Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

* 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).

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term gobbledygook, our word refers to any kind of text that containing unusual jargon that makes the subject matter difficult or even nearly impossible to understand.  Our nation’s tax code is a good example of modern day gobbledygook. There is also another example of gobbledygook that is surprisingly obtuse and difficult to understand—not because the subject is profound, but because the subject matter is expressed in language only the elite can understand—Kabbalah!

Thanks to the Kabbalah Center, Chabad, and a host of other (genuine) scholars and hucksters, everyone has now heard about the Kabbalah. Kabbalah commercials can now be heard on the radio. We sometimes hear that “Plato studied Kabbalah,” or that the Kabbalah is a “4000 year old tradition.” Or, “You don’t even have to be Jewish to study the Kabbalah!” There is not a shred of historical evidence to support these outlandish claims. Kabbalah and capitalism make strange bed fellows.

You might wonder, “Why do people gravitate to these Kabbalah salespeople?” The answer is simple: So many of us hunger for mysticism is real because we have become disenchanted with the usual pathways offered by organized religion. The rote readings, the absence of heart, synagogue/church politics has often flattened and annestized the heart from feeling anything that can even remotely be described as “spiritual.”

Promoters of Kabbalah frequently strike me as individuals who enjoy attracting a cult following. Many of the teachers I have watched over the year tend to portray themselves as Jewish gurus. Of course there are many Kabbalah teachers who really offer something profound. But how does one tell the difference between real mysticism from the counterfeit imitations? Are all Kabbalistic teachings even suitable for ordinary consumption? Not really; in fact some ideas can prove to be even quite toxic. In general, here are several questions that might prove to be beneficial for those wishing to study Kabbalah for the first time from a teacher who really understands the subject matter:

• Look for clarity and simplicity. Many (if not most) Kabbalah teachers love to couch their material in esoteric language that really doesn’t say much about anything. If Kabbalah sounds like gobbledygook, then I suggest you look elsewhere for your enlightenment.

• Stay far away from any Kabbalistic text that teaches you that gentiles are an inferior level of humanity when compared to the Jew.[1]

• Stay away from any Kabbalah teacher who does not wish to answer tough questions about the accuracy of the Kabbalah and its proponents’ ideas.

• See whether the Kabbalah teachers really understand who Plato was, and what he taught. Ask them if they know anything about the Neo-Platonic thought of Plotinus or Philo of Alexandria and how they have indirectly  influenced the formation of the Kabbalah.  Gershom Scholem, Moshe Idel, Elliot Wolfson, and Daniel Matt all have written superb expositions of the Kabbalah in a clear and modern idiom.

Here are some examples taken from a Chabad website:

• The partzufim referred to here are the partzufim of Atzilut; the meaning is that Abba of Atzilut nests in Atzilut, while Ima of Atzilut descends and rests in Beriah, and so forth.All this simply means that, although each world possesses its own array of ten sefirot (in the form of their respective partzufim), each world is nonetheless pervaded by an overall consciousness that is an expression of one of the partzufim of Atzilut. Abba is the partzuf of chochmah, which is the consciousness of bitul (“self-nullification”); a person experiencing a flash of insight is not aware of himself but is rather absorbed totally in the experience of the revelation. This, overall, is the general consciousness of the world of Atzilut; the revelation of G-d in this world is so great that it leaves absolutely no room for self-awareness.

• As you know, Zeir Anpin develops through three states of consciousness: fetal [ibur], suckling [yenika], and mature [gadlut]. Similarly, every soul develops through these states of consciousness.

Navigating your way through this kind of Kabbalah labyrinth requires a good road-map and a skilled guide, not to mention—lots of Kiddush wine and vodka. If the truth from a Kabbalistic text is not something that is immediately understood and clear, why waste your time trying to figure it out?

Although the German philosopher Nietzsche was unfamiliar with the Kabbalah, his cautionary words about the meaninglessness of useless metaphors certainly applies as well to much of the Kabbalistic literature:

• What is truth? A mobile army of metaphors, metonymies, in short a sum of human relations which have been subjected to poetic and rhetorical intensification, translation, and decoration, and which, after they have been in use for a long time, strike a people as firmly established, canonical and binding; truths are illusions of which we have forgotten that they are illusions, metaphors which have become worn by frequent use and have lost all sensuous vigor, coins which, having lost their stamp, are now regarded as metal and no longer as coins (emphasis added).[2]

Positive Examples of Kabbalistic Writing

On the other hand, there are some (but not a lot, however) of Kabbalistic works that attempts to distill the Kabbalistic language, rendering it somewhat more intelligible.  R. Abraham Isaac Kook (1865-1935) offers some lovely thoughts on spiritual yearning that does not require a lexicon to figure out what he was trying to say,

• Confirm me not in cages of substance, or of spirit I am lovesick. I thirst, I thirst for God. More than the deer for water brooks. I am bound to the world, to life; All creatures are my brothers. But how can I share with them my light?

