Can you give your wife, or girlfriend flowers for Valentine's Day?

 In my beit knesset, speaking obligations are on a rotational basis – and it's my turn this Friday night. I thought to address a question that I found interesting: "Is a Jew supposed to observe Valentine's Day?"

Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, more than anyone else in the past generation, dealt with questions like this. He perceived Reform Judaism as an existential threat, and in so far as he is know for some of his leniencies in Jewish practice and thought, perhaps less known was the very staunch approach he took towards any semblance of Reform Judaism percolating into mainstream Orthodoxy. One such ruling struck me as particularly surprising. Traditionally, in Ashkenazi shuls, the chazan davens at the front of the shul. Often there's a little recess in the ground, to conform to the statement in Psalms, "From the depths I have called out to you." That notwithstanding, Rabbi Feinstein ruled that under no circumstances should a rabbi agree to let the chazan pray from the center of the synagogue. That should not be done, וכן לא ייעשה. Not only that, but Rabbi Feinstein avers that a rabbi should fight with all his might to prevent the board or any other illustrious synagogue member from instituting such a change or measure. Why, might you ask? Because for him, it "reeked" of Reform Judaism. It meant that the congregation was trying to democratize the shul, give women a new stature, place the chazan in the middle so that the women could hear better. The mere placement of the shtendern – or lectern – in the middle of the sanctuary was crossing the line in a way that Rabbi Feinstein deemed inviolable. But, he did make one concession to the Orthodox rabbi, "You – the rabbi of the community – do not have to lose your job because you are forced to agree to such a measure; protest, you must, but lose your job, you are not obligated to do so."

This case in point, in my humble opinion, depicts the stakes that Rabbi Feinstein felt were at play. And he rules as such in similar matters as well, again striking a harsh defense against what he saw as any infringement or encroachment on a matter that he saw as integral to the preservation of Orthodox Jewry. I would like to return to the sources to see how the Talmud presented such matters; when are we allowed to act in keeping with practices that are deemed alien to mainstream Judaism, when has the line been crossed, and when is there gray matter, or rather, gray areas where issues of these ilk seem to be more politically inspired than anything else.

The Talmud teaches in Sanhedrin that Rabbi Yehudah, in contradistinction to the other rabbis of his generation, rules that a person who is liable of the death penalty cannot be killed by sword, because it is acting in keeping with the ways of the non-Jews. Rabbi Yehudah even rules that a person should be subjected to a more painful death, because any practice of the non-Jews is not allowed to creep into Jewish values, practice and habits. The Rabbis argue that when the Torah teaches that a person should be put to death at sword point, even though the non-Jews do so as well, given that the Torah sanctions such a practice, it is accept to resort this measure of capital punishment because it is explicitly permitted by the Torah.

What we can learn from this, though, is that were something not to be sanctioned by the Torah, it would be considered a violation of Jewish mores, and would be forbidden. The one exception, being – and the Rambam and the Shulchan Aruch rule in this spirit – if there is intrinsic rationale, a logical basis at the heart of a certain practice, then even if the Torah does not sanction something, regardless, it would be considered ipso facto, acceptable because logic itself dictated it.

For example, doctors and nurses are allowed to wear certain uniforms, or garb, that distinguish themselves from other personages, because logically speaking it is important to have a delineation of role based on dress. I would assume the Shulchan Aruch would say the same of a judge's cloak; and, in Israel, every lawyer arguing before the Supreme Court has to likewise wear the black cloak. I have a friend who is a lawyer, and as a hobby he landscapes and gardens; with torn jeans by day, and ripped up shoes, sure enough when he goes before the Supreme Court he dons his flowing black cloak to accord the prestige deemed necessary before the highest court in the land. And the same could be said of anyone acting in a way that logic would dictate. In other words, to encapsulate the principle, a person is not allowed to engage in an act deemed foreign to Jewish practice, unless it is founded in rationale.

To what extent does this fear of acting in keeping with non-Jewish practices pervade our observance of Jewish life. Rabbi Feinstein rules that one can not throw a Jewish party – a Bar Mitzvah, Bat Mitzvah – or have a wedding on holidays deemed non-Jewish. One should not have a Bar Mitzvah on New Years weekend; on Thanksgiving, one should not aim to have a Jewish celebration – and ironically, both my Bar Mitzvah and my wedding date were on Thanksgiving, for the sake of honesty, both because they were considered more practical dates, given that people weren't working anyway, and would be more likely to be able to come.

To bring home the matter, then, what would be the case with Valentine's Day? To what extend does Saint Valentine – I understand there was such a person, though concede ignorance on the extent to which he embodies the modern personification of romance – have the ability to direct, or shape, the habits of modern-day Jewry, or custom? A rose, a box of chocolates, while good for the florists and confectioners, to what extent does it jibe with Jewish practice? And does it have to?! The Rambam, and the Shulchan Aruch, who copied the Rambam word for word, argues that any practice not inherently Jewish is to be considered alien to Jewish life; he ups the ante – whereas the Chinuch says that any action observed by idol worshipping nations is forbidden, the Rambam writes any action observed by non-Jews is strictly forbidden, unless it has a purpose apparent to society at large.

Now, I had an interesting Valentine's Day. I teach at a secular high school – as well as at a Chareidi school. At the Chareidi school, nobody asked me about Valentine's Day. At the secular one I was asked, alternatively, "Did you buy your wife flowers," "Did you get her chocolates?", "Did you tell her she's beautiful?" and lastly, in the most unbecoming of ways, "Are you faithful to your wife?" The last question I was asked by a female student in front of the entirety of the class.

What then is the symbolism of Valentine's Day? Other questions we did discuss in class were, "What symbolism does a wedding band convey? Why does a man have to kneel down when he proposes?" For the latter, students said the man has to show that he is subservient to his wife, that he kneels before her.

These questions all might be intriguing but on a practical level, what should a God-fearing Jew do? Does rational thought that a day be earmarked for expressing love, affection, even romance, in a way that is strictly material in nature? And how do you ascertain what the answer is?! I took the opportunity to ask the wife of a friend of mine – the family is Ethiopian and our daughter is best friends with their daughter. When I asked her and her husband if they had Valentine's Day in Ethiopia, she – her husband is not the talkative type, responded, "What Valentine's Day? – זה חוקות הגוים! – that's a non-Jewish practice!" Her response, and mind you, she is not a particularly religious woman, seemed to express a certain tinge of disdain for Western thought.

When students asked me the abovementioned questions, I told them that I saw it as a non-Jewish practice. One student, who had been religious, and attended Hartman, in a previous life, said, "But we see that Yaakov showed love to Rachel. He worked for her for seven years, and for him it was like he had worked for a matter of mere days, ימים אחדים." I found her answer particularly intelligent, and incisive.

When push comes to shove, I did not see anybody who discussed this matter per se, but my knee-jerk reaction is that it boils down to the intent one invests in the matter. The Tractate of Nazir teaches that greater is a sin for the sake of heaven, than a positive deed with malicious intent. Far be it from me to say that something so pervasive like Valentine's Day – at school there wasn't a single student who didn't have a rose in hand – in contrary to Jewish thought, but I do think that giving the matter the thought deserves can vest us with the value of understanding the dualism between Jewish belief and our place in Western society.