National Scholar Updates

REVENGE AND “LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR”

Rabbi Uzi Weingarten

This week’s portion includes the Call to Holiness, which includes what may be the most famous

teaching in the Hebrew Scriptures, “Love your fellow as yourself” (Lev. 19:18).

It is noteworthy that this is not all that the verse says. The first part of the verse instructs us not

to take revenge or bear a grudge. Let’s first see what revenge is, and then explore the

relationship between revenge and love.

What is the ‘revenge’ that the verse forbids? The Jewish tradition uses an illustration to explain:

Tom said to Harry, Lend me your sickle” (a tool used to harvest)

Harry responded, No;

Later, Harry said to Tom, Lend me your axe;

Tom said,

I will not lend to you, just as you did not lend to me when I asked;

This is ‘taking revenge.’

(Talmud, Yoma 23a, edited for style and clarity)

Let’s notice two things about this illustration. The first is motive. The reason Tom gives is, I will

not lend to you just as you did not lend to me when I asked.” It is the intention to retaliate that

turns Tom’s refusal to lend into revenge.

The second thing we notice is context. The illustration that the Tradition gives is not about

injustice, which is a real grievance. Rather, Tom asked Harry for a kindness—to lend him

something—and Harry declined.

Nobody has a right to have an item lent to him, and so Harry’s refusal is not an injustice.

However, Tom’s ego might be bruised, and Tom now has a choice about his response.

He can interpret ‘kindness declined’ as Harry wronging him. This would lead Tom to consider it

a grievance, and choose to retaliate. The verse tells Tom to make a different choice: not to turn

Harry’s ‘kindness declined’ into a grievance, but rather to let it slide.

Let’s look now at the entire verse: we are not to take revenge or bear a grudge, but rather to

love our fellow. The verse is written in the form of: Don’t do A, and instead do B. That is, don’t

take revenge, but instead love each other. What does Harry’s refusal to lend have to do with

love?

We are more forgiving towards those we love. It helps us overlook the small slights that are

part of any relationship. The verse is telling us that in a case of ‘kindness declined,’ we are to

take a loving attitude and let it slide, rather than considering it a grievance.

The Sage teaches, “Love covers-over all offenses” (Proverbs 10:12). When there is love, people

will often forgive even a real offense. Love can certainly lead us to forgive ‘kindness declined.’

Forgiveness is the opposite of revenge.

PART TWO

Let’s look now at three situations in which Tom has the right not to lend. One is if Tom doesn’t

lend for any reason other than tit-for-tat. Paraphrasing Rabbi Joseph Bekhor Shor (France; 12 th

cent.), in his commentary to this verse:

If Tom does not lend an item because he needs it for his own use, or because it has

financial or sentimental value to him, or for any other reason, it is not ‘taking revenge.’

The Torah does not require a person to lend things that he does not want to lend…

The verse only prohibits a situation in which Tom would ordinarily lend the item, and is

not lending to Harry as an act of revenge.

In other words, lending to another person is an act of kindness, but it is not an obligation. The

only thing that the Torah prohibits is when one does not lend as an act of revenge.

Another situation is if it was not a case of ‘kindness declined’ but of injustice. What if Harry

treated Tom unjustly, whether financially or by verbal abuse or any other form of injustice, and

then asks Tom for a favor?

As we have seen, the verse prohibits taking revenge only in situations of ‘kindness declined’; it

does not address situations of injustice. According to one of my teachers, that is because the

Torah cannot address every possible situation. Each individual case has many variables

involved. (See also Ramban to Deut. 6:18.)

For example, a person may feel that it is a matter of self-respect not to lend to one who is

abusive to him, or interact with a person of poor character. The Torah leaves it up to the

individual to decide how to act.

It seems to me that a third exception has to do with reciprocity, which is a necessary

component of healthy relationships. If Harry’s refusal is a one-time event, then Tom is called

not to turn ‘kindness declined’ into a grievance, but rather act with love and let it slide.

