Not Yet in Print (responsa published by the Responsa Committee, but not yet in bound collections)

NYP no. 5765.1

CCAR RESPONSA

5765.1

May Non-Jews Participate in the Writing of a Torah Scroll?

She’elah.

Our congregation has commissioned a sofer to write a new Torah scroll. Although he is Sefardi Orthodox he is being very flexible on the issue of who can help him “write” a letter in the Torah scroll by allowing women and children to participate. (The practice is to schedule “scribing” appointments where people fill in a letter that the sofer has already outlined. People make a donation to the project and fill in a letter while the sofer holds their hand, etc.) Assuming our sofer would allow it, the question is: is it appropriate to allow non-Jewish adults involved in raising Jewish children to participate in the mitzvah of writing a Torah scroll? Our initial inclination is to permit it for a number of reasons. A) Shelom Bayit: the individual is committed to raising a Jewish family and working to maintain Jewish survival. B) Ritual Consistency within a Diverse Congregation: given that we allow a non-Jewish parent to hold a Torah scroll or open the ark at a service or b’nai mitzvah, etc., it seems logical to allow/encourage this form of participation as well. C) Learning/Keruv (Nearness): by participating in this activity we are giving the individual an opportunity to learn about Judaism and to increase their love of Torah by sharing in this mitzvah. D) Shared Tradition of Scripture: assuming the individual’s religion of origin or active faith is Christianity, then the Five Books of Moses is holy to them as well. (Rabbi David Wirtschafter, Burlingame, CA)

Teshuvah.

Our tradition teaches that the very last of the Torah’s 613 commandments[1] is “the mitzvah incumbent upon every Jew to write a Torah scroll,”[2] derived by way of a midrash on Deuteronomy 31:19.[3] It is this mitzvah that these congregants seek to fulfill by taking part in the project our sho’el describes. And fundamental to this mitzvah is the fact that a Gentile does not take part in it. A Torah scroll written by a non-Jew is pasul, disqualified for the purpose of keri’at hatorah, the public reading of the Torah at worship services.[4] The non-Jew cannot act as a sofer precisely because he does not partake of the covenant of Israel; he is not a member of the Jewish community, a people defined by its obligations to the mitzvot.[5] Since it is likely that the congregation will use this particular Torah scroll for public reading, it would be inappropriate under Jewish tradition to allow non-Jews to participate in this project.

Various objections might be raised against this conclusion on halakhic grounds. One could argue, for example, that it is the sofer who does the actual “writing” when he holds the member’s hand; therefore, strictly speaking the Gentile family members would not be “writing” the scroll at all. Yet this is not persuasive, since the sofer, engaged by the congregation, is acting as the agent (shaliach) for each member who participates in the project. The general rule in the halakhah is that one’s agent acts with power of attorney, so that the agent’s acts in fulfilling the assignment are considered to be the actions of the one who engages him or her.[6] In this specific case, moreover, we learn that “when one employs a sofer to write a Torah scroll, it is as though one has written it by oneself.”[7] Since such is the case here, we conclude that the congregants fulfill in this manner the mitzvah to write a sefer torah.

It might also be objected that, if it is indeed “incumbent upon every Jew to write a Torah scroll,”[8] then no mitzvah is being performed here, because no one person is writing the entire sefer torah or commissioning a scribe to write it. If there is no mitzvah taking place, then arguably there is no reason to prevent Gentiles from taking part in the activity. The halakhic literature does discuss at length the question whether one may successfully fulfill this mitzvah by contracting with others to write a Torah scroll. Yet though opinions are divided, the fact remains that “it is the general custom (minhag ha`olam)” for individuals to write a Torah scroll in partnership (beshutafut) with others and to presume that each member of that group, as an individual, has fulfilled the mitzvah thereby.[9] We would note, as well, the statement of tradition that when one writes a single letter of a sefer torah “it is as though he has written the entire scroll.”[10]

Each member of the congregation, then, fulfills the mitzvah to write a Torah scroll by taking part in this project. Accordingly, it is inappropriate for Gentiles to participate in it, just as it is inappropriate for them to be called to the Torah and to perform other important ritual mitzvot on our behalf.[11] The sefer torah is the most visible and powerful symbol of Israel’s covenant with God. The writing of the scroll enables us to read it in public, an act by which we reenact the giving of the Torah at Sinai and rehearse our identity as a covenant people. A Gentile does not partake of Jewish identity. He or she bears no obligation under the mitzvot, the terms of the covenant, and therefore cannot perform this mitzvah for us. Our case, it is true, involves “non-Jewish adults involved in raising Jewish children.” We deeply appreciate the love and devotion with which the non-Jewish parents in our midst help see to it that their children receive a Jewish upbringing and education. Yet so long as they remain outside the covenant of Israel, they bear no responsibility to bring their children into that covenant. That responsibility, that obligation, is precisely what we Jews bear as Jews.[12] If the non-Jews in our midst wish to accept these responsibilities and obligations upon themselves, they may do so through the process of conversion, a path that is freely open to them. Many individuals who came to our congregations as non-Jewish spouses or partners have chosen to take this step, and they now participate fully and equally in the public life of our Jewish community. If others choose not to convert (or not yet to convert), we respect their choice, and we believe that they will recognize the obvious implications of that choice. We believe, that is, that they will respect our need to maintain the lines and definitions that preserve our distinctness as a Jewish community.

With these considerations in mind, we would respond to the arguments cited by our sho’el in favor of permitting non-Jews to take part in the sefer torah project.

1. Shelom Bayit. Although these individuals are “committed” to raising Jewish families, they are not, as we have seen, obligated to do so under the terms of the covenant. The obligation to respond to God’s call to Israel is what we term mitzvah, and this obligation, which the Gentile by definition does not share, is the key factor in our case. A non-Jew cannot perform on our behalf ritual mitzvot by which we constitute ourselves as a covenant community.
2. Ritual Consistency Within A Diverse Congregation. Our position, which we have expressed elsewhere,[13] is that non-Jews should not participate in the Torah service or lead the central rubrics of our communal liturgy. This view, again, is based upon the fact that non-Jews are not members of the Jewish people and therefore cannot lead or perform on our behalf those rituals that affirm our identity as a Jewish community. The same reasoning applies to the question before us.
3. Learning/Keruv. It is important to afford individuals the opportunity to learn about Jewish life and to draw them closer to it. As we note below, there are appropriate ways in which the congregation might design this project toward that end. Yet keruv, or “outreach,” has its proper limits, a reality that all congregations accept and understand. For example, the wording of our she’elah indicates that this congregation does impose some restrictions upon the participation of non-Jews in its ritual life. The reason for these limits, we would think, is the felt need to preserve the nature of the congregation as a Jewish religious community, one in which the performance of defining constitutive rituals is reserved for Jews. The writing of a sefer torah is just such a ritual act.
4. Shared Tradition of Scripture. Although the Five Books of Moses are holy to Christians, they mean something very different to them than they mean to us. For Christians, these books are not “Torah”; they are the “Old Testament,” the first part of a record of revelation in which the climax is the incarnation of God in the person of Jesus Christ. Christian theology traditionally holds that the Hebrew Bible has been superseded by the “new covenant” established through Jesus, and it reads Jewish scripture in large part as a prophecy of his advent and ministry. This interpretation, obviously, contradicts the most fundamental tenets of our own faith. Thus, while we may “share” some scriptural traditions with Christians, they do not share our Jewish understanding of the covenant. For that reason, they should not participate in the creation of the scroll that embodies and symbolizes that understanding.
We emphasize that our objections to the participation of non-Jews in this project focus specifically upon the writing of the sefer torah. At the same time, non-Jews might take part in related activities that are not, strictly speaking, mitzvot.[14] Non-Jewish family members might craft ornaments and coverings for the Torah scroll, participate with the sofer in writing a certificate to be presented at the dedication of the sefer, and so forth. Thus, if the congregation so wishes, it can design its project in a way that would include all family members, thereby serving the goal of keruv, a vital task in our communal life.

Conclusion. The writing of a sefer torah is a mitzvah, a constitutive ritual of Jewish religious life, a powerful symbolic expression of Israel’s covenant with God. It is a duty that only Jews can fulfill; others cannot do it on our behalf. Non-Jews may take part in other activities surrounding the creation of a Torah scroll.

NOTES
1. 1. See Makot 23b-24a. The number 613 is derived from the verse (Deuteronomy 33:4): “Moses commanded us (the) Torah.” The numerical value of the letters of the word “Torah” equals 611; hence, we received 611 mitzvot from Moses’ intercession with God. We heard two other commandments (“I am Adonai your God” and “You shall have no other gods besides Me”; Exodus 20:2-3) directly from God. Sefer Hachinukh, which lists the mitzvot according to their appearance in the text of the Torah, counts this one as mitzvah no. 613.
  2. The wording is that of Rambam, Yad, Sefer Torah 7:1, repeated by R. Yosef Karo in Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De`ah 270:1.
  3. Sanhedrin 21b. In the verse, God tells Moses to “write down this poem”; the Rabbis interpret this as an instruction to each Israelite to write an entire sefer torah.
  4. Gitin 45b; Yad, Tefilin 1:13; Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De`ah 281:1. Although our printed texts use the phrases oved kokhavim (“idolator”), kuti (“Samaritan”), or kena`ani (“Canaanite”) in place of “Gentile,” the evidence of manuscripts and early commentators to the passage is that it properly reads goy, or “non-Jew.” That word was often removed from Talmud texts by copyists and printers under pressure from censorship, especially in Christian Europe. Moreover, as the midrash that supports this rule makes clear (see below), the principle objection to a Gentile scribe is precisely that he is a non-Jew and not that he worships other gods.
  5. See Gitin 45b. The specific midrash that supports the disqualification is a hekesh (comparison) drawn from two nearly adjacent verses: just as a non-Jew is not commanded to “bind them as a sign upon your hand” (Deuteronomy 11:18), he is also excluded from the community of those who “write these words…” (Deuteronomy 11:20).
  6. Shelucho shel adam; Berakhot 5:5; B. Kidushin 41b and parallels.
  7. Menachot 30a; Isserles, Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De`ah 270:1. See also Yad, Sefer Torah 7:1.
  8. Asher b. Yechiel, a preeminent halakhic authority of the 13th-14th century, argued that this mitzvah is no longer incumbent upon Jews, since we no longer use Torah scrolls for the purpose of study. Instead, “it is a positive commandment for every Jew…to write chumashim and texts of the Mishnah and Talmud and their commentaries, in order that he and his sons might study them” (the quotation is from the Tur, written by Asher’s son Ya`akov, Yoreh De`ah 270). Subsequent authorities disagree over the precise meaning of this statement. Some argue that R. Asher did not mean to exempt us from the requirement to write a sefer torah but simply to note that in our time it is also a mitzvah to write other sacred texts (R. Yosef Karo, Beit Yosef to Tur, Yoreh De`ah 270 and Shulchan Arukh, Yoreh De`ah 270:2; Turey Zahav and Bi’ur HaGra ad loc.; R. Aryeh Lev b. Asher [18^th cent. Lithuania], Resp. Sha’agat Aryeh, no. 36). Others read R. Asher literally, concluding that there is no specific mitzvah in our day to write a sefer torah (Perishah to Tur, Yoreh De`ah 270; Siftey Kohen to Shulchan Arukh, Yoreh De`ah 270, no. 5). We do not wish, at this point, to take a position on this machloket. We would merely observe that both sides of the dispute would undoubtedly agree that when a person writes a sefer torah he or she does fulfill a ritual duty (after all, we do have to produce Torah scrolls for the purpose of public reading), whether or not there exists a specific requirement that each and every Jew perform the act of writing.
  9. On all of this see Pitchey Teshuvah, Yoreh De`ah 270, no. 1.
  10. Menachot 30a; Yad, Sefer Torah 7:1; Isserles, Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De`ah 270:1. The verb that these sources use is magi’ah, which means “to correct”; it applies in our case because a Torah scroll that lacks even a single letter is pasul (unfit for public reading) until it is corrected. Hence, one who writes a single letter is correcting a defective scroll.
  11. See Teshuvot for the Nineties, no. 5754.5, pp. 55-75 ( ). These mitzvot are roughly equivalent to tefilat chovah, “obligatory prayer,” those sections of the service that most closely reflect the public, corporate (as opposed to personal and private) elements of Jewish worship. These include the Shema and its benedictions, the tefilah, the Torah service (aliyot and other honors), and the recitation of public benedictions (berakhot) at public gatherings.
  12. See our responsum no. 5762.2, “A ‘Hebrew Name’ For A Non-Jewish Parent,” section 2 (available at ).
  13. See above at note 11.
  14. Is the crafting of appurtenances to the Torah scroll not a mitzvah in itself? The issue may be clouded somewhat by the fact that the word mitzvah enjoys several layers of definition. Some mitzvot are ritual acts that are constitutive of Jewish identity and community; therefore, they can be fulfilled only by Jews. That is the case with the rituals of public worship (see note 11, above) and with the writing of a sefer torah. Other mitzvot are duties that are incumbent upon Jews but not necessarily restricted to them. Donations to tzedakah and to the synagogue fall into this category; see our discussion in responsum no. 5761.2, at notes 5-7 ( Although Jews, as members of the covenant, have an obligation to give to tzedakah, non-Jews are not prohibited from doing so.

NYP no. 5765.2

CCAR RESPONSA

5765.2

Times for the Shacharit Service

She’elah

A congregant has asked that a Sabbath morning service, during which her daughter will lead the congregation in worship as a Bat Mitzvah, will read Torah, haftarah and offer a devar torah, begin as late in the morning as possible, perhaps as late as 11:30 AM or even 12 noon. She makes this request so that her elderly and ill father, the grandfather of the Bat Mitzvah, will be able to participate and to fully appreciate the service and the efforts of his granddaughter, as she demonstrates her commitment to Judaism as a young Jewish adult. He is suffering from a severe illness and is not fully aware until late in the morning or early afternoon. The family and the Bat Mitzvah want to participate in a Sabbath morning service, as they feel that it is more rewarding than the shorter minchah, afternoon service.

Our congregation does not normally have a Sabbath morning or afternoon service. The Friday eve service is the “flagship” service of our Temple. Sabbath morning services are held only when a Bar Mitzvah or a Bat Mitzvah leads our congregation in worship. Such Sabbath morning services have begun as early as 10:00 AM or as late as 11:00 AM. (Rabbi Harry D. Rothstein, Utica, NY)

Teshuvah

This she’elah, in addition to the particular case it addresses, raises a more general issue. It is the common custom (minhag) for Reform congregations in North America to begin their Shabbat morning services (shacharit) at 10:00 AM or later. This custom is no accident, and it did not emerge for reasons of mere convenience. We have established it in order to facilitate a larger attendance at worship services, which enables more people[1] to fulfill the mitzvah of tefilah betzibur, the traditional Jewish preference for public over private prayer.[2] Yet alongside this positive goal, our late starting times ensure that the congregation will recite the central rubrics of the morning liturgy – the shema and the tefilah – at an hour later than is prescribed for them according to the codified halakhah. This fact might lead to two conclusions. On the one hand, it might suggest that our prayers, because we say them “late,” are invalid in the eyes of Jewish law. On the other hand, it might raise the suspicion that Reform Judaism is indifferent to the question of proper times for prayer, which would mean that it is of no consequence whether this synagogue schedules its morning service at 11:30 AM, at noon, or even later.

Both these conclusions, in our view, are erroneous. To establish this point, we want first to consider the general issue: does the Jewish legal and liturgical tradition offer support for our minhag to begin services late in the morning? We will then turn to the case at hand: given that we do begin our services during the late morning, do we nonetheless recognize a time limit, a terminus ad quem beyond which a morning service should not begin? And if so, should we insist upon that time limit in a difficult case such as this one?

1. The Morning Shema. The shema, according to our Rabbinic tradition, is to be recited “when you lie down and when you rise up” (Deuteronomy 6:7), that is, in the evening and in the morning.[3] Although the precise time for the recitation of the morning shema is the subject of a dispute in the Mishnah,[4] the settled halakhah is that one must recite it by the end of “the third hour” of the day, the time by which the vast majority of the community have “arisen” from sleep.[5] The hour to which our sources refer is a “temporal hour” (sha`ah zemanit), that is, a segment consisting of one-twelfth of the period of daylight on a particular day. Thus, the “end of the third hour” is equivalent to the first quarter of the daylight period.[6] As we note above, few Reform congregations ever recite the shema before that time.

The tradition, however, is more complex than the above might indicate. For one thing, although one should recite the morning shema before the end of the third hour, it is not forbidden to recite it afterwards. The Mishnah states that “one who recites it (after the third hour) loses nothing; he is as one who reads (the shema) in the Torah,” fulfilling the mitzvah of Torah study if not the mitzvah of reciting the shema at its proper time.[7] Moreover, one is encouraged to recite the shema even though one has missed its “deadline,” for “it is good to accept upon oneself the yoke of the Kingdom of Heaven” at any time of day.[8]Maimonides declares that if one has not recited the shema before the end of the third hour, one may recite it along with its accompanying blessings (Yotzer Or, Ahavah Rabah, and Emet Ve-yatziv)[9] throughout the day.[10] Other scholars do not go so far, but they nonetheless allow the recitation of the shema and its accompanying blessings until noon, the latest acceptable time for the recitation of the tefilah (see below).[11] Although these rulings are controversial,[12] they raise the possibility that the entire day is the “proper time” for the fulfillment of the mitzvah.[13] This interpretation is suggested by R. Yosef Karo, the author of the Shulchan Arukh, in his commentary to Rambam’s Mishneh Torah. In Karo’s view, Rambam holds that the “by the end of the third hour” rule is a Rabbinic stringency imposed upon the basic Toraitic (de’oraita) standard, which requires only that the shema be said during the daytime, the time of “rising up.”[14]

Most authorities do not accept this interpretation of Maimonides; for them, the “proper time” for reciting the morning shema, even according to the Torah, is the first quarter of the day.[15] Yet the undeniable existence of this interpretation, along with the fact that it is not forbidden to recite the shema and its blessings after the end of the third hour, offers support for our Reform practice to recite the shema after 10:00 AM. Given the positive reasons for which we schedule our services later in the morning, we believe that we stand upon solid traditional ground.

2. The Morning Tefilah. The Mishnah records the following dispute: “The morning tefilah (tefilat hashachar) is recited until noon; Rabbi Yehudah says it is recited until the end of the fourth hour.”[16] The argument centers over a disagreement as to when the tamid shel shachar, the public morning sacrifice brought daily in the Temple, was offered at noon or by the end of the fourth hour.[17] The halakhah is decided according to R. Yehudah;[18] hence, the morning tefilah must be recited before the end of the first third of the daytime. Again, many Reform services would miss this deadline, reciting the tefilah later than its set time. On the other hand, one who recites the tefilah after the fourth hour but before noon – the mid-point of the daylight hours – fulfills the mitzvah of prayer, even though he or she does not achieve the merit of praying at the set time.[19] Reform congregations do recite the tefilah prior to noon.

