Min haMuvhar

The Akedah, or binding of Isaac (Genesis 22:1–19), [1] is a formative passage in Jewish tradition. It plays a central role on Rosh haShanah, and many communities include this passage in their early morning daily liturgy. Beyond its liturgical role, the Akedah is a religiously and morally challenging story. What should we learn from this jarring narrative with regard to faith and religious life?

It appears that the Akedah, perhaps more than any other narrative in the Torah, teaches how one can and should be extremely religious, but also teaches how to avoid religious extremism. In this essay, we will consider the ideas of several modern thinkers who explore the religious and moral implications of this narrative. Why Did Abraham Not Protest? Although the very idea of child sacrifice is abhorrent to us, it made more sense in Abraham’s historical context. Many of Israel’s neighbors practiced child sacrifice. It stands to reason that when God commanded Abraham to sacrifice his son, Abraham concluded that perhaps God required this of him. Of course, God stopped Abraham and went on to outlaw such practices as a capital offense in the Torah (Leviticus 18:21; 20:2–5). We find child sacrifice abhorrent precisely because the Torah and the prophets broke rank with the pagan world and transformed human values for the better. [2] In its original context, then, the Akedah highlights Abraham’s exemplary faithfulness. He followed God’s command even when the very basis of the divine promise for progeny through Isaac was threatened.

The German philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) was deeply troubled by the morality of the Akedah. He maintained that nobody is certain that he or she is receiving prophecy, whereas everyone knows with certainty that murder is immoral and against God’s will. Therefore, Abraham failed God’s test by acquiescing to sacrifice Isaac. He should have refused, or at least protested. [3] However, the biblical narrative runs flatly against Kant’s reading. After the angel stops Abraham from slaughtering Isaac, the angel proclaims to Abraham, “For now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your favored one, from Me” (Genesis 22:12). God thereby praises Abraham’s exceptional faith and commitment. [4]

Adopting a reading consistent with the thrust of the biblical narrative, Rambam (Spain, Egypt 1138–1204) draws the opposite conclusion from that of Kant. The fact that Abraham obeyed God demonstrates his absolute certainty that he had received true prophecy. Otherwise, he never would have proceeded: [Abraham] hastened to slaughter, as he had been commanded, his son, his only son, whom he loved…. For if a dream of prophecy had been obscure for the prophets, or if they had doubts or incertitude concerning what they apprehended in a vision of prophecy, they would not have hastened to do that which is repugnant to nature, and [Abraham’s] soul would not have consented to accomplish an act of so great an importance if there had been a doubt about it (Guide of the Perplexed III:24). [5] Although Rambam correctly assesses the biblical narrative, there still is room for a different moral question. After God informs Abraham about the impending destruction of Sodom, Abraham pleads courageously on behalf of the wicked city, appealing to God’s need to act justly (Genesis 18:23–33).[6] How could Abraham stand idly by and not challenge God when God commanded him to sacrifice his beloved son?

By considering the Abraham narratives as a whole, we may resolve this dilemma. Abraham’s actions in Genesis chapters 12–25 may be divided into three general categories: (1) responses to direct commands from God; (2) responses to promises or other information from God; and (3) responses to situations during which God does not communicate directly with Abraham. Whenever God commands an action, Abraham obeys without as much as a word of protest or questioning. When Abraham receives promises or other information from God, Abraham praises God when gratitude is in order, and he questions or challenges God when he deems it appropriate. Therefore, Abraham’s silence when following God’s commandment to sacrifice Isaac is to be expected. And so are Abraham’s concerns about God’s promises of progeny or information about the destruction of Sodom. The Torah thereby teaches that it is appropriate to question God, while simultaneously demanding faithfulness to God’s commandments as an essential aspect of the mutual covenant between God and Israel. [7]

The Pinnacle of Religious Faith

Professor Yeshayahu Leibowitz (1903–1994) suggests that Abraham and Job confronted the same religious test. Do they serve God because God provides all of their needs, or do they serve God under all conditions? Both were God-fearing individuals before their respective trials, but they demonstrated their unwavering commitment to God through their trials. [8]

Professor Moshe Halbertal (Hebrew University) derives a different lesson of commitment from the Akedah. God wishes to be loved by us, but this is almost impossible since we are utterly dependent on God for all of our needs. We generally express love through absolute giving. When sacrificing to God, however, we always can hold out hope that God will give us more. Cain and Abel could offer produce or sheep to God, but they likely were at least partially motivated to appeal to God for better crops and flocks next year. What can we possibly offer God that demonstrates our true love? The Akedah is God’s giving Abraham the opportunity to offer a gift outside of the realm of exchange. Nothing can replace Isaac, since his value to Abraham is absolute. As soon as Abraham demonstrates willingness to offer his own son to God, he has proven his total love and commitment. As the angel tells Abraham, “For now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your favored one, from Me” (Genesis 22:12). Halbertal explains that Abraham’s offering a ram in place of Isaac becomes the paradigm for later Israelite sacrifice. Inherent in all sacrifice in the Torah is the idea is that we love God to the point where we are prepared to sacrifice ourselves or our children to God. The animal serves as a substitute. The Akedah thereby represents the supreme act of giving to God. [9] The ideas explored by Professors Leibowitz and Halbertal lie at the heart of being extremely religious. Abraham is a model of pure, dedicated service and love of God. Such religious commitment is ideal, but it also comes with the lurking danger of religious extremism. We turn now to this critical issue.

Extremely Religious without Religious Extremism

The Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard (1813–1855) composed a classic work on the Akedah, entitled Fear and Trembling. He argued that if one believes in religion because it appears reasonable, that is a secular distortion. True religion, maintains Kierkegaard, means being able to suspend reason and moral conscience when God demands it. Kierkegaard calls Abraham a knight of faith for his willingness to obey God and sacrifice his son. Although Kierkegaard’s philosophy did not lead others to violence in the name of religion, it certainly is vulnerable to that horrific outcome. In his philosophy, serving God must trump all moral or rational concerns.

