National Scholar Updates

Book Review: Dennis Prager on Deuteronomy

Book Review

Dennis Prager, The Rational Bible: Deuteronomy (Regnery Faith, 2022)

 

          This review is a sequel to my reviews of Dennis Prager’s volumes on Genesis and Exodus, found at https://www.jewishideas.org/article/review-dennis-prager-genesis and https://www.jewishideas.org/article/review-dennis-prager-exodus.

 

          Throughout the contemporary West, we find increasingly aggressive elements in our government, universities, schools, media, and many other influential venues that viciously attack God, the Bible, family values, the very notion of an objective morality, and many other core ideals we cherish. Many of the biblical principles America is built upon are brutalized or at best ignored.

          Dennis Prager is far better known as a political commentator than a Bible Scholar. Nonetheless, he is animated by his belief in the Torah and its enduring moral messages for humanity. Whether or not one agrees with all of his politics or individual interpretations of the verses, Prager’s commentary is strikingly relevant when he emphasizes the moral revolution of the Torah and the vitality of its moral teachings to today’s increasingly secularized Western world. Prager pinpoints several of the major differences between the Torah’s morality and the dangerous shortcomings of today’s secular West. In this review, we will focus on several of his central points.

 

In Deuteronomy 1:13, Moses selected judges who were “wise, discerning, and experienced.” All three traits pertain to wisdom, not goodness. Of course, judges also must be good people, but that trait alone is insufficient for leadership. A good society is unattainable without wisdom. Prager observes that “there have always been people who were personally good—individuals who have good intentions and even a kindly disposition—who enabled evil to prevail.”

On a personal level, parents who spoil their children without teaching them right from wrong may be good people, but they lack wisdom. On a global level, communism is the best example of good intentions without wisdom. Communism has killed approximately 100 million people, and enslaved a billion more. Their tyrannical leaders, and some of their supporters, are truly evil people. But many millions of their supporters sincerely believed that communism would build a better world for the future. However, they lacked moral and economic wisdom, thereby supporting and enabling the evil tyrants to obtain and retain power (6-10).

          The world’s freest society, the United States of America, is both a democracy and theocracy. Theocracy without democracy leads to an unfree society. Democracy without God leads to moral and intellectual chaos. George Washington stated, “Of all the dispositions and habits which lead to political prosperity, religion and morality are indispensable supports…reason and experience both forbid us to expect that national morality can prevail in exclusion of religious principle.” In a similar vein, John Adams remarked that “Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious People. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other.” Prager observes that it is no accident that the two mottoes of the United States are “Liberty” and “In God We Trust” (283-285).

 

The Book of Deuteronomy repeatedly warns against following false gods. Prager enumerates several of today’s “false gods” (71-84). One of the most corrosive elements to the fabric of our increasingly secular society is the elimination of God and the Bible, and replacing its wisdom with an overvaluation of education and intelligence.

Prager quotes Professor Steven Pinker of Harvard University, who observes that “universities are becoming laughingstocks of intolerance.” Well-educated people disproportionately supported the Nazi party, as well as communism. The same is true for those today who hold anti-American and Israeli sentiments.

          In 2015 Prager participated in a debate at the prestigious Oxford Union at Oxford University on the subject of whether Israel or Hamas is a greater obstacle for peace in the Middle East. That this debate could even occur is truly terrifying, given the terrorist organization Hamas’ genocidal charter. Yet, the debate went on, and the majority of the over 400 elite students in attendance voted that Israel is the greater obstacle to peace, as this is what they are taught.

          Education uncoupled from God and morality becomes a false, and a very dangerous, god. Among those naïve enough to think otherwise was Sigmund Freud, who confidently stated in 1927 that secular education could replace religion as the basis for a moral society: “Civilization has little to fear from educated people and brain-workers. In them the replacement of religious motives for civilized behaviors by other, secular motives would proceed unobtrusively.” Within ten years of making that statement, Freud witnessed many of his fellow Austrian and German intellectuals support Nazism and even participate in the atrocities.

          Of course, people who claim to be religious can be evil, and people who do not believe in God can be exceptionally moral. The issue is society and its institutions. Without religious core values, secular society almost inevitably loses its wisdom, and then risks becoming evil.

 

          The Book of Deuteronomy promises national reward for righteous behavior, and national calamity for wicked behavior and unfaithfulness to God. To the modern mind, such promises often appear to reflect a low-level religious system. Prager defends the Torah’s discourse on several grounds (142-143).

          First, the Torah could have omitted all reference to reward and punishment. This idealistic system is simply untrue to human reality. When people are rewarded for competent work, they work harder and more competently. This is why the capitalistic free market economy was the only system that enabled people to lift themselves out of poverty. Some are seduced by the Marxist socialist ideal of people being rewarded “according to their needs,” rather than for the excellence of their work. This ideology, however, eliminates the incentive to work hand. Further, who determines the “needs” of individuals? Generally not the individual, but the state. This is the road to tyranny and totalitarianism. Prager concludes, “And who doesn’t want to live in a just world? Only the unjust.”

          The Torah could have shifted focus to reward in the afterlife, but its entire agenda is to build a great society in this world.

          Finally, the Torah could have demanded faithfulness based on love of God. However, that argument would work only for the religiously elite few.

          Therefore, the Torah’s stress on this-worldly reward and punishment is the most effective means of promoting a universally righteous society.

 

          A central theme in Deuteronomy is gratitude. God blesses Israel with a beautiful, bountiful land. The religious hazard of that blessing is that Israel may in turn become spoiled and arrogant, considering their prosperity as their own achievement. Prager comments that “gratitude is the mother of both happiness and goodness.” The easiest way to undermine gratitude is to take something or someone for granted. Most people appreciate what they had only once they have lost it. Parents spoil their children when they give them everything, as children come to expect everything. Saying “thank you” is not merely polite etiquette; these words inculcate gratitude and appreciation. Jewish law has blessings for everything, including eating and even relieving oneself in the bathroom. These blessings, when taken seriously, infuse gratitude and happiness into the most mundane moments (154-156).

 

          In Deuteronomy 12:20, the Torah permits “secular slaughter” away from the Temple, enabling Israelites to eat meat outside of a sacrificial context. Prager uses this commandment to launch into a discussion regarding animal rights activism gone awry in the secular world. There is an increasingly prevalent value of people and animals being of equal worth. Prager quotes a 2003 PETA ad campaign, which appallingly equated barbequing chickens with the cremation of Jews in the Nazi death camps. They entitled their ad campaign, “Holocaust on your Plate.” It was a Jew at PETA who created that ad campaign, and he doubled down on his assertion that chickens and humans are of equal value when he was challenged.

 

          In Deuteronomy 19:13, the Torah insists that we show no pity for murderers. The Torah understands that if we see the condemned, we naturally will have pity, and consider withholding the capital punishment. However, such pity overrides the true victims, namely, the person who was murdered and his or her family. In a debate on American television with the leader of an anti-capital punishment vigil being held in front of the prison where a murderer was about to be executed, Prager “asked the activist if he and his supporters had ever held a vigil in support of a murder victim’s family. I received no response” (303-304).

We should lead the world in morality, but not promote a morality so far beyond realism that we subject ourselves to mortal danger. Prager quotes Rabbi Irving (“Yitz”) Greenberg reflecting on the modern State of Israel, surrounded by vicious enemies committed to Israel’s destruction: “If we Jews are five percent better than the rest of the world, we can be a ‘light unto the nations.’ If we are twenty-five percent better than the rest of the world, we can bring the Messiah. If we are fifty percent better than the rest of the world, we’ll all be dead” (316).

 

          Through these and so many other religious-moral teachings, the Torah was a revolution in world history, and continues to bring relevant, and sorely needed, teaching to the modern world.

 

Review Essay: Jewish Literary Eros: Between Poetry and Prose in the Medieval Mediterranean

              My recently published book, Jewish Literary Eros: Between Poetry and Prose in the Medieval Mediterranean (Indiana University Press, June 2022), presents a comparison of fictional writings across literary traditions of the medieval Mediterranean. It places secular texts by Jewish authors side by side with works by their Muslim and Jewish predecessors and Christian contemporaries to see how attitudes toward fiction, metaphor, pseudo-autobiography, allegory, and courting rituals vary or parallel each other in unexpected ways. The texts in question were written primarily between the twelfth through fourteenth centuries by Jewish authors in Christian Spain and Italy and comprise a mixture of poetry and prose, known as prosimetra. The writing of this period has traditionally been considered decadent, less brilliant and innovative than compositions by Jewish Andalusian predecessors whose writings, still in regular circulation today, have had an incalculable impact on Jewish intellectual, literary, scientific, and exegetical histories. I hope that I dispel this misconception in some small way: the next generations of texts form a continuum, one that both looks to past innovations while also considering new ways to create meaning for readers attempting to survive ever more precarious realities.

Thus, on the one hand, this study has less to do with the Jewishness of these authors than the astonishing literary hybridity of writers from across the medieval Mediterranean—writers from different faiths who spoke the same languages, shared the same secular cultural contexts, and studied the same philosophical commentaries, mathematical treatises, and scientific texts. Indeed, the literary forms and the varieties of love I highlight are far more evocative of social conditions and cultural values than the entertaining qualities of the works seem to indicate.

On the other hand, there is something particularly Jewish about the texts by these Jewish authors, despite their unmistakable borrowings from and adaptations of Arabic and Romance literary forms and motifs. This something is at once both obvious and elusive; obvious, since secular texts written in Hebrew by Jews of al-Andalus, Christian Spain, or Italy are all in essence clever and brilliant pastiches of the Hebrew Bible, every word or phrase necessarily carrying with it a complex array of connotations that educated Jewish readers of the medieval Mediterranean would have noticed immediately and admired greatly. (There were a few detractors to secular poetry, of course, most famously Maimonides and his disciple ibn Falaquera, though Maimonides objected not to poetry itself but rather to its desecration of the Holy Tongue and its potential to lead men to engage in unseemly behavior.[1]) This something Jewish, though, is as elusive as it is obvious, since these authors broke new ground, experimenting with new literary forms and techniques: the resulting texts grapple with human love and poetics as intertwined and crucial steps toward ethical living, and regardless of intercalated biblical allusions the stories are removed from a Jewish context. At the same time, however, these authors openly declare their goal of creating texts that show the potency of the Hebrew language with the expressed hope of buoying their Jewish readers who were living in ever more precarious circumstances, facing persecution, forced conversion, forced migration. I must add that not all of the texts by Jewish authors featured in my book are in Hebrew; they also include works in Italian, Judeo-Spanish, and Castilian in the centuries following. In this way, the question of what makes a text particularly Jewish is even more challenging and amorphous.

To be clear, these authors were pious men who penned biblical commentaries and liturgical poems—Jacob ben Elʿazar the author of liturgical poems and Immanuel of Rome the author of extensive biblical commentary. But they were also secular polymaths, descendants of those who were trained in the Arabic tradition of adab, a word that in modern Arabic simply means literature but in the medieval period referred to a broad, humanistic education that any young man of means would have pursued. Like their Muslim counterparts, wealthy Jewish men in al-Andalus in the golden age of Hebrew letters (ca. 950–1150) studied these same subjects, one of which was poetry, poetic composition, and, what today we would call literary criticism. One of the most profound results of this flourishing humanism was the tenth-century adaptation of Arabic quantitative meter and thematics for use in Hebrew poetry, both secular and devotional; the same poets, such as Judah Halevi and Solomon Ibn Gabirol, composed both varieties.[2]

The later authors whose works are the focus of my book lived in Christian Spain and Italy, in periods of increasing unease and turmoil, their predecessors already having been driven from their beloved Andalucia by increasingly stringent Muslim rulers. Ben Elʿazar and Immanuel, for instance, composed masterpieces in Toledo and Italy (exact location unknown), respectively, amid fraught historical realities: ben Elʿazar had to contend with increasingly stringent papal and monarchical controls on Jewish businesses and religious practice, and while Immanuel’s Christian counterparts deigned to exchange Italian sonnets with him, they made sure to refer to him as “Immanuel the Jew” (a moniker that has remained even today when some modern-day scholars of medieval Italian literature refer to him) and to position him in excrement-laden visions of hell in their own sonnets—forceful reminders that he and his fellow Jews were purportedly expelled from Rome by the Avignon papacy in 1321, though documentation of the edict is not extant.

In the past two decades, scholars have delved into the multiplicity of literary traditions of medieval Iberia, devoting studies to Hebrew and Sephardic literature within the Mediterranean setting, including, among others, wonderful books by Ross Brann (Iberian Moorings: Al-Andalus, Sefarad, and the Tropes of Exceptionalism); Jonathan Decter (Iberian Jewish Literature); Michelle Hamilton (Representing Others in Medieval Iberian Literature); S. J. Pearce (Andalusi Literary & Intellectual Tradition); and David Wacks (Framing Iberia and Double Diaspora in Sephardic Literature). These studies complement research collections that confront the multiplicities of medieval Iberia from a comparative perspective, such as The Literature of Al-Andalus (edited by María Rosa Menocal, Michael Sells, and Raymond P. Scheindlin); A Sea of Languages: Rethinking the Arabic Role in Medieval Literary History (edited by Suzanne Conklin Akbari and Karla Mallette); and Under the Influence: Questioning the Comparative in Medieval Castile (edited by Cynthia Robinson and Leyla Rouhi).

My contribution is a pause amid these broader studies; in slowing down to look at the intricacies of literary form and genre across traditions, I find particular moments of innovation among Jewish authors. Freeing themselves from the steady restraints of both meter and rhyme built into the fixed poetic forms employed by Hebrew poets of al-Andalus, some Jewish authors of prosimetric or polymetric texts explored new literary forms to address secular love. Although my most conspicuous examples come from certain Hebrew maqamas, I also consider other works, including Immanuel’s Italian lyrics and polymetric Judeo-Spanish oral poems, and I broaden my discussion into experimental poetic and prose compositions from the fifteenth through seventeenth centuries. I situate these examples with respect to relevant sources in ancient Greek, classical Arabic, Latin, Castilian, French, Galician-Portuguese, Italian, and Occitan. When viewed in the comparative context of the medieval Mediterranean, the evolving relationship between the authors’ combinations of literary forms and the theme of love adds nuance to our understanding of how Jewish literature of the period negotiates its position within Islamicate and Christian literary traditions.

The question remains: why love? Profane love is the only theme shared across prosimetra by authors of the three religions. While all Arabic treatises, no matter the subject matter, featured interspersed rhymed and metered poems, Romance-language texts—which evolved much later than classical Arabic works, mirroring the centuries’ later development of distinct Romance languages—favored poetry and most often featured love stories; of the few extant Romance prosimetra, love is the choice topic. Yes, this is the realm of courtly love—a highly problematic term that I address thoroughly—a world of knights, princesses, and unrequited love; indeed, a world in which some Jewish authors were eager to take part. At the crossroads of these literary cultures, Jews of the medieval Mediterranean pushed poetry toward something new, combining dominant cultures’ literary stylings, at times imbued with biblical Hebrew and Jewish thematics, and with an undeniably perceptive awareness of self and other.

