Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, Ph.D
(Our prayer is starting to take shape, thanks to the input of Edmond H. Weiss, Hillel Cohn, and others. )
Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, Ph.D
(Our prayer is starting to take shape, thanks to the input of Edmond H. Weiss, Hillel Cohn, and others. )
Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, Ph.D
For centuries,
scholars have been debating the question of who was Jesus, the individual? In
reality, we know very little about his life. As I wrote in my Modern Judaism
(Cognella, 2013, p. 182), “There is no contemporary evidence of Jesus that
refers to him or to his activities. It is presumed that he was a Galilean (Jew),
born in Nazareth around 4 BCE, and killed by the Romans around 30 CE….From all
we know, he was a Pharisee, and most likely belonged to a group of visionaries
who predicted the end of the Roman Empire, causing the ire of the Roman
authorities in Palestine.”
The
problem is compounded by the fact that the Gospel accounts in the New
Testament, which tell the story of Jesus, were written many centuries after his
death and are in many places contradictory, such as the time of his crucifixion
(Mark 15:25, at 9 am vs. John 19:14, at noon), his healing of blind people
(Mark 10:46, one person vs. Matt 20: 30, two men), and many others. Most New
Testaments scholars agree that the Gospels reflect the piety of the Church regarding
Jesus more than they reflect the individual Jesus.
Throughout
the years, Jewish researchers have developed various images of Jesus. According
to the historian Heinrich Graetz (19th cent), he was an “Essene”
(namely a member of one of the Jewish sects that emerged in the first century
CE); Abraham Geiger (d. in 1874) , a German Rabbi and scholar, viewed him as a
Pharisee with “Galilean coloring.” The British thinker, Claude Montefiore (d.
in 1938) considered him a prophet; Joseph Klausner (d.1958), an historian, portrayed
him as a great teacher of morality and an artist of parables; the philosopher
Martin Buber (d. 1965) called him “my great brother.” Samuel Sandmel, an expert
in the New Testament, (d.1979) thought “he had gifts of leadership and was
something of a teacher.”
In reality, it was
Paul, the apostle, who brought Jesus to the attention of the gentiles in Asia
Minor. Consequently, Christianity grew and became a different religion from
Judaism , stressing the concepts of salvation, Jesus as the intermediary
between God and the people ,and not only as a prophet who predicted the fall of
Rome, but also as the long awaited Messiah, even the son of God. Many early
Christians also believed that Jesus, who died at the cross, will come back again
in the future.
Muslims, too, have
high respect for Jesus: they believe that, born of the virgin Mary (Sura,
19:20), he was a messenger of God (Sura 4: 171), but not divine. Mohammad also
maintained that he was not crucified, as another man was made to resemble him
but that Allah took him to Himself (Sura 4: 157).
For
me, Jesus stands as a Jewish teacher and a preacher of antiquity, who opened
the door to a new understanding of the human existence. He appears to be a
person of piety and kindness, but not a divine being. This makes for a
wonderful dialogue between Jews, Moslems and Christians.
Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, Ph.D.
MY CONCEPT OF GOD:
In my book, The Many Faces of God (2004), I
have summarized my view on God in these words:
“Like others, I, too, went
from stage to stage in my theological development. I consider myself more of a
researcher and teacher rather than a systematic theologian. I like to look for
legitimate options, and make them available to my students and readers as
viable and authentic responses to matters of life and death. As an individual
I, too, had to struggle with questions of existence, and looked for
explanations that made sense to me. I gave up my childhood notion of classical
theism, because my logical mind and inquisitive nature would not yield the
conclusions I was asked to accept. I find mysticism appealing but not totally
compatible with my rationalistic tendencies. I am not satisfied with the claim
of the religious humanists that God, as the highest image of ourselves, is
capable of answering our queries. Also, I cannot conceive of a theology that
looks at the universe from the divine perspective. I believe theology starts
with our own questions, and ends with our tentative answers.
I am more attracted to the
views of the religious naturalists who maintain that there is an energy that
sustains the universe. Based on observation and analysis, I see a certain order
in the world around us, and conclude, much like some of the medieval thinkers
and even a few early rabbis, that this order implies an ordering mind, or in my
case, an ordering power and energy that stands for God. The laws of nature, I
argue, are simply a manifestation of this universal energy that makes possible
for me to exist. And for this, I am very appreciative, and express my thanks to
God through prayers of gratitude and works of loving-kindness that benefit my
family and community. I affirm the freedom of the human will, and can live with
the realization that I don’t have all the answers for the tension that exists
between the realities of good and evil, because I do not know all the inner
workings of the universe. In the spirit of Spinoza, I say that if we knew how
the world operates, we could predict our next move. But alas, this is not
within our ability. So, we live in an imperfect world and with limited
abilities to understand the mysteries around us, while desperately looking for
meaning and purpose in our daily struggles” (pp.250-1).
WHAT PRAYER
ACCOMPLISHES
Of the three major types of prayer (i.e., praise,
gratitude and petition), it is the prayers of petition that create problems for
many people. The reasons vary: we expect an immediate answer that fails to
materialize; the text of the prayer is inadequate either because of its archaic
nature, patriarchal language or non-inclusive character; sometimes we even
equate nobility of expression with profundity of thought. In reality the crux
of the problem is theological. Heschel once said, “The issue of prayer is not
prayer; the issue of prayer is God” (Man’s Quest for God. New York:
Charles Scribner’s, 1954, 58). Consequently, if you believe, you can then pray.
For a long time I, too, subscribed to this notion. However, recently, I
realized that people could struggle with prayer and theology at the same time.
As theological views become clearer, prayers too become more authentic. Prayer
is a natural need of every human being. The question is what to expect from it?
Here below are my conclusions:
1. To
help create a good prayerful mood, one needs an inspiring text and an uplifting
music within an appropriate physical setting.
2. Prayers
should be read not as legal briefs but as poetry pointing to something higher.
3. One
should refrain to pray for the impossible, for God works through the laws of
nature, and God is not likely to change the course of events no matter how
fervent the prayer or pious the individual.
4. It
is more important to express one’s goals and aspirations through prayers than
to expect an answer for them. If we are able to formulate our thoughts clearly
and turn them into a program of action, the action itself becomes our answer.
