Song of the Sea and a point of no return

By Shmuli Phillips and Joshua Berman

In what is probably the most fascinating and significant section of Rabbi Dr Joshua Berman’s  recent Ani Ma’amin, a strong and consistent parallel is found between the Song of the Sea (Shirat HaYam) that we read yesterday and the Kadesh poem – an Egyptian celebration of Rameses great victory over the Hittite army. The commonality is seen both in terms of specific unusual phrases which are employed and also in the overall structure and pattern of the two commemorations.

Most notably, both passages open with an army being subject to a surprise attack and calling out for divine assistance. When this assistance is forthcoming, the aggressor recognises that its opponents are receiving supernatural assistance and attempts to flee, only to meet total annihilation in water. There are distinctive parallels in some of the metaphors and terminologies which are drawn upon: in no ancient text other than these two does “right hand” signal strength – nor do any other military accounts refer to defeated enemies as “chaff”. Both passages conclude with their peerless kings or gods leading troops back home and intimidating foreign lands in the process.

Berman makes a compelling case for the Song of the Sea having been directly influenced and inspired by the Kadesh poem. Based on archaeological findings from Egyptian temples of that period, he suggests that the Kadesh poem would have been well known throughout Egypt – an important and much publicised element of nationalistic pride and propaganda.

This close comparison can provoke feelings of discomfort in some traditional readers who approach every feature and phrase of the Torah as containing profound spiritual and mystical truth (a matter which we will seek to address in an upcoming post). Berman’s theory nevertheless provides a measure of support for the traditional account of the Exodus, which has often been challenged from academic quarters.

Most significantly, it demonstrates that those who composed the Song of the Sea possessed intimate and detailed knowledge of Egyptian culture from the Egyptian New Kingdom (approx. 1250 BCE) – the period of Egyptian history in which many consider that the Exodus would have occurred. Such awareness of close details of Egyptian belief is not limited to the Song of Sea, but can also be seen in the ironic mirroring of Egyptian religious concepts such as “mighty hand and outstretched arm”, “hardening of Pharaoh’s heart” and even prior details such as the ways in which the Torah describes the Jewish slavery, taskmasters and building materials. The parallels between the Song of the Sea and the Kadesh poem also represent a challenge to those such as David Rohl, who propose a far earlier date for the Exodus which precedes Rameses altogether.

An additional dimension to this early Israelite cultural appropriation may be psychological. The Torah makes it very clear that, after exiting Egypt, the newly-released slaves were vulnerable and had to be directed away from the shortest path to Canaan “lest the nation have a change of heart upon seeing war and return to Egypt”. Part of the project of the 40-year trek through the desert was to transform the weak and pagan-influenced Israelites, psychologically damaged by centuries of enslavement to the powerful Egyptians, into a warrior nation with belief in the God of Abraham. Whenever the nation faced hardship in the desert, the knee-jerk reaction was that they would be better off returning to enslavement. The Egyptians clearly had a strong psychological hold over them.

Part of the function of the Splitting of the Sea and its subsequent ironic celebration may therefore have been an attempt to shatter this psychological hold. By appropriating the Egyptians’ song of supremacy, the Israelites could embark upon their own national project, confident that “the way you look at the Egyptians today, you shall no longer perceive them for eternity”.

As explained by Rambam in his Guide, a major function of many biblical commandments, such as the sacrifices, which the nation was soon to receive, was to withdraw the people gradually from the pagan belief and practice of the culture in which they had been immersed in Egypt. The ironic appropriation of Egypt’s paen to its god-king may thus have been an exercise in breaking free from the psychological stranglehold of Egypt. This would now give the Israelites an opportunity to flourish as an independent nation and fulfil its role as a “kingdom of priests and a holy nation” – entering into a monotheistic covenant and marching confidently into Canaan to be a light unto the other nations of the world.

First posted to Facebook 16 January 2022, here.

Hammurabi and ancient texts: challenge or opportunity?

By Shmuli Phillips and Simi and Rivka Lerner

This week’s parashah sees a brief interruption in the account of events at Sinai for the sake of a through account of Jewish civil law. The presentation of these laws comes over at times as somewhat strange in its details and phraseology. Around a century ago, the archaeological discovery of an ancient law code appeared to shed some light on many of these verses. But what were the implications to be for the Torah of a very similar code of law written centuries before?

