Balancing Independence and Subservience

Rabbi Dr. Chaim Pollock

After making aliyah almost 40 years ago, I turned to a friend, a rosh yeshivah who had been living in Israel for more than a decade, for guidance on choosing a high school for our daughter.

“If she goes to Seminar A,” he said, “she will be taught to ask a sh’eilah before deciding to paint her house. In Seminar B, she will be taught to ask if the color she has chosen is acceptable.”

Yes, he was being somewhat facetious. But he happily educated his daughters in the most well-known seminars, and they have gone on to establish Torah families l’mehadrin.

What level of independence do we seek for our children and students?

Our first source is Bereishis 6:9, where Rashi contrasts Noach and Avraham Avinu: “Noach required support to uphold him, but Avraham strengthened himself and walked in his righteousness by himself.”

Next, we remind ourselves that when Yitzchak and Rivkah prayed for children, Hashem responded to Yitzchak and not to Rivkah, because the prayers of a tzaddik ben tzaddik are superior to those of a tzaddik ben rasha. To forsake one’s upbringing and past is an almost insurmountable task — so how could it be, asks Rav Dessler, that Yitzchak’s prayers were superior? Rav Dessler explains that Yitzchak Avinu’s test was unique and exceptional: He had to carve out his own life, his own personality, and his own profile, while remaining completely dedicated to his father’s way of life.

Yitzchak had to be both completely independent and completely subservient.

But even after one establishes the need for independence, results like Yitzchak’s are not guaranteed. Some are not naturally built for independence; others may fail because they extend the concept to freedom from any regulations, not to mention mitzvos. This is where proper guidance enters the picture. Guidance does not consist of mouthing platitudes; it requires offering hands-on experience.

Our tradition is rich in such experience. In vaados mussar, a small group of people would assemble to discuss their challenges and share guidance in dealing with them. The vaad was uniquely democratic — talmidei chachamim joined with far less senior members, displaying a remarkable level of equality with those who otherwise would be sitting at their feet, absorbing their Torah.

In the absence of such a system, educators and parents are called upon to assist their charges in developing healthy independence, utilizing a process of investigation in which the mentee finds a personal perspective. Such guidance consists of openness on both sides, with the mentor offering semi-directive advice, allowing the mentee complete freedom to comment and present his or her outlook.

Reuven and Leah met with me to discuss an ongoing challenge: Reuven’s frustration with Leah’s father, who often criticized their parenting.

“I get upset with Leah, because she just lets it continue,” Reuven said.

Rather than giving direct answers, I guided Reuven through a series of questions to help him frame his choices. “Leah says she can’t confront her father. Do you still want her to do it anyway?”

When Reuven remained insistent, I encouraged him to consider how Leah might feel toward him if he continued to pressure her. I asked him to think about how effective the conversation would be, especially since Leah lacked the confidence to handle it.

As the discussion unfolded, Reuven began to see the complexity of the situation. “This really isn’t so simple,” he admitted.

Finally, I posed the key question: “So, what’s the choice?”

Reuven reflected for a moment before answering, “Put up with her father, or Leah won’t put up with me?”

“I think so,” I replied.

Sometimes, the path forward is less about solving a problem and more about choosing which challenge is easier to live with.

Mentoring meetings deal with actual events and the mentee’s response to them, with the mentor providing challenging questions for the mentee to probe the propriety of his reaction and evaluate the rights and wrongs of his outlook. Self-reflection is a must, and the mentor must refrain from being over-judgmental — offering neither an opinionated yes, nor a judgmental no.

Zevi and Shiffy were a young couple who lived with many luxuries, having been generously supported by their parents for two years. Zevi’s parents had recently told him he must start taking financial responsibility for himself and find a job. Zevi aspired to become a rebbi, believing he would excel in the role, but his father opposed the idea because it didn’t pay enough.

“I guess I have to give up on my dream?” Zevi wondered.

When I asked Zevi if he knew how much he needed to earn to support his family, what standard of living would be appropriate, or what potential salaries might be, he said he had not done any research.

