A Response to One Above and Seven Below

By Baruch Pelta

Baruch Pelta is a yeshiva student. His blog is located at orthodoxfreelancers.blogspot.com

While I was reading Yechezkel Hirshman's One Above and Seven Below (1), I was nagged by a
constant thought. The book reminded me of something I had once read, but I could not recall the
specifics. Suddenly, I remembered. In an article, Dr. Aaron Twerski detailed what his rabbi used to
say to him and his twin brother when they asked particularly good questions about the Talmud's
logic: "Twerski, you're one hundred percent right, but I'll show you where you're wrong (2)."
Though Hirshman's book reaches valid conclusions about ideas inherent in Orthodox Judaism, the
manner by which these conclusions are reached is frequently marked by shoddy scholarship and
an ignorance of the history of Jewish ideas; indeed, many of the concepts which Hirshman wishes
to teach are blatantly false. Therefore, though his conclusions may be "right," Hirshman is dead
wrong, because in Judaism, the end does not necessarily justify the means (3).

A (very) brief synopsis: Hirshman's book defines chareidim and discusses why one should be
chareidi. In the "FAQs About This Book" section, Hirshman attempts to explain the purpose of his
book. In the Author's Foreward, he introduces the reader to his background -- after high school ,
his education was solely at yeshivot and kollelim -- and explains why he, despite not feeling
qualified, chose to write the book. The Introduction deals with the secular-chareidi divide,
ignorance among non-chareidi Orthodox Jews, the media's anti-chareidi bias, and the fact that
many Orthodox Jews have anti-chareidi biases; Chapter 1 explains Hirshman's definition of the
term chareidi; Chapters 2, 3, 6, 7, and 9 expound on this; Chapter 4 examines different biblical,
medieval, and eschalogical figures who Hirshman categorizes as either chareidi or non-chareidi
Orthodox Jews; Chapter 5 attacks sociologists Samuel Heilman and Noah Efron for propounding
that the chareidi movement is a new phenomenon; Chapter 8 explains the importance of
submissiveness in chareidi ideology; Chapter 9 (perhaps the most interesting chapter) expounds
on Hirshman's theory of how the term "chareidi" came into popular usage and how it is more
important that a person believes in being chareidi -- according to Hirshman's definition -- than
utilizing the term to describe oneself; and a "special feature chapter" addresses the problem of
Orthodox people going "off the derech."

Hirshman informs us in the "FAQs About This Book" section that his book's main purpose is to
expound on chareidi (4) ideology and that his book is singularly "unique in that it applies the
principles of hashkafa to the cultural (what I call the socio-political) landscape of Orthodox Judaism
and deals with many of the pertinent issues (5)." He defines a chareidi as "a Jew who defines
Orthodoxy as a society whose primary function is to actively advance the observance of the
commandments and the study of Torah and who identifies himself with this society (6)." Those
who affiliate with the Religious Zionist community instead cannot be classified as chareidi and
therefore the author's definition is not only theological, but sociological as well (7). Hirshman also
asserts that "the perspectives and ideals of the chareidim have been virtually unchanged for the
past 2300 years (8)." I will deal with some of these claims later in the essay.

The Introduction begins by examining the secular-chareidi divide in Israel. To Hirshman, the entire
reason secular Jews have such animosity for chareidim is because the latter "personifies the
subservience of Man to a higher authority. This concept of subservience is anathema to the
secular masses who are driven to define their responsibilities, privileges, and moral ethics as only
they see fit...all else is window dressing. They cry out that the chareidi is hated and shunned
because he does not serve his country in the army...this cry is a smokescreen...(9)" This claim is a
patently ridiculous stereotype of secular people. Does Hirshman really believe that secular parents
of dead and wounded Israeli children, children who fought for Israel and the survival of the Jewish
people, are upset with chareidim because of theological concerns?
 
Hirshman later explains how "chareidim have over the past 60 years (and for always), held the
monopoly [emphasis mine] of erudite scholars fully versed in Talmud, Shulchan Aruch, and
Maimonides, some of whom can quote full volumes by heart (10)." Hirshman has obviously never
heard of Elisha ben Abuyah ("Acher") of the Talmud. As for the past 60 years, there are many
names which would suffice to put this fallacy to rest, but I will limit myself to naming only Louis
Ginzberg, David Weiss-haLivni, and Louis Jacobs.