Much of this is discussed in this fascinating and clearly presented podcast by my friends Simi Rivka Lerner (https://nuancedjudaism.podbean.com/ see more about the weekly podcast below).

Judaism Reclaimed tackles the subject as part of its broader analysis of the Torah’s function and agenda. While noting that its religious and moral principles represent a dramatic contrast to the norms of the ancient world, it is hard to ignore the similarities which are clearly evident between the terminology and themes of the Torah and other ancient texts. This phenomenon was recognised by Rambam (Guide 3:30) who describes how the Torah’s passages of blessings and curses deliberately mirror the promises and threats made by pagan priests. Rambam cites ancient sources to demonstrate how people were promised peace and prosperity, rainfall and crop abundance if they worshipped in the pagan temples. Therefore, explains Rambam, the Torah’s general teachings regarding reward and punishment are deliberately couched in words and phrases with which the Jewish people were familiar in order to counter the pagan propaganda – even though those words in reality represent far broader concepts.

This aspect of Rambam’s thought, which reflects his expansive understanding of the dictum “dibrah Torah belashon b’nei adam” (the Torah speaks in the language of man), also relates to another strong theme in Rambam’s writing: that a primary purpose of the Torah is to uproot pagan belief and practice from Israel. On this basis, its blessings and curses are deliberately designed and phrased in a way that will nullify and oppose the messages of idolatrous cults. It is crucial, therefore, when analysing any apparent similarities between the Torah and earlier or parallel sources, to ensure that one’s focus remains on the content and core message being imparted by the Torah, and not to be overly distracted by the terminology and phrases through which these messages are presented.

It is against this backdrop that we must consider the similarities between the Torah’s text and the Code of Hammurabi. Historians of ancient Mesopotamia are quick to recognise similarities between the Torah’s laws and the Code of Hammurabi. Using the Rambam's understanding of the Torah’s presentation of its blessing, warnings and rebukes, however, we can allow for the fact (and perhaps even expect) that the Torah’s laws are also presented in a manner which its earliest students, whose acceptance of it was a precondition for its acceptance by future generations, would find accessible. What is crucial however, is that the content of the Torah — that is, the legal and ethical principles which it conveys — is a radical departure from the values of the ancient world that are expressed in the Code of Hammurabi.

In this podcast, Simi Rivka Lerner analyse and pinpoint many of the ways in which the Torah directs its adherents to a more moral approach to law than that of the Code of Hammurabi. Judaism Reclaimed also explores how Hammurabi focuses on the protection of property whereas the Torah seeks primarily to protect and promote humanity. This is most evident in the lack of death penalty for any property crime in the Torah – in contrast to the Code of Hammurabi, which legislated a death sentence for every form of theft.

Another significant distinction between Torah law and the earlier Hammurabi regime is that of equality before the law. Under Torah law, the law of damages is engaged regardless of the social status of the perpetrator and victim – a feature which was notably absent from Hammurabi’s system. While Hammurabi required a slave’s ear to be cut off for expressing a desire for freedom, Torah law sets the slave free in the case of his master inflicting a serious injury upon him. The most significant departure from its ancient predecessors lies in the Torah’s theme of personal holiness and beneficence towards the poor, of which there is not a trace in the harsh Hammurabi laws.

A further powerful demonstration of the contrasting moral values which underpin these two compendiums of law can be found in their treatment of murder, to which the earlier Code of Hammurabi, like the Torah, assigns a death penalty. Crucially however the Hammurabi penalty can be waived if the family of the victim agrees to pardon the offender. The Torah, by contrast, indicates that the seriousness of murder represents an absolute and unpardonable offence against God, as is implied by the verse:

“Do not accept a compensatory payment for the soul of a murderer…rather he shall surely die…”.

This framework is also used by Judaism Reclaimed to discuss how the Torah relates to phenomena which were once widespread but now considered distasteful or fundamentally immoral such as polygamy and slavery, as well as Torah narratives – such as the Flood – which bear a striking resemblance to earlier mythical accounts.

