#chassidut

Firstly, it's not clarified withing this article that this taxonomy is, by and large, only relevant in the US. Other people here might disagree with me, but I remember that the impression I got from the article was that it's definitely doesn't fit the Israeli framework. That hinders my ability to criticize it, of course, since I'm Israeli. If any American Orthodox Jew would like to chime in to correct me - feel welcome to do so.

One of the things made clear early in the article is that the author already has a favourite flavour of Orthodox Judaism, and that they're not Orthodox himself most likely. I didn't check that thoroughly, so I might be wrong. But this person does seem to particularly like the Modern Orthodox group, which they consider separate from "centrist Orthodox", a more politically conservative version of the former. They lament how it appears most of the old Modern Orthodox Jews became Centrist Orthodox, which feels like explicit favouritism. In and of itself, this isn't necessarily a bad thing, but I do think it's another indicator of bias in this division.

But what really frustrates me is the gatekeeping of the term Chassidut from Chabad and Satmar. I don't know if this writer is a Chassid themself, but either way it seems like an odd thing to say. Let's start with their paragraph on Chabad:

Finally, Chabad and Satmar. One thing is clear: Chabad and Satmar, whatever else they might be, are not Chasidim. Chabad and Satmar deserve their own discussions. Suffice it to say that Chabad, a discrete group, bears no resemblance to the Chasidic Chabad in Europe a century ago. Centered on outreach and P.R., they cannot be characterized as “Chasidic.” Simply put, the Chabad of today does not do “Chasidus” — Chasidic text-study.

I included here the start of the paragraph for the sake of transparency, because I do agree with part of what they say there: Chabad and Satmar are things unto themselves that deserve conversation separately from the rest of Chassidut. The claim I find hard to agree with is that they're not Chassiduyot at all. Especially the reasoning - that Chabad bears no resemblance to the Russian Chassidut that shares their name, and that they do not study Chassidic texts. The latter of those points is demonstrably untrue, now as it was in 2014, as it was in 1911. I know that due to having studied in a high school where the Rosh Yeshiva identified as a Chabad Chassid, and due to having a Chavruta in Chassidut with a Chabadnik. But if you, for whatever reason, don't trust me and think all Chabad does is outreach and PR - go to your local Chabadnik, you know - the one who asks people to put on Tefillin? Or maybe he just operates the local Chabad house, who knows. Ask him what he learned today in khitas. Hopefully he'll understand what you're referring to, as I can't make sure you'll pronounce it right. Either way, he'll know what you're talking about - the daily study of Khumash, Tehillim, and - get this - the Tanya, a fundamental Chassidic book written by the first rabbi of Chabad. But hey, maybe that's not enough. Maybe you want more evidence - ask him if he studied this year's Bosi L(e)Gani. Chances are he did, and he will know what you're talking about, most definitely.

Still don't find that convincing? The largest event organized by Chabad in Israel includes a huge book fair of selling Chassidic books. It comes along with a couple of programs to study Chabad Chassidut writings, arranged by the same person who thought out this book fair. So where does this weird claim even comes from?

I personally see two options for that: a. Because Chabad is very much outreach-oriented ever since their last Rebbe's time, the average non-Chabad non-Orthodox Jew has no idea they do anything outside of that. This, of course, assumes the writer of this article is very much ignorant of Chabad. Which I surely hope they aren't, because it'd be unwise to write about something you don't know much about. My hypocrisy will show with the next part of this post, but bear with me for now. b. They are referring to Chabad not studying much outside their own circle of Chassidut. Which is a claim they didn't actually make, and that I'm not sure is completely true, but there's some truth to it. The aforementioned book fair is very focused on Chabad stuff - though they sell other books, they're pretty limited on that front. Those programs mentioned with the fair are also pretty much Chabad oriented, and you might note I didn't suggest you ask the local Chabadnik if he studied Likutey Muharan or Mey HaShiloakh. While those are (somewhat) well known non-Chabad Chassidic books, I won't count on the average Chabadnik to have studied them. Then again, I don't know if the average Chassid would read them if they aren't Breslov or Izhbitza-Radzin oriented. So keep that in mind.

