Rabbi Morton Cohn List of honorees Louis Rose Society Jewishsightseeing home
Writings by Rabbi Morton Cohn
-1947-
March 13, 1947—Rabbi Morton J. Cohn, "Letters to
the Editor," Southwestern Jewish Press, page 2: Mrs. Ray Solomon,
Southwestern Jewish Press, 509 Granger Building, San Diego, California: Dear
Ray: I have just finished reading the March 6 issue of the Jewish Press and I
hasten to congratulate you on a job very well done. The return to an eight-page
paper, the improved format, the new features, and especially the page devoted to
youth activities go a long way toward establishing the Press as a true community
organ. You have my warmest wishes for an even greater success in the constant
improvement of the paper. Please do not hesitate to call upon me in any way that
I can be of service. With warm personal greetings to you and yours, I am,
Cordially, Rabbi Morton J. Cohn.
-1949-
November 14, 1949, Rabbi Morton J. Cohn, "Letter to the
Editor," Southwestern Jewish Press, page 2: October 28, 1949:
Dear Mac and Julia: In behalf of the officers and Board of Directors of my
Congregation, as well as for myself, may I offer warmest congratulations as you
take over the sole ownership of the Jewish Press. Your many friends here
rejoice over your return to permanent residence in our midst and we are
confident that as publishers and as Jews you will contribute much to the welfare
and progress of the community. Please call upon me whenever I can be of service.
May your labors be crowned with a success outreaching your fondest hopes.
Faithfully yours, Rabbi Morton J. Cohn.
-1950-
April 28, 1950—{on Israel and the American Jewish
community}—Rabbi Morton J. Cohn, "Comments on State of
Israel Anniversary," Southwestern Jewish Press, page 1: As we
light the second candle on Israel's birthday cake, and recite the traditional
blessing of thanksgiving to God for having preserved us to celebrate this joyous
occasion, it is well to reflect upon Israel's achievements of the past two years
and the crucial problems which confront it in the present and the immediate
future. The astounding phenomenon of the rebirth of a people upon its ancestral
soil is almost unprecedented in history. Add to this the amazing defense of the
new nation against overwhelming numerical and military odds, while welcoming
400,000 refugees from Europe and the near east, and we must sand in awesome
admiration of the stupendous achievements of this lusty newcomer in the family
of nations. While American Jewry can congratulate itself on the part it has
played in this modern miracle of our day, let us use this second anniversary to
remind ourselves of the severe problems which threaten the welfare and perhaps
even the existence of Israel; the possibility of renewed invasion by rapidly
re-arming Arab states; the controversy over the proposed internationalization of
Jerusalem; the mounting tide of immigration and the resulting dislocations in
housing, food and employment; the desperate need of the nation for financial
help and capital investment from abroad, in order to establish a more favorable
trade balance—these are some of the crucial problems with which Israel is
struggling. We must continue to uphold the hands of our co-religionists in
Israel by sacrificial giving. As for the long-range relationship between
Israel and the Jews of America, it is now time for the American Jewish Community
to recognize that it must become religion-centered. We who live in this most
blessed of lands, the only nation to which we owe political allegiance, are Jews
by virtue of our religious and cultural tradition. Therefore, the primary
significance of the new State of Israel to us lies in the fact that we can serve
her and ourselves best by strengthening and deepening of our religious ties, by
ever more active participation in promoting the welfare of the American
Synagogue.
September 8, 1950—{on the importance of organized religion}—Rabbi Morton J. Cohn, "Rosh Hashonah
Message," Southwestern Jewish Press, pages ,1 20: As I write these
words of Rosh Hashonah greetings to the entire Jewish community, in behalf of
Congregation Beth Israel as well as myself, I am preparing to leave for a
Christian Youth camp, where I shall teach a course in Worship to young people of
High School age. Each summer shortly before Rosh Hashanah I have gone to such a
camp institute—and I, the teacher, have found myself equally the learner.
