Min haMuvhar

Israel Should Offer its Own Peace Plan

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Rabbi Marc D. Angel is Director of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

An Israeli Peace Plan?

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

(This op ed appears in the Jerusalem Post, March 25, 2024)

As Israel is in the midst of a bitter war, it is difficult to be thinking about a peace plan. The government of Israel is adamantly opposed to the American push for a Palestinian State. This is seen as a reward for terrorism and a betrayal of the principle of direct negotiations between Israel and the Palestinians.

Agreed.

But the status quo is obviously not satisfactory, not for Israel and not for the Palestinians. Much of the world, even those countries most friendly to Israel, want to see an end to the endless conflicts in the region. The longer the war goes, the greater is the world's pressure to recognize a Palestinian State. 

What if Israel came forth with a realistic peace plan of its own? What if Israel would not only agree to a Palestinian State but would be the first to recognize it? What if Israel, instead of constantly being seen as an obstruction to peace, was actually the foremost promoter of a peace plan?

The precondition of such a plan would be that Israel will only negotiate with Palestinian leadership that fully recognizes Israel’s right to exist; that commits itself to maintaining peaceful relations with Israel; that makes a concerted effort to eliminate anti-Israel and anti-Jewish propaganda, educational material. In short, Israel should very much want a peaceful neighbor free of Hamas and Hamas-like ideologies.

If the United States and its Arab allies could find and encourage such a Palestinian leadership, this would be a great blessing to Israel and the Palestinians. If Israel would produce a peace plan that would put the onus on Palestinians to agree to peace, this would be a dramatic step forward.

We pray that Israel’s current war with Hamas will end with as great a victory as possible for Israel. The victory must be not only military, but also political and diplomatic. The amazing courage and sacrifices of Tsahal are awe-inspiring. Their victory on the battlefield should be followed by victories for Israel in the areas of diplomacy and politics.

Yes, it seems highly unrealistic to find a congenial Palestinian leadership able and willing to negotiate seriously with Israel. It also seems highly unrealistic for the current Israeli government even to consider a peace gesture. But moving forward will require visionary and courageous leadership. It is easy to dismiss peace talk as being in the realm of fantasy.

 David Ben Gurion is reported to have told his advisors: “We don’t need experts to tell us it’s impossible; we need experts to tell us how to achieve the impossible.” Israel has always been able to achieve the impossible in the past: it can strive to do so now.

         

Thoughts for Pessah

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How are we meant to help bring about the ultimate Geulah, especially in light of this very precarious moment for the modern state of Israel.

 

Response of Rabbi Marc D. Angel, Director, Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals

 

At the Seder, we eat the “Hillel Sandwich,” Korekh, which includes both matsa and maror. Rabbi Benzion Uziel, late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel, pointed out that matsa—eaten as the Israelites left Egypt—symbolizes freedom. Maror—bitter herb—symbolizes the bitterness of slavery. We combine these two symbols to remind us that freedom and slavery are intertwined. Even when we are enslaved, we have our inner freedom. Even when we are free, we have to worry about falling back into slavery.

Until Mashiah arrives, we simply don’t have full redemption. We are always experiencing a mixture of matsa and maror, freedom and suffering. Sometimes things are better and sometimes worse…but we are constantly engaged in personal and national struggle.

We are currently living in very challenging times for Israel and the Jewish People. We all feel the taste of maror, the bitterness of war, death, anti-Semitism, ugly anti-Israel hatred. But we also have the taste of matsa…freedom. The State of Israel is strong, vibrant, and courageous. The Jewish People worldwide are standing up for our rights and for the honor of Israel. We are literally eating “korekh”, matsa and maror together, simultaneously. 

It has been noted that the redemption from Egypt is attributed entirely to the Almighty. The Israelites themselves were relatively passive in the process of gaining their freedom. But the ultimate redemption will require us to participate actively. While Hashem will be the guarantor of our geulah, we will need to assume personal responsibility.

Along with our prayers, we each must stand with Am Yisrael in every way possible. We need action—communal, political, financial etc.—in support of Medinat Yisrael. We need to stand up against anti-Semites and anti-Zionists with fortitude…and we must prevail.

Rav Nahman of Bratslav wisely taught: The whole world is a narrow bridge (precarious); but the essential thing is not to be afraid, not to be afraid at all.

Holiness: Thoughts for Parashat Vayikra

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Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Vayikra

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

The book of Vayikra is known in the vernacular as Leviticus. This designation underscores that the book deals primarily with laws relating to the Levites…to the priesthood, Temple, sacrifices, purity laws. While this is a broad characterization, Vayikra covers many other topics relating to business, sexual morality, ethical principles etc.

Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz has suggested that the general theme of Leviticus is holiness. “Holiness is not only what one does or does not do in the Temple, but something that applies even in places that have nothing at all to do with the ritual holiness of the Sanctuary of the Temple. It is a spiritual quality in its own right.”  Rabbi Steinsaltz understands holiness “to be a type of refinement, perfection, and exaltation, not necessarily limited to one particular point or area” (Talks on the Parasha, p. 193).

The essence of holiness is to place our lives in context with God. Whatever we do and wherever we are, holiness is a challenge for us to live up to our best selves. We are not only answerable to God; we are answerable to ourselves. Have we done our best? Have we lived up to our potential? Are we still aspiring to grow spiritually?

Holiness is a lifelong process that requires humility, persistence, and realism. We aren’t expected to be perfect, only to be as great as we possibly can be. This week’s parasha lists the various offerings that are to be brought for sins. The Torah acknowledges that we will sometimes fall short and it offers a way forward through repentance. Keep striving, keep growing, keep reaching beyond.

We sometimes hear educators and politicians telling young people: “You can be anything you want. You have unlimited potential.”  Although well intentioned, these statements are false. No matter how much one wants to be President of the United States or member of the Supreme Court, or a superstar athlete, or a gifted artist, or a mega-billionaire…very few will actually achieve these things no matter how hard they try. To tell students they can achieve anything they want is basically to set them up for failure.

A better message is: strive to live up to your own potential. Draw on your abilities to be the best person you can be.  Or, to put the message in Torah terms: be holy! Strive to live in context with the Divine. Live up to the talents that God has given you. Don’t squander your lives chasing false gods and false goals.

We live in a world where holiness seems to be out of fashion. Some live as though there is no God; others live believing in a god that condones hatred, violence, and falsehoods. 

The Torah reminds us and challenges us to be the best person we can be. Although it is difficult to block out all the negative static in our world, the quest for holiness keeps us human, humane and Godly.

 

Esther: Peshat and Derash in Megillat Esther

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Rabbi Hayyim Angel is the National Scholar of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. He has taught advanced Bible courses to undergraduate, graduate, and rabbinical students at YeshivaUniversity since 1996. He lectures widely in synagogues and schools throughout North America. He lives in Teaneck, New Jersey, with his wife and four children.

ESTHER

 

PESHAT AND DERASH IN MEGILLAT ESTHER[1]

 

By Rabbi Hayyim Angel

 

 

 

 

INTRODUCTION

 

Elisha ben Avuyah said: one who learns as a child, to what is he compared? To ink written upon a new writing sheet; and one who learns [when] old, to what is he compared? To ink written upon an erased writing sheet. (Avot 4:20)

 

          Megillat Esther is among the most difficult biblical books to study anew, precisely because it is so familiar. Many assumptions accompany us through our study of the Megillah, occasionally clouding our perceptions of what is in the text and what is not.

          Any serious study of the peshat messages of the Megillah must begin with a clear sense of what is explicitly in the text, what can be inferred legitimately from the text, and what belongs primarily in a thematic exposition, using the text as a springboard for important religious concepts. This chapter will consider some pertinent examples from Megillat Esther.

 

PESHAT CONSIDERATIONS IN THE MEGILLAH

 

A. THE SAUL–AGAG REMATCH

 

          On five occasions in the Megillah, Haman is called an “Agagite.”[2] Several early traditions consider this appellation a reference to Haman’s descent from King Agag of Amalek, whom Saul defeated (I Sam. 15).[3]

          Similarly, several midrashic traditions identify the Kish of Mordecai’s pedigree (2:5) with Saul’s father (I Sam. 9:1).[4] From this vantage point, Mordecai’s recorded pedigree spans some five centuries in order to connect him and Esther to Saul. If indeed Haman is of royal Amalekite stock, and Mordecai and Esther descend from King Saul, then the Purim story may be viewed as a dramatic rematch of the battle between Saul and Agag.

          However, neither assumption is rooted in the text of the Megillah. The etymology of “Agagite” is uncertain; while it could mean “from King Agag of Amalek,” it may be a Persian or Elamite name.[5] Had the author wanted to associate Haman with Amalek, he could have dubbed him “the Amalekite.” The same holds true for Mordecai and Esther’s descent from King Saul. If the Megillah wished to link them it could have named Saul instead of “Kish” (Ibn Ezra). It is possible that the Kish mentioned in the Megillah is Mordecai’s great-grandfather rather than a distant ancestor.[6]

        Regardless of the historical factuality of the aforementioned identifications, a strong argument can be made for a thematic rematch between the forces of good and evil which runs parallel to Saul’s inadequate efforts to eradicate Amalek. In this case, the association can be inferred from the text of the Megillah itself.[7] The conflict between Mordecai and Haman as symbolic of a greater battle between Israel and Amalek is well taken conceptually, but it is tenuous to contend that the biological connections are manifest in the text. However, if the midrashim had received oral traditions regarding these historical links, we accept them—ve-im kabbalah hi, nekabbel.

 

B. ASSIMILATION

 

          It is sometimes argued that the turning point in the Megillah is when the Jews fast (4:1–3, 16–17; 9:31), thereby repenting from earlier assimilationist tendencies demonstrated by their sinful participation in Ahasuerus’ party. According to this reading, Haman’s decree was direct retribution for their communal sin. However, the text contains no theological explanation of why the Jews “deserved” genocide; on the contrary, the sole textual motivation behind Haman’s decree is Mordecai’s refusal to show obeisance to Haman (3:2–8). By staunchly standing out, Mordecai jeopardizes his own life and the lives of his people.[8]

          Moreover, there is no indication in the Megillah that the Jews ever did anything wrong. On the contrary, the references to the Jews acting as a community display them mourning and fasting,[9] first spontaneously, and then at Mordecai’s directive (4:1–3, 16–17; 9:31). They celebrate their victory by sending gifts to each other and giving charity to the poor (9:16–28).

