How did the ancestors' actions influence the fate of their descendants?

The majority of the narrative of the book of Bereishit involves family feuds, fratricidal strife and Machiavellian machinations as various characters jostle for membership and seniority within the Patriarchal clan. What exactly are these early Israelites seeking to achieve and why does this inter-generational intrigue dominate the opening the book of the Torah? 

What is readily apparent is that the Torah places great significance on the identity and character of the Jewish nation's Founding Fathers (and mothers). There is an oft-quoted aggadic concept, ma'aseh avot siman lebanim, that the actions of ancestors can shape the spiritual destiny of subsequent generations. How exactly are we to relate to this perplexing principle and its apparent ability to effect a chain of causation which spans many generations?

Judaism Reclaimed examines this principle based on the approaches of Rabbi Yehuda Halevi and Rambam. In his Kuzari, R’ Yehudah Halevi describes how the early generations after Adam contained a number of worthy and holy individuals. Nevertheless, it was only Avraham and the Avot who succeeded in establishing a community built around the values and teachings of God, with the potential to develop into a chosen nation which could receive the Torah. On this basis, Avraham and the Avot could therefore be said to be 'assisting God' in fulfilling His purpose of creation. This idea appears to be expressed in a midrash which refers to Avraham becoming a "partner with God in creating the world", since his spreading of God's word allowed for the realisation of God's objective of a nation to accept and observe His Torah.

“My Name was not known among My creations and you caused it to become known. I will consider you to be a partner with Me in the creation of the world”. [Bereishit Rabbah 43:7]

This partnership was formalised at the berit bein habetarim, where Avraham was promised that the community he was building would be part of an eternal covenant with God in the land of Israel, and would grow to form God's chosen nation. This relationship may represent the loftiest level to which man can aspire, not merely imitating God’s attributes, but positively partnering Him in his project to bestow goodness upon mankind — the highest form of "vehalachta bidrachav" – walking in God’s ways.

Despite their auspicious ancestry, the formation of a chosen nation from the descendants of the Avot was no simple task. R’ Yehudah Halevi writes that a special "hashgachah" or divine guidance was required in order to prepare these descendants for the special mission bequeathed to them through the merits of their forefathers:

“And God guided the children of Yaakov also when they were in Egypt so that they would increase … He was concerned that they be raised until comparable to their ancestors Avraham, Yitzchak and Ya’akov … at that time the whole Israelite nation became fitting to see the divine light within them and for God’s providence to be revealed within them.” [Kuzari 1:95]

The notion that the Avot merited for special providence to guide the fate on the nation that would be formed from their descendants is also mentioned by Rambam in Moreh Nevuchim (3:51).

The nature and strength of this hashgachah related directly to the extent and nature of Avraham’s merits. Midrashim describe how the nature and strength of this hashgachah was directly commensurate to the extent of the merits of Avraham and the Avot:

“Rava said: In the merit of Avraham stating: “I am but dust and ashes” his descendants merited two commandments: the ash of the red heifer and the dust of Sotah … In the merit of Avraham stating: “From a thread to a shoelace [I shall not take from the plunder]” his descendants merited two commandments: the thread of blue [tzitzit] and the strap of tefillin.”

The second pair of commandments may be of particular significance, as Rambam teaches that tzitzit and tefillin are among mitzvot which attract a high level of hashgachah.

Conversely:

“For what reason was Avraham punished by his descendants being enslaved in Egypt for 210 years? ... Shmuel said it was because he doubted God’s ways [His promise of the land of Israel] as it says “And how will I know that I will inherit it?”

This second source makes it clear that any minor fault or seemingly trivial detail of the Avot's conduct could have major repercussions for the emerging nation's spiritual preparedness and fortunes.

The severe potential consequences of any ancestral misstep can help to shed light on the fraught episodes in the book of Bereishit. In Avraham’s own household we find that Sarah insists on driving away Yishmael, whose conduct in her assessment does not befit his being a ‘building block’ of the chosen people. The matter was “exceedingly evil in the eyes of Avraham”, who may well have assumed that Yishmael and Yitzchak could share the burden and responsibility of continuing his divine covenant.

