I. Origins and Dating:  What is the Connection to Talmudic Writings? 

Gershom Scholem:  Amoraic or Tanaitic Periods?

Like all other research into Jewish mysticism, Gershom Scholem’s works form the basis for contemporary scholarship. Scholem’s first goal in Jewish Gnosticism, Merkabah Mysticism, and Talmudic Tradition sought to establish the antiquity of the Hekhalot literature.  In his groundbreaking earlier work, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism, Scholem assumed that much of this extensive corpus stemmed from no earlier than the 4^th and 5^th centuries C.E., decades after the tana’im and many of the amoraim lived (Major Trends, 57-61).  In dating this literature as post-Tannaitic, Scholem followed the lead of the 19^th-century historians H. Graetz and P. Bloch, although they dated this corpus to a much later date, the 8^th and 9^th centuries.  Nineteenth-century Jewish historians dismissed mysticism in general as peripheral to Judaism, and discarded the Hekhalot literature as a late, post-Islamic phenomenon far removed from the Rabbinic mindset (Ancient 15-16).

By the 1960s, however, Scholem concluded that the Hekhalot literature emerged in the first centuries of the Common Era, contemporaneous with the tana’im.  In claiming that these mystical works stemmed from the Tanaitic period, Scholem followed Rav Hai Gaon (969-1038), who wrote to a correspondent,

You may be aware that many of the sages were of the opinion that an individual possessing certain explicitly defined qualities, who wishes to look at the merkabah and to peer into the palaces [hekhalot] of the celestial angels, has ways to achieve this.  He must fast for a specified number of days, place his head between his knees, and whisper to the earth many prescribed songs and hymns.  He thus peers into the inner rooms and chambers as if he were seeing the seven palaces with his own eyes, and he observes as if he were going from palace to palace and seeing what is in them.  There are two mishnayot that the Tannaim have taught on this subject; they are called Hekhalot Rabbati and Hekhalot Zutarti.  This much is widely known.  (Translated in Halperin 6, emphasis added). 

Scholem did not agree that the historical tana’im actually wrote the Hekhalot literature, believing that they were pseudopigraphically attributed to central tana’im. Yet he asserted that historical, linguistic, and conceptual similarities link the Hekhalot literature and the Talmudic corpus, to the point where passages in the latter could only be understood based on the existence and knowledge of the former.

Shiur Komah & Shir Ha-Shirim 

            The dating of Shiur Komah served as one of Scholem’s central proofs of the antiquity of the Hekhalot literature.  Shiur Komah, pseudopigraphically attributed to R. Akiva and R. Yishmael, is a short work, comprised of three lists enumerating God’s organs, their names, and their measurements.  In Yosef Dan’s assessment, it represents “the fullest and most acute expression of anthropomorphism in Jewish sources,” and served as the basis for mystic depiction of God by later mystics (Ancient 64-65).  As a basis for this anthropomorphism, Shiur Komah metaphorically interprets the limbs of the lover in Shir Ha-Shirim (5:10-16) to be describing the body of God.  The author(s), who begin the work by asserting that they have seen God sitting on His throne, promise a long life in this world and the good life in the world to come to those who learn the measurements. 

            Scholem, with the help of Saul Lieberman, contended that this esoteric comprehension of Shir Ha-Shirim stems from Tanaitic times.  Writing in the beginning of third century, the early Christian theologian Origen describes how the Jews postpone teaching four texts to their children, “The beginning of Genesis, where the creation of the world is described; the beginning of the prophecy of Ezekiel, where the doctrine of angels is expounded; the end [of the same book] which contains the description of the future temple; and this book of the Song of Songs” (translated in Jewish Gnosticism 38).  The first three documents represent passages with well-known mystical interpretations, indicating that that Jews similarly understood Shir Ha-Shirim.  Scholem asserts that Origen’s statement must refer to Shiur Komah, which not only existed in his time, but was well entrenched as a fundamental esoteric teaching within the Jewish community (39-40).  Lieberman, in a Hebrew appendix to Scholem’s work, further showed that many midrashic sources, particularly in the name of R. Akiva, connect Shir Ha-Shirim to the revelation at Sinai as well as the merkavah (121-126).  Using Shiur Komah to explain many rabbinic statements, Lieberman concluded that Shiur Komah constitutes an early midrash on Shir Ha-Shirim that should be included in the rabbinic corpus.  He further documented that numerous medieval figures shared this belief.  Scholem and Lieberman thus not only proved the antiquity of these texts, but further declared that they represent a central element of classic Rabbinic thought.

Observance of Halakha and Hymnology:  Parallels to Classic Rabbinic Thought

            The fastidiousness to Halakhic observance in the Hekhalot literature further connects their authors to the Rabbinic world.  Chapter 20 of Hekhalot Rabbati asserts that one who descends to the Chariot “reads the bible and studies Mishnah, Midrash, Halakhot, and Aggadot… and fulfills all which is written in the Torah and keeps all the prohibitions of statue and judgments and law which were declared on Sinai.”  In other writings, moreover, the teachings seek to help the mystic attain perfect knowledge of the Torah, including both its exoteric and esoteric elements (12-13).  In one particularly significant passage, R. Yishmael performs an obscure course of action to recall R. Nehuniah b. Hakanah from his state of ecstasy in the palace of God.  Scholem deduced, and Lieberman later thoroughly documented (Gruenwald 241-244), that R. Yishmael’s complex maneuvers sought to avoid violating the strictest laws of purity.  These mystics clearly shared the Rabbinic belief believed that loyal observance of the legal intricacies constituted an essential prerequisite to spiritual achievement.  

            Scholem also cited strong similarities between the Hekhalot hymnology and the Talmudic tradition as further proof of their intimate connection.  The famous prayer Aleinu Le-Shabeach, which played a prominent role in the Rosh Hashana holiday liturgy since Talmudic times, appears almost in full in the text Ma’aseh Merkavah (published in Jewish Gnosticism 105-106).  Moreover, the terminology it uses to describe God, such as yotzer bereishit and moshav yekaro, appears throughout Hekhalot literature (28).  Furthermore, in Avodah Zarah 24b, a 3^rd century Palestinian amora recites a song strongly resembling the words and rhythm of Hekhalot hymns.  Based on these strong affinities, Scholem asserts, we must conclude that the Hekhalot literature stems from the early Talmudic era and grew out of a worldview in Eretz Yisrael that the Tannaim shared.

The Four Who Entered Pardes

            Scholem’s final and most famous example relates to the story of the four who entered Pardes.  In Talmudic literature, this story appears in the Tosefta, Yerushalmi, and Bavli to tractate Chagiga.  Already in his earlier work, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism, Scholem cited this story and its parallels in the Hekhalot literature as proof of the strong correlation between the two traditions (Major Trends 52-53).  Scholem contends that the cryptic Talmudic story remains incomprehensible without studying the more developed parallels in the Hekahlot literature.  The Bavli, for example, makes numerous references to the dangers of the ecstatic journey, such as R. Akiva’s exhortation that his colleagues should not scream “Water! Water!” when seeing the marble plates.  When read through the eyes of the more descriptive Hekhalot literature, however, the detailed warnings of the dangers threatening the yordei merkavah become eminently clear.  The Talmudic stories are therefore only shorter versions of the Hekahlot versions, understandable when seen in their original context.

            Scholem’s presentation remains slightly ambiguous with regard to the order of influence in the different versions of the Pardes story.  In some places, he seems to state that the authors of the Hekhalot literature represent later mystics who understood perfectly the intent of the Talmudic tradition (Jewish Gnosticism 14, for example).  This position is slightly modified by Ithamar Gruenwald, who agreed with Scholem’s textual analysis but asserted that the words attributed in the Bavli to different sages were “were virtually taken from what already was, or was soon to become, the established Hekhalot tradition (Gruenwald 88).  However, Joseph Dan (in numerous writings) and David Halperin (Halperin 5-7) understood the assertion that the Talmudic passages represent an abbreviation or condensation of the Hekhalot tradition to reflect Scholem’s own position.  This order certainly fits for Scholem’s analysis of Shiur Komah.  Be that as it may, Scholem clearly believed that the Talmudic worldview greatly shared many mystical elements with the Hekhalot literature.

Ephraim Urbach: The Pardes Story Has Different Meaning in Talmudic Literature

Scholem’s contention that the Talmudic sages, including the tana’im, fully embraced the tradition of yordei merkavah found in the earlier Hekhalot literature, was first challenged by Ephraim Urbach.  In a 1968 festschrift honoring Scholem, Urbach argued that the Talmudic versions of the Pardes story possess an entirely different meaning than that found in the Hekhalot literature.  Urbach correctly noted that in addition to the pardes story, other Talmudic passages relate to ma’aseh merkavah, each of which must be individually analyzed to explore whether Chazal shared the ecstatic mystical experience of the yordei merkavah.

Understanding the Passage in Chagiga:  Does it Include Public Expositions or Active Mystical Experiences?

The first mishna in Chagiga (2:1) reads as follows: 

אין דורשין בעריות בשלשה ולא במעשה בראשית בשנים ולא במרכבה ביחיד אלא אם כן היה חכם ומבין מדעתו כל המסתכל בארבעה דברים ראוי לו כאילו לא בא לעולם מה למעלה מה למטה מה לפנים ומה לאחור וכל שלא חס על כבוד קונו ראוי לו שלא בא לעולם:

The authors of the mishna clearly feared not only public expositions regarding the first chapter of Ezekiel, but even wanted to limit private contemplation to a select few.  R. Yochanan b. Zakkai, in four other Talmudic texts, beginning with the Tosefta, affirms this rule, and refuses to teach anything relating to ma’aseh merkavah.  His students, however, achieved this knowledge on their own, and begin to expound on the merkavah, brining their teacher great joy.  The Tosefta (2:1-2) relates:   

הלכה א

אין דורשין בעריות בשלשה אבל דורשין בשנים ולא במעשה בראשית בשנים אבל דורשין ביחיד ולא במרכבה ביחיד אלא אם כן היה חכם מבין מדעתו.

מעשה ברבן יוחנן בן זכיי שהיה רכוב על החמור והיה ר’ לעזר בן ערך מחמיר אחריו אמ’ לו ר’ שנה לי פרק אחד במעשה מרכבה אמ’ לו לא כך אמרתי לך מתחילה שאין שונין במרכבה ביחיד אלא אם כן היה חכם מבין מדעתו אמ’ לו מעתה ארצה לפניך אמ’ לו אמור פתח ר’ לעזר בן ערך ודרש במעשה מרכבה ירד רבן יוחנן בן זכיי מן החמור ונתעטף בטליתו וישבו שניהם על גבי האבן תחת הזית והרצה לפניו עמד ונשקו על ראשו ואמ’ ברוך ה’ אלהי ישראל אשר נתן בן לאברהם אבינו שיודע להבין ולדרוש בכבוד אביו שבשמים יש נאה דורש ואין נאה מקיים נאה מקיים ואין נאה דורש לעזר בן ערך נאה דורש ונאה מקיים אשריך אברהם אבינו שאלעזר בן ערך יצא מחלציך שיודע להבין ולדרוש לכבוד אביו שבשמים

הלכה ב

ר’ יוסה בן יהודה או’ ר’ יהושע הרצה לפני רבן יוחנן בן זכיי ר’ עקיבא הרצה לפני ר’ יהושע חנניה בן כינאי הרצה לפני ר’ עקיבא

Significantly, in this version of the story, as well as the versions found in the Yerushalmi, the Bavli, and Mekhlita De-Rashbi, the students never reveal any of the content of their expositions.  Yet unlike in the Tosefta, the other versions add miraculous details to the stories.  Particularly noteworthy are the inclusions of rainbows appearing in summertime clouds as well as fire burning and angels rejoicing around the sages.  The Yerushalmi (מסכת חגיגה פרק ב דף עז ), for example, includes the following additions: 

… הלכו וישבו להן תחת אילן אחד וירדה אש מן השמים והקיפה אותם והיו מלאכי השרת מקפצין לפניהן כבני חופה שמיחין לפני חתן נענה מלאך אחד מתוך האש ואמ’ כדבריך אלעז’ בן ערך כן הוא מעש’ המרכבה מיד פתחו כל האילנות פיהן ואמרו שירה אז ירננו עצי היער…וכשנאמרו הדברים לפני רבי יהושע היה הוא ורבי יוסי הכהן מהלכים בדרך, אמרו: אף אנו נדרוש במעשה מרכבה. פתח רבי יהושע ודרש. ואותו היום תקופת תמוז היה, נתקשרו שמים בעבים ונראה כמין קשת בענן, והיו מלאכי השרת מתקבצין ובאין לשמוע, כבני אדם שמתקבצין ובאין לראות במזמוטי חתן וכלה.

            These embellished stories about R. Yochanan ben Zakai’s students clearly contain an experience of the mysterium tremendum.  Yet as Yosef Dan sharply delineated, these esoteric Talmudic teachings do not necessarily share the active mysticism found in the Hekhalot literature.  To achieve the latter, these expositions would need to include the “dynamic involvement of the mystic in the process and his ascent to the world of the Chariot” (Ancient 29).  Do these Talmudic stories contain such active mystical experiences?

Urbach decisively answered in the negative by highlighting that the types of miracles found in the later versions of the story are prevalent in other rabbinic passages unrelated to the merkavah.  In particular, the theme of singing angels and descending fire around sages signifies moments of divine revelation similar to Sinai (Urbach 2-11).  In the Bavli version of the story (Chagiga 14b), R. Yochanan explicitly claims that his students’ esoteric expositions re-enact Sinai, as he proclaims,

ואף אני ואתם בחלומי מסובין היינו על הר סיני, ונתנה עלינו בת קול מן השמים: עלו לכאן, עלו לכאן!

The embellishments found in the later Rabbinic sources confirm the revelatory and esoteric nature of the ma’aseh merkavah expositions, but contain no active mysticism attempting to descend to the Chariot.