At one point, Hirshman attempts to clarify that chareidim are not necessarily defined by their dress
code. "If external appearance is the only factor that distinguishes," then the wearers are most likely
chareidi. He immediately contradicts himself by adding, "It does go without saying that people who
subscribe to a given ideology will have, by default, a like-minded approach as to what form of attire
fits the ideology. One who exhibits liberal...tastes in clothing, hairstyle...is, in effect, advertising that
he or she does not truly subscribe to the ideology (11)." Considering that the uniform of the
chareidi community is rather monolithic, anything less formal than light blue dress shirts, jackets,
and grey hats is considered liberal to this society!
 
Hirshman tells of his brother who is a student at Mercaz haRak Kook. Although said relative calls
himself a "hybrid", Hirshman argues that it is impossible to be both chareidi and non-chareidi at the
same time and that the man is indeed a chareidi (12). He apparently contradicts himself again
when he writes, two pages later, that a subcategory of the chareidim is the hardal camp, "a hybrid
of sorts between the chareidi and the national religious camps (13)."

Well into Chapter 4, One Above sounds relatively reasonable; it seems to slowly be developing
into a logical argument. When the book begins expounding on Maimonides' "chareidi-ism," it loses
all semblance of logic. Hirsch quotes an article by Jerusalem Post columnist Elliot Jager: "If the
Rambam were alive today, I pressed Rabbi [Berel] Wein, where would he feel most comfortable?
'He'd be hardal -- ultra-Orthodox national religious (14)." Hirshman responds:

Objection, your honor! It appears to me that Rabbi Wein's response does not fit the question. What Mr. Jager asked is where
would the Rambam feel more comfortable if he were alive today  -- meaning if he was born and raised and living in our
generation. Rabbi Wein's response would better fit an inquiry of "If the Rambam came to us in a time capsule for a five-day
visit, where would he most likely spend Shabbat?" To this, Rabbi Wein responds that he would be hardal, meaning that he
would most likely be the guest of Rabbi Mordechai Eliyahu or of the Sephardic Chief Rabbi (currently Rabbi Shlomo
Amar)...As for Mr. Jager's stated question...this question is largely moot. The true litmus test question is, "If the Rambam
were alive today, who would feel most comfortable with him?" Again I don't think, as Rabbi Wein infers, that it would be a
predominatly national-religious crowd such as would come to hear a lecture by Rabbi Eliyahu, but a very mixed crowd such
as would come to hear Rabbi Amnon Yitzchak when he is in mixed communities such as Jerusalem or those of the Diaspora
(typically at least 50% "black-hat" chareidi) (15).

Hirshman's response is completely incoherent. How Rabbi Wein's response does not fit Jager's
question, we are left in the dark. And If Rabbi Wein indeed meant to answer a different question
than the one posed by Jager, how does he "infer" anything about the question posed?  But more
importantly, I would address a question to Hirshman which is typical of the type of responses from
the chareidi community to statements such as the one quoted above: Who are you to 'think'
anything about Maimonides? Rabbi Berel Wein is a historian, a former Rosh Yeshiva, and a
tremendous talmid chacham. You are not even a rabbi, so who are you to contradict his great
wisdom!? That's like contradicting Da'as Torah (16)!"

Hirshman then quotes Jager as saying that Maimonides would not be chareidi today because he
felt that "to better understand G-d, one has to study science and philosophy." Hirshman writes that,
if what Jager writes is indeed true, philosophy is certainly studied by the chareidim vis-a-vis
mussar and chassidut; as for science, astronomy and biology aplenty can be found in the
Babylonian Talmud (17)!

