National Scholar Updates

Drawing on the Wisdom of Isaiah Berlin

   

  Isaiah Berlin was one of the intellectual wonders of 20th century England. Born in Riga in 1909, his family emigrated to England in 1921. Isaiah quickly adapted to life in his new land, attending St. Paul’s School and Corpus Christi College, Oxford. He studied classical languages, ancient history, philosophy, politics and economics; he was a top student and a voracious reader.  In 1932 he was appointed to a lectureship at New College, and he became the first Jew to be elected to a Prize Fellowship at All Souls, considered to be among the highest honors in British academic life.

     During the 1930s, he was one of a group that developed “the Oxford philosophy,” a movement that also included premier Oxford scholars J. L. Austin, A. J. Ayer and Stuart Hampshire. During the Second World War, Berlin was stationed in New York serving in the British Information Services (1940-42), and then at the British Embassy in Washington DC (1942-46).  In 1945-46, he spent four months in the Soviet Union, meeting with persecuted members of the Russian intelligentsia, including Anna Akhmatova and Boris Pasternak. His stay in the Soviet Union deepened his staunch opposition to communism.

After the war, Berlin returned to Oxford where his interests turned to the area of intellectual history. In 1950, he received a research fellowship at All Souls, allowing him to pursue his academic interests which were outside the mainstream of philosophy as it was then taught at Oxford. He made regular visits to American universities, where his lectures impacted on the development of intellectual history as an area for academic research.

       In 1957 Berlin was elected Chichele Professor of Social and Political Theory at Oxford.  Also in 1957, he was knighted. In 1967, he resigned his chair upon becoming the founding President of Wolfson College at Oxford, a position he held until retiring in 1975. He continued to teach, write and lecture, and passed away in 1997.

       That a Jewish immigrant boy from Riga became one of the foremost intellectuals of England is a tribute to Isaiah Berlin’s brilliance, as well as to the receptivity of Oxford and the English academic community. He rose to great intellectual heights, and did so as a British Jew.

       In his biography of Isaiah Berlin, Michael Ignatieff reports that Berlin’s mother taught him in his Riga childhood: “We were Jews….We were not Russian. We were not Letts. We were something else. We had to have a home. There was no point living in a perpetual qui vive. Above all, there was no point denying it, concealing it. To do so was undignified and unsuccessful” (Isaiah Berlin: A Life, p. 30). This early lesson stayed with Berlin throughout his life. Even as he adapted and “belonged” within English academic life, he was always aware of his being, in some sense, an “outsider.” He understood the need to belong and therefore sympathized with Zionism, the movement that promoted the right of Jews to live their own lives and to be fully accepted as Jews. Berlin explained that to be a Jew “was to know how deeply men and women needed to be at home somewhere in the world. Belonging was more than possession of land and statehood; it was the condition of being understood itself” (Ibid. p. 292).

       When he served in New York in the early 1940s, he was drawn to public Jews such as Rabbi Stephen Wise and Justice Louis Brandeis. He could not bear “apologetic American Jews” such as Walter Lippmann and Arthur Hays Sulzberger and saw them, in the words of Lewis Namier, as “trembling amateur gentiles” (Ibid., p. 105).  Berlin and a colleague coined the acronym OTAG, Order of the Trembling Amateur Gentiles.

       Berlin was not religiously observant in the Orthodox sense, but he never took his Judaism in the direction of Reform. “Berlin was adamant that if there was to be observance, it had to be as authentic, as traditional, as close to the ancient faith as possible….For all his skepticism, his respect for the religious content of the ritual was unfeigned” (Ibid. p. 294).

       Berlin’s Jewishness may have played a role in a central aspect of his thinking. Jewish tradition teaches that all human beings are created in the image of God; all have access to God; the righteous of all nations have a place in the world-to-come. Whereas other religions and ideologies have claimed exclusive possession of truth (and eternal salvation), Judaism makes room for others. This recognition of “truths” among all people is uniquely important.

       In his essay, “The Pursuit of the Ideal,” Berlin developed his understanding of pluralism. He rejected the view that “all genuine questions must have one true answer and one only, all the rest being necessarily errors.” He dismissed the notion that there was one dependable route to attaining  this “one true answer.” He argued against the idea that “the true answers, when found, must necessarily be compatible with one another and form a single whole, for one truth cannot be incompatible with another—that we knew a priori” (The Proper Study of Mankind, p. 5).

       Indeed, those who have posited one correct truth to the exclusion of any others—such people have fostered totalitarian societies, inquisitions, religious persecutions etc.  They have been so certain that they alone have truth, that they disdain—and often punish—those who do not share their truth. And they commit their atrocities with self-righteousness! “To force people into the neat uniforms demanded by dogmatically believed-in schemes is almost always the road to inhumanity” (Ibid., p. 16).

       Berlin’s idea of pluralism is elegant. It differs from relativism that calls on us to accept all views as being equally valid. Rather, pluralism is “the conception that there are many different ends that men may seek and still be fully rational, fully men, capable of understanding each other and sympathizing and deriving light from each other…..Intercommunication between cultures in time and space is possible only because what makes men human is common to them, and acts as a bridge between them. But our values are ours, and there are theirs” (Ibid., p. 8).

       In his essay, “Two Concepts of Liberty,” Berlin directed his attention to the predicament of oppressed classes or nationalities. “What they want, as often as not, is simply recognition (of their class or nation or color or race) as an independent source of human activity, as an entity with a will of its own, intending to act in accordance with it (whether it is good or legitimate, or not), and not to be ruled, educated, guided, with however light a hand, as being not quite fully human, and therefore not quite free.”  Berlin repudiated paternalism “not because it is more oppressive than naked, brutal, unenlightened tyranny, nor merely because it ignores the transcendental reason embodied in me, but because it is an insult to my conception of myself as a human being, determined to make my own life in accordance with my own (not necessarily rational or benevolent) purposes, and, above all, entitled to be recognized as such by others. For if I am not so recognized, then I may fail to recognize, I may doubt, my own claim to be a fully independent human being” (Ibid., p. 228).

       Berlin underscored these thoughts in his essay, “Nationalism.” He pointed out the obvious: the thought of 19th and early 20th centuries was “astonishingly Europocentric.” When even the most imaginative and radical political thinkers spoke of Africans or Asians, there was “as a rule, something curiously remote and abstract about their ideas….The peoples of Africa and Asia were discussed either as wards or as victims of Europeans, but seldom, if ever, in their own right as peoples with histories and cultures of their own; with a past and present and future which must be understood in terms of their own actual character and circumstances” (Ibid., p. 603).

       Isaiah Berlin, steeped in academic studies, was not an “ivory tower” scholar. He thought deeply and cared deeply about politics and society. He thought deeply and cared deeply about the Jewish predicament as an oppressed and misunderstood minority group; he thought deeply and cared deeply about how humanity might be more respectful, thoughtful, and fairer.

       His teachings are as relevant today as they were when he first expounded them.

                                            *     *     *

            I was born and raised in Seattle, Washington, as were both of my parents. My grandparents had come to Seattle early in the 20th century from towns in Turkey and the Island of Rhodes. My ancestors had lived in the old Ottoman Empire since the expulsion of Jews from Spain in 1492. Spanish religious intolerance at that time was counter-balanced by Ottoman religious tolerance.

In Seattle, Jews were a tiny minority of the general population. Sephardic Jews were a small minority within the city’s Jewish population. My grandparents, like the other Sephardic immigrants, spoke Judeo-Spanish as their mother tongue. I thought it was perfectly natural and normal to grow up in Seattle with Turkish-born grandparents who spoke a medieval form of Spanish!

       I strive to live according to the truth of my faith. Yet, I also am struck by a massive reality: I am part of a Sephardic Orthodox Jewish community that represents an infinitesimal percentage of humanity. There are at least seven billion other human beings who live according to their faiths, and who know little or nothing about mine. If I have the true way of life — one for which I am willing to live and die — how am I to relate to the overwhelming majority of human beings who do not share my faith?

       Growing up as an Orthodox Sephardic Jew in Seattle, I learned very early in life that I had to be very strong in my faith and traditions in order to avoid being swallowed up by the overwhelming majority cultures. I also learned the importance of theological humility. It simply would make no sense to claim that I had God’s entire Truth and that seven billion human beings were living in spiritual darkness. I surely believed — and do believe — that I have a profound religious truth that guides my life. But I also believed — and do believe — that all human beings have equal access to God, since God has created each one of us in God’s image.

       One of the great challenges facing religions is to see the full picture of humanity, not just our particular segment of it. While being fully committed to our faiths, we also need to make room for others. We need, in a sense, to see humanity from the perspective of God, to see the entire canvas not just individual segments of it.

       Religious vision is faulty when it sees one, and only one, way to God. Religious vision is faulty when it promotes forced conversions, discrimination against “infidels,” violence and murder of those holding different views. How very tragic it is that much of the anti-religious persecution that takes place in our world is perpetrated by people who claim to be religious, who claim to be serving the glory of God.

       While religion today should be the strongest force for a united, compassionate and tolerant humanity, it often appears in quite different garb. Religion is too often identified with terrorism, extremism, superstition, exploitation…and hypocrisy. People commit the most heinous crimes…and do so while claiming to be acting in the name of God.

       Isaiah Berlin’s concept of pluralism provides a framework to be faithful to our own truths, while being genuinely respectful of the truths of others. Religion should unite humanity in a universal striving for Godliness and righteousness.

References

Isaiah Berlin: The Proper Study of Mankind, Eds. Henry Hardy and Roger Hausheer, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, New York, 1998.

Ignatieff, Michael, Isaiah Berlin: A Life, Henry Holt and Company, New York, 1998.

 

 

 

 

 

Tanakh and Superstition: Debates within Traditional Commentary

 

The Torah rooted out many ancient pagan superstitions. Professor Yehezkel Kaufmann (1889–1963) pinpointed several critical features that fundamentally distinguish Tanakh from ancient Near Eastern literature. There is one supreme God above who is the Creator of all nature, and there are no forces competing with God. God is absolutely free. God is timeless, ageless, nonphysical, and eternal. Nature is a stage on which God expresses His will in history. Rituals do not harness independent magical powers and do not work automatically. Endowed with free will, people can defy God and even drive God’s Presence away. Evil does not inhere in universe but rather is a product of people sinning, and it undermines creation. Absolute standards of good and justice exist, and people may use their free will to build an ideal society.[1]

 

The overwhelming majority of Tanakh fits this description perfectly. God and the religious-moral behavior of humanity are explicitly responsible for nearly all events. This premise is so self-evident that one Mishnah dismisses any possibility of a “magical” reading of two Torah narratives that could have been read that way: Moses’ raised arms assisting Israel in the battle against Amalek (Exodus 17:8–16); and Moses’ using a divinely-commanded brass serpent to heal serpent-bitten Israelites in the wilderness (Numbers 21:4–9):

 

Is it Moses’ hands that make or break success in war? Rather, this comes to tell you, that whenever Israel looked upward and subjugated their hearts to their Father in heaven, they would prevail. If not, they would fall. Similarly, you can say concerning the verse, “Make a [graven] snake and place it on a pole, and everyone bitten who sees it will live.” Is it the snake that kills or revives? Rather, whenever Israel looked upward and subjugated their hearts to their Father in heaven, they would be healed. If not, they would be harmed. (Mishnah Rosh HaShanah 3:8)

 

There are instances, however, where some commentators interpret biblical narratives and laws in ways that differ from the above principles. This essay focuses on biblical passages that could be interpreted as reflecting powers that do not directly emanate from God. Among traditional commentators, there is diversity of opinion regarding the existence of forces beyond the divine. In most cases, Tanakh does not exhibit evidence of forces beyond God’s realm, but there are a few occasions where it might.[2] Religious educators must be particularly sensitive when teaching these passages with classical commentary, so that their students do not become superstitious.

 

Do Human Blessings and Curses Work Automatically?

 

Isaac’s Blessing to Jacob

            Isaac’s bestowal of the birthright is the central theme of Genesis chapters 25 and 27. Jacob successfully obtains the blessing through deception. Isaac upholds his blessing even after learning that he had mistakenly blessed Jacob:

 

Isaac was seized with very violent trembling. “Who was it then,” he demanded, “that hunted game and brought it to me? Moreover, I ate of it before you came, and I blessed him; now he must remain blessed!” When Esau heard his father’s words, he burst into wild and bitter sobbing, and said to his father, “Bless me too, Father!” But he answered, “Your brother came with guile and took away your blessing.” [Esau] said, “Was he, then, named Jacob that he might supplant me these two times? First he took away my birthright and now he has taken away my blessing!” (Genesis 27:33–36)

 

Given his knowledge of Jacob’s deception, why does Isaac conclude that “now he must remain blessed” (verse 33)?

 

            Following a Midrash (Genesis Rabbah 67:2), Rashi suggests that Isaac said “now he must remain blessed” (verse 33) only after hearing that Esau had sold the birthright years earlier (verse 36). Isaac thereby made a rational decision upon learning previously unknown (to Isaac) vital information. Of course, Rashi’s interpretation requires reading the verses out of sequence. In the text, Isaac appears to uphold the blessing immediately after learning that he was speaking with Esau. Most commentators therefore reject Rashi’s reading.

According to Rabbi Joseph Bekhor Shor and Ramban, Isaac’s blessing was prophetic and therefore could not be retracted. Ralbag and Abarbanel disagree and suggest that the blessing was not “automatic.” Rather, Isaac concluded that since Jacob had deceived him successfully, it must have been God’s will that Jacob should be blessed.

To summarize: Rashi, Ralbag, and Abarbanel interpret Isaac’s upholding the blessing as Isaac’s rational decision. Rabbi Joseph Bekhor Shor and Ramban maintain that Isaac’s blessing was an unretractable prophecy. In this latter reading, Isaac was powerless to annul even a misdirected blessing.

Regardless of the aforementioned debate, there is one other critical detail. Although Isaac was unaware (as far as we know), Rebekah received a prophecy during her pregnancy suggesting that Jacob would prevail over Esau:

 

The Lord answered her, “Two nations are in your womb, two separate peoples shall issue from your body; one people shall be mightier than the other, and the older shall serve the younger.” (Genesis 25:23)

 

            Moreover, several Midrashim and later commentators understand “the older shall serve the younger” (ve-rav ya’avod tza’ir) as ambiguous. It could mean “the older shall serve the younger,” but it also can mean “the older shall have the younger work for him” (Genesis Rabbah 63:7, Radak, Abarbanel). According to the Midrash, God stated the prophecy ambiguously since its favorable fulfillment for Jacob would occur only when Jacob and his descendants are faithful to God and the Torah. In the broader birthright narrative, then, Isaac’s human blessing also fulfills God’s prophetic plan. Even then, it does not work automatically but appears to be conditional on the future righteous behavior of Jacob and his descendants. According to all of the aforementioned readings, then, Isaac’s blessing reflected God’s will, and did not invoke some independent power that would bring blessing to Jacob and his descendants regardless.

In this spirit, Malbim (on Genesis 27:1) asserts that Isaac did not have the power to bestow divine blessings of chosenness. Rather, he had power over inheritance. The blessing to be God’s nation is solely in God’s hands, and that blessing depends on the religious worthiness of Jacob and Esau. Nehama Leibowitz agrees with this approach, and insists that Esau’s intermarriage to Canaanites (Genesis 26:34), rather than his sale of the birthright, forfeited his worthiness of the divine blessing. Isaac’s blessing of Esau could not have created the third Patriarch of the chosen nation.[3]

 

Noah’s Blessings and Curses

            After Ham’s shameful behavior toward his drunk and naked father Noah, Shem and Japeth respectfully covered their father. When Noah realized what had happened, he cursed Ham’s son Canaan and blessed Shem and Japheth:

 

He said, “Cursed be Canaan; the lowest of slaves shall he be to his brothers.” And he said, “Blessed be the Lord, the God of Shem; let Canaan be a slave to them. May God enlarge Japheth, and let him dwell in the tents of Shem; and let Canaan be a slave to them.” (Genesis 9:25–27)

 

These blessings are fulfilled when the Canaanites—the descendants of Ham—are dispossessed by the Israelites—the descendants of Shem. Did Noah’s blessing and curse cause this critical event in Israel’s history?

            The answer is negative. God dispossesses the Canaanites because they were wicked (for example, Genesis 15:16; Leviticus 18:24–30; Deuteronomy 9:1–5). The Israelites receive the Land because of God’s covenant with the Patriarchs (Deuteronomy 9:1–5). The Israelites also do not retain the Land of Israel automatically. If they are wicked, God will dispossess them from their land as well (see, for example, Leviticus 26:31–33; Deuteronomy 4:25–28; 11:16–17; 28:64–68). Righteous behavior allows a nation to merit the Land of Israel, and wicked behavior leads God to expel a nation from the Land of Israel.

Like Isaac’s blessing to Jacob, then, Noah’s blessings and curses reflect the divine will, and play no independent role in the dispossession of the Canaanites nor in God’s awarding the Land of Israel to Abraham and his descendants.

 

Balaam’s Blessings and Curses

            A similar discussion arises over Balaam’s power to curse Israel. The premise of the narrative in Numbers chapters 22–24 is that Balaam’s powers were perceived as genuine, and God’s intervention on Israel’s behalf rescued Israel from the deleterious effects of the curse. Tanakh repeatedly invokes this story to demonstrate God’s love of Israel (see Deuteronomy 23:5–6; Joshua 24:9–10; Micah 6:5; Nehemiah 13:1–2).

