Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

Historically, 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 make it near impossible to convict the accused villain:

• 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, in all probability, capital punishment. 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.” They argue that 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 considerable relevance for modern biblical scholars and laity.

Subsequent rabbinical law is pretty straightforward about such cases. Maimonides writes, “The following rules apply when two groups of witnesses present conflicting testimonies. If a witness from one group came together with one witness from a different group and both deliver testimony concerning another matter, the testimony is of no consequence. It is obvious that one of them is lying, 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]

According to the Jerusalem Talmud, one disqualified witness invalidates all other testimonies—regardless of the number of witnesses testifying. [9] If a judge suspects one of the witnesses is actually lying, he cannot render a decision (cf. Isa. 11:3-4). [10] Unlike American civil law that allows known criminals to testify in court against an alleged murderer, rabbinic law prohibits the testimony of criminals because (1) they have zero credibility in rabbinical law and (2) a credible witness cannot join forces with a dishonest witness. [11] Among modern Talmudic scholars, R. Louis Jacobs points out that despite the reticence of rabbis in the Talmud to apply the death penalty, the Sages acknowledged that are a number of important exceptions.

Against all this is the Talmudic statement (Sanhedrin 46a) that as an emergency measure, “when the generation requires it,” a court has the power to “act against the Torah” and to order an execution or other “illegal” physical penalties. In other words, although it is illegal to impose the death penalty, the court can, on rare occasions, act illegally if the aim is to protect the Torah. Naturally, it all depends on the circumstances that would warrant executions without the due process of the law. The statement was never interpreted as meaning that what the Law took away with one hand it gave back with the other.

The German and French communities in the Middle Ages ignored the statement altogether and never imposed the death penalty, not even when circumstances seemed to call for it. Not so in Muslim Spain, where the Gentile authorities gave the Jewish courts a good deal of autonomy. In Spain, albeit on rare occasions, the courts did rely on the Talmudic statement and imposed otherwise illegal penalties such as mutilation (found nowhere in the classical sources) of certain offenders; they also executed offenders such as informers who endangered the community. When Asher ben Yehiel (d. 1327) came from Germany to Toledo in Spain he expressed his horror at the Spanish practice, totally unknown in Germany, although later on, he himself conformed to the Spanish norm.

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Rabbinic minds have thought about the significance of Genesis in a number of different ways. For exegetes like Rashi, Genesis stresses how God is the Owner and Proprietor of the universe and, therefore, God alone has every right to give the Land of Canaan to whomever He pleases; in this case, He bequeaths it to the nation of Israel. As God’s people, Israel has a bond with the land that is eternal and irrevocable.[1] Rashi’s opening salvo was quite a remarkable comment to make at a time when Christians and Muslims were fighting for control of the Holy Land. What began long ago as an ideological struggle during the age of the Crusades continues to haunt present-day reality in the Middle East.

In contrast, some exegetes argue that Rashi’s answer to be inadequate.[2] Genesis stresses a basic theological truth, namely—God is the Author of all existence. Ramban[3] (1194–1270), as well other Judaic commentators teaches the importance of creatio ex nihilo—nothing would exist were it not for the creative power of God. Every creature and entity could not exist were it not due to the conscious act of the Divine bringing each being into existence at every moment.

Like Ramban, Rashbam[4] (ca. 1085-1158) also  supports the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo, while adding, “Do not imagine that this world you now see and experience had existed forever, for everything in the universe had an absolute beginning—that is why the Torah states from the onset: “At the beginning of the creation of the heaven and the earth . . .” (1:1). Furthermore, reasons Rashbam, the purpose of the creation narrative is to explain why the Sabbath is the cornerstone of all the Jewish holidays—a point that is emphatically stressed in the Decalogue: “Remember to keep holy the Sabbath day. . . . In six days the LORD made the heavens and the earth, the sea and all that is in them; but on the seventh day he rested. That is why the LORD has blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy” (Exod. 20:8-10). By observing the Sabbath, Israel bears witness to the world that God is the sole Creator of the universe.

