It is a distinct pleasure for me to be privileged to address you, the Jewish community of Stanford, this evening. My heartfelt and sincerest thanks go to your respected spiritual leader, my old friend and fellow student, Rabbi Ehrenkrantz, for having bestowed upon me the honor of speaking from his pulpit. In the portion of the week which we will read tomorrow, we learn of the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai. God delivers to Moses two tablets upon which are written the Ten Commandments. Yet this is not the only time that the drama of Matan Torah is acted out upon the wilds of Sinai. For these first tablets are soon destroyed, by Moses himself, in a fit of against his own people whom he finds dancing about a golden calf. It is only after this, when Moses ascends Sinai for the second and last time to receive the Torah, that the tablets he brings down are everlasting. This time the Torah and the Ten Commandments are here to stay. And, 10 and behold, the skin of Moses’ face beamed, a majestic halo radiated about his head. His holy mission accomplished successfully, Moses radiates the soft warm glow of a task well done.And why is it, we may *ask, that the flrat Matan Torah was an abysmal failure, the tablets were destroyed utterly, and the second Matan Torah was a glorious success, leaving the Ten Commandments as an eternal and timeless gift to all mankind? What was it in the very nature of the procedure of the first Matan Torah which doomed it to failure, and what blessed quality was it which destined the second Tablets to their great role in Eternity?The first act of Matan Torah, as we read pf it in today's Sidra, turned Mt. Sinai into a universal stage of unparalleled melodrama• ״And it came to pass on the third day, when it was morning, that there was thunder and lightning and a thick cloud upon the mount, and the voice of a shofar exceedingly loud; and all the people that wore In the camp trembled" And to this Biblical description, our Rabbis add, that then, as M…

Now that you are Bar Mitzvah, and have attained your majority, Jewish Law holds you legally responsible for all your actions. You are now expected to act as a mature member of your people and to do your duty as an adult Jew. But you are not beginning on this new venture of a fully responsible Jew as a raw recruit. You have been trained for this role many years. Your stay at the Religious School, your home environment and your parents’ guidance have all been directing you towards this high goal. You have had a basic training for your actions as a good Jew.One of the things which you will be expected to keep and observe, and for which you have been trained for all your thirteen years, is one of the Ten Commandments which we read this morning. כבד את אביך ואת אמך, “Honor your father and mother.” This is a well-known commandment, and which goes to the very root of all family life and respect. But this commandment is different from the other nine of the Asseres Ha’dibros in a special way. The other commandments merely tell you what to do and what not to do. This one adds something – it tells you what the reward is for abiding by this law – למען יאריכון ימיך, it is the promise of longevity, long life, “that thy days may be long.” Haven’t you ever wondered, Julius, why this mitzvah above all others is accompanied by a promise of long life, long days?Well, I want to give you an answer to that question which my grandfather gave me on my Bar Mitzvah day, and which he heard from his father on the same occasion in his life.It happens many times, Julius, that because of lack of experience in life, you start out upon a venture which may last a day or a month or a year or many years, and which you later regret. At the end of a certain period of time, you look backwards, and think to yourself, Oh, if only somebody had warned me beforehand that a course of action of this sort was bound to end in failure. If only somebody with more experience than me had opened my eyes and directed …

If an election were held among the peoples of the world to determine which was the most popular document in the universe, there is no doubt but that most of the votes would be cast in favor of the Ten Commandments. It is the recognized cornerstone of the world’s great religions. It is a code which is accepted even by many atheists. It is the model for many great literary works. It is preached, and preached about, more than any other comparable document. Yet, curiously, the Decalogue or “asseress ha’dibros” crops up in a Jew’s talk only in those weeks when the Sidras of Yissro and Va’eschanan are read, for then the Decalogue too is read. Otherwise, the Ten Commandments are a relatively insignificant part of the Jewish religious vocabulary. At a “Bris Milah” we mention Torah and Good Deeds – not the Ten Commandments. To the parents of a young boy starting on his school career, we express our wishes for a future of Torah – nothing is said of the Decalogue. And to the Bar Mitzvah, unless his birthday be in the week of Parshass Yissro, we speak of Tradition, and education, and home, and Torah – not of the Asseress Ha’dibross. Now, why is that? Why does the Traditional Jew, despite his observance of them, not have such an abnormal oratorical attraction for the Ten Commandments which his deviationist fellow Jews have? Why does the Orthodox Rabbi preach about the Ten Commandments so much less frequently than does the Conservative or Reform rabbi?The answer is, that the Decalogue as such and as it is commonly understood, is too simple a formula. There is something mighty suspicious about ten easy rules to this complex business of life. The Traditional Jew, perhaps because of his Tradition, or because of his background in scholarship or because of his grasp of reality, is keenly aware of the fallacies of over-simplification, of its tragically disappointing results and even its heretical consequences. Life is a harsh, intricate, complicated affair, and ten rules alone and by …