Regarding the pardes story, Urbach again utilizes its different versions to prove minimal active mysticism around ma’aseh merkavah in the Talmudic literature.  Once again, the Tosefta (2:3-5) presents the simplest version of the story.  Following the stories about R. Yochanan ben Zakkai and his students, we read:

הלכה ג

ארבעה נכנסו לפרדס בן עזיי ובן זומא אחר ור’ עקיבא אחד הציץ ומת אחד הציץ ונפגע אחד הציץ וקיצץ בנטיעות ואחד עלה בשלום וירד בשלום בן עזיי הציץ ומת עליו הכת’ או’ יקר בעיני ה’ המותה לחסידיו בן זומא הציץ ונפגע עליו הכת’ או’ דבש מצאת אכול דייך וגו’ אלישע הציץ וקיצץ בנטיעות עליו הכתו’ אומ’ אל תתן את פיך לחטיא את בשריך וגו’

הלכה ד

ר’ עקיבה עלה בשלום וירד בשלום עליו הכתו’ או’ משכני אחריך נרוצה וגו’

הלכה ה

משל למה הדבר דומה לפרדס של מלך ועלייה בנויה על גביו מה עליו על אדם להציץ ובלבד שלא יזין את עיניו ממנו ועוד משלו משל למה הדבר דומה לאיסתרטא העוברת בין שני דרכים אחד של אור ואחד של שלג הטה לכן נכוה באור הטה לכן נכוה בשלג מה עליו על אדם להלך באמצע ובלבד שלא יהא נוטה לא לכן ולא לכן    

As Urbach notes, the Tosefta reveals minimal information about the incident.  We learn that entering the pardes[1] clearly endangers people, as the parable in the last paragraph and the fate of R. Akiva’s colleagues clearly attest.  Comparing the words הציץ וקיצץ בנטיעות to other examples of the terms in Rabbinic literature, Urbach deduces that Elisha sinned with his mouth, as the verse from Kohelet (5:5) cited by the Tosefta implies, by revealing that which he saw (Urbach 14-15).  The esoteric meaning of ma’aseh merkavah must not be revealed; hence, the Talmud never records the content of the expositions of R. Yochanan b. Zakai’s students.  Beyond these warnings to minimize and conceal these expositions, however, the Tosefta contains no hints of the ecstaticism or active mysticism.  The paltry details of this story, compared with the marvelous details found in the Hekhalot and apocalyptical literature, highlight the absence of active mysticism in the Tosefta’s traditions relating to ma’aseh merkavah.

Yet as with the case of R. Yochanan ben Zakkai’s students, the Bavli’s version embellishes the story with many esoteric details.  As noted by Scholem, the Bavli (Chagiga 14b) relates that before entering the pardes, R. Akiva warned his colleagues from proclaiming, “Water! Water!” 

אמר להם רבי עקיבא: כשאתם מגיעין אצל אבני שיש טהור אל תאמרו מים מים! משום שנאמר +תהלים ק”א+ דובר שקרים לא יכון לנגד עיני.

 Scholem cited the parallel language used in the Hekhalot to prove that the Bavli condensed the former’s version.  Urbach dismisses this hypothesis as mere speculation, arguing that water symbolizes here, as it does in Ezekiel, higher knowledge.  R. Akiva’s warning not to ecstatically proclaim “Water! Water!” represents a figurate admonition to eschew ecstatic mysticism (Urbach 17).  Here and elsewhere, the Bavli discourages active human attempts to see God, and displays no desire for extending esoteric knowledge into the realm of active mysticism.  The later Hekhalot literature, Urbach contends, usurped these Tannaitic statements and attached practical mystical significance to them (16).  Their authors, as we previously saw, remained committed members to the world of rabbinic halakha (25). To innovate and justify their new mystical theology, they transformed esoteric rabbinic teachings and appropriated major Tanaitic figures to display their ecstatic revelations.  

            Urbach acknowledges that elements of active mysticism entered into other passages in the Talmudic corpus.  He cites a few examples, including the famous story of the martyr R. Yishmael b. Elisha, who lived after the destruction of the Temple, entering the Holy of Holies and reciting a prayer before Akatriel (Brachot 7a).  Urbach believes that these stories represent a later accretion into rabbinic thought.  While the earlier tana’im vociferously opposed ecstatic mysticism, some late amoraim were drawn to such activity by the contemporaneous schools of the Hekhalot literature (Urbach 22-27).  However, this reciprocal relationship, which flourished in an era of increased use of magic and speculative powers, represents a late development in rabbinic thought.  Urbach thus concluded that the Hekhalot literature comprises a response, and not a source, to Tanaitic esoteric teachings.

David Halperin:  Evolution of Ma’aseh Merkavah Mysticism      

Following in Urbach’s footsteps, David Halperin performed the most thorough analysis of the relationship between the Talmudic sources and the Hekhalot literature.  First in his dissertation, The Merkabah in Rabbinic Literature (1980), and especially in his The Faces of the Chariot (1988), Halperin employed a dizzying array of sources to document the evolution of ma’aseh merkavah mysticism amongst the Sages.  These detailed and nuanced studies do not lend themselves to an easy synopsis, and therefore we will only present a basic summary. 

Halperin’s research focuses on the use of the merkavah in liturgy and homiletics.  In an unrelated discussion about rituals regarding the recitation of the Shema, the Tosefta (Megilla 3:28) remarks, “.הרבה דרשו במרכבה ולא ראו אותה מעולם”  The statement clearly distinguishes between delivering homilies and sensually experiencing the merkavah, testifying to a prevalent tradition of expounding on the cryptic passage from Ezekiel.  Yet elsewhere the Talmudic tradition displays a tendency to de-legitimize the public exposition of ma’aseh merkavah.  The Tosefta (Megilla 3:34) specifically mentions the merkavah chapter in a list of Biblical passages permitted to read and translate in public, indicating that some questioned the appropriateness of this chapter in the synagogue.  The mishna (Megilla 4:10), moreover, cites a dispute over whether the merkavah can be read as a haftorah, although the amoraim later accept it as a legitimate reading for the holiday of Shavu’ot (Bavli Megilla 31). 

Halperin believes that originally the Merkavah served as a springboard for magnificent homilies about God’s revelation, particularly on the festival of Shavuot, which the rabbis attached to the theophany of Sinai.  Ma’aseh Merkavah contained an esoteric doctrine about the divinity, as the stories of R. Yochanan b. Zakkai’s students showed, and thus became most appropriate to discuss on this holiday (Halperin 14-23). The orators used the merkavah passage from the Haftorah as a springboard for their homilies (115-156).  The miraculous traditions regarding R. Yochanan b. Zakkai’s students, preserved by the amoraim in the two Talmuds, originated with these homilies.

Yet later in Tanaitic times, the rabbis, suspicious of popular use of the chapter to probe esoteric secrets, attempted to limit expositions of this Biblical chapter.  While they continued to allow it to be translated, they attempted to ban it from public reading on Shavuot.  This is the meaning of the mishna in Chagiga 2:1, which banned readings of suspect passages on popular, festive occasions (24-25).  Thus the Tosefta suppressed the miraculous stories of R. Yochanan b. Zakkai’s students to conceal popular use of these passages.  Halperin thus agrees with Urbach that the expositions of R. Yochanan b. Zakkai’s students focused on divine esoteric revelations to elite scholars, and not on active mysticism (18-19).  Yet unlike Urbach, who believed that the Tosefta version preserves the earliest and authentic tradition, Halperin believes that the miraculous elements found in the Talmuds reflects their origins as synagogue homilies. 

            Similarly, Halperin contends that active ecstatic mysticism only emerged amongst Babylonian amoraim, but unlike Urbach, believes that they used the ma’aseh merkavah itself for these purposes. The Talmud elsewhere hints to this phenomenon in its rewording of Tosefta Megilla 3:28, quoted above.  Whereas the Tosefta simply stated that many expounded on the chariot without seeing it, the Bavli (Megilla 24b) rhetorically notes that many attempt to doresh be-Merkavah but do not succeed.

סומא פורס על שמע וכו’. תניא, אמרו לו לרבי יהודה: הרבה צפו לדרוש במרכבה ולא ראו אותה מימיהם

It would seem that in amoraic times, to doresh the merkavah became a difficult task achieved only by a select few.  Most significantly, Halperin points to the additional details, such as the presence of oxen and rainbows and the warning of “Water! Water!” related in the Babylonian version of the pardes story.  These cryptic references are not polemics against ecstaticism, as Urbach claimed, but rather reflect amoraic incorporation of the mystical teachings used by the Hekhalot mystics.  In addition, the Bavli also omits certain introductory lines that transform the pardes story from an esoteric parable into a mystical ascension (34-37).  Scholem erred by grouping the entire Talmudic corpus as one organic tradition (26).  In truth, the interpretation of ma’aseh merkavah underwent a major transformation from an esoteric synagogue homily in early Tanaitic times to a mystical experience in the later Amoraic era.  Thus Halperin dedicates many chapters of his book interpreting the Bavli in light of its mystical nature.

Additional Evidence?:  The Continuing Debate

            Since no conclusive evidence exists to confirm whether the Hekhalot literature preceded or followed the Talmudic literature, a firm resolution to this debate has not yet emerged.  Ithamar Gruenwald, both in his 1980 study Apocalyptic and Merkavah Literature, as well as in his later From Apocalypticsm to Gnosticism, defended Scholem’s view.  Additional possible evidence to an earlier date stems from the strong similarities between the Hekhalot literature and the scrolls written by the Dead Sea sects in the first centuries before the Common Era.  Already in the early 1960s, when fragments of the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifices had begun to be published, Scholem himself noted strong resemblances between the corpuses and suggested that the Hekhalot literature represent a development of the earlier writings (Jewish Gnosticism 128).  Most recently, Rachel Elior has greatly expanded this thesis, documenting the strong affinities between the two literatures in their linguistics, patterns of reference, and general spiritual outlook (Elior 233).  Elior postulates that following the destruction of the Temple, the power struggle between the priestly sects and the Sages lost its relevance, allowing the spiritual ideas of Dead Sea writings to re-emerge into rabbinic Jewish life.  The yordei merkavah elevated the rabbinic heroes R. Akiva and R. Yishmael as their main protagonists, but their spiritual outlook reflected an updated version of the myth of the angelic priests (260-264).  As such, the Hekhalot literature should be seen as an attempt to recreate the Temple service, at least in Heaven, soon after the Temple’s destruction in 70 C.E. 

However, a contrary trend in the research points to a later date for this literature.  Peter Schafer – in numerous essays and his book The Hidden and Manifest God – agrees with Urbach and Halperin that the Hekhalot literature was produced after the Tanaitic period.  Schafer contends that large strands of this corpus were composed in Babylonia, and not in Israel.  Moreover, he also believes, although more tentatively, that much of the material post-dates the entire Talmudic corpus, placing it in the late 5^th- 6^th centuries (159-160).  Nonetheless, Halperin and Schafer strongly disagree over the social status of the authors of the Hekhalot literature.  Halperin believes that the Sar Torah adjurations attempting to achieve Torah knowledge, which he places at the center of the Hekhalot literature, reflect an attempt by the uneducated masses (amei ha-aretz) to match rabbinic power with this wisdom (Halperin 429-446).  Schafer, in a 1986 published lecture, dismisses this claim as baseless speculation.  If anything can be said about their social status, he contends, we must conclude that the Hekhalot authors represent a post-Rabbinic elite seeking to use the heavenly journey and magical adjurations “to proceed to God directly or to force God down to earth” (as quoted in Davila 18).  In his 1992 book, however, Schafer hesitates to draw any direct conclusions regarding their social status, reflecting the speculative nature of such hypotheses.

Yosef Dan:  Hectic Period of Mystical Activity       

Yosef Dan has provocatively offered a third possibility regarding the relationship of the Talmudic corpus with the Hekhalot literature.  Instead of trying to determine which preceded the other, we should

“view all the material as a group of traditions that reflect a long, hectic period of mystical activity in the Judaism of the period between the first century BCE and the third century CE, during which many mystical sects developed different concepts and symbols.  Both our sources are actually random collections of some of these images and symbols, whereas most of the details and systematic presentations of the teaching of these many sects were lost” (Jewish Mysticism 304). 

The multiplicity of mystical activity, much of which is lost, would explain why we do not understand many of the symbols in the stories and the relationship between the two corpuses.  Thus, he concludes, “We should not… try to harmonize and group together the various traditions, because originally they were not connected; they were produced, independently, by different groups of ancient mystics” (304).  Yet Dan ultimately rejects this thesis as speculative and without concrete basis.  Dan notes, like many scholars, that the sources we possess seem to display different historical “layers,” which might indicate that these works were composed over a long period of time.  Yet no evidence exists indicating the actual existence of these alleged various groups of earlier mystics.  This thesis would be no more that a convenient “creation” of historians to solve this complex riddle (305).  Dan concludes that the most reasonable assessment accepts, with Urbach and Halperin, that the Hekhalot literature elaborate, interpret, and creatively follow the earlier Talmudic traditions.

II.  Historical and Cultural Background

Scholem:  Jewish Gnosticism?

 Beyond exploring the relationship between the Hekhalot literature and the Rabbinic sages, much research focuses on the historical-cultural background of its ideas.  In different writings, Scholem postulated that the Hekhalot mystics not only influenced the Rabbinic sages, but also comprised a version of “Jewish Gnosticism” parallel to the Gnostic movement that flourished in the first centuries C.E.  Scholem highlighted their shared emphasis on the dangers of the heavenly ascent, and more importantly, the similar cosmological structures in Gnosticism’s “pleroma” and the “throne world” of the Hekhalot literature (Major Trends 44).  Nathaniel Deutsch has noted that Scholem even suggested that the Merkavah mystics imposed the cosmic notion of the Gnostics into Ezekiel’s ma’aseh merkavah to hide the foreign origins of the idea (Deutsch 69).  Scholem, of course, understood that non-Jewish Gnosticism differed greatly from its Jewish counterpart with regard to the former’s dualism and antinomianism.  Nonetheless, Scholem called his monograph on the Hekhalot literature Jewish Gnosticism, Merkabah Mysticism, and Talmudic Tradition since he believed that these phenomenon were intrinsically related, and dedicated the last chapters to documenting the similarities between the “Jewish” (orthodox) sources and their non-Jewish (antinomean) counterparts.  Indeed, Scholem also compared the pardes story to New Testament passages of Paul’s ascent to heaven, arguing that the New Testament as well shared a place in this complex matrix. 

