Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

Unlike the Greek philosophers and poets of antiquity, the ancients of Judea did not perceive God as a philosophical construct, nor as a static timeless being, nor as an impersonal cosmic process, energy, force or intelligence and certainly not as a sentimentalized ethical ideal (as expressed by Feuerbach,  Freud, and M. Kaplan). Our spiritual ancestors never apologized  for using human language in describing God.

The writers of the Psalms never hesitated utilizing human language whenever depicting the mystery and Presence of the Divine. Beneath the biblical psyche is a realization that the human drama means something to the Heart of the Divine—even despite humankind’s occasional rejection of Him. God is paradoxically bound up to human history—and even limits His freedom in how He interacts with it (cf. Gen. 6:6).

When the ancient psalmists gazed into the heavens, they did not behold an endless abyss of cosmic nothingness; rather, they beheld a God with whom they could audaciously and personally address as “You.” Unabashedly, the spiritual teachers of Judea used a host of personal pronouns and anthropomorphic metaphors to convey something profound about the mystery of God’s Presence and closeness to the world, without which God could not be known. Martin Buber notes that in addition, anthropomorphic language reflects a deeper significance than most of us realize:

Our need to preserve the concrete quality is evidenced in the encounter. . . .It is in the encounter itself that we are confronted with something compellingly anthropomorphic, something demanding reciprocity, a primary Thou. This is true of those moments of our daily life in which we become aware of the reality that is absolutely independent of us, whether it be as power or as glory, no less than of the hours of great revelation of which only a halting record has been handed down to us. [1]

This same idea runs like a current throughout the literature of the Psalms. In keeping with his ancestors’ religious experience, the psalmist never tires of exclaiming how the God Who creates the heavens and the earth, is still very much still accessible to the prayers of the most ordinary human being. Clearly, “God is close to all who call upon Him, all who call upon Him in truth.” Liberation theologian Leonardo Boff cuts through the chase and remarks, “The psalms reveal the consciousness of this divine proximity.” The visceral language of the Psalms accentuates this closeness, “Praise the LORD, my soul all my inmost being, and praise his holy name “(Psa. 103:1). From the innermost depths of our physical being, we  can encounter God’s Presence and Being. Continue Reading

Language as a Game

One of Ludwig Wittgenstein’s most brilliant philosophical concepts is what he terms as the  Sprachspiel, better known  in English as the “language-game.” Linguistic expression is analogous to the rules of a game,Wittgenstein explains:

“Let us imagine a language. . . .The language is meant to serve for communication between a builder A and an assistant B. A is building with building-stones; there are blocks, pillars, slabs and beams. B has to pass the stones, and that in the order in which A needs them. For this purpose they use a language consisting of the words ‘block’, ‘pillar’, ‘slab’, ‘beam’. A calls them out; –B brings the stone which he has learnt to bring at such-and-such a call. — Conceive of this as a complete primitive language.”[1]

For me, my favorite game is chess. If I point out to my opponent, “Please move your king, it is in check,” the word “king,” or “check” has a specific meaning and relevance to someone who already knows the game. Neither word would make any contextual sense to someone who is unfamiliar with the game’s rules. By the same token, a child will not understand what the word “kitty” means until he or she first experiences seeing or touching a cat. According to Wittgenstein,  One cannot define what a word is, but only how it functions.

Down the “Rabbi” Hole

Rabbinic language–both ancient and modern–also follows a similar kind of formula; how the rabbi interprets or defines a situation, creates a behavioral trajectory leading to certain results.

One of the most significant examples of how this process occurs is with the estranged wife who cannot remarry because her husband refuses to grant her a religious divorce. To say that a woman is an “agunah,” means she is in a social sense barred from resuming a normal life until her marital  status is resolved. From the 2nd century onward, the Sages went out of their way to liberate a “chained” woman like this through just about any kind of legal means possible. This has generally been the policy of most medieval rabbis up to the modern era.

In my early twenties, after receiving ordination at age 22, I decided I wanted to become a  rabbinic judge; one of the areas  I was thoroughly tested in was  Chapter 17 of Eben HaEzer that dealt with this topic. Many of the responsa on this topic read like an interesting mystery novel. A reader could not help but discover that the earlier generations of rabbis were problem solvers–not problem makers like we have today.

