Jewish prayer is a paradoxical pursuit: it is an individual spiritual enterprise undertaken in a communal setting. The paradox is not of our making or desire; it is inherent. To be sure, we covet communal spaces that facilitate our personal journeys, and when we are fortunate to find such places the paradox fades into insignificance. But what do we do when we are forced to choose between competing values: do we give primacy to the communal endeavor or do we prefer personal achievement? In a school setting this question might present itself when deciding whether we create prayer areas that enable large gatherings, or whether we promote more intimate spaces for smaller groups? Tailored prayer groups – clustered by age, gender, nusah (rite), speed, propensity to sing, or any other criterion – may facilitate the individual experience, yet they come at the cost of bringing people together to compromise and create community. Despite its contemporary relevance, this conundrum is not new. It has repeatedly arisen, in particular after historical upheavals which lead to widespread migration and demographic changes. Thus, for instance, with the forced conversions in Spain beginning in 1391, and more so in the wake of the expulsions from Spain (1492), Sicily (1493), and Portugal (1496), significant Jewish communities were torn from their state of origin.[1] Displaced communities found themselves in new surroundings, where they valiantly tried to retain their identity and protect their treasured customs of old. Never before had so many different Jewish communities been in such close proximity to each other. Indigenous Jewish communities welcomed the refugees and tried to assist them in settling into their new surroundings, yet locals sometimes found themselves overwhelmed by the cosmopolitan array of groups, each vying to preserve its native customs. Unsurprisingly, tensions arose between the groups, and prayer gatherings were lightning rods for simmering communal strife. In the present context, I would like to focus on one pertinent issue that was considered by jurists: Is it better to pray together despite the differences between groups, or should each group be allowed to split off so they could pray in comfortable environs.[2] In addition to religious aspects and political issues of unity, financial matters were also key: would a splintered community have the means to support its duplicated institutions, or would it be better to pool resources?   ****   Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrahi (1452 or 1454 – ca.1525) was born in Constantinople (today: İstanbul, Turkey) to a Romaniote family. In 1498 he became the chief rabbi of the Ottoman Empire. In addition to a famous super-commentary on Rashi’s commentary on the Torah, Rabbi Mizrahi wrote numerous responsa and was an acclaimed mathematician. When waves of Spanish Jewry arrived in the Constantinople, Rabbi Mizrahi was at the forefront of receiving them and helping them settle into their new surroundings.[3] Rabbi Mizrahi’s responsa were published posthumously, and the volume printed in 1561 includes a lengthy responsum regarding a split in the community and the right to administer funds that had been entrusted to the community before the breakaway. Inter alia, Rabbi Mizrahi ruled that the splitters had acted incorrectly, for they should have remained with the majority of the community. The basis of Rabbi Mizrahi’s decision was the rule that we follow the majority when making decisions, to which he added a telling line: “even if the minority are wealthier and wiser than the majority.”[4] It must be said that invoking the majority rule – a principle applied in the courtroom or legislature – is curious and innovative. The judicial rule it is not usually invoked in other contexts: a person is hardly expected to accord with the majority in all walks of life.[5] Yet Rabbi Mizrahi creatively applied the rule, suggesting the primacy of the community over the individual. Rabbi Shmuel Kalai (ca.1500-ca.1585) was a contemporary of Rabbi Mizrahi who served as rabbi in the Balkans. In his collection of responsa we find a captivating case from Ioannina (today in Greece).