Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Adventures in Sacrifices, with Jacob Milgrom - Torah portion Vayikra

I recently discovered the Anchor Yale Bible series, and from the tiny fraction of it I've read thus far (some Exodus, some Leviticus), it's already become my new favorite commentary on the Torah.

The Leviticus section is written by Jacob Milgrom, the late (d. 2010) Bible scholar and long-time head of the Near Eastern Studies department at U.C. Berkeley. He devoted much of his academic career to studying Biblical purity laws and the sacrificial system, and many of his findings and conclusions are distilled within this masterpiece on Leviticus, a monster 2,700-page work in three volumes (the bibliography alone is 60 pages, just to give you an idea), which combines Biblical scholarship with traditional rabbinic/Talmudic material and classical Medieval Torah commentaries.

To say the work is dense is an understatement. It goes through every word of the Masoretic Text, followed by longer commentaries on selected topics. So what I'd like to do, as we foray into the third book of the Torah, is pick out selected ideas from Milgrom's work that stand out for me, and present them here, along with a few reflections of my own. Let's start, shall we?

Ohel mo'ed (1:1) - Milgrom cites the work of R. J. Clifford (1977) that the term ohel mo'ed, "tent of meeting," likely originates with the Canaanites, where it meant "tent of meeting (under the divine assembly under the presidency of the god El)." In Ugaritic texts, El lives in a tent. The divine assembly is called the puhru mo'idi (similar to mo'ed, "meeting"). Both the Tent of Meeting and the Tent of El are built with kerashim, wooden planks, and "are designed and constructed by divinely appointed craftsmen, and are staffed by a chief priest whose robes are trimmed with pomegranate decorations."

Now, I'd like to take a moment and say that I can understand if some folks find this kind of information vexing. What is the point of emphasizing that Canaanite high priests were walking around with pomegranate-trimmed robes? To say that the Torah isn't unique? That it borrowed from other cultures? Aren't facts like this meant to put the Torah in diminished esteem? Well, what it's "meant" to do of course depends on who's saying it. For me, I find these kinds of facts enthralling. Why? First, because it sheds light on the world the Torah was coming from, which puts the Torah's norms in context. Second, it allows us to better discern and understand the Torah's innovations. For instance, if pomegranates were common on the hems of priestly robes, but the Torah's bells were unique, that's an interesting piece of data! I want to know that. And last, I really don't want to harbor any illusions about the Torah. I care enough about it, spend enough time with it, to want to know what it is, and what it isn't. Nothing whatsoever to do with denigrating anything. And I trust the same is true of a scholar like Milgrom, who so loved this material that he dedicated his life to probing, understanding and elucidating it.

Tripartite structure of the Mishkan - The Mishkan contained three delineations of sanctity - the inner chamber (Holy of Holies, housing the Ark, and the divine cloud, where only the high priest could go once a year), the outer chamber (containing the Menorah, etc., where the high priest served regularly, and where Moses would stand "before YHVH" - in front of the curtain - to receive instruction), and the courtyard (with the altar, where priests served and laypeople could enter in purity). Milgrom says that the immediate corollary for these distinctions is Mount Sinai, which likewise a tripartite structure: a summit (with the divine cloud, akin to the Holy of Holies, "off limits to the priest and layman alike," Ex 19:24b, "whose very sight is punishable by death" Ex 19:21b), the upper half of the mountain (like the outer chamber, where Moses ascends with the priests and elders, Ex 24:1, and separately with Joshua, Ex 24:13), and the foot of the mountain (akin to the courtyard, where priests and laypeople in purity can come to).

I thought this was a nice observation, though I'm perplexed when Milgrom says that Mount Sinai is "the immediate archetype for P's Tent of Meeting," and "not some mythic Canaanite model." As I mentioned in my post on Torah portion Teruma, the tripartite design of the Israelite sanctuary mirrored Canaanite sanctuaries, of which Milgrom was no doubt also aware. If anything, I'd think that the description of Sinai may have borrowed from this known sanctuary layout, with its three divisions. But maybe Milgrom is speaking here more in terms of Sinai functioning as a literary setup for the Mishkan.

Yakriv (1:2) - The words yakriv and korban imply "presenting" and "that which is presented" respectively,  as opposed to "approaching," which is the meaning of the verb karav in other contexts. These were diplomatic terms used to refer to tributes to kings, and as such were borrowed by priests to apply to the king of kings.

This seems fairly logical, since God as "monarch" seems to have been the prevailing metaphor. Or at least for Maimonideans it's a metaphor - for others, and likely for Iron Age worshipers, God as king is literal.

Olah (1:3) - The word olah means "that which ascends," i.e. up in smoke, burnt. Milgrom mentions the Ugaritic srp w slmm as probably being the equivalent of saraf u'shelamim, i.e. the (burnt) olah and the shelamim. He also suggests that olah in the early days was called kalil, the "completely burnt" sacrifice  (see Lev 6:15, used as an adjective; Deut 33:10, used as a noun), but that at some later point the skin of the sacrifice was apportioned to the priest (Lev 7:8), which meant it would have been misleading to call it a kalil, so the word olah was adopted.

Though according to Milgrom, the P source predates D (see below), and P already used the term "olah." What then is kalil, an early word for olah (see Rashi on Deut 33:10), doing in D? I suppose one could answer that it's the same reason kalil is occasionally found in P - the word never entirely fell out of the language.

Male animals (1:3) - Why is the olah (cow or sheep) a male? Philo (Laws 1 200) says that the male is "more complete, more dominant than the female." Milgrom disagrees, and reasons that male animals were likely chosen as regular sacrifices because they're more expendable, since females are needed for milk and offspring.

I like a good pragmatic rationale like that.

Lirtzono (1:3) - The word lirtzono means "for acceptance on his behalf." Acceptance is the older meaning of the verb ratza, compared to ratza meaning "desire," which Milgrom points out is found only in post-exilic works (Esther, Daniel, Ezra, etc.) and suggests is probably borrowed by the Aramaic rei'a.

Biblical scholarship often distinguishes between early Hebrew and late Hebrew terms in the texts. It's sometimes used as evidence for dating a particular text. Here we have what is (or looks like) the same root, which meant one thing ("acceptance" or "favorability") in its earlier use, and another ("desire") after the Babylonian exile. The latter means to want something. The former means wanting someone to want you, find you acceptable. I'm not sure what to make of that, but it's an interesting distinction. It might be worthwhile to look at our prayer liturgy, at phrases like "yehi ratzon" or "retzei," and give some thought to which meaning, pre-exilic or post-exilic, is implied.

