Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

One critic of Augustine refused to accept such a pessimistic view of humankind. The Christian monk Pelagius taught his followers that Adam’s Fall did not directly affect his posterity at all, nor did the behavior of Adam and Eve spiritually transmit a disease to the human race. The primal parents’ sins affected only themselves. Every child born into the world is as Adam was at Creation: entirely innocent; each human being is born with the freedom to choose his or her own path in life.[1] Pelagius contends that Augustine’s doctrine of “sovereign grace” went against the biblical belief that God endowed humanity with natural goodness and free will. Even before the advent of Jesus, there were sinless and righteous human beings, “gospel men before the gospel,” such as Noah, Melchizedek, Abraham, and Job.[2] We owe much of the information we have about Pelagius to his critic Augustine, who preserved the words of his adversary:

• Sin is carried on only by imitation, committed by the will, denounced by reason, manifested by the law, punished by justice. . . . If sin is natural, it is not voluntary; if it is voluntary, it is not inborn. These two definitions are as mutually contrary as are necessity and free will. Adam was created mortal and would have died whether he sinned or not sinned; the sin of Adam injured only him, not the human race; the law leads to the kingdom of Heaven, just as the gospel does; even before the coming of Christ there were men without sin; newborn infants are in the same state which Adam was before his transgression; the whole human race does not die with the death and transgression of Adam, nor does it rise again through the resurrection of Christ. . . . One can be neither praised nor blamed, neither rewarded nor condemned, except for one’s own acts and self-acquired character, which must be within the compass of one’s ability. What is innate, inherent, or infused is clearly not within the power of the will, and therefore cannot have any moral character.[3]

For Pelagius, it was wrong to convict the entire human race because of one man’s sin. On numerous occasions, Augustine felt that Pelagius’s “Judaic”[4] ideas[5] threatened to undermine the authority of the Church and the Church’s claim that it alone could liberate man from the chains of Original Sin.[6] However, Pelagius countered that the Bible teaches that nature is good, as God created it to be, and that humankind is morally free to chart its own spiritual destiny, because human beings are fashioned in the likeness of the Divine image.

Since every human being derives his or her own essential goodness from God, therefore, no newborn infant deserves to be damned because of Adam’s sin. Moral goodness or evil are potentialities that each person can choose to realize. If we act righteously, we become righteous; if wickedly, we become wicked. Numerous Scriptural injunctions   make it perfectly clear that “Parents shall not be put to death for their children, nor shall children be put to death for their parents; only for their own crimes may persons be put to death” (Deut. 24:16). This principle precludes the possibility of innate, hereditary depravity such as Original Sin.

The severity of Adam’s sin ought to be viewed in terms of the deed’s pedagogic effect. In effect, Adam becomes a poor role model for subsequent generations. Human corruption is due to the habit of evil that if left uncorrected, spreads like a contagion. Humans are born without virtue or vice, but have the capacity for either type of behavior.

Pelagius’s moral strictness is as exacting as it is demanding; his view of human nature is sober and grounded in reality. According to him, the onus of personal responsibility for all sins, both large and small, is upon each of us as individuals; hence there can be no excuse—not even for the most minor or venial of sins. It behooves everyone to know that sin involves a conscious and preventable defiance of God’s will; sin is, in the final analysis, an act of deliberate rebellion against God’s sovereignty and wisdom. Pelagius believes that even the smallest infraction—since it could be avoided—carries with it the possibility of eternal punishment.[7]

For Pelagius, God would never impose duties and responsibilities upon people that they could never possibly hope to fulfill. Without freedom of will, humankind is no better than moral idiots. The obligation to live a moral life is in accordance with individual ability. Deny a person of his freedom and capacity to act rationally, and one might just as well give license to all those who—much like the pre-converted youthful Augustine—behave with reckless abandon. After all, couldn’t he just as soon wait to “be saved” from Above after enjoying all of the tasty forbidden pleasures of this world? Why, asks Pelagius, should we bother avoiding the sins of this world if, in the final analysis, moral behavior doesn’t really matter—so long as one makes a declaration of faith in Christ? Conversely, Augustine counters that Pelagianism made the saving work of Christ unnecessary, that it undermined the central drama of the New Testament. Pelagius had made men independent of God in the sense that their salvation was entirely in their own hands.

