Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

People often ask: Why do Jews not practice cremation? Why did the ancient Israelites not cremate the remains like other cultures in the ancient world?

Cremation is mentioned as one of four forms of capital punishment for a variety of religious and social offenses, e.g., Gen. 19:24; Lev. 20:14, 21:9; Num. 16:35; cf. Josh. 7:15, 25. There is an interesting passage in 2 Chronicles 16:13-14 that reads:

• Then in the forty-first year of his reign Asa died and rested with his fathers. They buried him in the tomb that he had cut out for himself in the City of David. They laid him on a bier covered with spices and various blended perfumes, and they made a huge fire in his honor.

This passage does not refer to cremation, because cremation was reserved only for villainous people, but it was customary to make a large bonfire in honor of the ancient kings of Israel. There is no indication that corpses were cremated in ancient Israel, except in days long before the Israelites’ arrival to Canaan, or among groups of foreigners; the Israelites never practiced it. [1]

In the spirit of speculation, cremation might have been frowned upon because of its association with Molech-worship. The book of Deuteronomy refers to, “passing a son or a daughter pass through the fire” (Deut. 12:31). Scholars since the time of Abraham Geiger (1810–1874), argue that some ancient Israelites clans believed YHWH worship involved some form of human sacrifice (cf. Isa. 30:33).[2] The prophets condemned the practice (cf. Gen. 22:1–14; Exod. 13:2, 12–13, 15; Mic. 6:6–7) precisely because of the syncretism between paganism and the worship of YHWH.

Some theorists take a different position because the lack of archaeological evidence suggests that the Canaanites of Phoenicia did not practice human sacrifice.  It has been argued that the Deuteronomy passages represent a rhetorical polemic intended to “Canaanize” what was originally an Israelite practice of human sacrifice.

It is interesting to note that the Phoenicians introduced cremation to the ANE (Ancient Near East). The Israelites, much like the other indigenous peoples of the ANE, e.g., the Amorites, Egyptians, and Assyrians, buried their dead in caves, or in bench tombs. One might wonder whether the Canaanite practice of cremation gave rise to the biblical polemic that the Canaanites cremated their children as a funerary rite. In other words, the Canaanites cremated their children—but only after they were already dead!

One could reply, “Not necessarily!” As with any scholarly debate within the archaeological community, there are counter-arguments. For example, in the ancient Phoenician city of Carthage, thousands of urns have been found that bear witness to the ubiquity of child sacrifice. Cremated bones of young children ranging between 2 and 12 show how common this pagan rite once was. Other Phoenician sanctuaries or sacrificial precincts discovered on Sicily and Sardinia also bear witness to this practice.[3]

In any event, the practice probably horrified Israelites so intensely, they decided to not to have anything to do with even the appearance of this dreadful pagan custom. In his commentary to Jeremiah 7:31, Rashi describes what he believed the resembled the ancient Molech ritual. Although his perspective may be somewhat Midrashic in tone, he captures the essence of the ritual, “Tophet is Moloch, was made of brass; and they heated him from his lower parts; and his outstretched hands were made red hot. The priests would place the child between his hands, and it was burnt; when it vehemently cried out; but the priests loudly beat a drum, that his father might not hear his son’s cries, and so that  his heart might not be moved . . .” Incidentally, Rashi’s exposition comes indirectly from ancient Greek traditions.

In the Punic city of Carthage, a Phoenician colony, Cleitarchus, Diodorus Siculus and Plutarch all mention burning of children as an offering to Cronus or Saturn, known also as Ba‘al Hammon, the chief god of Carthage. However, a number of scholars think the Romans demonized the people of Carthrage, and exaggerated cruel and barbaric customs. Paul G. Mosca, for example, in his thesis described below, translates Cleitarchus’ paraphrase of a scholium to Plato’s Republic as:

• There stands in their midst a bronze statue of Kronos, its hands extended over a bronze brazier, the flames of which engulf the child. When the flames fall upon the body, the limbs contract and the open mouth seems almost to be laughing until the contracted body slips quietly into the brazier. Thus it is that the ‘grin’ is known as ‘sardonic laughter,’ since they die laughing.

• Diodorus Siculus (20.14) wrote: “There was in their city a bronze image of Kronos extending its hands, palms up and sloping toward the ground, so that each of the children when placed thereon rolled down and fell into a sort of gaping pit filled with fire.”[5]

* Back to the Present

The crematoria of the Nazis has left a similar feeling of disgust among most traditional Jews, and for this reason, cremation has still never found acceptance among Jews as a burial rite. In a sardonic sense, the Nazis were much like Molech worshipers of old in their contempt of human life–much like the Islamic suicide bombers epitomize the Molech archetype today.

