Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus similarly taught:

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

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

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

• R. Yochanan observed, “If the Torah had not been given we could have learnt modesty from the cat, honesty from the ant, fidelity from the dove, and good manners from the cock which first coaxes and then mates.”– BT Eruvin 100b

“Had the Torah never been given,” say the Sages, “humanity could have learned its values from the animal world.” Jewish tradition has long recognized the importance of animals as companions to humankind. According to the early chapters of Genesis, Adam named all the animals (Gen. 2:19). The act of naming—whether it be our children after they come into this world, or whether it be naming a pet, or even the “pet” name we give to our significant Other, says something intensely personal about our identities and existential predicament. In our aloneness, we crave somebody or something to help us get in touch with the feelings that make us feel human. The melodic sound of cat’s meowing at our presence, or the exciting barking of a dog that senses our presence—these simple pleasures remind us that someone really cares about us, even when the whole world seems as though it has turned against us.

An animal’s capacity to show love teaches us on a visceral level that animals have moral standing in our tradition. Whenever I hear a Jewish intellectual or a rabbi claim that animals do not possess a soul, I like to remind the person of the biblical verse, “The just man knows the soul of his beast, but the heart of the wicked is merciless” (Prov. 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. 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 also 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.” In physiological terms, according to Descartes, what human beings and animals share are 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. “These qualities,” he argued, “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” (“I think therefore, I am.”).

However, humanity is not just defined by its cognitive processes. Perhaps a greater quality than our capacity to think is our capacity to feel empathy and sympathy toward those who are suffering. However, do not delude yourself into thinking this quality is limited to only human beings. Animals often show an emotional intelligence that sometimes dwarfs our own as an intelligent species.

Consider the following comparison.

Where would we be without friends? Leo Buscaglia once said, “A single rose can be my garden… a single friend, my world.” Yet, how many times have we seen friends become estranged? One of the uniquely human characteristics that many of us know, is the painful experience when a friend becomes an enemy. Sometimes we begrudge others the gift of success;  there is a jealous or envious part of our psyche that wishes them either ill-will. It’s not a thought or a feeling we would ever admit, but we live in an age of envy. On some pre-verbal level, we say to ourselves, “If I cannot be successful, then I hope you will not be successful either”—just ask Martha Stewart.

And then there are children . . . Oscar Wilde once said, “Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them.” How many times have we seen children turn against an aged parent, steal a parent’s money and income with no remorse whatsoever? Fair-weather friends are another good example. Someone once defined friendship as “a ship big enough to carry two in fair weather, but only one in foul.”

But there is one friend who will never abandon you. There is one friend who will never act treacherously or betray you for another.

Who am I referring to? I am referring to your dog. Whether in good times or bad times, whether sickness or in health, your dog will love you.

A dog’s memory baffles me at times. Dogs seem so much more sentient than most human beings I know. There are countless stories from all over the world about how a dog visits its master’s grave, even though both master and dog are separated by an ocean of time. One story I found on the Internet speaks about a dog named Greyfriars Bobby, who visited his master’s grave for fourteen years.

A similar story appeared in the Huffington Post (Nov. 22, 2011). Somewhere in China, a man named Lao Pan died. He had no family, but he did have a loyal dog. After dying at age 68, Lao Pan’s dog stayed by his master’s graveside; it refused to eat for seven days. The townspeople finally brought food and water to the animal, and some are planning to build a kennel for the dog to sleep in.

It’s a pity Rabbi Yochanan forgot to include, “Man would have learned loyalty from the dog . . .”

And let’s not forget cats!!

Cats also possess some of these same characteristics found with dogs. I recall how one cat nearly starved herself to death because her mate had suddenly died. The veterinarian had to put her on a special diet to regain the seven pounds she had lost.

The philosopher Emanuel Lévinas felt that the human face obliges us to respond in an ethical manner. Martin Buber and more recently, the postmodernist thinker Jacques Derrida took umbrage with Lévinas. They contend that the face of a faithful pet also commands an ethical response from us, as human beings and as God’s stewards of Creation. When the eyes of our pet look at us, how can we not reciprocate with love? Continue Reading

Not all Pharisees of the Talmud are worthy of our admiration. No, this statement is not one I personally originated; this idea actually comes from the Talmud itself.

Two thousand years ago, the Jewish community had an entire class of people who delighted in such feats of piety. The Talmud heaps scorn on the religious pretentiousness of these “foolish Pharisees.”

