National Scholar Updates

Noah:

The Tower of Babel

The Tower of Babel occupies only nine verses in the Torah, yet it is the only narrative between the Flood and the introduction of Abraham’s family. Its prominent placement suggests that it marks a critical turning point in human history. However, the Torah never explicitly identifies the sin of the builders. What exactly did they do wrong, and why did God intervene so dramatically?

The Talmud (Sanhedrin 109a) maintains that the builders rebelled against God. Some sought to ascend to heaven and wage war against Him, while others intended to worship idols. Rabbi Nathan concludes that all of the builders were motivated by idolatry. This interpretation explains the severity of God’s response, but it is difficult to establish from the biblical text itself. The people simply declare their intention to build a city and a tower reaching toward heaven, thereby making a name for themselves and preventing their dispersion (Genesis 11:4).

Ibn Ezra emphatically rejects the notion that the builders literally intended to ascend to heaven. They were not so foolish as to believe that a tower could reach God’s dwelling place. Rather, they wanted to establish a permanent city, with an impressive tower serving as a landmark and a monument to their achievements. Their desire to remain together, however, conflicted with God’s plan that humanity populate the entire earth (Genesis 1:28; 9:1). According to Ibn Ezra, the builders did not necessarily intend to rebel against God. They simply pursued their own aspirations without recognizing that these aspirations contradicted God’s will.

Other commentators offer variations on these approaches. Radak and Bekhor Shor understand the refusal to disperse as a deliberate rejection of God’s plan for people to populate the earth. Hizkuni and Netziv perceive a more sinister dimension in the people’s insistence on unity, suggesting that their society suppressed individuality and freedom. These interpretations offer important insights into the dangers of human ambition and enforced conformity. Nevertheless, the biblical narrative does not explicitly identify any of these offenses.

The twentieth-century biblical scholar Umberto Cassuto offers a compelling interpretation by placing the narrative within its ancient Mesopotamian setting. His approach enables us to appreciate the significance of details that otherwise seem incidental, while also bringing us back to the Talmud’s interpretation.

Ancient Babylonian cities featured monumental stepped towers known as ziggurats, associated with temples dedicated to their gods. These towers symbolically connected heaven and earth. The Babylonians viewed these sacred structures as symbolic meeting places between heaven and earth, where the divine realm could intersect with the human world. The towers thus reflected a religious worldview in which people sought to establish contact with, and exercise influence over, the divine realm.

The most famous Babylonian ziggurat was associated with the temple of Marduk in Babylon. Its name, Etemenanki, meant “House of the Foundation of Heaven and Earth.” Babylonian traditions attributed the construction of the sacred complex to the gods themselves. The city of Babylon likewise was understood as Bab-ilim, “Gate of the God,” reflecting its inhabitants’ conviction that their city was a center of divine presence.

With this background, several unusual features of the Torah’s account become intelligible. Why does the narrative devote an entire verse to the process of manufacturing bricks? Because monumental construction in Mesopotamia depended upon baked bricks rather than the stone commonly used elsewhere. Why does the Torah emphasize that the tower was built by human beings (Genesis 11:5)? Because Babylonian religious tradition attributed its sacred construction to the gods. Most strikingly, why does God need to “descend” to inspect a tower supposedly reaching heaven? The Torah employs biting irony. No matter how impressive human architecture may be, it cannot bring people closer to God or compel Him to appear. God remains utterly transcendent and free.

Even the name Babylon becomes part of the Torah’s theological critique. The Babylonians celebrated their city as the gateway to the divine realm. The Torah instead associates Bavel with the Hebrew root balal, meaning confusion (Genesis 11:9). What the Babylonians regarded as the center of cosmic order becomes, in the Torah’s account, the place where human unity collapses.

Cassuto’s interpretation thus illuminates the Talmud’s striking assertion that the builders engaged in idolatry and rebellion against God. The Sages expressed their interpretation through the dramatic imagery of ascending to heaven and waging war against God. The ancient Near Eastern evidence suggests that their underlying theological insight was remarkably perceptive. The builders sought to bridge the boundary between humanity and divinity through their own monumental achievements. Their error was not technological innovation itself, but the presumption that human beings could control access to God.

This interpretation also clarifies why the Tower of Babel appears immediately before the emergence of Abraham. Humanity’s attempt to establish a religious center through its own power ends in confusion and dispersion. God then chooses Abraham to begin a different religious journey, one founded upon obedience to God rather than the manipulation of divine power.

We are thrilled to announce that Rabbi Hayyim Angel has published the second volume of his new commentary series, The Heart of Tanakh. The Heart of Joshua joins the Heart of the Five Megillot. 

On the way over the next several months: Judges, 1 Samuel, 2 Samuel, 1 Kings, and 2 Kings (and then more to follow after that!). 

In The Heart of Joshua, Rabbi Hayyim Angel draws on classical rabbinic interpretation, literary analysis, and contemporary scholarship to illuminate the enduring power of the first book of the Prophets.

Written for thoughtful readers, students, educators, clergy, and synagogue study groups, this volume invites readers to engage the Book of Joshua with intellectual rigor, spiritual sensitivity, and a deep appreciation for the richness of the Jewish interpretive tradition.

Available at amazon.com

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HJD2VY4L/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1XWH0J6ECVCB3&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.vQ7BXEIlShrrcUruBSwBN-_UISmOKX0iobElLtg5jAkfpTV4inCL3A-Fq50…

“In a world where everything is seen, nothing is known. 
In a world where everything is known, nothing is understood.”

 — Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

Living in Israel in an era that surely lays claim to bringing us closer to redemption than previous generations could have imagined, I see the glass as very much more than half full. Yet the upper part remains to be filled, and there are many issues to be faced—some propitious, some daunting—before we can hope to see it overflow.

Depending on how you count, it is probable that more than half of the world’s Jews now live in Israel. This has some implications in halakha, specifically regarding laws relating to the Land of Israel, such as yovel and shemittah, which revert from their lesser status as rabbinic obligations (de-rabbanan),  and once again take on the character of biblical obligations (de-oraita), “as in days of old.” 

