Min haMuvhar

In Gustav Dore’s etching, “Micah Exhorting the Israelites,” the prophet stands against a decaying wall with his arms raised and his eyes lowered. Few people targeted in Micah’s immediate sightline look directly at the prophet. Bowed in shame, they turn away. Those who do look have either fear or skepticism in their eyes, just the sort of facial expressions one would expect from a group reminded of their wrongdoings and the attendant consequences. A cursory examination of the eight chapters of Micah help us understand the issues the prophet might be bringing to the attention of his flock that would have received this mixed response. Many of Micah’s prophecies were standard tropes for Hebrew prophets waging a moral and theological battle with their constituents: idol worship, the destruction of Jerusalem, the ravaging of Samaria, the dishonesty of the privileged. Micah also predicted the eventual restoration of Judea with a salvific postscript that is also common to our darkest prophetic and apocalyptic narratives. 

We know almost nothing about Micah as an individual.[1] His parables and chastisements offer little insight into his character. The book reads like a string of small exhortations and observations without a uniting theme. The Sages of the Talmud do little to fill in this picture; they merely identify the broad time period in which Micah lived and performed his holy work: “Rabbi Yoḥanan said: He was the first of the four prophets who prophesied during that period, and these are they: Hosea, Isaiah, Amos, and Micah.”[2]

What we do know about the book of Micah is the popularity and influence of, arguably, its most significant verse: “He (God) has told you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you: Only to do justice and to love goodness, and to walk modestly with your God” (Micah 6:8). We may have a tiny indication of the verse’s importance in Dore’s etching: a right foot sticks out from the fold of Micah’s tunic, suggesting that he will soon leave the small platform, perhaps to walk modestly with his God.

Doing justice, loving goodness, and walking humbly with God are the desideratum of a strenuous religious life, and not nearly as easy to accomplish as the prophet’s simply-phrased request. Perhaps because of this, the verse has garnered a lot of attention from the Talmud onward. In fact, focusing only on this verse from Micah results in a disconnection of the verse from its biblical context, sometimes producing interpretations that veer very far from its literal context. We will travel through some well-known explanations of this expression, and then present a contextual understanding that emerges from a study of the entire book and its most prominent messages.

Our first stop is the Talmud. In BT Sukkah, R. Elazar takes apart each clause in Micah 6:8 in his search for the verses deeper meaning and legal implications.

And this is what Rabbi Elazar said: What is the meaning of that which is written: “It has been told you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord does require of you; only to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8)? “To do justly”; this is justice. “To love mercy”; this is acts of kindness. “To walk humbly with your God”; this is referring to taking the indigent dead out for burial and accompanying a poor bride to her wedding canopy, both of which must be performed without fanfare. The Gemara summarizes: And are these matters not inferred a fortiori? If, with regard to matters that tend to be conducted in public, as the multitudes participate in funerals and weddings, the Torah says: Walk humbly, then in matters that tend to be conducted in private, e.g., giving charity and studying Torah, all the more so should they be conducted privately.[3]

R. Elazar moves from the generalized sense of justice and mercy to the very specific act of burying those who have no one else to do so, balancing public, communal activities with private acts of generosity. Modesty here is a reflection of commandment performance that is to be done privately lest it catalyze sanctimoniousness in the mind of the performer. 

Another talmudic source references Micah 6:8 in the context of reducing 613 commandments to Jewish laws’ most essential demands. One opinion suggests that the Torah can be captured in the three requirements derived from the prophet’s wise advice.

Micah came and established the 613 mitzvoth upon three, as it is written: “It has been told to you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord does require of you; only to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8).[4]

It is no wonder this verse enjoyed such a long exegetical history. If 6:8 encapsulates all that the religious life is meant to be, it is easy to understand the verse’s importance.

Other understandings of Micah 6:8 narrow its interpretive scope to a specific observation or requirement. Rashi, for example, uses the popular talmudic framework of comparing human limitation with God’s expansiveness:

To walk modestly: The Holy One, blessed be He, is not like on of flesh and blood. A person who shames his friend and tries to pacify him. And he [the offended one] says, “I will not be pacified by you until so-and-so arrives since you embarrassed me before them but the Holy One, blessed be He, desires only that one returns to him privately.

Human beings need to make their repentance public after embarrassing or shaming someone in front of others. This is understandable and codified in Maimonides’ “Laws of Repentance.”[5] But God does not require such displays. Humility in this context is walking beside God in a simple, beautiful state of sinless friendship.

We now jump from the Talmud to a medieval biblical exegete to the library of Mussar literature. Moshe Chaim Luzzatto in his Path of the Just, first published in Amsterdam in 1738, presents Micah 6:8 as a prooftext that the pious must contract themselves in the presence of others:

There are some additional matters of piety, which if a person were to do before common people, they will laugh at him and ridicule him, thereby sinning and incurring punishment through him, and this is something he could have abstained from doing since these things are not complete obligations. Thus, for such things, it is certainly more proper for the Hassid to abstain from it than to do it. This is what scripture says: "and walk discreetly with your God" (Micah 6:8). Many great Hassidim abstained from their pious practices when in the presence of the common masses because it appears like arrogance.[6]

In what seems like the very opposite of Rashi’s reading, Luzzatto suggests that a person of particular piety withhold external expressions of religiosity when with others who will not only fail to understand them, but may regard them negatively. Modesty in this view is limiting spiritual gestures to communities of like-minded individuals. While we can appreciate the self-righteousness to which Luzzatto alerts us, he may have also inadvertently minimized the beneficiary aspect of role modeling such practices, thereby making religious observance unnecessarily binary.

We find an even further interpretive narrowing in a popular synopsis of Jewish law written more than a century later: the Kitzur Shulhan Arukh, written by R. Shlomo Gansfried in Hungary and published in 1864.

It is written: "You shall walk modestly with your God.” It is therefore necessary to be modest in all your ways. Thus when putting on or removing your shirt or any other garment from your body, you should be very careful not to uncover your body. You should put on and remove the garment while lying in bed under a cover. You should not say: "I am in a private, and dark place." "Who will see me?" Because the Holy One, Blessed is He, Whose glory fills the entire world [sees] and to Him darkness is like light, Blessed be His Name. Modesty and shame bring a person to submissiveness before Him, Blessed be His name.[7]

Walking modestly is, in this interpretation, taken very literally as an expression of physical modesty in comportment when getting dressed. One is to limit the view of the body not only to others but even to oneself. Modesty demands submissiveness before God, encapsulated by not revealing one’s skin when dressing, to the extent that this can be prevented.

R. Gansfried’s more literal reading achieved a great deal of influence among those who reduced Micah’s to a demand for modesty to clothing and appearance. Rashi and R. Luzzatto also discuss externalities in their respective readings, but R. Gansfried furthers this to suggest that when walking with God we do so with an intimacy informed by physical modesty.

In this brief exegetical summary that is in no way exhaustive, we’ve moved from a first-century understanding of Micah 6:8 as a summation of the entire Torah to a nineteenth-century recommendation to get dressed under one’s covers. None of these understandings, however, deals with the verse in the context of its appearance in the Book of Micah. It is to this we now turn.

To understand 6:8 from the prophet’s general worldview, we must examine a symbol from an earlier chapter. Chapter four opens with a picture of the “days to come” and provides psychic relief from the images of the book’s grim introduction and Dore’s portrait:

The Mount of the Lord’s House shall stand firm above the mountains; and it shall tower above the hills. The peoples shall gaze on it with joy, and the many nations shall go and shall 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 many peoples, and arbitrate for the multitude of nations, however distant; 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. But every man shall sit under his grapevine or fig tree with no one to disturb him…. (Micah 4:1–4)

One day, all of Israel will see in the distance the Temple’s radiance, and it will reflect their own. Not only will the Temple attract the Israelites, but it will also serve as a beacon for other nations who wish to seek its comforts and benefit from its powers of expiation.