To this day, most Orthodox rabbis refuse to bury the ashes of someone who opted for cremation; moreover, anyone who has his body cremated is not mourned for by the next of kin. According to The Compendium on Medical Ethics, summarizes the Jewish view of procedures after death:

• The inviolate right of a person to life, which differentiates mankind from all other animal species, extends an aura of holiness over the body even after the Divine soul leaves it. The body, like the soul, is the property of the One who created it. It is therefore not permitted to injure or mutilate the body except when overriding consideration for the preservation of life and health make such action necessary…. Reverent treatment of the body and speedy interment are biblically-ordained precepts. Cremation, freeze-storage of the body, and above-ground burial crypts, are all in violation of Jewish law and practice. The duty to bury in the ground applies to all parts of the body and is the obligation of the next of kin. Even where testamentary direction to be cremated has been given, Jewish law requires that it be ignored as an unwarranted desecration of the body.[4]

However, Chief Rabbi Marcus Nathan Adler of Britain, though opposed to cremation, permitted the ashes of a person who had been cremated to be interred in a Jewish cemetery in 1887. The decision was sustained by his successor, Herman Adler (1891), who quoted the authority of Rabbi Isaac Elhanan Spector. It was also the attitude of Chief Rabbi Zadoc Kahn of France. (EJ 2010 ed.). Conservative and Reform rabbis generally take a more lenient position on this issue.

* One Famous Cremation in the Bible

Yet, there is one well-known biblical exception to this rule–King Saul. After the citizens of Jabesh-gilead retrieved the bodies Saul and Jonathan, we read that “they cremated their remains” (1 Sam. 31:12). Why was it practiced with respect to Saul? Among the Aegean and Anatolians, cremations were used especially to honor fallen warriors and royalty ( reminiscent of Mel Gibson’s film, Braveheart). It seems that the townsfolk wanted to show respect to the first king in a comparable like manner. It is also possible the townspeople feared that the more powerful Philistine townspeople would return and look to further inflict further desecration.

Some scholars think that the burning of the bodies of Saul and his sons by the inhabitants of Jabesh-gilead (1 Sam. 31:12-13) may have been to prevent further desecration by the Philistines. On the other hand, this practice occurred when the bodies were in a mutilated state.

It is interesting to note that in Israel and Judah, it was the custom to light a large bonfire as a tribute to a dead king (cf. 2 Chron. 16:14; 21:19). This fire does not refer to cremation because Israel and Judah buried dead bodies rather than cremating them. Talmudic tradition says that the kings of Israel used to have their bed and other personal items burnt together with them (BT Avodah Zara 11a).

* Comparative Religious Perspectives

When one examines the Judaic view of cremation, it is interesting to contrast it with other perspectives, particularly with the Hindu tradition, which takes an altogether different approach to cremation.

For example, in ancient India, Hindu and Buddhist faiths thought that cremation provided the transition to immortality. The earthly fire symbolizes the celestial fire, which purges the earthly shell of the body, releasing the soul to achieve an immortal existence, conferring upon it a celestial identity. The sacred fire sublimates and extracts the soul, leaving it as a distilled spiritual essence, ready for the next incarnation into this world at some future time.

However, in Hindu and Buddhist cultures, ascetics and quite often—widows—will subject their bodies to the fire to achieve a higher incarnation in the next life time. Muslim suicide bombers likewise regard their deaths as a symbolic sacrifice to Allah, who will in turn grant them seventy virgins in Paradise.

On account of Judaism’s belief in the inherent sanctity of life, our ancestors rejected cremation as a Judaic form of mourning. Into your hands I entrust my spirit; you will redeem me, LORD,  faithful God” (Psa. 31:6).

An old former congregant and friend of mine (who happens to be a Cohen) recently lost his father, and he asked me the following question. Is a Jewish Priest’s ritual purity compromised by coming into contact with ashes of a cremated person?

Your question could also be parsed in a philosophical way: Do the ashes of a cremated person retain a residue of a person’s humanity? In practical terms, are we obligated to the ashes, or are do we regard the ashes as being bereft of anything considered “human”?

The Mishnah in Ohalot 2:2 discusses this intriguing question. Here is the text:

The ash of burned people—

A     R. Eliezer says, “Its measure is a quarter-qab.” (1 log = 0.506 lit.)

B     And the Sages declare the ashes ritually clean.

The commentaries state this only applies if the body is completely cremated; however, if the body is partially cremated, then even the Sages concur the cremated body conveys ritual impurity.  The Halacha follows the view of the Sages.  Although there is no legal obligation to bury the ashes in a cemetery—in the event someone died in a fire—nevertheless, a number of halachic authorities rule that it is considered meritorious to bury the ashes in a Jewish cemetery (cf. Gesher HaHayim 16:8:5).

