The term of art used here is “legally.” From the perspective of Jewish law – the relevant “legality” – there is no obligation to join or not join any organization, so that part of the question is a non-starter. Certainly, any organization has the right to determine criteria for membership, and if a Jewish organization required “Jewishness” as a prerequisite, such would be appropriate and logical. But as many “Jewish” organizations do not necessarily engage in practices or advocacy that are “Jewish” (not everyone organization of Jews is ipso facto a “Jewish organization), they could just as easily decide to have non-Jewish members as well.
   The same would apply to membership in an Orthodox synagogue. Most (if not all) Orthodox synagogues require that members be Jewish. Membership conveys certain rights and privileges that would not pertain to non-Jews, and therefore different tiers of membership would be most unwieldy and unwelcome. In theory, I suppose, a particular synagogue could allow a non-Jew to be a member, but most likely only in unique cases (a longtime resident non-Jew who is pursuing conversion). Nonetheless, even in that situation, most Orthodox synagogues would withhold membership until the conversion is completed.
  The broader question relates to the status of a person of any age who has a Jewish father but not a Jewish mother, or otherwise “feels Jewish.” In the context of this question, the person “wholeheartedly embraced Judaism…” Of course, as is well known according to traditional Jewish law, Jewish identity is transmitted through the mother, not the father. Why that is so is not as important as the fact that it is so, and such was universally accepted across the Jewish world until roughly 30 years ago.
    Every group, community or nation establishes criteria for admission to that group, community or nation. If we analogize to the United States, the tradition of matrilineal descent was the established norm for Jewishness, much like the citizenship laws in the US that require foreigners to arrive legally, establish residency, and pass a variety of naturalization exams that, parenthetically, most indigenous Americans could not pass. But such is the law, which, granted, is in flux today. No group of Americans, however well-meaning, has the right to establish its own criteria for American citizenship in defiance of the federal standards. The same pertains to Jews. No group of Jews has the right to unilaterally change the criteria for Jewishness as ordained in the Talmud and Codes. (Some citizenship codes are quite restrictive. E.g., a person who wants to become a citizen of Liechtenstein must pass seven rounds of screening culminating in the personal approval of the President. It is not lightly undertaken and is not left to feelings.)
   One might just as well ask: what if the child of two non-Jews “wholeheartedly embraced Judaism”? Would the embrace alone transform that person into a Jew? Certainly not. Jewish identity is not only a question of personal commitment but also of membership in a national entity. As such, the “nation” has to approve membership, which is done through adherence to the halachic norms and the authorized mechanisms of conversion. Bear in mind that we are not only a religion but also a nation – we are a religio-nation, in what was a new phenomenon in the world. Thus, the child of a Jewish father only remains a non-Jew in the eyes of Jewish law.
   Undoubtedly, the child of a Jewish father has the advantage – if relevant to the case – of already having an ethnic attachment to the Jewish people. That often helps the person feel more connected to the Jewish people and, in cases of true conversions (of which I have presided over many), eases the integration into full Jewish life. But can a person “wholeheartedly embrace Judaism” and reject its norms, laws, customs and criteria for membership? Notwithstanding her emotional commitment, I do not see how such is possible. The “embrace,” by definition, is far less than “wholehearted,” and it would behoove this person to join the Jewish people under the traditional guidelines.

 

Rabbi Steven Pruzansky

 

What an interesting question! And I think it is a great idea.

Jews are admonished not to follow in the ways of the heathens (Vayikra 18:3), and specifically not to follow their religious practices or their immoral lifestyles. We do not mimic their behavior, clothing or even their hairstyles, all designed to foster in us truly Jewish values, behavior and commitment.
The Rema (Rav Moshe Isserles), the great Ashkenazi sage of the 16th century, states that the prohibition not to follow the traditions and styles of non-Jews applies to “something that the idolaters observed for the sake of licentiousness,” or “for religious purposes,” but if it has some “benefit, like a doctor’s uniform,” then it is permissible (Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh Deah, 178:1).

 

In this case, the “purity ring” serves the exact opposite function of the concern of the Sages; rather than steer the wearer towards immoral conduct, it instead guides the wearer away from the immoral and towards the objective standards of modest and respectable conduct that religious people of all faiths should share.

 

Sad to say, Jews have too often been in the forefront of First Amendment expression that has accelerated a decline of moral standards in society. The Talmud (Tractate Sanhedrin 39b) contrasts two seemingly contradictory verses in the prophetic book of Yechezkel (Ezekiel): the Jewish people were criticized for “not acting according to the ordinances of the nations that surround you” (5:7) and also criticized for “acting according to the ordinances of the nations that surround you” (11:12). How can both verses be reconciled? The Talmud explains: “You didn’t behave like your refined and civilized neighbors [when you should have], but you did behave like your debauched and degenerate neighbors [when you shouldn’t have].”