Standing fifth in that eternal list of Ten Commandments is the statement: Kabeid es avicha ve’es imecha, “Honor thy father and thy mother.” This commandment is perhaps the most well-known of all. No child grows up without hearing those words brandished at him at one time or another. Even those who believe in little else accept this mitzvah. And the Rabbis equated the honoring of parents to the honor one must accord G-d. And yet, its fate has been a strange one. The history of this commandment has been one of oscillation or shifting from one extreme to another. In ancient Sodom, that hot-bed of wickedness, parents were regarded as surplus chattel, and when no longer able to do work, they were disposed of. A world reeking with such a Sodomite attitude had to hear and obey “Honor thy Parents.” Centuries later, the situation was reversed. Parents became so important that children were neglected and maltreated. So much so, that the Rabbinic council at Usha some 1800 years ago had to pass a formal law requiring parents to support their children until they were at least 13 years old. And a maid-servant of Rebbi, Rabbi Judah the Prince, a gentile maid who was a scholar of the Law and whose opinion was highly valued by our Sages, had to declare as an offense, punishable by excommunication, the corporal punishment of grown-up children. Coming closer to our own times, we have had a similar swinging of the pendulum from one extreme to another. In the Victorian Era the father was the absolute and autocratic chief of the family. He was a ruthless dictator whose rule was uncontrolled and frequently inhumane. To such people one did not have to say “Honor thy father and mother.” One had, rather, to recall the ruling of amsa de’bei Rebbe, the gentile maid-servant of Rabbi Judah the Prince. In our own days, we have swung back to the other extreme. A new force has emerged in modern family life, completely replacing the parents as the central authorities of the family. The child has co…

1. Those of us who attend services regularly know that amongst the many other aspects of Prayer, one of the important features is: Posture. And the various forms of posture we assume have their significance. Standing, as we do by the Amidah, is a sign of respect for and honoring of G-d. Sitting, as we do when drinking the Kiddush or eating the Motzi, serves as a sign of relaxation while participating in the happy occasion of Se’udas Mitzvah. We lie down when reciting the closing prayer of the day, the Shma, in bed. We kneel and bow in the Aleinu or at Modim in the Amidah to serve as a token of our humility and our submission to the Divine Creator. 2. One particular position, however, is never required by the Law, and that is: leaning. As a matter of fact, it is clearly forbidden. Thus, the Law insists that during the praying of the Shmoneh Esrei one must stand straight and beware of leaning against anything. And yet, it seems to me that the characteristic pose, the typical religious posture of American Jews is – leaning. Please forgive me and not regard it as frivolous if I ask you to join me in an analysis of this tragi-comedy of American Jewry’s religious posture. It sounds humorous but, as is often the case, conceals a terribly serious situation. 3. “Leaning” is a position which manifests itself in two ways: forward-backward, and left-right. We Amer. Jews, it seems, indulge in both – and simultaneously! 4. First, we lean over backwards. We put ourselves into ridiculous, vulnerable, self-effacing and obnoxious positions in order to placate our non-Jewish friends and neighbors who either do not care one whit or who laugh at us, and properly so, for our foolishness. Let me give you some unfortunate examples of this tendency to lean backwards. A recent issue of an Anglo-Jewish weekly has brought to light an interesting event in American-Jewish history. About one hundred years ago, the governor of South Carolina issued a Thanksgiving Proclamation which was unusual in…

