When one takes a gaze at the Jewish horizon, one gets the distinct impression that many synagogues find themselves confronted by a spiritual problem they can scarcely understand—much less articulate: Irrelevance. Judaism may someday die—not by genocides—but by apathy. Yes, as rabbis we love to sermonize about Israel, political concerns, and a host of other miscellaneous topics ad nauseam, but we feel too embarrassed to talk, or engage one another about one of the most important issues of our time: recovering Jewish spirituality.

The obstacles are daunting.

For one thing, talking about God exposes our prepubescence. Can a sophisticated and educated person who is schooled in science still believe in God? Some of us also feel awkward about our ambivalence. Didn’t Feuerbach, Freud, and Marx convince us that God is nothing more but a human projection? Didn’t Rabbi Mordechai Kaplan tell us that God is anything but “personal”? Yes, history also gives us pause to wonder. God poses a mighty problem for those of us who remember Auschwitz and Rwanda, or the legion of Jihadists, who delight in destroying innocent lives in the name of Allah. Although we speak about the great miracles of the biblical past, e.g., the splitting of the Red Sea, we find ourselves cynically asking, “What have you done for us lately, God?” Maybe as a result of our collective suffering as a people, it is too hard for us to imagine God as “personal.”

Any close brush with evil makes it exceedingly difficult to talk about faith. Martin Buber asked poignantly:

• In this our time, one asks again and again: how is a Jewish life still possible after Auschwitz? I would like to frame this question more correctly: how is a life with God still possible in a time in which there is an Auschwitz? The estrangement has become too cruel, the hiddenness too deep. One can still “believe” in a God who allowed those things to happen, but how can one still speak to Him? Can one still hear His word? Can one still, as an individual and a people, enter at all in a dialogical relationship with Him? Can one still call on Him? Dare we recommend to the survivors of Auschwitz, the Jobs of the gas chambers: “Call on Him, for He is kind, for His mercy endureth forever?”[1]

Jewish tradition teaches us that anyone who lives in a cemetery could be considered insane according to mishnaic law.[2] I often wonder whether we have lost our sanity since Auschwitz. Nevertheless, the rabbinic proscription against sleeping in a cemetery ought to make us wonder: Is it possible that our concepts of God and the Bible might have been flawed to begin with? A friend of mine who is a large publisher of Jewish books confided with me, “Michael Leo, I cannot believe in a rabbi who does not believe in miracles.” In my usual Socratic style, I asked him, “Will you define for me, what you mean by ‘miracle’?”

We are so used to Hollywood defining what “miracles” are supposed to be–supernatural violations of natural law; as a result, we fail to consider the obvious. Miracle comes from the Latin miraculum “object of wonder,” and when we see something that awakens within us a sense of wonder, we experience the miraculous. From the religious perspective, the continuous survival of the Jewish people continues to surprise the world. When you consider the enemies that we have faced and out-survived, that too is a miracle. When one considers that the Jewish people bear witness to the reality of ethical monotheism despite the countless attempts of our enemies to destroy us, I am dwarfed by miracles.

There are no easy answers as to why bad things happen to good people, yet the continued existence of the Jewish people seems to point to something very majestic and profound—the God of history. Miracles are subtle. If a miracle can be subtle, I believe God is also subtle. Our childish images of Big Daddy God doing it all for us helpless fools, is passé—God is, for me, the Power that is giving shape to a good world. However, we are also God’s co-partners in Creation. Human generated evil would never be possible if we didn’t allow it to happen.  In my opinion, before we start pointing fingers at God, we need to start taking a sober look at our abdication as God’s shepherds and rescuers.

Lastly, when discussing spirituality, it is important to understand its Hebraic usage in the Torah and Tanakh. To be begin with, the “Spirit of God” רוּחַ אֱלֹהִים  (rûah ´élöhîm) mentioned in Genesis 1:2 describes  רוּחַ as the life-breath and life-principle that transforms the chaos of creation into a cosmos. In theological terms, רוּחַ alludes to the most profound dimension that converts, liberates, and sublimates human existence. In practical terms, when we embrace this aspect of spirit within our being—we can transform even the darkest forces of chaos into an orderly cosmos that exist in our world. This has been our task as God’s witness in history. Isn’t about time we start learning to get in touch with this profound dimension of our life that can improve and transform our earthly and spiritual existence?

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Historically, rabbinic tradition took a dim view of capital punishment. Mishnahic law required that those accused be warned by witnesses immediately before they commit the offense, and that they acknowledge such warning—a clear indication of the rabbinic distaste for capital punishment, explicitly found elsewhere.[1] Life imprisonment did exist for cases that could not technically be legally prosecuted, even though the evidence left no room for doubt[2]; such a person had to subsist on sparse diet of barley bread and water, and the Talmud indicates the criminal usually died from starvation. There may be a Scriptural allusion to this practice: the prisoner was condemned to eat “the bread of misfortune and the water of distress” (Isa. 30:20). Other rabbinic statements make it near impossible to convict the accused villain:

• R. Yose says, “Under no circumstances is one put to death unless both witnesses against him have given warning to him,” as it is said, ‘At the testimony of two witnesses’ (Deut. 7:6).”[3] He whose trial ended and who fled and was brought back before the same court—they do not reverse the judgment concerning him and retry him. He whose trial ended and who fled and was brought back before the same court—they do not reverse the judgment concerning him and retry him . . . A Sanhedrin which imposes the death penalty once in seven years is called murderous.
  
