RSS

Author Archives: yishmaelgunzhard

Rut y la reencarnación

Rut y la reencarnación

Rut y la reencarnación

El misterio de los zapatos y la trasmigración de energías espirituales.

por

La historia comienza con Elimelej, Naomi y sus dos hijos, Majlón y Kilyón, yéndose de la hambruna que atacó a Betlehem hacia la diáspora de Moab. Elimelej muere poco después de la partida; nuestros Sabios explican que su muerte fue una consecuencia espiritual de haber cerrado su mano hacia los pobres y abandonar la Tierra de Israel. Sus hijos, sin embargo, no se dan cuenta de la indicación, y continúan por el camino errado casándose con las princesas moabitas, Orpa y Rut.

Majlón y Kilyón llevaban casados casi 10 años, cuando ambos mueren por razones espirituales, sin dejar hijos. Naomi, desolada, decide regresar a Betlehem. Ella besa a sus dos nueras y se despide. Orpa regresa a la casa de su madre moabita, pero Rut pronuncia sus famosas palabras: “… Donde tú vayas, yo iré, y donde tú duermas, yo dormiré. Tu pueblo es mi pueblo, y tu Dios es mi Dios…” (Rut 1:16).

Después de un largo viaje a pie, las dos mujeres llegan a Betlehem. Rut, como los pobres de Israel, comienza a recoger los tallos de cebada que quedan en los campos, para alimentar a su suegra y para sí misma. El comportamiento modesto de Rut la destaca sobre otros recolectores y llama la atención de Boaz, el anciano dueño del campo. Boaz comparte el almuerzo con Rut, y la invita a continuar recolectando en su campo.

Cuando Naomi se entera de la interacción de Boaz con Rut, le explica a Rut el concepto de matrimonio por levirato y le indica que Boaz está en la línea de los posibles parientes para liberarla.

Es ahí donde la trama secundaria comienza. El matrimonio por levirato (yibum) es una mitzvá que recae sobre el hermano de un hombre casado que muere sin haber tenido hijos. A fin de mantener tanto el alma del difunto como sus activos dentro de la familia, el hermano (u otro pariente cercano) es obligado a casarse con la viuda y recobrar las propiedades de su hermano. El primero de sus hijos será contado como un descendiente del difunto y heredará todo.

¿Cómo opera esto? ¿Cómo la simiente de un hombre produce un hijo de otro hombre?

La Rebetzin Tehilla Jaeger enseña que como en este mundo lo físico está inextricablemente entrelazado con lo espiritual, junto con la transferencia de material genético es también transmitida la “genética” espiritual. Los greco-sirios entendieron esta idea y la explotaron cruelmente. Durante el período en que la historia de Januká sucedió, se le requería por ley a una novia judía someterse a los placeres del gobernador griego antes de permitírsele casarse. Ese fue el intento de los helenistas de usar las fuerzas espirituales inherentes en su simiente para entrometerse en la nación judía desde adentro. Ellos entendieron que, aunque ella no concibiera en su noche con el gobernador, su energía permanecería dentro de ella y se manifestaría en su descendencia. De esta forma los greco-sirios tenían la esperanza de apresurar la helenización de los judíos.

Llevando este concepto un paso adelante, Najmánides explica que el matrimonio por levirato es en realidad un vehículo para la reencarnación. La reencarnación ocurre cuando Dios da a un alma una segunda oportunidad para cumplir con su destino. Ocasionalmente, un alma no cumple con lo que le fue destinado lograr al ser enviada a la tierra. Si el alma logra una masa crítica de su objetivo, pero no llegó ni cerca de su potencial, entonces Dios puede darle una oportunidad adicional. A veces Dios hace esto después de que el cuerpo muere por “causas naturales”, mientras que a veces Él causa una muerte “prematura” y sacar rápidamente al alma fuera del cuerpo antes de que se cause mayor daño a sí misma. En ambos casos, Dios le permite nacer de nuevo para tener un nuevo comienzo.

Pero el alma antigua no puede estar cómoda en cualquier cuerpo nuevo; el emplazamiento de un alma en un cuerpo específico es coordinado cuidadosamente. Cada cuerpo físico es construido en forma precisa para ser el mejor contenedor para cada alma que alberga. El alma de un esposo fallecido estará mejor en un cuerpo que sea lo más parecido genéticamente al cuerpo previo. Místicamente, esto se logra de la mejor forma a través de la simiente del difunto. Crear este vehículo para el alma del difunto es considerado un acto de bondad.

¿Y qué sucede si la viuda o el hermano del difunto no quieren entrar en esta relación? Se realizada ante un tribunal rabínico una ceremonia llamada jalitzá. El hermano del difunto se quita el zapato de su pie, y su nombre es llamado “la casa del que tuvo su zapato removido”. Esto ocurrió en la historia de Rut. El pariente más cercano disponible para rescatar la herencia de Majlón rehusó casarse con Rut, temiendo manchar su linaje casándose con una moabita conversa. Su comportamiento fue visto con tanta negatividad que los versos se refieren a él utilizando el seudónimo “Plony Almony” (el equivalente judío a “fulano de tal”) con el fin de deshonrarlo al no incluir su nombre en la historia. ¿Pero por qué someter al hermano que se niega a casarse con la viuda a una ceremonia tan extraña de sacarse un zapato? ¿Cuál es la relación entre los zapatos y el matrimonio?

Los Cabalistas comparan el cuerpo a “la suela del alma.” Igual como una persona quisquillosa necesita zapatos para proteger sus pies mientras está parada en la suciedad y el barro, también el alma requiere un “zapato” para que la proteja durante su estancia en un mundo físico. El Malbim explica que cuando un hombre muere sin haber tenido hijos, deja su esencia agitada y amenazada dentro de su esposa, a causa de la disipación de su nombre y su memoria. Al rechazarse un matrimonio por levirato, al alma del marido difunto se le niega el “zapato” que necesita para reentrar a este mundo y cumplir con su destino.

Esto explica por qué Naomi le dio instrucciones a Rut de ir al granero en la noche, acostarse cerca de Boaz y descubrir sus pies (Rut 3:4). Aunque inicialmente su comportamiento puede parecer inapropiado, el significado del mensaje de Rut para Boaz era que el momento para la acción había llegado: ya sea “descubrir los pies” de su difunto marido, y frustrar el regreso de su alma, o proporcionarle un “zapato” a su alma casándose con Rut.

El rasgo de carácter predominante de Rut era la bondad. Esto la llevó a no considerar la posibilidad de casarse con un hombre más joven y adecuado. En su lugar, eligió casarse con Boaz, un hombre que la doblaba en edad. Esto es porque el enérgico deseo de Rut era proporcionar este vehículo para el alma de su marido fallecido.

