Lot: a tragic yet enigmatic figure?

It is understandable that, in Torah portions containing key events such as the founding covenants of our nation and God’s command for Yitzchak to be sacrificed, characters peripheral to the primary Patriarchal plot will struggle to hold the attention of most readers. One such supporting role in recent parashiyot is that of Lot, the unfortunate nephew of Avraham.

The popular view, which arises from Rashi’s presentation of accompanying midrashic material, perceives Lot as a redundant and even obstructive third-wheel in the Abrahamic juggernaut – a burden on Avram and Sarai as they traipse through treacherous territories facing various trials and tribulations from menacing monarchs.

However another understanding of the role of Lot emerges from the analysis of a number of other commentators. Judaism Reclaimed explores the position of the Radak and Netziv, for example, who portray Lot in a more positive light as primary student and heir apparent of Avram’s venture.

From the Torah’s first mention of Avram and Sarai’s divinely-ordained odyssey, we are informed of “the souls which they made in Haran” – as Rashi explains: “Avram converted the men and Sarai the women”. However the verse mentions Lot here as well seemingly implying that he too played a role.

When Avram and Lot’s shepherds quarrel, they separate on good terms and travel in their own directions. Lot’s decision to relocate to “sinful and wicked” Sodom is portrayed in a negative light by Rashi, who accuses him of prioritizing his portfolios over his spiritual welfare. Lot’s conduct in Sodom however, does not clearly point to a man who is betraying his Abrahamic roots.

Rather than focus on financial gain, Lot appears in yesterday’s portion as having pursued a leadership role as a judge who could perhaps re-educate and set a positive example for the sinful Sodomites. When strangers appear at the gates of the city, Lot takes a courageous moral stand, persuading them to stay in his home despite the clear and obvious dangers involved.

Lot of course is a deeply flawed hero, as the continuation of the story makes apparent. The fact that he is willing to cast out his daughters to the frenzied mob in order to save the guests demonstrates – as the Maharal points out – that he is only superficially mimicking the acts of his teacher, Avraham, without effectively internalizing what kindness and love for others really entails. Perhaps the aspiring kiruv-rabbi bit off more than he could chew by aspiring to single-handedly realign the moral compass of Sin City? Either way, his appalling actions show the biblical reader why, while he may have been deserving of being saved from Sodom, Lot was not worthy of being a building block of the Chosen Nation.

Avraham, however, does not seem to have been aware of the severe shortcomings of his prime student. When God informs him that Sodom and the five towns are set for imminent destruction Avraham is dumbfounded. Despite God having made it clear that these towns are thoroughly evil, Avraham seems inexplicably convinced that a righteous remnant remains that can positively influence the city’s morality. After all, his loyal student had – several years earlier – left him to set up the first Aish/Chabad house in Sodom: Surely there must be 50, 45, 40, 30, 20, 10 local residents who had been positively swayed by his efforts?!

In a pattern that would be repeated with Yishmael and Eisav, Avraham’s loyalty to his student and nephew leads him to grasp in vain at the hope that Lot is sufficiently righteous to continue his path. Only when God’s hints become increasingly clear and impossible to ignore, Avraham is forced to accept the reality of Lot’s failure and the Torah proceeds to the creation of the next generation of Avraham and Sarah’s family as the continuation of their covenant and teachings.

First posted to Facebook 17 November 2024. For comments and discussion, click here.

Can God change His mind?

In a popular post last month, this group explored a suggestion (advanced by the Seforno and developed by Rabbi S. R. Hirsch) that God’s initially “universal” plan for the world was recalibrated and amended to seek out a single “Chosen Nation” which would receive and transmit His Torah. While that post addressed the issue from the perspective of Choseness, the very idea of God appearing to change His mind and resort to Plan B raises thorny theological problems.

Judaism Reclaimed highlights Rav Hirsch’s approach to tackling this difficulty. Focusing on a close grammatical reading of the relevant biblical phrase, he argues that none of these amendments represented a 'change of God's mind', but rather a tailoring of the divine plan in response to human conduct.

“And God regretted (vayinachem) that He had made man upon the earth, and He became grieved in His heart.” (Bereshit 6:6)

Crucially the Torah employs the active form of the verb "vayinachem" rather than the reflexive form of the verb "vayitnachem", which would have implied that God changed himself. This usage supports the idea that the element of change was caused by a factor — the exercise of human free will — that was inherently external to God rather than being intrinsic to His original plan.

