Tag: Mesora

My Mother’s Legacy: A Journey in Israel

Recently, my wife and I returned from an enriching five-week trip to the Holy Land. During our final days, we spent time with friends in Alon Shvut. After sharing our experiences, they asked, “What was the highlight of your trip?”

My response was immediate: the verse:

עיני ה׳ אלקיך בה מראשית השנה ועד אחרית שנה
“The eyes of Hashem are always upon it, from the beginning of the year to the end of the year”

I didn’t recite this verse lightly; I truly felt it. It was as if a comforting presence had been with us every single day of the trip.

It was a coincidence—or perhaps not—that my mother’s fifth yahrzeit was two weeks after our return from Israel. I hadn’t consciously been thinking about it, especially since my father’s yahrzeit occurred while we were in Israel. We visited his parents’ graves on Har HaMenuchot, but I felt stressed about not being in Melbourne. As is customary, I needed to find a synagogue where I could comfortably receive maftir on Shabbos and serve as chazzan for the yahrzeit, which also fell on Shabbos.

This proved challenging. I wasn’t keen on attending any of the numerous “minyan factories” near our accommodation, nor was I drawn to larger synagogues like Yeshurun in Jerusalem, although I’m sure they would have accommodated me.

By chance, while wandering near Machane Yehuda, I came across a quaint, albeit somewhat dilapidated, synagogue. It wasn’t Eidot HaMizrach, and they followed Ashkenazi traditions, which was close enough to the Nusach Sefard I’m accustomed to. Their Shabbos service started at 8 a.m., perfect for me.

While I might have been concerned about commemorating my father’s yahrzeit, it was my mother’s “presence” in Israel that was astounding and pervasive.

Family Roots

My mother’s parents came from two towns near Brisk (Brest-Litovsk): Terespol and Kodeń.

Before World War II, Terespol had a Jewish population of approximately 1,000–1,500, a significant portion of the town’s residents. The community had synagogues, schools, and actively participated in local trade and crafts. Terespol is just 3–5 kilometers from Brisk, separated by the Bug River, which now forms the border between Poland and Belarus. A bridge connects the two towns, making them essentially neighbors.

Kodeń, a nearby village, also had a Jewish community before the war, though smaller, estimated at a few hundred Jews.

My maternal grandparents were married in Brisk before moving to Warsaw, where my mother was born.

Unexpected Connections

The sense of connection deepened on the Friday night before our departure from Melbourne. During synagogue announcements, the gabbai mentioned various simchas. The last was an engagement between a family from São Paulo, Brazil, and a family from Melbourne. The bride’s father, whose surname was Flaksberg, was present.

I remembered my mother mentioning a cousin from Brazil named Shmiel Leib Flaksberg, though they hadn’t been in contact for over 40 years. I approached the bride’s father and asked if he was related to Shmiel Leib. He looked at me, astonished, and replied that Shmiel Leib was his grandfather.

When I explained that we were related, we were both stunned.

After World War II, my mother’s parents immigrated to the nascent State of Israel and established a small dairy farm in Yafo, Tel Aviv. My mother completed her schooling in Israel and spoke fluent Hebrew. Shmiel Leib and his family were frequent visitors to the farm. He even assisted my grandparents in transferring funds to Australia when they emigrated in the late 1950s.

I later discovered that Shmiel Leib’s son, Marek (Meir), now lives in Ra’anana. I got his contact information and reached out. Marek was visiting Jerusalem with his grandson, so we arranged to meet for coffee at Mamilla Mall.

Although Marek vividly remembered accompanying his father on Motzei Shabbos trips to my grandparents’ farm—apparently to purchase cows for Shechita and later sale—he wasn’t sure how we were related. Like many in his generation, he hadn’t spoken much with his father about family connections.

I’m now trying to piece that puzzle together. A possible clue is that his family hailed from Sławatycze, a nearby town with many people sharing my grandfather’s surname.

