The hallowed Jewish tradition of ignoring prophets

On a number of occasions I have heard rabbinic speakers bemoaning how, in the diminished spiritual state of our era, we lack the clear guidance and inspiration of prophets. If only, they claim, we could be exposed to the communications of figures such as Shmuel, Yeshayahu and Yirmiyah – we would enthusiastically rush to perform God’s authenticated word.

This got me wondering: despite Jewish tradition’s nostalgic yearning to “renew our days as of old”, our track record for hearkening to the prophetic word was pretty poor then and is little better now.

Our parasha this week grapples with the task of how to authenticate a putative prophet. As Judaism Reclaimed demonstrates, the application of this authentication process was not always so clear in practice. Yirmiyah in particular appears to have been subject to accusations that he was a false prophet – unsurprisingly the royal court identified its own alternative prophets who communicated messages more favourable to the king. Nor was Yirmiyah the only prophet to be persecuted, Eliyahu and prophets in his era were exiled and even killed in the days of Ahab and Jezebel.

While those episodes might be dismissed as isolated actions of particularly sinful individuals, it would seem from the words of the prophets themselves that significant portions of what we might regard as the “observant” Israelites were not receptive to their teachings:

Of what use are your many sacrifices to Me? says the Lord. You shall no longer bring vain meal-offerings, it is smoke of abomination to Me; New Moons and Sabbaths, calling convocations, I cannot [bear] iniquity with assembly. Everyone loves bribes and runs after payments; the orphan they do not judge, and the quarrel of the widow does not come to them. Learn to do good, seek justice, strengthen the robbed, perform justice for the orphan, plead the case of the widow.

(Taken from Chap. 1 of Yeshaya)

In biblical times as today, people tended to gravitate to religion to provide mysterious and spiritual rites rather than the moral guidance emphasized in prophetic teachings as bearing primary importance. The impression that we get from the repeated and frustrated prophetic protestations is that they had a hard time getting people to take their message seriously and apply it to their lives.

So, we can ask ourselves, even assuming that we could identify and authenticate a contemporary prophet, how enthusiastic would our communities be to implement his teachings?

The answer in many parts of the observant world is apparent from the way in which we treat the existing prophetic teachings which have been part of our Tanakh for thousands of years and selected by our sages to be read as Haftarot on important days:

Will such be the fast I will choose, a day of man's afflicting his soul? Is it to bend his head like a fishhook and spread out sackcloth and ashes? Is this not the fast I will choose? To undo the fetters of wickedness, to untie the bands of perverseness, and to let out the oppressed free, and all perverseness you shall eliminate. Is it not to share your bread with the hungry…

Yes, we may read in the above passage on Yom Kippur that God values honesty and charity ahead of ritual worship – but how many of us have really internalized and absorbed the message that we should be obsessing over our treatment of the downtrodden rather than details of the Yom Kippur fast?

As my friend Uzi Weingarten pointed out to me, our flawed value system is reflected by the very terminologies that we tend to employ, and the extent to which we identify various forms of sinners as part of our religious communities. While those who do not observe ritual laws such as Shabbat to a standard that we approve are considered “irreligious” or “unorthodox”, it is unfortunately common to refer to one who is jailed for fraud or tax evasion as a “frum person in jail”. Sometimes we even find such people being praised for their observance of Kashrut or Torah study during their time in jail. This could not be in sharper contrast to the values of Yeshaya quoted above.

On reflection, perhaps the sudden appearance of a true prophet of God would not be a quick fix – a magic wand which would instantly inspire our righteousness and repentance. We cannot be certain when the era of prophecy will be renewed. All that we can do in the meantime is to draw our own value system closer to that which was taught by the ancient prophets of Israel.

Only by being attuned and receptive to the prophetic message of old can we have any hope of ending one of the oldest Jewish traditions – that of ignoring our prophets.

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Are we all individuals? Judaism and character training

The Torah portions which we are currently reading contain Moshe’s parting words of wisdom to his beloved nation. Prominent within these speeches are several broad biblical injunctions such as loving and fearing God, doing what is good and upright, and walking in His Ways. These injunctions are understood by our sages as seeking to guide people’s behaviour, perspective and lifestyle rather than as pertaining to the performance or avoidance of specific actions.