• A life-giving illumination flows always from the source of the Torah, which brings to the world light from the highest realm of the divine. It embraces the values of the spiritual and the material, the temporal and the eternal, the moral and the practical, the individual and the social. These spell life to all who come in contact with them, and guard them in their purity.
• Meditation on the inner life and moral conformity must always go together with those qualified for this. They absorb the light pervading the world, which abides in all souls, and they present it as one whole. Through the influences radiating from their life and their fellowship with others, through the impact of their will and the greatness of their spiritual being, through their humility and love for all creatures, they then disseminate the treasure of life and of good to all. These men of upright heart are channels through which light and life reach to all creatures. They are vessels for radiating the light of eternal life. They are the servants of God, who heed His word, the messengers who do His will to revive those near death, to strengthen the weak, to awaken those who slumber.[3]

As you can see, not everything has to be written in Kabbalistic gobbledygook; some Jewish mystics actually can be quite articulate. For those readers interested in the heart of the Hassidic message, please read anything written by Martin Buber—who may well have been one of Judaism’s greatest 2oth century mystics. His “I and Thou” and “The Way of Man” are among the best books on the subject. In addition, Abraham Joshua Heschel’s “God in Search of Man,” “The Sabbath,” and “Man is not Alone” are among the best examples of Jewish mystical writing without the traditional Kabbalistic gobbledygook. Continue Reading

In Late Antiquity the Greek cynic and philosopher Epicurus fleshes out the cognitive dissonance people experience when contemplating the problem of theodicy:

1. Is God unable to prevent evil?

2. Is God unwilling to prevent evil?

3. If God is able and willing to prevent evil, then where does evil come from?

4. If God is neither able nor willing to prevent evil, then why do we call him “god”?

If God micromanages creation, as the Flood narrative seems to teaches, then why does the Creator tolerate natural evil? More to the point: Is all natural evil directly or indirectly due to moral evil? When the Lisbon earthquake struck in 1759, many skeptics wondered how God could allow such a devastating disaster to strike. From the modern critical perspective, the story of the Flood raises serious issues regarding the relationship between natural evil, commonly referred to as “acts of God,” and God’s justice.  In the case of moral evil, the impact felt by the victim is identifiable and with the help of the law, the perpetrator(s) can be brought to justice. But natural evil poses a different kind of problem. One cannot subpoena an earthquake or a fire, or a disease after they strike. When natural evil strikes, the effects leave for the most part, little positive benefits with nobody to blame—except God.

After the Lisbon earthquake, the French philosopher Voltaire articulated his own brand of Epicurean doubt. Voltaire wondered how religious people could still refer to God as “benevolent” or “loving” after the death of so many thousands of innocents. In response to Voltaire’s criticism, his fellow Frenchman, Jean Jacques Rousseau argued that human beings must take the primary responsibility for what happened during the Lisbon earthquake. Poorly designed structural buildings, along with a lack of thoughtful urban planning and human error, played a role in the corporate damage the earthquake caused. A superiorly designed city might have suffered much less casualties and death. [1]

It is remarkable and ironic that Voltaire would put greater reliance on God given his penchant for upsetting the local ecclesiastical authorizes on matters of faith. It is no less ironic to see one of the great secular philosophers of his age, Rousseau, defend God’s order of creation with the vim and vigor of a skilled theologian.  “If,” as the philosopher Susan Neiman writes, “Enlightenment is the courage to think for oneself; it is also the courage to assume responsibility for the world which one is thrown into.”[2]  This message applies to all the genocides that we have witnessed in the last 100 years or more. Mature faith calls for diligence and activism.

Rousseau and Voltaire’s debate could apply no less to the destruction of New Orleans produced by Hurricane Katrina. Voltaire would certainly condemn the faith of those who believed in a benevolent deity. By the same token, Voltaire would have also scoffed at the religious leaders of today who saw Katrina as a divine tribulation for the city’s brazen sins. Religious leaders from numerous faiths ascribed a variety of reasons as to why Hurricane Katrina was so devastating. Some leaders blamed the licentious life-style of New Orleans[3], while others claimed it was divine retribution for the United States’ support of the removal of Jewish settlers in the Gaza Strip.[4] Buddhist and Hindu scholars blamed it on karma, while Muslim across the globe imams proclaimed in unison, “The Terrorist Katrina is one of the Soldiers of Allah…”[5]

One can only respond with the famous words of Thomas Hobbes, who popularized this ancient Roman proverb, Homo homini lupus—“man is wolf to man.”

Evidently, according to these religious men, God never left the Flood Business.  But on a more serious note,  Katrina illustrates how the various bodies of government (e.g., the City of New Orleans, the State of Louisiana, the Federal Government, FEMA, the Mayor, the Governor, the President, the local residents, and so on) failed to make maximum use of the resources available. Local officials knew in advanced that this type of storm was possible and that the levees could break. Why was nothing done about it? Why were the monies allocated for rebuilding the levees not utilized decades after they were collected from the government? Why was there no effective evacuation plan? Why did it take so long for the relief agencies to respond? How the local inhabitants compound the problem with their disregard for the law. Although the weather was fierce, the onus of Katrina’s damage did not come from the weather but from the systemic breakdown of government.

The Lisbon earthquake and Hurricane Katrina represents only one kind of theological dilemma involving theodicy. On December 26, 2004, an undersea earthquake measuring 9.3 100 miles off the western coast of Sumatra, Indonesia produced the second largest earthquake in recorded history and generated massive tsunamis. Over 230,000 people lost their lives in just a matter of hours. Given the destructive force of the tsunamis, would Rousseau agree with Voltaire, and hold God responsible for the tsunamis?