• R. Eleazar b. Azariah says, “Once in seventy years.” R. Tarfon and R. Akiba say, “If we were on a Sanhedrin, no one would ever be put to death.”[4] Rabban Simeon b. Gamaliel says, “So these Sages would multiply the number of murderers in Israel.”[5]

Moreover, the defendant may not be put to death unless two (or in some cases three) eyewitnesses testify against him or her. Each witness must be so certain of his testimony that he personally would be willing to carry out the execution. A passage from Deuteronomy 19:13-21 asserts that a plotting witness is subject to the same punishment as the defendant—including, in all probability, capital punishment. Although the Torah prescribes the death penalty in the case of adolescent rebellion (i.e., “the rebellious son” of Deut. 21:18-21), the Sages admit, “Such a case never occurred, and it never will happen.” They argue that the entire passage is heuristic, so, “That you may study [the Torah for its own sake] and receive reward.” [6]  The rabbinic angst and reticence to implement the death penalty, and its alternative system of imprisonment is of considerable relevance for modern biblical scholars and laity.

Subsequent rabbinical law is pretty straightforward about such cases. Maimonides writes, “The following rules apply when two groups of witnesses present conflicting testimonies. If a witness from one group came together with one witness from a different group and both deliver testimony concerning another matter, the testimony is of no consequence. It is obvious that one of them is lying, but we cannot ascertain which one.”[7]Likewise Maimonides also notes, “Should a court err with regard to a case involving capital punishment and convict an innocent person, ruling that he is guilty, and they discover a rationale that would require that the ruling be nullified and he be vindicated, they nullify the ruling and retry the case. If the Court erroneously ruled and acquitted a person liable to be executed, then the judgment is not nullified and the case is not retried.” [8]

According to the Jerusalem Talmud, one disqualified witness invalidates all other testimonies—regardless of the number of witnesses testifying. [9] If a judge suspects one of the witnesses is actually lying, he cannot render a decision (cf. Isa. 11:3-4). [10] Unlike American civil law that allows known criminals to testify in court against an alleged murderer, rabbinic law prohibits the testimony of criminals because (1) they have zero credibility in rabbinical law and (2) a credible witness cannot join forces with a dishonest witness. [11] Among modern Talmudic scholars, R. Louis Jacobs points out that despite the reticence of rabbis in the Talmud to apply the death penalty, the Sages acknowledged that are a number of important exceptions.

Against all this is the Talmudic statement (Sanhedrin 46a) that as an emergency measure, “when the generation requires it,” a court has the power to “act against the Torah” and to order an execution or other “illegal” physical penalties. In other words, although it is illegal to impose the death penalty, the court can, on rare occasions, act illegally if the aim is to protect the Torah. Naturally, it all depends on the circumstances that would warrant executions without the due process of the law. The statement was never interpreted as meaning that what the Law took away with one hand it gave back with the other.

The German and French communities in the Middle Ages ignored the statement altogether and never imposed the death penalty, not even when circumstances seemed to call for it. Not so in Muslim Spain, where the Gentile authorities gave the Jewish courts a good deal of autonomy. In Spain, albeit on rare occasions, the courts did rely on the Talmudic statement and imposed otherwise illegal penalties such as mutilation (found nowhere in the classical sources) of certain offenders; they also executed offenders such as informers who endangered the community. When Asher ben Yehiel (d. 1327) came from Germany to Toledo in Spain he expressed his horror at the Spanish practice, totally unknown in Germany, although later on, he himself conformed to the Spanish norm.

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According to French philosopher and theologian Paul Ricoeur, a text is any kind of discourse that is fixed to writing, but its origins are frequently oral in nature, as in the art of storytelling and myth.  Ricoeur explains, “Fixation by writing takes the very place of speech, occurring at the site where speech could have emerged.”[1] The text however, is not a static entity that is hermeneutically fixed or reified—texts invite encounter, discovery, dialogue, and interaction. In most instances, the reader cannot question what the author had in mind when penning his words and neither can the writer respond to the queries of the reader.

Ricoeur terms this formation as a “double eclipse”[2] for in a sense, both writer and reader escape the notice of the Other; this absence of presence also creates an interpretive tension between reader and text. On one level, a text presents a trace of the writer’s imagination and experience of the world. Once this experience is transcribed, the writer loses complete control of how his work will be interpreted, as Ricoeur and M. Bakhtin so note.[3] Left to its own, the written word remains in a dormant state until a reader enlivens the text’s capacity to challenge and transform his   personal worldview. Each instance of engaging the text becomes an event where the minds of the past and present meld together and become one.

The etymological meaning of “text” bears this point out. The English word “text” comes from the Latin textus “woven material,” which in turn derives from the root texere “to weave.” It is still fairly common to speak about “spinning a tale” or “spinning a yarn,” or “weaving a tale,”[4] or “weaving a theme.”[5] While a text may be described as a “literary composition,” when it comes to its readers and interpreters it ought to be viewed perhaps more accurately as a “literary tapestry.”

The imagery of a literary tapestry is intriguing with respect to the Torah since each generation’s interpretations and commentaries continue to add new strands of thought that keep the text pertinent and contemporaneous. As a divine tapestry, Jewish tradition has always understood that each new generation re-weaves the sacred tradition, and in doing so, contributes toward its beauty and deeper understanding. The threads of interpretation may be different in their texture, quality, and color; nevertheless, each strand of interpretive insight adds, enhances, and preserves the ancestral tradition for future generations.

Theologian R. David R. Blumenthal also touches on the theme of text as a woven fabric that continues to be rewoven by each new generation: “The text is a fabric, woven (Latin texere/textus) from many threads. One thread is the received text—signs scratched, erased, and re-inscribed in eternity by many hands. One thread is the tradition— many conflicting voices echoing in the same eternity. One thread is the interpreter—gathering in, com-prehending, the threads into one fabric; but differently at different times. And one thread is the reader—calling and called to. All text-fabrics are created from other text—fabrics. Every reading is a gathering-in of older threads into a new tissue; an interweaving of the particular life of the reader with the tissue of the tradition. The text-fabric is never finished.“[6] (Emphasis added.)

