Jewish folklore has always tantalized the imagination of young Jewish children for ages. One of the most memorable books I remember reading was Nathan Ausbell’s brilliant, “Treasury of Jewish Folklore,” which I loved reading when I was about eleven years old. The stories of the Golem, and other tales of the Jewish supernatural were almost as good as reading comic-books!

One story that is among the most famous stories concerns a 1^st century rabbi, named Simeon ben Shetach, who single-handedly killed eighty witches in the town of Ashkelon.

Here is the story:

• After R. Simeon ben Shetah was designated head of the Sanhedrin, some people came and told him, “There are eighty witches in a cave in Ashkelon, bent on destroying the world.” On that day there was a heavy rainstorm. Still R. Simeon ben Shetah arose at once, gathered eighty young men of tall stature, and took them with him. He gave each one a new jug with a cloak folded up in it, and they placed the jugs upside down on their heads. Then R. Simeon said to them, “When I chirp the first time, put on your cloaks. When I chirp a second time, all of you enter the cave together. After you enter, each of you is to take one of the witches into his arms and lift her off the ground.” For such is the way of a witch-once you lift her off the ground, she can do nothing at all. Then R. Simeon went and stationed himself at the entrance to the cave and called to the witches, “Oyim, oyim, open for me, for I am one of you.” They asked, “How did you manage to come here bone-dry at such a rainy hour?” He replied, “I walked between the raindrops.” They: “What did you come to do here?” He: “To study and to teach, and to have each of you do what she knows.” So one intoned whatever [incantation] she intoned and produced a loaf of bread; another intoned something else and produced a cut of meat; a third produced a cooked dish; and a fourth produced wine. Then they asked him, “And you, what can you do?” He said, “I can chirp twice and produce for you eighty young men wearing dry cloaks. They will find joy in you and give joy to you.” He chirped once, and the young men put on their cloaks. He chirped a second time, and all of them entered the cave together. R. Simeon said, “Let each select his mate.” They picked them up, went out, and hanged them.

• The kinsmen of the eighty women were thereby provoked to anger. Two of them came and bore witness to a charge against R. Simeon ben Shetah’s son, which made him liable to the death penalty, and he was sentenced to be put to death. On his way to be stoned, he said, “If I am guilty of this iniquity, let not my death be my expiation; but if I am not guilty, may my death be expiation for all my iniquitous deeds and may the collar [of perjury] encircle the necks of the witnesses.”When the witnesses heard what he had said, they retracted and confessed, “We are false witnesses.” The father wished to bring his son back [from the place where he was to be stoned]. But the son said, “If you really wish to bring deliverance during your regime, regard me as though I were not your son [and let the Sanhedrin decide my fate]. [From William G. Braude's trans. of N. Bialik's Sefer Aggadah s.v. witches.]

The story is interesting, largely because R. Simeon ben Shetach ignored what is commonly referred today as, “due process.” In the early posting that I cited concerning Simeon’s observation of a murder crime, which he did not actually see, the alleged assailant was ultimately killed by a poisonous serpent. Although there was no actual due process, the assailant met his fate by the hand of God.

Simeon ben Shetach’s behavior is surprising. Why did he take it upon himself to rid the inhabitants of their alleged witches? Why did he violate the rabbinic law that no court is allowed to execute more than two people a day? From the sound of the Talmudic narrative, it seems that Simeon acted as judge, witness, jury, and executioner—all in one. How could he flagrantly violate the due process law of Jewish tradition?

I came across a fascinating study by Meir Bar-Ilan, who writes extensively about the nature of witchcraft in the ancient Judaic world. Many of his observations may offer (with some tweaking on my part), a possible answer to our questions. According to Prof. Meir Bar-Ilan [1], women in the Talmudic era were not the only ones who engaged in witchcraft, indeed, many men—especially rabbis—frequently participated in witchcraft, yet nobody thought to hold them accountable.[2] He explains the reason why they were singled out for oppression and not the menfolk!