Nuanced Judaism is a new podcast by Rivka and Rabbi Simi Lerner. It features a dynamic discussion on philosophical, esoteric as well as relevant questions pertaining to the weekly parashah. A husband and wife with different perspectives but equal enthusiasm to seek out meaning and depth (approx. 15 mins).

First posted on Facebook 26 January 2022, here.

The golden calf and the challenges of Jewish education

A fascinating yet perplexing aggada in Berachot depicts Moshe arguing with God in the aftermath of the Golden Calf. Moshe appears to be blaming God for the Jewish people's sinful behaviour, claiming that the strong temptation to stray left no realistic expectation that the Jews could have behaved otherwise. Our surprise at Moshe's apparently outrageous accusation is compounded when the Gemara concludes by stating that God concedes the point and agrees with Moshe's assessment. This aggadah is puzzling for several reasons: why would God have wanted to create such an insurmountable temptation? And on what basis might God subsequently retreat from His initial position?

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed that relates to Ki Tisa addresses these points as well as the broader question of when and how a prophet can argue with God.

At the start of his commentary on the episode of the akeidah, Ramban examines the concept of nisayon, a test specifically designed and delivered to an individual. He explains that when God sees a person's latent potential for spiritual growth, He will supply that person with a challenge in order to actualise this potential. For that reason, writes Ramban, God will design a nisayon that He knows the individual can succeed in overcoming.

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

Another conversation between God and Moshe, this time recorded explicitly in the Torah's text, further indicates their sharply contrasting approaches to the difficult trade-off between refining the nation's upper echelons on the one hand, and catering for its weaker members on the other. After Moshe is dispatched from the summit of Mount Sinai to witness the Golden Calf debacle, God proposes to annihilate the unworthy nation and develop a new chosen people from Moshe's descendants. Moshe emphatically rejects this suggestion, and once again we see God acceding to Moshe's position. Rather than eliminating the sinful nation, God instead replaces His direct hashgachahwith that of an angel, thereby diminishing the level of shechinah and hashgachahto a level that the entire nation could endure.

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

"When Israel worshipped the golden calf, the Levites refused to participate … And when Moshe told them to gird themselves with swords, what did they do? They took their swords and showed no favouritism…God tested them and they stood up to His test … As a result Hashem chose them (to serve in the Beit Hamikdash) as it says, "God tests the righteous one …"

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

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

In modern times, a similar debate has emerged over the primary objective of Jewish education. Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler contrasted the approach adopted by the Torah im derech eretz system of Rabbi S. R. Hirsch in Germany with that of the Lithuanian yeshivas. Rav Dessler comments that the choice of the 'Frankfurt school system' to teach secular subjects and approve of university education made its Judaism far more palatable to its devotees, with the result that the vast majority of them opted for a life of dedicated Torah observance.

In contrast to this, the Lithuanian yeshivas concentrated their students' energies and desires exclusively on studying Torah. These great Torah academies, writes Rav Dessler, produced outstanding Torah leaders and a yeshiva system which flourishes to this very day, but at significant detriment to the lives (and religious observance) of those who were unable to deal with the extreme lifestyle it demanded. The yekkish communities designed by Rav Hirsch, by contrast, largely failed to build great yeshivot or Torah leaders, leading to a situation which has seen their stable and observant youngsters being subsumed into the Lithuanian yeshiva world and adopted its values.

First posted to Facebook 13 February 2022, here.

Purposes and pitfalls of repeated rituals

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed which relates to parashat Tetzaveh exploresa number of activities, such as lighting the menorah and daily korbanot, with which the daily Mishkan workload was scheduled to start and conclude. Several of these activities attract the description 'tamid', which means ‘constant’; a term which sits uncomfortably with the reality that these activities were performed only once or twice a day, in the morning and evening. This difficulty is highlighted by the observation of Rashi, at the start of our parashah, that regular daily events can attract the term tamideven if they are not continuous. Why should this be?