Briefly defined, the process of making an intelligible analysis of a given text is what scholars commonly refer to as “hermeneutics,” a word deriving from the Greek ἑρμηνεύω (hermēneuō) to “interpret,” or “translate.” This method aims to make intelligible one’s own thoughts or the thoughts of others, whether oral or written.[7] Hermeneutics is the critical reflection of the interpretive process, especially with respect to biblical texts, with a goal to understanding its deeper meaning. Aside from ascertaining the straightforward meaning of the text, the study of hermeneutics is also concerned with the various influences that impact a reader’s subjectivity and interpretation, such as beliefs, personal history, traditions, and so on.

The polyvalence of scriptural interpretation was well known in ancient times. The Academy of Rabbi Ishmael (ca. 2^nd century) taught, “My word is like a fire that purges dross! It is like a hammer that breaks a rock in pieces!” (Jer. 23:29), i.e., “Just as a hammer can produce many sparks when it hits a flint,  so too every single word that goes forth from the Holy Blessed One, splits up into seventy languages.”[8] Such interpretive diffusion creates the possibility of diverse and contrarian viewpoints—all of which have a degree of legitimacy.[9] To the religious imagination of the rabbis, the process of revelation continues to unfold in new and unpredictable ways whenever two people or more have a thoughtful exchange of wisdom and scripture. Just as God’s Oneness is inclusive of the many, so too does the Torah embrace infinite facets of meaning.

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Liam Neeson has always been one of my favorite actors in Hollywood. His films have often been stimulating, entertaining, and often contemplative. His latest film, “The Grey,” disturbs me for many reasons. It is surprising to see Hollywood produce a movie that portrays animals in their natural habitat as the villain.

“The Grey” is not the kind of film anyone who loves animals and nature would want to see. In an age where we are finally starting to understand the importance of stewardship, movies like “The Grey” are a retrogressive trend that threatens one of nature’s magnificent creatures.  One is reminded of some wonderful wisdom our Sages taught centuries ago,

• When the Holy Blessed One created the first man, He took him and led him round all the trees of the Garden of Eden, and said to him, “Look at my handiwork, see how beautiful and excellent they are! Everything I have created, I created for you!  Be careful that you don’t corrupt and destroy My world, for if you corrupt it there is no one to repair it after you.[1]

Imagine a world without the elephant or the rhino, [2] or the grey wolf . . .

Here is the main reason why “The Grey” is an irresponsible film. Given the ecological attitude that we have seen in numerous films coming from Hollywood, warning us about the dangers of global warming, and other sundry ecological hazards, it is shocking to see Hollywood produce a film depicting an endangered species such as the Grey Wolf as the enemy!

With this thought in mind, let us examine briefly summarize the film’s plot.   A group of men suddenly find themselves stranded in the Alaskan wilderness following a plane crash. Soon, as they attempt to find their way back to civilization, they run into a pack of wolves, which gleefully look upon the stranded group as their next happy meal.

Neeson plays a protagonist named John Ottway, whose occupation as a marksman and leadership skills makes him a formidable foe to the wolves.  Feeling depressed because of his estranged wife, Ottway feels as though he has lost his will to live; he contemplates suicide. Then suddenly, his plane goes down. He and six other men survive, but they are literally in the middle of nowhere. He assumes a leadership role and finds himself combating God, the elements, and a pack of hungry man-eating wolves.

One by one, each of the characters falls prey to a well-orchestrated wolverine assault. In one scene, one of the survivors named Diaz, captures and decapitates an attacking wolf. They eat the wolf’s carcass for dinner, and later throw the head of the wolf back at the wolf pack. Undeterred, the wolves continue picking each of the survivors until an angry Ottway confronts the alpha wolf with a knife in his hand, and broken beer bottles tied to his hand. In his final assault, the movie comes to an abrupt ending. The outcome remains a mystery. However, after the credits are shown, a short clip reveals a badly wounded alpha wolf, near death. Did Ottway survive? The movie leaves that question to the viewer’s imagination to answer.

Based on what I have read about the storyline behind the film, the actors did not actually eat wolf-meat during the filming, but ate lamb instead. However, the producer Joe Carnahan did purchase some wolf-meat, which he had the actors eat off the set so that they might really use the experience to help them play their roles more effectively.

How dangerous are the Grey Wolves? Consider this tidbit of wisdom. The Wolf Conservation Center states that you have a better chance of “being hit by lightning, dying of a bee sting or being killed in a vehicle collision with a deer” than being attacked by a wolf. So what do you do if you meet a hungry Grey Wolf? Look threatening and scary, throw a baseball or a rock at it—but don’t run because animals know when you are afraid. Actually, they are more afraid of you than you are of them.

As the trapper Carter Niemeyer noted, “They’re not exactly advocating for animal rights, but hunters are howling over The Grey’s bloodthirsty wolves, too.  “Wolves have never been aggressive toward me in the 25 years I’ve worked with them close up!” exclaims a retired professional trapper and author of The Wolfer. “From my experience, they’re curious, they’re cautious, they’re aloof, and they really don’t want anything to do with you.” Still, he doesn’t advise camping out in their den, let alone cooking up a wolf carcass and feasting on the meat on their turf, as Ottway and the rig workers do in one stomach-turning scene. [3]

It is a pity that the film’s appearance came at a time when the grey wolf had just been removed from the Endangered Species lists in several western states. Hunting wolves just became legal again, and it was the propagation of horror stories and myths (along with some tempting bounties) that caused the near eradication of the grey wolf in North America in the first place.

Endangered Species Act (ESA): wolves throughout the Lower 48 United States are listed as endangered except in Montana, Idaho and portions of Oregon, Washington and Utah where they have been delisted through congressional action. Currently, the delisting of wolves in Wyoming has been approved in principle by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.

