Lecture 2: Boston and New York Last week we talked about Brisk and Berlin, this week we're going to talk about Boston and New York. Rav Moshe Soloveitchik, the Rav's father, was a strong Mizrachi- ite in Warsaw, at a time when it was very difficult to be a Mizrachi-ite in Europe. So when Dov Revel asked Rav Moshe to come to New York to become the new Rosh Yeshiva at the Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary in 1929, it was not too difficult to decide to go. When the Rav finished his PhD at Berlin in 1932, then, he had no family left in Poland, so he went to New York. He taught for a while at the Chicago Theological College, and then, by chance, a position opened up in the Boston rabbinate, and he went there. At that time, most synagogues did not have regular paid rabbis; a rabbi would serve several synagogues, and earned his living from hashgacha fees and Sisterhood collections. It may not have paid well, but he thought he could do good. In 1937, he opened the Maimonides School, which was the first day school in New England. It was a huge struggle with the baalebatim in the area to provide funds for the school, as they associated "Jewish day schools" with the Old World, but the school has thrived for the past 56 years. Relevant quotes from the Rav: "In 1936, there were perhaps 2 or 3 young men, under 40, who knew of the existence of Abaye and Rava. Now there are hundreds, [and in our time thousands]." "Don't bring a proof from Maimonides about mixed classes. The times were very different then. You have to understand, I had no choice: either have mixed classes, or there would have been no Maimonides." [Thus, it's unfair to criticize Maimonides for having mixed classes.] Note: the following paragraph's veracity has been questioned. According to the publisher of his correspondence, Reb Chaim Ozer supported someone else for this posting in Tel Aviv. The letter in question is in v2 n8 (p176) in Kovetz Iggerot of the Chazon Ish. (courtesy of Shlomo Pick) In 1935, the Rav applied for the Chief Rabbinate of Tel Aviv. He didn't get the job, mostly because he was viewed as too young. On the boat over to Israel, he grew a beard and mastered Modern Hebrew, because nobody would have taken him seriously without a beard. He was supported by Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzinski, the last great Rav in Vilna. Reb Chaim Ozer sent a letter to the Chazon Ish, who was living in Bnei Brak at that time, urging him to support "the great, learned, Heaven-fearing teacher, the young Rav Joseph Dov Soloveitchik." When the works of the Chazon Ish were published, the editors were so embarassed by this letter supporting the Rav, (who had become a supporter of the State of Israel) that the version of the letter in that book replaces the name "Joseph Dov Soloveitchik" with an ellipsis. This is an example of the revisionism of the Right, that we have to watch out for. The Rav had many good talmidim in Boston. He conducted his classes without clocks, as shiurim had been conducted in Brisk - he could teach all night, as it says in the Haggadah "until the students came to say, 'vu darft men zogn kris-shma.'" Why did the Rav commute for over 40 years, sometimes by car, by train or by plane? By 1941, he had become thoroughly Americanized. He had become a Boston Brahmin. He never liked New York. Relevant quotes: "New York is a zoo." "I get on the plane, the door closes, and the crazies are left behind, in New York." Rakeffet tells a story about how American he was: The Rav would give shiur on Tuesdays at YU (RIETS). One year, on Thanksgiving week, he was to be mesader kiddushin at a wedding in Boston on Tuesday, so he scheduled the shiur for Wednesday. At the shiur, they realized they would need to meet the next day, Thursday, so the Rav insisted that they meet at 9 AM. The future Rabbi Rothkoff asked why, with some amount of chutzpah, for questioning his Rav. The Rav answered, "I have to be at my sister's house at 2 PM, so I have to take an early plane." In 1941, the Rav became Rosh Yeshiva at RIETS, in his father's place, over much opposition to one so young. Here he finally found his place, as a teacher of the best and the brightest, involved in the "masa umatan" of teaching, giving over the methods of Brisk to a new generation in the United States. He became the master teacher of the generation. In class he spoke pure Talmud, with the ever present Mishneh Torah, occasionally responsa, but never his philosophy, or the Moreh Nevuchim: he was the master rebbe. In 1944, he published the essay "Ish HaHalachah", Halachic Man. Why did he do this at this time? To establish himself, to tell the world who he was, philosophically. He wrote it in Hebrew, his "mother tongue", so to speak, for writing. We found out many years later that he wrote out his shiurim in pure Hebrew, page after page, even if he was going to deliver them in Yiddish or English. Halachic Man shows strong influences from Kant and from Hermann Cohen. The essay may have been in Hebrew, but expressed universal ideas. In later years, his philosophic writings became exclusively Jewish, with extensive articles on prayer, repentance, mitzvot, etc., which