Daniel Ross Goodman, Soloveitchik’s Children: Irving Greenberg, David Hartman, Jonathan Sacks, and the Future of Jewish Theology in America

When I first saw the title of this book, I thought it referred either to Rav Soloveitchik’s biological children or to his closest Talmud students, such as Rav Aharon Lichtenstein who had studied in his Talmud classes and beyond (and was his son-in-law). After all, Rav Soloveitchik, who was widely known as “the Rav,” thought of himself, and was thought of by most of his closest students, primarily in terms of his incisive talmudic knowledge, the brilliance of his halachic analyses, and his oratorical skills in passionately and forcefully delivering his lectures/shiurim as a talmudist and halachic authority. When I read the Preface, I saw that Goodman himself is aware of this bifurcation between those who approach Rav Soloveitchik’s thought from a traditional Jewish religious perspective and those who approach it from an academic scholarly perspective, and he pleads with both sides to be patient and understanding of the book’s “dual nature,” of being one which has an approach rooted in academic research in religious thought, theology and philosophy, among others, and yet, being also a book of Jewish thought that analyzes the ideas of thinkers in light of traditional Jewish thinking.

I recalled an article by Menachem Kellner, “Each generation and its Rambam [Maimonides]: Rambam in the eyes of Rav Aharon Kotler,”¹ in which Kellner elucidates the different presentations of Rambam between philosophical Rambamists and halachic Rambamists. I also recalled a quip I heard concerning many volumes on the works of Maimonides: “My-monides is not your-monides.”² To wit, there are those who focus exclusively on Rambam as an outstanding, if not the most outstanding and comprehensive halachic codifier, and may not even know anything of his philosophical work, and there are those who know him as one of the most prominent religious Jewish theologian/philosophers, and may not know of or care about his halachic work. This book is a case in point, and one may be skeptical about the impact of Goodman’s call for understanding the book’s dual nature among those who are “more at home in the methods and manners of study typically encountered in yeshivas, kollels, batei medresh, and synagogue study groups."³ Almost the entire focus of the book is on Rabbi Soloveitchik the theologian/philosopher and, especially, on the works of three rabbis/scholars who view themselves as having been significantly influenced by him and his thought. There is hardly a mention of Rav Soloveitchik as a Talmud scholar and teacher, which he saw as his major role,⁴ and at least two of the three students whose work is the core of the book are either unknown or not held in high esteem among those whom Goodman refers to as those of Rav Soloveitchik’s students who have a “more traditional Jewish religious perspective.”⁵

The appropriateness of their being called “Soloveitchik’s children,” will probably be questioned by some. As will be discussed below, one of the three whose work is analyzed did not actually study with the Rav, but was, in many ways, closest to him in religious outlook, whereas another, who studied for several years in the Rav’s halachic classes and was ordained by him, moved farthest away from him in religious outlook. There are, indeed, many biblical sources indicating that one’s students are as children to their teachers,⁶ and although there is a disagreement between Rabbi Yehuda and Rabbi Meir as to whether there are limitations to the notion that one’s students are as one’s children,⁷ the Halakha is in accordance with Rabbi Meir that even if they part ways with their teacher, they are considered his children.

The author of this book, Daniel Ross Goodman, provides a stimulating analysis of the Jewish thought and theology of three of the most prominent rabbis/theologians/philosophers who view themselves as students of Rav Soloveitchik, namely, Irving “Yitz” Greenberg, David Hartman, and Jonathan Sacks. He explores and elucidates the ideas and issues on which they agreed with Soloveitchik and with each other as well as those on which they disagreed, especially on the issues of responding to the Holocaust and on participating in interfaith dialogue. Given the complex, multifaceted character of Soloveitchik’s corpus, there inevitably will be those who disagree with some of Goodman’s interpretations of what he actually thought and/or meant. In other cases, it may be not Goodman’s interpretations of the Rav but interpretations of the three “children” whose work Goodman analyzes, or differing opinions among others of his students as to what the Rav said and meant, and, at times, differences in nuance in his own talks and writings.⁸ Goodman’s analyses are based on his extensive reading of the philosophical works of Soloveitchik, as well as those of Greenberg, Hartman, and Sacks. In the case of Greenberg, who is still alive and functioning, Goodman had the additional advantage of having been his student and with whom he developed a close relationship, allowing him the opportunity to personally interview him on various occasions.