One explanation of Rashi's statement is that the use of the term tamid to describe regular but non-constant activities provides us with a fundamental insight into how the dynamics of these cyclical events are viewed from the Torah's perspective. The opening and closing ceremonies of the Mishkan’s daily routine were not intended merely to supply an element of solemnity or grandeur. Rather, they contextualise and grant legitimacy to everything that happens during the span of time that passes between them. By validating the various offerings that were brought throughout the day, the opening and closing activities can be seen to exert a constant influence and thereby justify the Torah's description of them as tamid.

The burnt Tamid offerings, which open and close the daily sacrifices, are explained by Rabbi S. R. Hirsch as representing Judaism's delicate balance between the interests of the nation and the individual. In order for an individual's private korban to be valid, it must be offered in the time-space between these two public Temidim. This symbolises that, while Judaism provides space for individual expressions of worship, such expressions must acknowledge and respect the boundaries set by the Community.

R’ Hirsch cites Talmudic sources which describe how the Sadducees could not accept the public spirit of the Tamid offering, leading them to reject the notion that it is an obligatory national offering. The Sadducees, he continues, maintained that Jews can connect themselves to God only through the written letter of the Torah which is equally accessible to all, and that each individual is empowered to interpret and reject aspects of the Torah as he sees fit. This approach was mirrored by their rejection of the entire concept that halachah, as determined by the Sages, could regulate the efforts of an individual who is seeking to draw close to God through a korban.

Even though the Temidim were offered only twice daily, the description of 'constant' was thus justified by the crucial context they provided for all of the intervening private korbanot. The principle that the subjective religious expression of individuals must accord with the values of the Nation of God, to whom the Torah and its teachings were entrusted.

The menorah's light is understood in both midrashic and kabbalistic literature to represent the 'illumination' provided by the Torah's wisdom. Through the daily kindling of the Menorah, the Torah emphasises that the korban rituals are beneficial only when they are performed in a way that is consistent with the Torah's spirit and teachings.

Rituals, when practised without a proper understanding of their meaning and significance, have an unfortunate tendency to be stripped of their profound spiritual meaning. While it is true that the performance of all mitzvotis enhanced through a deeper understanding of their underlying meaning, awareness of the purpose and function of korbanot is particularly crucial. This is seen from the fact that manner of offering korbanot was repeatedly singled out for criticism by the prophets, who protested that the korban was being reduced to a superstitious ritual that was merely intended to appease God and persuade Him to ignore their sins. In view of this very real risk – that the korban may ultimately distance people from God rather than drawing them close - we can understand why the daily Mishkan service required the constant influence of the Menorah’s light to provide an essential context. An ongoing illuminating reminder for the entire sacrificial service.

The chapter proceeds to discuss the concept of ‘tamid’as it applies to other concepts in Judaism including the ‘constant commandments’ (mitzvot temidiyot), the obligation of Torah study and God’s ‘constant’ renewal of the world.

First posted on Facebook 5 March 2020, here.

A tenuous tale of two Tabernacles

By Daniel Abraham and Shmuli Phillips

After several weeks of lengthy elaborations on details of Mishkan construction, one could be forgiven for assuming that all details of God’s desert residence had now been unambiguously resolved. This is certainly not the case however according to Dr. Jaeyoung Jeon, a senior researcher at the University of Lausanne's Institute for Biblical Studies, writing on TheTorah.com (here). Dr. Jeon claims that two free-standing tales of tabernacle-tents can be identified in the Torah: a priestly version focused on rituals and sacrifices, and the Tent of Meeting at which Moshe received divine communications.

According to Dr. Jeon the distinguishing features of the priestly tent, whose construction was a national project, include its elaborate and intricate design as well as its central location for national sacrifice. Moshe’s tent, by contrast, was a simple tent pitched by Moshe alone at the edge of the camp. Instead of sacrificial ritual, Moshe’s tent was a place of prophetic encounter at which God communicated with Moshe and, by extension, the nation that he led. While the ‘’priestly tent’’ is depicted as a permanent resting place for God’s Presence, God must ‘’descend’’ in a pillar of cloud to appear at Moshe’s abode.

Most importantly, writes Dr. Jeon, the Torah’s accounts of events at ‘’Moshe’s tent” do not directly relate to their surrounding narratives. This, he claims, is evidence that the verses containing those accounts were later additions to the Torah’s text by an anti-priesthood school of scribes looking to challenge priestly control of religion in the early second Temple era.