National hashgachah is also dictated by the conduct of the matriarchs as is indicated by the intricate process of finding a suitable wife for Yitzchak, and further in the vivid midrashic accounts of Rachel’s merit protecting her descendants.

It is in this context that we can understand the intensity of the struggle between Ya'akov and Eisav for control of the foundations of the future nation. If Eisav were to provide the building blocks of the nascent Jewish people, his undesirable conduct would be liable to limit the positive effect of the combined merits of the Avot. This in turn would inhibit the spiritual guidance and development available to the chosen people. It was therefore crucial for Ya’akov to be the sole recipient of his father’s blessings which made their recipient, in the words of Abarbanel “part of the covenant with Avraham, designated for providential guidance”. A similar dynamic dictated the struggle between Yosef and his brothers; Yosef viewing himself as the primary (and perhaps exclusive) recipient of the Abrahamic mission and his brothers seeing his ambitions as illegitimate and requiring a strong response.

First posted on Facebook 20 November 2022, here.

How does the Torah empower judges to interpret its laws?

The legitimacy of the sages and Sanhedrin to rule upon and interpret Torah law has been a point of controversy for over 2,000 years. Josephus describes for us the deep divide between the priestly-aristocratic Sadducees, who did not follow received traditions, and the Pharisees with their oral tradition.

Rabbi D. Z. Hoffman argued that this debate over transmitted tradition and judicial interpretation of the Torah was only a small part of a bigger societal rift which was caused by the introduction of Hellenist influences into the Jewish world:

By relieving [the Jews] of all obligations placed on the people by the Sophrim, they [the Sadducees] permitted a freer life and thus were more appealing to the great and powerful than the strict Phariseeism. [The Highest Court pp174-5]

Taking a step back, what can we understand from the Torah’s text itself about what it envisages to be its legitimate mode of interpretation?

We read in last week’s parashah how, in the aftermath of the splitting of the sea, God communicated a set of laws for the nation to observe. These laws, which are traditionally understood to encompass Shabbat and civil laws, appear to have occupied the people greatly. When Yitro visits the nation he observes that they were coming to Moshe “from morning until evening” in order to receive legal guidance and judgment.

Regardless of how clear and comprehensive any legal teaching may be, it will always in practice generate novel cases and borderline scenarios that trigger legitimate debate as to the correct application of the law. Torah law, like all other legal systems, therefore required a system of judicial determination in order to clarify and develop the divine law and assist its application to new situations. Near the start of the 40-year sojourn in the desert, Yitro oversaw the establishing of a hierarchical judicial system for this very purpose: to clarify and rule upon new or complex legal challenges:

And they shall judge the people at all times, and it shall be that any major matter they shall bring to you, and they themselves shall judge every minor matter…

And they would judge the people at all times; the difficult case they would bring to Moses, but any minor case they themselves would judge.

At this early stage in Jewish legal history, the presence of an authenticated prophet with a divine hotline meant that there was no question as to the authority or accuracy of the laws which were being taught and clarified at the top of this system.

Later on the Plains of Moav, however, with Moshe contemplating his own imminent death and the nation’s turbulent transition from a miraculous desert existence to a sovereign nation in Israel, it was apparent that a significant judicial adjustment would be required. At this point, Moshe presented the divine command for a supreme court of Jewish law—a Beit Din HaGadol which would replace him at the top of the desert hierarchy. Instead of difficult cases being brought to him, as had been the practice up until this point, they would now be sent to the Sanhedrin in its chambers at the Mikdash.

If a matter is impossible for you in judgment, between blood and blood, between judgment and judgment, or between affliction and affliction, words of dispute in your cities, then you shall rise and go up to the place the Lord, your God, chooses. And you shall come to the kohanim-levi’im and to the judge who will be in those days, and you shall inquire, and they will tell you the words of judgment.

In the absence of Moshe’s clear divine mandate to define and elucidate the commandments, this supreme court needed to be unambiguously invested with biblical authority to rule:

And you shall do according to the word they tell you, from the place the Lord will choose, and you shall observe to do according to all they rule for you. According to the law they rule for you and according to the judgment they say to you, you shall do; you shall not stray from the word they tell you, either right or left. And the man who acts intentionally, not obeying the kohen who stands there to serve the Lord, your God, or to the judge. That man shall die, and you shall abolish evil from Israel.