But if Tom finds himself doing many acts of kindness to Harry, and there is a pattern of Harry

not reciprocating, then Tom may need to ask himself if this is a healthy relationship. Similarly, if

Harry has a history of borrowing and not returning, or if Tom needs to ask Harry repeatedly to

return the item, then it is legitimate for Tom to decide not to lend again to Harry.

All groups need discerning judgment. Even Orthodox Jews who restrict their broader exposure and encounter mostly rabbinic influences must differentiate between more and less reasonable voices. After all, rabbis are quite capable of uttering foolish statements. Nonetheless, the challenge of developing the ability to evaluate ideas and positions expands for Modern Orthodox Jews who expose themselves to so many elements of both higher and lower Western culture. Where have we succeeded in availing ourselves of the best that culture has to offer—and where have we failed by taking in the worst?

How does the college education Modern Orthodox Jews so value aid them in this endeavor? On a daily basis, I rely upon the wisdom and inspiration of great Gentile and secular Jewish thinkers, and that wisdom animates my teaching. Wordsworth’s Nuns Fret Not beautifully captures why structure does not necessarily crush individuality or creativity but can even enhance them, a significant point for halakhically observant Jews. Denise Levertov’s On Tolerance powerfully conveys how the positive concept in the poem’s title can turn destructive. The practical skills learned in college enable a much more robust and varied tikkun olam. Those who stay in yeshiva until age 30 are unlikely to attend medical school and engage in cancer research. The gap between more open and closed approaches expands to massive proportions in Israel where the lack of secular education in the Hareidi sector makes entering most professions extremely difficult.

Openness enables a richer, more accurate, and less simplistic understanding of other groups. One who reads the essays of George Orwell or Atul Gawande will have a much harder time asserting that Torah provides all the required wisdom and that we should eschew non-Jewish authors. No work of contemporary Torah literature addresses the current question of care for the elderly with the insight and compassion of Gawande’s Being Mortal. Analogously, it is easier to refer to secular Zionists as an “empty wagon” when one does not witness up close their dedication to protecting and serving their nation in the IDF and when one remains ignorant of the gastronomic sacrifices made by all the vegans and vegetarians of Tel Aviv. A person who actually speaks with soldiers and reads literature about them would more likely realize the offensiveness of saying that studying Torah is more difficult and demanding than fighting on the frontlines (a statement recently said by Yitzchak Goldknopf, current head of the Agudat Yisrael party). 

The wisdom of Gentiles has proven pivotal in helping our community understand the scourge of sexual abuse. A person who only knows Shas (the entire Talmud) might not comprehend why victims could take two decades to speak up or how those who have been violated could put themselves in the identical position a second time, granting the abuser another opportunity. That person might also think that victims’ mental disorders automatically discredits their testimony instead of considering the possibilities that the abuse caused the disorder or that abusers prefer to prey upon the unhealthy and vulnerable. The knowledge generated by (Gentile) psychological research enables us to address such issues.   

A number of ideologies and institutions that admittedly include threatening elements have nonetheless proven a boon to our community. If feminism means downplaying the importance of family or seeing every spousal discussion about who should wash the dishes as part of a war to overcome the patriarchy, we correctly reject it. On the other hand, feminism and the need for an Orthodox response to the feminist challenge have led to greater educational and professional opportunities for women. We treasure the opportunity contemporary women have to encounter the profundity of our tradition first-hand and function as more learned Jews. Women can more easily make major contributions to society as doctors, lawyers, and mental health professionals. Paradoxically, the entire kollel enterprise, a world that tends to portray feminism as pernicious, only survives due to “kollel wives” in the workforce supporting their families.   

LGBTQ+ ideology often clashes with traditional Judaism but it too has had some positive impact. In 1976, Rabbi Moshe Feinstein wrote that no person naturally desires homosexual relations and those that want it are simply rebelling against God (Iggerot Moshe OH 4:115). Very few Orthodox rabbis would suggest this today, and we should honestly admit that the broader world has helped us realize how some individuals do indeed have intrinsic homosexual desires. We dare not add to their difficulties by accusing them of acting out of spite. Furthermore, justified theological commitments motivated some rabbis to too quickly support the reparative therapy of Project Jonah, which turned out to be a dangerous fraud. Here too, non-Jewish wisdom from the outside world had something to teach us.  