5. Prayers
do not change the world outside, but give the worshipers a better insight into
themselves. As the Gates of Prayer had it, “Who rise from prayer better
persons, their prayer is answered.”
6. Even
if, at the moment, it is not possible to enter into a prayerful mood, one can
and should identify with the community as part of the worship experience. By
praying together we can strengthen one another.
MY RELIGIOUS PHILOSOPHY-PART TWO
Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, Ph.D.
THE SENSE OF WONDER
When I wake up in the morning and realize that I am
alive in a world that operates in a reliable yet mysterious ways, I am moved to
express gratitude to God that has made me part of it. Abraham J. Heschel once
wrote, “Wonder or radical amazement is the chief characteristic of the
religious man’s attitude toward history and nature.” (See, God in Search of
Man; Philadelphia: JPS, 1962, 45). The awareness that the universe has an
intricate composition has led many, including me, to revere life. Not only am I
in awe before the workings of the world, even during a pandemic such as the
Corona Virus of the 2020’s, but I am equally struck by the way our bodies
operate harmoniously most of the time. I view human beings as bulks of energies
stimulated by forces within and without. How does the heart know to beat
regularly? How does our digestive system work so properly most of the time? The
ancient rabbis, noting this wonder, even penned a prayer to be said after one
wakes up: “Blessed are You, God, who has formed the human body in wisdom, and
has created in it intricate passages, vessels and openings. It is clear to You
that if one of them is blocked or opened, we could not stand before You.
Blessed are You, God, who heals all flesh in a wondrous way.”
RELIGION
The universe operates in wondrous ways. However, this
recognition does not eliminate the problems we face in our daily life, either
because of the limitations of our
bodies, the unfairness we encounter in our dealings with others, or even
when we fight natural disasters not of our own making. We are devastated when
tragedies mar our existence. Most of us can understand and accept that people
will eventually pass away, but we find it very difficult to deal with the death
of a loved one, either at the hands of others or because of natural causes. We
do not live in a perfect world, and certainly do not know all the intricacies
of the universe. Life is mysterious,
and, at times, even unpredictable, requiring a wholesome perspective. For many,
including me, religion does that.
But what does the word
“religion” mean? Some people derive it from the Latin “relegare” meaning to
re-examine carefully, and others from “religare” meaning to connect (with God).
Even though the second one is the most popular understanding of the word today,
it is still vague. What does it mean to connect with God? What does God mean?
Hebrew does not have a proper word for “religion.” In medieval times, we find
the word dat, which can mean law, custom or faith. In modern Hebrew a dati
is a religiously observant person.
Of the various definitions
of religion, I believe, Erich Fromm (1900-1980) has provided the broadest one.
He argued that religion gives the individual a “frame of orientation” as well
as “an object of devotion.” Each of us has a “frame of orientation” through
which we view the world, and “an object of devotion” to which we pledge
ultimate loyalty. The question is how to identify these “frames” and “objects?”
Maimonides (d. 1204) defined
religion as “to know God (intellectually).” For Mordecai Kaplan (1881-1983)
“the essence of every religion is the human quest for salvation (i.e..,
self-realization).” In Abraham J. Heschel’s (1907-1972) view, “Religion is an
answer to man’s ultimate questions.” Roland Gittelsohn (1910-1995) proposed one
in line with his religious naturalism: it is “the study of the mutual spiritual
relations between human organisms and their total cosmic environment.” Alvin Reines (1926-2004) suggested: “Religion
is the human person’s response to the conflict of finitude;” namely, how do we
deal with the realization that we are all limited and are destined to die one
day? For me, religion needs to be
defined broadly as a way to help us find our place in the world, with all its
limitations and possibilities. In this sense, I consider everyone religious
because we all have the same concerns and expectations. Whether we are Jewish,
Christian, Muslim (or other), how we personally respond to our existential
questions becomes our religion. For me, Judaism, provides the best
interpretation of human life, with its plusses and minuses, and that is why, in addition to being part of
the Jewish people, I choose to remain a religious Jew.
The term “religion” is much
wider than “observance.” The second one
deals with practices, the first refers to one’s attitude to life in general.
Also, even though most religious people are moral individuals, “religion” and
“morality” are not one and the same, because plenty of people have claimed to be
religious while engaging in unethical behavior.
Dec. 7, 2020
Rabbi Rifat Sonsino , Ph.D
This year, the Jewish festival of Hanukah begins on Thursday
night, Dec. 10, and lasts 8 days. It commemorates the military victory of the
Jewish rebels (the so-called Maccabees),
against the Syrian-Greeks, in 167 BCE. After
a few fierce battles, the Jews, under the leadership of Judah the Maccabee, defeated
the enemy and rededicated the Temple of Jerusalem to the worship one God, which
had been desecrated by Antiochus IV, the king of the Syrian Greeks and his army.
In fact, the Hebrew word “Hanukah” means dedication.
We do not really know why it lasts 8 days,
and early sources do not tell us why. However, over the centuries, various
explanations have been proposed, including the theory that it was a late Sukkot
(Festival of Harvest) (See, II Mac. 10) or simply that when the rebels entered
the temple they found eight iron spears. They stuck candles on them and lit
them (Pesikta Rabbati). And, then there is the so-called “miracle” of Hanukah,
proposed by the Talmudic Rabbis, centuries after the event: a miracle occurred
and one candle lasted 8 days (Shab. 21b). We don’t know why the Rabbis came up
with this explanation, but perhaps it was because they did not like the rebel Maccabees
and wanted to attribute the great event to a divine power. Thus, for example,
the 16th-century Maharal of Prague, Rabbi
Judah Loew, suggested, “The main reason that the days of Hanukkah were
instituted was to celebrate the victory over the Greeks. However, so that it
would not seem that the victory was due only to might and heroism, rather than
to Divine Providence, the miracle was denoted by the lighting of the Menorah,
to show that it was all by a miracle, the war as well”.
I am very uncomfortable with this miraculous explanation,
not only because, as a religious naturalist, I do not believe that miracles, as
a divine intervention into the acts of nature, can or do happen but also because it may be misleading to the younger
generations who expect incredible events to save them through supposedly God’s deeds.