Not necessarily.

One could logically argue that given the technology, wealth, and information we possess of weather patterns and seismic conditions, nations can now take steps to help minimize natural catastrophes. Tectonic plates will continue to shift; magma from volcanoes will continue to explode with fiery force; the wind will continue to generate hurricanes and tornadoes (which incidentally, were also detected on the planet Saturn—a place far removed from human habitation).

Natural law will not change; yet, when these disasters occur, people of good faith can bring tikkun (repair) through a tsunami of compassion. When God enjoined Adam to, “Fill the earth and subdue it!” (Gen. 1:28), the biblical narrator may have had this type of thought in mind. “Conquering the earth” may very well involve fixing nature’s many imperfections. A mature faith in God requires that we be responsive to the various mishaps and flaws of creation through a covenantal co-relationship with the Divine.

Among the medieval theologians, Aquinas argued that all types of natural disaster derive from the fact that they are earthly phenomena, which are by their very constitution prone to corruption and dissolution.[6] A physical world based on the laws of physics, has no choice but to be subject to the reverberating fluctuations of imperfection. Only in the truly spiritual realm are entities believed to be bereft of deficiency. Thomistic theology asserts that had Adam refrained from sinning, his physical constitution would have been completely subservient to the soul’s spiritual life-force (a point which Augustine and Ramban both agree). Natural evil would exist, but it would not have any effect upon him; Adam and his progeny would have remained spiritual supermen, completely unaffected by aberrant changes in the environment. The human capacity to exercise ethical judgment would remain unimpaired, due to the soul’s complete harmony with the body, which God ensures. However, in a “fallen world,” humankind must come to terms with the world’s state of disrepair.

This writer takes sharp issue with Aquinas’ view that the world is “fallen,” but would agree that we have to come to terms with the world’s state of disrepair.” Maimonides stresses time and time again that natural law will operate on this planet whether man exists or not. Much of our problem with the natural evil that occurs in this world is due to a mistaken belief that is human-centric. As human beings, because of our higher intelligence we get disturbed at the great loss of life that occurs whenever a hurricane or a tsunami strikes. Animals do not obsess over the question: Why do bad things happen to good lions or tigers? Nature seems to accept the inherent randomness of the universe. We suffer perhaps because we tend to think our technology can save us; while that is certainly true some of the time, it is not true all the time.

In Genesis 1:31, the biblical narrator tells us, “God saw everything that he had made and indeed, it was very good.” Some subtleties get lost in translation, and this verse illustrates this point well.  Every aspect of Creation, from the most majestic galaxies to the most infinitesimal particle, functions as God intended it to.[7]  In my Genesis commentary on this verse I wrote:

• Although the term “good”  טוֹב (tôb) appears six times earlier [8] in the creation narrative, here it appears for the seventh time to symbolize completeness. The peshat reveals that it is only after God has created humankind—after His image and likeness—that Creation graduates from being merely “good” to becoming “very good.” Some Jewish mystics observed that the letters of the word מְאֹד (mĕ’ōd = “very”) may also be read as an anagram for אָדָם (‘ādām = “human being”).^[9]

In a Talmud class I had just given last night, I was privileged to hear a most wonderful insight from a young 17 year old student named Austin, who has a promising career as a future zoologist. He pointed out that pine cones have a very unusual way of releasing its seeds. Pine cones remain tightly closed until the cones are heated at an extremely hot temperature, as in the case of a forest fire. At the death of the parent pine cone, the seeds are then released, which produce future pine trees. The story about the pine cones illustrates that in the face of a natural catastrophic event, like when a lightning bolt strikes a dry patch producing a raging forest fire; something can arise from the ashes of death itself–even when we least expect it.

Continue Reading

James L. Kugel, a Modern Orthodox rabbinic scholar, demonstrates a willingness to engage and integrate the historical-critical methods of biblical criticism, especially remarkable when considering his theological background and training. Kugel points out several other differences between the P school vis-à-vis the J school, which are deserving of special mention. Speaking as someone who was trained originally in the Hassidic tradition, I can personally attest to the courage and intellectual integrity Kugel possesses. Most Orthodox scholars would never have the strength of religious convictions to express the kind of ideas Kugel champions in his writings. Bravo! The following article is Part I of my con-versation with James Kugel that I wrote in my new commentary on Genesis, “Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis: A Timeless Theological Conversation (Genesis 1-3).”

WARNING: The article is fairly lengthy and probably too technical for people who are unfamiliar with the basic theories of the Documentary Hypothesis. If reading gets too boring, do what I do–skip it! For those who are more of the stout of heart, enjoy!

