Hakirah: investigating a journal

At the end of this post there's a link to my Facebook page from which you can access my response essay published in the most recent edition of the Hakirah journal. Their previous volume featured a highly disappointing critique of one of the later chapters (or more accurately half-chapters) of Talmud Reclaimed on the subject of the contrasting halachic methodology of the Geonim and Sephardi and Ashkenazi Rishonim. It is unfortunate that they chose not to show me the critique before publishing which would have allowed me to highlight its severe shortcomings.

First, it was clear that the reviewer had not read much of the relevant Talmud Reclaimed chapter, since he raised questions which were comprehensively addressed at the chapter’s conclusion. Secondly, while using some very strong and sarcastic language to dismiss the theory that I advanced, his critique entirely ignored the primary sources which I cited in support. Highly accepted and mainstream figures such as Rabbi Yosef Karo, Migdal Oz, Yad Malakhi, the Maharshal and Netziv all made similar points about the respective methodologies of Sepharad and Ashkenaz. They were all cited alongside academic scholars in my chapter; not a single one of these sources was addressed by the reviewer who nevertheless proceeded to accuse me of attempting to “reclaim the Talmud from its interpreters of the last eight hundred years”.

My essay is attached – I hope that members of this group enjoy reading it. It includes excerpts from a very supportive email that Professor Robert Brody, an expert in the field, wrote to me after reading the review.

I have just discovered that Hakirah chose to print another response to my essay alongside what I wrote. I have asked them for a copy of this new response and look forward to the chance to read it when they have the opportunity to send it to me.

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Grief, joy and the agony of absence

The Torah as an eternal treasure and guidebook of the Jewish people has constantly demonstrated its ability to offer new inspiration and wisdom as it is reread in each generation. As we enter a highly-charged period of weeks (and perhaps months) in which our nation will experience a complex cocktail of conflicting emotions – joy, grief, fear and frustration – I sat down to review a particularly poignant passage of the Torah with a new perspective. A perspective from the last 15 months in which hundreds of faces of people who had previously been strangers now plaster public areas and inhabit the deepest recesses of our minds; whose families’ unbearable pain and suffering is never far from our thoughts even when we temporarily turn our minds to other mundane matters.

In the opening weeks of the war I attended a gathering at the Kotel of shell-shocked hostage families where we prayed and cried together and tried to find words of support to somehow strengthen those vacant faces suffering unimaginable pain. Pain, and anguish which many of those who I stood with that day have now been suffering for well over a year.

In recent weeks we read once again the episode of Yosef’s 17-year disappearance, the unending grief of an inconsolable Ya’akov and, finally, the tear-filled reunion in Egypt. Having been informed of his son’s disappearance we are told that Ya’akov refused to be comforted; in Rashi’s telling he had a strong intuition that his son was still alive – somewhere – with no idea how or where he was being held, lacking any notion of how to begin to search for him. Unable to grieve or move on with his life, Ya’akov is stuck in a never-ending hell. Barely believing he would see his beloved son again – as he later tells him: “to see your face I never considered possible” – yet unable to set his mind on anything else.

When Ya’akov was eventually informed that his son is alive and that he will reunite with him, his heart skipped a beat in this moment of overwhelming emotion and his “spirit lived again”. Yet a careful reading of the text reveals that he was forever scarred by the experience.

Pharaoh is clearly impacted by Ya’akov’s age and appearance asking him “how many are the days of the years of your life?”. Ya’akov replies “few and bad have been the days of the years of my dwelling”. This strange combination of words is often taken to show that righteous people utilize each and every day of their life. But I believe there is more going on here. While Pharaoh inquires of the length of Ya’akov’s “life”, Ya’akov responds that his “dwelling” has been bad. Rav S. R. Hirsch interprets this to imply that he has not fully lived for much of this time – just dwelt and existed. I would add that the “days of the years” of his life can be taken to mean that each and every day of the years of his life was a separate source of agony and suffering.

As for the moment of reunion itself, the account is both simple and profound. Reading the verses of the Torah we see Ya’akov and Yosef embracing and crying on each other’s shoulders. The overpowering emotion of the moment transcends speech or attempts to capture their thoughts and feelings in words. Digging below the surface, however, we find Rashi citing a tradition that Ya’akov “recited Keriat Shema”.

