Torah, science and coping with the limits of our 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 semichahprogrammes.

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 tumahand 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 mitzvotchampioned 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 halachahto 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, before questioning the accuracy of the much-touted clashes between 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 Rabbi Jonathan Sacks.

First posted on Facebook 24 September 2019, here.

Rosh Hashanah prayer: is God listening?

As we ready ourselves for the upcoming Rosh Hashanah shul-marathon, it is striking how much the Jewish new year is characterised and dominated by prayer. Yet when we set aside the haunting traditional melodies and important communal aspects of the Rosh Hashanah services, the concept of praying to God is one that many people seem to find challenging.

There are two primary problems that people sometimes have with prayer. The first is from a rationalist perspective: Why do I need to pray? Does God not know what I want and need better than I do? Am I seeking to change God’s mind? Cause a Perfect Being to alter His plans?

Various rational responses have been developed in response to these sorts of questions. Judaism Reclaimed examines those of Rabbi S. R. Hirsch and Rambam.

R’ Hirsch notes that the Hebrew term to pray lehitpallel is in the reflexive form, meaning that it focuses inwards as an action performed for oneself. He continues that the focus of communal prayer from a fixed prayer-book liturgy is primarily intended:

to infuse oneself with Divine ideas. Jewish prayer is not an outpouring from within oneself; rather it means infusing the heart with truths that come from outside of oneself. If prayer were merely an expression of what the heart already feels, prescribed prayer…at fixed times would be absurd. For such prayer would assume that certain emotions could be present on demand at predetermined times. Instead, “hitpallel” means to steep oneself with lasting, eternal truths because they are likely to fade away from one’s consciousness.

This view sees prayer primarily as an educational tool which serves to guide one’s thoughts and perspective towards a more elevated religious viewpoint. In the specific context of Rosh Hashanah, it would mean starting the year with a two-day humble meditation on what it means to “appoint God as king”, and appreciating both the individual and communal responsibilities that arise from such a realisation when planning our year ahead.

A second rational approach to prayer emerges from Judaism Reclaimed’s analysis of Rambam’s approach to prayer. Without entering into specifics concerning his theory of providence, Rambam views all aspects of the world as being governed by hashgacha klalit – the natural order that runs according to His wisdom from the time of Creation. Only the human being, out of the entire creation, possess the Tzelem Elokim “image of God” which grants it the potential to refine and perfect its character and intellect – a process through which we can form a relationship with God and thus be worthy of individual providence. This lofty goal can only be achieved gradually and represents a lifetime’s work.

A key function of prayer, according to Rambam’s understanding, is helping human beings form, maintain and improve this relationship with God. He advises in the third section of Guide to the Perplexed:

Know that the intended function of all of these acts of worship such as reading from the Law and prayer and performing other commandments is only to train one to be involved in the commands of God and to free oneself from worldly matters …You should empty your thoughts of all matters when you read the Shema and pray

Prayer provides a crucial (and regular) opportunity for people to unburden their minds and transcend the stresses and strains that tie them down in day-to-day life. Instead they are able to focus their mind on their relationship with God and see their life in that context. A relationship which, in its own right, is understood to enhance the providential input one can expect to receive in one’s life.

A second aspect of prayer that people sometimes struggle with is the difficulty in not knowing how a prayer has been received. Has the prayer been answered? How do I even know if God is taking any notice?

While the rationalist templates of Rambam and R’ Hirsch that we have described offer some degree of function of prayer regardless of how it received, this remains quite distant from the popular idea of prayer with which most people are likely to be entering shul later this week.

This suggests that there remains a further function of prayer. The biblical template in which key characters such as Hannah – who we read of over Rosh Hashanah – cry out to God in pain for many years, pouring out their heartfelt troubles in prayer. Hannah’s prayer, which is a prototype upon which Jewish law has constructed various features of contemporary prayer, reaches beyond our limited rationalisations of the utility of prayer and how we believe a Perfect Being is able to relate to us.

Rambam places great emphasis upon the fact that we cannot fathom the very nature of God’s knowledge, and deems His providential interactions with the physical world to be one of the secrets of the Torah. While Rambam emphasises that the primary function of prayer is its role in strengthening the crucial relationship between God and humanity, he also considers it to be critically important that the nation cry out in prayer to God over any calamity which befalls them.