The Gershenzon Connection

My grandmother’s maiden name was Gershenzon. The family had a presence in nearby Brisk and are, unsurprisingly, Leviim — Mishpachas HaGershuni. About 15 years ago, I discovered a Gershensohn cousin named Rachel in Ra’anana, though when her family emigrated to the USA, their name became “Samson.” I’ve been in touch with Rachel over the years. I had met one brother, Hershel. During this trip, I learned that her brother Lee was visiting from LA and her sister Shari was now in Jerusalem. I hadn’t met Shari or Lee before.

Shari lived in Kiryat Shemone. Her husband, Rav Tzefania Drori, was the Chief Rabbi of Kiryat Shmona and the rosh yeshiva of the Kiryat Shmona Hesder Yeshiva from 1977. Kiryat Shmona has been devastated during the current war with Hezbollah1.

Rav Tzefania Drori

Lee Samson is a very well known business man and philanthropist in LA. He is a member of the International Board of Trustees of the Simon Wiesenthal Center and serves on the Board of Governors of Cedars Sinai Medical Center and the Board of Directors of the Orthodox Union2.

We shared a lovely lunch at the King David, and I had a warm feeling connecting with members of my mother’s family.

The Legacy of Elka

My mother’s name was Elka. Baruch Hashem, in the wider family, we now have four little girls named Elka and a boy named Elkana. Unsurprisingly, there were many Elkas in the Gershensohn family tree. One of these was a cousin of my mother’s named Elka Lowenstein, although she was known as “Ella.” (It wasn’t uncommon for secular Zionists to suggest that names like Elka were Yiddish and passé—my mother became known as Elisheva in school, and Elka Lowenstein became Ella.)

For about seven years, the Lowensteins moved from Israel to Melbourne, Australia, because they had been promised that “there was money growing on the trees.” They lived in Elizabeth Street in Ripponlea, and we used to pick up Ella and her two daughters, Tzippi and Rinat, each morning to take them to school (Beth Rivkah, where Ella worked in the kindergarten). The Lowensteins moved back to Israel, and though we shared many memorable years, including joint holidays and excursions, we lost touch. I hadn’t seen Tzippi or Rinat in over 40 years. I reached out to them, and to our great excitement, my wife and I took two trains to Kiryat Motzkin to meet them and Ella’s sister Rachel. We shared a very warm day reminiscing and committing to filling in some gaps in the family tree.

Ella was also related to the Bigon family (also spelled Begin). My mother had often spoken about Rav Dov Begun and his brother. They, too, were frequent visitors to my grandparents’ farm in Yafo. I had visited HaRav Begon on previous visits, and one of my sons spent the summer break in his Yeshivah.

Rav Dov Begon

Rav Dov Begon was educated in the secular kibbutz movement yet was drawn to explore his Jewish heritage. His journey led him to Merkaz HaRav Kook Yeshiva in Jerusalem, where he studied for ten years, becoming one of the foremost students of Rabbi Zvi Yehuda Kook3. During the Six-Day War, HaRav served as a commander in the Israeli Defence Forces and participated in the liberation of Jerusalem. He forged a new path in the field of kiruv (outreach) and teshuva (repentance), helping Jews of all backgrounds reconnect with their heritage, uniquely based in the Religious Zionist community in Israel.

Connections in Shiloh

We spent a day in Shiloh, part of which was at the wonderful Gva’ot winery, where we enjoyed eight delectable wines paired with excellent cheese. Looking at the signage, I was again struck by the name “Drori”—another connection to my mother’s family. Gvaot is a boutique, family winery founded in 2005 by entrepreneur Amnon Weiss and Chief Winemaker Prof. Shivi Drori, an agronomist and researcher in viticulture and oenology at Ariel University. A research study led by Prof. Drori revealed approximately 60 ancient varieties of wine grapes from the Land of Israel in general, and Samaria in particular, from which wines have been produced for thousands of years. Shivi is a son of Sharri and Rav Tzefania Drori.

By now, I felt completely enveloped. Would a day pass without another gentle cosmic nudge from my mother?

As we were about to leave Shiloh, our friend suggested I pray Mincha in the main synagogue, architected to resemble parts of the Mishkan (which had been in Shiloh). At the end of prayer, a member of my wife’s family who lives in Shiloh suggested I meet the new Rabbi of Shiloh, Rabbi Yehonadav Drori, who had replaced Rabbi Elchanan Bin Nun after his 30-year tenure. Again, a family connection through my mother. I introduced myself and mentioned that we were family. We exchanged emails, and I will send him a family tree link.

