The Rabbi and The Rebbetzin
The
Rabbi and the Rebbetzin
How
Rabbi Aaron Adler, a true Talmudic scholar, won the heart of the beautiful
lawyer, Shulamit Levine
A novel
by
Rabbi
Shlomo (Stanley) Wexler
The
Rabbi and the Rebbetzin
Copyright
© 2013 Shlomo (Stanley) Wexler
All
rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission from the copyright owner, except in the
case of brief quotations in reviews and articles.
First
Edition.
Rabbi Shlomo Wexler
,
the author of this work, was a community rabbi for 30 years. During that time
he performed many marriages and provided guidance and counsel to couples who
were considering marriage. In addition to his religious training, Rabbi Wexler
was a professor of sociology who taught courses on marriage and family in
various colleges. The statistics that he learned showed that, in the opinion of
sociologists, marriage is more likely to be successful when the husband and
wife are brought up and socialized in similar cultures and subcultures.
Differences that contribute to a greater proportion of marital failures can
include variations in the ages of the couple, their social class, and their
educational background. Intermarriages between members of different religious
groups and interracial marriages also have a far lower success rate among
members of different racial and religious groups. Where it is not too late,
marriage counselors tend to steer young couples away from marriages of this
kind.
While this work is a fictional novel, it is based on true life experiences and
contact with many young couples in the rabbi’s experience. The story of the
couple involved in this book did not have a prognosis for a successful marriage.
Although they were both Jewish, there were gross dissimilarities between
husband and wife. There were vast differences in social class, education, and
worldly experience between the marriage partners. Character differences were
even sharper than the usual ones.
To understand how such huge differences can develop within the framework of a
single religion, one must realize that Judaism socializes people within a group
of active and heterogeneous subcultures. The subcultures within Judaism range
from an apathetic view of religion to extreme ultra-Orthodox patterns of
religious behavior. As far as religion is concerned, the different Jewish
subcultures include: Strict Orthodox, ultra-Orthodox, Modern Orthodox,
Conservative, and Reform groupings. When we speak of similarity in the
upbringing of marriage partners, we tend to think more of sub-cultural
differences.
Rabbi Aaron Adler
studied in a
yeshiva which could definitely be classified as ultra-Orthodox. The institution
made only one concession to students who were planning careers in business or
in the rabbinate. The school allowed a limited number of secular credits
outside of regular studies in colleges not connected to the seminary. Strictly
enforced regulations allowed senior students to take only six credits each
semester at night and nine credits during summer vacation. While studying at
the seminary, Rabbi Adler accumulated a total of 85 credits and was short of
his BA degree by 35 credits. As a serious student, the rabbi was able to
acquire a good background in English, literature and philosophy.
In
his religious practice, the rabbi was very observant. He did not go on dates
and formed no connections to any women. He had virtually no interest in world
affairs, current events, or social experiences.
Shulamit Levine
can be classified
as a Modern Orthodox woman. She went out on dates, participated in mixed
events, led an active social life and, blessed with a fine voice, sang before
mixed audiences. She was brought up in a strictly Orthodox home, and in her
early years she studied at a local day school through high school. She was a
brilliant student and attended a state university with the goal of someday
entering a major law school. She was interested in current affairs and involved
in extra-curricular activities at her school.
The
men she dated were all Jewish, but many of them were not fully observant. This
was a cause of great concern to her parents, who were afraid that she might
marry outside of her faith or to someone who is Jewish but with no sense of
religion.
Abe Levine
,
Shulamit’s father, was a very successful businessman. He ran a well-known
computer company which maintained more than twenty-five branches on the eastern
seaboard of the USA. He lived a strict Jewish life, and maintained a fully
kosher home. At home, his children were fully observant. He was a
multi-millionaire, and his family lived a very luxurious life. Since Aaron
Adler lived on the border of poverty, the contrast in the economic status
between him and Shulamit was vast. Levine was active in his local synagogue,
and generously supported the local day school and the yeshiva where Aaron Adler
studied.
Chana Levine
,
Shulamit’s mother, was more religious than her husband and daughter. She had earned
a PhD degree and was an instructor in psychology at a local university. She
admired Rabbi Adler for his religious beliefs and practices, and was proud of
her daughter’s association with the rabbi.
In this particular story, the groom qualifies as ultra-Orthodox. His parents
were Holocaust survivors who provided their children with an ultra-Orthodox
education. The groom studied in right-wing yeshivos and continued his studies
until he was ordained as a rabbi. Although he was in his early twenties, he had
never associated with any women eligible for marriage. His training qualified
him only to be a rabbi or a teacher in some day-school or yeshiva.
