Hakham Tsevi Ashkenazi and the Battlegrounds of the Early Modern Rabbinate

 

Hakham Tsevi Ashkenazi and the Battlegrounds of the Early Modern Rabbinate (Littman Library, 2024), by Yosie Levine

Reviewed by Rabbi Reuven Chaim Klein (Rachack Review)

With the recent 2024 “pogrom” in Amsterdam casting a grim shadow over the Dutch city’s reputation, this book serves as a poignant reminder of a bygone era when Amsterdam stood as a beacon of religious tolerance. In the 17^th and 18^th centuries, this city was a sanctuary for Jews from across Europe and the Ottoman Empire, boasting vibrant Sephardic and Ashkenazic communities. Descendants of Sephardic Jews expelled from the Iberian Peninsula, Ashkenazi Jews escaping the horrors of the Chmielnicki massacres that started in 1648, and others who had run into trouble in their homelands for various reasons (like Ramchal, who was forced to leave Italy if he wanted to continue teaching his brand of Kabbalah) all found a safe-haven in Amsterdam. It was within this milieu that Rabbi Tzvi Ashkenazi rose to prominence.

Rabbi Tzvi Ashkenazi (1658–1718) was a Rosh Yeshiva and (briefly) the Chief Rabbi of the Ashkenazi community in Amsterdam, whose literary legacy has been cemented by his responsa Chacham Tzvi. In this book, Yosie Levine offers a meticulously-researched and highly engaging intellectual biography of Rabbi Ashkenazi, exposing him as one of the most fascinating figures of early modern Jewish history. Levine adeptly situates Rabbi Ashkenazi’s life and works within the broader context of Jewish social, intellectual, and rabbinic history.

Raised by an Ashkenazi family living in Ottoman-occupied Old Buda (part of which later became Budapest), Rabbi Ashkenazi’s surname was actually Zak (which the author tells us in the last chapter is actually an acronym for the Hebrew phrase zera kodesh, “[of] holy seed”). Rabbi Ashkenazi spent much of his early life immersed in Sephardic rabbinic centers elsewhere in the Ottoman Empire (such as Salonica and Constantinople), experiences that informed his unique position at the crossroads of Ashkenazic and Sephardic traditions. In fact, despite his Ashkenazic heritage, Rabbi Ashkenazi was often referred to with the traditional Sephardic honorific “Chacham,” rather than the more Ashkenazic title “HaRav.” Levine unpacks this fascinating aspect of Rabbi Ashkenazi’s dual identity, including the enigmatic samekh-tet acronym that Rabbi Ashkenazi appended to his signature (which is traditionally interpreted as Sefardi tahor, “pure Sephardi”).

The book excels in its exploration of Rabbi Ashkenazi’s tumultuous tenure as Chief Rabbi of Amsterdam, where his unyielding stance against Sabbateanism, intermarriage, and the encroachments of lay leadership on rabbinic authority placed him at odds with powerful factions within the city. In that context, Rabbi Ashkenazi was not afraid to stand up to the emerging lay leadership who were growing in influence and became increasingly audacious in flouting rabbinic authority.

The author dedicates a particularly compelling and comprehensive chapter to the infamous Nechemiah Chiyya Chayyun (1655-1730) affair, where Rabbi Ashkenazi’s efforts to ostracize a known Sabbatian heretic and ban his books ultimately led to his forced departure from Amsterdam. Although Rabbi Ashkenazi garnered the support of rabbis outside of Amsterdam, the city’s lay leadership and the Sephardic rabbinic leadership supported Chayyun, which eventually forced Rabbi Ashkenazi to flee Amsterdam for London. These dramatic conflicts are vividly brought to life, illustrating the challenges of maintaining rabbinic authority in a rapidly-evolving Jewish diaspora on the cusp of modernity.

Levine does not limit his study to biography alone. He skillfully weaves Rabbi Ashkenazi’s Halachic responsa into the narrative, presenting them as windows into the broader “rabbinic republic of letters.” This network connected Jews from London all the way in the west to White Russia (modern-day Belarus) and Ukraine in the east, crisscrossing through Amsterdam and Hamburg where Rabbi Ashkenazi served, and including the rest of Germany, Italy, and even Crete. Rabbi Ashkenazi’s sphere of rabbinic influence spanned the entirety of Ashkenazi Jewry, and he eventually took up a prestigious rabbinic position in Lemberg (modern-day Lviv, Ukraine) not long before his death in 1718.