[6] From time immemorial, there was only one congregation in Ioannina. It was an illustrious community with pious people; everyone prayed together. As the community grew, a group of people claimed that the existing synagogue was too far for them to walk, since they lived outside the city walls. After cajoling others to join their cause, they opened a competing synagogue. Alas, the claim was disingenuous and – reported Rabbi Kalai – since then, Ioannina only knew discord. Rabbi Kalai opened his responsum by declaring that it was his practice to studiously avoid answering questions that involved communal bickering. Alas, the sister of the questioner had “forced” him to respond. He then cited his father-in-law – the rabbi of Arta, Rabbi Binyamin ben Mattityahu (ca.1475-ca.1545)[7] – who had already dealt with this case and ruled against the possibility of a split. The current split – ruled Rabbi Kalai – was, therefore, forbidden. Rabbi Kalai’s reliance on a prior decision meant that he did not deal with the issue in depth. Yet the continuation of the responsum is fascinating. Regarding the distance from the synagogue, Rabbi Kalai saw this as a valid reason to pray the evening prayer before nightfall, to pray at home, or to gather a quorum just for the evening prayer – all options which are not considered ideal according to Jewish law. In Rabbi Kalai’s estimation, compromising on one of the daily prayers was preferable to undermining the communal structure. Thus, Rabbi Kalai – like his contemporary Rabbi Mizrahi – ruled against creating a split in the community. A generation later, another rabbi in the Ottoman Empire focused on further reasons for preventing prayer group splintering. Rabbi Hayim Benveniste (1603-1673) was born in Constantinople, but served as a rabbi in Smyrna (today İzmir, Turkey). Those were heady days laden with messianic fervor, particularly in Shabbetai Tsevi’s hometown.[8] In a succinct passage in his influential legal work, Rabbi Benveniste cited earlier authorities – including Rabbis Mizrahi and Kalai – and took a stance that acknowledged the community’s right to prohibit any prayer quorums outside the synagogue. The justification for such communal control – explained Rabbi Benveniste – might be because multiple prayer gatherings could give the impression to Gentile neighbors that the Jews are too numerous. Alternatively, a breakaway quorum might negatively impact the communal coffers, as those who join the new prayer group could refuse to pay communal dues.[9]  Rabbi Benveniste also felt that separate prayer gatherings in a community contribute to divisions and fights, “and Jerusalem was only destroyed because of baseless hatred.”[10] Thus, three jurists in the Ottoman Empire – Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrahi, Rabbi Shmuel Kalai, and Rabbi Hayim Benveniste – living in regions where Jews of different ethnic origins was a constitutive part of life, all ruled against splits in the community.   ****   Other rabbinic figures did not take this tack. Indeed, two centuries earlier, Rabbi Yitshak bar Sheshet Perfet (1326-1408) – commonly known by the acronym Rivash – was asked about a communal dispute in Xàtiva, in the province of Valencia in eastern Spain. Rivash was born in Barcelona, but in 1391 he fled Spain and immigrated to Algiers.[11] The Xàtiva case can be read as a classic example of market forces determining price. A local wealthy person had bought many seats in the synagogue, and as a result of the purchase the price of the remaining seats had risen. Consequently, the wealthy man raised the rental price for the seats that he owned. Due to the high price of seating in the synagogue, a number of people had ceased attending prayer services. The community leadership sought to mend the situation by increasing supply; that is, they intended to add new seats in the synagogue by placing them in the aisles. The new places would be sold to the people who had stopped coming to services. Moreover, the community would have procured a new source of revenue. The wealthy man, however, protested the infringement on his property rights in the synagogue: the additional seating in the aisles hindered access to his seats. Rivash ruled in favor of the wealthy man: the path to his seats could not be changed and the