Rav Menachem Froman (d. 2013) was a Religious Zionist rosh yeshivah, grassroots political activists, and all-around cultural figure. The narrative arc of his life moves from growing up secular and studied for a degree in Jewish philosophy at Hebrew University (though students inform me he never took the final exams that would have enabled him to graduate) to becoming religious and studying at Merkaz Harav. He became Rav Tsvi Yehuda Kook’s personal attendant. He would later become a teacher and rosh yeshivah in his own right, as well as a driving figure in the grassroots movement for peace between Israel and Palestine.
This blending of the religious and the poetic may never be more clear than in the Torah teaching translated below, which meditates on the image of a face–and what it means to have a face. The face is the very nature of Torah itself. In this short piece honoring the anniversary of Moshe’s death, the 7th of Adar, Rav Menachem Froman explores the issue of identity through the metaphor of the face.
According to Rav Froman, our face is something we are essentially stuck with, yet it also plays a pivotal role in how other people identify us, and perhaps even in how we identify ourselves. As such, the face serves as a fitting symbol for the more inflexible aspects of ourselves, such as our families and cultural upbringings. Some people spend their entire lives trying to escape who they are, only to realize they’ve run directly into being themselves. We put on masks, trying on new identities, typically only to discover that the change is not even skin deep. Is real change–changing our face rather than simply putting on a mask–even possible?
Moses, Moshe Rabbeinu, drawn from the water, son to both Egyptian princess and Israelite slave woman, is a man of many faces and identities: prince of Egypt, hard-fisted seeker of justice, leader of thankless complainers, and prophet-legislator of God’s people. In many ways, the lion’s share of the Torah is dedicated to descriptions of Moses as he slips between these roles, or perhaps grows into each one in turn.
So how did Moshe relate to himself, to the constraints of his inflexible face? Rav Froman proposes two possibilities: First, perhaps Moshe simply ignored his face, refused to let it determine the course of his life. Given enough determination, we can create ourselves, choosing who we want to be rather than simply accepting ourselves as given. Second, perhaps Moshe recognized the force his identity exerted upon his life, and consciously accepted it. He “saw his own face from within rather than from without,” meaning that he was simultaneously able to appreciate his identity from a distance and still experience it as his identity–a paradoxical blend of freedom and attachment that Rav Froman suggests may not “make any sense to say.” Choosing to embrace a given situation can change it from a prison to a home, from dim fate into luminous destiny. This, Rav Froman suggests, may even be the deepest element of the Moshe’s teachings.
These two approaches correspond to two important ideas in the thought of Rav Froman’s long-time friend and colleague, Rav Shagar: self-creation and self-acceptance. Rav Shagar grapples constantly with the nature of the self and personal identity, oscillating between–or attempting to synthesize–the two poles of Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook and Jean-Paul Sartre. Sometimes Shagar wants us to recognize that we have a pre-existing identity and choose it freely, and sometimes he wants us to boldly choose to create ourselves, to shape ourselves into who we want to be without any thought to who we already are. So too in this piece from Rav Froman.
This text reflects Rav Froman’s sophisticated literary sensibilities. Most of it is an extended, playful discussion of what it means to have a face. On the more technical side, the text is also full to brimming with specifically chosen language, whether face-related metaphors, references to traditional Jewish texts, or instances that combine the two. I (Levi Morrow) have done my best to convey all of these linguistic elements into English to the best of my ability, but there was never a chance of perfect success. Many elements simply could not be recreated in this English version, and readers are therefore referred to the felicitous Hebrew original in Ten Li Zeman. I have attempted to smooth out or clarify any awkward instances and obscurities resulting from this poetic translation, but any that remain are surely the fault of the translator, not Rav Froman or any editors.
A Chosen Face- Rav Menachem Froman
We have known Moses since Egypt. We have known him face to face. Sculptors and artists of generations made use–like spies–of their greatest and freest creativity, making wild and far-ranging guesses. Ultimately, it is clear to anyone who looks that these artists depicted Moses in their own image–his face is their face (not that this devalues their art in any way). In contrast, we know exactly what he looked like. We don’t feel any need to try and depict him. What would be the result? That he had a big nose? A high forehead? Anything we could say wouldn’t actually clarify anything. And what does it matter anyway? Suffice it to say that he had a face just like each of us.
And just like each of us, Moses certainly suffered from his face from time to time. Who would tell such a bold-faced lie as to deny that they sometimes wish they could change their appearance? Having to wear the same face day after day, moment after moment–is exhausting. Some people face this duty with great enthusiasm–they smile broadly, full-lipped. Some consistently and intentionally take the two-faced path. These are the bold-faced revolutionaries who would see their own faces (and those of others) thrown back in either wild laughter or heart-wrenching tears. The heart can perhaps even be torn, but not the face. Acts of despair like these don’t change the way things look. In the best case scenario, these attempts result in a few more wrinkles. Only the light cloud resting over the frustrated face alludes to the heroism-turned-embarrassment.
Many put their trust in time. But with every journey, and with every stop, the hardships of the wilderness increasingly scorch our faces. Moreover, the years bring old age–as they always do, which is why we cannot uplift the face of the noble, nor give splendor to the face of the wretched (Leviticus 19:15; Job 34:19)–and begin to mark us with its signs. So you imagine that, at this heavy cost, perhaps you have at least had some success in that external realm that is as intimate as possible–more trenches in your forehead, more cuts around your disappointed mouth. You have a conversation with your contemporary about the ways you’ve managed to escape your fate, when your son comes up and your friend lets slip the unkindest cut of all: “Wow, he’s so similar to you! Like one face reflecting another in water! (Proverbs 27:19)!”
We have no choice but to lower our eyes and admit, ashamed, that we live in this terrible state of constant denial and avoidance (hester panim). Someone with a big nose will have it his whole life, no matter how wide his nostrils flare with anger. He can’t reduce his suffering by even a millimeter unless he avails himself of the surgeon’s scalpel.
Of course, there’s always the most radical path–you could wear a mask. The immediate result would no doubt be striking, but its protection wouldn’t last forever. It will immediately become clear that this winning ticket–which fell into your hand as if from heaven–comes with a heavy price. A mask, by definition, is something external, not internal. The problem I describe affects us all too deeply for some superficial fix. You can’t escape the claustrophobic constraints of your face behind the even harsher constraints of the mask, just like you can’t escape thick chains by fleeing into a dungeon. Someone persuaded to follow this path will ultimately tear off–in a fit of terror–the veil that surrounds him. This dangerous path necessarily brings confusion, and you will spend far too much time trying to remove your own face. When you finally realize your mistake, your face will blacken like the bottom of a pot.
These hardships–which are the fate of every person–affected our teacher Moses as well. Even after he went up to Mount Sinai twice and neither ate nor drank for days on end, and even after the rest of his miracles, Moses kept guiding us with the same bright eyes and kind face we always knew. However, certain events suggest to the unbiased mind that something here is different–the cord that connects all men has here been cut. We cannot forget that right after his encounters with the creator, when he brought us God’s holy words, we saw his face as simultaneously terrible and wondrous. It was as if the very skin of his face shone and became like a speculum that shines. In a manner defying all understanding, anyone who looked at Moses then could see that he had no idea that something special was happening to him; he was acting as though his face remained the same as always. My proof: Moses did not understand our fear and continued to address us and summon us before him.
The careful scoffers dismiss these contradictions by saying, “It was Moses! We can’t know anything about him!” But his faithful devotees claim that Moses merited that for which every man on the face of this earth hopes, and escaped his unfortunate constraints (metsarim). They add that he merited this because–in contrast to all of us–he never felt pinned down by the contours of his face.
Expert readers of the biblical verses explain that Moses hid his face from his face, meaning that he saw his own face from within rather than from without, if that makes any sense to say. This lack of self-awareness–which is both simpler and more complex–is why the Torah says that he was the humblest of all (Numbers 12:3), that no one had arisen like him who knew God face to face (Deuteronomy 34:10). The fact that he continues to appear as he had previously, they explain, was an act not unlike putting on a mask. Moses stepped free of the fate of his face, but he took it up again out of free will. Perhaps we should call this what it is: A chosen face. Some say this is the innermost aspect of the Torah of Moses.
Based on Hebrew from Ten Li Zeman (Maggid Books, 2017). Originally published in Davar, April 19th, 1987.
Rav Shagar’s Hanukkah sermon brings together the debate whether the Hanukah candles are similar to a sacrifice as an act of destructive consumption or a moment of illumination. From there he weaves in a discussion of the difference between Shabbat guests and Hanukah guests.
The first option of comparing the Hanukah candles to the Temple menorah and thereby the sacrificial service, Rav Shagar uniquely portrays sacrifice as destruction, destroying the object offered, and the need to be completely consumed. In this approach, Shagar, follows George Bataille’s book Theory of Religion in which we overcome the modern self by a return to sacrifice and destruction. For Bataille, who died in 1962, religion is the search for a lost intimacy with animality and the cosmos. The ritual attempts to recovery the intimate original order through the violence of the sacrifice. Only by sacrifice can we destroys the functional utility of the object to return us to lost state of immanent being.
Making use of passages from Bataille’s theory allows Rav Shagar to portray Hanukkah candles as pure destruction which grants us liberation from thingness; it allows us to ascend to “nothingness and envelops itself.”
Mizvot such as Hanukah bring us back to a primordial religious experience which “destroys or nullifies any existence other than the existence of the creator, and denies any possibility of understanding the creator and encountering him.” Paragraphs such as this should serve a warning to comparing Shagar’s use of philosophy and post-modernism as Torah uMadda and even more of a warning against asking how Rav Shagar helps your suburban Orthodoxy. This is a nullification of self and the material world.
Rav Shagar see exemplars in figures such as Rav Nachman who were willing to sacrifice their very beings as an non-utilitatian offering of the self to seek God. They never expected to understand or grasp God, all we can do is offer up our very existences.
Rav Shagar relishes the 18th and 19th century Chabad conceptions of completely nullifying the self (bitual hayesh) and thereby completely nullifying the world into a state of nothingness. We negate the pleasures of this world and seek a complete liberation from all things to “return to a pantheistic state of simplicity and oneness with existence.” Rav Shagar express similar hope to be the moth to flame in his book on martyrdom and self-sacrifice. So please stop thinking of him (or having bad Facebook discussions of him) as an intellectual pulpit rabbi who reads postmodernism. For him, we commit our whole beings toward death to have a possibility of a divine encounter.
The second approach to Hanukkah candles treats them as “energy, movement, and light” illuminating our lives. “Lighting the candle does not express self-sacrifice but the powerful Eros of life.” The candles ignite our souls into passion, an Eros of existence rising from the darkness of the ever-present Thanos.
This Erotic illumination “leads to nostalgia” and sense of how light out of darkness leaves us lonely when we sense its fleetingness, and how much the candle is a mere “illusion of eternity” because we return to darkness. Even when we have moments of illumination, Rav Shagar feels how quickly it will fade.
Rav Shagar sees this distinction of sacrifice and illumination as the numinous and the pleasurable. The numinous as in Rudolf Otto’s classic book The Idea of Holy and the pleasurable as Freud’s pleasure principle. Rav Shagar will devote 3 lines to associating Otto’s numinous to Levinas and Derrida who have concepts of “the other” and “the difference.” The pleasurable is shown in the meat and rich foods of the Sabbath. The richness of pleasure is for Rav Shagar, an essential of Judaism. He gives a nice vignette about how he tells his students who eat dairy of Shabbat in order not to be exhausted that Judaism is about pleasure.
From this distinction, Rav Shagar glides into the importance of the familial shabbat table with its pleasure and inviting of guests as opposed to the doorway of hanukkah. Holiness is a good meal overflowing with “good and grace for the participants.” As Rav Nachman of Breslav says hosting guests is like hosting the shabbat. The home is being with oneself and allowing the walls between self and other to break down. Rav Shagar has similar language of being at home or “at homeness” about the Yeshiva, the beit midrash, and one’s non-foundation acceptance of faith. One create a sense of at-homeness.
In contrast, we light Hanukkah candles on the liminal border between the home and the dark evil world, between self and sin. The guest of Hanukahh is a process of overcoming the self and comfort to embrace an otherness and thereby embrace the Other. We have no permission to use the light in a utilitarian way as things are normally used in the home. On Shabbat there is a solidarity and interpersonal closeness; On Hanukah, at the space of the from door, the outside world does not play by the rules of our hospitality and the guest retain freedom. (These Hanukah ideas are based on uncited Rav Nachman ideas of Hanukkah as wondrous and abnormal. Rav Nachman has a story where a householder lights the Hanukkah candles and the guest magically takes him flying into the sky to paradise as well as uncited Derrida on hospitality.)
Rav Shagar concludes the homily with a prayer, or a hope, that opening the door can create connections never before possible and in addition we “will not require the exclusion of Otherness but will include it without crumbling. The idea of new connections never before possible was part of his homily on Greek wisdom and Torah for a different Hanukkah- posted here. The discussion of no longer being exclusive of the Other is behind many of his expansive socio-political homilies.
The entire 3500-word homily is below and available as a download below. It is still a rough draft. It is from the book of essay that Levi Morrow and I are producing. Some of the sentences and paragraphs still need clarification.
