What was the mysticism of the Talmudic sages?

This week’s daf yomi curriculum covers the second chapter of Chagigah – a chapter which lies at the epicentre of rabbinic mysticism. Jewish mysticism is strongly associated in popular thought with kabbalistic texts, innumerable combinations of God’s names, attempts to manipulate the world by use of such names, amulets and secretive rites. This week provides an opportunity to pause and reflect on what the Talmudic tradition – itself an interpretation of earlier prophetic texts – has to say about Jewish mysticism.

What then is contained in what the Talmud labels “mysteries of the Torah”?

The first point to recognise is that these mysteries are almost exclusively focused on the content of Maasei Bereishit and Merkava – the biblical passages relating God’s creation of the world and the dynamics of the heavenly forces, which probe the elusive interface between the physical and spiritual domains. Rather than secretive rites and complex combinations of divine names and force-fields of spiritual energy, we read of great individuals meditating and attempting to grow their knowledge in the orchard of “Pardes” (incidentally, Pardes – a Persian loan-word related to paradise – had not yet been construed to refer to multiple secret meanings of the Torah’s text).

A second point, which is particularly striking to the modern Jew whose bookshelves, shiurim and even social media feed is frequently trespassed upon by claimed divine secrets, kabbalistic charms, and influential passages to recite, is that true Jewish mysticism is the subject of a strict prohibition. It can only be transmitted to specifically qualified individuals, and even then only its “chapter headings” may be disclosed.

In the first section of Moreh Nevuchim, Rambam offers guidance to those seeking to relate to a metaphysical God but find themselves constrained by the limitations of human language and thought categories which naturally relate to the physical realm. He teaches that the process of improving one’s comprehension of God involves a lengthy training of the mind to negate the physicality introduced by human language. By doing this, one gradually enables the mind to transcend the limitations of human thought which otherwise anchor the mind in physicality and cause a person to perceive God through the lens of human attributes and activity.

It is sometimes wrongly claimed that Rambam’s negative theology effectively prevents any meaningful relationship with God and largely removes Him from the religious experience. As discussed in a previous post however (linked below), Rambam understands that true Jewish mysticism begins where negative theology leaves off. Having trained the mind to relate to God in a proper manner, one is ready to begin one’s journey into the “Pardes” of meditating upon Maaseh Bereishit and Merkava. At this stage, the mind can start to fathom and conceptualise the Creation and nature of divine interaction with the physical world.

This is the sort of mysticism which must not be communicated because –as Rabbi Jose Faur describes in his Homo Mysticus – its true content transcends human language. It cannot effectively be transmitted. Only oblique hints and chapter headings can be shared by the initiated (and Chagigah dwells upon Tannaitic masters examining their students to see if they are ready to start exploring these areas of the Torah).

Finally, Rambam’s own interpretation of the Ma’aseh Merkavah, apparently through the lens of Aristotelian metaphysics is the subject of pointed comments and criticism. As I argue in Judaism Reclaimed, however, insufficient attention is paid to his introductory comments, where he expresses extreme caution concerning his approach:

“regarding these matters I followed conjecture and supposition; no divine revelation has come to me to teach me that the intention in the matter in question is such and such, nor did I receive what I believe in these matters from a teacher … it is possible that they are different and something else is intended.”

It would seem that Rambam was engaging in a genuine attempt to fathom and give meaning to these texts in the spirit of the prevailing ideas of his era. He was approaching this task with humility and trepidation, well aware of the possibility that his interpretations, and the premises upon which they were based, may not represent the true meaning of God’s word. Perhaps most significantly, he was not claiming his understanding to represent any secret transmitted code. In the spirit of negative theology, it may be far easier to assert what Jewish mysticism is not than what it genuinely does consist of.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/JudaismReclaimed/permalink/2945031085726048/

First posted to Facebook 23 February 2022, here.

Why does the Torah prohibit superstition?

The analysis of Judaism Reclaimed which relates to the parashah of Achrei-Mot focuses in part on its prohibition against “walking in the statutes” of the surrounding pagan nations. This commandment is understood by the sages to refer to “Darkei Emori” – superstitious practices of the Emorites which were commonly believed to influence natural phenomena and protect people from worldly dangers.