The word vayinachem appears again in response to Israel’s repentance and Moshe’s prayer in the immediate aftermath of the Golden Calf:

“God reconsidered (vayinachem) the evil He had said He would do to His people.” (Shemot 32:14)

This can be seen in contrast to the word vayitnachem – which the Torah itself tells us cannot be applied to God:

“God is not a man that He should lie, nor is He a mortal that He should change His mind (veyitnecham).” (Bemidbar 23:19)

Interestingly, while Rav Hirsch in this instance steadfastly rejects the literal implication of the Torah’s text, he nevertheless makes it clear that he opposes the position advocated for by Rambam which seeks to reinterpret and explain any biblical terms which appear to impute physicality to God.

“Scholars have philosophised about these expressions [anthropomorphism], in order to keep us far from ascribing to God material features. This gives rise, however, to the danger that the Personality of God will become increasingly blurred and indistinct to our perception. Had that been the Torah’s intention it could easily have avoided such expressions … Belief in the Personality of God is more important than the speculations of those who reject the attribution of material features to God.”

Elsewhere Rav Hirsch explained further how: “the maturest mind of the philosopher knows no more about the essence of God than the simple mind of the child”.

As Judaism Reclaimed proceeds to analyse in a subsequent chapter, Rav Hirsch’s position comes very close to that of earlier rabbinic authorities who took biblical descriptions of God at face value. Marc Shapiro, in The Limits of Orthodox Theology, invests great effort to collect and present rabbinic statements which, taken superficially, reflect belief in a physical deity. While he sees medieval rabbinic commentator, Moshe Taku, as the “most significant" example of rabbinic corporealism, leading scholar of medival rabbinic mysticism, Joseph Dan begs to differ, writing that:

"He [R’ Taku] insists on the literal acceptance of the prophets' descriptions of their visions as well as the anthropomorphic references to God in talmudic-midrashic literature. He does not do so because of his belief in the literal veracity of these descriptions; he only insists that they represent the maximum that can be conveyed concerning God's essence and appearance, and that any further inquiry cannot lead to valid conclusions. God chose to reveal to us in the scriptures whatever is found in them: man should be satisfied with that, and ask no more questions. It is not that Rabbi Moses Taku believed in an anthropomorphic God; most probably, he did not.”

Having addressed claims of rabbinic belief in a physical deity, Judaism Reclaimed then proceeds to demonstrate, however, that none of this would be likely to impress Rambam, who states with equal force that any attempt to worship or connect “without knowledge” to God such as by attributing physical features to Him:

“does not in true reality mention or think about God. For that thing which is in his imagination and which he mentions is his mouth does not correspond to any being at all and has merely been invented by his imagination”. (Moreh Nevuchim 3:51)

Since, for Rambam, connection to God is an absolute reality and achieved primarily by means of the intellect, the quality and existence of such a connection is directly affected by the correctness of a person’s intellectual perception of God. He cannot accept, therefore, the notion that one should just accept the biblical text at face value. Instead biblical indications about the incorporeality of God combined with a powerful rabbinic tradition serve as signposts to scholars seeking to maximise their understanding of and relationship with God.

Find out more at www.TalmudReclaimed.com.

First posted on Facebook 10 November 2024. For comments and discussion, click here.

Chance or guided providence?

As I flitted through the reporting of Al Jazeera, BBC and the Tehran Times last week, one repeated theme I noticed in the anti-Israel media was the attempt to downplay the significance of Israel’s achievement in its “lucky” killing of Yihyeh Sinwar. But while it seems true that Sinwar’s demise did not involve the same degree of intelligence and planning as that of others such as Nasrallah, does it automatically follow that it should just be attributed to good luck?

On what will be a particularly poignant Simchat Torahin a few days’ time, we will read the final poetic portion of the Torah in which God is depicted as “rochev shamayim - Rider of the heavens”. This cryptic description is expounded by Rambam towards the end of the first section of Moreh Nevuchim, where he sees it as providing an important insight into the nature of the relationship between God and the physical world. Not only does “rochev” denote that God is separate from the world and not a force within it (a statement which powerfully rejects any notions of pantheism/panentheism), but it also indicates that God controls and moves the world just like a rider who “makes the beast of burden move and go where he wishes”.

This second aspect of “rochev” got me wondering if we could take the rider metaphor one step further. Some brief research on forums of horse-riding enthusiasts confirmed my suspicion that the way in which riders guide their horses can be extremely subtle – barely detectable to the casual observer:

“Someone recently asked me an interesting question: “Can my horse read my thoughts?” This person went on to describe the extraordinary bond he has with his Arabian horse, and his belief that the horse knows how he feels and where he wants to go without being cued. What appears to be a telepathic connection develops from experience and sensitivity and emerges when the horse and rider are working together in harmony with a common mind and purpose.”