In conclusion, I would suggest that the optimum approach to prayer integrates all of these different components and approaches. The primal cry out to God – the inexpressibly powerful feelings represented by the Shofar’s cry – represents the most basic biblical features of emptying one’s soul to God. But our prayers should not be limited to our personal feeling that God is responding by providing what we perceive to be our needs. And our assessment of prayer’s utility should not be entirely dependent on its ability to satisfy us emotionally.

To this end we must bear in mind the approaches of Rambam and R’ Hirsch that the very act of standing before God and praying reinforces important religious principles within our consciousness, and allows us to maintain and strengthen our relationship with God for the upcoming year.

I would like to take this opportunity to wish all the readers of this group a Shana Tova – a wonderful happy and healthy new year in which all their prayers are answered, and in which their relationship with God is meaningfully and profoundly developed.

First posted to Facebook 5 September 2021, here.

Rosh Hashanah: how new is the Jewish New Year?

By Daniel Abraham and Shmuli Phillips

The holiday season which spans Rosh Hashanah through Simchat Torah lies at the heart of modern Judaism. Various scholarly critiques have attempted to portray these celebrations as post-biblical rabbinic innovations. Last year this group featured a response (based on an essay in Judaism Reclaimed), to claims that Sukkot was never celebrated in the first Temple era (linked in comments).

This post addresses an article from Project TABS which claims that Rosh Hashanah – featuring shofar- blowing and divine judgement – has no basis in the Torah and was not observed as the Jewish New Year until the late second Temple period. As with several articles that we have previously analysed from the thetorah .com website, we demonstrate that this claim (attributed to “Project TABS Editors”) can be effectively countered both from archaeological discoveries and biblical sources.

Archaeological Sources

Starting with the archaeological evidence for Jewish observance of Rosh Hashanah as a new year and day of judgment, an Egyptian papyrus from the mid-4th century BCE (known as Papyrus Amherst 63) contains three prayers that originated in the Kingdom of Israel before the fall of Samaria in 722 BCE. This papyrus provides a valuable insight into the beliefs and practices of the early Israelites, describing a day of the New Moon on which there is a solemn banquet for the God during which He determines destinies for the year to come. The prayers also focus on the theme of appointing God as King and celebrate God’s kingship over all other gods. In combination, these various elements point to a New Year’s festival— which scholars understand to be evidence of the historicity of the early Jewish celebration of Rosh Hashanah (read more about the papyrus here).

A second piece of archaeological evidence points to Tishrei as the time of the Jewish new year. A small clay tablet was found during the archaeological excavations of Tel Gezer, an important biblical city in central Israel. Bearing a Hebrew inscription from the mid-First Temple period, the tablet (known as the Gezer Calendar) is currently on display at the Istanbul Museum of Archaeology. Not only does it clearly place Tishrei at the start of the Jewish calendar but, fittingly, the calendar refers to the start of this agricultural year as a time of “asīf”. This is the precise term used twice by the Torah to refer to the “harvest-gathering festival” at the beginning of the new Jewish year (we will return to this shortly). More about this calendar can be read here (https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/rosh-hashanah-and-the-mystery-of-the-gezer-calendar/).

Finally, it has been convincingly argued by Edwin R. Thiele in The Mysterious Numbers of the Hebrew Kings, that the Kings of Judah counted the years of their reigns from Tishrei, suggesting that this was seen as some form of new year in the first Temple period in the Judaean kingdom too. Though this theory is not unanimously accepted, it has gained a wide acceptance among scholars.

Biblical Sources

The claim by “Project TABS Editors” that Rosh Hashanah was a post-biblical, rabbinic invention, is based on the absence of any biblical description of such a Jewish new year, coupled with a lack of reference to it in biblical accounts of Jewish first Temple history. Against the backdrop of scholarly evidence for Rosh Hashanah as a Jewish new year – a time of divine judgment and recognising God’s kingship – we will now examine some important biblical sources.

