"Gods and Godlings"
Franz Rosenzweig a German Jewish philosopher, in a personal letter discussing comparisons between Christianity and Judaism states,
___
The farther into the distance God is banished, the more permissible it seems to man to populate with demi-gods and godlings that space between himself and God…*
___
I have observed this in myself and others when the attempt is made to marry rabbinic theism with the Messiahship of Yeshua. In such a context, Yeshua often becomes "a god" or "a divine being" as God is made into an impassible unity incapable of fellowship in the flesh. While condemning Christians for idolizing Yeshua as God, such are guilty of service to a "godling."
Our God is a consuming fire. It is time to put out the strange fires of lesser divinities. He demands exclusivity. Are you sharing His glory with another? Is your God so distant, so unknowable that you are forced to "populate" the expanse with "gods and godlings" who are not God?
Are you sharing His glory with another?
*Rothschild, Fritz A. ed. Jewish Perspectives on Christianity. New York: Continuum Publishing, 1996.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
My Near Conversion to Orthodox Judaism, part II
Near Conversion, Part 2
Surprise? No, rather...astonishment.
Blood rushes to Peter’s face. Drops of sweat speckle across his forehead. It is obvious that he is ashamed. Rabbi A.’s words pierce Peter’s innermost as Peter thinks back to a lighter occasion when he ran into his rabbi during a weekday, and Rabbi A., with obvious levity, warned Peter, “If you do not start coming to shul, then I will send the men with the really really long peyos and the high stockings to bend your pinkies back until you come.” Rabbi A. had noticed Peter’s absence for about two weeks. “Did he know why all along?” Peter ponders.
Tonya arranged today's meeting with Rabbi A., and Peter agreed to come. Concerned with his recent acquisition of Michael Brown’s volume one of Answering Jewish Objections…, Tonya was having difficulty adjusting to an apparent paradigm shift in Peter’s thinking. “Peter’s buying of this book says a lot,” Tonya had reasoned. Prior to their move into the Orthodox community, the rabbis required that Peter dispose of all of his Christian and non-Orthodox Jewish books. According to the halakhah they are “avodah zarah” (literally “strange service” or idolatry). With zeal Peter burned every literary connection that he had with his Christian past. Sitting in front of the fireplace for the space of two days, Peter enjoyed watching as each book was consumed by the flames. Now, though, he has acquired a forbidden book.
Rabbi A. waves the book. He makes mockery of various aspects of the book’s cover and back page. “Why is this Jewish man facing the wall?” Rabbi A. asks, “What message does this tell the reader?” The book itself would have been embarrassing enough if it had not been for the bomb that Rabbi A. had just dropped. Peter had been discussing Yeshua in an online Messianic chat room. No one knew of this—not even Tonya. Peter does not bring this up, but finds himself startled when Rabbi A. asks him about it.
“Did he know all along? It’s only been a few—maybe just a couple—times. How did he know this?” Peter thinks to himself. He cannot deny it, he faces this reality—he can only hope that Rabbi A. does not know the full breadth of his discussions.
Tonya is equally surprised by this revelation. She is struggling with Peter’s rehashing of questions that they have already dealt with. The steps that they have taken to come this far and the entrenchment in the Orthodox community that they have quarried for themselves are both too much for Peter to suddenly change his mind. Now she learns from Rabbi A. that Peter has been discussing the taboo with Christians? Tonya is pregnant, living removed from family, caring for an infant, and climbing the uphill battle of socially connecting with the community. “How can he just up and undo all of our sacrifices that we have made?” Tonya worries to herself.
Rabbi A. graciously alters the tone of the conversation. He tells Peter that it is obvious that he is struggling with a psychological connection to the religion of his upbringing. Rabbi A. gives Peter the name and telephone number for an Orthodox psychiatrist whom he recommends to help Peter get through this “separation anxiety.” Surprisingly gracious and tolerant, Rabbi A. gives Peter the benefit of the doubt though not without a stern caution to not participate in any more online discussions.
