that a mourner is forbidden ‫( בשאילת שלום‬which is generally
translated as meaning ‘to greet others’ although, as I will explain below, it means so much more
than this), while we are also taught that we do not greet mourners in the usual fashion.

As I explained in my commentary to Ta’anit 14b, “true ‫ שאילת שלום‬involves greeting and blessing
someone, often while invoking the name of God, which is then coupled with a sincere enquiry
about the well-being of that person.” On this basis I suggested why we do not greet mourners in
the usual fashion because a mourner generally does not feel blessed and that by asking a mourner
‘how are you’ as they are wrestling with their deep feelings of pain and loss “add pressure to
someone already undergoing significant challenges to coherently explain how they are truly doing.

And given the fact that people suffering trauma often struggle to find such words, and those asking
them often don’t have sufficient time to wait for the individual to fully formulate a coherent
answer, we refrain from doing so.”

However, what I didn’t explain there, and what is particularly relevant to our daf, is why is a
mourner forbidden ‫ בשאילת שלום‬and why we do not encourage a mourner to greet and bless others
or ask them how they are doing?

A simple answer is that true ‫ שאילת שלום‬demands a smile and the spiritual energy to bless another
– both of which are almost impossible to expect from someone who is reeling from the shock of
the death of their loved one. But a further answer is that ‫ שאילת שלום‬requires that we put aside our

6
www.rabbijohnnysolomon.com

15
own feelings to listen to the feelings of others; that we give them the gift not only of our ears and
our time, but also the gift of our heart, and someone with a broken heart is unable to do this.

The flip-side of this is that those who are not mourners should be ‫שואל בשלום‬. Yet the reality, which
I also previously spoke about, is the fact that it is exceedingly rare for many of us to make the time
and effort to sincerely enquire about the well-being of another. Instead, we ask ‘how are you’ -
with the hope that the answer they provide be little more than ‘OK,’ or ‘fine’, and that their
response not last more than a few seconds. As I mentioned in a recent talk, my dear friend Lenny
Borger z’l was one of those special people who didn’t just ask ‘how are you?’, but who actually
made time in his day, and space in his heart, to truly listen. And by doing so, he showed that he
truly cared.

As someone who has been carrying a range of worries, especially relating to my wife’s health,
during recent months, I can say that there are many people who think that they have asked you
how you are doing but who didn’t. There are those who do, but aren’t really keen to hear a
meaningful answer. And then there are those who – like Lenny did even when he was unwell -
make time in their day, and space in their heart, to truly listen.

Ultimately, if ‫ – שאילת שלום‬in the fullest sense of the word – is unachievable for a mourner, then it
is something that most of us who are fortunately not grieving a close relative should aspire to fulfil.
And if we do, I believe that it will be a valuable contribution to bringing ‫ שלום‬not only in the hearts
of those who need to know that others care, but also a deeper form of ‫ שלום‬between people as well.

16
Rav Moshe Taragin writes:7

The gemara in Ta'anit (daf 30a) asserts that the same laws and prohibitions which apply to an avel
whose relative has passed away, pertain to Tish'a Be-Av. On this day we are all mourners over the
Beit Hamikdash and Yerushalayim and, hence must practice the laws of personal mourning.
Among the prohibitions, the gemara cites the issur of studying Torah. Just as an avel may not
engage in Torah study, on Tish'a Be-av this experience is similarly prohibited. This article will
explore the nature of the prohibition.

As always, we begin our analysis by examining the source of the prohibition. The gemara
in Ta'anit (30a) cites the pasuk in Tehillim (19:9): 'Pikudei Hashem yesharim me-samchei leiv'
(the edicts of God are just, and gladden the heart)' to prove that the experience of Torah study
causes joy. As Tish'a Be-Av (akin to aveilut) dictates that we deprive ourselves from experiences
which cause delight, we are forbidden from engaging in this study.

By contrast, the gemara in Mo'ed Katan (15a) cites an alternate source for the prohibition
of Torah study during aveilut. The gemara cites the passage in Yechezkeil in which Hashem asks
Yechezkeil (chapter 24) to mimic certain forms of aveilut behavior to presage the impending
destruction of the Beit Hamikdash. One of the instructions to Yechezkeil is 'ha'anek dom' - to
remain silent . The gemara infers from this pasuk that an avel should be silent - if not entirely at
least from significant forms of speech and communication. From this pasuk the gemara infers a
prohibition for an avel to greet someone as well as to study Torah.

Obviously these two sources point to two very different understandings of the prohibition
of Torah study. The pasuk in Tehillim prohibits the joy which will arise from this study while the
pasuk in Yechezkeil addresses the very act of study as being forbidden. What might the differences
between the two models be?

The gemara in Ta'anit (30a) cites the position of the Tanah Kamah that although Torah
study is forbidden on Tish'a Be-Av, one may study new sections with which he is not familiar.
Since the initial 'pass' or analysis is strenuous or difficult, no delight will be yielded. The Tanah
Kamah clearly understands this prohibition as stemming entirely from the resulting joy. Torah
study stripped of this joy is thus permitted.

R. Yehuda, however, rejects this position and claims that a person cannot study even
unfamiliar sections. Does he in fact base the prohibition upon the pasuk in Yechezkeil which
prohibits Torah study as a form of speech and hence extend the scope of the issur broadly? Or does
he agree in principle that Torah study is forbidden for the happiness it will cause and yet maintains
that no part Torah may be studied since even unfamiliar terrain conveys a sort of spiritual
satisfaction which is forbidden to an avel? We might decide this question by analyzing a case in
which even R. Yehuda allows Torah study. The gemara in Ta'anit after citing the dispute between
R. Yehuda and the Tana Kama about learning unfamiliar sections asserts that on Tish'a Be-Av we
may study Iyov, Lamentations, and the depressing sections of Yirmiyahu (in which the destruction
of the Temple is forecasted). Apparently, even R. Yehuda accepts this exception. Instinctively, it
seems that even R. Yehuda bases the prohibition of Torah study upon the joy it causes and
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17
permitted it in instances in which no joy is experienced. He merely disputes the Tana Kama's claim
that studying unfamiliar sections causes no excitement.

We might detect a second example of permitted Torah recitation in contexts which don't
cause joy. The Tur (Orach Chayim 554) cites the Ramban who claims that on Tish'a Be-Av we are
permitted to recited korbanot and the Beraita de-Rebbi Yishma'el (sections recited at the end of
'korbanot' which are in essence excerpts from Torah proper). Since these sections are being recited
in the framework of tefilla they are permitted. Might this position as well be based upon the
premise that Torah study is forbidden solely due to the simcha it will cause . When Torah is recited
as part of tefilla the same experience of joy is not anticipated and such 'Torah' is permitted. Had
Torah recitation per se been prohibited, we might have taken a stronger stance against the repetition
of these sections.

Interestingly enough, the Rama extends this concept to a very troubling extreme. He rules
(ibid. 554:4) that one may be ma'avir sidra (recite the weekly Torah portion twice with a targum
commentary) on Tish'a Be-av. This controversial position is hotly debated amongst the later
commentaries. Though reciting Torah within davening might be permissible this particular
practice should be forbidden because it is a genuine Torah study experience. The IMPETUS for
this mitzva known as 'Shenayim Mikra' might be the desire to prepare as a community for that
week's Torah reading, but ultimately it represents an authentic Torah study experience (unlike
Tefilla). Evidently the Rama felt that ANY Torah study experience performed in an alternate
framework is permissible on Tish'a Be-Av.

Even within the Rama's lenient position we might set certain limits. The Tur (Yoreh De'ah
384) cites the position that if the only Cohen in shul is an avel, he should defer and not receive the
first aliya during Kri'at Ha-Torah (since taking an aliya and reading along with the Ba'al Kri'a is a
form of Torah study). Why not apply the Rama's leniency that Torah study in alternate frameworks
are permitted? Obviously some distinction must be drawn between receiving an aliya and
reviewing the week's Torah section.

SUMMARY:
We have examined cases in which the Torah study might be permitted because the joy is
suppressed or at least not the dominant feature of the experience.

We might inspect the reverse case: instances in which the Torah study might still cause joy
but does not entail formal speech. The Shulchan Arukh (Orach Chayim 554) cites a position which
prohibits 'thinking' about Torah during Tish'a Be-Av . The Magen Avraham explains that even
though normally we do not recognize 'thoughts' as equivalent to speech (one cannot think Kri'at
Shema) in this case as the prohibition centers around the joy of the experience we might not insist
upon formal speech. A similar conclusion stems necessarily from the Chatam Sofer (responsa
Orach Chayim 156) who explains the minhag of not studying Torah on Erev Tish'a Be-Av after
noon "since the material he learnt will still be fresh in his mind during Tish'a Be-Av and he will
inevitably ponder his Torah DURING Tish'a Be-Av". Evidently, he too prohibits thinking of Torah
even when not formally reciting it.

18
 An intriguing discussion is cited by the Taz (Yoreh De'ah 384:1) as to whether an avel can
participate in various public services surrounding a sefer Torah (hagba and gelila). These might be
additional instances in which no speech is involved but possible joy stemming from Torah might
dictate a prohibition.

Having established two different paradigms for the prohibition of Torah study during
aveilut, we might explore whether each competing system might be relevant but in entirely
different contexts. The Taz (ibid.) cites a position which allows a Rebbi to teach his students after
the first three days of aveilut but not before. How might we justify this position? Either it should
be permitted during the entire aveilut period (in light of the public service) or should be forbidden
throughout !!!

We might distinguish between the two phases of aveilut as follows. Halakha recognizes
two components of Aveilut:
1) prohibitions
2) behavior which actively demonstrates the aveilut status.

Refraining from wearing leather shoes, bathing, and sexual engagement are all examples of
physical luxuries which are forbidden because they will cause enjoyment. Not wearing tefillin,
turning a bed upside down, not leaving the house (even to attend a funeral) and not greeting another
person, are not NECESSARILY geared to preventing enjoyment. Instead they announce to the
community the person's status as an avel, and identify him in obvious manner as such. Clearly,
after the third day of aveilut (at which point the intensity of aveilut somewhat diminishes) many
forms of conduct belonging to the latter category are suspended or at least reduced. For example,
many positions which prohibit tefillin and leaving the house during the first three days, permit it
afterwards. The prohibitions however and the resisting from pleasure are maintained.

By extending this distinction, we might arrive at the following conclusion regarding Torah
study: Torah study as a pleasure-inducing experience is forbidden throughout the entire seven day
period. However Torah as 'significant speech' is only prohibited during the first three days, for
only during this phase must the avel openly declare his status by remaining 'silent'. After the three
days his public demonstration ceases but the prohibition of deriving pleasure does not. During the
first three days, ALL Torah study is forbidden even that which will not cause enjoyment; during
these three days the avel is enjoined to remain silent as a public display of his status; he may not
even teach his students. After this first phase, he need no longer announce or openly display his
status but must not derive pleasure from his Torah study. Hence, at THIS stage he may engage in
Torah study which is not primarily geared toward receiving pleasure.

If we are correct, we might envision a two-pronged prohibition of Torah study for an avel.
During the first phase (the first three days) the avel must display his status through his silence and
inactivity - and may not study any Torah. During the latter phase, the only prohibition against
Torah study is based upon the satisfaction will cause.

A second strategy for recognizing the two elements of the prohibition but distinguishing
between them might present itself in the comparison between Tish'a Be-Av and personal aveilut.

19
Until this point I have assumed that the two are similar and have established facile comparisons
between the two. Yet the gemara itself hints as some form of disparity. The gemara in Ta'anit
which discusses Tish'a Be-av permits the study of Iyov, lamentations and Yirmiyahu while the
gemara in Mo'ed Katan describing personal aveilut (15a see also Mo'ed Katan 21a) does not.
Tosafot in Mo'ed Katan (21a s.v. ve-Assur Likrot) cite several opinions as to whether this same
permit applies to personal aveilut. We might justify this distinction along similar lines. Personal
aveilut requires two categories of behavior - prohibitions (no bathing, leather shoes etc.) and public
displays of mourning. Tish'a Be-Av aveilut only obligates prohibitions. No public displays are
practiced (in part because everyone is an avel and all are in the same boat; the displays of personal
aveilut are meant to distinguish the avel from the rest of society - a distinction which is
unnecessary/ non-applicable on Tish'a Be-av). No mention is made of turning over beds on Tish'a
Be-Av even though this applies to a personal avel. Hence Torah for an avel is forbidden for two
reasons - it causes joy AND the avel must remain silent. Even grievous sections of Torah are
forbidden to this avel. By contrast , on Tish'a Be-av though not required to remain silent, the avel
cannot study Torah or derive its resultant joy. By studying sad sections he is avoiding the
prohibition.