Of the three, David Hartman, actually studied in the Talmud classes of the Rav at the Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary of Yeshiva University (RIETS), was ordained by him, lived a block away from Yeshiva University (YU), in the Washington Heights area of Manhattan, and wrote an article for the festschrift Sefer HaYovel, that was edited by Rabbi Shaul Yisraeli, Rabbi Professor Nahum (Norman) Lamm, and Dr. Yitzhak Rafael in honor of the Rav.⁹ Subsequently, however, although Hartman consistently affirmed his gratitude to the Rav, he became increasingly cognizant of his having moved further and further away from a number of the Rav’s firm views and positions. For example, in a chapter in one of his last books, he wrote,

I outlined a different theological-halakhic path leading to a different decision--but it is not merely that this type of approach would not have occurred to Soloveitchik or that he would have respected but disagreed with it. Actually, he would have considered my decision heretical, transgressing basic theological precepts about the God who revealed the Torah to the Jewish people and the nature of that Torah. . . . The theology of halakhic perfection is based upon, and thus naturally cultivates, a denial that the vicissitudes of nature and history impinge on the Chosen People, who remain insulated from these trends by virtue of their unflinching grasp on a timeless Tree of Life. . . . That this meta-halakhic ideal of perfection, and the rejection of halakhic change it supports and is supported by, has become the prohibitive theology of modem Orthodox Judaism is due largely to the stature of Rabbi Soloveitchik, who articulated it clearly and forcefully at a convention of the Rabbinical Council of America (RCA, the umbrella organization of the American modern Orthodox rabbinate) in 1975.¹⁰

Further on he wrote,

In my view, taking into account our humanity is precisely what God asks the Jewish people to do in covenantal halakha. This is a key point of divergence from Soloveitchik, for whom surrender and self-sacrifice, not empowerment, is the key feature of halakhic spirituality. I believe that God encourages us to expand our intelligence and build a system that takes into account all the changes that have taken place in the world. A human being affirms his or her lived reality and brings it into the presence of God. . . .

For this reason, I find there to be something deeply inhuman in Soloveitchik’s approach to halakhic spirituality. Notwithstanding his profound influence on me and my profound gratitude to him as a student, I must part company with a view of halakha that takes it out of history and out of human experience. Is the price of loyalty to deny what I know to be true? Does it tell me I have to put on different eyes? I do not think that loyalty to and love for this tradition requires exiting history or exiting life.¹¹

Yitz Greenberg did not study in Rav Soloveitchik’s shiur at RIETS. He studied and was ordained at the Beis Yosef-Novaredok yeshiva in Boro Park, Brooklyn. During the years he was in Boston studying at Harvard University for his MA and PhD in History, he attended the Rav’s weekly classes there and frequently met with him in private. In 1959, he was appointed Associate Professor of History at Yeshiva College (YC) of YU, where his students regarded him highly. In addition to his interesting and challenging scholarly lectures, he was personally active in various endeavors aimed at strengthening the consciousness of and impact of Jewishness in the Jewish community and the wider society. Increasingly, he became viewed as a leading critic and activist within Modern Orthodoxy including, if not especially, the approach of Modern Orthodox thought and practice in YU. His departure from YU and his increasing alienation from the dominant core of Modern Orthodoxy were the result of an interview in the pages of the YC student newspaper, The Commentator, and a subsequent exchange with Rav Aharon Lichtenstein who, besides being a son-in-law of Rav Soloveitchik and having received his PhD in English Literature at Harvard, taught Talmud and was the head of the Kollel at YU. The exchange highlighted, among other things, major philosophical and practical differences in outlook toward the role of Halakha in modern society.¹²

