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If innovation is the fire that forges progress, then competition is the fuel of innovation. Competition in the marketplace is not limited to where people trade, buy, and sell. The feuds occasionally spill over into other arenas, like the media. For example, Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg have agreed to participate in a mixed martial arts fight. Such a spectacle between multi-billionaires is more about egos than about anything having to do with economic or technological progress. When the Roman emperors wanted to distract the peasants from their existential discontent, they offered “bread and circuses.” Musk and Zuckerberg offer us only the circus.

The market rewards those who can deliver a product or service at a lower price than others can. When this happens, innovation benefits society. However, the competition that fuels it does not always obey the most civilized of rules. If business is to benefit buyers and sellers alike, then business ethics must guide innovators to balance the pursuit of profit with fairness to competitors and customers/clients alike.

History is a study in conflicts between ethical worldviews. Capitalism has favoured the individual over the collective interests of society, based on the idea that markets are rational and will ultimately balance things out ethically. Communism has favoured the collective over the individual, based on the idea that personal ownership is evil and equity will ultimately balance things out ethically. From a Torah perspective, both systems get some things right, and other things wrong.

For different reasons, capitalism and communism have equally failed the ethical test of fairness. Progress is an evolutionary process, and evolution is an interplay of competition and cooperation. This was essentially the point of Darwin’s – On the Origins of Species. It was not until relatively recently that people created a false dichotomy between capitalism’s ethos of “survival of the fittest” and communism’s ethos of “the ends justify the means.”

The point here is that the marketplace is not an abstraction. It is the real world of everyday life where people have needs, hopes, dreams, and interests that are unique to themselves and interwoven with the rest of society. In the real world of the marketplace conflicts are resolved by equal measures of cooperation and competition.

The Jewish marketplace has its share of painful lessons that illustrate this point. This is particularly relevant to this time of year – i.e., the three weeks between the 17th of Tammuz and 9 of Av. These times are known as בין המצרים ­– between the tragedies. This is when Jews collectively recall such tragedies as the destruction of the first and second Temples, the crushing of the Bar Kochba Rebellion in 132 CE, and tragedies like the expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492. The Talmud reasons that one of the causes of such tragedy is sinat chinam – senseless hatred. 

If the Torah tells us that there is such a thing as senseless hatred, then there must be such a thing as justifiable hatred. Of course, when people are angry, each believes that they are applying the right kind of hatred. This seems to motivate today’s competition between the political right and left. However, what makes sense to one side makes no sense to the other.

If both sides of the political ideological divide have a point, then how are we to understand the notion of sinat chinam today in 2023/5783? Perhaps the term senseless could better be understood as poorly calculated or even self-destructive hatred. If so, then the opposite of senseless hatred is true judgment.

One case in point is the burning of the Talmud in Venice and Rome shortly after the invention of the printing press. Jews were not allowed to print books. However, they were great consumers of the written word. Non-Jewish printing houses published the first Hebrew bibles with commentary and the first complete editions of the Talmud. A new printing house was opened in Venice called La Bragadina which published Maimonides’ Code of Law with the corrections and contemporary commentaries by Rabbi Katzenellenbogen. Another publisher, Marci Antonio Giustinianai, published an edition without some of the commentary, but clearly appropriated the text from Rabbi Katzenellenbogen without attribution. Rabbi Katzenellenbogen asked the most prominent rabbi in Europe, Rabbi Moshe Iserless, for a ruling on the theft of his intellectual property. Rabbi Iserless issued a ruling that anyone who bought the Giustiniani version would be excommunicated. 

Giustiniani then hired an apostate, a Jew who had converted to Christianity, to scour the works of Rabbi Katzenellenbogen in search of words that would be heretical to the Church. On Rosh Hashanah in 1553, the Pope declared that all copies of the Talmud were to be burned in the Campo Dei Fiori. Soon after, this was extended to include books based on the Talmud. The pages of the Talmud were burned in Bologna, Manual, Ferrara, Ravena, and Romagna. A month later Venice – which enjoyed independence from Rome, and which was the center of printing for much of Europe – declared that “all compendiums, summaries or other books depending on said Talmud” should be burned in the Piazza San Marco. The Papal Nuncio reported that it was “a fine blaze.” 