A fatal problem arises when the representatives of any religion claim that God demands violence or other forms of immorality. In a powerful article written in the wake of the terror attack on New York City on September 11, 2001, Professor David Shatz (Yeshiva University) addresses this urgent question.[10] He observes that in general, the answer for any form of extremism is to create a system with competing ideals for balance. For example, one may place law against liberty, self-respect against respect for others, and discipline against love. In religion, however, there is a fundamental problem: placing any value against religion—especially if that competing value can trump religion—defeats religious commitment. Professor Shatz suggests a solution. There is a way to have passion for God tempered by morality and rationality without requiring any religious compromise. One must embrace morality and rationality as part of the religion. The religion itself must balance and integrate competing values and see them all as part of the religion. This debate harks back to Rabbi Saadyah Gaon (Babylonia, 882–942), who insisted that God chooses moral things to command. In contrast, the medieval Islamic philosophical school of Ash‘ariyya maintained that whatever God commands is by definition good. [11] Kierkegaard’s reading of the Akedah fails Professor Shatz’s solution to religious extremism and is therefore vulnerable to the dangers of immorality in the name of God. In truth, Kierkegaard’s reading of the Akedah fails the narrative itself: God repudiates child sacrifice at the end of the story. Whereas Kierkegaard focuses on Abraham’s willingness to suspend morality to serve God, the narrative teaches that God rejects immorality as part of the Torah’s religion.

The expression of religious commitment in the Torah is the fear of God, which by definition includes the highest form of morality. [12] There must never be any disconnect between religious commitment and moral behavior, and Israel’s prophets constantly remind the people of this critical message. [13] Thus, the Torah incorporates morality and rationality as essential components of its religious system. It also is important to stress that people who act violently in the name of religion generally are not crazy. Rather, they are following their religious system as they understand it and as their clerics teach it. Such manifestations of religion themselves are evil and immoral.

Post-modernism thinks it can relativize all religion and thereby protect against the violence generated by religious extremism. In reality, however, post-modernism achieves the opposite effect, as its adherents no longer have the resolve to refer to evil as evil and to battle against it. Instead, they try to rationalize evil away. This position very meaningfully empowers the religious extremists. [14] Professor Shatz acknowledges that lamentably, there are negative extremist elements among some Jews who identify themselves as religious, as well. However, their attempts to justify their immorality with Torah sources in fact do violence to our sacred texts.[15] Such Jews are not extremely religious, as they pervert the Torah and desecrate God’s Name. Similarly, every religion must build morality and rationality into their systems so that they can pursue a relationship with God while avoiding the catastrophic consequences of religious extremism. As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks has observed, “the cure of bad religion is good religion, not no religion.” [16]

Conclusion

The Akedah teaches several vital religious lessons. Ideal religion is all about serving God, and is not self-serving. Because we expect God to be moral, the Torah’s protest tradition also emerges with Abraham’s holding God accountable. We may and should ask questions. Simultaneously, we must obey God’s laws in our mutual covenantal relationship. We aspire to be extremely religious, and Abraham serves as a paragon of the ideal connection to God, an active relationship, and faithfulness. The Akedah also teaches the key to avoid what is rightly condemned as religious extremism, using religion as a vehicle for murder, persecution, discrimination, racism, and other expressions of immorality. Morality and rationality must be built into every religious system, or else its adherents risk lapsing into immorality in the name of their religion.

One of the best means of promoting our vision is to understand and teach the underlying messages of the Akedah. We pray that all faith communities will join in affirming morality and rationality as being within their respective faiths. It is imperative for us to serve as emissaries of a different vision to what the world too often experiences in the name of religion, to model the ideal fear of Heaven that the Torah demands, and ultimately to sanctify God’s Name.

Notes [

1] The Hebrew root for Akedah appears in Genesis 22:9, and refers to binding one’s hands to one’s feet. This is the only time that this root appears in the entire Bible. [2] Rabbi Samuel David Luzzatto (Italy, 1800–1865) suggests that this legislation was in part an anti-pagan polemic, demonstrating that the Torah’s idea of love of God does not involve the immoral sacrifice of one’s child. [3] Kant was not the first person troubled by the moral implications of the Akedah. In the second century BCE, the author of the non-canonical Book of Jubilees (17:16) ascribed the command to sacrifice Isaac to a “satanic” angel named Mastemah, rather than God Himself as presented in the Torah. Evidently, the author of Jubilees was uncomfortable attributing such a command directly to God. Adopting a different tactic, a fourteenth-century rabbi named Eleazar Ashkenazi ben Nathan Habavli maintained that the Akedah must have occurred in a prophetic vision. Had the Akedah occurred in waking state, he argued, Abraham surely would have protested as he did regarding Sodom (in Marc Shapiro, Changing the Immutable: How Orthodox Judaism Rewrites Its History [Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2015, p. 70]). [4] See sources and discussion in Yonatan Grossman, Avraham: Sipuro shel Massa (Hebrew) (Tel-Aviv: Yediot Aharonot, 2014), pp. 300–301. [5] Translation from The Guide of the Perplexed, Shlomo Pines, second edition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963), pp. 501–502. [6] See especially R. Aharon Lichtenstein, “Does Jewish Tradition Recognize an Ethic Independent of Halakha?” in Modern Jewish Ethics: Theory and Practice, ed. Marvin Fox (Columbus, OH: Ohio State University Press, 1975), pp. 62–88. [7] See further discussion in Hayyim Angel, “Learning Faith from the Text, or Text from Faith: The Challenges of Teaching (and Learning) the Abraham Narratives and Commentary,” in Wisdom From All My Teachers: Challenges and Initiatives in Contemporary Torah Education, ed. Jeffrey Saks & Susan Handelman (Jerusalem: Urim, 2003), pp. 192–212; reprinted in Angel, Through an Opaque Lens (New York: Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2006), pp. 127–154; revised second edition (New York: Kodesh Press, 2013), pp. 99–122. [8] Yeshayahu Leibowitz, Judaism, Human Values, and the Jewish State, ed. Eliezer Goldman (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992), pp. 48–49, 259. Cf. Michael V. Fox, “Job the Pious,” Zeitschrift fur die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 117 (2005), pp. 351–366. [9] Moshe Halbertal, On Sacrifice (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012), pp. 22–25. [10] David Shatz, “‘From the Depths I Have Called to You’: Jewish Reflections on September 11th and Contemporary Terrorism,” in Contending with Catastrophe: Jewish Perspectives on September 11th, ed. Michael J. Broyde (New York: Beth Din of America and K’Hal Publishing, 2011), pp. 197–233. See also Marvin Fox, “Kierkegaard and Rabbinic Judaism,” in Collected Essays on Philosophy and on Judaism, vol. 2, ed. Jacob Neusner (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2003), pp. 29–43. [11] See Howard Kreisel, Prophecy: The History of an Idea in Medieval Jewish Philosophy (Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2001), p. 38. [12] See, for example, Genesis 20:11; 42:18; Exodus 1:17, 21; Deuteronomy 25:18. [13] See, for example, Isaiah 1:10–17; Jeremiah 7:9–11; Hosea 6:6; Amos 5:21–25; Micah 6:4–8. [14] For a chilling study of the virtual elimination of the very concept of sin and evil from much of Western literature, see Andrew Delbanco, The Death of Satan: How Americans Have Lost the Sense of Evil (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1995). [15] See especially R. Yitzchak Blau, “Ploughshares into Swords: Contemporary Religious Zionists and Moral Constraints,” Tradition 34:4 (Winter 2000), pp. 39–60. [16] R. Jonathan Sacks, The Great Partnership: God, Science, and the Search for Meaning (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 2011), p. 11.