Vesamach yado (1:4) - According to Milgrom, there are four possible reasons for the offerer to "lean his hand" on the sacrifice: 1) transference of sin to the animal, 2) identification with the animal by transferring one's nefesh (life/soul) to it, 3) declaration of the purpose for which the animal was brought, and 4) to show ownership of the sacrifice.

Milgrom says that because the text states "his hand" in the singular, that eliminates transference of sin. I'm not sure why that should be, but he offers citations. He also mentions that the scapegoat ritual speaks of "two hands," and there the Torah explicitly says that the sins are carried by the goat and dispatched into the wilderness (Lev 16:21-22). So by inference I suppose one could argue that a one-handed leaning means something other than transference of sin. But it could also be that there's something special about the once-a-year scapegoat ritual with its formal confession of all Israel's sins which merited two hands. And this is a speculation, but maybe the reason the Torah speaks of one-handed leaning for most sacrifices is that the other hand is presumed to be holding the knife for the slaughter. With the scapegoat, there is no slaughter, leaving two hands available for leaning. Though it should be said that the rabbinic tradition speaks about leaning on the sacrifice with two hands between the animal's horns (BT Yoma 36a). And from what I've seen, Milgrom deems the rabbinic sacrificial material to be fairly reliable, so I'm not sure why he doesn't mention it here.

Identification, says Milgrom, "is alien to Biblical thought both because it is magical and because it presupposes that death brings one closer to God." In terms of magic, that's a whole inquiry in itself - i.e. is the Torah really opposed to magic, and if so, what qualifies as magic? There's a distinction between performing magic as a pagan, quasi-religious rite, which the Torah ostensibly opposes, and magical/mystical thinking, which may well apply to rituals in the Torah. On that count, is transferring sins to an animal any less "magical" than transferring one's nefesh to an animal? Or how about Moses putting some of his "splendor/spirit/wisdom" onto Joshua by laying his hands on him (Num 27:18, Deut 34:9)? One could say that this is simply symbolic and ceremonial, but does the Biblical mindset really preclude mystical/magical thinking? I'm not at all convinced of that. In terms of death bringing one closer to God, I agree that's not part of the Torah's thinking. But I don't see that linking one's nefesh with the animal implies any "death idealization" whatsoever. In fact, I speculated on this in my book Ohr HaShachar:
The person bringing the korban leans their hands on the animal, so that their nefesh and the nefesh of the animal become connected. (As in, והוא ענין הסמיכה בכל כחו ליחד נפשו לחבר בחינת נפשו עם נפש הבהמה, R. Pinchas Horowitz, Panim Yafot, Parshat Vayikra 1:4.) Nefesh, as we discussed, is understood as being linked to the blood. So when the animal is slaughtered and its blood is drained out, this is seen as drawing out not only the nefesh of the animal, but also the "excess nefesh" (cheit/sin) of the person to whom that animal is now connected. (As in, וע"י הקרבת נפש בהמה תתעלה נפשו; ibid.) In effect, it is a technique for drawing out the person’s excess nefesh without having to spill any of their own blood.
This approach, needless to say, has nothing whatsoever to do with closeness to God through death.

About the third possibility, declaration, Milgrom asserts that if hand-leaning is related to declaring the purpose of the animal, i.e. as a sacrifice, this would have been a separate act, not related to hand-leaning. He doesn't really explain why this is, and to be honest I don't find this reason very compelling. If a person is bringing an animal to the Temple courtyard, where a priest is waiting, knife in hand, it's pretty clear without pressing one's hand on the animal's head what the intent is.

Migrom opts for demonstrating ownership as the reason for hand-leaning. He cites Hittite ritual as one data point, wherein the offerer places their hand over the offering to ensure that they get credit for it. He also mentions the Akkadian idiom emedu qatu, "place the hand," which apparently is used in legal texts to designate ownership. Another point Milgrom makes is the fact that hand-leaning is absent in the text of the asham sacrifice. He says that the asham has the option of being commuted to money, and so hand-leaning is not required - "Because the offerer holds the silver in his hands there is no further need for hand-leaning: clearly it is his." The same goes, he says, for the cereal offering (mincha) - "it too is brought in the sacrificer's hands, and no further proof of ownership is required." Okay, one question is whether the asham is really "commutable" to money (meaning that uniquely in this case you can give money directly to the priests rather than bring an animal of your own), or whether the Torah is simply saying how much money the asham must be valued at. (Maybe a reader who knows more about the asham can shed some light here.) But even if you can commute the asham to silver shekels, the fact that there's no hand-leaning might just be because you may have no contact with the animal. And in terms of the transference idea, there is the concept of "kofer nafsho" (Ex 30:12) which could arguably be seen as "excess nefesh" being transferred to a coin. Though again, the rabbinic tradition does seem to require hand-leaning for the asham. Milgrom mentions Rashi suggesting otherwise (Nedarim 70b), but I wasn't able to locate it.

I know I went on at length on this point, but it's an excellent example of the worlds you can open up by looking at any one of the details of the sacrificial procedure, which Milgrom does a fantastic job helping to facilitate.

Isheh (1:13) - The word isheh, Milgrom suggests, is not related to esh and does not mean "fire offering." Among his evidence: Examples of things called "isheh" that are not put into fire (the priestly portion of the shelamim, the showbread, and wine libations), and numerous examples of things not called "isheh" which are put into the fire, including the chatat sacrifice, which is never called isheh. He posits that isheh is related to the Ugaritic itt, meaning "gift," making isheh a shortened form of lechem isheh, a "food gift."

Milgrom lists wine libations as an example of an isheh that's not put into the fire. But wasn't it? It turns out that this was a point of debate among the rabbis, since the concern was that wine might extinguish the fire, either entirely or in part (Zevachim 91b). This then gets into halachic issues of "davar she'eino mitkaven" (an act done for one purpose, where an inadvertent transgression may occur) and "pesik reisha" (where the transgression will certainly occur). Again, it's another example of a world that Milgrom's material entices interested readers to open up and explore.

Lastly, a couple of source-related points:

Antiquity of P - According to Milgrom, the P source (of which the bulk is in Leviticus) is pre-exilic and indeed predates D, which is conclusively demonstrated by P's language as well as the fact that D clearly draws from P.

