Is it ever possible to act with a totally pure motive?

In many areas of theology and religious endeavour we are confronted by a tension and a need to compromise between sublime ideals on the one hand and the realities of practical human necessity on the other. One example of this conflict is the question of purity of motive when performing good deeds – a matter than Judaism Reclaimed explores in the context of this week’s parashah.

Commenting on Ya’akov’s request that his son, Yosef, perform true kindness (chessed ve’emet) in burying him, Rashi teaches that

“Kindness that is performed for the dead is kindness of truth [chesed shel emet] since one does not expect to receive a corresponding payment”

Rabbi S. R. Hirsch notes that Ya’akov was aware that this request would be deeply unpopular with his family, which was already looking to integrate into Egyptian society and seeking to demonstrate loyalty to its hosts. In his Meshech Chochmah, R’ Meir Simcha of Dvinsk comments that it was precisely for this reason that Ya'akov felt the need to trouble his sons with the task of carrying his body out of Egypt: so that neither their initial desire to integrate nor the subsequent years of exile and servitude would cause them to lose sight of their destiny of reaching the Promised Land.

These insights lend even greater meaning to Rashi's explanation: not only would those undertaking the burial journey go unrewarded for their efforts, but they would be acting against their own political judgment by displaying such overt identification with their land of origin. As the Midrash teaches, burying the dead is the most genuine chesed that one can perform since the recipient can neither know nor show gratitude. And the chesed is particularly altruistic in this case since the burial process involved Yaakov's sons placing the wishes and judgment of the deceased ahead of their own.

The principle of chesed shel emet forms part of a great emphasis which Judaism places on a person’s motive for performing mitzvot and studying Torah 'lishmah' (for its own sake) rather than in the expectation of receiving any reward.

In his Introduction to Chelek, Rambam writes that the concept of lishmah refers to a standard of conduct that is very difficult to understand, let alone achieve, since a person's natural inclination is to act only in a way that brings him tangible benefit. Nevertheless, we find that the sages expect that we perform commandments for the sake of ahavah (love), thereby condemning not only clearly negative motivations, such as honour and greed, but even more commendable stimuli such as the desire to receive reward in the World to Come or fear of punishment. This echoes the famous Mishnah of Antigonos Ish Socho (Avot 1:3) that we should not serve God "in order to receive a reward".

But is such a goal really practical and achievable? How should people go about trying to educate their children – and indeed themselves – in this matter?

Rambam is fully aware of the severity of this challenge, providing a sobering analysis of the realities of human behaviour and aspiration. He writes that in the absence of an intense and genuine effort to identify with and appreciate the Torah’s moral and spiritual goals, one is condemned to a perpetual cycle of selfish and worldly motivations in which the concepts of lishmah and ahavahremain well beyond one’s grasp.

In a pointed parable, Rambam starts by describing a child, whose Torah teacher provides sweets and treats as a form of bribery in order to attract the interest of his young student. While the child may learn and succeed in his studies, his motivation is far removed from the profound truths of the Torah and the perfection that this can confer upon him, being premised solely upon receipt of the confectionery that is dangled before him. As this child grows and matures, his tastes become more sophisticated, and the sweets and treats are gradually replaced by monetary prizes. Eventually, as an adult, this child may have now attained a degree of wisdom, but his motivation will be to attract a desirable marriage offer, gain renown, or receive a position of honour and prestige.

In this biting critique of those who amass such superficial wisdom without ever contemplating and achieving a deeper appreciation of its value, Rambam in effect equates the adult – even one who has attained great scholarship but is motivated to study by external benefits —with the young child whose teacher offers him a sweet in order to teach him to read. In neither case is the person in question inspired by the inherent truth and value of the Torah and connection to God, but rather by the lo lishmah of the side benefits available.

In order to escape the clutches of the jealousy, lust and honour-seeking which naturally govern a person’s interactions with the world, one must obtain a recognition and appreciation that the final purpose of wisdom and truth is knowledge and morality in their own right. It is for this difficult goal that the sages permitted one to engage in Torah and mitzvot initially for ulterior motives – mitoch shelo lishmah– since it is only through gaining and contemplating the Torah’s wisdom that one can gradually achieve a more mature and meaningful relationship with God and His Torah.