Among the patristic fathers, Theodoret of Cyprus (393-457) explains that after centuries of oppression and assimilation, the Israelites became religiously indistinguishable from their Egyptian masters who believed solely in a visible creation. Consequently, the Israelites had forgotten about the one and true God of their ancestors, who created the heavens and the earth. “The statement that heaven and earth and the other parts of the universe were created and the revelation that the God of the universe was their Creator provided a true doctrine of God sufficient for people of that time.”[5] Theodoret’s point is significant. From the very outset of their freedom, Moses begins re-educating his people by teaching them about the creation story. The purpose of the Sabbath thus serves to teach the people of Israel about the nature of true faith and belief in God. Maimonides later expresses a similar point. According to him, each biblical precept—in one manner or another—aims to raise humankind, as theologian David Hartman notes, “from an anthropocentric to a theocentric concept of religious life.”[6]

Karaite exegete and theologian Aharon ben Eliahu (1260-1320), sharing a somewhat similar opinion to that of Rashbam, points out that the principles of Providence and prophecy would be inconceivable were it not for the belief that God created the world. “Moses,” argues Aharon, “wished to impress upon his people that they look only to God as the Ultimate Cause of their existence.” Like Rashbam, Aharon explains that the purpose of the Creation narrative also serves to theologically reinforce the celebration of the Sabbath.

• Genesis and the Origin of Ethical Monotheism  

R. Samuel David Luzzato (1800-1865) offers an altogether different interpretation. According to him, the opening salvo of Genesis teaches:

Now God wanted to proclaim to humankind about the unity of the world and the unity of the human race, for in error in these two matters caused many evils in ancient times. Without knowledge of the world’s unity, it followed that people believed in private gods with limitations and imperfections, and that people would do evil deeds in order to win their favor. . . . Without knowledge of the unity of the human race it followed that one people would hate and despise another and that physical force—not justice and righteousness—would rule among them. These two cardinal principles—the unity of the world and the unity of the human race—are the overall purpose in the story of Creation.[7]

S. D. Luzzato’s position is reminiscent of the early rabbinic view of 2^nd century sage, R. Simon Ben Azzai, who thought that the greatest single principle one may derive from the Genesis story—or for that matter, the entire Pentateuch—is the statement in Genesis affirming that God created humankind in His Divine image (Gen. 1:26; 5:1). According to Ben Azzai, the most supreme ethical principle in the Torah is the teaching of divine equality and equity. Moreover, this principle exceeds even the famous Levitical passage, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev. 19:18). For Ben Azzai, respecting the divine image beginning first with oneself, and then with others ensures that society will be just and moral. To insult or harm the divine image in any of its forms is to deny the essential brotherhood and sisterhood of humankind. This is why Ben Azzai affirms that the verse affirming the Divine image is by far the most comprehensive principle of the entire Torah—the bedrock of all biblical morality.[8]

The opening chapters of Genesis thus provide the theological basis for ethical monotheism. Since all races of humankind are made in the image and likeness of God, anyone denying this principle will result in a world that is riddled with violence, tragedy, and needless suffering. One may further argue that this particular theme links together the books of Genesis and Exodus. People cannot mistreat one another with impunity, for in God’s creative order there is accountability. Humankind’s very survival depends upon mastering the forces of chaos that threaten its very survival. The same God who creates the universal laws that govern the cosmos also creates the moral law by which humanity must abide. The Decalogue at Sinai is more than a mere ethical prescription—all ethics regarding how one treats one’s fellow beings derive from the creation narrative.

• The Dangers of Pseudo-Piety

Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin also stresses the importance of ethical monotheism that is the bedrock of the Genesis narratives. He writes:

• The matter that is explained in the Song of Ha’azinu in the verse, ‘The Rock—how faultless are his deeds, how right all his ways! A faithful God, without deceit, how just and upright he is!’  (Deut. 32:4). The term “right” comes to justify the fairness of God’s judgement regarding the destruction of the Second Temple, a generation that can best be described as “perverse and crooked.” Although there were devout and pious people who labored in the study of Torah, they neglected to act uprightly in an ethical manner (lit. “ways of the world”). Due to the gratuitous hatred they harbored in their hearts, they lashed out against anyone they felt who lacked the “fear of God” as being either a Sadducee or a heretic. Their self-righteous attitude led to internecine strife—resulting in the Temple’s destruction. God’s judgement was truly just, for He does not tolerate self-righteous people of this sort. With respect to all ethical matters, they must walk in the proper path, and not in perversity—even if they claim that they are acting in the Name of Heaven, for in the end they were responsible for the Temple’s destruction.[9]

Berlin’s observations still resonate with our 21^st century political and religious landscape. The absence of interpersonal piety is a problem that has manifested itself in a variety of fundamentalist religions of our times and no religion can claim immunity from this charge. In our own day, the insistence upon ideological purity and Pavlovian-like obedience to ecclesiastical authorities often produces the worse kind of citizen.

