The Missing Tomes: Gershom Scholem’s Wandering Talmud

The story of how Gershom Scholem's Talmud set finally found its way to the National Library of Israel

Gershom and Fania Scholem in their Jerusalem apartment

The Gershom Scholem collection at the National Library of Israel is known as the world’s most comprehensive collection of texts on Jewish mysticism, including such sub-topics as Kabbalah, Hasidism, messianic writings and Jewish magic. However, it is worth noting that Scholem did not restrict his book collecting to this field only. His library was much broader and contained books and articles in all the classical fields of Jewish studies: Biblical texts, rabbinic literature, Jewish philosophy and even some halakhic books (especially those noticeably influenced by Kabbalah). Scholem prized this section of his library and thought it should not be separated from the main part. He even addressed this point in a note titled “Regarding my library after my death”:

As regards my library after my death, the university library [today’s National Library of Israel – Ed.] should be aware that outside of my collection on Jewish mysticism there are several comprehensive units on certain topics that should remain together. . . I list here such units in which I invested great effort to assemble. [Details in English]. General Mysticism, Schelling, Meister Eckhart, Neoplatonism, Gnosis, Ancient Magic, Demonology, Witchcraft, Indian Religions, Esoteric Cults in Islam, Christian Mysticism and Christian Cults, Jewish Philosophy through the Generations, Sources and Studies on the Aggadah and Aggadic Motifs, Walter Benjamin.

Indeed, perusing the Scholem collection, one cannot help but be impressed by the wealth of these and other sub-collections, such as German literature, Kafka’s books, Jewish history, the Dead Sea Scrolls, Festschrifts and Yizkor books (memorial books to destroyed Jewish communities). The rich selection of midrashic and aggadic literature includes critical first editions, and in addition to the huge collection of books by Scholem’s friend, Walter Benjamin, the library also contains impressive studies about the famous German-Jewish intellectual. As a side note, I recall that a few years ago a professor of religion from China  who was on sabbatical at the Institute for Advanced Studies at the Hebrew University, would devote a few hours each day to sitting in the Scholem Collection and reading books on Buddhism, Hinduism, Sufism and Confucius.

On the other hand, an occasional peruser of the collection will sometimes marvel at a “basic” book or books that seem to him or her to be “missing” from the collection. Sometimes they even exclaim: “How can it be that Scholem didn’t have . . . ?

The truth is that this approach is fundamentally mistaken, for one must not assume what Scholem did or did not have in his book-filled apartment at 28 Abarbanel Street in Jerusalem’s Rehavia neighborhood based on the books which appear in the collection today. And why is that? In answer, we must consider another note Scholem wrote as an addendum to the 1965 sale agreement of his collection to the Hebrew University.

“Books my wife is permitted to keep.” (Arc 4 1599 02/22)


Books my wife is permitted to keep.

Reference books


All art and art history books


Maimonides, Moreh Nevukhim

Midrashim according to her choice

Literature in Hebrew and foreign languages, according to her choice

Books in Jewish Philosophy the Library does not need


The “wife” referred to in the note is Scholem’s second wife, Fania (Freud) Scholem (1914–1999).

Many of these books were eventually added to the Scholem Collection at the National Library. But not all. Note that the list also includes mention of a “Talmud,” and thus, Scholem’s Talmud was not in the collection at the National Library. The collection contains a different Talmud set brought up from the Library’s stacks.

Many years ago, at one of the events at the National Library held in memory of Gershom Scholem, an elderly couple approached me and introduced themselves as Jeremy Freud, Fania’s nephew and his wife Dr. Michal Zilberberg. Among the things they told me was that Scholem’s set of Talmud was located in the library of the Israeli Supreme Court! I could not understand the details of their story and was left wondering – why the Supreme Court, of all places? And when and how did the set get there? But more to the point, I decided to try to track down the books and return them to their original home—the Scholem Collection. I immediately called the Court’s chief librarian and asked her to look into the matter. Were the books in fact there? And if so, could they be transferred to the National Library in exchange for another set of Talmud? She promised to investigate the matter, but she came up emptyhanded to my deep disappointment. The physical books were nowhere to be found in the library, and a thorough check of the card catalog and inventory came up blank. Either the couple had relayed to me incorrect information, or I just did not understand what they had told me. I did not give up and consulted some of the Scholem Collection experts, but no one had any idea about it. Sadly, I decided to give up the search and forget about it.

