Queen Elizabeth and the Biblical conception of royalty

As an Englishman living abroad, I have been approached numerous times in recent days by my friends and neighbours here in Jerusalem who wished to offer condolences and discuss matters of British royalty. On more than one occasion, they were curious to know what exactly the Queen did and, since she had no recognisably significant role, why people were so upset at her passing.

The function of the Queen within the British political system was perhaps best summarised by the 19th century political theorist, Walter Bagehot, who explained that the British political system is built upon a ‘double set’ of institutions. It is the dignified ones which “impress the many” while the efficient ones “govern the many”. The dignified or “theatrical” parts of the system play the essential role of winning and sustaining the loyalty and confidence of the nation; they help the state to gain authority and legitimacy which the efficient institutions can then utilise. “The use of the Queen in a dignified capacity, is incalculable”, he argued, “in that it strengthens the government through its combination of mystique and pageantry”.

Queen Elizabeth certainly excelled as head of the dignified institutions. While she may have lacked formal legal power, she used her “right to be consulted, right to encourage, right to warn” in weekly meetings with Prime Ministers throughout her 70 year reign. Most importantly, by publicly standing apart from the discussions and debates which gripped the “efficient institutions”, the Queen was able to transcend the political squabbles which so often divided the nation – she thereby represented a figure and institution which could unify warring classes and political groups.

It struck me today when I reviewed the passage in the Torah which describes the royal prerogative in Judaism (Devarim 17) that it contains absolutely no reference to any positive role that a monarch should play within the Jewish governmental system. The king does not legislate: Torah law is legislated and enforced by a system of Sanhedrin and its agents (as the Torah sets out in the immediately preceding section). Nor does the king act as a religious leader who conveys God’s word to the people or serve in the Mikdash – that was the job of prophets and priests. An appointed priest is also described as conducting matters of war. While Shmuel’s rebuke to the nation concerning the potential pitfalls of installing a king discloses considerable royal powers, the sages are divided as to whether he is describing legitimate legal rights or warning them of what monarchy would inevitably descend to. Certainly biblical kings assumed greater powers for themselves than those set out by the Torah – perhaps as was required by the realities of the nation at the time.

All that the Torah appears to positively require of a king is largely symbolic and ceremonial. He must write a Torah scroll and “read from it all of his days”. More significantly, a later passage is understood to task him with the commandment of “hakel”, which involves the public reading of the Torah to the entire gathered nation. The Torah emphasises that this includes young children who are incapable of understanding. They must still be included in this ceremonial gathering in which the king can symbolically be seen to unite the Jewish nation around the Torah’s teachings and values.

While the Torah therefore provides little positive guidance as to the role of a Jewish king, it certainly sets out rules as to what he should not do. As I analyse in the chapter of Judaism Reclaimedwhich contrasts Judaism’s approach to that of other political systems, the Torah introduced a revolutionary new concept in the Ancient Near East – that of a limited monarchy which was subject to the rule of law (not to mention frequent prophetic rebuke).

Not only is the Jewish king subject to the law –legal limits are imposed specifically to restrain any potential abuse of his position for the pursuit of personal wealth and glory. He may not amass horses – a symbol of ancient power and prestige – not may he marry many wives. The explicit intention is that Jewish monarchy is not an opportunity for the person seated on the throne to exploit the nation in order to gain personal status and luxury. Rather the kingship is to be a dignified institution – one which transcends the inevitable legal and cultural disputes which divide nations – and serves to unite the Jewish people around the moral and spiritual teachings of the Torah.

Queen Elizabeth was not a Jewish monarch and it was not her role to publicly represent the Torah and its teachings. Nevertheless, the dignity and selfless sense of duty to her nation which she constantly exhibited combined with her ability to transcend national division in order to refocus and inspire her nation may offer some insight into the sort of monarchy that the Torah envisaged.

First posted to Facebook 7 September 2022, here.

Torah, science and the limits og human knowledge

Knowledge is a highly treasured commodity -- and we believe that the Torah was composed by the ultimate source of knowledge. For many, therefore, there is a keen expectation that familiarity with the Torah’s text and laws grants one an automatic and profound insight into the truths and mysteries of the universe. Such an expectation however is not easily compatible with a verse in this parashat Nitzavim: a verse which forms the basis of that week’s discussion in Judaism Reclaimed:

“The hidden matters are for Hashem our God, and the revealed matters are for us and our descendants forever to perform all the words of God.”

What are these “hidden matters” which remain in God’s domain rather than our own?