The warm air carries an untimely scent of spring—a tease, no doubt, as it is only February. Peter and Tonya walk home, and both are startled by Rabbi A.’s awareness of Peter’s online activity. When Peter arrives home he writes Rabbi A. a letter. The letter reads:
___
Dear Rabbi A.,
I am sorry to have created such concern about my continued involvement with Christianity. I submit myself wholly to the authority of those who have gone before me. Sages more learned than me have rejected [Yeshua] on legitimate grounds, and I do not think that I am in any place to question their knowledge and authority. I desire to live a life pleasing to HaShem—a life in conformity to Torah.
Thank you for your patience with me as I go through this process. I only wish that I had not done this as I am ashamed of myself for jeopardizing my trust with you. Please forgive me for any hurt or disappointment that I may have brought to you.
Shalom,
Peter
___
The following day Peter will hand deliver this letter to Rabbi A. His rabbi will read it, offer a few words, and Peter will resume his participation in synagogue attendance. Peter brought Michael Brown’s book home with the intent to part with it. He places it in a drawer to burn later.
Surprise? No, rather...astonishment.
Blood rushes to Peter’s face. Drops of sweat speckle across his forehead. It is obvious that he is ashamed. Rabbi A.’s words pierce Peter’s innermost as Peter thinks back to a lighter occasion when he ran into his rabbi during a weekday, and Rabbi A., with obvious levity, warned Peter, “If you do not start coming to shul, then I will send the men with the really really long peyos and the high stockings to bend your pinkies back until you come.” Rabbi A. had noticed Peter’s absence for about two weeks. “Did he know why all along?” Peter ponders.
Tonya arranged today's meeting with Rabbi A., and Peter agreed to come. Concerned with his recent acquisition of Michael Brown’s volume one of Answering Jewish Objections…, Tonya was having difficulty adjusting to an apparent paradigm shift in Peter’s thinking. “Peter’s buying of this book says a lot,” Tonya had reasoned. Prior to their move into the Orthodox community, the rabbis required that Peter dispose of all of his Christian and non-Orthodox Jewish books. According to the halakhah they are “avodah zarah” (literally “strange service” or idolatry). With zeal Peter burned every literary connection that he had with his Christian past. Sitting in front of the fireplace for the space of two days, Peter enjoyed watching as each book was consumed by the flames. Now, though, he has acquired a forbidden book.
Rabbi A. waves the book. He makes mockery of various aspects of the book’s cover and back page. “Why is this Jewish man facing the wall?” Rabbi A. asks, “What message does this tell the reader?” The book itself would have been embarrassing enough if it had not been for the bomb that Rabbi A. had just dropped. Peter had been discussing Yeshua in an online Messianic chat room. No one knew of this—not even Tonya. Peter does not bring this up, but finds himself startled when Rabbi A. asks him about it.
“Did he know all along? It’s only been a few—maybe just a couple—times. How did he know this?” Peter thinks to himself. He cannot deny it, he faces this reality—he can only hope that Rabbi A. does not know the full breadth of his discussions.
Tonya is equally surprised by this revelation. She is struggling with Peter’s rehashing of questions that they have already dealt with. The steps that they have taken to come this far and the entrenchment in the Orthodox community that they have quarried for themselves are both too much for Peter to suddenly change his mind. Now she learns from Rabbi A. that Peter has been discussing the taboo with Christians? Tonya is pregnant, living removed from family, caring for an infant, and climbing the uphill battle of socially connecting with the community. “How can he just up and undo all of our sacrifices that we have made?” Tonya worries to herself.
Rabbi A. graciously alters the tone of the conversation. He tells Peter that it is obvious that he is struggling with a psychological connection to the religion of his upbringing. Rabbi A. gives Peter the name and telephone number for an Orthodox psychiatrist whom he recommends to help Peter get through this “separation anxiety.” Surprisingly gracious and tolerant, Rabbi A. gives Peter the benefit of the doubt though not without a stern caution to not participate in any more online discussions.
The warm air carries an untimely scent of spring—a tease, no doubt, as it is only February. Peter and Tonya walk home, and both are startled by Rabbi A.’s awareness of Peter’s online activity. When Peter arrives home he writes Rabbi A. a letter. The letter reads:
___
Dear Rabbi A.,
I am sorry to have created such concern about my continued involvement with Christianity. I submit myself wholly to the authority of those who have gone before me. Sages more learned than me have rejected [Yeshua] on legitimate grounds, and I do not think that I am in any place to question their knowledge and authority. I desire to live a life pleasing to HaShem—a life in conformity to Torah.