Interestingly enough several additional differences now seem to be consistent with this
theory. Though Korbanot and even reviewing the weekly parsha are permitted on Tish'a Be-Av no
such dispensations are provided to a personal avel (see in fact the Pitchei Teshuvah Yoreh De'ah
384;2 who prohibits an avel from reciting these sections). Similarly the prohibition for a Cohen to
receive an aliya is only stated in the case of personal aveilut and not (obviously !!) on Tish'a Be-
av). These corroborate that though Torah study is prohibited for two reasons (remaining silent as
well as refraining from pleasure) they do not both apply on Tish'a Be-Av. As opposed to personal
aveilut, in which each of these elements apply, on Tish'a Be-av Torah study is only forbidden
because of the joy it provides. This discrepancy accounts for the various leniencies which apply to
Torah study on Tish'a Be-av and not to a personal avel.

METHODOLOGICAL POINTS:

1. Very often the sources for a particular halakha reflect its essence. By exploring the sources (if
available ) we are able to ascertain the nature of the halakha. Very often we are faced with multiple
sources which might reflect alternate models for a particular halakha. Sometimes these models are
not mutually exclusive but may both apply.

2. To prove whether a halakha is based upon x or y locate examples of x without y or y without x.

To amply prove whether the issur is based upon the pleasure of the experience or the need to
remain 'silent' try to find cases where pleasure doesn't apply (though the silence is broken) and
cases where no silence is broken but pleasure applies.

AFTERWORD:

In this article we addressed the question of the status of Torah when performed or recited
in alternate contexts (davening, reviewing the Sidra, receiving an aliya etc.). This question

20
containing global ramifications is in part dependent upon understanding each of these particular
frameworks on their own rights. For example, when certain sections of korbanot were inserted into
davening, were they incorporated as part of tefilla proper or merely 'foreign' Torah implants within
the overall framework of davening (see last week's shiur on dividing one's time for Torah study).
The same question might be raised about the nature of the halakha known as "shenayim mikrah
ve-echad targum: what exactly is the nature of the halakha. Is it merely a communal form of talmud
Torah or something which transcends mere Torah study?

In general, though, it is important to determine the status even of 'pure' Torah when placed
in different frameworks. For example (as discussed in an earlier article) a written verse requires
'sirtut' (scratching out part of the parchment to form the equivalent of 'lines'). Does a verse of
Torah cited in a personal letter require this same sirtut? How do we define this verse: as Torah or
as part of the letter?

Rabbi Jay Kelman writes:8

As previously discussed, both mourning and Chol Hamoed share a prohibition of shaving. Yet the
reasons for such are very different; the prohibition to shave for a mourner is an expression of that
mourning, whereas the prohibition of shaving on Chol Hamoed is a decree meant to ensure all
would shave before Yom Tov. The former aims to make one look disheveled, while the latter aims
to ensure we come into Yom Tov properly attired.

Yet even within the different laws of mourning, it is possible that the same prohibition reflects
differing, even if complementary, motifs. "Our Rabbis taught: these are the things a mourner
is forbidden from doing...he is forbidden to read the Pentateuch, Prophets, or Hagiograplia,
or to recite the Mishnah, or Midrash and halachot or the Talmud or Aggadoth" (Moed Katan
21a).
A very similar teaching is recorded regarding Tisha B'Av, the national day of mourning of the
Jewish people. "All the restrictions that apply to the mourner hold equally good on the Ninth of
Av. It is also forbidden to read the Pentateuch, the Prophets, and the Hagiographa or to study
Mishnah, Talmud, Midrash, halachot, or Aggadoth" (Taanit 30a).

However, the prohibition of Torah learning on Tisha B'Av and that of a mourner may not be
identical. Regarding Tisha B'Av, we are taught that "he may read such parts of Scripture which he
does not usually read, and study such parts of Mishnah which he usually does not study; he may
read Lamentations, Job, and the sad parts of Jeremiah; and the children do not study, for it is said,
'the precepts of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart" (Tehillim 19:9).

These two leniencies--learning new material and learning sad material--and the stringency

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forbidding children from learning are mentioned only by Tisha B'Av, and do not appear vis a
vis mourners. Some claim that the Gemara felt no need to mention all the details twice, and just as
one may learn new and sad material on Tisha B'Av, one may do so during the week of shiva.
Others claim the Talmud is quite precise, and these leniencies were not mentioned precisely
because they do not apply to a mourner. While this may not be the accepted view in practice, I
would like to articulate the logic behind this view[1].
That children may not study Torah on Tisha B'Av is most difficult to understand. Jewish law
teaches that we must train our children to preform mitzvoth before the age of bar or bat mitzvah.
Yet an exception is made regarding mourning, where there is no concept of chinuch,
training (Moed Katan 14b). We do not want to train people to mourn. Out of respect for the
deceased parent, we tear the clothes of minors, but the laws of mourning per se do not apply to
them. They are permitted, perhaps obligated, to continue learning Torah.

Apparently, there is no inherent prohibition to study Torah on Tisha B'Av. Rather, there is a
prohibition to engage in activities that bring joy. And out of respect to the day of sadness, it is
inappropriate to allow children to engage in joyous activities. However if Torah study itself leads
to sadness--as study of sefer Iyov is bound to do--such is permissible on Tisha B'Av.

It is because Tisha B'Av is rooted in the sadness of the day that the Gemara permits one to "read
such parts of Scripture which he does not usually read, and study such parts of Mishnah which he
usually does not study". At first glance, this seems quite odd. As Rashi explains, when one learns
something for the first time, it is often difficult to comprehend the material leading to tza'ar, pain.
The joy of learning comes only after putting in much hard work[2].

The prohibition of Torah study for a mourner, however, is rooted not in the feelings it evokes, but
in the essence of Torah itself. Torah links the living and the dead, as the teachings of the deceased
live on in their descendants. The Talmud goes so far to teach that, when we quote teachings of the
deceased, their lips move in the grave (Yevamot 97a). Torah celebrates life, and almost any law
of the Torah can be ignored or violated in order to preserve life. Death and Torah are opposites,
and one of the tragedies of death is the loss of opportunity to perform mitzvoth. While we reap
rewards in the next world, only in this world can we earn those rewards.

Thus, all aspects of Torah learning are forbidden to a mourner--even if it engenders a sad
mood. Torah and death do not mix. The halacha does not limit the prohibition on Torah study to
the mourner; no Torah study is allowed by anybody in a shiva home. In a home where the focus is
death, there is no place for the study of a living Torah. However a child who is exempt from the
laws of mourning may continue to study. It is through both children and the teachings that we
leave behind that we can defeat death.

[1] Torah study is about much more than practical application of the law. "These and those are the living word of living G-
d" (Eiruvin 13b) means that when we have a legitimate dispute, both views reflect the truths of Torah, even if only one is applied
in practice.

22
[2] Today, our focus is on making Torah easy to understand and accessible to all. While that is wonderful, and most likely crucial
for our generation, classical Torah study was focused on the effort involved. "We [who study Torah] toil and they toil. We get
reward [for our toil]," we say when we complete a Talmudic tractate. It is the toiling in Torah that was its essence, and that is what
produced great scholarship. And that toil, at least initially, may bring little joy.

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik writes:9

MAN AND HIS EMOTIONAL WORLD

I would like to try in this presentation to interpret the halakhic terms and concepts that relate to
mourning in philosophical and also, perhaps, psychological categories. I want to try to derive from
dry, formal, abstract terms experiential materials which can be utilized in formulating an
understanding of Judaism's view of the mourning experience. People speak about religious
experiences today, trying to stimulate religious experiences with drugs or all kinds of acrobatics
while actually engaging in idolatrous practices. But one cannot get a religious experience - that is,
a Jewish religious experience - without utilizing the materials of Halakhah. There can be no

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23
philosophy of science or nature unless one is an expert in the fields of physics, chemistry and
biology, the sciences of animate and inanimate objects. So, too, it is impossible for one to
philosophize about Judaism and speak about its experiential universe without having the Halakhah
at his fingertips. I am suggesting a modest experiment here: to try to translate a halakhic discussion
into the idiom of modern man without doing any harm or inflicting any damages, without
restricting or limiting the depth and the sweep of Halakhah.

The whole concept of avelut, mourning, at both an individual and a historical level, is nurtured by
a unique doctrine about man and his emotional world. It actually represents, I would say, the Judaic
philosophy of man and his relationship to both God and the world. Man, Judaism maintains and
insists, is capable of determining the kind of emotional life he wants to live. Man has both actions
and emotions at his disposal. Man must never be overwhelmed by his emotions. He can invite
emotions as well as reject them, opening the door and inviting feelings and sentiments if they are
worthy, and slamming the door on those which are degrading and unworthy of attention. In the
same manner in which man has the freedom to abstain from engaging in an act to which his
conscience objects on moral grounds, he can also disown emotions which the same conscience
assesses as unworthy of being integrated into his personality. Likewise, he can assimilate such
emotions which bear the stamp of moral approval - constructive noble feelings. Emotions can be
subjected to the scrutiny of our moral consciousness, examined and evaluated as to whether they
are worthy and dignified ones which enrich, redeem and exalt man's life. Bahya ibn Pakuda wrote
a famous book called Hovot ha-Levavot, in which he discriminates between hovot ha-evarim, the
duties of our limbs, and hovot ha-levavot, the duties of the heart. But how can one speak about
hovot ha-levavot if the heart succumbs hysterically to emotions, such as love for a person, object,
goal or idea which is in reality unworthy of one's love and appreciation?

Actually, many precepts in the Torah deal exclusively with human emotional attitudes and not
physical actions: "Love your neighbor" (Lev. 19:18), "You shall not covet" (Ex. 20:14, Deut.
5:18), "You shall rejoice on your holiday" (Deut. 16:14), "You shall not hate your brother" (Lev.
19:17), "You shall love the stranger" (Deut. 10:19), etc. We all know the question which Ibn Ezra
raised vis-a-vis the command of lo tahmod, not to covet the property of one's neighbor. Coveting
is an emotion, a feeling. How then can one be commanded to not covet, desire, or be envious? But
in truth one can be called upon to exclude an emotion in the same way one must abstain from a
certain act which is considered unworthy. Ibn Ezra (in his commentary to Ex. 20:14) introduces a
famous fable or simile. The ignorant peasant, he says, will never desire or fall in love with the
daughter of the king, the princess. Ibn Ezra wants to show that emotions are guided by human
reason. One desires only what is possible; whatever is impossible is not desired. Pascal spoke about
the logique de couer, the reasons of the heart (Pensees #277). The freedom to adopt and accept
emotions or to reject and disown them is within the jurisdiction of man.

AVELUT AND THE CONTROL OF EMOTIONS

The precept of avelut, as I indicated above, rests completely upon this Jewish doctrine of human
freedom from emotional coercion. However, man's task vis-a-vis avelut is not always the same. At

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times man is told to respond emotionally to disaster, to yield to the emotional hurricane and not
master his feelings. He must not take evil as something inevitable, which warrants no emotional
outburst, just because such a response would be an exercise in futility.

Judaism says with admirable realism: Of course every event, good or bad, is planned by the
Almighty. So too is death. Man can do little to change the course of events; he rather must
surrender to God's inscrutable will. Yet submission to a higher will must not prevent man from
experiencing those emotions which are precipitated by a confrontation with existential absurdity,
with the total disregard for and complete indifference to human interests manifested, prima facie,
by natural law. Judaism does not want man to rationalize evil or to theologize it away. It challenges
him to defy evil and, in case of defeat, to give vent to his distress. Both rationalizing and
theologizing harden the human heart and make it insensitive to disaster. Man, Judaism says, must
act like a human being. He must cry, weep, despair, grieve and mourn as if he could change the
cosmic laws by exhibiting those emotions. In times of distress and sorrow, these emotions are
noble even though they express the human protest against iniquity in nature and also pose an
unanswerable question concerning justice in the world. The Book of Job was not written in vain.
Judaism does not tolerate hypocrisy and unnatural behavior which is contrary to human sensitivity.
Pain results in moaning, sudden fear and shrieking. The encounter with death must precipitate a
showing of protest, a bitter complaint, a sense of existential nausea and complete confusion. I want
the sufferer to act as a human being, God says. Let him not suppress his humanity in order to please
Me. Let him tear his clothes in frustrating anger and stop observing mitzvot because his whole
personality is enveloped by dark despair and finds itself in a trance of the senses and of the
faculties. Let him cry and shout, for he must act like a human being.