            However, traditional commentators debate the “what if” of the narrative. Had Balaam actually cursed Israel, would that have harmed Israel? Several talmudic passages and later commentators take the premise of the narrative as factual, that is, Balaam indeed would have harmed Israel were it not for God’s intervention. However, other commentators maintain that Balaam was a charlatan. Moabites and Israelites alike believed in his powers, but they were objectively mistaken. Balaam could not arouse metaphysical powers to harm Israel against God’s will to bless Israel.[4]

 

Rachel’s Death in Childbirth

Rachel’s tragic death as she gave birth to Benjamin is heart-wrenching (Genesis 35:16–20). The Torah does not explain why she died. Following one Midrash (Genesis Rabbah 74:4, 9), Rashi (on Genesis 31:32) ascribes Rachel’s death to a curse uttered by Jacob when he proclaimed his innocence in stealing Laban’s terafim (household idols) several chapters earlier. Jacob did not know that Rachel had stolen the terafim and hidden them in her saddle bag (Genesis 31:19, 34–35):

 

“But anyone with whom you find your gods shall not remain alive! In the presence of our kinsmen, point out what I have of yours and take it.” Jacob, of course, did not know that Rachel had stolen them. (Genesis 31:32)

 

In this reading, Rachel tragically dies as a result of Jacob’s unwitting curse.

            However, most commentators do not link Jacob’s declaration of innocence to Rachel’s death. First, some do not think Jacob’s statement is a curse at all, but rather an exaggerated statement that Jacob would kill anyone who stole the idols (Ibn Ezra), or that Laban would have his permission to kill the thief (Radak).

            There also is no reason to think that human curses work automatically. When Joseph’s brothers emphatically denied stealing Joseph’s silver goblet, they stated:

 

Whichever of your servants it is found with shall die; the rest of us, moreover, shall become slaves to my lord. (Genesis 44:9)

 

Benjamin did not die prematurely as a result of this declaration.

            Rejecting Rashi’s approach, Ibn Ezra (on Genesis 31:32) observes that childbirth is dangerous. The only other recorded biblical childbirth death is that of the High Priest Eli’s son Pinehas’ wife (I Samuel 4:19–22). Nobody cursed her, and yet she died. There is no reason to believe from within the text that Jacob’s unwitting curse (if it was a curse at all) should be considered a reason for Rachel’s death.[5]

 

 

Do Head Counts Bring Plagues?

            During the commandment to build the Tabernacle, God commands that every Israelite man contribute one half-shekel toward a census:

 

When you take a census of the Israelite people according to their enrollment, each shall pay the Lord a ransom for himself on being enrolled, that no plague may come upon them through their being enrolled…the rich shall not pay more and the poor shall not pay less than half a shekel when giving the Lord’s offering as expiation for your persons. You shall take the expiation money from the Israelites and assign it to the service of the Tent of Meeting; it shall serve the Israelites as a reminder before the Lord, as expiation for your persons. (Exodus 30:12–16)

 

Regardless of one’s means, every man is required to give exactly the prescribed amount “to atone for your lives.” The silver from the original census was used to make sockets for the Tabernacle and hooks to connect the boards (Exodus 38:25–28). Every Israelite, rich or poor, thereby contributes equally to this aspect of the Tabernacle.

            Why, however, are people threatened with a plague if they do not give a half-shekel?

            Rashi submits that counting Israelites by head triggers the “evil eye” and brings a plague. Therefore, they must conduct every census using objects such as half-shekels and then count the objects. Rashi adopts the reading of the talmudic Sage Rabbi Eleazar: “Whosoever counts Israel violates a negative precept” (Yoma 22b).[6]

            To support his reading, Rashi invokes the narrative of King David’s census of Israel in II Samuel 24. Despite Joab’s protests, David insisted on counting. The census incurred God’s wrath, eliciting a devastating plague that claimed the lives of 70,000 Israelites:

 

The king said to Joab, his army commander, “Make the rounds of all the tribes of Israel, from Dan to Beer-sheba, and take a census of the people, so that I may know the size of the population.” Joab answered the king, “May the Lord your God increase the number of the people a hundredfold, while your own eyes see it! But why should my lord king want this?” However, the king’s command to Joab and to the officers of the army remained firm; and Joab and the officers of the army set out, at the instance of the king, to take a census of the people of Israel… The Lord sent a pestilence upon Israel from morning until the set time; and 70,000 of the people died, from Dan to Beer-sheba. (II Samuel 24:2–15)

 

Rashi asserts that David sinned by not counting with half-shekels or other objects, but instead counted heads.

            Ramban (on Numbers 1:2) rejects Rashi’s interpretation. Joab opposed the very census, and not its method (of not using half-shekels). There are other legitimate military censuses in Tanakh (see, for example, Numbers 31:4–5; Joshua 8:10; I Samuel 11:8, 13:15, 15:4; II Samuel 18:1). To explain the plague in David’s time, Ramban observes that David’s is the only military census in Tanakh taken during peace time, rather than at war time. It was unnecessary and displayed arrogance and a lack of trust in God. God plagued Israel as a consequence of a sin in faith, rather than because of the method of the census (see also Ralbag and Rabbi Isaiah of Trani on II Samuel 24).[7]

            It appears that Ramban’s objection to Rashi is compelling, and there is no connection between the commandment to take half-shekels in Exodus 30 and David’s sin in II Samuel chapter 24. How, then, should we understand the threat of plague in Exodus 30:12?

Rabbi Saadyah Gaon (quoted in Ibn Ezra) submits that the annual half-shekel commanded in Exodus 30 is for support of the Tabernacle and the daily sacrifices. A plague results from laxity in contributing to the building fund and to the nation’s sacrifices, and not from conducting a head count. In this approach, there is nothing wrong with counting people by head. There is a problem with people refusing to contribute a minimal amount to participate in the Tabernacle and its service of the nation.

Alternatively, Rabbi Samuel D. Luzzatto (Shadal) maintains that Rashi has the best reading of Exodus 30:12, that there is a threat of a plague for conducting any census without half-shekels. However, the Torah reflects a popular superstitious belief that counting people can lead to a plague, rather than an objective reality.[8] This approach traces back at least as far as Rabbi David Kimhi (1160–1235) and Rabbi Joseph ibn Caspi (1279–1340), who explain several passages in the Torah as reflective of popular superstitions that are not objectively true.[9]

In either reading, the Torah does not teach that head counts elicit divine plagues. Religious sins such as arrogance, lack of faith, and non-participation in the national religious service incur God’s wrath.

 

Is There Black Magic?

 

            The Torah prohibits witchcraft as a capital offense (Exodus 22:17; Leviticus 20:27; Deuteronomy 18:9–13). Our commentators debate whether witchcraft exists, or whether witchcraft does not exist but the Torah prohibits its practice since many pagans believed in its efficacy and used magic in their idolatrous systems. Two biblical narratives bring this question to the fore: The Egyptian magicians in the Torah, and the Witch of Endor in I Samuel chapter 28.

 

The Egyptian Magicians

            Pharaoh’s magicians turn their staffs into serpents (Exodus 7:8–13), produce blood (Exodus 7:22), and produce frogs (Exodus 8:3). They are defeated during the plague of lice, which they could not replicate (Exodus 8:14–15), and the plague of boils which kept them from being able to appear before Pharaoh (Exodus 9:11).

            Some Sages in Sanhedrin 67b, followed by Ramban, maintain that black magic exists and that the magicians successfully used it. Other Sages in Sanhedrin 67b, followed by Abarbanel, assert that there is no magic and the magicians used illusion (ahizat enayim). Similarly, some Midrashim (Exodus Rabbah 9:10; 10:6) maintain that the magicians used black magic to produce blood and frogs, while others (Mishnat Rabbi Eliezer 19, Midrash HaGadol, quoted in Torah Shelemah Exodus 8:7) assert that the magicians cleverly found areas not yet afflicted, invoked their “magic”, and then the blood and frogs spread entirely from the divine plague.[10] In this instance, the Torah may be read either way.

 

The Witch of Endor

            Nearing the end of his tragic demise, King Saul turned to a necromanceress out of desperation to ascertain God’s will:

 

Saul disguised himself; he put on different clothes and set out with two men. They came to the woman by night, and he said, “Please divine for me by a ghost”…At that, the woman asked, “Whom shall I bring up for you?” He answered, “Bring up Samuel for me.” Then the woman recognized Samuel, and she shrieked loudly…“What does he look like?” he asked her. “It is an old man coming up,” she said, “and he is wrapped in a robe.” Then Saul knew that it was Samuel; and he bowed low in homage with his face to the ground. Samuel said to Saul, “Why have you disturbed me and brought me up?” And Saul answered, “I am in great trouble. The Philistines are attacking me and God has turned away from me; He no longer answers me, either by prophets or in dreams. So I have called you to tell me what I am to do.” Samuel said, “Why do you ask me, seeing that the Lord has turned away from you and has become your adversary? The Lord has done for Himself as He foretold through me: The Lord has torn the kingship out of your hands and has given it to your fellow, to David, because you did not obey the Lord and did not execute His wrath upon the Amalekites. That is why the Lord has done this to you today. Further, the Lord will deliver the Israelites who are with you into the hands of the Philistines. Tomorrow your sons and you will be with me; and the Lord will also deliver the Israelite forces into the hands of the Philistines.” (I Samuel 28:8–19)

 

            It appears that the witch successfully conjures up the deceased prophet Samuel’s spirit, and the characters saw and heard his spirit. This is the only biblical narrative that reflects a connection between the worlds of the living and the dead.

            Radak surveys several rationalist positions which reinterpret the story in light of their belief that witchcraft does not exist. Rabbi Saadyah and Rabbi Hai Gaon maintain that on this singular occasion, God miraculously brought Samuel’s spirit down. Alternatively, Rabbi Samuel ben Hofni Gaon maintains that the entire episode was fraudulent and Samuel’s spirit never appeared. The witch recognized Saul immediately but hid that fact so that she could fool him into thinking that she learned it through her magic. She made an educated guess that Saul would die, since the Philistines were powerful.[11] Ibn Ezra (on Exodus 20:3; Leviticus 19:31) also denies the existence of black magic and maintains that the narrative reflects the mistaken perception of the characters rather than objective reality. Rambam (Hilkhot Avodah Zarah 11:16) states more generally that all forms of witchcraft are both forbidden by the Torah and absolute nonsense derived from the pagan world. Only a fool would believe something so patently irrational (see also his discussion in Guide 2:46). This debate relates to the much broader discussion of how literally traditional interpreters understand biblical texts when confronting conflicts with reason.[12]

            Radak (on I Samuel 28:24) rejects the aforementioned readings. The narrative suggests that the witch really conjured up Samuel’s spirit, and there is no mention of divine intervention. Ramban (on Exodus 7:11; Leviticus 18:21; Deuteronomy 18:9) also adopts the literal reading of the narrative and agrees that the witch successfully conjured up Samuel’s spirit using black magic. These commentators maintain that black magic is prohibited by the Torah, and most of its alleged practitioners are frauds. However, in principle black magic does exist and the Witch of Endor was a true practitioner.

Moshe Garsiel[13] adopts a position similar to Rabbi Saadyah Gaon cited above. The narrative clearly depicts the event as genuine, that is, Samuel’s spirit really appeared and communicated a prophetic message to Saul. According to Garsiel (like Rabbi Saadyah Gaon), Tanakh generally portrays witchcraft as fraudulent. In this unique occurrence, however, God miraculously sent Samuel’s spirit to communicate with Saul. The witch was shocked herself, and therefore screamed. She also immediately understood that only Saul would merit such a miracle, which is how she knew he was the king: “Then the woman recognized Samuel, and she shrieked loudly, and said to Saul, ‘Why have you deceived me? You are Saul!’” (I Samuel 28:12). This revelation was part of God’s punishment of Saul, and God specifically refused to answer Saul through legitimate means.[14]

To summarize, the plain sense of the text suggests that Samuel’s spirit genuinely appeared to Saul. However, there is no reason to conclude that black magic exists. Rather, this may have been a one-time miraculous occurrence, shocking even the witch herself who was used to deceiving her customers.

 

Can One Divine the Future with Signs?

 

 

The Torah prohibits divination of the future with signs (Leviticus 19:26). Nevertheless, two biblical narratives present ostensibly righteous figures divining the future with signs and they are successful, suggesting God’s providential approval.

Seeking a wife for Isaac, Abraham’s servant (midrashically identified as Eliezer, Abraham’s servant in Genesis 15:2) prays to God and creates a sign to ascertain God’s approval:

 

And he said, “O Lord, God of my master Abraham, grant me good fortune this day, and deal graciously with my master Abraham: Here I stand by the spring as the daughters of the townsmen come out to draw water; let the maiden to whom I say, ‘Please, lower your jar that I may drink,’ and who replies, ‘Drink, and I will also water your camels’—let her be the one whom You have decreed for Your servant Isaac. Thereby shall I know that You have dealt graciously with my master.” (Genesis 24:12–14)

 

After the servant prayed, Rebekah appeared, drew water for the people and the camels, and clearly was the perfect fit for Isaac. It appears that the servant’s divination of the future through this sign receives divine approval in the narrative.

            Similarly, King Saul’s son Jonathan boldly decides to attack a vast enemy Philistine camp accompanied only by his arms-bearer. He creates a sign that he interprets as signaling divine approval:

 

Jonathan said, “We’ll cross over to those men and let them see us. If they say to us, ‘Wait until we get to you,’ then we’ll stay where we are, and not go up to them. But if they say, ‘Come up to us,’ then we will go up, for the Lord is delivering them into our hands. That shall be our sign.” (I Samuel 14:8–10)

 

Jonathan goes on to win a spectacular victory and is the hero of the narrative.

            Despite their resounding successes, did Abraham’s servant and Jonathan violate the Torah’s prohibition against divination? Commentators debate the meaning of a talmudic passage:

 

Rab himself has said: An omen that is not after the form pronounced by Eliezer, Abraham’s servant, or by Jonathan the son of Saul, is not considered a divination. (Hullin 95b)

 

Rambam (Hilkhot Avodah Zarah 11:4) interprets this passage to mean that the divination of Abraham’s servant and Jonathan is forbidden divination.

            Rabad of Posquieres sharply rejects Rambam’s reading and insists that Abraham’s servant and Jonathan were righteous and acted appropriately, as is evident from the narratives. He concludes by saying that if Abraham’s servant and Jonathan were alive, they would whip Rambam with fiery lashes. Radak and Ralbag agree with Rabad and maintain that the signs of Abraham’s servant and Jonathan were permissible. Rabbi Elhanan Samet explains that Rabad, Radak, and Ralbag interpret the Talmud to mean that unlike the other signs discussed in that passage, which are considered unreliable forms of divination, the signs of Abraham’s servant and Jonathan were reliable. The Talmud is giving advice on appropriate divination.[15]

            Alternatively, Ran (Rabbenu Nissim on Hullin 95b) and Rabbi Joseph Karo (Kesef Mishneh on Rambam, Hilkhot Avodah Zarah 11:4) agree that the signs of Abraham’s servant and Jonathan were appropriate because they are rational. Abraham’s servant sought a hospitable wife for Isaac, and Jonathan interpreted the Philistines’ summoning him as giving him a military advantage. The Torah prohibits making decisions based on signs that have no rational basis, such as seeing a black cat.

            According to Rambam, the Torah outlaws all divination signs, rational or not. For the others, Abraham’s servant and Jonathan sought signs of divine providence using rational means and prayer. The plain sense of the narratives supports the majority opinion against Rambam, that Abraham’s servant and Jonathan acted appropriately and were blessed with divine assistance.[16]

 

Conclusion

 

            The plain sense of the biblical texts we have considered does not support the notion that human blessings or curses work automatically without divine support. There also is no evidence that a head count automatically elicits a plague. The plain sense of the narrative in I Samuel 28 (and possibly also the Egyptian magicians) might suggest the existence of black magic, but a number of commentators exclude that possibility and provide a fair alternative reading of the text. Regardless, the Torah outlaws sorcery as a capital offense. It appears from the plain sense of the text that the signs of Abraham’s servant and Jonathan are acceptable in the context of faith in God and rationality. Rambam rules otherwise, and prohibits all forms of divination.

            While some Midrashim and later commentators ascribe some of these events to automatically triggered forces, it appears that Tanakh indeed attempts to eradicate superstitions at their roots. God rules the entire universe, and people’s righteous or wicked behavior, not magic, determines God’s providential relationship with humanity.

            A final note to educators: While Rashi often is the exclusive commentator taught to children throughout much of Elementary School, educators of young children should give serious pause before teaching Rashi’s comments about the issues discussed in this essay. Since it is difficult to present complex and conflicting views on these subjects to young children, Elementary School students will necessarily adopt the view that Rachel died because of Jacob’s unwitting curse and that head counts invoke the “evil eye.” It is preferable to defer these discussions at least until High School, when children are old enough to learn the different sides of these debates.

 

Notes

 

 

[1] For further discussion, see, for example, Nahum M. Sarna, “Paganism and Biblical Judaism,” in Studies in Biblical Interpretation (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2000), pp. 13–28; Christine Hayes, Introduction to the Bible (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012), pp. 15–28.

[2] A different, and much broader, discussion pertains to rabbinic statements in the Talmud and mystical literature and later rabbinic interpretations, particularly that of Rambam. See, for example, Menachem Kellner, Maimonides’ Confrontation with Mysticism (Oxford: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2006); Marc B. Shapiro, Studies in Maimonides and His Interpreters (Scranton: University of Scranton Press, 2008), pp. 95–150; H. Norman Strickman, Without Red Strings or Holy Water: Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2011).

[3] Nehama Leibowitz, Studies in Bereshit (Genesis), trans. Aryeh Newman (Jerusalem: Eliner Library), pp. 277–278.

[4] For a survey of traditional opinions, see Yehuda Nachshoni, Studies in the Weekly Parashah: Bamidbar, trans. Raphael Blumberg and Yaakov Petroff (Jerusalem: Mesorah Publications, 1989), pp. 1091–1098.

[5] See further sources and discussion in Elhanan Samet, Iyyunim BeParashot HaShavua (second series) vol. 1 (Hebrew) ed. Ayal Fishler (Ma’aleh Adumim: Ma’aliyot Press, 2004), pp. 156–160.

