Monthly Archives: October 2020

Por Chana Weisberg

El pecado del Eitz Hadaat, el árbol del conocimiento, es uno de los episodios más desconcertantes de la Torá. La comprensión de este relato arroja luz sobre las cualidades y el papel único de las mujeres en el proceso de redención.

Después de la creación de Adán, Di-s lo colocó en el Jardín del Edén. Al hombre se le permitió participar de todos los manjares excepto uno: “Del árbol del conocimiento de lo bueno y lo malo no debes comer, porque el día que de él comas, serás merecedor de la muerte” (Génesis 2:17 ). (1)

La prohibición de comer del Eitz Hadaat y la consecuencia de muerte por su violación fue insinuada a Adán, Javá (Eva) y sus descendientes. (2) Aunque Adán transmitió esta prohibición a Javá, (3) ella se confundió con la directiva que luego preparó el escenario.

La serpiente astuta, siendo la manifestación del malvado Satán, (4) le preguntó a Javá si Di-s le había prohibido comer de los árboles del jardín.

Javá respondió: “Del fruto de cualquier árbol en el jardín podemos comer; sólo del fruto del árbol que está en el centro del jardín ha dicho Di-s” No debes comer de él ni tocarlo, para que no mueras. ” (5)

Javá agregó la prohibición de tocar el Árbol del Conocimiento. Entonces, la serpiente empujando, forzó a Javá contra el árbol y afirmó victoriosamente: “Mira, así como la muerte no sobrevino por tocar, tampoco por comer”. (6)

De esta manera, la serpiente introdujo dudas en la mente de Javá. Ahora, se volvió más fácil desafiarla a probar la fruta prohibida. Él la convenció de que Di-s no tenía la intención de matarla a ella y ni a Adán, sino que simplemente los amenazó con la intención de intimidarlos. (7)

La serpiente atrajo a Javá al predecir resultados beneficiosos. “Tus ojos se abrirán … La fruta despertará un nuevo deseo y aprecio por los placeres que te rodean. Será una fuente de beneficio intelectual”.

Javá anhelaba este nuevo conocimiento y un despertar emocionante, y comió la fruta prohibida. Luego, utilizó sus poderes persuasivos para convencer a su esposo para que también la comiera.

La caída de Javá comenzó cuando se expandió y distorsionó la orden de Di-s, la que no escuchó personalmente.

El Talmud afirma que “Se dieron diez medidas de habla al mundo; nueve de ellas se asignaron a las mujeres” (8)

¿Es esta una declaración de alabanza a la mujer o algo despectivo? Ambas pueden ser la respuesta. Cada uno de nosotros tiene la opción y la responsabilidad de determinar cómo utilizar nuestras habilidades de comunicación. Tenemos la opción de chismorrear, mentir, conspirar y hablar negativamente; o, a la inversa, podemos expresar empatía, comprensión y enseñanza constructiva.

La asignación adicional del habla de la mujer puede tener ramificaciones positivas o negativas.

Javá distorsionó la orden de Di-s porque no la escuchó directamente. La orden fue transmitida por Adán y, por lo tanto, fue un poco ambigua para ella. Adornar, añadir a la prohibición para incluir algo, hizo que finalmente fuera convencida a pecar.

Lo anterior explica las circunstancias que llevaron a Javá a violar la palabra de Di-s, pero su razonamiento aún no está claro. ¿Qué cambios espirituales intrínsecos anticipó Javá al grado de que resultaran ser tan irresistibles?

Antes de este pecado, la humanidad no era una mezcla de bien y mal, sino que era innatamente buena; nuestra tendencia natural era hacer la voluntad de nuestro Hacedor. Aunque el hombre poseía libre albedrío, la tentación venía del exterior. El mal, per se, estaba manifiesto en la serpiente satánica que se convirtió en un vehículo para la tentación.

La misión del hombre era elevarse a un nivel en el que el mal se volvería completamente insensato y poco atractivo. Si el hombre, un ser esencialmente físico, hubiera optado por ignorar la tentación, habría elevado todo el reino físico.

La humanidad hubiera cumplido con esta misión; nuestro propósito se habría logrado para cuando el sol se hubiera puesto en el sexto día de la creación, al comienzo del primer Shabat en este mundo. La vida se habría convertido en una espiral ascendente hacia el éxtasis espiritual.

Javá pensó que podía hacerlo mejor. Ella entendió que vencer una tentación externa nunca es tan grande como vencer una interna.

Al comer la fruta prohibida, Javá hizo conscientemente que la tentación se convirtiera en parte de la constitución de la humanidad. Adam y Javá se convirtieron en personas iluminadas; sus ojos estaban abiertos a la maldad del mundo. (9) Ahora mostraban un placentero deseo hacia el mal, a pesar del daño que este podía, y puede causar. (10)

Habían pensado que podían complacer a Di-s resistiendo este constante llamado interno al mal. Ahora, se dieron cuenta que se habían despojado de la única mitzvá que se les había confiado. Entonces escucharon la “voz de Di-s retirándose en el jardín”; este fue el primer retiro trágico de la Divina Presencia. (11)

Aunque no podemos sondear completamente el efecto cósmico de este pecado, nuestro largo exilio se convirtió en una terrible consecuencia: la muerte también se hizo necesaria. (12)

Sin embargo, el pecado del hombre también estaba integrado al diseño de la creación. Adán y Javá, en cierto sentido, estaban correctos en su suposición en cuanto a que el resultado de este pecado conduciría finalmente a una mayor santificación del Nombre de Di-s.

En la era del Mashíaj, una vez que el mundo alcance su eventual estado de pureza, la humanidad habrá logrado un mayor logro. Una vez hayamos superado la tentación interna, las fuerzas positivas se fortalecerán. En consecuencia, la recompensa del hombre también será mayor.

Para que esto sucediera, era parte del plan divino que Adán transmitiera el mandato de Di-s a Javá. Javá nunca se habría atrevido a violar una prohibición que Dios mismo le hubiera dado personalmente. (13)

Las mujeres son más fuertes en este aspecto de la fe. La humildad innata de las mujeres las hace más propicias para la cábala ol, aceptando la voluntad divina, independientemente de que la comprendan o no.

Si Javá hubiera escuchado la orden directamente de Di-s, no se habría atrevido a hacer ningún cálculo adicional. Pero, tampoco hubiéramos logrado nuestro objetivo final de negar un mal interno. Por lo tanto, la mayor hazaña no se habría logrado.

Dado que la mujer causó que la mancha original del pecado se convirtiera en parte del maquillaje de la humanidad, un pecado que solo se eliminará en la era del Mashíaj, debe ser ella quien lo corrija. Se le confía la responsabilidad y el privilegio de llevar a cabo esta rectificación definitiva.

La Redención Final llegará gracias al mérito de las mujeres rectas, que utilizan sus inmensas capacidades espirituales para realizar esfuerzos positivos.

NOTAS AL PIE

1. En realidad, Adán no murió ese día, sino 930 años después. Según el Midrash (Bereshit Rabá 19: 8), “el día” se refiere al día de Di-s, que es de mil años (según Salmos 90: 4).

2. Midrash (ibid. 2:17) sobre la doble redacción del versículo mot tamut: “ciertamente morirás”.

3. The Gra en Aderet Eliyahu (ibid. 2:16).

4. Zohar Chadash: “Rabí Itzjak dijo: ‘La serpiente es el malvado tentador’. Rabí Yehudah dijo: ‘Significa literalmente una serpiente’. Le preguntaron al rabino Shimon que les dijo: ‘Ambos puntos de vista son iguales. Fue Samael (el acusador, el ángel de la muerte) quien apareció como una serpiente … Debido a que la serpiente era en realidad el ángel de la muerte, trajo la muerte a el mundo.'”