In subsequent years of scholarship, numerous scholars challenged this characterization of the Hekhalot literature.  Many problems have plagued this debate, as Nathaniel Deutch has shown, including the fact that Scholem presented his views differently in tone and substance in various works (Deutsch 1-17).  More significantly, one must first properly define the term “gnosticism,” both as a noun and an adjective.  In other words, one must seek to delineate the connection between historical Gnosticism in the first and second centuries C.E. with Christianity and Judaism, as well as explore the links in theology between within the Gnostic-type religious phenomenon.  With regard to the former, our knowledge of the origins and development of Gnosticism remain too sparse and murky to draw any definitive conclusions, despite the finds of the Nag-Hammadi library.  Yosef Dan, in his survey of the scholarship, concluded, “One cannot therefore doubt the existence of some type of a link between ancient Gnosticism and a certain part of the Jewish world (possibly the part that was assimilated into Hellenism), but we are unable to give a decisive historical definition about the roots of Gnosticism and its relationship to Judaism at the beginning of its development” (Ancient 56, emphasis added).  Dan’s cautious description is praiseworthy for its humility, yet highlights the tentative state of the scholarship.

Regarding the relationship of Jewish mysticism to phenomenological Gnosticism, a difficulty lies in defining the core characteristics of this movement.  Dan, in his attempt to describe the common theological elements of historical Gnosticism, lists four basis characteristics, but then notes, “It is difficult to find even a single historical view which clearly includes all these principles” (57-59).  He cautiously emphasizes a basic link that Gnosticism, Judaism, and Christianity all represent the products of a “religious and spiritual explosion of great power” which took place in roughly the same area in the first two centuries of the Common Era.

Heavenly Ascent?

Another problem with this question lies in the question of the centrality of the heavenly ascent in the Hekhalot literature, which Scholem used to attest to its relationship to gnosticism.  David Halperin charged that Scholem’s view was biased by his focus on Hekahlot Rabbati, which indeed highlights the yeridah le-merkavah as a central religious goal.  Yet in the rest of this literature, primacy is given to magical-theurgic adjurations to obtain command of the Torah (Halperin 384-385).  Schafer moderates Halperin’s argument, contending that both are important phenomenon but neither can be cited as the “one explanation for the entire Hekhalot literature” that is multifaceted and not uniform (Schafer 152, emphasis in original).  By minimizing the role of the ascent to Heaven, Halperin and Schafer critically damage Scholem’s definition of Merkavah mysticism as Jewish Gnosticism. 

Scholem’s thesis, of course, might be defended if one defines the religious Gnostic phenomenon more generically.  In a later writing, Origins of the Kabbalah, Scholem blurred the religious typology of Gnosticism by describing it as merely esoteric (cited in Deutsch 24).  This definition, of course, allows one to easily define historical Gnosticism and Merkavah mysticism with the same semantics, but as Deutsch points out, frustrates the entire academic project of identifying phenomenological links.  Indeed, Deustch concludes his study by arguing that research should focus less on origins and definitions, and instead treat the sources on their own terms (151).  He cites, for example, the problem of comparing the link between exegesis and experience in the different literatures, arguing that one cannot assume the same relationship in different literary genres.  Nonetheless, comparative research must be made on “the roles of myth and spirituality in both phenomenon” (152).  Unfortunately, he does not delineate how to define either of these terms to make a meaningful comparison, and one wonders why those studies as well should not treat their sources on their own terms.

Social Functions of These Practices

            A final aspect of Hekhalot research focuses on the social function of these practices and their practitioners.  As we noted above, Halperin and Schafer strongly disagree with regard to the social status of the Hekhalot authors, with Halperin asserting that they represent the uneducated masses and Schafer countering that they are post-rabbinic elite scholars.  In his introduction to III Enoch (also known as Sefer Hekhalot), P. Alexander precedes Schafer by noting that these texts point to the Merkavah mystics working in “small, closely guarded conventicles” (239). Comparing their rituals to shamansitic trances, Alexander contends that the Merkavah trances sought to boost the authority of the rabbis and attribute to them the power needed in their pivotal societal role of mediating between God and man (238-239).  The social utility of these practices, Alexander believes, helps explain how Merkavah mysticism thrived for so long.

            Like Alexander, James Davila seeks to describe the social function of the mystics using the anthropological model of shamanism.  From this perspective, he highlights the roles that hereditary and asceticism play in the mystic’s selection, the nature of their spiritual experience, and the roles they serve in their human community (Davila 306-308).  Davila’s analysis, of course, includes the Hekhalot texts, which he believes contains strands from both 3^rd-4^th century Palestine as well as 5-7^th century Babylonia.  Yet beyond examining texts, Davila importantly cites Babylonian incantation bowls from the 5^th-7^th centuries that reflect a clear affinity to Hekhalot mysticism (216-238).  From these comparisons, Davila concludes, “The religious functionaries portrayed in the Hekhalot texts… were real people, practitioners of the rituals described in the Hekhalot literature and the writers of that literature” (254-255).   He also conjectures that the writers were members of an influential guild of skilled scribes who were well educated in Bible, their own mythological traditions, and to a lesser extent, Talmudic texts (248).  Their goals were practical, aiming to assist the masses in mediating between the divine and human realms.  They assisted, on the one hand, with achieving supernatural knowledge of the Torah and acted as guides on other-worldly journeys, and on the other hand, helped protect and heal the people (255).

            Like Davila, Rachel Lesses focuses on the functional nature of these rituals, which she too views as a product of Palestinian origin that blossomed in Babylonia.  Yet unlike Davila, who highlighted the social hierarchy inherent in the literature, Lesses focuses on the “magical” nature of the merkavah rituals.  Following other philosophers of religion, who eschew the term “magic” because it is viewed as being divorced from genuine religion, Lesses terms the mystics’ services as “ritual practices to gain power “ (Lesses 55-60).  In the case of the yordei merkavah, they sought the power to bring holiness down to earth (374).  Following Rachel Elior, Lesses notes that this goal was particularly significant following the destruction of the Temple, which served as the impetus for them in trying to “keep open the channels between earth and heaven” (373).  Comparing the merkavah rituals to Greco-Egyptian adjurations, Lesses highlights the practical quality of the rituals in fulfilling human needs by forcing the angels to obey their wishes (374-378).  Scholars thus must understand the hekhalot texts not merely as literature, but rather as ritual performances that combine adjurations, asceticism, and action to achieve specific goals.   

Daphna Arbel, however, believes that we can only understand mystical phenomena through literary analysis.  The hekhalot and merkavah passages are not records of “pure, unmediated mystical experiences or revelations,” but rather comprise “a rich tapestry of theoretical literary descriptions… of first, second, or third hand pseudepigraphical testimonies of visionary experiences and revelations, which demonstrate certain mystical characteristics” (Arbel 14).  As such, their study should not use anthropological methods of studying ritual, but rather must draw primarily from literary, philological, and exegetical analysis.   Arbel’s literary analysis highlights the personal, unmediated experience of God achieved by the yordei merkavah, whose journey is described as either a mental-contemplative process, or a spiritual ecstatic-voyage (141).  Using her literary, phenomenological analysis, Arbel seeks to understand the cultural-social background of these mystics.  Highlighting their erudite knowledge, their emphasis on initiating personal encounters with the heavenly realm, and the value they attribute to recording and transmitting distinct knowledge, she postulates that these authors were “scribes, sages, and wise men associated with classes of priests and with temple traditions” (148).  This conclusion, as Arbel notes, dovetails nicely with Elior’s studies that highlighted the similarities between the Hekhalot mystics and the B.C.E. authors of the Judean Desert scrolls.

            The debate between Arbel and Lesses regarding the primacy of studying the Hekhalot texts through literary or anthropological lenses reflects the ambiguous state of research in this field.  On the one hand, it represents an advanced discussion debating the use of different cross-cultural sources and inter-disciplinary techniques to study this rich literature.  Yet at the same time, basic information such as the dating and authorship of this corpus remains elusive.  Despite all of the advances made in research since Scholem’s time, much work remains to be done.

Works Cited

 Alexander, P., “3 (Hebrew Apocalypse of) Enoch,” The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha Volume 1, ed. James H. Charlesworth, New York:  Doubleday, 1983.

Arbel, Vita Daphna, Beholders of Divine Secrets, Albany:  SUNY, 2004

Dan, Joseph, The Ancient Jewish Mysticism, Tel Aviv:  Ministry of Defense Books, 1993.

Dan, Joseph, Jewish Mysticism, Volume 1:  Late Antiquity, Northvale, New Jersey: Jason Aronson, 1998.

Davila, James, Descenders to the Chariot:  The People Behind the Hekhalot Literature, Leiden:  Brill, 2001. 

Deutsch, Nathaniel, The Gnostic Imagination:  Gnosticism, Mandaeism, and Merkabah Mysticism, Leiden: Brill, 1995.

Elior, Rachel, The Three Temples:  On the Emergence of Jewish Mysticism, Oxford: Littman Library, 2004.

Gruenwald, Ithamar, Apocalyptic and Merkavah Mysticism, Leiden:  Brill, 1980. 

Halperin, David J., The Faces of the Chariot: Early Jewish Responses to Ezekiel’s Vision, Tubingen:  Mohr Siebeck, 1988.

Lesses, Rachel, Ritual Practices to Gain Power, Harrisburg, PA:  Trinity Press, 1998.

Schafer, Peter, The Hidden and Manifest God:  Some Major Themes in Early Jewish Mysticism, Albany:  SUNY, 1992.

Scholem, Gershom, Jewish Gnosticism, Merkabah Mysticism, and Talmudic Tradition (2^nd Edition), New York:  JTS, 1965.

Scholem, Gershom, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism, New York:  Schocken, 1946.

Urbach, Ephraim, “The Tradition about Torat Ha-Sod in the Tannaitic Period” (Hebrew), Studies in Mysticism and Religion Presented to Gershom G. Scholem on His Seventieth Birthday by Pupils, Colleagues, and Friends, ed. Ephraim Urbach et al, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1967. 

What If You Eliminate the Truth?

First, we can sometimes dismiss as impossible that which is actually true. As we then deal with “whatever is left,” we will already have lost that which we sought most.  The problem in giving examples of this is that readers may still reject them as “impossible,” and would dispute my assessment that we are struggling to find our way when we have already dismissed the truth.

Perhaps the following example is theoretical enough to allow me to make the point without raising any hackles: In my book, Murderer in the Mikdash, I portrayed a post-Messianic society in which not all problems had yet been solved, not all Jews were fully observant (or fully virtuous) and yet which was much closer to an ideal Jewish society than we have today.

Many, many readers were intensely uncomfortable—even distressed—by the portrayal; some even characterized it as a dystopia, as a sardonic suggestion that we would never find the perfect society.  Even as readers agreed it would be better to have a Beit haMikdash, a Temple, than not, better to have a State of Israel that runs to some extent according to Jewish law than not, they still held that a not-fully-perfect Messianic society was “impossible.”

When they spoke to me, I would push them on the point, asking whether they would prefer a society that was imperfect but getting slowly better, or wait an extra two hundred years for a miraculous, immediately perfect Messiah.  Almost all chose the latter.  I was particularly struck by the realization that that was exactly the choice Orthodox Jews made in the early days of Zionism, rejecting the imperfection of working with those who had a vastly different view of Judaism in favor of waiting for a more perfect advent of renewed Jewish life in the Land of Israel.  Hearkening back further, it was also what happened at the beginning of the Second Temple, when so few Jews returned to Eretz Yisrael at Cyrus’ call.

The Lost Opportunity of Such Thinking

I would have thought we would have learned the lesson, since our hesitance back then led to a State significantly less attuned to religiosity than it might have been.  Imagine how different Israel would look today if hordes of Orthodox Jews had joined early, draining the swamps, risking malaria, and the other hardships the early settlers went through: what kind of State would have come into being in 1948?

One danger of eliminating the impossible, then, is rejecting as “impossible,” options and opportunities that are merely difficult or unlikely.  But I want to spend my time here on those ideas or phenomena we make impossible, not because they are inherently so. 

For a small example, I recall a conversation in which I once suggested to a Jewish Day School principal that all graduating 8^th graders should have read all of Chumash with Rashi.  It was the response I found so memorable, “It can’t be done.”

What the principal meant, I assume, is that, given the various commitments and concerns we have for our students, accomplishing that task has become impossible.  The fact that Jewish students throughout history have easily achieved such textual proficiency by that age suggests that were “we,” whether as schools or communities, to develop other commitments or views of how to educate children, that particular impossibility—and others—could be conquered.

Impossibilities We Create

Our decisions in life can also create more intractable impossibilities; we think about them as an exercise in self-understanding, not seeking practical change.  For the example I most want to take up here, it is, I agree and admit, impossible to have Jewish students attend public schools and get their Jewish education in supplemental programs.  If I thought otherwise, I would not raise it here, because Text and Texture is not a policy forum; I raise the idea not to advocate it, but because examining that impossibility will teach us a great deal about what we lose in allowing certain ideas to become impossible.

In this case, one of the prime and obvious losses in rejecting public schooling is money and all it can bring.  At least since the recent economic downturn, but even before that, the crushing cost of Jewish education was obviously unsustainable.  The cost affects family size, creates pressures to earn a level of livelihood that creates conflict with other significant Torah values (the easiest example being how much Torah an adult Jew needs to learn daily), and eats into the funds available for other worthy Jewish causes.  There are certainly other aspects of the problem, but most pressingly, were we only able to take advantage of public resources, we could save nearly half the cost of Jewish education.

I will come to the reasons we cannot do so—good, strong, solid reasons— but let me stay with the cost of that fact for a bit more.  We already pay for public schooling; that fact leads some of us to lobby for some kind of voucher program, so that our failing to partake of public institutions leaves money on the table and puts us at policy odds with those striving to protect the public schools. 

Along the same lines, Orthodox participation in public schools would deepen and improve our relationship with the community around us.  Since many of these students come from homes that care about and value education, with parents who readily involve themselves in helping out their children’s schools, they would likely be a boon for those schools as well, which we would hope would generate increased goodwill for the Jewish community.  That is not a reason to do it, but another advantage to note. 