That was . . . until a few months ago, when out of the blue I received a phone call from the Supreme Court’s current chief librarian, Talia Zonder. (I had spoken with the previous chief librarian, whom Talia had recently replaced.) She told me (without her having any prior knowledge of the above story) that Scholem’s set of Talmud is in the private chambers of one of the Supreme Court justices located in the Supreme Court building. The judge was about to retire (she would not tell me who), and would like to donate the set to the Court library. Immediately, I understood that what Fania Scholem’s nephew told me years ago had indeed been true, but just somewhat inaccurate. Indeed, Scholem’s set of Talmud was at the Court, but not in the Court’s official library, which explains the fruitless results of my search. At any rate, she continued, the Court library had no interest in keeping the set, especially since it was not in good condition and was in need of rebinding. She then asked whether the Scholem Collection would be willing to take the books!

I imagine you already know my answer! Eagerly, I filled her in on the entire story, and said that we would be delighted to receive the set, subject to the approval of Dr. Yoel Finkelman, the National Library’s Curator of Judaica (who of course immediately agreed). The next step was for the librarian to obtain the judge’s consent to donate the Talmud to the National Library. After some time, the judge agreed. At that point, I involved the Library’s Receiving Department to organize the transfer of the set of Talmud to the Library and its repair. After some more waiting, the coveted books at last arrived. Unfortunately, I then discovered that the set was incomplete, some volumes were missing. Nevertheless, it is indeed the set of Babylonian Talmud that belonged to Gershom Scholem (printed in Vilna in 1921, without the commentary of Rif [Rabbi Isaac Alfasi]), as one can see from Scholem’s stamp on the title page.

Frontispiece, Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Rosh Hashanah, Vilna, 1921

And finally, we can at last divulge the identity of the judge who donated the set…

Israeli Supreme Court Justice Elyakim Rubinstein, photo: Judiciary Authority of Israel Website

It is retired Supreme Court Justice Elyakim Rubenstein, who served as Vice President of the Supreme Court and before that as Attorney General as well as Cabinet Secretary. Rubenstein, who was apparently a close friend of Fania Scholem’s nephew, had received the set of Talmud from them as a gift, and made sure to record this fact in each and every volume.

“Donated by Dr. Michal Zilberberg and Jeremy Freud, nephew of the late Mrs. Fania Scholem”

The set is now undergoing disinfection. It will then make a few more stops—including rebinding and cataloging — after which it will reclaim its natural place among the books of the Scholem Collection. Researchers will be able to browse the pages and their margins in search of Scholem’s comments, which he famously jotted down alongside his thousands of texts and which often contain hints of links to other, related works. Perhaps yet another aspect of Scholem’s multifaceted personality (Scholem the Talmudic scholar?), will be revealed to us…

The Ramban’s Prayer Unearthed and in English for the First Time

"Guide me in your truth and fulfill me from its delights"

The Iberian Peninsula was in many ways the center of the Jewish world in the Middle Ages, leaving a sustained literary, religious and cultural legacy. Catalonia alone was home to some of the most significant figures of the period, perhaps most prominent among them being Rabbi Moshe son of Nachman, more commonly known as the Ramban or Nachmanides.

An intellectual giant whose commentaries on the Bible, the Talmud and countless other texts complemented an array of original works, the Ramban’s writings, composed in the 13th century, are widely studied and cited to this day.

The Old Jewish Quarter (El Call) in Girona. (Original photo: Georges Jansoone; CC-BY-3.0)

He was also a leading Kabbalist, a persecuted defender of his faith, and (to use a modern term), an active Zionist. In his eighth decade of life, Rabbi Moshe was banished from his home following a religious disputation and decided to move across the world to the Land of Israel, where he helped rebuild Jewish communities and scholarship decimated by the Crusades, the Mongols and the passage of time. The Rabbi’s arrival in Jerusalem in 1267 CE marked the beginning of hundreds of years of uninterrupted Jewish settlement in the city, and the synagogue he established still stands.

The Ramban Synagogue in Jerusalem’s Old City, 1968. Photo: IPPA Staff; from the Dan Hadani Archive, Pritzker Family National Photography Collection at the National Library of Israel

A famous letter written from the Land of Israel to his son in Catalonia teaches that humility and constantly maintaining composure are key to leading a good life and continual spiritual growth. This letter, known as Iggeret HaRamban appears in many modern prayer books and certainly reveals something deeply personal about the sage’s inner thoughts and worldview.

