Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

As we have pointed out in other postings, a strong case can be made that one of the most serious  “deadly sins” of history is the sin of misogyny. Men have been blaming women for everything wrong in their lives since the Garden of Eden. Much has not changed. Every faith grapples with misogyny in one form or another. In Judaism, there is a well known blessing men say every day upon getting up in the morning:

“Blessed are you, Lord, our God, ruler the universe who has not created me a woman.”

The Original Rabbinical Source of the Blessing

The origin of this prayer is found in the Tosefta to Berakhot 6:16 that reads:

R. Judah says: “A man is bound to say the following three blessings daily: (1) ‘[Blessed are You . . .] Who has not made me a heathen’, ‘. . . . (2) Who has not made me a woman’; and  (3) ‘ . . . who has not made me an uncouth person.’”

The Tosefta then explains its rational:  (1)    “. . . a heathen,” because it is written: ^‘Before him all the nations are as nought, as nothing and void he accounts them,’” (Isa. 40:17). (2)   “. . . an uncouth person,” because it is said, “an uncouth person cannot be pious” (Avot 2:5). (3)   “. . . a woman,” for women are not legally required to observe all the precepts.

To what is this matter (i.e., gentile, uncouth people, women who perform the precepts) analogous to? A mortal king once said to his servant, ‘Go cook a meal for me.’ However, unbeknownst to the king, the servant had never cooked a meal in his life! After cooking a meal, the king got upset with him. Another analogy: A king once asked his servant to hem a garment for him, but having never hemmed a garment before, the servant ruined the garment, thus angering the king. [The moral of the story: Let those who are unfamiliar with the observance of the commandments be exempt from observing them, lest they be an affront to their Maker.]

It is interesting to note that unlike the canned apologetic responses seen in subsequent rabbinic literature, which purports that women are essentially exempt from the performance of certain time-bound precepts because of her family obligations, the Tosefta dismisses such a perspective. Her legal exemption from the commandments is because of incompetence and not because of the lack of opportunity.

Re-interpreting the Tosefta

The Talmud discusses part of the Tosefta in BT Menachot 43b:

A learned discussion began: “ R. Judah [1] used to say, ‘A man is bound to say the following three blessings daily: ‘[Blessed are You . . .] who has not made me a heathen’, ‘. . . . who hast not made me a woman’; and ‘ . . . who hast not made me a brutish man.’

One of the Sages, R. Aha b. Jacob, once overhead his son saying ‘[Blessed are You. . .] who has not made me a brutish man’, when he immediately said to him, ‘Isn’t this blessing a tad bit presumptuous?’ (Who says the rabbis didn’t have a wry sense of humor?) His son retorted, ‘OK, what would you have me say instead?’ Surely it is better to say, ‘. . . Who has not made me a slave.’ Once again his son retorted, “ How is this blessing different from that of a woman (seeing that neither one is fully obligated to carry out the precepts of the Torah; in fact they are on equal footing in terms of their obligations)?  His father rejoined, “A slave is more contemptible” (since his character is generally prone to licentious behavior, which is not the case with women). Continue Reading

The other day, I came across an interesting story, worthy of a Sherlock Holmes tale based on this past week’s Torah parsha.

The time:  Feb 12, 2010.

The place: Somewhere in Brooklyn.

Lubavitcher women sponsored a special collection for Shaarei Zedek Hospital in Jerusalem. Deena Yellin writes, “The herd of brightly-colored stuffed animals filled our front porch with all the panache of an overblown Muppets production. They arrived by the dozens in gargantuan bags and boxes – Elmo, Kermit, Big Bird, Mickey Mouse, Winnie the Pooh, and enough Beanie Babies to strike envy in collectors everywhere. The cuddly creatures soon covered so much of our home that the cleaning lady surmised we were opening a toy store. In fact, we planned to give them out for free.”[1]

There is more to this story than what meets the eye. Acts of kindness are always appreciated, whether altruistically motivated or not. In this case, the collection conceals an attitude that is not apparent to a bystander reading this story. The real reason the ladies made this collection has more to do with a taboo regarding the depiction of unclean animals.

Now you will hear the rest of the story . . .

Mickey Mouse has been a friend of children for many generations. However, for the Lubavitcher Rebbe  and his Hasidim, Mickey and Minnie are persona non grata.

Mickey is not alone; Goofy, Porky Pig, Road-runner, Tweedy Bird, Kermit the Frog, Winnie the Pooh, Big Bird, are also forbidden to enter your typical Lubavitcher home. In fact, the Rebbe encouraged his followers to use only kosher animals in all their educational materials and play-toys.

At first blush, most of us reading this are probably wondering: What’s the matter with Mickey? Why did the Rebbe come out against many of the Disney characters? At first I thought it might be due to the fact that some people claim Walt Disney was an anti-Semitic. The evidence is inconclusive. For the record, Walt Disney received the B’nai Brith Award in 1955.

