Jewish Leadership Struggle in the Roman Era part 2

The Sanhedrin was probably the primary religious institution in Ancient Israel, second only to the Temple. The Torah (Deut.17:8-13) gives the Sanhedrin full authority not only over judicial matters, but to interpret the text authoritatively, and make new legislation intended to enhance the observance of Judaism ("Fences"). Once the Temple was destroyed, Sadduceean Judaism, based as it was primarily around the Temple, ceased to exist. But those Pharisees who reestablished the Sanhedrin in Yavne (and later other places) had, in essence, created a portable Judaism. As Roman persecution increased greatly with the rise of Christianity, the Sanhedrin's role as judiciary waned, until it became known simply as "the Vaad" (The Committee), where the Torah could be debated, and laws enacted, but without "teeth" to enforced their decisions. This is believed to be the origin of the Yeshiva. The Torah prescribes a death penalty to those who oppose the rulings of the Sanhedrin (Deut. 17:12), so great was the importance of that institution. With the constraints of Roman law limiting the actions of the Sanhedrin, capital punishment was very seldom imposed.Nevertheless, a theoretical death penalty put the importance of a law into proper perspective. In most cases, the "herem" (ban of excommunication) served in lieu of court penalties. Challenges to Rabban Gamliel's authority, and the authority of the Sanhedrin, did come. The first case was Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrkanos, also known as "Rabbi Eliezer the Great." He is one of the central figures in the Mishnah, and he was Rabban Gamliel's brother-in-law. The point of dispute was a rather curious one. The Torah stipulates methods of making utensils clean if they became impure (usually through immersion). However, an earthenware utensil could not be purified and had to be destroyed. The question came up, what if we have an earthenware oven that is made out of small pieces, none of which was in any sense of the word a "utensil." If it became unclean, could it simply be taken apart, and reassembled? Rabban Gamliel's Sanhedrin voted that this would not be efficacious. Rabbi Eliezer was totally convinced of the opposite opinion. "If I am right, let the stream outside run backwards" It did. "No proof can be brought from a stream!". "If I am right, let the tree outside become uprooted, and reroot itself!". That happened. "No proof can be brought from a tree!" "may the walls testify!". The walls became bent. "No proof from a wall"! "May G-d testify!" A voice was heard "the halachah is as is being said like my son Eliezer!" The rabbis jumped up and said "The Torah is not in Heaven! (Deut.30:12). The Sanhedrin's ruling is what must be followed". (One of the rabbis is said to have met Elijah after this, and asked him what G-d's reaction was. G-d laughed, and said "my children have vanquished me!"' Rabbi Eliezer, so certain of his ruling, did not accept the decision of his colleagues, and was excommunicated by Rabban Gamliel. He spent the rest of his life in relative obscurity. We have here a classical example of the conflict between conscience and a system of law. Rabban Gamliel won this round, but it was not to be the last.