The Mishnah relieved the mourner who has not buried his dead "from the recital of the Shema ...
and from all the [positive] mitzvot laid down in the Torah" (Berakhot 3:1 at 17b). Rashi (s.v. patur)
says that the reason is that a person who is engaged in performing one mitzvah is exempt at that
time from other mitzvot. But Tosafot (s.v. patur), quoting R. Bon in the Jerusalem Talmud (3:1),
disagree, saying that the reason is that "the Torah says '... that you may remember the day of your
departure from the land of Egypt all the days of your life' - days during which you are concerned
with the living, not those days during which you are concerned with the dead." That means that
the mourner is relieved of his obligation in mitzvot because he is incapable of performing them.
He has simply lost his own sense of dignity; the focus of his personality has been lost. He is like a
heresh, shoteh ve-katan, the deaf-mute, imbecile and minor who are all exempt from mitzvot. This
is what Tosafot and all the rishonim [medieval halakhic authorities] mean when they say that it is
completely forbidden to perform a mitzvah during this first stage of mourning: the mourner is
incapable of performing mitzvot. Judaism understands that bitterness, grief and confusion are
noble emotions which should be assimilated and accepted by man, not rejected at the time of
distress. Of course, emotions, like the tide, reach a high mark, make an about face, and begin to
recede. The Torah has therefore recommended to man not only to subhimself to the emotional
onslaught, but gradually and slowly to redeem himself from its impact.

Therefore, the Halakhah divided mourning into various stages: First, "meto muttal lefanav, when
his dead lies before him." This is the period of aninut, extending from the time of death until the
time of burial. Then, commencing with burial, avelut shiv'ah, the week-long period, which extends
into sheloshim, the thirty-day period.

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Finally, for one's parents, yodbet hodesh, the twelve-month mourning period. We have during
these stages an imperceptible transition from a depressed, desolate, bitter consciousness of
catastrophe to a redeemed higher consciousness.

TWO TYPES OF MOURNING

The Gemara (Yevamot 43b) distinguishes between avelut hadashah and avelut yeshanah, "new"
mourning and "old," historical mourning - or, expressing the same thought in a different idiom,
between avelut de-yahid and avelut de-rabbim, private and national-communal mourning. The
first, avelut hadashah, is caused by a death or disaster which strikes a family or an individual. It is
a primordial, instinctual, spontaneous response of man to evil, to the traumatic confrontation with
death, to the impact of catastrophe and disaster. It is an existential response, not one that evolves
by the application of artificial stimuli.

The second category, avelut yeshanah, is due to a historic disaster that took place 1,900 years ago.
This category is the handiwork of man. There is no spontaneous reaction to some new event which
has just transpired, for nothing new has happened which should justify grief. The avelut is a result
of recollection of events. Judaism here introduced a strange kind of memory, a very unique and
singular memory. Thousands of years later, Henri Bergson (Matter and Memory) came very close
to describing the kind of memory of which Judaism spoke so long ago.

A UNITIVE TIME EXPERIENCE

Judaism developed a very peculiar philosophy of memory - indeed, an ethics of memory. Memory
and forgetfulness are subject to ethical determination. Memory is not just the capacity of man to
know events which lie in the past. Memory is experiential in nature; one does not simply recollect
the past or just remember bygones, but reexperiences that which has been, and quickens events
that are seemingly dead.

Many mitzvot are based upon this idea. The Passover seder is, of course, the prime example: "In
each generation a person is required to see himself as if he had gone out of Egypt" (Haggadah). So
too is keri'at ha-Torah, the institution of the public reading of the Torah, which is not simply
limmud - study and instruction - but an experiential event meant to restage and re-enact mattan
Torah, the giving of the Torah. The proof of this is to be found in the use of the ta'amei elyon, the
special cantillation (trope) used for the public reading of the Aseret ha-Dibberot (Decalogue).
These ta'amei elyon combine together the units of the Decalogue in its reading, rather than
separating them into the actual verses. But the division would be determined by the verses if
instruction were the sole purpose of keri'at ha-Torah.

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This shows that actually the reading of the Aseret ha- Dibberot is not only a didactic performance
of limmud, but a restaging, a dramatic reenacting of mattan Torah. That is why people rise when
it is read. Rambam asked in his responsum (no. 263, Blau ed.), Why should they rise? Aseret ha-
Dibberot is no more sacred than the parashah which speaks of Timnah, the concubine of
Elifaz (Gen. 36:12)! But the Aseret ha-Dibberot is read not only as a text which is being studied,
but as a text which is being promulgated and proclaimed by God Himself. When Rambam speaks
about the obligation of Hakhel, the public reading of the Torah performed by the king in Jerusalem
every seven years, he writes that the king is the representative of the kahal, the congregation, and
the entire kahal must pay close attention to the keri'at ha-Torah. Even the wise and great, as well
as converts who do not understand the Hebrew text, must concentrate and hearken with dread and
trepidation in the same manner as the Jews hearkened to the words of God when the Torah was
given at Sinai - as if the law were being proclaimed now for the first time, as if the person were
hearing it from the Almighty, listening to the voice of God Himself (Hilkhot Hagigah 3:6).
Rambam actually has spelled it out in plain terms. The rubric of "In each generation a person is
required to see himself as if he had gone out of Egypt" is applicable not only to the Exodus, but to
all events which the Torah has commanded us to remember and not forget.

Experiential memory somehow erases the borderline separating bygone from present experiences.
It does not just recollect the past, but re-experiences whatever has been. It quickens events which
man considered dead and it actually merges past with present - or shifts the past into the present.
Judaism has recommended what I would call a "unitive time consciousness" - unitive in the sense
that there is a tightening of bonds of companionship, of present and past.

Many modern experiences can be understood only if we look upon them from the viewpoint of the
unitive time awareness. Our relationship to the Land of Israel is very strange. After a gap of 1900
years, our relationship is a very weak one in historical terms. I have no doubt that had a Jewish
state arisen in Africa or South America, Jews would not feel so committed or dedicated to it. Our
commitment is not to the state per se, but to Eretz Yisrael, the Land of Israel. This is because of
our very distant and remote experiences, which usually would have vanished into oblivion over
the years.

Since Jews have a unitive time consciousness, the gap of centuries simply cannot separate them
from the past. They do not have to relive the past, as the past is a current living reality. Memory
opens up new vistas of the time experience, and the companionship of the present and past is
tightened, growing in intimacy and closeness. As a matter of fact, our relationship to our heroes -
such as Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai, or even the Patriarchs and the Prophets - is
completely different from that which the nations of the world have to their heroes. To us, they are
not just ancient heroes. Usually history is divided into antiquity, the Middle Ages, and the
contemporary period. However, the word "antiquity" does not exist in our history. The story of
Joseph and his brothers, the story of the destruction of the Temple, the story of Moses' death - all
used to move me to tears as a boy. It was not just because I was a child; it was not an infantile
reaction on my part. It was very much a human gestalt reaction. These stories do not lie in antiquity;
they are part of our time awareness, part of our historical experience. Similarly, there is no
archaeology in Judaism. There is history but not archaeology. Archaeology refers to something

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remote, a dead past of which I am no part. It arouses my curiosity; I am inquisitive to know about
the origins. But history to us means something living, past integrated into present and present
anticipating future.

We all know the aphorism, "He-avar ayyin (the past is no more), ve-he-atid adayyin (the future
has not yet come), ve-hahoveh ke-heref ayin (the present is fleeting)." However, in my opinion
this is wrong. The past is not gone; it is still here. The future is not only anticipated, but also already
here, and the present connects the future and the past. That is what I mean by a unitive time
consciousness.

Tish'ah be-Av, the Ninth of Av, would be a ludicrous institution if we did not have the unitive time
consciousness. We say in the Kinnot, "On this night, be-leil zeh, my Temple was destroyed." "This
night" means a night 1900 years ago; "be-leil zeh" means tonight. Apparently, that night nineteen
hundred years ago is neither remote nor distant from us; it is living - as vibrant a reality as this
fleeting moment in the present. The unitive time consciousness contains an element of eternity.
There is neither past nor future nor present. All three dimensions of time into one experience, into
one awareness. Man, heading in a panicky rush toward the future, finds himself in the embrace of
the past. Bygones turn into facts, pale memories into living experiences and archaeological history
into a vibrant reality.

Of course, historical mourning is based upon this unitive time consciousness. Without that
experiential memory it would be ridiculous to speak of mourning due to an event which lies in
antiquity. It would be contrary to human nature. Avelut hadashah is a spontaneous response -
neither premeditated nor planned - to the sudden attack or onslaught of evil, catastrophe, disaster
or death. Avelut yeshanah is cultivated, gradually evolving through recollection and through the
unitive time awareness. The main distinction between these two types of mourning expresses itself
in the reversal of the order of the stages. Avelut hadashah commences with the most intense, most
poignant and highest state of grief - aninut - and slowly recedes into shiv'ah, sheloshim and yod-
bet hodesh, until it fades into a lingering melancholy. Avelut yeshanah follows a reverse course.
It starts out with avelut of yod-bet hodesh, the mildest form of mourning, which represents a
sadness that is usually non-conative and non-explosive. It gradually turns into avelut sheloshim
and grows in intensity until it reaches the pitch of shiv'ah.

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 There is a time for mourning and a time for dancing.
-- Ecclesiastes 3:4

What Can We Learn From the Juxtaposition of Joy and

Sorrow?

JOEL MOSBACHER WRITES: 10

Tu B’Av (a minor Jewish holiday that celebrates love, observed primarily in Israel) occurs
six days after Tishah B’Av. If you know Hebrew, this fact is not news to you: Tishah B’Av
means the 9th of the Hebrew month of Av and Tu B’Av means the 15th of the same month.

So, why am I telling you this?

I am intrigued that Tu B’Av, a holiday that began in Second Temple times,

is still celebrated six days after Tishah B’Av, a somber holiday that commemorates the
destruction of that Temple – in 70 C.E. – and other tragic events in Jewish history. Although
Tu B’Av came first in Jewish history, I am surprised, frankly, that, after the devastating
events of 70 C.E., we held onto a festival that fell within the period of shiva that so many
Jews would have been observing.

As I thought about this juxtaposition – the deep mourning traditionally associated with and
observed on Tishah B’Av with the joyous dancing and singing that is Tu B’Av – I began
to think about another calendrical juxtaposition – that of Yom Kippur and Sukkot. Sukkot,
the Festival of Booths, one of the three major pilgrimage festivals in the Jewish year,
follows exactly five days after Yom Kippur, our most intense day of self-reflection and
self-affliction.

10
https://reformjudaism.org/blog/what-can-we-learn-juxtaposition-joy-and-sorrow

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Why is it that Judaism, I began to wonder, established a harvest celebration less than a
week after the longest, hardest day of Jewish ritual? And, how can we possibly get in the
mood to celebrate what is essentially “Jewish Valentine’s Day” less than a week after
commemorating destruction and plague and the expulsion of the Jews from Spain?

Perhaps we celebrate in our sukkot five days after Yom Kippur because, having unburdened
our souls, having laid our hearts bare on that “Sabbath of Sabbaths,” we are more than
ready to rejoice on our festival. Knowing what it is like to be empty and alone with God
on Yom Kippur, we truly are ready to appreciate the abundance of our harvest and the
surety of God’s protection on Sukkot. Having survived Yom Kippur, a day the rabbis say
is like “a rehearsal for death,” we are eager to celebrate and rejoice and sit in a hut that
represents life’s fragility.