Although historically Augustine’s view became normative theology for the next millennium and longer, still and all, Thomas Aquinas did not fully accept Augustine’s dim view of human nature. While it is true that human sinfulness weakens our innate capacity to live virtuously—sin, argues Aquinas, cannot eradicate the fact we are, in the final analysis, rational beings. Our human goodness cannot be fully extinguished. In the case of Adam, Original Sin causes him to lose the special gifts that enable him to sublimate and control his lower bodily functions.

Prior to his sin, Adam’s rational faculties were perfect. That being said, it is possible that this gift can be restored to us by supernatural grace alone for our human efforts to obtain salvation would always fall short of the divine benchmark. Naturally, reasons Aquinas, this infusion of special grace could never happen without the assistance of the Catholic Church and its rich sacramental system. Aquinas understands the implications of his doctrine, and how he virtually hedges on Pelagian teaching. Without the assistance of the Church, its capacity to function as an intermediary agency would have been undermined; its ecclesiastical ability would not have been able to function.[8]

Jewish thinkers concur with Pelagius’s position that no human being is tainted by the sins of Adam—but only by his own sinful deeds. Human nature was not at all corrupted, nor did a human being become an inherently immoral, “evil” creature, outside the realm of “grace” by merely being born. Each of us, through acts of will, freely decides our moral and spiritual destinies. Even when a person has sinned, that breach in his relationship with God is repairable through sincere penitence. Rather than pointing to human depravity, the rabbis sought to encourage their followers to adopt an optimistic approach, thus awakening the capacity for human goodness. The human instinct for pleasure and power becomes a problem only when it runs amok. There is no inherited predisposition that prevents us from becoming virtuous and pious. Only the quality of our behavior can determine whether the light of the Divine image will ever find its reflection in us.

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Hello again,

I hope you liked reading the article. Better still, I encourage you to consider purchasing my book,  “Birth and Rebirth through Genesis: A Timeless Theological Conversation Genesis 1-3, which is available at:

http://www.amazon.com/Birth-Rebirth-through-Genesis-Conversation/dp/1456301713/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1309652244&sr=1-2.

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Notes:

[1] Notes: Like Pelagius before him, Immanuel Kant attacked the old Augustinian and Protestant view of Adam’s fall from grace, and said that the belief that sinfulness is passed on to a person’s posterity was nothing more than a superstition.

[2] See Augustine’s work The Merits and Forgiveness of Sins 1:30, 58; On the Baptism of Sins 4:24.31; 51.129.

[3] Translated by Jaroslav Jan Pelikan, The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine, Vol. 1 The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition (100-600) (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1971), 315. Cf. Anti-Pelagian Writings 11:23 published in Vol. V of the Early Church Fathers Nicene–Post/Nicene Part I (New York: T. & T. Clark, 1887).

[4] Aside from some of the other Early Church Fathers, Pelagius’s views may have also been shaped by his encounters with rabbinic teachers from the Jewish community as he travelled through the Holy Land before settling in Rome. Jerome, who was also a contemporary of Pelagius, learned Hebrew from a rabbi in Palestine. It would seem that despite the polemically-charged era both faiths lived in, Jewish and Christian scholars exchanged theological views of the Bible in the spirit of fellowship and open-mindedness—millennia before the advent of modern Jewish-Christian interfaith relations.

[5]Augustine, ECF 2.5.0.0.3.3.

[6] Luther and Calvin understood original sin as “a hereditary depravity and corruption of our nature” See John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. Henry Beveridge, (Edinburgh 1865, II .i.8). Unlike Augustine, Calvin relates Original Sin not so much to heredity, as to an ordinance of God, a heavenly decree from God passed on all humankind.

[7] With the exception of the Qumran Jewish community, Saadia Gaon and possibly Ramban, no other major Jewish theologian subscribed to the doctrine of “eternal damnation” or more precisely, “the soul that sins shall be cut off from its people” (Num. 15:30). See Ramban’s commentary on Leviticus 18:29.

[8] Thomas Aquinas, The Basic Writings of St Thomas Aquinas, ed. A. C. Pegis, 2 vols. ii. (New York: Random House, 1945); Summa Theologica, Part 1 Q. 81, Art. 1; Q. 85 Art. 2; Q. 85 Art. 3. See also F. C. Copleston, Aquinas (New York: Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1982), 156-98.

