Baba Batra: are derashot genuine sources of Biblical law?

The Daf Yomi cycle this weekend reached Chezkat HaBatim – a chapter of Talmud with a reputation for its complexity as well as its fundamental Talmudic principles. One passage with a particularly important implication appears right at the start of the chapter and is cited as part of the analysis of derashot (hermeneutical deductions) in an early chapter of Talmud Reclaimed.

What is the true nature of these textual derivations which are so ubiquitous throughout the Mishnah, Talmud and Midrash? Do they represent genuine attempts to decode and uncover divine intent woven into the Torah’s text or are they more accurately regarded as “asmachtot” – rhetorical devices used to consolidate and recall laws already known via the tradition or pre-decided by the Sanhedrin?

This question has already been debated fiercely by great rabbinic scholars.

At one end of the spectrum we have the Malbim, who maintained that all rabbinic interpretations were aimed at revealing a concealed and profound depth to the Torah’s text. To this end, Malbim compiled and elucidated an impressive list that includes literally hundreds of intricate nuances within the grammar, syntax and linguistics of biblical Hebrew which, he argued, have guided the sages’ extraction of legal details from the Torah. The Malbim’s position can draw support from the apparent meaning of Talmudic text which appears to legislate details of biblical law on the basis of such derashot.

A notable example from the beginning of the third chapter of Baba Batra seeks to identify a source for the law that three years’ possession of land creates a presumption in favour of ownership. Rabbi Yochanan reports in the name of those who belonged to the Sanhedrin in Usha that this law was derived from the case of a goring ox, whose legal status – and responsibility for its owners to guard it – is altered after three instances of goring.

If this derivation was simply intended to serve as a rhetorical device or memory aid, it would be sufficient that the source and derivative both possessed the same broad legal principle: that a series of three is deemed to represent or generate a change of legal status. Numerous highly detailed and technical objections are raised, however, to the comparison between the case of the ox and that of land possession.

Ultimately the Talmud’s presumptions are upheld: those who derive the three-year presumption from the goring ox would indeed be bound by such details. The other sages however, who relied on a different source, did not consider that the details of the three-year land possession presumption was influenced by details of the ox-goring derivation. Thus the proposed scriptural source for rabbinically-legislated details of Torah law can directly be seen to influence the nature and application of those details.

In opposition to the Malbim, other rabbinic scholars such as Rabbi Dovid Tzvi Hoffman, Rabbi Jose Faur and Rav Yitzchak Rabinowitz in his Dorot Rishonim have argued that derashot are not a genuine source of knowledge. Rather, they are seen as fulfilling a pedagogical purpose in that they help to associate pre-established laws with the Torah’s text. In support of this position are lengthy lists of derashot which seem contradictory and the great degree of flexibility and discretion seemingly accorded to the sages in formulating such hermeneutical readings.

Talmud Reclaimed cites numerous case studies and arguments in support of each of these contrasting positions, noting in the process how they can both legitimately claim to be strongly sourced within the Talmud. In light of the strength of the arguments boosting each of these positions, the book attempts to plot a middle path which integrates elements of them both.

Drawing upon several examples, we suggest that the numerous examples that we explore in the book highlight the extent of rabbinic discretion in implementing these principles, it would seem that derashot cannot be seen as a rigid set of divine instructions that bind the rabbinic legislators to formulate specific details. Instead, they may be best approached as looser indications from within the text, guiding the sages in how to make use of their discretion when establishing these details of Torah law. Ultimately, however, the authority to legislate these details lies with the Sanhedrin, which can choose how to make use of the interpretative and hermeneutical principles to produce such laws. Those principles merely establish certain parameters and guidance to the Sanhedrin.

Also posted to Facebook, here.

Vayeshev: free will, divine providence and human suffering

The chapters of Judaism Reclaimed which relate to parashat Vayeshev take their lead from the episode of Yosef’s incarceration at the conclusion of the parashah. Yosef is clearly no ordinary detainee; the Torah attests to the fact that God inspires popularity and ensures success for him even within the prison walls. Nevertheless, the closing comment of Rashi on the parashah cites a perplexing midrash that criticizes Yosef for his attempt to secure freedom through the intercession of Pharaoh’s newly-freed butler rather than relying on God -- an attempt which would cost him an extra two years behind bars.

The Chazon Ish (Emunah uBitachon) suggests that Yosef’s fault lay in seeking an escape route which offered only a remote prospect of success, given the unsavoury nature of the butler’s character. Yosef’s reliance on the butler’s willingness to stand up before the royal court and petition Pharaoh on his behalf thus represented desperation, an act of someone who is panicking and who will resort even to far-fetched attempts to escape his troubles.

