The Hasidim and The Chabad: the Fruit of Guruism

...and the resultant accountability void

The New York Post reported on Tuesday, January 9^th, that “A riot broke out in a historic Brooklyn synagogue when a group of rebellious Orthodox men tried to stop police and construction crews from filling in a secret tunnel they illegally dug to reach a closed-down women’s bath.” This occurred at the Chabad-Lubavitch World Headquarters in the Crown Heights area of Brooklyn, NYC.

For most evangelicals, this entire branch of Judaism is a mystery. I became aware of the Lubavitch branch of the Hasidic movement through the 1967 novel by ordained rabbi Chaim Potok, “The Chosen”, which I read in high school in the early 1980s. It was a fascinating tale which I enjoyed reading. The writing and perception of the common needs of humanity beyond food and shelter, that is, community and belonging, were terrifically insightful. The 1981 movie version, starring Robbie Benson, while necessarily less deep, is excellent. In the late 90s Darren Aronofsky directed “Pi”, a look into some of the numerological tenets of Kabbalah, which are important in the development of the Hasidic movement. Though these groups are a deeply fascinating, I learned from further study the importance in understanding that Hasidic Judaism is really a separate movement from “mainline” Judaism.

Hasidic Judaism is a branching off of Orthodox Judaism that emerged in Central and Eastern Europe during the 18th century. Both Hasidic and Orthodox Judaism share a common foundation in Rabbinic Judaism, the main tradition of Judaism after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE, and further decimations of the Jewish people in Palestine in the Kitos War in 115-117AD, and the Bar Kokhba Revolt in 132-136AD. However, Hasidism developed its own unique interpretations and practices within that framework.

Both adhere to the core tenets of Rabbinic Judaism, including the observance of Halakha (Jewish law), the centrality of the Torah, and the belief in a personal God. Both value religious study, prayer, and family life. Both maintain a relatively strict separation of genders in religious settings.

However, differences are deep and pervasive. While Orthodox Judaism generally focuses on strict adherence to Halakha and intellectual study of religious texts. Hasidism, on the other hand, emphasizes personal connection with God through prayer, song, and mystical practices. While the Orthodox are organized around synagogues and rabbinical authorities, Hasidism revolves around charismatic Hasidic leaders, known as Rebbes, who are seen as intermediaries between God and their followers. Also, while Orthodox Jews often dress modestly but not uniformly,  Hasidism has distinct dress codes for men and women, such as black hats and long coats for men and wigs or headscarves for women. This last bit about wigs is particularly interesting.

Rabbinic Jewish law doesn't explicitly mandate head covering for married women, but some interpretations of modesty guidelines in the Talmud have led to this custom becoming widespread in many Hasidic and Orthodox communities, including Chabad. Covering the head has become a symbol of religious identity and cultural affiliation within these communities. It visually distinguishes Chabad women from other parts of the Jewish community and reinforces their adherence to specific traditions. Some interpretations associate head covering with focusing thoughts and intentions during prayer or religious observance. It's seen as a way to symbolically set aside worldly concerns and heighten spiritual awareness. Within the movement, there's some variation in hair covering practices, as some women wear wigs full-time, while others choose them only for religious occasions or prayer. Furthermore, they wear various styles of wigs, from natural-looking hairpieces to simpler head coverings like scarves or tichels. The choice often reflects personal preference and community norms.

We can therefore see that this radical practice of wig-wearing is identitarian and ultra-sectarian. It is a way to separate from the larger body of faith. This is important to remember when trying to understand and evaluate the Hasidim in general and the Chabad in particular, for the radical separation diminishes the connection to the greater Jewish world.

Hasidism arose in 18th-century Europe as a response to perceived spiritual stagnation within Orthodox communities. In this way it has certain commonalities to the revivalist movements within Christianity in general, and the later Dispensationalist movement in particular. Its founder, Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer (known as the Baal Shem Tov), emphasized emotional connection with God, joy in religious practice, and the potential for spiritual leadership among ordinary people. This resonated with many Jews seeking a more direct and meaningful experience of their faith. These seem to be worthwhile goals within any community of faith, but are also revivalist impulses which value experience over the hard matters of reconciling the tension present in both Judaism and Christianity of imminence and transcendence, of subjective and objective. These tensions are difficult to resolve in isolation, and as Hasidism developed the isolationist impulse grew stronger.

Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer, an early founding father and guru-like inspiration in what came later, emerged from the shadows of Ukrainian poverty in the 17th century, a man shrouded in myth and controversy. Known as the Baal Shem Tov (Master of the Good Name) or simply the Besht, his life remains a puzzle pieced together from fragments of legend and oral tradition. His legacy comes laced with ambiguities and critiques.

Born into hardship, orphaned young, the Besht found sanctuary in the Jewish community of Tluste. He honed his mind with traditional rabbinic studies, but he seems to have desired a deeper experience. Drawn to the mystical currents of Kabbalah (a mystical practice based upon the 13^thcentury work “Zohar”) and steeped in the oral traditions and folklore, he forged a path distinct from the established scholarly circles.

His unorthodox approach, emphasizing ecstatic union with God through music and dance rather than rigorous intellectual study, ignited both intrigue and dissent. He championed universal access to spirituality, blurring the lines between social status and divine connection, a notion that unsettled some within the rigid hierarchies of Orthodox Judaism. The commonality with revivalist Christianity, which often ventured into ecstatic practices, is evident.

The Besht saw divinity not in the sterile confines of synagogues, but in an experience of nature. He spoke of God through rustling leaves and chirping birds, his parables imbued with earthy metaphors and mystical allegories. This intimate connection with the creation, while resonating with the common folk, raised eyebrows among those accustomed to more cerebral expressions of faith.

His most lasting contribution came in the form of Hasidism, a movement pulsating with emotional fervor and communal spirit. By introducing the concept of the Tzaddik, a righteous leader serving as a bridge between God and the people, he empowered the masses and challenged the authority of established rabbinic structures. However, Hasidism's rapid growth bred internal divisions and clashes with traditional Judaism. Critics questioned the movement's emphasis on emotion over scripture, its loose interpretations of Jewish law, and its susceptibility to charismatic leadership, potentially bordering on idolatry, a complaint leveled occasionally at the modern mega-church movement in Evangelicalism.

Despite these controversies, the Besht's impact on Jewish life remains undeniable. He offered a compelling alternative to the austere religiosity of his time, his teachings resonating with those yearning for a more joyful and accessible path to divine connection. Yet, his legacy remains a tapestry woven with both admiration and skepticism.

We keep mentioning Jewish Law, or the Halakha. As Christians, how can we understand the Jewish understanding of what is binding on the Jewish “believer”?

Delving into these intricacies of distinctions between Torah and Halakha can offer insights into how Jews view revelation and its relationship to tradition. While we Christians revere the Old Testament, which comprises the first five books of the Hebrew Bible, our understanding differs immensely from the Jewish perspective.

The Torah, also known as the Pentateuch, stands as the cornerstone of both faiths. It's the divinely revealed narrative of creation, the covenant with Abraham, the Exodus from Egypt, and the establishment of the Israelites as a chosen people. For Christians, it forms the foundation of our understanding of God, law, and history. Trinitarians traditionally see the books of Moses as a prefiguration of the New Covenant established through Jesus Christ.

However, Jewish life encompasses another layer not present in for Christians: Halakha. Derived from the Hebrew word for "way," it's a dynamic body of Jewish law and tradition built upon interpretations of the Torah by rabbis and scholars over centuries. This “Oral Torah,” which traditionalist Jews believe was received by Moses alongside the written text, forms the basis for Halakha's development. Many New Testament scholars now recognize that Jesus was condemning this oral tradition as an extra burden. Furthermore, these scholars would argue that is tradition also sought to exclude the Gentile nations from “drawing near” to Yahweh.

Torah, the Oral Law Tradition, and the Talmud

In Judaism, the Torah is thought of as the grand charter, outlining foundational principles and narratives. Halakha, then, resembles the legal code and interpretations built upon that charter, providing practical application and specific rulings for daily life. It encompasses everything from dietary restrictions and Shabbat observance to social interactions and religious rituals. Interestingly, the Protestant (largely Presbyterian) Theonomic Reconstruction movement of the 20^th century sought to make Torah the latter, a civic code rather than the foundational revelation of God’s character and the basis for wisdom – knowing good from evil. This is now widely recognized to have been both an overreach and a misunderstanding of what Torah was meant to be.

Regardless of past ideological movements, the key difference is that for Christians, the Torah serves as a historical and theological foundation, while Halakha remains a distinct Jewish tradition not incorporated into Christian practice and possibly even condemned by Christ.