The other claim - that Chabad today bears no resemblance to what it was in Europe a century ago - is more complicated. I thought, once, of writing a post here about the evolution of Chabad. Because they did change in the past century quite a lot. The roots of the Shluchim complex existed since the conception of Chabad, to a degree, but I think the most important development actually occured between the World Wars, during the time of Rabbi Yosef Yitzkhak of Lubavitch as the Rebbe in Soviet Russia. The anti religious nature of the Soviets led to the Rayyatz, as he is called, to send his Chassidim to support Jewish communities and studies across Russia. This is part of the reason that a large part of the funding for Dvar Malchus, a Chabad paper dedicated to the study of Chassidut, comes from rich Bucharan families: during the time of Soviet Russia, the Bucharan Jews and the Chabadnikim allied with each other to keep Judaism alive. Speaking of the Rayyatz, by the way - if you did ask the local Chabadnik about studying the aforementioned texts, ask them about the Rayyatz's Purim Sikha in Soviet Russia. Hopefully they'll know what you mean, it's rather famous and I think he was arrested after saying it. Afterwards, if the Chabadnik asks you who told you about that... IDK, find a quick solution, because "a random Israeli Orthodox Jew on the Internet" is probably not an appropriate answer.

Anyway, many changes started from there, but it's a long story. The Rayyatz coming to America was the next stage, and then he died and the latest Rebbe (z"l) took over and turned Chabad into what it is today. It was a slow development over decades, and the roots are still there. Claiming otherwise, IMO, is ignorance.

Next, let's go over their claims about Satmar. Note that I did not interact with Satmar Chassidim in my life, and barely interacted with their writings, so on that I admit ignorance. I still intend to talk about it, but I'll try focusing on things I do know. Anyway, from the article:

Satmar, a sectarian group, is also — contrary to conventional wisdom — not Chasidic. With its own distinct separationist character, Satmar is far more “yeshivish” than Chasidic. In fact, Rabbi Joel Teitelbaum — Rav “Yoilish,” who brought Satmar to America — considered himself more an Eastern European “rav” than a Chasidic “rebbe.”

That, in my opinion, is ignorant of the localised variations in Chassidut. Now, to be fair, if I'm correct then they weren't wrong to make this distinction. I'd protest calling them not Chassidic, but if it's because of similarities to Yeshivish (AKA Litvak, apparently) Jews then I get it, to a degree. But still, let's abuse this opportunity to talk about geographical differences in Chassidut!

You must be thinking, but Arch, isn't Chassidut one large things with a lot of hyper localised variations on which Rebbe you follow? Or, well, you're very likely not thinking that because you know it's not true, or expect it due to how I presented it. Eh. Anyway, it really isn't true. Chassidut is, first and foremost, a phenomenon of Eastern Europe. Beyond that, the differences between the various Chasiduyot also depend on location. A Chassidut from Poland and a Chassidut from Galicia aren't going to be the same as each other, or as Ukrainian or Russian Chassiduyot. And Satmar, importantly, is a Hungarian Chassidut.

You see, Hungary is an interesting case. It was under the Austro Hungarian empire before WWI, and this was among the more progressive countries at the time. It had its own form of early Reform movement - they were called Neologists there, apparently. That's significant because the Reform movement didn't really exist in Poland and Ukraine, or at least wasn't very prominent. The Haskalah certainly existed, as did secular Jews, but Reform was stereotypically a Yekke movement, from central-to-western Europe. Thus, the Chassidut in most places it existed - which did not include Germany or France - didn't really get head-to-head with the Reform movement. Their larger opposition was Litvakim - the predecessors to what the writer calls "Yeshivish". In Hungary, though, that wasn't the case. Also, the fact that the chief rabbi of Pressburg (now Bratislava) during the early days of Chassidut was a student of early Chassidic rabbis might have helped. I'm referring, in case you're wondering, to the Khatam Sofer, who is widely known as the founder of Ultra Orthodox Judaism. So the limits and definitions might be different - which can explain why Rav Yoilish of Satmar may have seen himself as closer to a Litvak Rav than to a Chassidic Rebbe. Still, Hungarian Chassiduyot being different from Polish Chassiduyot shouldn't mean they don't get to be called Chasiduyot anymore.

וְלִמַּדְתֶּם אֹתָם אֶת בְּנֵיכֶם לְדַבֵּר בָּם (דברים יא, יט) AND YOU SHALL TEACH THEM TO YOUR CHILDREN TO SPEAK WITH THEM. (DEVARIM 11:19) 

This verse is the source from which we learn that a father is obligated to teach the Torah to his children. As the Alter Rebbe writes, “A father is obligated to teach his young son Torah… as is written, ‘And you shall teach them to your sons to speak about them.’ From when is he obligated to teach him? From when he begins to speak he should teach him, “Torah tzivah lanu Moshe etc.,” as well as the first verse of the chapter Shema Yisrael” (Shulchan Aruch Harav, Hilchos Talmud Torah 1:1).