     Rabbi Benzion Uziel delivered the opening address at a gathering

in Jerusalem of the rabbis of the land of Israel (spring

1919). In describing the rebirth of the Jewish nation in Israel,

he pointed out the many challenges facing the emerging Jewish communities

and settlements. He urged the rabbis to be active participants

in this historic process. It would be unacceptable and dangerous if religious

Jews were to say: "Let us stand in a corner as though looking at

the events from a distance. Let us say to ourselves: we and our families

will serve the Lord." He felt that this isolationist attitude was contrary

to the vision upon which our religion is based. Rabbi Uziel exhorted

his colleagues to go among the people, to work with the people, to participate

in every aspect of the nation-building process. In this way, they

could bring the eternal teachings of Torah into the real world. [1]

 

     This theme was to dominate much of the thought and work of

Rabbi Uziel, who proclaimed that Judaism is not a narrow, confined

doctrine limited only to a select few individuals; rather, the Torah is the

guide for the ideal way of life for the entire Jewish people, and also carries

a message for humanity at large. Jewish religious expression must

not be confined to a parochial, sectarian mold. Rather, it must thrive

with a grand vision, always looking outward.

 

     Rabbi Uziel's philosophy of Judaism flowed from various sources.

Born in Jerusalem to an illustrious Sephardic rabbinical family, his father

was the Av Bet Din of the Sephardic community of Jerusalem and presi-

dent of the community council. His mother was part of the Hazan

rabbinical family, which had produced fist-rate rabbinic leaders for generations.

As a youth, Rabbi Uziel studied with the Sephardic sages of

Jerusalem, but also with Ashkenazic rabbis. He became one of those

unique individuals who was well steeped in the halakhic methods and literature

of both the Sephardim and Ashkenazim.

 

     In 1911, Rabbi Uziel was appointed Chief Rabbi of Yafo and its district, where he worked with Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, the Ashkenazic spiritual leader of Yafo. Although

Rabbi Kook was older, Rabbi Uziel was appointed Chief Rabbi (Haham Bashi) by the authority

of the Turkish Government. Officially, the office of Chief Rabbi was

open only to individuals born in the Ottoman Empire, whose families

had been living there for several generations, and who knew the language

of the land, as well as French and Arabic. Rabbi Uziel had all

these qualifications, while Rabbi Kook did not. Rabbis Uziel and Kook

developed a good working relationship and held each other in high

esteem. In 1921, Rabbi Uziel became the Chief Rabbi of the famous

Sephardic community of Salonika, returning to be Chief Rabbi of Tel

Aviv in 1923. In 1939, he was elected Chief Rabbi of Israel, Rishon le-

Zion.

 

     Rabbi Uziel was a leading posek, thinker, teacher, communal leader

and political activist, one of the unique figures of 20th century Jewish

life. Rabbi Uziel saw God's hand in the development of Jewish life in

Erets Yisrael. He felt that he was participating in the early stages of the

final redemption of Israel. His writings are characterized by the calm

wisdom of a genuine scholar and at the same time by an overwhelming

sense of urgency. Depending on the quality of religious leadership, he

said, everything could be won or lost.[2]

 

     Rabbi Uziel believed that the Jewish people, especially those living

in a revitalized Erets Yisrael, could be living models of the excellence

inspired by the Torah. Through their moral and ethical accomplishments,

the Jews would succeed in making the rest of the world aware of

the great standards set by the Torah for all of humanity. [3]

 

     He felt strongly that Jews must be aware of their own national

charter. Through this self knowledge, they would be able to conduct

their lives according to the ideals set forth in the Torah tradition. This

would lead to their own happiness, as well as to a positive influence on

the world in general. Rabbi Uziel criticized those false ideologies which

distracted the Jewish people from their authentic national charter. He

rejected the assimilationists, since their strategy would ultimately undermine

the true message of Judaism. He also chastised those who would

restrict Judaism to the narrow confines of their homes, synagogues and

study halls. This strategy would bury Judaism in a small inner world,

cutting off its impact on society as a whole. It was necessary to steer a

middle course between assimilationist tendencies on the left and isolationist

tendencies on the right. Rabbi Uziel cited the verse in Mishlei

(4:25) as a guide: "Let your eyes look right on and let your eyelids look

straight before you. Make plain the path of your foot and let all your

ways be established. Turn not to the right nor to the left. Remove your

foot from evil."