In the understanding of Rambam, all such superstitious practices are categorised alongside various forms of magic and necromancy as empty and foolish actions. He takes a strong stand against those who conclude, from a simple reading of the Torah that any of these darker arts as efficacious:

"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”." (Hilchot Avoda Zara 11:6)

Many people with whom I have spoken, whose understanding of Judaism is strongly coloured by kabbalistic thinking, find Rambam’s position here difficult to fathom. From their perspective, God’s creation of the world included a powerful and dangerous ‘sitra achra’, the concept of a ‘dark side’ which is widespread in Kabbalistic texts. These forces of evil, which feed off sinful conduct, are understood to be responsible for evil in the world. Crucially for our topic, this dark side also allows for ‘darker arts’ which are believed to be able to manipulate and overcome natural forces with their powers of impurity.

According to this kabbalistic approach we can well understand why the Torah would want to prohibit any manipulation of or association with such forces of evil. But according to those such as Rambam who deny the existence of such a system of dark forces, how are we to understand the Torah's repeated warnings and severe penalties for those who partake in these darker arts?

Ibn Ezra, in his commentary on the Torah’s discussion of ov and yidoni magical practices, strongly rejects the suggestion that denying the efficacy of such practices makes their prohibition harder to understand:

“Those possessing empty brains assert that, were ovot and magical practices ineffective, the Torah would not have forbidden them. Yet I say the opposite is the case, for the Torah does not prohibit truth but falsehood, as is proven by [the prohibitions against] idolatry”.

Rambam, who places the halachot of sorcery and divination within Hilchot Avodah Zarah goes further, viewing them as an adjunct of idolatry, explaining that pagan priests would feign 'supernatural powers' in order to attract worshippers to their idolatrous cults.

An examination of Rambam's writings elsewhere suggests a further profound significance to these prohibitions. In Moreh Nevuchim (3:37) Rambam discusses the scope and functions of the Torah's prohibition against pursuing pagan superstitions, explaining it to include whatever is believed by the nations to be effective for supernatural rather than scientific reasons. This is reflected by a Talmudic teaching (Shabbat 67a) that "anything which is 'refuah' is not darkei Emori". Rambam explains this to mean that any cure which was understood — even erroneously — to be naturally effective, does not belong to the category of darker arts.

In Rambam’s understanding, since the laws of the natural world are a product of divine wisdom, they therefore represent an important means for acquiring awe, love and knowledge of God. With this in mind, Rambam's assertion that "these things [darker arts] corrupt all paths of truth" means that such trickery and fabrication corrupt humanity’s understanding of God's world, and lead it away from attaining knowledge of Him.

Any practice which can be demonstrated to be effective, however, is necessarily a reflection of God's wisdom in creating the world. If magical rites and superstitions were actually efficacious, the Torah would have had no cause to prohibit them. The problem with these imagined products of trickery lies primarily in the claim that they involve the use of powers which lie above God's natural laws, therefore wielding the ability to control and manipulate them. This creates an impression of the existence of additional and distinct supernatural powers — a dark side to be served and appeased — which makes sorcery and necromancy natural bedfellows of idolatry.

First posted on Facebook 10 April 2022, here.

Was Jewish mysticism revealed at Mount Sinai?

Mysticism is an area of Judaism that never fails to capture the popular imagination and generate thoughtful discussion. Like most things Jewish, it is also the source of passionate debate and deeply held opposing views, with disagreement over the very nature of what Jewish mysticism consists of and where it comes from.

A short but fascinating passage towards the end of yesterday’s Torah reading – which is too frequently overlooked – may contain an important insight:

And Moses and Aaron, Nadav and Avihu, and seventy of the elders of Israel ascended, and they perceived the God of Israel, and beneath His feet was like the forming of a sapphire brick and like the appearance of the heavens for clarity. And upon the nobles of the children of Israel He did not lay His hand, and they perceived God, and they ate and drank.

(Shemot 24:9-11)

What is the meaning of these cryptic verses and their strange perception of the divine? Can they be constitute some form of revelation of the esoteric mysteries of the Torah at Sinai alongside its revealed laws?

One thing that the commentators appear to agree on is that this passage relates to Jewish mysticism. Both Ibn Ezra and Ramban find strong textual and thematic links between this revelation at Sinai and the Merkava vision which opens the book of Ezekiel. Rambam, meanwhile, analyses the term “livnat hasapir”, interpreting it to refer to a nebulous and shapeless glow or energy which represents the first matter created by God. According to this, Rambam understands that this Sinaitic insight involved a profound understanding of the process of the world’s creation and the interplay that this involved between the divine and the physical.

