OzTorah

by Rabbi Raymond Apple AO RFD
Former senior rabbi to the Australian Defence Force

NSW Association of Jewish Ex-Servicemen and Women
7 February, 2010

Canberra hosted the international conference of the World Council of Churches in 1991. I was the official observer of the world Jewish community and asked for the opportunity to address a plenary session. My request was denied, presumably because of the pro-Palestinian bias of the organisation, though I engaged in considerable networking in the lobbies.

The major sessions were at the National Conference Centre, situated beside the Casino and near to Glebe Park. One lunchtime I was in the Glebe Park cafeteria eating a fruit salad when a conference delegate came up and asked, “May I share your table?” I not only said yes but, glancing at her name tag, said, “I think you owe me a vote of thanks.
It is due to me that you are an Air Force chaplain!” Her appointment had been under consideration by the Religious Advisory Committee to the Services and the Christian representatives were not all in favour. Not that they had anything against her personally, but certain groups objected to women clergy. As sometimes happened, it was I who drafted a resolution that broke the deadlock when I proposed a policy that entitled any denomination to nominate for a chaplaincy appointment any minister in good standing in that faith group, and as a result the Air Force got its first woman chaplain.

It is that episode that lies behind my choice of subject for this morning, but before addressing the Jewish view of women chaplains let me look at the halachic aspects of women in the military as a whole. I am well aware that, from at least the time of World War II, there have been Jewish women in the Australian Defence Force, and indeed some years ago the Melbourne Hebrew Congregation mounted an exhibition on the subject, which, incidentally, it was my privilege to declare officially open. I doubt whether any of these women, who included an orthodox woman from NSW, asked rabbinical advice before enlisting. Nor did any of them probably regard joining the ADF as an expression of feminism. In every case the motivation is likely to have been the wish to render service to their country. Nonetheless there must be a Jewish point of view about women in the military and there must be sources that need to be examined.

The Torah (Deut. 20) has a section about war and warfare which takes it for granted that war is something that males do. This is reinforced by a discussion about whether a newly married man who has a wife at home can be subject to conscription (verse 7), which indicates that women were never thought of as soldiers. The Talmud says bluntly, “It is the way of a man to make war, and not the way of a woman” (Kiddushin 2b), and on the whole it has been the fact throughout history that the men went off to war and the women stayed home (and often ended up as widows).

But this is not the whole story. Deborah (Judges 4:4-16) played a significant role in destroying the enemy. So did Yael (Judges 4:17-24, 5:24-27), and so did Judith (Apocrypha). These women used a combination of wit, wiles and physical effort, so it cannot be said that they left all the action to their menfolk.

The Mishnah recognises women’s military capacity in a passage that says that in an obligatory war (e.g. in defence of the Land of Israel) every Jew must go and fight, even a bride from her chuppah (Sotah 8:7). Some commentators ask how this is possible when Judaism usually prefers women to have a more private role in society, as indicated by the verse, “All the glory of the princess is within” (Psalm 45:14). I thought at first that the women did not actually go into battle but served in a non-combatant capacity, but then an Israeli archaeologist, Dr. Itzik Eshel, proved to me that a significant minority of Bar Kochba’s troops were female and gave me a list of the names of women who held leadership rank in the struggle against Rome.

In the Sefer HaChinnuch, an analysis of the 613 commandments, Aaron HaLevi of Barcelona (Mitzvah 603) exempts women from the duty (Deut. 25:17-19) of rooting out Amalek: “This command applies in all places and times to males… but not to females”. The Avnei Nezer (Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chayyim 509) makes a distinction between an actual battle, in which only males take part, and attacking an individual Amalekite, which even a woman must do.

There must have been some early form of military uniform, possibly a precursor of suits of mail. Biblical verses speak of “a shield and buckler” (I Chron. 5:18). God Himself is figuratively called Israel’s shield (Psalm 18:3, etc.) But bearing in mind the prohibition of cross-dressing – “A woman shall not wear that which pertains to a man, nor shall a man put on a woman’s garment” (Deut. 22:5), Rabbi Eli’ezer ben Ya’akov says that a woman should not wear military uniform or carry weapons of war (Nazir 59a; Sifra Deut. 226; Targum Onkelos to Deut. 22:5). Was it that woman were regarded as too weak to bear this burden or that their modesty and dignity would be compromised, or both?

It is to be expected that the halachic status of women in the military would be especially pertinent in modern Israel, where compulsory military service applies to girls as well as boys. In the days of David Ben Gurion, provision was made for exempting girls who could prove that they were genuinely religious and would not serve in the military on grounds of religious conscience. As far as others are concerned, the Defence Service Law (Consolidated Version, 1986) discriminates between men and women in regard to length of service, reserve service obligations and circumstances of release from military service, but accepts that women are not obligated but may volunteer to join fighting units.

