National Scholar Updates

The current religious educational system encourages people to accept the authority of the major Torah scholars of the generation and to obey them unquestioningly, thereby creating a culture of dependency and submission. We must return to and deepen appreciation of independent thought, personal freedom and individual empowerment. Talmudic tradition and adjudication teach us that no Rabbi, no matter how great, is sacred nor should he be revered as a Lord over us.

Today’s religious community suffers from a lack of confidence and a perpetual fear in the face of the compelling outside world and its influences. This inevitably gives rise to a search for protection and dependency upon role models who will show the way and protect our children from any doubt. As a result, the religious educational system encourages obedience to the Torah sages and their authority.

But this search for great leaders capable of guiding us in a world laden with doubts and quandaries has led to weakness, and submission to the opinions of a handful of charismatic leaders.

Many of our children have become dependent on role models in yeshivot and midrashot due to the fact that Religious Zionism has sought to emulate the Hareidi doctrine, which is increasingly dominating the religious way of life and outlook. The message of this essay is to encourage education toward independent thinking, individual empowerment and personal freedom through the wisdom of the Torah and its sages. Independent thinking is not innate; therefore, it must be patiently and laboriously nurtured in our homes and schools so that upon maturity our people will be capable of carrying the burden of human independence in which responsibility and authority are so deeply intertwined.

Armed with the knowledge that no single person is omnipotent-- that no one, however great, is as “holy” as the Torah itself or is meant to lord over us--we must encourage every teacher and every parent to free our children of this heavy burden. They must be given the tools to recognize and fortify their own strength. We must once again imbue the acceptance of responsibility and decision making in our children; granted, their surroundings are complex and the temptations are great, but there is no other way. It is impossible to flee from freedom and choose slavery in its place.

In the spirit of personal integrity and individual freedom Rabbi Kook wrote: “The virtuous man should believe in his life, and in his feelings which take the path of the righteous because that is how his spirit directs him. Because these are good and honest feelings, they naturally lead towards a path of righteousness.” This is a most important lesson: have no fear, you need to have faith and trust in yourself. When it comes to most decisions in life, there is no need to consult with a Rabbi or a Rebbe. Individuals, couples and families should make their own decisions in regard to themselves. These are the parties that should make such resolutions. External entities should not and cannot control a person’s private life.

Common decency is the basis of the social infrastructure. There is a general code of conduct and legitimate norms of behavior, as well as conduct that is considered unacceptable. So when the sages instruct us to “blunt the teeth” of the wicked son, it is in the sense of education and refinement - to remove the barbs and sarcasm from his speech. But the truly problematic son is the one that “does not know how to ask” or perhaps thinks that it is forbidden to ask.

The Haggada instructs us: “It is up to you to discuss this with him,” or in the words of Rabbi Shelomo Alkabetz, (a Kabalist of 16th century Safed): “You must be confident in him” – thanks to your trust in him and his strength, his ray of light will burst forth."

“Find yourself a Rabbi and remove all doubt” – is a teaching of Rabban Gamliel. This statement is a main source of education to almost blind obedience and heeding the Rabbis’ teachings without criticism. As it is specifically stated in Avot of Rabbi Natan (Version A, Chapter 22): “Rabban Gamliel states: Choose for yourself a Rabbi and acquire for yourself a friend to remove yourself from doubt, and do not overly often do your tithing by estimate.”

I have chosen this version of Rabban Gamliel’s words because it has three main components:

A. “Choose for yourself a Rabbi” - This is the categorical imperative for every religious individual who strives to be a normative member of the religious world and does not know how to choose between different alternatives in the world of halakha.

B. “Acquire for yourself a friend”- This is what distinguishes between the person as an individual and the person as part of the community. R. Gamliel seeks to establish a kind of collective responsibility, which is the basis for a God worshipping community.

C. “Remove yourself from doubt” - This concept is the reason for the two preceding statements. In a world of doubt, the individual seeks meaning and direction. The choice of a Rabbi and being part of a community relieve a person of doubt; he is then free of this onus and can make his way through the world without questions or errors.

.If in the days of R. Gamliel - the time of the rise of Christianity and differences of opinions - there lurked a fear of the prevalence of doubt, then what are we to say when it comes to the modern world, or even more so in the post-modern world? Indeed, it is due to this awareness that the words of R. Gamliel have been given the utmost importance.

Take for example the teaching of the Ramhal in his famous parable from “The Garden of Confusion,” which appears in Messilat Yesharim. The Ramhal describes a man who has lost his way in the garden’s mazes until his eyes are opened by a sage who knows his way through the garden.

Most of the religious community’s instruction books are based on this approach. Instead of getting lost and wandering along the dusty paths in the thick forest, it is best for us to latch on to the great trees and to let others who are familiar with the path guide us.

This model is also used by Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler, one of the great leaders of the yeshiva world of the previous generation. In his book “Letters from Eliyahu” he writes: “From this comes the foundation of faith in the sages. He who chooses to have faith in them can make use of their clear vision, which will serve as their own eyes. From their teachings we acquire a true image of the hashkafa of the world and practical leadership. And because of this the sages of our generation possess a vast measure of this direct and true reflection to the point that their teachings – even if they lack a clear source and even if they are expressed in bits of advice - are clear and true. ‘When a man asks about his Creator’s message’ - this we witness in this generation as well, thank God.”

Rabbi Dessler’s concept of the term “faith in the sages” reflects the classical approach of the Lithuanian yeshiva world, and certainly the Hassidic courts as well. This approach places the sages on a higher spiritual level, like prophets. As Rabbi Dressler summarizes: “‘When a man asks about his Creator’s message’ - in each generation the individual must turn his eyes to the great leader’ of his generation, to shut his own private eyes and to try and see through the eyes of the great scholar. If he is blessed, he will be able to share the view of the scholar and adhere to his thoughts.”

In my humble opinion, this is the stage where faithful students and believers turn into mindless and unquestioning masses. This type of education leads to slavery due to the dread of the garden of confusion.

“Acquire for yourself an understanding heart”, said R Elazar ben Azariah.

On the opposite end of the spectrum is the approach of R. Gamliel’s successor, R. Elazar ben Azariah. R. Elazar’s teachings serve as an alternative to those of R. Gamliel. One of the very first steps he introduced when he took over was to dispose of the “selector” from the entrance of the House of Study who during R. Gamliel’s day would stand at the entrance and say: “He whose heart is flawed dare not enter.” (Berakhot 28)

Rabbi Gamliel sought to introduce discipline and obedience to the House of Study and the world of Torah, fearing the forces that might shatter the existing hegemony.

R. Elazar’s teachings stand in direct opposition to this approach - he strove to fill the House of Study with as much strength as possible, to occupy it with all those who wished to enter and to cope with any doubts that might arise in the House of Study in other ways.

“The words of the sages are like goads, and like nails well planted (are the sayings) of the masters of the assemblies, given from one shepherd. Why are the words of the Torah likened to a goad? To teach you that just as this goad directs the cow along its furrows in order to bring forth order to the world… But if the words of the Torah are likened to nails, one might think that just as the nail diminishes and does not increase the object or wall into which it is driven so too the words of the Torah diminish and are not increased among those who observe them. To teach otherwise Scripture states: well planted. That is, just as the plant is fruitful and multiplies, so too, the words of the Torah cause one to be fruitful and multiply.The Masters of Assemblies are the wise scholars who sit in various groups and occupy themselves with the study of Torah. There are those scholars who declare a thing ritually contaminated and there are those who pronounce it clean; those who prohibit and those who permit; those who disqualify and those who declare fit. Perhaps a man will say: how can I ever learn Torah and understand it precisely, when every issue is subject to debate and disagreement? To allay this concern, Scripture states that all the various rabbinic opinions are given from one Shepherd- one God gave them. Moses proclaimed them from the mouth of the Master of all, blessed be He, as it is written: and God spoke these words. Hence, you are to make your ear like a funnel, and acquire yourself a discerning heart--to hear intelligently the words of those who declare a thing impure and the words of those who pronounce it pure; the words of those who prohibit and the words of those who permit; and the words of those who disqualify and the words of those who declare fit. ”

The above mentioned citation from Ecclesiastes describes the Torah in agricultural terms. A goad is a stick with nails attached to it that is used by farmers to prod a working animal so that it will move faster and continue walking in the furrows. As a metaphor, the goad is the “teacher for the cow”; although the goad hurts the animal, its true purpose is to ensure that the animal actually does what it is supposed to do. The nail that is affixed to the end of the goad represents the “leaders of the community”, those who guide the community in the service of God and keep them on the path of righteousness.

In simple terms, it is possible to understand this parable as a justification for the use of the discipline which Torah teachers espouse. The words of the sages are not always pleasant but they are intended to improve humankind and the human condition, which is to say that they guide them into the “furrow”, the furrow being the path of serving God. This is a good parable for any farmer who has had the experience of having to direct livestock. But R. Elazar is seeking to add another dimension of understanding. According to his explanations, the nail is not a static object. He likens it to a tree that is planted in the ground rather than simply hammered into place; he is trying to communicate that with the proper care, this “goad” can blossom and grow and in this way he is portraying the world of halakha (religious law) and its enormous complexity.

Just as a nail affixes two things to each other, so to halakha affixes the Torah to our life and does not allow people to stray off its path, thereby protecting them from the perils of the journey. Torah evolves with the path and is not static, constantly being renewed. It is nailed, and it is “planted”-- which means it has the opportunity to grow and does not allow the journey to tear us apart.

The passage goes on to describe the planted nail as “Masters of Assembly” (scholars of the community). Rabbi Elazar uses the expression “Masters of Assembly” as a colorful description of the new world he envisions for the House of Study after he has taken over, where students are coming by the hundreds and thousands to learn Torah, without any fear of conflicting opinions or pre-existing notions. “They sit as groups, and in those groups they learn Torah. (All positions will be respected). Some will say that something is ritually pure, and some say it is impure. Others will say that something is permitted and some will say that it is not permitted; or (some will say that) something is fit and (others will say that) something is unfit.” This is the vision of the house of learning in the eyes of R Elazar.

Now we have a question which begs to be asked: “Perhaps a man will say “How can I ever learn Torah” (and understand it precisely when every issue is subject to question)? When a person enters the world of open learning, he realizes that there are many variations, and it is possible to “lose one's head”. How is it possible to guide a person with questions in a world of plurality? The answer that comes from the house of study of Rabbi Gamliel is: “Choose for yourself a Rabbi and remove yourself from doubt.” In a world of uncertainty, the only way for a person to find his way is to ask a guide and then adhere to what he says.

However R. Elazar provides an alternative response to that of R. Gamliel. R. Elazar seeks to place the burden of responsibility on the individual him/herself. Instead of saying “choose a Rabbi for yourself,” he cites another teaching which says “Make you ear like a funnel”, where a lot of grain can be poured in at one time but little can come out. The source of the word “afarkeset (funnel)” is from Greek, meaning a funnel that is wide open to receive, but has only a narrow opening at the end. The wide end is able to receive many voices which are sailing through the void. The funnel receives and absorbs all of the voices without censoring them. R. Elazar seeks to free your ears from its bonds and tells you to make them open to receive all of the voices. This includes the opinions of those who forbid and those who permit; those who find guilt and those who relieve from guilt; those who declare something impure and those who declare it pure. All of the voices of dispute or disagreement in the House of Study have their source at Mt. Sinai. Only when you are able to listen to all of them, is it possible to begin seeking the right path.

Objection to Admiration and Adoration

In many places in the Talmud, we come across glorification of the image of sages by their pupils and the surrounding community, as well as explicit criticism of this phenomenon. One of the significant figures exalted in his own time was Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi. There are numerous illustrative stories concerning the criticism of scholars who disagreed with this cult of personality. One of the most famous is the story of the visit to Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi's House of Study by Rabbi Yishma'el – son of Rabbi Yossi ben Halafta. The Talmud describes the pupil's entrance into House of study. Everyone is seated, the Sage takes his place, and only Rabbi Yishma'el – who was very large – is still pacing slowly from one edge of the hall to the other to find a place. In his pacing, it looked as if he were walking over the heads of the other pupils. Rabbi Avdan, Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi's assistant, was furious and he objected.

R. Avdan said: Who is the person walking over the heads of the holy congregation?

R.Yishmael answered: It is I, Yishma'el son of Rabbi Yossi who has come to learn Torah from the Rabbi.

