Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

Rabbinic minds have thought about the significance of Genesis in a number of different ways. For exegetes like Rashi, Genesis stresses how God is the Owner and Proprietor of the universe and, therefore, God alone has every right to give the Land of Canaan to whomever He pleases; in this case, He bequeaths it to the nation of Israel. As God’s people, Israel has a bond with the land that is eternal and irrevocable.[1] Rashi’s opening salvo was quite a remarkable comment to make at a time when Christians and Muslims were fighting for control of the Holy Land. What began long ago as an ideological struggle during the age of the Crusades continues to haunt present-day reality in the Middle East.

In contrast, some exegetes argue that Rashi’s answer to be inadequate.[2] Genesis stresses a basic theological truth, namely—God is the Author of all existence. Ramban[3] (1194–1270), as well other Judaic commentators teaches the importance of creatio ex nihilo—nothing would exist were it not for the creative power of God. Every creature and entity could not exist were it not due to the conscious act of the Divine bringing each being into existence at every moment.

Like Ramban, Rashbam[4] (ca. 1085-1158) also  supports the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo, while adding, “Do not imagine that this world you now see and experience had existed forever, for everything in the universe had an absolute beginning—that is why the Torah states from the onset: “At the beginning of the creation of the heaven and the earth . . .” (1:1). Furthermore, reasons Rashbam, the purpose of the creation narrative is to explain why the Sabbath is the cornerstone of all the Jewish holidays—a point that is emphatically stressed in the Decalogue: “Remember to keep holy the Sabbath day. . . . In six days the LORD made the heavens and the earth, the sea and all that is in them; but on the seventh day he rested. That is why the LORD has blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy” (Exod. 20:8-10). By observing the Sabbath, Israel bears witness to the world that God is the sole Creator of the universe.

Among the patristic fathers, Theodoret of Cyprus (393-457) explains that after centuries of oppression and assimilation, the Israelites became religiously indistinguishable from their Egyptian masters who believed solely in a visible creation. Consequently, the Israelites had forgotten about the one and true God of their ancestors, who created the heavens and the earth. “The statement that heaven and earth and the other parts of the universe were created and the revelation that the God of the universe was their Creator provided a true doctrine of God sufficient for people of that time.”[5] Theodoret’s point is significant. From the very outset of their freedom, Moses begins re-educating his people by teaching them about the creation story. The purpose of the Sabbath thus serves to teach the people of Israel about the nature of true faith and belief in God. Maimonides later expresses a similar point. According to him, each biblical precept—in one manner or another—aims to raise humankind, as theologian David Hartman notes, “from an anthropocentric to a theocentric concept of religious life.”[6]

Karaite exegete and theologian Aharon ben Eliahu (1260-1320), sharing a somewhat similar opinion to that of Rashbam, points out that the principles of Providence and prophecy would be inconceivable were it not for the belief that God created the world. “Moses,” argues Aharon, “wished to impress upon his people that they look only to God as the Ultimate Cause of their existence.” Like Rashbam, Aharon explains that the purpose of the Creation narrative also serves to theologically reinforce the celebration of the Sabbath.

• Genesis and the Origin of Ethical Monotheism  

R. Samuel David Luzzato (1800-1865) offers an altogether different interpretation. According to him, the opening salvo of Genesis teaches:

Now God wanted to proclaim to humankind about the unity of the world and the unity of the human race, for in error in these two matters caused many evils in ancient times. Without knowledge of the world’s unity, it followed that people believed in private gods with limitations and imperfections, and that people would do evil deeds in order to win their favor. . . . Without knowledge of the unity of the human race it followed that one people would hate and despise another and that physical force—not justice and righteousness—would rule among them. These two cardinal principles—the unity of the world and the unity of the human race—are the overall purpose in the story of Creation.[7]

S. D. Luzzato’s position is reminiscent of the early rabbinic view of 2^nd century sage, R. Simon Ben Azzai, who thought that the greatest single principle one may derive from the Genesis story—or for that matter, the entire Pentateuch—is the statement in Genesis affirming that God created humankind in His Divine image (Gen. 1:26; 5:1). According to Ben Azzai, the most supreme ethical principle in the Torah is the teaching of divine equality and equity. Moreover, this principle exceeds even the famous Levitical passage, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev. 19:18). For Ben Azzai, respecting the divine image beginning first with oneself, and then with others ensures that society will be just and moral. To insult or harm the divine image in any of its forms is to deny the essential brotherhood and sisterhood of humankind. This is why Ben Azzai affirms that the verse affirming the Divine image is by far the most comprehensive principle of the entire Torah—the bedrock of all biblical morality.[8]

The opening chapters of Genesis thus provide the theological basis for ethical monotheism. Since all races of humankind are made in the image and likeness of God, anyone denying this principle will result in a world that is riddled with violence, tragedy, and needless suffering. One may further argue that this particular theme links together the books of Genesis and Exodus. People cannot mistreat one another with impunity, for in God’s creative order there is accountability. Humankind’s very survival depends upon mastering the forces of chaos that threaten its very survival. The same God who creates the universal laws that govern the cosmos also creates the moral law by which humanity must abide. The Decalogue at Sinai is more than a mere ethical prescription—all ethics regarding how one treats one’s fellow beings derive from the creation narrative.