The theme of birth and rebirth is not found only throughout Genesis, but is present in the other books of the Tanakh as well (see the pericopes[1] of Moses and Jonah). No human being is born perfect. In this sense, every saint has a past—every sinner has a future. Jewish folk-wisdom has always understood this great life-affirming spiritual intuition. Jungian psychology has much to say about the darker forces that lurk within the human soul yearning for conscious expression. As defined by Jung, the archetype of the “shadow” represents the hidden or unconscious aspects of oneself—both good and bad—which the ego either represses or never recognizes, as he notes: “The shadow is the thing a person has no wish to be.”[2] The more unaware we are about this darker and amoral side, the less likely we will mindfully confront and change our inner nature.[3] To become self-aware, it is imperative that each of us find a way to integrate our “shadow” nature. This spiritual and psychological task is not without its challenges and difficulties, as Jung explains further:

• The shadow is a moral problem that challenges the whole ego-personality, for no one can become conscious of the shadow without considerable moral effort. To become conscious of it involves recognizing the darker aspects of the personality as present and real. This act is the real existential condition for any kind of self-knowledge, and therefore, as a rule, meets with considerable resistance.[4]

Awareness of these internal psychological forces can enable a person to be deliberate in thought, word, and deed, while unawareness of the shadow can often lead to the scapegoating of others. Shadow projections are among some of the most pernicious attitudes evident in many social and racial biases. Misogyny, for example, is due to a man’s refusal to recognize his own inner feminine nature that yearns for a conscious expression. The same dynamic is present in any kind of social prejudice.

Conversely, it would be a mistake to identify the shadow with forces of evil; the shadow reflects the underdeveloped good that has yet to become fully realized and conscious. There is another element of the shadow that represents the repressed goodness each of us has which yearns to emerge into consciousness.[5] Jung refers to this presence of the psyche as the “Golden Shadow.” This manifestation of the psyche is always present in the heroes and heroines of the Genesis story. God refuses to give up on His chosen ones; Divine creativity turns inward, the human spirit is a work in progress. Jung explains further: “The shadow is not, however, only the dark underside of the personality. It also consists of instincts, abilities, and positive moral qualities that have either long been buried or have never been conscious. The shadow is merely somewhat inferior, primitive, unadapted, and awkward; not wholly bad. It even contains childish or primitive qualities which would in a way vitalize and embellish human existence, but—convention forbids!”[6]

Admitting that the shadow exists is a crucial step in breaking its compulsive hold on the individual. One of the best illustrations of this in the book of Genesis is the story of Jacob, a man who is in every sense a creature fashioned from the forces of Creation itself—light and darkness commingled as one. As a young man, Jacob feels spiritual yearnings within his heart, but acts ruthlessly in achieving his goals. Jacob’s transformation occurs once he becomes consciously aware of what he has been, and chooses to become something altogether different. By developing an awareness of his spiritual center, Jacob finally learns to shed the fears that commandeer his soul and discovers an inner center of peace. He discovers that blessings can only be obtained through just and honest means—without fanfare or manipulation (see Excursus 26 for more detail of the shadow archetype and its relation to the Fall).

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If you like this sampling, you may want to consider purchasing my new commentary on Genesis entitled, “Birth and Rebirth through Genesis: A Timeless Theological Conversation Genesis 1-3, which is available at:

http://www.amazon.com/Birth-Rebirth-through-Genesis-Conversation/dp/1456301713/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1309652244&sr=1-2.

Notes:

[1] The term pericope refers to an extract or selection from a book, especially a reading from Scripture.

[2]Carl Gustav Jung, “Aion: Researches into the Phenomenology of the Self” The Collective Works of C.G. Jung, Vol. 9 Part II [Princeton, NJ: Bollingen, 1959), 14.

[3] An extreme example of shadow archetype can be seen in Robert Louis Stevenson’s story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. In this classic narrative, Dr. Jekyll, considers himself to be a kind, loving, and accepting doctor; yet he remains dishonest in facing himself as he really is. Little does he realize that there are two men who inhabit the same body and personality. At first, he changes in order to indulge in all the forbidden pleasures that were off-limits to Dr. Jekyll, but as his evil side progressively grows stronger, it is Hyde who dominates, until he is totally transformed into the Hyde persona. Had Jekyll been aware of the contradictions in his inner self, he might have been more capable of domesticating his inner savage.

[4] Carl G. Jung, Aion: Researches into the Phenomenology of the Self, op. cit., par.14.

[5] Talmudic wisdom teaches that sometimes a good person will dream of doing bad deeds, while a bad person will occasionally dream of doing good deeds—depending on the thoughts each one has in the course of a day (BT Berakhot 55b).