• Linking women to witchcraft can serve as a lesson in suppressing a lower social class, but also in how the stronger class can strengthen its political status. One should also note another aspect of the sexual division in the issue at hand. In reality, all the sources which deplore women for their witchcraft are “male” sources. All the books quoted above were written, to the best of our knowledge, by men, and R. Yose and R. Simeon bar Yohai, who deplored women because of witchcraft, were also men. Indeed, one should note that the same R. Simeon bar Yohai who deplored women for their witchcraft was himself involved in witchcraft. After all, we are told that he removed a spirit which had entered into the body of the emperor’s daughter (Me’ilah 17b), i.e., he was engaged in exorcism. It was R. Simeon bar Yohai who looked at his opponent and turned him into a heap of bones (JT Shevi’it 9:1, 38d), or, in other words, by the use of the “Evil Eye”. So too are other miraculous deeds attributed to him.[3]

He further argues that in a male dominated culture like that of the Pharisees and their rabbinic successors, women did not enjoy equal political power like the men (he neglects to mention that Queen Alexandra Salome was the exception to the rule). As one might expect, men often blamed women for all the ills of their society—hence, executing witches was seen as something good for the social order—even though the rabbis violated rabbinical and Scriptural laws to do so. Bar-Ilan further points out that some of the Sages were of the opinion that most Jewish women participated in witchcraft! Because of their powerlessness in a male-dominated society, women sometimes resorted to witchcraft as a way of empowering themselves in an oppressive world.

There may be yet another factor to consider. According to the JT in Sanhedrin, it appears as though the leaders of Jerusalem were somewhat divided upon who should be the head of the Sanhedrin. There may have been a political motivation that would secure his position as the leader of the Sanhedrin instead of R. Yehuda ben Tabbai, who appears to have been a possible competitor.[4] R. Simeon ben Shetach’s political promises probably appealed to the arch-conservatives of his time who simply hated women. Bar-Ilan is correct in also pointing out that misogyny was very rampant in much of the early rabbinical world, and a number of rabbis had no qualms speaking disparaging comments about the nature of women in general.[5]

The death of R. Simeon ben Shetach’s son may be more the result of tallionic justice than a mere happenstance. In the rabbinical imagination, there is a principle of divine justice that always operates in the world—whether people are aware of it or not. The false charges levied upon R. Simeon ben Shetach’s son, his subsequent execution indicates that here is an example of a son suffering because of the sins of the father. Because of Simeon’s disregard for due process, and his failure to interrogate witnesses properly—he paid a tragic price. Heaven decreed against him, because his actions violated the ethics of the Torah regarding capital punishment.

This personal tragedy may also explain the sobering advice attributed to R. Simeon ben Shetach in Pirke Avoth, “Do much in examining the witnesses; and be careful in thy words; perchance by means of them they may learn to lie.”[6] This teaching would suggest that there is always a punishment from God whenever people try to manipulate the legal system to arrive at a foregone conclusion. Indeed, who would know better than R. Simeon ben Shetach? Continue Reading

One of my favorite stories about the holiday of Sukkoth comes from the 18^th century.

The Duke of Manheim asked R’ Zvi of Berlin: “Why do children ask the ‘Four Questions’ on Passover and not on Sukkot? It would appear that Sukkot brings more changes to their lives than Passover does! For example: during Sukkoth, everyone eats their meals outside in the Sukkah, such a tradition does not exist with Passover . . .”

R’ Zvi answered the Duke’s question with sardonic wit, “During the Passover Seder, the child sees everyone sitting around the table, at ease like free men, and not like a wandering people in exile. This brute fact arouses the child’s curiosity and he asks the obvious question: ‘Why is this night different?’ On Sukkot, however, the child sees Jews exiled from their homes and without a true roof over their heads. That does not surprise him at all; Jews have always lived that way, ever since they first went into exile.”

