Shemot: a theological perspective on the Holocaust and Anti-semitism

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed that relates to parashat Shemot develops an approach to an extremely sensitive area of Jewish theology: the attempt to place anti-semitic hatred and violence – and the devastation of the Holocaust – in a theological context.

Much ink has been spilled by Rabbis and scholars far greater than I on this difficult topic. In the Modern Orthodox world, Rabbis Eliezer Berkovits and Jonathan Sacks have attempted to shift the focus from God to mankind. Since God’s plan for the world requires the unfettered functioning of human free will, the argument goes, His modus operandi involves the provision of moral and spiritual guidance rather than micro-managing human affairs. Accordingly, the real question that should be asked is not “where was God during the Holocaust”, rather “where was man”? While I find this approach attractive, and adopt it more generally in my chapters concerning providence and free will (see recent post on parashat Vayeshev), it does not seem sufficient when dealing with a tragedy of such magnitude inflicted upon the entire Jewish nation. Nor does it strike me as consistent with the Torah’s attitude to significant national events. Other Rabbis have adopted a perhaps more traditional approach which sees the Holocaust as heavenly punishment for sins. This understanding is also open to fundamental questions: as many such as Primo Levi have pointed out, an assessment of victims and survivors does not appear to reveal any obvious punishment-for-sin pattern.

Judaism Reclaimed seeks to place the Holocaust, as well as the broader phenomenon of antisemitism, in a biblical context starting with the first episode of brutal national enslavement and suffering for 210 years in Egypt. Our search for a theological explanation for this bitter servitude takes us back to the brit bein habetarim. This covenant, when the enslavement was first disclosed by God, links the suffering to the concept of a “chosen nation” and the role which God intended it to fulfil. In the conversation that takes place at the time of the covenant, Avraham asks God, “Bemah eida?”: “How can I know that my descendants will be worthy of inheriting the land? That they will fulfil the daunting task of standing apart from the other nations of the world as a leading light?” God responds that Avraham’s descendants will be enslaved in a strange land. The clear implication is that this suffering holds the key to their ability to succeed as the chosen nation.

We note historical precedents for the notion that collective suffering can forge a cast-iron collective identity, and cite Rav Soloveitchik’s suggestion, in Kol Dodi Dofek, that the Jews’ experiences in the ‘’crucible’’ of Egypt formed an intense unity (or Fate Covenant) and separation from other nations. This role of the Egyptian servitude in establishing an independent Jewish identity is underscored both by the Torah’s account (which repeatedly emphasises how the plagues will distinguish Jew from Egyptian) and copious Midrashic commentary as to both the extent of this separation, and as to how it was in the merit of Jewish identity (represented by the retention of names, clothing and language) that the Jews were redeemed. This theme is followed through to the symbolism of the carefully orchestrated commandments relating to the redemption, as the emerging nation approached the daunting challenge of succeeding as a lone island of monotheism surrounded by a raging sea of paganism.

In his Beit HaLevi, Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik draws upon some of these ideas as part of his analysis of antisemitism, a seemingly illogical phenomenon which has accompanied Jews around the world throughout the centuries. Initially, he is startled by a verse from Tehillimwhich includes Egyptian oppression among the acts of kindness that God performed for the Jewish People. He then notes midrashim that connect the start of the oppression to the Jews’ attempts to conceal their Jewish identity. His great-grandson and namesake, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, elaborates on a similar theme, that a history of persecution and martyrdom has had the effect of hardening attitudes toward any form of assimilation which could challenge the distinct identity and values of the Jewish People.