I responded, “It sounds like you’ve come to me for advice, but you haven’t put much effort into figuring out some basic facts. How will you evaluate the advice you receive if you and Shiffy haven’t established standards to guide your decisions?”

Zevi asked what’s next. I told him, “This is where the real conversation begins. I can connect you with people and organizations who can provide the information you need. Once you’ve done that, we can discuss further.”

As important as independence is, clarity as to its limits is a vital and indispensable part of developing a proper perspective. An independent individual is not one who refuses counsel, seeing himself as superior to everyone around him, giving knee-jerk responses to every suggestion that comes his way. Such behavior reeks of gaavah and is offensive to G-d and man.

Seeking advice is itself an act of independence; accepting and acting upon it, as the Chazon Ish teaches, is a fulfillment of the bechirah chofshis Hashem gave each of us.

Rita was approaching the end of her seminary year in Israel and looking for guidance about what to do next. When I asked if she wanted to stay for shanah beit, she answered that her mother didn’t allow it.

“I didn’t ask you what your mother wants, I asked you what you want.”

Rita said she didn’t know.

Again I pressed, “If you don’t know whether you want to stay, what does it matter if your mother doesn’t want you to stay?”

Again, Rita said she didn’t know.

“Think about what you’re doing now,” I said. “You don’t know if you want to stay for shanah beit, and now it looks like you won’t. Then you’ll hold a grudge against your mother, when you don’t even know if she’s the reason. Is that fair?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not.”

When we successfully balance autonomy and submission, advice-seeking with decision-making, we are truly independent. One who is truly independent becomes the disciple of Avraham Avinu — could we wish for anything more?

Rabbi Dr. Chaim Pollock has lived in Yerushalayim for the past four decades. He is a senior consultant and lecturer and also the dean emeritus of Michlalah–Jerusalem College; and a musmach of Rav Aharon Soloveichik ztz”l at Hebrew Theological College.

Finding the Right Balance

Rabbi David Shabtai

Chazal teach us, “Hafoch bah, v’hafoch bah, d’kula bah — keep toiling, for the Torah contains everything.”

Yet Chazal also teach us that there are myriad areas considered reshus — in which we have the right to choose among a spectrum of possible options. The contours of that spectrum are sometimes clearly demarcated, other times, only vaguely so.

People reach out to rabbis for all sorts of reasons and questions. As rabbis, we want to encourage people to feel comfortable asking. Some people have a natural tendency to be machmir and others have a tendency to naturally be meikil. It’s quite often that a stringency in one area can lead to a leniency in another, which may not always be obvious to the person asking the question (a chumra in taharas hamishpachah can lead to a kula in shalom bayis and a chumra in hilchos basar b’chalav can lead to financial strain).

It’s therefore often helpful to speak with a rav to figure out what factors might be at play. But there isn’t always a definitive answer. Sometimes it’s a question of balancing priorities (which may require a rav to help figure out what those might be) and determining what makes the most sense at this particular stage in a person’s life.

Beyond Simple Psak: Medical Ethics in Practice

I have a medical background and am therefore sometimes consulted on end-of-life questions. These can often raise complicated ethical, medical, and halachic questions and are often enmeshed with deep emotional components among multiple decision-makers. Halachah does indeed have parameters and guidelines within which decisions can be made, but at the same time, it is not always so clear-cut. Additionally, my mesorah is that, depending on the circumstances, there is sometimes room for discretion as to how to proceed.

When somebody calls with such a question, I help guide them through the basic halachic parameters and help them work through the various Torah perspectives, which do not always align neatly with each other. (We believe in aggressively treating suffering, but at the same time we recognize that we don’t have a right to shorten life. We believe that each moment of life has infinite value, but at the same time we recognize there are limits to the “amount” of suffering that can or should be endured.)

In my experience, some people are indeed looking for an answer to a halachic question. (“Can I stay with my grandmother in the ICU on Shabbos?” “Is it ever permissible to turn off a ventilator?”) And if the question has a simple halachic solution — and even sometimes not so simple — I’ll offer it.