[6]  C. G. Jung, “The Shadow,” The Collective Works of C.G. Jung, 9 Vol. II, (Princeton, NJ: Bollingen, 1959), par.14.

[Note that due to the limitations of WordPress, I used bullets to indicate indentations]

In his famous essay, Odysseus’s Scar, Erich Auerbach stresses the philosophical contrast between the Bible’s personalities with those of Homer.[1] Auerbach claims that Homer leaves little doubt in the reader’s imagination. Every hero’s thought is externalized for the benefit of his audience with complete clarity. The world of Homer is self-contained; his poems do not conceal anything, for the author provides all the background information needed to understand his story; “he can be analyzed, but he cannot be interpreted.”[2]

In contrast, the Bible seeks to create a μίμησις (mimesis), a Greek term that means “imitation,” but the term really connotes “a portrayal of reality,” which aims to transfix and transform the inner world of its reader, as a result of encountering the characters within its story. By such means, the biblical narrative makes an absolute claim regarding its truth—and it compels the reader to accept it. Nobody reading its story will walk away feeling quite the same as before. Auerbach contrasts these two narrative traditions:

• The world of the Scripture stories is not satisfied with claiming to be a historically true reality; it insists that it is only the real world, is destined for autocracy. All other scenes, issues, and ordinances have no right to appear independently of it. Far from seeking, like Homer, merely to make us forget our own reality for a few hours, it seeks to overcome our reality: we are to fit our own life into its world, feel ourselves to be elements in its structure of universal history. . . . We are to fit our own life into its world, feel ourselves to be elements in its structure of universal history. . . . Everything else that happens in the world can only be conceived as an element in this sequence; into it everything that is known about the world must be fitted as an ingredient of the divine plan.[3]

Auerbach’s insight is brilliantly stated. The Hebraic world of the Scriptures unfolds a worldview where the reader becomes more than just an observer; he becomes in an almost mystical sense—a silent participant. The French anthropologist, René Girard, adds that the process of mimesis is not always a conscious psychological process—it functions unconsciously as well. The characters of the Bible (or other works of world literature), often become role models to imitate, thus reinforcing cultural and social behavior by defining what is and what is not acceptable.[4]

Biblical personalities possess teleological complexity and psychological depth that leave its readers wondering about the main character’s inner thought processes. For example: What was the first conversation Adam and Eve had after their expulsion? How did Abel respond to his brother’s rejection? How did the first parents react to their son Abel’s death? How did Abraham psychologically respond to YHWH’s demand that he sacrifice his beloved Isaac? What was Isaac’s near-death experience psychologically like? The absence of detail always triangulates the reader directly into the narrative. Moral lessons gleaned from the stories of Genesis transcend the questions of historical factuality. Each biblical episode preserves not just the narrative’s experiential quality more cogently than most other formats, but bursts with profound existential energy pulsating throughout the narrative—from the ancient past to the immediate present.

The lives of these human beings, more often than not, are controlled by their gods, who are intricately involved in mortal life. According to Homer, when Achilles confronts Agamemnon for the crime of stealing his wife, Agamemnon offers an ingenious defense: “I was not to blame. It was Zeus and Fate and the Fury who walks in the dark that blinded my judgment that day at the meeting when I took Achilles’ prize . . .”[5] This concept was frequently enacted on the stages of ancient Greek theater, where the role of the powerful and intrusive god(s) was enhanced by means of a mechanical flying device known as deus ex machina. In reality, it was the gods who were the main actors here. In the Bible, one would never find the attitude that human beings are mere pawns of YHWH. When Cain kills Abel, he cannot blame YHWH for what he does to his brother. Although the hand of Providence is present in the sale of Joseph, nevertheless, it is the brothers who bear the moral responsibility for their brother’s disappearance. Even Pharaoh, whose freedom is curtailed, is still ultimately responsible for the misery he causes the Israelites.