Jewish Leadership Struggle in the Roman Era part 1

The Davidic Kingdom came to an end with the destruction of Jerusalem, and the exile of her people in the Sixth Century BCE. The belief in the eventual restoration of that Kingdom persisted, and persists to this day. Families with known connection to the House of David are careful to maintain their records, and the faithful await one of them to arise and deliver us at the time when it will please the Creator. In Babylon, from the earliest days of Jewish life in that country, until the Eleventh Century, the Jews were governed by an Exilarch (Resh Galuta). The Exilarch was of the Royal line. At some periods, the title was merely honorific. At other times, the Exilarch governed as King in an autonomous Jewish state under Persian rule. Some of the Exilarchs were righteous, scholarly men. Others were anything but. Babylonian Jews, for 1500 years, saw the Exilarchs as Kings in Exile, awaiting the time when they would rule in Zion. In the Holy Land, Jewish life was very tenuous. The tiny community of returnees from Babylon were governed at first by Jews who had been prominent in Babylon, and later Persia. Some had close connections with the Persian Kings. Among these leaders were the last of the Prophets; Zacharia, Haggai and Malachi. Enemies surrounded them, particularly the wicked Samaritans, who attacked them physically, and used their connections with Persia to thwart the Jews at every turn. Persia fell to Greece, which made matters yet worse for the Jews, as they demanded Jewish assimilation into Hellenistic culture. The Maccabean revolt brought about a period of independence, but the Maccabean leaders quickly fell into arrogance; assuming both the Priesthood (to which they were entitled) and the Kingdom, which they usurped. Soon, they became identified with the Sadducees, and began persecuting and killing Torah sages. Through this whole time, there existed the Sanhedrin; the Biblically mandated Supreme Court. But they lived in fear of destruction by the Maccabean Kings. The Maccabees, in turn, were killed off by Herod, an Edumean who had been forcibly converted to Judaism together with his people. His line ruled for several generations, and were little more than Roman vassals. Most of them were enemies of the Sages. A sort of "shadow governemnt" grew up among the Jews, with a Nasi (Patriarch, Prince) being appointed as President of the Sanhedrin in the Second Century BCE. The Romans recognized the Nasi as head of the Jewish community, alongside their pretend Kings, until they disbanded the Patriarchate in 425ce, as part of a huge wave of intolerance brought about when Rome became Christian. From the turn of the Common Era, the Nasi was usually of the family of the beloved Hillel the Elder, who was of the Davidic line. The Jewish world was now divided in its loyalties between two Davidic dynasties. After the fall of Jerusalem, and the destruction of the Temple, the Sanhedrin was reconstituted in the sleepy backwater of Yavne. Rabban Gamliel (a title higher than "rabbi", which was used when referring to a Nasi) was faced with the unenviable task of keeping Judaism alive without a Temple. (It must be remembered that fully two-thirds of the laws of the Torah relate to the Temple). He was chosen as Nasi shortly after the establishment of Yavne as the central Jewish seat of authority. But how was he to be viewed? As a King, who, in order to solidify his authority, must govern with a heavy hand? Or more like his ancestor Hillel, always meek and modest? He chose the former. The result was revolt by scholars who would not allow themselves to be silenced. More next time.

Passover 27

The Torah, rather mysteriously, commands the Seventh Day of Passover to be observed as "Full Holiday", roughly the same as Shabbat, with the exception of food preparation and carrying outside where there is no eruv. By Rabbinic Law, one day holidays are observed for two days in the diaspora, so that Passover becomes an eight day holiday, where the first two and last two are full holiday. According to tradition, the Seventh Day is the day of the splitting of the sea. This can also be deduced from the verses, though not stated specifically. No special observances are mandated for these last two days, but several have arisen over the centuries, Some stay awake on the eve of the Seventh Day, anticipating the splitting of the sea which occurred near dawn. In some Hasidic communities, water is poured onto the floor, and people dance through the water, reenacting the miracle. (Dancing is actually forbidden on Shabbat and Holidays, but most Ashkenazim are lenient about this for reasons beyond the scope of this post). In many communities, joyous songs about the splitting of the sea are part of the morning service. Followers of  Elijah of Vilna, and ironically, Hasidim, each have an additional festive meal on this day, albeit for very different reasons. For the followers of Elijah of Vilna, they are observing the opinion of their teacher, that each time we eat matzah during Passover we fulfill a Biblical commandment. (According to most others, matzah is only Biblical, at the Seder). Since the Seventh is the last Biblical day of Passover, they eat an additional meal to savor the mitzvah of matzah one last time, and look forward to observing it again the following year. For (most) Hasidim, there is a special celebratory meal in honor of the legendary rescue of the Baal Shem Tov. There are as many versions of the story as there are Hasidic groups . The Baal Shem Tov, according to legend, embarked on a treacherous journey to the Holy Land, in order to meet Rabbi Hayyim Ben Attar (whom he considered greater than himself), so that together, they would bring Mashiach. In most versions of the story, he was traveling with his daughter Adel, whom he considered the greatest of his disciples. A great storm arose, threatening to sink the ship. It was revealed to the Baal Shem Tov that he had a choice. Either Adel must be thrown into the sea, or else the Baal Shem Tov's precious manuscripts must be destroyed. Adel took upon herself to die. At the last moment, she told her father that if she dies, he will get to the Holy Land, and the manuscripts will be saved. But if she lives, through her he will have a descendant who will accomplish all of this on a much higher plane, and write far greater books. The Baal Shem Tov agreed to the latter choice. Breslover Hasidim point out that Adel's daughter was Feiga, and Feiga's son was none other than Rabbi Nachman, who in fact took the perilous journey to the Holy Land in 1798. In any case, the Baal Shem Tov's voyage was interrupted by pirates, who almost killed him, but he was saved by a miracle. He came safely back to Istanbul on the Seventh Day of Passover, celebrated by Hasidim ever since. The story has now been shown to be legend (Rabbi Hayyim Ben Attar had passed away several years earlier, and there is evidence that the Baal Shem Tov never undertook such a journey), but the themes of longing for Redemption, as well as leaving some goals for our offspring, are themes that still touch us. In my next post, I will discuss the Eighth Day; which in many communities is seen as the most joyous day of all.

