Book Review: Challenging Assumptions

Rabbi Moshe Kurtz, of Congregation Agudath Sholom in Stamford CT, is quickly becoming a known name in the Modern Orthodox world for his wonderful podcast Shu”T First Ask Questions Later in which he explores various halachic questions via in-depth conversations with experts rooted in relevant responsa literature. The combination of high-level conversation and rigorous Torah learning makes one of the best new Jewish podcasts on the market for good reason (and I promise I’m not just saying that to get back in the hosts’ good graces after consistently being too busy to record an episode with him).

In addition to his podcast, Rabbi Kurtz recently published the book, Challenging Assumptions: An Exploration of Halachic Issues pertaining to American Jewry, the Synagogue, and Beyond (Mosaica Press, 2023). By providing “halachic and philosophical considerations” to various issues, Rabbi Kurtz seeks to “challenge readers’ assumptions and provide the critical observer with a Torah prism for approaching today’s important questions.” R. Kurtz acknowledges this approach comes from our shared teacher, Rabbi Dr. JJ Schacter, “who always emphasized to our semicha class that he welcomes any opinion at the table - provided that it is rooted in a serious analysis of the relevant source material. He demonstrated what it means to approach each issue thoughtfully and with a level-head, even when the subject matter could make one prone to an emotional reaction.”

With that approach in mind, R. Kurtz seeks to examine “topics that, while thought-provoking and relevant, have received minimal serious treatment for an English-language audience” while bringing “readers’ attention to the broader, relevant, meta-halachic values they raise.” In this way, Challenging Assumptions is a serious and needed contribution to English halachic literature. Of the book’s 13 chapters (addressing topics such as political correctness, gender norms, patriotism in shul, shortening services, and more), three of them feel particularly relevant for me to discuss.

(Full disclosure: In the book’s Introduction, Rabbi Kurtz writes that “In particular, I would like to acknowledge three of my friends and colleagues: Dr. Yisroel Ben-Porat, Rav Steven Gotlib, and Rav Yair Lichtman. Each of them in either a formal or informal capacity took significant time to review and edit my various essays - and while they naturally did not see eye-to-eye with every last point - they strongly contributed to the quality of the final product.”

The three essays addressed here are all ones that I had some level of involvement in and thus have thought about more carefully than others in the book.)

Rabbinic Honorifics

Many new rabbis find themselves uncomfortable with the fact that they are no longer “Steven” (or whatever their first name may be), but are suddenly “Rabbi Gotlib” to anyone and everyone they meet - including people their own age. I still remember the first time a congregant of mine spoke to me in the third person, asking “What does the rav think about this?” One of my teachers at RIETS liked to say that young rabbis should enjoy feeling uncomfortable being called “Rabbi” now, because one day we would feel uncomfortable NOT being called “Rabbi” by someone.

Rabbi Kurtz (or perhaps “Moshe” as I know him?) picks on a different phenomenon, in which many figures append “Rabbi” to their names on social media and in which their books often have numerous honorifics preceding them. He writes that “while the idea of laypeople using rabbinic titles to respect the clergy naturally finds a great deal of support in halachic literature, the practice of insisting upon them as well as the sheer volume of honorifics that have proliferated, should give us reason to pause.” Indeed, R. Kurtz establishes that “there is a mitzvah of honoring a Torah scholar by affording them a rabbinic title… no different than the unanimously accepted halachic obligation to stand up for a Torah scholar.” He even notes that “it would seem that there is little room for a rabbi to renounce his title” despite the fact that “rabbinic figures, who are susceptible to developing pride, must find a way to keep themselves in check.” R. Kurtz ultimately concludes somewhere in between:

While a Torah scholar may not be permitted to renounce his basic rabbinic title, it does not mean that he needs to impose it. The rabbis whom I respect the most introduce themselves and sign correspondances by their regular name. The attitude of those who… take offence at the omission of their rabbinic title or insist upon adding that appellation to their name on social media (or similar informal contexts) should give us pause. Insistence on a particular fact usually gives reason for one to doubt it. As the adage goes, “Any man who must say ‘I am king’ is no true king at all.'“

There are, of course, moments when it is warranted to specifically introduce oneself as a rabbi. One example is in educational settings where there would not be adequate respect granted without such a title. Another is in pastoral contexts:

Particularly when it comes to funerals or difficult lifecycle events, the aggrieved feel comforted by knowing that there is a rabbinic presence. In such a case, it is perhaps appropriate and necessary for a rabbi to introduce himself by title. Nonetheless, there are still two ways to go about it. One can introduce himself as “Rabbi So-and-So” or “My name is So-and-so and I work as the rabbi at Congregation x,” thus indicating that he is a regular person who also happens to have received a rabbinical education.