• The Dangers of Pseudo-Piety

Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin also stresses the importance of ethical monotheism that is the bedrock of the Genesis narratives. He writes:

• The matter that is explained in the Song of Ha’azinu in the verse, ‘The Rock—how faultless are his deeds, how right all his ways! A faithful God, without deceit, how just and upright he is!’  (Deut. 32:4). The term “right” comes to justify the fairness of God’s judgement regarding the destruction of the Second Temple, a generation that can best be described as “perverse and crooked.” Although there were devout and pious people who labored in the study of Torah, they neglected to act uprightly in an ethical manner (lit. “ways of the world”). Due to the gratuitous hatred they harbored in their hearts, they lashed out against anyone they felt who lacked the “fear of God” as being either a Sadducee or a heretic. Their self-righteous attitude led to internecine strife—resulting in the Temple’s destruction. God’s judgement was truly just, for He does not tolerate self-righteous people of this sort. With respect to all ethical matters, they must walk in the proper path, and not in perversity—even if they claim that they are acting in the Name of Heaven, for in the end they were responsible for the Temple’s destruction.[9]

Berlin’s observations still resonate with our 21^st century political and religious landscape. The absence of interpersonal piety is a problem that has manifested itself in a variety of fundamentalist religions of our times and no religion can claim immunity from this charge. In our own day, the insistence upon ideological purity and Pavlovian-like obedience to ecclesiastical authorities often produces the worse kind of citizen.

This is certainly the problem with the Haredi and Hassidic communities in Israel, which insist that even non-Haredi Orthodox Jews comply with their standards of modesty and personal piety. The vitriolic disdain for the Other respects no persons, not even mothers or their young children. In the name of zealotry, violence toward the Other is endorsed by many of Jerusalem’s Haredi and Hassidic leaders, as these groups attempt to expand their political and social influence. With the political ascent of Jihadist Islam (a.k.a. Radical Islam), the threat of holy war and promises of a paradisial world replete with all the sexual pleasure a young man can possibly imagine, threatens to destroy millions in Israel with sophisticated nuclear and biological weaponry. Theocracies are a lot like meat and milk; religion, like milk is fine and politics as an endeavor can also be fine–but when they are mixed, you have a toxic substance.

Here is the paradox: the love of God can function as a healing life-force, the most profound wellspring of compassion. On the flip side, the love of God  is capable of transforming itself into a diabolical death-force, capable of annihilating all life. Religious hatreds tend to be merciless, unyielding, undying, absolute, and are seemingly capable of spontaneous generation.[10]

Let us pray that ethical monotheism finds a way to triumph over its evil twin—radical monotheism, which subsists upon the hatred of the Other for its existence and power.

Continue Reading

For the past 2000 years, enemies of the Jews have often portrayed the Jews as leeches and vampires. Some people think Bram Stoker’s gothic novel about the blood-thirsty demon bears an uncanny resemblance to the pale-skinned Jew, who hates anything associated with the light of Christianity. Over 110 years since the Dracula novel’s first appearance, the Arab world continues depicting the Jew as a blood-sucker. One of the most popular themes in Arab cartoons is the blood-loving or blood-thirsty Jew.

What else would you expect from a society that subsists on anti-Semitism as a form of self-definition?

However, images of Jews as “leeches” and “blood-suckers” finds occasional literary expression in the United States as well. Almost a year ago, an Internet comic-book named, “Foreskin-man,”  appeared on the Internet. The cartoonist used his new character to launch a new political campaign to ban ritual circumcision in the State of California. The cartoonist had enough common sense not to attack the Muslim community, but directed his animus toward the Jewish community. The cartoonist depicts the mohel as a dark and sinister figure who loves mutilating Jewish male infants. In contrast, his protagonist, Foreskin-man is the blond-haired and blue-eyed superhero who rescues Jewish male children from the villain named, “Evil Mohel.” This fiendish ghoul delights in a ritual called, metsitsa b’peh, literally, “sucking the blood [of a baby’s penis] with one’s mouth.”

By now, many folks are probably wondering: You must be kidding me, right? No, this is not a joke. The real tragedy of this depiction is the fact that many mohels perform this ritual while paying no regard to the potential health risks.

The Mishnah discusses the sundry rituals associated with the circumcision of a young infant boy. One of the customs included “suction.” The Mishnah does not provide a clear definition what this custom means. The ancients believed that sucking the blood of a baby’s penis prevented infection and that the saliva of a person is “clean,” functioning almost like an anti-septic. Well, modern medical science has demonstrated that this folk-medicinal belief has no basis in science. In fact, sucking the baby’s penis has sometimes lead to tragic consequences.

