Vadim Segal

Forty years (5657–5697 [1897–1937]) have passed since the international holy institution, Yeshivah Tomchei Temimim, was first established in Lubavitch by our holy master and rebbe, Rabbi Shalom Dov Ber Schneersohn (of holy and blessed memory).

The history of the holy yeshivah may be divided into two general periods: a) the period when the yeshivah was located in Russia, between the years 5657 and 5681 [1897–1921]; b) the present period, since 5681, when the yeshivah is located in Poland.

Under the influence of the holy yeshivah’s great founder, and later under the influence of the founder’s son, the Rebbe (Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn) shlita, the present leader of Chassidei Chabad, the yeshivah has grown and developed. The student body now numbers four or five hundred.

During its first twenty-four years [in Russia] our holy yeshivah shone with twofold brilliance: the revealed aspects of Torah, and the teachings of Chabad. It was an ever more powerful source, from which thousands of students drew their spiritual sustenance. During this first period, the yeshivah produced hundreds of rabbis and geonim, expertshochtim, and thousands of Torah scholars who excel in learning and in fear of Heaven. Some of them are businessmen, and others are simple laborers, but all have spread their wings in the fields of Torah and avodah. The influence of their spirit extends to those around them. They do honor and glory not only to their spiritual source, Yeshivah Tomchei Temimim (which raised such distinguished sons), but also to traditional Jewry at large.

The yeshivah suffered many upheavals and exiles under the Soviet regime. At the same time, it also suffered under the wicked decrees and persecutions of the Yevsektzia. But the Rebbe shlita stood constantly on guard, using his utmost powers to fortify and support the yeshivah. With G‑d’s help, he succeeded in preserving the yeshivah’s existence, so that it could continue to disseminate the Torah and to enroll large numbers of students.

In the year 5681, on the yahrtzeit of its founder (whose soul is in Gan Eden), the yeshivah moved to Poland, where it could expand. Multitudes of students from all parts of Poland and neighboring countries began pouring into Warsaw, the yeshivah’s new headquarters. They had come to bask in the glory of this famous institution.

The yeshivah moved to new quarters several times, to provide the ever-increasing number of students with more spacious and comfortable accommodations. The yeshivah also opened branches in several other cities of Poland and abroad. In 5696 [1936], the central yeshivah (with its older students) moved to Otwock (leaving the three youngest classes in Warsaw).

Otwock is a famous resort town and health spa, not far from the capital. Here, the yeshivah has at its disposal several buildings (each with many rooms), located in a large park with cedar trees, affording a healthful environment. It goes without saying that the fresh clear air and the quiet and restful surroundings, far away from the noise of the capital city, instilled a fresh spirit into the yeshivah. This raised the spirits of the students, and it had a beneficial effect on both their health and the progress of their studies.

There are now seven additional branches in various cities, all under the umbrella of the central yeshivah in Otwock-Warsaw. The total number of students in the central yeshivah and its branches comes to many hundreds (may their numbers increase). They are delightful students, possessing acute mental faculties and perfect fear of Heaven. Whoever sees them knows them for “the children blessed by G‑d.”

The holy Yeshivah Tomchei Temimim is one of the largest yeshivos in the world, both in size and in stature. However, its nature and character as a Chabad yeshivah make it unique among all other yeshivos: [to use a metaphor,] the orchard is special, the trees are special, and the one who planted it and cares for it is special. Tomchei Temimim is not merely an academy for study and teaching; it is also a training facility, where Jewish youth are trained in Torah and avodah, so that Torah study and fulfillment of the mitzvos may be done with relish and inner vitality, and not merely by rote.

In a letter written to Anash on the occasion of the founding of our holyyeshivah, our holy founder described the yeshivah’s goals, to serve as:

A place where bochurim who desire to study may do so, and they may pursue diligent study of Gemara-Rashi-Tosafos. However, all this should be under proper supervision, so that the seeds of faith and piety may be implanted in their hearts. Their eyes should be lit up with the light of knowledge, so that they may understand G‑d, and know what G‑d demands of them: to serve G‑d and to follow in His ways. May the light of Torah, mitzvos and avodah shine within them, so that they gain merit both for themselves and for society at large.

The yeshivah adopted this as its goal, bringing up Jewish youth according to the spirit of the Torah as a complete entity, and the ways of Chassidus. This implies that in addition to studying the revealed aspects of the Torah, Gemara and Poskim, a special session was instituted each day for studying the Chabad approach to the teachings of Chassidus.

This study of Chabad Chassidus implants a firm foundation of love of the Torah and fear of Heaven in the student’s heart, through understanding and inner appreciation, and based upon their intellectual endeavors through wisdom, understanding and knowledge.

Thus, the student’s mind acquires broad knowledge and proper understanding of the essence and the inner meaning of Judaism. This also gives him the strength and fortitude to withstand the attractions of other ways of life, without even the slightest deviation from the straight path. Furthermore, through the inner strength of his soul, he also has the power and fortitude to influence his neighbors, and to prevent these foreign influences from gaining a foothold among them.

During the two generations of its existence, the yeshivah has fulfilled its great mission on the highest plane. Hundreds, even thousands, of exceptional Torah scholars, Temimim, are distributed throughout many countries. Wherever they live, they are recognized for their outstanding Torah study, their piety and their holy ways. Many also distinguish themselves by serving important and prestigious congregations in Europe and America as rabbis, roshei yeshivah, shochtim, and even influential businessmen who provide spiritual benefit to the public.

