Heaven or She'ol: what sort of afterlife does the Torah envisage?

When Ya’akov is confronted with news of the apparent death of his dear son, Yosef, he reacts by tearing his clothes and refuses to be comforted, instead crying out “I will descend to Sh’eol mourning for my son”. Ya’akov’s tortured utterance offers us an opportunity to examine what sort of afterlife the Torah might have envisaged. While later Rabbinic texts feature vivid and detailed depictions of the post-mortem delights and damnations that await humans (a matter I posted about previously here), such references and what they represent in Tanach are significantly more sparse.

In this guest post, Dovid Junik, a Jewish-theology enthusiast, teases out meaning from these afterlife references, advocating in the process a biblical afterlife of judgment and justice.

Biblical view of She’ol and the Afterlife

By Dovid Junik

If there was one single question we could get the answer to, most of us would probably choose the question of afterlife: what happens to our consciousness after the demise of the body. Many beliefs have evolved around this question, and even Judaism has had a diversity of opinions on the matter and an evolution of its own sort.

While the Talmud paints a vivid picture of a Heaven with many levels, a 12-month hell for some people, and an eventual resurrection, the biblical reality is far less vivid. There are even those who question whether or not the Tanakh believed in an afterlife of justice. Most bible scholars contend that Tanakh believed in an afterlife, but quite a different one than the afterlife we imagine. The biblical afterlife is called “She’ol,” described in various scriptures as the netherworld where the people eternally abide after death. It is described as an underground chamber where the dead live a dual life mimicking this earthly experience but in a shadowy dark environment. This She’ol is discussed in Canaanite writings as well.

We will now make the case that the Torah did in fact believe in an afterlife, whether it be a physical resurrection or a spiritual world for the soul or even She’ol. Afterwards, we will argue that Torah believed in a justice system for this afterlife as well. Let’s begin with the references to an afterlife:

· Describing the death of Abraham, Isaac, Ishmael, Jacob, Aaron, Moses and various biblical kings the Torah uses the terms "and he gathered to his nation"or "to his fathers”. This term strongly implies an afterlife in which these patriarchs are united with their pre-deceased ancestors. The term cannot mean simply joining the dead bodies of their ancestors in the graveyard, for most of these people weren't buried with their ancestors.

· In the Torah, we are warned about performing witchcraft, including talking to the dead spirit, implying that there was likely a dead spirit. This was quite a familiar practice at the time.

· Samuel the prophet's soul is being contacted by a witch after his death. During his conversation with King Saul, Samuel declares "Further, the Lord will deliver the Israelites who are with you into the hands of the Philistines. Tomorrow your sons and you will be with me; and the Lord will also deliver the Israelite forces into the hands of the Philistines.” Indeed, the next day Saul and his son Jonathan joined Samuel in the world above.

· David is in the midst of comforting himself on the loss of his son; and he says:

"But now that he is dead, why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he will never come back to me.” 

Seemingly King David is comforting himself that he will one day see his deceased son.

She’ol or a justice system?

It would appear that the Torah assumes an afterlife justice system , perhaps in addition to She’ol. This justice system, where the righteous are rewarded and the wicked punished, may be a part of the She’ol experience (although other cultures believing in She’ol, at the time didn’t seem to look at it as a justice system). Ezekiel 31:18 seems to mention that there are various levels within She’ol and the unworthy are at the lowest. Alternatively, She’ol is merely describing the demise of the body whereas the soul lives on in an afterlife and is brought to justice for the good and bad it has committed. A number of verses indicate that She’ol may just be the death of the body – and not an underworld with its own consciousness. It is described alongside “death,” “pit,” and “grave.”

The scholarly consensus among bible critics is that the Torah believed in She’ol afterlife and had no justice system in mind. This notion comes from their premise that the Torah is not a divinely-inspired document and was rather the product of Canaanite culture. Here we will argue that as a divinely-inspired document, the Torah is likely to have believed in an afterlife with a justice system of some sort.

