Astrology: did Rambam consider Talmudic rabbis to be sinners?

Yesterday’s Torah reading contained powerful prohibitions against occult beliefs and practices such as necromancy and divination. Rambam, who treats this subject in his Laws of Idolatry (10:8-9), explains this to include:

“A person who tries to predict auspicious times, using astrology and saying, "This day will be a good day," "This day will be a bad day,"… Anyone who performs a deed because of an astrological calculation or arranges his work or his journeys to fit a time that was suggested by the astrologers…”

Rambam’s teaching is most surprising in view of the fact that a number of Talmudic teachings explicitly draw upon astrological phenomena as providing legitimate basis for beliefs and actions.

For example we find on Shabbat 129b that:

Shmuel said: Bloodletting should be performed on a Sunday, Wednesday and Friday, but not on a Monday or Thursday. And why may bloodletting not be performed on a Tuesday? Because we know that Mars is dominant during the even hours.

Would Rambam therefore have considered Shmuel – and other Talmudic sages like him – to have been contravening biblical prohibitions by incorporating astrological assumptions into their thought systems and daily planning?

Judaism Reclaimed examines this possibility as part of its broader exploration of Rambam’s position concerning the darker arts. Citing Talmudic passages and principles, Rambam in Moreh Nevuchim seeks to establish that the Torah's prohibition against pursuing “the ways of the nations” (often referred to as "darkei Emori") includes whatever is believed by the nations to be effective for supernatural rather than scientific reasons. This is reflected by a Gemara (Shabbat 67a) which teaches that "anything which is 'refuah' is not darkei Emori". Rambam explains this to mean that any cure which was understood — even erroneously — to be naturally effective, does not belong to the prohibited category of darker arts.

Applying Rambam’s principle to the long lists of peculiar medical advice which feature in the Gemara, it would seem that the effectiveness of these cures is of little consequence. What is crucial is that they were believed to have natural healing ability and were therefore, at least during the era of the compilation of the Gemara, not subsumed within the ambit of 'darkei Emori’.

Rambam understood that, since the laws of the natural world are a product of divine wisdom, they therefore represent an important means for acquiring awe, love and knowledge of God. We are to apply our God-given intellect, to the best of our ability, in order to appreciate the Creator’s wisdom within our world. When it comes to magic and the darker arts, by contrast, "these things corrupt all paths of truth" since such trickery and fabrication corrupt man's understanding of God's world, leading him away from attaining knowledge of God.

Any practice which appears to be effective, however, should be considered to be a reflection of God's wisdom in creating the world. If magical rites actually worked, the Torah would have had no cause to prohibit them. The problem, according to Rambam, with these imagined products of trickery lies primarily in the claim that they involve the use of powers which lie above God's natural laws, therefore wielding the ability to control and manipulate them. This creates an impression of the existence of additional and distinct supernatural powers — a dark side to be served and appeased — which makes sorcery and necromancy natural bedfellows of idolatry.

In his Letter on Astrology addressed to the Rabbis of Lunel, Rambam acknowledges the existence of Talmudic statements which uphold the legitimacy of astrology (though he indicates that they reflect a minority position). Nevertheless, on the basis of his analysis in the Moreh, he would not have condemned this Talmudic belief in astrology as a breach of biblical law since it was consistent with the (albeit mistaken) science of the time. Such a belief is also evident in the writings of Ibn Ezra (see e.g. commentary to Shemot 33:21) who understood that the stars form part of the system of divinely-ordained natural laws which were set up at the time of Creation to control aspects of our world.

On the basis of extensive research into the science of his day, however, Rambam considered astrology to have been resoundingly debunked – it was no longer legitimate to claim that it played a part in God’s natural system for running the universe. Any subsequent belief, therefore, in the powers of the stars could only be based upon an idolatrous belief that the celestial bodies enjoyed supernatural power independent of God – the sort of prohibited belief detailed in the opening chapter of Hilchot Avoda Zara.

Rambam’s approach to the scientific expertise of the Talmudic sages reflects his broader position that, while statements from the prophets are taken to emerge from divine insight and are therefore accurate, later sages based some of their teachings upon the science of the societies which they inhabited and could therefore sometimes be mistaken. As he sets out in the Letter of Astrology, only rational proof and tradition of the prophets should form the basis of a person’s belief.