Greenberg’s ideas on such issues as the theological implications of the Shoah, interfaith dialogue, relations with the non-Orthodox, and the roles and status of women in Judaism were increasingly challenging to mainstream Modern Orthodoxy, especially as the latter was moving in more traditional directions. Despite Greenberg’s challenging positions, some of which were the basis of attempts to eject him from the Rabbinical Council of America, Rabbi Soloveitchik never openly opposed him. Some attribute the Rav’s silence to his general pattern of avoiding “attacking individuals for their ideas and positions and [he] was loath to declare anyone a heretic or as standing outside the bounds of Orthodoxy.”¹³ As the Rav himself said at a meeting of the RIETS Rabbinic Alumni, “You know me; I have never criticized anybody, I’ve never attacked anybody, and I have never set myself up as the judge and arbiter to approve or disapprove statements made by some people.”¹⁴ Greenberg suggests that in this case there was more to the Rav’s silence than his general pattern. As Goodman tells it, at the height of the controversy over Greenberg’s remarks in The Commentator interview, the Rav “said to him, ‘You know, Greenberg, they tried to get me to denounce you, but they never will’,” and went on to tell Greenberg that though he did not agree with everything that he had said in the interview, he thought that he had raised important issues that deserved to be discussed more openly than they had previously been.¹⁵

Goodman continues to relate Greenberg’s further recollections of that meeting with the Rav which are sure to raise eyebrows, hackles, and suspicions by many friends, students, and admirers of the Rav:

“Why don’t you give shiurim [classes] about these things?” Greenberg asked his rebbe, whereupon Soloveitchik exploded in fury and unleashed a caustic tirade that left Greenberg stunned. “My students don’t want to hear this!” he complained and went into a rage, like a “caged tiger” (Greenberg’s words), saying that his students have “no neshamot (souls),” they’re focused solely on Gemara and Halakhah and nothing else. Greenberg was shocked that his rebbe had said what he had just said and wished that Soloveitchik would have said some of these things publicly, though he knew that the chances of his teacher ever expressing any of these sentiments to a broader audience were as likely as Soloveitchik deciding to replace his Talmud lectures with cooking classes. Soloveitchik’s halakho-centric, neo-Haredi students were pushing him in a sola Gemara/Halakhah direction, and Soloveitchik, Greenberg understood, felt compelled to give his students what they wanted, even though he believed privately that his students were pushing things too far.¹⁶

According to Goodman, Greenberg thought that, though the Rav was a very warm and caring person, he was not a particularly good educator. He did not know how to relate to his students according to their own needs and ways; rather, they had to accommodate themselves to him and his ways. Ironically, however, Greenberg maintains that the Rav was responsible for allowing his “neo-Haredi students” to push him in that direction.

Since Goodman had the opportunity to interview Greenberg on numerous occasions, one might have expected that he would conduct a bit of research to find out whether Rav Soloveitchik’s students actually felt intimidated or, rather, were in awe of their teacher’s thought processes and analytical skills. Likewise, Goodman might have asked, if Rav Soloveitchik was not a particularly good educator, why did hundreds and more flock to hear the annual hours-long yahrzeit lectures that he gave in Yeshiva University’s Lamport Auditorium, among many others. Goodman might have then learned that many attendees were adults, who attended his lectures not for credit at YU but to hear, learn, and experience the Rav’s extraordinary oratorical and analytical skills.

Elsewhere, Greenberg elaborated on his criticism of Soloveitchik. He asserted that he:

had a strong apologetics streak. He would weave an idealized frame around a tradition that was so persuasive that it would blind him (and others) to actual problems or human suffering in the real situation. Most of all, he did not fully grapple with the reality that rethinking the tradition in the new setting would require revisions in moral assumptions, halakhic regulations, and understanding of classic concepts such as revelation, authority, and miracles. He did some of the necessary rethinking . . . However, he often did this not by openly saying that there was a problem, but by asserting his view as if it were the traditional or Torah view. . . . This left the door open for some students, fundamentalist and legalistic in their thinking, to take over his legacy and develop it so as to become congruent with yeshivish/Haredi Orthodoxy.¹⁷

