(This answer, necessarily brief and sketchy, is based upon the CCAR responsum no. 5757.1, available in Reform Responsa for the Twenty-First Century (New York: CCAR Press, 2010), vol. 1, pp. 347-356. See that responsum for a fuller discussion, along with citation of halakhic sources.)

 

The victim of sexual harassment may – or may not - have valid reasons not to report that harassment to the police. But Jewish law is not one of those reasons. To answer your question precisely, Jewish law does not “trump” civil law in criminal matters. When a Jew commits a crime, there is no halakhic prohibition against reporting that act to the authorities, especially in a democratic society where Jews enjoy equality and the full rights of citizenship.

 

The relevant principle here is dina d’malkhuta dina, “the law of the state is valid law.” According to that principle, which occurs several times in the Talmud, Jewish law recognizes the halakhic validity of a wide range of actions taken by non-Jewish legal authorities in the sphere of civil, criminal, and monetary law. Now this recognition has its limits; not every act of non-Jewish authorities is accepted as valid under the halakhah. Our tradition does not accept the right of the civil government to intervene in matters that pertain exclusively to matter os isur v’heter, Jewish ritual law. And even in non-ritual (“civil”) matters, the halakhah accepts the validity of the law of the state – dina d’malkhuta – only when it is truly “law,” that is, when it falls within the confines of legitimate state authority. State authority is “legitimate” when it serves ends that are traditionally recognized as part of government’s proper function: for example, laws that levy taxes, that provide for the public welfare, that regulate property, contracts, and business activity, and so forth. So long as these laws apply equally to all citizens and draw no unfair distinctions among them, they are regarded as valid under the halakhah, simply because political communities are entitled to legislate in these areas.

 

One of the spheres of legitimate governmental authority is that of criminal conduct. All states are empowered – indeed, they are obliged – to protect their people against violations of their persons and property. Laws that define and punish the offense of sexual harassment clearly and obviously come under this rubric. They are proper expressions of legitimate state authority, and for that reason they are regarded as valid under Jewish law.

 

One occasionally will hear, in objection to the above, the argument that Jewish law prohibits us from surrendering a fellow Jew to the jurisdiction of Gentile courts. Such a prohibition, if it exists in theory, cannot seriously be said to apply to the legal system of a state in which we Jews enjoy equal rights and full citizenship. The law courts of such a country are not “Gentile” courts; they are our courts, belonging to us no less than to anyone else. When we freely accept this citizenship and participate equally with our fellow citizens in the making of the laws, we can hardly claim that we are somehow exempt from the enforcement of those laws or that they apply to everybody but the Jews. Such a claim is absurd, even outrageous, to the point that it constitutes a chilul hashem, a profanation of God’s holy name. So long as it is legitimate in its authority and equitable in its application, the laws of the state – including the laws concerning sexual harassment – are obligatory upon us just as they are obligatory upon all the other citizens of the state.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Short answer: don’t do it.

Look at it this way: by selling tzitzit to a Messianic Jew, you would not be helping him to fulfill a mitzvah. Rather, you would be aiding him in the commission of – at least – two sins (aveirot).

The first of these is apostasy, the abandonment of Judaism for another religion. Jews, as you are well aware, tend to disagree about many things. But one thing we all seem to agree on is that a religion centered upon the figure of Jesus of Nazareth is not Judaism but Christianity. The Messianics, of course, will deny this, arguing that their creed is a legitimate version of Jewish belief. But that’s where we diverge from them. This is one of our red lines, an act of communal self-definition, a boundary that over the last two thousand years has distinguished Jews from Christians. The Messianics do not respect that boundary. But we should.

The second transgression is g’neivat da`at, often translated as “deceptive behavior” or even “false advertising.” Messianic Jews may be quite sincere in thinking that Jesus-worship is a legitimate Jewish act. But precisely because we deny this assertion so completely and fundamentally, we must refute it at every appropriate opportunity. And we ought not do anything that helps them persuade others that one can be a good Jew and a Christian at one and the same time.