Acts of Chesed

My mother was always involved in acts of Chesed (kindness). She had spent her formative school years in Israel but never forgot her closest friends. One of these was her lifelong friend Chava, who lives in a modest flat in Bat Yam. My mother wrote to Chava regularly, sending her clothes, money, and gifts for her family. They had a wonderful bond, and their love for each other was always palpable whenever they spoke on the phone.

Every trip I took to Israel included a visit to Chava. On this trip, our visit was towards the end. As we sat in her flat, especially after all the previous events, I wondered whether I was visiting her or visiting her on behalf of my mother! Was I a Shaliach (messenger) during this trip?

The Concept of Shlichus

The Gemara in the second chapter of Kiddushin asks what the source of the concept of Shlichus is. How do we know that one person can substitute for another according to the Halacha?

In respect of a Get, the Torah uses the root (Devarim 24) “v’shalach” which implies that a Get can be sent (by an appointee). Regarding the separation of Teruma from Chulin, the Torah states (Bamidbar 18) “ken tarimu gam atem,” and from the words “gam atem” we derive that someone else can separate Teruma on one’s behalf. We can conclude that from these verses there is authorisation to appoint someone to perform an act or mitzvah on one’s behalf.

At the same time, we have a concept that a Shaliach doesn’t just perform a transaction on behalf of the sender, but it is as if the Shaliach is the sender. That is, “shelucho shel adam k’moso” (one’s messenger is like oneself). The Gemara learns this from the Korban Pesach. Each person is enjoined to slaughter a Korban Pesach. Yet, we find that one person does so for a group of people. How can that be, given that each person needs to perform Shechita?

“Rabbi Yehoshua ben Korcha said: How do we know that one’s messenger is like oneself? As it says, ‘The entire assembly of the congregation of Israel shall slaughter it toward evening’ (Exodus 12:6). Does the entire congregation slaughter? Surely only one person slaughters! From here we learn that one’s messenger is like oneself” (Kiddushin 41b).

The Gemara learns from here that the Shaliach not only effects an act of Shechita but, in addition, it is considered as if the very person who appointed the Shaliach did the Shechita. That is, it is “mamash k’moso” (truly like oneself).

Are there in fact two perspectives through which Shelichus is viewed by the Torah? This question has occupied many Acharonim, ranging from Rabbi Shimon Shkop, Rabbi Chaim Brisker, and Rabbi Itzele Volozhiner as cited by Rabbi Baruch Ber, the Rogachover Gaon as cited by Rabbi Menachem Mendel Kasher, the Ohr Sameach, Rabbi Yosef Engel and more.

I’m not intending here to present their somewhat similar approaches to explaining the phenomenon. Rather, for the purposes of this essay, we can explain that when an act that is being performed causes some transactional change, then the Shaliach is acting with the authority and on behalf of the sender. We do not assume, however, that the Shaliach is “like” the sender in all cases.

For example, a Kohen cannot ask a Yisrael to perform the Avodah in the Beis HaMikdash by stating that the Yisrael assumes “the body” of the Kohen. In such a case, where the Shaliach’s action isn’t valid as an act in itself, the terms of the Shlichus do not even begin, and it is an invalid Shelichus.

On the other hand, a man can appoint a Shaliach to divorce his wife. We might think that this also makes no sense since the Shaliach isn’t married to the woman, so what is the meaning of the Get? In essence, though, there is nothing preventing a man from giving a Get (unlike a Yisrael doing the Avodah). Therefore, a Shaliach can be appointed in such a case.

This leads us to an interesting case where a man appoints a Shaliach to divorce his wife. This is valid because men have the ability in general to divorce a woman. But what happens if, after sending the Shaliach and before the Get took place, the sender suffered a mental breakdown and was no longer compos mentis?

If we say that the Shaliach is the embodiment of the sender, then the Shaliach ought to be considered mentally affected and unable to complete the Shlichus (the Ohr Sameach explains that this is the view of the Tur in Even HaEzer 128). On the other hand, if he is acting on behalf of the sender and the sender was perfectly normal and cognisant at the time of appointment, then the transaction could take place, at least on a Torah level (the Ohr Sameach contends that this is the view of the Rambam, Gerushin 2:15).

