The real beginning of the sequence of events that results in Pinchas’ eleventh hour action can be traced to a Rashi in Balak [Num. 22:4]: the bitter enemies of Midian and Moav made peace between themselves due to their Jew hatred. This may actually the first time we see Rashi specifically delineate Jew-hatred [we have an example of “Hebrew” hatred in Miketz [Ber. 43:32], but even if one glosses over the semantics, there were a lot less of us]; even in the Rashis expounding the milchemes Amalek in Beshalach [Shemos 17:8-16], not a word is mentioned about “hate” or “sinah”, even though Amalek is assumed—pace his grandfather—to be the hater par excellence, the paradigmatic anti-Semite.
There are many eerie parallels between this notion and the current political situation in the Middle East, particularly as regards the Gaza flotilla and the worlds reaction to it.
The first is simply how applicable Rashi’s description of the situation is today: “asu shalom beneihem”. Everyone knows about the deadly internecine strife between Sunni and Shiite, the political rivalry between Persian and Arab for Middle East hegemony , and now Turkey’s seeming willingness to actually reestablish te Ottoman caliphate.
Re the nature of the hate--both nations in this case had fears of being ‘swallowed up’, but for no good reason: wars were about passage [like 1967, with the Suez], and Bnei Yisrale couldn’t touch Moav by divine decree…so did the hate come before the fear, or the other way around? It seems as if the fear caused the hate [witeness the diff bet Balak’s and Bilaam’s hate].
More poignantly, re the nature of the responses: Zimri tried to make his response a religious response. As I've discussed before, Zimri was almost trying to tell his fellow Jews: you fools. You want to “score”—just do it, and forget the idols. Bad enough; but he turned it into a vehicle for a personal power crusade—as the gemara notes, he told Cozbi he was more of a higher-up than Moshe [her intended target], and he did his deed in the ohel moed in full view, as if he was now the top cat. This was what Pinchas put a stop to.
[Interestingly, when Pinchas ostensibly makes an appearance later on in Sefer Shoftim in the Yiftach incident and pilegesh begivah, he’s not speaking truth to power [albeit in Zimri’s case, illegitimate power]: he IS the power, and he is notably les usccesful in both cases. Pilegesh beGivah, in fact, is almost a case of Zimir in reverse: its noted that much of the carnage that results was because Bnei YisrY were makpid on the kavod of the pilegesh but not the Kavod Hashem in the immediately preceding story of Pesel Micha. In this case not only did Pinchas stand up for the honor of Hashem---Hashem, as it were, waited for him to do it [by not smiting Zimri immediately].
Now, does this mean we want to “read out” jews who are less than stellar in their support of Israel, seeing as how their ostensible “dual loyalties” [Jewish vs Progressive, or what people call “liberal” nowadays] might lead to more Jews getting killed? While it might be a stretch to call them Erev Rav [Netanyahu may be right about Axelrod and Emanuel], one can be justified in casting opprobrium towards those who are formulating “responses” to the crisis as the authentic “Jewish” response. Some deserve to be called out by name, like J Street and its claim to be pro-Israel while accepting funds from known bastions of anti-Israel machinations [e.g. Islamic think tanks and the like.] Or Neturei Karta. Or Naomi Klein [who I’m sure is a member in good standing at her shul in Montreal]. I might not place Peter Beinart’s recent essay in the New York Review Of Books [possibly THE current flagship of anti-semitic Judaism]; he was describing a phenomemon rather accurately. The fact that he was saying that these students’ impressions were correct was another matter; but there was going to be a point where Jews with little or no religious affiliation were going to become uncomfortable identifying with a state whose foundations are so clearly religious.
Still, while one should not say that they elicit the response of kana’in pogin bo, said kana’in should find a Pinchas-like method [within legal and non-lethal limits, of course] of putting a stop to, or at least rendering much less effective, the “illiberal” impressionism that seems to be the biggest “PR” obstacle to support for Israel among our own. And, should we still be—with some justification—to start reading people out as erev rav, we might be pointed to the Gemara in Sanhedrin 37a, which, as a play on the posuk in Toldos 27:27 “re’ach begadav”—the pleasant odor of the clothing—transforms it to “re’ach bogdav”, that G-d finds even the aroma of our TRAITORS pleasant.
We need to be careful.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Chukas/Balak: Divine Affirmative Action
Don’t say, “Why were the former days better than these?” For you do not ask wisely about this. (Koheles 7:10)
For the 38 years of their sojourn in the midbar [and more], Bnei Yisrael had all their needs taken care of to a rather miraculous extent, were immersed in Torah learning like no other generation…and were “nezufin lifnei hamakom” for that entire period.
It is actually that very state of affairs that is the proximate cause of the new generation’s first brush with divine retribution: the complaint about the “lechem haklokel”, the fact that the manna, being a completely “spiritual” food, never resulted in any waste byproduct—in other words, no going to the bathroom for 40 years.
Rashi notes the foreshadowing: the last time there was an “express trip” to make a dash for the border—in parshas Beha’alosecha—it elicited a similar complaint [the “misonenim”], and the resulting 38 year delay. And, here, as Rashi notes, the analog between the lashon hara of the meraglim and the lashon hara here [the reason for the snakebites].
The Divine response is interesting precisely because G-d Himself seems to go out of His way, as it were, to prevent a re-occurrence of the meraglim: as Rav Dessler points out, He sanctions an approach with the Nachash Necshoshes which is virtually the same method as what the egel was supposed to have been [albeit, this time as a Divine command as opposed to done on a questionable human initiative].
Similarly, one might find loose parallels between Bilaam and Amalek: Amalek attacked the stragglers, the “lo yirei Elo-kim”; Bilaam looked specifically for what would be Bnei Yisrael’s weakest point of resistance, and eventually all the “work” of eradicating the Jews would be done by the Divine wrath incurred by the resulting transgressions.
[Interestingly, one might notice that a historical tendency among the worst anti-Semites to have others do their work for them. Aside from the fact that Hitler ym”sh was known to be a late riser, he also was loath to actually go anywhere he would have to see the killing of Jews being performed. Similarly, Bilaam himself started the entire chain of events by telling Balak how to “seduce” the Jews to their own destruction, avoiding any real direct involvement himself.]
Again, we see that Bnei Yisrael were afflicted with a plague [as they were at the time of Korach, possibly the nadir of the entire sequence of events that started with the misonenim and ended with Korach’s rebellion], and to avoid what seemed to be a repeat, an extraordinary sequence of events occurred culminating in Pinchas’ single-handed staying of the plague—except, when one looks at the Gemara in Sanhedrin [83a or thereabouts], which describe how the hand of G-d paved the way for his action to be successful, we see again that G-d himself was actually willing to get involved to change the outcome from what might have otherwise been as tragic as it had been nearly forty years previously.
I would venture to say, in a way, the G-d, kevayachol, was implementing a “curve” of sorts for this generation so that they wouldn’t suffer as their forebears had, even if it meant implementing a form af “affirmative action” that was unavailable for the dor yetziah; this despite the fact that, in this case, if one would try to make an analog between aveiros, one might think the “klokel” complaint was worse than the quail complaint, as it attacked the obvious [and long-ongoing] manifestation of divine providence; and, if one could “compare” avoda zaras, if one considers that there were very few actual “worshippers” vis-à-vis the egel [erev rav notwithstanding], the sin of Peor was worse, with or without the ick factor.
So it’s plausible that, even thought this generation had known nothing but Torah and the “Eibishter provided” in the most literal sense possible, something was still missing. To the point that, as the Gemara in Brachos 7a details, G-d withheld Himself from his daily allowance of anger so Bilaam couldn’t pull off an efficacious curse.