          Consider also Haman’s formulation of his request to exterminate the Jews: “Their laws are different from every nation” (3:8). Several midrashim find in Haman’s accusation testimony that the Jews observed the commandments and stood distinctly apart from their pagan counterparts.[10]

          Curiously, the only overt indications of foreign influence on the Jews in the Megillah are the names Mordecai and Esther, which likely derive from the pagan deities Marduk[11] and Ishtar.[12] However, the use of pagan names need not indicate assimilation of Mordecai and Esther, nor of the community at large.[13]

          Not only is there no textual evidence of Jewish assimilation—on the contrary, the Megillah consistently portrays Jews positively—but there is no rabbinic consensus on this matter either. The oft-quoted Gemara used to prove assimilation states:

R. Shimon b. Yohai was asked by his disciples, Why were the enemies of Israel [a euphemism for the Jews] in that generation deserving of extermination? He said to them: Answer the question. They said: Because they partook of the feast of that wicked one. [He said to them]: If so, those in Shushan should have been killed, but not those in other provinces! They then said, answer the question. He said to them: It was because they bowed down to the image. They said to him, then why did God forgive them [i.e., they really deserved to be destroyed]? He replied: They only pretended to worship, and He also only pretended to exterminate them; and so it is written, “For he afflicted not from his heart.” (Megillah 12a)

 

R. Shimon b. Yohai’s students suggested that the Jews deserved to be destroyed because of their willing participation in Ahasuerus’ party, but they did not state what was wrong with this participation. Song of Songs Rabbah 7:8 posits that the Jews sinned at the party by eating nonkosher food. Alternatively, Esther Rabbah 7:13 considers lewdness the primary sin at the party.[14]

          A contrary midrashic opinion is found in Midrash Panim Aherim 2, which relates that the Jews specifically avoided the party. Related sources describe that the Jews cried and mourned over Ahasuerus’ festivities.[15]

          Within the aforementioned rabbinic opinions, we find controversy over what was wrong with the party and the extent of the Jews’ participation (if any). But this entire discussion becomes moot when we consider that R. Shimon b. Yohai rejects his students’ hypothesis on the grounds that only Shushan’s Jewry participated; the Jews in other provinces never attended either of Ahasuerus’ parties.[16]

          R. Shimon b. Yohai then submits his own opinion: the Jews bowed to “the image.” Rashi avers that the image refers to the statue of Nebuchadnezzar erected and worshipped generations earlier (see Daniel chapter 3), while Meiri (Sanhedrin 74b) quotes an alternative reading of our Gemara, which indicates that the “image” was an idol that Haman wore as people bowed to him.[17]

          Both possibilities present difficulties: According to Rashi, the Jews were to be punished for the transgression of their ancestors, though there is no evidence that they perpetuated this sinful conduct. According to Meiri’s alternative reading, the question of R. Shimon b. Yohai to his students simply becomes more acute: only the members of the king’s court in Shushan bowed to Haman. Most Jews of Shushan, and all Jews from the outer provinces, never prostrated before Haman.

          In any case, the Gemara concludes that the Jews bowed without conviction. God “externally” threatened the Jews in return, that is, the threat was perceived, not real. The Gemara never resolves the theological question of why the Jews deserved such a harsh decree. The text of the Megillah consistently portrays the Jews in a favorable light, and the Gemara’s ambivalence over the theological cause of the Purim story only supports this positive assessment. In light of these factors, we must relegate discussions of assimilation to the realm of derekh ha-derash, that is, assimilation is something to be criticized, but the Megillah is not engaged in this condemnation—rather, it is concerned with other religious purposes.

         

C. RELIGIOUS OBSERVANCE

 

          The Megillah makes no mention of the distinctly commandment‑related behavior of the heroes, nor of the nation. Other than the term Yehudi(m), there is nothing distinctly Jewish in the Megillah. Most prominent is the absence of God’s Name. Also missing are any references to the Torah or specific commandments. In this light, the holiday of Purim could be viewed as a nationalistic celebration of victory. The only sign of religious ritual is fasting; but even that conspicuously is not accompanied by prayer. The omission of God’s name and prayer is even more striking when we contrast the Masoretic Text with the Septuagint additions to the Megillah—where the Jews pray to God and God intervenes on several occasions. In the Septuagint version, God’s Name appears over fifty times.[18] It appears unmistakable that the author of the Megillah intended to stifle references to God and Jewish religious practice. The second section of this chapter will address the question of why this is so.

 

D. MORDECAI’S DISOBEDIENCE

 

          Mordecai’s rationale for not prostrating himself involves his Jewishness (3:4), but the Megillah does not explain how. Many biblical figures bow to kings and nobles as a sign of respect, not worship; notably Esther bows to Ahasuerus in 8:3.[19] The text suggests that Mordecai did not want to honor the king and his command (see 3:2–4), but this explanation seems puzzling. Would Mordecai endanger his own life and the lives of all Jews[20] for this reason? Esther Rabbah 6:2 finds it unlikely:

But Mordecai did not bow down nor prostrate himself before him (3:2). Was Mordecai then looking for quarrels or being disobedient to the king’s command? The fact is that when Ahasuerus ordered that all should bow down to Haman, the latter fixed an idolatrous image on his breast for the purpose of making all bow down to an idol.[21]

 

Other rabbinic sources contend that rather than wearing an idol, Haman considered himself a deity.[22]

          Nevertheless, the text never alludes to idolatry in regard to Haman, nor anywhere else in the Megillah.[23] It appears that technical idolatry did not figure into Mordecai’s refusal to bow to Haman. In the second section of this chapter, we will consider alternative responses to this question.

          To conclude, certain midrashic assumptions are without clear support in the biblical text, and there often is disagreement in rabbinic sources. Both Mordecai and Esther’s biological connection to Saul and Haman’s descent from Agag of Amalek are debatable. There is no evidence of Jewish assimilation, nor is there testimony to overtly Jewish religiosity. Finally, it is unclear why Mordecai refused to bow to Haman, which is surprising given the centrality this episode has in the narrative.

          Although these ambiguities make an understanding of the Megillah more complicated, they also free the interpreter to look beyond the original boundaries of explanation and to reconsider the text and its messages anew.

 

THE CENTRAL MESSAGES OF THE MEGILLAH

A. AHASUERUS AS THE MAIN CHARACTER

          In determining the literary framework of the Megillah, Rabbi David Henshke notes that, viewed superficially, chapter 1 only contributes Vashti’s removal, making way for Esther. However, the text elaborately describes the king’s wealth and far-reaching power. This lengthy description highlights the fact that there is a different plot. The king’s power is described in detail because it is central to the message of the Megillah. Moreover the Megillah does not end with the Jews’ celebration. It concludes with a description of Ahasuerus’ wealth and power, just as it begins. The bookends of the story point to the fact that the Purim story is played out on Ahasuerus’ stage.[24]

          The other major characters—Esther, Mordecai, and Haman—are completely dependent on the good will of the king. For example, the political influence of Esther and Mordecai ostensibly contributed significantly to the salvation of the Jews. However, their authority was subject to the king’s moods. Esther knew that Vashti had been deposed in an instant. The king even held a second beauty contest immediately after choosing Esther as queen (2:19). When the moment to use her influence arrived, Esther was terrified to confront the king to plead on behalf of her people. The fact that she had not been summoned for thirty days reminded her of her precarious position (4:11).

          Mordecai, who rose to power at the end of the Megillah, likewise must have recognized the king’s fickleness. Just as the previous vizier was hanged, Mordecai never could feel secure in his new position.

          Rabbi Henshke points out that after Haman parades Mordecai around Shushan (a tremendous moral victory for Mordecai over his archenemy), Mordecai midrashically returns to his sackcloth and ashes (see Megillah 16a). After Haman is hanged, which should have ended the conflict between Mordecai and Haman, only the king is relieved, because the threat to his own wife is eliminated (7:10). Even after Ahasuerus turns Haman’s post over to Mordecai, Esther still must grovel before the king (8:1–6). The Jews remain in mortal fear because of the king’s decree, irrespective of Haman.

 

B. GOD AND AHASUERUS

          Most of the main characters of the Megillah have counterparts: Mordecai opposes Haman; Esther is contrasted to Vashti (and later Zeresh). On the surface, only Ahasuerus does not have a match—but behind the scenes, he does: it is God.[25] While God’s Name never appears in the Megillah, “the king” appears approximately 200 times. It would appear that Ahasuerus’ absolute power is meant to occupy the role normally assigned to God elsewhere in Tanakh.[26]

          Everyone must prostrate before the king’s vizier—how much more respect is therefore required for the one who appointed him! And one who enters the throne room without the king’s permission risks his or her life—reminiscent of the Jewish law of the gravity of entering the Holy of Holies, God’s “throne room.” Even the lavish parties at the beginning of the Megillah fit this theme. Instead of all the nations of the world coming to the Temple in Jerusalem to serve God (Isa. 2:2–4), all the nations of the world come to the palace in Shushan to see Ahasuerus’ wealth and to get drunk.

 

C. THE MEGILLAH AS SATIRE[27]

          Along with Ahasuerus’ authority and absolute power comes a person riddled with caprice and foolishness. Ahasuerus rules the world, but his own wife does not listen to him. He makes decisions while drunk and accepts everyone’s advice. Rabbi Henshke convincingly argues that the primary point of the Megillah is to display the ostensible power of a human king while satirizing his weaknesses.

          The patterns established in chapter 1 continue throughout the Megillah. Haman is promoted simply because the king wants to promote him. This promotion occurs right after Mordecai saves the king’s life and is not rewarded at all. Despite the constant emphasis on the king’s laws, Ahasuerus readily sells an innocent nation for destruction and drinks to that decision (3:11–15). Later he still has the audacity to exclaim, “mi hu zeh ve-ei zeh hu!” (who is he and where is he, 7:5). Despite the king’s indignant proclamation, the answer to his question is that it is the king himself who is the enemy of the Jews![28]

          The striking parallel between Haman’s decree (3:11–15) and Mordecai’s (8:7–14) further illustrates the king’s inconstancy: both edicts follow the identical legal procedure and employ virtually the same language, yet one allows the Jews to be exterminated while the other permits the Jews to defend themselves. The decree of self-defense rather than a repeal of Haman’s decree of extermination demonstrates that Ahasuerus is subservient to his own decrees to the point where he cannot even retract them himself (1:19; 8:8, cf. Dan. 6:9, 13, 15-16). Finally, the Bigtan and Teresh incident (2:21–23) serves as a reminder that the king’s power was precarious and that his downfall could arise suddenly from within his Empire.[29]

 

D. MORDECAI’S DISOBEDIENCE

 

          We may identify two layers of motivation for Mordecai’s not bowing to Haman: Rabbi Yaakov Medan asserts that Mordecai does not bow because he needs to send a strong message to Israel: passivity in the face of evil can cause even more harm in the future.[30]

          In light of Rabbi Henshke’s analysis, another answer emerges: Mordecai wishes to oppose the king’s command (3:2, 4). Once the king promotes Haman (especially right after Mordecai had saved the king’s life yet received no reward), Mordecai recognizes the fickle character of the king. Even further, Mordecai perceives that Ahasuerus had “replaced” God as the major visible power in Shushan. Thus Mordecai finds himself battling on two fronts. While superficially he opposes Haman, his defiance actually is also a spiritual rebellion against Ahasuerus. Therefore the text stresses that Mordecai was violating the king’s decree by refusing to prostrate before Haman.

          The Gemara lends conceptual support for this dual battle of Mordecai. After Mordecai learns of the decree of annihilation, he begins to mourn:

“And Mordecai knew all that had been done” (4:1)—what did he say? Rav says: Haman has triumphed over Ahasuerus. Samuel says: the higher king has triumphed over the lower king (Rashi: a euphemism for “Ahasuerus has triumphed over God”). (Megillah 15a)

 

According to Rav, Haman was the primary threat to Mordecai and the Jews. Mordecai bewails Haman’s manipulation of the weaker Ahasuerus. According to Samuel, Mordecai perceives that Ahasuerus was too powerful. That Ahasuerus allowed such a wicked individual to rise to power weakened the very manifestation of God in this world. Rav’s response addresses the surface plot, the conflict between Haman and Mordecai. Samuel reaches to the struggle behind the scenes—God’s conflict with Ahasuerus.

 

E. AN ALTERNATIVE TO THE WORLD OF AHASUERUS

 

          Instead of stopping at its satire of the king, the Megillah offers an alternative lifestyle to the world of Ahasuerus. As was mentioned earlier, the Megillah consistently portrays the Jews’ character in a positive light. In 3:8, Haman contrasts the laws of the Jews with the laws of the king. Thus Jewish laws and practices are an admirable alternative to the decrepit values represented by Ahasuerus’ personality and society.

          Ahasuerus is a melekh hafakhpakh, a whimsical ruler. His counterpart, God, works behind the scenes to influence the Purim story through the process of ve-nahafokh hu (9:1).[31] In the world of the hafakhpakh everything is arbitrary, self-serving, and immoral. There is no justice: a Haman can be promoted, as can a Mordecai. In contrast, God’s world of ve-nahafokh hu is purposeful and just.[32] Although the reader is left wondering why the Jews were threatened in the first place, God had justice prevail in the end.