 

The Torah is the source of the very morality that Christian groups are applying in order to limit the decadence that pervades society and devastates teenagers. It is the Torah that demands abstinence until marriage. It is a shame that Jews are not the ones in the vanguard of the movement for greater morality. Although a ring is not necessary to lead a moral life, and the word of the Torah should suffice by itself, the “purity ring” certainly might help someone otherwise subject to peer pressure, a consequence of the false notion that “everyone is doing it.” It could certainly help young women maintain their self-respect and their dignity that is under assault from a society that readily objectifies and exploits them and perceives abstinence as the province of provincial prudes and antiquated moralists.

 

Western society would benefit from a little more self-control and self-discipline. The “purity ring” is a simple step that indicates that the wearer dissents from the prevailing immoral norms and has chosen a different, holier path. If the ring has no overt Christian symbols, and the wearer will feel emboldened to withstand the tidal wave of decadence, debauchery and self-indulgence that threatens to engulf us, then I say: go for it!

 

And may others learn from your example.

Rabbi Steven Pruzansky

Another interesting and challenging question.

It first bears mention that Jewish law does not recognize a “seriously-committed relationship with a woman” one deeply loves and plans to marry. Marriage is marriage, and there is a prescribed formula for the Jewish marriage that creates a mutual set of obligations. I notice that no mention was even made of an “engagement,” also known as “a ring and a date.” Thus, as emotionally compelling as the relationship might be and sounds like it is, it ultimately has no official status under Torah law. Essentially, whatever inappropriate physical actions were perpetrated with the other woman, the same violations pertain to those same acts being performed with his special friend. Jewish law views both sins as identical, even if the romantics among us would disagree.
       That being said, the question remains is there an obligation under Torah law or Jewish ethics to fully reveal his sins to his beloved, down to their last seamy detail? I think not. The Rambam (Laws of Repentance, II:5,9) states that one must appease the friend he has wronged by saying he “did such and such to him” and to plead for forgiveness. But it suffices to reveal the general nature of the wrong – which our questioner herein already did – as long as the basic details reveal to the wronged party the nature of the wrong and the need for forgiveness.
It reminds me of the famous dispute between the sainted Chofetz Chaim (Rav Yisrael Kagan) and the equally sainted Rav Yisrael Salanter, ethical giants both. The Chofetz Chaim had written in his eponymous book on the laws of slander that one who disparages his friend must confess to him that he indeed slandered him, and if the victim is unaware of what was said, the slanderer must inform him.
    Rav Yisrael Salanter, asked to give his approbation to the book, refused because of this one law, saying that telling someone the substance of the slander embarrasses him even more, and we are not allowed to assuage our consciences on someone else’s account. The Chofetz Chaim refused to retract the opinion (based as it was on one opinion in the rishonim, the medieval authorities) and Rav Salanter, basing himself on another medieval authority, refused to approve the book!
    Indeed, if further details will embarrass the victim more, my mind leans to Rav Yisrael Salanter’s view. And generally, we are allowed to shade the truth to increase domestic peace and harmony, although obviously that would not include lying about persistent misconduct. Here, as long as the special friend is aware of the nature of the offense – and she is, some sexual misconduct – that should suffice, along with his genuine contrition, commitment never to stra again, and – if she agrees to marry this character – setting a date certain for their marriage.

 

Rabbi Steven Pruzansky

 

