National Scholar Updates

“What are our capabilities if our critical patients develop renal failure and all the hospitals in town have no capacity to absorb them?”

As the chief of the nephrology department in a small hospital in a small city, this question has occupied me all week.  If a person’s kidneys fail, there is a fallback procedure, a miracle of modern science, with which physicians are capable of cleaning that person’s blood when the kidneys are no longer capable of doing so.  A technology available for little more than the past half-century, dialysis has saved the lives of countless individuals.  However, for critically ill individuals whose bodies are incapable of generating a strong blood pressure, the added stress caused by normal dialysis can be more than the person can tolerate.  For these critically ill patients, removing the amount of blood necessary to filter through the machine can be deadly if done in the standard way. 

Fortunately, we are still able to perform dialysis on the medically labile among these critically ill patients, but continuously instead of in a discrete session.  Running the procedure at a slower, gentler pace produces less of an adverse effect on blood pressures.  However, continuous dialysis requires 24/7 monitoring by physicians, nurses, and technicians comfortable administering this different modality.  Small hospitals normally transfer patients who require continuous dialysis (commonly referred to as CRRT – continuous renal replacement therapy) to larger hospitals nearby that perform this procedure routinely.

Now the world finds itself in the midst of a pandemic the likes of which has not been seen for more than a century.  Severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2, the virus causing Coronavirus disease 19 (COVID 19), has been associated with hundreds of thousands of infections and thousands of deaths worldwide.  As of earlier this week, we now have confirmed cases in our city.

For weeks now the media has been haranguing us non-stop with COVID 19 news.  Wuhan, China, a city with a population of more than 11 million, is basically becoming a ghost town.  Deaths are occurring in Italy because the healthcare system lacks the capacity to treat as many critically ill patients as the country currently has.  Meanwhile, selfish individuals hoard medical supplies, hand sanitizers, and toilet paper.  The media, foreign governments, and even our own government have disseminated so much misinformation that it is difficult to separate truth from error.  Facebook, a bastion of spreading pseudoscience and medical bunk, has been an infuriating mess of confusing nonsense, with dozens of useless pieces of advice for every good one.

During this crisis, I have already been barred from traveling to take our planned vacation for Pesach.  My wife and I were already resigned to being unable to visit with our families for the holiday, but now it is likely that I will be working in the hospital during arguably the most family-oriented holiday in the Jewish calendar.  On occasions when I find myself in the hospital, in front of a computer working (activities that would normally be forbidden) on Shabbat, I sometimes think of Vayikra chapter 18, verse 5, which states, “And you shall keep My statutes and My ordinances, which Man shall do and live by them – I am Hashem.”  The Talmud famously states that “live by them” means that you, and others, shall not die by them.  Thus, a potential loss of life and health supersedes nearly every commandment, even one as important as Shabbat.  Although driving in to work to treat ill patients seemed extremely odd years ago when I was still a junior physician starting training, those feelings have vanished. 

Any rabbi worth his salt (which is an important measurement when one is a nephrologist) will be immeasurably better versed than I in the Halachot pertaining to a health crisis.  Nevertheless, I called the rabbi of my shul last evening to discuss plans for this Shabbos’s Davening and classes, mainly to give my opinion that the shul should close.  After a short discussion, the rabbi agreed with my opinion and decided to suspend all classes and services.  This decision has precedent, as other synagogues across the world have been making similar decisions over the past several weeks.  Additionally, there are countless stories of rabbis suspending services, closing synagogues, and mandating restrictions on fasting, even on Yom Kippur, the holiest and most important fast day of the year, because of previous medical emergencies. 

There will be no minyan in my shul this week, partly from my advice.  Living in a small Jewish community, I have said many times in shul, “Heaven forbid that we have no minyan here because of me.”  I try my utmost to be present whenever possible, but this situation is different.  Despite knowing that closing was the correct course of action, I spent many hours last evening contemplating my advice, and my part in the shul closing still haunted me when I awakened in the morning.

Every day I arrive at my hospital prior to sunrise, so I have generally work for several hours before I am able to don my Tallit and Tefillin and say the morning Tefilot.  With the current pandemic and the needed flexibility to change protocols instantly to keep up with an ever-evolving understanding of SARS-COV-2, my days this week have been very long and never standard.  I have had days in the past when I have had to miss Z’man Tefilah, but not even having time to eat or sit for more than a few minutes to answer a critical email has been the standard so far this week.  Today I made an additional mistake – I checked Facebook before coming to work.  In one group where physicians and mid-level practitioners come together to share COVID 19 information and updates, multiple individuals talked about hoarding supplies of one medicine with potential benefits for personal use.  I rushed all morning from meeting to meeting, calling patients, and drafting policies, all while being absolutely infuriated by the behavior described in those posts.

Thankfully, around noon today, more than seven hours after I arrived at work, I was able to grab a few minutes to daven.  When one can relax and stand before the One Who “makes peace and creates all,” the high stress of the day melts away.  How can it be that an individual would feel less anxiety when speaking to his Creator?  I remind myself that although our illusion of control now appears shattered, Hashem is here for us and always will be.

Si’man 336 of the Shulchan Arukh Yoreh De’ah opens with the statement, “The Torah has granted the physician permission to heal, and it is a religious duty which comes under the rule of saving an endangered life.”  Saving the life of a fellow human being is such a great imperative that it supersedes everything else in Jewish law.  If so, why by healing does “Hashem grant permission” to perform the commandment (especially one deemed so very important), but not by any other commandment do we require this permission? 

As we sit in judgement during the high holidays, we say in Unetanneh Tokef that it is Hashem who determines our fate: “How many will pass from the earth and how many will be created; who will live and who will die.”  If Hashem makes this determination, we might therefore say that health and disease are fully under the will of Heaven, and thus we are forbidden to interfere.  Therefore, the Shulchan Arukh teaches us that Hashem wants us to do everything in our power to save a life, even if it would mean having to break nearly any and every other commandment to do so.  Because we are given permission to heal, we must do everything in our power to do so, exerting ourselves in this pursuit to our utmost.  In fact, we healthcare workers are partners with Hashem in bringing patients back to health.  Just as Hashem originally created in the world a single human life, the Mishna in Sanhedrin teaches us that one who saves a life is like one who has saved the whole world.

So, what do we do if the hospitals in town are at capacity and our patients need CRRT?  When the community standard of care is not available, how do we step up and do our part to save those who need us?

We do every darn thing possible. 

Unsurprisingly, doing everything possible is the unified thought and feeling of everyone in my hospital.  I have been an exceedingly small part of bringing this goal to fruition, and seeing everyone step up to be prepared to handle anything that comes our way has been a truly humbling and inspiring experience.  Every nurse, technician, physician, and other healthcare worker on the ground is running at full force to do his or her part, while our administrators and support staff work seemingly non-stop to address the needs for patient care that their clinicians bring to them.

With Hashem’s help, this crisis too shall pass.  Until it does, your health care workers are all braving this pandemic to treat the ill.  So too everyone must do his and her part to protect the most vulnerable among us.  In this pursuit, we are all healers and partners with Hashem in saving the world.  We do not want, Heaven forbid, the blood of our loved ones to be on our hands by inadvertently spreading a highly infectious and potentially life-threatening disease to those who cannot fight it.  Please, follow the recommendations from the CDC.  Practice social distancing as much as humanly possible.  Even with Pesach coming in the near future, minimize the number of people at your Seder and do your best to avoid hoarding household goods, cleaning supplies, or food. 

Contact your doctor if you have medical questions, and everyone, stay safe.  B'hatzlacha.

Several years ago, for Pessah, I visited the "lost tribe of Ephraim" in Southern India.
For more info about them check out this helpful wikipedia article https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bene_Ephraim

This clan of about 150 people claim to be descendants of the lost tribes of Israel. They practice Jewish traditions, celebrate most of the holidays, and have started to practice many Mitzvot, often in their unique style!

For example, in their tradition, on Erev Pessah they slaughter a goat and put the blood on their doorposts! They were shocked to discover that most of the Jewish world doesn't do that! In general they were thrilled to learn more about how "mainstream Judaism" is being practiced in the rest of the world. Many even dream of a day when they could move to the holy land of Israel.

While I came to help lead Seder, I ended up learning much from our Indian experience! Here are a few lessons and highlights!

Lesson #1 The Power of Music

About 10 minutes after our arrival at the South Indian village in Chebrolu, I realized we had a problem. They don’t speak English!! OK, so we had a translator, and a few spoke English, but in general, how were we supposed to share the depth of our Torah traditions…when they can’t understand us?

The answer of course…was through the magic of music.

Music is the language which can break down all barriers, and so, during the seder, during kabbalat Shabbat, before during and after shiurim…we made sure to sing and dance…a lot.
Reb Shlomo Carlebach teaches that in the end of days, music will be the vehicle to bring the world back to the knowledge of God!

One night, after a long class with the villagers, 4 youthful Indian friends escorted us back to the hotel. (After 5 nights of bucket showers in 120 degree weather, and “natural” bathrooms, we had decided to splurge on an Indian hotel for the last nights of our stay.)

Our late night voyages was sweet, the weather was cooler, and the roads were slightly less chaotic. But as our translator wasn’t there, we sat silently together in the car.
Until one Indian boy, with a big smile on his face asked “Rav Keith... you know “Shabcheey”? And of course I did. And suddenly the Indian roads, with temples, churches and mosques on all sides, were filled with 6 souls singing every Jewish song we could think! We sang, Am Yisrael Chai, Kol Haolam Koolo and even Hatikvah at the top of our lungs. My wife and I were in shock, but they knew every word. It truly was a night we will not forget!

Lesson #2: The Power of Sincerity

After each night of Q and A, we would stand up to fulfill the Mitzvah of counting the Omer.
I had explained to them the details of how this Halakha was carried out, and sprinkled in some of its spiritual significance. After counting the Omer, I still felt, that we were missing something. I wasn’t ready to end the class.

And so I added on a new tradition: a Chassidic-Telugu blend. After the counting, we would add on 3 minutes of silent prayer. As most of the Telugi could not read Hebrew, formal texts were hard for them to grasp, but personal prayer…that was something that these people truly excelled at!

After two minutes of prayer, I sneakily opened my eyes, to see how everyone was doing. Soon my eyes were in tears. Perhaps they were praying for a job, or for their sister to find a suitable marriage match, or maybe they were praying to one day come to Jerusalem, but whatever it was, they were all completely immersed in sincere Tefillah.

And I kept thinking to myself…imagine if we had this type of sincerity in our communities' prayer services!

OK, so we may have some of the rituals down…but if we could only incorporate these peoples' sincerity into our Mitzvot, what a different Judaism we would have!

Lesson # 3 The Power of Thanks

In Hebrew, India is called “Hodu”. Hodu means to thank. At first, I was convinced, that the meaning of this was: “India has truly made me thankful and appreciative that… I don’t live in India!!!”

For example:
Thank God, I have a normal shower that doesn’t consist of a bucket of lukewarm water!
Thank God, I can walk across the street in Jerusalem without almost being run over by a motorbike, a beggar and a cow!
Thank God, I have enough money to afford basic medical needs, like asthma containers.
Thank God, I don’t have to live in a place so hot that one is forced to hibernate from 10am to 5 pm, and thank God I’m not stuck working in those conditions just to eke out 5 dollars a day, to support my family.

I truly felt blessed and thankful that I have been born into such a life of relative luxury.

And yet, as our Indian journey continued, my wife and I realized that there may be a totally different way of understanding why India is called Hodu. Ironically these people actually walked around and gave thanks far more than their richer Westernized counterparts. Virtually everyone in India has a religion. And virtually everyone makes a time for prayer, and thankfulness in their lives. Ironically, the ones who seem to have the most to be thankful for, are the ones who are most negligent of this basic obligation.

And so, India has come to symbolize the land of thankfulness, as it reminds me of my obligation, of the privilege to say thanks…even when life is tough.

So thank you Hashem, for giving me the amazing privilege of learning from these "Telugu Jews", and I hope that readers of this essay have learned something too!