Boaz reconoció, a través de observar sus actos de modestia y bondad, que las intenciones de Rut eran puras, y él siguió su plan. Rut concibió en la noche de su matrimonio, y cuando el bebé nació, los versos dicen que “un hijo nació para Naomi” (Rut 4:17) – así se confirma que el alma que Rut trajo a este mundo era en efecto la reencarnación de Majlón.

El nombre del niño fue Obed. Él llegó a ser el padre de Ishai, cuyo hijo David, compuso el libro de los Salmos y se convirtió en Rey de Israel. Es de David que todos los otros reyes de Israel descendieron y de quien descenderá finalmente el Mesías.

Rut alcanzó alturas espirituales extraordinarias: ella ligó su alma al Pueblo de Israel, mantuvo a su suegra, redimió el alma de su antiguo marido, y obtuvo el mérito de ser la progenitora de quien traerá la redención final para el mundo.

Segun tomado de, http://www.aishlatino.com/h/sh/a/48419237.html?s=raw   el jueves, 21 de mayo de 2015.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on May 21, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

Why is Jerusalem called Jerusalem?

Why is Jerusalem called Jerusalem?

From its earliest name Ursalim, Jerusalem’s name has mirrored the city’s conquerors, passing through Jebus to the Roman Aelia Capitolina to al-Quds – and back to the ancient Israelite Yerushalayim.

By May 17, 2015 | 9:00 AM |  7

Israeli archaeology: Often controversial, always fascinating. Shown above: Excavating the City of David, Jerusalem. Photo by Olivier Fitoussi
This Sunday is Jerusalem Day, which is an apt time to ask where this city, engulfed in bloody struggle from the earliest pagan era to this day, got its name – and how the English “Jerusalem” and the Hebrew “Yerushalaim” evolved from the same ancient word, and where the Arab name “Al-Quds” came from.

Going by the archaeological evidence found so far, Jerusalem was founded about 6,000 years ago, and it may have had roughly that name from the beginning. A city “Rushalimum” is mentioned as an enemy of the pharaoh in an ancient Egyptian list dating from the 19th century BCE, about 4,700 years ago. If it is indeed Jerusalem, it is the earliest reference.

The first sure reference to the city is in the Amarna Letters, an archive of correspondence discovered in Upper Egypt dating from the 14th century BCE, about 2,700 years ago. In those letters, between Egypt and their administrators in Canaan (which Egypt controlled at the time), the name is rendered as “Ursalim”.

But what does the name mean? “Ursalim” is most likely a compound of two words in Western Semitic (a prehistoric language that would later birth Hebrew, Aramaic, Arabic, Ethiopic and more): the verb yaru (“to establish”) and the name Shalim (or Salem), the Canaanite god of dusk.

If accurate, then the name “Ursalim” (and Yerushayalim) would have meant “Shalim’s city” or “Established by Shalim,” indicating that Shalim was the original tutelary deity of the city.

Some claim the root s-l-m in the name Jerusalem refers to “peace,” shalom, not a pagan god. It is possible, but unlikely: if it were the pre-biblical Hebrew word for peace, shalāmu, in the city’s name, it would have produced the name Yerushalom. (Long a sounds became o sounds in all Canaanite languages).

An ultra-Orthodox Jewish man writes some of the last words in a Torah scroll before its completion, March 14, 2010. AP

King David buys a city

While the Bible usually calls the city “Jerusalem,” it is also uses other names, including “City of Jebus” (Judges 19:10) after the Jebusites, who lived in the city before King David allegedly purchased it from their king and made it his capital. This led to another name, “City of David” (e.g., 2 Samuel 5:6).

And there were more: the Temple Mount is called Zion (e.g., 1 Kings 8:1) and Moriah (e.g., Genesis 22:2), both of which came to apply by extension to the city itself. More rarely the names Shalem (Psalms 76:2), Neveh Tzedek (Jeremiah 31:22), and “City of the Great King” (Psalms 48:2) are also used.

Yet another name by which ancient Jerusalem was known, for a while, was Aelia Capitolina. That was the name the Romans gave to the city, after triumphing over the Jewish rebellion led by Bar Kochba in the 2nd century CE. That name derived from Aelius, the Emperor Hadrian’s nomen gentile, and “Capitolina,” referring to the Roman god Jupiter Capitolinus to which they dedicated the city in the year . That name fell into disuse after the Muslim conquest of the city in 632 CE.

A fragment of an ancient tablet welcoming Emperor Hadrian to Jerusalem, October 2014. Photos by Olivier Fitoussi

Enter the Norman Conquest

The pronunciation “Jerusalem”, with a J, is a modern development.

In biblical times, the West Semitic name “Ursalim” evolved into “Yerushalem”. That is roughly how the name was listed in the Greek translation of the Bible, the Septuagint, in the 2nd century BCE – Ierousalḗm.

While this form became fixed in ancient Greek, in Hebrew, the name’s ending changed from Yerusha-lem to Yerusha-laim, which was a common ending in ancient Israelite place names. It isn’t clear when or why this change took place, but it was probably after 500 CE.

Meanwhile, over in Europe, the Greek name Ierousal ḗ m entered Latin as Hierosolyma. That morphed into the Late Latin name Hierusalem, which in turn became Old French Ierusalem.

As French developed from Latin, the language experienced a sound shift. Words starting with the letter “i” started being pronounced with a soft g (like in the word gym). This took place sometime before 500 CE.

In 1066, the Norman Conquest brought this pronunciation to England, in words that came from French and Latin, resulting in a dual use of the letter i. In words of Germanic origin (such as island) the letter was pronounced as a long i, while in words originating from Latin and French, it was pronounced as j, though none of these languages had the letter j yet. So from this point (roughly the 12th century), Jerusalem was pronounced “Jerusalem” but spelled “Ierusalem.”

In the 17th century, the newly invented letter j came over from the continent and Jerusalem began to be spelled in its modern form.

The origin of al-Quds

The difference between Hebrew “Yerushalaim” and English’s “Jerusalem” is tiny compared to the how different they are both from the Arabic name Al-Quds, which has a completely different derivation.

When Muslim armies conquered Jerusalem from the Byzantine Empire in 638, they called it “Iliya,” a shortened version of the ancient Roman name Aelia Capitolina . Another name that began to gain currency after the Muslim conquest was Bayt al-Maqdis, a translation of the Hebrew name of the Jerusalem Temple – Beit HaMikdash (Literally “Holy House”).