 

Works Cited

 

Brann, Ross. Iberian Moorings: Al-Andalus, Sefarad, and the Tropes of Exceptionalism. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2021.

Hamilton, Michelle. Representing Others in Medieval Iberian Literature. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007.

Maimonides, Moses. The Guide of the Perplexed. Translated by Shlomo Pines. Chicago: University of Chicago, 1963.

———. Maimonides’ Treatise on Logic (Maqāla fī sināʿat al-mantiq). Edited and translated by Israel Efros. New York: American Academy for Jewish Research, 1938.

———. Mishna ʿim perush Rabenu Moshe ben Maimon. Edited and translated by Yosef Qaʿfiḥ. Jerusalem: Mosad ha-Rav Quq, 1964.

Menocal, María Rosa, Michael Sells, and Raymond P. Scheindlin. The Literature of Al-Andalus, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000.

Monroe, James T. “Maimonides on the Mozarabic Lyric (A Note on the Muwassaḥa).” La corónica 17, no. 2 (1989): 18–32.

Pearce, S. J. The Andalusi Literary and Intellectual Tradition: The Role of Arabic in Judah Ibn Tibbon’s Ethical Will. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2017.

Robinson, Cynthia, and Leyla Rouhi, eds. Under the Influence: Questioning the Comparative in Medieval Castile. Leiden: Brill, 2005.

Scheindlin, Raymond P. “Hebrew Poetry in Medieval Iberia.” In Convivencia: Jews, Muslims, and Christians in Medieval Spain. Ed. Vivian B. Mann, Thomas F. Glick, and Jerrilynn D. Dodds, 38-59. New York: G. Braziller in association with the Jewish Museum, 1992.

Wacks, David. Double Diaspora in Sephardic Literature: Jewish Cultural Production before and after 1492. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2015.

———. Framing Iberia: Maqāmāt and Frametale Narratives in Medieval Spain. Leiden: Brill, 2007.

 

 

 

[1] For Maimonides’ opinions on poetry, see Maimonides’ Treatise on Logic (Maqāla fī sināʿat al-mantiq), 48–49; Maimonides, Mishna ʿim perush, Avot 1:16; trans. in Monroe, “Maimonides on the Mozarabic Lyric,” 20; and Maimonides, Guide of the Perplexed, 2:435 (3.8).

[2] For a thorough overview of this cultural and literary landscape, see Scheindlin, “Hebrew Poetry in Medieval Iberia.”

Nature and Torah: Thoughts for Parashat Lekh Lekha

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Lekh Lekha

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

In Chapter 2 of his “Laws of Foundations of Torah,” Maimonides discusses the commandments to love and fear God. “What is the way to love and fear Him? When one contemplates His wondrous and great works and creations and sees in them His infinite wisdom, immediately he loves and praises and exalts and yearns with an overwhelming yearning to know His great Name….On meditating these very things, one immediately recoils, fears and trembles, realizing that he is a tiny, low and obscure being of small intelligence standing before the One with perfect wisdom…”

Significantly, Maimonides locates love and fear of God in a universal context. Every human being can contemplate the wonders of nature and detect the greatness of the Creator. Maimonides might have written that one learns love and fear of God by studying the Torah…God’s word. But by specifically including this passage in his section on Foundations of Torah, he was teaching us that we are not only Jews with a Torah…but we are human beings who share in the universal human spiritual adventure.

This week’s Torah portion begins with God’s command to Abram to leave his land, his birthplace, the house of his parents. Abram was to go to a land that God would show him and start a new chapter in the history of humanity.

The Torah does not indicate why God chose Abram for this awesome challenge. Rabbinic tradition filled the void with various Midrashic stories that highlight Abram’s spiritual greatness. Although his father Terah was an idolater, Abram repudiated idolatry and shattered his father’s idols. Abram did not inherit faith in One God, but discovered God through philosophical questioning. In viewing the wondrous and great works and creations, he concluded that these things could not have just happened on their own. There must be a Creator who set things in order.

Abram discovered God centuries before the Torah was revealed to the Israelites at Mount Sinai. The Midrashim underscore that God is accessible to us through our universal human capacities.

The opening chapters of the Torah, from the creation story, through Noah and Abram/Abraham, are directed at humanity at large…not just at the Jewish People. The message is: through philosophy and science, human beings can attain love and fear of God.

Jews have an additional route to God: the Torah. Each morning in our prayers, we thank the Almighty for having granted Torah to the People of Israel. The teachings and commandments of Torah put us in contact with God’s word and God’s will…and the more we study and internalize Torah, the more we are able to deepen our connection with God.

Jewish tradition, thus, has two roads to God: the natural world, which reveals God as Creator; and the Torah, which records the words of God to the people of Israel. But the Torah itself leads us back to the first road, the road of experiencing God as Creator. The Torah and nature are bound together.

 The relationship of Torah and nature is evident in Psalm 19. The psalm has two distinct parts which at first glance seem to be unconnected. It begins: “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament tells His handiwork. Day unto day utters the tale, night unto night unfolds knowledge. There is no word, no speech, their voice is not heard, yet their course extends through all the world, and their theme to the end of the world.” It goes on to describe the sun which rejoices as a strong man prepared to run his course. “Its setting forth is from one end of the skies, its circuit unto the other extreme, and nothing is hidden from its heat.” Then the psalm makes an abrupt shift. It continues: “The law of the Lord is perfect, comforting the soul…the precepts of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart. The commandment of the Lord is clear, enlightening the eyes.” From a description of the glory of God as manifested in the natural world, the psalm jumps to a praise of the Torah, God’s special revelation to the people of Israel.

 The psalm is teaching that one may come to an understanding of God both through the natural world and through the Torah.

For the Jewish People, Abraham is our father (Avraham Avinu) and Moses is our teacher (Moshe Rabbeinu)…and both lead us to God.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel's Latest Book Review in Tradition

Our National Scholar, Rabbi Hayyim Angel, reviews two recent books on the interface between traditional and academic Bible study, with consideration of the religious ramifications of various approaches.

The article appears in the current issue of Tradition, the journal of the Rabbinical Council of America.

You may access the article online here: https://traditiononline.org/when-blurring-peshat-and-derash-creates-a-new-theology-a-critique-of-participatory-revelation/

Book Review: Sukkot Companion by the Habura

Book Review

Sukkot: Insights from the Past, Present, and Future (The Habura, 2022)

 

 

          We once again have the privilege to review a book by The Habura, a recently-founded England-based organization that has been promoting thoughtful Torah learning since 2020. It is headed by Rabbi Joseph Dweck, Senior Rabbi of the Spanish and Portuguese Community of the United Kingdom (see www.TheHabura.com).

          The Habura promotes the inclusion of Sephardic voices and ideas in Jewish discourse, coupled with an openness to the broad wisdom of the Jewish people and the world. In this regard, their ideology strongly dovetails ours at the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

          In addition to their Zoom classes and other programs, they have been publishing holiday companion volumes (as well as other material). I reviewed their Pesah volume last April (https://www.jewishideas.org/article/book-review-haburas-passover-volume).

Their recently published Sukkot volume contains an array of eighteen essays. The first two are by Sephardic rabbis of the 19th and 20th centuries, Rabbis Abraham Pereira Mendes (1825-1893, Jamaica, England, and the United States) and Hayim David Halevi (1923-1998, Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv). The rest of the book is divided between contemporary rabbis and scholars, and younger upcoming scholars who participate in the learning of The Habura.

          The essays span a variety of topics pertaining to Sukkot in the areas of Jewish thought, faith, halakha, and custom. They generally are well-written and well-researched, and often present enlightening ideas. In this brief review, I will summarize three essays that I found most edifying.

 

          Rabbi Joseph Dweck explores the unusual commandment to rejoice on Sukkot (Deuteronomy 16:14). It is curious that other faith traditions viewed the changing of the seasons to autumn (in the northern hemisphere) as cause for bleaker holiday reactions. Roman Catholics observe All Soul’s Day, which appears in Mexico as the Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). This holiday translates to the more widespread Halloween. The Angel of Death is even nicknamed “The Grim Reaper,” reflecting the incoming gloom of winter that follows the harvest season. How does Sukkot become such a profoundly joyous time?

          A central theme of Sukkot is the fleetingness of the physical world. This realistic perspective enables us to experience joy while recognizing that it is temporary. Sigmund Freud wrote an essay entitled “On Transience,” in which he asserted that life’s transience helps us appreciate the preciousness and beauty of each experience.

          Rabbi Dweck believes that Freud has identified the root of our joy on Sukkot and concludes, “When we can come to this understanding about the world, we can truly come to embrace and accept life on its own terms—and in doing that, we can truly know happiness.”

          Pursuing a different angle into the theme of joy on Sukkot, Gershon Engel explains that nowadays, we indeed emphasize our dependence on God rather than relying on the permanence of our homes (e.g., Rabbi Yitzhak Aboab, Menorat HaMa’or III, 4:6). Of course, the biblical Sukkot revolved around the harvest. This holiday was uniquely joyous in ancient Israel, as the harvests were in and farmers did not need to rush home as they would after Pesah and Shavuot.

          By transferring the meaning of Sukkot from agriculture to more universal religious themes, Jews were able to preserve a sense of joy on Sukkot even after the termination of the agrarian life that had characterized our people for much of our existence.

Engel quotes Benjamin Disraeli in his classic work Tancred, who expressed awe in the Jews for retaining their sense of joy on Sukkot while in the exile:

 

The vineyards of Israel have ceased to exist, but the eternal law enjoins the children of Israel still to celebrate the vintage. A race that persists in celebrating their vintage, although they have no fruits to gather, will regain their vineyards. What sublime inexorability in the law! But what indomitable spirit in the people!

 

 

          Addressing the halakhic question of wearing tefillin on hol ha-mo’ed the intermediate weekdays) of Pesah and Sukkot, Yehuda J.W. Leikin observes that the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmuds both appear to suggest that wearing tefillin on the middle days of Pesah and Sukkot is normative.

The three halakhic pillars behind Rabbi Yosef Karo’s Shulhan Arukh—Rabbi Yitzhak Alfasi (Rif), Rambam, and Rabbenu Asher (Rosh), all agree that wearing tefillin on hol ha-mo’ed is the proper observance. While several other leading medieval rabbinic authorities, including Rabbi Shelomo ibn Aderet (Rashba) and Rabbi Avraham ben David (Ra’avad), maintain that tefillin should not be worn, Rabbi Karo generally follows his three pillars of rabbinic ruling.

          In this case, however, Rabbi Karo forbids the wearing of tefillin on hol ha-mo’ed, and rules prohibitively because the Zohar strongly opposes the wearing of tefillin on hol ha-mo’ed (Bet Yosef, Orah Hayyim 31:2). Rabbi Karo reports that in Spain, the original practice was to wear tefillin on hol ha-mo’ed until they discovered the Zohar’s prohibition. In contrast, Rabbi Moshe Isserles (Rama) maintains that Ashkenazim should wear tefillin, following the ruling of Rabbenu Asher (Rosh).

          Thus, the Sephardic practice to refrain from wearing tefillin on hol ha-mo’ed reflects an unusual move from classical halakhic sources to kabbalah. Leikin concludes that Rabbi Yosef Karo may have been inclined to accept the kabbalistic ruling in this instance, since there also were great halakhists who also opposed wearing tefillin on hol ha-mo’ed.

 

          There are many other fine essays in this Sukkot companion, and we look forward to future volumes from The Habura.

 

*

 

          I had the privilege of giving a three-part series for the Habura in February-March, 2022. You may view these lectures on our YouTube channel:

 

Tanakh and Superstition: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PD68xZ4J4M8&t=5s

 

Torah and Archaeology:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dN1XAtia_x0&t=24s

 

Torah and Literalism: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K__jp8V9sXY&t=4s

 

          I also am scheduled to give two talks to the Habura on April 17 and 19, 2023.

 

The Institute looks forward to further partnering with The Habura in the future and building our shared vision together.

         

Words of Darkness...and Words of Light: Thoughts for Parashat Noah

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Noah

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

It is painful to hear hateful words. Unfortunately, hardly a day goes by when we aren’t confronted by statements of anti-Semitism, racism, political mud-slinging. So-called “celebrities” spout their malicious lies about Jews, about Israel, about any group they wish to slander.

Why is hateful speech so widespread?

Erich Fromm has written of the syndrome of decay that “prompts men to destroy for the sake of destruction and to hate for the sake of hate.” Because of their frustrations, feelings of inferiority and malignant narcissism, many people poison their own lives with hatred. Indeed, some only feel truly alive and validated when they express hatred of others.

When we hear bigots rail against “the Jews” or “the Israelis,” we instinctively sense that these haters are morally blind, ignorant about Jews and Israel.  When we are confronted by so-called human rights organizations and academics who malign Israel, we are appalled by their hatred and perversion of truth.  Haters are dangerous. It is imperative for moral and informed people to stand up and refute the lies and calumnies.

Hateful words are uttered by many people on various rungs of the social ladder. The common denominator is their participation in the syndrome of decay. Their hatred not only erodes their own lives, it contributes to undermining the social fabric of society as a whole. It makes all good people feel uneasy. Where will this hatred lead? To spreading hatred among others? To violence?

In this week’s Torah reading, God orders Noah to build an ark. Humanity had become so corrupt that the Almighty decided to destroy all but Noah and family. In providing instructions for the construction of the ark, God tells Noah: “You shall make a light for the ark”—tsohar ta’aseh latevah. Our commentators suggest that this light was a skylight window or a precious stone that could refract light throughout the ark.

A Hassidic rabbi offered a different reading of the text. The word “tevah” means ark; but it also means “word.” In his homiletical interpretation, the verse should be understood as follows: “make your word generate light.” When you speak, your words should be positive, encouraging, enlightening. They should contribute light to a world struggling against the forces of darkness.

Martin Buber diagnosed a serious problem within modern society. “That people can no longer carry on authentic dialogue with one another is not only the most acute symptom of the pathology of our time, it is also that which most urgently makes a demand of us.”  His observation relates to the breakdown of honest communication among people, especially among people outside one’s immediate circle of family and friends. It also relates to the breakdown in communication among nations.

Instead of viewing ourselves as co-partners in society, the syndrome of decay leads us to view others as enemies…real or potential threats to our well-being. When we can’t trust each other, when we can’t speak kindly to each other or about each other, then society is afflicted with the pathology that Buber laments.

Tsohar ta’aseh latevah: each of us, in our own way, can add light and understanding to our world by speaking words of encouragement, kindness, and respectfulness. We should work toward a society that repudiates hateful words and deeds, where the haters themselves will come to see the error of their way.

Those whose words are hateful generate darkness, mistrust, societal disintegration.

Those whose words bring light to the world are humanity’s only real hope.