But quite frequently, people are looking to “talk out” the issues. They want to better understand what is going on — from medical, ethical, and halachic perspectives. (“How do I know what I should do for my elderly grandmother with severe Alzheimer’s disease in the ICU?” “My grandfather told me he didn’t want to remain on ‘machines,’ but now he needs a feeding tube — what should we do?”) In these types of circumstances, there is rarely room for psak, since there are many personal, family, and communal factors to consider once the contours are understood.

Categories of Halachic Questions

While this outline may be specific to end-of-life questions, perhaps it’s also helpful for framing the larger issue. There are certainly questions and areas that have clear psak relevance. The answer may sometimes require some complicated lomdus, but clearly touches on areas of established halachah. These can range from the fan favorite, “Is this a reliable kashrus symbol?” to analyzing the architecture and structure of various hospitals to determine where Kohanim may visit.

In many other areas, there might be halachic factors that are relevant to part of the issue at hand, even if they don’t pertain to the essential question being asked. I know of a prominent businessman who keeps a dayan on payroll to review all deals that come across his desk — not to give advice as to which might be a better investment, but to look out for potential ribbis questions and other halachic complications that they may include.

Other times, there are halachic frameworks for dealing with the essential question being asked, but at the end of the day, they come down to questions of hashkafah, emunah, and bitachon. Many might agree (and indeed, this is the mesorah I received from my rebbeim) that there are rarely clear cut mehalchim in these areas.

Some examples that come to mind are about career decisions and how they might impact on time available to learn Torah, or on ability to daven with a minyan or at a l’chatchilah time. (“I was offered a better paying job, but it would mean that for most of the year I won’t be able to daven with a minyan — what can I do?”)

Others involved balancing participating in communal chesed projects that can take away from both set learning schedules as well as family time and potentially impact shalom bayis. (“I’d love to deliver Tomchei Shabbos, but I have a chavrusa at that time and rescheduling would mean that we might learn a little less.” Similar questions regarding volunteering for chevra kaddisha or responding to Chaverim calls during family time recently crossed my desk.)

For so many of these and similar type questions, figuring out a path forward is more about understanding the Torah’s perspective on the relevant factors and discovering a way to create balance between them.

Always Encourage Questions

To my mind, we want to encourage people to always ask questions. Lo habaishan lomeid — it’s often the only way to learn. But at the same time, I think it’s important for people to think critically about what answer they are looking to receive. “Rabbi, can’t you just tell me what to do?” is sometimes an easy way for people to avoid having to wrestle with the sometimes seemingly opposing Torah values. While the halachic corpus is vast and covers so very much of our lives, there are still many areas in which halachah provides guidelines and ideals but not specific directives.

It is certainly worthwhile to ask about them, to understand them, and to explore what they might bring to bear on a particular issue. And for that very large spectrum of topics, the rav’s job may be more to teach about these values and guides than to issue direct instruction — empowering individuals to make informed choices within Torah parameters while fulfilling both our obligation to seek guidance and our responsibility to choose wisely.

Rabbi David Shabtai, MD, is the director of operations at the Florida Chesed Network. He has worked in rabbanus and chinuch and is involved in areas of intersection between medicine, health, and halachah.

The Fifth Shulchan Aruch

Rebbetzin Esther Reisman

Recently, a yeshivah bochur who is close to my husband called from Eretz Yisrael to report on his experiences at the Mir. He told us rather gleefully that his rebbi, Rav Yosef Elefant, rebukes him soundly for asking shallow questions.

“Not only do I not understand what you’re talking about,” declares Rav Elefant, “but you don’t understand what you’re talking about. Think before you ask!”

I was reminded of Rabbi Menachem Nissel’s recollection of his first encounter with Rav Moshe Shapira ztz”l (recounted in Looking into the Sun by Menachem Nissel, Feldheim Publishers).

“I asked him a question on the Gemara we were learning. He asked me my name and then answered with the magnanimous patience of a loving zeide. The next day, I went back to him with a different question. This time he looked at me with his piercing eyes and said, ‘Did you look up the Rashba?’ I said no. ‘Reb Akiva Eiger sends you to a Gemara in Yevamos — did you look it up?’ I said no. Then he paused and said, ‘So why are you wasting my time with your unprepared questions?’ ”

Rabbi Nissel was shaken. His friend explained, “The first time you went to him, you were a stranger. Now you have become a talmid.”