R. Avdan said to him: Are you worthy enough to learn Torah from the Rabbi?

R. Yishmael answered: Was Moses worthy enough to learn Torah from the mouth of the Almighty?

R. Avdan said: Do you think you are Moses?

R. Yishamel answered: Do you think the Rabbi is God? #_edn1" name="_ednref1" title="">

Here we have a precise description of the House of Study of the time (at least from the viewpoint of the Talmudic author). The scholars sit in rows and the sage sits in front on a dais. Those closest to the sage advance to the front to find their seat. Rabbi Avdan's condescending attitude toward Rabbi Yishma'el exemplifies an elitist and insulting atmosphere in the House of Study.

The gap between the level of a student and the level of a teacher is not a reason to prohibit entrance into the House of Study. When R.Avdan continues to insult Rabbi Yishma'el by asking arrogantly "Do you think you are Moses?" Rabbi Yishmael answers pointedly "And is your Rabbi God?" The atmosphere around Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi had turned him into a God-like figure, but Rabbi Yishma'el pointed out how faulty that environment was.

A similar pattern is evident in the story of Rabbi Hunah's passing. Rabbi Hunah was the most prominent among the Sages in the second generation at the yeshiva of Surah, and held the position of head Rabbi for forty years.

In a number of places in the Talmudic literature, we learn of a disagreement between Rabbi Hunah and Rabbi Hisdah, one of the Rabbi's prominent students. Based on this disagreement we can understand what unfolded at Rabbi Hunah's funeral, when Rabbi Hisdah arose as the new leader and most prominent Rabbi in his generation.

When Rabbi Hunah passed away, there were those who wanted to place a Torah scroll on his bed.

Rabbi Hisdah stated: This was a practice with which he did not agree when he was alive and now you want to do it to him (when he is dead)?

His bed could not exit the front door. Some thought of taking it out through the roof.

Said Rabbi Hisdah: “Indeed I learned from him (Rabbi Hunah) – a sage is honored by exiting through the front door”.

They wanted to change his bed to another.

Said Rabbi Hisdah: “So I learned from him – a sage is honored by staying in his first bed.” (So) they broke the front door and took him out from there.

Rabbi Abba exclaimed: It was appropriate for the Divine spirit to be bestowed upon our Rabbi (Rabbi Hunah), but his location in Babylonia made him unfit.

Said Rabbi Nahman bar Hisdah, and some say Rabbi Hanan bar Hisdah: “And it was that God spoke to Yehezkel ben Buzi in the land of Kasdim (Ezekiel 1).”

His father slapped him with his sandal and said: Didn't I tell you not to annoy the public? Whatever has already happened – happened.#_edn2" name="_ednref2" title="">

Serious infighting screams out from this story. Placing a Torah scroll on a deathbed underscores the connection between the deceased sage and the Torah, and attributes excessive sanctity to the sage.Rabbi Hisdah protests against the action: “Any man, sagely as he may be, can never be a Torah scroll; he can be adored and admired but not sanctified.”

In the ensuing discussion, Rabbi Hisdah maintains that they must stick to the procedure of taking the deceased out of the house, insisting he be taken out properly like a sage through the door and not through the roof, on his first bed and not after moving him to a second one (something he deduced from the Ark of the Covenant).

Rabbi Hisdah's sons are also at the funeral, and children are known to repeat what they hear at home. When they hear Rabbi Abba lamenting that the only reason Rabbi Hunah did not “receive the divine spirit” (i.e. prophecy) was due to the fact that he lived outside the land of Israel in Babylonia, they retort that the prophet Ezekiel was living in Babylonia when he received his prophesies.

In other words, Rabbi Hunah was not a prophet. He was a sage, no more and no less. Rabbi Hisdah scolds his sons by saying “There are things you say at home which you don't repeat outside – leave the mourners to mourn the sage according to their way.”

There are many other stories about the relationship between parents and children, and between teachers and pupils. In many instances, they carry an overt or covert message about the importance of the empowerment of the child or the pupil, discouraging their subjugation to the image of the father or teacher.

For example, there are a number of stories about the personality of Rabbi Yehuda bar Yehezkel – the head of the Pumbedita yeshiva, and his relationship with his father, his rabbis and colleagues. Rabbi Yehuda is described as a person who did not hesitate to contradict his father or rabbi when he believed they erred in their teaching or deeds, and even to banish one of his scholarly friends who had “gone bad”.

There is a well known story of the destruction of the House of Study in Tiberius, following the terrible argument of Rabbi Yohanan with his son-in-law and student Resh Lakish. The story vividly describes the ideal House of Study as seen by Rabbi Yohanan. Rabbi Yohanan believes that the proper decorum in a House of Study is that the rabbi speaks, the pupils ask questions, and the rabbi concludes by answering all the questions. This is an idyll of authority which recognizes the position of the student only as one who understands and repeats the words of the teacher.

The moment a pupil dares to challenge this scenario, Rabbi Yohanan has no tolerance for him and says "Robbers know only to rob".

The rabbi is ready for questions but not for opposing ideas. The clear message of this story is that when a rabbi suppresses the pupil's independent thinking and development, then he is destroying the very school he teaches in.

In sum, we may assert that the Talmudic tradition clearly upholds the opinion of Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah. The Rabbi should demand each of us to develop his/her own judgment and knowledge, and to grow in defining and realizing the image of God which is in each and every one of us.

The culture of arguments by the early and later sages

The traditional literature of the early and later sages encourages independent thinking and enables development of self judgment and knowledge even at the price of disagreement with "Gedolim" (scholarly leaders). Below are a few examples.

The Ramban, in his introduction to Sefer HaMitzvot of the Rambam, describes the awe he feels toward those before him, yet he does not shirk from contradicting them in places where he feels that his knowledge demands this of him. His concluding paragraph is written poetically:

"And I am here with my desire to be a pupil of the early sages, to abide by their rules and to wear them as bracelets and necklaces, and not to be a simple donkey carrying books. I will judge according to the way I see fit and according to the clear religious law, I will not prefer one over the other in the name of the Torah, because God will provide wisdom in all times, and will not hold back the good from those who walk in His footsteps with an honest heart."

Among the scholars of our times it is worthwhile to read Rabbi Ovadia Yosef's introduction to the Responsa book "Yabia Omer" in which he sums up the importance of independent thinking and argument as an integral part of Torah learning:

"I want to address people who speak out about how one shouldn't contradict the books of the sages, and when they see a new book that has opinions that differ [with earlier opinions of sages] they immediately start to squawk like a bird. Any person who is well versed knows that arguments are the way all our rabbis debated since the early days and till the last of the judges…And Rabbi Yeshayah Mitrani said in the Responsa Harid (no. 62) 20: Anything which I don't agree to, I don't hesitate to speak my opinion according to my limited knowledge, and I will speak up against kings and not be ashamed. And I rule according to my knowledge just like philosophers, who once asked one of their most prominent: we acknowledge that those who came before us were greater than we are and yet we contradict their sayings in many places and we know the truth is with us; how can this be? He answered: Who can see further, the giant or the dwarf? You might say the giant, since he is taller and so can see further. But if you put the dwarf on the giant's shoulders, who will be able to see further? You must say the dwarf, since his eyes are now higher that the giant's. So are we, dwarfs standing on the shoulders of the giants who came before us, since we learned from their wisdom and we add to it from our own perspective; it is not because we are greater than they are.And I have also seen written by the Gaon Reb Haim of Volozhin in his book Ruah Haim (chapter 141 of Avot, mishna 4): "And a pupil is prohibited to accept his rabbi's view when he has questions about it, and sometimes the truth will be with the pupil just as a small twig can light up a mighty tree…"

One cannot read these words without feeling frustrated over the culture of silencing and subjugating Torah scholars which is rife today. There are scholars who are afraid to voice opinions which contradict the leading decision makers of our time. Even Rabbi Ovadia himself did not say a word against the Lithuanian extremism on the issue of conversions. He did not come out against the ridiculous idea of moving the new critical ER wing for the Barzilai Hospital in Ashkelon far from the hospital due to dubious pagan gravesites on the premises. Also he did not voice his opinion in any vital matter of religious law which contradicts the rulings of Rabbi Elyashiv and his followers.

The silencing of Torah scholars is spiritual violence. It breeds shallowness and dependence that affect our religious lives in every way. The Hareidi violence against anyone who does not abide by the rulings of the “leaders of the generation” reached new and shocking heights in the matter of canceling the conversions done by officials in the Religious High Court (Beit HaDin Hagadol). Rabbi Sherman's outrageous ruling defined Rabbi Drukman and the official religious court as a "court of criminals" just because he would not yield to the rulings of the so-called “leaders” of the Hareidi community who supposedly "speak in the name of the Torah". We have reached an ugly abyss of Hareidi leadership and there is nothing left but to rise up against it. This is not the Torah we know, this is not our viewpoint and these are not our leaders.

Our children need to hear us cry out against the violence and the silencing of opposing opinions. We need to shout: “This is not the way of the Torah! We believe in God and His Torah and we refuse to bow down to this dreadful "papacy". We must strengthen each other in our belief in God and the Torah, and strengthen our trust in honesty and the righteousness of our children.

Bavli Yevamot, 106; Jonah Frenkel in his book "Insights into the Spiritual World of Agada Stories" (Tel Aviv, 1991, pages 78-82), analyzes our story. Amongst others he brings the Halacha which states "sons of sages and pupils, when the public needs them, they step over the heads of the leaders".

#_ednref2" name="_edn2" title="">Bavli, Moed Katan, 25 page 1. Translated to Hebrew according to Steinzaltz.

The greatness of Rambam—Moses Maimonides—is so overwhelming that no serious student of Jewish law or philosophy can ignore him. From the medieval period to modern times, scholars have confronted the writings of Rambam, often seeking his support for their own positions. It is really an intellectual boon to have Rambam on one’s side!

The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization has recently published a volume, Reinventing Maimonides in Contemporary Jewish Thought. It includes a collection of articles by Drs. James Diamond and Menachem Kellner, dealing with how some modern rabbinic sages interpreted Rambam. While much can be learned from each of the articles, I’d like to focus on the articles by Menachem Kellner on Rabbi Elhanan Wasserman and Rabbi Aharon Kotler. These two 20^th century luminaries cast Rambam into the mold of a Hareidi sage. When they read Rambam, they understood him in a way that Rambam himself would have found problematic.

Dr. Kellner reminds us that Rambam was an Arabic-speaker who engaged in theology, mathematics, logic, physics, and philosophy. Rambam believed that maaseh bereishith was the study of physics, and maaseh merkava was the study of metaphysics. Kellner asks: “Would such a person perceive the Torah essentially differently from someone studying it in Yiddish and for whom maaseh bereshith and maaseh merkavah are tied to the mysteries of kabbalah rather than to physics and metaphysics?” Kellner argues that Rambam and Rabbi Wasserman read “very different Torahs.” 

Rabbi Wasserman (1874-1941), an eminent representative of hareidi Orthodoxy, used Rambam to support his own hareidi views. “Rabbi Wasserman was so sure that he was right and that his view was that of traditional Judaism that he found it inconceivable that Maimonides might not concur with his approach.” He thought Rambam would easily fit into his yeshiva in Baranowicze.

Dr. Kellner demonstrates with admirable precision how Rambam’s clear statements were reinterpreted by Rabbi Wasserman in a manner opposite to their intention. He could not accept that Rambam really thought that maaseh bereishith was natural science; rather, he argued that Rambam was really referring to a deeper, esoteric wisdom not available through human reason.

Kellner notes that Rabbi Wasserman’s image of Maimonides was far removed from the original. “How could Rabbi Wasserman, whose Torah (studied in Yiddish) reflects eight hundred years of misgivings and suspicions about the culture surrounding him, grasp in depth the Torah that Maimonides (apparently) studied in Arabic, reflecting a positive attitude towards a fifteen-centuries-old tradition of Greek wisdom?”

In his chapter on Rabbi Kotler, Kellner argues that “not only does Rabbi Kotler read Maimonides as if the Great Eagle had grown up in east European yeshivas…but he also loads upon Maimonides notions that, ostensibly, he should have known are entirely alien to him.”