 

 

The Nature of Inquiry: A Common Sense Perspective

The Nature of Inquiry: A Common Sense Perspective[1]

 Rabbi Shalom Carmy 

In an article in the first issue of The Torah U-Madda Journal, “Torah u-Madda and Freedom of Inquiry,” Rabbi Yehuda Parnes makes no fewer than three major claims that require more careful analysis. One is a theory about the nature of what he calls madda. The second is a reading of Rambam in Hil. ‘Avodah Zarah 2:2–3, the burden of which is to confine study of divrei kefirah (heresy) and idolatry to situations of le-havin u-le-horot (“understanding and decision-making”). Finally, his conclusion: “Based on all of the above, Torah u-Madda can only be viable if it imposes strict limits on freedom of inquiry in areas that may undermine the thirteen ikkarei emunah(principles of faith) (QED).[2] 

The second issue of this journal carried a response by Lawrence Kaplan and David Berger offering an alternative reading of the Rambam, and touching indirectly on Rabbi Parnes’s conclusion. They also say a great deal on behalf of a broad interpretation of le-havin u-le-horot, namely “[t]he possibility that grappling with a particular book or system of philosophy may lead to a revised and deeper understanding of Torah principles.”[3] 

My own contribution to the debate will consider all three of Rabbi Parnes’s contentions. On the matter of le-havin u-le-horot, I am very much in sympathy with Kaplan and Berger, as my remarks in this essay should amply illustrate.

 

 

I

 

Rabbi Parnes asserts that liberal arts education (= madda) cannot permit “any constraint on honest and inquisitive searching for truth” (p. 69). This is not true. Such constraints are quite common, on both ethical and intellectual grounds. 

Examples: Biological experiments in which human beings are tortured are generally prohibited, even when they promise to yield interesting scientific results. Scientists are increasingly reluctant to torment animals in the name of science. Many refuse to make use of results obtained through immoral research, such as that conducted by Nazi doctors in the concentration camps, in this respect adopting a standard more stringent than that required by halakha.[4] Many secularists (most notably in the feminist movement) would proscribe the reading of various works of pornography as inherently immoral. Others would advocate a moratorium on research dealing with racial and gender differences for reasons of social morality. Seriously entertaining false beliefs of an insidious tendency, taking them to heart, even when motivated by the “honest and inquisitive searching for truth” is, according to this view, morally wrong. Other concerns, not inherently moral in nature, would likewise stay the hand of inquiry according to most educators. Study that is likely to squander such precious resources as time, intellect, and money would be frowned upon and, beyond a certain point, effectively curtailed. When such considerations come into play, does it matter that the inquiry to be snuffed out is “honest and inquisitive searching for truth”? Surely not. No doubt there are laborers in the scientific vineyard who would try very hard to reject any, or all, of these constraints on research. For them “honest and inquisitive searching for truth” is an absolute, or almost absolute, value, which therefore cannot be overridden by any duty or competing value. It is also natural that those who love knowledge and wisdom will be averse to any limitation on inquiry, and loath to give voice to proscription even when they reluctantly recognize its appropriateness. This is especially so since suppression of free inquiry and free thought has often been employed deceitfully, to uphold the fraudulent heaven-groping facade of self-proclaimed authority, or to shelter the darting-eyed wickedness that cannot tolerate the light of day. Surely many contemporary demands to suspend critical thought on various subjects of consequence in the name of political correctness are self-important, self-serving, and redolent of intellectual and moral indolence and cowardice. 

Because restraining inquiry and its free expression has gotten a bad name, scientists and humanists usually conceal the fist of authority, both moral and intellectual, in a velvet glove: Only if the deviant fails to recognize his/her insensitivity, lack of sophistication, or ignorance will the stronger medicine come into play: the control of grades, fellowships, jobs, etc. We are a civilized society: The “wrong” position on homosexuality no longer rates the stake; merely suspension without pay at CBS (with prospect of early parole if the ratings warrant).[5] But whether particular moral curbs on free inquiry and expression are justified or not, is not significant for our characterization of liberal arts education. What matters is that claims on behalf of such restrictions on “honest and inquisitive searching for truth,” however skeptically scrutinized, are not dismissed out of hand, as violations of madda. 

Thus madda, as it is actually practiced, recognizes, for a variety of reasons and in a variety of circumstances, limits on freedom of inquiry. No intellectual activity can take place in isolation from the rest of our knowledge (a point that will become important to our discussion below); by the same token, no intellectual activity may be pursued in an ethical vacuum. Of course there is a difference between violating the moral and utilitarian norms incorporated in the practice of madda and violating the Torah’s prohibitions. It is the difference between being a fool and being a sinner, between breaching a man-made rule and rebelling against a divine law. But that difference, important as it is, has nothing to do with the fact of constraint itself. 

            The whole idea that whoever advocates or accepts any constraint on free inquiry runs “counter to madda and all that it implies” (as Rabbi Parnes puts it on p. 69), and is presumably self-banished from the garden of madda, is so fantastic that I must pause to consider why one would entertain a conception of madda so remote from reality and so alien to healthy common sense. Any attempt to explain the perennial attraction of the “absolute freedom” theory of madda must distinguish the differing motivations of its proponents. 

  1. Thinkers opposed to Torah aim to exploit our healthy bias in favor of intellectual honesty either to undermine Torah or to divert our attention from the fact that madda does not really tender absolute and unrestricted allegiance to the unfettered search for truth. If Torah is against intellectual honesty, and madda is for it, then madda leads 1–0. 
  1. Those who favor Torah, but oppose Torah u-Madda, would like to exploit our presumed healthy bias in favor of Torah to undermine either madda or our healthy bias in favor of intellectual honesty. If Torah is against it, but madda demands it, then some of us will reject madda. (What about the people who draw the opposite conclusion and reject Torah? Presumably their commitment was deficient to begin with, so we needn’t bother about them.) 
  1. Many individuals, with no polemical agenda of their own, may accept the “absolute freedom” model of madda simply because they have not thought through the issues on their own. As R. Bahya ibn Pakuda points out, one of the consequences of eschewing philosophical reflection is that your mind is held hostage to what other people say.[6] 
  1. A different account of the power exercised by the “absolute freedom” doctrine would occur to someone who has thought about the history of science and philosophy in the last several centuries. Such an individual might, at the risk of oversimplification, tell something like the following story: 

Early in the modern period (the sixteenth century would not be too early), scientific inquiry was held back by certain views prevalent among the official exponents of the then-current Christian teaching. As science succeeded in pushing back the frontiers of ignorance in many areas, while religion seemed to distinguish itself primarily in the promotion of strife, many thinking (and even more non-thinking) people concluded that the teachings of biblical religion were either false, or had been falsely interpreted. In addition, many were taken by the idea, going back to Plato, that the kind of argumentation traditionally employed in mathematics is the exclusive highway to privileged truth. Since Judaism, like Christianity, with its historical and anthropological orientation, does not speak in the name of mathematical truth, it must apply for recognition to science rather than itself judge the validity of human investigations. Hence, the best thing for truth is to let science alone, and certainly not to let religious “values” (by this point “religious knowledge” had been so discredited as to become a virtual oxymoron) hold sway over intellectual endeavor. 

The individual who has reflected on the matter knows that the inference of the last sentence is not conclusive. That religious authority has been abused, that even when properly exercised it is liable, occasionally, to fall into folly while fleeing from sin, does not imply that it ought never to be exercised. Observing those who fall under the three classes described above, the advocate of the last approach concludes that they have succumbed to an exaggerated account of the dichotomy between the freedom supposedly held out by madda and the bunker mentality ascribed to Torah. One knows that one owes one’s liberation from the evil enchantment of the “absolute freedom” fantasy, at least in part, to one’s understanding of the historical process whereby the spell was cast. One’s own ability to embrace the Torah’s limitations on free investigation is indebted to that enhanced understanding. One suspects that, had one not worked through the epistemological trauma and scotoma of modernity, one would have ended up either rejecting Torah or working one’s self into a vehement yet, at the same time, slyly vacuous exercise of piety, as one humoring a slightly deaf, and more than slightly rich, elderly relation. 

 

 

II

 

Rambam’s normative limitation of free inquiry, as understood by Rabbi Parnes, is the centerpiece of his critique. Both Rabbi Parnes and Kaplan and Berger agree that the key to a precise definition of the Rambam’s proscription is to be found in the rationale by which he augments the halakha: 

 

Any thought which leads a human being to uproot one of the principles of the Torah, we are enjoined not to take it upon our heart, and we should not divert our minds to such, and dwell [upon it] and be drawn after the thoughts of the heart. This is because man’s understanding is slight, and not all minds can attain truth thoroughly. If a man is drawn after the thoughts of his heart he may destroy the world as a result of his limited understanding. How? At times he will rove after idolatry. At times he will think about God being one: maybe it is so, maybe it isn’t. What is above, what is below, what is before, what is after. And sometimes about prophecy: maybe it is true, maybe it isn’t. And sometimes about the Torah: maybe it is from Heaven, maybe it is not. And he does not know the categories by which he should judge [ha-middot she-yadin bahen] in order to know truth thoroughly; hence he is liable to deviate into minut. 

 

Rabbi Parnes examines two interpretations of the restriction: (1) Rambam only prohibited study undertaken with the purpose of forsaking Torah, thus leaving the Torah u-Madda advocate untouched. This is untenable, for such a prohibition would not require a rationale. Thus we are left with (2) Rambam intended to prohibit what Rabbi Parnes calls “honest and objective freedom of inquiry” (p. 70). Kaplan and Berger, for their part, emphasize Rambam’s warning about the frailty of untrained human reasoning. In their opinion, Rambam prohibits individ­uals who are intellectually unprepared from undertaking the study of idolatrous literature and the like. 

Note that the two approaches to the Rambam do not necessarily exclude each other. Rabbi Parnes may very well maintain that Rambam prohibits “honest and objective freedom of inquiry” (except in cases of le-havin u-le-horot) and that he also prohibits inquiry by unqualified individuals. Conversely, one might agree with Kaplan and Berger that Rambam restricted inquiry only to those who are intellectually prepared, yet also agree with Rabbi Parnes that “honest and objective freedom of inquiry” is off limits as well. The difficulty in attempting to harmonize or contrast the two approaches is that I am not quite sure what Rabbi Parnes means by “honest and objective freedom of inquiry.” The precise meaning of this phrase is clearly crucial to the entire discus­sion, and we shall get to it in a moment.  First, however, let us direct our attention to the next part of Rambam’s rationale, which was not brought into the debate by any of my colleagues. Here Rambam sketches the outstanding features of the inquirer whom we are told not to emulate. What is this intellectual up to? This is a person who, as the occasion bemuses him or her, holds some principle of faith at arm’s length and speculates whether it is true or false. Yes, that person is not doing so in order to forsake Torah. Is that person then engaged in the “honest and objective freedom of inquiry” in which madda glories? By that person’s own lights he or she is. If that person is justified in regarding his or her activity as “honest and objective freedom of inquiry,” then Rambam’s vignette strikingly confirms Rabbi Parnes’s interpretation of the prohibition: What he infers from the existence of a rationale, I derive directly from the content of the rationale. If, however, Rambam’s anti-hero cannot lay claim to the halo of “honest and objective inquiry,” then Rambam is, in effect, adding a noteworthy dimension to his depiction of the unprepared person discussed by Kaplan and Berger. The unqualified person is not only one who is deficient in the tools of inquiry; he or she is also one engaged in an aimless free-floating speculation about religious matters, rather than a faith striving for greater understanding.[7] 

In this connection we should also take note of Rambam’s comment on Avot 2:14 (“know what to answer the apikoros”): “Even though you study the opinions of the nations to respond to them, beware that you not take to your heart any of those opinions.” Is Rambam prohibiting intellectual honesty, or is he enjoining us, in the course of studying heretical views, from “taking to heart,” i.e., seriously entertaining the heretical views?[8]

In any event, we cannot properly understand Rabbi Parnes’s position without trying to define what he means by “honest and objective inquiry.” To this task we shall now proceed. 

            Earlier we have seen that Rabbi Parnes means no more and no less than the ideal of “absolute freedom,” when he refers to the “honest and inquisitive searching for truth,” the tiniest deviation from which runs “counter to madda and all that it implies.” In formulating his halakhic position, he introduces the term “objective” to characterize the kind of inquiry the Rambam would rule out. 

“Objective freedom of inquiry”: What does it mean? The concept of objectivity has, of course, a long and elusive history in the philosophical literature. It would seem safe to assume, however, that Rabbi Parnes’s usage is based on ordinary language, rather than tracking the specialized meanings developed by professional philosophers over the centuries. The dictionary yields two meanings of objective that might apply to beliefs: 

 

  1. belonging to the object of thought rather than the thinking subject; 
  2. free from personal feelings; unbiased. 

 

Both definitions are confusing if they are applied to Rabbi Parnes’s account of the inquiry banned by the Rambam. Atheists indeed maintain that God, prophecy, Torah, and other articles of faith are not objective truths, but productions of “the thinking subject.” Believing Jews do not. We hold that the ikkarei emunah pertain to reality independent of humanity, not merely to “the thinking subject.” As to the second definition: believing Jews assent to these propositions because they are convinced of their “objective” truth, not because they are indulging their personal feelings or predilections. To deny, let alone prohibit objectivity, in these senses, goes against the very idea of a revealed religion. This cannot possibly be Rabbi Parnes’s intent. 

Despite the linguistic muddle, it would not be presumptuous to explain Rabbi Parnes’s aversion to objective inquiry in the following manner: Madda, or more precisely the different intellectual disciplines that constitute the liberal arts body of knowledge as it is studied in the standard modern university, depends upon some consensus about data and methodology. Each discipline and discourse, from this perspective, is treated as autonomous and sovereign within its own boundaries. Each discipline determines its own methodology and recognizes the range of data to which the appropriate methods of investigation are applied. To introduce material—data or principles of thought—from outside the discipline, violates “the very integrity of the madda process itself” (to borrow Rabbi Parnes’s phrase earlier in his article). In less drastic language than Rabbi Parnes’s, the infusion of material extraneous to the disciplinary matrix is not acceptable because it is liable to raise diffi­culties for the orderly, methodical pursuit of research, and impedes scientific cooperation. Hence, the individual who, seeking admission to the temple of madda, brings along data external to the discipline, and who ignores the gatekeeper’s admonition that all beliefs must be checked in at the door; challenges the conventions; and, unless he or she succeeds in changing them, is charged with smuggling unsuitable personal predilections into the academic domain. Such stubborn insistence on one’s own perception of truth could be stigmatized as lacking objectivity. Now, as it happens, the gatekeepers of madda do not include, among the recognized disciplines and modes of discourse, any that accept the truth of the ikkarei emunah. Because the believing Jew is committed to the normative beliefs taught by the Torah, he or she cannot approach the sciences or the humanities without those beliefs, and in many areas—in the most important areas—his or her inquiry will be guided by those beliefs. Therefore, on this account, the believing Jew is incapable of objective inquiry in virtually all the areas that really count. 

The view I have just described as implicit in Rabbi Parnes’s analysis of madda is asserted quite openly by others. I suppose that this is what is meant when certain academic types, including observant Jews, solemnly intone that no believing Jew can truly qualify as a biblical “scholar” because Orthodoxy prevents one from confronting the regnant academic theories with a genuinely open mind. I am less accustomed to hearing this argument from serious philosophers, for reasons that will shortly become clear. 