Tefillin on Chol HaMo'ed

Chol Hamo'ed, the "Intermediate Days" of Passover and Sukkot, have many laws of their own. Some holiday laws apply, others do not. Basically, labor is forbidden that is not required for Chol HaMo'ed, or the final days of the holiday. (The main exception is something that if not done, one would incur a loss).In the Talmud, we read that one may not write even a single letter in the Scribal Script. However, if one needs a mezzuzah or Tefillin for Chol Hamo'ed itself, one may write them. This at least implies that Tefillin are to be worn on Chol MaMo'ed. (Tefillin are not worn on Shabbat or holidays, but the status of Chol Hamo'ed is ambiguous). Based on this, the custom in nearly all communities was to wear Tefillin on Chol HaMo'ed. Many objected, however, as many statements in the Talmud represent a particular opinion, which may not be the final halachah. There is, in fact, an opinion in the Talmud that Tefillin are worn EVERY DAY, including Shabbat and Holidays. The above statement that one may write Tefillin for Chol HaMo'ed use, may reflect that minority view. Elijah of Vilna, for example, ruled that one must NOT put on Tefilin on Chol Hamo'ed. Many communities changed their custom with the publication of the Zohar (c. 1300). The Zohar considers the wearing of Tefillin on Chol HaMo'ed to be a great sin, as one is treating the holiday with contempt, making it like a weekday, for which one loses one's share in the World to Come. Nearly all Sepharadic communities stopped wearing Tefillin on Chol HaMo'ed because of this, as did Kabbalistically inclined Ashkenazim. With the rise of Hasidism in the 18th century, the Jews of large areas of Eastern Europe ceased wearing Tefillin on Chol HaMo'ed. The question of what to do in the case of a conflict between Kabbalah and Halachah comes into play here, with the additional factor of the existence of opinions that even without the Kabbalah, there are ample opinions against the practice (RAMBAM can be understood both ways. This is most unusual for his generally clear writings.) The rundown on who does what is as follows. German Jews put on Tefillin. Lithuanian Jews put them on, but, because of the doubt, do not recite the blessing. Those Lithuanian Jews who follow the Elijah of Vilna, do not put on the Tefillin. Virtually all Sepharadim and Hasidim do not. Most Yemenites do not. In Israel, the accepted practice is not to put them on, although some do so quietly and discretely. It is not proper to have, in the same synagogue, some putting them on and some not. However, in "mixed" communities, this is usually not stressed. One rabbi I knew, in suburban New York, wanted to make two separate services for those who do and those who don't wear tefillin on Chol Hamo'ed. He was fired for "attempting to divide the community". Although most people do whatever their father did, I consider that an error. It is more a question of ideology; to what extent we give weight to Kabbalah in deciding halachah? The commonly heard idea that if one goes to work on Chol Hamo'ed one puts on Tefillin, and if not, he doesn't, is pure folklore with no halachic basis. If one worked on Shabbat, should he put tefillin on? I do not wear Tefillin on Chol HaMo'ed