The Candle and the Sacrifice: A Sermon for Shabbat Hanukkah
Life and Death
Nahmanides in his Torah commentary equates the Hanukkah candles with the candles of the menorah in the Temple. Other commentators have a reverse approach that contrasts the menorah, which was lit only while the Temple stood, with the Hanukkah candles, which we light throughout the exile. Based on this distinction, I want to explore some of the different meanings of candle lighting and its holiness, the candle of the menorah, the Hanukkah candle, and the candle of the Sabbath.
While lighting the Hanukkah candles we say, “These candles, they are holy.” What is holy in a candle, the light or perhaps specifically the way the candle burns, consuming itself?
Lighting the candles of the menorah was one of the priestly services in the temple “Speak to Aaron saying: “In lighting the candles toward the face of the menorah, light seven candles” (Numbers 8:2). The nature of this service emerges with greater clarity when contrasted to bringing a sacrifice. The sacrifice returns the “thing,” the object-animal, to nothingness via its destruction and consumption, as clearly expressed by the Olah sacrifice that is burnt up entirely on the altar. “The priest shall offer up and turn the whole into smoke on the altar. It is an entire offering by fire, a pleasing aroma for God” (Leviticus 1:13). However, we need to be specific:
The principle of sacrifice is destruction, but though it sometimes goes so far as to destroy completely (as in a burnt offering), the destruction that sacrifice is intended to bring about is not annihilation. The thing–only the thing–is what sacrifice means to destroy in the victim.
In other words, the sacrificial act returns the objectness (the thing-object) to the intimacy of existence, to a state where everything merges in everything else, like “water in water.” The sacrifice is therefore not elimination and absence but “returning to nothingness.” A return from existence, from the world characterized by functional and instrumental distinctions that tear things from the deep intimacy of the divine world, to where there is no accounting.
On the one hand, the death of the sacrifice is the concept of limitation. Death from the perspective of life ends the differentiation of the world of things. The idea of limitation grants a thing itself, its existence, because limitation is necessary for existence. On the other hand, death grants existence its unity with itself. Through the disintegration of distinguished things, existence becomes liberated from thingness, ascends to nothingness and envelopes itself.
From the perspective of the living thing, the sacrifice ends in defeat, as it leads to deadness and elimination. It is impossible to “destroy the animal as a thing without denying the animal’s objective reality… one cannot at the same time destroy the values that found reality and accept their limits.” Now that death manifests, the animal no longer exists from the perspective of life in “the world of things.” The sacrifice therefore turns into an existence of emptiness.
The absolution annihilation of the sacrifice expresses one of the primordial religious experiences: rejection and nullification of the value of the world. Religiosity inherently bears within it an experience of destruction,  in that “it destroys or nullifies any existence other than the existence of the creator, and denies any possibility of understanding the creator and encountering him.” Hasidic conceptions of nullifying existence, such as the Habad contemplation of “everything before God is as nothing,” ultimately take part in the nullification of the world.
You can see the broad attention to the experience of destruction in Hasidic teachings in the descriptions of the yearning and consumption of the soul where they are compared to a sacrifice that burns the pleasures and enjoyments of this world. In Hasidut, the sacrifice represents “the elevation of feminine waters,” a process of love at the center, a liberation from things and a return to a pantheistic state of simplicity and oneness with existence. Faith grows out of this state. Reality receives its spiritualization from death, which deconstructs the differences in existence, as found in specific aspects such as commitment to martyrdom upon going to sleep, or when falling by lowering one’s head in prayer. These leads to liberation from the ordered laws of existence, yet [mizvot] are bound up in frustration and inner pain since our existence does experience death and the destruction of existence as liberation. That experience belongs to the intimate nothingness, what a person “sees only at the moment of his death.”
The sacrifice in the temple resonates with the requirement of martyrdom “with all your heart, with all your life, and with all your might” (Deuteronomy 6:5). “With all your life – even if he takes your life.” “With all your might (me’odekha)” “In Rabbi Meir’s Torah scroll they found it written: “Behold it was very (me’od) good” (Genesis 1); behold death (mot) was good.” A person must commit his whole world to death in order to open up to the divine absolute, as only in the consuming of life does there exist the possibility of encounter with the infinite.
In contrast to sacrifice, the character of lighting the menorah candles is different in that it leads to illumination and vitality. Certainly, the candle consumes itself, but this happens in the process of living, as a consuming that is itself part of living, as “the soul that I placed in you is called a candle.” The consuming is also present in the oil and the wick consume themselves as they burn. However, lighting aims not at eliminating but at burning, kindling, and illumination that give life. The inanimate oil and the wick transform into energy, movement and light. Just as a person consumes his stores of energy when integrating the spiritual and physical parts of himself in the process of living, so too in the lighting of the oil and the wick they unite and shine, receiving life. From this perspective, the lit candle reflects the process of life, the activity of the soul.Lighting the candle does not express self-sacrifice but the powerful Eros of life.
(The ancient custom mentioned already in the Mishnah (Berakhot 8:6) of lighting of a memorial candle is the act that best expresses the metaphor of the candle as the soul of man. With the lit candle, it is as if the person resurrects the departed in his memory, his soul shining in the candle. Due to its comparison with the soul, the candle becomes the medium for the embodiment of the departed’s soul.)
The role of the high priest in lighting the candles is therefore different from when he sacrifices the offering. With the menorah, his role is to illuminate souls, to ignite them, to give them the passion and the Eros of existence.With the sacrifice, his job is to bring a person to self-sacrifice and personal consumption; to give up on the finite nature of his existence by overcoming himself. This is a different manner of Eros, wherein “strong as death is love, hard as hell is jealousy, and its darts are darts of fire, a blazing flame” (Song of Songs 8:6).
The Eros that we find in contemplating the light of the candle is the same Eros of the soul of man, a consequence of this duality of light and consumption. This Eros leads to the nostalgia that we find in various Hanukkah songs. The lightness is the small and raw existence of the candle-soul, the dim candle that stands outside under threat of the great darkness. The loneliness, the quiet, and the monotony of the lit flame create the illusion of eternity, as if it will continue forever, that the candle and the soul will never go out. From this perspective, the Eros of the small candle is greater than that of the mighty, brazen, light of the torch.
As a general principle, bringing a sacrifice and lighting the candles present two different types of consciousness regarding the holy: the numinous and the pleasant. This echoes a split found in the Bible, where the holy sometimes appears as the awful and terrifying mysterium tremendum, which demands the destruction from sacrifice, and sometimes as the illuminating good, replete and pleasurable.
The holy arouses fear and brings with it the destructive. In the language of Levinas and Derrida the holy represents the “other” and manifests the “gap” and “difference” that cannot be bridged. “Anyone who touches the mountain shall die. No hand shall touch him, but he shall be either stoned or shot; beast or man, he shall not live” (Exodus, 19:12-13); “They shall not enter to see the dismantling of the holy, lest they die” (Numbers 4:20). However, the holy also appears as good and pleasing, overflowing its bounds: “Go, eat rich foods and drink sweet drinks and send portions to whoever has nothing prepared, for the day is holy to our Lord. Do not be sad, for your rejoicing in the Lord is the source of your strength” (Nehemiah 8:10). The holy day is sanctified when it is called “delight,’ the lord’s day, ‘honored” (Isaiah 58:13), and seeking the favor of God through eating rich foods and drinking sweet drinks: “Then you can seek the favor of the Lord. I will set you astride the heights of the earth, and let you enjoy the heritage of your father Jacob; For the mouth of the Lord has spoken” (Ibid. 14). The symbol of pleasure is oil – “You anoint my head with oil; my drink is abundant. Only goodness and steadfast love shall pursue me all the days of my life” (Psalms 23:5-6). Oil bears an erotic connotation in the Hebrew Bible: “Your ointments yield a sweet fragrance, Your name is like finest oil— Therefore do maidens love you” (Song of Songs 1:3), and it is holy “Make of this a sacred anointing oil, a compound of ingredients expertly blended, to serve as sacred anointing oil” (Exodus 30:25).
This facet of holiness is manifest on the Sabbath – when we light the Sabbath candles – in the Sabbath foods, which are generally rich, as the poet wrote: “to delight in pleasures / swan, quail, and fish;” in the Sabbath sleep, which is pleasure; and in the command of marital intimacy for scholars, especially on the Sabbath. All of these flow into the candle – the oil and the wick.
(It seems to me that the difference we find in the Hebrew Bible between the holy as the numinous other and the holy as harmony and pleasure is root of the debate that I sometimes have with some of my students about the Friday night meal. They are accustomed to eat a dairy meal in order to avoid eating rich and exhausting foods. Against them, I claim that this damages the holiness and pleasure of the Sabbath. In response, they say that each person’s pleasure is different, which is correct. Despite this, I answer them that the fact that they prefer dairy to meat, the light over the fatty, is a lack in their Judaism.)
The Sabbath candle is like the light of the home, gentle and pure, it does not impose a blinding otherness on a person, nor dread. It is also not part of the thunder and lightning of Mount Sinai, where anyone who touched the mountain would die. The candle lights up its surroundings, the home. The holiness here is familial, the light belongs to the home and is meant for the home, like a good meal, overflowing with good and grace for the participants; the good and grace connect the participants one to another.
It is therefore not surprising that the holiness of the Sabbath is inseparable from the hosting of guests, as Rebbe Nahman of Bratslav asserted “hosting guests is like hosting the Sabbath.” The pleasure of the Sabbath is manifest in the harmony of the body and the soul. The additional soul of the Sabbath, which Rabbi Solomon Yitzchaki explained it is “an additional soul that expands his consciousness for eating and drinking,” leads to reconciliation between contradictory elements, reconciliation that is parallel to life, which connects body and spirit, oil and wick. The Sabbath candle is a candle of harmony in the home: “What is ‘My soul is removed far off from peace’ (Lamentations 3:17)? Rabbi Abbahu said: That is kindling the Sabbath lights” because the candle provides the satisfaction and fullness of the home. This is also the origin of hosting guests on the Sabbath – a person has a homey dimension, a “being with himself,” and it is with this that he hosts guests. This is reconciliation of contradictory elements on a social level; the walls between a person and “the other” fall down for the sake of unity, subjectivity (nafshut), and fellowship.
Can we identify these characteristics in the Hanukkah candle? This is a candle of “each man and his family,” rooted in feeling at home. On the other hand, “we have no permission to use them, only to gaze at them,” since this light, the light of the candle, evokes the gap between it and the person who lights it. A person has no permission to use it, in that, he must keep his distance from it. Moreover, this candle is located “just outside the doorway of the house,” and “sin crouches at the door” (Genesis 4:7). The candle does not only belong to the home and to the feeling of being at home, but also to an Other space, dark and outside the known, familiar, boundaries, the demonic space. This candle’s roots are in war, the war of the Maccabees, not in the harmony of the Sabbath. To sum up: the Hanukkah candle carries within it both facets: the sacrifice and the menorah; consumption of the soul and the Eros of life; the outside and the home, otherness and hosting guests.
Two different types of hosting guests follow this approach: that of the Sabbath, which is when a person opens the doors of his well-lit home, and that of Hanukkah, connected to the harsh aspects of the divine (gevurot), when a person transcends himself toward “the Other” who is outside the door, and brings him into his home as an Other. Rabbi Yitzchak Isaac Halevi of Homil, a student of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, describes it thusly in his Hanukkah sermons. The Sabbath is “specifically a person for himself, in his home, with his household who obey his will. In contrast, the behavior of Hanukkah, which is outside the home where there is authority besides him and his will is not sovereign. This is why you must behave differently there”
Sabbath hosting guests is an outgrowth of a person “being with himself,” the solidarity of a person with himself and of his household with each other. The basis for hosting guests is the state suitable to reveal the familiar in a person and between people. He invites the “Other” into his home due to the fellowship and closeness that will exist, and perhaps already exists, between him and the household. He is invited to be a member of the household and to take part as a son in a home lit up by Sabbath candles and angels of peace. Ultimately, this mutual acceptance flows from the commonalities between people and it reveals what they share, the soul, which is a person’s good intentions, to which all sons and daughters of the home belong.
Hosting guests on Hanukkah is something else entirely because it requires self-sacrifice and inspires fear, rather than the harmony of the Sabbath. This hosting of guests requires a person to overcome himself and his “I”, as an absolute process, a decision, a revolution that he undergoes in relation to the Other, overcoming the otherness of the Other. It is a process of consuming through self-overcoming and putting faith in the Other despite his otherness. It is hosting guests without depriving the Other of his freedom, and therefore not expecting solidarity and interpersonal closeness but simply otherness – often deep chasmal otherness – between guest and host. This lets strangeness invade the home, and therefore this hosting of guests destroys the feeling of being at home as the reality of the home loses its everyday familiarity. The candles are lit and shining – seemingly warm and familiar – but we do not have permission to use them, only to gaze at them – they estrange themselves from the person lighting them.
Hosting guests on Hanukkah does not occur in the lit home, but just outside the front door. Just as the sacrifice is a liminal concept (musag gevul) between the existence of things and their nullification, so too the Hanukkah candles stand on the border between the home’s feeling of familiarity – which has its rules, definitions, and distinctions – and the lack of feeling at home that crouches at the door. Hanukkah hosting guests does not force the guest to accept the house rules, and therefore it requires the host to overcome himself and allow the guest his freedom to be, without knowing what effects this freedom will have and without restraining him by the light of the candles of the home.