The Jerusalem Talmud writes, “Who is a man of piety that is a fool? “He, for example, who, if a woman is drowning, says, ‘It is unseemly for me to look at her, and therefore, I cannot rescue her. . . . Who is the pious fool? He who sees a child struggling in the water, and says, ‘When I have taken off my phylacteries, I will go and save him.’ By the time he arrives to rescue him, the child has already expired. Who is the crafty scoundrel? R. Huna says, ‘He is the man who behaves leniently toward himself, while teaching others only the strictest rules.’”[1]

“Our Rabbis have taught: There are seven types of Pharisees: the ostentatious Pharisee[2], the Pharisee who knocks his feet together and walks with exaggerated humility[3], the Pharisee is one who knocks his face against the wall rather than gaze at a woman[4] The Pharisee who feigns religious piety while constantly exclaiming, ‘What is my duty that I may perform it?’”[5]

You have just returned from Memory Lane.

Imagine a Haredi convention where the great rabbis come up with their latest technological and religious innovations designed to keep men and women apart. Wait until you see the latest fashions the Haredi rabbis decreed upon their enthusiastic followers. Mind you, I am not saying that all Haredi are lunatics–however, the Belzer, Satmar, Gerer Hassidim have hundreds of thousands of lunatics following some very shady religious leaders. I did not include the Lubavitch or the Bratzlav, for both of these movements operate on a principle of ahavat Yisrael–for the most part (but not always). This is obviously a topic nobody in the Haredi world want to talk about. Like most dysfunctional families, family “secrets” are necessary to allow the dysfunction to continue.

Now, back to our subject . . .

Last year’s innovations included:

• A  ban on mannequins.
• The Personal Mechitza, which is a small partition Haredi Jews wear around their heads when travelling on El Al Airlines. The PM prevents Haredim from gazing at the lovely El Al Stewardesses. It comes in only one color: black.
• Women must sit at the back of the bus!
• How to attack Modern Orthodox girls walking to elementary school.
• How to attack wheelchair bound children on Shabbat!
• Rock concerts for Haredim during the Shabbat, where non-Haredim get stoned!
• Separate sidewalks!

This year’s innovations include:

• Use only “BLACK” rabbinically certified baby carriages!
• Using gangs to intimidate other Haredi Jews.
• Living like the Coneheads—special headgear for women designed to out-Taliban the Taliban burka!
• Separate elevators for women as of 1/18/2012![6]

The Taliban are probably experiencing envy as you read this article. “Why can’t we become more religious, more fanatical like the Haredim?” asks a child to her mother.

Most of you have probably heard of OCD—Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I personally prefer identifying this acronym as, “Orthodox Compulsive Disorder.” Hey, if the shoe fits, wear it!

OCD is a very common kind of anxiety disorder. Haredi behavior makes sense when you realize that all these new “halachic” acts of piety involves ways of coping with underlying anxiety, tension, anger, and guilt.

Most modern psychologists and therapists probably are not deeply in love with Freudian psychology, but I have a pretty healthy respect for Freud’s view of religion as an obsessional type of neurosis. Unlike Jung, Frankl, Rodgers, Fromm, and others who saw religions as serving a potentially positive function in society and in the life of the individual, Freud only concerned himself with the pathological aspects of religion that constricts rather than liberates the human spirit from its shackles.

When Freud wrote “Religion as Obsessional Neurosis” in 1907, he observed how religious people suffered from an overwhelming feeling of guilt:

• We may say that the sufferer from compulsions and prohibitions behaves as if he were dominated by a sense of guilt, of which, however, he knows nothing so that we must call it an unconscious consciousness of guilt, in spite of the apparent contradiction in terms. This sense of guilt has its source in certain early mental events, but it is constantly being revived by renewed temptations which arise whenever there is a contemporary provocation. Moreover, it occasions a lurking sense of expectant anxiety, an expectation of misfortune, which is linked, through the idea of punishment, with the internal perception of the temptation. . . [7]

Freud was right. Religion for many people is a mental disorder. Continue Reading

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a pity many Hasidic Jews do not study or take to heart the Ba’al Shem Tov’s ethical message about loving one’s neighbor as oneself. It’s also a pity when outstanding Lithuanian scholars don’t live by the ethical imperatives found in the Talmud and Midrashic literature.

The ancient Sages of Israel often debated about the ethical hierarchy of precepts. Such debates existed even in the first century. In the NT, a Pharisee asks Jesus:

• “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” He said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”[1]

In the Halachic midrashim of the second century, the early Sages also occupied themselves with similar questions.  They asked: What is the most fundamental ethical principle of the Torah? Rabbi Akiba derives his ethos from the verse, “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev. 19:18). Ben Azzai differs: “Do not say, ‘Since I have already been put to shame, it does not matter to me, whether somebody shamed my neighbor!’ “Not so,” says Ben Azai, “Shaming is wrong, for God has made every person in his likeness.”