Looking ahead to the coming years, we will increasingly see Israel as the powerhouse of Jewish life. That is not to say that Jewish life in the diaspora will wither away. But with the dwindling numbers of grassroots adherents of the non-Orthodox movements, national Jewish institutions will more often be led by members of the Modern Orthodox community. The Haredi world, even as it continues to grow in numbers, is likely to stubbornly persist in isolating itself from Jewish issues outside of its own enclaves and will steadfastly focus its attention and resources only on its own educational systems and communal structures.

The pervasive and unabated anti-Semitism in the diaspora, combined with the relentless attacks on Israel, have already motivated many unaffiliated Jews to search for more spiritual meaning in their Judaism, and this is gradually leading increasing numbers to embrace more observances and to seek more knowledge. As it is, the amount of Torah being learned today far eclipses any other time in history. With online programs already connecting hundreds of thousands to the study of Jewish sources, the opportunities for Torah learning on every level will become even more extensive with the still uncharted capabilities of artificial intelligence. 

On the other hand, it is exceedingly worrisome that a recent survey found that as many as 32 percent of Jewish Americans aged 18 to 34 call themselves anti-Zionists or non-Zionists. Given that, it’s unclear how connected they will remain to their Jewish heritage. Sadly, these young people, together with those who intermarry or those who are raised with no Jewish content in their lives—and together with all their descendants—may well be lost to the future of the Jewish people.

In Israel, the schisms that plague society will regrettably grow in intensity. As the Haredi sector defiantly pursues its intransigence and refuses to play its part in the support and defense of the nation, the patience of Israel’s secular citizens will inevitably run out. While it will probably be short of actual civil war, the conflict is likely to become increasingly ugly and confrontational, with the government, as now, unwilling or unable to exert control.

Unfortunately, Yehoram Gaon’s poignant promise in song following the 1973 Yom Kippur War that “this will be the last war” is unlikely ever to become true. Israel’s enemies plot and attack it at every opportunity because of an unwavering religious belief that one day they will be able to destroy it. They can fight and lose a hundred wars, they say, while Israel cannot afford to lose even one. 

With all this, Israelis consistently rank in the top five or ten on the UN World Happiness Report. This is often attributed to their strong social cohesion and sense of purpose, and there is no reason to think that this will change. Despite the too-frequent runs to the safe rooms and bomb shelters, despite the huge disruptions in family life and income due to the extended periods spent in the army, despite the tumultuous way in which the nation is governed, Israelis are proud of their country and will assuredly continue to walk around with their heads high and their spirits even higher.

With all of its existential challenges, or perhaps because of them, Israel’s extraordinary success as a world leader in innovative technology will continue undiminished. The abundant income generated by the nation’s multitudinous start-ups will go on helping to underwrite the costs of Israel’s infrastructure and innumerable other construction projects, and indeed its wars. Transferring ownership of these assets out of Israel by means of “exits” is not ideal and presents a challenge to the country’s long-term economic stability, but the Israeli genius will not be suppressed and will continue to attract the attention and investment of other countries and multinational conglomerates.

The disparity among Israel’s various subcultures will increasingly blur as marriages between Ashkenazic and Sephardic families proliferate. One might hope that this would lead to the merging of minhagim into one universal Israeli set of religious customs and practices, but the religious establishment is extremely unlikely to brook any formalized change. Similarly, a logical consequence of Israel’s astounding, God-given rebirth as a nation would be a creative rethinking of parts of the siddur to reflect the enormous theological implications of this new status. Again, the religious authorities will not even contemplate such a notion. Yet there are pockets of creative religious thinkers whose influence may slowly spread.

As we cross the threshold where the majority of our people now live once again in our ancestral land, we continue to see the evolution from a rabbinically-led existence, concerned largely about survival in often hostile foreign countries, to the complex realities of a modern, self-governing state. This will inevitably contribute to the already growing gap between Israeli Jews and those in the diaspora. Yet Israel will never abandon its efforts to bolster Jewish communities and to further Jewish education in other lands as best it can.

The road ahead, both in Israel and in the diaspora, is full of hurdles due to the threats from external enemies on the one hand, and the stubbornness of established institutions and religious extremists on the other. Yet it is precisely within these tensions that the next chapter of Jewish history is being written—not in the margins of other nations, but at the center of our own. 

Living in our own land offers us a glimpse of a glass that is revayah—full, dynamic and, eventually, running over.

For nearly two thousand years, Christian theology has presented itself as the fulfillment
of the Hebrew Bible. Incarnation, divine sonship, vicarious atonement, and Trinitarian theology
are all claimed to be latent within Tanakh—awaiting recognition.

Jewish responses have typically taken one of two paths.

Some attempt to refute Christianity by engaging it on its own turf: analyzing the New
Testament, dissecting Greek terminology, critiquing Church history, or debating early Christian
councils. Others retreat from engagement altogether, assuming that faith alone is sufficient
insulation.

Both approaches are flawed.

The first is strategically misguided. The second is intellectually insufficient.
This article proposes a third approach: return the debate to Tanakh—and only to Tanakh.
If Christianity cannot establish its doctrines from the Hebrew Bible, then its claim to be
the fulfillment of Judaism collapses at the foundation. A Jew does not need to master the New
Testament in order to defend Judaism. But Christianity, by definition, must root itself in the “Old
Testament.” That asymmetry is decisive.
 

We do not need their texts.
They need ours.
And that is where the conversation must remain.

The Method: Let Tanakh Stand on Its Own
The method is simple:
1. Argue from Tanakh alone.
2. Prioritize peshat (plain meaning).
3. Avoid dependence on rabbinic commentary 1 or later mystical speculation.
4. Do not engage in New Testament critique.
5. Demand textual clarity, not theological inference.
If doctrines like incarnation or Trinity are genuinely rooted in Tanakh, they should be
unequivocally demonstrable from the text itself—in context, linguistically, and covenantally.
They should not require
● Hidden codes
● Retrospective reinterpretation
● Ambiguous pronoun counting