 

     Only by focusing on the specific charter of the Jewish people--to

create a righteous nation based on the laws of Torah tradition--could

the Jewish people fulfill its mission. Through our creating a model

Torah society, we would be seen by the entire world to be the representatives

of God. Our Torah teaches us to live life in its fullness. It teaches

us how to apply the highest moral and ethical standards to all human

situations. Judaism is not a cult, but a world religion with a world message.

"Our holiness will not be complete if we separate ourselves from

human life, from human phenomena, pleasures and charms, but (only if

we are) nourished by all the new developments in the world, by all the

wondrous discoveries, by all the philosophical and scientific ideas which

flourish and multiply in our world. We are enriched and nourished by

sharing in the knowledge of the world; at the same time, though, this

knowledge does not change our essence, which is composed of holiness

and appreciation of God's exaltedness." The national charter of the

Jewish people is "to live, to work, to build and to be built, to improve

our world and our life, to raise ourselves and to raise others to the highest

summit of human perfection and accomplishment. (This is accom-

plished by following) the path of peace and love, and being sanctified

with the holiness of God in thought and deed."[4]

 

     In his address accepting the appointment as Chief Rabbi of Yafo

(6 Heshvan 5672), Rabbi Uziel stated that a leader must have two

seemingly opposite qualities: strength of character and humility (gevura

nafshit and anava). In truth, these two qualities are not in opposition

but must go together. True humility cannot be found except in one

who has spiritual strength. Indeed, humility without such strength is

not humility at all: it is weakness stemming from fear and doubt.[5]

 

     In his address to the rabbis of Erets Yisrael in 1919, he reminded

his colleagues that while humility in itself is praiseworthy, it becomes repulsive

if it leads to shying away from the needs of the hour. Rabbis

who hide in the mantle of humility abdicate their responsibility to the

community. Leadership requires strength of character. [6]

 

     Rabbi Uziel saw the rabbis' influence deriving from the force of

their own righteousness, devotion and erudition. Since the hallmark of

Torah is peace, coercion and threats are not the proper ways to gain

adherence to Torah. Rather, rabbis (and religious people in general)

must win the hearts of their fellow Jews through deeds of love and

kindness. [7] One cannot demand respect; one must earn it.

 

     Rabbi Uziel was among those who believed that the time had

arrived for the reestablishment of a Sanhedrin. Through such a structure,

rabbinic authority would once again be centralized. The public

would know where to turn for Torah guidance. A properly constituted

Sanhedrin would have profound influence on Jewish communities

throughout the world and would be a harbinger of the ultimate redemption. [8]

 

     Rabbi Uziel was troubled by a schism among the Jews in Israel.

One group stressed the study of Torah to the exclusion of building the

land and organizing the people, while the other group emphasized

action while negating the need to study Torah. Both groups were

wrong. "Action without study--even action is lacking, since it is a

branch without roots. And study without action is a root without a

branch." [9]

 

     According to the Torah, work is obligatory. It is forbidden for a

person to be supported by the labor of others without providing his

own productive labor. A parent is obligated to teach his child Torah and

an occupation. A child who does not learn how to support himself

through his own labor is compared to a thief who steals the labor of

others without exerting any effort of his own. Each individual must be

engaged in productive labor to support himself, to share in the building

of the world and the advancement of humanity. Labor is not only an

obligatory commandment, but also gives the individual a sense of

honor and dignity. The laws of the Torah go hand in hand with productive

forms of labor and business. By working, one learns not only the

knowledge of one's profession, but also compassion, love and responsibility

for others.[10]  These spiritual and moral qualities are learned by

engaging in productive labor, not merely by abstract study.

 

     During the War of Independence in 1948, a number of yeshiva

students came to Rabbi Uziel to obtain exemptions from military service.

He rejected their requests and said that if he were not already an

old man himself, he would be holding a gun and hand grenade, fighting

to defend the Old City of Jerusalem where he was born and raised.

This was a battle of life and death for the people of Israel. How could

anyone want to be exempted from fighting this great battle? On the

contrary, each person should rise to the occasion and give strength to

his fellow soldiers. He told the yeshiva students that it was a mitsvah for

them to join in the defense of their people, to risk their lives alongside

their brothers, to defend the Jewish people and the Jewish land. [11]

 

     In Rabbi Uziel's view, religious leadership entailed a total commitment

to participate in all aspects of the life of the nation. Religious people

were not to live on hand-outs or to seek exemptions. Only by a

thoroughgoing involvement in all aspects of national life could the religious

community bring its values and ideals to all the people of Israel.

To retreat into self-enclosed religious enclaves was to surrender Torah

leadership. It was to reduce Judaism to a small, self-contained cult. This

position was absolutely untenable to Rabbi Uziel, who viewed Judaism

as a grand way of life which must shape the entire society, serving as a

model for the world.

 

     Rabbi Uziel believed that Torah study and observance should

make the religious Jew into a model human being.[12] But exactly what

are we to study and do in order to attain the highest standards of Torah

ideals? Obviously, we must study and observe Torah in as thorough and

profound a way as possible. In Rabbi Uziel’s view, the Torah is not simply

a book of laws and commandments; it encompasses all knowledge.

"It is impossible to understand it--certainly to plumb its depths--without

a profound and broad knowledge of all worldly wisdoms and sciences"

which are hidden in the depths of creation. [13] The Torah itself is

interested in cosmology, philosophy, theology, human history. To be

well-versed in Torah involves knowledge of astronomy and mathematics

in order to set the calendar. Torah law includes comprehensive knowledge

of weights and measures. It entails agronomical and zoological

knowledge in order to observe properly the laws of mixed species

(kilayim). Likewise, the laws of terefòt demand a thorough knowledge

of animal anatomy. Jewish law requires a knowledge of human psychology,

so that the judge can determine whether or not a witness is

attempting to deceive him. Halakha includes political and economic

principles, as well as laws governing the relationships between different

peoples. In short, Torah--being a total way of life--necessitates understanding

life in its fullness.[14]

 

     The Torah tradition teaches Jews to be engaged in the development

of society (yishuvo shel olam) in the broadest sense of the term.