R. Isaac Klein rules:

• A great number of authorities forbid the burial of ashes in a Jewish cemetery because this would encourage the practice of cremation (see Dudaei Hasadeh, sec. 16; Mahazeh Avraham, vol. 2, Y.D. 38; and Lerner, Hayyei Olam). Others permit it and even permit a service at the burial (Rules of the Burial Society of the United Synagogue of London, quoted in Rabinowicz, A Guide to Life, p. 29; see also Rabbi Eliyahu ben Amozegh, Ya’aneh Vaeish). The Law Committee of the Rabbinical Assembly has ruled that cremation is not permitted. When it is done by the family in disregard of Jewish practice, a rabbi may officiate only at the service in the funeral parlor; the ashes may be buried in a Jewish cemetery and appropriate prayers may be said, but not by a rabbi, lest his participation be interpreted as approval (Rabbinical Assembly Proceedings, 1939, p. 156; Law Committee Archives). [1]

Not all halachic scholars agree on this issue, and most Orthodox cemeteries will deny the burial of cremated ashes  for the reasons mentioned above. Conservative Jewish cemetery boards  tend to be more lenient on this issue and this has been my personal position as well.

Over this past week, the question regarding the charred remains of the 9/11 victims came up in the news. According to a new Pentagon report, the government sent the remains of several of the bodies that were gathered from the Shanksville crash to a local bio-medical waste disposal contractor. The contractor later incinerated the remains and used the bodies as landfill. Apparently, this has been the practice of the military for quite some time.

Using people’s bodies for landfill is not much better than what the Nazis did with the Jews in the concentration camps. For example, a woman named Isle Koch was the superintendent of the Nazi concentration camps Buchenwald (from 1937 to 1941) and Majdanek (from 1941 to 1943). As a consummate sadist, Koch took great pride in the lamp shades she made from the skin of Jewish inmates whom she had killed if they had distinctive looking tattoos. In case you did not know, the Nazis also cooked the flesh of Jews in order to separate the fat out and made soap from their bodies. The “Beast of Buchenwald” was one of the first prominent Nazis to be tried by the US military for her crimes against humanity.

According to the Jewish philosopher Emanuel Lévinas and Jacques Derrida, human existence always leaves what’s called a “trace,” of a person. On the one hand, the trace signifies the absence of that person’s presence, but it  also paradoxically preserves a residue of the person’s existence that still remains present.

From their philosophical observation, we may deduce an important ethical principle—one which has profound halachic implications. When dealing with the human remains of a cremated person, the little “trace,” of that person’s humanity does not disappear into a state of oblivion. So long as even the smallest fragment of that person remains, one needs to treat that “trace” with ethical sensitivity. Hence, what we have here is what Derrida calls, “the metaphysics of pure presence,” which I would argue, commands us to treat life with value and with respect.  In simple terms, the human being can never be reduced to an impersonal object, for even the “trace” bears witness to the invisible transcendence of the Other.

The accidental burning of the Quran in Afghanistan raises some important questions: How does one dispose of religious literature?

The 18^th century Muslim scholar Allamah Haskafi, author jurisprudence text Durr-Mukhtar, wrote of the disposal of the no-longer wanted Qurans: “If one decides to get rid of religious literature, the right thing would be to bury them by wrapping them in something pure first, in a place where people would rarely traffic. Similarly, it would be permitted to tie the books and papers with something heavy and cast them into a flowing river. You may also burn [texts other than the Quran], but in this case, only after erasing the names of Allah, his Angels and his Messengers…”

Religious traditions vary considerably—even within a given faith. Some Muslim traditions require that the Quran be wrapped in a linen cloth, to protect it from the impure soil. Some scholars recommend that the Muslims place the book in a niche dug along the side of a grave, pointing in the direction of Mecca.

Historically, some early Muslim scholars recommended burning the Quran—but only as a last resort to prevent the book from being defiled. Afterwards, the ashes should be buried or scattered over water. The place where the Quran is burnt is also important and should be ritually performed over the property of a mosque. One Muslim scholar informed me that burning individual Quranic verses represents a type of symbolic sacrifice.

Among the oriental faiths, Hindus immerse their holy writings in clean water, burial or burning, according to the Hari Bhakti Vilasa, a Hindu book of rituals and conduct. If still usable, the items can be sent to the next of kin or cremated with a deceased owner. Buddhist ritual is less defined. However, normally a Buddhist should recite a Buddhist scripture in front of the items to be disposed of, if such a person is present. The material can then be burned and its ashes buried. It is permitted to place the text in a bag and leave it for recycling.[1]

Medieval Christian history regarded the disposal of the Bible as a serious sin. Only recently have Christians adopted the Jewish and Muslim tradition of burying the Bible and other sacred writings, while others recommend one ought to simply fix the Bible so that it will be reusable. According to the Wikihow.com, Christian scholars recommend:

• Consider the intent of your disposal method. If you respect the Holy Bible as a sacred text, you should choose a method which is not deliberately defiling or irreverent. Burying or burning, would not mix the pages of your Bible with common household refuse and cause it to be subjected to objectionably gross conditions. Burying the Bible. Wrapping the Bible in a clean, plain white cloth, or building a small wooden casket would give the Holy Book a reverent final resting place. The Jews have a tradition of burying defiled or damaged copies of their sacred texts in a cemetery, usually with a body, after performing liturgical rites over them.