Freedom for the Jew living in Europe seemed more like a dream, rather than a reality.

As I pondered this story, I decided to double-check the historical records of various different expulsions of Jewish history—if only to satisfy my curiosity.

Here is a cursory glance at many of the wanderings our people have experienced over the last 2000 years.

250 — - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Carthage

415 — - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Alexandria

554 — - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Diocèse of Clermont (France)

561 — - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Diocèse of Uzès (France)

612 — - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Visigoth Spain

642 — - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Visigoth Empire

A member of the western Goths that invaded the Roman Empire in the fourth century settled in France and Spain, and established a monarchy that lasted until the early eighth century. The Arian Visigoths were also tolerant of Jews. However, the Visigothic persecution of Jews began after Visigothic King Reccared converted to Catholicism. Shortly after the King was elected, the bishops urged him to declare that all Jews must be baptized or expelled. Sound familiar? Now let’s look at some other dates of Jewish history where this same pattern reoccurred:

855 — - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Italy

876 — - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Sens

1012 — - - - - - - - - - - - —-Mainz

Note: 1012 - Emperor Henry II of Germany expels Jews from Mainz; this marked the beginning of persecutions against Jews in Germany. As you can see, by the time Martin Luther had come around, anti-Semitism had several centuries to gestate in Germany.

• In 1290, King Edward I issued an edict expelling all Jews from England. Lasting for the rest of the Middle Ages, it would be over 350 years until it was formally overturned in 1656, thanks to the efforts of Oliver Cromwell and Rabbi Manasseh ben Israel, the famous Jewish leader of Amsterdam. The edict was not an isolated incident, but the culmination of over 200 years of conflict on the matters of usury.

Note: 1306 The Expulsion from France. Jewish wealth was more often than not the main motivation in the Jews’ expulsion from these countries. The Catholic Church coveted Jewish money, and their local leaders frequently used religion as an excuse to rid their countries of the Jews.

Historically, the Jews had settled in France for well over a thousand years, but this quickly changed when Philip Augustus came to power in 1179. Augustus decided to rid the country of his Jewish citizens so he could confiscate their wealth and also solidify his power as King. He used the infamous blood libel canard as his excuse.

I will not go into further detail about the other expulsions; I just wanted to provide some simple illustrations why the Rabbi Tvi of Berlin was more correct than many people might realize.

The various expulsions of the Jews illustrates the morally bankrupt polices that governed the Christian world all the way up to the modern period. The Holocaust would never have been possible had the Christian world not already prepared the ascent of Hitler by promoting the Jew in the most disparaging light. It is a pity that Christianity has rarely ever practiced the precept of forgiving one’s enemies, as Jesus instructed in his Sermon on the Mount and in other NT narratives (cf. Matt. 5:43-44; Luke 17:2-4, passim). Jews have been unforgiven-even though 2000 years separate their 1st century ancestors. I often wonder what Jesus himself would say to his followers, “Ladies and gentlemen, I think you got it all wrong . . .”

Most modern Jews tend to think that anti-Semitism is not especially virulent in the United States. However, in troubled times such as ours, it could very easily become a spiritual airborne virus. Today, with the Occupy Wall Street crowd, once again we are hearing many of the same type of canards against “Jewish money” that we have heard long ago.

Sukkoth reminds us that anti-Semitism is a disease that transcends geographical boundaries. More importantly, Sukkot teaches all human beings the importance of creating shelter for the homeless and the vagabonds, who more often than not, become the scapegoats for a troubled society.

Remarkably, much of the Sukkot holiday focuses on the importance of hospitality. Despite the countless expulsions of our people, Jews celebrated Sukkoth by creating shelter for all those who found themselves on the ragged edge of life. I, for one, am very proud of how Israel has welcomed so many refugees who have been rejected by their original country of origin. Since her inception as a nation, Israel absorbed over a million Jews, who were kicked out of the Arab countries in 1948. Thousands of Druze also found sanctuary in Israel, as well as the Bahai, whose Temple was rebuilt in Haifa.