Crucially, the Torah wasn’t a product of Canaanite culture: rather it was a product of the Israelite’s sojourn in the Wilderness. Thus, the Israelites would have taken the Egyptian notion of a spiritual afterlife for granted. The Egyptians left a clear record of their religious beliefs in their hieroglyphics and they paint the vivid picture of an eternal spiritual afterlife where their god judges them for their actions in this world. The silence of Torah on the matter would be an indication that Torah believed in that same notion of afterlife.

This indication is bolstered by certain references from within the Torah’s text itself. God is regularly described in scripture as the “God of Justice” who will punish the wicked and reward the righteous. Since our earthly experience is not consistent with this description, it can be inferred that an afterlife of justice is intended.

Furthermore, the Jewish people are described as privileged to be the special Chosen Nation of God out of His love for them. But if we look at their earthly experience alone, we see the opposite to be true. The Jewish people are burdened with many additional commandments, while suffering exile and persecution for disloyalty to God. What benefit is there in being from God’s Chosen Nation, if not for there being an afterlife where the Jews are rewarded for keeping all their extra commandments and remaining faithful to God? This argument is underscored by the prophetic utterance of Bilaam who petitions God: “May I die the death of the upright, may my fate be like theirs!" – a seeming advantage possessed by the righteous in their passing.

While the extent to which these points constitute proof can be debated, I believe I have demonstrated that a strong argument can be made to support the notion of biblical belief in an afterlife of justice.

For more on this subject, including more possible biblical references to the afterlife, footnotes, and a discussion of why the Torah doesn’t explicitly discuss the afterlife, see here.

First posted on Facebook 9 December 2020, here.

A time to argue -- with God?

The closing section in the chapter of Judaism Reclaimed which relates to parashat Ki Tisa addresses a troubling theological problem as to when, if ever, it is appropriate for a prophet to argue with God. At first glance, the evidence on offer seems perplexing and contradictory. Avraham engages in a lengthy debate with God in an attempt to rescue the sinful cities of Sodom, but does not utter a single word of protest when bidden to offer his own innocent son as a sacrifice. Moshe’s petition on behalf of the Jewish people is welcomed and accepted by God in the aftermath of the Golden Calf; however, a seemingly similar petition over the Jews’ treatment at the hands of the Egyptians leads, as Rashi explains, to a divine rebuke.

A possible approach to resolving this issue may be to distinguish between scenarios in which God reveals His intentions to a prophet, apparently engaging in discussion regarding His future plans, and cases in which God issues clear-cut divine command. The negotiation between God and Avraham regarding the fate of Sodom is introduced by God stating that it would be improper to conceal His intentions from Avraham – and Avraham does not actually reject or challenge any command by taking a stand on behalf of the doomed Sodomite denizens. This can be contrasted with the passage of the Akeidah which, opens with a clear command to Avraham to take and sacrifice his son. No room remains for negotiation, and any rejection would therefore have been improper. (A later chapter of Judaism Reclaimed examines the Akeida more fully in the context of religion and morality).

The same distinction may hold true in the incidents involving Moshe. He had been given a clear divine instruction to approach Pharaoh in order to seek the Jews’ release. Moshe’s subsequent questioning of this command (albeit having already carried it out) was thus considered an exhibition of insufficient faith. Similarly in the book of Yonah, Yonah is rebuked for failing to obey God. Since God’s word came as a command, there was no room for questioning or negotiation. In the aftermath of the Golden Calf, however, God’s initial statement of “hanichah li”, with which He introduces the suggestion that He annihilate the Jewish people, can be seen as inviting a response and therefore requiring Moshe’s input. It is for this reason that Moshe’s pleading and petitioning were not seen as a sign of inadequate faith.