•  Burning the Bible. This should be done in a reverent, somber fashion. Building a small bonfire and placing the Book in the flames to ensure that it burns completely, and nature will scatter the ashes.  Show respect due, in accordance to your faith, the book which you are disposing of. Think of its history, value, and enduring quality. If you feel compelled, during the process of disposal, say a prayer, or repeat a selected verse or passage from the Book.[2]

Jewish tradition traditionally buries their holy books at the local Jewish cemetery. Unlike the Muslim faith, it is forbidden to erase or burn God’s Name to facilitate its burial.  Burning siddurim or old Torah scrolls is expressly forbidden—probably because of the violent abuse Jewish communities experienced in Christian and Muslim lands. [3]Unfortunately, not every religion shows its respect toward the faith of the Other. I would add that all religions are guilty of this type of sacrilege to a greater or lesser degree.

Erasing God’s Name is a complicated issue in Halachic literature. Many Orthodox Jews will write God’s Name as “G-d” to get around the issue. By doing so, since God’s Name is not really being written down, newspapers or articles with G-d’s Name may be discarded. This is somewhat of a legal fiction that probably makes little algebraic sense. Nowadays even our currency reads “In God we trust,” and some Halachic scholars would argue that one should not count money while in a bathroom, since God's Name needs to be associated with a clean place. On the other hand, one may justifiably wonder: How appropriate is it to have God's Name embossed on money in the first place? Some critics occasionally muse, "Does 'In God we trust' signify a faith in God? Or does it signify a faith in the god of mammon?" These are valid theological and practical questions that we might explore at a future time.

Several medieval rabbinic scholars contend that if the Divine Name was not meant for holy usage, it may be erased and discarded.[4] Other rabbinical scholars contend that the Hebrew Name only has holiness in Hebrew and that all secular names for God have no holiness whatsoever.[5]

The only exception to destroying God’s Name is when it involves the ritual of the Sotah (a woman accused of adultery). According to the Torah, the name of God had to be erased and used for a special ceremony (Numbers 5:11-31). The ritual involved seven steps performed by the priest: 1) putting sacral water into an earthen vessel; 2) throwing some earth from the floor of the Sanctuary into the water; 3) standing the woman on trial before the Lord, baring her head and placing her meal offering upon her hands; 4) adjuring the woman by solemn oath to which she answers, "Amen, amen"; 5) putting this oath down (which contained God’s Name)  in writing and rubbing off the ink in the water that is in the earthenware bowl; 6) elevating the meal offering, presenting it on the altar, and turning a token part of it into smoke on the altar; 7) making the woman drink the spell-inducing water of bitterness.

Burning God’s Name was considered one of the worse acts of sacrilege. According to the Talmud, Apostomos, captain of the occupation forces, publicly burned the Torah - both acts considered open blasphemy and desecration and became one of the principle reasons why the Sages created a Jewish fast day for the 17^th of Tammuz. [6]

In many synagogues, old Siddurim (prayer books), Torah mantels, teffilon (phylacteries), tallit, and mezuzoth, are placed in the synagogue genizah (hidden places). Traditionally, such places were often situated under the bimah (where the Torah is read), behind the ark in a small adjacent room, or in a cellar—as was the case with the Bokhara synagogue in Tehran. When the geniza became full, they would take the items to be buried at the synagogue once every ten years. The burial was believed to help induce a healthy rainy season. The manner in which this was carried out was with solemnity, followed afterward by a special banquet.

As you can see, the religious faiths of the world share many attitudes and customs regarding their sacred literature. In short, I think all religions can and ought to learn some practical lessons from one another. Let such a venture mark the beginning of our collective and personal spiritual healing.

Continue Reading

For Jewish Values Online:

Are Haredim changing the face of Traditional Judaism? Is the divide between the ultra-Orthodox and other denominations (Modern Orthodox, Conservative and Reform) too great to promote a better understanding and respect between each other?

According to Jewish tradition, God’s Presence in the phenomenal world is calibrated to our actions. Indeed, actions speak louder than words, and are especially more effective than espousing the typical platitudes of faith that we are so bored hearing in the media, or for that matter—at the synagogue! With the holiday of Tisha B’Av, we read in the Talmud why God withdrew His Divine Presence from the world. The warning for future generations is all too clear: We must choose to manifest healthy images of God that bring healing to ourselves and our world.

History has shown us time and time again how God-images impact the way a religious culture treats its female members. Cultures ruled by a misogynistic conception of the Divine cannot help but treat its women in a barbarous manner. Indeed, a society that hates its women is incapable of loving anything else. Conversely, a religious culture that respects the maternal aspects of the Divine Feminine produces a community of believers where life becomes sacred and holy. The reverence for life—across the ideological spectrum—becomes the basis for all societal evolution and development. Contrary to the fundamentalist way of seeing the world, maleness is not the closest thing to godliness.