These considerations occupied my mind when I wondered about the nature of my interactions in Israel. When, for example, I was visiting my mother’s friend, I was doing a mitzvah, but was it as if I was the embodiment of my mother at that time in the sense of “Shelucho Shel Adam K’moso,” or was it a regular style Shelichus where I was performing the act on behalf of my mother?

Though, as I have outlined above, I had felt cosmically that my mother was hovering around all the interactions, given that she had passed away and was in a higher abode, perhaps the way to understand it was that she had passed on life tasks which, though they were on her behalf when she was alive, now assumed a continued valid Shelichus (also) on her behalf even after she has left this world.

The lesson to me is clear. Parents impart values and heritage. Some overtly tell their children what they ought to do. Other parents are less overt but achieve the same effect through their actions and personal example. I recognise that in our day and age, parenting has assumed a less overtly prescriptive approach, but even in my time, I feel less that I was told to do something and more that I sensed this was the right thing to do, and it was therefore my duty to do so.

On this day, my mother’s 5th yahrzeit, I feel the imperative of emulating her values and passing these onto my own children and grandchildren as acutely as I did when she was in this world and I was younger. When children are able to follow their parents’ upright morals and ethics, then though it is perhaps no longer “mamash k’moso” in the physical sense, the original Shlichus continues and works through the prism of a momentum that we often call the Mesorah.

May the Neshama of אמי מורתי Elka bas Tzvi עליה השלום have an Aliya

Footnotes

  1. Rav Drori also headed the Aguda LeHitnadvut and served as Av Beit Din of the northern conversion court. Rav Drori is considered a leading scholar of the Religious Zionist movement. He first studied at the Bnei Akiva Kfar HaRoeh high school yeshiva when Rabbi Moshe-Zvi Neria served as rosh yeshiva. Later, he helped establish Yeshivat Kerem B’Yavneh and then studied at Mercaz haRav yeshiva. Ironically, Yeshivat Kerem B’Yavneh was my alma mater, though I didn’t know of Rav Drori’s connection. He became an important student of Rabbi Zvi Yehuda Kook. ↩︎
  2. He is Chairman of the Board of Young Israel of North Beverly Hills, and he recently dedicated the Samson Center at Yeshiva University of Los Angeles High School. Additionally, he serves on the Los Angeles Philharmonic Board of Trustees. His philanthropy also centers on many institutions in Israel, including NCSY’s Anne Samson Jerusalem Journey, Shaare Zedek Hospital’s Lee and Anne Samson Interventional Neuro‐Radiology Unit in Jerusalem, The Museum of Tolerance Jerusalem, The Samson Family Wine Research Center at Ariel University, and more. ↩︎
  3. During the Six-Day War, HaRav served as a commander in the Israeli Defence Forces and participated in the liberation of Jerusalem. He forged a new path in the field of kiruv (outreach) and teshuva (repentance), helping Jews of all backgrounds reconnect with their heritage, uniquely based in the Religious Zionist community in Israel. ↩︎

On the conundrum of mesora

(Guest post from R Meir Deutsch)

כך ראיתי בית אבא.

But many do not go in their father’s steps. You go to the synagogue and you see many praying in Nussach Sfarad/Sfard while having the Ashkenaz Tfilin. Is that what is meant by:

קשר תפילין הראה לעניו

Is that why we have the different Kesharim? In Keter/Kether I do not like the part אחרית כראשית .

Many left their father’s steps and went over to Chabad and say today only one Bracha/Broche when putting on Tfilin. Many today do not follow what they saw at home but follow a Rebbe or a Rabbi.

A friend of mine (not a Chossid) settled in the U.S. and made a Rabbi for himself עשה לך רב . He followed all his rulings till it came to Passover. The Rabbi told him not to eat GEBROCHTS / Shruya. He told the Rabbi I follow you up to here, but there is no Pessach without Kneidlach.

I wonder which one is the correct way.

On the lighter side.

One asked a Rabbi: Is G-d feminine or masculine?