The problem boils to down to what Tevya on Fiddler on the Roof calls, “Tradition!”  Can or should Tradition change when it is confronted by the medical and technological advances of the times? Or must we robotically perpetuate tradition for its own sake, especially because the Kabbalah has developed a mythology centering on an antiquated custom?

A two-week old boy died at a Brooklyn hospital last September after contracting herpes through a religious circumcision ritual. The unidentified infant died Sept. 28, 2011, at Maimonides Hospital, according to a spokeswoman for the city Medical Examiner, who confirmed the death after a News inquiry. The cause of death: “disseminated herpes simplex virus Type 1, complicating ritual circumcision with oral suction.”[4]

Many leading rabbis within the Haredi and Modern Orthodox community have urged the mohels to take extra-precautions when fulfilling the precept of brit milah (ritual circumcision). Several leading rabbinical authorities have offered an important alternative to the traditional sucking: using a sterilized glass tube between the wound and the mohel’s mouth avoids direct oral contact.[6]

In the past, Rabbi David Zwiebel, the head of Agudath Israel of America admitted that the Haredi leaders may have lied to their constituencies about both the dangers of metsitsa b’peh, and the city’s intent.[7] Chabad mohels have sometimes  disregarded the hygienic problems of the metsitsa b’peh ritual.[8] For people in the San Diego area, anyone wishing to use an Orthodox mohel would be wise to tell the rabbi that either he use a sterilized tube if he wishes to do the metsitsa b’peh, or else it would be far safer for the rabbi to not perform this ritual.

Ask yourself one last question: How would an anti-Semite view this story?

In the age of the Internet, as Jews, we need to avoid giving credence to images of the Jew that craves the blood of babies, thus inviting anti-Semites to exploit this antiquated tradition as a modern-day blood libel–especially when the custom results in multiple deaths.  We have more than enough enemies to deal with; must we give the tormentors of our people another reason to decry us as blood-sucking monsters? Haredi and Hassidic Jewish leaders need to recognize that the greater world community observes our behavior much more than we may realize.

It is surprising that the great anti-Semites of history did not refer to this particular custom in their blood libels. The relative scarce mentioning of this custom may give us pause to wonder how prevalent the metsitsa b’peh  in the pre-Lurianic world of the 16^th century. Tradition is important, but not if it results in the death of an infant because of a Mohel’s carelessness. Combined with the health dangers associated with metsitsa b’peh, if only one child’s life is ruined or lost as a result of this custom, then we would be wise to remember the wisdom of the ancient Judaic teachers, “God created the first human being alone in order to teach us that whosoever kills a single soul is considered as though he has destroyed an entire world. By the same token, anyone who preserves a single human soul, it is as if that person sustained a whole world.” [9]

* Continue Reading

Shmuley Boteach is a complicated man. At the risk of sounding obvious, Shmuley is not your typical Chabad rabbi. His past associations with singer Michael Jackson and his book on Kosher Sex have set him apart from most of his colleagues. He has a flare for the sensational and his critics say there is hardly a camera he does not like. Boteach’s ambitions vary depending upon his mood. More recently, he has even explored the possibility of running for Congress. Prior to that, he expressed interest in becoming the next Chief Rabbi of Britain.

Is the ultra-Haredi rabbinate of the British Commonwealth ready for Shmuley Boteach? Sorry, not in this incarnation.

Boteach would probably be wise and return to what he does best: teaching, writing interesting books, and appearing on the Oprah and Dr. Phil shows.

Although I have written on this topic before, there are some lingering afterthoughts I would like to share with you—the reader, especially since I have had more time to read the book for a second time.

While Boteach may seem like a radical in acknowledging Jesus as an important teacher of ancient Israel, he is not the first Orthodox rabbi to make such a claim. Boteach did not mention the 18th century savant, Rabbi Yaakob Emden (1707-1776), who is one of the first Orthodox rabbis of the modern era to praise Jesus as an innovative ethical teacher. [1] Hacham Isaac Barnays (1792-1840) [2], an early mentor of Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808-1888), went even further and considered Jesus on par with the biblical prophets. By today’s Haredi and Hassidic standards, both Emden’s and Barnays’ view of Jesus would have been considered risqué—even heretical. More recently, Rabbi Shlomo Riskin spoke glowingly about Jesus as an ancient 1st century Jewish sage. He even referred to Jesus as, “Rabbi Jesus,” but quickly retracted his earlier statement in order to quell the Haredi critics of his community and beyond.

Although Boteach briefly referred to the Historical Jesus, he chose not to explain why this subject ought to be of interest to Jews and Christians alike. There are many Christian thinkers and expositors he might have considered using, e.g., Marcus Borg, in his excellent, Jesus: A New Vision, (NY: SPCK Publishing; 2nd edition, 1994). Borg is a Christian theologian and NT scholar who has written extensively about the ethical message of Jesus and how it fits in within the context of 1st century Judaism. The Historical Jesus movement is not a 21st or 20th century phenomena; it actually has antecedents that begin in the 18th century with Hermann Samuel Reimarus (1694-1768), and later with Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826), David Freidrich Strauss (1808-1874), and Albert Schweitzer 1875-1965).