Our analysis starts with Rambam’s citation of this verse in Mishneh Torah. There he teaches that the Torah’s process of verifying prophets and its reliance upon two witnesses are not fool-proof measures. In this context, the Torah appears to provide certain mandatory steps which must be followed, rather than a method for obtaining absolute certainty in these important areas.

We explore some interesting further applications of this idea to matters of kashrut. Rambam states in Hilchot Shechitah that the list of treifot (animals that may not be slaughtered for food because they are injured) taught by the Sages is binding – even if there is no objective evidence that the wounds suffered by such animals are immediately fatal. This is because the Rabbinically-formulated Torah law is granted full legal status under the verse “according to the Torah that they shall teach you…”. We then cite a fascinating expansion of this principle by R’ Tzvi Hirsch Chajes to cover many of the practical regulations of kashrut which feature so prominently in typical semichah programmes.

“… several regulations which were accepted by the Rabbis in the administration of the law without their having any basis for them in Scripture nor claiming support for them from tradition; they merely studied and sought to comprehend the nature of meat, salt, blood, the liver and the like, and by experiment came to lay down sound foundations for these practical decisions which were subsequently adopted among us as definite rulings.”

Concentrating on kashrut and Shabbat, as well as citing consistent examples from other areas of the Torah, we highlight how halachic definitions follow what is observable to the human eye; animal life, interactions of tumah and property damage which cannot be picked up by the naked eye [nistarot] will often not register for halachic consideration.

Note the irony : far from seeking to provide us with absolute objective truth, the Torah appears to be quite uninterested in it, defining its laws instead in terms of human experience and perception! This phenomenon of anthropocentric halachic definitions seems particularly congruent with the approach to mitzvot championed by Rambam – who views the Torah’s commandments as having been carefully designed to train and rectify the frailties of the human character and mind. On this basis it is to be expected that mitzvot will relate specifically to the realm of human and perception and experience. This phenomenon is however harder to justify for those who understand a primary function of halachah to be the manipulation of celestial spheres.

The Torah’s recognition of the limitations of human understanding is not restricted to the realm of halachah. Ralbag, in his explanation of “nistarot”, applies this concept to speculation as to reasons for the mitzvot – an application that Rambam supports elsewhere. Drawing upon the evident divergence of understanding between man and God, we observe how the Mishnah openly recognises that certain areas of the Torah – including its account of Creation (Ma’aseh Bereishit) – include hidden Divine mysteries which transcend regular human understanding.

We note Rambam’s quotation of a tantalising Midrashic statement on the subject ““Since to tell of the power of the act of Creation to flesh and blood is impossible, the verse writes simply “In the beginning God created…”. This leads us to question the accuracy of the much-touted clashes between Torah and science: one opaque source which declares itself to have hidden depths and a discipline which has yet to reach its final understanding of the world’s origin. A lengthy footnote attempts to extrapolate, from Rambam’s analysis of Torah and science in his own era, a suggestion as to how he would have approached the matter in today’s world. No firm conclusion is offered.

Finally, we question the function of the Torah’s passages describing Creation if, as is claimed by the oral tradition, they defy a simple understanding – and offer a solution from the writings of the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks.

First posted to Facebook 22 September 2022, here.

Chinese evil and Maimonidean demons

Can humans ever sink to such depths of depravity that they effectively lose their humanity? Or worse?

Last week’s UN report published last week once again directed world attention to the mass incarceration and horrific abuses being carried out in the Xinjiang region of Northwest China. The indescribable horrors which are being inflicted on an entire population as well as the highly advanced technology that makes this oppression possible prompted me to recall a passage that I wrote in Judaism Reclaimed.

The Torah describes Adam’s son Shet as being in the image of Adam — a term which Rambam (Moreh 1:7) links to the earlier description of Adam as having been created "betzelem Elokim" (in the image of God). Rambam then cites a Gemara which states that, from the moment of his sin until the birth of Shet, Adam bore offspring which were not in his image but rather were "ruchot" or demons.

Tzelem Elokim — the element of humanity that can be said to be Godly — is identified with the intellect. It is through this uniquely human intelligence that people can make moral judgments to distinguish right from wrong, subdue their negative impulses and thereby direct their sophisticated intellectual capabilities so as to benefit the world around them.

In Rambam’s understanding, those who ignore their human calling to use their intellect to refine and control the animalistic aspects of their personality are considered behema betzurat adam (an animal in human form) rather than betzelem Elokim. Membership of this unesteemed group therefore can cause people to forfeit their human privileges such as divine providence and a share in the World to Come.