Further, we would note that the traditional set times for the tefilot are not relevant in a Reform Jewish context. Each of the fixed prayers – shacharit, minchah, arvit, and musaf – is scheduled to correspond to a sacrifice or a related event at the ancient Temple.[20] Reform Judaism has long since abandoned this connection.[21] We have instead returned to a different, earlier understanding of prayer times,[22] one that schedules prayer not according to activities in the Temple but according to “astronomical” criteria, to the time of day. The Talmud itself cites Daniel’s custom to pray three times daily and suggests with the Psalmist that these times are “evening, morning, and afternoon.”[23] We pray at these times of day, in other words, not because our ancestors brought sacrifices at those hours but because they are regarded as natural and proper times to turn to God with words of praise and supplication. If morning is one of those times, then we should define it in the way it is customarily defined in our culture, not by its association with the tamid shel shachar: “morning” is that part of the day prior to noon. And as we have noted, we begin our services later in the morning in order to enable more people to attend them and to fulfill the mitzvah of public prayer.

3. Service Times and Exceptional Circumstances. Our Reform custom to hold services in the late morning is therefore a valid expression of Jewish liturgical tradition, reflecting both its letter and its spirit. Our discussion implies, however, that our morning service at any rate be held in the morning, a requirement that would seem to pose a hardship to the family at the center of our she’elah. Can their special needs be satisfied within a principled understanding of our own Reform liturgical practice? We offer the following comments and suggestions.

(1) The set schedule for synagogue services should not be altered for the convenience of individual members. It is especially important to make this point in connection with the observance of Bar/Bat Mitzvah, a minhag that tends to overwhelm the regular weekly observance of Shabbat in our congregations. The Shabbat service is a synagogue service, a communal event, and not a private simchah.[24] To change the starting time for the benefit of the Bat Mitzvah’s family would tend to give the opposite impression.

(2) In this case, however, the congregation does not have a regular Shabbat morning service. The community assembles on Saturday mornings, at either 10:00 AM or 11:00 AM, only when the service is held in conjunction with a Bar/Bat Mitzvah observance. Given that these services by their nature are special events, there would be no objection to scheduling them later than the usual starting time, provided that they remain morning services, that is, the congregation should be able to recite both the shema and the tefilah before noon. This suggests a starting time of no later than 11:30 AM.

(3) If the grandfather cannot be brought to the synagogue by that hour, the service might pause briefly between the tefilah and the Torah reading in order to give him time to arrive.[25]

(4) Alternately, the Bat Mitzvah observance might be scheduled at minchah.[26] Although the family feels that a Shabbat morning service is a more “rewarding” experience, a bit of liturgical creativity can lend a similar feel to the minchah service. The young person might read a bit more Torah than is normally read at minchah,[27] and she may also recite her haftarah, albeit without the blessings.[28]

(5) Finally, all the above applies only if it is truly impossible or unfeasible for the grandfather to be awakened early to be brought to the synagogue. In the event that he can arrive by the normal starting time, we should not delay the beginning of services.

This last point deserves emphasis. We want to do everything we can to respond to this family’s special situation. At the same time, a large part of becoming a Bat Mitzvah is the acceptance of Jewish communal responsibilities. One of those responsibilities is to participate in the religious rituals of the community, observances that are created by our tradition and defined by a set of rules. Among these rules are the set times for the recitation of the shema and the tefilah. There is flexibility in the way we interpret and apply these rules, but because the rules possess substance and meaning for us, there are limits to that flexibility. This is a reality that should be recognized by all members of the community, including the bat mitzvah and her family on her special day.

NOTES

“A numerous people is the glory of the king” (Proverbs 14:28). From this, the Sages infer that it is better to pray in a larger rather than in a smaller assembly. See B. Berakhot 53a and Megilah 27b; Magen Avraham, Orach Chayim 90, no. 15; Mishnah Berurah, Orach Chayim 687, no. 7.

“‘May my prayer to You be at a time of favor’ (Psalms 69:14). When is this ‘time of favor’? When the community prays together”; B. Berakhot 7b-8a. Thus, “one must join the community to pray, and one must not pray alone when one is able to pray with a congregation”; Yad, Tefilah 8:1 See also Shulchan Arukh Orach Chayim 90:9.

See M. Berakhot 1:3. As we shall see, the word “morning” may not be precise; it may be permissible to recite the Shema at any time during daylight hours. Still, the sources all speak of keri’at shema shel shacharit, that is, the morning shema.

M. Berakhot 1:2. The other opinion in the Mishnah holds that the shema must be recited by sunrise. This is now recognized as the standard of the “vatikin” (i.e., those who are particularly stringent in their observance of the mitzvot; Bartenura to M. Berakhot 3:5 and M. Dema’i 6:6) rather than the standard applied to all. Since sunrise is the earliest time that the tefilah may be recited, those who are particularly strict seek to recite the shema right at sunrise, so that the two rubrics may be recited together (B. Berakhot 9b: keday sheyismokh ge’ulah letefilah).

B. Berakhot 10b (Shmuel declares that the halakhah follows the viewpoint of R. Yehudah in the Mishnah); Yad, Keri’at Shema 1:11; Shulchan Arukh Orach Chayim 58:1.

Shulchan Arukh loc. cit. On the sha`ah zemanit, see Rambam’s commentary to M. Berakhot 1:2. Some authorities rule that we begin to measure these twelve temporal hours at dawn (see Magen Avraham, Orach Chayim 58, no. 1), while others say that the daytime for this purpose begins with sunrise (Bi’ur HaGRA, Orach Chayim 459, no. 2).

M. Berakhot 1:2; Yad, Keri’at Shema 1:12 and Tur, Orach Chayim 58.

Mishnah Berurah, Orach Chayim 58, no. 27.

M. Berakhot 1:4. “Ahavah Rabah” is the name of the second berakhah in the Ashkenazic rite; Sefardim begin that benediction with the words Ahavat Olam, as they (and all other rites) do in the evening.

Yad, Keri’at Shema 1:13. The Talmud (Berakhot 10b) explains the Mishnaic phrase “one who recites it (after the third hour) loses nothing” as: one does not lose the opportunity to say the benedictions that accompany the shema. Rambam cites this explanation in his Commentary to M. Berakhot 1:2. See also Sefer HaChinukh, mitzvah 420.

Chidushey HaRashba, Berakhot 10b, citing “Tosafot”, and Mishnah Berurah, Orach Chayim 58, in Bi’ur Halakhah, s.v. kor’ah belo birkhoteha.

Most authorities hold that it is forbidden to recite the accompanying blessings of the shema after the end of the fourth hour – i.e., one-third – of the day. This ruling is attributed to Hai Gaon; see Hilkhot HaRosh, Berakhot 1:10 and Chidushey HaRashba, Berakhot 10b, who explain that Hai arrives at his “fourth hour” limit by linking the shema to the tefilah, which according to the accepted halakhah (see below) is to be recited by the end of the fourth hour. The Tur and the Shulchan Arukh, Orach Chayim 58:6 adopt this position as well, as do “most of the acharonim” (the authorities who have flourished since the publication of the Shulchan Arukh); see Mishnah Berurah, Orach Chayim 58, in Bi’ur Halakhah, s.v. kor’ah belo birkhoteha.

The theory is that, were it unacceptable to recite the shema past the third (or fourth) hour, it would be forbidden to recite the blessings. A blessing recited at an inappropriate time is considered a berakhah levatalah, quite possibly an instance of taking God’s name in vain (see note 26, below). A number of the authorities cited in the preceding note make this very point in limiting the recitation of the blessings to the fourth hour or to noontime.

Kesef Mishnah, Keri’at Shema 1:13. This interpretation proceeds from a consideration of the evening shema. Although the settled halakhah is that one must recite the evening shema before midnight, this is understood to be a Rabbinic stringency. As far as the Torah law is concerned, one fulfills one’s obligation by reciting the shema at any time during the night, because the entire night is “the time of lying down” (M. Berakhot 1:1; Yad, Keri’at Shema 1:9). Karo posits that the same is true for the morning shema: if beshokhbekha means “all night long,” then uvekumekha means “all day long.” Though the Rabbis have introduced their stringency, the Torah would permit the recitation of the shema throughout the “time of rising up,” i.e., the entire daytime period.

Both Magen Avraham (Orach Chayim 58, no. 7) and Turey Zahav (Orach Chayim 58, no. 4) reject Karo’s interpretation of the Torah’s language uvekumekha, “and when you rise up.” This, they say, does not mean “when you are awake” but rather “when you arise from sleep,” i.e., during the early part of the morning. By contrast, beshokhbekha, “and when you lie down,” can be and is interpreted to mean “when you are in bed,” i.e., the entire night. Magen Avraham notes that this insight is adopted by the earlier Sefer HaChinukh, mitzvah 420. See also R. Chizkiyah Da Silva (17th-cent. Eretz Yisrael), Peri Chadash to Orach Chayim 58, no. 1, for a detailed refutation of Karo’s theory.

M. Berakhot 4:1. The phrase ad arba sha`ot is translated “until the end of the fourth hour” according to the Talmud’s conclusion at B. Berakhot 27a.

B. Berakhot 26b; Tosefta Berakhot 3:1.

B. Berakhot 27a: the halakhah follows the individual opinion of R. Yehudah against the anonymous viewpoint because M. Eduyot 6:1 supports his position. See Yad, Tefilah 3:1 and Shulchan Arukh Orach Chayim 89:1.

See Yad and Shulchan Arukh, loc. cit.

According to the baraita in support of R. Yehoshua ben Levi in B. Berakhot 26b and Tosefta Berakhot 3:1. Although no sacrifice was offered at night, the baraita notes that the internal organs that had been placed upon the fire for the minchah offering were consumed at that time. The ne`ilah prayer on Yom Kippur corresponds to the “closing of the gates” of the Temple at the end of the day; M. Ta`anit 4:1; Tosefta Berakhot 3:2.

Witness to this is our omission of the musaf prayer. Musaf, more than any other prayer, expresses the traditional link between tefilah and the sacrifices. Indeed, it is seen as the fulfillment of Hosea 14:3: “instead of bulls, we will pay the offering of our lips”; Tosafot, Berakhot 26a, s.v. i’ba`aya.

Relevant here is a baraita in B. Berakhot 26b, cited in support of R. Yose b. R. Chanina, who holds that “the Patriarchs established the times for prayer.” This position is not the “officially” accepted narrative for the origins of the daily cycle for prayer (see Yad, Tefilah 1:5), quite possibly because it does not account for the establishment of musaf. It does show, however, that the tradition is not unanimous in determining the prayer times in accordance with the daily schedule at the Temple.

B. Berakhot 31a, on Daniel 6:11 and Psalms 55:18.

On this point, see our responsum no. 5758.9, “Transporting a Torah Scroll to a Private Bat Mitzvah Ceremony,” and responsum no. 5762.6, “Bar/Bat Mitzvah on a Festival,”

Aside form its being part of the “morning” service, there is no set hour for the reading of Torah on Shabbat. But while it would be permissible to read Torah later than 12:00 noon, those organizing the service must be cognizant of tircha detzibura, the possibility that the delay will be a burden upon the congregation.

In most cases, we discourage the practice of holding Bar/Bat Mitzvah observances at Shabbat minchah (see the responsa in the preceding note). The reason is that most of our congregations do not hold a regular weekly Shabbat minchah service, so that the Bar/Bat Mitzvah observance would perforce be a private rather than a public, congregational event. In this case, where even the Shabbat morning service would be held only when a Bar/Bat Mitzvah is being observed, the distinction between shacharit and minchah disappears.

The minchah reading normally consists of ten verses from the parashah of the subsequent Shabbat; B. Bava Kama 82a, Shulchan Arukh Orach Chayim 292:1.

Since the haftarah is normally not read on Shabbat at minchah, the recitation of the blessings would be an instance of berakhah levatalah or “an unnecessary berakhah,” and it is forbidden to recite a blessing when one is not required to do so. See Encyclopedia Talmudit, v. 4, 280-285.There is no objection, however, to reading from the Prophets without the berakhot.

If needed, please consult Abbreviations used in CCAR Responsa.

NYP no. 5765.3

CCAR RESPONSA COMMITTEE

5763.7

Sharing the Synagogue’s Membership List

She’elah.

Jewish organizations often request that a synagogue share its membership list with them, in order that those organizations may reach a wider audience for their work. Is it ethical for the synagogue to provide its membership list to these organizations without the express consent of each member? (Rabbi Larry Englander, Mississauga, ONT)

Teshuvah.

This she’elah requires that we consider the balance between communal authority and personal privacy. Our tradition bestows upon the community a great deal of power to do good, to see to it that its members perform mitzvot, the duties and obligations of Jewish life. It also evidences deep concern for the dignity of the individual, protecting him or her from the unwarranted interference of the community and the unwanted gaze[1] of the other. When these two values clash, how shall we draw the line between them?

The Jewish Community and Its Authority. We Jews, in the view of our tradition, find meaning first and foremost not as individuals but as members of am yisrael, the Jewish people. The covenant, the eternal bond between God and Israel, was made with the community as a whole and is expressed in communal language: we are to be “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Exodus 19:6), and it is the “entire congregation of Israel” that hears the commandment that “you shall be holy” (Leviticus 19:2).[2] The liturgy of our prayer book (siddur) expresses the essentially corporate nature of our existence and destiny. Our prayers are written in plural language, so that even when a Jew prays privately, he or she speaks of the God “who has sanctified us,” praises the God “who in love has chosen the people Israel” for divine service, and implores God to “heal us and we shall be healed.” The tradition teaches us that it is better to pray in the midst of a congregation than to do so privately[3] and provides that certain parts of the liturgy, those having to do with the sanctification of God, may be recited only in the midst of a congregation, for “I will be sanctified in the midst of the people of Israel” (Leviticus 22:32).[4] In other words, we most truly uphold the covenant and sanctify the name of God when we become “Israel,” the Jewish community.
Given its emphasis upon the centrality of community, it is not surprising that Jewish tradition speaks hardly at all about “individual rights.” Jewish law, after all, proceeds from the mitzvot of the Torah, the obligations imposed upon the people by their covenant with God. When we study our sacred texts, we are much more likely to read of “duties” than of “rights.”[5] To put this differently, the Torah does not proclaim a libertarian philosophy. Our lives, our bodies, and our property are not our own, to do with as we please so long as we do not interfere with the rights of others; they belong rather to God, who has given them to us for safe-keeping and to Whom we owe an ultimate account for the way we use them.[6] It follows that when we see another Jew transgressing against the Torah, each of us is entitled (and even required) to take action to insure that he or she abides by the Torah’s dictates.[7] Talmudic law allows the proper authorities to coerce an individual to perform a variety of mitzvot that are incumbent upon him or her: to fulfill a vow,[8] to issue a divorce,[9] to give tzedakah,[10] and others.[11] Indeed, the organized community exercises the same authority as that possessed in Temple times by the Sanhedrin, the great beit din (rabbinical court), to enforce its decrees upon its citizens.[12]
The Privacy of the Individual. From the foregoing discussion, we might well draw the conclusion that the community, in this case the synagogue, ought to allow other Jewish organizations to solicit its members to participate in and to contribute to their programs. Many of these organizations — local federations, day schools, Zionist groups, facilities for senior citizens, social action agencies, and numerous others — serve vital Jewish purposes, and since the community is traditionally empowered to enforce the performance of mitzvot, it would follow that the synagogue board is authorized to aid these organizations in the achievement of their goals. This, perhaps, is what Hillel had in mind when he instructed us “do not separate from the community” (M. Avot 2:4): when the community is engaged in Torah and mitzvot, “this is truly the crown of God’s glory,” and it is unworthy of any of us to stand aside.[13] One could therefore make a strong argument that the synagogue, the present-day embodiment of the Jewish community of old, ought to provide its membership list to these organizations, for to do so would strengthen and enrich the community as a whole.
Against this argument, however, stands our concern for the privacy and the dignity of the individual synagogue member. Although, to repeat, Jewish tradition does not speak in terms of “rights,” including a “right” to privacy, it does impose upon us the corresponding duty to refrain from infringing upon a person’s essential dignity. A homeowner, for example, may take action to protect the household against the prying eyes of neighbors, for “damage caused by visibility” (hezek re’iyah) is an actionable tort under Jewish law.[14] The Torah and halakhah forbid gossip and slander (rekhilut) as damaging to a person’s reputation,[15] and they prohibit us from saying or doing anything that causes embarrassment (halbanat panim) to others.[16] Significantly, although as we have seen the halakhah allows the community to coerce individuals to give tzedakah, we are forbidden to shame them in public.[17] Taken together, these and other provisions of Jewish law proclaim that the life of the individual is not a completely open book, that at some point the community must cease their efforts to intervene into what are, at bottom, matters that are none of its business. As we have written in another context: “There are aspects of our existence which are and must remain off-limits to the eyes and tongues of those among whom we live, and we are therefore under no moral or religious obligation to share with them information about ourselves that they have no legitimate reason to know. This conclusion drawn from our law may not be the exact equivalent of the ‘right to privacy’ in other legal systems. But it does express, in language too clear to permit of misunderstanding, a commitment to the proposition that all of us, created in the divine image, are possessed of a dignity which at some critical point requires that all others leave us be and let us alone.”[18]

This concern for individual privacy counsels against a synagogue’s sharing its membership list with other agencies in the absence of the individual’s express consent, or in the absence of a duly-adopted provision in the synagogue’s bylaws permitting such an action. The question has to do with what lawyers would call a “reasonable expectation of privacy.” In our day, when the Jewish community no longer enjoys the coercive powers described above, individuals who join our synagogues expect that their membership information will remain the confidential property of the synagogue. To act in a manner contrary to that expectation, to grant other organizations access to membership information without the member’s consent, would be a violation of the halakhic prohibition of fraud and deception (geneivat da`at).[19] True, our tradition has permitted the rare act of deception for the sake of a “higher” purpose,[20] and the organizations that seek our mailing lists undoubtedly believe that they represent such purposes. We think, however, that they face a high burden of proof if they wish to set aside Judaism’s protection of individual privacy and prohibition of deceptive conduct.