If we judge Yosef’s request to the butler to be an act of panic and desperation, however, we then face a further question: Since Yosef’s success in prison demonstrated that he was the beneficiary of significant Divine assistance, was it not reasonable for him to anticipate that God would influence the butler to speak up for him before the royal household? This question leads into a broader exploration of the respective roles and potential conflict between the doctrines of free will and Divine Providence.

We note Rambam’s statement in Hilchot Teshuvah that the functioning of human free will is so fundamental that it is considered a “pillar of the Torah” that, if God decreed human action ,“what use would the entire Torah be?” Divine Providence more typically takes the form of inspiring or fortifying the individual concerned, rather than interfering with the free will of any protagonist.

Two examples of this can be found in the Or HaChaim’s commentary to the episode of Yosef and his brothers. When Yosef imprisons the brothers, they do not initially attribute this to Divine censure, considering instead that it may be the result of God permitting the operation of the viceroy’s free will. Even more explicit is the interpretation by several commentators of the brothers’ decision to cast Yosef into a pit – which could allow Divine Providence to determine his fate - rather than to kill him directly. Had the brothers succeeded in murdering Yosef this could not have been seen as proof of his guilt (“Let us see what will be of his dreams”) since, to quote Netziv, “human free will is more powerful than Higher Providence”.

These explanations may make it easier to understand why it may have been unreasonable for Yosef to expect that God would influence the free will of the butler to speak up before Pharaoh.

Finally, we use the paramount importance of allowing the functioning of human free will in order to address an age-old problem: why does God permit evil and suffering to exist?

Rambam proposes that all evil in the world belongs to one of three categories. The first is the disintegration of physicality. God chose to construct a world which could operate by itself through perpetual, dynamic, and self-regulating rules of nature [we examine in a later chapter why God may have opted for this over miraculous micro-management]. Within these parameters of God’s will the world, including human bodies, necessarily contains an element of disintegration and decay which causes suffering. The majority of suffering however can be attributed to the free functioning of human free will as discussed above and, lastly, to unwise and unhealthy lifestyle choices.

These three categories are necessary consequences of the implementation of God’s plan for a physical world in which humans have free will. Nevertheless, this suffering can sometimes be mitigated through Hashgachah Pratit (individual Providence), which a person can attain by developing a connection to God.

A fuller analysis of how Rambam approaches the concept of Providence appears in the following chapter.

First posted on Facebook 18 December 2019, here.

Vayigash: To'eiva terminology, pagans and Rambam's Orwellian linguistics

Following chapters of heavy analysis of Rambam’s theories concerning Divine Attributes, Providence and Prophecy, the chapters of Judaism Reclaimed relating to parashat Vayigash adopt a lighter and more exploratory approach. The discussion begins by noting that the account of the clash between Yosef and his brothers in Egypt contains the Torah’s first uses of the term “to’eiva”; its only occurrence in a narrative rather than a legal context. A Gemara explains that to’eivah can be read as a contraction of the words “to’eh atah vah” (You are straying regarding this).

We analyse the Torah’s application of the term to’eivahto various sins. Three areas of sin (forbidden foods, sexual offences and idolatry) attract the epithet to’eiva unqualified. Based on various passages of Moreh Nevuchim we propose that these prohibitions represent humanity’s unique status and distinction from the animal kingdom (control over basic animalistic desires to eat and procreate) and recognition of its essential mission and direction (monotheism over pagan worship). On this basis, failure to observe these laws can be viewed as humans “straying” from their inherent humanity.

More challenging is the array of further offences (such as offering animals with a blemish and inaccurate weights and measures) to which the Torah applies the qualified form of “to’avat Hashem”. We suggest that while the unqualified “to’eiva” refers to basic straying from the human mission, the qualified “to’avat Hashem” discloses that the sinner is straying in some core aspect of his or her relationship with God. Several commentaries are drawn upon in an attempt to explain the Torah’s choices of “to’avat Hashem” sins in this manner.

Returning to the phenomena of “to’avat Mitzrayim”, which appears three times in the Torah, we consider that the Torah’s use of this loaded term is intended to convey a deep-seated ideological gulf between Egyptian and Hebrew worldviews, which prevented the two from even sharing a dinner table. This paves the way for an analysis – based on the writings of Rabbi S. R. Hirsch – of the profound contrast between pagan deification of the numerous natural forces on the one hand, and belief in the free, transcendent God of monotheism on the other.