Whether or not we understand this to refer to a literal recitation of the words, I believe that it encapsulates the religious response to this overwhelming and sensitive moment. The unfathomable joy mixed with the painful realisation that they have lost so many years together – Ya’akov struggles to recognise and relate to Yosef’s new position and family. How can they even begin to understand the role and possible purpose of God in such difficult and complex times – especially while experiencing such powerful emotions. The midrash appears to be teaching the correct response – Shema represents accepting the yoke of Heaven. Accepting and pronouncing that, whether or not we can understanding why things occur or what God’s plan might be, we can have the humility and clear-headedness to recognise that there is a greater plan and a higher wisdom at play.

With such a response, Ya’akov as our forefather has embodied a fundamental example which has guided his persecuted descendants through to this very day.

This post specifically wants to avoid the complex and ongoing debate over the wisdom of the hostage deal, recognizing the very legitimate concerns over the dangers and threat that it creates – there are plenty of places on Facebook and elsewhere where this has, is and will continue to be debated.

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Dancing in the moonlight: the evolution of a simple blessing

One of the more peculiar communal rituals we regularly indulge in is the monthly Kiddush Levanah – a blessing over the new moon following which participants greet each other as long lost friends (“Shalom Aleichem!”) and then proceed to hold hands and dance slowly in a circle.

Talmud Reclaimed explores the relationship between Kabbalah and Halacha – and the different methodologies employed by legal authorities when these sources do not agree. The laws relating to Kiddush Levanah offer a perfect framework for exploring these methodologies as well as more broadly the way in which various Rishonim balance up halachic sources in order to determine Halacha.

One particular peculiarity about the law of Kiddush Levanah is that the main law itself appears to be missing from the primary halachic source: the Talmud Bavli. Instead of the expected location in Masechet Berachot, it is only a tangential passage in Sanhedrin where the latest time for reciting this blessing is debated. The primary obligation itself, as well as the earliest time for performing Kiddush Levanah do not merit a mention.

With the Bavli holding its silence, the earliest commentaries and halachic codes appear to draw upon the Yerushalmi, which places this law where it seems most suited – in the chapter of HaRo’eh among numerous other blessings recited over natural or historical phenomena:

“One who sees the moon in its renewal should say Blessed [is the God who] renews the months”.

As Talmud Reclaimed details, while the Rambam and Rif both consider the Bavli to be the more legally authoritative of the two Talmuds, this is only because it was sealed and published after its Palestinian counterpart and is thus considered to have superseded it. On occasions such as this where the Bavli is silent, the Yerushalmi’s prior teaching remains legally binding. In view of this, Rambam, Rosh, Rashi and others all rule simply that the blessing can be recited from the very first sighting of the moon (Rambam and perhaps Rashi even consider this to be the ideal time). A minority opinion of Rabbeinu Yonah requires one to wait three days – presumably in order for the moon to have sufficiently “renewed” to warrant a blessing. Yet all of this still seems very distant from the ceremony as it is customarily practiced today.

For further clarification of the popular practice we need to examine post-Talmudic sources, starting with Masechet Soferim – a work understood to have been authored in the Land of Israel during the Geonic period. Here for the first time we discover recommendations that the blessing be recited on Motzei Shabbat with due pomp and circumstance.

Characteristically, Rambam and other Rishonim who follow his strict legal methodology, do not record this as law since being post-Talmudic it lacks formal legal authority. Notwithstanding this, the custom to perform the ceremony on Motzei Shabbat became increasingly popular and widely practiced to the extent that it has practically been formalized as law in the popular perception. The positions of Rashi, Rambam and others that it should ideally be recited at the first opportunity, and the Gra’s protest against unnecessarily delaying the performance of a mitzvah (particularly against those who delay until after Yom Kippur and Tishe Be’Av) are rarely acknowledged.

The reason for this seismic shift in the popular approach to Kiddush Levanah would appear to lie not simply in Masechet Soferim but rather in a kabbalistic teaching of Rabbi Yosef Gikatilla which introduces a notion that is absent from both Talmuds: that the blessing should not be recited until at least the seventh of the month for kabbalistic reasons.