According to this approach, the key to understanding both the suffering in Egypt and continued antisemitism through the ages is to view them not as a punishment but rather as God’s tool to ensure that His promise to Avraham at the brit bein habetarim would be observed. It is only as a result of unabated antisemitism, particularly severe at times of heightened assimilation, that the Jews have survived as the chosen nation, retaining the ability to carry out their holy and extremely challenging mission. This idea is given full expression in Radak’s commentary to a passage in Yechezkel in which the prophet describes God’s refusal to countenance Jewish attempts to assimilate among the nations:

But when they disobey My commands, I will strengthen the nations against them… Israel, whom I took out from the house of slavery to be my treasured nation etc., and to them a God, My eyes will be constantly on them for good and bad, as it states in the prophecy of Amos: “Only you have I known from all of the families of the world, therefore I will be attentive to all of your sins.” And if you wish to depart from My worship, I will not grant permission for this. Even though you will be many years in exile, you will never cease to be a nation before me…and with force I will reign over you, and will purify you…

Rav Meir Simchah of Dvinsk, in his Meshech Chochmah, makes a similar connection between antisemitism and the preservation of Jewish identity. Writing in the 1920s, he concludes with an ominous warning: that the assimilation of European Jewry and attitudes such as “Berlin is the new Jerusalem” would necessarily lead to a “storm” against the Jews that would serve to preserve Jewish national identity. This dark prediction was based upon his answer to the fundamental question of where God was during the brutal Egyptian servitude. The response, it would appear, is located within God’s covenant to Avraham at the brit bein habetarim.

I would like to make it clear that this post is not intended to trivialise or belittle the indescribable suffering of the Holocaust, accounts of which are prone to reduce me to a flood of tears. Nor am I fully comfortable and at peace with the conclusion that it reaches. My agenda here is merely to share my exploration of biblical and rabbinic texts for a perspective on the devastation of the Holocaust which I find theologically convincing.

First posted on Facebook 15 January 2020, here.

Maimonidean miracles: providence and the Twilight Zone

As we approach Shabbat Bereishit, the first week of the parashah cycle, Maimonideans among us would be well served to celebrate the preceding twilight – a watershed moment in Rambam’s theological calendar. A Mishnah in the 5th chapter of Avot lists ten things which were created on the eve of the first Shabbat such as the ‘mouth of the earth that swallowed Korach’ and ‘Moshe’s staff’. Rambam, like Rabbi Yehuda Halevi before him, detected within this teaching a strong traditional support for his religious philosophy:

They (the sages) did not believe in the constant renewal of God’s will, but at the beginning of creation (God) put the nature of things into the world, both the way in which things should act regularly – this is ‘nature’ – or the abnormal manner in which they should act rarely – this is a ‘miracle’. All is equal.

As Judaism Reclaimed discusses at length, the popular religious notion of a miracle – in which God is understood to alter the rules of nature – presents a challenge to Rambam’s way of comprehending the universe. In Moreh Nevuchim (2:28) Rambam sets out his theory of the laws of nature. Quoting from a passage of Tehillim which relates God’s creation of the world, Rambam highlights the verse “And He set them up to eternity…He issued a decree, which will not change” (148:6).

The consistency of the natural order is not due to any lacking on the part of God, but because “a matter which changes, changes only because of an inherent lacking”. In contrast to this, God’s “work is perfect” (Devarim 32:4) – His absolute knowledge means that He does not need to keep fiddling with and adjusting His creation. Any subsequent requirement for adapting of the rules of nature can be foreseen by Him and placed within (or alongside) the natural order.

In the subsequent chapter of the Moreh, Rambam further elaborates upon his understanding of how biblical miracles can fit within this model:

For when God created this existence and established all of its nature, He placed within their natures that all miracles too would arise at the times of the … It states: “R’ Yonatan said “God made conditions with the sea that it should split before the Israelites…R’ Yirmiyah son of Elazar said: “Not only with the sea did God make conditions, rather with all that He created in in the six days of creation… I commanded that the sea split, and that the furnace should not injure Chananya, Mishael and Azariah, and that the lions should not damage Daniel, and that the fish should vomit out Yonah.” [Bereishit Rabbah 85]. From here one can draw an analogy to all the other [miracles].

These pre-conditions which God made with all aspects of the creation facilitate the miraculous phenomena which occur throughout the Torah. By depicting them as having been created “bein hashemashot” – in the twilight zone between the week of creation and Shabbat, the sages may have been implying that these exceptional miracles are set aside from the regular predictable natural rules, but still belong within the broader creation process.