[6] Rashi also follows Rabbi Elazar (Yoma 22b) on I Samuel 15:4, when King Saul counted his troops prior to his battle against Amalek: “Saul mustered the troops and enrolled them at Telaim (va-yifkedem ba-tela’im): 200,000 men on foot, and 10,000 men of Judah.” Rashi interprets “va-yifkedem ba-tela’im” to mean that he counted them using sheep, rather than counting them by head. Radak disagrees and interprets “Tela’im” as the name of a place (the NJPS translation cited in this note adopts this reading). In Radak’s reading, Saul did not specifically use objects, but simply counted his troops.

[7] In I Chronicles, there is a brief note of a related problem, that of counting all of Israel. God promised that Israel would be as numerous as the stars, and therefore a census is limiting: “David did not take a census of those under twenty years of age, for the Lord had promised to make Israel as numerous as the stars of heaven. Joab son of Zeruiah did begin to count them, but he did not finish; wrath struck Israel on account of this, and the census was not entered into the account of the chronicles of King David” (I Chronicles 27:23–24). From this vantage point, counting all of Israel in any form, half-shekels or not, remains the problem. However, military censuses are appropriate under normal circumstances.

[8] See further discussion in Moshe Shamah, Recalling the Covenant: A Contemporary Commentary on the Five Books of the Torah (Jersey City, NJ: Ktav, 2011), pp. 445–460.

[9] See Jerome Yehuda Gellman, This Was from God: A Contemporary Theology of Torah and History (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2016), pp. 122–123.

[10] Nahum M. Sarna observes that there is an Egyptian species of cobra rendered rigid by applying pressure to a nerve at the nape of its neck. When thrown to the ground, the jolt causes it to recover and it wriggles away (Exploring Exodus: The Origins of Biblical Israel [New York: Schocken, 1986–1996], pp. 67–68).

[11] In this reading, how could the witch have known that Saul was rejected by God? Samuel’s prophecy was not public knowledge.

[12] See Hayyim Angel, Controversies over the Historicity of Biblical Passages in Traditional Commentary,” in Angel, Increasing Peace Through Balanced Torah Study. Conversations 27 (New York: Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, 2017), pp. 10–21; reprinted in Angel, The Keys to the Palace: Essays Exploring the Religious Value of Reading the Bible (New York: Kodesh Press, 2017), pp. 115–131.

[13] Moshe Garsiel, Reshit HaMelukhah BeYisrael, vol. 2 (Hebrew), (Raananah: Open University Press, 2008), pp. 302–303.

[14] For a fuller discussion of rabbinic and Karaite views of the tenth-twelfth centuries and their influences, see Haggai ben Shammai, “From Rabbinic Homilies to Geonic Doctrinal Exegesis: The Story of the Witch of En Dor as a Test Case,” in Exegetical Crossroads: Understanding Scripture in Judaism, Christianity and Islam in the Pre-Modern Orient, ed. Georges Tamer et al. (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018), pp. 163–197.

[15] See further discussion in Elhanan Samet, Iyyunim BeParashot HaShavua (second series) vol. 2 (Hebrew) ed. Ayal Fishler (Ma’aleh Adumim: Ma’aliyot Press, 2004), pp. 389–407. An English version can be found at http://etzion.org.il/en/prohibition-divination-rambam-vs-sages-provence, accessed June 26, 2018.

[16] Jacob Milgrom adopts a similar perspective. Sorcery is when one tries to alter the future with magic. This practice is absolutely incompatible with monotheism and is a capital crime in the Torah since a magician tries to overrule God’s will. In contrast, divination is when one tries to predict future using signs. This practice could be compatible with monotheism if one claims to predict God’s future. Milgrom appeals to Abraham’s servant and Jonathan as examples that can be tolerated (Anchor Bible: Leviticus 17–22 [New York: Doubleday, 2000], pp. 1687–1688). Milgrom disagrees with Yehezkel Kaufmann, who maintained (like Rambam) that divination is incompatible with biblical monotheism.

From "secular" to "getting religious": an important story for modern Jews

 

 

If, ten years ago, someone had told me that I would be a member of the board of a religious, rabbinic organization, that I would attend synagogue services every Shabbat, that I would put on tefillin, and that I would even write an article for a religious publication – I would have laughed and explained how severely mistaken that person was: I, the proud member of Hashomer Hatzair, who is secular in every fiber of his body?! Nevertheless, something no less than a revolution took place in my life, and a substantive change in my worldview. Like many revolutions, the change began with something small. 

But, if I may, I would like to begin at the beginning. I was raised near Haifa, and I was taught the values of secular socialism, the love of Israel, tolerance, social responsibility – and many other values that can also be found in the Torah – as a member of the Kiryat Haim section of Hashomer Hatzair. In my childhood, there was no connection between the religious and secular residents, and no attempt was made to establish such a connection. The two communities lived side-by-side like oil and water, never mixing. In the army, I served in a mostly secular unit, whose members came from backgrounds similar to my own. When a religious soldier would arrive, our mission was to see how long it would take for us to get him to watch television on Shabbat, and to remove his kippah. We had quite a few “successes”. 

After the army, I met my wife, Irit, who had been raised in a traditional Jewish home, and we had four children. Until about a decade ago, a connection ith God was foreign to me, and was always associated with the corrupt religious establishment, on the one hand, and extremist settlers, on the other. I wrongly assumed that there was a part of the Jewish people that had an exclusive license from God. In the meantime, my hard work bore fruit, and I managed to purchase the Israeli Building Center.

 The biggest change in my relationship with religion and Judaism began in that framework, as I came to know several religious people involved in the construction industry. Work-related discussions began to digress to discussions about life, family, children, lifestyle, and we even got together with our wives. Slowly, for the first time in my life, I began to have real friendships with religious people. One day, our friends, Meir and Revital Noga, invited us to their home for Shabbat dinner. Meir gently suggested that I come early and accompany him to the synagogue. What I did not know at the time was that Meir had consulted with his rabbi, and had received what was then a rather innovative rabbinic decision, allowing him to invite me and my family for Shabbat, even though it meant that we might desecrate Shabbat. We went to synagogue together – for me, it was the first time in 30 years – and we sat down together for Shabbat dinner with their beautiful family. 

Back then, we also became very close friends with a family from Givat Shmuel, Michal and Meir Mizrachi, whose children became close friends of our children, and Iris and Dvir Granot from Tzur Yigal. Through those acquaintances with those special people, I learned how beautiful and special Judaism is, and that, wow, some of it suits me. Who would have imagined that one day the rabbi who allowed us to come for Shabbat, and who opened that door, Rabbi Ronen Neuwirth, would become a friend whom I would join in working together to establish the Beit Hillel organization?! 

More than ten years ago, I began putting on tefillin daily, making kiddush and saying birkat hamazon after meals. Two years later, I began attending synagogue services on Friday evenings (in the community center of my moshav, Ramot Hashavim), and a year later, I began attending Saturday morning services, as well, becoming a regular member of the minyan. Due to the small number of worshippers in the synagogue in Ramot Hashavim, Benzi (perhaps the only Orthodox person in the community), began to encourage us to lead services. Slowly, we began to add other “secular” Jews. 

But the turning point came during the Second Lebanon War (2006), when one of the women began attending Friday night services on a regular basis, and other women followed. The women began bringing their children, and their husbands soon followed. Today, twenty-five families are members of the Ramot Hashavim congregation. If you had asked people in Ramot Hashavim five years ago if such a thing were possible, they would have said that you were hallucinating. Every Monday, we study the weekly Torah portion at one of the homes in the community. Because we did not have a kosher Torah scroll, I assumed the responsibility of having one written (when I was told that I was crazy, and that it was very expensive, I replied that, in any case, everything I earn is granted to me from Above, so it really isn’t mine anyway), and two years ago, I brought it to the synagogue in a procession in which hundreds of residents participated, with musical accompaniment that rocked the whole neighborhood. 

This year, we held hakafot shniyot for the first time. We are on the way. We are not (yet) Shabbat observant, and perhaps some of us never will be. But we are now firmly rooted in the world of Torah and tradition, like thousands of other Israelis throughout the country – people with “invisible kippot”. None of this would have occurred had it not been for the Noga family from Kfar Ganim, the Mizrachi family from Givat Shmuel, and the Granot family from Tzur Yigal, who opened their hearts and their homes, and were it not for the invitation to be their Shabbat guests, and having us as guests in their home. They lit the Jewish spark that exists in every Jew. They showed me the beautiful side of Judaism and Jewish tradition. Thanks to their outstretched hands, my children are growing up together with theirs, and when my son joins the army, he will not be motivated to encourage his observant friends to watch television on Shabbat, but the opposite.

 So, what do I ask of the religious community? I ask them to learn from the Noga, Granot and Mizrahi families. Open your hearts and homes to your friends, coworkers and neighbors. Friends, the time is ripe in Heaven and in Israel. You must take advantage of this opportunity to be part of the unification of the Jewish People. That, I believe, is the current mission of Religious Zionism. May we fulfill the statement of the rabbis in the Midrash (Song of Songs, 5:2) - “Open up for me an opening like the eye of a needle and in turn I will enlarge it to be an opening through which wagons can enter.”

Lessons from Sephardic Traditions

 

JIMENA (Jews Indigenous to the Middle East and North Africa) was founded in 2001 by
Jewish refugees from the Middle East and North Africa, amidst the aftermath of the September
11 th attacks and the ongoing second Intifada in Israel. Driven by a commitment to preserving
their families’ personal stories, the founders sought to raise awareness about the religious and
political persecution that led to their displacement, material losses, and fractured identities.
JIMENA has spearheaded numerous campaigns to ensure that the history of Jewish
refugees from Arab countries is thoroughly documented and incorporated into discussions about
Middle Eastern refugees. Members of JIMENA’s Speakers Bureau have shared their experiences
with the UN Human Rights Council, the U.S. Congressional Human Rights Caucus, the Israeli
Knesset, the British House of Lords, over 100 universities across North America, and hundreds
of organizations. As a principal North America advocate for Jewish refugees from Arab
countries and Iran, JIMENA is recognized by the Israeli government as a central leader in
advancing international initiatives on this important issue. 


Recently, JIMENA has increased its efforts to promote Mizrahi and Sephardic education
by developing various projects that enhance educational experiences for both Jewish and non-
Jewish settings. Last year, JIMENA assisted the White House’s U.S. National Strategy to
Counter Antisemitism, impacting its strategic goal to ensure that “students should learn about
global histories of antisemitism. This should include histories of antisemitism experienced by
Sephardic and Mizrahi Jews—who trace their ancestry to Spain, the Middle East, and North
Africa—and their stories of exclusion, persecution, and expulsion.” In response, our team created
a series of lesson plans for public schools that align with state standards and provide resources
for public school educators, as well as Jewish community and religious schools. JIMENA also
leads adult education series and formed AIMEE: Advocates for Inclusive Middle Eastern
Education to promote a deeper understanding of Middle Eastern Jewish heritage and combating
antisemitism in public education and beyond.


To draw on the diverse expertise of our communities, JIMENA established the Sephardic
Leadership Institute, comprising over 60 members from various fields, including rabbinical
leadership, grassroots organizations, education, women’s leadership, and arts and culture, which
significantly shaped our educational endeavors. JIMENA has hosted five fellowships featuring
training sessions led by prominent Sephardic and Mizrahi rabbis, scholars, educators, and
authors. These six-month programs, held bi-monthly, delve into topics such as Sephardic
pedagogy, rabbinic thought, antisemitism, Israel, and Jewish literature. JIMENA has offered both
in-person programs for Jewish professionals in San Francisco and Los Angeles, and remote
programs for the National Fellowship, the Campus Professional Fellowship, and the current
Senior Jewish Educators Cohort.


This year, JIMENA launched the Sephardi and Mizrahi Education Toolkit—a
comprehensive resource for K–12 educators. The Toolkit offers a wide range of resources,
including school assessments, leadership recommendations, and classroom materials that

integrate the experiences of Jews from Muslim-majority countries into subjects such as Tanakh,
halakha, science, Israel, the Holocaust, Jewish literature, and more, providing a fuller picture of
the entire Jewish experience. By reaching schools, libraries, summer camps, and community
organizations, JIMENA aims to make Sephardi and Mizrahi studies a foundational element of
Jewish education, reshaping how Jewish heritage is taught and celebrated.
Since its launch, the Toolkit has reached over 4,500 individuals worldwide, with teachers,
authors, and Jewish professionals participating in JIMENA-led trainings hosted by Jewish and
non-Jewish organizations like PJ Library, Bar-Ilan University’s Lookstein Center, Hebrew Union
College, and Fairfax County Public School in District in Washington, D.C. JIMENA is currently
providing direct support to administrators and educators at over 40 schools and Jewish
organizations to integrate these resources into their curricula. The Toolkit’s impact has been
widely recognized, with coverage in publications like eJewish Philanthropy, The Times of Israel,
Tablet Magazine, The Jerusalem Post, and the Jewish Women’s Archive.


JIMENA recently concluded a pioneering needs assessment of Jewish Day Schools in
New York, identifying essential requirements, challenges, and opportunities for enhancing the
inclusion of Sephardic content and students. Simultaneously, we are conducting a parallel study
in Los Angeles. The final report from the New York study outlines a comprehensive set of
recommendations that is guiding the development of innovative new JIMENA projects tailored
to address these findings. Additionally, JIMENA completed outreach to 50 state departments of
education, sharing our state-approved resources for teaching Middle Eastern Jewish history and
antisemitism. Our efforts have received significant interest from many of their offices to bring
these resources into public school curricula, which is a crucial step in broadening the narrative of
Jewish history and combating antisemitism nationwide.


Through JIMENA’s literary publication, Distinctions: A Sephardi and Mizrahi Journal,
our organization has showcased the work, creativity, and scholarship of Jewish leaders from our
communities. The first issues have focused on the themes of antisemitism, unity for Israel, the
diaspora, and resilience through transmission. The articles within the journal highlight the
contributions of rabbis, academics, artists, campus professionals, and others who are dedicated to
advancing our understanding of Jewish life. These pieces illustrate both the difficult
circumstances and the successful opportunities that our families and institutions have and
continue to confront and ensure that our stories are honored and heard.


Following the October 7 th massacre and the ongoing war in Israel, JIMENA immediately
addressed the mental health needs of over 100 community members, including former refugees
and college students. Partnering with Cross Cultural Expressions, JIMENA provided bi-weekly,
culturally competent group therapy sessions, offering specialized support for college students
while addressing challenges like antisemitism and isolation. These sessions provided critical
relief to students and survivors of Middle Eastern antisemitism, helping them cope with both
present and past traumas. Additionally, JIMENA recommended reputable charities in Israel and
raised emergency funds to secure temporary housing for 100 displaced individuals, prioritizing
families with children.


These achievements in education and outreach are building a more inclusive global
Jewish community—one that authentically reflects and integrates the contemporary histories,
vibrant cultures, and invaluable perspectives of Sephardic and Mizrahi Jews. Through our efforts
working with public schools and partnering with other Middle Eastern minorities, JIMENA
strives to share our “light to the nations” and foster a love of Jews and Israel within our own
schools, organizations, and communities.

“Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people.” —Devarim 4:6

Book Review: Rabbi Moshe Taragin on Rabbi Yehuda Amital

Book Review

By Rabbi Hayyim Angel

 

Rabbi Moshe Taragin, To Be Holy but Human: Reflections Upon My Rebbe, HaRav Yehuda Amital (Kodesh Press, 2025)

 

          Rabbi Yehuda Amital (1924-2010) was a leading Rosh Yeshiva in Israel, founding and building Yeshivat Har Etzion, a premier Hesder Yeshivah which combines Torah study with service in the Israel Defense Forces. Rabbi Moshe Taragin, a leading educator in his own right and a dedicated student of Rabbi Amital (as well as Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein, who co-led Yeshivat Har Etzion), offers a strikingly personal glimpse into Rabbi Amital’s unique personality.

          Rabbi Taragin’s book is comprised of two sections: One relates personal stories that offer a window into Rabbi Amital’s outlook, and the other focuses on aspects of Rabbi Amital’s ideology. The ideological essays are valuable in their own right, outlining the religious worldview of a master educator, communal leader, and model of Modern Orthodoxy and Religious Zionism. Personally, I find the stories even more illuminating, as they present elements of the inner world of Rabbi Amital. Here are just a few examples that speak to Rabbi Amital’s core values.

          Rabbi Amital stressed that people must develop a healthy personality before trying to become Torah scholars or communal leaders. He rejected a popular adage, often attributed to Rabbi Yisrael Salanter (1810-1883): “First, I tried to change the world. When that didn’t go as planned, I focused on changing my family. And when that didn’t work, I retreated inward to change my own inner life.” Rabbi Amital dismissed this lesson, insisting that the opposite is true. When people fail to change themselves, they often shift focus to changing the world. They use external success as self-proclaimed visionaries as a substitute for self-development or meaningful family relationships (93).

          Similarly, Rabbi Amital objected when, at a relative’s circumcision, people referred to the infant as “Yankele Iluy” (Torah genius) during their speeches. They explained that they wanted him to grow into that role and therefore called him a Torah genius from infancy. Rabbi Amital objected strongly: “Just grow up to be a happy, well-adjusted balabus (layperson).” One first must focus on being a well-adjusted person committed to Torah, before thinking of becoming a Torah prodigy (47).

          Rabbi Amital instructed his own daughter, in fourth grade at the time, to fail a test. Her teacher was placing far too much pressure on the students to excel, and Rabbi Amital wanted to teach his daughter that academic success should not overshadow emotional well-being (260).

          Rabbi Amital had a profound sense of reality and humility. He was famed for changing his mind, even on the most important topics. For example, he initially saw little value in Talmud education for girls, since his own mother and grandmother had been pious without it. Only a couple of years later, when addressing a women’s learning program, he remarked, “You know, I used to think that Talmud study for women was unnecessary, but now I think it is absolutely essential.” He also had evolving views on the religious centrality of the Land of Israel. Initially, he was influenced by Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook’s position that the land was at the very heart of the Zionist mission. Over time, however, Rabbi Amital came to realize that too much focus was on the land itself, and not enough attention was on people and the tenor of Israeli society (116-117).