Pagans rationalised the many concepts and forces in the universe which appear to be in conflict with one another in terms of there being a multiplicity of deities, each with limited powers and spheres of influence - who engage in battle with one another where their interests or spheres of influence come into conflict. Human fate was largely thought to be determined by the result of such fearsome battles between limited and typically unsavoury gods, though attempts were made to appease its worst excesses. The contrast with monotheism could not be greater. The belief system of the Hebrews was premised on a single, free, transcendent God, who is above and not limited by nature. Only such a transcendent and free God could grant free-will to humanity (Rabbi Meir Simcha of Dvinsk understood this to be the basis of humanity’s tzelem Elokim – divine element) and consequently demand any form of moral accounting.

The second essay related to parashat Vayigash returns to focus on Rambam’s strict approach to the Torah’s sexual prohibitions, noting the emphasis placed by Rambam, based on Talmudic sources, on avoiding not just prohibited actions but also sexual thoughts. We investigate this approach in terms of both Rambam’s understanding of the human soul as well as more recent psychology.

Finally, we note how Rambam’s very understanding of the holiness of the Hebrew language is premised upon his strict approach to sexual matters – he writes in Moreh Nevuchim how a lack of explicit sexual terminology can be effective in helping individuals to train their minds to avoid sexual thoughts. This form of linguistic positivism, in which language is believed to influence a person’s thought, is contrasted with the dystopian Newspeak described by George Orwell in 1984. While for Orwell, language is a totalitarian tool to diminish the capability of human freedom of thought, Rambam’s Lashon Hakodesh is intended as framework intended to assist the person in refining and elevating his thought process in order to achieve humanity’s ultimate mission of a connection with God.

First posted to Facebook 2 January 2020, here.

Vayechi: Lishmah and the pursuit of genuine religiosity

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed relating to parashat Vayechi builds upon the midrashic interpretation of Ya'akov's words “Perform for me kindness and truth, do not bury me in Egypt”. Midrash Rabbah, quoted by Rashi, explains: “kindness that is done with the dead is true kindness, for one does not expect any payment or reward”.

The political context surrounding Ya’akov’s instructions to Yosef on his deathbed deeply exacerbated the degree of “kindness” involved. Ya’akov knew that this request would be highly unpopular with his family, which was already looking to integrate into Egyptian society and seeking to demonstrate loyalty to its hosts. In his Meshech Chochmah, Rav Meir Simchah of Dvinsk comments that it was precisely for this reason that Ya’akov felt the need to burden his sons with the task of carrying his body out of Egypt—so that neither their initial desire to integrate nor the subsequent years of exile and servitude would cause them to lose sight of their destiny of reaching the promised land.

The Midrash’s focus on the motive for an act of kindness forms part of a greater emphasis in Judaism on the thoughts which accompany good deeds. In his Introduction to Chelek, Rambam cites a number of teachings from the Sages which require mitzvot to be performed “lishmah” out of love for God – understood by Rambam to consist of a strong intellectual appreciation of the inherent value and truth of the Torah and its commandments. Recognising that this level of religious functioning is difficult to understand, let alone achieve, Rambam describes how the Sages not merely permitted but required the study of Torah and fulfilment of mitzvot even when they are motivated by heavenly reward and punishment. This concession was premised upon the understanding that such engagement with Torah and mitzvot could lead people to an appreciation of their inherent worth, and with it, a purer motive. Rambam’s understanding of the concept of lishmah, representing service of God through intellectual love, is contrasted with the approach of Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler (possibly based on Ra’avad), who understands lishmah to consist of serving God with enthusiasm.

Our chapter moves on to consider why Rambam places so much importance on the motive for performing a mitzvah (from the final chapter of Hilchot Teshuvah it appears to be considered the pinnacle of religious achievement). One of the approaches that we suggest examines this question from the point of view of halachta bidrachav – walking in God’s ways. We analyse passages of Moreh Nevuchim which address God’s potential motives for creating the world before concluding that, while we can recognise that creation benefits humanity, it cannot be stated that creation in any way enhances or rectifies a need of God. God’s creation of the world could thus be viewed as the ultimate chessed shel emet – kindness without the possibility of any payment or reward. A person who achieves the level of lishmah may thus represent the most elevated embodiment of walking in God’s ways – a proposition which appears to find support in the Moreh’s closing paragraphs.

