National Scholar Updates

Noah:

The Tower of Babel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Available at amazon.com

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

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

 — Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jewish responses have typically taken one of two paths.

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

Both approaches are flawed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Bereishith

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Vayera

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hayyei Sarah:

Abraham’s Servant and the Art of Biblical Retelling

One of the most striking features of Genesis 24 is its extensive repetition. The Torah first narrates Abraham’s servant’s mission to find a wife for Isaac, and then recounts much of the same story through the servant’s own words to Rebecca’s family. Although the two accounts are substantially similar, they contain numerous differences in wording, emphasis, and sequence. Why does the Torah devote so much space to repeating the story, and what should we make of the variations?

This question reflects a broader methodological debate among biblical commentators. Ibn Ezra and Radak maintain that many differences between repeated accounts are ordinary literary variations. The Torah need not repeat an event in precisely the same words each time. One account may clarify the other without requiring us to assign independent significance to every variation.

Other commentators, including Rashi, Ramban, Abarbanel, and Malbim, often adopt an approach that emphasizes the significance of every detail in the biblical text. From this perspective, differences between parallel accounts invite interpretation rather than being dismissed as stylistic alternatives.

Genesis 24 provides a particularly rich opportunity to consider these approaches. Is Abraham’s servant faithfully recounting his experience, with the Torah employing natural literary variation? Or does he deliberately modify his account to persuade Rebecca’s family to approve the marriage?

Perspective One: 

A Carefully Crafted Persuasive Narrative

Rabbi Elhanan Samet, in the third series of his studies on the weekly Torah portion, identifies approximately twenty differences between the original narrative and the servant’s retelling. He argues that these changes serve a coherent purpose: the servant wishes to convince Rebecca’s family that her marriage to Isaac is both appropriate and divinely ordained.

Consider Abraham’s original instructions: “Go to my land and to my birthplace (moladti) and take a wife for my son Isaac” (Genesis 24:4). In the straightforward reading of the original narrative, Abraham instructs his servant to travel to his homeland, rather than explicitly requiring him to marry Isaac into Abraham’s extended family. Indeed, when the servant arrives at the well, he prays for a sign that will identify a suitable wife. He asks that the young woman who offers water not only to him but also to his camels be the one whom God has designated for Isaac (24:12–14).

The narrative describes the young women as “the daughters of the people of the city” (benot anshei ha-ir, 24:13). Nothing in the servant’s prayer explicitly requires the chosen woman to be Abraham’s relative. Moreover, after Rebecca fulfills the sign by generously watering the camels, the servant gives her jewelry and only afterward asks about her family: “Whose daughter are you? Tell me, please. Is there room in your father’s house for us to spend the night?” (24:23). This sequence suggests that the servant initially identifies Rebecca as a suitable candidate because of her extraordinary kindness, without yet knowing her ancestry.

When the servant recounts these events to Rebecca’s family, however, he presents the mission somewhat differently. He reports that Abraham instructed him: “You shall go to my father’s house, to my family, and take a wife for my son” (24:38).

The distinction is significant. Rather than describing a search for a woman from Abraham’s homeland, the servant presents his mission as a search specifically within Abraham’s family. Ramban, Abarbanel, and Malbim recognize the importance of this variation.

The servant also changes the sequence of his encounter with Rebecca. In his retelling, he first asks about her family, receives confirmation that she is Abraham’s relative, and only then places the jewelry upon her (24:47).

This revised sequence strengthens his argument considerably. In the original narrative, the jewelry appears to reward Rebecca’s generosity before the servant knows her identity. In the retelling, the jewelry follows his discovery that she belongs to precisely the family Abraham supposedly designated.

The servant carefully recounts his prayer, Rebecca’s fulfillment of the sign, and his subsequent recognition of divine providence (24:42–48). By presenting the entire sequence as the fulfillment of Abraham’s specific instructions, he makes the marriage appear to be the unmistakable will of God.

His presentation achieves its intended effect. Laban and Bethuel respond: “The matter has come from the Lord; we cannot speak to you either bad or good. Here is Rebecca before you; take her and go, and let her be a wife to your master’s son, as the Lord has spoken” (24:50–51).

Their conclusion is understandable even from the original narrative. Rebecca’s appearance at precisely the right moment, her remarkable generosity, and her relationship to Abraham all point toward divine providence. Nevertheless, the servant’s retelling makes the providential nature of the encounter even more compelling.

On this reading, the servant is not merely repeating his experience. He is a skilled advocate who adapts his presentation to his audience. His objective is to secure Rebecca’s marriage to Isaac, and he arranges the details to emphasize family connection, divine guidance, and the compelling nature of Abraham’s request.

Perspective Two: 

A Faithful Retelling That Clarifies the Original Narrative

Although the differences between the accounts are undeniable, an alternative reading challenges the assumption that the servant substantially altered the facts. The central issue concerns Abraham’s original instructions. Did he merely require a wife from his homeland, or did he specifically intend that Isaac marry a member of his extended family?