For example, Rambam states: “Not only the tribe of Levi, but each and every individual of those who come into the world [kol ba’ei ha’olam] whose spirit moves him and whose knowledge gives him understanding to set himself apart in order to stand before the Lord…such an individual is as consecrated as the Holy of Holies, and his portion and inheritance shall be in the Lord forever and ever more. (Laws of Sabbatical Year and Jubilee, 13:12-13).

This is a striking example of Rambam’s universalistic worldview: all people of all backgrounds have access to God if they suitably devote themselves to the Almighty. Rabbi Kotler, though, reads this passage to refer to Torah sages who devote themselves to the study and observance of halakha. Dr. Kellner notes: “Rabbi Kotler was educated in a Jewish tradition…which accepted as obvious that an essentialist difference prevails between the Jewish people and the nations of the world (obviously in favor of the former.)” Even though Rabbi Kotler surely knew that kol ba’ei ha’olam means everyone—Jewish or not—he could not imagine that Rambam actually thought all people had equal access to the Almighty. Only Jews, and specifically only Torah sages, were able to reach the highest spiritual levels.

Rambam taught (Laws of Torah Study, 3:1):  “One who makes up his mind to study Torah and not work but live on charity, profanes the name of God, brings the Torah into contempt, extinguishes the light of religion, brings evil upon himself and deprives himself of life hereafter….The end of such a person will be that he will rob his fellow creatures.”  It is difficult to find a clearer statement that opposes a “kollel system” where men are encouraged to study Torah all day and live off the charity of the community. Yet, Rabbi Kotler ignores this explicit statement and relies instead on a Talmudic passage that says: “from the day that the Temple was destroyed, the Holy One blessed be He has nothing in His world but the four cubits of halakhah.” Although Rambam himself interprets that Talmudic passage differently, Rabbi Kotler does not choose to veer from his own understanding of the text. It seems that Rabbi Kotler would have Rambam praise the “kollel system” since students (presumably) are devoting themselves day and night to learning halakha…and thereby entering the four cubits which the Almighty has in this world.

Other chapters in this volume deal with Rabbi Naftali Tsevi Yehudah Berlin; Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik; Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook; Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira; Rabbi Aviner and Rabbi Kafih. Interestingly, each of these thinkers reads Rambam differently.  Rambam continues to evoke serious thought. He remains a powerful guide…and a formidable challenge.

In Honor of Rabbi Hayyim Angel, on his 25 Years of Rabbinic Service

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

When Rabbi Hayyim Angel was still a rabbinical student, he wrote a short statement responding to the question: Who are religious Jews?  “Religious Jews are those whose hearts smile when their mouths do. Religious Jews feel pain in another’s misery, joy in another’s happiness. They know that perfection is impossible, yet they strive for it. They are trees rooted in the earth with their branches extending towards the heavens. Religious Jews are cisterns who do not lose a drop; they are springs of water which steadily increase. They observe the commandments with an adult’s intelligence and a child’s enthusiasm. They act in a manner that is a credit to themselves and which earns them the respect of both Jew and non-Jew. They are prepared to sacrifice for God, their people, their laws, and their homeland. Religious Jews are a unified mass of sand, yet individual stars who shine on the world.”

Anyone who could write such a description of a religious Jew must be a remarkably insightful person. Anyone who could live up to that description must be an “angel.” Rabbi Hayyim Angel has done both!

As we commemorate Rabbi Hayyim Angel’s 25^th anniversary of rabbinic service, we salute him not only for an amazing career as rabbi and teacher…but for being an exemplar of what a religious Jew should be. He is a clear-thinking and erudite rabbinic scholar. He is an inspiring, creative and challenging educator. He is a kind, sincere and thoughtful human being.

During the past quarter century, he has had a profound influence on thousands of students through his classes at Yeshiva University, through his sermons and lectures at various synagogues and schools, through his many publications, and through his work as National Scholar of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. He has a gift of conveying scholarly material in a lively, interesting manner. He engages students, makes them think, expands their knowledge and perspectives. How fortunate are all of us who have had the privilege of learning from him and with him.

It has been a special source of nahat for me to be able to work with my son Hayyim over these many years.  He has been an ongoing source of pride and joy to his mother and me, to his siblings, nephews and nieces. And he is blessed with his wonderful wife, Maxine, and their precious children: Aviva Hayya, Dahlia Rachel, Mordechai Pinhas, and Eliyahu David.

May the Almighty bless Rabbi Hayyim Angel with many more years of good health and happiness, outstanding leadership to the Jewish People, and dedicated service to the entire community. May he and his family be blessed with all good things.

Rabbi Daniel Harstein, a teacher in Yeshivat Lev HaTorah in Beit Shemesh, points out that throughout Sefer Bemidbar there are many individuals and small groups who had a huge impact on the community at large. At first, the Torah mentions those who changed the community for the worse. The spies created chaos and rebellion which doomed an entire generation to death in the wilderness. Korah caused an internal unrest over the leadership of Moshe. Bilaam, according to the Midrash, incited the Israelites to sin, leading to a plague that killed 24,000 people.

Beginning with Pinehas at the end of Parshat Balak, we finally see how one individual is capable of changing things for the good.  By killing the flagrant sinners--Zimri son of Salu, a Prince of the tribe of Shimon, along with Cozbi-- Pinehas, in this one act stopped the Israelites from their sins and ended the plague.

In Parshat Pinehas, there is another incident of a few individuals making a big change. In the beginning of Chapter 27, the Torah relates the story of the daughters of Tzelafchad. Tzelafchad had five daughters and no sons, so upon his death, there were no sons to receive his inheritance. His daughters approached Moshe and the other leaders of Israel to ask for a portion in the land of Israel as inheritance. Moshe turned to Hashem to resolve this issue, and was told: “The daughters of Tzelafchad speak properly.” Rashi (27:1) points out that these women were righteous and held the land (of Israel) to be precious; this is why they desired to have a portion in the land of Israel. 

Rabbi Yoni Levin, assistant Rabbi of Congregation Aish Kodesh, quotes another comment of Rashi (26:64) that after the sin of the spies, the Israelite women were not punished with death in the wilderness as the men were because the women of Israel held the land to be precious. The men of Israel said they wanted to go back to Egypt after the incident of the spies, but the women asked for a possession in the land. 

How do we get from the daughters of Tzelafchad loving the land to all the women of Israel loving the land?  

Rabbi Levin answers that the single action of these five daughters of Tzelafchad had a ripple effect of inspiration, making the other women realize their love for Israel, which ultimately  saved the entire generation of women from being punished. 

Every individual is capable of performing acts of great good and great evil; everyone is capable of causing great influence and making great change. However, changing the world does not always have to be the end goal. Doing good deeds can still be tremendously impactful on the micro level. Acts as seemingly trivial as greeting a neighbor with a smile or holding the door for a stranger can completely turn around someone’s day. 

Rabbi Yisrael Meir Kagan, the Chafetz Chayim was asked how he became such a big influence on the Jewish community, to which he responded: “Originally, I set out to change the world, but I failed.  So I decided to scale back my efforts and only influence the Jewish community of Poland, but I failed there, too.  So I targeted the community of my hometown of Radin, but I achieved no greater success.  Then I gave all my effort to changing my own family and I failed at that as well.  Finally, I decided to change myself and that’s how I had such an impact on the Jewish world.”

The Chafetz Chayim teaches us that it is not always possible to save an entire generation from punishment in one moment, but everyone at any time is capable of doing something positive, which over time, can have a great effect.

                                                The question of how a religious community should be welcoming and inclusive is something that I have thought about for many years. At the age of four, my family learned that I was on the autism spectrum. Throughout the years, I have had a variety of experiences regarding being included and all experiences offered critically important perspectives on the topic. One of the aspects of inclusion that I have thought about particularly is the role that clergy members and Jewish communal leaders should have in this area.

            Although there are many crucial roles for clergy and community leaders tin this context, I will choose to highlight seven that in my opinion are especially vital.

1. Role-modeling: One of the most important contributions that clergy members and communal leaders can make to the area of inclusion is role-modeling. Indeed, the actions that a clergy member or community leader takes can, and frequently does, convey important messages. The concept of btzelem elokhim, that all people are created in the image of G-d, is vital and communal leaders and clergy members should convey that fundamental truth through their actions. For instance, I was once attending a program and one of the rabbis in the program asked if I would be willing to join a class beginning in the middle of the year for students arriving mid-year.  I still recall the rabbi telling the students, on the first day, that I would be participating in the class and that he felt that I, like all other participants, would make valuable contributions. The class was a truly positive experience and is a cherished memory to this day. I understood instantly that the message being sent was that being welcoming and inclusive should come naturally and will never forget that very warm welcome!

2. Avoid viewing inclusion as charity: I would also encourage communal leaders to refrain from viewing inclusion as an act of charity or chesed, or to otherwise behave in a patronizing manner. I cannot speak for others but to view inclusion as chesed or charity would for me undoubtedly imply that being included is a privilege as opposed to a right that is inherent in being part of a community. Including and welcoming everybody is a responsibility incumbent upon the community, particularly clergy members and communal leaders. It is therefore enormously important to do one’s best to avoid even unintentionally communicating that inclusion is anything less than a full right.

3. Listening and accepting that everyone has different strengths and challenges: This is somewhat similar to role-modeling, as clergy members and communal leaders have potential especially in this context to help set an overall communal tone. There have been numerous occasions when I have felt that different people haven’t truly been listening to me. For example, there have been times when I have wanted to try to do things that people have felt that I couldn’t do and there have been times when I have felt strongly that I couldn’t do things that people have thought I could and should. One point that I regularly emphasize is that G-d gives everybody unique strengths as well as challenges. I think that living with special needs has helped me to appreciate my strengths more and has made me more aware of my limitations. A strength that I have is a photographic memory, particularly for dates. If I have a conversation ten years or so ago, for example, I often can remember the date and sometimes even the day of the week!

On the other hand, I have made a decision to not attempt to learn to drive, despite the fact that I sometimes wish I could, because I think that driving would make me anxious to such an extent that I wouldn’t be able to focus on driving safely. Occasionally, when people have told me that they wish that they had a photographic memory, I ask, “Do you drive?” Often, the answer is, “Yes.” I then say, “Well, I don’t and that’s something that I’m unable to do. You can do something that I would like to do and I can do something that you wish you could do” and cite that as an example of G-d giving us all our unique areas of strength and challenge. It might sound obvious but people, regardless of whether they have special needs or not, are the most authoritative sources on what they can and cannot do!  Additionally, it is crucial that clergy members and Jewish communal leaders convey the truth of people having different abilities in how they interact with people who have special needs in their communities, and with all people. Taking that knowledge to heart has potential to substantially impact how they respond to different situations and to help set the overall tone for communities.

4. Actively seek out opportunities: I would also advise communal leaders and clergy members to actively seek out opportunities for individuals who have special needs to use their strengths. That is an ultimate way in which one can let people with special needs know that they, as people, are valued. At my family’s synagogue, for several years, I did writing for children’s programming for several years about the Parashat Hashavua (weekly Torah portion). It is hard to overstate how important that experience has been in my continued development.

5. Make sure that actions match words: It is easy to say that one is inclusive but what will truly give those words meaning is conducting oneself in a manner that is consistent with those words. In addition to creating a general environment favorable to inclusion, there should ideally be a group of people dedicated to putting ideas about inclusion into action.  Although an environment favorable to inclusion is a necessary first step, it is just that, a first step, on the way to meaningful action. Furthermore, if there is a committee addressing inclusion, it is critical that individuals who have special needs serve on the committee. That directly relates to the point, discussed earlier, about people who have special needs being given opportunities to use their strengths.

6. Staff training: Another area of importance is training of synagogue staff by a professional. Very simply put, people cannot do things if they don’t know how to do it. There have been instances when people in leadership positions in the Jewish community unintentionally behaved in ways that, to me, did not feel inclusive and later expressed genuine regret. Staff training is thus a critical means of helping to guarantee that our communities will be welcoming and inclusive.

7. Creating opportunities for individuals who have special needs to be clergy and communal leaders: I cannot stress enough the importance of there being opportunities for individuals who have special needs to become clergy and communal leaders. As important as statements of aspirations to continually become more inclusive and actions in that direction truly are, it is harder to make a more powerful statement of commitment to inclusion and acceptance, as a fundamental, nonnegotiable right, than to regularly create opportunities for individuals who have special needs to serve in leadership roles and for communities to embrace that reality. Furthermore, in my opinion, individuals who have special needs serving in leadership roles sends a signal to other people with special needs in the community about their absolute right to be accepted and included.