Since the death of Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, the Haredi community has become more radicalized because of their hatred and fear of  modernity in general and especially egalitarianism. The agunah’s plight is reminiscent of the famous conversation Alice has with the clever Cheshire Cat:

‘In that direction, the Cat said, waving its right paw around, ‘lives a Hatter: and in that direction’, waving the other paw, ‘lives a March Hare. Visit either you like “ they’re both mad.
`But I don’t want to go among mad people,’ Alice remarked.
`Oh, you can’t help that,’ said the Cat: `we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.’
`How do you know I’m mad?’ said Alice.
`You must be,’ said the Cat, `or you wouldn’t have come here.’

Like Alice, the agunah is stuck in an artificial constructed rabbinic reality where the rules of logic and ethics no longer make any coherent sense. This is especially the case in Israel where the Orthodox women in particular find themselves caught in a maze of rabbinic corruption and red tape. Once a woman enters the rabbit hole of the Haredi rabbinate (Sorry, I could not resist the pun!), she is faced with menacing threats from all sides.  Alice in Wonderland is an apt metaphor for the kind of disorientation the agunah experiences in her attempt to extricate herself from her ex-husband and especially the rabbis! Continue Reading

In Israel, I heard they are filming a new movie entitled, “Grumpy Old Rabbis.”

Rabbi Yosef Shalom Elyashiv sure looks like he could use a Kosher McDonald’s Happy Meal today. The HaAretz newspaper had a very interesting article how this centenarian continues to exert a powerful influence on the inner world of the Haredi community. His discordant halachic positions continue to send both the Israeli and Diaspora Jewish community reeling. Jews by Choice are among his favorite targets.

Most elderly Haredi scholars are known for their Responsa decisions pertaining to Jewish law. This elderly rabbi has never written a halachic work, and yet when he speaks, many of the leading Israeli Haredi rabbis are afraid to disagree with him. Is it because of his scholarship? Or is it because of his unique ability to commandeer Haredi politics? I suspect more the latter.

Remember one eternal halachic truth: A man may know the entire Talmud, Codes and commentaries and still be a boorish individual.

Readers may recall how Rabbi Elyashiv recently (about six months ago) banned the use of Shabbat elevators, which are essential for many high-rise senior centers and hotels that cater to an Orthodox elderly clientele. This rabbi did not seem to care what kind of hardship his legal decision would cause frail elderly people who can barely walk down the corridor  in the event a Shabbat elevator became “forbidden.” Fortunately, the people asserted their voice and Rabbi Elyashiv backed down on this issue.

HaAretz reported, “We saw proof of that two weeks ago, when two words from him, ‘Don’t compromise,’ caused his two representatives in the Knesset to attack the conversion bill initiated by MK David Rotem (Yisrael Beiteinu), which was designed to make the process of conversion in Israel much easier . . .” The ghost of Shammai must be gloating over Hillel, who always sought to welcome perspective converts. Shammai is reborn in the persona of Rabbi Elyashiv.

Unfortunately, like Rabbi Eliezer Shach (whose sour disposition lasted till he was 103 years old), Rabbi Elyashiv sees the Haredi community at war with the rest of the secular and Jewish world. For him, there is no such thing as “compromise.” Unlike the great Haredi rabbis of the past generations, e.g., R. Moshe Feinstein, Rabbi Eliezer Yehuda Waldenberg, and Rabbi Shlomo Auerbach, Rabbi Elyashiv tends to focus on the issues that politically divide Jews; he is not someone who strives for harmonization. Under his influence, we are witnessing what has been dubbed as the “Haredi Intifada,” where rioting has been a weekly activity for young Haredi kids that prefer rioting to football on Shabbat. Rabbi Elyashiv has yet to publicly condemn such unlawful behavior.

When we consider the daily scandals coming out in the news from Israel regarding its Haredi members’ behavior, we are reminded of the words of the great Greek cynic, Diogenes, who was  famous for walking through the streets of Athens in broad daylight waving a lantern and announcing that he was looking for a “honest man”  (It’s a little bit like trying to find an honest politician in Washington). According to another legend, Diogenes lit a lamp in broad daylight and said, as he went about, “I am looking for a man.” It is a pity we do not have a rabbinic Diogenes wandering the streets of Mea She’arim and B’nai Brak with a lantern in broad daylight, exclaiming the same ethical proclamation,“I am looking for a mentsch …” We need moral and articulate teachers today more than we need Talmud scholars who lack the ability to correct a wayward generation with a soothing but compelling ethical voice.