On this basis, the Torah is understood to have invested this court, which replaces Moshe as the supreme legal authority, with standing both to transmit the known body of laws and to issue rulings which can further clarify and define the Torah’s meaning and legal details.

According to Rambam’s understanding, the court has jurisdiction to rule and legislate concerning any of the finer details of biblical law that were not taught explicitly at Sinai (see further in my third essay in this Judaism Reclaimed sample - https://judaismreclaimed.com/sample/). This is seemingly a consequence of the verse framing the court’s role as “If a matter is impossible (ki yipoleh) for you in judgment” – laws which are clearly contained within the transmitted meaning of the text would appear to lie beyond the court’s jurisdiction. With regard to other details of law, however, a properly constituted Sanhedrin is granted a power of hora’ah (asher yorucha) through which they can interpret and define terms of the Torah’s text in order to legitimately clarify and determine details of Torah law.

First posted on Facebook 5 February 2023, here.

Kuzari andarguments 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 restrictingrather 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. Shemittahrepresented 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.

First posted on Facebook 29 January 2023, here.

How was Rambam viewed by Mediaeval rationalists?

The nature of Rambam’s religious and philosophical views is something which has long been debated – and will continue to be a matter of controversy for the foreseeable future. Moshe ben Maimon has been claimed as one of their own by pretty much every sect of Judaism – from Hassidim to Reform; Orthodox to atheists. Overwhelmingly, however, he is categorised as belonging to the rationalist wing of Judaism, and understood to have been attempting to reorientate Jewish thought towards a more Aristotelian point of view. 

It is certainly true that Rambam sought to establish a version of Judaism which emphasised the importance of an intellectual relationship with God. In doing so he saw the physical world and laws of nature as a manifestation of God’s wisdom through which we can reach knowledge, fear and love of God – and therefore minimised the role of miracles within Judaism and the existence of mystical or magical forces which interfered with nature.

Nevertheless, before casually labelling Rambam a “rationalist” or “Aristotelian”, it is valuable to examine exactly how his religious and philosophical teachings were received by others in the rational camp of medieval Jewish thinkers. This allows us to reach a more nuanced understanding of Rambam’s own theology and his stated purpose in writing A Guide for the Perplexed– for those who were struggling to reconcile Jewish and Aristotelian teachings.

One notable medieval Jewish rationalist was Samuel ibn Tibbon, who translated the Guide into Hebrew, thereby allowing it to reach a broader Jewish audience. Ibn Tibbon was critical of Rambam’s work in several places, all of them in connection with his apparent departure from an intellectualist Aristotelian template in order to embrace a warmer Judaism which engaged with the entire nation – not just a “philosophical elite”.

We read in yesterday’s parashah of Moshe’s extensive dedication to the people whom he led, making himself available to assist them “from morning to evening”, and thereby causing his father-in-law to be concerned for his wellbeing. But was Moshe’s selflessness altogether positive? Or is it better regarded as a “necessary evil” through which he sacrificed his own spiritual development for the greater good? It depends who you ask.

In Guide 3:51, Rambam describes how Moshe and the Avot reached the highest level of human perfection, for they were in constant communion with God and also fully involved in the creation and governance of a religious community. Ibn Tibbon, however, does not accept Rambam’s approach, arguing instead in his Ma’amar Yikavu HaMayim that these praiseworthy figures could have reached an even higher state had they engaged in a life of pure contemplation, free from the hindrances of the physical and political world.

Ibn Tibbon’s position forms part of his greater critique of Rambam’s Jewish worldview which he considered to be an unjustifiable departure from Aristotelian philosophy.

The concluding passages of the Guide present a brief discussion of the purpose of human existence. Building upon his celebration of the virtues of philosophical contemplation, Rambam introduces a biblical text (Jeremiah 9:22–23) which he says presents the same ideas of the philosophers, but with one vital addition: “exercising lovingkindness, judgment, and righteousness, in the earth”. Thus knowledge of God, Maimonides implies, should lead to action; the contemplative should serve a practical end.

