In the film, "The Name of the Rose," Sean Connery's character is asked by his fellow monks: "Did Christ or did He not own the clothes that He wore?" The unusual question spotlights a 12th-century philosophical debate about whether truly pious men could actually own possessions, or should be satisfied with just basic sustenance and leave their focus to the purely spiritual.
Christianity has no monopoly on the separation of money and prayer. It originates in the Bible. When Joshua divided the land, the Levites, unlike the other tribes, were left without a portion. Their only inheritance was the priesthood of the Lord. In return for working in the Temple and maintaining spiritual purity, they received a living allowance from the rest of the tribes.
The allowance was probably not a big one, but it did allow them to live comfortably. Since those ancient days, however, rabbis' worldviews have shifted. Spirituality and shekels are no longer separate.
Some rabbis, like Rabbi Yoshiyahu Pinto and Rabbi Yaakov Ifergan, have discovered that the Torah provides them with a more inclusive existential solution. On one hand it allows them to lead a spiritual life, and on the other it provides them with a business model – like that of any company.
A fundamental piece of any business model is catering to some sort of human need. Restaurants, for example, cater to the population's basic need for food. Pinto and Ifergan discovered the intrinsic need of wealthy businessman for spiritual support regarding their business decisions, and they tapped into it.
Sometimes, with just a little bit of encouragement for a business decision, the rabbis would receive a healthy donation in return for their spiritual support.
In this way they created a kind of community that looks out for its members, and where the rules of the community take precedence over the law. They help each other out of trouble, even if it means not strictly abiding to the letter of the law.
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What connects the members of this community is not necessarily belief in God, or in the magical powers and wisdom of the rabbis. It's mutual assistance. The community protects itself against the laws of wider society, and for the very same reasons, sequesters itself as well.
Pinto and Ifergan have a growing number of followers. They have also accumulated significant personal wealth. Forbes magazine estimated Pinto's fortune to be NIS 75 million, whereas Ifergan is thought to have NIS 90 million. And even with these bank accounts, they are not at the top of the list of Israel's richest rabbis. Things are different today than they were in the days of the Bible.
But unlike Pinto and Ifergan, many rabbis still seek a firewall between religion and money. You won’t find these rabbis advising businessmen or presiding over deal-signing ceremonies worth millions of shekels. They usually keep a low profile, live in apartments instead of villas and settle for modest donations in return for spiritual support.
Pinto is not that fluent in the Torah. He is a young and charismatic man who knows how to use its verses well, but is not considered to be one of the greatest among his generation when it comes to command of the text. His greatness, however, lies in creating a community around him and in harnessing its members for mutual aid.
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