In conclusion, I want to say that it is all right to make mistakes. We often learn from our mistakes in ways that we might not otherwise. We are only human but a test of communal leadership is a willingness to do things differently if a mistake has been made and being willing generally to think and do things differently. Indeed, my final piece of advice to clergy members and communal leaders would be as follows: always maintain an open mind. 

            After college graduation, one of the career options that I’m considering are working in Jewish education and making a contribution in the area of inclusion and am looking forward to continue along this path.

Is it proper to let one's children watch movies?

It is proper to let parents decide for themselves if their children should watch movies, as well as  which movies they should or should not view. The variables of the decision are significant: age and maturity of the child; content of the movie; the religious dynamics of the family and extended community. Responsible parents need to evaluate what is best for their children.

Many of our children and grandchildren grow up in relatively sheltered cultural environments. They have limited exposure to people and ideas outside their own circle of family, schools, and synagogues. Victor Hugo noted that “narrow horizons beget stunted ideas.” If we want our children to expand their horizons and to feel a connectedness with humanity at large, the arts—including film—can play a vital role.

Through books, films, and art, children are introduced to various perspectives. They grow as thinking and sensitive human beings. They become aware of the lives and concerns of people outside their immediate experience. They confront ideas, emotions and conflicts that help them cope with the complexities of life.

Parents have a huge responsibility in guiding their children so that they are exposed to the best that is available in our culture. Although many of the popular movies today are problematic from a religious point of view, other movies are powerful, instructive, or just plain entertaining.

Is it proper to watch or enjoy the sport of boxing?

Martial arts include a variety of forms—boxing, wrestling, krav maga, and a host of Eastern techniques. People participate in these activities as a means of building physical strength, developing self-confidence, and learning strategies of self-defense. Many find much value and enjoyment in their experience of martial arts. And that is fine.

When martial arts competitions are conducted under proper supervision, they can be positive experiences for participants and viewers.

A problem arises, though, when these sports go beyond healthy limits. Professional boxing, for example, puts two people in a ring with the express goal of having one of them knock the other one unconscious. This transcends the realm of sport and becomes an expression of violence and blood-lust. While people might enjoy seeing two muscle bound boxers clobber each other, this is a kind of enjoyment fine people will want to pass up.

Et hata’ai ani mazkir: As a teenager I would sometimes watch boxing matches on television. In 1962 I saw a fight in which Benny Kid Paret was brutalized so badly that he was taken to the hospital…where he soon died. I—and all the thousands of viewers—literally saw someone being beaten to death…all legal and in the name of the sport of boxing.  I don’t think I’ve watched a professional boxing match since then. And I wouldn’t recommend watching or enjoying such a “sport”. It leaves a stain on one’s soul.

Should an ordinary Jew endeavor to say Tikkun Chatzos?  If not regularly, perhaps sometimes?

A person should endeavor to say Tikkun Hatsot only if one feels a spiritual need for these midnight prayers. The texts lamenting the destruction of the ancient Temples and the “exile of the Shekhina” may be meaningful to various individuals, especially those influenced by kabbalistic practice.

Many people, though, will not feel the need to say Tikkun Hatsot. Their religious life is full enough without requiring participation in this kabbalistic tradition. For them, waking up to recite midnight lamentations is unnecessary, unfulfilling, and counter-productive. It is better to conduct one’s daily life with the steady consciousness of the presence of Hashem. Instead of excessive crying for what has been lost, it is preferable to pray for and work for a restoration of proper religious life in our society.

When I was a student in Yeshiva, one of my Rabbayim advised us not to stay up all night for the Shavuot learning. We should rather go to sleep at our regular time, wake up refreshed so we could say our prayers with proper kavanah, and then spend quality time studying Torah during the day of Shavuot. Most people who stay up all night have difficulty concentrating on their learning when overly tired; because of excessive tiredness they don’t say the morning prayers properly; and they are exhausted the rest of the day. The losses of the custom of staying up all night can be much greater than the gains.

These arguments could equally apply to Tikkun Hatsot, except for rare individuals with a kabbalistic bent.

Rabbi Marc Angel Replies to Questions from the Jewish Press

Should a person who enjoys learning on his own force himself to find a chavrusa?

The Talmud (Shabbat 31a) cites the opinion of Rava about what we will be asked when we eventually come before the heavenly court. One of the questions is: kavata itim leTorah, did you set aside fixed times to study Torah? Regular study of Torah is expected of us, and we will have to answer for ourselves in due course.

We won’t be asked if we learned on our own or with a havruta.

The goal is to study Torah regularly and effectively. We need to be able to set times for study, and to have the mental framework for gaining most from the time we devote to our studies.

For some people, having a havruta is an effective way to advance in Torah. Since two or more people are involved, it’s necessary to set times to meet. A havruta system enables the partners to struggle through texts together, to share knowledge, to challenge assumptions.

But for others, learning on one’s own is preferable. A self-disciplined person can often accomplish a lot more by oneself. While one loses the give and take of a havruta arrangement, one gains the ability to approach topics and texts as he/she thinks best and on his/her own schedule.

No one should feel compelled to find a havruta. If one feels that one can learn best with a learning partner, then one should choose a suitable havruta. If one feels that one can learn best alone, then study alone…but, either way, be sure to study!

If a person believes based on medical expert advice that wearing a mask on a quiet sidewalk is unnecessary, should he wear it anyways because of the chillul Hashem it will cause in some circles if he doesn't?  Does the answer depend on his motivation (convenience vs. making a political statement)?

 As responsible citizens, we are obliged to follow the laws of our government. We are currently required to wear masks and practice social distancing when in public, in order to lessen the impact of the covid 19 pandemic. These practices have been mandated for the health and well-being of all of us.

Those who do not follow the rules, regardless of motivation, are thereby endangering the health—and possibly the lives—of themselves and others. When people obviously identified as Jews spurn the regulations, this casts a bad light on themselves and on the Jewish community as a whole. In a recent example of a throng of Hassidic Jews attending a funeral, the Mayor of New York made unfortunate comments—not just about the scoff-laws, but about the “Jewish community.” Kol Yisrael areivim zeh lazeh, we are all responsible for each other; our individual actions reflect on our people as a whole.

If one is walking in an area where there are few or no other people nearby, it should be fine to remove the face mask since no one is endangered by this. However, when one is in a public setting where multiple other people are present, one should certainly wear the face mask and observe social distancing.

The consequence of violating the rules is not only a matter of hillul Hashem; it is possibly to endanger the health and lives of oneself and others.

When bad things happen to someone else, is it appropriate to speculate why?

It is appropriate for everyone to mind his or her own business; it is inappropriate to speculate about why bad things happen to others.

Tanakh makes this clear in the book of Iyyov, where Iyyov’s friends “speculate” that he is suffering because of his sins. Hashem states that only He knows the ultimate reasons for things. Speaking to Eliphaz, Hashem says: “My wrath is kindled against you and against your two friends; for you have not spoken of Me the thing that is right, as My servant Iyyov has” (42:7). In other words, leave judgment to the Almighty who alone understands why things happen as they do.

In the Pirkei Avot, we read the words of Rabbi Eliezer: “Let the honor of your fellow be as precious to you as your own” (2:15). Just as you would not someone to judge you in a manner that casts aspersions on your honor, so you should not judge others in a manner that diminishes their honor.

It is religiously and morally repugnant to suggest theological reasons to blame victims for their sufferings. People who are not prophets should not arrogate to themselves the right to proclaim that they know Hashem's will. They don't.

We have the right and responsibility to judge ourselves and to self-reflect when we deal with adversity. We don’t have the right or responsibility to stand in judgment of others. As we all learned from our parents, if you don’t have something good to say about someone…don’t say anything at all.

For bar mitzvah boys: Should you give them a sefer in Hebrew, which they may not be able to read for another five years (or perhaps ever), or should you give them something in English?  

King Solomon, the wisest of men, taught: "Educate each child according to his way" (Kohelet 22:6). Every child has his or her own strengths, weaknesses, aptitudes, interests. When considering a gift for a bar or bat mitzvah boy or girl, one needs to think about what would be most suitable for that individual child. If the decision is to give a book of Jewish content, then one needs to think carefully about what book/s would be most appreciated.

Making the right choice requires a lot of thought. Ideally, one should know the child very well so as to have a good idea of what book/s would be relevant. Giving an impressive set of Hebrew books might be of interest to the giver: but would these books be of interest to the recipient? Or is it reasonable to assume that the book/s will indeed one day become relevant to the child as he/she grows up?

Before giving a book or set of books, first think of what would be most appropriate for the child. Then consider whether the child already has the book/s or is likely to receive them from other bar/bat mitzvah guests.

My general suggestion for someone who is uncertain as to what book/s to give:  buy a gift certificate from a Jewish book store and let the child choose for him/herself.

Visiting En-Dor in a Tenth-Century Babylonian Yeshiva[1]

For my dear teacher and friend, R. Hayyim Davidson

1. Introduction

The episode at En-Dor, detailed in 1 Shemuel 28, is one of the most puzzling and challenging in all of Biblical narrative. The exegetical challenges are well known, some more than others. They consist of detailed questions of nuance as well as broader, overall issues. I will adumbrate more fully below, but as an example of a nuance problem—why does Shaul request that the necromancer “raise” Shemuel (ha’ali li)—is this an idiomatic phrase or does it reflect something about the location of the spirits of the departed? One of the macro issues to assess is the efficacy of the entire enterprise—which will be the focus of this paper. Do the occult practices, forbidden explicitly by God in Devarim 18 and regarded as abominations, really “work”? Is it possible to communicate with the dead? And, if so, why did God allow Shaul to get reliable information from the spirit of Shemuel—but deny him access through the proper channels of prophecy and visions?

Just surveying the history of exegesis—even if we were to limit ourselves to the traditional commentators, would fill an entire volume. We will focus on one overall issue and that through the lens of two of the leaders of Babylonian Jewry in the tenth century. In order to understand the problems that they were addressing, we will first present the narrative.

2. The Text

Where necessary, I will transliterate words or phrases, otherwise, this English translation is taken from the “old” JPS translation (1917), with some minor modifications.

1) And it came to pass in those days, that the Philistines gathered their hosts together for warfare, to fight with Israel. And Achish said unto David: 'Know thou assuredly, that thou shalt go out with me in the host, thou and thy men.'

(2) And David said to Achish: 'Therefore thou shalt know what thy servant will do.' And Achish said to David: 'Therefore will I make thee keeper of my head for ever.'

(3) Now Samuel had died (uShemuel meit), and all Israel had lamented him, and buried him in Ramah, even in his own city. And Saul had put away those that divined by a ghost (ovot) or a familiar spirit (yidonim) out of the land.

(4) And the Philistines gathered themselves together and came and pitched in Shunem; and Saul gathered all Israel together, and they pitched in Gilboa.

(5) And when Saul saw the host of the Philistines, he was afraid, and his heart trembled greatly.

(6) And when Saul inquired of the Lord, the Lord answered him not, neither by dreams, nor by Urim, nor by prophets.

(7) Then said Saul unto his servants: 'Seek me a woman that divineth by a ghost, that I may go to her, and inquire of her.' And his servants said to him: 'Behold, there is a woman that divineth by a ghost at En-dor.'

(8) And Saul disguised himself, and put on other raiment, and went, he and two men with him, and they came to the woman by night; and he said: 'Divine unto me, I pray thee, by a ghost, and bring me up (ha’ali li) whomsoever I shall name unto thee.'

(9) And the woman said unto him: 'Behold, thou knowest what Saul hath done, how he hath cut off those that divine by a ghost or a familiar spirit out of the land; wherefore then layest thou a snare for my life, to cause me to die?'

(10) And Saul swore to her by the Lord, saying: 'As the Lord liveth, there shall no punishment happen to thee for this thing.'

(11) Then said the woman: 'Whom shall I bring up (a’aleh) unto thee?' And he said: 'Bring me up Samuel.'

(12) And when the woman saw Samuel, she cried with a loud voice; and the woman spoke to Saul, saying: 'Why hast thou deceived me? for thou art Saul.'

