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Baseball and Bereshit: God Is A Baseball Fan!

October 15th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

BERAISHIT-IN THE BEGINNING!

Isn’t amazing that first parsha of the Torah, Berashit, always occurs during the baseball playoffs? Many years ago, when I was a young rabbinical student, I noticed this strange temporal anomaly that led me to the inevitable conclusion that God is indeed, a baseball fan. Where do we derive this from the parsha? It states: “In the BIG INNING, God created the heavens and the earth,” A “Shabbat Berashit”—“A Shabbat of new beginnings.” After all the excitement of the High Holidays, the Shabbat returns and demands her due!

One of the famous questions asked in the Talmud is why did the Torah begin with the second letter of the Aleph Beth- the letter Beth? Why not begin the Torah with the letter Aleph instead? Now being a baseball fan, the answer is rather obvious: “B” stands for “Baseball!” However, the ancient rabbis did not know of baseball, so they had to come up with a different kind of answer.

The Talmudists answer that the letter Aleph stands for arrur-a curse, whereas the letter Beth stands for bracha- a word signifying blessing. Surely it is better to begin the Torah with a blessings than with a curse!

I have often found myself wondering, what kind of question is the Talmud asking in the first place. One could always ask why the Torah did not begin with one letter or another?

What kind of answer is the Talmud giving? Surely there are many bad words that begin with the letter Beth — Bor — an ignorant person, Bliyayal - a knave etc. Surely there are many good words that begin with the letter Aleph — Adir - Great, Emet, Truth, Emunah = faith, God is Ehud “The One” What kind of answer was the Talmud suggesting?

The answer may lie in the letter’s numeric values. Beth = 2. Aleph = 1. It is as if the rabbis were suggesting that when you have two, then you have blessing. When two people take their unique talents and gifts and work together, then you have a blessing. Creation is a blending of opposites. By letting go of selfishness, only then do we become open to the possibility and reality of blessing.

God did not create man to be a taker. God did not create us as singular beings, human beings must complete each other if there is to be a blessing. Each one of us brings a special gift to the world we live in. We all have the capacity to give and share with each other.

When we look only for Number 1, we discover like Cain that at the pinnacle of society, being number can be in a tragic sense the loneliest number. Could that be the reason the old rabbis equated the letter Aleph with accursedness?

A further illustration may be seen in the second day of Creation, which features the birth of separation of the heavenly and earthly waters. At no point in the second day of creation does the day conclude with the refrain, “and God saw that it was good …” From this omission, rabbinic tradition observes that the unresolved duality resulted in the disunity and disharmony of the world because the vision of unity was lacking. Jewish mystics teach that only the light of cooperation and fellowship can overcome the fragmentation of our lives. Read more…

Why does the Torah begin with the letter “beth”?

October 15th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

I know well enough what it is, provided that nobody asks me; but if I am asked what it is and try to explain, I am baffled.

AUGUSTINE, Confessions, Book XI

When it came to the beginning of creation, Augustine was not the only person who struggled with the meaning of time. Rabbinic wisdom teaches that there are some aspects to creation that are hidden; we cannot presume to know the mind of God. “Why does the Torah begin with the letter בּ (beth = “b”)? Just as the letter בּ (beth) is closed at the sides but is open in front, so you are not permitted to investigate what is above and what is below, what is before and what is behind.”[1] The Judean sage Jesus ben Sirach (is 200–180 B.C.E.) offers this practical advice to those who speculate about the “hidden matters” alluded to in the Creation story:

Neither seek what is too difficult for you,

nor investigate what is beyond your power.

Reflect upon what you have been commanded,

for what is hidden is not your concern.

Do not meddle in matters that are beyond you,

for more than you can understand has been shown you.[2]

Sirach 3:21-23

Such an answer may have been intended to keep the masses away from Gnostic speculations. Rabbinic wisdom teaches that there can be no definitive answer to such a question since time and space did not yet exist, except as a mere potentiality.[3]


[1]Gen. Rabbah 1:10.