There in the mountains, surrounded by constant reminders of God's presence in
the wonders of Nature, I see the deep emotion of genuine religion in these boys
and girls of another faith. as they sing their lovely hymns with true reverence,
as they utter spontaneous prayers created in their own hears, as they listen to
their ministers—and to the rabbi—preach to them from the Scriptures, as they
attend Communion service and rededicate themselves to spiritual living, they
always impress me with the full meaning of the Psalmist: "O worship the
Lord in the beauty of holiness." God is very near these young people,
beside them and within them. This is our Holy Day season. What message should we
bear in our hearts during Rosh Hashonah and the days to follow? How can we
find certainty in a world of confusion, serenity in a world of war, faith and
confidence in a world of turmoil? The modern Jew, lonely of heart, wearing of
seeking without finding, of journeying without arriving, would do well to turn
aside from the clamor of daily life, the din of the marketplace, and find what
he seeks in the one place where it can be found—in the Synagogue, at the
fountainhead of spiritual striving and religious faith. It is my personal
conviction, born out of several decades of living and studying, that the
salvation, yes, the very survival of the Jew is predicated on a renewed loyalty
to the Synagogue. He will not be saved by fraternalism or philanthropy; he
cannot purchase survival for the price of chicken dinners and testimonials
offered at the altar of "goodwill" movements; he will not survive
through the grandiloquent gestures of civic defense agencies. It is truer than
ever before that the "Ark of the Lord will carry those who carry
it." If the history of other Jewish communities in past centuries
teaches us anything at all, it is that whenever Jews forsook their loyalty to
the Synagogue, and the religious way of life, those communities were swallowed
up by the waves of assimilation and disappeared. For Jewry without Judaism is a
body without a soul, a spiritual zombie. But where religious life was strong,
where the Synagogue towered above all else in Jewish life—that community was
healthy and happy. Let us constantly remind the secularist in our midst
that when he makes his secular activities a substitute for religion instead of a
supplement of it, he fails to reckon with the staying power of the Synagogue
—the power of religion as the prime factor in the existence of the Jewish
people! Let us make this a year of Synagogue attendance every Sabbath, a
year of Synagogue activity, Synagogue participation, Synagogue leadership. This,
dear friends, is the message and call of the New Year. It transcends all other
values inherent in our Holy Days. It is a call to a great affirmation of
religious faith and loyalty, as the answer to the forces of darkness which
plague man with uncertainty and fear. "Al tiroh mipahad pis-om," our
religion teaches us. "Be not afraid of sudden terror. Fear not the dark
veil of the future." And so I am off for camp, to refresh myself
spiritually with young people, and to prepare my soul to heed the call of the
Shofar—a call to renewed faith in God, loyalty to the Synagogue, and
confidence in the future. as we enter the New Year with prayer and
blessing, I pray that God may bless you with His richest gifts of the
spirit. May yours be a Shanah Tovah, a good year. May it be a year in
which you will open your eyes and your hearts, and see the Synagogue in all its
wondrous shining glory. May it be a year in which we walk together, like Abraham
and Isaac, into the unknown tomorrow with serene confidence and unquenchable
faith that the Guardian of Israel will sustain us as we labor in partnership
with Him to fashion a society patterned after the imperishable ideals of the
Jews.
-1951-
January 5, 1951—{on
importance of synagogues}—Rabbi Morton
J. Cohn, "Living Judaism," Southwestern Jewish Press, page
2: Through the generous cooperation of the Jewish Press the three
Rabbis of the community will prepare this column in each issue. Its purpose is
to emphasize the religious, spiritual and moral values of Judaism as they apply
to the currents of modern life and thought. Rabbis Levens and Stern will rotate
with me in this bi-weekly chat, which we hope you will find instructive and
entertaining. Of course, we invite your comments. We have chosen to call
the column "Living Judaism," for that most accurately describes it
nature. We employ the term "living" in both of its grammatical usages.
As an adjective it describes the nature of our faith—vital, vibrant, fresh,
always abreast of the needs of our daily lives. In its verbal sense, it conveys
the idea that Judaism is a faith to be lived—a cheerful, courageous,
disciplined way of life. The concept of K'dushat Ha-Chavim, the sanctification
of life, as symbolized by the Synagogue, will be uppermost in our minds and
hearts, as we come into your homes bi-weekly with the Jewish Press. Recently,
I came upon a beautiful bit of writing which I want to pass on to you as the
keynote of this column: "I am the Synagogue. I am the heart of Jewry. I
have sheltered you for more than two thousand, five hundred years. Through all
these cruel ages, swept by wrath of fire and sword, I nursed you with the word
of God, healed your wounds with a balm of faith, steadied your minds and hearts
with the vision of the Eternal. When your fathers wept by the waters of Babylon,
I came unto the world, summoned by their need. In Persia, Greece and Rome, in
the face of the howling crusaders and in the clutches of the Black Inquisition,
in the pogroms of Poland and in the Concentration Camps of the Nazis, I have
been, and by my presence brought the living waters of the Eternal to the parched
lips of your fathers. When the world derided them, I restored them.