There is another important distinction separating the biblical protagonists from their Greek counterparts as revealed in Homer’s Iliad. The mortal heroes of Greek mythology are not particularly noted for their self-reflectivity (except for Narcissus!). Psychologist Julian Jaynes adds an interpretation that complements Auerbach’s thesis:

• Characters of the Iliad do not sit down and think out what to do. They have no conscious minds such as, we say, we have, and certainly no introspections. It is impossible for us with our subjectivity to appreciate what it was like. When Agamemnon, king of men, robs Achilles of his mistress, it is a god that grasps Achilles by his yellow hair and warns him not to strike Agamemnon (I: 197ff.). It is a god who then rises out of the gray sea and consoles him in his tears of wrath on the beach by his black ships, a god who whispers low to Helen to sweep her heart with homesick longing. . . . The beginnings of action are not in conscious plans, reason, and motives; they are in the actions and speeches of gods. To another, a man seems to be the cause of his own behavior—but not to the man himself. When, toward the end of the war, Achilles reminds Agamemnon of how he robbed him of his mistress, the king of men declares, “Not I was the cause of this act, but Zeus, and my portion, and the Erinyes [furies] who walk in darkness: it was they in the assembly who put wildness upon me on that day when I arbitrarily took Achilles’ prize from him, so what could I do? Gods always have their way (19:86-90). [6]

There can be little doubt that the myths and plays of ancient Greece also reveal a tragic dimension of human life. Plato’s criticism of Greek tragedy and poetry is an important case in point. According to him, poets tend to imitate the most negative impulses of the soul, rather than its most noble features. For young people in particular, Plato believes that such mimetic behavior could only lead to developing bad habits, crude language, and inappropriate responses to crisis (395c-d). Young guardians would fare better by putting their attention to the dramatized positive role models who are portrayed as living by a principle of virtue. Secondly, by giving an outlet for such negative expression, the poet’s words give license to an audience for expressing emotions that ought to remain repressed.[7]

For the most part—with the exception of some stories, e.g., Moses, Samson, King Saul and Job—the biblical writers adopted a different and more hopeful attitude. As Auerbach writes:

• Humiliation and elevation go far deeper and far higher than in Homer, and they basically belong together. The poor beggar Odysseys is only masquerading, but Adam is really cast down, Jacob made a refugee, Joseph really in the pit and then a slave to be bought and sold. But their greatness, rising out of humiliation, is almost superhuman and an image of God’s greatness. The reader clearly feels how the extent of the pendulum’s swing is connected with the intensity of the personal history—precisely the most extreme circumstances in which we are immeasurably forsaken and in despair, or immeasurably joyous and exalted . . . [8]

And so the pendulum swings in reverse, as portrayed in the difficult life of King David, who after his great triumphs, begins a path of self-indulgence that nearly destroys him and his kingdom—only to find his spiritual center anew. Rather than focusing on the tragic dimension of earthly existence, Genesis (as well as the other books of the Tanakh[9] is concerned with the theme of personal redemption. Like the characters of Greek myths, each character is portrayed in Genesis as struggling with certain personality flaws. But unlike the Greek protagonist, the biblical counterpart is never the victim of circumstances beyond his or her control. Adam and Eve’s expulsion from Eden is the result of their decision to eat the forbidden fruit. Cain is not the victim of a capricious deity, but only of his own darker impulses and insecurities. The Jewish perspective is firmly rooted in the notion that every human being acts with complete freedom and is always morally accountable to God for one’s actions.

Like the Iliad and the Odyssey, the book of Genesis is the product of an oral age when the patriarchal and matriarchal stories were recounted or may have even been acted out or sung. Whole families might have gathered around a fire, and listened intently to the beautiful old stories about the dawn of the world or the dangerous exploits of the patriarchs, which they had heard so often, yet never tired of hearing. As these same stories were repeated, the story-tellers often developed new interpretive perspectives while embellishing the tales anew. And so Midrash was born.

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If you like this sampling, you may want to consider purchasing my new commentary on Genesis entitled, “Birth and Rebirth through Genesis: A Timeless Theological Conversation Genesis 1-3, which is available at:

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When witnessing the re-fetishization of faith, one wonders: What we can we do to bring civility back to faith, and remove its thorn of toxicity? Decades ahead of his time, the Jewish philosopher Martin Buber argued that one of the great spiritual challenges of our time is the process of purging our faith of all imagery that portrays the Divine as either vindictive or abusive.