January 9^th, 2009, on his first day in office, Obama put a freeze on a number of federal regulations adopted by the Bush administration in its final days, including the delisting of grey wolves under the Endangered Species Act. This gave the wolves a temporary reprieve, and gave animal advocates hope. Obama’s choice of legislation seems to stem more from his animus toward Bush, rather than for his concern for the Grey Wolf. Just weeks after giving hope to animal advocates, the Obama administration delisted wolves under the Endangered Species Act in the Northern Rockies. Secretary of the Interior Ken Salazar, a hunter and rancher himself, permitted individual states to begin killing wolves in order to protect animal agribusiness interests.

People interested in defending and protecting the Grey Wolf in North America must let your Congressmen know that the wolves are an integral part of an ecosystem as a top tier predator. The Midrashic wisdom cited above ought to serve as a practical and grim reminder that other ways must be explored to protect natures’ beautiful creations.

Postscript:

The animal world has a remarkable array of characteristics and social habits that impressed human societies since the beginning of time. People have looked at the wolf with awe, wonder, fear and respect. Notwithstanding its reputation as a savage predator, the wolf’s parental instincts are exceptionally refined and well developed in the animal world.  As a dedicated parent, relatives of the wolf share in the caring of the young; they also help older and weaker members of its group.  Each member of the wolf-clan has a special place in terms of its social standing among the clan. The wolf’s survival skills have enabled the wolf to thrive in some of the most inhospitable places of the earth.  Wolves often demonstrate deep affection for their family and may even sacrifice themselves to protect the family unit. Ancient legend teaches how the infants Romulus and Remus, the mythic builders of Rome, were discovered by a she-wolf, who instead of killing them, protected them and fed them with her milk. As animals, wolves were sacred to the Roman worship of Mars. Apollo was said to appear from time to time in the form of a wolf.

Yet, despite the Western fear of wolves, native peoples of history often regarded the wolf as a protective spirit. Native American Indians venerated the wolf and prayed to the gods that the wolf’s hunting skills and courage would be instilled in their tribal warriors. Warriors often hoped that their tribe happened to be descendants of the wolf spirit.

The history  of civilization reveals how respected and beloved the wolf has been since the beginning of the human species. All dogs are descendants of the wolf. If you love your dog, do not disrespect your dog’s ancestors! Hollywood movie producers ought to be making films explaining why the preservation of the wolf is important for all of us who share the same planet together. There are plenty of villains to invent, but making the Grey Wolf into a villain should not be one of them.

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According to Jewish tradition, God’s Presence in the phenomenal world is calibrated to our actions. Indeed, actions speak louder than words, and are especially more effective than espousing the typical platitudes of faith that we are so bored hearing in the media, or for that matter—at the synagogue! With the holiday of Tisha B’Av, we read in the Talmud why God withdrew His Divine Presence from the world. The warning for future generations is all too clear: We must choose to manifest healthy images of God that bring healing to ourselves and our world.

History has shown us time and time again how God-images impact the way a religious culture treats its female members. Cultures ruled by a misogynistic conception of the Divine cannot help but treat its women in a barbarous manner. Indeed, a society that hates its women is incapable of loving anything else. Conversely, a religious culture that respects the maternal aspects of the Divine Feminine produces a community of believers where life becomes sacred and holy. The reverence for life—across the ideological spectrum—becomes the basis for all societal evolution and development. Contrary to the fundamentalist way of seeing the world, maleness is not the closest thing to godliness.

In Jewish tradition, the metaphor of this aspect of the Divine Feminine is better known as the שְׁכִינָה, (“Shekhinah), signifying, “that which dwells,” deriving from the verb [שָׁכֵן, shakhen], or [שָׁכַן, shakhan], “to dwell,” “reside” see Isaiah 60:2).

In this week’s parsha, the wording states   וְעָשׂוּ לִי מִקְדָּשׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּי בְּתוֹכָם   “They shall make a sanctuary for me, that I may dwell in their midst” (Exod. 25:8). The  verse brilliantly captures the subtle nuances that tend go get glossed over by most translations. The verse actually says, “They shall make a sanctuary for me, that  I shall dwell in them.” The more literal reading of the text  suggests that God dwells not outside the human heart, but within the human heart. This interpretation explains the idea of the “Divine Indwelling,” better known as the “Shekhinah.”

As I prepared the Torah reading today, I decided to spend a few minutes and take poetic license with the Midrash.  The thought occurred to me that I should write about a subject that is dear to my heart—romantic theology, also known as the “theology of love.” The topic today is:  the soulful wanderings of the Shekhinah.

The language you will read is shamelessly anthropomorphic–and from a Maimonidean perspective, what I am writing is probably quite offensive. However, I do believe this interpretive midrash captures the spirit of the text. If nothing else, it is an interesting deconstruction of midrashic thought.

Abraham Joshua Heschel often observed, “God is in search of man.” In other words, our own quest for love and intimacy comes to us quite naturally, for our beloved Creator also has a similar quest. Paradoxically, our love for the Divine gives something to our Maker something that S/he does not possess. In a mystical sense, we make God’s Presence whole in the world through our acts of love and compassion. I hope you enjoy the material as much as I did writing it.

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I come to my garden, my sister, my bride;

I gather my myrrh with my spice,

I eat my honeycomb with my honey,

I drink my wine with my milk.

Eat, friends, drink, and be drunk with love.

Song of Songs 1:1

The Midrash views all of Song of Songs as an extended metaphor about God’s love for Israel. The word “my garden” has Edenic overtones and significance.

The term “gani” (“My garden,”) implies not just any “garden,” but specifically to “My garden,” i.e., the bridal chamber where a bride and groom consummate their love for one another. By saying “My bridal chamber,” the text mystically suggests a return to a time when God’s Being was originally present and revealed.