Thank you for your patience with me as I go through this process. I only wish that I had not done this as I am ashamed of myself for jeopardizing my trust with you. Please forgive me for any hurt or disappointment that I may have brought to you.
Shalom,
Peter
___
The following day Peter will hand deliver this letter to Rabbi A. His rabbi will read it, offer a few words, and Peter will resume his participation in synagogue attendance. Peter brought Michael Brown’s book home with the intent to part with it. He places it in a drawer to burn later.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
My Near Conversion to Orthodox Judaism, part I
Near Conversion, Part 1
“I wonder if Rabbi A. would be surprised,” questions the young father as he drops down the steps exiting his shul. “I mean, I have taken on so many stringencies and I even look Jewish with the markers of Jewish ancestry—olive skin, black-brown hair and eyes.” Peter starts his four block trek home to see his wife. She was asleep when he left this morning. It is cold, and the snow is deep—typical for a Chicago winter in January. The tunes from Shabbat-morning minyan still echo through his head as they find release in a half-hummed, half-sung anthem to the morning’s experience. He is not alone as several men join him for most of this trip. Few, if any, know who Peter really is: a gentile in the process of conversion to Orthodox Judaism. Peter prefers this, but the question of his possible Jewish ancestry vies for consideration.
Adopted at three weeks old, Peter never met his biological mother. Just before he began to pursue Jewish conversion, his parents revealed to him the details of his adoption. Peter always knew that he was adopted, but he did not know that his biological mother was a rape victim. She was a schizophrenic patient at a state mental facility where she was raped apparently by one of her care givers. Paternal identity was never confirmed. Adopted into and raised in an Evangelical Christian and middle-class family, Peter experienced an upbringing that was both ideal and privileged.
“I know that if I can confirm Jewish ancestry that Rabbi A. will be overjoyed. Besides, Jewish ancestry will make all of this conversion stuff a thing of the past. I will finally be an operating member of the community, and I won’t have to keep trying to prove myself,” Peter reasons as he attempts to stabilize himself on the ice-pasted sidewalk.
Peter arrives home. He knows not to reach into his pocket as he does not carry a key out of the home on Shabbat. “Every other Jew brings a key to shul, but I don’t—an example of my hyper-observance,” Peter thinks self-righteously to himself. Peter knocks and waits for a few minutes as his wife approaches the door—barefoot and baby in arms. Tonya, Peter’s wife, is anything but a bridled beast. She deplores domesticity and never envisioned herself home with children. Peter chuckles visibly to make his point known to his barefoot and pregnant wife. Following the rabbis instruction, Peter and Tonya avoided birth control. Now with a three-month-old son, Tonya is pregnant and due in September, 2001.
Peter sits at the dinning room table. The challah and Shabbat dishes are draped out across the table. Peter makes kiddushah rabbah over the wine and the bread. He is glad to be home. Working regular ten-hour days and commuting over two hours a day leaves Peter tired on Shabbat. Instead of sleeping in as he used to before having a child, Peter was up and out the door to the synagogue at 7:30AM. Now it is a few minutes before noon. Sunset will be in a few hours, and he will leave again for shul to do Minchah and Ma’ariv between which there will be a guest teacher.
Tonya does not like the absence that Shabbat brings to her family. Peter is gone for most of the day on Shabbat. He gets home just before noon on Shabbat and then is gone another three or four hours before the day is over. But, she is committed to this lifestyle. As she and Peter progressed in their learning, it became obvious to her that the Jews were the torch bearers of truth.
Orthodox conversion was the culmination of several years of learning that so much of what she had grown up believing was wrong. This learning began with Shabbat and then quickly led to the practical validity of written Torah. Later Peter began to poke holes in the Trinity and the deity of Yeshua. This was not so hard for her as she spent several years meeting with folks from the Kingdom Hall. When Peter finally rejected the notion that Jesus was God, Tonya found herself quickly able to concede the same. Later Peter introduced her to materials supporting the authority of the rabbis and the oral Torah. This later led to material from the anti-missionary Tovia Singer. This sealed it. As Peter and Tonya drove to spend a weekend alone in Missouri, they listened to Singer's tape series Let's Get Biblical. “Who are we to tell the Jews what their Bible teaches,” Tonya recalls reasoning, “After all they are the ones that have preserved it and read it in Hebrew.”