Rambam and Ramban, however, held sharply differing theories about what Jewish mysticism involves. Rambam focuses much of his first section of Moreh on the idea that human language and thought cannot accurately convey divine concepts or truths about God. While we can (and indeed must) attempt to train our minds to relate to God in a manner unsullied by associations with the physical world – associations which our imagination naturally draw us towards – ultimately we are told that “greatest praise for Him is silence”.

Real Jewish mysticism, according to Rambam is a personal journey of sublime intellectual meditation upon concepts which transcend human language. This understanding is traced by Rambam through Talmudic passages concerning mysticism, from which he shows that such esoteric insights, by their very nature, can never be comprehensively conveyed (only “chapter headings”) or contained within any form of writing or “secret mystical book”.

For Ramban and students of kabbalah, by contrast, mysticism is focused far more upon the written (and spoken) word. He describes in the introduction to his commentary on the Torah how the whole Torah is fashioned from mystical arrangements of God’s names – names which kabbalah understands to possess certain supernatural powers and energies.

Judaism Reclaimed also discusses this divergence between Rambam and kabbalists as it plays out in their disagreements regarding amulets and recitation of special “holy” words. From the point of view of the kabbalists, the very letters of the Torah contain the contraction of God’s will and therefore bear power in their own right. Certain kabbalistic practitioners claim to be able to harness the power of God’s name in order to manipulate aspects of the physical world – even today I see books being advertised about how to utilise such supernatural forces to enhance aspects of our life.

Rambam and Geonim such as Rav Hai are strongly critical of this approach, calling the use of amulets a “foolishness…not worthy for any perfect person to hear, let alone believe in”. Rather, the names are understood to indicate profound philosophical and theological truths regarding God and His creation of the world. In support of this position, Rambam quotes Talmudic statements which impose severe restrictions on the teaching of God’s names and their meanings, restrictions and qualifications which bear broad similarities to those placed upon students seeking access to the esoteric areas of Ma’aseh Bereishit and Merkavah.

While Rambam understands the names to symbolise profound truths, it is a fundamental error to attribute power and divinity to the words and letters which are the mere containers and symbols for such truths. At the start of Hilchot Avoda Zara, Rambam attributes a similar mistake to early generations of idolators, who had initially revered stars as symbols of genuine divinity before proceeding to worship and attribute power to these symbols themselves.

Returning to Sinai, Rambam understands that the whole nation was granted some form of mystical perception in order to participate in and witness Moshe’s prophecy (Shemot 19:9). Nadav and Avihu, however, are criticised in a Midrash for “staring at God” – an irreverence which is compounded by their “eating and drinking” that Rambam takes to mean an illicit and corrupting input of physicality into their mystical experience.

This core mistake bears a strong resemblance to Rambam’s understanding of Elisha ben Avuyah’s mistake – failing to respect the limits of his own intellectual and mystical capacity in his infamous Pardes failure. It is to be contrasted with the conduct of our greatest prophet Moshe who initially, recognising his own limitations, “hid his face” at the Burning Bush because he was afraid to look. Tellingly, when Moshe eventually scales the heights of prophetic potential and receives the loftiest and most accurate of all prophetic insights at Sinai he repeatedly emphasises (in contrast to Nadav and Avihu) that for those 40 days “bread I did not eat and water I did not drink”. His unrivalled comprehension of God in receiving the Torah was uncorrupted by any physicality or input of the imaginative faculty.

First posted to Facebook 30 January 2020, here.

Non-Jews in Jewish tradition: a comparison or rationalist and mystical approaches

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed which relates to parashat Chukat uses the Torah’s discussion or ritual impurity (tuma) as a springboard to analyse different rabbinic approaches to the differential between Jews and non-Jews. One phrase, which appears near the start of the parashah, teaches that a certain form of tumah (ohel) is generated by proximity only to a Jewish corpse. This is derived from the words “Adam ki yamut be’ohel” – a person who dies in a tent. Rashi quotes a teaching of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai that “only you [Jews] are called Adam, the nations of the world are not called Adam”.

Having examined the rationale of this law from both a mystical and symbolic perspective, our attention turns to its derivation. What does it mean to say that non-Jews are not considered “adam”? Doesn’t a nearby verse uses the term “nefesh adam” to refer to a form of tumah which applies equally to corpses of all religious affiliations?