Introduction 

    Openness to travel seems basic to the Jewish soul. Just as Jews are said to be “The people

of the Book,” they may be aptly described historically as “The people of the journey or voyage.”

As recent works such as Pilgrimage and the Jews by David Gitlitz and Linda Kay

Davidson and Reorienting the East by Martin Jacobs reveal, voluntary travel has long

held a vital part in Jewish communal history. Lesser known to Judaic scholars, however,

is the role of travel in early Hasidism to promote individual well-being. Especially in light of

growing psychological interest in how travel strengthens such desirable traits as gratitude,

kindness, and contentment, I’d like to highlight the intriguing technique of early Hasidic

counseling which I call directed travel. This paper will explore its basic features, the

possible underlying dynamics that contributed to its success, and implications for adaption today. 

The historical backdrop  

    Life was hard for Jews in 19th-century Eastern Europe. Especially for the majority who

resided in impoverished shtetls, economic and political hardship, combined with social

immobility, caused widespread despair. Stagnation was not only a communal phenomenon

but also experienced psychologically by many individuals who saw no possibility of opportunity

or change. In this milieu, early Hasidic leaders were highly concerned about identifying

symptoms of melancholy (depression in today’s terminology) and its resulting dangers. Even a

casual perusal of their sermons and tracts indicates this outlook.

    For example, Rabbi Nachman of Breslov stated that “One who is sad brings upon oneself

many afflictions” and “Sadness leads to quarrels; joy to peace.” Similarly, Rabbi Yechiel

Danziger asserted that “Sadness is the worst quality in a person…To the one obsessed by

sadness, one’s very body feels heavy to carry around. One cannot abide oneself or others.”

More pointedly, the Chabad-Lubavitch founder Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liady observed

in his major work Tanya that “Melancholy renders a person unresponsive and unable to

act. It deprives him of his capabilities and strips him of his energy.”       

    To help congregants overcome such distress, Hasidic rebbes forged a variety of

interventions. Some were relatively traditional in scope and format, such as relying on prayer

combined with ritual objects to bolster religious faith and hope in general. However, one of the

most innovative techniques, with particular relevance today for positive psychology and

counseling, used travel as a way to break emotional stagnation and spur decision-making. This is

how it worked.

      At least twice per year, hasidim would typically meet individually with their rebbe in an

encounter known as yechidus. The term refers to a private meeting between rebbe and Hasid, and

is linked to the Hebrew word for “unity”).  In the yechidus, which was imbued with deep

meaning for its participants, hasidim sought a blessing and sometimes specific guidance

concerning troubling circumstances, such as involving livelihood or family matters. A

dialogue would take place, often comprising question-and-answer between rebbe and hasid. The

“advice” phase of the yechidus was known as the etzah (a cognate of the Hebrew root-word etz

or tree), in which the rebbe would prescribe a remedy for action. Hasidic imagery depicted the

etzah as a method by which the rebbe directs a hasid, just as an expert gardener turns or bends a

tree for more fruitful growth; for this reason, Rabbi Nachman of Breslov poetically described the

rebbe as the “master of the orchard.”

    Within the etzah or action-remedy phase of yechidus that followed heartfelt dialogue, the

rebbe’s advice to supplicants was sometimes to travel alone to a particular, unfamiliar location

and “there you will find the answer to your problem.” That was all. Nothing more specific was

provided in the rebbe’s directive and no time-frame for attaining the redemptive solution was

given. In conveying this etzah, the rebbe’s tone was wholly supportive and confident. No matter

if the stipulated location seemed irrelevant in relation to the hasid’s perceived adversity, the

rebbe’s wisdom was viewed as transcending common-sense criteria, and rebuttal was therefore

rare.     

    Regarding the rebbe as virtually infallible due to his holiness, the hasid would depart in

an emotional state of high expectation, and often, with renewed hope and long suppressed

optimism about the future. The assigned destination was not only unfamiliar, but also one in

which he or she was a stranger. Trusting implicitly in the rebbe’s visionary ability, the

hasid would be far more conscious than usual of surroundings: that is, in contemporary

English usage, behaving with much greater mindfulness.

    Upon arrival at the assigned locale, the hasid was guided by the teaching that the divine is

hidden within the ordinary aspects of everyday life. A related notion was that divine messages

are often communicated by symbols, rather than direct and obvious statements, and lastly, that

all people are potential messengers in a higher plan; whether they’re consciously aware of their

role isn’t necessary or important. With ardent belief in these theological concepts, the hasid was

sure that seemingly random events might harbor deep mysteries, revelations, and, ultimately, the

“answer to your problem.” And so, the hasid confidently opened his or her sensibility to observe

and ponder the deeper meaning of commonplace, even trivial happenings.  

   How might the epiphany be catalyzed? Through an overheard conversation between

strangers, an unexpected encounter in the marketplace with a past acquaintance, a beautiful

natural vista, or a vivid dream that night in the inn? Possibly any or none of those. Instead, it

might come as the hasid gazed at unfamiliar faces and scenes--and suddenly longed for home. Or

it might come after experiencing hours of slow-moving time dissociated from all of one’s

familiar, daily routines. Whatever the specific spark, it would ultimately bring the “answer to

your problem.” When the grateful, newly-empowered hasid (or other individual) would return to

the rebbe and extol his uncanny guidance, the rebbe’s gentle reply was frequently reported as:    

“You already had the answer inside you. I simply helped you to find it.”         

Why was directed travel effective?   

    Of course, it’s unlikely that every case of directed travel in early Hasidism was successful.   Undoubtedly, some supplicants including the most ardent hasidim failed to gain an epiphany with transformative power; as to what the next step might have been for such persons is historically unclear. However, from the commonality of this technique in early Hasidic counseling, we can safely assume its general effectiveness, and more importantly for us today, unravel the underlying reasons why. This latter task is necessary because Hasidic rebbes did not produce any texts that explicated the theory and practice of directed travel as a means to empower individuals feeling emotionally blocked or stymied, or to paraphrase Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liady, those “unable to act and stripped of energy.” Based on concepts from positive psychology, however, it’s possible to construct a viable explanatory model, one with relevance for contemporary application. Four overlapping considerations seem most relevant. 

    Firstly, the rebbe’s warm, empathic encouragement during the yechidus encounter can be seen as strengthening hope--a quality that scientific research has linked to such beneficial outcomes as increased happiness, greater personal achievement, and even lowered risk of death. Empirical studies have shown that hopeful people have a greater sense that life is meaningful, and that emotional hope in particular is connected to happiness. Indeed, an entire body of positive psychology, known as hope theory, emphasizes the vital role of hope in bolstering daily well-being.    

     Secondly, the rebbe’s directive to travel alone for several days allowed the hasid to escape, at least temporarily, from the tight, often constricting, network of social relations that characterized Jewish life during that era.

Indeed, this getaway for some may have marked their   first time to be unfettered from constant interaction with social intimates, however well-meaning,

who imposed their own perceptions and values on the hasid’s life. Such a sense of freedom,

whether consciously or unconsciously felt, must surely have been uplifting and helped generate 

an epiphany.

    Thirdly, the process of journeying alone for several days can be identified as creating a

precious “space” for mental de-cluttering and self-reflection.  Certainly, this phase would have

complemented that of physical disengagement just described. It may be no coincidence that

Jewish mystical theology, such as conveyed in the 13th-century Zohar and embraced by Hasidic

leaders, taught that the physical universe was created by a “vacated space” in which the divine

essence was withdrawn. In the esoteric branch of Judaism known as Kabbalah, this classic

theological concept is called the tzimzum. Thus, deeply embedded within early Hasidism was the

notion that even at the highest levels of existence, creation requires “space” or “room” for

growth. Guided by this notion, rebbes may therefore have deliberately sought to foster mental

detachment (and subsequent creative problem-solving) by mandating several days of solo travel.

    Fourthly, in considering the hasid’s heightened sense of awareness in arriving at the

assigned destination, where everything seen and heard is potentially meaningful, the 

concept of mindfulness advanced by Dr. Ellen Langer of Harvard University seems highly

relevant. That is, based on the socio-cognitive notion that people often go through daily life in a

mental state akin to “autopilot,” she has defined mindfulness “as the process of paying attention

on purpose to the present moment, of being aware of novelty in experiences and contexts and

events.” Dr. Langer emphasizes its importance in constructive thinking and learning,

and additional researchers have linked such mindfulness to fewer symptoms of emotional

distress including anxiety, depression, and obsessive-compulsive tendencies.

    Thus, it seems likely that by experiencing a wholly unfamiliar locale in a state of heightened

awareness, the hasid could transcend his or her usual condition of “autopilot” functioning

and achieve a state of intense mindfulness, in which insight and epiphany could emerge. 

This third phase of the hasid’s journey might be called that of discovery. Involving a heightened

interest in one’s surroundings, it also appears relevant to mounting research in positive

psychology on curiosity as a motivating force contributing to personal meaning and well-being.

 Implications for Application 

      Can the technique of directed travel be transferred successfully from such a different cultural

milieu to our own time? After all, mental health professionals are hardly regarded as holy

figures, and for most of us, travel is less arduous and adventurous than it was in 19th-century

Eastern Europe. Nevertheless, I’m convinced that meaningful adaptations are indeed possible to

spur personal growth and decision-making; these particularly relate to Langer’s concept of

mindfulness versus auto-pilot functioning. Indeed, people today may have an even greater need

to transcend their daily routine than those during the early Industrial Age. Of course, nowadays

it’s constant dependency on the Internet and smart phone usage that negate self-reflection and

encourage passivity, rather than the social pressures of small-town life.

     Firstly, as a method of personal growth, individuals can self-initiate directed travel: that is,

without the necessity for obtaining a mandate from a rebbe-like, external guiding figure.

Self-initiated directed travel can be undertaken whenever decision-making is needed on a

pressing matter, or when feels chronically bored, stagnant, or emotionally adrift. Rather than

responding to an external directive, one chooses an unfamiliar location at least several hours

away by transportation, preferably where extended strolling or hiking is possible, and goes there

alone. Certainly, before embarking, it’s useful to plant the “seed thought” through deep

relaxation that within the self-assigned locale, “the answer to my problem will be found.” To

avoid the possibility of egoistic influence in selecting the destination, one can invite a friend to

suggest it, or with eyes closed, make a random choice on a regional map.  

    To enhance receptivity to events large and small, it’s preferable to use public transportation,

since automobile driving tends to narrow rather than expand our attentiveness to surroundings.

No advance itinerary should be scheduled, and it’s important to bring a journal for writing

observations, insights, or epiphanies. As much as possible, it’s best to adopt the early

Hasidic outlook that witnessed events and overhead conversations of all types can be interpreted

symbolically; sometimes “the answer” will lie precisely in such symbolism. What make

self-initiated directed travel experientially different from ordinary tourism is the necessity for

choosing an unfamiliar place, dispensing with an itinerary, and deliberately “seeding” an attitude

of utmost mindfulness. 

    Secondly, directed travel can be used as an adjunct in counseling. In this situation, the

counselor suggests a specific destination based on content from previous counseling sessions

including the client’s dreams. The crucial consideration is that the prospective destination is

unfamiliar to the client from past experience, and one in which ample strolling or hiking is

possible. For both self-initiated and counseling forms of directed travel, the ease of airplane

usage allows for much more distant journeys than were common in the early Hasidic era.   

     Not all counseling cases may lend themselves well to the early Hasidic technique of

directed travel. Of course, clinical judgment is necessary. But growing research from positive

psychology and allied fields suggests a solid scientific basis for its efficacy in spurring personal

growth and epiphanic experience. 

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QUESTION:

According to Orthodox Judaism in all of its iterations, the Torah is the word of God that was given to and was accepted by the people Israel. The only vote to which the Torah contract was subject was taken when Israel agreed to accept that Torah as its Constitution as a whole package. Once in force, the Torah’s parts are equally sacred and uniformly binding.

     This Torah Constitution’s narrative also proclaims that humans are created in God’s “image,” with each individual carrying an equal and infinite moral worth.

     Democracy is the rule, the kratos, of the people, the demos. How can the rule of “the people,” who are mortal and finite, be compatible with the rule of God, Who is infinite and eternal? How might Judaism, with its immutable Torah, embrace democracy, the ever-changing will of the people?