Bayt al-Maqdis is quite long and cumbersome, so as of the 9th century, an abbreviated name Al-Quds (“The Holy”), began to supersede the older Arabic names of the city. Today, almost all Muslims call the city Al-Quds, though Israeli law mandates that traffic signs in Arabic call the city Urshalim (as it is known to Christian Arabs) and only have the name “Al-Quds” in brackets.

Ancient map Of Jerusalem by Flemish cartographer Frans Hogenberg, circa 1575.

el lunes, 18 de mayo de 2015.
 
Leave a comment

Posted by on May 18, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

Did Pope Francis Whitewash a Terrorist?

Did Pope Francis Whitewash a Terrorist?

MAY 17, 2015 8:37 PM 37 COMMENTS

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mahmoud Abbas an angel of peace? Really? Could Pope Francis really have called him that.

I respect the Pope. Gosh, everyone respects the Pope. But I’m not Catholic and I’m not bound by any doctrine of papal infallibility.

So let’s look at the record of this “angel of peace.”

Abbas’s career as a merchant of death rather than an angel of peace stretches all the way back to the early 1970s. According to Abu Daoud, the Mastermind of the 1972 Munich Olympic Massacre that left 11 Israeli athletes murdered, Abbas funded the operation. And when Abu Daoud died in 2010, Abbas wrote a letter of condolence to the infamous terrorist’s family saying “He is missed. He was one of the leading figures of Fatah and spent his life in resistance and sincere work as well as physical sacrifice for his people’s just causes.”

He also spent his life murdering Jews.

Over the past ten years Abbas has established a violent and brutal dictatorship in the West Bank. More than a year ago, when Israel, under American pressure, released a gang of terrorists as a precondition for negotiations with the Palestinians, Abbas welcomed the cold-blooded killers home as heroes and called them so explicitly.

Standing before a celebrating welcome-crowd and smiling ear-to-ear, Abbas held up the hand of Issa Abd Rabbo, a man who at the age of 19 tied up and shot two Hebrew University students whose only crime was to go on a hike. And who can forget when, just over a decade ago, during the wave of PA sponsored terror of the Second Intifada, Mahmoud Abbas — then Prime Minister — waited nearly five years before so much as condemning the violence. He only did so in December of 2004, once 700 hundred Israeli civilians had already been blown up on buses, pizza stores, and night clubs.

Mahmoud Abbas, the angel of peace, has had a busy decade, as angels often do. His term as President was supposed to end six years ago. The Pope made no mention of how Abbas abolished Palestinian elections and now rules by dictatorial fiat. The angel of peace has now completely dismantled whatever democratic processes once existed in the PA.

In line with other dictators, this particular angel of peace has scrapped any semblance of freedom of speech from the PA. Journalists who attempt to call him out on his despotic ways are quickly imprisoned. They are officially arrested under the not-very-peaceful pretext of “extending their tongue.”

Though an angel of peace he may be, Abbas is thoroughly corrupt. His predecessor, Yasser Arafat, the godfather of international terrorism, was accused of embezzling billions of dollars of money meant for the Palestinian people, with U.S. officials estimating the man’s personal nest egg between one and three billion dollars. In line with his role model, after whom he named his own son, Abbas has continued this tradition of grand embezzlement.

At a hearing for the House Subcommittee on the Middle East entitled Chronic Kleptocracy: Corruption within the Palestinian Political Establishment, committee Chairman Rep. Steve Chabot (R-OH) claimed that Mahmoud Abbas has used his position “to line his own pockets as well as those of his cohort of cronies, including his sons, Yasser and Tareq… allegedly receiving hundreds of thousands of dollars in USAID contracts.”

According to Muhammad Rashid, Arafat’s economic and financial advisor and head of the Palestinian Investment Fund, Abbas has a net worth of more than $100 million. That’s beside the wealth of his sons, who’ve amassed their personal fortunes through such things as monopolies on imported cigarettes and public works projects.

Another PA official, former Security Minister Mohammed Dahlan, has claimed that $1.3 billion has vanished from the Palestinian Investment Fund since it was turned over to Abbas’ control in 2005. It seems that the angel of peace is also a magician.

The world’s largest recipient of international aid, the Palestinian Authority has received about $8,462,161,328 between 2007 and 2014. At more than $3,000 per capita, and about $428 per capita per year, that’s nearly four times the aid given to Europeans by the Marshall Plan — money that completely rebuilt Europe from the devastation of the Second World War. The deep-seated corruption of the Palestinian Authority is the principal reason that Palestinians continue to suffer economically. Their leaders are ripping them off quite literally.

Rather than an angel of peace, Mahmoud Abbas is just another villainous Middle East dictator who has crushed democracy, stifled popular expression, amassed wealth on the backs of his people, and glorified violence.

In that regard, there are no questions. But for us, in the West, there is one. If Western leaders and intellectuals really care for the rights and welfare of Palestinians, and if they really want to pave a path toward peace – why do they continue to throw their money and support behind an anti-democratic, repressive, thieving, and terrorist-sponsoring dictator like Mahmoud Abbas? Why do they falsely praise him as an angel of peace?

What is truly strange, however, about this bizarre proclamation on the part of the Pope is that you’d think Francis would want to get far away from the amorality of his predecessor Pius XII who refused to even once condemn Hitler or the holocaust through all the years of the Second World War. Francis is popular throughout the world and deservedly so. We do no need another Pope who cannot distinguish between good and evil. We do not need a Pope who lionizes as an “angel of peace” a man who wrote his Ph. D. thesis denying the holocaust.

And the Pope is surely aware of Abbas’s record. We’ve long witnessed the “moderate” Abbas naming public squares after Palestinian terrorists whose hands are dripping with Jewish blood. He posthumously bestowed the “Star of Honor” on Abu Jihad, the mastermind of the 1978 Coastal Road attack where 38 Israelis, including 13 children, were killed, calling him “the model of a true fighter and devoted leader.” In 2011, he named a public square after Dalal Mughrabi, the Palestinian woman who led the attack.

The real record of Mahmoud Abbas is what I witnessed last Thursday night in Nablus. I had come to Israel to speak at the central Jerusalem Day Celebrations at Yeshivat Merkaz Harav, attended by the President and Prime Minister Netanyahu, on Sunday night. But just as I arrived on Thursday I heard of a mid-night excursion into Shechem-Nablus to visit the tomb of Joseph.

It was an unforgettable experience consisting of having to sneak, as Jews, in the dead of night to simply pray. We were protected by more than 1000 soldiers so that we would not be murdered.

Because the true legacy of Abbas is incitement and hatred against Jews and an absolute  denial to live together in peace.

Angel of peace? He is a merchant of death.