We examine the source of Rabbi Shimon’s statement regarding non-Jews, in which the prophet Yechezkel says “You [the Jews] are adam”. This phrase forms part of a Messianic prophecy that the Jews will return to their former elevated status and “reunite” with God. The implication is that “adam” does not refer to basic humanity, but rather identifies the “tzelem Elokim” that was granted to Adam HaRishon and gives mankind the ability to think freely and contemplate Divine truths. Radak connects this “Adam” description with another prophetic vision which depicts the world as being awash with Divine knowledge and prophecy. When this position is reached, the status of “adam” will truly have been achieved.

This rendering of the word “adam” finds support in the Tiferet Yisrael commentary to Avot. There, Rabbi Yisrael Lifschitz suggests that the word “adam” refers to those charged with the unique mission of the Jewish People, while “bnei adam” is a description of the entire human species of homo sapiens: the common descendants of Adam. The assignment of the special ‘Adam’ status of the Jewish people to their moral and spiritual mission rather than to any inherently enhanced holiness, is consistent with R’ Hirsch’s understanding of the concept of a ‘Chosen Nation’.

Being a holy nation, for R’ Hirsch, means having been set aside and given a responsibility to act as an example to other nations. Drawing on other phrases employed by the Torah such as “my firstborn is Israel” and “a kingdom of priests,” R’ Hirsch teaches that the relationship between Jews and the other nations is more akin to “first among equals.” As the nation chosen to receive God’s word at Sinai, the Jews are charged with carrying His torch in the world and thereby bearing the privilege and responsibility of serving as a light unto the nations.

This puts R’ Hirsch at odds with those approaching the subject from a mystical perspective such the Ohr HaChaim commentary, which explains how the distinction in tumah arises from a qualitative difference between the holiness of Jewish and non-Jewish souls. Such an approach is firmly grounded in Rabbi Yehudah HaLevi’s Kuzari, which proposes that the generations from Adam to Avraham contained many Godly people to whom the “Divine Essence” became attached on an individual basis. Once the Avot and family achieved such a level as a group, this Essence attached to them on a communal and national level so that their descendants are rendered distinctly holy.

R’ Hirsch’s approach is consistent, however, with the position of Rambam who has no place for any inherent holiness differential between the souls of Jews and non-Jews. Having examined Rambam’s position, Judaism Reclaimed brings passages from the Tosefot Yom Tov commentary to Avot of Rabbi Yom Tov Heller, who argues powerfully that Rambam’s understanding is supported by Rabbi Akiva’s statement that all “adam” is created in God’s image. Rabbi Heller argues that Rambam’s position represents the primary Jewish position on the matter and declares himself “astonished” that so many authorities ignore this teaching of Rabbi Akiva, preferring instead the “distant derash” of Rabbi Shimon, mentioned above, which limits the status of “adam” to the Jewish People.

While Rambam therefore views all mankind as having identical souls, his understanding of the Jewish people’s unique status as recorded in the Torah requires further investigation. We develop an approach based upon his statement in Moreh Nevuchim that “the providence of God over them [the Avot] and their descendants will be great”. This implies that the Jewish People has a constant and considerable hashgachah clalit (national Providence) which guides the community as a whole towards the Divine will. It is this unique national providence which ensured that it was the Jewish People who were suitable to receive the Torah at Sinai and be elevated and refined by its teachings.

The chapter concludes with an investigation of Rambam and R’ Hirsch’s views regarding the envisaged relationship between Jews and non-Jews in the Messianic era – a subject which has been the subject of a previous post.

Posted to Facebook 3 July 2022, here, and 1 July 2020, here.

Maimonides, rationalism and Sonic the Hedgehog!

I am honoured to have been hosted on this wonderful 18Forty Podcast by Rabbi David Bashevkin - where I discuss rationalism in the modern world, bible criticism, Maimonides and Sonic the Hedgehog!

(There is quite a long intro, my section starts at around 32 mins!)  

First posted to Facebook 23 November 2021, here.

How was Rambam viewed by Mediaeval rationalists?

The nature of Rambam’s religious and philosophical views is something which has long been debated – and will continue to be a matter of controversy for the foreseeable future. Moshe ben Maimon has been claimed as one of their own by pretty much every sect of Judaism – from Hassidim to Reform; Orthodox to atheists. Overwhelmingly, however, he is categorised as belonging to the rationalist wing of Judaism, and understood to have been attempting to reorientate Jewish thought towards a more Aristotelian point of view. 