The Hanukkah candle therefore presents multiple facets. As a candle, its center is the home, but as a sacrifice, it lacks homey familiarity. Minimally, the head of the household is perturbed. The Hanukkah candle is exilic, the candle of a broken house. Only such a candle enables the wondrous Hanukkah hosting guests and opens the door to the abnormal, which can create connections never before possible. Hanukkah illuminates within us the time when concepts like the home and feeling at home will not require the exclusion of Otherness but will include it without crumbling.
 See: A. Sagi, Etgar HaShivah El HaMasoret (Hebrew), Jerusalem-Ramat Gan 2003, p.92.
 E. Goldman, cited in: Etgar HaShivah El HaMasoret, ibid.
 This mindset is rooted deep in the role of the religious utterance, which is ultimately meaningless in context of the divine absolute, the divine intimacy.
 See, for example: R. Schneur Zalman of Liadi, Tanya (Hebrew), Iggeret HaKodesh, 28.
 See: “Sleep is one sixtieth of death” (B. Berakhot 57b); On the prostration of Moshe and Aharon when faced with Korah’s rebellion: “‘And they fell on their faces and said, “El, God of the spirits of all flesh’ (Bemidbar 16) – Come and see, Moshe and Aharon committed themselves to death… This is the tree of death, and every mention of prostration refers to this (Zohar III, 176b). Sleep and prostration are a form of suicide and return to a state of simplicity and oneness. Therefore, it is no wonder that, in Lekutei Moharan, I 35, Rebbe Nahman asserts that sleep is one of the ways to return existence “to the place from where it was taken.”
 Rav Tsadok Hakohen Rabinowitz of Lublin, Tsidkat HaTsadik (Hebrew), #127. Based on Pirkei DeRebbe Eliezer (Hebrew), ch.31.
 [The eros of life is a combination of eros and thanatos; death takes some part in in it. However, death’s presence appears as part of life itself, not as the absolute consumption of the sacrifice. If there is death, it is as part of life and serves as the background – the intensity of light emerging from darkness. – Y. M.]
 See Rudolf Otto, The Idea of the Holy: An Inquiry into the Non-Rational Factor in the Idea of the Divine and its Relation to the Rational (London: Oxford University Press, 1936).
 From the song “Mah Yedidot,” sung in Ashkenazic communities on Friday night.
 Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Laws of the Sabbath, 30:14. See Shimon Gershon Rosenberg, “Mitsvat Onah,” in Vayikra Et Shemam Adam: Zugiyu Umishpahah Mimabat Yehudi Hadash (Efrat: Mekhon Binah Le’itim, 2005), ed. Zohar Ma’or, 193-233.
 We can understand the particular Hanukkah type of hosting guests from Rebbe Nahman’s story “Ma’aseh Me’oreyah,” which takes place at the time of candle-lighting. Rebbe Nahman depicts hosting guests in this story in a manner entirely un-Sabbath-like. Rather, it is full of fear and terror of the otherness of the unknown that the guest brings with him. See Shimon Gershon Rosenberg, Leha’ir Et Hapetahim (Alon Shevut: Mekhon Kitvei Harav Shagar, 2014), 125-135.
 Rabbi Yitzchak Isaac Halevi of Homil, Hannah Ariel (Ashdod, 1998), Genesis, 57b.
 See Shimon Gershon Rosenberg, “Simha, Solidariyut, Ve’ahavvah,” in B’tsel Ha’emunah (Alon Shevut: Mekhon Kitvei Harav Shagar, 2011), 107-111.
With classes finished for the semester, I need to catch up on my reading. On my table are several recent books, all of them of the last four years, explaining the recent turn to interreligious studies. The current trend is to replace the word interfaith with interreligious since the term faith is a Protestant understanding of religion. And to place greater emphasis on the prefix “inter” to show that we are interconnected, with interreligious moments all around us. Diversity is continuous factor in our lives playing a role even in law, politics media, athletics, and education. Another part of this trend is to replace the survey of world religions class with a class on interreligious moments in our lives. Students learn more about Judaism by discussing why Satmar representatives went to an open casket memorial in a funeral home but won’t go to a church funeral than studying random snippets of Genesis and Leviticus compared to the Vedas and Koran.
A recent Jewish book to deal with this new interreligious moment is Prof Ephraim Meir’s Faith in the Plural (Idra Press, 2019), which is brand new and surprisingly not on Amazon or even available as of now in the US. The book has a great cover by Utah artist Suzanne Tornquist. (The cover art is also available as a talit or tefillin bag).
Prof. Ephraim Meir is Professor emeritus of modern Jewish Philosophy at Bar-Ilan University. His PhD is from KU Leuven in theology and he taught for decades at Bar Ilan University. A prolific author his recent works are Levinas’s Jewish Thought between Jerusalem and Athens (2008), Identity Dialogically Constructed (2011), Differenz und Dialog (2011), Between Heschel and Buber (2012; with A. Even-Chen), Dialogical Thought and Identity (2013), Interreligious Theology. Its Value and Mooring in modern Jewish Philosophy (2015) Becoming Interreligious (2017) and Old-New Jewish Humanism (2018). From 2009 until 2017, he was the Levinas guest Professor for Jewish Dialogue Studies and Interreligious Theology at the Academy of World Religions, University of Hamburg. He is President of the International Rosenzweig Society.
Prof Meir’s latest book Faith in the Plural (Idra Press, 2019) along with his prior works Interreligous Theology (2015) and Becoming Interreligious (2017) are his views on this change. Meir affirms the social fact of religious pluralism and also a theological view of pluralism based on John Hick. To give my reaction upfront, I accept the former and not the later. In addition, I don’t think Meir himself needs to affirm the later based on his own theory of trans-difference and testimony.
In the 1960’s, interfaith events, the Jewish-Christian reconciliation, and Church’s renewed encounter with Asian religions changed the theological climate. Alan Race created theological categories Exclusivist, Inclusivist, and Pluralist for the spectrum of positions taken at the time.
By 1970, John Hick the world renown philosopher argued that we must undertake a Copernican Revolution and assume one ultimate Reality and all religions are just attempts to grasp the Ultimate. Hick was widely influential and respected. Yet, in recent decades he received much criticism for thinking his was the only correct opinion, for his lack of empiricism, and for actually precluding interfaith understanding since religions are only metaphors and symbols for the ultimate Reality. In the 21st century, much of the field has turned to various acceptance models that differ with Hick. Mark Heim argues that religions do not offer the same goals. For example, Christian redemption has little to do with the Yogic conception of perfection. George Lindback argued that each religion is a closed system, with different non-comparable rules. And the most common method now is comparative theology, where I compare my faith to another and seek understanding but without making any major claims about the relationship between my faith and the world’s faiths. (I find myself within these 21st century approaches.)
Ephraim Meir’s book assumes John Hick’s position as his starting point to argue for a philosophy of dialogue. Not dialogue in the 1960’s sense of comparing theology, but a 21st century definition. We dialogue as an act of encounter and knowing the complexity of the world, we dialogue in a Levinas sense of the other religion breaking into our world and making demands, and we dialogue to produce social justice and reduce violence. For Meir, dialogue moves the pluralistic position forward.
Meir gives five characteristics or requirements for dialogical theology, and this is one of the strong parts of the book. His five are humility, translation, uniqueness, hospitality and learning. Here Meir is seemingly building on the interreligious approach and comparative theology of the last decade including those of Francis X. Clooney, Marianne Moyaert, Catherine Corneille and many others. Yet, they are not cited or referenced
Meir, however, specifically is steering clear of developing a theology. And he does not think he needs to address comparative theology. He maintains a clear focus on dialogue both inter-religious and intra-religious.
Meir’s major point is that we understand and relate to other religions through what he calls trans-difference. His dialogical approach is not a meeting or in-between like Buber’s rather we belong simultaneously to the broader world and to our own framework. We are part of the specific and the general.
Another one of his concepts is testimony. I reveal the divine by my own self contraction and listening to the other. This concept is an outgrowth of his reading of Rosenzweig, Heschel, and Levinas. His reading of the modern classics to produce his concept of trans-difference is how he deals with contemporary issues such as identity, authenticity, otherness, and understanding.
The book has several chapters on his deriving his views from the Jewish thinkers. The book also has a chapter comparing Jewish & Christian views of freedom as well as an interview with Ephraim Meir on the relationship of Jews and Christians.
Finally, and as theoretical grounding for his project, Meir approaches Perry Schmidt-Leukel’sinterreligious work as contained in his recent Gifford lectures as a valuable means of interpreting religious diversity. John Hick created a pluralism in which only the Ultimate Reality is real and religious systems are not, thereby reducing the importance of the differences between religions. Perry Schmidt-Leukel approaches the issue in a new manner using the concept of fractals. Here each religion is a fractal of the Ultimate Reality, recapitulating its structure and at the same time each religion has a fractal relationship to other religions. Each religion is a part of the whole and almost everything reappears in some way in the different religions. Think of a cauliflower, if I break off a floret it has the same basic structure as the entire cauliflower, similarly each floret is similar to the next floret. Applied to religion, the religions are similar in structure therefore one religion can understand another. The pluralism respects the differences between religions as florets but sees a unit in the repeating pattern combined to make a larger pattern.
If you think one religion is a floret and another is an eggplant and a third is a carrot, then this fractal model would not work. Meir’s movement away from the fractal model is two -fold. First, there are many cases of impossibility of dialogue, of fundamental theological differences, and of lack of understanding. All aspects that can only be overcome though dialogue. Secondly, Meir wants to emphasize the ethical, social-relations, and seeking to mend the world more than any philosophic truth claim. Hence, Meir formulates his trans-difference as an ethical alternative to a truth-claim approach.
Which brings me back to my opening. If Meir is basically about social and ethical relationship then the other interfaith models could also work, including comparative theology. I really liked the book in its understanding of dialogue, especially his use of Jewish sources to derive the approach. The book has good Jewish ideas about religion as trust not intellectual assent. There are many gems in Meir’s valuable book, which can be picked out and used elsewhere. I was struck by the value of the book because I am in the middle of collecting my interfaith talks into a small volume and found his Jewish formulation of general interreligious ideas very helpful. I will definatley be using many of his ideas particularly in his reading of Jewish texts in future talks and papers.
I thank Meir for discussing my books for a few pages. He is one of the few who understood my Ricoeur influenced position in those books correctly. However, a Ricoeur position is able to maintain particularity without becoming pluralist while still being comfortable with translation, hybridity, hospitality, and the impact that an encounter with another religion has on a person or system.
The former Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks in the first edition of his Dignity of Difference presented a pluralism in which each religion has its own covenant, its own religious path and morals. God does not want a single unified path, rather we are broken into tribes and peoples. Rabbi Sacks quoted Nathanial ibn Fayumi’s idea that God sent a prophecy to each nation. Ephraim Meir writes that as a philosopher, he is less interested in concepts such as revelation and covenant and more interested in dialogue and pluralism. But most interested in these topics of inter-religious meaning either seek the theological, the wisdom of other faiths, or the explicit social application. But those who want a philosophic approach thinking with and around Levinas will enjoy the work.
Interview with Prof. Ephraim Meir
1) Please explain the concept of Faith in the Plural.
“Faith in the Plural” has a double meaning. First, it is faith in plurality: a plurality of voices and lifestyles is celebrated. One does not just note the existence of the plurality but rejoice in it. Others are approached in a positive way and recognized as different and equal to each other : one may appreciate their unique particularity and learn from their perspective and lifestyle. If you believe that we all live in one world, characterized by diversity, the acts of communicating, translating and extending hospitality become possible.
Secondly, it is faith in plurality: faith exists in the plural. Consequently, different expressions of faith are appraised as revolving around the Transcendent, approached in different ways.
The title of my book “Faith in the Plural” implies, therefore, honoring plurality (faith in the plural) and, more specifically, honoring religious plurality (faith in the plural). The first is appreciating the diversity of the world and the second is a fundamental commitment to a philosophic and theological pluralism, similar to John Hick.
2) What is a dialogical approach?
Dialogue follows Peter Berger to embrace the complexity of the world; following Levinas it interrupts one’s monologue, and similar to Paul Knitter strives for social justice.
A dialogical approach allows that the other interrupts one’s own monologue. In a genuine conversation or meeting, what the other says or does may become relevant for one’s own position. Dialogue is necessarily transformational. Although dialogue is not always possible, it remains a challenge and opens unexpected perspectives. With their unique make up, persons are also interconnected.
A dialogical or interreligious theology goes beyond sameness and otherness, beyond radical dissimilation and radical assimilation, through respect for different lifestyles and the reality of communication. In search for meaning, dialogical theology is essentially pluralist and, as such, this pluralized theology is an alternative for age-old religious conflicts. Fear of the religious other has been an obstacle for the shaping of a heterogeneous, democratic society. Dialogue overcomes this fear by working with deep listening to others with a view of mending a fractured world by getting involved with them.