Finally, we have all benefited greatly from the institution of democracy. While we can marshal support for democratic themes in our tradition by citing Abarbanel (commentary on Deuteronomy 17), other rabbinic authorities such as Rambam (Hilkhot Melakhim 1:1) favored a monarchy and the idea that Judaism may not promote a specific position on the nature of national government. As Gerald Blidstein argued (Tradition Fall 1997), we can strongly endorse democracy and see it as an effective vessel for promoting Jewish values without thinking that our halakhic system necessarily calls for it. Democracy has allowed Judaism to flourish in the United States and has proven even more valuable in Israel, where it has enabled Jewish political parties who passionately disagree to function together and produce a thriving Jewish State despite immense military, economic, political, and cultural obstacles.  

In the foregoing examples, the entire Orthodox world has benefitted from these ideas, but Modern Orthodoxy is more forthright in admitting our debt to broader intellectual society and in explicitly promoting the values of democracy and feminism. However, we cannot ignore the less savory influences of Western society. Many Modern Orthodox students head off to college eager to experience the life of heavy drinking, frat parties, and sexual license. Some actively participate in secular party environments, while others bring that cultural universe to the Hillel and enter Shabbat after a pregame of alcohol in the Hillel parking lot. This represents mindless adoption of some of the worst values the larger world offers. 

Clearly, many do not view university as an opportunity to study great ideas or acquire skills for bettering humanity. These missed opportunities are certainly not unique to young adults from the Jewish community, but that is precisely the point. Too often, we emulate secular society when we should distinguish ourselves by acting differently. Many see a university education as primarily a means to achieve a plum job and a large salary. Those who pursue investment banking jobs that will keep them in the office until eleven at night apparently prize money over family. I appreciate how paying multiple annual yeshiva tuitions and camping fees plus the high cost of a house in Orthodox suburbia generate the need for a large income. At the same time, the amount of money spent on Pesah programs should give us pause. For families that can afford it, purchasing takeout food for the holiday, still saving any family member from major Passover domestic chores while paying a fraction of the hotel costs might be a better demonstration of our values. The nature of most of these programs raises questions of hedonism in addition to materialism. Does anyone truly need a barbecue between lunch and dinner, and does the tearoom always need to be open?  

Furthermore, certain intellectual attitudes work against the inspiration of education. If we fixate on Shakespeare as a dead White male who discriminated against Jews, Moors, and women, we will never appreciate the power and wisdom of his writings. The desire to debunk does not allow for any genuine enthusiasm and reverence. In response to the debunkers, I note that people are complex, and the same George Washington who owned slaves had several remarkable personal accomplishments, including not just leading the successful American Revolution and serving as America’s first president but also delivering an influential address about religious tolerance at the Touro Synagogue and giving a very powerful Farewell Address emphasizing education and morality. We can remain in awe of Rabbi Yitzhak Hutner’s brilliance even if we recognize that he was not the easiest of personalities. Additionally, many humanities programs have replaced long novels such as Middlemarch or Les Miserables with courses on film, television, and comic books. In my opinion, this entails sacrificing depth on the altar of entertainment. Too many Modern Orthodox Jews quickly endorse whatever educational trends currently pass as gospel at Harvard and Yale. 

Moderns tend to emphasize choice and consent as values that supersede all others. This year, a very thoughtful student of mine has struggled to understand why “open marriage” is problematic if each spouse agrees to the arrangement. The convictions that certain things should not be done even to someone who consents or that some obligations do not stem from agreement seem foreign to her. People bear debts of gratitude to their parents despite the lack of choice involved. To some degree, the same applies to peoplehood and offers a reason why born Jews should feel a connection to their fellow Jews. Furthermore, a person can say that entering marriage requires consent but still believe the institution demands a single-minded loyalty and commitment to one’s spouse for it to flourish. I decide to get married but do not determine what a thriving marriage relationship consists of. 