Just last year, a prayer attributed to the Ramban was printed for the first time, appearing in Dr. Idan Perez’s Sidur Catalunya (see transcription in the comments section below). Perez’s work presents the first ever printed prayer book of the Catalonian liturgy and ritual used by the Ramban and the once thriving Jewish communities of Catalonia, Valencia and Majorca, which were ultimately extinguished by the Spanish Inquisition and Expulsion over 500 years ago.

The monumental project was completed by piecing together manuscripts and other source materials from institutions across the globe. The prayer attributed to the Ramban was found in a manuscript written just after the Expulsion, which was likely used by Catalonian exiles living in Provence. It is now held in Rome’s Casanatense Library, and is available online as part of “Ktiv”, the National Library of Israel-led initiative to open digital access to all of the world’s Hebrew manuscripts.

Prayer attributed to the Ramban. Casanatense Library, Rome, Italy, Ms. 2741; available via the National Library of Israel’s Digital Collection. Click images to enlarge

According to Perez, these types of prayers – referred to as “bakashot”, or “supplications” – were quite common among Iberian Jews of the period. Catalonian communities apparently recited them after the regular daily prayers, while other communities across the peninsula would say their bakashot before prayers.

“The text’s content and style, along with the fact that the manuscript’s author prefaced it with the words ‘A Bakasha of Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman’, all seem to indicate that this bakasha was, in fact, written by the Ramban himself,” says Perez, who heads the Rare Books Department at the National Library of Israel.

Illustration of the Ramban. Publisher: Sinai, from the Folklore Research Center, Hebrew University of Jerusalem; available via the National Library of Israel Digital Collection

To the modern Hebrew speaker, the Ramban’s poetic prayer – written some eight centuries ago – is surprisingly clear. It appears here in English for the first time, with a few notes and sources added in parentheses for clarification purposes:

Please, O Lord who creates without having a creator∙

And who conceived a thought and power from potential to action, brought forth light which illuminates all of the lights from the beginning until the end, for all of the illuminations∙

The words of God are pure words (Psalms 12:7)∙

Please, with your unseen, refined and pure power, establish my thoughts in your service, in awe, in trembling and in reverence∙

You have brought to light every mystery∙

Make me wise to know your commandments, and as a hawk soars over its prey (Job 29:36), allow me to understand and guide me in the path of your commandments∙

And in the ways of repentance (teshuva) instruct me∙

Because you are a God who desires the repentance of the wicked∙

And the spirit of grace flows forth onto those who know and those who do not know, and in the attribute of your beloved ones from ancient times, bless me with sublime favor, as my absolute light∙

And this is your favor that you shall do for me∙

And may I not tremble in fear of you (Job 13:21)∙

And raise me up on the balance of grace∙

And guide me in your truth and fulfill me from its delights∙

And from their great light, enlighten me∙

And like the mountain of your inheritance (Jerusalem), bring me and plant me∙

And between two cherubs, may your word come and console me∙

And desire me and receive me∙

And may the foundation of your world establish my soul and may it be bound up in the bundle of life, the pure soul you have placed within me, and in the great all-encompassing crown, may it be included∙

Include me in your exalted attribute of goodness, with every blessing and splendor∙

Please, with these crowns, which are ten in number∙

And in them lay the secret to everything∙

May my supplication come before you∙

And may your ear be inclined to my joy∙

And may my prayer come before the sanctuary of your holiness∙

And from the good oil of the two olives and the wellspring, pour upon the seven candles of the entirely gold menorah (Zechariah 4:3)∙

And shower upon he who longs for your kindness and sees your goodness through spiritual channels from higher wellsprings and lower wellsprings (Joshua 15:19)∙

And you are the one who knows that I do not unburden my plea before you due to my righteousness, but rather by the merit of my forefathers I have based it, and by the greatness of your mercy and your humility and the memory of your thirteen attributes∙


Many thanks to Dr. Idan Perez and colleagues at the National Library of Israel and the Ezra Fleischer Institute for the Research of Hebrew Poetry in the Genizah for their expertise and assistance with the translation. This article has been published as part of Gesher L’Europa, the National Library of Israel’s initiative to share stories and connect with people, institutions and communities in Europe and beyond.