Although Jager's arguments are easy to deflect -- one need only say that us modern people are
not on the level of Maimonides to study philosophy and science -- Hirshman's method was not the
way to do it. The philosophies and sciences that Maimonides studied were not only within the
Torah and Talmud, but "alien" philosophies and sciences as well. In regard to philosophy, he
personally recommended the works of Aristotle, Alexander of Aphrodisias, Themistius, Averroes,
al-Farabi, and Avicenna (18). As for science, Maimonides was familiar with physicians such as Ibn
Juljul, Ibn Wafid, and Ibn Samajun (19). In the words of one scholar, Rabbi David Kimchi (Radak)
"praised Maimonides' unique ability to harmonize 'wisdom' and faith (20)." Modern chareidim, on
the other hand, only study "house" sciences and philosophies -- those in biblical and rabbinic texts.
Indeed, Hirshman's very definition of the word chareidi might be contradicted by Maimonides'
weltenschaaung! Hirshman says that a chareidi must believe that working hard in one's Torah
studies is a universal, constant, and lifelong obligation (21). Yet, according to the great Rabbi Meir
Don Plotzky of Ostrova, Maimonides believed that, "even mi-derabbanan (rabbinically) there is no
obligation to learn constantly... (22)." One might argue that the modern gedolim have chosen not
to adapt this interpretations of Maimonides. However, we are then forced to deal with another
question: was Rabbi Plotzky chareidi (23)?

Chapter 5 is largely dedicated to attempting to refute the scholarship of sociologists Noah Efron
and Samuel Heilman. Hirshman is upset that Efron estimated a population statistic for the
chareidim when Efron did not bother to establish a definition for what a chareidi is (24). Similarly,
he disapprovingly quotes a reference of Efron's to "ultra-Orthodox Jews noisily praying" and asks,
"is ultra-Orthodoxy the collective raison d'etre of this 'crowd?' It appears that according to Efron,
and probably most of his readership, any Jew who prays in a minyan on a plane is ultra-Orthodox,
at least while he is praying (25)." What Hirshman forgets is that the reason Efron was not defining
a chareidi Jew by theological definitions is that Efron is not a theologian. Rather he is a sociologist,
attempting to define "who is a chareidi" by their affiliation with that society. The same goes for
some of the arguments against Heilman, albeit as Heilman is more ambiguous, Hirshman's claims
against Heilman ultimately prove to be legitimate.

In relation to Efron's description of the Chatam Sofer's infamous argument that "innovation is
forbidden by the Torah," Hirshman proceeds to go overboard by arguing that the "Chatam Sofer
was not arguing anything new. He was merely echoing an age-old truth to his followers because
there was a danger that they may lose sight of it (26)." As I mentioned above, he follows up on this
idea with the testimony that, " the perspectives and ideals of the chareidim have been virtually
unchanged for the past 2300 years (27)." To counter this idea of a static Jewish tradition, I have
only to direct Hirshman to the appetizer at his Sabbath table.

I am referring to gefilte fish. What, one might ask, could a traditional Jewish culinary item such as
this have to do with the dynamics of the Jewish tradition? Gefilte fish is supposedly eaten to avoid
the problem of borer (the Sabbath prohibition of "separating") -- normal fish cannot be eaten
without separating the bones and the meat. However, for about fifteen centuries before the
invention of gefilte fish, Jews ate fish on the Sabbath! Although the Mishnah Berurah attempts to
find a halachic justification for this practice, the argument is weak and is therefore critiqued by the
Hazon Ish (28). As for the Hazon Ish, he himself revolutionized the minimal shiur (requisite
quantitiy) for Passover matzah and the shiur which had been utilized for a millenia disappeared.
Although the Vilna Gaon and the Noda Beyudah had themselves attempted in the 18th century to
rectify the shiur, their attempts "fell on deaf ears" not only in the realm of the common people, but
in the circles of the religious elite as well (29). In fact, "on frequent occasions, the written word was
reread in light of traditional behavior (30)." For various reasons, this behavioral aspect of Judaism
-- what Dr. Haym Soloveitchik describes as the mimetic tradition (31) -- has disappeared. The
power of minhag (custom) has been replaced with the authority of text-based stringency (32). This
is not necessarily a negative phenomenon, but it is a phenomenon. Indeed, it was this very
phenonemon which the Hatam Sofer hoped to encourage. The Hatam Sofer's battle cry against
the Enlightenment, the cry that "innovation is forbidden by the Torah," was not simply a statement
that Orthodox society would refuse to adopt Western norms. It was a statement that Orthodox
society would refuse to adopt Western norms by ensconcing itself in stringency:
What strategy should be adopted on halakhic issues in an age increasingly lax in traditional observance? When the hold of
tradition was still strong, leniency or severity was often a matter of the individual authority's personal inclination. Where
tradition came to be challenged, however, it often became a matter of policy and general tactics. Should one eschew a
stringent approach for fear of further alienating a not entirely commited congregation, or on the contrary, defiantly embrace a
hard line, and thus prod a hesitant flock into making a firm commitment?