First posted on Facebook 1 January 2023, here.

Judaism, justice and collective punishment

“Far be it from You to do a thing such as this, to put to death the righteous with the wicked so that the righteous should be like the wicked. Far be it from You! Will the Judge of the entire earth not perform justice?"

These powerful words, uttered by Avraham in last week’s parashah as part of his negotiation with God over the fate of Sodom, would seem to represent a basic biblical concept of justice and fairness. A far more succinct parallel to this principle is stated by Moshe and Aharon later in the Torah in the context of Korach’s rebellion: "O God, the God of the spirits of all flesh, if one man sins, shall You be angry with the whole congregation?".

Is it so clear, however, that Judaism rejects the notion of collective punishment?

Later on in the book of Bereishit we find Shimon and Levi put the city of Shechem to the sword in response to the crime of its leader. While Ya’akov is critical of their actions, his primary objection appears to be a lack of consideration of the political consequences rather than a miscarriage of justice. Furthermore, as one of my young children once asked me on Seder night, are we to understand that every single one of the Egyptians was participating in the brutal persecution of the Jews and therefore deserving of such severe divine punishments?

In a recent podcast (as part of his highly recommended new series of ten-minute daily Tanach shiurim linked in first comment), Rav Alex Israel offered a fascinating insight which may provide a key for resolving such questions. The immediate context is his commentary on the seventh chapter of the book of Joshua, in which Achan sins by stealing from spoils of war that have been set aside as a tribute to God. Despite the fact that this theft appears to have been perpetrated by one man alone, God attributes his sin to the entire nation and reveals it to be the cause for a military loss in the initial battle for the city of Ai.

The reason why the nation is blamed and punished collectively for Achan’s sin, suggests Rav Alex, is that it would not have occurred in a vacuum. Drawing profound lessons to our own times (this shiur was given on the anniversary of Yitzchak Rabin’s assassination), he explains how on certain occasions a community at large can be swept along a certain sinful path. While only one person may ultimately cross over the line to commit a serious sinful act, this person would not have reached this point had it not been for his community’s encouragement and erroneous orientation. In such a scenario, the whole community is culpable for the sin under the maxim of kol Yisrael areivim zeh lazeh (all of Israel are guarantors for one another) – it is not considered collective punishment of the innocent.

A similar formula might be used to explain why the entire town of Shechem were punished for the actions of their leader. It is only because of the culture of immorality and impunity which was fostered among the wider populace that Shechem considered that he could act as he did with Dina. Shimon and Levi are nevertheless severely criticised by Ya'akov on his death bed for their violent actions. It would seem that it is only God, who knows the thoughts and intentions of all humans, who is able to judge a community all deserving of a collective punishment.

The moral lesson which emerges requires us to examine our actions and speech not just in terms of their own technical correctness, but also as to the potential impact that they are likely to have on others. If people can potentially be radicalised or deem what we say as supporting violence or hatred towards others, the Torah will hold us collectively responsible for their sinful actions.

First posted on Facebook 16 November 2022, here.

Immortality and the bare bones of religion

A few months ago I had the privilege to join an archaeological tour in the centre of Jerusalem. Upon reaching the site of an ancient grave, the guide related how it had once been customary to bury an entire extended family within a single grave. He explained that, once the body had decomposed in its initial resting place, the bones were then collected and combined with the other bones of the deceased’s family – hence the biblical description of death as being “gathered unto one’s people”.This eplanation was still floating around my mind more recently when I read Rabbi S. R. Hirsch’s analysis of this phrase. As part of a broader discussion regarding the apparent lack of references to the World to Come in the Torah, Rav Hirsch argued that the description of being “gathered to one’s people” is a certain indication that biblical figures believed in the immortality of the soul. Taking his argument to the other extreme, Rav Hirsch maintained that immortality of the soul was such a given in the ancient world that the Torah did not need to stake out any fundamental claim or proof for it (any more than it feels the need to prove the existence of God). Rather it is taken for granted that, with the demise of the body, “the spirit returns to God who gave it” (Kohelet 12:7). It was only in later eras when “sects alien to the spirit of Judaism” began to deny immortality of the soul that it became necessary for this doctrine to be formalised into a fundamental principle of faith.