          Even in their victory, however, the Jews remain entirely under the power of Ahasuerus. As a result, Purim is crippled as opposed to most other holidays:

[Why do we not say Hallel on Purim?]...Rava said: There is a good reason in that case [of the exodus] because it says [in the Hallel], “O servants of the Lord, give praise”— who are no longer servants of Pharaoh — But can we say in this case, O servants of the Lord, give praise—and not servants of Ahasuerus? We are still servants of Ahasuerus! (Megillah 14a)

 

 

CONCLUSION

          The showdown between Haman and Mordecai is central to the surface plot, whereas the more cosmic battle that pits God and Mordecai against the world of Ahasuerus permeates the frame of the Megillah from beginning to end.

          The reader is left helpless in the face of the question of why the Jews deserved this decree. The Jews appear completely righteous, and it specifically is the heroic integrity of Mordecai which endangers them in the first place. Yet the reader is led to confront God honestly, confident by the end that there is justice in the world, even when it is not always apparent to the human eye. This piercingly honest religiosity has been a source of spiritual inspiration throughout the Jewish world since the writing of the Megillah. The Megillah challenges us and brings us ever closer to God—who is concealed right beneath the surface.

 

 

 

[1] This chapter is adapted from Hayyim Angel, “Peshat and Derash in Megillat Esther,” Purim Reader (New York: Tebah, 2009), pp. 59-76; reprinted in Angel, Creating Space between Peshat and Derash: A Collection of Studies on Tanakh (Jersey City, NJ: Ktav-Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2011), pp. 186-201.

 

[2] See 3:1, 10; 8:3, 5; 9:24.

 

[3] Mishnah Megillah 3:4 requires that Parashat Zakhor (Deut. 25:17–19) be read the Shabbat preceding Purim. Mishnah 3:6 mandates that the narrative of Amalek’s attack on the Israelites in the wilderness (Exod. 17:9–17) be read as the Torah portion of Purim. Josephus (Antiquities XI:209) asserts that Haman was an Amalekite.

 

[4] See, for example, Megillah 13b.

 

[5] Yaakov Klein, Mikhael Heltzer, and Yitzhak Avishur et al. (Olam HaTanakh: Megillot [Tel Aviv: Dodson-Iti, 1996, p. 217]) write that the names Haman, Hamedata, and Agag all have Elamite and Persian roots.

 

[6] Cf. Amos Hakham’s comments to 2:5 in Da’at Mikra: Esther, in Five Megillot (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 1973); Aaron Koller, “The Exile of Kish,” JSOT 37:1 (2012), pp. 45-56.

 

[7] Hakham suggests that “Agagite” may be a typological name, intended to associate Haman conceptually with “Amalek,” i.e., he acts as one from Amalek (the same way many contemporary Jews refer to anti-Semites as “Amalek” regardless of their genetic origins). Jon D. Levenson (Old Testament Library: Esther [Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997], pp. 56–57) adds that Saul lost his kingdom to David as a result of not killing Agag; now Mordecai will reclaim some of Saul’s glory by defeating Haman the Agagite—although the Davidic kingdom stopped ten years after Jeconiah was exiled (2:6).

 

[8] See discussion in R. Haim David Halevi, Mekor Hayyim ha-Shalem (Hebrew), vol. 4, pp. 347–351.

 

[9] Although the Jews’ mourning and fasting may indicate that they were repenting from sins, the text avoids any reference to what these sins might have been. These religious acts just as easily could indicate a petition to God in times of distress.

 

[10] See Esther Rabbah 7:12; cf. Megillah 13b; Abba Gorion 26; 2 Panim Aherim 68; Aggadat Esther 30–31; Esther Rabbah and Targum Esther 3:8. Carey Moore (Anchor Bible 7B: Esther [New York: Doubleday, 1971], p. 39) translates mefuzzar u‑meforad as “scattered, yet unassimilated.” Hakham (on 3:8) suggests this possibility as well.

 

[11] Mordecai is a variant of “Merodakh” (= Marduk). See Jer. 50:2; cf. II Kings 25:27 (~Jer. 52:31); Isa. 39:1. See Megillah 12b; Esther Rabbah 6:3; 2 Panim Aherim 62; Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer 50; 1 and 2 Targum Esther 2:5, for midrashic explications of Mordecai’s name.

 

[12] See Megillah 13a (several alternative midrashic etymologies of the name Esther are given there as well). Yaakov Klein, Mikhael Heltzer, and Yitzhak Avishur et al. (Olam HaTanakh: Megillot [pp. 238–239]) maintain that the name Esther derives from the Persian word “star” (meaning “star” in English as well). They reject the derivation from Ishtar, since a shin in a Babylonian word (Ishtar) would not be transformed into a samekh in the Hebrew (Esther).

 

[13] Even if pagan names suggest assimilation, it is possible that their host rulers gave them these names, as with Daniel and his friends (Dan. 1:7). Cf. Megillah 13a: “The nations of the world called Esther this after Ishtar.” At any rate, it is clear that Esther needed to conceal her Jewish identity, so her using the name Hadassah would have been unreasonable.

 

[14] Cf. Esther Rabbah 2:11; Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer 48. Other midrashim look to other eras for theological causes of the Purim decree. Esther Rabbah 1:10 turns to the Jews’ violation of Shabbat in the time of Nehemiah. Esther Rabbah 7:25 considers the threat in the Purim story retribution for the brothers’ sale of Joseph. Esther Rabbah 8:1 blames Jacob’s deception of Isaac.

 

[15] See midrashim cited in Torah Shelemah I:52, 60, 61.

 

[16] Song of Songs Rabbah 7:8 concludes that even if only a few Jews participated in the party, all of Israel still could be held responsible because of the principle of arevut, corporate national responsibility.

 

[17] See, e.g., Esther Rabbah 6:2.

 

[18] For further discussion of the Septuagint additions, see Carey Moore, Anchor Bible 44: Daniel, Esther and Jeremiah: The Additions (New York: Doubleday, 1977), pp. 3-16; 153-262.

 

[19] See Gen. 23:7; 27:29; 33:3; 42:6; I Sam. 24:8; II Sam. 14:4; I Kings 1:23. Amos Hakham notes that the terms keri’ah and hishtahavayah (in Est. 3:2, 5) are collocated exclusively in regard to God, or to pagan deities.

 

[20] Mordecai is a hero, but it is less evident whether his actions always should be considered exemplary (majority opinion), or whether he should be considered a hero for reacting properly to a problem that he had created in the first place. See Rava’s opinion in Megillah 12b–13a; Panim Aherim 2:3. One also could argue that Mordecai was willing to assume personal risk but did not anticipate a decree of genocide against his people.

 

[21] See also Esther Rabbah 7:5; Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer 50; Abba Gorion 22; Panim Aherim 46; Esther Rabbah 2:5, 3:1–2; Targum 3:2; Josephus, Antiquities, XI, 6.5 and 8; Ibn Ezra; Tosafot Sanhedrin 61b, s.v. Rava.

 

[22] Megillah 10b, 19a; Esther Rabbah 7:8. Cf. Sanhedrin 61b, with Tosafot ad loc., s.v. Rava.

 

[23] R. Yitzhak Arama was perhaps the first to argue that the reasoning of idolatry is derekh ha-derash. See Barry Dov Walfish, Esther in Medieval Garb: Jewish Interpretation of the Book of Esther in the Middle Ages (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1993), p. 69. The closest implicit reference to pagan practices in the text is Haman’s lottery.

 

[24] R. David Henshke, “Megillat Esther: Literary Disguise” (Hebrew), in Hadassah Hi Esther (Alon Shevut: Tevunot, 1999), pp. 93–106.

 

[25] Cf. Esther Rabbah 3:10: “Everywhere in the Megillah where it says, ‘King Ahasuerus,’ the text refers to Ahasuerus; every instance of ‘the king’ has a dual holy-secular meaning” (i.e., it refers both to God and to Ahasuerus).

 

[26] Earlier commentators also address the issue of why God’s Name is not mentioned in the Megillah. Ibn Ezra opines that the Megillah would be translated for distribution throughout the Persian Empire; since pagan translators may substitute the name of a pagan deity for God’s Name, the author of the Megillah deliberately avoided referring to God. Rama (Yoreh De’ah 276) suggests that there was doubt whether the Megillah would be canonized (cf. Megillah 7a); therefore, they omitted God’s Name anticipating the possibility of rejection, which would lead to the mistreatment of the scrolls. For a more complete survey of medieval responses to this issue, see Barry Dov Walfish, Esther in Medieval Garb, pp. 76–79.

 

[27] For a thorough analysis of the use of irony in the Megillah, see Moshe D. Simon, “‘Many Thoughts in the Heart of Man...’: Irony and Theology in the Book of Esther,” Tradition 31:4 (Summer 1997), pp. 5–27.

 

[28] Megillah 16a: “And Esther said, ‘the adversary and enemy is this wicked Haman’ (7:6)—R. Eliezer says: this teaches that Esther began to face Ahasuerus, and an angel came and forced her hand to point to Haman.”

            One should not overlook Esther’s remark to the king (7:4): were she and her people to be sold into slavery, she wouldn’t have protested, indicating that the king and his interests are too important to trouble for anything short of genocide! Cf. 8:1–4, where Ahasuerus turns Haman’s wealth over to Mordecai and Esther but does nothing to address his diabolical decree. The king’s priorities are depicted as incredibly perverse in these episodes. Compare Megillah 11a: “‘He was Ahasuerus’ (1:1)—he was wicked from beginning until his end.” This Gemara penetrates beneath the king’s ostensible benevolence toward the Jews at the end of the Megillah, remarking that he was no better than before.

 

[29] Although Bigtan and Teresh failed in their efforts, King Xerxes—who often is understood by scholars to be Ahasuerus—was assassinated by other court officials within ten years of the Purim story (465). See Moore (Esther), p. 32. For analysis of the biblical and extra-biblical evidence to identify Ahasuerus with Xerxes and Esther with his wife Amestris, see Mitchell First, “Achashverosh and Esther: Their Identities Unmasked,” in ??????.

 

[30] R. Yaakov Medan, “Mordecai Would Not Kneel or Bow Low—Why?” (Hebrew), in Hadassah Hi Esther, pp. 151–170.

 

[31] R. Yonatan Grossman demonstrates how the entire Megillah is structured chiastically around the principle of ve-nahafokh hu (Yeshivat Har Etzion, Virtual Bet Midrash 2007 [http://vbm-torah.org/archive/ester/01ester.htm]).

 

[32] See R. Avraham Walfish, “An Ordinance of Equity and Honesty” (Hebrew), in Hadassah Hi Esther, pp. 107–140.

Orthodox Semikha for Homosexuals?

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Rabbi Alan J. Yuter is Rabbi Emeritus of  Congregation B'nai Israel of Baltimore, Md, and teaches  via Zoom for the Union for Traditional Judaism, the American UTJ.  He is  retired, residing, learning, teaching, and writing in Jerusalem.

At https://www.jta.org/2019/05/27/opinion/we-orthodox-jews-desperately-need-gay-rabbis, R. Daniel Landes explains his decision to ordain a sexually active gay Orthodox rabbi. He argues that Jewish law must be open to this change.  Below I try to present R. Landes’ argument fairly, and why in my view it cannot be accepted. 