Boteach’s introduction to Kosher Jesus makes no reference whatsoever to the pioneering work of Jewish scholars like R. Pinchas Lapide (an Orthodox rabbi), Rabbi Leo Baeck (best known as the rabbi of Theresienstadt), who wrote some important books on Jesus and his relationship to Judaism, or Samuel Sandmel of Hebrew Union College. David Flusser’s excellent works are also among the most important studies on this topic. Flusser loves showing the rabbinical parallels between Jesus and the subsequent rabbis of his era. There was no need for Boteach to reinvent the wheel on how Jews have historically viewed Jesus–especially in modern times.

The study of the Book of James has become an important field of scholarly endeavor, largely because he is the brother of Jesus. Martin Luther’s disdain for the book of James is especially significant. Luther writes in his Preface to the NT that James is an “epistle of straw” because the author rejected the Pauline doctrine of “justification by faith” that is at the heart of Pauline Christianity. By referring to James’ value as “straw,” Luther wished to convey the idea that the Letter of James has no value to a Christian. Luther even argued for its removal from the NT canon because of its “Judaic” overtones.

It is a pity Boteach did not say something about James—especially in light of the  animus James and Boteach both  felt toward Paul the Apostle. According to James, good works will always mean more than the platitudes of faith espoused by Paul.

• So also faith of itself, if it does not have works, is dead. Indeed someone might say, ‘You have faith and I have works.’   Demonstrate your faith to me without works, and I will demonstrate my faith to  you from my works. You believe that God is one. You do well. Even the Devil believes that and trembles. Do you want proof, you ignoramus, that faith without works is useless? (James 2:18-20)

Boteach might have used this passage in particular to illustrate why Paul was wrong. Obviously James was speaking about anyone who would be foolish enough to follow Paul’s “justification by faith” doctrine that subsequent Christianity accepted, hook, line and sinker. James appears to have held a position similar to the Ebionites, who categorically rejected Paul’s doctrine of the Virgin Birth, as well as his metaphysical belief in the cosmic “divinity” of Jesus that is necessary for personal salvation. Paul makes almost no reference to James, perhaps because James considered Paul a religious opportunist. From James’ perspective, Paul was a man who did not understand Jesus’s seminal message about inseparable relation between faith and ethics. In the end, James may have also felt that Paul was much better suited for a gentile audience. (Readers may want to consider watching Martin Scorsese’s 1988 film, “The Last Temptation of Christ,” for Jesus survives the crucifixion, gets married and lives a happily married life. One day he meets Paul, who preaches about the “Risen Christ.” Jesus then scolds Paul for distorting his original teachings. The film is available on Youtube.)

Although Boteach briefly touches upon the Ebionites in a quote he makes from Maccoby, he uses the latter’s argument to prove that Paul was not really a native-born Jew, but a convert. Boteach should have said more about this remarkable sect of Jews, who stood loyal to their tradition and faith, while following in the ethical steps of Jesus—the Jew. Incidentally, the Ebionites regarded the Hebrew Gospel of Matthew as the only true record of Jesus’ teachings. Most importantly, the Ebionites rejected the supersessionist claim that Christianity “replaced” Judaism. The Ebionites also rejected Paul’s attempt to eliminate the Torah’s distinction between Gentile and Jew. [2] For the Ebionites, Jesus represented the exemplar of the pious man that every human being ought to aspire toward becoming. Jesus is not the great exception, but he is a great example of the righteous person.

With all it faults and omissions, Kosher Jesus is a bold book, and its most positive feature is the fact that a Hassidic rabbi wishes to talk about Jesus in a manner that is respectful and kind. This is quite a rarity—especially when you consider the animus that most Hassidic and Haredi Jews feel toward Jesus.

Although the true believer might be shocked by this idea, Jesus’s personality bears a striking resemblance to one of the greatest Jewish spiritual teachers of the 18^th century—Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer, the Baal Shem Tov (Master of the Good Name)! When one looks back in history, the Baal Shem Tov taught a very important message that many of his movement’s descendents have seemed to forgotten. Here are some his seminal teachings:

• Ahavat HaShem—a love for God; in the theology of the Baal Shem Tov, the bond between a Jew and God Almighty is grounded in the heart of the Divine. More than that, the precept of love is   the basis of the entire Torah.

• Harmony and peace with one’s neighbors is  essential for having a healthy relationship with God.
• Worship of God with a joyfulness of heart enables one to achieve of mystical state of bliss with God called “devukut”   (cleaving).
• There is no room for asceticism in the spiritual life of a Jew.
• The Baal Shem Tov managed to upset the  scholarly elite of his era by befriending the most ignorant Jews of his community.