One passage in this week’s parashah appears to bolster Rav Hirsch’s argument quite strongly. Describing the death of Ya’akov, the Torah describes how “he passed away and was gathered unto his people” (49:33). Yet this could not possibly have been describing the combining of bones that my tour guide spoke of, or even Ya’akov being laid to rest in the tomb of his ancestors. Immediately following his “being gathered unto his people”, we read how Ya’akov is embalmed – a process which takes 40 days – before lying in state for a further 70 days of national mourning. Only after this is there a discussion concerning Ya’akov’s burial arrangements and an eventual burial procession (which includes a further seven days of mourning at Goren Ha’atad). It would seem therefore, that it is indeed Ya’akov’s actual death rather the burial of his physical body which is being referred to as him “being gathered to his people”. This therefore can constitute an important biblical reference to the soul’s immortality.

The scarcity of references to the World to Come in the Torah is seen by Rav Hirsch as an important indicator of Judaism’s priorities. Basing himself on the writings of Rav Hirsch, Rabbi Y. Y. Weinberg (*Seridei Aish* vol. 4) described how the Israelite religion is focused very much on the thriving of humanity within this world, on guiding both the individual and the community to a vibrant and meaningful existence. This, he claims, was the reality of ancient Israel, in the times of the Tannaim, Amoraim and Geonim, and partially also in the Golden Age experienced by the Jewish people in Spain. Judaism never idealised suffering for Israel, rather it looked to celebrate and refine human life in its state of joy and thriving success. No one dreamed of a possible separation between religion and life, as though they were distinct or opposing forces.

But the Jewish people, influenced by asceticism and philosophy while in exile among Christian countries, underwent a mighty change during the time of the terrible Crusades. The horrific persecutions which followed, the banishment from different areas of life, the deprivation of breathing space and limitation of movement also damaged and seriously weakened the religious strength of the Jew.

Together with the impoverishment of our life, the scope of our religion became increasingly narrow. Broad, important areas of life were cruelly wrested from our people and its religion. The Hebrew soul was torn to shreds. That joy which results from the total correspondence of spirit and life, ceased in Israel. Religion lost its focus on refining and sanctifying the joyful worldly life, and consequently, life ceased to be a matter of religion and became a secular affair.

The concept 'secular life', which is foreign to the spirit of Israel, came to dominate during those dark times. The religious sense no longer drew sustenance directly from life, and was sustained only by the fear of death, and terror of severe penalties of the World to Come. It is true, of course, that belief in divine reward and punishment is a basic Jewish principle, but extensive use of it, placing it at the centre of religious feeling, turning it into the solitary propelling force for fulfilling mitzvot, diminishes the vibrancy and beauty of the life which Judaism guides us to build. This 'separation from life' resulted in the adoption of a negative stance towards life's achievements. The spirit of Israel wore black, donning a cloak of asceticism foreign to the spirit of Judaism.

First posted on Facebook 12 December 2021, here.

Non-Jews in Jewish tradition: a comparison or rationalist and mystical approaches

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed which relates to parashat Chukat uses the Torah’s discussion or ritual impurity (tuma) as a springboard to analyse different rabbinic approaches to the differential between Jews and non-Jews. One phrase, which appears near the start of the parashah, teaches that a certain form of tumah (ohel) is generated by proximity only to a Jewish corpse. This is derived from the words “Adam ki yamut be’ohel” – a person who dies in a tent. Rashi quotes a teaching of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai that “only you [Jews] are called Adam, the nations of the world are not called Adam”.

Having examined the rationale of this law from both a mystical and symbolic perspective, our attention turns to its derivation. What does it mean to say that non-Jews are not considered “adam”? Doesn’t a nearby verse uses the term “nefesh adam” to refer to a form of tumah which applies equally to corpses of all religious affiliations?

We examine the source of Rabbi Shimon’s statement regarding non-Jews, in which the prophet Yechezkel says “You [the Jews] are adam”. This phrase forms part of a Messianic prophecy that the Jews will return to their former elevated status and “reunite” with God. The implication is that “adam” does not refer to basic humanity, but rather identifies the “tzelem Elokim” that was granted to Adam HaRishon and gives mankind the ability to think freely and contemplate Divine truths. Radak connects this “Adam” description with another prophetic vision which depicts the world as being awash with Divine knowledge and prophecy. When this position is reached, the status of “adam” will truly have been achieved.