One cannot honestly lay all the blame on Jews. It was the printers, two Christians, whose bitter rivalry used the Inquisition to fuel their competition. The rabbis in Venice would thereafter only quote the Talmud from memory. The printing of Hebrew books would only resume 10 years later. The Venetian Rabbi Leon of Modena lamented as late as 1638 that the Talmud is no longer read or seen in Italy. 

It is hard to escape noticing that Jewish disputes concerning those books opened the doors that led to the burning of the words of the Torah. What the rabbis learned from this back then comes to teach us something important about ethics and markets today. They decided that they would not publish a new book unless three rabbis or community leaders gave their approval to it and would put their names on the title page. In effect, they enforced a balance of competition and cooperation. It was an act of self-censorship, a realization that words printed by one author might have implications for an entire community. It was a realization that the actions of one person have consequences for all of Israel.

Censorship per se is not ideal for the robust marketplace of ideas. However, when censorship is arrived at by consensus it materializes the value of unity and the collective. Torah does not belong to its printers, publishers, or commentators. The flames of the volumes of Talmud in the public squares of Italy lit the forge of unity in Torah publishing for the next four hundred years. 

Jewish communities today enjoy freedom from censorship and persecution. However, the ability to inflict self-harm by clinging to a “virtuous” hatred is as real now as it was then. These lessons invite us to reflect on how our internal conflicts are playing out today in everyday matters. For example, in today’s so-called “gig economy” we must be sensitive to the plight of workers and competitors. Torah ethicist Meir Tamari notes the following.

It is not enough for a moral system to deal only with the economic effects of competition on the general public. The personal problems and social issues involved demand that the system also provide answers for the redundant worker and displaced competitor.

Tamari cites various responsa from Maimonides to Rabbi Moshe Feinstein that oblige employers and competitors to fulfill acts of charity, mutual help, and consideration of the “psychological or moral damage suffered” by workers and competitors in the marketplace.

The Torah teaches us to temper competition with cooperation. We can only do this if we infuse competition with compassion, and inform cooperation with the Torah’s true judgment. As Rabbi Katzenellenbogen demonstrated in his time, we have a path, in Torah, to find this balance in our time.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rosenblatt and Dr. Neiman

[Sources: 

Calimani, Riccardo (1987) The Ghetto of Venice: a History, Evans.

Netanel, Neil W., Maharam of Padua v. Giustiniani: The Sixteenth-Century Origins Of The Jewish Law Of Copyright, 44 HOUS. L. REV. (2007).

Tamari, Meir (1991). In the Marketplace: Jewish Business Ethics. Targum/Feldheim.]

One of the most profound features of Judaism is our ability to make the past part of our present.  This is true on Passover, Chanukah, Sukkot and Shavuot in the celebratory mode.  By contrast, there is also a time designated to make certain historical tragedies part of our contemporary consciousness. That period of time begins this Thursday with the observance of the Fast Day of the 17th of Tamuz.  This day marks the beginning of a period of mourning in the Jewish calendar that laments a multiplicity of tragedies and anti-semitic persecutions dating from the Biblical period to modern times.  The Mishna lists 5 events that took place on the 17th of Tamuz itself.  

1. The breaking of the first luchot or tablets of the law following the sin of the Golden Calf.
2. The termination of the daily sacrifices offered in the Temple in Jerusalem because of senseless hatred between various groups of Jews. 
3. The public burning of Torah scrolls by a Roman soldier named Apostomos.
4. The installation of an idol in the Temple in Jerusalem.
5. The breach of the walls of Jerusalem by the Romans just prior to the destruction of the Second Temple.

Many other tragedies are mourned during the three weeks after the 17 of Tamuz, such as the expulsion from Spain, the Massacres of the Crusades and the burning of the Talmud in Paris in 1243.  

The tradition is to Fast on Thursday from wake up or at the latest 2:15 AM until the stars are out at 10:06 PM.  (It should be noted that the pregnant, nursing, and even those suffering from even mild sickness are specifically instructed not to Fast). 

As well, Jewish custom dictates that during the three weeks until after Tisha B’av we refrain from buying new clothes, listening to festive music, holding wedding and public celebrations and refraining from haircuts.    