Israel is the only country that protects the rights of its Arab citizens as well. I would also add that when people suffer from natural or man-made catastrophes anywhere around the world, Israel is always there to offer a helping hand—creating shelter wherever possible. In the early 1970s, Israel welcomed the famous Vietnamese boat people, and later Christian Ethiopians, Sudanese refugees, and numerous other ethnic groups.

Much of historical memory is rooted in the biblical injunctions, “You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Exod. 22:20). “You shall not oppress a stranger, for you know the soul of the stranger, having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt” (Exod. 23:9). Think about it. There are thirty-six warnings against exploiting the resident alien, who frequently was at the mercy of the host country. Sound familiar?

With 36 warnings against unsuitable behavior toward a stranger, no other commandment is referred to as frequently as much as this particular biblical proscription. Our tradition teaches us over and over again: “You shall love the stranger…The resident stranger that dwells with you shall be unto you as the home-born among you, and you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Lev. 19:34).

Henri Nouwen, the distinguished Catholic theologian writes about the basic essential qualities of hospitality shortly before he died:

• In a world full of strangers, estranged from their own past, culture, and country, from their neighbors, friends, and family, from their deepest self and their God, we witness a painful search for a hospitable place where life can be lived without fear…That is our vocation, to convert the hostis into hospes, the enemy into a guest and to create the free and fearless space where brotherhood and sisterhood can be formed and fully expressed. Continue Reading

There is nothing in the Torah, or in the Talmud and Midrash, or Kabbala that would suggest that there is a supremely evil being that is determined to wage war against God. The noun “Satan” in the Tanakh simply means “adversary” or, “to oppose.” The Hebrew term appears in Numbers 22:22,32; 1 Samuel 29:4; 2 Samuel 19:22; 1 Kings 5:4; 11:14,23,25; Psalm 109:6, normally translated in English as adversary or accuser. In Job 1-2; Zechariah 3:2; and 1 Chronicles 21:1 the same term is translated as a proper name and designates the angel that acts as the “Public Prosecutor.”

The passage in 1 Chronicles 21:1 is based upon the parallel story in 2 Samuel 24:1, but it is God who entices David to count his people and not Satan! The Satanic angel who serves as Public Prosecutor is not an apostate nor is it some fallen being, an idea that is nowhere suggested in the Hebrew Bible. However, it is in the apocryphal books of the Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls we find that Satan who is more commonly referred to as “Bliyal” (“the baseless one”), is portrayed as the “Adversary of God.”

Apocryphal literature later influenced the early Christian Bible. In the Book of John (16:11) for instance, Satan appears with a capital “S.” Matthew, Mark, and Luke clearly accept and teach a doctrine of a personal Satan and called the Satanic agents, “fallen angels” or “demons” (Mark 3:22). Sometimes referred to as Lucifer, Christian legends teach that Satan vaingloriously sought to overturn the regime in heaven and waged war against God’s loyalists. Defeated by the Archangel Michael, the angel who would be God was cast into his inferno, to brood in the darkness, “hatching vain empires.” Satan did not go unescorted, along with him went about a third of the heavenly host, a horde of fallen angels.

According to Christian doctrine, angels were created separately and were given free will, just as humans were. Their “fallenness” had to do with a denial and distortion of angelic life just as human fallenness has to do with the denial and distortion of goodness and truth. In contrast, normative Judaic faith teaches that only humanity was endowed with freedom of choices; angels are often described as “omdim” (beings who occupy a stationary position cf. Isaiah 6:2, Eze. 1:21-25, 10:3-6) while human beings are described as “mehalchim” (movers) for only human beings are capable of transcending their baser natures. Angels are often compared to animals (cf. Eze.1:5) because the character of angels is instinctive much like an animals’ instinct. Angels cannot help but be what God intended for them to be. Their being and personality are defined by their nature.