Admittedly, Disney sometimes got carried away with some of his caricatures. In his original version of “The Three Little Pigs,” the Big Bad Wolf comes to the door dressed as a stereotypical Jewish peddler. Disney changed the scene after Jewish groups expressed their criticism. In his short 1929 film, “The Opry House,” Disney portrays Mickey Mouse dressed and dancing as a Hasidic Jew.

Portraying Mickey as a Hasid probably irked Rabbi Schnersohn. The Rebbe cites “Halachic” reasons for ruling that Mickey is unkosher for young children. The Rebbe felt that cartoons about impure animals had a spiritually damaging affect upon a young child’s psyche. If you ask most Lubavitchers Hasidim, you will find that most of them feel uneasy about this ruling. Unfortunately, none of the blogs I have read on this topic seems to deal with the wider ecological implications of the Rebbe’s messianic vision of a world without impurity. This is also the one of the reasons why Lubavitchers do not have dogs or cats in their homes either. Impure animals “spiritually” harm the child.[2]

In one passage, the Rebbe introduces his rationale:

“Concerning the Days of Moshiach (of the Messiah) it is written, ‘I shall remove the spirit of impurity from the earth.’ As the footsteps of Moshiach approach ever closer, we should now enjoy a foretaste of the revelations which will be ours in future time, just as concerning Shabbat it is written, ‘Those who savor it shall merit eternal life,’ a phrase which inspired the Friday afternoon custom of tasting the delicacies prepared for Shabbat. Accordingly, it would be advisable to use illustrations only of pure subjects. When choosing toys for infants, buy only representations of kosher animals. Children illustrations and booklets must have only kosher animals, and so on.”[3]

The Rebbe’s exposition raises an important question: Does the Rebbe seriously envision a time when all unclean animals will cease to exist on the planet? Does this mean we have to say farewell to Flipper and Lassie too? Are they also doomed to extinction once the Messiah arrives? What about all the countless insects that are ritually unclean, not to mention the unclean fish? This is a bizarre scenario, one that is alarming for most people concerned with the preservation of endangered species.

There is some evidence the Rebbe subscribed to such an idea, “Why is the pig called ‘chazir’? For in the end-times, the swine shall return to a pure state (le’ha’chazir‘) to us.” Rabbi Schnersohn writes, “In the Messianic Era, when the true Divine nature of every creature will be openly revealed, the pig will be vindicated as a kosher animal.”[4] Possible antecedents for this idea derive from a variety of Midrashic texts. There is a famous verse from the Psalms (146:7) “The Lord sets the prisoners free (matir assurim).” With the help of a pun, God will permit dietary prohibitions (matir issurim). One Midrashic text even notes that the pig will someday become kosher.[4]

Based on this reading, the good news is Porky Pig will someday become kosher. But what about Mickey and Minnie Mouse? What about the Lion King? Biblical and rabbinical literature suggests otherwise.

More seriously, will all animals undergo a physical rebirth to become kosher for the Messianic era? Hardy. No matter how one looks at the Rebbe’s idiosyncratic theology, all of us who love our dogs, cats, hamsters, birds, and fish—may have a serious problem living in a Messianic world without such delightful creatures—all because they are “impure.”

The Rebbe neglects to explain that the terms “pure,” or “impure” are not necessarily a moral indictment on the animal. These terms are only relevant in terms of what is ceremonially permitted as a sacrifice, or for human consumption. Where would we be without bees playing an important role in our planet’s ecology, besides making just honey? In addition, the corpse of an animal only defiles for one day, whereas the corpse of a human being lasts seven days (Mishnah Kelim 1:1). The Mishnah’s logic is compelling. Human beings defile nature more than animals, and this is obvious to anyone who is familiar with the ecological problems of our time.

One of the most beautiful ancient works is the Perek Shira—“The Chapter of Song,” which celebrates the song of Creation, where every creature—clean and unclean—join in melodic harmony. There is a lovely story about how an unclean frog once taught King David a lesson in humility. The story goes something like this:

He exclaimed to God, “Master of the universe, is there any other creature in Your world that utters more songs and paeans of praise than I? In that instant a frog appears and meets him. The frog then says to David, “Don’t act so boastfully. I utter more songs and paeans of praise than you.”[5]

Even if one subscribes to such a peculiar view, where in rabbinical tradition does it state that all animals, including Mickey Mouse’s relatives will become kosher?

Toward the end of Genesis, in Jacob’s blessings, the aged patriarch compares four of his sons to unclean beasts, e.g., “Judah is a lion’s whelp . . .” (Gen. 49:9); “Issachar is a strong donkey, lying down between the sheepfolds” (Gen 49:14); “Dan shall be a snake by the roadside, a viper along the path that bites the horse’s heels so that its rider falls backward” (Gen. 49:17); “Benjamin is a ravenous wolf, in the morning devouring the prey, and at evening dividing the spoil” (Gen. 49:27). Of all the sons,  Naphtali is compared to a doe, which is a clean animal, “let loose that bears lovely fawns” (Gen. 49:21).

In light of the Rebbe’s disdain for unkosher animals, it would seem his legions of followers ought to ask themselves why the Torah has no problem using unclean animals to represent the tribes. Why doesn’t Jacob use only kosher animals instead? Ironically, the Messiah himself is destined to ride a donkey, “Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey” (Zec. 9:9). Of course there is the famous passage from Isaiah 11:6-8, which foresees a peaceful arrangement for all of God’s creatures–pure and impure alike!

