Religious coercion and Jewish theocracy

This week’s parashah opens with a requirement to appoint law enforcement officers. In Torah law, it is not only civil and criminal law which is regulated by governmental authorities, but also religious rules such as Shabbat observance.

How are we to relate to the Torah’s apparent endorsement of such a phenomenon? Can this passage be cited in support of those who campaign, for example, to close entertainment venues on Shabbat in Israel?

Setting aside the practical efficacy of adopting heavy-handed tactics in an attempt to increase religious observance among secular people – and the likely backlash that this would continue to provoke – certain Talmudic passages suggest that implementing such coercion in today’s society may not be correct from a religious perspective.

In its chapter which grapples with the ability of Jewish civil and criminal law to govern a society, Judaism Reclaimed cites a fascinating passage from the writings of Yeshayahu Leibowitz. The passage concerns the Eglah Arufah ceremony – also found in this week’s parashah – which was performed by the elders of a community which had suffered an unsolved murder. By carrying out this rite, the community is brought to realise the enormity of what has occurred and the sanctity of human life.

A Mishnah at the end of Sotah teaches, however, that “when the number of murderers increased, the Eglah Arufa ceremony was suspended”. This religious rite is meaningful only in a society for which murder is an abhorrent and exceptional occurrence. Once murder is commonplace, explains Leibowitz (and supported by Rabbi S. R. Hirsch), there is no need to pretend that we are shocked by an unresolved murder. In such a society there is a certain measure of hypocrisy in such a rite. The society must first be purged of daily occurrences of murder – only then is there reason to hold such a ceremony. A parallel tannaitic teaching informs us that “when adultery became common, the bitter waters [Sotah rites] were suspended”. Once again, concludes Leibowitz, if a society is saturated with sexual immorality, there is no reason to be shocked at the case of a suspected adulteress. One ought instead to try to reform the society.

Leibowitz then proposes that the spirit governing the abolition of the Eglah Arufah and Sotah rites contains an important lesson for today’s generation:

“In a society and state which are not based on the recognition of the obligation to observe the Torah, there is no reason to investigate whether some specific law of the state is in accordance with the halakha. By directing our thoughts and actions to just these details…we make the struggle for the Torah and its mitzvot into a caricature.

In a society and a state in which public life, as based on government and law, involves the operation of ports and airports on Shabbat, where hundreds of factories work on Shabbat with government permission, where there are government radio and television on Shabbat, the struggle against the opening of another movie house on Shabbat makes religion into a mockery. In a society where large parts within it, of all social classes, have ruled that “You will not commit adultery” and “there will not be a harlot” does not apply, and that such phenomena are even understandable – the requirement that marriage must be in accordance with halakha is only a desecration of the institute of religious marriage, a desecration of the Torah, and only serves to increase the number of mamzerim in Israel.

Mend the society, mend the state – and then you are permitted, and even obliged, to be concerned that the details within the framework of the society and the state should be in accordance with the demands of the Torah. As long as you do not struggle for a change of the image of the Jewish people, you cannot struggle for certain details in the lifestyle of the members of this community, and certainly not for details in the laws of that state, that community – which has not assumed for itself the Yoke of the Torah and mitzvot – is establishing for itself.”

It may be possible to bolster these powerful words from Yeshayahu Leibowitz with those of his prophetic namesake, who sharply rebuked Israel for their misplaced priorities in the First Temple era:

“You shall no longer bring vain meal-offerings, it is smoke of abomination to Me; New Moons and Sabbaths, festivals, I cannot [bear] iniquity with assembly. Your New Moons and your appointed seasons My soul hates, they are a burden to Me; I am weary of bearing [them]…Wash, cleanse yourselves, remove the evil of your deeds from before My eyes, cease to do evil. Learn to do good, seek justice, strengthen the robbed, perform justice for the orphan, plead the case of the widow.”

If God, as represented in the first chapter of Yeshaya, considers the ritual observances of a corrupt and unrighteous people to be unwelcome and burdensome, can we rightly expect our secular brethren to embrace a religion which is so regularly tainted with scandal and unethical behaviour? Rather than battling to coerce whole swathes of a resentful secular society to unwillingly curtail their Shabbat entertainment, perhaps the most potent tool of persuasion available to religious warriors is to concentrate on constructing a religious society which is so ethical, holy and righteous that is serves as a spiritual magnet for those searching to better themselves and live a refined and godly existence.