My beloved teacher Rebbetzin Bruria David a”h gave us access to the world of romemus. She developed within us an appreciation of gedolei Torah, of daas Torah, of chashivus haTorah. Yet it was clear that the means toward this end was the development of our own daas.

Rebbetzin David rarely gave direct answers to our questions. She would ask us questions that elicited a clarification of our values. She would guide us to the point where we could exercise our own bechirah more honestly and effectively. In addition, her personal example and her powerful influence raised our aspirations so that the parameters of our bechirah would be elevated.

Although, many years had passed since my year at BJJ, I continued, with so many other talmidos to pose questions in chinuch, hashkafah, or life dilemmas to my beloved teacher. However, our reverence for her was so great that we considered carefully before asking a question that might be unworthy of her consideration.

There is a dual responsibility here. There is the responsibility of the talmid to relate to daas Torah with seichel, that elusive “fifth Shulchan Aruch.” One has to know how to ask, what to ask, and to whom. And then there is the achrayus of the rebbi or mentor to teach in a way that builds a person, gives him direction, and fosters independence. When I posed questions to my high school menahel, he would often respond, “Well, what do you think?”

Rav Avraham Pam would challenge my husband, “What would you pasken here?” Once, when my husband went to the Pam home, to ask a question, he was rebuked by the Rebbetzin, “Yisroel, you can’t ask Rav Pam everything! You have to start to decide things on your own!”

Many of our great leaders have displayed legendary savlanus for the naive queries of simpletons: the wagon-driver who asked the Beis HaLevi if, as a Kohein, he could transport a gerushah; the woman who asked Rav Yosef Chaim Sonnenfeld if her cat was treif, the woman who called Rav Moshe Feinstein weekly for the zeman of candlelighting. Do we wish to interact with our talmidei chachamim in a manner that bears any resemblance to that type of questioning? Or do we wish to become talmidim?

My father, Rabbi Yaakov Leib Spitzer, was a talmid. It was clear to us that the image of his rebbi, Reb Michoel Ber Weissmandel, was always in front of his eyes. After the death of his rebbi, he developed close relationships with many of the gedolei hador including Rav Moshe Feinstein, Rav Yonason Steif, Rav Shlomo Halberstam of Bobov, and other chassidic leaders. He sought to learn from them, and put much effort into being of service to them, in any way that he could.

His reverence for tzaddikim, and his wish to be guided by them, did not detract from his independence. My father was bold, courageous, and decisive in the realm of askanus and business. He encouraged us to be decisive and independent as well.

And yet we understood that although it is important to take responsibility for our decisions, there are limits to our independence in making choices. Sometimes, we must seek counsel because we know that our objectivity may be compromised. Some decisions are above our pay grade. And some decisions are simply overwhelming.

The same menahel who encouraged me to think independently also advised me, “When you ask a gadol, you have greater siyata d’Shmaya.”

I remember an instance when we were faced with a time-sensitive medical dilemma. We went to speak to Reb Hershele of Spinka, who was my father-in-law’s Rebbe. Reb Hershele listened intently, asked a few questions, and thought for a few moments.

He then rapped his hand on the table and said, “Do the surgery right away and it will be good.”

We felt enormous relief. He had taken the weight of the world off our shoulders, and for that I am forever grateful.

When we were faced with an intractable dilemma in a different realm of our lives, Rav Pam offered to do a goral haGra. The results referred to a Levi and his mishmar, which Rav Pam interpreted as a directive for my husband to accept a certain position. However, a short while later, Pav Pam advised my husband to withdraw. How could we ignore the results of the goral?

Rav Pam explained. “We used the goral when we had a safeik. However, when I see that certain things are not falling in to place in the right way, I realize that it will not work out for you, and there is no longer a safeik.”