For a more complete argument on this question, see the Reform responsum (rabbinical opinion) no. 5754.1, “Selling Ritual Objects to Jews for Jesus,” in Teshuvot for the Nineties (New York: CCAR Press, 1997), pp. 143-146.

 

 

 

 

First, we should note that Jewish law solidly supports the right of workers to form unions or other trade associations in order to protect their economic interests. The Talmud (Bava Batra 8b-9a) affirms that the members of a community (b’neyha`ir) are empowered to adopt regulations concerning wages, prices, business competition, and the like. The passage also makes clear that the term “members of a community” applies to members of a particular trade group.The medieval commentators and halakhic authorities cite these statements as authoritative. And contemporary halakhic scholars have explicitly extended these provisions to labor unions, that is, to associations of workers as well as artisans and merchants. Both Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Hakohen Kook and Rabbi BenzionOuziel, who served as chief rabbis of EretzYisrael during the early and mid-20th century, saw labor unionization as a matter of simple justice for workers, an indispensable tool in enabling them to achieve decent wages, working conditions, and economic security. My own Reform movement, including the Central Conference of American Rabbis, has gone on record numerous times over the years in support of the right of workers to organize.

 

For a detailed discussion of these and other sources, see the latest collection of Reform responsa, Reform Responsa for the Twenty-First Century (New York: CCAR, 2010), vol. 2, pp. 345-354).

 

All of this implies that Jewish tradition endorses the right of workers to employ sanctions in pursuit of their legitimate economic goals. These sanctions include the right to strike, particularly the conclusion of a contract period (although some sources would seem to permit strikes even during the period of a contract, particularly when inflation and other worsening economic conditions render the contract’s specific terms meaningless).

 

It should be clear, therefore, that Jewish law does not place exclusive blame for the adverse economic effects of a strike upon the shoulders of unions. When workers go on strike, they are utilizing a power that is guaranteed to them by our sources. On the other hand, the tradition also acknowledges that these effects can be “paralyzing” at times. Many of the authorities over the centuries have urged that labor disputes be brought before a beit din – we might call this a board of arbitration – to be adjudicated fairly, in the interests of all. If such impartial and trusted tribunals existed in our society, we could conceivably bring a just and speedy end to work stoppages. In the absence of such institutions, though, there is no question that Jewish tradition permits workers – no less than it permits employers – the power to organize in the protection of their economic interests.

 

 

I’m afraid I can’t give you the Jewish view on this question, because there will be more than one “Jewish view.” The answer requires that we balance a number of competing concerns, and since different people will balance those concerns in different ways, their conclusions will vary.

 

But I can give you an example of how one group of rabbis worked to formulate an answer to this very question. I am referring to the Responsa Committee of the Central Conference of American Rabbis (CCAR), the association of Reform Rabbis. In 1999, the committee was asked about a congregation’s policy to require certain immunizations before children would be allowed to attend the congregational school. Some parents, who regarded immunization as excessively risky, refused to have their children immunized and challenged the policy. The congregation wanted to know whether its policy was “correct and justifiable according to Jewish tradition.”

 

In its responsum (opinion; teshuvah), the committee answered “yes.” In arguing for its conclusion, the responsum makes several points. First, Jewish law defines the practice of medicine as a mitzvah, an act that enables us to fulfill the obligation of pikuach nefesh (the preservation of human life), which our tradition regards as perhaps the greatest mitzvah of all. Second, immunization has become accepted the world over as an integral and vital element in the practice of medicine. As with any other medical procedure, there are indeed risks involved with immunization. But the responsum found that: a) these risks are far outweighed by the benefits that immunization provides; b) the scientific community has established effective programs to supervise vaccine safety; and c) by refusing to immunize their children, parents endanger not only the health of those children but of other members of the community who remain susceptible to the disease even after they have been immunized. For all these reasons, the responsum concluded that a congregation or school is well within its rights to adopt a compulsory immunization policy.