At this season, having recently read, as we traditionally do on Tishah B’Av, the Book of
Lamentations – words written as the prophet watched Jerusalem burn – we need to know
that we are not alone in the world, that we can find comfort not only in the Holy One of
Blessing but also in the holiness we can find in the presence of others. Having re-
experienced the trauma of loss, we are vulnerable – a necessity if we are to be open to
intimacy with another human being. It is precisely at moments of loss that we most need
the strengthening, comforting presence of other people.

And such is life.

If we could choose most of us, no doubt, would prefer if we could separate our joyous
experiences from our sad ones (if we must have them at all). It’s especially complicated
and emotionally challenging when an illness or a death occurs in close proximity to a
wedding or a baby naming. But alas, we don’t usually get to schedule these peak moments
– nor can we control the events that happen around them. We experience joy; and then
something difficult comes into our lives. We experience a death; and then we wonder
whether we should go on with a long-planned celebration.

Tu B’Av is six days after Tishah B’Av. Sukkot, even if we’re not ready, comes five days
after Yom Kippur.

Judaism is teaching us a lesson through this calendrical juxtaposition: Gam zeh ya’avor.
(This, too, shall pass.) When you’ve come through a difficult time, gam zeh ya’avor. This,
too, shall pass. It won’t always be dark and difficult, even when you can’t imagine ever
seeing the light again. At the same time, when you’re feeling on top of the world, gam zeh
ya’avor. This, too, shall pass. Make time, therefore, to appreciate every moment of joy,
dancing, singing, and abundance. They won’t last forever; they, too, shall pass.

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 Don't Worry. Be Happy!
Rav David Milston writes:11

Towards the end of the last parsha of the Torah, Moshe Rabbeinu makes a final covenant with the
people before they enter Eretz Yisrael. He tells them what rewards they will receive if they abide by
the laws of God, and what will happen if they stray from that path. In Chapter 28:15-68, we find a
detailed description of the disastrous consequences of transgression.

It begins with the following verse: “But it shall come to pass, if you will not listen to the voice of the
Lord your God, to observe to do all his commandments and His statutes which I command you this
day, all these curses shall come upon you, and overtake you.”

It seems straightforward. Do the commandments and you will be blessed. Ignore them and you will be
punished. However, the Torah offers us a more specific reason for the curses we are liable to incur:

11
https://harova.org/torah/view.asp?id=2021

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Will Hashem punish us because we weren't happy in our Torah observance? We can keep all
the Mitzvot to the letter, yet if we don't act beSimcha, we’re in trouble. Why?

The Rambam says, “When an individual is joyous in his service of the Almighty, when He truly loves
Hashem, this is indeed optimum observance. Anyone who fails to serve God in this manner is worthy
of punishment, as it is written: "Because you would not serve the Lord your God with joyfulness
and with gladness of heart, for the abundance of all things.”[1]

The Maggid Mishna[2] says the Rambam's words are an exact interpretation of
the Gemara (Shabbat 30b), in which true joy is defined as being the happiness of fulfilling a Mitzvah.
One should not approach the commandments of God as burdens. On the contrary. We should be
doing Mitzvot with joy and enthusiasm. We should be doing good because it is good, and pursuing
truth because it is truth, for that is why we were created. We are here to serve the Creator, and so we
should be naturally delighted when we fulfill the purpose of our being. The joy of doing a Mitzvah and
of learning Torah is the only true joy that exists in the world.

Back to the covenant with the Jewish people. When two parties sign a deal, it can be a strictly business
relationship, in which agreements are kept to the letter. Each side does exactly what they said they
would do. No more and no less.

Alternatively, the contract could be a starting point for a relationship that has the potential of going
much further than the details outlined in the original document. That was the driving spirit behind the
initial agreement. In such a case, ignoring the underlying intent of the deed could cause catastrophic
damage to the future partnership.

Similarly, there are two distinct ways to serve the Almighty. One can study the Shulchan Aruch, black
on white, and do exactly what it says. No spirit, no enthusiasm, but a genuine obligation that has to be
fulfilled, word for word.

On the other hand, one can approach Judaism with the exact same commitment, but with added
eagerness and enthusiasm. We are not simply fulfilling our obligations because we were bound by a
covenant. We are happy and excited to play our role in the contract because we view it as a gift or an
honor, and not a burden.

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Parents of adolescent children know there are occasions when a child does what he or she is told to do
with ‘an attitude.’ Every step is accompanied by a grimace or a comment until the act is finally done.
There is no joy or happiness; it was done because it had to be done. Yet there are also more pleasant
instances when the same child happily fulfills his part of the bargain, even doing more than he was
actually asked.

The Ramchal summarizes the idyllic relationship when discussing saintliness.[3] He says we all
know Mitzvot are binding on all of Israel and the extent to which we are bound by them. However, one
who truly loves the Creator will endeavor to fulfill his obligations in the same manner as a son who
loves his father. Even if his father gives only a slight indication of desiring something, he will rush to
fulfill this desire as completely as he can. And although the father may express his wish only once, or
maybe incompletely, it is enough for such a son to understand what his father wants and he will do it
for him even when he did not expressly request it.

Nevertheless, after digesting the words of the Rambam, Maggid Mishna and the Ramchal, it would
still seem a little harsh to invoke the severe curses in our parasha on a people who are fulfilling their
obligations but just not doing so joyfully. After all, they are still keeping their side of the agreement.

To reconcile the Rambam’s comments in the context of our parasha, perhaps we could suggest that if
we do not observe Mitzvot with joy, our basic do-it-because-we-have-to observance is considered
invalid. It would appear that enthusiasm and happiness are not an optional additional clause, but rather
an integral element of the body of the contract. Therefore, if these clauses are violated, it automatically
nullifies the whole covenant, resulting in the disastrous repercussions listed in our parasha.[4]

However, there is an alternative way to understand our verse. Rabbi Natan, the famed student of Rabbi
Nachman of Breslov, was known to say:

Had I been happy constantly, I would never have to fear seeing the entrance to Gehinnom.

Pessimism and negativity distance us from the Almighty. When we despair because of our failures, we
ignore the fact that the Almighty is at our side and always looking out for our success. Despair is
irrelevant, almost heretical. As if to say there is no way out, no God, Heaven forbid. The name ‘Yehudi’
is a derivative of the word ‘Hoda'a’ – to be thankful and grateful to Hashem. As Yehudim, our
relationship with God is one of absolute gratitude irrespective of our reality, because we know in the
depths of our hearts and soul that all He does is for the best.

Righteous Chassidic leaders, who followed the spiritual direction of the Ba'al Shem Tov and
the Maggid of Mezeritch, emphasized the need to be in a constant mode of joy. This is the only way to
be Jewish. Simcha lays the foundations for Torah and Mitzvot.[5]

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Now we can understand that our verse is not simply referring to the practicalities of enacting our part
of the bargain. It is revealing a much more fundamental aspect of faith.

Let us look a little closer:

If we were to adopt our initial explanation, and just apply joy to our mitzvah observance, we are left
with a superfluity. The first verses already speak of lack of observance, so surely the final verse dealing
with lack of joy is referring to something else? Another failing apart from a basic lack of observance?

We could perhaps suggest that Moshe Rabbeinu's rebuke here refers to two very distinct dangers. The
first is a lack of observance, while the second is a lack of genuine belief, as reflected by the deficiency
of inner happiness in our lives.

We are to be punished for our sadness because it indicates a lack of belief in God. If we truly believe
that all God does is for the good, we should always enjoy peace of mind. Of course, no one expects us
to jump for joy in the face of tragedy, but even if we cannot fathom our reality, we must not be drawn
into despair and apathy.

For example, we have a clearly defined time limit to our mourning period. Hashem recognizes basic
human needs, but always within a higher context. Indeed, the only bereavement purposely left
unlimited in Judaism is the sorrow for the Beit HaMikdash.

There is a fine distinction here. On the one hand, the sadness of loss or upon hearing bad news is
natural, necessary and relevant. But on the other, despair and despondency are unacceptable, because
they reflect a rejection of God's ruling wisdom.

Our verses describe a possible scenario in which we are fully observant of Mitzvot whilst
simultaneously despondent, emphasizing that such a reality is almost a contradiction in terms. If our
observance is an external expression of a true inner belief in the Almighty, there can be no room for
depression or despair. If such a reality does exist, our observance is clearly not yet reflective of who
we really want to be and what we believe in.

The world we live in is full of reasons to cry. It is easy to become frustrated and depressed. Most people
are negative too. As religious Jews, we have a responsibility to set an example and "shine our

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countenance" upon the world, sure in our belief that Hashem is in charge. He knows what He's doing.
All these subjective tragedies and curses are but small pieces in the awesome puzzle of human history,
guided and shaped by the Almighty Himself.

Hashem is our Father. He loves us more than we can imagine. He knows exactly what we need and
when. Sometimes he has to pinch us to wake us up. But we know it's ultimately for our own good.

He's been keeping his side of the bargain for thousands of years. Now it's our responsibility to keep
ours. Tamid BeSimcha!

[1] Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Lulav, 8:15.

[2] A commentary on the Mishneh Torah,

[3] Messilat Yesharim, Chapter 18.

[4] This cannot be understood from the Ramchal's comments for they were not made with any reference to our verse. He is
referring to the higher spiritual level of the Chassid who acts out of pure love of God, as opposed to the lower religious degree
of Tzaddik, who does what needs to be done. There is no implication in the preceding chapters of Messilat Yesharim that
a Tzaddik form of behavior is unacceptable. It is simply a lower level of relationship with the Almighty, one that most of us
spend our entire lives trying to reach!

[5] See ‘Ometz,’ published by Shir Chadash – chapter on happiness.

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 The Expression of Joy as a Halakhic Problem in Rabbinic Sources

Gary Anderson writes:12

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The Jewish Quarterly Review , Jan. - Apr., 1990, Vol. 80,

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 The Nightly Cry, the Song of Torah

Yaakov S. Weinstein writes:13

Lamentations

Arise! Call out (roni) at night! … Pour out your heart like water before God! Raise your hands to
Him for the soul of your youth, who are enwrapped in hunger on every corner. (Lamentations 2:19)

The anguished call of the prophet Jeremiah (author of Lamentations, as per Bava Batra 15a)
echoes off the cobblestones of Jerusalem. “God has left us; His Temple is destroyed! Zion lays in
ruins, her youth starving in the streets! How can you sleep? How can you stay still? Pour out your
heart like water, raise your hands in prayer!”

Yet, Jeremiah’s choice of verb for the verse in Lamentations is surprising. Rather than telling the
people to call out (za’aki or tza’aki), cry (bekhi), or even awaken (oori), Jeremiah says roni. This
word comes from the noun rinah, song, as in the verse, “Then our mouths shall be filled with
laughter, and our tongues, with song (rinah)” (Psalms 126:2). Why? Rinah connotes positivity and
joy, surely not appropriate for the dead of night amongst the ruins of Jerusalem!

The classical commentators were cognizant of this problem and suggest that the translation
of rinah as song is incorrect, or at least incomplete. Ibn Ezra claims that the root rinah simply
13
https://thelehrhaus.com/scholarship/the-nightly-cry-the-song-of-torah/

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means to raise one’s voice, be it in song or in elegy. The Midrash (Sifrei Devarim 26) lists rinah as
one of the formulations used for prayer, which may reflect thanksgiving or supplication. Both
explanations fit our expectation of the verse.

Jeremiah calls upon a people struck by catastrophe to reject acceptance and complacency. There
are widows crying in the streets, there are orphaned children wailing in the darkness. Empathize
with them, feel their pain. God is no longer close by to comfort them. Arise! Raise your voices in
prayer to God!

Nighttime Torah Study

R’ Yohanan said: the song (rinah) of Torah is only at night, as it says, “Arise! Call out (rinah) at
night!” (Leviticus Rabbah 19)

The Sages speak in superlatives of one who spends the nighttime hours engaged in Torah study.
Such people are as the priests who served in the Temple (Menahot 110a), they are blessed with
favor and grace (Avodah Zarah 3b), only they can acquire the crown of Torah (Mishneh
Torah, Hilkhot Talmud Torah 3:13). Why then, does R’ Yohanan see fit to use a verse in
Lamentations to highlight the uniqueness of a nighttime Torah vigil? Or, reformulating the
question from the opposite perspective, how does the study of Torah at night fit the call of
Jeremiah?

