Hair today, gone tomorrow: Nazirites and hairstyle symbolism

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed which relates to parashat Naso focuses on nezirut, a voluntary vow which requires a person to abstain from contact with the dead, drinking wine, and taking a haircut. We contrast the approaches of Ramban – who understands the sin offering at the conclusion of nezirut to be indicative of the nazir’s prior commendable abstention from ‘worldly contamination’ – with that of Rambam who is critical of the nazir for forgoing such pleasures.

It is a mistake, however, to suggest that Rambam places any inherent value upon indulging in worldly pleasures or activities. Rather he emphasizes the need for a person to strike the correct balance between extreme character traits, including the need to walk the middle path between overindulgence and abstinence. It is a repeated theme in Rambam’s writings, though, that this balance is not an end in its own right; it merely serves to facilitate and enhance the person’s ability to perceive and thereby connect with God.

Passages are explored from several of Rambam’s writings and his position is shown to be nuanced: a person who naturally overindulges in worldly pleasures should temporarily deprive himself in order to train himself towards the correct balance. The potential danger, however, is that “the foolish ones” will see their sages depriving themselves of pleasures and wrongly imagine that asceticism and self-denial is an end in itself and a method of achieving holiness. It follows that the Torah associates nezirut with sin in order to demonstrate that such behaviour does not represent an ideal state of being. As we proceed to show, Rambam in certain places registers his strong approval of vows and nezirut when “taken in a holy manner”, even going so far as to liken the nazir to a prophet – the highest rung on the ladder of human achievement.

Particularly fascinating is Rabbi S. R. Hirsch’s approach to nezirut. Employing his trademark technique of analysing the halachic details before constructing a symbolic framework, R’ Hirsch demonstrates the existence of a close parallel between the nazir’s prohibitions and the restrictions placed on all people who seek to approach God’s Mikdash. The key to nazir, meaning “separation,” is not abstinence and separation from the physical but rather a temporary spiritual separation for the purpose of focusing on God and spiritual development. By becoming a nazir, one dedicates his or her mind to spiritual pursuits and gains a status of permanent presence in the Mikdash.

Hair growth is explained to represent temporary insulation and separation of the intellect from the rest of society (the metzora, by contrast, must shave his hair, an act that represents the requirement that he must become more socially aware and sensitive). At the conclusion of nezirut, the nazir’s hair is cut—representing the end of his intellectual separation from society. The nazir, having been elevated and inspired by his period of social distancing and insulated contemplation, is now ready to approach the Jewish ideal of participating in and elevating the physical world.

R' Hirsch’s understanding of the profound symbolism underlying the presence and removal of hair may lend additional meaning to the passages dealing with the prophets Eliyahu and Elisha in the book of Melachim. In his superb two-volume analysis of Melachim, R’ Alex Israel highlights the deeply contrasting prophetic styles of the fiery and reclusive Eliyahu on the one hand, and the socially-sensitive and engaged Elisha on the other, tracing these respective traits throughout their respective careers. In one uncharacteristic scene however, Elisha reacts strongly to youths taunting him “Go up Baldhead, Go up Baldhead!”, his curse inciting severe divine retribution.

In examining what might have provoked Elisha to this uncharacteristic response, R’ Alex draws upon sources which contrast Elisha’s baldness with Eliyahu’s hairy disposition (“Ish ba’al se’or”). “Go up Baldhead” could be understood as a mockery of Elisha’s inadequacy when equated with his hairy predecessor. Combining this with R’ Hirsch’s nazirite analysis above, we can add an additional dimension: that the youths were rejecting Elisha’s socially-sensitive prophetic leadership style (symbolised by a lack of hair), respecting only the harsher and stricter style of Eliyahu – whose socially-distant approach indicated by his hairy disposition.

Before concluding, as a matter of hakarat hatov, I would like to thank R’ Alex for his examination of the book of Melachim which I draw upon in this post and which has guided me in my approach to studying Tanach. His analysis not only offers profound insights into the biblical narratives, but even more valuably for me it strikes a difficult balance between introducing ideas and techniques from modern scholarship while remaining fully respectful and loyal to traditional commentaries and other sources. I highly recommend his books to anyone looking to undertake a serious study of the prophetic works.

