Hidden miracles and working within nature

Recent days have been a whirlwind of emotions and dramatic news cycles – punctuated with regular sprints to the nearest bomb shelter. While the heart-stopping screech from our phones and nerve-jangling wails of the sirens often occur at ungodly hours, there is no lack of indication of divine footprints accompanying this latest leg of Israel’s historic journey.

Surely the most conspicuous instance of this is what transpired at Beersheva’s Soroka hospital, at the end of last week. When news of a direct missile hit on the hospital filtered through our underground bunker we all feared the worst. There was nothing short of amazement when it was subsequently revealed that the imploded building had been evacuated by a concerned advisor just 11 hours earlier.

Reflecting on the way in which a mass-casualty-event was averted, it is striking how the apparent display of providence parallels the Maimonidean approach to the phenomenon. As Judaism Reclaimed explores in detail, Rambam understands that the primary avenue through which God intervenes in human affairs is by providing flashes of inspired knowledge and intuition to a person making critical decisions. Providing an example with a tragic association from his personal life, Rambam describes how God would not typically interfere with the rules of nature in order to prevent a boat from sinking in a storm at sea. Rather he would provide certain individuals with the foresight and instinct to navigate such worldly dangers and thereby avoid death and misfortune.

What is particularly important to note here, however, is that the apparent providence on display last week in Beersheva did not obviate the need for careful planning and security precautions – in fact it boosted and inspired the sensible decision making. The building had not been cleared under standard procedures implemented at the start of the war. But when Moshe Bar Siman Tov reviewed Soroka’s safety the afternoon before the strike, he ordered an evacuation which thoroughly surprised the hospital staff.

This theme of combining providence – perhaps miraculous – intervention with the laws of nature is one which occurred to me again during yesterday’s Torah reading. The episode of the spies, in which the nation despairs of its ability to conquer Canaan despite God’s promise, can be contrasted with how God dealt with them during their exit from Egypt:

“It came to pass when Pharaoh let the people go, that God did not lead them [by] way of the land of the Philistines for it was near, because God said, Lest the people reconsider when they see war and return to Egypt.”

As part of his analysis of the rationale for korbanot, Rambam identifies a fundamental principle contained within this verse. God, he explains, did not miraculously intervene in order to fortify the nation and ply them with superhuman courage in order to comply with His will that they journey in the most direct way to the Promised Land. Rather He worked within human nature, recognising the innate weaknesses of newly-released slaves and their inability to rise and challenge the mighty Philistines.

With the passage of time, however, God sought to toughen the nation up with their desert sojourn, providing in the meantime an array of signs and wonders to build their confidence in His willingness and ability to assist them. In the aftermath of the episode of the spies, therefore, God anticipates that they have internalised this message. In light of this, all the people “who perceived My glory, and the signs that I performed in Egypt and in the desert” are held responsible and punished for their lack of faith. For their inability to acknowledge God’s ability and willingness to operate – even within the laws of nature – to inspire His people to navigate and transcend the severe challenges with which they are confronted.

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Heavenly thoughts in human language

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed which relates to parashat Beha’alotecha focuses on how Rambam places great emphasis on the ability of the Torah to be relevant to the entire nation, a matter of great importance given that the nation as a whole was not equipped to comprehend the Torah fully until the end of their stay in the desert. For this reason, he as Rambam explains, the Torah's style and content is carefully nuanced, enabling it to engage and guide individuals regardless of their personal ability and aptitude. This principle manifests itself in many ways.

One important aspect of this phenomena is the way in which the Torah, in order to engage and relate to all sectors of the Jewish nation, adopts a style of depicting God through the extensive use of anthropomorphism that, if taken literally, is not merely inaccurate but actually blasphemous. Rambam justifies this practice by invoking the maxim "dibrah Torah belashon b'nei adam": that anthropomorphism is required in order to ensure that God's existence is fully accepted and understood, even by people whose minds are only equipped to relate to physical existence, not metaphysical spirituality. The Torah therefore describes God in human terms, portraying Him as moving, speaking and standing — terms relating to activities which are only truly applicable to physically limited beings and therefore blasphemous when applied to God.

This phrase of “the Torah speaks in the language of man” is most commonly found in its Talmudic application, where it refers to specific linguistic styles. The wider application of this principle to the Torah’s use of anthropomorphism is widely regarded as a Maimonidean innovation. Judaism Reclaimed shows however that it was invoked in this manner by a number of important prior rabbinic figures such as Hai Gaon, Yehudah Halevi and Bachya ibn Pakuda (as well as a midrashic source).

