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.

When is it prohibited to recite Tehillim?

What is the least known and most counter-intuitive prohibition in Torah law? I’m pretty sure that one we read yesterday would come near the top of most people’s list – if, indeed, they were aware of it!

Among the list of Canaanite practices that the Israelites are warned to avoid upon entering the Land, we read of “chover chaver” – widely interpreted as uttering spells in order to charm animals and achieve other such manipulations of nature. All this sounds pretty innocuous, but Rambam and the Chinuch identify a Talmudic source (Shavuot 15b) which extends the prohibition to reciting Tehillim in order to attempt to heal a sick person!

The strongest expression of this law can be found in Rambam’s Hilchot Avoda Zara (11:12):

A person who whispers an incantation over a wound and recites a verse from the Torah, who recites a verse over a child so that he will not become scared, or who places a Torah scroll or tefillin over a baby so that it will sleep, is not merely considered to be [prohibited as] a soothsayer or one who cast spells. Such people are included among those who deny the Torah, because they relate to the words of Torah as if they are cures for the body, when, in fact, they are cures for the soul…

It is, however, permitted for a healthy person to read verses or chapters from Tehillim so that the merit of reading them will protect him and save him from difficulties and injury.

So in certain circumstances, reciting verses from Tehillim is utterly forbidden and equated with magical spells and charms while at other times it is a permitted form of protection. What exactly is the difference between these two categories?

The Sefer HaChinuch (#512) provides a further explanation. Referring to the permitted recitation of Tehillim performed by Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi in the Gemara he writes that:

“The matter is not, God forbid, akin to chover chaver – though the sages have already said it is forbidden to heal oneself with words of Torah. Rather these chapters of Tehillim are recited because they contain words which can awaken the soul of one who comprehends them to place all his trust in God…meaning that the Torah did not prohibit a person from saying words of Torah which will inspire his soul to do good – so that this merit will protect him.”

There seems to have been an explosion of Tehillim recitation in recent times. Email circulars seeking participants to help complete the book of Tehillim in order to heal a sick person, large groups of people who attempt to complete the entire book themselves over the course of a month, week or even a day. Specific chapters which are highlighted as segulot to achieve various goals from livelihood to finding a spouse. Even writing centuries ago, the Ramchal complained of how popular perceptions of piety typically revolved around fasting and reciting numerous Psalms rather than intense character training and determining correct behaviour.

So how are we to approach Tehillim recitation in today’s Psalm-intensive era?

One form of advice is offered by the Meiri, who explains that the recitation of a verse is permitted when it is being used as a vehicle for one who cannot find the correct words through which to express their own personal prayers.

Fundamentally however, the mechanical recitation of verses in order to heal or achieve other personal goals reduces Tehillim to a spell-book through which one hopes to manipulate the physical world. In the view of the Gemara this does little more than replace idolatrous Canaanite charms with the book of Psalms. Despite prevailing perceptions of piety, such practices would appear to remain strictly forbidden under Torah law.

Importantly though, one who concentrates on the meaning of the words can be inspired by them to form a more profound and deeper relationship with God. This strengthened relationship can strengthen the providential protection that one can legitimately anticipate receiving and is not only permitted – it is a highly praiseworthy practice.

First posted to Facebook 20 August 2023, here.

Kaddish and mourning practices: can we improve the fate of deceased relatives?

In the Torah reading this coming Shabbat we will read of Aharon’s silent reaction to his sons’ death. A reaction which the commentaries view as praiseworthy. In the millennia which followed Aharon, the Jewish people have developed an impressive array of practices surrounding death and mourning. The vast majority of these practices, including the recital of a Mourner’s Kaddish and leading prayer services for a year after a parent’s death, belong to the category of minhag (custom) rather than halacha. Many are surprised to discover that these customs, which are often talked of in terms of “chiyuv” (legal obligation), were entirely absent from Judaism 1,000 years ago.

The origin of kaddish in general – and the mourners’ kaddish in particular – have been lost in the mists of time. Kaddish may be obliquely referenced in the Talmud but it is not found in connection with any framework of obligatory prayer. (A post-Talmudic legend concerning a son saying “Borechu” and saving the father from Gehinnom does not appear to be reflected in any Talmudic halacha – or even Aggadah of Chazal). One is hard pressed to find formal instruction concerning the Mourners’ Kaddish in the works of the early Rishonim – it is a custom whose origin and growth may well coincide with the rise of Kabbalah towards the end of the era of the Rishonim. Yet Kaddish for those in mourning or observing annual “yarzeits” for relatives have become so elevated in the communal consciousness that it is rigorously recited even by those who otherwise will rarely attend shul or observe Jewish law. In some circles this has even become a business, with people paid handsomely to recite Kaddish regularly on behalf of the son of a deceased.

At first glance, Kaddish is a shining example of a positive and widely-accepted custom which provides numerous benefits and few drawbacks. It plays an important part of the healing process for those experiencing grief, providing an active way for them to channel their emotions through recitations of prayers. The communal dimension of this custom offers additional benefits with mourners caused to regularly surround themselves with fellow worshippers rather than sit at home alone and dwell upon their loss. From a religious perspective, there is copious anecdotal evidence of people re-engaging with their shuls and prayer services in a way that lasted well beyond their year of mourning. Some tell of parents who are motivated to give their children a basic Jewish education “so at least they can say kaddish for me when I’m gone”. If nothing else, it allows grieving children to honour their deceased parents in a final show of respect, sometimes helping to allay pangs of conscience for potential breaches of this honour while they were alive.

When we move to examine the theological side of Kaddish and these more recent customs relating to mourning things start to become more complicated. It can be argued that the very premise which led to the explosion in popularity of Kaddish and Mourner-prayer rituals – that its recitation can redeem or elevate the souls of the dead – was far from the mainstream Jewish position.

The most prominent theological approach which emerges from “older Judaism” with regard to vicarious-third-party assistance for the soul of the deceased is striking. Sherira and Hai Gaon both state explicitly that one cannot provide any merit for someone who is dead; they are judged solely on the basis of their own merits – “even if all the righteous people in the world were to pray and perform charity/kind deeds on his behalf it cannot raise him” (Otzar HaGeonim, Chagigah #22). In a similar vein, Rav Nissim Gaon is quoted in the Sefer Chassidim (#605) as saying that there is no way to pray for the wicked so that they enjoy the fate of the righteous for their judgement is based solely on their own merits; its is “inconceivable that someone can perform evil deeds and gain absolution through another’s prayer”.

A similar position is advanced by Rambam in his commentary to Avot 4:22 (or 4:17 in some editions). Drawing upon a teaching in Kohelet (9:10) that “there is neither deed nor reckoning, neither knowledge nor wisdom in the grave, where you are going”, Rambam emphasizes that the level of merit and connection to God that one achieves upon death is the one with which he remains for eternity: “there is no advancing or acquisition after death of any matter which a person fell short in”. These teachings of Rambam and the Geonim would appear consistent with a whole host of Talmudic teachings which identify this World as the place for performing deeds and gaining merit, and the World to Come as the place to receive reward.

While we may be able to understand how children and students, inspired by the Torah and good deeds of a deceased mentor, can provide merit for his soul, it is difficult to fathom what system of justice and truth could allow for a person’s fate to be influenced by the unconnected deeds of others after their death.

Furthermore, can we imagine that Talmudic sages were aware of such a possible correction for souls of the deceased yet neglected to tell anyone or instruct children to pray for their dead parents? Or are we to assume that variations of these practices were somehow observed but never formally written or alluded to in any halachic or other Jewish works?

First posted on Facebook 31 March 2024, here.