This opens a can of worms which is thoroughly parsed in Talmud Reclaimed. In theory it is agreed by all – including Rav Yosef Karo’s Beit Yosef and the Mishneh Berurah – that in a clash between Talmud and the Zohar it is the Talmudic conclusion which must be followed for Halachah. Nevertheless, Rav Yosef Karo’s Shulchan Aruch is widely credited with introducing kabbalistic considerations into mainstream halachic dialogue. Talmud Reclaimed shows the extent to which delicate legal reasoning is engaged in order to demonstrate that the Zohar can be reconciled with the Talmud. The case in hand is particularly difficult to reconcile, the Bach arguing strongly that the seven-day ruling should not be followed as it opposes Talmudic law.

With Kiddush Levana gradually transformed from a blessing over viewing a natural phenomenon – one of the group of Birchot HaRo’eh – to a communal Motzei Shabbat celebration of the moon, its focus can be seen to have shifted significantly. The text of the Berachah specifically addresses God, and makes reference to a prophecy of Yeshaya in order to pray to God to renew and redeem his Chosen People (the “amusei baten”) – a symbolic association with the renewal of the moon. Writing in his commentary to Mishneh Torah, Rabbi Yosef Kappach notes critically how the customary verses and dances which have slowly attached themselves to the blessing have gradually shifted the focus of the ceremony from a prayer to God to the moon itself – sometimes even appearing to address it.

Where this all leaves us is uncertain. But it may be fair to comment that what was initially one small prayer to God has seen itself transformed into one giant leap in the popular evolution of Halachah!

For more information about Talmud Reclaimed: An Ancient Text in the Modern Era and Judaism Reclaimed: Philosophy and Theology in the Torah, visit www.TalmudReclaimed.com.

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Articles of faith: approaches to biblical criticism

For many years, Rabbi Gil Student's Hirhurim blog and social media activity has been at the forefront of online Orthodox discussion and debate as to how to grapple with challenging topics in the modern world. A number of the chapters of Judaism Reclaimed benefited from his thorough and well-sourced posts. Now Rabbi Student has published an account and summary of much of this discussion. Below is a sample - on the subject of Biblical Criticism. We are honoured to host him on this page.

Forgiveness and Biblical Criticism

By Rabbi Gil Student

Biblical critics often point to repetitions in the biblical text as evidence of multiple texts that were (clumsily) edited together by a redactor. One example is the story of Yosef’s forgiveness of his brothers, which seems to be repeated unnecessarily. In my recently published book, Articles of Faith: Traditional Jewish Belief in the Internet Era, I explore traditional beliefs about the authorship of the Bible and three failed approaches and one successful approach to reconciling those with biblical criticism. In another chapter, I explore the topic of forgiveness and show that biblical critics oversimplify the topic when claiming that there is a repetition in the story of Yosef and his brothers.

I. The Forgiveness Doublet

R. Jonathan Sacks argues that Yosef’s forgiveness of his brothers is the first time in history we explicitly find someone forgiving others. After testing his brothers and finding that they had truly changed, Yosef can no longer hold himself back and reveals his identity to them. He tells them, “And now, do not be distressed and do not be angry with yourselves for selling me here, for God sent me ahead of you to preserve life” (Gen. 45:5; see R. Jonathan Sacks, Covenant & Conversation, Genesis, p. 323ff.; idem., Essays on Ethics, p. 65ff.; idem., Ceremony & Celebration: Introduction to the Holidays, p. 33ff.)

In a later analysis, R. Sacks deepens his study by explaining the double-passage of Yosef’s forgiveness of his brothers. In Gen. 45, Yosef pardons his brothers for their actions, as noted above. In Gen. 50, after Ya’akov dies, the brothers fear Yosef’s retribution. To save themselves, they send a message to Yosef in Ya’akov’s name, asking for forgiveness. “Your father left these instructions before he died: ‘This is what you are to say to Yosef: Please forgive your brothers’ wrong and the sin they committed in treating you so badly.’ Now please forgive the sins of the servants of the God of your father” (Gen. 50:15-17). Yosef replies, again absolving them of guilt for the entire episode. Why is this repeated in the text?