Thank G‑d, the holy yeshivah continues to grow from strength to strength, and the student population is continuously enlarging. Many great rabbis and rebbeim shlita who have visited our yeshivah have heaped acclaim and praise upon it and its eminent students, saying that the holy Yeshivah Tomchei Temimim is the pride and glory of traditional Judaism in general, and of all Anash in particular.

The yeshivah also sees to the physical needs of the students: bread and condiments, clothing and shoes, medical care and rehabilitation. The students receive all this in the most honorable way, and in the most cheerful spirits . . . [The article concludes with an appeal for funds.]

Vadim Segal

We monitored the forecast out of concern for falling showers, but nothing could have prepared us for the prospect of falling towers.

Chassidic master Rabbi Israel of Ruzhin once said, “Not only is it announced in heaven whom you will marry, it is also announced in heaven the location, the date and the people who will attend the wedding.” Remarkably, the day chosen in heaven to feature our wedding would play host as well to the most catastrophic hour in American history.

9/11/01. The day the Twin Towers were toppled.

9/11/01. The day Esty and Dovi Scheiner were wed.

Late on my wedding day, when I should have been taking a refreshing shower, I found myself weeping bitterly, my face bathed in hot tears. I asked my spiritual mentor, “How can I tell my legs to dance as thousands of my fellow citizens prepare to bury their loved ones?” My rabbi explained that this was not a question of Happiness vs. Sadness; it was a matter of Good vs. Evil.

The events unfolding in our city did not call for surrender; they called for swift retaliation. Terrorists had just torn down a magnificent structure; now it was our calling to help build it back up.

Marriage in Judaism centers on the creation of a Jewish home. A Jewish home is constructed not only physically, but essentially spiritually. A Jewish home is one in which G‑d is a dominant partner. Prayer and Torah study, charity and hospitality form the true foundation of the Jewish home.

So, as rescue workers were sifting through the rubble at the site of the World Trade Center, Esther and I donned our hard hats and headed towards our chupah, just over the bridge in Brooklyn. With a plume of black smoke suspended in the skies above our wedding canopy, it was clear to both of us that our challenge in life would be to build more than a Jewish home—it would be to build a Jewish tower. Hour by hour, deed upon deed, we hope to raise our tower until its turret touches the sky. A lasting tribute to the Twin Towers that will be remembered forever.

Vadim Segal

“I offer thanks to You, O living and everlasting king, for having restored my soul within me; great is Your faithfulness.”

Our first conscious act of the day is to avow our indebtedness and gratitude to our Creator. As soon as we wake from sleep, before getting out of bed or even washing our hands, we recite the above-quoted lines of theModeh Ani prayer, acknowledging that it is He who grants us life and being every moment of our existence.

The ideas contained in the ostensibly simple lines of Modeh Ani fill many a profound chapter in the legal, philosophical and mystical works of Torah. In an essay by the Lubavitcher Rebbe called Inyanah ShelTorat HaChassidut (“On the Essence of Chassidism”), the Rebbespeaks of the many layers of meaning contained within every part of Torah; using the twelve Hebrew words of Modeh Ani as an example, the Rebbe extracts from them insights into the nature of the omnipresence and all-pervasiveness of G‑d, the principle of “perpetual creation” (G‑d’s constant infusion of vitality and existence into the world, without which it would revert to utter nothingness), the laws governing the return of a pikadon (an object entrusted to one’s care), and the Kabbalistic concept of sefirat hamalchut (the divine attribute of sovereignty).

If so, asked the Rebbe in another occasion, why is the Modeh Ani said immediately upon waking, with a mind still groggy from sleep? Would it not have been more appropriate to precede it with a period of study and contemplation of these concepts?

Night and Day

The physiology of our bodies and the rhythm of the astral clocks partition our lives into conscious and supra-conscious domains. During our waking hours, our mind assumes control of our thoughts and actions, screening, filtering and interpreting the stimuli that flow to it, and issuing commands and instructions to the body. But at night, when we sleep, the “command center” shifts to a deeper, darker place within our psyche—a place where fantasy supersedes logic, sense supplants thought, and awareness is replaced by a more elemental form of knowing. Hard facts become pliant, absurdities become tenable in this nocturnal world.

There are certain truths, however, that are unaffected by these fluctuations of knowledge and awareness. Our faith in G‑d, His centrality to our existence, the depth of our commitment to Him—we know these things utterly and absolutely, and we know them at all times and in all states of consciousness.

Wakefulness and sleep affect only the external activity of the intellect; what we know with the very essence of our being, we know no less when plunged into the deepest recesses of slumber. On the contrary: when awake, we must wade through the presuppositions and polemics of an intellect shackled to the “realities” of the physical state in order to arrive at these truths; asleep, our mind loosened from its subjective moorings, we enjoy a closer and deeper (albeit less conscious) awareness of our innermost convictions.

The Modeh Ani prayer, explained the Rebbe, exploits a most unique moment of our day—the moment that lies at the threshold of wakefulness, the moment that straddles the conscious and supra-conscious domains of our day. There are other moments, other prayers in the course of our day which take full advantage of our powers of intellect and reasoning—prayers that follow lengthy and profound meditations upon their content and significance. But each morning, as we move from the liberating hours of sleep to a day of conscious thought, a most unique opportunity presents itself: the opportunity to express to ourselves a truth that inhabits our deepest selves, to declare what we already know to the awaiting day.

Jethro’s Estate

A similar phenomenon can be discerned in a halachic discussion that underlies the mitzvah of bikkurim (“first-ripened fruits”).