R. Landes has made an extraordinary effort to validate the Jewish bona fides of LGBTQ+ Jews who choose to identify with Orthodoxy, he invokes the principle of nishtanah ha-tev’a, that nature has changed and Jewish religious policy must change with it. This argument, that Nature has changed, is a Tosafist [Tosafot to b’Avoda Zarah 24b] construct explaining why the Tosafot, who usually regard Talmudic aggadah/narrative to be literally true, ignore Talmudic medical practices and prescriptions.  This claim, that nature has changed, is empirically false. And Orthodox Judaism posits that God’s omniscient will is memorialized at Leviticus 18:22, whose plain sense [=peshat] rendering unambiguously outlaws the male homosexual act.

 

  1. R. Landes’ decision to ordain a homosexual rabbi has evolved after many years of counseling young people with same sex attraction. He reviews and rejects the proposed suggestions currently given by Orthodox rabbis to those with same sex attraction.  Celibacy, “reparative” therapy, and remaining “in the closet” are ultimately unworkable solutions. R. Landes explains that his decision to explore the Halakhic literature on the topic is motivated by the fact that “gay Jews are asked to meet a virtually impossible standard of behavior.”  Consequently, R. Landes strives to reformulate the Biblical norm prohibiting the male homosexual act.

R. Landes is one of the very few modern Orthodox rabbis who has invested his energy, talent, and time to teach modern Orthodox rabbis how to confront and to apply the Jewish legal tradition to our post-modern reality.  He accepts the Yeshiva Orthodox perspective that the Talmud is a unified literary trove whose laws are binding and whose descriptions must be taken to be true. When Talmudic “facts” conflict with the observed  world, [a] we may not claim that the Rabbinic descriptions are flawed—because this ideological narrative invests, by dint of sanctity, its rabbinic elite, designated as gedolim, or “great ones,” with implicit infallibility and virtual, sovereign immunity [see https://www.yeshiva.org.il/wiki/index.php?title=%D7%94%D7%A9%D7%AA%D7%A0%D7%95%D7%AA_%D7%94%D7%98%D7%91%D7%A2%D7%99%D7%9D],  [b] instead these great rabbis posit that is Nature that has changed, opening the door to reconsidering current Halakhic policy.   What in fact has changed is what the human understanding of Nature actually is. R. Landes invokes this post-Talmudic concept, that Nature has changed, to reconsider the classical Orthodox Jewish approach to homosexuality.  After all, it is easier for this iteration of Orthodoxy to claim that Nature changes because God’s perfect law is neither changeable nor replaceable.  What has changed is secular society’s toleration, acceptance, and normalization of sexual license in general and homosexuality in particular. For fundamentalist secularists, one’s failure to approve of an individual’s right to choose, define, and act upon their chosen sexual identity renders that person a “homophobe,” a morally deficient, judgmental bigot whose moral worldview is unworthy of consideration. For R. Landes, the modern, secular, Progressive perspective is part of the contemporary collective conscience and moral consciousness. Jewish Law must accept and accommodate this new reality. However, the fact is that Nature did not change; what  has changed is the popular moral consensus. Maimonides explains [Introduction to the Yad compendium]  that the Oral Torah norms, the taqannot [“to do” enactments  that generate commandment blessings],  gezeirot [do “not do” ‘decrees’], and hanhagot [customary practices, edicts, and by-laws that, although legally obliging, do not generate commandment blessings] are Judaism’s only mandatory Rabbinic norms. I have found no precedent in the Halakhic literature that authorizes male homosexual behavior.  Rabbinic opinions, descriptions, or predilections [a] are not legislative acts and therefore [b] are not legally binding. In our observed experience, Nature has not changed and a sincere Orthodox commitment affirms that God’s Torah does not change unless the Law itself authorizes particular changes in practice or usage.   While we may not deny the Law, changing times may require alternative strategies or responses when confronting current challenges of religious non-compliance.  We are not obliged to insult sinners. We do not protest dancing and clapping on Simhat Torah because we would rather Jews sin in ignorance than knowingly rebel against the Rabbinic law that forbids clapping and dancing on Jewish holy days [bBetsa 30a]. The Torah clearly and explicitly outlaws the male homosexual act [at Leviticus 18:22]. One is permitted to struggle, complain, and express frustration with existential, ethical, and religious challenges.  According to pBerachot 7:3, Jeremiah defied the Great Rabbis’ ruling requiring that God be praised as “awesome” because God’s awe is only immediately experienced in the Temple, which at that time was in ruins, and Daniel refused to praise God as being “mighty” because Judah’s population was placed in chains and led into exile and God failed to intervene.  Job was not chastised by God for protesting his undeserved suffering [Job 42:7]. But the Torah’s most essential  directive is that faithful compliance with its norms is required. Genesis 1:3 reads “and God commanded, ‘light, be!’” The  Semitic root “amr” not only means “say.” In Aramaic, Arabic, and as here, in BiblicalHebrew, as in Psalms 33:8. “command” is the more appropriate rendering. The response is va-yehi or, “Light is,” literally “came into being.” This is the Torah covenant’s root metaphor, the Narrative that both informs and animates the Nomos, which are the prescriptive norms of the Torah’s legal order, to borrow the idiom of the late Robert Cover. One must not misrepresent the Torah’s “face” [bSanhedrin 99a], the Torah’s normative content as it stands, even and especially if we are uncomfortable with its prescriptions.  Like every legal order, Halakhah possesses what H.L.A. Hart calls “rules of recognition,” those secondary rules that determine whether a suggested legal norm is valid, or consistent with the Halakhic legal order. It is permitted to be frustrated with what Halakhah requires; what is essential is compliance. The Orthodox rabbi’s task is to interpret the Law as it stands, not to reformulate or reconstruct the Law in order to accommodate alien ideologies, social constructions of reality, or political agendas. By approving homosexual behavior, one makes peace with a secular ethos of sexual permissiveness, allowing the Progressive ideology to supersede the orthodoxy encoded in the canonical Torah to library. While allowing for flexibility in emergencies, or ad hoc hora’at sha’ah rulings [Maimonides, Mamrim 2:4], there is neither precedent nor place for this leniency when dealing with murder, idolatry, or sexual violations.

  1. If the Torah is taken seriously, one defers to the Torah’s Law as it is manifest in the most reasonable, plain sense reading of its canonical documents [Maimonides, Introduction to the Yad compendium].  The male homosexual act is an issur kareit [mKereitot 1:1]. The violations listed in this Mishnah are the most serious offenses in the Halakhic order.  The male homosexual act is also an instance of ‘arayyot, a sexual violation for which there is little room for flexibility. [That the homosexual act is a violation of ‘arayyot is confirmed by pSanhedrin 7  25:1. Thanks go to my learned son, R. Joshua  Yuter, for this reference].

  2.  I do concur with R. Landes that LGBTQ+ Jews need not  be banished from the Jewish community.  They should be treated like any other inconsistently observant Jew. God alone is their Judge, nobody else is authorized to judge them until they stand in their place [mAvot 2:4], which cannot be done. We are obliged to love and embrace other Jews, without condition. Orthodox affiliating LGBTQ+ individuals should be able to attend synagogues, without insult, count in minyan, without question, and circumcise their sons, without hesitation. 

  3. R. Landes’ reasons for normalizing the male homosexual act are that [a] people who are wired with same sex attraction were created by God with that wiring, [b] our understanding of nature has indeed changed, [c] modern people no longer stigmatize homosexual behavior or for that matter, non- marital, recreational sex, and [d] morally sensitive moderns are unable to believe in a perfect God Who creates people with urges that may not be satisfied with God’s approval.

  4. R. Landes applies the doctrine of ones, or coercion, according to which a person is not considered culpable if she/he was compelled to commit an illegal act.  A moral agent must make a decision to commit an offense.  Since homosexuals are genetically wired and programmed to same sex attraction, they are compelled by their biology to behave as they do. Consequently, it is improper to condemn these individuals since they areprogrammed by their biology to behave in the way they do and it is likewise unjust to expel LGBTQ+’s from the Orthodox community.  R. Landes also argues that a gay rabbi is uniquely qualified to experience the tension, empathize, and minister to LGBTQ+ Jews who regard Orthodoxy to be their preferred spiritual address. Nonetheless,  R. Landes’ argument remains problematic. 

  5. The Torah posits that the human being is able to overcome one’s instincts, attitudes, and appetites and to choose to follow the Law. According to Jewish Tradition, the human person possesses both the yester ha- tov and yester ha-r’a, the impulse for doing good and the “evil” impulse of brute animal instinct for realizing immediate pleasure.  The Torah holds humankind accountable for its choices because God has endowed humans free will. God reminds Cain that desire is no excuse for improper behavioral choices [Gen. 4:7].  The argument from ones, that the homosexual is compelled to act in a specific way is actually addressed in the Oral Torah canon.  While negative, i.e. “do not do” commandments, are suspended when a Jewish life is in danger, this dispensation does not apply to the prohibitions regarding murder, serving other gods in any way or the God of Israel in an unauthorized fashion [the ‘avodah zarah idiom is mistranslated as “idolatry,” which is ‘avodah zarah but not its  only manifestation], and sins of a sexual nature [bPesahim 25a-b].  Here, R. Landes’ argument from ones, the compulsive force of sexual desire, is rejected by the Oral Torah norm.  Are we to also endorse license for heterosexual sex addiction? What is lacking is not the ability to resist improper behavior; what is lacking is the will.

  6. R. Landes’ proposed prescription, which while well intentioned, remains unacceptable. First, the entire Torah tradition forbids the male homosexual act, current apologetic casuistry notwithstanding. There is not even a rejected minority view on the subject in support of R. Landes’ claim.  To be authentically “Modern Orthodox,” this community must be Orthodox first and “modern” second. When conflicts arise between the dogmas of the current popular, secular, moral consensus and an uncontested, unambiguous Torah law, the Orthodox Jew of every stripe is obliged to affirm the Torah Law as it stands. To do otherwise makes humans the de facto legislators of the Law.  It is one matter to claim that the law is difficult to observe, and new strategies are needed to deal with contemporary challenges. For example, we are not really required to sit shiv’a [the seven day mourning period which begins after burial] for a child who intermarries because the Oral Law does not require that response and we ought to keep our doors open to the possibility of teshuva, a return to Jewish religious life. What we ought to do when dealing with Orthodox affiliating homosexuals is to be gentle, supportive, and avoid certain unresolvable, unhelpful, dead-end conversations.  What Orthodox Jewry may not do is to overrule or nullify any uncontested Torah Law, to declare an act that the Torah forbids to be permitted. If Orthodoxy permits what the Torah forbids, it undermines its own bona fides.  R. Landes’ revered teacher, R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, viewed the Binding of Isaac, the ‘Aqeida, as the archetypal test [See https://www.refuathanefesh.org/the-darker-side-of-the-akeida/].  Humans are often challenged to act heroically, like Abraham’s heroic response to God’s call to sacrifice his son, Isaac, on Mt. Moriah.

  7.  LGBTQ+ Jews also encounter Aqeidah-like challenges. There is only One Judge who has the right to judge humankind as one judge [mAvot 4:8]. Sometimes we do not have satisfying answers to excruciatingly difficult questions.  While valuing R. Landes’ inclusivist instinct, I also fear that his approach unintentionally relativizes the Torah by permitting what it clearly forbids.  By ordaining an Orthodox rabbi, who teaches by example as well as word, who is not committed to living his life according to Orthodox Halakhah, R. Landes presents male homosexuality as Halakhically acceptable. Having seen the play A Chorus Line and having studied Plato’s Symposium, I understood these two works to portray homosexuality to be morally and socially normative.  This is not the Torah’s perspective. The instant the Torah becomes subject to finite, human judgment and amendment, it is no longer the Torah that is “the word of the LORD” [Isaiah 2:3].  If we ordain a sexually active gay “Orthodox” rabbi, we create a theological oxymoron. An Orthodox rabbi cannot affirm the Torah while regularly and knowingly performing an act that Torah law forbids. When the Torah ethic conflicts with the popular, secular consensus, the astute Orthodox rabbi will distinguish between historical habit, which is subject to change at the discretion of the local rabbi, and the unambiguous Written and Oral Law statute, which is not subject to review.