As a work that focuses on social and intellectual history, this book does not delve much into the pilpulistic, stated reasons for Rabbi Ashkenazi’s rulings, but instead focuses on the broader implications and ramifications of those decisions. Indeed, while the author refrains from delving deeply into the legal minutiae of Rabbi Ashkenazi’s rulings, he does emphasize their broader implications for Jewish communal life and authority. This book contextualizes some of Rabbi Ashkenazi’s Halachic responsa, including those dealing with questions as diverse as the permissibility of counting a golem in a minyan, the kashrut of a “heartless” chicken, and the observance of two days of Yom Tov by diaspora Jews visiting the Holy Land. In doing so, Levine illustrates how the ramifications of these questions and the ways in which Rabbi Ashkenazi framed the legal discussions still have implications for contemporary times.

Recurring issues explored in this book delve into some of the most pressing and contentious debates of Rabbi Ashkenazi's times, many of which, again, continue to resonate in rabbinic discourse today. Levine examines the question of when rabbis have the authority to issue halachic rulings on matters that fall outside of their official geographic jurisdiction (especially when those questions were already decided upon by local rabbinic authorities). That question — precipitated by the development of a reliable postal system — is a topic that not only shaped communal dynamics in Rabbi Ashkenazi’s time, but also affected him personally and raised broader questions about the boundaries of rabbinic influence in a rapidly globalizing Jewish world. The book also grapples with the complexities of adjudicating inter-rabbinic disputes, highlighting how disagreements over halachic and ideological matters often became flashpoints for larger communal tensions and political power struggles.

Another key issue discussed is the permissibility of disseminating esoteric Kabbalistic teachings to the broader public. This debate, exacerbated by the invention of the printing press which could mass produce books on an unprecedented scale, is situated at the intersection of theology and pedagogy. It reflects the ongoing tension between maintaining the sanctity of mystical traditions and responding to the spiritual needs of a diverse and often fragmented Jewish populace. Levine provides insightful analysis into how Rabbi Ashkenazi navigated this delicate terrain, weighing the risks of misinterpretation against the potential benefits of wider dissemination. Essentially, Rabbi Ashkenazi took up the elitist view that allowed him to personally study and master Kabbalah, while restricting knowledge of its secrets to the initiated.

Another question explored by this book is the precise definition of what it meant to be a Sabbatian during a period of heightened fear and division within the Jewish world. Levine explores the multifaceted nature of this identity, questioning whether a Sabbatian was defined strictly by participation in antinomian practices, by adherence to messianic or Sabbatian ideologies, by social affiliation with known Sabbatians, or even just by financial support of individuals or causes associated with the heretical movement. Through this nuanced discussion, Levine illuminates the far-reaching implications of these definitional struggles for both individuals and communities, as well as for the broader fabric of Jewish life in early modern Europe.

This book’s approach makes it both accessible to general readers and invaluable to scholars. By drawing on a wealth of duly footnoted and referenced sources, especially the writings of Rabbi Ashkenazi’s son, Rabbi Yaakov Emden (sometimes known as Yaavetz), Levine enriches the narrative with scholarly and historical insights. Ultimately, this work — based on Levine’s doctoral dissertation in Jewish History at Yeshiva University — is a masterful feat of writing, blending scholarly rigor with readability. It paints a vivid portrait of a towering rabbinic figure and his turbulent times, while drawing connections to enduring challenges in contemporary Jewish communal life. This reviewer sincerely hopes that Rabbi Levine will continue to produce more intellectual biographies of the gedolim of yesteryear in the same style.

Jewish Concepts of Divine Oneness

 

Jewish Concepts of Divine Oneness (Cambridge University Press, 2024), by Job Y. Jindo

Reviewed by Rabbi Reuven Chaim Klein (Rachack Review)

The concept of God’s oneness stands at the very heart of Judaism. From the thunderous declaration of the Shema to the theological reflections of medieval philosophers and mystics, Jewish thinkers across the centuries have grappled with what it means to say that “Hashem is One.” In his new book, Jewish Concepts of Divine Oneness (Cambridge University Press, 2024), scholar Job Y. Jindo offers a concise yet penetrating overview of the different models of monotheism that have emerged in Jewish tradition from antiquity to the present.