The conclusion that might be drawn from all this is that, for all the talk of “yeridas hadoros” and our generation’s ostensible lack of worthiness compared to our ancestors, sometimes there are reasons that Divine Providence deems the “lesser” doros worthy of the kind of help that wasn’t necessarily meted out to those previous doros. The aforementioned parallels between Chukas/Balak and Behaalosecha/Shelach—and other pratfalls—serve as one example. The contrast between the European generations and our current ones serve as another one. Regardless of the historical truth of whether or not “nobody was frei”, again, there are reasons that things happen now that didn’t happen then—l’tova and l’ra’a, but I would say more l’tova.
While history may repeat itself, it always leaves enough of a window, and at some point, G-d will be looking through that window.
For the 38 years of their sojourn in the midbar [and more], Bnei Yisrael had all their needs taken care of to a rather miraculous extent, were immersed in Torah learning like no other generation…and were “nezufin lifnei hamakom” for that entire period.
It is actually that very state of affairs that is the proximate cause of the new generation’s first brush with divine retribution: the complaint about the “lechem haklokel”, the fact that the manna, being a completely “spiritual” food, never resulted in any waste byproduct—in other words, no going to the bathroom for 40 years.
Rashi notes the foreshadowing: the last time there was an “express trip” to make a dash for the border—in parshas Beha’alosecha—it elicited a similar complaint [the “misonenim”], and the resulting 38 year delay. And, here, as Rashi notes, the analog between the lashon hara of the meraglim and the lashon hara here [the reason for the snakebites].
The Divine response is interesting precisely because G-d Himself seems to go out of His way, as it were, to prevent a re-occurrence of the meraglim: as Rav Dessler points out, He sanctions an approach with the Nachash Necshoshes which is virtually the same method as what the egel was supposed to have been [albeit, this time as a Divine command as opposed to done on a questionable human initiative].
Similarly, one might find loose parallels between Bilaam and Amalek: Amalek attacked the stragglers, the “lo yirei Elo-kim”; Bilaam looked specifically for what would be Bnei Yisrael’s weakest point of resistance, and eventually all the “work” of eradicating the Jews would be done by the Divine wrath incurred by the resulting transgressions.
[Interestingly, one might notice that a historical tendency among the worst anti-Semites to have others do their work for them. Aside from the fact that Hitler ym”sh was known to be a late riser, he also was loath to actually go anywhere he would have to see the killing of Jews being performed. Similarly, Bilaam himself started the entire chain of events by telling Balak how to “seduce” the Jews to their own destruction, avoiding any real direct involvement himself.]
Again, we see that Bnei Yisrael were afflicted with a plague [as they were at the time of Korach, possibly the nadir of the entire sequence of events that started with the misonenim and ended with Korach’s rebellion], and to avoid what seemed to be a repeat, an extraordinary sequence of events occurred culminating in Pinchas’ single-handed staying of the plague—except, when one looks at the Gemara in Sanhedrin [83a or thereabouts], which describe how the hand of G-d paved the way for his action to be successful, we see again that G-d himself was actually willing to get involved to change the outcome from what might have otherwise been as tragic as it had been nearly forty years previously.
I would venture to say, in a way, the G-d, kevayachol, was implementing a “curve” of sorts for this generation so that they wouldn’t suffer as their forebears had, even if it meant implementing a form af “affirmative action” that was unavailable for the dor yetziah; this despite the fact that, in this case, if one would try to make an analog between aveiros, one might think the “klokel” complaint was worse than the quail complaint, as it attacked the obvious [and long-ongoing] manifestation of divine providence; and, if one could “compare” avoda zaras, if one considers that there were very few actual “worshippers” vis-à-vis the egel [erev rav notwithstanding], the sin of Peor was worse, with or without the ick factor.
So it’s plausible that, even thought this generation had known nothing but Torah and the “Eibishter provided” in the most literal sense possible, something was still missing. To the point that, as the Gemara in Brachos 7a details, G-d withheld Himself from his daily allowance of anger so Bilaam couldn’t pull off an efficacious curse.
The conclusion that might be drawn from all this is that, for all the talk of “yeridas hadoros” and our generation’s ostensible lack of worthiness compared to our ancestors, sometimes there are reasons that Divine Providence deems the “lesser” doros worthy of the kind of help that wasn’t necessarily meted out to those previous doros. The aforementioned parallels between Chukas/Balak and Behaalosecha/Shelach—and other pratfalls—serve as one example. The contrast between the European generations and our current ones serve as another one. Regardless of the historical truth of whether or not “nobody was frei”, again, there are reasons that things happen now that didn’t happen then—l’tova and l’ra’a, but I would say more l’tova.
While history may repeat itself, it always leaves enough of a window, and at some point, G-d will be looking through that window.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Shlach: Insecurities
The headline of the Yahoo article read “Being Bad at Relationships Is Good for Survival”.
Obviously my first thought was that I had just found another ra’aya as to why the “shidduch crisis” was anything but. [Of course, if I was to be intellectually consistent, it might lead me to have to admit that the marry-then-meet system of shidduchim [ostensibly] prevalent in the Chareidi world was the best of all possible systems [or, the worst except for all the others], because what kind of relationship is worse than no relationship; but I’d never want to publicly give any of their approaches to anything more than a grudging credence.]
Further perusal, however, revealed the real essence of the research being discussed: namely, that harboring insecurities are important mechanisms in the adaptation of evolutionarily advantageous behaviors, as the insecure have more incentive toward due diligence in the fight to survive. Or, in English, the insecure are better off, even if [if not especially when] it comes to relationships.
That led me to thinking about Alan Dershowitz’ “tzures theory of Jewish survival”:
We know that Judaism is adapted to crisis, we know how well it does when it faces external threats; the real test of Judaism is how it deals with its own internal crisis and how it deals with problems that cannot be blamed on others outside of the Jewish community…[it] puts Jews in a very uncomfortable position, we don't want tzures, we don't want to be attacked and nonetheless we want to survive and thrive.
That led me back to an older post of mine, Vayigash-States of Emergency, where I basically theorized that if you scream “sha’as hadechak” enough, you get one.
Meantime, its in these last two parshiyos—culminating with the chet hameraglim and the gezera of 40 years in the desert when the possibility of the relationship between Hashem and Benei Yisrael becomes officially insecure, as detailed in the Rashi in Devarim [2:17] that explains that during the dor hamidbar the communication between Hashem and Moshe was itself strained, “amirah” as opposed to “dibbur”.
Yet at the same time, the 40 years—according to some midrashim [I can’t find exactly where just now—I think it may have been in Beshalach, on “derech eretz Plishtim ki karov hu”]—were necessary for the development of Bnei Yisrael’s character: they needed the 40 years of Torah they got while being fed with the manna and having perpetually fitting clothing and shoes, and never even having to go the bathroom.
Were, then the 40 years were paradigmatic of security, because everything was taken care of, and “ein nitnah Torah ela le’ochlei ha-man”—so there was unparalleled Torah learning, the ultimate expression of the “relationship with G-d”? Or, were they eminently insecure, because as the aforementioned Rashi notes, the 38 years were “nezufin lifnei ha-Makom”? Can there be a tradeoff?
I would venture another link to my thesis in States of Emergency, that while some degree of insecurity is necessary to actually make a relationship work, the pursuit of ultimate “security” inherent in the “Torah-only” philosophies of some schools [you know who you are] are not only far from ideal, but actually may end up being counterproductive.
The first example is as noted above: during all the openly miraculous sojourn in the midbar, bnei yisrael were “nezufin lifnei ha-Makom”, even to the point that it affected the Divine communication with Moshe. That state of affairs hardly beckons as the ideal state of a relationship, secure or otherwise.
