 |
Loius Rabinowitz (1906-1984): Chief Rabbi of the United
Hebrew Congregation of Johannesburg and the Federation of Synagogues of
Transvaal and the Orange Free State |
A conference presentation:
Abstract
This paper suggests possible
approaches to religion and social justice and social cohesion. It adopts a dialectical rather than a
didactical methodology and examines tensions between insular religion and social
outreach towards the ‘other.’ This outreach would include the marginalised
classes and different factions within one’s own religion, as well as the ‘other’ who
is not of the same religion. Regarding outreach towards the 'other' of another religion, this writer makes two pragmatic assumptions: 1) all religions can act either as incubators for cross-cultural and inter-religious coexistence (without fear of assimilation), or as promotors of exclusionism; and
2) the theological seeds nurturing both these outcomes lie dormant inside every religion. At
some stage, therefore, a choice has to be made either to reach 'in' or to reach 'out.' To illustrate the vast spectrum of
theological choices available within Judaism, I have tried to locate two polar opposite data points. I searched for the most fundamentalist, extreme and exclusionist statement about the
‘other’ that I could find within Jewish teachings − and then
contrasted that with the most radical inclusive teaching that I was able to locate. I intentionally searched for the two most daring, disturbing and extreme ends of the
spectrum. What emerged was a sufficient range of surprisingly flexible material between those two extremes to allow either
for a choice of religion exclusive of social justice or inclusive of social justice and outreach to the 'other.' I suggest that all religions
have similar spectrums, and that recognition and acknowledgement of these
spectrums - and the subsequent awareness by the different faith groups of the available legitimate theological choices within their religions - could assist in religious tolerance and peaceful coexistence.
A
Introduction
No discussion on Jews and social justice, or anything else for that matter, can ever be considered a conclusive conversation. Jews today broadly range from somewhere between ultra-Orthodox, Orthodox, Modern Orthodox, Religious Zionists, Anti-Zionists, Chassidim, Mitnagdim, Sefaradim, Ashkenazim, Yemenites, Conservative, Reform, Reconstructionists, Atheists and Jews who operate outside any of these designated structures. Even in the golden age of Talmudic Judaism, on just about every single issue, there was more focus on discussion and debate than on consensus. This makes it extremely difficult, if not impossible, to formulate the official ‘Jewish perspective’ on anything. Hence the subtitle of this article, ‘A’ Jewish Perspective. This article is written from the perspective of an Orthodox rabbi.
No discussion on Jews and social justice should omit the
glaring reality that, as a noticeable rule, the further removed the group is
from the right of the religious spectrum, the more it tends to be active in
matters of social justice.
“There are a large number of non-religious Jewish organizations engaged in philanthropic, political and social action that have…taken stands on contemporary issues” (Biale 1989:70).
There are exceptions and things are changing and we see this, particularly in the allied field of first responders, for example, which has significantly drawn from the right of the religious spectrum.
B Rabbis and
social justice
From a South African perspective, great strides were made
under the previous Chief Rabbi Cyril Harris in the area of social justice as
the country moved away from the period of apartheid. I had the privilege of
working with him on many of his outreach projects and acted as his emissary on
a number of occasions.
Cyril Harris wasn’t the first orthodox rabbi to do so. Going
back to the 1950s Chief Rabbi Louis I. Rabinowitz had also been a great
advocate of social justice. He wrote:
“The Jew, rendered fearful by the sense of insecurity, which comes from being a vulnerable minority in all countries, has been afraid boldly to proclaim that such and such an act is contrary to the ethical principles of his faith. The layman … rejects the implications of these [classical Jewish] teachings, and accuses the rabbi of indulging in ‘politics’ and/or expressing thoughts which may not be palatable to the government in power. I am sure that the reader will be wryly amused to hear that a member of my congregation wrote a letter to the Council asking them to forbid me from speaking on the native question, but to confine myself to Jewish ethics” (Louis Rabinowitz 1955:198).
The first rabbinic position I served in, around the 1990’s, was in a large community synagogue where I was quite vocal about social injustice. The board asked me to rather just speak about Pirkei Avot, a basic work on Jewish ethics.