As mentioned, feminism brought about many positive changes. However, some feminist assertions on behalf of women actually hurt women. When I suggest that college women should not attend the kind of parties where date rape represents a lurking danger, I am criticized for blaming the victim. Would anyone suggest that purchasing a good lock in a neighborhood known for robberies is blaming the victim? Clearly, the male perpetrators are the evildoers in this story—but we can still encourage potential victims to avoid giving criminals an opportunity.                

I am very sympathetic to women upset that so much Orthodox discourse revolves around tzeniut and dress codes. Modesty applies to men as well; it is about attitude and not just dress, and it should not dominate any seminary curriculum. On the other hand, the larger Western world’s attitude to women’s dress does women no favors. Do women walking around with extremely revealing attire empower them and encourage engaging with them as serious and thoughtful individuals? I have watched a number of Academy Awards YouTube videos and I am always struck by the juxtaposition of justified complaints that women over 45 cannot get major Hollywood roles expressed at an event where many of the women are half undressed but none of the men are. Female hosts criticize women being judged by their looks while wearing clothing that encourages that very message. 

Complaining about social media has become a cliché, but only because the complaints are valid. TikTok, Instagram, and Twitter are for the most part time-wasters, shallow instruments, training in the need for instantaneous gratification, and a replacement for genuine discourse with friends. The institution of Shabbat helps observant Jews reduce these addictions, but some restrictions of usage need to carry over into the week as well. Though it is an uphill battle, schools and parents need to jointly fight against constant smart phone usage. 

For me, no live options exist beyond Modern Orthodoxy. Denominations on the left lack firm commitment to our tradition regarding both knowledge and practice, while groups to our right have too many ethical and intellectual shortcomings. As Dr. Daniel Gordis once questioned, why is there a need for rabbinical schools from other denominations to offer courses in basic Hebrew when one needs much more knowledge than that to begin studying for the rabbinate? Conservative Jews on campus who care about Shabbat and kashruth are often sociologically forced into the Orthodox community. Secondly, regarding which issues have our co-religionists to the left sided with our tradition over current Western mores? Conversely, focusing on the Israeli scene, an entire community exempting itself from army service ends any thought of entering Hareidi society for me. On an intellectual level, the Hareidi world’s monolithic portrayal of Jewish thought, its whitewashing of the sins of biblical heroes and its insistence that Hazal (the Sages of the Talmud) knew contemporary science are not tenable positions. 

The Gemara (Sanhedrin 39b) faults Am Yisrael for following the corrupt among the non-Jews rather than the noble among them. For Modern Orthodoxy to succeed, we need to diametrically reverse that equation. Reviewing the list enumerated in this essay indicates that we have work to do. 

Kedoshim:

What Is Holiness?

The opening half of the Book of Leviticus revolves around a single sacred center: the Mishkan, Tabernacle. Chapters 1–7 detail the sacrificial system; chapters 8–10 describe the dedication of the Mishkan, alongside the tragic cautionary tale of Nadab and Abihu, who approached improperly. Chapters 11–15 delineate who may not enter the Mishkan, and how one may regain access through purification. Finally, chapter 16 outlines the purification of the Mishkan itself, ensuring that God’s presence can continue to dwell among Israel.

Beginning in chapter 17, however, the Torah pivots. The focus shifts from sacred space to sacred life. The laws of chapters 17–26 extend holiness into every sphere of existence—dietary practice, interpersonal ethics, sexuality, ritual observance, and beyond. Already in Leviticus 11:44–45, within the earlier section, the Torah introduces the foundational principle: “You shall be holy, for I am holy.” This refrain reappears as a governing theme in our parashah (19:2) and beyond (20:7; 21:8).

Yet, we must ask: what does holiness actually mean?

Holiness as Imitation of God

The Torah’s central formulation—“You shall be holy, for I am holy”—defines holiness relationally—as a response to God’s own nature. Holiness is not an abstract state, but a call to emulate God. Scripture repeatedly refers to God as kadosh (e.g., Isaiah 40:25; 57:15; Habakkuk 3:3), and rabbinic tradition crystallizes this idea through imitatio Dei: just as God is compassionate, gracious, and just, so too must human beings strive to embody those traits (Sotah 14a; Shabbat 133b).