Previously, we had interpreted the verb rinah as raising one’s voice in mourning and elegy, and as
calling out in prayer and supplication. Jeremiah certainly wants the people to mourn for the
destruction of the Temple and to pray for the starving youth fainting in the streets of Jerusalem.
For Torah study to fit with Jeremiah’s exhortation it must fulfill these functions. Can the learning
of Torah manifest mourning and prayer?

Torah Study as Mourning

The suggestion that Torah study can manifest or fulfill mourning is, on its face, not only incorrect
but incongruous. One is prohibited from learning Torah while in mourning because it is a source
of joy (Mo’ed Katan 21a and Rashi s.v. “v-assur”). Yet, R’ Soloveitchik asserts that the learning
of Torah on Tish’ah be-Av in order to appreciate and consequences of the events on that day, is a
fulfillment of mourning:

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While the study of Torah is prohibited on Tish’ah be-Av, the study of the events that happened on
Tish’ah be-Av is not only permitted but is, in itself, a fulfillment of avelut (mourning).

Understanding what Tish’ah be-Av means – a retrospective reexperiencing and reliving of the
events it commemorates, appreciating its meaning in Jewish history and particularly the
consequences and results of the catastrophe that struck us so many years ago that it commemorates
– is identical to kiyyum avelut (a fulfillment of mourning). On Tish’ah be-Av avelut means to
understand what happened, and that understanding or intellectual analysis is to be achieved… in
the light of both Torah she-bi-khtav and Torah she-be-al peh, the Written and Oral Law. These are
our only frames of reference…

(R’ Joseph B. Soloveitchik, The Lord is Righteous in All His Ways)

R’ Soloveitchik’s approach is most appropriate for Tish’ah be-Av, the actual day of the Temple’s
destruction. On that day, we must relive the events of the destruction of the Temple and its
historical consequences of exile, antisemitism, and Holocaust. However, the ramifications of the
Temple’s destruction from a Torah perspective are much more broad and perhaps just as tragic.
With the destruction of the Temple, huge swaths of Torah lost their purpose. Hundreds of
commandments were rendered irrelevant. Most of the mishnaic orders
of Zeraim (Seeds), Kodshim (Holy Things), and Taharot (Purities) suddenly became obsolete.
How do we mourn this loss? How can we reexperience and relive a de-actualization of Torah?
Where is our fulfillment of mourning for God’s word that now has no ready audience?

R’ Yohanan sees in the lament of Jeremiah not only a call to mourn, but instructions on how to
mourn. Just like on Tish’ah be-Av we mourn via the study of Torah, so too every evening. On
Tish’ah be-Av, our mourning is concentrated on the specific events of the day and its consequences
as recorded by our Sages. The rest of the year, our mourning encompasses Torah life as a whole
and its incompleteness in a post-Temple world. On Tish’ah be-Av, specific portions of Torah allow
us to relive the destruction of the Temple and its meaning in Jewish history. The rest of the year,
by exploring all of Torah, the blueprint of Creation, we can begin to fathom the beauty of God’s
actual plan for the universe, not the shadow-world we currently inhabit. With this comprehension
we can truly mourn over the destruction of the Temple. Only through Torah can we realize our
loss and mourn what we once had.

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However, R’ Yohanan goes a step further. It is not only that the learning of Torah constitutes
mourning. Jeremiah’s instruction of Torah study as the way to mourn is also an elixir.

“A song of ascents. Behold, bless God, all servants of God who stand nightly in the house of
God,” (Psalms 134:1). What does the verse mean “at night?”[1] R’ Yohanan says, “These are the
Torah scholars who engage in Torah at night. The verse considers them as having performed the
Temple service.” (Menahot 110a)

The Temple may have been destroyed; its service may have disappeared. But one who studies
Torah can accrue the same merit and foster the same relationship with God as those who performed
this service.

Torah Study as Prayer

Solomon stood before the altar of God in front of the entire community of Israel and spread his
palms towards Heaven. And he said… You should turn, my God, to the prayer and supplication of
Your servant, to hear the calls (rinah) and prayer which Your servant prays before You
today. (Kings I 8:22-23, 28)

King Solomon’s address to the people of Israel at the dedication of the Temple ends with a lengthy
prayer to God. This prayer entreats God that the Temple should fulfill its divine purpose: to be the
place where all humanity turns to pray to God, and where all are assured that God has heard their
prayers. As described by King Solomon, the Temple is God’s house where those who seek go to
find answers, and those who are pained go to find comfort. Can such a connection still exist in a
post-Temple era?

Rabbi Elazar said: From the day the Temple was destroyed an iron wall separates Israel from their
Father in Heaven, as it says (Ezekiel 4:3) “And take for yourself an iron griddle, and set it as an
iron wall between yourself and the city…it will be a sign for the house of Israel.” (Berakhot 32b)

The destruction of the Temple severed the prayer channel between God and man. Obstructing open
communications with God is a wall, blocking Israel’s prayers from reaching His Heavenly abode.
Can our prayer even penetrate this wall?

The answer is no, the wall is impenetrable. Even God, as it were, can only, “Watch out the
windows, and peer through the cracks” (Song of Songs 2:9). Yet, at times, God will, as it were,
tunnel through the wall. He will frequent the synagogue and attend the communal prayer service:

Ravin bar Rav Adda said in the name of R’ Yitzḥak: From where is it derived that the Holy One,
Blessed be He, is located in a synagogue? It says: “God stands in the congregation of
God…” (Psalms 82:1). And from where is it derived that ten people who pray, the Divine Presence
is with them? “God stands in the congregation of God…” (Berakhot 6a)

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When God attends communal prayer, our prayers can reach Him, and His presence can still be felt
by His people.

At least during the day. But what about at night?[2] How can we feel the Divine Presence when the
synagogues are closed and the streets are empty? The Talmud addresses this as well. At night
prayer is replaced by Torah:

And from where is it derived that when even one sits and engages in Torah study, the Divine
Presence is with him? As it says (Exodus 20:21) : “In every place where I cause My Name to be
mentioned, I will come to you and bless you.” (Berakhot 6a)

Torah study, even when isolated and alone, becomes a prayer service.[3] Just as God is present at
the communal prayer service, so too he is with those who study Torah. Thus, God’s plan to live
amongst His people can still be attained, and those looking to speak will even now find an open
channel.

The identification of Torah study with prayer is attested to by another Talmudic statement extolling
the virtues of learning at night:

Reish Lakish said: One who occupies himself with Torah at night, the Holy One, Blessed be He,
spreads upon him a thread of grace during the day, as it says (Psalms 42:9), “By day, God will
command His grace, and at night His song (shirah) shall be with me [as a prayer to God the
guardian of my life].” What is the reason that by day, God will extend His grace? For at night His
song (shirah, referring to Torah study) is with me. (Avodah Zarah 3b)

Reish Lakish, the great student and study partner of R’ Yohanan, asserts that one who studies
Torah at night is rewarded with grace and favor. His proof text, however, does not mention Torah
study explicitly, but rather uses the word shirah, which in the context of the verse in Psalms refers
to prayer. By identifying Torah learning with shirah, Reish Lakish is informing us that Torah study
at night becomes prayer.

How does the learning of Torah constitute prayer? R’ Joseph B. Soloveitchik (Shiurim l-zekher
Abba Mori volume 2), based on the formulation of Maimonides in his Sefer Ha-Mitzvot (Aseh 5),
categorizes both Torah study at night and prayer as “service of the heart.” This concept consists of
three elements which both prayer and Torah study share. Engaging in either prayer or Torah study:
(1) demonstrates acceptance of the yoke of Heaven, (2) are modes of making requests of God,[4] (3)
is a form of praise to God.[5]

I would submit that the ultimate purpose of both prayer and Torah study is to connect with God
and thus bring Him into our world. This is done in prayer by praising Him for all He has created,
by sharing with Him our hopes and dreams, and by thanking Him for all He has done and continues
to do for us. When learning Torah, we connect with God by studying the blueprint of the universe,
and thus engage in an exploration of how our world should be. Studying the blueprint declares that

54
we are not satisfied with the world as it is, but we desire that it fulfill God’s original design. In this
way, we implicitly ask for God to intervene and coordinate that transformation.

In the call of Jeremiah, the word rinah, understood as prayer, is parallel to the other parts of the
verse, “pour out your heart… raise your hands…” in prayer. The prayer sought by Jeremiah is one
of pleading with God for a rebuilt Temple and a reborn Israel – in other words, a return to how the
world ought to be. Hence, the appropriateness of Torah study in answer to Jeremiah’s exhortation.

Torah Study as Repentance[6]

Jeremiah calls on the people to mourn, to pray, to not peacefully accept the post-Temple world as
the “new normal.” However, to turn back the clock to a time when Jews could directly commune
with God, to bring His presence back into our lives, requires one more
element, teshuvah (repentance). Can we read repentance into Jeremiah’s exhortation to awaken at
night? In fact, the Targum Yerushalmi does just that in interpreting a later part of our verse, “Pour,
like water, the crookedness of your heart and return in teshuvah.” However, a hint of this can even
be found in the first part the the verse, for the word rinah also may refer to teshuvah:

R’ Eliezer said: [the Jewish] redemption from Egypt was enabled by five catalysts: troubles,
repentance, ancestral merit, mercy, and the arrival of the time to end the exile… So too, at the end
of days [Jewish] redemption will be predicated on these five catalysts… “When He hears their call
(rinah)” (Psalms 106:44), this refers to repentance (teshuvah). (Yalkut Shimoni on Torah 827)

If rinah refers to teshuvah, as Yalkut Shimoni suggests, then we can read Jeremiah’s call at its
outset as teshuvah-oriented: Arise! Call out, raise your voice in repentance at night!

Is repentance possible in a post-Temple world? King Solomon’s address at the dedication of the
Temple characterizes the Temple as the place for one to repent and receive forgiveness for their
sins: “Should the heavens be shut and there be no rain, because they have sinned against You.
Then they pray toward this place and acknowledge Your name and repent of their sins when You
answer them. Hear in heaven and pardon the sin of Your servants, Your people Israel…” (Kings I
8:35-36). Without the Temple the road of the repentant is a long and arduous one:

Amongst the ways of repentance are, for the penitent to continuously cry out with tears and
supplications before God, to give charity according to his means, and to greatly distance himself
from that with which he has sinned, to change his name, as if saying: “I am now another person,
and not that person who performed those deeds,” to completely change his conduct for the good
and straight path, and to exile himself from his place of residence, for exile provides atonement
for sins, because it leads him to submissiveness and to be humble and of low spirit. (Mishneh
Torah, Hilkhot Teshuvah 2:4)

With the destruction of the Temple, it is no longer possible to present oneself before the Almighty
where He is found and simply repent. The call of Jeremiah recognizes this. To attain forgiveness

55
one must spend sleepless nights calling out to God, pouring out one’s heart like water and raising
one’s hands to Him in prayer.

Is there another way?

The Talmud (Yoma 86b) identifies two unequal pathways towards teshuvah: teshuvah out of fear,
and teshuvah out of love. The first method transforms willful transgressions into unintentional
sins, while the second transforms willful transgressions into merits. How can one
attain teshuvah out of love?

Rabbi Hama the son of Rabbi Hanina, also said: Why are tents juxtaposed to streams, as it is
written, “As streams stretched forth, as gardens by the riverside; as aloes [ahalim] planted by God,
as cedars by the water” (Numbers 24:6)? To tell you, just as streams elevate a person from ritual
impurity to purity after he immerses himself in their water, so too tents [ohalim] of Torah elevate
a person from the judgment of guilt to that of merit. (Berakhot 15b-16a)

Rabbi Hama the son of Rabbi Hanina identifies what action can be taken to transform judgments
of guilt into that of merit: the study of Torah! This implies that one attains teshuvah out of love
via the learning of Torah. Indeed, this claim rings true, since it is via Torah study that one can
come to the love of God:

The third mitzvah is that we are commanded to love God, exalted be He. This is to understand and
closely examine His commandments, His statements, and His works, until we understand Him;
and through this understanding to achieve a feeling of ecstasy. This is the goal of the
commandment to love God. The language of Sifrei (Deuteronomy 33): For it says, “You shall love
God your Lord” (Deuteronomy 6:5), how can I come to love God? It says, “and these words which
I command you today shall be upon your heart,” (Deuteronomy 6:6) that through this you will
recognize the One Who spoke, and the world was. (Maimonides Sefer Ha-Mitzvot, Aseh 3).