Talmud Reclaimed explores these commandments as part of its chapter on the aggadic passages of Talmud. In contrast to the legal passages of Talmud which seek to produce clear and binding rules, aggadot focus instead on the moral and spiritual development of individuals within the nation. Recognising that each person possesses a unique character, mind and soul, guidance of this sort cannot be rigid and formulaic – rather it offers key principles that individuals should follow in order to maximise control over their behaviour and perfect their character traits.

The individualised nature of character training is evident in Rambam’s discussion of correct ethical conduct. He makes this point strongly in the opening chapter of Hilchot De’ot:

Each and every man possesses many character traits…… Some these traits a man is born with and are natural to him. others are consistent with his nature and will [therefore] be easier to acquire. Some traits he does not have from birth. He may have learned them from others, or gained them on his own. This may have come as a result of his own thoughts, or because he heard that this was a proper trait for him to attain…The early sages therefore instructed a man to evaluate his traits, to calculate them and to direct them along the middle path, so that he will achieve perfection.

The process set out by Rambam on the basis of aggadic sources requires each person to assess his or her own traits, in order to then determine how they can best be trained towards the optimum level. As the parallel discussion in his Shemonah Perakim shows, Rambam understood that this process was highly individualised. Depending on one’s original set of traits, and on the life circumstances in which one finds oneself, two different people might be advised to take quite contrasting courses of action.

Rambam proceeds to examine how to balance various combinations of character traits. Basing his position firmly on a collection of aggadic pronouncements, he identifies which contrasting traits one should seek to balance by taking the “middle path” (for example one should be neither excessively jestful nor overly depressed). He also identifies those sets of traits regarding which a person is “forbidden to follow the middle path”, – such as the need to distance oneself from pride and anger. Further pairs of traits, such as silence and being over-talkative, require a more subtle approach to determine how a people should conduct themselves. What stands out, however, is that people must tailor an individualised method for maximising the set of character traits that they possess within the circumstances in which they find themselves. Sometimes, as in the case of a nazir, it is advisable for one to lean temporarily away from one’s natural tendencies in order to achieve the correct character balance.

The need for flexibility when applying ethical and lifestyle rulings arises not only from the various combinations of traits that give each individual his or her quality of uniqueness. Sometimes the nuances and dynamics of a particular situation can impact on what is likely to be the correct course of action.

For example, on the one hand students of ethical teachings must know when to “distance oneself from a bad neighbour and not join up with the wicked”. On the other hand, they must also learn to “love people and bring them to the Torah”. What’s more, the very process of identifying a person as being wicked or a bad neighbour must be reconciled with the need to “judge every person favourably”.

In another example, a Mishnah in the name of Rabbi Akiva strongly condemns frivolity and light-headedness as leading to immorality. In the Talmud, however, no less a personage than Eliyahu HaNavi reveals that two specific men had earned their share in the World to Come. Their merit? They were jesters who sought to cheer up those who were depressed.

We can see from these examples that the primary role of ethical aggadot is to remind us of both the importance of character training and the objectives that such training should seek to achieve. Ethical aggadot also provide innumerable examples of how the sages implemented them to the circumstances which prevailed in their own lives. While these examples seek to motivate, their status is markedly different to conclusions of legal passages of the Talmud which are strictly binding on all people regardless of the situation.

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Mourning, resilience and inspiration: Tisha be'Av in the shadow of 7 October

For more than two decades now, my routine on the night of Tisha Be’Av has seen me take a gentle walk down the hill to Jerusalem’s Old City. There I typically find a quiet spot to read Eichah/Kinnot and ponder their sobering content. Some years I’ve made it as far as the Kotel itself – though more recently I’ve tried to avoid it, finding the mass-singing (and even dancing) jarring and out of touch with the atmosphere of the day.

There are so many occasions better suited for singing and inspiration, I ask myself, shouldn’t Tisha Be’Av be one day dedicated to silently contemplating more somber thoughts?