This is certainly the problem with the Haredi and Hassidic communities in Israel, which insist that even non-Haredi Orthodox Jews comply with their standards of modesty and personal piety. The vitriolic disdain for the Other respects no persons, not even mothers or their young children. In the name of zealotry, violence toward the Other is endorsed by many of Jerusalem’s Haredi and Hassidic leaders, as these groups attempt to expand their political and social influence. With the political ascent of Jihadist Islam (a.k.a. Radical Islam), the threat of holy war and promises of a paradisial world replete with all the sexual pleasure a young man can possibly imagine, threatens to destroy millions in Israel with sophisticated nuclear and biological weaponry. Theocracies are a lot like meat and milk; religion, like milk is fine and politics as an endeavor can also be fine–but when they are mixed, you have a toxic substance.

Here is the paradox: the love of God can function as a healing life-force, the most profound wellspring of compassion. On the flip side, the love of God  is capable of transforming itself into a diabolical death-force, capable of annihilating all life. Religious hatreds tend to be merciless, unyielding, undying, absolute, and are seemingly capable of spontaneous generation.[10]

Let us pray that ethical monotheism finds a way to triumph over its evil twin—radical monotheism, which subsists upon the hatred of the Other for its existence and power.

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As a child, I used to love reading the golem stories attributed to Rabbi Judah Lowe, a.k.a., the famous “MaHaral of Prague” (1525-1609).  Since my father came from Czechoslovakia, I grew up hearing many family tales about the golem. These stories were especially delightful since my father was a naturally talented storyteller.  The golem was something like a medieval super-hero who protected the Jewish community from pogroms in its time.  It is interesting to note that despite the numerous tracts MaHaral wrote on various philosophical, talmudic, and mystical themes, never once does he ever refer to the golem that is associated with his name.

What is a Golem?

The term gōlem is a “shapeless mass” (Ps. 139:16), but according to Jewish folklore, a golem is a creature that is made from clay and is animated by magical and mystical means. One of the more apocryphal stories of the Talmud relates how a 4th century scholar named Rava, magically created a man through the Sefer Yetzirah and sent him to Rabbi Zera. The latter tried speaking to him, but the poor golem could not speak. When there was no response, he declared: ‘You must be a  product of our colleague. Return to your dust!’ and so he died (BT Sanhedrin 65b).

(By the way, in Yiddish, a “golem” can refer to someone who has marginal intelligence, who is almost incapable of sensible communication.)

Ironically, it is with no precedent in the Bible, except for the creation of Adam. It is remarkable how modern literature contains countless stories of how man has attempted to make an artificial “Mini-me.” I guess, since God has created us in His image, human beings have been trying to pay God back by creating a life-form in man’s image. Man has long fantasied about becoming a mini-creator. How could such hubris not fail? The mythos of the golem story always leads to chaos and destruction. How can it not be? Man’s own chaos is reflected in his handiwork–the golem.

Indeed, in nearly all the golem legends, it appears that anytime mortals attempt to create human life, it is an activity that is fraught with danger. It seems that our ancestors felt suspicious about the full extent of man’s creative powers. In many of the stories, the golem goes out of control, destroying everything in sight.

Adaptations of the Golem in Western Literature and Cinema

The Frankenstein story is a European re-adaptation of the Golem legends. In J. R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, Hobbit Gollum devolves into a treacherous shape-shifter under the malign influence of the Ring, it seems obvious that the author had these legends in mind.

In Star Trek: The Next Generation, the character Data personifies  the golem legend. When attempting to integrate the emotional chip, he becomes capable of erratic behavior–even violence. Countless sci-fi films have developed this theme in numerous tales about humanoid-like robots turning against their masters, i.e., like the Terminator series. Even the X-Files had an interesting episode of a betrothed woman who turns her murdered husband into a golem, in order to avenge his death.

Some poor women I know, happen to be married to golems. It’s more common than you may realize.

According to some medieval tales, the golem is indestructible; if the golem had been created by writing the Hebrew word “אמת” (emet; “truth”) on its forehead, it could be destroyed by erasing the first letter to produce the word “מת” (met; “dead”). If one had created a golem by placing the name of God in its mouth, all that was needed was to remove the parchment.

Can a Golem Join a Minyan?