Jesus similarly taught:

• The love of God is reflected in how we love  and treat our fellow man.
• Although ritual and religious tradition are important, they cannot come at the expense of one’s interpersonal relationships.
• Harmony with God and peace with one’s neighbor are symbiotically interconnected—you cannot have one with the   other
• Always treat the downtrodden and marginalized  members of society with respect and love.
• Love is the basis of the entire   Torah.
• Acts of love and sacrifice will redeem the world.
• Jesus also upset the Pharisees and directed most of his attention to the scattered flock of Israel.

It is a shame Boteach did explain why Jesus and Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson are examples of “failed messiahs,” i.e., messianic personalities who did not fulfill all the biblical criteria regarding the Messiah. A chapter on this subject would have added even more controversy to his book. Timidly, the author decided to stay far away from this soul-searching topic. In failing to doing so, Boteach missed an opportunity to make Kosher Jesus a more memorable book.

Shmuley Boteach may want to consider some of the ideas I have mentioned in this short book review and use them for a future revision of his Kosher Jesus. All in all I admire his courage and his willingness to talk about a subject that has remained a forbidden topic of discussion in Jewish circles of all denominations. The Chinese say, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step” and by this standard, one can argue that Shmuley’s Kosher Jesus should serve as a meaningful first step for many Jews wishing to promote a more truthful and meaningful dialogue with the Christian community. Continue Reading

Shepherding is inextricably related to the wilderness. In its broadest sense, the wilderness represents a realm of chaos that threatens human civilization and consciousness. In psychological terms, the wilderness may be found in the depths of the unconscious; it is a region that leaves one feeling helpless, alone, and out of control, which threatens all orderly existence. This pattern occurs again and again throughout the Tanakh. Yet, despite the dangers one faces in the wilderness, it is always the place of revelation and transformation. As a result, the wilderness frequently functions as a vehicle for conversion.

Since wilderness imagery figures prominently in the narratives of the Israelites found in the Pentateuch and later in the life experiences of King David, it is important to examine why the wilderness metaphor became one of the enduring root metaphors of ancient Israel, as well as in numerous prophetical passages. One might further assert that wilderness and shepherding connote a spiritual and psychological nexus that is often ignored by biblical theologians. Five general themes emerge out the wilderness imagery: abandonment, revelation, covenant, miraculous provision, and judgment.

To begin with, the Hebrew word מִדְבַּר (midbar) is usually rendered as either “wilderness”[1] or “desert.” Several translations render מִדְבַּר as “wilderness,” while other translations prefer “desert.”[2] Although both terms are similar, there are some distinctive connotative differences. Among the definitions of the word “wilderness,” the American Heritage Dictionary states:

1. An unsettled, uncultivated region left in its natural condition, especially:

a. A large wild tract of land covered with dense vegetation or forests.

b. An extensive area, such as a desert or ocean that is barren or empty; a waste.

c. A piece of land set aside to grow wild.

2. Something characterized by bewildering vastness, perilousness, or unchecked profusion: the wilderness of the city; the wilderness of counterespionage; a wilderness of voices.

In contrast, “desert” means:

1. A barren or desolate area, especially:

a. A dry, often sandy region of little rainfall, extreme temperatures, and sparse vegetation.

b. A region of permanent cold that is largely or entirely devoid of life.

c. An apparently lifeless area of water.

2. An empty or forsaken place; a wasteland: a cultural desert.

3. Archaic A wild, uncultivated, and uninhabited region.

[ME , OFr. < LL. desertum, neut. p. part of deserete, to desert.

In Hebrew, the noun   מִדְבַּר includes both definitions. According to a number of modern scholars, the Sinai technically is not a desert. Professor Jacob Milgrom notes, “Although its scant rainfall cannot support cultivation, it can provide adequate pasturage for the flock.”[3] While the term מִדְבַּר can mean a wilderness, uninhabited land[4], pastureland[5], and sometimes it can denote a desert. When used as a geographical term, the מִדְבַּר is the opposite of the settled life characterized by urban or semi-urban existence.

One modern Biblical Hebrew lexicon explains, “The wilderness is often described negatively as without grapes, fountains, pools of water, rivers, pleasant places—or as in a notable statement: ‘Can God furnish a table in the wilderness?’” (Ps 78:19).[6] Regardless which definition one prefers, the wilderness, as its English etymology indicates, is a place of bewilderment, peril, isolation, detachment, wandering, desolation, and homelessness.  In the מִדְבַּר we feel cut off from the world; it is a place of loneliness and desertion. For the Israelites the wilderness is the place where they discover God’s capacity to support and sustain amidst harsh living conditions. For the Israelites, foraging through the wilderness involved making a journey into the unknown.

Elsewhere in the Tanakh, the wilderness metaphor is sometimes used to connote the realm of chaos and nothingness (cf. Deut. 32:10, Job 6:18). Understandably, the ancients regarded it as a place of demons, confusion, and wild creatures that prey on its helpless victims.

For the unwary traveler, danger lurked whenever one may passage through the wilderness—especially since there are no short-cuts and ready-made paths. Earlier, one of the definitions for wilderness was “profusion,” since it was commonly feared that the wilderness might invade and threaten their ancestral land.

