Avrom-Moshe lived in a well-maintained building, the better sort. Despite the number of children in the building, a number that would not have shamed an average village in Guatemala or an average city in Europe, the place remained clean, the garden was tended, and the elevator went up and even, to everyone’s astonishment, came down.
This did not happen in a vacuum. The building committee was to blame. The devoted Singers, who for thirty years had carried the burden with cheerful resolve, replacing, fixing, hanging notices, removing other notices, and hanging notices forbidding the hanging of notices, made sure the whole operation ticked like a Swiss watch. And tick it did, to everyone’s satisfaction.
The tangle began with the Wiengeratens. The Wiengeratens are always to blame. Had they not decided, after thirty-four years and nine months of marriage, to move closer to their children, none of this would have happened. But they moved, and the Cohens came to live in their place. It’s not that Avrom-Moshe had anything against Cohens in general, or against Mr. Cohen in particular, but Mr. Cohen held very firm opinions, all of which came down to a single bottom line: building dues are not to be paid.
The reasons were many. “How many times do we need a gardener?” “Why doesn’t the cleaner use a Tineco?” “I live on the third floor; I don’t need an elevator.” “Who hires workers these days? Gemini can do everything.” He had a thousand excuses not to pay, all of them flowing from the same hundred and fifty reasons, namely, the hundred and fifty shekels that every tenant was meant to deposit in the committee fund each month.
At first, the building committee tried pleasantness. Then it tried even greater pleasantness. Later, it launched a targeted campaign of election-style notices pasted on the Cohen family’s door, displaying the ever-swelling amount owed. When nothing helped, the committee turned to its final, desperate measure: a tenants’ meeting. Needless to say, Mr. Cohen did not honor it with his presence.
The meeting, which dealt with recalcitrant neighbors, without mentioning names of course, was stormy. Courses of action rose and fell. Some argued for continued quiet diplomacy, which drew bitter laughter from the exhausted Singer. Someone suggested taking him to a beis din, or even to civil court, a move that was ruled out after Nachmias, who works as a rabbinical advocate, pointed out the cost of opening a case and holding hearings in such forums.
The more militant neighbors proposed going to war. Inspectors would be summoned for every dripping garbage bag carried by his children. A key would be installed for the elevator. The building lights would operate by a special remote, which (of course) would not be given to Mr. Cohen. And so on. But the car owners among the neighbors made it clear that such measures were best avoided, at least if they wished to prevent keys from meeting the paintwork of their cars, by accident, of course. There are people one does not tangle with. The meeting dispersed with a decision not to decide: there was nothing to be done. They would have to bend their backs and pay. It was the lesser evil.
A month later, the evil began without the lesser part. Pomerantz stopped paying too, without any announcement or explanation. As long as Cohen was not paying, he would not pay either. This triggered a chain reaction, like a butterfly in Japan refusing to pay building dues and causing an economic collapse in the Alps. Within two months, Singer was left with an empty fund. The gardener and cleaner were fired, the elevator was shut down, the garbage rejoiced, everyone cursed, but justice was preserved: if Cohen didn’t pay, nobody paid.
Between Wisdom and Justice: The Moral Dilemma
The story of Avrom-Moshe’s building, which we have all encountered in one variation or another, expresses one of the most difficult dilemmas in matters between man and his fellow. It is the choice between wisdom and justice, between the mind and the heart. Injustice often takes place beside us, perhaps even against us; justice demands intervention, repair. Reason understands the loss will outweigh the gain. We do not have the luxury of correcting every distortion in the universe. Sometimes it is better to lower one’s head. Had the neighbors kept quiet about Mr. Cohen’s wrongdoing, everyone would have continued to enjoy gardening and cleanliness. Justice brought the system down.
