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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…

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…

Better Dead than Alive? A Tale from the Haredi Zone

May 14th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

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). Read more…

Why did 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiba die?

May 1st, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

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. Read more…

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

March 27th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

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!

Read more…

The Inconspicuous Messiah

March 24th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments
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.

Read more…

Feminine Imagery in the Bible

March 14th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

In a gender conscious society, people often ask if there are any specific references in the Tanakh and within Jewish tradition where God is depicted in feminine terms. Without going into considerable detail, we will briefly one example:

In Isaiah 42:14, the prophet also depicts God’s biocentric 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 imagery of God acting as a mother giving birth to her child, portrays a Divine Presence that 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 “Hevlay HaMashiach”–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 Rachmana – “The Merciful One.”

The Hebrew word for “compassion” “rahameem” comes from the Hebrew word “rechem” 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. Throughout the Talmud and Midrashic literature, the Divine Presence as it is manifested among earthly mortals is called the “Shechinah.” The Talmudic depictions always convey a feminine quality that one does not find in the more traditional masculine metaphors of the Divine.

Perhaps one of the oldest Kabblalistic teachings dating back to the 2nd century posits the radical belief that the entire creation forms God’s own “mystical body” and are organically interrelated. All this suggests a profound mystical view: God’s Presence is wholly inseparable from the world. It was only later in the Kabbalah (and subsequently in Hassidut,) the creation of the physical and spiritual cosmos occurs through process of the Tzimtzum—Divine contractions. These contractions resemble the contractions and movements a mother has culminating in the birthing process of a human being. The bond between mother and child continues beyond pregnancy—a mother’s love never ceases to flow even when a child behaves disrespectfully. As a spiritual metaphor for the Divine, the mother/child imagery represents both interdependence and relatedness.

Lastly, for centuries, Kabbalists recite a special prayer before the performance of every mitzva (precept): “For the sake of the unification of the Holy One, blessed be He, and His Shekhina, behold I perform this mitzvah in fear and love, love and fear, through that Hidden and Concealed One, in the name of all Israel, and in order to give satisfaction to my Creator and Maker in order to raise the Shechina from the dust. For them, the unification of God’s Name requires the blending of the masculine and the feminine qualities of Divinity. Jewish mystics frequently refer to the earthly world as the Alma D’Paruda–the world of separation. The redemption of the world is thus envisioned as a unification of the divine feminine and the divine masculine aspects of God.

Etiologies in Genesis 1-3

March 13th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

Q. What is an etiology? What is its role in biblical literature?

A. An etiology concerns itself with the study of causes and origins. As a philosophical investigation, the philosopher tries to understand the nature of existence and how it came to be. In Genesis for example, etiologies serve to explain the origin of a custom, an event, a name, a geographical formation, an object, a shrine, and so on. The first Jewish thinker to arrive at this was the 15th century Jewish thinker, R. Joseph Albo, who noted that the stories of the Edenic garden are meant to account for the difficulties of life that human beings experience.[1]

More often than not, etiologies[2] in the Tanakh correspond to a negative evaluation and many people throughout the ages have read the story of Genesis 3 as a justification for why women must be subordinated to men. This is precisely the point of encounter where a modern reader must insist that while etiologies provide explanations for the causes and origins of a social attitude, they should not be read as prescriptions for how the world ought to be. To go one step further, many of these prescriptions characterize a world as it ought NOT to be.

Etiological explanations have their limitations, especially when ethical issues are involved; they should never prevent a person or a community from critically reexamining the basis of the etiological explanation’s internal logos. The failure to do so can sometimes lead to disastrous consequences. One example that comes to mind is the use of anesthetics in childbirth. In 1847, Church leaders quoted God’s curse to Eve: “in pain shall you bring forth children.” How could she fulfill the biblical punishment of bearing children in pain while being under the influence of chloroform? One wise doctor countered that scripturally, there was no harm in giving anesthetics to men, because God Himself put Adam into a deep sleep when He extracted his rib. However, the ecclesiastical bodies remained unconvinced when it came to the suffering of women who were in childbirth.[3]

Former Chief Rabbi of the British Commonwealth Immanuel Jakobovits writes in his Jewish Medical Ethics that as late as 1853, even before the discovery of anesthesia, there was an incident in France where two women—one pregnant and one who aided her with some artificial means to ease the pain of her delivery—were both burnt to death for attempting to circumvent Eve’s curse. Toward the end of the nineteenth century, chloroform was banned by the Catholic Church. The ban remained in effect until 1949, when painless births were permitted.[4] A society’s etiological explanations when left unanalyzed, can become a source for social dysfunction. There are broad implications that go beyond just the Edenic story, and a contemporary believer ought to take etiological explanations of any practice and hold them up to ethical scrutiny.