  8. Honest people can disagree without defaming the dissenter as “evil,” “homophobe,” or “pervert.” The current conundrum is how to accommodate Orthodox affiliating and affirming  LGBTQ+’s and remain honest to God and Torah compliance. 

Progressive Orthodoxy’s identity is being tested here. Is this Orthodoxy’s ultimate benchmark Torah law or the Progressive egalitarian ideal? When Progressive ideology conflicts with Torah law, which world view will prevail?    Oral Torah Orthodoxy is grounded in a shared communal commitment to the heftsa of a shared, normative library, and not the charismatic intuition of any gavra, or finite, mortal human.

  1. I concur with R. Landes that LGBTQ+ Jews should be welcome in the Orthodox community.  They are searching for authenticity, and are apparently prepared and willing to live with contradictions.  The Reform and Conservative streams have accepted homosexual behavior to be Jewishly normative, and are suffering a demographic implosion because they are perceived to be standing for nothing more than enrolling billing units to pay their professionals’ salaries.  Without an authentic message to sell, there will not be very many buyers for the religious product marketed for sale. Torah law may never be presented to be morally inadequate, because to do so leaves ultimate truths in the possession of finite mortals with political power and powerful egos, which are hardly sources of divine truth.  A formalist legal reading of Halakhah asks “what are the religious norms and narratives embodied in the Torah canon,” and will occasionally side with the Right [non-chauvinist patriotism is religiously healthy and owning private property is permitted] and sometimes will adopt positions that are identified with the Left [universal health care and education really are Halakhic entitlements].   There may be more than one legitimate Halakhic approach to many issues, but the Oral Torah values provide the normative benchmarks of Jewish propriety.

  2. How should Orthodox Jews to respond to R. Landes’ decision to ordain a sexually active homosexual male?  One common Orthodox reflex is to view any error as heresy. After all, for this Orthodoxy, Jewish Law is guided by the divinely inspired intuition of Great Rabbis, whose presumed greatness precludes assessment on the part of rabbis who lack their charisma and greatness.   However, Modern Orthodoxy’s philological approach to Jewish Law discovered a category called “error” [Hoshen Mishpat 25 and 34].   When Rabbi Emanuel Rackman suggested that modern women prefer to be spinsters than to remain unhappily married, against the hazaqah, or presumptive descriptive  reality proclaimed by Resh Laqish [bQeddushin 41a], R.  Joseph Soloveitchik suggested that R. Rackman was saying heretical words because he dared to suggest a  Halakhic ruling, one that questioned the accuracy of the Sages’ observation, that  a Hazaqah, an empirical doubt so remote that the Law assigns to it the status of certainty, might be subject to change. R. Rackman was not held to be a great Oral Torah sage who would, to this view, have a right to an opinion regarding the legal status of Hazaqah. A more appropriate response to R. Rackman’s claim would be “the course you propose appears to contradict these particular Oral Torah norms.  Please clarify.”  And if the Tosafot may claim that nature changed, without demonstration, R. Rackman’s claim that social conventions do change sounds reasonable. Jurisprudentially, R. Rackman’s position  is not without merit.  Jewry must obey Talmudic legislation, which is prescriptive.  The Hazaqot of the Sages refer to their reality as they saw it; these statements are descriptive observations, not legal norms, which are prescriptive “ought to do” statements. Hazaqot are findings regarding a discovered reality, or a narrative description of the reality to which the Law’s prescriptions are to be applied. If Rabbinic narratives were legally binding, we would be obliged to apply Talmudic medicine today. In other words, one must demonstrate and not merely proclaim that Hazaqot are not subject to change. They are human observations, not legislated, legal norms. The rabbis are only able to see reality with the eyes that they have [bSanhedrin 6b  and elsewhere].

  3. While R. Landes’ reasoning is unconvincing, his argument merits conversation if only because he forces the conversation to take the pain, pathos, and passion of living people into account when dealing with this vexing issue. Mainstream Orthodoxy must explain why R. Landes’ position is unacceptable; it may not argue that only its own Great Rabbis have the right to express a defensible, reasoned opinion because Talmudic Law locates normativity in the plain sense of the canonical Talmudic text, not in the charisma, intuition, office, or reputation of the canonical person.  It is the plenum of the Sanhedrin, not the assumed greatness of its individual members, that is legally binding [bSanhedrin 14b, ha-maqom goreim]. Those who agree with R. Landes’ decision must argue their case on its merits, and not dismiss as bigots those who believe that acting on male to male sex attraction violates Jewish Law.  Demeaning dissenters as “homophobes” is also out of order. Hoshen Mishpat 34 teaches that those who disagree have a right to be wrong, that their honestly held incorrect positions do not nullify their  Halakhic bona fides. By focusing on a formalist reading of the Oral Torah canon, the Orthodox Right will come to recognize that Jewish Law only forbids what by statute is forbidden [Beit Yosef, Yoreh De’ah 1:1] and therefore innovation per se cannot be forbidden. Not seeing an act being performed may not be taken as evidence that the act may not be performed [m’Eduyyot 2:2].  And the Orthodox Left must discover and articulate where its own defining limits are located and unconditionally affirm Orthodoxy’s defining red lines.  Unlike Elish’a b. Abuyah, who “severed [his ties to the Torah tree of life’s] roots [bHagigah 14b] abandoning the Halakhic life, and by dint of his apostasy, was denied the rabbinic honorific, R. Hillel denied the future coming of the Messiah ,  arguing that Israel’s messianic chit was spent during the time of Hezekiah   [b. Sanhedrin 98b], and his opinion, but not he, was rejected. Elisha rejected the Torah system, and the community rejected him. Hillel made a mistake, but he remained faithful to the Torah system.

  4.  The test to which “Liberal” Orthodoxy will be put—and judged—will be determined by the tone of its of its argument. Will its discussions be brutal or collegial? Will it try to persuade or will it resort to name-calling, derision, and intimidation? Will the public Orthodox conversation increase contention or peace in the Jewish world? Jewish law   requires that people be judged as generously as possible [mAvot 1:6 and Avot 6:6]. If Orthodoxy judges others ungenerously, the Righteous Judge will rightly judge Orthodoxy in the way it judged others [mSota 1:7].

  5. My suggestion is that each party should stake its claim, and neither side should try to destroy the other.  At stake is the status of the Talmid Hakham, who by reflex advances peace and good will. If the LGBTQ+ community expects  any accommodation from institutional Orthodoxy, it cannot demand that Orthodoxy deny its first principles, either.  It is one thing to request that children of homosexuals be enrolled in an Orthodox day school and quite another to demand that a Torah norm be ignored or abolished. Questioning the moral probity of those who do not accept homosexual rabbis is an ironic if not coercive gambit for those who appeal to “pluralism.”   Tolerance is either a two way street or it is a dead end.   By impugning the Jewish integrity of Orthodox rabbis who are bound by their honest to God reading of the Torah canon, the LGBTQ+’s who are drawn to Orthodoxy will alienate their target audience. Coercion is out of place whether it is done by Right or Left.   Orthodoxy must learn to disagree with empathy and generosity; we should seek accommodation when possible rather than demand capitulation from dissidents. “The ways of Torah are pleasant, and all its paths are peaceful [Proverbs 3:17].” This too is Torah.

Blessings: Thoughts for Parashat Shemini

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Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Shemini

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

“And Aaron lifted up his hand towards the people and blessed them…” (Vayikra 9:22).

 

One of the beautiful age-old Jewish traditions is for parents and grandparents to bless their children and grandchildren, generally on Shabbat and holidays. This is a loving way to share their hopes and to invoke God’s blessings on their progeny.

The Torah reports blessings that Jacob gave to his children and grandchildren as well as blessings that Moses offered to the tribes of Israel. Aaron blessed the people during the ceremony dedicating the Mishkan.  The Torah assigned cohanim the ongoing obligation of blessing the community, a practice that continues to this day.

But what is the meaning of berakha, the Hebrew word for blessing? When we offer someone a blessing, what are we actually conveying?

A berakha reflects a desire to invoke God’s blessing since God is the source of all blessing. As a paradigm, the priestly blessing is uttered by the cohanim but the Torah specifies that “Va-ani Avarekhem,” and I [God] will bless them. So although human beings verbalize blessings, these are expressions of our hope that God will fulfill them. 

This is true of our blessings to others, but how are we to understand blessings we recite to God? We have berakhot whenever we eat, fulfill a mitzvah, and on many other occasions. Since God is the source of all blessing, what does it mean when we say barukh to God?

The word barukh is connected to the word berekh, knee.  When we “bless” God, we are actually saying: we bend our knees to You, we are dependent on You, we recognize Your sovereignty. Instead of translating the opening of a berakha as “blessed are You,” the translation should be “we bend our knees to You” or “we acknowledge You as the Source of all blessing.”

When we bless children, grandchildren or anyone else, we are praying that the Almighty will bless them accordingly. Offering blessings is an expression of love, respect and hope. Those receiving blessings absorb the positive feelings and intentions of those expressing the blessings.

There is an old Jewish tradition of saying 100 blessings each day as an expression of gratitude to the Almighty and an acknowledgement of our dependence on God. It would be well if we would extend this idea to offering blessings to our fellow human beings. The world would be a happier place if we could bless not just those who are closest to us but all those who act righteously and courageously. While curses deepen enmity among people, blessings promote love and mutual respect.

One who blesses is worthy of the blessings of the Almighty.

 

The Chosen People: An Ethical Challenge

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Rabbi Hayyim Angel is the National Scholar of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals (jewishideas.org). He has taught advanced Bible courses to undergraduate, graduate, and rabbinical students at Yeshiva
University since 1996.

The concept of the Chosen People is fraught with difficulties. Historically, it has brought much grief upon the Jewish people. It also has led some Jews to develop chauvinistic attitudes toward non-Jews. Nonetheless, it is a central axiom in the Torah and rabbinic tradition, and we therefore have a responsibility to approach the subject forthrightly. In this essay, we will briefly consider the biblical and rabbinic evidence regarding chosenness.

The Book of Genesis

A major theme of the book of Genesis is the refining process of the Chosen People. The Torah begins its narrative of humanity with Adam and Eve, the first people created in the Image of God. The Torah’s understanding of humanity includes a state of potential given to every person to connect to God, and an expectation that living a moral life necessarily flows from that relationship with God.

Cain and Abel, the generation of Enosh, Noah, and the Patriarchs spontaneously brought offerings and prayed without any commandments from God to do so. God likewise held people responsible for their immoral acts without having warned them against such behaviors. Cain and the generation of the Flood could not appeal to the fact that they never received explicit divine commandments. God expected that they naturally would have known such conduct was unacceptable and punishable.

Adam and Eve failed by eating of the Tree of Knowledge, but they were not completely rejected by God, only exiled. Cain failed morally by murdering his brother—and he, too, was exiled. Their descendants became corrupt to the point where the entire human race was overwhelmed by immorality.

At this point, God rejected most of humanity and restarted human history with Noah—the "second Adam." After the Flood, God explicitly commanded certain moral laws (Genesis 9), which the Talmud understands as the "Seven Noahide Laws" (ethical monotheism). Noah should have taught these principles to all his descendants. Instead, the only recorded story of Noah’s final 350 years relates that he got drunk and cursed his grandson Canaan. Although Noah was described as a good and righteous man, his story ends in failure. He did not transmit his values to succeeding generations.

As the only narrative spanning the ten generations between Noah and Abraham, the story of the Tower of Babel represents a societal break from God. It marked the beginnings of paganism and unbridled human arrogance. At this point, God appears to have given up on having the entire world perfected, and instead chose Abraham—the "third Adam"—and his descendants to model ethical monotheism and teach humanity.