As part of Cambridge’s Elements in Religion and Monotheism series, this short volume is both scholarly and accessible, designed to guide readers — Jewish and non-Jewish alike — through the diverse understandings of Divine oneness in the Jewish canon. Jindo’s central claim is that while belief in God’s oneness is a constant in Jewish life, its precise meaning can vary in different strains of Jewish thought. What unites the various formulations is not a fixed theology, but a shared commitment to the oneness of the Divine, however it may be conceived.

To chart this evolution, Jindo divides Jewish intellectual history into four major periods: Biblical, Rabbinic, Medieval, and Modern, showing how scholars from each period engaged with the concept of Divine oneness. Each of these sections contains a thoughtful introduction to the theological tendencies of its era amongst Jewish scholars, with ample references for further study. A robust bibliography at the end provides readers with an excellent roadmap to the vast literature surrounding this topic.

The Biblical Phase highlights what Jindo (following scholars like Yechezkel Kaufmann and Benjamin D. Sommer) terms the "qualitative" monotheism of the Hebrew Bible. Rather than affirming merely the numerical singularity of God, the Bible presents a deity whose uniqueness lies in His absolute freewill, creative power, and personal relationship with humanity. Drawing on the prophetic literature and creation narratives, Jindo underscores that Biblical Monotheism is deeply relational: the God of Israel is not merely a remote abstraction, but a living personality who actively engages with His people.

The Rabbinic Phase continues this relational framework but channels it through a new center: the Torah. In post-Temple Judaism, the rabbis upheld the primacy of Divine law and study, which according to scholars like Boyarin led to the development of a theology in which the Torah itself becomes the primary conduit to God. Jindo provocatively describes this development as a kind of "binitarianism" — an unfortunate and awkward term (as discussed below) in order to highlight the overly-exalted status of Torah in rabbinic theology, where it is seen not merely as a legal code, but as a form of Divinity Itself.

In outlining the Medieval Phase, Jindo offers a well-informed contrast between the rationalist philosophers (typified by Maimonides) who emphasized Divine simplicity and incorporeality, and the Kabbalists who embraced a more dynamic, multi-aspected vision of God through ideas like the sefirot. Jindo is especially effective in showing how each of these systems seeks to preserve Divine unity, albeit through very different metaphysical frameworks. Another point that Jindo stresses in this context is how the cold, abstract God of the philosophers (Unmovable Mover) represents something of a break from the traditional Biblical and Rabbinic conceptions of God as a living Entity who engaged with His creation.

In the Modern Period, however, the study somewhat falters. Jindo focuses almost exclusively on marginal and secular Jewish figures like Baruch Spinoza, Sigmund Freud, Viktor Frankl, as well as to antinomian, heterodox rabbis, namely Abraham J. Heschel and Mordecai Kaplan. In focusing on these five figures, the author skips over much of mainline Jewish thought throughout the Renaissance Period and Early Modern period. Moreover, while each of these thinkers contributed important insights into Jewish thought, they were either openly anti-religious or aligned with denominational movements that have since distanced themselves from their theological legacies. The views of these figures certainly do not represent important Jewish views on the topic in the same way that the discussions cited earlier do.

Meanwhile, central voices of contemporary Orthodox Jewish theology — such as Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Rabbi Yitzchak Hutner, Rabbi Moshe Shapiro, and Rabbi Shnayor Z. Burton — are not even alluded to. And important Jewish philosophers like Franz Rosenzweig, Martin Buber, and Hermann Cohen —receive little more than passing mention or are omitted entirely. By focusing squarely on Modern thinkers peripheral to mainstream Judaism — who were often openly critical of halakhic tradition — Jindo bypasses the rich theological discourse within both contemporary Orthodoxy and serious non-Orthodox Jewish philosophy. This exclusion is especially glaring given the stated aim of presenting diverse models of Divine oneness.

Throughout the book, Jindo returns frequently to the Shema prayer (Deuteronomy 6:4) as a litmus test for theological interpretation. He thoughtfully surveys the various ways in which this central verse — “Hear, O Israel: Hashem our God, Hashem is One” (which is but one of many ways of translating that passage) — has been understood across the centuries. Whether seen as a statement of exclusive loyalty, Divine unity, or cosmic uniqueness, the Shema serves as a window into the diversity of Jewish monotheistic expression.

