Kiddushin: are the rabbis in control?

One of the primary themes of my upcoming Talmud Reclaimed (currently being printed) is an effort to analyse and delineate which parts of the Talmud are understood to represent core Sinaitic material, and which laws are subsequent legislative additions by the Sages and Courts.

What’s the big deal you might ask?

Well one small case study, which features in the Daf Yomi’s commencement of Kiddushin today, demonstrates the immense implications of how we categorise Talmudic laws.

An illustration of these far-reaching implications can be found in Rambam’s rulings concerning the laws of marriage. The standard text near the start of his Hilchot Ishut describes three possible methods through which a marriage can be effected:

Through the transfer of money, through the tansfer of a formal document and through sexual relations. The methods of sexual relations and formal document have their origin in the Torah, while the method of transfer of money is rabbinically legislated [divrei soferim]

While it seems clear that Rambam regards the method of money transfer as a rabbinically-legislated detail of Torah law, an alternative version of the text’s conclusion features in Rabbi Yosef Kapach’s edition of Mishneh Torah, replacing divrei soferim with “the effectiveness of all three have their origin in the Torah”. This version, which can be found in certain manuscripts, was claimed by both Meiri and Rambam’s own son, Rabbi Avraham, to have been written after Rambam retracted his earlier position towards the end of his life.

The method of creating marriage by means of money transfer appears in the Talmud (at the start of Kiddushin) to be created hermeneutically by means of a gezerah shavah. Does this mean the sages in the Talmud were actually creating a new hitherto unknown method of forming marriage or are they merely identifying a scriptural source for a transmitted Sinaitic tradition?

Rambam’s position on the matter depends on which manuscript of Mishneh Torah is assumed to be authentic.

Rambam’s retraction, which views the gezerah shavah merely as a convenient aide-memoire for a previously known Sinaitic tradition, demonstrates the general complexity involved with trying to identify those apparently hermeneutical derivations which are actually consolidating laws that were transmitted through the tradition.

The practical implications for a future Sanhedrin of whether the standard version of Mishneh Torah or its claimed revision is the correct version are enormous. If the method of money-transfer is understood to be of purely biblical origin, this would place it beyond the reach of the Sanhedrin’s legislative powers. Significantly, however, if the method is to be identified as a rabbinically-legislated detail, this would suggest that the sages have legal authority to innovate novel formulas through which marriage could be formed. Such an innovation could, in theory, pave the way to an entirely different approach within Jewish law to marriage, divorce and help to address agunah issues.

Further questions present themselves: If the sages really do possess so much power to legislate details of Torah law through a Sanhedrin-type body, do laws that they create become fully-fledged biblical laws in the same way as those received at Sinai? To what extent can such laws be said to reflect God’s will and further His intent behind those commandments?

First posted to Facebook 15 August 2023, here.

Gays, grasshoppers and men of God -- a debate over the spirit of Halacha

My Facebook feed has been flooded over the past week with a series of posts, responses and comments regarding Modern Orthodoxy’s ongoing struggle with its identity and orientation as it seeks to clarify its approach to homosexuality.

The discussion was prompted by a provocative piece in the Jewish Press by American political pundit, Ben Shapiro, who argued that Modern Orthodoxy was losing its moral compass by attempting to accommodate homosexual couples within its communities. An eloquent and heartfelt response by Sam Lebens took a radically different approach, arguing that homosexuality should be viewed as an inexplicable divine decree – like other biblical “abominations” such as consuming insects – whose devotees are not condemned and hounded for immorally corrupting their societies. The debate prompted a number of sidelines and spin-offs – including from former Zoo-Rabbi Natan Slifkin who leapt enthusiastically to the defence of downtrodden insects in a post that took exception to Leben’s seeming suggestion that gorging on grasshoppers was ethically sound (all links in the first comment).

What, you may ask, has any of this got to do with Judaism Reclaimed?

Quite a lot, actually.

A whole two chapters of the book are dedicated to contrasting inexplicable chukkim – divine decrees which are usually unique to Judaism – and apparently widespread “mefursam” moral-based laws which lie at the heart of any civilised society. An important consequence of how a law is categorised, I attempt to show, is the likely rabbinic approach to construing and constraining its details.

When dealing with moral mitzvot such as prohibitions against murder and theft, the Talmud typically emphasises the importance of loyalty to the spirit of the law and is highly critical of proposed loopholes and fictions. In its treatment of inexplicable decrees, by contrast, such schemes are not only tolerated but actively encouraged (“How can the law of the firstborn [animals] be evaded?”; “People may act with cunning with regard to the Second Tithe”). It would seem that the harder it is to fathom the reason for a law, the less one can object that a proposed loophole is in breach of its spirit.

