Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

The biblical story of Creation is often criticized for endorsing an attitude that promotes the exploitation of the environment. During the 1960’s and throughout the next decade, biblical scholars of all different stripes have claimed that Genesis 1:28 is   largely responsible for many of the ecological problems currently facing our planet: the extinction of numerous species, ongoing deforestation, and potentially dangerous global climate changes are just a few of the controversial issues. Some intellectuals continue to criticize the “Judaeo-Christian” tradition (conveniently, but incorrectly conflating these two different faiths) as being “anti-Nature” and by extension, even “anti-female,” since man’s domination of woman is viewed within the context of man’s domination over nature (Gen. 3:17).

Mythologist and philosopher Joseph Campbell, as well as his admirers, contend that patriarchal religions tend to be violent and out of control. In contrast, the female goddess religions, regarded as paragons of civility, are characterized as violence-free, and evoking an aura of peacefulnes. Campbell further asserts that the Eastern religious perspective of nature is infinitely more advanced and spiritual than views proposed by the West. In one book, Campbell nostalgically recollects a conversation he once shared with the popular Buddhist apologist and missionary, D. T. Suzuki:

• I remember a vivid talk by the Japanese Zen philosopher Dr. Daisetz T. Suzuki, which opened with an unforgettable contrast of the Occidental and Oriental understandings of the God-man-nature mystery. Commenting first on the Biblical view of the state of man following the Fall in Eden, “Man,” he observed, “is against God, and Man, and Nature, are against each other. God’s own likeness, (Man), God’s own creation (Nature) and God himself—all three are at war. [1]

Similar attitudes are also expressed by the 20^th century historian of medieval history, Lynn White, Jr., who also blames humanity’s ecological woes on the old biblical notion of dominion. White believes that this Scriptural passage entitles and empowers people with the right to utilize the natural world however they see fit. Furthermore, he alleges that Genesis 1:26-28 teaches that man has a right to dominate, subdue, and control nature with no regard for the welfare of the environment. [2]

White believes that primitive and Eastern religions show more sensitivity toward the welfare of the environment than Christianity, and in much the same way are better sources for environmental ethics. Unlike the ancient Oriental and Greco-Roman religions, or Native American Indian faiths that venerate animals, trees, rivers, and mountains in the belief that all entities are endowed with guardian spirits which need to be placated—biblical religion was very different. White asserts that once Judaism and Christianity overcame primitive animism, these religions made it possible to exploit nature with an attitude of indifference toward all natural objects. As a solution White suggests:

• Since the roots of our trouble are so largely religious, the remedy must also be essentially religious, whether we call it that or not. We must rethink and re-feel our nature and destiny. The profoundly religious, but heretical, sense of the primitive Franciscans for the spiritual autonomy of all parts of nature may point out a direction. I propose Francis as the patron saint for ecologists.[3]

The models of Franciscan and Dominican stewardship that the Catholic Church promotes are indeed excellent models, as White wisely recommends. However, White’s analysis makes a number of unproven assumptions that are suspect and questionable. When speaking about Judaism’s ethos, reference must also be made to the entire corpus of religious beliefs—especially those found in classical rabbinic texts, which contain some of the most detailed expositions of stewardship found in the ancient world.

As a case in point, theologian Louis Jacobs presents a clear summary of how Judaism follows a philosophy that is “eco-sensitive”:

• Waste-disposal, for instance, was a major concern in rabbinic times. Care was to be taken, the Rabbis urged, that bits of broken glass should not be scattered on public land where they could cause injury. Saintly men, the Talmud (Bava Kama 30a) remarks, would bury their broken glassware deep down in their own fields. Other rubbish could be deposited on public land, but only during the winter months when, in any event, the roads were a morass of mud because of the rains. In the Mishnah (Bava Batra 2), rabbinic concern for a peaceful and clean environment was given expression in definite laws. . . . Carcasses, graves, and tanneries must be kept at a distance of at least 50 cubits from the city. A tannery must not be set up in such a way that the prevailing winds waft the unpleasant odor to the town. A prohibition known as bal tashḥit, ‘do not destroy’ is based by the Rabbis on the biblical injunction not to destroy fruit-bearing trees (Deuteronomy 20:19), but it is extended by them to include wasting anything that can be used for the benefit of mankind. For instance, while it was the custom to rend the garments on hearing of the death of a near relative), to tear too much or too many garments violates this rule (Bava Kama 91b). Maimonides formulates this as: “It is not only forbidden to destroy fruit-bearing trees but whoever breaks vessels, tears clothes, demolishes a building, stops up a fountain or wastes food, in a destructive way, offends against the law of “thou shalt not destroy”. Maimonides’ qualification, “in a destructive way” is intended to convey the thought that if, say, a fruit-bearing tree is causing damage to other trees, it may be cut down since then the act is constructive. A Midrashic homily has it that the reason why the wood used for the Tabernacle in the wilderness was not from fruit-bearing trees, was to teach human beings that when they build their own homes they should use wood from other than fruit-bearing trees.[4]

The gaps in Lynn White’s critique of the Judeo-Christian faiths are alarming and his article is a good example of someone who utilizes a straw man for making what is truly a specious and one-sided argument. One of the best responses to the allegation these men raise can be found in a seminal work, written by a man who is often described as the “father of environmentalism,” René Dubos (1901-1981). Dubos offers a number of pointed criticisms aimed at White’s article and to D. T. Suzuki (whom he credits with originating this polemic back in the 1950’s).