Bikkurim, like the Modeh Ani prayer, is a declaration of indebtedness and gratitude to G‑d. In the 26th chapter of Deuteronomy, the Torah instructs:

It shall be, when you come in to the land which the L‑rd your G‑d is giving you for an inheritance, and you will possess it and settle in it,

that you shall take from the first of the fruits of the land . . . and place them in a basket; and you shall go to the place that the L‑rd your G‑d will choose to rest His name there.

You shall come to the kohen that shall be in those days, and you shall say to him: “I proclaim today to the L‑rd your G‑d that I have come unto the land which G‑d swore to our fathers to give to us . . .”

In his “proclamation,” the bikkurim-bearing farmer goes on to recount the story of our liberation from Egypt and G‑d’s gift to us of “a land flowing with milk and honey,” concluding with the pronouncement: “And now, behold, I have brought the first fruit of the land that You, G‑d, have given me.”

When did our forefathers begin bringing the first fruits of their newly gained homeland to “the place where G‑d chose to rest His name”? The first verse of the Torah’s chapter on bikkurim contains conflicting implications as to when the practice of this mitzvah is to commence, giving rise to a legal debate between the Talmud and the Sifri (a halachic Midrash).

The Jewish people entered the Land of Israel under the leadership ofJoshua one month after the passing of Moses, in the year 2488 from creation (1273 BCE). But fourteen years were to pass before the land would be conquered and each tribe and family allotted its share (the conquest of the land took seven years, and an additional seven years were required for its division into twelve tribal territories and more than 600,000 estates for the heads of households entitled to a share in the land). It is for this reason, says the Talmud, that the verse specifies to bring bikkurim “when you come into the land . . . and you will possess it and settle in it”—to teach us that the first fruits of the land should be presented to G‑d only after the conquest and allocation of the land have been completed.

The Sifri, on the other hand, places the emphasis the same verse’s opening words—“And it shall be when you come into the land”—to imply that the obligation to bring bikkurim applied immediately upon the Jews’ entry into the land. The Sifri bases its interpretation on the first word of the verse, vehayah (“it shall be”), which throughout the Torah is indicative of an event that is to come to pass immediately.

However, notwithstanding their conflicting readings of the verse, there is not much practical difference between the Talmud and the Sifri with regard to the actual bringing of bikkurim. The Torah instructs thatbikkurim should be brought from “the first-ripened fruits of your land”; this, agree all the sages, teaches us that the mitzvah of bikkurim applies only to a person who owns the land outright. So even if the obligation to bring bikkurim had applied, in principle, from the very first moment that the Jewish people entered the Land of Israel (as per the Sifri’s interpretation), the mitzvah could not have been performed until the land was conquered and each family was allotted its own estate.

(Indeed, the Jerusalem Talmud expresses the view that no single family assumed possession of the land allotted to it until every last family had received its share. Even if the Sifri were to disagree with this position, it would have taken at least seven years—until the conquest of the land was completed—for the first Jewish farmer to acquire a plot of land from which to bring bikkurim.)

There was, however, one case in which the Sifri’s concept of an immediate obligation to bring bikkurim could have applied in actuality. As a reward for joining their fate to that of the people of Israel, the family of Jethro was granted an estate in the Holy Land, in the environs of Jericho; this they received immediately upon the Israelites’ entry into the land, as Jericho was the very first city to be conquered by Joshua. So there was at least one family estate from which bikkurimcould have been brought immediately “when you come into the land.”

Between Dream and Reality

While there is little difference, in terms of actual practice, whether we say that the time for bringing bikkurim is when “you will possess it and settle in it” (as the Talmud holds) or immediately “when you enter the land” (as per the Sifri), the Talmud and the Sifri represent two very different conceptions of the mitzvah of bikkurim.

The Talmud’s conception of bikkurim expresses the notion that true gratitude for something can come only after a person has come to understand its significance and appreciate its impact on his or her life. Unless we have “taken possession” of something by studying and analyzing it, unless we have “settled in it” by experiencing it in an aware and informed manner, of what value are our pronouncements and proclamations?

The Sifri, on the other hand, holds a Modeh Ani–like vision of the mitzvah of bikkurim, insisting that our very first moment in the land that G‑d has granted us should be one of recognition and acknowledgment of the divine gift.

For forty years, as the people of Israel wandered through the Sinai Desert, they dreamed of the land designated by G‑d as the environment in which to realize their mission in life. Then came the great moment of crossing from dream to reality—a reality that actualizes the dream, but which also coarsens its purity. This is the moment, says the Sifri, in which to give expression to all that we know and sense about the Holy Land. For though our knowledge may be primitive and unformed by the standards of daytime reality, it comes from a place in us that will no longer be accessible when we have ventured further into this realm of conscious knowledge and feeling. Only by expressing it now, on thethreshold between supra-conscious awareness and conscious knowledge, can we carry over from the perfection and purity of our supra-conscious selves into the tactual reality of our conscious lives.

Regarding the debates between our sages on matters of Torah law, the Talmud states that “these and these are both the words of the living G‑d.” For although only one view can be implemented as halachah(practical Torah law), both represent equally valid formulations of the divine wisdom, and both can, and should, be incorporated in our vision of and approach to life.

As per the Talmud, we must take care that we fully comprehend and identify with the gifts we offer and the feelings we declaim. As per the Sifri, we must seek connection with the supra-rational, supra-conscious self that underlies our conscious and intellectual persona, and strive to carry over its unsullied perfection into our “daytime” lives.