My conclusion notes, however, that some specific cases such as the prohibition against homosexual intercourse defy simple categorisation. For most of human history it would have been widely considered moral and mefursam – a fathomable and widely accepted prohibition. Recent years though have seen a shift in public opinion, which has led to it being considered more in the category of inexplicable divine decrees (chukkim) than mefursamot. Does this mean that while it would formerly have been considered to contain a spirit which would discourage any search for loopholes, it now appears to belong more naturally within the chukkim and contain only the letter of the law? Can the spirit of a mitzva be subject to change?

How are we to be guided in such a case? Do we measure by public opinion at the time of the giving of the Torah (assuming that this can be ascertained)? Do we follow public opinion for the majority of human history and therefore consider the prohibition to be founded on ethical underpinnings even though this is not the prevailing opinion nowadays? Perhaps in order to be categorised as mefursam, a commandment must have been consistently and constantly applied?

Alternatively it might be argued that there is an element of tradition as to what the Torah considers to be general opinion. Is this indicated by the Torah’s use of the term to’eivah to describe the homosexual act? As I examine in a separate chapter, however, the epithet “to’eivah” is used to describe many sins, not all of which are obviously viewed as morally reprehensible.

I conclude the analysis without any firm resolution as to how the Torah’s prohibition against homosexual intercourse should be categorised (although I do strongly endorse a book by Rabbi Chaim Rapoport on the subject, linked in the first comment). As this last week’s ongoing argument underlines, the debate as to a possible “spirit of the law” regarding homosexuality continues to rage in Orthodox circles. Judaism Reclaimed understands that this debate is crucial, and that its conclusion must inform any halachic discussion as to proposed loopholes and leniencies which might lessen the struggles of Orthodox homosexuals.

First posted to Facebook 27 December 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.

The true lesson of the hanging corpse

A teaching cited by Rashi on yesterday’s Torah reading has proven a firm favourite among those who seek to prove ancient rabbinic belief in a physical deity (a subject addressed at length in Judaism Reclaimed).

While the verse intriguingly informs us that the corpse of a condemned criminal should not be left overnight on a tree because this is an affront to God, Rashi’s rabbinic parable has raised many an eyebrow through the years:

“This is comparable to two identical twin brothers. One [of them] became king, while the other was arrested for robbery and hanged. Whoever saw him [the second brother, suspended on the gallows], would say, “The king is hanging!” Therefore, the king ordered, and they removed him.”

Attention is commonly concentrated on analysing the implications of this story for how God was perceived in ancient Israel. Could the same God who revealed Himself to Israel at Sinai to a nation who “saw no image” (Devarim 4:15), now be mistaken for the hanging body of an executed criminal?

As the Sforno and Maharal to this verse both argue, the only commonality and point of comparison between humanity and God is the intellect – the human ability to examine ideas, develop concepts of good and evil and then choose freely between them. It is in this capacity alone that mankind is described as having been created in God’s image.

But to my mind this whole discussion misses the primary point and real significance of the rabbinic parable.

Rather than focusing on what this comparison means for how we perceive God, we should instead recognise its far-reaching message for how we are to view our fellow humans.

To place this teaching in its correct context we must bear in mind how condemned criminals were typically treated until fairly recently – paraded through the streets to be humiliated, spat upon, cursed and pelted with all sorts of degrading objects. The message of this verse – as taught in the rabbinic parable – is that even a person who has committed an appalling crime which warrants a death penalty must still be treated with the dignity befitting a tselem Elokim.

Societies need a criminal system. Law and order must be maintained and serious offences must of course be punished. What the Torah appears to be rejecting here is the smug triumphalism of those who celebrate the destruction of another human being whether through execution or calling to “lock them up and throw away the key”.

Even at a person’s lowest possible moment – being executed for a serious criminal offence – his special human attribute and Godly image is recognised and respected. To leave him strung up on a tree overnight would be to degrade a creature which was endowed with this special potential to develop and connect with the divine. Rather than rejoicing and looking to make an example of a criminal who has got his come-uppance we should be soberly mourning the abject failure of a fellow tselem Elokim. The tragedy of a capital sentence is reflected in a teaching of Rabbi Akiva (Sanhedrin 63b) that judges handing down a death penalty must fast for the entire day.