When men cursed them, I blessed them. I am old and I am young. I am older than
the memories of the historians; and as young as the youngest child. I bring you
peace by teaching you duty. I sanctify your lives with holy seasons. I preserve
your heritage. I make the faith of the Father, the faith of the children.
Behold, a good doctrine do I give unto you; forsake it not.
February 16, 1951—{on women rabbis}—Rabbi Morton J. Cohn,
"Living Judaism," Southwestern Jewish Press, page 6: A major
controversy looms upon the horizon of Jewish life. Like a cloud no larger than a
man's hand, it threatens to grow and cast the ominous shadow of acrimonious
debate into the sacred portals of our American congregations. Recently, we read
in the Anglo-Jewish press and in Time Magazine—with consternation or
gratification depending on our point of view—that Temple Beth Israel of
Meridian, Mississippi, had elected Mrs. William Ackerman, widow of its late
Rabbi, to serve as spiritual leader of the congregation. Mrs. Ackerman (whom I
have known well for many years and whom I admire for her Jewish learning) says
she will perform all rabbinical duties until such time as the congregation
decided to elect a duly ordained Rabbi. This is not the first such appointment
in Jewish history. About 15 years ago the Liberal congregation in London,
England, named Miss Lily Montague, a world Reform leader, as spiritual leader, a
position she still occupies. One can imagine the lively arguments pro and
con regarding the validity and propriety of this revolutionary step in Jewish
life. A woman Rabbi—horrors! Is nothing sacred? Is nothing taboo from
female invasion? First it was business and professional women—executives,
lawyers, doctors—then lady welders and bus drivers and even barbers. And now
the last citadel of exclusively male supremacy has been invaded—the Rabbinate
itself! Interestingly, the Union of American Hebrew Congregations ducks
the issue as to whether this hitherto unheard-of phenomenon in American-Jewish
life has its official sanction. Dr. Maurice Eisendrath, its president,
does not commit his organization on the question of rabbinical ordination of
women; he places the issue on other grounds by saying that the Union would
"have great reservations regarding the appointment as Rabbi of any
non-ordained person, male or female." Well, I can understand that. I too
believe in an ordained rabbinate, with all the study and preparation that
ordination implies. But let's assume that my good friend Mrs. Ackerman
should actually become ordained at Hebrew Union College. Then what? Surely the
liberal-minded among us would hail it as a major milestone in democracy within
the Synagogue. Historically the female always played a decidedly secondary role
in the masculine democracy of Jewish religious life, until Liberal Judaism
emancipated the woman. Therefore, this latest phenomenon must be regarded as the
logical conclusion of the process of ritual democratization. But even
those of us who wish Mrs. Ackerman well must be aware of a new headache.
What shall we call her? Rebbetzin? No—that means a Rabbi's wife.
That appellation has no official standing—and where there is no Rabbi there
can be no Rebbitzin. So we must coin a new name. How about the feminine
form of Rabbi"? Perhaps Rabbah, or more correctly Rabsah. But
that's clumsy and unattractive. Well, let's try another angle. The root of
the word "Rabbi" is "Rav," meaning teacher or master. Thus
Rabbi means "my master." Now the feminine form of that would
be—oops! That won't do. People might misunderstand. And suppose the
female Rabbi were married—what would you call her husband? To call him
Rebbetzin would sound silly. What a dilemma. I'm licked. I give up. The Torah,
the Talmud, the Shulchan Aruuch.offer no hint nor guidance. Even the great
Maimonides is silent to my entreaties for enlightenment. And so, dear reader,
can't you see the frightful Gordion knot of perplexity that confronts American
Jewish life in this controversial development? What would you suggest? I'll be
delighted to receive your suggestion.