Far worse than this, however, are those who take this divine gift to humanity of a powerful intellect and use it to subdue and oppress others. As history repeatedly demonstrates, the greatest misery and hardship experienced by mankind is caused by people who have used their intellect to devise ways of furthering human suffering. These are the sorts of “demons” that, in Rambam’s understanding of the Gemara, were said to have been sired by Adam prior to Shet. It can be presumed that Rambam would offer a similar interpretation of Talmudic accounts of demons who dwell in uninhabited areas, damage unguarded buildings, and attack those who travel unaccompanied at night.

Tragically, the powerful Chinese government embodies this latter category of people, using their human intelligence to devise ever more effective methods for spying on their citizens and then seeking to control not only their behaviour but even their thoughts. Instead of utilising the gift of a divinely-granted intellect to improve the world by refining and elevating humanity – instead of channelling their science to the cause of alleviating hunger and disease – the atheist state implements a hideous mass-experiment in “re-education” to manipulate and subdue the tzelem Elokim of its religious citizens.

At the other end of the scale, world governments using their tzelem Elokim to build and improve the state of humanity is considered a key requirement for the onset of the Messianic era. Rambam writes later in the Moreh Nevuchim (3:11):

For through awareness of the truth, enmity and hatred are removed and the inflicting of harm by people on one another is abolished. It [Tanach] holds out this promise, saying “And the wolf shall dwell with the lamb…”. Then it gives the reason for this, saying that the cause of the abolition of these enmities, these discords and these tyrannies, will be humanity’s knowledge of God…

The primary and perhaps exclusive causes of warfare and misery are obsession with and competition over material possessions, power and pride. Once humanity is taught or becomes aware of this folly, its energies and capabilities will be channelled towards achieving universal happiness and spiritual fulfilment, thus “they will beat their swords into ploughshares…” and “your sons and daughters will prophesy”.

First posted to Facebook 4 September 2022, here.

Agunot, Sanhedrin and Tisha be'Av

When we assess the impact that thousands of years of exile have inflicted on our nation, our thoughts are immediately drawn to the weighty toll of human suffering and to the loss of sovereignty over our land. What we often ignore is the grave damage which has been wreaked on the Torah—the national treasure of the Jewish people. In fact, we have become so accustomed to the Torah in its stunted exilic form that we are unable to appreciate the extent to which our relationship with it has been defined by the stagnation of halachah. The passage of over 1,500 years without a functioning Sanhedrin has led us to revere the halachic status quo to such an extent that descriptions of the court’s legislative powers, and suggestions of how these may once again be employed at an unspecified future time, are likely to provoke considerable discomfort and even whispered claims of heresy.

In the legal system envisaged by the Torah, the court was empowered to maintain and update Torah law. It was charged with doing so in a way which would maximise its relevance and applicability to each generation. This outcome was to be achieved not only by enacting various forms of rabbinic decree but also, more significantly, by drawing upon the extensive expertise and wisdom of the court’s members to legislate details of Torah law.

In a lengthy discussion on the repercussions of exile threatened in the tochachah, Rabbi Meir Simcha of Dvinsk (Meshech Chochmah) describes the dynamic role performed by the Sanhedrin of innovating (in accordance with the rules transmitted to them) in order to ensure that the Torah was suited to guide each generation according to its needs. Quoting Rambam's introduction to Mishneh Torah, he laments that one result of exile was the consequential diminution of Torah scholarship, and total loss of the Sanhedrin which therefore necessitated the fixing and recording of the Oral Law. Since the close of the Talmudic era, however, no Beit Din has had authority to issue binding national rulings or innovate any matter of Torah law. This inability to legislate, Meshech Chochmah continues, has led to a questioning of the Torah's continued relevance and application in a modern era, and is an inevitable result of the exile predicted in the tochachah.