On 8 November, 1995, the High Court of Justice heard the case of Alice Miller v. Minister of Defence, Chief of Staff and Others. A woman who wished to train as an air force pilot claimed that preventing her from applying for the course was sexual discrimination. The Defence Force justified its refusal on operational grounds, arguing that because women serve less time in the military and can become pregnant, they would not derive the full benefit from the cost of training a woman pilot. The court upheld the woman’s petition. Amongst the judgments of the members of the court, Justice Dalia Dorner quoted Tennyson, “Man for the field and woman for the hearth; man for the sword and for the needle she” (The Princess, 2nd Song, 5:427).

Justice Dorner pointed out that Israeli law accepts the principle of gender equality and advocated an intermediate position whereby women’s dignity must be preserved but they “should not be prevented from achieving their potential and aspirations simply because of their normal functions” (Justice, International Association of Jewish Lawyers and Jurists, no. 7, December, 1995).

If this case had come to a rabbinic authority for a halachic decision, one can surmise that the petitioner’s case would have been rejected. Presumably the general policy would have been upheld that the military is not a profession for Jewish women, but that a woman who desired to serve in a support role could choose to do so.

It follows that there would be no question in Israel of women becoming chaplains, even though chaplaincy duties do not entail bearing arms or being combatants. But what would be the position outside Israel? In Diaspora countries the numbers of Jews in the military are small, but even so I am not aware of any demands from within any Jewish community for women to be appointed as chaplains, even in non-orthodox movements which ordain women rabbis.

But theoretically, what would be the response of the head of Jewish chaplaincy services to a request to nominate a woman chaplain? I have to emphasise that so much depends on the circumstances of a given community that all I can do is to speculate about what I might have done in this situation in my time as Senior Rabbi to the ADF. I am sure I would have consulted very widely and asked appropriate halachic authorities for their guidance, and I would have spoken to Christian women chaplains to get a picture of what they do and how being a woman might have impinged upon their work. I must add that in the Australian situation we have no full-time Jewish chaplains; those who do serve in the Jewish chaplaincy have other, more or less full-time careers, generally as congregational rabbis, and the most that we might be considering is adding a chaplaincy string to their existing bows. Since orthodoxy is the majority expression of Judaism in Australia we are unlikely to have any clamour for orthodox women chaplains; our one chaplaincy posting for a progressive representative is not likely to be claimed by a woman because chaplains serve across the board and not only the military members of their own grouping.

Nonetheless the issue can still be addressed in a hypothetical way.

From the halachic point of view I believe the question has two sides, the chaplain as pastor and the chaplain as agent of religious tradition.

The pastoral role of chaplaincy requires a range of personal skills that some women have and some men lack. This role does not in itself preclude women chaplains. Supporting members of the military as counsellors, mentors and moral guides is vital in an area of society that demands morale and stability, and Jewish women chaplains could fulfil this role at least as well as any other chaplain.

The issue of the chaplain as agent of the religious tradition is more difficult. The idea of a woman scholar, teacher and preacher presents no major problem. But how about the woman as halachic decisor? There has been development in this area which makes it easier for a woman to give judgments and decisions. But what about the woman as officiant? Conducting life-cycle ceremonies like funerals (God forbid) is not a major issue. Weddings are harder, but we could lay down rules that require the solemnisation of marriages to be referred to a civilian rabbi.

The major question is about the woman as cantor. Here there are two halachic requirements, one positive, one negative. The positive requirement is that the agent must have the same level of obligation as the principal. In this respect a woman is precluded by halachah from being the sh’li’ach tzibbur, “the agent of the congregation”. The negative requirement is that a woman’s singing voice during prayer is not to be heard by males. Some might argue that this rule, known in Hebrew as kol b’ishah ervah (Berakhot 24a, Kiddushin 70a, Maimonides, Issurei Bi’ah 21:2, Shulchan Aruch, Orah Chayyim 75:3 and Even HaEzer 21:1), has only limited application in our day. However, we would be on shaky halachic ground if we appointed a woman chaplain whose duties included leading services, and it is doubtful whether any halachic authority would allow it.

The whole question needs research and study, not necessarily because it is on the actual agenda but because of its intrinsic interest. As they say, watch this space.

