Yom Kippur musings: Rambam's Hilchot Teshuvah and powerful prooftexts

 One of the central texts traditionally studied at this time of year is Rambam’s Hilchot Teshuvah: a supreme arrangement of traditional teachings on repentance, often through a Maimonidean perspective of the soul and Divine justice. Surprisingly little attention tends to be paid, however, to Rambam’s often peculiar choice of verses apparently cited in support of his teachings. I would like to present a couple of brief examples of the profound significance contained within some of these often skipped over features.

At the start of the third chapter of Hilchot Teshuvah, Rambam presents what appears to be a highly simplistic model of God’s justice system:

Each and every person has merits and sins. A person whose merits exceed his sins is righteous. A person whose sins exceed his merits is] wicked. If [his sins and merits] are equal, he is termed a Beinoni….If a person's sins exceed his merits, he will immediately die because of his wickedness as [Jeremiah 30:14] states: "for the multitude of your transgressions".

So simplistic is Rambam’s teaching, that Ra’avad jumps in with the obvious objection: we surely see plenty of wicked people living long lives. It may be instructive however to read Rambam’s teaching – including his non-obvious prooftext – in light of Rambam’s definition of “life” and “death” from Moreh Nevuchim (1:42).

There Rambam demonstrates that, in addition to their literal renderings, the terms “life” and “death” are commonly used in both biblical and rabbinic sources to refer to the acquisition of wisdom (and desirable character traits). On this basis, the sages teach “the righteous even in their death are considered alive” since they have acquired the means to maintain a connection to God, while “the wicked in their lifetime are called dead” since they lack such a connection.

The verse in Jeremiah cited by Rambam to support his teaching refers to the Jewish nation at its lowest ebb being forgotten and abandoned because of its mass of sins. This verse does not refer to literal death, but rather to a suspension of the nation’s special providential relationship with God as a result of sin (see Abarbanel among others). It can be suggested therefore, that Rambam’s choice of prooftext is subtly alluding to the metaphorical connotation of death. If this is true, it would seem that Rambam would explain aggadic teachings and prayers in the Yom Kippur liturgy to be referring to those “written in the book” of true life – ie connection to God – or true death – the lack of such a connection.

Another example of the profound nature of Rambam’s prooftexts can be found in the same passage. Rambam writes that:

This reckoning is not calculated [only] on the basis of the number of merits and sins, but also their magnitude. There are some merits which outweigh many sins as implied by [I Kings 14:13]: "Because in him, there was found something good."

While, as Rambam continues to explain, we cannot fathom God’s divine system of accounting and justice his astonishing choice of prooftext does afford us a degree of insight. Out of all of the biblical examples of righteous actions and praiseworthy deeds, Rambam highlights the actions of Aviyah, son of Yeravam. A man who is condemned to a premature death along with the rest of the wicked and idolatrous royal family. The biblical text does not reveal the nature of this “something good” through which Aviyah alone merited a respectable death and burial. The Talmud however informs us that Aviyah removed the armed guards who had been stationed to prevent pilgrims from the Northern Kingdom from traveling to the Beit Hamikdash.

Providing broader context, the political and religious legitimacy of Yeravam’s regime relied on the fact that his subjects would no longer admire and look to the Davidic leadership for guidance. Aviyah’s willingness to remove the guards and make it easier for people to travel to the Mikdash thus represented significant personal sacrifice. He was, in effect, putting his own royal position and legitimacy at risk by allowing access to Jerusalem.

What Rambam appears to be indicating through his prooftext is that, while we are capable of measuring and comparing the objectiveworth of the mitzvot, the degree of effort and self-sacrifice that a person injects into any good deed can cause it to outweigh many other merits.

[This second example was heard from Rabbi Lippa Rabinowitz]

G’mar Chatima Tova. An easy and meaningful fast to all.

First posted to Facebook 26September 2020, here.

A Jew for all seasons: does Judaism need synagogues?