[2] This passage is cited in the Talmud in BT Hagigah 13a and in T.J. Hagigah 77C, and in Gen. Rabbah 8:2.  “R. Leazar said in Bar Sirach’s name: ‘About what is too great for thee inquire not; what is too hard for thee investigate not; about what is too wonderful for thee know not; of what is hidden from thee ask not; study what was permitted thee; thou hast no business with hidden things’.” Sirach’s responses is reminiscent of God’s response to Job 38:1-7:

Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind:

“Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?

Gird up your loins like a man,

I will question you, and you shall declare to me.

Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?

Tell me, if you have understanding.

Who determined its measurements—surely you know!

Or who stretched the line upon it?

On what were its bases sunk,

or who laid its cornerstone

when the morning stars sang together

and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?

Invocation at the Night to Honor Israel 2009

October 14th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

Many Jews have prayed for the return to our biblical homeland. “And let our eyes behold thy return in mercy to Zion. Blessed art thou, O Lord, who restorest thy divine presence unto Zion.”

Today, we are witnessing one of the greatest miracles of human history-the return of the Jewish people to her ancestral homeland. We are living in an age of miracles; a fulfillment of the biblical ingathering of the exiles spoken in Isaiah. Israel is, as Abraham Joshua Heschel once said, “God’s echo throughout eternity.”

From the ashes of the Holocaust, we have been privileged to see the rebirth of Israel in our day. The survival of the lamb among a billion wolves demonstrates that God continues to work His miracles in the world today—just like he did in the days of Isaiah and Cyrus of Persia.

Know that each of us plays a vital role in keeping Israel strong. As Bibi Natanyahu said, “W are not strangers to this land; this land knows and recognizes its children.” Our right to the Holy Land does not emanate from the United Nations, nor does it come from the Balfour Declaration itself but from God Himself, which He promised to give to the children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. In every generation since the Roman destruction of Judea, Jews have lived in Israel and will continue to do so until the end of time. Everyone of us, here this evening, is a part of a great majestic chain stretching back to Abraham, Isaac, Jacob.

Read more…

Book Review: Why Are Jews So Liberal?

October 14th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

Why Are Jews Liberals?

By Norman Podhoretz

Doubleday, 337 pages, $27

Some of you may be surprised to know that shortly before Rosh Hashanah, President Obama made a conference call with more than 1000 rabbis, encouraging them to speak about the health-care reform in their sermons this year. Because of my belief in the separation of Church and State issues, I will respectfully decline. I enjoy writing my own sermons and do not require political assistance from Washington to help craft my holiday message.

The social critic and essayist Norman Podhoretz believes that the appeal to the rabbinic community may be due to the Jewish people’s penchant toward liberal causes, or what he refers to as, “the Torah of liberalism.”

In his most recent and thought provoking book, “Why Are Jews Liberal?”, Podhoretz examines why Jews have been in love with the political left. Podhoretz, you see, was originally a leftist before he moved more toward the right.

The Jewish love affair with the left can be seen in most American elections. With the exception of Jimmy Carter (which was no great surprise given his anti-Jewish and Israel attitude), the Democratic Party has received an amazing 75% of the Jewish vote. Obviously, one reason why the Jews lean toward the left has a lot to do with the fact that Jews have traditionally seen themselves as underdogs in American culture. Our memories of the past still linger with us . . .

Some of our members will certainly remember when Jews were excluded from many of the country’s finest academic schools, or were limited in terms how they could climb up the corporate ladder. The experience of being socially marginalized has obviously contributed toward the mindset that liberal politics best serves the needs of all of Americans who feel socially or economically earthbound. Read more…

Meditations: Rediscovering the Meaning of Rosh Hashanah

October 14th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

As I prepare my thoughts for Rosh Hashanah. I become aware of time. Yes, the New Year has arrived. We are blessed to have received it. It ’s true that for many of us the arrival of any New Year on some level makes us a bit anxious. Why is that?!!Time marches on …. We are all a bit older, but are we necessarily wiser? Rosh Hashanah stresses that while time is fleeting, we are ultimately accountable for how we manage and sanctify our time.

According to Jewish folklore, the city of Chelm was famous for its notoriously foolish “wise men and women” Yet, despite their foolishness, there are many wonderful pearls of wisdom in these anecdotes because, in a paradoxical sense, we are all “Chelmites.”