          Rabbi Amital valued creating students who can think for themselves (talmidim), rather than clones who mimic their teachers (hasidim). He once participated in a panel discussion with his illustrious student, Rabbi Yuval Cherlow. Rabbi Cherlow nervously explained to the audience that “Everything I am about to say stems from Rav Amital’s inspiration, but it completely contradicts what Rav Amital himself believes.” Rabbi Amital stood up and announced, “Ah, finally, I have a talmid!” (75).

          A particularly poignant story reflects Rabbi Amital’s Torah leadership through his personal involvement. Once, there was a terrible snowstorm in Gush Etzion, leaving its residents without heat. A kibbutznik arrived on Shabbat, and told Rabbi Amital that the electricity in the hothouse where baby chicks were being raised had failed. If they did not restore the heat, the chicks would die. Rabbi Amital immediately put on his coat and walked through the storm to the kibbutz to offer his ruling. When he returned, people asked why he went, instead of simply asking more questions and then giving a ruling. He explained that Torah is to be lived in the real world, and is not simply book knowledge. He wanted to hear the cry of the chicks himself before issuing his ruling (28-29).

          Rabbi Taragin’s book title derives from a lesson Rabbi Amital frequently quoted from the Hasidic Rabbi Menahem Mendel of Kotzk (1757-1859). The Kotzker interpreted a verse, “Ve-anshei kodesh tihyun li” (you shall be holy people to Me, Exodus 22:30). While we strive to elevate ourselves by being holy, we must embrace the fact that we also are anashim, humans. We serve God precisely by recognizing our humanity, rather than falsely pursuing an angelic life (123).

          Through these and so many other anecdotes, Rabbi Taragin provides readers with a means of learning transformative lessons from one of the great rabbinic figures of the previous generation. 

 

Sweetness and Light: Thoughts for Parashat Beha'aloteha

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Beha'aloteha
 

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

For many years, we were regular customers of a local store. The proprietor always greeted us with a smile, called us by name, asked about our family. If our bill amounted to $51.10, he would often just round it off at $50. He genuinely loved his work and had a warm relationship with us and his many other customers.
 

But a few years ago, he retired and another person took over the business. The new proprietor always has a glum expression on his face, rarely greets us when we enter the store, seems to wish he was anywhere else but in the store. If our bill amounts to $51.10, we pay every cent of it, since he never rounds off the total.

We find that we now rarely shop at this store. The merchandise is the same…but the shopping experience has become unpleasant. We’ve found other stores to patronize.
 

What’s true in business is also true in religious life. When a rabbi/synagogue/community is welcoming, approachable and genuinely interested in us, we are more likely to respond positively. If a rabbi/synagogue/community doesn’t really seem to care about us—except for our membership dues and donations—we are likely to look for a more congenial religious setting.

This week’s Torah portion relates the details of the lighting of the menorah by Aaron the High Priest. Aaron’s role was not merely to provide light for the sanctuary, but to symbolically create an atmosphere of holiness, warmth, and enlightenment for the public.

In the Pirkei Avot, we read the words of Hillel: Be among the disciples of Aaron, loving peace and pursuing peace, loving people and drawing them close to the Torah.  Aaron, who lit the menorah in the sanctuary, was himself a personification of the spirit of kindness; he brought light to others through his warmth, caring, and genuine desire to develop friendships among the community. He was successful in bringing people closer to Torah because they were attracted to his kindness, to his concern for them and their families.

The late Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach founded a synagogue in Berkeley during the 1960s in order to reach out to the many young Jews who had drifted away from Jewish tradition. He named it the House of Love and Prayer. In the summer of 1967, he was asked to explain his vision for this synagogue.

He answered: “Here’s the whole thing, simple as it is. The House of Love and Prayer is a place where, when you walk in, someone loves you, and when you walk out, someone misses you.” (Quoted in “Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach: Life, Mission and Legacy,” by Natan Ophir, Urim Publications, 2014, p.119)

In these few words, Rabbi Carlebach expressed a profound insight worthy of immortality! He offered a vision not just for the House of Love and Prayer…but for all places of Jewish worship. When we enter a synagogue, do we feel welcomed? Does our presence mean anything to those in attendance? When we leave, does anyone miss us? Do the rabbi and synagogue officials take the time to get to know us, our needs, our concerns?

One might attend various synagogues and find the same general liturgy and customs—but in one synagogue one feels ignored or rebuffed, and in another synagogue one feels warmly received and appreciated.  Which would you choose to attend and support?

 

 

Politics, International Justice, and the Responsibility of Jews to Behave Morally and Protect Their Interests

 

The recent Iron Swords War has highlighted many flaws with the political order in general and the international criminal justice system in particular. Attempts to indict Israeli leaders in the International Criminal Court alongside preposterous accusations of genocide have led many to conclude that the politicized system is built on a (anti-Semitic?) bias against Israel. In this article, I hope to show how these well-founded concerns were already raised by rabbinic scholars in the earliest days of the League of Nations. I further argue that these problems have continued to confound many Jews who were otherwise tempted to support a system that promised a new world order.

 

Jewish Internationalists and Dreams of a New World Order

 

On November 12, 1917, while World War I continued to rage, R. Avraham Yitzchak Hakohen Kook sent a letter to his son R. Tzvi Yehuda: God’s light has finally pierced into our dark world. The redemption has begun.[1]

What inspired this proclamation? Ten days earlier, the British foreign minister issued the Balfour Declaration establishing support for the “establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people.” The British soon afterward conquered Palestine from the Turks, ending 400 years of Ottoman control of the Holy Land and raising hopes of Zionists around the world. 

R. Kook had been waiting for this moment. Now dwelling in London, he had been delivering Bible-laced sermons praising British patriotism and their fight against Germany.[2] With the declaration of the world’s great power, he wrote to Seidel, the messianic process has begun! The Lord, who is “master of battles and sprouts salvations,” had delivered.[3] It’s true, he conceded, the bloody war had revealed the depravity of modernity and its European delegates. God, however, had now made it possible for people of uplifted spirit to bring about a new era. 

A few years later, the Balfour Declaration was incorporated by the newly established League of Nations into its broad mandate system that would govern territories of collapsed empires. Belgium controlled Rwanda and Burundi; the French oversaw Syria and Lebanon; and the British governed Palestine and Transjordan, to name a few prominent examples. The goal of the mandate system, at least as proclaimed by its founders, was to end the colonialist era of exploitation. At the base level, this would entail protecting the rights of the local inhabitants through a system of international law. More ambitiously, the mandate system would facilitate the founding of new states. Concomitantly, various treaties were enacted to ensure minority rights in all nation-states, new and old. Taken together, a new world order was sought to preserve peace between states and prevent persecution of minorities within them.

Many Jews, including some avowed Zionists, were deeply involved in these movements.[4] One such figure was a rising academic star and legal activist, the Polish-born Hirsch Tzvi Lauterpacht (1897–1960). In the days after World War I, Lauterpacht had witnessed the horrible November 1918 pogrom in Lemberg, a contested city within the newly independent Poland. The war was over, yet Jews continued to be slaughtered.[5]

As borders were getting drawn anew across the globe, Lauterpacht dedicated his life to providing protections for minorities in these new states. He believed that Britain could use its imperial power to bring lasting peace, including support for both Jewish nationalism in Palestine and rights for Jews and other minorities throughout Europe.[6] Lauterpacht would become a leading law professor at Cambridge and later a judge on the International Court of Justice. He is credited with establishing that international law prohibited territorial conquest through warfare; that’s precisely the expansionist “discretionary wars,” to use rabbinic terms, that Kook wanted to end. Lauterpacht also helped establish that those who waged aggressive warfare could be placed on trial. His advocacy directly led to the Nuremberg trials against Nazi figures after World War II. This was a deeply personal case for Lauterpacht. His parents, siblings, and extended family were all killed in the Holocaust.[7]

Another prominent international jurist who escaped Europe before the war and worked with Lauterpacht on the Nuremberg trials was Jacob Robinson (1889–1977). Robinson was born in a small village in the Russian empire to an Orthodox Jewish family from distinguished rabbinic lineage. Like many others, he sought solutions to the “Jewish problem” after the antisemitic violence in Kishinev and elsewhere. After earning his law degree, he was drafted into the Russian army in 1914. He was captured by the Germans and spent the next three years in eight different German POW camps. Somehow surviving, he returned home to the newly independent Lithuania, where he not only led a Hebrew-language school but was also elected to the Lithuanian parliament. Robinson became a renowned advocate for national minority rights, playing critical advocacy roles in the Congress of European National Minorities and at the League of Nations. Throughout the 1920s, he promoted a “pan-Europa” transnational community that would allow minorities to peacefully live within whatever national borders they found themselves.[8] At the same time, he was also the de facto leader of Lithuanian Zionism. Ben-Gurion even deemed him as “the most important man in Lithuania.”[9]

For many Jews, international governance presented an enticing alternative to pacifism toward achieving the prophetic visions of a new world order. We don’t need to naively declare that violence is never justified. Instead, we can work to create an institutional system that will find alternative methods for conflict resolution. If peace efforts fail, then these bodies will act to ensure that any belligerent aggressors face justice. The world can together agree upon what military actions are acceptable. They will provide direction for moral dilemmas alongside clarity for determining which sides were right or wrong. For many, this was, and is, an alluring vision of prophetic proportions.[10] 

Yet could international governance deliver on these high hopes? Could world powers, in fact, now provide justice for the Jewish people and other persecuted groups? 

 

Two Excommunicated Rabbis and the Changing Self-Image of the Jew 

 

In August 1920, a book ban was issued by the leaders of the ultra-Orthodox community of Jerusalem. The author of the prohibited book was none other than Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, who had recently returned from London to assume the position of the Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem. Once settled, R. Tzvi Yehuda published his father’s major treatise, Orot (Lights), which included his reflections on the Great War from Switzerland and his hopes for a new era in international relations. 

What raised the ire of his critics to ban this book? R. Kook had equated the spiritual merits accrued by youthful physical training to those gained by piously reciting Psalms or mystical enchantments. This was not the first time R. Kook had aroused controversy for praising the ethos of self-defense. In the first years of the twentieth century, Jews—usually immigrants fleeing from the pogroms in Russia—founded different groups to build character based on physical toil and exercise. “Muscular Jews” could work the land and fight for themselves. Kook wrote enthusiastically about the importance of Jewish self-defense, viewing the phenomenon as “heartwarming.”[11] While recognizing that these groups were led by secular Jews, he embraced their efforts. He mourned for two that were killed in 1911 as “holy martyrs,” despite the fact that both had abandoned the religious lifestyles of their upbringing.[12] For R. Kook, physical strength was a sign of renewed Jewish vigor to develop the homeland and instill fear in its enemies.

Yet his latest expression of praise for profane labor and physical strength—comparing it to a classic religious act of beseeching God for assistance—was too much for those who viewed the Jewish hero as pious, pensive, and passive. They wanted R. Kook out of Palestine. The controversy quickly spread throughout the Jewish world, with competing images of Jews and Judaism at stake.[13] 

Unlike several of R. Kook’s apologetic defenders, one of his most strident supporters felt that R. Kook didn’t go far enough. What’s the benefit, he asked, of simply reciting Psalms as a protective charm or incantation? 

 

It is unquestionable that to strengthen Jewish boys to enable them to defend themselves against their pursuers (with God’s help) is a greater mitzvah (religious deed) than reciting Psalms.… Reciting Psalms is the task of the indolent; calisthenics is the task of the industrious. 

 

Prayer, he added, can have a valuable role, but only alongside self-defense training. He further accused R. Kook’s critics of timidity and suggested they instead go back to Europe. Their cowardice was only causing fear among the Jewish residents from antisemitic Arabs, who looked upon diffident Jewish neighbors as “dead meat.”[14] 

R. Kook’s defender, Rabbi Hayim Hirschensohn (1857–1935), knew something about rabbinic bans. He himself had left Jerusalem two decades earlier following controversies over his own publications. Unlike most of the prominent Zionists of this era, Hirschensohn was born in the Land of Israel. His parents were proto-Zionists (ĥovevei Tziyon) who had immigrated from Pinsk in 1847. They helped develop Jewish settlement in the cities of Safed and Jerusalem before Herzl was even born. The younger Hirschensohn followed in their footsteps by organizing the acquisition and development of properties around the country. He later became a founding member of the religious Zionist movement, Mizrachi. 

As a scholar, R. Hirschensohn aroused the ire of traditionalists in Jerusalem. This was partly because of his outspoken advocacy for reviving Hebrew as a spoken language, including his founding, with Eliezer Ben-Yehuda, of an organization toward that goal. (He and Ben-Yehuda were the first two families to enforce Hebrew-speaking in their homes). He also displayed openness toward analyzing classic rabbinic texts from a critical historical lens. These factors, among others, led to his formal excommunication by the old-school rabbis of Jerusalem. Needing to make a living, Hirschensohn was forced to leave his birthplace. 

So, in 1904, the same year that R. Kook immigrated to Jaffa, R. Hirschensohn made it to Hoboken, New Jersey, where he served as a rabbi for the rest of his life. During World War I and its aftermath, he attests, he was deeply engrossed in pastoral work with veterans and their families, for which he received a letter of commendation. R. Hirschensohn remained active in various Zionist organizations and maintained correspondence with the great rabbinic figures in Palestine. Yet he died in relative obscurity, with his writings becoming well-known only in the past couple of decades. His works remain particularly important because in the wake of the horrors of World War I and the excitement of the Balfour Declaration, he wrote several books dedicated to establishing the legal groundwork for a democratic state within Jewish thought, including addressing the dilemmas of war and conquest.[15] 

 

The Jewish Legion and the Hasmonean Spirit of Self-Determination 

 

The 1920 excommunication controversy was not the first time that Rabbis Kook and Hirschensohn had supported Jews taking up arms. Both men had endorsed enlistment during World War I in the so-called Jewish Legion, battalions within the British army composed of Jewish volunteers from England, North America, and other countries to fight in Palestine. They were created upon the initiative of Joseph Trumpeldor and Vladimir Jabotinsky. Trumpeldor was a veteran of the Russo-Japanese War in which he lost his left arm and received four medals of bravery, making him the most decorated Jewish veteran of the Russian Army. Jabotinsky was a Russian writer who made Bialik’s poem on the Kishinev pogrom famous by translating it into Russian. More significantly, he had been an organizer of Jewish self-defense organizations and an advocate for minority rights in Europe, seeking to protect the Jewish people with both law and shield.[16] 

During World War I, Trumpeldor and Jabotinsky sought British permission for Jews to fight the Ottomans in Palestine. After protracted negotiations, including those of Chaim Weizmann, the Legion finally formed and played a minor role in completing the British conquest of Palestine in 1918. Its fighters included David Ben-Gurion, later Israel’s first prime minister; Eliyahu Golomb, the founder of the pre-state Haganah defense force; and Berl Katznelson, a future labor leader. 

The Legion did not accomplish much and soon disbanded, yet it transformed the image of the Jew into someone who could fight for himself and his homeland. The chaplain of the Legion was Reverend Leib Falk (1889–1957), who grew up in Boisk and studied in the school of R. Kook and Seidel. In a Hanukka holiday sermon, Falk reflected on the significance of the first Jewish military corps that had fought in nearly eighteen hundred years: 

The whole world was watching [and] were looking on us, but they see now the Maccabean spirit revived, they see now that Israel is not only powerful with his voice, but he has also a mighty arm.... The Jewish soldier upholds now the honour of our nation. The Jewish warrior saved our national honour which was at stake.[17]

 

While the troops were still in England, R. Kook visited Falk and his men. Previously, R. Kook had opposed the enlistment of yeshiva students (frequently new immigrants from eastern Europe) into the British army because of their inability to maintain a religious lifestyle.[18] Yet he bestowed Jewish Legion fighters with blessings of strength while deeming them as the bearers of the beginning of salvation.[19] Years later, when the Jewish Legion’s flag was brought to Palestine for a grand ceremony, R. Kook compared it to the banners that the Israelites used in the desert on their way to conquering the Land of Israel.[20]

Yet it was R. Hirschensohn who penned the most extensive treatise in support of the Legion. Even though Jews were fighting within a foreign army, he nonetheless deemed fighting in Palestine as within the category of an “obligatory war” for the liberation of the homeland. Earlier rabbinic Zionist figures were concerned that military activity may violate talmudic oaths that prohibited the Jews during their exile period from “rebelling against the nations” or “rising up together in force.” [21] They thus advocated for a peaceful settlement through land acquisitions. R. Hirschensohn was not deterred by this talmudic prohibition; it applied, in his mind, only to rebellions in foreign lands, not to conquering the Holy Land. This was especially true since the British had recognized the right of the Jews to establish a state in Palestine. This was not treason, but rather a deeply honorable fight by soldiers for their homeland which had been taken from their people centuries beforehand. Most significant about his declaration was the negation of the talmudic impulses against militarism as binding on the Jewish people in the current era. It was a holy deed, in his mind, not just to settle the land, but to fight for it.[22] 

 

A Temple of Peace Without Sacrifices?

 

Renewed Jewish warfare naturally meant that Jews would need to think about the legacy of biblical warfare. Like R. Kook, R. Hirschensohn sought to neutralize the ethos behind the Bible’s total wars, albeit more radically. First, he contended, any remnant of the Canaanite nations has long been lost, thereby making the commandments irrelevant. Second, while the commandment to conquer the land is eternal, the clause to “leave no one alive” among the land’s inhabitants was only applicable to Joshua’s generation, when such military tactics were necessary to conquer the land and remove the fears of the Israelite people. Once completed, however, no such clause existed; as such, we don’t find Kings David or Solomon fighting total wars against the local inhabitants.[23]

Even if we could identify the seven Canaanite nations, he further argued, we would not wipe them out because such behavior is morally unacceptable in our era. “It is prohibited to violate international law that regulates the conduct of war by charter. God forbid that Israel be regarded by the nations as barbaric murderers who violate international law and the norms of civilization.”[24] The continued history of biblical warfare—alongside our moral intuitions—proves that this biblical verse was a temporary provision, not a permanent commandment. 