Lastly, in the Pseudepigraphal Book of Adam and Eve, the ancients propose a surprisingly sensitive reading of the text that demonstrates a willingness to deconstruct the text in a manner that is respectful toward women in general, and Eve in particular: “And he went and found her in great distress. And Eve said: ‘From the moment I saw thee, my lord, my grief-laden soul was refreshed. And now entreat the Lord God on my behalf to hearken unto thee and look upon me and free me from my awful pains.’ And Adam entreated the Lord for Eve.”[5]


[1] Sefer ha-Ikkarim, 1:11.

[2] Other etiologies include: the first act of Creation, the first day, the first week, the first Sabbath, the origins of marriage, menstruation, pregnancy, family dysfunction, the first dietary law, the first farmer and shepherd, the first conflict between the shepherd and a famer, the origin of sibling rivalry; the first fratricide, the first fugitive, the first city, the first ship-builder, the first natural catastrophe, and so on.

3] See Andrew D. White, A History of the Warfare of Science with Theology in Christendom, originally published by Appleton in 1896, reprinted in 1993 as part of the Great Minds Series by Prometheus Books, Vol. II, p. 60.

[4] Immanuel Jakobovits, Jewish Medical Ethics (New York: Bloch Publishing, 1959), p. 104.

[5] Book of Adam and Eve 20.1.

Banning Women from Funerals?

March 12th, 2009 Rabbi Samuel No comments

Q. I read recently in the Jerusalem Post about a funeral that took place in the Yavneh cemetery, where the women were prohibited from walking near the graves, and one of the reasons given was because it “damages their wombs.” Another Orthodox woman said, “Due to the high rate of deaths of young people in Yavneh, the community undertook a vow not to approach the grave during a burial - and that would be the tikkun (healing) of Yavneh.”

A woman defending the custom, explained:

We implored the woman from the cemetery. We argued with her and amongst ourselves. In the meantime, some men were already returning from the burial. As they passed near us, they said we could approach the grave now since the burial had been completed. Yet the cemetery woman still refused and said, “It is not good for the departed. Don’t you understand? You are sinning against the dead. You are harming his soul” and with that she silenced us. She overwhelmed us. The father of my departed cousin is religious and some of the women said he might want us to obey these shocking orders. We did not want to endanger him or his son in any way in the world to come. So we stopped trying …) [Jerusalem Post, March 12, 2009]

What is the reason for this antiquated custom? Why is there an association between a woman’s menstruation and death? Can a woman serve as a pallbearer?

A. Great questions!

The Talmud in BT Sanhedrin 20a discusses funeral etiquette:

“Our Rabbis taught: Wherever it is customary for women to follow the bier, they may do so; to precede it, they may do so likewise. R. Judah said: Women must always precede the bier, for we find that David followed the coffin of Abner, as it is written, “And King David followed the bier” (2 Sam. 3:31). They the Rabbis said to him: ‘That was only to appease the people, and they were indeed appeased, for David went to and fro, from the men to the women and back from the women to the men, as it is written, So all the people and all Israel understood that day that it was not of the king to slay Abner’ ( 2 Sam. 3:37).

Ba’ale Tosfot cites two views from the Jerusalem Talmud regarding this Talmudic passage: one approach suggests the reason why women should not lead a funeral procession, because it was Eve, who introduced death to the world.[1] However, others contend that because of modesty, it became customary for men to lead the procession (which is contrary to the view expressed by R. Judah cited above).

There is a big difference whether the custom of women following the bier is because of modesty or whether it is attributed to Eve’s sin.

Now, the Zohar (ca. 12th century) complicates the discussion and adds an entirely new wrinkle to the above Talmudic discussion.

R. Simeon further said: ‘I swear to you that the majority of people do not die before their time, but only those who know not how to take heed to themselves. For at the time when a dead body is taken from the house to the place of burial the Angel of Death haunts the abodes of the women. Why of the women? Because that has been his habit since the time that he seduced Eve, through whom he brought death upon the world. Hence, when he takes a man’s life, and the males are accompanying the dead body, he mingles himself on the way among the women, and he has then the power to take the life of the sons of men. He looks on the way at the faces of those who come within his sight, from the time they carry the dead body out from his house to the place of burial until they return to their homes. It is on their account that he brings about the untimely death of many people. Regarding this it is written: “But there is that is swept away without justice” (Prov. 13:23). For he, the Angel of Death, ascends and brings accusations and recounts man’s sins before the Holy One, blessed be He, so that the man is brought to judgment for those sins, and is removed from the world before his time.