On one occasion the Chelmites complained about the lack of time in their lives. It seemed that they had long lists of things to do and never had time for themselves. At a town meeting, the Chelmites arrived at what appeared to be a novel solution to their dilemma-They would bargain for more Time!They all agreed to send Raizel-her bargaining skills were legendary among the Chelmites.

After she traveled to Warsaw, she met with many of the Jewish leaders and finally negotiated a fixed price for a large shipment of time that would be sent by a train to Chelm. The shipment of time was late. Well, actually, it never arrived.

All the townspeople were complaining; they didn’t know what to do.

One day Beryl, the mayor’s uncle, came to visit and found everyone waiting in the town square. When the Chelmites told Beryl what they were waiting for, he began to laugh. “Foolish people,” he said, “You cannot buy time. You can only use what time you have. Someone has taken advantage of you because you have tried to buy something that cannot be sold.”

There is something more important than the measurement and control of time; how we spiritually utilize our time is also of great importance.

The Chelm story teaches us an important truth: time cannot be bought; it can only be consciously used; therefore, make time count.

In the words of the Psalms, “Teach us to number our days so that we might obtain a heart of wisdom”

Consider the average lifespan of a typical American:

Some years ago, a statistician wrote an interesting article containing how we as a nation usually spend our time. Pause — A 70‑year life span is spent according to this estimate:

Sleep ……… 23 years …………… 32.9%

Work ………. 16 years …………… 22.8%

TV ………… 8 years ……………. 11.4%

Eating …….. 6 years …………… 8.6%

Travel …….. 6 years …………… 8.6%

Leisure ….. 4.5 years …………… 6.5%

Illness ……. 4 years …………… 5.7%

Dressing …… 2 years …………… 2.8%

Religion …… 1/2 year …………… .7%

According to another statistical report, the average person in our country usually spends no less than 10% of his time worrying about the future! Despite our penchant for daydreaming, the simple truth is most us never live to realize our dreams because we are not living in the immediate present! Read more…

Creation as Novelty

October 14th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

In honor of the new Torah reading cycle, I thought I would explain some thoughts about the parsha as it pertains to the miracle of Creation.

Creation as Novelty

The verb בָּרָא (bara) = “created”) connotes God’s absolute effortless creativity. In the Tanakh, this term is used exclusively with respect to Divine creativity, for human creativity is limited by the materials it has access to—this is not so with God. This distinction may also explain why many medieval rabbinic thinkers like Saadia[1], Maimonides[2], Ramban[3], Abarbanel[4], Seforno[5] and others believe this verb alludes to the concept of creatio ex nihilo (creation from “nothing”) since only God can create from the non-existent. Elsewhere in the Tanakh, בָּרָא’ introduces something surprisingly novel, wonderful, and awe-inspiring. [6]

However, Ibn Ezra is less convinced and contends that the linguistic evidence does not support such an interpretation.[7] The verb בָּרָא’ may also mean to fashion something out of already existing materials (e.g., the creation of man, whose body came from the dust of the earth, and whose soul issued forth from God’s breath).[8] Ibn Ezra’s comments could also suggest the universe was constructed out of pre-existent matter. However, pre-existent matter need not imply a dualism; it may imply that this ethereal substance is “pre-eternal” only in relationship to the world but not in relationship to God. In conclusion, Ibn Ezra theorizes that the primary meaning of בָּרָא means “to cut down” or “set a boundary.”[9] S.R. Driver supports Ibn Ezra’s perspective and adds that the verb בָּרָא (bara°) is related to the Arabic barāy “to fashion” or “shape by cutting.” Nevertheless, Driver admits that “in its simple conjugation, it refers exclusively to God and denotes the production of something fundamentally new, by the exercise of a sovereign originative power, altogether transcending that possessed by man.”[10]


[1] See Emunot v De’ot 1:1 and his Arabic translation of the Bible, where he takes Gen. 1:1 as an independent sentence.

[2] Maimonides, Guide 2:30 and 3:10.

[3] Ramban insists that בָּרָא indeed implies creation from nothing, “The Blessed Holy One created everything out of complete nothingness. There is no other word in the Hebraic language for bringing existence out of non-existence other than bara. And there is nothing under the sun or above it to generate a beginning out of nothingness. He alone brought the cosmos into being—out of complete and absolute non-being. At its nascent state of existence, this ethereal matter only possessed the potential to assume form, which the Greeks referred to as hyle. After creating hylic matter He did not create anything; God merely formed and arranged the rest of creation from out of this ethereal substance.”