Yet It Is, Clearly, Impossible

What, then, are the downsides that make such an idea impossible?  One which I suspect looms large for many Orthodox parents is the fear of the influences in such an environment.  While the social problems we see in the society at large certainly exist within our own community as well, I suspect that many parents feel that the self-selection of those who send their children not only to private school but to an Orthodox Jewish one offers some insulation.  Perhaps to a lesser extent but still relevant, we might worry about the values of the broader society to which our students would be exposed, many in opposition to those set by the Torah.

Both worries are valid, and yet appear odd in the following sense: at least in the Modern Orthodox community, but even to some extent in the Centrist one, these concerns intrude elsewhere only relatively minimally.  These same parents will have no problem with their children participating in extracurricular activities with the same kinds of children they would meet in public school—Little League, dance, drama, whatever—and will censor their children’s exposure to the outside culture’s music, TV, movies, and books only minimally.  Most of these same parents will expect and want their children to attend secular colleges, and then make their professional way in that society and culture as well. 

I am not criticizing those choices, but rather am pointing out how they seem to run counter to this aspect of the concern that leads us to insist on separate Jewish schools even for the General Studies side of the educational day.  I recognize and am sympathetic to the response that at younger ages we need to insulate our students from the full exposure they will get later in life; I am only noting here that the cost of that insulation runs into the millions of dollars and comes at the expense of other worthy causes, such as helping the poor or advancing medical research, conditions that have no other options than struggling forward at great cost.

And Your Torah, What Will Be Of It?

I suspect, though, that the worries about mixing with those around us are not the central ones keeping Orthodox Jews from utilizing society’s resources for a General Studies education.  The experience of the Jewish community of the mid-40s and 50s, where Talmud Torah education proved wholly inadequate to transmit even the basic grounding in Torah, mitsvot, and Jewish thought seemed to highlight the necessity of a Jewish education that covered the whole school day, in which the environment of the school was one of Jewish values and ideals throughout the day.

Again, I do not write to disagree with that assessment, I write to note the cost of that reality.  First, what was true back then would not necessarily have to be true today.  Talmud Torahs may have failed for many reasons no longer relevant to our discussion. Most importantly, it seems to me, Talmud Torahs were not given nearly enough time to be successful.

The issue of time sits at the center of why any public school use plan could not work.  If Jewish students were going to be in public schools for seven hours a day five days a week, it would leave too little time for meaningful Torah education.  But much of that is because we are not willing or able to insist that our students use the tracts of free time left to them for their Torah education.

Students who finish school at 3pm—as the public schools do—could, at least at older ages, take up to an hour break, and still have three full hours for Torah study.  This would mean their day ended at 7pm, I understand, which may be too rigorous a schedule for us to contemplate.  It would certainly cut into the amount of time these students had for piano, art, ballet, and sports.  Of course, in more “right-wing” Jewish communities, the school day ends at 7 and is focused even more fully on Torah studies. 

And, to offer a fully meaningful Jewish education, that would not be the end of the story.  We would need to insist that our students also spend at least two hours on Shabbatot and another 3-4 on Sundays.  Such a schedule, I note, would still only give them 17-20 hours a week of Torah study, as compared to the thirty or more they would be getting on the General Studies side.  Over the course of a 38-week school year, that is a deficit of some 380 hours just to reach parity.

Here, the structure of public education offers us another untapped opportunity.  Whereas many Modern and Centrist parents accept the necessity of a ten-week summer vacation, we might alter that expectation, and sandwich a summer school (for Torah studies only) around two two-week vacations. The middle six weeks could have a full four to five hours of Torah studies a day, six days a week, with camp-like activities for the rest of those days, at the very least cutting into the deficit that our school year created.

I don’t offer these numbers or ideas with any sense that they could be seen as practical; I offer them to show an example of what we reject as impossible and the consequences thereof.  The system I outlined, impractical as it is, would cost the Jewish community significantly less than Jewish education does now, and would, if we tallied it all up, likely give our students close to the amount of Torah studies they get now, and perhaps more (in many schools, students get a maximum of three hours a day for the 180 official school days of the year).

I imagine other benefits of such a system, but there is little point in elaborating on them, since there is no way it would be implemented.  Let me close, then, by considering out loud why there is no way.  Well, first and foremost, parents and students would bristle at the rigors of the program—so much learning? Kids having to be in school until 7 every night? Having to spend their summers with a full half-day of Torah learning? Having to spend significant parts of Sunday morning studying Torah rather than playing ball, taking dance, or learning an instrument?  Rushing off on Shabbat to learn rather than hang out with friends and family?

The impossible is impossible, I agree; but using it as a mirror lets us see ourselves as we otherwise might not, lets us recognize our most basic commitments, the goals most important to us, and those that we will let slip by the wayside if circumstances dictate.  Whatever is left, then, is not necessarily the truth, it’s the percentage of the truth we are able to tolerate.

1. a quality I personally seek, as in my Mission of Orthodoxy posts, at blog.webyeshiva.org

                The multi-faceted practical dimensions of faith and spirituality were explored over the course of several sessions at the conference, and suggestions made for trying to address at least some of the difficulties that participants felt were being experienced in this regard by their communities, families as well as themselves. In the past, some of the topics raised at the ChampionsGate conferences have become focal points for year-long thought, discussion and programming, and I certainly hope that thinking collectively and seriously undertaking to substantively improve the nature of Modern Orthodox belief and religious commitment will continue well beyond the July meetings in Florida.

                If any one Mitzva is particularly bound up with faith and spirituality, it is prayer. It seems to me that the underlying assumptions of three specific Halachot associated with the Amida (the Silent Devotion), the climax and cornerstone of each Jewish prayer service, can serve as reference points for the mindset that ChaZaL assumed to be a prerequisite for engaging in prayer in a truly profound manner. Identifying such a mindset, and then determining approaches that can best engender, preserve and advance this type of sensibility should, in my opinion, serve as part of considerations of faith and spirituality that should inform our entire lives.

1)    Shulchan Aruch, Orech Chayim 90:1

       The one who is praying should not stand on a bed or a chair or on a bench, even if they are no higher than three Tefachim (12”) (off the ground), and not on a high place, except if he is elderly or unwell or his intention is to cause his words to be heard by the congregation.

2)    Ibid. 5

        He should not pray in an open area like a field because when he is in a place that is “modest” (“Tzniyut”—enclosed?), the fear of the King takes effect and his heart is broken.

3)    Ibid. 19

        One should establish a place for his prayers, which he should not change without need. And it is insufficient that he establishes a single synagogue in which to pray, but rather within the synagogue that he has established (as his place to pray), it is necessary that there be for him a permanent place.

                It is easy enough to understand that these three directives are simply intended to allow a person to concentrate as much as possible on what he is saying. If a person is not used to standing in a high place,[1] if he is in an open setting which is susceptible to interruptions due to passersby, animal life, or meteorological events, if he constantly changes his venue, sight lines and the congregants next to whom he prays, focusing on prayer which is difficult under the best of circumstances, will become well-nigh impossible. The extent to which ideally, the ability to focus one’s attention on his prayers might even dictate whether one prays at all, is reflected in the following dictum of RaMBaM:

Mishneh Tora, Hilchot Tefilla U’Nesiat Kapayim 4:15

The intention of the heart, “Keitzad” (to what extent does it play a role in fulfilling the Commandment to pray)? Any prayer that is not accompanied with intention is not a prayer. And if a person prayed without intention, he should go back and pray with intention. If a person recognizes that his mind is confused and his heart troubled, it is prohibited for him to pray until his mind is settled. Therefore, a person who is returning from a trip and he is tired and troubled, it is prohibited for him to pray until his mind is settled. The Sages have said, “Let him wait three days until his mind is settled and cools, and only afterwards should he pray.”[2]

But concern with intention is obviously not the focus of Ibid. 90:5, i.e., “the fear of the King takes effect and his heart is broken”, and when one studies the bases of the other two Halachot, a different consideration apparently informs them as well. The Talmud justifies avoiding standing in a high place during prayer, not because of some sort of physical precariousness leading to mental distraction, but rather due to a spiritual consideration based upon a verse from Tehillim:

Berachot 10b

Said R. Yosi b’Rabi Chanina in the name of R. Eliezer ben Yaakov: A person should not stand in an elevated place and pray, but rather in a low place and pray, as it is said, (Tehillim 130:1) “From the depths I have called You, HaShem.” It is taught by the Rabbis in a similar vein: A person should not stand upon a chair, a bench or an elevated place and pray but rather in a low place and pray, because there is no “loftiness”/”exaltedness” before God,[3] as it is said, “From the depths I have called You, HaShem.”

And with respect to the concept of “Makom Kavua”, the Talmud references a practice attributed to Avraham:

Berachot 6b

Said R. Chelbo that R. Huna said: Everyone who establishes a place for his prayer, the God of Avraham will Assist him. And when he passes away, they say concerning him, “What a humble individual! What a pious individual! He was among the students of our father, Avraham!” And concerning Avraham, how do we know that he had a permanent place (for prayer)? Because it is written, (Beraishit 19:27) “And Avraham got up early in the morning to the place where he had stood (“Amad)) there,” and the term “Amida” (in the Bible) (often) connotes prayer, as it is said, (Tehillim 106:30) “VeYa’amod Pinchos and he prayed.”[4]

The common denominator of these three sources associated with prayer is that in addition to making sure that the pray-er is positioned in such a manner that he will hopefully be able to concentrate on what he is saying, the cognitive experience must be accompanied by an equally profound  affective component that entails realizing a) one’s existential weakness when left to his own devices and his very real dependency upon God,[5] b) a sense of God’s Immanence and the resulting personal smallness[6] that comes about when one is in an enclosed space rather than out in the open, and c) the determination to incorporate prayer in one’s life to the point where there is a single place to which a person returns when he prays “early and often,” as opposed to approaching prayer in a haphazard and irregular fashion.

Whereas the members of the Modern Orthodox community, by virtue of so many of them having benefited from a day school education and the availability of fine translations and transliterations of the prayers that comprise the services throughout the year are more than capable of fulfilling the cognitive aspect of prayer should they so choose, the portion of this Mitzva that demands   that we realize that we are standing before God, that we are deeply humbled by the realization of in Whose Presence we are standing, and that we are expected to return again and again to reexperience and thereby recall the personal limitations that being in God’s Presence call to mind, is largely absent from MO shuls and schools. Speaking recently with a colleague about day school prayer services, I was told that because these students’ lives are so comfortable, they have difficulty articulating what they “need.” I responded that in addition to “Bakasha” (request), prayer is also about “Hoda’ah” (thanksgiving). What about impressing upon these young people their need to express appreciation for the situations in which they find themselves? Furthermore, even if one, Baruch HaShem, is not presently confronting daunting difficulties of health, mortality, maintaining employment, etc., shouldn’t prayer involve pleading that our admittedly positive situations not deteriorate and change dramatically?   But again this would require someone not only to understand the words of prayer, but also truly believe that God is directly Involved in his life and the lives of those dear to him. Working to bring about not only shuls that allow congregants to concentrate, but also promote a sense of meaningful relation with God will hopefully be one of the foci of the continuing discussions that were begun at this past ChampionsGate conference. If faith and spirituality can be enhanced within the context of the prayer experience, there is the real possibility that such sensibilities will spill over into other dimensions of our lives. 

[2] Hagahot Maimoniyot #20 notes that according to Tosafot, this is not the practiced Halacha since in general (even without having travelled) our intention during prayer is poor. In effect, this commentator suggests,  the entire Mitzva would be rendered moot were we to insist upon appropriate intention. But that should not mean that we should simply ignore this entire dimension of the prayer experience. While our “successful” prayer experiences may be few and far between, nevertheless to pray with intention remains an ideal to which we must aspire. While we might not be in control of our internal states of mind,  any external impediments that might disrupt prayer like being in a perilous or strange environment obviously should be eliminated wherever possible.

[3] While some individuals when compared to fellow human beings, have attained outstanding levels of achievement and notoriety, when standing before God, such status becomes irrelevant since God is so much Greater than anything that one of our species can achieve.

[4] Although “VaYipallel” should more likely be interpreted as “and he judged”, the root “P-L-L” is also very much associated with prayer because of the reflexive form of the verb, “VaYitpallel.”

[5] MaLBIM on Tehillim 130:1 notes that even if one has experienced material and physical success and feels that he is standing “on top of the world”, his spiritual inadequacies and transgressions that have distanced him from God should result in an attitude of lowliness at least during times of prayer.

[6] RaMBaM captures this particular state of mind when he describes the sensibility of fear of God:

Mishneh Tora, Hilchot Yesodei HaTora 2:2

…And when he thinks about these things (i.e., how amazing the various aspects of God’s Creation actually are), immediately he trembles,  steps backwards and is fearful and realizes that he is a tiny, lowly insignificant creature who stands with an inferior incompetent mind before the Perfect Intelligence…

• Editor’s Note: “He Thought She Was Drunk” by Shalom Carmy
• Towards a Jewish Bioethic: The Case of Truth-Telling by Judah L. Goldberg
• The Limits of Religious Optimism: The Hazon Ish and the Altar of Novardok on Bittahon by Daniel Stein
• The Metaphysics of Property Interests in Jewish Law: An Analysis of Kinyan by J. David Bleich
• Book Review: Fresh Fruit and Vintage Wine: The Ethics and Wisdom of the Aggada by Yitchak Blau, Reviewed by Simi Peters
• Hair Covering and Jewish Law: A Response – Eli Baruch Shulman and Michael J. Broyde
• Communications

But that’s a mirage, because it wouldn’t happen so obviously; it would happen more something like this:

It wouldn’t be Moshe Rabbenu who came to announce our need to leave behind not only our residences but our whole way of approaching the world (as my father a”h used to say each year at the Seder—we were freed not only physically and spiritually from Egypt, but culturally, leaving behind their worldview along with everything else).  As my teacher, R. Dr. Haym Soloveitchik used to point out, the Raavad (or other great rabbis) were never born; Avremel (or Moishele) were born, and later became the Raavad, Rambam, Ramban, or whoever.

So this prophet wouldn’t be someone instantly recognizable as the greatest leader of our history.  It would, instead, be a member of a prominent Jewish family, perhaps with a sibling who was a leader of the Jewish community, but who had spent years out of the country because he had run afoul of the law.  And, by the way, we should assume that while some people would recognize he had been right in whatever supposed crime he had committed, others would be equally confident that he was a criminal, that the government had been right to prosecute him.