How Tishrei Became the First Month of the Hebrew Calendar

How did we come to celebrate the New Year in the fall when in the Bible it was celebrated in the spring? And what is the origin of the first month’s peculiar name?


The Hebrew month of Tishrei begins with the holiday of Rosh Hashanah – the festival of the Jewish New Year. Yet many of you will be aware that Tishrei was not actually the first month in the calendar of the ancient Hebrews chronicled in the Bible. So what of the many holidays we associate with Tishrei today? Tishrei originally had at the very least one festival—Sukkot—during which the faithful were expected to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, a feat that was considerably more challenging than the typical holiday traffic nowadays. What’s more, the ancient Hebrews didn’t call this month Tishrei.  In this article, we will learn a bit about this month, its unique name, and how it came to be the first month of the Jewish year.

According to tradition, the patriarch Abraham was commanded to sacrifice his son Isaac in the month of Tishrei. Above – The Binding of Isaac, as depicted in a copy of Sefer Evronot, a treatise on the Jewish calendar from the 18th century, the National Library of Israel collections

Let’s start with the name. As is well known, the names of the months of the Hebrew calendar derive from the Babylonian calendar, which was in Akkadian, an ancient Semitic language spoken mainly in Assyria and Babylonia. Given that the Babylonians were the leading astronomers in the region, it’s not surprising that their language had such a profound effect on the Hebrew calendar.

The month’s name—Tishrei – in fact stems from the Akkadian word tašrītu which means “beginning.” But the beginning of what?  Similar to most ancient peoples of the region, the Babylonians began counting the new year in spring, in the month of Nisan (another name of Akkadian origin). It could be that the Babylonians marked the beginning of the second half of the year with an additional festival in Tishrei—the seventh month, if one begins counting from Nisan. The Babylonian-Akkadian name also made its way into Arab dialects in the region of Mesopotamia and the Levant: the Gregorian months of October and November are called Tishrin al-Ul and Tishrin a-Thani, meaning – first and second Tishrei.

Illustration for the month of Tishrei from Tsurot Sidrei Olam, a scientific treatise from the 17th century, the National Library of Israel collections

In the Bible, it is customary to call the months of the year by their number. Therefore, when the Israelites are commanded to celebrate Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and the mysterious holiday on the first of Tishrei (“a day of sabbath rest, a sacred assembly commemorated with trumpet blasts”, Leviticus 23:24), the month is simply called the “seventh month.” However, the seventh month is also one of the only months whose local-Canaanite name appears in the Bible. 1 Kings 8 tells of the people who gathered in Jerusalem for the dedication of the Temple by King Solomon: “… at the time of the festival in the month of Ethanim, the seventh month.” The Jewish sages offered various interpretations for the meaning of the “month of Ethanim,” but it is likely that it derives simply from the beginning of the rains, when the rising waters of the rivers and streams generated a strong current (ethan/eitan means “strong” in Hebrew).

A poster inviting the public to a lecture on “The Month of Ethanim [Tishrei] and its Festivals“, 1968. “It is recommended to bring a Bible“, the Ephemera Collection at the National Library of Israel

We won’t delve into the intricacies of the theories surrounding the origin of the Tishrei holidays, though journalist and linguist Elon Gilad has discussed these at length in a number of very interesting columns (Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot) for Haaretz. Here, we will discuss the change that took place in the calendar, after which Tishrei became the first month of the Jewish year.

According to Gilad, most of the books of the Bible do not mention a festival on the first day of Tishrei. In fact, certain passages even mention other holidays which took place on or near this date. Aside from a number of commandments pertaining to the mysterious festival that appear in Leviticus and Numbers, the first mention of a festive event occurring on this date is in the Book of Ezra, which recounts the reading of the Torah on the first day of Tishrei. The sages were the first to assert this festival’s significance as the New Year, in the Mishna and Tosefta.  These writings date to around 200 CE, but it is possible that they document an earlier tradition.