A further manifestation of this principle is the somewhat comical application of “loving one’s fellow as oneself” to mean “select for him a pleasant form of death” (Sanhedrin 45a). Though not the most intuitive way of fulfilling brotherly love, this law reflects the idea that has been discussed in this post: that even a condemned criminal retains his humanity and therefore must be treated with all possible respect and dignity as one created in the image of God.

As I explore in greater detail in Judaism Reclaimed, the commandment to love one’s fellow is not fulfilled simply by providing for the needs of another. That may be a simple act of anticipated reciprocity which every functioning society requires to a certain extent. Rather the religious command requires us to radically change our perspective – until we identify fully with the other as a fellow human – until their needs and feelings are as our own.

Yesterday’s parasha shows how broadly this requirement applies. Every human we come across – never mind how pathetic or wretched they may appear to us – must be identified with and dignified to the greatest extent possible. Rather than the hanging corpse prompting us to imagine God as a physical form, it instead is supposed to evoke genuine pity and tragedy that a free-choosing human, created in God’s image, has used this potential so poorly.

This message from yesterday’s reading is also a timely reminder for Elul as we examine our deeds and look to improve our religious standing ahead of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. In just a month from now we will be sat in shul listening to the Yom Kippur Haftarah – how the process of repentance and fasting requires us to “break your bread with the hungry and bring the moaning poor to your home” and “offer your soul to the hungry”. Commenting on the latter phrase, Radak highlights the fact that it is not sufficient merely to throw a few coins at the unfortunate and feel that we have fulfilled our obligation – rather we must take a genuine interest in the recipient’s plight so that he sees that the gift is being presented wholeheartedly.

The prophet’s demands are not easy to fulfil. They require us to develop a sensitivity and perspective through which we regard every human being we come across – even the condemned criminal – not as a physical body but as a mind and soul endowed with the tselem Elokim.

First posted to Facebook 27 August 2023, here.

Is the Jewish prayer liturgy totally inadequate?

“I’m ok with coming to shul. But I don’t understand why nothing in the Siddur actually says anything I want to tell God!”

These words uttered a few years back by a frustrated fellow worshipper stuck in my mind – because they seemed to capture such an obvious problem with Jewish prayer.

It is an astonishing fact that our rigid liturgy contains an impressive panoply of poetic praises and heavenly hymns – many of which contain inspiring and thought-provoking ideas. Yet even the bountiful blessings and requests addressed to God are typically phrased in plural form and rarely beseech God directly to provide for our wants and needs.

All of this is in acute contrast to Moshe’s 5-word prayer on behalf of his sister Miriam, which featured in the Diaspora’s Torah reading yesterday: “Please God heal her”. Short. And to the point. The Talmud (Berachot 34a) notes the brevity of this prayer, deriving from it that supplications can be short and need not mention the name of person for whom one is praying (unlike modern custom). So why does our prayer liturgy seem so removed from Moshe’s heartfelt cry for Miriam’s healing?

It seems clear to me that this question misses the point of our prayer liturgy and services. There seem to be two completely distinct functions of prayer within Judaism.

Judaism Reclaimed notes that fixed, communal prayer involves the recitation of set texts at specific times. Its purpose, argues Rabbi S. R. Hirsch, is not to express our heartfelt thoughts and desires – it would be bizarre to presume that these could be produced on demand at daily services. Rather R. Hirsch sees the function of such prayer as burning central ideas and concepts into our consciousness. The reflexive form of the Hebrew word to pray (hitpallel) further indicates that it is inward looking, as we seek to heighten our awareness of God’s providence and the manner in which we should relate to Him. Furthermore, the communal aspect of this exercise may represent a group-affirmation of these values and principles that we chant together.

Rambam, as I explore in a separate chapter, sees such prayer as a vital part of the ultimate religious goal – working to increase the frequency and quality of one’s mental attachment to God – an attachment which closely affects the dynamics of the person’s providential relationship with God.

But prayer doesn’t end here. In some ways it doesn’t even start.

As opposed to Lehitpallel – the more meditative didactic element of prayer which our liturgy promotes, there is tza’aka – crying out to God in emotional turbulence or anguish (this is the term which introduces Moshe’s short prayer).

Such prayer should be spontaneous and to the point. And it should be unscripted as its function is to convey one’s innermost feelings to God. Such prayer is not limited to the synagogue or fixed prayer times – rather it should accompany a person constantly through their daily struggles and successes. A constant conversation with God which transcends the liturgy and set texts of our prayerbook.

