Laws, narratives and post-Mosaic additions to the Torah

The concluding chapter of Judaism Reclaimed explores a controversial yet fascinating subject – whether later prophets or other figures might have been authorised to amend or add to passages of the Torah.

Unusually, our analysis of this delicate subject begins with a remarkable passage written by the Maharal, who analyses a statement of Rashi’s commentary to the first verse of parashat Mattot. Rashi teaches that Moshe prophesied on two distinct levels: the exclusive and precise "peh el peh" type mentioned above, as well as the more general "koh amar Hashem" prophecy – the level at which other prophets received their transmissions from God. Thus, while Moshe received the passages of the Torah which contained the permanent mitzvot in the unique, unparalleled manner of “peh el peh”, other parts of the Torah – those which contained narratives or specific one-time-only instructions—were transmitted through the standard form of prophecy.

Maharal offers a possible explanation for the discrepancy that exists between the levels of prophecy granted by God to Moshe in order to transmit different parts of the Torah. He suggests that, in order for a commandment from God to become eternal law, irrespective of the context of the time and place in which it was taught, it must be clearly and unambiguously identified as being God's explicit and exact word. The permanent mitzvot in the Torah, which were delivered through the precision and accuracy of the “pel el peh” process, can thereby withstand the force of claims that the applicability of those mitzvot was limited to ancient times or subject to adjustment when framed within the context of disparate social, political or cultural settings.

With regard to the Torah’s broader teachings as well as its narrative sections, however, there was no need for such a precise “word for word” medium of communication. Therefore these messages were relayed to Moshe in the regular prophetic manner – which required the prophet to contribute his or her own interpretation and could be influenced by their personality.

We noted how Maharal’s distinction between the Torah’s legal and narrative passages dovetails with Ibn Ezra’s stated methodologies for interpreting different parts of the Torah. Towards the end of the introduction to his Torah commentary, Ibn Ezra distinguishes between the approaches for interpreting verses with legal content, which often bear a single specific and immutable meaning transmitted to us via the oral law, and the narrative passages of the Torah which are capable of bearing multiple understandings—"shivim panim latorah".

This connection between Maharal’s theory regarding different levels of prophecy and Ibn Ezra’s distinction between narrative and legal passages of the Torah may allow us to resolve another difficult issue. Ibn Ezra writes that the final 12 verses of the Torah were a prophecy received and recorded by Yehoshua. Elsewhere in his commentary, Ibn Ezra cites other verses which are troubling, in that they permit the suggestion that they are the product of later, non-Mosaic, authorship. Referring to the “secret of the 12” – a phrase which is widely understood to refer to Yehoshua’s authorship of the final 12 verses of the Torah — Ibn Ezra mysteriously informs his reader that one who understands these verses will “recognise the truth”.

Manuscripts which appear to contain Torah commentary of distinguished earlier commentators such as Rabbi Yehudah HaChassid make similar suggestions regarding later prophetic authorship of certain verses in the Torah. Without wishing to enter the debate as to the authenticity of these manuscripts or the proper interpretation of Ibn Ezra’s secret, we can maintain on the basis of our analysis that, even if they do involve the suggestion that certain verses were added through the medium of a later prophecy, we can distinguish these verses, which all pertain solely to the Torah’s narrative, from verses which impart permanent mitzvot. In a similar vein, suggestions that some of the Torah’s earlier passages were incorporated into the Torah by Moshe on the basis of previous (prophetic) works are limited to narrative and do not pertain to any legislative sections.

Following Maharal’s suggestion that narrative portions of the Torah’s text were transmitted by means of regular prophecy, it may be possible to accept that another prophet was divinely authorised to contribute to them (a Tannaic opinion suggests that this was the case for the Torah’s final verses). The Torah’s permanent mitzvot, however, were transmitted through Moshe’s unique prophecy of “peh el peh”, making them immune to any form of supplementing or interference–even by a later prophet.

Notably none of this appears to be accepted by Rambam–at least in the way his principles of faith are expressed in the list contained in the introduction to Chelek. Rambam’s understanding of prophecy as a relatively natural result of a person’s development implies that Moshe's prophecy, through which the entire Torah was transmitted, was constantly on this supreme "peh el peh" level, and did not fluctuate between different biblical passages. Consistent with Rambam’s understanding of Moshe’s constantly supreme level of prophecy with which the entire Torah was relayed, Rambam also insists that it is entirely illegitimate to claim that any additions or amendments were made following Moshe’s death.

This represents the conclusions reached at the end of Judaism Reclaimed. God-willing the final chapter of my upcoming book will reopen this question and probe further approaches to reconciling this difficult topic.

Praying at the graves of our greatest sages

By Ben Koren and Shmuli Phillips

In a few days time we are set to read about the death of the first – and likely the greatest – leader that the Jewish nation has been privileged to produce. Given the unique relationship with God enjoyed by Moshe as well as the extraordinary self-sacrifice that he exhibited on behalf of his people, we can expect to learn a great deal from the way in which the Torah directed the people to honour and revere Moshe’s memory.