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According to Kugel, P’s theology contains some of the most “chilling conceptions” the ancients ever had about the Deity:

• It was already noticed that the God of Genesis 2-3 had a more “hands-on” approach to creating the world than the God of chapter 1, attributed by scholars to P. In chapter 1, God simply speaks and things happen—suddenly there is light, suddenly there is a firmament, and so forth. One would not be wrong to characterize this God as somewhat more impersonal. But even this description is more personal than the God revealed in later portions of the priestly text, according to scholars. Recent analysis has in fact highlighted the difference between the way God is depicted in the priestly parts of Genesis and the way He is depicted after that. In P’s part of Leviticus, for example, God does not speak in the first person, “I will do this” or “I have ordered that”—not even to Moses. It is as if P seeks to deny that God can be thought of as a person-like Being, one who can say “I.” So too, P’s God does not personally punish people; punishment just somehow falls on wrongdoers and they are “cut off” (in the passive voice) or otherwise disciplined (P doesn’t say how). Nor does He personally forgive; instead; it is forgiven to the sinner who makes good his infraction. P’s version of the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai is consistent with this picture; Moses enters the cloud and hears a voice, but the people outside hear nothing at all.  All this seems to correspond to something profound in P’s theology.[1]

Clearly, there is scriptural support to Kugel’s theological position. However, closer scrutiny reveals that P’s depiction of the image of God is not really as “impersonal” as Kugel asserts. For example, it is no linguistic fluke that the divine epithet אֱלֹהִים (‘élöhîm) also means “judge,” for God creates the universe according to a template of order and justice. When a human being adheres to the divine harmony that pervades the cosmos through observing the precepts of the Torah, earthly existence literally becomes enlightened and unencumbered. Life is a journey where every human act carries within it the seeds of its own well-being and life destiny. Alternatively, the sinful act unleashes forces that will engulf and self-destruct the wrongdoer, or at the very least, make one’s life difficult to manage. This thought is captured beautifully in Psalm 1:

Happy are those who do not follow the counsel of the wicked,

Nor follow the path of sinners,

Or has joined the company of the impudent;

Rather, the teaching of the Lord is his delight,

God’s teaching they study day and night.

They are like a tree planted beside streams of water,

That yields fruit in its season,

Whose foliage never wither,

And whatever it produces thrives.

But the wicked are different!

They are like the chaff driven by the wind

Therefore, the wicked cannot survive judgment

Nor will sinners be in the assembly of the just

The LORD loves the way of the just

But the path of the wicked leads to ruination

Psalm 1:1-7

Psalm 1 stresses that throughout our existence we must learn to recognize the difference between the wheat from the chaff, and the real from the illusory; we must consciously choose between the experience of being connected with the divine, or the feeling of being spiritually anxious and homeless. Regardless of our individual choices, one thoughtful or thoughtless action impacts the world. This message runs like a stream of consciousness throughout the Genesis narratives.

However, this theological notion is certainly not at all unique to P but is present in the theology of J as well, a good example being the story of the Exodus. When YHWH commands mighty Pharaoh to release the Israelites, the Egyptian monarch soon discovers that there are consequences to his disobedience. Soon, his entire country is plagued by a series of natural disasters that bring misery and suffering to all of his people. Nature, herself, rebels against the rule of tyranny and attempts to set the record straight once and for all. The great spiritual “chain of being” found in the tradition of P, is equally present in the stories attributed to J and not just P, as Kugel claims.

Kugel further asserts that in Leviticus, God does not speak to mortals in the first person.[2]  Evidence for such a theory seems inconclusive. The fact remains that there are ample instances where God does speak in the first person, as personal pronouns appear throughout Leviticus, which is the locus classicus of priestly texts.[3] These passages are replete with numerous anthropomorphisms that one would not expect to see if P truly had an aversion for using them. Note, also, that whenever God says, “I will . . . ,” it is always spoken in the context of a dialogue with His covenantal party. There is absolutely nothing “impersonal” about this exchange between God and Moses, or with Aaron and the Israelite people. God is also portrayed by the Holiness Code of Lev. 19 as being intensely personal and concerned with ethical human conduct. Therefore, P appears to be more concerned with the human condition than Kugel is willing to acknowledge.

Still, in Leviticus 26-28, P paints a very different picture. God does announce that He will take it upon Himself to personally afflict wrongdoers (note the repetitive phrase, “I will . . .”) who violate the commandments. Thus, the biblical language illustrated in Leviticus 26-27 is as anthropomorphic in its imagery as any passage found in the J tradition. In each of these passages, the Creator is always depicted as playing an active role in administering retribution whenever it is warranted.

• Prayer, Sacrifice and the Priestly Theological View 

One of the most extraordinary claims Kugel makes pertains to the relationship between sacrifice and prayer:

• Perhaps the most striking thing to scholars about the God of P is that people do not pray to Him. The book of Psalms is full of prayers and songs of praise to God, many of them quite ancient, and scholars have established that the majority of these psalms were composed to be recited in God’s “house,” the temple where He was deemed to be present.  But a reader of P would never guess that this was so. P describes in great detail the offerings in the temple, but he never says a word about prayers or songs being recited there. In fact, in P people never pray; what good would it do? P’s God is an almost impersonal force. So, too, the ancient festive hymns praising Him are never mentioned in P either . . . . . . In our own modern society, such a vision of God might actually appear comforting to some. After all, without quite putting the thought in words, we live in a world that is based on ruling out a role for the divine in daily life. That would suit P just fine—keep supporting the temple, he would say, and we’ll keep offering the sacrifices. Meanwhile, political upheavals, natural catastrophes, the suffering of the righteous—these are not problems for P’s theology; God is enthroned in splendid isolation. He has no interests in thank-yous, so save your breath.[4]