Dialogue as I conceive it is not easy. It aims at creating a relational I and a dialogical society in which one strives for equality and social justice. There are limits to dialogue. People can become so entangled with evil that transformation is impossible. With such persons, not dialogue, but justice is needed. With radicalized extremists and (religious) fanatics dialogue is impossible.
Dialogical theology emphasizes interaction between religions in view of the creation of peaceful societies. It is a pluralized theology, in which interreligious dialogue interrupts one’s own religious narrative and in which interreligious dialogue is transformational, as every authentic dialogue.
Dialogue embraces the complexity of the world, interrupts one’s own monologue and strives for a democratic society and social justice.
3) What are the characteristics of dialectic theology?
Dialogical theology has a number of characteristics:
A first condition for dialogical theology is to be humble. Since there are many religious others who organize their lives around the Ineffable, one has to recognize that one is not the only one to talk about what cannot be defined. Humility is required once one realizes that one’s own religion is only one color in the multicolored garment of Joseph.
Translation is a second characteristic of dialogical theology. It is an important criterion for a successful interreligious dialogue. Translating is not only a possibility, but also a duty because of the valuable “trans-different” relationship with religious others. In a good translation, one avoids radical assimilation without links to what is outside as well as radial dissimilation without bridging that allows for contact. In translation, uniqueness and bridging paradoxically belong together. It implies openness, crossing borders and bridging. Translation is an act of peace because one communicates the own in terms of the other. Because we live in one, shared world, translation and communication are possible and necessary. No religion is so unique that it cannot be understood by people, who do not belong to that religion.
Respect for the uniqueness of religious others is a third condition of my dialogical theology. Religious others are incomparably unique. There are many ways to the Transcendence. In deep listening to religious others outside and inside our own group, one may learn a lot. There is no other way than one’s own way. That is true for all those in one’s own group and for the many others outside our own group. In dialogical theology, uniqueness and translatability are not opposed.
In dialogical theology, one welcomes the other and allows her to enter into one’s own world. Extending hospitality to the other and paying visit to the other’s home are lofty human possibilities that bridge between worlds. Passing to the world of the religious other or allowing the other to visit our world necessarily change us. It may lead to critical questioning of the own tradition and to enriching our personal religious existence. Welcoming the other is basic in all real dialogue.
Last but not least, learning from the religious other is crucial in interreligious theology. Religious persons who meet religious others may enrich their own spiritual life, reread their own home tradition and creatively shape it.
4) What is the concept of trans-difference?
The concept of trans-difference is central in my dialogical theology. It lies at the heart of the interreligious dialogue. The term brings together differences and a bridge between differences. By using this term, I avoid the danger of a closed identity that does not recognize one’s belonging to the entire world as well as a kind of universality that absorbs particularity.
In trans-difference one belongs to a specific group as well as to the general world. Belonging indicates pertaining to a particular group. It also designated relatedness to universal mankind. The relation between belonging to a singular community and to the broader circle of human kind is sometimes harmonious. Frequently it is characterized by tension and conflicts. Trans-difference combines both realms of belonging.
“Trans-difference” respects different, specific, contextualized viewpoints and, at the same time, promotes connectivity and communication. It affirms differences and goes beyond them in non-indifference. It creates an open, dynamic identity that has otherness in itself.
5) How is interreligious dialogue testimony (or witness)?
The recognition of the other and the care for her are a “testimony.” Testimony is a fundamental category in the meeting with the religious other. Through the tact of contraction of the I before the other and through deep listening to her, the glory of the Most High.
Listening to religious others without an agenda is in itself a testimony to the Infinite. By enlarging our religious worldview, we come to a fuller appreciation of the Transcendent. Interreligious dialogue could promote a religiosity based upon human rights and a shared humanity and testify to the intimate relation between divine revelation and mending the world.
Testimony or witness is a clearly religious notion. In my understanding, testimony interrupts a violent way of being, it is a sign, pointing to an elevated, non-violent world. Different religions testify in different ways to the Transcendent and may become a “sign” for each other. “Testimony” (‘edut) and “sign” (nes) are Jewish categories that fit a dialogical theology from a Jewish vantage point.
Inspired by Levinas, I deem that in responding to the other and in the ethical meeting with her, the ‘I’ testifies to the Infinite. In Levinas’s philosophy of the other, the one who says “Here I am” before the other testifies to the glory of the Infinite. The ‘I’ becomes a witness of the Infinite in taking infinite responsibility of the other. Applying Levinas’s ethical metaphysics to the field of interreligious dialogue, I conceive true dialogue as a testimony: in openness and non-indifference to and care for the religious other, one bears testimony. Holiness resides in testifying to a God who hears the cries and sees the tears of oppressed people.
6) What happens to truth claims in your approach?
I suggest not to focus upon truth as a complex of sentences with which one has to agree. In Hebrew èmèt, truth, is rather related to trust and confidence. One could focus upon peace, which is higher than truth.
In a dialogical theology, truth comes into being in dialogue. “Truth sprouts from the earth” (Ps. 85:11), from beneath, in the pursuit of justice and a good life for all and in dialogue and loving relationships with others. In Jewish thinking, one does the truth. Instead of searching for abstract truth, one may search for a meaningful life and for cross-bordering values. The aim of truth is peace and peace conditions the search for truth. Recognition precedes cognition. Attitudes more than words give access to the Transcendent. In my view, truth is relational and linked to the transformation of the human being.
More important than truth claims is the praxis of ethical behavior. The tree is known by its fruits. A rigorous position of the defenders of the gate easily becomes aggressive. We do not know God as He/She/It is. John Hick who created the modern pluralistic position, thought all religions are just attempts to grasp the Real.
The Transcendent – what John Hick calls the Real – is “known” within human values and within one’s ethical way of living. All religious traditions have human concepts about the Real (Adonai, the Trinity, Allah, or Vishnu, Brahman, Tao or Nirvana) which are not the Real itself, but rather human responses to the Real. In this perspective, it is forbidden to absolutize any experience of the Transcendent.
Absolute truth claims led, and lead, to much violence and intolerance. History shows that much violence has been done if one defends the exclusivity of one’s religion or its superiority over other religions, which are seen as false or less true. Absolute truth claims disregard intra- and inter-religious plurality. Dogmatic thinking with a lack of openness may become coercive and exclusive and block the way to a religious search.
The problem with religious people is that often they consider God as their God, without recognizing that their God is also the God of others and that “no religion is an island,” as Heschel felicitously phrased it. Another great thinker, Franz Rosenzweig, noted that God did not create religion, he created the world. This makes religions relative; they all exist in view of mending the world. He also adds that God is the truth, in which human beings participate. Truth is always truth-for-us and therefore relative, without relativism.
7) Is this relativism?
John Hick and the pluralist position does not say that all religions are the same. Hick, and followers of the pluralistic position, are not relativists. Hick merely says that the Real is not what is known from it through our conceptual apparatus and that also others have salvific paths to the Transcendent. He disagrees with the position that one presents one’s own religion as the only true one. Rather, all religions are an approach to the Transcendent.
One does not have to leave one’s own religious narrative in order to recognize that diversity has to be accepted and celebrated. Excessive love for the own makes us forget the other. The own religious love story does not prevent one from appreciating the religious love stories of others. It is not relativistic to recognize, as did the Yemenite Jewish theologian Nathanel ben Fayyumi in the 12th century, that God sends a prophet to every people according to their own language. More psychologically phrased: different religions correspond to different human needs.
Before my mixed public of Orthodox and non-Othodox Jews I explain that cultures and subcultures have different ways of relating to the Most High
8) What is Schmidt-Leukel’s fractal position?
John Hick was a pioneer who made a Copernican revolution in theology to sees all religions as attempts to understand the transcendental Real. Theology is a form of poetics and symbols to express the Real.
Perry Schmidt-Leukel’s interreligious theology continues Hick’s pluralism. However, Schmidt-Leukel conceives of theology as “science,” in search for truth. His emphasis is more upon the cognitive dimension of the diverse beliefs.
Perry Schmidt-Leukel discerns fractal patterns in the various religions following Benoît Mendelbrot, who used the term “fractals” for patterns that display self-similarity across various scales.
With his “fractal”‘ interpretation of religions, Perry argues that there is a fractal face also in cultural and religious diversity. His fractal interpretation of religious diversity is on the inter-religious, intra-religious and intra-subjective levels. He claims that the diversity among religions is also present within the religions and within the religious orientation of individuals. If one follows his argument, the different religions (and cultures) are less separated than might be thought at first sight: they have regular structures that return, but also irregularities that point to different contexts and arrangements.
Already Wilfred Cantwell Smith called for a world theology or global theology. Perry’s creative, pluralist “interreligious theology” perceives fractal structures in the religious diversity and encourages interreligious comparisons and learning.
Perry Schmidt-Leukel’s model is unity in diversity, unity in difference. He claims that “[r]eligions resemble each other, but they resemble each other in their diversity.” His main point is that, if religions are not intelligible to each other, we could not understand other cultures at all: religions are never totally other. He assesses diversity and complementarity. Different religious types are all part of the human experience. This phenomenological view allows for comparability.
Perry Schmidt-Leukel’s model of interreligious theology greatly contributed to the pluralist revolution in theology in offering a theory that explains the interconnectedness of religions and the possibility of interreligious learning.
9) Where do you differ from Schmidt-Leukel’s fractal position?
I agree with Perry that comparability is possible since our own experience is part of the experiences of humankind. With my “trans-difference,” I interpret religious uniqueness differently.
First, in my view, this does not mean that everything is comparable. Certain incommensurabilities preclude the translatability of all things into something else, as well as the reduction of all otherness to structurally identical or analogous elements. My point is that, just as languages possess words and expressions that are idiomatic, religions have an otherness that is not reducible to sameness.
Perry looks for compatibilities in order to create a communication platform. To my mind, some elements in religions are not compatible with each other, not overlapping and not parallel, but rather radically different. I agree that translating religious categories is a possibility and even a necessity, but should less than complete comprehensibility and complete transparency not be possible? The Jewish love of the Law, for example, greatly differs from the Christian freedom as free from the Law. From a Jewish vantage point, the Christian recognition and appreciation of this Jewish specificity is vital in the Jewish-Christian encounter.
Perry too recognizes limited incommensurable elements in religions, but his emphasis is more on comparability and translatability than on incomparable uniqueness. Consciousness of uniqueness does not necessarily lead to feelings of exclusivity or superiority. In fact, recognition of the uniqueness of religious others is a constituent in my dialogical theology, which combines uniqueness and sharing a common world.
Second, my interreligious dialogical theology is much more deed-centered than Perry’s. I interpret interreligious pluralism in an ethical way.
My dialogical theology comes closer to Paul Knitter’s soteriocentric model, which combines a theology of religions with a strong commitment to mend the world. In my dialogical theology, I put the emphasis upon genuine, transformational dialogue, in which the question whether theological utterances are compatible with each other is less important than the moral quality present in the various responses to the inconceivable reality.
10) What is an ethical interpretation of interreligious pluralism?
With his creative and sophisticated fractal interpretation of religious diversity, Perry Schmidt-Leukel conceives theology as a “science,” in search for truth. His emphasis is upon the cognitive dimension of the diverse beliefs.
My dialogical theology is more about trust than about truth. Dialogical theology involves deep listening and perfecting society by getting involved with (religious) others. In this pluralized theology, peace is more elevated than truth and does not have to retreat before truth. It is rather the result of the common search for meaning, which is present in different religious groups.
I emphasize the ethical dimension in the different religions. From my perspective, the aim of truth is to bring peace. To be attentive to the other and take care of her is above the rational order of truth.
Perry has a logocentric fractal interpretation of religious plurality. My interreligious theology is characterized by a deed-centered approach to religions.
A pluralized theology is not primarily the result of knowing more religions or knowing them better (although that is important too), it is first of all about recognition of the other. Being present to religious others and listening to them without hidden agenda is a “testimony” to the Infinite. By enlarging our religious world, we come to a fuller appreciation of the Transcendent, approachable in care for the other human being.
11) You quote a wide variety of Jewish pluralists, are you basically in agreement with them? Your list includes among others the diverse approaches of Kogan, and Zalman-Schachter-Shalomi?
One may cherish and love one’s own religion and, at the same time, take seriously the encounter with religious others. Travelling in a multi-religious world does not diminish in any way love for the own religion, in which and from which one lives. We shape our identities, but we are also shaped by others, intra- and inter-religiously.
Michael Kogan in his Opening the Covenant (Oxford 2007) seeks to include Christianity within God’s covenant with Jewish people. He quotes Paul in 1Cor. 9:22 who claims that he became “all things to all people so that by all means some might be saved” and asks “why cannot God do the same thing?” For Kogan, “all faith are true that lead us from egocentricity to participation in the infinite life with all its ethical and spiritual blessings.” I am in agreement with his pluralist view that God reveals different truth to different peoples in different historical circumstances. Kogan opens up the covenant and develops a multiple revelation theory, which states that others too have a covenant with God. He is also right in writing that Catholic ecclesiolatry, Protestant scriptolatry and Jewish ethnolatry want to replace the infinite with finite forms. Kogan formulates his pluralism in this way. I do not work with different revelations or covenants, but with the term “trans-difference,” which is a philosophical notion, more fitting for a dialogical theology.