The notion of P being post-exilic has always struck me as odd, since so much of it centers around temple ritual, and where the Ark of the Covenant plays a pivotal role. For P to have been written in Babylonia following the destruction of the temple seems fairly incongruous, not to mention wholly unpractical, since what's the relevance now of introducing all this detailed sacrificial instruction when you can't even do it? If it came from Second Temple times, that would be very late, and there was no Ark in the Second Temple. And like Milgrom points out, a late date for P doesn't square with the terminology it employs, doesn't account for D's apparent references to P, etc.

P and H - Milgrom distinguishes between P (the Priestly source) and H (the Holiness Code), and asserts that H is later and in fact the redactor of P. He quotes Knohl (1987) that the P source tends to be precise, terse, and rather dry, whereas H is imprecise and contains motivational clauses and exhortations, e.g. additions like "for he has desecrated the holy things of YHVH, and this person will be cut off from his people" (Lev 19:7).

Though I happened across Milgrom's comment on Lev 17:10, regarding another instance of karet, being "cut off," and saw that he distinguishes between two forms of the verb which appear in the Torah - vehikrati, "and I will cut him off," and venikrat, "and he shall be cut off." The former is active, the latter passive. Milgrom says that the passive, impersonal formulation is characteristic of P, whereas the active, more "emphatically immediate" formulation is characteristic of H. But it's not as if the notion of karet as a motivational exhortation is exclusive to H. According to Milgrom, the concept exists in P as well.

*        *        *

I'm going to stop here for now, but it's a wholly arbitrary stop. There is so much more material to talk about, and I'm only partway through Leviticus 1. This Torah portion alone encompasses 240 pages of commentary! So consider it a sacrificial sampler of assorted hors d'oeuvres designed to whet your appetite on the topic. (Either that, or it's made you close the menu and head for the hills.) I recognize that everyone has a different intellectual palate. As for me, I can hardly get enough of this stuff.

To me, this is a window into a different era in human history, and a very different mindset. We tend to underestimate how the things we do as a society, and the words we use to talk about what we do, shape our thinking and our outlook on life. It's natural for us in the 21st century to want to project our thinking back upon the world of sacrifices. But if we take a look at these practices in their historical context, and examine the words used to describe them with fresh eyes, we may in fact come away with an alternative way of thinking, encounter a reality that's fairly different from our own. Which, aside from allowing us to attain a more accurate reading of the text, is a fascinating adventure in and of itself!

Friday, March 24, 2017

"As Gods": Mishkan as Creation Redux - Torah portion Vayakhel-Pekudei

The Torah portion begins with Moses gathering all of Israel together and saying, "These are the things that YHVH commanded to make." But rather than start right in with the list of items, as we'd expect, Moses interjects:
"Six days shall project-work (melacha) be done, and on the seventh [it] will be holy for you, a complete desisting (shabbat shabbaton) for YHVH; anyone who does project-work on it will be put to death." (Ex 35:2)
About on the translation "project-work" for the word melacha: There is melacha, and there is avoda, both being forms of "work." Avoda refers to work in the sense of service, or servitude, from the word eved, "servant." Melacha, on the other hand, is work pertaining to a particular project, a mission. It's related to the word malach, an emissary, angel, one who is dispatched on a mission. In this case, the melacha is the work associated with Israel's project of building the Mishkan, the mobile temple. Not insignificantly, melacha is also the term the Torah uses to describe the work involved in the primordial project of creating the world.

Mishkan and Creation parallels

The restrictions of Shabbat are, in the rabbinic tradition, tied directly to the "thirty-nine melachot," distinct activities of project-work involved in the construction of the Mishkan. That is the work from which Israel desists in the wilderness on the seventh day. But this was a one-time project from thousands of years ago. Why should this specific set of creative work activities be enshrined for all subsequent generations as the work to be abstained from on Shabbat?

In short, it seems that the Mishkan is considered to be Israel’s “act of creation.” And so just as the Creator desists from the work of creation on Shabbat, so too does Israel desist from its work of creation on Shabbat.

The rabbinic tradition draws numerous parallels between the ma’aseh bereshit (act of creation) and the ma’aseh haMishkan (act of building the Mishkan). One instance regards the verse:
בְּיוֹם כַּלּוֹת משֶׁה לְהָקִים אֶת הַמִּשְׁכָּן
"On the day Moses finished erecting the Mishkan" (Num 7:1)
The Midrash Tanchuma says about this verse that the word et (את) is written to include the creation of the world (as in אֵת הַשָּׁמַיִם וְאֵת הָאָרֶץ).

The Midrash Yalkut Shimoni states, "We find that the Mishkan was weighed against the act of Creation."

Regarding Betzalel, who was placed in charge of designing the Mishkan, the Talmud (Berachot 55a) states, "Betzalel knew how to arrange the letters through which the heavens and earth were created."

Additionally, Midrash Rabba explains in one place, "Worlds were created and destroyed repeatedly, until finally ours was created and allowed to stand." And elsewhere it states, "Moses set up the Mishkan and took it apart seven times [on each of the seven days of inauguration] until finally he set it up and allowed it to stand."

Furthermore, the the Midrash in several places lists correspondences between components of the Mishkan and the creation narrative. Each comes up with a different set of correspondences. I've also come up with my own set, which not only provides a conceptual match between the days of creation and the components of the Mishkan, like the Midrash does, but also matches them in precise sequential order, according to Genesis 1 and Exodus 37.

Day One, Item One - Light and Ark

Before the "light" of Day One, the world is darkness and chaos. Light is symbolic of order, of life and creativity. The entire creative process is thus powered by that initial "light."

The Ark of the covenant is likewise the central component which the entire Mishkan is built around. The Ark is itself described a source of power, even a dangerous object (killing Aaron's sons, Lev 9:24; dispersing enemies, Num 10:35; killing Uza,  II Sam 6:7; "Ark of [God's] power," Ps 132:8). And the Jerusalem Talmud (Yoma 5:3) understands the word aron (ארון, Ark) as in fact stemming from the word ohr (אור, light).

Other rabbinic references to "light" relating to the Sanctuary: The Midrash Tanchuma explains why the windows in the Temple were narrow toward the inside and wide facing outward - "So that the light should go out from the Temple and illuminate the world." Bereshit Rabbah states, "From the place of the Temple, the light is created." And the Torah itself is called "light" (Prov 6:23), and that Torah, divine instruction, is understood to emanate from the Holy of Holies, the place of the Ark (Ex 25:22, Micha 4:2).

