Jewish Ethics and Gun Control: Swords, Dogs, and Stumbling Blocks

By Ronald Pies for The Jewish Magazine

“A Jew dare not live with absolute certainty, not only because certainty is the hallmark of the fanatic...but also because doubt is good for the human soul...”—Rabbi Emanuel Rackman

Most Talmudically-literate Jews know of the famous rivalry between those two eminent rabbis of the early 1st century CE, Hillel and Shammai. In matters ranging from ritual practice to foreign policy, the opposing opinions voiced by their respective schools have been debated for two millennia. It is intriguing to imagine a modern-day debate between Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai on one of the most bitterly-contested issues facing our country today: that of “gun control”. Would these two sages be able to shed light on an issue that generates such intense heat, these days? It would be a challenge, even for such luminaries.

Indeed, the term “gun control” itself is hotly contested, with some preferring the more innocuous term, “firearms regulation.” And while the image of Jews brandishing semi-automatic rifles may seem incongruous, or even repugnant, to many in the Jewish community, some American Jews see any restrictions on gun sales or possession as an existential threat to Jews and non-Jews alike.

As Rabbi Mark Katz recently observed,

“For every organization like the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism, which aggressively advocates for strict gun control, there are others like Jews for the Preservation of Firearms Ownership, who call gun control “code words for disarming innocent people.” Both camps, of course, claim that Judaism is on their side.”

Indeed, the debate is often roiled by references to Hitler’s Germany, and claims that the extermination of the Jews would have been averted, or at least attenuated, if European Jews had been well-armed. It is easy to understand the animosity that often arises between these two rival “schools”--and hard to envision a Solomonic resolution of the controversy.

As a psychiatric physician and bioethicist, I have my own views on the matter of firearms regulation, but it is not my intention here to attack or defend any one position. Rather, I want to examine some of the ethical issues raised by each side of the debate, through the lens of Talmudic and rabbinic teachings. As we’ll see, the rebbeim of the Talmud do not provide unequivocal answers to many questions in the debate over gun control, nor do our modern-day rabbis speak with one voice on this matter—no surprise there! And yet, I would suggest that rabbinic and halakhic (Jewish legal) principles can shed much-needed light on this debate, and that as Jews, we can reach some tentative conclusions. But before delving too deeply into the ancient texts, I’d like to frame both sides of the argument in very broad terms, invoking the “voices” of our contemporary opposing camps.

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Rare Second Temple Era Ritual Purity Pool Discovered in Jerusalem

The Birth of the Crock-Pot

While you may be familiar with the gloppy yet delicious Shabbat afternoon stew that is cholent, you may not know about the word's French etymology, nor the fact that we have a Jewish inventor to thank for the appliance that allows us to slowly cook our meat-and-bean-potato stew. Though you probably aren't surprised.

That inventor is Irving Naxon, whose 200 patents include none other than the forerunner of the Crock-Pot. Naxon's daughter, Lenore, has said that her father "constantly had ideas. He had the gene of figuring out how to do something."

Why figure out how to slowly heat stew? Because after learning of his shtetl-born mother's Herculean efforts to make cholent, Naxon was inspired to create a self-contained slow-heating element for home cooks.

Naxon created what he called the Naxon Beanery, a cooker named both after himself and the food he intended it for—beans. He sold it primarily to coffee shops and luncheonettes. In 1970, a rival company appropriately called Rival bought the rights to the appliance and reintroduced it to the world as the one and only Crock-Pot.

Shabbos would never smell the same.

- Jessica Young

Get Detective: Meet the Elusive, Intrepid P.I. Who Frees Chained Jewish Women

He’s the expert who specializes in finding ‘disappeared’ husbands—men who leave their wives without Jewish divorces, or hope 

By Batya Ungar-Sargon for Tablet Magazine

 

It was a sticky, overcast afternoon in April. The sky seemed to be debating, like an undecided groom, between revealing a glamorous sun and unleashing a ruinous rain. I waited in a rental car outside one of those generic American hotels on the outskirts of one of those charming Southern towns for my contact to emerge.

I spotted him as he came through the sliding doors of his hotel. From the car he was all chest-length gray beard, wafting to one side as he strode purposefully toward me, his solid build swallowed up in a black suit and white shirt. Black New Balance sneakers and a black cap completed the look. As he got closer, though, I could see that the beard was sparse on his face, revealing smooth olive skin, high cheekbones, wide-set, almond-shaped eyes almost orange in color and completely opaque.

He got in the car and beamed at me. “So, now you’re going to see what I’m up against here,” he said. “I’ve really entered the lion’s den.” He spoke English flawlessly, with a strange accent not incompatible with nativity in some English-speaking country. His Hebrew and Yiddish were equally flawless.

I drove down one street, then another. He peered alternately through his window and through the windshield. The houses we passed were set close to the street with wrap-around porches, painted in pastels. The streets were tree-lined and almost completely deserted, though it was 5:00 in the afternoon. The clouds continued to roil overhead.

“I want you to understand,” he said. “This thing is not going to get solved here and now. But you will have an understanding of what we’re doing.” He paused. I nodded eagerly, a bobbing-head dog someone accidentally placed in the driver’s seat. He seemed to have a dangerous gift of turning strangers into accomplices.

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The Last Jewish Waiter

David Manheim, a 38-year-old waiter at New York's famous Katz's Deli, hates his job. Really hates his job. And he's always wanted his own talk show. So on April 20th, he merged his only love with his only hate and launched The Last Jewish Waiter.

On TLJW Manheim chronicles his fascination with, and somewhat amusing contempt for, his customers, especially when they go against his best advice and order the iconic roast beef sandwich. But TLJW does more than insult roast beef. Part written commentary, part professional-quality videos, part photography, and part outside contributions (like a patron's cartoon mocking Manheim mocking her)—TLJW immortalizes the experience of the last Jewish waiter…without discussing what happened to all of the others.
That experience sees Manheim, as he tells the camera, "abus[ing] [his] customers as often as [he] can." He taunts one, saying, 'You can't always get what you want," and goes all-out NSFW on many others. Perhaps surprisingly, his antics are generally well received.
Lamenting his job, Manheim says, "I'll be here tomorrow, and the day after that." We sure hope so, as we need something to smile about after looking at Katz's sandwich prices.

- Jessica Young