Conclusion. The community enjoys a high standing in Jewish law, particularly as an agency for aiding (or even coercing) individuals to do that which is right and good. In our own time, the community does not enjoy the coercive powers it once possessed. It still has the duty, however, to encourage its members to perform mitzvot. On the other hand, Jewish tradition shows a deep regard for the dignity and privacy of the individual. In our case, individual members of a synagogue have a reasonable expectation that the synagogue will not share their names and other personal information with other organizations without the express consent of the member or in the absence of a clear statement in the congregation’s bylaws permitting the sharing of this information. Whether the synagogue should adopt such a policy is a decision for its members to make.

NOTES

See Jeffrey Rosen, The Unwanted Gaze: The Destruction of Privacy in America (New York: Random House, 2000).
See Rashi ad loc., quoting the Sifra to Lev. 19:2: the mitzvot in this section of the Torah were spoken in the presence of the entire community because they contain the essence of the Torah itself.
BT Berakhot 7b:8a. As Maimonides expresses the idea: “The prayer of the community is always accepted… Therefore, one should strive to join the community, and one should not pray privately if one is able to pray with a congregation” (Yad, Tefilah 8:1).
See Megilah 4:3, BT Megilah 23b, Yad, Tefilah 8:5-6, and Shulchan Arukh Orach Chayim 69:1: “matters having to do with sanctification” (kol davar shebikedushah) must be recited in the presence of a congregation (edah) consisting of no less than ten adult Jews. These “matters” include the liturgical rubrics kaddish, kedushah, barekhu, and the reading of the Torah (Mishnah Berurah, Orach Chayim 55, no. 2).
See Haim Cohn, Human Rights in Jewish Law (New York: Ktav, 1984), 18: “the particular structure of Jewish law qua religious law–with God as the central object of love and veneration, and the worship and service of God as the overriding purpose of all law–postulates a system of duties rather than a system of rights.” See also R. Elliot N. Dorff, To Do the Right and the Good: A Jewish Approach to Modern Social Ethics (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2002), 17-26.
This idea, found throughout our sources, is perhaps best expressed in the traditional prohibitions against suicide and against doing physical harm to our bodies. Jewish tradition is not neutral when it comes to these so-called “victimless” crimes, for the individual is not the owner of his or her own life and body to do with them as he or she pleases. For sources and discussion, see Teshuvot for the Nineties (TFN), no. 5754.14, “On the Treatment of the Terminally Ill,” pp. 337-363, especially at 3 and 4, and no. 5752.7, “Cosmetic Surgery,” pp.127-132. See also our responsum no. 5759.4, “Tattooing, Body-Piercing, and Jewish Tradition,” .
For example, Leviticus 19:17 enjoins us to “reprove your kinsman, so that you not incur guilt on his account,”and our tradition adds that “whosoever has it in his power to protest against sin and does not do so is implicated in that very sin, inasmuch as he could have issued a rebuke” (Yad, De`ot 6:7, from BT Arakhin 16b).The well-known Talmudic saying kol yisrael arevim zeh bezeh, which is usually translated as “all Jews are responsible for one another,” in fact declares that each of us bears a duty to intervene when we see a fellow Jew committing a sin; BT Shevu`ot 39a and Sanhedrin
BT Bava Batra 48a and Arakhin 21a; Yad, Ma`aseh Hakorbanot14:16.
BT Bava Batra 48a and Arakhin 21a; Yad, Gerushin 2:20; Shulchan Arukh Even Ha`ezer 134:5 and 154:21. See, in general, Teshuvot for the Nineties, no. 5754.6, pp. 209-216.
BT Bava Batra 8b (and Tosafot ad loc., v. akhpeh); Yad, Matanot Aniyim 7:10; Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De`ah 248:1.
For example, should a mohel refuse to circumcise a baby boy, the beit din may coerce him to do so if there is no other mohel available ( Rashba 1:472; Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De`ah 461). How, precisely, could such “coercion” take place in a way that is safe for the child? See Pitchey Teshuvah, Yoreh De`ah 261, no. 4: the beit din is permitted to trick the recalcitrant mohel, to promise him an exorbitant fee and to renege on the offer following the circumcision.
Although the Talmud never states that the community (kahal) may employ coercion to enforce its decrees, the medieval authorities recognized such a power. The equation of the kahal to the Sanhedrin is most associated with R. Shelomo b. Adret (Rashba; d. 1310) of Barcelona; see his Responsa 5:126, 1:729, 3:411 and 3:417. See also R. Asher b. Yechiel (d. 1327), HaRosh 6:5, 7, who extends the “majority rule principle” (acharei rabim lehatot) from its original context (i.e., that a court’s verdict is determined by the majority of its judges) to apply to all matters of public (rabim, i.e., community) concern. Other scholars derived this communal power from other sources. See our responsum 5758.1, “The Reform Rabbi’s Obligations Toward the UAHC,”.
See the commentary of R. Yonah Gerondi to Avot 2:4, included in the standard printed editions of the Babylonian Talmud.
Bava Batra 3:7; B. Bava Batra 2b-3a; Yad, Shekhenim 2:14; Shulchan Arukh Choshen Mishpat 54.
Leviticus 19:16; Yad, De`ot 7:1-2. For sources and discussion on the prohibition of gossip in general, see our responsum “Gossip Between Husband and Wife,” TFN, no. 5750.4, pp. 187-190 ( ).
The prohibition is derived from Leviticus 19:17; see Sifra to the verse and Arakhin 16b. See also Yad, De`ot 6:8, and Sefer Havhinukh, mitzvah 240.
Bava Batra 8b; Yad, Matanot Aniyim 7:11; Tur, Yoreh De`ah 248; Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De`ah 248:7.
CCAR Responsum no. 5756.2, “Privacy and the Disclosure of Personal Medical Information,” , section 2.
BT Chulin 94a; Yad, De`ot 2:6 and Mekhirah 18:1ff; and SA CM 228:6.
For example, in Genesis 18:13 God intentionally misquotes to Abraham Sarah’s remark in verse 12, in order to spare him embarrassment and to preserve peace between husband and wife. See BT Bava Metzi`a 87a and the final chapter of tractate Derekh Eretz Zuta. See Nachmanides to Gen. 18:13 for a less daring but essentially similar evaluation of God’s report. In addition, see at note 11, above.

NYP no. 5765.4

CCAR RESPONSA

5765.4

A Sex Offender in the Synagogue*

She’elah

A young man was sexually molested at a synagogue day camp program by a junior counselor. The perpetrator was convicted, spent about a year in juvenile detention, and was recently released. The victim.s family has gotten a restraining order that prevents the perpetrator from being near the victim.s home, school and synagogue.

If the judge had not allowed the synagogue to be included in the restraining order, should we have allowed him to attend services or religious school and under what conditions?

During the hearings, it came out that the perpetrator’s mother was aware that her son had previously molested other children and she had not informed the Director of Education, who was in charge of the camp program. Given this circumstance, is there any reason to deny the mother access to the synagogue? (The victim’s mother, due to her anger, cannot tolerate being in the same place as the perpetrator’s mother.)

Teshuvah

This she’elah presents us with two separate cases. The first is a hypothetical one: should the synagogue have denied access to the perpetrator had the court not done so?

1. Readmitting the Offender? The Mitzvah of Repentance. The perpetrator, who seeks access to the synagogue and to its programs, might argue that he has met the terms of the punishment administered for his crime. For the synagogue to deny him entry would be to add to his punishment, to make it more severe than required by law, and such a course, he might say, does him an injustice. The wrong, he might further argue, is compounded by the fact that he is a minor, whom the law does not hold totally responsible for his actions, and by the fact that he can claim that his tendency towards sexual abuse is the product of social and psychological factors that lie largely beyond his control. Expulsion from the synagogue, therefore, might cause him real psychological harm and be counterproductive to his successful reintegration into the community. It would run counter to a fundamental goal and norm of Judaism: the encouragement of repentance (teshuvah), the process by which the sinner turns away from evil. Our sources, as we all know, speak at length of the overriding importance of teshuvah.[1] We read, in particular, that “great is repentance, because it annuls the verdict (gezar din) rendered against a person.”[2] Teshuvah, in other words, expunges the record of our sins,[3] so that “even one who is wicked throughout his lifetime may do teshuvah at the very end, and not a single fact of all his evil will be remembered against him.”[4] God therefore does not desire the punishment of the sinner but rather that he or she turn away from wickedness.[5] And do the Rabbis not tell us, with deep insight into human character, that the repentant sinner is more to be admired than a purely righteous person, because the former, unlike the latter, has experienced and overcome the temptation to do evil?[6]

In ancient times, the Temple and the sacrifices were the means by which Israel achieved atonement for sin. Today, when repentance is the only avenue remaining for atonement,[7] it is the task of the synagogue – the “Temple in miniature”[8] – to provide a locus for the work of teshuvah. The perpetrator thus might argue that to exclude any Jew from the synagogue on the grounds that he or she is a sinner is to frustrate the performance of this task. To exclude this Jew, a young man for whom rehabilitation is surely not yet an impossible dream, would send the message that we do not truly believe in the possibility of teshuvah and that the synagogue is no longer a place in which those who truly seek to repent can work toward personal redemption.

2. Readmitting the Offender? The Mitzvah to Protect Ourselves from Danger. Responding to all this, those who would deny access to the perpetrator would argue that no individual possesses an unlimited right of membership in the community and of access to its institutions. Jewish tradition, indeed, permits the community to exclude an individual from membership and participation for sufficient cause.[9] The ban or excommunication (cherem or nidu’i) served in medieval times as a principal means by which the community enforced its decrees on taxation and other rules. To be sure, such expulsion is difficult to square with our modern temperament. We should, in general, avoid taking such a drastic step to express our displeasure with any member of a congregation. As Rabbi Solomon B. Freehof puts it: “Much more, it would seem, could be accomplished by bringing the Jew of ill repute under the influence of the synagogue and its teachings.”[10] Nonetheless, the halakhah does recognize that cherem can be a legitimate expression of communal power, and as the institutional embodiment of our community, the synagogue is entitled to determine just who shall be a member and who shall cease to be a member of the congregation.

Moreover, while there is no denying the centrality of teshuvah to our Judaic value system, it can be argued that “repentance” is an inappropriate category with which to approach this question. As Maimonides puts it: “What is true repentance? When a person has the opportunity and capacity to repeat that particular transgression but refrains from doing so, not on account of fear or weakness but because s/he has repented of that sin.”[11] In our case, this is a standard that cannot be met. This “sinner,” we must remember, is a sex offender, one who has committed an act of sexual abuse against another young person. It is, to say the least, far from obvious that an individual who displays tendencies to this sort of behavior can ever be rid of them or bring them under full control. All that we know about the etiology of sexual abuse suggests that this perpetrator, should he be permitted to take part in the life of the synagogue, may well pose a continued danger to the safety and well-being of its children.[12] And our tradition also teaches that we are obligated to remove from our property any factor that poses danger to the life, health, or property of others.[13] Hence, we might say that it is our duty to deny this young perpetrator access to our synagogue and that, should we allow him entry and should he repeat his abusive behavior, it is we who must do teshuvah.

3. The Committee’s Opinion. It is never an easy thing to decide between two moral or religious values that seem to pull us in opposite directions. In this case, however, it is clear to us that our first duty, the obligation that takes precedence over all others, is to ensure that our synagogues and schools are places of safety for those who enter them. While the convicted sex offender is right to look upon the synagogue as a place of spiritual healing, that right pertains to all of its members, its families and their children. Their sense of security and well-being can be threatened by the presence of a sex offender in the midst of the congregation. In the case that prompted this inquiry, the court agreed that the danger was real and issued its restraining order. In the hypothetical case posed by our she’elah, the danger might be no less real, and it is reasonable to presume that the offender’s presence would be deeply disturbing to his victim as well as to others. It is their synagogue, too, and the congregation’s leadership bears the overriding duty to reassure all its members that the synagogue is a safe place and that this safety extends to all congregational functions. The congregation is therefore under no Judaic religious obligation to admit this young person, a convicted and (hopefully) recovering sex offender, onto its grounds or into its programmatic activities.

4. The Offender’s Mother. The second part of this she’elah is not hypothetical: should the mother of the perpetrator, who did not inform the congregation of her son’s history of sexual abuse, be denied access to the synagogue? We sympathize with those who say yes. The mother’s failure to notify the synagogue, however she attempts to explain or to justify it, is inexcusable. Unlike her son, she is an adult, and we hold her fully culpable for this shocking lapse of moral responsibility. Yet we think that it would be inappropriate for the congregation to deny her access, for two reasons. First, she poses no threat to the safety of congregants. Second, she, too, must do teshuvah, and she must do it in the synagogue, the very place where she committed her transgression. She must ask the forgiveness of those against whom she has sinned: her son’s victim, the victim’s family, and, for that matter, the entire congregation.[14] We recognize, as our she’elah emphasizes, that to allow her to return to the congregation will lead to tension and to personal distress, particularly to the victim’s mother. Yet this is no argument in favor of banishment. On the contrary: the victim’s mother bears her own responsibility in this process of teshuvah. It is her duty – and the duty of the congregation as a whole – to accept the repentance of the perpetrator’s mother, if and when she offers it fully and sincerely.[15] That task will be difficult, but it is what our tradition requires.

5. A Partial Dissent. One member of this Committee, though agreeing with the broad trend of the decision, believes that the congregation should be encouraged to find appropriate means of allowing those who have committed sexual offenses to participate in synagogue life. To this end, we could benefit from the experience of a number of Christian churches that have developed protocols stipulating the precise conditions under which a sex offender might be allowed entry and participation in the community.[16] These may include restricted access to the synagogue building(s) and grounds; a requirement that while on synagogue grounds the offender be accompanied at all times by a family member or by an individual designated by the synagogue; a prohibition of access to the school and nursery areas of the synagogue facility; and so forth. The synagogue might require that the offender and (if he/she is a minor) the offender’s family sign an agreement expressly accepting these restrictions, and it might require them to report from time to time to an appropriate committee concerning their adherence to these guidelines. In addition, the synagogue might require the perpetrator to make a statement acknowledging the pain he or she has caused the victim. Such an open acknowledgment of responsibility, called a vidu’i, is perfectly consistent with our tradition’s conception of repentance.[17] Taking these or similar measures will allow us to reach out in love and concern to one of the most marginalized and, frankly, one of the most despised segments of our Jewish population. This member agrees, however, that should these protocols prove impractical to administer and enforce, or should they fail to reassure the congregants that they and their children are truly safe while at the synagogue, the congregation is entitled to deny access to the perpetrator, on the grounds that its overriding duty is to make the synagogue a safe place for all who make up its community.

NOTES

* The Responsa Committee gratefully acknowledges the assistance provided by Rabbi Ruth Alpers, the Jay Stein Director of Human Relations at the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, in the preparation of this teshuvah.

1. See, for example, the praises to repentance (“gedolah teshuvah”) in B. Yoma 86a-b: “Great is teshuvah” because it brings healing to the world, lengthens the span of our days, hastens the final redemption, and because “when one person repents of sin, the entire world finds forgiveness.”

2. B. Rosh Hashanah 17b.

3. Cf. Isaiah 1:18: “though your sins be red as crimson, they shall become white as snow.”

4. B. Kidushin 40b; Yad, Teshuvah 1:3.

5. Ezekiel 18:23 and 32 and 33:11. See as well B. Berakhot 10a, where Beruriah, the wife of R. Meir, subjects Psalms 104:35 (“may sinners perish from the earth”) to a creative re-reading. By deftly altering the vocalization (nikud) of the word chata’im, she changes the meaning of the verse: God desires the death of sin, not the death of sinners. Reform and repentance must take precedence over punishment.

6. B. Berakhot 34b: bemakom sheba`alei teshuvah `omdin, tzadikim gemurim einam `omdin. See Yad, Teshuvah 7:4.

7. Yad, Teshuvah 1:3.

8. B. Megilah29a, on Ezekiel 11:16.

9. B. Berakhot 19a; Yad, Talmud Torah 6:14; Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De`ah 334:43.

10. American Reform Responsa (ARR), no. 16 (http://data.ccarnet.org/cgi-bin/respdisp.pl?file=16&year=arr) .

11. Yad, Teshuvah 2:1.

12. This does not mean that we believe that a sexual offender cannot be successfully treated. As the American Psychiatric Association puts it, “Few perpetrators are ‘untreatable’”; see Dangerous Sex Offenders: A Task Force Report (Washington, D.C.: American Psychiatric Association, 1999, 164), which raises questions as to the reliability of recidivism statistics for sex offenders. It means, rather, that such treatment can be an involved and difficult process and that its success can hinge on a number of factors. One such factor, for example, is the offender’s desire to effect a change in his life. “No evidence supports the notion that persons with paraphilias can be treated successfully without their cooperation” (ibid., 175). Moreover, the sponsoring organization of that task force report concedes that “unlike the successful treatment outcomes for most other mental illnesses, the outlook for successful treatment and rehabilitation of individuals with pedophilia is guarded. Even after intensive treatment, the course of the disorder usually is chronic and lifelong in most patients”; American Psychiatric Association, Fact Sheet: Pedophilia (http://www.medem.com/medlb/article_detaillb.cfm?article_ID=ZZZUZRUZGLC&sub_cat=355; accessed April 29, 2007). It also means that the definition of “success” must be a realistic one. In the words of one group of therapists, a sex offender is comparable to an alcoholic in that he should never consider himself cured. “He has a behavioral and thinking handicap that he can keep within acceptable limits only by continuing to practice a series of controls. As he demonstrates increasing internal controls, external controls can be cautiously relaxed”; Michael A. O’Connell et al., Working with Sex Offenders: Guidelines for Therapist Selection (Newbury Park, CA: Sage, 1990, 105. Treatment, in other words, is hard, slow work that takes a long time, and in the meantime, we do not know that the offender will not repeat his offense when he has the opportunity to do so.

13. The halakhah derives this rule by extending the Torah’s requirement that the homeowner construct a parapet or guardrail for his roof (Deuteronomy 22:8). Thus, one is forbidden to keep a vicious dog or an non-sturdy ladder on one’s property (B. Ketubot 41b and Bava Kama 15b; Yad, Rotzeach 11:4; Shulchan Arukh Choshen Mishpat 427:7-10.

14. “Yom Kippur effects atonement for sins one has committed against God. For sins one has committed against another person, however, Yom Kippur does not effect atonement until the sinner has conciliated the offended party”; M. Yoma 8:9, Yad, Teshuvah 2:9.

15. (The offended party) should not act cruelly and refuse to be reconciled… but rather, when the sinner requests pardon, the offended party should pardon him with sincerity and with a willing spirit”; Yad, Teshuvah 2:10, based on M. Bava Kama 8:7.