When my father was 80 years old, he wrote a tzava’ah. Among other directives, he dictated the exact words that were to be inscribed on his matzeivah: “He toiled to raise children and grandchildren in the derech of Torah and avodah. He was zocheh to be close to a number of the gedolei hador, may their merits stand by him and his family in this world and the next.”

Although my father’s decisive askanus in business and chesed was memorable, what he chose to highlight as his legacy to us was his allegiance to gedolei Torah and our dependence on their merit, zechusam yagen aleinu.

Rebbetzin Esther Reisman is the menaheles of BYA High School in Brooklyn.

The Instinct to Ask for Help

Rabbi Yosef Ginsberg

Q:

Our parents have organized a trip for midwinter at a venue that may expose the children to situations that don’t align with our values. The siblings are all joining. What should we do?

A: 

Let us state at the outset that the “situations” mentioned here do not refer to petty matters; we are talking about situations that carry spiritual weight. In this circumstance, as in many others, how do we know when to make our own choices — and when to seek daas Torah?

The short answer is: You know.

The Jewish answer is: Let me ask you a question.

Have you ever found yourself running out with a child, late on a rainy Motzaei Shabbos, to a random urgent care, waiting patiently for hours to seek the advice of a medical professional?

As an experienced parent, you know that minor cuts or rashes can be treated with Band-Aids and ointment, and that fever will go down with some Motrin. Most of us have at least some basic knowledge of human biology. What made you decide to go through the hassle of getting medical advice from an unfamiliar professional? Why are you so eagerly running to ask?

The answer is simple: It’s my child. It’s my life.

When it’s something that truly matters, something that resonates deep inside you, you instinctively know when to seek guidance — and rightfully so.

Let’s apply that same thinking to our spiritual health.

The Torah commands us, “U’bacharta b’chayim” — “Choose life.” Is this really a choice? Who would choose otherwise?

We are, in fact, asked to make one independent — albeit fundamental — decision: to define the meaning of life. Only a life dictated by Torah values is a life worthy of living.

Once this definition of life is established, we are able to recognize that our spiritual well-being requires expert guidance, at least as much as we would seek for our physical health.

Thanks to our generation’s high-caliber yeshivos and learning programs, most of us are quite knowledgeable in myriad areas of halachah and hashkafah, tempting us to make many of our own decisions. We learn, we discuss, and we’re encouraged to think critically.

But are we as committed to “U’bacharta b’chayim” as in previous generations? Regardless of our advanced Torah knowledge, we would be remiss to rely on our own judgment when we recognize that it’s “our life” on the line. There are many rabbanim today who reflect the previous generations’ meaning of life as one solely reliant upon Torah; their devotion to Torah gives them a different perspective. This is what we are seeking when we consult daas Torah.

So do I truly need to keep a rav on speed dial for constant spiritual guidance? Are there situations when I can rely on my own knowledge?

The answer to this question is also: You know.

What is it that tempts us to rely on our own judgment, to start debating whether or not to seek guidance? Is it a lack of commitment on our part? Or perhaps we have preconceived opinions on the matter and just seek validation, not a dissenting opinion.

Two men came to Reb Yisrael Salanter with a financial dispute involving several thousand rubles. After ruling on the case, Reb Yisrael noticed that the losing party was disgruntled.

Reb Yisrael asked, “If you had come to me with a question about the kashrus of a cow, and my verdict was ‘treif,’ with equivalent financial loss, would you also be upset with me? So why is this different?”

The man was silent. Reb Yisrael responded for him: “Because in this case, it’s your opponent who is cashing in on your losses.”

Today, we have similar scenarios, but the underlying issue is even more pronounced.

When we ask a sh’eilah about kashrus or its equivalents, we believe that it matters, and we know that we don’t know. However, when our question is about something that affects our personal life, we rationalize that we know the truth. We come to the rav for affirmation of our opinion, hoping he will advise our opponent that he is wrong. When the rav refuses to confirm our view, we become upset. Often, it’s not guidance we seek, but rather validation. When we don’t get the answer we want, we struggle to accept it.

The question then becomes: Should we request affirmation for our debatable decision, or avoid asking altogether?

Let’s return to our midwinter trip.