Given his embrace of the norms of civilization to reject this biblical model of warfare, one might expect that R. Hirschensohn would be enthusiastic about the postwar treaties to prevent armed conflicts. Yet R. Hirschensohn expressed doubts that these proposals to resolve international conflicts would be more successful than earlier treaties. [25] Those rules, which governed hostile conduct, seemed utterly ineffective during the Great War. Hirschensohn was skeptical that the efforts of American president Woodrow Wilson and the League of Nations, meant to prevent the outbreak of war, would be any more effective. Ultimately, these bodies were subject to the political interests of powerful nations, which would thwart any real attempt at justice. 

Indeed, an early glimpse of this problem emerged in the aftermath of the post-war Lemberg pogrom. Wilson initially pushed hard for strict provisions of minority rights as a condition for Polish sovereignty. He pulled back when a related measure was proposed that would possibly sanction racial segregation in America.[26] Protecting minority rights was important, but only if it didn’t endanger American interests. 

Instead of a politicized court, R. Hirschensohn desired to build, in the spirit of the prophets, a new house of worship on Jerusalem’s Temple Mount. It would feature song and prayer but leave out the animal sacrifices mandated in the Bible. The Temple would serve as a “House of Peace” to advocate for each nation to thrive within its own borders without succumbing to the evil excesses of nationalism. He penned an extensive essay to resolving how Jews could walk onto the Temple Mount in light of heavy ritual restrictions against treading on its sanctified grounds. Hirschensohn sought to ensure that Zionism would have a center for religious and moral development that would guide Jewish nationalism. It would also serve as a model for nationalist movements around the world.[27]

Yet he also had a political agenda: If the Jews did not develop the Temple Mount, it would not remain closed to all. Instead, it would be controlled by foreigners and Arab Muslims. The Jews would be left standing, as they had throughout centuries of exile, by the Dung Gate, with all that this name entails. 

R. Kook rejected this proposal. While agreeing that Jewish nationalism must be rooted in a religious spirit, he disallowed stepping on the Temple Mount, let alone building on it. He further criticized R. Hirschensohn for eliminating the use of animal sacrifices. Hirschensohn had written that the restoration of the sacrifices “would make us the object of ridicule before all the nations of the world. Instead of being a light to the nations, they would think of us as an unenlightened people who walk in darkness.”[28] In R. Kook’s mind, this was a religious reform corrupted by the ideals of European philosophy. We should leave the Temple Mount alone and instead build a synagogue next to the Western Wall that could serve as a house of prayer and peace.[29] 

R. Hirschensohn, in reply, accused Kook of making a religious and political error that was equivalent to the 1903 “Uganda plan” to grant the Jews a state in Eastern Africa. Just as you can’t temporarily replace the Holy Land with some other territory, you can’t replace the heart of the Temple Mount with its outer western wall! Either Jews settle their territory or someone else will. As for R. Kook’s jibe that he was overly influenced by Western norms, R. Hirschensohn replied that there is no doubt that the Great War had shown the failings of European culture. Nonetheless, the prophets repeatedly asserted that God did not truly desire animal sacrifices.[30] With all the failings of Western culture, knowledge and wisdom would not recede backward, or as he put it, that “which is uncivilized will not suddenly become civilized!”[31] In any case, the mission of the hour was to purchase all holy sites toward ensuring our political and spiritual future.[32]

 

The Value of Treaties 

 

R. Herschensohn’s idyllic visions for a “Temple of Peace” are stirring yet fantastical. He also does not offer a sufficient answer as to how it would avoid the politicization that plagues other international bodies. It’s possible that this was more a theoretical exercise than an actual plan.[33] 

Nonetheless, his writing reflects a deep ambivalence on the potential success of international bodies to execute justice in a world of competing nationalistic claims. On the one hand, there is a genuine desire to promote humanistic values that will avoid a repetition of the unnecessary bloodshed of the Great War. On the other hand, R. Hirschensohn recognizes that political interests will dominate international bodies. Therefore, to achieve equity, Jews need to take hold of what belongs to them, such as the Temple Mount, based on their own values and interests. Otherwise, someone else will decide based on their interests, not justice. 

This weariness toward international political bodies is also reflected in R. Herschensohn’s extended 1926 treatise on the standing of international treaties. Nations should be careful before signing treaties, he believed, because once they commit, they are liable to punishment for breaking their word. This is why the Israelites were punished by God for violating the covenant at Sinai and breaking His law. So too, he asserted, Germany got its due in World War I because Kaiser Wilhelm had treated the 1839 Treaty of London that granted sovereignty and neutrality to Belgium as “a scrap of paper.”[34] The Allies were justified in resisting Germany since treaties are only binding when they are reciprocally observed.[35] 

Yet treaties are not the only obligations that are binding on the Jewish people. So, too, are the ethical practices of “civilizations.”[36] While he doesn’t fully translate that term, it seems that he has in mind the widespread moral sentiments of modern civilized nations.[37] Violating these standards, in his mind, constitutes a grave desecration of the reputation of God and His people. Considering these beliefs, we can further understand his rejection of the models of fighting against Amalek and the Canaanite nations. Whether or not there is a treaty against total war or genocide, Jews must hold themselves to the highest standards of morality and build a stellar reputation.[38] 

So what would a Jewish state do in this era of treaties? R. Hirschensohn argued that it should make accords with as many foreign nations as possible—in Europe, America, and Africa. Like R. Kook, R. Hirschensohn asserted that imperialist excursions beyond Israel’s borders had no place in contemporary Jewish law and that all wars required moral justification.[39] Nations must stick to their own borders. As such, there was a confluence here between the religious value of international peace and Jewish national interests. 

What about Arabs living within Palestine? R. Hirschensohn claimed that permanently ceding territory in the Holy Land would violate the biblical mandate to conquer the land. He also believed that Jews should not quickly initiate negotiations that would put them in a position of weakness.[40] Yet he recognized that despite the Jewish historical claim to the land and the Balfour Declaration, there was an Arab population who had legitimate conflicting claims to the same territory. This was primarily because they were residents in the land. At the end of the day, the strongest claim to any territory is based on settlement. Given these competing legitimate claims, he suggests that Jews should form long-term peaceful accords with their neighbors. One day, he hoped, the Jews could peacefully get full control of the territory. In the meantime, it was in the interests of all parties involved to have peaceful relations.[41]

Independent of one’s assessment of R. Hirschensohn’s particular strategy, the framework of his analysis is particularly striking. On the one hand, he embraces positive developments in international mores. Judaism is a peace-promoting religion that should support all initiatives to reduce animosity and bloodshed, even with those competing for hold of the Holy Land. This entails integrating new values—including democracy, minority rights, and conventions to limit the horrors of war—by finding support for them in traditional Jewish texts. 

On the other hand, he understood that it was far from clear that international institutions will have the ability to promote and enforce these values. There are too many national interests at stake to make this possible.[42] Thus, Jews must wisely develop a strategy that will endorse refined values while actively promoting their own political interests. In his time, this meant taking hold of their homeland through the purchase of holy locations and the settlement of the Land of Israel. 

 

Arab Riots in Palestine and the Triumph of British Political Interests 

 

The most pressing question, however, was whether force would also be necessary to reestablish Jewish sovereignty in Palestine. Both Rabbis Kook and Hirschensohn hoped that a combination of Jewish political initiatives and international diplomacy would be sufficient. Yet this was not meant to be. In March 1920, Trumpeldor was sent to help protect Tel Hai, an upper Galilean settlement that ended up under French control in the unstable period after World War I, leaving those Jewish settlers suddenly outside of British auspices. In a chaotic confrontation with Arab Bedouins from Syria, Trumpeldor was killed, alongside five other Jews, including a couple of other Jewish Legion veterans. His alleged dying words become immortalized as the fighting spirit of the new Jew: “No matter, it is worth dying for the country.”[43] 

Trumpeldor would become lionized by Zionist writers like Hayim Yosef Brenner, who eulogized this “symbol of pure heroism” for teaching that it is good to die for the national cause. Tamares the pacifist had opposed the Jewish Legion and saw Trumpeldor’s legacy as the embodiment of force and ultranationalism, but his views were hardly noticed.[44] The self-image of Jews was being transformed. A few years later, Jabotinsky would break away from the Zionist Organization and establish the revisionist Zionist organization “Betar.” The name commemorated the last fighting ground of the Jewish people in the second century, but also paid homage to the fallen hero of Tel Hai, with the letters of Betar standing for “the covenant of Joseph Trumpeldor.” 

Jewish-Arab tensions were also rising in Jerusalem. Jabotinsky warned the local British military governor of an upcoming slaughter, this time by Arabs against their Jewish neighbors. Jabotinsky and other founders of the Jewish Legion had been busy training the Jews in calisthenics and self-defense; it was their group, among others, for whom Kook’s praise in Orot had earned him the scorn of the local ultra-Orthodox leaders just a few months later. When the riots started in Jerusalem’s Old City, however, his men were not around. Several Jews were killed and over two hundred more were wounded. Two sisters were raped. 

Long aware of the self-defense groups, the British governor nonetheless arrested Jabotinsky and his men for carrying illegal weapons, with Jabotinsky receiving a fifteen-year jail sentence. Hirschensohn, from afar, would cite the case as an example of the ways in which a civilized justice system can become corrupt.[45]

R. Kook joined others in demanding Jabotinsky’s release as he and his comrades threatened to go on a hunger strike. R. Kook saluted their brave efforts but warned that Jewish law strictly prohibits taking such drastic protest measures.[46] Jabotinsky stopped the hunger strike. Soon afterward, his sentence was commuted, alongside those of many of the Arab rioters. R. Kook protested to the British high commissioner that the Arabs should be punished politically for the violence, but to no avail.[47] 

For now, the international community stayed the course with British plans for Palestine and affirmed the Balfour Declaration in the San Remo conference a month later. Yet Arab-Jewish tensions remained high and in May 1921, riots would break out again, this time in Jaffa. Forty-seven Jews were killed, and over 140 more wounded. Among the dead was the writer Brenner, who had been busy editing the letters of Trumpeldor. 

Yet the biggest turning point was 1929. Arab-Jewish tensions over control of the Western Wall had existed for several years but escalated after a march in Jerusalem’s Old City on Tisha B’Av, Judaism’s annual day of mourning for the Temple’s destruction. R. Kook, who had protested restrictions on Jewish access to the wall for several years, supported the march, telling a local newspaper that the youth had demonstrated “national pride and Maccabean zealousness” toward defending Jewish rights to the holy site.[48] Arab riots soon broke out in Jerusalem, Hebron, Safed, and other locations. 

The riots left the Jewish community particularly vulnerable since most of its leadership was in Zurich for the sixteenth Zionist Congress. Beyond working with the remaining Zionist authorities to secure British protection for the Jewish settlements, R. Kook sent a brief letter through the head of the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “To the entire Jewish world: All of the Jewish community in the Land of Israel is in danger. Act to save us in any way you can as fast as you can.”[49] The sense of urgency was palpable. 

Robinson and other activists organized mass rallies, sent urgent telegrams, and penned editorials to get the League of Nations to act. They called on the mandate’s commission to protect the Jewish people, noting their centuries-long connection to the Holy Land. They further demanded the removal of British officials who had not come to their rescue. No response came. In the end, more than 130 Jews were killed over two hot August weeks. 

Lauterpacht, the rising jurist now teaching at University College of London, lamented the tepid British response and its failure to ascribe full blame to the Arab side. Why did the British fail to protect the Jews? Lauterpacht’s answer was telling: even the mighty British empire had to cower before the prospect of a religious war with all of Islam. Britain cares about minority rights. But it had to take into consideration its own political interests in placating the feelings of the millions of Muslims that lived within its empire.[50]

Lauterpacht’s conclusion was reached after the publication of the findings of the Shaw Commission that investigated the riots. The Muslim mufti, Haj Amin al Husseini, blamed the Jews for provoking the rioters. Kook forcefully retorted these claims and accused the Husseini of incitement. While expressing hope and belief that most of the Arabs wanted to continue to live in peace with the Jews, he insisted on Jewish rights to their holy sites and encouraged their settlement.[51] A similar sentiment was expressed by Hirschensohn, who further encouraged Jews to learn Arabic so that they could build personal relations with their Arab neighbors and thereby circumvent the incitement of their leaders. 

After their investigations, the Shaw commission concluded that the Arabs were the guilty instigators. Nonetheless, they argued that the broader cause of the violence was Jewish immigration. How could the British recognize that the Arabs were guilty of violence yet punish the Jews politically? Many in Britain had concluded that the Balfour Declaration was a mistake and against their interests. The solution came in the White Paper issued by Colonial Secretary Passfield in October 1930. Britain must restrict Jewish immigration and land purchases to ensure that the Jews remain a minority and do not negatively impact the Arab economy – or broader Arab support for Britain. R. Kook, for his part, condemned Britain for its treachery. He wondered aloud if his Majesty’s government had abandoned its esteemed role in the world’s redemption. Deliverance, he asserted, would come in other ways.[52] 

It certainly didn’t come from Britain. Ultimately, after another extended period of violence later in the decade, the British would issue, on the eve of the Holocaust, an even more restrictive immigration policy (the 1939 “white paper”) which essentially undermined the Balfour Declaration and their entire mandate. Weizmann appealed to the League of Nations, but to no avail. 

Stung by the betrayal of the British, Zionists learned what R. Hirschensohn had declared several years beforehand: when it comes to international politics, interests will trump justice. 

 

“The Generation Is Not Ready”: The Education of Jacob Robinson 

 

If the mandate failed to protect Jews in Palestine, it did little better in Europe. The idea behind the minority rights treaties was a sense of reciprocity between different states: “I protect your minority; you protect my minority.” Yet as the interwar period progressed, it became clear that attempts to protect minority rights in Europe were no guarantee to help the stateless Jews. Jewish loyalty was regularly suspect in these new ethnic states, with Jews suffering discrimination and persecution in Hungary, Poland, Romania, and elsewhere. As Robinson darkly quipped about the interwar period, European reciprocity meant “I hit my Jews, you hit your Jews.”[53] Recognizing the failure of the interwar treaties to protect Jews or other minorities, Robinson recognized that the only real solution for European Jewry was to emigrate to Palestine, or as in his case, to flee to America.

While Lauterpacht would continue to promote international legal protections as a judge on the International Court of Justice, his colleague Robinson became more skeptical of its potential efficacy. After Israel’s founding, Robinson served as a leading adviser on diplomacy and international law to the Israeli delegation at the United Nations. He was weary of the prospects of the UN providing real solutions to human rights problems. Its Genocide Convention, developed in the wake of the Holocaust, was too vague and lacked any enforcement mechanism that would make it efficient. Moreover, it and other UN initiatives would be manipulated by Israel’s Arab neighbors and minorities to attack the Jewish state, even as these countries would do nothing to respect the human rights of minorities in their own lands. 

While he remained a prominent, albeit somewhat reluctant, international jurist, Robinson understood that national interests and politics would forever play a problematic role in international law. Toward the end of his life, he would assert that while local protections for minorities remained important, the globalized system had failed. Recalling his childhood yeshiva education, he cited the talmudic expression lo ikhshar dara (the generation is not prepared) to assert that the world had been insufficiently ready to weave minority rights into its social fabric.[54] 

In the coming decades, rabbinic scholars would collectively take a similarly ambivalent but increasingly critical view of such international bodies.[55] Many were thankful for the essential role of the UN in the eventual establishment of the State of Israel after World War II. This was despite it coming way too late to save the six million Jews killed in the Holocaust and not preventing the Jews from still having to go to war to gain what the international community had been promising for over thirty years.[56] Going beyond particular Jewish interests, others appreciated the attempt by international organizations to reduce warfare and limit the atrocities committed when war occurs. They further noted that despite the imbalance of power between strong nations and weak ones, the United Nations and other bodies still promote the important idea that even the smallest of nations have basic rights that should not be trampled upon.[57]

One scholar, Rabbi Shaul Yisraeli, even went so far as to assert that Jewish law would obligate Israel to observe all international treaties limiting warfare—including a total ban on war—provided that all parties equally respect these obligations. In the meantime, he noted, lo ikhshar dara, the generation is not ready to reciprocally implement such measures.[58] 

Aspirations are not a measure of success. The criteria must be whether treaties are loyally followed by their signatories and if international bodies prevent moral mayhems. In the years that have passed since R. Hirschensohn wrote, these institutions were entirely ineffective in preventing the continued pogroms in Europe after World War I, the horror of the Holocaust, and the forced migration of 850,000 Jewish residents from Arab countries in the 1950s and 1960s, to name just a few egregious examples. When preparing to attack Israel in May 1967, the Egyptian army demanded that UN peacekeeping forces immediately leave the Sinai area; the UN forces hastily left without even an appeal by the UN secretary-general to Egyptian leaders.[59] In 1975, the UN General Assembly passed a resolution declaring that “Zionism is a form of racism,” with the support of the USSR, Arab- and Muslim-majority countries, and many African countries, essentially rejecting, again, the justice of the Balfour Declaration. (The resolution was repealed only in 1991.) Many observers also accuse these bodies of unfairly singling out Israel for censure in its complex and protracted struggle with Palestinians while ignoring many travesties around the world.[60] This alleged bias has, in part, led many rabbis and Zionists to severely question whether these international bodies can ever provide justice in the Middle East and around the world.[61] 

 

Rwanda, Syria, and the Education of Samantha Power

 

The “failure to protect” critique against international bodies has extended well beyond Jews and Israel. It has also been leveled against Pol Pot’s terror in Cambodia, Saddam Hussein’s destruction of the Kurds in northern Iraq, the Bosnian Serbs’ eradication of non-Serbs, the Rwandan Hutus’ systematic extermination of the Tutsi minority, and the systematic killing of ethnic Darfuri people in Western Sudan. There are many reasons given for these failures. Some assert that the diffusion of responsibilities to prevent war crimes absolves too many specific international players of taking the lead.[62] Yet it’s also clear that the politics of these bodies regularly prevents them from acting. To take the most obvious example, the UN Security Council, with veto power given to its five permanent members, is helpless in addressing Chinese human rights abuses or the 2014 Russian invasion of Crimea and its subsequent invasion of all of Ukraine. As historian Paul Kennedy has documented, the granting of additional privileges to great powers is inherent to the UN system and, more fundamentally, to any international body that is dependent on its member-states to provide its funding and soldiers.[63] Despite its improvements over the League of Nations, the UN cannot circumvent the political nature of any international body.       