Zalman Schachter-Shalomi develops Jewish theological insights on Jesus. A Jewish look at the Gospels is relevant for those Christians, who want to understand Jesus better in his Jewish historical and cultural setting. For instance, Buber’s view on Jesus, as developed in his Two Types of Faith, is useful for Christians, who frequently interpret Jesus in light of later dogmatic developments. Buber situated Jesus in the series of Suffering Servants. Schachter-Shalomi goes beyond the historical Jesus who preached good moral behavior and see him as “axis mundi” for his followers. According to Schachter-Shalomi, Kabbalah offers a model of divine embodiment. In this perspective, Jesus is an “incarnate of Torah.”
Schachter-Shalomi’s view on a more transcendent Jesus differs from the classical Jewish one, which takes distance from the divinization of finite human beings. Yet, what is forbidden for Jews can be allowed for non-Jews. The views of Kogan & Schachter-Shalomi go beyond a confessional Jewish theology. They interact with Christianity and engage in a dialogue with Christians.
12) What happens to a fixed religious identity in your approach?
In my view, “trans-difference” creates an open identity that has otherness in itself. The loftiness of the human being resides in the realization that the I is always linked to the non-I and that interconnectedness ruptures one’s totalizing tendencies. Interconnectedness brings us out of our cocoon, in humble service of the other. This a life long task.
However, frequently, religious persons define themselves in contrast to others. Religious others are often met with animosity and a-priori assumptions instead of sympathetic listening. The alternative for such a fixed religious identity is a dynamic identity, open to others. In a dynamic religious identity, one discovers that one belongs to the entire world, in which a plurality of religions testifies to the Transcendent.
A dialogical theology is about crossing borders and leaving fixed identities in openness to others, without losing one’s own embedment in concrete cultural and historical contexts. In dialogue with religious others, one may become conscious that many other traditions also approach the Transcendent in their own way.
Religious identities are linked to religious traditions. However, these traditions are ambiguous. Ideally, they are a dynamic process and develop continually. Practically, they are frequently absolutized. Traditions should be conscious that they are not the divine source itself, but only a response to it. As other human realities, they may reflect divine realities that become manifest in human connectivity. They may also become inhuman, violent and cruel. The million dollar question is if religious traditions will be able to exercise self-contraction and give room to each other. Traditions may instrumentalize the Transcendent in function of the own interests, producing shaming, blaming, exclusion, discrimination, violence and war. They may serve themselves as particularistic traditions, divorced from values. Alternatively, they are particular expressions of a universal bond in favor of a unified humanity. The choice is between love of the own by excluding the other or cultivate a universal belonging in one’s own unique way.
The success of dialogical theology depends upon the elasticity and willingness of (the adherents to) traditions to connect to the Divine through peaceful and dialogical relationships. One may creatively revisit and reimagine the own tradition in light of what one learns from others. A critical participation in a religious tradition allows for experiencing, experimenting, creativity and change. A non fixed, dynamic identity avoids making a caricature of the other and creates the possibility of an expanded “we.” It places relationality again at the heart of the religious experience.
13) What does the Rabbinic concept of chosen people mean?
Chosenness is something positive: it is the privilege of having duties. In traditional Jewish life and thought, God loves the Jewish people “with great love.” Before the reading of the Torah, we bless God “who has chosen us from all the nations.” Love is always linked to chosenness. One is chosen in order to be responsible for others. In this sense, every human being is chosen to be there for others. Chosenness is not haughtiness, it is rather an election to be in dialogical relation with the (religious) others.
Here is the second part to our interview with Rabbi Dr. Yakov Nagen (formerly Genack) he is Ra”M in Yeshivat Othniel. (Part 1 is here) This one comes after his successful American book tour.
This second part presents the topics that some consider Nagen’s greatest contribution, his approaches to Torah study. Much of this interview pertains to his book —Water, Creation and Divinity: Sukkot in the Philosophy of Halacha [Hebrew] (Giluy 2008, forthcoming in English) as well as his interfaith encounters with Palestinians in the Holy Land.
Rabbi Nagen is part of the trend that coalesced starting in the 1980’s around, but not limited to, Rabbi Shagar z”l. The rabbis sought to move beyond learning in a formal manner to learning for meaning. One can compare Rabbi Nagen to others in this approach including Rabbis Dryfus, Dov Zinger, and Yehudah Brandes. For all of them, there are many methods of learning and many approaches to study Talmud. We should not be locked into a single method. (See the discussion in Rabbi Yuval Cherlow’s book on Torat Eretz Yisrael, 1998).
Rav Nagen’s emphasis is on the integration of Aggadah into the study of Talmud and into halakhah. Below are some examples pertaining to Sukkah and Arba Minim. I am not sure how clear they are to someone who has not studied the tractate.
With great hyperbole, back in 2000 Rabbi
Yuval Cherlow declared Rav Nagen as the new Rabbi Soloveitchik for our time in
that the latter brought Kant and Existentialism into Torah and Rav Nagen is
bringing comparative religion. While clearly and embarrassingly overstated, it
does show a world of Roshei Yeshiva who see methods of learning as changing and
as open to the wider world.
Rav Nagen also has integrated study of Zohar into his Talmud shiur. They do not study it as a side activity of knowing the world of the sefirot. Rather, Rabbi Nagan uses it to teach about contemporary relationship and to derive new customs. For example, he encourages his students to say when dating: “For the sake of the unification between the Holy Blessed One and His Shechinah” and that couples should say the evening shema together. A burst of new ritual creativity worthy of 16th century Safed.
Finally, this interview is his
discussion of his work with local Palestinians and his visit to Al-Azhar
University to share a common belief in one God. Nagen was a friend and student
of Rabbi Menachem Froman of Tekoa z”l, well known for his emphasis on
interfaith and peace.
How does your Beit midrash seek meaning and spirituality beyond the more analytic Litvish approaches?
I think what is most
exciting about Beit Midrash is its constantly evolving dynamic nature. When the
Litvish approach was first developed in the late 19th and 20th
century, it was an innovation. Rav Chaim Volozhin in Nefesh Hachaim stressed Torah Lishmah, for its own sake.
I see the
methodologies that I use not as replacements but further developments. Classical lamdanot focused on a conceptional
analysis that is often deliberately formalist and abstract. Distinctions in
Brisk deal with defining the “What” and not asking the
“Why.” For me there were two distinct phases of my development beyond
major thesis of Rav Shagar’s book “Uvetorato yahaga” is his distinction between two basic
approaches to the relationship between Torah and life- Brisker abstraction and
his approach of meaning.
first, the Brisker approach, views the Torah as divine and eternal in which the
Torah is abstract and autonomous, and thereby disjoint from life and reality.
The Torah being alienated from the nature flow of life is, in most aspects, a Brisker
dogma and ideal. They created a closed language of lamdanut, denigration
of “baalabatish” reasoning, and seeing a divide between how people think and
how the Torah thinks. They view the Torah as devoid of emotional or human
elements, thus claiming that the mitzvot lack reasons.
approach that Rav Shgar propounds, is one in which Torah can illuminate life’s
questions and challenges. One creates a linkage between the flow of life and
the Torah. Is God’s will manifested exclusively within the realm of halakha, or
can God be found within life itself? The return to Eretz Yisrael and the
fact that they live as part of Medinat Yisrael has led many in the Dati
Leumi community in Israel to choose the latter approach.
2) How did you personally find Meaning beyond Abstraction?
In the first stage,
while still a student as Yeshivat Har Etzion, I began working on an approach to
“Halakhic thought” (machshevatHa-Halakha), which remains
conceptional but is more philosophic than classical lamdanut. The
articles I wrote then eventually evolved into my doctorate “Sukkot in
Rabbinical Thought – Motifs the Halacha of Sukkot in Talmudic Literature”.
1997, a later stage in my development, I joined the Beit midrash of Otniel
founded by Rav Shagar’s students where there is a stress on seeking meaning. A
meaning which finds existential and personal significance.
give a short example of how I apply the differences: the default chakira
in classical lamdanut it to asking whether “cheftza or gavra“,
is it in the object or the person. In contrast, in my class it’s often the
distinction explained in my book between “Doing” and
“Being”, an action or a state of mind. Recently in Yeshiva we studied
the mitzva of Tefillin, and I argued, based on both the Biblical sources and
halachot, that the fundamental difference between the Tefillin of the head to
that of the arm is that the first is sanctifying our “Being” and the
latter our “Doing”. These are concepts that touch on life and opened
discussions about what and how tefillin can transform.
Is there a connection between the Aggada and Halacha?
Rav Zvi Yehuda
Kook often cited the Hatam Sofer that mixing Halacha and Aggada is forbidden as
a forbidden mixture (kilayim). Indeed, Halacha and Aggada are
distinct genres. Lack of recognizing of the uniqueness of each can lead to a
However there is an organic connection between
that makes each essential to understand the other, in which the proper integration
can bring a deeper understanding of both.
As a friend of mine
pointed out, Kilayim itself isn’t a blanket prohibition, the clothes of
the kohanim in the Beit Hamikdash were made of kilayim. For the record
allow me to point out, the original quote of the Hatam Sofer dealt not with
halacha and Aggada but rather with mixing halacha and kabbalah.
Rav Zvi Yehuda’s
statement diametrically the opposite of statements by his father, Rav Avraham
Yitzchak Kook, who has issued the most vocal call to integrate Halacha and Aggada.
I begin my book on
Sukkah by quoting Rav Kook from Orot Hakoda 1:25 “The Halacha and the Aggada must unite
with one another….”. When my
efforts on the interplay of Halacha and Aggada were challenged by a colleague
who quoted to me Rav Zvi Yehuda about kilayim, I countered by the quote
from Orot Hakodesh. To which my critic responded: “No, no. you don’t
understand, in Orot Hakodesh it is referring to an abstract truth in the upper
worlds, not something connected to the reality that we are living in.”
Rav Kook the father is
motivated by his holistic and nondualist worldview that seeks to uncover the One
underlying all with a connection between Halacha and Kabbala, I would view this connection as based not only
on theological but on academic, literary and historical grounds. As Yonah Frankel, a pioneer in the study of
Aggada and midrash. has pointed out, all of our sources from the Sages contain
both Halakha and Aggada – the Bavli, Yerushalmi, MidrasheiHalakha and, to a lesser extent, the Mishna and Tosefta. Furthermore, the
same sages engaged in both genres
The idea that Halakha and Aggada are unrelated would belie all we have learnt from anthropology and comparative religion – rituals have significance and meaning and often reflect a value system. The burden of proof is on anyone who would argue that Judaism is the exception. Yair Lorberbaum, in his book, Image of God has a marvelous chapter on the relationship between Halacha and Aggada in the Sages.
4) How do you see this relationship between Aggada and Halacha in the context of your work ?
The field of the
relation of Halacha to Aggada is relatively new.. In my doctorate and
book on Sukkot, I grapple with this challenge of working in a new field,
but there is still a long road ahead. In my work the focus would be best called
“machshevatHa-Halakha“. I study the halakhic for its ideas
based on its sources, definitions, literary structure, and contexts within the back
and forth of the halakhic discussion.
In addition, through my doctoral work, I was exposed to additional fields that contributed to my research. The study of ritual and symbolism in anthropology and comparative religion, can lead to insight into Halacha. This method does not necessarily lead to “parallel-mania” between Judaism and other traditions. Often, quite the opposite results – comparison highlights what is unique about Judaism.
5) How does this apply to learning Sukkah? Can you offer examples?
Aggada in Sukka 11b brings an opinion
that the Sukkah parallels the Divine clouds that encompassed the Jewish people
in the desert. The meaning and scope of the idea is uncovered by studying the
halachic parameters of Sukkah.
In Tannaic sources
eating in the Sukkah is compared to eating of Korbonot(Mishna Sukka 2:6), and other
laws derived from the seven days in which Aaron and his sons lived in the Mishkan
during the process of its consecration (Sefra Emor 17).
In the Amoraim the Sukkah
emerges as an abode of the divine, highlighted through its connection to the
Kodesh Kedoshim, the inner sanctuary. The minimum size of the Sukkah is derived
from the lowest level that the Shechina manifested above the Ark, or from the
size of the space between the Ark and the wings of the Cherubs above it. The intricate sugya in which these laws appear is in fact examining the relationship
between heaven and earth (Sukka 4b – 5b).
Looking at the
totality of the halacha calls us to see also the theme of Sukka as the home
during the course of Sukkot. Rav Yuval Cherlow once told me that in wake of my
approach of Sukka as Temple, I presumably would identify with the position that
frowns on marital relations in the Sukkah. I argued that the whole point of the
interplay between the Sukka as Temple or as home, is a vision to connect the
home and life to the holy, and the sukkah encompassing life and not dividing it,
as Tosphot points out (Sukka 43b), in the mikdash it is forbidden to sleep,
whereas on Sukkot one is obligated to sleep in the Sukka.
6) What insights can
you offer about the Araba Minim?
I see the Arba minim as both reflecting the divine
and as a sacrifice.