Shmuley Boteach, “America’s Rabbi,” whom the Washington Post calls “the most famous Rabbi in America,” is founder of The World Values Network and is the international best-selling author of 30 books, including The Fed-up Man of Faith: Challenging God in the Face of Tragedy and Suffering. Follow him on Twitter @RabbiShmuley.

Segun tomado de, http://www.algemeiner.com/2015/05/17/pope-francis-whitewashes-a-terrorist/

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on May 18, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

La palabra “Cabalá” en hebreo bíblico significa “recibir.”

Recibir

La palabra “Cabalá” en hebreo bíblico significa “recibir.”

En el mundo moderno ha surgido una incansable sed por lo esotérico. Las personas se ven conmovidas y entusiasmadas por aprender más acerca de la sabiduría mística y conocer los secretos ocultos tras la superficie. En este sentido la Cabalá, la disciplina esotérica del judaísmo, ha adquirido gran popularidad en todos los estratos de la sociedad.

Sin embargo, a pesar de la constante búsqueda de esta sabiduría, pocos realmente comprenden cuál es su esencia y verdadero valor:

Nos encontramos celebrando Lag BaOmer, el día en que el máximo exponente de la Cabalá, Rabí Shimon Bar Yojai, autor del sagrado libro del Zohar, abandonó este mundo. Por consiguiente, es un momento ideal para reflexionar en el verdadero significado de la Cabalá.

Para muchos, la palabra “Cabalá” denota “magia”, “misterio”, “misticismo”; sin embargo esas son definiciones superficiales y distorsionadas de la Cabalá. En realidad la palabra “Cabalá” en hebreo bíblico proviene de “Lekabel”, “recibir.” El fundamento primordial de la Cabalá radica en que la persona esté abierta a recibir y aceptar sin juicio o prejuicio alguno cualquier cosa que el Creador hace.

Las personas tenemos nuestras expectativas y queremos que todo suceda de acuerdo a ellas. Un Mekubal es esencialmente un hombre santo, alguien que ha consagrado su existencia a una verdad de carácter absoluto. El Mekubal no vive una vida circunstancial donde cada elemento posee valor de acuerdo a los factores que le rodean; para él la única validez de todo lo que existe es la energía divina que lo crea en cada instante desde la nulidad absoluta.

Mientras que las personas comunes se dedican a criticar la realidad y a luchar contra ella; el Mekubal se entrega a la tarea de desenmascararla, de mirar más profundo. Porque él comprende que todo lo que sucede en el mundo proviene del Creador, y siendo que Él Bendito Sea es la fuente del bien, es obvio que sin importar la realidad aparente, todo lo que ocurre es bueno.

Esta actitud fue personificada ejemplarmente por Rabí Shimon Bar Yojai: el Talmud relata cómo Rabí Shimon tuvo que escapar a una cueva por haber hablado negativamente acerca del gobierno Romano. Mientras otros sabios consideraban los emprendimientos del gobierno dignos de elogio, Rabí Shimon veía claramente que el único impulso detrás de todos sus logros era el ego. En otras palabras: como exponente principal de la Cabalá, Rabí Shimon entendía mejor que nadie que el ser humano debe anular sus expectativas y estereotipos y entregarse completamente a la voluntad y el deseo de su Creador; y por consiguiente él no podía tolerar a aquellos cuyo único incentivo de superarse era su propia expectativa proveniente de su ego.

La vida es impredecible y aquellos que se obsesionan con sus expectativas están destinados a estrellarse con una realidad que desafía sus planes. Quizás la razón de que la Cabalá se haya vuelto tan popular está en que el hombre desea ser feliz y para eso requiere de una visión más interior. En la superficie nos vemos condenados a las circunstancias que nos rodean, pero con la sabiduría mística aprendemos a trascender los valores externos y a observar la esencia divina de cada elemento; así nos damos cuenta de que nada es accidental y que detrás de cada episodio en la vida se esconde un mensaje del Creador, una energía de crecimiento y superación; porque aunque algo aparenta ser malo, “no hay mal que descienda de lo alto;” la razón de que está oscuro no es la falta de luz sino la incapacidad nuestra de identificar la luz.

Si anulamos nuestra percepción y dejamos de juzgar la realidad según nuestras expectativas; si en lugar de enfrentarnos al presente y luchar contra él, tratamos de mirar más profundo y de encontrar el mensaje divino que se oculta en cada situación; entonces aprendemos a recibir. Ese es el mensaje principal de Rabí Shimon Bar Yojai y de la Cabalá.

Constantemente nos quejamos por la manera en que Di-s se comporta; creemos que el hecho de que no sepamos apreciar Su plan indica que Él se equivocó. El mensaje esencial de la Cabalá es que todo lo que el Santo Bendito Sea hace es perfecto, aunque no encaje perfectamente con nuestras expectativas egoístas. Y que si trascendemos las paredes herméticas de nuestra expectativa y observamos más profundo, entonces podemos encontrar la luz oculta en las entrañas de la oscuridad.

POR MOISES WAISBERG
El Rabino Moises Waisberg reside en la ciudad de Panama, dedicado a dar clases de Torá y a la escritura de textos de jasidismo.
© Copyright, todos los derechos reservados. Si te ha gustado este artículo, te animamos a distribuirlo, siempre y cuando cumpla con la política de derechos de autor de Chabad.org.
Segun tomado de, http://www.es.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2942783/jewish/Recibir.htm el viernes, 8 de mayo de 2015.
 
Leave a comment

Posted by on May 8, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

The Bar Kochba revolt: A disaster celebrated by Zionists on Lag Ba’Omer

The Bar Kochba revolt: A disaster celebrated by Zionists on Lag Ba’Omer
On Lag Ba’Omer, Israeli children celebrate the Jewish rebels’ victory over the Romans 2,000 years ago. Yet as victories go, Simon Bar Kochba’s was a Pyrrhic one.
By Elon Gilad | May 6, 2015 | 8:58 AM

Marking Bar Kokhba's Pyrrhic victory over the Romans, on Lag Ba'Omer
Marking Bar Kokhba’s Pyrrhic victory over the Romans, on Lag Ba’Omer

On Lag Ba’Omer, Israeli children light bonfires across Israel, supposedly in celebration of the heroic victory of Simon Bar Kochba over the Roman Empire. This is a modern-day contrivance – earlier generations weren’t inclined to celebrate what amounted to the destruction of Jewish life in Judea for over a millennium.

While many view the Bar Kochba Revolt as a tale of heroism, – it is equally a case study in the folly of religious and nationalistic fanaticism. Either way, it is a seminal moment in Jewish history.