This insight may also be helpful to those who this week started a new cycle of daily Mishneh Torah study – a cycle which opens with Rambam’s presentation of the wonders of God’s creation. That this cycle draws heavily upon now defunct science such as the spheres should not trouble anyone. As the Yemenite-Maimonidean sage, Rabbi Yosef Kapach wrote in his commentary:

“All the ideas concerning the existence of spheres, their nature, number and ranking…all of these matters were not part of our sages’ transmitted tradition. Rather they were based on their personal understanding or on the astronomical sciences of their time…However the books which were compiled by the sages from the era of the prophets…did not reach us…”

Rather than being concerned with how to interpret Maimonidean theories of the spheres, such passages should instead prompt us to explore what the opening chapters of Mishneh Torah would have looked like had Rambam written them in the year 2023.

First posted to Facebook 30 April 2023, here.

Can one unify the God of monotheism?

A long-standing irony of the daily Sefirah count is the L’Shem Yichud prayer which many communities recite prior to counting. This prayer specifies that, through the performance of a positive biblical commandment, The Holy One, Blessed be He is being “unified”. This is somewhat puzzling. Pretty much the only legal authority who considers counting the Omer to be a biblical commandment nowadays is Rambam. Yet it is hard to imagine Rambam embracing the notion of a God who requires unification. He wrote in his opening chapter of Mishneh Torah:

“This God is one. He is not two or more, but one, unified in a manner which [surpasses] any unity that is found in the world; i.e., He is not one in the manner of a general category which includes many individual entities, nor one in the way that the body is divided into different portions and dimensions. Rather, He is unified, and there exists no unity similar to His in this world.

If there were many gods, they would have body and form, because like entities are separated from each other only through the circumstances associated with body and form.

Were the Creator to have body and form, He would have limitation and definition, because it is impossible for a body not to be limited. And any entity which itself is limited and defined [possesses] only limited and defined power.”

Such a principle was not an invention of Rambam – it was expressed even more powerfully approximately a century earlier in the Chovot HaLevavot, which considered God’s absolute unity to be a foundational pillar of monotheistic faith – a pillar which distinguishes it from polytheism.

This is not to suggest, of course, that all of those who recite the L’Shem Yichud prayer would be thought of by Rambam as polytheists. Judaism Reclaimed, which devotes several chapters to this complex matter, notes how the system and texts of Kabbalah are, in Gershom Scholem’s words, “symbols” and “images of a spiritual mode of existence…the Divine Being Himself cannot be expressed”. Several prominent kabbalistic works take great pains to point out, for example, that

“… there can be no change in God and no division within Him which would justify the assertion that He is divided into parts in these ten Sefirot, for change and division is not to be found within Him … It can be compared to water which is divided into different variously coloured [translucent] vessels… the water, despite its natural lack of colour, will appear to bear the colour of the various vessels in which it is contained … [This change in appearance] is solely from the external perspective of the one viewing the vessels, not within the water itself. So too is the matter of the Sefirot … There is no change in the spreading Essence [ie God] except for in the view of the beholder …” [R. Moshe Cordovero, Pardes Rimonim 4:4]

But why is it that Rambam and Chovot Halevavot regard implications of division and form regarding God with so much more severity than their kabbalistic counterparts?

A key difference between Rambam and the Kabbalists in this regard appears to be that Rambam presents a binary system of absolute physicality and spirituality. There is no middle ground.

For Rambam and his binary system of physicality and meta-physicality, therefore, the concepts of substance, form, division and unity relate specifically to the limited physical realm. To apply such terms to God therefore would be to subject Him to the limitations of time, space, decay and all other laws of nature to which physicality necessarily submits. As quoted above from the chapter of Mishneh Torah:

"If the Creator were a physical body, He would have bounds and limits, for it is impossible for a physical body to be without limits".

Such a position is not consistent with monotheistic religion, which is premised on the principle that God acts freely and independently, transcending all the limitations that hold sway in the physical domain.