 The peculiarities of Yomim Noraim services during the Covid-19 era have led many to re-evaluate their relationship with shul on the High Holy Days (“Weren’t shorter brighter services a breath of fresh air this year? Can they perhaps be similarly adapted on a more regular basis?”). Writing two centuries ago in Germany, Rabbi S. R. Hirsch had his own deep reservations about the nature of the Yomim Noraim services and, particularly, the impression of Judaism that they left less traditional Jews with.

For R’ Hirsch the phenomenon of Jews who only visited the Synagogue three days a year (or for formal rites of passage) was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, even this partial acquaintance has gratifying effects of demonstrating and enhancing Jewish identity and continuity. Nevertheless:

this sporadic relationship with Judaism has an exceptionally troublesome effect for it is limited to special times and occasions. If for a period of years our sole contact with Jewish institutions is limited to Rosh Hashanah or the Day of Atonement, and we behold Judaism only in the white vestments of the dead, then our relationship with Judaism dissipates even before we reach the happy festival of the booths and the happy Torah-celebration…the poetry of Judaism becomes reduced to eulogies and confessions of sin – and everything about Judaism becomes so bleak that we are unable to use it in our bright, fresh, happy, pulsating lives.

Judaism is a splendid life symphony of the times of the year, of which Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are only solemn introductions…the Jewish veneration of God does not peak with the Rosh Hashanah mood. God seeks the joyful sound of the soul…the joyous Sukkoth festival.

R’ Hirsch teaches that Judaism is about infusing our lives with meaning and vibrancy. Living and celebrating the Torah’s moral, spiritual and intellectual teachings. While the High Holy Days perform a crucial function of directing us to focus inwards and reassess our life goals and direction, it is the joyous festival of Sukkot which is more quintessentially ‘’Jewish’’ than the austere and intimidating aura prevalent in many Synagogues on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

This essay got me thinking: how applicable are R’ Hirsch’s observations in today’s generation? My impression of less observant Jews is that their Judaism certainly contains more positive elements than what R’ Hirsch describes. These may include identifying with or advocacy for Israel, Chanukah parties and communal social activities. Although I have also read about how a not-insignificant part of Jewish identity – particularly in the previous generation – lurks in the dark shadow of the Holocaust and national suffering.

In truth however, R’ Hirsch’s broader message is applicable just as much to fully observant Orthodox Jews – and perhaps particularly to them. A related teaching of R’ Hirsch implores his readers not to imagine that Judaism is primarily concentrated in the solemn confines of synagogues and study halls. Rather its moral and spiritual teachings must infuse and guide our every thought and action. How we conduct ourselves in the streets outside of the synagogues, how we interact with those around us in our lives – and particularly in our own homes. We must uncompromisingly reject the unspoken notion that regular attendance in Shul and Yom Kippur chest-beating somehow furnishes us with a “Get Out Of Fail Free” card which excuses undesirable behaviour at other times.

This year’s abrupt and painful shock to Jewish observance and communal prayer provides us a rare opportunity to re-evaluate not the length of our services nor the tunes of our Chazzan. But rather the relative degrees of importance that we place on the Synagogue within our broader Jewish lives, and on the solemn meditations of the Yomim Noraim versus a year-long embodiment of the Torah’s moral, spiritual and intellectual riches.

First posted to Facebook 30 September 2020, here.

Goats and good choices: a profound message from the Yom Kippur ceremony

The national Jewish atonement on Yom Kippur at the time of the Mikdash – one which is currently the focus of the daf yomi study – involves the bringing of two identical goats over which lots are drawn: one is thereby selected “LaHashem” as a korban, while the second “La’Azazel” is sent to its rocky death.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch offers a profound insight into the symbolic significance of the goats and their prominent place in the Yom Kippur atonement service. Focusing on the strict requirement that the two goats be identical in size, appearance, and value, R’ Hirsch sees their respective fates as representative of the opposing destinies between which all of mankind is free to choose.

The path of “LaHashem” is the self-sacrifice of renouncing a self-centered existence. What seems initially to be a loss of self, however, is in fact an entry into a higher and more genuine form of existence; what appears to be a renunciation is in fact a gain of the most sublime values.