This entails not only populating and settling the world, but studying

the ways of nature (science) in order to advance human civilization.

Yishuvo shel olam involves knowledge of how to establish a system of

justice and how to develop a harmonious and ethical society. Involve-

ment in yishuvo shel olam is a necessary condition to fulfilling our specific

Jewish way of life. The settlement and building of society increases

knowledge, widens our intellectual and scientific horizons. This very

process awakens within us a more profound appreciation of the wonders

of God, His creative powers and His providence. [15]

 

     Rabbi Uziel did not see Torah and mada as conflicting. He believed,

rather, that in order to be a Torah personality with full Torah

knowledge, one must study worldly wisdom. But when one studies

such subjects as philosophy, science, psychology, history and literature,

one does not do so for the sake of academic knowledge, but rather as a

means through which one gains a deeper understanding of God's ways.

"Talmud Torah" is a general term referring to the attainment of wisdom;

it includes Torah study as well as all the studies and sciences

which deepen our understanding. [16] It is Talmud Torah in this broad

sense which raises a person from ignorance to wisdom. Secular knowledge

by itself provides knowledge, but only within the context of Talmud

Torah does secular knowledge have ultimate meaning, leading the

student closer to God.

 

     In his address upon assuming the position of Chief Rabbi of

Salonika (9 Adar, 5681), Rabbi Uziel stated: "It is true that scientific

knowledge (mada) raises a person, gives him wings to soar to great

heights, enlightens his eyes to discover the secrets of nature and to uti-

1ize its powers, to make life more pleasant and to increase longevity;

general knowledge also endows a person with spiritual powers. But all

the acquisitions of general knowledge are vessels which help one to

live--and are not life itself. . . . The goal (of life) is . . . to know the

God of the universe, to walk in His ways and to cling to Him. [I7]

 

     Rabbi Uziel saw Maimonides as the classic example of the Jewish

ideal. In the Mishne Torah, Maimonides presents the spiritual inheritance

of the people of Israel from Moses to his own time. In addition,

he draws on the best of worldly knowledge. Rabbi Uziel believed that

Jewish sages were well aware of the philosophical, scientific and theological

insights propounded by non-Jewish sages. Indeed, Jewish sages

had to have knowledge of the world in order to fully understand the

Torah itself. After all, the Torah, Talmud and rabbinic literature include

references to all branches of human knowledge. Maimonides advocated

the principle: receive the truth from whoever states it. Maimonides

studied philosophy and science, gathering the best of what he found; in

this way he enriched his own thoughts in depth and breadth. [18]

 

     In his book on the laws of guardianship (apotropos), Rabbi Uziel

noted that our sages were fully cognizant of the legal thought and prac-

tice of the non-Jewish nations with whom they had contact. Our rabbis

of all generations "did not limit themselves to their four cubits and to the

walls of the study hall. Rather, they learned and knew al which transpired

in the world of science and justice." They did not hesitate to admit the

truth of the words of non-Jewish sages when the truth was with them. [19]

 

     In a letter he wrote to the leadership of the Alliance Israelite Universelle,

Rabbi Uziel recognized the importance of Jewish students

learning both religious subjects and general studies. He stressed the

need to learn Hebrew and said that Jewish students in the diaspora

should learn the language of the land in which they lived as well as at

least one European language. But the goal of Jewish education should

be clear: to raise children faithful to their people and to their Torah,

people who would be useful to their families, their people, and society.

Rabbi Uziel insisted that general subjects be taught by religious teachers.

Otherwise, a spirit of secularism would enter the children's hearts,

leading them away from the very goals for which Jewish schools stood.

In every generation, he said, the Jewish people have produced learned

doctors, authors, and business people. We have not lacked giants in science

and worldly wisdom. And we have been able to attain this while

retaining total loyalty to the Torah tradition. If modern-day Jews think

that their children can achieve success only by receiving an exclusively

secular education, they are in fact sacrificing their children's spiritual

lives. There is no necessity to do so, since one can attain worldly success

while remaining deeply steeped in Torah tradition. The ideal can be

attained only when general studies are taught within the context of the

Jewish religious tradition. [20]

 

     Jews throughout history have not allowed themselves to be cut off

from the intellectual currents of the world. Rather, they have been at

the forefront in all areas of human knowledge and scientific advancement.

In spite of the attempts by anti-Semites to confine Jews to ghettos

and to limit their educational opportunities, Jews have made

remarkable contributions to human knowledge. As active and knowledgeable

participants in world civilization, our goal is to lead humanity

in the paths of proper ethics and social harmony.[21]

 

     Rabbi Uziel saw Abraham, our forefather, as his model for outreach

to general society. Abraham's teachings brought people closer to

a proper understanding of God; indeed, he was successful in converting

many to his beliefs. By lovingly guiding people in the ways of God, he

set a pattern for his descendants to emulate. A basic responsibility of the

Jewish people is to teach monotheism and ethical behavior to the peoples

of the world. [22]

 

Unlike some other religions, Judaism does not claim a monopoly

on the world to come. All people--Jewish or not--have access to God,

and will be rewarded for a life of righteousness. [23]

 

     Judaism teaches responsibility towards each human being and

every nation. The ultimate redemption of Israel is not the success of

one people, but rather the redemption of all humanity. The entire

world will become free of war, rid of false beliefs and ideologies; it will

be free of political, military and religious coercion.[24]  A cornerstone of

Jewish religiosity is the recognition of the "image of God" found in all

human beings. This insight leads to the love of individuals and to the

love of humanity. [25]

 

     Since all human beings are created in the "image of God," all are

entitled to loving concern and respect. Rabbi Uziel’s commitment to

this principle is evident in a halakhic controversy which erupted concerning

autopsies. Already in the early 1930's in Erets Yisrael, the issue of

autopsies arose in connection with training Jewish doctors in emerging

Jewish medical schools. Medical training necessitated performing autopsies,

but how could this take place under halakhically correct conditions?