First posted to Facebook 24 May 2020, here.

Drunken Maimonideans and a sobering reality

In his description of the mitzvot of Purim, Rambam obligates a person to “drink wine until he becomes intoxicated and falls asleep in a stupor”. While this requirement stands out as a startlingly unusual religious command – I recall a non-Jewish teacher reacting in utter disbelief to the very idea of it – inebriation would appear particularly harmful to the entire religious enterprise as understood by Rambam, who places so much emphasis on a constantly rational frame of mind. As Maharal, who follows Rambam’s approach in this area, puts it: “Intellect is the connection between man and God, and through intoxication this connection is severed”. What possible religious benefit could such a non-salubrious celebration offer?

An early chapter of Judaism Reclaimed explores a fundamental dichotomy in Rambam’s thought. On the one hand, he idealises intellectual comprehension of rational divine truths as the ultimate religious achievement but at the same time he openly recognises that the human mind is not naturally conditioned for such comprehension. This recognition of the realities of the human condition forms the basis of Rambam’s explanation of the role of Torah and mitzvot as preparatory tools for enabling the intellect to comprehend divine truths. The existence of worldly barriers to intellectual achievement also prompts Rambam to advise that the majority of people must, at least initially, be made aware of God through received tradition rather than rational speculation.

Commenting upon a cryptic passage from this week’s parashah, Rambam (Shemoneh Perakim) takes this idea further. In the aftermath of the Golden Calf, Moshe asks: “Give me a true understanding of Your essence”, to which God responds: “No man can see Me and live.” Rambam explains that even Moshe, who had perfected his intellect and traits to the ‘ultimate’ level in order to perceive objective divine truths, still had one significant barrier preventing him from truly perceiving God: “that the human intellect is not separated [from the body] … his aspiration [objective knowledge of God] was unattainable because he was a physical being”. This principle, that the human intellect is inhibited by its connection to the physical body, appears again in Mishneh Torah where Rambam writes that the soul in the World to Come is able to comprehend God and divine truths to an extent that had previously been impossible when attached to its physical body.

Intoxication can thus serve to remind fervent Maimonideans, who worship at the altar of rational theorising, to be mindful of the outer limits of the human intellect and not place more confidence in the fruit of their rational deliberations than Rambam himself was prepared to. To quote Maimonidean scholar, Prof Marvin Fox: “The widespread failure to recognise Maimonides’ rigorous awareness of the limits of reason continues to be one of the mysteries of the history of Jewish philosophy”.

On a separate note, there is an additional Purim teaching in which Rambam summons his students to cast their glances beyond the walls of their study halls and embrace the needs of the wider community:

It is preferable for a person to be more liberal with his donations to the poor than to be lavish in his preparation of the Purim feast or in sending portions to his friends. For there is no greater and more splendid happiness than to gladden the hearts of the poor, the orphans, the widows, and the converts. One who brings happiness to the hearts of these unfortunate individuals resembles the Divine Presence, which Isaiah describes as having the tendency "to revive the spirit of the lowly and to revive those with broken hearts."

As Rambam powerfully affirms in his conclusion to the Moreh, the sort of refined intellectual connection to God which his Judaism so greatly emphasises is one which goes hand-in-hand with personal refinement and empathy for the feelings of others. At the peak of his religious philosophy, Rambam appears to view these areas of endeavour as representing complementary rather than contradictory approaches towards achieving a connection to God.

This post combines ideas from various chapters of Judaism Reclaimed: Philosophy and Theology in the Torah. 

First posted to Facebook on 8 March 2020, here.

The golden calf and Jewish education

Yesterday’s Torah reading featured a fascinating dialogue between God and Moshe as to the fate of the Jewish people in the aftermath of the golden calf. God shockingly proposes that the people should be annihilated and a new, improved, nation generated just from Moshe’s descendants. Moshe refuses to accept such a suggestion, insisting instead that the nation be forgiven and the covenant fulfilled through all of them.