On a theoretical level, Rambam cautiously raises the possibility of the reintroduction of a national Sanhedrin which would have the power to revisit halachic determinations of the Talmud as well as the ability to legislate in order to address some of the challenges posed to Judaism in the modern world:

It appears to me that if all the sages of the Land of Israel consent to appoint dayanim (judges) and grant them semichah (ordination), they have the legal status of musmachim and they can judge penalty cases and are authorized to grant semichah to others [thus restoring Biblical ordination]… However, this matter requires a final decision. [Hilchot Sanhedrin 4:11]

It is difficult to advise exactly how a new Sanhedrin should go about its task. On the one hand, two millennia of stagnation have left the halachic system with a long list of pressing needs, from resolving the anguish of agunot to clarifying and legislating details of Shabbat restrictions—particularly as they are to apply in a modern Jewish state. On the other hand, however, if even the Amoraim were willing to restrict their creative legislative powers out of recognition that their knowledge was inferior to that of earlier generations, would dayanim on a newly-formed Sanhedrin be expected to be similarly circumspect? In his introduction to Mishneh Torah, Rambam acknowledged that the decline of Torah knowledge was not limited to the era of the sages. Even in his own era:

At this time, we have been beset by additional difficulties, everyone feels [financial] pressure, the wisdom of our Sages has become lost, and the comprehension of our men of understanding has become hidden. Therefore those explanations, laws, and replies which the Geonim composed and considered to be fully explained material have become difficult to grasp in our age, and only a select few comprehend these matters in the proper way. Needless to say, [there is confusion] with regard to the Talmud itself…

From the perspective of today’s minimally functioning halachic system, this is a conundrum which we can only dream of grappling with. On a practical level, the far greater challenge would be creating this court in the first place – the disunity and infighting which persists among Jewish communities in both Israel and the Diaspora makes the required unanimity hard to imagine.

As mentioned above, the re-establishment of a Sanhedrin in order to address the many challenges of Jewish law which have arisen in the past 2,000 years would require the acceptance of all sages in Israel. Jewish tradition teaches us that the Second Mikdash was destroyed, and the nation sent into exile, as a result of baseless hatred. It is perhaps fitting therefore that, in order for our nation to repair the damage that exile has inflicted on our system of halachah, we must find a way of uniting to universally approve and empower a body to make new and authoritative rulings on Torah law.

Our reaction to all-too-common scenarios in which halachah is unable to respond to modern challenges – and our witnessing of those suffering as a result – should not be restricted to shrugging our shoulders hiding behind our inability to amend rigid ancient rulings. Until we, as a nation, are prepared to set aside the petty squabbles and superficial differences through which we have become accustomed to defining our Judaism, we will be unable to appoint a new Sanhedrin and Jewish law will remain in its stultified exilic state. For me personally this is an important part of the tragedy of the destruction and exile which we mark on Tishe Be’Av. For agunot it is a tragedy which haunts their every living moment.

As we plead each day in the Shemoneh Esrei: 

“Restore our judges as in earlier times…and remove from us sorrow and groaning”

First posted on Facebook 7 August 2022, here.

Chassidic education--an insider's perspective

Having spent five years of my life in a Chassidic primary (elementary) school where I received a sub-standard education and was regularly beaten by teachers, this week’s New York Times revelation came as no surprise to me. In recent days I have read countless social media posts from commenters who are shocked at the public desecration of God’s name that they accuse these schools of having perpetrated. How, they ask, can people who are so outwardly religious – who obsess over minutiae of rituals – simultaneously practice such dishonesty and disregard for what others consider basic religious principles and human decency?

As a former student in such a school, one of the most overwhelming messages that I received from my teachers was that we were locked in an existential battle for our survival as religious Jews. In order to justify and explain the extreme insularity that we were being taught, it was made clear to us that the non-Jewish and non-religious world was constantly working for our physical and particularly our spiritual demise. Stories of pogroms and forced conscription to the Russian army were retold in ways which blurred the boundaries between past and present, the “secular” Israeli army and the Russians, the British national curriculum and the Haskalah movement, murderous anti-semites and the peaceful non-Jews among whom we lived. One episode sticks in the mind: a classmate reacting to my account of how I had watched cricket at the house of my Indian neighbour by asking in horror “weren’t you scared they were going to try and kill you?!”.

Against this backdrop and from this perspective, anyone and anything on the outside of the community is an enemy. A threat to our individual and collective existence as religious Jews. The implications being that this justified any form of dishonesty and playing the system to secure and strengthen our institutions. Since the goyim hate us and want to destroy us, we must fight with all our cunning and resources to survive. If this requires us to play dirty to preserve our tradition and secure our holy education that they cannot understand or value then so be it. In such a system, no crime is so heinous as undermining and challenging the religious institution by appealing to the secular authorities. This was made clear after I had received a particularly severe beating one day and my parents made a veiled threat to alert the police.