Paradoxically perhaps, I think the opposite is true this Tisha Be’Av – which comes in the midst of the darkest year in recent Jewish history. A year in which I’ve found myself standing alongside hostage families at tearful prayer gatherings desperately looking for encouraging words of support and visiting the site of the horrific Nova massacre. The collective misery and mourning has dwarfed anything that I’ve previously experienced.

The words of Eichah have, for the first time in our generation, become a reality before our eyes rather than a poetic historical depiction. When we add into the mix the heavy atmosphere hanging over Israel right now as media and security experts predict and play through potential scenarios of impending Iranian and Hizbullah strikes, this Tisha Be’Av must offer a strong element of resilience and inspiration alongside the traditional mourning.

This year of all years we cannot hide from tragedy. But by placing it in the context of the long history of Jewish suffering from which we have grown stronger and rebuilt – as the excellent accompanying video attempts to do – allows us to take away a message of comfort and support.

If I do make it all the way to the Kotel this evening, I will try to dwell on the more positive teaching of the famous Jewish sage, Rabbi Akiva (Makkot 24). Upon finding his colleagues in tears over the destruction of the Mikdash he did not seek to deny the enormity of the loss. Instead he was able show them a bigger picture within which the immediate loss was part of a historical process which would lead the nation forward spiritually towards redemption.

As we sit with our Eichah tonight and contemplate the renewed relevance of its words, we pray for a Rabbi Akiva figure to inspire us, unite us and point us towards that better future we all yearn for.

הֲשִׁיבֵ֨נוּ יְהֹוָ֤ה | אֵלֶ֨יךָ֙ וְֽנָשׁ֔וּבָה חַדֵּ֥שׁ יָמֵ֖ינוּ כְּקֶֽדֶם:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjwrV0wG9E0

Also posted on Facebook, here.

Pursuing peshat: from boiling goats to cheeseburgers

Written together with Dr Moshe Sokolow, author of Pursuing Peshat: Tanakha Parshanut and Talmud Torah

Are Cheeseburgers Kosher?

Students will typically respond to this rhetorical question correctly – that cheeseburgers are not kosher. They are less comfortable, however, with the follow-up questions: If the Torah wanted to prohibit them, why is there no verse saying, “Thou shalt not eat cheeseburgers”? Why is the closest we can get to it, “Do not boil a kid in its mother’s milk”?

These questions are entrée to the consideration of the two most crucial issues in interpretation. First, why not assume that everything in Tanakh can be understood literally? Second, if we are persuaded that it cannot always be taken literally, what makes an interpretation acceptable?

The answers to both questions are straightforward. If the Torah were to legislate for every conceivable situation we might confront, it would have to be the length and complexity of the Mishneh Torah or the Shulhan Arukh, and even those two legal compendia are incomplete without the myriad commentaries and responsa that accompany them. To compensate for this shortcoming, the Torah is “polyvalent” (having many values), allowing for multiple interpretations and applications, that are judged by their fidelity to the linguistic traditions of the people who regard these works of literature as “sacred Scripture”.

The first part of Pursuing Peshat, on which we will focus here, traces these two issues through a millennium of biblical exegesis (parshanut hamika), from Se`adya Gaon in the 10th century through R. David Zvi Hoffman at the start of the twentieth. Some—including Se`adya and Ibn Ezra—addressed these questions explicitly in the introductions to their Torah commentaries. Others—like Rashi and Rashbam—whose literary style did not include introductory remarks, dealt with them in practice.

Here is how Rashi and Rashbam might handle our cheeseburger question.

Exodus 23:19, “do not boil a “gedi” in its mother’s milk.” Rashi, following in the footsteps of the Talmud and Midrash, interpreted gedi as any young animal, and deduced the additional prohibitions against eating and deriving pleasure, from the verse’s threefold repetition. In other words, working back from the given conclusion that cheeseburgers are prohibited, Rashi would justify that ruling exegetically.

Rashbam, however, found Rashi’s explanation problematic. If any young animal is intended, why specify a gedi, which is specifically a kid, and why does this clause always appear in the context of the three pilgrimage festivals?