This rendering of the word “adam” finds support in the Tiferet Yisrael commentary to Avot. There, Rabbi Yisrael Lifschitz suggests that the word “adam” refers to those charged with the unique mission of the Jewish People, while “bnei adam” is a description of the entire human species of homo sapiens: the common descendants of Adam. The assignment of the special ‘Adam’ status of the Jewish people to their moral and spiritual mission rather than to any inherently enhanced holiness, is consistent with R’ Hirsch’s understanding of the concept of a ‘Chosen Nation’.

Being a holy nation, for R’ Hirsch, means having been set aside and given a responsibility to act as an example to other nations. Drawing on other phrases employed by the Torah such as “my firstborn is Israel” and “a kingdom of priests,” R’ Hirsch teaches that the relationship between Jews and the other nations is more akin to “first among equals.” As the nation chosen to receive God’s word at Sinai, the Jews are charged with carrying His torch in the world and thereby bearing the privilege and responsibility of serving as a light unto the nations.

This puts R’ Hirsch at odds with those approaching the subject from a mystical perspective such the Ohr HaChaim commentary, which explains how the distinction in tumah arises from a qualitative difference between the holiness of Jewish and non-Jewish souls. Such an approach is firmly grounded in Rabbi Yehudah HaLevi’s Kuzari, which proposes that the generations from Adam to Avraham contained many Godly people to whom the “Divine Essence” became attached on an individual basis. Once the Avot and family achieved such a level as a group, this Essence attached to them on a communal and national level so that their descendants are rendered distinctly holy.

R’ Hirsch’s approach is consistent, however, with the position of Rambam who has no place for any inherent holiness differential between the souls of Jews and non-Jews. Having examined Rambam’s position, Judaism Reclaimed brings passages from the Tosefot Yom Tov commentary to Avot of Rabbi Yom Tov Heller, who argues powerfully that Rambam’s understanding is supported by Rabbi Akiva’s statement that all “adam” is created in God’s image. Rabbi Heller argues that Rambam’s position represents the primary Jewish position on the matter and declares himself “astonished” that so many authorities ignore this teaching of Rabbi Akiva, preferring instead the “distant derash” of Rabbi Shimon, mentioned above, which limits the status of “adam” to the Jewish People.

While Rambam therefore views all mankind as having identical souls, his understanding of the Jewish people’s unique status as recorded in the Torah requires further investigation. We develop an approach based upon his statement in Moreh Nevuchim that “the providence of God over them [the Avot] and their descendants will be great”. This implies that the Jewish People has a constant and considerable hashgachah clalit (national Providence) which guides the community as a whole towards the Divine will. It is this unique national providence which ensured that it was the Jewish People who were suitable to receive the Torah at Sinai and be elevated and refined by its teachings.

The chapter concludes with an investigation of Rambam and R’ Hirsch’s views regarding the envisaged relationship between Jews and non-Jews in the Messianic era – a subject which has been the subject of a previous post.

Posted to Facebook 3 July 2022, here, and 1 July 2020, here.

Scholars in de-Nile: the debate over Moshe's original origin

By Daniel Abraham and Shmuel Phillips

The historicity surrounding the birth of Moses, his being placed in a basket in the Nile, and his subsequent discovery by the daughter of Pharaoh has generated much scholarly debate with competing claims to have discovered the ‘’original version’’ of the biblical passage. However, the current scholarly consensus regarding the origin of this story is weakened by a deeply flawed methodology.

In the Ancient Near East, there were several legends about great leaders who, as infants, were saved from water, the earliest of which dates to the end of the 3rd millennium BCE. When making comparisons with Moses, the legends of the birth of Sargon of Akkad (reigned 2334-2284 BCE) and the birth of the god Horus in Egypt are most commonly cited.

In the Sargon story, Sargon’s mother is a priestess of the goddess Inanna who, prohibited from having children, puts Sargon in a basket in the Euphrates river, where he is eventually rescued by a water drawer named Akki. Akki subsequently adopts Sargon, who grows up to become king of Akkad.

The Horus story describes how the Egyptian god Set murders his brother Osiris. Osiris’s wife Isis places the newborn Horus in a basket and hides him in the Nile among the reeds. Horus eventually grows up to become one of the powerful gods of the Egyptians.