Day Two, Item Two - Firmament and Ark Cover

The firmament is the separator between the lower water (seas) and upper water (clouds). Likewise, the Ark Cover with its Cherubs acts as the separator between the Ark below and the Clouds of Glory above. In fact, the space above the Cherubs is explicitly referred to in Ezekiel (10:1) as the rakia, "firmament."

Ezekiel itself provides another example of the linkage between the creation and the Mishkan/Temple. His Chapter 1, the vision of the Throne of Glory of creation, is recapitulated in Chapter 10, this time about the Temple. Aside from referencing firmament, Ezekiel recognizes the Cherubs to be the “Chaya” that he saw at the Kevar river, i.e., in his first vision (see Ez 10:15). R. Bachye on Exodus 25:18 discusses the parallels between Ezekiel's two visions.

Day Three, Item Three - Land/Produce and Table/Showbread

The land houses the produce, just as the Table houses the Showbread.

Also, it is the produce of the land which is used to make the Showbread. The Midrash Tanchuma Buber offers this parallel as well.

Day Four, Item Four - Luminaries and Menorah

Both the luminaries and the Menorah provide visible light in the everyday usable sense, as opposed to the primordial light of Day One, or the symbolic "light" of the Ark.

There are seven branches in the Menorah, and the rabbinic tradition recognizes seven primary celestial luminaries, these being the sun, the moon and the five planets easily visible to the naked eye: Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. (See Tanchuma Buber, which cites this Mishkan-creation parallel.

Additionally, there is a relational correspondence between creation days One and Four, and Mishkan items One and Four. On Day Four, the primordial light of Day One is channeled into practical use by the celestial luminaries, which use light to form times and seasons. Item Four, the Menorah, is conceptualized in rabbinic literature as channeling the "light" of the Ark.

The Talmud (Megila 21b) says of the seven lamps of the Menorah that the outer six (i.e., their wicks) faced the center “western” lamp, and the western lamp faced the divine presence resting on the Ark. Whereas the other lamps burned out over-night, the western lamp (fueled by the divine presence) is said to have stayed lit until the following afternoon, with the same amount of oil (Shabbat 22b).

Day Five, Item Five - Fish/Birds and Incense Altar

Again, this is a relational correspondence, between creation days Two and Five, and Mishkan items Two and Five. The fish and birds of Day Five relate back to Day Two, occupying the lower and upper waters respectively. Likewise, Item Five, the Incense Altar, relates back to Item Two, whereby the smoke from the incense is used to block the Ark Cover. This was done on Yom Kippur to protect the High Priest from the Cloud of Glory which rested on the Ark Cover.

Day Six, Item Six - Beasts/Humans and Outer Alter

Beasts such as cows, sheep and goats are the ones that provide the primary animal sacrifices made on the Outer Altar.

There is also the association of "earth," soil. The Altar in the Mishkan is filled with earth (Ex 20:20).  Day Six describes the “earth” bringing forth creatures. The name Adam (אדם, lit. “earthling”) itself comes from the word adama (אדמה, earth), which may also relate to dam (דם, blood). In the sacrificial procedure, blood is sprinkled on the Altar.

Completion of Creation / Completion of the Mishkan

As we alluded to above, both the work of creation and the work of the Mishkan are described as "melacha," and the Torah uses similar language with regard to the completion of that work:
וַיְכַל אֱ-לֹהִים בַּיּוֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִי מְלַאכְתּוֹ אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה
"And E-lohim completed, on the seventh day, the melacha that he did" (Gen 2:2)
וַיְכַל משֶׁה אֶת הַמְּלָאכָה
"And Moses completed the melacha" (Ex 40:33)
Day Seven is Shabbat, which corresponds not with any particular component of the Mishkan, but with the Glory of YHVH entering the Mishkan.  As soon as Moses completes the work, the Mishkan is filled with the Glory of YHVH, making it kodesh, as alluded to earlier on:
וְנִקְדָּשׁ בִּכְבֹדִי
"[The Mishkan] will become kodesh with my glory." (Ex 29:43)
In the same way, as soon as the work of creation is completed, the seventh day becomes kodesh:
וַיְבָרֶךְ אֱ-לֹהִים אֶת יוֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִי וַיְקַדֵּשׁ אֹתוֹ
"And E-lohim blessed the seventh day, and he made it kodesh." (Gen 2:3)
Finally, both Shabbat and the completed Mishkan are understood as being imbued with the divine presence. The very next verse after the completion of the Mishkan describes the Cloud covering the Mishkan, and the Glory of YHVH filling it from within.

Likewise, the rabbinic tradition sees Shabbat as ushering in the divine presence. This is made explicit in the liturgical hymn "Lecha Dodi" of Kabalat Shabbat. The preliminary verses speak about receiving the presence of the “bride," the pnei Shabbat, and in subsequent verses, the theme transitions to the idea of Israel receiving the presence of God, the pnei ha-Shechina, in the Temple.

 *        *        *

That the rabbinic tradition sees a link between the creation and the Mishkan is irrefutable. Ezekiel saw it as well. And it is possible that it was a conscious, deliberate feature of the Torah text itself. As we saw, Genesis 1 and the Mishkan account even share similar terminology, most notably "melacha."

There also does seem to be significant precedent in the ancient world of people modeling their temples based on their conception of the cosmos. Against that backdrop, we might even expect the Mishkan to be built as a microcosm of creation.

So I hold it out as a possibility that the specific set of correspondences I cited above between days of creation and items in the Mishkan may have been part of the intent of the Torah text. (From a Source Criticism point of view, both Ex 37 and Gen 1 are from the same "P" source.) But even if it's not intrinsic to the text, it's a fairly strong drash.

We started with the question of why the work of the Mishkan is prohibited on Shabbat. The answer is that the work of the Mishkan is parallel to the work of creation. In both cases, Shabbat represents desisting from those works, as well as the divine presence entering upon completion.

On Shabbat, we acknowledge both the creation and Mishkan aspects. In Kiddush of Friday night, Shabbat itself is called a "remembrance of the act of creation" as well as a "remembrance of departing Egypt." The latter is a reference to Israel desisting from the work of the Mishkan.