This call to be physically present in Zion is matched, in the prophet’s words, by the adjuration to have Zion’s spiritual power move externally with the predictive image that has come true in our days: Torah leaving the environs of Jerusalem and touching the world. Micah echoes Isaiah 2:4 in wishing for a universe free of violence. In offering the inspiring picture of individual serenity of fig and vine immediately after his reassuring portrait of global security, Micah uses an expression found in two other places, I Kings 4:25 and Zechariah 3:10. Sitting without disturbance under one’s own grapevine or fig tree was so potent an image of peace and freedom, it was cited by George Washington over 50 times, once significantly in his response to the Jews of Touro Synagogue in Rhode Island (August 18, 1790) as a guarantee of their political freedom.[8]

The fig image repeats itself later in Micah, but not in a particularly positive way:

Woe is me! I am become like leavings of a fig harvest, like gleanings when the vintage is over, there is not a cluster to eat, not a ripe fig I could desire. The pious are vanished from the land. None upright are left among men; all lie in wait to commit crimes. One traps the other in his net. They are eager to do evil: The magistrate makes demands, and the judge [judges] for a fee. The rich man makes his crooked plea, and they grant it. The best of them is like a prickly shrub; the [most] upright, worse than a barrier of thorns. On the day you waited for, your doom has come—now their confusion shall come to pass. (Micah 7:1–4)

The warm and loving image of sitting beneath a vine or tree that produces shade and fruit is fast replaced by an image of hunger and want, of the withering of vegetation that takes place at harvest’s end. This depletion, however, is not created by natural seasonal changes but by the wickedness of injustice. The pious are nowhere to be found. Rich men bend justice. Judges are influenced by bribes. All live in confusion. This must be the human landscape Dore saw fit to engrave from the book’s seven chapters. 

The book’s last lines continue with a harsh judgment of a world punctured by unnatural suspicion.

Trust no friend, rely on no intimate; be guarded in speech with her who lies in your bosom. For son spurns father, daughter rises up against mother, daughter-in-law against mother-in-law—a man’s own household are his enemies. (7:5–6)

The family unit is not cohesive, loyal, or loving. The shade of Micah’s fig tree has been replaced by a black cloud of misgiving and wariness. The prophet offers a bleak picture of daily life. From here, Micah quickly turns to God, in whom all trust must be placed: “Yet I will look to the Lord, I will wait for the God who saves me. My God will hear me” (7:7). In this moment, Micah prays that failure will build resilience, that darkness will give way to cracks of light:

Do not rejoice over me, O my enemy! Though I have fallen, I rise again; though I sit in darkness, the Lord is my light. I must bear the anger of the Lord, since I have sinned against Him, until He champions my cause and upholds my claim. He will let me out into the light; I will enjoy vindication by Him. (7:8–9)

The prophet believes that there will be healing—“a day for mending your walls”—but sadly reckons that it “is a far-off day” (7:11). The chapter and book conclude with the wish that God will take the Israelites back in love, disregard their iniquity, and hurl their sins far away, keeping the oath and covenant made to the patriarchs long before.

Micah, like many other Hebrew prophets, was concerned with the cycle of goodness and evil that affects both nations and individuals. The fig tree that is the symbol of peace and prosperity can easily become shriveled without proper nourishment—when injustice becomes normative and arrogance demeans society’s most vulnerable. It is in this context that 6:8 should be read, as a moral demand for a society built of individuals  robed in charity and goodness, humbled by their God, walking beside the divine to imitate sacred ways of being.

It is human nature to create social hierarchies that benefit the most powerful. By suggesting that humans walk with God, it is actually God who models modesty by deigning to walk beside us. If God can walk with us, then we can and must walk beside those less strong, those less competent, those less fortunate. In this spirit, R. A. J. Heschel’s words about the prophetic impulse take on a deeper hue:

The more deeply immersed I became in the thinking of the prophets, the more powerfully it became clear to me what the lives of the Prophets sought to convey: that morally speaking, there is no limit to the concern one must feel for the suffering of human beings, that indifference to evil is worse than evil itself, that in a free society, some are guilty, but all are responsible.[9]

Walking modestly for the prophet is walking with eyes wide open to the presence of anyone in need, waiting to perform acts of mercy, justice, and lovingkindness. Looking at a glimpse of the exegetical history of Micah 6:8 and its contextual meaning takes us straight back to the Talmud’s expansive understanding. Religion stripped to its most essential elements asks both very little and a great deal of us: to return to a state of simplicity, broken and small in God’s presence, able, in a state of vulnerability, to make those invisible visible, to create a society where we walk beside others because God is willing to walk beside us.

R. David Weiss Halivni [1927-2022] was not just a gadol ha-dor, a great sage of our generation, but he was a gadol ha-dorot, a Torah scholar whose impact will likely transcend his own time and culture horizon. Best known for his breathtakingly monumental Meqorot u-Mesorot [Sources and Traditions], his multi-volume, academic commentary on the Babylonian Talmud, R. Halivni has also written monographs on the Holocaust,^[i] the difference between the plain or originalist sense of the canonical Torah and how the Torah was subsequently understood by the Oral Torah library,^[ii] and the challenge that Bible Criticism poses for the Judaism of Tradition that is identified as “Orthodox.”^[iii]

R. Halivni most significant finding relates to the teaching that Ravina I and R.  Ashi were the last rabbis to be authorized to issue hora’ah,^[iv] or apodictic legislation. Contrary to traditional belief, R. Halivni argues that they were not the actual editors or compilers of the Babylonian Talmud.  Instead, R. Halivni maintains that the Babylonian Talmud was not formally edited,^[v]  but emerged out of the literary and exegetical work of the stamma’im, whose anonymous, Aramaic, casuistic, clarifying discourse expanded and reconstructed the historically earlier Hebrew, apodictic, Amoraic teachings they inherited.^[vi] 

My first connection with R. Halivni goes back to 1968. At R. Halivni’s son, Baruch’s, bar mitsvah at the Jewish Theological Seminary’s [henceforth, JTS] Synagogue, the 13 year old prodigy delivered a discourse on the propriety of wearing tefillin on the intermediate festival days.  As a first year student at the JTS’s Rabbinical School, I understood nothing of Baruch’s presentation, a most humbling experience.

Only JTS’s most talented, Talmudically proficient, entering rabbinical students were assigned to R. Halivni’s class, and I was not an appropriate candidate for that placement. In 1970, Hakham Prof. Jose Faur became my major Torah mentor [rav muvhaq] and at the time I was busy with Judaic studies at JTS and Ph.D. coursework in modern Hebrew literature at NYU. Although not his student, R. Halivni took a personal interest in me. At the senior Rabbinical School dinner of 1973, R. Halivni reminded the graduating students that their mission is to spread Torah observance and learning, not to preach about social action, civil rights, interfaith dialogue, or partisan party politics.  And when R. Halivni teasingly proclaimed that “rabbis ought not to waste their pulpit time and opportunities on book reviews,” his eyes were fixed on me, being trained at JTS to be a Rabbi and at NYU to be a reviewer of Hebrew books.^[vii]

When the JTS voted to accept women to its Rabbinical School by faculty vote, some Halakhically committed rabbis and laypeople then seceded from the Conservative Movement^[viii] and formed what eventually became the Union for Traditional Judaism, the American UTJ,^[ix] with R. Halivni at its helm as its spiritual guide.

The UTJ established a rabbinical ordination program under R. Halivni’s direction, named The Metivta le-Limmudei ha-Yahadut, which in English is  rendered “The  Institute   for Traditional Judaism,” or the  ITJ. The Hebrew/Aramaic name affirmed that the institution is a metivta, a traditional Yeshiva committed to advocating and advancing the Judaism encoded in the classical Halakhah, that applies academic tools to parse and decode Judaism’s sacred library.  In 1991, I was appointed to the ITJ faculty to teach Bible, Hebrew, Aramaic, and Shulhan  ‘Arukh Yoreh De’ah Issur ve-Heter, the  kashrut laws that are the subject of the Orthodox Rabbinical ordination examination.

At the time, I was planning aliyyah and was advised by Rabbi Shlomo Riskin to acquire the Yadin Yadin ordination.^[x] R. Halivni graciously agreed to supervise my Yadin Yadin studies, which was daunting, challenging, and thrilling. And as the Reish Metivta, the head of the school, R. Halivni also became my boss, who would examine and evaluate the Issur ve-Heter students whom I was assigned to prepare.

R.  Halivni’s JTS students were advanced academic Talmudists who learned how the Oral Torah literary canon came into being. And at JTS, R. Halivni was rightly honored as an academic professor; at the ITJ, he was cherished both for his immense learning and his profoundly religious character, example, and consistent moral excellence. At the UTJ/ITJ, R. Halivni provided religious as well as academic leadership.

My mission at the UTJ was also only partially academic.  Studying Halakhic compendia^[xi] like the Shulhan ‘Arukh in order to prescribe appropriate behavior is a normative enterprise with religious as well as academic significance.  In point of fact, there are actually no official, Bet Din ha-Gadol approved codices in Jewish Law.  Both Maimonides’  Yad and Maran Yosef Karo’s  Shulhan ‘Arukh  are  resource compendia and as such are neither the last nor only word in Jewish Law. R. Halivni’s logical mind forced me to appreciate the dynamic taxonomy of the Halakhah, and he expected those who earned his ordination to think logically as well. 