5. Génesis 3: 2-3.

6. Anuncio de Rashi. loc. y sobre el Talmud, Sanedrín 29a.

7. Haemek Davar, ibid.

8. Talmud, Kidushin 49b.

9. Zohar en nombre del rabino Chiyah.

10. Sforno sobre Génesis 3: 7.

11. Génesis 3: 8; Hirsch explica “la dirección del día” en ese versículo como hacia el oeste, lo que implica que Di-s retiró Su Presencia hacia el oeste (por lo tanto, el Lugar Santísimo en el Templo estaba en el oeste y la luz eterna de la Menorah se volvió hacia el oeste).

12. Ver Derech Hashem 3: 8. 13. Por el contrario, cuando se entregó la Torá en el monte Sinaí, Di-s le ordenó a Moshe que informara a las mujeres antes que a los hombres. El versículo dice: “Así dirás a la casa de Jacob …” (Éxodo 19: 3). Rashi explica que “la Casa de Jacob” se refiere a las mujeres, a quienes se les iba a hablar antes que a “los Hijos de Israel”, los hombres. A las mujeres se les debía explicar primero las leyes de la Torá, ya que están más determinadas en su fe. A las mujeres se les confió la responsabilidad de asegurarse de que sus maridos e hijos observen puntualmente las mitzvot. En consecuencia, siendo los pilares de la perpetuación de la Torá, las mujeres deben aprender sobre ella primero

por Rabbi Yitzchak Zweig

La humanidad está absolutamente preocupada por la muerte; sea obsesión con evadirla activamente, u obsesión con tratar activamente de evitar pensar en ella. Pero en algún momento de nuestras vidas debemos aceptarlo. A una persona se le llama mortal (del latín mortalis – sujeto a la muerte) porque desde el día en que nacemos todos estamos en proceso de morir. (La palabra asesinato proviene de la misma raíz).

¿Por qué nos preocupa la muerte? Para empezar, es difícil aceptar el dolor emocional de la inexistencia. Hay muchas formas en que las personas lidian con esto; algunos se centran en construir monumentos a los logros de su vida, mientras otros/as se centran en transmitir una parte de sí mismos en alguna forma, tal como un niño/a, o una obra literaria (“publicar o perecer”).

Otros intentan concentrarse en aprovechar al máximo el tiempo limitado que tienen. Entienden que tener tiempo para alcanzar y crecer como persona, ya sea material o espiritualmente, es el mayor regalo de todos.

En consecuencia, tener una vida superdotada es la última oportunidad, de la cual el tiempo es la mejor moneda (lo que también significa que los más jóvenes entre nosotros también son los más ricos). El tiempo, como el dinero, se puede malgastar y malgastar. Por lo tanto, deberíamos hacer un esfuerzo real para gastar esa moneda tan valiosa en maximizar las cosas significativas de nuestras vidas.

Los fanáticos del Universo Marvel sin duda recordarán la famosa línea de The Ancient One; “La muerte es lo que da sentido a la vida. Saber que tus días están contados y tu tiempo es corto “.

Sin embargo, este no siempre fue el caso. El tiempo solo se volvió increíblemente valioso cuando se convirtió en un activo muy limitado. Pero esto no siempre fue así.

Según nuestros sabios, el Todopoderoso creó originalmente al hombre para que fuera inmortal. El alma y el cuerpo estaban fusionados como uno solo y el alma inmortal debía sostener el cuerpo físico eternamente. Pero, como todos sabemos, Adán pecó y ese error lo cambió todo. En la lectura de la Torá de esta semana encontramos:

“Y Hashem el Señor ordenó al hombre, diciendo; “De todos los árboles del huerto podrás comer; pero del árbol del conocimiento del bien y del mal no debes comer de él; porque el día que de él comieres, ciertamente morirás.”(Génesis 2: 16-17).

En otras palabras, tan pronto como Adán y Eva comieron del Árbol del Conocimiento, se volvieron mortales, en el proceso de muerte; cumpliendo así “el día que de él comas, ciertamente morirás”.

Debido a que Adán violó la prohibición de comer del Árbol del Conocimiento, Dios decretó que él y todos los seres humanos en las generaciones venideras finalmente morirían. Dios no castiga solo por castigar. ¿Cómo entender este decreto?

Según el gran filósofo medieval Rabí Moshe Jaim Luzzato, la razón de esto es que al pecar y comer del Árbol del Conocimiento, Adán abrió una brecha en la unión entre su cuerpo físico y su alma espiritual. El cuerpo físico que pecó se separó del alma espiritual y el alma ya no era capaz de sostener el cuerpo eternamente.

Por lo tanto, para cumplir la intención original del Todopoderoso, el hombre debe morir. Sólo a través de la muerte el cuerpo se desintegra y elimina el pecado original. En el futuro, en el momento de la Resurrección de los Muertos (siguiendo los tiempos del Mesías), el cuerpo renacerá y una vez más se fusionará con su alma y volverá a tener una existencia inmortal.

Hay un Midrash desconcertante (Tanchuma, Pekudei: 3) que explica cómo el Todopoderoso recogió tierra de los cuatro rincones del planeta para crear al hombre, de modo que, independientemente de dónde deba morir una persona, la tierra lo absorbería en el entierro.

Esta es una declaración muy desconcertante. Aparentemente, una de las funciones de la tierra es absorber cualquier materia orgánica que esté enterrada en ella. Cualquier ser vivo – un animal, pájaro o pez – que muera y quede enterrado en la tierra se descompondrá y será absorbido por el suelo. ¿Cómo puede el Midrash afirmar que el hombre tuvo que formarse específicamente a partir de la tierra de todo el mundo para que la tierra absorbiera su cuerpo? ¿No deberían las propiedades naturales de la tierra haber hecho inevitable que el cuerpo fuera absorbido?

Aquí hay una historia fascinante en el Talmud (Sanedrín 90b) que relata cómo Cleopatra le preguntó al rabino Meir si los muertos llevarán ropa cuando resuciten. El rabino Meir respondió comparando la resurrección de los muertos con el crecimiento del grano. Una semilla, explicó, está completamente desnuda cuando se coloca en la tierra, sin embargo, el tallo de grano que crece a partir de ella consta de muchas capas. Del mismo modo, una persona justa ciertamente se levantará del suelo completamente vestida.

Al comparar el entierro de los muertos con la siembra de una semilla, el rabino Meir está insinuando una lección mucho más profunda. El rabino Meir nos está enseñando que así como se planta una semilla y se pudre y renace como una entidad nueva y completa, así también cuando los difuntos son enterrados en la tierra marca el comienzo de un proceso de crecimiento y renacimiento. Este proceso llegará a su culminación en el momento de la resurrección de los muertos.

El entierro de un ser humano no es como el entierro de cualquier otro ser vivo después de su muerte; cuando se entierra un perro o un conejo como mascota, el propósito es simplemente que el cuerpo de la criatura se descomponga y sea absorbido por el suelo, para lo cual cualquier suelo será suficiente.

Pero para un ser humano, el proceso de muerte y entierro es el proceso de deshacerse de la fisicalidad y reconectarla con la tierra de donde vino. Es solo dentro de esa misma tierra que el hombre fue creado originalmente que puede ser recreado una vez más en el futuro. Esta es una de las razones por las que el judaísmo encuentra tan abominable la cremación.

El entierro no es una mera disposición del cuerpo, un acto de descartar al difunto. Al contrario, es el inicio de un proceso de recreación. De hecho, la palabra hebrea para tumba, es kever. Pero la palabra kever también tiene otro significado: útero. Ahora podemos entender por qué. La tumba, como el útero, es un lugar donde el cuerpo se desarrolla y se prepara para su futura existencia.

Pero hay otra cosa que puede darle a uno un sentido de eternidad: el estudio de la Torá. Toda la sabiduría eterna del judaísmo emana de la fuente de toda sabiduría, la sagrada Torá.

Al comenzar un nuevo año y con él un nuevo ciclo de lectura de la Torá, ahora es el momento adecuado para volver a dedicarse a un compromiso semanal de completar la porción de la Torá de la semana. Nuestro maestro Moisés instituyó la lectura de la Torá en la sinagoga los lunes y jueves para que el pueblo judío no permitiera que pasaran tres días sin estudiar algo de Torá.