16. Some of the suggestions found in the text can be found in Carol J. Adams, When the Abuser is Among Us: One Church’s Response to a Perpetrator (Seattle: Center for the Prevention of Sexual and Domestic Violence, 1994) and in Peggy Halsey, “When the Abuser is One of Us,” The Interpreter (a publication of the United Methodist Church), September, 2001, 24-25. On the need to set “clear rules and boundaries” for a sex offender seeking admission to the community, see Kathy MacDonald et al., Counselling for Sexual Abuse (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), 279.

17. B. Yoma 86b; Yad, Teshuvah 2:2.

If needed, please consult Abbreviations used in CCAR Responsa.

NYP no. 5765.5

CCAR RESPONSA COMMITTEE

5765.5

May a Non-Jew Wear a Talit?

She’elah.

A certain congregation family has asked whether or not the non-Jewish grandfather of a Bar Mitzvah may wear a talit during the Sabbath morning service when the Bar Mitzvah will lead the congregation in worship. If he wears the talit, he may wear it on the bimah. In our congregation, the non-Jewish parent or grandparents stand on the bimah but do not pass the Torah when the Torah is passed from one generation to another.

This question is the subject of two existing Reform responsa. Rabbi Solomon B. Freehof[1] allows a non-Jewish clergy to wear a talit in an ecumenical service in a synagogue. He reasons that since the talit, especially the tzitzit, are of lesser sanctity than the Torah and its accouterments, and since they may be discarded when worn out, unlike the Torah and its accouterments which must be stored away, that we may deal with them differently. He continues that we may offer the talit to the non-Jew “for the sake of peace.” However, Rabbi Walter Jacob[2] mentions that wearing the talit is a mitzvah from the Torah and requires a berakhah which specifically mentions the chosenness of Israel and so may be recited only by a Jew.

So, may a non-Jew wear a talit during the Sabbath morning service? (Rabbi Harry D. Rothstein, Utica, NY)

Teshuvah.

This she’elah asks us to decide between two conflicting teshuvot, each authored by an eminent posek and teacher of the Reform movement. We therefore state at the outset our profound debt of gratitude to our teachers, even though we may disagree with them on one issue or another. Although our interpretations of text and our religious stance may diverge from those of our predecessors, we are able to conduct this discussion solely because they taught us the art and the process of Reform responsa and halakhic thought. We stand on the shoulders of giants and that very fact, ironically, accounts for the different angle of vision that we bring to this and to other questions.[3]

With that in mind, let us consider the responsum of Rabbi Freehof. He bases his permissive ruling upon the distinction between tashmishei kedushah, “appurtenances of sanctity,” and tashmishei mitzvah, “appurtenances of a mitzvah.” Ritual articles belonging to the former category, including “the Torah and its accouterments,” are of a higher degree of sanctity than those belonging to the latter category, such as the tzitzit. Thus, if a Torah mantle has become worn and is no longer suitable for use, it must be stored away (placed in a “genizah”), while the fringes of a talit that are broken or no longer used may, in the words of the Shulchan Arukh, “be thrown onto the ash heap because it is an appurtenance of a mitzvah and not inherently holy.”[4] Indeed, Rabbi Freehof continues, the halakhah even permits one “to go to the toilet wearing the talit.”[5] This leads him to the following kal vachomer argument: “If, therefore, the talit may be worn in all sorts of places, and if its fringes (when separated) may even be tossed upon the ash heap, there is no question that one may lend it to a Gentile minister who will handle it reverently.”[6] He adds that in allowing the minister to wear the talit “we will thus fulfill the basic mitzvah of acting ‘to follow the paths of peace’ (mipney darkhey shalom),” which, he notes, our tradition also states as “to avoid ill will” (mishum eivah).

In our view, Rabbi Freehof’s teshuvah is somewhat less than persuasive. This is true, in part because of some of the debatable points of halakhah that it contains,[7] but primarily because we do not think it is a helpful way to frame the question. The talit’s inherent ritual sanctity (or lack thereof) is not the point. Even a Torah scroll, which possesses much more sanctity that a talit, is hardly “defiled” if a non-Jew should touch it, yet this does not mean that we may or should call a non-Jew to the Torah for an aliyah. The relevant issue in all these matters is whether it is appropriate for a non-Jew to participate in a particular public ritual observance. In the case of being called to the Torah, our answer is “no,”[8] and we would say the same here. To wear a talit is to perform the mitzvah “to remember to observe all My mitzvot and be holy to your God” (Numbers15:40); it is, in other words, a material expression of one’s membership in the community of Israel, a people sanctified through the mitzvot that characterize its covenant with God. The Rabbinic tradition understands the tzitzit as a physical sign that marks Israel as a separate people, “made distinct by the mitzvot.”[9] A Gentile may wish to wear a talit for his or her own reasons, but the talit is our symbol; it does not belong to the non-Jew, and it is not for him or her to define. The talit, as our symbol, functions for us as a declaration that the one who wears it is a Jew, who bears the title yisrael, who partakes with the rest of us in the covenant that distinguishes us as a unique religious community. The grandfather in our she’elah may well feel a deep sense of familial pride in his grandson’s becoming a Bar Mitzvah, and his desire to participate in this special event is understandable. He is not, however, a Jew, a member of our covenant community. He should not wear a talit.

We also hesitate to apply here the categories “to follow the paths of peace” and “to avoid ill will.”[10] While we certainly want to maintain good relations with our non-Jewish neighbors and to avoid causing family strife, we doubt that these principles are the appropriate way to frame the issues at stake in this question. We are dealing, after all, with matters of deep religious principle, with observances that define us as a Jewish community and that therefore set us apart from others. By calling ourselves a Jewish community, we necessarily draw lines and establish boundaries that flow from and reinforce our identity as Jews. To do so inevitably limits the role that non-Jews, those who do not partake in that identity, may play in our communal ritual life.[11] After all, we do not argue that a Gentile ought to be called to the Torah, recite kiddush, or lead the synagogue service on the grounds that this would help preserve friendly relations with non-Jews. Indeed, our sho’el’s congregation places clear limits upon the role that the non-Jewish grandparents play at the service marking Bar Mitzvah. The non-Jew should understand the need of the Jewish community to assert the right — a right that belongs by every self-identified community, religious or otherwise[12] — to define itself, its patterns of life, and its qualifications for membership. This is especially true in democratic and pluralistic societies such as our own, where this right is acknowledged and where Jews are proud and equal citizens. It is good to preserve peace and to avoid hostility, but these goals, worthy as they are, do not convince us of the need to compromise our basic religious principles.

For these reasons, we endorse the position taken by Rabbi Walter Jacob in his responsum. We do so not exclusively because the wearing of a talit is preceded by the recitation of a berakhah that stresses the nature of this act as a mitzvah. We frequently invite our Gentile neighbors to participate in activities – for example, attending a Passover seder,[13] sitting in the sukkah – over which we recite birkhot mitzvah. Since it is obvious to all that they join with us as guests and not as Jews, we would not think to regard their participation as improper. Yet for a Gentile to don a talit at a public worship service, something he or she need not do in order to take part in that event, is to identify physically as one of us. Again, our position is based primarily upon the symbolic function of the talit as a statement of Jewish identity and of membership in the covenant community. The Gentile cannot make this statement; therefore, he or she should not wear a talit at our synagogue services.

NOTES

R. Solomon B. Freehof, Reform Responsa for Our Time, no. 5.
R. Walter Jacob, Halakhah, a publication of the Freehof Institute of Progressive Halakhah, Spring/Summer ed., 1996.
The classic statement – “we are dwarfs, standing on the shoulders of giants” – seems to have originated with the 12th century Scholastic philosopher Bernard of Chartres. R. Yeshayahu di Trani (d. Ca. 1250) is apparently the first Jewish author to use the phrase, which he calls “a saying (mashal) of the philosophers”; Resp. RYD, no. 62. R. Yeshayahu learns from this saying that although the dwarf certainly lacks the great stature of the giant, he nevertheless can see farther, precisely because the giant enables him to do so. This explains how we acharonim, or “later” sages, are permitted to disagree with our predecessors (the rishonim), even though the rishonim, according to traditionalist ideology, are by definition greater and wiser than we. On this subject, see Yisrael Ta-Shema, Halakhah, minhag, umetzi’ut be’ashkenaz (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1996), 70-71, and Robert K. Merton, On the Shoulders of Giants: A Shandean Postscript (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993).
Orach Chayim 21:1. Actually, the passage reads “because no sanctity attaches to its physical substance” (she’ein begufah kedushah); i.e., the tzitzit is holy only because it is whole and attached to a four-cornered garment. A tzitzit that is detached from the talit is mere thread; no mitzvah is performed with it, and it thus may be discarded. We wonder whether a proper analogy can be drawn from a detached tzitzit to a fringed talit with which a mitzvah is indeed performed.
Shulchan Arukh Orach Chayim 21:3. The commentators on that passage, however, notably the Magen David and the Mishnah Berurah, write that this refers to the talit katan, the fringed undergarment that one may wear all day long, and not to the talit shel mitzvah that is worn specially during prayer. The latter, they declare, should not be worn in the toilet.
The precise she’elah addressed by Rabbi Freehof concerns a Christian minister who is to participate in a joint service at the synagogue and who wishes “to wear a talit as the rabbi does.”
See notes 4 and 5, above.
On the general question of Gentile participation in synagogue services, see Teshuvot for the Nineties, no. 5754.4, 55-75 (http://data.ccarnet.org/cgi-bin/respdisp.pl?file=5&year=5754).
Pesikta deRav Kahana 16:3 on Lamentations 2:13; Sifre Deuteronomy, ch. 36 (to Deut. 6:9).
Mipney darkhey shalom is the justification cited for a number of takanot (rabbinic legislative ordinances) during Tanaitic times. See M. Gitin 5:8-9 and Shevi`it 4:3, among other places. Mishum eivah appears during the later, Amoraic period; see, for example, B. Bava Metzi`a 32b and Avodah Zarah 26a.
This Committee has spoken to the issue on a number of occasions. Non-Jews are not called to the Torah, do not read the haftarah, do not receive important “honors” surrounding the Torah service, and do not lead the central rubrics of our liturgy; Teshuvot for the Nineties, no. 5754.4, 55-75 (http://data.ccarnet.org/cgi-bin/respdisp.pl?file=5&year=5754); Responsa Committee, no. 5758.11 (http://data.ccarnet.org/cgi-bin/respdisp.pl?file=11&year=5758); American Reform Responsa, no. 6, 21-24 (http://data.ccarnet.org/cgi-bin/respdisp.pl?file=6&year=arr); Current Reform Responsa, no. 23, 91-93; and New Reform Responsa, no. 7, 33-36.
For example, as one member of our Committee puts it: “How would we feel about a Jew attending a Catholic mass for a relative’s confirmation, and taking communion?” The members of that Catholic church would surely question whether the Jew had acted appropriately with regard to their sacrament.
Many traditionally observant Jews will not invite non-Jews to a seder or to any other yom tov meal. This is because the permission to cook on a festival day (so long as it does not fall on Shabbat) is interpreted to apply only to food that is cooked for Jews; therefore, “it is forbidden to invite the non-Jew, lest one cook extra food on the festival day specifically for him” (Shulchan Arukh Orach Chayim 512:1; see B. Beitzah 21b on Exodus 12:16). We Reform Jews clearly do not observe this restriction. Moreover, so long as it is clear that one will complete the cooking prior to the onset of the holiday, there is no reason why Orthodox Jews should refrain from inviting non-Jews to the meal.

If needed, please consult Abbreviations used in CCAR Responsa.

NYP no. 5765.8

CCAR RESPONSA

5765.8

Including the Name of a Stepfather in One.s Jewish Name

She’elah

May a person who has two fathers, a stepfather who raised her and a biological father who was a regular part of her life, be called to the Torah with the names of both fathers? If so, which of the fathers should be listed first? My daughter’s Bat Mitzvah is approaching, and when I am called to the Torah I would like my name to include the names of both of my fathers and my mother.

Teshuvah

In our tradition, one’s name follows the formula “Peloni ben/bat Almoni,” where “Peloni” is one’s given name and “Almoni” is the name of one’s father. (In Reform Judaism, we customarily add the name of the mother.) This custom, which the Bible dates to patriarchal times,[1] made it possible to identify individuals for legal purposes[2] and to establish one’s lineage (yichus) in the community, particularly in matters related to priestly status.[3] You ask whether it is appropriate to depart from this custom in order to include the name of your stepfather, along with those of your biological parents, in your Jewish name.

We certainly applaud your desire to show appreciation to one who has loved and raised you since you were a child. It is a mitzvah to honor and to revere one’s parents,[4] and as we have argued, that obligation extends to one’s adoptive parents as well.[5] Our parents, in Jewish terms, are those who raise us, care for us, provide for our needs and educate us, and adoptive parents perform these functions as surely do biological parents. Stepparents also fill the role of parent in our lives, even though the law does not accord them that precise status; we therefore owe a similar duty of honor to them. As the Rabbis teach, “One who raises an orphan in his home is regarded by the Torah as though he has given birth to that child” (B. Sanhedrin 19b), and “the one who raises a child is called the ‘parent,’ not the one who begets the child” (Exodus Rabah 46:6).

Yet the duty to honor one’s stepparent does not imply that one should alter his or her Jewish name. Our Jewish names do more than record a simple genealogical fact. They register the avenue through which we have become members of the community of Israel. If we are born into the Jewish people, we receive our Jewish status from our parents, and our name testifies to that fact. If we have chosen as adults to embrace Judaism, our name indicates that we are the “son/daughter of our father Abraham and our mother Sarah,” whom our tradition recognizes as the spiritual parents of all proselytes.[6] An adopted child born of Gentile parents may be named “the son/daughter of” the adoptive Jewish parents, rather than “ben/bat Avraham avinu veSarah imenu,” precisely because it is the adoptive parents who bring that child into the covenant of Israel.[7] To put this in terms of Jewish theology, we were all present at Sinai, even those of us alive today, either because we were born to Jewish parents or have converted to Judaism.[8] Your stepfather loved and cared for you, and he surely participated in your Jewish education and upbringing. But he did not bequeath to you your membership in the Jewish people; that is a status you have inherited from your biological parents.[9] Your Jewish name, which we understand as a covenantal name,[10] should attest to that reality.

To be sure, our tradition permits one to change his or her Jewish name under certain conditions. For example, the halakhah provides that while an individual is called to the Torah by his Jewish name, he may omit his father’s name (perhaps substituting the name of his paternal grandfather in its place) should the father be an apostate, that is, a convert to another religion.[11] Your biological father, however, has not done anything so grievous. He has not abandoned you or forsaken his duty as a father; indeed, you acknowledge that he has been “a regular part of (your) life.” Even were we to agree, therefore, that at times one’s Jewish name might be altered, this is not one of those times.

Conclusion. Your stepfather deserves all the respect and honor that a child owes to a parent. There are numerous ways that you can express that respect throughout your life and, in particular, during your daughter’s Bat Mitzvah observance. Our Jewish names, however, are not the appropriate means for bestowing honor upon a stepparent or, for that matter, upon other persons who may have cared for, taught, and guided us through our lives. Our Jewish names are rather the symbolic expression of our identity as Jews, the record of how each of us has become part of the covenant of Israel.

NOTES

See, for example, Genesis 25:12, 19; 28:9; and 34:1.

For example, the witnesses to a divorce document (get peturin) must be able to identify both the husband and the wife by name “and by the names of their fathers”; see Beit Yosef to Tur Even Ha`ezer 120, s.v. vekotvin lo, and Isserles, Shulchan Arukh Even Ha`ezer 120:3. The formula peloni bar (or ben) peloni appears in the text of the divorce document (Yad, Gerushin 4:12), the chalitzah document (Yad, Hilkhot Yibum Vechalitzah 4:30), and in commercial deeds (Yad, Malveh Veloveh 22:8 and 24:3).

This accounts for the Torah’s care in specifying the names Itamar ben Aharon Hakohen (Exodus 38:21, Numbers 4:28, 4:33, 7:8), Elazar ben Aharon Hakohen (Numbers 3:32, 4:16, 17:2, 26:1), and Pinchas ben Elazar ben Aharon Halohen (Numbers 25:7, 25:11).

Exodus 20:12; Leviticus 19:3; Deuteronomy 5:16. On the definition of the “honor” and “reverence” spoken of in these verses see Yad, Mamrim 6 and Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De`ah 240.

Teshuvot for the Nineties (TFN), no. 5753.12, pp. 201-207 (http://data.ccarnet.org/cgi-bin/respdisp.pl?file=12&year=5753 ).

See our responsum 5760.6, “A Convert’s Hebrew Name” (http://data.ccarnet.org/cgi-bin/respdisp.pl?file=6&year=5760 ).

Ibid., and R. Moshe Feinstein, Resp. Igerot Moshe, Yoreh De`ah 1:161. We do not address the question of a child born through reproductive technologies such as in vitro fertilization whose biological parents (i.e., those who donate the genetic materials) and whose adoptive parents are Jews. The issue in that case is a complex one that requires further study; therefore, nothing we say here should be understood as conveying our position concerning it. In the meantime, see our responsum 5757.2, “In Vitro Fertilization and the Status of the Embryo” (http://data.ccarnet.org/cgi-bin/respdisp.pl?file=2&year=5757).

See Deuteronomy 29:14, along with Rashi ad loc.; Midrash Tanchuma, Nitzavim ch. 3; and B. Shabbat 146a.

We note here that this affirmation is supported by the CCAR’s Resolution on Patrilineal Descent; see Rabbi’s Manual (New York: CCAR, 1988, 226; (http://data.ccarnet.org/cgi-bin/resodisp.pl?file=mm&year=1983 ). That resolution provides that “the child of one Jewish parent is under a presumption of Jewish descent. This presumption of the Jewish offspring of any mixed marriage is to be established through appropriate and timely public and formal acts of identification with the Jewish faith and people” (emphasis added). The resolution speaks only and explicitly to the status of a child born to one Jewish and one non-Jewish parent. By implication, the child born of two Jewish parents is Jewish; his or her Jewish status is not “presumed” but firmly fixed.

On the “covenantal” nature of the Jewish name, see our responsa 5760.6 (note 6, above) and 5762.2, “A ‘Hebrew’ Name for a Non-Jewish Parent” (http://data.ccarnet.org/cgi-bin/respdisp.pl?file=2&year=5762 ).

R. Yisrael Isserlein (15th-cent. Germany), Resp. Terumat Hadeshen 1:21; Isserles, Shulchan Arukh Orach Chayim 139:3. This ruling is limited, however, to cases where the change of name will not cause embarrassment to the son; see Resp. Maharam Padua (16th-cent. Italy), no. 87.

If needed, please consult Abbreviations used in CCAR Responsa.