Tel Aviv light rail dispute here.

First posted on Facebook 28 August 2022, here.

Loving others -- only when they are like yourself?

As Tisha Be’Av fast approaches we can brace ourselves for the usual traditional messages about why the Temple was destroyed. The baseless hatred that afflicted ancient Israel and how we must look to love one another more in order to merit redemption. Writing from my neighbourhood in “protest-land” near the Knesset – it seems that Tisha Be’Avs come and go, the messages get repeated, yet we as a nation grow ever further apart.

Over the past year I’ve witnessed first-hand the hatred and poisonous rhetoric which all-too-easily spills over into violence (one of our kids recently chose a bad time to walk down the street…). Even Tishe Be’av itself has seen rival groups scuffling over religious/political matters.

What is particularly striking from speaking to such people is they are typically adamant that achdut (unity) and interpersonal mitzvot are of utmost importance. Shockingly, many compatriots and co-religionists are so single-mindedly stuck in the echo chamber of their communal bubble that they define concepts such as “unity” and “love for the other” only within their own narrow ideological circle. How else can one explain the absurd TV interview from one of this week’s protests in which a woman claimed that “the whole nation is united in opposition to this reform”? (And yes, I have heard parallel absurdities being voiced by proponents of the reform too). Communities, schools and even kids’ summer camps are strictly screened to ensure that, God forbid, one’s children shouldn’t have to mix or converse with people who hold an opposing point of view.

The result is a nation made up of a series of distinct social, political and religious groupings, each of which is becoming increasingly separated and insulated from the others. One speaks to those who identify with religiously observant sectors who are unable to fathom how their secular counterparts might view them and their representatives as indulging in hypocritically pious externalities along with grubby and sometimes even corrupt political machinations. Meanwhile the outright hostility we received initially from some secular Israeli neighbours aghast at the thought of a religious family moving into their building (until we were able to get to know and eventually befriend them) was tragically eye-opening.

An early chapter of Judaism Reclaimed examines rabbinic sources which emphasise how national providence is primarily determined by national unity – to an even greater extent than it is affected by the committal of the three cardinal sins. Yet a prior step before we even discuss “unity” is the recognition that we are part of the same wider group to begin with – that we are all in the same boat even as we may try to steer it in different directions.

Instead of letting Tisha Be’Av become a caricature of the continuing crisis – sitting on the floor among likeminded lamenters sadly shaking our heads at “others” who practice baseless hatred – let it motivate us instead to make a firm commitment. To reach out beyond our comfort zone. To embrace and seek to understand the Other whenever they might cross our path.

Rather than lazily categorising and defining people based upon their political or religious affiliation we can attempt to see them first and foremost as fellow human beings and Jews – albeit ones who possess beliefs with which we may deeply disagree. Rather than thinking (or even shouting) “traitors” “parasites” “fascists” or making disparaging comments about “stupid …ists”, we can strive to see the humanity within people different from ourselves – people who on the whole are devoted friends, loving family members yet who hold a contrasting set of beliefs about how our little country and nation can be improved.

If we are able to collectively succeed in this realignment then we can look forward to a very different 9th of Av experience in years to come. Until such a time we can continue to mourn the destructive divisiveness of the past, safe in the knowledge that we are emulating our ancestors’ faults and repeating their deadly disunity and critical errors in our own modern era.

First posted on Facebook 26 July 2023., here

Prayer in war and peace

Prayer in Judaism, while representing a core and fundamental religious act, takes on a surprisingly wide range of forms and guises. On Shabbat-Simchat Torah morning, my early morning outdoor service in central Jerusalem began with serene meditative prayer at sunrise – unaware of the horror unfolding less than 100km to the South. A mid-Haftarah rocket siren quickly snapped us out of our peaceful contemplation. As news of the “situation in the South” gradually filtered through, our prayers became more pointed and desperate – until I felt too sick and distracted to continue and went home to join and try to reassure our younger kids in the building’s shelter.