This may also explain why they are sometimes referred to as seraphim (“fiery ones”) as in Isaiah 6:2, because it is the nature of fire to ascend and so it is the angelic nature to also “ascend” to God much in the same manner. Other times angels are called, “hayoth” (= “animals”) as in Eze 1:5, 13, 32.

For poets like Milton, Satan is the archetypal antihero, the rebel who wages eternal guerrilla warfare against his Creator. One famous passage, contains the psychological animus that motivates Satan’s behavior: “ Better to reign is worth ambition though in hell: Better to reign in hell than serve in heav’n . . .”

Maimonides and rabbinic tradition took a much more sober view of Satan. Frequently Maimonides in his “Guide to the Perplexed” argues that Satan is only a metaphor for the evil inclination (Yetzser Hara) and is not a supernatural being. This has some basis in the Talmud (Cf. Bava Batra 16a) but many of the Talmudic rabbis did regard Satan as a supernatural being who serves God by testing humanity’s moral character. Rabbinic tradition even says that Satan’s intent is to serve Heaven, not itself! R. Levi said, “Both Satan and Peninah both acted with pious intent.”[1] Continue Reading

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Every year, I peer into my soul and await a revelation on what to speak about for the Jewish New Year known as Rosh HaShanah. Images and ideas create a pathway that I follow. Before being able to speak before a large community, I try to first speak to myself. Every drasha is in a sense, an autobiography of the writer. Here are some ruminations that some of you might be able to relate to, for the road that we have yet to travel.

Rosh HaShanah celebrates the birthday of one person.

Talmudic and Midrashic wisdom teaches us about the worth of a single person; he who saves one human being, saves an entire world.” The impact of one person, though arithmetically small, is capable of moving and changing human history. Rosh Hashanah celebrates the birth of one man, who justifies the existence of an entire cosmos—Adam.

Maimonides wrote in his Hilchot Teshuva, a most remarkable idea that underscores this significant point.

Each person should regard himself throughout the year as though he were half-innocent and half-guilty and should regard the rest of humankind as half-innocent and half-guilty. If one sins, he endangers the fate of the entire world; if he acts virtuously, he brings salvation and deliverance to the entire planet. One person can save a world.

We have often heard how powerless one person is to shape and direct the course of human history. Today many of us look at the events around the world and feel utterly helpless. Many of us ask the questions: What difference can I make? What can I do to make a difference? Perhaps more precisely: does our existence in this world really matter at all? Could Shakespeare be correct when uses Macbeth to express:

Out, out, brief candle!

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 19–28

The feeling of powerlessness and futility is often seen around election time. The real reason why thousands of people never bother to vote is because they resign themselves to the belief that their vote will never make a difference. Most of us can recall how in one presidential election, Bush, as we know, lost the popular election, only to win the Electoral College by just a handful of votes. If Gore wins the election, there is no Iraqi War; history certainly would have followed a different trajectory.

Maimonides adds a flip side to his equation. Just as one person can save the world, so too can one person threaten to destroy it. Was Maimonides simply using hyperbole to illustrate his point? I believe he was being quite literal—in ways that he could scarcely imagine.

On November 8, 1923, the leaders of the insignificant Nazi party met in a Munich tavern and elected Adolf Hitler as their leader by a margin of one vote. What disastrous world war might have been averted if that group had elected a different man!

Human history has often been determined by individuals who used their power either constructively, or destructively. When the Mongolian army of Genghis Khan went through all of Asia and Russia, no army could hope to stand up to the vastly superior Mongolian armies, who fought a modern-style war in a medieval age. The Russians, Poles, Hungarians all fell before the Mongolian hoards; Genghis Khan slaughtered every inhabitant he encountered.