[It should be pointed out that to R’ Hirsch the Mikdash is not simply a giant slaughterhouse but rather the materials, arrangement and ceremonial performance of the korbanot represent and embody the entire spiritual and moral calling of the Torah. Accordingly, some of his longest Torah commentary is centred around the parshiyot which recount these details – Terumah, Tetzaveh and Vayikra.]

The path of “La’Azazel” by contrast begins with an apparent preservation of freedom and independence, stubbornly rejecting all notions of sacrifice and devotion to a higher, holy authority. Ultimately, however, in his escape from the sacrifices demanded by the Sanctuary, he fails to see the abrupt precipice that opens behind him and dooms him to a sudden death.

These two paths of “LaHashem” and “La’Azazel” are open to each person to choose between. That the goats must be identical symbolizes the fact that no one can blame his standing, material circumstances, or position for his choices. A precondition for repentance and atonement is the realization that one must take full responsibility for one’s choices and actions, which is why the goats play a central role in the Yom Kippur atonement ceremony.

This explanation is consistent with R’ Hirsch’s approach to explaining the process of viduy (confession) which is so central to the Yom Kippur prayer. Rather than providing automatic absolution through the recitation of sins, the Jewish notion of viduy involves verbalizing, and thereby admitting to oneself that one has indeed gone wrong and taking full responsibility for one’s wrong choices. That acceptance of free will and responsibility is a central precondition to atonement is further reflected by the central position it occupies in Rambam’s Hilchot Teshuva.

[This passage is adapted from a chapter of Judaism Reclaimed: Philosophy and Theology in the Torah which looks at demonic and other apparent biblical references to a ‘dark side’ such as the Azazel goat].

First posted on Facebook 7 October 2019, here.

Yom Kippur and "hell" in Jewish thought

The heavy atmosphere and liturgy of Yom Kippur are designed to direct our thoughts towards weighty matters. Recognition of sin, the process of atonement and potential consequences of our actions all feature prominently in the prayers.

Taking a step back, there is one very surprising omission. For a day so strongly focused on sin, punishment and promoting repentance, there is barely any mention of the “eternal hell-fire” so ubiquitous in Christian texts. This prompts us to ask a series of questions: (i) What exactly is the Jewish concept of Hell? (ii) Why does it feature so rarely in Jewish texts? (iii) Does it have any deeper relevance to Yom Kippur?

The chapters of Judaism Reclaimed which relate to parashat Ha’azinu explore the concepts of the World to Come, Gehinnom and resurrection of the dead – primarily from a Maimonidean perspective. A key problem, which troubled a number of leading rabbinic thinkers, is how seemingly physical phenomena, such as the hell-fire described in aggadic literature, can impact on the spiritual (non-physical) soul.

Ramban addresses this problem by proposing an intermediate category – neither entirely physical nor spiritual – to which these concepts relate. He explains that 'hell-fire' does not consist of Earthly substances with which we are familiar, but rather is a special 'quasi-physical' creation by God which is therefore capable of inflicting suffering upon the quasi-physical souls of sinners.

This solution is not available to Rambam, however, who does not subscribe to the notion of a quasi-physical realm for the soul post-death. Twice in his Mishneh Torah, Rambam emphasises that, upon death, the only element of the soul that remains is the mind (sechel). One consequence of this is that the soul which remains after death is not equipped to experience any kind of physical pain which could be inflicted by a fiery Gehinnom.

A further challenge involves the notion of resurrection of the dead to a physical body. Since, in Rambam’s understanding, eternal reward is a spiritual pleasure experienced by the soul alone in the World to Come, it is not immediately clear what benefit such resurrection could provide. After exploring the significant debates which took place over Rambam’s beliefs over techiya, Judaism Reclaimed develops an approach of Rabbi Yosef Albo in Sefer Ha’Ikkarim. According to R’ Albo, resurrection within Rambam’s worldview plays an important role in levelling the playing field, offering opportunities for those who were religiously observant but lacked the resources to develop a strong connection to God and the Torah during their lives. Being temporarily resurrected in a messianic era in which men and women are surrounded by 'tidal waves of knowledge of God' will afford such people a deserved opportunity to maximise their standing in the World to Come.