There was no greater critic of the Western response to these twentieth-century atrocities than Samantha Power. Her award-winning, best-selling book “A Problem from Hell”: America and the Age of Genocide extensively documented these cases, including the 1994 ethnic cleansing in Rwanda. Power showed how political considerations led the Clinton administration to ignore the plight of the hundreds of thousands of Tutsis who were killed and raped over four months. U.S. officials, for example, purposely avoided utilizing the “G-word” (genocide) in describing the atrocities because that might obligate them—morally, if not legally—to intervene under the 1948 Genocide Convention. This treaty, whose potential effectiveness was doubted by Robinson, as we noted, was the culmination of years of work by Lauterpacht and especially Raphael Lemkin, another European Jew who had fled Europe and became a leading international jurist. They believed it would succeed in committing countries to prevent and punish “crimes against humanity,” a term coined by Lauterpacht.[64] It was signed and affirmed by well over a hundred nations, including leading superpowers. None of those signatures helped when the Hutus began their slaughter. 

Power singled out senior administration officials like National Security Adviser Anthony Lake, who had written a well-known critique of immoral realpolitik considerations in previous eras of American foreign policy yet had now fallen into the same trap. Power’s book helped inspire the 2005 “Responsibility to Protect” declaration of all UN member states to prevent genocide, war crimes, ethnic cleansing, and crimes against humanity. 

Two decades later, Power became the American ambassador to the United Nations under President Barack Obama. A civil war was raging in Syria, with the UN Security Council unable to act because Russia vetoed any measures against the Syrian government. Then Syria used chemical weapons against her own citizens. Such weapons have long been banned under international law with a nearly universal and unprecedented endorsement from countries around the world. This had been a declared “red line” of Obama, even as he was wary of an unpopular excursion of American troops into another bloody Middle East conflict. According to one aide, Obama even noted, “People always say never again, but they never want to do anything.” [65]

Yet Power wanted to act. She declared in the UN that the international system had broken down in Syria, with one side being gassed and the other feeling it could get away with it. Claiming that all alternative options were exhausted, she called for limited military strikes. “If violation of a universal agreement to ban chemical weapons is not met with the meaningful response, other regimes will seek to acquire or use them to protect or extend their power.”[66] At stake, in other words, was whether treaties had teeth or were just another scrap of paper. 

In the end, Obama called off airstrikes, instead electing to work with the Russians to get the Syrians to give up their chemical weapons. Subsequently, Obama’s aides have testified about the many political and strategic considerations that led the White House to abandon this limited military action. Some have further asserted that Obama did not want to risk ruining negotiations with the Iranians over their nuclear ambitions.[67] Whatever the reason, America, followed by others, backed away. Syria, with Russian support in both the UN and on the battlefield, continued to commit atrocities in places like Aleppo, including the repeated use of chemical weapons it hid from international inspectors. 

Power, for her part, was left to Twitter to share her indignation while delivering scathing speeches at the Security Council against the Russians. “Aleppo will join the ranks of those events in world history that define modern evil, that stain our conscience decades later. Halabja, Rwanda, Srebrenica, and now, Aleppo.… Are you truly incapable of shame?” Powerful words, but international treaties were meant to be backed by more than speeches and 140-character tweets. The Russian ambassador retorted by calling her Mother Theresa and called it a day. Since then, critics of American policy have labeled Power a hypocrite and questioned whether she should have resigned.[68] 

In her memoir, aptly titled The Education of an Idealist, Power admirably lays out her conflicting feelings. Perhaps American intervention would have failed and uselessly endangered American soldiers. Or perhaps the administration, and the entire system, simply failed. 

The ultimate result was pretty bad: the Syrian regime, with Russian and Iranian support, massacred hundreds of thousands more while causing a flood of refugees which has left them homeless and Europe politically unstable. Western inaction also left the roughly 30 million Kurds quite vulnerable to the whims of the despotic leaders of four countries in which they reside, one hundred years after the 1920 Treaty of Sèvres, signed between the Allies and the defeated Ottomans, called for an independence referendum in their territory. Despite all the treaties and promises they were given over the century, they have neither a state nor minority rights. 

These examples only strengthen R. Hirschensohn’s basic claim: International laws and treaties provide no guarantee that justice will be executed or that the innocent will be protected. Sometimes they will help, which is a good thing, but many times they will not. Even people with the best of intentions like Lake and Power fall into the trap of allowing power and politics to color, if not shape, international legal bodies. 

This sad but important truth does not mean that we should simply dismiss the ethics that international law aspires to implement. While displaying great skepticism about the efficacy of the system, R. Hirschensohn affirmed many of the values of “civilized society.” He sought to prove how Judaism may incorporate concepts like democracy and minority rights in order to make them valuable to Jews on their own terms, independent of their enforcement in broader international society. If, for example, forsaking total war tactics is an upright decision, then Jews should integrate and implement those values for integral reasons, let alone for preserving our reputation as an ethical people.[69] 

At the same time, Jews should not be naive about the prospects of international bodies providing them with support or protection. In practice, self-help is the prevailing rule of world affairs. Jews cannot wait for others to deliver justice. In an international order deeply impacted, if not driven, by interests, then Jews need to proactively do what it takes to protect themselves. 

 

Notes


 


[1] Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 3, no. 852, 131–33. See Yitzhak Krauss, “HaTeguvot HaTeologiyot al Hatzharat Balfour,” Sefer Bar Ilan 28/29 (5761): 81–104. 

[2] See Ginzei HaRaayah, Iggerot, 157–59. See also Ari Schwat, “Sibot Erekh HaGvurah HaFizit VeHaTzvait BaMishnat HaRav Kook,” in Nero Yair (Mitzpeh Yericho, 5773), 353–394. 

[3] Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 3, no. 871, 155–159.

[4] James Loeffler and Moria Paz, eds., The Law of Strangers: Jewish Lawyers and International Law in the Twentieth Century (Cambridge, 2019).

[5] See Jeffrey Veidlinger, In the Midst of Civilized Europe (Metropolitan, 2021).

[6] James Loeffler, Rooted Cosmopolitans: Jews and Human Rights in the Twentieth Century (New Haven, 2018), 22–27.

[7] Oona A. Hathaway and Scott J. Shapiro, The Internationalists (New York, 2018), 298–305.

[8] Loeffler, Rooted Cosmopolitans, 31–50.

[9] Omry Kaplan-Feuereisen and Richard Mann, “At the Service of the Jewish Nation: Jacob Robinson and International Law,” Osteuropa 58:8/10 (August-October 2008): 164.

[10] See Lauterpacht’s May 1950 speech given in Jerusalem, cited by Loeffler, Rooted Cosmopolitans, 176. 

[11] Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 2, 54. 

[12] Maamarei HaRaayah, vol. 1, 89–93. See Hagi Ben-Artzi, HeĤadash Yitkadesh (Tel Aviv, 2010), 70–73.

[13] On the controversy, Mirsky, Rav Kook, 167–169, and the introduction to Orot, trans. Bezalel Naor (Jerusalem, 2015). 

[14] Ĥiddushei HaRav Hayim Hirschensohn LaMasekhta Horayot, vol. 3, 33a (letter 23). The letter is dated November 1924. On Hirschensohn’s letter and Kook’s reply, see Naor’s introduction to Orot

[15] Luz, Wresting with an Angel, 222, regards Hirschensohn as the only religious-Zionist thinker who was systematically engaging in political thinking.

[16] Colin Schindler, The Rise of the Israeli Right: From Odessa to Hebrew (Cambridge, 2015), chapter 7.

[17] Cited in Michael Keren and Shlomit Keren, We are Coming, Unafraid: The Jewish Legions and the Promised Land in the First World War (Lanham, MD, 2010), 116.

[18] Kook’s letter to Chief Rabbi Hertz is found in Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 3, no. 859. See Rosenak, HaRav Kook, 156–160.

[19] Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 3, no. 974. Kook further advised Falk on how to maintain standards of dietary law observance. 

[20] Ari Shvat, Leharim et HaDegel, chapter 11.

[21] Warren Ze’ev Harvey, “Rabbi Reines on the Conquest of Canaan and Zionism,” in The Gift of the Land and the Fate of the Canaanites, ed. Katell Berthelot et al. (Oxford, 2014), 386–398.

[22] Malki BaKodesh, vol. 1, 18–22, 142–163.

[23] Hayim Hirschensohn, Eleh Divrei HaBrit, 70, 79. Kook had also tentatively suggested this idea but ultimately rejected it. See Kook, Tov Ro’i: Sota, 22. For another openly apologetic attempt to limit the meaning of this commandment to not require annihilation, see Rabbi Tzvi Mecklenberg, HaKetav VeHaKabbala on Deuteronomy 20:16.

[24] Hirschensohn, Eleh Divrei HaBrit, 70.

[25] Malki BaKodesh, vol. 1, 15–16.

[26] Loeffler, Rooted Cosmopolitans, 14–15.

[27] Malki BaKodesh, vol. 2, 5–31 (which includes part of Kook’s letter), especially pp. 26–28.

[28] Ibid., vol. 1, 11. 

[29] Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 4, 23–25. Also printed in Malki BaKodesh, vol. 4, 4–5. On the relation of these passages to the depiction of a future Temple in Herzl’s utopian novel, Old-New Land, see Eyal Ben-Eliyahu, “Lehakim Binyan Ĥadash?” Cathedra 128 (Tamuz 5768), 101–112. 

[30] Malki BaKodesh, vol. 1, 62–64. See also p. 56.

[31] Ibid., vol. 4, 8.

[32] Ibid., vol. 2, 28. He emphasizes that these holy sites should be utilized for the search of wisdom, not extremism. On the history of Jewish attempts to purchase holy sites in Palestine, including areas around the Temple Mount, see Dotan Goren, UVa LeTziyon Goel (Beit El, 2017).

[33] This is implied in Hirschensohn’s follow-up letter.

[34] Hirschensohn, Eleh Divrei HaBrit, introduction.

[35] Ibid., 8. The importance of reciprocity is made explicit in Midrash Shoĥer Tov on Psalms 60:2 regarding the wartime behavior of King David. 

[36] Hirschensohn, Eleh Divrei HaBrit, 13–14. 

[37] Hirschensohn may have in mind the notion of the “standards of civilization” that circulated since the nineteenth century within international legal circles and has made a recent revival. See David P. Fidler, “The Return of the Standard of Civilization,” Chicago Journal of International Law 2:1 (2001): 137–157.

[38] This might even mean upholding agreements made under false pretenses. Following talmudic precedent, he noted that Joshua chose to maintain his peace treaty with the Gibeonites, one of the Canaanite nations, in spite of the fact they had fooled the Israelites into thinking that they came from distant lands. While the treaty was not compulsory, the Israelites kept their promise since others would think they don’t keep their word. See Hirschensohn, Eleh Divrei HaBrit, 71–72.

[39] Malki BaKodesh, vol. 1, 143–149.

[40] Eleh Divrei HaBrit, 175–176.

[41] Ibid., 37–38.

[42] For a similar attitude in more recent writing, see Rabbi Yaakov Ariel, Halakha BeYamenu (Ashkelon, Machon HaTorah VeHaAretz, 5770), 378.

43 Regarding the veracity of this final statement and Trumpeldor’s broader relationship to Judaism, see Moshe Nahmani, HaGibbor HaLeumi: Perakim BeĤayav shel Yosef Trumpeldor (2020), 131–256.

[44] See Tamares, Shelosha Zivugim Bilti Hagunim (Pietrkow, 1930), 9, 40, 60–61.

[45] Malki BaKodesh, vol. 2, 159–160.

[46] Otzrot HaRaayah, vol. 1, 393–395.

[47] Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 5, 333.

[48] As cited in Hillel Cohen, 1929: Year Zero of the Arab-Israeli Conflict (Brandeis, 2015), Kindle location 1755. See also Kook’s testimony to the British investigation commission published in Otzrot HaRaayah, ed. Moshe Tzuriel, vol. 2, 359–360. On Kook’s reaction to the 1929 riots, see Yosef Sharvit, “HaRav Kook UMeoraot 5689,” Sinai 97 (5745): 153–185.

[49] Central Zionist Archives, A176/11.

[50] Loeffler, Rooted Cosmopolitans, 28–30, 49–50.

[51] Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 5, 143 and Maamarei HaRaayah, 252–53. See also Mirsky, Rav Kook, 196–202 and Shtamler, Ayin BeAyin, 199–201. R. Kook also told that Zionist Congress that he regretted how the fight over the Western Wall became such a flash point. See Cohen, 1929, Kindle location 4665–4680, based on documents found in Central Zionist Archives S100/10. 

[52] Kook, Ĥazon HaGeula (Jerusalem, 5701), 46–47.

[53] Ibid., 56–57.

[54] Jacob Robinson, “International Protection of Minorities: A Global View,” Israeli Yearbook on Human Rights (1971): 61–91. See Loeffler, Rooted Cosmopolitans, 171–201 and Gil Rubin, “The End of Minority Rights: Jacob Robinson and the ‘Jewish Question’ in World War II,” Simon Dubnow Institute Yearbook 11 (2012): 55–71. Rubin dubs Robinson’s later career as one of a “reluctant internationalist.” See his article, “A State of Their Own: Jewish Internationalism and Human Rights,” Marginalia, June 6, 2018. 

[55] For a survey of positions, see Amos Israel-Vleeschhouwer, “Yaĥas HaHalakha LaMishpat HaBeinleumi” (unpublished PhD diss., Tel Aviv University, 2011).

[56] See Soloveitchik, Kol Dodi Dofek, 31–32.

[57] See Rabbi Hayim David HaLevi, Dat UMedina, 21–22, 37–38.

[58] Rabbi Shaul Yisraeli, Amud HaYemini, siman 16, 195.

[59] Michael B. Oren, Six Days of War: June 1967 and the Making of the Modern Middle East, 67–75.

[60] See, for example, Dore Gold, Tower of Babble: How the United Nations Has Fueled Global Chaos (Forum, 2004); Justin S. Gruenberg, “An Analysis of United Nations Security Council Resolutions: Are All Countries Treated Equally?,” Case Western Reserve Journal of International Law 513 (2009): 41. Gerald M. Steinberg, “The UN, the ICJ and the Separation Barrier: War by Other Means,” Israel Law Review 38:1–2 (Winter-Spring 2005): 331–347.

[61] See, for example, Rabbi Avraham Sharir, “Etika Tzeva’it al pi Halakhah,” Teĥumin 25 (5765), 436 and Rabbi Avraham Sherman, “HaMishpat HaBeinleumi (BaMilĥama) LeOhr Mishpetei HaTorah,” Torah SheBe’al Peh 44 (5764), 74. See also Rabbi Yaakov Ariel, Halakha BeYamenu, 378.

[62] André Nollkaemper, “‘Failures to Protect’ in International Law,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Use of Force in International Law, ed. Marc Weller (Oxford, 2015), 439.  

[63] Paul Kennedy, The Parliament of Man (Vintage, 2007), Kindle Location 495.

[64] See Ana Filipa Vrdoljak, “Human Rights and Genocide: The Work of Lauterpacht and Lemkin in Modern International Law,” The European Journal of International Law 20:4 (2010): 1163–1194. 

[65] Ben Rhodes, “Inside the White House During the Syrian ‘Red Line’ Crisis,” Atlantic, June 3, 2018.

[66] “The Ambassador to the UN’s Case against the UN,” Atlantic, Sept 6, 2013; “Samantha Power’s Case for Striking Syria,” Washington Post, Sept 7, 2013.

[67] See Natasha Bertrand and Michael B Kelley, “The Startlingly Simple Reason Obama Ignores Syria,” Business Insider, June 4, 2015.

[68] See, for example, Tony Badran, “‘Ambassador Samantha Power Lied to My Face about Syria,’ by Kassem Eid,” Tablet, February 27, 2018 and Steve Bloomfield, “The Obama Administration’s Misadventures in Foreign Policy,” Prospect Magazine, November 2019.

[69] An exemplar of this idea was Israel’s first Ashkenazic chief rabbi, Yitzhak Herzog, who wrote about Jewish law while in dialogue with international norms and ethical standards. See R. Herzog’s essay on minority rights in Israel, “Zehuyot HaMi’utim Lefi HaHalakha,” Tehumin 2, 169–179. 

Book Review: Michelle J. Levine on Ramban

Book Review

By Rabbi Hayyim Angel

 

Michelle J. Levine, Navigating Wilderness: Ramban’s Commentary on the Exodus and Numbers Narratives (Kodesh Press, 2025)

 

          In a book review essay I wrote over twenty years ago on a Memorial Volume for Professor Nehama Leibowitz (Pirkei Nehama), I outlined a fundamental difference that generally exists between those who study Tanakh as the primary text, and those who focus on the work of a particular commentator:

In line with all traditional exegesis, Professor Nehama Leibowitz emphasized that we must scrutinize the meaning and significance of each word and passage in the Torah, and perceive its messages as communicated directly to us. We accomplish these daunting tasks by consulting the teachings of the Sages and later commentators. In effect, they serve as our eyes through which we understand the biblical text in its multifaceted and ever-applicable glory. Of course, their opinions must be painstakingly evaluated against the biblical text...