So here's my takeaway for all this. The Torah describes humans as being created in the "image of God." It also says that when Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge, humankind became "like gods." So the act of building the Mishkan is not simply a means of channeling the divine presence. It's also symbolic of our status as creators. We literally fashion a microcosm - a "small cosmos." We recapitulate the act of creation ourselves. We don't just do "avoda," the labor of a servant. We perform "melacha," creative work. And this is representative of the sacred task set forth for humankind: to initiate projects, undertake creative endeavors, build and experiment, bring forth new ideas, new life, and seek to make order out of chaos.

Much of the above is adapted from my book Ohr HaShachar.

Friday, March 17, 2017

Lassoing the Golden Calf - Torah portion Ki Tisa

Bronze bull, Samaria, c. 1200 BCE
When I go through the Golden Calf narrative through the end of Exodus 34, I tend to find myself fairly disoriented. It's a seeming jumble of retribution, beseechment and forgiveness which I have a very hard time getting straight in my head. So for my own purposes (and I hope it will help you as well), I'm going to outline the events in order, just to give a bird's eye view. Then I'll identify the narrative oddities I find so confusing, followed by a few thoughts on that. After that, I'll mention the source-critical approach and how that (at least for me) doesn't address the narrative confusion. And I'll wrap up by bringing up some more thematic questions about the Golden Calf itself. No "sermons" in this piece, no tidy answers. Mostly a lot of questions. But sometimes it helps just to organize what you don't know, "lasso the calf" as it were.


The following covers the Golden Calf episode through the end of the portion (Ex 32-34):

1. GOLDEN CALF - Moses gone, the people demand Aaron to make them "gods to go before them," and then declare about the calf that "these are the gods that brought you up from the land of Egypt," after which Aaron makes a festival to YHVH around the calf (Ex 32:1-6).

2. YHVH'S THREAT - YHVH tells Moses that the people have made a molten calf and that he wants to destroy them. (32:7-10)

3. MOSES BESEECHES - Moses beseeches on the people's behalf, and God relents (32:11-14).

4. MOSES DESCENDS - Moses descends with the tablets, Joshua hears the sound of war, Moses says he hears singing, no mention of the calf. (32:15-18)

5. SMASHES TABLETS - Moses sees the people's revelry with their molten calf and gets angry, smashes the tablets, turns the calf into powder and makes Israel drink it, then chastises Aaron. (32:19-25)

6. SLAUGHTER OF 3000 - Moses calls up those people "for YHVH," the Levites respond, slaughter 3000 kinsmen, and receive a blessing. (32:26-29)

7. MOSES BESEECHES - Moses tells YHVH that the people made a calf and asks for forgiveness or else that YHVH wipe Moses out of his book. (32:30-32)

8. YHVH SMITES - YHVH says those who've sinned will be wiped out, that he'll send his angel to go before the people, then smites the people with a plague. (32:33-35)

9. ANGEL TO LEAD - YHVH tells Moses to lead the people, that he'll send an angel to drive out the Canaanites but won't go himself lest he destroy the people. The people mourn, and YHVH tells Moses to tell the people it's because YHVH will destroy you otherwise. The people depart Horev. (33:1-6)

10. MOSES' TENT - Moses would pitch his tent outside the camp, YHVH's cloud of glory rested on it, Joshua stayed inside, and the people would bow in reverence. (33:7-11)

11. MOSES BESEECHES - Moses demands that YHVH himself bring them to the land, YHVH agrees. (33:12-17)

12. REQUEST TO SEE YHVH - Moses asks to see YHVH's glory, and YHVH says he'll pass by Moses in the cleft of a rock. (33:18-23)

13. CARVE TWO TABLETS - YHVH tells Moses to carve two tablets (like the first), which YHVH would write on, and to come up to Sinai the next morning, which Moses does. (34:1-4)

14. YHVH REVEALED TO MOSES - YHVH descends, passes by Moses, and declares his attributes of mercy-but-yet-not-erasing-sin. (34:5-8)

15. MOSES BESEECHES - Moses again asks YHVH to lead the people himself. (34:9)

16. COVENANT - YHVH responds by setting forth a covenant of Ten Statements (Ritual Decalogue). (34:10-26)

17. TABLETS OF TEN STATEMENTS - YHVH tells Moses to write the Statements of the covenant, and after 40 days not eating or drinking, "he" (Moses, YHVH?) writes the Ten Statements on the tablets. (34:27-28)

18. MOSES' VEIL - Moses descends with the tablets, the skin on his face beaming, which frightened the people, so Moses wore a veil from then on when speaking to them. (34:29-35)


After getting a more concise picture of events, I realized what was bothering me about the text:
  • Moses beseeches YHVH not to destroy the people (#3), and yet he gets angry (#5) and seemingly on his own accord (no order from YHVH issued) commands the slaughter of 3000 people (#6).

  • YHVH relents about destroying the people (#3), then smites them with a plague (#8).

  • YHVH tells Moses that the people made a calf (#2), then Moses tells YHVH that the people made a calf, as if YHVH didn't know (#7).

  • Moses is told about the calf (#2) and yet seems not to know about it when talking to Joshua (#4).

  • Moses AGAIN beseeches YHVH not to destroy the people (#7), yet right AFTER slaughtering 3000 people (#6).

  • YHVH says he won't lead the people (#9), yet the next part deals with YHVH regularly appearing at Moses' tent, albeit outside the camp (#10).

  • YHVH agrees to lead the people instead of sending an angel (#11), yet Moses feels the need to ask again (#15).

  • Moses is told that YHVH would write on the tablets (#13), yet later (see 34:27) the verse on the face of it might imply that Moses wrote them (#17).


It occurs to me that a number of these difficulties relate to a specific section of text, my #2-3 above (Ex 32:7-14), and if we were to just take out that section, it would clear a lot of things up. Without it, Moses would come down from Sinai, not knowing what was going on, making his conversation with Joshua make more sense. Then he'd be legitimately shocked and angry upon seeing the people with the calf, as opposed to having already been told by YHVH about it and begging forgiveness for it. In that context, it would follow that he'd smash the tablets, and command the slaughter of the perpetrators. Again, we wouldn't have Moses seeming not to know what's going on after he was already told, later telling YHVH about the sin after YHVH already told him about it, and so on.