What does this all mean for our understanding of hashgacha– the way in which God is perceived to manage and govern His world?

Judaism Reclaimed dedicates long chapters to an exploration of Rambam’s view of the subject. On the one hand, Rambam’s worldview sees God as having a constant will with which He established unchanging rules of nature. Certainly, those approaching Maimonidean thought from the academic perspective tend to downplay any possibility for miraculous or providential interference with the natural order. Rambam himself comments on a Mishnah in Avot:

“They (the sages) did not believe in the constant renewal of God’s will, but at the beginning of creation (God) put the nature of things into the world, both the way in which things should act regularly – this is ‘nature’ – or the abnormal manner in which they should act rarely – this is a ‘miracle’. All is equal.”

But does this tell the whole story?

As David Hartman pointed out in his Maimonides: Torah and Philosophic Quest, once it has been stated that God used His knowledge of ‘future’ necessity in order to build miracles into the natural world from its origin, it makes no difference, from a strictly logical perspective, whether one admits to one or a thousand such miracles.

The Moreh Nevuchim also contains several intriguing comments which suggest that Rambam’s position on providence may be more complex than is commonly thought. First, in 1:35, Rambam states that “the character of His governance … the ‘how’ of His providence are truly the secrets of the Torah”. Later, at the peak of the famous palace parable, Rambam describes the highest category of those who seek God – the prophets in the king’s inner chamber – as turning their intellects “to know His governance of them in whatever way is possible”.

In his Iggeret Techiyat HaMeitim, Rambam explicitly considers the historical fate of the Jewish nation to be providential:

“…we believe that the blessings which come from obedience [to God] and the suffering from disobedience, for this nation, become a sign and a wonder”.

Returning to our opening question, to what extent should Sinwar’s death – along with a number of other events from the past year – be attributed to good or bad fortune?

Drawing upon the Torah’s horse-riding metaphor, at times it may be impossible to detect any guidance or direction from the rider – yet when one examines the horse’s entire journey around the race track or obstacle course it will be abundantly clear that it could not have achieved what it did unaided.

So too at times with our national fate. It may be possible to explain away each isolated event via natural cause and effect. But, taking a step back to appreciate the broader – sometimes historical – perspective, the series of events that we have experienced over the past year(s) and indeed throughout Jewish history appear far too unusual to be attributed to natural phenomena alone.

I am reminded now of an Israeli spy series “Tehran” that I watched a couple of years ago. At the time I thought that the show was well written and put together – my only complaint was that the final episode in each season just seemed way too far-fetched. Too removed from reality. Today the show’s drama and unexpected twists and turns cannot even begin to compete with what we have been witnessing on the news cycles.

We continue to pray to the Rochev Shamayim for the protection and success of our soldiers and swift return of all our hostages as we await the final dramatic episodes of the festive season.

First posted on Facebook 20 October 2024. For comments and discussion, click here.

Reclaimed reviewed

 I'm very grateful to Yosef Lindell for his recent incisive review of Talmud Reclaimed in the Jewish Press. The review focuses primarily on the opening third of the book.

Link to Yosef's review is here.

For comments and discussion of this post on Facebook,click here.

Repentance: to change our behaviour or ideas?

With Yom Kippur fast approaching in the midst of war and upheaval, it has been unusually challenging to concentrate my thoughts on the traditional seasonal discussion points such as judgement and repentance. This post is a brief attempt at to correct this oversight!

While for many, the term “repentance” is associated with the somewhat narrow yet laudable process of identifying one’s shortfalls from the previous year and attempting to repair them (seeking forgiveness in the process from anyone whom one has hurt), Rambam’s Laws of Teshuvah sees it far more broadly. Barely two chapters of this work on repentance focus on what I refer to as “micro-teshuvah”, while other chapters proceed to explore matters of free-will, necessary beliefs and the World to Come.

Particularly notable for me is the final chapter, which elaborates eloquently upon the notion of serving God out of love rather than for an ulterior motive. A notion which Rambam considers to represent the apex of divine worship in Judaism.

What emerges, it seems, is a concept of “macro-teshuva” which directs us not merely to examine our specific deeds, but also to develop and focus upon our ultimate religious ideals. The sort of person we aspire to be if circumstances so permitted. Not only our day-to-day actions but also our religious, moral and spiritual aspirations would appear to be an important part of our religious personality and relationship with God.

But to what extent does repentance even for specific sins require one to repair one’s thoughts?