The latter is the approach that I use, and it has thus far served me well. Rabbi Kurtz emphasizes that “a healthy relationship between a rabbi and his constituents would be one in which the rabbi requests fewer honorifics while his constituents insist on maintaining at least the minimum baseline” and I have seen that this is often how it plays out. Of course, I have many female colleagues (whether Yoatzot Halakhah or non-Orthodox rabbis) who have shared with me that they feel they need to insist on a title with their congregants in order to get even a minimum of respect as a scholar and that has to be understood.

Finally, Rabbi Kurtz concludes his analysis with a powerful personal plea of how to view rabbinic titles generally:

A rabbi’s raison d’etre should not be about using his position to amass personal prestige, but rather to bring honor and dignity to those who share the same place, whether that be the beis medrash, synagogue, or the worldwide Jewish community. It is a yetzer hara that all rabbis, myself included, need to overcome.

Rabbinic work necessarily comes with some degree of being in the limelight, but it is important for rabbis to mitigate our want for that with our responsibility to serving the Jewish people. Sometimes we need to show our degrees and titles, but other times we do not. Ultimately, this chapter gave me pause about the very name of my substack website and more while also getting me to appreciate the great responsibility that comes with the great power of being in the rabbinate.

Lying for Kiruv?

A second chapter that I found particularly relevant to what I do is about whether or not outreach professionals have a right to lie, or at least to sugarcoat or censor particular aspects of the Jewish tradition for the sake of exposing someone to Orthodox Judaism. It’s a tough topic that different kiruv organizations that I’ve worked with have responded to in different ways. One (which I will not name) greatly appreciated when I would teach about difficult topics without hiding sources, feeling that I was giving people a well-rounded and honest introduction so that they could go on to make informed decisions. Another implied that I could no longer work for them if I even implied that outreach professionals have lied about or censored certain sources in order to get people through the door to Orthodoxy. Rabbi Kurtz highlights this internal tension nicely by sharing an anecdote about Rav Yitzchak Zilberstein, who is responsible for the popular V’Haarev Na and What if… books (the latter being one of my earliest introductions to learning around a Shabbos table). The scene is as follows:

A kiruv (Jewish outreach) professional wanted to orchestrate a scene that would compel the attendees at his lecture to accept full religious observance. His plan was to plant another observant Jew in the crowd who would pretend to be a secular individual. At some point during the lecture, this individual would get up and argue vehemently against the teacher. However, it would be planned from the beginning that he would lose the argument, concede defeat, and immediately accept upon himself the yoke of Heaven and full commitment to halachah (Jewish law). By orchestrating such a spectacle, the kiruv professional’s hope was that the rest of the attendees would be so inspired by this man’s commitment to accept the Torah’s laws that they too would elect to become observant. The kiruv professional asked Rav Zilberstein whether it was permissible to use this form of deception in order to bring his fellow Jews under the wings of the Divine.

This question is an extreme example, but represents a fundamental dilemma that many Jewish educators (whether outreach or inreach) face in our line of work. Rabbi Kurtz puts it well: '“Is it more important to be 100 percent transparent and honest, or is it permissible to distort the data in order to develop and retain observant Jews?” This is a relevant question for anyone to ask because, as R. Kurtz points out, “we are not only charged to tend to our own personal spirituality, but must additionally care for the religiosity of our entire brethren.” Indeed, one can compellingly argue that “there is an imperative in Jewish law for one to look after their fellow Jews’ religious welfare and secure their fealty to Jewish law.” The only question is: at what cost? Based on a wide variety of halachic sources that emphasize that “one may avoid telling the truth if it is necessary for ensuring another Jewish person’s commitment to halachah,” R. Kurtz reaches several conclusions in considering that question:

• A kiruv professional may stage a dispute for the purpose of inspiring non-religious onlookers to accept halachic observance.

• If one may lie to ensure observance, it stands to reason that even more so may one omit information to ensure devotion to Jewish faith and law. Therefore, we may assume that a teacher is permitted to omit a jarring theological position (e.g., the limits of Divine providence) in order to maintain their students’ faith and commitment to Jewish theology.

• A rabbi may sugarcoat his presentation by offering tenuous apologetics for Torah laws that clash with Western sensitivities, in order to avoid scaring off potential baalei teshuvah, individuals who choose to adopt an observant lifestyle.

On these points, R. Kurtz adds an informative footnote:

Given that these conclusions may seem uncomfortable, it can serve as an interesting (meta-) example of the entire present discussion. Based on the halachic literature we have surveyed, if one were to feel disillusioned with Jewish law after reading this chapter, would it have been better had it not been published? I leave that for thoughtful discussion.