So after years of hiding, with little or no contact with the US Jewish community, he’d come back one day, with the news that God was going to free us of all our attachments to the United States.  Here, the analogy breaks down somewhat, because the US is a benevolent country, completely unlike Egypt; if we focus instead on how the US and the West in general has enslaved much of the Jewish community to its worldview—and this not by coercion, but by how attractive and sensible that worldview seems—we can get back to the hypothetical.

To be a little clearer on what I mean, this Moses might come to free us of our mistaken attachment to Western sexual ethics, to the Western view of the sanctity of life (in which abortion and euthanasia are both reasonable possibilities), and to the extreme Western version of devotion to science, in which scientific principles regularly deny God’s power or ability to intervene or abrogate what are deemed laws of Nature (an attitude, incidentally, that carries over into other disciplines—historians, for example, will not only deny the role of Providence as a practical matter of making it impossible to prove anything; they will, many of them, deny it axiomatically).

So Moses and his brother—whose judgment will rapidly become questionable, as it becomes clear just how much he is being influenced by the returned prodigal—would manage to get in to see the President, without authorization.  Their success in that, of course, would be the result of an unexplained breakdown in security, not because of any higher Power supporting them.

Once in the Oval Office, this Moses type would convey his message to the President, with the warning that God would visit terrible punishments should that message be ignored. To prove his point, his brother would throw his walking stick on the floor, to have it turn into a snake.

But in the twenty-first century, one of the President’s science advisors would just have discovered that a certain species of snake, when handled by a threatening predator, becomes stiff as a staff until the danger passes.  Racing back to his office, he, too, would produce a stick that turns into a snake on release.

So Moses would threaten the water supply (and, miraculously, the President would not jail him for making the threat); when, soon after, e coli or other dangerous materials turned up in the water, making it undrinkable, the President’s security analysts would deny the miracle, demonstrating numerous holes in our water security, so that any madman could do that.

Then, perhaps, nothing would happen for a few weeks (or months), but one day, this Moses would return, announcing that frogs are going to start dying all over the world.  When that prediction started coming true (as, incidentally, is happening today), scientists would be puzzled, but would offer numerous hypotheses—none of which could yet be established conclusively, but they would be completely confident that more study would certainly eventually offer a fully natural explanation.

If you’ve read with me to this point, I suspect you reject the hypothetical as simple-minded, for one of two main reasons.  Either you think that it’s silly to think such a thing could happen today (as if to say that God only had the power back then to produce such changes of nature), or because you feel confident we’d get it this time.

Aside from the fact that we’ve had numerous problems with drinking water in the last little while—not to mention more than one major natural disaster, hurricanes, floods, earthquakes, with no little loss of life—I was struck by Bergdorf Goodman’s recent announcement that they were going to start patrolling their stores with specially trained dogs, who would sniff out any bedbug infestations that might occur. This happened, I believe, because another chain store had had to close down a store to try to deal with their own bedbug problem, as have some high-end hotels.

Now, bedbugs are not lice—the customary translation of כנים—so maybe this is totally different.  And perhaps readers will point out that we didn’t have a prophet announce these plagues ahead of time.  Perhaps those are, in fact, crucial differences, and none of the recent events (even just in the US—9/11, Hurricane Katrina, raging wildfires, mudslides, flooding of several rivers, contamination of various water supplies, wildlife disasters, economic dislocation of a once in a generation variety, and, now bedbug infestations—not to mention tsunamis, earthquakes, and mudslides in other parts of the world) have any connection to God.  Although I cannot resist noting that bedbugs would be a particularly poetic way for God to react the US’ leading role in rejecting God’s morality around an activity that mostly takes place in bed.

But I am no prophet, nor the son of a prophet, so I cannot say any of this with any confidence.  Rather, I am here to ask a question one step more theoretical: If God decided to communicate with us in a time when prophecy had not yet been restored, and God’s message was that we needed to question fundamental assumptions we make about the culture we inhabit, how would God communicate that? Good times wouldn’t do it, because it is in the nature of good times to feed on themselves, for people to assume that things are going largely well, that God is largely happy with us (otherwise, why give us good times?).

Denying the possibility that God is communicating with us by sending more difficult times, we close off, it seems to me, all God’s options for getting that message across.  In only the last decade, many Orthodox Jews, including leading rabbis, have rejected the possibility that cataclysms (let alone personal struggles, whether economic or medical) are God’s call to radically change our ways.

Is that really only because no prophet said so ahead of time? After all, plenty of thinkers, Jewish or otherwise, have tried to encourage us to think in such ways; they have not predicted the events, but have offered interpretations after the fact, only to be ridiculed.  And ridiculed, I note, not just because such people give often offer overly unidimensional, unsophisticated, unnuanced, or otherwise flawed readings of events.  Repeatedly, I encounter seemingly Orthodox Jews who reject the possibility that major natural problems—including bedbug infestations—come from God, for whatever reason.

And if you reject that out of hand, is it really true that having a prophet named Moses—who only later would become Moshe Rabbenu– say ahead of time that this is why it is happening would be enough to change your mind?

The Philosophical Telos

One important authority who has discussed this issue is the רמב”ם. He has a rather lengthy discussion regarding the teleology of the הלכה in the מורה נבוכים. The following are some of the highlights.

מורה נבוכים ג:כז (תרגום אבן-תיבון)

כונת כלל התורה שני דברים: והם תיקון הנפש ותיקון הגוף. אמנם, תיקון הנפש הוא שיתנו להמון דעות אמיתיות כפי יכלתם; ומפני זה יהיה קצתם בפירוש וקצתם במשל, שאין בטבע ההמון לסבול השגת הענין ההוא כפי מה שהוא. ואמנם תיקון הגוף יהיה כתיקון ענייני מחייתם קצתם עם קצתם …

ודע ששתי הכוונות האלה  האחת מהן בלא ספק קודמת במעלה. והוא תיקון הנפש, רוצני לומר: נתינת הדעות האמיתיות. והשנית קודמת בטבע ובזמן, רוצני לומר: תיקון הגוף; והוא הנהגת המדינה ותיקון ענייני אנשיה כפי היכולת. וזאת השנית היא הצריכה יותר תחילה, והיא אשר הפליג לדקדק בה ולדקדק בחלקיה כולם, מפני שאין יכולת להגיע אל הכוונה הראשונה אלא אחר שיגיעו אל השנית הזאת …

והתורה האמיתית אשר בארנו שהיא אחת ושאין זולתה, והיא תורת משה רבינו, אמנם באה לתת לנו שתי השלמיות יחד, תקון ענייני בני אדם קצתם עם קצתם בהסיר העוול ובקנות המדות הטובות המעולות, עד שתתכן עמידת אנשי הארץ והתמדתם על סדר אחד להגיע כל אחד מהם אל שלמותו הראשון, לתיקון האמונות, ונתינת דעות אמתיות כאשר יגיע השלמות האחרון. וכבר כתבה התורה ב׳ השלומיות, והגידה אלינו שתכלית אלו התורות כולם היא להגיע אליהם …  

The general object of the Law is twofold: the well-being of the soul, and the well-being of the body. The well-being of the soul is promoted by correct opinions communicated to the people according to their capacity. Some of these opinions are therefore imparted in a plain form, others allegorically: because certain opinions are in their plain form too strong for the capacity of the common people. The well-being of the body is established by a proper management of the relations in which we live one to another…

Of these two objects, the one, the well-being of the soul, or the communication of correct opinions, comes undoubtedly first in rank, but the other, the well-being of the body, the government of the state, and the establishment of the best possible relations among men, is anterior in nature and time. The latter object is required first; it is also treated [in the Law] most carefully and most minutely, because the well-being of the soul can only be obtained after that of the body has been secured. For it has already been found that man has a double perfection: the first perfection is that of the body, and the second perfection is that of the soul…

The true Law, which as we said is one, and beside which there is no other Law, viz., the Law of our teacher Moses, has for its purpose to give us the twofold perfection. It aims first at the establishment of good mutual relations among men by removing injustice and creating the noblest feelings. In this way the people in every land are enabled to stay and continue in one condition, and every one can acquire his first perfection. Secondly, it seeks to train us in faith, and to impart correct and true opinions when the intellect is sufficiently developed. Scripture clearly mentions the twofold perfection, and tells us that its acquisition is the object of all the divine commandments…. (Translation: M. Friedländer)

This רמב”ם is consistent with the רמב”ם’s greater philosophies on health, beliefs, and טעמי המצוות. He writes in various places in חלק ג’ of his מורה נבוכים that the reason for God’s commanding several מצוות was to prevent us from ingesting unhealthy foods or practicing something not conducive to good health. The רמב”ם maintains that non-kosher food is prohibited since it is unhealthy and repulsive, as he writes later in the מורה:

“כי כל מה שאסרתו התורה עלינו מן המאכלים— מזונם מגונה.”[1]

Additionally, the רמב”ם maintains that the purpose of other Scriptural commands is to eradicate incorrect beliefs and character traits and inculcate correct ones. One need not look further than ג:לה of the מורה for confirmation of these statements. There, the רמב”ם writes that the point of most מצוות is to establish and perpetuate specific principles—both general philosophical ones and ones specific to Jewish Divine worship—throughout the nation.[2] As a leading medical and philosophical authority, it is not surprising that the רמב”ם should adopt this specific teleology of the הלכה.

A Methodological Difficulty

It seems at this point that we have found the answer to our question according to the רמב”ם. For him, the telos of הלכה is twofold: to perfect ourselves both physio-biologically and religio-ethically. However, there is a very large difficulty with this רמב”ם. To understand this question, we must first ask another question: What does it mean to say that something is the goal of the הלכה? What implications does it carry? The answer to this question is related back to the הלכה itself and its inner workings and mechanisms. The question of “what is the telos of the הלכה?” is identical with that of “what is the most important consideration of the הלכה?” We now have the background to understand the aforementioned challenge to the רמב”ם, which is that we do not find that the הלכה cares about health[3] and instilling correct beliefs.[4] Indeed, they seem nugatory inasmuch as they are not major factors in the halachic decision making process. Therefore, we are forced to superimpose a significant qualification on the רמב”ם previously cited. That רמב”ם was only referring to the philosophical purpose of the הלכה, not the halachic one.

Philosophical Reasons and Halachic Reasons- The Case of שילוח הקן

To better comprehend this distinction between philosophical and halachic reasons for commandments, we will briefly discuss a famous apparent contradiction within the רמב”ם involving his opinion vis-à-vis the מצוה of שילוח הקן and טעמי המצוות in general.

The impetus for this discussion is a fascinating גמרא.

ברכות ה:ג (לג:) ועיין מגילה ד:ט (כה.)

האומר: על קן ציפור יגיעו רחמיך… משתקים אותו.

If one [in praying] says ‘may Thy mercies extend to a bird’s nest’… he is silenced. (Translation: Soncino)

גמרא שם

… אלא על קן צפור יגיעו רחמיך, מאי טעמא? פליגי בה תרי אמוראי במערבא: ר’ יוסי בר אבין ור’ יוסי בר זבידא. חד אמר מפני שמטיל קנאה במעשה בראשית, וחד אמר מפני שעושה מידותיו של הקב”ה רחמים ואינן אלא גזירות.

But what is the reason for silencing him if he says ‘Thy mercies extend to the bird’s nest? Two Amoraim in the West, R. Jose b. Abin and R. Jose b. Zebida, give different answers; one ‘says it is because he creates jealousy among God’s creatures, the other, because he presents the measures taken by the Holy One, blessed be He, as springing from compassion, whereas they are but decrees. (Translation: Soncino)

Anti טעמי המצוות

This discussion would indicate that מצוות in general, and especially שילוח הקן, have no reasons. This is what the רמב”ם writes explicitly in the following sources.

פירוש המשניות להרמב”ם: ברכות ה:ג (תרגום אבן-תיבון)

ענין מה שאמרו: “על קן ציפור יגיעו רחמיך,” שיאמר: כמו שחמלת על קן הציפור ואמרת “לא תקח האם על הבנים,”[5] כן רחם עלינו. וכל מי שאמר כן בתפילתו משתקים אותו, מפני שהוא תולה טעם זאת המצוה בחמלת הקב”ה על העוף, ואין הדבר כן. שאילו היה מדרך רחמנות לא ציוה לשחוט חיה ועוף כלל. אבל היא מצוה מקובלת, אין לה טעם.

The meaning of what (our Sages) said “Your mercy extends to the bird’s nest,” is that the (prayer leader) will say: ‘just as you have been merciful to the bird’s nest in saying ‘do not take the mother along with her children,’ so, too, you should be merciful to us.’ And anyone who says thus in his prayer should be silenced, since he identifies the reason for this commandment as God’s mercy over the bird, and this is not correct. Since if it were that the commandment stems from merciful conduct, (God) would not have commanded the slaughter of animal and birds at all. Rather, it is an accepted commandment without a reason. (Translation: E.M.S)

פירוש המשניות להרמב”ם : מגילה ד:ט (תרגום אבן-תיבון)

“ועל קן ציפור יגיעו רחמיך,” לפי שהטעם אינו מצד רחמניות מהשם יתברך באומרו “לא תקח האם על הבנים,”[6] אבל היא גזירת הכתוב.

(The issue with saying in prayer) “Your mercy extends to the bird’s nest” is because the reason is not because of merciful considerations from the Holy Blessed One in his saying “do not take the mother along with the children,” rather it is a Scriptural decree. (Translation: E.M.S)

משנה תורה: הלכות תפילה ט:ז

מי שאמר בתחנונים: מי שריחם על קן ציפור שלא ליקח האם על הבנים או שלא לשחוט אותו ואת בנו ביום אחד ירחם עלינו וכיוצא בענין זה, משתקין אותו, מפני שמצוות אלו גזירות הכתוב הן ואינן רחמים. שאילו היו מפני רחמים לא היה מתיר לנו שחיטה כל עיקר.

One who says in his supplicatory prayers: “May He who showed mercy on a bird’s nest prohibiting the taking of the mother together with the chicks, or the slaughter of an animal and its calf on the same day, also show mercy on us,” or [makes other] similar statements should be silenced, because these mitzvot are God’s decrees and not [expressions] of mercy. Were they [expressions] of mercy, He would not permit us to slaughter at all. (Translation: Moznaim)

Pro טעמי המצוות

However, this position seems to contradict the רמב”ם’s classical view discussed earlier that מצוות do have reasons. This is expressed in the following מקורות both in general idea and specific cases.