In the preface to the translation of Maimonides on Avot, Ibn Tibbon discusses these same verses from Jeremiah in detail, explains and criticizes Maimonides’ interpretation of them, then presents his own novel explication. According to Ibn Tibbon, the final human perfection is knowledge and understanding of God, without qualification. Thus the verse should be understood differently, with the final clause relating to God rather than man; man should understand and know God, full stop.

Perhaps the most explicit and instructive critique which Ibn Tibbon makes of Rambam relates to his interpretation (Guide 1:15) of Ya’akov’s dream involving angels ascending and descending a ladder. According to Rambam, these angels symbolise prophets. As I present it in Judaism Reclaimed:

“While Rambam understands prophecy to be the preserve of those who have greatly developed their intellect, Ya'akov's dream teaches that the prophet, having scaled the heights and gained a great intellectual insight, must return down to the masses to lead and be involved with their affairs. With this message, the Torah rejects the stereotype of the prophet as a reclusive 'Man of God', who is removed from and unconcerned with the fate of those around him.”

Once again, Ibn Tibbon’s Aristotelian frame of reference could not accept Rambam’s inclusion of altruism as a key requirement for a fully-functioning prophet, writing instead that the angels are the philosophers, who ascend the ladder of wisdom toward metaphysics, the final subject of the curriculum.

In all three of these examples, Ibn Tibbon emphasizes the contemplative over the practical. He works with the same biblical texts singled out by Rambam, but arrives at a different philosophical position.

It is not only Ibn Tibbon who criticised Rambam for insufficiently adhering to Aristotelian principles. Ralbag (Gersonides), in his exploration of the nature of divine knowledge in Milchamot Hashem (3:3) struggles to comprehend how Rambam considers that God has knowledge of particulars as well as generalities writing:

“It seems that Maimonides’ position on this question of Divine cognition is not implied by any philosophical principles; indeed, reason denies this view, as I will show. It seems rather that theological considerations have forced him to this view.”

It is against this backdrop that we can begin to appreciate quite how radical Rambam’s position on the matter was, remaining faithful to the clear implications of the biblical texts despite the theological challenges that these created when viewed from the prevalent Aristotelian perspective (see more on Rambam’s understanding of divine knowledge here).

Assessing Rambam from our modern-day point of view, he defies easy pigeon-holing and does not fit into any of our over-simplified categories of religious thought. While his embrace of a non-kabbalistic Judaism which respects the laws of nature as manifestations of God’s eternal wisdom understandably causes him to be labelled a “rationalist” in the spectrum of today’s Jewish world, this should not mislead people to believe that he did not possess a powerful religious – even mystical dimension (a matter that I have explored elsewhere).

Is it radical to suggest that our assessment of Rambam’s rationalist credentials should take into the account the reactions he received from card-carrying Aristotelians from his own era?

First posted on Facebook 12 February 2023, here.

Was ritual immersion practiced in the First Temple era?

By Daniel Abraham and Shmuli Phillips

In last week’s post, we discussed the arguments for and against the requirement of washing in the case of a menstruant according to biblical law. This week’s follow-up post will explore the requirement of full immersion in cases of impurity that require washing – and respond to the claim that the practice of full-body immersion was a far later addition to Jewish law.

An article on theTorah. com by Hayah Katz (linked at the end) argues that ancient cultures which had plenty of water nonetheless often cleansed themselves from impurity through pouring water on their bodies. Katz concludes that, other than the few instances in which mayim chayim is specifically required

“In all other cases of defilement, purification is accomplished by washing in water, without any requirement that it be running water. It is reasonable to assume that the form taken by ritual washing for the purpose of purifying the body was directly derived from the forms of washing that were possible in the various regions of Judah.”

In Isaac Sassoon’s article (discussed in last week’s post), he also questions how the Israelites in the Sinai would have had enough water to cleanse themselves through immersion. Yonatan Adler goes as far as to suggest that the practice of immersion and building mikva’ot was influenced by and a response to the Hellenistic hip-bath practice that eventually somehow evolved into full immersion for the Jews.