 

Third, the responsum insists upon the value of following scientific procedures in questions of this nature. Scientists, as we know, are not perfect, and the conclusions drawn by science at any particular stage of history may well be overturned on the basis of further research. But that’s just it: the scientific community derives knowledge through research, a discipline that tests the findings of individual researchers and helps uncover and correct mistakes. When the overwhelming consensus in the scientific community holds that immunization prevents deadly diseases and that the risks of immunization are either nonexistent or minimal, that consensus is worthy of our confidence.

 

For a more expansive discussion of all these points, along with the traditional texts upon which the conclusion is based, please see Reform Responsa for the Twenty-First Century (New York: CCAR, 2010), vol. 1, no. 5759.10, pp. 107=120.

 

 

Jewish tradition would permit embryo reduction in the situation you describe. This is because, as you note, “Judaism takes a relatively more lenient position” on abortion than do some other religious traditions. But just how lenient that position is has been the subject of a long dispute among the halakhic (i.e., Jewish legal) authorities. Broadly speaking, these authorities have been willing to permit therapeutic abortions on the basis of either of two conflicting theories that justify the destruction of the fetus.

 

1. The first theory holds that the fetus may be aborted when its birth would pose a mortal or other grave danger to the mother’s life. This theory is based upon the legal doctrine of the “pursuer” (rodef) who endangers the life of another individual. Like other legal systems, Jewish law teaches that in such cases the “pursuer” must be stopped, even at the cost of his life, from threatening the life of his victim. According to this first theory, the fetus is defined as a “pursuer” and the abortion is permitted.

 

2. The second theory proceeds from the fact that, under Jewish law, the fetus is not a nefesh, that is, a full-fledged legal person who enjoys equal status with all other members of the community. Under this theory, an abortion is permissible precisely because its mother enjoys a higher legal and moral status. Halakhic authorities who adhere to this theory concerning the fetus and abortion – and this includes some Orthodox rabbis as well as most liberal rabbis – will likely be prepared to approve of abortion in a wider range of cases than those (primarily Orthodox) rabbis who favor theory #1.

With respect to your question, rabbis who support both theories have said “yes” to the procedure of fetal reduction.

 

a. The late Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach (d. 1995) is reported to have permitted fetal reduction in at least two cases (quadruplets and sextuplets) where the physicians judged that not all of the embryos would survive birth. Rabbi Auerbach based his permit upon the doctrine of the “pursuer”: since the embryos posed a mortal danger to each other, selective reduction was permissible in order to save some of them (A. S. Avraham, Sefer Nishmat Avraham, vol. 5 [1997], p. 234).

 

b. The late Rabbi Haim David Halevy (d. 1998), the chief Sefardic rabbi of Tel Aviv-Yafo, permitted fetal reduction on the grounds that the fetus is not a nefesh: the destruction of the fetus is not considered “murder” in Jewish law, so that abortion and fetal reduction are permissible for sufficient cause, even if that cause does not amount to mortal danger (Sefer Assya, vol. 47-48, 1989).

 

Mark Washofsky

 

 

  

The first level is the legal one: you ask “can this marriage be annulled?” Since you submitted your question to this forum, I assume you want to know how Jewish law would answer it. And, as a matter of fact, Jewish law (halakhah) does recognize impotence and male sterility as potential grounds for divorce (see Shulchan Arukh, Even Ha`ezer 154:6-7). The application of these rules, as you might expect, is a very technical matter, and you would be well-advised, should you choose to follow this path and seek a Jewish divorce, to consult a knowledgeable and sympathetic rabbi for assistance. I say “divorce” rather than “annulment,” because the question of marriage annulment (hafka`at kidushin) is quite contested within the rabbinical community. Most Orthodox rabbis will tell you that, although the Talmud and numerous post-Talmudic authorities speak of the power of Jewish courts to annul marriages under certain circumstances, rabbis today do not enjoy this power. Many liberal rabbis will disagree.

The second level in your question is the moral one. Did your husband knowingly deceive you about his impotence? If so, he clearly acted in bad faith. Marriage should always be based upon open and honest communication between the partners. If your husband knew of his impotence – which is hardly an insignificant matter – and chose to hide that fact from you, then he has wronged you, and you have a right to be angry and to demand relief. (Of course, his version of the story may well differ from yours.)