• In my opinion, the theory that the Judeo-Christian attitudes are responsible for the development of technology and for the ecological crisis is at best a historical half-truth. Erosion of the land, destruction of animal and plant species, excessive exploitation of natural resources, and ecological disasters are not peculiar to the Judeo-Christian tradition and to scientific technology. At all times, and all over the world, man’s thoughtless interventions in nature have had a variety of disastrous consequences or at least have changed profoundly the complexion of nature  . . .[5]

Dubos also shows how even Oriental societies treated the environment with recklessness and indifference. He notes that China was ahead of the West in science and technology which in turn caused massive ecological damage to their region. The barren hills of central and northern China were once heavily forested. Dubos added that human ecological problems were not just limited to the Occidental countries, but were also felt throughout other communities in Asia as well.

• Even the Buddhists contributed largely to the deforestation of Asia in order to build their temples; it has been estimated that in some areas they have been responsible for more than half of the timber consumption. The Chinese attitude of respect for nature probably arose, in fact, as a response to the damage done in antiquity. . . . In Japan also, the beautifully artificial gardens and oddly shaped pined trees could hardly be regarded as direct expressions of nature; they constitute rather a symbolic interpretation of an intellectual attitude towards scenery. Wildlife has been so severely reduced in modern Japan that sparrows are the only kind of birds remaining of the dozens of species that used to pass through Tokyo a century ago.[6]

Many of the ecological problems occurred when early Neolithic man struggled mightily for survival, and killed any animal that posed a threat to his existence. In ancient Egypt, the Pharaohs and their Assyrian neighbors killed large numbers of wild animals just for the pleasure of the sport as is well-documented on many ancient drawings. Even in the farthest regions of the world such as Australia, the native Aborigines’ penchant for setting off fires contributed toward its semi-arid climate.  If anything, Dubos notes that “the Judeo-Christian peoples were probably the first to develop a pervasive concern for land management and an ethic for nature.”[7]

Dubos, of course, is referring to the institutions such as the sabbatical year and the Jubilee Year that treat the earth similar to that of a sentient being, which is entitled to the benefits of “rest” and cessation from human hands (Exod. 23:11; Lev. 25:4; 25:49). It is remarkable that each ecological-based precept exerts profound sociological ramifications for the entire faith community as well. During the Sabbatical year, debts are cancelled (Deut. 15:1–9); the Jubilee Year provides release for Hebrews who had become servants through poverty (Lev. 25:39–41, 54). During these festivals the poor are free to eat the produce from all of the fields (Exod. 23:11; Lev. 25:6–7, 12). Likewise, the Torah aims at curtailing human violence against the environment—notably during a time of war (Deut. 20:19-20); as well as the laws restricting the co-mingling of different seeds when sowing a field (Deut. 22:9-11), and the law against mixing meat and milk together. (Exod. 23:19). Continue Reading

This article is the first of a new series dealing with faith–or better yet, the loss of faith we are witnessing in our society today. Two excellent sayings capture much of the message found in tonight’s blog:

“Doubt is the beginning, not the end, of wisdom,” (Spanish proverb), or, “If there is room for question, something is wrong” (Yiddish proverb).

One of the first Jewish thinkers to seriously grapple with the role of doubt and religion was the ninth century Jewish philosopher Saadia Gaon. He pondered: Why do so many people have doubts about their faith in God and religion in general? Although he was speaking to a medieval audience, his ideas are very relevant for the people of 21^st century who have become deeply disenchanted with traditional faith for a variety of different reasons. Saadia writes:

• My heart grieves for humankind and my heart is affected on account of my own people, Israel, who I see in my own time. Many who follow their faith, but they have a distorted understanding of their faith; consequently, their faith is replete with unenlightened views and absurd beliefs that are current among those who follow Judaism. Others, who deny their faith, proudly denigrate their unbelief, ridiculing those who truly believe . . . I also saw people drowning in a sea of doubt, overwhelmed by the waves of confusion with no diver to raise them up from the depths, with no swimmer to bring them to rescue . . .[1]

Had Saadia lived in today’s era, he most certainly would have spoken about the state of spiritual anarchy that is so pervasive in today’s religious societies. Men of all faiths have abdicated their responsibility to care and shepherd their people. Everyday there are countless stories of clergy either participating or covering up crimes of pedophilia. Religion has in many circles become increasingly militant, often encouraging its followers to commit acts of terror and mayhem against its foes; this problem has been especially virulent in the Middle East, but with the Al Qaeda attack on the Twin Towers, even quiet Western societies have now been affected by the forces of religious intolerance.

Such behavior hardly inspires belief in a kind or benevolent Deity, whose followers commit the worse kind of human atrocities and moral indecencies. I am amazed how mute religious leaders have been in chastising the fanaticism and moral corruption of their zombie-like followers.

The Jewish community has certainly not been altogether immune to these accusations. Various institutions of higher and advanced Jewish learning prefer to castigate the Government as well as sincere minded Jewish citizens who are demanding moral accountability. In Israel, where the religious parties exert a powerful influence on the affairs of State, the corruption is even more ubiquitous. Religious coercion and draconian laws have become a way of life, along with politicians receiving kickbacks and bribes.

Whether it be well-known Hassidic rabbis fleecing poor widows of their wealth in the name of their religion, or whether it be rabbis trafficking human organs, or committing acts of fraud in the areas of fraud, Jewish education, sexism, or endorsing the sexual exploitation of females—the end result has darkened the light of faith.