The chapter closes with a summary of Rambam’s sobering analysis of the shallow, unthinking religion-by-rote which, it appears, plagued Judaism in his day no less than in ours. Rambam starts by describing a child whose Torah teacher provides sweets and treats as a form of bribery in order to attract the interest of his young student. While the child may learn and succeed in his studies, his motivation is far removed from the profound truths of the Torah, being premised solely upon receipt of the confectionery that is dangled before him. As this child grows and matures, his tastes become more sophisticated, and the sweets and treats are gradually replaced by monetary prizes. Eventually, as an adult, this child may have now attained a degree of wisdom, but his motivation will be to attract a desirable marriage offer, gain renown, or receive a position of prestige. Ultimately, Rambam teaches, escape from the clutches of the jealousy, lust, and honour-seeking which naturally govern a person’s interactions with the world can only be achieved through genuine recognition and appreciation of the value and truth inherent in one’s religious pursuits.

First posted to Facebook 9 January 2020, here.

Va'eira: He who must be named -- how Jewish tradition approaches divine names in the Torah

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed relating to parashat Va’eira examines the phenomenon and use of the various names of God from the perspective of Jewish tradition. The parashah opens by contrasting the names through which God revealed Himself to Moshe with those used previously in His revelations to the Avot (the Tetragrammaton as opposed to El Shaddai).

Names are commonly used by people as a means of identification, to distinguish between things which are easily confused with each other. This could create the impression that the various names of God in the Torah refer to a multiplicity of gods. The concept of a name in the Torah, however, can be seen to represent a more profound concept. The Torah’s first naming ceremony sees Adam presented with the entire animal kingdom and proceed to issue a name to each species. Ramban teaches that far from labelling the animals for the sake of convenience, Adam was declaring their defining features. In doing so, he also recognized the distinction between mankind and the animals (as the Torah observes: “he found no one to help him who corresponded to him”). The naming of people in Tanach is consistent with this principle, with primary characters generally bearing descriptive appellations. This is particularly the case with the Avot, the twelve sons of Yaakov, and Moshe; Avraham, Sarah, and Yaakov even undergo a change of name to reflect a new dimension of their religious calling. In reference to “Naval,” it is written explicitly that his character matched his name. This parashah’s conversation between God and Moshe, in which God describes how He relates to people by using different names, demonstrates that God’s names too are to be understood in this descriptive manner.

While names of God cannot depict His true essence—a concept which is understood to lie beyond the scope of human comprehension—they can convey the ways in which God allows humans to perceive and relate to Him. In his Kuzari, Rabbi Yehudah HaLevi details the implications of the most common names of God. “Elokim” represents God as revealing Himself to man through the many powerful forces of nature, hence that noun’s plural form. Whereas pagan nations thought of these apparently disparate forces of nature as operating independently and therefore being worthy of worship in their own right, the Jews have been shown that these forces are united in their subordination to God: “You were shown [at Sinai], in order to know, that God is the source and Master of all the forces of nature”—“El Elyon,” or as Yitro says, “gadol…mikol HaElohim.” The four-letter “Tetragrammaton,” by contrast, refers to a “personal” God, who guides people and relates to them providentially. An earlier chapter of Judaism Reclaimed traces the use of these two divine names through the book of Bereishit, focusing on how they reflect and impact on the particular dynamics of the various narratives.

Elokim and the Tetragrammaton, the two principal and complementary names of God, are both found in the opening verse of parashat Va’eira. In response to Moshe’s complaints that the fortunes of the Jewish People had only deteriorated as a result of his divinely-instructed intervention, Elokim tells Moshe “Ani Hashem [I am Tetragrammaton].” Rabbi S. R. Hirsch explains that this sentence contains all that Moshe needs to know: the years of God’s concealment within the forces of nature as Elokim were about to give way to His revelation through the attribute of personal hashgachah and the intervention of the Tetragrammaton in order to rescue the Jews from slavery.

The subsequent verse describes how God had previously related to the Avot through the name El Shaddai rather than the Tetragrammaton. Ramban and Rabbeinu Bachye write that El Shaddai refers to the less dramatic way in which God related personally to the Avot, by manipulating rather than overruling the natural order of the world. The Exodus from Egypt, however, represented a watershed moment in history in which God exhibited His mastery and control over all aspects of Creation. The suspension, on behalf of the Jewish People, of many laws of nature over the next forty years would be recounted faithfully through generations of Jews, allowing the nation to relate forever to its personal and all-powerful God, the God who introduced himself as “Ani Hashem.”