C
Forthrightness as a point of departure
It is easy to be an ambassador of any religion. Each
religion has its store of salient and attractive gems of universalistic
teachings that convey peace, tolerance and harmony. What we don’t hear about −
until a deeper and concerted enquiry into the core classical texts is undertaken
−
are those primary sources that remain hidden within the pages of the old tomes which
present a somewhat different or nuanced perspective towards the rest of humanity.
Judaism is no different. It has its share of statements concerning
the ‘other’ that would shock most modern minds, including Jews themselves. Take
the second-century sage of the Roman Judaea period, R. Shimon bar Yochai.
If you google him, you will find an abundance of wonderful sayings associating
him with joy and celebrating him with dancing and bonfires. But he was the same
person who bluntly claimed that even the best of the non-Jews should be killed![1]
Now, if one would stop at this point, it would paint a rather dangerous and
negative picture of Judaism, limiting the scope (let alone possibility) of Jews
engaging with Gentiles.
On the other hand, we find very different teachings emerging
from Shmuel Yarchina’a,[2]
the head of the Talmudic academy of Nehardea in Babylonia, and known for
a softer approach to Halacha (Jewish law).[3]
He certainly did not promote killing anyone, even allegorically. He taught that
a Jew was not allowed to deceive anyone, be they Jew or Gentile,[4]
and that “Before the throne of the
Creator, there is no difference between Jews and non-Jews.”[5]
Working with these two sample texts representing very different
approaches to the ‘other,’ it is tempting to try and reconcile them. One could
say that R. Shimon bar Yochai, living in Roman Judaea, who had witnessed the
Romans torture and execute his teacher, R. Akiva, was filled with bitterness
and resentment towards the Romans. So much so that he uttered his disturbing
statement at a time of great anguish. This is in contrast to Shmuel Yarchina’a who lived in Babylonia where Jews
had lived (and would continue to live for almost a thousand years) in peaceful
coexistence with Babylonians who were not viewed as the enemy.
This study does not seek to reconcile such expressions but adopts a more forthright and less apologetic methodology. It certainly is possible to reconcile R. Shimon bar Yochai and Shmuel Yarchina’a, and considering the historical context, that may be an appropriate response. However, there are many other textual examples one might bring that express similar ethical contrasts where the historical contexts are identical. I, therefore, propose that the point of departure should be a forthright acknowledgement and admission that theological and religious texts, by their very nature and within the same religion, are often in tension with each other. Being cognisant of these tensions does not mean one is disloyal to one’s religion. Rather it is an indication that sufficient religious texts have been fairly consulted and that the student is subsequently in a greater position of strength and truth.
D Recognising
a theological evolution of ideas
No matter how rooted a religious teaching may be in its
classical texts, there is often evidence of an evolutionary process and some
development of ideas. In Judaism, there are various rabbinic eras spanning the
last two thousand years, including the periods of the Tannaim (10-210CE),
Amoraim (210-500), Savoraim (500-650), Gaonim
(650-1038), Rishonim (1038-1500)
and Acharonim (1500-present). Each period was built upon the foundations
laid out by the previous age, but the transmission was never static.
In the field of what today is referred to as social justice, we
notice a distinct trend away from exclusiveness towards inclusiveness. This
does not mean that the trend is reflected in practice by all the adherents, but
at least it is visible in the textual strata developing over the different
periods. There is no doubt, however, that the earlier texts often displayed a more open
aversion towards the ‘other.’
“Much of the anti-gentile sentiment and legislation in rabbinic Judaism was influenced by the Bible’s aversion to idolatry” (Schwarz n.d.: 24).
The Torah tells of Abraham’s rejection of the idolatrous
ways of his family and his culture, and idolatry is identified as a major
concern during the biblical period. Later, during the Talmudic times
(which comprised the Tannaic and Amoraic periods), biblical idolatry
was equated to incest and murder and all three became cardinal
sins for which Jews must lay down their lives if these three sins could not be
avoided.
The problem with this equivalence was that all non-Jews (except
Muslims) became associated with idolatry, no matter what their religion was.
And because the injunction against idolatry was so severe, rabbinic teachings
began to emerge equating the practice of idolatry to the denial of the entire
Torah.[6]
Some Jews, therefore, felt it incumbent upon themselves to treat non-Jews with
less dignity. As a result, we find rulings permitting Jews to keep lost items
of Gentiles without having to return them.[7]
“Yet by the middle ages, prominent rabbis issued decisive rulings to correct any impression given by earlier rulings that gentiles could be treated unfairly” (Schwarz nd.:24).