On this view, holiness is not confined to ritual precision. It is a mode of living in which one’s entire life reflects God’s values.

Two Classical Models: Restraint or Refinement

Medieval commentators debate how this ideal is realized in practice.

Rashi, following Leviticus Rabbah (24:6), understands holiness primarily as restraint—specifically, refraining from prohibited behavior. This interpretation fits the immediate context of chapters 18–20, which emphasize sexual prohibitions. For Rashi, the root k-d-sh conveys separation: to be holy is to set oneself apart from that which is forbidden. The same root can even describe something “set aside” for prostitution (kedeshah), underscoring that holiness is fundamentally about designation and separation.

Ramban, however, pushes further. Drawing on Yevamot 20a, he argues that one can technically avoid all prohibitions and still live a coarse, self-indulgent life. Such a person, though legally compliant, fails to achieve holiness. For Ramban, holiness is refinement—a disciplined, elevated mode of existence shaped by the spirit, not just the letter, of the law. The commandments aim to cultivate a morally and spiritually refined personality.

Halakhic observance alone does not necessarily produce ethical or spiritual excellence. Yet at the same time, the Torah insists that the path to holiness must pass through the framework of mitzvot.

Ethics at the Center of Holiness

Several nineteenth-century thinkers, including R. Yisrael Salanter, R. Moshe Sofer (Hatam Sofer), R. Hirsch, and Netziv, emphasize that holiness is most visibly expressed in ethical conduct, especially honesty in business and interpersonal integrity. In their view, one’s treatment of others is the truest measure of religious life.

This position captures a vital truth—but it risks reduction. Holiness in the Torah is inherently religious and cannot be limited to ethics alone.

Jacob Milgrom therefore offers a more precise formulation: what distinguishes the Torah is not ethics alone, nor ritual alone, but their integration. Ethical conduct is not optional—it is an essential component of holiness alongside ritual observance. Jeremiah Unterman sharpens this point further: in the ancient Near East, legal systems prohibited wrongdoing but did not mandate active care for the vulnerable. The Torah uniquely mandates care for the vulnerable as an obligation of justice.

Holiness, then, is not only about avoiding harm, but about actively building a just and compassionate society.

Holiness as a National Calling

A striking perspective emerges from Joshua Berman. In Tanakh, individuals are almost never described explicitly as kadosh. The lone narrative exception is the Shunammite woman’s description of Elisha as an ish kadosh, holy man (II Kings 4:9)—and even there, it is her perception, not the Torah’s or God’s designation.

By contrast, the nation of Israel is repeatedly called a holy nation (goy kadosh) beginning at Sinai. The concept of holiness, Berman argues, is fundamentally collective and covenantal. It arises only with the formation of Israel as a nation bound to God through law and mission.

Holiness, in this sense, is not merely personal piety. It is a national identity expressed through shared practices, boundaries, and commitments that distinguish Israel from other nations. Even when applied to individuals—such as priests or Nazirites—holiness is institutional, defined by roles within the broader covenantal system.

This framing yields a powerful corollary: when Israel lives up to its calling, God is sanctified in the world. When it fails, the result is hillul Hashem, a desecration of God’s name. Holiness is thus both privilege and responsibility, inseparable from the public and national life of the people.

Conclusion: A Multi-Dimensional Ideal

The command “You shall be holy” resists reduction to a single definition. It encompasses:

• Separation from the prohibited (Rashi),
• Refinement of character and conduct (Ramban),
• Integration of ritual and ethical life (Milgrom, Unterman),
• Imitation of God’s attributes (rabbinic tradition),
• And participation in a national covenantal mission (Berman). 

Together, these perspectives reveal that holiness is not a single trait, but a multi-layered religious ideal. Holiness is not one dimension of religious life—it is its totality. It demands discipline and aspiration, law and spirit, individual growth and collective identity. Above all, it calls upon Israel to live in such a way that the presence of God is reflected not only in sacred spaces, but in the entirety of life.