The wolf shall live with the lamb,
the leopard shall lie down with the kid,
the calf and the lion and the fatling together,
and a little child shall lead them.
The cow and the bear shall graze,
their young shall lie down together;
and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.
The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp . . .

Historically, the Hassidic movement followed the teachings of Rabbi Dov Ber of Mezeritch (דוב בער ממזריטש‎) (1700- 1772). His name, “Baer,” means “bear,” in English. [6]

Lastly, with respect to pets, animals provide us with many wonderful things, e.g., companionship, love, devotion, happiness, laughter. Most importantly, they teach us how to care for living beings. One must feel great sorrow for generations of Lubavitcher children who have never experienced a loving response from a beloved pet. Children–whether Jewish or otherwise–can learn many wonderful social skills from having “unkosher” pets; animals greatly contribute toward the development of compassion and respect toward all of God’s creatures.[7]

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As we mentioned above, the Jewish vision of Alexandria was original and unique, until early Christianity co-opted this vision and made it their own.

If you look at Judaic history, you will find that Judaism actually tried to make Judaism more spiritually appealing to the non-Jewish world. One of the first attempts at making Judaism more universal occurred when the Jews of Alexandria first translated the Bible into Greek. The end-product of this venture was a literary masterpiece known as the “Septuagint,” deriving from the Greek word “seventy,” named after the seventy elders who helped articulate Moses’ message to the people after the revelation at Mt. Sinai.

From the view of its original team of translators, these Alexandrian Jewish scholars believed that the translation of the Bible would serve to not only make the Bible more understandable to predominantly Greek speaking Jewish audience, it would also serve to make Judaism more intelligible and respectable to the gentile community.

But there may have been a more subtle goal. More than anything else the Alexandrian Jewish leaders wanted to promote an image of Judaism that did not suffer from parochialism. These men possessed a global-minded vision of Judaism as an international faith that could attract the best minds of the Hellenistic and pagan worlds. They believed that as a universal faith, Judaism could unite all the families of humankind. In fact, many Greeks came to embrace Judaism as their new faith. If you examine many of the rabbinic names in the first century C.E., there are quite a number of Greek sounding names, e.g., Antigonous, Alexander, Dosa, and Onkelos–attesting to the fact that Judaism expanded its population growth in the days of Late Antiquity by welcoming proselytes.

Philo of Alexandria, Judaism’s greatest Jewish philosopher of the first century (an older contemporary of Jesus), used the Septuagint to expound the message of ethical monotheism that is the foundation of Jewish ethics and theology.

Just imagine what a curious non-Jew must have thought when he heard Philo expound these famous words in his short but poignant work, “Nobility.” In this pericope, Philo stresses the importance of equal treatment of the outsider who comes to embrace the Judaic faith; the mark of the pious man is not “good birth,” but rather the individual’s virtue. Anyone familiar with the biblical narratives knows that even some of the greatest men of antiquity often sired sons like Cain, Ham, Esau, and others. In short, if Abraham could become a convert to the monotheistic belief in an ethical God, then surely other people could also make that same decision. In his closing paragraph, Philo adds:

• We should, therefore, blame those who spuriously appropriate as their own merit what they derive from others, good birth; and they should justly be regarded as enemies not only of the Jewish race, but of all mankind; of the Jewish race, because they engender indifference in their brethren, so that they despise the righteous life in their reliance upon their ancestors’ virtue; and of the Gentiles, because they would not allow them their need of reward even  though they attain to the highest excellence of conduct, simply because they have not commendable ancestors. I know not if there could be a more pernicious doctrine than this: that there is no punishment for the wicked offspring of good parents, and no reward for the good offspring of evil parents. The law judges each man upon his own merit, and does not assign praise or blame according to the virtues of the forefathers.[1]

There can be no doubt that Philo envisioned a day when Judaism would win the hearts of humankind, and would eventually prove to truly become a light unto the nations of the world, as Isaiah foretold (Isaiah 49:6).

The NT bears witness to the phenomena of Jewish proselytizing and one can easily see how early Christianity incorporated much of first century’s Jewish activity, making it a part of their own modus operandi. The Gospels attest that the Pharisees “compass sea and land to make one proselyte” (Matt. 23:15). Most Christian scholars see this passage as a rhetorical exaggeration,[2] but one must seriously wonder whether this observation is indeed correct. Josephus himself observes that Judaism in his day appealed to Greek and barbarian cities alike.

Historians observe the even in the centuries that followed the great destruction of the Temple, 10% of the Roman population was Jewish—an astounding statistic! Based on the number of Jewish catacombs found in Rome, there were about 100,000 Jews who had either settled or converted to Judaism in the early centuries both before and after the Common Era. [3]

Judging from the literature of that era, one may surmise that the Roman population probably found the Jews to be an intriguing ethnic group in their encounters. The Romans, much like Americans today, probably found the Shabbat discussions on the Torah to be interesting and provocative.  The Jewish community proved to be cordial and hospitable with their Latin and Greek speaking guests. The intellectual ambiance evidently attracted many new converts to the faith. The early Christian church once had some real competition from the Jewish community—of all people!