In Jewish tradition, the metaphor of this aspect of the Divine Feminine is better known as the שְׁכִינָה, (“Shekhinah), signifying, “that which dwells,” deriving from the verb [שָׁכֵן, shakhen], or [שָׁכַן, shakhan], “to dwell,” “reside” see Isaiah 60:2).

In this week’s parsha, the wording states   וְעָשׂוּ לִי מִקְדָּשׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּי בְּתוֹכָם   “They shall make a sanctuary for me, that I may dwell in their midst” (Exod. 25:8). The  verse brilliantly captures the subtle nuances that tend go get glossed over by most translations. The verse actually says, “They shall make a sanctuary for me, that  I shall dwell in them.” The more literal reading of the text  suggests that God dwells not outside the human heart, but within the human heart. This interpretation explains the idea of the “Divine Indwelling,” better known as the “Shekhinah.”

As I prepared the Torah reading today, I decided to spend a few minutes and take poetic license with the Midrash.  The thought occurred to me that I should write about a subject that is dear to my heart—romantic theology, also known as the “theology of love.” The topic today is:  the soulful wanderings of the Shekhinah.

The language you will read is shamelessly anthropomorphic–and from a Maimonidean perspective, what I am writing is probably quite offensive. However, I do believe this interpretive midrash captures the spirit of the text. If nothing else, it is an interesting deconstruction of midrashic thought.

Abraham Joshua Heschel often observed, “God is in search of man.” In other words, our own quest for love and intimacy comes to us quite naturally, for our beloved Creator also has a similar quest. Paradoxically, our love for the Divine gives something to our Maker something that S/he does not possess. In a mystical sense, we make God’s Presence whole in the world through our acts of love and compassion. I hope you enjoy the material as much as I did writing it.

==================

I come to my garden, my sister, my bride;

I gather my myrrh with my spice,

I eat my honeycomb with my honey,

I drink my wine with my milk.

Eat, friends, drink, and be drunk with love.

Song of Songs 1:1

The Midrash views all of Song of Songs as an extended metaphor about God’s love for Israel. The word “my garden” has Edenic overtones and significance.

The term “gani” (“My garden,”) implies not just any “garden,” but specifically to “My garden,” i.e., the bridal chamber where a bride and groom consummate their love for one another. By saying “My bridal chamber,” the text mystically suggests a return to a time when God’s Being was originally present and revealed.

The Midrash teaches that  when Moses built the Tabernacle, the Shekhinah returned to co-inhabit the earth just as She did in the days of Eden before the primal couple’s great fall. In Eden, God could be seen “walking” alongside mortals (Gen 3:8). However, after  the primal couple sinned, the Shekhinah began retreating Her Presence from the earthly realm. Bereft of Her divine intimacy, Adam and his wife hid themselves because they felt alienated from the deepest dimension of their souls.  Adam’s spiritual stature underwent a radical reduction.

However, the Shekhinah’s mystical ascent was far from finished, for when Cain murdered his brother Abel, the Feminine Presence felt disgusted with human violence and retreated unto the second level of Heaven in a panic.

Alas, Her ascent away from the earth still continued for when Enosh forgot his Creator when he worshiped idols, so the Shekhinah retreated to the third level; after watching more of man’s inhumanity to man, a flood occurs, and the saddened Shekhinah retreats because She could not watch Her children perish. With the passage of time, the Shekhinah develops a revulsion for violence. Once again, human cruelty chased Her one more degree away from the earth.

After the Tower Builders announced their designs to conquer the heavens, the Shekhinah retreated yet another degree because she found human arrogance repugnant. The violence of the Sodomites upset Her even more, as she wanted nothing to do with men because of their barbarism and sadism. The Shekhinah’s withdrawal from the world reached Her zenith after the Egyptians mistreated their fellow earthly brothers and sisters, by enslaving the Israelites to a life of suffering and pain. She could not bear to watch. She wondered, “Could the rift with humanity get any worst than this?”

However, the Shekhinah could not remain in a permanent state of estrangement from humanity—despite its errant ways. Abraham was the first to recognize the Shekhinah’s Reality and he sought to make her more intimate with mortals once more. Isaac’s willingness to die for Her, as a show of his love and devotion, made the Shekhinah yearn yet more for intimacy with mortals.

Through his many struggles within himself, Jacob comes to discover the Shekhinah’s luminosity and beauty and finally understands the true meaning of blessing.  In an effort to purge himself from the violence that defiled his life after he and his brother Simeon massacred the inhabitants of Shechem (Gen. 34-31), Levi sought to renew his relationship with Her. The Shekhinah  pitied this pathetic excuse for a human being and granted him a peacefulness of mind. She was determined to make Levi’s descendants do penance for their forefather’s crimes against humanity  by making them serve as priests to their Maker. She mused, “Every saint has a past, every sinner has a future–this applies even to Levi!”