NYP no. 5763.1

CCAR RESPONSA

5763.1

Solicitation of Synagogue Members by Other Jewish Organizations

She’elah
In many communities, organizations such as Chabad, Aish HaTorah and others either directly or indirectly solicit members of existing congregations for programs, activities, worship and financial support. Are these practices ethical according to Jewish tradition? Does such solicitation or even ministering to members of existing congregations transgress the prohibition of hasagat gevul? (Rabbi Ned Soltz, Fullerton, CA)

Teshuvah
Our canons of professional practice, as embodied in the CCAR’s Code of Ethics for Rabbis, expressly forbid us from rendering “pastoral attentions to members of other congregations, havurot, and other religious institutions” if such attentions would harm collegial or institutional relationships. A rabbi, moreover, “should neither solicit nor sanction efforts to solicit members of another congregation.”[1] It is clear, therefore, that by our own takanah, or authoritative legislative enactment, it would be wrong for rabbis and synagogues to engage in the practices described in our she’elah. The problem, of course, is that the Code of Ethics is binding only upon members of the CCAR; it does not apply to other rabbis or to organizations such as Chabad and Aish HaTorah. Hence, our sho’el asks whether such solicitation is prohibited by traditional Jewish law and ethics, that is, by standards that are independent of our own rabbinical community and that other religious Jews would find persuasive and compelling.

In particular, our she’elah points to the principle of hasagat gevul, a term drawn from the Torah’s prohibition against removing the boundary markers that separate one’s property from that of one’s neighbor (Deuteronomy 19:14 and 27:17). Although the Biblical sources do not apply this concept to matters outside the realm of property law, it does receive such an interpretation in the classical Midrash and the Geonic literature.[2] By the late medieval period, halakhic authorities use the phrase hasagat gevul to describe unauthorized economic competition, that is, transgression against individual’s legally valid claim to the control of a particular office or market.[3] Might we utilize this principle in our case? When another Jewish organization asks our members for financial support or seeks their participation in its programs or activities, does it “violate the boundaries” that define and protect our synagogue community?

To answer this question requires that we make two judgments, one quantitative and one qualitative. On the quantitative side, we should keep in mind that the prohibition of hasagat gevul, when applied to issues like those raised in our she’elah, is an economic concept; its purpose is to protect the livelihood of individuals and businesses against ruinous competition. Under certain conditions, Jewish law allows an existing business to restrain the entry into its market of a potential competitor, on the grounds that the competitor would destroy the livelihood (mekape’ach et parnasato) of the existing business. If the level of competition is not “ruinous” – that is, if the entry of the competitor would not necessarily drive the existing merchant or artisan out of business – this restriction does not apply.[4] As a qualitative matter, restrictions against competition are generally not invoked against those, like melamdim (teachers of Torah to children) and communal rabbis, whose business involves mitzvot.[5]The Talmud justifies this free competition on the principle kin’at sofrim marbah chokhmah, literally, “jealousy among scribes increases wisdom,”[6] essentially, “free intellectual competition is good for Jewish life.” There are, of course, exceptions to this rule.[7] The rabbinate, for example, has become a salaried profession, and rabbis can qualify for the same protections accorded to other professionals.[8] Still, Jewish tradition in general frowns upon actions that artificially restrict competition and free market entry in matters related to Torah and mitzvot, particularly when this competition is not “ruinous.”

How do we apply these judgments to cases such as the one described in our she’elah? Are these other Jewish organizations, when they enter our “market,” guilty of hasagat gevul? True, they “compete” with us for funding from the community and for participation by our members in their programs and activities. In the vast majority of cases, however, this competition is far from “ruinous”; the financial stability of our synagogue is not called into question. Moreover, precisely because these organizations perform mitzvot, we want our members to be involved in their programming. The goal of our own activity, after all, is to help produce good and caring Jews, and such people should be involved with other Jewish organizations that fulfill needed and vital tasks. Obviously, we do not want their involvement to lessen the amount of support they give to our synagogue, but on this point, we think, we have little to fear. A Jew who becomes active to the fullest extent in the life of the community will likely be more rather than less conscientious in contributing to the life of our congregation. At any rate, we suffer when we assume a narrow perspective on Jewish community life. When we actively discourage the participation of our own members in the work of other Jewish organizations (and, indeed, in the work of agencies in the general community that feed the hungry and care for the needy), we declare that our congregation is somehow isolated from the concerns that those groups address. A good synagogue, one that is truly committed to the cause of Torah, mitzvot, gemilut chasadim, and tikun ha`olam would not send such a message to its own members and to the community at large.

Does this approach change when our “competitors” are Chabad, Aish HaTorah, or other Orthodox groups?[9] Such organizations might be construed as “inimical to Reform Judaism,” thereby forfeiting any claim to our active support.[10] We need not, however, directly oppose their activity on grounds of hasagat gevul. First of all, Jewish tradition does not absolutely forbid a group of individuals within the community from leaving a congregation to form their own synagogue, especially when the new congregation follows a different liturgical ritual (nusach) from the old one, which would certainly be the case here.[11] Moreover, the competition these groups pose to us is hardly “ruinous”; it is highly doubtful that their activity will drive our congregations into insolvency. Nor do we fear exposing our members to their point of view. On the contrary: as liberal Jews, committed to the concept of Jewish religious pluralism, we welcome the vigorous discourse and debate that these groups might introduce into our community. If this should awaken the intellectual curiosity of our members and make them question long-held assumptions about their Judaism, then mah tov; so much the better. Our knowledge of and confidence in our own approach to Jewish belief and practice can only benefit and be strengthened by such encounters. As Reform Jews, open to the intellectual currents of modernity and ready to wrestle with the challenges they present to us, we therefore embrace that ancient dictum: kin’at sofrim marbah chokhmah. Good argument is good for the Jews.

Conclusion. Although we Reform rabbis have resolved not to solicit members from other congregations, the traditional principle of hasagat gevul would not prevent other Jewish organizations from soliciting our members to participate in their programs. We should meet these organizations, even if we consider them “competitors,” in a spirit of friendly discussion and argument, with confidence that our own position is right for us. On the other hand, we are under no obligation to provide any assistance to organizations we deem to be “inimical to Reform Judaism.”

NOTES

Central Conference of American Rabbis, Code of Ethics for Rabbis, Adopted in convention assembled, June, 1991, and as amended in 1993, 1998, 2001, 2003 and 2004, sec. II. C. 3-4, available at
In Sifrei Deuteronomy (to 19:14) the prohibition is applied to “one who exchanges the rulings of R. Eliezer with those of R. Yehoshua”; i.e., one who cites the ruling of one sage in the name of the other. Rav Sherira Gaon learns from the verse that “one should not transgress against accepted communal custom (minhag)”, the “boundaries” drawn up by “previous generations” (the responsum is collected in Resp. Sha`arei Tzedek, no. 20 and cited in Tur, Choshen Mishpat 368). The same interpretation is applied to the very similar verse in Proverbs 22:28; see Midrash Mishle, ed. Buber,22:28, and Rashi to the verse.
For example, R. Shelomo Luria (16th-century Poland) rules that when an individual has contracted with the local ruler to collect taxes, one who supplants that individual (by offering a higher sum to the ruler) violates the rule of hasagat gevul. Luria concedes that the prohibition in Deut. 19:14 applies strictly to violations of real property rights; nonetheless, the repetition of the prohibition in Deut. 27:17 extends its terms to other aspects of commerce and economic life. See Resp. Maharshal, no. 89. Luria’s contemporary, R. Meir Katznelbogen, applies the rule to competition among merchants; Resp. Maharam Padua, no. 41.
B. Bava Batra 21b-22a; Yad, Shekhenim 6:8ff.; Shulchan Arukh Choshen Mishpat 156:5ff. The rules concerning “ruinous competition” (hayored le’omanut chaveiro) are exceedingly complex, and this area of the law is filled with machloket, points of dispute. This is because the halakhah wishes to strike a careful if complicated balance between two important interests. It wishes to protect the livelihood of merchants and artisans; at the same time, it does not oppose free competition, and it recognizes the value of such competition to the economy and to consumers.
B. Bava Batra 21b; Yad, Talmud Torah 2:7; Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De`ah 245:22.
Rashi, Bava Batra 21b, s.v. umodeh rav huna, explains that as a result of this “jealous” competition the teachers “will be careful to do their work well, since they are wary of each other.” Rambam (Yad, Talmud Torah 2:7) does not mention this explanation, but substitutes it with Isaiah 42:21, that is, God wishes that “Torah be increased and glorified”; hence, competition in the field of mitzvot is a good thing.
For example, halakhic authorities have permitted the granting of copyright to the printers and publishers of sacred texts, even though such a monopoly is difficult to square with traditional Jewish legal doctrine, on the grounds that without the protection that copyright affords them, these individuals would never assume the financial risks involved in bringing editions of the Talmud and the Mishneh Torah, among other works, to market. Thus, copyright is a matter over which the community has no real choice. See R. Moshe Isserles, Resp. Rema, no. 10, and R. Moshe Sofer, Resp. Chatam Sofer, Choshen Mishpat, no. 41. On another matter, the Rambam rules that a mohel who interferes with another mohel’s expected income is guilty of hasagat gevul; Resp. Harambam (ed. Blau), no. 273. Note, however, the author’s language: the offending mohel “interferes with the set livelihood (parnasah kevu`ah) of a poor, God-fearing Jew (ani ben Torah). In other words, this is a case of “ruinous competition,” not competition pure and simple.
This position, which applies the doctrines of hasagat gevul and “ruinous competition” to the rabbinate, is a departure from the more traditional position perhaps best expressed by the 15th-century German authority R. Yisrael Isserlein, in Resp. Terumat Hadeshen, 2:128: the fact that we rabbis receive an income for performing our communal function is an embarrassment to us, so much so that we cannot justify a claim of entitlement to that income and protection from competition. The economic situation of the rabbinate clearly has changed, as is noted in Resp. Chatam Sofer, Choshen Mishpat, no. 21: rabbis now accept the reality that they are salaried professionals and are not embarrassed to demand they be treated with the same respect as is accorded to other professionals. In the North American Reform rabbinate, issues of “ruinous competition” are regulated in the CCAR Code of Ethics for Rabbis, section II. C.
We distinguish here between Jewish organizations, even though they disagree with our own approach to Judaism, and apostate groups such as Jews for Jesus or Messianic Jewish congregations. Our approach to apostates is one of “strict separation tempered with openness.” See our responsum 5761.2, “Donations to Synagogue By Messianic Jews,” , at notes 1-4. Unlike Orthodoxy, we do not regard apostasy as a legitimate Jewish religious choice, and we approach apostate groups accordingly. We take no position in this responsum on the question of the messianism present in the doctrine of Chabad Chasidism or on the question of whether, given the messianic claims raised by many members of Chabad for their late Rebbe, Chabad has “crossed the line” from legitimate Judaism to apostasy. A powerful argument that it has crossed that line is raised by Professor David Berger, an Orthodox Jewish scholar, in his The Rebbe, the Messiah, and the Scandal of Orthodox Indifference (London: Littman Library, 2001). The matter therefore deserves our attention, and any contacts between Reform rabbis and the Chabad movement should be maintained with the utmost caution.
See Contemporary American Reform Responsa (CARR), no. 25, “Gifts to Organizations Inimical to Reform Judaism”( ), and Questions and Reform Jewish Answers (QRJA), no. 92, “Reform Support for Orthodox Institutions” ( ). We make no determination here that either Chabad or Aish HaTorah is “inimical” to our interests as a Reform movement; we note simply that the local rabbi must make that judgment and is entitled to act accordingly.
The word “absolutely” indicates that this, too, is a complex question. On the one hand, Jewish tradition favors large congregations over small ones and would discourage individuals from leaving an established synagogue on that account; for sources, see TFN, no. 5752.12, pp. 3-6, at notes 2-5 ( ). On the other hand, if an individual finds that he cannot pray with kavanah (intention and concentration) in an existing synagogue because of discord between him and the other members should pray elsewhere; R. David ibn Zimra (16th-17th cent. Egypt), Resp. Radbaz 3:472, and R. Avraham Danzig (18th-19th cent. Germany/Lithuania), Chayei Adam 17:5. R. Yitzchak bar Sheshet (14th cent. Spain/North Africa) rules that individuals have the unfettered right to leave an existing synagogue to form their own congregation (Resp. Rivash, no. 331). Although some authorities limit this right in cases where the split would cause significant financial loss to the existing congregation, there is no opposition to the formation of a new synagogue that follows a different nusach from the old one. For discussion, see Zalman Druck, Mikdash Me`at (Jerusalem, 1973), 10-15.

If needed, please consult Abbreviations used in CCAR Responsa.

NYP no. 5765.10

CCAR RESPONSA

5765.10

Inheritance: How Much To Leave To A Child?

She’elah
I received a call from a temple member who is rewriting his will and would like some guidance from Jewish tradition regarding disposition of his assets upon his death. He has two children and three grandchildren and is concerned about leaving so much to them that they might not lead productive lives. He seeks some kind of formula on how his wealth should be divided between charitable bequests and gifts to his family. His philanthropy occupies an ever increasing amount of his semi-retirement time. (Rabbi Stephen S. Pearce, San Francisco, CA)

Teshuvah
For a comprehensive treatment of the Jewish law of inheritance, as well as for a consideration of a question quite similar to the one you ask, we refer you and your congregant to a teshuvah of our colleague and teacher R. Walter Jacob.[1] The issue dealt with the distribution of the estate: may the normal order of inheritance be “rearranged from the standard recommendation and favor one child over another,” to compensate for that child’s “bad luck” or inability to take care of him- or herself? Unfortunately, as Rabbi Jacob notes, “in the lengthy discussions of wills and estates, which took place in traditional literature, there is little which deals with the question which you have asked.” The same might be said for the present she’elah. The tradition offers no specific formula of the kind that your congregant seeks. Still, it offers guidance as to how a parent should think about these issues, and from that guidance we might be able to formulate a general approach, if not a specific formula. We therefore turn to a consideration of those aspects of the Jewish law of inheritance relevant to your question. Once again, a fuller analysis may be found in Rabbi Jacob’s teshuvah. This responsum relies upon many of the sources he cites and accordingly should be read as a supplement to his work.

Your congregant seeks to rewrite his will so as to limit the amount of his estate that he leaves to his children and grandchildren. The difficulty with this course of action, from a traditional Jewish perspective, is that the Torah sets forth the order of inheritance in strict and specific fashion. Property is inherited by sons, not by daughters (unless there are no sons); the first-born son receives a double portion of the estate; and so forth. No “will” is valid at Jewish law that deviates from the Torah’s order of testamentary succession.[2] In fact, Jewish law does not recognize a “will” per se, since the “last will and testament” familiar in our contemporary legal systems takes effect only upon the death of the testator (i.e., the one who issues the will), and according to the Jewish legal tradition a gift made after the death of the donor is invalid (ein shetar le’achar mitah).[3]

None of this means that an individual is powerless to affect the ultimate distribution of his property. He may do so in any way he wishes, provided that he does it in the form of a gift executed while he is still alive. The gift may be made while he is perfectly well (matanat bari) or when he is on his (presumed) death bed (matanat shekhiv mera`). In some cases, the Rabbis encouraged a father to make such gifts as a means of rectifying the perceived inequities of the inheritance laws.[4] In theory, then, so long as he executes valid acts of gift prior to his death, therefore, a father can create his own order of “inheritance,” transferring his estate to anyone he wishes.

Does this mean that a father may effectively disinherit one or more of his children under Jewish law? Not exactly. Although he is legally empowered to make gifts prior to his death, “the Sages are displeased” with the one who “gives his property to others and leaves his children with nothing,” even if his children are not of good character.[5] The reason given for this is that, even if one’s child does not act properly, how does one know that the child’s son will not be worthy?[6] One should therefore leave intact the Torah’s order of succession rather than try to influence one’s children’s behavior from beyond the grave. True, one authority suggests that “the Sages” would not be “displeased” with such a gift so long as the donor reserves a symbolic (if small) amount for his legal heirs.[7] Others, however, approve of this device only when the donor has no children and would be inherited by other relatives; if he has children, they insist, the principal part of his estate (`ikar `izevono) must go to them.[8] It follows that, while Jewish law enables parents to transfer their estate away from their children, it prefers that they not do so.

The tradition also teaches that it may be unwise for parents to attempt to control the behavior of their adult children. The Talmud, for example, forbids a father from exerting physical discipline upon his adult son, on the grounds of the commandment: “do not place a stumbling-block before the blind” (Leviticus 19:14): that is, the discipline might cause the son to lash out in resentment or to bear a grudge against his father and thereby violate the commandment “honor your father and your mother.”[9] There is a time, in other words, when overt acts of discipline or “education” toward our children become inappropriate and counterproductive. While it is understandable, therefore, that this parents wishes to influence his children in a positive direction, Jewish tradition would counsel him (and all of us) to seek a proper balance between actions that express legitimate parental concerns and those which, however well-intentioned, would be perceived as intrusive or punitive.

Let us now consider our she’elah in light of both our Jewish tradition and the particular perspective that we Reform Jews bring to bear upon it. What sort of guidance does it offer our sho’el? First, we would note that as Reform Judaism insists upon gender equality in matters of religious or legal obligation, it makes no difference whether the testator is a father or a mother, and it is irrelevant whether the heir is a son or a daughter. The rules of inheritance ought to be the same in either case. Second, we see nothing objectionable in the tradition’s strong preference that the children receive “the principal part” of the estate. At the same time, we think that parents on occasion may have a legitimate interest in determining that their estates be distributed in a manner other than that specified in the classical Jewish order of inheritance. The power to disburse the estate through gifts made prior to death can be an effective means of performing acts of tzedakah and social justice, and it is a tool through which unfortunate consequences might be avoided. Third, although we agree that parents should not distribute their estate in a way that the children will see as “punitive,” there is no reason why they cannot set reasonable, non-punitive terms to govern the estate’s distribution. We suspect, in other words, that “the Sages” would not be “displeased” if a parent sought to establish reasonable controls upon the distribution of the estate to adult children who, in her considered judgment, would use it to negative ends. For example, while the tradition offers your congregant no “formula” of the kind he seeks, it would permit him to stipulate that the inheritance be distributed in stages. He might establish a trust fund that would insure his children and grandchildren receive a certain level of income even though they are not permitted to access the principal. He might also stipulate the purposes for which funds may be withdrawn from the trust: to pay tuition and other educational expenses, to assist the children and grandchildren in entering business or professional life, to make donations to tzedakah, and so forth. Given that these purposes allow either the father or his heirs to perform mitzvot, such stipulations do not in our opinion qualify as punitive in nature. They serve rather as proper expressions of a parent’s wish that his children and grandchildren might leave, as our she’elah puts it, “productive lives.”