The late Second Temple Period and the century following the destruction of the Temple (from the 2nd century BCE to the 2nd century CE) were a time of apocalyptic fervor for the Jewish people. The lessons of Jewish history had taught – at least, so many believed – that God would intervene on the side of the Jews. Had God not ended the Babylonian Exile and restored the Jerusalem Temple? Had the prophets not promised that a messiah would come and lead the Jews to a new age of righteousness?

These expectations led to a steady stream of would-be messiahs. A partial list includes the Essenes’ Teacher of Righteousness, Hezekiah “the chief bandit,” Simon of Peraea, Athronges, Judas the Galilean, and most famously, Jesus of Nazareth.

Usually, the death of the charismatic leader by the Romans was held as proof that the would-be savior had not been a true messiah, though in some of these cases, followers continued to assert the slain leader’s supernatural nature even after his death.

The destruction of the Second Temple in 70 AD did not allay these expectations, but according to the beliefs at the time, rather served to demonstrate that the time was nigh. And a new crop of would-be messiahs came about, of whom Menahem ben Hezekiah was the most famous, until Simon of Kosevah came along – the man who would become “Bar Kochba”.

Son of a star

We know little personally about Simon-to-be-Bar Kochba, despite the fact that a number of his letters were discovered in 1960. These teach us that he was a strong-willed, charismatic leader, but not much else.

In 132 CE, Simon led a revolt against the Romans. It was not a spontaneous uprising – as the Great Revolt 70 years before had been – but rather a well-planned civil war fought in the Judean hills.

The Jews didn’t need much reason to revolt against their Roman overlords, but the immediate cause for this outbreak of violence seems to have been a pledge by Roman Emperor Hadrian to have the Temple rebuilt, only to change his mind – and order a temple to Jupiter be erected on the Temple Mount instead. Hadrian apparently also prohibited circumcision, never a popular measure among Jews. Banning it, that is.

This was an asymmetric conflict. Simon’s forces could not best the Roman legions in open battle, so they employed guerrilla tactics. The Jewish fighters would hide in the vast, complex tunnel system carved into the soft, chalky bedrock in the build-up to the war, emerge to ambush and raid the regular Roman army, then escape back into their underground labyrinths.

With the support of the Judean populace, Simon and his men succeeded in hitting the Romans hard and recapturing much of Judea.

Whether or not the Judean rebels were able to capture Jerusalem is disputed. In any case, their early success and the establishment of an independent Jewish state led many to proclaim Simon as the messiah.

That is how he got the name Bar Kochba – “son of a star” – a reference to a prophecy in the Book of Numbers: “I shall see him, but not now: I shall behold him, but not nigh: there shall come a Star out of Jacob, and a Sceptre shall rise out of Israel, and shall smite the corners of Moab, and destroy all the children of Sheth” (24:17). His letters however were signed with the name “Simon the Prince” (“HaNasi”).


A stamp of Bar Kokhba, rehabilitated hero in modern Israel. Photo: Wikimedia
The Romans: Not star-struck

The Romans responded with characteristic brutality, marshaling reinforcements from throughout the empire to crush the Jewish revolt.

The war ensuing was massive, even by the Roman scale of doing things: the Romans wielded 12 legions, probably close to 100,000 men, against the rebellious Jews.

Though not as well equipped or trained as the Romans, the Jews of Judea (there is some question whether Jews in the Galilee also participated) had a fighting force more than twice that size. The grueling war would last four brutal years, with massive casualties on both sides.

Eventually the Roman war machine ground down the Jewish resistance, systematically destroying the Jewish towns.

In 136 CE, the beleaguered rebels pulled back to a stronghold southwest of Jerusalem, called Betar.

That is where the revolt, and its leader Simon Bar Kochba, would meet their end.

After a siege, the Roman forces seized the stronghold and slaughtered all they found inside. According to rabbinic sources, the Roman war horses were nostril-deep in rebel blood.

Judea was completely devastated. Hundreds of thousands of Jews were put to the sword, and many more died of famine. Hundreds of towns were destroyed, never to arise anew. Those who survived were sold on the Roman slave market: they numbered so many that the price of a Jewish slave dropped to the price of a horse.

In fact, few Jews remained in Judea at all, and the Roman province was reconstituted into the new province “Syria Palaestina.”

Bar Kochba’s defeat would have a profound effect on the Jewish people.

Judea found itself practically depopulated of Jews, crushing any hope of Jewish independence for nearly 2,000 years. In fact, Jews in the Diaspora did not exactly celebrate Bar Kochba’s heroism: he was instead viewed as a progenitor of the calamity that caused all Jews to be displaced persons for millennia.

Only recently, with the advent of Zionism, had his memory been exhumed as a Jewish hero, a dogged freedom fighter who against all odds, founded a Jewish state. And he did achieve that. But not for very long.

Segun tomado de, http://www.haaretz.com/jewish-world/jewish-world-features/.premium-1.655052 el miércoles, 6 de mayo de 2015.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on May 6, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

David Kimchi’s response to Christianity in his Psalm commentary

David Kimchi’s response to Christianity in his Psalm commentary

Paper by Rabbi Dr Raymond Apple at the Australian Association of Jewish Studies Conference, Sydney, 15 February 2010

Book of Psalms with the commentary of the RaDaK, Frankfurt am Main, 1712

Précis
The Kimchis were a famous medieval family of Judaic scholars, particularly active in Hebrew linguistics, Bible commentary and theological controversy. The three leading names are Joseph b. Isaac (c. 1105-1170) and his sons Moses (d. 1190) and David (c. 1160-1235). David Kimchi, known by the acronym RaDaK, is said to have “eclipsed both his father and elder brother in his scientific achievements” (Hartwig Hirschfeld). RaDaK had an influence on Biblical translations into other languages including English – his “plain sense” (p’shat) commentaries were utilised by the compilers of the Revised Version of the Old Testament, and he is quoted in Boswell’s biography of Dr Johnson. Though he was a teacher of Talmud, his Biblical commentaries are often critical, rationalistic and radical. A modern scholar says, “In this rather daring critical approach, the more scientific background of Spain seems to have prevailed over the more fundamentalist northern strain of the French talmudic schools” (Casper).RaDaK’s exegesis of the Psalms shows a wide acquaintance with Christian beliefs and writings, and offers an important refutation of Christian interpretations, important for the history of Christian-Jewish polemic. Concluding his commentary on Psalm 2 he explains that he has aimed to equip Jews with the ability to handle Christian arguments; his particular concern is to show that the Christians have misread the text and read into it a series of irrational interpretations.