Is it not any wonder why more serious-minded people have come to the conclusion that religion is an illusion that has long outlived its contemporary usefulness? Yes, legions of once devoted followers find it difficult to believe in a faith that enables the worse kind of human behavior—and they are absolutely right.

But Saadia was only partially correct. In his day, many people were drowning in the sea of doubt, but today countless numbers of people are drowning in a sea of cynicism—produced by charlatan shepherds who have made it their life mission to fleece the flock.

Yet, Saadia offers an important prescription: doubt can serve a positive function, for it is the first step toward discovering a knowledge that is self-authenticating. It is precisely through skepticism one refuses to accept things as they present themselves; it is only by questioning, one can arrive a better understanding of what it truly means to believe; doubting is essential, if one is ever arrive at pure concept of truth.

Yet, Saadia offers an important prescription: doubt can serve a positive function, for it is the first step toward discovering a knowledge that is self-authenticating. It is precisely through skepticism one refuses to accept things as they present themselves; it is only by questioning, one can arrive a better understanding of what it truly means to believe; doubting is essential, if one is ever arrive at pure concept of truth. Moses Maimonides actually concurs and explains that before we can arrive at a truth belief in God, we must first shred all the inauthentic conceptions based upon a distorted theological understanding of the Divine. How true!

Just as Jacob wrestles with God, so must we wrestle with God; our questioning, our dissatisfaction with glib and stupid answers simply won’t do. Continue Reading

Stephen Hawking in the beginning of his book, “A Brief History of Time,” relates a story he believes originated with the scientist-philosopher Bertrand Russell, who once fielded an interesting question asked by an elderly woman after finishing a lecture he gave on astronomy:

“He described how the earth orbits around the sun and how the sun, in turn, orbits around the center of a vast collection of stars called our galaxy. At the end of the lecture, a little old lady at the back of the room got up and said: “What you have told us is rubbish. The world is really a flat plate supported on the back of a giant tortoise.” The scientist gave a superior smile before replying, “What is the tortoise standing on.” “You’re very clever, young man, very clever,” said the old lady. “But it’s turtles all the way down!”[1]

The woman’s question was actually based on the ancient Hindu myth where the world was once thought to rest on the backs of four elephants, which in turn stand on the shell of a turtle!  Bertrand Russell  in his book, “Why I am not a Christian,” writes: “It is exactly of the same nature as the Hindu’s view, that the world rested upon an elephant and the elephant rested upon a tortoise; and when they said, “How about the tortoise?” the Indian said, “Suppose we change the subject . . .” And who says philosophers don’t have a good sense of humor?

Are today’s physicists arriving at a similar conclusion?

The prospect of discovering of the Higgs-Boson particle, better known as the “God Particle,” by scientists working at the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) in Bern, Switzerland has created much excitement in the news. The elusive Higgs-Boson particle is one of the fundamental building blocks of matter. Give credit to the Nobel Prize winning scientist Leon Lederman, for coming up with a better name than the “Higgs boson.” “God Particle” is certainly pretty enticing to the imagination. I plan to read his 2006 best seller, “The God Particle: If the Universe Is the Answer, What Is the Question?” over the few weeks. Besides being smart, Lederman also knows how to sell books.

I find the conversations between scientists and theologians quite exciting. The physics of the this newest discovery are complicated. Besides, I never had aspirations to become a physicist. But from what little I have tried to conceptually glean, I can say that the existence of particles invisibly existing apart from mass is breathtaking. Ordinarily, one might think that items endowed with mass tend to be perceived as more “real,” than things that are bereft of mass, but such an assumption is now scientifically unwarranted. The Higgs boson is regarded as a “fundamental” particle; one of the vital building blocks that make up our universe. Physicists think it is the last missing piece in the leading theory of particle physics which describes how particles and forces interact.

All of this sounds pretty mystical to me; science can be as esoteric as any text of the Kabbalah. Actually, many of the Jewish mystics have candidly referred to God as the “Holy Nothing,” because God is not an object one can physically point to. Both Maimonides and the philosopher Alfred Ayers would probably agree about the “nonsense,” concerning God–because God is beyond our senses. One wonders what will these physicists discover next? Will they someday discover that the God Particle is in itself made up of something even more ethereal and abstract? Has the God Particle always existed? How will this discovery impact the way we look at the universe and at ourselves? Here is another more perplexing question: Are we the first species in the universe to even notice that the God Particle exists? If we are, then what does this say about the nature of human consciousness and its possible uniqueness in the universe? If we are not the only entities in the universe, can some older extraterrestrial race of beings kindly explain, “What the heck is going on?” Maybe one of them can write a book called, “The God Particle for Idiots,” which I would certainly rush to buy despite the title.

On NPR Radio, I found the comments of the atheist scientist to be especially enlightening. He marveled at the intellectual achievement of these men as a triumph for rational thought and not religion. The atheist scientist makes a valid point. I would just ask a simple question, “Is it not amazing that the human mind and the Logos (to borrow the famous term from the pre-Socratic philosopher, Heraclitus) of the universe both communicate (so to speak) through the language of mathematics?” For a theistic person like me, this reality has profound religious implications.