In the aggadic literature, this debate takes on an even more theologically challenging dimension:

“… and ‘Di Zahav’. What is ‘Di Zahav’? Said the academy of R’ Yannai so said Moshe to the Holy One Blessed be He: “Master of the universe, the gold and silver that You allocated to Israel until they said “di” [enough!] caused them to sin with the Golden Calf …

R’ Yonatan said how do we know that the Holy One Blessed be He retraced and agreed with Moshe? As it says, “… and silver I lavished upon them and gold that they used for the Ba’al (idolatry)”.

Judaism Reclaimed dedicates a whole chapter to analysing these perplexing discussions, exploring the implications of what appears to be God allowing Moshe to overrule Him on key policy decisions affecting His chosen people.

One element of this discussion, however, concerns a difficult balance and debate which continues to occupy educators to this very day. How does one set the standard of study and discipline for a group whose members possess a wide range of ability?

At the start of his commentary on the episode of the Akeidah, Ramban examines the concept of nisayon, a test specifically designed and delivered to an individual. There he explains that God provides such a test for the benefit of the person being tested. When God sees a person's latent potential for spiritual growth, He will supply that person with a challenge in order to actualise this potential. For that reason, writes Ramban, God will only provide a nisayonthat He knows the individual can succeed in overcoming.

While Ramban's formula can be understood with regard to testing individuals, it is extremely complex to apply to an entire nation whose members possess a wide range of spiritual capabilities. Should a national challenge of faith and spiritual growth be so easy to pass that the entire nation should be capable of passing it, ignoring the potential for growth of its more advanced members? Alternatively, should the test be so hard that only the nation’s most capable members could pass it, thus identifying those who possess the best potential for leadership? Or should the test be set at whichever level would be likely to benefit the majority?

Judaism Reclaimed understands God and Moshe to be taking different positions on how to negotiate and compromise within these trade offs.

Ultimately, rather than eliminating the sinful nation, God instead replaces His direct providencewith that of an angel, thereby diminishing the level of shechinah and hashgachahto a level that the entire nation could endure. From God’s perspective, however, the episode did seem to provide a significant success story.

While the nation as a whole failed and was punished as a result of the test of the Golden Calf, a midrash notes how the tribe of Levi was greatly elevated as a result of passing this test, thereby meriting to become the 'tribe of God' and serve in the Mikdash:

"Take the Levites." The verse states: (Tehillim 11:5) "God tests the righteous one …" The Holy One, Blessed be He, does not raise the person up to greatness until He tries and tests him first. When Israel worshipped the golden calf, the Levites refused to participate … And when Moshe told them to gird themselves with swords, what did they do? They took their swords and showed no favouritism … For this Moshe blessed them ... Seeing that they were all righteous, the Holy One, Blessed be He, tested them and they stood up to His test … As a result Hashem chose them (to serve in the Beit Hamikdash) as it says, "God tests the righteous one …"

It would appear from this text that from God's perspective, the rigorous examination that the entire nation was subjected to in the episode of the Golden Calf was justified by the significant spiritual growth gained by the Levites.

Returning to God's reconsideration in light of Moshe's request to spare the nation, neither position taken by God during this conversation should be viewed as incorrect. God's initial proposition to replace the Jewish people with a new nation of Moshe's descendants would appear to derive from middat hadin — the attribute of strict justice which generates difficult challenges and demands perfect responses. While the tribe of Levi thrived on this challenge, Moshe pleaded for the Jews to be treated instead with the attribute of mercy (the '13 attributes' which God subsequently revealed to him). Through this attribute of mercy, it would be easier to accommodate human imperfection by diminishing the level of shechinah and hashgachah they were granted — albeit at the expense of the opportunities for spiritual growth for its more advanced members.

The chapter concludes with a discussion of how echoes of this ancient debate can be seen throughout Jewish history. While Rabban Gamliel considered that the study hall should be a place for the elite to scale the heights of Torah learning, Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah instead chose to open its doors to all-comers.