The Rabbi replied: It depends; if you are Ashkenaz it is HASHEM HU HA’ELOKIM, if you are a Chossid it is HASHEM HE HA’ELOKIM.

Mesora and Psak: How it may differ between Chassidim/Mekubalim and others

The closeness to Mesora has always been primary. Halacha LeMoshe Misinai is immutable. Torah Shebaal Peh as written is a record of Mesora including contradictions and attempts to disambiguate and show through the Midos SheHatorah Nidreshes BoHem, including Sevara (which isn’t listed but is clearly a Midda as testified by the Gemora in many cases). As time advanced through Tanaim, Amoraim, Geonim, Rishonim we move to latter generations known as Acharonim. To be sure, there are some Acharonim, who on occasion would argue with Rishonim. Two well known examples are the Vilna Gaon and the Rogachover. They were guided by what they felt was Emes L’Amito.

When it comes to Acharonim, there  are those, depending on which group you align yourself with, who are considered “the last word” and there are others, such as the Chazon Ish in respect of electricity where everyone seems to be Chosesh to some extent to his opinion. That being said, others will say he was an Acharon in B’Nei Brak and if he was your Rav and/or you lived there you need to follow his Psokim.

The Brisker Shitta, is different. Whilst they are beholden to Beis HoRav (Volozhin/Soloveitchik) they were never afraid to disagree with each other. Of course, there is a group that follows every word of Reb Meshulam Soloveitchik, son of the Griz (Uncle of the Rav) in the same way that Chassidim follow their Rebbe. He’s just not called a Rebbe, and he doesn’t fir tish etc.

We saw that as a Posek became more recognised, people came for Brachos. Some were averse, and others would give a general Brocha to be Yotze. I sensed this from Videos of R” Shlomo Zalman.

The Rishonim (and here there is some difference amongst Ashkenazim) and certainly Sephardim, are untouchable. If you want to innovate=bring something consonant with Menorah you need to bring a Rishon.

I remember well, some 40 years ago when my zeyda bought a copy of the Meiri. At the time it was very controversial. Beautifully put together, it was ignored somewhat for years. Now, it seems nobody has a problem quoting a Meiri. The Meiri was a Bar Mitzvah present for my cousin Ya’akov Balbin and while it sat in my house for many years after he went on Aliya, I sent it to him at his request.

There have been plenty examples of Ziyuf. There was the fake Yerushalmi on Kodshim, and more.

The common denominator was that to qualify for Psak,  especially the style of Psak (especially Hungarian) where one joins different Kulos, you had to have a Rishon (or early Acharon who quoted a Rishon given that some had access to Rishonim we don’t have, or a Girsa we don’t have.

There are stories where the Rav’s Talmidim, would say but Rebbe it’s an open Maharsho that contradicts your Pshat. When he was younger, he angrily banged the Gemora and said, “and I’m not an Acharon”? This was not haughty. This was what he felt. He felt his Pshat was more correct than the Maharsho and was ready to debate it with anyone.

Many Acharonim either didn’t own, or look at other Acharonim. That’s not to lessen their importance. But, it’s a derech.

Where Chassidim/Mekubalim are different, I feel is that they would consider that when there is no clear way forward or where there are different views, Kabbola, whether from the Zohar or Ari on occasion trumps and guides the Psak. A pure non Chossid/Mekubal would note such opinions but would be less likely to PASKEN based on them.

Do people agree with me or have I over simplified. Drush is another class. One has license to extrapolate and certainly doesn’t need a Rishon to find a nice Pshat.

Aleppo Codex - Genesis

Slichos with a guitar and other shticks?

Call me old-fashioned, but the איש ההלכה, the quintessential בעל מסורה, cannot digest a ceremonial alternative indie style of davening. This is not supported by the Rav, Rav Soloveitchik who was implacably opposed to innovations which essentially mimic the אומות העולם at the expense of מסורה.

Yes, there are clearly delineated sections of davening where one is permitted to innovate musically and use a tune of choice. This is a positive thing. However, הלכה does not tolerate the decimation of נוסח and I am vehemently opposed to anyone who feels that reinventing נוסח is even in their purvey.