It is certainly true that Rambam sought to establish a version of Judaism which emphasised the importance of an intellectual relationship with God. In doing so he saw the physical world and laws of nature as a manifestation of God’s wisdom through which we can reach knowledge, fear and love of God – and therefore minimised the role of miracles within Judaism and the existence of mystical or magical forces which interfered with nature.

Nevertheless, before casually labelling Rambam a “rationalist” or “Aristotelian”, it is valuable to examine exactly how his religious and philosophical teachings were received by others in the rational camp of medieval Jewish thinkers. This allows us to reach a more nuanced understanding of Rambam’s own theology and his stated purpose in writing A Guide for the Perplexed– for those who were struggling to reconcile Jewish and Aristotelian teachings.

One notable medieval Jewish rationalist was Samuel ibn Tibbon, who translated the Guide into Hebrew, thereby allowing it to reach a broader Jewish audience. Ibn Tibbon was critical of Rambam’s work in several places, all of them in connection with his apparent departure from an intellectualist Aristotelian template in order to embrace a warmer Judaism which engaged with the entire nation – not just a “philosophical elite”.

We read in yesterday’s parashah of Moshe’s extensive dedication to the people whom he led, making himself available to assist them “from morning to evening”, and thereby causing his father-in-law to be concerned for his wellbeing. But was Moshe’s selflessness altogether positive? Or is it better regarded as a “necessary evil” through which he sacrificed his own spiritual development for the greater good? It depends who you ask.

In Guide 3:51, Rambam describes how Moshe and the Avot reached the highest level of human perfection, for they were in constant communion with God and also fully involved in the creation and governance of a religious community. Ibn Tibbon, however, does not accept Rambam’s approach, arguing instead in his Ma’amar Yikavu HaMayim that these praiseworthy figures could have reached an even higher state had they engaged in a life of pure contemplation, free from the hindrances of the physical and political world.

Ibn Tibbon’s position forms part of his greater critique of Rambam’s Jewish worldview which he considered to be an unjustifiable departure from Aristotelian philosophy.

The concluding passages of the Guide present a brief discussion of the purpose of human existence. Building upon his celebration of the virtues of philosophical contemplation, Rambam introduces a biblical text (Jeremiah 9:22–23) which he says presents the same ideas of the philosophers, but with one vital addition: “exercising lovingkindness, judgment, and righteousness, in the earth”. Thus knowledge of God, Maimonides implies, should lead to action; the contemplative should serve a practical end.

In the preface to the translation of Maimonides on Avot, Ibn Tibbon discusses these same verses from Jeremiah in detail, explains and criticizes Maimonides’ interpretation of them, then presents his own novel explication. According to Ibn Tibbon, the final human perfection is knowledge and understanding of God, without qualification. Thus the verse should be understood differently, with the final clause relating to God rather than man; man should understand and know God, full stop.

Perhaps the most explicit and instructive critique which Ibn Tibbon makes of Rambam relates to his interpretation (Guide 1:15) of Ya’akov’s dream involving angels ascending and descending a ladder. According to Rambam, these angels symbolise prophets. As I present it in Judaism Reclaimed:

“While Rambam understands prophecy to be the preserve of those who have greatly developed their intellect, Ya'akov's dream teaches that the prophet, having scaled the heights and gained a great intellectual insight, must return down to the masses to lead and be involved with their affairs. With this message, the Torah rejects the stereotype of the prophet as a reclusive 'Man of God', who is removed from and unconcerned with the fate of those around him.”

Once again, Ibn Tibbon’s Aristotelian frame of reference could not accept Rambam’s inclusion of altruism as a key requirement for a fully-functioning prophet, writing instead that the angels are the philosophers, who ascend the ladder of wisdom toward metaphysics, the final subject of the curriculum.

In all three of these examples, Ibn Tibbon emphasizes the contemplative over the practical. He works with the same biblical texts singled out by Rambam, but arrives at a different philosophical position.

It is not only Ibn Tibbon who criticised Rambam for insufficiently adhering to Aristotelian principles. Ralbag (Gersonides), in his exploration of the nature of divine knowledge in Milchamot Hashem (3:3) struggles to comprehend how Rambam considers that God has knowledge of particulars as well as generalities writing:

“It seems that Maimonides’ position on this question of Divine cognition is not implied by any philosophical principles; indeed, reason denies this view, as I will show. It seems rather that theological considerations have forced him to this view.”