These claims can be challenged from several different angles:

First off, it should be recognized that there were a number of ancient cultures that had large pools and required immersion in water for ritual purposes. For starters, Yiğit Erbil and Alice Mouton describe water cults that existed among the ancient Hittites. All sorts of large pools were built near temples for ritual purification. They even describe how animals required full immersion before sacrifice (see here). In a similar vein, Professor David Shapira describes a number of purification rituals involving water which were uncovered from excavations in the proximity of ancient Egyptian temples (The “Molten Sea” Revisited David Shapira 2020).” Professor Hector Avalos in discussing the ancient magical texts known as Namburbi writes "In one medical Namburbi a man must immerse himself in the river seven times."

Clearly then, bathing in large pools and immersion was a practice in ancient times and this cannot be simply dismissed.

Secondly, the availability of water for bathing purposes in ancient Israel must be looked at more closely. There were lakes, rivers, streams, wells, cisterns, and reservoirs that could easily serve as a mikvah.

Whereas reservoirs were much larger, unroofed, and for public use, cisterns were often built for private use. In the words of Sennacherib in 2 Kings 18:31 “Don’t listen to Hezekiah. For thus said the king of Assyria: Make your peace with me and come out to me, i.e., to my representative the Rabshakeh. so that each man may eat of his vine, and each man may eat of his fig tree, and each man may drink from his cistern."

James Kugel describes how new technologies aided the early settlement in the highlands of Israel, writing “…the introduction of a new type of waterproof plaster to line these cisterns allowed rainwater to be collected and preserved far more efficiently.” Kugel adds that “Before these innovations, permanent settlements had been located mostly in places of abundant water; now a village could survive solely on rainwater collected in the new cisterns.” (p. 384)

Some of the earliest plastered cisterns have been discovered in Hazor and Gezer, around 1800 BCE. Even in areas such as the Negev where rainfall is much less, archaeologists have nonetheless discovered advanced rain collecting techniques in cisterns that date to the Bronze age. 

Thus even as early as possibly 4,000 years ago, there is the very real possibility that the inhabitants of the region had developed highly advanced water storing techniques.

In the Temple itself, Chronicles 4:6 states, “…But [Solomon’s] Sea was for the Cohanim to wash in it.” The Jerusalem Talmud suggests that the Molten Sea that Solomon built was one big mikveh that the Priests used to immerse themselves in. The Temple – and Jerusalem more generally – would have required a significant reservoir of stored water in order to purify arriving priests and pilgrims.

In 2012, the Israeli Antiquities Authority discovered a cistern in the Jerusalem that they say likely dates to the first Temple and could have held 66,000 gallons of water. Tvika Tsuk, chief archaeologist of Israel's Nature and Parks Authority, said: 'Presumably the large water reservoir, which is situated near the Temple Mount, was used for the everyday activities of the Temple Mount itself and also by the pilgrims who went up to the Temple and required water for bathing and drinking.” While there is some disagreement about the dating of these reservoirs, the fact remains that there is ample evidence that the means for immersion were quite available.

But what of the claims that the Israelites did not have enough water in the desert? For one, there are some oases in the Sinai desert that the Israelites could have used for all their ritual needs. The Israelites would naturally be led from water source to water source as need be. The ocean could have served this purpose whenever they were near one. We also read in Psalm 68:9-10 that generous rain poured down on Israel in the desert – as well accounts of God miraculously producing water when required.

Yonatan Adler’s article claims that it would be unlikely that Bathsheba would have a roof that could support a full mikveh. However, the verse in question may be saying only that David was on his own roof while Batsheva was bathing somewhere below on the ground level.

Turning now to an analysis of the biblical laws and specifically the claim that the Torah did not require immersion.

When dealing with the Torah, one must be very careful when making argument from silence. The Torah, like any book, was given to a specific audience and its wording and instruction therefore took into account the background knowledge of its initial recipients. There are many instances in which the Torah will give us a law that is not fully explained. The Torah forbids work on the Sabbath, but never spells out exactly what work is. The reader is expected to know what the Sabbath labors are.

The laws of immersion may be no different. When it was first commanded, the Torah may have expected its readership to know that “washing” referred to immersion because that is what everyone did.