Continue Reading

In our Torah study on the opening chapter of Leviticus, we had a discussion about the different kinds of sacrifices that Israel’s neighbors observed. The priestly theology of Leviticus deliberately kept ancient Israel far away from sacrificing their sons and daughters as a way of honoring Yahweh. Instead, the only animals that were permitted to be offered were domestic animals one would find in a Semitic pastoral environment, e.g., goats, sheep, and cattle.

Who was Molech?

You shall not offer any of your offspring to be immolated to Molech, thus profaning the name of your God. I am the LORD — (Lev. 18:21)

In ancient biblical times, one of the most dreaded deities of antiquity was the deity known as Molech. People use used to show their devotion to Molech by causing their children to pass through a fire that was made in its honor (Lev. 18:21; Deut. 12:31, 18:10). Details from extrabiblical sources are scattered, and Molech continues to be a subject of considerable speculation. Molech might have been either a god of death, similar to the Canaanite deity of Mot, or, more likely, the dying and reviving god (a good case could be made that Molech was possibly one and the same with the Punic deity Baal‑Hammon) as he is in his chthonic aspect and both were regarded as West‑Semitic manifestations of the Assyrian and Babylonian god of death and lord of the underworld, Nergal. [1] The connection between Nergel, Baal,  the Assyrian and Babylonian Malik, and at Palmyra Malach‑bel, who were all sun‑gods and strongly suggest that Molech may have been a fire or sun‑god. [2] Some passages in the Tanakh identifed Molech as Milkom, the Ammonite form of Malik and Chemosh, the deity of Moab. [3]

While most scholars trace the worship of Molech to the 7^th- 8^th centuries B.C.E., there are some recent archeological findings from Jordan, dating back to the time of Israel’s conquest of Canaan, suggesting that child sacrifice is older than was once previously believed to be, and the deity the ancient Ammonites worshiped at this time period, was Molech![4]  Given how archeological theories are constantly being revised, there is ample reason to suggest that further evidence will eventually be unearthed to further substantiate an earlier period for Molech worship. Continue Reading

Byline: Friday, March 18th — 6:00 PM

This past week, the Haredi leader Rabbi Dov Lior went on public record saying, “Whoever avoids eating meat or has chosen a vegetarian lifestyle for the sake of having mercy on animals is wrong. . . .We still are not compassionate towards people in our times, so having mercy on animals is irrelevant. . . .Only when the world ascends spiritually and we have mercy on people, will we be able to be vegetarians.”[1]

Of course, this is the kind of comment that is bound to create interesting discussions. Is Rabbi Lior correct? One could certainly argue that in the Torah, animals are not considered mere machines, as the French philosopher Descartes presumed. Rather, they are sentient beings endowed with consciousness and even possess a moral standing. [2] Furthermore, there are numerous biblical precepts designed to heighten our sensitivity to their pain. The Sages refer to these laws under the proscription of tsa’r ba’ale chayim (“causing animals pain”). Animals are not only sentient; they are endowed with a moral conscience as well–as many zoological studies have shown.

This is a subject one could literally write volumes about and  still hardly scratch the surface.  Animals in the Bible have a moral standing, and as such, no person can act with callous disregard toward them. Perhaps one of the best examples is the law against cooking a calf in its mother’s milk (Exod. 23:19). For now, we shall focus on the humane aspect of the law. Over two millennia ago, Philo of Alexandria writes that the prohibition aims to teach the importance showing mercy and restraint toward the animal kingdom because they—like us—are sentient beings. “Let no person satisfy one’s appetite at the price of disregarding an animal’s feelings.” [3]

A parallel may be seen with respect to the Torah’s prohibition of sacrificing a newborn animal until it was least eight days old (Exod. 22:28-29; Lev. 22:27). Philo continues and writes, “Nothing could be more brutal than tear the young from its mother’s care, when her maternal instincts are so heightened especially after having just given birth. . . “Milk,” continues Philo, “was intended to promote the welfare of its young. To eat a mother’s young with its milk is an act of unnatural excess.” [4]

That is to say, the Torah prohibits this combination is because life is co-mingled with death—a most unnatural combination of that which gives life, and that which receives it.” Several medieval rabbinic commentaries express more or less the same sentiment as Philo.[5]  Jewish mystics also express a similar thought, therefore, it is improper to mix life and death [6]. Continue Reading

True believers assert that the law of God triumphs over human morality. The most glaring example of this can be seen in the binding of Isaac, where God commands Abraham to slay his beloved son, Isaac, where Abraham slavishly complies (Gen. 22:1-24).