If Genghis Khan enters Rome, the Roman Catholic Church would have been destroyed; if he enters Paris, the intellectual capital of Europe would have been completely decimated; had Rome fallen to the Mongols, the artistic and classical legacies to the ancient past would have disappeared forever. Without the classical artworks of the past to inspire them, would Dante, Michelangelo, or Leonardo have done? A Mongolian destruction would have prevented the age of the Renaissance; human civilization would have come to a dramatic end as we now know it; nor would there have been a Reformation or Scientific Revolution.

Yet, none of these probable scenarios ever came to past. Why? You see, as the Mongolians were about to pass through the heart of Western civilization in Vienna, the death of Genghis Khan’s father had suddenly died. Mongolian custom demanded that all Mongolians return to the homeland and choose a new khan (leader). Fortunately for the West, the Mongolians remained where they were and intermingled with the Chinese and disappeared from history.

One man’s death changes history. From this example, we can see just how great the power of one person can irrevocably alter human history.

BUT CAN WE REALLY CHANGE HISTORY?

You could argue: That’s fine and good if you happen to be the head of a State; but what about the ordinary person? What difference can the man in the street possibly make?

Actually, it’s all about the power of belief. If you believe you are important and significant, if you believe that your existence is not some cosmic accident, if you believe that you have a purpose and a destiny, then you can indeed make that decision to not only better yourself, but also the community around you.

HILLEL’S ANTIDOTE TO THE “GRASSHOPPER COMPLEX”

About 2000 years ago, Hillel’s stressed that each person makes a difference in the entire world. Hillel’s famous dictum, “If I am not for myself, then who will be for me?” “If I am only for myself, then what am I? And if not now, when?” stresses this eternal truth. We exist in the here and now, and God calls upon us to make a positive contribution in bettering ourselves and our communities.

A good illustration from the Torah captures this timeless truth. In the Book of Numbers, when Moses sent the spies to inspect the land of Israel, they spoke of their inability to conquer the land. They felt powerless against the inhabitants and wished to go back to Egypt where they would spend the rest of their lives as slaves.

The people we saw there were of enormous size. We saw giants there too ( . . . We felt like grasshoppers, and so we seemed to in their eyes.”

There is a metaphor that best describes the spies attitude is known as akridosis. In modern English, that is the grasshopper syndrome, and the term stems from the Greek akris (grasshopper or locust). It is a classic Yiddishe disease. If you see yourself as a grasshopper, why shouldn’t others see you the same also?

In biblical times, the prophet Isaiah refers to the pagan King Cyrus of Persia, as “My Messiah,” for he would restore the Jewish people back to their ancestral homeland, after the Babylonians had expelled them over a century earlier. We may deduce that if a pagan monarch can serve as a Messiah, in terms of his redemptive role, we can all play a similar “messianic role” in bettering our families and communities.

Really, when you think about it, the entire Bible is about singular individuals who believed they could make a difference in the world around them. Whether it be a Abraham, an Isaac, or Jacob, or Joseph, or a Miriam and Moses, each of these individuals made a commitment, never realizing that a single soul would ever be aware of what they were doing or how they would be remembered by posterity.

This is not just true of biblical personalities; it is no less with modern heroes and heroines of the human spirit, e.g., those pious Christians like Oscar Schindler, who made the moral choice to save Jewish lives during the Holocaust—even if it meant certain death for defying Nazi orders.

The same may be said of another man’s vision—Theodore Herzl inspires a new generation of Jews to realize a dream that Jews for centuries had long given up—a return to their ancestral homeland. When we stand together as a community, united and strong—there was nothing they couldn’t achieve. The founding fathers and mothers of Israel demonstrated how a united people could indeed triumph over the Many. The ability to see themselves as powerful and capable is precisely what enabled the State of Israel to out-survive all the negative prognosticators, who believed that the fledgling state would never survive its first year.

Israelis survived because they understood the Power of One.