Passover 26

As I have noted n the past, the imagery of Kaballah is often of a sexual nature. G-d is the male figure, the bestower, while Man, the Jewish People, the Holy Shechinah (Divine Presence; Indwelling) are the female bestowees. In the menstrual laws (which I have discussed in an earlier series), after the woman's monthly bleeding, she performs a self-examination to determine that the bleeding has, in fact, stopped. After that, she observes seven "clean days", after which she immerses in the mikveh, and is reunited physically, as well as emotionally, with her husband. From the perspective of Kabbalah, the Seven Clean Days represent the seven emotional sefirot, which must be dealt with and perfected before the ultimate unity can occur. The Torah says that she must "count seven days". The word "count" is the same word used to denote the counting of the Omer, and has at its root the word "sapphire". The emotions need to be cleansed and made to shine. The Zohar states boldly that during the Egyptian oppression, Israel, and the Shechinah, were in a state of "menstruation", i.e., impurity and alienation from G-d. The Exodus was the "self-examination", followed by the seven-week journey to Sinai to receive the Torah. At the Giving of the Torah, we are told that a "dew" descended upon the Israelite camp. The Zohar states that this was the "Immersion of the Bride". (The first three letters of the Divine Name, can be spelled out "YUD VAV DALET, HEH ALEF, VAV ALEF VAV", and make the numerical equivalent of thirty-nine, the same as "Tal" (Dew). These are to be united with eh HEH; the Divine Feminine. There is a Midrash that Mount Sinai was lifted above them like a marriage canopy. The moment of Revelation was the "mating" of G-d and the Shechinah; G-d and Israel. Anyone who observes the rules of Family Purity will testify that after the period of separation, even couples who have been married for decades feel like newlyweds. Thus, the evening following our reenactment of the Exodus, we begin counting seven weeks, seven times seven "clean days". In many prayer books, there is a notation of what combination of emotions is to be dealt with that day. We are on our way to Sinai, but not there yet. We anticipate the wonderful moment. Alienation is still there, but will soon come to an ecstatic end. We remain awake Shavu'ot night, preserving the purity we have attained, adorning ourselves like a bride. The Kabbalah understands the mourning of the Sefirah period as the expression of the "not quite married yet" feeling of frustration. The joyous culmination will take place on Shavu'ot. One great eighteenth-century rabbi, HIDA, even went so far as to state that our observance of the semi mourning time of the Omer period has absolutely nothing to do with the students of Rabbi Akiva, but rather with this great cosmic mystery of alienation and reunification. I must say that this appeals to my sense of the joy of Judaism much more.

Passover 25

It is vital to remember that Jewish history has been filled with numerous tragedies. This is especially true of Ashkenazic Jewish history. Nearly every country in Europe expelled, or even killed, the Jews from time to time. In pre-Modern times, the greatest oppressors were the English, who, besides the usual occasional massacres, murdered huge numbers of Jews in 1190, finishing the job in 1290; burning us alive, throwing us off cliffs, and drowning us in the sea, with our children taken away, Baptized, and given to Christian families. With the coming of the Crusades, Christian soldiers massacred Jews while on their way to massacre Muslims. Fully a third of European Jews were wiped out, just like in the Holocaust. Joy departed from European Jewry, with mourning becoming a central theme in Jewish life ever since. The daily Birkat Kohanim (Priestly Blessing) was removed from the Ashkenazi daily service, reserved only for holidays, as no one could, they felt, ever be happy enough to bless ever again. Prayers for the dead became central, even on holidays. Even on holidays? Especially on holidays! Many Jews celebrate the Seder wearing a "kittel", their own future burial robe. Prayers in memory of the victims of the Crusades were placed into the Shabbat prayers, where they remain until this day. This was especially true for the Spring, when armies, full of hate, would descend on Jewish communities on their way to other battles., A prime example of this is the Tal prayer, asking for dew, recited on the first day of Passover, and the Geshem prayer for rain, recited on the eighth day of Sukkot. While the Serpharadic version is sung in a joyous tune, extolling the beauty of Nature, the Ashkenazic is in a beautiful haunting tune, and speaks of suffering; "Our blood is spilled like water, give us water!". Every occasion for mourning was infused with expressions of National anguish. We can see this trend even today, with Holocaust memorial becoming a central theme, or even THE central theme, in Jewish life. Not that it isn't vital to remember, but, in my opinion, these experiences should not define us. We read in the Talmud that the thousands of students of Rabbi Akiva died in a "plague" between Passover and Shavu'ot. Only five survived. This may mean an actual plague, or it may mean that they were casualties of the ill-fated Bar Kochba rebellion against Rome. No further details are given in the Talmud, nor is any mourning ritual for the casualties mentioned. Medieval Ashkenazic Jewry seized on this idea as an expression of their own suffering The period between Passover and Shavu'ot, all or in part, became a time of grief. This is nowhere to be found in the Talmud, or early Sepharaidic sources, such as RAMBAM and RIF. In fact, even the great Ashkenazi codifier, Rabbeinu Asher, known as ROSH, makes no mention of this. (These three are considered the "pillars" of halachah). But nevertheless, it became firmly entrenched in Ashkenazic practice, spreading to the Sepharadim by the fifteenth century. No weddings were to be performed, and no hair cutting; a common sign of mourning among Jews. Some kept this during the entire "Sefira" ("counting" of the Omer) time. Some kept it only for the first thirty-three days, some for the last thirty-three. Similar to the kitniyot custom, this took on a life all its own, becoming stricter every few generations. By the nineteenth century, all large parties and celebrations were banned during this time, as being too similar to weddings. Twentieth-century rabbis (both Ashkenazic and Sepharadic) forbade even recorded music. I asked some major poskim (decisors of halachah) for the basis of this extension, as I had heard reports of people asking rabbis and getting exemptions from these "rules". I was told that indeed, this was excessive, and could be ignored, but they didn't want to "go public" with opposition to what had become a widely accepted practice. I understand and respect that, but I question if it is wise to base so much of Judaism on mourning and regret. If seen in the context of history, I understand. But, in my opinion, we need to emphasize the love of life inherent in Torah. The Shulchan Aruch says no haircuts or weddings. Fine. This, too, is custom, not law, and is perhaps excessive. But the beautiful days of Spring, when, as Rabbi Nachman said, the very trees and herbs are singing the glory of G-d, and Talmudic law tells us to go out and praise G-d for the fruit trees in flower, we must not forget joy either. "Strength and Joy are in His Place" (1 Chronicles 16:27). I observe none of the "rules" of mourning that have been conflated with the Omer period, other than haircutting and weddings mentioned in the Shulchan Aruch.