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Note: The Torah section of Ki Tavo (Deuteronomy 26–28), which includes the chapter on bikkurim, is always read in proximity to the 18th of Elul, which is the birthday of Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov(1698–1760), the founder of Chassidism, and of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi (1745–1812), founder of the Chabad branch of Chassidism.

The lives and works of these two great leaders parallel the two “versions” of bikkurim put forth by the Sifri and the Talmud. Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov revitalized—and revolutionized—Jewish life with his emphasis on the depth and purity of the faith and commitment of the simple Jew. Rabbi Schneur Zalman taught the necessity of internalizing this faith and commitment through the structured intellectual and emotional processes he outlined in his “Chabad” philosophy and approach to life.

Vadim Segal

In what I like to call the Great Asymmetry, every spectacular incident of evil will be balanced by 10,000 acts of kindness, too often unnoted and invisible as the ”ordinary” efforts of a vast majority. We have a duty, almost a holy responsibility, to record and honor the victorious weight of these innumerable little kindnesses…

– Stephen Jay Gould, in an essay published two weeks after 9/11

The following words are written out of a sense of holy responsibility to record and honor the victorious weight of one man’s mammoth kindness.

For my mother’s generation it was the assassination of JFK. For mine, it’s 9/11.

Everyone can tell you where they were and what they were doing when they learned of those shocking events.

Now, where were you and what were you doing on Sunday, August 5 when Mr. Sami Rohr, an extraordinary human being, passed as quietly as he lived from this world to the next?

Evil seems to trump goodness in claiming our attention; we don’t hear enough about the lives – and deaths – of the righteous among us. The Jewish masters describe this world as alma d’shikra; a place where integrity and G‑dliness are too often obscured, a world of distortion.

Being a Chabad-Lubavitch emissary, I am close enough to Mr. Rohr’s orbit to remember precisely where I was and what I was doing that Sunday evening. I was in my kitchen washing dishes. The phone rang, my husband picked up; out of force of habit I turned to see who it was on the line. I saw my husband’s posture change and his face cloud over as he uttered the time honored words that mark the news of death in Jewish tradition, “Boruch Dayan Ha-emet,” “Blessed be the true Judge.”

“Who?” I asked urgently, sensing intuitively that a bright light in our lives had been eclipsed.

“Mr. Sami Rohr,” he answered, unconvinced, not believing the words he was saying. For the Rohr family, for the Chabad community, for the Jewish world, this was a profound loss. In this alma d’shikra it did not make the ten o’clock news.

But in the olam ha-emet, the realm the same Jewish masters identify as the world of truth, in the heavens above, here is what I imagine occurred. The Midrash1 teaches that each mitzvah, each holy act, generates the birth of a new angel. When the pure soul of Reb Shmuelben Yehoshua Eliyahu alighted above, there was a tremendous tumult as millions of angels spawned by his good works recognized the source of their existence. These were angels born of mitzvahs performed by Jews of every background and age, in every corner of the world, whose connection to Judaism was forged or solidified due to Mr. Rohr’s beneficence.

The thunderous movement alerted the souls of the righteous Jewish scholars whose teachings Reb Shmuel had not only studied but brought to life with his tzedakah. They too joined the welcome.

Leading the procession was the soul of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, who greeted and embraced “the partner of Lubavitch.” Mr. Rohr had been bound to the Rebbe in the tradition of the great Biblical partnership between our Patriarch Jacob’s sons, Yissachar and Zevulun. The Rebbe had set his sights on reshaping the landscape of world Jewry. In a time of wholesale defection and assimilation, the Rebbe’s agenda was—and remains—to bring every last Jew home. No one did more to help realize the Rebbe’s vision than did Sami Rohr in partnership with his children. In large measure, their resources made possible the Chabad-Lubavitch network the world knows today.

It is unlikely that any of the souls above will forget the moment on Sunday, 17 Av, that this great spirit arrived on high. In heaven, Sami Rohr’s arrival was the news.

I never met Mr. Sami Rohr in his lifetime, but I can see him today wherever I look. In every city, in every country, on every continent, including cyberspace, there is a Chabad center or a project initiated—or at the very least, enhanced—by his and his family’s largesse. This is a man who cannot die—he continues to live in the wealth of good he generated; in an eternal cycle he set into motion. It’s as if the memory of running from the Nazis in his youth catapulted him into building welcoming oases wherever in the world a Jew might find himself. His response to Hitler’s final solution? Providing the means for Jews to learn and experience their heritage in a way that guaranteed its transmission. When you look at a college student Jewishly engaged in a Rohr center today, you are looking at the Jewish future: their children, grandchildren and future descendants.

In the days since his passing I have been thinking of the lessons this man’s life has for me:

Sami Rohr has been called a successful real estate investor, but his unparalleled business acumen lay in how he turned his assets into a liquid, flammable gold. In his quietly determined way he fueled a veritable conflagration: Through his funding of orphanages and adult education programs, schools and camps, university student centers and hostels for tourists in far flung locations, hundreds of thousands of Jews owe their sense of Jewish belonging to this man. His investment in every Jewish soul sets us all a powerful example.

Sami Rohr was a man remembered for his formidable intellect, but his true brilliance manifested in a good old fashioned pedagogical tool termed modeling.

He was the embodiment of what the prophet Micah2 taught: “He has told you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you: Only to do justice, to love goodness, and to walk modestly with your G d.”

Hearing Mr. Rohr repeatedly thank the Lubavitcher shluchim for allowing him a share in their holy work was the ultimate lesson in humility.