What happens when you pray and the so-called “miracles” do not occur? Does that
mean that people were not deserving or that God was being capricious? God, as
the energy of the universe, does not change the course of nature. I think it is
better to deal with Hanukah as a great military victory that altered the course
of events and allowed the Israelites of the 2nd cent. BCE to live in
freedom, in their own land, keeping their traditions as they saw fit.
Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, Ph.D
I grew up in Turkey but I am an American citizen. Recently,
I experienced political fanaticism among some Turkish Jews, living either in Turkey or elsewhere, and it is ugly.
A few days ago, I sent a blurb to a chat group, managed by a
Turkish Jew in Istanbul, indicating my preference for Biden, and told my
readers that in America, Israel is not our only priority. We are also dealing
with blatant racism, with the terrible consequences of the Corona virus, with
slowing of the economy, with a president who does not support science etc. and
who should be replaced by Biden who cares for these issues as many of us. Boy,
I opened the flood gates! A tsunami of accusations. I was told that I am a socialist,
that I am almost a Nazi sympathizer, a terrible teacher, etc. by people who know
nothing about me, all because I did not support Trump who, according to them,
was a God-sent for Israel.
I am a retired Rabbi who has spent my life dealing with Judaism
and Israel, but I am also a realist. I strongly believe that Israel will never
have peace until the Palestinian problem is resolved, and therefore I am very
much in favor of open negotiations and, perhaps even accept certain compromises
that are not preferable. Unfortunately, the Palestinians are not in the mood to
negotiate, and they will be the losers in the end. But my so-called
Turkish-Jewish friends are not in the mood to hear these realities either. They
want to support Israel using the rhetoric of the right.
So, in anger, I sent a note to the editor of the chat group
and told him that I will no longer contribute to his pages. However, I did not
expect the response. Many Turkish Jews, disturbed by my decision, urged me to
continue to write and express my opinions, because they enjoyed a good debate,
and told me not give in to the crazy fanatics who accused me of all types of
sins. I ,therefore, decided to rejoin the debate.
What did I learn? 1. There are political fanatics
everywhere, and it is difficult to debate with them in a civil matter, but we
should not give in to them. One can disagree without being disagreeable. 2. I am very concerned about the future of
Turkish Jews, my old community; they are living in a country with anti-Semitism
all around them, from the top down. Though they speak Turkish and not that much
Ladino, they are, still, at best, being tolerated as outsiders. No wonder, they
attach themselves zealously to Israel.
Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, Ph.D
I love when people say, “I am sending you my thoughts and
prayers.” What exactly do they mean by it?
Many people pray on the assumption that God hears them and, if
the praying individual is worthy, God will respond positively. The Bible
clearly states that God “hears my voice, my pleas; for He turns His ear
whenever I call” (Ps. 116: 1), or, “The Lord hears and saves them from their
troubles” (Ps. 34: 18). Similarly, during the Jewish daily service, one praise
God, “who hears prayer” (Amidah).
Today, almost every Jewish religious service ends with a prayer
(in Hebrew called “Mi Sheberah- He who blessed…,”) calling upon God to bring
healing to individuals mentioned
verbally by the worshippers. In traditional settings, this prayer is
recited during the Torah service, with the scroll covered, but recently it has
proliferated to the point that it is being offered at almost every
congregational prayer, often using the melody by Debbie Friedman. The question
is, does it work?
There are basically three types of prayer: petition, praise
and thanksgiving. The issue is not with the last two; it is with the first kind.
Theologians and psychologists have debated the question of the efficacy of petionary
prayers for centuries, some arguing in favor and others in the negative. Those who define God in theistic terms believe
that petitionary prayers work, because God is a Persona who cares, loves and
responds. On the other hand, religious naturalists, like me, claim that God, as
the energy of the universe, does not respond to petitionary prayers, because
that would imply that God interferes with the normal operation of the universe.
God does not do that. God keeps the world going through its own internal energy,
which is still not totally understood. Furthermore,
if these prayers are not heard or responded to, it would turn God into an uncaring,
and worse, cruel being.
I believe that prayers help the individual who prays. There
are indeed many benefits to prayers, because they help the individual or the
community to focus on the subject matter at hand; they deepen their
understanding of how the world realy operates; they give voice to the desires
and expectations of those who pray with a sense of reality; they strengthen the
bonds that bind one person to another during worship, and help them develop a positive
outlook on life. Obviously, prayers have to be realistic and not beyond the
realm of possibility. Even the Rabbis of old have maintained that “to pray over
the past is to utter a vain prayer” (Ber. 9:3).
So, let us concentrate on prayers of thanksgiving,
expressing gratitude for everything we have; on prayers of praise that
highlight the wonders of the universe, and accept the reality of life with
modesty and humility. The world is not perfect, and it is our job to make it
better and better. Prayer can give us that insight to do our share.
Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, Ph.D
There are two main groups in the Jewish world today. Some
are called Ashkenazic Jews, namely those who come from Eastern Europe, and
Sephardic Jews, that is those who are of Spanish origin. (The word SEFARAD means "Spain" in Hebrew). This division is old
and goes back to the early medieval times.
A large number of Jews arrived in Spain in 711, after
Tarik ibn Ziyyad, a Berber Moslem, and his army crossed the Straits of Gibraltar, and
conquered southern Spain. When North African Jews got there, they found a small
Visigothic Jewish community, but they quickly overwhelmed them with their
numbers and high culture. During the next few hundred years, Jews created a
“Golden Age” in Spain, which included great luminaries, such as the biblical commentator,
Abraham ibn Ezra, the Aristotelian philosopher, Moses Maimonides and the great Hebrew
poet, Judah Halevi. However, their lives began to sour with the Reconquista,
when Christian forces began to push down the Arabs. In 1391, many Jews were
killed in Seville during a riot. Finally in 1492, claiming that the Jews were a
bad influence on the new Christian converts, King Ferdinand and his wife, queen
Isabela, issued a decree of expulsion for all Jews. From then on, Spanish Jews
started to spread all over Europe and north Africa. A number of them eventually
arrived in the Ottoman Empire ,which gladly welcomed them because of the special
skills they possessed. (By the way, Spain revoked the decree in 1968).
There are a number of cultural and religious differences
between Ashkenazic and Sephardic Jews. The first used Yiddish, based on German,
as their daily language, whereas Sephardic Jews, developed Ladino, based on
Spanish. They also differ on the special chant each one uses for the weekly
chanting of the Hebrew Bible, the great variety of foods they are proud to have,
and the inclusion of different Hebrew poetry in their daily liturgy.