Personally, when I was a boy, I didn’t enjoy Selichos at Elwood even though people came from everywhere to hear my teacher Chazan Adler (Selichos allowed anyone to drive and listen). It was a tad too operatic for me, and no doubt I was tired and wanted to go to sleep. Later, I preferred listening to Rabbi Groner ז’ל with his Nusach derived from רעים אהובים in Brownsville, NY, where he davened as a youth. חבל על דאבדין ולא משתכחין

I copy a piece from Rav Gedalia Dov Schwartz (recently retired Av Beis Din of America). There is plenty of other material, including a description of exactly which sections are “free” and which may simply not be changed.

The diversity of Jewish communities in different parts of the world has had its effect on the application of halakhah and the establishment of minhagim particular to each community. Especially in the matter of customs relating to the nusah and modes of prayer there are many distinct differences. We are all aware of the main streams of nusah known as Ashkenaz and Sephard and the reality that even in these two divisions there are nuances and changes that are ascribed to the different groups of each respective general nusah. Ofttimes a hazzan is caught in the center of controversy over proper nusah or sequence of tefillot and even in the matter of traditional tunes acceptable to the congregation. During the course of this article an attempt will be made to give some guidelines and insights relating to minhag regarding niggunim in their traditional forms and whether changes are permitted to be made. The major source cited by Poskim regarding the fixing of the norms of tefillah is from the Talmud Yerushalmi (Eruv. III, 9.),’ “Rabbi Yose sent and wrote to them (i.e. to the people dwelling in the Diaspora), although they (Le. the sages in the land of Israel) wrote to you the order of the prayers of the holidays, do not change the custom of your fathers whose souls repose in place.” This is the version cited by the Haga’ot Maimoniot (Seder Tefillot Kol Hashanah, 5) and the Magen Avraham 68. However, another version reads: “… although they wrote to you the order of the holidays do not change the custom of your fathers, etc.” In this textual change the meaning refers to the observance of the two days of Yom Tov outside of Eretz Yisrael. This textual variance is extremely important due to the divergent opinions which arose concerning the possibility of changing from one nusah to the other. This divergence is pointed out by the Gaon R. Yisroel of Shklov, one of the great talmidim of the Vilna Gaon, in his work Pe’at Hashulhan.( Hilkhot Eretz Yisrael III, 31.) He cites the responsum of R. Shmuel Demedina of Salonika (She’eilot u-Teshuvot Marashdom, Orah Hayyim, 35.) who ruled that any community may change its nusah of tefillah if the majority so desires because the prohibition of Shinui Minhag only applies to the category of issur, that is, prohibitory laws etc., and not in regard to such a category as tefillah. Consequently he ruled that the Ashkenazic community in Salonika may change to Sephard if the majority of its constituents are in favor of the change. Yisroel of Shklov comments that according to the version in Yerushalmi that prohibits the change in the mode of prayer, this ruling is not acceptable. He quotes the aforementioned Magen Avraham and the Ari Hakadosh who were opposed to any change based primarily on the Yerushalmi, especially since the Haga’ot Maimoniot mentions the text as restricting any change in prayers. The Pe’at Hashulhan attributes Meharashdom’s decision to allow such a change because he must have had the version proscribing any change in the status of the two days of Yom Tov in the Diaspora. It is interesting to note that R. Menachem Hame’iri of the thirteenth century preceded R. Shmuel Demedina in stating that there is no prohibitory regulation for changing the nusah of tefillot for the individual, and publicly if the minhag was different he should not pray differently than the tzibbur, implying that if it was the will of the congregation to change, they could. (Teshuvat Hame’iri, Magen Avot, II.) However, since the Magen Avraham also mentions in his above statement that the verses one says in the piyyutim should be sung in the matter one sings the kerovot (I.e. the piyyutim chanted in the Amidah), he is indicating that he is including within the context of not changing any nusah that one should not change the tune also. This inclusion of niggun as part of the rules prohibiting shinui or change in nusah is in keeping with the clearly stated ruling of the Maharil cited by Rema, (Orah Hayyim 619,1.) “One must not change from the custom of the city even in regard to the