...Several stratagems were employed. One way which the Hatam Sofer sought to arrive at stringent rulings was to collapse
the differences between the various levels of precepts. "It is good to elevate a prohibition!" By this he meant to ground a
stringent ruling in a new rationale, as well as to "promote" the prohibition to a higher level (e.g., to claim that a rabbinic
prohibition was actually a biblical one) (33).

Dr. Soloveitchik concludes his famous article Rupture and Reconstruction: The Transformation of
Contemporary Orthodoxy:

To be sure, there are seasons of the year, moments of crest in the religious cycle, when God's guiding hand may be tangibly
felt by some and invoked by many, and there are certainly occasions in the lives of most when the reversals are so sudden,
or the stakes so high and the contingencies so many, that the unbeliever prays for luck, and the believer, more readily and
more often, calls for His help. Such moments are only too real, but they are not the stuff of daily life. And while there are
always those whose spirituality is one apart from that of their time, nevertheless I think it safe to say that the perception of
God as a daily, natural force is no longer present to a significant degree in any sector of modern Jewry, even the most
religious. Indeed, I would go so far as to suggest that individual Divine Providence, though passionately believed as a
theological principle -- and I do not for a moment question the depth of that conviction-- is no longer experienced as a simple
reality.

...It is this rupture in the traditional religious sensibilities that underlies much of the transformation of contemporary
Orthodoxy. Zealous to continue traditional Judaism unimpaired, religious Jews seek to ground their new, emerging spirituality
less on a now unattainable intimacy with Him than on an intimacy with His Will, avidly eliciting Its intricate demands and
saturating their daily lives with Its exactions. Having lost the touch of His presence, they seek now solace in the presence of
His yoke (34).

Dr. Soloveitchik is stressing the point that the modern Orthodox tendency towards stringency, a
tendency which was emphasized by the Hatam Sofer, has indeed resulted in major shifts in the
religious Jew's relationship with G-d Himself. This is quite contrary to Hirshman's claims that the
Hatam Sofer did not innovate and that the chareidi point of view is "virtually" the same as it was
thousands of years ago (35).

Hirshman compares scholarship which claims that the chareidi movement is one which has
evolved with the scientific theory of evolution. Both lack convincing proof and both claims cannot
be acknowledged by the chareidim themselves -- "We chareidim do not believe in evolution. We
believe in Creation. We believe that G-d created the world in six days (36)." To Hirshman, an
evolutionist is somebody who does not recognize G-d's glory in the world. As I have just shown,
Hirshman is simply unaware of the heaps of evidence for the claim that chareidi Judaism has been
extremely dynamic, a claim which could be termed "evolution" without taking Judaism out of the
picture. As for science, no less of an authority than Rabbi Gedalyah Nadel, a late Rosh Kollel of
Kollel Hazon Ish, certainly believed in evolution:

Regarding Seforno's basic point, that the creation of man in the image of God was the conclusion of a lengthy process, which
began in a non-rational being under the category of animals, that proceeded to develop until it acquired human intellect, and
also the physiological appearance of man with which we are familiar—it is reasonable that this is a correct description. The
evidence of Darwin and of paleontologists, regarding the existence of earlier stages, appears convincing…

As long as there is recognition of the Divine will that functions in nature via spiritual forces (mal'achim), there is no need
whatsoever to negate the description of events that scientific investigation presents today. There are discoveries of skeletons
of bipeds with a small skull, whose brain could not have been like the brain of the human being that we know. The man
about which it is said, "Let us make man in Our image," was the final stage of a gradual process... [emphasis mine]

The description of the formation of man from the dust is by way of allegory and parable. The Holy One did not take a
spoonful of dirt and knead it with water, as children do in kindergarten. The "dust" here is raw material, from which animals
were also formed (37).

