496) Kabbalah: To print or not to print the ‘lost’ mystical tradition

 

The first printed edition, the "editio princeps", of the Zohar published in Mantua, Italy in 1558.

Introduction

This article ꟷ based extensively on the research by Avraham Oriah Kelman[1] ꟷ examines the little-known crisis in Kabbalistic transmission that became evident between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries. 

The earlier Sefaradic Kabbalistic tradition, which had peaked in Spain in the thirteenth century (with the Zohar first published around 1290) had now spread to central Europe. The expulsion from Spain in 1492 can be seen as precipitating this spread of Kabbalistic influence to Europe. This was coupled with the simultaneous spread of Kabbalah from the various mystical schools of Safed, including Lurianic Kabbalah from the Ari Zal (1534-1572). By the sixteenth century, Central European Ashkenazi Jewry was well-exposed to, and keenly influenced by, Kabbalah from both its eastern and western co-religionists. But Kabbalah, although now widely disseminated and popularised, was in an internal state of crisis. This created a tension between the leadership of the mystical movement and those who were publishing mystical works, and it is to that tension and theological strain that we shall now turn. 

495) Benjamin Franklin as a ‘Founding Father’ of the Musar Movement

 

The 1844 edition of Cheshbon haNefesh by R. Menachem Mendel Lefin of Satanów (first published anonymously in 1808).

Introduction

This article ꟷ based extensively on the research by Shai Afsai[1] ꟷ examines how Benjamin Franklin (1706–1790), Founding Father of the United States and drafter and signer of the Declaration of Independence, made an unexpected, under-reported, yet significant contribution to the ethical philosophy of R. Menachem Mendel Lefin of Satanów (1749–1826). 

These ethical principles were then later adopted by the Lithuanian Musar movement under R. Yisrael Lipkin Salanter (1810–1883). 

“Leading members of the Lithuanian Musar movement loved Rabbi Menahem Mendel Lefin of Satanów’s method of character refinement” (Afsai 2019:55). 

However, neither R. Lefin nor R. Salanter made any indications that these ethical contributions originated with Benjamin Franklin. Nevertheless, these methods of character refinement were included in R. Lefin’s work, Cheshbon haNefesh, which became a key source for R. Yisrael Salanter’s Musar movement which was intended to be an alternative to Chassidism.  

494) Inverted hierarchies: Humans making G-d more moral

Introduction

This article ꟷ based extensively on the research by Professor Dov Weiss[1] ꟷ examines how late Palestinian Midrashim, particularly the Tanchuma Yelamedeinu (fourth to ninth centuries CE), depict humans challenging G-d over morally problematic issues expressed in the Torah. In these cases, biblical figures are audaciously portrayed as both teaching and counselling G-d, as it were, convincing Him to adopt a more moral and ethical approach. The Midrashic work, Tanchuma Yelamedeinu exhibits about fifty examples of humans making G-d ‘more moral.’ 

493) Carrying on Shabbat: From Jeremiah to the Mishna

Jerusalem began trading on the silk route from around 200 BCE

Introduction

This article ꟷ based extensively on the research by Professor Alex P. Jassen[1] ꟷ examines how four pre-Mishnaic texts show evidence of the origin and expansion of the prohibition against carrying on Shabbat. The specific textual prohibition against carrying on Shabbat first begins with Yirmiyahu’s (Jeremiah’s) prohibition against carrying a ‘load’ (מַשָּׂא֙, massa), for trade and commercial purposes, and only in Jerusalem. It then underwent a process of expansion during Second Temple times as it passed through the four texts of Nechemiah (Nehemiah), the Book of Jubilees, the Dead Sea Scrolls and finally became the Mishna’s general Halachic prohibition, as we know it today, against carrying ‘anything’ to or from ‘any’ domain. We shall trace and map this textual progression. Our focus is on the textual trail, as the oral tradition (which we briefly discuss at the conclusion) is not possible to track in the same way. 

492) Are Halachic rulings (Piskei Halacha) open to critical analysis or do they represent Divine Will?

