Shemot: a theological perspective on the Holocaust and Anti-semitism

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed that relates to parashat Shemot develops an approach to an extremely sensitive area of Jewish theology: the attempt to place anti-semitic hatred and violence – and the devastation of the Holocaust – in a theological context.

Much ink has been spilled by Rabbis and scholars far greater than I on this difficult topic. In the Modern Orthodox world, Rabbis Eliezer Berkovits and Jonathan Sacks have attempted to shift the focus from God to mankind. Since God’s plan for the world requires the unfettered functioning of human free will, the argument goes, His modus operandi involves the provision of moral and spiritual guidance rather than micro-managing human affairs. Accordingly, the real question that should be asked is not “where was God during the Holocaust”, rather “where was man”? While I find this approach attractive, and adopt it more generally in my chapters concerning providence and free will (see recent post on parashat Vayeshev), it does not seem sufficient when dealing with a tragedy of such magnitude inflicted upon the entire Jewish nation. Nor does it strike me as consistent with the Torah’s attitude to significant national events. Other Rabbis have adopted a perhaps more traditional approach which sees the Holocaust as heavenly punishment for sins. This understanding is also open to fundamental questions: as many such as Primo Levi have pointed out, an assessment of victims and survivors does not appear to reveal any obvious punishment-for-sin pattern.

Judaism Reclaimed seeks to place the Holocaust, as well as the broader phenomenon of antisemitism, in a biblical context starting with the first episode of brutal national enslavement and suffering for 210 years in Egypt. Our search for a theological explanation for this bitter servitude takes us back to the brit bein habetarim. This covenant, when the enslavement was first disclosed by God, links the suffering to the concept of a “chosen nation” and the role which God intended it to fulfil. In the conversation that takes place at the time of the covenant, Avraham asks God, “Bemah eida?”: “How can I know that my descendants will be worthy of inheriting the land? That they will fulfil the daunting task of standing apart from the other nations of the world as a leading light?” God responds that Avraham’s descendants will be enslaved in a strange land. The clear implication is that this suffering holds the key to their ability to succeed as the chosen nation.

We note historical precedents for the notion that collective suffering can forge a cast-iron collective identity, and cite Rav Soloveitchik’s suggestion, in Kol Dodi Dofek, that the Jews’ experiences in the ‘’crucible’’ of Egypt formed an intense unity (or Fate Covenant) and separation from other nations. This role of the Egyptian servitude in establishing an independent Jewish identity is underscored both by the Torah’s account (which repeatedly emphasises how the plagues will distinguish Jew from Egyptian) and copious Midrashic commentary as to both the extent of this separation, and as to how it was in the merit of Jewish identity (represented by the retention of names, clothing and language) that the Jews were redeemed. This theme is followed through to the symbolism of the carefully orchestrated commandments relating to the redemption, as the emerging nation approached the daunting challenge of succeeding as a lone island of monotheism surrounded by a raging sea of paganism.

In his Beit HaLevi, Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik draws upon some of these ideas as part of his analysis of antisemitism, a seemingly illogical phenomenon which has accompanied Jews around the world throughout the centuries. Initially, he is startled by a verse from Tehillimwhich includes Egyptian oppression among the acts of kindness that God performed for the Jewish People. He then notes midrashim that connect the start of the oppression to the Jews’ attempts to conceal their Jewish identity. His great-grandson and namesake, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, elaborates on a similar theme, that a history of persecution and martyrdom has had the effect of hardening attitudes toward any form of assimilation which could challenge the distinct identity and values of the Jewish People.

According to this approach, the key to understanding both the suffering in Egypt and continued antisemitism through the ages is to view them not as a punishment but rather as God’s tool to ensure that His promise to Avraham at the brit bein habetarim would be observed. It is only as a result of unabated antisemitism, particularly severe at times of heightened assimilation, that the Jews have survived as the chosen nation, retaining the ability to carry out their holy and extremely challenging mission. This idea is given full expression in Radak’s commentary to a passage in Yechezkel in which the prophet describes God’s refusal to countenance Jewish attempts to assimilate among the nations:

But when they disobey My commands, I will strengthen the nations against them… Israel, whom I took out from the house of slavery to be my treasured nation etc., and to them a God, My eyes will be constantly on them for good and bad, as it states in the prophecy of Amos: “Only you have I known from all of the families of the world, therefore I will be attentive to all of your sins.” And if you wish to depart from My worship, I will not grant permission for this. Even though you will be many years in exile, you will never cease to be a nation before me…and with force I will reign over you, and will purify you…

Rav Meir Simchah of Dvinsk, in his Meshech Chochmah, makes a similar connection between antisemitism and the preservation of Jewish identity. Writing in the 1920s, he concludes with an ominous warning: that the assimilation of European Jewry and attitudes such as “Berlin is the new Jerusalem” would necessarily lead to a “storm” against the Jews that would serve to preserve Jewish national identity. This dark prediction was based upon his answer to the fundamental question of where God was during the brutal Egyptian servitude. The response, it would appear, is located within God’s covenant to Avraham at the brit bein habetarim.