In sharp contrast, the woman who became his rebbetzin was a brilliant student
and looked forward to working in law. She was the daughter of a
multi-millionaire who owned a hi-tech business and was active in Jewish causes,
and an officer in many religious institutions. He encouraged religious
practices of his children, but was not unduly strict about their religious
upbringing. After completing the day school, his daughter studied in a high
class college, and first met her husband-to-be when he came to their community
to serve as an interim rabbi for the holiday season. At school, she enjoyed an
active social life and was very popular among the male and female students at
the college.
Rabbi Wexler realized that none of his readers would anticipate a successful
courtship and romance between a bride and a groom who were so different from
each other. The author was aware of the inherent difficulties of such a match,
but he harbored an internal belief, namely, that if any bride and groom
practiced tolerance and had the support of their families, they could make such
a marriage work. While such varied attributes are rare, it does not mean that
failure of the marriage is inevitable. The author feels that these qualities
should be part of every union and can overcome differences that lead to failure
and dissolution of a marriage.
Yeshiva Ohr Moshe
assists Congregation Beth Israel of Dunberg
The clock on the bare, well-worn
wall was exactly one minute past 9 AM when Mrs. Fisher’s deep voice pierced the
silence of the executive director’s office. The yeshiva secretary announced, “Call
from Abe Levine on line two.”
After
a few preliminaries, Levine explained that he was facing a major problem. In
steadily rising tones that bordered on panic, he shouted, “You must help me.
You simply have to find someone in a hurry.”
Rabbi
Weiss was startled by the loudness of the voice. Abe Levine was as solid a
businessman as one could imagine. In all the years that he knew the man, Levine
impressed him as a person possessed of the ultimate in self-control. Face to
face, and even more so on the phone, he never got excited, never raised his
voice. The mild temperament persisted, despite being the owner and chief
executive of a multi-million dollar business, a computer supply mail-order
company.
“Take
it easy, Abe,” the rabbi pleaded. “The situation will not get any better by
yelling. Give me some more information, and the yeshiva will do its best to
help.”
Levine
was still agitated. He worked in a stressful business where a single mistake
could cost thousands of dollars. But business problems never fazed him. Now,
however, he was being confronted by a situation where he could not fall back on
years of experience and profound technical skills. He was in an area where he
had no resources with which to work and only limited knowledge of the subject
matter. He needed outside help desperately, and Rabbi Weiss was the only person
he could pressure into assisting him.
Levine,
as it happened, was president of a synagogue. While both his shul and his
business generated severe headaches, the business at least compensated him for
his pains to the tune of almost two million dollars a year. To the synagogue, from
which he received no money, he donated more than $20,000 annually. From his
contributions, he earned only the privilege of suffering communal woes, but
acquired a larger share of life in the World to Come.
Levine’s
shul, Congregation Beth Israel, was the smaller of the two synagogues in
Dunberg, PA, an upper income suburb in the Pittsburgh sphere of influence.
Temple Beth Moses, the larger of the two congregations was affiliated with the
Conservative Movement. Of the thousand Jewish families in the community, almost
half were affiliated with the Temple. Fewer than 200 families belonged to Beth
Israel which, depending on one’s point of view, could be classified either as
Traditional or Modern Orthodox. The synagogue could not afford a resident rabbi
during the year, and had to rely on invited clergy for holidays and special
occasions.
“Rabbi,”
Levine said, “we are in deep trouble. Here it is, ten days before Rosh Hashanah,
and I get a call from Rabbi Ilan Solomon at the Pittsburgh Academy this
morning. Solomon teaches there and has been our holiday rabbi for the last five
years. It seems that his mother in Israel became seriously ill and he has to
fly back home. He will certainly be away for Rosh Hashanah, and probably Yom
Kippur as well. At our shul, he conducted the services, delivered the sermons,
and chanted
Shachris
and
Minchah
. He also conducted the Torah
readings. I asked him if he knew anyone in the area who could replace him, and
he said there were only a few in the vicinity who could do it and they were all
booked a long time ago. He suggested that I call the yeshiva.”
Rabbi
Weiss quickly realized that he had a severe crisis on his hands. While securing
a holiday rabbi from the yeshiva would be an almost impossible task, the
consequences of not coming to Abe Levine’s assistance would be far worse. “What
about the cantor you have, Reverend Joseph Martin? Maybe he could also daven Shachris
and then you can get a volunteer to conduct the other services.”