From Miracles to Providence

Rambam’s standard approach to providence focuses on an individual, who has developed his or her relationship with God, thereby being the recipient of flashes of divinely-assisted insights and intuition. This approach thereby avoids any interference with God’s natural order. Does Rambam’s theory of miracles present an additional dimension through which his understanding of Providence can assessed?

As David Hartman has noted, once it has been proposed that God built miracles into the natural world from its origin, it makes no difference, from a strictly logical perspective, whether one admits to one or a thousand such miracles. This allows us to speculate more broadly as to which of the many manifestations of providence which appear in the Torah can be explained in this manner.

One possible example of ongoing miraculous providence, that Rambam appears to actively endorse, is the national covenant of blessings and curses in which God promises the Jewish people rewards and punishment such as abundance or scarcity of rainfall. The level of rainfall and other such promises which feature in the Torah are not easily explained through Rambam’s standard providential theory of intellectual inspiration or intuition. Perhaps we can suggest therefore that they too are contained within this category of ‘miracles built into nature’ at Creation. Such a suggestion can draw support from the closing stages of Rambam’s Iggeret Techiyat Hameitim where he writes: “…we believe that the blessings which come from obedience [to God] and the maledictions from disobedience, for this nation, become a sign and a wonder”.

Can this theory be stretched even further? The discussion thus far has focused primarily on miracles on a national scale – the providential relationship based upon God’s covenant with the Jewish people. There is an indication from the closing chapters of Moreh Nevuchim that this concept of inbuilt miracles, based on God’s infinite and timeless knowledge, can also apply to the manipulation of the laws of nature on behalf of exceptional individuals. Commenting on Tehillim (91:7-8), Rambam describes the righteous person who has developed a connection with God:

If you happen to pass through a battlefield of drawn swords, you will go on your way with thousands being killed at your left hand and myriads at your right hand, no harm will be inflicted upon you … as it says: “A thousand will fall from your side, ten thousand at your right, but (the evil) will not befall you”…This person’s great providential protection is “Because he has set his exclusive love upon me, therefore I shall rescue him, for he knows My Name.” We have already explained that ‘knowing God’s name’ refers to perceiving Him. The Psalm is therefore saying: that this individual is protected because he perceives and passionately loves Me.

The sort of divine assistance being described in this passage, which depicts a person being rescued from a raging battlefield, is not easily attributed to Rambam’s standard approach to providence of heightened intellectual awareness and inspired knowledge. Might it be taken to imply that, in certain situations, God may have built miracles into Creation in order to “manipulate” laws of nature even on behalf of individuals.

This discussion leaves us with several questions:

1. Modern scientific theories of Quantum mechanics understand there to be inbuilt randomness within certain aspects of atomic behaviour. Does this modern scientific knowledge make it easier to accept (or perhaps develop) Rambam’s theory of inbuilt yet undetected providence within the laws of nature?

2. If it is indeed correct to apply Rambam’s theory of miracles more broadly so as to include possibilities of individual providence, would this necessarily be limited to exceptional people (who Rambam is describing in that passage) or could regular people also be beneficiaries of some degree of miraculous input?

3. Some scholars interpret Rambam’s comments concerning the worthy individual being rescued from a raging battlefield to mean that the person will no longer be concerned about his fate, rather than miraculously rescued. While this may be easier to reconcile with other statements of Rambam elsewhere, is this really a satisfactory reading of his words?

First posted on Facebook 30 September 2021, here.

Egyptian abominations and scholarly speculations

By Shmuli Phillips and Daniel Abraham

Parashat Vayigash features scenes of both confrontation and reconciliation between Yosef and his brothers. The warm sentiments of goodwill towards the Hebrews however, are insufficient for them to find full favour in the eyes of their Egyptian hosts. Just as we read earlier how Yosef dined apart from his brothers since “the Egyptians could not eat with the Hebrews, for that is an abomination to the Egyptians”, the brothers are now advised to settle separately from the Egyptians in the land of Goshen “since all shepherds are abominable to the Egyptians”.