The third level is what I’d call the personal or interpersonal one. After all, you ask: “What is the reason for marriage anyway, if not to have children?” That’s a very good question, and it admits of various answers; having children is an important reason for marriage, but it’s not the only one. I would suggest – since I’m a rabbi and a professional buttinsky – that you consider speaking to a counselor, either as a couple or as an individual. A good counselor, rabbinical or otherwise, would want to explore with you the reasons why you married this man, despite the obvious problems of communication between the two of you. Given that impotence is a medically treatable condition, and given that fertility technologies exist that could enable you to become parents, the counselor might ask you to consider why you believe that ending the marriage is the best option. This does not mean, of course, that you are wrong to want a divorce, that you are wrong to be angry, or that your husband is blameless in this matter. It is rather to suggest that the issues here extend beyond the boundaries of legal or moral judgment and that, before you make your decision, you have thought carefully and prayerfully about those issues.

  

You’re right that food is a central element in “Jewish culture and ritual.” But then, the same can be said for other cultural traditions. And while some say that “Jewish cuisine” (especially the Eastern European variety familiar to many American Jews) is fatty, starchy, caloric, and what-not, this doesn’t have to be the case. Real Jewish cuisine is as varied and as interesting and as potentially nutritious as any other. Take a look at Tina Wasserman’s Entrée to Judaism: A Culinary Exploration of the Jewish Diaspora (URJ Press, 2009) if you don’t believe me. There is no reason why Jews cannot eat “Jewish” and “healthy” at the same time. All it takes is some sekhel (intelligence; common sense), some planning, some will power, and a deeper appreciation of what “Jewish culture and ritual” really do require of us.

 

Still, there are some strong arguments pointing in the other direction. For one thing, the Orthodox get enforces and reinforces traditional gender roles that, as a Reform Jew, you are likely to find discriminatory. Under Biblical law, while the husband is empowered to divorce the wife, the reverse is not true. He issues the divorce to her; she, on the other hand, cannot divorce him. This imbalance of power has led to much injustice and suffering over the centuries as many wives remained legally bound to marriages when their husbands either could not or would not release them by issuing a get. Rabbis have struggled valiantly to remedy these problems, but their efforts (at least in the Orthodox community) have met with only partial success. You might decide that you do not wish to participate in a process that can lead to such painful and frankly unjust results. In addition, the Orthodox divorce process can be (though it doesn’t have to be) slow-moving and cumbersome. This, too, can be a source of much pain and injustice as well as of inconvenience: why should people be forced to wait so long for a get when their marriages have effectively ended and they are simply trying to rebuild their personal lives?

 

There are, in fact, non-Orthodox alternatives to an Orthodox get. The Conservative movement has its own get process, and a Reform rabbi can conduct a “ritual of separation” that, while not formally a get, marks the end of a marriage. These alternatives avoid the sorts of injustice that we have been speaking about, but remember: Orthodox authorities do not accept them as valid Jewish divorce. Whether either of them is appropriate or sufficient for you is a question you will want to discuss with your own rabbi(s).

 

The traditional Talmudic mindset, upon confronting these differing scales of priorities, might seek to resolve them into one coherent system. It might be better, though, not to try. What Maimonides may be telling us with all these differing approaches is that the Jewish tradition on tzedakah is complex. There are too many deserving people and causes to imagine that we can come up with a one-size-fits-all approach to giving. The world, moreover, has changed. For example, if we take Maimonides literally, we can never give to national or international causes (“the poor of other towns”) before we have taken care of the poor of our own locale. Yet the world today is a much smaller place than it was in ancient and medieval times; our “community” of concern extends far beyond our city limits. To what extent does this “community” include non-specifically-Jewish causes? What Maimonides has to say about that issue is in some ways surprisingly progressive, but it may not be relevant to our social and political situation today. And what do we do about those rules that set gender-based priorities or priorities based in ritual status? Such rules stand in sharp contradiction with the value systems by which most of us, happily, live today.