All but my first farher [traditional oral examination] took place at the Hebrew University Giv’at Ram campus Jewish studies reading rooms of the Israel National Library. R. Halivni’s unofficial but permanent library seat [maqom qavu’a] was at the right side end seat of the first reader’s row of tables, with a small reference library placed neatly before him. This scene recalled his JTS office, where R. Halivni formerly said his shi’ur to his small cadre of advanced students. The walls were lined with both sefarim and books, tomes of sacred as well as secular writings,^[xii] in elegant order, meticulously and logically arranged, all to aid in the search for the Torah’s meaning. R. Halivni’s JTS office was a miniature bet midrash, a statement of sacred subversion,^[xiii] an island of order and purpose in an ocean of chaotic disorder, a world where there is no apparent Judge or judgment.^[xiv] At  Hebrew University’s Giv’at Ram library, R. Halivni was not hidden behind an office door; he naturally assumed the role of informal shoeil u-meshiv, the reference resource person of the bet midrash. In the traditional bet midrash, the shoeil u-meshiv must be conversant with the Babylonian Talmud, the major early commentaries [Rishonim], Maimonides’ Yad compendium, and the Shulhan ‘Arukh with its commentaries. At the large Giv’at Ram Judaica reading room, R. Halivni not only exhibited total control of the entire Rabbinic corpus, occasionally playfully employing the “Brisk”/”analytic” approach, which he did not teach,  as  well as the academic/critical method that he adopted, because he believed that method leads to truth. R. Halivni was also well informed in all fields of academic Judaica. Simply put, undergraduate students, doctoral candidates, and tenured professors all sought out R. Halivni’s memory, expertise, guidance, wisdom, and generosity.

In addition to dispensing information to everyone who asked him for help, R. Halivni also communicated friendship, warmth and personal concern.^[xv]  Like his leadership role at the ITJ, at the National Library the professor was also a rebbe. R. Halivni loved  people  because he loved the Torah that requires that the Jew love one’s compatriot with intensity.^[xvi] R. Halivni’s ethical deportment and personal warmth generated an atmosphere where secular, academic monographs wafted the scent of sefarim, because they became volumes that make Torah more readable, understandable, and applicable.

R. Halivni also”presided” over the National Library minhah minyan at the campus library.  It would not possibly occur to R. Halivni to seek this unofficial position of honor; the Jewish Studies Library’s attendees saw in R. Halivni an individual who was at once a giant in Torah, a master of academic Judaica, and a model of ethical excellence.^[xvii] R. Halivni’s interactions with others provided both academic enlightenment as well as a spiritual thrill to everyone who sought his presence. After the daily minhah minyan and just before our scheduled farher, I asked R. Halivni “why at this minyan is the ‘amidah not repeated, as the repetition is required by an explicit Rabbinic norm?”^[xviii]  Pleased that the question was raised, R. Halivni responded, “while one should take the time to say the minhah prayers, the salaried librarians would be stealing time work from their employer, the National Library, were the ‘amidah to be repeated.”  

The quality attention that R. Halivni gave to all comers at the National Library was the same care that he provided to the American UTJ and its Metivta, and it was same care he gave to me, his Yadin Yadin student. R. Halivni provided me with a tutorial in his approach to normative, prescriptive Jewish law. At one session R. Halivni posed the question, “why do we study Torah?” I answered “because it is a mitsvah.” He responded,  
”the ‘Litvaks’ study Torah for the sake of Torah; I study Torah in order to know how to behave.   Torah study is equal to all the other commandments because Torah study shows us how to observe the other commandments.”^[xix] I understood him to be saying that proper Torah study is simultaneously a commandment in its own right and also an exercise in ‘avodah, or prayer.   R. Halivni could play at thinking like a Litvak, but his personal religious synthesis remained Hassidic.

Two-thirds of R. Halivni’s two hour farher sessions examined my control of the material assigned for that year’s test, and the last third was a  conversation in learning during which R. Halivni spoke to me as a peer, and not as a novice. He was challenging me to formulate my own Halakhic hermeneutic, and to apply an appropriate jurisprudential methodology.^[xx]

My very first farher covered the Laws of Judges and the Laws of Testimony.  Focusing on Hoshen Mishpat 34. R. Halivni opened with “what is at stake in  the Laws of Testimony?” I answered with guarded hesitation, “we  are dealing with a matter of  personal status, whether someone is a tsaddiq, a righteous Jew with  proper communal standing upon whose word in court the community may rely, or a rash’a, a wicked  person whose  behavior  does  not  conform  to Jewish Law.”^[xxi] Jewish Law here defines the parameters of Halakhic pluralism. If a person buries one’s dead on the first Festival day mistakenly believing that there is an obligation to bury one’s dead on the first Festival day,^[xxii] that person does not necessarily lose one’s bona fides.^[xxiii] Similarly, charging and collecting interest by lending capital from the orphans’ estate does not automatically disqualify the offender, who may mistakenly reason that taking interest in order to grow the orphans’ estate is a worthy act.^[xxiv]  Those who trespass rules that are not well known must be informed of their error before their bona fides are disqualified, because everyone is entitled to a generous benefit of the doubt assessment.^[xxv]  We should not jump to hasty, negative conclusions.^[xxvi] The “other” might be correct; we have the right to think for ourselves.^[xxvii]  R. Halivni was pleased, and again, I was extremely relieved.

Since part of my Metivta teaching responsibility was to prepare the   ITJ rabbinical students for R.  Halivni’s test on Issur ve-Heter, R. Halivni required that I be re-examined by him on that material as well, in order to  ascertain that I was preparing my Issur ve-Heter students adequately, that they mastered the assigned material to R. Halivni’s standards. R. Halivni was teaching me how as well as what to teach our students.  R. Halivni’s conversations in learning with me were, retrospectively, the programming of my Halakhic thinking with his particular perspective regarding the Halakhic Tradition. He was well aware of my talmid muvhaq relationship with his own close friend and professional colleague, Hakham Faur, and was also pleased that I was exposed to the Halakhic system of Rabbis Moshe Feinstein and Moshe Tendler. Rather than impose his template on me, R. Halivni encouraged me to develop my own system, and to be a Rebbe as well as a Rav, with a heart as well as a mind.

After studying and being tested on the laws of damages, R. Halivni inquired about my secular education.  I had majored as an undergraduate in Philosophy, in order to get a handle on the Western mind and thought. R. Halivni then went into personal mode, confessing that is exactly why he studied Philosophy for his B.A. at Brooklyn College and earned his M.A. at NYU, also in Philosophy, and especially to master Logic and Legal Theory, in order to learn Torah more effectively. Jurisprudence teaches how law is applied; logic reveals the Law’s coherency.  R. Halivni then asked me if I had done any reading in legal theory and, if so, who was my favorite legal theorist.  Hakham Faur also applied legal theory in his Halakhah classes at JTS and I had discovered Hans Kelsen’s “Pure Theory of Law,” whose Legal Positivism was anticipated by Maimonides’ Yad compendium.^[xxviii] According to this  approach, a legal order is a hierarchy of legislated norms, the validity of which  are conditioned by [1] being properly legislated and [2] their not contradicting  higher grade norms.^[xxix] R. Halivni then told me that had I not studied legal philosophy, he would have required me to do readings in the field.^[xxx]

The issue of legal theory arose again when R. Halivni and I were at a UTJ conference in Teaneck, N.J., and a buffet   luncheon was served.  At that moment I was speaking to a lawyer and UTJ leader, Mr. Doug Aronin.  I told him that we may not eat in the UTJ’s Orthodox synagogue sanctuary^[xxxi] because the Oral Torah regards that eating and/or drinking in a designated,   sanctified prayer room to be an act of levity, and is therefore forbidden by an explicit Halakhic norm.^[xxxii] Taking understandable offense for what he took to be a slight and insult to our teacher and spiritual guide, by being stricter than R. Halivni, Mr. Aronin went out of his way to bring our teacher to challenge me to explain why I should not eat in the UTJ’s synagogue sanctuary. After citing the source of the law, R. Halivni replied that Diaspora synagogues are built on condition, because they will be abandoned when the Messiah arrives. I countered that when Diaspora synagogues are in good repair, the qallut rosh restrictions remain in force.^[xxxiii] R. Halivni said, “nu nu, Hassidim are lenient on this issue.” While here R. Halivni revealed that he decided cases as a Legal Realist,^[xxxiv] which also explains Hassidic antinomianism,^[xxxv] he never ever hinted that I should abandon my more mechanical Legal Positivism.