I point out that Rabbi
Akiva’s halachic opinion that there is only one of each Min, is reflective of
his approach that each of the Arba Minim is a symbolic representative of the
divine, thus one of each. An interesting historical point made by Professor
Sperber is that the coins from the Bar Kochba revolt have a picture of the Arba
Minim in accordance with Rabbi Akiva’s approach, which reflects the tradition
that he was the Rabbi of Bar Kochba.
The dominant approach,
however, in the Mishna and Talmud relates to the Arba Minim with many of the parameters
and categories of sacrifices The Aggada explicitly makes the comparison between
Arba Minim, and sacrifice.
Both of these
approaches to Arba Minim, as representing the divine or as sacrifice fit well
with the above conception of Sukka as Temple. In general Sukkot is the
primarily holiday of the Temple. Sukkot is the time in which Solomon dedicated
the Temple. I argue that the nightly celebration in the Temple, Simchat beit
hashoava, is a reenactment of the events and ceremonies behind the story of
the Temple, such as David’s wild dancing in front of the ark as a procession
leads it to Jerusalem. In the future too, the time that humanity comes to the Temple
is designated as Sukkot (Zecharia 14).
7) What is the role of Raphael
Patai and Mircea Eliade in your work?
Patai was a pioneer in comparing Jewish ritual and those of ancient
cultures and religions. Ideas of each person being a microcosm, and of the
Temple microcosm. The cosmic significance of the water libations is illuminated
by the parallels he brings. One flaw is that he notes similarities but what
often is most interesting to me are the differences.
More significant for
me was the work of Eliade, to which Professor Moshe Idel, who together with
Professor Moshe Halbertal was my doctoral mentor, encouraged me to study.Eliade,
who was one of the twentieth century’s foremost scholars of religion,
contrasted two different approaches to time: the cosmological and the
historical. In the cosmological model, time is cyclical: what was is what will
be. Time flows backward, in a constant, recurring return to a mythical age.
This conception of time is derived from, among other things, the phenomena of
the natural world, which repeat every year without fail. For instance, in the
spring the flora bloom, during the year the plants dry out, and in the
following spring they grow anew. Eliade contrasts this conception, which
pervades the pagan world, with the historical view of history instilled by
Judaism. According to which time and the world are always marching forward.
The importance of the historical approach in Judaism lies
in the fact that it makes room for morality and values. Were that not the case,
nothing could change, and man’s actions would be meaningless. Eliade himself,
it bears noting, identified with the cosmological model: as a fascist and an
anti-Semite, he was not much enamored of the historical approach.
In my book on Sukkot, I argue that the Jewish
tradition did not supersede the cosmological approach, but rather added to it,
maintaining a unique synthesis between the cosmic and the historical. Sukkot
has both historical components, in the context of the story of life in the
desert and cosmic in terms of the renewal and return to nature, a theme that
also appears through laws of sukkot.
8) What is the goal of Torah study from a
I believe that the role of Torah study for the Jewish people is so fundamental, touching on our deepest identity, essence, and destiny. My universalism leads to a greater emphasis on the significance of Torah study. As I don’t see the Jewish people as having different DNA or different soul as non-Jews, but rather as sharing a common humanity and image of God (tselem Elohim), therefore it is the Torah that makes us unique, who we are and who we can become. The blessing we say on the Torah “God…who has chosen us from all the nations and given us the Torah” tells us that it is the Torah that gives us our status. The richer, deeper and more significant the Torah is, the more we grow. As a result, to fulfill our role I see the value in reaching new realms, and see openness to the world as opening up pathways to this expansion of Torah.
This belief reflects for me my hashkafa (worldview) of
Modern Orthodoxy. Openness to the world has a value and but also a price. I see
the challenge and obligation of Modern Orthodoxy as working to ensure that the
price we pay for our exposure to the outside world to be justified by the ways
we are blessed by this engagement.
Another reason why universalism leads to this imperative is the vision of the Jewish people as continuing to contribute to humanity through the venue of Torah – in the words of Isaiah 2:3 “From Zion will go forth Torah and the word of God from Jerusalem” . This challenges us to develop a Torah that can speak to humanity as a whole and be transformative for their lives and for their connection to God.
9) Why do you engage in interfaith work with local Palestinian imams and sheikhs? What is accomplished?
The return of the Jewish people to Eretz
Yisroel, and the birth of a Jewish State is not the end of the story but the
beginning. After two thousand years of untold suffering and determination, we
have a moral responsibility to create a state that will realize a vision that
justifies this journey of the Jewish people. We need to heal the relations
between the Jewish people and humanity, and to connect with other followers of
God in order to serve him from a place of connection and brotherhood. The state
gives us an imperative to try to make the other into a brother.
More and more it is recognized in Israel
the significance of religion in reaching these ends, including even the
political. The great insight of Rav Menachem Froman, my friend and mentor, was
that if religion is part of the problem, then it will have to be part of the
solution. Belief in God has the power to separate people, but it also has the
power to connect them. For those who believe that the other worships a
different God, faith will drive a wedge between the two parties. However, for
those who believe that we both love, cherish, and pray to the same God, belief
will only draw us closer together.
When it comes to Judaism and Islam, the
two primary religions in the conflict, their theology binds far more than it
divides. Jewish rabbinic literature values Islam for its belief in the unity of
one God. In the Koran, Islam grants a special status to Jews as “Ahlul
Kitab” – People of the Book. However, while these theological tenets may
lay the foundation in principle, peaceful relations between peoples can and
will only be built through direct encounter, through laying down the bricks one
at a time. The work comes through real life meetings between persons of
different faiths, opportunities to acknowledge and encounter the Other’s
religious and ethnic identity.
For years I have been active in
interfaith meetings both in Israel proper and the West Bank, largely under the
auspices of two organizations – the Abrahamic Reunion (AR) and the Interfaith
Encounter Association (IEA). I see the power of these sessions as
twofold. First, such meetings have the power to change what the attendees think
about the Other. Second, and perhaps more significantly, these encounters take
those truths one already knows cerebrally and brings them down from the head to
the heart, turning them into a living existential reality.
Human connections alone cannot be a
substitute for political solutions, but they create fertile ground for
solutions to develop and ultimately flourish. These connections can help ensure
success of any future resolution and open up new possibilities to finding an
optimal solution for all parties.
10) Why did you visit Al Azhar in Egypt?
occasions, I hosted my friend Dr. Omer Salem at Yeshivat Otniel who lectured to
our students. At one point he offered to host me in Cairo at his University, Al
Azhar University. Al Azhar was founded more than a thousand years ago and is
one of Sunni Islam’s most important institutions. I realized that there is ongoing
debate in Egypt about who are the Jewish people and thought that be going there
an ability to impact on this discussion, so together with Dr. Joseph Ringel and
Rebecca Abramson (a haredi journalist) we set out for Cairo.
wrote his doctorate at Al Azhar University, on the topic of the status of Jews
and Judaism according to Islam. This is the same topic that the former Grand
Imam of Al Azhar Muhammad Sayyid
Tantawy, wrote his thesis, on Ahlul Kitab, the people of the book. They however reached opposite conclusions. According
to Tantawy, Islam has a negative attitude toward the Jews.
“[The] Qur’an describes the Jews with their own particular degenerate characteristics, i.e. killing the prophets of Allah, corrupting His words by putting them in the wrong places, consuming the people’s wealth frivolously, refusal to distance themselves from the evil they do, and other ugly characteristics caused by their deep-rooted lasciviousness … only a minority of the Jews keep their word. … [A]ll Jews are not the same. The good ones become Muslims, the bad ones do not.”
In contrast, Omer
took the opposite approach and saw as what he believes is the positive
conception of the Jews in Koran as the key to reconciliation in the Middle East
as he argues in his book, The Missing Peace: The Role of Religion
in the Arab-Israeli Conflict.
There are, however, Jewish believers with whom Islam has no problem. Surah 3 says that there is ‘a party of the people of the Scripture [who] stand for the right, they recite the Verses of Allah during the hours of the night, prostrating themselves in prayer.’ The Quran praises the Jews for obeying the Torah.”
“[If your ways are pleasing to Allah], even your enemies will become your lovers. Remember that you are the chosen people. You may doubt that Islam appreciates and respects the Jews, but when Muslims ruled the world they were the protectors of the Jews. My vision is to restore this attitude. I want to say to my Muslim brothers and sisters: You are not the enemies of the Jews, you are their protectors.”
11) Who did you meet with while at Al-Azhar University ?
met with some of the professors there.
Bakr Zaki Awad, the dean of the School of Theology whose specialty is the
relationship between the Torah, the New Testament and the Quran, yet he had
never met a rabbi in his life. He had a lot of powerful questions to raise
about Judaism. One issue he raised was that Muslims want everyone to be
Muslims, but Jews don’t seem to care who becomes Jewish. He saw this as Jewish
antipathy towards other people. I told him that the Torah starts with our
common humanity in the story of Adam, where we are told that all of humanity is
created in the image of God. Judaism sees itself as having a role to play in
the story of humanity, but not that everyone should be Jewish. Our role is to
awaken certain values and a connection from God to humanity, which we see for
example in the seven Noahide laws. We see in Islam a fulfillment of that
When we visited the University of Fayum where we met another
professor of Omers’. When he heard we were Jewish, he told us a very sweet
One day someone came and knocked on the gate of the palace identifying himself as the brother of the Caliph. The visitor is ushered in, but the Caliph isn’t able to recognize his brother. The Caliph asks, “Are you my brother through my mother?” “No” is the reply. “Are you my brother through my father?” Again the answer in negative. The caliph continues to think and finally asks again, “Are you my brother in Islam?” The visitor answers, “I am not a Muslim. ”“So how are you my brother?” asks the Caliph. “I am your brother as all of us are children of Adam and Eve.” The Caliph responds: “You are right. I will treat you as my brother to demonstrate this to the world.”
Integrating Zohar into our Lives
12) Why is Zohar study important for today’s yeshiva?
I mentioned in the previous interview Rav Kook
opening statement to “For the Perplexed of the Generation”–
“That Humanity is created in the image of God,
this is the
essence of the entire Torah” I see the connection of the human and the
divine as the fundamental idea of the Kabbala, the heart of which is the
Zohar. I see the power of this concept
as sanctifying and empowering all human life and interpersonal relations as
well as human endeavors.
13) How do your current shiurim on Zohar focus on love in the Zohar?
The love songs of Shiur HaShirim between the
male and the female, which is in the words of Rabbi Akiva, the holy of the
holiest (Mishna Yadaim 3:5), is an allegory, but the question is for what? The
traditional answer is for the love between God and the Jewish people. Within
the teachings of Rabbi Akiva it is clear that the realm of the divine includes
also the earthly love between man and wife (Sotah 17).
The Zohar adds a third
dimension to these love songs, as the love and yearning within the realm of the
divine, between HaKadosh Baruch Hu and the Shekhinah. What is critical and
often missed is the dynamics and interrelation between these three dimensions.
Or as I tell my students that before going on a date to say “For the sake of
the unification between the Holy Blessed One and His Shechinah “”לשם ייחוד קודשה בריך הוא ושכינתיה .
Often passages that
the commentators see as abstracting dealing within the divine realm, I will ask
what this could means when actualized in the human realm and applied to our
There is a beautiful
teaching in the Zohar at the beginning of
Shir HaSHirim, that a kiss of love has four spirits, ruchot, in it. It can be explained abstractly about the
interaction between heavenly sefirot but also as an insight our interpersonal
relations. Two people in a relationship are
really four spirits. Each person has their own individuality but in time each
encompasses something of the other, and gives it a new form, thus in a relationship
there are four spirits connect.
Another teaching in
the Zohar on love is in Parshat Teruma that the source of the four letter name
of God, the tetragrammaton is the very similar four letter Hebrew word, Ahava,
love, which the Zohar states the letters of which “above and below are dependent”
(Zohar Teruma 146a). So love increase God’s presence.
14) Explain how do you think the Zohar wants us to do Shema as a couple?
The earliest time of Shema in the morning is
when there is enough light for one to see his friend (Shulchan Arukh 58a). Rav Reem HaKohen once explained that the
reason is that Shema is accepting God’s majesty upon us and in Judaism, as by
Sinai, this should not be done alone but with others.
My first thought was
that the corollary should be that at night, the Shema said before going to
sleep should be said with ones’ spouse. I later discovered many passages in the Zohar
stressing the great unity of Shema is the unity between male and female. For
example the Zohar terumah (133b) says that the first phrase
“shema…ehad” is the inner unity of the groom, the second
“Baruch….Voed” is the bride entering modestly into the huppah and
thus this is said in a whisper. Or “all mitzot each reflect either the
masculine or of the feminine, the exception being Shema which is unity as thus has
both (Zohar Hadash Ruth 110a) The
explicit meaning of these passages is that this is about the unity between
those aspects of the divine, but in my approach to Zohar I see this as actualized
also in the partnership of a couple together accepting God.
My new book arrived on October 31st (Lexington Books). It is an account of my time in India combined with an introduction to Hinduism for Jews. My audience is the Jewish world and I go through many major aspects of Hinduism and explain them in Jewish terms.
