Why Compassion Cannot Define Our Social Norms

Last Tuesday evening, the WhatsApp groups I am a member of were ablaze with heated exchanges and furious discussions. A touching post published by religious media personality Yair Sherki, Channel 12’s religious affairs correspondent and among the most prominent Orthodox reporters, in which he declared his divergent sexual orientation, caused a significant stir.[1] The sensitivity with which he expressed himself, his painful story, the secrecy, the shame, his explicitly expressed love for the Holy One, blessed be He, and his longing for a child – the combination of all these caused many from across the political spectrum – Yair Lapid, Naftali Bennet, and even Otzma Yehudit’s Yitzchak Wasserlauf are just some examples – to shed tears, write sympathetic comments, give their support, and strengthen his resolve.

Having courage means saying what won’t be accepted, like stating that a sacred marital covenant is reserved for man and woman alone, or asking: if a person’s sexual orientation is none of the public’s business, then why all the publicity?

Had Sherki not signed off his post with the words “and now: family,” this piece would not have been written. But since the words were written, an inner voice (which may still be proven wrong) whispers that Sherki is preparing for the next step of couplehood and somehow fathering a child, and I feel it is necessary to speak out. As someone wrote beautifully on Facebook (Eliraz Fine): “It’s not that brave… Everyone will embrace you, and those who don’t will be cast out to the dark basements of society and labeled accordingly. Having courage means saying what won’t be accepted, like stating that a sacred marital covenant is reserved for man and woman alone, or asking: if a person’s sexual orientation is none of the public’s business, then why all the publicity?”

Though I have no desire to discuss Sherki and his decisions on a personal level, I felt that his post, and in particular the reactions of observant colleagues, not a few Charedi individuals included, reveal a deep flaw in our Torah perception. For this reason, notwithstanding the sensitive and explosive nature of the issue, I believe this is not the time to remain silent. Were we unexposed, this would be unnecessary. Since we are exposed, silence will only be damaging.

The Personal Is Not the Political

A couple of weeks back, we read the Torah commandment, “A poor person must not be favored in his dispute.” The Torah identifies a human failing to which we are all vulnerable. Compassion, we know, is a wonderful attribute. The Torah demands us to act with compassion towards the weak in society – the poor, the orphan, the widow, and the stranger. Yet, the same positive trait can result in the blurring of moral standards. A trial must bring justice to light. However, human nature, at its best, pities the weak, which can lead to a distortion of justice, even if only slightly. The Torah warns us explicitly against this moral manipulation: do not favor the meek.

Liberal public morality today – the morality of much of the Western world – seems to rest absurdly on a small collection of heart-wrenching personal stories. These stories, while painful, cause a distortion of moral truth that we, as committed Jews, cannot accept with passive silence

While the Torah refers to the judiciary, this article will make a parallel point concerning public morality often enshrined in legislation. Liberal public morality today – the morality of much of the Western world – seems to rest absurdly on a small collection of heart-wrenching personal stories. These stories, while painful, cause a distortion of moral truth that we, as committed Jews, cannot accept with passive silence. Rather than fall into this convenient trap, it is up to us – Jews who are dedicated to bringing Divine light into the world – to remind ourselves that there are truths that remain valid even when our heart is filled (as it should be) with compassion.

From a secular point of view, Torah laws and values are perceived as socio-cultural statements that are flexible and malleable. The slogan “where there’s a rabbinic will, there’s a halachic way” has permeated even some Orthodox bastions, as though halacha were a collection of social institutions that can be bent to our will whenever it becomes too oppressive (however we define this elusive measure). This is the case with laws regulating divorce and the separation of the sexes; it can also be true concerning the attitude toward homosexuals.

However, the Jewish people have remained faithful to Hashem’s will throughout history due to their appreciation of Torah law as a pure truth by whose light individuals must shape their lives rather than not adapt to their wants and desires. Of course, the gates of interpretation remain open, and each generation finds its own portion in Torah; yet, the keys to those gates are held by wise elders steeped in a long tradition. They cannot be wielded by everyday men and women, however well-meaning, whose appreciation of the sanctity of the Torah is compromised by compassion, frustration, and even anger.

Torah and the Laws of Nature

We need to remind ourselves that the Torah is not a collection of social laws that change with the times and the whims of human society. It precedes the world. The Jewish people throughout the generations saw the Torah as an eternal truth on which even the laws of nature are predicated, as the famous saying of the Sages, “He looked into the Torah and created the world.” Sometimes, life makes it difficult for us to keep the mitzvos. Human concerns of everyday life can often be in real conflict with the Torah commandments. However, the Jewish nation endured such hardships, including truly unbearable conditions, due to their firm commitment to the Torah.

In the Midrash on Tehillim, on the verse “The sea saw and fled,” the Sages ask: What did it see? They give the answer: “It saw Yosef’s coffin being taken down to the sea. The Holy One, blessed be He, said: The sea shall flee before the one who fled from transgression.” The righteous Yosef was able to subdue his instincts and orient his natural desires to the will of Hashem. When the ocean sees this, its nature changes, and it, too, submits to Hashem’s will.

For thousands of years of Jewish history, the Jews stood strong and defied even the urge to live in total self-sacrifice for the sake of our connection with God. Many lost their jobs for the sake of keeping Shabbos and gave up honor and prestige for the sake of fulfilling Hashem’s word. The virtues of restraint and overcoming forbidden desires have always been noble qualities in the Jewish nation. As Jews, we have always aspired to elevate our nature, sanctify it, and employ it exclusively for the sake of Hashem.