The golem has found a respectable place even in the Halachic literature. In one case study, Rabbi Zvi Ashkanazi (1660-1718) writes in a responsa how his grandfather, Rabbi Elijah of Chelm, once made a golem in his garage. In this remarkable responsa, he asks whether (1) can a golem count as one of the ten who make a minyan or quorum for prayer?  (2) If someone killed such an entity, would be considered a murderer? Each of these questions revolves around one basic question: could such a creature possess a human soul?

If the golem can be counted, does that mean that a golem may be considered as a Jew?  Or does he have a gentile status? On the other hand, it is logical to say that the golem should be no worst than an adopted child, who is considered “Jewish.”

The rabbi wondered:

“’Should it occur to you that a golem could have been counted for a minyan (or for that matter any occasion requiring a minyan),  why would R. Zeira deliberately destroy it? It could only mean that the Golem is not considered  a person, for otherwise Rava would have most certainly used him for a minyan! (I can hear him say, “Yo, Golem, we need ya for a minyan!”

According to this piece of “dazzling” wisdom (of course I am not being real serious) , it would appear that a golem is not really a ‘person’ in any real sense of the word, for the Torah clearly states, ‘If anyone sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed; For in the image of God has man been made” (Gen. 9:6). In fact, were one to kill such a creature, it would not even be considered murder! [1]

In the case of Rava’s golem, since he was artificially made, therefore,  he could not actually be considered “human.” Rabbi Ashkenazi concludes, “Nevertheless, Rabbi Zeira should not have done away with it, unless it served no constructive purpose. If that is the case, its destruction can be of no consequence; therefore, it could not qualify for a minyan or, for that matter, any other sacred purpose . . . Moreover a golem is inferior even to the souls of women, and they are never counted for anything pertaining to a minyan.”

Defining “Personhood”

Right, Rabbi Ashkenazi, “inferior even to  the souls of women. . . ” I am curious: Since when is a soul, by itself, subject to gender? But that is another topic for future day.

It seems strange that the idea of a woman being a part of the minyan was not even a consideration, but the golem at least made the venerable rabbi pause for reflection. I suspect the Ortho-feminists of our time would most certainly have straightened Rabbi Ashkenazi out, if they could go back in time and argue with the rabbi.

Needless to say, a modern medical ethicist would definitely have serious problems with Rav Ashkenazi’s assertion that any person who  is artificially created– intrinsically–lacks the status of a “person.”

If Rav Askenazi’s logic is consistent, would a human being who  is in a deep comatose state also be considered like a “golem,” since he lacks the obvious visible signs of personhood?

Ultimately, it really boils down to the question: What is personhood? Using Descartes’ cogito ergo sum, if an entity is capable of thinking and self-reflection, then it is safe to presume it has the property of “personhood,” irregardless whether its origin is artificial or not. Equally important is the  matter of “reverence for life,” for once sentience and self-consciousness have been established, how can anyone not respect the “person” who possesses these two traits?

I often think of the Terry Schiavo story and how the State facilitated her death–by starvation. Within a year, Discover Magazine has produced a number of medical stories where consciousness did not die, and even people suffering from a chronic vegetative are still capable of regaining part of their mind back.[1]

Was Terri Schiavo a golem? No, I don’t think so.

Golems play an important role in the modern synagogue–a fact I can personally attest to seeing. As one of my colleagues once said, “If you wish to see ten golems, just come to an evening service  at my Shul.”

Ditto . . . but not in Chula Vista! Continue Reading

As we open our door to welcome Elijah, some of us probably snicker and say “Yeah, right…” The cynicism of our age makes us doubt whether the Messiah will ever really arrive.

People often wonder who the Messiah is going to be. Many faith communities believe it will be Jesus; Chabad Hasidim believe that Rabbi Schnersohn will arise from the dead and save humankind. Personally, when asked, I often like to tell my students, “Here’s the bad news: The Messiah is more metaphor than it is a historical reality–at least with respect to the present or future generations.  Antecedents for this belief appear in BT Sanhedrin 99a:

• Rabbi Hillel said: There is no messiah for Israel, seeing that they already had him in the time of King Hezekiah. Rav Yosef said: May Rabbi Hillel’s Master forgive him. Hezekiah lived during the First Temple while Zechariah prophesied during the Second Temple.