Ultimately, God’s essence is understood to be unified and unchanging, with His different names referring only to how humans perceive and relate to Him in a complex and imperfect world. The prophet Zechariah promises that “bayom hahu”—in the Messianic era where profound knowledge of God will be widespread and prophecy commonplace “God and His name will be One”. This is the promise that all mankind will be able to comprehend how these apparently different Divine attributes and modes of revelation coalesce and derive from a single, unified source.

The chapter of Judaism Reclaimed expands this discussion to examine the names of God used in the earlier passage of the Burning Bush, before contrasting the approaches of Rambam and mystics to the notion that God’s name as used in amulets and mezuzot contains protective powers.

First posted on Facebook 22 January 2020, here.

Unfulfilled prophecies and Moshe's sudden seismic shift

One of the chapters of Judaism Reclaimed that I found most intriguing to research relates to the difficult question of unfulfilled biblical prophecies, and its impact on the apparent lack of confidence in divine assurances displayed by various prophets.

In his introduction to the book of Chaggai, Malbim grapples with prophecies from the early Second Temple period which predict the imminent onset of a Messianic era. Citing a Talmudic source in support, Malbim argues that such prophecies were not intended as definitive statements of future events, rather they were contingent upon the righteous conduct of the nation in that era. Malbim’s approach to prophecy, for which we find precedents in earlier sources, is that it only discloses “what should occur if there is no sin”. Such a notion also appears to be borne out in Yirmiyah’s statement “But if it [a nation]…disobeys My voice, the I will retract the good which I had said to bestow upon it”. Such an approach holds out the prospect of resolving a number of difficulties: we find the Avot at times displaying fear and concern despite divine reassurances, Moshe at the Burning Bush reacting to God’s “I will be with you” with repeated apprehension, and Rabbi Akiva declaring that the Ten Tribes are eternally lost despite prophetic predictions of future reunification.

Rambam, however, emphatically rejects such an approach, writing that no positive prophecy can ever be withdrawn or viewed as contingent. Rambam argues that, were prophecy to be subject to uncertainty and change, this would disqualify the process of authentication of a prophet which is premised on our confidence in the accuracy of his or her predictions. This position draws additional support from Talmudic sources as well as an episode in which Yirmiyah condemns a putative prophet, Chananiah ben Azzur, as false on the basis of an inaccurate positive prediction.

I believe that the solution to these difficulties lies in an original and illuminating, yet breathtakingly simple proposal of the Maharal, based on separating prophecies into two distinct categories: Promises (“havtachot”), on the one hand, in which the prophet relays what will transpire should the recipients be found deserving of such a fate, and definitive statements of pre-ordained reality on the other in which the prophet tells of an irrevocable divine decision. Detecting which mode of prophecy is being transmitted requires a close reading of the biblical text. When the prophecy is presented in the future tense, this signifies that the predicted event is contingent on the worthiness of those involved. Other prophecies, by contrast, make use of the “prophetic past tense”, to indicate that the prophet is foretelling an unalterable and sealed divine decision.

Maharal detects his principle in the commentary of Rashi to the Covenant of the Parts. When Avraham is initially informed that his descendants will inherit the Land, he seeks reassurance “How will I know that I will inherit it?”. However, once God has stated (past tense) that “to your descendants I have given this land”, Avraham’s doubt dissipates. Rashi comments: “the word of God is as if it has been performed”.

Judaism Reclaimed uses this key to resolve difficulties in several biblical and Rabbinic passages. Most significant perhaps is the light that it shines on the perplexing dynamics between God and Moshe at the start of the book of Shemot. After being approached at the Burning Bush with the instruction to relay God’s word to Pharaoh and the Jewish people, Moshe is extremely reluctant and appears to lack confidence in the success of the mission. This despite God telling him “I will be with you”. This lack of confidence continues into parashat Va’eira until God discloses “I haveplaced you as a Master over Pharaoh”. With this prophetic statement of pre-ordained fact, Moshe’s worries evaporate, and he henceforth fearlessly confronts Pharaoh and his courtiers without a hint of concern or protest.

As an aside, I have translated the term “Elohim” very loosely as “Master” over Pharaoh. In response to Christian theologians, who have seen significance in this apparently godly description of Moshe, Rabbi S. R. Hirsch highlights the unexpected genealogical enumeration of the first three tribes that immediately precedes this verse, understanding that its purpose is to emphasise the essential humanity of Moshe. The Jewish redeemer and lawgiver was conceived and born of regular flesh and blood and distinguished by his actions rather than any innate Superhero or godly status. More on this last point in Rabbi Simi Rivka Lerner‘s excellent podcast.

First posted on Facebook 25 January 2020, here.