Peter recites kiddushah rabbah. The two of them discuss the morning’s events. Peter is enthralled with the service at the synagogue. As he shares the details of what transpired, Tonya’s listening mind captures less and less of what he is sharing. She is thinking about how much she misses being home together on Shabbat. Tonya is jolted back into the conversation when Peter starts to develop a comparison between the synagogue and their church experience. The two of them often find themselves going on and on about the negativities of their experience in Christianity. Judaism is superior, they reason, it embraces all of the best in Christianity while also providing a living legal tradition. While Schmuel, their then only son, sleeps, the two of them discuss these comparisons for nearly an hour.
“I wonder if Rabbi A. would be surprised,” questions the young father as he drops down the steps exiting his shul. “I mean, I have taken on so many stringencies and I even look Jewish with the markers of Jewish ancestry—olive skin, black-brown hair and eyes.” Peter starts his four block trek home to see his wife. She was asleep when he left this morning. It is cold, and the snow is deep—typical for a Chicago winter in January. The tunes from Shabbat-morning minyan still echo through his head as they find release in a half-hummed, half-sung anthem to the morning’s experience. He is not alone as several men join him for most of this trip. Few, if any, know who Peter really is: a gentile in the process of conversion to Orthodox Judaism. Peter prefers this, but the question of his possible Jewish ancestry vies for consideration.
Adopted at three weeks old, Peter never met his biological mother. Just before he began to pursue Jewish conversion, his parents revealed to him the details of his adoption. Peter always knew that he was adopted, but he did not know that his biological mother was a rape victim. She was a schizophrenic patient at a state mental facility where she was raped apparently by one of her care givers. Paternal identity was never confirmed. Adopted into and raised in an Evangelical Christian and middle-class family, Peter experienced an upbringing that was both ideal and privileged.
“I know that if I can confirm Jewish ancestry that Rabbi A. will be overjoyed. Besides, Jewish ancestry will make all of this conversion stuff a thing of the past. I will finally be an operating member of the community, and I won’t have to keep trying to prove myself,” Peter reasons as he attempts to stabilize himself on the ice-pasted sidewalk.
Peter arrives home. He knows not to reach into his pocket as he does not carry a key out of the home on Shabbat. “Every other Jew brings a key to shul, but I don’t—an example of my hyper-observance,” Peter thinks self-righteously to himself. Peter knocks and waits for a few minutes as his wife approaches the door—barefoot and baby in arms. Tonya, Peter’s wife, is anything but a bridled beast. She deplores domesticity and never envisioned herself home with children. Peter chuckles visibly to make his point known to his barefoot and pregnant wife. Following the rabbis instruction, Peter and Tonya avoided birth control. Now with a three-month-old son, Tonya is pregnant and due in September, 2001.
Peter sits at the dinning room table. The challah and Shabbat dishes are draped out across the table. Peter makes kiddushah rabbah over the wine and the bread. He is glad to be home. Working regular ten-hour days and commuting over two hours a day leaves Peter tired on Shabbat. Instead of sleeping in as he used to before having a child, Peter was up and out the door to the synagogue at 7:30AM. Now it is a few minutes before noon. Sunset will be in a few hours, and he will leave again for shul to do Minchah and Ma’ariv between which there will be a guest teacher.
Tonya does not like the absence that Shabbat brings to her family. Peter is gone for most of the day on Shabbat. He gets home just before noon on Shabbat and then is gone another three or four hours before the day is over. But, she is committed to this lifestyle. As she and Peter progressed in their learning, it became obvious to her that the Jews were the torch bearers of truth.
Orthodox conversion was the culmination of several years of learning that so much of what she had grown up believing was wrong. This learning began with Shabbat and then quickly led to the practical validity of written Torah. Later Peter began to poke holes in the Trinity and the deity of Yeshua. This was not so hard for her as she spent several years meeting with folks from the Kingdom Hall. When Peter finally rejected the notion that Jesus was God, Tonya found herself quickly able to concede the same. Later Peter introduced her to materials supporting the authority of the rabbis and the oral Torah. This later led to material from the anti-missionary Tovia Singer. This sealed it. As Peter and Tonya drove to spend a weekend alone in Missouri, they listened to Singer's tape series Let's Get Biblical. “Who are we to tell the Jews what their Bible teaches,” Tonya recalls reasoning, “After all they are the ones that have preserved it and read it in Hebrew.”
