I have no doubt that most of those who have glanced at the question in the title have already answered it – in the negative. The majority of even orthodox Jewish parents, and of yeshivah students themselves, are not receptive to the thought of the rabbinate as a full time career. Unquestionably, one of the more important reasons for this attitude is the confused idea most of us have of the typical rabbi. A number of mutually inconsistent and undefined images compete for our conception of the rabbi today. Because of a cultural or psychological lag, there is one s'creo- type that often dominates our think- ing. It persists stubbornly in the re- cesses of our unconscious although we know, on the conscious level, that real flesh-and-blood rabbis bear very little semblance to that unfortunate image. This is the woeful picture of the pious rav, who struggles valiantly to make ends meet, hopelessly out of touch with “real life,” and whose people treat him respectfully but patroniz- ingly. Despite the fact that this kind of rabbi has been superseded in the past decades by a far different sort of rabbi—more assertive, more confident, receiving respect without a trace of condescension—this impression does have a hold on the minds and mem- ories of some parents whose personal December. 1960 experiences in the early part of this century discourage them from con- sidering the rabbinate for their sons. The yeshivah student who rules the rabbinate out of his future is moti- vated by a quite different stereotype, one which bears a greater resemblance to reality, but is still a distortion, for a modern rabbi need not necessarily conform to it. Paddy Chayefsky cari- catured this type in his “The Tenth Man"—a smooth, suave, disillusioned, philistinic young religious functionary. The intellectually honest and idealistic student of any of our many yeshivoth feels an abhorrence and disdain for this kind of imitation-rabbi who spends his life in a weird nightmare of flat- tery, submissi…

Orthodox Jews have generally taken a detached and unalarmed view toward the successive fads and fashions in contemporary apikorsut. But when such movements are sponsored by theologians, and are widely discussed in the daily press and in weekly news magazines, it is important to understand them and evaluate them in the light of the sacred sources of the Jewish tradition. A number of Christian theologians, climaxing a development that has been some years in the making in their circles, have put forth their ideas in a manner as shocking as it is honest, and as scandalous as it is forthright. Instead of clothing their atheism in artificial, long-winded, technical terminology, they have accepted the slogan first coined by a German philosopher of the last century: “God is dead.” The very blasphemousness of this impression explains why it makes such good copy for the pseudo-sophisticated weeklies, and tempts young professors of theology to break out of the stifling atmosphere of the ivory towers and into a breathtaking sensationalism. These theologians have made so much noise with their smart slogan that nowadays one expects to look for news of theology not in the Religion section of the press, but in the Obituary columns.Their criticism of the “old-fashioned religion"—especially if we seek to apply it to Judaism—is crude cari-cature, almost vulgar in its insinua-tions. They have set up a straw man and now knock it down. No intelli-gent Jew ever thought of G-d as a man with a long white beard who lives in a castle beyond the sun. No half-sophisticated human being who believed in G-d ever imagined Him as orbiting the globe in a space ship, somewhere out there.Any imputation of such primitive concepts to religious folk of ages past is merely a species of intellectual dishonesty.believe they are saying three things.First, they are preaching atheism, pure and simple. Second, they areasserting a form of deism. Tiiat is, they reject the idea of divine person-ality. They believ…