● Mystical letter symbolism
● Post-biblical theological overlays
Tanakh is not cryptic about its core doctrines.
When it introduces covenant.
When it introduces kingship.
When it introduces sacrifice.
When it introduces prophecy.
It speaks clearly.
If incarnation were foundational, it would not appear as a grammatical anomaly in a poetic verse.
Example 1: “Let Us Make Man”—The Trinity Claim
Bereishit 1:26 is frequently cited:
“Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.”
The argument: the plural “us” indicates plurality within God.
But Tanakh itself supplies the interpretive framework. Isaiah 6 describes God as
surrounded by the heavenly court. I Kings, 22 depicts God consulting celestial beings. 2 Isaiah
8:8 3 does the same. Ancient Near Eastern royal language frequently includes deliberative plural
speech.
The text never hints at ontological plurality.
If this verse were teaching a triune metaphysics, it would be the most opaque doctrinal
introduction in all of Tanakh.
Instead, the next verse reverts immediately to singular form:
“And God created man in His image.”
No explanation. No doctrinal development. No clarification.
To build Nicene theology through pronoun counting is not textual reading. It is
theological projection.
Example 2: Isaiah 53—The Suffering Servant
Isaiah 53 is often treated as the decisive Christian prooftext.
But by chapter 53 Isaiah has already identified the servant explicitly and repeatedly:
“But you, Israel, My servant…” (41:8)
“Hear, O Jacob My servant…” (44:1)
“You are My servant, Israel…” (49:3)
By the time we reach chapter 53, the servant’s identity has already been fixed within the
book’s own narrative structure.
To switch identities in midstream without textual signal is not exegesis; it is retrofitting.
Even within Isaiah 53 itself, you find:
“He will see offspring and prolong his days.”

Christian interpretation must spiritualize this, because Jesus had no biological offspring.
Judaism, however, reads it plainly.
That is not polemic.
That is textual fidelity.
Example 3: Messianic Criteria
Tanakh describes the Messiah’s role clearly:
● Global peace (Isaiah 2, 11)
● Universal knowledge of G-d (Jeremiah 31)
● Restoration of Torah observance (Ezekiel 37)
● Rebuilding the Temple (Ezekiel 37)
● Gathering exiles (Isaiah 11)
● Davidic patrilineal descent (II Samuel 7)
These are measurable outcomes.
Tanakh does not say: He will come, fail, die, and return millennia later.
If the Messiah must fulfill criteria, and those criteria were not fulfilled, Tanakh’s definition
governs.
A “second coming” is not a Tanakh-based category.
Is Christianity Shituf (syncretism), Avodah Zarah (idolatry), Henotheism, or Monotheism?
The Critical Error In Mischaracterizing Christianity
Before engaging Christian claims from Tanakh, we must first clarify how Christianity is
categorized in halakhic and theological terms. Sloppy labels undermine serious argument. If we
call it paganism when it does not define itself that way, we lose credibility. If we collapse
complex halakhic distinctions into slogans, we forfeit strategic clarity.
This section therefore addresses four critical questions:
1. What is shituf in halakha, and how does it function in polemics?
2. How do later authorities treat Christianity within the framework of “religion-bound
nations”?
3. Is Christianity accurately described as henotheism?
4. Does the Rambam’s polemical description actually match Christianity’s self-definition?
These distinctions are not semantic. They determine whether we argue carefully from
Tanakh—or begin the debate already on the defensive.
1) Shituf in Halakha: What It Is, And Why It Matters in Christian Polemics

In halakhic literature, shituf refers to attaching something else to God in
worship—invoking a “partner,” mediator, or composite divine framework – such that worship is
no longer directed to God alone. 4 The category is not merely philosophical; it functions
halakhically as a boundary-marker for what a Jew may affirm, invoke, or validate.
Rambam: Christianity as Avodah Zarah For Jews
Rambam treats Christian theology as avodah zarah (idolatry) from a Jewish standpoint, i.e., a
Jew is forbidden to frame God in Trinitarian terms, and certainly forbidden to worship through
that framework. (This is part of his broader project of protecting absolute, uncompromised
unity.)
See Rambam Hilkhot Avodat Kokhavim, 5 where he sets out the Torah’s prohibition
against worshipping through any “foreign” framework, and the halakhic posture that flows from
it.
At the same time, Rambam famously recognizes that Christianity has played a role in
spreading knowledge of the Creator across the world 6 —though that sociological point does not
reduce the halakhic prohibition for Jews.
Tosafot & Rema: Shituf and Non-Jews
A major axis in the halakhic discussion is whether shituf is prohibited for non-Jews.
Tosafot in their commentary on shituf, 7 do not define shituf philosophically.
They describe it functionally: Invoking God together with something else.
They even add:
“They do not consider them gods.”
That line is critical. Tosafot acknowledge that gentiles do not think they are worshipping
multiple gods. Yet halakhically, it is still called shituf.
That nuance is extremely important when engaging with Christians, so as to not
mischaracterize their religion as non-monotheistic.
The Rema then codifies this principle in a practical halakhic context, that a non-Jew’s
oath can be accepted even though “they mention the Name of Heaven and another thing,”
because their intent is toward the Creator, adding that shituf is not prohibited to them. 8
The Bottom Line
From a halakhic perspective, the operative question is not “do Christians claim
monotheism?”—they do. The operative question is: Does their formulation violate the Torah’s
demand for the unity of God as understood by halakha, and if so, does that prohibition apply
equally to non-Jews?
2) Later Approaches That Treat Christianity as “Religion-Bound Nations” Rather Than
Classic Idolaters

Once you move beyond the Rambam’s strict philosophical-halakhic posture, you find an
additional track in the posekim and ba’alei machshavah: not redefining Christian doctrine as
“kosher,” but reclassifying Christians sociologically/halakhically as part of the “religion-bound”
world rather than pagan idolaters.
Meiri: “Nations Bound by the Ways of Religion”
The Meiri is often cited for distinguishing between pagans and what he describes as
civilizations governed by religion and morality, where belief in one transcendent Creator is
central. 9 The Meiri’s exact wording for such people is: “But any nation that is bound by the ways
of religion and acknowledges divinity – there is no doubt that even if one does not know him
personally, it is permitted and proper [to act toward him differently].” 10
In this approach, Christianity is treated very differently than the idolaters discussed in many
talmudic passages—less as “classic avodah zarah culture” and more as a mistaken theology
within a monotheistic religious civilization.
An Important Nuance
Notice in the key passage mentioned above:
● They acknowledge divinity.
● Meiri does not say they have perfect theology.
● Meiri does not say they affirm God’s unity properly.
Rather, he is making a halakhic-sociological distinction. He is saying that these nations are
religiously structured and morally bound. Therefore, they are not treated like ancient pagan
idolaters.
This Meiri-frame essentially states that belief in a single transcendent God is what moves
Christianity outside the simple category of avodah zarah.
The Bottom Line
Even within Orthodox sources, one can find models that speak of Christianity as:
● theologically incorrect, yet
● religiously oriented toward the Creator, and
● certainly not equivalent to paganism.
3) Is Christianity Henotheism?
No—at least not in the standard definition. 11