Peter recites kiddushah rabbah. The two of them discuss the morning’s events. Peter is enthralled with the service at the synagogue. As he shares the details of what transpired, Tonya’s listening mind captures less and less of what he is sharing. She is thinking about how much she misses being home together on Shabbat. Tonya is jolted back into the conversation when Peter starts to develop a comparison between the synagogue and their church experience. The two of them often find themselves going on and on about the negativities of their experience in Christianity. Judaism is superior, they reason, it embraces all of the best in Christianity while also providing a living legal tradition. While Schmuel, their then only son, sleeps, the two of them discuss these comparisons for nearly an hour.
Friday, December 8, 2006
Community Markers IIIa (Shabbat)
Shabbat - Marker to the World
אַךְ אֶת-שַׁבְּתֹתַי, תִּשְׁמֹרוּ: כִּי אוֹת הִוא בֵּינִי וּבֵינֵיכֶם, לְדֹרֹתֵיכֶם--לָדַעַת, כִּי אֲנִי יְהוָה מְקַדִּשְׁכֶם
“However, My Sabbaths you shall observe/guard, for a sign it is between Me and you throughout your generations, to the knowledge that I YHWH sanctifies you” (Ex 31:13).
Hirsch points out that the words for sign (אוֹת), ot, and the pronoun it (הִוא), hi, are both singular. However, the Hebrew word for Shabbat in this verse is plural (שַׁבְּתֹתַי, shabtotay, “My Sabbaths”). Hirsch reasons that the singular הִוא cannot refer to the plural שַׁבְּתֹתַי. To answer this textual intricacy Hirsch concludes that the sign is not Shabbat itself but rather is the sh’mirat (observance/guarding) of the Shabbat. Hence, sh’mirat ha Shabbat (observance of the Sabbath) acts as a sign.
How does Shabbat identify us to the world? Our text states that Shabbat is a conduit through which we know that it is YHWH who sanctifies us. In our dealings with capitalistic society and employers obsessed with the bottom line, Shabbat is a glaring "sign." It is a reminder of our allegiance. It reminds society and employers that we do not belong to them, we are not their slaves. In an agricultural setting, Shabbat is a reminder that we are not slaves to fate and circumstances as we surrender our seventh-day to God during seedtime and harvest (Ex 34:21).
This time of the year in the Northern Hemisphere, Shabbat beings in Chicago at approximately 4:00PM. When I was working on Fridays, I would leave the office early to be home before Shabbat started. The president of my company treated everyone like they were his property. I shared an office with him, and come Friday evening I would leave, with him keenly aware of my allegiance. Over my desk I had a magnet indicating candle-lighting times for every Shabbat of the year. My early Friday departures and this candle-lighting magnet bothered him to no end. I would often see and feel the spite in his eyes as I made my Friday-evening exits. My departures though felt like the exodus from Egypt--a departure from the pressures of slavery to the freedom of the presence of God.
אַךְ אֶת-שַׁבְּתֹתַי, תִּשְׁמֹרוּ: כִּי אוֹת הִוא בֵּינִי וּבֵינֵיכֶם, לְדֹרֹתֵיכֶם--לָדַעַת, כִּי אֲנִי יְהוָה מְקַדִּשְׁכֶם
“However, My Sabbaths you shall observe/guard, for a sign it is between Me and you throughout your generations, to the knowledge that I YHWH sanctifies you” (Ex 31:13).
Hirsch points out that the words for sign (אוֹת), ot, and the pronoun it (הִוא), hi, are both singular. However, the Hebrew word for Shabbat in this verse is plural (שַׁבְּתֹתַי, shabtotay, “My Sabbaths”). Hirsch reasons that the singular הִוא cannot refer to the plural שַׁבְּתֹתַי. To answer this textual intricacy Hirsch concludes that the sign is not Shabbat itself but rather is the sh’mirat (observance/guarding) of the Shabbat. Hence, sh’mirat ha Shabbat (observance of the Sabbath) acts as a sign.