No wonder it was regarded as a symbol of chaos and disorder! It is easy to lose a sense of time in the wilderness. Yet, in terms of shepherding, shepherding is inseparably related to the wilderness. In a spiritual and metaphorical sense, the wilderness represents the feeling of homelessness and confusion.

Throughout the Tanakh, the Torah narratives dealing with the wilderness are often contrasted with the memories of life in Egypt. Surprisingly, the members of the Israelite nation often preferred the fleshpots, the free fish, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic to the manna of the wilderness. Being a slave in meant that Egypt would guarantee the Israelite three meals a day but only at the cost of their human dignity and their spiritual well-being.

For many, security—even if it meant living a life of bondage— seemed more  preferable to the insecurity of freedom. Confronted with a choice, the Israelites could either accept their special destiny as God’s people, or bravely face whatever challenges this would entail, or else they could forfeit their spiritual destiny by submitting to a totalitarian regime that guarantees food.

The wilderness experience serves as a paradigm for all subsequent experiences dealing with the trauma of destruction and exile. The imagery of the Exodus served as a symbol that out of the ashes of  destruction, God will orchestrate a new future that would restore the Jewish people back to their ancestral home—despite the prevailing political conditions and realities.

Over three thousand years later, the images of the wilderness still remain vivid and real. In today’s terms, the wilderness can serve as a metaphor for those who have experience loss, sickness, homelessness, loneliness, divorce, transition, substance abuse, and especially of life of meaninglessness.

Viktor Frankl, the founder of logotherapy, believes that the central human need, more basic than the drive for pleasure, food, or power, is the need for meaning. Human beings require a pattern and purpose that will make sense of our experiences and of the world around us. Meaninglessness threatens not only the inner world of the individual, but also threatens the identity of a society.

For Jewish Values Online:

Are Haredim changing the face of Traditional Judaism? Is the divide between the ultra-Orthodox and other denominations (Modern Orthodox, Conservative and Reform) too great to promote a better understanding and respect between each other?

Stories about the Wise Men of Chelm convey profound wisdom about the human condition, told through the medium of irony, sarcasm and dark humor.

Here is one of my favorite stories. In the town of Chelm, two Rabbis were once seen arguing late into the night about the existence of God. Each one vociferously argued from the Scriptures to prove God’s existence. However, by the time they finished, both of them ended up indisputably disproving His existence! The next day, one Rabbi was surprised to see the other walking into the Shul for morning services.

“I thought we had agreed there was no God,” he said.

“Yes, what does that have to do with it?” replied the other.

The story is not as weird or unusual as it may sound. Unlike our Christian friends, Jews struggle with their faith. God-wrestling is something we have been doing since the night Jacob first wrestled with a mysterious being. As a scion of Israel, grappling with God is something Jews do best. The Talmud is one of Judaism’s greatest gifts to the Western world —not because of the answers that are found in it, but because of the questions it raises.

Christians are uncomfortable with ambiguity, but as Jews—we love the didactic search for truth. Truth has to be self-authenticating. People observing from the outside might conclude that the Jews are crazy. Over the years I am often amazed at the number of “atheist Jews” who love talking about God. God is a passion—even for non-believers! I know, for My son, Moshe, is among them! He is hardly alone. I often like to tell him the words of Maimonides in his famous “Guide for the Perplexed,” Before we can arrive at what we truly believe, we must first define what we won’t believe.” This path is called via negativa—the path of negation.

According to negative theology, every idea—however lofty and spiritual—nevertheless remains a mental picture and thus limiting. Without it, God becomes a creature of the human imagination.[1]  Maimonides warns his readers about the dangers of defining God in any image or metaphor.[2] All positive affirmations of God when pushed to the limit must always bow in silence before God’s mysterious nature and being. Maimonides recalls a Talmudic story about how once the rabbis heard a man praying:

• “God that is great, powerful, awesome, strong, forceful, feared, courageous, reliable, and revered.” After he had finished, the rabbi told him a parable. Suppose a king owned a thousand myriads of gold coins, and someone were to praise him for owning some silver coins, would it not be perceived as an insult?[3]

For Maimonides and his followers, human speech and all forms of “God-talk” are woefully inadequate. It is not enough to merely “talk about God,” one must have a contemplative experience of God that enraptures the depths of our being:

• What is the path to attaining love and awe of Him? Whenever you contemplate His great, wondrous deeds and creations, and see through them His boundless, infinite wisdom, you cannot help but love, exult, and be filled with ecstasy—your passion leads you to want to know God’s great Name.  That is what King David meant when he said, “My soul thirsts for God, for the living God” (Psalms 42:2). Whenever you think about these things, you will immediately become awed-inspired and abashed. You will realize that you are but an infinitesimal creature, lowly and unenlightened, standing with a puny intellect before the Most Perfect Mind. David thus said, “When I behold Your heavens, the work of Your fingers … I ask: What is man that You consider him?” (Psalms 8:4‑5).[4]

Faith is not meant to be easy and neither is prayer. Prayer in Hebrew is called “tefilah,” a noun that comes from the root “pallel,” meaning, “to judge” or “reflect.” The act of prayer says something about our values and beliefs, but how can one pray to a Being one feels ambivalent about?  Rav Nachman of Bratzlav often speaks about the dark moments of uncertainty we inevitably encounter along the spiritual life. God is there, even in the places we never expected. Yet, even in the dark corners of our soul, a ray of light can dispel an ocean of darkness. You see, it was never meant to be easy. Prayer in Hebrew is often called “avodah,” which also means, “hard-work.” It’s a process that engages our whole being—whether we realize it or not.