Comprometerse a estudiar algo de Torá todos los días con el objetivo de terminar la porción de Torá cada semana es una tradición para el pueblo judío que se remonta a varios milenios. Después de todo, hay una razón por la que se nos llama la “Gente del Libro”. La mayoría de las porciones se pueden completar fácilmente en tan solo 5 a 10 minutos de estudio diario.

¡Sea otro eslabón en una cadena que abarca miles de años y cientos de generaciones anteriores de nuestros ilustres antepasados ​​y haga un compromiso real de estudiar la Torá todas las semanas!

Según tomado de, https://mailchi.mp/3e8189779e03/making-nice-with-others-shabbat-shalom-vaeschanan-8033658?e=f5fc49b30e

D’VAR TORAH BY: RABBI DAN MOSKOVITZ

One Yom Kippur, a rabbi was warning his congregation about the fragility of life.
“One day everyone in this congregation is going to die,” he thundered from the bimah.
Seated in the front row was an elderly woman who laughed out loud when she heard this.
Irritated, the rabbi said, “What’s so funny?”
“Well!” she said, “I’m not a member of this congregation.”

Membership and affiliation aside, the most important lesson we learn in life is that one day it will end: one day we are going to die. That is the great lesson and gift of this week’s parashah, B’reishit with its iconic tale of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. Amidst all the lush greenery, flowing rivers, and natural beauty of the garden, at its center stood two trees. All of the trees and their fruits were permitted to human beings as food, except for the Tree of All Knowledge and the Tree of Life. We read:

God Eternal then commanded the man, saying, “You may eat all you like of every tree in the garden — but of the Tree of All Knowledge you may not eat, for the moment you eat of it you shall be doomed to die.”(Gen. 2:16-17)

When they eat from the Tree of All Knowledge, the knowledge they get is that one day they are going to die. Before the forbidden fruit, they didn’t even know death was part of the equation. Now they know and it scares them — to death. They like the garden: life there is beautiful, they don’t want it to end, and standing right next to the Tree of All Knowledge is the answer to their anxiety — the Tree of Life. One bite from that fruit and they will live forever. This terrifies God. We read:

God Eternal then said, “Look, the humans are like us, knowing all things. Now they may even reach out to take fruit from the Tree of Life and eat, and live forever!” So the Eternal God drove them out of the Garden of Eden to work the soil from which they had been taken. (Gen. 3:22-23)

God kicks them out of the Garden of Eden — not as punishment, but as a blessing: If they think they will never die then how will they truly live? If you have eternity then there is no urgency for anything; with unlimited tomorrows, everything can wait.

The German existentialist Martin Heidegger, in his masterwork Being and Time, taught this: he said that in order to truly live authentically we have to confront death head-on. In other words, knowing that I am going to die is what allows me to truly live. Heidegger wrote:

“If I take death into my life, acknowledge it, and face it squarely, I will free myself from the anxiety of death and the pettiness of life — and only then will I be free to become myself.”  (Heidegger)

But as Ernest Becker wrote in his Pulitzer Prize-winning masterwork, The Denial of Death, even though we objectively know that we are all going to die, we don’t actually believe what we know to be true. Becker’s work is important because of his astute observation that our obsession with not dying actually gets in the way of our fully living. We are so focused on outwitting, outlasting, and outplaying death, staying in our own Garden of Eden, that we make amazingly selfish choices in life. We set up what Becker calls “immortality systems” — non-rational belief structures that give way to the belief that we are immortal.

For example, we try to buy immortality by accumulating possessions and wealth, as if our things will somehow protect us when death comes knocking. We take on heroic roles in our business or our household: we think that if we make ourselves indispensable, death can’t touch us. “I can’t die this week; I have a sales meeting on Thursday.”

Judaism suggests a different approach to death and to life. Rather than deny death, Jewish tradition instructs us to embrace it. Judaism teaches that we should live each day as if it is our last because we don’t know, it very well may be (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 153a).

Imagine, as God does in this parashah, if human beings directed all the energy they focus on not dying toward the more sacred goal of truly living. How would you fill each moment of every day if you truly knew and understood that you will never get that moment back once it has passed is gone forever? The psalmist declares:

“The span of our life is seventy years, or given the strength, eighty years; …  and they pass by speedily and we are in darkness; Teach us to count our days rightly, that we may attain a wise heart” (Psalm 90:10, 12).

The wise person, our Rabbis teach, counts each day and makes each day count. Knowing that our days are numbered helps us clarify our priorities and our purpose. Our most precious possession is not money or things: you can always get more of those. No, our most precious and finite possession is time.

Henry David Thoreau wrote:

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately … I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, To put to rout all that was not life, and not when I had come to die discover that I had not lived.” (Thoreau, Walden [reissue ed., Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 2016])

When Adam and Eve are kicked out of the garden, the Torah records the very first thing they do. “And Adam knew his wife Eve and she bore him a son” (Gen. 4:1). They have a child: the very realization of “I’m not going to live forever” is answered with our best attempt at immortality — progeny.

And so, a final question remains. Where is the true paradise? Is it in the Garden of Eden where no one ever dies and time is limitless? Or is it East of Eden, outside the garden, where every moment is precious, every decision is life changing, and the fruit, sometimes bitter, compels us to appreciate the sweet?

Rabbi Dan Moskovitz is senior rabbi at Temple Sholom in Vancouver, BC, and author of “The Men’s Seder” (MRJ Publishing). Rabbi Moskovitz is also chair of the Reform Rabbis of Canada. His writing and perspective on Judaism appear in major print and digital media internationally. 

As taken from, https://reformjudaism.org/learning/torah-study/torah-commentary/legacy-tree-all-knowledge?utm_source=TMT-Monday&utm_medium=email&utm_content=2020_10_12

by Israel Hayom Staff

From the rise and fall of major religions to the very structure of society, mass outbreaks have challenged paradigms that appeared set in stone. There’s a chance COVID-19 will, too.

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Before March of this year, few probably thought disease could be a significant driver of human history.

Not so anymore. People are beginning to understand that the little changes COVID-19 has already ushered in or accelerated – telemedicine, remote work, social distancing, the death of the handshake, online shopping, the virtual disappearance of cash and so on – have begun to change their way of life. They may not be sure whether these changes will outlive the pandemic. And they may be uncertain whether these changes are for good or ill.

Three previous plagues could yield some clues about the way COVID-19 might bend the arc of history. As I teach in my course “Plagues, Pandemics and Politics, pandemics tend to shape human affairs in three ways.

First, they can profoundly alter a society’s fundamental worldview. Second, they can upend core economic structures. And, finally, they can sway power struggles among nations.

Sickness spurs the rise of the Christian West

The Antonine plague, and its twin, the Cyprian plague – both now widely thought to have been caused by a smallpox strain – ravaged the Roman Empire from CE 165 to 262. It’s been estimated that the combined pandemics’ mortality rate was anywhere from one-quarter to one-third of the empire’s population.

While staggering, the number of deaths tells only part of the story. This also triggered a profound transformation in the religious culture of the Roman Empire.

On the eve of the Antonine plague, the empire was pagan. The vast majority of the population worshipped multiple gods and spirits and believed that rivers, trees, fields and buildings each had their own spirit.

Christianity, a monotheistic religion that had little in common with paganism, had only 40,000 adherents, no more than 0.07% of the empire’s population.

Yet within a generation of the end of the Cyprian plague, Christianity had become the dominant religion in the empire.

How did these twin pandemics effect this profound religious transformation?

Rodney Stark, in his seminal work The Rise of Christianity, argues that these two pandemics made Christianity a much more attractive belief system.