But what was the cause of the Egyptians’ whole-hearted hostility towards the Hebrews? In an article published on theTorah.com, Rabbi Zev Farber and Prof. Jan Assmann claim to have unravelled the deep biblical mystery of Egyptian abominations.

According to Farber, the account of Egyptians refusing to dine alongside Hebrews is not predicated upon any ancient Egyptian practice, since historically “no record exists of any such taboo”. Rather it must have been adapted from a far later Persian-era Puritanical Code and anachronistically superimposed back onto the biblical text by its authors.

The methodological weakness of constructing such a speculative edifice on the flimsy foundations of an absence of evidence in ancient Egyptian records cannot be overstated. Biblical scholar, Kenneth Kitchen, was of the view that that "99 percent of all New Kingdom papyri are irrevocably lost”. Sir Alan Gardiner, a respected scholar of Ancient Egypt, went so far as to say that: 

“It must never be forgotten that we are dealing with a civilization thousands of years old and one of which only tiny remnants have survived. What is proudly advertised as Egyptian history is merely a collection of rags and tatters”.

In this instance, however, we do possess some evidence, with the Encyclopaedia of Ancient Egypt describing how at banquets “seating varied according to social status, with those of the highest status sitting on chairs, those slightly lower sat on stools and those lowest in rank sat on the raw floor”. It does not require a great leap of the imagination to suggest that disdained foreigners would not have been expected to dine at the table of the Egyptian Viceroy.

It should be noted that sharing of meals holds highly significant symbolic importance throughout the Torah. It demonstrated political, strategic or religious coalescence such as when pacts were formed between Yitzchak and Avimelech, Ya’akov and Lavan, Yosef’s brothers after casting him into the pit, and when Yitro joined the Jewish people in the desert (among other examples). If the Egyptians had dined together with Hebrews, this would have been an indication of shared ideological beliefs or political accord. Yet religiously and culturally, the Egyptians and Hebrews were worlds apart. A gulf attested to in a later statement of Moshe to Pharaoh significantly using the same word ‘’to’eivah’’ as the Torah employs to explain why Yosef and his brothers could not eat together:

"But Moses said [to Pharaoh], "It is improper to do that, for we will sacrifice the abomination/deity of the Egyptians to God our Lord. Will we sacrifice the abomination/deity of the Egyptians before their eyes, and they will not stone us?"

Is it readily apparent that the biblical reference to ‘’abomination’’ between Egyptians and Hebrews revolves around the religious status of the sheep which the Jews were set to sacrifice in Egypt in order to demonstrate their newfound religious and political freedom. For Egyptians, sheep enjoyed a position of great importance in their pagan pantheon – a fact that Farber and Assmann have themselves expounded upon elsewhere.

The ram-headed God Amun held pole position in the Egyptian pantheon for most of the New Kingdom, and together with Osiris, Amun-Ra is the most widely recorded of the Egyptian gods. Openly and publicly sacrificing the Paschal Lamb on Egyptian soil was an embodiment of Hebrew rejection of the pagan belief system, and an important stepping-stone on the path to monotheistic faith for which the nation was being prepared. Understood this way, sacrificing the lamb completed and complemented the Ten Plagues which went before it – which have been seen by scholars such as Professor Tom Meyer as representing a systematic dismissal of ancient Egyptian deities.

Relating the תועבת מצרים (abomination of Egypt) of the brothers’ sheep-exploiting occupation and תועבה היא למצרים (abomination to Egypt) regarding their eating arrangements to the תועבת מצרים (abomination/deity of Egypt) in the context of the Paschal Lamb offers a far more convincing and comprehensive explanation of the passage. An explanation which is thematically and linguistically consistent with other biblical passages, and which highlights why it is specifically the brothers’ occupation as shepherds – i.e. custodians of sheep – which is so offensive to the Egyptians. Further, it dispenses with the need for speculative historical somersaults and hypotheses about later biblical authorship. This in contrast to Farber’s far-fetched formulation, which supposes that Herodotus’s account, many centuries later, of ritual sensitivities related to cows can be seamlessly super-imposed on the biblical narrative of Hebrew shepherds.