May 11, 1951—Rabbi Morton J. Cohn, "Living Judaism," Southwestern
Jewish Press, page 7: On Friday of this week Jews the world over will
observe the third anniversary of Israel Independence Day. Prime Minster David
Ben-Gurion will address a huge rally in Madison Square Garden; Zionist groups
across the country will hold special celebrations; synagogues will devote their
Sabbath worship service in whole or in part to this great anniversary.
Surely the state of Israel is uppermost in the minds of Jews at this time.
Our attention and energies are claimed by the annual U.J.A. campaign, the Israel
Bonds drive, and the unfortunate reoccurrence of armed conflict on the infant
nation's borders. All of us are straining to give aid to our brothers in the new
state, which is struggling heroically to maintain itself while absorbing
incoming refugees in unbelievable numbers. How can we fittingly observe
Israel's Independence Day? What can we do, beyond the usual observances to make
it significant? I would like to offer a suggestion to the Jewish women of San
Diego. Recently the National Jewish Post carried a story about a "Toys for
Israel" project carried out by a Temple Sisterhood in Montreal. Quantities
of toys were collected for the Jewish children in the refugee camps. We are so
accustomed to thinking about providing the refugees with the bare necessities of
life that we lose sight of other needs. What a glorious project it would be to
brighten the lives of bewildered youngsters with their shiny toys. When the
first shipment of toys arrived at the ma'aborot (transit camps) a writer in the
Israel press described the event: "Every camp seemed to turn into a
playground in the flash of seconds. The ladies doing the distributing were as
excited as the children when it came to operating the mechanical toys. Children
looked on wide-eyed, and unbelievingly at the life-size dolls, the teddy bears,
balls, games...One stuffed doll, sent by 'Ruth of Montreal' was given to 'Ruth
of K'slaon'; the child kissed the doll, and the smile on her face was far
broader than any I'd ever seen..." But the need is still great;
hundreds of children have never even seen a toy. can you conceive of a
lovelier way for us to add our bit of happiness to Israel's birthday. I propose
that every Jewish women's organization in town appoint delegates to form a
"Toys for Israel" committee. I make bold (without having asked them)
to offer the services of my own Temple Sisterhood to initiate this project. Let
every organization dedicate its May meeting to this mission, and make the price
of attendance one new toy to be sent to Israel's children. Thus can the Jewish
mothers of San Diego perform a labor of loving hands and warm hearts for kids
who have been deprived of many of the hoys of childhood. Thus you and I can
bring a ray of sunlight into the drabness of the transit camps." Let us
make this month of Israel Independence and of Mother's Day a period of beautiful
service in behalf of Israel's mothers and children in that brave little land to
which we are bound by enduring ties of sentiment and affection.
-1952-
April 18, 1952—Rabbi Morton J.
Cohn, "Letter to the Editor," Southwestern Jewish Press, page
2: Dear Mac: Only a sadist could set such a task. In two hundred words you want
me to answer a question
upon which many learned—and some unlearned—volumes have been written,
namely: "When is a Jew not a Jew?" or "What makes a person a
member of the Jewish Community?" In these few words I can only hint at an
answer, and hope that my opinion will be clarified in future utterances.
For many years I have believed that any one is a Jew who says he is a Jew, and
makes some sort of positive commitment to Jewish life. A favorite teacher of
mine modified this by saying that anyone is a Jew whom the environment says is a
Jew. Probably both statements contain much truth, although the latter does
rob the individual of the dignity of free choice. But perhaps free choice is not
involved. To me, the key to the answer lies in this: We are not a people or sect
or group in the ordinary sense. We are something more—we are a covenant
people, a people who chose God, and were chosen by Him, to be His witness to
mankind. To bear witness to God's Law is our responsibility, and Jewish
group-survival is meaningless in any other terms. Immediately this places
all the Jews we know on an ascending scale of values, from the lowest to the
highest, depending on the individual Jew's awareness of the Covenant and its
influence on his life-pattern. But, thinking in minimal rather than maximal
frames of reference, I'll stick to my old definition—knowing very well how
dangerous definitions are—he is a Jew who makes no effort to evade it, and
makes some commitment of allegiance to Jewish community life. He's not an ideal
Jew, but with proper guidance he may become one. If this incomplete answer to
the publisher's request is provocative of further comment, it will have served
its purpose. Jewishly yours, Rabbi Morton J. Cohn.