Our own community may yet serve as another example; although we are a small congregation, as I mentioned this past Shabbat, the greatness of a person is never in its physical size, but in its heart and soul. Earlier we mentioned how Maimonides pointed out earlier, every person is capable of bettering the world; but the process of change must really begin first with ourselves. Rosh Hashanah affords us the opportunity to recalibrate our souls. . .

Before we start tackling the real problems of our world, during this season we need to focus more inwardly instead. In what is perhaps his most famous aphorism, Rabbi Salanter wrote about the challenges of change: Continue Reading

Shortly after the flood, or perhaps years later, the biblical narrator depicts Noah-not as a virtuous person-but as a man who is trying to make sense of his life. He alone, was the sole survivor, and his experiences made him wonder, “Why me?” At any rate, Noah engages in what appears to be one of his former life’s favorite hobbies-planting vineyards. Was he the first to plant the vineyard? Hardly, but many years had transpired since he last made vintage wine.

This time, he makes his favorite wine and he gets drunk. But why did he get drunk? It may have been an act of innocence, or perhaps it was because of self-indulgence. In any event, the biblical narrator does not criticize him for drinking. As we mentioned before in other postings, biblical stories leave the reader asking many questions about its heroes. The absence of detail is never happenstance-it is didactically purposeful. Without you and me interpreting the story, the biblical story might just as well sleep in the tomb of history. From this perspective, we are just as important as the biblical characters themselves.

In eisegetic terms, Noah may have felt like he needed an escape from everything he had experienced since the beginning of the Flood. Assuming that this was the case, wine for Noah may have deadened his awareness of the painful anxiety and guilt he carried because he survived while the rest of his world perished. Elie Wiesel has written extensively about the anxiety survivors often experience. Often the survivor feels torn between feelings of anger and gratitude:

[Noah] chose gratitude. For being spared? Yes. As a survivor…he or she knows that every moment means grace, for he or she could have been in another’s place, another who is gone. And yet, many survivors are haunted, if not plagued, by unjust guilt feelings at one time or another. At one point Noah must have wondered, “Why me?” Surely he did not think he was chosen because he was a better person. [1]

Wiesel’s explanation could well explain why Noah felt the compulsion to drink, but ultimately, the reason of his drinking is all a matter of speculation and belongs to the realm of the Midrashic imagination.

Wine has a remarkable history in the Tanakh-both positive and negative.

One of my favorite Midrashic teachings presents a sobering view about wine that every wine-lover should remember before drinking at a party or dinner.

On the very day Noah planted his vineyard, it bore fruit, he put it in the wine-press, drew off the juice, drank it, became drunken, and was dishonored—all on one day. His assistant in the work of cultivating the vine was Satan, who had happened along at the very moment when he was engaged in planting the slip he had found. Satan asked him: ‘What is it you are planting here?’ Noah: ‘A vineyard.’ Continue Reading

The subject of demonology has fascinated me ever since I first began reading scary stories as a child. In our culture today, the belief in demonic spirits continues to play a role in literature, movies, and religion. The recent stories about Rabbi Batzri and his exorcisms show that in Haredi and Hassidic communities, the belief in demonic possession is still very much alive and well-irregardless whether such malevolent entities exist or not.

In the world of the psyche, the imagination runs amok in our unconscious and conscious minds. Our dreams bear witness to this mysterious reality where the line between the real and the unreal seem to conflate. The Talmud actually has a pretty sophisticated treatment of demons. In one of the more remarkable passages of the Talmud, we find:

Abba Benjamin says, If the eye had the power to see them, no creature could endure the Mazikin [the "damagers"]

Abaye says: They are more numerous than we are and they surround us like the ridge round a field.