Sami Rohr valued organization, and appreciated that our most precious resource is time. He was a brilliant, cosmopolitan, pious, debonair gentleman who spoke six languages. Many would call him a renaissance man. But in my mind, I will remember him always as theShliach’s Shliach; the quintessential role model for enacting the Rebbe’s mission: to prepare the world entire for the coming ofMoshiach.

I have so much more to learn from him, but this I do know: If Sami Rohr could tell us just one thing now, he would exhort each one of us to do more, to do it with greater precision, and wisdom. And to do it more quickly. Transforming our world from an arena of distortion to a platform for the truth is a project long overdue.

Vadim Segal

Religion and Science An interview with physicist Dr. Charles Townes

Transcript of an interview by Steve Inskeep of NPR Radio with physicist and Nobel Prize laureate Dr. Charles Townes, March 10, 2005 Steve Inskeep: Even as some Americans debate teaching evolution or creationism in schools, one scientist says religion and science do not have to disagree. Charles Townes is a Nobel Prize winner and co-inventor of the laser, and in 1966, he wrote that religion and science should converge. Yesterday, he was awarded $1.5 million, the annual Templeton Prize, for work in the field of religion. Charles Townes: Let’s consider what religion is. Religion is an attempt to understand the purpose and meaning of our universe. What is science? It’s an attempt to understand how our universe works. Well, if there’s a purpose and meaning, that must have something to do with how it works. So those two must be related. In addition, we use all of our human abilities to understand both. Science has faith. We call them postulates and we believe in them but we can’t prove them. And sometimes these postulates are wrong. For example, most scientists in the past thought, well, the universe could not have had a beginning. It had to always be here, always be the same; Einstein felt that very strongly. And now scientists discovered, yes, there was a beginning to our universe, of all things. SI: You also write about the fact that it’s presumed that religious knowledge is revealed as opposed to unearthed in an experiment. Scientific knowledge, you think, is sometimes revealed in a similar process. CT: Yes. I think there are even revelations in science. We don’t generally call them that, but as I think of my own recognition of how to amplify light and microwaves, discovery of the maser and the laser, I’d been working on this some time. I sat on a park bench and thought and suddenly I had the idea. A lot of it was a revelation. I say it’s a little bit like Moses wondering about how to help his people and so on. Then in front of a burning bush one time, he suddenly said, “This is what ought to be done.” SI: As you’ve been trying to figure out the way the universe works, do you find yourself sometimes wondering about the nature of G-d? CT: Yes, certainly. I have a very personal feeling that, yes, there’s a spiritual being there and it interacts with me and that’s important for me and so on. On the other hand, exactly what it is, I don’t know. I don’t picture him as some old man with a long white beard. I can’t describe it. I don’t think anyone can appropriately. SI: In this famous essay, Charles Townes, in 1966, you wrote that science and religion should at some time clearly converge. It’s been almost 40 years since you wrote that. CT: Yes. SI: Seen much sign of convergence? CT: I think there has been, yes. Within the last few decades in particular, I think more and more science has noted the really very special nature of our universe. The laws of physics have to be certain particular ways in order for us to be here at all. And if it changed just a little bit, then we couldn’t be here. Unfortunately, if we start labeling that intelligent design, then that kind of a label is just fundamentalist or something like that, but many scientists recognize, “Well, gee, maybe there’s been some systematic thing here that’s been affecting us and planned and so on,” and it is very suggestive. SI: If we were just going to give a thumbnail definition of intelligent design, we might say it’s the idea that the universe is so complicated that somebody must have designed it, it couldn’t have happened by chance. CT: It’s not just that it’s complicated, but, in fact, that it comes out in just such a way that we can be here. SI: It sounds like you’re deeply skeptical of the debate over intelligent design as it’s been presented in the public. But when it gets right down to the way that things have worked out, you really are filled with a sense of wonder. CT: There is a sense of wonder, and it’s very peculiar that we come out this very special way and what did it. And maybe there was something that kept directing us or planned it or something, and that’s very striking. And many scientists are impressed with that now. SI: Charles H. Townes, congratulations, and thanks very much. CT: Thank you.