Now, we're still stuck with Moses asking for YHVH's forgiveness after he'd already slaughtered 3000 people. But one could argue that he was begging YHVH not to destroy ALL the people - after all, he'd already killed the perpetrators themselves. However, YHVH subsequently sends a plague against the people, which would be odd if the perpetrators had already been done in. I'm not sure how that resolves, unless the kinsmen the Levites slaughtered were of their own tribe, and YHVH struck the other tribes, or unless the 3000 didn't represent all the perpetrators, but was more of a retaliation. What's not plausible is to say that the plague was a collective punishment (i.e. more widespread than just the transgressors), since 32:33 makes it explicit that YHVH was going to strike only the perpetrators.

So while there are some other narrative difficulties, by taking out Ex 32:7-14 at least the story would be considerably more comprehensible.


But what does it mean "if we took out" a section of the text? I use that language because Biblical scholarship asserts a number of sources in the text. In the narrative I've outlined, chapters 32-33 are generally attributed to the E source, with 34 attributed to J followed by P (starting at 34:29). Often times, the text flows smoothly when you take out source X that's sitting in the middle of source Y, because Y1 is then "reconnected" with Y2. Point being, I'd expect Ex 32:7-14 to have been that "source X" sitting in the middle of "source Y," since it seems to be interrupting the flow and causing contradictions in the text. Yet the scholarship consensus (at least as articulated by R. E. Friedman) attributes all of chapter 32 to the E source.

In fact, if anything, the source-critical divisions here feel awkward to me. Themes in the E source are picked up and addressed explictly in the J source. For instance, Ex 33 (E source) says that YHVH would "pass in front of Moses." In Ex 34 (J source), YHVH in fact "passes in front of Moses." In Ex 33 (E source), YHVH says he won't be in their midst and lead them. In 34 (J source), Moses begs YHVH to stay in their midst and lead them. (Granted, it's the second time Moses makes this request, and after YHVH already agreed to lead them, which if they were two different sources might explain that redundancy, but what I'm pointing out here is the continuity of the theme.) Also, YHVH refers to Israel as a stiff-necked people in 32:9, 33:3, 33:5 (E source), and Moses' plea to have mercy on them in Ex 34:9 (J source) picks up on that same "stiff-necked" language, and refers to their "sin." There's nothing in the J story (that I've identified) which indicates any major "sin" or the need to forgive a stiff-necked people. It follows from the Golden Calf story, which is supposedly from a different source.

R. E. Friedman (The Bible with Sources Revealed, note on p. 176) explains that the redactor of the text "may have merged the J and E accounts," meaning that at one point there were two full stories, but they simply edited out the redundant parts. Hard to say. Sometimes source criticism has a lot of explanatory power. But in this case, and I admit to being a layman here, I can only say that where I "expected" there to be a switch in sources, there isn't. And were I didn't expect it, there is.


Besides the issue of trying to make chronological sense of the story, there are a plethora of interesting questions about the Golden Calf narrative itself. First off, what did the people think they were accomplishing? Moses leaves, so make a molten god to lead them? They would want a calf to lead them, but YHVH sending his angel to lead them is a cause for mourning? Plus, there's a whole connection between this story and 1 Kings 12:28, where Jeroboam sets up golden calves in Beit El and Dan, and says "Behold your gods, Israel, which brought you up out of the land of Egypt," which is nearly verbatim what's said in the Exodus Golden Calf episode. There's the aspect of the plural "gods" used in the story, as opposed to "god." There's the question of how the people would declare this calf the god(s) "that brought you up out of the land of Egypt" (Ex 32:4), when immediately before they referred to Moses as "the man who brought us up from the land of Egypt" (Ex 32:1). Even the switch from "us" to "you" - it's all ripe for investigation!

But time being short, I'll leave that investigation for another time.

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

Priests and Mudbloods - Torah portion Tetzaveh

Genealogy of Egyptian High Priests at Memphis, 946-736 BCE.
Tetzaveh is the first Torah portion which is primarily about the kohanim, the priests.  The entire Israelite nation is called a "kingdom of priests." Yet even these "priests" have their priests. The Israelites are bound by restrictions, a set of strict laws. Yet the kohanim have even further restrictions. The Israelites are "chosen" from among the nations (Deut 7:6, 14:2). Yet the priests are chosen from among them (Deut 18:5, 21:5).

Likewise, the Torah talks about "seed" largely in relation to Israel - that the patriarchs' seed will be like the stars of the heaven, that the land of Canaan is promised to their seed, that the seed of Israel should not be given to the Molech (sacrificed by fire), etc. And "seed" is also used to describe the priestly lineage within the lineage of Israel:
וְהָיְתָה לָהֶם חָק עוֹלָם לוֹ וּלְזַרְעוֹ לְדֹרֹתָם
"And it shall be for them a perpetual statute, for [Aaron] and his seed, for all their generations." (Ex 30:41)
Only unlike the Israelite nation, which while having its basis in "seed" also accepts proselytes, with the priesthood, there's no conversion. You're either born into it or you're not. It's seed all the way.

I'm a kohen myself, part of the priestly lineage. But I have to say that the idea of "bloodlines" doesn't particularly resonate well to my modern, Western, democratic, post-Enlightenment ears. Shouldn't we choose the best person for the job? Why should someone be "born" into it? Haven't we moved past the idea of "noble" or "privileged" classes and into the age of meritocracy? Even children grasp this idea. It's one of the main themes of Harry Potter, fighting against the idea that only "pure bloods" should be taught magic, that people from outside the noble bloodlines are "mudbloods" who need to be expunged from the magical world. It's not the family you were born into but what you do with your life, the choices you make, that counts. This is modern moral literacy 101!

So how do we understand Judaism's placing stock in genetic descent? Once again, I think we have to first put it in perspective and look at the historical context. For millennium upon millennium, dynastic rule and succession were the way societies around the world functioned. Chinese dynasties go back over 4000 years. Egyptian dynasties over 5000 years. You had the ruling "house," i.e. the family. In monarchic Israel, it was (largely, or at least in principle) the house of David. In modern-day England, Queen Elizabeth II is from the house of Windsor.

And hereditary succession was not only the case for the sovereign of the state, but also for priests. In Egypt for instance, there were established priestly families, the office handed down from father to son. In a few cases however, the pharaoh appointed someone not of the traditional lineage to the office, and this was the cause of considerable consternation within the old priestly families.