In his short but insightful autobiographical book, Meetings, Buber describes a meeting he had with a very pious and learned observant Jew. They had a conversation about the biblical story of King Saul and the war of genocide waged against Israel’s ancient enemy, Amalek. After Saul captures King Agag of Amalek, Saul does not kill him. The prophet Samuel becomes enraged at Saul, who places the onus of the blame on the people rather than himself. Perhaps he cannot kill his enemies with such reckless abandon, but Samuel will not hear of it; he personally hacks Agag to death. Afterward Samuel tells Saul to abdicate the throne, but Saul refuses. Buber tells the man sitting opposite him, that as a child, he always found this story horrifying. Buber recounts:

• I told him how already at that time it horrified me to read or to remember how the heathen king went to the prophet with the words on his lips, “Surely the bitterness of death is past,” and was hewn to pieces by him. I said to my partner: “I have never been able to believe that this is a message of God. I do not believe it.” With wrinkled forehead and contracted brows, the man sat opposite me and his glance flamed into my eyes. He remained silent, began to speak, and became silent again. “So?” he broke forth at last, “so? You do not believe it?” “No,” I answered, “I do not believe it.” “So? so?” he repeated almost threateningly. “You do not believe it?” And once again: “No.”
• “What. What”—he thrust the words before him one after the other—”What do you believe then?” “I believe,” without reflecting, “that Samuel has misunderstood God.” And he, again slowly, but more softly than before: “So? You believe that?” and I: “Yes.” Then we were both silent. But now something happened the like of which I have rarely seen before or since in this my long life. The angry countenance opposite me became transformed as if a hand had passed over it soothing it. It lightened, cleared, was now turned toward me bright and clear. “Well,” said the man with a positively gentle tender clarity, “I think so too.” And again we became silent, for a good while.[1]

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Mary Shelly’s famous horror story, “Frankenstein,” is one of the most profound work of modern literature; like all timeless works, this story continues to unfold new possibilities of meaning that continue to challenge today’s readers in novel and unexpected ways.

Although most people identify Frankenstein with the monster he created, the personality of the monster’s creator is really what is at the heart of this great story. Shelly anticipated the dangers of the scientific revolution, where man embarks on a relentless conquest of the technological world. With subtle irony, Shelly also shows what happens to man when he tries to create a human being without the aid of a woman.

Deciphering the psychology of Victor Frankenstein is complex. Victor is determined to find a technological way of transcending death. Throughout recorded history, people everywhere have grappled the problem of mortality, as seen in the Epic of Gilgamesh of antiquity. However, Victor Frankenstein  is indifferent to the moral consequences of his creation; and neither is his creation. He is unconsciously driven by the desire to unseat the Creator of the world through science.

The Frankenstein metaphor certainly seems like an apt metaphor for the world of changes we are witnessing today in the international arena. The United Nation’s manic quest to create a modern Frankenstein-esque state named “Palestine” is no less shocking. The assonance of “Frankenstein” and “Palestine” seems more than coincidental.

Imagine a state where parents send their children to a summer camp, where its leaders inspire children to become suicide bombers. No, we are not talking about Kafka, but we might just as well be! Imagine streets named after suicide bombers, or entire museums depicting the blown out Israel bus or a blown up Israeli pizza shop strewn with body parts? Picture a society that is dedicated to making Israel “Jew-free” regardless how many they must kill?

Imagine creating a terrorist state that sees nothing wrong with volleying 10,000 missiles into Israeli cities. Picture a society that loves the death or “martyrdom” of its followers more than they do life itself.  Can you imagine a country whose leaders cynically use the “peace treaty” of Camp David as an excuse for war, or as Feisal Husseni once said, “The Palestinian-Israeli peace treaty is nothing more than a modern-day Palestinian Trojan horse.”

Earlier we mentioned how the obsession of Victor Frankenstein really makes him the true monster of our story. Are not the European nations any different? Rest assured that just as the Frankenstein monster rebelled against its creator, you can be sure that Islamic totalitarian forces looking to create a Palestinian state will eventually turn against its creators by educating and expanding their network of terror throughout the Middle East, Europe and beyond.

The world must understand that there can never be peace between those countries that refuse to acknowledge the existence of the Other. Israel and its people has made great strides in accepting the reality of a Palestinian State, but the Palestinian leaders have never prepared their populace for peaceful co-existence with Israel.

As one editorial said, “The only difference between Arafat and Abbas is that the latter wears a suit and only looks “civilized”, but neither wish to even acknowledge Israel as a Jewish homeland and there is our real problem. In my opinion, Arafat was at least a little bit more honest about his lack of humanity and civility. But in all honesty, Abbas is playing a fool’s gambit. If he fails in his attempt to create a Palestinian state–a certainty with the US veto–you can count on Hamas using this failed attempt to completely gain power and control over the West Bank. Like the Frankenstein metaphor we have examined above, Abbas’s new creation will rebel against him–it is inevitable. Sometimes doing nothing is preferable to acting impulsively, and this situation is certainly the case!