It is against this backdrop that we can begin to appreciate quite how radical Rambam’s position on the matter was, remaining faithful to the clear implications of the biblical texts despite the theological challenges that these created when viewed from the prevalent Aristotelian perspective (see more on Rambam’s understanding of divine knowledge here).

Assessing Rambam from our modern-day point of view, he defies easy pigeon-holing and does not fit into any of our over-simplified categories of religious thought. While his embrace of a non-kabbalistic Judaism which respects the laws of nature as manifestations of God’s eternal wisdom understandably causes him to be labelled a “rationalist” in the spectrum of today’s Jewish world, this should not mislead people to believe that he did not possess a powerful religious – even mystical dimension (a matter that I have explored elsewhere).

Is it radical to suggest that our assessment of Rambam’s rationalist credentials should take into the account the reactions he received from card-carrying Aristotelians from his own era?

First posted on Facebook 12 February 2023, here.

Drunken Maimonideans and a sobering reality

In his description of the mitzvot of Purim, Rambam obligates a person to “drink wine until he becomes intoxicated and falls asleep in a stupor”. While this requirement stands out as a startlingly unusual religious command – I recall a non-Jewish teacher reacting in utter disbelief to the very idea of it – inebriation would appear particularly harmful to the entire religious enterprise as understood by Rambam, who places so much emphasis on a constantly rational frame of mind. As Maharal, who follows Rambam’s approach in this area, puts it: “Intellect is the connection between man and God, and through intoxication this connection is severed”. What possible religious benefit could such a non-salubrious celebration offer?

An early chapter of Judaism Reclaimed explores a fundamental dichotomy in Rambam’s thought. On the one hand, he idealises intellectual comprehension of rational divine truths as the ultimate religious achievement but at the same time he openly recognises that the human mind is not naturally conditioned for such comprehension. This recognition of the realities of the human condition forms the basis of Rambam’s explanation of the role of Torah and mitzvot as preparatory tools for enabling the intellect to comprehend divine truths. The existence of worldly barriers to intellectual achievement also prompts Rambam to advise that the majority of people must, at least initially, be made aware of God through received tradition rather than rational speculation.

Commenting upon a cryptic passage from this week’s parashah, Rambam (Shemoneh Perakim) takes this idea further. In the aftermath of the Golden Calf, Moshe asks: “Give me a true understanding of Your essence”, to which God responds: “No man can see Me and live.” Rambam explains that even Moshe, who had perfected his intellect and traits to the ‘ultimate’ level in order to perceive objective divine truths, still had one significant barrier preventing him from truly perceiving God: “that the human intellect is not separated [from the body] … his aspiration [objective knowledge of God] was unattainable because he was a physical being”. This principle, that the human intellect is inhibited by its connection to the physical body, appears again in Mishneh Torah where Rambam writes that the soul in the World to Come is able to comprehend God and divine truths to an extent that had previously been impossible when attached to its physical body.

Intoxication can thus serve to remind fervent Maimonideans, who worship at the altar of rational theorising, to be mindful of the outer limits of the human intellect and not place more confidence in the fruit of their rational deliberations than Rambam himself was prepared to. To quote Maimonidean scholar, Prof Marvin Fox: “The widespread failure to recognise Maimonides’ rigorous awareness of the limits of reason continues to be one of the mysteries of the history of Jewish philosophy”.

On a separate note, there is an additional Purim teaching in which Rambam summons his students to cast their glances beyond the walls of their study halls and embrace the needs of the wider community:

It is preferable for a person to be more liberal with his donations to the poor than to be lavish in his preparation of the Purim feast or in sending portions to his friends. For there is no greater and more splendid happiness than to gladden the hearts of the poor, the orphans, the widows, and the converts. One who brings happiness to the hearts of these unfortunate individuals resembles the Divine Presence, which Isaiah describes as having the tendency "to revive the spirit of the lowly and to revive those with broken hearts."

As Rambam powerfully affirms in his conclusion to the Moreh, the sort of refined intellectual connection to God which his Judaism so greatly emphasises is one which goes hand-in-hand with personal refinement and empathy for the feelings of others. At the peak of his religious philosophy, Rambam appears to view these areas of endeavour as representing complementary rather than contradictory approaches towards achieving a connection to God.