            Granted, the account of objectivity in madda that we have just encountered, according to which “honest and objective freedom of inquiry” and Orthodox Jewish belief do not mix, conforms to one strand in popular usage. Yet we may cast upon it a quizzical eye. Is it indeed the case that intellectual honesty requires us to forsake all knowledge that is not certified a part of the discipline we are studying at the moment? From a common sense perspective, inquiry that systematically ignores everything else we know (including the knowledge given us through revelation), is not honest. On the contrary—it is the height of perversity! 

To be sure, there are situations in which we legitimately, for a variety of reasons, set aside knowledge that we rely upon in other areas of life. A geometry student who is asked whether a triangle with sides 13, 12, and 5 inches in length is a right-angled triangle forgets that he has measured the angle (and pretends he has not peeked at the answer in the back of the book). Instead she appeals to Pythagoras’s Theorem. Why? Because the geometric method is constituted by a specific kind of reasoning, one that excludes measurement and/or looking at the back of the book. In real life, when laying bricks, for example, there is no objection to achieving a right angle by measurement, using a plumb line, or, if that is one’s pleasure, by consulting “the back of a book.” Similarly, the halakhic jurist must set aside the evidence of Moshe and Aharon because, as brothers, their testimony is not valid, without doubting in the least the truth of their assertions. The American juror, likewise, is occasionally instructed to erase certain information from his judicial consciousness not because it is false, but for reasons of legal propriety (e.g., the evidence was illegally obtained). As to the subject of the present discussion, an eminent school of Rishonim, including Saadia, R. Bahya ibn Pakuda, and Rambam, deemed it worthwhile to discover what religious knowledge can be obtained without recourse to the data of revelation. They were convinced that this study would deepen one’s understanding of the principles to which we, as religious Jews, are committed. 

In view of the frequent successes achieved by this method of isolating a discipline or discourse from its context in the real world, it is not surprising that many modern thinkers sought to establish all inquiry on the model of self-contained enterprises like mathematics. When we add modern people’s recurrent longing for self-guaranteed certainty, for intellectual self-sufficiency, for the God’s-eye perspective that the contemporary philosopher Thomas Nagel has called “the view from nowhere,”[9] we can even understand how certain thought-intoxicated philosophers like Hegel aspired, incredibly, arrogantly, and influentially, to a total system of knowledge that would refer only to itself. But the advantages accruing from the occasional narrowing of our intellectual focus hardly justify the implausible theory that “honest and objective inquiry” is predicated upon the deliberate and systematic suppression of all knowl­edge not mandated by the discipline constituted in terms of that narrow focus. Only in the psychiatric ward (and in mathematics, which is not “about” the real world) is ratiocination extolled that proceeds without regard for reality. 

Nonetheless, the rationalist project of knowledge without presuppositions, or knowledge based upon foundations entirely transparent to thought, has enjoyed a long run in our culture. It would be important, but beyond the scope of this discussion, to examine the major manifesta­tions of this tendency in modern thought. These include currents otherwise antagonistic to each other, like Cartesian rationalism, Hume’s phenomenalism (which supplements the ideas of logic with the impressions of sense experience), and Hegel’s circular epistemology. The common denominator of all these movements is the assumption that the human cognitive venture can, and should, be conducted independent of what we know, or think we know, outside of the “integrity of the madda process.” 

The inspiring rationalist project has not gone unchallenged. Real men and women lead a real existence before, and apart from, their official intellectual identities. They can neither undertake knowing, nor make sense of their knowledge, or even endeavor to revise their errors, save by placing their thinking in the context of their lives. Our language, our habits of thought, our assumptions, and so forth, are not discovered by us. Instead we find ourselves given to them, to the residue of tradition and the common stock of human experience. Last but not least, believers in revealed religion, including those who have stood at Sinai, know the absolute autonomy of “the madda process” to be a dangerous illusion. These data of lived human experience did not go unnoticed by masters of philosophical thought. To begin with, some of the most prominent exponents of a narrow epistemology took their skepticism with a grain of salt. Hume cheerfully admitted that his laborious attempts to establish, through rational ingenuity, the reality of the experienced world, had little bearing on the way he lived: “I dine, I play a game of backgammon, I converse with my friends; and when after three or four hours’ amusement, I would return to these speculations, they appear so cold and strained, and ridiculous, that I cannot find in my heart to enter into them any further.”[10] Of greater consequence to us: Each great rationalistic philosophy was met by the passionate critique of a great adversary. Thus, Descartes was countered by Pascal; Hume had his Newman; Hegel provoked Kierkegaard. While philosophy is hardly a monolithic discipline, it may safely be said that contemporary philosophers are more interested in overcoming the legacy of absolute autonomy, in its various incarnations, than in perpetuating it. 

No reasonable person has ever appropriated, in real life, the peculiar doctrine that sequesters madda from our everyday knowledge (including that derived from Torah). Why then is it still taken for granted among writers on religion? Current philosophy is not at fault. Surely the Torah does not impose upon us allegiance to deficient, outdated views. Only nescience of the history of modern thought can shackle us to a conception that exaggerates unnecessarily the tensions between Torah and hokhmah, and that ends up by subtly promoting, however inadvertently, the misunderstanding that the fundamental principles of Judaism are, God forbid, projections of the human mind. 

To review the last stage of our discussion: Rabbi Parnes is correct to point out that a program of free inquiry cannot be deemed kosher merely because the inquirer is not seeking to forsake Torah. A believing Jew cannot engage in the “objective” investigation of religious truth, if objectivity is defined as a stance of absolute neutrality. As we have seen, such a vantage point is phenomenologically impossible; the reasons that have led many people to take it seriously are philosophically misguided. Because we are accustomed to regard “honest and objective freedom of inquiry” as something good, there are individuals who automatically identify Torah ve-Hokhmah with “honest and objective freedom of inquiry,” without feeling the need to inquire carefully into the accurate meaning of the phrase. Because, as we have seen, the concept of objectivity engenders linguistic muddle, such individuals are likely to admire and emulate precisely the kind of aimless and foundationless rumination the Rambam takes pains to alert us against. For such individuals, Rabbi Parnes’s entire attempt to raise the question comes as quite a surprise; and not a minute too soon, if you ask me. 

 

III

 

Many factors go into the formulation and execution of an educational program for the individual, for groups of individuals, for the community as a whole. One factor, not the least important, is the place, if any, to be accorded to studies that introduce thoughts of kefirah. Kaplan and Berger offer impressive illustrations of the manner in which these studies have enriched some of the most profound and most enduring works of Torah, as was freely acknowledged by masters like the Ram­bam and maran ha-Rav Joseph B. Soloveitchik. Many lesser individuals can attest to the value of their liberal arts studies for the attainment of greater insight into Torah. We would also do well to recognize the need for broad knowledge and understanding of human culture in the service of our love for other Jews and even for humankind.[11] 

Furthermore, we must never overlook the fact that, as participants in the modern world, we are affected by it, be it consciously or unwittingly. Our brief excursion into the history of ideas highlighted the powerful attraction of the illusion that humans can take up an observation post above, and independent of, their prior experiences and beliefs. We ought not to indulge our absent-mindedness to the point where we forget that this applies to us too. There is no “view from nowhere.” Yet God has granted us free will. We need not remain captives of the unpropitious spiritual climate in which we find ourselves implicated; but, in order to free ourselves, we must shrewdly map out the terrain from which, and over which, we intend to make our escape. In other words, in order to undertake the slow, unending task of reviewing, revising, and elevating our thoughts and feelings, we must know whence we come and where we are to make our way. As Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein has observed, the apikoros (heretic), whom we are instructed to rebut, as often as not, is the apikoros within.”[12] 

In the light of these considerations and others, we approach Rabbi Parnes’s final assertion: “Torah u-Madda can only be viable if it imposes strict limits on freedom of inquiry....”At first blush this statement is nothing but an obvious corollary of our entire discussion. A careful reading, however, reveals one word that invites additional analysis: the adjective strict. If Rabbi Parnes is using the word for emphasis, there is nothing more to discuss with respect to this particular point. It is possible, though, to give the adjective a more ambitious sense. Adopting this interpretation, Rabbi Parnes’s text would advocate the devising of a rigid, clear-cut index of studies permitted and studies forbidden, a kind of Kitzur Shulhan Arukh of Torah u-Madda

The formulation of a fixed, mechanical liberal arts canon is one way to settle the problem of halakhic constraints on general studies. In individual cases it may indeed be the best solution. As a sweeping disposition of a central intellectual dimension of our spiritual lives, however, it is the wrong approach. The complexity of the issues involved, both for the individual and for Jewish and American society as a whole, defy the imposition of black and white dicta. The inner life may draw sustenance from wise guidance; it requires, as we have seen, a measure of halakhic constraint and humility. But it is the glory of God that each individual’s inner life presents a portrait of abilities, inclinations and needs that can never be replicated. “Each individual possesses something unique, rare, which is unknown to others; each individual has a unique message to communicate, a special color to add to the communal spectrum.”[13] Hence, the inner life, whether it is manifested in the intellectual adventure, in our relations to our fellow human beings, or in the lonely encounter with God, cannot be completely comprehended and controlled from the outside. 

Much hostility to Torah ve-Hokhmah is accompanied by a tendency to downplay the uniqueness of human inwardness. Many opponents of Torah ve-Hokhmah also seem to be under the impression that doubt can be avoided if we just avoid thinking about questions of theology. This presumes that not thinking is the same as not being affected. R. Bahya b. Asher the Kabbalist, like R. Bahya ibn Pakuda the proponent of philosophy, disagrees. He states, in his Commentary to Avot (2:14): “Know what to answer the apikoros: [Traditional] faith should not suffice for you until you have faith through knowledge and wisdom. For one who has faith through tradition is likely to listen to the deniers.            

Contemporary contemners of secular education boast of having constructed, in this age of rapid communications, compulsory education, mass media, etc., a more tightly insulated air bubble than was available to fourteenth-century Kabbalists! If the R. Bahyas are right, and their opponents are wrong, we have even more reason to be skeptical of static, mechanical limitations on the individual’s intellectual destiny within the boundaries of Torah. 

The reality and authority of inwardness, as it affects our confrontation with outlooks inimical to Torah, was clearly identified by Rambam. The Mishnah “Know what to answer the apikorosis immediately succeeded by the dictum “Know before whom you labor.” Commenting on the connection between the two statements, Rambam explains: “Beware that you not take to your heart any of those opinions. And know that the One before Whom you labor knows what is hidden in your heart. This is why he says: Know before Whom you labor, meaning that he should lead his heart to the divine faith.” 

Here I shall also appeal to ma’aseh Rav. As Kaplan and Berger have noted, Rav Soloveitchik openly exhibited his mastery of the philosophical and theological classics of the Greek and Christian traditions. Though aware that not everyone was up to the experience, he had no inhibitions about recommending broad intellectual exposure and in speaking of his enthusiasm for such congenial thinkers as Kierkegaard, Scheler, and Karl Barth. On several occasions I presented to the Rav the difficulties that troubled some of our students confronting the challenge of the liberal arts curriculum, specifically their fear that the humanities include books by objectionable authors whose works it was wrong to read. Each time I entreated the Rav for hard and fast guidelines that I could share with students, he resisted the suggestion, recommending instead that I exercise my own judgment. Moreover, he scoffed at the notion that going to college, or what to study there, can be decided “like a question in Yoreh De’ah,” with the mechanical straightforwardness suitable to “the kashrut of fish.” 

I was privileged to benefit from the Rav’s guidance. Others, no doubt, will recollect similar conversations with him. 

 

 

IV

 

In the course of their demonstration that Rambam’s objections to the wrong kind of inquiry should not be viewed as a rejection of intellectual aspiration, Kaplan and Berger quote from the Guide I:32: 

 

The intention of these texts set down by the prophets and the Sages is not, however, wholly to close the gate of speculation and to deprive the intellect of the apprehension of things that it is possible to apprehend—as is thought by the ignorant and neglectful, who are pleased to regard their own deficiency and stupidity as perfection and wisdom, and the perfection and the knowledge of others as a deficiency and defection from Law, and who thus “regard darkness as light and light as darkness” (Isa. 5:20). 

 

The specter of an unspoken fear has haunted many readers of Rabbi Parnes’s essay. Has the position staked out by Rabbi Parnes given aid and comfort to proponents of spiritual and intellectual mediocrity who would palm off their indolence as piety, and are “pleased to regard their own deficiency and stupidity as perfection and wisdom, and the perfection and the knowledge of others as a deficiency and defection from Torah”? Quite possibly. Yet, in the free marketplace of ideas, the harm may well be outweighed by the benefits conferred upon followers of Torah ve-Hokhmah. By virtue of the care and precision of his essay, Rabbi Parnes has set a standard of earnest civility often absent from this kind of interchange. For that reason I, and those who think like me, are no less grateful to him than we are to the cogent and spirited rejoinder by Kaplan and Berger. 

The debate over the Rambam has helped to unmask and clear away certain persistent and popular misconceptions about the character and purpose of serious intellectual activity. And precisely because I, and those who think like me, do not believe in the wisdom of rigid formulas in this area, it is good that we are recalled, from time to time, to the intellectual challenge of self-examination, that we remember, as the Mishnah instructs us, before Whom we labor. 

 

 

 

Notes

 

 

[1] This article expands part of a letter (dated February 27, 1990) responding to a request from Mr. David Debow. For some additional material on issues not treated here in detail, e.g., the scope of le-havin u-le-horot, certain practical aspects of Torah ve-Hokhmah education and questions pertinent to individual decisions, let me heartily recommend Dr. Norman Lamm’s Torah Umadda (Northvale, N.J.; 1990); “Faith and Doubt” (in Faith and Doubt [New York; 1986)); various essays by my teacher Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein, including “A Consideration of General Studies from a Torah Point of View,” Gesher I, 11 (reprinted in Torah U’Mada Reader, ed. S. Carmy, Yeshiva University Community Services Division; on the title of this essay, see Jacob J. Schacter, “Torah u-Madda Revisited,” The Torah u-Madda Journal I (1989):22, n. 49); “Tovah Hokhmahim Nahalah” (in Mamlekhet Kohanim [Jerusalem, 1988)); his contri­bution to the volume on Jewish approaches to general culture to be edited by Dr. Jacob J. Schacter; and some of my own writings, such as “Why I Read Philosophy, etc.,” Commentator 1982 (reprinted in Torah U’Mada Reader), and “To Get the Better of Words: An Apology for Yir’at Shamayim in Academic Jewish Studies” (The Torah u-Madda Journal 2 [1990):7–24). Indeed, my present remarks should be read in the context of the last article. 

[2] The Torah u-Madda Journal 1 (1989): 68–71; for the closing quote, see p. 71. 

[3] “Of Freedom of Inquiry in the Rambam and Today,” The Torah u-Madda Journal 2 (1990): 37–50. The citation is on p. 46. 

[4] The position cited is that of Rabbi J. David Bleich, “Benefitting from Unethical Research,” Tradition 24:4 (1989): 81–83. 

[5] The reference is to the Andy Rooney affair, which was much in the news when these remarks were first written. 

[6] See Hovot ha-Levavot 1:2. 

[7] Cf. Guide 1:2, where Rambam chooses, at the beginning of the book, to undermine the questioner by insinuating that his involvement in philosophical specula­tion is frivolous. 