Setting aside the author’s far-fetched claims of inter-scribal strife, this article on TheTorah.com is a perfect exhibit of the extent to which many academic source-critics are prepared to ignore far simpler ways of resolving the text internally. Rather than seeking to read and understand the text in its own terms, they let their pre-conceived (and often academically disputed) hypotheses propel them towards the creation of convoluted contradictions that compel them to carve up verses and passages to fit their arguments.

There are two obvious flaws in Dr. Jeon’s thesis. First of all, it ignores a verse (Exodus 38:8) in which both tents are described:

“And he made the washstand of copper and its base of copper from the mirrors of the women who had set up the legions, who congregated at the entrance of the tent of meeting”.

Which group of scribes, according to Dr. Jeon’s hypothesis, might have been responsible for referencing Moshe’s tent in the context of the construction of the priestly tabernacle?

Furthermore, while Dr. Jeon claims that “Exodus 33 is not directly related to the Golden Calf episode which it ostensibly continues”, an overview of the dynamics surrounding God’s communications with Moshe in the desert shows that the moving of Moshe’s tent plays an integral part in the narrative surrounding the construction of the Tabernacle.

In the initial months following the Israelites’ Exodus from Egypt, none of God’s communications with Moshe appear to relate to any particular area or tent within the camp. It is only in the aftermath of the sin of the Golden Calf that God warns (Exodus 33:3) “I will not go up in your midst since you are a stiff necked people, lest I destroy you on the way”. Immediately following God’s disclosure that He will no longer be entering the camp “Moshe took the tent and pitched it for himself outside the camp, distancing [it] from the camp, and he called it the tent of meeting, and it would be that anyone seeking the Lord would go out to the tent of meeting, which was outside the camp”.

Thus Moshe’s pitching of his tent outside the camp is a direct reaction to the fall-out from the Golden Calf sin. Moshe then prays that God will once again enter the camp and be amongst the people – a prayer that God appears to accept (33:15-17).

It is only months later however – in the second year following the Exodus – that the Tabernacle is constructed and God is once again willing to “reside” in the midst of the camp and communicate with Moshe there:

“And they shall make Me a sanctuary and I will dwell in their midst.” [Exodus 25:8]

“I will arrange My meetings with you there, and I will speak with you from atop the ark cover from between the two cherubim that are upon the Ark of the Testimony, all that I will command you unto the children of Israel.” [Exodus 25:22]

And immediately following the Tabernacle’s inauguration ceremony:

“When Moses would come into the Tent of Meeting to speak with Him, he would hear the voice speaking to him from between the two cherubim above the covering which was over the Ark of Testimony, and He spoke to him.” [Numbers 7:89]

From this point onwards, Moshe no longer appears to have a personal tent of any significance. The proposed distinctions between “Moshe’s tent” and the “Priestly tent” by Dr. Jeon become ever weaker and ignore considerable counter-indications from within the text itself that there is one single tabernacle where all these events take place.

Crucially it is Moshe alone and unaided who finally erects the “Priestly tent” in the closing sections of Exodus 40, and it is also Moshe who performs a high proportion of the sacrifices at its inauguration ceremony. This is a strong challenge to any hypothesis that seeks to identify Moshe and his tent as representing “lay leaders” in opposition to the exclusive and elite priestly caste.

While it is true that certain events highlighted by Dr. Jeon (Miriam and Aharon’s rebuke, the appointment of 70 elders, and the appointment of Yehoshua) do describe God descending or appearing in a cloud, this does not contradict the notion that God’s presence was ever-present in the Tabernacle. As the verses (above and elsewhere) make clear, God’s Presence resided within the Holy of Holies “between the two cherubim above the covering which was over the Ark of Testimony”. The events in which God descended in a cloud however took place at the “entrance of the tent” or “surrounding the tent” – which were not the regular places for prophetic communication.