(13) And the king said unto her: 'Be not afraid; for what seest thou?' And the woman said unto Saul: 'I see a lordly being coming up out of the earth.'[2]

(14) And he said unto her: 'What form is he of?' And she said: 'An old man cometh up; and he is covered with a robe.' And Saul perceived that it was Samuel, and he bowed with his face to the ground, and prostrated himself.

(15) And Samuel said to Saul: 'Why hast thou disquieted me, to bring me up?' And Saul answered: 'I am sore distressed; for the Philistines make war against me, and God is departed from me, and answereth me no more, neither by prophets, nor by dreams; therefore I have called thee[3], that thou mayest make known unto me what I shall do.'

(16) And Samuel said: 'Wherefore then dost thou ask of me, seeing the Lord is departed from thee, and is become thine adversary?

(17) And the Lord hath wrought for Himself; as He spoke by me; and the Lord hath rent the kingdom out of thy hand, and given it to thy neighbor, even to David.

(18) Because thou didst not hearken to the voice of the Lord, and didst not execute His fierce wrath upon Amalek, therefore hath the Lord done this thing unto thee this day.

(19) Moreover the Lord will deliver Israel also with thee into the hand of the Philistines; and to-morrow shalt thou and thy sons be with me; the Lord will deliver the host of Israel also into the hand of the Philistines.'

(20) Then Saul fell straightway his full length upon the earth, and was sore afraid, because of the words of Samuel; and there was no strength in him; for he had eaten no bread all the day, nor all the night.

(21) And the woman came unto Saul, and saw that he was sore affrighted, and said unto him: 'Behold, thy handmaid hath hearkened unto thy voice, and I have put my life in my hand, and have hearkened unto thy words which thou spokest unto me.

(22) Now therefore, I pray thee, hearken thou also unto the voice of thy handmaid, and let me set a morsel of bread before thee; and eat, that thou mayest have strength, when thou goest on thy way.'

(23) But he refused and said: 'I will not eat.' But his servants, together with the woman, urged him; and he hearkened unto their voice. So he arose from the earth, and sat upon the bed.

(24) And the woman had a fatted calf in the house; and she made haste, and killed it; and she took flour, and kneaded it, and did bake unleavened bread thereof;

(25) and she brought it before Saul, and before his servants; and they did eat. Then they rose up, and went away that night

3. The Problem(s)

There are numerous problems that even a cursory read of the passage brings to the fore. Perhaps the most intractable one is, What actually happened in the necromancer’s house? Are we to believe that necromancy “works” and that it is possible to summon up and communicate with the dead, that they can communicate with us? Besides the question of their having any knowledge worth sharing with us and how they would communicate, the essential problem of the efficacy of ma’aseh Ov sits at the core of this story. For if we believe, as the mainstream of Haza”l clearly did, as well as nearly the consensus of Rishonim, that the forbidden occult practices are effective (some even suggest that they are banned precisely because they work—see Ramban, Shikehat ha’Asin #8—in his appendix to Rambam’s Sefer haMitzvot) then the story has an internal logic, and we just need to fill in the blanks of the mechanics of it all. How do you summon a specific character, what does the character know, how does he/she communicate with the living, what is the role of the medium, etc. If, however, as an admittedly small group of Ge’onim and Rishonim maintain, these practices are all vain, foolish, and without any real efficacy—then how are we to read this story? Perhaps the most elegant and clear presentation of this view is Rambam’s epilogue to the laws of the occult practices:

All of the above matters [divination, necromancy, etc.] are falsehood and lies with which the original idolaters deceived the gentile nations in order to lead them after them. It is not fitting for the Jews who are wise sages to be drawn into such emptiness, nor to consider that they have any value, per: “ki lo nahash beYaakov velo kesem beYisrael: (“No black magic can be found among Jacob nor occult arts within Israel”—Bemidbar 23:23). Similarly, it states “These nations that you are driving out listen to astrologers and diviners; this is not what God…has granted you” (Devarim 18:14). Whoever believes in [occult arts] of this nature and, in his heart, thinks that they are true and words of wisdom but are forbidden by the Torah,[4] is foolish and feebleminded…. The masters of wisdom and those of perfect knowledge know with clear proof that all these crafts which the Torah forbade are not reflections of wisdom, but rather emptiness and vanity which attracted the feebleminded and caused them to abandon all the paths of truth. For these reasons, when the Torah warned against all these empty matters, it advised: “Be of perfect with God, your Lord” (Devarim 18: 13). (Hilkhot Avodah Zarah, 11:16)

This presentation of Rambam’s, which is echoed in passages in the Guide and in several other rulings in Mishneh Torah, is an abrupt departure from the attitude held throughout the rabbinic period, where the reality behind occult practices as well as demonic interactions and the like were both assumed and reported. Regarding the former, perhaps the most well-known report is the Aggadah about the pious man who went to sleep in a cemetery on Rosh haShanah and overheard two dead girls, buried there, conversing with each other about the fortunes of the upcoming year. The one who was able to escape her confines came back with a forecast about agricultural plagues, which the eavesdropper exploited and succeeded (BT Berakhot 18a). The entire story is brought to determine whether or not the dead are aware of what is happening on earth—and the end of the story, in which one of the girls tells the other that people are talking about them on earth, is left as an inconclusive resolution to the question. In other words—the dead continue to exist in some quasi-physical realm, they are able to visit places on earth, gain information, talk to each other, (perhaps) find out what people are talking about on earth, and care about all of that. Given these premises, if there is an effective method to communicate with spirits like this to gain information otherwise unavailable to mortals, people will be tempted to use it. A well-known talmudic story about necromancy itself is the report of Onkelos, before his conversion, who “summoned up” Titus, Balaam, and Jesus to ask them how the Jews were regarded in the “other world” and whether it would be worth joining their nation (BT Gittin 57a).

Rambam’s approach to demonology, magic, and the like was not a revolution of his own making. Two centuries earlier, several of the heads of the academies in Bavel were unabashedly taking the position that “[regarding] the words of our forebears, if they contradict reason, we have no reason to accept them.”[5] A more strident statement with more far-reaching implications for theologically and philosophically limned exegesis is found in a responsum of R. Hai Gaon (939–1038):

We should remind ourselves of the phrases used in the biblical text and to present them before our reasoning, and that which reason allows for from a straightforward reading of the text (“peshat hakatuv”) we will accept and if the matter allows for two or more interpretations, there is no reason to oppose (reject) any of them, rather whichever is closer (to reason) takes priority.[6]

These opinions, expressed in unequivocal terms, were put forth by the leaders of the central academies (metivtot) from where instruction and Torah were disseminated to the entire Jewish world. Bavel’s hegemony lasted until 1038 with the death of R. Hai. There are two startling developments here.

First of all, the teachers of the law and the guardians of the tradition were rejecting the need to accept the validity of earlier talmudic statements regarding things which did not comport with reason; they were even proposing a non-literal reading of biblical texts, where exegetically feasible, where reason was challenged by a straightforward reading of the text. This means that “reason” had become the prime determinant of truth—it was enough to allow an Aggadah to be ignored and it was strong enough to force a new reading of a biblical text.

The second surprise is how little of an impact this entire approach had on the next generations of rabbinic leadership; nearly all of the Rishonim turned their backs on their predecessors and in many cases, ignored their revolutionary approach as if it had never happened.

We will explore the first of these developments, using the exegesis of two of the Geonim to our episode at En-Dor as an example of their method.

R. Saadiah Al-Fayumi

Saadiah ben Yosef al-Fayumi haKohen was born in Egypt in 892 (some maintain 882) and was named to head the Sura academy in Babylonia in 928. This appointment granted him the title “Gaon” which had been the traditional title[7] of the heads of each of the two central academies (Sura and Pumbedita) for several hundred years. He was a trailblazer in numerous areas. He composed the first comprehensive Bible commentary, was a master halakhist as well as philosopher, and his Emunot veDeot remains a staple of Jewish rationalist thinking.[8]

R. Saadiah has the following interpretation of our episode. (This commentary is taken from the commentary of R. Yitzhak Al-Kanazi, a contemporary of Rambam):

I intend to explore five issues:

1. Did Shaul think that it was permitted to ask the necromancer to resurrect (?) Shemuel?
2. Did Shemuel indeed come back to life or not?
3. If he did come back to life, who resurrected him? The witch or Hashem?
4. Why did she see him, while Shaul did not?
5. Why did Shaul hear him speak, whereas the witch did not hear him?

The answer to the first question is that the text had already testified that Shaul was tormented and occasionally “out of his mind”… such that he would have thought that even an inanimate stone could resurrect the dead, all the more so a necromancer.

As to the second question: The text twice says “Shemuel said to Shaul,” therefore we must understand that Shemuel indeed stood from his grave truly alive. We may not interpret that she was telling Shaul that Shemuel was such-and-such (see below, in R. Shemuel b. Hofni Gaon’s interpretation) and that the text is merely reflecting what Shaul imagined by himself; if so, we would have to call into question every similar passage and every instance of vayomer or vaydaber we would have to interpret against p’shat.

In response to the third question, we must say that the Creator raised Shemuel in order to show his revivification. The text explicitly points out that she asked him “Whom shall I raise?” but it doesn’t credit her with the resurrection itself. It just states “the woman saw Shemuel and she cried out in a loud voice”; if she had been the one to raise him, the text would have explicitly stated “and she raised Shemuel.” If someone asks why the text didn’t state that God resurrected Shemuel, we will answer: It is impossible, based on our reason, for we know that no one is capable of reviving the dead except for the Creator, may His Name be blessed.

Regarding the fourth question, the text never states that Shaul didn’t see Shemuel from the beginning of the story until the end. It merely points out that [he asked] as soon as Shemuel arrived; had he waited until Shemuel arrived, he wouldn’t have asked her “what does he look like?” once he approached and he saw him, he wouldn’t have needed to ask her, but he was hasty to ask her.

The answer to the fifth question is that there is no mention in the text that Shaul heard his words and that the woman was present but didn’t hear. There is no doubt about this whatsoever; but when Shaul and Shemuel met each other, the woman distanced herself a bit from the two of them, went out and left them by themselves while they were talking with each other. She behaved this way per proper protocol. This is the reason that the text states “she came to Shaul and behold he was sore affrighted.”

Discussion

The first thing that we notice about Saadiah’s interpretation is that his frame of reference is resurrection. The only way that he imagines the scene is to picture Shemuel appearing in his body—which is why Saadiah insists, in no uncertain terms, that both Shaul and the necromancer both saw and heard Shemuel. This is a departure from the approach taken in the midrashic literature. Midrash Tanhuma (Emor #4), using our story as a base, states:

There are three things stated about raising someone via the Ov; the one who raises it can see it but not hear it; the one who requested it can hear him but not see him, and anyone else who is present can neither see him nor hear his voice.

It is clear that this presentation assumes the efficacy of ma’aseh Ov and also assumes that what is being “raised” is a spirit that has some real or envisioned form and some real or imagined voice such that only one specific party can see—and another one can hear—the apparition.

Since Saadiah rejects the entire enterprise of Ma’aseh Ov as being efficacious (as we will see below), he interprets the event as a resurrection, such that there is both body and voice that can be sensed by anyone present.

The second critical point in Saadiah’s interpretation is that he absolutely negates the possibility that the necromancer could have raised Shemuel—or anyone—from the dead. He accords this possibility to God alone. This is, again, a departure from the approach of the Midrashim (and Talmud); yet Saadiah does not feel bound to their interpretation if it is contrary to reason.

Saadiah’s motivation for interpreting thus is stated clearly. He is not willing to read the incident at “face value,” as an apparition is not part of his world-view, nor is he willing to interpret the entire thing as being imagined by Shaul (or some variation thereof), as that violates the straightforward reading of the text. Since we are able to interpret the entire narrative in a way that comports with reason, we will do so without having to resort to non-literal meanings of words like “he said,” “she saw,” etc.

We will reassess and complete our discussion of Saadiah’s interpretation after studying the approach of another Gaon.