public spaces could not be taken up by seating for other supplicants. Based on standards of property law, Rivash ruled against changes in the synagogue interior that would infringe on the wealthy man’s rights, or devalue his holdings. Yet Rivash was not insensitive to the plight of those who wanted a place to pray, so he continued by suggesting a two-pronged solution. First, the community leadership should control seat prices, rather than allowing market forces of supply and demand to determine the cost of a seat. Anyone who owns a seat that is not in use, would rent it to someone else at the fixed price that was set by the communal leadership. Second, town leaders were not permitted to prevent a breakaway quorum: “if individuals come to make for themselves a place for prayer and people arose to stop them … certainly we silence them [that is, silence those trying to stop the breakaway] with rebuke, for they prevent the masses from fulfilling a commandment, and there is no greater sin than that.”[12] In another responsum addressed to Calatayud, in the province of Zaragoza in Aragón, Spain, the Rivash confirmed the right of the minority to build their own synagogues.[13] There is no evidence to suggest that the Rivash’s two Spanish cases – Xàtiva and Calatayud – were the result of migrating communities. Nor is it apparent that the Rivash wrote his responsa as a foreigner in a foreign land.[14] It could therefore be suggested that the Rivash’s stance granting licences to split was not challenged by the steely reality of displaced communities battling to maintain their corporate identity. While we might be tempted to dismiss Rivash’s responsa on these grounds, other jurists who did experience displacement also took a similar posture, allowing minorities to form their own synagogues. Rabbi David ibn Zimra (ca.1480-1572) – widely known by the acronym Radbaz – was born in Spain and came to Jerusalem following the expulsion. In the year 1513, Radbaz moved to Cairo where he served as a rabbi. In 1553, he returned to the Holy Land, and spent his final years in Safed.[15] Radbaz could be considered a spokesperson for the position that advocated the opening of new prayer spaces even when this involved splitting the community, for his opinion is the fullest and most convincing justification for such a move.[16] Radbaz discussed the case of a community that was made up of people from different ethnic backgrounds. At a certain stage, one faction decided to separate and form their own community. The breakaway was to undertake responsibility for its own taxation and social services, in addition to praying separately. Even though Radbaz was dealing with a specific case, he explained that he was offering a lengthy and detailed analysis, because such a state of affairs was a common occurrence. He then mapped out nine legal questions that the case involved. In the present context, we are interested in Radbaz’s first question: Are the disgruntled people permitted to leave the community and pray on their own? Radbaz’s stance was clear: a split is permitted. He explained that if “an individual or a group of people have hostility or hatred or anger or a quarrel with the community – their prayer is undesirable.” Moreover, the peeved people are forbidden from praying in a space where their thoughts are burdened such that they are unable to focus on their prayer. Radbaz continued that this ruling is all the more so applicable if their ire is constant, and all the more so if their antagonism is directed towards community leaders. “If I would not be hesitant,” – wrote Radbaz, using a rhetorical device to posit a bold statement that ran against the grain of Jewish law – “I would say that it is better for him to pray alone, rather than praying in the company of people who he is uncomfortable with.” Then, with poetic creativity, Radbaz stated: People only pray in places when their hearts desire. Radbaz was recasting a talmudic adage that referred to Torah study, and linked the pursuit of learning with an individual’s autonomy.