Torah, the foundational text of Judaism, lays the groundwork with its divine pronouncements and historical narratives. However, alongside this written text lies this parallel realm, the Oral Law tradition, a dynamic and evolving body of interpretations and elaborations passed down through generations. This tradition, which even within Judaism is shrouded in historical debate, is believed to contain explanations and practical applications of the Torah's principles for everyday life. While its exact content and origins remain open to discussion, the Oral Law plays a crucial role in shaping the development of Halakha, the aforementioned corpus of Jewish law and tradition.

Around 200 CE, Rabbi Judah ha-Nasi undertook the monumental task of compiling the Oral Law's vast accumulated wisdom into a written document known as the Mishnah. This six-part compendium categorized and organized diverse legal and ritualistic aspects of Jewish life, providing a standardized framework for further study and debate.

The Mishnah, however, became merely the starting point for a more intricate innovative exploration. Over centuries, rabbinic scholars across Babylonia and Palestine engaged in a vigorous dialogue, analyzing the Mishnah's pronouncements, debating opposing interpretations, and formulating specific rulings on a multitude of issues. This intellectual discourse culminated in the Talmud, a voluminous collection of commentaries and discussions encompassing diverse legal arguments, esoteric insights, and historical contexts.

The Talmud exists in two primary versions: the Babylonian Talmud, characterized by its highly codified and analytical approach, and the Jerusalem Talmud, distinguished by its more interpretive and aggadic (narrative) content. Both versions delve deeply into the intricate world of Halakha, offering diverse perspectives and nuances on Jewish law and practice. Understanding the relationship between these sources demands recognizing their distinct roles. The Torah serves as the fundamental text, outlining core principles and narratives. The Oral Law tradition builds upon this foundation, offering interpretations and practical applications. The Mishnah organizes and standardizes this accumulated wisdom, while the Talmud delves deeper into legal debates and specific rulings.

It is crucial to acknowledge that the nature and historical development of the Oral Law tradition remain contentious among Jewish scholars. Different Jewish denominations hold varying perspectives on its precise origins, authority, and relationship to the written Torah.

This intricate interplay between the Torah, Oral Law, Mishnah, and Talmud reveals a dynamic legal system continuously evolving through interpretation and debate. This should sound familiar, as it resembles our US Constitutionalism. Approaching this complex landscape necessitates appreciating the ongoing scholarly discussions and acknowledging the diverse perspectives surrounding the historical development and authority of the Oral Law tradition. This complexity makes the effectiveness more and more distant, much like the receding import of the Framers’ intentions. In any case, the graphic below describes how the Jews view the relationship between revelation and oral tradition, and appreciate this complexity in comparison to the relative simple understanding all Christians have of special revelation and the in particular the understanding Protestants have of its singular authority.

Chabad’s Rise

Returning to the Chabad movement in question, also known as Chabad-Lubavitch, this has its roots in the town of Liozna, Belarus, where it was founded in the late 18th century by Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, commonly referred to as the Alter Rebbe. This is a branch of this broader Hasidic movement, a revivalist tributary within Judaism that sought to reinvigorate religious life and spirituality among Jews.

At its core, Chabad places a strong emphasis on mystical teachings, particularly the Chassidut, which is a body of Jewish spiritual and philosophical ideas distinct from the aforementioned Halakha. Let’s look at the historical development of Chabad.

In the late 18^th Century, Chabad was founded in Belarus. Chabad's origins can be traced back to the late 18th century in Belarus, where Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, known as the Alter Rebbe, laid the foundation for the Chabad movement. He authored the Tanya, a seminal work that expounded on Chabad philosophy, emphasizing the importance of personal spiritual growth and connection to God. In the early 19th Century, after Alter Rebbe's passing, his successors continued to lead the movement. Under the guidance of the second Rebbe, Rabbi Dovber Schneuri, and subsequent leaders, Chabad began to expand its influence across Eastern Europe. Chabad Chassidim (followers) were known for their deep piety and commitment to spreading the teachings of Chabad.

In the late 1800s and early 1900s, there were challenges and persecution, as the movement faced governmental restrictions and anti-Semitic sentiments in the Russian Empire as a result from the lack of desire to assimilate which caused the Tzar much grief. However, Chabad continued to grow and thrive, particularly under the leadership of Rabbi Shmuel of Lubavitch (the fourth Rebbe), who established the Chabad headquarters in the town of Lubavitch.