Angel for Shabbat: Aharei Mot/Kedoshim

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Beginning Monday, April 20, Rabbi Hayyim Angel resumes teaching at the Beit Midrash of Teaneck. The class is currently studying the Book of Exodus. Classes are every Monday and Wednesday from April 20 through June 17 (except Memorial Day), 12:15-1:00 pm Eastern Time. Live classes are at 70 Sterling Place, Teaneck, New Jersey. Zoom classes are available as well. For the link and for more information, please contact Mrs. Leah Feldman, [email protected]. Free and open to the public.

On Tuesday, April 21, from 8:00-9:00 pm Eastern Time, Rabbi Hayyim Angel will give a Zoom class on the Yom Kippur service in the Torah. This class is sponsored by the Ben Porat Yeshiva in Paramus, New Jersey. Free and open to the public. Here is the Zoom link: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/5413950938?pwd=dSszMGFUNEgrQlY3blc2K1hzYzdCUT09#success

On Sunday, April 26, from 9:40-10:40 am Eastern Time, Rabbi Hayyim Angel will give a class on Literary Studies in Megillat Ruth. This class is part of the SAR High School study days in Tanakh. It will be held at the SAR High School, 503 West 259th Street, Riverdale, New York. For registration information, go to https://saracademy.org/yemei-iyun-5786/.

On Shabbat, May 9, Rabbi Hayyim Angel will lead the next Foundations Minyan. The Foundations Minyan is a complete service, coupled with ongoing commentary on the Torah portion. Free and open to the public. The Minyan is from 9:15-11:30 am Eastern Time, at Congregation Beth Aaron, 950 Queen Anne Road, Teaneck, New Jersey.

On Shavuot (May 21-23), Rabbi Hayyim Angel will serve as scholar-in-residence at the East Hill Synagogue, in Englewood, New Jersey. For schedule, go to https://www.easthillsynagogue.com/.

BOOK REVIEW

Shemot in Context: A Scientific and Kabbalistic Commentary of Exodus by Rabbi Elia Benamozegh

By Sina Kahen and Ben Rothstein (Da’at Press, 2026), 302 pages

Since its founding in 2020, The Habura and its affiliated Da’at Press have distinguished themselves by producing original scholarship and translations that reflect the classical Geonic and Andalusian worldview. Committed to the highest values of Jewish tradition and scholarship, they make many previously obscure and inaccessible works available to the wider English-reading public.

Rabbi Elia Benamozegh (1823–1900, Leghorn, Italy) was a remarkable and wide-ranging thinker. He was deeply steeped in classical Jewish texts and mysticism, while simultaneously being up to date with the best of archaeological and linguistic scholarship which expanded dramatically in his time. In his Em LaMikra commentary on the Torah, he approached Torah interpretation by bringing every tool he knew to bear, engaging in pagan myths and culture to demonstrate similarities and profound differences with the Torah in its context. 

Rambam demonstrated the value of situating Torah within the intellectual world of antiquity. Rabbi Benamozegh advanced this methodology with the plethora of findings Rambam wished he could have accessed (Guide of the Perplexed III:48). Of course, Rabbi Benamozegh was limited to nineteenth-century scholarship, just as Rambam was limited to that of the twelfth century. However, while many of his theses have become obsolete with updates in scholarly knowledge over the past two centuries, his pursuit of truth using the best available learning tools remains as relevant and as illuminating as ever. 

Rabbi Benamozegh is an independent scholar who critically evaluates the opinions of his predecessors and peers, and who sees an overarching unity from the many available sources of tradition and scientific knowledge. Kahen and Rothstein ably summarize and paraphrase many of Rabbi Benamozegh’s analyses of the Book of Exodus.

To cite one particularly striking example of this unusual methodology, Rabbi Benamozegh explores the meaning of the unusual name of God, Shaddai. Exodus 6:3 reads, “I appeared to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob as El Shaddai, but I did not make Myself known to them by My name GOD” (the four-letter personal name of God). Rabbi Benamozegh’s extended discussion (see pp. 118-138) exemplifies many of the methodological tools evidenced throughout his comments in Em LaMikra.

