Litvak or Chassid?

Someone close to me explained why he thought I was so dismissive, particularly of religious views I did not agree with.

In his opinion, this reflected the distinction between the rigorous Lithuanian academic yeshiva training and, on the other hand, the Chassidic tendency to enjoy a more mystical, more laid-back, even casual, life of joy. As in all such theories, generalisations are risky, but there may well be an element of truth. In my case, particularly, I felt that it missed a major cultural influence that had been passed down to me by my father.

In Eastern Europe, there were two powerful schools of thought and religious influence. The mainstream traditional world was typified by the brilliant and encyclopedic Vilna Gaon. Intense academic study of Torah was regarded as the most important and determining factor in Jewish religious life. In contrast, the Chassidic (pious) movement initiated by the Ba’al Shem Tov, focused much more on religious feeling and welcoming everybody regardless of their degree of learning. One was, in a way, an elite, meritocratic academic movement. The other was more popular and dynastic.

There was some criticism of the mainstream rabbinic world that came to be known as the Yeshivish branch of Judaism. It was thought by some to be too academic and not sufficiently spiritual. To counterbalance that, a movement known as the Mussar movement, spearheaded by Rabbi Israel Salanter, developed in Eastern Europe.  Mussar spread to Kelm, Slobodka, and Novardok, each interpreting Salanter’s teachings in its own way and implementing a distinctive program of Mussar education and supervision.

Later, in Mir yeshiva in Lithuania, where my father studied (and I did too when it transferred to Jerusalem after the Second World War), Mussar played a very important part and was included in the curriculum. The Mashgiach, the spiritual adviser of the old Mir, Rav Yerucham Levovitz, was a powerful, charismatic man, and according to my father, he was the most important religious influence in his life. Later, when my father entered the rabbinate, he wrote a thesis on Israel Salanter and the Mussar Movement. He always had a picture of him on his desk and gave me my Hebrew name, Yerucham, as a tribute to him.

The secular side was also an influence on my father intellectually. In his day, secondary education in England was not free, and so after primary school, the only option left was for him to go to a full-time yeshiva in the East End of London. But there, he only got a religious education. Then the only option open to him was the Fabian Movement (Fabian Society), which was a British socialist reformist organisation that advocated gradual, democratic progress toward socialism and which offered a strong intellectual training ground for young, impecunious, rebellious minds.

One of his favourite pastimes was participating in the weekly debates at Hyde Park Corner in London, where young minds could get up on a soapbox and argue their case on any political, social, or religious issue they cared about. It was a hive of unrestrained debate where only wit and intellect would survive, and one had to cultivate the art of repartee, of putting somebody down with the perfect insult, to win the debate. That was a skill my father picked up and used throughout his life. With devastating and sometimes cruel effects both as a rabbi and as a teacher. Even if he sometimes overstepped the mark, whereas better judgment might have restrained him.

My father was a Litvak (even if his parents had come from Chassidic stock) and he was dismissive of much in Chassidic ideology. Years later, towards the end of his life, my father would become an admirer of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, who represented the very best of the Chassidic world. It was too late for me, even if I married into two different Chassidic dynasties.

My point was that this side of my father was just as much a reflection of his religious Lithuanian side as were his acerbic wit and capacity for demolishing opinions. He did not suffer fools gladly.  And it was a side of his character that I think I adopted, but of course, without either his expertise or brilliant personality.

Both have contributed to my anti-establishment and maverick personality.  I recoil when people come up with oversimplified theories that invariably miss something in the total picture. I was grateful to this person even for thinking about trying to understand what made me who I became.

But in general, whether it’s religion or politics, there are no simple answers. Life is too complicated and multifaceted to be reduced to a single theory, or to have only one explanation for anything.

Rabbi Jeremy Rosen lives in New York. He was born in Manchester. His writings are concerned with religion, culture, history and current affairs – anything he finds interesting or relevant. They are designed to entertain and to stimulate. Disagreement is always welcome.