The Modern Movement & Brooklyn

The 20^th century brought the Holocaust and World War II. This caused immense suffering to the Jewish people, including Chabad Chassidim. Many Chabad communities in Eastern Europe were decimated. After the war, the sixth Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, who had miraculously survived the Holocaust, faced further challenges under Soviet rule. In the 1950s, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the seventh Rebbe, assumed leadership of Chabad-Lubavitch. His charismatic leadership and vision revitalized the movement. Under his guidance, Chabad embarked on an unprecedented global outreach effort, establishing Chabad Houses and centers around the world. These centers served as hubs for Jewish education, community support, and spiritual guidance. Schneerson's leadership extended until his passing in 1994. His influence continues to shape Chabad-Lubavitch, with the movement now being led by individual Chabad shluchim (emissaries) and rabbis worldwide.

Now the movement is headquartered in the Crown Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York, for historical reasons related to Schneerson. His residence was at this location and it therefore became a central hub for the movement. During his tenure, Chabad-Lubavitch experienced unprecedented growth and outreach, with Rabbi Schneerson's influence reaching far beyond the confines of Brooklyn.

The choice of Brooklyn offered practical advantages. It provided accessibility for Chabad's leadership to engage with their global network of shluchim (emissaries) and Chassidim (followers). Additionally, the area had the necessary infrastructure, including suitable facilities for gatherings, educational institutions, and administrative offices. Crown Heights in Brooklyn had a deep-rooted Chabad presence dating back to the early 20th century, and the Rebbe's decision to remain in this neighborhood was seen as a continuation of Chabad's historical connection to the area.

Brooklyn's diverse Jewish community played a crucial role as well. Chabad aimed to reach Jews of all backgrounds and levels of observance, and being situated in Brooklyn facilitated this mission. The headquarters served as a launching point for Chabad's global outreach efforts. The establishment of Chabad Houses and centers worldwide was encouraged, and having a central hub in Brooklyn provided logistical support for these far-flung locations. The separatist, insular nature of this movement, however well-intentioned, started to lead to abuses.

Stories of Abuse

In 2019, the Times of Israel published a long report on the pervasiveness of sexual abuse of minors within the community. It focused on a Rabbi, Avrohom “Avremi” Zippel, opening up about being routinely abused as a boy, beginning in 1998, by a Tongan woman hired to care for 6 children. This continued regularly until he was 13 years of age, when he left to attend school elsewhere, and would resume when he returned home.

(https://www.timesofisrael.com/inspired-by-metoo-chabad-rabbi-breaks-20-year-silence-on-child-sexual-abuse/)

This was unheard of within Chabad, as revealing any flaws or problems to the “outside” was looked down upon, usually with a punishing harshness.

The questions that arose centered around “were these isolated incidents that needed an outlet?” or were these evidences of rampant abuse that was being covered up? In 2009, Brooklyn district attorney Charles Hynes started a program called Kol Tzedek (Voice of Justice), encouraging cooperation of the Chabad and law enforcement after long-term concerns of sexual abuse among the group became too numerous to ignore. In 2012, the movement itself instituted a SafetyKid program, which claimed to teach “children from preschool through the fourth grade what is appropriate adult behavior and what a child must reject”. In 2017, the international arm of the movement signed a proclamation calling for immediate reporting of sexual abuse. Clearly, there was a problem brewing.

Chabad has no tradition of teaching about sex and health, even from within the family. Abuse is therefore seen as normative from the perspective of the child. For the previously mentioned Zippel, he finally realized he had been abused when he saw a “Law and Order” episode about the sexual abuse of a boy by a nanny. Pop culture came to the rescue; score one for the Christian Nationalists.

Manny Waks, a survivor of abuse and advocate and founder/CEO of Kol v’Oz, an Israel-based organization for the prevention of child abuse, says in the Times article “There are countless rabbis who have been sexually abused but don’t publicly admit it.”

In 2013, Christopher Ketchum wrote in Vice of a “Child-Rape Assembly Line” among the Hasidic sects. (https://www.vice.com/en/article/qbe8bp/the-child-rape-assembly-line-0000141-v20n11?callback=in&code=YJG5ZGU5M2ITMTK5ZI0ZYMEYLTHIZTYTMGI4ZWZHYTVLOTDI&state=f7f297e793334d3fa0b661a3ca1852a6) The following passage is not for the squeamish:

On a visit to Jerusalem in 2005, Rabbi Rosenberg entered into a mikvah in one of the holiest neighborhoods in the city, Mea She'arim. "I opened a door that entered into a schvitz," he told me. "Vapors everywhere, I can barely see. My eyes adjust, and I see an old man, my age, long white beard, a holy-looking man, sitting in the vapors. On his lap, facing away from him, is a boy, maybe seven years old. And the old man is having anal sex with this boy."