The Midrash teaches that  when Moses built the Tabernacle, the Shekhinah returned to co-inhabit the earth just as She did in the days of Eden before the primal couple’s great fall. In Eden, God could be seen “walking” alongside mortals (Gen 3:8). However, after  the primal couple sinned, the Shekhinah began retreating Her Presence from the earthly realm. Bereft of Her divine intimacy, Adam and his wife hid themselves because they felt alienated from the deepest dimension of their souls.  Adam’s spiritual stature underwent a radical reduction.

However, the Shekhinah’s mystical ascent was far from finished, for when Cain murdered his brother Abel, the Feminine Presence felt disgusted with human violence and retreated unto the second level of Heaven in a panic.

Alas, Her ascent away from the earth still continued for when Enosh forgot his Creator when he worshiped idols, so the Shekhinah retreated to the third level; after watching more of man’s inhumanity to man, a flood occurs, and the saddened Shekhinah retreats because She could not watch Her children perish. With the passage of time, the Shekhinah develops a revulsion for violence. Once again, human cruelty chased Her one more degree away from the earth.

After the Tower Builders announced their designs to conquer the heavens, the Shekhinah retreated yet another degree because she found human arrogance repugnant. The violence of the Sodomites upset Her even more, as she wanted nothing to do with men because of their barbarism and sadism. The Shekhinah’s withdrawal from the world reached Her zenith after the Egyptians mistreated their fellow earthly brothers and sisters, by enslaving the Israelites to a life of suffering and pain. She could not bear to watch. She wondered, “Could the rift with humanity get any worst than this?”

However, the Shekhinah could not remain in a permanent state of estrangement from humanity—despite its errant ways. Abraham was the first to recognize the Shekhinah’s Reality and he sought to make her more intimate with mortals once more. Isaac’s willingness to die for Her, as a show of his love and devotion, made the Shekhinah yearn yet more for intimacy with mortals.

Through his many struggles within himself, Jacob comes to discover the Shekhinah’s luminosity and beauty and finally understands the true meaning of blessing.  In an effort to purge himself from the violence that defiled his life after he and his brother Simeon massacred the inhabitants of Shechem (Gen. 34-31), Levi sought to renew his relationship with Her. The Shekhinah  pitied this pathetic excuse for a human being and granted him a peacefulness of mind. She was determined to make Levi’s descendants do penance for their forefather’s crimes against humanity  by making them serve as priests to their Maker. She mused, “Every saint has a past, every sinner has a future–this applies even to Levi!”

The Shekhinah brought Yochebed and Amram together, and they became the parents of Moses—the liberator of Israel.  Mysteriously, She finds herself drawn back to the earth. With Moses, the Shekhinah found a lover who decided to build a new home for the Divine—The Tabernacle–a place that would permanently restore Her Presence to our world, where She would walk once more with humankind. [1]

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Rabbi Samuel offers wide-ranging religious discussion in ‘Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis’

Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis: A Timeless Theological Conversation, Vol. 1: Genesis 1-3 by Rabbi Michael L. Samuel, CreateSpace, ISBN-13: 978-1456301712; ©2011 p. 495, including excursuses, bibliography, and index.

By Fred Reiss, Ed.D.

Fred Reiss, Ed.D

WINCHESTER, California – The biblical narrator of the first three chapters of Genesis, whoever he may be: Moses at God’s direction, a divinely inspired priest, or even a scribe recording the most ancient mythology of the Hebrew people, begins with a simple, yet profound sentence, “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” But, what does this sentence imply and what does it mean? The implication is that there is a creator, whose name is God, and who worked alone to fashion all that there is. And, when was the beginning? What did God use to build the heavens and earth? Were the heavens and earth created from the same thing? Explanations about the allusions and applications of the Torah, the Five Books of Moses, if the Talmudic sages are to be believed, go back to Mt. Sinai in the form of a God-given oral law. Written comments about the Torah’s meaning began about the time of Philo, in the latter part of the first century BCE. Since then hundreds of thousands of pages have been written to explain what the Torah “really” means.

Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis written by Rabbi Michael L. Samuel, a pulpit Rabbi who is descended from a long line of distinguished Rabbis and a graduate of an Orthodox seminary, is not another commentary on the Torah, but rather a meta-analysis of commentaries that offer comprehension and insight on the first three chapters of the Book of Genesis, which cover from creation through the Expulsion from the Garden of Eden.

Judging from Rabbi Samuel’s background, one would expect to read a series of explanations only from main-line orthodoxy, but this is not the case. In Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis’ lengthy introduction, Rabbi Samuel examines the Genesis stories as myth, comparing them to other similar stories found in the Middle East and explores and analyzes the Genesis stories from the perspective of the four-level of interpretation suggested by the rabbinic sages by presenting a wide spectrum of Jewish and non-Jewish sources, covering the earliest interpretations through the modern and post-modern critical approaches of Torah criticism. In the middle section, which examines the passages of Genesis 1-3, Rabbi Samuel draws from his extensive knowledge of biblical commentaries to provide the reader with extensive and comprehensive understandings about these passages. The reader is just as likely to find an interpretation by a Hasidic master as a quote from a Hindu text or a quote from the Zohar or Friedrich Nietzsche. In the final section, an appendix, which he calls, Excursus, Rabbi Samuel provides the reader with additional thought-provoking material, which sometimes offers more interpretations and sometimes asks deep and fundamental questions about the biblical text.

Readers of Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis are treated to a superb variety of interpretations, perspectives, and analyses, all of which shows why the Bible is still the most widely-read, yet among the least comprehended books.