This phenomenon meets us at many junctions in life, and not only on the road. You are staying at a hotel abroad and see someone putting a hotel item into his bag. The hotel isn’t Jewish, and neither is the thief. There is no question of Jewish communal responsibility or theft in the halachic sense, only basic human decency. Do you intervene? Justice demands intervention; logic demands silence. You do not want to find yourself in the center of an uproar, attracting the eyes of the hotel guests, at least ten of whom would be delighted to shout “Free Palestine” at you. Better to keep a low profile and remain silent.
This is true of every person, but it stands out all the more within the Haredi sector. We are used to lowering our heads. A history of many centuries in exile taught us that one does not always have to speak. The nobleman will always win, and if Moshke shouts, he will find himself dancing in a bear’s skin. Injustice toward us was built into the system, and the instinct for survival demanded wisdom, not justice. A society under siege is a society that lives beneath the radar, preferring industrial quiet to the letter of the law.
Survival is a blessed thing, but it has produced within us an ingrained aversion to justice. Even when justice comes at no cost to us, a fighter for causes of justice is perceived among us as an aberration. Concern for public welfare is treated as meddling in private affairs. “What business is it of yours if the head of an institution decides not to accept children of Sephardic background? It is his institution, and he decides what happens there. Are you worried about his World to Come?” “What connection do you have to a synagogue that expanded into the neighbors’ courtyard? You are a resident of the city, not a municipal inspector. There is no reason to raise a public outcry.”
Injustice toward us was built into the system, and the instinct for survival demanded wisdom, not justice. A society under siege is a society that lives beneath the radar, preferring industrial quiet to the letter of the law.
This is not necessarily an egoistic worldview. It is an approach to public responsibility that makes partial sense. Informing on the synagogue will lead to its demolition, perhaps also to heavy fines, and that will cause serious financial damage to the worshippers. Who wants blood on his hands? In such a case, passivity seems preferable.
I wish to argue that this situation is distorted. Not necessarily morally, but from the perspective of survival itself. When the supreme goal is to preserve life, as in the ghetto or on the road, wisdom prevails. But for someone who wishes to preserve the fabric of normal life, to succeed in living under proper conditions, the long-term choice must be justice rather than logic.
We are all familiar with the differences, from a sweeping perspective, between the three monotheistic religions in their approach to repairing the world. Christianity strives for kindness, for love. Islam strives for obedience, submission. Judaism strives for justice, law. In Christianity, forgiveness and concession are what establish peace among people. Islam assumes that obedience to a uniform model will eliminate friction. But Judaism sanctifies justice and law. If we preserve a just world, we will receive a repaired world.
Justice Warriors or Suicidal Fools?
One of the most acute issues in Haredi public life is the seam between the laws of the state and the laws of the Torah. Along that seam, a system emerges that “enjoys” the best of both worlds: it is supposedly legal, and supposedly halachic. The reason this system exists is the choice of the easy path, of logic over justice.
A rebbe (Haredi elementary school teacher) sees pension deductions removed from his payslip every month, but the money was never deposited into the fund. What will he choose to do? A battle with the principal is not the wisest move. A lawsuit is a long and exhausting process. The principal has money for a professional lawyer and for pashkevils no less professional. The rebbe, who would likely lose his job that very moment, would probably not find another institution willing to employ him in the short term. Better to settle for a compromise that gives him a few coins and to move on with life.
Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of rebbeim are thinking this way right now. They choose the path of convenience, but we all pay the price, they above all. If two rebbeim were to sue the principals and refuse to surrender, if there were public backing for the rebbeim, no principal would touch pension funds, and we would all gain. Silence in the face of corruption cultivates it and harms everyone.
I do not come with complaints against the individual rebbe. He is weighing his personal comfort. I am speaking about the support we must give to fighters for justice. When we back the person who goes to battle despite his personal interest, we are not backing a suicidal fool, but a rescuer and warrior, a person who benefits us all.
The above case is easy to judge. It is clear who is good and who is bad. Let us move on to more complex cases. I sent a toddler to a regulated home daycare. I pay a handsome sum, and the state participates in the payment. I called to register, and the caregiver set a condition: although by law and under the terms of the subsidy she must open at 7:30 and close at 4:30, she opens at 8:00 and closes at 3:45. If I do not like it, I shouldn’t send.