One particularly fascinating case study in this area is that of Noach, whom the Torah describes as having been saved from the flood on account of his righteousness and good conduct. Noach appears to have been presented with a clear instruction to construct the Ark in order to save himself, his close family and selected members of the animal kingdom; he was thus not in a position to enter into a debate with God. However, there are sources which appear to take him to task for his failure to petition on behalf of his unfortunate neighbours. The Zohar for example explains that the floodwaters are referred to as “the waters of Noach” in order to indicate his partial culpability in not attempting to intervene on behalf of his generation. Perhaps we can suggest that, even though Noach had received a command, this command consisted of a preparatory measure of building the Ark, and did not therefore necessarily preclude him from entering into a debate with God on a finalised matter.

First posted to Facebook 12 March 2020, here.

Vayakhel: why keep Shabbat?

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed which relates to Vayakhel-Pekudei focuses on the short introduction to the laws of building the Mishkan which instructs the Jews to adhere to the laws of Shabbat. Rashi notes this unexpected juxtaposition, writing that it is intended to teach that work necessary for the Mishkan's construction does not override the restrictions on work that are imposed by Shabbat. This correlation is expanded upon by Rabbi S. R. Hirsch, who suggests that they are based upon similar underlying themes. The extensive specifications for the Mishkan's building represent humanity’s mastery over the physical world. By channelling these activities into the construction of God's Mishkan, the Jewish people were dedicating their creative capabilities to God's sanctuary and the ideals it represents.

R’ Hirsch emphasises that by using the Mishkan's construction as a means to identify the 39 forbidden melachot the Torah is opposing a popular misconception that Shabbat is to be regarded primarily as a day of rest and rejuvenation from heavy work. Instead, Shabbat testifies to God's creation of the world after which He ceased, absolutely, from any further creative activity. In recognition of this fundamental tenet of Jewish faith we likewise desist from any creative activity on the seventh day. It is therefore entirely appropriate that the same group of creative activities which symbolises the subordination to God of our ability to produce and manipulate the physical world should also be used to represent our cessation from creative activities on Shabbat.

The suggestion of R' Hirsch is firmly grounded in Ramban's understanding of the reasons provided in the Ten Commandments for observing Shabbat. In the first recording of the Commandments, in Yitro, the Torah teaches that Shabbat should be observed because "God created the heaven and earth in six days and rested on the seventh". However, when Moshe later reviews the Commandments in Va'etchanan, no mention is made of recalling God's creation of the world. Instead the reason provided for Shabbat observance is to remember the servitude in Egypt, and the miraculous divine rescue. (A later chapter of Judaism Reclaimedaddresses discrepancies between the Ten Commandment passages in more detail).

Ramban explains that, far from being separate or contradictory reasons for Shabbat, the explanations offered in the two presentations of the Commandments represent different expressions of the same basic principle. The ten miraculous plagues inflicted on Egypt attested to God's absolute mastery and control over the natural, physical world, with His ability to manipulate the world at will serving to demonstrate that it is His creation. Ramban follows R’ Yehudah Halevi’s Kuzari in strongly emphasising the 'experiential relationship' that the Jewish people have with God. It is only as a result of the Jewish nation having witnessed God's control over nature that it can relate to Him as Creator. The account in Yitro relates the core principle of Shabbat being a tribute to God's creation. In the passage found in Va’etchanan, by contrast, Moshe is teaching the next generation to relate through the tradition received from their parents to the exhibition of God's mastery and, by extension, to His creation of the universe.

Rambam adopts a very different approach to the reasons offered for Shabbat in the two sets of Commandments, writing that Shabbat simultaneously fulfils two completely separate functions. In Yitro we are told "zachor" — to recall and distinguish Shabbat in recognition of God's creation of the world, whereas Va’etchananfocuses on the need to "remember that you were a slave in Egypt, and God took you out...". This commemoration, which contains the command of "shamor" (guard) the Shabbat, is understood by halachah to refer to desisting from productive activity just as God redeemed our ancestors.