Nevertheless, Greenberg continues to express his deep admiration, affection, and gratitude:

No one had ever articulated for me, as he did, the poetry, spirituality, and profoundly intellectual dimensions of the tradition. He encouraged me to pursue my secular studies and to find religious insight and explanatory paradigms for my spiritual explorations. I loved the man. . . . His ideas continued to shape my thinking and stimulate new insights in later years.¹⁸

In his discussion of Greenberg’s Holocaust theology, Goodman asserts that Soloveitchik did not address the Holocaust and its horrors directly. In contrast to the traditional response to tragedies as being caused by sins, e.g., “mipnei chataeinu galinu meartzenu”—“Because of our sins we were exiled from our Land”—Rav Soloveitchik, according to Goodman, “simply says that such questions should not even be asked.”¹⁹ Goodman further asserts that, “It is hard to overstate how radical Soloveitchik’s theology of sin and punishment—or, perhaps more precisely, the lack thereof—was for Orthodox theology at the time in which Soloveitchik first delivered his address Kol Dodi Dofek.” Until then, Goodman claims, almost every Jewish theologian dealt with national tragedies in terms of sin and punishment.²⁰

A further reading of Soloveitchik’s approach, however, indicates that it is not as radical as Goodman suggests. Soloveitchik distinguished between fate and destiny and suggests that: “the ‘I’ of fate asks a theoretical-metaphysical question of evil, and that this question has no answer. It is insoluble.”²¹ However,

in the realm of destiny man recognizes the world as it is and does not wish to use harmonistic formulas in order to gloss over and conceal evil. The man of destiny is highly realistic and does not flinch from confronting evil face to face. His approach is an ethico-halakhic one, devoid of the slightest speculative-metaphysical coloration. When the man of destiny suffers he says to himself: “Evil exists, and I will neither deny it nor camouflage it with vain intellectual gymnastics. I am concerned about evil from a halakhic standpoint, like a person who wishes to know the deed which he shall do; I ask one simple question: What must the sufferer do so that he may live through his suffering?” In this dimension the center of gravity shifts from the causal and teleological aspect of evil (the only difference between causality and teleology being a directional one) to its practical aspect. The problem is now formulated in straightforward halakhic language and revolves about one’s daily, quotidian tasks. The fundamental question is: What obligation does suffering impose upon man? This question is greatly beloved by Judaism, and she has placed it at the very center of her world of thought. The halakhah is concerned with this problem as it is concerned with other problems of permitted and forbidden, liability and exemption. We do not inquire about the hidden ways of the Almighty, but, rather, about the path wherein man shall walk when suffering strikes. We ask neither about the cause of evil nor about its purpose, but, rather, about how it might be mended and elevated. How shall a person act in a time of trouble? What ought a man do so that he not perish in his afflictions?²²

Prior to Rav Soloveitchik, the traditionalists may not have been able to formulate their approach with his level of sophistication, but the “mipnei chataeinu” approach also implicitly asks the question, “What must the sufferer do so that he may live through his suffering?” It also does not ask for the hidden ways of God. It does not know the ways of God but asserts that it may well have been caused by some sins and, if so, the sinners must rectify them so that they may live through their suffering. Different traditionalists at different times may have pointed to different sins, but they all agreed that rectifying sins is necessary, similar to the way defined as to how one should act in perilous times and what one should do to avoid perishing in his afflictions.

Soloveitchik provides a version of the traditional answer to the question about afflictions. He writes,

The halakhic answer to this question is very simple. Afflictions come to elevate a person, to purify and sanctify his spirit, to cleanse and purge it of the dross of superficiality and vulgarity, to refine his soul and to broaden his horizons. In a word, the function of suffering is to mend that which is flawed in the individual’s personality.²³

This aspect of the Rav’s answer refers to afflictions and suffering of the individual. He does not spell out specific answers to collective afflictions, but it can be assumed that he would suggest similar collective answers, essential “to mend that which is flawed” in the group. An approach such as this is implicit in Joshua Berman’s answer to the question, “Is this War A Divine Punishment?”²⁴