Masonry sometimes allows the impression that largely or partly legendary material is verifiable history, not a “story behind a story” written to teach a moral lesson. An example is the dramatic allegory of the Second Degree concerning the winding staircase. The ritual requires a candidate to take a series of steps “as though ascending a winding stair”, and the Second Tracing Board informs us that the artisans employed on the building of the Temple were paid their wages in the middle chamber of the building, entering from a porch (“on the south side”?) and going up a winding staircase.

An attractive story, but the Biblical texts about the Temple raise at least three questions. What evidence is there of a winding staircase? Did the workmen enter through the front porch? Was it in the “middle chamber” that they received their wages?

1. The Winding Staircase

I Kings 6 states that “against the wall of the house he built chambers round about… The door for the middle chamber was in the right side of the house; and they went up with winding stairs into the middle chamber and out of the middle into the third”. II Chronicles 3 omits the chambers and winding staircase. Ezekiel 41 mentions chambers “winding about … the house”, apparently on three sides of the building like long galleries. He does not mention the means of access. The Hebrew translated as “winding staircase” is lullim, a plural word of uncertain meaning. The commentators think lullim are a means of ascent, possibly stairs but not necessarily winding, within a hollow space or shaft. A passage in the Mishnah (Middot 4:5) speaks of the workmen being let down (and presumably raised) “in baskets”, possibly akin to lift cages.

2. Entry from the Porch

The Mishnah tells us that there was a fear that the workmen, even though they clambered all over the building, might treat the Holy of Holies with disrespect. They could presumably go in and out of the main porch whilst carrying out their official tasks, but our instinct suggests that for personal purposes like receiving their wages they would enter from a side door. I Kings speaks of an entrance “in the right side of the house”.

3. A Middle Chamber pay office

The Temple had store rooms and administrative offices. The “chambers round about” of I Kings 6:5 are used in I Kings 7:51 for storage. If one of these chambers was the pay office for the building works, this was no desecration of the sanctuary. Work was sacred; workmen had to be paid; and (Deut. 24:15) they had to be paid on time. But how could so many workmen utilise the same pay office and be individually tested and checked en route? Maybe the procedures were decentralised, but the ritual does not say so.

Despite some misinterpretations, the Masonic writers were more or less in accord with the Biblical account, but in order to produce an allegory they built a whole story out of verses that others might think uninteresting. The moral they sought to convey was that the more a person works, the higher he aspires and the more he exerts himself, the greater will be his reward in terms of understanding the truth.

Biblical scholars have investigated almost every aspect of Solomon’s Temple. The literature on the subject is enormous. The fact that we refer to Solomon’s Temple in our ritual should, however, not blind us to the fact that that sanctuary stood for only 410 years, Zerubbavel’s on the same site for 420 years, and Herod’s reconstruction of the Temple for 90 years. The structure was destroyed, except for part of the surrounding wall, in 70 CE. The destruction was perpetrated by the Romans, though Jewish tradition blames the people themselves for allowing internal conditions to make it easier for the enemy – they said the first Temple was menaced from within by immorality, idolatry and bloodshed, and the second by causeless hatred, one Jew against another.

The wall that survived is the Western (“Wailing”) Wall, now a major place of worship and assembly. Its survival was explained as due to the Holy of Holies being in relative proximity, as well as the fact that this wall was the result of the loving effort of the poorer sections of the community.

The people’s memory of the Temple remained evergreen. JH Hertz wrote, “The people loved the Temple, its pomp and ceremony, the music and song of the Levites and the ministrations of the priests, the high priest as he stood and blessed the prostrate worshippers amid profound silence on the Atonement Day.” Yet some feared that the sanctuary was becoming a “curtain of iron” between Israel and their Maker because the pomp and ceremony were in danger of developing into an end in themselves.

Nonetheless countless religious rituals arose to keep the memory alive. Services were held at times that recalled the Temple offerings, synagogues replicated aspects of the Temple, religious appurtenances bore decorative features such as the twin pillars and the lions of Judah, and the loss of the Temple was recalled by leaving part of one’s house unplastered and the groom breaking a glass at the end of his wedding ceremony.

Jewish liturgy made constant reference to the hope of the Temple being rebuilt and the descendants of the priesthood schooled themselves in the duties they would need top perform in the reconstructed sanctuary. One of those priestly descendants thought that as the Temple had been destroyed because of groundless hate, its rebuilding would require a mood of boundless love.

Since the reunification of Jerusalem many have suggested that the rebuilding should move out of the realm of mere theory. In line with rabbinic teachings that the third Temple would not be built by human hands but by God Himself, there are strong views that the rebuilding will require an express Divine revelation. Conditions on the ground require not only agreement about access to the site, which entails entering only in a state of ritual purity, but a universal Jewish spiritual revival and desire for a sanctuary, conditions of peace, and scrupulous adherence to the Biblical proportions, measurements and specifications of the Temple.