When comparing these legends to the Torah’s account of Moses’ birth, scholars like Dr. Gary Rendsburg believe there is a definite connection to the Egyptian story of Horus: "the sum of the evidence is clear: not surprisingly, a biblical story set in Egypt echoes a well-known and popular myth from Egypt.” He concludes that, "the nature of biblical literature suggests that we should look not to Mesopotamia to explain a feature in a story set in Egypt, but rather to Egypt." [1] Rendsburg draws numerous parallels between these two stories and believes that “The biblical author, in short, subverts the foundational myth of ancient Egypt by portraying Moses as the good Horus and by converting the pharaoh into the wicked Set [2].”

Other scholars, however, such as Donald Redford, strongly contest any attempt to draw comparisons between the biblical passage and the Horus myth due to the late date of the Egyptian source of Horus, among other factors [3].

In light of these difficulties with comparing the biblical passage with the Egyptian Horus myth, the current scholarly consensus speculates that the scribes of Judah – whom they claim to have authored the Torah – must have somehow accessed and mastered the Neo-Assyrian library of Ashurbanipal and adapted the apparently earlier Sargon story to Moses accordingly.

In response to this, Dr. Joshua Berman, in his book Inconsistency in the Torah, first enumerates several conflicting ancient accounts – spanning several centuries – that involve the discovery of an abandoned child destined for greatness. Having described the proper process of scholarly methodology, Berman concludes that the significant range of times and places in which such parallel accounts are set should preclude any declarative historical dating of the biblical passage. [4].

Berman then notes that too often inconvenient material that contradicts popular theories, such as the comparisons of Sargon of Akkad to Moses, is simply ignored, as are further linguistic and chronological implications of these texts. Particularly damaging to the claim that the biblical passage was penned by Judean scribes as an adaptation of the Mesopotamian Sargon account is the prominent appearance of Egyptian loan words such as “Teiva”, “Goma” and the name Moses itself. [5].”

Berman goes on to note several other questionable and problematic aspects of this assumed Sargon-Moses connection, even raising the possibility that 

“perhaps…the equation needs to be reversed, and it is the Neo-Assyrians who adopted the genre from the Israelites, After Bakhtin, we know for sure that when the conquered and their conquerors engage cultural exchange is a two-way street…Could it not be that when thousands – maybe tens of thousands – of Israelites were exiled east with the fall of Samaria, that they took with them their legends as well?[6].

At the same time, while many scholars are quick to assume the story of Moses’ birth was carefully crafted to further some author’s agenda, infant abandonment in the ancient world was not a rare occurrence. Josephine Quinn, a professor of Ancient History at Oxford University, concluded that "child abandonment was common in the ancient world…”.[7] It may not be far-fetched to suggest that infant abandonment was a semi-official exchange mechanism, where one set of parents abandoned unwanted children, which were often picked up by other people wanting children who would look for them at specific recognised spots. A similar phenomenon is thought to have existed in other ancient societies. [8]

On this theme, Archaeologist Kenneth Kitchen notes that:

“a ‘birth legend’ (even of a popular kind) does not automatically confer mythical status. Even today, many an infant is abandoned by its despairing mother…and in antiquity it was no less so in tragic reality. Hence Moses’ historicity cannot be judged on this feature; and the story could in fact be true, but not provable [9].”

A further possibility not often considered is that Moses’ mother may have known of these legends and, hoping to take advantage of the Egyptian’s superstitious beliefs, specifically placed Moses in a basket near a group of high-ranking Egyptian women in the hope that they would remember these stories and view Moses as some special or even divine child destined for greatness. If this is indeed what Moses’ mother had in mind, her plan seems to have worked out rather well.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

1. Rendsburg "Moses as Equal to Pharaoh," in Text, Artifact and Imagine: Revealing Ancient Israelite Religion

2. Rendsburg https://forward.com/articles/9812/the-subversion-of-myth/ . While it is widely believed that the origins of the Sargon legend goes back much earlier, the earliest version of Sargon’s birth story is from the library of Ashurbanipal in the 7th century. The birth story of Horus goes back to the Old Kingdom of Egypt, though Rendsburg notes the earliest version of the Horus legend written in true story form is the Papyrus Jumilhac, dated around the 2nd century BCE.