The most powerful argument in favour of interpreting biblical “washing” as full-body immersion emerges from an episode in Kings, in which the Aramean general, Na’aman, is smitten with leprosy and seeks a cure from the prophet, Elisha. When Elisha tells Na’aman to wash in the Jordan - "וְרָחַצְתָּ֚", Naaman understood that to mean immersion - " וַיִּטְבֹּ֚ל." “So he went down and immersed himself in the Jordan seven times, as the man of God had bidden”. (II Kings 5).

In conclusion, we have found that ancient near-eastern cultures did require full-body immersion to purify, and that the First Temple conditions did potentially allow for an abundance of stored natural water to be used for ritual baths. Most significantly, we also saw how the terms “wash” and “immerse” were used interchangeably. This phenomenon suggests that modern scholars who construct theories based on an attempt to distinguish “wash” from “immerse” might be displaying insufficient sensitivity to the realities of the ancient world and how the Torah’s first recipients are likely to have interpreted its terms.

https://www.thetorah.com/.../biblical-purification-was-it...

https://www.thetorah.com/.../the-purification-of-a-niddah...

https://www.thetorah.com/.../on-the-origins-of-tevilah...

First posted on Facebook on 18 May 2022, here.

The thin line between holiness and paganism

One of the most astounding and powerful passages of Torah commentary that I have come across relates to the nature of attributing holiness to physical objects – a central theme in parashat Terumah – and the acute danger that this can lead to mistaken pagan theology.

What, we might ask, is the holiest most Godly physical object that our nation has ever possessed?

Quite probably the luchot – the stone tablets which were “written with the finger of God” and were to reside in the Ark – at the center of the Mikdash. Yet we also find that, in the aftermath of the nation sinning with the golden calf, Moshe smashed these tablets before their eyes. According to the Midrash, God congratulated Moshe for doing so.

In his Meshech Chochma commentary to the Torah, Rabbi Meir Simcha of Dvinsk understands that the error that underpinned the sin of the golden calf was an inappropriate attribution of holiness and divinity to objects other than God. Rather than viewing Moshe as a channel through which they could receive God’s word and thereby worship Him, Moshe himself was deified. When Moshe was absent, they then sought to deify a golden calf in his place.

Perceiving this error, Moshe realised that were he to present them with the divinely-formed luchot at that moment, they would simply transfer this error onto the stone tablets and revere or worship them too. It was therefore necessary to smash the tablets in front of the people in order to vividly correct their mistaken theology. To teach them that objects and places are not inherently holy but only serve, in accordance with God’s commands, as a means for man to worship God. In the words of the Meshech Chochma:

“Do not think that the sanctuary and the Temple are holy objects in their own right. Far be it! God dwells among His people, and if they are like Adam who violated the covenant, all their sanctity is removed … In conclusion: there is nothing in the world which is holy … only God is holy … for nothing in creation is holy in itself, only in terms of the observance of the Torah in accordance with God’s will … All sanctity is due to a command that the Creator commanded [us] to worship Him.”

Importantly, the broken tablets were placed in the Ark of the Covenant at the very heart of the Mishkan and Mikdash (where ancient temples would typically place their idols) in order to emphasise the message that the constructed “House of God” did not bear inherent holiness.

Judaism Reclaimed explores this theme further in its analysis of the concept of Shechina, drawing upon and critiquing provocative statements of Yeshayahu Leibowitz, who claimed that the Western Wall ought to be destroyed as an idolatrous shrine.

A further application of this principle was related by R Alex Israel in his recent podcast episode (featuring Samuel I chap. 4 linked in the comments). The chapter in question describes the aftermath of an unsuccessful battle against the Philistines:

“And the people came to the camp, and the elders of Israel said, "Why has the Lord beaten us today before the Philistines? Let us take to us from Shiloh the Ark of the Covenant of the Lord, and He will come in our midst, and save us from the hand of our enemies."

Drawing on the context of the preceding chapters, in which we are told that the priests were violating the covenant of God, R Alex comments that it seems that the nation was relating to the ark with a pagan-orientated attitude. Judaism does not view sacred artefacts as possessing inherent magical powers through which its enemies can be vanquished. Rather the ark represents the covenantal relationship between God and His people. In the face of a national tragedy – such as the military setback which had occurred – the people are called upon to examine how well they are keeping their side of the covenant before demanding and expecting God’s protection. As the narrative continues to relate, God can look after His own ark – but His protection of the nation depends upon them remaining loyal to their side of the covenant.