One of the most beautiful lessons from the Torah illustrating this is when Jacob flees from his brother Esau, who is looking to avenge his loss of the parental blessing. Like a thief in the night, Jacob skedaddled. He looks for a secure place where he can collect his thoughts. After witnessing a deeply spiritual dream, he awakes from his sleep exclaiming, “Truly, the LORD is in this spot, although I did not know it!” (Gen. 28:16).

What does the passage teach us? Our lives are part of a journey—a spiritual odyssey that demands we be at our best at all times. The experience of God is not something that is limited to the confines of a synagogue. Unfortunately, there are many synagogues where the pulse of faith has flatlined. Prayer is a journey that begins with our questions and searching for Ultimate Truth.

The Chinese say that the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step. To find that relationship with God, we must take the first step. The search for God in Jewish tradition can occur in one of two ways. Sometimes it begins with our movement toward the Divine. The other way occurs when the Divine moves toward us. As in a dance, one partner will come closer to the Other and dance “cheek to cheek” with the beloved. But with any dance, there are moments when the partners experience the space of the “in-between.” Lovers embrace that space which exists between them rather than each other. Faith is thus like a dance, and to experience it, all we have to do is to take the first step . . . Continue Reading

Question: We are told in the Torah that certain actions will cause “karet,” i.e., that the person will be cut off from the nation. What about those Haredi fanatics who are harassing people and vandalizing property? Shouldn’t that earn them “karet” as well? Why should they continue to be part of our nation?

Answer: The question is an interesting one, but before answering, I think it is important to define our terms before we venture forward. Once we define the terms, we will then examine whether or not karet is really applicable with respect to the Haredi behavior.The term karet literally means, “extirpation,” “cut off,” or “cut down,” and is related to the Assyrian word, karâtu, which conveys the same idea of “cutting.” The notion of karet implies being “cut off” from the community of Israel.

As to the nature of being “cut off,” this is  a matter of discussion.

Rabbinical tradition lists 36 types of transgressions that effectively “cut off” the soul from its spiritual root—God. Some early rabbinical texts view the act of excision meant that the sinner would not live to see his 60th birthday, but others think the offender may live up to 70[1]. Should a sinner not die in the assumed time periods mentioned above, the fear of an imminent death probably exerted a frightening effect on the offender’s psyche.

The rabbinical perspective on karet resembles the type of punishments described in Greek mythology. Notions of eternal damnation as championed by Nachmanides, who believes the soul is cut off from God even in the world of Eternity, strikes a modern person as excessive. [2]  Maimonides believes that God denies the wicked sinner’s soul in the hereafter. [3] However, the Talmud does say the power of repentance and the Day of Atonement can suspend the heavenly punishment, and erase all vestige of sin. [4] Support for this perspective may be found in the Tanakh itself, “Cast away from you all the crimes you have committed, and make for yourselves a new heart and a new spirit. Why should you die, O house of Israel?For I have no pleasure in the death of anyone who dies, says the Lord GOD. Return and live!” (Eze.18:31-32).

There is another way of viewing karet that the Talmud and the medievalists did not consider. Karet has nothing to do with being “cut off” in the eternal sense from God.  Rather, it is a form of ostracizing. In a culture where individual identity was defined in terms primarily of the household group to which the individual be longed, karet may have originally meant social ostracizing from all aspects of community life. In pre-modern societies, being a member of the community strengthened both the individual and society as a whole.

Ostracizing meant the offender would have no social relations with his family, friends, business relations, and social network.  Such a penalty must have seemed like death itself. Apart from the community meant being cut off from the deeper reality of life that connects the soul to God. Being cut off had practical consequences, e.g., the loss of status and social privileges. The Christian and Jewish practice of excommunication may well have been inspired by the karet concept. The underlying theme in karet seems to focus on the maintenance of certain religious boundaries that have an important impact on the corporate character of the nation. The social implications of someone who did not practice ritual circumcision meant the family would not have anything to do with the son who separated himself from the religious and spiritual traditions of his family. It is no accident that karet is sometimes used as a metaphor for divorce (See Deut. 24:3).

With these thoughts in mind, let us return to the your original question regarding the Haredi community. Notions of karet as defined by the early rabbinic standards do not apply to the Haredim. Today’s Haredi separatism derives from  personal choice; they do not wish to have any contact with the non-Haredi Jewish community. They alone have cut the ties that bind them to the Jewish people.