The Shekhinah brought Yochebed and Amram together, and they became the parents of Moses—the liberator of Israel.  Mysteriously, She finds herself drawn back to the earth. With Moses, the Shekhinah found a lover who decided to build a new home for the Divine—The Tabernacle–a place that would permanently restore Her Presence to our world, where She would walk once more with humankind. [1]

(To be continued . . .) Continue Reading

Stories about the Wise Men of Chelm convey profound wisdom about the human condition, told through the medium of irony, sarcasm and dark humor.

Here is one of my favorite stories. In the town of Chelm, two Rabbis were once seen arguing late into the night about the existence of God. Each one vociferously argued from the Scriptures to prove God’s existence. However, by the time they finished, both of them ended up indisputably disproving His existence! The next day, one Rabbi was surprised to see the other walking into the Shul for morning services.

“I thought we had agreed there was no God,” he said.

“Yes, what does that have to do with it?” replied the other.

The story is not as weird or unusual as it may sound. Unlike our Christian friends, Jews struggle with their faith. God-wrestling is something we have been doing since the night Jacob first wrestled with a mysterious being. As a scion of Israel, grappling with God is something Jews do best. The Talmud is one of Judaism’s greatest gifts to the Western world —not because of the answers that are found in it, but because of the questions it raises.

Christians are uncomfortable with ambiguity, but as Jews—we love the didactic search for truth. Truth has to be self-authenticating. People observing from the outside might conclude that the Jews are crazy. Over the years I am often amazed at the number of “atheist Jews” who love talking about God. God is a passion—even for non-believers! I know, for My son, Moshe, is among them! He is hardly alone. I often like to tell him the words of Maimonides in his famous “Guide for the Perplexed,” Before we can arrive at what we truly believe, we must first define what we won’t believe.” This path is called via negativa—the path of negation.

According to negative theology, every idea—however lofty and spiritual—nevertheless remains a mental picture and thus limiting. Without it, God becomes a creature of the human imagination.[1]  Maimonides warns his readers about the dangers of defining God in any image or metaphor.[2] All positive affirmations of God when pushed to the limit must always bow in silence before God’s mysterious nature and being. Maimonides recalls a Talmudic story about how once the rabbis heard a man praying:

• “God that is great, powerful, awesome, strong, forceful, feared, courageous, reliable, and revered.” After he had finished, the rabbi told him a parable. Suppose a king owned a thousand myriads of gold coins, and someone were to praise him for owning some silver coins, would it not be perceived as an insult?[3]

For Maimonides and his followers, human speech and all forms of “God-talk” are woefully inadequate. It is not enough to merely “talk about God,” one must have a contemplative experience of God that enraptures the depths of our being:

• What is the path to attaining love and awe of Him? Whenever you contemplate His great, wondrous deeds and creations, and see through them His boundless, infinite wisdom, you cannot help but love, exult, and be filled with ecstasy—your passion leads you to want to know God’s great Name.  That is what King David meant when he said, “My soul thirsts for God, for the living God” (Psalms 42:2). Whenever you think about these things, you will immediately become awed-inspired and abashed. You will realize that you are but an infinitesimal creature, lowly and unenlightened, standing with a puny intellect before the Most Perfect Mind. David thus said, “When I behold Your heavens, the work of Your fingers … I ask: What is man that You consider him?” (Psalms 8:4‑5).[4]

Faith is not meant to be easy and neither is prayer. Prayer in Hebrew is called “tefilah,” a noun that comes from the root “pallel,” meaning, “to judge” or “reflect.” The act of prayer says something about our values and beliefs, but how can one pray to a Being one feels ambivalent about?  Rav Nachman of Bratzlav often speaks about the dark moments of uncertainty we inevitably encounter along the spiritual life. God is there, even in the places we never expected. Yet, even in the dark corners of our soul, a ray of light can dispel an ocean of darkness. You see, it was never meant to be easy. Prayer in Hebrew is often called “avodah,” which also means, “hard-work.” It’s a process that engages our whole being—whether we realize it or not.

One of the most beautiful lessons from the Torah illustrating this is when Jacob flees from his brother Esau, who is looking to avenge his loss of the parental blessing. Like a thief in the night, Jacob skedaddled. He looks for a secure place where he can collect his thoughts. After witnessing a deeply spiritual dream, he awakes from his sleep exclaiming, “Truly, the LORD is in this spot, although I did not know it!” (Gen. 28:16).

What does the passage teach us? Our lives are part of a journey—a spiritual odyssey that demands we be at our best at all times. The experience of God is not something that is limited to the confines of a synagogue. Unfortunately, there are many synagogues where the pulse of faith has flatlined. Prayer is a journey that begins with our questions and searching for Ultimate Truth.