The kids are pestering me — they really want to go, but it doesn’t align with our values. Should we abstain and create family politics? Debating back and forth, we rationalize that it may even be damaging to the kids to deprive them. We’re tempted to conclude that exposure may even be beneficial…. Should we ask a lenient rav who will understand and agree? Or is the query superfluous, because the rav won’t understand our personal dynamics? It’s easier and cheaper to join; after all, Bubby is paying for the trip.

Let’s be real. If there were a uranium plant near the park that posed a radioactive hazard to our children, the debate would then be a little different. Should we be stringent and not even ask? Because — rather safe than sorry! Or should we ask a prominent doctor and trust his word blindly? The correlation is clear.

The choice is always ours. Do we consider the matter a question of spiritual life and death? If so, “we know” to ask, or at the very least to be stringent and not even ask.

Klal Yisrael has grown. Today, there are many rabbinic authorities available, representing various approaches and perspectives. The fact that we can now decide whom to ask, leaves, unfortunately, more than enough to our discretion.

The real question is: How much does it matter?

And the answer is: You know.

Rabbi Yosef Ginsberg is the rav of Kehal Toldos Yitzchok of Lakewood and rosh kollel for its advanced Kollel L’Horaah. He is a prolific speaker whose lectures can be heard on Torah Anytime.

Know What You’re Asking For

Rabbi Zecharya Greenwald

TO answer these questions, we should explain four distinct concepts.

The first concept is psak halachah. It was Yisro who first recognized that after Matan Torah, many questions would arise as to what to do and when and how to do things. His advice, which received the consent of Hashem (which made it daas Torah) required that poskim be available to answer Klal Yisrael’s halachic questions. There is no “bechirah” involved here, and no daas Torah; one is getting answers to unclear situations for which he needs the decisive clarity of halachah. This is reiterated in the Mishnah (Avos 1:6), “Make for yourself a rav so you will not be in a dilemma [as to what to do].”

Such halachic queries might pertain to the kashrus of a pot or to hilchos Shabbos issues with reheating food or selecting silverware. The type of question you ask will depend on the clarity of your own halachic knowledge. Questions on some topics, such as taharas hamishpachah, need to be presented to an authority with shimush and training in these areas.

Once again, psak halachah does not fall under the rubric of daas Torah or bechirah, two other concepts we will discuss below; it is the mandate to learn halachah from a reliable source.

The second concept is having teachers of Torah. This is learned from the Mishnah in Avos we mentioned above: “Make for yourself a rav.” The Jewish People learn Torah through the mesorah, and the Mishnah is specifying that we must each have a rav to teach us Torah — as well as how to learn Torah. We do not receive Torah from computers or artificial intelligence; we learn from living rebbeim who transfer Torah knowledge from generation to generation, one heart to the next. This living mesorah is the mainstay of the Jewish People and the source of our confidence in the integrity of Torah. (The place of seforim in the mesorah is a fascinating discussion, but one clearly differentiated from computer-generated information.)

The third concept is daas Torah. This area involves questions of leadership and conduct. The pasuk in Devarim (32:7) says, “Ask your father and he will tell you, your elders and they will say….” The Midrash in Shemos says in reference to this pasuk, “Anyone who asks advice from the elders will not fail.” This refers to situations that are multifaceted or complex, with very deep ramifications, for which most people do not have the breadth or depth of insight to fully comprehend the many details and possible consequences. Decisions on these issues affect large numbers of Jews and therefore require the perspective of people whose entire understanding is guided by Torah.

When someone’s entire understanding of the world is built on Torah knowledge, his daas develops into daas Torah. There are individuals who confidently believe that they know what is best, even when they see that Torah giants are taking a different approach. Such audacity caused the Biryonim in the time of the Second Churban to burn the food stockpiles of Yerushalayim, precipitating the loss of many lives and hastening the tragedy that followed. Examples of this kind of behavior continue to exist to this day.