Rashi notes in his commentary that R. Hillel accepted the concept of a future redemption but merely held that there will be no individual who will bring that redemption. Rather, God will do it without a human messenger. In other words, the human aspect of the Messiah is not that important; what matters is that it is God Who will bring about the final redemption. The 15th century Jewish philosopher, Joseph Albo, contends that the belief in a personal messiah is not essential to Judaism. There is also nothing indicative that R. Hillel rejected the futuristic concept of a messianic age—just a human messiah.

In the Tanakh itself, the term Messiah, simply means, “the anointed one,” originally referred any individual consecrated with sacred oil such as the king of Israel and the high priest. But it  the was also applied to any person for whom God had a special purpose – Cyrus of Persia, for example (Isa. 45:1). This passage in particular is especially intriguing, because the prophet suggests that God can designate anyone–even a gentile–to function in an anointed capacity. One could further suggest that in modern times, President Truman was King Cyrus redux, for he alone made it possible for Israel to be recognized as a Jewish state.

One could even argue that the idea of a Messianic age is another metaphor for Utopia.

But then I tell my students: “Now here’s the good news: You’re it! You must act like a Messiah in redeeming the world around you.” To create the Messianic world, each of us must actualize the goodness p that we possess. Nobody is going to do this task for you. Here is a remarkable Talmudic story that speaks about the importance of getting in touch with the kind of redemptive lives each of us must live–if we are to ultimately midwife the Messianic Era that was envisioned by the prophets.

The Sages often wondered when and where the Messiah would appear, and frequently criticized individuals who claimed or believed in a messiah, e.g., Jesus and Bar Kochba.  Despite their reticence to make messianic predictions, the rabbis nevertheless believed that his coming remains an eternal possibility. As for the time when this consummation was to take place, it was generally held to depend on the degree of progress men will have achieved in their moral development.

This point is well illustrated in the well-known Talmudic parable:

• Rabbi Joshua ben Levi met Elijah standing at the entrance of Rabbi Simeon ben Yohai’s tomb.… He then said to him, “When will the Messiah come?” “Go and ask him” was the reply. “Where is he sitting?”—”At the entrance of the city.” And how shall I recognize him? — “He is sitting among the poor lepers, untying and re-bandaging their wounds, while thinking, “Should I be needed, I must not delay.” …[1] So he went to him and greeted him, saying, “Peace be upon you, Master and Teacher.” “Peace be upon you, O son of Levi,” he replied. ‘When will you come, Master?’ asked he. “Today” was his answer.” When the Messiah failed to appear that day, a deeply disappointed Rabbi Joshua returned to Elijah with the complaint: “He lied to me, stating that he would come today, but has not!” Elijah then enlightened him that the Messiah had really quoted Scripture (Ps. 95:7): “Today, if ye hearken to His voice” (Sanhedrin 98a).

One might wonder: Why wasn’t the Messiah worried about ritual impurity? One exposition found in the commentaries suggests that the Messiah is among those afflicted with leprosy (cf. Isa. 53:4); while this is a plausible exposition, I prefer the image of the Messiah ministering to the lepers. The answer to the question is even more remarkable when considering how the ancients marginalized the lepers.

In the days of the Temple, lepers lived outside the cities in special huts, where they all congregated for support. People feared any kind of physical contact with them for fear of contagion, or because of the possibility they might become ritually contaminated.

It was not uncommon for children and adults to throw stones at the lepers because they were the outcasts of ancient society.[2] Anytime a person merely approached a leper, the leper had to say, “Unclean!” in order to avoid contact. One could only imagine the havoc this caused in the leper’s family. The mere appearance of a leper on the street or in a neighborhood meant that everyone had to avoid him.[3] No one could even salute him; his bed was to be low, inclining towards the ground.[4] If he even put his head into a home, that home or building became ritually contaminated. No less a distance than four cubits (six feet) must be kept from a leper; or, if the wind came from that direction, a hundred were scarcely sufficient. For all practical purposes, a leper was like a walking dead man.

Yet, the Messiah of our story seems as though he could care less about ritual impurity; for him, caring for the lepers is a supreme ethical demand that transcends ritual laws.

Learning to heal the lepers—just like the Messiah

The Messiah’s response is intriguing. Redemption will not occur tomorrow, but today when we emulate his acts of selfless love; messianic redemption comes when we bandage the wounds of those suffering in the world around us. It seems as though the Talmud is suggesting, we have a personal role to play in redeeming the human condition. Redemption comes by living a redemptive life.