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Dr. Fred Reiss is a retired public and Hebrew school teacher and administrator. He is the author of The Standard Guide to the Jewish and Civil Calendars;  Ancient Secrets of Creation: Sepher Yetzira, the Book that Started Kabbalah, Revealed; and Reclaiming the Messiah.  He may be contacted at fred.reiss@sdjewishworld.com

The identity of Nimrod continues to be an enigma. Five different approaches have been pursued.  The first identifies Nimrod as a god, usually the Mesopotamian god of hunting and war Ninurta or Marduk; both these names are phonetically similar to the Nimrod’s name. Jewish tradition connects Nimrod’s name נִמְרֹד (literally “we shall revolt”) with the verb מָרַד (marad = “to rebel” or “revolt”). The rabbis regarded Nimrod as the mastermind of the Tower of Babel. Under Nimrod’s rule (v. 10), all the various Mesopotamian city-states became consolidated. Other speculations include:

Some scholars think that Nimrod was Gilgamesh, the legendary leader who ruled the S. Mesopotamian city of Uruk around 2600 B.C.E. and was thus a contemporary of Agga, the ruler of Kish.  Gilgamesh was believed to be two-thirds god and one-third human. According to some of the Sumerian legends about Gilgamesh, he was a Semitic, who lived during the Second Early Dynastic period who fortified Uruk (biblical Erech, modern Warka) and went on to defeat King Agga of Kish (cf. ANET, pp. 44–52).

Gilgamesh is also mentioned in the Sumerian list of kings as reigning after the flood and parallels Nimrod as the first king to rule after the Flood.  In terms of Assyrian mythology, Gilgamesh was regarded as a demigod who imposed his will upon his subjects, reducing them to forced labor, causing them to suffer under his tyranny. Like Nimrod of later rabbinic tradition, Gilgamesh was said to be a mighty builder. Gilgamesh’s subjects prayed that the gods would send him a rival who would curb Gilgamesh’s harsh rule. Among his exploits, Gilgamesh would fight against monsters and wild beasts alike.

In the third approach Nimrod has been equated with an historical personage, possibly Tukulti-Ninurta I, an Assyrian king who reigned c. 1238-c. 1197 B.C.E. Tukulti-Ninurta I established  Assyrian supremacy over King Kashtiliash IV, ruler of the Kassites to the southeast  of his country (about the Persian Gulf), and subjugated ancient Armenia to the northeast. For a short time, Tukulti-Ninurta became the first Assyrian king to rule over Babylon. Among his accomplishments, Tukulti-Ninurta I erected a noted ziggurat temple to the goddess Ishtar-Dinitu (“Ishtar of the Dawn”) that served as a model for Assyrian architecture.[1]

Wiseman has suggested a possible fourth approach, namely, that Nimrod resembles Sargon I of Akkad (reigned c. 2334-2279 B.C.E.), who was one of the earliest of the world’s great empire builders. The extension of Nimrod’s kingdom from southern Mesopotamia (Gen.10:10) to northern Mesopotamia (Gen. 10:11) parallels the growth of the first known empire in history, the dynasty of Akkad.

According to the Sumerian king list, the first five rulers of Akkad (Sargon, Rimush, Manishtusu, Naram-Sin, and Shar-kali-sharric. 2305-2000  B.C.E.) ruled for a total of 142 years;  Sargon and Naram-Sin (about 2300  B.C.E.), were among the greatest of the heroic kings of old.  Sargon I conquered all of southern Mesopotamia as well as parts of Syria, Anatolia, and Elam (Western Iran) The Sumerian king list has Sargon I reigning for 56 years. He established the region’s first Semitic dynasty and was considered the founder of the Mesopotamian military tradition. Although his throne name was Sargon I, he may have had other names.[2]

Lastly, Nimrod may be related to the Akkadian word for the Amorite kingdom, Amurru. Cassuto thinks that Nimrod may have been an Amorite conqueror who conquered the city of Asshur, the capital of the Assyrian kingdom c. 19^th century B.C.E.   The Ammaru were also believed to have been partly responsible for causing of the downfall of the 3rd dynasty of Ur and Akkad at the beginning of the second millennium (c. 2112 — 2004 B.C.E.).  The Amorites are believed to have originated from the great tribal federations of Arabia who immigrated en masse to Babylon, as well as to the mid-Euphrates region, and Syria-Palestine.

Whether Nimrod was indeed the same person as Gilgamesh, Sargon I or Tukulti-Ninurta I, is subject to conjecture, but one thing for certain — Nimrod became the  true archetype of  Assyrian monarchs who followed and belongs to the sphere of Babylonian mythology.[3]

It might seem odd that Nimrod, a son of Cush, a Hamite would establish the region’s first Semitic dynasty, but one must remember that there was considerable intermingling in the families of Shem and Ham and all the peoples of Mesopotamia as seen in the languages and in the architecture. If the Table of Nations was written 7^th- 10^th centuries B.C.E., then the biblical writers probably had in mind the mighty Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian emperors who ruled the world with an iron fist. That explanation seems like the most plausible. Continue Reading

* This is an older article I wrote back in 2009. So, if there is any overlap of ideas, please forgive me.

Abortion, as such, is not discussed in the Tanakh. Explanations  as to why it is not legislated or commented are at best speculative. The biblical world was much more concerned with the survival of its members, rather than with the willful termination of its unborn. Archaeological evidence suggests that in ancient Israel the infant mortality rate was about 50%.

Discussions concerning abortion are ancient indeed. The Torah imposes a fine on the assailant for causing abortion of a woman’s fetus in the course of a quarrel, and the penalty of death if the woman’s dies as a result of the assailant’s attack. “When two people who are fighting injure a pregnant woman so that there is a miscarriage, and yet no further harm follows, the one responsible shall be fined what the woman’s husband demands, paying as much as the judges determine. If any harm follows, then you shall give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe” (Exod. 21:22-23).