[8] Note the same phrase in Hil. Avodah Zarah. Another pertinent Maimonidean text is Perush ha-Mishnah, Pesahim, end of ch. 4: “The author of [Sefer Refuot] wrote it as a scientific exercise [‘al derekh ha-Hokhmah], not that any person should do an act based on it, and this is permitted There are things that God proscribed, but it is permitted to study them and understand.” 

[9] The phrase is borrowed from Nagel’s book with that title (Oxford, 1986). 

[10] Treatise of Human Nature, ed. Selby-Bigge (Oxford, 1896), Book I, Part IV, section 7, p. 269. 

[11] See R. Abraham Yitzhak HaKohen Kook, Musar Avikha (Jerusalem, 1985), 58 (par. 10): “The highest state of love of creatures (ahavat ha-beriyot) should be allotted to the love of mankind, and it must extend to all mankind, despite all variations of opinions, religions and faiths, and despite all distinctions of race and climate. It is right to get to the bottom of the views of the different peoples and groups, to learn, as much as possible, their characters and qualities, in order to know how to base love of humanity on foundations that approach action. For only upon a soul rich in love for creatures and love of man can the love of the nation raise itself up in its full nobility and in its spiritual and practical greatness. The narrowness that causes one to see whatever is outside the border of the special nation, even outside the border of Israel, as ugly and defiled (tamei), is a terrible darkness that brings general destruction upon all the building of spiritual good, for the light of which every refined soul hopes.” The precision of R. Kook’s formulation should give pause to those who dismiss his non-halakhic writings as rhapsody. See also Orot ha-Kodesh (Jerusalem, 1990), IV, 405. 

[12] See his “A Consideration of General Studies,” cited above, n. 1. 

[13] R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, “The Community,” Tradition 17:2 (Spring, 1978): 10. See also Sanhedrin 38a and Bamidbar Rabbah 21. 

Jews, Slavery, and the Meaning of Freedom

 

Freedom in world history and American history is tied to slavery. Slavery and the exodus from slavery are central to Judaism. Many cultures, do, or have, celebrated emancipation. But only Jews have a major religious holiday that is focused on enslavement and an escape from enslavement.

My main focus here will be on Jews and slavery in what became the United States, from the seventeenth century to 1865, when the United States ratified the Thirteenth Amendment, which prohibited slavery “within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.” However, to understand this very important topic, we need a longer historical perspective for world history and Jewish history.

 

I. Slavery and Freedom in Global Perspective

 

Slavery has been present in almost every human society, since at least the Neolithic period of pre-history. People of virtually every climate and culture have been masters and slaves, without regard to race, religion, or ethnicity. As the Harvard scholar Orlando Patterson observed, “There is nothing notably peculiar about the institution of slavery. It has existed from before the dawn of human history right down to the twentieth century, in the most primitive of human societies and in the most civilized.” Patterson found slavery in every “region on earth” and concluded that “probably there is no group of people whose ancestors were not at one time slaves or slaveholders.”[1] Indeed, it is likely that almost all people today have ancestors who were both slaves and slaveowners.

Slavery has differed from place to place. In some cultures, slaves had rights or protections that slaves in other cultures did not have. In ancient Rome, for example, slaves could own some personal property, but in the United States (except in Louisiana) a slave could legally own nothing. Even their clothing belonged to the master. But whatever the differences, slavery was always predicated on the domination of some people by others, with the power of the state (or its equivalent in less formal settings) to support that domination.[2] It always involves force, violence, the dishonoring of those enslaved, the denial of basic human rights to those held in bondage, and the commodification of people as property. As Aristotle noted, the “the slave is not merely the slave of the master but wholly belongs to the master. These considerations therefore make clear the nature of the slave and his essential quality: one who is a human being belonging by nature not to himself but to another is by nature a slave, and a person is a human being belonging to another . . . is an article of property.”[3] Similarly, in discussing what penalties a Jewish master might face for punishing a slave—whether a fellow Jew or foreigner—to the point of death, the Torah notes that the law should not presume a master intentionally killed a slave because he [the slave] is his [the master’s] property.”[4]

Many people assume that slavery in Europe died out after the fall of Rome and was somehow revived in the Americas, after the European expansion into the New World. But, in fact slavery existed in parts of Europe from ancient times until at least the eighteenth century. The very term “slave” comes from the Slavic peoples, captured by Norsemen (the Vikings) and sold in the slave markets of southern Europe after the collapse of the Roman Empire. Throughout this period the Roman Catholic Church and all established Protestant Churches in Europe supported slavery and approved the enslavement of various classes of people. Systems of slavery operated on the southern rim of the Mediterranean from antiquity into the twenty-first century.[5] Slavery was endemic to Africa, the Middle East, south Asia, and found in many indigenous cultures of the New World before the arrival of Europeans at the end of the fifteenth century.

European nations formally rejected slavery at the Berlin Conference in 1884 and in the Berlin Act of 1885, declaring that slave trading was “forbidden in conformity with the principles of international law.” Five years later The Brussels Act “was the first comprehensive multilateral treaty directed specifically against the African slave trade.”[6]

The League of Nations pushed hard to end human bondage with the Slavery Convention of 1926, mobilizing international cooperation for the “abolition of slavery in all its forms.” Slavery was now broadly defined as “the status or condition of a person over whom any or all of the powers attaching to the rights of ownership are exercised.” The Convention and the League of Nations had some successes, such as pressuring Nepal and Burma to formally end slavery.[7]

 But this accomplishment was short lived. Slavery reemerged in the 1930s in the Soviet Gulag, the German Third Reich, and the Japanese empire. From 1939 to 1945, Germany transported some 12 million foreigners to the Reich proper as forced laborers. In the mid-1940s there would be as many people enslaved inside Germany as there had been enslaved in all of the Americas at the highpoint of slavery in the nineteenth century. In addition, millions of Eastern Europeans, especially Jews, Roma, and captured Soviet prisoners of war, some of whom were Jewish, would be used as slave labor both outside and inside Germany, often in inhuman, barbaric conditions where they were literally worked to death. Enslavement was one of the crimes against humanity for which Nazi leaders were prosecuted and hanged at Nuremberg. After the War, the United Nations forcefully condemned slavery in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948) and subsequent documents. By 2013, every nation on earth had formally prohibited slavery, and numerous international agreements and treaties had also forbidden it.[8]

 

II. Slavery in the Ancient and Early Modern World

 

Slavery was common throughout the world when the descendants of Abraham morphed from being Hebrews to Jews. Not surprisingly, these ancient people had slavery. This would matter for Jews in British North America because on its face Jewish law permitted slavery.

Most ancient cultures and communities preferred to enslave foreigners—the ancient Greeks considered all foreigners to be “barbarians,” ripe for enslavement, while biblical law made it far easier to enslave a stranger than a fellow Jew. But members of both societies ended up in bondage in their own countries. As the historian Moses I. Finley observed, while most classical slaves were foreigners, there were “Greek slaves in Greece [and] Italian slaves in Rome.”[9] Similarly, there were Chinese slaves in China, Russian slaves in Russia, and Muslim slaves in Islamic societies. And there were Jewish slaves in ancient Israel.

Slavery existed among the ancient Hebrews and the post-Sinai Jews. Abraham, like masters in almost every slave culture, fathered children with his female slaves Hagar and Keturah. His grandson, Jacob, had children with his two wives, Leah and Rebecca, and with two slaves, Bilhah and Zilpah.[10] Throughout the ancient world, the children of a slave woman and her owner were often considered the children and heirs of their father. Jacob’s sons with his slaves, like those with his wives, were his heirs, and the founders of the Twelve Tribes of Israel. Thus, at least in theory, all Jews are the descendants of slaveowners (Abraham and Jacob) and their slaves, as well as the descendants of those enslaved in Egypt.

            The story of Hagar illustrates the unpleasantness of slavery and the desire of slaves to escape their bondage. For nineteenth-century U.S. slaveowners it also supported the rights of masters to recover their fugitive slaves. After all, if God could send an angel as a slave catcher to recover Abraham’s property, then surely the United States could send a federal marshal.

The story of Joseph underscores the acceptance of slave status across the ancient world. The favored and clearly spoiled youngest son of the patriarch Jacob, who had given his son “a coat of many colors” the 17-year-old Joseph relished his father’s favoritism, bragging to his older brothers that one day they would be subservient to him. Given this favoritism combined with the teenager’s arrogance, it is perhaps not surprising that his older brothers “hated him . . . [and] could not speak a friendly word to him.” When their hatred boiled over, the brothers “sold Joseph for 20 pieces of silver to the Ishmaelites, who brought Joseph to Egypt.” [11] For Jacob’s sons, this was a plausible solution to sibling rivalry.

The Ishmaelites accepted Joseph as they found him: a youth devoid of any trappings of his status as the favored son of an elite family. He appeared to be a slave, and those who sold him clearly held him in captivity. The Ishmaelites never asked how or why Joseph became a slave or who his family was. They took Joseph as they found him—a teenager in bondage. The Ishmaelites later sold Joseph in Egypt. No one in this story doubted he had been legitimately reduced to the status of a slave by the people who sold him to the Ishmaelites. The fact of Joseph’s slave status—and its acceptance by the Ishmaelites and later the Egyptians—is emblematic of the law and international practice at the time.

            The Hebrews would later be enslaved in Egypt, and in the Exodus story—the central story of Jewish identity—they escaped their bondage, received the law at Mt. Sinai, and then moved into ancient Israel. Significantly, their Egyptian bondage did not turn them into abolitionists. The Ten Commandments admonishes the Hebrews—who are becoming Jews—to allow their slaves to rest on the Sabbath and also reminds them not to “covet” their neighbor’s male or female slaves.[12] The Sabbath provision suggests a level of humanity in Jewish slaveholding that was not found in some other slave cultures. But the language of both commandments also demonstrates that slaveholding itself was theologically and culturally acceptable.

The very next chapter (Exodus 21) contains rules on how to enslave fellow Hebrews or foreigners, how to sell one’s daughter into bondage, and how to treat slaves. The language (at least in English translation) in both chapters uses the words slave and “servant” interchangeably. This resembles the practice of the antebellum South, where some slaveowners referred to their slaves—people they bought, sold, and often whipped—as their servants. Similarly, the Latin term for a slave—servus—could also mean a “servant.”

Biblical law gave slaves some legal protections. For example, slaves severely injured by their owners might be emancipated, which is unusual in slave societies. And, unlike Roman law, biblical law did not allow masters to kill their slaves on a whim. American law would follow this biblical rule. But the text here is ambiguous. Throughout Exodus 21 the text provides that for various crimes the persons convicted “shall be put to death,” “die,” or in one case be exiled.[13] But here the text says only that “should a man strike his manservant or his maidservant with a rod, and [that one] die under his hand, he shall surely be avenged.” It is not clear what “avenged” would mean, given that the dead slave might have no kinfolk to avenge the crime, receive compensation for the death, or even seek some sort of punishment or fine by the government that would constitute “avenged.” Even here, the punishment (whatever it might be) was only for a slave who died while being punished. Under biblical law, a master was not liable for the death of a slave who survived a severe punishment but died a day or two later from his injuries. A master would not be punished for the subsequent death of a slave from injuries because “because he is his property.”[14] Like the later American law, a slave had no control over his children, who belonged to the master, and could marry only with the master’s permission.

 

III. Jews and Slaveholding in the Early Colonial Period

 

            Before 1500 Jews in Europe and the Middle East were slaveowners, just like Christians and Muslims. Many scholars have argued that Jews were also active slave traders from the fall of Rome into the early modern period. In 452 ce Pope Gelasius permitted Jews to transport heathen slaves to Christian countries, and according to the first edition of the Jewish Encyclopedia, “From the 8th century until at least the 11th century Jews were particularly active in selling Christians into the Muslim world, as well as bringing Slavs overland into the northern rim of the Mediterranean.” More recently, the Israeli scholar Michael Toch has challenged this argument. But, all scholars seem to agree that Jews themselves in Europe and the Middle East owned slaves, bought and sold them, and sometimes converted them to Judaism.[15]

Throughout this period the Catholic Church authorized the enslavement of heathens, some Christians who were captured in inter-European wars, and others. Columbus brought enslaved Carib Indians back to Spain after his first trip to the New World.[16] Thus, the initial Atlantic slave trade went from West to East. The direction of the Atlantic slave trade quickly changed, as European diseases, overwork, and savage Spanish treatment of natives led to massive deaths of Indians in the Caribbean and elsewhere. The Spanish and Portuguese insatiable desire for labor to support for sugar cultivation and mining led to the African slave trade.

Every European colony in the western hemisphere adopted slavery. With a few exceptions—most notably in Suriname—most New World Jews lived in urban places—usually ports—and few engaged in agriculture. They owned slaves to serve them in their houses and businesses. Some Jews were involved in the African slave trade, although in very small numbers. An extensive study by Eli Farber found that of 45,224 slaves imported into Barbados, only 128 of them were on ships in which Jews had invested in the voyage. No Jews actually owned any of these ships or were actively participating in the trade on a personal level. Farber’s research showed similar results for other Caribbean colonies.[17]

While Jews generally shied away from the brutal and horrible Atlantic slave trade, they were not squeamish about buying African slaves. Most of these early Jewish migrants had a Sephardic-Portuguese heritage. Slavery was a thriving institution in both Moorish and Christian Iberia from ancient times to the sixteenth century and beyond. Thus, Jews of the Portuguese Nation (as they called themselves) came from a culture where slavery was normal, common, and unexceptional. When they were expelled from Iberia, Jews brought their slaves to the southern rim of the Mediterranean.[18] As Orlando Patterson observed, for most of world history there was nothing peculiar about slavery.

Suriname and Barbados had the first two synagogues in the New World. Many urban Jews in both places owned some slaves, a few Barbadian Jews owned sugar plantations with many slaves. There were a significant number of Jewish plantation owners in Suriname. Jews in both places were pretty much like their Christian neighbors, eagerly purchasing Africans brought to the colonies. In Kingston, Jamaica, urban Jews were more likely to own slaves than Christians, but they owned fewer of them.[19]

In her superb recent book, Once We Were Slaves, Laura Arnold Leibman shows that in Barbados and Suriname—the two largest early New World Jewish communities—Jewish men often fathered children with slave women. Sometimes they acknowledged their paternity and even manumitted their concubines and raised their children as Jews. Sometimes they did not. Some of the mixed-race children and grandchildren of these relationships would marry into some of the leading families of Jewish America. Sarah Rodrigues Brandon, a mixed-race woman who was born a slave in Barbados, formally converted to Judaism, and married Joshua Moses, whose father was at one point the richest Jew in Philadelphia, a founder of Mikveh Israel, and later a leader of Shearith Israel. Their mixed-race son, Lionel Moses, married Selina Seixas, the granddaughter of Gershom Mendes Seixas.