British theologian Keith Ward offers a perspective that is important to our discussion. “The cosmos not only springs from a Supreme Consciousness: it is destined to produce beings that will relate in knowledge and in cooperative action to that Consciousness. . . . The cosmos must be such that it will produce beings of awareness, intention, a sense of transcendence, and the possibility of conscious union with God.”[2]

Ward’s interpretation adds new meaning to the passage, “From my flesh I see God” (Job 19:26). By contemplatively gazing into the inner processes of the human mind, we may come to the novel recognition that we perceive only the outer manifestation and presence of a deeper hidden reality that can be seen in such scientific epiphanies as the God Particle. This commingling of the human and cosmic consciousness (as evidenced through the language of mathematics) illustrates that our minds correspond to a Universal Mind that has made the universe wonderfully comprehensible to our puny brains. Indeed, this innate sharing and purposeful commingling of the human and Divine Consciousness constitute from the religious perspective, one of the greatest miracles of all Creation.

In the words of the prophet, we find a most relevant passage to our discussion about the God Particle, “Lift up your eyes on high and see: Who has created these?” (Isaiah 40:26).[3]  When the ancient biblical writers beheld the awe-inspiring complexity of the universe, they probably wondered: Why is there something rather than nothing? Why is there an order manifested in the cosmos? How did it get there when it did not have to be there? Who gave it when it did not have to be given? Why am I even capable of conceptually expressing this immense mystery? More specifically, why do I even exist? Philosopher Martin Heidegger rightly observed that this is the most basic question of philosophy.[4] Although Einstein did not believe in an anthropomorphic deity that is taught by most of the Western religions, he did come to realize that God is an artist of sorts–a God of Mystery–much more grand than the human mind can possibly fathom:

• The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion which stands at the cradle of true art and true science. Whoever does not know it and can no longer wonder, no longer marvel, is as good as dead, and his eyes are dimmed. It was the experience of mystery–even if mixed with fear—that engendered religion. A knowledge of the existence of something we cannot penetrate, our perceptions of the profoundest reason and the most radiant beauty, which only in their most primitive forms are accessible to our  minds—it is this knowledge and this emotion that constitute true religiosity; in this sense, and in this alone, I am a deeply religious man.[5]

Physicist Harold Schilling offers a deeply profound understanding of the term “mystery” that is reminiscent of contemplative silence. By the term mystery, Schilling explains:

• [I]t does not mean an unsolved puzzle or a gap in our knowledge. Rather, the notion of mystery refers to something that is inherently unknowable and inexplicable. No amount of knowledge can ever diminish or eliminate the sense of mystery. On the contrary, our desire to grasp the nature of the cosmic mystery is only intensified as our knowledge of it expands with each scientific discovery. In religious terms, the sense of mystery we experience when gazing at the heavens is the source of all wonder, and is the bedrock of true worship and devotion.”[6]

Perhaps Schilling’s perceptive point is something that both theistic and atheistic minded people can all agree upon. Creation spirituality revolves around the kind of existential question that point toward these ultimate issues and concerns. Indeed, for most people, the beauty of science is probably better conveyed through the imagery of poetry and religion than it is through the discursive idiom of mathematics. 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

According to Rashi (1040-1105), one of humanity’s chief distinctions from the animal world lies in its unique ability to formulate speech in expressing ideas about itself, the world, and God. As proof, Rashi cites the Aramaic translation (Targum) of Onkelos (2nd cent. c.e.), who paraphrases the verse to mean: וַהֲוָת בְאָדָם לְרֻוחַ מְמַלְלָא “and it became within man, a speaking spirit,” as if to say humanity represents the most evolved of all created entities, for humankind alone was granted the power of understanding and speech.

These traditional interpretations regarding the human capacity for complex and abstract speech raise important questions in light of our contemporary knowledge of zoology, comparative linguistics, anthropology, and neuroscience. Simply put, how unique is the human capacity to speak and communicate through language? Is human language the by-product of a long evolutionary history, or is it more the result of spontaneous development that is unique to people?

There is a large scientific interdisciplinary debate about the nature of human communication going back to the time of Darwin, who originally theorized that human language is simply an evolved form of communication, no different in principle from the grunts, gestures, and calls generated by other non-human species. Darwin posits, “I cannot doubt that language owes its origin to the imitation and modification of various natural sounds, the voices of other animals, and man’s own instinctive cries, aided by signs and gestures.”[1] While natural selection argues for a gradualist account for language, the appearance of organized language makes its mysterious but spontaneous appearance only in humankind. Until the 20^th century, the origin of language remained a forbidden topic in certain academic circles, probably because of its highly speculative nature.[2]

Still and all, some linguistic scholars like Noam Chomsky reject the Darwinian idea that language could have evolved by natural selection. Chomsky asserts that the human language instinct is fundamentally incompatible with the modern Darwinian theory of evolution, in which complex biological systems arise by gradual accumulation over generations of random genetic mutations that enhance reproductive success. As such, language is a skill limited strictly to humans, who are the sole possessors of the cognitive hardware which makes language possible.

Chomsky contends that human language is radically different from primate communication and draws attention to the incredible ease with which children learn to communicate (as opposed to learning, for instance, mathematics) far beyond the intellectual capacity of their years.[3] Such ability is actually hardwired within the brain itself, which enables it to grasp the words along with its grammar, intuitively knowing how to make symbolic sense of the words that are spoken. Chomsky refers to this mental faculty as the “Language Acquisition Device” or simply “LAD.” The child’s innate ability to acquire the grammar necessary for a language can best be explained only if one assumes that all grammars are variations of a single, generic “universal grammar,” which is a cross-cultural phenomenon that reveals how all human brains come “with a built-in language organ that contains this language blueprint.” He postulates that there is an “organ” within the brain that enables it to effortlessly learn the meaning of symbolic language. It is this “instinct” or “innate facility” that makes human language unique.