Kugel assumes that sacrifice did not co-exist with prayer, yet, in Hosea 14:3 we find: וּנְשַׁלְּמָה פָרִים שְׂפָתֵינוּ (û|nüšallümâ pärîm Süpätêºnû) “Instead of bulls we will pay the offering of our lips” (NJPS), which suggests that prayer is the equivalent of sacrifice, or, prayer is a replacement for sacrifice. The Talmud bears this wisdom out: “With what shall we replace the bullocks we formerly offered to You? ‘Our lips,’ in the prayer we pray to thee.[5] Rabbinic tradition attributes the institution of prayer to the patriarchs[6] or to a Mosaic decree and this tradition has remained an important part of the sacrificial cult since its inception.[7] Perhaps it could be said in defense of Kugel’s claim, that the Hosea passage represents an evolutionary change in the theological imagination of ancient Israel; Hosea expresses a thought that is not present in P—at least as it is understood in the Pentateuch. However, closer study of the Leviticus texts does not bear this out. If anything, the imagery of Hosea is predicated upon the sacrificial imagery of Leviticus.

The relationship between sacrifice and confession is stressed in numerous passages in the Levitical literature: (1) With regard to the guilt and trespass offerings (Leviticus 5:5), it is significant that the Torah insists spiritual rehabilitation of the sinner must begin with the verbal act of confession, thus preceding the sacrificial act. Atonement begins within the heart and soul of the worshipper in order for Divine forgiveness to become effective (cf. Psa. 51:16). Confession, per se, is crippled unless it is motivated by one’s sincere feelings of remorse and contrition.[8] (2) The Yom Kippur offering referred to in Leviticus 16:21, establishes confession as a pre-condition for atonement and purification, without which the Yom Kippur offering is useless. (3) In Leviticus 26:39-42, we discover that the act of verbal confession atones for sins that can no longer be expiated through sacrifice—a reality that is caused by the state of Israel’s expulsion from her homeland. It seems difficult to imagine how any kind of atonement offering could be effective without the verbal declaration of confession. (4) Based on the priestly legislation of Numbers 5:7, all acts of fraud, perjury and embezzlement are no less morally defiling than that of leprosy. In many ways, these moral failings ought to be considered far worse since crimes of moral turpitude require an act of will and a denial of conscience; cultic impurity that is due only to physical circumstances pale in comparison. To enter God’s Presence, there must be an effort expended to repair the breaches that undermine social justice and personal trust. To facilitate the spiritual renewal of a sinner, one must make a confession and bring the appropriate atonement offering. In the priestly worldview, those individuals who defile the spiritual integrity of the Tabernacle are a far greater affront to its purity than those suffering from physical ailments such as leprosy, unusual body discharges, and corpse contamination. This same point is also repeatedly stressed throughout the prophetic literature.

From this perspective, the collage of verses referenced above prove that prayer, at least in the form of a confession, existed early on in the priestly traditions of Leviticus and Numbers and played a vital role in the sacrificial cult. The evidence for this assertion contradicts Kugel’s image of an isolated deity who is indifferent to human offerings. Sacrifice in the Tanakh always involves more than just rote ritual; the act of sacrifice adds a sacred dimension to the community and individual, but this sacredness is contingent upon the moral integrity and purity of mind and deed of the person offering the sacrifice. Human morality in the final analysis is, according to P’s theology, the benchmark of the Divine Image referred to in Genesis 1:26.

From an anthropological standpoint it is fair to ask, what primal society didn’t offer prayer along with its sacrifices? Among nearly all the major religions of the world, the relationship between sacrifice as a means of expiation, always presupposes the existence of a Higher Being, whose moral character demands a change in the worshipper’s moral behavior, namely, that individual is personally responsible for the removal of his sin. Human fault may occasionally be traced to a moral lapse, but it can also be due to the failure of properly carrying out a ritual, or may even be the result of an unconscious reason that requires expiation. In terms of the other types of sacrifice, thanksgiving offerings are invariably accompanied with prayers of praise, acknowledgement and gratitude for the goodness the worshipper receives.

• Priestly Theology and the Priestly Benediction

Perhaps one of the most personal and best known ancient priestly prayers[9] that Kugel does not take into consideration is the Priestly Benediction of Numbers 6:22-27:

The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to Aaron and his sons, saying, “Thus you shall bless the Israelites: You shall say to them,

“The Lord bless you and keep you;

May the Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you;

May the Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace.”

So they shall put my name on the Israelites, and I will bless them.

The visceral power of this prayer is due to the fact it is shamelessly anthropomorphic. While discursive theological language speaks much ado about the nature of God, it cannot begin to describe in words the actual experience of God. Prayer flows from a heart that is alert and open to the miniature synchronicities which disclose God in the world. Biblical theology stresses that even with all its obvious limitations—anthropomorphism is the language of encounter par excellence throughout the Tanakh. Continue Reading

• Lilith as an Archetype of the “Terrible Mother”

  The following article comes from my new Neo-Jungian commentary on Genesis, “Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis: A Timeless Theological Conversation (Genesis 1-3).” In this selection, we shall explore other aspects of the Lilith archetype based on the insights of the Jungian psychologist Erich Neumann.