An early teaching in Hilchot Teshuva relates that complete repentance is known to have been achieved if one has been placed in an identical situation with the same temptation – and this time withstood the ability to sin. This appearing to show that one now has gained the requisite self-discipline that one previously lacked.

However, as my friend Eitan Kastner recently pointed out to me, certain sins may also require a change of thought and attitude as well as simple self-restraint.

In his Shemonah Perakim, Rambam notes an apparent aggadic contradiction on this subject. On the one hand there is a Talmudic statement that “even if certain commandments had not been written in the Torah, we could legitimately claim that they ought to have been”, which presumes that we are able to discern reasons and spirit for the mitzvot. This is contrasted with the teaching that “One should not say that he does not wish for non-kosher food [etc]; rather, he should say, I would like to partake of it but my Father in Heaven has forbidden it to me”. Rambam shows how mitzvot which he labels mefursamot (widespread) – i.e. those which are commonly legislated in society (e.g. not to steal, murder…) – are understood to be in accordance with the Torah’s broader spirit and we would therefore expect to be prohibited. By contrast, mitzvot which have bear no clearly apparent reason (chukkim) such as prohibitions against certain foods and clothing mixtures are observed out of obedience to God’s word.

What emerges from here is that even the desire for the sort of sins which are considered to be inherently immoral is a fault and a matter than one should seek to educate oneself to amend. This being the case, would it be correct to argue that the ultimate form of repentance for such sins would not simply be a matter of self-control, however admirable, but a process of re-education too?

I would like to take this opportunity to wish readers a Shana Tova – a year of blessings, peace and better news. And hope that you will forgive me if anything that I have written has offended.

For comments and discussion of this post on Facebook, click here.

Is the concept of a 'chosen nation' inherently unfair?

Membership of any kind of elite club or select society is often designed to boost the status and egos of those fortunate enough to possess it - while leaving those excluded peering curiously and sometimes even enviously over their shoulder. When it comes to the elite club established by God, such inbuilt inequality can often prompt pointed and difficult questions:

Why did God desire and establish such a two-tiered system in which the apparently privileged “Chosen Nation” enjoys such a significant hereditary advantage over their unchosen counterparts?

Judaism Reclaimed addresses this question on the basis of Seforno’s commentary to a verse (32:7) in yesterday’s Torah reading – as developed by Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch. Seforno, like other commentators, understands parashat Ha’azinu to represent a poetic progression through human history as seen from God’s perspective.

In Seforno’s telling, God’s initial and ideal plan was for all of humanity to join together as a single society to serve God and implement a thriving moral and spiritual society. As explained by Rav Hirsch, it was only the repeated failures – such as those of the generations of the flood and tower of Babel – which necessitated a recalibration of the divine plan. This was because, while a single cohesive society could, in theory, unite more effectively to further God’s will, at the same time this also created a commensurate potential for evil to be spread quickly across human society.

When God promised, in the aftermath of the flood, that He would never again bring about worldwide destruction, this led to the splintering of human society into different countries, cultures and languages. From this point, evil could be more easily isolated – as seen in the instance of Sodom – but so too would the effective implementation of God’s moral and spiritual teachings be isolated to specific worthy communities.

The opening chapter of Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi’s Kuzari develops the idea that, for God’s purpose in creation to be realised, a broadly righteous and morally functioning society needed to be established which could receive God’s teachings and then successfully transmit it throughout the generations – to its own descendants and also, eventually to the entire humanity. The Kuzari relates that, in the 20 generations between Adam and Avraham, there was a steady supply of righteous individuals who taught this new mission with which humanity had been charged. However, these individuals were unable to influence the world around them by spreading this message and building a society based upon its values.

In subsequent chapters, Judaism Reclaimed continues to develop this idea of the nature and role of the Chosen Nation – including a teaching of the Rambam that the spiritual achievements of the Avot led to such a powerful providential overflow that it was even able to guide the fortunes of their descendants. Ultimately, as is also demonstrated, membership of the Chosen Nation is not solely a privilege but, in reality, a double-edged sword. The heightened providential focus which facilitates our ability to carry God’s torch and be a light unto the nations also means that, when we fall short, this attracts more immediate and intense divine correction.

Finally, the more universalist approach of Rav Hirsch, Rambam and the Seforno also informs their interpretations of prophecies which concern the messianic era. Having recognised that the humanity’s ideal is for the entire world to join to serve God, these commentators emphasise the prophecies which see all of humanity unite to serve God.

For comments and discussion of this post on Facebook, click here.

Reasons for mitzvot: the hidden and revealed

In one particularly mysterious verse from yesterday’s Torah reading we are told “The hidden matters are for Hashem our God, and the revealed matters are for us and our children…”. Yet the identity of these “hidden matters” is not revealed to us!