It is possible that this notion of temporary resurrection in an era of perfection also offers us a way to explain Rambam’s concept of Gehinnom. In such an era of perfection, it is not hard to see how those witnessing these events but who are themselves deprived of such opportunities to participate and develop their connection to God will be consumed by shame and regret at having been personally responsible for their unfortunate situation.

This idea of the wicked being punished in the messianic era by witnessing the spiritual bounty of the righteous while being themselves deprived is supported by a passage in Yeshaya. Addressing the wicked in the Messianic era Yeshaya declares:

“Therefore thus said my Lord, God: Behold, My servants will eat and you will starve … My servants will rejoice and you will be ashamed”. [65:13-14]

Yeshaya’s metaphorical feast is interpreted by Tannaic sages (Shabbat 153a) as a depiction of the contrasting fate of the worthy and unworthy. The righteous will partake of the spiritual ‘feast’ and be satiated, while “ravenous” sinners will be made to “stand and watch”.

Such an approach allows us to decode a whole group of perplexing midrashic sources – for example a statement by Reish Lakish that: "In the future there will be no Gehinnom, rather God will remove the sun from its sheath; the righteous will be cured by it and the wicked will be judged by it".

To summarise, the fires of Gehinnom, are not understood to be literal flames (see also Radak and Metzudat to Yeshayah 31:33). Rather they represent a temporary state of deep shame and humiliation which sinners will feel when faced with the truth and the damage that they have inflicted on their own souls. Non-severe sinners, Rambam writes, will thereby “be judged for their sins and will receive Olam Haba” (Hilchot Teshuva 3:5).

Returning now to the question of Yom Kippur, is there any connection between the purification and atonement offered by Gehinnom and the purification and atonement of Yom Kippur? How is it that Yom Kippur can provide forgiveness for our sins?

The central feature of the Yom Kippur service is viduy – a verbal recitation of our sins before God. On this day we shunt aside our physical needs and desires, and stand before God with a certain spiritual clarity that informs our aspirations and ideals rather than the messy compromises that the realities of everyday life necessitate. In this context – as in the truth of the messianic era – recognising how we have fallen short during the year and lost our moral and religious compasses should lead us to a feeling of deep embarrassment. As we summarise at the end of the viduy “Behold I am before you like a vessel filled with embarrassment and shame” [harei ani lefanecha kichli malei busha uchlimah].

Perhaps going through this process mirrors, to an extent, the shame of Gehinnom. The result is “lifnei Hashem titharu” – that we become cleansed of our sins and thereby gain the opportunity to redefine and recreate our relationship with God in a more positive manner. It is the joy which arises from this whole process which shines through the traditional celebrations at the end of Yom Kippur – a joy which we seek to take with us in the next set of festivals.

First posted to Facebook 2 October 2022, here.

Yom Kippur: I would fast and pray but miss the point of the day

The energy levels had been steadily climbing over the last hour or so. As we approached the conclusion of Ne’ilah, the noise reached a deafening crescendo with many hundreds of swaying worshippers praying with intense fervour. I found my entire self – somewhat light-headed from a day of fasting – swept along in this wave of ecstatic spirituality that was about to reach its feverish peak. Suddenly I felt a sharp tap on my shoulder that jolted me out of my blissful meditation.

“Shmuli – take me to toilet NOW!”

It was Chaim. A mentally and physically disabled resident of the area who used to join our Yeshiva activities from time to time. He particularly enjoyed the Yom Kippur service and was always made a big fuss of. I frantically scoured the room for members of his family or other people who sometimes assisted him before realising that there was no other option. As I helped Chaim slowly up the stairs and to the lavatory, I realised that my Ne’ilah was over. The heartfelt cries of “Shema Yisrael…Hashem hu Ha’Elokim” followed us up the stairs and crept into the heavily-overused bathroom – taunting me as I stood there helplessly, unable to participate

I was silently fuming. After an entire day of fasting and concentration I felt I had been cheated of my sacred spiritual moment – the climax of my religious year.