ANSWER:

     The Jewish State of Israel is self-defined as both democratic and Jewish. “Judaism” and “democracy” are abstract nouns with distinct semantic fields of meaning. Israel, the nation-state of the Jewish people, stands for some values and excludes others. Democracies also have limits, which distinguish between citizens who are full members of the polity, and resident non-citizens, minors, and incarcerated prisoners, who are not full members of the polity.

The argument that Orthodox Judaism and democracy are incompatible value systems is grounded in some very compelling claims:

• God’s ways and laws are not human inventions. God’s law is absolute and eternal, while human law is finite, fallible, and ephemeral.
• God’s laws cannot and may not ever be changed; in contrast, democracy often reflects the ever changing mood of the public. Hence, the two systems cannot be merged.
• “Democracy” is not mentioned, much less endorsed, in the Torah Constitution. Before we perform an act, we require a heter, a release, permission, and dispensation of a Rav, a duly recognized Orthodox rabbi, because we dare not defy the Divine will, even inadvertently.
• Democracy falsely deludes people with the fantasy called “rights,” which nurtures an egotistical, autonomous individualism that undermines the modest submissiveness that necessarily accompanies the dutiful compliance that Torah law demands. Accordingly, Torah Judaism imposes obligations; there is no place for “rights” in a Law issued by the most absolute of monarchs.
• Last, democracy advances the freedom of the autonomous individual, while Torah law requires that Jews remain the submissive “servants of the Holy One,” deferring to God’s will as it is understood and interpreted by the Great Rabbis, who are singularly authorized to read and apply Torah. 
   

These arguments reflect a popular—but flawed—view of the Orthodox Judaism embedded in the Oral Torah, Orthodox Judaism’s “official religion,” as will be explained below.

• God’s ways are indeed not human inventions or conventions, and God’s will is absolutely and eternally binding. But God does not act as a tyrant. God’s law is no longer in Heaven )Deut. 30:12); Torah’s wisdom is evident even to non-Israelite observers (Deut. 4:6); and there are no normative, secret Torah doctrines (Deut. 29:28). God’s Divine Torah law contains positive, i.e., “to do” rules, and negative, i.e., “not to do” rules. In addition, the Jewish Supreme Court, the Bet Din haGadol, is authorized and empowered to legislate Torah law (Deut. 17:8–11). This post-Mosaic law is called (a) “Torah” and (b) is also “the word of the Lord’” (Isaiah 2:3). The wisdom of this law is manifest in its transparency. Deuteronomy 1:1 reports that “these are the words that Moses spoke.” The word “these” is a demonstrative pronoun, implying that the Torah refers to “these words” that are recorded in Scripture, to which one may neither add nor subtract. Prophets and visionaries who claim that God commanded anything else to Israel commit a capital offense (Deut. 13:1–6). This Divine law has a human component; after all, it is written in understandable human language (Midrash Sekhel Tov, Bereshith, VaYetsei 30:13), whose plain sense meaning is accessible to the Israelite public (bShabbat 63a), which is authorized to hold its leaders to account (Ruth Rabba 1:1), thus outlawing tyranny. These Torah facts empower Jewry to hold its elites to account based upon the Torah’s readable benchmarks. These doctrines are not taught in Orthodox schools, synagogues, camps, and youth groups because Orthodoxy’s institutional leadership does not wish to be held to account. Those who believe that Judaism and democracy are incompatible suppress Judaism’s democratic qualities; those who take the religion prescribed in Judaism’s sacred library seriously will celebrate democracy and the independent, conscience-driven heroes that Torah narrative commends.

• There are some rules, specifically the 613 Torah commandments and those ancient Laws that were given from the moment (not just the place) of Sinai, that are not subject to change or dispute. Other rules may undergo, and indeed have undergone, change. We are informed that there is a “tradition” that women may not slaughter animals. But (a) the Oral Law explicitly permits women to slaughter animals, and (b) the reason given for the post-talmudic restriction, that the holy community has not seen women slaughtering, is not a valid rule or reason to forbid an act according to m’Eduyyot. 2:2. (See the conversation at Bet Yosef Yoreh Deah 1:1.) Here, a culture “tradition” changed a law by disallowing women’s slaughter and this change, we are told, is now no longer subject to change. Although bBetsa 30a forbids dancing and clapping on Jewish Holy Days, Tosafot (ad. loc.) contends that the reason for the law’s enactment, that people may come to repair musical instruments on Holy Days, no longer applies in Tosafist times. At Iggrot Moshe Orah Hayyim 2:100, R. Moshe Feinstein concurs with this change that overrides a formal, legislated rabbinic law. Changes that do not violate valid rabbinic norms are halakhically valid. Yet sometimes anomalies and inconsistencies do occur. The merits of these changes in Jewish Law are beyond the scope of this study. These citations show that in practice, Orthodox Judaism does tolerate change by taking popular practice, taste, and habit into account. While Jewry is required to obey Torah rules, Israel is not commanded to preserve culture traditions that are not formal norms.  Accordingly, what affiliating Jews do is part, but not the entirety, of the Divine equation. The Talmud (bBetsa 30a) reminds zealous rabbis that “it is preferred that people sin in ignorant error than to be tempted to sin in wanton disregard for God’s command.”  The Law’s pedagogic agenda reminds rabbis to reprove wisely and appropriately but not obsessively.

• God’s perfect Torah is complete. Any act that is neither commanded nor forbidden is authorized and permitted. Although some religions allow its clergy to forgive sin, sell indulgences, or issue heterim, or dispensations, the contemporary Orthodox Rav is a judge and teacher, not an oracle, magician, or legislator. Therefore, if the Talmud does not forbid an act, like going to college in order to obtain a professional education, then Orthodox rabbis may not declare, with apodictic certainty, that acquiring a secular education or developing critical thinking skills are forbidden activities. Those aspects of collegiate culture that are halakhically problematic, like some professors’ “militant secularism” and the collegiate culture of sexual license, require address; but acquiring earning power or gaining a broader education is not forbidden by God’s perfect law. In the gaps in the Law, where there is no formal, recorded statutory restriction, personal religious autonomy trumps rabbinic policy preferences. When filling these gaps in Torah legislation, democratic deliberations are the preferred Torah response.

• Unless a norm is legislated and memorialized in the Oral Law library, it is not a binding halakhic norm. Democracy is not forbidden by Jewish law. It is therefore a permitted form of government (a) simply because democracy is not forbidden by statute and (b) if democratic decisions do not abolish or contradict Torah law, those decisions have met the benchmark of a Jewishly valid ruling. In American law, rights are what Ronald Dworkin calls “trumps” possessed by individuals or by a minority in order to protect them against the tyranny of the majority. These rights empower the individual to be a citizen who is capable of being an active moral agent. Individual rights restrict the blind will of the majority. For Orthodox Judaism, rights derive from the legal fact that an act is permitted if it is not forbidden. So if an act is neither commanded nor forbidden, it is fair game for democratic legislation. The biblical Edah may also be described as a primitive democracy because it does not vote on the validity of Torah, but does vote on policy, budget, social services, and defense. In point of fact, democracy is also memorialized in Torah law as majority rule (Exodus 23:2 and bBaba Mezi’a 59b). By permitting what is not forbidden, the Torah Constitution carves out areas of personal and communal discretion, autonomy, and freedom. Like the American Bill of Rights, which limits majority rule in order to create a citizen who is a proactive moral agent endowed with personal dignity and conscience, the Torah allows its adherents to make their own, informed moral judgments. Since democracy and Torah both nurture their subjects to be politically and socially equal, democracy is actually the preferred form of Jewish self-government. God trusted Israel with the Torah to apply it appropriately.

• There are people who are unable to endure what R. Abraham Joshua Heschel called “the insecurity of freedom.” These voices maintain that it is better to obey the human leadership blindly, and not make mistakes due to limited human understanding, perspectives, and knowledge. After all, the charismatic rabbinic leadership is blessed, we are told, with the Holy Spirit, and faith in God demands faith in these charismatic rabbis’ virtual infallibility. In his Collected Letters 3:92, R. Abraham Karelitz claims that the Great Hareidi Rabbis must be obeyed in matters of Law and policy, because their opinion is presented to be Torah incarnate.

According to this view, democracy violates the sovereign authority—and immunity—of the Great Rabbis. While it is true that the Torah’s norms are not subject to vote, Torah opinion must be argued and defended by appealing to a rational reading of a shared Torah canon (Deut. 33:4) and by demonstrating how and why suggested changes do or do not violate legislated Oral Torah norms. Halakhic authority does not reside in charisma, intuition, or non-appointed office holders who lay claim to special inspiration, and authority. This power is not given to any elite other than the Bet Din haGadol sitting in plenary session at the yet to be rebuilt Jerusalem Temple (bSota 45a), not in any rabbinic committee, organization, or association. If Torah law were truly inviolate for anti-democratic Orthodoxy, R. Karelitz would require rather than forbid military service of men and women, as reported at and required by bSota 44b. R. Karelitz passionately opposed Orthodox military service at his Collected Letters 1:111. An informed Jewish citizen will rightly ask, “If the Oral Law is not subject to change, then by what authority does R. Karelitz forbid what the Torah canon requires?” Democracy empowers its citizens with rights, allowing Jewry to ask its leaders, “Why did you decide the Law as you did?” R. Karelitz is able to forbid a universal draft because for him the Law is the means of control that only the Great Rabbi is authorized to apply. But for R. Karelitz and his cohorts, “tradition” is the received—or remembered—culture of the Hareidi street, which is ruled by the Great Rabbis whose charisma invests them with religious infallibility and political immunity. Orthodox rabbis who disapprove of democracy shift the locus of Torah authority from the plain sense reading of the canonical text to the inspired charisma of their own canonical persons. After all, since their teachings are “the way of Torah,” no one may comment on what the Torah requires but them. Alternatively, Orthodox rabbis who approve of democracy believe that the Torah library is readable, and that rabbinic leaders may be held to account for their decisions. The Jew praises God every morning “for not making me a slave.” The Torah law that was given to all Israel liberates Jewry from being mental slaves by teaching Jews to judge their judges if and when they deserve to be judged. The fact that the Torah was engraved (harut) on stone generates political freedom (herut) because the Torah laws do not tolerate manipulation or misrepresentation so that the Jew knows when, where, and how to legitimately assert one’s autonomy. The Torah’s moral agenda aims to produce a population committed to a Law that is both a prescriptive code and a liberating descriptive map. The committed Jew is bound by the Torah’s legal norms, not the policies of any oligarchic elite.

• Last, Torah law requires that Jewry remain the “servants of God” by complying with the norms recorded in the Torah documentary trove. Those who believe that Orthodox Judaism and democracy are not compatible maintain that (a) since God’s word is unreadable, (b) His will is inscrutable, and (c) Jewry must take direction from its Great Rabbis, who are singularly qualified to issue Da’as Torah, or apodictic Torah opinions. The ideal Jew is a submissive, obedient, compliant individual who faithfully and unquestionably defers to the Great Rabbis, who are guided by God’s inspiration. And those who believe that democracy and Orthodox Judaism are compatible take God at His word, that the Torah is readable, God’s will is revealed in the plain sense of the sacred canon, the post-talmudic rabbi explains what the sacred canon says, but is neither a canonical person nor legislator for anyone who does not reside within his geographic jurisdiction.

