Why is homosexuality described as an “abomination”?

I think within the Halachic world there has been a remarkable redefinition of many of the more traditional attitudes concerning the congenital homosexual. Traditionally, most biblical translations render  tôʿēbâ as “abomination.”

According to Etymology Online, the noun “abomination”  is a 14th term term that means: “feeling of disgust, hatred, loathing,” from O.Fr. abomination,which in turn derives from the  Latin word abominationem (nom. abominatio) “abomination,” from abominatus, pp. of abominari “shun as an ill omen,” from ab “off, away from” + omin-, stem of omen. Its meaning was intensified by the folk etymology derivation from L. ab homine “away from man,” hence rendering it as, “beastly.”

Thus, abomination is synonymous with  hatred, corruption, and depravity. The Latin root corresponds to the Hebrew term  tôʿēbâ derives from the Hebrew verb  tʿb “to hate” or “abhor,” but the original biblical text of Lev. 18:22  does not explain why homosexuality is so abhorrent.

Aside from its obvious association with homosexuality, tôʿēbâ also has a distinctly religious and idolatrous connotation as in Isa. 44:19, or even for a specific pagan deity, as in 2 Kgs. 23:13 where Milcom is called “the abomination of the Ammonites.” Until recently, it was supposed that homosexual behavior was associated with cultic prostitution. [1]

The distinguished British biblical scholar Gordon Wenham explains:

“Since male prostitutes were sometimes castrated and often took part in ceremonies flaunting their effeminacy, it may well be that aversion to homosexuality partially explains the ban on castrated men participating in the public assembly, or on wearing women’s clothes. The latter is described as ‘an abomination to the LORD’ (Deut. 23:1; 22:5). It could well be that the law is banning anything suggestive of homosexual practice  . . .” [2]

However, most modern biblical scholars doubt whether there cultic male prostitutes existed in ancient Israel. Despite the reticence of the modern scholars, given the carnivalesque quality of the ancient fertility rites, homosexual prostitutes most likely played a role alongside with the female prostitutes of antiquity. It seems doubtful their male counterparts would have been excluded.

If the Mesopotamian legal codes are of any relevance to the passage in Lev. 18:22, we may be able to decipher the Torah’s real meaning that the ban against homosexuality may well be referring to (a) father and son incest (as mentioned in the Hittite codes) (b) homosexual rape (as spelled out in the Middle Assyrian Codes), (c) male pedophilia, (d) castrating a male for sexual exploitation.

Bear in mind that ancient Israel was the only civilization to have formulated such a proscription against homosexuality. Indeed, the Talmud in BT Sanhedrin 54b interprets the word “zachor” to also include male child. The word “zachor” in the Bible frequently means “male child.” [3] Continue reading “Why is homosexuality described as an “abomination”?”

A Midrashic Deconstruction of the Miracle at the Sea

There is a well-known Midrash that tells of God’s reluctance to perform the miracle until He saw Israel make a move itself to deal with the prodigious problem.

All the tribes of Israel were afraid to jump into the water. Each tribe competed with the other in vacillation and retreat from the joint destiny of the nation.  Finally Nahshon ben Aminadav, a prince of the tribe of Judah, fearlessly, he jumped in, and then the members of his tribe followed, and soon all the people joined in.

An early but lesser-known Halachic Midrash tells the story differently: All the tribes competed with each other to be the first to plunge into the Red Sea, to show the way to the others.  In the heat of the competition, the tribe of Benjamin reached the water first. [1] But the message of this Midrash emphasizes the joint courage manifested by a combined effort of all of Israel helped make the miracle a reality.

Rather than passively relying on faith alone, the community stood together. When a faith community work toward a common purpose, great and unexpected things can occur for contrary to Euclid, the whole is always greater than the sum of its parts. Moderns refer to this concept as “synergy.”

It is unfortunate that of the two Midrashim, the first is better known.  Yet, the first Midrash is, after all, a tragic commentary on the lack of faith within Israel, which in turn prevented them from  working together in finding solutions to the nation’s immediate problems.

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Notes:

[1]For a complete compendium of this material, see R. Menachem Kasher’s Torah Shelmah, Vol. 4 pp. 67-68.

Respecting the Limits of Human Knowlege

Most Jews tend to identify Maimonides, Saadia Gaon, Judah HaLevi, Martin Buber as among  the great Jewish philosophers of all time, but there are a number of ancient Jewish thinkers whose ideas are rich with originality; in fact, their insights are no less valuable today than they were over two thousand years when they first introduced their wisdom to the world.