3. Redford, “Exposed Child,” 223-224

4. Berman, Inconsistency in the Torah: Ancient Literary Convention and the Limits of Source Criticism p. 228-229. A similar critique of the flawed methodology of scholars seeking to compare biblical passages to other ancient texts has been made by Prof. Aaron Koller,https://www.bibleinterp.com/articles/2014/09/kol388003.shtml.

5. Loc. Cit., p. 231

6. Loc Cit., p. 234-235. Archaeologists discovered the Sargon birth legend in Ashurbanipal’s library and date it to the 7thcentury. But Sargon lived in the year 2334 BCE. The assumption is that this legend is much, much older and that only this earliest version of the legend from the 7th century was found. It is of course possible that the legend itself may have been first invented in the 7thcentury. It may have even been copied from the Torah for all we know. But it is currently presumed to reflect a far earlier Mesopotamian legend.

7. Paolo Xella, Josephine Quinn, Valentina Melchiorri and Peter van Dommelen, 'Phoenician bones of contention', Antiquity Volume: 87 Number: 338 Pages: 1199–1207

8. https://blogs.kent.ac.uk/.../why-were-new-born.../...

9. Kenneth Kitchen, On the Reliability of the Old Testament p. 296

First posted on Facebook 7 January 2021, here.

Is there really such a thing as "Jewish values"?

Ben-Gvir visiting Temple Mount. The treatment of gays in YU. Public debate and discourse in the Jewish world seem to be increasingly bombarding my news stream with heated arguments. Mimicking the polarised positions of today’s political parties, both sides of these debates will typically accuse the other of betraying “Jewish Values” – the strong implication being that their ideological opponents lack any legitimate place at the table of Jewish discussion.

Taking the examples that I’ve mentioned, neither side to these debates has any trouble summoning talmudic or biblical precedent in support of their arguments. There are sources which support asserting sovereignty, not provoking violence with neighbours, safeguarding sexual morality and concern for vulnerable individuals.

To my mind, when it comes to claiming “Jewish Values” and determining the correct course of action, one must do more than cite a loosely-relevant biblical episode. King Solomon taught us a fundamental lesson in the third chapter of Kohelet that “everything has its appointed season…a time to love and a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace”

The prophet Shmuel relayed God’s fury to King Shaul at his decision to show mercy and spare some of the defeated Amalekites. Yet in a later war, the prophet Elisha instructs the Israelite king to show mercy to captured Aramean soldiers – to feed them and return them to their country (Kings II 6:22). Rabbi Akiva and other sages supported the uprising of Bar Kochba; Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai risked his life to engage in peace negotiations with Roman invaders. In a similar vein, Talmudic sages were renowned (and sometimes criticised) for the great lengths to which they went to guard against the violation of ritual laws. Yet the same rabbis were scathing in their criticism of Rabbi Zecharia ben Avkulas for doing just this in the episode of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza.

“Jewish Values” means engaging in a process through which one allows oneself to be genuinely open to all of these conflicting considerations. To be concerned by the need to preserve sexual morality of the nation while at the same time feeling an intense sensitivity for the plight of those who suffer as a result of their orientation. To feel the pride of our recently reclaimed sovereignty over much of the land of Israel and the fervent wish to extend this to the entire land – while also being acutely aware of and seeking to minimise the suffering and plight that this causes to numerous individuals on the other side

We must be wary of people who assert a single “Jewish value” – an a priori elevation of a single concern – rather than a delicate attempt to determine how the range of legitimate values should be balanced in any particular situation. In yesterday’s Torah reading, the first three of Ya’akov’s sons received “blessings” which were in fact severe rebukes. Shimon and Levi, in particular, believed that they were acting upon Jewish values, justifying their violent rampage in Sodom – an “outrage which had been committed in Israel” – by asking “shall our sister be treated like a harlot?”. They might have found loose precedent for their actions in earlier episodes of the book of Bereishit: the immoral behaviour exhibited by Sodom and God’s punishment of Avimelech and Pharaoh for kidnapping Sara. Yet Ya’akov still harshly criticises their conduct: in their anger they were motivated only by a single “value” rather than being sensitive and weighing up competing “values”.