Henotheism is worship of the one God without denying other gods.
Nicene Christianity 12 does not present itself as worshipping the one God among many; it presents
itself as one God with an internal tri-personal structure.
So if the goal is persuasive accuracy, one shouldn’t call it henotheism. The critique is different:
it’s about whether their “complex unity” preserves Torah’s framing of God’s unity or violates it.
4) Rambam’s Description Doesn’t Match Christianity as Christians Define It
Here is the key move you want for apologetics strategy:
Rambam’s Polemical Description of Christianity in Iggeret Teiman
In his Iggeret Teiman, 13 the Rambam describes Jesus as someone who:
1. persuaded people that he was a prophet sent by God, and
2. presented himself as the Messiah, and
3. interpreted Torah in a way that led to “the total annulment…the abolition of all its
commandments.”
This is an explicit summary of what the Rambam thought Christian doctrine entails.
The Apologetic Point: Rambam’s Description Is Not Christianity’s Self-definition
But this is precisely where a careful Christian polemicist can counter:
● Nicene Christianity does not define Jesus as merely a “prophet sent by God.” It defines
him as fully divine (“true God from true God”), and grounds this in the doctrine of
Trinity and incarnation. 14
● The Nicene Creed opens with “We/I believe in one God,” and then immediately defines
Jesus in divine terms, i.e., their claim is not “two gods,” but one God in a tri-personal
framework. 15
● Likewise, Christianity typically does not say “Torah is simply abolished.” It argues a
fulfillment/reframing model (often the Torah’s “moral law remains; ritual law is
fulfilled/transformed”), 16 which, while completely unfounded in the Torah, is not
identical to the Rambam’s phrasing that Jesus sought “total annulment” of mitzvot.
Why This Matters
The previous point serves not to diminish Rambam. It is simply methodological:
When Jews cite “shituf” or “avodah zarah” claims sloppily, Christians will answer: “We
unequivocally affirm one God.”
And here the evidence is straightforward: their own creed explicitly frames their
belief as monotheistic, even while defining God in a way Judaism rejects.
The apologetics takeaway: don’t mischaracterize—categorize:

● Don’t argue “they’re not monotheists.” They will instantly quote their creed and the
conversation shifts to your credibility.
● Do argue: “Even granting your claim of one God, Tanakh defines God’s oneness in a way
that excludes incarnation/divine man/divine mediation and forbids directing worship
through/alongside any other referent.”
That keeps you firmly on Tanakh-based ground (the entire debate method of this essay), and it
prevents the debate from turning into a meta-fight about whether you’ve even read Christian
sources.
A Final Thought: Bringing the Debate Onto Jewish Turf
This is the core strategic insight:
When Jews debate Christianity from Christian texts, they play defense.
When Jews demand proof from Tanakh, they control the field.
Christian theology cannot detach itself from the Hebrew Bible. It requires it.
Judaism can defend itself entirely within Tanakh.
That asymmetry must be preserved.
One faithful to Torah does not need to master Greek Christology to defend emunah. He needs to
know his own inheritance.
If incarnation is real, show it in Tanakh.
If the Trinity is real, show it in Tanakh.
If a dying messiah who suspends Torah is real, show it in Tanakh.
Not in church councils.
Not in mystical overlays.
Not in typological readings centuries later.
In Tanakh.
…and if it is not there, it is not there.

1 This methodological choice is strategic, not theological. Christian polemicists often claim that
the Rabbis “suppressed,” “buried,” or “reinterpreted away” messianic prophecies that originally
pointed to Jesus or to Trinitarian theology. Although this claim is unfounded, once the debate
shifts to whether Hazal distorted the text, the discussion becomes a historical argument about
rabbinic authority rather than a textual examination of Tanakh itself. Therefore, for the purposes
of interfaith debate, the method here must be deliberately simple: read the Tanakh on its own
terms. If incarnation, Trinity, or a dying-and-returning messiah are genuinely embedded in the
Hebrew Bible, they should be demonstrable from the plain text—without appealing to a single
rabbinic commentary. If these claims cannot unequivocally be shown there, the burden has not
been met.
2 “I saw God sitting on His throne, and all the host of heaven standing by Him…”
3 “Who will go for us?”

4 Tosafot, Sanhedrin 63b.
5 Rambam, Hilkhot Avodat Kokhavim 2:1–3.
6 Rambam Hilkhot Melakhim 11:4.
7 Tosafot, Sanhedrin 63b.
8 Rema Orah Hayyim 156:1.
9 Meiri, on Avodah Zarah 20a.
10 Ibid.
11 See Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. “Henotheism”.
12 Nicene Creed.
13 Rambam, Iggeret Teiman, Iggerot HaRambam.
14 Nicene Creed.
15 Ibid.
16 Matthew 5:17.

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Bereishith

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

“When Enoch had lived 65 years, he begot Methuselah. After the birth of Methuselah, Enoch walked (vayit-halekh) with God 300 years; and he begot sons and daughters. All the days of Enoch came to 365 years. Enoch walked (vayit-halekh) with God; then he was no more, for God took him” (Bereishith 5:21-24).

In the midst of a routine listing of births and deaths, the Torah includes these unusual verses relating to Enoch.  He is singled out as one who walked with God. 

It is often pointed out that translations do not always capture the meaning of the original. This is true in the verses about Enoch.  The English translation simply states that Enoch walked with God.  But the Hebrew word, vayit-halekh, is in the reflexive “hitpa’el” form. It means more than just walking.  It comes closer to “walking with purpose,” or “walking in righteousness.” Or even closer to “drawing God into himself.”  Vayit-halekh has the connotation of process. Enoch didn’t merely think of God or worship God; he was constantly striving for relationship with God.