This paper will give a general picture of the Kimchis and their works, followed by an interactive study of Psalm 2 with special reference to the claim that it depicts the struggle of a messianic king to break down opposition to his rule, that it has Jesus in mind when it says, “You are My son: this day have I begotten you”, and that nash’ku var pen ye’enafmeans “kiss the son lest he be angry”, a christological rendering which Kimchi indignantly rejects.

Paper

Sir Francis Galton’s Hereditary Genius (1869) depicts great families in which genius manifested itself over many generations. A Jewish version could be called Z’chut Avot, “Ancestral Merit” or, in the Talmudic expression, Ma’asei Avot Siman L’Banim, “Deeds of the fathers seen in the children” (Sotah 34a). A paradigm example of hereditary genius among Jews may well be the tannaitic family of Judah HaNasi, but the story neither begins nor ends there. It would certainly include the Kimchis, who were towering figures in Jewish scholarship from the 11th to at least the 15th century.

Their name, sometimes spelt under Arabic influence as Kamchi, must have a connection with kemach, which means flour – maybe because some of the family were engaged in the flour or bakery trade; or perhaps metaphorically, since wheat is a symbol of Torah: man needs food for his body and Torah for his soul. The Talmud says, “Everyone needs the supplier of wheat” (Ber. 64a); the sages also aver, “Without kemach there is no Torah” (Avot 3:17). The Talmud records a female name Kimchit, borne amongst others by the mother of seven high priests (Y. Meg. 1:72a).

The Kimchi family spread from Spain to Italy, Turkey, Syria and England, as leaders in Hebrew linguistic and grammar studies, Biblical exegesis and polemics with Christianity. The crucial nucleus of the family genius was seen in a 12th/13th century father and his two sons, all grammarians and exegetes. The father, Joseph ben Isaac Kimchi (RIKaM), lived from 1105-70. The older son, Moses (ReMaK), died about 1190. The younger son, David (RaDaK), was also known as Mai(s)tre Petit and HaS’faradi (The Spaniard), since though he lived in France, he epitomised the Spanish school of interpretation. David was born in Narbonne in about 1160 and died there in 1235.

Joseph paralleled Abraham Ibn Ezra in bringing Hebrew knowledge to Christian Europe. His Hebrew grammars, Sefer HaZikkaron (“A Record Book”) and Sefer HaGalu’i (“An Open Book”) analyses the structure of the Hebrew language, arguing that the study of the Bible is impossible without a knowledge of its linguistic principles. His exegesis, of which we possess only a part, stressed the simple meaning of the text, omitting aggadicfancies. His work on Proverbs was a moral guide that even quoted examples from Arabic literature. His polemical work was Sefer HaB’rit, “The Book of the Covenant”, a dialogue between a ma’amin and a min – a believer and a sectarian. This work was utilised by his son David for the anti-Christian sections of his Psalm commentary.

Moses was erudite in all fields of Jewish literature, but he was not a prolific writer. His Hebrew grammar, which varies some of his father’s linguistic views, was spread by Elijah Levitta, the early 16th century Renaissance grammarian, and reprinted many times. Moses took on responsibility for teaching his brother David who was five years old when their father Joseph died. David became a teacher of Bible and Talmud and an effective preacher. His writing career began at 40, the age at which both Moses and Rabbi Akiva commenced their public activity.

The highlight of David’s linguistic works is his Michlol (“Compendium”), a textbook of Hebrew grammatical history and structure edited by William Chomsky in 1933, which came with a Hebrew dictionary called Shorashim(“Roots”). Chomsky (page 2) calls RaDaK’s grammar “crude and antiquated” and says “digressions and excursions abound”. Hartwig Hirschfeld’s Literary History of Hebrew Grammarians and Lexicographers(1926) says in a more positive appraisal (page 83) that David “eclipsed both his father and his elder brother” and that the work is marked by “thoroughness and critical manner” (page 85). David claims no originality, calling himself “a gleaner after the reapers” who summarised the work of others. Despite Chomsky’s criticisms he says Kimchi shows “an independent treatment… a deep insight” (page 1). Another important linguistic work by Kimchi is his Et Sofer – a guide for Bible copyists.

His exegesis covers Chronicles, Nevi’im, Psalms and Genesis and possibly other Books. He believes that Bible commentary is not merely an academic exercise but a mark of piety. He has a holistic approach to the text, seeing individual words as bricks that make up the overall structure. He is often critical and radical, for example in rationalising the parallels in the text. Where appropriate he uses the aggadah. He reflects the relatively scientific Spanish approach as against what B.M. Casper calls “the more fundamentalist northern strain of the French talmudic schools”. Sometimes he is philosophical, generally following Ibn Ezra and Maimonides. In Maimonidean fashion, for example, he makes individual providence subject to intellectual effort and attainment. In some instances he goes further than Maimonides, e.g. on the possibility of a prophet being a gentile. Immanuel of Rome, however, criticises his philosophical deficiencies.

Not only did he bring Jewish exegesis to his fellow Jews, who found his commentaries next to Rashi and Ibn Ezra in their Hebrew Bibles, but he made it available to the Christian world by medium of Latin and other translations. His influence on Christian Europe may be compared with Rashi, whose interpretations were conveyed to Christian readers through Nicholas de Lyra. Translators and scholars (e.g. S.R. Driver’s work on the Books of Samuel) do not, however, always acknowledge their debt to RaDaK. His influence in England is seen in parts of the King James Version of the Bible and his interpretation of the Psalms is quoted by Boswell in hisLife of Johnson. M.H. Segal calls him “the original fountain-head of Hebrew learning in the Protestant church”. Christians liked his easy Hebrew and his literalist approach.

Our interest in this paper is his anti-Christian polemics, especially in his Psalm commentary. Though aware that Christians would read his work, he was addressing his fellow Jews in the first instance. The rule, “Know how to answer the apikoros (one who denies God and His Torah)” refers to both the Jewish and the gentile apikoros (Avot 2:14; in the parallel text in Sanhedrin 38b Rabbi Yochanan applies it to gentiles, which in this context probably means Christians). At the end of his discussion of Psalm 2, Kimchi says, “I have instructed you what to reply to them” (i.e. the Christians). On Psalm 15 he says, “I have written at length so that you may have a ready answer to the Christians”.

As to which Christians need a reply, he uses the phrase, “If they say to you…”, which indicates conversionists bent on persuading Jews to enter Christianity. It cannot mean today’s form of polite dialogue, which would be anachronistic in the circumstances of the time. Even though RaDaK’s intended audience is Jewish, he allows himself to direct this bitter remark to the Christians: “Because I have put my trust in Him (God), (I) am saved by Him this day while you perish” (commentary to Psalm 2:12).