Put in more contemporary terms: Self-respect begins with realizing the unique image of God that each human being possesses. Recognizing this ethical reality holds the key to recognizing this quality in others. Even when someone shames you, such disparaging treatment does not entitle you to reciprocate in kind—even in the face of provocation. All forms of human degradation harm the divine image, while denying the essential brotherhood and sisterhood of humankind. Affirming the Divine image is by far the most comprehensive principle of the entire Torah—it is the essence of all biblical morality.[2]

For R. Akiba, love is the highest value for interpersonal relationships. However, for Ben Azzai, human society depends upon respecting the divine image in oneself and others. Without this principle, how will the human community survive? Elsewhere, Ben Azzai extols the uniqueness of the human individual, “Do not despise any human being and do not consider anything as improbable—for there is not a man who does not have his hour, and there is not a thing which does not have its place.”[3]  There is no human being in this world that does not have the capacity for excellence and spiritual growth.

Going one step further, there is a rabbinic poignant story which deepens this point of Ben Azzai:

• Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar had returned from a trip in Migdal Eder, from his teacher’s house. As he was riding on his horse, he met a certain man who was exceedingly ugly. Rabbi Shimon said to him, “Raka (simpleton), how ugly are the children of Abraham our father.” The other man replied, “There is nothing I can do about this! Why do you not complain to the Craftsman who made me?” Rabbi Shimon immediately alighted from his horse and bowed before the man saying, “I apologize to you, please forgive me.” He replies to him, “I will not forgive you until you go to the Craftsman Who made me and say, “How ugly is the vessel which You have made.” Rabbi Shimon walks behind him for three miles. When the townspeople heard of Rabbi Shimon’s arrival, they came out and met him; they greeted him with the words, “Peace be unto you, rabbi.” The other man says to them, “Who are you calling rabbi?” They reply, “The man who is walking behind you.” He then exclaims, “If this man is a ‘rabbi,’ I sure hope he is the last of his kind in Israel!” He told the people the whole story, and the townspeople begged him to forgive the rabbi, and he agrees, only on one condition—he must never act in this manner toward anyone again.[4]

As is the case with so many of the rabbinic anecdotes dealing with ethics and human nature, this story is a good example of how the Jewish community understood the image of God in practical and ethical terms. According to R. Abraham Isaac Kook, the love of humankind and God are insuperably related. One cannot love God and hate His creation.  According to Kook, the love of humankind must transcend the narrow confines of tribal loyalty; it is all-inclusive of every religious and ethnic grouping. In Kook’s description, one sees the complete synthesis of Ben Azzai and R. Akiba:

• Love for humankind must be alive in one’s heart and soul—love for each individual separately, and love for all nations, [together with] desire for their advancement and for their spiritual and material progress—… an inner love from the depths of one’s heart and soul, to be beneficent to all nations, to add to their material wealth, and to increase their happiness.…The highest form of love for all creatures is love for human beings, and it must include all people . . .For only when one is infused with love for God’s creatures and all humankind can one elevate love of country to its most noble level, both spiritually and materially. Narrow-mindedness, which results in seeing everything outside the boundaries of one’s own country—even if that country is Israel—as repulsive and unclean, is extremely contemptible; it leads to wide destruction of every valuable spiritual resource to which every decent person looks for enlightenment. [5]

Notes:

[1] NT. Matthew 22:36-40.

[2] Sifra, Kedoshim 4:12. In Genesis Rabba 24:7, the order is reversed, but there can be little doubt that the Sifra represents the older of the two traditions.

[3] Mishnah Aboth 4:3.

[4]  Tractate Derech Eretz  (Chapter 4).

[5] Cited from M. Elon, Jewish Law: History, Sources,Principles = Ha-mishpat ha-Ivri (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1994), Vol. 3, 1852.

Biblical commentators love to portray Noah as a man who truly loved God for saving his family, even though the rest of the world perished. However, one could argue that Noah is not motivated by love, but by fear—and for good reason.

8:20 וַיִּבֶן נֹחַ מִזְבֵּחַ  – Then Noah built an altar — Without delay, Noah immediately builds an altar after reaching dry-land. The Torah did not disclose what may have been the motivation behind Noah’s sacrifice.

Noah does not offer a sin offering, nor does he sacrifice a thanksgiving offering as one might expect. At this point, let us ask a relevant question: What is the psychology that prompts the desire to offer a sacrifice? The giving of a gift, even between human beings, is not a purely external transaction; at the same time it establishes a personal relationship between giver and recipient.  Giving a gift creates a bond of friendship, which on some psychological level bounds the person receiving the gift to the giver.