First posted on Facebook 23 December 2020, here.

The rolling stones and midrashic mysteries

The chapters of Judaism Reclaimed which relate to parashat Vayeitze focus on the episode of Ya’akov’s dream of angels ascending and descending a ladder. Having attempted to explain the vision from both a mystical and a Maimonidean perspective, we turn our focus to the dramatic Midrashic subplot of the stones which, initially in competition with one another, eventually unite beneath the sleeping Ya’akov’s head.

At the start of the parashah we read how Ya’akov “took from the stones of the place and placed [it/them] at his head” (Bereishit 28:11). The primary practitioners of peshat – Ibn Ezra and Radak – detect nothing untoward, writing that Ya’akov took a single stone – the same stone which he subsequently uses as part of an offering (Bereishit 28:18). Rashi, on the other hand, cites an aggadic account which contrasts the earlier plural with subsequent singular form to teach that:

They [the stones] started quarrelling with one another. One said, “Let the righteous man lay his head on me,” and another one said, “Let him lay [his head] on me.” Immediately, the Holy One, blessed be He, made them into a single stone. This is why it is stated (verse 18):“and he took the stone [in the singular] that he had placed at his head.” [From Chullin 91b].

Maharal, who regards this aggada (and many others) as relating the profound spiritual dynamics which underpin the Torah’s text, reacts furiously to “those who pursue the simple meaning” of the Torah rather than the received aggadic traditions. Judaism Reclaimed explores the two extreme positions of Maharal and Rambam. For Maharal, midrashic interpretations are regarded as intended textual enhancements while, for Rambam, the majority of aggadot constitute a distinct body of ethical, philosophical and theological teachings, attached to the Torah’s text for the sake of convenience. This dispute is traced back to a deeper divide between the theological approaches of Maharal, who regards the Written Torah as an exhaustive compendium of all truths, and Rambam, for whom the Written Torah is regarded more as a practical guide towards religious and spiritual achievement. Rashi’s midrashic methodology is also examined in the process.

Taking a step back, we try to show that there are several distinct categories of midrash aggada. Some midrashim, such as those describing Avraham’s early years, are widely understood to be offering historical accounts, being attempts to fill in gaps in the narrative through ancient traditions. Other midrashim, strongly emphasised by Rambam, are taken to be repositories of profound ideas, which can be identified and extracted from them by sufficiently wise students. A further common category looks to use biblical characters, narratives and motifs in order to highlight and accentuate moral lessons. Judaism Reclaimed provides examples of these, and of how these various forms of aggada can be recognised and interpreted.

Modern readers may be willing to accept Rambam’s claim that certain aggadot contain esoteric material which had to be encoded in order to keep it from damaging those who would be unable to process it correctly. But what are we to make of instances in which rabbis appear to be deliberately misleading us with their fanciful aggadic depictions and by offering us ethical advice presented as historical enhancements to the narrative? Could some of our discomfort at this suggestion be due to the great gulf in culture and literary style between us and those for whom the aggadic passages were initially intended?

Rabbi Dr Joshua Berman has written extensively of the need to read biblical narratives with an awareness of the literary style of the ancient world. Might it be the case that the first aggadic readers would not have considered taking the narrative enhancements literally any more than 21st century readers imagine historical fiction to be fact?

First posted to Facebook 7 November 2021, here.

Not for the cold-hearted

Listening to the parashah being read yesterday, I was reminded of a short speech I made eight years ago at the Kiddush for our daughter, Avital, who was born in the immediate aftermath of a severe Jerusalem snowstorm. The unexpected storm left many people trapped in their homes, and much of our neighbourhood without electricity over a freezing weekend.