By viewing the ark as inherently holy and possessing protective powers, they failed to take note of the message of the broken luchotinside it. Just as Moshe had sought to teach this lesson vividly in the desert by breaking the luchot in front of the people, God now imparts the same message:

“the Philistines waged war and Israel was beaten… and the Ark of God was captured.”

Humans are physical beings, and the Torah recognises the need to channel our relationship with God through the worldly dimensions of time and space and using objects and rituals. We must be constantly reminded, however, of the fundamental theological lesson which Moshe taught us by breaking the luchot– a lesson which was placed at the very heart of “God’s abode on Earth”.

First posted to Facebook 10 February 2023, here.

Holy priests and Purim costumes

A recent post on this group examined the concept of holy times and places within Judaism. We cited sources that taught how nothing in the physical world possesses intrinsic holiness – it is only revered for as long as it is used correctly as a means of connecting us to God.

The same principle can be applied to the idea of intrinsically holy people – most notably to kohanim – the one group of Jews that the Torah labels “holy to God”. In this commentary to parashat Tetzaveh, Rabbi S. R. Hirsch highlights the fact that a kohen’s service in the Mikdash is only valid so long as he is wearing the required priestly apparel. After exploring the profound moral and spiritual symbolism which the kohanic clothing contains, Rav Hirsch explains that it is this clothing – not the priest himself – that represents the ideals of the priesthood.

“Without these garments, the kohen is merely an ordinary individual. His actions take on the character of personal preference…the individual personality of the officiating kohen is exposed for all to see, and the weaknesses and faults that afflict even the best among us could easily portray him as a flawed character, far from the ideal that should be embodied by the offerings as a model in harmony with God’s Torah…When he is clothed in his priestly garments, the kohen does not appear as he actually is, but as he should be according to the dictates of God’s Torah. By the very act of donning the priestly garments for his service in the Sanctuary, he makes both himself and those around him aware of his own inadequacy in meeting the standards of the Sanctuary.”

While priests are exclusively selected to serve from the descendants of Aharon – representing the fact that their office was merited through seeking peace and love of others – on a practical level it was made up of fallible individuals. Many of these individuals would not have been thought of as exceptionally moral or righteous people. By donning these special garments, writes Rav Hirsch, the priests cease to serve as individuals – but rather represent their office. It was this priestly ideal which the people were to regard with reverence and holiness rather than the particular humans who performed the service at any point in time. 

This insight provides a greater insight into the profound role that clothing plays within Jewish thought. Clothes, writes Rav Hirsch, are not merely an external adornment. Rather they have meaning that must be internalised not only by onlookers who observe them but also by wearers themselves. As we count down the days until Purim, it is notable that the role of clothing features more centrally in the book of Esther than in any other biblical work.

The opening chapter sees Vashti summoned to parade before the king in her royal crown. Malbim understands this to be highly significant: Achashverosh sought to demonstrate to the gathered dignitaries that Vashti’s claim to the crown was subject to HIS whim – despite her superior royal pedigree. Later on we see Esther “donning royalty” in order to petition the king. Haman’s eye for power is exposed by his suggestion to Achashverosh that he be allowed to wear the king’s clothing. And the shift in dynamics between the Jews’ perilous fate in the first half of the Megillah and their subsequent ascendancy is skillfully underscored by Mordechai’s contrasting clothing. Upon hearing of the initial genocidal decree Mordechai goes out in the streets wearing sackcloth and ashes – a parallel later verse describes Mordechai in celebratory mood “clad in royal apparel of turquoise and white with a large gold crown and robe of fine linen and purple”.

Perhaps the lesson to take away from the priestly garments – and the widespread custom to wear costumes on Purim – is that holiness, like clothing, is not intrinsic. Like the costumes that we will put on ourselves in the days ahead, righteousness and kindness is something that we must choose to cloak ourselves in. These aspirations that we identify may be ideals that are not always lived up to – there is “no man on Earth who is righteous and does not sin”. The message of the priestly garments is that, at the very least, our moral and spiritual ideals are values that we hold up and aspire to work towards over the course of our lifetime.

First posted to Facebook 5 March 2023, here.