After surviving R.  Halivni’s  farher on Issur  ve-Heter, R. Halivni then told me that logically, we really should first study the laws of mixtures [ta’arovot], and only after mastering the legal principles of mixtures would it be logical to apply the principles of mixtures in general to the rules of salting meat and the legal status of milk  and meat mixtures.  He then asked, “why am I assigning you to learn the Passover kosher laws for next year’s examination? Why do I make this assignment now?” My answer was “we apply the logic of the mixtures rules to the contaminating hamets.” R. Halivni’s logical mind was beginning to shape how I think.

R. Halivni’s assignment of Even ha-‘Ezer 17, the laws of the “’agunah,” the “chained woman”  who is legally married to a man who is either unable or unwilling to commission the writing of the writ of divorce, came with a research  question,  “how are we able to free the agunah?”  He then confided to me that he earned his own Yadin Yadin ordination when he was 15 years old in order to permit Holocaust agunot widows to remarry and resume their lives after World War II. We discussed the case of a woman for whom two witnesses testified that her husband had died, a bet din gave her permission to remarry, which she did,^[xxxvi] yet both Maimonides^[xxxvii] and R. Ovadiah of Bartenora^[xxxviii]  ruled according to the flow of the Bavli^[xxxix] determined that should her first husband reappear alive and well, they forbid the woman to both men, even if the bet din permitted the woman remarry on the basis of two properly vetted witnesses.^[xl]  In order to defend what my intuition deemed to be morally appropriate in the case, I suggested that we consider and apply R. Halivni’s suggested approach to Talmud to Jewish law.  Maimonides and R. Ovadiah rule, understandably, according to the conclusion of the stam, the post-Amoraic, post-hora’ah level of Talmudic text tradition.  On the other hand, R. Moses Isserles decided that if the woman acted according to the good faith direction of the bet din, even if the bet din made an honest error in permitting the woman to remarry, the horrible sanction that she be forbidden to both men ought not to apply to her.^[xli]  And the Amora Rav, whose legal opinions do carry canonical, Oral Torah valence, ruled that a woman who remarries on the basis of two witnesses has done nothing improper and should therefore not suffer any sanction or penalty. While the stam suggests that we cannot ignore the actual, factual reappearance of her first husband, mistakenly thought to be deceased, Rav implies that the Bet Din is indeed empowered to create legal facts that may contradict empirical facts, a legal strategy that might be applied in emergency situations [she’at ha-dohaq].^[xlii]

Some Orthodox voices are troubled by this approach because it calls the reliability of the Rabbis who formulated the Oral Torah documents into question.^[xliii] The Talmudic Rabbis possessed legal authority, not intellectual inerrancy. The tractate Horayyot deals with the possibility that people in authority may make mistakes. By identifying rulings which, on literary grounds may post-date Rav  Ashi, we may rely on authorities, like R. Isserles, who appears, at first glance, to be ruling against the Talmudic norm. The Talmud’s norms are “ought” statements called prescriptions and are on that basis mandatory; Talmudic descriptions are [a] acts of telling, narratives, in Hebrew, Agadah, which are as a matter of Law not legally binding because they are not commands by dint of their syntax, and [b] are subject to empirical review and revision because they are descriptions and not descriptions. I am unaware of any Orthodox rabbi who requires the application of Talmudic medicine as opposed to modern medical science in our time.

Curiously, R. Halivni's application to the JTS’s Rabbinical School was almost rejected by its Admissions Committee because R. Halivni did not project the “image” of the “successful” Conservative rabbi.  This Conservative rabbinic ideal must be sufficiently “traditional” to register as “authentic” to the minimally informed, non-observant laity who are that Movement’s target  client population, but not so obsessively observant that one’s Judaism appears to be more intense than one’s Americanism, rendering that rabbi too parochial, “too ‘Orthodox,’” and thus alienating to their communities.  R. Halivni was thought to be so hopelessly provincial that he would be neither appreciated nor appropriate in a mid 20^th Century Conservative synagogue setting.  R. Saul Lieberman intervened, insisting that R. Halivni was to be groomed for Talmud scholarship, the enterprise for which he proved to singularly appropriate and universally appreciated, and R. Halivni was then accepted into the JTS’s Rabbinical School.  In hindsight, the JTS’s Rabbinical School’s Admissions Committee’s initial reservations regarding R. Halivni’s ability to “fit in” to the Conservative Movement as it was developing were not entirely misplaced. American Conservative Jewry was led by Rabbis  who were appropriately and unambiguously American in dress and deportment. They are also invariably well-spoken, politically and theologically liberal, and are passionately committed to accommodating Judaism to the ethnic Jewish taste culture of its client community.  R. Halivni could not meet that benchmark, as he was from and lived in other worlds.

R. Halivni’s “problem” was that he was programmed to be a “Rov,”  not a “Rabbi.” His Judaism defined his core commitments, his Torah provided the benchmarks and guidelines for  the challenges that was his to confront. This  tension, between the Jewish religious  Tradition and the militantly secular Ivy League Columbia University campus was noted by R.  Channa Lockshin Bob, who  described R. Halivni as

“a person whose sensibilities and demeanor were that of a rosh yeshiva, yet who found himself in the Department of Religion of an Ivy League university, and the implications of that setting for himself and for his students.”^[xliv] 

During one of our  farher/conversation sessions, R. Halivni confided to me that many of early Reform Judaism’s changes could be Halakhically justified. And he always stressed that Torah has to be doable and that it is not more pious to be gratuitously strict.^[xlv]

R. Halivni was also an amazing religious model.  He never spoke with the implied apodictic certainty of prophetic voice, as do some rabbis in all of the ideological streams. While well aware of his own greatness, R. Halivni remained a model of refined, ethical excellence. He always made his interlocutor feel like she or he was the center of the world by listening so very attentively to whomever his interlocutor happened to be at the moment.  While always generous with his time, R. Halivni rarely if ever said mussar/words of moral reproof and betterment.   He was a master of teaching by example. R. Halivni loved God by showing love to people, God’s creatures.   When asked by one of my ITJ students, “how really great is R. Halivni,” I suggested that

“Most if not all of us will ever be able to make that assessment, but when you hear R. Halivni speak, you observe how he respects God’s image in the other person, and when he speaks to each of you, you also become the most important person in his world at that moment. While we are unable to measure the Torah that he went through, we are able to assess the effect of the immense amount Torah went through him.”^[xlvi] 

R. Halivni’s mussar message was not “how inadequate are you now,” but “how holy are you able to become? All of us are works in progress.  Let’s be better together.”

A Rabbinical Council of America colleague recalled a sermon delivered by R. Halivni that called attention to the difference between a tashmish mitsva, an object that generates holiness by its being used in a halakhically prescribed way, like a lulav, shofar, and matsa, and tashmishei qedushah, objects that are themselves inherently holy, like a mezuzah, a Talmudic tome, or a Torah scroll.  R. Halivni explained that in this life we are objects that generate holiness by observing the commandments.^[xlvii] For R. Halivni, our mission as mortals is to become persons who become inherently holy, who touch, and inherit, eternity. ^[xlviii]

^[i] Breaking the Tablets: Jewish Theology After the Shoah (Lanham, Md.:  Rowman & Littlefield, 2007).

^[ii] Peshat and Derash: Plain and Applied Meaning in Rabbinic Exegesis (New  York:  Oxford, 1991).

^[iii] Revelation Restored: Divine Writ and Critical Responses  (Boulder, Colorado: WestviewPress, 1997).

^[iv] bBava Metsi’a 86a.

^[v] David Halivni, Introduction to Sources and Traditions: Studies in the Formation of the Talmud (Jerusalem:  Magnes, 2009), pp. 63-64 and 75-76.

^[vi] Ibid., pp. 128-136.

^[vii] When R. Halivni teased a student, it was always an expression of playful affection. When attending his Hebrew University Talmud class after aliyyah, in my rush get settled, I inadvertently placed my copy of R. Halivni’s Meqorot u-Mesorot on top  of  my Talmud. He chided me, “while I’m proud  of my work, it must  be placed under, and not over,  the Talmud.”  R. Halivni was also  reminding me as well as all who were present, that we all should be more precise  in our halakhic observance.