While the project TABS article is correct in noting that Rosh Hashanah is not included in the list of festivals in the book of Exodus, we do however find that both references to Sukkot in this book describe it as being celebrated at the turn of the year (23:16, 34:22). These passages in Exodus (along with Deuteronomy 16), are primarily focused on the laws of the pilgrimage to the Temple and therefore address only with laws unique to the three Pilgrimage Festivals. They nevertheless make it clear that Sukkot is celebrated at the time of the Jewish new year.

Other passages containing further laws of the festivals, which can be found in the books of Leviticus and Numbers, make explicit reference to a celebration on the first day of Tishrei as a “Yom Teruah” and “Yom Zichron Teruah”. What might be the nature and significance of such a special festive “Yom Teruah” – a celebration that, we have seen from the book of Exodus, takes place at the time of the Jewish new year?

Shortly after the Leviticus reference to the first day of Tishrei as a day of “teruah”, we find a description of a different “teruah” requirement in the Tishrei of the Jubilee Year (the “Yovel”): “You shall proclaim [with] the shofar-teruah, in the seventh month, on the tenth of the month…”. A clear connection between “teruah” and shofar blasts. And what might be the significance of Shofar blasts at the time of the Jewish new year?

The book of Psalms provides a crucial missing link here, with Psalm 98 stating:

“Blast [a word that shares the same root as teruah] with trumpets and the sound of a shofar before God the King....Before the Lord, for He has come to judge the earth; He will judge the inhabited world justly...”

We have therefore found explicit reference in the Torah to the start of Tishrei as a new year, a day of shofar blasts -- blasts which the book of Psalms connects to the theme of recognising God’s sovereignty and passing judgment over the world. This is precisely the sort of celebration that archaeological sources indicate was observed by ancient Israelites in the first Temple period.

While it is true, as the TABS article points out, that Nechemiah’s Temple dedication in Tishrei does not make mention of a Rosh Hashanah celebration (including the biblically mandated shofar blasts), this is likely to be because the passage is only describing aspects of celebration which relate explicitly to the unique dedication events of that year (as discussed by Dov Zakhjem in Nehemiah: Statesman and Sage, Maggid Press, p 158). The Nechemiah celebrations, in the context of the festival of Sukkot, are discussed here.

In conclusion, despite the superficially persuasive presentation of this attack on the authenticity of Jewish tradition, careful analysis of the biblical text in the context of available archaeological evidence demonstrates that it is deeply flawed. The concept of Rosh Hashanah as a Jewish new year in Tishrei considerably precedes the extra-biblical Second -Temple sources that the Project TABS article cites extensively. It must be questioned whether this essay from Project TABS (“Torah and Biblical Scholarship”) accurately portrays either Torah or true scholarship on this matter.

First posted on Facebook 19 September 2021, here. 

All rea

Calendar complications and second day celebrations

As I sit writing this post in Jerusalem, I imagine that a significant proportion of its eventual readers has recently emerged from “Two-day Yom Tov” – a second day of festive Sukkot celebrations and restrictions. The institution of second day Yom Tov for those living outside of Israel, which was decreed by one of the last sitting Sanhedrins, is at the heart of debates between traditionalists and modernisers of the Jewish world.

On the one hand, as a law upheld by the conclusion of the Talmud, it is regarded by traditional authorities such as Rambam as an unimpeachable decree (at least until a new Sanhedrin can be formed to rule on the matter). Its opponents however counter that the initial calendrical confusion which gave birth to the extra festive day of doubt has long ceased to be relevant. The extra day as it exists in our era represents a burden and strain on those who celebrate it, particularly when – as with Sukkot this year – it falls repeatedly on working days.

This post will not address the question of authority of Jewish courts to amend or repeal an earlier ruling – a matter I posted on recently here. Instead I will focus on a fascinating and original approach of Rabbi S. R. Hirsch to the question of second day Yom Tov and the dynamics of the Jewish calendar in general.

Initially the Court’s declaration of a New Moon contained a degree of flexibility, with months established on the basis of witness testimony of the new moon’s appearance. It was only as a result of persecution and exile that the process of witness verification was suspended by the Sanhedrin in favour of a fixed calendar.

At first glance the introduction of a formal perpetual calendar that requires neither verification nor external adjustment appears to represent modernisation and progress. Its sophisticated methods of calculation made redundant the Sanhedrin's reliance on the laborious and potentially erratic process of interrogating witnesses.