I noted in my speech how people’s reactions varied. Everyone was aware of the great difficulties that many in our area were experiencing. But while for some this was just an interesting discussion point, several local residents took the initiative to actively check up on the welfare of the elderly and young families, and to arrange necessary assistance where possible. (For the record I was busy desperately googling DIY home-delivery advice as the due date came and went!).

This parallels a very profound commentary on parashat Shemot that sadly tends to get overlooked. When Moshe grows up, he goes out and witnesses the brutal slavery that the Jews are being subjected to. On the words “and he saw their burden” Rashi comments “he set his eyes and heart to be troubled on account of them”. As Maharal explains, Moshe had surely been aware of the enslavement previously. It was only once he made this mental shift that he allowed himself to become moved by their desperate plight to the extent that he stood up to one of their oppressors. An act which started him on a long journey that would see him become God’s agent to lead the Jews out of Egypt.

Judaism Reclaimed explores this concept in connection with the biblical instruction to “Love one’s fellow as oneself”, a command that Rabbi Akiva labelled a “major principle of the Torah”. Rabbi S. R. Hirsch questions why treating others as one wishes to be treated oneself should be considered such a weighty religious matter. After all, a general principle of reciprocity can be found in almost all cultures and reflects not just religious but also secular humanist thought. It is a basic prerequisite for a functioning civilised society.

In response, Rav Hirsch highlights that the commandment refers to a person acquiring a particular attitude and identification with others rather than merely accepting a practical code of conduct. This concept was expanded by Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik who contrasted two very different ways of performing an act of kindness.

Regarding a normal act of kindness, he says:

“I am committed to genuinely helping a poor man, am genuinely committed to furthering his wellbeing … [M]y personality is still individual, still unique, still all-exclusive. I help out the Thou but he remains other to me.”

There is, however, a far higher and more elevated way of empathising and identifying with those who are poor and suffering so that:

“… my personality shifts from being all-exclusive to being all-inclusive. The poor man is no longer an other separate from me. In God-like fashion my helping him out becomes a way of letting him share in my existence and reality. My helping him out thus becomes an act of imitatio Dei, an act of God-like hesed in the sense that I do not simple give to him, but I identify with him”.

This second level of helping others means that kindness is no longer merely a ‘good deed’ but rather consists of a radical shift in the person’s perspective. By genuinely caring about another individual’s welfare, one ceases to think of one’s personal needs and the needs of others as distinct. The reason that Rabbi Akiva deemed that treating others as one would want to treat them is a fundamental Torah principle is that, properly performed, it radically changes a person’s entire perspective and outlook on the world. From a selfish inward-thinking path through life to a “divine” altruistic outward focus. (Judaism Reclaimed develops this idea further in order to address the conclusion of Moreh Nevuchim).

Regardless of whether our life circumstances lead us to heroism or activism, we are all capable of empathy and attempting to look at the world through the lens of others, feeling their pain as well as acknowledging it. Rashi teaches us that this shift from selfish-human to altruistic-divine perspective requires an active decision. It is not always easy to genuinely share the troubles of others – to feel pain when those around you are suffering. For this very reason, the willingness to allow oneself to be disturbed in this manner is considered “a fundamental principle of the Torah”.

First posted on Facebook 26 December 2021, here.

The Torah's perspective on rape and sexual abuse

For almost a week now, my Facebook feed has been awash with angry posts. Initial reports of rape and abuse perpetrated by prominent children’s author, Chaim Walder, drew understandable outrage. Particularly jarring in recent days though has been the response to his suicide which saw him being feted and praised by leading rabbis and communal figures. In place of clear moral leadership, condemnation and efforts to support victims of abuse, they inexplicably sought to place blame on those who had investigated and publicised his crimes. More on this at the end of the post.

In the lengthy threads I scrolled through on the topic, one claim which surfaced several times is that the Torah does not condemn or provide clear punitive measures for rapists and abusers – and that this might have contributed to the less serious response to Walder’s crimes in some rabbinic circles.