Within the kabbalistic system however, an incorrect belief in God’s physicality or disunity does not necessarily imply a limitation of His power. In contrast to the stark binary system of Rambam, in which all of existence falls neatly into either the physical or spiritual realm, Kabbalists introduce a complex and interconnected range of quasi-physical existence which occupies the vast middle ground separating absolute physicality from pure spirituality. Judaism Reclaimed shows how this distinction between Rambam and Kabbalists can be detected in their disputes over concepts such as angels, the nature of the soul, and afterlife punishment in Gehinnom. While for Rambam therefore, the use of terms which imply form, division and unity to God are tantamount to an assertion of His limited and fully-physical status, such a deduction is considerably less straightforward from the perspective of the Kabbalist.

Rambam goes further, considering that the God of Tanach is one who cannot be contained in human thought or terms – as King Solomon declared: “The heaven and the heaven of heavens cannot contain You, and surely not this Temple that I have built!". Any relationship with this God must be premised upon this foundational principle. Conceptualising God in physical terms, even if one recognises that His true Essence lies beyond them – is at best misleading and unhelpful. It does not truly relate to God in any way.

And what of those who follow the simple meaning of these kabbalistic prayers – unaware of the warnings of kabbalistic masters as to their symbolic meanings – and consider their actions and prayers to be somehow unifying disparate elements of God?

One fascinating teaching on this subject can be found in the writings of the Chazon Ish, who suggested that deeming such people to be heretics “applies specifically to one who has not analysed the matter or is of limited intelligence”. Nevertheless, “one who understands that all that we have received in our tradition concerning the true Creator cannot co-exist with physicality…he is a “min” for he is denying the core belief”. A stricter interpretation of Rambam’s position regarding accidental heretics is attributed, however, to Rabbi Chaim Soloveitchik, who is reported to have declared that even “an unfortunate heretic is nevertheless a heretic”.

Fiery words indeed!

First posted on Facebook 8 May 2023, herehere.

Political debate, modern ideologies and "Torah values"

An all-too-common feature of contemporary political discourse in the religious community is the attempt to prove that a certain political doctrine, party or candidate is wholly representative of the Torah’s beliefs.

I have been lectured by gun enthusiasts as to how the verse “and the Israelites emerged armed from the land of Egypt” is an explicit endorsement of NRA policy. Those seeking more restrictive gun laws, meanwhile, have expressed equal confidence that their position is firmly supported by the Torah’s prohibition on the use of weapons in constructing the Altar, or in prophetic yearning for swords being beaten into ploughshares. (The opposing sides do not welcome my observation that neither precedent is particularly persuasive: the Jewish nation exiting Egypt were effectively on a war footing, while the prophetic visions and Mishkan regulations can be seen to represent a utopian or didactic ideal.)

This is just one cautionary example as to how forcing the Torah’s timeless teachings into the rigid framework of modern-day political manifestos can lead to much of its nuanced spiritual guidance being lost on its readers.

Reflecting on the Torah reading over Shabbat made me wonder whether the same holds true in terms of Shemittah/Yovel and how the Torah seeks to structure its society and economy. It struck me how the society envisaged by the Torah transcends many of the ideological divides and debates which occupy today’s political and economic theorists.

The first thing to notice is how private ownership of land is fiercely protected and forms the central pillar of Israelite society when they enter the land. Private ownership of land is the bedrock and inalienable right of every family. This gives everyone a stable platform and creates a society in which – at least as a starting point – no individual or group is financially dependent on another.

Whereas most of human history has been dominated by landlord-serf structure, the Torah envisages a vastly different society in which every single member is a landowner. No-one is left simply creating wealth for the landlord being subjugated to them as a result – to be drafted into their armies – and essentially owned by them.

Significantly, Torah law makes it extremely hard for any family to lose this ancestral plot.

Human history has shown us the evil of children being born into servitude – generational debt bondage has led to untold numbers of children being born into inescapable suffering on account of their parents’ and grandparents’ failed business ventures. While it is true that the creation of wealth often requires risk-taking in order to raise investment capital, the society as envisaged by the Torah however only permits one to take such a risk with one’s own personal future.

