Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

“I will send rain on the earth for forty days and forty nights.” —(Gen. 7:4)

Forty  is a portentous number, for it represents the fullness of time. In general, it is usually a round number or estimation more so than an actual precise chronological measurement of time. As the medium of purification in the Torah, water has a unique power in that it can dissolve all the sundry forms it encompasses. In the realm of ritual, the waters of purification determine a new status, hence a new creation. Rabbinic literature develops this concept concerning the various laws pertaining to ritual purification and conversion.

In the Mishnah, for example, the waters of the mikvah (a “ritual bath”) must contain 40 se’ah (approximately 120 gallons) of water—the amount that is necessary to completely cover the human body as it undergoes ritual purification.[1] Ritual immersion represents a symbolic death for the person undergoing ritual. Upon arising, s/he becomes like a new person, as indicated by the Talmudic dictum, “Anyone who has become a proselyte is likened to a newborn baby.”[2]

Ritual immersion always introduces a change in status. For a priest, immersion enables him to eat from the priestly tithes; for the leper, immersion terminates his ceremonially impure  status and facilitates his reintegrate to the community. In the same manner, the Flood lasted for 40 days and 40 nights and served as a means of purifying and purging the world of the violence that had infected it.[3]

Throughout the Tanakh and much of early rabbinic tradition, the number 40 is also associated with dramatic change, upheaval,[4] judgment [5] , hardship, affliction and censure, temptation and punishment, probation, [6] purification, forgiveness,[7] wisdom,[8] redemptive rescuing (as evidenced here) and finally, revelation.[9] The Jewish mystical tradition also sees a profound relationship among all these seemingly disparate nuances associated with the number.

On a psychological level, the number 40 seems to suggest that it is only when we are most broken and humbled we become spiritually open and receptive to God’s revelation and promise of renewal. From a Jungian perspective, 40 also corresponds to the period of life commonly known as midlife, when one often experiences turbulent changes as one comes to grips with mortality and the meaning of human existence. At midlife, that is when we start asking the great questions–even now as we wade our way through the current economic deluge our country is experiencing. Use this time to rediscover the real “You.” Continue Reading

The story of Noah disturbs me for many reasons . . .

For now, I will focus on the passage,  “I will never again curse the ground for the inclination of the human heart is evil from youth. . .” (Gen. 8:21).

Is evil something innate to the human condition? Theologians have been debating this for over 1700 years.  After everything has been said and done, one may still wonder: Was Augustine’s cynical view of human nature accurate? Are the traits of ruthlessness, selfishness, and cruelty an inherited condition? The history of genocide in the 20^th century alone might give one pause to wonder whether Pelagius and Kant might have been overly optimistic about the human condition.  The verse would seem to intimate, that to some degree, it is. Are we to assume that children are prenatally programmed with some of these less-than-desirable traits?  What about God’s role in a world that suffers from evil? Is God also responsible to some degree?

As the biologist Lyall Watson strikes at the heart of our problem:

• I am conscious at this delicate point of circumventing all the long arguments of theodicy in a somewhat cavalier way.  Saint Augustine, Irenaeus the Bishop of Lyons, and more recently the theologian John Hick, have all labored to produce a standard Christian answer to the existence of evil in a universe designed and presided over by a good God.  Their musings, to my mind, have been superseded by  events in Nazi Germany, Chile, Cambodia, Uganda, Vietnam, Serbia, and Rwanda, to mention but a few: which makes it clear that we, and we alone, bear the blame.  History, even in this century, has confronted us squarely with our own demonic capacities. We have, like Faust finally coming face to face with Mephistopheles, been forced to concede that the mask he wears bears features very much like our own. He is us, and neither evil nor can we be redeemed. We just are; and we clearly are the products, for good and evil, of our biological evolution.[1][1]

While these ignoble traits are what our species began with, this does not necessarily mean that human beings cannot learn to transcend their natural tendencies for mere biological survival. The Torah itself will later attest to a profound theological and psychological truth that has withstood the test of time: “[O]ne does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord” (Deut. 8:3). If a man was nothing more than an animal, the product of blind and relentless evolutionary forces that are beyond his control, bread would satisfy his fundamental needs, but this is not the case.