Gift giving may be based on a desire to “buy” the affection of another. Anthropology teaches that archaic man often offered sacrifices as a bribe to the gods for personal enrichment or to placate the gods so they would not harm the worshiper.

While Noah may have felt compelled to offer thanksgiving for his miraculous deliverance from danger, it is also possible that Noah chose to “bribe” God because of his anxiety. Would God someday unleash another disaster to destroy the world and his future descendants?

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Birth and Rebirth Through Genesis: A Timeless Theological Conversation — Vol. 2 Genesis 4-11.

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As we have pointed out in other postings, a strong case can be made that one of the most serious  “deadly sins” of history is the sin of misogyny. Every faith grapples with this problem in one form or another. In Judaism, there is a well known blessing men say every day upon getting up in the morning:

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

The Original Rabbinical Source of the Blessing

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

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

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

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

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

Re-interpreting the Tosefta

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

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

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

The imagery of sin “lurking at the door,” (Genesis 4:7) has puzzled commentaries since ancient times. Modern biblical scholarship approaches the text differently from traditional exegetes, but no less Midrashically. The Hebrew word for “crouching,” רֹבֵץ (röbëtz), is the same as an ancient Babylonian word referring to an evil demon named Rabisu, which awaits its prey along the roadside or at the door of a building (ANET 103c).[1] Sin may thus be pictured here as a demon, waiting to devour Cain like a wild animal attacking its prey; it desires to have him. The older JPS version of Genesis translated the verse much the same way: “Sin is the demon at the door.” E. Fox similarly renders this passage as: “at the entrance is sin, a crouching-demon toward you his lust—but you can rule over him.”^[2]

If it is true that the verb רֹבֵץ  is indeed related to the Akkadian mythical demon named rabisu, then the following neo-Midrashic interpretation may apply: Cain failed to grasp God’s words properly. God referred to “the demon within him,” who was his real enemy, but Cain instead perceived that his brother was the real “demon” standing at the door waiting to trip him up. Thus, getting rid of his brother would finally vanquish his personal demon. One of the perennial messages of the Cain and Abel story now becomes clear: When a man demonizes his own brother, he ceases to be brother and becomes the “Other”—an enemy who must be vanquished at all costs.

Another extrapolation is possible. Resentment and anger remain embedded in the individual’s psyche until these negative emotions are consciously confronted, released and discarded. The Torah thus teaches us that every person must recognize the inner conflicts that rage within one’s soul; these unconscious forces are capable of becoming demonic influences. In Jungian terms, the Shadow can be a potent ally once its presence is confronted in an honest and straightforward way. However, if a person denies this presence, these dark emotions (psychologically characterized as one’s “inner demons”) may surface unexpectedly and may powerfully overwhelm one’s judgement.

R. Hirsch takes issue with the idea that sin is “lurking” as though it wishes to pounce upon its innocent prey. Quite the contrary! The verb רֹבֵץ   invariably connotes “the most peaceful, undisturbed resting, with no incitement to attack or molest. . . . Therefore, “Aptly, is חַטָּאת ‘sin,’ appeal to the senses, here given the masculine gender רֹבֵץ  .[3] Its power is not to be underestimated. It has the power to master you, but it remains quietly behind your door.”[4]

Hirsch’s insight is theologically and sound and it has a strong basis in numerous rabbinic texts concerning free will. Sinfulness (or perhaps more specifically— human evil and malevolence) has a power and a presence only if we invite it into our lives.  Sinfulness becomes a personal reality whenever we give in to the path of least resistance. When this occurs, the feeling of guilt gradually becomes non-existent. Although its negative influence is incremental and steady, giving in to evil’s temptation produces a state of psychological and spiritual enslavement in its unwitting victims. One Sage likened the evil inclination to a spider-web: if a person continues to yield to temptation, that “spider-thread” becomes like cart ropes; as it is said “Woe to those who tug at guilt with cords of vanity, and at sin as if it were with a cart rope!” (Isa. 5:18).[5]

Another rabbinic source likened the overall process of sin to a slow seduction, which ultimately enslaves its master: “The evil prompting is at first like a wayfarer who comes to the door of a house and, finding that there is no one to stop him goes into the house and becomes a guest. Finding that there is still no one to stop it; the unwanted presence of evil takes liberties and acts as if it were the master.”[6] The more aware we are of it, the more we become conscious of our guilt. On the other hand, the more oblivious we are of our evil, the more unconscious we are of its effects. This same theological point will become even more obvious in the story of Pharaoh and his famous “heart condition”; after misusing his freedom, he loses his capacity to be an autonomous person. In the end Pharaoh becomes like an addict, a slave of his compulsion.

Notes: Continue Reading