Among those scholars we are quoting, we will cite the Wisdom of Ben Sira, who is better known by his Greek name, Sirach. Sirach’s perspective on many philosophical themes continue to delight moderns, and I am glad to consider myself among his followers. Ben Sira lived about 2200 years ago and his book almost made it into the Bible, but fell a little short of the mark. I imagine that the conservatives of Late Antiquity probably felt a little threatened by Sira’s novel way of looking at Judaic wisdom. In modern terms, Ben Sira never worried about “political correctness.” His straight-forward style of writing puts him in a class all of his own.

The second thinker we shall examine is Philo of Alexandria, who arguably is considered the founder of medieval theology. He is the first Jewish thinker to fully integrate Judaic and Greek thought. He flourished in Alexandria, a city that rivaled even Athens when it came to wisdom. Founded by Jewish settlers who admired Alexander the Great. Alexandria soon produced the world’s first university. Philo would have disappeared from Jewish history had it not been for the Early Church Fathers who admired his exegetical style and originality. Had Maimonides been familiar with Philo’s writings, he would have quoted him profusely.

Here is one example how the ancient Jewish thinkers briefly dealt with the issue, “On the Limits of Human Knowledge.”

Ben Sira says, “What is too sublime for you, seek not, into things beyond your strength search not. What is committed to you, attend to; for what is hidden is not your concern. With what is too much for you meddle not, when shown things beyond human understanding. Their own opinion has misled many, and false reasoning unbalanced their judgment. Where the pupil of the eye is missing, there can be no light; and where there is no knowledge, there is no wisdom” (Sirach 3:19-24).

Philo says, “For it does not say that the wise man saw God but that God appeared to the wise man; for it was impossible for anyone to comprehend by his own unassisted power the true living God, unless he himself displayed and revealed himself to him” (On Abraham, 4).

In general, the Sages disliked the speculative thinking of Greek thought and culture. The Sages’ reticence to embrace philosophical wisdom were reinforced by the tragic experiences of the famous four teachers who had studied the ultimate mysteries: Akiba, Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma and Elisha ben Abuyah. A cryptic passage tells of their fate: “Ben Azzai gazed and died; Ben Zoma gazed and became demented; Acher (Elisha) cut the plants (turned apostate); R. Akiba departed in peace.” [1] As to what exactly happened to these men, we will leave aside for another discussion.

Interestingly enough, Rabbi Akiba is considered by some modern scholars to be among the early founders of Jewish mysticism. Mysticism often propels its followers to abandon the material world but in R. Akiba’s case, we can discover the mystical realm through our ordinary interactions; the world is full of mystical expression and meaning–all we have to do is to pay attention to the synchronicity of events that unfold in our lives daily.

The assertion that God is invisible made Him seem  unreal for people who were accustomed to identify reality with concreteness. The rabbis often felt that the human mind could barely grasp the existence of God’s Reality, but could never comprehend the nature of  God’s essential nature.  Thus it is related in a Talmudic anecdote that the Emperor Hadrian had said to Rabbi Joshua ben Hananiah: “I desire to behold your God.” Rabbi Joshua explained to him that it was impossible. Still and all, the Emperor persisted. Finally, the rabbi relented and asked him to stand in a fixed gaze at the sun. The Emperor found the sun’s light too strong to behold. Triumphantly, the rabbi exclaimed: “If you admit that you are unable to look at the sun, which is only one of the ministering servants of the Holy Blessed One, how can you honestly expect to behold God, Whose existence is even more dazzling?” For some of the Sages, the reality of God by analogy to the soul whose specific abode we do not know and of which we have no direct concrete experience. That, however, does not make it unreal. [2]

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Notes:

[1] BT  Hagiga 14b, Zohar I, 26b.

[2] BT Hullin 59b; Midrash Tehillim, Psa. 103:1.

Why did God punish Onan with death?

Here is the passage we are examining from Genesis 38:9-10:

38:9 וַיֵּדַע אוֹנָן כִּי לֹּא לוֹ יִהְיֶה הַזָּרַע וְהָיָה אִם־בָּא אֶל־אֵשֶׁת אָחִיו וְשִׁחֵת אַרְצָה — But since Onan knew that the offspring would not be his, he spilled his semen on the ground whenever he went in to his brother’s wife, — The wording of the text  “ba” suggests Onan’s behavior was not a one time action; he seems to have habitually climaxed in this manner. The NRSV’s  translation, “whenever he went in . . .” is preferable to other Bible translations that read “when he went in.”