And yet, while Jindo’s typological approach is often illuminating, it also raises concerns. His decision to describe Rabbinic Monotheism as a form of “binitarianism” is particularly problematic. He argues that the rabbinic exaltation of Torah borders on treating it as a Divine entity in its own right. But this misunderstands the rabbinic position: Torah is not a second god, but rather a revelation of the One God’s will. There is no duality here — no theological dyad. If one wished to explore the possibility of binitarian structures within Judaism, far more appropriate candidates would be found in the thought of the Raavad I (HaEmunah HaRamah), or in the dualistic speculations of Abraham Miguel Cardozo and other Sabbatian thinkers. But those theorists are also peripheral and need not be treated in an introductory book like this one.

Additionally, the book’s conclusion departs from its otherwise neutral tone to offer a fairly explicit critique of theological absolutism and a valorization of pluralism and relativism. While Judaism indeed celebrates a multiplicity of voices, it also draws boundaries. There remains an Overton window of acceptable belief. To ignore this is to misrepresent the very tradition Jindo seeks to elucidate. The book would have been stronger had it engaged more directly with thinkers such as Jan Assmann, who explored the boundary-drawing function of monotheism through the “Mosaic distinction” between truth and falsehood.

Nevertheless, Jewish Concepts of Divine Oneness succeeds in its primary aim: to present a readable, thought-provoking introduction to one of Judaism’s most foundational (and possibly complex) theological claims. It is a valuable resource for students, scholars, and general readers alike. With all its limitations, Jindo’s study invites us to return anew to the question at the heart of Jewish faith: what does it mean to proclaim that “Hashem is One”?

The Koren Tanakh of the Land of Israel — Exodus

The Koren Tanakh of the Land of Israel — Exodus (Koren Publishers Jerusalem, 2020), edited by David Arnovitz

Reviewed by Rabbi Reuven Chaim Klein (Rachack Review)

This beautifully produced volume features contributions from several scholars and is visually stunning. It includes high-quality graphics, maps, and photographs of ancient inscriptions, artifacts, and even Medieval artwork. The typesetting is elegant, making it an attractive coffee-table book that draws in the reader. It includes color images, including reconstructions and archaeological finds, such as maps illustrating the Israelites’ travels through the desert. However, this reviewer occasionally found it jarring to read sacred verses alongside images of idolatrous deities or partially unclothed figures.

While the book may be compared to Mossad HaRav Kook’s Da'at Mikra series, the key differences are that this volume is in English and places far less emphasis on traditional rabbinic commentary. It also does not provide a continuous commentary on the entire text of Exodus, instead focusing on select verses and themes. The articles consist of attributed contributions from many different scholars in a sort of “encyclopedic” format. Those articles are informative but tend to present basic, accessible information, and there are no footnotes or source citations, making it less suitable as a scholarly reference.

The layout is highly thoughtful: icons are used to indicate the type of article (e.g., Egyptology, Language, and Near Eastern), and the visuals are in line with the book’s overall aesthetic sophistication. The "Egyptology" and "Near East" sections aim to contextualize the Torah by comparing or contrasting it with Egyptian and Mesopotamian culture and mythology. This highly comparative approach is one of the book’s most intriguing aspects. For example, the Egyptology entries often highlight how Biblical references to Egyptian culture subtly subvert those ideas to emphasize the supremacy of the God of Israel over nature and pagan gods. Most of the Egyptology entries were written by Dr. Racheli Shalomi-Hen of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. That said, not all entries labeled "Egyptology" are properly categorized. For instance, the etymology of the names Shifra and Puah (p. 8) is traced to Semitic/Hebrew roots, not Egyptian ones.

The “Flora and Fauna” sections were apparently penned by Dr. Zohar Amar from Bar Ilan University, a scholar whose work I have been following for some time now. But in this limited framework, those entries were obviously abbreviated and shorter than Dr. Amar’s more thorough work in his books on Biblical and rabbinic flora/fauna.

The editors wisely steer clear of most chronological debates, probably due to the messiness of the topic. However, the volume does perpetuate several factual inaccuracies that have crept into popular consciousness. For example, it claims that Exodus 12:2 is the rabbinic source for the requirement that Nisan be in spring (p. 63), whereas more accurate sources include Exodus 13:4, 23:15, 34:18, and Deuteronomy 16:1. The book also states (there) that the fixed Jewish calendar was established during the Second Temple period, even though rabbinic tradition attributes that development to Hillel II, who lived in the 4^th century CE, well after the Temple’s destruction.