Bandaging the open wounds of the lepers, one open sore at a time, is the only viable human response to preparing the world for ultimate redemption. This process begins with treating the forlorn and abandoned members such as the lepers, or the AIDS victims, or anyone with a terrible disease with prayer, consideration, kindness and compassion— regardless of the disease.

The Talmud relates a story that is consistent with the ethos of the Messiah passage mentioned above. “R. Helbo was once sick. But none visited him. The Sage rebuked the scholars, saying, ‘Did it not once happen that one of R. Akiba’s disciples fell sick and the Sages did not visit him? So R. Akiba personally entered his student’s house to visit him, and upon finding the chamber neglected, Rabbi Akiba instructed his students to clean up the home and the sick student soon recovered. Thankfully, the student exclaimed, ‘My master—you have revived me!’ R. Akiba began his very next lecture with the statement, ‘Anyone who fails to visit the sick is like a shedder of blood’” (Nedarim 40a). The moral of the story stresses the importance of mutual-aid and responsibility. Simply put, we are our “brother’s keeper.

The French Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Lévinas stresses how God’s face is mirrored in the face of the ordinary people we encounter; when we see the beggar on the street asking for us to help, God’s face is present in the face of those struggling just to survive–one day at a time. Kabbalists sometimes describe the Shekhinah (the maternal aspect of the Divine) as always present among those who experience pain and loss. Jewish tradition teaches us that we become most God-like when we outflow compassion to a suffering world.

According to Levinas, God participates in a “divine comedy” in which God makes himself both “knowable” and “unknowable” in the shape of the Other—neighbor, stranger. The way we care for the Other speaks volumes about our faith in God. Isaiah 58 contains a powerful message that still speaks across the chasm of time:

You fast, but at the same time you bicker and fight.

You fast, but you swing a mean fist.

The kind of fasting you do

won’t get your prayers off the ground.

Do you think this is the kind of fast day I’m after:

a day to show off humility?

To put on a pious long face

and parade around solemnly in black?

Do you call that fasting,

a fast day that I, God, would like?

“This is the kind of fast day I’m after:

to break the chains of injustice,

get rid of exploitation in the workplace,

free the oppressed,

cancel debts.

What I’m interested in seeing you do is:

sharing your food with the hungry,

inviting the homeless poor into your homes,

putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad,

being available to your own families.

Do this and the lights will turn on,

and your lives will turn around at once.

Your righteousness will pave your way.

The God of glory will secure your passage.

Then when you pray, God will answer.

You’ll call out for help and I’ll say, ‘Here I am”

(Isaiah 58:5-11).

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One might wonder: Why did the Israelites worship a Golden Calf? Why does the Torah forbid the making of graven images in the Ten Commandments? For one thing, our ancestors believed graven images of a person or a god gave them power over deities and mortals alike. It seems that the Torah wished to stress that God cannot be controlled–despite the human attempt to make God cater to one’s personal needs. No graven image can hope to contain, control, and manipulate God.

Many ancient peoples had a different perception of idols from what most of us imagine. Among the more sophisticated forms of polytheism, the image meant more than a simple representation – the idols housed the deities `life-force,’ and élan vital much like the body houses the soul. Among the ancient Egyptians, the sculptor would symbolically “animate” the image by breathing into the mouth of the vessel, thereby infusing it with the deity’s life force and being. Potters still carry out this ritual create a vessel by breathing into the vessel to animate it. In a mystical sense, the idol’s image magically participates in the divinity’s existence and reality.

In some Eastern religions, many regard the image as an embodiment of the deity.  In the Hindu tradition, there is ceremony called pratishta (a term used for dedicating an newly made idol for the deity it represents) where the maker or the owner of the idol consecrates the image by inviting the deity to take up residence in the image. This idol then serves the worshiper as a locus of the deity, the focal point of his or her devotion. For others, the embodiment lasts only for the duration of the ritual, while others regard the image as a focal points for meditation on the god’s personal traits. I suspect that the Golden Calf probably served much in the same capacity for our ancestors; they wanted a visible symbol that God was dwelling among them–and that they were not alone.

The deity’s image was treated as the god himself would be treated if he were actually there in person. The Egyptian and the Mesopotamian cultists  used to awaken their deities in the morning, open the mouth, eyes, and ears,  groom them by washing or ritually purifying them, and clothe them, provide meals  and furnish sleeping arrangements.  On happy occasions, the worshipers would parade around carrying the idols with cheer, who added a sacred presence to the festivities. In ancient Egypt, Sarna notes “the statues of the monarchs are elevated to the status of independent deities and the ultimate absurdity is reached when the king is depicted worshiping his own statue.”