Ancient Discussions

If the Code of Hammurabi is of any indication, the Torah had in mind only financial damages but did not advocate the death penalty for the death of the fetus—regardless how premature or maturely it was. In Section 209: Hammurabi writes, “If a man strike a free woman and cause her fruit to depart, he shall pay ten shekels of silver for her fruit.”

Perceptions regarding the status of the embryo changed centuries later during the days of Greek culture. A new interpretation was introduced that radically transformed our understanding of the biblical text. According to the ancient Greek translation of the Scriptures, the Septuagint, the Torah decreed that under certain circumstances, the death of the fetus could be imposed for causing an abortion:

ἐὰν δὲ ἐξεικονισμένον ἦν δώσει ψυχὴν ἀντὶ ψυχῆς

[And if two men strive and smite a woman with child; and her child be born imperfectly formed, he shall be forced to pay a penalty: as the woman's husband may lay upon him, he shall pay with a valuation.] But if it be perfectly formed, he shall give life for life . . . (Exod. 21:22)

Philo of Alexandria comments on this passage of the Septuagint, “But if anyone has a contest with a woman who is pregnant, and strike her a blow on her belly, and she miscarry, if the child which was conceived within her is still unfashioned and unformed, he shall be punished by a fine, both for the assault which he committed and also because he has prevented nature, who was fashioning and preparing that most excellent of all creatures, a human being, from bringing him into existence. But if the child which was conceived had assumed a distinct shape in all its parts, having received all its proper connective and distinctive qualities, he shall die; for such a creature as that is a man, whom he has slain while still in the workshop of nature, who had not thought it as yet a proper time to produce him to the light, but had kept him like a statue lying in a sculptor’s workshop, requiring nothing more than to be released and sent out into the world.[1]

Philo juxtaposes abortion with the ancient practice of exposure. He writes: “On account of this commandment he also adds another proposition of greater importance, in which the exposure of infants is forbidden, which has become a very ordinary piece of wickedness among other nations by reason of their natural inhumanity . . .”

Josephus also regards abortion as morally akin to murder.[2] Nevertheless, in practice, he followed rabbinical tradition, “He that kicks a woman with a child, so that the woman miscarry, let him pay a fine in money, as the judges shall  determine, as having diminishing the multitude by the destruction of what was in her womb.”[3]

Josephus and Philo may have been of the opinion that the assailant had to pay two fines, one to the husband, and the second fine to charity for depriving the human race of one less person. It is also possible the Hellenistic understanding did run contrary to what later became Talmudic Halacha. Nevertheless, it does reflect the disdain Jews have had throughout history concerning abortion—at least as a method of birth-control. Given the high degree of infant-mortality, this reaction was quite understandable.

Unlike the Septuagint, Talmudic scholars maintained that the word אָסוֹן (´äsôn) “harm” refers to the woman and not to the fetus, since the scriptural injunction, “He who fatally strikes a man shall be put to death” (Exo. 21:12), did not apply to the killing of a fetus.[4] Ancient rabbis did not consider abortion a sin unless the fetus was viable בן קיימא  (ben keyama)—still and all, if the infant was so much as only  one day old , his killer is guilty of murder (Niddah. 5:3).[5]

According to the view of R. Ishmael, only a Gentile, to whom some of the basic transgressions applied with greater stringency, incurred the death penalty for causing the loss of the fetus (Sanhedrin 57b). Though abortion was frowned upon in the ancient world, it did not constitute murder.[6] In one well known Responsa of R. Yosef Trani (14th century), the author argued against a Jew assisting in an abortion, because it “places a stumbling block before the blind (Lev. 19:14).” This Halachic attitude did not apply to therapeutic abortion.

All this doesn’t necessarily mean that the rabbis had a permissive attitude concerning abortion. Clearly, it wasn’t. Thus we find in one medieval Midrashic work that Israel is praised because in spite of Pharaoh’s genocidal decree, in Egypt, “Every boy that is born you shall throw into the Nile,  (Exod. 1:22), “Not one Israelite woman so much as harmed her foetus, much less after its birth. By virtue of their reverence for life, Israel merited the exodus” (Zohar II 3b).

Abortion is permitted if the fetus endangers the mother’s life. The Mishnah reads: “When a woman travails to give birth [and it is feared she may die], one may sever the fetus from her womb and extract it, member by member, for her life takes precedence over his”[7 This is the case only as long as the foetus has not emerged into the world, when it is not a life at all and “it may be killed and the mother saved.”[8] Once the birthing process has begun,  if the greater part of the fetus has emerged into the world-either its head only, or its breach—it may not be touched, even if it endangers the mother’s life  אין דוחין נפש מפני נפש (ein dohin nefesh mi-penei nefesh) “one may not discard one life to save another.”

In another passage of the Talmud, a newborn child is not considered to be viable, until it has lived for 30 days![9] How do we reconcile this passage with the above?

Back to the Future: Contemporary Perspectives

Rav Ben Tsion Uziel, the late Chief Sephardic Rabbi, observes in his Responsa, “When a child dies within 30 days, it is considered as if it was a stillborn and is not mourned for like a person who has died. It becomes evident only in retrospect, that it was stillborn [nofale] and that the period of its life was only a continuation of the mother’s vitality. Since there was no way to ascertain whether the foetus was indeed stillborn or not, it is not a crime one can be executed for because of doubt. Nevertheless, it is certainly prohibited to kill it because of doubt.”[10] This passage of Ben Uziel does have ramifications to another area of Halacha pertaining to discontinuing life-support mechanisms for a  seriously impaired newborn baby. A more contemporary  scholar, Rav Abraham Steinberg, notes “when in doubt, it is better to error in favor of life.”