משנה תורה: הלכות מעילה ח:ח

ראוי לאדם להתבונן במשפטי התורה הקדושה ולידע סוף ענינם כפי כחו… והמשפטים הן המצוות שטעמן גלוי וטובת עשייתן בעולם הזה ידועה, כגון איסור גזל ושפיכות דמים וכיבוד אב ואם. והחוקים הן המצוות שאין טעמן ידוע. אמרו חכמים: “חוקים חקתי לך ואין לך רשות להרהר בהן.”[7] … והקדימה תורה ציווי על החוקים, שנאמר: “ושמרתם את חקותי ואת משפטי אשר יעשה אותם האדם וחי בהם.”[8]

It is appropriate for a person to meditate on the judgments of the holy Torah and know their ultimate purpose according to his capacity…. The judgments are those mitzvot whose motivating rationale is openly revealed and the benefit of their observance in this world is known, e.g., the prohibitions against robbery and bloodshed and honoring one’s father and mother. The decrees are the mitzvot whose motivating rationales are not known. Our Sages said: “I ordained decrees and you have no license to question them…” the Torah gave precedence to the command for the decrees, as Leviticus 18:5 states: “And you shall heed My decrees and judgments which a person will perform and live through them.” (Translation: Moznaim)

משנה תורה: הלכות תמורה ד:יג

… אף על פי שכל חוקי התורה גזירות הם כמו שביארנו בסוף מעילה, ראוי להתבונן בהן וכל מה שאתה יכול ליתן לו טעם תן לו טעם. הרי אמרו חכמים הראשונים שהמלך שלמה הבין רוב הטעמים של כל חוקי התורה…

Although all of the statutes of the Torah are decrees, as we explained in the conclusion of Hilchot Me’ilah, it is fit to meditate upon them and wherever it is possible to provide a reason, one should provide a reason. The Sages of the early generations said that King Solomon understood most of the rationales for all the statutes of the Torah. (Translation: Moznaim)

מורה נבוכים ג:מח (תרגום אבן-תיבון)

וכן נאסר לשחוט אותו ואת בנו ביום אחד, סייג והרחקה, שמא ישחט מהם הבן לפני האם, כי צער בעלי חיים בכך גדול מאוד… וזהו הטעם גם בשילוח הקן… ואל תקשה עלי באומרם ז”ל: “האומר על קן צפור יגיעו רחמיך” וגו’, כי זו אחת משתי הסברות אשר הזכרנום, כלומר, השקפת מי שסובר שאין טעם למצוות אלא הרצון המופשט, ואנו הלא הלכנו אחרי ההשקפה השניה.

The same reason applies to the law which enjoins that we should let the mother fly away when we take the young. The eggs over which the bird sits, and the young that are in need of their mother, are generally unfit for food, and when the mother is sent away she does not see the taking of her young ones, and does not feel any pain. In most cases, however, this commandment will cause man to leave the whole nest untouched, because [the young or the eggs], which he is allowed to take, are, as a rule, unfit for food. If the Law provides that such grief should not be caused to cattle or birds, how much more careful must we be that we should not cause grief to our fellowmen. When in the Talmud  those are blamed who use in their prayer the phrase, “Thy mercy extendeth to young birds,” it is the expression of the one of the two opinions mentioned by us, namely, that the precepts of the Law have no other reason but the Divine will. We follow the other opinion. (Translation: M. Friedländer)

The Resolution of the בן ידיד

The רמב”ם here writes clearly that he does not accept the opinion in the גמרא that the מצוות are just גזירות, yet he rules like that opinion twice in the פירוש המשניות and again in the משנה תורה. Many commentators on the רמב”ם have attempted to resolve this contradiction. However, the explanation most cogent and compelling is that of the בן ידיד.[9]

בן ידיד: פירוש על המשנה תורה: הלכות תפילה ט:ז

כאן נטה להלכה אחר דעת מי שאמר שמדותיו גזירות. ובספר מורה נבוכים חלק ג’ פרק מ”ח נטה אחר דעת מי שאמר שמטיל קנאה אבל מידותיו רחמים, ועיין שם בפירוש הרב שם טוב ז”ל. והנראה לי כפשוטו, דכיון דבכמה מקומות אמרינן בש”ס “גזירת הכתוב היא,” וקיימא לן שלא נתגלו טעמי תורה, לפיכך להלכה פסק כמאן דאמר שמידותיו גזירות. והתם בספר המורה נתן דעתו למצוא לכל המצוות טעם, ונתן טעם גם לזו. וכמו שכתב, וזה לשונו: “ואנחנו נמשכנו אחר הדעת השנייה,” עד כאן. פירוש: דבאותו ספר נמשך לתת טעם לכל המצוות. ואין הכי נמי, דלהלכה תפסינן דמדותיו גזירות. ועיין שם באותו חלק פרק כ”ו באורך. וסבירא ליה לרבינו דלדרוש שרי, וכמו שעשה הוא, וכהמדרש רבה פרשת תצא, וכהתרגום יונתן בפרשיות אמור ותצא, עיין שם, ולמעבד עובדא לא נהגינן. כן נראה לי ברור. ועיין מה שהאריך בספר מעשה רוקח ועיין בתוספות יום טוב (פ”ט) [פ"ה] דברכות, וקשה לי.

In this passage he was inclined to accept on the halachic level the opinion that (we silence the worshiper who states during prayer “Your mercy extends to the bird’s nest” since) God’s commandments are merely decrees (in the debate in the Gemara in Megilah 25a and Berachot 33b). However, in The Guide for the Perplexed section three chapter forty-eight, he was inclined to accept the (opposing) opinion that (we silence him since) he is engendering jealousy (among the creatures), but God’s commandments are merciful. Vide there in the commentary of R. Shem Tov, o.b.m. And it seems to me to explicate according to the simple meaning, that since in several places in the Talmud we say “it is a Scriptural decree,” and we have a tradition that the reasons for commandments were never revealed, he therefore decided on the halachic level according to the one who says that God’s commandments are merely decrees. However, there in the Guide for the Perplexed, he set out to discover a reason for every commandment, and he consequently gave a reason for this one (i.e. sending away the mother bird), as well. And this is what he wrote, saying “and we have accepted the second opinion” (i.e. that commandments have reasons). Explanation: that in that book he wanted to give a reason for all the commandments. Admittedly, we accept on the halachic level that the commandments are merely decrees. And vide in that section chapter twenty-six at length. And our master (i.e. Maimonides) is of the opinion that to expound (and find a reason for this commandment) is permitted, like he himself did, and as did the Midrash Rabbah in the Torah portion of “Teitzey” and as did Targum Pseudo-Jonathan in the Torah portions of “Emor” and “Teitzey,” vide there. However, we do not conduct ourselves based on this fact (i.e. the reasons do not affect the final laws). This seems clear to me. But, vide the Ma’aseh Rokeach’s long treatment of the subject, and vide the Tosafot Yom Tov in the fifth chapter of tractate Berachot, (both of which) I find difficult. (Translation: E.M.S.)

The key point from this בן ידיד is that the רמב”ם accepts טעמי המצוות, but in the realm of השקפה, not הלכה. [10] This means that philosophically, the רמב”ם maintains that there are real reasons for commandments, but they are not legally significant. If we accept טעמי המצוות at all, then this idea that טעמי המצוות is only operative in the realm of השקפה makes sense by reductio ad absurdum. If we say that טעמי המצוות carry halachic significance, then that means that the הלכה would change based on whether or not that טעם is being accomplished. Since the individual experiences the law—and thus the reasoning behind it—subjectively and relatively, then for each person the הלכה could change into an idiosyncratic and nebulous collection of observances, spelling the end of the halachic system. This is clearly untenable, and thus טעמי המצוות cannot influence the הלכה.[11]

This is an intriguing idea that the בן ידיד has. That we can accept one view להלכה while retaining the diametrically opposed view “להשקפה” is quite remarkable. Of course, as with all grand resolutions involving ראשונים, especially those of the רמב”ם, we must not get ahead of ourselves. This explanation seems to belittle the רמב”ם’s dominant rationalist tradition of טעמי המצוות. Regardless, this distinction is brilliant and can help us think in distinct paradigms that allow us to better understand the רמב”ם’s philosophical and legal conceptualizations.

The Halachic Telos

Now that we can distinguish clearly between halachic reasons and philosophical ones, we shall return to our revised question: what is the most halachically significant factor? The way by which we shall answer this question is by identifying the halachic reasons behind the largest mitigating factors that exist in הלכה. In other words, the הלכה’s true purpose can be seen by understanding in what cases and for what reasons it allows itself to be all but overridden.

The two most powerful mitigating factors in הלכה are those of פיקוח נפש and הוראת שעה. Both of these factors have the ability to override Biblical prohibitions, to the exclusion of all others. Indeed, there are other factors that carry much weight in the halachic decision making process, such as כבוד הבריות, דרכי שלום, איבה, שלום בית, and others. However, these factors generally only operate on a דרבנן level.[12]

Halachic Reasoning behind פיקוח נפש

First, we will identify the halachic reason behind the imperative of פיקוח נפש.

שבת קנא:

תניא רבן שמעון בן גמליאל אומר: תינוק בן יומו חי, מחללין עליו את השבת. דוד מלך ישראל מת, אין מחללין עליו את השבת. תינוק בן יומו חי מחללין עליו את השבת— אמרה תורה: חלל עליו שבת אחד כדי שישמור שבתות הרבה. דוד מלך ישראל מת—אין מחללין עליו. כיון שמת אדם, בטל מן המצוות.

It was taught, R. Simeon b. Gamaliel said: For a day-old infant the Sabbath is desecrated; for David, King of Israel, dead, the Sabbath must not be desecrated. ‘For a day-old infant the Sabbath is desecrated’: the Torah ordered, Desecrate one Sabbath on his account so that he may keep many Sabbaths. ‘For David, King of Israel, dead, the Sabbath must not be desecrated’: Once man dies he is free from [all] obligations. (Translation: Soncino)

The גמרא introduces the idea of desecrating one שבת in order that the one for whom שבת was desecrated should be able to observe many more שבתות. The last line of the גמרא summarizes the reasoning behind the discrepancy in rulings. After one dies, he or she is פטור from observing any מצוה. This means that the command and leniency of פיקוח נפש only exists when there is a potential for the Jew to keep obeying the Torah. In other words, the halachic telos of פיקוח נפש is the הלכה’s own continuity.[13][14]

Halachic Reasoning behind הוראת שעה

Now we shall study the ruling of הוראת שעה, when a  בית דיןcan temporarily suspend or abrogate a מצוה in particularly dire circumstances.

רמב”ם: הלכות ממרים ב:ד

… שאפילו דברי תורה יש לכל בית דין לעקרו הוראת שעה. כיצד? בית דין שראו לחזק הדת ולעשות סייג כדי שלא יעברו העם על דברי תורה מכין ועונשין שלא כדין, אבל אין קובעין הדבר לדורות ואומרים שהלכה כך הוא. וכן אם ראו לפי שעה לבטל מצות עשה או לעבור על מצות לא תעשה כדי להחזיר רבים לדת או להציל רבים מישראל מלהיכשל בדברים אחרים, עושין לפי מה שצריכה השעה.

…Any court has the authority to abrogate the words of the Torah as a temporary measure. What is implied? If a court sees that it is necessary to strengthen the faith and create a safeguard so that the people will not violate Torah law, they may apply beatings and punishments that are not sanctioned by Torah. They may not, however, establish the matter for posterity and say that this is the halachah. Similarly, if they saw that temporarily it was necessary to nullify a positive commandment or violate a negative commandment in order to bring people at large back to the Jewish faith or to prevent many Jews from transgressing in other matters, they may do what is necessary at that time. (Translation: Moznaim)

This case seems to have the same reason as the preceding one, viz. to ensure the הלכה’s own basic stability.[15] If this did not seem clear yet, the רמב”ם’s next line proves our theory beyond a shadow of a doubt.

שם

כשם שהרופא חותך ידו או רגלו של זה כדי שיחיה כולו כך בית דין מורים בזמן מן הזמנים לעבור על קצת מצוות לפי שעה כדי שיתקיימו כולם, כדרך שאמרו חכמים הראשונים: “חלל עליו שבת אחת כדי שישמור שבתות הרבה.

To explain by analogy: Just like a doctor may amputate a person’s hand or foot so that the person as a whole will live; so, too, at times, the court may rule to temporarily violate some of the commandments so that they will later keep all of them. In this vein, the Sages of the previous generations said: “Desecrate one Sabbath for a person’s sake so that he will keep many Sabbaths.” (Translation: Moznaim)

By connecting the previously seen idea of “חלל עליו שבת אחת כדי שישמור שבתות הרבה” with that of הוראת שעה in the medical metaphor for the מצוות, the רמב”ם makes unambiguous his conception of sometimes being able to sacrifice a part to keep the whole alive.[16] Or, in different phraseology, the הלכה forgoes one law so that the whole system can be sustained. Therefore, the answer to our question is that the halachic telos of the הלכה is its own continuity and integrity.[17]

Conclusions

As dry as it may seem, our thesis fits in as a corollary of the halachic טעמי המצוות: God decreed thus. Consequently, after all the dust settles, we end up with four ideas from the רמב”ם. On the philosophical level, we follow מצוות for various specific reasons, some of which are remembering God or staying away from unhealthy foodstuffs; however, on the halachic level, we obey commands simply because the Almighty has commanded us to do so. Similarly, on the philosophical level, the telos of the הלכה is to instill within us the correct values, beliefs, character traits, and health decisions; but, in contradistinction, the telos of the הלכה on the halachic level is its own proliferation and propagation.

* Elliot M. Salinger is a junior at the Maimonides School in Brookline, MA.

[2] The specifics of the reasons behind each מצוה or groups of מצוות are far beyond the scope of this article. However, the reader is highly encouraged to study כו-מט  פרקים of חלק ג’ of theמורה , where the רמב”ם’s full philosophical excursus regarding טעמי המצוות may be found.