While the biblical narrator goes to great length to show how God praises Abraham for his devotion and willingness to sacrifice his most beloved son, some modern rabbinic scholars concur with Immanuel Kant, who argues that in reality, Abraham fails the test. God shows His disapproval by sending an angel to inform Abraham that he should not kill his son, because God was frustrated that Abraham did not disobey Him! [1]

Many biblical scholars and historians, like Abraham Geiger, point out that there was a time in our history when people believed Yahweh demanded human sacrifice. The prophet Jeremiah made this point abundantly clear: “They built high places to Baal in the Valley of Ben-hinnom, and immolated their sons and daughters to Molech, bringing sin upon Judah; this I never commanded them, nor did it even enter my mind that they should practice such abominations” (Jer. 32:35). Rabbinic and Karaite interpreters (like Ibn Caspi and Aharon ben Eliahu) argue that the purpose of the Akedah was to show that the Canaanite practice of human sacrifice is a desecration of God’s Name. To battle the mistaken concept of a deity demanding human sacrifice is precisely why the Torah prohibits the cult of Molech (Lev. 18:21; Jer. 7:30-8:3).

Jewish history gradually spiritualizes the whole concept of sacrifice. One of the earliest examples of this can be seen in the writings of Ben Sira, who lived over 2300 years ago.

’To keep the law is a great oblation, and he who observes the commandments sacrifices a peace offering. In works of charity, one offers fine flour, and when he gives alms he presents his sacrifice of praise. To refrain from evil pleases the LORD, and to avoid injustice constitute its atonement. . . .” (Ben Sira 35:1-4).

Ben Sira argues that sacrifice has a moral ethos that must permeate the  ethical values of a worshiper and society. A pious person cannot claim to “love God,” while showing a miserly attitude toward the needy. To do so, is to be guilty of the worst kind hypocrisy. True sacrifice demands that we sacrifice our pettiness, our ego, our time to something that  is holy. The soldier who gives his life defending liberty, family and country from an aggressor’s assault, shows  a devotion that is worthy of emulation.  The true sacrifice does not destroy the value of human life, it aims to protect it. Continue Reading

Hi everyone! I reworked the earlier posting I wrote this past week–with numerous corrections and a few additional thoughts. The issue is a complicated one, and I realize some of you will may disagree with what I propose.

Euthyphro and Socrates on Morality

In Plato’s famous essay called “Euthyphro,” Plato narrates a conversation that took place between Socrates and a smug and self-righteous young man named Euthyphro.

Here is the background to our Socratic dialogue. One day, Socrates runs into Euthyphro outside the court of Athens. Socrates has been called to court on charges of impiety by Meletus, and Euthyphro has come to prosecute his own father who was charged  with manslaughter for having unintentionally killed a murderous hired hand. Evidently, the criminal had died from hunger and exposure before the local judges could determine his fate (Euthyphro 3e–4d).

What made the case so unusual, it was the son who brought the murder charges against his own father!  Socrates, obviously indifferent to his own fate, found the young man’s attitude interesting–even unusual.

Sarcastically, Socrates flatters Euthyphro, and says that he must be a great expert in religious matters, if he is willing to prosecute his own father on such a questionable charge! With a brashness typical of many young people, Euthyphro concurs that he does indeed know all there is to be known about what is holy. Socrates urges Euthyphro to instruct him and to teach him what holiness is, since Euthyphro’s teaching might help Socrates in his trial against Meletus.

After both of them agree that piety is ‘whatever is loved by the gods, but Socrates sets forth one of the most crucial questions ever raised in the history of Western ethics: Are pious things pious because they are loved by the gods or are they loved by the gods because they are pious?

“Does God Adhere to a Moral Code?

Put in different but religious terms, the question has critical importance:  “Is an action morally good because God commands it, or does God command it because it is morally good?” When asked from a different perspective, “Does God adhere to a moral code? Can the Creator command someone to behave immorally in His Name?

It is ironic that Abraham is the first human being  in the Tanakh to demand that God act morally toward His Creation. When God announces that He is about to destroy every person in the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, Abraham is petrified by what he hears. He exclaims, חָלִלָה לְּךָ מֵעֲשֹׂת כַּדָּבָר הַזֶּה – “Far be it from you to do such a thing, to slay the righteous with the wicked, so that the righteous fare as the wicked! Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just” (Gen. 18:25). Continue Reading

People often wonder whether the biblical Exodus actually took place. Unfortunately, there are no extra-biblical testimonies that  directly speak of the sojourn of Israel’s ancestors in the land of the Nile. However, Egyptian sources do confirm the general situation that we find in the end of Genesis and the beginning of the Book of Exodus. There are several reports in Egyptian writings about a certain group of nomadic people called Habiru, who came into Egypt from the east while fleeing from famine.