The fourth concept is bechirah — every Jew’s mandate to choose between good and evil, and the main point of this discussion. It does not refer to simple decision-making in general, but rather decisions that involve choosing between right and wrong. Or as the Torah calls it, life and death. Deciding which outfit to wear would not be about bechirah, but if the choice of clothing was between an appropriate garment and an inappropriate one, it would become a bechirah situation.

Rav Yerucham Levovitz ztz”l (Daas Chochmah U’mussar, vol. 1, maamar 27) champions the idea that being human obligates us to use the brains Hashem gave us and not just follow the crowd or the dictates of others. Think about yourself — your obligations, necessities, commitments, and opportunities. Ostensibly, there would be nothing wrong if I put the minor matters of my life in another person’s hands while I retained control over all decisions of right and wrong — but only if I were doing so to be fully immersed in more sublime matters, and not out of lack of decisiveness. Without proper training to think and decide for oneself, a person’s ability to decide between right and wrong will be seriously diminished.

I believe Rav Yerucham’s reasoning gives us a more sophisticated approach to the seemingly mundane choices that don’t invoke bechirah. The higher a person’s spiritual level, the more of his decisions have an element of bechirah. I heard from my rebbi Rav Wolbe z”l that when Rav Yisrael Salanter, the founder of the Mussar movement, got married, he made a deal with his wife that she would make all decisions regarding gashmiyus and he would be in charge of all ruchniyus decisions. Shortly after the wedding, his wife said she could not keep to that division of authority, because in Rav Yisrael’s mind, everything was ruchniyus.

In everyday life, one may encounter decisions that involve complexity and that depend on many variables. In these cases it is wise to seek advice (not necessarily daas Torah per se) from qualified rabbanim, mechanchim, mechanchos — and likewise from lawyers, doctors, and financial advisors. After hearing that advice, it is certainly proper to use our power of decision.

In summary, every person needs to be able to make decisions about most situations in his life. However, when it comes to halachah, one needs to actually know the correct answer — or to consult an authority and follow what he is told. When there are questions that are relevant to all of Klal Yisrael, we need to listen to those who have daas Torah. And when it comes to day-to-day life, we must own our decisions, but we should consider asking the advice and opinion of those with knowledge greater than ours, which we can then incorporate into our final judgment.

Rabbi Zecharya Greenwald is a world-renowned educator, lecturer, and writer. He is the author of Preparing your Child for Success (ArtScroll/Mesorah) and the recently published Life after Teshuvah: Five, Ten, and Twenty Years Later (Mosaica Press). In 1989 Rabbi Greenwald founded Darchei Shalom Educational Center, an alternative high school for boys at risk in Israel, and in 1999 he founded Me’ohr Bais Yaakov Teachers’ Seminary in Jerusalem, where he currently serves as dean.

Bring Your Whole Self  to the Question

Mrs. Dina Schoonmaker

I once called a particular rav to ask a question, and before he answered, he made an important distinction: “Are you looking for a psak, an eitzah, or a brachah?”

A brachah can come from anyone you perceive as bearing holiness and siyata d’Shmaya. A psak is a purely halachic ruling. But eitzah — advice — is what we’re discussing here. When should we seek it, and to what extent?

The answer is hardly universal; it varies across communities, and even within them. In the litvish world, for example, some yeshivos are very “rosh yeshivah-centered,” encouraging talmidim to bring their day-to-day questions to their rav — how much time to spend on a sugya, whether or not to miss seder to accompany one’s wife to an appointment. Other institutions foster greater independence, reserving consultation for only major life decisions like school choices for children or whether to move one’s family out of town. So while we can’t present a one-size-fits-all answer here, we can try to better understand how to bring questions and navigate this process responsibly.

Choice theory, a psychological framework developed by William Glasser, identifies a “dependent” decision-making style, in which individuals avoid taking ownership of choices. In secular contexts, this may manifest as asking a parent or friend, “What should I do?” without thinking through options or implications. In Torah-based communities, this might involve turning to a rav without proper reflection — posing a raw question (“Should I marry him or not?” or “Should I quit my job?”), following the rav’s advice, and then blaming the rav if the outcome isn’t favorable.