While the Torah deliberately employs anthropomorphic terminology when describing God and His actions, the Targum plays the crucial role of indicating to readers that anthropomorphic descriptions are not to be read literally. Rambam, Moreh Nevuchim 1:27, writes glowingly of how Onkelos's 'translations' subtly departed from the Torah’s literal physical descriptions of God while doing so in a way that the masses were able to comprehend. Onkelos achieved this by, for example, referring in the context of God “moving” to God's shechinah (literally “presence”) rather than God Himself, and by God 'revealing Himself' rather than directly speaking to people. The important role of Targum as an antidote to literal anthropomorphism may explain why the Gemara (Berachot 8a-b) urges the practice of “shnayim Mikra ve’echad Targum” (the practice of reading each verse of the Torah twice in the original Hebrew and once in the Aramaic of the Targum).

Rambam's position is consistent with the great importance accorded to the Targum by the Gemara in Megillah 3a, which writes that the Targum Onkelos is an explanation of the Torah's text which can be traced back to Ezra, and the commentaries tell us, was part of the oral tradition which originated from Sinai. In their commentaries to this Gemara, R' Chananel and Meiri also emphasise the role of the Targum in reducing the impact of the anthropomorphic style of the Torah's text, writing that anyone who amends the text of the Targum in favour of a more literal translation of the Torah is himself considered to be blaspheming.

In his Limits of Orthodox Theology, Marc Shapiro expressed shock at Rambam’s position on anthropomorphism; specifically the notion that the Torah initially encourages heretical views as a necessary stepping stone to achieving true beliefs. A broader perspective of Rambam’s approach however allows one to appreciate that the Torah’s function is not to confront the Jewish people abruptly with a list of strict truths and demands which can be immediately implemented. Rather, it is a handbook to coax and guide the people towards correct conduct and beliefs. The tension which arises from the need to incorporate within a single religious system the moral, spiritual and intellectual ideals on the one hand, and the practical accommodations which must be made for the nation as a whole on the other, is a central theme in Rambam’s thought. In the analysis of Marvin Fox (Chapter 4, Interpreting Maimonides, University of Chicago Press, 1990), it is this tension which underlies the widely discussed phenomenon of ‘contradictions’ which Rambam discusses in his introduction to Moreh Nevuchim.

More information about Judaism Reclaimed: Philosophy and Theology in the Torah and Talmud Reclaimed: An Ancient Text in the Modern Era can be found at www.TalmudReclaimed.com

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It's a kind of magic? The difference between religion and sorcery

The portions of Acharei and Kedoshim present a wide range of different commandments – including several dealing with prohibitions against efforts to draw upon various forms of sorcery to manipulate or predict events in this world. Judaism Reclaimed’s chapter on the subject explores the position of Rambam, Ibn Ezra and the Geonim who take a strong stand against those who conclude, from a simple reading of these admonitory verses, that the Torah views these darker arts as effective:

"Anyone who believes ... that these things are true ... but that the Torah has prohibited them is one of the fools and those lacking knowledge ... But those who possess wisdom ... know ... that all of these things that the Torah prohibits ... are emptiness and vanity that fools stray after, and all of the paths of truth have been corrupted because of them. Because of this the Torah states ..."Perfect shall you be with Hashem, your God”." [Hil. Avoda Zara 11:16]

The chapter focuses in particular on how we are to understand the Torah's repeated warnings and severe penalties for those who partake in these darker arts — particularly according to those who explain that these verses refer to mere trickery and sleight of hand.

This post however will seek to address a different question which has been raised in the past in response to my writings on the subject:

What really is the difference between a religious approach that seeks to manipulate God’s will through ritual acts and prayers, and acts of magic?

While from the perspective of Rambam, fulfilment of the mitzvot and prayer are more focused inwards – to refining and improving ourselves – in order to strengthen our relationship with God and make us more meritorious, how can this question be addressed according to other schools of thought?

The first response is from Rabbi S. R. Hirsch’s treatment of the subject. Suggesting that the word “kishuf” (magic) is phonetically related to “kazav” (cheating), R Hirsch argues that sorcery represents an attempt to manipulate or even outwit God:

“merely deception; it is nothing but getting the better of the other person’s mind”. As if “there were a side door, a hidden passageway, [through] which to escape and accomplish their evil intent, in spite of the world order ordained by God”.

But what of those who approach Jewish ritual as having a direct, guaranteed and automatic ability to alter their fate? Is there a stage at which this can legitimately be compared to magic?