By learning Torah one comes to love God, and through the love of God one can achieve repentance
– not just any repentance, but one that turns transgressions into merits.

This analysis leads us in a full circle back to R’ Yohanan’s interpretation of rinah as Torah study.
From the time Jeremiah was a young man, his call to the people of Israel centered on one
concept: teshuvah. This was so before the destruction of the Temple and certainly must be true
afterwards. Yet, R’ Yohanan is troubled. Is true repentance possible without a Temple? Can one
possibly appear before God to beg for penitence when He is hidden? To this, R’ Yohanan answers
in the positive.

True repentance is possible via the study of Torah.

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The Torah of Exile

At midnight I arise to praise You for Your just rules. (Psalms 119:62)

Rabbi Levi said: “The harp was suspended over the bed of David and when it was midnight, the
northern wind would blow and the harp would play by itself… When David heard its sound he
would arise and study Torah. When Israel heard the music, they would say, “If King David is
engaged in Torah study, then we should be all the more so!” Immediately they studied the
Torah. (Lamentations Rabbah 2:22)

Must the nighttime engagement in Torah be one of praying and repentance? Must rinah always be
twisted to refer to mourning and not rejoicing?

The above midrash, commenting on the very verse of Jeremiah’s call, informs us that Jeremiah
was not the first to wake people in the midst of the night to engage in the study of Torah. King
David did likewise, but in a different historical, sociological, and religious context. Jeremiah called
out bitterly, to shock people from their complacency after the Temple’s destruction. King David
gently brought people out of their restful slumber. Jeremiah’s anguished cries were for Torah study
as mourning, prayer, and repentance. King David’s melodious harp encouraged the Torah study of
paeans and praise of God. Jeremiah cried over Jews in exile, King David rejoiced over the Jewish
golden era.

Alternatively, Reish Lakish said: One who occupies himself with Torah in this world, which is
comparable to night, the Holy One, Blessed be He, extends a thread of kindness over him in the
World-to-Come, which is comparable today, as it says, “By day, the Lord will command His
kindness, and in the night His song shall be with me.” (Avodah Zarah 3b)

In exile, the nighttime Torah vigil is one of mourning. In the era of redemption, the era of the
World-to-Come, this Torah will become one of song and rejoicing.

Rejoicing in Exile

Can one find joy in the study of Torah even at times of darkness, even in the bitterness of exile?

Perhaps R’ Yohanan’s identification of rinah with the learning of Torah is meant precisely to
accomplish this transformation. There is no doubt that Jeremiah’s call into the darkness of night
was to arouse the people to mourning, prayer, and repentance. What else could it be at a time when
God has appeared to abandon His people and allowed his abode to be destroyed? Yet, Jeremiah
invokes a word that usually means sing and rejoice. Why? To this R’ Yohanan replies, because
there is a way to transform the suffering and pain into song and rejoicing, by learning Torah.

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Jeremiah calls on the people to mourn the loss of the Temple, Torah, and the ruin of God’s plan as
to how the world should be. Torah is the blueprint of that plan and learning Torah provides us a
substitute to the ideal of Temple service.[7]

Jeremiah calls on the people to pray. Yet, after the destruction of the Temple, there is a wall of
iron between God and the Jewish Nation. Studying Torah brings God’s presence down to the
Jewish people, thus circumventing the wall.

Jeremiah calls on the people to repent for their sins. Yet, after the destruction of the Temple, there
is no place to go to seek God’s forgiveness. Torah study is a method of turning transgressions into
merit.

The nighttime study of Torah can be one of rejoicing even at a time of exile. The divine glory
dwells before us even in darkness. Jeremiah provided us the key to this understanding by using the
word rinah, song. For though we have lost the Temple and have been banished from our land, we
still sing the joyful song of Torah before God.

[1]
This verse is inherently problematic as it implies that there is service to be done in the Temple at night. While it is true that at
certain times there is, in fact, some service that is either left over for night or begins at night (R’ Amos Hakham in Da’at Mikra to
Psalms suggests that the verse referred to those who would come early to the Temple on holidays), the main part of the Temple
service was certainly by day.

[2]
See Maharsha, Tamid 32b.

[3]
The intertwining of Torah study and prayer is found throughout the works of our Sages. The mishnah in Berakhot (4:2) records
that “Rabbi Nehunyah ben HaKanah would offer a brief prayer when he entered the study hall and when he left.” The Talmud
in Mo’ed Katan (29a) states, “Rabbi Levi said: One who leaves from the synagogue and goes to the study hall, and from the study
hall to the synagogue, merits to receive the Divine Presence.” Learning Torah even becomes part of our liturgy, as with the reading
of Shema, the recitation of the sacrifices, the Tosefta of R’ Yishmael’s 13 principles of derivation, and the mishnayot of the second
chapter of Shabbat on Friday night. For further examples, see R’ Joseph B. Soloveitchik in Shiurim l-zekher Abba Mori volume 2.

[4]
R’ Soloveitchik explains that God understands each individual’s needs without the person stating them explicitly. Learning
Torah constitutes a request in which one simply throws his burden on God. R’ Jonathan Ziring (“The Midnight Song: Nocturnal
Torah Study in Solitude,” Tradition 52:1 (Winter 2020): 28) suggests that this is because engagement with Torah is a process of
understanding God’s will as expressed in our world. This is an acknowledgement that God knows what is best for everyone without
being asked. The explanation I suggest in the text is similar, but with the emphasis on looking for the world repaired rather than a
person’s desires.

[5]
R’ Joseph B. Soloveitchik (Shiurim l-zekher Abba Mori volume 2) demonstrates that the true fulfillment of mourning is also
done in the heart. In mourning as well we find acceptance of the yoke of Heaven via tzidduk ha-din, Justification of God’s judgment,
and praise to God via the recitation of kaddish.

[6]
See also R’ Daniel Z. Feldman, “The Teshuvah Beyond Teshuvah,” Rosh HaShana To-Go (Tishrei 5769): 9.

[7]
Avraham said before God: Master of the Universe… when the Temple is not standing, what will become of [the Jewish Nation]?
God said to him: I have already enacted for them the order of offerings. When they read them before Me, I will ascribe them credit
as though they had sacrificed them before Me and I will pardon them for all their transgressions. (Ta’anit 27b)

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 TORAH OF A NIGGUN

It’s a chassidus best known for its stirring melodies, but those tunes were the souls of the
rebbes who wrote them.
Aryeh Ehrlich writes: 14

The few hundred men fortunate to be at the Emunas Yisrael beis medrash in Boro Park the first
night of Chanukah two years ago were treated to a Heavenly chariot ride: a classic
Modzhitz lichttsinden. The Modzhitzer Rebbe of Bnei Brak — a guest of his dear friend, Emunas
Yisrael mashpia Rav Moshe Wolfson — was joined by world-renowned Modzhitz composer
and chazzan Rabbi Benzion Shenker for an hour of transformation: spiritual intensity joined with
the power of niggun so typical of this chassidus. For Reb Benzion (then 88), it was one more
adventure in the 70-plus years at the side of Modzhitzer rebbes; for the Rebbe, it was another
expression of his link in a dynasty that has elevated the power of melody to a level of meditation
and purification.

The Rebbe — Rav Chaim Shaul Taub — has led the chassidus for the past decade with a
combination of his Ponevezh-trained, brilliant analytical mind and the heart of a
Modzhitz niggun; now it’s Chanukah again, and within Modzhitz’s special Maoz Tzur, I can still
hear the Rebbe’s Selichos of three months ago — it is said that the last day of Chanukah is the
final reprieve for the judgment of Rosh Hashanah. Perhaps that’s why there is no derashah before

14
Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 588, https://mishpacha.com/torah-of-a-niggun/

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Selichos in Modzhitz, none of the customary words of inspiration and introspection,
no mussar seder.

“In Modzhitz,” an elderly chassid told me before Selichos in the Bnei Brak beis medrash (where
the chassidus was transplanted 20 years ago after five decades in Tel Aviv), “hearing the Rebbe
reciting ‘Ashrei yoshvei veisecha’ is enough to stir our hearts to teshuvah.” Minutes later, as I
watched the leader of this holy flock pouring out words of the tefillos, it seemed as if the entire
Modzhitzer shul had been transformed into a solid block of kedushah.

In Modzhitz, the chassidim tremble in fear of Heaven like everyone else, but here, it’s accompanied
by song. Here, pious Jews — chassidim in spodeks and clean-shaven Litvaks in Borsalinos — give
expression to that awe through niggunim crafted by the tzaddikim of the dynasty, from the first
Modzhitzer Rebbe, Rav Yisrael Taub, to the current Rebbe — a venerated rosh yeshivah and also
a mechaber of song in his own right.

It’s All Hefker

It would be difficult to imagine the world of chassidic music without Modzhitz. The founder of
the Modzhitz dynasty, Rebbe Yisrael Taub of Modzhitz (known as the Divrei Yisrael), once
commented, “People say that the world of music is closely connected to the world of teshuvah —
but I say that they are one and the same.”

The Divrei Yisrael, who passed away in Kislev 1920, was known for his piety, his Torah
knowledge, but especially for his musical prowess. He composed hundreds of niggunim, but the
story of his most famous niggun, “Ezkera,” has become legend within the chassidus. It was
composed in 1910 when the Rebbe — who was diabetic and had terrible sores on his feet — was
sent to Karlsbad for the healing baths. Looking around at the beauty of the resort and thinking of
Jerusalem in ruins, he created a niggun to the words from Ne’ilah: “Ezkera Elokim v’ehemaya…
I remember Hashem and I groan, as I see every city built to beautiful great heights, but the city of
Hashem has been relegated to the depths of purgatory…”

After many unsuccessful healing attempts, one of his feet became so infected that the Rebbe
developed gangrene and the doctors determined that his leg had to be amputated to save his life.
The Rebbe traveled to Berlin for the surgery, but because of his weak heart, it was impossible to
anesthesize him. Throughout the excruciating surgery and recovery, the Rebbe entranced himself
with various niggunim, and turning his head toward the window where he could see the vista of
the city, he chanted “Ezkera.” The complicated composition — which takes over 20 minutes to
sing — is carefully guarded by the chassidim and only sung on special occasions. Today the only
way to hear “Ezkera” is to attend a yahrtzeit seudah for the Divrei Yisrael on 13 Kislev in a
Modzhitz beis medrash — yet hundreds of other Modzhitz niggunim have made their way into the
classic chassidic repertoire.

But Modzhitz is not only about music; as Rav Chaim Shaul Taub closes the first decade of his
leadership, chassidim know that their scholarly rebbe has one definitive message for his flock —
he teaches his chassidim to love Torah, but no less to love every Jew without any preconditions.
“I believe,” says Rabbi Moshe Taussig, a Modzhitzer mashpia handpicked by the Rebbe, “that the

60
Modzhitzer Rebbe absorbed all the sweetness in the world and just left a little for everyone else.
Anyone who’s seen his smile has been captivated.”

According to Rabbi Taussig and other chassidim of the beis medrash, that sweetness was apparent
long before Rav Chaim Shaul was appointed Rebbe. “His home was always hefker to everyone.
Ask any Modzhitzer chassid on the street, and he’ll tell you that whenever he visited the Rebbe —
who was then a rosh yeshivah and the son of the Rebbe — in his home, he would always see two
homeless people sleeping in an adjoining room, and a few other miskeinim rummaging through the
kitchen and taking whatever suited their fancy. At the Shabbos meals, the crowd of guests would
spill out of the living room and the adjacent passageways, while the Rebbe himself personally
served each guest his meal, accompanied by a radiant smile so that it was difficult to resist. Go ask
the Rebbe’s children if they ever slept in their own beds during their childhoods.”

The gabbai, Reb Aryeh Backenroth, told me that in all his years with the Rebbe, he has never seen
the Rebbe become angry at anyone or complain about anyone. He tells me that sometimes, he
himself points out some infraction to the Rebbe, to which the Rebbe smiles his good smile and
replies, “This too will pass.”