“Rabbi,
you fail to sense the situation that exists in this shul. Shachris is important
but not critical. I could chant it myself if necessary, if the congregation
would overlook the fact that I am not a total Sabbath-observer. The rabbinic
services are far more important, because many of our members are only
marginally affiliated. Their children are always pushing them to switch to the
Conservative synagogue. If we don’t provide an acceptable rabbi for the
holidays, they will pull out of the shul.
“Listen,
I put too much effort into this shul to lose it over a thing like this. When I
visited your yeshiva two years ago, you told me that your students were being
trained to serve the Jewish community as rabbis and educators. I am a patron of
the yeshiva, and I get a lot of my friends, who don’t even know what a yeshiva
is, to donate large sums of money to the school. I can certainly expect some
assistance from you when I need it.”
Levine
may not have realized it, but not only was he a patron of Yeshiva Ohr Moshe (a
category reserved for those who contributed between $10,000 and $20,000 annually),
but he was actually the school’s largest single donor. Rabbi Weiss was keenly
aware of this fact of life, and had to tread cautiously.
“Listen
to me, Abe. This is the first notice I have of the problem. With God’s help, we
will come up with an answer. Rabbi Rosenberg, the dean, finishes his morning
lecture by 10 AM. We will get right to work on the matter. Where will you be
later this afternoon?”
“Right
here at Telacomp, until 6 PM. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
Rabbi
Weiss was a picture of despair when he got off the phone. Institutional executive
directors are expected to radiate cheerfulness when they deal with the faculty
and general public. It was hard for him to do so now with so much at stake. Ohr
Moshe was a small yeshiva, struggling for students, status and financing. To
attract qualified students to the yeshiva, the school had to offer generous
scholarships. While there were students available who could afford to pay the
full tuition, such students were generally mediocre and the yeshiva could
accept only a limited number of them. All told, tuition accounted for less than
a third of the school’s income. The rest was raised by solicitations from
individuals and foundations. Rabbi Weiss worked very hard at fund-raising and
managed to keep the yeshiva afloat. When he wasn’t out soliciting, he
administered yeshiva affairs, including registration, food supplies and
building maintenance.
The
rabbi remembered Abe Levine’s visit to the yeshiva with a touch of bitterness.
The dean had advised him one morning that Levine was coming to the school and
required a tour and the usual spiel. Rabbi Rosenberg was not American-born and
did not speak English well enough to do the public relations work. A son of Holocaust
survivors, he left Europe in his childhood and completed his rabbinical studies
in Israel. After migrating to America, he established a higher yeshiva in Pittsburgh,
where he served as the dean. His first step was to engage an executive director,
Rabbi Simcha Weiss, to raise funds, manage the business end of the school, and
deal with the community.
The
director was an American who studied in a New York yeshiva until he was
twenty-four. After receiving Semicha at the yeshiva, he left the school in
order to complete his college education. He then worked in various educational
positions for about ten years before he accepted the executive directorship at Rabbi
Rosenberg’s school, Yeshiva Ohr Moshe. He had never seen Levine before his
visit to Pittsburgh, although he had met Abe’s father on a number of occasions.
Judah, the father, had been a successful merchant in Pittsburgh and was fully
observant. Rabbi Rosenberg called upon the elder Levine a few times to
establish a level of annual support and then delegated the account to Rabbi
Weiss. The director visited the Levine store once a year, and always emerged
with $1,000 to $2,000.
Rabbi
Rosenberg quickly briefed the director on the upcoming visit. “Before Judah
Levine died last year, he instructed Abe to support the yeshiva generously. The
son studied in the local day school for a while but he knows very little about yeshivos.
He is a brilliant man, with a Ph.D. in electronic engineering from M.I.T.
Furthermore, he owns a huge mail order company that employs over a hundred
people. When you speak to him, emphasize the importance of the yeshiva and its
services to the Jewish community.”
Rabbi
Weiss was deeply troubled by the last sentence. He would follow his instructions
faithfully because he was being paid to do so. But his conscience bothered him
whenever he had to gild the lily in such a blatant manner. He did believe that yeshivos
were important and fulfilled many vital functions in Jewish life. Communal
service, however, was not one of them. Students who attended the yeshivos were
encouraged to distance themselves from the large synagogues and other Jewish
public institutions. They were expected to worship in small “Shtiblach,” whose
members were strictly observant and davened yeshiva style. Such shuls had no
official rabbis, no cantors, no sermons, and none of the trappings of the
larger American Orthodox congregations.