In an extensive discussion on the subject, however, R' Hirsch rejects this assertion as a fundamental misunderstanding of the function of the Jewish calendar and the religious symbolism of Rosh Chodesh, the Jewish new moon. Rosh Chodesh is sometimes portrayed as paying homage to the moon and forces of nature — a remnant of pagan practice which was recycled into Judaism and subsequently re-clothed in monotheistic terms. According to such an understanding, precise calendar calculations which can more accurately follow the lunar cycle should certainly be viewed as a positive development.

In his rejection of such as approach, R' Hirsch points to a series of Talmudic rulings (Rosh Hashanah 20-25) which challenge the notion that Rosh Chodesh is an attempt to pay tribute to the natural lunar cycle. This series of rulings teaches, for example, that even if the entire nation had witnessed the new moon on the 30th day but the Sanhedrin was unable to declare the new moon formally before nightfall, the new month would begin only on the 31st day. Perhaps most significantly, Rosh Chodesh can deliberately be declared on the 31st day even if it had been witnessed on the 30th, if such an 'incorrect' declaration would be beneficial to the nation (for example to prevent Yom Kippur and Shabbat from falling on consecutive days). What this suggests is that the process of declaring the New Moon consciously removes the Jewish calendar from the natural cycles of heavenly spheres, placing it instead under the control of human decision making. A similar analysis emerges from the Sanhedrin’s control over how to calculate the Jewish leap year, with the Court declaring and controlling the Jewish calendar often on the basis of national interests rather than strict celestial cycles.

On the basis of this explanation we can understand the significance of this commandment of sanctifying the new moon being commanded to the Jews, as a preface to their monotheistic emergence from pagan Egypt. This first commandment that the Jews received as a nation established as a matter of fundamental importance the freedom and power of God (and by extension the free will that He grants to humanity) over the heavenly spheres and natural forces worshipped by the determinist pagans. For Egyptians and other such pagans there is no concept of renewal or freedom from the almighty forces of nature.

Returning to the theme of second day Yom Tov, R' Hirsch notes that it was the same leader (Hillel the Younger) who calculated and recorded the future calendar system for the post-Sanhedrin exile who also legislated the creation of the 'two-day Yom Tov'. Beitza (4a) describes how the ruling concerning this additional festive day was maintained for Jews living outside of the land of Israel even once the adopted lunar calendar had apparently negated the need for it. R' Hirsch suggests that a reason for retaining these apparently superfluous days of festivity was to prevent the newly-regulated and precise lunar calendar from being seen as an improvement — and a more accurate way of following the natural lunar cycle. 'Second Day Yom Tov' can, to an extent, challenge this misunderstanding by demonstrating that declarations of holy days and times do not merely reflect the cycles of nature but are controlled by human thought and decision-making. In our times this idea has developed further with a dynamic halachic debate over who qualifies as a resident of Israel or the Exile for the purposes of this law.

First posted to Facebook 23 September 2021, here.

Nechemiah's Sukkot celebration: not since the times of Yehoshua bin Nun?

Nechemiah’s description of the Sukkot celebration as something that “the Children of Israel had not done so since the days of Yehoshua bin Nun,” raises profound questions. As a Gemara asks: “Is it possible that [King] David came and yet [the Jews] did not perform Sukkot until the days of Ezra?” We can add to the Gemara’s example many more righteous rulers such as Shmuel, Shlomo, Josiah and Hezekiah who were lauded by the prophets for their punctilious observance and teaching of the Torah and under whose reign it would therefore seem inexplicable for the festival of Sukkot not to have been celebrated as mandated by the Torah.

Furthermore, other biblical sources indicate widespread and enthusiastic participation in Sukkot observance. When Yeravam ben Nevat’s Northern Kingdom seceded from Judah, he “innovated a holiday in the eighth month, on the fifteenth day of the month,” in imitation of the holiday in Judah. The commentaries explain that the pilgrimage festival of Sukkot was so popular that Yeravam could not simply abolish it. Instead he had to fabricate a replacement festival a month later.