Consulting a rav for eitzah, however, is not about avoiding responsibility; it’s part of owning the decision. The rav’s role is to provide clarity, not absolve us of our role in the process. To play our role effectively, we must prepare ourselves in advance. By thinking through the pros and cons and processing our questions beforehand, we approach a rav not out of dependency but as part of a process that values daas Torah while maintaining ownership of our decisions.

Let’s say, for example, a couple is considering moving to a very secular community for kiruv purposes. Pros may be that the couple will enjoy the benefits of “being their own bosses” and they’ll be able to inspire people who don’t have any exposure to Torah. Cons may be the lack of Jewish services and support system — no minyanim or Jewish schools.

Instead of simply approaching the rav and asking, “Should we go or not?” the couple can present their thoughts and personal leanings on the matter. They can take an active role in the discussion because they’ve thoroughly delved into the issues and are coming now for the rav’s wider perspective.

An approach I encourage my students to adopt is a structured decision-making framework of wearing different “decision-making hats” (inspired by Edward de Bono’s Six Thinking Hats). This involves examining a question from multiple perspectives. One crucial “hat” asks, “What does Hashem think about this? Will this bring me closer to Him?” This includes considering if there are any halachic ramifications, but also recognizing situations where someone with vast Torah knowledge and life experience may provide invaluable guidance.

While delineating this entire process here is beyond the scope of this article, let’s break this down a bit in light of the above example. The couple can move through the various decision-making hats one at a time (emotional, logical, positive, negative, etc.), considering aspects and angles such as their feelings about the choice, their rational response, best- and worst-case scenarios, and out-of-the-box options.

This process can bring to light more than just surface considerations and open up space for a more sophisticated decision with new options they’d not yet thought of (e.g., “we’ll live an hour away and only go for Shabbos,” or “we’ll commit for one year and reevaluate”). With new options and perspectives on hand, the couple can then use the ruchniyus hat and decide if and how to present this to a rav.

All of this underscores the importance of developing a kesher with a rav who understands us and the nuances of our lives. As someone once told me, “You don’t learn daas Torah from pashkevilen.” The same rav who signed a public letter might offer a different eitzah on the very same issue when you personally present your case to him.

Of course, there are times when such a personal connection isn’t possible, and we must turn to someone with broad shoulders, experience, emotional intelligence, and intuition. Even without a deep personal relationship, these individuals can often read between the lines and offer meaningful guidance. If an eitzah doesn’t seem to take a crucial aspect of your life into account, it’s important to revisit the discussion and provide any clarifications that may help refine the advice.

When I was newly married and living in Israel, my husband asked a rav about his status vis-à-vis keeping two days of Yom Tov. I was already keeping one day as a native Israeli, but my husband was American and did not do melachah on Yom Tov Sheini. The rav said that my husband should continue his practice and I should continue mine. When my husband subsequently saw how upset I was with the notion of two different psakim he had the emotional intelligence to call the rav back and discuss my feelings. The rav then said we should both keep one day.

When choosing a rav — whether it’s someone personal or a gadol we consult in the absence of a direct relationship — we look for someone capable of nuanced, individualized advice. A good rav doesn’t give cookie-cutter answers but carefully considers the person and the circumstances.

And while mentors, teachers, therapists, and coaches may not carry the status of emunas chachamim or daas Torah, they can still play a valuable role in helping us clarify our thoughts and formulate our approach. For example, when making a decision about choice of community or schools, a couple can speak with a mentor who knows them well. This guidance can serve as a stepping stone to presenting our question to a rav more effectively.

Ultimately, good eitzah fits who you are. To receive it, you must bring your whole self to the table, presenting your question with full ownership and an understanding of how it will personally impact your life. When we approach the rav with a list of personal considerations that reflect self-awareness and introspection, we can receive better guidance that fits those considerations.

Dina Schoonmaker has been teaching in Michlalah-Jerusalem College for over 30 years. She founded the Women’s Mussar Vaad, teaching topics of personal development in Ramat Beit Shemesh, Yerushalayim, and remotely over Zoom. She lectures in Israel, Europe, and the United States, but most enjoys being home with her family in Yerushalayim.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1057)