In a book that I was reading recently, a passage from David Blumenthal addressed this point. He considered that, as opposed to commandments and prayer which seek to approach, connect to and petition God with no guarantee of favourable response, magic seeks to “coerce spiritual forces of the universe to do one’s will”.

But what would be the status of someone who attempts to use the Torah’s commandments in order to manipulate and compel God and His divine system so that spiritual forces are bound to his will. Presumably this would not fall strictly under the heading of forbidden magic – though it is someway off Judaism’s ideal approach and aspiration which is the development of a relationship with God through commandments and prayer.

In the area of prayer, at least, such an attitude and practice could lead to a more serious prohibition – if one mechanically recites Tehillim, for example, in an attempt to magically manipulate one’s fate rather than as a way of petitioning God (as was discussed at length here https://www.facebook.com/share/p/16XAJGBt5d/).

The area of Judaism which has the potential for the most “magical” association is probably the Mishkan and Beit HaMikdash, where God’s Presence is understood to rest and his providence greatly intensified. Rav Hirsch reads the conclusion of the Mishkan’s long inauguration process carefully, noting how God’s Presence does not automatically rest in the Mishkan as a direct result of the korbanot. Rather it only does so once Moshe and Aharon subsequently bless the people, signalling religious commitment and prayer:

“God’s Presence, however, did not appear immediately upon the completion of the offerings. If that had happened, it might have lent credence to the pagan superstition that in the offering procedures there is a mysterious quality that has a magical effect upon God and produces an appearance of God to man, in a kind of physical cause-and-effect. But this is not the case. For the one, personal and autonomous God wilfully promised to appear to the people; and He made this promise not on account of the offering, but on account of the commitment…”

This process seems to carry a very strong message for how we should seek to relate to God and His commandments.

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Is there religious value to good deeds performed by a heretic?

In last month’s inevitable last-minute scrambling for ideas to relate at Seder-night, my attention was drawn to a piece from Rav Moshe Feinstein concerning midrashic accounts of how the Israelites merited the Exodus.

One set of aggadot focuses on the famous verse from Yechezkel “And I said to you, by your blood – live! And I said to you, by your blood – live!”. The sages teach that it was through two bloods, that of circumcision and that of the korban Pesach, that the Exodus was earned.

But what, asks Rav Feinstein, was the need for this? Do we not also read in another set of midrashim that the Israelites were redeemed in the merit of having maintained a distinct identity from that of their Egyptian hosts, in terms of language, clothes, names – and even food! The answer he offers is consistent with an important teaching of Rambam in another context.

Jewish tradition teaches that our ancestors in Egypt were heavily influenced by the pagan religious culture of their host country. The sages thus interpret the words “mishchu ukechu”, which introduce the command to offer the first korban Pesach, to be a veiled instruction to first separate themselves from idolatrous ideas and associations and only then to bring the Pesach offering. The two bloods, of circumcision representing the covenant of Avraham and the korban Pesach, represented a highly significant religious act of relinquishing Egyptian ideologies and ideas in favour of the God of Israel. The performance of good deeds and other commandments in the worship of an entity other than God, writes Rav Feinstein is not meritorious. Only once these idolatrous associations had been set aside, therefore, could their various good deeds accumulate as merits towards the Exodus.

This value system strongly echoes the teachings of Rambam in both Mishneh Torah and Moreh Nevuchim.

In chapter 8 of his Hilchot Melachim, Rambam tells us that:

“Anyone who accepts upon himself the fulfilment of these seven mitzvot and is precise in their observance is considered one of 'the pious among the gentiles' and will merit a share in the World to Come.

This applies only when he accepts them and fulfils them because the Holy One, blessed be He, commanded them in the Torah and informed us through Moses, our teacher, that Noah's descendants had been commanded to fulfil them previously. However, if he fulfils them out of intellectual conviction, he is not a resident alien, nor of 'the pious among the gentiles,' rather he is of their wise men.”

For Rambam, it would seem, it is not sufficient for non-Jews simply to observe the seven laws. They must be motivated by (and therefore implicitly believe in) the existence of God and His revelation to Moshe.

The explanation for Rambam’s position can be found in a profound passage towards the end of Moreh Nevuchim (3:51) which teaches 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”

Since, for Rambam, the connection that one achieves with God is an absolute reality and achieved 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. The good deeds performed by such a heretic, therefore, while being independently and objectively praiseworthy, will not bear the religious value of connecting that person to God.