First posted to Facebook 11 June 2023, here.

Broken transmission in Bayit Rishon?

The Judaism Reclaimed chapter related to Parashat Ki Tavo explores the implications of the fearsome curses and punishments which are to be unleashed upon Israel in the event of severe national sinfulness – something which the book of Devarim makes clear will come to pass.

As is made clear from later books of Prophets, Israel does indeed descend into idolatry and the nation as a whole no longer appears to obey or be interested in the Torah’s commandments. Could such a nation possibly have faithfully transmitted the Torah’s teachings through such sinful periods?

In his commentary to the curses, Rabbi S. R. Hirsch grapples with these dramatic threats. He observes that it is evident from the recurring conclusions such as “until you will be destroyed”, “until you will be annihilated”, that the Torah cannot mean that all of the various forms of suffering described would fully affect the entire nation. Rather, they appear to indicate that some will perish through illness, others through famine, others again from war, and so forth.

More significantly, writes Rav Hirsch, the general proclamation of these decrees is conditional, to be carried out in their entirety only if the nation descends to a complete defection from God’s Torah. Such a level of degeneration, he argues, was never reached. We know from the books of the Prophets that a loyal nucleus always remained so that even when the upper classes of society, who were more susceptible to the pagan influences of the surrounding nations, descended into idolatry and corruption, a pure and virtuous religious class maintained and transmitted the tradition of the prophets. Since the defection was never absolute, so too God’s punishment was never implemented to its fullest extent, and there was thus no “total annihilation”.

In his Collected Writings, Rav Hirsch develops further the idea of a ‘healthy remnant’ of faithful Jews, based on the opening chapter of Yeshaya. There the prophet describes the moral and religious degeneration of his era, writing: “Had God, Master of the Legions, not left us the trace of a remnant, we would have been like Sodom and resembled Gomorrah”.

What is clear from Yeshaya is that, while this righteous minority certainly existed, it was too small in number to influence the trend of events in the state and therefore seldom appeared in historical records. Elsewhere, Yechezkel testifies that an entire clan of Tzaddokite Kohanim – whose job it was to teach and transmit the Torah’s teachings – remained loyal to the Torah.

The weak and persecuted status of this minority can be seen from further prophetic descriptions such as this statement much later in Yeshaya (66:5): “Listen to the word of God, you who are zealous regarding His word, your brethren hate and shun you ….”

And the description by Yechezkel (9:4) of how the righteous would be saved from Jerusalem’s destruction: “… put a mark on the foreheads of the men who sigh and groan over all the abominations which are being committed in its midst."

Nevertheless it is their existence alone which prevented the nation from descending to the level of total wickedness and corruption that would have engaged the full force of the tochachah curses.

Rabbi Alex Israel, writing in I Kings: Torn in Two points out how even the generation of the wicked king Achav is described by Eliyahu as “poschim al shnei se’ipin” – wavering between two beliefs rather than being idolatrous through and through.

The books of the prophets, particularly the two books of Kings, tell the story of the decline and fall of the Jewish state. This story focuses upon the leaders and elites since the demoralisation of the people began at the top before spreading downwards and engulfing the nation as a whole. But we learn little about the lives of the masses of people during those centuries.

Prophetic critiques of the sinful state of the nation will often seek to exaggerate its extent for the sake of rebuke. The use of such exaggeration is evident from an exchange between God and Eliyahu during the reign of the wicked Achav. Eliyahu bitterly condemns the entire Israelite kingdom for having “forsaken God’s covenant…I alone have remained” (I Kings 18) – yet not long after God attests to the fact that 7,000 Israelite remained totally loyal to Him.

Rav Hirsch concludes that, without this precious minority, we cannot explain the appearance during sustained periods of ‘total sinfulness’ of such brilliant men as the prophets. Prophets do not just appear overnight; rather, the gift of prophecy is limited to those who excel in wisdom and moral character, qualities that must be patiently acquired.

It follows that a nation which, through the centuries, could produce such luminaries as Devorah, Shmuel, Eliyahu, Elisha, Hoshea, Amos, Yeshaya, Micha, Habakkuk, Yirmiyah, Yechezkel and many others, must have maintained an ongoing cadre of righteous and spiritually healthy members of Jewish society. This is presumably the “healthy remnant” to which Yeshaya refers. A religiously loyal nucleus who would have possessed both the capacity and the motivation to transmit the Jewish tradition throughout its darkest and most sinful periods.