          To those studying parshanut as a discipline, whether for methodological approaches or in historical context, Midrashim and commentators are no longer secondary to the biblical text. They are three-dimensional people living in specific times and places. Parshanut scholarship investigates how a given exegete approached the text, and what influenced him, such as Midrashim and earlier commentaries, intellectual currents of his time, and other historical considerations beyond purely textual motivations. The student of Tanakh views commentary as secondary literature, while the student of parshanut or history treats exegetes as primary sources. These contrasting perspectives almost necessarily will yield different understandings of the comments of our commentators (Tradition 38:4, Winter 2004, pp. 112-113).

 

          Professor Michelle J. Levine’s recently published volume on Ramban’s interpretation of the wilderness narratives in the books of Exodus and Numbers is a remarkable exception to the aforementioned dichotomy. She takes readers on a journey through the biblical narratives through the eyes of one exceptional commentator, Ramban (Rabbi Moshe ben Nahman, Spain-Israel 1194-1270). Levine’s expertise in Ramban’s commentary and the secondary scholarly literature on Ramban’s work shine forth on every page and in her learned footnotes. Strikingly, Levine provides a holistic approach on how Ramban learns the biblical texts.

          Ramban composed a three-tiered commentary, exploring the layers of peshat (plain sense, contextual meaning), derash (deeper meaning, homiletical teachings), and mysticism. Ramban navigates his own path guided by Midrash, Rashi, Ibn Ezra, Rambam, Radak, and Rabbi Joseph Bekhor Shor. Transcending the works of his illustrious predecessors, Ramban also “often groups many biblical verses together to develop a wide-all-encompassing analysis that seeks to educe their integration as a literary unit and to extrapolate their fundamental motifs and concepts” (5). Ramban stresses that while God revealed the Torah and it is true, it is vital to focus on how God, as Narrator, relates the story. The literary form of the narratives contribute substantially to the meaning of the Torah (8). These overarching premises of Ramban’s commentary remain relevant and illuminating to this very day.

          For example, Ramban observes that after Pharaoh decrees that Egyptians must drown baby Israelite boys, two Levites get married and have a son:

Then Pharaoh charged all his people, saying, “Every boy that is born you shall throw into the Nile, but let every girl live.” A certain man of the house of Levi went and married a Levite woman. The woman conceived and bore a son; and when she saw how beautiful he was, she hid him for three months (Exodus 1:22-2:2).

 

These Levites, whom we later learn are Amram and Jochebed, just gave birth to Moses. We also learn later that Moses already has an older brother, Aaron, and Moses’ sister (generally, but not universally, understood to be Miriam) watched over him in the ensuing narrative. From the impression given by the narrative, however, it would appear that Moses was born right after his parents’ marriage, as there is no notification of the births of Miriam and Aaron.

          One midrashic reading (Sotah 12a-13a) assumes that after Pharaoh’s evil decree to drown all baby Israelite boys, Amram and Jochebed separated since there was a 50% chance of having a boy who would be drowned. They were filled with despair and helplessness. It was their precocious daughter Miriam who persuaded them to resume having children so there would be a chance to have girls and thereby perpetuate the nation of Israel. The Torah presents Moses’ birth after his parents’ marriage since Moses was born after the remarriage of his parents.

          Ramban disagrees with this reading. The juxtaposition of Pharaoh’s decree and Moses’ parents’ marriage serves to highlight the moral courage and heroism of Amram and Jochebed who challenged Pharaoh’s decree. The Torah does not mention the births of Miriam and Aaron at this juncture, since Pharaoh issued his decree after they already were born. The Torah wants to focus the reader’s attention on the heroism of Moses’ parents and on the birth of Moses.

          Ramban notes further that Jochebed also acts courageously by attempting to save Moses. Ramban then connects this narrative to the exceptional virtue of Pharaoh’s daughter, who rescued and adopted Moses, defying her own father’s evil decree. Ramban even surmises that Pharaoh’s daughter subsequently persuaded her father to repeal his wicked decree. Levine concludes, 

Thus, Ramban’s commentary spotlights how Moses is surrounded by central personages who act with intent, purpose, and focus in order to be vehicles for salvation from a situation of oppression. With this in mind, readers can better appreciate when Moses himself initiates his own parallel actions to save others from injustices (37).

 

          Through this and countless other examples, Professor Levine’s volume is a truly welcome contribution, enabling readers to have a sustained focus on Ramban’s singular contributions to Tanakh learning and its religious meaning.

 

Theology and Ethics in Modern Orthodoxy

The great figures in Modern Orthodoxy, such as Azriel Hildesheimer, Samson Raphael Hirsch, Abraham Isaac Kook, and Joseph Soloveitchik were all concerned with theological and ethical as well as halakhic issues. These thinkers understood that Orthodox Jews had to carve out a place for themselves in the modern world, and this meant that they needed to be educated in modern philosophy and science even as they were required to study Talmud and apply halakha to the new problems that modernity posed. These thinkers believed that Judaism could be a beacon of religious observance and ethical idealism in the modern world. They, of course, focused on Torah study in the yeshiva and halakhic observance throughout the Jewish community; but they also sought to use modern philosophy to find new ways to explain both to Jews and non-Jews, the meaning and role of Torah in modernity.

However, something has happened in late modernity or what some call “postmodernity” that has changed the relationship between Orthodox Judaism within and without the Jewish community. Increasingly, it appears that Orthodox Jews are abandoning the world for the safe confines of the yeshiva and the four cubits of halakha alone. This has led to the adoption of all sorts of halakhic strictures and a hyper-sensitivity to fulfilling minute details of halakha as the sole criterion of Jewish authenticity and allegiance to God. It has also led to the strange phenomenon of the self-ghettoization by Jews in Western countries and Israel, despite the fact that these countries are largely open to Judaism and give Jews freedom of religion. The self-ghettoization of the observant community has also brought with it an aversion to pursuing careers in the secular world. This in turn has led to a situation of self-inflicted poverty that requires increasing numbers of Jews to become dependent on hand-outs from the very secular States that they loathe and deride. As these communities continue to grow while at the same time liberal forms of Judaism are shrinking in appalling numbers, responsibility for an intelligent, theologically and morally sophisticated observant Judaism falls upon Modern Orthodoxy. However, given that modern Orthodoxy itself is moving toward Hareidi forms of Judaism, it is not clear that Modern Orthodoxy will be up to the challenge that faces it.

Postmodern Hyper-Secularism

Certainly the world has changed radically since the heyday of Modern Orthodoxy in the mid-twentieth century. The world has become more secular, more focused on individualism and less on family and community, more permissive of all kinds of activities that the Torah prohibits, and also less open to the advice that traditional religion offers. The traditional values of respect for authority, personal humility, self-restraint, and communal loyalty have been replaced by a culture of emotional release, self-expression, and radical individualism that looks askance at any structures that would limit the personal quest for gratification and fulfillment. What was impossible to show and say in popular media in the 1950s and 1960s is now commonplace. Cable television and the internet open up ever-new portals to the expression and celebration of sex, greed, vice, and violence with a peculiar fascination with vampires, zombies, and the occult. The pace of the process of assimilation and intermarriage in the larger American Jewish community continues to increase; and what is most alarming here is that most non-Orthodox Jews do not really seem to care. Unfortunately, our treasured State of Israel is very much part of the postmodern global world and is therefore just as vulnerable to global postmodern culture as the United States is. Given these realities, it is understandable that Orthodox Jews are closing themselves off from the larger world and turning more and more inward. This has led to the growth in Hareidi forms of Judaism in both the Diaspora and in Israel. As members of these forms of Judaism retreat from the world, they have rejected precisely those theological and ethical elements in Modern Orthodoxy that sought to connect observant Jews to modern philosophy, ethics, politics, and culture.

In my recent book, The Future of Jewish Theology (Wiley-Blackwell, 2013), I argue that Judaism cannot afford to abandon the world. I try to show that the Torah requires Jews to live up to a standard of holiness in which both ritual and moral purity are paramount. Furthermore, I argue that moral purity does not mean focusing on helping only fellow Jews but non-Jews as well. It is therefore neither an Orthodox nor Reform idea, neither a religious nor a secular Zionist idea that Jews should act for the sake of the world. Indeed, it is a divine imperative that forces Jews out of the safe and secure confines of their communities to act to redeem the world. And I would venture to say that one of the real misunderstandings of holiness or kedusha is the belief that one can be holy by focusing on ritual purity alone; it is one of Judaism’s unholy temptations to think that one can fulfill the manifold mitzvoth of kedusha by focusing on ritual observance alone. Certainly, Jews must live according to the dictates of halakha; but following these dictates must include a consciousness of Who commands them and what Hakadosh Barukh Hu wants observance of His laws to bring about. And that involves not only the holiness of the Jewish community as a goy kadosh, a holy nation, but the redemption of the entire world.

In my book I also argue that Judaism today is particularly in need of a theology to explain to both Jews and non-Jews what its central beliefs and doctrines are. This is especially necessary in a pluralistic world where Judaism competes with multiple religious, philosophical, and secular ideologies in what has been called the global “supermarket of meaning.” A good Jewish theology is necessary for Judaism, for Jews often are unclear about what their beliefs are and they then have difficulty explaining to themselves, let alone, others what Judaism requires them to believe.

In another situation of pluralism, in Muslim Spain, Maimonides faced a similar problem to the one we see today, and this is one reason he wrote both the Mishneh Torah and the Guide of the Perplexed. In a certainly novel move for a book on Jewish law, Rambam began his Mishneh Torah, his “Repetition of the Law,” with theology.

The foundation of all foundations and the pillar of wisdom is to know that there is a Primary Being who brought into being all existence. All the beings of the heavens, the earth, and what is between them came into existence only from the truth of His Being. (Maimonides, 1982, Knowledge: Foundations of the Torah 1:1)

To say that the “foundation of foundations” of all existence is God is to say that God is not only the foundation of Torah and Israel, it is to acknowledge that God is the foundation of all that is; and this includes both the physical world of the heavens and the earth and the spiritual world of religion, knowledge, and truth. The scope of God’s creative being and concern thus reaches well beyond the Jewish community to the larger horizons of the earth and heavens. And as His goy kadosh, his holy people, Jews must recognize the near infinite scope of their concerns. This infinite scope is there precisely because God is infinite and beyond limits. In addition to celebrating God’s infinite power and concerns, Maimonides went on to paint a picture of God as infinite in wisdom, transcendent of all materiality, One and unique among all that is. In his Guide of the Perplexed each of these aspects of God were carefully delineated through the use of both logic and verses from the Torah.

Maimonides followed the theological beginning of the Mishneh Torah with a section on “moral dispositions” and ethical conduct. Here, he adopted Aristotle’s “character ethics” to the Jewish system of halakha, arguing that doing mitzvoth was a form of habituation that cultivated Jewish moral virtues and produced a uniquely Jewish moral character. The combination of theology and ethics that begins Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah suggests a marriage of theology and ethics in Judaism that culminates in the modern world with the notion that Judaism is a religion of “Ethical Monotheism.” Here the Jewish belief One God is coupled with the manifold ethical commandments and prophetic ethical ideals to suggest that Judaism can play a leading role in representing and motivating ethical action in the modern world.

Ethical Monotheism had an enormous impact on both modern Jewish thought and practical Jewish life in the modern period. Ethical Monotheism set the terms and concepts and language through which much of European, American and Israeli Jewish thought and theology was developed. In the area of Jewish practice one of the great products of Ethical Monotheism was the Pentateuch and Haftorahs of J.H. Hertz. Hertz was Chief Rabbi of the UK and in the latter half of the twentieth century his tall blue Humash could be found in both Orthodox and Conservative Synagogues throughout the English speaking world (and even some Reform Congregations)—thus giving expression to a theology that was common to Kelal Yisrael. This book combined commentaries from Hazal, parashanut, philosophy, theology, literature and politics—Jewish and non-Jewish—to suggest that Judaism, as “Ethical Monotheism,” had played and could continue to play a central role in the ethical project of modernity.

Times have changed making both Ethical Monotheism and the Hertz Chumash seem dated, although Jewish theology and ethics and the notion of Kelal Israel are certainly not dated. Indeed, I would argue that the need for compelling expressions of these notions are all the more needed in our contemporary world. It must be said however, that the overly rational and universalizing moves of Ethical Monotheism were never totally adequate to comprehending and expressing the particularity and depth of the communal, textual, legal, and liturgical aspects of Judaism. The theology of Ethical Monotheism, schooled in Greek metaphysics as it was, stressed the distance and transcendence of God over His immanent and personal characteristics thus rendering him unapproachable to the everyday Jew. In some modern expressions of Ethical Monotheism, universal ethics instead of monotheism came to dominate, thus robbing Judaism of both its connections to the Jewish people and to God. This led, particularly in modern liberal forms of Judaism, to leaving Jewish peoplehood and God behind and focusing on social and political ethics in the world alone. One the other hand, the overly intellectual and conceptual character of Ethical Monotheism gave it a kind of elite character that removed Jewish theology from the people, favoring individuals with philosophical training. Ethical Monotheism also supported the modern focus on the individual over the community. Therefore, one could say that whereas Ethical Monotheism facilitated the relationship of Jews to the modern world it did not bring Jews very deeply into the spiritual heart of Judaism and the Jewish community.

The Medieval Response of Halevi

Already in the Medieval period there developed a response to the austere and utterly transcendent God of Maimonides. Here, the central philosophical opponent was Yehudah Halevi, (1075–1141) the Spanish Jewish poet, philosopher, and theologian. In his Kuzari in which a rabbi has a dialogue with the King of the Khazars to convince him of the superiority of Judaism over other religions and philosophies, the rabbi points out that the God of Israel is certainly El Elyon, God on High, but He is also “the God of the ancestors, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” (Halevi, 1964, 58). This is the God of a family and a people. Halevi points out the central problem of a purely philosophical approach to God. The doctrine of the perfect God of the philosophers “leads them to teach of a Supreme Being which neither benefits nor injures, and knows nothing of our prayers, offerings, obedience or disobedience” (Halevi, 1964, 201). Indeed, how does one pray to the God of Ethical Monotheism? How find solace in His utter transcendence and awful power? How does one even address Him? How call on Him? Halevi tells us that the pious ones of the Torah had to comprehend God by means of “intermediaries,” and he calls these intermediaries: glory, kavod, presence, shekhinah, dominion, malkhut fire, esh cloud, anan, likeness, tzelem, and form d’mut. These intermediaries Halevi says “proved to them that He had spoken to them, and they styled it Kavod HaShem: Glory of God” (Halevi, 1964, 200).

Kedusha-Holiness: The Missing Link

In my book I summarize the limitations of Ethical Monotheism by arguing that it overlooks the Torah’s concern with issues of kedusha.[1] Kedusha or holiness is a dynamic concept that includes both ritual and ethical concerns. Kedusha is a goal set for the entire Jewish community, kol adat Israel, and requires a community to be achieved. Kedusha is centered in God as the common designation for God, HaKadosh Barukh Hu, The Holy One Blessed Be He, suggests. Yet although kedusha ultimately resides in God, His mitzvot supply the conduits and intermediary structures that bring holiness into the very body individual and body politic of Judaism. Kedusha traces out a domain that encompasses both God’s transcendence and immanence, and assures that at every moment the Jew can be in contact with God. That the mitzvot intend to supply conduits to bring kedusha into the human sphere is articulated clearly in the basic formula of the berakhah or blessing: Barukh Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melekh HaOlam asher Kiddeshanu Bemitzvotav. “Blessed art You, LORD, Our God, King of the universe, Who has made us holy through his commandments.”

In focusing on kedusha, I mean to both uphold the rich theological and ethical traditions of Ethical Monotheism and correct its overly intellectual approach by highlighting the importance of halahkic, ritual, and communal structures of Judaism. Since kedusha as it is presented in the Torah has both ritual and ethical qualities, a focus on it has the capacity to bring Jewish concerns with ritual observance and social and political concerns for the moral state of the world. In this sense I hope that a focus on kedusha can served to revive the original theological and ethical spirit of Modern Orthodoxy. However, given the recent turn in Orthodox Judaism toward intense halakhic study and ritual observance one hardly needs to argue to Orthodox Jews that Judaism concerns this issue. So what I will do in this essay now is to make the case that seems to have been lost in the recent turn inward in Orthodoxy, and that is the case for the ethical dimension of kedusha.

Leviticus19: Kedoshim Tiheyu

To make my case that a concern with kedusha requires Jews to be concerned with ethical issues, I take as my central text Leviticus 19 Kedoshim Tiheyu: You Shall Be Holy. Sitting in the middle of the third book of the Torah, the first chapter of Parashat Kedoshim, is found close to the middle of the Torah. Given its comprehensive scope, many rabbinic commentators have spoken of it as containing a condensed summary of all of Torah. Rashi reiterates the words of the Sifra when he says of chapter 19 that “the essentials of the Torah are dependent on it” (Rashi on Lev 19:1). And R. Levi in Midrash Vayikra Rabba says that most of the commandments of the Decalogue are included in chapter 19.[2]

Chapter 19 begins with requirements of the sacrificial cult and then moves outward to include how one deals with every form of social relation. The vision is at once ideal and practical, religious and secular, moral and spiritual. In his commentary on Leviticus, Jacob Milgrom stresses that what we have in this text is a full recipe or rule for the holy life. “Its unique placement here underscores the importance of the prescriptions that follow: they are quintessentially the means by which Israel can become a holy nation” (2000,1603).