A later example from the annals of Jewish education comes from Chizkiyahu’s education policy as delineated in Sanhedrin 94b: he stuck a sword at the entrance of the beis medrash, which probably was the most effective deterrent to batalah—and it worked: there was no halachic ignorance in all of Israel. A perfect ra’ayah to educational coercion, no?
No.
A few contextual clues may offer explanation as to why the policy was hardly ideal and probably not sustainable. One was the fact that it was likely done during the siege of Sancheriv, and Chizkiyahu needed to make sure learning did not stop entirely during wartime; imposing a form of martial law on the beis medrash was perfectly in line with imposing it elsewhere. What might be more indicative of the insustainability of the policy may be what occurred right after Chizkiyahu’s petira: his son Menashe take sthe throne and ushers in 22 years [at least] of the worst behavior to occur in the kingdom of Yehuda until that point, so much so that the gezera of Churban Bayis Rishon was sealed during this period. The coerced knowledge not only did not hold up, it more than fell by the wayside.
One of theories regarding the impetus behind the chet ha-meraglim was insecurity: whether they were worried about their actual worthiness to enter the land, the rest of the people’s worthiness to enter the land, whether they could actually succeed militarily—in any case, there are several psukim that point to the fact that a large part of the population was subject to insecurity. [And, as the Gemara in Ta’anis reveals, the mida k’neged mida was the perpetual insecurity—the bechiya ledoros of Tisha B’av.] It might be the Jew’s [and the Jews’] lot to e perpetually insecure. However—despite, or perhaps even because of, the evidence buttressing the possible “payoffs” from that status—from the nisim in the midbar, the amount of Torah learning resulting, or even the principle of “l’fum tza’ara agra”—it should hardly be considered an ideal.
It is something to be overcome, not something to be idealized.
Obviously my first thought was that I had just found another ra’aya as to why the “shidduch crisis” was anything but. [Of course, if I was to be intellectually consistent, it might lead me to have to admit that the marry-then-meet system of shidduchim [ostensibly] prevalent in the Chareidi world was the best of all possible systems [or, the worst except for all the others], because what kind of relationship is worse than no relationship; but I’d never want to publicly give any of their approaches to anything more than a grudging credence.]
Further perusal, however, revealed the real essence of the research being discussed: namely, that harboring insecurities are important mechanisms in the adaptation of evolutionarily advantageous behaviors, as the insecure have more incentive toward due diligence in the fight to survive. Or, in English, the insecure are better off, even if [if not especially when] it comes to relationships.
That led me to thinking about Alan Dershowitz’ “tzures theory of Jewish survival”:
We know that Judaism is adapted to crisis, we know how well it does when it faces external threats; the real test of Judaism is how it deals with its own internal crisis and how it deals with problems that cannot be blamed on others outside of the Jewish community…[it] puts Jews in a very uncomfortable position, we don't want tzures, we don't want to be attacked and nonetheless we want to survive and thrive.
That led me back to an older post of mine, Vayigash-States of Emergency, where I basically theorized that if you scream “sha’as hadechak” enough, you get one.
Meantime, its in these last two parshiyos—culminating with the chet hameraglim and the gezera of 40 years in the desert when the possibility of the relationship between Hashem and Benei Yisrael becomes officially insecure, as detailed in the Rashi in Devarim [2:17] that explains that during the dor hamidbar the communication between Hashem and Moshe was itself strained, “amirah” as opposed to “dibbur”.
Yet at the same time, the 40 years—according to some midrashim [I can’t find exactly where just now—I think it may have been in Beshalach, on “derech eretz Plishtim ki karov hu”]—were necessary for the development of Bnei Yisrael’s character: they needed the 40 years of Torah they got while being fed with the manna and having perpetually fitting clothing and shoes, and never even having to go the bathroom.
Were, then the 40 years were paradigmatic of security, because everything was taken care of, and “ein nitnah Torah ela le’ochlei ha-man”—so there was unparalleled Torah learning, the ultimate expression of the “relationship with G-d”? Or, were they eminently insecure, because as the aforementioned Rashi notes, the 38 years were “nezufin lifnei ha-Makom”? Can there be a tradeoff?
I would venture another link to my thesis in States of Emergency, that while some degree of insecurity is necessary to actually make a relationship work, the pursuit of ultimate “security” inherent in the “Torah-only” philosophies of some schools [you know who you are] are not only far from ideal, but actually may end up being counterproductive.
The first example is as noted above: during all the openly miraculous sojourn in the midbar, bnei yisrael were “nezufin lifnei ha-Makom”, even to the point that it affected the Divine communication with Moshe. That state of affairs hardly beckons as the ideal state of a relationship, secure or otherwise.
A later example from the annals of Jewish education comes from Chizkiyahu’s education policy as delineated in Sanhedrin 94b: he stuck a sword at the entrance of the beis medrash, which probably was the most effective deterrent to batalah—and it worked: there was no halachic ignorance in all of Israel. A perfect ra’ayah to educational coercion, no?
No.
A few contextual clues may offer explanation as to why the policy was hardly ideal and probably not sustainable. One was the fact that it was likely done during the siege of Sancheriv, and Chizkiyahu needed to make sure learning did not stop entirely during wartime; imposing a form of martial law on the beis medrash was perfectly in line with imposing it elsewhere. What might be more indicative of the insustainability of the policy may be what occurred right after Chizkiyahu’s petira: his son Menashe take sthe throne and ushers in 22 years [at least] of the worst behavior to occur in the kingdom of Yehuda until that point, so much so that the gezera of Churban Bayis Rishon was sealed during this period. The coerced knowledge not only did not hold up, it more than fell by the wayside.
One of theories regarding the impetus behind the chet ha-meraglim was insecurity: whether they were worried about their actual worthiness to enter the land, the rest of the people’s worthiness to enter the land, whether they could actually succeed militarily—in any case, there are several psukim that point to the fact that a large part of the population was subject to insecurity. [And, as the Gemara in Ta’anis reveals, the mida k’neged mida was the perpetual insecurity—the bechiya ledoros of Tisha B’av.] It might be the Jew’s [and the Jews’] lot to e perpetually insecure. However—despite, or perhaps even because of, the evidence buttressing the possible “payoffs” from that status—from the nisim in the midbar, the amount of Torah learning resulting, or even the principle of “l’fum tza’ara agra”—it should hardly be considered an ideal.
It is something to be overcome, not something to be idealized.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Sefer Bamidbar and a Post-Shavuos Hangover
One might think that after staying up all night on Shavuos enough Torah would have been learned that would provide for enough material to keep on a back burner for future blogs/Divrei Torah. [Or, for an excuse for as to why one wasn’t written before Yom Tov, said excuse being that there would be more to say afterward.]
Indeed, the two shiurim I attended—one on due process within halacha and the other regarding the Avoda Zara status of the Trinity vis-à-vis bnei noach—should make cameo appearances on these pages sometime in the future.
Yet, while walking up Amsterdam Avenue from one shiur to another at 4AM [our wandering in the UWS “midbar”?], it was part of an ongoing argument I’ve had with a friend who claims to have lost her faith and will tell everyone and anyone who is willing to listen [or not] that highlighted the need for some intellectual consistency in these debates.
The crux of the debate came down to two counter-propositions which will always run parallel: on one side the notion of a Torah MiSinai, in this case employing the Maimonidean formulation that insists upon a letter-perfect Torah dictated directly from G-d to Moses [yes, there are salient halachic allowances for deviation, but bear with this theoretically draconian formulation for arguments’ sake: there are times where its actually useful]; on the other side, the assertion that the “Bible” [in this case, the Pentateuch], HAD to have been written by man/men, specifically 5 different ones.