I hope that this time affords us the opportunity for reflection on the tragedies of history and the growth that comes with such contemplation. 

Some of the earliest archaeological evidence of Human culture shows that humans were engaging in shamanistic practices as far back as 12,000 BCE.  In such distant places as Turkey, Spain, and India similar evidence of shamanism predates written language.  Depictions in caves of people wearing animal masks, dancing and drumming suggest that these early humans were engaging in shamanistic rituals as part of a proto-religious cultic practice.  Indigenous people on every continent similarly participated in shamanic rituals involving drumming, chanting, dancing, use of consciousness-altering substances, plants and animals in order to commune with nature, effect healing and experience being at one with The Earth, in harmony with their surroundings and the changing seasons and effecting the course of nature towards desired results.  Architectural marvels such as the Great Pyramids, Stonehenge and many more all are forms of calendars, aligned just right to be centered in time and place around Solstice and Equinox.  These are all views of famous Archeo-astrological structures from around the world taken at sunrise (except Ecuador, which is High Noon) of the Summer Solstice.

The Torah too can be seen as having deeply shamanistic overtones.  Our Calendar keeps us in sync with both the sun and moon, and aligns our festivals to the agricultural cycle. We bless the moon every month and the sun every 28 years when we return to the exact alignment with the Sun and Moon as the fourth day of Creation.  Various mitzvot integrate plants and animals into rituals which appear shamanic in nature.  Tzitzit are sheeps wool dyed with snail blood to match the sky. The Ram’s horn on Rosh Hashanah and the twin goats on Yom Kippur.  How about the Lulav and Etrog as accessories for special prayer for rain which involved drawing water from a spring and pouring it on the altar accompanied by beating willow branches on the earth.  Or the ritual of purification for a leper which involves slaughtering one bird into a clay pot filled with spring water, dipping another bird into the blood and setting it free.  

For the pinnacle of shamanic Judaism, look no further than this week’s Parsha, Chukat-Balak at the Red Heifer.  You can’t tell me it’s not a Shamanic ritual.  We take a perfectly red cow, which when burnt along with cedar, hyssop and scarlet thread and then the ashes are mixed with spring water and sprinkled upon those defiled by death and this restores them to purity.  Our sages readily acknowledge that there is no rational explanation for this ritual.  It is purely a chok, a shamanic rite which we are commanded to perform. We could well re-translate Halacha not as “Jewish Law” but as “Jewish Shamanic Rites” and not have to change a word of the Shulchan Aruch.  So much so that the very first line in the Shulchan Aruch reads “Be strong as a Lion to rise up in the morning and serve your creator; that you shall awaken the dawn”.  You can’t make it clearer than that – drawing inspiration from animals so that our day-to-day ritual actions sync us with and positively affect the natural cycles. 

With the rapid disappearance of indigenous cultures and modernity desperately lacking rituals which connect people to their environment, there is a thirst in the world for shamanic experience.  People innately long to feel part of the Earth and to live in harmony with their surroundings.  Generally, these yearnings get subjugated by the more crass desires for wealth, power, honor, sex, food and pleasures of all kinds. Yet, as people awaken from the corporate rat-race which is infecting, polluting and depleting natural resources, there is a deep need to feel part of the web of life, and to be an agent of positive change and healing.  Amazingly, (although not surprising) The Torah can provide exactly that.  How Ironic that we Jews, a people dislodged from our land and exiled for two thousand years, now need to learn to re-indigenize ourselves in our land and share that wisdom with the world.

How then Is Torah Shamanism different from shamanic rites practiced by tribal peoples worldwide?  There are two main differences, and they share a common root.

The first is idolatry.  Shamanism is defined by Wikipedia as “a system of religious practice, historically often associated with Indigenous and tribal societies, that involves belief that shamans, with a connection to the otherworld, have the power to heal the sick, communicate with spirits, and escort souls of the dead to the afterlife.”  Notice that this is not inherently idolatrous.  Idolatry comes in when the goal is to invoke, influence or activate a personification of a particular part of the creation.  The Mountain, The River, The Spirit of The Wolf, etc.  Even the most basic bifurcation of reality into Father Sky and Mother Earth (which was the ongoing cult of Baal and Ashera into which we Jews were consistently drawn during the First Temple Period) is inherently idolatry.  We are to worship the Creator, not a part of Creation.  