Rabbi Kook ruled in 1931 that it was not permissible to perform autopsies

on Jewish bodies for the sake of medical education. He recommended

that non-Jewish bodies be purchased for the sake of scientific

research. In sharp contrast, Rabbi Uziel theorized (le-halakha ve-lo lema'ase)

that autopsies could be permitted according to Jewish law if

conducted with proper respect. "In a situation of great benefit to everyone,

where there is an issue of saving lives, we have not found any reason

to prohibit (autopsies), and on the contrary, there are proofs to permit

them." In considering whether it would be preferable to obtain non-

Jewish bodies for autopsies, Rabbi Uziel’s response was unequivocal:

"Certainly this should not even be said, and more certainly should not

be written, since the prohibition of nivul stems from the humiliation

caused to all humans. That is to say, it is a humiliation to cause the body

of a human being--created in the image of God and graced with knowledge

and understanding to master and rule over all creation--to be left

disgraced and rotting in public." According to Rabbi Uziel, if one were

to prohibit autopsies, then no autopsies could be performed on anyone,

Jewish or non-Jewish. The result of this policy would be that no doctors

could be trained. [26]

 

     Rabbi Uziel’s appreciation of the “image of God" in everyone was

manifested in his abhorrence of discrimination based on religion or race.

In the early days of British rule over Erets Yisrael, Rabbi Uziel was

already imagining how halakha would be implemented in a new Jewish

state. He posed the theoretical question: may the testimony of non-Jews

be accepted in Jewish courts according to the rules of the Torah? "It is

impossible to answer this question negatively, because it would not be

civil justice to disqualify as witnesses those who live among us and deal

with us honestly and fairly. Weren't we ourselves embittered when the

lands of our exile invalidated us as witnesses? If in the entire enlightened

world the law has been accepted to receive the testimony of every person

without consideration of religion or race, how then may we make such a

separation?" He then went on to write a comprehensive responsum in

which he demonstrated the propriety of establishing a regulation allowing

testimony from non-Jews. [27] This responsum demonstrates Rabbi Uziel's

concern for creating ajust Jewish society which respected the rights and needs

of the non-Jewish population.

 

     In his speech to the rabbis of Erets Yisrael (1919), he stated that

the Jewish nation was a people of peace, never wanting to advance itself

by causing destruction to others. Non-Jews should not feel threatened

by the emergence of a Jewish state, since a Jewish government would be

a source of peace and blessing.[28]  In his address at his installation as Chief

Rabbi of Israel (1939), Rabbi Uziel stressed the need to forge links of

peace and fellowship among all segments of society in Erets Yisrael. [29] In

his radio address in honor of his installation as Chief Rabbi, he made a

special appeal to the non-Jewish population in the land of Israel: "We

stretch out to you a hand of peace, true and trustworthy. We say to you:

The land is spread out before us and we will work it with joined hands.

We will uncover its treasures and will live in it as brothers together." [30]

 

Rabbi Uziel, who spoke Arabic fluently, felt it was vital for Jews to

establish good relations with their Arab neighbors. He strenuously criti-

cized those individuals who, in the name of Judaism, fomented anti-

Arab attitudes. This was a perversion of Judaism. "The Torah of Israel,

all of whose paths are ways of peace, calls for the peace and love of its

people and all who are created in the image ofGod."[31]  It was up to rabbis

to decry negative attitudes towards the Arabs. In 1927, Rabbi Uziel

visited Baghdad and spoke to the Jewish community there, inspiring

them with his message from Zion. In his speech, which he delivered

both in Hebrew and Arabic, he called on the Jews of Baghdad to share

in the religious Zionist ideals, to settle in Israel, to maintain their religious

traditions in the land of Israel. The Arabic newspapers of Baghdad

praised Rabbi Uziel’s speech, and lauded his call for peace and

friendship between the two great nations (Jews and Arabs), both peoples

being descendants of our forefather Abraham.[32]

 

     In 1921, a battle erupted between Jews and Arabs in the outskirts

of Tel Aviv. When Rabbi Uziel learned that both sides were shooting at

each other, he went out to the battleground in his rabbinical garb. Fearlessly,

he walked between the two camps. The gunfire stopped. Rabbi

Uziel spoke to the Arabs with emotion. He reminded them that Jews

and Arabs are cousins, descendants of Abraham. "We say to you that

the land can bear all of us, can sustain all of us. Let us stop the battles

among ourselves, for we are brothers."

 

     Rabbi Uziel fully believed that peace and harmony were achievable

if goodwill could prevail. He was faithful to this vision throughout his

life, even though it was rejected by political and religious leadership on

both sides.

 

     When Rabbi Uziel died in 1953, hundreds of thousands of people

mourned his passing. All the people of Israel, Sephardim and Ashkenazim,

Jews and non-Jews, had lost a religious leader of the highest

stature. The motto of his life had been the words of the prophet Zekharya:

"Love truth and peace." The grandeur of his life and his religious

vision were an inspiration to his generation, and will stand as a

lasting monument for generations to come.

 

NOTES

 

[1] R. Benzion Uziel, Mikhmanei Uziel, Tel Aviv, 5699, p.328.

[2] For more on the life and career and Rabbi Uziel, see Shabbetai Don Yahye,

HaRav Benzion Meir Hai Uziel: Hayav uMishnato, Jerusalem, 5715. See

also Yaacov Hadani, "HaRav Benzion Uziel keManhig Medini,” Hamidrashia,

Vol.. 20-21, 1987, pp. 239-266. [See also Marc D. Angel, Loving Truth and Peace: The Grand Religious Worldview of Rabbi Benzion Uziel, Jason Aronson, Northvale, 1999.]