Ephraim Speiser claims that these two passages emerge from different authors (Anchor Bible Genesis, p. 378). However, this approach fails to see the depth in the narrative, the important message about human nature and reconciliation. In the posthumously published Judaism’s Life-Changing Ideas (p. 59), R. Sacks differentiates between these two passages by saying that the first passage looks like forgiveness but is not — in fact, the term is not even mentioned. Only the second passage reflects forgiveness. We can expand on that distinction by defining our terms and concepts more precisely, thereby understanding an important lesson the text is teaching us about forgiveness.

II. Forgoing and Forgiving

One way to think about forgiveness is by noting how its language is used in finance. When you forgive a loan, you allow someone not to repay you. You lent him money, which he owes you. He has an obligation to you. You forgive the loan, removing that obligation. In this framework, forgiveness is the removal of an obligation. If someone hurts you, whether intentionally or negligently, he has an obligation to repay that offense, to make you whole. Even if the offense entails no tangible loss, he needs to restore your sense of completeness, your emotional state. When you forgive him, you remove that obligation. While we use the language of forgiveness in this case, really it is an example for forgoing. You, the victim, declare that you are willing to pardon him, to forgo the debt due you.

Forgiveness goes further than forgoing. It takes two to forgive. The offender must repent and attempt to undo the harm, if at all possible. To obtain forgiveness, a sinner must undergo personal change. Maimonides lists four steps of repentance: regret, cessation of the sin, confession and commitment to refrain from this sin in the future (Hilchos Teshuvah 2:2). However, these steps suffice only for sins between God and man. The Mishnah (Yoma 85b) says that interpersonal sins also need the forgiveness of the victim. In contrast to forgoing, forgiving means reconciling, healing the damaged relationship between offender and victim through an apology and an acceptance.

III. Yosef’s Two Acts of Forgiveness

At first, on revealing his identity to his brothers, Yosef tells his brothers, “And now, do not be distressed and do not be angry with yourselves for selling me here, for God sent me ahead of you to preserve life” (Gen. 45:5). Later, after Ya’akov dies, the brothers say to Yosef in Ya’akov’s name, “Now please forgive the sins of the servants of the God of your father” (Gen. 50:17). To this, Yosef responds favorably.

We see in this double passage the important differences between forgoing and forgiving. At first, Yosef forwent the brothers’ terrible treatment of him. He told them not to worry about it because he did not hold it against them. But they never had a chance to apologize before the events moved forward very quickly. There was never a real reconciliation. The brothers never fully talked through with Yosef what had transpired and their roles in it, and therefore there were still unanswered questions within the relationship. Yosef removed the moral obligation from the brothers but he never repaired their relationship. That is an example of forgoing, a lower level for forgiveness.

Only later, through the artificial medium of their deceased father Ya’akov, did the brothers convey their apology. By saying what had remained unsaid until that point, the brothers and Yosef were able to reconcile. They asked for forgiveness and Yosef forgave them. At the end of Genesis, the relationship between Yosef and his brothers is finally repaired. Thus, the double-passage of forgiveness is not a repetition but a story of deepening forgiveness, moving from forgoing to forgiving.

We can ask why doublets are problematic at all. Why should we assume that ancient writing styles would avoid telling stories that seem relatively similar? Indeed, familiarity can help people remember the stories and recognize the differences. In the case of forgiveness, we see that there is no repetition at all but merely the careful development of the narrative and the slow process of reconciliation between Yosef and his brothers.

Articles of Faith is available on Amazon here.

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Wrestling with angels, or was it all in the mind?

One of the most significant disputes among commentators to the book of Bereishit involves a forceful debate as to the nature of angels: can they take on physical form and enter the human realm or are they solely celestial creatures whose interaction with the world is far more complex. Judaism Reclaimed takes a deep-dive into this subject, showing that the implications of this argument go well beyond questions of peshat – they have deep theological and philosophical ramifications which affect the whole framework for understanding physical and spiritual co-existence.

Angels make an apparent entry into early biblical episodes as visitors to Avraham’s tent and destructive agents to overturn Sodom; in yesterday’s Torah reading another mysterious heavenly figure intrudes into the narrative to spar with the isolated Ya’akov. In the more kabbalistic approach of Ramban, the physical and spiritual domains more flexibly interact and interplay, and the notion of angelic beings donning physical attire to enter the world of humans is therefore less of a challenge. For Rambam, by contrast, physicality and spirituality are two wholly distinct realms of existence: celestial beings cannot trespass the sub-lunar sphere however brief and specific the purpose of their travel. Angelic interactions in the Torah for Rambam, therefore, are to be explained as prophetic visions rather than otherworldly wanderings.