His answer: “Scripture addresses reality” (lefi hahoveh dibeir hakatuv). Kids were indicated because they are usually born in pairs—with one designated for sacrificial purpose—and are rich in milk. The link to festivals, too, is a nod to reality since that is when people eat the most meat. And yet, citing Talmud Hulin, he concluded: “This is the rule regarding all meat and milk.” In other words, while Rashbam disagreed with Rashi in exegetical theory, he accepted his implementation in practice.

Talmud Reclaimed also draws upon this prohibition in order to contrast the approaches of two different Rishonim, Rambam and Ibn Ezra, as part of its exploration on which laws and interpretations are regarded as Sinaitic and which were developed subsequently by the sages and Sanhedrin.

In his discussion of this prohibition against boiling a goat in its mother’s milk, Ibn Ezra speculates as to its reason and suggests that, at its core, it is to be categorised alongside other “cruelty-mitigation” commandments such as not taking the eggs of a mother bird in her presence and not slaughtering a parent animal along with its offspring on the same day. Viewing the basic biblical prohibition as relating specifically to the boiling of a goat in the milk of its mother, Ibn Ezra (in a similar vein to Rashbam) writes that it was formerly common to eat goat meat – which typically has a dry texture – together with milk.

Crucially, he then suggests that the expansion of the original biblical prohibition against boiling goat meat in its mother’s milk so that it covers all forms of meat and milk is a rabbinic ruling based upon the principle of being stringent in matters of doubt over biblical law. Whether Ibn Ezra views the broader prohibition of cooking meat together with milk as purely rabbinic or as rabbinically legislated Torah law can be debated; what is clear, however, is that he does not regard the prohibition as belonging to the body of transmitted and immutable Oral Torah traditions. This would therefore potentially allow it to be revisited by a future Sanhedrin.

Rambam’s treatment of this law, by contrast, presents the oral tradition’s expansion of the prohibition against cooking goat meat in its mother’s milk so as to apply to the cooking together and eating of all types of meat and milk as an immutable transmitted Sinaitic teaching:

The Torah states: "Do not cook a kid goat in its mother's milk." The received Oral Tradition, teaches that the Torah forbade both the cooking and eating of milk and meat, whether the meat of a domesticated animal or the meat of a wild beast.

So integral and immutable is the oral tradition’s interpretation of this verse that “if a court will come and permit partaking of the meat of a wild animal cooked in milk, it is abrogating the prohibition not to detract from the Torah”. Rambam’s understanding that the expansive interpretation of the prohibition against cooking a goat in its mother’s milk is of Sinaitic origin is consistent with the approach taken in his Introduction to Commentary on the Mishnah, that Moshe clarified key definitions and components of the commandments when he taught the Torah’s text.

Nevertheless, we are left with the question of why the Torah presents the prohibition so narrowly in its verses, if an immutable Sinaitic tradition requires it to be construed so broadly. The answer to this may lie in the Moreh Nevuchim, where Rambam identifies a reason for the prohibition – distancing from pagan ritual – which relates most directly to the practice of seething goats in their mothers’ milk.

We therefore see a range of interpretive approaches by the Rishonim to this highly instructive prohibition. From Rashi, who appears to read the Oral Tradition’s conclusion back into the text to identify its peshat to Rashbam, who recognizes the inherent tension between the peshat and the transmitted tradition. And finally Ibn Ezra who appears to move in the other direction, reinterpreted the transmitted tradition in light of the simple meaning of the Torah’s text.

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Members of the Judaism Reclaimed Facebook group can purchase Dr Sokolow's book at a special discounted rate:

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Peshat literally means the simple, or literal, interpretation of the text. However, the definition and determination of peshat is anything but straightforward. The Sages of the Talmud and Midrash debated how to ascertain peshat. This debate continued among the Rishonim and Acharonim: how much weight should be given to peshat as opposed to allegorical and halakhic interpretations, what assumptions inform us in arriving at peshat, and how do we differentiate peshat from derash? These debates rage into the modern day, as leading rabbis, educators, and scholars seek to understand the place of peshat in the nexus of biblical interpretation.

First posted yesterday on Facebook, here.

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.