[17] Radbaz transferred the maxim from study to prayer. Radbaz explained the spiritual underpinnings of his position: “When a person looks at another person who he is comfortable with, his soul is bestirred to fully focus, and his mind broadens and his heart is joyful. And then, the spirit of God rests upon him” Radbaz likened the experience to a moment of divine communion, a prophetic encounter. Radbaz was well aware of the cost of his position: Jewish law lauded mass communal moments. Indeed, praise of the King with a small circle of like-minded people hardly compared to a resolute statement made by a throng. Radbaz explained that this lofty ideal must recede in the circumstances under discussion: “Since their hearts are divided, their praises [of God] do not ascend nicely.” In Radbaz’s eyes, a measure of unity is a prerequisite for the acceptance of prayer. Lest one think that Radbaz was in favor of small prayer quorums or that he encouraged splitting without valid cause, he quickly dismissed this notion: “Do not mistake my words to be saying that I think splitting is good – Heaven forfend! – … Rather, they must endeavor to be of one heart directed to their Father in Heaven. And if this is impossible, in that they are constantly bickering and in dispute – choose the lesser of the evils” – that is, split amicably rather than pray together in discord.   ****   We have seen five authorities who tackled the issue of splintering the community when organizing prayer spaces. This is but a small sample of an issue that has troubled scholars of Jewish law in various lands, in different eras, and though a gamut of circumstances. Three of the jurists we considered – Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrahi, Rabbi Shmuel Kalai, and Rabbi Hayim Benveniste – valiantly tried to prevent a split and to forcibly keep the community together. Two of the jurists – Rivash and Radbaz – recognized the importance of individuals finding their own comfortable spaces for prayer, even if this came at the expense of the communal endeavor. The tension expressed in these sources points to the paradoxical nature of the prayer enterprise. Ideally there would be no paradox: each supplicant would reach spiritual heights, as we gather together to pray as one. Alas, reality seldom facilitates this ideal and we are faced with a choice: Do we give primacy to the communal aspect of prayer, or do we favor the individual’s personal experience? As we have seen, there are a number of arguments to consider. The sages of the Midrash have Moses responding to Korah and to those who questioned his leadership: Regarding the ways of nations – there are many practices and many priests, and they do not all gather in the one house. But as for us – we only have one God, one Torah, one law, one alter, one high priest, one Temple.[18] The sages may have been thinking about the pantheon of deities in the Greco-Roman world. Alas, when we read this passage today, images of our fragmented communities instantly appear before our eyes. Can we really say today that we have one Torah, one law, one place of prayer? Yet if we strive to bring everyone under the one roof, we run the risk of excluding some people; perforce, we would be demanding that our constituents compromise their autonomy or their comfort. What is the right balance that we should strike in our communities, in our schools? The solution is far from obvious, and communal leaders are faced with a fine balancing act. Notwithstanding the need for decisions on the ground, at the very least discussing the considerations might further our understanding of the competing values. Such earnest discourse may contribute more than what we ultimately are forced to decide to do in our schools and communities. Bio Levi Cooper teaches at the Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies, is a rabbi in Tzur Hadassa, and is a Kreitman post-doctoral fellow at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev. Rabbi Dr. Cooper is Contributing Editor to Jewish Educational Leadership. Pullout quotes Do we give primacy to the communal endeavor or do we prefer personal achievement? Prayer gatherings were lightning rods for simmering communal strife. Town leaders were not permitted to prevent a breakaway quorum. The peeved people are forbidden from praying in a space where their thoughts are burdened such that they are unable to focus on their prayer. [1] In