The children and grandchildren, of course, might disagree with this assessment and regard restrictions of this type as “punitive” indeed. For this reason, among others, it is obviously the better course for your congregant and his heirs to resolve their differences while he is still alive. Surely both sides would wish to avoid the unpleasantness that all too often erupts among families over provisions in a deceased person’s will. If, however, such a resolution proves impossible to achieve, your congregant is entitled according to the letter and spirit of Jewish tradition to dispose of his estate along the lines that we have suggested.

NOTES

Questions and Reform Jewish Answers (New American Reform Responsa), no. 239 (http://data.ccarnet.org/cgi-bin/respdisp.pl?file=239&year=narr ).
The father may, however, direct his entire estate to one legitimate heir among the others; M. Bava Batra 8:5; Yad, Nachalot 6:2; Shulchan Arukh Choshen Mishpat 281:1. This is the case only when he is shekhiv mera`; see below.
See B. Bava Batra 135b; Yad, Zekhiyah umatanah 8:12; Shulchan Arukh Choshen Mishpat 250:18.
One famous example of this is the ketubat banin dikhrin (M. Ketubot 4:10), an obligation that the Rabbis imposed upon the groom at the time of marriage. The groom was to stipulate that upon his death his wife’s sons would inherit the entire value of their mother’s ketubah; they would not be required to share that sum with sons that their father may have had by other wives. The purpose of this obligation was to encourage the bride’s father to make a gift of property to her prior to marriage (“that he would transfer property to her as he would do to his son”), which he would be more likely to do if he knew in advance that the property she brought into the marriage would be passed down through her (and her father’s) family line (B. Ketubot 52b). The practical effect of this was to insure that the daughter “inherited” a fair share of the father’s estate, though this was done as a gift rather than as a formal inheritance.
M. Bava Batra 8:5; B. Bava Batra 133b; Yad, Nachalot 6:11; Shulchan Arukh Choshen Mishpat 282:1; Resp. Maharashdam (15th-cent. Salonika), Choshen Mishpat, no. 311.
B. Ketubot 53a; Beit Yosef to Tur, Choshen Mishpat 282; Sefer Me’irat Einayim to Shulchan Arukh Choshen Mishpat 282.
R. Shimeon ben Tzemach Duran (15th-cent. Algiers), Resp. Tashbetz 3:147.
Resp. Chatam Sofer, Choshen Mishpat, no. 151; Arukh Hashulchan, Choshen Mishpat 282:3.
B. Mo`ed Katan 17a and Yad, Mamrim 6:9. In general, the commandment “you shall not place a stumbling block before the blind” is understood to forbid us from leading another person into sin unwittingly; see B. Pesachim 22b.If needed, please consult Abbreviations used in CCAR Responsa.

NYP no. 5763.2

CCAR RESPONSA COMMITTEE

5763.2

Live Liver Transplantation

She’elah.

My question concerns the medical procedure known as live liver transplantation, in which a significant part of a donor’s liver is removed and transplanted into the body of a recipient. This is unlike the case of live kidney donation. There, an individual who donates one of two healthy kidneys places him- or herself in no serious danger aside from the risks normally associated with major surgery (e.g., from anesthesia), so that the life-saving benefit to the recipient far outweighs the risk incurred by the donor. In the case of live liver donation, the donor faces a much greater degree of danger. This means that the risk-benefit comparison, which is so favorable with respect to live kidney donation, is much more difficult to assess.

According to our understanding of Reform Judaism, is it ethical to conduct this procedure? Should we permit an individual to risk his or her life and health by donating a large section of his or her liver, even if this would save the life of the recipient? How does this procedure comport with the basic medical ethic of “do no harm”? And how do we evaluate this procedure in light of the concept of “informed consent,” a standard so much a part of the current medical environment? Can there really be “informed consent” when a person is asked to put his or her life in danger? Can there be “informed consent” when it is a family member in need and when “no” is not an answer easily lived with? (Rabbi Deborah Pipe-Mazo, New York, NY)

Teshuvah.

Before we begin our teshuvah, we should acknowledge the principle that stands behind it and that guides it throughout: the mitzvah of healing, refu’ah.[1] The practice of medicine is the most common means by which we fulfill the obligation to preserve human life (pikuach nefesh), a duty that takes precedence over virtually every other core Jewish value. All Jews, we would think, agree on this general point. Where we disagree is on the specifics: what, in any particular situation, constitutes an acceptable practice of “medicine”? That is the case here, with our she’elah. Our generation has long since accepted the proposition that organ transplantation from donors dead or living is a valid form of medicine, of the healing arts. Yet as our questioner notes, some transplantation procedures seem to pose an unacceptable risk to the living organ donor, thus constituting an example not of medicine but of the “harm” that physicians must not inflict upon their patients. In framing our response, we shall first consider the issue of organ transplantation in general: what are the circumstances under which Jewish law, according to our understanding of it, permits the donation of a human organ from a dead or a living person to help save the life or health of another? How does the element of risk, the danger to the living organ donor, affect the calculation of these circumstances? At that point, we will be in a position to ask whether our tradition forbids, permits, encourages, or even requires an individual to donate part of his or her liver to another human being.

Cadaveric Organ Donation. As of this writing, nearly eighty percent of all organs transplanted in the United States are taken from deceased donors.[2] Given the large number of potential organ recipients who currently await transplantation[3] and the efforts by governments and other institutions to encourage individuals to become organ donors upon death,[4]it is clear that cadaveric organ donation is a critically important resource in the struggle against disease. For this reason, we might suppose that Jewish law, which places such great emphasis upon the mitzvah of healing, would raise no objections to this practice. Yet it is far from obvious that this is so. The harvesting of organs from deceased persons might well conflict with another central Judaic value, that of kevod hamet, the obligation to respect the dignity of the dead. This respect entails that human remains are to be quickly and properly buried; we are not to utilize or manipulate them for our own purposes, even for the fulfillment of the mitzvah of refu’ah.[5] “The dead,” it has been noted, “are not obligated to fulfill the commandments…and we are (therefore) not empowered to deny them the honor that is their due.”[6] In particular, the use of cadaver organs for transplantation would seem to conflict with three separate ritual prohibitions:[7] the ban against deriving benefit or profit from the dead (isur hana’ah min hamet),[8] the disrespectful treatment of the corpse (nivul hamet),[9] and the delay in burial of the remains (meni`at hakevurah).[10]

Halakhic authorities, however, have come to recognize organ donation as an exception to each of these prohibitions. For example, Rabbi Isser Yehudah Unterman, a former chief rabbi of Israel, rules that the positive duty to preserve human life (pikuach nefesh) outweighs the prohibition against deriving benefit from the dead. As additional support, he offers the novel argument that the prohibition ceases to apply “when these organs are ‘resurrected’ [i.e., through the process of transplantation]” and can be considered “alive” rather than “dead.”[11] Various poskim waive the proscription against “disrespectful treatment” when the otherwise forbidden act is undertaken for a good and appropriate reason.[12] And once an organ has been transplanted into the body of the recipient, it is no longer part of the body of the deceased and thus no longer subject to the requirement of burial.[13]

Reform Jewish tradition concurs with this permissive view. Indeed, we teach our people that organ donation is a mitzvah,[14] and we are not so concerned in this regard with the various prohibitions concerning the handling of the remains of the deceased. This is not to say that we do not believe that the dead deserve respectful treatment, but simply that the traditional definitions of kevod hamet and nivul hamet came into being long before medical science developed the technologies of organ transplantation. Now that physicians and surgeons can save many lives through these procedures, they have become an integral feature of the legitimate practice of medicine. In this new scientific reality, the operative rule is the dictum that “any and all measures, with the exception of idolatry, sexual immorality, and murder, may be utilized for the sake of healing.”[15] Cadaveric organ donation is included in these measures. It is a mitzvah, and it must not in any way be associated with the acts that our tradition condemns as disgraceful treatment of the dead.

Organ Donation By Live Donors. When a suitable cadaveric organ is not available for transplantation, doctors may take an organ from a live volunteer. From the standpoint of Jewish tradition, an organ donor fulfills one of the most profound duties recognized by the Torah: the mitzvah to rescue a person from mortal danger. As the Talmud states:

From where do we learn that if one sees his fellow drowning in the river, attacked by wild beasts, or endangered by robbers that one is obligated to save him? “You shall not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor” (Leviticus 19:16).[16]

This obligation, however, may conflict with another requirement, the duty to preserve one’s own life, which stems from the obligation to preserve human life in general (pikuach nefesh). The Rabbis learn this obligation from Leviticus 18:5: “These are the mitzvot…that a person shall perform and live by them,” to which the Midrash adds: “and not die by them.”[17] This implies that a person should not perform a mitzvah if that act endangers his or her life. Thus, the prohibitions against work (melakhah) on Shabbat and the commandment to fast on Yom Kippur are waived when the observance of these mitzvot would jeopardize an individual’s life or health.[18] It follows that the mitzvah of rescue is also annulled when that action would endanger the life of the potential rescuer.

We shall examine this question in some detail below, because it is central to every halakhic discussion concerning the propriety of organ donation. For the moment, let it suffice to say that, in Jewish terms, the ethical issue demands a measurement of the degree of risk in each particular case. While halakhah forbids suicide and does not require us to risk mortal danger in order to fulfill the commandments (including Leviticus 19:16), halakhic authorities are generally willing to permit a living person to donate an organ when physicians judge the operation to pose no serious risk of death or injury to the donor.[19]

Live Liver Transplantation: The Procedure. What degree of risk does live liver donation pose to the donor? The surgery[20] usually involves the taking of the left lateral part of the liver from the donor. The principal arteries, veins, and biliary ducts of the donor organ are connected to the corresponding vessels and ducts of the recipient. The cut vessels and ducts on the surface of the donor liver are sealed to minimize leakage of blood or bile. The incision is then closed. Those who perform the surgery argue that it is safe, on the basis of several facts: a) an individual with a normally functioning liver can survive a 75% loss of liver tissue; b) no more than 30% of the donor liver mass is excised; c) in the above case, the donor’s liver should regenerate in one month; d) the donor will recover most, if not all, of his or her liver function. The above applies to donation of the left lobe of the liver; some researchers have obtained similar results when taking the donor’s right liver lobe, a more difficult and potentially dangerous procedure.[21] A team of Japanese physicians, surveying 470 cases of live liver transplantation at Kyoto University hospital from 1990 to 1999, found no donor deaths and concluded that “the morbidity of living donors is low or minimal even for right lobectomy, the most extended procedure, and complete recovery can be expected in all cases.”[22] An American survey published in 2000 estimated that donor death occurs in 0.2% of cases of adult donors and 0.13% for pediatric donors; among other cases, “all donors returned to predonation activities,” most by the end of three months following the surgery and all by the end of one year.[23]

Yet some observers are more cautious in their evaluation of the data. In the opinion of one expert, although “formidable success appears to have been attained with the adult-to-adult procedure thus far,” the world “still awaits center-specific and compiled data to determine whether the procedure truly reduces adult waiting list times for liver transplant recipients with minimal donor risk.”[24] The director of a live donor program in Massachusetts states frankly that “adult living liver donation is much riskier (than living kidney donation), and there is little published data on rates of complications and mortality among the donors.”[25] A recent study finds that while the mortality rate for live liver donations is low, the rate of complications (morbidity) is “significant”: 65 of the 449 donors surveyed (14.5%) experienced one or more complications of donation, including bile leak (in 27 donors), the need for blood transfusion, and the need for a subsequent operation.[26]

The evidence, therefore, presents a decidedly mixed picture. Live liver donation is “safe” in that many medical practitioners believe its risks to be manageable: the overwhelming majority of liver donors survive the operation and recover full function. Yet the procedure is definitely a serious one; liver donors do risk more significant medical complications than those posed by donors of other organs.

Live Liver Transplantation: The Ethics. In addressing this question, our sho’elet refers to two separate and distinct ethical traditions: the philosophical discourse known as “secular medical ethics” and the tradition of Jewish thought and lore that we generally designate as halakhah. Concerning the former, she asks whether the procedure transgresses against the guiding medical-ethical principles of nonmalfeasance (“above all, do no harm”[27]) and of informed consent. The response in the first case depends, we think, upon one’s definition of “harm.” For example, some argue that organ donation is not “harmful” so long as “the benefits to both donor and recipient… outweigh the risks associated with the donation and transplantation of the living donor organ.”[28] This general standard may very well apply to live liver transplantation, which is a clear benefit to the recipient and which, it can be argued, may not pose an unacceptably high degree of risk to the donor. The second principle, on the other hand, presents a greater difficulty. “Informed consent” means, first, that a patient agrees to a suggested medical procedure only when he or she has been supplied with all material information that a reasonable medical layperson would consider significant with regard to that decision, and second, that the patient make his or her decision in an autonomous manner, free of coercion.[29] Yet, as our sho’elet notes, “autonomy” and “informed consent” may not apply in a situation such as ours, where the potential donor is likely to be a family member operating under powerful emotional pressures to agree to the surgery. This is a telling point. Research indicates that decisions concerning organ donation are often made quickly, as soon as the possibility is raised to the potential donor, and not on the basis of deliberation or informed consent.[30] Indeed, concludes one study, “informed consent in living donation is a myth,” because the context in which the donor must choose guarantees that the decision cannot be made in a coercion-free manner.[31]

The Jewish ethical tradition, as we have seen, would analyze our she’elah in accordance with the conflicting duties of rescue and of self-preservation: if the attempt to rescue would endanger the life of the would-be rescuer, then he or she is not required–indeed, is forbidden–to make the attempt. The logic of this prohibition is as stark as it is elegant: since each human being is created in God’s image, then each human life possesses the same intrinsic value. No life is more “worthy” of preservation than another; although my blood is no redder than yours, neither is your blood any redder than mine. One who risks mortal danger in order to rescue another is thereby making the ethically-unacceptable calculation that the value of the other’s life surpasses that of his or her own. In the event that we must choose between saving one life or another, the only sure course is to make no “choice” at all, to allow events to take their course, even if that means that the endangered person will die.[32]

Does this rule govern our case? Although the live liver donor does undertake a certain degree of risk, that risk is much less than the danger to the life of the patient who needs the transplant. To put this into traditional halakhic terminology, the donor enters a situation of safek sakanah (possible, but less-than-mortal danger), while the patient is in a situation of vadai sakanah (mortal danger). We would therefore ask: does vadai outweigh safek? Granted that one need not risk mortal danger to save the life of another, is one permitted–or even required–to accept a lesser degree of risk in order to fulfill the duty of rescue, the obligation imposed by Leviticus 19:16?

We begin our answer with what must be considered the predominant view in the halakhah. Most halakhic authorities who have considered this question rule there is no obligation to rescue when the attempt would involve even safek sakanah to the life of the rescuer.[33] Their analysis tends to being with the words of Maimonides, who codifies the rule of rescue as follows: “One who is able to rescue (kol hayakhol lehatzil) and does not do so violates the commandment ‘you shall not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor.’”[34] Some suggest that by these italicized words, which do not appear in the Talmudic source of the rule, Rambam seeks to place limits upon the requirement when the element of risk is present. R. Menachem Hame’iri, for example, writes that one is required to attempt the rescue “if one is able to do so (yakhol lehatzilo) in the absence of danger (belo sakanah).”[35] Hame’iri, of course, might be referring here to vadai sakanah, mortal danger. R. Yoel Sirkes, however, reads less-than-mortal risk into Maimonides’ words: “when Rambam writes ‘one who is able to rescue,’ he refers to a situation in which one is certain (be-de’ein safek) that he will be successful in the attempt. One is not, therefore, obligated to risk potential danger (safek sakanah) in order to rescue another.”[36] A leading commentator interprets the Shulchan Arukh to the same effect.[37] Many authorities go farther, ruling that one is forbidden to enter into a situation of potential danger to save a person whose life is in mortal danger.[38] They base this conclusion upon various passages of the Talmud[39] as well as a strictly literal (and eminently logical) reading of Leviticus 18:5: if one is commanded to live and not die by the mitzvot, then one is forbidden to place one’s life in any jeopardy whatsoever, to risk even the possibility of death (safek mitah) in order to perform any mitzvah, including the duty to rescue.[40] R. David ibn Zimra (Radbaz, 16^th-17^th cent. Egypt) offers a somewhat different line of reasoning in a famous responsum. Suppose, he was asked, that the sultan were to give a Jew the following choice: either let me cut off one of your limbs, or I will kill one of your fellow Jews. Is the first Jew obligated to undergo the “surgery,” inasmuch as he faces a lesser degree of danger than does the second Jew? Radbaz answers that such a demand would offend against reason and common sense (hasekhel vehasevara). Since the Torah’s ways “are ways of pleasantness,”[41] we cannot imagine that it would impose such a moral obligation upon us. Whoever enters a situation of safek sakanah in order to fulfill the mitzvah of Leviticus 19:16, concludes Radbaz, is a “pious fool” (chasid shoteh).[42]

With these considerations in mind, contemporary poskim arrive at their decisions concerning organ transplantation. R. Yitzchak Ya`akov Weiss, basing himself in large part upon the responsum of Radbaz, forbids live kidney donation on the grounds that the surgery and the possible subsequent complications place the donor in a state of safek sakanah.[43] While other authorities permit live kidney donation, they tend to do so because physicians report that the surgery has become routine to the point that it poses no risk, not even safek sakanah, to the donor.[44] If, on the other hand, kidney donation did pose such a risk, these authorities, too, would likely prohibit the surgery. Given that, according to the medical data we have surveyed, live liver donation surgery is regarded as significantly “riskier” than kidney donation, it surely constitutes safek sakanah. If so, then in light of the position we have just described, an individual is not obligated–and may well be forbidden–to donate part of his or her liver for transplantation.