One of my major points is that you cannot compare 21st century Judaism to 5th century BCE Hinduism. Contemporary Jews are not practicing sacrifice, fighting molekh or marrying off their minor daughters, rather following a contemporary application. Similarly, American Hindus have define themselves as a theistic worship as embedded in Temples that function as American style social centers with youth groups, social halls, and Sunday school. You have to compare like to like.
A second one of my major points is the vast variety of forms of Hinduism and Hindu thinkers. One cannot make sweeping generalizations about the many religions and denominations that coalesced in the 17th century to be called Hinduism. There are more members of any minor Hindu sect than there are Jews in the world. There are 1.15 Billion Hindus. There are many theologies.
Third, please top judging them without any knowledge or based on 2 lectures in an intro to religion class or a google search. They do not like being judged with Western eyes or by those who make them exotic. Also, please immediately stop assuming they are too simple to understand their own religion.
I did not deal with the halakhic issues, I will leave that to Rabbi Prof Daniel Sperber and others.
I am already working on several other books and applying for grants to write them.
When I posed this a few days ago on Facebook, someone half jokingly and half seriously asked:who is going to do the author interview with me and who will be the respondent?
The book arrived on October 31 and is available via the publisher Lexington Books. I apologize about hard cover price but my contract explicitly stipulated that it goes into paperback in 12 months. There is a 30% off coupon below- valid until 12/31. Unfortunately, Amazon offered 30% off the book back in April when it had no cover, no blurbs, and no description. But Lexington Books is offering a discount. The paperback should be out by December 2020.
$95.00/£65.00 After discount:
$90.00/£60.00 After discount:
30% Discount –To get discount, use code LEX30AUTH19 when ordering.
Central, and South America
Caribbean you can also
*All orders from individuals must be prepaid. Prices are subject to change without notice. Shipping charges and sales tax will be added where applicable.For email or phone orders, provide the promo code LEX30AUTH19 for the 30% discount in your communication.
Rabbi on the Ganges: A Jewish-Hindu Encounter is the first work to engage the new terrain of Hindu-Jewish religious encounter.
The book offers understanding into points of contact between the two religions of Hinduism and Judaism. Providing an important comparative account, the work illuminates key ideas and practices within the traditions, surfacing commonalities between the jnana and Torah study, karmakanda and Jewish ritual, and between the different Hindu philosophic schools and Jewish thought and mysticism, along with meditation and the life of prayer and Kabbalah and creating dialogue around ritual, mediation, worship, and dietary restrictions. The goal of the book is not only to unfold the content of these faith traditions but also to create a religious encounter marked by mutual and reciprocal understanding and openness.
This work is the best comparative analysis ever of Jewish and Hindu philosophy and religious thought. Brill knows his Jewish sources impeccably, and with skilled observations of daily life and engaging dialogues with Hindu thinkers and texts, we accompany him on his journey. This is a groundbreaking dialogue, and through Brill’s appreciative eyes Hindus and Jews will come to understand both the other and themselves in a new way. It has my highest recommendation. — Nathan Katz, Distinguished Professor, Emeritus, Florida International University
The late Swami Dayananda Saraswati declared Hinduism and Judaism to be the two fountainheads of Religion in our world—the one of the Abrahamic traditions and the other of the Dharmic religions. Yet for the most part in the course of history, the two have remained foreign to one another.
In recent times this has changed dramatically, not least of all reflected in the fact that India is frequently the preferred destination of young Israeli Jews. However serious attempts to understand the religious world of the other have been rare. Alan Brill’s book is an impressive pioneering work in this regard and will enable those familiar with Jewish teaching to gain a serious comprehensive understanding of Hindu religious thought, practice, and devotion. Moreover the clarity and insights he provides will enlighten not only Jews, but all those who wish to gain understanding of the rich wisdom and forms of Hindu religious life. — Rabbi David Rosen, International Director of Interreligious Affairs, AJC
Brill succeeds in juxtaposing a comprehensive introduction to Hindu history, thought, and practice with personal reflections drawn from his experiences in India. A Highly readable contribution to the growing field of Indo-Judaic studies, and an invitation to further Hindu-Jewish dialogue. — Yudit Kornberg Greenberg, George D. and Harriet W. Cornell Endowed Chair of Religion, Rollins College
Rabbi, professor, traveler, storyteller, spiritual seeker, all of these roles have woven together to enable an outstanding achievement: Alan Brill’s Rabbi on the Ganges. This book serves both as an introduction to Hinduism and also as a comparative study of Hinduism and Judaism. Brill has an ability to sift between the essential and the trivial that allows this introduction to be significant and meaningful, exploring the history of Hinduism and its variety of denominations and philosophies.
Despite the enormous amount of information, the book doesn’t feel dense but rather very readable. In terms of the comparison to Judaism, there are insights both relating to the rituals and practices of these religions but also the deep spiritual teaching. Brill also shows parallel developments in both religions, such as regarding the status of women and responses to modernity.
One of the most significant messages of the book is showing how the contemporary Jewish view of Hinduism is based on a Hinduism of antiquity rather than the Hinduism of today. For me, this book has been transformative, and I believe that it will form a basis for a fruitful relationship between Judaism and Hinduism. — Rabbi Yakov Nagen, senior educator Otniel Yeshiva
In honor of Bereshit, here is Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan on reading Genesis as presenting the truths of 20th century science, as discussing a world 2 billion years old with humans as existing for 25,000 years.
Aryeh Kaplan’s Handbook of Jewish Thought has become a classic of synthesizing the classic positions of Jewish thought into an order fashion both an introductory guide and simultaneously a reference book
Below is a pdf of a full chapter of Aryeh Kaplan’s Handbook of Jewish Thought left out of the published work because he presents evolution as part of the basic tenets of Judaism. The already typeset chapter has an editor’s note across the top asking if the chapter is “fixable” and “true kosher”? There is also an editor’s note that dates the chapter to 1968 when Kaplan was leading a Conservative congregation in Dover NJ.
The Handbook of Jewish Thought was published in
two volumes, the first, containing 13 chapters, appeared in the author’s
lifetime in 1979. The second volume edited by Avraham Sutton, was published
posthumously in 1992. This volume has 25 chapters. While the first volume had
no introduction from the author, the second volume contains the following
The bulk of the present volume is from the author’s original 1967- 1969 manuscript that consisted of 40 chapters. Thirteen of these chapters were prepared for publication by Rabbi Kaplan himself and published in 1979 as the Handbook of Jewish thought – Volume I. It is clear that the remaining chapters were set aside with the thought of eventually preparing them for publication. Of these remaining chapters, 25 are presented here
Despite the assertion that the first volume was called
“volume 1”, no such statement is to be found in the original Handbook of
Quick arithmetic – 13 (volume 1) and 25 (volume 2) indicates that 2 chapters of the original 40 were suppressed. In the end, they – Moznayim – or the Kaplan family concluded to leave these chapters out of the book. Generally, the works published by Moznayim are much more circumspect than the audio recording of his lectures. Here is an extreme case.
Moznayim assigned people to edit Kaplan’s writings or tapes of his lectures who were not there at
the lectures or had left for other teachers years before.
I thank Rabbi Ari Kahn for providing access by sending
me the pdf of this gem. If someone has the final – 40th chapter – I
would love to see it.
Kaplan is explicit in his affirmation of evolution in
In the first three paragraphs, he states that the creation
account in Genesis is not literal and not science but narrated to teach the
history of Israel. He believes that new concepts in science are always being
discovered beyond the limited science known in the Biblical and rabbinical era.
We are, according to Kaplan, to continuously
interpret the Biblical text according to currently available knowledge.
Even though the explicit text is to narrate Israel’s history, nevertheless Kaplan states that the scientific knowledge is hinted at in the Masoretic text through “subtle variations”. In addition, we have traditions that aid in our discovering the scientific truth in the text. Maimonides and other medieval commentators interpreted the text based on Aristotle. Maimonides in his Guide II:29 explains how he would be willing to read texts based on current science. Similarly, Kaplan footnotes Ramchal in his commentary of the Aggadot.
Kaplan considers the creation of the universe as billions of years ago when there was the initial creation as the creation of matter as well as the initial creation of time/space. The creation at the start of Genesis was billions of years ago according to Kaplan, even if the Torah does not explicitly state it.
Kaplan explicitly rejects the 19th century Gosse
theory, a theory that the world only appears to be older because God created it
that way. Kaplan writes: “God does not mislead humans by making the world
appear older.” Many of the members of the Association of Orthodox Scientists of
his era did accept Gosse as did the Lubavitcher Rebbe.
Kaplan defines the creation with the date of 3761 BCE as only the date when Adam (the new being with intelligence) was created. The world itself is billions of years old and various species of men, including Neanderthals and Homo Erectus, pre-date this created Adam. People generally assume the creation of the world, creation of men, and creation of the intelligent descendants of Adam occurred at the same time; Kaplan differentiates these events.
The metaphoric sixth day was only when Adam was created in Divine thought as the plan for creation, not the actual date of his creation- see below on Kaplan’s acknowledging humanoids before Adam. (Berakhot 61b Eruvin 18a)
Kaplan makes a general statement that the “time of creation is not essential to our thought.” He proves this from a citation in Yehuda Halevi’s Kuzari,1:60-61”
Al Khazari: Does it not weaken thy belief if thou art told that the Indians have antiquities and buildings which they consider to be millions of years old?” To which the Rabbi in the dialogue answers: “The Rabbi: It would, indeed, weaken my belief had they a fixed form of religion, or a book concerning which a multitude of people held the same opinion, and in which no historical discrepancy could be found. Such a book, however, does not exist.”
Kaplan takes this to mean that Halevi would only be bothered if they had a form of religion accepted by the multitude with discrepancy, but not about the claim concerning civilization and ancient books.
Kaplan states that nature does not change so we accept radioactive dating; the method is valid to establish definitively that the world is billions of years old. In this, he rejects the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s opinion that radioactive dating is not valid because nature changes. Kaplan has certainty that science works without caveats and if the method of radioactive dating of fossils show that they are millions of years old then they are millions of years old. They are not animals killed in the Biblical flood but creatures who lived billions of years ago.
In footnote number 12, Kaplan states that each of God’s years is 365,242 of ours yielding a world age of two billion years, which is not the current scientific age of 13.8 billions of years.
In contrast, in his later writings and talks, most notably his 1979 essay on evolution, he comes up with a 15 billion year date for the universe based on Isaac the Blind, a date closer to the scientific view. For more on his later calculation, see Ari Kahn, Explorations: In-depth Analysis of the Weekly Parashah Through the Prismof Rabbinic Perspective (Brooklyn: Targum press, 2001).
In this early passage in the Handbook and its notes he does not cite Isaac of Acco. At this point, it seems he did not yet have a copy of Isaac of Acco or he might have had a citation but did not have the full sefer or did not fully study it yet. Isaac’s Sefer Meirat Eynayim was not yet published; it was published in 1974. And Isaac’s important Otzar Hayyim still remains in manuscript. Kaplan write that he obtained the photocopy of the manuscript of Otzar Hayyim in the 1970’s circa 1976. If in 1968 he did not have the manuscript yet, and he only photocopied it after he started publicly teaching Kabbalahthen he might have been relying on an older work of scholarship that cited it. Alternately, he might have been creative enough to develop the Rashi on his own to reach 2 billion. (see footnote 12 below)
Kaplan explains that God did not really verbalize in
the creation of the world, rather God speaks means the impression of will upon
matter thereby giving it a new property. God speech involves modulating
creation to desired results. (There is
already a sense here of Kaplan’s later focus on mental acts – meditation).
Kaplan in his spiritualizing of the text successfully manages to be deeply
Maimonidean and Nahmanidean at the same time. He can cite simultaneously
Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed on how locutions such as “God spoke”, “God’s
mouth” or “God spoke to Moses” are anthropomorphic and not to be taken
literally. Simultaneously, Kaplan appeals to Ramban 1:3 in that Divine will
impressed upon the primordial matter of hiyuli, God is not literally speaking
but engaged in the coming to be of the lower hypostatic element, which in turn
will create the world. Kaplan foreshadows his later thought and treats kabbalah
in a non-literal manner.
(In Castilian Kabbalistic language, this would
be keter affecting hokhmah. Later Orthodox attempts to harmonize Biblical
create and science used Ramban’s concept of primordial matter in a literal
manner as an allusion to the Big Bang theory).
Kaplan further spiritualizes the process so the steps
of creation did not happen at the stated time, just that the prerequisites for
God’s goal was complete even though the actual goal would not manifest until
Kaplan explains the phrase “it was good” to mean the
completion of something essential for the evolution of the universe,
destruction of prior worlds means evolution to something higher. The world is evolving to higher stages. The
destruction of prior world does not mean there were prior worlds just that
lower forms of this world. (15:9) (He cites Maharal Beer Hagolah 39b)
Days of Creation
What was the light created on the first day before the
creation of planets? For Kaplan the light on the first day is the electromagnetic
force in matter responsible for all chemical and physical properties, without
the electromagnetic force the world is chaos and void.
What was created on the second day? It was when God
set the matter of the first day into Euclidean four-dimensional space-time
On the third day, God created the gravitational force.
The “gathering of the waters” is not about swamps and sea but the “warping of
matter” and the creation of phenomena that follow non-Euclidian geometry. It
was also the physio-chemical properties of matter needed for plant life, (15:13)
On the fourth day, God initiated the process by which
matter would condense into galaxies, starts and planets,” which is the
completion of inorganic matter.