^[viii] Mordecai M. Kaplan, Judaism as a Civilization (Philadelphia and New York: Jewish Publication Society, 1981), maintains that the “modern ideology,” which is essentially dogmatic secularism [pp. 36-46], can neither be resisted nor denied. For Kaplan, the Conservative Movement is a coalition of style consisting of the
“Right” wing of Reform [pp.126-132] and the “Left” wing of Neo-Orthodoxy [pp. 160-169.  Kaplan argued that maintaining Orthodox theological and/or ritual commitments is hopelessly arcane and morally deficient.

^[ix] Not to be confused with the Israeli Haredi political party, United Torah Judaism, in Hebrew, “Yahadut ha-Torah,” literally “The Judaism of the Torah,” implying it alone is  Torah faithful.  The party is currently on the  brink of schism because its Degel ha-Torah faction forbids any non-Torah studies, like mathematics and English, to be taught in its yeshivot. See https://www.theyeshivaworld.com/news/headlines-breaking-stories/2108588/is-degel-hatorah-on-the-way-to-a-split-with-agudas-yisrael.html.  In contrast, the

American UTJ embraces  secular learning.    

^[x]  During these happenings, I had resigned from the Conservative Rabbinical Assembly, received Orthodox ordinations from R. Oscar Fasman of Chicago’s [actually, Skokie] Hebrew Theological College, R. Moshe D. Tendler of Yeshiva University’s Rabbinical program [RIETS] and R. Mordecai Eliahu, at the time the Sefardic  Chief Rabbi of the State of Israel, and then joined the Rabbinical Council of America, served as the Rabbi of Congregation Israel of Springfield, N.J. and B’nai Israel Congregation, the recently revived Orthodox Synagogue of downtown Baltimore, Maryland. 

^[xi] Menachem Elon. Jewish Law: History, Sources, Principles (Jerusalem:  Magnes, 1973), pp. 1210-1212, is impatient with the major Jewish codes because, to his view, codes radically and artificially freeze Jewish Law   in place and time.  For a similar  view  from a source critical rather than jurisprudential perspective,  see  David Halivni, Midrash, Mishnah, and Gemara: The Jewish Predilection for Justified Law (Cambridge and London:  Harvard, 1986), where R. Halivni shows that the Mishnah’s apodictic diction, which is similar to the syntax of Codes, is the exception to the Rabbis’ preference for Midrash Halakhah and the Babylonian Talmud’s stammaitic, justificatory discourse [p.  115].

^[xii] This is the major  difference between the Israeli and American UTJ’s. The  Israeli  UTJ rejects non-sacred learning, while the American  UTJ embraces it. 

^[xiii] My thanks  go to R. Daniel Landes,  who  introduced me to this idiom.

^[xv] According to  mAvot  1:15 and 3:12, this deportment is mandatory.

^[xvi] Leviticus 19:18 very  subtly commands  intense love,  as the Hebrew  verb “to love” is a transitive verb.  Deuteronomy 6:5 employs the Hebrew particle “et,” which marks  direct objects, when commanding the loving of the Lord. The ”lamed” prefix, when preceding a noun and following a verb, also marks  the direct object of  a transitive verb. This ”lamed” accusative marker is standard in Aramaic, as in the Passover poem, Had Gadya.

^[xvii] As described at Maimonides, De’ot   5:1  and 5.

^[xviii] bRosh ha-Shanah   34b. See also comprehensive summary at https://www.etzion.org.il/he/halakha/orach-chaim/prayer-and-blessings/repetition-shemoneh-esrei-1 and https://www.yeshiva.org.il/midrash/2789.

^[xix] mPe’ah 1:1. It was reported a family member that  R. Halivni, who resided in Jerusalem’s high rise Wolfson Towers, would not avail himself of the building’s Shabbat elevator, even though rabbinic decrees do not apply to the infirmed [see bKetubbot 60a and Shulhan ‘Aruch 328:14]. This “stricture” testifies to the degree R. Halivni took Torah to heart.        

^[xx] My preparation for Chief Rabbi Mordechai Eliahu’s ordination included  Bet Yosef and Kaf ha-Hayyim and my learning under R. Tendler’s supervision was a personal tutorial in R. Moshe Feinstein’s method, mind, and approach to religious leadership. R. Halivni pushed me to formulate my own approach to resolving Halakhic conflict, being both fair to my questioners and honest to God.

^[xxi] Shulhan ‘Aruch Hoshen Mishpat 34:1-3.

^[xxii] Deuteronomy 21:23.

^[xxiii] Shulhan ‘Aruch Hoshen Mishpat 34:4.

^[xxiv] Ibid. 34:11.

^[xxv] mAvot 1:5

^[xxvi]  mAvot 1:1.

^[xxvii]  mAvot   4:8.

^[xxviii] See my "Legal Positivism and Contemporary Legal Discourse," The Jewish Law Annual  6 (1987), republished in ed., Martin P. Golding,  Jewish Law and Legal Theory, (New York: l Press, 1993).

^[xxix] Hans Kelsen, Pure Theory of Law, trans. Max Knight (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London, University of California, 1967), p. 5 and pp. 198-214, and https://plato.stanford.edu,/entries/lawphil-theory/. For Legal Positivists, the judge applies the legal norm, but does not create or legislate norms.

^[xxx] This was the teaching culture at JTS 50 years  ago.  In my JTS classes in Hebrew literature, the literary texts   were read along with relevant literary theory, providing the student with a logical, methodological toolbox.

^[xxxi] The synagogue of the UTJ had a partition between the  women’s and men’s section, which followed Ashkenazi Orthodox practice.

^[xxxii]bMegillah 28a.

^[xxxiii] Ibid., 28b.

^[xxxiv] Legal Realism maintains that judges apply their policy intuitions to generate Law. See https://intranet.mruni.ot 10”/upload/iblock/b15/008_tumonis.pdf. Orthodox  Legal Realists  often invoke Da’as Torah to justify their dismissing or ignoring problematic Oral Torah norms. My Legal Positivism moved me to don tefillin on the intermediate festival day, because the permission to write  tefillin the intermediate festival day indicates that tefillin are to be worn at that time occasion [bMo’ed Qatan 19a]. At Laws of Tefillin, Mezuza and Torah scroll, 4:10, the Sefardi  Maimonides observes that tefillin are not worn on Shabbat or Yamim Tovim, that is full holidays, clearly implying what bMo’ed Qatan 19a is requiring, that . The  Ashkenazi school of Rashi [Mahzor Vitry, n. 513], R. Asher, Laws of Tefillin n. 15, and R. Isserles’ gloss to Shulhan ‘Aruch Orah Hayyim 31:2 articulate the old Ashkenazi tradition, which conforms  and confirms the canonical record at bMo’ed Qatan 19a. At Bet Yosef Orah Hayyim 31 Maran concedes that the original Sefardi practice was that tefillin be worn on the intermediate festival day, but just like the Greek classics were being discovered during the Renaissance, Maran mistook Zohar Hadash 2:8, Canticles, which disallows tefillin donning on the intermediate festival day, to be composed by the Tanna R. Shim’on bar Yohai, and consequently assigned Oral Torah canonicity to the work.  Simply put, the forbidding of tefillin on the intermediate festival is based, or biased, not upon a “’holy’ Zohar” vetted and approved by the Bet Din ha-Gadol, but on a forgery. At stake in this debate is whether ”tradition” is an integrity driven spiritual ethos or an inertia driven nostalgic preference.

Hear Rabbi J. J. Schacter at  http://www.yutorah.org/lectures/lecture.cfm/728404#, who demonstrates  that the Zohar often overrode Halakhic principle, and see Israel M. Ta Shma, Haa-Nigleh she-ba-Nistar:  le-Heqer Sheqi’ei Halakhah be-Sefer ha-Zohar (Tel Aviv: Kibbutz ha-Meuchad, 2001). This very debate is an example of Orthodox religious pluralism. Each side believes that the other side errs, but as we discovered in the Laws of Testimony, a generally observant Jew who, perhaps in error, sincerely believing that she or he is behaving in accord with the Halakhah does not forfeit one’s bona fides. Therefore, while my understanding leads me to the position that tefillin are mandatory on intermediate festival days, I may not condemn another Jew who on principle will rule according to the Zohar or Maran. One has a right to be wrong in the eyes of the “other."

^[xxxvi]mYevamot 10:1.

^[xxxvii]  Commentary to the Mishnah, ad. loc.

^[xxxviii] Commentary to the Mishnah, ad. loc.