The foregoing, however, is but one side of an old dispute in Jewish law. There is another side, a different voice that emerges from our source. It is a voice that declares, against the predominant view we have just described, that we are obliged to rescue our fellow human being even when the attempt would place us in potential danger (safek sakanah). This interpretation is supported by several arguments. First, none of the passages from the Babylonian Talmud that are usually cited on this question clearly state that one is forbidden to risk safek sakanah in order to save another. True, it is possible to derive that conclusion from those passages, but an interpreter need not do so.[45] In fact, one can just as easily arrive at the opposite decision on the basis of those very sources[46] and others.[47] Second, none of the major halakhic compendia, such as Maimonides’ Code, the Tur, or the Shulchan Arukh, rule that the obligation to rescue is annulled in the face of safek sakanah. Again, it is possible to read these works in such a way as to support that ruling, but one is not compelled to do so by the logic of the texts.[48] Finally, commentators have for centuries cited a passage from the Talmud Yerushalmi as evidence that one is indeed obliged to accept a lesser degree of danger in order to rescue a person whose life is in mortal danger.[49] Although that passage, like those in the Babylonian Talmud, is hardly free of difficulty,[50] some poskim do rely upon it for purposes of halakhic decision.[51]

The “other” view, a more stringent interpretation of the duty ro rescue, has never been completely vanquished by its opponents. It has, in fact, exerted a constant and considerable influence upon the pesikah (halakhic decision) of a number of authorities who hold to the predominant halakhic position. In his Arukh Hashulchan, R. Yechiel M. Epstein (19th-20th cent. Lithuania) writes:[52]

The poskim cite the Talmud Yerushalmi to the effect that a person is obligated to risk safek sakanah in order to rescue his fellow. This passage has been omitted from the earlier codes, since our [i.e., the Babylonian] Talmud takes the opposite position. Each instance, however, must be judged on its own merits. One should weigh one’s decision carefully and not protect himself more than is necessary (yoter midai)… for when a person saves one Jewish life, it is as though he has saved an entire world.[53]

A commentator to the Shulchan Arukh states the point as follows:

One should in any event weigh the situation carefully, to determine whether it is in fact a case of safek sakanah, and not to be overly strict (shelo ledakdek beyoter) in the matter. As we have learned elsewhere, one who is overly strict in insisting upon his own rights will one day lose that which he seeks to protect.[54]

These remarks express a tension between what the authors perceive as the letter of the law and what we might call the law’s higher aspirations. The authors are aware that a too-literal application of the halakhah’s minimum standard, the mitzvah of self-preservation, will allow the individual to exempt him- or herself in virtually all cases from the mitzvah of rescue. Yet such an outcome sharply conflicts with the Torah’s vision of the just and compassionate society. Nowhere is this tension more evident than in the words of Rabbi Isser Yehudah Unterman:[55]

Since the leading codes do not rule explicitly (that one is obligated to assume potential danger in order to rescue), the uncertainty in the law requires that we apply the rule “your own life takes precedence.” Yet we must define what we mean by safek sakanah. Not every fear or concern on the part of the would-be rescuer deserves to be called “danger.” For example, if a person is drowning in a river, and a man is present who knows how to swim, but this man worries lest he catch cold on account of the chilly water–can this really be called safek sakanah? Suppose that a person hears his neighbor cry for help against men who are attacking him. Is this person exempt in any such case from offering assistance, simply because he fears that the attackers may harm him?

We agree: a literal application of the predominant halakhic viewpoint–if, indeed, that viewpoint is the “correct “ understanding of the Jewish law of rescue–can lead to absurd and intolerable consequences. A community whose citizens press the mitzvah of self-preservation to its legal and logical extreme is a community defined by selfishness, where none will reach out to aid their endangered brothers and sisters.[56] It is a community where the qualities of personal courage, nobility, and selflessness do not exist. It is the sort of community in which none of us would wish to live. Our understanding of Torah, of Jewish tradition, and of our ethical responsibilities to our fellow human beings demands that we balance the predominant viewpoint, which grants us the necessary right to safeguard our own lives from danger, with the minority viewpoint, which reaches beyond this bare minimum standard of conduct toward a higher aspiration for our lives. What this means in practice is that those who teach and interpret Jewish tradition must find a way to say “yes” to the decision to become a live organ donor, even when that decision involves a degree of risk to the one who makes it.

Various poskim do just that. In addressing the question of live kidney donation, Rabbi Moshe Feinstein notes that the commandment to preserve one’s own life supersedes virtually all other obligations; under its terms, we are even forbidden to place ourselves in a situation of possible danger. Still, he rules that the duty to rescue may be an exception to this rule. Since the purpose of rescue is to save a human life that is equal in God’s eyes to our own, then although one cannot be required to endanger himself to rescue, “it is obviously permissible to risk potential danger (safek) to save a person who faces mortal danger (vadai).”[57] In dealing with the same question, Rabbi Ovadyah Yosef writes that “it is a permissible act and a mitzvah (mutar vegam mitzvah) for a person to donate one of his kidneys to his fellow.”[58] By mitzvah, Rabbi Yosef clearly means that the donation of a kidney is a meritorious and praiseworthy act though not an obligatory one, for which he would have used the word chovah.[59] A mitzvah, in this sense, is an act that is encouraged if not necessarily required of us, an act that, if performed, is worthy of our commendation and respect, an act that reaches the higher aspirations that Torah would have us set for our lives. Both these rabbis, in other words, uphold the predominant interpretation of the halakhah, but they refuse to let it confine them like a straitjacket. They want the religious Jew to consider a choice that advances beyond that which the law absolutely requires. Aware that today’s surgeons are not to be compared to the sultan’s executioner, they know that the act of organ donation, in a procedure that is carefully supervised by medical professionals, is hardly the behavior of a”pious fool.” To put this another way, they read the halakhah not only according to its predominant interpretation but also according to the minority viewpoint that calls upon us to realize a more demanding standard of moral conduct.

It is the way that we, too, read our Torah and apply it to the she’elah before us. The question we consider here–the assumption of personal risk in order to save the life of another–is a difficult one that admits of two plausible answers. Accordingly, our tradition would have us address it in a way that does justice to both sides. On the one hand, the majority interpretation of Jewish tradition reminds us that undertaking a risk to one’s life, even when that risk is safek or potential, is a fateful decision that should not be forced upon a person. This is all the more true in the case of live liver donation, a procedure that poses a greater degree of risk than do other kinds of safek sakanah. Yet the minority position, the “other voice” that emerges from our sources, teaches us that a person’s free and reasonable decision to become a live liver donor and thereby save the life of a fellow human being is by no means a violation of Jewish law and ethics. On the contrary: it is a choice that reflects Judaism’s highest legal and ethical standards.

Conclusion. All of the above leads us to the following points.

Jewish tradition sees the preservation of human life as a mitzvah of the highest order. By its terms, we are required to protect ourselves from danger and to rescue, if we can, the lives of those in harm’s way.
In the event of an unavoidable clash between these two requirements, if the attempt to rescue another person would pose a mortal danger (vadai sakanah) to our own lives, we are forbidden to attempt the rescue. In such a case, we learn that “your own life takes precedence” (chayekha kodmin; BT Bava Metzi`a 62a).
The tradition gives us no unambiguous guidance should the attempt to rescue another pose a less-than-mortal danger (safek sakanah) to our lives. Most halakhic authorities rule that one is not obligated, and is perhaps even forbidden, to risk safek sakanah in order to save another. At the same time, the opposing viewpoint, which permits or even requires us to take on safek sakanah in such an instance, is at least as well supported by our sources. That more stringent minority viewpoint reflects a higher standard for our duty to our fellow human beings, a higher aspiration for our moral conduct.
Since live liver donation involves a measure of risk to donor, an individual cannot be required to undergo that procedure in order to save the life of another. Indeed, that very refusal to serve as a donor can be seen as fulfilling the mitzvah of Leviticus 18:5, the duty to preserve one’s life. That decision is a valid Jewish choice, and we must not criticize a person for making it.
The procedure’s risks, though not insignificant, are manageable, so that the donor is far more likely to recover full physical function than to suffer permanent medical complications. One is therefore permitted to serve as a live liver donor, thereby fulfilling the mitzvah of Leviticus 19:16, the duty to rescue. That person sets an example of nobility and courage worthy of our admiration and even our emulation.
We recognize that the value of “informed consent” is exceedingly difficult to realize in situations such as this. Potential liver donors are often family members of the patient, subject to the sorts of emotional pressure that negate the likelihood of an autonomous, non-coerced decision. Yet this does not mean that an ethical decision for live liver donation is impossible to obtain. First, we must remember that ethical decisions are made in the real world, a world in which every one of us lives within a tight web of social connection and in which none of us is immune to the “pressures” of social and family life. The demand for total autonomy, therefore, is unrealistic. Second, while “pressures” cannot be entirely avoided, physicians, other medical personnel, and, indeed, the family’s rabbi can make sure to that precautions are taken to protect the would-be donor against excessive pressure.[60] They can also remind him or her that one is not obligated to say “yes,” that “no” is also a legitimate decision.

NOTES

For sources and discussion, see our responsum no. 5761.7, “Human Stem Cell Research,” section 3, at notes 5ff.
The data, covering the period from January 1, 1988 – March 31, 2003, are collected by The Organ Procurement and Transplantation Network, the unified transplant network established by the United States Congress under the National Organ Transplant Act (NOTA) of 1984. (These figures deal with the following organs: kidney, liver, pancreas, heart, lung, and intestine. Other donations (for example, corneal tissue) are not included.
As of this writing, more than 82,000 persons are currently on waiting lists for organ transplantation in the United States, while 6,279 transplantation were performed in the United States during the first three months of 2003. See the data collected by UNOS ( ), the non-profit, scientific, and educational organization that administers the Organ Procurement and Transplantation Network.
Resources and information may be found at the website , sponsored by the United States Department of Health and Human Services. Among the many organizations that actively promote organ donation are the American Medical Association ( ) and the Coalition on Donation, an alliance of for-profit and not-for-profit organizations ( ).
Yechiel M. Tucazinsky (20^th cent. Eretz Yisrael) entitles the fifth chapter of his Gesher Hachayim, a treatise on the Jewish law of mourning and burial, “kevod hamet.” The chapter begins with a one-sentence paragraph: “whosoever takes part in the preparation and burial of a human corpse must bear in mind that he is dealing with a holy thing.”
Yitzchak Ya`akov Weiss (20^th-cent. England and Israel), Resp. Minchat Yitzchak 5:8.
See R. A. S. Avraham, Nishmat Avraham (Jerusalem, 1982), Yore De`ah 349:3, pp. 261-264. On all the following, we are indebted to our colleague, Rabbi Moshe Zemer, for his article “Terumat eivarim vehahalakhah,” in R. Cohen-Almagor, ed., Dilemot be-etikah refu’it (Jerusalem: Van Leer Institute/Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 2002), 265-282.
BT Sanhedrin 47b; Yad, Avel 14:21; Shulchan Arukh Yore De`ah 349:1.
The phrase nivul hamet is not found in the classical rabbinic sources. Indeed, the word nivul as “disgraceful treatment” is applied twice by R. Yehudah b. Ilai to activities with respect to living persons: a form of cosmetics ( Mo`ed Katan 1:7) and a form of execution (M. Sanhedrin 7:3).On the other hand, the concept of nivul is used with respect to the dead in various places, including BT Arakhin 7a, Mo`ed Katan 27b-28a, and Bava Batra 154a.
The mitzvah to bury the dead in the ground is derived from Deuteronomy 21:23; see BT Sanhedrin The prohibition against unnecessary delay in burial is found in M. Sanhedrin 6:5, Yad, Avel 4:8, and Shulchan Arukh Yore De`ah 357:1.
Rabbi I. Y. Unterman, Shevet Mi’hudah (Jerusalem: Mosad Harav Kook, 1955), 54-55. Rabbi Unterman, who admits that his chidush (novel legal argument) is at first glance somewhat “strange” (muzar), compares organ transplantation to famous instances of resurrection (techiyat hametim) in the Bible (g., Ezekiel 37; II Kings 4): just as there is never a question of forbidden hana’ah in those Biblical cases, so there should be no similar issue with respect to transplantation. Like many chidushim, Unterman’s is forced and, we think, ultimately unpersuasive. Kidneys, corneal tissue and other organs retrieved from corpses are in fact “dead,” not “living,” at the time of the transplantation. Techiyat hametim, moreover, pertains not to the realm of human science but to the miracles traditionally associated with the end of days. The argument that pikuach nefesh takes precedence over the prohibition against deriving benefit from the dead is more than sufficient to permit this medical procedure. Still, Rabbi Unterman’s suggestion is an important example of the power of creative thinking in halakhah–a trait not restricted to liberal rabbis–and of the readiness of a leading posek to find a way to transcend the existing conceptual structure of Jewish law in a situation where it is vital to forge an affirmative response.
Ovadyah Yosef (20th-21st cent. Israel), Resp. Yabi`a Omer 3, Yore De`ah, no. 23. The classic precedent is provided by R. Yechezkel Landau (18^th cent. Bohemia), Resp. Noda Bi’hudah 2, Yore De`ah 210, who permits autopsies when the procedure is needed to uncover information to save the lives of persons “in our presence,” despite the fact that autopsy was generally regarded as an instance of nivul hamet. See as well R. Shaul Natanson (19^th cent. Galicia), Resp. Sho’el Umeshiv I, 1:231, who permitted the exhumation and examination of a corpse in order to determine its identity and to permit the deceased’s wife to remarry; nivul hamet applies only when the “desecration” is committed for no valid purpose, and sparing a woman from the fate of the agunah is indeed a valid purpose.
Yabi`a Omer 3, Yore De`ah, no. 22. R. Yosef cites the opinion of Rabbi Unterman (see at note 11) in this context.
For example, the “Matan Chaim” program of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations ( ) actively encourages organ donation.
BT Avodah Zarah 25a; Yad, Yesodey Hatorah 5:6; Shulchan Arukh Yore De`ah 155:2.
BT Sanhedrin The passage goes on to ask why the verse from Leviticus is necessary, seeing that the duty to rescue one’s fellow is also derived from Deuteronomy 22:2. It answers that the Leviticus verse adds an obligation to hire others to perform the rescue when one cannot personally perform that action.
BT Yoma
For details, see Shulchan Arukh Orach Chayim 328 and 618.
See below at note 44.
The Responsa Committee expresses its deep gratitude to the Committee on Bioethics of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, chaired by Harvey S. Gordon. M.D., for its invaluable assistance in the collection and analysis of the relevant scientific data.
T. Fan et al., “Safety of donors in live donor liver transplantation using right lobe grafts,” Archives of Surgery 135:3 (March, 2000), 336-340.
Fujita et al., “Hepatic grafts from live donors: donor morbidity for 470 cases of live donation,” Transplantation International 13:5 (2000), 333-339.
F. Renz and J. P. Roberts, “Long-term complications of living donor transplantation,” Liver Transplantation 6 (6 Suppl 2), S73-76.
S. Seaman, “Adult living donor liver transplantation: current status,” Journal of Clinical Gastroenterology 33:2 (August, 2001) 97-106.
“Panacea or peril? Do new treatments save lives or do they endanger them?” Medical Ethics Advisor, August 2001, citing Elizabeth Pomfret, M.D., director of live donor program at Lahey Clinic in Burlington, MA.
Robert S. Brown, Jr., in New England Journal of Medicine 348 (February, 2003), 818-825.
This maxim, most familiar in its Latin formulation primum non nocere, is often attributed to Hippocrates and/or Galen. Although both those authorities do make statements to this effect, the source of the precise wording remains unclear. See Albert R. Jonsen, “Do No Harm: Axiom of Medical Ethics,” in S. F. Spicker and H. Tristam Engelhardt, Jr., eds., Philosophical Medical Ethics: Its Nature and Significance (Boston: Reidel, 1977), 27-41.
Abecassis et al., “Consensus statement of the live donor organ,” Journal of the American Medical Association 284:22 (2000), 2919-2926.
This definition reflects the formulation of American law, represented especially by the leading case Canterbury v. Spence, 464 F.2d 772 (D.C. Cir. 1972). One of the major building blocks of the doctrine of informed consent was the decision of Judge Benjamin N. Cardozo in Schloendorff v. Society of N.Y. Hospital, 105 N.E. 92 (N.Y. 1914): “Every human being of adult years and sound mind has a right to determine what shall be done with his own body, and a surgeon who performs an operation without his patient’s consent commits an assault for which he is liable in damages.” See, in general, Ruth R. Faden, Tom L. Beauchamp, in collaboration with Nancy M.P. King, A History and Theory of Informed Consent (New York : Oxford University Press, 1986).
“Empirical studies show that most kidney donors make their decision to donate immediately after the subject of transplant is first mentioned to them, and no additional information has any effect on their decision”; J. D. Lantos and M. Siegler ,“Re-evaluating donor criteria: Live donors,” The Surgeon General’s Workshop on Increasing Organ Donation: Background Papers (July 8-10, 1991), (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, 1992), 271-290.
See Austern Garwood-Gowers, Living Donor Organ Transplantation: Key Legal and Ethical Issues (Brookfield, VT: Ashgate/Dartmouth, 1999), 67.
The foregoing rests upon the following sources: BT Sanhedrin 74a (“how do you know that your blood is redder than that of another?”); Rashi ad loc., v. mai chazit (the requirement to do nothing when faced with a choice between two lives); BT Bava Metzi`a 62a (in accordance with the view of Rabbi Akiva: when two men are lost in the desert, the one who holds the container of water may drink it all in order to survive–i.e., he allows the status quo to remain in effect–rather than share the water with his fellow or give it all to him).
See R. Ovadyah Yosef, who surveys the literature in his usual comprehensive manner and finds that “most of the later authorities” (rov ha’acharonim) hold this position; Yechaveh Da`at 3:84.
Yad, Rotzeach 1:14.
Me’iri, Beit Habechirah, Sanhedrin 73a (ed. A. Sofer, Frankfurt, 1930, pp.272-273).
Bayit Chadash to Tur, Choshen Mishpat
Sefer Me’irat Einayim, Choshen Mishpat 426, no. 1.
Among these are: R. Yonah Ashkenaazi (15^th Germany), Sefer Isur Veheter, kelal 59, no. 38; R. Shneur Zalman of Liady (18^th cent.), Shulchan Arukh Harav, Orach Chayim 329:8; R. Naftali Tzvi Yehudah Berlin (19^th cent. Volozhyn), Ha`amek Hashe’elah, she’lta 147, end; R. Yosef Babad (19^th cent. Poland), Minchat Chinukh, mitzvah 237, no. 2; R. Eliezer Yehudah Waldenberg, Resp. Tzitz Eliezer 9:45, ch. 7; R. Yechiel Ya`akov Weinberg (20^th cent. Germany-Switzerland), Resp. Seridei Eish 2:78; R. Ya`akov Breisch (20^th cent. Germany-Switzerland), Resp. Chelkah Ya`akov, Choshen Mishpat, no. 33; R. Moshe Feinstein (20^th cent. USA), Resp. Igerot Moshe, Yoreh De`ah 2:174.
One of these passages is the dilemma of the “two men lost in the desert” (BT Bava Metzi`a 62a). There, Ben Petura requires the one who holds the water to share it with his fellow, even if both of them will thereby die of thirst, while R. Akiva rules that the one who holds the water should keep in for himself, insuring his survival. R. Berlin (see the preceding note) understands Ben Petura’s position as a hopeful stopgap: if the two men share the water, perhaps they can survive a day or two and someone will come along to rescue them. Thus, sharing the water does not place its owner in a situation of mortal danger but of possible danger; after all, he will not necessarily die if he shares it. Thus, by ruling that the man need not share the water, R. Akiva declares that he must not risk even safek sakanah in order to save his fellow.
See Rashi, BT Yoma 85b, v. deshmuel leit leih pirka.
After Proverbs 3:17.
Radbaz 3:627. Radbaz does conclude that if the first Jew is certain that he will not die if the oppressors sever, say, his hand or foot, he is permitted to submit to this demand as an act of piety (midat chasidut). He warns, however, that if there is any danger that the severing of the organ will lead to the “donor’s” death, he is forbidden even on grounds of piety from assenting to this demand.
Minchat Yitzchak 6:103.
Yosef, note 33; R. Waldenberg, Resp. Tzitz Eliezer 10:25, ch. 7; R. Yisrael Meir Lau (20th-21st cent. Israel), Resp. Yichal Yisrael, no. 73.
See R. Unterman (note 11), 17-21. One example: the case of the two men lost in the desert (BT Bava Metzi`a 62a). As we have seen (at note 39), R. Naftali Tzvi Yehudah Berlin interprets the act of sharing the water as placing one’s life in a state of safek sakanah. Hence, because we follow Rabbi Akiva, who rules that one is forbidden to share his water, we learn that one is forbidden to risk safek sakanah in order to save the life of another. Yet this reading of the case is surely forced. The Talmud never hints that the men may be rescued in a day or two. On the contrary: “if they both drink the water, they will both die (Rashi: because there is not enough water to allow them to reach the next settlement).” There is no ambiguity here: by sharing his water, the man holding the container risks mortal danger (vadai sakanah). The story teaches us nothing about his obligation should he run the risk of less-than-mortal danger (safek sakanah).
See, for example, R. Yair Bachrach (17^th Germany), Resp. Chavat Yair, no. 146, on BT Bava Metzi`a 62a: R. Akiva forbids the holder of the container to share his water only because if he does so he will certainly die (i.e., a case of vadai sakanah). But if by sharing the water he were to face a lesser degree of danger (safek sakanah), R. Akiva would rule that he must do so in order to rescue his fellow from mortal danger.
Barukh Halevy Epstein (20^th cent. Lithuania), Torah Temimah to Lev. 19:16, no. 110, learns from the stories surrounding R. Chaninah ben Dosa that one is required to risk potential danger in order to rescue.
On Maimonides, see above at note 34. On the Shulchan Arukh, see above at note 37. In the latter case, although there is no mention of the element of danger, either safek or vadai–indeed, the author, R. Yosef Karo, merely repeats Rambam’s formulation–the commentary Sefer Me’irat Einayim notes that Karo omits mention of the opposing view, namely that one is obliged to risk safek sakanah in order to rescue. Given that Karo does mention that opposing view in his Kesef Mishneh to Yad, Rotzeach 1:14 and Beit Yosef to Tur Choshen Mishpat 426, its omission in the Shulchan Arukh is taken to imply his agreement that one must not risk safek sakanah. This is an argument from silence, which however persuasive it may be to some is hardly conclusive.
The passage apparently is PT Terumot 8:4 (46b), the story of R. Shimeon ben Lakish’s rescue of a kidnaped colleague. R. Yosef Karo, in his Kesef Mishneh (Yad, Rotzeach 1:14) and Beit Yosef (Choshen Mishpat 426), claims that this passage was cited as halakhicly authoritative by the 13^th- Hagahot Maimoniot, although the citation does not appear in our printed versions of that work.
See R. Waldenberg (note 38), who suggests that it is not clear from the Yerushalmi text that the halakhah in fact follows R. Shimeon b. Lakish.
See R. Bachrach, note 46, and R. Shmuel di Medinah [16^th Italy], Resp. Maharashdam, Yoreh De`ah 204.
Arukh Hashulchan, Choshen Mishpat 426, par. 4.
This is a quotation from Sanhedrin 4:5. A number of manuscript variants omit the word “Jewish” from the text; see Dikdkey Soferim to Sanhedrin 37a and Chanokh Albeck’s hashlamot to M. Sanhedrin 4:5 in his edition of the Mishnah. We would agree that the word “Jewish” is out of place in this text: first, because the context clearly refers to a general human situation and not a specifically Jewish one; and second, because as Reform Jews we adhere to a tradition of moral thought that makes no distinction between Jews and Gentiles in matters that have nothing to do with ritual law.
Pitchey Teshuvah to Choshen Mishpat 426, no. 2. “As we have learned elsewhere,” etc. refers to BT Bava Metzi`a 33a and Shulchan Arukh Choshen Mishpat 264:1, on the laws of returning a lost object.
Shevet Mi’hudah (note 11), 21.
See Avot 5:10: “One who says ‘what is mine is mine and what is yours is yours’ is of an average level of morality. But some say that this is the characteristic of Sodom.”
See note 38.
See note 33. R. Yosef, to be sure, declares that one is not permitted to risk safek sakanah in order to save another person, but he insists that the term “potential risk” be reserved for substantive dangers (safek shakul, a “weighty” potential risk) rather than for more tenuous, far-fetched possibilities of danger (ketzat safek sakanah). In this point, his reasoning closely follows that of Rabbi Unterman (note 55).
On the categories reshut (a permitted act), mitzvah (a praiseworthy act, one that fulfills the Torah’s higher aspirations but is not absolutely required), and chovah (a required, obligatory act), see our responsum no. 5758.3, “In Vitro Fertilization and the Mitzvah of Childbearing,” ( ), at notes 47-48.
For example, when a relative does not wish to donate an organ, the physicians can explain to the family that “medical complications” rule out that relative as a donor. Though this is an untruth, our tradition does permit us to tell such “little white lies” in order to preserve family peace (shalom bayit). See tractate Derekh Eretz Zuta, chapter “Hashalom,” and Rashi to Genesis 18:13.