When it comes to the performance of negative commandments and destructive societal behaviour, however, it is clear from the Torah that God punishes both idolators and believers for their sinful actions. We have no reason to believe that the generation of the flood or the citizens of Sodom believed in or knew of the God of Israel – they certainly had not received prophetic instruction as to how to conduct their lives. Does this indicate that, at least when it comes to negative commandments, the Torah endorses a form of natural law which all humans are supposed to be able to intuit and understand?

Not necessarily.

The “punishments” of earlier generations in the Torah may be better understood as God pursuing His plan for a refined and righteous humanity. The fate visited upon the generation of the flood and those at the Tower of Babel may therefore have been as a result of their inexorable slide away from building a society which could receive, understand and implement God’s word before transmitting it to later generation. It may not have been a consequence of culpability.

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Free will and the Philosophical Jew Podcast

Here's an interesting discussion on free will and the existence of evil on this exciting new podcast of Jewish Philosophy.

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Talmud Reclaimed and Hakirah: a debate over Rambam's methodology

Members of this group blessed with a good memory will recall that, over the Summer, Hakirah published a critique of half a chapter of Talmud Reclaimed. The chapter in question sought to demonstrate the full extent of the distinction between the halachic and Talmudic methodologies of Rambam and the Tosafists, and the way in which this distinction impacted on significant variances in practical observances between Ashkenazic and Sephardic communities until this very day.

The critique sparked a little back and forth, as I submitted a response - which in its turn was addressed by the author of the critique (links in the post and comments here).

Attached here is my final response and conclusion to the discussion. Due to apparent space constraints, Hakirah have maintained that they cannot publish the whole essay. A summary of the essay will therefore appear in the next volume of Hakirah, with a link to the full essay here.

The essay, attached, starts by summarising a sample of the sources which show the enormous gulf between Tosafist and Maimonidean methodologies. It then proceeds to address the following questions:

1) How and why does Rambam’s received Geonic methodology for deriving halakhic conclusions from the Talmud distinguish between different types of apparently contradictory sugyot?

2) Why, when addressing an apparent contradiction within Rambam’s rulings does his son, Rav Avraham, consider such a contradiction to be a question only on the Talmud and not on his father?

3) What does Rambam mean when he writes, in his introduction to Mishneh Torah, that his work comprises the entirely of “Torah Shel Ba’al Peh”, bearing in mind that Rambam defines this term very precisely and carefully elsewhere in Mishneh Torah?

Any feedback, posted publicly or sent privately, will be very welcome.

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Can AI ever replace a posek?

We are honoured this week to be hosting a fascinating piece by R. Gil Student (adapted from his recent book, Articles of Faith: Traditional Jewish Belief in the Internet Era)

Dicta. org.il recently released an AI “rabbi” that answers halachic questions in the style of a classical responsum. The AI is trained on rabbinic literature, including primary texts, commentaries, codes and responsa. It sees how poskim (halachic decisors) reason, interpret texts, compare cases, consider the unique circumstances of the question, and arrive at answers. While to my mind it does not yet perform at the level of a competent rabbi, it offers us a realistic idea of the possibility of a coherent technology that can answer halachic questions independently. Once it is perfected, may any individual Jew looking to fulfill God’s word ask an AI a halachic question and follow its answer? And once AI is available to do this, would we be obligated to ask an AI rather than a human, with all his frailties?

I. AI and Divine Assistance

One approach to take is to argue that a posek, a halachic authority, requires divine assistance, siyata di-shmaya. God will help a rabbi reach the appropriate conclusion but will not assist an AI. Therefore, an AI lacks the necessary siyata di-shmaya that a rabbi has. But is this true? If the siyata di-shmaya is for the rabbi’s sake, then an AI has no merit to deserve it. But if the siyata di-shmaya is for the questioner, who wants to fulfill the divine will, why would God not help the questioner via the AI? If the rabbi is a divine vessel, why can’t the AI be a divine vessel also?

Another approach is to compare AI to a gentile. Of course, a gentile is different. He is a child of God, created in the divine image. However, the comparison still has value as a kal va-chomer, an a fortiori logical argument. If a gentile, who is conscious and able to think and reason, is unable to issue a halachic ruling, then surely an AI is unable to do so. Yet, where do we see that a gentile may not serve as a posek? I am not aware of any text or precedent that says so, although I welcome any suggested texts. Absent a text, we need a strong explanation of if and why a learned gentile, who for whatever reason and in whichever way became a master of halachic texts, may not serve as a posek.