reflected the interests of his students. But here, at the beginning of his career, he discussed universal ideas. There was a major difference between the talmidim of the 1950s and 60s and the talmidim of the 70s. Nowadays, they all wear black suits and beards, most of whom have gone to college, but that's it for secular education. In the 50's, everyone had PhD's. Back then, if you wanted Litvishe learning, you could go to Lakewood, and learn with the great Reb Aharon Kotler. If you went to YU, it was to get the Rav's hashkafah. He could only recall one student at that time who affiliated with Agudat Yisrael; today, he's a Conservative chazzan. By the 1970s, YU was the *only* place to get real Torah. Rabbi Rakeffet is jealous of the students in the 70s: in his time, the Rav was harsh, intolerant of imperfection in his students, he expected them all to be sharp and on the ball all of the time. After Tonya died, he began to understand human weaknesses, and became much more involved with his students, even those who were not the brightest. All students need love and respect. Rabbi Rakeffet tells a story: A young rabbinical student, who worked at Lincoln Square at some point in the past, was going to meet a date, when he met his Rebbe. The Rav asked him why he was wearing white socks, and told him he shouldn't be wearing white socks, it's not sufficiently dressed up. "Come back to my apartment, I'll give you some dark socks. They go back, and look in the sock drawer, and there are both white and dark socks. The student asks why there are white socks, if the Rav never wears them. "Tonya always paired my socks. Even when it was getting hard for her to see, she wanted to pair my socks. So I bought some white socks, so she could pair them and not get them mixed up." The Rav had a long relationship with the Rabbinical Council of America (RCA), and was close with the late Rabbi Israel Klavan, the head of the RCA. The Rav made certain decisions that became the bedrock of Modern Orthodoxy. We will briefly present three of them. 1) In the 50s, the mechitza was vanishing from American synagogues, even in Brooklyn there were synagogues with separate seating but no mechitza. In 1954, the Rav issued a ruling that one does not fulfill the mitzvah of hearing the Shofar in a synagogue without a mechitza. If that's what is available, it is preferable to daven at home. This turned the tide, until today all Orthodox synagogues have mechitzot. 2) In 1956, Moe Feuerstein (sp?), who was associated with the O-U in Boston, was invited to speak at Temple Emanu-El. He felt somewhat uncomfortable about it, and asked both the Rav and Rav Aharon Kotler (who was his father's rebbe). Before the RCA could rule about it, a group of 11 roshei yeshiva led by Rav Kotler issued a proclamation reaffirming Samson Raphael Hirsch's "Austritt": that one should not sit with Reform and Conservative Jews. Rav Soloveitchik refused to sign. Normally, rabbinic silence indicates consent, but not here. His silence indicated his rejection of their position. His position was, that on Halachic matters (klapei penim): we cannot work together with them, as they reject Halacha ab initio. But on political issues (klapei chutz), we must cooperate, to show the unity of Israel, of the Jewish people. This position is NOT reflected in the Jewish Observer, or Artscroll publications, or other Agudat Israel-influenced things. This position is in accord with the Rav's great-great-great- grandfather, the Netziv (Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin), who had written 120 years before in Teshuvah 44 in his Mashiv Davar that we cannot divide Jewry due to Reform. We must instead reach out and educate the other Jews. This is exactly the ideal of NCSY (National Conference of Synagogue Youth, the O-U's youth arm). 3) In the mid-60s, the Pope tried to get a big ecumenical conference together between Christians and Jews, to try to reconcile their differences. Most American rabbis were raring to go, even most Orthodox rabbis. The Rav held firmly that there must be no dialogue with Christians. This ended the Orthodox participation in the conference: a short article, "Confrontation," in Tradition magazine, which argued that since the belief systems are totally incompatible, there can be no real dialogue. The Rav's public lectures in Yiddish were to cry for, pure, beautiful and deep. But in 1960, Danny Greer came to him and told him that he was withholding his teaching from a large group of possible talmidim. When the Rav asked what he meant, Greer told him, people like himself. He had gone to Harvard, was intelligent, but didn't understand Yiddish. So the Rav told him to come to his next lecture, which would be in English, and there would be a quiz afterwards. The Rav delivered the lecture in clear English, for two hours. Greer went to him at the end and asked for the quiz. The Rav said, "Don't worry about it, I'm too tired to give it to you." Then there was something about why we say Adon Olam both at the beginning and end of the service: because we know that we haven't really davened properly, so we should begin again, so we say Adon Olam again.