While the disease was effectively incurable, rudimentary palliative care – the provision of food and water, for example – could spur recovery of those too weak to care for themselves. Motivated by Christian charity and an ethic of care for the sick – and enabled by the thick social and charitable networks around which the early church was organized – the empire’s Christian communities were willing and able to provide this sort of care.

Pagan Romans, on the other hand, opted instead either to flee outbreaks of the plague or to self-isolate in the hope of being spared infection.

This had two effects.

First, Christians survived the ravages of these plagues at higher rates than their pagan neighbors and developed higher levels of immunity more quickly. Seeing that many more of their Christian compatriots were surviving the plague – and attributing this either to divine favor or the benefits of the care being provided by Christians – many pagans were drawn to the Christian community and the belief system that underpinned it. At the same time, tending to sick pagans afforded Christians unprecedented opportunities to evangelize.

Second, Stark argues that, because these two plagues disproportionately affected young and pregnant women, the lower mortality rate among Christians translated into a higher birth rate.

The net effect of all this was that, in roughly the span of a century, an essentially pagan empire found itself well on its way to becoming a majority Christian one.

The plague of Justinian and the fall of Rome

The plague of Justinian, named after the Roman emperor who reigned from 527 to 565, arrived in the Roman Empire in 542 and didn’t disappear until 755. During its two centuries of recurrence, it killed an estimated 25% to 50% of the population – anywhere from 25 million to 100 million people.

This massive loss of lives crippled the economy, triggering a financial crisis that exhausted the state’s coffers and hobbled the empire’s once mighty military.

In the east, Rome’s principal geopolitical rival, Sassanid Persia, was also devastated by the plague and was therefore in no position to exploit the Roman Empire’s weakness. But the forces of the Islamic Rashidun Caliphate in Arabia – which had long been contained by the Romans and Sasanians – were largely unaffected by the plague. The reasons for this are not well understood, but they probably have to do with the caliphate’s relative isolation from major urban centers.

Caliph Abu Bakr didn’t let the opportunity go to waste. Seizing the moment, his forces swiftly conquered the entire Sasanian Empire while stripping the weakened Roman Empire of its territories in the Levant, the Caucasus, Egypt and North Africa.

Pre-pandemic, the Mediterranean world had been relatively unified by commerce, politics, religion and culture. What emerged was a fractured trio of civilizations jockeying for power and influence: an Islamic one in the eastern and southern Mediterranean basin; a Greek one in the northeastern Mediterranean; and a European one between the western Mediterranean and the North Sea.

This last civilization – what we now call medieval Europe – was defined by a new, distinctive economic system.

Before the plague, the European economy had been based on slavery. After the plague, the significantly diminished supply of slaves forced landowners to begin granting plots to nominally “free” laborers – serfs who worked the lord’s fields and, in return, received military protection and certain legal rights from the lord.

The seeds of feudalism were planted.

The Black Death of the Middle Ages

The Black Death broke out in Europe in 1347 and subsequently killed between one-third and one-half of the total European population of 80 million people. But it killed more than people. By the time the pandemic had burned out by the early 1350s, a distinctly modern world emerged – one defined by free labor, technological innovation and a growing middle class.

Before the Yersinia pestis bacterium arrived in 1347, Western Europe was a feudal society that was overpopulated. Labor was cheap, serfs had little bargaining power, social mobility was stymied and there was little incentive to increase productivity.

But the loss of so much life shook up an ossified society.

Labor shortages gave peasants more bargaining power. In the agrarian economy, they also encouraged the widespread adoption of new and existing technologies – the iron plow, the three-field crop rotation system and fertilization with manure, all of which significantly increased productivity. Beyond the countryside, it resulted in the invention of time and labor-saving devices such as the printing press, water pumps for draining mines and gunpowder weapons.

In turn, freedom from feudal obligations and a desire to move up the social ladder encouraged many peasants to move to towns and engage in crafts and trades. The more successful ones became wealthier and constituted a new middle class. They could now afford more of the luxury goods that could be obtained only from beyond Europe’s frontiers, and this stimulated both long-distance trade and the more efficient three-masted ships needed to engage in that trade.

The new middle class’s increasing wealth also stimulated patronage of the arts, science, literature and philosophy. The result was an explosion of cultural and intellectual creativity – what we now call the Renaissance.

Our present future

None of this is to argue that the still-ongoing COVID-19 pandemic will have similarly earth-shattering outcomes. The mortality rate of COVID-19 is nothing like that of the plagues discussed above, and therefore the consequences may not be as seismic.

But there are some indications that they could be.

Will the bumbling efforts of the open societies of the West to come to grips with the virus shattering already-wavering faith in liberal democracy, creating a space for other ideologies to evolve and metastasize?

In a similar fashion, COVID-19 may be accelerating an already ongoing geopolitical shift in the balance of power between the US and China. During the pandemic, China has taken the global lead in providing medical assistance to other countries as part of its “Health Silk Road” initiative. Some argue that the combination of America’s failure to lead and China’s relative success at picking up the slack may well be turbocharging China’s rise to a position of global leadership.

Finally, COVID-19 seems to be accelerating the unraveling of long-established patterns and practices of work, with repercussions that could affect the future of office towers, big cities and mass transit, to name just a few. The implications of this and related economic developments may prove as profoundly transformative as those triggered by the Black Death in 1347.

Ultimately, the longer-term consequences of this pandemic – like all previous pandemics – are simply unknowable to those who must endure them. But just as past plagues made the world we currently inhabit, so too will this plague likely remake the one populated by our grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

This article originally appeared in Israel Hayom

As taken from, https://www.aish.com/ci/s/How-3-Previous-Pandemics-Changed-the-World.html?s=hp3

Por David Alejandro Rosenthal

Yosef ben Matityahu, nació en Jerusalén en el año 37 e.c, dentro de una de las familias nobles. Fue criado dentro de la elite de la Judea romana. Por parte de su padre de línea Cohen y por su madre de descendencia Asmonea, esta la dinastía otrora gobernante. Además, Josefo, por línea paterna, venía de Simón Psellus. Un hombre muy pudiente que se había convertido en uno de los grandes sacerdotes de Jerusalén. Esto en tiempos de Simón Macabeo y su hijo Juan Hircano, hacia el año 142 y hasta el 104 a.e.c.

A su vez, Simón Psellus -que significa tartamudo en griego- descendía de Joyarib, jefe de la primera familia sacerdotal de las 24 que el Rey David había conformado. También, Josefo procedía del Cohen Gadol, Jonatán Macabeo.
Flavius Josephus, se convertiría en uno de los más celebres historiadores de la época. No solo para su pueblo, sino para todo el Imperio romano y su descendencia. La guerra de los judíos, Antigüedades judaicas y Contra Apión. Son las mayores obras del erudito judeoromano. La posición de Josefo siempre fue privilegiada.

En definitiva, era una persona muy instruida y un líder que había sido construido. En el año 64 e.c -tenía menos de treinta años-, Josefo fue designado para intervenir por 12 sacerdotes que habían sido deportados a Roma. Este fue su primer acercamiento al poderoso Imperio.
Nerón estaba a cargo y su esposa Popea, colaboró con Josefo para la liberación de estos judíos, quienes habían sido enviados allí por orden del procurador Marco Antonio Félix. Este, según nos relata Josefo, un esclavo griego que había sido liberado por Claudio. era conocido por su libertinaje, corrupción y crueldad. Sin embargo, la labor de Josefo fue exitosa, pues tuvo el favor de la mujer de Nerón.
Yosef ben Matityahu, pasóde ser diplomático y erudito, para convertirse en líder militar y político. Fue elegido para el cargo de gobernador militar de Galilea. Buena parte de su formación, la había dedicado a reconocer cada facción del pueblo. Saduceos, esenios y fariseos, se habían enfrentado históricamente casi desde sus inicios.

Diferencias principalmente políticas y religiosas no permitían establecer una paz. Josefo lo sabía. Quizá por sus buenas dotes diplomáticas y dada su posición fue nombrado en semejante cargo, llevándose toda la responsabilidad de una eventual derrota encima. Así que no solo narraría de la mejor forma la primera guerra judeo-romana, sino que haría parte de ella y en un lugar arriesgado y privilegiado.