Around this time, R. Menachem Meiri (1249-1316), under the
influence of the rationalist thinker R. Moses Maimonides (1138-1204), espouses
probably the most radically liberal view on Christianity and Islam that is to
be found in all of rabbinic literature. He posits that the notion
of idolatry has absolutely disappeared from society (barring what he
refers to as some fringes or ‘extremities’ of civilisation). Idolatry,
in his view, has essentially become extinct and replaced by more developed
religions.
“As such, long standing restrictions on commerce and social relations between Jews and gentiles were eliminated” (Schwarz n.d.:25).
This was a watershed moment for Jews and social justice but
for some, it was too much and theories abounded that Jesuits had corrupted the
Meiri texts to make them favourable towards Christianity. In any event, the
Meiri texts somehow got ‘lost’ to history and some were allegedly only
discovered a century or so ago. Because of the disappearance of the Meiri texts
from the continuous line of the mainstream body of Jewish religious texts
(known as the Mesorah), many rabbis were reluctant to rely on the ‘newly
discovered’ texts especially since they contained such radically progressive
ideas about other religions. R. Haym Soloveitchik, however, shows that many of
R. Meiri’s ideas were indeed available and not ‘lost’:
“Rather, Meiri’s works had previously fallen stillborn from the press. Sensing its alien character, most scholars simply ignored them...” (Soloveitchik 1994:120-1).
Accordingly, many of R. Meiri’s writings had always existed
but were ‘ignored’ because of their ‘alien character’![8]
This illustrates just how difficult it sometimes is to integrate concepts of
social justice into traditional religious systems, and how easy it is to ‘lose’
attempts at social change when they do emerge.
Historically, Jews had often been marginalised by the cultures
and societies in which they found themselves, but by the 19th century, European
Jews were (temporarily) treated more fairly. In Germany, R. Shimshon Rafael
Hirsch, a leader of neo-Orthodoxy, taught that Jews needed to conduct
themselves with exemplary social awareness. He taught that Jews treating
non-Jews unjustly was worse than Jews treating Jews unjustly because the
reputation of the entire nation was at stake (Schwarz n.d.:25).
We have seen that although some earlier Talmudic texts
were rooted in the biblical notion of Gentiles being equated to idolaters,
there was a subsequent evolution of theological thought by rabbis like
Maimonides, Meiri, Hirsch and others towards social justice often in the face
of persecution and pogroms.
“The differences between social justice in the Hebrew Bible and social justice in rabbinic literature are the result of innumerable changes that Judaism underwent in the intervening centuries (Novick 2019:546).
Nevertheless, many of these more socially aware rabbis were marginalised and said to not represent the essence of Judaic thought − but still, a process and evolution had begun.
E The two
mandates of justice and holiness
Two paradoxical mandates appear to emerge from the Torah.
Abraham is told to perform “justice and righteousness,”[9]
while Moses is told that his people are to be a “kingdom of priests and a
holy nation.”[10]
Justice has a wider social connotation while holiness relates to an
internal religious structure. These two mandates have always been in tension
with each other as it is difficult to strike a balance and create harmony
between these ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ manifestations. Furthermore, “This paradox is common to virtually all
religions” (Schwarz
n.d.:18). Religions probably face their greatest challenge in how they
acknowledge this paradox and deal with it to try to resolve these innate tensions.
F How much
power and aid to give to the poor
Another difficult question that religion needs to grapple with
is its relationship to the poor (let alone the question of which poor – ‘our’
poor or ‘their’ poor?). This poor class is also often considered an 'other.' How does religion accurately define a ‘poor’
class of people, and how does it suggest that we treat them without humiliating
them?
One notices that the rabbinic view was certainly to encourage
charity (tzedaka) but it had no programme to try to alleviate poverty:
“[T]he numerous measures for support of the poor in rabbinic literature, and the institution of charity in particular, reflect a conservative rather than a transformative impulse. That is, they aim to maintain the poor, not to eliminate poverty” (Novick 2019:543).