Afterwards we shall look at other portraits of Lilith found in a variety of different literary resources, such as: the Talmud and Zohar, archaeological discoveries—and lastly—from the literature of Jewish feminism, which has transformed Lilith into a modern folk-heroine for women. While these portrayals introduce a definite recasting of the Lilith story, one fascinating feature remains: Lilith is a resilient figure of ancient mythology; over time Lilith continues to receive a new facelift to disguise her personality to a new generation of readers—from rabbis who fantasized about her sexual availability, to feminists who find Lilith’s desire for freedom most compelling.  (Note that * are used for paragraph indentations because of the limitations of Word Press word processing)

Jungian psychologist Erich Neumann argues in his psychological study, The Great Mother (2d ed., New York, 1963), that Lilith personifies the archetype of the “Terrible Mother,” while also analogous to the Greek Gorgon and harpies. These mythic figures personify the archetypal image of negativity—that of destroyer—latent in the feminine psyche; as such. Horrified by what they saw, the ancients retold this tragedy in the language of myth. Lilith represents the sinister side of femininity. Neumann shows how this pattern develops cross-culturally:

• And the dark side of the Terrible Female is a symbol for the unconscious. And the dark side of the Terrible Mother takes the form of monsters, whether in Egypt of India, Mexico or Etruria, Bali or Rome. In the myths and tales of all peoples, ages, and countries—and even in the nightmares of our own nights—witches and vampires, ghouls and specters, assail us, all terrifyingly alike. . . . Thus the womb of the earth becomes the deadly devouring maw of the underworld, and beside the fecundated womb and the protecting cave of earth and mountain gapes the abyss of hell, the dark note of the depths, the devouring womb of the grave and of death, of darkness without light, of nothingness. For this woman who generates life and all living things on earth is the same who takes them back into herself, who pursues her victims and captures them with snare and net. Disease, hunger, hardship, ware above all, are her helpers, and among all peoples the goddesses of war and the hunt express man’s experience of life as a exacting blood.

• [1] It is in India that the experience of the Terrible Mother has been given its most grandiose form as Kali, “dark, devouring time, the bone-wreathed Lady of the place of skulls . . .[2] But all this—and it should not be forgotten—is an image not only of the Feminine but particularly and specifically of the Maternal. For in a profound way life and birth are always bound up with death and destruction. That is why this Terrible Mother is ‘Great,’ and this name is also given to Ta-urt, the gravid monster, which is hippopotamus and crocodile, lioness and woman, in one. She too is deadly and protective. There is a frightening likeness to Hathor, the good cow goddess . . .”[3]

Talmudic and Kabbalistic Depictions of Lilith

The Talmud makes ample mention of Lilith’s activities. Lilith is described as a female night-demon whose erotic nature evokes a desire for illicit sexual relationships (succubus). Lilith’s physical attributes are also described in detail; she is depicted as having long hair and wings[4] and the rabbis warn all men not to sleep alone in a house lest Lilith come and seduce them in their dreams (T. B. Shabbat 151b).[5] Lilith is especially popular in the Zohar where she appears as the seductress supreme.[6] In all likelihood the rabbinic stories about Lilith were, in part, intended to prevent young rabbinic scholars from the sins of masturbation and illicit sexual relations which the Zohar equates to the crime of murder. The scholar, Rabbi Joshua Trachtenberg explains:

• As a result of the legend of Adam’s relations with Lilit [sic], although this function was by no means exclusively theirs, the Lilits were most frequently singled out as the demons who embrace sleeping men and cause them to have nocturnal emissions which are the seed of a hybrid progeny. . . . As the demons whose special prey is lying-in women, it was found necessary to adopt an extensive series of protective measures against her. . . . We seem to have here a union of the night demon with the spirit that presides over pregnancy, influenced no doubt by the character of the Babylonian Lamassu, and the lamiae and striga of Greek and Roman folklore.[7]

Trachtenberg’s insight is obviously accurate. According to the Zohar, a man who masturbates in this world will be treated in the next life like one who is worse than a murderer—since he has, in effect, murdered his own seed; in God’s eyes he is considered the most reprehensible kind of human being.[8] In a strange way, the Zohar sees Lilith as the guardian of family purity. Any couple failing to observe the laws governing sexual abstention risks incurring her wrath. Even making love by candle light can result in Lilith causing children to become epileptic and risk being pursued and killed by Lilith.[9] One may deduce from the Zohar’s condemnation that the fate of young men or children dying is a talionic punishment for having spilled seed. The proof text for this is the story of Er and Onan, who died rather than give their seed to Tamar (Gen. 38:1-10).[10]

Archaeology has discovered special incantation bowls that were used to help a person seek protection from “demons, demonesses, lilis, liliths, plagues, evil satanic beings and all evil tormentors that appear.”