For reasons we believe to be rooted in the divine ontology and mystery of our being, we hunger for something more fulfilling than bread alone can provide. Our individual and collective capacity for discovering spiritual meaning and purpose beckons us and allows us to re-design our moral nature anew. As Maslow has forcefully argued, human beings require certain “meta-needs” that enable the spirit to thrive and expand. When these spiritual impulses are frustrated, the deprivation of these spiritual needs leads us to developing unhealthy states such as alienation, anguish, apathy, and cynicism.[2]

The psychologist Victor Frankl arrives at the same conclusion based on his experiences in the concentration camps. He discovers that whenever a person fails to find meaning to one’s life, or the purpose to life, “a person will tend to drift aimlessly like a ship without a rudder.” Frankl believes that people need something to live for, something to look forward to, something that transcends themselves to which they can give themselves. Discovering meaning to life must be found in cultivating creative values (such as experiencing the achievement of a task that establishes a person in the world), experiential values (experienced through the appreciation of the good and beautiful in the world and in the loving of another person), and in attitudinal values (experienced through dealing with one’s suffering).

In biblical terms, nature does not have the final say; humankind can rise above its destructive impulses.

The presence of evil may be seen as a deficiency disease. When people fail to instill the values of compassion and respect for life, children can develop into monstrous adults. Thoughtfulness, consideration, empathy are  some of the important  values that enabled  our prehistoric ancestors to survive as a species.  Living with a reverence for life can enable people to rise above any situation. Religion can play an important role in the healing of the human spirit–provided people embrace and emulate a God that loves and respects life.

This may well be the most important message of the Flood story as well.

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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One 16^th century rabbinic scholar, Rabbi Eliezer Ashkenazi, exhibited integrity transcending the parochial world he inhabited, and called upon his readers to show an independence of thought that challenged the theological correctness of his era.  His prescription for honesty and intellectual truthfulness can certainly apply to our own generation as well:

• Neither should we be concerned about the logic of others—even if they preceded us—preventing our own individual investigation. Much to the contrary, just as [our forbearers] did not wish to indiscriminately accept the truth from those who preceded them, and that which they did not choose [to accept] they rejected, so it is fitting for us to do. Only on the basis of gathering many different opinions will the truth be tested. . . . Do not be dismayed by the names of the great personalities when you find them in disagreement with your beliefs; you must investigate and interpret, because for this purpose were you created, and wisdom was granted you from Above, and this will benefit you.[1]

From R. Ashkenazi’s opinion, one may surmise that the truth can always stand up to scrutiny. All the various approaches concerning the origin and redaction of the Pentateuch have much value and wisdom to impart. Early rabbinic exegetes deserve considerable credit for pointing out many textual anomalies that require clarification. Granted, many of the Midrashic answers given may not be grounded in a realistic understanding of the text, but the questions they raise regarding the text’s meaning are important. Conflicting interpretations—especially in a dialogical setting—frequently draw attention to nuances and ideas that one participant or interpreter may have overlooked or failed to take adequately into account. Conflicting interpretations also expand the text and force each participant to re-articulate earlier stated ideas that take into account the criticisms of the other side. In the midst of a discussion, one party may see truth in an oppositional point of view.

The need to occasionally acknowledge interpretive fallibility is an essential feature if one is to arrive at a truth. The absence of consensus is not a negative thing per se—in fact, quite the opposite. Contrary to Aristotle’s law of non-contradiction;[2] namely, “a thing and its opposite cannot both be true,”[3] rabbinic wisdom believes that truth is best served when contrarian interpretations challenge one another.[4] Truth is frequently discovered through a process of adversity and contradiction. Regardless how a person interprets a classical text like the Bible—or for that matter any great work of literature—there will always be somebody else who will interpret it differently. Disagreement is something that is not only endemic—it is inevitable. Whenever a new idea or approach is introduced, attention is drawn to aspects of a text that one might have overlooked or failed to take adequately into account. Arguments—whether they happen to be contrarian or supportive—force a person to modify an earlier stance. By the same token, one person’s ideas may have an equally powerful influence on someone else. While interpretation typically refines the next interpretation, controversy remains our constant companion.