[3] R. Benzion Uziel, Hegyonei Uziel, VoL. 1, Jerusalem, 5713, p. 99; and

Hegyonei Uziel, Vol. 2, Jerusalem) 5714, p. 120.

[4] Hegyonei Uziel, VoL. 2, pp. 121-125. See also, Mikhmanei Uziel, p.460.

[5] Mikhmanei Uziel, p.324.

[6] Mikhmanei Uziel, p.331.

[7] Mikhmanei Uziel, pp. 364-365.

[8] Mikhmanei Uziel, p.391; Mishpetei Uziel, Yore De'a 3, Vol. 2 Addendum

No.3; Sha'arei Uziel, Jerusalem, 5751, p.l0. See also Marc D. Angel, Rhythms

of Jewish Living, New York, 1986, pp. 70-72; and Marc D. Angel,

Voices in Exile, Hoboken, 1991, pp. 194-196.

[9] Mikhmanei Uziel, p. 557.

[10] Mikhmanei Uziel, pp. 456 and 458.

[11]  Quoted in Shabbetai Don Yahye, pp. 227-228.

[12] Hegyonei Uziel, Vol. 2, pp. 96-97.

[13] Mikhmanei Uziel, p. 405.

[14] Mikhmanei Uziel, pp. 406-407.

[15] Hegyonei Uziel, Vol. 2, p. 98.

[16] Mikhmanei Uziel, pp. 552-553.

[17] Mikhmanei Uziel, p. 345.

[18] Mikhmanei Uziel, pp. 382-383; 393.

[19] Sha'arei Uziel, introduction, pp. 35 and 37.

[20] Mikhmanei Uziel, pp. 516-517.

[21] Mikhmanei Uziel, p. 120.

[22] Hegyonei Uziel, Vol. 1, pp. 98-99.

[23] Hegyonei Uziel, Vol. 1, p. 176.

[24] Hegyonei Uziel, Vol. 2, pp. 146-147.

[25] Mikhmanei Uziel, p. 344.

[26] For Rabbi Kook's opinion, see Da’at Cohen, Jerusalem, 5745, No. 199.

Rabbi Uziel's opinion is found in Piskei Uziel, Jerusalem, 5737, No. 32, especially

pp. 178-179. See also my article, "A Discussion of the Nature of

Jewishness in the Teachings of Rabbi Kook and Rabbi Uziel," in Seeking Good, Speaking Peace,

edited by Hayyim J. Angel, Hoboken, 1994, pp.112-123.

[27] For a discussion of Rabbi Uziel’s position, see Rabbi Haim David Halevy,

"The Love of Israel as a Factor in Halakhic Decision Making in the Works

of Rabbi Benzion Uziel," Tradition, Vol. 24, Spring 1989, pp. 17-19.

[28] Mikhmanei Uziel, p. 330.

[29] Mikhmanei Uziel, p. 424.

[30] Mikhmanei Uziel, p. 429.

[31] Mikhmanei Uziel, p. 523.

[32] Shabbetai Don Yahye, pp. 107-108.

[33] Shabbetai Don Yahye, p. 77.

 

 

On December 10, 1966 Shmuel Yosef Agnon, the great Israeli Hebrew writer, delivered a speech at the Nobel banquet on the occasion of his having been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. Quoting from the Bible, the Jewish Prayer book and rabbinic tradition, Agnon was as clear as possible that he was a Jew, a faithful Jew steeped in Judaism. He pointed out the dilemma of the Jewish People living centuries in Exile, and now struggling to find their way back to their ancient homeland in Israel.  “As a result of the historic catastrophe in which Titus of Rome destroyed Jerusalem, and Israel was exiled from its land, I was born in one of the cities of the Exile. But always I regarded myself as one who was born in Jerusalem.” As he concluded his remarks, he said: “If I am proud of anything, it is that I have been granted the privilege of living in the land which God promised our forefathers to give us.”

Agnon (1887-1970) was born in Buczacz, then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, now Buchach, Ukraine. His original family name was Czaczkes. In 1908 he emigrated to Jaffa in the land of Israel. In 1913 he moved to Germany where he married Esther Marx; they had two children. The businessman and publisher, Salman Schocken, became Agnon’s literary patron and freed him from financial worries. In 1924, a fire broke out in Agnon’s home, destroying his manuscripts and library. Shortly thereafter he and his family moved to Jerusalem where he continued his career as a prolific Hebrew writer.

Agnon’s work is laced with biblical and Talmudic passages. His stories and novels did not always have powerful or complicated plots; rather, it was his style of writing that engages the reader. He is calm, wise, gentle. He tells his stories as though he is talking to you in his living room over a cup of tea, without pretensions or pomposity. The reader comes to see Agnon as an older, wiser friend…someone whose memories and thoughts have weight.

In his book, A City in its Fullness, he offers a nostalgic account of the town in which he was born and raised. His stories were about “former days, when the town stood in peace.” Agnon comments: “I was able to tell the things calmly and not in sorrow, and one would not have known from my voice what had happened to my town—that all the Jews in it had been killed. The Holy One, blessed be He, has been gracious to Israel: even when we remember the greatness and glory of bygone days, our soul does not leave us out of sorrow and longing. Thus a man like me can talk about the past, and his soul doesn’t pass out of him as he speaks” (p. 10).

There is irony in his words. He notes that all the Jews of the town were murdered, but then refers to the graciousness of the Holy One, blessed be He! How was the Almighty “gracious to Israel?” He lets them recount the past, including the tragedies, without dying of sorrow! Is Agnon speaking piously, in profound resignation to the will of God? Or is he mocking the notion of God’s being “gracious to Israel?”  Agnon was indeed a religious man; but he was not at peace with God’s treatment of the Jews.

