Aiming High: Holy Nation and Resurrection

Since God is understood to be aware of our thoughts and feelings, and “probe the inner recesses of our heart”, it is not surprising that Judaism places great value on thoughts and aspirations – not just on a person’s actions. However noble and praiseworthy our spiritual ambitions may be, however, we must be extremely careful not to confuse them with our reality and consider ourselves more worthy than we really are. This, writes Rabbi S. R. Hirsch was the critical error of Korach and his assembly.

Focusing on Korach's statement: "the entire congregation are all holy and have God in their midst, and why have you elevated yourself over the community of God?" Rav Hirsch suggests that Korach's error was to confuse destiny with reality. The Jewish people had certainly been accorded the title of “holy nation”, but this meant only that they had been set aside for a holy purpose, to aspire and raise themselves towards holiness by dedicating themselves to God and His Torah (“tiheyun li” – you SHALL be to Me). The presence of God's Mishkan in their midst gave this holy ideal a symbolic expression, but there remained clearly defined boundaries and rules governing who could enter the Mishkan and when such entry would be permitted.

The danger posed by Korach's claims of equality of holiness and status for each Jew, and universal qualification to interpret the Torah, represented a threat to the entire system and process of expounding halachah. This is because those claims suggested that the nation had collectively arrived at a level of holiness and understanding that obviated any need for religious leadership or guidance in interpreting the Torah. Korach’s assertions drew an emphatic response from God, a miraculous phenomenon to demonstrate unambiguously the fallacy of such claims. This phenomenon was thus intended to make it clear that the nation designated to be holy must rely on the religious guidance of its members who have already succeeded in refining their character and relationship with God.

But while it’s important to have the clarity to distinguish one’s ambitions and goals from one’s reality, there are some scenarios in which Judaism certainly does place strong emphasis on aspirations. One possible example of this is the closing chapter of Rambam’s Hilchot Teshuvah which describes a level of religious worship – out of love and pure motive – that it recognizes are only practically attainable by a small minority of people. It would seem that there is religious value when one approaches the process of repentance in being aware and accepting the nature of higher levels of Judaism even if they are always likely to lie beyond one’s personal reality. On a more practical level, this may also explain the widespread custom that people have of striving to higher levels of observance during the Ten Days of Repentance despite the knowledge that this is a short-term effort that is unlikely to be sustained.

Finally, Judaism Reclaimed dedicates several chapters to the difficult subject of Resurrection of the Dead in Rambam’s thought. One possibility explored is the interpretation of Rambam offered by Rabbi Yosef Albo’s Sefer Ha’Ikkarim. Briefly stated, Rabbi Albo suggests that Resurrection represents an opportunity for those who were honest and righteous Jews yet lacked the life opportunities to develop the sort of spiritual connection to God necessary for an enhanced portion in the World to Come. Techiyat Hameitim, in a future idyllic Messianic era, affords such pious individuals the chance to pursue religious and spiritual perfection under optimum conditions.

Which attributes or merits does one require in order to qualify for this techiyah? Various Talmudic sources appear to support this understanding of Rambam’s approach to techiyah. One Gemara in Kiddushin (39b) identifies two mitzvot upon which techiyat hametim depends: sending away the mother bird and the honouring of one’s parents. These two mitzvot involve basic human character traits and attitudes regarding sensitivity to the feelings of others. This therefore makes them suitable determinants of whether a person deserves to receive another opportunity to maximise his Olam Haba under more favourable conditions. Arrogance, by contrast, is seen as a destructive trait that can prevent a person from receiving a second opportunity of techiya (Sotah 8b).

Another Gemara, in Ketubot (111b), mentions the merit of Torah study being connected to qualifying for techiyah. Crucially, however, it is not specifically the study of Torah which makes one worthy of resurrection: even seeking a connection to Torah study (such as by supporting Torah scholars) will achieve that result. The common denominator of these Gemaras is that what is most crucial in meriting techiyah is one’s attitude and effort. What one is aspiring towards not necessarily what has already been achieved. This can be contrasted, in Rambam’s line of thought, with qualification for Olam Haba itself, which focuses on the reality of a person having achieved an intellectual perception of divine truths.

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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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