Much more radical than Soloveitchik’s theology—or lack thereof—of sin and punishment is Greenberg’s theology of the “voluntary covenant.” Irving (Yitz) Greenberg, the historian as well as theologian, asserts that there were three stages to the covenant between God and the Jewish People. The first was the covenant with Abraham; the second was after the destruction of the Second Temple, when God took a secondary, more passive role in Jewish life and enabled or required the Jewish People, now in exile, to be the active, more primary partner in the ultimate redemption; the third stage followed the Shoah. God broke His part of the covenant. “The covenant of demand (for higher standards of behavior from Jews) had been morally passed through the fires of the Holocaust—and had been found wanting.”²⁵ Following the destruction of the Shoah, “No divine punishment can enforce the covenant, for there is no risked punishment so terrible that it can match the punishment risked by continuing faithfulness to the covenant. If the Jews keep the covenant after the Holocaust, then it can no longer be for the reason that it is commanded or because it is enforced by reward or punishment.”²⁶ Some Jews “elected” to maintain the covenant, but it is now voluntary, not enforced by God. Furthermore, Greenberg argues, it is not now a covenant between equals. The Jewish people have become the senior partners in the covenantal relationship. And they, therefore, have to assume unprecedented responsibility. In effect, God was now telling the Jews: “You bring the redemption. You act to ensure that it will never again occur. I will be with you totally in whatever you do, wherever you go, whatever happens, but you must do it.”²⁷ The “you” refers to all Jews who identify as such, even though that may be very risky and costly. The voluntary covenant is thus “the theological base of a genuine pluralism . . . The present denominations are paths for the covenant-minded all leading toward the final goal.”²⁸

As rational and hopeful as Greenberg’s theology is, it is a highly radical departure from the belief and thought of Soloveitchik. It is extremely difficult to imagine the Rav subscribing to the notion that the Jewish people are now the senior partners with God in a voluntary covenant. Does that mean that the observance of those of the 613 mizvot, commandments, that can now feasibly be observed, is now voluntary? That seems to be irreconcilable with the very meaning of the term. How can commandments be voluntary; they are not recommendations but commandments. As for the notion of the Jews being the senior partner, how can that be reconciled with the Rav’s notion of surrender when studying Torah? Soloveitchik said:

What does a Jew surrender when he studies Torah? That is why Chazal emphasized so many times the importance of humility, the importance of humility, and that the proud person can never be a great scholar, only the humble person. Why is humility necessary? Because the study of Torah means meeting the Almighty, of course, and if a finite being meets the infinite - the Almighty, the Maker of the world - of course this meeting must precipitate a mood of humility, and humility results in surrender.²⁹

Of the three students whose ideas are discussed in this book, Jonathan Sacks is the only one who was not an in-person student of the Rav. He was born and raised in London, and did his graduate studies at Cambridge University, where he received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees in philosophy. In his later work, he frequently combined his interests in philosophy and Judaism in his academic lectures and his writing, both in academia and for the broader public. He served as Principal of Jews’ College, in London, from 1984 to 1990 and Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth, from 1991 to 2013.

Sacks met Soloveitchik and the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, for the first time when during his graduate studies he traveled to the U.S., and he described those visits as life changing. He said,

I had the enormous privilege as a 20 year [old] student in 1968, of having two life-changing meetings, one with the Lubavitcher Rebbe, of blessed memory, and one with Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, of blessed memory. The Lubavitcher Rebbe challenged me to be a leader, and Rav Soloveitchik challenged me to be a thinker. Those two moments, long, long ago, shaped my life.³⁰