R. Zilberstein, in R. Kurtz’s words, ultimately concludes in the case of the kiruv professional, that there is “there is likely no intrinsic problem in terms of dishonesty at all. Rather, there is a significant concern that such a stunt might cause a chillul Hashem, a desecration of God’s name, should the audience realize it was all a ruse.” R. Zilberstein himself, however, writes that “if this could be accomplished with absolutely no concern for causing a chillul Hashem, it is reasonable that it is permissible… On the contrary, this endeavor will strengthen the minds of those who are still muddled and entrenched in the [material] temptations of this world.” In R. Kurtz’s summary, for R. Zilberstein, “there is no issue with deceiving someone in order to bring them closer to God, as long as one can ensure that they will not be discovered (should that be possible).” But this conclusion itself “risks the very same concern for chillul Hashem as the recognition that deception is a halachically permissible form of education can create distrust between rabbis and their constituents.” So what is one to do?

Firstly, it seems that such a conclusion only works one way. One cannot say that Judaism permits something that it does not in order to get them to be observant. Rav Hershel Schachter, another shared teacher of myself and Rabbi Kurtz, writes that “we are no longer responsible for them” is a person wishes for Torah to be altered in order for them to stay within Orthodox Judaism. In addition to concerns of chillul Hashem and desecrating the truth of Torah, Rabbi Kurtz also notes that many warn against forming a habit of lying, which is encouraged by such tactics. For all of these reasons, Rabbi Kurtz reaches a powerful conclusion:

Ultimately, educators must remain cautious not to dilute the Torah, misrepresent any of its crucial principles, or compromise on essential Jewish values to fit the standards of modern society. Ideas in the Torah that are prone to controversy should be dealt with sensitivity and care, minimizing the emotional harm while staying true to the Torah’s principles and goals. As an educator, I feel the responsibility to instill the feelings of awe, grandeur, and appreciation in my students - the same feelings I have when learning Torah - with the utmost care, honesty, and integrity. Though the adherence to the right principles and sensitivity, I hope to convey to my students my own confidence in the truth of God’s Torah and inspire them to feel similarly.

Whenever I teach a controversial topic, I ask my audience: “Would you prefer I sugarcoat it for you or would you like to know what the source actually says?” As of yet, I have never received a request to omit a controversial opinion, even if some find it objectionable. A student or congregant may not always be thrilled about a particular halachah, but in the long run, an intellectually honest individual appreciates being exposed to the full range of perspectives and facts. It is only through honest and trust that we can aspire to our beloved students and fellow Jews to remain committed to a true Torah life.

In my own experience as a rabbi, I have found myself wholeheartedly agreeing with my friend and colleague time and time again.

Torah U’madda or Torah U’movies?

Another subject that R. Kurtz discusses, near and dear to my heart, is how expansive the idea of Torah U’madda ought to be. Like me, Rabbi Kurtz is heavily invested in both sides of that motto, and read Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm’s book of the same name cover to cover early in his religious development. His journey is a familiar one to many:

Throughout the years, I have contemplated the different models of Torah U’madda and have reached different conclusions at different stages of my education about its definition and parameters. One generally finds Torah U’madda invoked in discussing how halachah can be synthesized with scientific knowledge and how literary techniques can be used to sharpen our readings of biblical narratives. However, because of its ambiguous definition, some have extended madda to include other pursuits ranging from the appreciation of religious art to hallmarks of contemporary pop culture… but can knowledge of pop culture be legitimately included in a serious philosophy or Torah U’madda? Can elements of pop culture truly be deemed a worthy use of an observant Jew’s time?

This is a thought process that many who are part of the Modern Orthodox world, committed to Torah Judaism while also being self-proclaimed geeks of various stripes have asked at one point or another. Sticking to one particular pop culture genre, Rabbi Kurtz notes that “while fantasy and science fiction (SciFi/Fantasy) have their fair share of questionable material (particularly Japanese Anime), there are many appropriate expressions of the genre that have enabled serious reflection and discussion about theology and the human condition. This is especially salient when the genre explicitly and implicitly addresses the philosophical questions of morality.” At the same time, R. Kurtz is quick to note that “I listen, watch, play, and read what I do because I enjoy it - it’s my preferred use of necessary leisure time… once I am doing that, I am open to being inspired or intellectually captivated by a theme that in some indirect way might enhance my Torah study and service of God. But I try to keep myself honest by endeavoring not to conflate my recreation with my religion.” Torah can be enhanced by pop culture, then, without pop culture becoming Torah.

Conflating the two too much risks leading to what R. Kurtz has described to me as “Modern Orthodoxy’s Tikkun Olam Problem” in which “Torah U’madda has colloquially devolved into the tikkun olam of Modern Orthodoxy: a motto so flexible and amorphous that it has regrettably become next to meaningless. And like tikkun olam, since torah U’madda has become our movement’s accepted mantra, anything that can conceivable be classified under madda is ipso facto regarded as a sacrosanct religious pursuit.” He therefore concludes that “the religious pursuit of Torah and the non-Jewish genre of geek culture need not intersect… I am happy to live a life of Torah and geekdom, but I am not convinced that it necessarily needs to be Torah u’geekdom.”