While the siege mentality and depiction of all outsiders as enemies was an important part of my Chassidic education, I believe that certain key elements of their mystical theology further reinforce the this approach. An intense theurgical focus on the ability of our actions to manipulate matters in the spiritual spheres is strongly promoted in Chassidic thought. While such ideas are not unique to Chassidic sources, they are greatly emphasized within these groups. In mystical sources and particularly in the common perception, spiritual value is therefore primarily associated with the inexplicable spiritual aspects of Jewish observance rather than on those commandments which emphasise honesty and helping one’s neighbour. This helps us understand why people who have been raised to view the Torah’s laws from such a perspective might be tempted to pay excessive sums for a faultless etrog – or to fly to Uman for a Rosh Hashanah blessing – even if they cannot afford to first settle their debts with the local grocery. Similarly, such people will think that they are enhancing their spirituality by misleading educational authorities in order to secure institutions which will educate more ritually committed Jews.

The Chassidic attitude to secular governments and their educational institutions is also greatly coloured by mystical teachings within Judaism which promote the idea that non-Jewish souls are inferior and less pure. While more universalist thinkers such as Rambam and Rabbi S. R. Hirsch follow the teaching of Rabbi Akiva in Avot (3:14) that “Beloved is humanity, for it was created in God's image”, Chassidic thinkers have consistently sought to emphasise the gulf between Jewish and non-Jewish souls (as I have examined here). This confidence in their superiority over outsiders adds to their instinctive reaction that “non-Jewish” rules aimed at ensuring that their institutions provide a proper education are to be opposed and fought. Devoid of such an education and lacking trust in the motives of outside authorities, such communities are less likely to tolerate other laws which are intended for their benefit such as health restrictions during a pandemic or safety regulations for mass Lag Be’omer celebrations.

Where does this leave us in terms of our Judaism today? It is not only Chassidic communities who pay lip service to the rebukes of Isaiah while continuing to practice a Judaism that prioritises ritual observance over basic honesty and righteousness. We all read the Haftarah just over a month ago from the first chapter of Isaiah which taught:

“You shall no longer bring vain meal-offerings, it is smoke of abomination to Me; New Moons and Sabbaths, calling convocations, I cannot [bear] iniquity with assembly. Your New Moons and your appointed seasons My soul hates, they are a burden to Me…Wash, cleanse yourselves, remove the evil of your deeds from before My eyes, cease to do evil. Learn to do good, seek justice, strengthen the robbed, perform justice for the orphan, plead the case of the widow.”

In a few weeks we will read similar verses in the Yom Kippur Haftarah which relate God’s disinterest in ritual fasting by those who are dishonest and oppress the poor. But how much do we as a wider community really take its message to heart?

This time of year is not about highlighting and bemoaning the sins and misplaced priorities of others. It is time for our religious communities as a whole to start asking ourselves difficult questions. Why is it that we are so willing to tolerate those who abuse and cheat, steal and mislead? Those who don religious garb and perform ritual observances are routinely labeled “frum thiefs” – and even encouraged and lauded for continuing such observance while in prison for fraud. When our children contrast this with how our communities reject Jews whose levels of kashrut or Shabbat observance fall below our standards – or those do not dress in accordance with communal norms – they are entitled to ask: to what extent are any of us internalising the teachings and the Judaism of our prophets?

First posted on Facebook 13 September 2022, here.

Religious coercion and Jewish theocracy

This week’s parashah opens with a requirement to appoint law enforcement officers. In Torah law, it is not only civil and criminal law which is regulated by governmental authorities, but also religious rules such as Shabbat observance.

How are we to relate to the Torah’s apparent endorsement of such a phenomenon? Can this passage be cited in support of those who campaign, for example, to close entertainment venues on Shabbat in Israel?

Setting aside the practical efficacy of adopting heavy-handed tactics in an attempt to increase religious observance among secular people – and the likely backlash that this would continue to provoke – certain Talmudic passages suggest that implementing such coercion in today’s society may not be correct from a religious perspective.

In its chapter which grapples with the ability of Jewish civil and criminal law to govern a society, Judaism Reclaimed cites a fascinating passage from the writings of Yeshayahu Leibowitz. The passage concerns the Eglah Arufah ceremony – also found in this week’s parashah – which was performed by the elders of a community which had suffered an unsolved murder. By carrying out this rite, the community is brought to realise the enormity of what has occurred and the sanctity of human life.