A careful reading of the text also demonstrates that these events at “Moshe’s tent” are not described as taking place outside the Israelite encampment as Dr. Jeon claims. When the Torah seeks to signify people exiting the entire encampment it employs the phrase “יצא אל/מחוץ למחנה” as can be seen repeatedly in Leviticus 13-14, Numbers 5, 15, and regarding Miriam’s leprosy in Numbers 12). This too is the phrase used to describe Moshe removing his tent from the camp in the aftermath of the sin of the Golden Calf in Exodus 33. This phraseology is to be contrasted with the language used in the episode of the 70 elders and God’s rebuke of Aharon and Miriam (Numbers 11 and 12) where they are described merely as “יצאו”, going out to the tent, while Eldad and Meidad remain in the camp. This terminology indicates, as Ibn Ezra writes, that the people are being described as leaving the main Israelite camp and entering the area of the Mishkan (Machane Shekhinah) rather than departing from the entire encampment.

It is not merely the text of the Torah itself that invalidates the theory of Dr. Jeon. His claims that the verses describing Moshe’s tent are very late additions are disputed from within academic source criticism too. Rival biblical scholars theorise that the supposed "E" [Elohist] source is the one of the oldest sources—preceding other parts of the Torah by hundreds of years. Additionally, a further group of scholars argue that there never was an independent "E" source at all. Yet other scholars, such as Gary Rendsburg, are of the opinion that all narrative portions of the Pentateuch are from a single author, which would undermine Dr. Jeon’s claims.

In short, what we see here is scholarly willingness to ignore the simple flow of the narrative in Exodus 33 in order to isolate the descriptions of Moshe’s tent from the surrounding narrative and frame the passage as a contradiction between texts authored by rival scribal groups. Rather than examine possible ways of understanding the text that avoid claims of contradiction, the author ignores inconvenient verses that challenge his ideas and proceeds to construct outlandish theories, unsupported by evidence or credibility, which relate these verses to supposed power-struggles in the early second temple era.

First posted on Facebook 14 March 2021, here.

What was the mysticism of the Talmudic sages?

This week’s daf yomi curriculum covers the second chapter of Chagigah – a chapter which lies at the epicentre of rabbinic mysticism. Jewish mysticism is strongly associated in popular thought with kabbalistic texts, innumerable combinations of God’s names, attempts to manipulate the world by use of such names, amulets and secretive rites. This week provides an opportunity to pause and reflect on what the Talmudic tradition – itself an interpretation of earlier prophetic texts – has to say about Jewish mysticism.

What then is contained in what the Talmud labels “mysteries of the Torah”?

The first point to recognise is that these mysteries are almost exclusively focused on the content of Maasei Bereishit and Merkava – the biblical passages relating God’s creation of the world and the dynamics of the heavenly forces, which probe the elusive interface between the physical and spiritual domains. Rather than secretive rites and complex combinations of divine names and force-fields of spiritual energy, we read of great individuals meditating and attempting to grow their knowledge in the orchard of “Pardes” (incidentally, Pardes – a Persian loan-word related to paradise – had not yet been construed to refer to multiple secret meanings of the Torah’s text).

A second point, which is particularly striking to the modern Jew whose bookshelves, shiurim and even social media feed is frequently trespassed upon by claimed divine secrets, kabbalistic charms, and influential passages to recite, is that true Jewish mysticism is the subject of a strict prohibition. It can only be transmitted to specifically qualified individuals, and even then only its “chapter headings” may be disclosed.

In the first section of Moreh Nevuchim, Rambam offers guidance to those seeking to relate to a metaphysical God but find themselves constrained by the limitations of human language and thought categories which naturally relate to the physical realm. He teaches that the process of improving one’s comprehension of God involves a lengthy training of the mind to negate the physicality introduced by human language. By doing this, one gradually enables the mind to transcend the limitations of human thought which otherwise anchor the mind in physicality and cause a person to perceive God through the lens of human attributes and activity.

It is sometimes wrongly claimed that Rambam’s negative theology effectively prevents any meaningful relationship with God and largely removes Him from the religious experience. As discussed in a previous post however (linked below), Rambam understands that true Jewish mysticism begins where negative theology leaves off. Having trained the mind to relate to God in a proper manner, one is ready to begin one’s journey into the “Pardes” of meditating upon Maaseh Bereishit and Merkava. At this stage, the mind can start to fathom and conceptualise the Creation and nature of divine interaction with the physical world.