This attitude can be seen in many ways, for example: Their leaders encourage them to destroy all their home-computers, as well as all phones that have wireless connections to the Internet.  Others believe that the pursuit of a secular education is sinful, since it comes at the expense of  giving up Torah study. They also believe that the Rebbe or Rav’s authority is infallible.

Although Haredim receive billions of dollars for their institutions, their separatist theology keeps their followers impoverished. On the one hand, they hate the State of Israel, but on the other hand they demand that the State continue supporting their lifestyle! To use another analogy, Haredim often behave like a spoiled adolescent girl who says, “I hate you Mom! Now, will you please drive me to the Mall?” The Israeli government needs to practice some “tough love” with the Haredim. The American Jewish community must make its financial support for Israel contingent upon Israel protecting the rights of all of its citizens. Continue Reading

One of the more interesting questions that is sometimes asked in modern anthropology is whether a group is a collection of individuals, or are they like a body with various members? Much of this has what to do with the issue of individual vs. corporate identity. Among primal peoples, it has been argued, there seems to be a merging of consciousness between the individual and the corporate ideal. Thus, in a manner of speaking, the individual could become the group. By the same token, a deceased ancestor—although dead—could be considered as though he was still alive, and that the surviving descendant could still identify with the ancestor.

When one examines the latest Hassidic brawl in the 770 headquarters of Lubavitch, one can easily see this anthropological drama unfold. Some of the Hasidim wanted to create an inner sanctum where they could have a private spiritual meeting with the late Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schnersohn. Lest you think the Lubavitcher movement has lost touch with reality, think again. The spiritual leadership took umbrage with this militant group, and the Mashpia (spiritual mentor), Rabbi Bluming, demanded that they disband.

They didn’t.

In fact, they attacked the poor Mashpia, pummeling his face as though it were a punching bag. Someone called the police and the students made death threats to the Mashpia for interfering with their service.

How do we make sense out of this experience? As mentioned earlier, it goes back to the nature of corporate vs. individual identity. In the psyche of the militant student, each and every person gathered at these services functions as the merkabah (the chariot) of the Rebbe. Even though he is dead, they regard him like one who is still very much alive. The Hasidim form the physical body for the Rebbe’s spirit.

Needless to say, this kind of veneration of any human being, meets all the classical definition of idolatry as defined by Jewish tradition. In the beginning of his Laws of Idolatry, Maimonides offers a philosophical Midrash depicting the origins of idolatry:

• During the days of Enosh, humankind made a serious mistake, and the wise men of that generation gave foolish advice. Enosh himself was one of those who erred. This is how idolatry developed. The ancients recognized that God created the stars and the celestial planets with which to control the world. He placed them on high and treated them with honor, making them servants who minister before Him. Therefore, it is only fitting to praise and glorify them and to accord them with honor. Since the ancients perceived this to be the will of the Blessed Holy One, they began to aggrandize and give homage to those whom He magnified and honored. Just as a king desires to be honored by the servants who stand before him. Indeed, by doing so, they thought they were honoring the King. After considering this notion, they constructed temples to the stars and offered sacrifices to them. The ancients praised and glorified the heavenly hosts with words, while prostrating themselves before them. The men thought they were fulfilling God’s will. This was the essence of idolatry, and the justification given by those who worshiped them. Originally, the ancients did not say there is any other god except for this star.”^[1]

The belief that a deceased spiritual leader still serves as the conduit for Divine communication with God, can no longer be considered “Jewish,” but “idolatrous.”

In fairness to the Hasidim, there is another way of understanding their behavior. Grief affects us in so many different ways. The deeper we love, the more vulnerable we become to the loss of a loved one and valuable family member. Nevertheless, Jewish tradition teaches that not all grief is kosher. The classical definition of someone who is considered “deranged,” someone who goes out alone at night, stays overnight in the cemetery, and rends his garments (Hagigah 3b). Anyone who has ever lived in Brooklyn probably knows the dangers associated with going out alone at night. However, why would anyone want to live in a cemetery? The answer ought to be simple: certain people cannot go on with living because they are in a perpetual state of grief.

The time has come for the Hasidim to “get out of the cemetery,” because too much grief is unhealthy. More leaders, like the brave Mashpia, Rabbi Bluming, need to step up to the plate and reclaim the soul of Lubavitch—before the entire movement gets hijacked by people who really need psychological counseling and help.

Chabad ought  to take Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz’s wise remarks to heart, “I never thought that spreading ignorance has any advantage, except for those who are in a position of power and want to deprive others of their rights and spread ignorance in order to keep them underlings.” Perhaps Chabad ought to consider making Rav Steinsaltz their next Rebbe, but I have serious doubts whether they would ever offer him the position. A man of his stature would add considerable prestige and renown to the movement, but the Chabad movement would have to completely revise its theological thinking regarding the role of the Rebbe. Chabad has never given the Rebbe position to anyone outside of the family clan, much to their own detriment. Continue Reading