Roman philosophers, writers, and politicians often complained about how the conquered people of Judea behaved more like the conquerors! According to the Roman historian Tacitus, he was very disturbed at the proselytizing efforts made by Jews which he regarded as a threat to the Empire. One Roman Empress, Poppaea Augusta Sabina (the second wife of Emperor Nero)  was a close friend of Josephus and she is credited with building a synagogue; in addition, contrary to Roman custom, she was buried instead of cremated—more in line with Jewish tradition.[4]

The Roman satirist Juvenal (60-130 C.E.), likewise expresses outrage at the spread of Jewish families among the aristocracy of Rome. He regarded Judaism as a mystery religion, and believed the Jews worshiped the clouds on the Sabbath.  The Roman Stoic philosopher Seneca and adviser to Emperor Nero was hardly any better and noted, “ The customs of this accursed race have gained such influence that they are now received throughout the world. The vanquished have given laws to their victors.”[5] Some Roman thinkers considered Judaism on par with atheism since the God of Judaism is not visible.

As mentioned before in the “Groucho Marx Syndrome” posting, the time has come for modern rabbis to let go of the traumatized memories of Late Antiquity. In an open society, Judaism can greatly benefit from the energy, passion, and love of Judaism that so many of today’s Jews by Choice possess. In my Shul, over 40% are dedicated Jews by Choice. Anyone interested in learning about Judaism, feel free to contact me by sending me an email at this website.

For every Jew-by-Choice I welcome, I feel as a rabbi I am recovering lost souls taken away from us by Hitler and his eternal legion of Hitler-wannabees.

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Today, the head of the American Haredi group, Agudath Israel has finally come out of the closet to articulate their position—after considerable soul searching for the right nomenclature, I might add! Its spokesman, Rabbi Avi Shafran, is no stranger to controversy. In his statement to the public, he writes:

•  Reports of recent events in the Israeli town of Beit Shemesh are deeply disturbing. Violence of any sort, whether physical or verbal, by self-appointed “guardians” of modesty is reprehensible.  Such conduct is beyond the bounds of decent, moral – Jewish! – behavior.  We condemn these acts unconditionally. Those who have taken pains to note that the small group of misguided individuals who have engaged in this conduct are not representative of the larger charedi community are to be commended.  It is disturbing, though, that some Israeli politicians and secularists have been less responsible, portraying the actions of a very few as indicative of the feelings of the many. Quite the contrary, the extremist element is odious to, and rejected by, the vast majority of charedi Jews.Lost in all the animus and ill will, unfortunately, is the concept ostensibly at the core of the controversy: the exalted nature of tzenius, or Jewish modesty.
  
  Judaism considers human desires to constitute a sublime and important force, but one whose potential for harm is commensurate with its potential for holiness. In a society like our own, where the mantra of many is, in effect, “anything goes,” many charedi Jews, men and women alike, see a need to take special steps – in their own lives and without seeking to coerce others – to counterbalance the pervasive atmosphere of licentiousness, so as to avoid the degradation of humanity to which it leads.It would be tragic were the acts of violence to lead Jews to, G-d forbid, reject the culture of tzenius that has always been the hallmark of the Jewish nation, to regard Jewish modesty as something connected to violence and anger, rather than to refinement and holiness.

First of all I would like to commend the rabbi for at least condemning the violence that took place in Beth Shemech. However, Rabbi Shafran seems to think that there is some legitimacy in Haredi complaint about the “immodest” clad eight-year old children.

The question occurred to me after some reflection: What kind of person would find an eight year old girl’s modest clothing (by Halachic standards) “immodest,” or even “provocative”? The answer ought to be real obvious: pedophiles. Most normal people would never even think of regarding a young seven or eight year-old girl as a sex object.

If you think the Catholic Church has problems, wait till you see the Haredi problems that has infested their community. Haredi rabbis in New York, Baltimore, and other cities have been hiding pedophiles in their midst for decades. The issue of pedophilia has been threatening to undermine the house of cards that is holding up the Haredi community in Israel and especially here in the United States.

Rabbi Shafran and his organization really need to ask themselves, what kind of perverted subculture are the Haredim trying to desperately hide?

One of the most colorful figures of the 18^th century, who almost single-handedly raised the moral of the Jewish people, was a man named R. Yisrael ben Eliezer, a.k.a., the famous “Baal Shem Tov,” (literally, the “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.

• 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 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.

Baal Shem Tov felt very strongly, “A small hole in the body, constituted a large hole in the soul.” The care of the soul must never come at the expense of the body, since it too is a manifestation of God, and must not be considered as hostile or oppositional to Him.

Naturally, many of his ideas did not endear himself to the more austere Kabbalistic or Talmudic schools, which felt that the study of Torah was the greatest pursuit for the average Jew. Not so for the Baal Shem Tov—the inner life of the person was just as important, but the inner life of the individual could not ignore the welfare of his fellow human beings.