Two interesting propositions came out of this. The first was that, when a bystander asked me what the “argument” was really about, I said that basically my counterpart insisted that Torah MiSinai in any form [but especially the Maimonidean notion] was “bullshit”, and I claimed that I from my end, the Documentary Hypothesis was at least equally “bullshit”. This engendered at first recriminations about scientific proof [not from me; I think the “Codes” are unnecessary at best, counterproductive at worst], counter recriminations that my counterpart knew about as much about Torah MiSinai as I knew about the Documentary Hypothesis, which engendered a note from my sparring partner that I was enagaing in unfair ad hominem tactics and that she expected better of me.
[When she reads this she’ll found out just how ad hominem I can get without losing the true subtext of an argument.]
The note was stuck inside a copy of Richard Elliot Friedman’s “The Bible With Sources Revealed”, a text that may be a—if not the—contemporary paradigmatic Documentary Hypothesian Ikkarei Emunah. [To be fair, asked her for the book; I wanted to at least see where she was coming from.]
Which, along with her note and rather forceful assertions about the scientific certainty of the Wellhausen explanation, seemed to me to be precisely the point, and one that I could not get across to her: Documentary Hypothesians are as fundamentalist, inflexible, and intolerant in their [dis]belief and want others, if not to accept their belief system as the right one, to allow them to promulgate their [dis]beliefs among others in the community who do not hold as they do, or at least try to get them into discussions to make them at least seem equally intolerant for professing admittedly anachronistic beliefs and not having the ability or willingness to defend or justify them.
In other words, aside from arrogating to themselves a self-righteousness normally reserved for Chareidi and other circles, fundamentalist Documentary Hypothesians are especially annoying for this reason: they want to make you think. And, as that famous thinker once said, if you get people to think their thinking, they’ll love you; but if you actually make them think, they’ll want to kill you. Which is why the real professional kiruv people actually have one up on fundamentalist Documentary Hypothesians: they manage to get you think that you thought of what they tell [or, ikka d’amri, sell] you. [There is some credibility to accusations that such an approach is intellectually vacuous, if not dishonest; but that’s another discussion.]
So, with my counterpart in her own midbar, where did that leave me? During the course of our discussion, I had to defend two propositions [which I never got to completely finish defending before the pre-emptive dismissal of “bullshit”]: one, how I would give credence to the Maimonidean formulation as opposed to the Doc Hyp; and two, why.
The first was simple: the Doc Hyp assumes that the Torah, or “Bible” is a written record that is constrained by certain textual boundaries which dictate that it had to be written by multiple authors. Fine, if that assumption holds. However, if you simply state that what was dictated to Moses by G-d as Torah she-biktav was a text with no punctuation and or vowelization, and therefore much more akin to a code than a historical or literary record, while that might not prove divine origin, it allows such a proposition to make as much sense—at least—as assertions of multiple authorship. [Loud thumping assertions, as blustering as anything from right-wing pulpits.]
Which brings me to explain as to why I would rather believe in a Torah she-biktav as a Divine Code even in its Maimonidean formulation as opposed to fundamentalist Doc Hyp. Because, my dear, I wouldn’t care two wits about a Bible that wasn’t Divine. That’s not Torah. If a man came up with the “stuff” in there, I wouldn’t even bother to argue for its importance as a cultural artifact; it wouldn’t be worth defending. Certainly not as a legal constitution today. I would almost tell you: if you think this system of belief is especially “bullshit”, why do you even bother studying it? You’d be better off [and more intellectually honest] taking Bill Maher’s approach of deconstructing all belief. And, as far as the “scientific certainty” of Doc Hypism, Friedman’s assertion that “the most compelling argument for the hypothesis is that this hypothesis best accounts for the fact that all this evidence of so many kinds comes together so consistently” hardly qualifies as beyond a reasonable doubt.
To conclude vis-à-vis this writer’s own motivation toward belief and possible intellectual inconsistency or dishonesty, I would almost take a converse [or is it inverse?] version of Pascal’s wager: if G-d exists, that existence is independent upon my belief in Him or lack thereof; He isn’t going away. Similarly with the Torah: if He did write it, no “proof” to the contrary will change the fact. Such a belief is hardly the stuff of high-level spirituality; fine. That’s MY midbar.
My final admonition vis-à-vis Doc Hypists: I wouldn’t necessarily suggest advertising such raving disbelief in an Orthodox community, and lets face it, when you assert the primacy of Doc Hyp in an Orthodox community, you’re raving; you’ve graduated from voicing doubts to actively asserting an contrary position. If you feel like you’re on the receiving end of disproportionate opprobrium as a result, while certain levels of said opprobrium may be less than justified, you can’t say that it would be completely unexpected.
Indeed, the two shiurim I attended—one on due process within halacha and the other regarding the Avoda Zara status of the Trinity vis-à-vis bnei noach—should make cameo appearances on these pages sometime in the future.
Yet, while walking up Amsterdam Avenue from one shiur to another at 4AM [our wandering in the UWS “midbar”?], it was part of an ongoing argument I’ve had with a friend who claims to have lost her faith and will tell everyone and anyone who is willing to listen [or not] that highlighted the need for some intellectual consistency in these debates.
The crux of the debate came down to two counter-propositions which will always run parallel: on one side the notion of a Torah MiSinai, in this case employing the Maimonidean formulation that insists upon a letter-perfect Torah dictated directly from G-d to Moses [yes, there are salient halachic allowances for deviation, but bear with this theoretically draconian formulation for arguments’ sake: there are times where its actually useful]; on the other side, the assertion that the “Bible” [in this case, the Pentateuch], HAD to have been written by man/men, specifically 5 different ones.
Two interesting propositions came out of this. The first was that, when a bystander asked me what the “argument” was really about, I said that basically my counterpart insisted that Torah MiSinai in any form [but especially the Maimonidean notion] was “bullshit”, and I claimed that I from my end, the Documentary Hypothesis was at least equally “bullshit”. This engendered at first recriminations about scientific proof [not from me; I think the “Codes” are unnecessary at best, counterproductive at worst], counter recriminations that my counterpart knew about as much about Torah MiSinai as I knew about the Documentary Hypothesis, which engendered a note from my sparring partner that I was enagaing in unfair ad hominem tactics and that she expected better of me.
[When she reads this she’ll found out just how ad hominem I can get without losing the true subtext of an argument.]
The note was stuck inside a copy of Richard Elliot Friedman’s “The Bible With Sources Revealed”, a text that may be a—if not the—contemporary paradigmatic Documentary Hypothesian Ikkarei Emunah. [To be fair, asked her for the book; I wanted to at least see where she was coming from.]
Which, along with her note and rather forceful assertions about the scientific certainty of the Wellhausen explanation, seemed to me to be precisely the point, and one that I could not get across to her: Documentary Hypothesians are as fundamentalist, inflexible, and intolerant in their [dis]belief and want others, if not to accept their belief system as the right one, to allow them to promulgate their [dis]beliefs among others in the community who do not hold as they do, or at least try to get them into discussions to make them at least seem equally intolerant for professing admittedly anachronistic beliefs and not having the ability or willingness to defend or justify them.
In other words, aside from arrogating to themselves a self-righteousness normally reserved for Chareidi and other circles, fundamentalist Documentary Hypothesians are especially annoying for this reason: they want to make you think. And, as that famous thinker once said, if you get people to think their thinking, they’ll love you; but if you actually make them think, they’ll want to kill you. Which is why the real professional kiruv people actually have one up on fundamentalist Documentary Hypothesians: they manage to get you think that you thought of what they tell [or, ikka d’amri, sell] you. [There is some credibility to accusations that such an approach is intellectually vacuous, if not dishonest; but that’s another discussion.]
So, with my counterpart in her own midbar, where did that leave me? During the course of our discussion, I had to defend two propositions [which I never got to completely finish defending before the pre-emptive dismissal of “bullshit”]: one, how I would give credence to the Maimonidean formulation as opposed to the Doc Hyp; and two, why.