Needless to say, the commentaries step into the breaching to offer a range of suggestions. One that tends to be overlooked, however, is that of Ralbag who understands the verse to be addressing the rationales and reasons behind mitzvot – some of which we are aware and other which remain “hidden” and beyond our comprehension. In keeping with this analysis, Ralbag’s Torah commentary highlights “benefits” rather than stating “reasons” for the commandments.

It can be argued that Rambam adopts a very similar approach towards reasons for mitzvot. On the one hand he appears to provide comprehensive practical reasons for mitzvot which fulfil the functions of establishing a functioning moral society that directs its members towards religious and spiritual accomplishment. Yet at the same time he also adds emphatically at the conclusion of these reasons that “We only appreciate the justice of some of His commandments...what is hidden from us...is much more considerable than what is manifest”.

Talmud Reclaimed explores an additional fascinating dimension of Rambam’s approach to offering reasons for mitzvot.

In the third section of Moreh Nevuchim, Rambam undertakes a comprehensive study of ta’amei hamitzvot – the extent to which we can propose reasons for divine commandments. Addressing the broader question of the extent to which we can expect mitzvot to impart positive benefits, he cites two apparently contradictory midrashic positions. The first, found in the Talmud Yerushalmi, expounds a verse in Devarim:

“The matter is not empty for you” – if it is [i.e. seems] empty then it is [on account of] you. For you have not adequately delved into the Torah.”

Rambam explains that this Midrash refers to reasons for the Torah’s commandments – that none of the mitzvot are “empty” and devoid of a positive function – and that, if it appears to be so, the lack is only in the reader’s comprehension of the Torah.

However, a very different approach appears to be taken in Bereishit Rabbah:

“Does the Holy One Blessed be He really care whether an animal is slaughtered from the front or back of its neck? Rather, the mitzvot were given only to refine the creations [i.e. people].”

Rambam proposes a controversial solution to this contradiction, asserting that

"The generality of the mitzvah has a certain reason, and was commanded for a clear benefit. But details which it contains are only for [the sake of fulfilment of] the commandment."

He continues by explaining how the command to slaughter an animal is primarily concerned with using a sharp knife in order to give the animal a quick death. Similarly, with regard to the details of sacrifices, he explains that the reason for them is to withdraw the Jews from pagan culture, adding:

“Anyone who troubles himself to offer reasons for all its minutiae is in the grip of a prolonged madness…Necessity determined that there should be details for which no reason could be given. It would be something impossible within the context of the Law not to have contained this type of detail.”

It is pointless to ask why detail A rather than detail B was selected, since the very same challenge could have been made if detail B had been selected in its place. It is crucial for us to determine, therefore, how exactly Rambam distinguished between (i) the “generality” of commandments that are taken to relate to and further their function, and (ii) the details which are “necessary for the commandment” but do not relate to its basic purpose.

Fortunately, Rambam’s lengthy study of hundreds of commandments and their reasons—which spans a full fifteen chapters of Moreh Nevuchim—provides copious material for examination. These 15 chapters see Rambam systemise the commandments into their respective categories, before moving methodically through them in order to elucidate their underlying functions and the benefits that they confer. While some commandments merit only a fleeting generalised mention, others are analysed by Rambam in greater detail – drawing upon some of the more specific laws which govern their practice.

What is striking however, is that none of these specifics of the commandments ever includes a detail which has been hermeneutically derived by the sages – the sort of rabbinically-derived details of Torah law which constitute the vast majority of the Talmud. Instead, these details are gleaned from verses of the Torah (or later prophets) or are based upon traditions that Rambam considers to have been transmitted from Sinai as part of the core and immutable “received explanations” of commandments. Talmud Reclaimed contains an Appendix in which these 15 chapters of Moreh Nevuchim are analysed in order to demonstrate the accuracy of this theory.

Talmud Reclaimed then proceeds to combine this distinction that Rambam makes here between core aspects of each commandment in terms of the function of each mitzvah together with another Maimonidean distinction between core and peripheral aspects of mitzvot: Rambam’s distinction between core aspects of each commandment – which he understood to be transmitted intact from Sinai and immutable – and the finer rabbinically-derived details of biblical law which could be subject to dispute and altered by future Sanhedrin.

What emerges is a fundamental distinction, within Rambam’s understanding of Talmudic law. A distinction which, when fully internalised and applied to one's Talmud study can brilliantly illuminate many of the perplexing problems that one encounters in the vast and often confusing sea of the Talmud.

For comments and discussion of this post on Facebook, click here.