Following an old tradition going back to R. Isaac Luria, one of the most famous Kabbalists of the late medieval period, all prayer must begin with the precept, “Behold, I am taking upon myself the precept to fulfill: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Baal Shem Tov made this Lurianic prescription the foundation of Jewish prayer. Prayer has minimal meaning unless one takes into consideration the personal needs of his fellow Jew.

The early followers realized the importance of these lessons and for the most part, did whatever they could do to buoy the spirits of their depressed brethren. Teachers like Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev (1740-1810), always acted like a mighty advocate for the Jewish people. There are many stories attributed to him, where he always gave the most defiant Jewish sinner, the benefit of the doubt. A typical story that is often told relates how he once noticed a wagon driver who was greasing his wheels while reciting his morning prayers, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak lifted his eyes to Heaven and cried: “Master of the Universe! Behold the piety of Your children! Even as they go about their daily affairs, they do not cease to pray to You!”

However, that was then . . .

Today’s Hassidic factions[1] that make up a large portion of Israel’s Haredi movement and their religious leaders have evolved into something radically different from what the movement’s founders once envisioned.

Their animus toward the non-Haredi world is disturbing—even shocking—to say the least. When hooligans refer to a Modern Orthodox seven year old girl a “harlot,” we have a problem of epic proportions.

They spat on poor little Naama Margolis because she was not dressed “modestly” enough in their eyes.  Proudly and boldly, this brave little girl said, “I am no longer afraid. My mother is more afraid than I am. I just want the fanatics to leave Beit Shemesh  . . .” Her mother added, “The exclusion of women from the public sphere makes my blood boil. They (Haredim) are trying to take us back to dark eras; this is a grave injustice.” By the way, the Haredim get equally upset if a girl is happens to be three years old.

Ditto!

I wonder: What would the Baal Shem Tov and Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev say, if they were alive today? The answer ought to be pretty obvious . . .

Many years ago, when I studied in Israel, I had some Haredi acquaintances who used to throw rocks at cars driving through Me’ah She’arim in Israel, but today the situation is far worse. We are witnessing virulent misogyny that has no parallel in Jewish history.

Who would imagine that Jews would ever subject Jewish children to such abuse? One must wonder: Why aren’t the Hassidic, Lithuanian, and Sephardic leaders condemning their followers’ violent behavior?

As Israel prepares itself against the greatest existential threat it has yet faced, the explosion of Haredi violence in Israel may do more damage than even a nuclear explosion in Tel Aviv. As we celebrate the holiday of Hanukkah, let us pray that the forces of light will triumph over the forces of religious intolerance and bigotry that are eroding the spirit of the Jewish people in Israel and abroad.

You must have heard this story about a child named Haim, who attended Heder (religious school). After coming home from class, his Zeyde (grandpa) asks him, “So nu, what did you learn today at Heder?” The child answers, “Well,  the Rebbe told us a story about Moses and all those people crossing the Red Sea that was really great! … So Moses got on his Ipad 2, texted some messages to the Israeli Air Force, the jets soon flew over and bombed the Egyptian army to smithereens!” The Zeyde can hardly believe his ears, “So, is that what they are teaching you in Heder?!”  Haim replies, “Zeyde, if I told you what the Rebbe really taught us, you’d never believe it!”

Jewish historical events often reflect the spin of the narrator. This does not necessarily mean that a story is a fiction. We simply need to understand the context by how a story is narrated. Hanukkah is one of those holidays, much like Passover. Even myth often has a basis in fact, which is often embellished by tradition. The task of a modern scholar is to solve the mystery of how the story came to assume its present form. In this sense, the scholar must be a little bit like Sherlock Holmes (see the new movie, it rocks!!)

The children of the original Hasmoneans who fought the Greeks proved to be a disappointment; most of them became as corrupt as the people their grandparents revolted against. Perhaps the marriage of priestly and political power proved to be too incongruous to balance—much like we see in Israel today. Politics and religion are a lot like meat and milk; each by itself is permitted, but when cooked, they form a forbidden substance.

Several centuries later, around the time of the Talmud’s redaction (ca. 400 C.E.), the Talmud nonchalantly asks:

• What is the origin of Hanukkah? Our Rabbis taught: On the twenty-fifth of Kislev begins the days of Hanukkah, which are eight, and on which mourning and fasting are forbidden. For when the Greeks entered the Temple, they defiled all the oils therein, and when the Hasmoneans [i.e., the Maccabees] defeated them, they searched and found only one cruse of oil with the seal of the High Priest,  but which contained enough [oil] for one day’s lighting only; yet a miracle happened and they lit [the menorah from that single cruse of oil and it lasted for] for eight days. The following year these [days] were made a Festival including the recitation of the Hallel and thanksgiving.[1]

The rabbis make no reference to the actual book of Maccabees, which the Christian church preserved. It is significant that the narrator of 2 Mac 10:5 does not mention anything about the miracle of the candles burning for eight consecutive nights. Here is what it does say:

• On the anniversary of the day on which the temple had been profaned by the Gentiles, that is, the twenty-fifth of the same month Chislev, the purification of the temple took place. The Jews celebrated joyfully for eight days as on the feast of Booths, remembering how, a little while before, they had spent the feast of Booths living like wild animals in caves on the mountains. Carrying rods entwined with leaves, green branches and palms, they sang hymns of grateful praise to him who had brought about the purification of his own Place. By public edict and decree they prescribed that the whole Jewish nation should celebrate these days every year.  Such was the end of Antiochus surnamed “Epiphanes.”[2]

Another ancient text dating back toward the beginning of the 1^st century, the Megillat Ta’anit, explains a different reason why Hanukkah lasted for eight days:

• Why did the rabbis make Chanukah eight days? Because … the Hasmoneans  entered the Temple and erected the altar and whitewashed it and repaired all of the ritual utensils. They were kept busy for eight days. And why do we light candles? When the Hasmoneans entered the Temple there were eight iron spears in their hands, which they covered with wood and drove into the ground, lighting oil in each and using them as lamps.[3]

According to this version, it ought to be obvious why the Rabbis purposely left the real story out. A single canister of undefiled oil would have become instantly defiled once it was used on the spears, which were ritually contaminated from war.

A second midrashic source, the Pesikta Rabbati, composed around 845 CE, relates the following:

• “Why do we kindle lights on Chanukah? Because when the Hasmoneans sons, the High Priest, defeated the Hellenists, they entered the Temple and found there eight iron spears. They stuck candles on them and lit them . . .”[4]

The story gets much more interesting when we read the Mishnah 10:1 of tractate Sanhedrin:

• Rabbi Akiva says, Even one who reads external books – Kehati explains, “there are the books by heretics, who interpreted the Torah, Prophets, and Writings according to their own opinion, and did not rely on the expositions of the Sages (R. Yitzhak Alfasi).”

In one Talmudic discussion found on page 100b, the “Sifre Minim” is referred to by some of the Amoraim, e.g., R. Yosef, who notes that the forbidden books refer to the writings of Ben Sira, but concludes that certain passages may be read so long as they do not offend the religious sensibilities of the community. Ben Sira’s book is interesting because he appears to reject the belief in the afterlife—a point which would most certainly have earned his book being excluded from the biblical canon, e.g., “When a man dies, he inherits corruption; worms, gnats and maggots” (Ben Sira 10:11).

Some scholars propose, it is also possible that the entire Apocrypha was included among the other “forbidden books,” because the book of Maccabees glorifies the triumph of the Hasmoneans.[5] I would only add that the glorification of the Hasmoneans’s descendants ( the Sadducees) was an anathema to the young Pharisee movement, as personified by R. Akiba and his colleagues. In addition, the absence of the miracle of oil burning eight nights would have undermined rabbinical authority and its “official” version of the Hanukkah story. Besides, much of the Apocrypha extolls Greek wisdom and represents one of the first major attempts to graft the philosophical values of Jerusalem and Athens together–a process that would later get jump-started by Philo of Alexandria, Saadia, Maimonides, Gersonides and other Jewish thinkers in the medieval era.

Simply put, the real story had to be suppressed because of political reasons.

Now, outside of the Talmud, there are some other narratives that explain why the holiday of Hanukka was originally called “lights,” which reads:

• Now Judas celebrated the festival of the restoration of the sacrifices of the temple for eight days; and omitted no sort of pleasures thereon: but he feasted them upon very rich and splendid sacrifices; and he honored God, and delighted them, by hymns and psalms. Nay, they were so very glad at the revival of their customs, when after a long time of intermission, they unexpectedly had regained the freedom of their worship, that they made it a law for their posterity, that they should keep a festival, on account of the restoration of their temple worship, for eight days. And from that time to this we celebrate this festival, and call it Lights. I suppose the reason was, because this liberty beyond our hopes appeared to us; and that thence was the name given to that festival . . .[6]

Note that Josephus actually provides much more than a scant and reluctant mentioning of the holiday’s origins especially when contrasted to the Babylonian Talmud’s version. The theme of light plays an important role as a symbol of perfection, enlightenment, clarity, and perfect being. Interestingly enough, just as Aaron and his sons lit the menorah in the Temple, so too did their descendants—the Hasmoneans (as noted by Ramban, in his commentary on Numbers 8:1-4). In addition, the 25^th word of the Torah is “or,” (light), and its synchronicity helped reinforce the triumph of light over the forces of darkness and hopelessness.

Lastly, there is some conjecture that the suggests the victorious Jews may have witnessed either a large meteorite shower or possibly saw the appearance of a comet at the time the Temple was being cleansed of its ritual impurities, hence the name, “Lights,” which incidentally is also mentioned in the NT John 10:22, where it is explicitly identified as the “Feast of Dedication.”

Incidentally, the Feast of Dedication, i.e., Hanukkah, was also known as the “Tabernacles of the month of Kislev” (2 Macc 1.9).

Notes:

[1] BT Talmud 21b.

[2] Cf. 1 Macc 4:36–59; 2 Macc 1:18–2:19; 10:1–8 for a fuller account of what happened.