A Mishnah at the end of Sotah teaches, however, that “when the number of murderers increased, the Eglah Arufa ceremony was suspended”. This religious rite is meaningful only in a society for which murder is an abhorrent and exceptional occurrence. Once murder is commonplace, explains Leibowitz (and supported by Rabbi S. R. Hirsch), there is no need to pretend that we are shocked by an unresolved murder. In such a society there is a certain measure of hypocrisy in such a rite. The society must first be purged of daily occurrences of murder – only then is there reason to hold such a ceremony. A parallel tannaitic teaching informs us that “when adultery became common, the bitter waters [Sotah rites] were suspended”. Once again, concludes Leibowitz, if a society is saturated with sexual immorality, there is no reason to be shocked at the case of a suspected adulteress. One ought instead to try to reform the society.

Leibowitz then proposes that the spirit governing the abolition of the Eglah Arufah and Sotah rites contains an important lesson for today’s generation:

“In a society and state which are not based on the recognition of the obligation to observe the Torah, there is no reason to investigate whether some specific law of the state is in accordance with the halakha. By directing our thoughts and actions to just these details…we make the struggle for the Torah and its mitzvot into a caricature.

In a society and a state in which public life, as based on government and law, involves the operation of ports and airports on Shabbat, where hundreds of factories work on Shabbat with government permission, where there are government radio and television on Shabbat, the struggle against the opening of another movie house on Shabbat makes religion into a mockery. In a society where large parts within it, of all social classes, have ruled that “You will not commit adultery” and “there will not be a harlot” does not apply, and that such phenomena are even understandable – the requirement that marriage must be in accordance with halakha is only a desecration of the institute of religious marriage, a desecration of the Torah, and only serves to increase the number of mamzerim in Israel.

Mend the society, mend the state – and then you are permitted, and even obliged, to be concerned that the details within the framework of the society and the state should be in accordance with the demands of the Torah. As long as you do not struggle for a change of the image of the Jewish people, you cannot struggle for certain details in the lifestyle of the members of this community, and certainly not for details in the laws of that state, that community – which has not assumed for itself the Yoke of the Torah and mitzvot – is establishing for itself.”

It may be possible to bolster these powerful words from Yeshayahu Leibowitz with those of his prophetic namesake, who sharply rebuked Israel for their misplaced priorities in the First Temple era:

“You shall no longer bring vain meal-offerings, it is smoke of abomination to Me; New Moons and Sabbaths, festivals, I cannot [bear] iniquity with assembly. Your New Moons and your appointed seasons My soul hates, they are a burden to Me; I am weary of bearing [them]…Wash, cleanse yourselves, remove the evil of your deeds from before My eyes, cease to do evil. Learn to do good, seek justice, strengthen the robbed, perform justice for the orphan, plead the case of the widow.”

If God, as represented in the first chapter of Yeshaya, considers the ritual observances of a corrupt and unrighteous people to be unwelcome and burdensome, can we rightly expect our secular brethren to embrace a religion which is so regularly tainted with scandal and unethical behaviour? Rather than battling to coerce whole swathes of a resentful secular society to unwillingly curtail their Shabbat entertainment, perhaps the most potent tool of persuasion available to religious warriors is to concentrate on constructing a religious society which is so ethical, holy and righteous that is serves as a spiritual magnet for those searching to better themselves and live a refined and godly existence.

Tel Aviv light rail dispute here.

First posted on Facebook 28 August 2022, here.

Yom Kippur and "hell" in Jewish thought

The heavy atmosphere and liturgy of Yom Kippur are designed to direct our thoughts towards weighty matters. Recognition of sin, the process of atonement and potential consequences of our actions all feature prominently in the prayers.

Taking a step back, there is one very surprising omission. For a day so strongly focused on sin, punishment and promoting repentance, there is barely any mention of the “eternal hell-fire” so ubiquitous in Christian texts. This prompts us to ask a series of questions: (i) What exactly is the Jewish concept of Hell? (ii) Why does it feature so rarely in Jewish texts? (iii) Does it have any deeper relevance to Yom Kippur?

The chapters of Judaism Reclaimed which relate to parashat Ha’azinu explore the concepts of the World to Come, Gehinnom and resurrection of the dead – primarily from a Maimonidean perspective. A key problem, which troubled a number of leading rabbinic thinkers, is how seemingly physical phenomena, such as the hell-fire described in aggadic literature, can impact on the spiritual (non-physical) soul.

Ramban addresses this problem by proposing an intermediate category – neither entirely physical nor spiritual – to which these concepts relate. He explains that 'hell-fire' does not consist of Earthly substances with which we are familiar, but rather is a special 'quasi-physical' creation by God which is therefore capable of inflicting suffering upon the quasi-physical souls of sinners.