To be sure, it isn’t always easy to be Jewish; it’s much easier to live the way I feel at any given moment and claim this as “authentic Judaism.” However, Judaism, thus practiced, cannot survive. We were privileged to be the only nation in history that experienced Divine revelation: “Face to face Hashem spoke to you in the midst of the fire” (Devarim 5:4). Our ability to preserve and pass on the covenant, replete with values and practice, of the revelation, depends on the teachings of Mishpatim – seemingly dry and technical laws that which we follow rigorously. These are no cultural norms and charming tribal traditions, but a Divine moral imperative for Jewish life here in this world.

Our ability to preserve and pass on the covenant, replete with values and practice, of the revelation, depends on the teachings of Mishpatim – seemingly dry and technical laws that which we follow rigorously. These are no cultural norms and charming tribal traditions, but a Divine moral imperative for Jewish live here in this world

We should have compassion. But we should not allow compassion – as so prevalent in today’s West – to distort the basic truths and core values without which our lives lose their raison d’etre.

Do Not Sin Against the Child

To this basic point concerning the eternal truth of the Torah, I would like to add a basic and oft-neglected issue: the maternal instinct of caring for a child.

Prior to the development of new technologies, those who chose to act according to a non-traditional family orientation accepted responsibility for their choice and paid the price of not having children. Torah, with the advancement of technology and the vast disparity between Western wealth and Third World poverty, a Western middle-class person can choose a barren way of life while embracing a child he bought in the Third World – I realize this is not always the case, but it is often so – without ever having to see the woman who carried the child for nine months and the pain associated with pregnancy and childbirth. Apart from the moral question of separating a child from its mother for financial gain and turning a woman into a “womb for rent,” I think we need to ask ourselves: Is a child a consumer product?

Apart from the moral question of separating a child from its mother for financial gain and turning a woman into a “womb for rent,” I think we need to ask ourselves: Is a child a consumer product?

Our hair stands on end, rightly so, when we hear stories about mothers abandoning their children after birth in order to receive state support. Even children who find a warm adoptive family will forever live with a feeling of abandonment, with subconscious imprints of the pregnancy period and with a natural biological desire for a deep connection with the mother who nurtured them for nine months. How horrifying is the thought of infants who lose their mother at birth or were orphaned at a young age from their father? Are we aware of the turmoil that might be created in a soul that does not know where it comes from and who brought it into the world? Doesn’t this new way of bringing children into the world condemn such souls to live without attachment, rendering them rootless and orphaned, deprived of the basic foundation every child deserves? Is it moral, right, and proper? Should society support such a way of raising children?

To me, there is nothing more appalling. Are children a consumer product that can be bought on Amazon? A child is the fruit of his parents’ love and connection. This is the primal and basic consciousness that inheres to being human.

Although not every child gets to be born in this way, and technological advances allow couples to become parents in innovative ways, the child will nonetheless feel a natural sense of belonging. Our grandmothers used to say that blood is thicker than water. It seems that today, a destructive ambition wishes to deny this basic biological fact. We learn that blood is merely a function of money and can be purchased for the narcissistic interests of a family experience, even when the person’s choices contradict the very concept.

My perspective is that of a religious woman. But we don’t need to be religious believers for these issues to disturb us. Can we afford to tolerate self-destructive processes, both at the biological and family level, for the sake of holy compassion? The answer is an emphatic no. The tale of the flood – Noah’s waters, as Scripture calls them – taught humanity a tough lesson: disregard for the force of life and despoiling it via prostitution and promiscuity leads to total destruction. Torah must be coupled with Derech Eretz – the primordial and basic way of decent humanity – which precedes the Torah. This is a Jewish value that all of us can recognize.

We sometimes hear religious people complaining about the so-called hypocrisy of the Torah world, which considers homosexual acts as more serious than Shabbos violations. Well, Shabbos observance is a mitzvah that belongs to the Jewish people, while rejecting immoral intimate relationships is a basic human duty that obligates every human being. Moreover, while failing to observe Shabbos causes great spiritual damage, it has no direct impact on future generations. In the end, we believe the light of the Torah will lead shine upon all Jews, and Shabbos will return to the center of Jewish consciousness. In contrast, destroying the Jewish home’s existential infrastructure could result in the collapse of the entire nation.

Based on the words in Parashat Shemos, “You shall each take a lamb for a family, a lamb for a household,” Rabbi Samson Rafael Hirsch taught that even our redemption from the final exile will be in the merit of Jewish homes – homes replete with kindness, compassion, and light. Though his words may have seemed strange when he said them, they are sadly becoming more and more relevant. Our nation is built on the foundation of the home. The Jewish community – past, present, and future – is built on families consisting of men and women, and we should remember this well. At this time, it is up to us to proudly wave the flag of our family pride: “How good are your tents, Yaakov.”

[1] See https://www.haaretz.com/israel-news/2023-02-15/ty-article/.premium/high-profile-israeli-orthodox-reporter-reveals-i-love-men-and-the-holy-one/00000186-54ae-de9f-a9be-d5ffb23f0000?lts=1677844401528.

Photo by Tim Bish on Unsplash