This brings us to the second issue.  For us, the shamanic rites all participate in a relationship with God as mediated by language. The rituals are rooted in words of Torah. The Rambam explains (Guide, 1:1:2) that the unique function of Humanity which is the Tzelem Elohim, the image of God within us, is our commandedness.  God did not speak commandments to any other part of creation.  The medium of speech is the primary method of communication and communion with Hashem.  He gave us The Torah, and all the rituals contained therein are specific instructions from God.  Even regarding the Red Heifer, it says (Num. 19:1) “זאת חוקת התורה”.  “This is the Shamanic Rite of The Torah”.  When we do the ritual, it is an act of communication with God, not just a manipulation of energies within the world.   Divination and soothsaying in order to access occult knowledge are forms of Idolatry.  We are instead commanded to inquire directly of Hashem, either with a Prophet or by means of the Koahanic breastplate which allows for receiving text messages from God.  Thus, both the source and the goal (one has to be ritually pure in order to receive prophecy) of our rituals is prophecy, specifically verbal communication with Hashem.  Without the Temple, without The Land and without the ability to perform so many of our Shamanic rituals, we’ve still maintained the relationship with Hashem through Torah and Prayer.  There’s definitely something missing, but at least we know it’s missing, and the essential relationship with God is intact. 

The contrast between Shamanic action and Prophetic communication is the central theme which binds the two parshiot of Chukat and Balak together.  The Torah gives us the name of the Moabite king, Balak ben Tzipor (son of a bird).  The Zohar tells us that he is so named not because his father’s name was Tzipor but because he was a bird-shaman.  Although he was a master of Shamanic divination, sorcery and necromancy,  Balak knew that he couldn’t affect Israel because their Divine Influence came through the faculty of speech.  He therefore sought out Bilaam, a known prophet who could wage a war of words against Israel (Rashi on 22:4).  The Talmud in Brachot (7a) describes Bilaam as knowing the precise moment of the day when God can be roused to anger, and his hope was to use his words and rituals of bestiality to invoke Divine wrath. Yet Bilaam knew that he can’t control God, and that when prophecy comes, he “could only say those words which Hashem shall put in his mouth”.  We see the dumb donkey given the faculty of speech in order to rebuke Bilaam. We also see the failure of shamanic rituals of sacrifice to be able to control divine speech.  

But, perhaps the most clear depiction of the contrast between speech and actions as modes of Shamanism comes in the episode at Mei Meriva (20:7-13) in which Moshe is instructed to speak to the rock in order to have it release water for the people to drink.  He does not do as directed, and instead hits the rock with his staff.  It was for this action that he was denied the opportunity to lead the people into Eretz Yisrael.  A Shaman hits the rock. A prophet uses speech.  

This was the final step in Moshe Rabbeinu’s maturation process and a critical lesson.  Remember back at the burning bush when Moshe didn’t want to go speak to Pharaoh because as he put it (Ex. 4:10) “I am not a man of words”.  Moshe had always been a man of action, intervening when he saw injustice. God wanted to send him to talk to Pharaoh, but he didn’t want to talk.  He even said (4:13) “send to do it by hand”.  Raised in Pharaoh’s palace, Moshe was all too familiar with the ways of Sorcery and Shamanism which were so deeply ingrained in Egyptian culture, and he only acquiesced to go when God gave him instructions for certain shamanic signs, like turning his staff into a snake. Things he could DO. God needed to train Moshe to become a man of Words.  This harsh lesson with the rock was the last necessary step in preparing Moshe to deliver his final speech to Am Yisrael, The Book of Devarim, (words).

We yearn for powerful, deeply moving, even overwhelming experiences in which we feel our connection to Hashem, to The Earth and all living creatures.  The Beit-Hamikdash is meant to be a venue perfectly designed to facilitate those experiences.  However, like Moshe Rabbeinu, for the time being we need to learn to create meaningful experiences through our words of Torah and Prayer.

Shabbat Shalom

Rabbi Shlomo Schachter