The first was simple: the Doc Hyp assumes that the Torah, or “Bible” is a written record that is constrained by certain textual boundaries which dictate that it had to be written by multiple authors. Fine, if that assumption holds. However, if you simply state that what was dictated to Moses by G-d as Torah she-biktav was a text with no punctuation and or vowelization, and therefore much more akin to a code than a historical or literary record, while that might not prove divine origin, it allows such a proposition to make as much sense—at least—as assertions of multiple authorship. [Loud thumping assertions, as blustering as anything from right-wing pulpits.]
Which brings me to explain as to why I would rather believe in a Torah she-biktav as a Divine Code even in its Maimonidean formulation as opposed to fundamentalist Doc Hyp. Because, my dear, I wouldn’t care two wits about a Bible that wasn’t Divine. That’s not Torah. If a man came up with the “stuff” in there, I wouldn’t even bother to argue for its importance as a cultural artifact; it wouldn’t be worth defending. Certainly not as a legal constitution today. I would almost tell you: if you think this system of belief is especially “bullshit”, why do you even bother studying it? You’d be better off [and more intellectually honest] taking Bill Maher’s approach of deconstructing all belief. And, as far as the “scientific certainty” of Doc Hypism, Friedman’s assertion that “the most compelling argument for the hypothesis is that this hypothesis best accounts for the fact that all this evidence of so many kinds comes together so consistently” hardly qualifies as beyond a reasonable doubt.
To conclude vis-à-vis this writer’s own motivation toward belief and possible intellectual inconsistency or dishonesty, I would almost take a converse [or is it inverse?] version of Pascal’s wager: if G-d exists, that existence is independent upon my belief in Him or lack thereof; He isn’t going away. Similarly with the Torah: if He did write it, no “proof” to the contrary will change the fact. Such a belief is hardly the stuff of high-level spirituality; fine. That’s MY midbar.
My final admonition vis-à-vis Doc Hypists: I wouldn’t necessarily suggest advertising such raving disbelief in an Orthodox community, and lets face it, when you assert the primacy of Doc Hyp in an Orthodox community, you’re raving; you’ve graduated from voicing doubts to actively asserting an contrary position. If you feel like you’re on the receiving end of disproportionate opprobrium as a result, while certain levels of said opprobrium may be less than justified, you can’t say that it would be completely unexpected.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Behar-Bechukosai: Warning Signs
There are two “tochachos” in the Torah; one here, in Bechukosai, and another in Ki Savo. Parallels and contrasts are evident: while Bechukosai’s tochacha lists 49 “curses”, Ki Savo’s list 98. Sforno hints that the Bechukosai tochacha is representative of the Churban Bayis Rishon and the Babylonian exile, while the Ki Savo tochacha is representative of Churban Bayis Sheni and the Roman exile.
One interesting contrast is the fact that in this week’s tochacha, the curses are punctuated with seven repeated Divine warnings of backsliding, usually referred to as “halichas keri”, acting as if the aforementioned “corrections” were to attributed to a source other than Divine, or as to have been “happenstance” and not related to Israel’s relationship with G-d. There is almost no such reference to gradation in Ki Savo: there is the initial warning “And if you will not listen to the voice of Hashem your G-d” in Devarim 28:15, and in the middle of all of the catastrophes, the only other reason given: “Because you did not serve Hashem your G-d with happiness and a good heart while you yet had all things” [Devarim 28:47]. It’s almost as if, unlike here, there is no opportunity given for correction of wayward behavior.
Also unlike the Ki Savo tochacha, this weeks parsha seems to provide the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, with G-d reiterating his commitment to the eternity of the Jewish people; even to the point that the last curse—that “the land will desolate itself from them and recoup its [lost] Sabbaths [acc. to Rashi, the violated Shemittos] [27:43]”—indicates that there is an end to the payback. What happens at the end of the Ki Savo tochacha is more harrowing: the last curse is that G-d will return the Jews to Egypt in boats, almost as if a reverse engineering yitizias mitzrayim; and, to add injury to insult, when the Jews try have themselves sold into slavery, Rashi says that the Torah’s proclamation that “no one will buy” is indicative of the likelihood that they will be massacred instead.
If one takes Sforno’s hint as to the relationship between the tochachos and the churbanos, and one remembers the various sins that were supposed to have caused each of the churbanos, the contrast between the two tochachos start to make more sense. The ostensible proximate causes of the first churban are generally listed as the three cardinal sins—avoda zara, gilui arayos, and shefichas damim—and, additionally, there are strong hints in this weeks’ parshah that shemitta was almost never kept during the entire first temple period. Whereas, in the case of bayis sheni, the classic reason given for that curban is sinas chinam, but also one hears that the entire justice system was adjudicated l’shuras hadin [strict letter of the law] as opposed to lifnim mishuras hadin, and that the populace no longer made the blessings on the Torah.
In addition to the difference in kind of the sinning that brought about the churbanos, the Talmudic dictum that “hasra’ah [warnings] do not need to be given to talmidei chachamim” might further illustrate why there is no light at the end of the tunnel in the second tochacha. The society of the bayis rishon/first tochacha was almost perpetually adolescent, in a way, and this reflected in the rather anarchic behavior of not only the populace, but the ruling classes, as detailed in much of Sefer Melachim. However, it was almost this very self-imposed ignorance—according to many midrashim, when Yoshiyahu began his successful campaign of national teshuva at age 26, he hadn’t even SEEN a Sefer Torah for the first 18 years of his reign until Chilkiyahu found one hidden in the heichal—which mitigated the Jews heinous behavior, to the point that there was enough Divine “tolerance” to give warning signs, like the seven in the parsha. Adolescent anarchy is correctable, even if the corrective measures are draconian.
Such mitigating circumstances were no longer applicable in the case of Bayis Sheni. That populace was purported to be learned, which in and of itself raises the level of responsibility further; however, one might see the two other “averos”—regarding birchos haTorah and shuras hadin—as something other than ancillary, as they underpin the entire prosecution. To wit: a populace that was clearly supposed to know better has instead taken upon themselves to use a system of Divine law as a power grab, which more likely than not led them to justify the occurrences of sinas chinam and adjudication solely l’shuras hadin [which might hint at an inability to see the “human” factor in law, or a lack of judicial restraint, but more likely is the confusion of having judicial power with having judicial infallibility]. One then can actually see a deeper meaning in the neglect of birchos haTorah: almost as if those applying the law were acting as if they were the fount of all law and morality, forgetting the actual Source.
In that case, it isn’t enough to just punish a wayward, almost adolescent anarchy with a cleansing exile and a chance to rebuild; its as if the whole project has to be scrapped and re-engineered from the beginning, even unto pre-Torah: going back to Egypt. The Bayis Rishon generation couldn’t—or wouldn’t—follow the Torah; the Bayis Sheni generation took the Torah in a direction it was not supposed to go.
In theory, these characterizations are so open-ended that they can applied by any one side to an antagonist in any socio-politico-religious debate [and not only those]. So those applications will be left to the readers to make, because they will be made anyway.
With one exception: those who are ostensibly “versed in the law” [or look and act like they are, in any case], and then engage in behaviors that transcend depravities prevalent in bayis rishon—and then are defended from prosecution from other people “versed” in Torah who use the Torah to justify said protection, thereby transcending the sins of bayis sheni. They know who they are.
