Yom Kippur musings: Rambam's Hilchot Teshuvah and powerful prooftexts

 One of the central texts traditionally studied at this time of year is Rambam’s Hilchot Teshuvah: a supreme arrangement of traditional teachings on repentance, often through a Maimonidean perspective of the soul and Divine justice. Surprisingly little attention tends to be paid, however, to Rambam’s often peculiar choice of verses apparently cited in support of his teachings. I would like to present a couple of brief examples of the profound significance contained within some of these often skipped over features.

At the start of the third chapter of Hilchot Teshuvah, Rambam presents what appears to be a highly simplistic model of God’s justice system:

Each and every person has merits and sins. A person whose merits exceed his sins is righteous. A person whose sins exceed his merits is] wicked. If [his sins and merits] are equal, he is termed a Beinoni….If a person's sins exceed his merits, he will immediately die because of his wickedness as [Jeremiah 30:14] states: "for the multitude of your transgressions".

So simplistic is Rambam’s teaching, that Ra’avad jumps in with the obvious objection: we surely see plenty of wicked people living long lives. It may be instructive however to read Rambam’s teaching – including his non-obvious prooftext – in light of Rambam’s definition of “life” and “death” from Moreh Nevuchim (1:42).

There Rambam demonstrates that, in addition to their literal renderings, the terms “life” and “death” are commonly used in both biblical and rabbinic sources to refer to the acquisition of wisdom (and desirable character traits). On this basis, the sages teach “the righteous even in their death are considered alive” since they have acquired the means to maintain a connection to God, while “the wicked in their lifetime are called dead” since they lack such a connection.

The verse in Jeremiah cited by Rambam to support his teaching refers to the Jewish nation at its lowest ebb being forgotten and abandoned because of its mass of sins. This verse does not refer to literal death, but rather to a suspension of the nation’s special providential relationship with God as a result of sin (see Abarbanel among others). It can be suggested therefore, that Rambam’s choice of prooftext is subtly alluding to the metaphorical connotation of death. If this is true, it would seem that Rambam would explain aggadic teachings and prayers in the Yom Kippur liturgy to be referring to those “written in the book” of true life – ie connection to God – or true death – the lack of such a connection.

Another example of the profound nature of Rambam’s prooftexts can be found in the same passage. Rambam writes that:

This reckoning is not calculated [only] on the basis of the number of merits and sins, but also their magnitude. There are some merits which outweigh many sins as implied by [I Kings 14:13]: "Because in him, there was found something good."

While, as Rambam continues to explain, we cannot fathom God’s divine system of accounting and justice his astonishing choice of prooftext does afford us a degree of insight. Out of all of the biblical examples of righteous actions and praiseworthy deeds, Rambam highlights the actions of Aviyah, son of Yeravam. A man who is condemned to a premature death along with the rest of the wicked and idolatrous royal family. The biblical text does not reveal the nature of this “something good” through which Aviyah alone merited a respectable death and burial. The Talmud however informs us that Aviyah removed the armed guards who had been stationed to prevent pilgrims from the Northern Kingdom from traveling to the Beit Hamikdash.

Providing broader context, the political and religious legitimacy of Yeravam’s regime relied on the fact that his subjects would no longer admire and look to the Davidic leadership for guidance. Aviyah’s willingness to remove the guards and make it easier for people to travel to the Mikdash thus represented significant personal sacrifice. He was, in effect, putting his own royal position and legitimacy at risk by allowing access to Jerusalem.

What Rambam appears to be indicating through his prooftext is that, while we are capable of measuring and comparing the objectiveworth of the mitzvot, the degree of effort and self-sacrifice that a person injects into any good deed can cause it to outweigh many other merits.

[This second example was heard from Rabbi Lippa Rabinowitz]

G’mar Chatima Tova. An easy and meaningful fast to all.

First posted to Facebook 26September 2020, here.

Rosh Hashanah, Rambam and the concept of a "Day of Judgement"

One of the recurring theological questions that Jewish thinkers have long been forced to grapple with is the need to reconcile a deity whose existence transcends all notions of space and time with the God of the Torah whose relationship with us is firmly focused around holy spaces and times.

As Judaism Reclaimed explores, the earliest traditional source to tackle this conundrum head on is King Solomon in his dedication speech for the First Temple.

"Can God really dwell on earth? ... the Heaven and the Heaven of Heavens cannot contain You, and surely not this Temple that I have built!" (I Kings 8:27)

The answer is found both in the continuation of Shlomo's speech (“But may you turn to the prayer … that Your servant shall pray towards this place”) and by God's subsequent response. God's 'residing' in a particular location represents, metaphorically, the notion that people’s prayers will be answered there, thereby making His existence more tangible to them.