This is the sort of mysticism which must not be communicated because –as Rabbi Jose Faur describes in his Homo Mysticus – its true content transcends human language. It cannot effectively be transmitted. Only oblique hints and chapter headings can be shared by the initiated (and Chagigah dwells upon Tannaitic masters examining their students to see if they are ready to start exploring these areas of the Torah).

Finally, Rambam’s own interpretation of the Ma’aseh Merkavah, apparently through the lens of Aristotelian metaphysics is the subject of pointed comments and criticism. As I argue in Judaism Reclaimed, however, insufficient attention is paid to his introductory comments, where he expresses extreme caution concerning his approach:

“regarding these matters I followed conjecture and supposition; no divine revelation has come to me to teach me that the intention in the matter in question is such and such, nor did I receive what I believe in these matters from a teacher … it is possible that they are different and something else is intended.”

It would seem that Rambam was engaging in a genuine attempt to fathom and give meaning to these texts in the spirit of the prevailing ideas of his era. He was approaching this task with humility and trepidation, well aware of the possibility that his interpretations, and the premises upon which they were based, may not represent the true meaning of God’s word. Perhaps most significantly, he was not claiming his understanding to represent any secret transmitted code. In the spirit of negative theology, it may be far easier to assert what Jewish mysticism is not than what it genuinely does consist of.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/JudaismReclaimed/permalink/2945031085726048/

First posted to Facebook 23 February 2022, here.

Those who live by the sword: the ideology of Amalek

The shocking news coming out of Ukraine in recent days has prompted me to bring forward a post that I had been planning for parashat Zachor, when we recall the need to stamp out any memory of Amalek and their ideology. How does the commandment to wipe out the memory of Amalek present itself in the current era?

Judaism Reclaimed approaches the subject mindful of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik’s teaching in Kol Dodi Dofek, that the Torah’s treatment of Amalek refers not only to those biologically descended from the nation which attacked the Jews in the desert. It also encompasses an ideology of evil. While the command to destroy individuals from that nation has not been practically applicable for most of Jewish history, there remains a powerful principle to confront and “blot out” the evil ideology that Amalek represented.

In terms of defining what Amalek’s beliefs consisted off, we turn to the comments of Rabbi S. R. Hirsch:

“Amalek alone did not fear God. Amalek alone was heir to that spirit that chooses the sword as its lot, seeks renown in laurels of blood, and strives to realise the ambition of “Let us make for ourselves a name” with which Nimrod began world history. This ambition is realised by destroying the welfare of nations and the happiness of men.

This seeking renown by the force of arms is the first and last enemy of human happiness and Divine Kingship on earth…Amalek’s glory-seeking sword knows no rest as long as one free man’s heart keeps beating and pays no homage to it; as long as one modest abode and happy home remains standing whose residents do not tremble before its might.”

Judaism Reclaimed discusses a more recent example of how this Amalekite ideology has presented itself in more recent times.

Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf drew heavily upon Nietzsche’s theory of a ‘master race’ (ubermensch) whose rightful ‘heroic’ status was being compromised by the ‘slave morality’ of those who idealise acts of kindness and mercy towards others (identified as Jews and those influenced by ‘Jewish morality’). Hitler built further upon Nietzsche’s principle, identifying Germans as a frustrated Aryan master race which, possessed with master morality, would dominate the world. It was, he claimed, the Jews’ perpetuation of the slave morality to serve the weak (spread via the church, democracy and western civilization) that compromised the master race’s entitlement to dominate humanity.

The politicisation of this appropriation of Nietzsche’s philosophy earmarked the Jews as the primary enemy of Nazi Germany, and as a target for elimination in a warped attempt to influence Darwinian natural selection. Hitler’s political theory of the entitlement of the powerful to dominate the weak strongly resembles the ideology attributed by Rav Hirsch to Amalek and why Amalek is deemed an eternal ideological opponent of the Jews.

These are important ideas to keep in mind as we monitor current world events and contemplate the commandment to blot of the memory of Amalek that we read in a couple of weeks.

First posted to Facebook 27 February 2022, here.