This synopsis of the first twelve chapters of Genesis is encapsulated by Rabbi Ovadiah Seforno (sixteenth-century Italy). Only after these three failures did God select Abraham’s family, but this was not God’s ideal plan:

It then teaches that when hope for the return of all humanity was removed, as it had successfully destroyed God’s constructive intent three times already, God selected the most pious of the species, and chose Abraham and his descendants to achieve His desired purpose for all humanity…. (Seforno, introduction to Genesis)

In The Nineteen Letters, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (nineteenth-century Germany) arrived at a similar conclusion.

Nor was there any genetic superiority ascribed to Abraham and his descendants. To the contrary, the common descent of all humanity from Adam and Eve precludes any racial differentiation, as understood by the Mishnah:

Furthermore, [Adam was created alone] for the sake of peace among men, that one might not say to his fellow, my father was greater than yours. (Sanhedrin 37a)

Abraham and descendants thus became the Chosen People—a nation expected to do and teach what all nations ideally should have been doing. Indeed, Abraham is singled out in the Torah as the first teacher of these values:

The Lord said, Shall I hide from Abraham that thing which I do, seeing that Abraham shall surely become a great and mighty nation, and all the nations of the earth shall be blessed in him? For I know him, that he will command his children and his household after him, and they shall keep the way of the Lord, to do justice and judgment; that the Lord may bring upon Abraham that which he has spoken of him. (Gen. 18:17–19)

The remainder of the book of Genesis revolves around the selection process within Abraham’s family. Not all branches would ultimately become Abraham’s spiritual heirs. By the end of Genesis, it is evident that the Chosen People is comprised of all Jacob’s sons and their future generations.

Although the book of Genesis specifies the role and identity of the Chosen People, two difficult questions remain. 1. Once Israel was chosen, was this chosenness guaranteed forever, or was it contingent on the religious-ethical behavior of later generations? Could a sinful Israel be rejected as were the builders of the Tower of Babel? 2. Since the time of the Tower of Babel, is chosenness exclusively limited to Israel (either biological descendants or converts), or can non-Jews again become chosen by becoming ethical monotheists (either on an individual or national level)?

Israel’s Eternal Chosenness

God addressed the first question as He was giving the Torah to Israel:

Now therefore, if you will obey My voice indeed, and keep My covenant, then you shall be My own treasure among all peoples; for all the earth is Mine; And you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests, and a holy nation. These are the words which you shall speak to the people of Israel. (Ex. 19:5–6)

Thus, God’s covenant with Israel is a reciprocal agreement. If Israel does not uphold her side, it appears from these verses that she would cease to be God’s treasure. It is remarkable that the very beginning of Israel’s national identity is defined as conditional, rather than absolute.

Later prophets stress this message, as well. Amos states that Israel’s chosenness adds an element of responsibility and accountability. Infidelity to the covenant makes chosenness more dangerous than beneficial:

Hear this word that the Lord has spoken against you, O people of Israel, against the whole family which I brought up from the land of Egypt, saying: Only you have I known of all the families of the earth; therefore I will punish you for all your iniquities. (Amos 3:1–2)

Amos’s contemporary Hosea employed marriage imagery to demonstrate that Israel’s special relationship with God is contingent on her faithfulness to the covenant. As the Israelites were unfaithful in his time, God rejected them:

She conceived and bore a son. Then He said, "Name him "Lo-ammi"; for you are not My people, and I will not be your God. (Hos. 1:8–9)

However, this was not a permanent rejection from this eternal covenant. Rather, the alienation would approximate a separation for the sake of rehabilitating the marriage rather than a permanent divorce. The ongoing prophecy in the book of Hosea makes clear that God perpetually longs for Israel’s return to a permanent restored marriage:

And I will espouse you forever: I will espouse you with righteousness and justice, and with goodness and mercy, and I will espouse you with faithfulness; then you shall be devoted to the Lord. (Hos. 2:21–22)

The book of Isaiah makes the point even more explicit: there was no bill of divorce:

Thus says the Lord, Where is the bill of your mother’s divorcement, with which I have put her away? Or which of My creditors is it to whom I have sold you? Behold, for your iniquities have you sold yourselves, and for your transgressions your mother was put away. (Isa. 50:1)

At the time of the destruction of the Temple, Jeremiah took this imagery to a new level. There was a divorce, yet God still would take Israel back:

It is said, If a man sends away his wife, and she goes from him, and becomes another man’s, shall he return to her again? Shall not that land be greatly polluted? You have played the harlot with many lovers; yet return to me! says the Lord. (Jer. 3:1)

Jeremiah elsewhere stressed the eternality of the God-Israel relationship:

Thus said the Lord, Who established the sun for light by day, the laws of moon and stars for light by night, Who stirs up the sea into roaring waves, Whose name is Lord of Hosts: If these laws should ever be annulled by Me—declares the Lord —Only then would the offspring of Israel cease to be a nation before Me for all time. (Jer. 31:5–6)

To summarize, Israel’s chosenness is conditional on faithfulness to the covenant. However, failure to abide by God’s covenant leads to separation rather than divorce, and the door always remains open for Israel to return to God. The special relationship between God and Israel is eternal.

Righteous Gentiles Can Be Chosen

Let us now turn to the second question, pertaining to God’s rejection of the other nations after the Tower of Babel. Can these nations be chosen again by reaccepting ethical monotheism? The answer is a resounding "yes." Prophets look to an ideal future, when all nations can again become chosen:

In that day five cities in the land of Egypt shall speak the language of Canaan, and swear by the Lord of hosts; one shall be called, The city of destruction. In that day there shall be an altar to the Lord in the midst of the land of Egypt, and a pillar at its border to the Lord... In that day shall Israel be the third with Egypt and with Assyria, a blessing in the midst of the land; Whom the Lord of hosts shall bless, saying, Blessed be Egypt My people, and Assyria the work of My hands, and Israel My inheritance. (Isa. 19:18–25)

Similarly, Zephaniah envisions a time when all nations will speak "a clear language," thereby undoing the damage of Tower of Babel:

For then I will convert the peoples to a clear language, that they may all call upon the name of the Lord, to serve Him with one accord. (Zeph. 3:9)

Thus, God’s rejection of the nations at the time of the Tower of Babel similarly was a separation for rehabilitation, not a permanent divorce. Were the nations to reaccept ethical monotheism, they too would be chosen.

In halakhic terminology, non-Jews who practice ethical monotheism are called "Righteous Gentiles" and have a share in the world to come (see Hullin 92a). According to Rambam, they must accept the divine imperative for the seven Noahide laws to qualify as Righteous Gentiles. If they act morally without accepting this divine imperative, they should instead be considered "Wise Gentiles":

[Non-Jews] who accept the seven [Noahide] commandments are considered Righteous Gentiles, and have a share in the World to Come. This is on condition that they observe these commandments because God commanded them in the Torah.... But if they observe them because of reason, they are not called Righteous Gentiles, but rather, elah (printed editions: and not even, ve-lo) Wise Gentiles. (Rambam, Laws of Kings, 8:11)

[Regarding those printed editions that say ve-lo instead of elah: this appears to be a faulty text, and Rambam intended elah, i.e., that they are indeed Wise Gentiles. See Rabbi Hayyim David Halevi, Asei Lekha Rav 1:53, p. 158; Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, Abraham’s Journey (2008), pp. 172–173; Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook (Iggerot Ha-Ra’ayah 89, vol. 1, pp. 99–100, quoted in Shalom Rosenberg In the Footsteps of the Kuzari, 2007, vol. 1 p. 161.]

To summarize, then, one is chosen if one chooses God. For a Jew, that means commitment to the Torah and its commandments; for a non-Jew, that means commitment to the seven Noahide laws (see Mishnat Rabbi Eliezer 6, quoted in M. Greenberg, pp. 375–376). Non-Jews who are Righteous Gentiles are chosen without needing to convert to Judaism. God longs for the return of all humanity, and the messianic visions of the prophets constantly reiterate that aspiration.

Israel as a Nation of Priests

Although the door remains open for all descendants of Adam and Eve to choose God and therefore be chosen, Israel still occupies a unique role in this discussion. Israel was the first people to recognize God in this way. God calls Israel His "firstborn" (Ex. 4:22). Using the marriage imagery, Israel is God’s wife, which carries with that a special relationship.

Perhaps the most fitting analogy that summarizes the evidence is Non-Jew : Jew :: Jew : Priest. God employs this terminology at the Revelation at Sinai:

Now therefore, if you will obey My voice indeed, and keep My covenant, then you shall be My own treasure among all peoples; for all the earth is Mine; And you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests, and a holy nation. These are the words which you shall speak to the people of Israel. (Ex. 19:5–6)

Being Jewish and being a priest both are genetic. A priest also is a bridge between the people and God and serves in the Temple on behalf of the people. Similarly, Israel is expected to guard the Temple and teach the word of God. Just as priests have more commandments than most Israelites; Israelites have more commandments than the nations of the world. The one critical distinction is that a non-Jew may convert to Judaism and is then viewed as though he or she were born into the nation. Nobody can convert to become a priest (though a nazirite bears certain resemblances to the priesthood).

When dedicating the first Temple, King Solomon explicitly understood that the Temple was intended for all who seek God, and not only Israelites:

Or if a foreigner who is not of Your people Israel comes from a distant land for the sake of Your name—for they shall hear about Your great name and Your mighty hand and Your outstretched arm—when he comes to pray toward this House, oh, hear in Your heavenly abode and grant all that the foreigner asks You for. Thus all the peoples of the earth will know Your name and revere You, as does Your people Israel; and they will recognize that Your name is attached to this House that I have built. (I Kings 8:41–43)

In their messianic visions, the prophets similarly envisioned that Israel would occupy a central role in Temple worship and teaching the nations. All are invited to serve God at the Temple:

In the days to come, the Mount of the Lord’s House shall stand firm above the mountains and tower above the hills; and all the nations shall gaze on it with joy. And the many peoples shall go and say: "Come, let us go up to the Mount of the Lord, to the House of the God of Jacob; that He may instruct us in His ways, and that we may walk in His paths." For instruction shall come forth from Zion, the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. Thus He will judge among the nations and arbitrate for the many peoples, and they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not take up sword against nation; they shall never again know war. (Isa. 2:2–4)

Rather than serving primarily as an ethnic description, the Chosen People concept is deeply rooted in religious ethics. It is a constant prod to faithfulness to God and the Torah, and contains a universalistic message that belongs to the community of nations. All are descendants from Adam and Eve, created in God’s Image. God waits with open arms to choose all those who choose to pursue that sacred relationship with Him.

Dr. Norman Lamm observes that "a truly religious Jew, devoted to his own people in keen attachment to both their physical and spiritual welfare, must at the same time be deeply concerned with all human beings. Paradoxically, the more particularistic a Jew is, the more universal must be his concerns" (Shema, p. 35).

For further study, see:

Symposium on "The State of Jewish Belief," Commentary 42:2 (August 1966), pp. 71–160, especially the articles of Rabbis Eliezer Berkovits, Marvin Fox, Immanuel Jacobovits, Norman Lamm, and Aharon Lichtenstein.

         

nd Aharon Lichtenstein.

The Disease of Hatred: Thoughts for Parashat Tazria

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Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Tazria

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Each morning, we pray that the Almighty will protect us from various evils including “slander and false accusation, hatred and calumnious charges.” Although we and our ancestors have prayed these words for many centuries, the evils have not disappeared. We continue to face slanders, hatred and vicious calumnies. We continue to pray that the Almighty will indeed protect us from all the evils we face.