Among modern linguists, M.I.T. Professor Steven Pinker offers one of the most controversial theories about human language in his book, The Language Instinct.[4] While Pinker is sympathetic to many of Chomsky’s original insights regarding the uniqueness of human language, he also sides with the Darwinian view that the brain’s innate grammatical abilities are not necessarily incompatible with natural selection and mutation. He writes, “There must have been a series of steps leading from no language at all to language as we now find it, each step small enough to have been produced by random mutation of genes and with each intermediate grammar being useful to its possessor.”[5]

One could argue that once a person defines language from a purely human perspective, other forms of non-human language are at a disadvantage from the start. It is perhaps more relevant to ask ourselves, how do animal species communicate with one another? Or, can human beings, for example, train primates to understand or speak human language? If in fact, the understanding of symbols is a vital prerequisite to the development of language, then, is the phenomenon of syntax, as Chomsky argues, the most important defining feature that is exclusive to human language?

Some scientists, like primatologist Sue Savage-Rumbaugh, contend that certain species of primates are capable of developing a basic sense of syntax. She offers an altogether different approach to the relationship of animals and language, through the use of lexigrams and computer-based keyboards, the same kind of technology that is used for children and adults with language deficits. With this method, each lexigram or symbol represents a word; however, a symbol is not necessarily characteristic of the words it represents. Remarkably, the information gathered at the center regarding the primates’ abilities to acquire symbols, comprehend spoken words, decode simple syntactical structures, learn concepts of number and quantity, and perform complex perceptual-motor tasks have revolutionized the way  scientists understand primate communication. [6] Other researchers have also managed to teach gorillas how to utilize sign language.[7]

Studies with the African Grey Parrot, named “Alex,” have been studied for the past thirty years by animal psychologist Irene Pepperberg, initially at the University of Arizona and later at Harvard and Brandeis University. Prior to her studies, most scientists believed that birds were only capable of mimicking human speech, but were incapable of using words creatively. According to Pepperberg, birds actually possess a capacity to reason and utilize words in expressing themselves and can even count! Alex’s intelligence is believed to have been comparable to that of dolphins and great apes, if not that of a five-year-old human child. Had it not died prematurely because of illness, it might have developed an even greater capacity to express itself through human language.[8]

Marine biologists have also discovered that the humpback whales’ songs continue to change as the season progresses. The New Year’s song will start off where last year’s song has ended, providing evidence of an enormous memory capacity. As the season progresses, the song will gradually change. New pieces will be added while other sections will be dropped. One whale may carry a note a bit longer than another whale, but the structure and components are the same. One recent study points out that their language sophistication is so great, that some whales seem to sing in different dialects depending on their place of origin. For example, blue whales off the Pacific Northwest sound differently from blue whales in the western Pacific, which sound differently from those living off of Antarctica. Moreover, they all sound differently from the blue whales living near Chile. Whales in the eastern Pacific are purported to emit lower-pitched sounds followed by a tone, while other whale populations use a different variety of pulses, tones, and pitches. Perhaps the regional differences in their tones are similar to the distinctions between French and Italian, or are variations of the regional accents found in this country. In addition, whales even have a grasp of grammar whenever they communicate with one another.[9] Continue Reading

•  The just man knows the soul of his beast, but the heart of the wicked is merciless.                                            

—Proverbs 12:10

The author of Proverbs stresses an important ethical lesson: a humane person considers the needs of his animals and acts kindly towards them.^[1] The world of Creation is full of sentient beings, which also experience many of the joys and blessings that people commonly enjoy: like humankind, these creatures also experience pain. Suffering is a common language that links humanity with other species of animal life. Therefore, Jewish ethics take sharp issue with French philosopher Rene Descartes (ca. 1596–1650), who compares animals to machines that service people, stating that their suffering “means nothing more than the creaking of a wheel.”[2] In physiological terms, according to Descartes, what human beings and animals share is that their bodies function by the laws of mechanics. One might respond: How then do human beings differ from animals? Descartes argues that the Creator endows human beings with a divine soul and a moral conscience—qualities that are lacking in animals. In addition, unlike animals, human beings possess the ability to conceptualize and verbalize ideas. Most importantly, only human beings are capable of conscious and rational thought since they are uniquely endowed with the ability to be self-reflective. Only a human being is capable of exclaiming, “Cogito ergo sum.”

Philo of Alexandria explains that the Mosaic proscription prohibiting the boiling of a kid in its mother’s milk aims to teach Israel that mercy and self-restraint should govern people’s relations with animals no less than with each other.[3] According to biblical law, a person may not satisfy his or her appetite disregarding the feelings of animals, especially where mothers and their young are concerned. A worshipper in ancient times, for example, is barred from sacrificing a newborn animal until it is at least eight days old (Exod. 22:28–29; Lev 22:27). “Nothing could be more brutal,” writes Philo, “than to add to the mother’s birth pangs the pain of being separated from her young immediately after giving birth, for it is at this time that her maternal instincts are strongest.” In other respects, too, the Law calls for self-restraint. Thus, it would be an act of unnatural excess, Philo argues, to cook a young animal in the very substance with which nature intended it to be sustained. In a similar vein, the Law prohibits one from sacrificing an animal together with its young (Lev 22:28), since this would again involve an unnatural combination of that which gives life and that which receives it.[4]

Pursuing a similar approach found in Philo, Maimonides comments on a number of biblical precepts dealing with preventing cruelty towards animals in his Guide:

• It is also prohibited to kill an animal with its young on the same day (Lev. 22:28), the reason being, is so that people should be restrained and prevented from killing the two together in such a manner that the young is slain in plain sight of the mother; the pain of the animals under such circumstances is very great. There can be no difference in this case between the pain of man and the pain of other sentient beings, since the love and tenderness of the mother for her young ones is not produced by reasoning, but is a matter determined by instinct and this faculty exists not only in man but in most living beings. This law applies only to ox and lamb, because of the domestic animals used as food these alone are permitted to us, and in these cases the mother recognizes her young. . . . If the Torah provides that such grief should not be caused to cattle or birds, how much more careful must we be that we should not cause grief to our fellow human beings![5]

According to Maimonides, an animal’s ability to feel emotional pain gives it moral standing; it is for this reason that the Torah prohibits these acts. Not all Jewish thinkers concur with Maimonides. Ramban claims that the prohibitions against cruelty to animals are not so much for the animal’s benefit, but for the sole moral development of humankind. Cruelty towards animals is desensitizing (commenting on Deuteronomy 22:6 and Leviticus 22:28), which will eventually produce brutality and insensitivity to the pain and suffering of others.

• The ruling on the mother bird is not predicated upon the Almighty’s “pity” for the animal. Otherwise, God would have forbidden their slaughter altogether! The reason, however, for the prohibition is to instill within us compassion and the avoidance of cruelty; butchers and slaughterers often become insensitive to the suffering on account of their occupation. Therefore, to avoid engendering these negative traits, the Torah proscribed precepts that a person should not slaughter the mother and its young on the same day (Lev. 22:28) and sending away the mother bird (Deut. 22:6). Such laws are not inspired by feelings of consideration for their suffering but are decrees to inculcate humanity in us. [6]

The belief in the Evil Eye (in Hebrew, it is known as the Ayin Hara) has existed since time immemorial in cultures all around the world. Ancients believed that the world was suffused with invisible powers that could be utilized as a supernatural weapon against one’s foes. In magic, the squinting of the eye as well as its gaze, could magically affect the image “captured” by the eye and it is for this reason, the belief in the Evil Eye in all primal societies is linked to witchcraft or demonology. Before there was Madison Avenue, ancients developed a unique appreciation for the power of the image. They believed that if you could control the image, you could enslave your foe, or perhaps even entrance someone you wish to attract! (Strange as it may sound, many of our modern perceptions of the image have not changed that much!)

To understand the meaning of the Evil Eye, a brief word about magic is important. Freud in his “Totem and Taboo” wrote that the attitude that is fundamental to all magic is that the belief that thought is omnipotent. Such beliefs are found in many of the primal religions of humanity. He adds that even the cannibals believe that eating their enemies enables them to absorb their strengths and abilities.[1]

Jung, in contrast, took issue with Freud and believed that thought somehow mysteriously participates in an unseen order in the world. Jung’s concept of synchronicity, or “purposeful coincidence,” is based upon the assumption that there exists a psychical connection between a physical event and the psychic condition that appears in juxtaposition with it. Freud, of course, regarded Jung’s concept of synchronicity as an example of animistic thinking.

Yet, even Freud would admit that the power of belief in magic and superstition can affect the behavior of its believers. Maimonides himself was not overly critical of Jews  utilizing amulets whenever someone was dangerously ill. As a physician, Maimonides understood the importance of placebo in helping people recover from illness—but he cautioned: amulets have no efficacy whatsoever.[2]

One would think that human civilization would have abandoned its infantile beliefs in the Evil Eye and amulets centuries ago. Yet, beneath the veneer of civility, there exist certain strata of our psyche that has not evolved much over the millennia. This part of the psyche continues to manifest itself in a variety of seemingly “civilized,” ways.

For example: Have you ever been in a New York or LA traffic jam? Have you ever observed how people behave when it’s the middle of rush hour, or when somebody cuts ahead of you? How do they react? It is usually accompanied with certain finger gestures and verbal incantations designed to wreck havoc upon the life of the other driver. Though we normally don’t think of this type of reaction as being particularly superstitious, it is. Verbal curses and hand movements galore are part of the tradition associated with the Evil Eye. If you have ever engaged in such discourteous behavior, you have participated in primal religion!

Given the nature of medieval life and the constant dangers people experienced from day to day, it was only natural folks would develop preventive and curative measures and gestures (e.g., hand signs), as well as spoken formulas to ward off the Evil Eye. Among Yiddish speaking Jews, for example, we often hear of the famous expression Kennahora ‑‑ an abbreviation for the Hebrew “let there be no Evil Eye.”], fumigations, the use of fire, salt, horn, metal, the wearing of amulets (often hand‑shaped e.g, the Hamsan), tattoo marks, jewels (e.g., commonly seen by ladies who wear the “Chai”], the application of blue color, the symbols of the number five, and so forth.

Despite the rational faith we have inherited from Maimonides and other Jewish rationalists, Jewish customs and laws have long been influenced by its neighboring folk religious traditions. Many of the Talmudic beliefs regarding the ubiquitous presence of demons and magical beings that are contained in the Talmud specifically derive from ancient Babylonian religion! By the way, Kabbalists–medieval and modern–treat these teachings quite seriously.