    The varying faces of Piskei Halacha:

A Psak Din from R. Henkin 1934 regarding an inheritance

A Psak Din signed by 250 rabbis declaring the Lubavitcher Rebbe the Messiah

Introduction

This article – based extensively on the research by Professor Adiel Schremer[1] − takes an in-depth and forthright look at the sometimes mysterious process of Halachic decision-making as practised by the Posek (Halachic judge or decisor). The Torah teaches that if any matter of law shall arise in the future that is too difficult for people to determine by themselves, then they must approach the “judge who shall be in those days” (Deut. 17:8-11) for adjudication:

וּבָאתָ֗ אֶל־הַכֹּהֲנִים֙ הַלְוִיִּ֔ם וְאֶ֨ל־הַשֹּׁפֵ֔ט אֲשֶׁ֥ר יִהְיֶ֖ה בַּיָּמִ֣ים הָהֵ֑ם וְדָרַשְׁתָּ֙ וְהִגִּ֣ידוּ לְךָ֔ אֵ֖ת דְּבַ֥ר הַמִּשְׁפָּֽט

However, the Torah is silent on exactly how the judge is to go about deciding the law: 

“Scripture offers no answer, and surprisingly it is neither discussed by later classical Jewish tradition, nor addressed by modern students of Jewish law” (Schremer 2010:5). 

In practice, we all know that the simple answer is to ‘ask a rabbi,’ or, under more pressing circumstances, to ‘ask a Posek’ (an authoritative Halachic decisor). The question, though, in light of the silence on the matter, is what specific process or methodology (if any) does the Posek (have to) follow?  Various interest groups sometimes propose direct or indirect 'guidelines,' but, as we shall see, that only contributes to the problem.

491) A source trail defending the Baal haTanya’s definition of the soul as ‘a part of G-d’

 

Signature of the Lubavitcher Rebbe in a copy of the Tanya in 1979

Introduction

This article – based extensively on the research by Rabbi Dr Louis Jacobs (1920-2006)[1] − traces possible sources that the author of the Tanya, R. Schneur Zalman of Liadi, also known as the Baal haTanya (1745-1812), may have used, to formulate what is sometimes described as his ‘controversial’ definition of a soul being an actual ‘part’ of G-d.  

The notion of an infinite and monotheistic G-d who incarnates Himself in humans is often regarded as anathema to Jewish theology which seems firmly against the idea that G-d embodies Himself within mortal beings. Yet, as we shall see, there is an array of earlier mystical sources that the Baal haTanya could, and may, have used to develop his famous statement that the [second or Godly] soul is חלק אלו-ה ממעל ממש, truly a part of G-d above (Tanya, Ch. 2).[2] 

490) How the rabbis used interpretive tools like Kal vaChomer to assert their independence and unseat the Second Temple sects

Introduction

This article – based extensively on the research by Rabbi Professor Richard Hidary[1] − continues on the previous article’s theme of Sadducees (Priests) and Pharisees (Rabbis). It examines what can only be described as one of the most dramatic internal revolutions within Jewish thought, as the priestly class of Kohanim (צָדוֹקִים/Tzadokim/Sadducees) gave way to the developing class of Rabbis (פְּרוּשִׁם/Perushim/Pharisees). The priestly Sadducees dominated the approximately one thousand years of the First and Second Temple eras as they managed the Temple and administered the sacrifices. 

489) Pharisees and Sadducees: The politics of Sages and Priests

Pesher Nachum from Qumran 13

Introduction

This article – based extensively on the research by Professor Eyal Regev[1] − examines the theological differences between the Sadducees (צָדוֹקִים - Tzadokim) and Pharisees (פְּרוּשִׁם - Perushim). It identifies the differences between the early class of Jewish priests, known as the Sadducees, and an emerging rabbinic class, known as the Pharisees. It focuses on the moment when rabbinic Judaism, as we understand it, became the more dominant force in the future development of Jewish history, as the nascent rabbinic sages (Pharisees) began to displace the established Temple priests (Sadducees). 

488) Gershom Scholem’s messianic claim

 

Introduction

This article – based extensively on the research by Professor Boaz Huss[1] and Professor Michael Brenner[2] − explores aspects of the life story and personal thought of Gershom (Gerhard) Scholem (1897-1982), the first researcher and professor of Jewish mysticism. 

Meeting with the kabbalists of Jerusalem

In 1915, while still in Berlin, a young Scholem had already met and become friends with Walter Benjamin. Benjamin was later to kill himself by an overdose of morphine tablets in 1940 rather than surrender to the Nazis. Scholem dedicated his famous work, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism, to his friend Walter Benjamin. 

487) Self-promotion or natural authority? The case of Chavot Yair.

 

Introduction

This article – based extensively on the research by Professor Jay Berkovitz[1] − examines the charismatic image and commanding authority of the Halachic decisor, known as the Posek, whose task is to determine Jewish religious law. In this case, the rabbinic authority, R. Yair Chaim Bacharach (1638–1702) is used as an exemplar of the rise of the modern Posek.  He is known as the Chavot Yair after the title of his Responsa by that name, and he was active around the city of Worms in Germany. Responsa is sometimes called Sheilot uTeshovt (questions and answers) or Shut literature). The Chavot Yair was known for his innovation in law and independence of thought. 