The Zohar now offers its own view of proper funeral etiquette:

What is the remedy against this? When the dead body is carried to the place of burial, a man should turn his face in another direction, and leave the women behind him. Should the latter pass in front he should turn round so as not to face them. Similarly, when they return from the place of burial he should not return by the way where the women are standing, and he should not look at them at all, but should turn a different way. It is because the sons of men do not know of this, and do not observe this, that the majority of people are brought up for judgment and are taken away before their time..[2]

The Zohar’s position ought to be fairly clear: all women must atone for Eve’s sin. The connection between menstruation and death has long been a part of Western religion, for among the punishments Eve receives in Genesis 3, according to rabbinic folklore, was the beginning of her menstrual cycle—all this is subsumed under the penalty “I will greatly increase your pangs in childbearing” (Gen. 3:16) as noted by Seforno and Malbim in their biblical commentaries. Women are thus viewed in early rabbinic tradition as being responsible for the presence of death in the world, and the menstrual cycle is a collective punishment all women must bear for a substantial part of their lives.

Kabbalists sometimes cite another verse in Scriptures that associates women with death, “Her feet go down to death; her steps lead straight to the grave” (Proverbs 5:11)-as an allusion to Eve! For this reason, women are forbidden to serve as pallbearers among the Orthodox. Non-Orthodox brands of Judaism allow women to serve in this capacity.

R. Joseph Karo, author of the Shulchan Aruch rules that women should not participate in the procession to the grave, lest they bring harm to the world.[3] Rabbinical scholars like the Kabbalist R. Isaac Luria[4], as well as the Vilna Gaon, urge women not to even enter a cemetery until they have gone to the mikveh (a ritual bath for purification).[5] According to Luria, the law applies no less to men who had sexual relations or a seminal emission as well, for they too, must immerse themselves in the mikveh since the demonic forces of evil are believed to cling to an individual who has not immersed.

The Kabbalah influences the Jewish legal system known as “Halachah” more than most people realize. Halachic authorities are divided whether this applies when the woman is counting her “seven clean days” after her menstrual bleeding has ceased. As a side note, some rabbis believe that a woman should not go to a synagogue while she is bleeding, but most authorities think it is permitted during her seven clean days.

As mentioned above, nowhere in the Talmud is there any mention at all of this custom. Jewish mysticism modifies the Christian doctrine of Original Sin, and redirects the blame-to the women [men have been blaming women for the ills of the world since ancient times], who are believed to represent the incarnation of Eve. These mystics influenced the tradition, and that would explain why the incident in Yavneh created a ruckus. Of course, this law, like many others, is rooted in classical misogyny. To our regret, sexism retains an honored place in the Zohar and for those who admire the study of the Kabbalah, it is imperative we realize that its authors had feet of clay, and were indeed men of their age. The Zohar is far from being an inerrant work of religious literature.

In the spirit of speculation, I would add that customs, such as this one, may have a basis in something tragic that occurred in a Jewish community long ago. Perhaps a pregnant woman attended a funeral one day, and she miscarried while she was standing in front of a grave. The horror of such an awful experience might have left the community in a state of trauma, and as Kabbalists and rabbis tried to find a connection between the events (the funeral and the miscarriage).[6]

Lastly, the term “kever” (that typically means “grave”), but may also signify uterus and womb.[7] This could partially explain basis for the Zohar and subsequent Lurianic custom about women not entering a cemetery in a funeral procession.


[1] Tosfot, s.v. Nashim - Sanhedrin 20a.

[2] II Zohar 196a-b.

[3] YD 359:1-2.

[4] Cited in the Magane Avraham O.H. 559, s.k. 19.

[5] Cited in the Pitechei Teshuvah Y.D. 119 , s.k. 119.

[6] Of course the idea that women are responsible for the evil and death of the world derives from texts that are even more ancient than the Talmud or Midrash, e.g., Sirach 15:24,25:24; Life of Adam and Eve 44:2; Apocalypse of Moses 14;2. Long before the Zohar or Kabbalah was a twinkle in some rabbi’s eye, generations of people attributed the evils and problems of the world to women; subsequent rabbinical tradition only confirmed a belief that amounts to an early Judaic version of Original Sin that eventually influenced Christianity.

[7] For an illustration of this concept, the Talmud in tractate Nidah 21a raises the question whether it is possible for the uterus to open without bleeding, see also Even Shoshan Hebrew Dictionary s.v. “kever.”