Furthermore, the volume claims that tefillin are worn “on the forehead” (p. 72), an assertion belied by normative halakhic practice. On that same page, the book claims that tefillin were found at Qumran that correspond to both Rashi and Rabbeinu Tam’s opinions in how to order the texts of the tefillin, but that myth has already been dispelled close to twenty years ago in Dr. Yehudah Cohn's 2007 article in Jewish Studies Quarterly. The book also asserts that the name of Pharaoh’s daughter who rescued Moses is unknowable from the biblical text (p. 12), neglecting to mention the Midrashic identification of her as Bithiah based on I Chronicles 4:18.

Some of these oversights and others like them reflect a broader tendency in the volume: it favors archaeology, realia, and cultural studies over traditional textual exegesis. The commentary on the Exodus narrative, in particular, leans heavily on Egyptology, sometimes at the expense of classic Jewish interpretations.

Each page includes the original Hebrew Masoretic text alongside a dignified English translation by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, accompanied by the thematic articles and visuals that are the centerpieces of this work. However, despite Koren’s generally impeccable reputation for Hebrew textual accuracy, this edition contains several proofreading errors. Extra letters that are not part of the Masoretic text appear in multiple locations — e.g., two extra yuds on page 13, an extra vav on page 32, an extra kaf on page 50, and another vav on page 62. Additionally, the colon that marks the end of a verse is sometimes layed over a letter instead of preceding it (for examples, see page 32, 61).

This review focused primarily on the first part of Exodus (chapters 1–17), which covers the narrative of the Israelites' liberation from Egypt. The rest of the book should be treated separately, but in short, those later sections of Exodus primarily offer a legal code (roughly chapters 18–24), and a lengthy account of the mishkan (“tabernacle”) with its associated appurtenances and paraphernalia (roughly chapters 25–40). In the legal sections, the articles mostly compare and contrast the Torah’s laws to the laws in other Near Eastern milieus. The mishkan section is adorned with exquisite photographs that imagined how those components may have looked, with the scholarly articles mostly written by Rabbi Menachem Makeover and Professor Zohar Amar.

In terms of the book’s back matter, it contains an eclectic glossary that defines Jewish and Egyptian terms and situates them within their proper context for readers who might not otherwise be familiar with those ideas. It also contains a bibliography that offers sources and further supplementary reading to the book’s article (arranged by chapter and verse where the article appears), extensive photo credits, and a helpful index.

In conclusion, The Koren Tanakh of the Land of Israel — Exodus succeeds as a visually-engaging and accessible introduction to the world of the Exodus story, especially for readers interested in historical, archaeological, and cultural background. Its stunning design and curated visuals make it ideal for casual reading or display, and its articles offer useful context for understanding the Torah’s setting and significance. However, those seeking in-depth engagement with traditional rabbinic commentary or rigorous academic sourcing may find its approach too limited. While the book brings much to the table, it would be best used alongside more traditional or scholarly works, rather than as a standalone reference.

Articles of Faith: Traditional Jewish Belief in the Internet Era

Articles of Faith: Traditional Jewish Belief in the Internet Era (Kodesh Press, 2024) by Rabbi Gil Student

Reviewed by Rabbi Reuven Chaim Klein (Rachack Review) 

In an era where ideological polarization often drowns out thoughtful discourse, Rabbi Gil Student’s Articles of Faith emerges as a beacon of intellectual integrity and nuanced traditionalism. This meticulously curated collection of essays, building on ideas discussed on his widely-read blog Torah Musings (formerly Hirhurim), does far more than merely rehash well-trodden arguments — it engages with contemporary Jewish dilemmas in a manner that is at once deeply-rooted in classical sources and refreshingly-independent of partisan dogma. 

One of the most striking features of Rabbi Student’s work is his refusal to be pigeonholed into any simplistic ideological category. While some might lazily attempt to categorize him as "Modern Orthodox" or "right-wing," such labels fail to capture the depth and independence of his thought. Perhaps the most fitting descriptor, though still imperfect, would be a "right-wing Modern Orthodox machmir," a label that befits a thinker who takes mesorah (“Jewish Tradition”) and halacha (“Jewish Law”) with the utmost seriousness, while still remaining unafraid to critique prevailing assumptions, even those held by the more stringent sectors of Orthodoxy.  Or perhaps we ought to rehabilitate the moniker “Centrist Orthodoxy” for this author’s forceful rejection of Open Orthodoxy and the now-defunct Edah organization that sat on the left fringes of Orthodoxy. On the other hand, many people accept Gil Student the person as “open-minded Yeshivish” and would laugh at the suggestion that he is in any way modern. In fact, the Yeshiva communities of Chaim Berlin and Chofetz Chaim accept him as one of their own. Perhaps then the point is not that the author does not fit into any box, but that he fits into multiple boxes.