The importance of the Sukkot celebration in the Jewish calendar is also apparent from Shlomo’s consecration of the First Mikdash. With the construction work having been completed almost a year earlier, Shlomo waited until the Sukkot festival of the following year in order to dedicate the Mikdash “in the festival of the seventh month.” This delay enabled him to celebrate the dedication and the Sukkot festival in consecutive weeks with the amassed crowd of pilgrims.

The statement in Nechemiah, that the festival had not been observed since the days of Yehoshua, is addressed by Malbim, who highlights the fact that there is only one aspect of the celebration of Sukkot—dwelling in sukkot—which the text records as not having been performed since the days of Yehoshua:

[The people] made sukkot, each man on his roof, and in their courtyards, in the courtyards of the Temple of God, in the plaza of the Water Gate and in the plaza of the Gate of Ephraim. The entire congregation that returned from the captivity made sukkot and dwelt in sukkot. The children of Israel had not done so from the days of Joshua ben Nun until that day…

Noting the clear emphasis placed on the various public locations of the sukkot which the people built, Malbim draws upon halachic and Talmudic sources to propose a solution. Starting by citing the halachic ruling that it is forbidden to build a sukkah in the public domain, Malbim argues that this severely limited the practicality of widespread sukkah construction during the days of the First Mikdash. The festival of Sukkot, being one of the three pilgrimage festivals, would have required a significant proportion of those observing its laws to be away from their private property.

The inability of pilgrims and celebrants to build sukkot was exacerbated following the construction of the Beit Hamikdash by King Shlomo, which meant that the festival of Sukkot would have been observed primarily in Jerusalem. Malbim cites Tannaic sources which teach that the whole city of Jerusalem was not divided among the tribes and therefore remained public property. One result of this would have been that constructing sukkot within its walls was prohibited. Such a surprising phenomenon may have been considered acceptable in light of the Torah’s unusual presentation of the commandment to “every resident [ezrach]” to dwell in sukkot. This is understood by some commentators to mean that the mitzvah is primarily applicable to those in their own property and not to travellers.

When the Jews returned to Jerusalem at the start of the Second Commonwealth, Malbim continues, Ezra legislated a series of key religious and social enactments which included “permission to build sukkot in Jerusalem” [Tosefta, Baba Kama 6:13; see Magen Avraham, who uses this as basis for current halachah].

The first sukkot in the aftermath of this enactment revolutionized the national observance of Sukkot in Jerusalem, leading Nechemiah to list the key public areas which were now filled with private sukkot. It is in the immediate aftermath of this listing of public places—in reference to the new dimension to the celebration of the Sukkot festival—that we find the comment “The Children of Israel had not done so since the days of Yehoshua bin Nun.”

First posted on Facebook 5 October 2020, here.

Some thoughts on Part II of Rabbi Dr Joshua Berman's Ani Maamin

I posted a few months ago in great anticipation of Joshua Berman’s new work on biblical criticism, historical truth and the Thirteen Principles of Faith. The book has certainly not disappointed: the first half is a comprehensive and highly accessible summary of much of Berman’s earlier work on biblical criticism, while the second investigates the content and application of Rambam’s Thirteen Principles. Many of the ideas contained within the first half – such as the need to view the Torah through the ancient Near-Eastern eyes of its first recipients – feature prominently in Judaism Reclaimed, where I integrate a number of Berman’s ideas into my chapters which address some of the challenges to the Torah from the halls of academia. This post will therefore focus on some of the engrossing material contained within the second half of Ani Maamin.

Orthodox Judaism’s embrace of Rambam’s Thirteen Principles and the implications for those who fall foul of them have been a popular subject in recent years, particularly in light of Prof. Marc Shapiro’s provocative Limits of Orthodox Theology fifteen years ago. That work sought to demonstrate the extent of Rabbinic dispute over core elements of Rambam’s principles. Berman’s analysis builds impressively on much of this material, presenting some thought-provoking original suggestions.

