A cut above? Circumcision and supremacy

The closing passage of this week’s parasha introduces us to Brit Milah – a physical manifestation and sign of God’s covenant with Avraham and his descendants. Among the rationalisations offered for this commandment is Rambam’s proposal in Moreh Nevuchim (3:49) that it serves as a physical sign of collective commitment to the beliefs and values of Judaism. Rambam emphasises the fact that circumcision is not a simple scratch to the skin’s surface but rather a significant wound – and therefore constitutes a statement of deep religious commitment (presumably by the parents of the child).

This explanation recalls a primary theory advanced by Moshe Koppel in his recent book Judaism Straight Up: Why Real Religion Endures. According to Koppel, any sort of community must contain certain key attributes – such as duty, loyalty and respect for authority in order to preserve itself. Most important however in terms of group identity, are customs and rules which perpetuate and strengthen a sense of shared identity. The more demanding and costly these rules are, the more powerful this identity will be. In terms of contemporary Jewish practices, these rules can take the form of actual mitzvot – such as kashrut – or customs which have been adopted by specific groups such as a strict dress code or shunning secular education. Rambam’s explanation of circumcision as constituting a public statement of membership of the Jewish nation fits neatly into this pattern.

Such benefits of the commandments should not be ignored; they are particularly valuable when Judaism is attempting to rebuild post-Holocaust – or under siege from “Liberalism” (as depicted by Koppel). This approach, however, brings with it an inherent danger in that it will be applied too strongly. Pride in one’s religion and nationality can be a positive thing. Taken too far, however, they can spill over into forms of supremacy and indifference – even hostility – to outsiders.

Basing himself on a Midrash Rabbah, Rabbi S. R. Hirsch identifies a very different lesson to be drawn from the commandment of Brit Milah, and how our forefather Avraham reacted to it:

“Here sits the first circumcised Jew – and where is he seated? “In the groves of Mamre!”…Although he was now circumcised, his relationship to mankind outside his limited sphere remained unchanged.

Our sages teach us that Avraham’s sole concern – and this is what prompted him to sit before his door in the heat of the day – was that now, following his circumcision, people might avoid him (Bereishit Rabbah 48:9). Our sages teach us this so that, from Avraham’s example, we should learn that providing hospitality to guests is greater than standing before the Divine Presence (Shabbat 127a). And who were the guests Avraham was expecting? Uncircumcised idolators (He could have expected no others). For their sake he left God’s Presence; he ran to greet them, to fulfil the duty of acting with lovingkindess towards one’s fellow man.”

It is perhaps fitting that the first commandment received by our ancestors to symbolise our distinct and chosen status should contain both of these elements; marking ourselves out as different while at the same time being followed by an account of Avraham’s open outlook to the Other. Paradoxically, we are expected to retain our own strong identity – but a key part of that very identity is, we are told by Isaiah to be: “a light unto the nations, so that My salvation shall be until the end of the earth”.

The correct balance of these two aspects of our Jewish identity may vary in time and place. A natural – probably correct – response to persecution is insularity and hostility towards the oppressor as a matter of self-preservation. In better times, the ability to be more open, engaging and outward-thinking in one’s Judaism may reflect an inner security and peace with one’s faith.

If we are to search for a peak of Jewish history which we can identify as some sort of ideal, the most likely candidate would be the early years of King Shlomo. The first book of Kings describes a society thriving on peace and prosperity under the guidance of a wise monarch. Strong messianic themes can be sensed in the way that non-Jews amassed from surrounding lands to stand in amazement at Shlomo’s wisdom, while “Judah and Israel dwelt safely, every man under his vine and under his fig-tree, from Dan even to Beer-sheba, all the days of Solomon” (5:5). This era particularly stands out as a time in which the Jews sought to spread their wisdom and teachings beyond their own circles.

In its ideal state, it would seem that Jewish Strength is not to be found in lording it over others but by making ourselves such an illuminating example of morality, wisdom and spirituality that people will come flocking to share in our teachings.

First posted on Facebook 3 November 2022, here.

Judaism, justice and collective punishment

“Far be it from You to do a thing such as this, to put to death the righteous with the wicked so that the righteous should be like the wicked. Far be it from You! Will the Judge of the entire earth not perform justice?"

These powerful words, uttered by Avraham in last week’s parashah as part of his negotiation with God over the fate of Sodom, would seem to represent a basic biblical concept of justice and fairness. A far more succinct parallel to this principle is stated by Moshe and Aharon later in the Torah in the context of Korach’s rebellion: "O God, the God of the spirits of all flesh, if one man sins, shall You be angry with the whole congregation?".

Is it so clear, however, that Judaism rejects the notion of collective punishment?

Later on in the book of Bereishit we find Shimon and Levi put the city of Shechem to the sword in response to the crime of its leader. While Ya’akov is critical of their actions, his primary objection appears to be a lack of consideration of the political consequences rather than a miscarriage of justice. Furthermore, as one of my young children once asked me on Seder night, are we to understand that every single one of the Egyptians was participating in the brutal persecution of the Jews and therefore deserving of such severe divine punishments?

In a recent podcast (as part of his highly recommended new series of ten-minute daily Tanach shiurim linked in first comment), Rav Alex Israel offered a fascinating insight which may provide a key for resolving such questions. The immediate context is his commentary on the seventh chapter of the book of Joshua, in which Achan sins by stealing from spoils of war that have been set aside as a tribute to God. Despite the fact that this theft appears to have been perpetrated by one man alone, God attributes his sin to the entire nation and reveals it to be the cause for a military loss in the initial battle for the city of Ai.

