One of the joys of Torah is in joining the multiple generations of analysis, critique, debate, and dialogue that unfold through its written and oral transmission. It speaks to different ways of knowing what the law is, how it works, and why we do things the way we do.
It is both satisfying and challenging to experience the Torah’s breadth. Each of us has our own way of understanding and applying the lessons of the sacred texts. For those who relate best to ideas and logic, the legal parts stand out. For those who relate best to stories, the narrative parts are most effective. For those who learn best by doing, the rituals and customs bring Torah to life concretely.
A common thread running through the laws, the narratives, and the customs is that everything is questioned. Nothing is to be taken for granted. If there is a contradiction, we must resolve it, never making moral or ethical compromises. The law, narrative, and customs work as a unit. Here is where we find the beauty and transcendence of an ornately illuminated Ketubah, a family favourite melody at the Seder, and the magic moment when we uncover the Challah on Shabbat.
Much of this is out of sync with how things work in the world at large. We live in a time when conflicting narratives merely compete. People and their political movements wage wars in the courts, in the media, and in all manner of public and private pursuits. That is a lost opportunity of tragic proportions; competing narratives could be seen as opportunities to reflect, synthesize, and make peace. This can be applied to any number of current issues ranging from judicial reform, to Diversity Equity and Inclusion remedies for social problems, to discourses on public health practices during the pandemic.
Waging war often leads to a fatal lack of critical thinking. Or, as Michael Corleone put it in The Godfather, “never hate your enemies, it affects your judgment.”
Torah is full of examples of how to ask questions, make meaning from stories, and arrive at practical, measurable outcomes. It is a transparent method of critical problem-solving. One of the most emotionally reassuring elements of this method is its self-critical nature. For example, the books of Shemot (Exodus), Vayikra (Leviticus), and Bamidbar (Numbers) devote many chapters to the construction and rituals of the Temple. Those involved in the construction and operation of the Temple are subject to strict accountability via laws, procedural audits, and heavy financial requirements. Accountability fosters confidence and faith.
The narratives of the prophets tell the story a different way. They hold the people to a strict ethical and legal accounting of the culture surrounding the Temple. For example, the first Book of Shmuel (Samuel I) critically exposes the insincerity of Temple administration. Shmuel’s mother, Chanah, is barren. She beseeches Hashem in prayer, she speaks על לבה from her heart, yet the High Priest, Eli, accuses her of being drunk. Eli, the custodian of Israel’s religious institutional core is so estranged from sincere worship that he concocts an uncritical narrative. This is essentially an expedient political move. The Talmud pulls no punches in critiquing the ploy. It regards Chanah as the paradigm of prayer, whose lips move silently, while her heart shouts and sobs with emotion.
An even broader critique of the institution of the Temple and its insincerity is in the first chapter of the Book of Isaiah. This is always read on the Shabbat before the 9th of Av. This is when we recall and derive lessons from the tragedies of the destruction of both Temples, the fall of Beitar (Bar Kochba rebellion), and other tragedies such as the burning of the Talmud, the Crusades, and the expulsion of the Jews from Spain. Isaiah is harsh in his criticism of temple behavior.
“What need have I of all your sacrifices?”
Says GOD.
“I am sated with burnt offerings of rams,
And suet of fatlings,
And blood of bulls;
And I have no delight
In lambs and he-goats.
That you come to appear before Me—
Who asked that of you?
Trample My courts
no more;
Bringing oblations is futile,
Incense is offensive to Me.
New moon and sabbath,
Proclaiming of solemnities,
And when you lift up your hands,
I will turn My eyes away from you;
Though you pray at length,
I will not listen.
Your hands are stained with crime—
Isiah does not mince words. He tells people to stay away from the Temple. He proclaims the Temple useless to those who are otherwise corrupt. He calls the whole institution into question, implying that the Temple is not being run ethically. Nor is it fostering the religious culture that Hashem demands in the Torah. This is self-criticism at its highest. Isaiah seems not merely interested in preserving the institution of the temple. He is also trying to preserve the core values of Torah, even if the Temple is temporarily diminished in the process.
Isaiah presents his prescription for return, or teshuvah.
Wash yourselves clean;
Put your evil doings
Away from My sight.
Cease to do evil;
Learn to do good.
Devote yourselves to justice;
Aid the wronged.
Uphold the rights of the orphan;
Defend the cause of the widow.
The prophets do not just provide Torah stories. They connect the legal, narrative, and cultural elements of the transparent, critical method of problem-solving writ large.
The most succinct example of this is found in the words of the prophet Hosea. He announces, “חסד חפצתי ולא זבח- “…I desire goodness, not sacrifice; Obedience to God, rather than burnt offerings.” Institutions often rest on reputation, social history, and the like. Rarely do they offer criticism that exposes internal corruption. The Torah’s catalog of criticism is not random or idiosyncratic, it is a recurrent theme. In Torah, critique is not a tool or tactic. It is a method and a way of life.
The Torah’s critical approach focuses on the Jewish people as a nation. However, a nation is made up of communities, and communities are made of individuals. We must be willing to offer the same criticism of our personal practices, behaviors, cultures, and institutions. A millennium of antisemitism and several centuries of assimilation in liberal democracies have shifted Jewish thinking largely into survival mode. The continuity of our nation is more important than the development of any internal culture or moral ethic of a local community.
Were the prophets to speak today, what would they say about us? What critical self-reflection would they call for? What ethical imperatives do we need to recommit to? How can we revisit our narrative to reflect the truth? What behaviors need to be reformed the most? The Torah shows us how to approach these questions globally. It is up to each of us, especially during times of introspection and teshuvah, to think globally and act personally.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Rosenblatt and Dr. Terry Neiman
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