• As one scholar notes, “The liliths were but one class of an elaborate taxonomy of malevolent spiritual beings. The sexually aggressive character of the lilis and liliths accounts for the fact that exorcistic texts are often expressed in formal divorce terminology, such as this text (No. 35, Isbell): ‘Again, bound and seized are you, evil spirit and powerful lilith. . . . But depart from their presence and take your divorce and your separation and your letter of dismissal. [I have written against] you as demons write divorces for their wives and furthermore, they do not return [to them].’”[11]

• Recasting Lilith—A Bad Girl Becomes Good—Judith Plaskow’s New Midrash

With the advent of women’s liberation movements, Lilith has undergone a dramatic make-over; now, Lilith is widely regarded by many women as a heroine who is the first woman to insist on having an egalitarian relationship with her mate. Judith Plaskow blames Adam for the expulsion of Lilith from her home, which gave rise to men’s subjugation of women as we have witnessed throughout history. Different from the story recounted earlier from The Alphabet of Ben Sira, Plaskow weaves a short neo-midrashic story about Lilith’s moral rehabilitation, entitled “Applesource”:

• In the beginning, the Lord God formed Adam and Lilith from the dust of the ground and breathed into their nostrils the breath of life. Created from the same source, both having been formed from the ground, they were equal in all ways. Adam, being a man, didn’t like this situation, and he looked for ways to change it. He said, “I’ll have my figs now, Lilith,” ordering her to wait on him, and he tried to leave her the daily tasks of life in the garden. But Lilith wasn’t one to take any nonsense; she picked herself up, uttered God’s holy name, and flew away. “Well, now, Lord,” complained Adam, that uppity woman you sent me has gone and deserted me.” The Lord, inclined to be sympathetic, sent His messengers after Lilith, telling her to shape up and return to Adam or face dire punishment. She, however, preferring anything to living with Adam, decided to stay where she was. And so God, after more careful consideration this time, caused a deep sleep to fall on Adam and out of one of his ribs created for him a second companion, Eve  . . . Meanwhile Lilith, all alone, attempted from time to time to rejoin the human community in the garden. After her first fruitless attempt to breach its walls, Adam worked hard to build them stronger, even getting Eve to help him. He told her fearsome stories of the demon Lilith who threatens women in childbirth and steals children from their cradles in the middle of the night. The second time Lilith came, she stormed the garden’s main gate, and a great battle ensued between her and Adam in which she was finally defeated. This time, however, before Lilith got away, Eve got a glimpse of her and saw she was a woman like herself  . . . One day, after many months of strange and disturbing thoughts, Eve, wandering around the edge of the garden, noticed a young apple tree she and Adam had planted, and saw that one of its branches stretched over the garden wall. Spontaneously, she tried to climb it, and struggling to the top, swung herself over the wall.

• She did not wander long on the other side before she met the one she had come to find, for Lilith was waiting. At first sight of her, Eve remembered the tales of Adam and was frightened, but Lilith understood and greeted her kindly. “Who are you?” they asked each other, “What is your story?” And they sat and spoke together, of the past and then of the future. They talked for many hours, not once, but many times. They taught each other many things, and told each other stories, and laughed together, and cried, over and over, till the bond of sisterhood grew between them. Meanwhile, back in the garden, Adam was puzzled by Eve’s comings and goings, and disturbed by what he sensed to be her new attitude toward him. He talked to God about it, and God, having His own problems with Adam and a somewhat broader perspective, was able to help out a little—but He was confused, too. Something had failed to go according to plan. As in the days of Abraham, He needed counsel from His children. “I am who I am,” thought God, “But I must become who I will become.”[12] Continue Reading

When we think about animal rights, we tend to identify this movement with Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA), which in turn was modeled after the British Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (RSPCA), was set up in Victoria in 1871. Yet, the spiritual roots of animal rights derive from the Bible itself.  Here is a brief story that I think pet-owners will enjoy, which points out how sentient and spiritually aware animals may actually be. For those of us who enjoy pets, this is no great secret  . . .

Actually, the Bible is one of the great works of antiquity that first proclaimed the rights of animals in its Sabbath legislation of the Ten Commandments: “But the seventh day is the sabbath of the LORD thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy manservant, nor thy maidservant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates” (Exod. 20:11). Animals are sentient beings, endowed with moral standing–they too, are entitled to the wonders of the Sabbath rest!

There is the story of a certain pious man who owned a plowing heifer. In the course of time, his wealth slipped out of his hand, and he had to sell her to a heathen. The new master plowed with her during the six [working] days of the week. On the Sabbath, he brought her out again to plow for him, but she lay down under the yoke and would not work. Though he kept beating her, she would not budge from her place. Seeing this, the heathen went to the pious man and said to him, “Come, take back your heifer. Six days I worked her, but when I took her out on the Sabbath, she lay down under the yoke and would do no work whatever. And though I beat her again and again, she would not budge from her place.”

After the heathen spoke, the pious man understood why the heifer would do no work–it was because she had become accustomed to rest on the Sabbath. So he said to the heathen, “Come along, and I will get her up and make her plow.” When he came to the heifer, he whispered into her ear “O heifer, heifer, you know that when you were in my domain, you were allowed to rest on the Sabbath. But since my sins brought it about that I had to sell you to this heathen, I beg of you, stand up and do the will of your [new] master.”

At once the heifer stood up and was ready to work. The heathen then said to the pious man, “I won’t let you go until you tell me what you did to her and what you whispered in her ear. Perhaps you bewitched her.” The pious man replied, “I put it to her thus and so.”

Upon hearing these words the heathen, shaken and amazed, reasoned with himself: If a heifer, which has neither speech nor knowledge nor understanding, could acknowledge her Creator, shall not I, whose Maker made me in His own image and likeness, and put knowledge and At once the heifer stood up and was ready to work. The heathen then said to the pious man, “I won’t let you go until you tell me what you did to her and what you whispered in her ear. Perhaps you bewitched her.”