For democratic Orthodoxy, the ideal Jew is a moral agent who knows how to determine “what is right and good” (Deut.  6:18), who is prepared to hold her or his Jewish leaders to account, and for whom God’s will is no more and no less than fidelity to Torah’s norms and to one’s own Torah informed moral compass. The democratic Orthodox Jew has the courage to challenge human authority if and when that authority conflicts with Torah’s norms. Non-democratic Orthodoxy is reflected by the Torah’s portrait of Joshua as a young man. When Eldad and Medad were prophesying in the camp without an official commission, Joshua begs Moses to arrest them. Moses asks his squire rhetorically, “Are you really jealous for me” (Numbers 11:26–29)?” Moses here teaches Joshua that Torah truth is not a franchise owned by an oligarchy; it is a gift that God in principle gives to all Israel. Learning this lesson very well, Joshua is willing—and able—to publicly contradict the ten spies who lacked the faith and courage to take God at His word, that Israel is capable of conquering Canaan. Joshua is able to defy the Israelite elite simply because this elite defied and denied God’s commission to scout the Promised Land )Numbers 14:6–9) in preparation for a Divinely assured conquest. The spies were not commissioned or authorized to pass judgment on the content of God’s promise. The Torah democracy’s “hidden curriculum” nurtures religiously independent moral consciences, not robots who defer to their fears or to the social franchise of institutional Orthodoxy. Put in contemporary terms, when scandals like sexual abuse arise in the Orthodox community, some have an instinct to protect Orthodox institutions, franchises, and leadership, so as not to embarrass its supposedly infallible elite. But we should have a reflexive response to protect the innocent, to uproot evil, and to call the authorities in order “to remove the evil from our midst.” When a person is pursuing or endangering the Jewish public, the civil authorities are called immediately. When there is danger of profaning God’s Name, respect for rabbinic elites must be suspended (bBerakhot 19b and elsewhere). Democratic Orthodoxy challenges its adherents to become moral agents; anti-democratic Orthodoxy infantilizes its affiliates by demanding social compliance and conformity to whatever folkways its rabbinic elite believes will generate a shared communal sense of sectarian otherness. The modern political “right” is called “zekhut” in contemporary Hebrew, and in rabbinic Hebrew the concept is called reshut, literally “permission.” By denying that there are Jewish rights, Orthodoxy’s democracy-deniers blur the halakhic boundary between prohibition (issur) and permission (heter). Since democratic Orthodoxy empowers its Jewry with God -given rights, it is the right course for contemporary Orthodoxy to take, because the rights that God gives no one may take away.

The ancient and so-far uncured disease of “anti-Semitism” is reflected in Megillat Esther.  Haman tells the king: “There is a certain people scattered abroad and dispersed among the peoples in all the provinces of your kingdom; and their laws are diverse from those of every people; neither keep they the king’s laws; therefore it profits not the king to let them be.” (Esther 3:8). Haman’s description of the situation is insidious and hateful. It slanders the Jewish people who, although they follow their own religious laws, also are law-abiding people who follow the king’s laws.

The disease of anti-Semitism has persisted through the generations and continues today, with all its false accusations, paranoia and dangerous consequences. How are we to cope with this deep-seated irrationalism? How are we to explain this to our children and grandchildren?

                                                                     *   *   *

Each generation of Jewish parents and grandparents seems to face the same dilemma. We teach our children and grandchildren that all humans are created in the image of God; that we should respect and assist others; that love of God necessarily entails love of God’s creations.

Yet, these right and proper teachings are challenged by the realities which our children and grandchildren witness with their own eyes. They see thousands of missiles shot at Israel by Hamas terrorists with the aim of killing as many Jews as possible. They see throngs of Palestinians cheering as missiles are launched to murder Jews. They hear the rantings of the President of Iran who calls for the annihilation of Israel. They read of anti-Semitic diatribes and attacks by anti-Semites throughout the world. They see the large number of countries at the United Nations who consistently vote against Israel, who consistently side with those who would destroy Israel. They know of the so-called humanitarian groups and journalists who seem to find fault only with Israel, but rarely, if ever, with the vicious enemies of Israel. 

We Jewish parents and grandparents constantly teach our young generations about love of God, love of humanity, the sanctity of human life. Yet, there are so many millions of fellow human beings who are saturated with hatred, who engage in murderous activities against us. And there are so many millions of others who are complicit with the evils of anti-Semitism by their neutrality or silence.

How can we teach of love in a world filled with hatred? How can we teach that all humans are created in the image of God, when so many humans are actively trying to murder us? How can we preach the goodness of humankind, when so much of humankind is engaged in violence? 

For thousands of years, our people have weathered the storms of persecution. In spite of the senseless hatred and violence perpetrated against us in so many lands, the Jewish people are still here to tell our story.  Our enemies always disappear; we always survive. That is an iron law of history. And that bothers the anti-Semites greatly.

Why do anti-Semites give us such a hard time? Why do people who do not even know us express hatred and malevolence toward us? Why do Israel’s enemies persist in demonizing the Jewish State, rather than  finding a way to co-exist peacefully and happily?

Jews represent an infinitesimal fraction of the world’s population. Yet, so much negative energy is directed against us! I suppose we should feel complimented to receive so much attention!

Our enemies are astounded and troubled by the fact that such a tiny Jewish people has been able to accomplish so much. We gave the world Moses, King David, Isaiah and Queen Esther. Our Bible is venerated by Christianity and Islam and has been a major influence for human civilization. Our sages have produced an unmatched legacy of literature dedicated to righteousness, ethics and law. For thousands of years, our communities have striven to maintain the highest ideals of our tradition.

Jews have distinguished themselves for service to humanity far out of proportion to our numbers. Our enemies resent our persistent commitment to excellence: generations of Jewish doctors and teachers, social workers and scientists, artists and philanthropists, business people and diplomats. They resent the incredibly high proportion of Jewish Nobel Prize winners and other world-class intellectuals and writers.

Some hate us because they see in us a highly educated, highly idealistic, highly charitable group. In contrast to their much larger groups, we are an annoying paradigm. The enemies of Israel do not understand how a tiny Jewish State has become a world leader in science and technology, agriculture and industry. How can such a small State, constantly embattled and boycotted by much of the Arab world, be so amazingly successful in so many ways? How is it that only Israel of all countries in the Middle East has been able to maintain a vibrant and dynamic democracy, a society that gives so much freedom to all its citizens?

Our enemies solve their dilemma by denying or belittling Jewish virtues, or by blaming us for preventing their own advancement. When they cannot come to grips with their own shortcomings, they look for a scapegoat: and we are a convenient target since we are so small and yet so visible. If anything, their anti-Semitism is a blatant admission of their own failings and weaknesses. Those who devote themselves to hatred thereby undermine their own humanity.

The Jewish people are persistent in believing in the ultimate goodness of humanity. In spite of all our enemies and all their hatred, we remain eternally optimistic. We believe that reason and benevolence will prevail. We work to make society better and to alleviate suffering. We believe that even wicked human beings can be redeemed through love and compassion. We can point to many millions of people who think kindly and warmly toward Jews and toward the Jewish State. The good people far outnumber the anti-Semites.

When we come under fire from anti-Semites, we call on our collective historic memory to give us strength. We have survived the millennia due to the incredible courage and fortitude of our forebears. We are the children of the prophets who taught justice, righteousness and love to the world. Our teachings are right: the world simply hasn’t absorbed them as yet.

How can we teach of love in a world filled with hatred? How can we teach that all humans are created in the image of God, when so many humans are actively trying to murder us? How can we preach the goodness of humankind, when so much of humankind is engaged in violence? 

We teach these things because they are true, and because they are the ideas and ideals that can best bring fulfillment to humanity. In spite of so much hatred and evil in the world, the Jews teach love and righteousness.

The day will come when hatred and bigotry will disappear from humanity. In the meanwhile, we must stay strong, courageous and faithful to our tradition. And to our collective Jewish memory.

To our members and friends

We congratulate our Campus Fellows for their ongoing programming through this difficult time of COVID-19. They have transitioned to Zoom and other technologies to reach their peers, and now their programs are available to students on other campuses. We appreciate how our Ideas and Ideals are bringing meaningful discussion to students everywhere.

Looking ahead to next year, if you know of college students who might be good representatives for our Institute on their campuses, please have them contact me, [email protected].

Here are the latest programs from our Fellows.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel

National Scholar

Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals

Yona Benjamim (Columbia)

In my initial proposal I outlined two events, one on the memory of the history of the Mishnah, and one on the uses of text criticism in learning. This changed slightly wherein I instead chose to have the two topics be both related to text study. One being lower criticism, and the second being higher criticism. I hosted both gatherings in the dorms and each had about 13-15 attendees.

The first event began with a discussion of what lower criticism entails (explaining the manuscript traditions and the ways in which they can be compared.) We then discussed why this mode of criticism has at times been more acceptable in traditional circles, as it does not threaten the aura of the text but rather discusses its recension through time.  However I brought a case in which lower critical observations show that traditional understandings of a topic in the Mishnah are perhaps misinformed due to very early scribal errors. This case was meant to show that the insights the method provides are large and should be invited, but that one should not think that one will not be challenged by what one learns. We discussed the idea of Yeridat-Hadorot as a way to understand the potential failures of textual transmission in our tradition. 

The second event largely concerned higher criticism, which I disseminated some prior reading about. We discussed how it might initially seem to be antithetical to a reverential attitude towards Rabbinic texts and Halacha, however I offered a Shamma Freidman article I had read in a previous class which outlines what I consider to be a positive take on what text study can offer. I also taught a series of Mishnayot and their parallel texts which I was writing my final research paper on so as to explain what learning with a source critical perspective can look like. 

Overall both events were a success. I discussed the institute at both and explained how I felt the values of the institute were reflected in the learning we were doing. This was received well and I expect similar enthusiasm could be had for more events like this in the future. 

Zac Tankel (McGill University)

Last semester, we had two Institute events. The first was on October 3^rd, and it was a shiur by David Chaim Wallach, a Judaic studies teacher from one of the local high schools. The topic was religiously observant Jews in prison and repentance. You can see the social media page for the event here: https://www.facebook.com/events/2473512592698137/. 

The second was a discussion group that I ran on November 28^th, based on Afterlife in Jewish Thought from Keys to the Palace.  https://www.facebook.com/events/474138363453231/

Ayelet Rubenstein (University of Pennsylvania)

I am planning on leading a discussion about different models of Jewish leadership over Zoom. In addition, I am working on planning a Pesach-oriented discussion related to the topic of freedom in our lives today.

Avi Siegal (Princeton University)

Rabbi Yitzchak Blau's class on "Women in the Exodus Narrative" on 3/2 was a success. It was publicized as "Co-sponsored by the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals." The class was well-attended given our community's size: around 20 students came. Before Rabbi Blau began speaking, I said a few words about the Institute and then passed around a sheet on which students could write down their names in order to subsequently receive information from me about signing up for the University Network. I later followed up with those students.

For my second event this semester, I'm thinking of leading a Zoom chaburah on the topic of triage in Halakhah.

Marta Dubov (Ryerson University)

On February 15, we organized about 12 students to come together and experience a community-wide Shabbaton together. A number of them have expressed interest in joining the university network, as well as potentially taking on the role as fellows on their own campuses.

Ari Barbalat (University of Toronto)

In partnership with Rabbi Aaron Greenberg of JLIC, we hosted scholar Roy Doliner. He spoke on the topic: “The Ox and the Donkey: The Secret Meaning of the Bible’s Odd Couple.”

Eli Hyman, Ora Friedman (Yeshiva University)

We’re working with Steven Gotlib (RIETS) to plan two panel discussions (see Steven Gotlib’s report below).

Additionally, the event that we were planning on doing (a Shiur followed by a discussion/Q and A with Rabbi Hajioff), is still on.  We hope to have it over Zoom early in May, and the topic will be “Five Signs We Are Close to Mashiach and the End of Days.”

Steven Gotlib (Rabbi Isaac Elhanan Theological Seminary, Yeshiva University)

For this semester's events, I'll be transitioning online and hosting two panel discussions on "Reimagining Jewish Community in the Wake of COVID-19." Each panel will be framed by some words of Torah I give, followed by a discussion on how we've can make the best of the situations we find us in. 

The first panel, scheduled for next Thursday evening from 8:30-10pm will be framed with "Zooming into the Future: R. Shagar, R. Nachman and the Matrix" followed by a panel discussion with speakers representing the four corners of Jewish community: Yeshiva, Day School, Campus, and Synagogue. 

The second panel, Date TBD, will be framed around "Love, Romance, and Covenant Across Social Distance" and will focus more on interpersonal and intrapersonal relationships from both a psychotherapeutic and rabbinic perspective. 