First posted on Facebook 3 September 2023, here.

Talmud Reclaimed and grappling with a frozen halachah

When we assess the impact that thousands of years of exile have inflicted on our nation, our thoughts are understandably drawn to the weighty toll of human suffering and to the loss of sovereignty over our land. What we often ignore is the grave damage which has been wreaked on the Torah—the national treasure of the Jewish people.

In fact, we have become so accustomed to the Torah in its stunted exilic form that we are unable to appreciate the extent to which our relationship with it has been defined by the stagnation of halachah. The passage of over 1,500 years without a functioning Sanhedrin has led us to revere the halachic status quo to such an extent that descriptions of the Court’s legislative powers, and suggestions of how these may once again be employed at an unspecified future time, are likely to provoke considerable discomfort and even whispered claims of heresy. 

Judaism Reclaimed cites Rabbi Meir Simchah of Dvinsk’s Meshech Chochmah commentary to the Tochecha passage of rebukes and curses that we read yesterday. Explaining the words “I will break the pride of your strength [ge’on uzchem]”, the Meshech Chochmah understands this to be a reference to the Sanhedrin – the supreme court which was empowered to interpret the Torah, and to innovate and institute decrees in order to make the Torah’s core teachings more relatable to the needs and realities of each generation. In the legal system envisaged by the Torah, the Court was empowered to maintain and update Torah law in accordance with the rules transmitted to them.

As explained by the Rambam in his introduction to the Mishnah, the Oral Law consists of two categories. The first category is a core of transmitted teachings which convey the Torah’s primary intentions, and are understood to have been transmitted intact throughout the generations from Sinai. This core, explains Rambam, lies beyond the scope of judicial interference and reinterpretation or rabbinic dispute. The second category, by contrast, is made up of finer details of the commandments and was delegated to the sages to legislate through the Beit Din HaGadol. These details of biblical law – even once legislated – could be revisited by a future court if it considered that the Torah could best be interpreted differently, or that the needs and realities of the nation had evolved.

But how are we to know which Talmudic laws belong to which category? Long intricate passages and chapters of Talmud debate numerous details of biblical laws. Surely it is crucial for us to know which of these are understood to represent God’s eternal word and which were subsequently legislated additions?

Which laws would be within the legitimate scope of a new Sanhedrin to revisit and potentially amend or repeal? This is particularly important for the modern student of Talmud for whom numerous passages seem to be entirely at odds with current social and ethical values. When are we required to accept these teachings nevertheless as the immutable word of God and when is it legitimate to suggest that, had Ravina and Rav Ashi been compiling the Talmud in the 21st century, certain chapters would have been unrecognisably different from the Tractates in front of us today? And if we are to suppose that certain passages are primarily a reflection of social reality and values from a very different society, how are we supposed to approach the task of studying them in today’s world?

Shockingly, such questions are almost entirely absent from standard Talmudic curricula today. Yet these are questions that the sages of the Mishnah and Talmud were acutely sensitive to – and occupied not only their thought but also that of earlier generations of Talmudic commentators.

My upcoming Talmud Reclaimed: An ancient text in the modern era (which goes to print in a couple of months) seeks to tackle these questions along with many others, showing how they were approached by our greatest sages.

We pray daily for a restoration of the sort of Supreme Sanhedrin Court which we possessed as a nation in ancient times. While present day politics and factional infighting makes such a vision appear distant, at the very least we can prepare the ground for a new Court by focusing our study of Talmudic law around a recognition of these two very different categories that run through its Tractates and asking ourselves what scope a duly empowered Court would have to revisit many of its conclusions.

First posted on Facebook 14 May 2023, here.

Rosh Hashanah, Rambam and the concept of a "Day of Judgement"

One of the recurring theological questions that Jewish thinkers have long been forced to grapple with is the need to reconcile a deity whose existence transcends all notions of space and time with the God of the Torah whose relationship with us is firmly focused around holy spaces and times.

As Judaism Reclaimed explores, the earliest traditional source to tackle this conundrum head on is King Solomon in his dedication speech for the First Temple.

"Can God really dwell on earth? ... the Heaven and the Heaven of Heavens cannot contain You, and surely not this Temple that I have built!" (I Kings 8:27)

The answer is found both in the continuation of Shlomo's speech (“But may you turn to the prayer … that Your servant shall pray towards this place”) and by God's subsequent response. God's 'residing' in a particular location represents, metaphorically, the notion that people’s prayers will be answered there, thereby making His existence more tangible to them.