And in more recent times, a similar debate emerged over the primary objective of Jewish education. In a letter published in Michtav Me’Eliyahu, Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler contrasts the approach adopted by the 'Torah im derech eretz' system of Rabbi S. R. Hirsch in Germany with that of the Lithuanian yeshivas. Rav Dessler comments that the choice of the 'Frankfurt school system' to teach secular subjects and approve of university education made its Judaism far more palatable to its devotees, with the result that the vast majority of them opted for a life of dedicated mitzvah observance. In contrast to this, the Lithuanian yeshivas concentrated all of their students' energies and desires exclusively on studying Torah. These great Torah academies, writes Rav Dessler, produced outstanding Torah leaders and a yeshiva system which flourishes to this very day, but at significant detriment to the lives (and religious observance) of those who were unable to deal with the extreme lifestyle it demanded.

How can we strike the right balance in our 21st century Jewish education?

First posted to Facebook 12 March 2023, here.

Is the mezuzah a protective talisman?

At the end of yesterday’s Torah reading, we recounted the instruction received by the Jews in Egypt to smear blood on their doorposts – a show of faith and loyalty which would be repaid by God “Passing Over” their houses during the plague of the firstborn. This command has strong thematic and midrashic connections to a law that they would soon receive, which requires us to affix a mezuzah to our doorposts.

While the Talmud certainly associates mezuzah with supernatural protection, it remains to be understood exactly what this protection consists of and how it works. I was recently sent a fascinating podcast by my friend Simi Rivka Lerner which analysed Rabbi S. R. Hirsch’s approach to this topic (linked in comments).

Simi Rivka Lerner relates a personal encounter with someone who was stopped by the police for driving while using his phone. Rather than using this as an opportunity for self-reflection for acting in a way that potentially threatened the safety of both himself and others, this person’s reaction was “I was caught – I had better check my mezuzahs!”.

While this is perhaps an extreme example it illustrates, according to Rabbi Lerner, the extent to which people relate to mezuzah as a lucky charm – a magical device which wards of evil spirits. In the thinking of Rambam and Rav Hirsch this attitude is not just wrong, but it negates the very purpose of the commandment of mezuzah.

Returning to the instruction to place the blood of the original Korban Pesach on the doorframe, the sages in Mechilta identify a dual symbolic significance of this action. For the Jews inside the house, the blood served to demarcate a living space which was to be sanctified and used for holy purposes. At the same time, the blood on the outside of the doorpost was a powerful public declaration, as Rambam puts it: 

“We were commanded to kill a lamb on Passover… to cleanse ourselves of those [foreign] doctrines, and to publicly proclaim the opposite, to express the belief that the very act of slaughtering the Egyptians’ god, which was then considered as being the cause of death, would bring deliverance from death. This was the reward for publicly performing a service, every part of which was objected to by the idolaters.” (Moreh 3:46)

This dual symbolic significance, teaches Rav Hirsch, is mirrored in the commandment of mezuzah, with the doorpost of one’s home now a constant reminder of God and the Torah. Each time a person enters the house, he continues, they are prompted to recall that the values with which they raise their family – and the way in which they interact with their household members – are to be governed by Torah’s moral and spiritual teachings. And similarly, when leaving the house to enter into the wider world, our dealings with wider society should be premised on the Torah’s teachings and values.

It is these spiritual values and moral teachings which lie at the heart of the mezuzah’s “protective powers”. To quote Rav Hirsch again:

“The mezuzah is not an amulet; in and of itself, it does not protect the house. Only insofar as they shape their lives in accordance with the mezuzah’s content can the people within the house expect help and protection from God.”

Rav Hirsch’s message is consistent with the teachings of Rambam who concludes Hilchot Tefillin veMezuzah with a declaration that:

“Each time a person enters or leaves and encounters the One Name of God Blessed be He, he will recall His love and will be awoken from the foolish and temporary vanities (of this world). And he will know that nothing lasts in this world except for knowledge of the Rock of the world, and he will immediately return to his senses and walk the straight path. The early sages said that everyone who has tefillin on his head and arm, tzitzit on his garment, and a mezuzah on his doorpost is certain not to sin, for he has many reminders (of God’s truth), and these themselves are the angels who will save him from sin, as in says “the angel of God will encamp around those who fear Him and rescue them”.