[May] A New Year and its blessings begin“ – Illustrated title page for a calendar for the year 5678 (1917–1918), written by Wolf Zopnik, who was captured by the Russians and held in Siberia during WWI, the National Library of Israel collections

Thus, according to Gilad’s hypothesis, sometime during the first and second centuries CE, the Jewish sages gave a new meaning to the mystery festival described in the books of Leviticus and Numbers, according it the special status we attribute to it today. They determined that this is the anniversary of the creation of the world, and the day on which human beings are judged for their actions during the past year, and on which their fate for the coming year is determined. Gilad further speculates that the choice of the fall season for the New Year as opposed to spring, which was common throughout the region (for example, the new year in Iran is still celebrated around March), was intended to distinguish the Jewish people from the surrounding nations. We also add that the destruction of the Temple and the severing of the agricultural connection from the religious ritual likely enabled this change in the calendar.

Whatever the case, today we are able to enjoy a very festive and symbolic month, which has become especially significant in Jewish-Hebrew-Israeli culture. We’ll leave you with this Hebrew “Song for the Month of Tishrei” (lyrics and music by Datia Ben-Dor), courtesy of the cast of Parpar Nehmad, a classic Israeli children’s television show. Happy New Year to all our readers!

The Mehitza and Separation in the Age of #MeToo

Photographer Myriam Tangi on her ground-breaking photographic essay, "Mehitza: Seen by Women", which began in 2003 and spanned multiple continents

New York, 2008, photograph by Myriam Tangi

When I began my photographic essay, “Mehitza: Seen by Women” (a mehitza is the physical partition placed between men and women in a synagogue), I was well aware of being a female photographer in a Jewish sacred space and I was filled with enthusiasm. Women are only rarely permitted to examine and reveal the inner workings of a synagogue. It was revelatory to me and perhaps revolutionary to worshippers to dare to take a camera into the inner-sanctum of Jewish women’s devotion.

Morocco, 1985, photograph by Myriam Tangi

This project began in 2003, in response to an emotional shock I received when viewing a series of six photos, taken from 1982 onwards. I suddenly realized how physically distant I was from the centrality of worship, traditionally led and directed by men. In that moment, I decided to explore the female perspective – a point of view and experience unknown and, often unrecognized and undervalued by men. The aesthetic challenge was how to photograph this separation architecturally, ritually, and emotionally – a photographic essay as an artistic vision, not a documentary project. I set out to ask the question: In what ways do distance and a limited view of the central point of worship influence women within the synagogue structure, spiritual experience, and community?  How could my camera provide a window into the feelings and experiences of women standing behind the mehitza? In its essence, “Mehitza: Seen by Women” offers a new perspective and contributes to studies on religion and gender by questioning male and female territories while unveiling another layer in the complexity of contemporary Judaism.

USSR, 1985, photograph by Myriam Tangi

The project also represents a spiritual photographic journey that has been ongoing for seventeen years now and is still a work in progress. Below are a number of questions I would like to put forward which were raised after the exhibition went on display at the Museum of the Art and History of Judaism (MAHJ) in Paris and after a book was published in 2016 in Jerusalem.

Jerusalem, 1991, photograph by Myriam Tangi

First, however, I would like to clarify my position as a Jew – born in Paris, I grew up in a Sephardic and traditional family – I do not consider myself orthodox, nor reform, nor conservative, but rather a Jewish woman who follows halacha (Jewish law) while questioning preconceived notions and giving expression to my own creative vision as an artist who is deeply invested in the subject. “Mehitza” gave me the opportunity to investigate the roots of Judaism, in an attempt to reconnect to its Hebrew origins, as well as to explore the new Jewish identity being developed in Israel, all the while maintaining the centrality of the principle of Torah as a revelation (Written and Oral), the essence and heart of Judaism.

Paris, 2004, photograph by Myriam Tangi

And now, to the questions. How do we avoid extremism when considering and reconciling the eternal nature of Jewish Law and the reality of women’s place in modern society? Men must also reconsider their own place in this respect, and allow women to find a place of their own, in which they are treated fairly. This is not only a question for women, of course.

Paris, 2007, photo by Myriam Tangi

Why do men and women come to the synagogue (“the little temple”, “the gathering house”)? How do we create a place where the dualistic desires, that of God and that of the human being, meet, where we voluntarily offer the best of ourselves, echoing the essence of the divine order, for Him?

Outskirts of Paris, 2008, photograph by Myriam Tangi

Another question raised by “Mehitza”: Why were women forbidden from leading services in the time of the Temple? From a certain perspective, this is not only a question of gender since most Israelite men (aside from the Kohanim and the Levites) were forbidden from performing the priestly services as well. So what was the core reason for the barring of women from leading services in the Temple?