One interesting contrast is the fact that in this week’s tochacha, the curses are punctuated with seven repeated Divine warnings of backsliding, usually referred to as “halichas keri”, acting as if the aforementioned “corrections” were to attributed to a source other than Divine, or as to have been “happenstance” and not related to Israel’s relationship with G-d. There is almost no such reference to gradation in Ki Savo: there is the initial warning “And if you will not listen to the voice of Hashem your G-d” in Devarim 28:15, and in the middle of all of the catastrophes, the only other reason given: “Because you did not serve Hashem your G-d with happiness and a good heart while you yet had all things” [Devarim 28:47]. It’s almost as if, unlike here, there is no opportunity given for correction of wayward behavior.
Also unlike the Ki Savo tochacha, this weeks parsha seems to provide the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, with G-d reiterating his commitment to the eternity of the Jewish people; even to the point that the last curse—that “the land will desolate itself from them and recoup its [lost] Sabbaths [acc. to Rashi, the violated Shemittos] [27:43]”—indicates that there is an end to the payback. What happens at the end of the Ki Savo tochacha is more harrowing: the last curse is that G-d will return the Jews to Egypt in boats, almost as if a reverse engineering yitizias mitzrayim; and, to add injury to insult, when the Jews try have themselves sold into slavery, Rashi says that the Torah’s proclamation that “no one will buy” is indicative of the likelihood that they will be massacred instead.
If one takes Sforno’s hint as to the relationship between the tochachos and the churbanos, and one remembers the various sins that were supposed to have caused each of the churbanos, the contrast between the two tochachos start to make more sense. The ostensible proximate causes of the first churban are generally listed as the three cardinal sins—avoda zara, gilui arayos, and shefichas damim—and, additionally, there are strong hints in this weeks’ parshah that shemitta was almost never kept during the entire first temple period. Whereas, in the case of bayis sheni, the classic reason given for that curban is sinas chinam, but also one hears that the entire justice system was adjudicated l’shuras hadin [strict letter of the law] as opposed to lifnim mishuras hadin, and that the populace no longer made the blessings on the Torah.
In addition to the difference in kind of the sinning that brought about the churbanos, the Talmudic dictum that “hasra’ah [warnings] do not need to be given to talmidei chachamim” might further illustrate why there is no light at the end of the tunnel in the second tochacha. The society of the bayis rishon/first tochacha was almost perpetually adolescent, in a way, and this reflected in the rather anarchic behavior of not only the populace, but the ruling classes, as detailed in much of Sefer Melachim. However, it was almost this very self-imposed ignorance—according to many midrashim, when Yoshiyahu began his successful campaign of national teshuva at age 26, he hadn’t even SEEN a Sefer Torah for the first 18 years of his reign until Chilkiyahu found one hidden in the heichal—which mitigated the Jews heinous behavior, to the point that there was enough Divine “tolerance” to give warning signs, like the seven in the parsha. Adolescent anarchy is correctable, even if the corrective measures are draconian.
Such mitigating circumstances were no longer applicable in the case of Bayis Sheni. That populace was purported to be learned, which in and of itself raises the level of responsibility further; however, one might see the two other “averos”—regarding birchos haTorah and shuras hadin—as something other than ancillary, as they underpin the entire prosecution. To wit: a populace that was clearly supposed to know better has instead taken upon themselves to use a system of Divine law as a power grab, which more likely than not led them to justify the occurrences of sinas chinam and adjudication solely l’shuras hadin [which might hint at an inability to see the “human” factor in law, or a lack of judicial restraint, but more likely is the confusion of having judicial power with having judicial infallibility]. One then can actually see a deeper meaning in the neglect of birchos haTorah: almost as if those applying the law were acting as if they were the fount of all law and morality, forgetting the actual Source.
In that case, it isn’t enough to just punish a wayward, almost adolescent anarchy with a cleansing exile and a chance to rebuild; its as if the whole project has to be scrapped and re-engineered from the beginning, even unto pre-Torah: going back to Egypt. The Bayis Rishon generation couldn’t—or wouldn’t—follow the Torah; the Bayis Sheni generation took the Torah in a direction it was not supposed to go.
In theory, these characterizations are so open-ended that they can applied by any one side to an antagonist in any socio-politico-religious debate [and not only those]. So those applications will be left to the readers to make, because they will be made anyway.
With one exception: those who are ostensibly “versed in the law” [or look and act like they are, in any case], and then engage in behaviors that transcend depravities prevalent in bayis rishon—and then are defended from prosecution from other people “versed” in Torah who use the Torah to justify said protection, thereby transcending the sins of bayis sheni. They know who they are.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Emor—Blasphemy vs Heresy
Towards the end of the parsha, the series of halachos that is the hallmark of much of Sefer Vayikra is interrupted by one of the rare “narratives” in the sefer: the “son of the Egyptian woman” who “curses” G-d and is executed. In fact, there are only two “narratives”: the other is in Shemini, the events of the hakamas hamishkan and the deaths of Nadav and Avihu.
Obviously there is a world of difference between behaviors and intentions and how the Torah and the relevant literature view the actions of Nadav and Avihu on the one hand and the megadef on the other; however, one may find a common thread between the two: the lethal effect of certain inappropriate approaches to G-d. Which, in the context of the plethora of the levitical and priestly in Sefer Vayikra, much of which is dedicated to instructions regarding service to G-d in very close quarters.
While there is little logical underpinning added to explain blasphemy in the halachic literature, there ironically is significant “svara” added to the three cardinal sins, INCLUDING avoda zara, [cf Sanhedrin 74a]—why the difference bet the two? The real svara behind the status of AZ as yehareg ve’al ya’avor is not negative, but positive—the commandment [V’ahavta], rather than any of the negative admonitions against idolatry, which are certainly not scarce in the Torah.
A closer look at the nature of both “birkas Hashem” [the standard Talmudic euphemism for blasphemy] and the “mesis” might serve to illuminate why the Torah might be relatively silent on a third offense—atheism—and why it might actually be of both a different degree and kind than the previous two offenses.
Look at the language of the actual curse that’s supposed to actually incur stoning: “Yakeh Yosi es Yosi”—the blasphemer is invoking the name of G-d Himself to curse G-d. In a similar sense, the Talmudic discussion surrounding which of G-d’s names used to curse one’s parents is indicative of what might be the ultimate reason behind the gravity of these offenses: the perpertrators are, in a certain sense, using G-d as a force for evil in the world, and in the sense of the megadef, almost pointing to the Divine as the source of evil in the world while simultaneously employing the concept. That idea itself might be what elevates the gravity of the offense of megadef beyond that of avoda zara.
Now, examine the nature of mesis [seducer to idolatry], whose gravity mandates that the Jewish legal entrap the violator into a guilty verdict: the description of the “attempted seduction” involves a detailed description of the idol[s] to be served, and the final “nail in the coffin” as it were of the seducer’s declaration that “We must do this; this is good for us [Kach hi chovasenu, kach hi yafeh lanu]”. If said mesis were, however, to employ language of kfira b’ikar that involved no other divinity, or the denial of the existence of one, it isn’t clear—to say the least—that this kind of hasasa/"seduction" would merit the same response.
It’s one thing, then to see atheism as a possibly less offensive notion than avoda zara, no matter what the type [even if it involved “shutfus”, service of the real G-d—which ipso facto acknowledges his existence—in combination with other not-real deities].
But Rav Kook may even take that a step further:
“Atheism (heresy) comes as a cry from the depths of pain to redeem man from narrow and alien straights—to raise him up from the darkness of the letters and aphorisms to the light of ideas and feelings until faith finds a place to stand in the center of morality. Atheism has the right of temporary existence because it is needed to digest the filth adhered to faith for the lack of intellect and service.” (Orot 126)
Rav Hillel Rachmani [Gush] elaborates:
Rav Kook sees the phenomenon of atheism as originating from two extreme views of God: God is other and thus threatening, therefore I must escape from Him; God is nature and hence irrelevant to my life…R. Kook recognizes heresy as a tool which can help believers purify and refine their faith. The challenge of heresy shatters inaccurate or undesirable models of God, and this can enable the religious community to progress to a fuller and more truthful understanding of God. Atheism cannot deny God's existence per se; it is unable to fight against God Himself. Rather it acts to destroy Man's representations of God.