How should one respond to this conundrum? If unanimity is really the goal, what incentive would there be for new interpretive ideas? Conversely, dissent is not necessarily indicative of a communications breakdown. Oftentimes a consensus of a people may be predicated upon an error (e.g., Ptolemy’s geo-centric view of the universe is but one obvious example). The desire to create a stable consensus can threaten to immobilize a person(s) or a society in error.

Dissent can be beneficial, and often leads to new discoveries and ideas. Moreover, dissent ensures that there will be some sort of accountability on the part of the originator. This would explain why peer review is a necessary process whenever new articles on any subject are introduced. A community of readers and interpreters create a network that produces alternative viewpoints worthy of reflective consideration. Differences of insight do not necessarily mean disagreement on the core issues of a story or discussion. Throughout Jewish and Christian exegetical traditions, rarely has there been a stable consensus. If this was the case in ancient times, why should it be any different today? The focus of scholarly dissent may change over time, but the fact of disagreement does not go away; indeed it is a necessary part of the learning process.

Every biblical commentary (to a greater or lesser extent) offers varying responses, often to the same question; at times they pose different questions and may also argue as to which questions ought to serve as the focal point of a discussion. The purpose of their commentaries is not to create a monologue with the reader but to stimulate a living dialogue for both the reader and his community. In light of this, we can boldly say that questioning the great interpreters of the past need not undermine faith; on the contrary, it has the potential of strengthening it. Conversely, the fear of new ideas in many ways undermines faith in the Divine message of the Torah. Perhaps one of the greatest gifts of the Socratic and Talmudic milieu to the Western world is the need to question everything that is believed to be the “truth.” The fluid nature of Judaic theology demonstrates a historical resiliency that has the innate ability to maintain its structural and spiritual integrity against any wave of modernity or textual criticism.

While Birth and Rebirth through Genesis: A Timeless Theological Conversation is primarily a theological exposition of biblical themes that are scattered throughout the chapters of Genesis, the title implies that it is also an exegetical work, intended to honor the nature of the peshat (the contextual meaning of the text)[5] with its rich history of intertexuality. The text is a nexus where ideas and thoughts of the past converge with the present and future. The exegetical component is extremely important, for good exegesis can provide a solid contextual basis for eisegetical insight and wisdom.

[1] Cited from Alan Dershowitz’s The Genesis of Justice (New York: Time Warner, 2000), 18-19.  Continue Reading

With rare theological insight, Sigmund Freud (1856–1939) was among the first of modern thinkers to suggest that infancy, in a sense, represents a re-dramatization of the Fall from the Paradise story. At the infant’s earliest stage of psychological development, the infant experiences an “oceanic oneness.” As the baby nurses from its mother’s breast, it does not distinguish between itself and the world, but rather the world is an extension of itself, “in which the infantile ego is sufficient unto itself.”^[1] The infant’s world, however, is only temporary. All parents—sooner or later—will impose restrictions, eventually severing the infant’s continuous pursuit of carefree indulgence and desire toward pleasure. As the child matures, s/he develops a sense of self-identity. Soon, the child realizes the impossibility of its former existence. For all practical purposes, paradise has been lost.

C. G. Jung and Erich Neumann add that the Paradise parable points to a preconscious stage of infancy in which the ego’s center of human consciousness has not yet been activated.^[2]  Neumann refers to the bond of mother and child as “existence in unitary reality” that embraces both mother and child. Neumann believes that at this stage of the child’s evolving consciousness, the image of the mother is not perceived as a separate and independent entity. The mother is seen as an extension of the child’s body and consciousness. There is no subject, object, ego, or self; the infant has no individual experience or perceptions, except for the one experience with the mother—one of total connectedness.^[3]

While the child is within the womb, the unborn enjoys the bliss and serenity that may be compared to Paradise. According to Neumann, Adam was like an infant in the womb waiting to be psychologically born. Had he not “sinned,” Adam would never have experienced pain or pleasure as we know these experiences; one would be the same as the other. He would have existed in a neutral state, a condition without desire, and a state of being that would embrace the opposites. It could, indeed, be called a state of Paradise or what Joseph Campbell (1904–87) referred to as “bliss.” In speaking of the birth trauma as an archetype of transformation, Campbell states:

• In the imagery of mythology and religion this birth (or more often rebirth) theme is extremely prominent; in fact, every threshold passage—not only this from the darkness of the womb to the light of the sun, but also those from childhood to adult life and from the light of the world to whatever mystery of darkness may lie beyond the portal of death—is comparable to a birth and has been ritually represented, practically everywhere, through an imagery of re-entry into the womb.[4]

The “re-entry into the womb” is what may be identified as a psychological return to the function of intuition, whether it is immediately after birth or in any later experience of transformation. It is a way of returning to the mother while in the world, rather than in the womb, which was the original experience. This particular experience is one of the recurring themes of Genesis as is evident in the Akedah of Isaac, and the individuation of Jacob and Joseph. Each crisis they experience becomes a crucible for change and spiritual transformation.

• Mircea Eliade’s View of the Fall: The Emerging Contours of Profane Existence

Mircea Eliade also expands the Paradise story in a way that goes far beyond anything Freud, Jung, and Neumann propose. He asserts that it would be wrong to assume that “religious man” existed only in an infantile state of being; Adam was created with intelligence to manage and take care of the Garden. Archaic man believed he contributed to the maintenance of the cosmos. All his interactions with the inanimate, vegetative, and animal worlds made a cosmic difference. The secular man, who lives in a purely profane mode of existence, lives only for himself and society. “For him, the cosmos does not properly constitute a cosmos—that is, a living and articulated unity.”^[5]

Eliade asserts that the Paradise story characterizes a reality in which Heaven and Earth exist in perfect harmony; it is a place where man could communicate with all of nature. Primordial man lived with a closeness that was full of spontaneity and freedom. He did not see himself as distinct from nature; within his being he embraced all the forces of nature of which he considered himself to be a part. However, as a result of the Fall, primordial man’s super-consciousness receded into a state of unconsciousness. Adam becomes more of a terrestrial being than a spiritual being—out of touch with his ultimate sense of reality, alienated from God, nature, his wife, and finally, himself.

Memory of the Fall exists in myths of all peoples around the world. Every civilization and culture has regarded the human condition as if it were under a spell of unnatural limitations and separateness. All religions try to correct this through   dreams of Utopia and Messianism. Even secular humans yearn to reconnect with the world as their ancestors did. Retreats into the country and mountains away from the urban jungles reflect the deeply rooted yearning of moderns to rediscover the cosmic unity that pervades human existence, albeit unrealistic if not impossible to achieve. With respect to the modern secular consciousness, Eliade writes that a new type of “Fall” has occurred in our world—one where human beings are even more disconnected from the depths of their own beings than ever before:

• From the Christian point of view, it could also be said that nonreligion is equivalent to a new “Fall” of man—in other words, that nonreligious man has lost the capacity to live religion consciously, and hence to understand and assume it; but that, in his deepest being, he still retains a memory of it, as, after the “Fall,” his ancestor, the primordial man, retained intelligence enough to enable him to rediscover the traces of God that are still visible in the world. After the first “Fall,” the religious sense descended to the level of the “divided consciousness;” now, after the second, it has fallen even further, into the depths of the unconscious, it has been “forgotten.” ^[6]

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* I decided to completely rewrite and update an earlier post I had composed a couple of years ago.– Enjoy!

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Today’s article begins with a personal message I received from a Chabad acquaintance. The actual letter was a copy of a communiqué that originated from the Lubavitch Headquarters; the letter reminds the Hasidim how they ought to conduct themselves on Christmas Eve.

• December 25th is universally celebrated by non-Jews as the birthday of that person[1] upon whom a dominant non-Jewish religion was founded and who had the Halachic status as a Jew who lures other Jews to idol-worship. A spirit of impurity therefore prevails on that day. (Additionally, there was a period when members of that religion used to celebrate this eve by attacking Jews, which led to an enactment against keeping the Yeshivas open during the eve of Dec 25th).