All of us are deeply concerned by the Covid 19 pandemic. We worry about health…physical, spiritual, mental, emotional, financial etc.  Most of us are sheltering in place; our world is contracting.

The ancient Israelites were enslaved in Mitsrayim—the Hebrew name for Egypt. The word mitsrayim comes from the root tsar, meaning “narrow and confined.” The Israelites were not only in physical servitude, but they suffered from the psychological pains of being in bondage. They lacked freedom to go where they wanted when they wanted. It was a depressing, anxiety-ridden time.

We now find ourselves in a modern-day mitsrayim. We are dealing with the narrowing of options and with confinement.

Rabbi Benzion Uziel, late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel, offered an explanation of the Korekh “sandwich” eaten during the Seder. This custom goes back to Hillel the Elder who used to put together the matzah and maror and eat them together. This was based on the verse (Bemidbar 9:11) that instructed people to eat the Pessah offering with matzah and maror.

Rabbi Uziel noted that the matzot were eaten after the Israelites left Egypt, and are therefore a symbol of freedom. The bitter herbs, maror, are eaten as a reminder of slavery in Egypt. We eat both of them together to remind us that freedom and slavery are intertwined elements of life. We always find ourselves between exile and redemption. But even at a time when we are experiencing the bitter herbs of life, we should be awake to the possibility of redemption; we must maintain hope.

Today when we are in a sort of mitsrayim--when our lives are increasingly confined and narrowed-- we need to strengthen ourselves as much as possible. Each word of comfort and consolation is helpful. Each prayer to the Almighty is important. We need to reach out as often as possible to relatives and friends, to those who may be feeling excessive isolation and loneliness. We push back at the powers of mitsrayim by trying to enlarge our lives through communication with others (while strictly observing the social distancing rules). Phone calls, emails, online interactions help bring light into our lives.

This year’s Sedarim will indeed be different from all other Pessah nights. We pray that the Almighty will give strength and wisdom to all the health care professionals and scientists who are working so diligently to combat the pandemic. We pray that the Almighty will bless all of us with all manner of good health. We pray for a speedy end to this world wide plague.

May we soon emerge from this time of mitsrayim and may we soon enter a period of freedom and redemption.

In his study of the killer heat wave that struck Chicago in 1995, Eric Klinenberg found that elderly people died especially when they lacked social networks.  The heat was just as deadly, but the old men and women who lived alone survived, in general, if they had someone to look in on them, to call them, or to ask how they were doing.  Without that minimal level of social contact, they were much less likely to survive.   You can read Klienberg’s conclusions in his book, Heat Wave: A Social Autopsy of Disaster in Chicago. 

Like the Chicago heat wave, the coronavirus pandemic seems more deadly for the old than for the young.  It seems probable that it will, again like the heat wave, especially strike socially isolated people.  The visitor who asks after someone’s health could well make the difference between survival and death.  But now, faced with the corona virus, we all need to isolate ourselves, to limit our meetings with people.  We must not pay physical visits to our neighbors; telecommunications must replace physical visits.

Observant Jews, however, generally will avoid using telecommunications devices for three consecutive days next week: two days of Yom Tov running right into Shabbat (a little easier in Israel, with only one day of Yom Tov).   For an old person living alone, those three days might prove deadly.   Even for a couple, if one of the two must go the hospital, the other will remain at home, isolated, worried, not expecting to communicate  with anyone.

Perhaps, under these circumstances, observant Jews must use telecommunications to keep tabs on isolated neighbors, friends, or relatives.  Observant Jews in isolation must decide whether to use devices to call on their support systems.

What guidance can we offer to people facing these decisions?

I trust that your local rabbi has extensive knowledge of the intricacies of halakhah, the rules of Jewish observance.  However, this question does not depend on the intricacies of halakhah.  It does depend on your assessment of the reality: How frail is Aunt Sadie? Might Uncle Harry remember to take his medicine? What could happen if I get seriously depressed?

No one absolutely knows how to assess this reality. It depends, to some extent, on guesswork.  You have to act or not act based on incomplete knowledge.  You – whether you are frail and isolated, or whether you know someone in that category, you have to decide.  What should you do?

Consider what the Talmud advises in a possibly related case:

If a child gets locked in a room on Shabbat, the Talmud rules that one must chop down the door to free the child.  Whoever does this more quickly deserves praise, and one does not need to ask permission from a rabbinic court (Yoma 84b).

Later authorities codify this ruling (Rambam Shabbat 2:17; Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim 328:13).  R. Yosef Karo adds “whoever asks (for permission in such a situation) spills blood” (Orah Hayyim 328:2). R. Y. M. Epstein goes further: “Whoever is asked spills blood.”  Why?  If the student asks whether to intervene instead of acting at once, that shows that the teacher “should have taught the public that intervening to protect life takes precedence over the laws of Shabbat”   (Arukh HaShulhan, Orah Hayyim 328:1).

Do you feel conflicted about whether to call on your neighbor, or to call your neighbor for help? Rabbi Eugene Korn puts the answer to this dilemma succinctly: “In the end, after taking in as much halakhic knowledge as we can, it is a personal decision because only the people directly involved can best assess the gravity of the potential pikuach nefesh (intervention to protect life) status of  Aunt Sadie.”

Rabbi Korn continues: “I would also add that if we are placed in an existential dilemma like this, it is better to be  machmir (strict) on safek pikuach nefesh (a doubtful need to intervene to protect life) than on lo tivaru aish” (“do not light a fire on Shabbat”.Exodus 35:3 or whatever other prohibition may exist on using telecommunication on Shabbat).

Yoel Finkelman wisely suggests that rabbis do have a role in the determination:

Perhaps the job of rabbis, who know the halakhah but not necessarily the reality, is to guide people who know more about their friends and relatives to be willing to pick up the phone. The prohibition is deeply ingrained and visceral. People will need help to believe that they can and should reach out using electronic devices.

In short, to use a phrase from the Talmud: “Be more strict about danger than about prohibitions.”

There are practices and some beliefs in Judaism that most people today would define as superstitions. My aim here is to investigate some of these in order to see to what extent these practices or beliefs are coeval with what was considered science at the time of our Sages.

            A source that suggests that the Sages were interested in what may be described as the science of their time appears in bPesahim 94b. The source also indicates that there was interest in the science of the non-Jewish world, though the Sages were not always in agreement with its findings:

Our Rabbis taught: The sages of Israel say, “The orbit (of the constellations) is fixed, but the constellations shift.” But the sages of the nations say, “The orbit (of the constellations) moves, but the constellations are fixed.” Rabbi said, “There is a response to their words: We have never seen Ursa Major in the South and Scorpio in the North….” The sages of Israel say, “During the day the sun travels beneath the firmament (and therefore is visible), and at night it travels above the firmament (and therefore cannot be seen).” But the sages of the nations say, “During the day the sun travels below the firmament, and at night it travels beneath the earth. Rabbi said, “Their words appear more logical than ours. For during the day springs (deep in the earth) are cold, and at night they are hot (relative to the external temperature).”

As it turns out, modern science would invalidate all of these theories since our perception of the movement of the sun through the zodiacal constellations is just that: perception, but not reality. What is moving is the earth. But the ancients, just like us, did not feel the earth turning and therefore assumed it was stationary. What they could see was what appeared to be the movement of the sun, sometimes through the constellations, sometimes during its daily “risings” and “settings.”

More important than the accuracy of what we might call ancient science, this talmudic source points to interest in the nature of the universe in the ancient world as a matter of human curiosity. Jews and non-Jews engaged in what they considered scientific observation, and there was a Jewish willingness to accept a logical explanation of a phenomenon from whatever source it came.

This willingness to accept what was believed to be scientific truth in antiquity led, as so many scientific findings do, to actions based on these beliefs. Just as the record of astronomy preserved in Pesahim is now known to be incorrect, so, too, are other “scientific” ideas in the Talmud that are derived from Greco-Roman and Persian sources. Nevertheless, these ideas affected Jewish law, behaviors, and belief in their time and sometimes beyond. Some of these practices and beliefs still are observed in the observant Jewish community, while others have fallen by the wayside, often with the aid of significant halakhic authorities and Jewish thinkers. We will inspect some instances of what the Sages in antiquity would have considered scientific truth but today would be dismissed as superstition.

A Fatal Application of Numerology

            A host of societies believed in the power of specific numbers. In those societies, numerology was considered a science. In our case, the Greeks, like so many other peoples including our own, assumed seven to be a particularly powerful number. In a Hippocratic work called Peri Sarkon, in English “Of Flesh,” the writer states:

The seventh month child is born according to logic and lives. It has reason and invariable counting in regard to numbers divisible by seven; but the eighth month’s child never lives. The child of nine months and ten days also lives; it has invariable counting in regard to numbers divisible by seven” (Hippocrates, Peri Eptamenou (On the Seventh Month Embryo) and Peri Oktamenou (On the Eight-Month Embryo) 

            It seems this notion entered into rabbinic thinking as well and is expressed in a halakha that the overwhelming majority of present-day Jews and others would consider not only the result of ignorant superstition, but a cruel and heartless ruling.

            The halakha begins with a Mishnaic rule: “One does not violate Shabbat for a child whose birth date is in doubt nor for an androgyne… (mShabbat 19:3).

            This rule is stated in the context of activities one may do on Shabbat related to healing a circumcision wound. In some cases, these activities are permitted because the circumcision itself would be permitted on Shabbat, and these activities prevent dangerous side effects generated by that act.

            According to the Mishnah, circumcision on Shabbat is prohibited in two cases: When a child’s birth date is in doubt, and when a child is an androgyne, that is, a child exhibits both male and female characteristics.

            There are several possible ways of understanding what the Mishnah meant when it spoke of the case of the child whose birth date is in doubt. One way, perhaps the simplest one, is to say we are not sure whether the child was born on Shabbat. If so, the next Shabbat would be his circumcision day. If, however, the child was born on Sunday, his circumcision would not override Shabbat. In such a case, rather than potentially violating Shabbat by circumcising the child earlier than the eighth day of his birth, we defer the circumcision by one day.

            This, however, is not the Talmud’s understanding of the Mishnah. Rather, it states:

“Nor does (the circumcision) a child of a doubtful birth date allow for the overriding of Shabbat”—What does this include? It includes that which our Rabbis taught, “A child born in the seventh month of gestation, we violate Shabbat on his behalf. A child born in the eight month of gestation, we do not violate Shabbat on his behalf. We do not violate Shabbat for a child about whom we are in doubt as to whether he was born in the seventh month of gestation or in the eighth month. (This is because) a child born in the eighth month of gestation is like a stone. It is prohibited to move it on Sabbath. Its mother, however, may bend over and suckle it because of the danger (to her)” (bShabbat 135a).

            It is interesting that the Talmud chooses to understand the notion of “a child whose birth date is in doubt” as related to months of gestation rather than to a doubt about the day on which the child was born. It seems the Talmud takes this tack because a doubt about a day of birth is clearly easier to determine than the month of gestation, and the word “doubt” could cover both cases.

            More to the point in this presentation is the idea that a child born in the seventh month of gestation is considered viable and all activities that would require overriding Shabbat may be done for him. A child born in the eighth month of gestation, however, is regarded as dead (“it is like a stone”), and like any corpse, may not be moved on Shabbat due to the rules of muktzeh. These rules prohibit the movement of items that have no use on Shabbat or holy days. The child’s mother may not move him. The most she can do is suckle the baby so that she does not become endangered due to an excess of breast milk.

            It is obvious that this halakha at least shares the Greeks’ ideas about numerology and most likely drew its conclusions on the basis of Hippocratic medicine. In the classical world and late antiquity, Hippocratic medicine and numerology would have been viewed as science, and there would be no reason for the rabbis to ignore these “facts” in deciding the law. Indeed, the medical profession was still accepting the idea that seventh-month babies live and eighth-month ones die from the classical period through late antiquity, the middle ages, and into early modernity (Dr. Rosemary E. Reiss, MD and Avner D. Ash, PhD, “The Eight-Month Fetus: Sources for a Modern Superstition,” Obstetrics and Gynecology, 71:2, 1988, Ohio University, pp. 270–273).