The combination of ritual and ethical directives as they are presented in Leviticus 19 will become a model for the rabbinic Judaism that follows the Israelite religion of the Bible and creates one of the distinctive marks of Judaism as it develops into the modern period. That the ethical commandments have the same status as the ritual commandments means that holiness can never be purely a matter of ritual purity or other-worldly spiritual engagement. That the ethical commandments are included along with the ritual commandments in a code of holiness means that there is a holy dimension to ethics and an ethical dimension to holiness. Because God commands both ethical and ritual purity, Jewish theology can neither be only about ritual nor about ethics, but must deal with both equally. This gives Jewish theology its embodied social and political form. And because Leviticus 19 is not only a list of ethical and theological commands, but includes matters of ritual, economic, and everyday life, that is, because Leviticus 19 presents the holy life in a comprehensive life pattern, this means that Jewish theology is not simply a series of ideas and moral laws, but has a systematic quality that aims to penetrate all aspects of life.

One of the most famous lines of Torah is found in Leviticus 19:18 “You shall love your fellow/neighbor as yourself,” v’ahavta l’reakhah kamokha.” The commandment “Love your neighbor as yourself” requires great personal insight as it requires one to at once put oneself in the shoes of the other and to see the other one like ourselves. Rabbi Akiba called this commandment, the “great rule of the Torah.” It is a kind of Kantian categorical imperative of Judaism. And we can take it as the ultimate rule for the holy life. Note that it is not an abstract rule but a very concrete and living one that requires an inward act of imagining the other as a self, indeed, as oneself. This rule is essentially different from the moral laws of the Decalogue in that it requires something like an act of introspection before one acts in relation to other humans. The rule supplies a kind of moral rationale that we do not find in the Decalogue. There we are told, “Do not murder, Do not steal, Do not covet.” And here, in Leviticus, we are told why: because the other is a human self like you! But Leviticus 19 also pushes the holy person beyond his neighbor.

When a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I the Lord am your God (Lev 19:33–34).

Here, the stranger is brought into the code that rules the holiness of the community. The ethical standards given to the kinsperson are extended to the stranger. He and she are to be regarded “like one of your citizens” and even like yourself! And the text gives us the reason: “for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” With this statement, the moral import of the experience of the people in Egypt becomes clear. Israel was made to experience slavery, homelessness, and strangeness “in a strange land” so that she could understand and have compassion for the stranger in her midst.

The Torah text of Leviticus 19 stands as a central text of an extensive ethical discussion of what the holy life requires of Jews. It is a clear portrait of the Torah’s sense that holiness is “not in heaven” (lo ba-shamayim hi ( Deut 30:12) but on earth and embedded in the everyday relations of family, friends, and work life. Rabbi Israel Salanter, (1810-1883) the great Lithuanian Musar (Ethics) scholar, stresses the “earthly” quality of holiness. He says that although it is commonly “accepted in the [Jewish] world to associate the holy person with one who is great in Torah and Fear (of God), according to hazal (the rabbinic sages) there is another aspect to holiness—how one deals in money matters.” Rabbi Salanter argues that holiness involves our daily interactions in “commerce, work, and interpersonal relations.”[3] Referring to Leviticus 19 he says, it “establishes that the conditions for holiness are: do not steal, do not lie, you shall not do an injustice in judgment.” He supports his reading by the following interpretation of Leviticus 19:2: “You shall be holy for I, the LORD, your God, am holy.” “I, God, am holy, so to speak, in heaven, so if I require holiness of you, my intent is that you be holy in earthly, material matters.” [4]

The model that Leviticus 19 establishes for holiness follows the dictate of the command in Exodus that Israel “Shall be a Kingdom of Priests and a Holy Nation.” This means that no aspect of life can escape the exacting standards of holiness so that the profane sphere of everyday life is just as open to holiness as the sphere of the sanctuary. The ethical vision of the priests in the “Holiness Code” of Leviticus means, too, that the Holy God is never far off from any human action. Indeed, the fact that God declares his presence “I am the LORD, Your God,” at the end of almost every one of His ethical commands, suggests that He wants to insert Himself at the nexus of all human actions and all human relations. And this means, too, that every “horizontal” relation that humans have with humans includes a “vertical” relation with God.

Holier Than Thou

The holy life is like a sacred ladder that one climbs through much personal sacrifice and hard moral discipline and spiritual work. Rising up in the ladder of holiness, the religious searcher can easily come to look down upon those who they perceive to be below them or those who do not even try to make the climb. And thus we have the common phenomenon of the religious person who regards himself “holier than thou.” Because halakha carefully delineates a system of the holy and the profane, the pure and impure, it is easy to get caught up in the intricacies of what can and cannot be eaten, what can and cannot be touched, and the when and how of the performance of mitzvoth and thereby forget the spiritual and ethical goal of the fulfillment of mitzvoth.

Prophetic Holiness and Ethics

It is well known that the classic yeshiva curriculum is dominated by the Talmud, not by the Torah and its rabbinic and philosophical exegetes. When Torah is studied, it is largely limited by a focus on Humash, or Pentateuch, and does not go beyond this to the Ketuvim (Writings) and Neviim, (Prophets). Given the theological and ethical treasures in these books, it is certainly a shame and a loss to the observant world. It is also somewhat odd that these texts are not systematically studied, given that we read from these books in the Haftarot every Shabbat and Festival. Of the many Haftarot that we read, the book that we read most often is Yeshayahu or Isaiah. If Orthodox Judaism ignores Isaiah, Devarim Rabba places Isaiah alongside Moses as the greatest of the prophets (2:4). Isaiah has a central standing among the prophets of Israel and it is noteworthy, given our concerns with kedusha that the most common epithet for God that Isaiah uses is K’dosh Yisrael “The Holy One of Israel” (Is 1:4).

According to Isaiah and most of the other classical prophets, holiness is articulated in terms of social justice and political ethics. In focusing on social morality, the prophets, at times, appear to be opposing the centrality of the cult and issues of ritual purity. Despite this however, Jewish critics like Yehezkel Kaufmannn, Moshe Weinfeld and Shalom Paul, argue that the prophets did not seek the end of sacrifices and traditions or ritual purity any more than they wanted the monarchy to end. Rather, they were critics of these institutions who sought to rid them of corruption and place them in their rightful place in service to God. That Isaiah’s vision of the angels proclaiming God’s holiness: Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh, occurred in the Temple (Is 6:3) and that the prophet Ezekiel was himself a priest, certainly suggests that the prophets did not intend to do away with the priesthood. However, with Isaiah, we do have one of the most forceful critics of excessive concern for the intricacies of ritual purity and holiness alone. That Isaiah refers to God as “the Holy One of Israel” and uses this appellation consistently throughout his text, suggests that ethics is not only required by the Holy One of Israel, but that the Holy One Himself is morally righteous and that human righteousness is grounded in God. In verse 5:16 Isaiah says: “And God the Holy One is sanctified through righteousness” (Holy Scriptures, JPS translation,1950); or an alternative translation could be “The holy God shall make Himself holy (n’qadesh b’tzedeq ) through righteousness.” So Isaiah’s view, following the Torah’s view, is that the moral law is underpinned and founded in God. Let us hear the words of Isaiah, which as he says, are the word of God.
Hear the word of the Lord…
“What need have I of all your sacrifices?”
Says the Lord.
“I am sated with the burnt offerings of rams,
And suet of fatlings,
And blood of bulls…
Who asked that of you?
Trample my courts no more;
Bringing oblations is futile,
Incense is offensive to me,
New moon and Sabbath
Proclaiming solemnities
Assemblies with iniquity
I cannot abide. …
Though you pray at length,
I will not listen
Your hands are full of blood—
Wash yourselves clean
Put your evil doings
Away from My sight,
Cease to do evil,
Learn to do good
Devote yourselves to justice;
Aid the wronged,
Uphold the rights of the orphan;
Defend the cause of the widow.”
IS 1:10-17

The words of Isaiah here, uttered with so few Hebrew words are a wonder to behold. Isaiah rips through the fabric of sacrificial life, the very nexus of the relationship with God established by the Levitical priests, “Your hands are full of blood.” Here, the expiatory power of the blood of sacrifice is mocked and the line seems to suggest instead that there is an excess of bloodshed. The extent of the verbal charge against the sacrificial cult is comprehensive, from daily sacrifice, to Shabbat, to the festivals, and even unto verbal prayer. “What need have I of all this? Who asked this of you?” The answer could be easy: “What do you mean?” the people might say. “Certainly, it was You, God, who asked this of us. It was You, God, who established the sacrificial cult, who determined the rules of Shabbat and the festivals as the very vehicle to make us holy. Now you are telling us you have no use for it all!” Without answering these questions, God uses the language of purity, “wash yourselves clean,” and directs it in a thoroughly moral and non-ritual direction. Here, Isaiah makes a move that we often see in the prophets, to use ritual purity, as a metaphor for moral purity.

Then, through Isaiah, God presents the people with what simply could be called an ethical manifesto, which, following the short form of the Hebrew, could be put this way.

Cease evil,
Learn good
Seek justice;
Correct oppression,
Defend orphans,
Plead for widows.

Here, in short, is an ethical doctrine which begins in stopping evil in oneself, moves to education in the ways of goodness, and then extends human efforts outward to seek justice. Justice, here, is seen in countering oppression against those that are powerless, the orphan and the widow, thereby representing all who are marginal and have no obvious figures of power to protect them.

Isaiah is not alone in speaking the words of social ethics. His contemporary Amos, who prophesied in the Northern Kingdom, also put forth a doctrine of social justice:

Hear this, you who trample on the needy
And bring the poor of the land to an end,
Saying when will the new moon be over
That we may sell grain?
And the Sabbath that we may offer wheat for sale
That we may make the ephah small and the shekel great,
And deal deceitfully with false balances,
That we may buy the poor for silver,
And the needy for a pair of sandals,

I will make the sun set at noon,
I will darken the earth on a sunny day
I will turn your festivals into mourning
(Amos 8:4-10).

Is this a new instruction, a new Torah replacing the old? Is this a new way to holiness dispensing with all the laws of sacrifice, of Shabbat, of the festivals, and of dietary laws and ritual purity? Certainly, this is the position of Protestant Christianity.

Yet here I would suggest that the prophets are speaking to their contemporary moment in the strongest way possible. They mean to correct abuses in Israelite religious life and the cult, and were not attempting to abolish its institutions and structures. Certainly, from the position of rabbinic tradition, the Torah and its rituals laws of holiness and purity will never be abrogated. The Torah is given as an eternal covenant, berit olam, between God and Israel, and all of rabbinic Judaism is built on the divinely sanctioned status of the laws and rituals that are given in the Torah.

The great Jewish biblical critic, Yehezkel Kaufmannn, while recognizing real innovation in the texts of Isaiah and the classical prophets, argues that Isaiah works upon already existing moral themes in the Torah. Kaufmannn states that “the prophetic demands for social justice echo, for the most part, the ancient covenant laws” (1960, 365). He reminds us that, in the flood story, God dooms a whole society for moral corruption.” Sodom and Gomorrah were also destroyed for lacking ten righteous men, and the Canaanites lost their land because of their corrupt sexual ways” (1960, 366).

However, if Kaufmannn believes that the prophets did not want to abolish sacrifices and the cult, he is also clear that what we have in the classic Israelite prophets is not just a repetition of the morality of the Torah but an innovation beyond it. Here, Kaufmann argues that the prophets offer a heightened sense of morality. Where the Torah equated destruction of Israel with the heinous sins of idolatry and incest committed by a large group of people, we see that God “threatens national doom and exile for everyday social sins” (1960, 366). Kaufmannn states that it is remarkable how few times Isaiah refers to the sin of idolatry and how sensitive he is to moral slights to the poor and the powerless. Indeed, it is these “small sins” of social justice that bother the prophets and not the “venal sins” of murder, idolatry, incest, and inhuman cruelty that the Pentateuch is concerned with.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel also points us to the heightened moral sensitivity of the prophets. “Indeed, the sort of crimes and even the amount of delinquency that fill the prophets of Israel with dismay do not go beyond that which we regard as normal, as typical ingredients of social dynamics. To us a single act of injustice—cheating in business, exploitation of the poor—is slight; to the prophets, a disaster. To us injustice is injurious to the welfare of the people; to the prophets it s a deathblow to existence: to us an episode; to them, a catastrophe, a threat to the world” (1962, 4).

As to why the prophet is so sensitive to what appears to be trivial moral concerns, Heschel sees this as a reflection of the acute moral sensitivity and highest moral standards of God. The God of the prophets is concerned with the details of little human lives, his compassion is so great that he is fundamentally concerned with the seemingly insignificant poor. “Prophecy is the voice that God has lent to the silent agony, a voice to the plundered poor, to the profaned riches of the world” (1962, 5).

It is a shame that the curriculum of our Orthodox yeshivot do not include intensive, sophisticated study of the Neviim and have left these texts of the written Torah to the Liberal Jewish Seminaries and the Christians. For the words of the Prophets are no less words of Torah and divrei Elokim than are the words of the Humash and Psalms and the Mishna and Gemara.

In the pre-modern world where Jews were excluded by Christians and Muslims alike from working and participating in their host cultures, there were good reasons why Jews kept to themselves. In those times when Jews were often persecuted and Judaism derided as a dead or false religion, one can also understand that there was Jewish fear and antipathy toward non-Jews. Today, however, where Jews have civil and political rights especially in the West, the continued self-ghettoization of the Jews and negative remarks one sometimes hears uttered by some Jews and even their rabbis toward non-Jews are morally and spiritually reprehensible. When one hears of a group of Orthodox Rabbis in Israel who issue public prohibitions against renting apartments to Arabs, or “religious” Jews in the old city who spit on Catholic Priests, one wonders why these Jews, who so devoutly study Talmud, manage to miss these words of the great Tosafist, Rabbenu Tam. “One should be envious of the pious and more than these of the penitents, and more than these of those who…from their youth have been diligent in the service of the Lord, blessed be He…And one should be envious of the nations of the world who serve God in awe, fear, and submission.” [5] And our devout co-religionists might also learn from the words of Bahya ibn Pakuda, who said in his introduction to Hovot haLevavot, The Duties of the Heart.

I quote from the dicta of the philosophers and the ethical teachings of
the ascetics and their praiseworthy customs. In this connection our Rabbis
of blessed memory already remarked (Sanhedrin 39b): In one verse it is
said “after the ordinances of the nations round about you, you have done (Ezek 11:12); while in another, it is said “After the ordinances of those around you , you have not done (Ezek. 5:7). How is this contradiction to be reconciled? As follows: Their good ordinances you have not copied; their evil ones you have followed.” The Rabbis further said (Megillah 16a). “Whoever utters a wise word, even if he belongs to the gentiles, is called a sage.”[6]

The Orthodox community is where many Jews look for “authentic” Judaism. The Orthodox community is where Jews seek and expect to find our Tzaddkim and our Kedoshim, our righteous and holy ones. And one can say, too, that what the religious world needs most today are precisely these kind of exemplars of the righteous and holy life. Yet precisely at his moment of great need, Torah Sages are retreating from the world and advising their students and followers to do the same. This is tantamount to taking Torah and God out of the world at the time when the world most needs Torah and God. So my plea in my book and in this article is that Orthodox Jews live up to the challenge of the great figures of modern Orthodoxy and the command of God in the Torah. Kedoshim Tiheyu: Be holy in mind, in deed, in ritual and behavior, in the synagogue, in court and field. We must be exemplars of the Torah way of life, committed to performance of the ritual mitzvoth as well as the mitzvoth of justice, righteousness, compassion and derekh erets.

[1] My book also offers a philosophical defense of religious language in which I use contemporary philosophies of language taken from the work of Ludwig Wittgenstein (see Kepnes, 2013, Ch.1, “Addendum.”) and Paul Ricoeur (ch.7, 176ff). Contemporary philosophies of language, with their focus on text, narrative, metaphor, and religions as “language games” offer a different basis than Greek philosophy which is built on propositions, concepts and syllogistic logic. These Greek tools are not really native to the language and rhetoric of Torah so that Jewish philosophers who use them are constantly involved in processes of translation of Torah terms into Greek terms. Torah and rabbinic literature naturally swims in the language of text, metaphor, parable, and analogy. I therefore would suggest that the turn to language in contemporary philosophy supplies an alternative paradigm that can serve Modern Orthodoxy well as it searches for a new “non-Greek” basis beyond Maimonides and classical Ethical Monotheism, to ground its claims to truth and wisdom and supply a connection to the postmodern world.
[2] See Ibn Ezra’s commentary on Leviticus 19 for a quick and handy list of parallels between Leviticus 19 and Exodus 20.
[3] Salanter’s on Vayiqra 19 in Itorei Torah, The translation is by Walter Herzberg.
[4] Ibid.
[5] Sefer Hayashar Book of Righteousness (Jerusalem: Eshkol, 1967), 43.
[6] Bachya ben Joseph ibn Pakuda, Duties of the Heart, Trans. Moses Hymanson (Jerusalem: Feldheim, 1970), 45.

REFERENCES

Bachya ben Joseph, ibn Pakuda, (1970) Duties of the Heart, Trans. Moses
Hymanson . Jerusalem: Feldheim,

Greenberg, A (1996) Itorei Torah [Hebrew]. Tel Aviv, Yavneh.

HaLevi, Yehuda (1964) The Kuzari. New York: Schocken Books.
Heschel, A. J. (1962) The Prophets. New York: Harper & Row.
Kepnes, Steven (2013) The Future of Jewish Theology. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell.
Kaufmann, Y. (1960). The Religion of Israel. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Maimonides, M., & Pines, S. (1963). The Guide of the Perplexed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Maimonides, M., & Klein, I. (1982). The Code of Maimonides: Mishneh Torah. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press.
Milgrom, J. (2000). Leviticus 17-22. New York: Doubleday.

Tam, Rabbenu (Jacob ben Meir) (1964) Sefer Hayashar. Book of Righteousness.
Jerusalem: Eshkol.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel to run the next Foundations Minyan on May 10

On Shabbat, May 10, from 10:00-11:30 am ET, Rabbi Hayyim Angel will lead the next Foundations Minyan. Foundations is a full-length service, and features explanations on the weekly Torah reading from Rabbi Hayyim Angel.

The service is free and open to the public. It is located at Congregation Beth Aaron, 950 Queen Anne Road, Teaneck, New Jersey.