The letter also quoted some comments expressed by the Friediker (Previous) Rebbe of Lubavitch, R. Yosef Yitzchak Schnersohn and his son-in-law, R. Menachem Mendel Schnersohn:

• The Previous Lubavitcher Rebbe adds, “It is our custom to refrain from studying Torah on Nitel Nacht until midnight. The reason, as the Previous Rebbe heard from his father, the Rebbe RaShaB (Rabbi Shalom Dov Baer Schnersohn, a.k.a., the 5th Lubavitcher Rebbe), is so that one will not add spiritual vitality to that person [Jesus], and those who presently follow his views [i.e., Christians everywhere]. The Previous Lubavitcher Rebbe (i.e., Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schnersohn, the 6th Rebbe) quotes his father in the popular Hayom Yom (Teves 17), ‘I am not fond of those students who begrudge these eight hours and cannot tear themselves away from Torah study!’”[2]

Many Jews and Christians probably find this custom interesting but very strange–and for good reason!! Actually, even many Haredi Jews find the custom dubious and weird; for them, time is of the essence, and nobody should squander what precious time one has in this world pursuing trivial matters, when one ought to be studying God’s Torah instead! For them, “Nitel” is “bitul,” (a pure waste of time).

• The Origins of Nitel Nacht

The origin of Nitel Nacht in modern rabbinic literature is one of the more fascinating chapters of Jewish history and folklore. To begin with, this is a custom that exists only among Hasidim. Most Haredi communities, like the Lithuanian and Sephardic communities, generally disregard this custom; for them, the study of Torah is of primary importance.[3] R. Moshe Sternbuch correctly observes that the custom was unknown in Lithuania and it is only a custom among the Hasidim. One of the greatest Lithuanian luminaries of the 20^th century, R. Avraham Yeshaya Karelitz, (1878-1953) a.k.a., “Chazon Ish” did not discontinue his practice of studying Torah  “Nitel Nacht,” and said that it was forbidden to waste time from learning on this night and he criticized those who did not learn on that night.[4] Some Hassidic Jews, likewise won’t not study Torah on New Year’s Eve either for the same reason. Some of my old Litvak friends in the Litvisher yeshivas used to tell me that Hasidim will do just about anything not to study Torah! Behind every criticism is often a grain of truth . . . Oy, I think I have the soul of a Litvak!

Of course, the time of Nitel Nacht will vary depending whether one is a Greek Orthodox Christian or not, for they celebrate the holiday on January 6^th.

The earliest references to Nitel Nacht go back to the 17^th century; it was first mentioned by the Moravian scholar, R. Yair Chaim Bachrach (1638-1702).[5] Some scholars think that the famous Maharsha (R. Samuel Eides observed the day by the late 16th century.[6]

• The Meaning of “Nitel”

The etymology of the actual name, “Nitel,” actually comes from the Latin, “Natalis,” or, “Nativity Night.” It is truly ironic that 99% of all the Hassidic Jews follow this observance, haven’t the foggiest idea that Nitel Nacht means “Nativity Night.” It is also possible that Nitel Nacht may be a corruption of the Latin dies natalis, “birthday,” i.e., the “birthday” of Jesus.[7]

• Should Nitel Nacht be observed today?

On the one hand, the custom serves to remind us of an era when Jewish and Christian relations were strained and hostile. I once had a congregant who lived to be 95; she survived the Russian Revolution by hiding under a house, where the sewage was stored. With the sound of demonic  laughter, a Cossack crushed her  baby brother’s skull with his boot, while drinking his vodka. She remained traumatized by her experience–throughout her life. I imagine that the Schnersohn family also witnessed similar events in their lives as well and suffered from the lingering effects of these traumatic memories. No wonder the Jews of Lubavitch felt so nervous around Christmas season! Who could blame them? Remember “Fiddler on the Roof”? Sholom Aleichem merely hinted about this awful social reality. Undoubtedly, the world that created Nitel Nacht was filled with violence, hatred, and intolerance.

But that was then . . .

Fortunately, this is not the case anymore the case for Jews who live in Western countries. It’s time to leave the ghetto behind us; it’s time to exorcize the hurtred (pardon the neologism) and bitterness we have carried for a long time.