Vadim Segal

Vadim Segal

How Scientific is Torah? By Tzvi Freeman

Question: So we hear all the time about how Torah and science don’t really contradict. But can you give me at least one or two examples where they actually coincide? Answer: The most outstanding example: For millennia, we were ridiculed for believing the world began. Only in the latter half of the 20th century did the evidence come out overwhelmingly on our side. As Dr. Arno Penzias (one of the three who received a Nobel Prize for identifying the “background radiation” that became one of the pillars of the current Big Bang cosmology) writes, “science has finally vindicated Moses and Maimonides over Aristotle.”1 Abraham was a maverick for believing that all the forces of the cosmos are really a single force. This is the contention of science for the past 100 years and the driving force behind the search for the Unified Field Theory.2 The Torah’s account of Creation and of events that defy the laws of physics — and even defy logic — implies that the laws of logic are not absolute — i.e. it is not impossible for those laws to have been created otherwise, and even now, the Creator could adjust them or supersede them at whim. An inkling of this kind of thinking opened the way for modern mathematics, breaking away from the Euclidian view that the axioms of geometry are absolute “self evident truths,” and laying the ground for Einstein’s relativity. Indeed, later attempts to demonstrate that mathematics is based on logic have all failed. Thinkers today question the absoluteness of logic itself.3 Torah, by presenting the concept of Divine Providence within nature, requires a universe that is only loosely linear, rejecting the determinist concept that cause and effect are inherently linked. This is an outcome of the Principle of Uncertainty, first enunciated by Heisenberg in 1928.4 Over the past 30 years, experimentation has repeatedly affirmed this concept. Torah does not talk in terms of matter as a self-contained substance, but as an event, a ‘word’. Today we understand matter as simply a dynamic of concentrated energy, as in the familiar formula E=mc2. Or, in physicist David Bohm’s definition, “That which unfolds, whatever the medium.”5 Torah relies on witnesses and observation over intuition. Today we call this objective empiricism. It is what distinguishes the scientist from the Hellenist or medieval philosopher. Torah recognizes the role of human consciousness as an active, rather than passive, participant in forming reality.6 This outcome of the standard model of quantum mechanics was first enunciated by John von Neumann in 1932.7 Torah consistently relies on the concept of synergy: The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. This has become an essential principle in many modern disciplines, from sociology to chemistry. Torah, in many halachic applications, relies on “quantum” — smallest possible increments of change within space and time. This was the postulate of Max Planck that opened the field of quantum mechanics. The Torah describes all of humankind as descending from a single man and — earlier — a single woman.8 The overwhelming genetic evidence concurs, although the dating is still somewhat skewed. They’re still catching up. Torah understands the human psyche as being multi-layered and multifaceted — there isn’t just one person inside. Welcome to modern psychology. Torah describes planet earth and the entire cosmos in holistic terms. Science today is moving sharply in this direction, in life sciences and in physics and cosmology. Torah provides inference to many of the customs, beliefs, politics, technologies, etc. of ancient times at which historians once balked and archeologists have only recently confirmed. Torah presents and rigorously develops the chazakah: An event must occur repeatedly under identical conditions to be considered the most likely outcome in the future (such as the case of the consistently goring ox). This is the basis of the scientific method.9 Torah prescribes public education, popular involvement and constitutional governance. Sociologists describe how these elements generate stability and productivity in a society. Torah prescribes a responsible stewardship of our environment. Today we have demonstrated that such an approach is the only one possible for sustainable life on the planet. Many of these examples may seem obvious and trite, however none of them were accepted as such until recently. I’m sure there are more — if you think of some, please fire them over.

Vadim Segal

Vadim Segal

Life Behind Bars By Naftali Silberberg

A few weeks ago, BBC News reported on a group of unexpected death penalty advocates. Apparently, hundreds of prisoners serving life sentences in Italy have called on President Giorgio Napolitano to bring back the death penalty. Italy has actually been at the forefront of the fight against capital punishment and recently lobbied the UN Security Council to table a moratorium on the practice. But at home, some of the country’s longest serving prisoners Musumeci said he was tired of dying a little bit every daywant the death penalty re-introduced. The letter they sent to President Napolitano was written by a convicted mobster, Carmelo Musumeci, and co-signed by 310 of his fellow lifers. Musumeci, 52, who has been in prison for seventeen years, said he was tired of dying a little bit every day. We want to die just once, he said, and “we are asking for our life sentence to be changed to a death sentence” It was a candid letter written by a man who, from within his cell, has tried hard to change his life. He has passed his high school exams and now has a degree in law. But his sentence, he says, has transformed the light into shadows. Prison in Torah Law Mr. Musumeci has a point. The argument he employs is the reason why incarceration is not part of the Torah’s penal code. Depending on the nature of the crime, a person received a fine (compensative and/or punitive damages) or corporal punishment. In extreme cases, capital punishment was called for. As is the case with all Torah-sanctioned punishments, the person’s death wasn’t intended to exact vengeance, and while it’s function as a deterrent is referred too, neither was this its ultimate purpose. Rather, the person’s death brought atonement for the sin he committed, and — in conjunction with teshuvah (repentance) — guaranteed the soul’s rehabilitation. A person must be allowed to be productive in the fullest senseThe courts were not empowered, however, to rob a person of the ability to be a full-fledged productive member of society. A person who does not deserve to die must be allowed to be productive in the fullest sense, a prospect which is impossible when confined in prison.1 Indeed, it can conceivably be argued that long term incarceration violates the Eighth Amendment of the Constitution which prohibits “cruel and unusual punishment.” Is robbing an individual of the most basic human desire/need–freedom–less cruel than inflicting physical pain? I believe that any prison inmate will answer that question in a nanosecond. While this is an issue which societies and legislatures must consider, let us for a moment consider the prison inmate’s perspective. From Mr. Musumeci’s point of view, whether the court’s decision was prudent or not is seemingly moot. Rightly or wrongly, the fact is that he is serving a life sentence. What should his attitude be now? Is he right for seeking a death sentence? In Our Own Lives To a lesser degree, we can all relate to this predicament. We are all human, and we all make mistakes. And we pay for these mistakes, sometimes quite dearly. One person partied away his college years and now doesn’t have a degree. Another person made irresponsible financial decisions and now she is saddled with a poor credit rating. As the common adage goes, “You make your bed, so now you must lie in it.” What attitude does G‑d expect us to have towards our mis-made beds? Are we simply to resign ourselves to our fate, justifying the misery because we “earned it”? Here chassidic teaching makes an important distinction between the attitude we should assume before taking a certain action, and how we should view our situation after the fact. Before exercising our free choice to act in a certain way, we must appreciate that we are fully responsible for our actions and their consequences. But after we find ourselves in a certain situation, we must realize that everything is by Divine providence. The fact that we are in a certain place–regardless of why or how we got there–means that we have a Divinely ordained role to fill in that very place, under those very circumstances. A powerful precedent for this approach to life can be found in one of the most fateful blunders in Jewish history, some 3,300 years ago. There was a time when an entire nation sinned, and was condemned to a lifetime of seemingly futile existence. Yet the ultimate significance of this “unproductive” period was that it served as a meaningful, indeed critical phase in our development as a people. The Events The Children of Israel were in the desert, headed for the Holy Land. But the scouts they dispatched to Canaan to reconnoiter the land returned with an ominous report. They asserted that the Land was unconquerable due to its fortifications and immensely powerful inhabitants. Instead of demonstrating faith in G‑d, the Israelitespanicked: “Why is G‑d bringing us to this land to fall by the sword; our wives and children will be as spoils…. “2 And G‑d agreed. “As you have spoken in My ears, so will I do to you.” The generation that was too fearful to enter the Land would never merit to cross the Jordan River and inherit the Land of Milk and Honey. They would meander about the Sinai Desert for forty years, and only after they all died out, would their children enter the Land. The entire generation was handed a life sentenceThe entire generation was handed a life sentence. This was the bed they made for themselves; now they had to lie in it. For good. The day this decree was handed down–the Ninth of Av–became the most tragic day on the Jewish calendar, and the scene of many more troubles and misfortunes throughout our history. And yet, despite the negative circumstance that brought it about, this forty-year period was, in a certain sense, the most glorious period in Jewish history. It was during these forty years that G‑d communicated the Torah to Moses, and the people of Israel imbibed the Divine wisdom at the feet of the greatest teacher of all time. It was a time of unfettered spirituality, when we were nourished by the ethereal “bread from heaven” and protected and pampered by celestial “clouds of glory,” creating the ideal conditions in which to grow spiritually and fortify ourselves for the challenges to come. A Cosmic Shabbat True, our entry into the Holy Land was put on hold. As lofty as it may seem, sitting in a desert and studying Torah all day ensconced in miraculous heavenly clouds is not the reason why G‑d dispatched pure souls into this physical world. Instead, G‑d wanted us to enter Canaan and work the land. He wants us to become involved with a world which challenges the soul’s resolve and commitment to G‑d, and through the observance of the mitzvot to imbue this physical world and everything within it with holiness and divine purpose. And yet, once a week we observe the Shabbat–a day when no work is allowed, a day which is dedicated to spirituality, Torah study and prayer. From this day we take the strength and fortitude to successfully prevail against a hostile environment during the following six days. So although the Shabbat is “merely” a preparation for the following week, it is a mitzvah of utmost importance, considered the equivalent of all the other mitzvot combined. Those forty “futile” years in the Sinai Desert, say the chassidic masters, became the cosmic Shabbat of Jewish history, setting the spiritual foundation for all future generations. The same applies to each and every one of us. When a person finds himself in undesirable circumstances as a result of his own foolish actions, ultimately he is there because G‑d wants him to be there; because currently this is exactly where he must be in order to accomplish his unique mission in life.