האמנות והמדע של חכמת הדרוש נקלעו למעמד לא מכובד, ואולי אף לחוסר שימוש, במהלך דור או שניים. סוציולוגים של היהדות האורתודוקסית חייבים לשים לב לכך. כשאני עצמי התחלתי בלימודי הסמיכה בישיבת רבינו יצחק אלחנן וישיבה־אוניברסיטה, וכשנכנסתי לרבנות שנתיים לאחר מכן, היחס לדרוש היה רציני מאוד מצד אלה מבינינו שראו ברבנות קריירה לתקופת חיים שלמה. אמנם, הזמן שהוקצה לכך בתכנית הלימודים היה מועט לעומת תלמוד ופוסקים, אך בסוף שנות הארבעים וראשית שנות החמישים עדיין היתה מודעות לדרשה – לה היתה משמעות חינוכית מכובדת, הישגים מוכחים, ומסורת שיטתית. חשיבותה של ההטפה זכתה אז להערכת יתר – להבדיל מהיחס המזלזל כלפיה כיום. אינני מתיימר להיות היסטוריון של הרבנות; הפרשנות שלי סובייקטיבית ואימפרסיוניסטית, אך אני מציע את התבוננותי לכל שימוש שהוא ולכל תלמיד המבקש להתעמק בגורלה של הספרות הרבנית והפעילות המקצועית. אהבתי את הדרוש, ואני מצטער על ליקוייו בעת האחרונה. כאשר אני טוען שהיחס לדרוש בשנות הארבעים והחמישים היה רציני, איני מתכוון לומר שהיתה אחדות דעים בנוגע להערכת סוג מסוים של דרוש – “פער הדורות” היה אז חריף במיוחד. רבנים אירופיים מנוסים בזו למה שבעיניהם היה להט רטורי חסר טעם שהשמיעו רבנים צעירים ילידי או מחונכי ארצות הברית, והצעירים לעומתם חשו לעיתים קרובות שעמיתיהם המבוגרים מציעים תוכן בלתי רלוונטי. עם זאת, כל קבוצה התייחסה בכבוד לסגנונה של האחרת. כיום המצב שונה ומדאיג – תלמידי ישיבה ותיקים וגם רבנים צעירים אינם רואים בדרוש יוזמה רצינית, בהתאם לכך גם דרשותיהם משקפות שטחיות, ולעיתים הדרוש עצמו בעיניהם הוא שם נרדף לשלילה. בעיניהם, דרוש הוא ביטוי להתבטאות יומרנית, שטחית, נטולת ערך אינטלקטואלי. תופעה זו היא חלק ממערך רחב יותר של שינויי סמכות במבנה הקהילתי – סמכות הרב מוחלפת לא פעם בסמכות הרבי או ראש הישיבה. גם אם הרב למדן ומורה מובהק, עליו לרכוש את לב הקהילה כולה – לא רק את תלמידיו – דרך הדרשה לא פחות מאשר דרך השיעור. החלשת הדרוש היא אפוא בבואה של שינוי מעמיק בסמלי הסמכות הדתית. יסוד נוסף לכך הוא הצורך בזהות אידיאולוגית מבדלת – הקיטוב בין האורתודוקסים ללא־אורתודוקסים דוחף להיבדלות חזותית (כגון מגבעות שחורות), סגנונית ותוכנית. הלא־אורתודוקסים מבליטים את הטקס; האורתודוקסים מגיבים בהעדפת שיעור על פני ד…

To be a rabbi, one must first of all be a ben Torah. What or who is a ben Torah? The translation, “a scholar of the Torah,” does not do the term justice – it is far too restrictive. A better definition would be “a Torah person” – bearing in mind that one cannot truly be a “Torah person” without first being an accomplished Torah scholar. What, then, are the extra ingredients, beyond talmudic learning, that go to make up a Torah person, a Torah personality? Someone once said that education is what a person has left after he has forgotten all that he has learned. Applying this to a ben Torah, we might then ask what distinguishes a ben Torah from others after you have subtracted all that he has learned of Talmud Bavli and Yerushalmi, of Rashi and Tosafot, of Rishonim and Acharonim, of Rambam and Ramban, of Tur and Shulchan Aruch, of Shach and Taz, of R. Hayyim and R. Akiva Eger. Remove all that and ask: What makes (or should make) us different and special? What, in other words, are the attitudinal foundations that inform the mentality of a ben Torah? The most obvious and the primary answer is that a Torah person loves and esteems the Torah and Torah learning. So, if a ben Torah forgets all that he has learned, his first task is—to learn it all over again. “For [the words of Torah] are our life and the length of our days” (Siddur). Inscribed in the cornerstone of our yeshiva is the principle that R. Hayyim of Volozhin cemented 180 years ago in the foundation of his yeshiva, Yeshivat Etz Hayyim, the mother of all yeshivot since. This mishnaic dictum, v'talmud Torah k’negged kulam—the study of Torah outweighs all other commandments—is to be taken not quantitatively, but functionally. The study of Torah is not only greater than the sum of all the other commandments; it is their very source. Torah is the “tree of life“; all the other commandments are the branches of that tree. Accordingly, the study of Torah is the source of all Jewish life. That is why your overarching co…