Josefo, ejerció una importante labor en su cargo militar. No obstante, rivalidades internas, llevaron a que para Vespasiano no fuera tarea difícil acabar con la resistencia hebrea. En Yodfat, al igual que en Masada y en Jerusalén, fueron vencidos por los romanos. El sitio de Yodfat de casi siete semanas, acabó con casi la totalidad de los habitantes, salvo quienes fueron tomados por esclavos, incluido Josefo. Esto ocurrió en el mes de Tamuz, del año 67 e.c.

Vespasiano y su hijo Tito, luego convertidos en emperadores ambos, hicieron de Josefo, Flavio. De hecho, Josefo dijo haber tenido una revelación divina durante el asedio de Yodfat, en la cual era revelado que Vespasiano sería el próximo Cesar, cosa que efectivamente sucedió. Al igual que Yohanan ben Zakkai, solo unos años luego.

Está escrito que ben Zakkai, también le dijo a Vespasiano que seria el nuevo Emperador, con el mérito para ben Zakkai, de que, la noticia la recibió justo después. Además de la valerosa y riesgosa hazaña de salir en un ataúd, burlando la suntuosa y feroz guardia de los Zelotes, pero, su radicalismo como bien lo argumentaría Josefo, condenó a la ciudad de David y al Sagrado Templo.

Así pues, tanto para Josefo como para ben Zakkai, las cosas fueron diferentes. El primero recuperó la libertad y fue premiado con una suntuosa pensión y el segundo salvó al judaísmo, pues la academia de Yavne significó la salvación del judaísmo.

Flavio Josefo estuvo del lado de los fariseos, sin embargo, se dice que, en su juventud, pasó una temporada con una secta ascética: los esenios. También, habría conocido de cerca a los saduceos y sabía bien quienes eran los zelotes, aquellos radicales armados que habrían protagonizado los enfrentamientos con Roma.

En Yodfat (Jotapata) Josefo estuvo al borde de la muerte. Además de las revelaciones metafísicas que luego haría públicas, tuvo la suerte de no ser parte del asesinato colectivo que el mismo tuvo que proponer. La situación dejaba a Josefo embarcado en un gran dilema. Podría haber muerto por los romanos o a manos de sus correligionarios. Salvarse seria parte del destino fraguado por el mismo y de la voluntad del eterno, pues la obra de Josefo y su gran legado, seria junto con la Torá, la mas importante fuente hasta nuestros días sobre la historia antigua del pueblo.

Defensor apasionado del pueblo hebreo y del judaísmo, también como no, comentarista de la Torá de forma indirecta e historiador invaluable de los principios de la actual era. Asimismo, su postura fue pro romana, por obvias condiciones. Si no hubiesen sido escritos sus relatos, no sabríamos una gran cantidad de datos, necesarios para el análisis de la historia de nuestro pueblo y de Roma del mismo modo.

Flavio Josefo es el testigo en tiempo real judío que deja para la historia el relato de la destrucción del templo de Herodes por manos de Tito, hijo de Vespasiano. Pues, fue parte de unas negociaciones infructuosas con los rebeldes de la época. Al tener el favor de los respectivos emperadores, gracias a su profecía, gozó de una posición privilegiada en la gran disputa que daría paso al más grande exilio que viviría el pueblo.

Escribió la historia de las guerras judeo-romanas tanto en arameo como en griego. Por demás, sus relatos son bastante exactos, así lo ratifican los historiadores y arqueólogos. Sus fuentes eran directas, es posible que los mismos generales romanos lo mantenían al tanto de la situación. A pesar de ser considerado por algunas facciones judías un traidor, por sobre todo los nacionalistas religiosos, Josefo era un hombre erudito y diplomático.

Hizo parte en algún momento de los fariseos, luego de la dinastía Flavia -de donde adopto su nombre- todo no por un beneficio propio, sino por el beneficio de la historia. En tanto de lo personal, Josefo tuvo tres nupcias. La primera una judía cautiva en Roma, la segunda, una judía alejandrina y la última, una judía cretense.

En definitiva, Josefo fue muy juzgado, solo por no haber muerto en Yodfat, junto a los demás o por haber estado al servicio del Imperio de su época. Sin embargo era un judío observante y nunca se desligo de su origen. Su pensamiento seguramente tenia una fuerte influencia grecorromana, más esto, no debería ser algo excluyente, teniendo en cuenta que la organización política de la época estaba regida bajo estos principios.

La heredad de Flavio Josefo es indiscutible. Su obra desempeña arduamente una función para la academia y para la ciencia, tanto como para la historia y la religiosidad. Es vital, para la comprensión de los Rollos del Mar Muerto y el judaísmo del Segundo Templo tardío. Incluso su obra es utilizada para comprender aquella nueva secta judía posterior a la destrucción del templo: El cristianismo primitivo.

“Josefo en contra Apión” defiende los principios judíos y su parte como una religión de gran antigüedad y con un sentido filosófico bastante profundo, frente a las acusaciones antijudías del escritor egipcio Apión. Esta claro que Josefo fue un líder, un erudito y en definitiva un personaje celebre para la historia de Israel y del mundo occidental.

Según tomado de, https://www.aurora-israel.co.il/flavius-josephus-la-historia-del-pueblo

The history of the weekly portion — and the different schedules on which it’s done.

BY RABBI PAUL STEINBERG

Every week, one section of the Torah, known as the Torah portion or “parsha ,” is designated as a focus of Jewish study and is read aloud in synagogue that Shabbat.

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Find My Jewish Learning’s index of Torah portions here.

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The first mention of a scheduled Torah-reading cycle appears in the Bible, in Deuteronomy, where Moses instructs the tribe of Levi and the elders of Israel to gather all the people for a public reading from portions of the Torah once every seven years. The need to read the Torah publicly intensified after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE; Jews were dispersed into other parts of the Middle East, into North Africa, and into Europe; and their earlier religious and cultural world became decentralized. While most Jews in the Diaspora now follow one Torah-reading cycle, some communities are on a triennial cycle.

Because a reference in the Mishnah (the first effort to permanently record Jewish custom and law, compiled in the 3rd century C.E.) supported Deuteronomy’s prescription, we understand that Jews were continuing to read the Torah publicly; and we also know that there were Torah readings for festivals, special Shabbatot (plural of Shabbat) and fast days.

But it was not until the Talmudic era, about the 6th century C.E., that the Jews in the Land of Israel began to read the entire Torah in public and do so until all the Five Books of Moses were completed. At that time, the cycle took three years in a pattern called the Palestinian triennial, beginning the first year with the first book, Genesis, and finishing, at the end of the third year, with the fifth book, Deuteronomy.

The Jews of Babylon, however, followed a different custom, established by the beginning of the 7th century CE, and completed the entire cycle each year, which they did by dividing the Torah into 54 weekly portions. (Because the number of portions exceeds the number of weeks in a given year, more than one portion is read during certain weeks.) In Hebrew, the word for portion is parsha (plural, parshiyot).

In the 19th century, a reintroduction of the Palestinian triennial cycle was attempted at the West End Congregation in London, but was unsuccessful. In the middle of the 20th century, various congregations in the United States (primarily Conservative ones) were seeking ways to modernize the service and also to spend more time on Shabbat on Torah study. They too attempted to revive the Palestinian cycles with the argument that reading only a section of the weekly Torah portion would make Torah study more concentrated and thus enhanced.

The reintroduction failed for two reasons. First, in the pattern of the Palestinian triennial cycle, the weekly reading would have differed from what the rest of the Jewish world was reading. Second, Simchat Torah (the holiday in which Jews celebrate the conclusion of one Torah-reading cycle and the beginning of the next) celebrations would occur only one out of every three years, instead of annually.