Crippling debts are unlikely to be built up in the absence of interest, and loans secured against one’s property are automatically limited to a maximum of 50 years – until the next Yovel. Even if one’s investment utterly fails, the Torah has thus instituted a reset which ensures that children and grandchildren do not suffer for the financial misgoverning of their parents. The family plot will be restored to them to make their own attempts to build a stable financial life. Debt bondage, meanwhile, is extremely time-limited to an initial maximum of seven years, to be extended only at the request of the debtor.

By limiting the ability to risk one’s entire family fortunes on a daring investment, the Torah not only protects children from being born into cross-generational debt-bondage and serfdom. It also reduces the likelihood of children of lords and wealthy landowners being raised in an environment of detached and entitled privilege. Parents who have dealt wisely with their estate will be able to raise their children with additional comforts and opportunities, but the children will one day need to exhibit similar wisdom and responsibility in managing the family estate in order to preserve this gain.

In place of the system of lords and serfs which has prevailed for much of human history, the Torah seeks to create a more cohesive society – repeatedly emphasising and symbolising through various commandments the need for universal education and equality before the law.

For the unfortunate few who fall between the cracks of this system, Tanach places powerful religious obligations upon those who are able to assist the poor and downtrodden – emphasising the need not just to feed but also to lend money to the poor in order to allow them eventually to be self-sufficient. The prophets repeatedly seek to remind the nation of the centrality of kindness and charity to the prototype Priestly Nation that God envisaged.

As with attempts to shoehorn the Torah’s attitude to weapons onto modern-day debates over guns (mentioned above), the Torah’s vision for society can be seen to transcend recent political ideologies and current debate. It is fiercely insistent on private ownership unlike Communist-Socialist structures, while simultaneously placing severe limits on the sort of private risk taking to create enormous wealth that Free Market systems endorse.

How such a balance might be implemented in the modern era is a fascinating but separate discussion. Would the Messianic era envisage a return to some form of ancestral plot which would secure each family once again within the Land of Israel? It is noteworthy that even in King Solomon’s era, the wise king undertook a major redesign of the land-ownership and tribal system based on the evolution of the national agrarian economy towards maritime trade and commerce (See I Kings 4, and the analysis of R’ Alex Israel in I Kings: Torn in Two). Instead of trying to manipulate the Torah to claim support for any particular modern-day political party or ideology, we should instead stand back and appreciate it instead for the radically different, divinely-ordained society that it envisages – and challenges us to work towards.

First posted on Facebook 17 May 2023, here.

The Sotah solution to a societal scourge

A central feature of Rambam’s approach to identifying reasons for the commandments is the recognition that they do not represent some form of lofty and sublime ideal. Rather they are to be viewed as a set of rules which God, in His wise understanding of human frailties and predilections, designed so as to guide individuals and societies towards the sort of justice, morality and spiritual goals that humans could ultimately aspire to.

Judaism Reclaimed (both the book and previous posts on this group) examines how this perspective can be applied to laws regarding korbanot, slavery as well as the challenging law of Yefat To’ar. It also notes the power of the Sanhedrin to advance further legislation, in accordance with their received tradition, in order to maximise the applicability and relevance of these laws as societies evolved.

In the post below, Daniel Abraham presents a similar approach to the ritual of Sotah, a set of laws which appears/ed in this week’s parasha (depending where in the world you are reading this!) – and which many have just finished studying as part of the Daf Yomi cycle.

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I think it is important to understand that even in our so called enlightened times today, three or more women are killed by their boyfriends or husbands each day in the US – and domestic violence is also reported to be rising in Israel. One can only imagine how many women were killed by their partners in ancient times. The Sotah ritual involved a man telling his wife that she should not be alone with a specific suspected man, likely because he was concerned that she was being unfaithful with him.

If the wife were subsequently to seclude herself with this man, she was on the one hand showing that she really did not care about the feelings and fears of her husband, while also showing that she didn't mind risking her marriage and/or her life. If two witnesses then saw her seclude herself with this man, she was given two options. She could either agree to divorce her husband and thereby conclude the matter. Alternatively, she could choose to participate in the Sotah ritual to dispel the deep angst of her husband who believed he was being cheated on.