Rabbi Benamozegh places singular importance on understanding the meaning of God’s various names in the Torah. Such analysis enables us to comprehend the Torah better, but also helps us ascertain layers of pure monotheistic faith which spread throughout humanity from the most ancient times. Rabbi Benamozegh considers ancient languages and mythology as repositories of traces of true faith in God.

He begins his analysis of Shaddai by surveying and evaluating the views of the classical peshat commentators. Rashi understands the name as compound, she-dai, she-yesh dai. God is sufficient for all creatures, and supplies their needs. Many other medieval commentators—including Rambam, Ralbag, and Sforno—similarly understand Shaddai as compound, even as they offer different nuances to its precise meaning.

In contrast, Ibn Ezra and Ramban interpret Shaddai as deriving from shadad, victorious, mighty. Rabbi Benamozegh, however, rejects their interpretation, insisting that ancient Jewish tradition unanimously understands Shaddai as compound. To bolster his claim, he cites numerous Midrashim that indeed understand Shaddai as referring to God’s sufficiency. He observes that nearly all the ancient translations—including Symmachus, Theodotion, and the Septuagint—similarly interpret Shaddai as compound. Similarly, the Zohar understands Shaddai as compound. To “prove” his thesis, Rabbi Benamozegh observes that even the heretic Benedict Spinoza adopted this view, even though he had no allegiance to rabbinic tradition!

Rabbi Benamozegh offers a philological analysis of related words and phrases in Tanakh, which he claims also supports the dominant rabbinic reading against that of Ibn Ezra and Ramban. Thus far, he develops a traditional framework of interpretation to support his understanding that Shaddai is a compound name that derives from she-dai, sufficiency. His citation of biblical verses, Midrashim, and classical commentary is nothing out of the ordinary. His knowledge of ancient translations, the Zohar, and even Spinoza, makes him considerably more unusual among traditional commentators.

Yet none of the above compares with the next layer of Rabbi Benamozegh’s analysis. He turns to ancient India and China, where the word Tao or Dao is a seminal theological concept (the authors note that Taoism is indigenous to China, and perhaps Rabbi Benamozegh links this philosophy to India based on a legend that Laozi—the founder of Taoism—traveled to India). Rabbi Benamozegh links this Tao or Dao to Egypt (Teos), Greek (Theos), Latin (Deus), and French (Dieu), among other cultures.

Rabbi Benamozegh maintains that the dai in Shaddai is related to Dao. The etymological link might appear strained, since the Hebrew dai refers to sufficiency and Tao refers to “the way,” and represents the underlying unity within the created universe. However, Rabbi Benamozegh cites Kabbalah, which links Shaddai with the sefirah of Yesod, which kabbalists call derekh, the way.

The book’s authors conclude, “Rabbi Benamozegh shows how philology, Rabbinic tradition, comparative religion, and Kabbalah all converge in the name Shaddai, revealing it as a profound symbol of divine sufficiency, providence, and the sustaining power of creation. It is a name rooted in Israel’s ancient tradition yet echoed in the languages, myths, and symbols of other nations.” 

It is difficult to accept all of Rabbi Benamozegh’s analysis, but it may be viewed as creative theology rather than rigorous historical philology. It also reflects the sweeping comparative enthusiasm characteristic of the 19^th century. Yet such sweeping convergence invites scrutiny.

Rabbi Benamozegh’s enduring value lies not in the precision of every historical or philological claim, but in his expansive theological imagination and his confidence that all genuine wisdom ultimately converges in divine truth. His work reflects the sweeping comparative enthusiasm of the nineteenth century, and modern scholarship may question many of his linguistic connections. Yet his intellectual audacity remains deeply instructive. He models a Torah scholarship unafraid of engagement, willing to test its claims against the widest available horizons of knowledge. Reading him today is also a salutary reminder that our own scholarly certainties may one day prove provisional or obsolete. Sina Kahen and Ben Rothstein have rendered a significant service in making this daring and erudite interpreter accessible to the English-speaking world.