As a rabbi, whenever I see Jews show intolerance and bigotry toward non-Jews–whoever they may be–I get religiously offended. No religion is immune to the dangers of promoting religious prejudice; or as they say, “A pig with lipstick is still a pig.” Prejudice and intolerance should not be quietly accepted as if it is normal–because it’s not!

Yet, today, the religious intolerance seems to emanate more from Haredi Jews!? Aside from their intolerance toward other branches of Judaism and their endorsement of sexism, in Jerusalem, Haredi Jews often spit on the Greek Orthodox clergy of Jerusalem; in addition, a number of Hassidic Jews have the custom of spitting whenever walking by a church. Were this just an isolated case, one individual’s brazen act of spitting would hardly make the news, but it is a daily occurrence that has brought considerable embarrassment to Israel and to Jews all over the world. Others, still, will not even shake hands with a member of the Christian clergy. I actually saw this happen in Rock Island, when the Habad rabbi refused to shake hands with the local Monsignor, who was attending a Yom HaShoah community observance. To the Hassidic  rabbi’s credit,  he did eventually apologize—a year later.

On the other hand, Rabbi Shmuel Boteach of Chabad has just recently written a brand new book, “Kosher Jesus,” where he actually praises Jesus as a 1^st century Jewish teacher! I doubt the late Rebbe would have approved of his followers extolling the greatness of Jesus as a Jewish sage, but some people are attempting to change some of the old world attitudes. If anything, Hassidic followers of Chabad, Satmar, Bratzlav and others must be saying a collective, ‘Oy vei!” as his work goes to print next month. Kudos go to Rabbi Boteach! I doubt the Rebbe would have approved of such a book.

“The Jewish Annotated New Testament” was just released.  This volume is a study edition of the NSRV translation of the New Testament with commentary and essays by Jewish Biblical scholars (including Jewish New Testament scholars) such as Marc Zvi Brettler, Amy-Jill Levine, Daniel Boyarin, and Mark Nanos. The scholars attempt to understand the NT from a respectful Jewish perspective. Such a work would hardly have been possible a few centuries ago. Fortunately, countless numbers of Christian scholars are now studying Talmud and other Judaic texts to better understand the life of Jesus as a Jew.

Yes, the world is changing.

Should Nitel Nacht be observed today? Not unless you wish to offend your Christian neighbors. While there are number of customs that originated during the most depraved times of medieval history, it behooves us to let go of our medieval attitudes.

As modern Jews, it behooves us to cultivate a relationship with our Christian neighbors and friends based on the principle of mutual respect. Jewish leaders often insist that Christianity purge itself of its anti-Semitic attitudes, and this is necessary for the sake of all our sanity. As Jews, we have to do our part in getting rid of our own dysfunctional attitudes. Would it not be wonderful to see Haredi and Hassidic Jews seize the initiative and greet the Christian clergy of Jerusalem with a heartfelt, “Good morning, Fr. So-and-so . . .” A simple greeting would go a long way in bettering our relations. Spitting, on the other hand, will only create more anti-Semitism.

Certain customs really should have been discarded long ago in the dustbin of history. Fortunately, most Jews today have long historically embraced this change in attitude–except for a handful of Hassidic Jews in Brooklyn and in Israel who are still desperately clinging on to the ghosts of Christmas past. Unfortunately, many fundamentalists and radicals of all the Western faiths are still holding on to the negative and hateful caricatures of the Other that continue to be drummed into the minds of young impressionable children at home, church, synagogues, mosques, and schools.

Today, when we have a holiday celebration like Christmas and New Years, people generally have a family get-together, watch some football and enjoy their dinners, exchanging gifts. However, several centuries ago, people used to look for a different kind of entertainment; they would attack Jews on Christmas or Easter. The world was a very different kind of place.  Let us do our part and make sure our children never have to grow up in a religiously intolerant community again. Continue Reading

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

The other day, I watched an interview with the Jewish Reggae singer Matisyahu, shortly after he had shaven his beard! I could just imagine what some of his Hassidic fans were saying to one another after they heard the news, “Matisyahu! Please tell us that ain’t so!” [1]

Beards in the Hassidic and Haredi communities epitomize the essence of manhood. This attitude is quite ancient and well attested throughout much of ancient and modern Semitic society.[2]

Much of the ancient Israelite’s personal identity was bound up with his beard—the crown of his masculinity. Anyone who would attack a man’s beard was considered to be a huge social degradation; it was almost like a symbolic castration of one’s manhood. To be without a beard, made men feel as though they were “effeminate.” When David’s men experience return from a diplomatic mission from the Amonites, the Amonites contemptuously shaved half of the men’s beards. They refused to show their faces until their beards finally grew back (2 Sam 10:4–5).