Does Hirshman believe that Rabbi Gedalyah Nadel was a heretic? How about Rabbi Samson
Raphael Hirsch, who wrote:

Even if this notion (evolution) were ever to gain complete acceptance by the scientific world, Jewish thought, unlike the
reasoning of the high priest of that nation, would nonetheless never summon us to revere a still extant representative of this
primal form (an ape) as the supposed ancestor of us all. Rather, Judaism in that case would call upon its adherents to give
even greater reverence than ever before to the one, sole God Who, in His boundless creative wisdom and eternal
omnipotence, needed to bring into existence no more than one single, amorphous nucleus, and one single law of "adaptation
and heredity" (Darwinian evolution) in order to bring forth, from what seemed chaos but was in fact a very definite order, the
infinite variety of species we know today, each with its unique characteristics that sets it apart from all other creatures (38).

Chapter 6 is essentially a rabbinical discourse. As Hirshman is a Talmudist by profession, here he

is in his element and I did not notice any mistakes. In Chapter 7, Hirshman writes about rabbinic
texts which he thinks expound on chareidi philosophy, and generally writes well here as well (39).

In Chapter 8, Hirshman most embodies the quote I referred to at the beginning of this essay about
a person being wrong and right at the same time; in this chapter, Hirshman makes no historical,
theological, or sociological mistakes. The mistake he makes, rather, is simply in not catering to his
readership. The chapter is dedicated to explaining why Jews should accept the authoritarian
teachings of the Torah. Hirshman's frame of reference is West Side Story: Moses is compared to
Lt. Schrank. While Moses told the Jews the statues of the Torah, Lt. Schrank told the Jets (and
Hirshman quotes this on p. 195), "You're gonna start makin' nice with the Puerto Ricans from now
on...'Cause if you don't...and I catch any of you doin' any more brawlin' in my territory...I'm gonna
personally beat the...out of every one of you..." This sort of fire-and-brimstone comparison may
have worked for medieval people, but it only serves to deter most people today (40). Although in
Chapter 6, Hirshman stresses Heavenly reward as motivation, I believe that he forgot to mention
the main point of a Jew's relationship with G-d: a Jew does halakhot because he wants to be able
to relate to G-d more -- to become a more perfect, G-dly person (41).

Chapter 9 is a fitting conclusion, which expounds on Hirshman's theories of how the term chareidi
came into mainstream Israeli usage and argues that it does not matter what one calls himself, as
long as he is indeed chareidi. I am not sure I agree with this last assertion; as for his theories, I am
not familiar enough with the history of Israeli terminology to have an opinion. Finally, in the Special
Feature Chapter, Hirshman excellently writes about what parents can do to stem the tide of the "off
the derech" phenomenon.
While I was writing this essay, many of my chareidi colleagues seemed to be curious as to what
could possibly be wrong with a book which expounds on chareidi ideology. My problem was not so
much with the major premise of the book's message, the premise that one should fervently believe
that the Torah should be rigorously studied, but the way in which this message was brought
across. I felt the book was non-scholarly and anti-rational. I actually personally disagree with most
of the authors who Hirshman was attempting to refute, but I am simply not ready to fall into the trap
of thinking that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. I would guess that Hirshman's ideas stem
from the tendency in Jerusalem's chareidi community to emphasize "logic:" the usage of one's
cognitive faculties in coming to decisions about personal beliefs. Unfortunately, cognitive faculties
can only take us so far; we are humans and our logic is fallible. In order to truly become informed
Orthodox Jews, we must read literature about the topics we think about. Hirshman was unaware of
much of the vast corpus of literature related to the topics he wrote about and therefore made many
errors.