This would seem to obviate the idea that there is no such thing as a “moral atheism”; in fact, Gertrude Himmelfarb writes [Victorian Minds, Ch 11: "The Victorian Angst"] that Victorian eminences were private atheists or agnostics but almost because of that were philosophically “machmir” morally: "Atheistic--or agnostic, rationalistic, or theistic--morality was still more demanding...for here there was neither an objective ritual of atonement nor an objective measure of sin." The medrash beat the Victorians to it long before, however: the Pesikta d’Rav Kahana 15 gives at least a smidgen of credence to this idea, with “lulei osi azvu v’torasi shamaru”: better that they abandon Me but keep My Torah, because it will bring them back to me. While the ultimate basis of all ethics is Divine, acting as if one and one’s behaviors are ipso-facto ethical because one harbors “correct” beliefs is anything but.
The real issue here is not whether Judaism condones atheism over polytheism; obviously it finds both anathema. However, it again raises the question over with whom we should or should not ally ourselves—politically and /or socially—and why. Irrespective of the current world zeitgeist that is definitely hostile to any moral discipline—especially one that has its belief system rooted in revelatory bases—the representatives of the major monotheistic strains have not done very much to counter the idea that religion and faith is a force for good on the world. The real scandals and hypocrisies are too numerous to measure here.
I think that allying ourselves with other religious denominations because we need them to help shore up our faith from the attacks on all faiths is counterproductive. We need to consider the possibility that a more secular society is not ultimately more detrimental to the true nature of the Judaic mission than one that outwardly acknowledges a Divine but doesn’t know—or doesn’t want to know—what that entails.
Obviously there is a world of difference between behaviors and intentions and how the Torah and the relevant literature view the actions of Nadav and Avihu on the one hand and the megadef on the other; however, one may find a common thread between the two: the lethal effect of certain inappropriate approaches to G-d. Which, in the context of the plethora of the levitical and priestly in Sefer Vayikra, much of which is dedicated to instructions regarding service to G-d in very close quarters.
While there is little logical underpinning added to explain blasphemy in the halachic literature, there ironically is significant “svara” added to the three cardinal sins, INCLUDING avoda zara, [cf Sanhedrin 74a]—why the difference bet the two? The real svara behind the status of AZ as yehareg ve’al ya’avor is not negative, but positive—the commandment [V’ahavta], rather than any of the negative admonitions against idolatry, which are certainly not scarce in the Torah.
A closer look at the nature of both “birkas Hashem” [the standard Talmudic euphemism for blasphemy] and the “mesis” might serve to illuminate why the Torah might be relatively silent on a third offense—atheism—and why it might actually be of both a different degree and kind than the previous two offenses.
Look at the language of the actual curse that’s supposed to actually incur stoning: “Yakeh Yosi es Yosi”—the blasphemer is invoking the name of G-d Himself to curse G-d. In a similar sense, the Talmudic discussion surrounding which of G-d’s names used to curse one’s parents is indicative of what might be the ultimate reason behind the gravity of these offenses: the perpertrators are, in a certain sense, using G-d as a force for evil in the world, and in the sense of the megadef, almost pointing to the Divine as the source of evil in the world while simultaneously employing the concept. That idea itself might be what elevates the gravity of the offense of megadef beyond that of avoda zara.
Now, examine the nature of mesis [seducer to idolatry], whose gravity mandates that the Jewish legal entrap the violator into a guilty verdict: the description of the “attempted seduction” involves a detailed description of the idol[s] to be served, and the final “nail in the coffin” as it were of the seducer’s declaration that “We must do this; this is good for us [Kach hi chovasenu, kach hi yafeh lanu]”. If said mesis were, however, to employ language of kfira b’ikar that involved no other divinity, or the denial of the existence of one, it isn’t clear—to say the least—that this kind of hasasa/"seduction" would merit the same response.
It’s one thing, then to see atheism as a possibly less offensive notion than avoda zara, no matter what the type [even if it involved “shutfus”, service of the real G-d—which ipso facto acknowledges his existence—in combination with other not-real deities].
But Rav Kook may even take that a step further:
“Atheism (heresy) comes as a cry from the depths of pain to redeem man from narrow and alien straights—to raise him up from the darkness of the letters and aphorisms to the light of ideas and feelings until faith finds a place to stand in the center of morality. Atheism has the right of temporary existence because it is needed to digest the filth adhered to faith for the lack of intellect and service.” (Orot 126)
Rav Hillel Rachmani [Gush] elaborates:
Rav Kook sees the phenomenon of atheism as originating from two extreme views of God: God is other and thus threatening, therefore I must escape from Him; God is nature and hence irrelevant to my life…R. Kook recognizes heresy as a tool which can help believers purify and refine their faith. The challenge of heresy shatters inaccurate or undesirable models of God, and this can enable the religious community to progress to a fuller and more truthful understanding of God. Atheism cannot deny God's existence per se; it is unable to fight against God Himself. Rather it acts to destroy Man's representations of God.
This would seem to obviate the idea that there is no such thing as a “moral atheism”; in fact, Gertrude Himmelfarb writes [Victorian Minds, Ch 11: "The Victorian Angst"] that Victorian eminences were private atheists or agnostics but almost because of that were philosophically “machmir” morally: "Atheistic--or agnostic, rationalistic, or theistic--morality was still more demanding...for here there was neither an objective ritual of atonement nor an objective measure of sin." The medrash beat the Victorians to it long before, however: the Pesikta d’Rav Kahana 15 gives at least a smidgen of credence to this idea, with “lulei osi azvu v’torasi shamaru”: better that they abandon Me but keep My Torah, because it will bring them back to me. While the ultimate basis of all ethics is Divine, acting as if one and one’s behaviors are ipso-facto ethical because one harbors “correct” beliefs is anything but.
The real issue here is not whether Judaism condones atheism over polytheism; obviously it finds both anathema. However, it again raises the question over with whom we should or should not ally ourselves—politically and /or socially—and why. Irrespective of the current world zeitgeist that is definitely hostile to any moral discipline—especially one that has its belief system rooted in revelatory bases—the representatives of the major monotheistic strains have not done very much to counter the idea that religion and faith is a force for good on the world. The real scandals and hypocrisies are too numerous to measure here.
I think that allying ourselves with other religious denominations because we need them to help shore up our faith from the attacks on all faiths is counterproductive. We need to consider the possibility that a more secular society is not ultimately more detrimental to the true nature of the Judaic mission than one that outwardly acknowledges a Divine but doesn’t know—or doesn’t want to know—what that entails.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Shemini: The Never Ending Omer
In continuing the theme of the last post, one may discern a series of loosely analogous patterns between the order of parshiyot and the sequence of events as described in the Torah as they relate to Pesach and its aftermath.
One should note for starters that the first Omer was itself a bumpy ride.
Irrespective of the notion that the 49 days were supposed to be a series of gradual incremental steps in kedusha from 0 to 49, a quick look at what actually transpired between midnight of the 15th of Nissan and the morning of the 6th of Sivan may indicate otherwise:
Day 7—The first complaint, at the Red Sea Shore: “What were you thinking taking us outta Egypt to die in the desert?” [Additionally, we may even be able to include the element of mini-“Avelus” in shmayaim for the drowned Egyptians, pace the midrash where G-d prevents the angels—thought not Bnei Yisrael—from singing shira.]