Rambam's reluctance to follow Ramban in providing one overarching explanation for the reasons given for Shabbat in the Ten Commandments may arise from his fundamentally different approach to Judaism. While Ramban, like the Kuzari, rejects speculative theological theorising in favour of a personal experiential relationship with God, Rambam understands that humanity's ultimate achievement is an intellectual comprehension of God and His ways. God's creation of the world is a fact that should ideally be deduced and understood as an objective truth. The miraculous confirmation of God's absolute mastery over the physical world, witnessed by the generation of the Exodus, can neither provide nor replace such logical deductions. At best the confirmation can serve as a pointer to motivate and guide a person towards the correct logical conclusions. Unlike Ramban, therefore, Rambam does not explain the reasons of Shabbat in the second account of the Ten Commandments on the basis of Moshe reviewing the Exodus in order to emphasise the miraculous tradition.

Instead, Rambam understands that cessation from creative activity on Shabbat commemorates the redemption of the Jews from Egyptian servitude. The purpose of this commemoration is to recall the important truth that Jewish national identity was formed through and is thus irretrievably bound up with its unique status as God's chosen nation. This concept is expressed in the Friday night Kiddush: “A reminder of the going out from Egypt, that You chose us … from all the peoples”. And what better way is there for the Jews to demonstrate their new-found freedom and status as God's nation than by channelling their creative skills, honed in the service of their brutal Egyptian taskmasters, towards the lofty goal of creating a 'resting place' for God's shechinah in their midst? We can therefore appreciate, within both Ramban and Rambam's approaches, that a profound link can be traced between the process of building the Mishkan and the forbidden categories of creative activity on Shabbat.

First posted on Facebook 19 March 2020, here.

Does God rest on Shabbat? A Christian controversy

By Joey Israel and Shmuli Phillips

The Torah’s description of God resting on the seventh day is not widely regarded as presenting a theological challenge. We are comfortable with the idea, which unusually finds support across the gamut of traditional commentators, that God merely ceased from creative activity on the seventh day. Rather than imagining that we mimic God’s seventh-day siesta each week, the laws of Shabbat are understood to symbolise our recognition of God’s specific and defined creative input into the world at its inception (a matter examined from various perspectives in Judaism Reclaimed).

Several sources suggest, however, that 2000 years ago the notion of God resting on Shabbat was more keenly contested, and may even have been at the heart of early Jewish-Christian disputation.

Bereishit Rabbah (11:10) explains, from a close reading of the verse, that God’s rest on Shabbat constitutes rest only from the specific work of world-creation, and not from God’s activities as a judge of the righteous and the wicked. This is based upon the understanding that God’s rest marks the satisfactory completion of the specific process of world-creation: it is the cessation of that specific work that the rest marks. We might draw two conclusions from this:

1) God continues to engage, on Shabbat, in other types of work which are not considered part of the process of ‘creating the world’.

2) It does not necessarily follow that God would repeat his rest on a weekly basis, considering that the creation has now been satisfactorily completed.

The question of whether and to what extent God rests on Shabbat features again in our parasha of Beshalach:

In response to their complaining, the Israelites are given manna from heaven, which is initially presumed to continue each day. However, on Friday a double portion arrives. In answer to their questions the people are told:

“…This is what God has commanded: ‘Tomorrow is a day of rest, a holy Shabbat to God; bake what you want to bake and boil what you want to boil, and all that is left over put aside to be kept until morning” (16:23).

The apparent implication is that God will not be delivering manna on the following day because He himself will be resting. Bear in mind that the people, according to the plain meaning of the verses, have not as yet received any instructions regarding Shabbat. This suggests that God does in fact observe some kind of weekly rest which would preclude Him from delivering manna on the Shabbat, a suggestion which is reinforced in verses 16:25-26, where a defining feature of Shabbat seems to be the absence of God’s provision of manna.