Judaism Reclaimed notes that what emerges from this passage is that Rambam did not consider these commandments to possess any inherent “magical” protective powers. Rather, by using them as reminders, a person is constantly focused on God and His teachings. Such a person deepens his or her relationship with God, thereby making it more meaningful and profound. As Rambam teaches elsewhere, providence is something which must be earned through a genuine two-way relationship with God, and can be incrementally enhanced as one scales the spiritual ladder.

Commandments such as mezuzah, tefillin and prayer are precious tools through we can deepen and improve our relationship with God. If we simply regard them as a pagan-style talisman or supernatural slot-machine whose “powers” we seek to manipulate for our personal benefit, however, they can instead end up distancing us rather than connecting us to God and His providential protection.

First posted to Facebook 19 March 2023, here.

Rationalism and mysticism: polar opposites or mutual benefits?

One of the most hotly debated topics on this group – and indeed on many other Facebook forums devoted to Jewish thought – is the much-touted clash between rationalism and mysticism. A core focal point in such discussions tends to be the position of Rambam, an untiring figurehead for the online rationalists. 

The conventional academic approach is perhaps most effectively presented by Professor Menachem Kellner in Maimonides’ Confrontation With Mysticism, a book which clearly set out the areas of conflict between Rambam’s Aristotelian rationalism and his mystical opponents. Kellner’s prominent disciple in this area, Rabbi Natan Slifkin, has just released a new book (pictured) which covers similar points.

One of the projects of Judaism Reclaimed was to challenge and offer alternatives to what I felt was often an oversimplified dichotomy between Maimonidean rationalism and mysticism by those who seek to portray them as polar opposites. Judaism Reclaimed’s introduction (which can be read here) draws on rabbinic sources to argue that the rational and mystical elements of Judaism can and indeed must both be operative in each individual’s religious journey.

My chapters on Rambam’s worldview probe the extent to which we can effectively detach Rambam’s religious teachings from their obsolete Aristotelian packaging and apply them in order to tackle challenges facing the perplexed of the twenty-first century. From Rambam’s treatment of divine providence, resurrection, creation and miracles I try to show how he profoundly and consistently transcends the rigid Aristotelian system of thought. Perhaps the clearest example of this is regarding prophecy, where Rambam describes how both the nature and content of prophetic knowledge go well beyond what can be attained through natural means.

In keeping with this approach, there is an eye-opening book that I have recently been enjoying on this topic: Homo Mysticus: A Guide to Maimonides’s Guide for the Perplexed, by the late Rabbi José Faur, a Rabbi of the Syrian Jewish community and professor of Judaic Studies. While I continue to struggle with some of Faur’s other writings that relate to the functioning of the halachic system and its sages, his analysis of Rambam’s rationalism is fascinating and often very convincing.

The central theme of Faur’s thesis in Homo Mysticus is that the primary intent of the Torah, as explained by Rambam, is to negate idolatry in all of its manifestations. While this notion obviously targets actions such as worshipping pagan deities, it also includes a far more surreptitious and pernicious danger – the uncontrolled human imagination. When man approaches Judaism, God and the world initially through his imagination rather than reason, this leads him to conjure up a God in his own image, which in turn produces strange rites and rituals which accord with his personal thoughts and values. Rambam’s embrace of rationalism is based upon this crucial need to relate to the world through the ‘’tselem Elokim’’ of reason rather than the imagination.

Faur strongly cautions however against those who allow themselves to get too carried away with neatly classifying Rambam as a simple Aristotelian rationalist. On several occasions Rambam appears strongly critical of Aristotle’s arguments and conclusions. In particular, anything which Aristotle writes of matters ‘’beyond the lunar sphere”, i.e. which transcend the physical world, is generally a matter of “guesswork and conjecture”. Rambam typically endorses Aristotelian science only where he considers Aristotle’s conclusions to represent proven scientific principles. In this area (and in many others) Faur’s expertise in the Judeo-Arabic employed by Rambam allows him to identify linguistic nuances concerning Rambam’s critical and sometimes sarcastic attitude towards Aristotle that are not detected by other commentators.