While on level of simple peshat, Ramban adheres more closely to the apparent meaning of the biblical text, Abarbanel sees the Rambam’s approach as representing a far deeper and more profound biblical message and reality. As explained by Micha Goodman in Maimonides and the book which changed Judaism, “turning story into allegory by placing it in the category of prophetic vision strengthens its meaning and transforms it from an isolated event into a universal truth”. Abarbanel duly declares himself to be “astonished” at Ramban’s opposition to Rambam’s explanation of angelic encounters in the Torah.

The universal truths being conveyed to Avraham in his angelic visitation are understood by Rambam to be extremely profound – he outlines them briefly in the middle of some of his most complex discussion (Moreh 2:5) of how angels (the spiritual messengers through which God implements His Will in the physical world) interact with one another to fulfil their sometimes conflicting tasks.

Perceptively, Rambam anticipates the difficulty which people might have with his teachings on the subject of angels, writing (Moreh 1:49):

“Now you already know that it is very hard for man to comprehend, except after strenuous effort, that which is pure of matter and absolutely devoid of corporeality … that which lies beyond the scope of the imagination is in his opinion non-existent and incapable of existing.”

This being the case, the Torah’s text refers to angels using language

“the external implication of which can be understood to signify that the angels are corporeal … so as to guide the mind to a knowledge of their existence … as we have explained with regard to God.”

But what are we to make of the angelic streetfighter – seemingly representing Eisav – who sparred with Ya’akov in yesterday’s reading?

“Ya’akov remained alone, and a man wrestled with him until daybreak.”

A perceptive and fascinating suggestion is offered by Rabbi Ari Kahn in Explorations – his highly recommended book of parashah insights. It is interesting to note, he observes, that while Ya’akov reaches an understanding with Eisav, he is unable to avoid battle with His representative angel. Furthermore, if Ya’akov is truly “alone”, with whom can he be wrestling? The answer, suggests Rabbi Kahn, is that Ya’akov is struggling with himself – a profound inner battle over his true identity.

The backstory can perhaps be traced to the respective roles of Ya’akov and Eisav. Yitzchak had clung to the hope that Eisav would prove worthy of inclusion in the Abrahamic covenant – taking care of the worldly concerns of his studious “dweller in tent” brother. Rivka, however, perceived that such a partnership could not flourish: Eisav was simply not up to the task as seen in his “scorning” of the spiritual values represented by the Firstborn status. Ya’akov was therefore sent away to his amoral uncle Lavan where he was to get his hands (and conscience) dirty learning the hard realities of build families and flocks in tough surroundings.

Returning from Lavan with a growing family and weighed down by his wealth, on the one hand Ya’akov can be said to have succeeded in his task. Yet left alone at the river crossing, Ya’akov gazes at his reflection in the water and suddenly wonders “Who am I?”.

Notably, Eisav had previously sworn to kill his younger brother. When they are reunited after their many years apart Eisav suddenly and surprisingly embraces Ya’akov and proposes that they join forces. Eisav believes that he may have lost the battle over his father’s blessing – but he has won the war. Ya’akov has apparently dispensed with his scholarly pursuits and entered Eisav’s world of amassing worldly bounty. He now hopes that they will join forces for material rather than spiritual aims.

Similar thoughts are troubling Ya’akov as he struggles desperately with his “inner Eisav” and strives for ideological clarity. The “Ish” he wrestles with is seemingly the one described a few chapters earlier (30:43): 

“And the man [ISH] became exceedingly wealthy, and he had prolific animals, and maidservants and manservants, and camels and donkeys.”

Happily, the episode has an instructive ending – and a profound message is thereby conveyed by the biblical text. The resolution to this struggle seems to be found when Eisav’s spiritual representative strikes Ya’akov’s thigh which slows down his progress and his physical success but does not entirely end it. Ya’akov proceeds at a slower pace than Eisav but has been spiritually renewed and enriched. Tellingly, upon reaching his destination, he builds “Sukkot” – temporary shelters – for his flocks and wealth but for himself and his spiritual pursuits he constructs a permanent structure of a house.

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