[4] Abarbanel’s Commentary on Genesis 1:1.

[5] See Seforno’s Commentary on Genesis 1:1.

[6] Gen. 1:21; Exod. 34:10; Num. 16:30; Psa. 104:30; Isa. 48:7, et al.

[7] See Excursus 8: Further Reflections on Creatio ex Nihilo for discussion.

[8] Ibn Ezra’s second interpretation is remarkably similar to the Septuagint’s use of ἐποίησεν (epoiesen) a word that is reminiscent of Plato’s description of God as ὁ ποιῶν, “the creator” (see Plato, Timaeus, 76 c). The term ποιέω (poieo) connotes aesthetic making, broadly designates all craftsmanship, and more narrowly refers to the making of poems, plays, pictures, or sculptures. This usage might seem to mitigate against the belief in a creatio ex nihilo; otherwise the Septuagint would have used κτίζω (ktizō = “create”), which implies “bringing into being.” On the other hand, the Septuagint often uses both expressions synonymously. See H. R. Balz and G. Schneider’s Exegetical Dictionary of the New Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1990), Vol. 2:325.

[9] Josh. 17:15; Ezek. 23:17.

[10] BDB 135:1. S. R. Driver, The Book of Genesis, 3.

Some say, “A Shabbat elevator is no way for a good Orthodox Jew to go down …”

October 14th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

Elton John once wrote in one of his songs, “A subway is no way for a good man to go down.” Well, I decided to rephrase Elton John’s lyrics to the current question regarding Sabbath elevators. Hence the title of this article.

It has been said that necessity is often the mother of invention. The Sabbath is only one good case in point. Modern Orthodox engineers developed a special Sabbath elevator programmed to stop at designated floors so observant passengers never have to press buttons. Similar machines have been developed by the Tsomot Institute for milking cows and operating electric-powered wheelchairs on the Sabbath.

The Ultra-Orthodox (a.k.a. Haredi = “Tremblers,” or “Quakers”) never cease to surprise—even when it comes to the religious sensibilities of their own following. A number of leading Haredi rabbis decided to ban the use of the famous “Shabbat elevator,” which has been used for several decades since 1964. In addition, many large families with small children living on the upper floors will also be affected, besides hospitals and hotels. Yet, the massive loss of money, inconvenience and hardship never seems to register on the Haredi hierarchy of values.

What makes this recent decree all the more interesting is the fact that even the ultra-Orthodox have expressed surprise and disdain at this latest attempt by the Haredi rabbis to micro-manage their lives. For older Haredi Jews living in penthouse apartments, the Shabbat elevator is the only way for them to get from their rooms on the upper floors to the dining hall and synagogue.

Like the innocent child from Hans Christian Andersen’s The Emperor’s New Clothes, pious Jews who have long used the Shabbat elevator quipped, “What changed suddenly? What was kosher until now is suddenly treife?” Similar reactions can be heard throughout the elderly populated city of Tovei Ha’Ir in Israel and they are hardly alone. For the high-rising apartments of Manhattan, the rabbinic ruling has effectively kept many Jews confined to their home on the Sabbath.

Arguably, just because some rabbis frown upon the Shabbat elevator doesn’t mean that every person who identifies as Orthodox or Haredi has to abide by this ruling. The Halacha allows for a rich diversity of viewpoints. Perhaps more importantly, the Haredi Sabbath ruling ban is yet another example of how certain controversial rabbis continue to expand their sphere of influence regardless of the obvious hardships their decrees cause other people. If nothing else, it is an example of the type of rabbinical decree that should not be made because it imposes too much rigor on the local Jewish communities.

One of the underlying concepts in Halachic literature is the notion of “grama,” or “indirect causation.” The majority of Halachic scholars take a fairly liberal attitude toward indirect causation. Normally, a person flips a switch and directly completes an electrical circuit. In a grama system, the circuit is complete all the time, but on the Sabbath a blocking force is introduced to stop the current. When activated, the grama switch removes that block. The result: electricity by indirection, which the scholars say is permitted.