Families, bloodlines, classes - the noble aristocracy and the various strata of classes underneath - this was the way of the civilized world up until very recent history. You were born into whatever class you happened to be, and - with very few exceptions - that was it. Granted, we still have de facto "classes" in the Western world, based on wealth. Yes, "privilege" based on family, ethnicity, etc. is still an issue. And all you have to do is look at the Bushes and Clintons of the world to know that it's not all meritocracy - the dynastic model still puts up a venerable fight. But still I think it's fair to say that the depth of the class system of even 200 years ago would seem totally foreign to modern Western sensibilities. For us, if upward mobility is limited by who or where a person is "from," that's considered an embarrassment. It's something wrong in the system that needs to be corrected.

And yet... It's not exactly accurate to say that the idea of aristocratic family lines is something modern people eschew. There's a mystique around the British royal family, around celebrity families, and of course political dynasties. What is it about royal or quasi-royal lineage that catches people's fancy? Is it the name itself, e.g. anyone named "Kennedy"? Is it the physical family resemblance? A sense of tradition and continuity? A desire to recapture the past? Is there in fact something deep within the human psyche, maybe rooted in evolutionary psychology, that longs for an "elite" within the clan, those to whom we can only look in admiration but never hope to be a part of themselves, maybe analogous to God? (Or possibly the opposite - maybe our conception of God is analogous to a venerated upper class to which we submit ourselves as humble subjects.)

A friend recently related to me the "yichus" (blood relations) of someone he knows - the great great granddaughter of such-and-such Hasidic rabbi on one side, the great niece of such-and-such Torah scholar on the other. Like I say, I understand the mystique factor. But other than that, why should the fact of someone's birth family be in any way significant? I suppose beyond mystique, or mysticism, there's also a rational, straightforward significance to descending from a "prominent" family - expectations.

When someone grows up in a "house" (i.e. an aristocratic family dynasty), there is a built-in expectation from birth of taking one's place in that family's legacy. People can be groomed psychologically and behaviorally throughout their lives to become leaders or fulfill a certain role.

Similarly, the priests of ancient Israel were sequestered and instructed from their youth. They were bred to fulfill their role as kohanim. And that training, that instruction, from a very early age, makes an indelible impression on a person. Almost as if they seem "inherently" suited to lead in that way. Only in all probability, it's largely a product of grooming and acculturation rather than DNA.

And when you think about it, grooming priests (or anyone) from birth based on family is possibly a more efficient alternative to a merit-based system. Imagine having to individually gauge the "merit" of every small child in a society for a job they won't take on until adulthood. It's much easier to simply designate a certain group of people to take on the role of priesthood, since they have to be conditioned from their youth. It also manages expectations - both the expectations of those filling that role, as well as those not filling that role, so that (in principle) there's an agreement as to who's doing the job, and you're not having to manage constant coup attempts. So on multiple levels, hereditary succession of the priesthood probably made sense.

Nowadays, in the diminished role that kohanim play, it's not a particularly controversial issue. Priests have some additional halachic restrictions, get the first alliyah to the Torah, do the priestly blessing. But they have no "power" per se. The hereditary aspect, while decidedly non-democratic, is fairly benign. It serves as a link to the past and offers the hopeful sense that the "seed" lives on.

That's what I suppose I would take from this. Yes, we've largely moved on from hard and fast class distinctions and bloodlines dominating our leadership roles. Which is a good thing. Within that context, to the extent that people find it intriguing, awe-inspiring, nostalgic or otherwise psychologically satisfying, there's a place for a little aristocracy. As long as people aren't prevented from being upwardly mobile. As long as it doesn't draw too much of a society's attention or resources. As long as the out-group isn't looked at as "mudbloods." As Jews, too much emphasis on yichus is a corruption of values.

I'll close with a well-known Mishna:
רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן אוֹמֵר, שְׁלשָׁה כְתָרִים הֵם, כֶּתֶר תּוֹרָה וְכֶתֶר כְּהֻנָּה וְכֶתֶר מַלְכוּת, וְכֶתֶר שֵׁם טוֹב עוֹלֶה עַל גַּבֵּיהֶן
"Rabbi Shimon says: There are three crowns - the crown of Torah, the crown of Priesthood, and the crown of Kingship, but the crown of a Good Name is above them all." (Avot 4:13)
In other words, the highest honor we should accord people should not be based on birth, and not even on the amount of knowledge they've accrued, but on their positive actions in the world.

Thursday, March 2, 2017

Does God need a House? - Torah portion Teruma

"House of YHVH" ostracon c. 800 BCE
The obvious answer to most modern religious believers is clearly an emphatic no, God does not need a house. In standard Jewish theological terms, God has no "needs." God is whole and perfect. Not only does God have no physical body to "reside" anywhere, but God is infinite, existing in all places at all times. In fact according to the Maimonidean school of thought, God is so ineffable that one cannot even speak about what God "is," only what God is "not."

And yet this Torah portion describes the plans for what sounds like an abode for God, the Mishkan or mobile sanctuary. The purpose of the Mishkan is stated explicitly at the start of the instruction:
"Make for me a sanctuary, and I will dwell among them." (Ex 25:8)
And again toward the end of the instruction:
"And there I will meet with the children of Israel, and [the Mishkan] will be sanctified by my glory... And I will dwell among the children of Israel, and will be their God." (Ex 29:43, 45)

So despite our notion of God being omnipresent, the Torah speaks of God "dwelling" with the Israelites, in and by way of the Mishkan. This sanctuary (whether the mobile Mishkan or permanent Temple in Jerusalem) is explicitly referred to as the "house of YHVH" three times in the Torah itself:
"The choicest first-fruits of your land you should bring [into] the house of YHVH your God; you should not cook a kid in its mother's milk." (Ex 23:19)

"The choicest first-fruits of your land you should bring [into] the house of YHVH your God; you should not cook a kid in its mother's milk." (Ex 34:26)

"You should not bring the wages of a harlot, or the price of a dog, [into] the house of YHVH your God for any vow..." (Deut 23:19)

(No, that wasn't a misprint. Exodus 23:15-19 and 34:18-26 are parallel passages, with certain parts repeated verbatim.)