The verb form hit’halekh is also used once in connection with Noah, a pure, righteous man who walked with God. This is great praise for Noah; but in Enoch’s case, this verb form is used twice! The Torah is clearly underscoring a unique and praiseworthy quality of Enoch.  Even his death is recorded mysteriously: “he was no more, for God took him.”  The Torah is indicating that Enoch was so absorbed in a Godly life that his death seemed to be a natural translation into God’s spiritual domain.

While various interpretations and legends have arisen about Enoch, the basic teaching is that Godliness/religion is a process.  Ideally, one does not “have” religion as though it is a fixed set of beliefs and rules; rather, one’s religiosity is a constantly developing phenomenon.  Religion is not “having” but “striving.”  God is not “proven” but “experienced.” One “knows God” not by philosophizing about God but by living a Godly life, literally “drawing God into oneself.”

In opening his Mishneh Torah, Maimonides teaches that “The foundation of foundations and the pillar of wisdom is to know that there is a First Being who brings into being all that exists.”  In his Guide of the Perplexed (3:54) he spells out what “knowing” God entails. Human perfection depends on the level of one’s apprehension of God. But this apprehension is manifested in a living relationship with God. “The way of life of such an individual, after one has achieved this apprehension, will always have in view loving-kindness, righteousness and judgment, through assimilation to His actions, may He be exalted.” 

When the Torah states twice that Enoch walked with God (vayit-halekh), it thereby emphasizes that Enoch not only “apprehended” God, but that he actively pursued a Godly life above and beyond others of his times. Enoch set a standard to which all humans should aspire.

If someone asked Enoch if he was religious, he would have answered: “I am striving to be.” When someone asks us: are you religious?  The answer should be, like Enoch’s: “I am striving to be.”

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Vayera

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

“And the Lord said: shall I hide from Abraham that which I am doing; seeing that Abraham shall surely become a great and mighty nation and all the nations of the earth shall be blessed through him? For I have known of him that he will command his children and his household after him, that they will keep the way of the Lord, to do righteousness and justice…” (Bereishith 18:17-19).

Rabbi Hayyim Angel has pointed out that Abraham was not the first monotheist. Adam and Eve, Hanokh, Noah and others also recognized one God. Abraham was not the first “Jew,” since there were no Jews (Israelites) until generations later. Rather, Abraham’s distinction is that he is the first figure in the Bible to be identified as a teacher. God describes him as one who conveys the ideals of righteousness and justice to his family and followers.

In Jewish tradition, Abraham is generally known as Avraham Avinu, Abraham our father.  He and Sarah—through Isaac, Jacob and succeeding generations—were the founders of the extended family that ultimately became the people of Israel. Abraham’s role was not merely as the biological progenitor of the people but as their teacher of righteousness and justice.

Over the centuries, all converts to Judaism have been designated as children of Abraham. They have become members of Abraham’s family.  In his famous letter to the proselyte Obadia, Maimonides assured the convert that he was a son of Abraham, as fully Jewish and fully a member of the Jewish family as any Jew born into the Jewish People.

While Abraham is known as Avraham Avinu, Moses is known as Moshe Rabbeinu, Moses our rabbi.  Abraham is the father of our People; Moses is the conveyer of Torah to our People. Abraham is the founder of our family; Moses is the founding rabbi of our religion. 

All Jews are members of Abraham’s family by birth or conversion. All Jews are bound by the religious teachings of Moses as reflected in Torah and halakha. Jewish identity sometimes seems confusing because it entails both Abraham our father and Moses our rabbi. 

Ultimately, though, tradition links our identity to our father Abraham. Even Jews who do not observe the Torah of Moses, or even those who repudiate it, are still Jewish by virtue of being in the family of Abraham. All Jews—religious or not—are members of the same family even if they strongly disagree with each other or even dislike each other. 

It is significant that converts are named as children of Abraham, not Moses. Although converts are expected to study and observe Torah, their conversion is actually their way of joining the family of our People. 

Abraham our father taught us “to keep the way of the Lord, to do righteousness and justice.” Generations later, Moses our rabbi taught us the Torah, expanding on the foundations set by Abraham. We are blessed to be heirs of spiritual greatness of the highest order.

There’s no honest way to look at the Jewish moment we’re living in and pretend everything is easy. It isn’t. The rise in anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism is real, visible, and often unsettling. But there’s also no honest way to look at the Jewish story—past or present—and conclude anything other than this: we are far more powerful, resilient, and capable than the noise would have us believe.

We need to start by telling the truth about what we’re seeing. Hatred of Jews is not new. What is new is the amplification system. Social media has taken what once simmered on the margins and handed it a megaphone. As Abe Foxman memorably said, "The rats are out of the sewer." It creates the illusion that hatred is everywhere, overwhelming, unstoppable. It isn’t. It’s louder, not necessarily larger.

And not all hostility is the same. Some people hate. Others simply don’t know. That distinction matters. Ignorance can be educated; hatred must be confronted differently. The tragedy of our moment is that fewer people meaningfully encounter those who are different from them. When there is no relationship, misinformation fills the vacuum. Add a media ecosystem that rewards outrage over nuance, and you get a distorted picture of Jews, Israel, and Zionism.

Take anti-Zionism. Much of the rhetoric is passionately delivered and intellectually empty. Many chanting slogans couldn’t tell you which river or which sea, let alone articulate what Zionism actually is. And here’s the uncomfortable truth: many Jews can’t either. Yet studies and real-life experience show that when people are actually taught what Zionism means—the right of the Jewish people to self-determination in their historic homeland—opinions soften. People often oppose a caricature, not a reality.

That insight should shape our response. We spend far too much time chasing terminology and arguing with abstractions. A healthier metric is simpler: how do people actually treat Jews? How do they speak? How do they act? The macro conversation is loud, but our lived experience is often far more nuanced and far more hopeful.

Because alongside the challenges is a remarkable story of Jewish strength.

Since October 7, the Jewish community has shown itself at its best. Whether or not the phrase “the October 8 Jew” fully captures it, something real has happened. Jews are showing up—for each other, for Israel, for Jewish life—with renewed seriousness and pride. Communities are gathering, learning, giving, building. That doesn’t make headlines, but it is the headline of our lives. We would do well to focus there.