In order to conclude on a positive note: my disagreements with Hirshman are largely philosophical.
When Hirshman's arguments are in the practical realms of addressing the Orthodox world's
problems directly, he largely succeeds. I understand that this book was the first of a two volume
set and the second volume is to be more focused on practical aspects. I look forward to giving it a
positive review.

I would like to thank Rabbi Dr. Aaron Rakeffet-Rothkoff and Rabbi Natan Slifkin for the sources they provided me with for this
report, albeit it goes without saying that they do not necessarily agree with everything written therein. I would also like to
thank the Jewish National and Hebrew University Library at Hebrew University's campus in Givat Ram, as well as the Daniel
Glick Memorial Library at Ohr Somayach Tanenbaum College's Jerusalem campus for allowing me to use their resources.
Finally, I would like to thank Yechezkel Hirshman himself for, in spirit of open dialogue, encouraging me to write this
response.

(1) Yechezkel Hirshman, One Above and Seven Below: a Consumer's Guide to Orthodox Judaism From the Perspective of
the Chareidim (Jerusalem: Mazo, 2007).

(2) Aaron Twerski, "'Walk the Tightrope,' Says Dr. Aaron Twerski," Jewish Observer, October 1985, p. 5.

(3) The purpose of this essay is to give the lie to Hirshman's positions so the Orthodox world will be aware of said logical
errors. It is not meant to be a full-scale review.

(4) Hirshman, p. 7. Since Hirshman spells the word "chareidi," I am utilizing that spelling. The academic spelling is haredi.
See Haym Soloveitchik, "Rupture and Reconstruction: The Transformation of Contemporary Orthodoxy" in Roberta R. Farber
and Chaim I. Waxman, eds., Jews in America: A Contemporary Reader (Hanover, N.H.: Brandeis University Press, 1999), p.
353, n. 1.

(5) Hirshman, p. 7. It is quite strange that such a work which is so singularly important to the chareidi community does not
bear the approbations of a single gadol. I mean to use this term in the sense that it is commonly used in the
chareidi community: somebody to whom said community ascribes the ability of Da'as Torah (the ability to make policy
decisions for communities based on one's superior piety and scholarship). Whether the idea of Da'as Torah is a classical
Jewish concept is one of the hotly disputed theological debates between the chareidim and the Modern Orthodox. For a list
of sources related to scholarship about Da'as Torah, see Haym Soloveitchik, p. 373, n. 87 (it should be noted that
Soloveitchik himself here places himself in the anti- camp). See also Berel Wein, "Daas Torah: An Ancient Definition of
Authority and Responsibility in Jewish Life," Jewish Observer , October 1994, pp. 4-9.

For contradictory opinions as to Rabbi Dr. Joseph B. Soloveitchik's view of Da'as Torah, see Aharon Lichtenstein, "Divrei
Hesped" Mesorah 9 (1994): 22-23 and Moshe Meiselman, "The Rav, Feminism and Public Policy: An Insider's Overview"
Tradition 33.1 (1998): 22 and 30, n. 45. See also Joseph B. Soloveitchik, "And Joseph Dreamt a Dream" in Zvi Faier, ed.,
The Rav Speaks: Five Addresses by Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, trans. S.M. Lehrman (Jerusalem: Tal Orot Institute), pp.
25-32. (I am indebted to Rabbi Dr. Aaron Rakeffet-Rothkoff for this last source.).

(6) Hirshman, pp. 64-65

(7) see ibid., p. 121 where Hirshman agrees with Rabbi Moshe Grylack's definition of a chareidi. Hirshman writes that, "This
works for me (although I have no need for the proviso about the politically Zionistic)." Although one could argue that this
means that Hirshman believes that a Zionist can be chareidi, every instance he refers to Religious Zionist ideology, he is
contrasting it with chareidi ideology. See p. 20, p. 79, and pp. 35-36.

(8) ibid., p. 175

(9) ibid., p. 30

(10) ibid., p. 36

(11) ibid., p. 68

(12) ibid., pp. 76-77

(13) ibid., p. 79

(14) ibid., pp. 112-113

(15) ibid., p. 113

(16) see above, n. 5

(17) Hirshman, p. 113

(18) see Maimonides' letter to Samuel ibn Tibbon

(19) "Maimonides, Moses" Encyclopaedia Judaica Vol. 11 (Jerusalem: Keter Publishing House, 1978), p. 778.