In addition to Sephardic Jews, who are of Spanish/Portuguese origin, there are many other Jews, like Iranian Jews, Yemenite Jews, Ethiopian Jews, who are often called Mizrahi (Middle Eastern) Jews, and follow the Sephardic customs but they are not technically Sephardic, because they did not come out of Spain.
Today, Sephardic Jews can be found in many parts of the
world, many in Israel, but also in South America, Europe and Turkey. Most Sephardic
Jews tend to be more traditionalist. However, with greater intermingling
between these two groups, the differences are beginning to diminish. For
example, I, a Sephardic Jew from Turkey, married an Ashkenazic Jewish woman
from Argentina, and we happily keep a mixed house.
Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, Ph.D.
In reality, very little!
In the Hebrew Bible, Abram, later called Abraham, appears as
the first of the three patriarchs, and the founder of the Israelites. We are
told that he was born in “Ur of the Chaldeans” and, that at God’s bidding, he
left for the land of Canaan (Gen. 11:31). God also promised that his
descendants would own this new land (Gen. 12: 7). Famine, however, forced him
to go to Egypt (Gen. 12: 10). When he returned to Canaan, he appears to be a
very wealthy man (Gen. 13: 2). He had two wives (Sarah and Keturah), and a
concubine, Hagar (Gen. 16: 3) as well as a few children, including Isaac and
Ishmael. God set up a covenant with Abraham, promising him that he will be “the
father of a great multitude” (Gen. 17: 5). At Sarah’s death, he bought the Cave
of Mahpelah near Hebron as a family burying place, and when he himself died, he
was buried in it, at the age of 175, next to his wife, Sarah (Gen.25).
The stories about Abraham in the Bible read like an
elaborate legend about a leader who is not a perfect individual: He is a
righteous person, compassionate and
hospitable with strangers (Gen.18), but also an unscrupulous liar when
he tries to pass off his wife, Sarah, as his sister in order to save his skin
(Gen. 12: 13). “He believed in God” (Gen. 15:6), we are told, and was blindly
loyal, to the point of willing to sacrifice his son Isaac to God (Gen. 22).
There are a number of textual and historical inaccuracies in
the biblical description of Abraham, which would indicate that the stories
about him most likely circulated orally and were finally written down after a
long period of time: for example,
aa. He is not mentioned in any
other ancient Near Eastern texts. We do not even know when he actually lived.
bb. The expression “Ur of the
Chaldeans” (Gen.11:31) is problematic, because we do not know where the city is
located. Furthermore, when the city of Ur existed, there were no Chaldeans, and
vice versa.
cc. There seems to be an internal
discrepancy within the text that deal with Abraham’s departure. In Gen.11:31,
he departs from Ur with his family, but in Gen.12:1,4, he seems to leave only
with his nephew, Lot. Modern scholars ascribe each story to a different
literary source (namely P and J).
dd. When the Bible states, “The
Canaanites were then in the land” (Gen. 12:6), it implies that they do not
exist now. However, when Abraham allegedly lived, there were indeed Canaanites
in the land. (9) Clearly, this text was written much later when the Canaanites
had disappeared as an identifiable group.
ee. The Bible claims that Abraham
died at the age of 175. This number, obviously, cannot be taken literally. In
fact, none of the numbers in the Hebrew Bible can be taken as historical fact.
They are mostly symbolic and have cultural significance.
The legends about Abraham continued to evolve in time, with
a clear tendency to portray him as perfect as possible. In the New Testament,
Abraham appears as a dominant figure: Matthew traces Jesus back to him (1:1);
in fact, according to John, Jesus was present even before Abraham (5:58). James
stresses Abraham’s faith and says that his was so great that he would have
offered his son willingly to God (2:21).
The Book of Jubilees (c. 2nd cent. BCE), describes
Abraham as a famous astronomer (Chap. 12). Its author also believed that Sarah
was taken from Abraham “by force” (Chap. 13) and not as the result of Abraham’s
plea that she should pass herself as his sister (Gen.12).
Josephus, the Jewish
historian (born in Jerusalem in 37 CE and died in Rome in 100 CE) considers
Abraham as “a person of great sagacity” (Ant. Book I, 7:1), a man of
“incomparable virtue” (Ant. I:17) and an astronomer (Ant I.7:1). He discovered
monotheism on his own (Ant. I.8: 1). According to Josephus, Isaac willingly
went up to the altar to be sacrificed (Ant. I.13:4). Furthermore, the Pharaoh
never abused Sarah, and when he discovered that she was his wife and not his
sister, he excused himself to Abraham and showered them with all kinds of gifts
(Ant. I. 8:1). For Philo, the Greek-Jewish philosopher of Alexandria (c. 15-10
BCE- 45/50 CE), Abraham stands for the person who has total faith in God (Virt.
39).
In the Quran, Abraham appears as a grand personality,
who was “a man of truth, a prophet” (Sura 19). He was viewed as the patriarch
of the Islamic faith: “the Father of Muslims” (Sura 22) as well as the “imam of
the nations” (Sura 2). To him is attributed the construction of the Ka’aba and
the pilgrimage rites to it (Sura 2). God, according to the Quran, ordered him
to sacrifice his son, left nameless (Sura 37). Muslim tradition, however,
stresses that this was not Isaac, but his brother Ishmael, the patriarch of
Islam and the forefather of Muhammad.
In the rabbinic literature, the number and the intensity of
the legends about “Abraham our father,” reach their highest level. For example,
we are told that when he was born, a star rose in the east and swallowed four
stars in the four corners of heaven. He discovered monotheism on his own. He
learned Torah all by himself. He almost sacrificed Isaac when Satan appeared
and shoved Abraham’s arm aside so that the knife fell out of his hand. He was
tested with ten trials and stood firm in all of them.
Abraham most likely was a real person, but, it is almost
impossible to ascertain the historical details of his life. His legendary
stature increased as time went on.
Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, Ph.D
In my professional life, either as an author or as a
speaker, I try to be very careful about what I say and what I write. I am also
trained as a lawyer and know that every word counts, because words, I believe,
have power of action. According to the Bible, when God began to create the
world, the text says, “God said: let there be light , and there was light”
(Gen.1:3). So, God created the universe (allegorically) with the power of
words. In ancient times, borders were secured by placing curses on signs, on
the assumption that if one crossed illegally, the curse itself would take
effect. Following the teachings of the biblical Book of Proverbs that state, “Death
and Life are within the power of the tongue” (18:21), I try to use the
media truthfully, not to destroy but to build. I am aware of the fact that it
is easier to criticize and to denigrate, and it takes a greater effort to
support, encourage or uplift the other. Ultimately, lies beget other lies,
whereas truth prevails. Remember, words can be forgiven but can never be
forgotten.
Yet, there are occasions when truth can be very hurtful, and
can destroy friendships and family bonds. So, at times one resorts to a white
lie. What is a while lie? It is an untruth told to spare feelings. The
difference between a “black lie” and a “white lie” is that one uses a “black
lie” to gain a personal benefit, whereas a “white lie” is often used to please another.
The Torah records a good example: In Genesis 18, when God promised Abraham that
he would have a child in a year’s time, Sarah, his wife, said to herself, “Now
that I am withered, am I to have enjoyment-seeing that my husband is so old”
(v.12). Yet, when God repeated these words to Abraham, he changed them to say,
not that Abraham was old but that Sarah was old. Thus, as the medieval rabbinic
commentator Rashi points out, God saved the good relationship between husband
and wife.
The ancient Rabbis also knew of white lies and allowed them
in limited circumstances. Here is an example. In the Talmud (Ket. 17a) we are
told that the Rabbis were discussing the issue of how to describe the bride in a
marriage document. The followers of the school of Shammai argued that the bride
should be described truthfully, “as she is.” Whereas the followers of the
school of Hillel maintained that the bride should always be described as being
pretty. The Sages concluded that in marriage one praises the wife as being fair
and attractive.
According to the ancient Rabbis, it is permissible to even exaggerate
the facts in order to establish peace
between individuals. Here is an example:
When two people had a dispute,
Aaron [the High Priest] went and sat near one of them and said to him: "My
son, see what your friend is doing? He is beating his heart and tearing his
clothing saying: "Woe is me. How can I lift up my eyes and look at my
friend. I am ashamed of myself since I was the one who offended him."
Aaron would sit with him until he removed the hatred from his heart. Aaron
would then go and sit next to the other and say to him: "My son, see what
your friend is doing? He is beating his heart and tearing his clothing saying:
"Woe is me. How can I lift up my eyes and look at my friend. I am ashamed
of myself since I was the one who offended him." Aaron would sit with him
until he removed the hatred from his heart.When the two met, they would they
hugged and kissed each other. (Avot de Rabbi Natan 12:3).
Modern writers very often support the use of white lies to
promote goodwill. Doing some research online, I found a source that lists 60
popular white lies, whereas another one has 15. Some white lies save
relationships, others ease a hectic situation and yet others buy us some time.
Among them, we have, “Yeah, you look great in this dress,” “I have no idea how
fast I was going,” “I’ll start working on that ASAP,” “He/she was with me last
night,” “I thought I already sent that email out.” I would also add, “the check
is in the mail.”
As long as we are not hurting others or breaking the law,
these white lies make life more pleasant. However, if they become routine, and
are used all the time, we undermine the trust that others have in us. In the
Talmud, Yeb.63 a, we are told that Rav (3rd century, Amora) did not
have a good relationship with his wife. In the words of the Talmud, “She would
constantly aggravate him.” When Hiyya,
Rav’s son, grew up, he would alter his father’s words so as not to anger his
mother. When Rab became aware of his son’s tactics, he told him to stop doing
that, less it becomes a life pattern for his son.
In our time, some politicians make use of white lies so
often that we do not know where the truth is and where the lies begin. So, we
don’t trust them. But that is not the correct way to communicate with others.
We have to be truthful and reliable. So, my advice for you is to follow the
teachings of Ecclesiastes that tells us to keep our words few in number (5:1),
and to use white lies only in extreme cases. Please don’t forget to tell me you
absolutely loved my short essay!!
PART VI
Rabbi Rifat
Sonsino, Ph.D
LEAVING
CINCINNATI
Towards the
end of my fifth year at the Hebrew Union College, the question arose as to
where would I serve the Jewish
community. There was no future for Reform Judaism in Turkey, so I had to find
another country. France had limited possibilities. I did not care for a
position in England or South Africa. So,
it was either Australia or New Zealand. But the College had other ideas. One
day I was asked to meet with Dr. Sandmel, the provost. He told me, “Rifat, you
are going to Buenos Aires.” I was shocked! I said, “Why Argentina? I don’t know
anyone there.” “Well,” he added, “the World Union for Progressive Judaism that
paid for your education needs you there, because you can speak Spanish.” I was
not very happy, but did not have another choice. I asked for his personal
advice. He suggested that I apply for an American citizenship before leaving
the country. (Regrettably, I did not do that at the time). I told him that I
would like to visit my parents before traveling to Argentina. He said he would
facilitate this. Rabbi Haim Asa, who was the first Rabbi of Temple Emanu-El in
Buenos Aires, was leaving at the end of June. The congregation would have to
wait until late August for my arrival.
In the meantime, I prepared myself
for my ordination and eventual departure. The Consecration program took place
at Rockdale Temple on Friday night June 3, 1966. The 82nd Ordination
service was held at the Isaac M. Wise Temple on Saturday morning, June 4. At
the beginning of a very impressive ceremony, 17 of us walked down the aisle
with academic garb. Provost Samuel Sandmel presented the hoods to us, and
Nelson Glueck conferred our degrees. He blessed each one of us in front of the
ark, sharing personal thoughts privately with us. Rabbi Isaac Jerusalmi gave
the final benediction. Then we all went to a downtown hotel for a
luncheon. Because I did not have any
family that would sponsor the lunch for me, I invited the Guttmanns, (He was my
Talmud professor), the president of my congregation in Kokomo, IN and few
others local friends.
Shortly after, I said good-bye to
Cincinnati and all the people I knew in the States, and left for Turkey. My
parents were glad to see me, and I was happy to be back with the family.