 

I’d prefer to leave Maimonides as he is, offering several different and conflicting orders of priorities. This state of contradiction might be confusing, but it helps us keep in mind some basic truths: namely, that Jewish tradition does not always speak with a single voice; that different solutions are advanced at different stages throughout history, each one responding to the perceived needs and values of its time; and that the ultimate decision on the allocation of tzedakah, while it should be guided and influenced by the teachings of our sacred texts, cannot be determined by the texts alone. That decision, rather, must be made by us, working together in community. And we must take responsibility for that decision.

The Israeli rabbis acted in accordance with an ancient practice mentioned in the Mishnah, the authoritative codification of Jewish law that was edited around the year 200 C.E. The text, found in the Mishnah’s tractate Ta`anit 1:5 (the word ta`anit literally means “a fast”), specifies that if the seasonal rains do not come to the land of Israel by the first of the month of Kislev, “the beit din (the rabbinical court) decrees three public fasts.” These fasts are from sunup to sundown.  More severe fasts are decreed in the event the drought continues beyond this point. November 18 was 11 Kislev on the Jewish calendar.

The “religious doctrine” behind this practice, of course, is that droughts can be seen as divine punishment for the sins of the community. This fast, like the more severe fasts on Tisha B`av and Yom Kippur, are aimed at atoning for those sins so that God will send the desperately needed rain.  Many of us, for good reason, no longer accept this doctrine in its literal form. We do not accept the idea that the natural universe works in accordance with human morality. Simply put: droughts, earthquakes, and volcanoes happen because they happen and not because we cause them by our evil behavior. On the other hand, there can be great moral and symbolic value in using natural calamities as moments to spur reflection and introspection. Besides, given what we’re learning about climate change, who is to say that our actions on this earth don’t contribute in some significant way to drought? Perhaps it’s not a bad idea to use the absence of rainfall – which ought to occur by this time of the year in Israel – as an opportunity to consider the effects of human activity upon the natural environment in general and upon climate in particular.

It could just be, in other words, that the Rabbis were on to something.

If the money was acquired illegally, then the answer is certainly “no”: it isn’t the donor’s money to give, and by accepting it, the rabbi or congregation is participating in that donor’s act of theft.

Suppose, however, that the money is, as you say, “very badly needed.” Perhaps it is a matter of life and death; does that fact change the equation? Well, yes and no (how’s that for a gutsy answer?). On the one hand, situations that constitute true emergencies are often governed by emergency rules. Saving life (pikuach nefesh) takes priority over almost every other mitzvah or Jewish religious duty. Therefore, we could make a case for using the ill-gotten money to respond to whatever clear and present danger we happen to face. On the other hand, one is not “permitted” to use the property of another in order to save one’s own life. That is, the property does not become legally yours by the mere fact that you face an emergency. Practically speaking, this means that if you do use someone else’s property in order to save your life, you have to compensate the owner after the emergency has passed. If the "emergency" is not a matter of life and death, though, it's hard to see how an individual or community could properly accept the stolen money in the first place.

In Jewish law, we would ask whether the miners’ pact has the status of a vow (neder) or an oath (shevu`ah). If so, then they would have to undertake a formal legal process to cancel or annul the promise. This would require that a court (beit din) find some valid reason why the promise should not be enforced. This valid reason usually takes the form of “regret” - charatah - that is, the person who made the promise says with sincerity that “had I only known that thus-and-such would be the case, I never would have made the promise.” We could argue that this applies in our case: had the miners thoroughly understood their situation, many of them may not have entered into the agreement.

On the other hand, they did make the promise, a promise that binds them to each other, and if some of them decide not to honor it, they may well be causing harm to their fellow miners. Our tradition places a great value upon living up to the promises we make. As we read in Psalms 15:4, the person who receives God’s blessing is “the one who keeps his oath, even to his own disadvantage.”

It is difficult for any of us to stand in judgment of persons who have experienced what these miners have. But they really should try to honor the pact that they made.
 