As explained in the Talmud, therefore, the Sotah ritual is not to be seen as an ordeal or trial in which the woman is forced to participate. Furthermore, Rabbi S. R. Hirsch argues that the Sotah ritual is likely to have been conducted “only where a husband wishes to vindicate his wife; he wants her to remain his, if she still is his. This intention is made clear by the fact that he brings her before God for a decision. If he were interested in dissolving the marriage there would be no need for him to take this action since she is already forbidden to him…”.

Thus the message of the Sotah process, as emphasised in rabbinic teachings, focuses on God allowing His name to be erased in the waters in order to bring peace between man and wife – to help repair a troubled marriage which both parties ideally would like to continue.

Having some kind of believable supernatural mechanism to prove whether someone is being unfaithful could definitely offer practical benefits in a society in which men commonly beat and murdered their wives out of jealousy. Recalling the introduction to this post, these laws do not necessarily represent an ideal – but rather they recognise the flawed state of society as it is and seek to guide it towards improved and ultimately moral and spiritual perfection.

In this light, it can be noted that this entire process seems unfair given that men who are unfaithful within their own marriages are not required to drink the bitter waters. That said, if a male had relations with any married female, and that married female drank the bitter waters at any later point in her life this paramour would die if she ever drank the bitter waters (Sotah 47b). The paramour had no control over whether this woman would ever choose to drink the waters, and would therefore have to live his life in fear that she could drink them at any time.

It's also important to fully appreciate the realities of the Ancient Near Eastern societies in which the Torah was transmitted and initially observed. In such ancient patriarchal societies (and for the vast majority of world history), women married young, were largely uneducated, were entirely dependent on their husbands, faced violence and rape on a regular basis and in many eras couldn't leave the house safely without a male protecting them. This meant that they often had a relationship with their husbands that more resembled a child to a parent than a man and wife who were educated equals. What's more, there was a necessity in ancient times to allow men to marry multiple wives, if only due to the fact that war could wipe out half the male population, thus leaving half the women of the time without the ability to have children or attain the benefits and protections that were afforded to married women. And again, men held so much power in their relationships, that even if a woman warned a husband about infidelity, she would not have been in a position to enforce any disciplinary measures against her “protector”.

The laws of Sotah must be seen therefore within the realities of the societies which have persisted for most of human history (and to a some extent may still bear relevance today). Societies in which male violence disempowered and limited the true potential of women. The laws of the Torah often had to work within the deeply entrenched flaws of society in the hopes of limiting the scope of evils and injustices that permeated the ancient world by providing imperfect but workable solutions to impossible situations which had no real good answers.

The Torah's unique quality was that it gave basic guidelines that it hoped would be implemented by the Sanhedrin to the wider society as time passed. Do justice. Do not wrong the stranger. Do not covet. Love your neighbor as yourself. Those teachings were the underlying foundation of Judaism which slowly overtime helped shape and evolve the religion into a more civilized and just society.

Using those very principles, rabbis forbade things that were once permitted (such as cancelation of a divorce) and passed various Takanot (such as Ketubah and its accompanying rules) to try to make society more fair and equal. The Sotah ritual itself was suspended a generation before the Mikdash was destroyed. Even within the subsequent limitations of exile, in which we lack any form of binding Sanhedrin-type court, edicts of Rabbeinu Gershom sought to prohibit practices such as polygamy and divorcing a woman without her consent. We anticipate that a future Sanhedrin will have a busy agenda when it first sits to consider the extent to which it is empowered to continue pursuing these goals.

First posted on Facebook 28 May 2023, here.

Do men and women think differently about Judaism?

Over the past year I have had the privilege to teach classes – including open Q and A sessions – to groups of both male and female Orthodox students in Jerusalem. Participants in these sessions were granted the opportunity to submit questions anonymously, meaning that they had no need to be anxious as to how their questions would be perceived by others. What struck me was how there was virtually no overlap between the sorts of questions posed by the male and female groups.

The matters which bothered the boys generally focused on subjects such as proofs for God and the authenticity of the Torah, rabbinic authority, rationalism and mysticism. The girls, meanwhile, were understandably more troubled by the role of women in Judaism and tzniut-modesty laws. But they submitted a number of questions beyond these topics, and not a single one matched up with what the boys were asking. This is not to say they were not interested in these topics – separate lessons on rabbinic authority and rationalism prompted animated discussion. But when given the opportunity to anonymously present the questions they would most like to be treated in Judaism, what boys tend to regard as “the big questions” did not seem to feature for the girls.