Rashbam understands the Hebrew word moledet in Genesis 24:4 as referring to family rather than birthplace. This usage is supported by Genesis 43:7, where the brothers explain that Joseph had questioned them about their family. On Rashbam’s reading, Abraham instructed the servant from the outset to seek a wife among his relatives. The servant’s later reference to Abraham’s family therefore does not represent a change in the mission but an accurate clarification of its original purpose.

The possibility remains that Abraham specifically hoped to find Rebecca. Genesis 22:20–24, immediately preceding the account of Sarah’s death, reports the birth of several members of Abraham’s extended family, culminating in Rebecca. Abraham therefore may already have known of her existence and regarded her as a prospective wife for Isaac.

More importantly, the original narrative itself suggests that the servant was concerned with Rebecca’s family identity before he regarded his mission as successfully completed. After Rebecca waters the camels, the Torah states: “The man stood gazing at her silently, to know whether the Lord had made his journey successful or not” (24:21). At this point, Rebecca has already fulfilled the sign. Why, then, is the servant still uncertain whether God has granted him success?

The answer becomes apparent from what follows. After presenting Rebecca with jewelry, the servant asks about her family. She identifies herself as the daughter of Bethuel, the son of Milcah and Nahor (24:22–24). Only after learning this information does the servant bow and thank God: “Blessed be the Lord, the God of my master Abraham, who has not forsaken His kindness and faithfulness toward my master. As for me, the Lord has guided me on the way to the house of my master’s brothers” (24:27).

This sequence is crucial. The servant does not declare his mission successful immediately after Rebecca fulfills the sign. His expression of gratitude comes only after he learns that she belongs to Abraham’s family.

Furthermore, his thanksgiving specifically identifies the family connection as part of God’s providential guidance. The servant celebrates having been led to “the house of my master’s brothers.” This language suggests that reaching Abraham’s family was an intended objective, rather than an incidental benefit that the servant subsequently exploited in his presentation. Consequently, the original narrative itself supports the possibility that the servant was seeking a woman from Abraham’s family all along.

This observation significantly weakens the argument that the servant transformed a general search for a suitable woman into a family-specific mission only when speaking to Rebecca’s relatives.

Ibn Ezra and Radak, consistent with their broader approach to biblical repetition, understand the servant’s retelling as substantially faithful to the original events. Ibn Ezra maintains that the servant had indeed asked Rebecca about her family before giving her the jewelry, as he later reports. The initial narrative does not necessarily provide every detail in strict chronological order. The two accounts therefore may be read together to reconstruct the complete sequence.

Similarly, the servant’s more explicit account of Abraham’s instructions may clarify what the original narrative expressed more briefly. Rather than assuming that the servant modified Abraham’s words, we may understand the two formulations as complementary descriptions of the same mission.

The servant’s retelling, therefore, need not be understood as a calculated revision of the facts. It may instead be a natural and faithful restatement of the story, emphasizing details already implicit in the original account.

Nevertheless, this interpretation does not eliminate every possibility of deliberate rhetorical emphasis. Even if Abraham genuinely instructed the servant to find a wife from his family, and even if the servant faithfully conveyed that instruction, he may have rearranged the sequence concerning the jewelry to strengthen his appeal. By presenting the gifts as following his discovery of Rebecca’s ancestry, he reinforces the connection between Abraham’s instructions and their providential fulfillment.

Thus, acknowledging the general reliability of the servant’s account does not require denying that he shaped his presentation for persuasive effect.

Two Approaches to Biblical Narrative

The two perspectives illuminate both the character of Abraham’s servant and the literary character of the Torah.

According to the first approach, the servant demonstrates remarkable intelligence and diplomatic skill. He recognizes the importance of securing Rebecca’s family’s consent and deliberately highlights the elements most likely to persuade them. The differences between the original narrative and his retelling reveal his strategy and invite readers to appreciate the artistry of biblical characterization.

According to the second approach, the servant’s retelling primarily clarifies the original narrative. Abraham’s intention to find a wife from his family, the servant’s concern with Rebecca’s ancestry, and his recognition of divine providence form a coherent account. The variations need not all reflect deliberate changes to the underlying events.

The distinction also reflects the broader interpretive debate over repetition in Tanakh. Must every difference between parallel accounts communicate a separate message, or may the Torah employ the ordinary variations characteristic of human storytelling?

Genesis 24 suggests that the question cannot always be resolved by adopting one methodological principle to the exclusion of the other. The servant’s account may be substantially faithful while still reflecting the rhetorical needs of the moment. Conversely, recognizing persuasive elements in his speech does not establish that every variation represents a conscious alteration.

Perhaps the most important insight emerges from the original narrative itself. The servant’s prayer identifies generosity as the sign of a worthy wife for Isaac, but his thanksgiving follows the discovery that Rebecca belongs to Abraham’s family. Her character and her ancestry together confirm the success of his mission.

Whether the servant carefully reshaped his story or faithfully clarified its details, both accounts ultimately point toward the same conclusion: Rebecca’s marriage to Isaac brings together human initiative, moral excellence, family continuity, and divine providence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that brings us to what we can actually control.

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

Every interaction matters.

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

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

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

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

The future? Onward and upward.