This week’s Parasha includes laws relating to tsara’at, a disease which our sages associated with the sin of lashon hara, evil speech. The tsara’at is a physical manifestation of a spiritual illness. Even though the physical signs of tsara’at are no longer identifiable these days, the spiritual malady remains. Evil speech is a symptom of a deep and contagious social disease.

The recent World Happiness Report (spring 2024) notes that the United States ranks only 23rd among the countries of the world in terms of the happiness of its population. Israel, by contrast, is ranked 5th.  In spite of all the problems facing Israel—terrorism, war, economic sanctions etc.—Israelis remain among the happiest people in the world. Israelis feel that their lives mean something, that they are working for a better future.

So why is the United States doing so poorly? And why are American young people, in particular, suffering from a lack of happiness and meaningfulness in life?

Much of the problem stems from increased patterns of hatred, divisiveness, and lashon hara. American society has a tsara’at that is not being dealt with in an adequate manner. Extreme groups utilize mass media to spread lies and hatred. Hateful cult-like leaders promote anti-Semitism, racism, political violence. Universities—that should be bastions of humanism—have become hubs for violence and extremism.  In too many circles, it has become fashionable to emphasize all the faults of America and to downplay the amazing historic achievements of this country.

An increase in anti-Semitic rhetoric and intimidation is a sign of the spiritual tsara’at of America (and much of the world!). The slander, false accusations, hatred and calumnious charges are unsettling—not only to Jews, but to all who foster a civil society in which all people are treated fairly and respectfully. Unfortunately, blatant lies against Jews gain credence among hateful and/or ignorant people. But once hatred goes unchecked against one group, the venom spreads.

In the United States, an assortment of hate groups emerge, each spewing its own brand of lashon hara: white supremacists, black supremacists, radical liberals, radical conservatives, anti-Asians, anti-immigrants etc.  When a society is plagued with so many manifestations of hatred and divisiveness, it promotes societal malaise. It is difficult these days to be able to honestly describe America as “one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” So many people are unhappy. The current political, intellectual and spiritual leaders of the country have not addressed the problems seriously enough and have not been successful in creating a more positive and unifying message.

The Torah states that one plagued with tsara’at needed to undergo a purification process. Similarly, a society suffering from spiritual tsara’at needs to examine the roots of its disease and to purify itself. Leaders in all strata of society need to mobilize against the hatred that is cutting at the soul of our nation. We not only need to speak and act against hatred and bigotry; we must articulate a positive message about civil society, about the values that make America a bastion of freedom, about working together to build an idealistic national consensus.

The antidote to lashon hara—evil speech—is lashon hatov, beneficial and constructive speech. As we say in our daily prayers each day: “My Lord, guard my tongue from speaking evil and my lips from uttering deceit.”

Our Journey in the Haggadah

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Rabbi Hayyim Angel, National Scholar of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, teaches Tanakh at Yeshiva University. He is the author of many books and articles. This article appeared in his book, Creating Space between Peshat and Derash:
A Collection of Studies on Tanakh (Jersey City, NJ: Ktav-Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2011), pp. 218-229.

                                                                                                                OUR JOURNEY IN THE HAGGADAH:

HOW ITS NARRATIVES AND OBSERVANCES ENABLE US TO EXPERIENCE THE EXODUS[1]

 

By Rabbi Hayyim Angel

 

 

 

 

INTRODUCTION

The Haggadah is a compilation of biblical, talmudic and midrashic texts, with several other passages that were added over the centuries.[1] Despite its composite nature, the Haggadah in its current form may be understood as containing a fairly coherent structure. It creates a collective effect that enables us to experience the journey of our ancestors. As the Haggadah exhorts us, we must consider ourselves as though we left Egypt, actively identifying with our forebears rather than merely recounting ancient history. The exodus lies at the root of our eternal covenantal relationship with God.

 

The Haggadah merges laws with narrative. Its text and symbols take us on a journey that begins with freedom, then a descent into slavery, to the exodus, and on into the messianic era. Although we may feel free today, we are in exile as long as the Temple is not rebuilt. Many of our Seder observances remind us of the Temple and we pray for its rebuilding.

 

The Haggadah also presents an educational agenda. Although most traditions are passed from the older generation to the younger, the older generation must be open to learning from the younger. Often it is their questions that remind us of how much we still must learn and explore.

 

This essay will use these axioms to outline the journey of the Haggadah, using the text and translation of Rabbi Marc D. Angel’s A Sephardic Passover Haggadah (Ktav, 1988). This study is not an attempt to uncover the original historical meaning of the Passover symbols or to explain why certain passages were incorporated into the Haggadah. However, perhaps we will approach the inner logic of our current version of the Haggadah and its symbols as they came to be traditionally understood.

 

THE FIRST FOUR STAGES: FROM FREEDOM INTO SLAVERY

 

Kaddesh: Wine symbolizes festivity and happiness. Kiddush represents our sanctification of time, another sign of freedom. We recline as we drink the wine, a sign of freedom dating back to Greco-Roman times, when the core observances of the Seder were codified by the rabbis of the Mishnah. Some also have the custom of having others pour the wine for them, which serves as another symbol of luxury and freedom. The Haggadah begins by making us feel free and noble.

 

Rehatz (or Urhatz): We ritually wash our hands before dipping the karpas vegetable into salt water or vinegar. As with the pouring of the wine, some have the custom for others to wash their hands, symbolizing luxury and freedom. Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehudah Berlin (Netziv, 1817–1893, Lithuania) observes that many Jews no longer follow this talmudic practice of washing hands before dipping any food into a liquid. Doing so at the Seder serves as a reminder of the practice in Temple times. We remain in freedom mode for rehatz, but we begin to think about the absence of the Temple.

 

Karpas: Dipping an appetizer is another sign of freedom and nobility that dates back to Greco-Roman times. However, we dip the vegetable into either salt water or vinegar, which came to be interpreted as symbolic of the tears of slavery. In addition, the technical ritual reason behind eating karpas resolves a halakhic debate over whether we are required to make a blessing of Borei peri ha-adamah over the maror later. On the one hand, we eat maror after matzah and therefore have already washed and recited the blessing of ha-motzi. On the other hand, it is unclear whether the maror should be subsumed under the meal covered by the matzah, since it is its own independent mitzvah. Consequently, the ha-adamah we recite over the karpas absolves us of this doubt, and we are required to keep the maror in mind for this blessing.[2] Interpreting this halakhic discussion into symbolic terms: while we are dipping an appetizer as a sign of freedom and luxury, we experience the tears of slavery, and we think about the maror, which the Haggadah explains as a symbol of the bitterness of slavery.[3] We are beginning our descent into slavery.

 

Yahatz: The Haggadah identifies two reasons for eating matzah. One is explicit in the Torah, that our ancestors had to rush out of Egypt during the exodus (Exodus 12:39). However, the Haggadah introduces another element: The Israelites ate matzah while they were yet slaves in Egypt. The Torah’s expression lehem oni, bread of affliction (Deuteronomy 16:3) lends itself to this midrashic interpretation.

 

Yahatz focuses exclusively on this slavery aspect of matzah—poor people break their bread and save some for later, not knowing when they will next receive more food (Berakhot 39b). By this point, then, we have descended into slavery. At the same time, the other half of this matzah is saved for the tzafun-afikoman, which represents the Passover offering and is part of the freedom section of the Seder. Even as we descend into slavery with our ancestors, then. the Haggadah provides a glimpse of the redemption.

 

To summarize, kaddesh begins with our experiencing freedom and luxury. Rehatz also is a sign of freedom but raises the specter of there no longer being a Temple. Karpas continues the trend of freedom but more overtly gives us a taste of slavery by reminding us of tears and bitterness. Yahatz completes the descent into slavery. Even before we begin the maggid, then, the Haggadah has enabled us to experience the freedom and nobility of the Patriarchs, the descent to Egypt with Joseph and his brothers, and the enslavement of their descendants.

 

MAGGID: FROM SLAVERY TO FREEDOM

 

A. EDUCATIONAL FRAMEWORK

 

At this point in our journey, we are slaves. We begin the primary component of the Haggadah—maggid—from this state of slavery.

 

Ha Lahma Anya: We employ the “bread of affliction” imagery of the matzah, since we are slaves now. This opening passage of maggid also connects us to our ancestors: “This is the bread of affliction which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt.…Now we are here enslaved.” The passage begins our experience by identifying with the slavery of our ancestors, then moves into our own exile and desire for redemption.

 

Mah Nishtanah–The Four Children: Before continuing our journey, we shift our focus to education. The Haggadah prizes the spirit of questioning. The wisdom of the wise child is found in questioning, not in knowledge: “What are the testimonies, statutes, and laws which the Lord our God has commanded you?” To create a society of wise children, the Haggadah challenges us to explore and live our traditions.

 

Avadim Hayinu: We are not simply recounting ancient history. We are a living part of that memory and connect to our ancestors through an acknowledgement that all later generations are indebted to God for the original exodus: “If the Holy One blessed be He had not brought out our ancestors from Egypt, we and our children and grandchildren would yet be enslaved to Pharaoh in Egypt.”

 

Ma’aseh Be-Ribbi Eliezer: The five rabbis who stayed up all night in B’nei B’rak teach that the more knowledgeable one is, the more exciting this learning becomes. These rabbis allowed their conversation to take flight, losing track of time as they experienced the exodus and actively connected to our texts and traditions.[4] This passage venerates our teachers.

Amar Ribbi Elazar: As a complement to the previous paragraph, the lesser scholar Ben Zoma had something valuable to teach the greatest Sages of his generation. Learning moves in both directions, and everyone has something important to contribute to the conversation.

Yakhol Me-Rosh Hodesh: The Haggadah stresses the value of combining education and experience. “The commandment [to discuss the exodus from Egypt] applies specifically to the time when matzah and maror are set before you.”

 

B. THE JOURNEY RESUMES

 

Now that we have established a proper educational framework, we return to our journey. At the last checkpoint, we were slaves pointing to our bread of affliction, longing for redemption. Each passage in the next section of the Haggadah moves us further ahead in the journey.

 

Mi-Tehillah Ovedei Avodah Zarah: We quote from the Book of Joshua:

In olden times, your forefathers—Terah, father of Abraham and father of Nahor—lived beyond the Euphrates and worshiped other gods. But I took your father Abraham from beyond the Euphrates and led him through the whole land of Canaan and multiplied his offspring. I gave him Isaac, and to Isaac I gave Jacob and Esau. I gave Esau the hill country of Seir as his possession, while Jacob and his children went down to Egypt. (Joshua 24:2–4)

 

To experience the full redemption, halakhah requires us to begin the narrative with negative elements and then move to the redemption (see Pesahim 116a). However, the Haggadah surprisingly cuts the story line of this narrative in the middle of the Passover story. The very next verses read:

Then I sent Moses and Aaron, and I plagued Egypt with [the wonders] that I wrought in their midst, after which I freed you—I freed your fathers—from Egypt, and you came to the Sea. But the Egyptians pursued your fathers to the Sea of Reeds with chariots and horsemen. They cried out to the Lord, and He put darkness between you and the Egyptians; then He brought the Sea upon them, and it covered them. Your own eyes saw what I did to the Egyptians. (Joshua 24:5–7)

 

Given the direct relevance of these verses to the Passover story, why are they not included in the Haggadah? It appears that the Haggadah does not cite these verses because we are not yet up to that stage in our journey. The Haggadah thus far has brought us only to Egypt.

 

Hi She-Amedah: The Haggadah again affirms the connection between our ancestors and our contemporary lives. “This promise has held true for our ancestors and for us. Not only one enemy has risen against us; but in every generation enemies rise against us to destroy us. And the Holy One, blessed be He, saves us from their hand.” The slavery and exodus are a paradigm for all later history.