A blog post in the Time of Israel by Rabbi Dr Joshua Berman (linked in the top comment) made me realise that my experiences were far from unique. The article, titled “Is biblical criticism a male issue?”, revealed that Berman had received hundreds of emails from unknown troubled souls seeking help regarding the historicity and accuracy of the Torah. None of these emails, he reported, were sent by women. Berman notes further that this statistic is consistent with his experiences both on social media and in real-life interactions – and spans both Jewish and non-Jewish audiences. He then concludes with a brief discussion as to whether the relative disinterest shown in these topics by women is innate or due to elements of their upbringing.

In its chapter on parashat Tazria, Judaism Reclaimeduses the discrepancy between the Torah’s specified purification processes for mothers of male and female babies as a springboard for investigating its broader differentiation between genders. The chapter cites and develops discussion from Rabbi Jonathan Sacks (The Great Partnership, pp49-54) regarding possible distinctions in the neurological functioning of men and women. Studies quoted by Rabbi Sacks indicated that:

“Men’s moral thinking tended to be formal and abstract, women’s contextual and based on telling stories. Men spoke about justice, women about relationships.”

If this is indeed the case, is it not to be expected that the there are to be some differences in how the Torah guides males and females to achieve their spiritual fulfilment?

This is only part of the story though. My upcoming Talmud Reclaimed: An Ancient Text in the Modern Era investigates how much of Jewish law which reaches us through the Talmud can be contextualised based on the social realities that prevailed in the time and place where it was written. Conversely, how much is to be regarded as an expression of timeless and immutable moral and spiritual teachings that were transmitted intact from Sinai. If a new Sanhedrin were to take office tomorrow, how many of these laws would be within its power to amend or repeal? If the Talmud combines both of these categories, is there a technique that can help us distinguish between them when studying it?

Returning to the original story, one thing that particularly surprised me about both groups and their anonymous questions is that not a single question addressed the matter of LGBT rights and gender identification in Orthodox Judaism. Maybe a topic for another day…

First posted to Facebook 23 April 2023, here.

When is Shavuot and when was the Torah received?

On what day was the Torah given? On what date do we celebrate the festival of Shavuot? Seemingly simple questions, yet ones for which the Torah’s text provides no clear answer.

In a fascinating passage, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch notes that Shavuot is unique among all biblical festivals in that no calendar date is prescribed for it – rather, it is observed seven weeks from the omer offering which was brought on the second day of Pesach. Combining a selection of Talmudic traditions and calculations, Rav Hirsch demonstrates that the Torah was most likely to have been given on the 51st day after the Exodus. As noted by the Magen Avraham (Orach Chaim 494) the 50th day from the omer is in fact the day BEFORE the Lawgiving – which the Torah identifies as having taken place on the sixth or seventh day of the third month.

On this basis, the day that is elevated to a festival is NOT the day of the Sinai revelation, but rather the final day of counting leading up to that great day. This indicates that the ‘festival of Matan Torah’ does not relate to the actual giving of the Torah; it celebrates our making ourselves worthy of receiving it.

This insight into the nature of the festival of Shavuot provides us with a greater understanding of the commandment of Sefirat HaOmer, through which we count the days each year in between Pesach and Shavuot. Jewish tradition depicts the nation as having undergone a significant transformation during this seven-week period – from the 49th level of impurity to a level on which they could nationally perceive God’s communication to Moshe at Sinai. This process of purification is indicated by the number seven, which is the number of days which the Torah always requires in order to regain purity. (The Torah emphasises that the count consists of 7x7 – seven weeks not just 49 days). As well as achieving this national purity, we are also taught that the Israelites reached a level of perfection in their interpersonal relationships. Rashi comments that they encamped at the mountain “like one person with one heart” – a highly-impressive display of national unity.

This transformative process, which culminated in them camping, pure and united, at the base of Mount Sinai, it what we celebrate as a festival. It is the conclusion of this same seven-week period which both determines the date of the celebration, and accounts for the name “Shavuot” by which the festival is commonly known.