This post combines ideas from various chapters of Judaism Reclaimed: Philosophy and Theology in the Torah. 

First posted to Facebook on 8 March 2020, here.

Is the mezuzah a protective talisman?

At the end of yesterday’s Torah reading, we recounted the instruction received by the Jews in Egypt to smear blood on their doorposts – a show of faith and loyalty which would be repaid by God “Passing Over” their houses during the plague of the firstborn. This command has strong thematic and midrashic connections to a law that they would soon receive, which requires us to affix a mezuzah to our doorposts.

While the Talmud certainly associates mezuzah with supernatural protection, it remains to be understood exactly what this protection consists of and how it works. I was recently sent a fascinating podcast by my friend Simi Rivka Lerner which analysed Rabbi S. R. Hirsch’s approach to this topic (linked in comments).

Simi Rivka Lerner relates a personal encounter with someone who was stopped by the police for driving while using his phone. Rather than using this as an opportunity for self-reflection for acting in a way that potentially threatened the safety of both himself and others, this person’s reaction was “I was caught – I had better check my mezuzahs!”.

While this is perhaps an extreme example it illustrates, according to Rabbi Lerner, the extent to which people relate to mezuzah as a lucky charm – a magical device which wards of evil spirits. In the thinking of Rambam and Rav Hirsch this attitude is not just wrong, but it negates the very purpose of the commandment of mezuzah.

Returning to the instruction to place the blood of the original Korban Pesach on the doorframe, the sages in Mechilta identify a dual symbolic significance of this action. For the Jews inside the house, the blood served to demarcate a living space which was to be sanctified and used for holy purposes. At the same time, the blood on the outside of the doorpost was a powerful public declaration, as Rambam puts it: 

“We were commanded to kill a lamb on Passover… to cleanse ourselves of those [foreign] doctrines, and to publicly proclaim the opposite, to express the belief that the very act of slaughtering the Egyptians’ god, which was then considered as being the cause of death, would bring deliverance from death. This was the reward for publicly performing a service, every part of which was objected to by the idolaters.” (Moreh 3:46)

This dual symbolic significance, teaches Rav Hirsch, is mirrored in the commandment of mezuzah, with the doorpost of one’s home now a constant reminder of God and the Torah. Each time a person enters the house, he continues, they are prompted to recall that the values with which they raise their family – and the way in which they interact with their household members – are to be governed by Torah’s moral and spiritual teachings. And similarly, when leaving the house to enter into the wider world, our dealings with wider society should be premised on the Torah’s teachings and values.

It is these spiritual values and moral teachings which lie at the heart of the mezuzah’s “protective powers”. To quote Rav Hirsch again:

“The mezuzah is not an amulet; in and of itself, it does not protect the house. Only insofar as they shape their lives in accordance with the mezuzah’s content can the people within the house expect help and protection from God.”

Rav Hirsch’s message is consistent with the teachings of Rambam who concludes Hilchot Tefillin veMezuzah with a declaration that:

“Each time a person enters or leaves and encounters the One Name of God Blessed be He, he will recall His love and will be awoken from the foolish and temporary vanities (of this world). And he will know that nothing lasts in this world except for knowledge of the Rock of the world, and he will immediately return to his senses and walk the straight path. The early sages said that everyone who has tefillin on his head and arm, tzitzit on his garment, and a mezuzah on his doorpost is certain not to sin, for he has many reminders (of God’s truth), and these themselves are the angels who will save him from sin, as in says “the angel of God will encamp around those who fear Him and rescue them”.

Judaism Reclaimed notes that what emerges from this passage is that Rambam did not consider these commandments to possess any inherent “magical” protective powers. Rather, by using them as reminders, a person is constantly focused on God and His teachings. Such a person deepens his or her relationship with God, thereby making it more meaningful and profound. As Rambam teaches elsewhere, providence is something which must be earned through a genuine two-way relationship with God, and can be incrementally enhanced as one scales the spiritual ladder.

Commandments such as mezuzah, tefillin and prayer are precious tools through we can deepen and improve our relationship with God. If we simply regard them as a pagan-style talisman or supernatural slot-machine whose “powers” we seek to manipulate for our personal benefit, however, they can instead end up distancing us rather than connecting us to God and His providential protection.

First posted to Facebook 19 March 2023, here.