וַיֵּרַע בְּעֵינֵי יְהוָה אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה וַיָּמֶת גַּם־אֹתוֹ — What he did was displeasing in the sight of the LORD, and he put him to death also — We really don’t know why Onan died. The ancients viewed the sudden death of a young person as an act of God, Who serves as the Ultimate Cause for everything that unfolds within the natural world. Moderns, in contrast, tend to attribute events that occur in the phenomenal world to more direct and scientific causes. To understand the Bible, it is helpful to see it through the eyes of the people who wrote it.

To the rabbinic imagination, God punishes Onan because he preferred to spill his seed rather than give it to Tamar, his levirate wife.

However, a closer examination of the text reveals a different approach that contradicts conventional rabbinic thinking found in the rabbinic writings of the Talmud, Midrash and especially the Zohar.[1] It is apparent from the narrative Onan’s sin was not primarily sexual in nature. Rather, it was his refusal to fulfill the obligation of levirate marriage (Deut. 25.5–10). On a historical note, several Jewish and Christian exegetes interpret the story of Onan  as a condemnation any sexual act other than for the purpose of procreation[2], as one notable 20th century Halachic scholar, R. Aharon Walkin, explains:

“As for the doubt about whether it is permitted to follow this procedure because of the prohibition against ‘bringing forth seed in vain,’ if we follow the earlier sages, it seems that the Talmud and subsequent halachic scholars  agree that doctors are to be trusted even in cases where certain prohibitions (of the religious law) are involved. If, then, the doctors’ words are correct, that by this procedure it will be easier for her to become pregnant, since this is the physical nature of this woman, then this procedure (of taking the seed) is not ‘in vain’ at all. On the contrary, it is for the purpose of achieving pregnancy more easily. The rabbis forbade bringing forth seed in order to destroy it, but here there is no destruction; it is placed into the womb of the wife in order that she shall be impregnated. Then, clearly, there is nothing wrong with this procedure.[3]Continue reading “Why did God punish Onan with death?”

Think like a Haredi?! The Roots of Haredi Misogyny

It has long been my contention that if you want to understand the mindset of the ultra-Orthodox world in Israel and in the Diaspora today, one must first learn how to think like one. Having been once an ultra-Orthodox Jew, I thought it would be helpful to deconstruct their way of thinking, which is probably a mystery to most normal thinking people.

וְשִׁנַּנְתָּם לְבָנֶיךָ  — You shall teach them to your children  . . .  (Deut. 6:7).

The Talmud in tractate Kiddushin 29b discusses the scriptural obligation of teaching children Torah and its limitations. Commenting on the Mishnah’s directive, “a father is obligated to teach his son Torah,” the Talmud later asks: “How do we know it? — Because it is written, “you shall teach them unto your sons” (Deut. 6:7). If his father failed to instruct him in Torah study, he is obligated to teach himself, for it is said, “ and you shall study …”

But does the mother have a duty to instruct Torah to her children? The answer to this question is not as obvious as it might seem. According to the Talmudic scholars, “The mother has no legal obligation to provide instruction since she is exempt from Torah study herself, and anyone who is exempt from Torah study has no obligation to instruct others!”

Obviously, the Talmudic discussion reveals some harsh economic realities of the age; unlike today, most families could not afford to provide a Jewish education to all their children. In terms of the hierarchy of responsibility, men had to first provide themselves with a good Jewish education so that they could teach their children. However, if a child was exceptional, the son took priority. With respect to a woman who was struggling to provide food on her table, the Sages out of compassion exempted her for survival of the family mattered most.  If she could not provide her children with an education, the responsibility fell upon the community itself (Kiddushin 29b).

Scriptural proofs more often than not are used as props for already existing social practices; this was undoubtedly the case in the centuries that followed the destruction of the Temple. Needless to say, בָנֶיךָ “your children,” invariably meant all children—sons and daughters alike, and one would be hard pressed to cite examples in the Tanakh where it is otherwise.

In  summary, the Talmudic discussion all depends  interpretation  on how literal one wishes to translate the word בָנֶיךָ “your children,” which many of the Sages understood as referring to בָּנִים—male children and not בָּנוֹת “daughters.”

While economics plays an important role in the development of the Halacha, so too does misogyny; one could say that misogyny is the original sin of human civilization–and its roots certainly can be traced throughout the bible, when Adam blames Eve for the problems of humankind.