However, I was anxious to start my work in Buenos Aires. An important incident prompted
my departure from Istanbul. At that time, Turkey and Greece were at each
other’s throats over Cyprus, and there was a great likelihood that they would
go to war over it. I decided to get out before being called up as a reserve
officer. I departed a few days earlier than expected. It was a smart move, for
a few hours after I left home, the Turkish military came home to look for me.
By that time I was on my way to Argentina, a move that represents a pivotal
experience in my life. It was in Buenos
Aires that I revived a small congregation, Templo Emanu-El, got married to Ines
and became a father. On Aug. 1969, we left for Philadelphia to begin work as
Rabbi-Educator at Main Line Reform Temple, and to obtain my doctoral degree at the
University of Pennsylvania in Bible and Cuneiform studies. In 1975, after I got
my Ph.D , we left for North Shore Congregation
Israel in Glencoe, IL and in 1980, we came to Needham, MA, and I became the
Rabbi of Temple Beth Shalom, from which I retired in 2003.
PART V
Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, Ph.D
In addition to our studies at the Hebrew Union
College, each student worked outside, on
a part-time basis, in order to make a few dollars. Most of us taught in Sunday
schools. I got a job at Rockdale Temple in one of the suburbs of Cincinnati.
Since I did not have a car, I depended on others who taught there to drive me
back and forth. In my third year, at a student lottery, I ended up with Meir
Chayim Temple, a bi-weekly congregation in McGehee, Arkansas. This was a small
synagogue in the middle of the South-about 30 families. Twice a month, on
Friday mornings, I used to fly to Little Rock, and then take a bus for “whites
only”!!! (This was terrible, but those were the days). My responsibility was to
lead services on Friday night and to teach on Sunday mornings. I was also asked
to join the Rotary luncheons on Fridays. For this I was paid $75 per trip plus
expenses, enough to give me some spending money. In my fourth year, I went to
Temple Israel in Jonesboro, Arkansas (about 75 families), and for my last year
I went to Temple B’nai Israel in Kokomo, Indiana (about 100 families). By that
time, the stipend had gone up to about $150 per trip. It was in these
congregations that I learned how to function as a congregational Rabbi.
During the summer of 1962 I went to Europe, Israel and
Turkey. I was in touch with my family on a regular basis by mail, but had not
seen them in person. So, it was nice going back to be with Mom, Dad and Joe, my
younger brother. Mom, however, had other plans for me: she wanted to marry me
off. In preparation, she had already lined up a few candidates. In those days,
I was worth about $100,000 in dowry, a huge amount of money. The minhag
in Turkey was for the family of the bride to give a large sum of money to the
groom in order to make sure that he would take care of her in the manner in
which she was accustomed. The higher
the groom’s education, the higher the dowry. I could not believe what my mother
had done, all with good intentions, of course. Yet, I broke her heart when I
refused to see any of the candidates, arguing that I would be in Turkey for a
short time, and could not possibly make a lifetime commitment to anyone, no
matter how wealthy or how beautiful. My mother and, they tell me, the expectant
brides, were disappointed. After a short visit, I left Turkey and returned to
Cincinnati.
My social life at the College was rather poor. I did
not have a car- a major disadvantage- and, therefore, had to depend on others
for double dating. Furthermore, I was a foreigner, who most likely would have
to leave the country for some God forsaken place. The scholarship I received
obligated me to serve a progressive congregation outside of the States for a
period of two to three years. In those days, what Jewish girl would, in her
right mind, leave America, the goldene medina, to go to a third World
country? Once in a while a group of us tried to date women from the University
of Cincinnati‘s SDT sorority (Jewish). However, it had a reputation of being a
place where girls were “seldom dated twice.”
Though many of my friends ultimately met and married wonderful women from this
sorority, I did not. So, I spent most of my time, either thinking about girls
(Remember, I was about 28 years old) or,
most productively, studying, because I knew that this would secure my
future.
Next: Leaving Cincinnati
A FEW VIGNETTES
Rabbi Rifat
Sonsino, Ph.D
In the 60’s, first and second year rabbinic students
were required to lead services in the Chapel. Upper level students preached on
Shabbat morning, and then on Monday there was a sermon evaluation. When it was
my turn to lead the service for the first time, I realized that I had a slight
problem. Even though we all studied modern Hebrew in class, the minhag
(“custom”) of the Chapel was to recite the Hebrew passages of the liturgy in
Ashkenazic. I did not know how to do that, nor did I want to learn it. It
sounded strange to my ear. So, I went to see Dr. Glueck, and told him that,
being a Sephardic Jew, I did not know how to read Hebrew with Ashkenazic
pronunciation. He demurred for a minute but then said, “Rifat, OK, you can read
Hebrew in Sephardic.” From then on, using me as an example, other students
pressed him for a change. Within a short time, all services in the Chapel were
switched from Ashkenazic to Sephardic Hebrew.
- Many prominent scholars passed through the College.
Among them one person stands out: Prof. Gershom Scholem, the great German-Israeli
scholar of Jewish Mysticism. One year he came to do some research at our
library. He was by himself and stayed in the dorm, in the room next to mine. On
the weekends, because there were fewer students around (they were either at
their by-weeklies or with their families), Prof. Scholem and I became kind of
friendly. I am saying “kind of” because, he was a stern man with a dry sense of
humor. He spoke English well, though with a heavy German accent. Once in a
while, he and I used to go out to the movies. I must be honest that at the time
I did not realize what a giant he was in his field. Now I know better, and I
will always cherish the times we spent together.
- Another person whose memory stayed with me was
Hiroshi Okamoto, later Rabbi Okamoto, originally from Japan. He and his family
came to the College to pursue graduate studies in Judaism. After a few years,
however, he decided to convert, and underwent circumcision. His wife, too,
converted. I befriended Hiroshi and his family. I remember going out with them
to drive-ins on Saturday nights. One summer, Hiroshi and I were teaching at
“Towanda” (the preparatory summer Hebrew classes at the HUC)- he dealing with
beginners and I with more advanced. When his students transferred into my
section, I noticed that they were not pronouncing the Hebrew letter “R” (the
letter “resh,”) correctly, saying “L” (the letter “lamed”) instead. For
example, they would say “Losh” instead of “Rosh” (“head” in Hebrew). They were,
in fact, copying Hiroshi who did not pronounce his “R’s very well. (Japanese
does not have the equivalent of the American “r.”). When I realized that, I
told Hiroshi, “Let me teach the beginners, and you handle the more advanced.”