R. Shemuel Ben Hofni

Shemuel b. Hofni Gaon, (d. 1034) was the last Gaon of the yeshiva in Sura. Full disclosure—he was R. Hai Gaon’s (quoted above) father-in-law. He was a noted halakhist as well as an exegete, although few of his commentaries are extant. One of the valuable tomes that we have available is his commentary to the book of Shemuel. As regards our episode, he comments:

“In reality, she did not revive; rather, the necromancer fooled Shaul….When it states “Shemuel said…” it truthfully means to say that the woman, the ba’alat Ov, told him that “behold Shemuel is telling you thus and thus.” If someone challenges this, saying that the text did not state “the woman said to Shaul that Shemuel is telling you…” we will answer him that indeed that is true, but reason dictates that in truth that’s what it means that the text is telling us what the ba’alat Ov’s words…for it isn’t reasonable that Shemuel would speak after he died and it is unreasonable that God would revive Shemuel through the office of the witch for this is against nature and is a unique power given to Nevi’im. But indeed it was she who convinced him to ask for this when she said “whom should I raise for you?” and he said “raise Shemuel for me” and she misled him to believe that she had this power. Anywhere that we see the word amar or vaydaber and it is impossible for it to be the speech of that one about whom it is written, we will interpret it there as we said in this story; but if it isn’t impossible, then we need not reinterpret every vayomer and vaydaber in a non-literal way as long as it isn’t against reason and not impossible. You see this in the language of the text: “the vine said to them” [in Yotam’s parable, Shofetim 9—YE].

It isn’t impossible to imagine that it was well-known in Israel what [Shemuel] said while still alive “and Shemuel said to him: ‘God has torn the monarchy of Beit Yisrael from you’ “and the necromancer heard of this and encountered him with this. Regarding the victory of the Pelishtim, it may be that she saw signs and indications of this from the might of the Pelishtim and the weakness of Yisrael, similarly what she said about the death of Shaul and his sons. None of this is support for “secret wisdom” [i.e. the occult practices] because she said all of it as an educated guess.”

Discussion

The fact that R. Shmuel ben Hofni is responding to at least one of R. Saadiah’s points is fairly plain to see. He overtly addresses the problem of reading vayomer Shemuel as “Shaul imagined that Shmuel had spoken with him” (through the deception of the necromancer). Saadiah had already weighed in on the issue by pointing out that we have to accept the straightforward reading of the narrative for “otherwise, we will have to revisit every mention of vayomer and vaydaber.” R. Shmuel b. Hofni responds to this by pointing out that even words as simple and common as vayomer are sometimes understood metaphorically, such as in the case of Yotam’s parable (trees don’t speak). It is up to the reader to determine how convincing a defense this is—but his entire thesis is dependent on this read of vayomer Shemuel.

Like R. Saadiah, R. Shmuel b. Hofni absolutely rejects the possible effectiveness of necromancy and he therefore finds it necessary to interpret the narrative differently from Haza”l. Unlike R. Saadiah, however, he is willing to go much further with the story and read the entire scene as a deception. Here is how Rada”k reports his comments:

…Shemuel didn’t speak with Shaul, and Heaven forbid that Shemuel would have ascended from his grave or speak, but the woman did all of it deceptively. She immediately recognized that [her client] was Shaul but to try to show him that she had “the wisdom” and that was how she recognized him and identified him she said “why did you fool me, yet you are Shaul!” It is the manner of the ba’alat Ov to place a person who speaks from a hiding place in a quiet voice and when Shaul came to make his request of her and she saw him upset and she knew that he was going out to war on the morrow and that all of Israel were greatly afraid and she knew what Shaul had done when he killed the Kohanim of Nov, she fed the “speaker” the words that we find in the story. As to when it says “and Shemuel said to Shaul”—that is what Shaul thought to be the case, for he thought that Shemuel was speaking to him. As to what “he” said: “And you didn’t fulfill God’s anger against Amalek,” the matter was known that from that moment Shemuel had said to him “He has rejected you from being king”. Regarding what “he” said: “[He gave your kingdom] to your fellow, David” it was known throughout Israel that David had been anointed as king. When “he” said: “tomorrow you and your sons will be with me,” “he” said following reason [i.e. it stood to reason that they would die in battle, given the odds, etc.]. This is the commentary of R. Shmuel b. Hofni haGaon z”l and he added that even though the sense of the words of Haza”l in the Gemara is that the women really resurrected Shemuel, these words aren’t to be accepted where this a logical refutation.

The lines are quite clear—whereas the talmudic tradition and the post-Geonic mainstream read the story as literal, these two Geonim (along with R. Hai, who adopted R. Saadiah’s approach) rejected a literal read based on reasoning, maintaining that necromancy (and the other black arts) were all vanity and foolishness. This metaphysical principle (if we might call it that) drove their interpretive strategies. The one point which divided R. Shemuel b. Hofni from his esteemed predecessor (and his own son-in-law) was the impact of taking Shemuel completely out of the equation; even though it impacts on the way that the entire passage is read, the consideration is a relatively minor one—relative to the macro question of the efficacy of the black arts. Note that both of our commentators explicitly address themselves to talmudic interpretations and reject them due to their not conforming to reason.

The foundational question I’d like to address in this final section is what caused these sages to turn their philosophical backs on the Babylonian (and Palestinian) tradition of spirits, the reality of the occult and so much more.

4. The Geonic Period

The Geonic period, from roughly the middle of the ninth century through the middle of the eleventh century, was a time of significant changes affecting the Jewish community. There was little question as to where the center of Torah learning and erudition was—every question of ritual, history of Torah transmission, proper practice and attitudes posed during these two centuries by any Jewish community, from North Africa through the Iberian peninsula was addressed to the “two yeshivot,” housed in Baghdad. The academies of Sura and Pumbedita had been uprooted from their eponymous towns and moved to the newly founded caliphate center. Although a significant percentage of the Geonic literature that was available to us until the end of the nineteenth century was made available via secondary sources (e.g. quoted in the literature of the Rishonim), a literal treasure trove of responsa, commentaries, codes and more was unearthed with the discovery of the Cairo Genizah. That immense storehouse has done more to open our eyes to that era, including much about the world in which the Geonim lives and their challenges, both from within and from without.

Of the challenges which speak most directly to our issues, two presented the rabbinic leadership with unprecedented situations and called for unprecedented responses.

A Note on the Flexible Nature of the Jewish Community and Leadership

One of the hallmarks of Judaism throughout its evolving millennia is its ability to stay true to its mission and to the ideal of declaring God’s Unity at the cost of comfort (exile) or even at the cost of life (martyrdom). Balancing this staunch commitment entails the ability to flexibly shift and adjust to new conditions.

Perhaps the most obvious example of this takes us 1,200 years before the era under question. In 539 bce, the Jewish communities from east of Babylonia through Israel came under the rule of the Persian Empire. Until this point, the Jews had either been independent and sovereign (e.g. the David era) or completely subjugated (e.g. the Babylonian exile). For the first time in history, the Jewish people were autonomous but not sovereign. This means that they had rights, including the right of redress, had standing in the Persian courts and had representatives to the court. As a result, they had to learn to speak the language of the court (Aramaic), to use the pagan month-names (e.g. Nisan, Iyar) used by the Persian court (for dating documents) and had to use the Aramaic script in use in the court (instead of the Hebrew script they had used since the introduction of writing). In other words, issues that were felt to be non-essential to Jewish identity, mission and belief were “negotiable” in order to be able to survive and thrive in their new surroundings.

It may be argued that a parallel transformation took place at the tail end of the Hellenistic era, after the kulturkampf that led to the Hasmonean revolt was no longer an issue. The mode of traditional study and Halakhic instruction shifted from the prophetic mode to the system of discussion, debate, prooftext vs. prooftext and argument vs. argument that we know as the Midrash Halakhah and, later, as the Talmud. This shift seems to sit at the heart of the sugya of “Tanuro Shel Akhnai” (BT Bava Metzia 59b) where R. Eliezer, representing the “old way” is rebuffed and ultimately excommunicated by the “new generation,” led by R. Yehoshua, whose brilliant use of the phrase “it is not in heaven” is used to support the methodology of thrust and parry, proof and disproof—all of which are hallmarks of the Greek method of discussion.

Babylonia (Iraq): The New Norm (Eighth–Tenth Centuries)

The Geonic era brought a similar change. The Jewish people had never been in an environment of free inquiry, of philosophic discourse among members of “competing” religions and of scientific thought. Even though the Jews had had interactions—not all belligerent—with the Greeks in the fourth century bce through the first century ce, they were not (for the most part) of a philosophic, speculative type. Witness the few such interactions (whose historicity is not at all assured) between “the sages of Israel” and “the sages of Athens” or the Aggadah about R. Yehoshua b. Hananya and the wise men of Greece (BT Bekhorot 8–9). The rabbis’ adoption of Greek methods of argumentation speaks to exactly that and no more—method, but not axioms.

After centuries of life in Sassanian Persia, with an up-and-down relationship with the monarch but a decidedly antagonistic one with the religious Habar priests of the reigning Zoroastrian faith,[9] the Islamic era of the eighth to tenth centuries ushered in a revolutionary period of philosophic inquiry and free intercourse between representatives of Islam, Christianity and Judaism. The premises for the discussions, dialogues and debates where philosophic principles which could be argued without recourse to Scripture (which, of course, could not be adduced as proof against someone who does not subscribe to the sanctity of that Scripture). Much of this was generated by the appearance of the Kalam school, whose teachers, the mutakallimun, a school which arose in the middle of the eighth century as a means of developing arguments against detractors and doubters of the fledgling Islamic faith. This mode of inquiry, using rational and universally accessible argument to promote religious doctrine was a first—at least as far as the Jewish polity was concerned. Even though the Kalam began as a means of rebutting Jewish (and Christian) arguments, the mode of thinking and rhetoric spread in this relatively open society and was adopted by both Christian as well as Jewish thinkers. It is clear from his writings that Saadiah’s approach was significantly impacted and driven by the Kalam. Even though both Saadiah and Maimonides rejected the arguments and conclusions of the mutakallimun, this new frame of thinking and style of expression became the norm.

This should not be perceived as such a surprising move; as illustrated above, Jews have, when possible, engaged in cultural conversation with the “other” and have often been influenced as much (if not more) as they have impacted. As stated above, the core ideals and commitment to halakha do not waver—but there are entire worlds that revolve around this core existence that move and shift along with Am Yisrael’s changed circumstances.[10]

It is important to keep in mind that the “traditional” Babylonian beliefs in demons, spirits and the like were never seen as religious doctrines; they were all perceived as “reality.” Just as modern man accepts the existence of microbes, bacteria and the like—and they all help to explain the phenomena that we experience—people living during the rabbinic era assumed the existence of demonic beings who were responsible for “the crowding at the Kallah…knees that are tired…clothes of the students that wear out….”[11] This would be just as true about the existence of spirits who outlive their physical lives and continue to visit earth in that form and who (in spirit form) could be contacted.

This entire frame of reference shifted in the post-Kalamite era and those who were engaged in these interactions and in study were quick to eschew the entire other-worldly existence of demons and the like, along with spirits independent of their bodies. As such, the only way that the episode at En-Dor could be explained would be via resurrection—body and soul together; based on hard-core philosophic standards and the intensified monotheism that came with it, this was seen as an act that only God Himself could produce. Saadiah and Shemuel b. Hofni took these premises in two different directions—based on their consideration about the “slippery slope” of interpreting the simple word vayomer as anything but literal.

To put it simply—as much as (even) a Hakham of the Amoraic era, such as Rava (BT Berakhot 6a) would assume the existence of the “spirit world” around him—by the tenth century in Iraq, rabbis (such as Saadiah) would utterly reject that point of view and would explain phenomena in a way that accorded with their thought system.[12] They would regard it as most modern traditional Jews view the medical advice in the Talmud—as the best way that that era had of diagnosing and curing—but not reflecting any theological truth that must be maintained at the cost of reason.