Assuming the Habiru are related to the Hebrews of the Bible, this term referred to a group of “nomadic invaders” who originated from the Fertile Crescent from Northeastern Mesopotamia  who made trouble for the Egyptians along their borders. Habiru are described in the Egyptian writings as rebels, outlaws, raiders, mercenaries, servants, slaves, and migrant workers.

Like many peoples of antiquity, there is some extra-biblical evidence that Egypt used slave labor in building projects (Exod. 1:11). At one time the land in Egypt was owned by many landholders; but after the reign of the Hyksos kings the Pharaoh owned most of the land, and the people were serfs of the king (Gen. 47:20). Many Bible scholars accept the essential historicity of the Exodus–with reservations.

The movement of Israel’s ancestors into Egypt and out again is hard to reconstruct. Some groups may have gone there as early as the late eighteenth century B.C.E., at the start of foreign (Hyksos) rule; others may have arrived in the late 14th or early 13th century, only a few years before the oppression reflected in Exodus 1. Similarly, groups of these ancestors may have left Egypt at different times, separated by many years, and under varied circumstances. The latter Israelites preserved  stories from the period of their ancestors’ earliest movements into Egypt until the oppression and exodus, but they knew it had been very long–perhaps 430 years, (Exod. 12:40) or 400 years  (as indicated in Gen. 15:13). According to Rashi, the great medieval commentator, he wrote that the 430 years actually had to be reckoned from the birth of Isaac! Clearly, the rabbis were justifiably confused by the figures.

Even the Tanakh itself fails to give an incontrovertible date for the Exodus. Indeed, there are too many inconsistencies to ignore. According to 1 Kings 6:1 says, “In the four hundred and eightieth year after the children of Israel were come out of the land of Egypt, in the fourth year of Solomon’s reign over Israel, in the month of Zif, which is the second month, that he began to build the house of the Lord.” But this verse refers primarily to the beginning of the building of Solomon’s Temple and only in a general way to the time of the Exodus. We do not know the precise dates of Solomon’s reign. If we use 961 B.C.E. as the beginning of Solomon’s reign, his fourth year would have been 957 B.C.E. If we take the 480 years of 1 Kings 6:1 literally, then it would appear that Exodus ought to be dated in 1437 B.C.E.

On the other hand, Exodus 1:11 says that the Israelites in Egypt built the store cities of Pithom and Ramses for Pharaoh. Evidently the name Ramses II was not used in Egypt before 1300 B.C.E. If one of the store cities was named for a king by that name, the Exodus could not have happened before 1300 B.C.E. Thus some scholars believe the Exodus must have taken place after 1300 B.C.E. Continue Reading

Although I have been critical in the past about several of the late Lubavitcher Rebbe’s policies, he did express at least one memorable thought that has remained with me for many years, “The scientific mind tends to see the natural in the Supernatural, while the religious minded person tends to see the Supernatural within the natural.” In fact, one could say that the Rebbe’s comment might even be used to help explain the theory of evolution–from a theological perspective. However, as we all know, Rabbi Schneersohn was hardly a fan of evolution (a doctrine he definitely did not subscribe to).

It is a pity he did not apply this principle to a theological perspective on evolution as articulated by the 20th century Jewish mystic, Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, who was persona non grata in most of the Haredi or Hassidic (especially in Lubavitch) communities precisely because of his receptivity to modern science. Personally, I think Abraham Joshua Heschel expressed the same thought even better, when he exclaimed that the religious consciousness begins with our capacity to wonder, “Wonder rather than doubt is the root of all knowledge.” Science–can certainly inspire this sense of wonderment, whenever we probe the mysteries of life in the universe.

Modern cosmology has developed a remarkable approach to the origin of the universe that has very profound religious implications. This cosmological approach has been called by some as the “Anthropic Principle.” The Anthropic Principle suggests that there may be many regions of a single universe, each with its own structure and laws; only a few might have conditions that exist on this world for the emergence of consciousness and intelligent life. Even more amazing and miraculous is how our conscious sense of personhood could ever have emerged out of the cosmic processes that began eons ago with the Big Bang. As remarkable the appearance of life is even on the most pristine level, it is even more astounding that human consciousness has the ability to contemplate itself in relation to the universe. The Anthropic Principle shows that the organization of matter in the universe is not a slipshod or haphazard affair  the universe reflects symmetry and order. British physicist Paul Davies observes that there are seven essential prerequisites that must be satisfied if life is to exist on the earth:

1. There must be an adequate supply of the elements which comprise our bodies, e.g., carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, phosphorus and calcium.