^[xxxix] bYevamot 88a.  Another stammaitic  voice here formulates the policy “because of the ‘chained’ woman[’s plight] the rabbis ruled   leniently.” loc. cit.

^[xl] Deuteronomy 19:15.

^[xli] Shulhan ‘Aruch ‘Even ha-‘Ezer 17:58.

^[xlii] In an oral communication, R. Moshe D. Tendler explained that   a whole non-kosher animal is called a beriyya [a “creation”], whose  very being constitutes a quantity the consumption of which is a Torah violation, even if its bulk is less than the “olive” standard benchmark [bMakkot 13a]. However, the animal must be visible to the naked human eye. One-celled animals do not meet this benchmark, and are therefore not legally present as a point of Jewish Law.  Similarly, a mixture that  possesses one unidentifiable, undetectable part non-kosher contaminant to fifty-nine parts of kosher edibles is both an empirical reality and a legal nullity.

^[xliii] See R. Ahron Soloveitchik, Logic of the Heart, Logic of the Mind: Wisdom and Reflections on Topics of our Times (Genesis Jerusalem Press, 5751/1991), 45-57, which to his view “undermine(s) k’dushas haTorah [the sanctity/authority of Torah].” p. 46.  R. Soloveitchik, who also graduated from NYU, either opposes the exposure of rabbinic fallibility in the transmission of the Oral Tradition or he  disputes the “humanizing” of the Oral Torah, which would deny the “great rabbi” the right, power, and privilege of intuiting rather than demonstrating his position,.

^[xliv] https://thelehrhaus.com/timely-thoughts/the-maculate-conception-introducing-a-symposium-on-rabbi-prof-david-weiss-halivni/. See also Dr. Elana Stein Hain, “a student of Prof. Halivni over the course of twenty years, addressing his pathbreaking theory about the formation of the Babylonian Talmud, the intuitions and methods that he developed around his historical theory, and the abiding love of Torah study that animated his entire project.” Ibid.  This perspective is not  compatible with John Dewey’s militant secularism that came into neighboring JTS via Mordecai Kaplan’s naturalistic “modern ideology.”

^[xlv] bBerachot 6oa and elsewhere.  See https://www.hamichlol.org.il/%D7%9B%D7%95%D7%97_%D7%93%D7%94%D7%99%D7%AA%D7%A8%D7%90_%D7%A2%D7%93%D7%99%D7%A3. 

^[xlvi] This recalled rendering is the gist but not my exact words at the time which I no longer remember because  I failed  to record the comment at that time.

^[xlvii] This doctrine, that holiness is generated by obeying God’s commandments, first appears  at Numbers 15:40, and occurs in the Rabbinic commandment blessing formula, “who has sanctified us by means of  the commandments.” 

^[xlviii] See Isaiah 60:21 and Maimonides, Teshuva 8:4.

Afterlife in Tanakh

There is a paucity of explicit references to afterlife—whether a bodily resurrection or a soul world—in Tanakh. The Torah promises this-worldly rewards and punishments for faithfulness or lack thereof to God and the Torah. It does not promise heaven for righteousness, nor does it threaten hell or the absence of heaven for sinfulness. Given the ancient world’s belief in, and even obsession with immortality and afterlife, the Torah’s silence is all the more remarkable.

Aside from the lack of explicit references to afterlife in the Torah, one might have expected an appeal to afterlife in the Book of Job. For all the arguments raised by Job’s so-called friends, they never invoke afterlife in their attempts to vindicate Job’s unfair suffering. Rather, Job and his friends agree with the biblical premise that ultimate justice must occur during one’s lifetime. Job insisted that his suffering was unjust, whereas his friends assumed that he must have deserved his punishment. [1]

Assessing the Near Absence of Explicit References to Afterlife in Tanakh

Daniel, a late biblical book, does explicitly mention a bodily resurrection:

Many of those that sleep in the dust of the earth will awake, some to eternal life, others to reproaches, to everlasting abhorrence. And the knowledgeable will be radiant like the bright expanse of sky, and those who lead the many to righteousness will be like the stars forever and ever. (Dan. 12:2–3)

In his Treatise on the Resurrection, Rambam considers this passage to be the only explicit reference to resurrection in Tanakh. [2]

For some time, academic scholars generally concluded that since Tanakh does not explicitly mention resurrection until the Book of Daniel, resurrection must have been a later belief that crept into Israel toward the end of the biblical period from another religion, most likely Zoroastrianism.[3] Until that point, Israel’s prophets believed that when people die, they never return. This academic consensus ran against Jewish tradition, which insists that belief in resurrection goes back to the Torah, even if it is only alluded to and not mentioned explicitly:

The following have no portion [in the World to Come]: He who maintains that resurrection is not a biblical doctrine,[4] the Torah was not divinely revealed, and an epikoros…. (Sanhedrin 90a)

In 2006, however, Jon D. Levenson (Harvard University) published a book, Resurrection and the Restoration of Israel: The Ultimate Victory of the God of Life. He demonstrates that Jewish belief in resurrection has an extensive range of biblical antecedents, and that it did not simply appear late in the biblical period. Rather, resurrection is an essential component in Israel’s redemption, which itself redeems history. Thus, the classical rabbinic position is fundamentally correct, that the concepts underlying the resurrection trace back to the beginning of the biblical period.

Levenson explains that contemporary scholarship, rooted in the modern world with its emphasis on individualism, has a difficult time understanding the biblical concept of identity. If one asks, “Will I have life after death?” one already misses the heart of the matter. The biblical conception of afterlife is grounded in an identity inextricably linked to the nation of Israel, and ancestors and descendants also are completely linked. Jewish belief in resurrection is rooted in God’s promises to Israel, His power over life and death, and His preference for life. Although Daniel was the first to mention resurrection explicitly, the ideas underlying this resurrection trace back to the earliest texts in Tanakh.

Tanakh Assumes Afterlife

In addition to Levenson’s thesis, James Kugel cites several biblical verses that clearly presume an existence beyond life in this world.[5] For example, Abraham “was gathered to his kin” after he died:

And Abraham breathed his last, dying at a good ripe age, old and contented; and he was gathered to his kin. (Gen. 25:8)

Abraham could be “gathered to his kin,” regardless of where his ancestors were buried, and regardless of their relative righteousness. After all, Abraham rose to religious heights infinitely above his pagan father Terah.

Numerous other biblical references similarly suggest that death is not absolutely final. There are two mysterious deaths in Tanakh: God took Enoch (Gen. 5:24), and Elijah was taken to heaven in a fiery chariot (II Kings 2:11). Malachi prophesies that Elijah will return in the future as the harbinger of the messianic era (Mal. 3:23–24). A witch evidently conjured up Samuel’s spirit (I Sam. 28:11–14), and Elijah and Elisha revived dead children (I Kings 17:19–23; II Kings 4:32–36).

From these and several other references, Kugel convincingly concludes that

Some decades ago, the cliché about the Hebrew Bible was that it really has no notion of an afterlife or the return of the soul to God or a last judgment or a world to come. But such a claim will not withstand careful scrutiny. [6]

Why Does Tanakh Give Afterlife So Little Attention?

We have seen that Tanakh regularly alludes to a belief in an afterlife despite its not discussing it explicitly until the late Book of Daniel. Additionally, the notion of resurrection is fundamentally connected to beliefs that span back to the very beginnings of the biblical period. We now must ask, however, why does Tanakh give afterlife so little attention, and why is the covenant of the Torah entirely predicted on this-worldly existence?
Moshe David (Umberto) Cassuto sheds light on this issue in his analysis of the Garden of Eden narrative. There were two trees at the center of Eden. The Tree of Life seems supernatural. Were Adam and Eve to eat from it, they would have become immortal (Gen. 3:23). An expert in the literature of the ancient Near East, Cassuto observed that nearly every ancient mythology had a tree, a plant, or something else of life. This mythology reflects the obsessive quest for immortality in the ancient world.

In stark contrast with Israel’s surrounding cultures, the Torah decisively downplays the Tree of Life. That tree becomes significant to the narrative only after Adam and Eve sinned by eating from the Tree of Knowledge and were expelled from the Garden of Eden. God then sends Cherubim to prevent Adam and Eve from eating of the Tree of Life (Gen. 3:22–24).

To understand why the Torah would diminish the role of the Tree of Life, we must consider the tree that is central to the narrative, namely, the Tree of Knowledge. Whereas the Tree of Life appears supernatural, the Tree of Knowledge seems to have been a regular fruit tree. The Sages suggested that the Tree of Knowledge was a regular fruit, whether a fig, grapevine, wheat, or etrog (Gen. Rabbah 15:7). The effects of the fruit derived from God’s prohibition, rather than from any inherent supernatural property of the fruit.