“A Wise and Discerning Nation”

One final word about the cultural shifts outlined here, of which the Geonic “revolution” is only one. Although we know nothing about prophets or early sages engaging in mathematical or astronomic calculations, by the time we get to third-century Eretz Yisrael, no less an authority than Bar Kappara (student of R. Yehudah haNassi) would be quoted as follows:

Rabbi Shimon ben Pazi said that Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi said in the name of bar Kappara: Anyone who knows how to calculate astronomical seasons and the movement of constellations and does not do so, the verse says about him: “They do not take notice of the work of God, and they do not see His handiwork” (Isaiah 5:12). And Rabbi Shemuel bar Naḥmani said that Rabbi Yoḥanan said: From where is it derived that there is a mitzva incumbent upon a person to calculate astronomical seasons and the movement of constellations? As it was stated: “And you shall guard and perform, for it is your wisdom and understanding in the eyes of the nations” (Deuteronomy 4:6). What wisdom and understanding is there in the Torah that is in the eyes of the nations, i.e., appreciated and recognized by all? You must say: This is the calculation of astronomical seasons and the movement of constellations, as the calculation of experts is witnessed by all. (BT Shabbat 75a)

In other words, there was an understanding that the statement in Devarim that the nations of the world would exclaim “what a wise and discerning nation” was not merely descriptive—it was also prescriptive and obligated Am Yisrael to constantly maintain an image of being at the forefront of mathematical, scientific and, we would argue, theologico-philosophical thinking. Am Yisrael should never be seen as “backwards,” “primitive” and the like and anyone who has the ability to demonstrate the wisdom which we have been granted has an obligation to engage in it.

I believe that this sentiment has played a central role in Jewish cultural-methodological flexibility throughout the millennia and was part of the unstated (and perhaps, subconscious) adoption by the Geonim of the new, rationalistic modes of thinking that swept through the high culture of tenth-century Bavel.

For Further Study:

Wolfson, Harry Austryn, 1887–1974. Repercussions of the Kalam in Jewish philosophy 1979.

Nemoy, Leon: Al-Qirqisani on the Occult Sciences: Jewish Quarterly Review, 76/4, pp. 329–367.

...Even if bandits were to carve you up savagely, limb by limb, with a two-handled saw, he among you who let his heart get angered even at that would not be doing my bidding. Even then you should train yourselves: “Our minds will be unaffected... we will keep pervading the all-encompassing world with an awareness imbued with good will—abundant, expansive, immeasurable, free from hostility, free from ill will.” That's how you should train yourselves.

                        —Midlength Discourses of the Buddha, Sutta 21[1]

When R. Aqiva was taken out for execution, it was the hour for the recital of the Shema, and while they combed his flesh with iron combs, he was accepting upon himself the kingship of heaven. His students said to him: Our teacher, even to this point? He said to them: All my days I have been troubled by this verse, “With all your soul,” [meaning] “Even if God takes your soul.” I said: When shall I have the opportunity of fulfilling this? Now that I have the opportunity, shall I not fulfill it?”

—BT Berakhot 61b

            As R. Aha ben Ada said in the name of R. Hamnuna in the name of Rav, one must study even the ordinary conversation of the sages. Tree-like, the sap of wisdom feeds and secures every leaf of their conversation; it is not in their nature to let drop wholly irrelevant remarks.[2] This teaching returned to me when I came across a rough draft by a teacher of mine. It was its epigraph that caught my eye, a creative re-writing of a passage from Kierkegaard’s Either/Or.[3] Where the original had the word “poet,” my teacher had substituted the word “sage,” so that it read like this:

What is a [sage]? An unhappy man who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music.... And people flock around the [sage] and say: “Sing again soon”—that is, “May new sufferings torment your soul but your lips be fashioned as before, for the cry would only frighten us, but the music, that is blissful.”

Here, in an unpublished, unelaborated prelude to a work that has since undergone substantial revision, now existing as far as I know only in a tattered folder wedged into my bookshelf, is a thought which cracks wide open an issue strangely neglected in the study of Talmud. I speak of the issue of pain.

            Pain is an overwhelming theme in the lives of Haza”l. Examining aggadic material, one finds that the majority of prominent sages suffered intensely. Explicitly, they undergo chattel slavery,[4] public beatings,[5] the deaths or abductions of their children,[6] their own arrest, torture, and execution,[7] and the witnessing of the same happening to their teachers and parents.[8] They go mad with grief;[9] they seek death by locking themselves in rooms[10] or climbing into lit ovens.[11] To expand this list properly and so include the major categories of grief, madness, and trauma would be to halfway-write a talmudic encyclopedia. Implicitly, the reaches of this theme may be even further, as some sages bear classic behavioral marks of trauma in response to events about which the text creates a tender silence.[12] Pain itself is experienced by the sages as a force of supernatural strength, emerging from within them to reduce others to ash[13] or piles of bone.[14] They worry that it is powerful enough to consume the world:

‎They banded together against [R. Eliezer] and banished him, and said, “Who will go to notify him?” R. Aqiva said, “I will go, lest an unsuitable person notify him, and in consequence the whole world will be laid waste.”[15]

The gentleness with which R. Aqiva breaks the news to R. Eliezer averts the end of the world, but nevertheless, at the moment that R. Eliezer begins to weep,

A third of the olives, a third of the wheat, and a third of the barley in the world were destroyed, and some say even the dough in women’s hands expanded. It is taught that a great tragedy happened on that day, as every place on which R. Eliezer rested his eyes was burnt up. Even Rabban Gamliel as he was traveling by ship was nearly drowned by a wave.[16]

This is not merely a stylistic way of speaking of intense feelings. In the Talmud, joy does not usually cause flowers to bloom or sickness to heal, although tellingly enough aggadatha records comparatively few instances of unbounded happiness anyway. Even an intimate encounter with the divine may only leave one as whole as one was prior to enlightenment.[17] We must ask ourselves what the Talmud means by presenting such overwhelming suffering. It does not suffice to say that lives back then were harder than they are today, since despite the fact that the sages had moments of great happiness, we are seldom invited to read of their weddings, births, and joyful reunions, but are redirected again and again to the site of their pain.

            Ultimately, we will see that pain in the Talmud, as in the human nervous system, operates as a warning, not as a blessing; Haza”l not only deny that pain brings insight, but show how it functions as a barrier to insight. But first, the filial obligation of long-time students bids me to take up the proposition of my teacher’s epigraph, using a seriousness and generosity that will read it best. What would it mean to say that the sage is not merely characterized by their learning, but by the depth, refinement, and expressiveness of their suffering? How would this characterization situate the sages in their communities as teachers and deciders of law? What would the decisions of a sage rooted in suffering look like? We might venture that to dwell primarily in the world of pain is to cultivate despair in response to the social environment. This in turn precludes the mindset that legislation can fix human behavior, rather than address human beings; in other words, it inoculates against dangerous, utopian-minded overreach. This agrees with what the poet said:

Let judges secretly despair of justice: their verdicts will

be more acute. Let generals secretly despair of triumph;

killing will be defamed. Let priests secretly despair of faith:

their compassion will be true.[18]

            Precisely such an approach can be seen in the way Haza”l deal with sexual violence. In one piece of agadatha, the rape of women and girls is described as inevitable,[19] and we see that the sages made no attempt to engineer a perfectly rape-free society. We may contrast this with many attempts to do just that, which are inevitably supposedly achieved by restricting women’s freedom and visibility in the name of their protection.[20] The very isolation of women that is said to protect them then prevents them from publicizing their actual experiences with sexual violence, lending the venture a public image of success. The sages resisted gender segregation as a solution, as we can see in BT Gitin 57a:

It happened that a certain person was planning to divorce his wife, but her ketubah [divorce-payment] was high. What did he do? He went and invited his good friends over, and gave them food and drink until they became intoxicated, and lay them down on one bed, and took an egg white and sprinkled it around them. He set witnesses on them and came [to prosecute his case] before the Bet Din. There was an old man there who had belonged to the inner circle of Shamai the Elder, [who informed the Bet Din that] “Egg white contracts in fire, whereas semen evaporates in fire.” They tested it and found that he was correct, and brought [the husband] before the Bet Din, and whipped him, and collected her ketubah from him.[21]

            The lack of rabbinic condemnation of a mixed-gender drinking party, even in the face of sexual disaster, is striking. When blame is assigned, the problem identified by the rabbis is not a lack of chastity, nor an overabundance of freedom, but rather the lack of remembrance of pain. Hearing of the incident an unspecified time later,

Abayye said to Rav Yosef, “But since these people were all righteous, what is the reason they were punished [i.e. divinely, by undergoing such an incident in the first place]?” He replied, “Because they were not mourning for Jerusalem.”

The true danger of revelry, as identified by Rav Yosef, is that it precludes an admixture of mourning into one’s emotional palette. Yet there is something too in this conversation that gives us pause in our investigation of the value of suffering, as we see that the text portrays its lack as a failure in virtue that impairs one’s relationship with God, rather than as an impairment to one’s ethical sensibilities or ability to deal wisely with others. It is for this reason that when the text seeks for a detail which illustrates the value of pain, it selects the wife and guests, doing so as an exercise in theodicy. It does not attribute the insight of the Bet Din to their relationship with suffering, nor does it critique the machinating husband for lacking pain; indeed, we may suspect that if anything, its surfeit is what impedes him.

            This brings us to a sticking point. Pain courses through the lives of the sages, and its overwhelming presence in the Talmud is clearly a communication, but I contend that the nature of that communication is not an equation between wisdom and suffering. One strain of thought denies that there is even an alliance between wisdom and suffering. An aggadic text in which suffering rises perhaps most rawly to the surface shows antipathy not only to suffering but to any benefits said to arise from it:

R. Eliezer fell ill, and R. Yohanan came in to visit him. He saw that he was in a dark house, so he bared his arm and light shone from it. He saw that R. Eliezer was crying. He said to him, “Why are you crying? Is it because you did not learn enough Torah? We have taught: The one who does much and the one who does little are equal, if both act for the sake of heaven! Is it because of [the lack of] food? Not everyone has the privilege to eat at two tables! Is it because of [the lack or death] of children? This is the bone of my tenth child!” He replied, “Because this beauty will be swallowed up by the earth.” He joined in weeping, and said to him, “This is indeed reason to cry,” and both of them cried together. After a time, he asked, “Are your sufferings dear to you?” He answered, “Neither them nor their reward.” He said to him, “Give me your hand.” He gave it to him, and he raised him up.[22]

            We see here that suffering imparts something, but it is not wisdom, and though R. Eliezer seems to concede that there is a “reward,” it is not welcome. Yet complexity blooms around this perspective. Above on the same daf, it is stated that learning will stick fast in the memory of one who suffers—but only if the suffering is accepted with love.[23] Perhaps this is to say that while we often seem to remember well those teachings which were close to us in times of distress, higher thinking is derailed by deep internal disorder. Pain sharpens memory, but the memory of Torah must not be made so sharp that consciousness shrinks to touch it. Without equanimity, pain threatens wisdom.

            Further, while we have seen that the sages set realistic rather than utopian expectations for human behavior, can it really be said in general that their approach is characterized by despair? On many points, their work with Torah is characterized by an attentive, cautious optimism, revealed in halakhic institutions that reflect an understanding that human nature is neither immutable nor, as a matter of course, demonic. Examples include their emphasis on restorative justice[24] and their push for mediation between parties in conflict,[25] both of which reflect a stance that communities can and should work to re-incorporate destructive individuals. One of the central halakhic projects of the sages is also perhaps their most aspirational: Shabbat, with its high expectations of ethical behavior, its weekly undercutting of both class[26] and gender[27] divisions, and its creation of space for all to participate in study and contemplation. With the institution of Shabbat, the sages express that human nature at its very root is responsive and changeable, that it can and must grow into accountability. This thought is most poetically formulated in the idea that people gain a second soul on Shabbat, and that it is the observance itself of rest that makes the second soul possible.[28] In this way, human efforts at self-transformation are understood to be desired and assisted by the divine, and so flow with the momentum of creation, rather than counter to a harsh and unyielding reality.