For this reason, we see that the biblical injunction
requires a poor person to be given “enough [to meet] what he lacks.”[11]
This is interpreted by the classical rabbis as not to remove poverty from poor
individuals but simply to sustain them. On the other hand, individuals who had
wealth but lost it are required to receive more lavish assistance according to
the standards they were used to. This implies that the rabbis were more
concerned with maintaining the boundaries of society rather than trying
to perfect society:
“[N]o attempt was made to eliminate poverty as such or to share political power with the poor…law and tradition sought to control and limit the most glaring inequities of this reality, but they did not prescribe systemic transformations” (Biale 1989:68).
The same idea is expressed in the Babylonian Talmud which interprets the biblical verse “There shall be no needy among you”[12] − not to suggest a utopian ideal society where there is no longer poverty − but more pragmatically as a cautioning against giving away too much of one’s wealth to the poor, thereby rendering oneself poor in the process (Novick 2019:543). Thus, the classical rabbinic world sought to maintain a functioning and just society without attempting to create an ideal utopia by alleviating poverty.
G Rabbinic
views on redistribution of wealth
Modern societies debate the question of whether to construct
their contemporary systems of social welfare based on kind-hearted charity
or legal justice. In other words, is welfare a right or a privilege? From
a rabbinic perspective, there is no debate because the Hebrew word for charity
(tzedakah) is by definition related to tzedek, which means
justice.
“Assistance to the poor is not a discretionary matter; it is obligatory and falls in the realm of justice” (Biale 1989:68).
The Talmud teaches that:
“Even a poor person who is sustained from charity must also perform charity” (Babylonian Talmud, Gitin 7b).
Maimonides describes charity not so much as an act of
kindness but as the repayment of a debt to society, almost as an obligatory Jewish
tax. He may have been reflecting the view expressed in the Talmud which
describes a poor man who insisted that he would only eat fattened fowl and aged
wine. When he was challenged for his audacity and nerve for being a burden on
the community, he simply responded "Do I eat what is theirs? I eat what
is God's."[13]
In a sense, charity (tzedaka) is a form of ‘voluntary’ (although it does
carry a religious obligation), non-threatening and non-violent economic ‘redistribution’
of ‘universal’ wealth, without passing through the tendentious minefields of
social politics:
“it is…a form of redistribution of the wealth that is originally God's” (Biale 1989:68).
Rabbinic charity may have been a form of redistribution
of wealth but, as mentioned, it never proposed a plan to alleviate
poverty entirely. It did, however, establish well-formulated and structured
societal mechanisms to mediate poverty. While accepting that poverty may
always remain part of the human condition, rabbinic Judaism taught that the
highest form of charity was not a monetary donation but:
“a loan, or the forming of a partnership with the poor person for the transaction of some business enterprise, or assistance in obtaining some employment, so that the poor will not be forced to seek charity from his fellows." (Moses Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Matanot Aniyin 10: 7).
Biale (1989:68) explains that for centuries, one of the “central activities” of Jewish communities was philanthropy. Anyone who had lived in a community for more than thirty days had to contribute to the community fund. Those who refused to contribute could have their property expropriated by the Jewish courts. The communal structures discouraged public begging and created what in essence was an official poor stratum of society by requiring the poor to register as recipients of communal funding. This way the poor were subtlety designated as an 'other' within the larger group.
H Full circle
Let us get back to the 'other' from another religion. We began this study with a radical Talmudic statement
from the second-century R. Shimon bar Yochai that even the best of the non-Jews
should be killed. We shall conclude with an equally radical statement, this time
taken from the early and yet-to-be-censored versions of the mystical work known
as the Zohar.
Yehuda Liebes’ research has drawn attention to a little-known statement that has been censored from the Zohar and only found in earlier manuscripts. It deals with the Torah’s unusual description of Moses’ burial (presumably by God) and his burial place, the location of which no one knows “until this day.”[14] Liebes (2016:613) points out that the text states that Moses was buried together with Jesus and Mohammad (שקבורת משה היא עים ישו ומוחמד).[15] However one understands this Zoharic conceptualisation, the fact remains that a text exists portraying the three leaders of the Abrahamic faiths being buried together which represents some form of inclusivity and coexistence.