Even though the Tree of Life was prevalent in other ancient literatures, the Tree of Knowledge is otherwise unattested. The Torah is a revolution in human history, shifting focus away from nonexistent mythical fruits that give immortality and replacing them with an emphasis on developing a genuine relationship with God. It teaches that we must live religious-moral lives and take personal responsibility for our actions. The ultimate vision of the prophets is a messianic world, which will achieve a perfected, religious-moral society.

Tellingly, the Book of Proverbs transforms the Tree of Life into Torah and wisdom:

She is a tree of life to those who grasp her, and whoever holds on to her is happy. (Prov. 3:18) [7]

The Jewish Tree of Life is Torah and wisdom, representing a lifelong religious quest, rather than a supernatural fruit that promises physical immortality. [8]

Despite the purposeful emphasis on this-worldly conduct and reward and punishment throughout Tanakh, rabbinic Judaism incorporated afterlife as an essential part of its system of understanding divine justice in this world. When did this change occur?

Malachi and Daniel: Using Afterlife to Vindicate Unfairness

The problem of the righteous suffering and the wicked prospering is a prominent difficulty that runs throughout Tanakh. The classical biblical wisdom approach to justify unfairness, particularly emphasized in Psalms and Proverbs, was to insist that the suffering of the righteous or the success of the wicked was a temporary state. Any injustices would be rectified during the lifetimes of the individuals. Job and Ecclesiastes challenge this approach, leaving unfairness as a matter that lies beyond human comprehension. [9]

Toward the end of the biblical period, the Books of Malachi and Daniel addressed a new situation. For the first time, the faithful suffered precisely because they were righteous, whereas the sinners were successful as a consequence of their wickedness. Divine justice was under siege, and many righteous Jews were sinking into despair and losing faith. No longer could one appeal to the classical prophetic responses rooted in the Torah, that national suffering occurs when Israel sins. It was specifically the most righteous people who were suffering, rather than the entire nation.

Rather than offering any short-term solutions, Malachi appealed to the messianic redemption to vindicate history:

You have wearied the Lord with your talk. But you ask, “By what have we wearied [Him]?” By saying, “All who do evil are good in the sight of the Lord, and in them He delights,” or else, “Where is the God of justice?” Behold, I am sending My messenger to clear the way before Me, and the Lord whom you seek shall come to His Temple suddenly. As for the angel of the covenant that you desire, he is already coming…He shall act like a smelter and purger of silver; and he shall purify the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, so that they shall present offerings in righteousness. Then the offerings of Judah and Jerusalem shall be pleasing to the Lord as in the days of yore and in the years of old…And you shall come to see the difference between the righteous and the wicked, between him who has served the Lord and him who has not served Him. (Mal. 2:17; 3:1–4, 18)

Daniel invoked the resurrection that would occur during this period of redemption to vindicate injustices (Dan. 12:2–3). The innovation of Malachi and Daniel was not belief in the messiah or resurrection. Rather, their primary innovation was in linking the classical problem of unfairness with afterlife. Their appeal to the future to vindicate unfairness was a formal concession that ultimate justice will not occur during one’s lifetime.

The Sages followed in this spirit, conceding that one requires afterlife to vindicate injustices in this world:

It was taught: Rabbi Jacob says, there is no precept in the Torah, where reward is stated by its side, from which you cannot infer the doctrine of the resurrection of the dead. Thus, in connection with honoring parents it is written: “That your days may be prolonged, and that it may go well with you” (Deut. 5:16). Again in connection with the law of letting [the dam] go from the nest it is written: “That it may be well with you, and that you may prolong your days” (Deut. 22:7). Now, in the case where a man’s father said to him, “Go up to the top of the building and bring me down some young birds,” and he went up to the top of the building, let the dam go and took the young ones, and on his return he fell and was killed-where is this man’s length of days, and where is this man’s happiness? But “that your days may be prolonged” refers to the world that is wholly long, and “that it may go well with you” refers to the world that is wholly good. (Hullin 142a)

Heaven and Resurrection: A Medieval Debate

A second major development in the Jewish discussion of afterlife arose with Rambam’s efforts to bridge Torah and Greek philosophy.[10] Rambam was enamored by the Platonic notion of a soul-world afterlife, and discusses heaven with great passion. Simultaneously, Rambam espoused the classical Jewish belief in messiah and the resurrection. Therefore, he concluded that in the messianic era there will be a resurrection, but then everyone will die again and return to their ideal existence in heaven.

In order to conflate the prophetic ideal of messiah with the Platonic ideal of a heavenly afterlife, Rambam insisted that the prophets and sages longed for the messianic age so that they could live without distraction and thereby work on earning a share in the World to Come:

The prophets and sages longed for the messianic era, not so that they could rule the world, not that they could dominate pagans, not to receive honor from the nations, nor to eat and drink and be merry. Rather, [they longed for it] so that they would be free to learn Torah and wisdom, and there would be no oppressor or distraction. In this way they would earn a share in the World to Come, as we explained in the Laws of Repentance. (Laws of Kings 12:4) [11]

Rambam’s preference of a soul-world over the biblical ideas of a this-world messianic era and resurrection did not go unnoticed or unchallenged. Some of Rambam’s critics accused him of denying the resurrection altogether, leading to his scathing retort in his Treatise on Resurrection. Granting his resolute belief in the resurrection, however, there is little question that Rambam radically shifted emphasis away from the biblical conception of a this-world ideal society to a soul-world ideal for each individual. [12]

This debate runs throughout all of Tanakh. For example, the most prevalent metaphorical interpretation in Jewish tradition casts the Song of Songs as symbolizing the historical covenantal relationship between God and Israel as a community (e.g., Targum, R. Saadyah Gaon, Rashi, Rashbam, and Ibn Ezra).[13] In contrast, Rambam interprets the Song of Songs as a symbol of the love between the religious individual and God. [14]

Rambam also insisted that a prophet needed to reach the highest intellectual and religious levels as a prerequisite to receiving prophetic revelation (Guide for the Perplexed II:32–45). In contrast, Rabbi Judah Halevi maintained that prophecy is a divine gift. Were God to deem it necessary to send a prophet on a mission, anyone could receive a prophetic message (Kuzari, e.g., 1:4; 1:87). Abarbanel (on Amos 1:1; 7:14) supports Rabbi Halevi’s view, insisting that a prophet’s mission to his people, and not his personal perfection, is the defining characteristic of biblical prophecy. Abarbanel concluded that Rambam derived his conception of prophecy, which favors individual spirituality over one’s communal mission, from Greek philosophy, and this understanding is inconsistent with traditional Jewish thought.

To summarize, the Torah and prophets emphasize communal perfection. The ideal of Tanakh is the messianic age, a perfected society and world harmony. The plain sense of the biblical texts certainly favors the position of Rambam’s opponents over that of Rambam, who shifted attention to individual perfection and the soul-world.

Contemporary Applications

This debate is not simply an unverifiable, abstract philosophical disagreement. One’s belief in afterlife profoundly informs one’s ultimate goals, and directly affects how one lives life in this world. If one’s goal is a personal heaven, one could live in a cave completely removed from society, study Torah, pray, observe the Torah’s commandments, and reflect philosophically on God. In contrast, the prophets always lived among the people despite all the heartache that entailed, as their goal was to improve their society and bring it closer to the ideas of the Torah. They longed for Israel to become a model nation that would in turn inspire all humanity to serve God.

More broadly, the discussion of afterlife has direct implications on how our contemporary society functions. Much of secular society denies or downplays afterlife. This position leads to the conclusion that this life is all there is. Some idealists use this conclusion to do everything they can to make a positive impact during their lifetimes. Many others conclude that life has little ultimate purpose, and they overemphasize this-worldliness and self-indulgence.

At the other side of the spectrum, some religious communities teach that this world is only a way station to build up points to earn eternal heavenly reward. This system of belief dangerously gives all the power to the religious clerics, who can tell their followers what it takes to earn a place in heaven. When clerics have upright ethical values, they can achieve phenomenal results. However, when clerics preach murder in the name of their religion, it is beyond horrifying. It also is critical to stress that terrorists who murder in the name of their religion are not crazy. They are making a perfectly reasonable decision within their religious system by giving up a temporary and relatively meaningless life in this world in exchange for eternal bliss. The problem here is with the system itself, which, when dominated by clerics and other leaders preaching murder, is truly evil. [15]

In a completely different arena that should not in any way be likened to the above discussion, the Orthodox Jewish yeshiva system confronts a different challenge pertaining to belief in the afterlife. In many yeshivot, particularly those that teach boys, Tanakh receives woefully inadequate attention.[16] Concurrently, many learn the exceptional eighteenth century work by Rabbi Moshe Hayyim Luzzatto, the Mesilat Yesharim (Path of the Just).