In his first published article, at the age of 25, Sacks presented an alternative analysis of the Jewish self to that rendered by Soloveitchik in The Lonely Man of Faith. Soloveitchik viewed the man of faith as living in a state of loneliness arising from the constant tension between Adam I, Majestic Man, who is commanded to be a creator and builder, and Adam II, Covenantal Man, whose ultimate sense of duty is to serve God and His commandments. Sacks, “in contrast rather than disagreement,” presented what he termed an alternative, a phenomenology in which the two accounts of the creation of Adam “describe a state in which an apparent tension is brought within a single harmonious mode of activity whose consequence is at the polar opposite from alienation and internal discord.”³¹ Goodman also indicates several other areas where Saks had somewhat different philosophical perspectives from those of Soloveitchik as presented in Halakhic Man and The Halakhic Mind, even as Sacks very much appreciated the overall insights and contributions of the Rav in those works.³² Likewise, in what some may view as Sacks’ critique and disagreement with Soloveitchik’s prohibition of Jewish-Christian theological dialogue, it appears that Sacks very much appreciated and agreed with what he understood as the essence of Soloveitchik’s position.³³ Although he was never a formal student in a shiur of the Rav, nor did he have the opportunity to have many personal conversations with him, Sacks had great admiration and respect for Soloveitchik and was deeply influenced by him, as is clearly evident in the hesped (eulogy) for the Rav that he delivered at the Ner Yisrael Community Centre, in London.³⁴ Indeed, he clearly qualifies to be considered as one of Rav Soloveitchik’s children.

As a work on Modern Orthodox Jewish thought and theology, Goodman’s book is, at the same time, both the most detailed and the most readable analysis of the theologies of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik and three prominent theologians upon whom he had major impact. Though there will surely be many who will disagree with aspects of Goodman’s analyses, that is not surprising since, as indicated, there are and have long been differences and disagreements about something or other that each of the individual theologians said, or if they actually said what was attributed to them. Goodman is almost definitely aware of this, as his text and incredibly detailed footnotes—they comprise more than a third of the book—are evidence of his having read almost everything written and said by and about his subjects. He also comes to his project with an educational background that includes Yeshiva University High School, Yeshiva College, Yeshivat Kerem BeYavne, Yeshivat Chovevei Torah, Jewish Theological Seminary, and Columbia University.

Both in the beginning and at the end of the book, Goodman indicates his hopes for it. He hopes that, “it will be a shitah mekubetzes [a collection of different approaches] on the thinkers it discusses: a book in which many people will find many good things,” and that it “will inspire this and coming generations of students and scholars to study these thinkers, drink thirstily from their thought, and engage enthusiastically in the study (and practice) of Jewish thought and Jewish theology.”³⁵ He specifically pins his hopes on “diasporic Jewish theology,” by which he means a theology that will incorporate all of the literature, lore, and history of the Jewish people, the overwhelming majority of which was given and developed in the diaspora. As he puts it,

Less important in continuing to have Jewish theology in the Diaspora is to continue to have a diasporic theology—or what I would call a theology of Sinai. A theology of Sinai upholds the primacy of Torah in the body politic of the Jewish people and regards it as the central text that continues to bind God to the Jewish people and the Jewish people to God. A theology of Sinai stands for the principle that Jewishness is not constituted by one’s culture or one’s humor, by one’s race or ethnicity, one’s language or political persuasion, or even by one’s sacred geography; Jewishness—and our relationship with God as a people—inheres in our commitment to the millennia-long tradition of study and learning that, since Sinai, has been what has always made us a people.³⁶

As a theologian, Goodman’s hopes for the future of Orthodox Jewish theology are admirable. Regrettably, the empirical evidence does not provide much room for optimism, for a variety of reasons. The first is demographic, namely the percentage of Modern Orthodox within the American Orthodox Jewish population has been declining. Although he provided no percentages, it is obvious from the major study of American Orthodoxy by Charles Liebman in the early 1960s, that Modern Orthodoxy was the dominant variety of the observant Orthodox at the time.³⁷ Data from the 2000–2001 National Jewish Population Survey indicated that well over half of American Orthodox Jews were Modern Orthodox.³⁸ Two decades later, the 2020 Pew survey of Jewish Americans estimated that two-thirds of them were “Haredim, or ultra-Orthodox,”³⁹ with the Modern Orthodox being a third or less. Of course, some of the differences between the two surveys are due to different definitions, but that there has been a decline is apparent. The decline is largely due to the higher haredi (ultra-orthodox) birth rate. As Cohen, Ukeles, and Miller found in their study of New York’s Jewish population,