            Our experience with gestation based on observation rather than reliance on numerology has made us aware that babies who gestate for eight months have as much a chance of survival, if not a better one, than babies with less gestation time. It is no wonder that today we consider the science of the rabbis in this halakhic case, and the numerological science of their predecessors, the Greeks, superstition. But as my title suggests, one person’s science is another’s superstition. This transition takes place as more and more sophisticated scientific methodologies supplant older ones.

            This analysis is less a defense of the sages than it is a study of cultural interplay and the use of what were deemed reliable facts when one culture learns from another. As our opening source about the scientific discourse between the rabbis and the sages of the nations indicated, the rabbis were interested in how the world works and Rabbi Judah Hanasi, the preeminent rabbinic figure of the late second century, defended Jewish scientific perceptions when he felt those observations were correct. He was, however, willing to concede that sometimes the perceptions of non-Jewish wise men, most likely Greco-Roman philosopher-scientists, appeared to be more reasonable than the Jewish ones. To the extent that that was generally true in the world of formative rabbinic Judaism, it is not surprising that what was considered scientific fact in the world at large impacted the thinking of the rabbis in the world of the Bet Midrash. Nevertheless, as scientific knowledge of gestation has progressed, it is clear that maintenance of the life of an eighth month fetus is a given (Rebecca Garber, “The Eighth Month Conundrum,” YU Torah, www.yutorah.org › lectures › lecture.cfm › the-eighth-month-conundrum, pp. 1–2.)

The Efficacy of Incantations

            Virtually every society in antiquity and well beyond believed in the efficacy of incantations. Egypt, Sumer, Akkad, Greece, and Rome all used and believed in the power of incantations. This belief was considered to be based on “facts” like the incontrovertible existence of gods, the connection between humans and the natural world they inhabited and over which they had some control, and similar factors. In that respect, incantation was “scientific” and the formulation of incantations was certainly a science, often delegated to expert practitioners.

            One of the bases for the belief in the power of incantations finds its roots in the belief in the power of words. According to the Torah, God’s words caused every created thing to emerge. Hence, Judaism and its interpreters would very naturally consider the power of the word effective in incantations. Beyond the overall belief in incantations held by many rabbis, the different societies that surrounded the rabbis contributed measurably to the formulae they thought worked.

            First, we will consider some of the earliest rabbinic sources dealing with incantations in general. We will then turn our attention to specific incantations and their origins.

            Some rabbis represented in rabbinic literature considered incantations for the purpose of healing effective. One early source, the Mishnah in mSanhedrin 10:1, discusses those who do not enter the World to Come and mentions “one who incants over a wound.” The larger context of this Mishnah is a rabbinic discourse on what qualifies as a prohibited belief or a failure of appropriate belief.

             Is the one who incants involved in one of these problematic beliefs? It seems not, since he uses a verse of the Torah as the powerful element in his incantation. The denial of a portion in the World to Come to one who uses an incantation over a wound lies elsewhere.

            It is Rabbi Akiba who opines that “one who incants over a wound” is excluded from the World to Come. It is not clear, however, that Rabbi Akiba did not believe in the power of incantations and therefore opposed them as superstitious beliefs. Rather, opposition to incantation, at least as the Mishnah records it, appears restricted to the use of the Torah verse, “All the diseases I brought upon Egypt I will not bring upon you, for I am the Eternal, your healer” (Exodus 15:26). Both Talmuds (bSanhedrin 101a, bShevu`ot 15b and pSanhedrin 10:1, 28a–b) understand Rabbi Akiba’s prohibition as resulting from a lack of honor to the Torah, either because incantation includes spitting along with the use of a verse including God’s name, or because the Torah’s sanctity is devalued by secular use.

            It seems that with the Mishnah’s notable exception, rabbinic sources viewed incantations in general as effective. Indeed, a Baraita which the Talmud cites permits “an incantation against snakes and scorpions on Shabbat” (bSanhedrin 101a). The commentators understand this incantation as an effective prophylactic against the damage these poisonous animals can cause.

            The special permission to use this incantation on Shabbat is related to the Shabbat prohibition of hunting or trapping animals. Since the authors of this permissive halakha viewed the incantation against snakes and scorpions as effective, snakes and scorpions would be dsequestered somewhere away from the one using the incantation. One might think this was a form of trapping these animals, which is forbidden on Shabbat. The Baraita negates that idea. Though the incantation may be effective, it does not constitute the physical act of sequestering the snakes and scorpions which would indeed entail violating Shabbat.

A Zoroastrian Influenced Incantation and Cure for Rabies in the Talmud?

            As an example of incantations, this extended talmudic passage on attempted cures for contact with rabid dogs or for their bite is instructive. Incantations and attempted cures for rabies are well attested for Sumer and Akkad, two Ancient Near Eastern societies (Wu Yuhong, “Rabies and Rabid Dogs in Sumerian and Akkadian Literature,” Journal of the American Orientalist Society, 121:1, January–March, 2001, pp. 32–43). Obviously, given the likelihood of recovery from this disease, invocation of the gods or other supernatural powers or adjuring them was a last-ditch effort to save the patient. Incantation, often along with medication of some sort, was, as we have seen, believed to be a potent force for healing by the world community in general and by the Jews in particular.

            In mYoma 8:6 there is a discussion about someone whom a rabid dog bit. The Mishnah addresses the question of whether one may feed this individual a lobe of the dog’s liver, which was considered a possible cure. The anonymous Mishnah forbids feeding this to someone on Yom Kippur on the grounds that it is an uncertain cure. Rabbi Mattiyah ben Heresh allowed it because he considered it a true cure (bYoma 84a). A talmudic passage discusses the rabid dog and how to deal with its touch or bite:

One who touches a rabid dog endangers himself, and one who is bitten dies. If one touches a rabid dog and is endangered, what is his cure? He should throw of his clothes and run. A rabid dog touched Rabbi Huna the son of Rabbi Joshua in the marketplace. He threw off his clothes and ran. He said, “I fulfilled in regard to myself, ‘Wisdom preserves its master’ (Ecclesiastes 7:12).”

The one who is bitten dies: What is his cure? Abbaye said, “He should bring the skin of a male hyena and he should write on it, “I, so-and-so the son of my mother, so-and-so, have written on a male hyena’s skin ‘To you, Kanti, Kanti, Qaliros,’ and there are those who say: ‘Qandi, Qandi, Kalurus,’ Yah, Yah, the Lord of Hosts is His name.’” He should then remove his clothes and bury them in a cemetery for a year. He should then retrieve them, burn them in an oven, and spread the ashes on a crossroad.

What should he do for the year’s time? When he drinks water, he should drink only through a brass straw lest he see a demon and endanger himself….(bYoma 84a)

            One wonders how many people survived rabies by using the cures and incantations the Talmud suggests, but one can begin to understand why at least some of the talmudic suggestions were at least reasonable to a degree. For example, the sages acknowledged danger caused by touching a rabid dog. This may have been due to the sages’ belief that the disease infecting the animal could infect humans by contact, which in the case of many diseases is true. The sages’ remedy consisting of casting away the garments which came in contact with the dog would almost suggest a rudimentary germ theory: What the diseased animal touches becomes a source of infection from which one needs to be distance oneself. This might also explain why the one who touches or is touched by a rabid dog must run from his garment. If the garment is a source of infection, the best idea would be to distance oneself from it, just as we would distance ourselves from someone whose disease could be spread aerially.

            We know today that simple contact with a rabid dog will not cause rabies. Only the entry of its saliva or matter from its brain or nervous system into the human body by bite, through a scratch, or through a mucus membrane can cause the disease. So, the “science” of the ancients would be considered superstitious today.

            Turning to the case of a bite by a rabid dog, which even the Talmud initially declares fatal, if there is a remedy at all for the bite, it is by incantation and a variety of rites supposed to provide healing. Here, too, we see what will be a cross-cultural sharing of healing or protective techniques.

            Most immediately noticeable is the incantation formula “Kanti, Kanti, Qaliros” or “Qandi, Qandi, Kalurus” alongside the abbreviated form of the Tetragrammaton and the phrase “the Lord of Hosts is His name” which the bitten individual writes on hyena skin. According to Alexander Kohut in his `Arukh Completum, these foreign words are actually in Middle Persian and refer to Kunda, or in some talmudic manuscripts as Kundis. In the case of Kunda/Kundi, this is a reference to the Zoroastrian demon of madness and destruction, Kundag. If the reference is to Kundis, this is Kundizha, the feminine form of Kundag. The last word of the incantation, Qaliros or Kalurus, may be a combination of the last letter of Kundag’s full name plus liros or lurus, which according to Kohut has the double meaning of madness and female dog in Middle Persian. Thus, this incantation is very much a mixture of a Zoroastrian belief in demons of destruction and madness and the power of the God of Israel to overcome them.

            In regard to the hyena skin, the hyena was considered in antiquity and until this day an animal with magical powers. This was true around the world: in Europe and Western and Southern Asia (J. W. Frembgen, “The Magicality of the Hyena: Beliefs and Practices in West and South Asia,” Asian Folklore, 57: 2, 1998, pp. 331–344). Its skin was believed to possess the power to heal, but mostly people used its body parts as love and fertility charms. Therefore, its use as part of the cure for rabies is not at all surprising. Rather, it is another instance of Jews sharing the cultural norms and “scientific” beliefs of the society in which they lived.

            No doubt the other rites and recommendations that this talmudic passage contains are part of the general society’s best practices for attempting to cure rabies. The Talmud’s remedy is more hopeful in terms of results than the reality is likely to have been. Most people died if a rabid dog bit them, and a year’s survival and full cure as described in the Talmud would have been miraculous.

Spontaneous Generation

            Spontaneous generation is best defined as the production of a living organism from non-living matter. Starting with the Greek philosophers who studied living things, especially Aristotle who summarized the theory, and into the nineteenth century, spontaneous generation was considered a scientific fact that explained such things as the generation of maggots. In that case, it was believed they sprung from rotting meat. The Talmud also accepted the theory of spontaneous generation and even based a Shabbat halakha on it.

            A Mishnaic passage leads into the talmudic discussion that includes the reference to spontaneous generation:

The eight creeping things that are mentioned in the Torah: one who hunts them or wounds them [on Shabbat] is liable; But [as for] other abominations and creeping things, one who wounds them is exempt. One who hunts them for use is liable; Not for use, is exempt…. (mShabbat 14:1)

            The Torah lists eight “creeping things” in Leviticus 11:29–30, and it is to these things the Mishnah refers. According to the Mishnah if one hunts them or wounds them one is in violation of one or the other of two Shabbat prohibitions. Somewhat surprisingly though, someone who wounds other “abominations and creeping things” is exempt, and depending on the reason for which one hunts them is either liable for a Shabbat violation or exempt.

            The Talmud discussion takes its cue from the Mishnaic exemption from Shabbat violation for wounding “abominations and creeping things” other than the eight listed in the Torah:

“…Other abominations and creeping things, one who wounds them is exempt”: However, if one kills them, one violates Shabbat.

Who is the one who teaches this? Rabbi Jeremiah said, “It is Rabbi Eliezer’s teaching,” as it is taught in a Baraita: “One who kills a louse on Shabbat is as one who killed a camel.”

Rav Yosef raised an objection: “Up until this point the Sages did not argue with Rabbi Eliezer (about the violation of Shabbat for killing a creeping thing) except for a louse, which does not reproduce sexually. But the Sages did not dispute his ruling regarding other creeping things that do procreate sexually….”

Abbaye responded (to Rav Yosef), “Is it so that lice do not reproduce sexually? Has it not been said, ‘The holy Blessed One sits and sustains everything from the horns of the wild ox to the eggs of lice’ (b`Avodah Zarah 3b)”

(Anonymous response to Abbaye): “There is a specific species called ‘lice eggs’ (but lice themselves do not procreate sexually)….”

            In antiquity, the general view about the generation of lice was that they were produced by sweat or dust. For Jews, the Torah’s description of the plague of lice brought on Egypt would substantiate this view since “all the dust became lice” (Exodus 8:13).