-2005-
September 30, 2005—{Folk
story about silly Chelmites}--Late Rabbi
Morton J. Cohn, "The Wise Men of Chelm," San Diego Jewish
Times. Editor's Note: This story (retold by Rabbi Cohn) was first printed
in the San Diego Jewish Times in 1985. How, you may ask, did Chelm come to
be built? In a lovely valley deep in the Carpathian Mountains the people
gathered and decided that it would be an ideal location for this town, which
they were confident would quickly become an intellectual "light unto the
nations" in the words of the Torah. Accordingly, they all climbed to the
top of the hill overlooking their valley and began to cut down the tall trees of
the forest. After many, many hours of hard labor the job was done; then a
problem arose: How were they going to get the logs down into the valley so that
they could build their houses? Naturally, they turned to their leading light,
Pinya the Philosopher. After deep thought, he proclaimed, "I have the
answer. Let each log be carried by ten men down into the valley, and let each
group of ten return up here for another log until the job is done." After
congratulating themselves on their sagacity they began the process. It just
happened that a Litvak (a Jew from Lithuania) happened to be passing by, and he
saw the Chelmites struggling under the weight of the heavy logs as they carried
them down the hill. "Fellow Jews, stop wasting your time and your
strength!" he called out. "You don't have to carry the logs down into
the valley. There's an easier way—why not just roll them down?" And to
prove his thesis, the Litvak went to the top of the hill, pushed a log, and set
it rolling down toward the valley. The Chelmites were amazed. They called
a town meeting to discuss the matter—and for seven days and seven nights they
thought—and thought—and thought. Finally, they came to two conclusions.
First, not only were the people of Chelm the wisest people in the world, but
also among the Litvaks there were a few Jews who attain to the wisdom of Chelm.
And second: the advice of the Litvak should be followed because it was
ridiculous to carry the logs down the hill when it was easier just to push them
and set them rolling by themselves. So the Chelmites set to work to carry out
the plan. They carried all the logs to the top of the hill—and rolled them
down again! And this is how the wise People of Chelm began to build their city,
a true citadel of human ingenuity. Because of the sheer brilliance of its
inhabitants, in a few years the fame of Chelm spread far and wide, and the town
grew rapidly. In fact, every house was occupied, and the elders of the town
wisely decided that new houses must be built. But how? Already the town
covered the entire valley and reached right up to the foot of the nearby hill,
which prevented the building of more houses. What does one do in so perplexing a
situation? So they called a town meeting; and for seven days and seven nights
they thought—and thought—and thought. At the end of that time they announced
their decision: Every inhabitant of Chelm—men, women and children—must
go to the foot of the hill and join in pushing the hill away from the city. This
would provide more room on level ground for additional houses. All of the men,
women and children of Chelm gathered at the appointed day and hour, and at a
signal from Mottel the Mayor they began pushing the hill. They pushed and pushed
and pushed, but could notice no movement of the hill. After a few hours of this
hard labor, they all decided to take off their coats and sweaters. They left
their garments in several neat heaps and returned to their efforts to move the
hill, heaving and pushing with all their strength, accompanied by their groans
and kvetches. While they were thus engaged, working together with great
fervor, a group of thieves happened to pass along the way, and seeing the heaps
of unguarded clothes, helped themselves to every last garment. All day
long until mid-afternoon the Chelmites worked and labored at the hill, until
they were weary and stopped for a brief rest. They turned around to see how far
they had moved the hill away from the town and the first thing they noticed was
that their clothes were nowhere in sight. Spontaneously the wise people of Chelm
broke into shouts of joy: "We have pushed the hill so far that we can't see
our clothes any more!" This inspired them with new vigor, and they turned
to their work of moving the hill still further from the town. Editor's
note: The late Rabbi Morton J. Cohn was the founding rabbi of Temple Emanu-El.
He had been in San Diego pulpits since 1946 and was ordained at the Hebrew Union
College in 1934 and had been awarded the degree of Doctor of Divinity. Rabbi
Cohn passed away in 1991.