Finally, in 1988, the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards of the Conservative Movement passed a legal responsum that put into practice a new American triennial cycle. This new triennial cycle, rather than dividing the entire Torah into thirds, as was done in the Palestinian cycle, divides each of the individual 54 portions into thirds. Therefore, a congregation can be reading within the same portion as those who follow the annual cycle, but will only read one-third of each portion per year. In addition, this pattern enables the congregation to read from Genesis through Deuteronomy each year, providing for an annual celebration of Simchat Torah.

There is an obvious drawback to this system: Only one-third of each conventional Torah portion is actually read per year; and the readings, because incomplete, do not flow smoothly into the portion of the following week. Nonetheless, the vast majority of American Conservative and Reform congregations prefer this new cycle. All Jews in Israel, however, and Orthodox Jews in America continue to follow the annual cycle with the full portion read each week.

As taken from, https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/why-jews-read-torah-on-a-yearly-cycle/?utm_source=mjl_maropost&utm_campaign=MJL&utm_medium=email

by Rabbi Benjamin Blech

Rejoicing with the Torah because it is an exceptional book that has made us exceptional.

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Till now the best definition of chutzpah was probably that given by Leo Rosten in his classic work, The Joys of Yiddish: “Chutzpah is that quality enshrined in a man who, having killed his mother and father, throws himself on the mercy of the court because he is an orphan.” 

In the aftermath of the by now infamous op-ed piece in the New York Times by Vladimir Putin, the Russian President might well be a serious contender for the title.

Speaking out strongly against a possible military response by the United States against his Syrian ally for the monstrous crime of using internationally forbidden chemical weapons, Putin dons the mantle of ethical advisor to offer us what he calls “A Plea for Caution from Russia.” Head of a regime known for its indifference to human life, its support of totalitarian dictatorships, and its history of hostility to religion, Putin has the gall to close his piece by reminding us that “when we ask for the Lord’s blessings, we must not forget that God created us equal.”

The man who has been providing heavy weaponry to Assad’s regime, the better for them to batter towns and villages filled with civilian women and children, and who has systematically blocked any UN Security Council action – even to reprimand Syria for its many wanton crimes – feels no shame as he offers hypocritical pieties. Sanctimoniously, Putin claims to stand variously with the Pope, those who honor international law and seek regional stability, human rights activists and peace-loving people throughout the world. Perhaps the only thing missing from his piece is a reminder to those who might publicly disagree with him that their fate might be the same as that meted out to the members of the feminist punk band who were imprisoned for being insufficiently respectful to the Russian leader.

Reaction to this highly unusual op-ed was almost unanimously negative. Vice President Biden spoke for many when he said it “made him want to vomit.” But one point Putin made did strike a chord. For those who live by the ideal of political correctness it served to open a widely disseminated discussion. Perhaps, comes the voice of the naïve swayed by beautiful sounding platitudes, Putin was correct when he criticized President Obama for putting forward the idea of American exceptionalism.

“It is extremely dangerous,” Putin wrote, “to encourage people to see themselves as exceptional, whatever the motivation.” Exceptional means better. And that idea – the idea that some people can rise above others by dint of hard work, uncompromising commitment to personal growth and steadfast adherence to sacred values – seems anathema not only to communism but to many who live by the creed of cultural relativism.

For them nobody is better than anybody else. No people have greater claim to moral superiority than any others. Exceptionalism is a dirty word.

Jews need to take pride in the fact that it has been our Torah that served to civilize the world.

As politically incorrect as it might be to say it, we need to remember that exceptionalism is the key to civilization, and we Jews need to take pride in the fact that it has been our Torah, our teaching of morality and ethics that served to civilize the world.

Emmanuel Kant did not hesitate in expressing the exceptionalism of the Jews and the Jewish Bible: “The existence of the Bible as a book for the people of the world is the greatest benefit which the human race has ever experienced. Every attempt to belittle it is a crime against society.”

The Catholic writer Thomas Cahill was so overwhelmed by his study of the Jewish contribution to world civilization that he authored what proved to become an international bestseller, The Gifts of the Jews. The Jews, he concluded, literally transformed the world.

The Jews not only discovered monotheism, but they then explained why that made God different from all the pagan gods worshiped until that time. The Jewish God is above nature; witchcraft and sorcery simply have no meaning for Jews. Such practices suggest that humans can manipulate God. A God who can be manipulated is made in man’s image. Jews believe the reverse, that man is created in God’s image.

Cahill believes that the ultimate breakthrough in humanity’s understanding of God came with the Jewish perception that God “is a real personality who has intervened in real history, changing its course and robbing it of predictability.” God is more than the Force of Star Wars; he is the “I” of the first commandment: “I am the Lord your God who took you out of the land of Egypt, the house of bondage.” God interacts with man and intercedes in history.

The Jews not only introduced the world to God but to his book as well. The Torah, transmitted from Moses to the Jewish people, has nurtured Christianity and Islam, Judaism’s two daughter religions. Its teachings provided the soil for democratic ideals and the seeds of Western civilization.

From the Torah, Cahill explains, the world learned the meaning of spirituality. Pagan gods, being physical, wanted physical things from their worshipers. Not so the God of the Jews. As Cahill puts it, “God wanted something other than blood and smoke, buildings and citadels. He wanted justice, mercy, humility. He wanted what was invisible… There is no way of exaggerating how strange a thought this was… The word that fall so easily from our lips – spiritual – had no real counterpart in the ancient world.”

That is why the Bible continues to be the world’s biggest best-seller. And that is why we have a special holiday dedicated to rejoicing with the Torah, Simchat Torah.

It is a holiday whose very theme is exceptionalism. It is the exceptionalism of our ancestors who stood at Sinai and responded yes to the challenge of accepting the Torah when the rest of the world was as yet unwilling or unready. It is the exceptionalism of our people who in spite of persecution – and oft times even martyrdom – held fast to those values which God proclaimed as the only reason for the world’s continued survival. It is the exceptionalism of Torah that stands above all other works written by man, whose divine truths illuminate our path and make life worth living.

We rejoice with the Torah on Simchat Torah because it is an exceptional book that has made us exceptional – and if that bothers President Putin, perhaps that gives us all the more reason for celebrating.

As taken from, https://www.aish.com/jw/s/Putin-and-the-Torah.html?s=mfeat

What these holidays that follow Sukkot are about.

BY MJL

Shemini Atzeret is the holiday that follows immediately after the seventh day of Sukkot. Literally, Shemini Atzeret means “the eighth [day] of assembly.” The Torah designates this day as one of solemn assembly and prohibits labor.

Shemini Atzeret serves to conclude the holiday of Sukkot , although it technically stands as its own festival. In this way Sukkot begins with a yom tov (full holiday) and ends with a yom tov, while the days in between are the intermediate festival days (hol ha-mo’ed). Thus, the concluding holiday acts as a transitional day leading the worshipper out of the various levels of meaning inherent in Sukkot. The community assembles again to end the festival.

Jewish tradition has attributed various meanings to Shemini Atzeret, to which the Torah offers little justification. One example: The Rabbis say that the festival is God’s way to retain closeness with the Jewish people for a little while longer; Sukkot was a pilgrimage festival in which the nation gathered in Jerusalem during Temple times. The addition of Shemini Atzeret delayed their departure briefly.

It is customary to read the book of Ecclesiastes (Kohelet) on the Sabbath of the intermediate days of Sukkot. However, should there be no Sabbath on those days, Ecclesiastes is read on Shemini Atzeret. The theme of Ecclesiastes is very fitting for this holiday, as it emphasizes that all of nature is a closed system, and life itself can appear to be a futile journey.

The dynamic that fights off this sense of futility is the individual’s relationship with God. The nature themes and the spiritual musings found in Ecclesiastes mirror many of the themes of Sukkot, and we are reminded of them once again on Shemini Atzeret as we close the holiday. The prayer for rain recited on Shemini Atzeret provides a further thematic link with nature and perhaps hints at the ancient Sukkot water libation festival.