The reason why the nation is blamed and punished collectively for Achan’s sin, suggests Rav Alex, is that it would not have occurred in a vacuum. Drawing profound lessons to our own times (this shiur was given on the anniversary of Yitzchak Rabin’s assassination), he explains how on certain occasions a community at large can be swept along a certain sinful path. While only one person may ultimately cross over the line to commit a serious sinful act, this person would not have reached this point had it not been for his community’s encouragement and erroneous orientation. In such a scenario, the whole community is culpable for the sin under the maxim of kol Yisrael areivim zeh lazeh (all of Israel are guarantors for one another) – it is not considered collective punishment of the innocent.

A similar formula might be used to explain why the entire town of Shechem were punished for the actions of their leader. It is only because of the culture of immorality and impunity which was fostered among the wider populace that Shechem considered that he could act as he did with Dina. Shimon and Levi are nevertheless severely criticised by Ya'akov on his death bed for their violent actions. It would seem that it is only God, who knows the thoughts and intentions of all humans, who is able to judge a community all deserving of a collective punishment.

The moral lesson which emerges requires us to examine our actions and speech not just in terms of their own technical correctness, but also as to the potential impact that they are likely to have on others. If people can potentially be radicalised or deem what we say as supporting violence or hatred towards others, the Torah will hold us collectively responsible for their sinful actions.

First posted on Facebook 16 November 2022, here.

A Judaism of intellectual achievement or experiential relationship with God?

Some of the most enjoyable and memorable parashah stories of my early school years told of the young Avram discovering God, challenging pagan authority, smashing idols and being thrown into a fiery furnace by King Nimrod -- but being saved by miraculous intervention. Imagine my shock and disappointment when I grew up to discover that these thrilling episodes did not actually feature in the Chumash. Why would such a narrative, seemingly so central to the Jewish People's formation and purpose, not be included in the Torah? 

Judaism Reclaimed examines two approaches to this question. The first cites Rabbi Ari Kahn’s excellent Explorations [an early inspiration in my Torah studies, more recently expanded and re-released], which adopts the approach of R Yehudah HaLevi in his Kuzari.

The Kuzari explains that, while Avram had successfully speculated about the world around him in order to find God, his primary achievement lay in his willingness to set aside this rational reasoning in favour of obedience to God’s revealed (and sometimes inexplicable) commands.

The significance of Avram’s choice of obedience over reason is twofold. First, rational speculation can never achieve the certainty imparted by a genuine Divine revelation. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, revelation replaces the cold, abstract, conceptual “God of Aristotle” with the a more meaningful, experience-based relationship with the God of the Torah (Judaism Reclaimed suggests how Rambam might have responded to these arguments).

On this basis we can understand why the Torah would choose to start its account of Avram with a revealed command, leaving Avraham’s prior intellectual accomplishments to be recounted by Midrashim.

The question is far more troubling however when viewed from the perspective of Rambam. If theological speculation and comprehension of divine matters are to be regarded as the ultimate goal of the Torah, how can one explain the Torah’s exclusion of the important achievements of Avram’s early years?

[Rambam clearly considers these Midrashic accounts to be conveying accurate historical information, based on his presentation of them at the start of Hilchot Avodah Zarah and Moreh Nevuchim. A later chapter investigates the different theological approaches to interpreting various forms of Aggadah and Midrash].

In attempting to propose an answer to this difficulty, Judaism Reclaimed argues that Rambam understood the Torah to contain a two-tier system. While the Torah’s ultimate goal is unquestionably intellectual excellence and the connection to God that this creates, Rambam recognises that such a pursuit, when taken by itself, is of practical relevance only to those endowed with exceptional intelligence and adequate resources. Concerning the vast majority of people, he writes:

“if we never in any way acquired an opinion through following traditional authority…this would lead to most people dying without having known whether there is a deity for the world … much less whether a proposition should be affirmed with regard to Him …” [Moreh 1:34]

The Torah’s role, according to Rambam, is therefore to guide the vast majority of people – not just the elite upper echelons – on their journey from religious-intellectual error and immaturity towards a more correct grasp of divine matters. This is strikingly consistent with Rambam’s approach to anthropomorphism and with the reasons he offers for mitzvot – all of which are intended to make Judaism a religion of the many, not the few as Judaism Reclaimed explores in further chapters.

Ultimately Judaism Reclaimed recognises that the Torah requires humans to develop a relationship with God based on both their intellectual dimension and their spiritual-experiential faculties. This point is made in the introduction to the book (viewable here) which cites an interpretation of Bereishit Rabbah made by Rabbi Mordechai Schwadron.

Rav Schwadron begins by quoting the Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 39:8) which explores a comparison of Israel with a dove. There we are taught that while all other birds rest on a rock or tree when they tire, when a dove is tired, it pushes itself with one of its wings, and flies with the other.

Based on this, Rav Schwadron explains that each wing represents a different way that we connect with God. The first, which we may call the philosophical approach, emerges from our own intellectual endeavours to comprehend and connect with the awesomeness of God, while the second - which is a more emotional and spiritual connection - is stimulated by religious and spiritual moments that God sends our way to uplift and inspire us.

By developing these complementary aspects of religious endeavor, a person who runs into difficulty with one approach can fall back and rely upon the other (just like when either wing is “tired”, the dove can “fly” with the other). Both intellectual and spiritual-experiential approaches are thus of crucial relevance in every individual’s religious quest, even though the extent to which each of these two approaches is drawn upon will necessarily vary from person to person.

First posted on Facebook 23 October 2023, here.