How does Shabbat identify us to the world? Our text states that Shabbat is a conduit through which we know that it is YHWH who sanctifies us. In our dealings with capitalistic society and employers obsessed with the bottom line, Shabbat is a glaring "sign." It is a reminder of our allegiance. It reminds society and employers that we do not belong to them, we are not their slaves. In an agricultural setting, Shabbat is a reminder that we are not slaves to fate and circumstances as we surrender our seventh-day to God during seedtime and harvest (Ex 34:21).
This time of the year in the Northern Hemisphere, Shabbat beings in Chicago at approximately 4:00PM. When I was working on Fridays, I would leave the office early to be home before Shabbat started. The president of my company treated everyone like they were his property. I shared an office with him, and come Friday evening I would leave, with him keenly aware of my allegiance. Over my desk I had a magnet indicating candle-lighting times for every Shabbat of the year. My early Friday departures and this candle-lighting magnet bothered him to no end. I would often see and feel the spite in his eyes as I made my Friday-evening exits. My departures though felt like the exodus from Egypt--a departure from the pressures of slavery to the freedom of the presence of God.
Monday, December 4, 2006
Tradition
Tradition… or How do I Interpret Written Torah
I believe that we need to follow the plain sense of the written Torah. The rabbis agree with me. Torah as the letter must be interpreted and applied. The rabbis agree with me. However, the rabbis have bound themselves to the authority of the oral law which they assert is necessary to arrive at a correct understanding of the “plain sense” of the written Torah. I disagree with the rabbis.
It would be absolutely foolish of me to denigrate rabbinic tradition (masorah) and Scripture interpretation (midrash) and to claim the “plain sense” of the Holy Writ, unless I openly acknowledge the interpretive biases and presuppositions that inform my exegetical adventure through written Torah. In other words it is impossible to interpret Scripture in a vacuum. We naturally default to our cultural perspective and values while reading Scripture. To claim *the* “plain sense” without allowing myself to acknowledge my philosophical underpinnings and hermeneutical means would be naïve.
Midrash (used hereafter for traditional rabbinic “exegesis”) is conducted very differently than the historical-grammatical hermeneutic of Protestantism. Midrash does not ask critical questions and is willing to accept sub-literal and unlikely readings of written Torah. Characteristically Protestant historical-grammatical readings ask questions of original audience, author intent, exigency (reason for writing), genre, cultural and historical milieus, language, and textual transmission (with alternative readings in variant manuscripts). Though I see great, great benefit in midrash, it pales in comparison to an historical-grammatical reading of written Torah. What value is there, then, in midrash? Midrash allows the reader to peak into the historical development of rabbinic Judaism and the halalkhic situations that were being dealt with at the time of any given midrash’s composition.
Brief note: The AS are content with using midrashic (or pesher-like) style application of Scripture. This is another issue in itself and differs from the halakhic process.
I start my interpretation of written Torah with an historical-grammatical and critical reading of any given passage. My pursuit of the most-likely reading of the text includes the asking of questions that pertain to the way in which the original recipients would have understood and applied the passage or commandment. After arriving at a level of comfort with the literal meaning of the text, I consult whatever midrashes or Jewish legal codes of relevance. But, I do not limit myself to rabbinic material. This is important to me, I also consider the testimony of non-rabbinics such as the historical Karaites (very important), Philo and Josephus (also very important), the Qumran sect (generally as a counter-example for what not to do), the Psuedopigrapha, the Targums, the church fathers, etc. I consult these sources when they provide examples of how others have applied a commandment to their situations.
I diverge from Protestant hermeneutics in my reliance on historical Jewish sources. I call this the “burden of inheritance.” When there is a net voice within the Jewish sources, I prefer to side with the historical application of Torah. Generally, the “plain sense” of the written Torah will agree with the “burden of inheritance” or written Torah will at least give an open door to it. I find this to be the most balanced approach to the value of historical Jewish readings. I acknowledge their methodological weaknesses, but I refuse to ignore them.
My friend Nate Long (www.natelong.com) posted the following on his blog:
“We do not want you to copy or imitate us. We want to be like a ship that has crossed the ocean, leaving a wake of foam, which soon fades away. We want you to follow the Spirit, which we have sought to follow, but which must be sought anew in every generation.”