This episode took place close to 20 years ago. Approximately seven years ago I undertook to start studying Nach – the books of the Prophets – properly. Not just the dramatic storylines of Samson and Solomon, but to try to discern the profound religious messages and teachings that the prophets had confronted the Jewish people with thousands of years ago. This process turned my Judaism upside-down in several ways.

Most significantly, it opened my eyes to perhaps the most fundamental prophetic teaching – one that had actually been hand-picked by the sages in several Haftarot but that, as a yeshiva bochur I had paid scant attention to. Yes, my Yeshiva had always encouraged us to perform acts of kindness. But I had always viewed this as a matter of necessary compromise rather than a key religious activity. Soon after I noticed that the Yom Kippur Haftarah contained the powerful chastisement:

“Can such be the fast I choose, a day when man merely afflicts himself? Can it be merely bowing one’s head like a bulrush and spreading sackcloth and ashes? Do you call this a fast day of favour to God? Surely this is the fast I choose: To break open the shackles of wickedness, to undo the bonds of injustice, and to let the oppressed go free, and annul all perversion. Surely you should break your bread for the hungry, and bring the moaning poor to your home; when you see a naked person clothe him; and do not hide yourself from your kin.” [Isaiah 58:5-7]

It suddenly dawned on me that in that Ne’ilah many years ago, far from having been cheated of a sacred spiritual moment, God had actually been handing me one on a silver platter. I was once again silently fuming on Yom Kippur, but the target of my anger was now very different. I had been through over ten years of standard Jewish education followed by several years of traditional Yeshiva study. Yet it was left for me alone to discover and internalise the key message of the biblical prophets. Year after year school teachers had revised the precise details of the five afflictions of Yom Kippur; until which knuckle on our fingers we could wash. Graphically depicted the waving of chickens round our heads and emphasised the crucial importance of praying with fervour and teshuvah. But never once had I heard the message of this Haftarah – which the sages had clearly intended to associate strongly with Yom Kippur.

To an extent this new awareness and perspective permeated several chapters of Judaism Reclaimed which I had started writing at that time. I promised myself that, if I would ever be in a position to teach others about Yom Kippur, this is something I would seek to rectify. If there are any teachers or Jewish educators reading this ahead of Yom Kippur, this is a message that you should strongly consider sharing and spreading. Focusing Yom Kippur – and Judaism in general – back onto empathising and helping those less fortunate than ourselves should not be seen as a modern day “liberal social justice” ideology. It is a core and inalienable pillar of Judaism which is tragically under-emphasised in today’s Jewish education system.

Wishing all readers a g’mar chatimah tova. And asking forgiveness for anything I have written which has caused offense or upset.

Shmuli

First posted on Facebook 12 September 2021, here. 

Grappling with suffering: will evil "evaporate like smoke?"

As I stood meditating over the Yom Kippur Amidah this week I was struck by the phrase “and all wickedness will evaporate like smoke when you remove the dominion of evil from upon the world”. These words were cited in A Guide for the Jewish Undecided a recent fascinating and thought-provoking analysis of the parameters of Orthodox theology by Rabbi Professor Sam Lebens.

In one of the later chapters of this book, Lebens looks to break new ground in theodicy – the old question of how to reconcile the religious notion of a good and loving God with the widespread evil and suffering that is very evident in this world. Having discussed why, in his view, traditional solutions to the question of theodicy fall short, Lebens proposes a radical new theory (developed along with Tyron Goldschmidt), built upon the premise that God’s omnipotence grants Him power to change the past: 

“Imagine that God gives us free will, and then, so to speak, He says, like a film director, “Take 1”. Then we live our lives. We do some good and we do some bad. All of it is of our own creation. At the end of time, God says, “Cut”. Imagine that scenes 1 and 3 are fantastic, but that scene 2 is horrific. Well then, wouldn’t God simply edit the film and cut out scene 2, because, even after the scene has happened, God can change the past? Admittedly, this would leave a gap in the history of the world. But then God can say “Scene 2, Take 2”. We’d then get another shot at linking scenes 1 and 3 together.”