This remarkable book focuses on self-perfection, and is worthy of in-depth study. However, learning Mesilat Yesharim without Tanakh creates an imbalance in the yeshiva curriculum. Rabbi Luzzatto introduces his work by stating that the purpose of our existence is to gain afterlife:

Our Sages of blessed memory have taught us that man was created for the sole purpose of rejoicing in God and deriving pleasure from the splendor of His Presence; for this is true joy and the greatest pleasure that can be found. The place where this joy may truly be derived is the World to Come, which was expressly created to provide for it; but the path to the object of our desires is this world. (Mesilat Yesharim chapter 1) [17]

Students of the prophets never would stop there, since the prophets were concerned with the perfection of their society. Learning Mesilat Yesharim without learning the soaring visions of the prophets sends the message that personal religious growth lies at the heart of religious Jewish experience. Although of course we aspire to individual personal growth (and should learn Mesilat Yesharim!), this aspiration must be accompanied by the prophetic imperative to channel our religious energies to improve the broader community. It is the longing for the messianic era, and not personal afterlife, that should shape the heart of our religious experience and actions. Lacking this prophetic vision, many students may become connected to God and the Torah, but isolate themselves from the broader community.

If there is hope for understanding and resolution, it is through serious engagement with Tanakh, which forms the very heart and soul of the Jewish vision. Individual religious strengths must be developed and channeled toward the betterment of society. The messianic visions of the prophets are for all humanity, and not just Israel. These beliefs foster a love for humanity, rather than just those who share our particular beliefs.

Tragically, we live in a world where billions overemphasize afterlife, and billions underemphasize it. Most Jews no longer stand by or even understand the alternative of the Torah and the prophets. But the vision of Tanakh has the power to change the world if we will listen to its message and promote it.

[1] There are several passages where Job seems to accept the finality of death. For example, “As a cloud fades away, so whoever goes down to Sheol does not come up; he returns no more to his home; his place does not know him” (Job 7:9). Based on this verse, Rava insisted that “this shows that Job denied the resurrection of the dead” (Bava Batra 16a). Cf. Job 10:20–22; 14:1–10.

[2] Several other biblical verses employ resurrection terminology. Three prominent examples are, (1) “He will destroy death forever. My Lord God will wipe the tears away from all faces and will put an end to the reproach of His people over all the earth—for it is the Lord who has spoken” (Is. 25:8). (2) “Oh, let Your dead revive! Let corpses arise! Awake and shout for joy, you who dwell in the dust!—for Your dew is like the dew on fresh growth; You make the land of the shades come to life” (Is. 26:19). (3) Ezekiel’s celebrated vision of the Dry Bones (Ezek. 37:1–14). However, these prophecies refer to God’s miraculous restoration of Israel in the messianic era, rather than the bodily resurrection of individual people. In contrast, Daniel refers specifically to the bodily resurrection of individuals so that God can mete out ultimate justice onto them.

[3] See, e.g., Neil Gillman, The Death of Death: Resurrection and Immortality in Jewish Thought (Woodstock, VT: Jewish Lights, 1997), p. 96. See also Jon D. Levenson, Resurrection and the Restoration of Israel: The Ultimate Victory of the God of Life (New Haven, CT: Yale, 2006), p. x, where he cites the scholarly consensus that Zoroastrianism is the likely candidate for having influenced Jewish thought regarding resurrection. Levenson goes on to reject much of that scholarly consensus.

[4] Not all versions of the Mishnah contain the text that one must believe that resurrection is “from the Torah,” min ha-Torah. Rambam stated that one must believe in the resurrection, but does not insist that one must believe that it is from the Torah. See sources in Marc Shapiro, The Limits of Orthodox Theology: Maimonides’ Thirteen Principles Reappraised (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civiliation, 2004), p. 152, n. 62.

[5] James L. Kugel, The Great Poems of the Bible: A Reader’s Companion with new Translations (New York: Free Press, 1999), pp. 192–210.

[6] Kugel, pp. 209–210.

[7] See also Prov. 11:30; 13:12; 15:4.

[8] It also is significant that the Ark, which contains the tablets of the Ten Commandments, is guarded by Cherubim. The Tabernacle represents the only other appearance of Cherubim in the Torah aside from the Garden of Eden, where they guard the Tree of Life (Gen. 3:24).

[9] For discussion and sources pertaining to this issue in Psalms, Proverbs, Job, and Ecclesiastes, see Hayyim Angel, Vision from the Prophet and Counsel from the Elders: A Survey of Nevi’im and Ketuvim (New York: OU Press, 2013), pp. 227–234, 241–248, 249–257, 288–300.

[10] See sources and discussion in Neil Gillman, The Death of Death, pp. 143–172.

[11] See Rambam, Laws of Repentance, chapter 8.

[12] Louis Jacobs maintains that Rambam was the only medieval Jewish philosopher who committed to the idea that the future existence is in an incorporeal state in a soul world rather than in this world (Principles of the Jewish Faith [New York: Basic Books, 1964], p. 407).

[13] This was not the only midrashic understanding, however. In the summary words of David M. Carr (with minor transliteration changes): “While we see the male fairly consistently linked to God, we find the female of the Song of Songs related to the house of study (b. Eruvin 21b; b. Bava Batra 7b), an individual sage (t. Hagiga 2:3), Moses (Mekhilta Beshallah Shirah 9), Joshua the son of Nun (Sifrei Nitzavim [305] and parallels), local court (b. Sanhedrin 36b; b. Yevamot 101a; b. Kiddushin 49b and b. Sanhedrin 24a; cf. also b. Pesahim 87a), or the community of Israel as a whole (m. Ta’anit 4:8; t. Sotah 9:8; b. Shabbat 88; b. Yoma 75a; b. Sukkot 49b; b. Eruvin 21b; b. Ta’anit 4:a; Mekhilta Beshallah Shira 3)” (“The Song of Songs as a Microcosm of the Canonization and Decanonization Process,” in Canonization and Decanonization, ed. A. van der Kooij and K. van der Toorn [Leiden: Brill, 1998], pp. 175–176).

[14] See Laws of Repentance 10:3; Guide for the Perplexed III:51. See Yosef Murciano, “Rambam and the Interpretation of the Song of Songs” (Hebrew), in Teshurah le-Amos: A Collection of Studies in Biblical Interpretation Presented in Honor of Amos Hakham, ed. Moshe Bar Asher et al. (Alon Shevut: Tevunot, 2007), pp. 85–108. For an exploration of the religious value of adopting the views of Rashi and Rambam in one’s religious experience, see R. Shalom Carmy, “Perfect Harmony,” First Things (December, 2010); “On Cleaving as Identification: Rabbi Soloveitchik’s Account of Devekut in U-Vikkashtem Mi-Sham,” Tradition 41:2 (Summer 2008), pp. 100–112.

[15] For an illuminating study of the eradication of the idea of sin from Western literature, reflecting the frightening conclusion that many in the contemporary Western World have essentially stricken the concept of evil from their vocabularies and mindsets, see Andrew Delbanco, The Death of Satan: How Americans Have Lost the Sense of Evil (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1995).

[16] For analysis of why this has been so, see, for example, Mordechai Breuer, “Bible in the Curriculum of the Yeshiva” (Hebrew), in Mehkarim ba-Mikra u-ba-Hinnukh: Presented to Prof. Moshe Ahrend, ed. Dov Rappel (Jerusalem: Touro College, 1996), pp. 223–235; Frederick E. Greenspahn, “Jewish Ambivalence towards the Bible,” Hebrew Studies 48 (2007), pp. 7–21; Moshe Sokolow, “U-Va Le-Tzion Go’el, Kedushah De-Sidra, and the Yeshiva Curriculum,” in Mi-Tokh Ha-Ohel: The Weekday Prayers, ed. Daniel Z. Feldman and Stuart W. Halpern (New Milford, CT: Maggid, 2014), pp. 293–301.

[17] Translation in Shraga Silverstein, The Path of the Just (Jerusalem: Feldheim, 1980), p. 17.