The discussion over this question goes all the way back to the ancient Rabbis. Granted that we are forbidden to injure other people, are we permitted to cause physical damage (chavalah) to ourselves? If so, for what reasons? (M. Bava Kama 8:5, B. Bava Kama 91a-b). The decision, as worked out in the traditional halakhic sources, is that we are forbidden to do so only if the act is performed in an attitude of contempt for the body and when undertaken for harmful or pointless ends. Cosmetic surgery falls squarely in the middle of this debate. Is it “contemptible”? If not, is it “harmful” or “pointless”? As you can imagine, Jewish scholars are divided over this issue, and the answer that any one of them would give you probably has a lot to do with the reason(s) for which a particular procedure is undertaken. Generally speaking – and there will be exceptions to this general rule – most will have little problem with reconstructive surgery, since that can be justified as part of our response to disease. Cosmetic surgery that is elected for the purpose of physical enhancement, however, is a much more difficult issue. To the extent that the surgery can be justified on serious psychological or emotional grounds (however that term is to be defined), we can say that Jewish tradition is more likely to approve of it. The response will be much more hesitant, however, if the procedure is to be undertaken simply because “it makes the person feel better.” In that case, Jewish teaching would likely want us to think carefully about why we are dissatisfied with our body image and why we are willing to undergo what may be very expensive and involved surgeries in order to “enhance” ourselves. It would have us consider, in other words, how we define the idea of physical beauty and ask ourselves very carefully whether we truly honor our bodies – and their Creator – when we seek to “improve” upon them in this fashion.

The question, in other words, is one of fact: does the law discriminate unnecessarily? Is it unjust? Or is it a necessary and proper measure undertaken to protect the public safety, a claim made by the state of Arizona and vigorously contested by opponents of the law? This factual question should be the focus of Jews who are concerned about social justice.

Some rabbis, particularly those on the traditionalist end of the Jewish religious spectrum, would raise very strong objections to this request on Jewish legal (halakhic) grounds. Many of those halakhic authorities who approve of in vitro fertilization (or, for that matter, of artificial insemination) restrict their approval to cases where the semen donor is the woman’s husband. These rabbis would presumably be reluctant to grant approval to the creation of a single-mother family. True, one could argue that the woman in this case is trying to fulfill the commandment of procreation (“be fruitful and multiply”- Genesis 1:28). The traditional understanding of that verse, however, holds that the obligation applies specifically to males and not to females. Thus, while the semen donor might be fulfilling an obligation in this case - that is, if he’s Jewish - it could be argued that the woman herself fulfills no mitzvah by having a child in this manner.

It’s vital to recognize, though, that not all rabbis agree with this reasoning. Rabbis who represent the more “liberal” wings of the Jewish religious spectrum are more likely to interpret the mitzvah of procreation differently, namely that it applies to women as well as to men. In addition, we tend to recognize today that one’s desire to build a family need not depend upon one’s ability to find a suitable spouse. To put this differently, we are much more accepting of diverse sorts of families, so that many of us no longer take a negative view of the phenomenon of single-mother households. Our concern would probably be more focused upon the woman’s readiness - psychologically, emotionally, and in all other personal and social respects - to take on the challenge of raising a child on her own. If she is, then we are much less likely than ever before to teach her that Jewish law somehow forbids her to build a Jewish family and to bring Jewish children into the world.
 

First of all, the law concerning asking forgiveness doesn’t apply only to Yom Kippur. We should seek to reconcile with others whenever we feel we have wronged them, at whatever time of the year. Yom Kippur may be a good time to think about these things; by setting a sort of deadline, we are encouraged to get down to the business of teshuvah (repentance) and not to put it off till later. By that token, though, we should seek forgiveness throughout the year and not wait until Yom Kippur to think about it and to act.