R. Huna says: Every one among us has a thousand on his left and ten thousand on his right (Psalm 91:7).

Raba says: The crushing in the Kallah lectures comes from them. Fatigue in the knees comes from them. The wearing out of the clothes of the scholars is due to their rubbing against them. The bruising of the feet comes from them. If one wants to discover them, let him take sifted ashes and sprinkle around his bed, and in the morning he will see something like the footprints of a rooster. If one wishes to see them, let him take the placenta of a black she-cat that is the offspring of a black she-cat that is the first-born of a first-born, let him roast it the placenta in fire and grind it to powder, and then let him put some into his eye, and he will see them. Let him also pour it into an iron tube and seal it with an iron signet that they the demons should not steal it from him. Let him also close his mouth, lest he come to harm.

R. Bibi b. Abaye did so, saw them and came to harm. The scholars, however, prayed for him and he recovered.[1]

Most of you reading this probably think some of the rabbis may have been taking hallucinatory drugs. This is one interpretation we cannot rule out. As we suggested above, the rabbis might have been describing frightening dreams or nightmares they experienced. We do not really know the original context that fueled these interesting discussions. In the spirit of open-minded discussion, it pays not to rush and invalidate points of view that we make find disagreeable. Continue Reading

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.

Byline: Dec. 18, 2009-4:00 PM

41:45 וַיִּקְרָא פַרְעֹה שֵׁם־יוֹסֵף צָפְנַת פַּעְנֵחַ — Pharaoh then gave Joseph the name Zaphenath-paneah — Like other foreigners, Joseph assumes an Egyptian name so that he would better fit in Pharaoh’s court and be better accepted by the Egyptian people. The meaning of this Egyptian name is remains unclear and the certainty of its meaning has eluded scholars since the time of the Septuagint and rabbinic tradition.

For example, the some early exegetes think the name means, “revealer of secrets” [1]. More correctly, R. David Kimchi and Ibn Ezra (ca. 13th century) observe that Zaphenath-paneah is really an Egyptian name. Some suggest that the name Zaphenath-paneah is a Hebrew transcription of an Egyptian name meaning “the god speaks and he lives.” [2]

Professor Kenneth Kitchen, points out that Zaphenath-paneah was originally Zat-en-aph, for in ancient Egyptian was pronounced Djed(u)en-ef (‘he who is called’). This point, he asserts, is a familiar phrase to all Egyptologists. Furthermore, it is an example of where the letters ‘t’ and ‘p,’ became reversed. Such orthography illustrates the common (but unintentional) practice whenever difficult words and names are transferred from one language into another. A Hebrew scribe most likely slipped into the use of a common Semitic root zaphan while writing zaphenat, for the unfamiliar vocalization of Joseph’s Egyptian name. The second part of the name, “Paneah,” may be derived from the Egyptian word, “aneah” ankh or ankhu (signifying ‘is alive’). The initial “Pa” or “Pi,” corresponds to the Egyptian word Ipi or Ipu. Therefore, “Zaphenath pa’aneah” means, “he who is called Anakh.”[3]

Lastly, Yoshiyuki Muchiki proposes yet another possible rendering, “My provision is god, the living one.” [4]

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[1] See Onkelos, Rashi, Septuagint and Josephus’ Antiquities 2:6:1. Kimchi also suggests, “Revealtor Occuti” – “revealer of hidden things.”

[2] Other suggestions worthy of consideration: In the Septuagint, we find: Ψονθομφανηχ (Psonthomphantech), “the one who furnishes the nourishment of life” or “healer of the world” (Vulgate). Some scholars propose that in the Coptic language, it signifies a “revealer of secrets,” or, “the man to whom secrets are revealed,” or, “The man who knows all things” (Vergote). This name may also mean “The Nourisher of the Two Lands, the Living One”; or possibly, “savior-of-the-world, or -land”; or “sustainer of life” (Albright) In any case, the name suggests that it was through Joseph life in Egypt had been preserved

[3] K.A. Kitchen, “On the Reliability of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2003), 345-346.

[4] Yoshiyuki Muchiki, Egyptian Proper Names and Loanwords in North West Semitic (Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series 173) Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999, pp. xxv, 326-327.