486) An ancient (pre)text of Deuteronomy?

 

A cartoon in Punch magazine, 1883, showing Moses Wilhelm Shapira being apprehended by Christian David Ginzburg outside the British Museum, for allegedly forging an ancient textual find.

Introduction

This article – based extensively on the research by Professor Idan Dershowitz[1] − examines a work that for many years was regarded as a forgery, but, arguably, turned out to be one of the most significant textual finds of the nineteenth century. 

Part 1 describes the human-interest story of the original owner of the text, Moses Wilhelm Shapira and his eventual suicide after being accused of being the forger of the text. 

Part 2 advocates for the authenticity of the text, and discusses some of the consequences of this find which Dershowitz considers to be “a text that could change everything” (Dershowitz 2021:vi). Because the text resembled sections of the Book of Deuteronomy which deals with Moses’ farewell speech, Dershowitz has called the Shapira texts the ‘Valediction of Moses.’ 

485) Is a Halachic environmental discourse even possible?

 

Introduction

This article −based extensively on the research by Rabbi Professor Kotel Dadon[1] − examines some Torah and rabbinic sources that indicate the existence of, and potential for, further Jewish ecological discourse. It then (ambitiously) attempts to seek ways to bring this debate into the four cubits of Halacha (religious law). 

Dadon begins by nailing his colours to the mast in terms of his position on climate change and environmental issues: 

“Climate change and the resulting environmental disasters are among the greatest moral and existential crises of our time” (Dadon 2023:131). 

The general environmental discourse today revolves around two conflicting approaches regarding the role humans play in the world. These are the anthropocentric and biocentic approaches.

484) Babylonian Talmudic notion of 'Temporary Marriage'

Rabbi Professor Yaakov Elman 1943-2018

Introduction

This article − based extensively on the research by Rabbi Professor Yaakov Elman[1] − examines the recorded Talmudic notion of ‘temporary marriage’ as practised by the Amoraic (Gemara) sages, Rav (d. 247 CE) and R. Nachman (d. 320 CE). In a series of five previous articles, we have dealt with Elman’s groundbreaking studies on surprising but extensive Babylonian influences on the Babylonian Talmud. In this article, we try to understand how a Babylonian (=Iranian, Persian or Sasanian to be more accurate) practice of ‘temporary marriage’ was able to penetrate the conservative Talmudic circles around the third and fourth centuries CE. 

483) What Are We Supposed To Be Doing on Tisha B'Av?

Another guest post by Rabbi Boruch Clinton

We all know the things we can’t do on Tisha B’Av. But just not doing stuff can’t be the whole story. The real point, I suppose, is the mourning. But how does that happen?

The poskim (אורח חיים תקנ”ד) point to a custom to avoid labor (מלאכה) and business (בפרקמטיה). That, no doubt, is to keep us from being distracted from the mourning. We’re also expected to refrain from learning most Torah sources as it’s assumed those will give us joy.

The tefilos and kinnos are certainly there to help us focus on this specific flavor of mourning. But tefilos don’t take that much time, and the kinnos - even when properly understood - are relatively modern: it’s unlikely that any of them is older than 1,000 years, and it’s only very recently that we began reciting the “whole book” regardless of our individual family traditions. So how did our ancestors from previous centuries actually fill the day?

482) Rav Kook through statistical analysis

R. Avraham Yitzchak haKohen Kook 1865-1935.

Introduction

This article – based extensively on the research by Professor Isaac Hershkowitz[1] − statistically compares the early writings of Rav Kook to his later writings. R. Avraham Yitzchak Kook (1865-1935) was the first Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of British Mandatory Palestine and one of the founders of religious Zionism. Rav Kook created an enormous corpus of literature and new material continues to emerge. It is difficult, therefore, to describe Rav Kook unless all of his writings are taken into consideration. He is variously depicted by scholars in attempts to ascertain his “overarching system” of thought, but according to Hershkowitz, it seems his approach may have undergone an evolutionary process instead of remaining a homogenous system of thought. This position can be supported by a groundbreaking study of statistical data that Hershkowitz has conducted indicating “the development and evolution of Kook’s position over the course of his life” (Hershkowitz 2023:2, footnote 3). 

481) Religion and (or) Social Justice: A Jewish Perspective

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.

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[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.