I Conclusion
We have now come full circle. We have located the two radical texts
at opposite and extreme ends of the spectrum. The first advocates the annihilation
of the ‘other’ while the second describes the ‘others’ in a state of rest with each
‘other.’ We have thus identified the scope and range of the blank canvas we
have, to choose either a theology of inclusivity or exclusivity. We are not
compelled or restricted one way or the other.
This study has used the contemporary, politicised and loaded term
‘social justice,’ loosely, to describe all and any attempts at religious coexistence,
without in any way calling for assimilation, or compromise of any religion’s
core traditions, principles and values. It has used Judaism as an exemplar −
but all religions have similar spectrums − and it argues that it is not the religion
but the religious individual who must choose which of the existing seeds,
within that vast and diverse theological spectrum, to sow and nurture.
This writer encourages other religious leaders to locate and make known similar spectrums found within their respective theologies, to emphasise that the choice is not limited to religion or social justice – it can include religion and social justice. Faithfulness to religion can sometimes demand faithlessness to humankind if that is what the faithful are seeking. It can also demand faithfulness to humanity. It depends on the choices made from within the spectrum.
Bibliography
Biale, D., 1989, ‘Jewish Statements on Economic Justice’, A Cry For Justice: The Churches and Synagogues Speak. Edited by Robert McAfee Brown and Sydney Thomson Brown, Paulist Press, New York, 64-77.
Haym Soloveitchik, H., 1994, ‘Rapture and
Reconstruction: The Transformation of Contemporary Orthodoxy’, Tradition 28,
no. 4, 120-121, n. 54.
Liebes, Y., 2016, ‘Todato haAtzmit shel haGaon
miVilna viyechiso el haShabtau [The Thought of the Vilna Gaon and his attitude
towards Sabbatianism]’ (Hebrew), in Chalamish le Maayano Mayim, Kovetz
Mechakrim, 603-622.
Marc Saperstein, M., 2015, ‘“Rabbis, Stay Out of
Politics”: Social Justice Preaching and Its Opponents, 1848–2014’, Jewish
Culture and History, vol. 16, no. 2, 127-141
Novick, T., 2019, ‘Social Justice in Rabbinic Judaism’,
Oxford Handbook of Biblical Law.
Rabinowitz,
L.I., 1955, Sparks from the Anvil:
Sermons for Sabbaths, Holy Days, and Festivals, Bloch Publishing, New York, 198.
[1] Jerusalem Talmud, Kidushin 66b.
[2] Shmuel was called Yarchina’a because he was an
expert astronomer and specialised in calculations of the new moon (yareach).
[3] Shmuel was known to be lenient in his interpretation
of the Law for others but was stricter in his interpretation for himself (Babylonian
Talmud, Moed Katan 24a,26b). He permitted a fire to be kindled on the
Sabbath for a woman in childbirth or for someone who was ill (Babylonian
Talmud, Eruvin 79b).
[4] Babylonian Talmud, Chulin 94a.
[5] Jerusalem Talmud, Rosh HaShanah 57a.
[6] Sifre Deuteronomy 54.
[7] Babylonian Talmud, Baba Kama 38a.
[8] Other scholars reiterate the notion that some Meiri
texts always existed, but offer a different explanation for their obscurity.
They suggest that the reason why they were not often published was simply ‘on
account of their exceptional length’ (Virtual Judaica, Hiddushei ha-rav
ha-Meiri).
[9] Genesis 18:19.
[10] Exodus 19:6.
[11] Deuteronomy 15:8.
[12] Deuteronomy 15:4.
[13] Babylonian Talmud, Ketuvot 67b.
[14] Deuteronomy 34:6
[15] According to Raya Mehemna:
דאתמר בי, (ישעיה נג ט) ויתן את רשעים קברו, בתר
דקבורה דא בגין אבא ואימא, דאינון בגלותא עם ישראל, אתקיים בי קרא, ולא יטמא...
דהא קודשא בריך הוא ושכינתיה בגלותא, דאיהי קבורה לון, ואנא קבור בינייהו
Compare this to Zohar
III 126a (Raya Mehemna):
זוהר ח"ג קכו ע"א (רעיא מהימנא):
דאתמר עלי (ישעיה נג ט) ויתן את רשעים קברו, ולא אשתמודען בי, ואני חשיב בעינייהו
בין ערב רב רשיעייא, ככלב מת דסרח בינייהו
I thank Professor
Liebes for sharing these sources with me.