I was angry, furious. I wanted to call the ministry and complain. But I am not a justice warrior. If I complain, I will harm the caregiver’s livelihood for no reason. To inform is to be a bad person. Responsibility for the caregiver’s life obligates me to do nothing. What is the result of silence? Enormous environmental damage. Once one caregiver can finish her work at 3:45, there is no reason for the caregiver next door to wait until 4:30. She, too, can stipulate the same condition: if you do not like it, do not send. Before long, I will have no home daycare for my toddler. All the daycares in the area finish at four, and I have no choice left. The caregiver’s injustice is directed at me, not at others. I am not a fighter for justice; I am fighting for my own rights.
If your synagogue takes public space, what will prevent the rival Hasidic group from expanding onto your sidewalk? Public silence creates the state of affairs known as “everyone does it.” Its other name is anarchy.
Does this sound strange? Imagine she announced that she finishes at 1:30: “If you don’t like it, don’t send!” For someone with a high subsidy level, it would still be cheaper than a private caregiver in certain parts of the country. Once that begins, no caregivers will remain for office workers. They will all turn only to teachers, because teachers can pick up at 1:30, and “whoever doesn’t like it shouldn’t send.” The struggle is for me, not for others.
A synagogue that expands at the expense of neighbors or onto green space harms me in the long term, even if I do not live on that particular street. If your synagogue takes public space, what will prevent the rival Hasidic group from expanding onto your sidewalk? Public silence creates the state of affairs known as “everyone does it.” Its other name is anarchy.
The fight against injustice will cause damage, but it isn’t my fault. It’s the fault of the one committing the injustice. I do not need to bear responsibility for his actions, but for my life. If I speak, he will pay the price of his deeds. If I remain silent, I will pay the price of my silence. I do not have the privilege of silence.
The intention here is not to turn every person into a policeman, an informer, or a pursuer of quarrels. The point is simpler and deeper. We must change the default setting. Instead of seeing the person who fights injustice as problematic, tiresome, or dangerous, we must begin to see him as someone who carries on his back a price from which many enjoy the fruits. A society that does not know how to support those prepared to pay the price of battling injustice will find itself paying, again and again, the price of silence.
From here follows a practical conclusion. We must begin granting moral, social, and communal support to the person who stands up and says, “Enough.” To the rebbe who refuses to have his rights stolen. To the parent who refuses to accept a system that operates against the rules. To the neighbor who refuses to let public space be taken for granted. Not every struggle must end in an explosion, and not every injustice requires a world war. But a healthy society must create a basic norm: injustice is not the private affair of the victim alone. It touches the entire public, and therefore demands a public response.
The Torah’s Demand
An important reservation: it is obvious that any active step taken against another person requires the authorization of a beis din, or at least the asking of a rabbinic authority. We are bound by the laws of the Torah and by nothing else. The call to action is subject to Torah. But do not forget: the Torah demands justice. Life itself demands justice. The Torah stands on the right side, not on the side of those who commit wrongdoing.
And even in the rare cases where the battle is forbidden, we must remember that a scoundrel within the bounds of Torah remains a scoundrel, and we have no reason to honor him.
To conclude, we should know the following: A society that does not know how to support those who fight injustice will discover, sooner or later, that its elevator no longer goes up or down. The garden will be neglected, the garbage will accumulate, and the imaginary justice of “if he doesn’t pay, then I won’t pay either” will become a life no one can live.
What kind of Torah is taught in a Yeshivah whose principal steals pension money from the rebbeim? If the individual rebbe wants to forgive the theft, that may be his business, but if he allows the principal to continue, is the rebbe not complicit in genivat daat? Who wants their children taught by thieves? And how does a society where day care providers routinely steal from their fellow citizens by not working the hours for which they are paid by the ministry consider itself “Chareid l’dvar Hasham”?