While I totally identify with and embrace the motives which underpin this theory – an absolute refusal to countenance any trace of evil or suffering to be ultimately caused by a benevolent God – the practicalities of what is proposed are mindboggling. I recall a favourite film from my youth, A Matter of Life and Death, in which a celestial mishap causes a jettisoning World War II airman to be missed by the grim reaper. By the time this mistake is registered, the airman has fallen in love with a local lady and the notion of extracting him from history without upsetting other divine calculations becomes incalculably complex. With this in mind, the proposition that God could edit scenes without irreparably ruining the whole script of human history is hard to imagine. Placed on top of this, Jewish tradition often acknowledges crucial benefits which are gained from certain instances of suffering; as Judaism Reclaimed explores, the “iron crucible” of Egyptian servitude and other such episodes of Anti Semitism may be credited with the continuation of the Jewish people itself.

While Lebens certainly recognises and proposes fixes for some of these objections, my personal feeling is that he is too quick to dismiss the “free-will” model, in which God is understood to have created a world in which the primary purpose is the free-functioning of human free will. Success, righteousness and heroism is only meaningful – and perhaps even possible – in a setting which allows for the genuine possibility of failure and evil.

Objecting to this model, Lebens quotes an atheist philosopher, Stephen Maitzen, who argues that:

“To put it mildly, there is something less than perfect about letting a child suffer terrible for the primary benefit of someone else – whether for the benefit of a bystander who gets a hero’s chance to intervene, or for the benefit of a child-abuser who gets to exercise unchecked free will.”

Yet isolating this single incident presents us with a severely skewed set of scales. It is not only the bystander or abuser who can potentially gain from the existence of free will. It is every single human being alive; every person who has ever lived and will ever live – including the victim of the offense under consideration. All of their lives, according to Jewish theodicy as I understand it only stand to hold any meaning if humans are free-choosing creatures – who can reliably trust that the fruits of their pursuits will not be interfered . Once we add into the mix the notion of a World to Come with the prospects of unfathomable reward and punishment, we cannot possibly even know how to set the scales to weigh up humanity’s free will with the very real suffering of such victims. (How this may fit with the notion of Divine Providence has been addressed in a previous post).

Revisiting the evaporating cloud metaphor, perhaps a more apt interpretation would be to compare it to how the same phrase is used at the end of the Netaneh Tokef where humanity’s fragile and mortal existence is said, among other things, to be like “dissipating smoke”. This to my mind does not mean that our existence will one day be retroactively erased, rather it implies that our lives are brief and insignificant when compared to God’s everlasting existence.

The same notion can be applied to what I understand to be Jewish theodicy’s approach to evil. It is real, it is truly awful – and therefore it is something to be fought with all our might and all of our resources. But were we in a position to fathom and appreciate the rewards and pleasures of the World to Come which our tradition states are even beyond the comprehension of our prophets – such evil would be “like an evaporating cloud”.

On a related note, while we rightly protest and pray to God for His assistance in overcoming the forces of wickedness who take cruel pleasure in oppressing and tormenting others, Rambam emphasises in Moreh Nevuchim that the predominant cause of evil is humanity’s own doing. Collectively we must work unceasingly to educate and inspire; to use God’s great gift to humanity of free will to bring about the Messianic era in which:

Through awareness of the truth, enmity and hatred are removed and the inflicting of harm by people on one another is abolished. It [Tanach] holds out this promise, saying “And the wolf shall dwell with the lamb…”. Then it gives the reason for this, saying that the cause of the abolition of these enmities, these discords and these tyrannies, will be humanity’s knowledge of God… [Moreh, 3:31]

The primary and perhaps exclusive causes of warfare and misery are obsession with and competition over material possessions, power and pride. Once humanity becomes aware of this folly, its energies and capabilities will be channelled towards achieving universal happiness, thus “they will beat their swords into ploughshares…” and “your sons and daughters will prophesy”. When God’s teachings will reign supreme and “the dominion of evil will be removed from the world”.

First posted to Facebook 26 September 2023, here.