A rabbinic view of God’s observance of the Shabbat is presented in Shemot Rabbah (30:9) which recounts a story of four famous first-century rabbis visiting Rome. The rabbis point out that, whilst man might be a hypocrite for failing to practice what he preaches, God by contrast acts in accordance with His own rules. A heretic who happens to be present questions the rabbis’ assertion by arguing that God does not observe Shabbat. The rabbis respond that this is not the case since God, whose glory fills the entire universe, cannot possibly be said to have desecrated Shabbat by carrying. Unlike humans, for whom there exist different domains between which they cannot carry, for God the whole world is His private property.

To summarise, the rabbis seem to endorse two potential positions. The first is that God does not rest entirely on Shabbat because Shabbat only constitutes His rest from creating the world but not His rest from acting within it as a judge. The second is that, given the nature of God and his relationship with the world, God’s post-creation activity in the world on Shabbat cannot constitute work.

Both of these approaches find parallels in the writings of Hellenist philosopher Philo of Alexandria, who suggests in his Allegorical Interpretation that God is forever ‘creating’ and does not rest on Shabbat as man does. This is achieved by rereading וישבת (Gen. 2:2) as ‘he causedto rest’ i.e. he made other things rest but not Himself. Elsewhere Philo suggests that, as a consequence of His vastly different nature, only God is truly able to fulfil the quality of ‘rest’ on Shabbat and festivals properly. God alone is constantly in a state of rest, considering that He is wholly unaffected by fatigue from activity.

The most striking ancient argument relating to what God does or does not do on Shabbat may be found in the New Testament, where Jesus justifies working on the Shabbat by saying “My father is still working, and I am also working”(John 5:17). Simply put, this assumes that God does not observe the Shabbat, thus aligning the evangelist’s position with that of the min (“heretic”) in Shemot Rabbah above. Notably, both the heretic and the New Testament are primarily focused on the lesser prohibition of carrying. The Gospel of John is usually assumed to have been authored between 70CE-110CE, within a decade or two of when the Rabbis named in the story of Shemot Rabbah are said to have lived. Some scholars have suggested that the term min refers to early Christians, with the insertion of “veLamalshinim” in the prayer-book an attempt to excommunicate them from the synagogue. Indeed, frustration with being excommunicated is an important theme in the Gospel of John. If this is correct it could be suggested that the heretic in our midrash who, like Jesus, claims that God ‘’works on Shabbat’’ is actually an early Christian.

The disagreement over how to interpret the biblical reference to God’s resting may reflect a deeper gulf between Jewish and Christian conceptions of God. While Judaism recognises an absolute qualitative distinction between the divine and human realm which defies any meaningful attribution of “rest” to God, Christianity conflates the divine and human identities. This conflation grants theological legitimacy to the notion that one can meaningfully compare God’s work with human activity and thus permit work on Shabbat (hence “My father is still working, and I am also working”). The rabbis’ reaction to Jesus’s claim – as recorded by John in the continuation of the passage – certainly highlights the theological significance underpinning his words:

“For this reason they tried all the more to kill him; not only was he breaking the Sabbath, but he was even calling God his own Father, making himself equal with God.” (John 5:18).

The passage in Shemot Rabbah telling of the rabbis’ debate with the ‘’heretic’’ would therefore have been addressing a highly relevant matter of profound theological significance.

First posted to Facebook 27 January 2021, here.

Zeman Bechiratenu: democracy in Jewish thought

With the latest round of Israel’s perpetual polls almost upon us, and the circus that is American democracy striking up a comical accompaniment, we may find ourselves contemplating Judaism’s perspective on democracy. One chapter of Judaism Reclaimed explores the question: Can the Torah be said to idealise any particular form of governance?