    The presence of illegal immigrants in Israel presents a most delicate and vexing issue. Emotionally, it is difficult to turn away any person who flees persecution and suffering, as we are quite mindful of our own recent history and the doors that were closed to Jews who wanted to flee Europe. The situation is exacerbated because these refugees are primarily Christians who are fleeing from Muslim persecutors, and ironically seeking safe haven with Jews.
     Rationally, though, we recognize that every nation must place limits on the number of foreigners who wish to reside there. If such is true of the largest countries in the world, including the United States, it is certainly true of small Israel. Illegal immigrants currently number in the low hundreds of thousands – not significant in real terms but most substantial in relative terms. In a country with approximately six million Jews, and over a million Arabs, the character and culture of the Jewish state will be diluted once a critical mass of non-Jews is allowed to permanently reside there. If the gates are completely open, Israel can be overrun with another million or more foreigners – non-Jews who do not share the values and destiny of the Jewish people, and the Jewish State will begin to evaporate.
    Obviously, the Torah recognizes limitations on a non-Jews’ right to live in the land of Israel. First and foremost, only gerei toshav (literally, resident aliens) – those who formally accept the seven Noachide laws – are allowed to traverse the land of Israel, much less live there. But the numbers have to be monitored so the foreign influences do not predominate. And that is the problem today, along with the fact that we no longer formally accept gerei toshav.
    Rav Shlomo Aviner, the Rav of Bet El and one of the great rabbinical leaders in Israel today, notes that most (not all) of the illegal immigrants are law-abiding and have come to Israel to improve their lives. That they do – despite all the threats and problems in Israel – is a tribute to the remarkable character of the State of Israel. But the primary responsibility of Israel has to be to Jews, not non-Jews. Israel is in the process of gathering all Jewish exiles, including us. They will need jobs, homes, and infrastructure. It is simply not possible for Israel to become the world’s haven; it lacks both the physical space and the material resources. He concludes: “We must distinguish between individual morality and communal morality. It is impossible to run a country based on emotions. Everything must be carefully analyzed.”
     Therein lies the critical distinction between the Jewish experience and these illegal immigrants. Jewish refugees often sought temporary refuge in friendly countries (like Shanghai, China, declared an international free zone during the Holocaust) but permanent residence in countries where we would be welcomed, and legal residents. We are obligated to offer temporary refuge to any person, to assist him in his time of need. But the emphasis is on “temporary.” The Torah obligates us to assist non-Jews – their poor, their sick, their homeless – in order to set them again on sound footing. But we are certainly not obligated to provide a permanent solution to an international crisis, a “solution” that will surely undermine the viability of the world’s only Jewish state. To channel Justice Robert Jackson, the Torah (like the US Constitution) is not a suicide pact. Nations can operate in their own interests in order to preserve their viability.
    An illegal immigrant should have no expectation of remaining in the country that he has infiltrated. The reference in the Torah to the “strangers among us” relates primarily to those in the land when we arrived, and not necessarily to foreigners who came later. Some did, and all are to be treated humanely, but the notion that illegal immigrants have a moral claim on the country to which they emigrated is novel. It is part of the new American ethos that “illegal immigrants” are not really “illegal” but just “undocumented.”  But they are more than “undocumented;” they carry no “documents” because, unlike millions of others trying to come to America but are obeying its laws and waiting their turn, they chose to break the law and breach the borders of the country.
    The same applies to Israel’s illegal immigrants. The Vietnamese boat people who were admitted in the late 1970s by PM Menachem Begin were admitted because of their desperate plight and their relatively small numbers. The new illegal immigrants are far different in scale, and not all are political refugees. Any nation that has porous borders will soon cease to be a nation, and Israel’s margin is much smaller than most other countries. What is required is an international solution that provides a permanent home to these unfortunates. Otherwise, massive illegal immigration will be among the frightening enemies Israel has to overcome in the next two decades.
    Temporary refuge – yes. Permanent home – no.  Clearly, the Torah, which delimits the very residence of non-Jews in the land of Israel, endorses the deportation of illegal immigrants, young and old, who would threaten the existence and welfare of the State. Do all have to be deported? Certainly not. But the number of people that need to be deported must be determined by the government which is mainly responsible for the lives and well-being of its citizens. That number will certainly be informed by the humanitarian impulse that characterizes the Jewish personality. As Rav Aviner wrote: “Although we have a great desire to help humanity, our primary obligation is to strengthen ourselves here, and then we can bring a blessing to humanity.”
   A good part of that blessing should be the concept of universal human rights and dignity, so that human beings are not forced to flee the evil that threatens them in their native lands, and a permanent end to the reign of the tyrants who torment millions across the globe.
   

    Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, the times for major lifecycle events in Judaism are usually fixed. The brit milah, absent illness or unusual circumstance relating to the Shabbat and a Caesarean birth, occurs on the eighth day after birth; a funeral takes places as soon as possible after death, and almost always within a day or so.
    I say “unfortunately” in this context because the range of emotions to be experienced by the family is extreme – from great joy to great sadness in just a few hours. However, I say “fortunately” also because such is life, and the capacity to fill life with happy occasions tempers even the saddest moments. I vividly recall an acquaintance of mine who, when his first son was born, immediately called his father to share with him the birth of the latter’s first grandson. As soon as he hung up the phone, the grandfather suffered a heart attack and died. He was buried the next day. The brit of the child took place in the house of mourning as the shiv’ah was concluding. The baby was named for his late grandfather.
    It is not only improper to delay the brit – or the funeral; it is also unnecessary. Life always provides its moments of consolation over time – but sometimes immediately. If given the opportunity to celebrate life, we should always embrace it.  That pays honor to the deceased as well as re-affirms life.

-          Rabbi Steven Pruzansky

My heart breaks at the pain and anguish you have experienced on a daily basis for such a long time. It is truly a test of character, of love and commitment, and of inner strength. It reminds one of the old (secular) marriage vow to "honor and cherish as long as we both shall live." It is telling that, in its modern incarnation, there are some who substitute "as long as we both shall love." That is not our ethic.

 

Jewish law is clear that a marriage ends only through the death of one party or divorce; there is no intermediate stage of married but not married. Certainly, one should seek emotional solace and support from friends and family, and a network of loved ones is critical to your own emotional well-being. But such a relationship with a man can lead to compromising situations and depreciate the exclusivity of your marital commitment.

 

The ordeal you are experiencing is likely the greatest moral test of your life, and refraining from sin during such trials ultimately defines our essence. While I cannot presume to speak for the Almighty - whose mercy is infinite and Whose judgment accounts for the stresses of exigent circumstances - His law, that guides our lives in good times and bad times, is a beacon of hope and solace especially in times of despair.

 

Your love and concern for your husband will pay dividends in both this world and the next. I pray that Hashem envelope you in His canopy of peace and consolation soon.

 

 

Rabbi Steven Pruzansky