This sermon is occasioned by two factors: a) The eternal appeal of the Ten Commandments to all people – the entire Western world, and even – or perhaps especially – those who least observe them. b) A comment made to me the other day, which I am sure is indicative of a large body of unstudied and unlearned and misinformed opinion, to the effect that “you Orthodox Jews want to turn the clock back, you are against progress.” This evening, therefore, I want to invite you to accompany me in an analysis of the idea of Progress from a broader and more informed point of view. Let us see if we all always mean what we say when we talk of “progress”; let us stop playing with slogans and analyze concepts; let us see if it is not true that sometimes you get the right time when you “turn the clock back,” whether Orthodoxy is really doing that, and whether sometimes you must take a step backwards in the right direction. I think it was Abe Lincoln who over 100 years ago pointed to one of the commonest fallacies of our age, one which is most tragic in its consequences, when he said that “too many people mistake change for progress.” No, change by itself is absolutely meaningless – you can change for the worse as well as for the good. Of course, it would be most silly for us to say that we should give up the real advances of civilization. Modern man has made some terrific, good progress. The Salk vaccine, the unfolding of democratic government and the strides made in psychiatry, to mention only a few of the numerous advances we have made, are here to stay, we hope, and will always serve as a monument to the great constructive and creative forces unleashed by modern civilization. But – as even the most radical modernist will admit, our moral and ethical progress has been left behind in the race to keep up with technology. We have not more, but perhaps less, great moral insights than the generations – or some generations – of the past had. Theoretical physics has given us radiological…

The prophet Isaiah, in our Haftorah reading for this morning, gives expression to a fearful and heart-rending question which in its poignant brevity reflects the dismay and perplexity of religious Jews of the Twentieth Century at the dilemmas and disillusionments of our age. In this sixth chapter of the book, in which we read of the beginning of Isaiah’s prophetic ministry, he is told by the Lord that he must remind and demand, reproach and command, warn and promise his people Israel in order to win them back from their wonted ways to the ways of Torah and G-d. It is a difficult mission at best, and an unenviable task even under the most ideal circumstances.Does G-d at least encourage the reluctant prophet? Does he at least promise him that ultimately his efforts will prove successful and his work will bear fruit? No! Listen, instead, to the strange prediction. ויאמר לך ואמרת לעם הזה שמעו שמע ואל תבינו, וראו ראו ואל תצעו, השמן לב העם הזה ואזניו הכבד ועיניו השע, “And He said: ‘Go, and tell the people: Ye will hear indeed, but not understand; and ye shall see indeed, but no perceive. For the heart of this people is fat, and their ear is heavy, and their eye is shut…’”What a discouraging beginning! What a depressing future! The prophet will preach, and his words will go in one ear and out the other. The people will see him but they will not care to know what bothers him. They will have obtuse hearts, heavy ears, and closed eyes. The prophet will rush to them trying to save them in time – and they will turn their backs on him. How this must have grieved the noble, sensitive prophet. How pained he must have been, not so much by the personal failure of his mission, but by the unbearable tragedy of his people. The more he calls them to return, the farther they wander, the more he preaches, the more oblivious they remain to his message.So, in utter frustration, and in a heart heavy with pain and grief at the pitiful plight of his people, he cries out: Ha-shem, ad matai: – …

There is an impression currently in our society that religion is solely a question in emotion. If you feel “inspired,” “in the mood,” then you believe, you worship, you observe. But if you are not subjectively attuned to religion, if you do not feel a powerful need for it, if you are not grasped by it, then it is meaningless and irrelevant for you. Some people go so far as to say that he who does not experience deep emotions and does not feel great stirrings, and yet prays and observes religious duties is a hypocrite. Religion, according to this interpretation, is a subjective experience, a reaction of an autonomous personality, reflecting the moods and needs of man. If you have a feeling for it, then religion is for you; otherwise – keep away from it.Can traditional Judaism agree with this romanticized notion of religion, so popular today?To an extent, there are several romantic elements present in classical Judaism, and they are highlighted especially by the movement known as Hasidism. Thus, Judaism knows of, and Hasidism emphasizes, the inwardness of Kavvanah, the inspiration of devekut, the joy of simchah shel mitzvah, the outpouring of genuine emotions and ecstasy. It is these that distinguish Hasidism as a unique movement in Judaism. The subjective, human experience of religion is present in all of Judaism but lies at the very heart of Hasidism. But does this mean that without the emotional outpouring, without the feeling of inspiration, that there is nothing left? – that Torah no longer can place any demands upon a man?Of course not. We must never confuse Hasidism, which is an authentic religious movement, with this pale and shallow sentimentalism of our age. For the modern temper recognizes religion as “man-made,” as issuing from the recesses of the human psyche alone. But Judaism firmly maintains that Torah comes from God, that it has clear claims upon the human being, that it is objectively valid, independent of human sentiments. Hasidism too recognizes t…