Early rabbinical thinking reflected here certainly is consistent with the majority of Sages of Late Antiquity, but not everyone concurs. The Mishnah in Sotah 3:4 records the view of Simeon ben Azzai, who argues that a father is obligated to instruct Torah to his daughter since the term  בָּנִים can just as easily refer to daughters as well! Continue reading “Think like a Haredi?! The Roots of Haredi Misogyny”

The Divine Feminine—The Theology of Immanence

The Divine Feminine—The Theology of Immanence

History has shown us time and time again how God-images impact the way a religious culture treats its female members. Cultures ruled by a misogynistic conception of the Divine, cannot help but treat its women in a barbarous manner. Indeed, a society that hates its women becomes incapable of loving anything else. Conversely, a religious culture that respects and values the maternal aspects of the Divine Feminine produces a community of believers where life becomes sacred and holy. The reverence for life—across the ideological spectrum—becomes the basis for all societal evolution and development.

Indeed, the new feminist theological movement offers to liberate men and woman from the shackles of a pure masculine anthropomorphic spirituality while expanding their theological horizons about the mysterious nature of the Divine that conceives, carries, and gives birth to all life-forms. Every metaphor of God in the Tanakh paints its own unique picture for how the divine interrelates with the world. The metaphor of God as Mother reveals relationships that in some ways go beyond the limitations of paternal imagery. Continue reading “The Divine Feminine—The Theology of Immanence”

Better Dead than Alive? A Tale from the Haredi Zone

The ultra-Orthodox rabbis in Israel never cease to take the Jewish imagination to places   where no rabbi has ever gone before. A case in point: One Israeli Haredi rabbi, Dovid Kornreich, thinks that homosexuals are better off dead than alive. In one of his popular blogs (his blogspot is called “A Voice from the Wilderness”), the rabbi offers a third possibility for Orthodox Jews who are struggling with their homosexuality—how about trying suicide?

To make his idea more appealing, Kornreich says that such behavior would be permitted provided that person commits suicide “al kiddush HaShem” as a means of sanctifying God’s Holy Name

Sounds pretty weird, no?

Well, the 18th century American philosopher Jonathan Edwards once wrote, “Even the Devil can cite Scripture for his purposes …” Actually, the Devil can even cite Talmud, Maimonides, and Jewish law as well!

Rabbi Kornreich doesn’t seem to realize the every human life is precious and of inestimable value. God created every person to be a unique expression that serves to glorify His Presence in the world. In Judaism, our Sages teach us that the true sanctification of God’s Name does not come with death, but with life. Suicide—even for religious purposes—only applies when the person is confronted by a disease or circumstance that threatens to debilitate the human spirit through a life of intense suffering.

In the case of Samson’s suicide (Judges 16: 30), Samson preferred to destroy himself in order to sanctify his God before the pagan Philistines. Given the choices Samson had, he did not wish to be tortured any further by the enemies of his people.

Thus, when King Saul saw the Philistines approach him, he asked his armor-bearer to kill him, so that he would not be tortured by the enemy in their pagan shrines. However, his armor-bearer refused. In the end, the narrator relates: “So he took his sword and fell on it” (1 Sam. 31:4).

According to the Talmud, After the time of the destruction of Jerusalem, the Roman soldiers gathered four hundred youths  in Israel and sent to Rome on ships. The children realized  that they would become victims of immorality and abuse at the hands of their Roman captors. They decided it would be better to take their own lives than be  sexually degraded by their new masters.  And so it was, they jumped into the sea and died (T.B. Gittin 53b). Continue reading “Better Dead than Alive? A Tale from the Haredi Zone”

Why did 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiba die?

Why did 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiba die [1]?

This is a question that has always fascinated me since the days I was a young rabbinical student in Israel. According to rabbinical tradition, it is because R. Akiba’s students failed to display proper respect to one another. Another tradition claims that R. Akiba’s students died because of a plague that took place during the the first day of the Omer [barley offering that began on the second  day of Passover], ca. 130 CE.

Of all the explanations that seems to make the most amount of sense, Rabbi Akiba not only offered moral support to Bar Kochba, a man he believed to be the Messiah, he also encouraged his vast number of students to join in the apocalyptic battle against the Evil Empire of his day—Rome, as was first suggested by Rav Hai Gaon back in the 9th century C.E. Continue reading “Why did 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiba die?”

What does “rabbi” mean and when was the title first introduced?

What does “rabbi” mean, and when was the title “rabbi” first introduced?

This question is much more complex than most people realize. However, antecedents to the term רַב (rab) has some basis the Tanakh, where it denotes “great,” or chief (2 Kgs 18:17;  Isa 36:2). Elsewhere the expression rab māg means “chief of princes” (Jer 39:3, 13), while rab tabbāım, is “captain of the guard” (2 Kgs 25:8, etc.). By the time of the 1st century, the title of “rabbi” probably derived from the term, “Raboni,” meaning, “My Master” and was roughly the equivalent of saying “Sir,” or “My Lord”–especially if one happens to be wealthy or politically powerful!