By any measure, Hasidic households are the largest in the New York-area Jewish population. In terms of number of Jews, Hasidic homes are far more than twice as large as non-Orthodox households (4.8 for Hasidic versus 1.8 for non-Orthodox), while Yeshivish households, with 4.1 Jews, are nearly as large as Hasidic families. Modern Orthodox homes are somewhat smaller (2.8) . . .⁴⁰

The larger haredi birth rate results in greater haredi institutional growth, including schools and shuls, which means that the Orthodox American Jewish community is becoming increasingly haredi. The prospects for the kind of Orthodox Jewish theology to which Goodman refers and aspires become increasingly negligible in such a community. Indeed, not only Modern Orthodox theology but, as Arnold Eisen found more than 30 years ago: “If there is one point of agreement among students and practitioners of Jewish theology in North America, it is that not much creative work has been forthcoming over the last two decades.”⁴¹

Demography aside, even in its heyday, the number of those engaged primarily in Traditional or Modern Orthodox Jewish theology has been quite small. Theology, Jewish or otherwise, entails the study of God and His interaction with the world. In the case of Jewish theology, it largely entails God’s relationship and interaction with the Jewish People. Jewish theology is not Jewish sociology, Jewish history, Jewish linguistics, or Jewish culture, although they are related to it. The focus of Jewish theology is God and His relationship with the Jewish People and the world. Among the various branches of knowledge required for the study and development of Modern Orthodox theology in contemporary society is a strong background in humanities, and especially philosophy. For Orthodox Jews, as Menachem Kellner has argued, “not only is the study of the humanities worthwhile, but it is religiously mandated,”⁴² but already by the time he wrote in 2022 there were strong signs of a decline among Orthodox Jews in study of the humanities at least as much as there has been such a decline in the broader college and university population in the U.S. and Israel.⁴³ The decline in the broader population has only intensified since then. As Robert B. Townsend and Norman Bradburn, two scholars with the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, reported in 2022, no matter how it is measured, the situation of the humanities in 4-year colleges and universities is troubling.⁴⁴ More recently, the Wall Street Journal indicated that, although not everyone agrees that they are dying, there has been a constant decrease over the past few years in college graduates with liberal arts degrees.⁴⁵

If the general higher-educational trends were not sufficient to prevent growth in the field of Orthodox Jewish theology, it is almost certain that this is the case after developments since the holiday of Simchat Torah, October 7–8, 2023, known in Israel as “Black Shabbat,” when Hamas terrorists invaded Israeli communities adjacent to the Gaza Strip and beyond, and murdered, raped, tortured, burned, and mutilated more than 1,200 people, mostly civilians, and took approximately 240 young and old men and women as hostages. In cities in the U.S. and Europe, huge crowds gathered to condemn Israel and Jews in general. Jews were harassed in the streets and on the campuses of some of the finest universities. Studies indicate that Jewish students feel increasingly unsafe and uncomfortable on many college campuses.⁴⁶ The extent of anti-Israelism and overt antisemitism in the West and the extent of its presence on the West’s campuses and “halls of ivy” have come as a cruel shock to many Modern Orthodox Jews who viewed the academy almost as a refuge and as a secular beit midrash [study hall], where differing ideas are explored objectively and in safety. An environment of anti-Israelism and antisemitism hardly seems to be a home for the growth of serious theological inquiry.⁴⁷

In contrast to the more open approach of Modern Orthodoxy in the mid-twentieth century, by the end of the century, Modern Orthodoxy, especially in its flagship institution of higher learning (Yeshiva University-RIETS), had become much more Halakha-centered and turned much more inward.⁴⁸ Ironically, American haredi yeshivas and their graduates, the largest and most prominent among them being Beth Medrash Govoha, have been turning outward toward those who are Jewish but nonobservant.⁴⁹ The probability of inspiring and developing Jewish theology in either of these branches of contemporary Orthodoxy appears to be quite low.