 

IV. Jews and Slavery in the New Republic

 

            By the eve of the American Revolution the New World Jewish community was shifting to the mainland colonies. When the Revolution began, slavery was legal in every one of the thirteen colonies, as well as in every other New World colony. There were thriving Jewish communities in New York, Philadelphia, Newport, Charleston, and Savannah, and slavery was important in all these places. Charleston was at the center of the slave trade into the mainland colonies. Its wealth was predicated on slavery. Jews there, and in Savannah, like those in the Caribbean, owned slaves in their urban households and businesses and on the few rural plantations some of them owned. These southern Jews and their descendants would remain committed to slavery until the U.S. army, President Lincoln, Congress, and the Thirteenth Amendment ended slavery.

While the British overwhelmingly dominated the African slave trade into the mainland colonies, a small amount of slaving was done by Rhode Islanders, mostly out of Newport. The city’s most important slaver (and its wealthiest resident) was Aaron Lopez, a Jewish refugee from Portugal. Another Portuguese Jew in the city, Rodrigues Rivera (whose daughter Lopez would marry) was also a slaver. Lopez and Rivera probably brought about 3,000 slaves to the New World, while four other Jewish men in Newport invested in a few slaving voyages but were not the principal importers.[20]

In colonial Philadelphia and New York almost all whites—Gentiles and Jews—who could afford to owned slaves. It was simply part of their culture. For example, both the future president of the Pennsylvania Society of the Abolition of Slavery (Benjamin Franklin) and the future president of the New York Manumission Society (John Jay) owned slaves. After the Revolution they would become dedicated abolitionists. Jews, like their urban Christian neighbors, owned slaves as well. In a world without electricity, refrigeration, running water, or indoor plumbing, urban life required an enormous amount of labor. Slaves also provided the labor to run many businesses, as black slaves did the heavy lifting for Jewish merchants.

Before 1775 there was no organized opposition to slavery in the Anglo-American world. A few dissenting Christian faiths—Quakers, Mennonites, Methodists, and some Baptists (and some Congregational and Unitarian ministers)—had identifying slavery as sinful, and urged or even required their members to give-up slaveholding.[21] But, except for the Society of Friends, all major Christian denominations and established churches accepted slavery and many of their clergy and individual churches as corporate entities owned slaves. English and Anglo-American Protestants defended slavery, even as they baptized their human property. In the mid-eighteenth century, Rev. George Whitefield, the most famous Anglican preacher of the Great Awakening, believed in converting slaves to save their souls, but he also found biblical support for slavery and owned a Georgia plantation with about 75 slaves.[22]

            In this environment no Jewish leaders opposed, although a few individual Jews did. As David Brion Davis, the great Pulitzer Prize winning historian of slavery, noted: “The small number of Jews who lived in the Atlantic community took black slavery as much for granted as did the Catholics, Muslims, Lutherans, Huguenots, Calvinists, and Anglicans. And while at least one Jewish merchant joined New York’s first antislavery society in the 1790s, Judaism was as resistant as other tradition-oriented religions to such intellectual and moral innovations.”[23] In this sense Jews in colonial America were like the vast majority of other whites in the colonies.

            The Revolution changed American thinking on slavery. Even before the war began, slaves in Massachusetts petitioned the colonial legislature for their freedom. The first person to die in the Boston Massacre in 1770 was Crispus Attucks, was either a former slave or a runaway slave (the evidence is not clear). His status and race illustrated the problematic nature of white Americans wanting their liberty, while enslaving others. During the Revolution the English Tory Samuel Johnson ironically wondered, “How is it that we hear the loudest yelps for liberty among the drivers of negroes?”[24] By the time he asked this, many white Americans, mostly in the North, but also some in the South, were addressing the issue.

            On April 14, 1775—just five days before the Battle of Lexington and Concord, twenty-four Philadelphia men (seventeen of whom were Quakers) formed The Pennsylvania Society for the Relief of Free Negroes Unlawfully Held in Bondage. This was the first organization in the world dedicated to ending slavery. However, because of the war with Britain, the Society dissolved itself after just four meetings. In 1780, Pennsylvania passed a gradual abolition law, which would lead to the end of slavery by providing that the children of all slave women would be born free, subject to an indenture. Those already enslaved were not freed. This was the first law in world history to begin to formally end slavery. By 1804, Connecticut, Rhode Island, New York, and New Jersey had passed similar laws. Meanwhile Massachusetts, New Hampshire and the new states of Vermont and Ohio simply abolished slavery in their first constitutions. In 1817, New York passed legislation freeing all slaves in the state on July 4, 1827.

            Under the gradual abolition laws the slave population in the North plummeted as many masters simply freed their slaves. For example, from 1800 to 1820 the New York the slave population declined from 21,000 to 10,000, while the free black population grew from 10,000 to 29,000. In the same period Pennsylvania’s free black population went from 15,000 to 30,000, while the slave population dropped from 4,000 to just 800.

After the war, the opponents of slavery in Philadelphia reorganized themselves as The Pennsylvania Society for Promoting the Abolition of Slavery and the Relief of Free Negroes Unlawfully Held in Bondage (usually called the PAS) and shortly thereafter Benjamin Franklin became its president. In 1785, New Yorkers, led by John Jay and Alexander Hamilton, formed The New-York Society for Promoting the Manumission of Slaves, and Protecting Such of Them as Have Been, or May be Liberated. The PAS was heavily Quakers, with some deists (like Franklin, Dr. Benjamin Rush, and Thomas Paine) and other Christians. The New York society was led by Episcopalians such as Jay and Hamilton. However, a few Jews also joined. Moses Judah, a leader of Shearith Israel, joined the New York Society in 1799 and served on numerous committees. In Philadelphia, Benjamin Nones, who had owned slaves most of his adult life, freed his slaves and joined the PAS. Other members of Mikveh Israel, including Mordecai M. Mordecai, Jonas Phillips, Moses Myers, and Isaac Moses freed their own slaves and were involved in the manumission of other slaves.

            These early anti-slavery Jews were a minority within their community. Most northern Jews, like most other northern whites, ignored the issue of slavery, especially because the gradual abolition laws and state constitutions had set northern slavery on the road to extinction. As slavery died out in the North, many masters manumitted their slaves, but some Jews held on to their slaves as long as possible. While Moses Judah in New York was actively fighting slavery, his hazzan at Shearith Israel, Emanuel Nunes Carvalho, owned three slaves, and bought at least one more when he moved to Charleston.[25]

Jewish southerners, like their white Christian neighbors, usually supported slavery, although there are records of individual owners manumitting particular slaves.[26] In 1961, Bertram W. Korn detailed southern Jewish slave owning from the Revolution to the Civil War in his presidential address to the American Jewish Historical Society. Korn found that most middle class and affluent urban Jewish southerners owned slaves who worked in their houses and businesses, but fewer than a dozen Jews owned plantations, with large numbers of slaves. He identified eight Jewish firms engaged in professional slave trading, buying slaves in the upper South and transporting them to the Gulf Coast states where when could be sold at huge profits. He found other Jewish mercantile and auction houses that sold slaves along with other merchandise.[27] The bottom line here is that Jewish southerners actively and with very few (if any) qualms, participated in the South’s most important economic and social institution—owning human beings and exploiting their labor. Freedom, for Jewish Southerners included the freedom to own, buy, and sell other people. Almost no Jewish southerners even blinked at the irony of black slaves serving food and clearing dishes at a Passover Seder celebrating the Exodus.[28]

 

V. Jews, Politics, and Slavery

 

A few Jews held various political offices in the new nation, starting with Francis Salvador, a slaveowner in South Carolina elected to the colony’s pre-Revolutionary provisional Congress in 1774. From the early national period to the Civil War there may have been more Jews elected to office in the South than the North, although the numbers for either section were small. But, whether northern or southern, until the Civil War most Jewish political leaders were either proslavery or silent on the issue.

The most important early Jewish politician was Mordecai Manuel Noah. Born in Philadelphia, he grew up in South Carolina, where he studied law, fully embracing southern views on race and slavery. While not apparently a slaveowner, he became a vigorous opponent of black rights and black freedom, and a supporter of slavery. He briefly served as a diplomat in Tunis, where he tried, and mostly failed, to liberate about a dozen captured American merchant sailors being held as slaves in Algeria. He did manage to help ransom two of these sailors. Noah’s acts illustrate his support for freedom for white people. He then moved to New York, where he was a Democratic Party leader, and held various offices, including sheriff of New York and a judgeship. At this time, the Democratic Party was dominated by slaveholding presidents—Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, James Monroe, and later Andrew Jackson—and was aggressively proslavery and anti-black. Noah embraced this ideology. His newspaper, the National Advocate, railed against free blacks. In 1821, New York Democrats, led by Martin Van Buren, who had grown up in a slaveholding Dutch family outside of Albany, wrote a new state constitution which eliminated property requirements for white voters, but not for blacks. In the 1830s Democrats in Pennsylvania simply prohibited blacks from voting. Noah, as a Democratic Party leader, supported these policies.[29]

            In the southern states there was no movement to end slavery, and Jews in Charleston, Savannah, Baltimore, Richmond, New Orleans, Mobile, and elsewhere owned slaves and supported the system. Despite antisemitic claims, southern Jews were rarely involving in the interstate slave trade. And, since few Jews owned plantations, they were rarely owners of large numbers of slaves.

            In the 1830s a new abolitionist movement developed across the North, starting with the publication of William Lloyd Garrison’s newspaper, The Liberator in 1831, and his founding of the American Anti-Slavery Society in 1833. The Revolutionary-era organizations, such as the PAS and the N.Y. Manumission Society, had focused on ending slavery in their own states. The new movement focused on ending slavery throughout the United States. By the 1850s tens of thousands of northerners would be engaged in antislavery agitation. Much of the movement was rooted in evangelical Protestant theology and many of the movement’s leaders were clergymen. Many abolitionists were anti-Catholic, as well as anti-slavery, and a few articulated hostility toward Jews.

The abolitionist movement also undermined and altered many traditional roles. For the first time in U.S. history, significant numbers of women participated in public meetings and demonstrations and sent petitions to Congress. The movement was racially integrated, with African Americans—most famously Frederick Douglass—addressing integrated anti-slavery meetings.

            During this period the first dedicated opponents of slavery were elected to Congress, initially from New England, New York, Ohio, and Pennsylvania. So too were the first Jews. Until the Civil War began, all the Jews in Congress were either aggressively proslavery, or passively supported the institution. In 1844, Pennsylvania elected Lewis Charles Levin, the first Jew to serve in Congress. Raised in South Carolina and always connected to the South, he was a member of a fringe, anti-immigration party. In the 1850s, he would oppose the Republican Party, in part for its stand against slavery. His main political interest was reducing Catholic immigration into the United States. In 1845, the new state of Florida sent David Levy Yulee to the Senate. He was a staunch defender of slavery and would leave the Senate in 1861 to support secession. Elected in 1850, Emanual Hart was a proslavery northern Democrat from New York. He served one term in Congress and then held patronage positions in the proslavery Pierce and Buchanan administrations. In 1852, Alabama elected Philip Phillips to the House of Representatives. He was a native of South Carolina and had attended Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim in Charleston as a child. His wife, Eugenia Levy, was from a distinguished slaveholding Jewish family in Charleston. Phillips supported slavery, and helped draft the Kansas-Nebraska Act, which allowed slavery in most of the existing federal territories. But while always a supporter of slavery, Phillips was also a unionist in this period. At the beginning of the Civil War, he was practicing law in Washington, D.C., and wanted to remain there. He was one of many southern leaders who remained loyal to the Union. However, his wife was a rabid secessionist and allegedly a Confederate spy. Thus, he was forced to return to the South.

The most important antebellum Jew in American politics was Judah P. Benjamin of Louisiana. Like Phillips, he was raised in Charleston and attended Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim. Benjamin made his living as a lawyer but purchased a sugar plantation with 140 slaves on it, making himself a proper southern gentleman, and the largest Jewish slaveowner in the country. He entered the U.S. Senate in 1853 (the same year Phillips entered the House), where he vigorously defended slavery. Senator Benjamin Wade of Ohio, who was vigorously anti-slavery, correctly referred to Benjamin as an “Israelite with Egyptian principles.”

Benjamin resigned from the Senate when Louisiana seceded and became a Confederate leader, holding three different positions in Jefferson Davis’s cabinet, where he vigorously defended slavery. After the War, Benjamin fled to England, where he was an enormously successful attorney, and where he continued to defend Southern slavery, even though the system no longer existed.[30]

While Benjamin was the highest-ranking Jew in the Confederacy many other Jewish southerners served in the Confederate army, with some rising to the rank of colonel, lieutenant colonel, and major. Jewish southerners killed, and were killed, trying to create a nation, as the Confederate Vice President Alexander Stephens put it, whose “foundations are laid, its corner-stone rests, upon the great truth that the negro is not equal to the white man; that slavery subordination to the superior race is his natural and normal condition. This, our new government, is the first, in the history of the world, based upon this great physical, philosophical, and moral truth.”[31] Jewish Southerners, from the Revolution to the Civil War, were in the end, southerners who supported and profited from slavery. Freedom for them was the “freedom” to treat other people as property and commodities, to be bought, sold, and treated, or mistreated, with impunity.

 

VII. Jews, Anti-Slavery, and the Civil War

 

            From 1840 to 1865, about 150,000 Jews moved to the United States, expanding the nation’s Jewish population tenfold. Most came from Central Europe—Germany, Austria, Hungary, and what later became Czechoslovakia.[32] Many were fleeing the failed liberal revolutions of the 1840s and 1850s. Most went to northern cities, although some moved to the upper South—Baltimore, Louisville, and St. Louis. Educated, committed to liberty, and often idealistic, many gravitated to the Republican Party after 1854 and to the antislavery movement. When the Civil War began many of these new Jewish Americans served in the United States army, fighting against southern treason and for freedom. At least four Jews became generals—Frederick Salomon, Frederick Knefler, Edward S. Salomon, and Leopold Blumenberg—making them the first Jewish generals in any army in the western world. There would be a slew of other Jewish senior officers. These new immigrants universally supported the Union and opposed slavery. Illustrative of these new Jewish immigrants was the German-born teenager, Private Dankmar Adler, the son of a Rabbi, who served in the war and would later become one of the most important architects in American history, with his partnership of Sullivan and Adler in Chicago.

            Even before the war, a few examples of Jewish immigrants, among many, illustrate the changing nature of the Jewish response to slavery.

            When John Brown was trying to make Kansas into a free state—during the brief civil war there known as bleeding Kansas—his ragtag “army” of antislavery rough riders included Theodore Wiener a recent immigrant from Poland and August Bondi, a recent immigrant from Bohemia. They rode with John Brown and helped defeat the proslavery terrorists in Kansas. Bondi then served in the 5th Kansas Cavalry during the war.

            While Kansas was in turmoil, Lewis Naphtali Dembitz moved from Prague to Louisville, Kentucky, with his brother-in-law and sister, Adolph Brandeis and Frederika Dembitz Brandeis. Dembitz was practicing Jew, a lawyer, and a Jewish scholar. In 1860, he was one of the very few slave state delegates to the Republican national convention.[33] He translated Harriet Beecher Stowe’s antislavery novel, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, into German. Although living in Kentucky, Dembitz was deeply antislavery. His greatest influence was on his nephew, Louis David Brandeis, who changed his middle name to Dembitz, to honor his uncle, and later become the first Jewish Supreme Court Justice and the president of the Zionist Organization of America (ZOA). Dembitz’s son, Arthur A. Dembitz, would become the founding professor of Jewish history at Gratz College, in 1897. All of this subsequent important social activism began with Lewis N. Dembitz’s opposition to slavery and his commitment to Judaism.