This was taken from Why We Live In Community by Eberhard Arnold. I see this concretion as the ideal way to approach historical halakhah—not as concrete but rather as fluid. We can use it for a frame of reference, but it is up to the living to reapply and interpret the value of tradition to modern day exigencies.
Kol tuv,
PeterS (Tzuriel)
I believe that we need to follow the plain sense of the written Torah. The rabbis agree with me. Torah as the letter must be interpreted and applied. The rabbis agree with me. However, the rabbis have bound themselves to the authority of the oral law which they assert is necessary to arrive at a correct understanding of the “plain sense” of the written Torah. I disagree with the rabbis.
It would be absolutely foolish of me to denigrate rabbinic tradition (masorah) and Scripture interpretation (midrash) and to claim the “plain sense” of the Holy Writ, unless I openly acknowledge the interpretive biases and presuppositions that inform my exegetical adventure through written Torah. In other words it is impossible to interpret Scripture in a vacuum. We naturally default to our cultural perspective and values while reading Scripture. To claim *the* “plain sense” without allowing myself to acknowledge my philosophical underpinnings and hermeneutical means would be naïve.
Midrash (used hereafter for traditional rabbinic “exegesis”) is conducted very differently than the historical-grammatical hermeneutic of Protestantism. Midrash does not ask critical questions and is willing to accept sub-literal and unlikely readings of written Torah. Characteristically Protestant historical-grammatical readings ask questions of original audience, author intent, exigency (reason for writing), genre, cultural and historical milieus, language, and textual transmission (with alternative readings in variant manuscripts). Though I see great, great benefit in midrash, it pales in comparison to an historical-grammatical reading of written Torah. What value is there, then, in midrash? Midrash allows the reader to peak into the historical development of rabbinic Judaism and the halalkhic situations that were being dealt with at the time of any given midrash’s composition.
Brief note: The AS are content with using midrashic (or pesher-like) style application of Scripture. This is another issue in itself and differs from the halakhic process.
I start my interpretation of written Torah with an historical-grammatical and critical reading of any given passage. My pursuit of the most-likely reading of the text includes the asking of questions that pertain to the way in which the original recipients would have understood and applied the passage or commandment. After arriving at a level of comfort with the literal meaning of the text, I consult whatever midrashes or Jewish legal codes of relevance. But, I do not limit myself to rabbinic material. This is important to me, I also consider the testimony of non-rabbinics such as the historical Karaites (very important), Philo and Josephus (also very important), the Qumran sect (generally as a counter-example for what not to do), the Psuedopigrapha, the Targums, the church fathers, etc. I consult these sources when they provide examples of how others have applied a commandment to their situations.
I diverge from Protestant hermeneutics in my reliance on historical Jewish sources. I call this the “burden of inheritance.” When there is a net voice within the Jewish sources, I prefer to side with the historical application of Torah. Generally, the “plain sense” of the written Torah will agree with the “burden of inheritance” or written Torah will at least give an open door to it. I find this to be the most balanced approach to the value of historical Jewish readings. I acknowledge their methodological weaknesses, but I refuse to ignore them.
My friend Nate Long (www.natelong.com) posted the following on his blog:
“We do not want you to copy or imitate us. We want to be like a ship that has crossed the ocean, leaving a wake of foam, which soon fades away. We want you to follow the Spirit, which we have sought to follow, but which must be sought anew in every generation.”
This was taken from Why We Live In Community by Eberhard Arnold. I see this concretion as the ideal way to approach historical halakhah—not as concrete but rather as fluid. We can use it for a frame of reference, but it is up to the living to reapply and interpret the value of tradition to modern day exigencies.
Kol tuv,
PeterS (Tzuriel)
Sunday, December 3, 2006
Community Markers II (Love)
Love
A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another: as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all know that ye are My disciples, if ye have love one to another
(John 13:34-35)
…Let us not love in word, neither in tongue; but in deed and in truth.