The most important aspect of Faur’s analysis of Moreh Nevuchim is that the ability to approach the world through reason is not the ultimate objective of the Torah. Having successfully trained one’s mind (and character traits) so as to allow oneself to relate to God and the world through reason rather than imagination, a person is then prepared to embark upon the second, esoteric, stage of his or her religious journey. Crucially, Jewish esoterics and mysticism are not some secretive collection of magical codes and spells through which the world can be manipulated. Rather it involves using one’s reason to train one’s imaginative faculty and thereby gain a new and profound perspective on the nature and functioning of the entire world.

It is impossible to record and teach true Jewish mysticism, writes Faur, is because it transcends human terminology and regular experience. In this sense, as Rambam emphasises, “the highest praise of God is silence” – the most profound perspective and relationship with God that a person can attain cannot be meaningfully expressed in words. Faur accompanies his readers through Talmudic accounts and descriptions of esoteric experiences – together with Rambam’s commentary on these passages. Most fascinating is his scholarly interpretation of the aggadic allusions and imagery relating to the four rabbis’ passage through the Pardes.

In conclusion, the works of Prof. Kellner and R’ Slifkin are useful in their ability to highlight the initial areas of conflict between those who approach Judaism through reason and those who are limited and distorted by their own imagination (as well as some of the dangers often involved in the latter). Where I feel they fall short, however, is their insistence on placing rationalism and mysticism as two irreconcilable extremes, as well as their failure to recognise the frequency and extent to which Rambam rejected Aristotelian conclusions. What Rambam’s Judaism ultimately aspires towards is not dressed-up Aristotelian rationalism. But rather, Faur argues, the Torah guides a person to use the rational faculty as a stepping-stone from which to attain a profound perspective on the world and develop a genuine personal relationship with God--a goal which ultimately lay beyond Aristotle and his rational speculations.

First posted on Facebook 14 February 2021, here.

The childfree trend and western decadence

As Pesach preparations approach their final stages, it may inspire us to pause briefly and reflect on how the routines and rituals of Pesach in general, and Seder night in particular, represent a fundamental distinction between Jewish values and those of contemporary Western culture. 

Perusing my news feed earlier this week I was struck by a BBC feature (here) on the rapid rise in popularity of a “Childfree lifestyle” among young adults in Western societies. The feature particularly caught my attention as it followed from another article I had read previously about the sharp demographic decline in wealthier Asian countries such as Japan, South Korea and China. Meanwhile, not a single country in the Western world is reproducing at the rate of 2.1, required for population replacement (many are far below this rate.

What is prompting this recent change and what might it tell us about the state of Western society?

From the promotional material of Childfree influencers quoted in the article, the motivation for avoiding parenthood is clear: “kids would interfere with her passions for spontaneous travel, football training and regular lie-ins”. It would follow that we are witnessing a substantial increase in the number of Western adults choosing not to have children so that they can concentrate on their personal careers and recreation.

It was once widely believed that humans possess a strong innate desire to reproduce and raise children. According to proponents of a Childfree lifestyle such a choice, when viewed from the perspective of personal benefit, is not self-evident – it is even counter-intuitive. When a significant proportion of society begins to look at matters solely from an individualistic perspective, however, this may be an alarming indication of where it is headed.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks compiled an impressive array of historians and philosophers to argue that great civilisations have failed and decayed when the pursuit of individualism and personal luxury overtakes the importance of society and collective values and morals. Only against this backdrop, she argues can we understand the agenda of the Torah as

“the creation of a society capable of defeating the normal laws of the growth-and-decline of civilisations…By each person bearing and sharing responsibility for the society as a whole. By each knowing the history of his or her people. By each individual studying and understanding the laws that govern all. By teaching their children so that they too become literate and articulate in their identity.”