 

VIII. The Great Rabbinical Debate over Slavery

 

            In February 1860, Dr. Morris Jacob Raphall, of New York’s Congregation B’nai Jeshurun, became the first rabbi in American history to give the opening prayer at a session of Congress. A year later, in January 1861, with the Union dissolving, Raphall gave a sermon on slavery that was published in newspapers and reprinted as a pamphlet, as A Bible View of Slavery. Raphall’s sermon was vigorously proslavery. Like most southern ministers, he asserted that Africans were the cursed descendants of Ham, from the story of Noah, and thus doomed to be the “meanest of slaves,” although there is no scriptural support for this claim. He endorsed racist notions that blacks were mentally inferior to whites, and that blacks had never achieved “human excellence, either mental or moral.” He mocked ministers and others who condemned slaveholding as “sin.” Relying on both Jewish and Christian texts, he defended the system as ordained by God. He quoted the Ten Commandments to support his position. He claimed that Hebrew slaves were better treated than those in the South, but, using biblical analysis, he emphatically supported the fugitive slave laws. He concluded that slavery had “existed since the earliest time,” that “slaveholding is no sin” and that “slave property is expressly placed under the protection of the Ten Commandments,” and that the slave was “a person” who had some “rights not conflicting the lawful exercise of the rights of his owner.” He condemned anti-slavery northerners for being “righteous overmuch” and “denouncing ‘sin’ which the Bible knows not.” He suggested some unspecified reforms in southern slavery, while urging Jews and other northerners to accept its legitimacy.[34]

            Two Jewish leaders answered Raphall. The first was an editorial in the New York Tribune by Michael Heilprin, a Jewish scholar and journalist who fled Hungary after the failed revolution of Lajos (or Louis) Kossuth. His own history reflected that of many other recent Jewish immigrants, who were appalled by slavery. In this relatively short piece, Heilprin denounced Raphall’s notion that it was “his duty to proclaim from the pulpit that it is a sin to preach against Slavery in the South! I had read similar nonsense hundreds of times before; I knew that the Father of Truth and Mercy was daily invoked in hundreds of pulpits in this country for a Divine sanction of falsehood and barbarism; still, being a Jew myself, I felt exceedingly humbled, I may say outraged, by the sacrilegious words of the Rabbi. Have we not had enough of the ‘reproach of Egypt?’”[35]

A more substantive rebuttal to Raphall came from David Einhorn, a German-trained Rabbi at Congregation Har Sinai in Baltimore. Einhorn preached in German, but the sermon was quickly translated.

Einhorn conceded that “slaveholders may be men of honor and character.” He noted “Abraham was a slaveholder . . . any yet he is for us a model of virtue, when we take into consideration the age in which he lived.” The central question was: “’Is the institution of Slavery, per se, a moral evil or is it not?’” Einhorn’s unrestrained and sarcastic critique denounced Raphall’s claim that it was not a sin:

 

And here it is that Dr. Raphall, earned for himself the sorry reputation of declaring, on the authority of the divine law, the legitimacy of the moral rectitude of slavery, and inveighing sharply against Christian ministers who happen to differ from him. A Jew, the offspring of a race which daily praises God for deliverance form the bondage of Egypt, and whose fellow-believers are to this hour groaning under the have yoke of slavery in most of the cities of the old world and crying to the Almighty for help, undertakes to parade slavery as a perfectly sinless institution, sanctioned by God, and to confront those presumptuous people who will not believe it, with somewhat of an air of moral indignation! A more extraordinary phenomenon could hardly be imagined. 

 

Einhorn denounced Raphall’s use, or misuse of history “to invest his favorite institution with a halo of glory.”[36]

Einhorn used various texts to refute Raphall, but the real thrust of his position was the spiritual and ethical nature of Judaism. He argued that since Jews had suffered under Egyptian bondage they had a special obligation to oppose slavery. Starting with the story of Adam, he argued that it was inherently sinful to enslave and mistreated people who were created in God’s image.

            Einhorn’s sermon nearly cost him his life. A proslavery mob came for him, and he quite literally had to flee Baltimore (in the slave state of Maryland) in the middle of the night, taking a train to Philadelphia where he became the Rabbi at Congregation Keneseth Israel, which became known as the “Abolition Temple.”

            Einhorn’s response to Raphall, and his escape to Philadelphia, is perhaps emblematic of the change in the Jewish American community on the eve of the Civil War. Southern Jews still embraced slavery. They rejected freedom. So did some northern Jews, like Rabbi Raphall. But most northern Jews had moved to support freedom. Many of these Jews were refugees from European autocrats and understood that freedom had to be for all people. Northern Jews would soon join in the crusade that would end slavery in the United States. Ironically, this would also enhance Jewish freedom. When the Civil War began, no Jew had ever been a general in a western world army, and in the United States all military chaplains were Protestant ministers. By the end of the war, there would be a handful of Jewish generals and a fair number of colonels and majors as well as Jewish chaplains. Thus, the freedom for African American slaves also furthered the freedoms of Jewish Americans. In Lincoln’s words, this was a “new birth of freedom” for all Americans.

 

Notes

 

[1] Orlando Patterson, Slavery and Social Death: A Comparative Study (Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Press, 1982) vii.

[2] For a list of twelve components of slave systems, see Paul Finkelman and Seymour Drescher, “The Eternal Problem of Slavery in International Law: Killing the Vampire of Human Culture,” Michigan State Law Review, 2017 (2018): 755, 768–770.

[4] Ex. 21:20–21, 26–27, 4. https://www.chabad.org/library/bible_cdo/aid/9882/jewish/Chapter-21.htm. The English King James Bible translated this passage in this way, “he shall not be punished, for he is his money.” The implication of this translation affected American slave law, as southern jurists assumed that since no many would intentionally destroy something of value, except in the most extreme and barbaric circumstances, the death of slave because of punishment was always accidental and not intentional.

[5] See Reuters, “Mauritania, Country with Most Slaves Per Capita, Must End Brutal Practice,” UN, Huffington Post, (Oct. 31, 2013, 2:13 PM), http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/10/3 1/mauritania-slavery-un n 4182422.html [https://perma.cc/Q2TB-62GQ]; John D. Sutter, “Report: Mauritania In No Longer the World's Slavery Capital, CNN, http://www.cnn.com/2016/05/30/opinions/sutterslavery-index-mauritania/ [https://perma.cc/J655-9VXK] (last updated June 1, 2016).

[6] General Act of the Berlin Conference on West Africa, Art. 9, Feb. 26, 1885. 47; Seymour Drescher, “From Consensus to Consensus: Slavery in International Law,” in Jean Allain, ed., The Legal Understanding of Slavery: From the Historical to the Contemporary 85, 98 (Oxford, Eng.: Oxford University Press, 2012), 85.

[7] Id. at 98–99; see Drescher & Finkelman, “The Eternal Problem of Slavery,” at 907–913; Renee C. Redman, “Brussels Act (1890),” in Paul Finkelman & Joseph C. Miller, Macmillan Encyclopedia of World Slavery, (New York: Macmillan, 1998) 1:132.

[8] Finkelman and Drescher, “The Eternal Problem of Slavery,” 765–766, 798–799.

[9] Moses I. Finley, Ancient Slavery and Modern Ideology (New York: Viking Press, 1980) 188.

[10] Genesis 16:1–5; 21:18–13; 25:1–5; Chronicles 1:32–33. “And the sons of Keturah, Abraham's concubine; she bore Zimran, and Jokshan, and Medan, and Midian, and Jishbak, and Shuah” https://www.chabad.org/library/bible_cdo/aid/16521 See also Gen. 25:1–5. On Jacob see Genesis 30:3–12.

[11] Genesis 37:3–4, 23–28. Those who sold him into slavery were actually his half-brothers, since the father, Jacob, had children with his two wives and two slaves.

[12] Ex. 20: 10, 14.

[13] Ex, 12, 14, 15,16,17, 29.

[14] Ex. 21:20–21, 26–27, 4. https://www.chabad.org/library/bible_cdo/aid/9882/jewish/Chapter-21.htm. The English King James Bible translated this passage in this way, “he shall not be punished, for he is his money.” The implication of this translation affected American slave law, as southern jurists assumed that since no many would intentionally destroy something of value, except in the most extreme and barbaric circumstances, the death of slave because of punishment was always accidental and not intentional.

[15]Isadore Singer and Joseph Jacobs, “Slave Trade,” The Jewish Encyclopedia (1906) available at https://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/articles/13798-slave-trade and Michael Toch, “Was There a Jewish Slave Trade (or Commercial Monopoly) in the Early Middle Ages?” in Stefan Hanß and Juliane Schiel, eds., Mediterranean Slavery Revisited (500–1800) (Zürich: Chronos, 2014) 421–444; S. Assaf, “Slavery and the Slave-Trade Among the Jews during the Middle Ages,” Zion, (1939), available as s summary at: https://www.jstor.org/stable/23543801.

[16] On Catholic support of slavery, see Finkelman and Drescher, Finkelman and Drescher, “The Eternal Problem of Slavery,” 759–761; 773–774.

[17] Eli Farber, Jews, Slaves, and the Slave Trade: Setting the Record Straight (New York: NYU Press, 1998) 181–183.

[18]S. Assaf, “Slavery and the Slave-Trade among the Jews during the Middle Ages,” Zion, (1939), available as s summary at: https://www.jstor.org/stable/23543801.

[19] Farber, Jews, Slaves, and the Slave Trade, 129.

[20] William Pencak, Jews & Gentiles in Early America, 1654–1800 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2005) 88–89.

[21] After the Revolution the Methodists and Baptists would partially or completely abandon their antislavery positions.

[22] David Brion Davis, The Problem of Slavery in Western Culture (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1966) 148.

[23] David Brion Davis, “The Slave Trade and the Jews,” The New York Review of Books, Dec. 22, 1994. Available at: https://www.nybooks.com/articles/1994/12/22/the-slave-trade-and-the-jews/.

[24] Quoted in Paul Finkelman, Slavery and the Founders: Race and Liberty in the Age of Jefferson (New York: Routledge, 2014) 205.

[25] Leibman, Once We Were Slaves, 118; Emanuel Nunes Carvalho—Biography, https://www.jewage.org/wiki/he/Article:Emanuel_Nunes_Carvalho_-_Biography.

[26] Charles Reznikoff and Uraia Z. Engelman, The Jews of Charleston: A History of An American Jewish Community (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1950) 76–77.

[27] Bertram W. Korn, “Jews and Negro Slavery in the Old South, 1789–1865,” Publications of the American Jewish Historical Society, 50 (1961) 151–201.

[28] Korn found one exception to this. Joseph and Isaac Friedman of Tuscumbia, Alabama purchased a slave, Peter Still, and then took him to Cincinnati and emancipated him. This was an uncommon (but not unheard of) act of generosity. The Friedman brothers then relocated in Cincinnati and never returned to Alabama. Korn, p. 197.

[29] Jonathan D. Sarna, Jacksonian Jew: The Two Worlds of Mordecai Noah (New York: Holmes and Meier, 1981) 16–17, 108–114.

[30] For more on Benjamin, see Paul Finkelman, “An Israelite with Egyptian Principles,” Jewish Review of Books, 12, No. 4 (Winter, 2022): 22–23.

[31] Alexander H. Stephens, “Cornerstone Address,” March 21, 1861, available at https://sourcebooks.fordham.edu/mod/1861stephens.asp

[32] Library of Congress, “From Haven to Home: 350 Years of Jewish Life in America
A Century of Immigration, 1820–1924”
https://www.loc.gov/exhibits/haventohome/haven-century.html#:~:text=Between%201840%20and%201860%20the,motivating%20factors%20for%20this%20migra….

[33] While not a delegate to the national Republican convention, Isador Bush, also a Jewish refugee from Prague was a Republican activist and an antislavery activist in St. Louis, another upper South city in a slave state.

[34] Rabbi Dr. M.J. Raphall, The Bible View of Slavery (New York: Rudd and Carleton, Printers, 1861), 23, 24, 28, and 38. Available at: http://www.jewish-history.com/civilwar/raphall.html

[35] http://www.jewish-history.com/civilwar/heilprin.html. Illustrative of the general problem of early Jewish scholars coming to terms with slavery is the fact in his entry on Heilprin in the Jewish Encyclopedia,, the great Jewish historian and scholar Cyrus Adler did not mention the controversy with Raphall or this famous editorial—for which Heilprin is most remembered. https://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/articles/7500-heilprin-michael.

[36] David Einhorn, The Rev. Dr. M. J. Raphall’s The Bible View of Slavery, Reviewed by Rev. D. Einhorn, D.D. (New York: Thalmessinger, Cahn, and Benedicks, Printers, 1861) 5–6, 7.

 

Judaism Confronts Psychology

 

Psychology is the modern-day philosophy. If something is psychologically sound, it almost automatically becomes a desired reality that we should embrace. If it is not psychologically sound, it deserves to be dismissed, even if such dismissal contravenes religious norms.

            Consider the matter of guilt. Psychology has just about convinced the general population that guilt is psychologically unhealthful; it raises our anxiety level, interferes with our blood pressure, and compromises our ability to function happily. The remedy—drop the guilt by dropping the values that instill the guilt.

            We should therefore not be surprised that many of the hallowed values of yesteryear are under attack, either bluntly or subtly. Take for example the elementary idea of "should." The thought that we "should" do this or that, ostensibly because we are obligated, is the primary precipitant of guilt. This is because "should” and "ought" do not always translate into deeds. Those who “should” or “ought” (but actually do not fulfill), feel guilty about not living up to their responsibility. And we know where unresolved guilt can lead straight into the depression pit, an admittedly awful place, which in its extreme renders people incapable of any useful life activity. 

            Of course I am generalizing, even over-generalizing. Not all psychologists are radical anti-guilt proponents. But the main point is clear—that we live in an era of guilt avoidance, which has serious implications for any religion, and certainly for Judaism. We have no way of accurately measuring how many have left the fold entirely or even partially because they do not want to be imposed upon with obligations. With no obligations, there is no possibility of feeling guilty for failing to live up to those obligations. Thereby, one has removed a major obstacle to the ultimate apex of modern desires, to be physically and psychologically healthy. 

The entire Jewish package is a potential guilt inducer, as are the separate but inter-related components within Judaism. Shabbat and kashruth, as arguably the most onerous and ubiquitous of Jewish observances, are simultaneously the most likely guilt-inducers. Undoubtedly, the major factor in choosing to abandon these observances, if consciously made, is the challenge these affirmations pose when trying to squeeze in the best that modern society has to offer, including unfettered access to all sorts of eateries and food, as well as a full slate of weekend activities either social-, cultural-, or sports-related.