What kind of prayer site must his disciples have wanted to construct at his grave in order to feel inspired and spiritually uplifted through proximity to his final resting place? Surely Moshe – who interceded so successfully on behalf of the Israelites in his lifetime – should be approached to petition God for mercy from his elevated place in the World to Come?

Approaching the Torah from the perspective of practices and customs which have been popularised in modern Judaism, readers might be shocked to discover that the site of Moshe’s grave was not elevated to a holy place or prayer and worship. In fact, according to Ralbag, the reason why “no-one knows his burial place until this very day” was precisely to avoid a situation in which Moshe’s burial place would be turned into some kind of shrine. Chizkuni spells this idea out even more clearly, writing that his grave was hidden so that those who seek to communicate with the dead – a biblically prohibited practice – would not be able to seek his assistance. The phenomenon of Jews praying at Kivrei Tzaddikim (Graves of the Righteous) is a widely accepted and common practice today — but does that make it acceptable?

It is rooted in Talmudic Aggadah (non-legalistic passages) and, of course, the few obscure instances referencing this practice are open to interpretation. We have a tradition from the Geonim, the last direct link to the Talmudic academies of Sura and Pumpedita, that Aggadot are not to be taken literally, as they are didactic and often rhetorical in nature and sometimes go beyond simple reason in order to make a lesson vivid to the reader. So with that said, let us look to Tanach to find rock-solid textual support for this practice.

Herein lies the problem! Tanach contains no explicit mention of such a ritual. One may rightly point out that there are plenty of practices we do that are *learned out* from Tanach but aren't explicitly laid out in the text, so why should we treat this any differently?

The closest we get to a biblical reference for praying at graves is found in aggadic and midrashic commentaries to Tanach. Rashi mentions that Calev visited the Avot at Ma’arat Hamachpela. Aside from the fact that it's a Midrash, Calev visiting his ancestors and seeing history come full circle with Abraham's prophecy coming to fruition — was surely an inspiring moment.

But where do we find people visiting the graves of David HaMelekh or Yishayahu HaNavi to beseech God on our behalf? The answer: nowhere! Like Calev, we can visit our *grandparents* graves (as well as other loved ones) — there's nothing wrong with that.

Looking at the Torah’s laws surrounding death in the context of ancient pagan practice, a clear agenda and perspective can be noted. Pagan religions all contained priestly services revolving around death, magic and secretive rites. The Torah flipped this on its head, forbidding priests from even going near the dead, with death instead being deliberately distanced through strict laws of Tumaa (ritual impurity). Anyone who came in contact with a corpse or gravesite could not enter the Mikdash for a full seven days.

Notably the concept of the Afterlife is conspicuously absent from the Torah, in stark contrast with most of the other belief systems of its time and the ones have since followed. Judaism celebrates life and promotes making *this* world a better place, unlike other religions. By shifting the focus from the next world and making death synonymous with impurity and 'Ra' (bad/evil), the Torah distances us from the allure and romanticization of martyrdom and asceticism.

The Torah explicitly commands us not to try to communicate with the dead. Shlomo Hamelech taught that the dead know nothing. If it is so important to visit the dead, why would the Torah not have designated them as intermediaries between us and God? To the contrary – it forbids us from even directing our prayers to Michael (the chief Angel of Israel)! [Yerushalmi Berachot 9:1].

In conclusion, it would seem that there are those who promote the practice and those who oppose it. One side argues that this is a clear violation of the D'oraita (biblical) law forbidding communication with the dead. The other side usually acknowledges that although some people violate this law outright by not directing their prayers directly to God, that doesn't mean that the rest are making the same error, as they are adamant that they're only praying in the merit of the deceased or through him (a concept which itself requires considerable clarification) or that he acts as a defense attorney who can put in a good word for us in heaven.

So clearly, at best, this is a grey area. And when it comes to D'oraita laws, our Sages of blessed memory taught that we must be stringent and err on the side of caution.

Today, it has become fashionable for some Jews to leave their families on Rosh Hashana and fly across the world in order to pray by the grave of a rabbi, or go "grave hopping" in the hopes of getting married or opening up mazal, or even to celebrate engagements at a gravesite accompanied with a ritual of writing letters to the dead. It can be argued that at least a small percentage of people who pray at Kivrei Tzaddikim are extremely careful when it comes to having the correct mindset and in doing so, straddle the line of halacha. But is the feeling of spiritual elevation and connection to sages gained from such practices worth the risk of violating D'oraita laws and what appears to be the Torah’s fundamental separation of death from the worship of God? Could a person’s religious energies be better invested in visiting the sick – fulfilling biblical commandments of helping others – than the questionable activity of visiting and praying with the dead?

Posted to Facebook 13 October 2022, here.