The period of Sefirat HaOmer, meanwhile, instils within our consciousness that such a national achievement is not reached without considerable work. Traditionally, the 49 days of the Omer are associated with the 48 ways in which the Torah is acquired (Avot 6:6) – prompting us to re-enact our ancestors’ religious awakening during these weeks in the desert. And the Omer period is also a reminder for us of the importance of maintaining mutual respect for one another as we seek to learn from the fate of Rabbi Akiva’s students who died during this period.

These ideas should be at the forefront of our consciousness as we count the final night of the Omer and prepare to recall the historic national covenant and revelation at Sinai.

First posted to Facebook 24 May 2023, here.

Slavery and the Civil Law

Parashat Mishpatim introduces the Torah’s civil law with an initial focus on laws of slavery, a subject which represents a source of great discomfort for many modern readers. Judaism Reclaimed discusses the Torah’s view of slavery as part of its analysis of Rambam’s axiom that the Torah presented its teachings in a manner which even its earliest students could relate to, while at the same time guiding them gently towards the ideal path.

It can be claimed, in accordance with Rambam’s approach, that slavery – like animal sacrifice - was so deeply ingrained within the popular Jewish psyche that it could not have been prohibited outright. A comparison between the Torah’s laws on slavery and those which existed in the surrounding Ancient Near Eastern societies, however, can provide a strong indication of the Torah’s overall view of the institution of slavery.

The Code of Hammurabi, for example, provided slaves with absolutely no rights, regarding them essentially as property. Viewed in this context, the Torah introduces severe limitations: it sets slaves free if they are abused by their masters, legislates a death penalty for their murder, and requires their inclusion in the Shabbat day of rest “so that your slave and maidservant shall rest just like you”. Blinding of slaves, a frequently performed means of controlling or punishing slaves in ancient times, results in a slave going free under Torah law. Rambam explains that the prohibition against returning a fleeing slave to his master displays empathy with the oppressed slave and sends out a powerful message to his master that his power over a slave should not be cruelly abused. This conforms with Rambam’s emphatic statement at the end of Hilchot Avadim that, while the letter of the law allows for slaves to be worked in difficult conditions, this is neither the way of the Sages, nor does it reflect the character traits that the Torah demands of the nation of Avraham, a nation that is exhorted to exhibit “Godly” kindness and compassion.

In his discussion of slavery in the Torah, Rabbi S. R. Hirsch writes that Jewish law does not allow a person to be transformed into a slave against his or her will. The only way individuals could become Jewish slaves was by willingly selling themselves unless, under the generally accepted rules of international law, they already had the status of slaves. Citing the “saddening experiences of our own times” in America and Jamaica, R’ Hirsch adds that transferal into the property of a Jew was the only form of salvation for a person previously stamped as a slave: “A Jewish home was a haven to a slave. There, he was protected by law against mishandling… He became a member of the household, like his master’s children, and like them he participated in the Pesach offering, on which God’s people was founded.”

Staying with R’ Hirsch, his commentary at the start of this parashah takes note of how the Torah’s civil law code commences with a detailed recitation of specific laws governing slaves. This beginning, he argues, would be inconceivable if the Written Torah was the primary source of Jewish law. It follows that a mass of laws and legal principles must have already been established and clarified before these exceptional cases could even have been considered. It is presumably upon the basis of the mass of laws and principles that Moshe had already received and transmitted orally that he had previously been “judging the people…from morning until evening…making known to them the decrees of God and His teachings,” (see Rashbam to Shemot 18). This forms the basis of R' Hirsch's analysis of the relationship between the Written Torah and the Oral Tradition (see chapter 11 of Judaism Reclaimed, summarised below in the Chaye Sarah post).

First posted to Facebook 15 February 2020, here.

Where on earth is the "Kevod Hashem"?

On two occasions in the book of Bemidbar, the nation is involved in some form of frantic rebellion against God – or at least again his appointed leaders. As the mutinies of Korach and the Spies reach fever pitch, order is suddenly and dramatically restored by the “Glory [Kevod] of God” appearing to the entire nation.

The mysterious notion of a tangible “Kevod Hashem” features elsewhere in Tanakh and appears repeatedly in our prayers – but how is it to be understood? Is Kevod Hashem some form of tangible spiritual entity? Where is it to be found?