The censors combed Kimchi’s commentary (as they did to other Jewish works) for anti-Christian material. They deleted what they found, though after his death it was rescued and preserved in a work entitled T’shuvot HaRaDaK LaNotz’rim (“RaDaK’s Answers to the Christians”). He is also credited with writing Vikku’ach (“Refutation”), published in J.D. Eisenstein,Otzar HaVikkuchim. It is supposedly a record of Kimchi’s dialogue with a Christian but the dialogue is probably a literary device and the book is possibly not Kimchi’s work at all.

Kimchi’s anti-Christian views are found mostly in his Psalm commentaries. This is to be explained by the fact that christological reading of the Hebrew scriptures places much emphasis on the Psalms. The New Testament contains more than four hundred Psalm references, generally utilising the Greek versions. Jesus often quotes Psalmistic texts, for example, in Matt. 21:42, the praises known as Hallel. Verses were interpreted as prophecies or descriptions of Jesus’ life and death. Psalm 22 was taken as an indication of the Passion. Psalm 2 was understood as proof that Jesus was the son of God. Psalm 110 was seen as evidence of Jesus as “lord”. The early Church came into being at a time when Jewish preaching was placing emphasis on the K’tuvim (“Writings”) of which the Psalms were a part; the Christian preachers built many homilies on the Psalms, though there was not yet a standard Christian commentary and the preachers probably derived their own lessons from the text without the aid of a normative version to expound.

The Psalms did not assume a regular liturgical role in Christianity until the 3rd century. The monastic movement read or sang the whole Psalter every month, every week or every day. After the Council of Nicea in the 4th century the Psalter became the Church’s hymn book, often by means of metrical versions. Independent hymns were greatly influenced by the Psalms. The Church had its own view of what the texts meant, but Origen, its outstanding translator, was well-read in Hebrew and had many Jewish contacts in Caesarea. Jerome rejected Jewish teaching but also had resort to Hebrew and consulted Jewish scholars and mentions some by name. The result was a paradox – Christians and Jews openly hostile to each other but engaging in intellectual exchange.

Some Christians (certainly including Jewish proselytes to Christianity) remained familiar with Hebrew and had access to Jewish commentary, whilst there were also Jews with the linguistic skills that allowed access to Christian translations. The reciprocal trading of hostile stereotypes is depicted in chapter 6 of Amos Funkenstein, Perceptions of Jewish History, 1993, a chapter with the revealing name, “Polemics, Responses, and Self-Reflection”.

Kimchi was aware of the New Testament and some of the anti-Jewish polemical works. Presumably he had a knowledge of Latin. He must also have had at hand a number of Hebrew summaries of Christian beliefs. He insisted that the Christians deliberately misconstrued the Hebrew and read impossible things into and out of the Hebrew texts. He did not write an anti-Christian tract but attached his polemics to the Biblical text, which helped Jews who were drawn into debate with Christians, whose method was to cite proof-texts and then dispute the Jewish interpretation.

His approach is sharp and unambiguous, though he is generally careful to keep the discussion rational. On occasion he engages his heart as well as his mind, for example on Psalm 15 which refers to not lending money on interest. Recognising the realities of life in a Christian world which excluded Jews from most trades apart from money-lending, Kimchi insists that Jews have a right to charge interest to gentiles “because on the whole the gentiles hate Israel”. Nonetheless the interest charged to a gentile must never be excessive. A medieval Jew could not pretend that he was not hurting, but he was still not ethically permitted to exploit even an oppressor by charging exorbitant interest.

The Hebrew text of Psalm 2, with a translation by myself, accompanies this paper. There are many problems in the text, including the relationship of Psalm 2 to Psalm 1, but we will not be examining those matters which do not appear germane to Kimchi’s anti-Christian polemics. We do, however, need to ascertain the context of the psalm.

The overall theme of the psalm is the struggle of a Divinely-appointed king to establish his authority against hostile rulers. The Hebrew calls the king’s opponents goyyim and le’umim, “nations” and “peoples” – led bymelachim and roz’nim, “kings” and “princes”. One possibility is that this points to a historical event in which tribes or regimes seek to overthrow an actual king, probably David, at the beginning of his reign (see Psalm 89:21-38; II Sam. 5:17 depicts the Philistines opposing David’s assumption of the throne). Others see it as a prophecy of the problems the future Messiah will have in establishing himself. Both approaches are found in Jewish commentary, though Rashi rejects the messianic theory, saying, “Our rabbis expound it as relating to King Messiah, but according to the plain meaning it is proper to interpret it in connection with David”. Some writers see the psalm as a combination of the historical and the messianic.

A third possibility is that the psalm reflects an internal Jewish struggle between a righteous king appointed by God and a group of nobles whose interests are under threat. Samuel Daiches says that “no foreign nations and no foreign kings are mentioned in it. Psalm 2 is… entirely Jewish, that is, it deals only with the land and the people of the Psalmist” (Studies in the Psalms, 1930, page 38).

In considering the third theory, we need not be too concerned by words like kings and princes, since ancient modes of speech use monarchical terms for people of power and substance, e.g. Kohelet 1:1, where “king in Jerusalem” may be merely a substantial land-owner.

Similarly, goyim in verse 1 need not be “nations” but can be haughty, prominent men (cf. Psalm 7:9-10, though verses 8-9 present a problem in this respect); eretz in verse 2 need not be “the earth” but can denote “the land”, i.e. the land of Israel. The reference to world domination need not be taken literally; Gunkel (Die Psalmen, 1905) says the terminology comes from the king-talk of the ancient empires. Note that many other psalms also echo internal tension between the righteous and their opponents.

Kimchi adopts the historical theory: “Some interpret this psalm of Gog and Magog” (who wage war against the Messiah) “but the better explanation is that David uttered it concerning himself… He composed and recited this psalm at the beginning of his reign, when the nations gathered against him”. Whilst Kimchi admits that the messianic theory has support, the introduction to the book warns against regarding the psalms as prophecies. They manifest the Holy Spirit, but this differs from prophecy. Even if the psalm is messianic, Kimchi indignantly refutes the possibility that it can refer to Jesus.

In handling christological interpretations, his responses appear conventional, but we have the advantage of hindsight after many centuries in which the claims he rejects became the stock-in-trade of the conversionists whose tracts tended to be full of quotations and short on scholarship. The following are the christological issues he deals with in interpreting Psalm 2, followed by a selection of additional topics dealt with in other psalms.

Psalm 2 (translation by Raymond Apple)

1. Why do the powerful rage,
The nobles utter worthless rants?

2. The princes of the land set themselves up,
The rulers conspire together
Against the Lord and His anointed.

3. (Saying,) “Let us snap their cords
And throw off their ropes from upon us!”