Jews have never survived let alone thrived by obsessing over those who oppose us. We succeed when we invest in what is ours: our Torah, our communities, our values, our sense of purpose. As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks taught so powerfully, non-Jews respect Jews who respect their Judaism. The most compelling response to hostility is not insecurity, it is dignity.

And that brings us to what we can actually control.

We cannot singlehandedly reshape the media landscape. We cannot eliminate hatred. But we can live visibly, proudly, intelligently Jewish lives. We can educate patiently and persistently. We can be ambassadors in everyday encounters that will never trend online but shape how people understand Jews in the real world.

Every interaction matters.

In my own experience serving as a police chaplain in a predominantly Catholic department, I’m often the only Jew many officers truly know. They don’t come in with deep knowledge of Judaism or Israel but they come with openness. Over time, through conversation and presence, respect is built. That is not unique to one role or population; it’s a model. Every Jew is, whether we like it or not, a representative of our people. And that is not a burden; it is an opportunity.

The same principle applies when we think about Israel. It is natural to have opinions, even strong ones. But we need to be thoughtful about how and where those opinions are expressed. There is a difference between constructive engagement and unintentionally strengthening those who seek to delegitimize Israel altogether. Wisdom, not just passion, must guide us.

So where does this leave us? Not in denial. Not in despair. But in focus. Focus on building Jewish life that is deep, serious, and joyful. Focus on educating ourselves so we can educate others. Focus on relationships that turn strangers into allies. Focus on the quiet, steady work that never makes headlines but changes hearts.

The Jewish story has never been written by those who shouted the loudest about us. It has always been written by those who lived most powerfully as us.

The future? Onward and upward.

There is an old adage (or there ought to be) that “The finest antidote to depression is
Modim.” Indeed, anyone who prays daily and pays attention to the words he or she is saying
should find it difficult to be despondent. We thrice-daily (at least) thank God for “our lives, our
spirit, the daily miracles that are with us and God’s wonders and beneficence that are with us at
all times.” When we appreciate the breath we inhale and expel, the cognitive ability to reason,
the family and special friends that enrich our days and the consistent wonders that fill our lives,
sadness is indicative of a complete loss of perspective. This is not to argue that there aren’t
worrisome things in our lives, personal, familial, communal, national, and universal—but a
healthy appreciation for the blessings in our lives empowers us to brave these challenges with
hope and with a confidence in even better days to come.

While there are countless areas of our lives which have improved in the past few
decades—in spite of (and, in some cases, as a result of) noted worrying trends, I’d like to focus
our attention on a generally overlooked area of Jewish life—the fostering of our relationship with
the Book of Books, our Tanakh. Wondrous and heretofore unimaginable developments have
impacted the way that we view, study and teach Tanakh in at least three distinct yet interrelated
areas. One of the delightful ironies which these intersections share is their respective roles, in
earlier times, in effecting the opposite. For centuries, the serious study of Tanakh largely
disappeared from the traditional Jewish paideia and each of these areas played a central role in
that enforced distance. Yet, beautifully and seemingly serendipitously, these three areas have
become forces for increased study, promulgation and a renewed rigor of Biblical study in the
observant community.

For purposes of clarity and distinction, I will refer to developments in the areas of
“academic,” “interreligious,” and “intra-religious” Bible study. These will be presented in a non-
synchronous order; the consideration is chiefly driven by the role that area plays in study, from
the more intense and integral to the peripheral and public.
 

Academia
 

That world that we refer to as “academia” is itself young; even though the first
institutions of higher learning date back nearly a millennium, critical studies of areas which were
traditionally the bailiwick of religion (which, it should be noted, included cosmology, geology
and the rest of the natural sciences) began in earnest and in a publicly accessible manner at the
end of the eighteenth century with the advent of the Enlightenment. As the early founders of
“source criticism” developed and formed the contours of the Documentary Hypothesis, the study
of our holiest text became a target of radical splicing operations premised on an essentialist
denial of prophecy and of the traditional approach to the historicity of the text. This quickly went
from theory to creed in the academy so much so that anyone writing or lecturing on the biblical

text in those circles who even suggested that even “JEPD” be viewed through the lens of “R”
(the Redactor) was laughed out of the circles, circles which then determined the new orthodoxy
about the Bible. The history of the school of “higher criticism” and its broader impact on the
humanities throughout the western world is a much longer study with a conclusion yet to be
written. The nineteenth-century world of Jewish studies was immediately divided into two main
camps with a small but vital third camp that will eventually play a central role in all three of our
areas of interest. The two broad approaches were assimilation or isolation. The school of
Wissenschaft des Judentums along with its religious stepchild, the “Neolog” (later “Reform”)
movement adopted the Documentary Hypothesis entire and developed its intellectual and
religious platforms, respectively, against that background. Since the founding of the Hebrew
Union College in Cincinnati in 1865, Bible study and decisions about Jewish practice were
premised on seeing the Torah’s text as an amalgam of ahistoric traditions from the ninth to the
sixth centuries BCE (or later) which only came together in the fifth century BCE. These were the
assimilationists. In direct response and reaction, the world of Eastern European tradition, already
boiling in the cauldron of the new Hassidic movement and its inroads into traditional life,
completely rejected not only the conclusions reached by the school of higher criticism but even
refused to entertain the challenges that their observations raised. The general tactic assumed in
these communities was isolationism, to the point of, in some extreme cases, regarding family
members who engaged in academic Bible study or even enrolled in the universities (now
suddenly open to Jewish students) as dead. Indeed, there were families that practiced mourning
rituals for children who breached the walls of the shtetl to pursue this newly minted discipline.
 

However, there were a few traditional scholars who engaged with the world of “higher
criticism” on its own terms with the overt goal of formulating a traditionalist response and
defense of Mesorah. Most notably, David Zvi Hoffmann (1843–1921) in Berlin composed a
commentary to Leviticus with the stated aim of responding to the newly popular Documentary
Hypothesis. There were a number of other traditionalists who also came to the defense of the
Mesorah from different perspectives, such as Shmuel David Luzzato (“Shadal,” 1800–1865) in
Italy and Meir Leibush Wisser (“Malbim,” 1809–1879) in Bohemia. We will consider these
religious heroes to be confrontationalists. As always, the “golden mean” is a path walked by few.
Generally, the world of traditional study looked askance at any engagement with this new
“heresy” and built higher walls. This led, predictably, to a broad devaluation of the study of
Tanakh in these communities and their attendant schools. For the most part, the study of any
scripture was governed by a complete dependence on medieval commentators and their
observations about the text—to the deliberate exclusion and rejection of any contribution to be
offered from the “outside world.” This was the general state of Tanakh study in the self-defined
world of religious education until the last few decades.
 