Day 10—Marah: Where’s the water? Of course, this turned out to be the first educational experience indicated as such in the text [“sham sam lo chok u’mishpat”]…Interestingly, the Seder HaDoros quotes a Bachya on Beshalach that Marah was where the actual entrance of Bnei Yisrael to the Midbar commenced, or more specifically in Bachya’s words: “…the sar of the desert—and this is the Satan—began to prosecute them and lead them to sin….”
Day 16—The Seder HaDoros, quoting Yalkut Shimoni on Shelach [#749]: this was where the mekoshesh etzim was apprehended, preceding even those who went out to look for the manna [Shemos 17:27, 28] [The manna began to fall on Day 31, according to BT Kiddushin 38a and Shabbos 87b; until that point, Bnei Yisrael had eaten 61 meals of matza which themselves had been imbued with the taste of the manna, even before the manna began to fall [with the Slav!!!] on the 16th of Iyar.]
Sometime between Day 38, which was the first Shabbos of the falling of the manna and the aforementioned attempt at its illicit collection, and Day 43, or Rosh Chodesh Sivan, when Bnei Yisrael arrive at Midbar Sin[ai]—the engagement with Amalek occurred at Refidim.
Day 50, as we all know was Matan Torah…and Day 90 was the egel. But even before we get to that, we have to remember the Rashi on Shemos 24:10, when Nadav Avihu and the Zekeinim were nitchayev misa for “beholding the sight of the G-d of Israel” but had the sentence suspended so as not to mar matan torah. [As we will see, in this weeks parsha, no such considerations were forthcoming at the hakamas hamishkan.]
Additionally, once we’ve established that the events of the Hashkamas HaMishkan in Shemini are the seame as those in Beha’alosecha [identified as having occurred on Rosh Chodesh Nissan of the seond year of the Exodus], we can link the tragedies of Nadav and Avihu and those of the Zekeinm [according the shitta that they met their demise in the fire at Kivros ha-Ta’avah]. This would even further backdate the series of misphaps previously detailed and enumerated as having occurred on the first Omer: we now have an aura of tragedy even surrounding both the establishment of our first national shrine, which coincides with what the first Rashi in the Torah refers to as our first mitzvah: “Ha-Choseh hazeh lachem…”
As if that wasn’t enough, one should only look at the second Rashi in Pekudei, which intimates that the double lashon on mishkan hints at the double tragedy of the two churbanos.
One would be forced to conclude that there is DNA of tragedy built directly into those moments that are supposed to be our most triumphant. If we ever had a hava amina that contradicted the notion that Love Hurts…
One can only conclude this, with some diffidence: the mitzvah of Omer—both its duration and the fact that we count it one day, one number, at a time, allows us to maintain two illusions, as it were.
One illusion we might be allowed to operate under is that spiritual progress is always incremental. We know better, and we always should, but if we had to actually operate without any allowance for cushioning the blow of reality, setting and reaching goals mght be made invariably more difficult. To draw what might be a loose educational parallel: the mikra is not always [if ever] directly bound to its direct p’shat. Yet it’s the linchpin of our educational system, at least as its starting point [though one must insist that it never be the endpoint]. You have to be able to start somewhere, even if its beis and not aleph.
The other illusion we might be allowed to—if we’re not exhorted to—maintain is that there actually is an end to our troubles, that they follow a linear progression with an A and B. All the events detailed above indicate precisely the opposite: they are cyclical and unpredictable. We need to be able to forge ahead in the face of that. An omer allows for that. Lo nitna Torah le'malachei ha-shares: we get to sing even when the Angels aren't allowed to.
So, in deference to that notion, for 33 days I won’t be getting married or getting a haircut.
One should note for starters that the first Omer was itself a bumpy ride.
Irrespective of the notion that the 49 days were supposed to be a series of gradual incremental steps in kedusha from 0 to 49, a quick look at what actually transpired between midnight of the 15th of Nissan and the morning of the 6th of Sivan may indicate otherwise:
Day 7—The first complaint, at the Red Sea Shore: “What were you thinking taking us outta Egypt to die in the desert?” [Additionally, we may even be able to include the element of mini-“Avelus” in shmayaim for the drowned Egyptians, pace the midrash where G-d prevents the angels—thought not Bnei Yisrael—from singing shira.]
Day 10—Marah: Where’s the water? Of course, this turned out to be the first educational experience indicated as such in the text [“sham sam lo chok u’mishpat”]…Interestingly, the Seder HaDoros quotes a Bachya on Beshalach that Marah was where the actual entrance of Bnei Yisrael to the Midbar commenced, or more specifically in Bachya’s words: “…the sar of the desert—and this is the Satan—began to prosecute them and lead them to sin….”
Day 16—The Seder HaDoros, quoting Yalkut Shimoni on Shelach [#749]: this was where the mekoshesh etzim was apprehended, preceding even those who went out to look for the manna [Shemos 17:27, 28] [The manna began to fall on Day 31, according to BT Kiddushin 38a and Shabbos 87b; until that point, Bnei Yisrael had eaten 61 meals of matza which themselves had been imbued with the taste of the manna, even before the manna began to fall [with the Slav!!!] on the 16th of Iyar.]
Sometime between Day 38, which was the first Shabbos of the falling of the manna and the aforementioned attempt at its illicit collection, and Day 43, or Rosh Chodesh Sivan, when Bnei Yisrael arrive at Midbar Sin[ai]—the engagement with Amalek occurred at Refidim.
Day 50, as we all know was Matan Torah…and Day 90 was the egel. But even before we get to that, we have to remember the Rashi on Shemos 24:10, when Nadav Avihu and the Zekeinim were nitchayev misa for “beholding the sight of the G-d of Israel” but had the sentence suspended so as not to mar matan torah. [As we will see, in this weeks parsha, no such considerations were forthcoming at the hakamas hamishkan.]
Additionally, once we’ve established that the events of the Hashkamas HaMishkan in Shemini are the seame as those in Beha’alosecha [identified as having occurred on Rosh Chodesh Nissan of the seond year of the Exodus], we can link the tragedies of Nadav and Avihu and those of the Zekeinm [according the shitta that they met their demise in the fire at Kivros ha-Ta’avah]. This would even further backdate the series of misphaps previously detailed and enumerated as having occurred on the first Omer: we now have an aura of tragedy even surrounding both the establishment of our first national shrine, which coincides with what the first Rashi in the Torah refers to as our first mitzvah: “Ha-Choseh hazeh lachem…”
As if that wasn’t enough, one should only look at the second Rashi in Pekudei, which intimates that the double lashon on mishkan hints at the double tragedy of the two churbanos.
One would be forced to conclude that there is DNA of tragedy built directly into those moments that are supposed to be our most triumphant. If we ever had a hava amina that contradicted the notion that Love Hurts…
One can only conclude this, with some diffidence: the mitzvah of Omer—both its duration and the fact that we count it one day, one number, at a time, allows us to maintain two illusions, as it were.
One illusion we might be allowed to operate under is that spiritual progress is always incremental. We know better, and we always should, but if we had to actually operate without any allowance for cushioning the blow of reality, setting and reaching goals mght be made invariably more difficult. To draw what might be a loose educational parallel: the mikra is not always [if ever] directly bound to its direct p’shat. Yet it’s the linchpin of our educational system, at least as its starting point [though one must insist that it never be the endpoint]. You have to be able to start somewhere, even if its beis and not aleph.
The other illusion we might be allowed to—if we’re not exhorted to—maintain is that there actually is an end to our troubles, that they follow a linear progression with an A and B. All the events detailed above indicate precisely the opposite: they are cyclical and unpredictable. We need to be able to forge ahead in the face of that. An omer allows for that. Lo nitna Torah le'malachei ha-shares: we get to sing even when the Angels aren't allowed to.
So, in deference to that notion, for 33 days I won’t be getting married or getting a haircut.
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