All told, the phrase "house of YHVH" occurs over 100 times in the Bible, including in several often-recited verses in Psalms:
אַחַת שָׁאַלְתִּי מֵאֵת יְ-הוָה אוֹתָהּ אֲבַקֵּשׁ שִׁבְתִּי בְּבֵית יְ-הוָה כָּל יְמֵי חַיַּי
"One [thing] I have asked from YHVH, which I will seek after - that I may dwell in the house of YHVH all the days of my life..." (Ps 27:4, L'David, said in Elul-Tishrei)
שְׁתוּלִים בְּבֵית יְ-הוָה בְּחַצְרוֹת אֱ-לֹהֵינוּ יַפְרִיחוּ
"Those who are planted in the house of YHVH, in the courtyards of our God, shall flourish." (Ps 92:13-14, Mizmor Shir of Shabbat)
נְדָרַי לַי-הוָה אֲשַׁלֵּם נֶגְדָה נָּא לְכָל עַמּוֹ. בְּחַצְרוֹת בֵּית יְ-הוָה בְּתוֹכֵכִי יְרוּשָׁלָ‍ִם הַלְלוּ יָ-הּ
"I will pay my vows to YHVH in the presence of all his people. In the courtyards of the house of YHVH, in the midst of Jerusalem, praise YH." (Ps 116:18-19, part of the Hallel prayer)

And of course the Temple Mount is known in Hebrew as Har Habayit, lit. "the Mountain of the House." Suffice it to say, whether or not God "needs" a house, the Temple is certainly referred to as God's house. What do we make of that?

I think the place to start is to recognize that modern-day or even Medieval Jewish theology does not necessarily express the same concept of God as understood by the ancient Israelites. First off, the Biblical God is anthropomorphized as having hands, arms, feet, face, eyes, nose, etc., as ascending and descending, walking and hovering, and as having emotions such as anger and regret. Also, there is Biblical and archaeological evidence that monolatry (worship of God while acknowledging the existence of other gods), and not strict monotheism as we understand it today, was a common or even dominant worldview in ancient Israel, at least at earlier stages. Which is not to cast aspersion on our Israelite forebears. They were simply affected by the world they inhabited, just as we are. In the same way, we have to understand the Torah's temple-orientation in the historical context that it was formulated.

All peoples in the Ancient Near East had gods. And gods all had their temples, their houses. In some cases, such as Beit Shemesh ("the house of Shemesh," the sun goddess), the sanctuary or house of the god became the place name proper. The temple and its proceedings were seen as a means of gaining favor in the eyes of the god, who if all went well would be persuaded to reside with the people and thus bestow them with blessings. Proper "care" of the gods required daily offerings. Did the god "need" these offerings? This is a bit of a supposition, but I would guess that if we took a poll of Ancient Near Eastern pagans, they would balk at the idea that their god would starve to death if not "fed," or would be suffering out in the cold if not "housed." But these things were necessary, again, in order to earn the presence and blessing of the god. The god is a sort of monarch, and the monarch must have a suitable abode, one which bespeaks their honor and power.

Such is the world that the Mishkan and Temple were created to function in. While Israelite temple ritual certainly had its own distinct "spin" to it, there was a great amount of overlap with neighboring cult practices. For one, the layout of the Israelite sanctuary, with its outer altar, antechamber and holy of holies, mirrored those of Canaanite and other adjacent cultures. Israelite burnt sacrifices and peace sacrifices would have been familiar to their neighbors. The Torah describes a fire from God "consuming" (i.e. eating) the sacrifice on the altar (Lev 9:24, Jud 6:21, 1 Ki 18:38 and others), about it being God's "food" (Lev 3:11, Num 28:24 and others), and the smell of the sacrifices being a "satisfying aroma" to God (Ex 29:18, Lev 23:13, Num 15:3 and others). This kind of language doesn't come out of theological treatises about God's infinite nature. It reflects a widespread expectation that your god must be fed and sheltered. To neglect to do so would have been a religious affront!

So even going back to ancient Israel, I would venture to guess that they did not believe that God "needed" a house. Rather, they needed God to have a house in order to do what was "proper" for one's God. What's more, they needed God to dwell among them and bestow upon them the blessings of fertility, crops, rain, success in their battles, and so on. And in the ancient world, that meant you needed to build God a fitting residence and offer God the choicest of your food. For Israel, it also meant behaving in a holy manner, following divinely-given instructions, and - importantly - not straying after other gods.

Of course, only part of that comports with the modern concept of God. We don't live in a world where God is expected to have a house or daily food offerings. Modern "houses of God" are not quasi-palaces with throne rooms where God the monarch is understood to reside, but rather places where people gather together to worship God. That is the standard model today.

But again, does God "need" worship? No, in theological terms, a singularly perfect and infinite God does not need anything. The tradition does however speak of the idea of God "desiring" the prayers of the righteous, and certainly Halacha mandates daily prayer, but ultimately the idea - just like the original concept of the Temple/Santuary - is that our prayer should benefit us.

We ceased living in a Temple culture some 2000 years ago. And some would say that in the post-Enlightenment age of increasing secularization and orientation toward science and technology, the prayer/worship culture is also on its way out. People are discovering alternative modes of spiritual expression and community building that speak to their modern individual needs and aspirations. Where does that leave prayer and shul? I think it's much like a great deal of Judaism today. Practices that when  originally instituted were more natural and intuitive, reflecting the wider society and where people's general mindset was at the time, don't necessarily "cease to exist" just because we've changed. Instead, these practices become even more "Jewish." They turn into rituals which make us religiously and culturally distinct, and as such they function to bolster our religious continuity and identity. Prayer and shul are like lighting Hanukkah candles or holding a Passover Seder. They're "Jewish" things to do. Prayer in shul has its unique tempo, melodies, movements, and messages - like a series of slightly changing mini-musicals that we play out over the course of the day, the week, the year.

So I suppose the challenge for Judaism is to strike the right balance between ritual that we keep because it keeps us Jewish, and practices which speak authentically to our needs, which are truly relevant in ways that challenge us to grow and develop, and which inspire and reinvigorate our sense of national purpose. One could answer simply - let the Jewish stuff be Jewish, and let everything else be the "extracurriculars" we engage in. The risk there is that participating in Judaism because it fosters Jewish continuity, or because we enjoy the familiar cultural Jewish "shtick," or even because we "have to," is not as compelling as taking part in an activity because it's understood as having inherent value, because it's something we would want to do anyway. So we'd probably be better served if we managed to inject more authenticity, in the modern, 21st Century sense, into our Jewish practice. What and how? That's another question!