A few years ago, when people were debating whether women can be rabbis, one line of argument was that there is no longer any halachic requirements for a rabbi. As long as a woman knows halachah, she can serve as a rabbi. As a response to that argument, I asked whether a gentile who studies Shulchan Aruch can also serve as a rabbi. If he knows the material and can teach it to people, why can’t a gentile serve as a rabbi? Of course, a Jewish woman is part of the Jewish people and the Sinai covenant. She observes the commandments and the Jewish holidays, and is part of the age-long Jewish story. But does any of that matter in terms of issuing a halachic ruling?

II. Two Types of Pesak?

In order to begin answering these questions, we first need to distinguish between two types of paskening, issuing halachic rulings. The Gemara (Eruvin 62b) says that a student may not issue a halachic ruling in the presence of his mentor to the point that it is a capital offense (ibid., 63a). Rav Meir (Maharam) of Rothenburg (13th cen., Germany) is quoted as distinguishing between an original ruling and an existing ruling found in books (Hagahos Maimoniyos, Hilchos Talmud Torah 5:3). A student may offer in his teacher’s presence a halachic ruling that he found in a published book because he is not really ruling. He is just serving as a technical reference, offering the knowledge that he has acquired through his study. However, a new halachic ruling requires evaluation and consideration. A halachic reference is the regurgitation of information. A halachic ruling is the creation of new information. Significantly, this distinction is recorded in Shulchan Aruch (Yoreh De’ah 242:9) and explained by Shach (ad loc., 16). While many dispute Shach’s explanation, Rav Shmuel Wosner (21st cen., Israel) argues that this idea applies to post-Talmudic codes and responsa that are intended for practical teachings (Shevet Ha-Levi 2:113).

With this distinction between a halachic reference and a halachic ruling, we can understand another law. The Gemara (Avodah Zarah 7a) says that when one rabbi rules on a specific case strictly, another rabbi is not allowed to permit it. One approach to this seemingly technical rule is that pesak, halachic rulings, do not just teach the law. A rabbi’s ruling creates a religious status in the object under question. Is this chicken kosher or non-kosher? When you ask your rabbi, he defines the chicken’s status for you. Even if another rabbi disagrees and says that the chicken is kosher, it doesn’t matter. If he can show that the rabbi was mistaken on an explicit law (to’eh bi-dvar mishnah) then he nullifies the original ruling. Absent that, the first rabbi has changed the chicken’s religious status for you. He has not just taught you the law but determined what the law is for you. A pesak is a religious act, not just a technical reference.

III. Pesak as a Mitzvah

The Torah says regarding the priests: “that you are to teach the Children of Israel all the statutes” (Lev. 10:11). Rav Yitzchak of Corbeil (13th cen., France) counts this as a mitzvah on anyone capable of issuing a halachic ruling (if no one else more capable is available; Semak, no. 101). Issuing a pesak is a mitzvah, a religious obligation. While others include this as part of the mitzvah to study and teach Torah, Rav Yitzchak sees it as an independent mitzvah. Either way, issuing a halachic ruling is an act of religious devotion. It is a fulfillment of a divine command that allows the respondent to enter the religious life of the questioner and create for him a new halachic reality.

Is it any wonder, then, that a gentile may not serve as a posek, a halachic decisor? It is one thing to serve as a halachic reference, to direct people to existing rulings. Anyone who has studied halachah can tell people what, for example, Mishnah Berurah says about a specific case. A computer can do this, as well. A person is better than a regular computer at understanding the nuances of a question and offering the appropriate reference source. An AI might be even better at this than a person, with perfect recall of a massive library. However, this is just about referencing past rulings.

Issuing a new halachic ruling is not just about providing a reference — it is a religious activity. I suggest that only those within the religious community, only those who are part of the covenant and fulfill commandments, can create a halachic reality by issuing a ruling. Jewish men, women, and children fulfill commandments and take part in the halachic process as consumers. Therefore, if qualified and in the right circumstances, they may also take part in the other end of the halachic process as producers. A Jewish man, woman or child can serve as a posek. Someone outside the halachic covenant cannot create a halachic reality and therefore cannot serve as a posek. This would prevent someone from asking a gentile and, kal va-chomer, an AI for halachic rulings.

There is still room for AI in the halachic process. An AI can serve the broader public as a halachic reference for questions that have already been answered, directing people to the relevant texts and even providing them source sheets. An AI can also serve as a rabbi’s assistant, gathering relevant sources and proposing different approaches to answering a question. Ultimately, the posek will evaluate all the relevant texts and precedents, think through all the mitigating circumstances and personal considerations, weigh the halachic and meta-halachic issues involved, and deliver a halachic ruling.

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