To an onlooker, this may sound like a silly semantic game and arguably, they would probably be correct. The simple truth is that the rabbis have never universally accepted the idea that electricity is akin to fire. One could make an interesting argument that electricity ought to be compared more to water vis-à-vis “fire.”

Electricians speak about electricity possessing a “flow,” or a “current,” which is the same exact phraseology found with respect to water. Hence, the turning on or off of an electrical switch is no different than turning off a common water faucet. Halachic discourse is a type of language game and the end-results of a study will largely depend upon the rules that two people or more agree upon from the start. For the record, ask most electricians or architects, they will agree that shutting off a button or flipping a switch does not cause a fire of any kind; quite the contrary: sparks are not supposed to be there and every effort is made to avoid them, because they cause fires in one’s walls. Read more…

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Rediscovering the Sensuous Language of Biblical Encounter

July 19th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

Rediscovering the Sensuous Language of Biblical Encounter

Despite the ban on images found in Exodus 20:2‑5, the Tanakh contains a wealth of metaphors depicting the anthropomorphic nature of God. Unlike the ancient Greek philosophers and poets, the ancients of Judea did not perceive God as a philosophical construct, nor as a static timeless being, nor as an impersonal cosmic process, energy, force or intelligence and not as a sentimentalized ethical ideal, nor did they apologize for using human language in describing God. There was nothing epistemic or dogmatic about their faith. The biblical writers never hesitates utilizing human language whenever depicting the mystery and presence of the Divine. The human drama means something to the Heart of the Divine—even despite humankind’s conscious rejection of Him. God is paradoxically bound up to human history—and even limits His freedom in how He interacts with it (cf. Gen. 6:6).

When the ancient psalmists gazed into the heavens, they did not behold an endless abyss of cosmic nothingness; rather, they beheld a God with whom they could audaciously and personally address as “You.” All these sundry personal pronouns and anthropomorphic metaphors serve to convey something profound about the mystery of God’s Presence and closeness to the world, without which God could not be known. Martin Buber notes that in addition, anthropomorphic language reflects:

Our need to preserve the concrete quality is evidenced in the encounter. . . .It is in the encounter itself that we are confronted with something compellingly anthropomorphic, something demanding reciprocity, a primary Thou. This is true of those moments of our daily life in which we become aware of the reality that is absolutely independent of us, whether it be as power or as glory, no less than of the hours of great revelation of which only a halting record has been handed down to us. [1]

This same idea runs like a current throughout the literature of the Psalms. In keeping with his ancestors’ religious experience, the psalmist never tires of exclaiming how the God Who creates the heavens and the earth, is still very much still accessible to the prayers of the most ordinary human being. Clearly, “God is close to all who call upon Him, all who call upon Him in truth.” Theologian Leonardo Boff cuts through the chase and remarks, “The psalms reveal the consciousness of this divine proximity.” The visceral language of the Psalms accentuates this closeness, “Praise the LORD, my soul all my inmost being, and praise his holy name (Psa. 103:1). From the innermost depths of one’s physical being, one can encounter God’s Presence and Being.

God’s accessibility paradoxically defies the human effort or tendency to want to localize the Creator. Although the Temple occupied a central place in the life of the ancient Israelites, the psalmist delights in knowing that God’s Presence is not at all limited to just the spatial confines of the Sanctuary. Young King Solomon understood the paradox of God’s Presence and exclaimed:

“Can it indeed be that God dwells among men on earth? If the heavens and the highest heavens cannot contain you, how much less this temple which I have built! Look kindly on the prayer and petition of your servant, O LORD, my God, and listen to the cry of supplication which I, your servant, utter before you this day.