Second, we are required to seek forgiveness from anyone against whom we have sinned. Some Jews might think that our moral responsibility extends only to those within the Jewish community. If so, this would make it theoretically impossible to sin against a person who is not Jewish. Don’t believe it. The best and the most sensitive Jewish thinkers of all denominations teach that we are obligated to treat all human beings with respect and dignity. To sin against any person, of whatever faith, community, or national origin, is quite simply a sin. And we should seek their forgiveness for that sin.

This is a very complex question. The answer depends largely upon how one defines "the" Jewish view on abortion (or any other subject for that matter). Frequently, we have to speak of Jewish views rather than of a single correct answer. And even if we agree that "the" Jewish view regarding abortion is the one offered by halakhah (traditional Jewish law), the fact is that the halakhah is not of one voice on this issue.

 

Even so, with all this in mind, there are some things we can say with confidence.

 

1. Jewish law does not define abortion as "murder." This is because the fetus is not defined as a nefesh, a full legal person. (The fetus is certainly a human organism, and we might even call it a "human being," depending upon how we define the word "being." But that is different than calling it a person, which is a legal, rather than a biological designation.)

 

2. Jewish law requires that an abortion be performed in cases when the birth of the child would endanger the life of the mother.

 

3. Some Jewish legal authorities justify this abortion on the grounds that the fetus is a "pursuer" attempting to kill the mother. In such cases of "pursuit," the law often justifies the sacrifice of the pursuer in order to save the life of his/her intended victim.

 

4. Other Jewish legal authorities reject this analogy. The fetus is not a "pursuer," because it cannot form intent and because its act of "pursuit" is simply the natural process of birth. If abortion is necessary to save the mother, they justify it on the grounds that the fetus is not a nefesh and that the mother, who is a full legal person, therefore takes precedence over its life.

 

5. Many recent authorities - and I include some estimable Orthodox rabbis in this group - learn from this that, precisely because the fetus is not a nefesh, abortion may be justified for purposes of protecting the mother's health as well as her life. And "health" can include emotional and psychological health along with her physical well-being. Others, including most (but not all) contemporary Orthodox authorities, take a more stringent view and restrict abortion to cases where the mother's life is in danger.

 

6. Even according to the more lenient view described in the last paragraph, Jewish law does not sanction abortion "on demand," that is, without sufficient cause. But just what constitutes "sufficient cause" is, as we have seen, a matter of deep controversy and disagreement. No choice for abortion should be made in a cavalier manner, but an abortion may be justifiable in a wide variety of circumstances.

 

As a result of this controversy and disagreement, most Reform rabbis oppose any effort by the government and its police forces to restrict a woman's right to decide in favor of abortion. Not because her decision is always "right," but because she should not be prevented from arriving at a choice that is, quite possibly, morally justifiable. To deny her that right is to interfere with her moral, and quite possibly religious freedom.

 

 

Your question indicates that someone has told you that, as a convert, you are "less than a Jew."

 

On its face, this statement is absolutely incorrect. The Talmud (B. Yevamot 47b) declares that once an individual has completed the conversion process "he is considered yisrael - a Jew - in all respects." You have nothing to be ashamed of; your Jewishness is as "Jewish" as that of those who were born with that status. Indeed, as Maimonides wrote in a famous responsum, the ger (convert) in some ways enjoys an even more exalted Jewish status: "if we (Jews by birth) trace our ancestry back to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, you can trace yours back to the One who spoke created the world."

 

Our tradition teaches that all of us - Jews by birth and Jews by choice alike - stood at Sinai and said "yes" to the Torah and to God's covenant. In a legal sense, your conversion process - Brit Milah, Mikveh, Beit Din - is a symbolic reenactment of the process that our ancestors went through before they received the Torah (B. Keritot 9a). Legally, then, as well as spiritually, you are just as "Jewish" as any other Jew.

 

This doesn't mean that you won't encounter difficulties with some Jews who are prejudiced with respect to converts. You will; indeed, you already have. But that's all it is - prejudice, an all-too-human weakness. The best response you can make to it is to do exactly what you're doing: to identify and to live fully as a Jew.

 

You are not "less than a Jew"... neither according to Jewish law, nor in the eyes of your family.