We are accustomed to the notion of God’s kavod “filling the entire world” – our daily kedushah prayer includes Yeshayah’s declaration that “melo chol ha’aretz kevodo”. But if such kevod Hashem indeed fills the entire universe then how can it said to appear suddenly mid-mutiny in order to restore order among the Israelites?

The extended Kedusha that we recite on Shabbat recounts that this question also troubles God’s ministering angels: “His kavod fills the world [yet] His ministering angels ask of each other “Where is the place of His kavod?!”” The resolution appears to be that his kavod is to be found among “am hameyachadim shemo” – the nation which perceives and declares his Oneness.

Radak explains in his commentary to Yeshayah’s declaration that “God has created everything, and those who are able to perceive God will glorify Him for this [yechabeduhu ba’alei sechel]”. Consistent with Rambam’s interpretations of this verse in Moreh Nevuchim, Radak is shifting the emphasis from kavod as a tangible spiritual entity to a description of humans recognizing and internalizing the nature of God’s existence. It would seem that while God’s kavod potentially fills the entire world – since all aspects of Creation can be said to point to a Creator – this kavod only exists in practice when and where humans perceive and declare God’s existence.

As Judaism Reclaimed analyses, Rambam categorically rejects as heretical the notion that God or divinity can enter into the limiting physical frameworks of space and time. Biblical verses which purport to describe God in this manner are therefore interpreted, in line with the ancient footsteps of Targum Onkelos, to be describing our perception and relationship with God. (Interestingly, Rambam does however consider it legitimate – if not entirely accurate – to understand kevod as a form of “created light” – an understanding which appears to have been favoured by other commentators such as Sa’adiah Gaon).

The extended kedushah prayer can be seen to reflect Rambam’s approach to kevod Hashem. Such kavod does not occupy any fixed place that the ministering angels can point to – rather it is to be found among the am hameyachadim shemo who use their tzelem Elokim – their God given intellect to recognise, internalise and develop a relationship with Him.

A further chapter of Judaism Reclaimed examines how such a recognition of God is not universally proclaimed and is central to the historical role of the Jewish nation. When pagans contemplated the world, they saw a multiplicity of concepts and forces which appeared to be in conflict with one another in the natural world. This they rationalised in terms of there being a multiplicity of deities, each with limited powers and spheres of influence, who engage in battle with one another where their interests come into conflict or their limited spheres of influence overlap. Aristotle, by contrast, contemplated the multiple ‘forms’ that make up the universe, understanding that there must be a single simple source from which they all emanate. This source, however, he viewed as being a natural and constant First Cause, eternally limited to its role of constantly producing the physical universe. In the modern era, atheists have concocted complex theories of multiverses and eternally self-perpetuating cycles of Big Bangs and contractions in order to explain what at first glance appears to be a precisely and finely-tuned universe.

From Avraham and the pagans, Rambam and Aristotle through to Rabbi Sacks’s disputes with New Atheists, Judaism has always stood at the forefront of the battle to declare and accept God’s governance of the world. These declarations have firmly rejected the various competing rival theories which have emerged at different historical junctures, gained popularity and then departed from serious theological and philosophical reckoning. It is this role of the Jewish nation which is concretised in the Kedusha prayer depicting us as the am hameyachadim shemo – the nation whose mission it is perpetually to recognise and declare God’s Oneness and governance of the world. The nation therefore among whom God’s kavod can be found.

The book of Bemidbar describes the formative years of our young nation in which it was being trained for its upcoming mission as God’s chosen people. This crash course required a more intense providential guidance – certain fundamental truths had to be supernaturally imposed on the nation. For this reason, when they rebelled in the episodes of the Spies and Korach, God’s kavodhad to make itself clear to them. Rather than emerging from the free choice of humans to meditate upon and perceive God, He made Himself clear and apparent in order to keep the emerging nation from rebelling against Moshe’s leadership and their destiny in the Land of Israel.

Subsequent generations of Jews, however, are guided by the phrase ברוך הוא אלקינו שבראנו לכבודו"” – “Blessed is He our God who created us for His kavod – our mission as God’s nation is to perceive, internalise and declare to the world His Oneness and governance.

First posted to Facebook 25 June 2023, here.