            Guilt is a factor in such value choice. How strong a factor I do not know, but a factor nevertheless. I have spoken to enough people over time that I can be sure of this; sure that some people have unburdened themselves of Shabbat, kashruth, and/or other components of Judaism, so that they do not have to feel guilty if they do not fulfill all the obligations.

            Assuming that these observations are correct, either partially or totally, the obvious question is—how do we tackle the situation? Is there a way around this? Is there a way to counter this trend?

            I would like to propose two approaches, one dealing with the psychology part, the other dealing with the Judaism part.

            For the psychology part, the issue of guilt avoidance as a way to live deserves further scrutiny. Clearly, psychological health is a major concern. We realize that the Divine Spirit (Shekhina) does not reside in melancholy (Talmud, Shabbat 30b). On the other hand, Judaism is loaded with mitzvah obligations, and general imperatives to fulfill them, aside from the explicit biblically based mandates. Such well known statements as "...if not now, when?" (Talmud, Avot 1:14), or "It is not incumbent on you to complete the task, but neither are you free to desist therefrom..."(Talmud, Avot 2:21), speak to the notion of assuming responsibility and thereby living responsibly.

Judaism seems to run contrary to contemporary psychological wisdom, in that it affirms the value of a life that is depression free, yet seems to place upon its adherents a load of responsibility that if not fulfilled leads to guilt, which leads to possible depression. Obviously, there is a difference of world views.

            Judaism, let it be stated unequivocally, has a different view of guilt: Guilt is a healthy part of who we are. This sounds absurd, even crazy. But give the thought a chance to develop.

Guilt is a debilitator or a motivator, depending on the attitude we take to it. The attitude is the key. There are those who, in the face of having failed to fully actualize a responsibility, will be devastated by it, crushed to the point of being convinced they are unworthy. And there are those in the face of having failed are motivated to improve, to do better the next time.

Attitude is the key to whether failure is the excuse for more failure, or the catapult to future success. And it all begins with the importance of realizing that we are mortal, that we are not perfect, that we are not expected to be perfect. The aforementioned citation that, "It is not incumbent on you to complete the task, but neither are you free to desist therefrom...," directly addresses this matter. We cannot do everything; we are not expected to do everything—but we are expected to try our best. 

            We will fail, either via acts of omission or commission. That is certain. What is not certain is how we will bounce up or down after that. And if we use past failure as the boost to future fulfillment, the failure itself is transmuted into fulfillment. How do I know this? I know this from the Talmud, and I know this from corroborating life experience. The Talmud (Yoma 86b) tells us that those who willfully sin but then, in the expression of penance, joyfully and completely renounce the sin and embrace the right way, have transmuted the sin into a fulfillment.

            This is something we see in so many different aspects of life; in the flunkee who jumps to the head of the class, the weakling who becomes strong, the loser who resolves to become a winner, the sinner who embraces the way of righteousness.

            Put another way, a life totally free of guilt, devoid of any responsibility, is most likely to become an unfulfilled life, even an empty life. And emptiness is itself a more dangerous harbinger of depression; anomie gives birth to aimlessness, to a vacuous, depression-inviting existence. It may therefore be forcefully argued that we need a balanced measure of healthy guilt in order to be fully human. It is all the difference between feeling "guilty from," or embracing the approach of "guilty toward."

            For the Judaism part, we need to look more carefully and critically at how we package Judaism—in the home, in the classroom, and from the pulpit. There is no escaping that the dictates of Judaism, the do's and the don’t’s, the affirmations and prohibitions, are obligations, not options. Whether or not we choose to observe does not diminish from the reality that we must embrace the full package.

The question is—how do we inspire ourselves and others to fulfill the commandments? There are those who have no problem imposing Judaism, precisely because there is no choice. They will sometimes succeed in at least achieving a perfunctory adherence to Judaic norms. But it is all too often realized at a heavy price, the price that is exacted when people feel imposed upon, with no joy in what they are doing.

            Enlightened pedagogues and parents will try to transmit the joy of Judaism, the meaning and fulfillment associated with each mitzvah. They will not resort to the harangue that if you do not do as God says, God will punish you. They will not convey the feeling that failure to observe should make one feel guilty. Instead, they will attempt to show that non-compliance is a missed opportunity to experience the joy of mitzvah fulfillment.

            This is guilt-free Judaism. It is Judaism perceived, transmitted, and lived in gratitude for having been blessed with such a wonderful formula for life. Gone is the imposition, gone is the guilt, and in its place, we find the wonderful opportunity to live life as God wanted for us. And God wanted it for us to enable us to appreciate the fullness of life in God's wondrous world.

The goal of Judaic value transmission needs to go beyond doing the mitzvoth. It needs as its aim that the mitzvah is actualized with joy and with enthusiasm. Lest you think this is apologetics, pray tell me how you understand the prophetic charge (Isaiah 58:13) to call the Shabbat "oneg," or delight? How can something transmitted as an onerous collection of impositions be experienced as a delight? Obviously, something is getting lost in the transmission. In other words, if we experience Shabbat as a burden, then you can be assured that you have missed the essence of Shabbat. 

It is clear that in order to teach Shabbat properly, its status as oneg is essential to the way we teach. Can anyone dispute the simple proposition that the more Shabbat is conveyed as oneg, the more likely that those being taught about Shabbat will be eager to embrace it fully and enthusiastically?

Does it sound absurd to suggest that God is “pained” when the mitzvoth of God are apprehended as burdens, rather than joys? If it sounds absurd, then again we have missed the boat. God did not put us here to tantalize us, waving all the niceties of life in front of us and telling us—do not touch, do not taste, do not enjoy.

We are told that we will have to answer for all the good things God created in this world that we failed to enjoy (Jerusalem Talmud, Kiddushin 4:12). The more we meaningfully enjoy God's world, the more we are likely to appreciate God in the fullness of appreciation. Of course there are rules guiding how we experience the world, and parameters for enjoying, but they are parameters, not the objective. The objective is to enjoy, to appreciate, to share; the parameters are to give proper context to how we enjoy.

How interesting it is that the guilt of which we speak is the guilt for "not enjoying," instead of the more standard, accepted, and wrong idea of guilt as associated with enjoying. It is clear that we are missing some vital ideas and ideals in the experience of living as God wants us to live.

            One of the issues associated with guilt is the damage that this causes to one's self image, or vice versa (the guilt that is caused by having a low self-image). It is the fad of this generation—the obsession with self-esteem. Try finding any mental-health worker who is not totally convinced that self-esteem is critical to proper functioning. And this is reinforced by the constant media barrage, linking delinquency, violence, addiction, and every other aberrant behavior with low self-esteem.

            There are many problems with all this. The first is that this seems to suggest that low self-esteem is at the root of the problem. But this would only be the case if we could show that the majority of people with low self-esteem descend into the ugly cesspool of deviance. That is not the case. The fact that most murderers have low self-esteem does not mean that people with low self esteem tend to be murderers.

            The same misleading presumption is true of the oft-cited fact that a higher percentage of abusing parents were themselves abused as children. This does not mean that most abused children become abusing parents. That too is not true. Most children who are abused do not abuse as adults. This does not excuse any abuser, but it does correct a misnomer that in a perverse way suggests to those who were abused that they are almost doomed to perpetrating abuse when they get married and/or have children. Such an implied suggestion is wrong—and irresponsible. 

            Another problem with self-esteem is that it can become dangerously addictive. If we demand to be told that we are good, and we are "lucky" enough to have parents and teachers who feed this esteem frenzy, then the moment that we get new teachers, or our parents slip up and do not offer compliments, we will be more open to becoming dejected or depressed. That is unhealthy, and the expectation to be constantly fed with prop-up compliments is fraught with unpleasant consequences when the unrealistic expectations are not met, which inevitably is the case.

            A third, and perhaps even more serious problem with self-esteem, is that the notion itself seems to welcome some measure of arrogance into our daily vocabulary. How could it be otherwise if we are urged to think of ourselves as good, as worthy? If we then get into a tiff with someone, are we not more likely to attribute the blame to the other person, since we are good, and therefore unworthy of blame?

            Arrogance, even a tinge of it, has no place within Judaism, which places uncompromising primacy on humility in the face of God. Arrogance is roundly condemned as being antithetical to Judaism. God cannot abide where arrogance exists (see Talmud, Sotah 4b).

            But we cannot so easily dismiss the notion of self-esteem. After all, self-esteem is intimately connected to the fulfillment of the enveloping imperative to love our fellow as we love our self (Vayikra 19:18), which Rambam says that we fulfill by saying nice things to others, to make them feel good, as we would feel when we are told nice things about ourselves (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot De'ot 6:3).

The middle ground in all this is that we need to think of ourselves as capable of achieving good things, that we are not bad (see Avot 2:18). But any good that we achieve is nothing more than preparatory to achieving more good. There is a lurking danger in doing good, and then resting on whatever laurels that such good brings. We are here to do good, so whatever we achieve is nothing more than justification for our being created (see Avot 2:9).

So, self-esteem as the potential to do good, to be good, is essential. Self-esteem as actually being good is arrogant, unacceptable, and unhelpful for human achievement. All this may spark off some angry reaction by you, the reader. But before you let loose, let me share with you something about anger. You and I, and almost everyone, have been raised with the teapot theory of anger—that anger is like a boiling kettle that needs to be expressed, to boil over, to spill over, rather than being repressed.

That too is a mistake. There is no way that you can read any of the major Jewish ethical treatises and not come away overwhelmed at how unanimously and fully anger is condemned. There is no halfway on this. Anger is put on a par with idolatry, and yes, according to Sefer Haredim, is biblically prohibited. Yes, you read that correctly—anger is biblically prohibited, like eating hametz on Pesah (see my Best Kept Secrets of Judaism, pp. 200–202).

The teapot theory itself is being questioned. Today, we are being told by more enlightened experts who have studied anger that rather than getting rid of the anger, exploding actually rehearses it. So what are we to do with anger? There are two facets to the approach. One is what to do when we are just about ready to explode. The mussar experts have suggested many good techniques, such as filling the mouth with water and holding the water for ten or fifteen seconds before letting the water out. Since anger is a seething fire, what better way to extinguish fire than by water?

The other approach is to confront anger on a long-range basis, to sit down and write an inventory of those things that are worthy of us losing our cool. If you try this on your own, you will be surprised at how empty your page will be. And then, having realized how few, if any items, are worthy of exploding over, the next step is to integrate that rational thought into our emotive selves. For some it is easier than for others—but it is an achievable goal.

This brings me to my final point. There are some who are more temperamentally cool than others, some who are more naturally hot-tempered than others. The main point is that with work, sometimes difficult work, we can overcome tendencies. We have the ability—and hopefully the will—to do so. We need to get away from the rampant psychological determinism that suggests that because we were abused, we will abuse; because we are hot-tempered, we will lose our cool; because our parents were alcoholics, or drug users, we will be the same; or that because we were once addicts, we are doomed to a life of addiction.

We have free will; we have the ability to transcend innate tendencies. Yes, there are many good things in psychology, but when the philosophy underlying the psychology comes into direct conflict with Judaism, I will go with Judaism all the time. My faith includes the full confidence that God Who created us knows us better than any conglomerate of mental-health professionals. 

The Generation of the Lie...Thoughts for 9/11

The Generation of the Lie (reprinted from Marc D. Angel, The Wisdom of Solomon and Us, Jewish Lights Publishers, 2016.)

He who justifies the wicked and he who condemns the righteous, even they both are an abomination to the Lord. (Proverbs 17:15)

Death and life are in the power of the tongue; and they who indulge it shall eat the fruit thereof. (Proverbs, 18:21)

The United States suffered a horrible and horrifying terrorist attack on September 11, 2001. Arab terrorists flew airplanes into the Twin Towers killing thousands of people. Two other airplanes were hijacked leading to the murder of all the passengers.  One of the hijacked airplanes was flown into the Pentagon, not only killing the passengers but killing or grievously wounding many individuals in the Pentagon that day. The trauma of that day for the survivors and the families of the victims will never entirely disappear.

Moral clarity prevailed in many circles. The terrorists were murderers, hateful and misguided individuals who believed that they would be rewarded in heaven if they murdered Americans. They were willing to sacrifice their own lives for the sake of inflicting damage on the United States. But, there were those who justified the wicked and who condemned the righteous. They described the murderers as “martyrs.” They rejoiced that America, the great devil, had suffered a serious blow. The same pattern often is evident when acts of terror are committed against Israel. The murderers are described as “militants” or as “martyrs.” The Israeli victims are blamed for their own deaths, and the murderers are honored by the societies from which they emerged. The United Nations routinely condemns Israel for defending itself against terrorism, and routinely ignores the heinous acts of murder committed against Israel.

We should not be surprised by the massive hypocrisy that justifies the wicked and condemns the righteous. This has been going on for many centuries. Not only does Solomon note this phenomenon in Mishlei, his father David screamed out against it in his Psalms. Psalm 12 has been described by Martin Buber as a prophecy “against the generation of the lie.” The Psalmist cries out: “Help, O Lord, for the pious cease to be…They speak falsehood each with his neighbor, with flattering lip, with a double heart they speak.” The generation is led by oppressors who say “our tongue will make us mighty,” who arrogantly crush the downtrodden. They act sinfully but are confident that their smooth talking propaganda will keep them immune from retribution.

Buber comments: “They speak with a double heart, literally ‘with heart and heart’…The duplicity is not just between heart and mouth, but actually between heart and heart. In order that the lie may bear the stamp of truth, the liars as it were manufacture a special heart, an apparatus which functions with the greatest appearance of naturalness, from which lies well up to the ‘smooth lips’ like spontaneous utterances of experience and insight” (Good and Evil, p. 10). The Psalmist is not merely condemning his “generation of the lie,” but future generations that also will be characterized by lying, bullying, oppressing; that will be led by smooth talking and corrupt demagogues. But the Psalmist turns prophet and proclaims that God will arise and protect the victims of the liars. Truth will prevail. “It is You, O Lord, who will guard the poor, You will protect us forever from this generation.” Although the Psalmist is confident that God will set things right, meanwhile the ugly fact remains: “But the wicked will strut around when vileness is exalted among humankind.” Although God will ultimately redeem the world from the “generation of the lie,” this will not happen right away. As long as people submit to the rule of the wicked, the wicked will stay in power. If the wicked are not resisted, they will continue to strut around and feel invincible.

The Nazis understood the power of propaganda. If you tell a big lie often enough and loud enough, people begin to believe it. Even if they do not fully believe it, they will lose the spiritual courage to resist the liars. They will either remain passive or will actively conspire with the wicked. The “generation of the lie” continues to flourish in our day, when tyrannies are viewed favorably and democracies are judged negatively. Every vote that justifies wickedness is an act of complicity with the wicked. Every abstention that refrains from condemning wickedness is also an act of complicity with the wicked. Albert Einstein described the moral decay which he felt was setting into society. “One misses the elementary reaction against injustice and for justice—that reaction which in the long run represents man’s only protection against a relapse into barbarism. I am firmly convinced that the passionate will for justice and truth has done more to improve man’s condition than calculating political shrewdness which in the long run only breeds general distrust. Who can doubt that Moses was a better leader of humanity than Machiavelli?” (Out of My Later Years, p. 10).