melodies and piyyutim that are recited there.” However, the Magen Avraham comments on the Maharil, saying that such a change should not be made because the change of tune will “confuse the congregation.” It would seem from this observation of the Magen Avraham on the Maharil’s ruling that if the tzibbur were not confused or upset by any change in niggun by the hazzan, there would not be any restriction. This raises the question on the Magen Avraham himself who has accepted the version of the Yerushalmi, as mentioned, rigorously opposing any change in tefillot. Perhaps the Magen Avraham interprets the Yerushalmi as meaning that if one is certain about the minhag of his forefathers then he is not permitted to deviate, but if there is uncertainty then it would be permissible. Thus, in communities where doubt and even prevailing ignorance as to the mode of prayer exists as to any definite tradition, changes would be acceptable as long as no violation of halakhah takes place and there are no consequences of bilbul da’at hakahal (confusion in the congregation). (Cf. Teshuvat Minhat Eliezer I, 11, for a novel interpretation of the Yerushalmi and an extensive discussion of changes from Ashkenaz to Sephard, etc.) However, where a change of niggun for example, would cause upheaval, then the words of Maharil and Magen Avraham would apply to all services and not necessarily for Yamim Nora’im, since the primary sources do not differentiate in regard to any particular season. Tangential to this, may I mention an interesting incident which happened to the Ga’on and Tzaddik Reb Zalman Bardn of Yerushalayim of blessed memory, who, once, while attending a Shabbat Minhah tefillah in a shul that had no regular hazzan, heard someone davening as the sheliach tzibbur using a chant that had no relationship whatsoever with the known niggun for the Shabbat Minhah. After waiting for the hazzan to finish, he left the shul and entered another shul to hear the repetition of the Amidah in the traditional mode. He went so far as to say that the “niggun of Shabbat should not be the niggun of the weekdays”! (Paraphrasing the statement of: “Your speech on Shabbat should not be for weekday speech”).(Shabo 113; Macy Nulman apprised me of this excerpt from Eliyahu Kitov’s Hassidim and Anshe Ma’aseh, Sefer Revi’i, p. 160.) This would perhaps be an example of an aspect of bilbul da’at hakahal because of the reaction incurred. As to the type of niggun introduced into prayer that would not cause any bilbul da’at hakahal, it definitely cannot be one that is identified with any non Jewish worship. This is clearly prohibited by many Poskim (Darkhay Teshuvah, Yoreh De’ab 142,27 citing several sources.) Even a tune that, although not connected to any non-Jewish worship, but is recognizable as belonging to a prevailing non-Jewish culture, would not be acceptable. This would be indicated as improper, especially in the synagogue, based on the Talmud’s criticism of Elisha ben Abuya or “Acher” as constantly singing Greek tunes, even when not in the synagogue. (Hag. 15b, viz. Rashi also.) If a shul is faced with the question ofengaging a cantor who does not know the traditional niggunim, known as scarbova nusah, if the makeup of the congregation is such that they willaccept the prayer leadership of such a hazzan and if there is no controversy regarding his being engaged, then it would be permissible to do so. The principle of merutzah lekahal (acceptable to the community) is enumerated by the Rema (Orah Hayyim 581,1.) regarding the qualifications of a sheli’ah tzibbur, although he may not meet the high standards of piety and sincerity demanded for this position. Disputes over this must be avoided. (Cf. Mishneh Berurah, ibid., 11). It is most interesting to note that in the enumeration of conditions pertaining to a sheli’ah tzibbur, the emphasis is placed on the individual’s piety, sincerity, and Torah knowledge and no mention is made of knowledge of niggunim or musical inflection. (Eleph Hamagen to Matteh Ephra’im 581,54.) However, knowledgeable congregations should seek the combination of piety and a mastering of traditional musical nusah which is part of the spiritual fabric of tefillah, particularly on the Yamim Nora’im. The absence of these hallowed niggunim during the davening would be unthinkable to any worshiper who has an inbred affinity for the feelings and stirrings of the heart, rendered by the proper nusah. Just as the Avodah in the Bet Hamikdash was accompanied by a certain order of shir or music, primarily vocal. (Ar. 11a.) so must our Avodah in the synagogue maintain a proper contact and order of shir, of niggun and nusan as we, in our way, make our offerings of prayer.