He agreed, and we made the change. Now the students had a solid foundation.
After his ordination in 1964, Hiroshi took an academic position in Florida.
Sadly, he died a few years after that. He was a wonderful man, one of the most
decent human beings I knew.
- Another person I remember was Prof. Abraham
Cronbach, who had by that time retired from the faculty. He was a saint! He was
also a pacifist. After the Rozenbergs were put to death in 1953 for spying
against the US, it was Dr. Cronbach who officiated at their funeral. One
Saturday afternoon he came to the College and met with a group of us in the
“bumming” room, a foyer outside the dining room. His message to us stayed with
me until now. He told us not to judge another without knowing all the facts,
and gave us two examples: At a ball game, everyone stood up for the National
Anthem, except for one. A spectator got mad and insulted him, until he realized
that the person who remained seated was in a wheel chair. Another story: he had a luncheon date with
his son-in-law who came half an hour late. He did not say a word. His
son-in-law asked, “Aren’t you going to get mad at me because I am late?” “I
will,” answered Dr. Cronbach, “after I find out the reason why!”
Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, Ph.D.
MY TEACHERS
During my
stay at the College (1961-66), I had a number of teachers who shaped my
thinking. Among them, I can mention the following: Dr. Samuel Sandmel, Bible
professor and an expert in the New Testament, infused in me the love of Torah
and particularly the study of Bible and Biblical criticism. I studied Bible and
New Testament with him, and did an “honors” elective on the development of the
Graf-Wellhausen theory. Dr. Julius Levy, professor of ancient Near Eastern
studies, and his wife Dr. Hildegard Levy always answered my questions about Hebrew
grammar or ancient history. Dr. Jacob Marcus, professor of American Jewish
history, used to invite me to his house for lunch, and served me steak and
potatoes, while pacing up and down the dining room. He always called me,
“Rifat, my boy.” He had met my parents in Israel once, and always asked me
about them. Dr. Nelson Glueck, the president of the institution and a
well-known archaeologist, knew me well, and asked me over to his house a number
of times. Dr. Alvin Reines, professor of Jewish Philosophy, was a very
demanding teacher. He had us memorize his class notes, whether we were studying
a medieval Jewish philosopher or his own polydoxic approach to theology. But he
made us think, and opened our eyes to the intricacies of Jewish thought like no
other teacher before. Dr. Jakob Petuchowski, a German born professor who taught
liturgy, had a sarcastic approach to everything, but he knew his material well.
We learned a lot from him. Dr. Sheldon Blank, Bible professor, was a sweet old man
who had a passion for the prophets. He and his wife used to invite students to
their home on Shabbat afternoons for tea and conversation. I considered Dr.
Ellis Rivkin, history professor, more of a philosopher of history than a mere
historian. I learned from him how to look at history from an economic point of
view. Dr. Alexander Guttmann (the “Goose”), Talmud professor, tried to make the
classes lighter by concentrating on sexual matters. (By the way, I dated his
daughter for a while). Dr. Eugene Mihaly, our Midrash professor (called the
“Duke” or “the Grease Gypsy” by the students), introduced us to the
developmental thinking of the ancient Rabbis. He used to insist that one should
never preach “against” the traditional text. If you cannot use the text for a
positive message, don’t use it at all, he would say. At that time, we all
agreed. [I don’t anymore]. And then we had Mr. McCoy, a wonderful gentleman who
was a protestant minister before he gave up service in the church to teach
rabbinic students how to preach and how to speak properly. He also taught us
how to behave on the pulpit (“Make sure your zipper is up”).
Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, Ph.D
Cincinnati had two large Reform congregations, Isaac
Mayer Wise Temple (with Rabbis Samuel Wohl and Albert Goldman), Rockdale Temple
(with Rabbis Victor Reichert and Murray Blackman), and a medium size
congregation, called Temple Sholom (with Rabbi Stanley Brav). (Now there is The
Valley Temple too). There were also a few conservative and Orthodox
congregations.
Late Aug. 1961: When I got out of
the train in Cincinnati, two rabbinic students, who became good friends of
mine, met me at the station: Richard Levy (future president of the Central
Conference of American Rabbis, the CCAR) and Sandy Ragins (who chaired the
CCAR’s Ethics committee for many years). They drove me to the HUC campus,
located at 3101 Clifton Avenue, down the street from the University of
Cincinnati. There I was ushered into the dormitory located in the Main
building, on the third floor, facing Clifton Ave. The room was meant for two
students, but I occupied it alone for a year.
LIFE AT THE
COLLEGE
In the 60’s
the Hebrew Union College-the Jewish Institute of Religion had three campuses:
Cincinnati (1875), New York (1922), and Los Angeles (1954). In 1963 the
Jerusalem campus was added.
During my stay at the College in Cincinnati the
overwhelming majority of the students lived in the “Sisterhood dormitory.” Only
few, mostly upper classmen, were married, and lived off-campus. Each of us had
a single room, and used a communal bathroom for showers. We hardly had any
privacy. But that is how we got to know
each other really well. At the time, there were no female students at the HUC.
Also, women were not allowed in the dorm during the week. So, when a student invited a girlfriend or a
date to his room, he had to shout, “Woman on the floor!” Often, we opened our
doors to see what she looked like.
Looking back, I now realize that we lived in luxury.
We ate all our meals together in the dining room, except for Sunday nights when
we went out to get a bite either at the “Busy Bee,” located at the “Short
Corner” down Clifton Avenue or at one of the fast food restaurants found at the
“Long Corner,” up Clifton Avenue, close to the University of Cincinnati. Once
in a while I ate at the cafeteria of the Hospital next to the HUC. But in our
College dining room we were served royally by waiters wearing white gloves.
Larry was in charge of the dining room. If one of us got up to get salt or
pepper, he would scold us saying, “All you have to do is ask, but don’t get
up.” Our laundry was done, our beds were made, and our rooms cleaned. We had a
gym, but no pool.
