Voices from within the Orthodox fold have recently challenged established norms of Jewish life on many fronts: women in religious leadership roles, legumes and rice for Ashkenazis during Passover.
But one norm that has escaped popular scrutiny so far is the injunction against wearing leather shoes on Yom Kippur.
Rabbinic law from the Talmud delineates five prohibitions for Tisha B’Av, the day of greatest tragedy, and Yom Kippur, the day of gravest repentance. These are: eating and drinking, marital relations, applying cosmetics, bathing and wearing leather shoes. The intent is to create an experience of uncomfortable abstinence, in one case as a sign of mourning, and in the other as a method of self-purification.
And yet for the observant Jew living in the age of Nike, the ban on leather shoes has meant that on the two most solemn days of the year, we wear our most comfortable shoes to synagogue — gel-soled basketball shoes, flip-flops or Keds.
The irony is not totally lost on modern Jews. I recall my elementary schoolteachers explaining the reasoning. Leather shoes were once the most comfortable footwear, back when these rules were written. They acknowledged that we are now living in the absolute reverse situation — that now the leather shoe epitomizes podiatric discomfort. Traditional halachah, as it often does, stands firmly planted in an older order of things, in this case collapsing on itself in a way that precludes its original meaningfulness.
The issue with leather shoes is about comfort, rather than some ritual problem with leather itself. This has been demonstrated meticulously by Dr. Ari Zivotofsky of Bar-Ilan University in a 2011 article in Jewish Action magazine. He cites a wealth of legal writings, beginning with the Talmud, on shoes appropriate for Tisha B’Av and Yom Kippur.
What did the masters of the Talmud wear on Yom Kippur? They sported shoes of bamboo, reeds or palm branches, or wrapped pieces of cloth around their feet. Maimonides advised that whatever shoes are chosen, they should be flimsy enough that the wearer feels virtually barefoot while walking. And the Ba’al HaMaor, a contemporary of Maimonides, includes in the ban any shoe that is especially protective of the feet.
Although many Jewish communities continue to sidestep the sneaker contradiction, some contemporary authorities have tried to rescue the spirit of the law. Zivotofsky notes that Rabbi Yaakov Ariel of Ramat Gan, Israel, has banned any non-leather shoe that would commonly be worn day in and day out for comfort, such as sneakers or leisure footwear. Other legalists uphold the “protectiveness” approach, expanding the ban to any material that functions like leather.
Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach resolves the problem more leniently, asserting that all modern people fall under the talmudic category of istinis, roughly meaning “persnickety.” In Auerbach’s view, banning comfortable non-leather shoes on Yom Kippur would be tantamount to unnecessary cruelty.
So, as you undertake a mindful and meaningful fast this Yom Kippur, remember: Don’t judge another’s shoes until you’ve walked a mile in them.