Our Sidra this morning tells us of the reunion of Moses with his father-in-law, Jethro and with his wife Tzipporah and his children who had remained behind in Midian while Moses was experiencing the adventure of the Exodus of Israel from Egypt. After Moses tells Jethro of all that had happened to him and his people, we read that va-yiḥad Yitro, Jethro rejoiced for all the goodness which the Lord had done to Israel. Now, the word va-yiḥad, means more than “rejoice.” I would translate that, “and Jethro was thrilled.” Both words, va-yiḥad and “thrilled,” mean joy to the point where you feel your skin being pierced with sharp pleasure. The Hebrew va-yiḥad comes from the word ḥad, to feel sharp sensation, and the word “thrill” comes from the Middle English “thrillen,” which also means to be pierced or “drilled” with joy. So that Jethro experienced great, almost ecstatic joy.Why was he so happy? What was so thrilling about his experience? A reading of Rashi leaves us with the feeling that Jethro’s joy was not unqualified. A non-Jew himself, he could not gloat over Pharaoh’s downfall. Why, then, va-yiḥad? I believe that we may find the answer to this question by a psychological analysis, which yields morally instructive results. In order to appreciate it, we must pick up, as it were, stray hints that the Torah leaves for us in order to build from them a perspective on the attitudes and lives of the protagonists in this great story.In the beginning, Moses takes his family from Midian to Egypt, a trip that Jethro does not find to his liking (see Abarbanel on Ex. 4:18). Later, Moses sends his wife Tzipporah and his two children back to Midian, to stay with his father-in-law Jethro while he, Moses, continues with his work. We, who read the Bible, know the real reason for this separation, Moses was now involved in perhaps the greatest single enterprise in all of history. He was the father of all prophets of all the ages, and as such experienced constant and uninterrupted gilui…

In a well-known passage, the Mekhilta relates that the Holy One offered the Torah to the various nations of antiquity, but that all of them rejected it because of various objections they raised to certain of its precepts. Then He offered the Torah to Israel, and Israel accepted it with alacrity. Now this is more than an interesting legend, spiced with a dash of Jewish pride. It is the Rabbis’ way of emphasizing the revolutionary character of Torah, and especially the Decalogue. The Torah, they meant to say, was given not to confirm standard ideas and prevailing prejudices, but to challenge and change them. The Ten Commandments were meant to teach a religion with a difference, to offer the world an alternative to the colorful but lifeless paganism in which it was immersed, and that alternative was seized by Israel.To us, in our age, the Decalogue often seems to be commonplace. Yet consider how radically new it was in its own day. To a society that practiced paganism and fetishism, the Torah declared “Thou shalt not make unto thee a graven image.” To a world which accepted slavery as normal and in which even the free man was doomed to a life of drudgery, the Bible proclaimed the law of the Sabbath, and commanded rest even for the man-servant and woman-servant. And to a civilization which entertained the conception of man as a thing, to be used and exploited, and in which, therefore, old parents who could no longer be gainfully employed were abandoned and discarded as excess baggage, the Decalogue declared, “Honor thy father and thy mother” – even if you can no longer obtain any benefit from them.Maimonides considers this differentness of Judaism a fundamental of Torah. Part III of his Guide for the Perplexed teaches the proposition that whereas Torah did not attempt to diverge from the world so radically that it could not be followed by ordinary men, still the mitzvot take exception to the mores of the masses and to popular platitudes, and emphasize those ideals and …