[3] One might challenge this assertion with the statement of חז”ל that “חמירא סכנתא מאיסורא” (חולין י.), but this is not a consideration which carries with it much halachic force. All it can do is prohibit the otherwise permitted, but not the more radical converse.

[4] One might counter that in certain streams of Judaism, particularly that of the רמב”ם, beliefs and dogma have a large role to play, so it must be that they really are halachically significant. This is answered by saying that it is true that they themselves are important to the הלכה. However, we don’t find that beliefs qua lessons that emerge from obeying a מצוה having large roles in determining the הלכות of that מצוה, either by their presence or absence.

[5] דברים כב:ו

[6] Ibid

[7] יומא סז:

[8] ויקרא יח:ה

[9] The בן ידיד was authored by ר’ ידידיה שמואל טאריקה, who died circa 1769. The ספר is a lesser known פירוש on the משנה תורה in which many of the author’s responsa also appear. It was published in Thessaloniki in 1806. Among his other works are the חלקו של ידיד on the טור, the אמר ידיד on the סדרים of זרעים and מועד, and the קידש ידיד, which includes sermons for festivals and eulogies.

[10] Along with being very logically sound, as explained above, the בן ידיד’s distinction best fits the רמב”ם’s actual statement. The commentators cited at the end of the בן ידיד’s comment draw a distinction in the רמב”ם between philosophy and תפילה to explain this contradiction, thus resolving the specific issue of the רמב”ם’s statements on the מצוה ofשילוח הקן in the פירוש המשניות, משנה תורה, and מורה נבוכים. They say that mentioning something in the context of requesting something from God gives it an extra weightiness and seriousness. This is the reason why we cannot attribute a reason to a מצוה in prayer. This approach assumes that the רמב”ם’s real, fundamental position is that there are reasons for מצוות. This is slightly difficult since although this seems to be his consistent approach globally in the מורה and in the citations from הלכות תמורה and מעילה, the רמב”ם calls not only the מצוה of שילוח הקן aגזירת הכתוב, but he refers to several other הלכות and מצוות as such. For examples, videג:ד  הלכות תשובה regarding שופר, מקואות יא:יב  הלכות regarding טומאה and טהרה, יח:ו הלכות סנהדרין regarding the בית דין’s acceptance of testimony by two witnesses, יח:ג הלכות עדות regarding עדים זוממין, ו:ז הלכות ממרים regarding the extent of  כיבוד אב ואם, and ibid ז:יא regarding the fact that only a male can be considered a בן סורר ומורה. However, the בן ידיד’s distinction between law and philosophy works in all the cases. Whenever the רמב”ם discusses טעמי המצוות positively, it is in the context of a philosophical discussion. However, his statements in הלכות תפילה and the פירוש המשניות are all in a halachic context— he is describing the details of the הלכה. Additionally, in two out of three of the sources cited, he refutes the “רחמנות” argument for the reason for the commandment with a halachic disproof, indicating that the טעם does not function as a determining factor in the legal system, indicating that he does not accept טעמי המצוות on the halachic level.

[11] Truthfully, whether or not reasons for commandments, whether specified by a פסוק or not, can influence הלכה is a מחלוקת in the גמרא between רבי שמעון and רבי יהודה. This idea is referred to as דרשינן טעמא דקרא. Whether or not we rule like the opinion that, in fact, does maintain that we are דרשינן טעמא דקרא is also a disagreement. Even more complex is whether or not the רמב”ם, with whom this article is concerned, accepted this concept. It appears that, for a variety of intricate and complicated reasons, the רמב”ם was not even of the opinion that the concept even truly existed, and all the more so that he did not accept it להלכה. (I thank my teacher R. Yaakov Jaffe for informing me about this insight.) These details, however, lie far beyond the scope of this article.

[12] Vide ברכות יט.-כ:, which is the locus for the famous discussion regarding the halachic implications of כבוד הבריות. Admittedly, the status of כבוד הבריות vis-à-vis דאורייתא commands is complicated, but all opinions agree that it does not override a trueמצוה דאורייתא  (with the possible exception, of course, of adhering to מצוות דרבנן) in a way which involves proactive commission. For exceptions to the claim that more interpersonally-oriented concerns can only affect Rabbinic law, vide R. Aharon Lichtenstein’s “The Human and Social Factor in Halakha,” published in Tradition 36 (2002) pp. 89-114. פסק הלכה contains, by its very nature, a subjective element left up for the individual פוסק to decide based on the empirical situation. However, in general, the biblically mandated imperative of פקוח נפש and case of הוראת שעה are significantly more potent than their rabbinically derived cousins.

[13] Admittedly, what remains to be seen is how פיקוח נפש operates vis-à-vis other מצוות. Presumably, the same reasoning behind פיקוח נפש on שבת would apply to all other מצוות. The reason why we only state this reason in the case of שבת is because that is the most frequent case of פיקוח נפש that arises.

[14] This idea, that the Torah’s self-suspension for the sake of preserving life is in order to preserve Torah, might be referred to by the Talner Rebbe, R. Dr. Isadore Twersky, זצ”ל, in his article entitled “Aspects of Maimonides’ Epistemology: Halaka and Science,” published in From Ancient Israel to Modern Judaism: Intellect in Quest of Understanding in 1989 by Brown University. In footnote 39 on p. 14, as he describes פיקוח נפש, R. Dr. Twersky writes, “The teleology is all-important in understanding the differences between religion and medicine. The Torah, while not intending ‘its words the cure the body,’ is concerned with the well-being of the body… it delegated the means to the science of medicine. To put it differently, the Torah allows for its suspension in order to prolong life, but the teleology of life in turn is completely subordinate to the Torah.” (I thank my friend Avinoam J. Stillman for bringing this article to my attention.)

[15] Perhaps this is why the רמב”ם feels compelled to add that these rulings do not last indefinitely and that temporary ruling is never to be considered to be the actual הלכה. Doing so would be contrary to the entire point of הוראת שעה, which is preserving the integrity of the halachic system. Additionally, the רמב”ם mentions these two ideas in his brief discussion of הוראת שעה in הלכות סנהדרין כד:ד. There is, however, a more broad type of הוראת שעה in Judaism, which is that of a נביא. The רמב”ם codifies these הלכות in הלכות יסודי התורה ט:ג-ה. This kind of הוראת שעה is very widely applicable, and seems to contradict the very foundations of the halachic system and process. Perhaps this explains some of the otherwise slightly incongruous details in these הלכות. The רמב”ם, interestingly, codifies these הלכות after explaining the מצוות of בל תוסיף and בל תגרע, which exist altogether in order to ensure the integrity of the הלכה as a legal system. Additionally, here the רמב”ם mentions twice that the extralegal commands of a נביא must be temporary, not permanent, and that not even a נביא may command idol worship. The רמב”ם emphasizes these elements of the נביא case of הוראת שעה since they come to counteract its seemingly amorphous and contra-halachic nature.

[16] Another observation about this רמב”ם involves the cases of הוראת שעה. The only case cited in this הלכה is that of administrations of punishments that are not strictly warranted according to the letter of the law. This is the case that the רמב”ם cites in הלכות סנהדרין כד:ד, as well, based on יבמות צ: and סנהדרין מו.. That the quintessential case of הוראת שעה is extralegal punishment fits in well with our thesis. One of the primary goals of punishment in any legal system is to serve as deterrent for those who would otherwise be criminals and impress upon the populace the gravity of the offense and the powers of the enforcers of the legal system. Here, too, the punishments serve to protect the integrity of the halachic system, and therefore would be the prime example of extralegal measures in the halachic legal system.

[17] Also of note is the fact that both of these extraordinarily potent mitigating factors and imperatives, פיקוח נפש and הוראת שעה, have internal limits regarding to which cases they may be applied. As is known, פיקוח נפש cannot override the “big three” of שפיחות דמים, גילוי עריות, and עבודה זרה. Vide הלכות יסודי התורה ה:ז, based on פסחים כה and יומא סז:. In addition, הוראת שעה is, by definition, a temporary ruling and does not operate for extended periods of time, as was discussed earlier. We would explain the phenomenon of limitations of פיקוח נפש as follows: Transgressing one of those מצוות is such an enormity that it represents the breakdown of the halachic system. Free occurrences of murder, idolatry, and adultery would undermine the foundations of Judaism and thus uproot the whole corpus of the הלכה. A proof to this is that the רמב”ם notes twice inהלכות שבת פרק ב’  that one need not receive permission from the בית דין in order to utilize the principle of פיקוח נפש, the implication being that authorization from a higher legal authority would have otherwise been a prerequisite to taking that type of extreme action. By contrast, the authority to enact a הוראת שעה is in the hands of the בית דין, which ensures that matters will not spiral out of control, obviating strict limitations on the scope and applicability of הוראת שעה.

From the Pages of Tradition:  R. Abraham Isaac Ha-Kohen Kook:  Letter on Ahavat Yisrael by Shnayer Z. Leiman (24:1, 1988)

Rav Kook:  The Road to Renewal by Ben Zion Bokser (13:3, 1973) 

Rav Kook’s Contested Legacy by David Singer (30:3, 1996) 

Rav Kuk’s Theory of Knowledge by Shalom Carmy (15:1-2, 1975)

From the Pages of Tradition: Rabbi Soloveitchik Meets Rav Kook by Jeffrey Saks (39:3, 2006)

- Shlomo Brody

And, incidentally, I do not mean complex or debated truths, I mean ones that should be seen as simple and obvious.  I have reviewed some of what I see as those simple truths in my posts on the Mission of Orthodoxy project, but here’s another one: I recently suggested that part of Orthodoxy is the belief in miracles as a possibility.  As an illustration, I argued that a person who was ill, even to the point that doctors despaired of doing anything more, nonetheless should believe in the possibility (not likelihood, and certainly not guarantee) of a miraculous recovery, and should pray to God with that possibility in mind.  A listener, highly educated Jewishly, was surprised at my claim, and appeared not to believe it.  I note that my view is, as far as I can tell, universal in traditional Jewish thought; while some thinkers see miracles as exceptions embedded by God within Nature (although usually hidden from our view) and others see it as God actively intervening in Nature, the idea that miracles can occur at any time is, I believe, well-accepted in traditional thought. And yet, even highly educated Jews have trouble recognizing this truth.

Two Scriptural Examples of the Challenge

Here is how I became aware of the conundrum: In one case, I was reviewing the haftarah for the second of the Three Weeks, the second chapter of Yirmiyahu.  In verse 8, Yirmiyahu complains on God’s behalf over the failures of that generation’s leadership. As Radak understands it, the priests of the time, serving properly and appropriately in the Beit haMikdash, nonetheless failed to protest the idol worship all around them.  The Torah scholars of the era studied as an academic endeavor and intellectual exercise, not as a guide to behavior.  The monarchs, whose role and expertise is shepherding the masses to better service of God, instead neglected God.

Yirmiyahu, I noted, is letting us know that the average Jew of the time would have had a hard time finding the truth. While Yirmiyahu and a few others were loudly declaring it, there was plenty of competition as well.  As I made this point, a young woman in the group raised her hand and asked, “So how are we supposed to know the truth?”

5/9, The Aftermath: The Second Example of the Failure to See Truth

I will offer some suggestions towards an answer, but let me tell the second story.  This past Tish’a B’Av night, Lincoln Square Synagogue hosted me after the evening Kinnot, to share some thoughts relevant to the day.  The hour being late and energy in short supply, I spoke briefly about chapters 42-44 of Yirmiyahu.

Following the Destruction, we are told, the people come to him and ask him for God’s Word on what they should do (Malbim, I should note, thinks they were insincere from the start; I presented it more in accord with the most apparent meaning of the text). The prophet commits to telling them what God says, and they, unbidden, add a promise to obey whatever command comes.

In what seems to me the weak link in their commitment, it takes ten days for Hashem to reply (I tried to imagine what those ten days would have been like in my short story 5/9, The Aftermath, in my book Cassandra Misreads the Book of Samuel).  Crucially, though, the reply would seem to be exactly what they wanted to hear— Hashem urges them to stay in the Land, promises that they have reached the end of their needed punishment, assures them this would be the beginning of a rebuilding process.

It may have been the wait that did it (and it may be that Hashem delayed precisely to test their faith), but they respond by calling Yirmiyahu a liar. Each time I think of that, I shudder—Yirmiyahu has spent forty years remonstrating with them, trying to convince them to change their ways, has predicted the tragedies they have already seen even as he was reviled, arrested, and tortured; now that it has all come true, they are still able to call him a liar?  In their telling, it is Baruch ben Neriah (who, we find out in Chapter 45, suffered in his own way by virtue of the people’s sinfulness) who has convinced Yirmiyahu to tell them to stay.

Incidentally, a comment of Ramban’s at the end of his commentary on Haazinu (Devarim 32;26) is relevant here.  He points out that even if Haazinu were only the words of an ordinary astrologer (or, in our days, a scientist), we would follow whatever he said, since the predictions have come true so fully. Here, too, we might have thought Yirmiyahu’s being right time and again would have made inroads in the people’s faith. Apparently not.

So they go to Egypt, and Yirmiyahu goes with them.  There, God tells him to remonstrate with them for their sun-worship.  Instead of regret, they answer him in kind, insisting not only on their intention to worship the sun, but claiming that it was their failures in proper sun-worship that had led to their troubles.  As I reviewed all this that night, I lamented the Jews’ ability to convince themselves the story of the Destruction should lead to a greater rejection of the prophet’s words, not a lesser one, grieved over the people’s stubborn blindness to the truth, so great that even calamity would not alert them to it.

Would We Notice Truth If It Stared Us in the Face?

To give it a contemporary element, I added that the Mishnah in Sanhedrin 97b says that if the Jewish people fail to repent as necessary to merit the Redemption, R. Yehoshua is of the view that God will bring a king whose decrees are as harsh as Haman’s, and the Jews will repent.  That comment, incidentally, is recorded by Rambam in Hilchot Teshuvah 7;5, although Rambam just says “and the Jewish people will in the future repent.”  If the Churban and exile did not do it—and, in our own times, if the Holocaust and its horrors did not do it—what kind of king was R. Yehoshua envisioning?