Earlier, the Torah instructs us, “These words that I command you today… you shall teach them thoroughly to your children” (Devarim 6:6-7). That command, however, speaks of a more advanced level of learning, namely, when the child is capable of thoroughly grasping and retaining the Torah that he is taught. In addition, our sages interpret the word “children” in that verse as a reference to students—one’s spiritual children. The mitzvah to “teach them thoroughly to your children” is the obligation upon the learned to teach the Torah to all who desire to study—even those who are not biologically related (see Sifri, Eikev 34).

In contrast, the mitzvah given here, “You shall teach them to your children to speak with them,” refers to a very early stage in a child’s education, when he is just beginning to speak. As Rashi explains, this verse is meant quite literally: “From the moment your son knows how to speak, teach him [the verse] ‘Moshe commanded us the Torah.’ Let him learn to speak with this.” This training obviously begins at home, long before the child is old enough to be sent to school. Clearly then, this verse refers to a parent’s personal mitzvah to teach the Torah to his child—an obligation that goes into effect as soon as the child begins to talk.

וְלִזְבוּלֻן אָמַר שְׂמַח זְבוּלֻן בְּצֵאתֶךָ וְיִשָּׂשכָר בְּאֹהָלֶיךָ (דברים לג, יח) AND TO ZEVULUN HE SAID: “REJOICE, ZEVULUN, IN YOUR DEPARTURE, AND YISSACHAR, IN YOUR TENTS.” (DEVARIM 33:18) The Joy of Achievement

Moshe’s blessing to Zevulun and Yissachar distinguishes itself by its emphasis on their roles being a source of joy, “Rejoice, Zevulun, in your departure, and Yissachar, in your tents.”

This can be explained by the Talmudic maxim, “A man prefers one kav [a measurement] of his own, to nine kav of his neighbor’s” (Bava Metzia 38b). That is, we prefer and enjoy things we have earned through our own toil and effort, even if small, more than we enjoy something which is handed to us without any effort on our part, even if it is plentiful or grandiose.

In his blessings to the other tribes, Moshe focused primarily on the gifts, spiritual or physical, that G-d would bestow upon each tribe. Conversely, Moshe blessed Zevulun and Yissachar with success in their endeavors. As Rashi explains, “Zevulun… prosper when you go out to trade, and Yissachar, prosper when you sit in your tents to study the Torah.”

Since their blessing emphasized not only the gifts G-d would grant them, but also their effort and participation in seeing those blessings bear fruit, Zevulun and Yissachar had even greater reason to rejoice than the other tribes.

וְהָיָה הַדָּם לָכֶם לְאֹת עַל הַבָּתִּים אֲשֶׁר אַתֶּם שָׁם וְרָאִיתִי אֶת הַדָּם וּפָסַחְתִּי עֲלֵכֶם וְלֹא יִהְיֶה בָכֶם נֶגֶף לְמַשְׁחִית בְּהַכֹּתִי בְּאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם (שמות יב, יג) AND THE BLOOD WILL BE FOR YOU FOR A SIGN UPON THE HOUSES WHERE YOU WILL BE, AND I WILL SEE THE BLOOD AND SPARE YOU, AND THERE WILL BE NO DESTRUCTIVE PLAGUE IN YOU WHEN I SMITE THE LAND OF EGYPT. (SHEMOS 12:13)

After guaranteeing that G-d will skip over and spare the Jewish homes from Makat Bechorot, the Plague of the Firstborn, the Torah adds “and there will be no destructive plague in you.” Rashi explains that these additional words address the following query: “What if one of Bnei Yisrael was in an Egyptian’s house? I would think that he would be smitten like him. Therefore, the verse states: ‘And there will be no destructive plague in you.’”

The Jew who lingered in an Egyptian home on the night of the Exodus was in a shocking spiritual state, one more akin to that of his Egyptian oppressors than to that of his fellow Jews. The Bnei Yisrael suffered miserably at the hands of the Egyptians for many years. Then, everyone witnessed the miraculous plagues with which G-d punished the Egyptians. Finally, the Jews offered the Pesach sacrifice to commemorate their imminent redemption from Egypt, and were commanded “no man shall leave the entrance of his house until morning” (Shemos 12:22). At this point, a Jew who still chose to spend the night in the home of an Egyptian, one could assume “would be smitten like him,” in Rashi’s words.

Yet, out of His love for the Jewish people, G-d Himself descended, as it were, into the homes of the Egyptians in order to single out the Jew who might be among them. “I will go out into the midst of Egypt” (Shemos 11:4), says G-d, to save from Makat Bechorot a Jew who was so spiritually hollow that even on this fateful night he still clung to his Egyptian colleagues.