Vadim Segal

Vadim Segal

Being Simple By Shimon Posner

Simple is straightforward. This is what needs to be done and this is how we do it. “Put up and shut up, or get out of the way.” It’s easier and more convenient to get lost in a committee that appreciates the complexity. The Baal Shem Tov liked simplicity. Simple folk who simply liked G‑d, although they were clueless in all matters of faith and religion and theology. They liked G‑d like a baby likes his father. The Baal Shem Tov also liked faith, theology and religion. He liked scholars who struggled with faith and intellect, mastering a little bit of each, only to realize how much they now lacked. He wanted that they should remain simple through the process, still be a baby calling for his father. The simple faith of a sophisticated man has more dimension and a richer texture. A faith that began simple before the intellect kicked in, held onto while the intellect kicked and emerged simple after the tension abated. A simplicity above complexity and permeating the complexity. Because to ignore the complexity is simply simplistic. A simple person who is delighted with his simple faith is, well, simply simplistic. Once he recognizes his simplicity, he implicitly rejects complexity—which makes the complexity all the more convincing. So I dare say the Baal Shem Tov would have had no interest in a conscious simplism. I have heard stories of how his successors did not. Simple faith is not easy. You have to address all of the complexities of faith, reason, life and death that your little brain can fathom. You have to exhaust all of your time, energy and resources in this endeavor. What you have left is, well, faith: unencumbered by intellectual roads not traveled. Towards this faith the Torah reading (Deuteronomy 18:13) directs us:Tamim tihyeh, which translates awkwardly and unconvincingly to “be wholesome” in your faith. Until we come up with a better word, we’ll call it simple faith. Quite simply.