general, this period was marked by great mobility; see Moshe Idel, “On Mobility, Individuals and Groups: Prolegomenon for a Sociological Approach to Sixteenth-Century Kabbalah,” Kabbalah 3 (1998): 145-73; David B. Ruderman, Early Modern Jewry: A New Cultural History (Princeton, 2010), 23-55. [2] In addition to the responsa I will present below, see the responsum penned by Rabbi Asher Weiss, dated 22 Sivan 5761 (June 13, 2001); printed in Asher Weiss, “Mitsvat binyan beit ha-knesset,” Minhat asher 15, no. 16 (2016): 1-7, and presented in Jerusalem at a public lecture on February 11, 2016. See also Uri Safrai, “‘Avoda she-ba-lev’ be-kabbalat ha-mei’ah ha-shesh ‘esrei” (PhD diss., Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, 2016), 135-38. [3] On Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrahi, see The Jewish Encyclopedia (New York, 1901-1906), 8:628-31; Avraham Ovadya, Ketavim nivharim (Jerusalem, 1942-1944), 1:63-198. [4] Teshuvot she’elot … Eliya Mizrahi … (Constantinople, 1561), 148-62, no. 53, available at The National Library of Israel, http://rosetta.nli.org.il/delivery/DeliveryManagerServlet?dps_pid=IE13020788; reprinted in She[’elot] u-te[shuvot] ha-re’am (Jerusalem, 1938), 1:145-58, no. 53. An earlier attempt to publish Rabbi Mizrahi’s responsa in Adrianople in 1556 did not succeed; see http://aleph.nli.org.il:80/F/?func=direct&doc_number=000178869&local_base=MBI01. [5] By way of cheeky example: no jurist would suggest that Jews should abandon their faith in favor of the religion that currently commands the most adherents. [6] Mishptei shemu’el (Venice, 1599-1600), no. 40. About Rabbi Kalai, see Meir Benayahu, “Rabbi Shmu’el le-veit kalai,” in the Mishptei shemu’el (Jerusalem, 1989), 7-22. [7] Regarding Rabbi Binyamin ben Mattityahu, see Meir Benayahu, “Mavo,” in Binyamin Ze’ev (Jerusalem, 1989), 7-235. [8] On Rabbi Benveniste, see Moshe David Gaon, Yehudei ha-mizrah be-’Erets Yisra’el (Jerusalem, 1928-1938), 2:163-64. Rabbi Benveniste’s involvement in the Shabbetai Tsevi episode is beyond the current scope; see David Tamar, “Remizot le-tenu‘at Shabbetai Tsevi be-she[’elot] u-te[shuvot] r. Hayim Benveniste,” Sinai 72 (1973): 185-88; idem, “Mahloket r. Hayim Benveniste ve-r. Aharon Lapapa,” Tarbiz 41 (1971-1972): 411-23; 42 (1972-1973): 211; Jacob Barnai, “R. Hayim Benveniste ve-rabbanut Izmir be-tekufato,” in Yemei ha-sahar, ed. Minna Rozen (Tel Aviv, 1996), 151-91; Amit Kula, “Shabbetaiyuto shel r. H[ayim] Benveniste: ‘Iyun mehudash,” Kabbalah 17 (2008): 311-29. [9] In 1666, Rabbi Benveniste dealt with this very issue; see his responsum in Ba‘ei hayei (Salonika, 1788-1791), yoreh de‘ah, no. 219. Regarding the historical context of this responsum, see Tamar, “Remizot,” 186-87. [10] Knesset ha-gedola, vol. 1: Orah Hayim (Livorno, 1657), 20d-21a, sec. 150. [11] Regarding Rivash, see Avraham Hirshman, Rabbi Yitshak bar Sheshet (Ha-rivash): Derekh hayav u-tekufato (Jerusalem, 1956); Yitzhak Baer, A History of the Jews in Christian Spain, trans. Louis Schoffman, et al (Philadelphia, 1966), according to the index. [12] Teshuvot Ha-rav… Yitshak b[en] r[av] Sheshet (Constantinople, 1546-1547), no. 253. Rivash used the Hebrew word “midrash,” to describe the place for prayer that would be opened; possibly drawing on the term madrasa – the word for educational institution common in the Islamic world. [13] Ibid., no. 331. [14] As Hirshman notes, there is no way to determine the dates of these two responsa (Rabbi Yitshak bar Sheshet, 146-47). [15] Regarding Radbaz, see H. J. Zimmels, Rabbi David ibn abi Simra (RDbS) (Breslau, [1933]); Israel M. Goldman, The Life and Times of Rabbi David Ibn Abi Zimra (New York, 1970); Eliyahu Strauss, Toldot ha-yehudim be-Mitsrayim ve-Suriya (Jerusalem, 1944-1970), 2:458-70; Alexander Scheiber and Meir Benayahu, “Peniyat hakhmei mitsrayim el ha-radbaz ve-hakhmei tsefat lehashkit makhloket she-partsa be-kehilatam,” in Sefer Tsefat, eds. Itzhak Ben-Zvi and Meir Benayahu (Jerusalem, 1962-1963), 1:127-34; Avraham David, ‘Aliya ve-hityashvut be-’Erets Yisra’el be-mei’ah ha-16, (Jerusalem, 1993), 163-65. [16] She’elot u-teshuvot radbaz, vol. 3 (Fürth, 1781), 14c, no. 472. [17] Babylonian Talmud, Avoda Zara 19a. [18] Tanhuma, Korah, sec. 5.