1 Kgs. 8:27-28

Biblical personalism is thus the bedrock of Israel’s spirituality. First and foremost, God communicates with mortals; Creation itself exists only because God desires to enter into a relationship with its life-forms and inhabitants. Ancient biblical story-tellers asserted that the God of Israel is a “Living God,” who loves and is literally in search of humanity—endowed with personality and sentience. YHWH is transcendent (Wholly Other), yet wholly immanent and related to the world—He is the supreme God of encounter. The Scripture’s use of anthropomorphic language conveys the reality of God’s Presence in the lives of its believers. When viewed from this perspective, the Scriptures bears witness to Divine/Human encounters that have move people to speech. The psalmist feels a special intimacy with God and speaks of God belonging to him. Note the kind of personal pronouns found in the Scriptures: “He is my Rock,” (2 Sam. 22:2-3); “my Shepherd,” (Psa. 23:1); “my Light,” (Psa. 27:1); “my Love,” (Song. 1:9), and so on. Biblical metaphors about God boldly exemplify familiarity and intimacy bearing witness to the personhood of God. Within the limits of human language, our ancestors expressed the inexpressible imaginatively and metaphorically. One would never find such bold audacity of speak of God in such personal terms in the writings of Plato or Aristotle.

One of the most spirited defenses of anthropomorphism comes from the theologian Ludwig Köhler, who concludes:

One realizes at this point the function of the anthropomorphisms. Their intention is not in the least to reduce God to a rank similar to that of man. To describe God in terms of human characteristics is not to humanize him. That has never happened except in unreasonable polemic. Rather the purpose of anthropomorphisms is to make God accessible to man. They hold open the door for encounter and controversy between God’s will and man’s will. They represent God as person. They avoid the error of presenting God as a careless and soulless abstract Idea or a fixed Principle standing over against man like a strong silent battlement. God is personal. He has a will, he exists in controversy ready to communicate himself, offended at men’s sins yet with a ready ear for their supplication and compassion for their confessions of guilt: in a word, God is a living God. Through the anthropomorphisms of the Old Testament God stands before man as the personal and living God, who meets him with will and with works, who directs his will and his words towards men and draws near to men. God is the living God (Jer. 10:10).[2]

The Scriptures describe the Presence of the Divine in tangible human‑like terms. Divine encounters with mortals are frequently depicted in graphic and physical detail. For the ancients, God is not only experienced with their minds, but also with their physical senses. To the Israelites who crossed the Sea of Reeds, God appears like a “Mighty man of war” (Exod. 15:3). The Torah’s depiction of “God’s glory” mesmerizes and dazzles the attention of the observer and witness.[3] To the Israelite standing at Sinai, YHWH is not a philosophical abstraction, but a compelling reality. Therefore, whenever the Tanakh speaks of God’s glory, it always connotes the intensification and concentration of God’s Presence. Rudolf Otto identifies this phenomenon in his classic, The Idea of the Holy, which he describes as the numinous. What words can possibly express such an experience? According to Otto, words like, “awe,” “terror,” “dread,” “mystery,” “mystical,” “fascination,” “astonishment,” and “wonderment” convey a glimpse of this close encounter.[4] An experience of the numinous leaves one in a state of humility. Thus when Jerusalem was destroyed, God’s numinous Presence (Kavod) was in a state of exile. Yearning for return of the Divine Presence, like the deer yearns for water in a parched land, the Psalmist experienced God not as an “It,” but as the “Eternal You.” Martin Buber points out in his classic I and Thou:

Men have addressed their eternal You by many names. When they sang of what they had thus named, they still meant You: the first myths were hymns of praise. Then the names entered into the It‑language; men felt impelled more and more to think of and to talk about the Eternal You as an It. But all names of God remained hallowed ‑ because they had been used not only to speak of God but also speak to Him[5] (emphasis added).



[1] Martin Buber, Studies in the Relation between Religion and Philosophy (Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press, 1988, c. 1952), 14‑15.

[2] Ludwig Köhler, Old Testament Theology (Cambridge, GB: James Clarke and Co., 2002), 24-25.

[3] “The glory of the LORD settled on Mount Sinai, and the cloud covered it for six days; on the seventh day he called to Moses out of the cloud. Now the appearance of the glory of the LORD was like a devouring fire on the top of the mountain in the sight of the people of Israel” (cf. Exod. 24:16‑17).

[4] Rudolf Otto,The Idea of the Holy, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1958), 5‑12.

[5] Martin Buber, I and Thou, tr. Walter Kaufmann. (New York: Scribners,1970), 123.