The art and science of homiletics have fallen into disfavor and even disuse in the course of a generation or two. Sociologists of contemporary Orthodox Judaism have yet to take note of this phenomenon, although it will surely some day merit at least a footnote in some historian's tome on the American Orthodox rabbinate in the last quarter of the twentieth century.When I began my Semikhah studies at Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary (RIETS) of Yeshiva University, and when I entered the rabbi- nate two years later, derush was taken seriously by those of us who considered the rabbinate as a life-long career. True, the amount of time devoted to it in the curriculum was minimal relative to Talmud and Poskim. But at the end of the fifth and beginning of the sixth decades of this century, there was still a consciousness of derush as a respectable discipline with its own skills and traditions and methodology as well as an invaluable asset for the practicing rabbi. The significance of preaching was almost as overemphasized 35 years ago as it is underestimated today.I do not pretend to be an historian of the rabbinate, and 1 have not consulted whatever data are available. My comments are subjective and impressionistic, and I offer my observations and anecdotal fragments for whatever use they may be, if any, to scholars who may ponder the fate of this genre of rabbinic literature and professional activity. I do so because I love derush and rue its eclipse in recent times.When I say that derush was taken seriously in the '40's and '50's, I do not mean to imply that there was unanimity of opinion as to the value of any particular form of derush. The "generation gap" was particularly acute in that period. Older, European trained rabbis looked with undis- guised contempt upon what they considered the blather that the younger, American born or educated rabbis were preaching to their con-gregations. The latter were amused at the irrelevant, arcane, and often involuted dera…

We at Yeshiva University hardly expect you to be full-fledged posekim (those who rule on Jewish law) and accomplished experts in human relations from the moment you are placed in your first, or even second, position. But your baalebatim do not know — and perhaps do not want to know — this, and so you must be prepared with some guidelines even as you expect to learn much "on the job.Of the many things that ought to be on your agenda regarding your baalebatim, let me mention three. The first obligation of a rabbi is chesed — loving kindness, care, generosity. You will be judged by your menschlichkcit (decency) as much as, or more than, your lomdus (learning).You are not only going to sit in your synagogue office or class- room and dispense wisdom or offer a fine analysis of a halachic text. You will also have to take care of the poor and the single par- ent and the latchkey child. You will have to hear people's problems and counsel them and find help for them. And that is a state of mind, a spiritual mission, and an art — all rolled into one. It will take time, but you will learn it. So, work on yourselves! Both you and your people will benefit.The second thing you must leam is courage — the courage to resist and to stand alone. You are entering a world that is crazy —from the French, ecrase, split or cracked — confronted by new problems even while wrestling with stubborn old ones, full of paradoxes and antinomies and contradic- tions and absurdities — espe- cially those thrown up by sci- ence and technology, such as the potential for humans to direct the future evolution of the species.You will have to consult your rebbeim (teachers) and older colleagues, and some day you may be called on to make such fateful decisions. You will confront a Jewish world disappearing at the margins, with an entrenched secularism that refuses to budge from old and tired for- mulas. You will be faced by young Jews who have …

First, you who are this day being invested in the rabbinate dare not be discouraged! The Sefer Chasidim of R. Yehuda Ha-Hasid teaches us that one who composes chiddushei Torah (Torah writings) and does not publish them is guilty of being mo’el behekdesh, of illicit use of sacred property, because our intellectual achievements in Torah are the gift of the Almighty and we dare not keep them to ourselves and deny them to our fellow Jews. And if this is true of Torah novellae, which another talmid chakham may well be able to disprove, how much more so is it true of creating Torah personalities, of making Jews who will live and support Torah! You have no moral right to be frightened, no right to abandon your fellow Jews, no right to hoard Torah for yourselves and deny it to others – even though you are reluctant and they are unreceptive! Some of you who are blessed with the gift of leadership may soon rise to be the agents of great, perhaps dramatic, improvements in the relationship between Torah and Israel. But each of you can, if you will it, make at least a dent here and a change there, so that together you will have achieved mighty contributions, together with other musmakhim of our Yeshiva and other yeshivot and benei Torah from all over the country. The second “negative commandment” is: do not allow yourselves to be sucked into any of the fashionable extremisms that are tearing our people apart. They are tempting, even seductive. Supporting them can make us feel good emotionally without burdening our intellects. Extremism threatens to rip off the thin membrane of civilization that covers the inner volcano of violence. Violence from the mouth of a gun is a cancer that grows from the verbal violence from the mouth of a careless speaker or the pen of an irresponsible writer. And the oncogene – the cancer's seed – is extremism in dehumanizing your adversary. There is a special obligation that lies upon all who have influence over the public – especially younger peopl…