What Happened?
 

Intellectual evolutions are inevitably multicausal. By the early part of the twentieth
century, there were internal challenges within the academy that questioned the foundations of the
theory, a phenomenon which is typical within three generations after a fresh, exciting
“discovery.”
 

In the meantime, a new generation of Jews was growing to embrace the Tanakh as a
result of the miraculous return to the Land and the revival of spoken Hebrew. It may be
surprising, but much of the movement towards an enhanced study of the Bible came from secular

Israelis who were emotionally committed to the historicity of the text. We need look no further
than our first Prime Minister, a decidedly secular Jew who was in love with the Tanakh and held
a regular Saturday night “parlor meeting” at his home to engage with leading teachers in the
study of our Book of Books. After all, our claim on the Land and our connection to every dunam
is ultimately anchored in the earliest chapters of Genesis; this stake is only firmly set if there
really was a Patriarchal family that was promised the Land, a premise denied by the academy.
 

Our claim to Jerusalem is not new—it dates back 3,000 years to David’s move of his capital from
Hebron to the Jebusite city and then the divine promise that just as David’s dynasty would
always rule in Judea, similarly God would never abandon David’s city. Curiously, even those
many avowed atheists were able to read these divinely centered texts as meaningful and
legitimate. With time, cross-fertilization of the worlds of academia and tradition increased, and a
new sentiment took hold in many corners of the religious world of Jewish education: There is
much of value in philology, archaeology, anthropology, paleontology, Assyriology, Egyptology,
and many more disciplines which are the bailiwick of the academy. None of these disciplines
stand in challenge to our traditional beliefs; indeed, much about the Tanakh can be understood
with more clarity and immediacy by using these tools judiciously. As a student of mine is fond of
quoting, “You cannot understand the Tanakh unless you understand the world of Tanakh.”
 

The result of this has not only been felt in the many religiously committed Bible scholars
and writers, but also in the growing acceptance even in the generally isolationist world of
“Haredi” education of many external disciplines to be used as legitimate “handmaidens” of Torah
study. There is a newfound appreciation for the critical distinction in study between what the text
says, for which any and all sources of data can and must be used to further and deepen our
understanding, and what the text is telling us, which is bound up in the covenantal community’s
received tradition; indeed, it may be said that what the text is telling us is the tradition of the holy
nation. The rest is commentary. Go study.
 

The first welcome and exciting development in the study of Tanakh is the newfound
alliance of the academy and the yeshiva. This is not a marriage; their purposes and modes, the
environment each wishes to foster is unique and exclusive. Yet, there is an amity and a
partnership which has engendered much intellectual growth among many of the committed
members of each school. The academy and the yeshiva are each wiser as a result.
 

The Growth of Inter-Religious Bonds
 

There have been epochs where Jews were able to comfortably and safely discuss, debate,
and share ideas with prelates and monks as well as kadis and imams. In ninth-century Baghdad,
there were regular gatherings of Jewish, Muslim, and Christian clerics who engaged in publicly
attended spirited debate about the truth of their respective faith’s claims. The newfound interest
in textual study among Christian scholars in twelfth-century France led to direct and indirect
adoption of Jewish methodology anchored in the school of Rashi. From Abelard to the scholars
at Saint-Victor, there was a brief yet productive period of cross-cultural cooperation and
intellectual impact. This was, again, purely in the realm of understanding what the text said, not
its message.
 

However, for most of the common era, dialogue and an awareness of a somewhat shared
textual legacy was buried beneath discrimination, persecution and dispersion. On a broader
societal level, Jews and their “others” typically viewed each other with suspicion, and the notion
of common cause was an unfathomable idea.

In a sense, this should have changed dramatically in the eighteenth century. With the
promising development of the republic, first in France and then in America, the principles of
justice, equity and civil rights for each member of the polity were understood to be grounded in
what is commonly called “the Judeo-Christian” tradition. While this hybridization does more to
obfuscate than clarify, there is something to it. The basic mores of the Tanakh inhere, at their
base, a desideratum of a just society with consideration of the rights of all people. For the first
quarter millennium of this country’s history, this understanding of a common ground was chiefly
the bailiwick of secularists; religious groups tended to amplify differences and overlook common
ground. (There were remarkable exceptions to this disconnect, such as the decade from 1955 to
1965 when traditional Jews walked, arm in arm, with Southern Baptist blacks, demonstrating on
behalf of full rights for all Americans).
 

What we are seeing in the last quarter century is a newly discovered affinity between
Jews and Christians. I am not arguing that we have a panacea, nor that complete harmony here is
even desirable—but the sense of common cause has become significantly heightened, especially
in response to “wokeness” and its many disturbing tentacles, reaching into education, language,
roles, and so much more. Observant Jews have been surprised to find themselves on the same
side of political, legal and social divides with traditional Christians (and, in some cases, devout
Muslims). Whether arguing for religious exemptions from local zoning laws, more protection for
individuals to act upon their religious convictions, or a general reaction to the excesses of
“wokeness,” peoples of traditional faith are finding more that unites them across inter-religious
lines, without dismissing that which divides them.
 

One caveat is prudent here. Whereas the traditionalist wings of both Jewish and Christian
faith communities have only recently found significant common ground, the near opposite is true
in the liberal wings. Ecumenical ventures abounded in the latter half of the last century, and
parallel developments (including expanding clergy roles to women, opening opportunities for
leadership to gay and transsexual members) could be traced to that mid-century “brotherhood.”
This has all but disappeared in the last decade, most notably since October 7 when the entire
world of progressive politics has turned an angry back on Israel and the Jewish people.
 