Even in pre-messianic times various interim proposals merit consideration. In 1965 Masonic sources urged the erection of a Temple of Peace somewhere in Jerusalem. After the Six-Day War in 1967 a similar suggestion was advanced by a leading rabbi, who said that even if a new Temple cannot yet be erected on the traditional site, perhaps Jerusalem could have a different kind of sanctuary on a suitable site – “a Temple of peace and worship in which a believing humanity could commune with their Heavenly Father… a place where His Divine presence could rest, which would become the rendezvous of all those who have immortal longings” (SM Lehrman).

Even such a spiritual centre is a difficult proposition, but it would be a wonderful step towards the day foretold by the Biblical prophet when “The mountain of the Lord’s House shall be established as the top of the mountains and exalted above the hills, and all nations shall flow towards it, and many peoples shall go and say, ‘Come, le us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the House of the God of Jacob’” (Isaiah 2:2-3).

Enlightenment thinking taught that it was man’s reason that determined truth, not dogma or precedent. The movement had no one beginning: historical forces never do. But what the historian Peter Gay has called “the sacred circle” of inherited dogmatism could not remain uncriticised. The challenge built up over a number of decades. To an extent it developed in clandestine societies that met behind closed doors to discuss and debate theory and, in the field of science, to carry out experiments.

In England the scientific process led to the creation in 1660 of the Royal Society for the Improvement of Natural Science. Its informal meetings in the 1640s brought the name, “The Invisible College”; then it emerged in public under royal patronage. Members were not necessarily professional scientists; some were “gentlemen” (scientific amateurs and/or affluent patrons). By the early 19th century there were attempts to reduce the numbers of honorary members, though the borderlines were not always clear: thus in 1836 Sir Moses Montefiore, a non-scientist, became a Fellow for promoting coal gas as a source of illumination.

Crucial contributions were made by Sir Isaac Newton, president from 1703-27. His assistant was Rev Dr John Theophilus Desaguliers (1683-1744), a clergyman and natural philosopher from a Huguenot family who had fled to England and was possibly the discoverer of the properties of electricity; he was the inventor of planetariums. As a Freemason, Desaguliers was the third Grand Master (1719) of the premier Grand Lodge in England and largely shaped the doctrines, ritual and structure of the Masonic craft.

Freemasons’ lodges pre-dated his time. They had a scientific bent, sometimes circulating works which could not be published openly. Freemasonry could thus have developed as a scientific subculture of the Royal Society. Desaguliers seems to have determined differently. As a clergyman as well as a scientist he probably decided that the movement would fill a different gap. Instead of focussing on science, he would develop a network of societies that would examine the nature of man and man’s role in the universe.

It would promote a doctrine of man as inherently good, rational and capable of creating his own destiny. It would be man’s task to build a good society through first building a good human person: an approach reminiscent of Plato’s plan in “The Republic” (c 360 BCE) of the well-ordered man and the well-ordered state. God would be the Great Architect of the Universe, its Grand Geometrician, its master builder. These ideas were incorporated into Masonic ritual and in the Constitutions which, drawn up by James Anderson, were supervised by Desaguliers.

The Constitutions, believing that a good man could use his own initiative to become a better man, appeared harmless enough, but they alarmed Augustinian thinkers who upheld the theology of Original Sin and opposed the Pelagian “heresy” that man could be saved on his own and did not necessarily require a Divine gift of grace.

Because Freemasonry challenged conventional theology, prudence dictated the adoption of a mild disguise. One was available in the now declining operative lodges which not only spoke of building but had a structure and an inclination for secrecy. Operative Masons were practical people, not so highly educated, but if their movement could be taken over by the intellectuals, the new thinking could find a home and protect itself.

In time the need for secrecy disappeared, but the movement developed it into a fetish and almost invited the allegation, in an age of more open communication, that it was a secret society and therefore apparently reprehensible.

In the meantime Desaguliers and his colleagues had provided Freemasonry with a largely mythical structure of symbolism and story that clothed its origins and ethos in ancient fables and phrases. Freemasons enjoyed their ritual without knowing that its ideals and practices had developed to meet a need at a particular time.

Brother

“Brother” is the most common word in Freemasonry (the plural is “Brethren”, using an archaic grammatical form like the plural “children” for “child”) . While it echoes the Biblical ideal, “How good and pleasant it is for brothers to sit together” (Psalm 133:1), the practice of calling a fellow-Mason “Brother” is one of a series of borrowings from technical ecclesiastical terminology. “Brother” denoted a member of a male religious order, and when speculative Freemasonry began, admission to the craft was known as “Brothering”. The entrance fee was known as payment for one’s “Brothering”. Reflecting the fact that there are two means of joining a family – birth or adoption – a Mason who belongs to another Lodge and now joins a new one is said to “affiliate”, i.e. become a brother, from the Latin “filius”.