2. There must be little or no risk of contamination by other poisonous chemicals such as would be found in an atmosphere containing methane or ammonia.

3. The climatic temperature must remain within a narrow range of 5 to 40 degrees Celsius, which is a mere 2% of the temperature range from within the solar system as a whole.

4. A stable supply of free energy must exist, which in our case is provided by the Sun.

5. Gravity must be strong enough to keep the atmosphere from escaping into space, but it must be weak enough to allow us to move freely about on the Earth’s surface.

6. A protective screen must exist to filter out the Sun’s harmful ultraviolet rays, which in our case is provided by a layer of ozone in the upper atmosphere.

7. A magnetic field must exist in order to prevent cosmic subatomic particles from raining on the Earth. Were the Earth’s circular orbit (a 3% variance) were like the elliptical orbit of the planet Mars, which varies from 50 million kilometers to 4.5 kilometers, the Earth would incinerate once a year when the Earth is closest to the Sun. [1]

Thus if the force of gravity were pushed upward a bit, stars would burn out faster, leaving little time for life to evolve on the planets circling them. If the relative masses of protons and neutrons were changed by a hair, stars might never be born, since the hydrogen they eat wouldn’t exist. If, at the Big Bang, some basic numbers  the “initial conditions”  had been shaken, matter and energy would never have formed into galaxies, stars, planets or any other platforms stable enough for life as we know it. And so on. At a 1981 symposium, Sir Fred Hoyle is reported to have said:

“The chance that higher life forms might have emerged in this way (through evolutionary processes) is comparable with the chance that a tornado sweeping through a junkyard might assemble a Boeing 747 from the materials therein.” Hoyle further said that “he was at a loss to understand” the compulsion of evolutionary biologists “to deny what seems to me to be obvious (i.e., that evolution is not tenable)–unless God utilized it as a means of creating the world we now know.”[2] Continue Reading

Students of the Bible often wonder about the mysterious identity of the three “men,” who visited Abraham (Gen 18ff.).

The identity of the angelic beings has stirred many controversies among scholars over for over two millennium. The 12th century rabbinic savant, Abraham Ibn Ezra, explains that these three men were in fact, human beings who were sent by God to bring a message to Sarah, while the other two later went to Sodom.

A similar thought is found in the theological writings of Maimonides and the 14th century Karaite scholar Aharon ben Eliyahu, both who maintain that prophets are occasionally referred to as “angels” as it says “but they kept mocking the messengers of God, despising his words, and scoffing at his prophets, until the wrath of the LORD against his people became so great that there was no remedy” (2 Chron. 36:16). There were other individuals who were blessed with a spiritual sense of God’s Presence besides Abraham (cf. Gen. 25:22-23).

The 14th century rationalist  and astronomer Levi ben Gersonides develops this insight a bit further while adding that this interpretation is harmonious with the verse “He looked up and saw three men standing near him.”

As to the obvious question, “Why did the Torah later describe these men as “angels” in the narrative of Lot (19:1)?” Gersonides replies, that a prophet is sometimes referred to as an angel. These prophets didn’t come for the sake of Abraham, who was also a prophet, but their purpose was to inform Sarah about the prospect of her pregnancy. As we have mentioned earlier, Gersonides accepts the view that angels can be human beings empowered by God.

Thus, when the Torah tells us that three “men” visited Abraham, the Torah means exactly what it says —these  three “men” were exactly that–men!

As we will soon see, it is not the personality that defines what an angel is, it is the role that the angel plays. When we look at it from this perspective, it is as Gersonides and other have noted, unimportant whether the “men” who visited with Abraham were truly human or supernatural beings merely appearing as “men” since God could have chosen either one for carrying out His purpose.

From a grammatical perspective, the term מַלְאָך (mal˒āk) may mean a message bearer (Gen. 32:2), or personal representatives (2 Sam. 11:4), or political emissaries (Josh. 11:12-14; 2 Sam. 5:11). However, in some of the apocalyptic prophecies, angels appear to truly be supernatural beings on a mission (much like the Blues Brothers) from God (cf. Zech 1:9; 5:5; 2 Sam. 24:17; Gen 19:12-17). As mentioned earlier, with respect to angels, the message is far more important than the individual messenger. Continue Reading