In Israel and in liberal congregations, Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah are celebrated on the same day.  In all other congregations Simchat Torah is celebrated the day after Shemini Atzeeret, following the tradition of adding an additional day to festivals in the Diaspora.

Simchat Torah–which roughly translates to, “rejoicing with the Torah”–is a holiday that occurs at the same time, but has an entirely different focal point. On this festival, the Jewish community ends its cycle of public Torah readings and immediately begins the next cycle of readings. All the Torah scrolls are removed from the ark in the synagogue, and the bimah or sanctuary is circled seven times in a festive procession known as a hakkafot. The congregation celebrates this completion and beginning by dancing and singing with the Torah scrolls.

On Simchat Torah the ending of the book of Deuteronomy is often read several times, since it is traditional to offer an aliyah –a blessing on the Torah–to all those who wish to participate. The term used for this aliyah is hatan Torah, the “bridegroom of the Torah.”

Immediately following this aliyah, the first part of Genesis is recited, and this aliyah is called hatan Bereshit “the bridegroom of Genesis.” [Egalitarian congregations may also offer a parallel aliyah for the kallah, the “bride of the Torah” or the “bride of Genesis.”] These terms speak of the perceived relationship the Jewish people have with Torah study. The commitment to the Torah is likened to that of a marriage in which two parties are singularly committed to each other.

It is an intimate relationship that challenges the individual and defines much of his/her identity. The marriage symbolism in the relationship between God and the people Israel is also found in seven processions around the synagogue, calling to mind the tradition of a bride circling the groom seven times.

The cycle of readings, moving from end to beginning, mirrors the cycle of the hakkafot, the circles walked around the ark. The entire image becomes symbolic of unending Torah learning. Unlike Shavuot, the holiday that celebrates the receiving of the Torah, Simchat Torah commemorates the community’s commitment to learning and its love of the Torah. Whereas Shavuot focuses on the burden of responsibility in receiving the Torah, Simchat Torah emphasizes the ecstatic joy of studying Torah.  Simchat Torah reflects the rabbinic teaching that one studies Torah one’s entire lifetime and always finds new meanings within it.

The period of the High Holidays concludes with Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah. Beginning in the month of Elul and spanning Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot and finally Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah, the High Holiday period encompasses many of the themes that are central to Judaism. Accountability, spiritual awareness, harmony within nature, individual and community issues all find a place within this time period and set the tone for the coming year.

As taken from, https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/shemini-atzeretsimchat-torah-theology-and-themes/?utm_source=mjl_maropost&utm_campaign=MJL&utm_medium=email

La alfabetización en el antiguo Reino de Judá (Judea) estaba extendida y “no era dominio exclusivo de escribas reales”, reveló un estudio israelí publicado en la revista PLOS ONE que identificó la escritura de una docena de autores en inscritos de cerámica de hace unos 2.600 años.

Expertos de la Universidad de Tel Aviv en disciplinas tan variadas como arqueología, algoritmos matemáticos, tecnologías modernas y una especialista en caligrafía forense analizaron dieciocho textos en hebreo antiguo, y concluyeron que la escritura en aquella época estaba más extendida de lo pensado.

La investigación parte de inscritos en tinta en fragmentos de cerámica hallados en la década de los sesenta en el yacimiento de Tel Arad, un antiguo puesto militar alrededor del sur de Judá en torno al 600 a.C., poco antes de que este reino desapareciera por la conquista de los babilonios.

El uso de tecnología avanzada de procesamiento de imágenes también ayudó a revelar que las inscripciones fueron escritas por al menos una docena de personas distintas.

Este hallazgo “contradice la creencia popular” y sugiere que una parte importante de la población de Judá “podía leer y escribir”, aseguran los investigadores.

El profesor de arqueología Israel Finkelstein considera que si en un lugar remoto como era Tel Arad -con unos veinte o treinta soldados -hubo “un mínimo de doce autores de dieciocho inscripciones” en poco tiempo, esto podría indicar que el nivel de alfabetización entre los alrededor de 120.000 habitantes de Judá era alto.

“No estaba reservado a un dominio exclusivo de los escribas reales”, valora Finkelstein, .

“Estudié las características de la escritura para analizar”, comparar y profundizar en “los detalles microscópicos” de las distintas inscripciones. Estas recogen “órdenes relativas al movimiento de soldados y el suministro de vino, aceite y harina”, explica Yana Berger, experta en escritura forense y exagente del departamento de documentación falsa de la Policía israelí.

Las escrituras también incluyen correspondencia con los enclaves fortificados vecinos y órdenes que llegaban a Tel Arad desde altos rangos del sistema militar de la era, agrega la especialista, que a través del análisis forenses de las inscripciones determinó que una docena de autores dejaron sus trazas de caligrafía en ellas.

Los investigadores remarcan que el estudio aporta detalles de la antigua sociedad de Judá, de la que aún se desconoce mucho.

Los hallazgos ayudaron a construir “un organigrama completo de la correspondencia” en torno al puesto de Tel Arad, y “quién escribía a quién”, lo que “refleja la cadena de mando dentro del Ejército judaíta”, destaca el doctor en matemáticas Arie Shaus, que integró el equipo de científicos que creó algoritmos para ayudar a comparar las inscripciones. EFE

Según tomado de, https://www.aurora-israel.co.il/la-escritura-en-el-reino-de-juda-era-una-habilidad-extendida-revela-un-estudio

by Dr. Ivette Alt Miller

When Jewish Boxers fought Nazis in the 1930s in America.

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It all started with a birthday party.

Five years ago, Leslie Barry’s mother was turning 90. Leslie, an entertainment industry executive living in northern California, wanted to assemble a huge celebration for her mom, Esther Levine Kaplan. “She’s from Newark, from an immigrant Jewish family from Lithuania,” Leslie Barry recently explained in an Aish.com exclusive interview. Leslie’s family is close knit and enjoys celebrating Jewish holidays and events together. Leslie, her husband Doug and their four kids often enjoy Shabbat dinner together. Leslie was determined to mark her mom’s 90^th birthday with a beautiful celebration.

Lots of relatives and family friends attended the party, and soon they started reminiscing about growing up in Newark in the 1930s, as Nazism rose in Europe and Jews all over the world watched its growth in fear. Leslie’s mom had an older brother – beloved Uncle Harry – and the relatives recalled that he’d been a boxer and even won the Golden Gloves amateur boxing tournament in Madison Square Garden in 1936. Then the conversation turned bizarre. “Yeah,” one relative remembered to Esther, “remember when your mom used to get so upset when your brother used to go out and beat up Nazis?”

Leslie didn’t know what the relative was talking about. When did American Jewish men have the chance to beat up Nazis? Some relatives explained that in the 1930s, Nazi ideology flourished in many American cities. Leslie started doing some research and what she found shocked her. Nazis did indeed recruit Americans to their hateful cause – and some young American Jewish men risked their lives to fight them.

In the 1930s, the German American Bund was a popular, openly pro-Nazi organization. About 25,000 American citizens were formal members, with others sympathizing and attending Bund events. Incredibly, in addition to the dues-paying members, the German American Bund also organized 8,000 uniformed members known as Sturmabeteiungen, or Storm Troopers, who would demonstrate and march in American cities. Their activities weren’t limited to marches. Leslie discovered that they joined the NRA, the National Rifle Association, who would give you a free gun and training. The German American Bund seemed to be planning for a violent confrontation on American soil.

Fritz Kuhn saluting marching Bund members at Camp Nordland in New Jersey.

The German American Bund brazenly called for hatred against American Jews. They put up posters urging Americans not to vote for Jewish candidates in local elections, published magazines and other literature, held rallies, and even ran Nazi youth camps for hundreds of American children to indoctrinate a new generation of American youth in their hateful ideology. Leslie found that there were 25 German American Nazi youth summer camps. At some of these camps children even dressed in Nazi uniforms where they were indoctrinated in hate. Girls were often abused at these camps, Leslie found. One goal of the camp organizers was for German American girls to have as many babies as possible to increase the number of “Aryan” Americans.