The pious man replied, “I put it to her thus and so.” Upon hearing these words the heathen, shaken and amazed, reasoned with himself: If a heifer, which has neither speech nor knowledge nor understanding, could acknowledge her Creator, shall not I, whose Maker made me in His own image and likeness, and put knowledge and understanding into me–shall not I acknowledge my Creator? At once he went off, became a proselyte, and was privileged to acquire so much Torah that he came to be called R. Yohanan ben Torta (“son of a heifer”). [1] Continue Reading

Recently, I have joined a new website (for me anyway!) Jewish Values Online. Here is a question somebody asked me earlier today: God warns us explicitly not to follow in the ways of the other nations. How does this apply to our custom to give gifts on Hanukkah which seems to have been taken from the very not Jewish tradition of giving gifts on Christmas?

Answer:

The verse, “Do not conform, therefore, to the customs of the nations whom I am driving out of your way, because all these things that they have done have filled me with disgust for them” (Lev 20:23) specifically pertains to not emulating pagan religious traditions. Most Halachic authorities do not consider Christianity as a “pagan religion.” At worse, Christianity is an amalgamation of Judaic and pagan elements; Jews should not regard Christianity as “idolatry.”

Still and all, the original question is valid for other reasons: Is it appropriate for Judaism to integrate practices that derive from non-Judaic sources? Historians believe the custom of gift-giving in early Christianity originated with the Roman celebration of Saturnalia, which also occurs late December.

Many traditional rabbis would certainly concur with the view that sees gift-giving on Hanukkah as a concession to popular Christian culture—plain and simple. To some degree, these rabbis make a valid point. In Southern California, there was a well-known rabbi of a prominent Reform synagogue who used dress up as “Chanu Claus” every year in a blue and white outfit, while wearing a prosthetic white beard. This type of religious capitulation to Christmas is painfully obvious—Oy, oy, oy! This is obviously the wrong message we wish to instill this time of the year about Hanukkah.

From a historical perspective, the question becomes a bit more nuanced and complex. Prof. Eliezer Segal thinks Hanukkah Gelt began at a time when Jewish teachers were an impoverished class. Hanukkah was the time when parents would give their children monies to give to their teachers. It was only natural for the children to receive a little financial incentive for carrying out the good deed. This practice eventually led to other older children asking that their parents give some money to them too.

This writer believes Segal’s explanation falls just a little bit short of the mark.

Life for the Jew in medieval and modern times was often filled with despair and uncertainty. As a persecuted minority, something had to be done to buoy the spirits of children, who frankly, felt jealous of the local Christian children celebrating Christmas with the usual pomp and festivities. This is the principle reason (in my opinion) why the giving of Hanukkah Gelt began, which later morphed into gift-giving.

While it is true, one could say this custom mimics Christian tradition, there is another way of looking at this relatively new Jewish custom. For one thing, no religion lives in a spiritual biosphere. Where different religions peacefully co-exist, a cultural commingling of values is inevitable.[1]

The commingling of Jewish and Christian values is not without complete precedent. One interesting example comes to mind:  the 16^th century Halachic scholar, R. Yoel Sirkes (better known as the “Bach”) had no problem using Christian melodies in the synagogue provided these melodies had widespread and universal appeal.[2]

In all candor Judaism has since rabbinic times borrowed numerous religious beliefs and practices from its Semitic neighbors, e.g., the belief in demonology (e.g., Lilith) is clearly Babylonian in nature. Many superstitions we have regarding the Evil Eye also derive from pagan sources.[3] In addition, many of the rabbis participated in what we would now identify as occult practices.[4]

Oftentimes we reason backwards in our attempt to find an explanation for a contemporary practice. It’s a little bit like trying to hit a bull’s eye by first painting the target around the arrow after it has already hit its target. Halachic drash (interpretation) often employs this particular method in its exposition of traditions.

One explanation I remember reading in a number of Hassidic texts dealing with Hanukkah explains that there exists a linguistic connection between the words חֲנֻכָּה (ḥănūkkâ) dedication and  חֲנֹךְ  (ḥānı̂k) which means, “to train,” or “educate,” as in  חֲנֹךְ לַנַּעַר עַל־פִּי דַרְכּוֹ  “train the child according to his way” (Prov. 22:6). The nexus between these two meanings is obvious: providing a Jewish education for a child is like dedicating him/her to God.

With respect to education, it was customary in Jewish communities to give the child a gift upon entering school for the first time. Maimonides was not at all averse to “bribing a child” in order to get the child accustomed to study. [5] So, it is argued (based upon linguistic sources) that giving a child a gift during Hanukkah is not without some antecedent.

This writer would further argue that gift-giving is specifically mentioned in Numbers 7, which delineates all the sundry sacrifices and financial gifts each tribe gave in honor of the Temple’s dedication.  Incidentally, this same theme of gift-giving reappears in the First Book of Maccabees where Judas and his brothers, along with the people, rededicate the Temple by giving gifts to refurbish the Temple.[6]

So, is gift giving such a bad practice during Hanukkah? Traditionalist will definitely prefer giving Hanukkah Gelt; but personally, I see no problem with it so long as we do not include the other Christian traditions of Santa Claus with the celebration. Continue Reading