This solution is not available to Rambam, however, who does not subscribe to the notion of a quasi-physical realm for the soul post-death. Twice in his Mishneh Torah, Rambam emphasises that, upon death, the only element of the soul that remains is the mind (sechel). One consequence of this is that the soul which remains after death is not equipped to experience any kind of physical pain which could be inflicted by a fiery Gehinnom.

A further challenge involves the notion of resurrection of the dead to a physical body. Since, in Rambam’s understanding, eternal reward is a spiritual pleasure experienced by the soul alone in the World to Come, it is not immediately clear what benefit such resurrection could provide. After exploring the significant debates which took place over Rambam’s beliefs over techiya, Judaism Reclaimed develops an approach of Rabbi Yosef Albo in Sefer Ha’Ikkarim. According to R’ Albo, resurrection within Rambam’s worldview plays an important role in levelling the playing field, offering opportunities for those who were religiously observant but lacked the resources to develop a strong connection to God and the Torah during their lives. Being temporarily resurrected in a messianic era in which men and women are surrounded by 'tidal waves of knowledge of God' will afford such people a deserved opportunity to maximise their standing in the World to Come.

It is possible that this notion of temporary resurrection in an era of perfection also offers us a way to explain Rambam’s concept of Gehinnom. In such an era of perfection, it is not hard to see how those witnessing these events but who are themselves deprived of such opportunities to participate and develop their connection to God will be consumed by shame and regret at having been personally responsible for their unfortunate situation.

This idea of the wicked being punished in the messianic era by witnessing the spiritual bounty of the righteous while being themselves deprived is supported by a passage in Yeshaya. Addressing the wicked in the Messianic era Yeshaya declares:

“Therefore thus said my Lord, God: Behold, My servants will eat and you will starve … My servants will rejoice and you will be ashamed”. [65:13-14]

Yeshaya’s metaphorical feast is interpreted by Tannaic sages (Shabbat 153a) as a depiction of the contrasting fate of the worthy and unworthy. The righteous will partake of the spiritual ‘feast’ and be satiated, while “ravenous” sinners will be made to “stand and watch”.

Such an approach allows us to decode a whole group of perplexing midrashic sources – for example a statement by Reish Lakish that: "In the future there will be no Gehinnom, rather God will remove the sun from its sheath; the righteous will be cured by it and the wicked will be judged by it".

To summarise, the fires of Gehinnom, are not understood to be literal flames (see also Radak and Metzudat to Yeshayah 31:33). Rather they represent a temporary state of deep shame and humiliation which sinners will feel when faced with the truth and the damage that they have inflicted on their own souls. Non-severe sinners, Rambam writes, will thereby “be judged for their sins and will receive Olam Haba” (Hilchot Teshuva 3:5).

Returning now to the question of Yom Kippur, is there any connection between the purification and atonement offered by Gehinnom and the purification and atonement of Yom Kippur? How is it that Yom Kippur can provide forgiveness for our sins?

The central feature of the Yom Kippur service is viduy – a verbal recitation of our sins before God. On this day we shunt aside our physical needs and desires, and stand before God with a certain spiritual clarity that informs our aspirations and ideals rather than the messy compromises that the realities of everyday life necessitate. In this context – as in the truth of the messianic era – recognising how we have fallen short during the year and lost our moral and religious compasses should lead us to a feeling of deep embarrassment. As we summarise at the end of the viduy “Behold I am before you like a vessel filled with embarrassment and shame” [harei ani lefanecha kichli malei busha uchlimah].

Perhaps going through this process mirrors, to an extent, the shame of Gehinnom. The result is “lifnei Hashem titharu” – that we become cleansed of our sins and thereby gain the opportunity to redefine and recreate our relationship with God in a more positive manner. It is the joy which arises from this whole process which shines through the traditional celebrations at the end of Yom Kippur – a joy which we seek to take with us in the next set of festivals.

First posted to Facebook 2 October 2022, here.

Was Jewish mysticism revealed at Mount Sinai?

Mysticism is an area of Judaism that never fails to capture the popular imagination and generate thoughtful discussion. Like most things Jewish, it is also the source of passionate debate and deeply held opposing views, with disagreement over the very nature of what Jewish mysticism consists of and where it comes from.