In contrast to the current Western trend, Judaism’s emphasis on a historical national covenant and collective consciousness is felt throughout the Torah. As the Exodus reaches fever-pitch with miraculous plagues striking the obstinate Pharaoh, God informs Moshe of their purpose being: “so that you tell into the ears of your son and your son's son how I made a mockery of the Egyptians, and [that you tell of] My signs that I placed in them, and you will know that I am the Lord”. A few chapters later a set of rites are commanded in order to ensure that this national memory will be burned into the collective consciousness of the Jews throughout future generations – rituals which we perform at the annual Pesach Seder (at which we fulfil the biblical commandment of “and you shall tell your son on that day”).

For a People whose life and aspirations of society are centered around internalising and transmitting core societal values rather than short-term personal pleasure and fulfillment, the task of raising and educating children becomes sacred and paramount. This is a repeated theme in the writings of Rabbi S. R. Hirsch who decried how, even in his day, the values of secular society were preventing modern Jewish communities from according sufficient respect for parents and teachers trying to impart a traditional education.

Later this week we will be gathering – collectively as a nation – around our tables in a unified attempt to convey our national story and fundamental values to our children. Perhaps the most important value of them all is the unstated emphasis that is embodied by our very act of holding an annual family Seder.

Posted to Facebook 2 April 2023, here.

Kuzari and arguments in support of the Jewish tradition

The Judaism Reclaimed chapters on Beshalach explore the concept of miracles and the role that they play within Jewish belief. Some of the discussion touches upon an argument put forward in the opening section of Rabbi Yehuda Halevi’s Kuzari for the validation of the Torah: that its otherwise outrageous claims of nationally witnessed revelation of God at Sinai would have been impossible to falsify in order to convince a later generation of their truth. No group of people, the argument states, would ever accept such a fanciful national history that did not accord with historical accounts received from their ancestors. Much has been written and debated regarding the extent to which this argument can be considered a ‘proof’ for the validity of Judaism and the Torah, or whether such a ‘myth’ could perhaps have developed over time.

For my part I’m reluctant to talk in terms of “proofs” and binding logic for religious propositions. That said, I think that it can ever be legitimately questioned whether the 'Kuzari principle' was ever intended to be taken as an absolute rational 'proof for Judaism'.

The book opens with the Kazhar King already convinced of God's existence and the need for religious practice. His quest is simply to identify the most authentic claim to 'correct mode of practice' which he does by comparing favourably the Jewish claim of mass divine revelation to the claims of other religions. His rejection of 'Aristotelian philosophy' is based not upon reason but upon his conviction (from a dream) that there exists a correct code of religious practice. It seems likely therefore that the book is addressed to those who already have come to the conclusion that the world has a Creator, and that this Creator is likely to have communicated His purpose to mankind. The Kuzari's argument simply attempts to provide the logical next step, identifying mass revelation at Sinai as the most appropriate candidate for this communication.

Without getting drawn into this broader discussion, I would like to suggest that the Kuzari’s basic argument is often over-simplified and tends to be under-stated when compared with one-off wondrous events that other nations and cultures claim to have witnessed.

It should be recognised that the miraculous events which the Torah describes as having been witnessed by the desert generation constitute something far more significant than a one-off miracle. In their totality, they were a series of regular (and in some cases constant) miracles which took place over a period of 40 years. These miraculous events were not simply seen by onlookers who decided subsequently to report them; rather, they played an integral role in the historical development of the Jewish people’s ancestors and in the formation of their nation. For those who suggest that the Jewish people are merely a maverick Canaanite tribe which evolved into its distinctive form by developing its own individual myths, it is not only the single revelation at Sinai that the entire people would have needed to become convinced their forebears had seen, but an account of its origin and its entire national history. All of this contributes substantially to the potential difficulty of passing off such a fraudulent claim to a nation at a later time – which is the crux of the Kuzari’s contention.