Vadim Segal

Vadim Segal

Tree of the Field By Chana Weisberg

Liz liked to read about the great minds of history–those individuals who conceived of and constructed the philosophies, theorems and academic systems which furthered the development of human intelligence and knowledge. Yet Liz found that despite their enormous intellectual contributions to mankind, more often than not, the private lives of these famous personalities did not reflect their lofty ideas. On a personal level, their moral behavior left much to be desired. Liz also discovered that the same could be said of many high-cultured societies. On the whole, societies that valued intellectual sophistication and cultural refinement were often just as lacking on a moral level, and their ethical standards did not reflect their exalted ideals. Liz wondered: what was missing in the translation of the intellectual abstraction into the practical deeds of these individuals and societies? The Torah reading of Shoftim (“Judges”) begins with the duty to establish a system of officers and judges in every community: Judges and judicial enforcers you shall place at all your city-gates… (Deuteronomy 16:18) In addition to the obvious communal application, many of the commentaries see these instructions as directed also to the “small city” that is man– how each individual must spiritually guard his own body from negative influences. In the words of the Siftei Kohen commentary: “The human body is a city with seven gates—seven portals to the outside world: the two eyes, two ears, two nostrils and the mouth. It is incumbent upon us to place internal ‘judges’ to discriminate and regulate what should be admitted and what should be kept out…” The theme of protecting our own spiritual resources and fighting against negative influences is reinforced at the end of the Parshah. When you approach a city to wage war against it… you must not destroy its trees. You may eat of them, but you must not cut them down. Is a tree of the field a man…? Only trees that you know do not yield food you shall cut down… (Deuteronomy 19:10-20) In instructing us how to wage a war, the Torah is also providing spiritual guidance for each of us in our personal struggles against our own base, animalistic inclinations. These inclinations must be overcome, controlled and subdued. They act as an “enemy”, fighting against the spiritual part of us that craves transcendence, spirituality and G-dliness. Waging war against our animalistic self is fighting against that part of us which resists this transformation. And in the context of this spiritual war, the Torah makes the famous analogy comparing man to a tree of the field. The Chassidic masters explain that just as our world consists of four “kingdoms”–the Mineral, the Vegetable, the Animal, and the Human–so, too, does the human being incorporate these four realms within himself. Specifically, the “Vegetable Kingdom” in man are the emotions, and our “Animal Kingdom” is the intellect. The difference between a plant and animal is that while both exhibit development and growth, the plant remains rooted to its place, while the animal moves from place to place. Similarly, the growth and development of the emotional self takes place in, and is confined to, the boundaries of its particular place–a kind person, even as his kindness develops and matures, will remain kind; a stern person will almost always deal sternly. In other words, emotions are subjective: they may “grow”, but will not transcend their pre-defined “place.” The intellect, on the other hand, is capable of movement and change, like the animal’s ability to roam. Its conclusions are not pre-determined by its “place”–its examination of a certain situation, for example, will sometimes lead to kindness and sometimes to severity.1 This begs the question: Is not the crowning glory and uniqueness of the human being the profundity of his intellect, rather than the depth of his emotions? Why, then, does the Torah compare man to “a tree of the field”? Because the ultimate purpose of man’s intellect is that it should affect his emotions and cause them to follow his intellect’s prompting. Just as the greatest benefit of a tree is the fruit it produces, so, too, the greatest hallmark of man must be the fruit that his intellect produces–the knowledge being absorbed by his emotions to create the proper feelings, and then actions. Only when our intellectual understanding does not remain in the realm of the abstract but is translated into emotion and motive, ultimately affecting our actions, can we consider ourselves a fully developed and complete human being. “Trees that you know do not yield food shall be cut down.” Intellect that remains cold and aloof is like a tree that has not produced fruit–it hasn’t served its function. Emotions give credence to the intellect and lift it to a higher, deeper and more authentic experience, which on its own accord it would never attain. The true test of an individual is not so much his intellectual qualities but his emotional self, and refining one’s emotive character has the greatest impact on the individual.2 In the biblical personalities, the intellectual and emotional realms have traditionally been represented by men and women respectively. Our patriarchs’ teachings were, to a great extent, an intellectual discipline–a system of thought and a hierarchy of values. But Judaism encompasses more than an intellectual tradition. Shabbat and holidays were not only observed but also felt. These events were not merely ceremonies, but experiences to behold and sense. the mitzvot (divine commandments) are not only performed with precise rules and exactitude, but with the exuberance and vivacity of feelings. The center of this training was not within the walls of the formal study halls. It was transmitted within the holy sanctum of family, through the tears and laughter, through the songs and the dreams, through the joyous smiles and the boisterous happiness, through the inner passion and the quiet but stubborn determination of the Jewish home. All this was primarily found in the maternal realm, by the Jewish mothers who created the mood from the child’s youngest moments. While the fathers transmitted the necessary instruction, the mothers communicated the very heartbeat of Judaism. Though intellectual commitment is important, in times of crisis or exile, the emotional commitment is indispensable. Were it not for the translation of the intellect into this emotional experience, as epitomized by the Jewish mothers throughout the generations, the Jewish people would not have been able to survive the many upheavals that threatened their annihilation. (Thus we find that in times of crisis, the biblical matriarchs assumed a more powerful spiritual role than the patriarchs and were the determining force, saving our nation from grave errors. The matriarchs realized simple truths and acted instantaneously, in times of upheaval. They followed their sensitive, intuitive, emotionally-generated understandings, rather than the patriarchs’ intellectual analysis. Our matriarch Sarah demanded the immediate expulsion of Ishmael–an act that was considered abominable by Abraham, until G-d Himself corroborated it. Rebecca changed the course of destiny by intervening in an hour of crisis so that Isaac bestowed his blessings on Jacob, instead of the intended Esau. Miriam who was responsible for the birth of Moses, by convincing her parents to have faith and reunite, despite the apparent illogicality of that action under the circumstances of their Egyptian bondage. The examples of such women continue—women whose contributions in a time of transition determine the destiny of our people. 3) Man is a tree of the field. For, in truth, the greatness of man and of humanity is in the translation of the intellect into emotions, where the knowledge then becomes richer, deeper and more genuine. Ultimately our emotions are what validate our intellect and make it our crowning human glory.

Vadim Segal