Rabbi Rosenberg paused, gathered himself, and went on: "This boy was speared on the man like an animal, like a pig, and the boy was saying nothing. But on his face—fear. The old man [looked at me] without any fear, as if this was common practice. He didn't stop. I was so angry, I confronted him. He removed the boy from his penis, and I took the boy aside. I told this man, 'It's a sin before God, a mishkovzucher. What are you doing to this boy's soul? You're destroying this boy!' He had a sponge on a stick to clean his back, and he hit me across the face with it. 'How dare you interrupt me!' he said. I had heard of these things for a long time, but now I had seen."

The immediate response could be that there are isolated incidents of heinous acts everywhere. Ketchum spoke with Dr. Amy Neustein, an Orthodox (non-Hasidic) Jewish sociologist on the matter. She indicated evidence of a systemic issue, not isolated events.

An earlier report from The New York Times in 2012 revealed molestation of a mentally challenged boy in a Jewish ritual bathhouse in Brooklyn. Other abuses were reported, along with ostracization of those abused. “In Brooklyn, of the 51 molesting cases involving the ultra-Orthodox community that the district attorney’s office says it has closed since 2009, nine were dismissed because the victims backed out. Others ended with plea deals because the victims’ families were fearful.”

Harpers issued an explosive report on the problem in 2019 (https://harpers.org/archive/2019/10/secrets-and-lies-sexual-abuse-orthodox-jews/). “Ben Hirsch, the cofounder of Survivors for Justice, an organization that advocates for victims of sexual abuse in Orthodox communities, suggested that the rate of abuse could exceed 50 percent for boys within Hasidic enclaves.” The report revealed the mesirah, the “religious” reasoning behind the secrecy, “a violation of rabbinical law in which one Jew reports another for a crime to nonreligious, civil authorities.”

The Recent Event

The words of the Messiah ring true, “For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed. But whoever does what is true comes to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that his works have been carried out in God.”

This background leads us to the events of January 8^th, where a group of Chabad found themselves in a dispute related to a hidden tunnel secretly dug into the side of the historic synagogue in Crown Heights, once the residence of Schneerson. The discovery of this secret tunnel led to an emergency structural of the building which now draws thousands of visitors each year.

The tunnel was revealed to be the result of a group of extremist students secretly breaking through the walls of a vacant building behind the synagogue, creating an underground passageway that ultimately connected to the sanctuary. Efforts to repair the damage led to a standoff between those who wanted to preserve the unauthorized access and the property's management.

This dispute escalated to the point where the police were called to the scene. Video footage captured a tense confrontation, with police trying to remove individuals from the underground space, and onlookers engaging in altercations with the officers. Several arrests were made in connection with criminal mischief and trespassing.

The purpose and timing of the tunnel's construction remain unclear, but it prompted the closure of the building for a structural safety review by the city's building safety agency. The Chabad-Lubavitch community expressed deep distress over the incident and hopes to restore the sanctity and decorum of this historic place.

Pictures released from the night of the discovery of the tunnel showed a baby rocker and a stained mattress in the passageway. While the incident has enraged the Chabad community who is now calling for prompt action, those who have observed the abuse from afar wonder what these items evidence.

Gurus vs Priests and Statesmen

In the West, the two great monotheistic religions and the variously styled governments they find themselves operating in and influencing have generally eschewed gurus. In the West, we focus our two spheres on Priests and Statesmen. Why is this? Because the guru, while perhaps providing the occasional deep insight, exists outside of accountability. This is not so for the statesman nor the priest. The lack of accountability allows the guru and by extension his movement to grow in relative darkness, where evil can flourish. The Christian churches in America have found themselves ridiculed by the abuses, sins and even criminality of those allowed to exist outside any common structures. Even Christian doctrine values the shared Word, taken in common, over private and unaccountable study. “Faith comes by hearing” is not an encouragement to read the Bible aloud. People grow in wisdom chiefly together. This is true of religious and secular areas of study. Years ago, I taught myself Koine Greek in order to read the New Testament in the original language. My understanding of certain grammatical issues is far behind those who studied in community at seminary or in college/graduate school. Perhaps the insulated learning of the internet age is partially contributing to the competency crisis we are experiencing in the West, a crisis not simply limited to technical fields. The atomized practices of hyper-protestant America can lead to a similar personality fetishism.

Are we now seeing the same thing in the Jewish world?