 

Tzei Ve-Lammed: The midrashic expansion is based on Deuteronomy 26, the confession that a farmer would make upon bringing his first fruits:

My father was a fugitive Aramean. He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there; but there he became a great and very populous nation. The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us; they imposed heavy labor upon us. We cried to the Lord, the God of our fathers, and the Lord heard our plea and saw our plight, our misery, and our oppression. The Lord freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm and awesome power, and by signs and portents. (Deuteronomy 26:5–8)

We continue our journey from our arrival in Egypt, where the passage in Joshua had left off. Through a midrashic discussion of the biblical verses, we move from Jacob’s descent into Egypt, to the growth of the family into a nation, to the slavery, and then on through the plagues and exodus. By the end of this passage we have been redeemed from Egypt.

Like the passage from Joshua 24, the Haggadah once again cuts off this biblical passage before the end of its story. The next verse reads:

He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. (Deuteronomy 26:9)

In Temple times, Jews evidently did read that next verse (see Mishnah Pesahim 10:4).[5] However, the conceptual value of stopping the story is consistent with our experience in the Haggadah. This biblical passage as employed by the Haggadah takes us through our ancestors’ exodus from Egypt, so we have not yet arrived in the land of Israel.

 

Ribbi Yosei Ha-Gelili Omer—Dayyenu: After enumerating the plagues, the Haggadah quotes from Midrash Psalms 78, where Sages successively suggest that there were 50, 200, or even 250 plagues at the Red Sea. Psalm 78 is concerned primarily with God’s benevolent acts toward Israel, coupled with Israel’s ingratitude. Psalm 78 attempts to inspire later generations not to emulate their ancestors with this ingratitude:

 

He established a decree in Jacob, ordained a teaching in Israel, charging our fathers to make them known to their children, that a future generation might know—children yet to be born—and in turn tell their children that they might put their confidence in God, and not forget God’s great deeds, but observe His commandments, and not be like their fathers, a wayward and defiant generation, a generation whose heart was inconstant, whose spirit was not true to God. (Psalm 78:5–8)

 

Several midrashim on this Psalm magnify God’s miracles even more than in the accounts in Tanakh, including the passage incorporated in the Haggadah that multiplies the plagues at the Red Sea. From this vantage point, our ancestors were even more ungrateful to God. The Haggadah then follows this excerpt with Dayyenu to express gratitude over every step of the exodus process. The juxtaposition of these passages conveys the lesson that the psalmist and the midrashic expansions wanted us to learn.

 

In addition to expressing proper gratitude for God’s goodness, Dayyenu carries our journey forward. It picks up with the plagues and exodus—precisely where the passage we read from Deuteronomy 26 had left off. It then takes us ahead to the reception of the Torah at Sinai, to the land of Israel, and finally to the Temple: “He gave us the Torah, He led us into the land of Israel, and He built for us the chosen Temple to atone for our sins.”

 

Rabban Gamliel Hayah Omer: Now that we are in the land of Israel and standing at the Temple, we can observe the laws of Passover! We describe the Passover offering during Temple times, matzah and maror, and their significance. It also is noteworthy that the reason given for eating matzah is freedom—unlike the slavery section earlier that focused on bread of affliction (yahatz-ha lahma anya). “This matzah which we eat is…because the dough of our ancestors did not have time to leaven before the Holy One blessed be He…redeemed them suddenly.”

 

Be-Khol Dor Va-Dor—Hallel: The primary purpose of the Haggadah is completely spelled out by now. “In each generation a person is obligated to see himself as though he went out of Egypt.…For not only did the Holy One blessed be He redeem our ancestors, but He also redeemed us along with them.…” Since we have been redeemed along with our ancestors, we recite the first two chapters of the Hallel (Psalms 113–114). These Psalms likewise take us from the exodus to entry into Israel. R. Judah Loew of Prague (Maharal, c. 1520–1609) explains that we save the other half of Hallel (Psalms 115–118) for after the Grace after Meals, when we pray for our own redemption. Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik adds that Psalms 113–114 consist of pure praise, befitting an account of the exodus from Egypt which already has occurred. Psalms 115–118 contain both praise and petition, relevant to our future redemption, for which we long.[6]

 

Asher Ge’alanu: Now that we have completed our journey and have chanted the Hallel thanking God for redeeming us, we conclude maggid with a blessing: “You are blessed, Lord our God…Who has redeemed us and redeemed our ancestors from Egypt and has brought us to this night to eat matzah and maror.” For the first time in the Haggadah, we place ourselves before our ancestors, since our experience has become primary. As we express gratitude to God for bringing us to this point and for giving us the commandments, we also petition for the rebuilding of the Temple and ultimate redemption.

 

THE REMAINDER OF THE SEDER: CELEBRATORY OBSERVANCE IN FREEDOM AND YEARNING FOR THE MESSIANIC REDEMPTION

 

At this point we observe the laws of Passover. Although there is no Passover offering, we eat the matzah and maror and then the festive meal (shulhan orekh). Our eating of the korekh, Hillel’s wrap of matzah, maror, and haroset together, reenacts a Temple observance (Pesahim 115a). Similarly, we use the final piece of matzah (tzafun) to symbolize the Passover offering, the last taste we should have in our mouths (Pesahim 119b).[7] By consuming the second half of the matzah from yahatz, we take from the slavery matzah and transform its other half into a symbol of freedom.

 

After the Grace after Meals (barekh), we pray for salvation from our enemies and for the messianic era. By reading the verses “shefokh hamatekha, pour out Your wrath” (Psalm 79:6–7), we express the truism that we cannot fully praise God in Hallel until we sigh from enemy oppression and recognize contemporary suffering.[8] Many communities customarily open the door at this point for Elijah the Prophet, also expressing hope for redemption. We then recite the remainder of the Hallel which focuses on our redemption, as discussed above. Some of the later songs added to nirtzah likewise express these themes of festive singing and redemption.

 

CONCLUSION

 

The Haggadah is a composite text that expanded and evolved over the centuries. The symbols, along with traditional explanations for their meanings, similarly developed over time. Our Haggadah—with its core over 1,000 years old—takes us on a remarkable journey that combines narrative and observance into an intellectual and experiential event for people of all ages and backgrounds. In this manner, we travel alongside our ancestors from freedom to slavery to redemption. We are left with a conscious recognition that although we are free and we bless God for that fact, we long for the Temple in Jerusalem. La-shanah ha-ba’ah be‑Yerushalayim, Amen.

 

NOTES

 

 

 

 

[1]Shemuel and Ze’ev Safrai write that most of the core of our Haggadah, including the Kiddush, the Four Questions, the Four Children, the midrashic readings, Rabban Gamliel, and the blessing at the end of maggid originated in the time of the Mishnah and were set by the ninth century. “This is the bread of affliction” (ha lahma anya) and “In each generation” (be-khol dor va-dor) hail from the ninth to tenth centuries. Components such as the story of the five rabbis at B’nei B’rak and Rabbi Elazar; the Midrash about the number of plagues at the Red Sea; Hallel HaGadol and Nishmat; all existed as earlier texts before their incorporation into the Haggadah. “Pour out Your wrath” (shefokh hamatekha) and the custom of hiding the afikoman are later additions. All of the above was set by the eleventh century. The only significant additions after the eleventh century are the songs at the end (Haggadat Hazal [Jerusalem: Karta, 1998], pp. 70–71).

 

[2]See Pesahim 114b; Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim 473:6; 475:2.

 

[3]The symbol of the maror underwent an evolution. Joseph Tabory notes that during the Roman meal, the dipping of lettuce as a first course was the most common appetizer. By the fourth century, the Talmud ruled that the appetizer must be a different vegetable (karpas) so that the maror could be eaten for the first time as a mitzvah with a blessing (The JPS Commentary on the Haggadah: Historical Introduction, Translation, and Commentary [Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2008], pp. 23–24).

In Pesahim 39a, one Sage explains that we use hasa (romaine lettuce, the talmudically preferred maror, even though five different vegetables are suitable) since God pitied (has) our ancestors. Another Sage derives additional meaning from the fact that romaine lettuce begins by tasting sweet but then leaves a bitter aftertaste. This sensory process parallels our ancestors’ coming to Egypt as nobles and their subsequent enslavement.

 

[4]Unlike most other rabbinic passages in the Haggadah which are excerpted from the Talmud and midrashic collections, this paragraph is unattested in rabbinic literature outside the Haggadah. See Joseph Tabory, JPS Commentary on the Haggadah, p. 38, for discussion of a parallel in the Tosefta.

 

[5]Cf. Joseph Tabory, JPS Commentary on the Haggadah, p. 33.

 

[6]Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Festival of Freedom: Essays on Passover and the Haggadah, ed. Joel B. Wolowelsky and Reuven Ziegler (New York: Toras HoRav Foundation, 2006), p. 105.

 

[7]The word afikoman derives from the Greek, referring to anything done at the end of a meal, such as eating dessert or playing music or revelry. This was a common after-dinner feature at Greco-Roman meals (cf. J. T. Pesahim 37d). The Sages of the Talmud understood that people needed to retain the taste of the Passover offering in their mouths. It was only in the thirteenth century that the matzah we eat at the end of the meal was called the afikoman (Joseph Tabory, JPS Commentary on the Haggadah, p. 15).

 

[8] Shemuel and Ze’ev Safrai enumerate longer lists of related verses that some medieval communities added (Haggadat Hazal, pp. 174–175).

 

A New Ladino Publication

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Rabbi Marc D. Angel is Director of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

The Diario: The Daring Escape of Two Sephardic Jews from Turkey to America During World War I, Albion Andalus Books, Boulder, 2023.   Written in Ladino by Alfred Ascher, Translated and Introduced by Gloria J. Ascher

Professor Gloria Ascher has prepared this interesting little volume, a Ladino diary kept by her Uncle Alfred of his adventures as he escaped from Smyrna (Izmir) in 1915. Alfred and his older brother Albert were young single men who were caught up in the complicated rivalries of the time. Although they lived in Izmir, Turkey, they held French passports. Since Turkey was at war with France during World War I, the brothers feared they would be arrested by Turkish authorities. They decided to flee to Greece and wait there until the war ended and then return to Izmir. But as things developed, they ultimately decided to leave for the United States where they arrived in New York on December 25, 1915.

Professor Ascher, who taught at Tufts University for many years, has published her Uncle’s diary not only as a scholarly contribution but as a loving tribute to her uncle and the Sephardic civilization of which he was part. As a linguist with a special love for Ladino, her introduction to the Diario comments on the special features of her uncle’s use of the language.

Professor Ascher comments on the events recorded in the diary: “On their journey, Alfred and Albert face many challenges and dangers as Jewish refugees, from stormy seas to hostile Greek bandits. They survive by their resourcefulness, deception, intelligence, patience, persistence, hope, humor, faith and courage, the last of which becomes almost a leitmotif of the Diario, an ideal that must never be abandoned.” She goes on to note: “At least as significant as the emphasis on courage is Alfred’s compassion, his feeling of kinship with other human beings that transcends all differences of religion and nationality.”

For those interested in Ladino, this volume is a real treasure. It is a pleasure to read an extended adventure story reflecting on the challenges faced by young Turkish Sephardic men during World War I. Even if one isn’t entirely fluent in Ladino, Professor Ascher’s lucid English translation is there to clarify words and phrases.

In her Introduction, Professor Ascher notes the growing interest in Ladino. Although there are few people for whom Ladino is their mother tongue, many are eager to participate in Ladino chatrooms, classes and concerts. The publication of the Diario is itself a contribution to the resurgence of interest in Ladino.

For those who know Ladino, even if imperfectly, the Diario will be a welcome addition to your home library. And for those who don’t know Ladino, the English translation will shed light on a fascinating story of adventure and courage.