Modern Forms of Idolatry

In an age such as ours, our idols tend to be much more subtle, e.g., the worship of the self, material success, pleasure, status, wealth, consumerism, and so on. To paraphrase Paul Tillich, we need to focus on what religion really means, otherwise we risk turning even the wellspring of faith into an idolatrous cult.

The image continues to shape and control our individual and group imagination. Images of success, e.g., the beautiful woman wearing high-heels next to a sports-car, suggest that you–the consumer–will find greater fulfillment and sexual happiness if you purchase “our product.” Consumerism has become a religion in and of itself.

We believe in a world where everything can be fixed and made right through human resourcefulness; every predicament or human anxiety can be solved—whether scientifically or politically. Bombarded by countless images through the media, we find ourselves dazzled by the bling-bling culture of success. We live in a society that presents the world as a sea of endless resources that are available to us, with no regard to our neighbor’s needs. However, consumerism alone cannot make us “happy,” nor can its images bring us peace of mind and fulfillment.

Parodied Religion is an Idol

In the culture of consumerism, we often unconsciously bring its values to the synagogue. We find ourselves affected by its seductive values.  In modern societies, we often view prayer as a means of manipulating God to do our bidding, rather than the other way around. Protestant theologian Paul Tillich dubbed this kind of attitude as, “God, the Cosmic Bellboy.” Oftentimes, even modern people resort to magical spells as a means of controlling the deity; this is one of the reasons why I personally remain critical of Kabbalists who resort to “white magic,” e.g., arcane and bizarre Kabbalistic mumbo-jumbo as a means of getting what they want from God.

It is embarrassing–even scandalous–that religious people tend to be among the most idolatrous and superstitious of societies across the continental divide.

Who would imagine that in the 21^st century, one can find advertisements for purchasing prayer notes, which are later placed in-between the stones of the Western Wall? Whatever happened to the old saying, “Dialing direct is always cheaper?”  Lubavitcher Hasidic Jews encourage people to send their prayer requests that are later read at the Rebbe’s tomb. A picture of the Rebbe is believed to save one from evil. The Kabbalah Center loves promoting the Kabbalistic Red strings, which purportedly will protect the wearer from the Evil Eye.  By the way, this product is available on Amazon.com. “Holy Rabbis” claiming mystical powers believe they can even exorcize evil spirits through Skype on the Internet. (See my other blog articles on this topic)

How does one make sense about this insanity? The ancients lived in what the astronomer Carl Sagan describes as a “demon-haunted world.” They still do. Maimonides experienced the same kind of behavior in his time as well.

Fortunately for us, God is not so easily duped.

Idolatrous Conceptions of God

Maimonides believed that distorted concepts of God could transform even a monotheistic God into a pagan idol. Francis Bacon wrote back in the 17th century, ” It were better to have no opinion of God at all, than such an opinion as is unworthy of him. For the one is unbelief, the other is contumely; and certainly superstition is the reproach of the Deity.” Once again, I can imagine Maimonides nodding his head in perfect agreement.

How true.

Just look at the Muslim Jihadists who joyfully destroy themselves and their enemies in the Name of God–what can possibly be more idolatrous than that kind of wretched behavior? Who would imagine that we would see child-sacrifice reborn in the modern age? The Jewish community also has its own share of fanatics. Sometimes the worship of rabbinical authority can be equally dangerous. The Ultra-Orthodox (known as Haredim) cynical use of politics and theocratic religion can almost flatten and dispirit an entire nation’s belief in a moral and ethical God. Just because someone  “worships God,” doesn’t mean he worships an ethical God, Who demands that he too, behave ethically. Ethical monotheism is infinitely more important than radical monotheism, which often transforms good people into monsters waiting to do God’s violent bidding.

Yes, as Maimonides noted, the forms of idolatry can be subtle and dangerous. Like a biblical prophet, Carl Sagan warns us, “I worry that, especially as the millennium edges nearer, pseudo-science and superstition will seem year by year more tempting, the siren song of unreason more sonorous and attractive.” Continue Reading

For the past 2000 years, enemies of the Jews have often portrayed the Jews as leeches and vampires. Some people think Bram Stoker’s gothic novel about the blood-thirsty demon bears an uncanny resemblance to the pale-skinned Jew, who hates anything associated with the light of Christianity. Over 110 years since the Dracula novel’s first appearance, the Arab world continues depicting the Jew as a blood-sucker. One of the most popular themes in Arab cartoons is the blood-loving or blood-thirsty Jew.