            We can see this at work not only in halakhic institutions, but in the process of crafting halakha:

Rav Yosef said, “Originally, I thought, whenever someone tells me the halakha is like R. Yehudah, who said that a blind person is exempt from commandments, I will throw a party for the rabbis, since I am exempt but still perform them. Now that I hear from R. Hanina that the one who is obligated in them and performs them is greater than the one who is not obligates them but still performs them, it’s the opposite – whenever someone tells me the halakha is not like R. Yehudah, I throw a party for the rabbis.”[29]

Is this text cynical about rabbinic motives for endorsing this or that ruling? On the contrary, it is presented in an approving manner which forces the reader to re-think what it means to be self-serving. To Rav Yosef, a ruling is intuitively suspect when it causes in its subject a feeling of dread and loss of place in the world—marks, perhaps, that one has not been truly understood by the ruling’s author. Conversely, a good interpretation of Torah can at least partly be recognized by a feeling of delight. The specific outcome of the ruling and its hermeneutic justifications are secondary to this first response, which encodes a lifetime of conscious and unconscious knowledge of oneself and one’s place.[30]

            It is time to step through these texts and examine the problem from its other side: What does wisdom itself mean to the sages? For such a complex concept, one finds a remarkable unity in descriptions of wisdom in the Talmud. In contrast to their vision of the world and their own troubled existence in it, the sages describe their relationship with Torah as warm, nurturing, and maternal. In fact, the transmission of Torah is classically imagined as breastfeeding:

 “Her breasts will satisfy you at all times” (Mishlei 5:19): Why are words of Torah compared to a breast? Just as a baby will find milk in a breast as long as he nurses, so is it with words of Torah: As long as a person recites them, they will find flavor in them.[31]

            The details of this metaphor are developed throughout Talmud. In Masekhet Pesahim, we see a refinement in the assignation of roles. Now the breasts are the sages themselves, or perhaps the location of Torah learning, while milk is the wisdom that comes through Torah:

 “I am a wall, and my breasts are towers” (Shir haShirim 8): R. Yohanan said: “I am a wall”—that refers to Torah; “And my breasts are towers”—that refers to the sages. Rava said, “I am a wall”—that refers to the congregation of Israel; “And my breasts are towers”—that refers to the synagogues and study halls.[32]

            Similarly, R. Aqiva compares himself to a cow, and his student to a nursing calf. At the moment he chooses such a language to describe the transmission of his Torah, he is awaiting torture and execution in a Roman prison. Although one might have thought such a context would make suffering-based models of wisdom more vivid for him, the only pain he alludes to is that of swollen mammary glands.[33]

            This use of nursing imagery is so well-entrenched in talmudic culture that it also works in reverse, that is, human breasts remind the sages of wisdom,[34] just as today the heart may remind one of love. And it is not a simple symbolism: metonymic bonds tie breastfeeding to wisdom almost as closely as a map is bound to its territory. The mechanism of nursing is itself a guide to how wisdom is best acquired, namely, through a closeness to the human source of one’s learning, and with loving appetite for the material itself:

 [R. Ahadvoi bar Ami] answered [Rav Shesheth] mockingly. R. Sheseth felt wounded. R. Ahadvoi bar Ami lost his power of speech, and his learning left him. [R. Shesheth’s] mother came and, crying, stood before him and commanded him [to forgive R. Ahadvoi]. He paid her no attention. She said, “Look at these breasts from which you suckled.” He then asked for mercy for [R. Ahadvoi], and he was healed.[35]

            Here we see clearly that the sages did not consider pain the path to wisdom; it is rather the paralyzing by-product of ineffective learning, depicted here as a combative style of debate. Here is an echo to the tragedy of R. Eliezer of the nearly world-destroying pain, at odds with all his colleagues, whose exile also deprives him of the power of speech. The breasts of R. Shesheth’s mother, and her recollection of him nursing when he was young, embody the paradigm of learning which Haza”l depict as leading to the return and reflowering of wisdom.

            That suffering can cripple moral intellect, aside from one’s emotional soundness, in fact can be found in my teacher’s Kierkegaard passage, once we examine it in its original context. In Either/Or, it is not presented as the thought of the philosopher himself, but of the persona A. A is an aesthete whose greatest conscious fear is the inexorable dulling of pleasure by boredom.[36] He is unable to form any relationship other than the most fleeting and predatory, nor can he put down roots in any moral framework, since he is unable to evaluate ethical perspectives except in the aesthetic sense. This is because he is not alive to the realities of others, which would feed an ethical perspective. The second persona of Either/Or, Judge Wilhelm, puts his finger on what is behind A’s ideological and emotional detachment:

...alone in one’s boat, alone with one’s care, alone with one’s despair, which one prefers cowardly to retain rather than to suffer the pain of being healed. Permit me now to bring to light the sickly aspect of your life—not as though I wanted to terrify you, for I am not posing as a bugaboo, and you are too knowing to be affected by that sort of thing. But I beg you to reflect how painful, how sad, how humiliating it is to be in this sense a stranger and a pilgrim in this world.[37]

In contrast:

            It is only responsibility that bestows a blessing and true joy.[38]

Responsibility here is understood as a non-disposable, in fact indispensable, relationship with one’s surroundings and the object of one’s activity. This quality exists in opposition with detachment, described as follows:

The intellectual agility you possess is very becoming to youth and diverts the eye for a time. We are astonished to see a clown whose joints are so loose that all the restraints of man’s gait and posture are annulled. You are like that in an intellectual sense; you can just as well stand on your head as on your feet. Everything is possible for you, and you can surprise yourself and others with this possibility, but it is unhealthy…. Any man who has a conviction cannot at his pleasure turn himself and everything topsy-turvy in this way. Therefore I do not warn you against the world but against yourself and the world against you.[39]

Perhaps, prior to his admonition by the Judge, A is already in some sense aware that his philosophy is propelled by his pain; at any rate, he appears to feel its effects. Let us look again at the epigram:

What is a [sage]? An unhappy man who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music....

Elided here is a revealing elaboration by A:

His fate is like that of the unfortunate victims whom the tyrant Phalaris imprisoned in a brazen bull, and slowly tortured over a steady fire; their cries could not reach the tyrant’s ears so as to strike terror into his heart; when they reached his ears they sounded like sweet music.

One imprisoned in a brazen bull is unable to see anything or anyone outside of the bull. Articulate response of any sort is impossible. The only possibility is an involuntary expression of pain, which contaminates the destiny of its audience with its savagery—the classical Greek understanding of consequence demands that those who delight in the bull must also burn in it. Not only is this a poor recipe for a sage, it is a poor recipe for a poet, or else we would prefer above all artists the exquisitely insensible pain of the guitar-fumbling high school bard. No, the task of poets is not to weep prettily about their own inner torment; their place is outside the bull, in radical attentiveness to everyone and everything around them. This quality is named by Keats as negative capability. He writes:

A Poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence; because he has no identity—he is continually in for—and filling some other Body—The Sun, the Moon, the Sea and Men and Women who are creatures of impulse are poetical and have about them an unchangeable attribute—the poet has none; no identity... When I am in a room... the identity of everyone in the room begins to [for so] to press on me that I am in a very little time an[ni]hilated—not only among Men; it would be the same in a Nursery of children...[40]

            Negative capability involves more even than this; it demands a complexity of vision and articulation that can only be governed by intuition rather than attendance on formal paradigm, and it demands comfort in uncertainty. Keats saw both of these as benevolent characteristics,[41] famously describing them in a language of love: “I am certain of nothing but of the holiness of the Heart's affections and the truth of Imagination.”[42] Here is a description of an art which I believe the sages of the Talmud would happily recognize as their own.

            To use the words of Judge Vilhelm, the Talmudic sage must be able to “suffer the pain of being healed” before attending to the needs of others. As Elaine Scarry explains in her work The Body in Pain,

To witness the moment when pain causes a reversion to the pre-language of cries and groans is to witness the destruction of language; but conversely, to be present when a person moves up out of that pre-language and projects the facts of sentience into speech is almost to have been permitted to be present at the birth of language itself.[43]

Nowhere is this better illustrated than in the well-known tale of R. Shimon bar Yohai, who escapes arrest and execution by fleeing with his son to a cave, where they dwell in complete isolation for 13 years, learning Torah. When the danger passes and they are able at last to emerge, father and son are unable to respond even to the ordinary people of their own community except by the reflexive, indiscriminate unleashing of their pain:

They left [the cave]. They saw people ploughing and sowing. [R. Shimon] said, “They abandon eternal life to busy themselves with life in the moment!” Everything they placed their eyes upon was immediately burnt up.[44]

By divine command, they are re-imprisoned in their cave for another year. After this, while his son continues to wound others, R. Shimon is able to heal them. In a less magical but not less marvelous fashion, he is able to move past an initial judgment of others’ behavior as transgressive by asking the reason for their actions, and listening carefully to their responses.[45] But his process of healing has only just begun, and it is here, where popular interest in the story begins to decline, that it is worth paying close attention.

R. Pinhas ben Yair, his son-in-law, heard about it and went out to meet him. He took him to the bathhouse. When he was tending to his flesh, he saw cuts, and began to cry. Tears fell from his eyes into [the cuts], and [R. Shimon] screamed [from the pain of the salt].

I am curious about these fresh cuts, and wonder if they might indicate something about R. Shimon’s response to his imprisonment, or to the world he found outside the prison. Rash”i posits that they are the result of sand abrasion.[46] It is also significant that R. Shimon is accepting treatment in a bathhouse, an institution he condemned at the beginning of the story, saying that they were built by the Roman occupiers in order to indulge themselves.[47] A door has opened in R. Shimon’s thinking, first regarding his own community, and now, perhaps, those outside it as well.

 [R. Pinhas] said to him, “Woe is me, that I see you like this!” He responded, “Fortunate are you to see me like this, for if you did not see me like this, you would not have found me as I am.” [He meant] that before [his exile], R. Shimon ben Yohai would ask a question, and R. Pinhas ben Yair could give him 13 answers, whereas now, R. Pinhas ben Yair could ask a question, and R. Shimon ben Yohai could give him 24 answers.

            When his suffering was raw and unprocessed, his learning in the isolation of the cave was indistinguishable from illiterate violence. Equanimity to suffering—both his own and that of his community—is given space to grow in a place of safety, with the loving ministrations of a family member. A sense of wholeness, rather than a sense of injury, is what allows him finally to make use of the Torah he acquired:

He said, Since a miracle happened for me, I will go fix something, as it says (Bereishith 33:18) “And Yaaqov departed whole”: Rav said, whole in is body, whole in his possessions, whole in his Torah... He asked, Is there anything that needs fixing?

            R. Shimon hears that there is a nearby field containing unmarked graves. The inability of kohanim to cross this field without contracting potential tum’ah causes them difficulty. We must pay attention to the role of asking, as it is his means of identifying a worthy problem, as well as his means of identifying a solution; R. Shimon begins work by interviewing the elderly to see what information can be excavated. Finally, he enters the field himself, marking loose soil as potential grave sites, releasing hard soil from suspicion, and forming footpaths across the field. Having once been a prisoner of earth, R. Shimon is able to return to that element in full possession of himself, in the name of usefulness to others. This being aggadatha, nothing is wholly tidy, and shortly afterward, his gaze incinerates the man who originally informed on him to the government.[48] Apparently, one does not need to be a saint to be a sage, and equanimity is not the same virtue as obliviousness.

            If it is not to teach us that the truest sage is the most exquisite sufferer, what is the meaning of all the pain in the Talmud? It is not a simple question, and the richness of this portrait of the sages’ life is not reducible to a single function. The stories work at multiple levels of consciousness in the listener or reader, with different details emerging to attention at different points in one’s life. As is characteristic of oral literature, the mess of human lives depicted is itself a teaching tool: It communicates an expectation of similar complexity in the way the listener responds to life, as opposed to parable, which communicates an expectation of simplicity. But it is possible to suggest some reasons for the unusual prominence of pain. I think that Haza”l expected that their students, and their great-great-great-grandstudents, would have difficult lives. When life is at its most difficult, it is impossible for the student of Talmud to think to themselves that they are experiencing a pain that, by virtue of the brokenness it forces on the sufferer, expels them from the world of worthy people. Rather, worthy people bear the same wounds that we do, although they bear them best when they respond with discipline and a reorientation to the nurturing mindset that characterizes effective wisdom.

            In turn, such a gentle, continuous return to a maternal model of wisdom is not only a recommendation, but a warning. Any education is replete with those who urge their students to discard their ethical sensitivities in favor of what are termed the hard truths of human nature. More often than not, this approach conceals a fear of truly facing what trouble one’s hard truth is causing others, and goes hand-in-hand with limitations in one’s ability to help others wisely. According to the sages, information may well hurt, but Torah, that is, a wise response to such information, can be recognised by its nourishing quality. There is no good student of rabbinic literature who has not encountered a text which wounds, perhaps even a text that horrifies. There is blood in the milk. In a nursing model of Torah, an informed reaction of woundedness should act like one of R. Shimon’s markers of loose soil, which say, do not enter here: Find a path on the sturdier earth that is nonetheless connected to it. May all of us students of Torah find such paths; may we open the doors of the brazen bull and help one another to solid ground.