We also had a House Mother- Hattie Schiff. She was a
matronly lady, who acted as a mother-substitute for many of us. We shared
personal problems with her, and vice versa. When she went on a diet, our meals
were also affected. Some people, like Howard Bogot and Arthur Bielfeld, always
sat at her table. I preferred to sit with my classmates or hall-mates.
I adjusted to American life rather quickly. I liked my
friends at the College, enjoyed the routine at school, and was fascinated by
the spirit of freedom in the country, especially the freedom to declare myself
Jewish without any reservation and without having to look over my shoulder
(like I did back in Turkey). The HUC promoted critical study, fellowship and
inquisitiveness. Topics were treated from a rational point of view. There was
little talk about “spirituality” or “inwardness.” We did not study Kabbalah and
mysticism. Reform Judaism, we were told, reigned supreme, and represented the
future of Judaism. The concept of k’lal yisrael [“The Community of the
Jewish People”] was not part of our daily language. “Social action” was. Most
of us either grew up in Reform Jewish homes or, like me, came to Reform by
rejecting Orthodoxy. In my case, if it had not been for Reform, I doubt that I
would have remained a practicing Jew. So, I was very grateful for the
liberalism of the HUC. Being trained as a lawyer, I liked the critical approach
to issues. I was also eager to seek individual authenticity by searching for
options within the Jewish continuum. Reform gave me that opportunity. It was
only later that I realized that Reform Judaism had not paid sufficient attention
to the needs of the spirit, and, in fact, had ignored the sense of duty that
all Jews should have towards their community and tradition. How to balance
autonomy and obligation still remains a constant challenge for modern Reform
Judaism.
At the College in those days, “ritual” was not a
positive term. We dealt with ideas and concepts, and rarely stressed the daily
discipline of Jews. As far as I can remember none of my classmates at the
College kept Kosher, wore a tallit or kippah (a round head covering) or
put on tefillin (phylacteries) . The dining room was not Kosher, but no
pork products or shellfish was served. Even though I came from an Orthodox home
in Turkey, I quickly adjusted to the College life, and dropped my kippah,
tallit and tefillin. However, I had a hard time relating to what people
called “traditional Jewish food.” To me it tasted “foreign.” I had never seen
gefilte fish, matzah ball soup or lox and bagels before. At my first Passover
Seder in Cincinnati, I did not recognize any of the foods as “traditional.”
However, I learned fast and developed a new taste for them.
We started classes in September 1961 with 27 people,
out of about 120 students in the seminary. Among my classmates, I became closer
to Ken Roseman, Phil Berkowitz, Sion David (from India), Sol Greenberg, Peter
Kasdan, Joe Melamed (from Israel), Hank Zoob, Bob Scott (from England), Merle
Singer and Ian Wolk (who later on was expelled from the rabbinate on moral
charges). I also kept my friendship with Alan Bregman (z’’l), who at the time
was an undergraduate at the University of Cincinnati but took some courses at
the HUC. I had come to Cincinnati with a pretty good Jewish and Hebrew
background, so studies were not so difficult for me, but I had to work on my
English.
PART ONE:
Rabbi Rifat Sonsino, Ph.D.
I grew up in
Istanbul, Turkey in the early 40’s in an Orthodox Jewish home. As a teen-ager,
I became the hazzan kavua (“permanent prayer-leader”) of my youth congregation.
At law school, I discovered American style Reform Judaism, and decided to come
to the States to become a Rabbi. This is the story of my arrival at the Hebrew
Union College in Cincinnati, Ohio:
In 1961, after completing my military service in
Turkey and a short stint in Paris at the rabbinic school (the now-defunct
Institut International d’Etudes Hebraiques), I started to make plans to come to
America. I was about 21 years old. In
Istanbul, my parents got me a huge suitcase that was so heavy that only a giant
could lift it. (One of the first things I did when I arrived in America was to
get rid of this monstrosity). As I was
packing my clothing and books, I had to decide what else to take along with me.
One item presented a dilemma: I had become a shohet (ritual slaughterer),
and had a special knife for slaughtering chickens. I asked myself, would I ever
use it again? Furthermore, how am I going to explain to the customs agents the
purpose of this particular knife? So, I decided to leave it behind.
How to travel to the US? Rabbi Isaac
Jerusalmi, a Hebrew Union College graduate and my rabbinic mentor then, suggested
the least expensive way: by train and boat. So, I got on the Oriental Express
to France, crossed over to England, and from there I boarded the Queen Mary,
one of the most luxurious ships of the time. I had a small cabin in one of the
lower decks, and spent a miserable time traversing the Atlantic Ocean. The
waves were high; I did not know anyone; I could not relate to the food. I
remember staying in the Library reading whatever I could find.
After a week at sea, I arrived in
New York late August, 1961. A group of women, among them Jane Evans and Ellie Schwartz,
representing the Union for Reform Judaism’s (then called Union of American
Hebrew Congregations) National Federation of Temple Sisterhoods, came to meet
me at the dock. They invited me to lunch at a local restaurant, and then put me
on the first train to Cincinnati, Ohio.
America was at that time in turmoil. On the one hand,
there was great excitement in the country because of the youthful image of
President Jack Kennedy. He inspired many young people to strive for the best.
On the other hand, however, the country faced serious international and local
problems. The Cuban missile crisis of October 1962 almost brought the USA and
Russia to the brink of war. The battle for civil rights for African-Americans
was raging furiously. In 1963 Martin Luther King Jr. gave his famous “I have a
dream” speech at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC. Then there was the
beginning of the Vietnam War, which escalated during the presidency of
Kennedy’s successor, Lyndon B. Johnson. In the beginning, I supported the war
based on the commitment that the US had made to its allies. But in time, along
with many others, I, too, could not find a justification for the ongoing
presence of the American military in Vietnam, and slowly distanced myself from
my initial position.
In America I found that the large
Jewish community of five million plus was secure and successful. One could live
as a Jew here with openness and pride, unlike any other country in which I had
lived up until then, or since. The lines between the major trends of Judaism,
namely, Orthodox, Conservative, Reconstructionist and Reform, were clearly
delineated. (Today they are not so clear).
Anti-Semitism was present here and there but it was not politically
acceptable.
I have been thinking....I do not believe in resurrection and hold that once I am gone, I am gone forever. So, why not acknowledge those who have influenced you and made you who you are? Tell them while you are around.They will then know that their lives mattered.