What else would you expect from a society that subsists on anti-Semitism as a form of self-definition?

However, images of Jews as “leeches” and “blood-suckers” finds occasional literary expression in the United States as well. Almost a year ago, an Internet comic-book named, “Foreskin-man,”  appeared on the Internet. The cartoonist used his new character to launch a new political campaign to ban ritual circumcision in the State of California. The cartoonist had enough common sense not to attack the Muslim community, but directed his animus toward the Jewish community. The cartoonist depicts the mohel as a dark and sinister figure who loves mutilating Jewish male infants. In contrast, his protagonist, Foreskin-man is the blond-haired and blue-eyed superhero who rescues Jewish male children from the villain named, “Evil Mohel.” This fiendish ghoul delights in a ritual called, metsitsa b’peh, literally, “sucking the blood [of a baby’s penis] with one’s mouth.”

By now, many folks are probably wondering: You must be kidding me, right? No, this is not a joke. The real tragedy of this depiction is the fact that many mohels perform this ritual while paying no regard to the potential health risks.

The Mishnah discusses the sundry rituals associated with the circumcision of a young infant boy. One of the customs included “suction.” The Mishnah does not provide a clear definition what this custom means. The ancients believed that sucking the blood of a baby’s penis prevented infection and that the saliva of a person is “clean,” functioning almost like an anti-septic. Well, modern medical science has demonstrated that this folk-medicinal belief has no basis in science. In fact, sucking the baby’s penis has sometimes lead to tragic consequences.

The problem boils to down to what Tevya on Fiddler on the Roof calls, “Tradition!”  Can or should Tradition change when it is confronted by the medical and technological advances of the times? Or must we robotically perpetuate tradition for its own sake, especially because the Kabbalah has developed a mythology centering on an antiquated custom?

A two-week old boy died at a Brooklyn hospital last September after contracting herpes through a religious circumcision ritual. The unidentified infant died Sept. 28, 2011, at Maimonides Hospital, according to a spokeswoman for the city Medical Examiner, who confirmed the death after a News inquiry. The cause of death: “disseminated herpes simplex virus Type 1, complicating ritual circumcision with oral suction.”[4]

Many leading rabbis within the Haredi and Modern Orthodox community have urged the mohels to take extra-precautions when fulfilling the precept of brit milah (ritual circumcision). Several leading rabbinical authorities have offered an important alternative to the traditional sucking: using a sterilized glass tube between the wound and the mohel’s mouth avoids direct oral contact.[6]

In the past, Rabbi David Zwiebel, the head of Agudath Israel of America admitted that the Haredi leaders may have lied to their constituencies about both the dangers of metsitsa b’peh, and the city’s intent.[7] Chabad mohels have sometimes  disregarded the hygienic problems of the metsitsa b’peh ritual.[8] For people in the San Diego area, anyone wishing to use an Orthodox mohel would be wise to tell the rabbi that either he use a sterilized tube if he wishes to do the metsitsa b’peh, or else it would be far safer for the rabbi to not perform this ritual.

Ask yourself one last question: How would an anti-Semite view this story?

In the age of the Internet, as Jews, we need to avoid giving credence to images of the Jew that craves the blood of babies, thus inviting anti-Semites to exploit this antiquated tradition as a modern-day blood libel–especially when the custom results in multiple deaths.  We have more than enough enemies to deal with; must we give the tormentors of our people another reason to decry us as blood-sucking monsters? Haredi and Hassidic Jewish leaders need to recognize that the greater world community observes our behavior much more than we may realize.

It is surprising that the great anti-Semites of history did not refer to this particular custom in their blood libels. The relative scarce mentioning of this custom may give us pause to wonder how prevalent the metsitsa b’peh  in the pre-Lurianic world of the 16^th century. Tradition is important, but not if it results in the death of an infant because of a Mohel’s carelessness. Combined with the health dangers associated with metsitsa b’peh, if only one child’s life is ruined or lost as a result of this custom, then we would be wise to remember the wisdom of the ancient Judaic teachers, “God created the first human being alone in order to teach us that whosoever kills a single soul is considered as though he has destroyed an entire world. By the same token, anyone who preserves a single human soul, it is as if that person sustained a whole world.” [9]

* Continue Reading

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