A short but fascinating passage towards the end of yesterday’s Torah reading – which is too frequently overlooked – may contain an important insight:

And Moses and Aaron, Nadav and Avihu, and seventy of the elders of Israel ascended, and they perceived the God of Israel, and beneath His feet was like the forming of a sapphire brick and like the appearance of the heavens for clarity. And upon the nobles of the children of Israel He did not lay His hand, and they perceived God, and they ate and drank.

(Shemot 24:9-11)

What is the meaning of these cryptic verses and their strange perception of the divine? Can they be constitute some form of revelation of the esoteric mysteries of the Torah at Sinai alongside its revealed laws?

One thing that the commentators appear to agree on is that this passage relates to Jewish mysticism. Both Ibn Ezra and Ramban find strong textual and thematic links between this revelation at Sinai and the Merkava vision which opens the book of Ezekiel. Rambam, meanwhile, analyses the term “livnat hasapir”, interpreting it to refer to a nebulous and shapeless glow or energy which represents the first matter created by God. According to this, Rambam understands that this Sinaitic insight involved a profound understanding of the process of the world’s creation and the interplay that this involved between the divine and the physical.

Rambam and Ramban, however, held sharply differing theories about what Jewish mysticism involves. Rambam focuses much of his first section of Moreh on the idea that human language and thought cannot accurately convey divine concepts or truths about God. While we can (and indeed must) attempt to train our minds to relate to God in a manner unsullied by associations with the physical world – associations which our imagination naturally draw us towards – ultimately we are told that “greatest praise for Him is silence”.

Real Jewish mysticism, according to Rambam is a personal journey of sublime intellectual meditation upon concepts which transcend human language. This understanding is traced by Rambam through Talmudic passages concerning mysticism, from which he shows that such esoteric insights, by their very nature, can never be comprehensively conveyed (only “chapter headings”) or contained within any form of writing or “secret mystical book”.

For Ramban and students of kabbalah, by contrast, mysticism is focused far more upon the written (and spoken) word. He describes in the introduction to his commentary on the Torah how the whole Torah is fashioned from mystical arrangements of God’s names – names which kabbalah understands to possess certain supernatural powers and energies.

Judaism Reclaimed also discusses this divergence between Rambam and kabbalists as it plays out in their disagreements regarding amulets and recitation of special “holy” words. From the point of view of the kabbalists, the very letters of the Torah contain the contraction of God’s will and therefore bear power in their own right. Certain kabbalistic practitioners claim to be able to harness the power of God’s name in order to manipulate aspects of the physical world – even today I see books being advertised about how to utilise such supernatural forces to enhance aspects of our life.

Rambam and Geonim such as Rav Hai are strongly critical of this approach, calling the use of amulets a “foolishness…not worthy for any perfect person to hear, let alone believe in”. Rather, the names are understood to indicate profound philosophical and theological truths regarding God and His creation of the world. In support of this position, Rambam quotes Talmudic statements which impose severe restrictions on the teaching of God’s names and their meanings, restrictions and qualifications which bear broad similarities to those placed upon students seeking access to the esoteric areas of Ma’aseh Bereishit and Merkavah.

While Rambam understands the names to symbolise profound truths, it is a fundamental error to attribute power and divinity to the words and letters which are the mere containers and symbols for such truths. At the start of Hilchot Avoda Zara, Rambam attributes a similar mistake to early generations of idolators, who had initially revered stars as symbols of genuine divinity before proceeding to worship and attribute power to these symbols themselves.

Returning to Sinai, Rambam understands that the whole nation was granted some form of mystical perception in order to participate in and witness Moshe’s prophecy (Shemot 19:9). Nadav and Avihu, however, are criticised in a Midrash for “staring at God” – an irreverence which is compounded by their “eating and drinking” that Rambam takes to mean an illicit and corrupting input of physicality into their mystical experience.

This core mistake bears a strong resemblance to Rambam’s understanding of Elisha ben Avuyah’s mistake – failing to respect the limits of his own intellectual and mystical capacity in his infamous Pardes failure. It is to be contrasted with the conduct of our greatest prophet Moshe who initially, recognising his own limitations, “hid his face” at the Burning Bush because he was afraid to look. Tellingly, when Moshe eventually scales the heights of prophetic potential and receives the loftiest and most accurate of all prophetic insights at Sinai he repeatedly emphasises (in contrast to Nadav and Avihu) that for those 40 days “bread I did not eat and water I did not drink”. His unrivalled comprehension of God in receiving the Torah was uncorrupted by any physicality or input of the imaginative faculty.

First posted to Facebook 30 January 2020, here.