 In spite of their sufferings in Buczacz, the Jews loved their birthplace. But after World War I, life became increasingly unbearable. Poverty was rampant. The government made constant decrees to the detriment of the Jews. “The old took comfort in the fact that they would soon die and not much longer have to endure their afflictions; they would be buried in the city where their ancestors were buried. The young looked toward the four corners of the earth for a place where they would be allowed to live. And the fewest of these few prepared to emigrate to the Land of Israel in order to work its land and to establish for themselves and their descendants a haven where they could be free of the yoke of Exile, which has been Israel’s burden since the day it left its land. Meanwhile, each saw himself living in the land of his birth as but a guest for the night” (pp. 560-61). This was the eternal Jewish dilemma—to be living in places of Exile for generations but always feeling as strangers. Agnon saw the return to the Jewish homeland in Israel as the key to Jews finally feeling really at home in the world.

In his book, A Guest for the Night, he describes having returned to his old town in Europe, that was now in terrible straits after the first World War. “I went to the Beit Midrash and stood before the locked door. Many thoughts passed through my mind in a short time, and this is one of them: the Beit Midrash still exists, but I am standing outside, because I have lost the key and cannot get in” (p. 83). He found a locksmith to make a new key for the Beit Midrash. He hired someone to keep the fire burning in the fireplace so that the place was warm. Slowly, men began to gather again in the Beit Midrash, if only to stay warm on cold winter days. The Jews had been living in this town for generations; the Beit Midrash was coming back to life.

And yet, this was still the Exile. The authorities had the power to oppress the Jews, even to expel them. “I was born in this town and spent most of my youth here—but an official, who was not born here and has done nothing here but enjoy the best the town can give, may come along and tell me: Go, you belong to another country and you have no permission to stay with us. I thought of my forefathers, whose bones are interred in the town’s graveyard….I thought of my other relatives who had bestowed many benefits on the townsfolk—and now the authorities, who inherited all these benefits, could come and expel me from the town” (p. 110).

When he ultimately returned to the land of Israel, he had inadvertently also brought a key to the Beit Midrash with him. He put the key in a box and locked it; he made a necklace and wore it around his neck. He recalled the Midrash that in messianic days, the synagogues and study halls of the diaspora will be miraculously transported to the holy land of Israel. But when will the messiah bring this redemption?  The key “is made of iron and brass, and it can wait, but I, who am flesh and blood, find it hard to endure” (pp. 508-9).

Agnon wonders about the sense of security felt by some Jews living outside the holy land. He tells the story of Mr. Lublin who lived in Leipzig and became a German citizen. Mr. Lublin wasn’t particularly observant religiously, and worked hard in his store to make a living and be a good citizen. Mr. Lublin believed that “Germany sees that all of us, all Germany’s Jewish citizens, sacrifice our children and our wealth for its war against the enemy, and is it possible that after all this they will still deprive us of our rights? Isn’t this so? Why are you looking at me like that?” (In Mr. Lublin’s Store, p.189). Why? Because the narrator (Agnon) thought Mr. Lublin was naïve to trust that the Germans would actually treat Jews fairly, as loyal citizens. No matter how many sacrifices Jews made on behalf of Germany, they were still always going to be victims, always strangers, always mistrusted. Exile was exile. Period.

Agnon has a particular nostalgia for authentic prayer. In his story “Hemdat the Cantor,” he describes how Hemdat ascended the prayer desk on the night of Yom Kippur. “And when he came to the pulpit he gripped it with his two hands, and cried out “’Oi!’ As if it were all-devouring fire. A sudden awe fell upon the entire congregation and all rose and stood and trembled….Hemdat raised his head, his eyes closed and compressed, groping in the air, his eyeglasses swimming in tears….He covered his face with his tallit down to his heart, and he began to give voice, every time in a melody sweeter than the last. Then I understood what Father meant when he said, He who has heard the Kol Nidrei of Hemdat, knows what Kol Nidrei is” (p. 58). The people were uplifted by Hemdat’s prayers. “For Hemdat prayed in awe and fear and feeling and with a broken heart, for Israel the holy nation, who sought to return to Him with a whole heart” (p. 59).

In reminiscing about his hometown of Buczacz, he tells of a man who recited the Musaf and gave him “a real taste of prayer.” The prayer leader had a pleasant voice, but “it wasn’t a voice we heard; it was prayer” (p. 100). The heartfelt longing and yearning of sincere prayer was what inspired Agnon. He was not impressed with external shows of praying, but with actual reaching out to God. In his book, To This Day, he quotes a woman: “’An intellectual’”, she said, ‘is someone who can recite Psalms without tears.’ I couldn’t have put it any better myself” (p. 53).

Agnon was prayerful, even as he realized that he was living in an unredeemed world, where God’s mercy was not always evident. He named one of his books To This Day “in the language of thanksgiving for the past and of prayer for the future. As it says in the Sabbath morning service: To this day have Thy mercies availed us and Thy kindness not failed us, O Lord our God. And mayst Thou never abandon us ever” (p. 175).

Agnon’s writings are sprinkled with wise insights that invite us to ponder his words. In describing a young man who rediscovered the Hebrew language and his connection with the land of Israel, Agnon writes: “he is meticulous with language and meticulous in all his actions. His hair is wild, but his thoughts are orderly. His clothes are in tatters, but his soul is intact” (Shira, p. 176). In his short story, “The Night,” he notes: “But there are guests who come no matter how tightly one’s door is shut, as they are the thoughts surrounding our actions.” And in his story “Between Two Towns” he meditates: “The good Lord created a vast world, with many people in it whom He scattered wide, giving each place its singular quality and endowing every man with singular wisdom. You leave home and meet people from another place, and your mind is expanded by what you hear.” 

And poignantly, he writes of “two Austrians who meet outside of town and one says to the other, ‘where are you going? And the other replies, ‘I’m off to the forest to be alone.’ ‘Why, I also want to be alone,’ exclaims the first. ‘Let’s go together’” (“In the Prime of Her Life”). This might serve as Agnon’s invitation to readers: I want to be alone, but I want you to come along with me so we can be alone together.