One last note: I would strongly recommend to PM Abbas that he rename his country, “Frankenstein,” and call his people “Frankenstinians.”

The book is inching closer toward publication. We are hoping for a late April date.

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Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis. . . adroitly moderates a virtual conversation between traditions and thinkers. This book is a wondrous springboard into a rewarding dialogue between  biblical scholarship and the philosophical perspective.

Micah D. Halpern, author of THUGS, The Micah Report, and Jewish Legal Writings by Women

“A fascinating, learned, and wide-ranging commentary that creatively blends the  insights of ancients, medievals, moderns, and post-moderns. . .Readers will enjoy this book.”

Prof. Warren Zev Harvey, [Chair, Department of Jewish Thought], The Hebrew University of Jerusalem ,

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I believe that all who carefully read this book are in for a deeply rewarding experience. A study of the text and commentary of Birth and Rebirth through Genesis: The Timeless Theological Commentary will contribute greatly to an understanding of the rich and diverse fabric of biblical narrative and provide an appreciation for its creative application to the problems of the modern world . . . Birth and Rebirth through Genesis is a book for Jews and Christians.

Prof. Marvin R. Wilson, Author of Our Father Abraham: Jewish Roots of the Christian Faith

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The book is a profound exploration of the important metaphors, symbols and archetypal structures of Genesis. . . Most remarkable about this stunning array of insights is that it leaves space for personal discovery, and time to hear the beat of heart-thoughts behind the words.

Paul Pines, author of My Brother’s Madness. Continue Reading

April 7, 2010

Rabbi Michael Samuel has written an insightful work that weaves pertinent biblical topics with differing philosophical perspectives.

Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis uncovers the universal teachings that have drawn generations of people to Bible study.  Rabbi Samuel adroitly moderates a virtual conversation between traditions and thinkers. This book is a wondrous springboard into a rewarding dialogue between  biblical scholarship and the philosophical perspective.

Micah D. Halpern is a columnist and a social and political commentator. Read his latest book THUGS. www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_gw?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=halpern%2C+micah
He maintains The Micah Report http://www.micahhalpern.com
Reach Micah at: 917 399-4468

Have you ever wondered about the beginning of Genesis in the context of the three thousand years of pondering prompted by these seminal three chapters? It is hard to imagine a more enjoyable use of time than to join the “Timeless Theological Conversation” (subtitle) of Michael Samuel in his engagement with the likes of everyone from Plato through Pelagius and Augustine up to philosopher Derrida and literary theorist Bahktin—and countless more.

This magnificent interdisciplinary work will prompt, will compel, its reader to consider fundamental issues of the dynamic among text, self, and others within the context of cultures and time. These 439 pages (plus indices) deal superbly with  nothing less than everyone’s journey of “Birth and Rebirth” (title), a dialectic of visiting, re-visiting, and adding to the insights of any classic text.

Paul Borgman, Author of Genesis: The Story We Haven’t Heard

The book is inching closer toward publication. We are hoping for a mid-April date.

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This commentary adroitly moderates a virtual conversation between traditions and thinkers. This book is a wondrous springboard into a rewarding dialogue between  biblical scholarship and the philosophical perspective.

Micah Halpern, author of Thugs and The Micah Report

“A fascinating, learned, and wide-ranging commentary that creatively blends the  insights of ancients, medievals, moderns, and post-moderns. . .Readers will enjoy this book.”

Prof. Warren Zev Harvey, [Chair, Department of Jewish Thought], The Hebrew University of Jerusalem ,

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I believe that all who carefully read this book are in for a deeply rewarding experience. A study of the text and commentary of Birth and Rebirth through Genesis: The Timeless Theological Commentary will contribute greatly to an understanding of the rich and diverse fabric of biblical narrative and provide an appreciation for its creative application to the problems of the modern world . . . Birth and Rebirth through Genesis is a book for Jews and Christians.

Prof. Marvin R. Wilson, Author of Our Father Abraham: Jewish Roots of the Christian Faith

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The book is a profound exploration of the important metaphors, symbols and archetypal structures of Genesis. . . Most remarkable about this stunning array of insights is that it leaves space for personal discovery, and time to hear the beat of heart-thoughts behind the words.

Paul Pines, author of My Brother’s Madness.

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