“The Rebbe told me that his own father, the Nachalas Dan [Rav Yisrael Dan Taub], told him in
his youth, ‘You must commit yourself never to think anything about anyone that you would be
ashamed to tell the person to his face.’ The Rebbe,” Reb Aryeh continutes, “has worked on himself
so much that I believe it’s impossible for him to entertain a negative thought about anyone.”

Zeide’s Secret

Rav Chaim Shaul Taub was born in Adar of 5711 (1951), just three years after the passing of his
great-grandfather, Rebbe Shaul Yedidya Elazar Taub. Rebbe Shaul Yedidya, known as the Imrei
Shaul, fled Poland in 1938 and made his way to Japan, eventually reaching San Francisco and then
moving to Brooklyn in 1940, where he rebuilt Modzhitz. He was a gifted songwriter and gave
the chassidus its reputation for niggun. He also had an intense love for Eretz Yisrael but never
realized the dream of aliyah — he was niftar on November 9, 1947, the day the UN voted to create
the State of Israel. He did merit burial in the Holy Land though, as the last person to be buried on
Har Hazeisim until it was liberated in 1967.

Chaim Shaul grew up under the leadership of his grandfather, Rav Shmuel Eliyahu (the Imrei
Eish), who had been living in Eretz Yisrael since 1935. As cliché as it’s become to include in
rabbinic biographies, young Chaim Shaul stood out from the very beginning. An older chassid
shares a memory. “When the Rebbe was eight years old, air-conditioning was installed in the
Modzhitzer beis medrash in Tel Aviv, donated by a wealthy Jew. The youngster was curious about
the identity of the donor, and he asked his grandfather, the Rebbe, who it was that had made the
contribution. The Rebbe replied, ‘I promised the donor that he would remain anonymous.’ The
boy replied, ‘I’ll figure it out.’

“On Friday night after davening, the future Rebbe approached his grandfather and said, ‘The donor
was so-and-so.’ The Rebbe was astounded. ‘How did you know?’ he asked.

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“ ‘When the mispallelim arrived,’ the boy replied, ‘I watched to see which of them would not be
surprised by the air-conditioning. I watched the men, and each of them was surprised and
impressed. Only one of them showed no signs of surprise, so I knew that he was the donor.’ ”

The Rebbe was just 11 when, after skipping two grades, he left Talmud Torah Yesodei HaTorah
in Tel Aviv to join Yeshivas Ponevezh Letzeirim, under the direction of Rav Aharon Leib
Steinman. [At a gathering not long ago, Rav Steinman said of his former student, “Er halt zich a
talmid — He considers himself my student.” “But the Rosh Yeshivah has thousands of students.
What’s special about him?” someone asked. “Many students forget me after they become Rebbes,”
said Rav Steinman, “but the Modzhitzer Rebbe never forgets.”]

Two years later, when he celebrated his bar mitzvah, it was a time of great rejoicing in Modzhitz,
since Chaim Shaul’s father, the Nachalas Dan, was the only son of the Imrei Eish, and this was the
bar mitzvah of the Rebbe’s eldest grandson. In honor of the bar mitzvah, the Imrei Eish composed
the tune to the words ‘Baruch Hu Elokeinu shebaranu lichvodo’ that is sung to this day at virtually
every Torah event in the frum world.

When he was 14, the future Rebbe moved on to the Yeshivah Gedolah of Ponevezh. During the
entrance exam, Rav Dovid Povarsky posed a question on Maseches Gittin, daf Yud; the
only bochur who could answer it was Chaim Shaul, to which the Rosh Yeshivah commented,
“This is a blend of litvish and chassidish genius; the teirutz appears both in the Chiddushei
HaRim and in the chiddushim of Rav Chaim of Brisk.”

Once, in the middle of a shiur, the chassidishe bochur asked a brilliant question, challenging the
Rosh Yeshivah’s approach. The Rosh Yeshivah thought for a moment and quickly realized the
profundity of the question: he closed his Gemara and announced that the shiur was over. Rav
Chaim Shaul felt bad and toiled to come up with a resolution, but every time he tried to suggest an
answer, the Rosh Yeshivah would dismiss it. “Your question is stronger than all the answers,” he
kept asserting.

The Rebbe’s classmates relate that the Rosh Yeshivah once approached the Rebbe’s chavrusa and
said, “Reb Chaim Shaul will be getting engaged tonight; you’ll see.” Of course, his prediction
came true. The next day, he commented to the chavrusa, “You’re probably wondering how I knew.
The answer is simple: Reb Chaim Shaul has never missed a morning seder. Since he was absent
yesterday, I understood that a shidduch was in the offing.”

Indeed, the Rebbe married the daughter of the Alexander Rebbe, Rav Avraham Menachem
Danziger, who admired his son-in-law greatly and insisted on rising to his feet whenever his son-
in-law entered the room. The Alexander Rebbe encouraged Rav Chaim Shaul to put down
his chiddushim in writing, offering to fund the publication of his seforim. Rav Chaim Shaul,
though, did not want to go public with his Torah, and so the Alexander Rebbe turned to
his mechutan, the Imrei Eish, in the hope that he would persuade his grandson to agree.

“My dear mechutan,” replied the Modzhitzer Rebbe, “just as people say that your son-in-law is
a gaon in learning, he is also a gaon in simplicity, middos, and humility.”

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After learning for several years in Lithuanian-style kollelim, Rav Chaim Shaul, then 30, was tapped
by his grandfather to lead the yeshivah he was founding at the time. Yet just three years later, in
1984, Modzhitz was plunged into mourning with the passing of the Imrei Eish, who left behind a
community of grieving chassidim, divrei Torah, and hundreds more musical compositions. The
Imrei Eish was succeeded by his son, the Rebbe Rav Yisrael Dan, who led the chassidus for the
next 21 years.

A Different Person

Rav Yisrael Dan’s years of leadership were a time of steady growth for the current Rebbe, both on
a personal and public level. While the Nachalas Dan led his flock with paternal love, he also
delegated many responsibilities to his son, among them running the chassidus’s educational
system.

The chassidus of Modzhitz, in many ways, is a family more than it is a chassidic court, and Rav
Chaim Shaul’s home in Tel Aviv was open to the many chassidim who came from Bnei Brak and
from other locales to spend the Yamim Noraim and other holidays together with their spiritual
leader; guests were admitted indiscriminately. He also made frequent trips to raise funds for needy
families and for the institutions of the chassidus, although he never accepted a cent in
remuneration for it, suffering poverty rather than accepting a commission or salary for the work.

On Sunday, the 14th of Elul 5765 (2005), Rav Yisrael Dan suffered a stroke. The previous
Shabbos, the Rebbe had not been feeling well, and the gabbaim arranged a minyan for Shacharis
in his home. His eldest son attempted to join the minyan, but the Rebbe instructed him to return to
the beis medrash and receive the sixth aliyah, which is reserved for the Rebbe. “Take matters into
your own hands,” the Rebbe said. In hindsight, the chassidim understood that this was a passing
of the torch.

Rav Yisrael Dan’s illness lasted for nine months, until his passing on the 20th of Sivan. When the
chassidim returned from his burial on Har Hazeisim, Rav Moshe Lerner, a senior chassid,
announced that Rav Chaim Shaul Taub had been designated the fifth rebbe of Modzhitz. (Rav
Chaim Shaul’s brother, Rav Pinchas Moshe Taub, was later designated as the Kuzmirer Rebbe.)

“Since then,” the chassidim relate, “the Rebbe became a different person. While he continued
leading the chassidus with humility and remained closely connected with us, he suddenly seemed
to have a special halo. ‘This is not the same man,’ said people who went to visit him for nichum
aveilim.”

In keeping with the long-standing tradition of Modzhitz, the Rebbe composed 10

new niggunim for Rosh Hashanah of that year (2006), and continues to compose 12
new niggunim for every new year. “The tishen in Modzhitz suddenly became rejuvenated. Many
people began flocking to the beis medrash to drink in the teachings of the Rebbe and to bask in
his avodah of melody and song. Soon after, the beis medrash was expanded to twice its size, and
we recently acquired a plot of land across the street, since the current beis medrash is too small to
contain the growing chassidus. Under the leadership of the current Rebbe, additional shuls have

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been built in areas with a concentrated chareidi population, such as Modiin Illit, Beit Shemesh,
Ashdod, and other cities.”

The Rebbe has made many rules for his kehillah with the intent of strengthening their Torah
learning and building the community as a bastion of Torah and chassidus. Someone entering
the beis medrash on a regular weekday morning might be surprised by the sheer number of men
learning Torah in preparation for tefillah, in keeping with a special takanah that the Rebbe enacted
when he first assumed his position.

About two years ago, the Rebbe opened a yeshivah gedolah named Tiferes Yisrael, designated for
chassidish bochurim from both within Modzhitz and outside it. The yeshivah ketanah has also
reopened and there is a new network of kollelim for the avreichim of Modzhitz.

Once, when a group of bochurim from Ponevezh came to speak with the Rebbe in learning, the
Rebbe smiled and whispered to his gabbai, ‘You see, they have come to test me.’ ”

In sticking to his own self-imposed rules of humility and eschewing any luxury, it took years for
the Rebbe to allow the chassidim to purchase a car for him. Whenever the Rebbe needed to go
somewhere, there was always someone who would volunteer to drive him in a private car. Once,
a Modzhitzer chassid saw the Rebbe being driven in an old, battered car belonging to an avreich in
the chassidus. The philanthropist hurried to bring the Rebbe a check for NIS 80,000, promising to
bring the sum up to a full NIS 120,000 so that a proper car could be purchased for the Rebbe.

The Rebbe replied, “It is almost Pesach now. I can manage. It would be better for you to give this
money to avreichim before the holiday.” The philanthropist was forced to accept the Rebbe’s
suggestion, and that NIS 80,000 went instead to the avreichim for their Yom Tov needs. Ever since
then, the man donates a similar sum every year before Pesach, having learned the proper order of
priorities from his Rebbe.

It was only after the Rebbe once arrived very late to a bris held by one of his chassidim due to the
difficulty of finding someone to drive him, that he gave in to the pressure and allowed the very
same philanthropist to buy him a car.

Like Old Friends

The Rebbe’s daily routine begins at 4:30 a.m. with tevilah in the mikveh located beneath the beis
medrash. He spends the following two hours in solitary Torah study — he won’t start davening
until he’s completed a full two hours of learning. The Rebbe’s hasmadah has been defining him
since his days in Ponovezh.

After davening, the Rebbe receives visitors for a short time. From 9:00 until 2:00, the Rebbe learns
with a chavrusa. At 2:00, the Rebbe has lunch and takes a nap on his chair for about 15 minutes,
after which he resumes his learning until 4:30 in the afternoon. At that time, he begins his kabbalas
kahal, which continues until midnight.

The Rebbe’s visitors at kabbalas kahal come from every sector of the populace — the anxious and
broken hearted, businessmen seek his counsel, parents in need of guidance on chinuch and shalom

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bayis. Modzhitzer chassidim themselves make up only about 10 percent of the visitors — all of
whom are greeted by the Rebbe’s trademark radiant smile most people reserve for relatives and
old friends.

The Rebbe’s gabbai once asked him how he finds the strength to deal with the many visitors who
arrive at his doorstep for hours on end, every day. The Rebbe answered, “In davening we say, ‘In
Your Hand is strength and might, and it is in Your Hand to give greatness and strength to
everyone.’ I explain the pasuk this way: Who has ‘strength and might’? Someone who ‘gives
greatness and strength to everyone.’ When a person gives chizuk to other Jews, he receives a
Divine gift of vitality and strength.”

Despite his own sharp mind, the Rebbe’s advice is invariably straightforward; he always prefers
simple logic to convoluted reasoning. If a chassid wants to buy a car, the Rebbe might tell him,
“Go ask Reuven what type of car he owns; he has no problems with it. You can tell him that I sent
you.” The Rebbe treats every sh’ailah that is brought to him with the same degree of seriousness
he would apply to a matter of life or death. He asks for details, examines every side and angle of
the question, analyzes the matter carefully, and then makes a precisely calculated decision. But
when a chassid recently told the Rebbe that in spite of his efforts to earn a living, his expenses are
still greater than his income, the Rebbe said, “I have nothing to advise you. You will have to call
on your faith in Hashem.”