What is also notable is that, despite Ya’akov’s horrified reaction and rebuke, he does not exclude them from the fold – they all remain “sons of Ya’akov” whom he attempts to educate and rehabilitate.

The overarching message when it comes to defining and comparing Jewish values is that life is messy and produces challenges which force us to choose between certain ideals which we would normally prefer to embrace. “Jewish Values” require that we engage in a delicate process of trying to work out how competing legitimate values must be balanced in each particular situation and which compromise is the least painful option. Those who are genuinely involved in such a process will naturally distance themselves from strong absolutist comments – made by either side – which ignore the legitimate room for disagreement and demonise those who reach conclusions which are different to their own.

First posted on Facebook 8 January 2023, here.

Blood. Torah. Science. Magic.

Parashat Va’eira features a fascinating episode in which Pharaoh, having witnessed the miraculous transformation of the Nile to blood, calls upon his court magicians who apparently succeed in imitating the feat. The wizardry of Pharaoh’s servants, which is the earliest biblical reference to witchcraft, confronts us with difficult questions: How does the Torah regard magic? Does it recognise the existence of a “dark side” or are its prohibitions against practising sorcery truly outlawing trickery and sleight of hand?

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed which grapples with the question of Torah and magic focuses primarily on the approach of Rambam, who understands all sorcery to be a form of intelligent trickery and sophisticated sleight of hand. This approach, which views all darker arts as an outgrowth of idolatry, was the subject of this post last year. 

We note however how many commentaries follow the position of Ramban, who taught that sorcery and the “dark side” do indeed have a genuine existence, the exploitation of which the Torah forbids.It is of particular interest that Ramban’s literal understanding of the passages discussing the darker arts does not appear to have been based solely on his wish to adhere to the simple meaning of the Torah or Gemara’s texts.

Ramban notes the “pious interpretation” of those who did not consider magic to be genuine, but objects that “we cannot deny matters which are proven in front of our eyes”, the prevailing wisdom at his time being that magic and divination were genuinely efficacious. Ramban’s words allow room for speculation as to whether he would have withdrawn his objection to Rambam’s “pious interpretation” of these prohibitions had he lived in a modern scientific era.

This suggestion can perhaps draw support from the position taken by Rabbi S. R. Hirsch. As a matter of general principle, R’ Hirsch strongly endorsed Ramban’s “traditionally-sourced” approach to Judaism over that of Rambam, whom he accused of being unduly influenced by external rational trends. Nevertheless, R’ Hirsch unequivocally cites Rambam’s rationalist conclusion on the subject of magic, writing that it is “merely deception; it is nothing but getting the better of the other person’s mind”.

For some people there is a measure of discomfort in allowing the fickle and fluctuating findings of science to dictate to the Torah’s timeless truths. A subject which is explored in greater detail in a later chapter of Judaism Reclaimed in the context of both halachah and broader Jewish beliefs.

On the subject of halachah’s reliance on and willingness to change in light of new scientific knowledge I saw this very interesting recent video from Rav Asher Weiss, one of the leading halachic decisors in today’s generation.

R’ Weiss, speaking in the context of scientific and medical advice concerning Coronavirus and vaccines, presents eight examples from different areas of Talmudic discussion as to how halachah is often both premised on and prone to change on the basis of scientific findings. Particularly significant are the sources he cites on the subject of blood found in parts of the egg yolk and questions of niddah in which halachah is shown to have changed on the basis of science having improved its understanding of the facts which halachah is interpreting.

Does such an openness to scientific discovery also apply to the realm of Torah interpretation and allow us to favour the approach of those such as Rambam, who understood biblical sorcery as sleight of hand? Or is it legitimate for those following the footsteps of Ramban to suggest that the darker arts – efficacious in an earlier era of prophecy and open miracles – no longer hold sway in our spiritually sub-standard generation?

First posted on Facebook 13 January 2021, here.

Maimonides, rationalism and Sonic the Hedgehog!

I am honoured to have been hosted on this wonderful 18Forty Podcast by Rabbi David Bashevkin - where I discuss rationalism in the modern world, bible criticism, Maimonides and Sonic the Hedgehog!

(There is quite a long intro, my section starts at around 32 mins!)  

First posted to Facebook 23 November 2021, here.