The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum notes that “(a)side from its admiration for Adolf Hitler and the achievements of Nazi Germany, the German American Bund program included anti-Semitism, strongly anti-Communist sentiments, and the demand that the United States remain neutral in the approaching European conflict,” World War II.

The largest Bund event was a “Pro America Rally” in New York’s Madison Square Garden on February 20, 1939, celebrating George Washington’s birthday – just three years after Leslie’s Uncle Harry won the Golden Gloves championship there. In those few intervening years, the world had become a much darker place for Jews.

Uncle Harry, the boxer

Over 20,000 Americans attended the 1939 Pro America Rally. Streaming into the Gardens, they saw a thirty-foot high picture of George Washington, flanked by massive swastikas. Speaker after speaker railed against “job-taking Jewish refugees” and the supposed “Jewish domination of Christian America.” Participants yelled “Heil Hitler” and booed President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, saying he was a puppet of Jews. One of the most popular speakers of the evening was Gerhard Wilhelm Kunze, the Bund’s public relations director, who told the jubilant crowd that Nazism was an American sentiment, imbued in the country’s racist Jim Crow laws and exclusion of non-white immigrants: “It has then always been very much American to protect the Aryan character of this nation,” he said to rapturous applause.

As the German American Bund’s leader, a racist and anti-Semite named Fritze Kuhne, launched into the main speech of the night, one Jew who’d snuck into the audience had finally had enough. Isadore Greenbaum was a 26-year-old Jewish plumber’s assistant from Brooklyn. Earlier that evening, he’d left his wife and young child, and come into Manhattan, where he’d snuck into the Bund rally. He went up to the stage, pulled out the cables of the microphone, and yelled “Down with Hitler!” Greenbaum was immediately set upon by the uniformed Nazi Storm Troopers. He might have been killed had New York City police officers – who’d been watching this odious rally without interference – stepped in to save Greenbaum’s life. (Click here to read full story about Isadore Greenbaum.)

This was far from the only time that an American Jew risked his life to openly defy American Nazis. Leslie discovered that young Jewish men flocked to fight American Nazis, her Uncle Harry among them.

Pro-Nazi rally at Madison Square Garden, New York City, in 1939

During the 1920s and 1930s, a Jewish mafia flourished in New York, New Jersey, Chicago, and some other American cities. These groups were active in smuggling liquor during prohibition. Though they could be violent and hardly represented the best in Jewish life, Jewish underworld criminals were horrified by the rise in Nazism and anti-Semitism, and wanted to do all they could to help their fellow Jews. Their propensity to violence, in this case, made them valuable in the fight against Nazi thugs.

In many cases, Jewish resistance to Nazi rallies was ad hoc, with individual Jews stepping up to fight Nazis. In 1937, however, New York State Judge Nathan Perlman reached out to the infamous New York City Jewish gangster Meyer Lansky, and asked him to formally organize groups of Jewish men to break up Bund rallies. Lansky obliged, and created a group he called the Minutemen, after the American Colonists who organized themselves into informal militias to resist British rule in the 1700s.

Like the Minutemen of old, these Jewish Minutemen would be ready at a minute’s notice, as their name implied. Judge Perlman offered Lansky payment for organizing the group, but Lansky turned him down, insisting he’d help fight Nazis for free. “I was a Jew and felt for those Jews in Europe who were suffering. They were my brothers,” Lansky later observed. (Quoted in But He Was Good to His Mothers: The Lives and Crimes of Jewish Gangsters by Robert Rockaway, Gefen Publishing House: 1993.)

Leslie’s mother, Esther Levine Kaplan, reading her book

As she researched, Leslie found that after some New York City Minutemen injured a Nazi, the New York City Minutemen were disbanded – Jewish leaders feared it would look bad for the Jewish community if Jews injured American Nazis. The Jews were being asked to disrupt Nazi events, but not to seriously harm anyone. Instead, a Jewish boxer named Nat Arno in nearby Newark stepped in to reconstitute the Minutemen there. Nat’s real name was Sidney Nathaniel Abramowitz. He’d grown up in a Jewish home and he turned the Newark Minutemen into one of the most effective anti-Nazi forces in the United States in the 1930s, recruiting local Jews.

One of the men who joined Arno’s group was Max “Puddy” Hines. He later described disrupting a Nazi meeting, along with other Newark Minutemen members: “The Nazi scumbags were meeting one night on the 2nd floor. Nat Arno and I went upstairs and threw stink bombs into the room where the creeps were. As they ran out, from the horrible odor, running down the steps to go into the street to escape, our boys were waiting… It was like running a gauntlet. Our boys were lined up on both sides… The Nazis were screaming blue murder.”

Newark was a prime location to counter the German American Bund. Out of a German-American population of about 45,000, approximately 5% of Newark German-Americans were Nazi sympathizers at the time. Newark also had a large Jewish community; often, Jews and Nazis or Nazi supporters lived side by side in the town. Leslie Barry also discovered that the FBI gave tacit support to the Newark Minutemen. The Jews of this informal militia were told not to punch any Nazis in the head so as not to cause serious injury, but would go and find Nazi rallies to break up, she explains.

“The goal was to thwart this Nazi party from rising,” Leslie learned. “Somebody would find out that the Bund was having a rally or a meeting at City Hall. They would get the word out to everybody: go out tonight, get ready to disrupt this ray that’s going on.” Sometimes the fighting became pitched – hence her Uncle Harry’s cuts and bruises that Leslie’s neighbors reminisced about at her mother’s birthday party.

The Newark Minuteman also went undercover to find out what the German American Bund was planning. One big project that Newark Minutemen worked to disrupt was the Bund’s efforts to map American infrastructure for possible use in wartime. Other groups fought Nazis across America, but it seems that the Newark Minutemen were the most active. “The Bund was most heavily concentrated in New York and New Jersey,” Leslie explains, “and the Newark Minutemen were the most organized of the resistance groups.”

Leslie notes that many of the Newark Minutemen never spoke about their anti-Nazi activities. She thinks that’s perhaps because many of these men were soon drafted and fought in World War II; they had even more dramatic stories to tell their kids and grandchildren.

She recalls that her Uncle Harry was a gentle man. “He was big, 6’4”, and a lot older than my mom,” Leslie explains. He was a “loveable teddy bear uncle.” Uncle Harry lived in Newark until he was drafted, then served in the American Army during World War II as a Military Policeman. After the war, he returned to Newark and became a policeman to support his wife and son. “He led a pretty simple life,” Leslie explains. He spoke very little about his days as a Newark Minuteman.

As Leslie delved more and more into this incredible story, she decided to write a book. Leslie’s first novel, Newark Minutemen: A True 1930s Legend About One Man’s Mission to Save a Nation’s Soul Without Losing His Own, is coming out October 6, and has already been optioned for a movie by a group of investors that includes the television host James Corden. The book tells the story of a Jewish man named Yael Newman who uses his boxing skill to fight Nazis as a member of the Newark Minutemen – and also rescues a German American girl who’s been abducted and forced to live in a Nazi summer camp.

After years of writing, she’s gratified that her forthcoming book is being extensively reviewed and anticipated. Writing Newark Minutemen has also deepened the pride she feels in her family. “To learn your legacy is empowering,” she notes: “you kind of start to learn about what you’re made up of.”

She also has advice for people today. “Don’t be complacent; stand up for what you believe in. I’ve internalized this while researching this book: if you see something that’s not right, do something.” It’s also crucial to write down people’s stories while you can. Particularly when writing about World War II, Nazism and the Holocaust, the chance to record history is fast slipping away. “Record these stories while these people are still here,” Leslie urges.

As taken from, https://www.aish.com/jw/s/Newark-Minutemen-Fighting-Nazis-in-New-Jersey.html?s=hp2