The Divine Feminine—The Theology of Immanence

July 19th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

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. The fact that the Tanakh uses such language indicates that the feminine engendering of God is not necessarily a dangerous or syncretistic concession to the ancient Canaanite religions. Feminine nuances found in the Scriptures indicate how dynamic God language can actually be. Ancient prophets were not opposed to sometimes using bold feminine imagery to convey the nature of God’s pathos and concern. Maternal representations of God are embedded in Hebrew language that have been until recently, largely ignored. Here are some examples:

Can a woman forget her nursing child,

or show no compassion for the child of her womb?

Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.

Isaiah 49:15

Similarly, in Isaiah 42:14, the prophet also depicts God’s bio-centric passion for justice in feminine terms:

For a long time I have held my peace,

I have kept still and restrained myself;

now I will cry out like a woman in labor,

I will gasp and pant.

Isaiah 42:14

The image of God acting as a mother giving birth to her child portrays a God Who is present alongside those people who are trying to midwife a new world where human degradation, apathy and suffering no longer exist. This organic depiction of God does not portray the Divine reality as being extrinsic or unaffected by the harsh presence of evil that is incarnated by malevolent people. The Talmud and the Midrash both describe the unfolding of the Messianic Redemption as the חֶבְלֵי-מָֹשִיחַ (Heblê müšîªH)—the birth-pangs of the Messiah. According to the Talmud, the Messiah was born on the day of Tisha B’ Av, the Ninth of Av for the number nine symbolizes birth and new life. One of the most popular and intimate rabbinic names for God is רַחֲמָנָא Rachamana – “The Merciful One.” The Hebrew word for “compassion”רַחֲמִים (raHámîm) comes from the root רֶחֶם (reºHem) for “womb.” God’s compassion and mercy are not extrinsic for in a metaphorical sense, we come from God’s womb. The womb is the place where all life is mysteriously conceived, carried and born. Read more…

Bringing Civility Back to Religion . . .

July 19th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

What we can we do to bring civility back to faith, and remove its thorn of toxicity? Decades ahead of his time, the Jewish philosopher Martin Buber argued that one of the great spiritual challenges of our time is the process of purging our faith of all imagery that portrays the Divine as either vindictive or abusive. In his short but insightful autobiographical book, Meetings, Buber describes a meeting he had with a very pious and learned observant Jew. They had a conversation about the biblical story of King Saul and the war of genocide waged against Israel’s ancient enemy, Amalek. After Saul captures King Agag of Amalek, Saul does not kill him. The prophet Samuel becomes enraged at Saul, who places the onus of the blame on the people rather than himself. Perhaps he cannot kill his enemies with such reckless abandon, but Samuel will not hear of it; he personally hacks Agag to death. Afterward Samuel tells Saul to abdicate the throne, but Saul refuses. Buber tells the man sitting opposite him, that as a child, he always found this story horrifying. Buber recounts:

I told him how already at that time it horrified me to read or to remember how the heathen king went to the prophet with the words on his lips, “Surely the bitterness of death is past,” and was hewn to pieces by him. I said to my partner: “I have never been able to believe that this is a message of God. I do not believe it.” With wrinkled forehead and contracted brows, the man sat opposite me and his glance flamed into my eyes. He remained silent, began to speak, and became silent again. “So?” he broke forth at last, “so? You do not believe it?” “No,” I answered, “I do not believe it.” “So? so?” he repeated almost threateningly. “You do not believe it?” And once again: “No.”

“What. What”—he thrust the words before him one after the other—“What do you believe then?” “I believe,” without reflecting, “that Samuel has misunderstood God.” And he, again slowly, but more softly than before: “So? You believe that?” and I: “Yes.” Then we were both silent. But now something happened the like of which I have rarely seen before or since in this my long life. The angry countenance opposite me became transformed as if a hand had passed over it soothing it. It lightened, cleared, was now turned toward me bright and clear. “Well,” said the man with a positively gentle tender clarity, “I think so too.” And again we became silent, for a good while.[1]

Buber in the end of this anecdote mentioned how people often confuse the words of God with the words of man. To speak of God as “abusive,” is to speak of a man‑made caricature of God. Buber was well aware of the power such imagery has over people in the formation of their own personal relationships.


[1] Martin Buber, Meetings (Laselle, IL: Open Court, 1973), 52‑53.