The Maharal (Gur Aryeh Bereishit 6:6) expands upon this theme, explaining that God indeed “fills the Earth” and cannot be confined to a specific place. One who claims, however, that all places are therefore equal to worship Him is attacking a core tenet of the Torah: the principle that God designates as 'holy' certain “hashgacha hotspots” in which He enables people to relate to Him more easily.

But it is not only the dimension of physical space which presents a theological challenge to the philosophical notion of an infinite and transcendent God. How are we to comprehend the idea of God choosing one day a year on which to judge all of humanity? Is there a parallel to “hashgacha hotspots” in the dimension of time through which our ability to relate to God is altered or heightened at certain specific points in our calendar? What would this even mean in terms of our being judged – how would it differ from the axiomatic religious teaching that our actions always have providential consequences and are thus “being judged”.

One important traditional commentator who pursues this line of thinking is the Meiri, who writes that divine judgment is constant and unaffected by time. The function of Rosh Hashanah, he continues, is Judaism’s way of concentrating our minds on the concept of judgment and the consequences of our actions – something that we should truly be aware of the entire year but will typically allow to slip from our consciousness. While Rambam does not address this matter explicitly, certain teachings in Hilchot Teshuva could be seen as supporting Meiri’s approach:

“Just as a person's merits and sins are weighed at the time of his death, so, too, the sins of every inhabitant of the world together with his merits are weighed on the festival of Rosh HaShanah… Therefore, throughout the entire year, a person should always look at himself as equally balanced between merit and sin and the world as equally balanced between merit and sin. If he performs one sin, he tips his balance and that of the entire world to the side of guilt and brings destruction upon himself.” [Hilchot Teshuva 3:3-4]

If this is true, then it would fit an existing pattern within the Jewish calendar. We are commanded to recall the Exodus the entire year – yet one festival is dedicated to burning this idea into our religious consciousness. Our thoughts are supposed to always bear an element of mourning for the destruction of the Mikdash – yet one specific day in the calendar is set aside to concentrate on this tragedy. The same might be said for the command to remember Amalek’s evil. Might the same be true regarding the core religious requirement that we be aware of God’s judgement and therefore the consequences of our actions?

Yet such an approach surely fails to do justice to Jewish tradition, with its strong emphasis on both the importance and efficacy of repentance, prayer and charity on these specific days. As Rambam himself cites from the Talmud:

Even though repentance and calling out [to God] are desirable at all times, during the ten days between Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, they are even more desirable and will be accepted immediately as Isaiah states: "Seek God when He is to be found." [Hilchot Teshuva 2:6]

It seems inescapable therefore that there is something inherently advantageous about repentance at this time of year. But are we able to explain this in a way that Meiri and the Rambam would find acceptable?

One possible path is that this heightened state of awareness of God’s judgement and the consequences of our actions in itself engineers a stronger providential interface and calendrical hotspot over Rosh Hashanah. This annual providential peak would be particularly strong when the heightened awareness of God is being practiced on a communal and even national scale. Rambam teaches towards the end of his Guide (3:51) that the intensity of our providential relationship with God is directly influenced by the quality and quantity of our mind’s awareness of Him. In the following chapter he states that it is through the very same “light” that we comprehend Him that He is constantly with us, examining and judging our deeds.

It follows from here that Rosh Hashanah can legitimately be viewed as a special day of judgment – not because God is inherently affected or changed by the dimensions of time and space to judge us more on one day than any other. But nor is Rosh Hashanah some artificial religious construct – a day on which it is useful for us to pretend is special as a superficial reading of the Meiri may imply. Rather when we as individuals, communities and a nation join together in concentrating our awareness on God’s rulership of the world, our collective and individual responsibilities and the consequences of our actions – this creates a very real heightened providential dynamic in which we are therefore judged more intensely than occurs on other days in the calendar. In this sense, God really is “to be found” among us during these ten days.

Rosh Hashanah therefore provides us with a focal point to self-examine, to improve, to dream and to aspire for substantial religious growth. In that spirit we present ourselves before God with greater clarity than we enjoy during the rest of the year. Our providential relationship of God – and thus our “judgment” is thus built upon this best version of ourselves. Rosh Hashanah thereby becomes the baseline and default of our relationship with God for the year ahead.

I would like to take this opportunity to wish all readers a Shana Tova, a wonderfully happy, healthy and inspiring year ahead!

First posted to Facebook 10 September 2023, here.