Any analysis of the likelihood of the Jewish tradition having been fabricated must take into account the content as well as its claimed source of national revelation. In the essays contained within his commentary on the Chumash, Rabbi Hertz argues that the Torah’s history would have been a remarkably inconvenient myth for the Jewish people to have developed falsely. The nation was, for much of its biblical history, struggling to gain and maintain a foothold in the land of Israel, being frequently at war on this account with the neighbouring nations. It is hard to imagine that the notion of their origin as a lowly slave people (deriving from Babylonia not Canaan) who had violently usurped the rightful indigenous possessors of the land would have easily gained popularity.

Furthermore, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks has pointed out that a unique element of the Torah, one which points to its divine origin, is the fact that much of it is dedicated to criticisms of the disobedient and sinful behaviour of the Jewish people, and to their punishments. This is not the sort of narrative which a nation would be likely to fabricate about itself, and is conspicuously out of character with the method of favourably selective historical recording which prevailed in the ancient world.

This is particularly true since the members of the Jewish nation’s elite, who might have been suspected of seeking to entrench their position through dispersing favourable religious dicta, bear the brunt of severe and repeated biblical criticism, with both the monarchy and priesthood receiving regular censure throughout the Tanach. Moreover, the laws pertaining to these two privileged groups can generally be seen as restricting rather than establishing their power, as can be seen in the Torah’s concept of a ‘limited monarchy’ – a novel political notion in the ancient East. The Torah also emphasises repeatedly that the Jewish priesthood has no entitlement to inherit a portion in the land and must instead rely on tithes and charity for its sustenance. These laws, which contrast strongly with the privileged land ownership rights of priests within both Hammurabi and Egyptian culture, guard against the religious elite abusing their position to secure political power.

Another major factor in any assessment of the credibility of the Torah’s validity is that the Jews’ monotheistic belief and moral code as well as the whole societal structure envisaged by the Torah are quite revolutionary when set against the values and beliefs of the surrounding pagan cultures. The monumental theological transition from a polytheistic worldview that created multiple gods in man’s own image in the deification of all-powerful forces of nature to a monotheistic belief in a single God, represents more than a numeral reduction to a single Deity. As Rabbi S. R. Hirsch explains, it is only the belief in a single God who transcends any specific society or generation which allows a religious law to claim a universal ethical ideal. If the gods and the laws and rituals of their worship emanate from humans, the relevance and applicability of such laws are naturally limited to the experiences and terms of reference of those specific people.

As well as the theological revolution introduced by the Torah’s monotheism, the legal, ethical and societal values that it teaches were also anathema to the ancient world from which it emerged. In contrast to the feudal societies of lords and serfs, in which the ‘common folk’ were no more than tools to be owned and exploited by the ruling classes and ultimately the king, the Torah envisaged a community of equal portions and ownership in the land of Israel, with loans and loss of land to debt being cancelled at regular shemittah and yovel intervals within the Jewish agricultural cycle. Shemittah represented a revolutionary change not just from the typical economic structure of the ancient world, but also in terms of its strong emphasis on the spiritual health of all of its members. This climax of the Jewish agricultural seven-year cycle involved all farmers and workers on the soil dedicating an entire year to religious study and spiritual reflection, represented by the hakhel mitzvah which required a national reading of the Torah at the conclusion of each shemittah year. The Torah’s concern for the wellbeing and spiritual inclusion of even its most simple members was a substantial break from the fate of the illiterate peasants who tilled their landlords’ soil around the rest of the world, in societies where knowledge and literacy were the guarded secrets of the elite few.

The Torah’s radical and substantial departure from the polytheistic beliefs and entire value systems that preceded and surrounded it therefore indicates that the Torah was received from an external source, and is most unlikely to have been developed from within the Jewish people themselves.

Some may be tempted to add that such a departure from norms is not solely historical. They will point to the extraordinary and unique history of the Jewish people which, echoing ancient prophecies, has seen it suffer unrivalled deprivations throughout a lengthy exile, yet survive and return to re-establish itself in its ancestral homeland. A reality and a challenge that we continue to both celebrate and grapple with through to this present day.

Find out more about Judaism Reclaimed: Philosophy and Theology in the Torah at www.JudaismReclaimed.com.

First posted on Facebook 29 January 2023, here.