Before moving on to the third marvelous development of our times, I’d like to circle back
to the beginning of this section. In addition to the relatively newfound fraternity between
traditionalists in both circles, Jewish scholars are now sought after at Christian Bible
conferences, not just as academics but also as purveyors of God’s message “from this inside.” It
seems that the first two blessings of our confused era have impacted on each other and as
traditional Jewish minds have opened up to academic scholarship to enhance our understanding
of Tanakh, the lines of dialogue about that Book of Books have also opened up; there is a
genuine interest on the part of Christian students of the Bible to read it through legitimate Jewish
eyes.
 

The second, most welcome development that we are experiencing in our lives at this
current moment is a newfound sense of collegiality, common cause and healthy environment for
dialogue between traditional Jews and Christians—and this further impacts upon and is impacted
by the first welcome phenomenon. Doors open in several directions, allowing the doors of the
yeshiva and the academy to cautiously nudge open as the opacity of the walls separating the
kehillah and the Christian faith community become a bit more translucent.
 

The Blessing of Intrareligious Fraternity

Sectarianism and schismatics are no stranger to the Jewish body politic. The phenomenon
of Jewish groups splintered with rivaling claims to the legitimate tradition—or the “proper”
interpretation and application of that tradition—has existed at least since the middle of the
Second Temple period. Sects have usually had one of three destinies. In very few cases, they
maintain a quasi-identity with the Jewish world while maintaining some vestige of their unique
practices. An example of this is the Karaite community, which continues to exist and identify
with Karaite scholarship and practices. More frequently, the sects ultimately fold back into the
larger, traditional Jewish family and, with few variations, adopt the widespread approach to
practice and creed maintained by the larger community. In other words, the sects, qua sects,
disappear from the social map and become historic footnotes. A variation in this development is
the loss of those members to the prevailing religious culture of the surrounding society. In a few
cases, these sects establish themselves as a distinct religion, drop claims of having the “true”
tradition of Judaism and begin their own faith community.
 

Worldwide Judaism, especially in North America, stands at a precipitous moment. The
break from tradition, occasioned by the twin “E’s” —the Enlightenment and the
Emancipation—began in the early nineteenth century. The visible fragmentation of the Jewish
community and public dissension between the many groups which fell along various points on
the plane—from maintaining strict status quo tradition to reforming a completely “new Judaism”
—had its own salvific impact and served to force each group to develop clearer ideological
platforms, outlining why its “solution” was the most practical, most ideal or truest to tradition. In
post-World War II America, this fracturing emerged as “denominationalism,” with the Reform
movement claiming the lion share of membership, the Conservative movement maintaining that
their ethos wed a fealty to tradition with a commitment to change and the much smaller
Orthodox establishment placing its emphasis on unswerving loyalty to the ways of our fathers.
Such were the lines and although there were periods of interdenominational dialogue, even
cooperation, by the 1980s the dividing lines had sharpened and the “heterodox” movements and
those identified as “Orthodox” each made policy statements that more clearly defined the lines
which divided and made cross-denominational dialogue—and certainly cooperation—more
difficult.
 

Which brings us to the current moment in denominationalism. For the past 40 years, each
of the movements has, to a large extent driven by socio-political orientation, pushed away from
each other (“drifted away” is far too mild a description). This sad reality, that a traditionally
oriented Jew now inevitably feels great discomfort and alienation in the pews of a heterodox
Temple, has gone hand-in-hand with a more tragic development. The numbers, both of
membership and, more to the point, of active and practicing members in the heterodox worlds
have rapidly shrunk. The reports of schools closing, synagogues merging, Temples being used
for multiple congregations due to so much excess available space—this is all to weep. Yet, oddly,
both in the aftermath of the clumsy way in which society responded to the COVID-19 pandemic
as well as, far more significantly and emphatically, the grass roots response to the horrors of
October 7, 2023 and its ugly aftermath in the streets and on the campuses of this country, there is
a new kind of “teshuvah” movement. Those affected by this sudden urge to reclaim a traditional
life, to learn more about our heritage and to embrace a stronger identification with all things
traditionally Jewish refer to themselves as “October 8 Jews.” The numbers aren’t staggering, yet
doors have suddenly opened up for Jews who have come to realize what an amazing legacy they
have yet to claim to walk right in and find brothers and sisters with a greater fluency in the
rhythms of our faith to embrace and instruct them. The old models of denominational definitions

are still there—but the walls erected by these definitions are now made up of wobbly stones and
lots of sunshine is coming between the cracks.
 

One beautiful result, to which many of us involved in “outreach education” can attest, is a
newfound interest among formerly disaffected Jews in reclaiming their “portion of the Torah,”
their right and privilege—and responsibility—to engage in the study of Tanakh as the basis for a
holistic Jewish life.
 

This third blessing, one which has the potential to heal those rifts which were hatched
200 years ago in western Europe, is, unfortunately, not the result of our own initiative but of a
horror foisted on us. Yet, as the Talmud teaches, we bless and thank God for His gifts, even when
they come at a time and as a result of great pain.
 

Afterword
 

I have sketched out three areas in Jewish life, specifically with regard to the study of
Tanakh but each with a much broader back drop. I will briefly reflect on each of these from a
local perspective—that of an observant, traditional and traditionalist teacher and student of
Tanakh.
 

My own understanding of Tanakh has been immeasurably deepened by the many
opportunities to learn about “the world of Tanakh,” through the many disciplines of the academy
which, a century ago, would have been inaccessible to me. And some of my colleagues, who are
anchored in the world of academia, suddenly find traditional commentaries and approaches to
enhance their own grasp of the text.
 

The opportunities that I’ve been given to speak to people who share the Tanakh as the
key structure in the storehouse of their faith, has given me the chance to see something that only
a select few would have sense two generations ago—a healthy respect for the text, for its
language and for how our Mesorah has explained it—and tremendously powerful and essentialist
common bonds that our people of faith share, including the sanctity of life, the vitality of faith
and the task to elevate all of humanity.
 

And, finally and most significantly, the thousands of young (and young at heart) Jews
(and even “October 8 converts, yet another remarkable phenomenon) who are looking for
meaning and substance not in the latest fads of post-Marxist politics, not in the jargons of
“wokeness”—all of which have birthed a poisonous betrayal of the Jews—but in their own
heritage. Thankfully, the Tanakh is being restored to its rightful place, as the foundation stone of
Jewish life, values, nationhood and the message which our people are tasked with bringing to the
world.
 

We live in amazing times.