The Talmud, for an example, suggests that if one wishes to immunize himself against the Evil Eye, he should hold his right thumb in his left hand and take his left thumb and place it in his right hand, and say, “I, so‑and‑so, am a descendant of Joseph, over whom the Evil Eye has no power over.”  If he is afraid of his own Evil Eye, he should look at the side of his left nostril.”[3] The custom of spitting three times when mentioning something good about a person was believed to chase away the Evil Eye.  The practice actually goes back to ancient Greece, where the Greeks use to spit three times in the fold of their garments to avoid the Evil Eye. In ancient Rome, spitting on one’s children was believed to magically ward off the influence of the Evil Eye. Since the earliest stages of human history, spitting was believed to contain magical powers—capable of creating life itself (see my blog articles on spitting).

The Talmud provides numerous anecdotes about the power of the Evil Eye. In one passage, some rabbis of Late Antiquity claimed that for every 100 people who die, 99 people die because of the Evil Eye. Some sages had the power to reduce to human beings into heaps of bones just with the power of their gaze. This ancient teaching would explain where we get the famous English expression, “If looks could kill . . .” Isn’t amazing how modern society has unconsciously passed down many of these ancient folk beliefs?  Ancient historians of Babylonian religion acknowledge a huge debt of gratitude to the rabbis of the Talmud, who—more than anyone else—preserved the superstitious beliefs and rituals of the ancient Babylonians.[4]

Back to the Present

I am certain the roots of superstition and magic were wedded to capitalism long ago. One can only imagine the ancient business of selling talismans (not to be confused with the tallis) and amulets. It was probably a profitable business—perhaps, even a family business!

Yesterday, I came across an amazing advertisement that suggests the ancient craft of selling amulets has not disappeared altogether from history.

Perhaps in honor of Black Friday and Cyber Monday, rabbis in Brooklyn made the following advertisement:

• Evil Eye Removal $50, Credit Cards Accepted Continue Reading

Despite the plethora of scriptural verses depicting the arrival of the Messiah and the age he would inaugurate, many of the rabbis following the destruction of Jerusalem and its Temple learned to adopt a more realistic approach after being deceived by several pretenders who claimed to be the “real deal.”

One passage in particular comes to mind that many of you probably are already familiar with from our celebrations of the Tu Bi’Shevat[1] program. The first century Sage, Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai said: “If you should happen to be holding a sapling in your hand when they tell you that the Messiah has arrived, first plant the sapling and then go out and greet the Messiah.”[2]

An old Jewish story tells of a Russian Jew who was paid a ruble a month by the community council to stand at the outskirts of town so that he could be the first person to greet the Messiah upon his arrival. A friend said to him, “Why have you taken such a low-paying job?” Without missing a heartbeat, the man replied: “True, but the job is permanent” (especially in these hard economic times!)[3]

Maimonides’ comments are also well known, “And Ma’amin, I believe with a full heart in the coming of the Messiah, and even though he may tarry, I will wait for him on any day that he may come.” In the concentration camps, it is reported that many Jews chanted the Ani Ma’amin while walking to the gas chambers. Even in the face of despair and death, Jews affirmed the possibility of hope and redemption to a fractured world.

I would argue that R. Yochanan’s advice is imminently practical. The world will always be in need of saplings—that’s a certainty—but the arrival of the Messiah is more in the realm of an uncertainty.  He was not the only scholar who felt that way.  The fourth century Palestinian Sage, Rabbi Zera (290 – 320 CE) said, “Three things come when one least expects it: the Messiah, a found article and a scorpion.”[4] Maimonides clearly embraces the Talmudic realism regarding the Messiah in one of his best known Halachic passages pertaining to the Messiah:

• Do not think that the natural order of the world will be abolished or that some novelty will be introduced into nature; rather, the world will continue to follow its usual course. The verse in Isaiah, “The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, the leopard lie down with the kid”  (Isa. 11:6) is meant only as an allegory and metaphor. Its meaning is that Israel will dwell in security with the wicked nations of the earth which are allegorically represented as ‘wolves’ and ‘leopards,’ as it says, “. . . a wolf from the desert shall destroy them. A leopard is watching against their cities”  (Jer. 5:6). Those nations will eventually all adopt the true religion (dat ha-emet). They will neither rob not destroy; rather, they will eat permitted foods in peace and quiet as Israelites, as it says, the lion, like the ox, shall eat straw. All similar statements written about the Messiah are meant as allegories, and in the days of the messianic king everyone will understand which matters were allegories, and also the meaning hinted at by them.[5]

For Maimonides, the Messiah will not introduce new changes that overwrite the laws of nature.   The world will remain much the same. However, the political differences will become more clear and noticeable. For the first time in her history, Israel will no longer experience the world’s animus directed toward her. This is for Maimonides, perhaps the greatest miracle that Israel as a people can look forward to in the Messianic Age.

One might wonder: What does Maimonides mean by “allegory” or “parable”? In Maimonides’ Commentary to tractate Sanhedrin, he explains his position regarding the questions regarding the Messiah, the Messianic Age, as well as the matter of the Afterlife.

• One class of thinkers holds that the hoped for good will be the Garden of Eden, a place where people eat and drink without bodily toil or faintness. Houses of costly stones are there, couches of silk, and rivers flowing with wine and perfumed oils, and many other things of this kind. . . . This set of thinkers on this principle of faith bring their proofs from many statements of the Sages, peace to them, whose literal interpretation forsooth accords with their contention or with the greater part of it.

• The second class of thinkers firmly believes and imagines that the hoped for good will be the days of the Messiah, may he soon appear! They think that when that time comes, all men will be kings forever. Their bodily frames will be mighty. . . . They also bring proofs for their statements from many remarks of the Sages, and from Scriptural texts which in their outward interpretation agree with their claim, or a portion of it.