If needed, please consult Abbreviations used in CCAR Responsa.

NYP no. 5766.1

CCAR RESPONSA

5766.1

When A Parent Instructs A Child Not To Say Kaddish

She’elah
A convert is anticipating the way in which she will mourn for her elderly and ailing father. He has never been entirely reconciled to her conversion to Judaism, and his own parents, she says, were out-and-out anti-Semites. The father plans to be buried in the family plot near his own father. He has asked his daughter not to recite Kaddish over his grave, citing his own parents. negative feelings toward Judaism. The daughter now faces a conflict between the obligation to honor her father’s wishes (kibud av) and her own Jewish mourning practices. When the time comes, should she ignore her father’s wishes and recite Kaddish at his grave? (Rabbi David Ostrich, State College, PA)

Teshuvah

A person’s choice to become a Jew should be an occasion for happiness in our community. Unfortunately, as in this case, that decision can be accompanied by family tension and lingering bitterness. Our Committee cannot directly speak to this woman’s difficult family situation; that is a personal issue that must be addressed in her conversations with her rabbi. Our task is to consider the more formal question she poses: what is the Jewish religious duty of the Jew-by-choice in such a case? We do hope, though, that our words will offer some emotional support to her and to others who face a similar dilemma.

1. The Ger’s Obligation To Mourn Non-Jewish Relatives. We begin with our tradition’s discussion of the relationship between the ger, the Jew-by-choice, and his/her blood relatives. The Talmud declares that “the one who converts to Judaism is like a newborn child,”[1] expressing the conviction that the proselyte begins a brand new life upon joining the Jewish people. In a legal sense, this means that all blood ties between the ger and his or her non-Jewish relatives are rendered null and void.[2] However, the halakhah does not develop this principle to its logical extreme. For example, a Jew-by-choice is not permitted to marry any blood relative that would be forbidden to a born Jew, even though according to the halakhah they are not his “relatives.” Similarly, the ger is required to honor her Gentile parents, even though she is a “newborn child” and they, technically, are no longer her mother and father. The law makes these exceptions to the rule of the convert’s “newborn” status because “let it not be said that a proselyte has descended in holiness.”[3] That is, conversion to Judaism should not serve as a justification for behavior considered shameful by all people, Jews and non-Jews alike. Our Reform tradition applies this reasoning to the case of the mourner as well. Thus, the Jew-by-choice observes the rites of mourning for his or her non-Jewish relatives in the same way that a born Jew would mourn his or her loved ones. This includes the obligation to recite Kaddish for them.[4]

2. May A Parent Exempt A Child From The Duty To Say Kaddish? The ger owes the same moral obligation to his or her parents as does the Jew by birth. We must now consider the following question: what is the duty of any Jew whose parent requests that he or she not recite Kaddish when the parent dies? On the one hand, as our she’elah indicates, it is a mitzvah to honor and to revere our parents,[5] which implies that we should endeavor to fulfill their wishes, especially those they communicate to us toward the end of their life.[6] On the other hand, our parents are not entitled to demand that we violate other mitzvot,[7] and perhaps this means that they may not require that we forego the traditional practices of mourning (avelut).

The view among traditional authorities is mixed. The 19th-century Galician posek R. Shaul Nathanson[8] rules that a child should honor a parent’s instruction not to say Kaddish for him or her. His reason is that the recitation of the mourner’s Kaddish (kadish yatom) is for the benefit of the dead. Traditionally, it is considered a tikun lenefesh hamet, an act of expiation by the son that speeds his parent’s entry into Paradise or the World to Come.[9] Since a person is entitled to reject a benefit that another wishes to confer upon him, the child is not obligated to recite Kaddish against the parent’s wishes. R. Ovadyah Yosef, the contemporary Israeli scholar, takes the opposing view: the child should not honor this request, for had the parent truly considered how important it was that his soul be lifted toward Paradise, he never would have instructed the child not to recite Kaddish.[10] This dispute evokes the Talmudic discussion over the eulogy (hesped):[11] do we honor the deceased’s request that he not be eulogized at his funeral? Is the eulogy “an honor for the dead,” in which case the deceased is entitled to forego the honor, or “an honor for the living,” in which case we would say that the deceased cannot deny his mourners an honor to which they are entitled? The later authorities determine that the eulogy is “for the honor of the dead”; hence, they rule that we obey the deceased’s request that no eulogy be recited.[12] Both Nathanson and Yosef regard the Kaddish as “an honor for the dead” that the deceased may refuse, though Yosef holds that such a refusal cannot be understood as an “informed decision.”

We Reform Jews take a different approach to the theology of Kaddish. We do not believe that we elevate the souls of our dead to Paradise by reciting Kaddish for them. Rather, we recite Kaddish because it is the primary liturgical expression of traditional Jewish mourning. For us, it evokes the unbroken link of memory that binds every Jewish generation to its past. Its recitation is the way we declare our faith, even at the darkest moments of loss, in the eternity of Israel’s covenant with God, in the triumph of hope and “in the coming of the Divine kingdom.”[13] We no longer hold, therefore, that the recitation of Kaddish is “for the honor of the dead”; it is, however, vitally important for us that we say it. As such, this ritual indisputably serves “the honor of the living,” and the dead, according to the Talmudic principle, are not entitled to deny us the “honor” – we would prefer to say “responsibility” – of mourning as Jews. Thus, we recite Kaddish whether or not our loved ones request us to do so, or even if they forbid us from doing so after they are gone.

3. To Honor One’s (Non-Jewish) Parent. A Jew is therefore obligated to say Kaddish and to mourn a parent even though the parent has instructed the child to the contrary.[14] Our duty to honor our parents does not empower them to demand that we cease to act as Jews. This parent, however, is a non-Jew who for his own very heartfelt reasons does not want his daughter to recite Kaddish over his grave. She might argue that her practice of mourning is her own business, one that flows from her sense of Jewish religious duty, and that this duty overrides any obligation to honor his wishes. Yet this non-Jewish father has every right to believe that the commandment “honor your father and your mother” prohibits his daughter from drawing him against his will into a world of religious duty and observance that is not his own. We are speaking, after all, of his funeral, his burial place in a non-Jewish cemetery. Seen from this perspective, the daughter who stands at that place and recites Kaddish is no longer simply “minding her own business” or “mourning in her own way”; she has invaded her father’s “space” with Jewish ritual in direct contradiction to his wishes.

We think that the daughter should honor her father’s request and not say Kaddish at his grave. We base our conclusion primarily upon two reasons.

First, to say Kaddish over the father’s grave in violation of his explicit instruction would smack of religious coercion. As we have noted in another context, our experience as Jews in a free society has made us quite sensitive to actions that, however unobjectionable they appear to some, strike others as an unwanted intrusion of religion into their lives. We reject those actions when others perform them; we should avoid them as well.[15]

Second, since the funeral service will be a non-Jewish one, taking place in a non-Jewish cemetery, it is arguably inappropriate to introduce Jewish ritual into that setting. Such, after all, is our own policy: although we in the Reform movement permit the burial of non-Jews in our cemeteries, we insist that the burial service be a liturgy of our own devising, that no non-Jewish liturgy be used, and that no non-Jewish religious symbolism be displayed during the service or on the tombstone.[16] We believe that this is a reasonable standard, and we also believe it to be reasonable when non-Jews apply it to their services. It is only right to accord to this father the same understanding that, were the situation reversed, we would ask of him.

Note that we are speaking of the non-Jewish funeral and the father’s grave. It is there that the daughter should honor her father’s wishes. Elsewhere, however, her decisions as to how she shall mourn are very much her own. If, for example, her father had requested that she never say Kaddish for him, even while observing shiv`ah or at a synagogue service, she would be under no obligation to honor that request. In those Jewish settings, her wishes and her sense of religious duty would prevail over his. Fortunately, the father’s request does not seem to extend beyond the boundaries of the cemetery in which he is to be buried.

Conclusion. We have argued the following points.

The Jew-by-choice owes the same duty of honor to his or her parents as does the born Jew. This includes the obligation to mourn them when they die.
A Jewish parent is not entitled to instruct his or her child not observe the rites of mourning or recite Kaddish. The child, though obliged to “honor” the parent, has no duty to fulfill such an instruction.
The Jew-by-choice should honor his or her non-Jewish parent’s request that Kaddish not be recited and other Jewish rites not be performed at the parent’s grave in the non-Jewish cemetery. At his or her home or in any other Jewish setting, however, the ger should recite Kaddish and mourn as a Jew, even if the parent had requested otherwise.Our teshuvah attempts to chart a compromise between two sets of duties: the duty of every Jew to mourn our loved ones in a Jewish manner and our duty to honor our parents. These duties usually do not conflict, since our parents are not entitled to demand that we abandon our Jewish practices in order to please them. In this case, the dying father does not ask that his daughter abandon her Judaism. He has asked her, however, not to recite Kaddish at his grave, because he is struggling with his own issues of filial responsibility and because he perceives the introduction of Jewish ritual into that non-Jewish setting as an encroachment upon his own religious integrity. Although his daughter does not share that perception, we think it is a reasonable one and that he is entitled to make that request.
It is indeed unfortunate, from our standpoint, that the father has never become “entirely reconciled” to his daughter’s conversion. We hope that, as his death approaches, a way can be found to resolve, at least in part, the issues that have divided them. And we believe that, by honoring her father in acceding to this request, the daughter would take a significant step toward that end.

NOTES

1.         B. Yevamot 22a and parallels.

2.         For example, a ger may testify in court concerning his brother; Yad, Edut 13:3 and Shulchan Arukh Choshen Mishpat 33:11.

3.         B. Yevamot 22a. On marriage, see Yad, Isurey Bi’ah 14:12 and Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De`ah 269:1. On honoring one’s Gentile parent, see Yad, Mamrim 5:11 and Kesef Mishneh ad loc.

4.         Contemporary American Reform Responsa, no. 121 (http://data.ccarnet.org/cgi-bin/respdisp.pl?file=121&year=carr). At least one Orthodox posek rules likewise; see R. Aharon Walkin, Resp. Zekan Aharon 2:87. The codes, it should be noted, exempt the ger from the obligation to mourn for a blood relative, including a parent (Yad, Avel 2:3 and Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De`ah 374:5). This stance is justified on the basis of the dictum, cited above, that “the one who converts to Judaism is like a newborn child” (Kesef Mishneh to Avel 2:3). For our part, we would argue that this ruling conflicts with the halakhah’s explicitly stated desire that the ger live according to the same standard of holiness as the born Jew; see the sources in the preceding note. It therefore makes no religious sense to us to require the Jew-by-choice to honor his parents when they are alive but to exempt her from the requirement to mourn them when they are dead. Rather, we encourage this Jewish person to express his or her feelings at such a moment in the way that all Jews express them. We think this position is preferable to forced efforts to reconcile the halakhah, as traditionally interpreted, with modern sensibilities; see, for example, Maurice Lamm, The Jewish Way in Death and Mourning (New York: Jonathan David, 1969), 82-83.

5.         Exodus 20:12 and Deuteronomy 5:16; Leviticus 19:3.

6.         “It is a mitzvah to fulfill a dying person’s instructions”; B. Gitin 14b and parallels; Yad, Zekhiah 4:4-5; Shulchan Arukh Choshen Mishpat 125:8.

7.         B. Yevamot 5b; Yad, Mamrim 6:12; Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De`ah 240:15.

8.         Resp. Sho’el Uumeshiv v. 3, 1:259.

9.         On the history of the Kaddish, with a discussion of the origins of the mourner’s Kaddish, see Ismar Elbogen, Jewish Liturgy (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1993), 80-84.

10.       Resp. Yabi`a Omer 6, Yoreh De`ah 31, par. 4.

11.       B. Sanhedrin 46b.

12.       Yad, Avel 12:1; Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De`ah 344:10. Whether we would rule that way is another question, but one that we need not address here.

13.       See Gates of Prayer, 628.

14.       See Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De`ah 344:10 and commentaries. Some authorities take the view that all the rituals of avelut, including shiv`ah, sheloshim, etc., are “for the honor of the dead” and that the dead may exempt the mourners from the obligation to observe these practices. Others disagree (see Kol Bo `al Avelut, 301, par. 7), and we side with them. We see the practices of mourning as important religious expressions for the mourners, quite apart from what the deceased would have wished.

15.       See Questions and Reform Jewish Answers, no. 93, “A Circumcision without Parental Consent” (http://data.ccarnet.org/cgi-bin/respdisp.pl?file=93&year=narr). The case there involved a mohel’s surreptitious recitation of the berakhot of milah at a medical circumcision of a Jewish boy whose parents had explicitly requested that no religious ritual take place.

16.       Rabbi’s Manual (New York, CCAR, 1987), 250-251; Simeon Maslin, ed., Gates of Mitzvah (New York: CCAR, 1979), 57; American Reform Responsa, no. 99 (http://data.ccarnet.org/cgi-bin/respdisp.pl?file=99&year=arr).

If needed, please consult Abbreviations used in CCAR Responsa.