After I finished, an elderly couple was leaving, and I heard the wife ask the husband, “But the question is, how can we know the truth?”  A remarkable challenge: After thousands of years in possession of the Torah, with the additional comments of Hazal, of rishonim and acharonim, many of us are still honestly unsure as to where to find the truth of what God wants from us.  This is not the challenge of accepting the truth, which is what stops pagans, for example, from finding God—they deny that what we have is the truth.  Nor is it the challenge of living up to the truths we know, which is what we articulate in our ‘al het’s on Yom Kippur.  Here, I am grappling with the challenge of knowing the truth when we are looking for it.

I also don’t mean to suggest that if we look the right way, we will find a single truth.  Even with the right strategies, we have to expect to find differences of nuance, of emphasis, and of detail—the Judaism of Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel differed sharply, sometimes radically, as does that, in many important ways, of Jews from different parts of the world.  But those differences are all within the bounds of Elu va-elu, these and these are the words of the living God.  What we often lose sight of is how to differentiate those truths that fall within elu va-elu and those that lie without.  Herewith, therefore, four suggestions that are not the whole solution, but are a useful start:

1) Start with Tanach (Scripture).  As the word of God, Tanach makes a claim to truth that no other texts can or do.  The truths declared by Tanach, properly understood, are the truths that God has shared with us precisely so that we can know what truth is.  And, crucially, whatever we find in other authoritative sources, cannot, by definition, contradict what we find in Tanach; it may explain Tanach in ways we would not have realized on our own, but the proper understanding of Tanach must always be central to an accurate Jewish life.

2) In line with the realization that we can only understand Tanach correctly based on how tradition interpreted it, look to follow our leaders.  In our times, some communities of Jewry resist the idea of following leaders, but the assumption of Tanach and Hazal is that most of us are ill-equipped to find the truth for ourselves.  I have numerous times heard people of remarkably minimal education (at least compared to what full knowledge of Torah involves) expatiate at length on topics which I happened to know they were ill-equipped to address– halachic, hashkafic, and practical terms of how to best apply ideas of the Torah to this world.

Leadership is a talent, but also an occupation.  Someone who has spent his life in study and consideration of Torah is more likely to have insight and understanding into its nature and interests than someone who has spent that same time in some other profession, however noble.  That is not to say that study itself guarantees finding the wisdom to lead; we need to insure we follow leaders well-suited to the task, in Torah and its related fields.

Once we find those leaders, though, we need to approach them with the humility of knowing that which we do not know.  This, too, can be taken too far; some would insist on going to a leader (or rebbe) on every life matter, even those where the individual is fully competent to weigh in. But we can go to the other extreme as well, ignoring our Torah leaders completely, and not seeking their perspective on how to handle central questions of our time.

Part of the reason we do this, I think, has to do with a third rule of finding the truth:

3) If it’s too comfortable, it’s probably not the truth.  One of the reasons we have trouble following our leaders is that we often do not like what they have to say (and, in response, those leaders often learn to refrain from saying all that they think).  But with the possible exception of the most perfected among us, the truth will show us areas we need to change, areas of failure, and areas where we have not even begun to realize that which we are supposed to be doing.

Finding the truth must mean making room for the possibility that we have been blind, until now, to deeply significant aspects of what God wants from the world.  That kind of openness, of readiness to hear such distressing news, is not so easy to cultivate, but necessary to finding truth.

4) The truth has to be taken whole, not in pieces. As neviim complain, one flaw in the Jews of the first Beit haMikdash was their insistence on emphasizing sacrifices, to the detriment of other important parts of what God asked of them.  It is deceptively easy, and tempting, to focus on one or other part of what the Torah wants, and turn that into the whole.

But the truth, to be the truth, must be taken in all its complexity and all its parts.  To focus on one part of the truth of Tanach and/or Hazal, no matter how accurate that one part is, is to lose sight of other equally or more important pieces of that truth, and therefore to warp not only the neglected parts, but even those the person is engaging.

Following all of these ideas will not guarantee that we will find all of the truth; the Jews of Yirmiyahu’s time were not necessarily less intelligent, less committed, or less astute than we are.  But learning from their mistakes, recognizing the challenge, seeing that our task is eased by the voluminous Jewish literature that has developed since then, should help us at least come to understand the endeavor in which we are engaged and bring us closer to finding the truths Hashem has been broadcasting these past thousands of years.

After that, we can only move forward with the confidence and hope that Hashem helps those who seek Him, that if we return to the search with a whole heart, Hashem will insure that the truth will meet us more than halfway.

Review Essay: Relating to Orthodox Homosexuals: The Case for Compassion by Uri Cohen (40:3, 2007)

Homosexuality: A Religious and Political Analysis by Hillel Goldberg (27:3, 1993)

Homosexuality: Clinical and Ethical Challenges by Moshe Halevi Spero (17:4, 1979)

Initial Religious Counselling for a Male Orthodox Adolescent Homosexual by Joel B. Wolowelsky & Bernard L. Weinstein (29:2, 1995)

- Shlomo Brody

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Homosexuality And Halacha: Five Critical Points

By: Rabbi Michael J. Broyde and Rabbi Shlomo Brody

This short essay will develop five critical points for responding to the voices within the broader community that seek to accept and legitimize homosexual conduct, an activity that directly contradicts the dictates of halacha. While we view such developments from an adversarial perspective, great thought must go into the process of developing an appropriate response. We must balance ideals and pragmatism while taking into consideration the nature of the halachic violation, the motivation behind it, and its cultural context. This remains particularly true with regard to counseling individual community members who struggle with or act upon homosexual inclinations. Each point remains crucial, as the appropriate response to this issue, as with so many others, requires a holistic, nuanced approach that appreciates the complexities of this phenomenon.

The Act: Halachic Judaism views same-sex activity, in all its forms, as sinful. Approaches that do not adopt this as their starting point must be dismissed within the Orthodox community. If we are to approach this topic with any intellectual honesty, we must loyally accept the dictates of Jewish law. The fact that halacha categorizes various homosexual acts with different degrees of severity does not reflect any sense that lesser acts are permitted. The overall legal prohibition remains, as does the moral condemnation found in aggadic and non-legal texts.

Further, we need to recognize that such activity is governed by the same free-will choices as all other sexual behavior. As such, it is unwise to put forward a halachic approach dependent on the “resolution” of the highly politicized question of the origins of homosexual orientation, colloquially known as “nature or nurture.” (We suspect there is some truth in both approaches, leaving the ultimate question as to how much control a person has in determining his or her sexual orientation.)

While this dispute absorbs much of the public dialogue – among religious and secularists alike – it remains irrelevant to the halachic discussion. Even if orientation is innate, every healthy person can choose whether or not to act on inclinations, no matter how strong those inclinations may be. Conversely, if this orientation develops, in one form or another, as a result of life experiences, it does not minimize the struggle of a halachically-committed Jew to choose not to act on such inclinations.

The Actors: Even as halacha clearly labels the act a sin, Judaism does not seek to label the actors as evildoers whom we must shun. The halachic tradition has a longstanding policy of diverse attitudes to transgressors, and only in the most rare of circumstances does it mandate excluding people from the community, especially for wrongdoing that does not explicitly harm others.

Some communities have expectations that all of their members maintain total Orthodox practice. Other communities maintain more open membership standards, sensing a need to create a place for all to come and worship, including those who drive to synagogue on Shabbat, do not observe taharahat hamishpacha (family purity restrictions), eat out in non-kosher restaurants, or even cheat in business.

As in the case with Shabbat violators, many communities will find it more appropriate to welcome gays who remain discreet about their personal activity and who respect the Orthodox setting, with no aim of sparking denigration of Torah law. Provocateurs with anti-halachic agendas will find themselves less welcome, and rightly so. The larger point remains that accepting a gay individual within one’s shul does not reflect any less commitment to halacha than accepting public Shabbat violators.

One might argue that, given the larger cultural battles raging throughout America, any form of acceptance of homosexual individuals might weaken our moral stand to the outside world and our halachic position within our community. While this approach is certainly tempting, as it avoids dealing with difficult questions of individual sensitivities, it remains unpersuasive, as well as unwise on an individual level.

First, there is a clear distinction between recognition and sensitivity versus acceptance and legitimization. Moreover, no matter how fierce the cultural battle, we still must care for every Jew with respect and sensitivity, and refrain from pigeonholing them as part of a war in which they may likely not be engaged or have any desire to join.

Additionally, the fear that increased sensitivity will encourage a coming-out or movement of “homosexual Orthodoxy” seems misplaced, not only because of our public insistence on the grave sin of homosexual acts, but because the sociological nature of our community’s family structure strongly discourages it. How many openly and actively gay Orthodox Jews exist in the world? We think very few. Everyone understands the deep philosophical, halachic, and sociological contradiction of this identity, and, as is currently evidenced in the non-Orthodox denominations, only the blatant misinterpretation of halachic tradition would distort that reality.

The Political: In addition to the significant distinctions made, in the halachic realm, between the act and the actors, we need to distinguish between our halachic statements and our political activity. Politics makes strange bedfellows, especially in multicultural democratic societies like America. The pragmatic decision to support equal rights for gays in the political realm is not inconsistent with our view that the underlining activity violates Jewish (and Noachide) law.

We support religious freedom for all, even as we are aware that some might use this freedom to violate Jewish or Noachide law. Similarly, it is wise to support workplace policies of non-discrimination based on sexual orientation, just as we support such non-discrimination based on religion, even though these laws equally protect, for example, pagans. Discrimination based on lifestyle choices may threaten our own liberties, including freedom of religious expression. This pragmatic argument remains true irrespective of one’s views on the philosophical claims for equal treatment in the workplace or entitlement to domestic partner benefits.

A similarly balanced approach should be taken with regard to gay marriage. If one believes a civil prohibition of same-sex marriage does not threaten our rights in the long term, then joining a political alliance opposing such, based on shared values or interests, seems reasonable. If, however, one views such a campaign as an infringement of civil liberties, or a potentially bad precedent that might endanger our interests in other areas of civil life, then one should not feel compelled to combat gay marriage.

Alternatively, one might even contemplate supporting the so-called grand compromise that will allow federal “civil unions” while strongly preserving religious-conscience exemptions from recognizing those unions. We currently continue to oppose the civil legalization of same-sex marriage, but as this debate develops it will remain important not to overly conflate our religious views with our political stands.

The Context: Within the larger cultural war roiling modern American society, gay rights sometimes seems like ground zero. This stems, in part, from how some religious groups view the issue, which in turn becomes absorbed into the media and popular debate as the “religious viewpoint.” Yet as with many issues (stem-cell research, for example), it remains crucial for Orthodox Jews to stake out our own genuine positions and not simply follow the lead of non-Jews.

The more significantly threatening aspect of American culture is the primacy placed on self-fulfillment, particularly in one’s sexual life. The dictates and mores of Jewish law frequently clash with the current American ethical mindset, which promotes exercising personal autonomy toward achieving self-fulfillment. Within the highly eroticized Western culture, the greatest manifestation of this mentality is heterosexual promiscuity, followed closely by high divorce rates and startling amounts of adultery.

While halacha certainly recognizes the role of sexuality in shaping one’s identity and human experience, it definitively limits sexual activity to marriage and encourages such activity within marriage. The Jewish tradition counsels self-sacrifice and restraint to an extent that our secular society deems unreasonable or untenable, even more so on sexual matters.

In this context, the threats to the Orthodox way of life are much greater due to the culture of rampant heterosexual promiscuity than to homosexuality. The attempt to conventionalize homosexuality, while harmful, represents a decidedly less threatening manifestation of the ethos of sexual self-fulfillment. Few people are drawn to a gay life without an initial internal inclination, whereas the vast majority of men (and a smaller but significant number of women) contemplate with some interest and desire the promiscuous heterosexual life that is normal in secular America.

As promiscuity becomes more culturally acceptable, greater numbers within our community will succumb. In that sense, the focus on homosexual conduct causes us to miss the major problems of sexual ethics in our society: the problem of promiscuity and its impact on dating, marriage, and divorce.

The Pastoral: It is extremely important that we strike a balance between the pastoral needs of people with difficult challenges in front of them and our need to provide clear ethical guidance to the community. Homosexual individuals within our community regularly experience anguish, suppression, and depression, sometimes to the extent of self-endangerment. These cases deserve our empathy and understanding, albeit not to the point of any compromise in our commitment to halacha and our belief in free will.

Moreover, one must remember that good people sometimes succumb to the temptation of sin in many areas, including this one. We should further sympathetically appreciate how individuals with a homosexual orientation might yield to such temptations, as they have no licit outlet for intimate companionship. In this regard, his or her struggle remains much greater than that of the heterosexual adulterer or philanderer, who commits egregious immoral acts by rejecting permissible outlets for their desires. Our strongest condemnation should be reserved for these sins, which directly threaten the moral fabric of our community.

Finally, we must confront these issues in an open and clear manner. We will never succeed in properly educating our community – which is engaged economically, and to a certain extent, socially and academically with the broader society – without engaging in a frank and public discussion grounded in halacha, despite our natural discomfort with any conversation about these matters. While our multifaceted, holistic approach requires an appreciation for nuances and complexities, it remains, in our mind, the appropriate halachic response.

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We have heard that the revered Rav Aharon Soloveichik, zt”l, when asked his thoughts on homosexuality, replied, “It is terrible. It is almost as great a sin as cheating in business.” Without being able to verify this story, and understanding that Rav Aharon might not have meant this in a technical halachic sense, this anecdote nonetheless highlights what we believe is a misplacement of priorities in the Orthodox world.

The Orthodox community currently faces two incredibly serious problems: heterosexual promiscuity and financial misconduct. We live, alas, in an era of scandals, an era in which chassidic rebbes go to jail for money-laundering and rabbis are arrested for selling organs, while blogs accuse rabbis who are running conversion courts of manipulations and sexual vices with candidates for conversion. These scandals reflect larger trends within our community of widespread betrayal and disloyalty: to the other gender, including spouses; to business associates; to the greater Orthodox community; and, ultimately, to Torah and mitzvot.

Halacha condemns homosexual acts, but the phenomenon of “Orthodox homosexuals” does not represent a major threat to the integrity of our community. Ultimately, we are afraid that disproportionate condemnation of this phenomenon gives unproductive focus to a red herring, leading to inappropriate responses to individual struggles and distracting us from the central problems truly plaguing our community.

“Idolatry: A Prohibition for our Time” by Herzl Hefter (42:1, 2009)

- Shlomo Brody