A similar idea is expressed in the ever-poignant words of Rav Aharon Lichtenstein that “far from diverting attention from the contemplation of God’s majestic cosmos, the study of great literature focuses upon a manifestation, albeit indirect, of his wondrous creation at its apex. In one sense, to be sure, human artifacts may be regarded as competing with divine handiwork. Yet, in another, they themselves reveal the spiritual potential which God’s creative will had implanted in man. If the heavens bespeak the glory of their Maker, the imaginative powers of man all the more so.”

Later in that same essay, Rav Lichtenstein adds a profound personal reflection:

I recall vividly that when my father, zz'“l, was suddenly blinded at the age of eighty-one, I felt, on the one hand, that I could better appreciate and commiserate with his suffering because of the cadences of the great relevant Miltonic passages still reverberated in my mind… On the other hand, I felt that, for the same reason, I could better understand his dual response: the determination to overcome and the struggle to accept.

***

I suppose some will regard these ruminations as a symptom of spiritual weakness. Why hadn’t I thought of our own spiritual giants who had suffered a similar fate - of the patriarchal avot ha’olam, bling Yitzhak and dim-sighted Yaakov? Or, among Amora’im, why hadn’t Rav Yosef and Rav Sheshet come to mind? the answer is that of course they had… The point is, however, that the respective recollections were not mutually exclusive but, rather, reciprocally resonant. The stature which the avot or Amora’im enjoy in the eyes of a ben Torah is of course, qualitatively, wholly different from that of even so great a poet as Milton - and that not only as regards intellectual prowess but with respect to the entire range of spiritual and emotional experience. But whereas Milton’s response was recorded for posterity with great power and depth, their response can only be conjectured.

Whence, however, the capacity for conjecture? In part, of course, from Milton. Literary exposure to a broad range of social, historical, and personal experience helps us transcend the insular bonds of our own niche in time and space - to disengage the local and accidental from the permanent and universal, to understand, both intellectually and emphatically, situations we had not otherwise confronted or even possibly envisioned. All the more so, when that experience has been communicated through culture at its finest, by great souls capable of feeling deeply and expressing feeling powerfully. The tragedy of personal affliction, in particular, is thus more acutely perceived because the tragedy of a great soul - Milton in the throes of blindness, Beethoven on the threshold of deafness - as well as its passionate response bears the imprint of that greatness and imparts to us a keener sense of the nature of experience.

…I am neither so overweening as to contend that such understanding cannot be attained without general literary education not naive to the point of assuming that it is invariably conferred by it. Knowledge of Paradise Lost is neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for the best grasp of Sefer Bereishit. But, to the extent, and I believe it can be significant, that the particular fusion of knowledge and power, insight, and inspiration provided ny great literature enables us to relate to ruah memalela and to enrich our spiritual lives, we shall often profit from grazing in foreign pastures. Where, in our treasure, shall we encounter a despondent and tragically deserted father to compare with King Lear? Of thousands who have been imprisoned, who has left a record of his experience on par with Boethius’ De Consolatione Philosophiae or Bonhoeffer’s Letters from Prison? Far from constituting mere straying in alien fields, study of general culture can become a vehicle for enhancing our Torah existence.

The best of contemporary pop culture, alongside the best of art, music, and literature can significantly enhance a Torah life, then, regardless of whether one formally includes it in a Torah U’madda label. Rabbi Kurtz, in being willing to share what he has learned from video games, anime, movies, television shows, SciFi/Fantasy novels, and more literally puts his money where his mouth is to prove that point, doing all frum geeks a tremendous service.

Concluding Thoughts

As said from the outset, this review has only included three of the 13 chapters in Challenging Assumptions - three chapters that were of particular interest to me given my background and current profession. Each chapter presents nuance and serious halachic scholarship in ways that few other books are able to. Whether he asks “how much singing in shul is too much?”, “should we really make siyumim to eat meat during the nine days?”, or more, R. Kurtz addresses his questions with great care and thoughtfulness.

Of course, one might not agree with everything written in the book. As one more of our mutual teachers, Rabbi Ezra Schwartz, wrote in his approbation, “there is room to quibble and disagree with application of sources and even the conclusions that Rabbi Kurtz comes to. In no way does this detract from the value of this work. If anything, disputing the mekoros brought and the conclusions Rabbi Kurtz arrives at is only another integral part of challenging our assumptions regarding the halachic process.”

At the end of the day, if you’re looking to challenge your assumptions, then this is a book to pick up!