It occurred to me in the days that followed that Jewish law contains two completely distinct modes of prayer which fulfil entirely different functions. Writing in Hilchot Tefillah, Rambam describes a very idealistic mode of prayer. Basing himself on an accumulation of various Talmudic teachings, he provides precise details of the various forms of preparation that one should go through in order to free one’s mind of worldly concerns and mentally attach oneself to the divine realm. Expanding upon this in the Moreh, Rambam understands that prayer in its essence is a contemplative intellectual exercise which offers crucial assistance to a person trying to enhance their providential relationship with God.

This sort of meditative prayer is not always recommended. In fact, writes Rambam, it is not permitted to embark upon such prayer at a time when one is troubled or weighed down by worldly challenges.

All of this describes the mode of prayer which I was attempting to pursue in the first half of the Shabbat morning service.

But there is also a very different model of prayer which Rambam introduces us to at the start of Hilchot Ta’anit:

“It is a positive Torah commandment to cry out and to sound trumpets in the eent of any difficulty that arises which affects the community, as the Torah states: "[When you go out to war... against] an enemy who attacks you and you sound the trumpets....", meaning to say: Whenever you are distressed by difficulties - e.g., famine, plague, locusts, or the like - cry out [to God] because of them and sound the trumpets.”

This second category of prayer is specifically designed to guide communal and national reaction to times of great distress and tragedy. Rather than a serene theological ascent to commune with the divine realm, it seeks to ensure that our primal crying out in fear and sorrow is directed to God – to know that it is our national covenant with Him which continues to determine our collective fate.

As Rambam proceeds to explain, this form of desperate communal crying out to God is intended, among other things, to direct our attention inwards and help us identify our own spiritual, moral and religious flaws which might have contributed to the crisis in hand.

In our particular situation, there is no great investigation which needs to be undertaken. The serious divisions and infighting which has rocked the country over the last year may well have damaged the army’s readiness, and reportedly was also a major source of encouragement for our enemies. From a spiritual dimension our tradition contrasts King David’s generation, in which many fell in battle since there was quarrelling and in-fighting with the more sinful generation of Ahab which was granted divine military assistance because of their great unity and commendable behaviour to one another.

Poignantly, this very lesson may be encapsulated in the fascinating halachic background to Tefillat Geshem – the prayer for rain which concluded the unusual service this Shabbat morning. Surveying the halachic literature on the subject, it seems uncontroversial that Jews in different countries and climates around the world should pray for rain according to the agricultural requirements of their particular locale. Yet the overwhelmingly prevalent practice over the last thousand years has been for Jews to follow the Talmudic prototype which contains minor variations for Jews in Israel and Bavel.

The Rosh, a leading halachic authority of the medieval period, describes in a responsa (10:4) how he initially pursued a strong campaign to correct this custom. Citing Rambam’s criticism of those who “pray with falsehood” for weather conditions that would actually harm rather than benefit their crops, Rosh consulted with Rabbinic leaders across Ashkenaz who all supported his view.

Nevertheless, the Rosh describes how his efforts to implement these changes provoked serious divisions and in-fighting within the community of Ashkenaz, with significant groups powerfully resisting his attempts to change what they saw as their ancestral custom. Setting aside both his pride and his strong personal feelings for what he believed to be correct practice, the Rosh publicly retracted his position in order to keep the peace and maintain communal unity. His private protest in the form of this responsa was restricted to a close circle of students which included his son.

How exactly this lesson can be integrated into 21stcentury Israel’s political and religious tensions is of course a complex and delicate matter. All sides could benefit however from internalising the spirit of the Rosh’s Tefillat HaGeshem compromise, sacrificing a cause so close to his heart on the altar of communal unity.

May God grant us all strength to cope with the horrendous and savage attack which has been inflicted upon our people and bring us absolute and total victory over our brutal enemy. May He watch over our soldiers going in to battle and bring back all of the hostages safely and speedily. And when this nightmare is over, may we be inspired to realise that we are one united people – notwithstanding our significant disagreements – and arise from this tragedy to rebuild Israel as a stronger and more cohesive society with all the blessings that this will achieve.

First posted on Facebook 10 October 2023, here.