Studies of fundamental Jewish beliefs will often highlight the fact that the Torah itself contains no such catechism, the implication being that these required beliefs are therefore a later innovation. Continuing the theme from the first section of his book however, Berman provides his own unique and illuminating perspective on the subject: while all of the cultures of the ancient Near East were deeply religious and held numerous beliefs, none of the mass of religious texts unearthed by archaeologists have ever produced a basic list of beliefs (or even a term which could convey such beliefs). Berman draws upon the analogy of a marriage to argue that the thought systems of such societies were an integral part of their daily life, nurtured and clarified not through abstract articulation but through lived experience. The introduction of catechism to Jewish literature, he continues, was largely a medieval response to the aggressive Christian and Muslim societies in which Jews resided. Berman uses the example of belief in Torah from Heaven to demonstrate how the various pressures brought to bear by these societies led to the Principles being framed with different emphases.

“Beliefs matter and they matter halakhically”. Berman stresses the importance underlying determination of heretical beliefs in that they can invalidate shechitah (among other things) performed by one who holds such a view. This is an important rejection of the suggestion that Rambam would have considered that debates concerning correct belief are not subject to psak(halachic resolution) since they are not of a practical halachic nature. Much of the rest of the book explores how various Rabbinic authorities have approached the task of determining the boundary between acceptable and heretical beliefs. This is no simple task since, as Berman demonstrates, Rambam’s own presentation of the Thirteen Principles (part of his Commentary on the Mishnah) is far more detailed and restrictive than their presentation in his later and more authoritative Mishneh Torah. The gulf between Rambam’s presentation of required beliefs in the Thirteen Principles and Mishneh Torah is shown to be most pronounced with regard to the eighth principle, belief in Torah from Heaven. While the Thirteen Principles state unequivocally that every word of the Torah was dictated by God to Moshe, Hilchot Teshuvah contains the looser formulation that “one who says Torah, even one verse or one word, is not from God” is a heretic.

In addressing this difficulty, Berman introduces a distinction which is central to Rambam’s understanding of the nature and transmission of the halachic system. As I develop in Judaism Reclaimedin the context of Rabbinic dispute over principles of faith, Rambam makes a key delineation between ikkarim mekubalim (core tenets of mitzvot) which, he believes, were transmitted faithfully and without dispute from Sinai, and peratim (finer details) which were left to the Rabbis of each generation to determine. Accordingly, Berman argues, the Thirteen Principles in his Commentary to the Mishna are a reflection of Rambam’s own determination from Talmudic sources that each word of the Torah was indeed dictated to Moshe. In his more abstract legal work, however, Rambam was not prepared to establish as a required belief a matter which Jewish tradition records as a disputed non-ikkar. This is because of a Tannaic opinion that the final verses of the Torah were transcribed by Yehoshuah. The existence of this opinion means that the belief in Mosaic authorship of every word in the Torah could not belong to the body of core undisputed ikkarim which were transmitted from Sinai.

While I particularly enjoyed this suggested solution for resolving the inconsistency between the Thirteen Principles and Mishneh Torah, my only slight disappointment is that the book does not develop this suggestion further. Certainly, in my reading of the subsequent chapters, this idea kept popping back into my mind. To what extent could it be used to explain the way in which later authorities – comprehensively recorded by Berman – presented their own variations of Rambam’s Principles while remaining broadly loyal to the original underlying theme? Is there perhaps a broader principle at play in which Rambam’s Commentary to the Mishnah represents more his personal interpretations while the Mishneh Torah reflects his understanding of the correct halachic determination?

This delineation between core ikkarim and peratimdetails could perhaps even illuminate Berman’s provocative closing chapter. There he convincingly argues that a key function of later fluctuating formulations of Rambam’s Principles was sociological: to serve as an effective boundary marker between loyal members and those who were straying too far from the religious community. Could it be suggested on this basis that the principles of faith consist of two interwoven categories? A combination of core ‘basic truths’, denial of which would be seen by Rambam as automatically severing one’s connection with God, and the finer rabbinically-determined details which could fulfil functions such as boundary-markers (notably, Rambam also condemns those who “separate from the ways of the community” as losing their share in the World to Come).

To conclude, Ani Maamin is a book which challenges its readers and opens up new channels of thought and exploration rather than demanding adherence to fixed conclusions. In that way it can be said to mirror its own author’s depiction of the role of Rambam’s Thirteen Principles within Jewish theology.

First posted on Facebook 25 April 2020, here.