There were several other developments that impinged on American Modern Orthodoxy’s growing Israel-centeredness and the dearth of traditional or Modern Orthodox theologians. Surveys going back more than 50 years consistently indicate that, by all measures, the extent of American Orthodox Jewish attachment to Israel greatly exceeded those among other denominations. Moreover, the differences between the Orthodox and non-Orthodox attachments were sharpest with respect to the most demanding measures of Israel involvement, be it having closer ties with individual Israelis, or fluency in Hebrew rather than just a rudimentary knowledge of Israel’s language, and, perhaps most significantly here, receptivity to aliya (emigration to Israel) rather than pro-Israel feelings, and actually going on aliya.⁵⁰ The attachments to Israel have been incorporated, in a variety of ways, into American Modern Orthodox Jewish culture including foods, music, and liturgy.⁵¹ Most significantly, for purposes here, is the brain drain in which a significant number of the olim (immigrants) are the “best and brightest” of American Modern Orthodoxy. Some of the most notable in terms of the issue here were Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, David Hartman and, years later, Yitz Greenberg. In the years after they made aliya, both Lichtenstein and Hartman became increasingly Israel-centered. As indicated, Greenberg immigrated much later than they did, and judging from his more popular newspaper articles and letters he has also become more Israel-centered. The increasing Israel-centeredness that develops and grows post-aliya appears to further weaken the prospects for “diasporic Jewish theology.”

Finally, within the context of socio-economic realities and communications, contemporary Modern Orthodox Jewish theology developed when it did because those who were engaged in it had institutions behind them, either preexisting or built by the theologian involved. Yitz Greenberg had the Riverdale Jewish Center, Yeshiva University, and the Department of Jewish Studies of the City College of New York as his base at various points in his career. David Hartman was a rabbi in a congregation in the Bronx for 5 years, Rabbi of Congregation Tiferet Beit David Jerusalem in Montreal for more than 10 years, and then moved to Jerusalem where he founded the Shalom Hartman Institute. Jonathan Sacks was, among other positions, Principal of Jews’ College, from which he was ordained,⁵² and Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth. Those institutions contributed significantly to the spread of the ideas and writings of these theologians. With Modern Orthodoxy’s inward turn, it seems reasonable to assume that there are many fewer of such institutions that are prepared to support projects in theology.

In a small survey I conducted, I asked subjects to think of how many living and functioning traditional or Modern Orthodox theologians come to mind. I emphasized that I was not referring to scholars in the broader field of Jewish thought but rather those who specialize and contribute significantly to Jewish Theology. None could name more than one or two. The one named most frequently was Yehuda Gellman, a retired but very active professor emeritus of philosophy, from Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, who has written such books as God’s Kindness Has Overwhelmed Us (2012), This Was from God (2016), Perfect Goodness and the God of the Jews (2019), and The People, The Torah, The God (2023). After so few other traditional theologians were named by the interviewees, I checked Wikipedia’s listing under the category, “American Jewish theologians,” and found that the vast majority of the 75 scholars listed are not professionally viewed as theologians, nor do they identify as such, nor is their work largely theological. Rather, they typically identify and are seen as scholars in Jewish thought, Jewish history, the philosophy of Halakha, etc. These are fields that are more likely to be found in academic departments in colleges and universities in the U.S. and Israel, and even those departments are likely to be small. Small as they are, these departments do at least provide the environment, encouragement, and means that enable their faculty members to further their scholarship. They also, however, increasingly expect their faculty members to publish within areas that are viewed as within the scope of the department’s discipline. Theology is not typically considered within the department’s scope. It is rather viewed as a subject for theological academies, which are hardly sought after by traditional or Modern Orthodox specialists.

Goodman’s hopes for the future of “diasporic Jewish theology” aside, his book is one of the broadest and deepest analyses of the main issues that were significant to Rav Soloveitchik and three of his most prominent “students” in Modern Orthodox Jewish theology. One may disagree with some of Goodman’s assertions, but his overall contribution to the subject in a manner that is both very readable and rich in documentation is highly commendable.

Footnotes