The author’s intellectual independence is evident in his willingness to challenge mainstream Ultra-Orthodox positions when he believes them to be misguided. His robust defense of Rabbi Natan Slifkin during the so-called "Slifkin Affair" — even going so far as to distribute Slifkin’s works through his Yashar Books imprint — demonstrates Rabbi Student’s commitment to truth over tribal loyalty. Similarly, his critique of the 2012 anti-internet asifah (rabbinic gathering) reveals a thinker who understands that rabbinic bans are not the solution to the challenges of technology. History, of course, has vindicated his stance, as the internet has become an indispensable tool for Torah study and communal connectivity despite earlier fears. 

A recurring theme in Articles of Faith is the delicate balance between upholding rabbinic authority while acknowledging the realities of a post-modern, digitally-saturated world. Several essays grapple with this tension, offering nuanced perspectives on how traditional Jewish leadership can retain its stature in an age where information (and cynicism) is readily accessible. One particularly compelling essay touts the indispensable role of the "local rabbi" as opposed to the growing trend of turning to great rabbis from outside the community for guidance about communal affairs. Another penetrating discussion dissects the limitations of AI (“artificial intelligence”) in psak (“halachic decision-making”), demonstrating that while technology can serve as a useful tool, it can never replicate the holistic judgment of a trained posek. As the author makes clear, no man-made algorithm or computer program can replace the human intuition, empathy, and da’as Torah (Torah-guided wisdom) of a flesh-and-blood spiritual guide.

Besides the struggles with technology, other contemporary issues discussed in the book at great length include feminism, with a full chapter on the mechitzah controversy and another full chapter on women’s rabbinic ordination. In both of these chapters, the author takes a fairly traditionalist approach, buttressed with relevant sources. Yet, the essay on women’s rabbinic ordination further exemplifies Rabbi Student’s nuanced traditionalism. While he unequivocally rejects the innovation of female rabbis within Orthodoxy, his reasoning extends beyond reflexive conservatism and simple yielding to rabbinic fiat. Instead, he essentially argues that the rupture in communal norms that would result from ordaining women would inevitably lead to fragmentation and undermine the very unity that holds the various factions of Orthodoxy together. This conclusion does not reflect mere reactionism, but is a carefully considered stance grounded in both halachic precedent and sociological realism. 

One of the most intellectually stimulating sections of this book engages with the parameters of acceptable Jewish belief. Rabbi Student respectfully but firmly pushes back against Professor Marc B. Shapiro’s The Limits of Orthodox Theology, which suggests that historical Jewish thought was far more theologically diverse than contemporary Orthodoxy admits. Rabbi Student argues that the contours of acceptable Jewish belief are not as porous as Shapiro presents them because the rabbis of any given generation have the authority to concretize any principle of belief that they feel necessary in defining who is considered a heretic (especially because of the practical Halachic ramifications of that status). Thus, even though the author admits that some legitimate Jewish authorities in earlier times did not accept all of Maimonides 13 principles as popularly formulated or some aspects of those principles, the later rabbinic consensus has the authority to crystallize the boundaries of belief and decide what is considered beyond the pale.

This discussion is not merely academic; it speaks to a broader struggle within contemporary Orthodoxy: how to maintain fidelity to tradition while engaging with a world that often views religious dogma with skepticism. Rabbi Student’s answer is neither wholesale rejection of modernity nor uncritical assimilation but a thoughtful synthesis — one that demands intellectual honesty without sacrificing halachic and hashkafic integrity.  Under that rubric, this book does not shy away from some of the most contentious debates in today’s Orthodox world: 

• ·         Biblical Criticism & the Oral Torah: Rabbi Student provides a robust defense of the traditional understanding of Torah min HaShamayim (divine origin of Scripture) while engaging — without outright dismissing — the challenges posed by academic scholarship. 
• ·         Science and Torah: Revisiting the Slifkin-Meiselman debate, he argues for a model of reconciliation that neither ignores scientific discovery nor compromises fundamental tenets of faith. 
• ·         The Abrahamic Family’s Observance: He offers a compelling case for the traditional view that the Patriarchs kept the Torah, countering those who mock this view as rejecting a legitimate rabbinic tradition. 
• ·         Citing Non-Orthodox Scholars: In a particularly nuanced discussion, he delineates when and how it may be appropriate to engage with scholarship from outside Orthodox circles without legitimizing theological and antinomian deviations. 
• ·         Other essays are dedicated to the question of how contemporary Religious Zionism can fit between secular Zionism and Haredi anti-Zionism, and the age-old question of when one is obligated to forgive even the worst sinners (like terrorists).