I would like to make it clear that this post is not intended to trivialise or belittle the indescribable suffering of the Holocaust, accounts of which are prone to reduce me to a flood of tears. Nor am I fully comfortable and at peace with the conclusion that it reaches. My agenda here is merely to share my exploration of biblical and rabbinic texts for a perspective on the devastation of the Holocaust which I find theologically convincing.

First posted on Facebook 15 January 2020, here.

Not for the cold-hearted

Listening to the parashah being read yesterday, I was reminded of a short speech I made eight years ago at the Kiddush for our daughter, Avital, who was born in the immediate aftermath of a severe Jerusalem snowstorm. The unexpected storm left many people trapped in their homes, and much of our neighbourhood without electricity over a freezing weekend.

I noted in my speech how people’s reactions varied. Everyone was aware of the great difficulties that many in our area were experiencing. But while for some this was just an interesting discussion point, several local residents took the initiative to actively check up on the welfare of the elderly and young families, and to arrange necessary assistance where possible. (For the record I was busy desperately googling DIY home-delivery advice as the due date came and went!).

This parallels a very profound commentary on parashat Shemot that sadly tends to get overlooked. When Moshe grows up, he goes out and witnesses the brutal slavery that the Jews are being subjected to. On the words “and he saw their burden” Rashi comments “he set his eyes and heart to be troubled on account of them”. As Maharal explains, Moshe had surely been aware of the enslavement previously. It was only once he made this mental shift that he allowed himself to become moved by their desperate plight to the extent that he stood up to one of their oppressors. An act which started him on a long journey that would see him become God’s agent to lead the Jews out of Egypt.

Judaism Reclaimed explores this concept in connection with the biblical instruction to “Love one’s fellow as oneself”, a command that Rabbi Akiva labelled a “major principle of the Torah”. Rabbi S. R. Hirsch questions why treating others as one wishes to be treated oneself should be considered such a weighty religious matter. After all, a general principle of reciprocity can be found in almost all cultures and reflects not just religious but also secular humanist thought. It is a basic prerequisite for a functioning civilised society.

In response, Rav Hirsch highlights that the commandment refers to a person acquiring a particular attitude and identification with others rather than merely accepting a practical code of conduct. This concept was expanded by Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik who contrasted two very different ways of performing an act of kindness.

Regarding a normal act of kindness, he says:

“I am committed to genuinely helping a poor man, am genuinely committed to furthering his wellbeing … [M]y personality is still individual, still unique, still all-exclusive. I help out the Thou but he remains other to me.”

There is, however, a far higher and more elevated way of empathising and identifying with those who are poor and suffering so that:

“… my personality shifts from being all-exclusive to being all-inclusive. The poor man is no longer an other separate from me. In God-like fashion my helping him out becomes a way of letting him share in my existence and reality. My helping him out thus becomes an act of imitatio Dei, an act of God-like hesed in the sense that I do not simple give to him, but I identify with him”.

This second level of helping others means that kindness is no longer merely a ‘good deed’ but rather consists of a radical shift in the person’s perspective. By genuinely caring about another individual’s welfare, one ceases to think of one’s personal needs and the needs of others as distinct. The reason that Rabbi Akiva deemed that treating others as one would want to treat them is a fundamental Torah principle is that, properly performed, it radically changes a person’s entire perspective and outlook on the world. From a selfish inward-thinking path through life to a “divine” altruistic outward focus. (Judaism Reclaimed develops this idea further in order to address the conclusion of Moreh Nevuchim).

Regardless of whether our life circumstances lead us to heroism or activism, we are all capable of empathy and attempting to look at the world through the lens of others, feeling their pain as well as acknowledging it. Rashi teaches us that this shift from selfish-human to altruistic-divine perspective requires an active decision. It is not always easy to genuinely share the troubles of others – to feel pain when those around you are suffering. For this very reason, the willingness to allow oneself to be disturbed in this manner is considered “a fundamental principle of the Torah”.

First posted on Facebook 26 December 2021, here.