Interestingly enough, in times of mourning it was pretty common for mourners to actually shave their beards as an expression of grief! God later instructed the prophet Ezekiel to shave off his beard as a token of coming destruction (Ezek. 5:1; cf. Isa. 15:2; Jer. 48:37).

Subsequent rabbinic tradition taught that maintaining a beard is considered to be one of the 613 mitzvot; in fact, some Halachic authorities ruled that shaving a beard is considered as a biblical prohibition against cross-dressing based on the passage in Deuteronomy 22:5:

• A woman shall not wear a man’s garment, nor shall a man put on a woman’s cloak, for whoever does these things is an abomination to the LORD your God.

The original purpose of this passage aimed to keep the sexes apart, for as we have seen many times, the male sex drive will do just about anything to have easy access to available women.  According to the medieval work known as Targum of Pseudo Jonathan, this proscription for a woman not to wear any kind of religious garment that men wear in prayer services, e.g., the prayer shawl, phylacteries, because these rituals enforce the social distinctions pertaining to men and women.

However, must of us are no longer living in a world where men have to wear beards to define their masculinity. In Western cultures, influenced largely by the Greek and Roman civilizations, men and masculine identity is perceived in radically different terms.

From a psychological perspective, beards, hats, and even glasses often serve as ways through which we disguise ourselves from others. Whenever one grows a beard, it is a psychological way of hiding the nudity of the human faces. When one shaves, it represents a willingness to be psychologically exposed to the world around us. Any Hasid who has taken this leap of faith, knows exactly what I am talking about. The feeling of vulnerability—especially in the “face” (pardon the pun) of criticism coming directly from one’s family origin in the religious community—really requires a lot of inner strength and hutzpa on Matisyahu’s part. He is determined to live one’s own life, to discover his own spiritual truth.

Matisyahus’s spiritual journey is familiar to many of us who have walked the same path. Decades ago, I had a beard between the ages of 17 and 31. After shaving the beard, the face staring back from the mirror hardly resembled me; I felt like a stranger; this feeling lasted for several weeks.

The Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Levinas writes about the nudity of the human face and much of his message certainly speaks to most of us, who have decided long ago to let go of our beards:

• The being that expresses itself imposes itself, but does so precisely by appealing to me with its destitution and nudity–its hunger–without my being able to be deaf to that appeal. Thus in expression the being that imposes itself does not limit but promotes my freedom, by arousing my goodness. . . .  The face opens the primordial discourse whose first word is obligation, which no “interiority” permits avoiding. . . . The will is free to assume this responsibility in whatever sense it likes; it is not free to refuse this responsibility itself; it is not free to ignore the meaningful world into which the face of the Other has introduced it. [3]

After explaining the mystical symbolism of the beard in the Kabbalah, where the beard acts as the conduit for manifesting Divine mercy in the world, Matisyahu surprised me with his next comment. He explained that if God believes he is worthy of mercy, then surely God is not going to withhold mercy from him. However, what kind of God would withhold divine compassion from a person just because he no longer has a beard? Matisyahu came to the mature realization that one doesn’t need a beard to be blessed by God.

On the other hand, if God made divine mercy contingent  upon men wearing Hassidic-styled beards, then Houston: we really got a big problem . . .  In all candor, God is not the One Who is neurotic—but those people claiming to speak in His Name are definitely the ones who are missing a few screws, bolts, and nuts . . .

The greatness of a person is not in one’s appearance, but is measured by how one conducts oneself toward others and God. By respecting the human face of ourselves and others, we can embrace the greatness of our humanity. In doing so, we may actually come to recognize the Face of God, whose reflection is always mirrored in the faces of all of our most ordinary and extraordinary relationships (M.Buber).