From here we see the lengths we must go in order to save another Jew spiritually—to draw him nearer to the worship of G-d.  Emulating G-d’s ways, we must see to reach even the Jew who is so assimilated that engaging him can require compromising (within the guidelines of halachah) our own high spiritual standards. We must descend even to that Jew for whom a holy environment is utterly foreign, who is still “in an Egyptian home,” to rescue him and draw his heart to his Father in Heaven.

שְׂאוּ אֶת רֹאשׁ כָּל עֲדַת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל (במדבר א, ב) TAKE THE SUM OF ALL THE CONGREGATION OF THE CHILDREN OF ISRAEL. (BAMIDBAR 1:2) 

In the first thirteen months after their exodus from Egypt, the Jewish people were counted three times (see Shemos 12:37; Ibid. 30:12-16; and Bamidbar, chapters 1-3). Rashi explains the significance of all this counting: “Because of their dearness to Him [G-d], He counts them all the time.”

The significance of all the counting is not for G-d to determine the precise amount of individuals within the Jewish nation—as G-d surely knows their number without conducting an actual census—but, in Rashi’s words (on Shemos 1:1), “to make their dearness known.” In spiritual terms, this means that the census revealed within the Jewish people themselves the nature of their endearment to G-d.

How so? Because in a census, the value that each individual adds to the count is the same; every person counts as no less and no more than one. This means that the count highlights a quality common to all Jews, regardless of their background, education, or spiritual sophistication: the “Jewish spark”—the essential Jewishness of the soul of every Jew. This “Jewish spark” manifests as a sense of unbreakable attachment to G-d, due to which every Jew, regardless of their level of Jewish knowledge or observance, is capable of surrendering their very life for their faith in order not to separate from the one G-d in Whom they intrinsically believe.

This indomitable “Jewish spark,” common to all Jews, is the Jewish people’s greatest source of “dearness” before G-d. By taking a simple count of the number of people that make up the Jewish nation, G-d “made their dearness known,” revealing within them (and in fact, to the entire world,) the essential Jewish spark possessed by every single Jew.

וְאָהַבְתָּ לְרֵעֲךָ כָּמוֹךָ (ויקרא יט, יח)YOU SHALL LOVE YOUR FELLOW AS YOURSELF. (VAYIKRA 19:18) 

There are two well-known sayings of the sages regarding the mitzvah to love your fellow Jew. Rabbi Akiva said, “You shall love your fellow as yourself” — This is a fundamental principle of the Torah” (Sifra, Vayikra 19:18), meaning that this mitzvah is the underlying principle behind numerous other mitzvos in the Torah, (namely, those that govern our interactions with others.) A few generations earlier, Hillel said even more than that: “What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. That is the entire Torah, the rest is just commentary” (Talmud, Shabbos 31a).

These two sayings reflect two dimensions of the love we must have toward our fellow Jew, which in turn correspond to two different dynamics in the relationship between a Jew and the Torah.

The Midrash (Bereishis Rabbah 1:4) tells us that in “G-d’s thought” the Jewish people preceded everything, even the Torah itself. The Jewish soul, at its G-dly source, is rooted and attached to G-d to a degree that transcends even the G-dliness of the Torah.

Nevertheless, when the soul descends to this earthly world, its connection to G-d is specifically through the Torah. The Zohar thus states, “The Jewish people attach themselves to the Torah, and the Torah is attached to the Holy One, Blessed be He” (see Zohar, vol. 3, p. 73a); i.e., in this world, the soul’s bond with G-d comes to the fore through the Jew’s observance of His Torah.

These two dimensions of the Jewish soul and its relationship with the Torah are reflected in the teachings of our sages cited above.

At its core, the basis of our love for our fellow Jew is the inherent unity of the Jewish people due to our common G-dly source, a source so high that indeed it transcends the Torah. Hillel therefore said that love for your fellow Jew is the entire Torah: The purpose of the entire Torah is to cultivate and reveal the Jew’s essential connection to G-d, which is best achieved through our love for one another, whereby we reveal our mutual Divine source that transcends the Torah.

Rabbi Akiva, however, spoke of the mitzvah to love one’s fellow Jew as it must be observed practically in this physical world, where the Jewish people’s connection to G-d is through our observance of the Torah. Accordingly, Rabbi Akiva could not say that this mitzvah is the entire Torah, because on this plane even our love for our fellow Jew must be observed as a mitzvah among the mitzvos of the Torah. He therefore said that loving your fellow as yourself is a fundamental principle in the Torah, but at the same time may not override our observance of the rest of the Torah.