Outskirts of Paris, 2008, photograph by Myriam Tangi

Was it the matter of the female voice (kol isha)?

The issue of women mixing with men? (Tradition claims that the first mehitza was installed during the Second Temple era because of inappropriate behavior inside the Temple during the celebrations of Simchat Beit HaShoeiva).

Paris, 2007, photograph by Myriam Tangi

Is it that women have no need of this function in order to maintain a connection with the community? – Perhaps a lack of time, due to the demands of domestic duties and children ?

There is no prohibition on women holding Torah scrolls during menstruation, so it seems this is not a question of purity/impurity.

Paris, 2007, photograph by Myriam Tangi

Is the beit knesset (synagogue) a special place, with a different status than other gathering places such as theaters or public halls? If this is so, what is the purpose of the synagogue? Is it a place for social interaction? A place to connect with the divine? (The two are not necessarily contradictory…) What does this connection require?

Paris, 2007, photograph by Myriam Tangi

A few years into my photographic essay, it became clear that the concept of the mehitza (in order to be clearly understood) should be divided into two main aspects: the notion of separation (which is linked to the concept of kedusha – “holiness”) and the place of this separation.

New York, 2008, photograph by Myriam Tangi

The Hebrew root k-d-sh is the source of the words kedusha, kaddish (a hymn of praises to God) and kiddush (the blessing recited over wine), among others. The different variants of the root are mentioned 648 times in the Torah and 4180 times in the Zohar.

Paris, 2007, photograph by Myriam Tangi

The link between the concepts of separation and kedusha is mainly rooted in Leviticus 19:2 – Speak to the entire congregation of the children of Israel, and say to them, You shall be holy, for I, the Lord, your God, am holy” – God, through His absolute transcendence (and immanence), is separated. His “separation” is seen as an example to follow, with the goal of achieving holiness, and becoming more like Him. After all, Genesis 1:27 repeats how man was made “in the image of God”, twice: “And God created man in His image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.”

Paris, 2008, photograph by Myriam Tangi

Regarding the place of the separation: It is important to remember the basic halacha concerning the mehitza: men are forbidden from seeing women – but women are supposed to see everything. When considering the state of many synagogues since the destruction of the Second Temple, it seems evident that the second half of this halacha has not been properly implemented. For some 2000 years, these halachic instructions were disregarded.

Paris, 2008, photograph by Myriam Tangi

How can we thoroughly re-imagine the ezrat nashim, the women’s section of the synagogue, as this place is perceived by many women as a place of inequality and discrimination?

Today, more and more orthodox synagogues in both Israel and the United States separate the synagogue with a mehitza perpendicular to the axis of the heikhal and the bimah, so that the congregation’s women are hidden from the men’s view, while the women are able to see and hear the entire service – in equal proximity.

Paris, 2005, photograph by Myriam Tangi

During my exhibition at the MAHJ (which ended in January 2016), many visitors told me that because today’s men are different, due to progressive trends in modern society, we shouldn’t have any more need of a mehitza…Then, in 2017, #MeToo came along.

New York, 2008, photograph by Myriam Tangi

The effects of this movement have swept across our modern world like a tsunami, bringing necessary changes and a greater sense of “equality” between men and women – But what have we (re)discovered since #MeToo? Today’s men are perhaps not as different as we thought when it comes to questions of desire and sexual relations, which are relevant throughout the various sections and levels of society.

Jerusalem, 2012, photograph by Myriam Tangi

As a consequence, perhaps we need a solution which provides a fair and equal separation in the synagogue. The “Mehitza” project serves as a platform to rethink and renew  the question of a space in which both men and women can feel comfortable, equal, and free from distractions of a sexual nature – a place to which we come specially, to gather together for a moment in God’s holy presence.

Jerusalem, 2010, photograph by Myriam Tangi

Why not restore some equality in light of God’s will regarding kedusha (holiness)?  Modern-orthodox synagogues have begun to take on this challenge.

Jerusalem, 2010, photograph by Myriam Tangi

Judaism contains all the answers which can enable a harmonious reconciliation of both modern and eternal values when it comes to questions concerning the complementary equality of men and women.

Self-portrait, Paris, 2004, by Myriam Tangi


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