On the fifth day, God started the process by which
organic matter and life came to be.
On the important 6th day of creation, God
created the evolutionary potential of higher mammals and primitive man. Nothing
was actually created on the 6th day, rather the evolutionary
potential of the development of higher mammals from lower mammals was
designated. After the 6th day, God allows world to develop by itself
– without intelligent design- solely through the natural evolution. Just as the
geological evolution of crystals grow naturally over millions of years from
natural processes, so too the evolution of animals is the same way. The
unfolding properties for mammals and eventually man is in the natural order.
Man, known to paleontologists as later stages of homo sapiens, already had mental and physical capabilities about 25,000 years ago according to Kaplan’s scheme. (In 1979, he extends this to 100,000 years ago).
However, it was only 6000 years that man was given a divine soul. This was a new level of wisdom and inventiveness to allow for cultural evolution through invention, metallurgy, animal husbandry, ship sailing (15:22). Actual paleontologists place this Chalcolithic period, the period of new wisdom, as between 11,000 to 6000 years ago. Kaplan acknowledges that species change and that even man evolves as shown by his vestigial tail.
Hence, the seven days of creation are as follows:
1 Electromagnetic force
2 4-D space/time matrix
3 Warping of matter, beyond Euclidian space
4 Inorganic matter
5 Organic matter and life
6 Evolutionary potential of higher mammals and primitive man.
Kaplan explains his own method of not treating the
words literally, rather as allegories for scientific principles. Water, sky,
and light are all allegorical terms for the unfolding of the scientific cosmos
because the scientific terms were unknown in ancient times. (15:10) As he wrote
earlier in the chapter, according to Maimonides the words used as not intrinsic
but subject to interpretation and according to Nahmanides, these terms refer to
divine unfolding of the cosmos not physical objects.
many ways, Kaplan approach to science is similar to Nahmanides’ concept of
remez, in which scientific concepts are alluded to in the Torah. Both Kaplan
and Nahmanides read the allusions in the Torah to science, psychology, and powers
of the soul.
Nahmanides in his introduction to the Torah wrote: “God informed Moses first of the manner of the creation of heaven and earth and all their hosts… together with an account of the four forces in the lower world, minerals, vegetation, animal, and the rational soul. With regard to all of these matters Moses our teacher was apprised, and all of it was written in the Torah, explicitly or by implication.” (For more about Nahmanides, see Oded, Yisraeli, The Kabbalistic Remez and Its Status in Naḥmanides’ Commentary on the Torah. The Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy. 24. (2016)1-30)
At the end of her response, Feldmann Kaye positively affirms that we are called again to respond to the “plentiful array of intersections beyond postmodern thinking and Jewish philosophy. Profound responses to these deeply philosophical questions, are well on their way, and many more rest on the horizon.” Personally, I look forward to these imminent profound responses.
Miriam Feldmann Kaye – Response
you to Prof. Brill for hosting some of the critical questions of our times.
This blog pioneers contemporary Jewish thought, encouraging new Jewish
philosophical and literary knowledge and engagement. The nature of this
particular conversation reflects a heated discussion of the array of
intersections beyond postmodern thinking and Jewish philosophy. These responses
partially epitomise the ambivalence towards the term ‘postmodernism’. Although,
expressions of this stance deserve to be addressed with a deeper,
content-based, and respectful nature, of critique.
is apparent in this discussion typifies religious approaches towards
cutting-edge theology. In a positive sense, it also exemplifies engagement with
these ideas. The particular focus here is on my book, and an analysis of the
theologies of Rav Shagar (Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg) and Professor Tamar
Ross, but it is about a far broader picture of engagement with postmodern
thinking, drawing on the wealth of writings of other Jewish thinkers. It is
about the ability of Jewish thinking to cope with, or amalgamate, ideas from
I address each response, there are two points which I stated in the interview,
that I will emphasise to avoid some of the apparent confusion:
It is not my purpose to champion or to defend postmodernism. This seems to be an important point to state, and to set aside some confusion. This allows us, or should have allowed us, to go beyond the debate of who is for and against; who agrees and who disagrees; who affiliates and who does not. The book addresses the ways in which, and the extents to which, ideas in postmodern discourse, are integrated into new thinking on contemporary Jewish philosophy. This includes discussions of the limitations of postmodern discourse in propounding a robust Jewish theology for today’s age.
I continue to take care not to class any of the numerous thinkers I deal with, as proponents of ’postmodernism’’. Throughout the book, I analyse Prof Ross’ and Rav Shagar’s ambivalence towards issues that postmodernism raises. This is not a simple zero sum game and needs to be addressed in accordance to these fine distinctions.
or unconnected to this, the first two presented responses potentially discard a
great opportunity for a public conversation on the deeper issues at stake.
first response, written by Levi Morrow, would have had many of his issues
answered in the previous interview, which it seems was only partially related
to, as illustrated in the following ways:
critiques what is plainly a philosophical analysis of Rav Shagar, stating that
“there is something fundamentally strange about trying to identify Rav Shagar
with a given philosophical stream”.
this is precisely the way in which Jewish philosophy has functioned and
flourished for centuries: Philo and his integration of Platonic and Socratic
philosophy; Rambam’s engagement with Aristotle; Maimon and Mendelssohn’s engagement
with Enlightenment ideas; Rosenzweig, Buber and Levinas’ engagement with
phenomenology and existentialism.
consideration of future Jewish thought becomes the natural task – and the
consideration of Rav Shagar and Prof Ross as amongst these thinkers, brings to
the fore the issues of today – including Hasidut, neo-pragmatism, Kabbalah,
phenomenology, semiotics and late twentieth-century hermeneutical trends. This
is hardly ‘’strange’’.
is strange is that he states
that my book, which deals with philosophical elements of Rav Shagar’s
philosophy presents a “depiction of Rav Shagar [which] cannot serve to introduce new
readers to his theology’’.
It in fact does
provide readers with philosophical insights into the thought of Rav Shagar.
This simplification seems to be based on a mistaken understanding of the book
as an introduction to Rav Shagar’s life.
Shagar is indeed recognised for his total commitment to and deep engagement
with the national-religious Yeshiva world, from Kerem B’Yavneh, Mekor Haim, to
Bet Morasha, to Siach as his intellectual ‘’home’’. His writing is steeped in
Torah learning, and, as his works are published, presents an ever-developing
search for the mystical interpretations of religious-Zionism of Rav Kook.
the same time, Rav Shagar was also a Jewish theologian, and I invite others to
recognize him as such. His home bookshelf attests to his readings of
Wittgenstein, Althusser and others, alongside R. Shneur Zalman of Lyady. In his
later years, he was comparing the thought of Rebbe Nahman of Bratzlav with
Derrida, Barthes and Lyotard. And so, I re-state that Rav Shagar was a
theologian addressing postmodern thought at the same time as his immersion in
the Yeshiva world – the same way in which philosophers over the course of
Jewish history have also been.
encounter between both worlds is an important part of this discourse in its
entirety. In this case, I analyse Rav Shagar’s Lamdanut through the lens of
phenomenology. Another example is that his interpretations of Hasidut, are
analysed within the framework of the philosophy of language.
Morrow, nor Atkins give hardly a mention to Prof. Ross, who is critical to the
discussion, at the very least in the way that Rav Shagar’s thinking is framed.
Readers might have expected at least one informed comment of Prof. Ross as
unique in her synthesised works on Rambam, and Rav Kook which simultaneously
address the meaning of religious language, and its epistemological
significance. Neither of the first two respondents take this crucial
comparative element into account – which ultimately suggests a misunderstanding
of the thematic nature of the book.
Morrow’s response descends into nit-picking. He finds certain footnotes – of
which there are hundreds in the book – to be ‘’unhelpful’’ and another as
‘’frustrating’’ and another as ‘’insane’’. In addition to this sort of
language, he writes about the book as “misleading’’, and certain paragraphs
which are apparently ‘’lacking’’, and ‘’absent’’.
list of referencing publication dates is weakened by his statement that my
dissertation was, over a period of time, ‘’converted by the publisher’’. Is he
unaware, or taking away from the fact that I wrote the book? The content and
style of this critique could be understood as begging the question as to what
is really bothering him about the book.
However, he completes his response by lauding my ‘’visionary theology’’. He writes that this work is ‘’excellent’’ and ‘’constructive’’ which is ‘’deeply in tune with both Jewish mysticism and the power of religious language’’. He also recommends that book ‘’call[s] for us to do much the same’’. Given his erudite readings and initial work of the translations of Rav Shagar’s work, one might have expected him to offer a more respectful response.
second response was written by Atkins. In his comments he seems to be missing
elements of the subject that were explicated in the book, and the interview, which
I’ve re-stated above.
response begins with what seems to be a description of postmodernism which he
implies forms the main argument of both my interview and book. He then begins to critique postmodernism, and it
becomes apparent, that he is offering a metaphor for an engagement with
postmodernism, namely my own, with this sceptical critique. He blurs the
boundaries between his criticism of postmodernism and between my writing, wherein
it is implicit that the two are inseparable.
considers my use of philosophers – including Derrida, Lacan, Irigaray – as superficial
‘’name-dropping’’ and ‘’miming authority’’ – comparing it to the listing of
names of women objectified in a degrading gangster sexualised rap song. This
inappropriate comparison raises the question as to what he is really
suggesting? Is the problem that philosophers are listed together as
representative of philosophical movements? Or is he offering a critique of postmodern
literature? Or is he critiquing the ongoing misogyny in popular culture, and beyond?
This would have been an interesting, albeit, misplaced debate had it not been
for the derogatory tone – which continues far beyond this paragraph. His
response was then unsurprisingly censored by Prof Brill himself.
a continued reading of his piece, he repeatedly implies that I am out to ‘’defend’’
postmodernism. One example of this is his critique of Derrida for whom, he
writes, “performance is the point, that there is nothing besides the rhetoric”.
Again, it is probably based on the presumption that the book is putting forward
an unapologetic defence of postmodernism.
further states that I am the ‘’expositor’’ of Prof. Ross and Rav Shagar. This
is mistaken, in the same way that a scholar of Rambam is not necessarily a
logician, and a researcher of Kierkegaard is not necessarily a Christian
existentialist. In addition to this, unexplained responses to a multifaceted
discipline are rife: “a tease’’ – with no explanation as to what this means
here; “none of the views espoused by Feldmann Kaye…”; and, ‘’none reflect a
deep phenomenological experience’’. These are simplifications of a far more
call for a methodological deconstruction of postmodernism itself is engaging. I
might too have taken interest in his discussion on Heidegger and Derrida, had
he not made repeated
generalisations of my interview, making the starting point of the discussion
difficult to ascertain.
However, with all
of this, he is “grateful to Miriam Feldmann Kaye for introducing the question of
postmodernism into the contemporary discussion of Jewish thought and theology”.
In the meantime, since publication, both respondents have sent me private apologies.
third response was written by Claire R. Sufrin. It was, relatively, a more
thoughtful and engaging response – not just because it came across in a respectful
manner but because she offers important reflections. I note that she hadn’t
read my book though she does have the decency to say so.
In response to
Sufrin’s point on Prof. Ross as a forerunner in the religious feminist
movement, please see the introduction to my book where I determine her
ground-breaking work on feminism to be a case in point of her broader concerns
in philosophy of epistemology and revelation.
question of how new the subject, can first be answered of postmodernism as a
movement itself. In its various formations, it can be said to go back to the mid-twentieth
century, alongside, or offshoots of, and manifestations of, contemporaneous
trends. This is because postmodernism constitutes a discursive model of engagement,
way beyond philosophy and religion.
discourse is now appropriated in the fields of law, architecture, literature
and Political studies (even within Israel).
These fields engage with the questions of how far postmodern discourse
serves to reframe the very questions asked in these fields of study. Some of
the central perspectives offered by postmodernism comprise issues such as
non-binary and beyond binary theories of post-structuralism, post-colonialism,
aesthetics, gender theory as well as meta-ethics. In the realm of religion,
‘postmodern theology’ has been developed by Christian theologians for the last
the introduction to my book, I suggest that the subject be approached
thematically, rather than by addressing totalised chronological movements of
‘’modernism’’ and ‘’postmodernism’’. What can be said though, is that we are at
the transition between modern and postmodern thought, reflecting the changes in
the trends with which we are surrounded.
am however intrigued by Sufrin’s question as to why the book is referred to as
new. I can think of at least ten thinkers, some based in Israel and some based
outside of Israel, who deal with aspects of postmodernism, who include Kepnes,
Handelman, Wolfson, Govrin and Ofrat. In addition to these thinkers, we also
now witness postmodern Jewish exegetical approaches to other aspects of
scholarship, such as of rabbinic literature, feminism, and so on.
a whole, we witness a glimpse into different approaches towards postmodern
ideas. We are called again to respond to the issues to hand, and to join the
substantive, heated discussion, about how Jewish thinkers respond to the
critical issues of our times – and to the plentiful array of intersections
beyond postmodern thinking and Jewish philosophy. Profound responses to these
deeply philosophical questions, are well on their way, and many more rest on