Judaism Reclaimed addresses the Torah’s attitude to rape in the broader context of whether Jewish criminal law could ever provide a practical basis for a country’s criminal law system. Even when it comes to murder, a crime for which the Torah applies a clear capital punishment, the oral tradition places so many barriers to a Sanhedrin’s guilty verdict (such as the murderer needing to receive and verbally accept a warning from witnesses) that it would have been an extremely rare occurrence. Custodial sentences are absent from Torah law. So how would the Torah itself intend for a society to function based on its own criminal law?

The answer is found in the Derashot of the Ran, where the distinct prerogatives of the Sanhedrin and the king (or government) are outlined. The role of the king is like that of a government of any country: to provide a system of justice which maintains law and order. Drawing upon Talmudic passages in Sanhedrin, Rambam teaches that the king is not bound by the Torah's strict evidential and procedural constraints; this allows him to deal with offenders whose activities lie beyond the Sanhedrin's reach. The Sanhedrin, by contrast, is concerned solely with imparting what the Ran terms 'mishpat tzedek amiti' – specific divine attitudes and lessons. For example, divine justice demands that, in order for a death penalty to be declared, there must be absolute certainty that the accused carried out the offence, and did so intentionally (hence the need to deliver a formal warning). However the practicalities of keeping law and order in society require the Sanhedrin’s system to coexist with an effective governing system.

Thus the Torah’s criminal law was never intended to operate as the sole basis for running a country. Biblical passages describe kings such as David And Solomon dispensing practical “governmental” justice, in a system which includes jail sentences to keep dangerous convicts (and pesky prophets!) off the streets.

It is against this backdrop that Judaism Reclaimed examines the Torah’s approach to rape. Aside for a fine which is payable in very specific cases, the rapist – like the perpetrator of any violent crime – must fully compensate his victim for any pain, humiliation and other losses suffered. Quite apart from these basic compensatory measures, however, which are the remit of the Sanhedrin, we must also consider the important issue of maintaining law and order by preventing dangerous and violent individuals from threatening society.

What sort of attitude and reaction to sexual violence do we find being taken by governmental bodies in the Torah?

The rape of Dinah by Chamor led to a death penalty being imposed not merely on the perpetrator but also on all apparent accessories (“shall our sister be made like a harlot?”). A further example is that of Amnon’s rape of Tamar, a crime which was avenged through Absalom’s killing of Amnon leading to a fall-out which eventually spiralled into national rebellion.

Perhaps the most powerful biblical passage when examining current events, however, is the tragic incident of pilegesh b’Give’ah — the gang-rape of a concubine— towards the end of the book of Shofetim. For readers of one of Tanakh’s most harrowing passages, the reaction of the religious and political leaders of the day offers at least a crumb of comfort: the nation unites to demand that the perpetrators be brought to justice “for they committed lewdness and disgrace in Israel”. When the men are not handed over, the other tribes rally behind Pinchas – the leading sage of the generation – to declare war on the entire tribe of Binyamin which is sheltering the abusers.

For readers of the harrowing media accounts of Walder’s crimes last week, however, no such comfort and moral clarity was provided by our rabbinic leadership. Pinchas declared war against the tribal leaders of Binyamin for refusing to hand over those who sexually abused a concubine – a woman who, it can be presumed, came from the lower strata of ancient Israelite society. Our rabbinic leaders, by contrast, have attempted to close ranks behind the reputation of a powerful abuser and declare war, instead, on his vulnerable victims.

One of the clearest and most consistent messages we are taught by our prophets is the religious and moral duty to stand up for the weakest members of our communities. Not to allow the “strangers, widows and orphans” to be abused and downtrodden by society’s most powerful members.

At a time when those who claim to speak in the name of the Torah are doing the very opposite of this, protecting the forces of evil by attempting to squash and silence their innocent victims, we are all required to speak up and protest this dangerous desecration of God’s name and give voice to those who are being greatly harmed by it.

First posted on Facebook 2 January 2022, here.