• The third class is of the opinion that the desired good will consist in the resurrection of the dead. . . . These thinkers also point for proof to the remarks of the Sages, and to certain verses of the Bible, whose literal sense tallies with their view. The fourth class is of the opinion that the good which we shall reap from obedience to the Law will consist in the repose of the body and the attainment in this world of all worldly wishes, as, for example, the fertility of lands, abundant wealth, and the abundance of children. . . . The holders of this view point for proof to all the texts of Scripture which speak of blessings and curses and other matters, and to the whole body of narratives existing in Holy Writ.
• The fourth class is of the opinion that the good which we shall reap from obedience to the Law will consist in the repose of the body and the attainment in this world of all worldly wishes, as, for example, the fertility of lands, abundant wealth, abundance of children. . . . The holders of this view point for proof to all the texts of Scripture which speak of blessings and curses and other matters, and to the whole body of narratives existing in Holy Writ.

• The fifth set of thinkers is the largest. Its members combine all the aforesaid opinions, and declare the objects hoped for are the coming of the Messiah, the resurrection of the dead, their entry into the Garden of Eden, their eating and drinking and living in health there as long as heaven and earth endure.[6]

Maimonides’ offers an interesting and truthful reflection of his personal views that are not so obvious from Maimonides’ other ideas. Much of Maimonides’ “Guide for the Perplexed” deals with the problems posed by poetic metaphors of the Bible, which tend to get read in literal rather than metaphorical terms.  He further argues that the Sages spoke in a simple idiom aimed at making faith intelligible to the masses.  Rather than criticizing the Sages for some of their more provocative statements, Maimonides takes aim his contemporaries who viewed biblical metaphors in the most literal fashion

• The worst offenders are preachers who preach and expound to the masses what they themselves do not understand. They ought to be silent about matters they do not know as it is written, “If you would only keep silent, that would be your wisdom!” (Job 13:5). It would be far more honest for them to admit “We don’t understand what precisely our Sages intended in this statement, we don’t know how to explain it.” Thinking that they do understand, they vigorously interpret to the people what they think rather than informing them of what the Sages actually said. They therefore give lectures to the masses on the Aggadic passages found in tractate Berakhot and chapter Helek [of Sanhedrin] which they interpret in the spirit of literalism. [7]

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The great 12th century Jewish philosopher Maimonides noted that although Job is described in the beginning as being a very upright and decent individual, the one characteristic he lacked was the quality of insight![1] In the beginning, Job feared God and did not act out of love. Despite Job’s devoted religious behavior, he did not have a personal religious experience. Maimonides suggests that much of Job’s own suffering was due to wrongful notions and beliefs he had regarding the ways of Providence. Much (but certainly not all) of human suffering is often attributed to the dysfunctional images people have inherited concerning God. Ignorance conditioned Job into thinking that he was a separate entity, apart from God pitted against a hostile world. Job’s ordeal represents the painful journey of all sufferers; for this reason Job’s transformation is most instructive.

In classical Maimonidean theology, the journey to God requires a purging of our preconceived images, sensory perceptions, and affective attachments—all that is not God. As we enter the “Dark Night of the Soul,” we are emptied of all preconceived “graven” images of faith we have held fast of. In the Dark Night, we experience loneliness and separateness. Darkness fills our intellects because our hearts yearn for something infinitely more satisfying than reason alone—God’s love. Amidst our pain, we yearn for friendship and companionship. As the days go by without so much as a Divine response, we feel restless, spiritually impotent, tired and discouraged. We feel as if our souls are caught within a maze that we will never escape. Worst still, we experience the bitterness and pain of feeling utterly abandoned by God and from humanity. From the depths of our being, we cry out that God should illumine our life with the radiance of the Shekhinah (Psa. 146:2).

Yet, we must not let despair or hopelessness have the final word; from out of these sufferings, we must choose to grow and develop a new response to faith based on our innate capacity to experience hope and love. Granted, this journey is certainly not something we willfully embark; rather God throws us into the darkness. In Kabbalistic terms, we enter into the mysterious realm of “Ayin” of Nothingness, to be reborn as a new creation (yesh m’ayin).[2] Job’s journey through the Dark Night changed him and his relationship with God, his family, and his community forever. Using today’s terms, we could say that Job had a profound religious experience. By the end of the story, Job exclaims:

I had heard of you by the

hearing of the ear,

but now my eye sees you;

Job 42:5

What did Job discover? According to Rashi, Job received a revelation of God’s Shekhinah (Divine immanence). The Shekhinah represents the maternal nurturing Presence of God. Yet the Shekhinah’s appearance is not an unconditional thing. Human behavior determines to what degree God’s feminine Presence is revealed in the world. Every action of compassion and justice reveals God’s immanence in the world.  All of Job’s friends consistently portrayed God in solely masculine terms (and dysfunctional masculinity at best!). After he experiences God’s immanence, Job feels his heart filled with love; he became reconciled with his human mortality. Whereas others spoke about God, Job in the end experienced God’s majestic Presence. He came to see that all God-talk pales before the actual experience of God’s Shekhinah. Job discovered an interconnectedness that weaves all aspects of creation together. It is the Shekhinah’s love that keeps the world intact despite itself. Job came to the realization that at the core of human suffering is the delusion that one is separate from God. It is humanity’s grandest illusion that situates God against His Creation.