Just to digress, it is interesting to note  that in a similar way, Christian theologian Augustine raised a key question in his own time, as it is now, was “at what time the infant begins to live in the womb; whether life exists in a latent form before it manifests itself in the motions of the living being.” Augustine admits that he cannot assuredly say at exactly what point human life begins. He seriously questions whether any human has the power to decisively say. Nevertheless, he asserts that anyone who looked at the cut-up remains of an aborted baby would have to recognize that this had been a human life. Although Augustine apparently had a firm belief that a developing foetus participates in human life, he argues equally strongly here that a conclusive proof is outside our human ability. There is some leniency if for example, the abortion will save the mother from an  illness deriving from an inflammation not connected with the pregnancy, or a poisonous fever . . . in these cases the fetus is not [per se] the cause of her illness.”[11]

Among modern Halachic authorities, psychological reasons are also a factor to allow abortions. The great 18th century Halachic giant,  Rabbi Yaakov  Emden, permitted abortion “as long as the foetus has not emerged from the womb, even if not in order to save the mother’s life, but only to save her from the harassment and great pain which the foetus causes her.[12]

One early 20th century scholar, Rav Ben Tsion Uziel, rules in favor of allowing an abortion in order to save the mother’s hearing, even though her life was not endangered. Disgrace and the quality of life are a very important factor to take into consideration when deciding whether one is undergo an abortion.[13] In the case of pregnancy resulting from incest, or any adulterous union, the 18^th century savant, R. Yaakov Emden, permitted abortion so that the stigma of bastardy be attached to her offspring.[14]

With regard to the dreaded Tay-Sachs disease, Rav Eliezer Waldenberg permits the abortion, since as he writes in his Responsa: “One should permit abortion as soon as it becomes obvious from the results of the test that the child is indeed, a Tay-Sach’s baby will be born—even until the seventh month of pregnancy. If we are able to permit abortion according to the Halacha because of great need and because of pain and anguish, it seems reasonable that this is the classic case for extending such permission. And it is irrelevant in what way pain and suffering is expressed; whether it be physical or psychological—It is all the same. Indeed, psychological suffering in many ways in greater than the bodily suffering.”[15]

R. Eliezer Waldenberg also notes that whenever possible, all such abortions should be performed within the first forty days of the pregnancy or at least within the first three months.[16] Pope Gregory XIII [1572-85) expresses a similar view, and wrote that an embryo less than forty days was not yet considered human. Incidentally,  it was only in 1869, Pope Pius IX who along with this doctrine of infallibility, decreed that the destruction of an embryo—even to save the mother’s life — was a mortal sin that merited excommunication from the Church.[17]

Many Orthodox scholars differ and are of the view that Jewish law prohibits abortion when its sole justification is to prevent the birth of a physically deformed or retarded baby. Likewise, abortion—on demand—purely for the convenience of the mother or even society is considered morally repugnant.”[18]

Suffice it to say as in any Halachic matter, there is no carte blanche answer for every conceivable case in Halacha—especially with regard to abortion.  Every case must be determined by its own unique circumstances. A competent rabbi should be able to help guide any person who is wrestling with this important decision. There is no one answer for such a complex issue as abortion. Continue Reading

There can be no doubt rabbinic tradition took a dim view of capital punishment. Mishnahic law required that those accused be warned by witnesses immediately before they commit the offense, and that they acknowledge such warning—a clear indication of the rabbinic distaste for capital punishment, explicitly found elsewhere.[1] Life imprisonment did exist for cases that could not technically be legally prosecuted, even though the evidence left no room for doubt[2]; such a person had to subsist on sparse diet of barley bread and water, and the Talmud indicates the criminal usually died from starvation. There may be a Scriptural allusion to this practice: the prisoner was condemned to eat “the bread of misfortune and the water of distress” (Isa. 30:20). Other rabbinic statements express even greater ambivalence:

• R. Yose says, “Under no circumstances is one put to death unless both witnesses against him have given warning to him,” as it is said, ‘At the testimony of two witnesses’ (Deut. 7:6).”[3] He whose trial ended and who fled and was brought back before the same court—they do not reverse the judgment concerning him and retry him. He whose trial ended and who fled and was brought back before the same court—they do not reverse the judgment concerning him and retry him . . . A Sanhedrin which imposes the death penalty once in seven years is called murderous. R. Eleazar b. Azariah says, “Once in seventy years.” R. Tarfon and R. Akiba say, “If we were on a Sanhedrin, no one would ever be put to death.”[4] Rabban Simeon b. Gamaliel says, “So these Sages would multiply the number of murderers in Israel.”[5]

Moreover, the defendant may not be put to death unless two (or in some cases three) eyewitnesses testify against him or her.  Each witness must be so certain of his testimony that he personally would be willing to carry out the execution.  A passage from Deuteronomy 19:13-21 asserts that a plotting witness is subject to the same punishment as the defendant—including, presumably, death. Although the Torah prescribes the death penalty in the case of adolescent rebellion (i.e., “the rebellious son” of Deut. 21:18-21), the Sages admit, “Such a case never occurred, and it never will happen.” The entire passage is heuristic, so, “That you may study [the Torah for its own sake] and receive reward.”[6] The rabbinic angst and reticence to implement the death penalty, and its alternative system of imprisonment is of great relevance for modern biblical scholars and laity.

Rabbinic law is pretty straightforward about such cases. Maimonides writes, “The following rules apply when two groups of witnesses offer conflicting testimonies. If one witness from one group came together with one witness from the other group and they both delivered testimony concerning another matter, the testimony is of no consequence for it is obvious that one of them lied, but we cannot ascertain which one.”[7]Likewise Maimonides also notes, “Should a court err with regard to a case involving capital punishment and convict an innocent person, ruling that he is guilty, and they discover a rationale that would require that the ruling be nullified and he be vindicated, they nullify the ruling and retry the case. If the Court erroneously ruled and acquitted a person liable to be executed, then the judgment is not nullified and the case is not retried.”[8]