The Chinese say that the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step. To find that relationship with God, we must take the first step. The search for God in Jewish tradition can occur in one of two ways. Sometimes it begins with our movement toward the Divine. The other way occurs when the Divine moves toward us. As in a dance, one partner will come closer to the Other and dance “cheek to cheek” with the beloved. But with any dance, there are moments when the partners experience the space of the “in-between.” Lovers embrace that space which exists between them rather than each other. Faith is thus like a dance, and to experience it, all we have to do is to take the first step . . . Continue Reading

Over the years, the Jewish Press has produced some interesting stories; and there was a time when I subscribed to it. Lately, the Jewish Press surprised me. Recently, they published an autobiographical article about a gay Orthodox Jew, named Chaim Levin. Chaim grew up in a well-respected Hassidic home located in Brooklyn’s Crown Heights. The young man wanted to share his story about living in an Orthodox world that wishes he would go back and hide in the closet.

Chaim recalls, “Saying that Hashem would never make a gay person unable to change is simplistic, inconsistent and flat-out wrong. If someone gets into an accident we would never say that we know he can be ‘cured’ simply because his affliction is not genetic and he wasn’t born this way. We would never tell a deaf person (born deaf or not) that his nisayon (ordeal) is to find a way to hear again, so that he can be mekayem (fulfill) the mitzvah of shofar? Yet the Torah Declaration uses all of these arguments to make gay people feel that their nisayon in life is to change their sexuality, simply because it may not be genetic and Hashem would never make it unchangeable. This is the worst kind of rationalized homophobia.”

Despite spending thousands of dollars in therapy to break Chaim of his homosexuality, Chaim realized his parents’ effort to change him was a waste of time. Chaim needed to make peace with his own conscience and so he did.

Chaim’s message is so eloquently simple: “I am simply asking my community not to judge . . . Just because someone is honest about being gay, does not mean that he engages in any sin or chillul Hashem (religious scandal). No one should feel silenced or asked to lie about who they are . . . A little humility goes a long way. Sometimes the kindest and most thoughtful response when it comes to very difficult situations is, ‘I don’t know, but I’m here for you because you are part of my family and community.’”

What does Chaim want? He wants the gift of Presence. He wants people to see and respect his humanity. It is a pity people in many religious communities, e.g., Jewish, Christian, Muslim, regard the gay worshiper as an affront to their values and belief system. In a community where conformity and fitting in are extremely important, you have to admire young Chaim for speaking his truth for all to see and hear.

The loss of human life is especially tragic whenever a young gay Orthodox or Hassidic Jew commits suicide out of a feeling of desperation, loneliness, and hopelessness. There have been numerous suicides in the Orthodox communities of Israel and New York—all because a community refuses to walk its talk about, “Loving your fellow Jew,” even though it is “the basis of our holy Torah.” A couple of years ago, one Haredi rabbi even suggested that if an Orthodox homosexual Jew cannot overcome his “evil inclination,” he should commit suicide! I am certain the Mullahs in Iran would love to offer that kind of “encouragement” to the gay members of their own religious community.

I want to extend kudos to the Editor of the Jewish Press for showing the courage to publish an article that is creating shock-waves within his community. The Jewish Press has received all sorts of threats from a number of its readers. Some of the advertisers have been approached by zealots, telling them to, “Stop advertising, or else!” As the editor wrote his in latest op-ed piece, “A situation where religious Jews are provoking children and adults who are different, to consider suicide is unthinkable and unacceptable.”

So far the advertisers are standing tall and strong and will not back down.

Yes, the Jewish Press is showing the world what real Jewish values are all about. Continue Reading

There can be no doubt rabbinic tradition took a dim view of capital punishment. Mishnahic law required that those accused be warned by witnesses immediately before they commit the offense, and that they acknowledge such warning—a clear indication of the rabbinic distaste for capital punishment, explicitly found elsewhere.[1] Life imprisonment did exist for cases that could not technically be legally prosecuted, even though the evidence left no room for doubt[2]; such a person had to subsist on sparse diet of barley bread and water, and the Talmud indicates the criminal usually died from starvation. There may be a Scriptural allusion to this practice: the prisoner was condemned to eat “the bread of misfortune and the water of distress” (Isa. 30:20). Other rabbinic statements express even greater ambivalence:

• R. Yose says, “Under no circumstances is one put to death unless both witnesses against him have given warning to him,” as it is said, ‘At the testimony of two witnesses’ (Deut. 7:6).”[3] He whose trial ended and who fled and was brought back before the same court—they do not reverse the judgment concerning him and retry him. He whose trial ended and who fled and was brought back before the same court—they do not reverse the judgment concerning him and retry him . . . A Sanhedrin which imposes the death penalty once in seven years is called murderous. R. Eleazar b. Azariah says, “Once in seventy years.” R. Tarfon and R. Akiba say, “If we were on a Sanhedrin, no one would ever be put to death.”[4] Rabban Simeon b. Gamaliel says, “So these Sages would multiply the number of murderers in Israel.”[5]