            By the nineteenth century, Pasteur had proved conclusively that spontaneous generation has no scientific basis. Yet, in an age when no microscopes were available and mere observation was all one could rely on, the appearance of creatures apparently emerging from rotting meat or sweaty parts of the body became the scientific explanation for the source of their existence.

            Anyone believing in spontaneous generation today would be viewed as mistaken at best or foolish at worst. But in antiquity, such a person would have been considered reasonable. Again, one man’s science becomes a later man’s superstition.

Ruach Ra`ah, Evil Spirits, Possession, and Mental Illness

            The Tanakh records one case of ruach ra`ah, which I will translate as “evil spirit,” that affected the emotional state of an individual. That individual was Saul. After Samuel secretly anoints David as king, God’s spirit departs from Saul, “…and an evil spirit (ruach ra`ah) from the LORD began to terrify him” (I Samuel 16:14). The last days of Saul were filled with anxiety, paranoia, and often unreasonable anger directed at David and even his own son. In sum, God caused Saul’s possession by an “evil spirit.”

            The idea of a form of possession by a deity as the cause of mental illness was held by the Mesopotamians. They called various mental illnesses the “Hand of Ishtar” or the “Hand of Shamash” in which the hand of the god seized the victim of the disease (Wikepedia, The History of Mental Disordershttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_mental_disorders).

            Other ancient societies, however, did not view mental illness as possession by a god or demon. Egypt sought the source of disease in the heart or brain. The Greek physicians were divided as to whether mental illness was an imbalance in the so-called “humors,” black bile, yellow bile, phlegm, and blood. Asclepiades rejected the humoral theory as a source for mental illness, while Galen, whose medical opinion eventually won, held that an imbalance of the humors in the brain caused mental illness.

            We are quite aware today that possession by a god or demon is not the cause of such ailments as depression, bipolar disorder, or schizophrenia. Rather, these diseases are due to a multiple possible causes: imbalances in the chemicals of the brain, problems in intra-brain communication, malformations of the brain, and a range of external conditions such as genetics, drug use during pregnancy, abuse, and the like.

            Yet, in late antiquity, rabbinic Jewish sources assigned the cause for these conditions to what we may call “Saul’s original ruach ra`ah.” Here are a few examples of Mishnaic uses of “ruach ra`ah” and halakha based on it:

            In a Mishnaic section we read on Erev Shabbat we find:

One who extinguishes a Shabbat lamp because he fears non-Jews, highwaymen, a “ruach ra`ah,” or for a sick person is exempt (from full Shabbat violation)…. (mShabbat 2:5)

            Similarly, in m`Eruvin 4:1 we find:

Someone who was forcibly taken outside the Shabbat limit (of 2,000 cubits from the city limits) by non-Jews or by a “ruach ra`ah” has only four cubits (in which he may move about on Shabbat). If they returned him (into the Shabbat limit), it is as if they had never taken him outside (the limit)….

            In both sources the term “ruach ra`ah” appears, but what does it mean? Since the sources themselves do not say, we turn to the commentators for clarification.

            In relation to the first Mishnah, Shabbat 2:5, Maimonides and Bertenuro both define “ruach ra`ah” as mental illness. Maimonides seems to equate it with depression in which the depressive finds light uncomfortable and seeks a dark, preferably, lonely place to get rest. Maimonides’ diagnosis seems to fit the symptoms of what he describes in Arabic as “melancholia.” Therefore, to mitigate the torment of a depressive, one could extinguish a Shabbat lamp without violating the Shabbat.

            The second Mishnah, `Eruvin 4:1, indicates a similar meaning for “ruach ra`ah.” If the first mishnaic case seems to indicate some sort of mental illness, here, too, it seems that a one-time, short psychotic episode is implied. Indeed, there exists a phenomenon called somewhat inaccurately “single episode schizophrenia” (Kate Rosen, M. Phil., Phillipa Garrety, PhD, Schizophrenia Bulletin, 31:3, 2005, pp. 735–750) since it appears to turn into full-blown schizophrenia within a few years. But any sort of temporary mental disorientation could easily push someone out of the Shabbat limit, and the same disorientation could bring one back into it. Whether that was due to a single episode of schizophrenia or something else, the law allows full use of the Shabbat limit as long as one was forced out of and back into the Shabbat limit against his will. Obviously, “ruach ra`ah” was seen as a psychological force majeure that could not be resisted any more than non-Jewish attackers.

            While mental illness has been part of the human experience from the earliest times, the notion that the various psychiatric ailments are the product of demons and evil spirits has seen its day. Yet, for the ancients, how could they explain the frequently sudden changes in behavior mental illness caused? Everything from humoral imbalance, not that far from the theory of chemical imbalance as the cause for mental illness, to possession explained the phenomenon. So, once again, one person’s science is another’s superstition.

Conclusion

            This article has pointed to a number of phenomena that the ancient world held to be scientific, though today we know they have no scientific basis at all and are, at least in our opinion, superstitions. Many of these phenomenon are not at all worthless since they show that rabbinic Jews took part along with all of humanity in the attempt to explain their world. Indeed, if they had not, where halakha required knowledge of nature, they would have been not been prepared for the work that was quintessentially theirs.

            Further, the examples assembled here show the sages intersecting with their surroundings. Whether it was the Greco-Roman or Sassanid Babylonian world, Jews, rabbinic or otherwise, participated in the scientific “best practices” of their time. Cross-cultural knowledge was not foreign to them nor eschewed by them.

            Last, but not least, we should be aware that what we consider normal Jewish practice is, in fact, often superstition. On the parchment of your mezuzah you will find what is more or less an incantation—kuzu b’mukhsaz kuzu based on a letter transference of “the Eternal our God is the Eternal” (Hashem Elo-henu Hashem). Even Sha-dai on the mezuzah may be a protective name to ward off a shed, a demon, who shares two letters of God’s Holy name. And when did an observant caterer ever serve fish with meat or not provide different silverware for each? Why? Because the mixture of the two could cause halitosis, or worse, davar aher, usually understood as leprosy (bPesahim 76b).

            Of course, science has a stronger hold on the human consciousness today than ever before. Nevertheless, as much as human beings seek to be rational beings, there is a side of us that assumes or hopes that there are forces, especially the power of God, that we can call on when all else fails. When what is palpably superstition harms us, rather than having out hopes dashed by trust in that which won’t help, perhaps we should put our trust in the best science can do and the God who guides the hand of the practitioner. Yet, human nature being what it is, a red string tied around one’s wrist may give enough spiritual solace to give some people longer life than expected.

            For all that rationality is significant, the irrational also has shown to be powerful. What many of us would deem one person’s superstition may indeed turn out to be not totally lacking in what we will discover to be based in psychological science.

(Jeremy Rosen is a graduate of Cambridge University in philosophy and studied at and received semikha from Mir Yeshiva in Jerusalem. He has worked in the Orthodox rabbinate, Jewish education, and academia, and currently is the rabbi of the Persian Jewish community of Manhattan.)

The Torah is quite clear in its condemnation of magic and superstition. So, too, is the Talmud and most certainly and explicitly, Maimonides. Magic, spells, and superstitions are universal and have been since the earliest record of human cultural activity. They are to be found throughout Jewish history and sources. In many respects, our present Jewish world seems to have regressed to the Middle Ages in its embrace of the paranormal. Sometimes I wonder if there is any room in the world of Torah for rationalism anymore.

Biblical Terminology

The Torah uses a lot of different words for what we subsume under the general term “magic.” Laban uses the word leNahesh, which in modern Hebrew means something like “I took a risk in employing you.” But the Chaldeans of whom he was one, were well known for their interest in the supernatural and that was probably Laban's world. He will have consulted some kind of magic or oracle. There is even a Midrash that says that the rabbis agreed with Chaldean methods.[1] The same word, leNahesh is used of Joseph telling them that he is able to guess, or to divine the real truth about the brothers. Its root suggests lahash, to whisper or talk or even nahash, meaning a snake, with its hissing and slyness. This is the word favored by Balaam when he was invited to curse the Children of Israel. When he realized that he could not countermand God he no longer returned to consult his nahashim. Balaam declared that “There is no witchcraft [nahash] in Jacob and no magic [kessem] in Israel.” Kessem seems to be more a description of objects used in magic rather than a system. When the elders of Moab come to Balaam, they bring kessamim, carrying charms. Someone who uses charms is called a kossem. The word kessem also means a stick—possibly the art of casting down sticks or wooden dice and reading their signs.

 In Egypt, Pharaoh had disturbing dreams and called upon his hartumim, commonly translated as magicians, to interpret them. Most scholars take the origin of the word to come from heret a stylus or engraver and so the hartumim could be those who interpreted texts, perhaps the scientists of those days. It is used in Egypt together with wise men and so must have been one of their sciences: “And Pharaoh called to his wise men and his magicians, mekhashefim,” in which case it could be a synonym for hartumim.

When Moses met God at the burning bush, God used a variety of methods to persuade Moses to take on the assignment of going down to Egypt to get the Children of Israel out. There was a burning bush that did not burn up, a staff that turned into a snake, and an arm that turned leprous. We might have put all these down as miracles performed by God were it not for the fact that the Egyptian hartumim could, initially at any rate, imitate many of Moses's miracles, including the snake trick.

Another word that is used in connection with nahash is onen which might mean telling the future by reading the clouds (since the word for cloud is identical), or it could come from another similar word ana for answering, replying with words to requests for information. Onen is used later in respect of the dead as well. Then there is the word now commonly used for magic, kishuf, which indicates the ability to reveal secrets.

There is another category that involves making something, either an effigy or raising up an image of someone. The words are ov and yidoni, and the Torah talks about not turning toward them (for answers). “Do not turn to the ovs and the yidonis. Do not ask things of them.” There the text adds the prohibition against “asking of the dead.” So it would appear that these elements were part of a procedure of calling up the spirits of the departed. An ov might be an image, figurine, or effigy, and a yidoni might be a spirit or a less material form having some special knowledge (given that yidoni has the same root (y-d-a) as the word for knowledge).

Deuteronomy adds another category, that of the “hover haver.” Literally this means befriending a friend. One can only assume it is a confidant or a private consultant on the affairs of the occult. It could also mean someone who has a special relationship with spirits or is on a higher level, like the honorific term later given to scholars haver.

These are a series of very different categories in the Torah that are forbidden under the general rubric of turning to forces, oracles, symbols, or objects to guide one in one’s actions and decisions. This looks like a very clear objection to magic, witchcraft, astrology, and the various pseudo-sciences that are just as prevalent today as they were 3,000 years ago.

In those days they were associated with idolatry. When it comes to the specific laws of the Torah, there are laws that deal with the penalties for magic and its allied areas. In Exodus there is a specific command to get rid of witches: “A witch (mekhashefa) should not be allowed to live.” Why only a witch and not the others mentioned above? The death penalty as prescribed in the Bible was reserved only for the most serious and existential of threats and even so, rarely exercised. And although the word is most commonly used of a female, it is also used of a male wizard.

There are specific commands against individuals to try doing these things. “Do not try to make charms or tell the future” and “Do not turn (for answers) to an image or a spirit, and do not contaminate yourselves with them, for I am God.” Here we go a step further in specifying that this approach is a form of contamination that goes against God directly. The implication is that one should accept God's instructions and no one else's. The same text goes on “Do not eat over blood, do not make charms or tell the future.” Eating blood was strictly forbidden in the Torah. It was a very important part of idolatrous rites in Canaan and has continued to play a role in magic rites supposedly passing on the qualities of the previous “owner” of the blood. We have a clear indication that these practices were rooted in idolatry and the opposition is to the context as well as the act itself.

The clearest evidence of the idolatrous context of these practices comes toward the end of the Torah:

When you come into the land which the Lord your God gives you, do not learn to do the abominations of those nations. There should not be amongst you anyone who passes his son or daughter through fire, a charmer of charms, a reader of clouds, a fortune teller or a magician. A friendly fortune teller or someone who asks of an image or a spirit or asks of the dead. Because God despises anyone who does these things and it is because of these abominations that the Lord your God is driving them out before you. You should be straight with the Lord your God. For these nations that you will displace, they listen to fortune tellers and charmers, but you should not do so.