The author of Mathew in 23:1–3, 8 suggests that “rabbi” might have been used for individuals who engage in public teaching. The gospel of John uses the term rabbi of Jesus eight times (1:38, 49; 3:2; 4:31; 6:25; 9:2; 11:8; 20:16), Reflecting an older and probably more correct tradition, Luke never refers to Jesus by this title at all, but simply refers to him as Luke uses διδάσκαλος (didaskalos = “teacher,”) 7:40; 8:49; 22:11. According to this reading, Jesus criticizes this group of scholars for enjoying the public recognition that came with appearing to be “pious” men before the masses. However, there is reason to believe that this particular passage is an example of what is commonly called an interpolation that was added long after the death of Jesus. A similar feature occurs in the Talmud, where Hillel is called, “Rabbi Hillel.” Since the writers of these ancient wrote for a later audience, they took certain poetic licenses with respect to the text.[1]

According to the Mishnah, the Sages of the 1st century never used this title at all. The Sages simply went by their ordinary names, e.g., Simon the Just, Jose b. Joezer, Joshua b. Peraiah and Nittai the Arbelite, Judah b. Tabbai and Simeon b. Shetah, Shemaiah and Abtalion, Hillel and Shammai never used the title, although sometimes Hillel was referred to as “Rabbi’ but I suspect these citations reflect unconscious tampering with the original names by scribes who may have assumed the name “Rabbi” was already in vogue in the 1st century, when in actuality it wasn’t.

One of the greatest rabbinical scholars of the 10th century, Rav Sherira’ Gaon of Babylonia, writes that the title “rabbi” was not used before the destruction of the Second Temple in the year 70 C.E. He explains, “The designation rabbi came into use with those who were ordained then after the Temple’s destruction beginning with Rabbi Tsadok and Rabbi Eliezer ben Ya’akov. The practice spread from the disciples of Rabban Yohanan ben Zakk’ai.” Before that time, great sages (like Hillel the Elder) were cited without honorific title. However, sometime during the first century C.E., the title “rabban” (Aram., “our master”) was accorded to the patriarch and other especially distinguished sages. Later on, the epithet “Rav” was later employed in Babylonia as equivalent to rabbi in Palestine.

Rabbinical ordination often claims that “semicha” (ordination) is a tradition holds that derives from the time of Moses; leaders of every generation are thus purported to have been conferred by this unbroken succession of “laying on of hands.” Even Moses is referred to frequently as “our rabbi.” Verily, based on the literature and history we know about ancient times, no such specific ceremony existed—especially during the first century C.E.[2]


[1]The Gospels confirms, there was no class of “rabbis” as we have today, but instead there were classes of scribes (i.e., “Scripture experts,” γραμματεῖς, (grammateis), who functioned as the “undisputed spiritual leaders of the people,” as well as “lawyers” (νομικοί, nomikoi) Matt. 22:35; Luke 7:30; 10:25) or “teachers of the law” (νομοδιδάσκαλοι, nomodidaskaloi, cf. Luke 5:17; Acts 5:34).

The Inconspicuous Messiah

As Napoleon marched triumphantly through Europe, the Jews of the ghetto felt joyous by his arrival. Was Napoleon really the Messiah? Many of our ancestors thought so; but again, that was before Napoleon got defeated at the Battle of Waterloo. And then there was Franklin Delano Roosevelt better known to my parent’s generation as “FDR.” Many Jews living back in the gloomy days of WWII believed that FDR might have been the Messiah, but that was before we learned that FDR decided not to bomb Hitler’s crematoria.

To our surprise, the Messiah, it turns out, didn’t dress like an emperor, nor did he appear as a president. In Jewish tradition, the reality of deliverance comes disguised. At the Passover Seder, Jews express hope that the following year will be redemptive in character. By opening the door for Elijah, we keep the flame of hope alive that redemption is near at hand. Yet, for all the fanfare about the Messiah, the redeemer of Israel’s birth is uneventful and anonymous. Yet, curiously, he walks hidden among us.

When Moses first appeared to the Israelites, they never thought for a minute that this strange speaking man would be the savior of whom their ancestors had spoken. Here was a person who was originally discovered as a foundling in Pharaoh’s court, then as a shepherd who stammers and stutters before a burning bush. So, too, the ultimate messianic presence that we seek may lie hidden in the least likely person around. Continue reading “The Inconspicuous Messiah”