[3] Megilat Ta’anit ch. 9.

[4] Pesikta Rabbati ch. 2. Continue Reading

Some time ago, I had a friendly discussion with Rabbi Yisrael Goldberg, a young Chabadnik who lives in Israel. In the course of our talk, he told me that Rabbi Avraymo Levitanski (a former teacher of mine) had recently died. Avraymo was a great man; he was a brilliant scholar as well and an exceptional human being. He was definitely one of the finest Chabadniks I have ever known.

On a light note, Yisrael told me how Avraymo always referred to Santa Monica as “Simcha Monica,” and San Diego, or, San Francisco as “S. Diego and S. Francisco.” The name, “Simcha Monica” was a new designation I hadn’t heard before; Avraymo’s designation actually made me chuckle. Where did these ideas originate in the first place? If my memory serves me well, I believe the late Rebbe was fond of using these unusual designations.

By the way, “Simcha Monica” roughly means, “Monica is happy.” I am not sure whether this name was given during the time of the Clinton and Monica Lewinsky scandal, I suspect Monica Lewinsky is not too happy about that unfortunate chapter of her life.

Actually, the real reason the city of Santa Monica received its special name was in tribute to Augustine’s mother and spiritual inspiration–Monica (331 – 387 CE). Monica was both the Algerian Christian saint and mother of Augustine of Hippo, the greatest Christian theologian of Late Antiquity. Augustine, ex-lover and former whore-monger, loved extolling his mother’s virtues in his Confessions, she exerted a profound spiritual influence on her son’s life.

If my sense of humor seems slightly off-colored, it’s because God speaks to me through the language of humor and irony. Yet even our most ordinary conversations with the everyday people we meet can sometimes serve as spiritual epiphanies.

Let us return to our topic at hand.

At first blush, it seemed there might be some scriptural support for this unusual practice among the Chabad rabbis. Consider two verses: “Give heed to all that I have told you. Never mention the name of any other god; it shall not be heard from your lips” (Exod. 23:13) and “There must be no foreign god among you; you must not worship an alien god” (Psa. 81:10).

Sounds pretty straightforward, right?

You see, it’s complicated.

It seems that the Chabad rabbis are rather inconsistent because the names found in the Gregorian calendar are actually based on the names of pagan deities of antiquity. If no other gods or goddesses are to be mentioned, how can Chabad rabbis refer to the name of actual deities whenever they use a secular calendar or at least refer to it in their daily conversation? The inconsistencies ought to create some cognitive dissonance among the steadfast among the Chabad rabbis; maybe they will say in the privacy of their homes: Could it be that we are wrong?

Here are some examples:

May derives from the Roman fertility goddess named Maia.

April is traditionally identified with Venus. April may possibly derive from Aprilis, the Etruscan Apru, which is also a diminutive of Aphrodite–the Greek goddess of beauty and fertility. The Latin verb aperire, “to open,” and is related to the Greek name for spring ἁνοιξις (opening), the time of the year when spring begins bloom with flowers and trees.

June alludes to Juno, the Roman goddess who served as protector and special counselor of the state.

Indeed, several other examples can be mentioned, but I believe we have made our point clear. If the Chabad rabbis used Hebrew names for months, that would make a lot more sense. Then again, even the Hebrew calendar refers to the Sumerian and Babylonian deity known as Tammuz, who is mentioned in biblical times (cf. Eze. 8:14).

Who exactly was Tammuz? Tammuz is the chief Sumerian deity; he is also known as Dumazi–the god of fertility, of vegetation and agriculture, of death and resurrection, and is also the patron of shepherds. Dumzai was both the son and consort of Ashtar (Inanna). In the Sumerian mythic pantheon, Tammuz represented the annual vegetation cycle of death during the heat of summer and the rebirth of life with the coming of the fall and spring rains, as mythically recounted in the Akkadian poem, “Inanna’s Descent into the Netherworld.”

When our ancestors went to Babylon, they adopted the Babylonian names of the months during the 70 year exile in Babylon, which also included Tammuz! The 17th of Tammuz is a special fast day in Jewish tradition. I suspect that the ancient Jews either viewed Tammuz much like we now view the days of the week. If it didn’t historically bother our people in times of antiquity, then why shouldn’t we refer to Santa Monica by its proper name?

Then again, we have the days of the week. Each day is dedicated to the pagan goddesses and gods of antiquity. For an example:

Sunday. Latin: dies solis – “Sun Day.” Sunday celebrates the sun god, Ra, Helios, Apollo, Ogmios, Mithrias, or the sun goddess, Phoebe. In the year 321 CE, the Roman Emperor Constantine ruled that the first day of the week, ‘the venerable day of the sun’, should be a day of rest. The name was later changed to dies Dominica, “Lord’s Day” in ecclesiastical tradition.

Monday. Latin: lunae dies – “Moon Day.” Monday was named in honor of the Assyrian goddess, Selene, Luna and Mani. In old English, mon(an)daeg meant “day of the moon.”