(I John 3:18)
Yeshua through His suffering of the greatest cosmic injustice conceivable—the Creator suffering and dying on our behalf—expressed unprecedented love to the fallen and feeble. Through His example the love of God was spoken not as a word, nor in tongue but as the living and dying Word of God. In light of the vicarious death of Yeshua, the mitswah to love our neighbor finds its most profound example. Yeshua states, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
How is this love to inform our living or our application of Torah (viz, halakhah)? It is immediately apparent that Yeshua intended to challenge the ethnocentric or even covenantalistic paradigms of love displayed among His people. In Luke 10:29, Yeshua is asked, “Who is my neighbor?” Yeshua clearly demonstrates through the example of the Good Samaritan that the love expressed in Torah was not bubbled. The bubbles of His people included those of Judaic and/or sectarian identity. Today these bubbles are our immediate cultures and congregations. Rather than bubbled love, Yeshua desires effervescent love. Effervescent love bubbles over—it overflows as the living waters (mayim chayim) of the Spirit.
Yeshua’s example of love provides a paradigm that must inform our Torah observance. In community, it is easy to love one another’s virtues, but we must also accept each others’ vices. The apostle Peter states, “And above all things have fervent love among yourselves; for love shall cover the multitude of sins” (I Peter 4:8). This is love expressed by tolerance and grace. Tolerance must be exhibited for the disappointments and variegations in observance and doctrine in our communities. Such love, though, does not sugar coat sins of willful rebellion, but it allows grace to garnish growth.
Paul states, Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves. Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others” (Phil 2:3-4). Another expression of love is to put aside our pursuit of significance and esteem in order to esteem others. How beautiful is this?
Yeshua’s love is illustrated also in His observance of Shabbat. Rather than allowing the priority of Shabbat to limit His ministry on Shabbat, Yeshua used the occasion of Shabbat to perform some of His most dramatic illustrations of love vis-à-vis Torah observance. On Shabbat Yeshua was willing to perform work (“melakhah”) in order to show love and redemption to His neighbor. Redemptive or restorative love must inspire our observance of Shabbat. To ignore Yeshua’s example risks denigrating Shabbat into a day of restrictive taboos where redemptive action is excused for the sake of inactive piety.
By this shall all know that ye are My disciples, if ye have love one to another...
A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another: as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all know that ye are My disciples, if ye have love one to another
(John 13:34-35)
…Let us not love in word, neither in tongue; but in deed and in truth.
(I John 3:18)
Yeshua through His suffering of the greatest cosmic injustice conceivable—the Creator suffering and dying on our behalf—expressed unprecedented love to the fallen and feeble. Through His example the love of God was spoken not as a word, nor in tongue but as the living and dying Word of God. In light of the vicarious death of Yeshua, the mitswah to love our neighbor finds its most profound example. Yeshua states, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
How is this love to inform our living or our application of Torah (viz, halakhah)? It is immediately apparent that Yeshua intended to challenge the ethnocentric or even covenantalistic paradigms of love displayed among His people. In Luke 10:29, Yeshua is asked, “Who is my neighbor?” Yeshua clearly demonstrates through the example of the Good Samaritan that the love expressed in Torah was not bubbled. The bubbles of His people included those of Judaic and/or sectarian identity. Today these bubbles are our immediate cultures and congregations. Rather than bubbled love, Yeshua desires effervescent love. Effervescent love bubbles over—it overflows as the living waters (mayim chayim) of the Spirit.
Yeshua’s example of love provides a paradigm that must inform our Torah observance. In community, it is easy to love one another’s virtues, but we must also accept each others’ vices. The apostle Peter states, “And above all things have fervent love among yourselves; for love shall cover the multitude of sins” (I Peter 4:8). This is love expressed by tolerance and grace. Tolerance must be exhibited for the disappointments and variegations in observance and doctrine in our communities. Such love, though, does not sugar coat sins of willful rebellion, but it allows grace to garnish growth.
Paul states, Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves. Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others” (Phil 2:3-4). Another expression of love is to put aside our pursuit of significance and esteem in order to esteem others. How beautiful is this?
Yeshua’s love is illustrated also in His observance of Shabbat. Rather than allowing the priority of Shabbat to limit His ministry on Shabbat, Yeshua used the occasion of Shabbat to perform some of His most dramatic illustrations of love vis-à-vis Torah observance. On Shabbat Yeshua was willing to perform work (“melakhah”) in order to show love and redemption to His neighbor. Redemptive or restorative love must inspire our observance of Shabbat. To ignore Yeshua’s example risks denigrating Shabbat into a day of restrictive taboos where redemptive action is excused for the sake of inactive piety.
By this shall all know that ye are My disciples, if ye have love one to another...
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