Moreover, the defendant may not be put to death unless two (or in some cases three) eyewitnesses testify against him or her.  Each witness must be so certain of his testimony that he personally would be willing to carry out the execution.  A passage from Deuteronomy 19:13-21 asserts that a plotting witness is subject to the same punishment as the defendant—including, presumably, death. Although the Torah prescribes the death penalty in the case of adolescent rebellion (i.e., “the rebellious son” of Deut. 21:18-21), the Sages admit, “Such a case never occurred, and it never will happen.” The entire passage is heuristic, so, “That you may study [the Torah for its own sake] and receive reward.”[6] The rabbinic angst and reticence to implement the death penalty, and its alternative system of imprisonment is of great relevance for modern biblical scholars and laity.

Rabbinic law is pretty straightforward about such cases. Maimonides writes, “The following rules apply when two groups of witnesses offer conflicting testimonies. If one witness from one group came together with one witness from the other group and they both delivered testimony concerning another matter, the testimony is of no consequence for it is obvious that one of them lied, but we cannot ascertain which one.”[7]Likewise Maimonides also notes, “Should a court err with regard to a case involving capital punishment and convict an innocent person, ruling that he is guilty, and they discover a rationale that would require that the ruling be nullified and he be vindicated, they nullify the ruling and retry the case. If the Court erroneously ruled and acquitted a person liable to be executed, then the judgment is not nullified and the case is not retried.”[8]

The 1930s are one of the most famous periods of early 20th century American history. Most of us of the baby boomer era grew up watching the Untouchables.

Chicago, 1930, is best remembered for Al Capone, America’s most successful gangster, who made organized crime into a profitable business.

Capone’s nemesis didn’t have a cape or a utility belt; nor did he fly in the air, or leap over buildings in a single bound. No, Capone’s nemesis was a brave and honest lawman. This man could not be corrupted or intimidated.

His name was Eliot Ness, and he was a real American hero.

Ness took on the Capone mob. The mob could not intimidate him, despite having made murder threats to his family. Ness succeeded in doing the impossible: he arrested Capone and broke up his gang. His crime-fighting antics were very famous. Ness’s exploits inspired one of the most successful television shows of the 1950’s—the “Untouchables.” Kevin Costner directed a movie in 1987, based on the same storyline.

After Ness arrests Capone for tax evasion, he continued fighting organized crime, catching criminals with his bare hands; Ness broadened his crusade to include labor racketeers, crooked cops and the country’s most vicious serial killer, the Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run. Pretty amazing for a man who didn’t even have a cape!

Israel may have its own version of Eliot Ness, and his name is Maj. Gen. Niso Shaham, who is Jerusalem’s District Police Chief. Every hero has his villain, and Shaham’s enemy happens to be the evil Neturei Karta and their henchmen, known as the Sikrikim (the “dagger men,” named after the infamous thugs who led a war against Rome, resulting in the destruction of the Temple and Jerusalem in 70 C.E.)

The Ultra-Orthodox Eda Haredit hate Shaham with a passion. They showed their contempt for Shahem by showing Hitler and Shaham standing side by side. Within a relatively short period of time, the Haredi responsible for the posters got arrested.

Since last May, Shaham has brought over 100 Haredim to justice—and he’s only beginning! Some of the people he arrested ran charity scams, and like Eliot Ness, Shaham is busting “their chops!”

Almost three years ago, the Sikrikim attacked a busload of Ultra-Orthodox special needs children, which was driving down Me’ah She’arim. As I have mentioned on other occasions, not all the Haredim are bad; many of them struggle like the rest of us, who are struggling to make a living. Although the Sikrikim did not physically harm the children, they did traumatize these children.

Haredi parents complained and begged the Jerusalem Police Department to do something to protect them. Seldom do the residents ever call the Israeli police (Most of them are anti-Zionist!), but this time was different. Enough was enough!

Shaham discovered that the head of the Edah Haredit court proved to be one of the kingpins of the Sikrikim group that has been terrorizing Haredi and Modern Orthodox Jews in Me’ah She’arim and Beth Shemesh.

Shaham arrested Rabbi Yitzhak Tuvia Weiss’s personal assistant: Amram Shapira, along with the heads of the National Committee. The message could hardly have been clearer: If the Sikrikim continue their intimidation and violence, Shaham is going to arrest the head Rabbi!

The other Haredi groups, most notably—the leaders of Gur Hassidic community—like, Deputy Health Minister Yaakov Litzman and others, enjoy seeing their picture with Shaham on the neighborhood posters. For the record, the Sikrikim threatened Litzman on numerous occasions. Litzman regards Shaham as a powerful ally. Continue Reading