Then the Torah goes on to talk about the prophet as the prototype of spiritual leadership and spiritual direction. He is the one the Israelites were instructed to turn to for advice and for help in dealing with the unknown, the frightening and the uncertainty of the future. And that was because he or she functioned within the constraints of Torah.

Oracles

Oracles were very much part of the ancient world, in Greece and Rome, using humans, animals, and inanimate objects. The Bible approved of the oracle of the Urim and Tumim that were part of the breastplate of the High Priest. They were occasionally consulted before and during the First Temple period. Interestingly they were also called the ephod, which was as well the name for the basic priestly garment that was also used to describe idolatry objects. However, the Torah ordained that Urim and Tumim were a way of consulting God through the medium of the priest, rather than other forces.

And this was what differentiated them from other pagan forms of oracles. If the message comes from the One God, the vehicle of revelation may vary. This after all is the message of Balaam, a renowned and successful magician, but unable to do anything without God’s approval.

A striking story involves King Saul. Desperate for guidance after the prophet Samuel died, he asked his servants to find him a ba’alat ov, a woman who could produce and communicate with images of the dead. The spirit of Samuel does indeed appear to rise. This seems to indicate that magic in one form or another can achieve results. Yet it was clearly regarded as forbidden.

The very name of Purim is based on what one assumes was a Persian word for the magic lots that Haman cast to determine the appropriate time to destroy the Jews. Haman is portrayed as trying to use this “magic” for his own ends. In contrast, divine influence, even though hidden, is not obvious. Esther's name means “hidden,” and perhaps that is also why God's name is not mentioned directly in the story of Esther. Forces at work behind the scenes are referred to by Haman's wife and his wise men (a parallel with the wise men and magicians of Pharaoh) when they tell him, “If you have begun to fall before him (Mordecai) you will not be able to overcome him.” This is an obvious contrast to the Jewish historical experience, which often has included a decline before rising. This was an assertion of the superiority of the Jewish way of responding to challenges over the pagan way of feeling determined how to act and therefore more passive in the face of adversity.

The Torah, interestingly, does not say that magic is baseless, empty, or primitive. Its instructions are simply not to get involved in it in any way that might have some influence or power over a person. But clearly these practices were so ingrained and popular that they were all but impossible to wipe out as the history of both Israelite Kingdoms illustrate. King Hezekiah had to destroy the serpent from the time of Moses because it was being abused[2] as well as censoring a “Book of Cures.”

The Talmudic Era

By the time of the Talmud, the serious debate centered more on astrology and mazal. There is a difference of opinion as to whether these skills count as part of idolatrous practices and therefore are banned under the general prohibition of anything to do with idolatrous practices, Darkei HaEmori, Emorite, or pagan practices,[3] or whether they count as wisdom: “The men of the east know about mazalot and astrology.” Non-Jewish wisdom that had no heretical connotations was not prohibited, and, on the contrary, was something to be appreciated (there is even a blessing to be said over wise men of all races).[4]

There is also a major difference of opinion as to the extent to which the constellations or various forms of mazalot did or did not influence human behavior. It was at the time a universally accepted idea that there were 12 signs of the Zodiac that were an integral part of the way God's universe was made up and influenced the natural and supernatural world. It was not until modernity that such an idea transitioned from science to superstition.

The term mazal, initially meant no more than the constellations. At some stage, the role changed into one of determining the future in ways bound up with magic and other non-rational esoteric practices. “What did they do wrong? They consulted the stars (signs of the Zodiac), magicians who look at birds and those expert in reading signs. “Tayar,” say some commentators, are the auspices of Roman tradition, the innards of birds, others suggest symbols, the origin of Tarot).”[5]

In the creation process described in Genesis, there is no mention of mazalot. The Torah talks about the sun, the moon, and the stars. But by the Second Book of Kings there is one passage where mazalot replace the stars.[6] The fact that the mazalot are not mentioned in the Torah leads one to argue that the idea of mazalot came later into Israelite life because they were significant in Egyptian and Mesopotamian culture and then in Roman and Christian societies. This may be why Balaam thought they had no impact on the Israelites. But the Talmud is happy associating Abraham with astrology. “Abraham said to God I can see the future in my mazal, that I will only have one son. God took him outside and showed him the heavens and said to him 'Ignore your astrology; mazal has no power over Israel.’”[7]

            The main discussion on mazal in the Talmud above, has R. Yohanan, Rav, R. Yehuda, R. Nahman Bar Yitzhak, R. Akiva, and Shemuel all agree with different sources that mazal has no power over Jews. On the other hand, R. Hanina says there that both wisdom and wealth are influenced by mazal and that every hour of the day has its mazal exercising control over it.[8] The most famous passage from the Talmud that supports the influence of mazal is that “Life (how long a person lives), children (how many or how they turn out), and income do not depend on a person’s deserts but on mazal.”[9] And “There is not a blade of grass that does not have a mazal in the heavens.”[10] “Mazal affects people” seem to assert that something extraterrestrial has an influence, whether it is the constellations or the power of God working through various processes before it reaches humankind. If a person suddenly feels frightened, it may be because although he hasn't seen anything dangerous, his mazal has. But the Talmud responds by saying that the answer is to say the Shema. In other words, having a direct connection to God is a protection against any sub-divine powers or influences. The compromise position is that mazalot exist and have influence. But God controls everything. “There are 12 mazalot God created in the heavens,”[11] or “God controls the mazal.”[12]

            The ayin hara, the evil eye, as well as the fear of curses, played and still plays an enormous part in many people’s lives. Initially a bad eye meant only an attitude, a way of looking at the world negatively. “A bad eye (outlook) and a bad inclination can destroy a person’s world.”[13] The rabbis give different meanings to this: feelings envy, hatred, or negativity. The Hebrew Beli Ayin Hara and the Yiddish expression kenayinhora, may there be no evil eye, are widespread among some Jews…as if just looking at another person really can do harm.

Despite the illogicality of it, the Talmud refers a great deal to its negative effects. For example, there is reference to Joseph protecting one from the evil eye based on a verse in the Bible[14] that Joseph is pleasing to the eye which can be mistranslated as overcoming the (evil) eye. The very concept that a random look or putting a hex on someone can affect a person defies logic. But then logic and superstition are opposite poles. People who feel they are cursed can find it turning into is a self-fulfilling source of anxiety. The pure halakhic response is that if one behaves according to the Torah one should have nothing to fear.

Spirts and Demons[15]

The Talmud continued the biblical polemic against witchcraft. R. Shimon Ben Shetah is reported to have executed 80 women when he waged a campaign against witches. The Talmud records that their families paid him back by framing his son. Yet the Talmud is full of stories of magicians, spells, demons, spirits, and the whole paraphernalia of the ancient and medieval world.

The spirit Ketev Meriri is covered with scales and anyone who sees him cannot survive.[16] If one wants to see the spirits around, he should “get the placenta of a black cat the offspring of another black cat, the firstborn of a firstborn, roast it and grind the ashes, and put them on his eyes and he will see them. Then put the left over into an iron sealed container so that they do not steal it and keep his mouth closed throughout.[17]

Cures

Lists of fanciful cures abound. Here is one example amongst many. “If one has a fever, one should take seven thorns from seven palms, seven chips from seven logs, seven pegs from seven bridges, seven ashes from seven ovens, seven amounts of earth from seven sockets, seven samples of pitch from seven ships, seven pinches of cumin, seven hairs from an old dog, and tie them together to the garment of the sick person with a white thread.”[18] One wonders if in the time it takes to gather all this, the fever might have passed. Perhaps the effort in itself was therapeutic.

So is the prevalence of the ancient idea of charms or in talmudic language, a kameya. The Talmud discusses being able to carry a kameya around one’s neck on Shabbat. It distinguishes between a kameya that “works” and one that has not proven its effectiveness.

Medieval mysticism drew heavily on the non-Jewish world of magic, astrology, and alchemy. Once one leaves rationality or philosophy behind, the gates of superstition are thrown wide open. For them, this was still a world of evil spirits, devils as well as angels; and given the absence of universal health systems it is not surprising that any tool would be used when faced with a crisis of health or wealth.

There are many such charms used in the past and today, written in Hebrew, Aramaic, and local languages, often combining Hebrew letters, quotations from Psalms, kabbalist combinations of letters, not to mention blood, plants, and bones. Of course, in days before modern scientific health provision, people turned to magic for cures, and still do in many parts of the world.

The rabbis completely reject the idea of using sources from religions outside Judaism to bring about cures.[19] Yet if the same methods are used by rabbis acting in the name of God, they become legitimate. Nevertheless, it seems they understood and condoned the placebo effect.

Why Is It Not Acceptable?

Idolatry requires obedience to corrupt practices and symbols that damaged the fabric of a moral, caring society. It delivered people into the random and unpredictable power of priests and magicians who had control over life and death. This conflicts with the Jewish concept of a clear commitment to a known constitution that preserves rights and protects the weak.

The important principle lying behind opposition to magic was the issue of responsibility of a person to decide how to act. The opposition to these practices is because a person is handing over the decision-making process either to another or is subjecting the decisions to random or unknown criteria. This is not the same as asking for advice or seeking out expertise because there, one still has responsibility for the final decision. In Judaism, the expert advice of a great rabbi is still based on clear set of assumptions and criteria. It is handing oneself over to unknown powers that conflicts with the Jewish principle of obedience to God and Torah.

Despite these very definite prohibitions, it is hardly surprising that many Jews around the world still do pay a great deal of attention to good luck charms, things that protect from harm, evil spirits, and demons. And they can point to talmudic and medieval sources to justify their beliefs. Superstition is deeply imbedded in all societies. Sometimes it is associated with and part of the local religion. And even where officially the religion may deny the role of superstition, people often treat the religion in a superstitious way.

Why Does It Continue?

To this day, many people pay attention to astrological charts and go to see miracle workers to discover the appropriate times for business deals and betrothals. It seems that almost everything Maimonides specifies as being wrong and prohibited is popular in many Jewish circles. And what of those who regard the mezuzah as a charm to protect homes? What is more, many people have had experiences with mind readers, palm readers, or psychics that are remarkably correct both about the past and the future. Besides, the Torah does not say these things are all nonsense, just that we should avoid them. And if the Bible can record Samuel's body returning doesn't this prove that there is something to it?

Just because people do things, this does not make them right. The mezuzah is not a charm. It simply reminds us of the principles and the commandments that each home should be dedicated to. The word on the exterior is the name of God. It is God who protects us, not the mezuzah. Yes, we have all heard of “wonders” that happen when we check a mezuzah and find a letter missing, but like all “miracles” there are other ways of seeing what actually happened. We hear about the coincidences and the wonders but not of the cases where nothing happens at all. People are very gullible. That is precisely why so much of the Torah is devoted to attacking these sorts of practices.

The current nostalgic return to the past has led to a roaring trade in our times in wonder rabbis and others offering cures (for money usually). Checking texts for errors, a mezuzah or a ketubah, to explain why things went wrong for a household or a couple. Combining names, all the tricks of astrologers, mind readers, and card sharps are all part of the game. The lines between religion and magic and superstition can be very blurred.

Science and technology have made life so much easier in so many ways. And yet, societies have become so materialist, so stressful, so soulless, and so devoid of human interaction that more and more people look for comfort, solutions, and answers. The human need for a placebo is so strong that this is an area where religion, tacitly if not officially, has capitulated.

The Torah is clear that one can intercede directly with God and that the best protection one can have is to behave according to the commandments. An ability to cope with pressures, to be positive and strong are the only honest answers. But if superstitious beliefs and actions give people hope, it is difficult to wean people from them.

There is room to study these phenomena, to try to understand what is going on and to better understand the universe we are part of. However, the guiding principle is “Be straight with the Lord Your God.”[20]

We have the possibility of a direct and personal relationship with God, and this is the route we should aspire to follow. It is, to give an analogy, the difference between having direct access to the President, instead having to make appointments with his secretaries and assistants. We have no need of intermediaries.