In his own yeshivah, the Modzhitzer Rebbe is heavily involved in the lives of the students. If the
public phone in the yeshivah rings and no one else picks up, the Rebbe won’t hesitate to answer.
One time he identified the caller as another bochur in yeshivah. “This is Chaim Shaul Taub,” the
Rebbe began. “Regarding the answer I gave you yesterday when you were here, I came up with a
better idea for you.”

Although Modzhitz is known as the “singing chassidus,” the Rebbe doesn’t approve of these
holy niggunim being used outside the context of its sublime avodas Hashem. He disdains those
“Modzhitz Music Evenings” held at cultural centers, where the music is stripped of its
sublime tafkid and brought into the realm of the secular.

Most of the Rebbe’s annual compositions stay within the walls of the beis medrash, but some, like
the rousing tune to the words “Zechor ahavas kedumim” have become popular throughout the
chassidic world. And the Rebbe’s head is like a bank for the thousands of niggunim that have been
composed by the zeides, ready to be withdrawn in an instant.

I ask the Rebbe’s closest associates if they know the secret to his musical genius. Does he need
any sort of special inspiration to compose a niggun?

“Well, the Rebbe composed the tune for ‘Slach na la’avon ha’am hazeh’ in Selichos right after he
found out that the kever of his ancestor, Rav Yechezkel of Kuzmir, had been located,”
the gabbai says.

In the months of Av and Elul, the Rebbe begins crafting his niggunim for the Yamim Noraim. One
of his chassidim, Reb Ezriel Lerner, listens to each niggun, records it, and passes it on to the

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members of the choir. At the same time, Reb Avraham Backenroth, who knows how to write
music, quickly records the Rebbe’s work on paper.

“Simchas Torah,” says Rabbi Taussig, “is the Rebbe’s holiday. Several years ago, the Rebbe made
a takanah for all the bochurim of the chassidus to learn an amud of Mishnah Berurah every day.
On Simchas Torah, he told them all to dance while holding the volumes of the Mishnah Berurah,
just as they say that Rav Meir Shapiro danced with volumes of the Gemara after he instituted
the daf yomi. The Rebbe once told me, ‘It pains me when people think that Modzhitz is
a chassidus of singing. Do people everywhere else sing less than in Modzhitz? Modzhitz is
a chassidus of Torah!’ ”

The Final Niggun

The Modzhitzer Rebbe is a rebbe for the Litvaks as well, according to his good friend Rav Shalom
Ber Sorotzkin.

“Every year,” Rav Sorotzkin relates, “we invite the Rebbe to deliver a shiur in the Ateres
Shlomo kollel network. The first time the Rebbe came to deliver a shiur at our kollel in Kiryat
Sefer, there were a few litvishe avreichim who found it difficult to digest the fact that
a chassidish rebbe was being brought to address a beis medrash of 1,000 litvaks. They prepared a
series of scintillating lomdishe questions to challenge him. Within minutes of the beginning of
the shiur, they tried to debunk the Rebbe’s approach by asking, ‘What about Reb Chaim?’ Before
they could even finish their question, the Rebbe replied, ‘Which Reb Chaim are you referring to?
The Reb Chaim in Hilchos Tumas Meis, in Hilchos Chanukah, or in Hilchos Shabbos? If you’re
referring to Hilchos Tumas Meis, it’s the subject of a dispute between Rav Boruch Ber [Leibowitz]
and Rav Naftali [Tropp]. If you’re referring to Hilchos Chanukah, there is a difference between
the Brisker Rav and the Avi Ezri in their understanding of the question. And regarding Hilchos
Shabbos, there are two pieces in Rav Baruch Ber that deal with it.’ Well, that was both the
first and last challenge those avreichim presented.

“More than anything else, the Rebbe has been blessed with a rare type of wisdom that makes it
possible to consult with him on any subject,” Rav Sorotzkin continues. “We’ve known each other
for 15 years, and I can tell you that I’ve asked him many questions, and never regretted seeking
his advice. His wisdom, his clarity, and his ability to distill an issue down to its fundamental
essence are highly unusual.”

Rav Sorotzkin, although a Litvak through and through, shares one more thought. “I try to attend
every tish that’s held during the week, and I am not the only Litvak there. The Rebbe is the
only chassidishe rebbe I know who has maintained his ‘litvishe lomdus’ to this day. He also has
that unique chassidishe warmth and the dedication to the ways of his forebears. It was once said
that Modzhitz is ‘the lomdus of niggunim,’ but the current Rebbe is a master of lomdus both in
Torah and in niggun.”

Perhaps that explains the power of one of Modzhitz’s most famous niggunim, the “Ani Maamin”
that accompanied a trainload of Yidden on their final journey to Treblinka. Many are familiar with
the story of Reb Azriel Fastag, a Modzhitzer chassid and baal tefillah who was known throughout
Warsaw for his exceptional voice. The Modzhitzer Rebbe Rav Shaul Yedidya Elazar had already

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managed to flee as his chassidim smuggled him out of Poland, but now the trains were transporting
tens of thousands of Jews to their deaths every day.

In one cattle car, though, Reb Azriel began singing the niggunim of the Rebbe on Yom Kippur,
imagining himself praying next to his rebbe, when suddenly the words of “Ani maamin b’emunah
sheleimah, b’vias haMashiach…” appeared before him, and he began to hum a tune. “How can
you sing at a time like this?” accused some of his fellow travelers, but soon the niggun caught on,
and in the face of death al kiddush Hashem, the entire doomed boxcar was soon joining in. Reb
Azriel quickly scribbled down the notes and looked around. “My dear brothers!” he exclaimed.
“This niggun is the song of the Jewish soul. It is a song of pure faith, for which thousands of years
of exile and troubles cannot overcome! I will give my portion in Olam Haba to whoever can take
the notes of this song to the the Modzhitzer Rebbe!”

Two young men met the challenge, promising to bring the notes to the Rebbe. One of them climbed
on the other’s shoulders, and in the small crack of the train’s roof, made a hole large enough to
jump through. The two jumped. One was killed instantly from the fall, and the other somehow
survived, eventually making his way to Eretz Yisrael, from where he sent the notes by mail to
Rebbe Shaul Yedidya Elazar in New York.

“When they sang ‘Ani Maamin’ on the death train, the pillars of the world were shaking,” the
Rebbe said after receiving the notes and having the niggun sung. “With this niggun, the Jewish
People went to the gas chambers. And with this niggun, the Jews will march to greet Mashiach.”

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 Torah in the Market place?
Earlier in daf 16 there is a disagreement between two rabbinic figures whether or not it is permitted
to teach Torah in the marketplace.

Once again, on another occasion, Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi decreed that students are not taught
in the marketplace but only in a study hall. What verse did he expound to serve as the basis for
this decree? The verse states:

-‫ ַבּת‬,‫ָיּפוּ ְפָﬠַמ ִי• ַבּ ְנָּﬠִלים‬-‫ב ַמה‬ 2 How beautiful are thy steps in sandals, O prince's daughter!
,‫ְכּמוֹ ֲחָלִאים‬--•‫ָנִדיב; ַחמּוֵּקי ְיֵרַכ ִי‬ The roundings of thy thighs are like the links of a chain, the work
.‫ַמֲﬠֵשׂה ְיֵדי ָאָמּן‬ of the hands of a skilled workman
Song of Songs 7:2

“Your rounded thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of an artist”

Just as a thigh is ordinarily hidden and kept covered with clothes,

so too, the words of Torah, which are “the work of the hands of an artist,” i.e., God, must
remain hidden in the study hall.

This radical prooftext from the sixth chapter of the Song of Songs where the lover’s anatomy is
being described in graphic detail forces us to see through the metaphor.

Rebbe does not wish his students to study Torah in the marketplace, the most public of spaces.
Worse he compares Torah to the most private parts of the human anatomy the thighs, which the
lover marvels at their beauty and even more the “artisan” who designed them. They are always
covered and hidden from view. The place of lovemaking in its most intimate is locate between
the thighs. Why use such a provocative text to describe Torah?

For those who study Zohar this is no mystery…for Torah’s depths, its secrets, are continuously
compared to a beloved who only reveals her “mysteries” to those initiated into the gnosis of her
secrets, the hidden Torah.

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 Zohar 2:99 a – b

However there may be a simpler non-mystical explanation since the gemoro is not speaking about

the mysteries (see next masechta!) rather the exoteric aspects of torah learning and for Rebbe the

author of the Mishnah it meant one thing… Torah shebe’al Peh.

I would like to suggest that Rebbe’s reticence comes because he wished to conceal the very nature
of the Oral Law from other “preying eyes” in the marketplace, namely early Christian sects,
Sadducees, Damascus sects, Essenes and other sectarians. All were eager to reinterpret the Hebrew
bible according to their own political and religious ideologies.

Maybe this was his reason to keep the oral law in the beis hamidrash…

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 Where Should Torah be Taught?

Daniel Novick writes:15

The rabbis of the Talmud were not convinced that Torah should only be taught within the walls of
the Beit Midrash. There is a disagreement on this topic between Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi and Rabbi
Hiyya recorded in the Talmud (Tractate Moed Katan 16a-16b). Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi argued that
Torah should not be taught in the open public marketplace, and explicitly forbade any teaching of
Torah outside of a formal house of study. Rabbi Hiyya (one of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi’s students),
by contrast, argued that Torah should be taught in public, in addition to inside the Beit Midrash.
Even though the rabbis argued back and forth, both providing scriptual support to prove their
points, readers of this text are left with the question unresolved: do we follow Rabbi Yehuda
HaNasi, who wanted to keep Torah in the private arena, or can we also follow Rabbi Hiyya, who
wanted to go out to where the people were and make Torah available to all?

This disagreement repeats itself over countless generations and our Jewish communities are faced
with the same question today. Should “Torah” (i.e. Jewish life) occur only in the private, safe walls

15
https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/where-should-torah-be-taught/

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of our synagogues, or should it be brought into the public arena, in the form of innovative
communities without walls, creating avenues where, as Proverbs 1:20 teaches, “Wisdom cries
aloud in the streets?”

I believe that the answer is both – Torah must exist both within our traditional synagogues and
institutions, and also in spaces beyond conventional walls. I have come to this realization through
my involvement in a millennial outreach program piloted by USCJ over the last year in San
Francisco. This new initiative, called The Hub-SF, provides meaningful and spiritual Jewish
opportunities and experiences for young adults through Shabbat and holiday gatherings,
connections to Jewish opportunities, and personal one-on-one relationship building- all in an
attempt to reimagine Jewish life for those who grew up in Conservative Judaism or are now just
being exposed to it.

As the rabbinical student working on this project, I’ve spent the past year building relationships
with over 100 young adults in the San Francisco Bay Area. After many Shabbat dinners, holiday
events, personal conversations, and learning experiences, I’ve found that the elusive “millennials”
who are the subject of so many papers and articles are searching for meaning and spiritual
direction. Maybe they seek the Judaism that they are comfortable and familiar with- whether it’s
from their days at camp or youth group, or attending Hillel in college. Maybe they seek a Judaism
that has yet to exist.

What we as the “community” need to do is leave the walls of our Beit Midrash, go out into the
marketplace, hear them, and build with them. To bring Torah out to the public and get to know the
individuals and cultivate relationships with them- listen to their own stories. In this way, we follow
in the footsteps of Rabbi Hiyya by bringing Torah out of our conventional structures and into
spaces where deeply committed Jews are living and searching.

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Yet this project also follows the legacy of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, recognizing and honoring the
power and necessity of traditional synagogues and structures. There are many wonderful
organizations that have been journeying out beyond the synagogue walls for some time now.

What makes The Hub-SF unique is that we have found that this work is not meant to be done in
isolation. We cannot only go out into the marketplace. For millennial engagement initiatives to be
successful, there must be an eventual goal to connect people, when they are ready, with established
communities that are also doing great and holy work.

In this respect too, we are following in the legacy of our Talmudic rabbis. While Rabbi Yehuda
HaNasi and Rabbi Hiyya disagree about Torah’s place in the marketplace, they both are grounded
in the assumption that Torah certainly exists in the Beit Midrash. So too with us; we must approach
our work with the appreciation and realization that our synagogues are the strongholds and anchor
an authentic and dynamic Judaism such that it is possible to radiate and extend outward. While we
may need to venture outside to meet those in the marketplace, we are always leaving from, and
eventually coming back to, our core institutions.

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