The Maharal (Gur Aryeh Bereishit 6:6) expands upon this theme, explaining that God indeed “fills the Earth” and cannot be confined to a specific place. One who claims, however, that all places are therefore equal to worship Him is attacking a core tenet of the Torah: the principle that God designates as 'holy' certain “hashgacha hotspots” in which He enables people to relate to Him more easily.

But it is not only the dimension of physical space which presents a theological challenge to the philosophical notion of an infinite and transcendent God. How are we to comprehend the idea of God choosing one day a year on which to judge all of humanity? Is there a parallel to “hashgacha hotspots” in the dimension of time through which our ability to relate to God is altered or heightened at certain specific points in our calendar? What would this even mean in terms of our being judged – how would it differ from the axiomatic religious teaching that our actions always have providential consequences and are thus “being judged”.

One important traditional commentator who pursues this line of thinking is the Meiri, who writes that divine judgment is constant and unaffected by time. The function of Rosh Hashanah, he continues, is Judaism’s way of concentrating our minds on the concept of judgment and the consequences of our actions – something that we should truly be aware of the entire year but will typically allow to slip from our consciousness. While Rambam does not address this matter explicitly, certain teachings in Hilchot Teshuva could be seen as supporting Meiri’s approach:

“Just as a person's merits and sins are weighed at the time of his death, so, too, the sins of every inhabitant of the world together with his merits are weighed on the festival of Rosh HaShanah… Therefore, throughout the entire year, a person should always look at himself as equally balanced between merit and sin and the world as equally balanced between merit and sin. If he performs one sin, he tips his balance and that of the entire world to the side of guilt and brings destruction upon himself.” [Hilchot Teshuva 3:3-4]

If this is true, then it would fit an existing pattern within the Jewish calendar. We are commanded to recall the Exodus the entire year – yet one festival is dedicated to burning this idea into our religious consciousness. Our thoughts are supposed to always bear an element of mourning for the destruction of the Mikdash – yet one specific day in the calendar is set aside to concentrate on this tragedy. The same might be said for the command to remember Amalek’s evil. Might the same be true regarding the core religious requirement that we be aware of God’s judgement and therefore the consequences of our actions?

Yet such an approach surely fails to do justice to Jewish tradition, with its strong emphasis on both the importance and efficacy of repentance, prayer and charity on these specific days. As Rambam himself cites from the Talmud:

Even though repentance and calling out [to God] are desirable at all times, during the ten days between Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, they are even more desirable and will be accepted immediately as Isaiah states: "Seek God when He is to be found." [Hilchot Teshuva 2:6]

It seems inescapable therefore that there is something inherently advantageous about repentance at this time of year. But are we able to explain this in a way that Meiri and the Rambam would find acceptable?

One possible path is that this heightened state of awareness of God’s judgement and the consequences of our actions in itself engineers a stronger providential interface and calendrical hotspot over Rosh Hashanah. This annual providential peak would be particularly strong when the heightened awareness of God is being practiced on a communal and even national scale. Rambam teaches towards the end of his Guide (3:51) that the intensity of our providential relationship with God is directly influenced by the quality and quantity of our mind’s awareness of Him. In the following chapter he states that it is through the very same “light” that we comprehend Him that He is constantly with us, examining and judging our deeds.

It follows from here that Rosh Hashanah can legitimately be viewed as a special day of judgment – not because God is inherently affected or changed by the dimensions of time and space to judge us more on one day than any other. But nor is Rosh Hashanah some artificial religious construct – a day on which it is useful for us to pretend is special as a superficial reading of the Meiri may imply. Rather when we as individuals, communities and a nation join together in concentrating our awareness on God’s rulership of the world, our collective and individual responsibilities and the consequences of our actions – this creates a very real heightened providential dynamic in which we are therefore judged more intensely than occurs on other days in the calendar. In this sense, God really is “to be found” among us during these ten days.

Rosh Hashanah therefore provides us with a focal point to self-examine, to improve, to dream and to aspire for substantial religious growth. In that spirit we present ourselves before God with greater clarity than we enjoy during the rest of the year. Our providential relationship of God – and thus our “judgment” is thus built upon this best version of ourselves. Rosh Hashanah thereby becomes the baseline and default of our relationship with God for the year ahead.

I would like to take this opportunity to wish all readers a Shana Tova, a wonderfully happy, healthy and inspiring year ahead!

First posted to Facebook 10 September 2023, here.