(20) David Berger, "Judaism and General Culture in Medieval and Early Modern Times" in Jacob J. Schachter, ed.,
Judaism's Encounter with Other Cultures: Rejection or Integration (Northvale: Jason Aranson Inc., 1997), p. 90.

(21) Hirshman, pp. 60-61

(22) Rabbi Plotzky derives this from Maimonides' Hil. Melakhim 3:5-6. See Aharon Lichtenstein, "Torah and General Culture:
Confluence and Conflict" in Jacob J. Schachter, ed., Judaism's Encounter with Other Cultures: Rejection or Integration
(Northvale: Jason Aranson Inc., 1997), p. 259.

(23) For biographical information, listen to Berel Wein, "R' Meir Don Plotzky" (audio cassette). I do not believe that Rabbi
Wein is still selling this tape, but it is available at Aish-Denver's library, Yeshiva Migdal Torah's tape collection, and Young
Israel of West Hempstead's tape collection.

(24) Hirshman, p. 124

(25) ibid., p. 126

(26) Hirshman, p. 134

(27) see n. 8

(28) Haym Soloveitchik, p. 322 and p. 354 n. 2

(29) ibid., p. 324

(30) ibid., p. 322. For a list of sources, see p. 354, n. 5

(31) ibid., p. 322

(32) ibid., pp. 326-327

(33) Michael K. Silber, "The Emergence of Ultra-Orthodoxy: the Invention of a Tradition" in Jack Wertheimer, ed., The Uses
of Tradition: Jewish Continuity in the Modern Era (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1992), pp. 47-48.

(34) Haym Soloveitchik, p. 351

(35) Hirshman should perhaps not be blamed for these particular oversights. He admittedly has never gone to college and
does not realize how difficult academic Judaic scholarship is. Hirshman believed that he would find arguments against his
thesis of Judaism's static nature not in the halls of the Wissenschaften des Judentums, but in sociological arguments; after
all, part of a sociologist's job description is to examine historical trends in whatever societies they study. Hirshman intimates
that both Heilman and Efron did not do this. I have not had a chance to examine their books extensively, but if Hirshman's
summary of the arguments of these prominent sociologists is indeed accurate, both indeed failed to write their books
properly.

(36) Hirshman, p. 128

(37) Gedalyah Nadel, BeToraso Shel Rav Gedalyah, ed. Yitzhak Shilat (Bnei Brak). (I am indebted to Rabbi Natan Slifkin for
this source.)

(38) Samson Raphael Hirsch, "The Educational Value of Judaism" in eds. Elliott Bondi and David Bechhofer, The Collected
Writings of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, vol. 7, trans. Gertrude Hirschler (New York: Feldheim, 1992), p. 264. (I am
indebted to Rabbi Natan Slifkin for this source.)

(39) When Hirshman writes about Maimonides' Thirteen Principle of Faith, it is difficult to tell whether he feels that Orthodox
Jews have always believed in these principles or that they were adopted. On the one hand, he writes about how Orthodox
Jews must believe in the same principles and infers that Maimonides' principles have been believed by every Orthodox Jew
in history. On the other hand, he writes that Maimonides' principles were "adopted." If the latter is the case, then Hirshman is
absolutely correct; if not, he is in error. See Marc B. Shapiro, The Limits of Orthodox Theology: Maimonides' Thirteen
Principles Reappraised (Portland: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2004).
(40) There are obviously exceptions, among which I would count myself.

(41) See Joseph B. Soloveitchik, "Confrontation." Boston College. <www.bc.edu/research/cjl/meta-

elements/texts/cjrelations/resources/articles/soloveitchik/>. Rabbi Soloveitchik writes about a personality type who "fails to
realize his great capacity for winning freedom from an unalterable natural order and offering this very freedom as the great
sacrifice to God, who wills man to be free in order that he may commit himself unreservedly and forfeit his freedom."