In a perceptive piece of political philosophy which reflects earlier tensions and disagreements among key commentaries, Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin (Netziv) suggests that the Torah’s perspective with regard to the practical implementation of its command to appoint a king is deliberately ambiguous. The passage containing the command to appoint a king is introduced with the following statement:

When you come to the land that Hashem your God is giving you, and you have inherited and inhabited it, and you say “I will appoint for myself a king like all the surrounding nations”. Surely appoint a king for yourself …

Netziv understands that this verse makes the mitzva conditional upon the approval and request of the nation (“and you say “I will appoint””); only under such circumstances is the Sanhedrin commanded to appoint a king. He then proceeds to evaluate different forms of societies and political climates: in some situations a monarch is necessary to unite and lead a nation, while at other times the people are unable to handle the power of a king and such appointment would be sakanat nefashot (forbidden as dangerous). For this reason, even though appointing a king is a mitzva, it is not an absolutely and permanently binding commandment, because its suitability depends on the political situation of the nation. Authority can only be centralised under a single monarch and dynasty when the people themselves seek a king, having recognised the benefits that this can bring.

The Torah’s recognition that not all societies and eras are equally suited to a strong central monarchy raises a further question as to whether the Torah actually endorses any particular political system as an ideal. It would seem to follow from the majority position among the commentaries, which regards the appointment of a king as a positive commandment, that the Torah’s favoured form of government is a monarchy. Nonetheless it is hard to ignore the strong arguments presented by Abarbanel which draw upon biblical precedent (the Jewish kings, with few exceptions, were overwhelmingly deemed as failures) and his personal experience of the vastly superior system of governance of the Italian republican city-states when compared to the monarchies of Spain and Portugal. Abarbanel goes so far as to compare the mitzva of appointing a king to the mitzvah of yefat to’ar, describing it as a concession to human weakness which must be contended with and guided.

The innovative approach of Netziv allows us to integrate the positions of both sets of Rishonim, with the majority view representing the ideal position of a worthy and righteous king, working in conjunction with a prophet in order to advance the religious, economic and security interests of the nation. A number of Jewish kings (for instance David, Yehoshaphat, Asa, Yoshiyahu and Chizkiya) stand out for their record of uniting the nation behind strong religious programmes and upholding justice. It is hard to imagine that the national repentance drives of Yoshiyahu or Chizkiya would have been so effective had they not been established and managed by the strong authority of the king. And it is unlikely that the achievements of Shlomo’s earlier years on the throne, in which knowledge of God became widespread among the Jewish people and spread to neighbouring countries, could have occurred in the weak federal system that had existed at the time of the Judges. Indeed, the lack of a monarch is blamed several times in the penultimate chapter of the book of Shofetim for the calamitous social, religious and political failings of the era such as the Pilegesh beGivah and the ensuing civil war.

While recognising that the Torah does appear to endorse monarchy as an ideal, practicality and pragmatism demand that we heed the cautionary words of Abarbanel and Seforno, who highlight the pitfalls of centralising absolute power within a monarchy. Just as Netziv points out that not all communities and nations are suited to the imposition of a kingship, we too can comment that not all kings are worthy recipients for absolute authority over nations.

We may be led to conclude that, despite the Torah’s apparent preference for a strong monarchy as an ideal, we are certainly not bound to seek a return of such an institution in an era in which dictatorships are overwhelmingly synonymous with oppression, and when there is no prophecy to guide the appointment of a king and his subsequent conduct. In the final chapters of Hilchot Melachim, Rambam describes how the righteous Messianic king will unite the people of the world around God’s truths and goals, and the Jewish people will then fully be able to realise its mission as a ‘light unto the nations’. Until then, we are left with the advice of Winston Churchill, who stated that “democracy is the worst form of government, except for all the others” – a truism that some current politicians seem intent on pushing to its outermost limits.

(The chapter proceeds to analyse and provide examples of fundamental distinctions between the Torah’s conception of monarchy, which must function within the Jewish legal system and under prophetic instruction, and the absolute monarchies of surrounding ancient countries which routinely enslaved and oppressed their subjects).

First posted on Facebook 29 February 2020, here.