Tuesday. Latin: dies Martis – “Day of Mars.” In Greek mythology, Ares was the god of war (renamed “Mars” by the Romans). In English, “Tuesday” comes from Tiu (Twia), the English/Germanic god of war and the sky (identified with the Nordic god called Tyr).

Wednesday. Latin: dies Mercurii – “Day of Mercury.” In Greek mythology, Hermes was the god of trade and commerce (renamed “Mercury” by the Romans). In English, the name “Wednesday” derives from the Scandinavian god Odin, the chief god of Norse mythology. Woden is the chief Anglo-Saxon/Teutonic god, the leader of the Wild Hunt.

Thursday. Latin: dies Iovis – “Day of Jupiter.” In Greek mythology, Zeus was the god of the sky (renamed “Jupiter” by the Romans). The English word “Thursday” comes from the Middle English Thorsday, refering to “Thor” (the Nordic counterpart to Jupiter).

Friday. Latin: dies Veneris – “Day of Venus.” In Greek mythology, Aphrodite was the goddess of love/fertility (renamed “Venus” by the Romans). The name “Friday” comes from Freya (Fria), the name of the Norse god Odin’s wife and Teutonic goddess of love, beauty, and fertility.

Saturday. Latin: dies Saturni – “Day of Saturn.” In Greek mythology, Cronus was the god of the harvest (renamed “Saturn” by the Romans) who ruled until he was dethroned by his son Zeus.

So, I wonder: If the Chabad rabbis want to pick on just the Christian saints that they don’t recognize, I am OK with their choice. However, for consistency, I think they should make it a conscious point to use the Hebrew designations of months. They may want to refrain using the name Tammuz as well. By the same token, they shouldn’t use the weekday names either for the reasons mentioned above.

Let me propose a simple alternative that is truly kosher: They should refer to the Sunday as Yom Rishon (“the first day of the week”) and the other Hebrew names for the other various days of the week.

I suspect their followers might get confused. Oh well, that’s price one must pay for religious consistency, no? Aside from the Hebrew designations for days and months of the year, there is always Hebonics . . .

On a more serious note, I suspect the Chabad movement feels disdain toward Christianity in general and toward Catholic saints in particular. I really understand their rational. For the greater part of its history, the Catholic Church has not been friendly toward the Jews. In some respects, Chabad rabbis are like many atheists, agnostics, and other non-believers who refuse to say “Christmas,” because they do not believe in Christ. Instead, they refer to Christmas as, “Xmas.”

Since we all live in an open and civilized society, why not use the same names that everyone has long accepted? Jews and gentiles alike take great civic pride in the designated name of their city. You see, in the final analysis–it’s all about respect. Treating our neighbors with respect ought to be as important as keeping kosher.

And now you know, the rest of the story . . .

I often get asked the questions, “What is the symbolism of the dreidel? What exactly is its origin?” The dreidel is a four cornered top that was popular in the medieval era and originally used for gambling. Jewish folklore purports that when the Syrians prohibited the study of Torah, the Jews insurrectionists would take a top to gamble with, so that the soldiers would let them play their game in peace. The name, “dreidel,” is a Yiddish word that derives from the German verb, “drehen,” (“to turn”).

Historically, the origin of the dreidel is not quite so apocryphal. During the medieval era, gambling dice often had four letters inscribed, N,G, H, and S, representing “nichts,” (nothing), “ganz” (i.e., winner takes “all”), and “shtell arein” (“put in”).  Jews subsequently transformed the dice into a top and added four Hebrew letters, נ (N), ג (G), ה (H), and שׁ (S)—signifying, נֵס גָדוֹל הָיָה ֹשָם  “nes gadol hayah sham” (“A great miracle happened there”).

The symbolism gets more interesting when we take into consideration the numerological patterns the Kabbalists cleverly add when redesigning the dreidel during the medieval era.  The value of the four letters equals 358, the same numerology (gematria) as Moshiach (Messiah)! This could suggest several things:

(1)   The wandering of the Jews (drehen) is not purposeless, though it may seem that way at times. Israel’s wandering serves to bring the world that much closer to its final redemptive stage of human history—the Messianic era.

(2)  As the dreidel spins, it represents the pulsating movement of the Divine; we who observe it, cannot see how its final stage will unfold until it actually occurs. Such a concept has its antecedents in the Talmud’s famous statement, “Three come unawares: Messiah, a found article and a scorpion” (T.B. Sanhedrin 97a). I have always liked this passage, for in its simplicity, the Sages teach us that it is not for mortal men–or women–regardless how pious or learned they happen to be, to engage in the mindless pursuit of messianic prognostications. The Messiah will appear when we least expect him to arrive.

(3)  Our fortunes in life are much like the chaotic turnings of the dreidel; those of us, who lost our fortunes with the Stock Market, know this all too well. Political surprises like the recent death of North Korean dictator, Kim Jong-il, the cyber-hijacking of an American stealth drone,  know the wisdom of this teaching only all too well … the world—even on its quantum level is full of paradox and unpredictability.

In short, although our existence is unpredictable, faith is the compass that provides us with the wisdom and radar to navigate through even the most difficult of times, like today.