Passover 24

One of the mitzvot associated with Passover is the Omer. We read in Leviticua 23:15, that the day after "the Sabbath" we are to bring a "wave offering" to the Temple, and (in Deuteronomy 16:9) we are commanded to count fifty days until the holiday of Shavu'ot (Pentecost, which simply means "the fiftieth" in Greek). Already in ancient times, there was great controversy concerning the meaning of these verses. The Sadducees, Samaritans, and the later Karaites interpreted the word "Sabbath" here literally. The wave offering was (they thought) always brought on a Sunday, and Shavu'ot was celebrated also on a Sunday, seven weeks later. The Pharisees (us) had an Oral Tradition that "the Sabbath" in this context means "the day of rest", i.e., the first day of Passover, during which work was forbidden similar to Shabbat. The Sages describe the festive event in detail. Before Passover, a barley field was chosen near Jerusalem, and an appropriate amount of barley plants were designated. The people of Jerusalem would go out after dark at the conclusion of the first day of the holiday. An appointed person would say "Has the Sun gone down?" and all would reply "It has gone down".This was repeated three times. If it happened to be a Friday night, he would say "Is it Shabbat?" and all would answer in the affirmative; also three times. This was to stress that the Omer ceremony overrides Shabbat. "Is this a scythe? " Shall I cut?" He would then cut enough to fill an Omer, a measure equal to about 3.64 liters. The barley was then ground and sifted with thirteen successively finer sieves. It was then baked into a loaf. The preparation took all night. In the morning, it was waved before the altar. All grain that had taken root since the last Passover, had been, until now, forbidden to eat. This is called the prohibition of "Hadash" ("New"). Now all of that grain became permitted. Today, since we don't have the Temple, we wait until the second day of Passover has passed. You will often see on packages of grain products an affirmation that it is "Yashan" (old), meaning from a crop that had taken root before the 16th of the most recent Nisan. Many are very careful about Hadash, while others feel that there is sufficient doubt as to when any particular shipment of grain grew, so that we may be lenient. Many opine that this only applies in the Land of Israel, and only in the field of a Jew, in any case. From the harvesting of the Omer offering, each man would begin to count seven weeks, or forty nine days. (The fiftieth being a separate holiday, and requiring no counting). This is still done today, although opinions differ if, in the absence of the offering, it is still Biblical or only rabbinical. In Israel, it is done immediately after dark of the eve of the sixteenth. In the Diaspora, where each holiday is doubled, we also do it at that time. There are, however, differences of opinion and custom as to whether it is better to count immediately after dark, or only at the conclusion of the second seder. We count each night "Today is one day of the Omer...two days of the Omer.." Using cardinal numbers rather than ordinal numbers, to indicate that we are building up to something, That "something" is the re-acceptance of the Torah on Shavu'ot. From day seven, we add in the weeks as well "Today is seven days, which are one week..today is eight days, which are one week and one day.." Customs differ as to whether or not women also count the Omer, even though they are not obligated. We must deal with two more topics related to the Omer; how and why it became a period of mourning, and what is its deeper significance.