Rabbi Student’s admiration for the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks zt"l is evident in his thoughtful treatment of Rabbi Sacks’ universalist vision. He defends Rabbi Sacks’ assertion that God speaks to other nations through their own religious traditions — not by endorsing those traditions as halachically valid, but by recognizing their role in steering humanity toward ethical monotheism. In doing so, Rabbi student focuses on certain positive aspects of those religions as paving the way towards a global ethical monotheism and weaning the world away from paganism, even if not jumping to those end-goals immediately. Another essay tackles Rabbi Sacks’ controversial interpretation of "loving the stranger," demonstrating that even classical sources extend this concept beyond the technical definitions of ger toshav or ger tzedek. 

Throughout the book, Rabbi Student’s analysis is firmly grounded in a mastery of both classical halachic literature and contemporary scholarly discourse, allowing him to navigate complex issues with both authority and nuance. Time and again, he returns to fundamental questions that lie at the heart of Orthodox engagement with modernity: What is the boundary between aggadah and binding halacha? How do we reconcile the Chasam Sofer’s famous injunction chadash assur min ha-Torah ("innovation is forbidden by the Torah") with the undeniable reality that Jewish practice has always evolved in response to changing circumstances? His treatment of these tensions avoids oversimplification, acknowledging that while the mesorah must be preserved, not all adaptations constitute unacceptable breaches.

This careful balancing act culminates in his final chapter, where he offers a pragmatic approach to religious decision-making: rather than expecting every individual to independently weigh halachic controversies — or, conversely, demanding blind conformity to a single authority — he advises readers to seek out a rabbi whose approach resonates with them intellectually and spiritually, and to follow that guidance consistently. Crucially, he argues that as long as one remains anchored in authentic tradition and submits to rabbinic authority (rather than cherry-picking opinions to suit personal preferences), then the specific path one takes on disputed matters is of secondary importance. This theme, though not always stated explicitly, undergirds the entire book: fidelity to the halachic process matters more than rigid uniformity in outcome.

Perhaps the book’s most pressing, over-arching concern is how to sustain religious conviction and rabbinic authority in a post-modern world saturated with skepticism and unfiltered information. Rabbi Student recognizes that the internet’s democratization of knowledge and erosion of traditional hierarchies poses a unique existential challenge to communal norms. Yet, as noted earlier, he resolutely opposes reactionary solutions like sweeping bans on technology, arguing persuasively (and prophetically) that such measures are both impractical and counterproductive. Instead, he advocates for a more sustainable approach: deepening one’s study of mussar and ethical self-refinement to cultivate an internal compass that resists the pitfalls of the digital age. In his view, the antidote to modernity’s chaos is not retreat but resilience — forging individuals whose commitment to Torah values is so deeply internalized that external temptations lose their power.

Rabbi Gil Student is no armchair theorist. An ordained Yeshiva University graduate, an active member of the Rabbinical Council of America (RCA), and a prominent figure in the Rabbinical Alliance of America/Igud HaRabbonim, his insights are informed by decades of communal leadership. In addition to dedicating himself to Torah scholarship and publishing (including editorial roles at the Orthodox Union), he has long worked in the finance industry — a background that perhaps contributes to his pragmatic, analytically rigorous approach. 

As a longtime reader of Rabbi Student’s writings — dating back to his early, anonymous blogging days — I can attest to the enduring relevance of these essays. Even before they were printed in this collection, I read many of these essays multiple times. (Full disclosure: One essay in this volume was originally penned in response to something I myself wrote.)

In summation, Articles of Faith is more than just a compilation of essays. In some ways, it is a meaningful manifesto for thoughtful, principled traditionalism in an age of upheaval. Rabbi Student’s voice is one of rare clarity: deeply committed to halacha and mesorah, yet unafraid to engage with complexity. For anyone grappling with the intersection of tradition and modernity, this book is not merely recommended — it is required reading.