The inherent democracy of Freemasonry, suggestive of Micah’s affirmation in the Bible that all men are brothers, children of the one Father (Mic. 2:10), calls every Mason “Brother”, but at the same time sometimes creates a problem. Do we add titles reflecting outside rank or status, such as “Doctor”? Is it permissible to refer to “Brother Doctor X?” There is no definitive ruling; it probably all depends on which Masonic jurisdiction is involved. There is also the question of whether in introducing a candidate we should even call him “Mr”. Some prefer to omit all titles and merely use first name and surname, e.g. “John Brown”. Terms such as “The Honourable” or “The Right Honourable” should presumably be totally omitted. In Britain a peer of the realm might possibly be referred to as “John Brown, Earl of …”

Worshipful Brother

A Mason who is or has been Master of his Lodge is called “Worshipful Brother”. In some jurisdictions there are higher titles, again deriving from ecclesiastical usage, such as “Very Worshipful”, “Right Worshipful”, and “Most Worshipful”. “Worshipful” has nothing to do with worship in the sense of adoration; it comes from “worth”, and indicates that the person concerned is highly regarded, i.e. full of worth. Mayors and magistrates are often called “Your Worship” for the same reason. Presumably because the terminology is difficult, one hears even veteran Freemasons make mistakes like “Worshipful Mother” when they address the Master of a Lodge.

Master

The fully trained Freemason is a Master Mason; the head of the Lodge is the Master. An analogy is the academic practice of awarding a master’s degree, which in some universities was the first, i.e. undergraduate, degree. In operative of Freemasonry the employer or chief artisan was the Master. There is some confusion between the name for a graduate of the Third Degree – a Master Mason – and the Lodge Master. It was even more difficult before the Third Degree emerged, when the term “Master” applied to a Mason who carried no higher rank than fellow-craft: see the chapter on “Education by Degrees”. The Latin “magis”, more, “magister”, a head, gave rise to the English words “master” or “mister” (with the feminine “mistress”), “magistrate”, etc.

Grand Master

The local Lodge is normally part of the overall structure of a Grand Lodge headed by the Grand Master. (In the 18th century the term was sometimes used loosely and meant no more than a Worshipful Master). His team includes an array of Grand Officers such as Grand Chaplain, Grand Director of Ceremonies, etc. In some jurisdictions distinguished Masons may be awarded Conferred Grand Rank, e.g. a Past Grand Chaplain who never actually held office as a Grand Chaplain. The ritual accords the title Grand Master to ancient personages who totally pre-dated Freemasonry, such as Adam, Moses, Hiram Abif, Solomon, etc.

Mason

An expert involved in the building trade is a mason; his work entails dealing with masonry. The term may come from the Old French “macon”, a builder or worker in stone, or Old Gothic “maitan”, to hew or cut (or “macian”, to make”).

Warden

Another name deriving from ecclesiastical tradition, the warden (from Anglo-Saxon “weard”, watchman, guard or custodian), superintends a section of the Lodge – the Senior Warden in the west and the Junior Warden in the south. (In the Middle Ages the workmen’s lodgings were probably in the south of the building site, probably so that the sun would warm the huts during the day: hence the idea that when the Mason breaks for refreshment he moves to the south). Both Wardens display their status by means of pillars which symbolise the two pillars, Yachin and Bo’az, which stood at the entrance of King Solomon’s Temple (see the chapter on Pillars of the Temple).

Deacon

Religion also gave the craft the term “deacon”, from Greek “diakonos”, a servant or messenger. In the ecclesiastical context the Deacon is a lesser-rung church officer; in Freemasonry he is a messenger. Presumably operative Freemasonry used a system of messengers to convey messages from one part of the building site to another.

Steward

From Anglo-Saxon “stig”, sty, and “weard”, guard, the steward also derived his name from ecclesiastical usage. Originally holding an agricultural function, the steward became a property manager, in the church an officer handling funds and refreshments, and in Freemasonry the organiser of refreshments.

Tyler

Originally the artisan who covered the roof with tiles. A more usua;l spelling is “tiler” (note the use of Tyler as a surname, eg Wat Tyler). His role in the Lodge is to keep the roof (and other parts) of the building safe from intrusion. In 18th century Freemasonry, the tyler carried out other tasks such as preparing the Lodge room for meetings.