The
students who received ordination were not expected or qualified to serve as
pulpit rabbis. They lacked secular education and the life experience required
of a congregational rabbi. The Talmud and the Codes they studied at the yeshiva
prepared them only for intensive religious living. Even after marriage, yeshiva
students were expected to spend several additional years in religious studies.
When they finally went out into the world, a number of them became teachers in yeshivos
and day schools, while others drifted into business.
To
tell Abe Levine that Ohr Moshe was training the future leadership of American Orthodoxy
was a gross exaggeration at the very best, and Rabbi Weiss did so without
emphasis or real conviction. He was grateful that Levine did not pick up on the
point and ask him for statistics. He realized, though, that a man as bright as
Levine would remember such a remark and he greatly feared that someday his idle
words would come back to haunt him. Today, obviously, was the day of
retribution.
Aside
from a lingering sense of guilt, the visit was clearly a huge success. Abe
Levine was in a generous mood at the time and was quite flattered by all the
attention he received from the learned rabbis. Rabbi Weiss was able to persuade
him to dedicate a classroom in memory of his father and subscribe to an annual
patron membership.
At
the request of Rabbi Weiss, a special meeting was convened at 1:15 PM in the dean’s
office. It was the earliest time that the three faculty members could gather.
The class that the dean was giving when Levine called was a special lecture to
the entire student body on the laws of Rosh Hashanah. Since it was Monday, all
classes had their regular lectures from 10:45 AM to 12:30. In addition to Rabbi
Rosenberg, the faculty consisted of Rabbis Bernstein and Kurland. The latter
taught the intermediate class and also served as the Mashgiach (spiritual counselor)
to all the students. Rabbi Bernstein, who was still in his twenties, taught on
the preparatory level. The next lower two levels consisted of twenty students
each. Fifteen older students were considered advanced and were instructed by
the dean himself. Twelve of the students were designated as pre-rabbinic. This
meant that their studies were part of the two-year Semicha program at the
yeshiva.
Faculty
meetings were not unprecedented at Ohr Moshe. Although yeshivos are not
democratic institutions, each instructor, who carries the Hebrew title “Rosh Yeshiva,”
had the option of consulting faculty members individually or collectively. The
final decision on any course of action was always made by the dean himself.
Rabbi Rosenberg held group meetings because he valued the input of the faculty
and sensed that it was good for the morale of faculty members to feel that they
were part of the decision-making process. On many occasions, a consensus was
reached at such meetings and relieved the dean of making unilateral rulings.
Otherwise, the dean had to make difficult choices between opposing points of
view.
Rabbi
Weiss was expected to attend faculty meetings and did so whenever his other
duties permitted it. Issues raised at such meetings often impacted on the image
or finances of the yeshiva, and in those areas the director was the
acknowledged expert. He respected the scholarship of all the instructors, but
he did not get along with Rabbi Kurland. In his eyes, the Mashgiach was too
hard-driving and inflexible. Ohr Moshe was, after all, an out-of-town yeshiva
just getting established. The Mashgiach had studied and taught in one of the
larger East Coast schools, but left when some of his extreme views did not
prevail. Rabbi Weiss, who joined Ohr Moshe before Rabbi Kurland was hired,
tried to warn the dean that the man was an extremist. The dean, however, could
not resist the temptation of securing for his new school a teacher with a
well-established reputation.
Now
Rabbi Weiss was facing Rabbi Kurland across the conference table in the dean’s
office. Rabbi Rosenberg was in his usual seat at the head of the table, and
Rabbi Bernstein sat alongside the Mashgiach. Rabbi Weiss noted the condition of
the dean’s office with a degree of pride. The paint was fresh and the walls
carried pictures of famous rabbis neatly hung in elaborate frames. While his
own office remained shabby, the director made a special effort to keep the dean’s
office respectable. Ohr Moshe occupied a once-beautiful synagogue building in
the old Jewish section. As the Jews fled the changing neighborhood and moved to
the suburbs, the congregation became depopulated. The membership was reluctant
to sell the facility to a church, so they rejoiced when Ohr Moshe indicated a
willingness to take over the building. The main worship floor was remodeled to
hold a large study hall in the front half and classrooms and offices in the
back. The dean had an office and classroom on one side, and the Mashgiach had
his office and classroom on the other. There was also space for two additional
rooms in what was the women’s worship area in the balcony. The school kitchen,
dining room, and administrative offices were located on the ground floor of the
building.