4. He who sits in heaven laughs –
The Lord mocks them.

5. Then He rebukes them in His anger,
He frightens them in His wrath:

6. “It is I who established My king
On Zion, My holy mountain!”

7. I relate the decree:
The Lord said to me, “You are My son:
This day I have given birth to you.

8. “Ask it of Me,
And I will make the peoples your inheritance,
The ends of the earth your possession.

9. “You shall break them with a rod of iron,
You shall shatter them like an earthern pot.”

10. Now, O princes, be sensible –
Be chastised, O judges of the land.

11. Serve the Lord with awe,
Rejoice with trembling.

12. Worship (Him) in purity,
Lest He be angry, and you perish in the way
When His anger flares up in a moment –

Happy are they who take refuge in Him!

Christological issues

1. God has appointed a king and calls him “My son” (verse 7). Kimchi says no-one can literally be God’s son. Metaphorically, whoever serves God is His son. Israel are called God’s son (Exodus 4:22). Even the stars are called sons of God (Job 38:7).

2. The king is begotten of God (verse 7). Again this cannot be true literally. God is not flesh and blood. “Begotten” is a metaphor and means appointed or anointed.

3. God says, “Ask of Me and I will give the nations for your inheritance” (verse 8). If Jesus is God, how can he ask anything of God? And if God gives the son power, does this not reduce the Almighty’s own power?

4. God intends the king to have power over the world (verse 8). If it means earthly power it cannot apply to Jesus since he was not a political figure. If it means spiritual power, even centuries after his death not all peoples accept him.

5. Even if nash’ku bar (verse 12) means “kiss the son”, the most it indicates is “pay homage (as a servant kisses his master’s hand) to the chosen one (the king)”. Bar can mean to choose, as in I Samuel 17:8. The usual word for son is ben (as in verse 7). Bar is son in Aramaic but the only Biblical instance is Proverbs 31:2. A better translation is “Pay homage in purity”, since bar is pure or clear in other places in the Psalms (e.g. 24:4, 73:1). In any case the verse tells us to worship God, not the son, whoever he may be.

Psalm 7

1. “The congregation of the peoples” (verse 8 ) cannot refer to all mankind because they are so divided; it denotes the twelve tribes of Israel

2. “Return on high” (verse 8 ) is figurative and no proof of God assuming human flesh (Incarnation) or of a second coming.

3. The prayer “Judge me, O Lord” (verse 9) would be in vain if Jesus were Divine; there is no proof that he agreed to be put to death.

Psalm 15

1. The usury rule of the Torah (verse 5) is misunderstood by Christians (see page … above).

2. It is impossible for David to abolish the distinction between Jew and gentile, and to “forbid what Moses our teacher permitted at the command of God”.

3. How does Christianity handle the prohibition of adding to or subtracting from the Torah (Deut. 13:1)?

Psalm 19

1. Since the Torah “endures for ever” (verse 10), how can “the unbelieving Nazarenes”, whose words are “windy, empty and in vain”, say it is valid only until the coming of Jesus?

2. How can the commandments be called allegorical and not to be taken literally, for then they would be uncertain and their meaning would be “too hard… too far off” (Deut. 30:11)?

Psalm 22

1. “My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?” (verse 2) – do the Christians not say that he agreed to be sacrificed?

2. If Jesus is God, how can he complain that God has not answered or saved him?

Psalm 110

1. “The Lord said to my lord” (verse 1) – if Jesus is “lord”, how can God speak to God? The second “lord” here refers to David.

2. “Sit at My right hand” (verse 1) – if the Father and Son are God then they do not need to regard each other as companions nor do they need each other’s help.

Jewish exegesis became part of Judaism. The sages say: “What is Torah? The interpretation of Torah” (Kidd. 49b). What enabled Biblical interpretation to determine Jewish teaching was the hermeneutical rules (with a version inserted in the prayer book), which laid down the rules of exegesis. If an interpretation seemed problematical, a commentator could be asked, “Is yours a valid way of handling the text?”

Though Christian exegetes used the Hebrew scriptures as grounding for belief in Jesus, they seemed to draw on other cultures and to lack hermeneutical norms. They might have said they were not bound by the rules of Jewish interpretation – though they knew and sometimes applied them – and preferred a process of adaptation and allegorisation. C.H. Dodd saw in the New Testament “an original, coherent and flexible method of exegesis”. F.F. Bruce wrote of “a coherent Christian exegesis of self-contained sense units”. Kimchi remained unconvinced, as did other Jewish interpreters. His biographer, Frank Talmage, thinks that to some extent Kimchi’s negative view of Midrash may be motivated by the anti-Jewish use of midrashic method by Christian preachers.

Kimchi’s work is part of nearly two thousand years of theological bickering between Christianity and Judaism. The bickering was generally acrimonious but at times good-natured. It took three main forms. Disputations weighted in advance towards the Christian participants took place in various European countries. There were literary polemics such as Profiat Duran’s sarcastic Al Tehi KaAvotecha and his K’limat HaGoyyim and Yomtov Lipmann of Muhlhausen’s Nitzachon, a sober analysis of Christian doctrine. A more limited agenda drove scholars such as RaDaK who responded to Christian interpretations of scriptural passages and argued that Christianity distorted the texts. Kimchi was followed by several other such works, notably Chizzuk Emunah (“Faith Strengthened”) by the 16th century Karaite, Isaiah ben Abraham of Troki, which was not printed until 1705 but circulated in the meantime in manuscript, and Hermann Adler’sCourse of Sermons (1869), which is calm and rational but minces no words.

Troki’s work was translated into English by Moses Mocatta and printed in 1851, with a reprint in 1971. Adler’s book was never reprinted, perhaps in order not to undermine Jewish integration into British society. It may also be because the late 19th century agenda had broader concerns – not simply Biblical verses but the nature of the Jewish people. Even today when dialogue and co-operation are back on the agenda, the way to read scriptural texts is a limited side issue of interest mainly to preachers and proselytisers. Modern Biblical scholarship tends to reject the old christological interpretations. The debate continues to focus on other issues, especially Zionism and Israel. There are Jewish handbooks that use Kimchi-like material to rebut the Biblical “proofs” used by the street-corner missionaries, and these books echo Kimchi in their contents and approach, but Kimchi has become a mere chapter in history.

Según tomado de, http://www.oztorah.com/2010/02/david-kimchis-response-to-christianity-in-his-psalm-commentary/ el viernes, 1 de mayo de 2015.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on May 1, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

Exodus in the Bible and the Egyptian Plague

Exodus in the Bible and the Egyptian Plagues

Can we make sense of the Biblical plagues?

Read Ziony Zevit’s article “Three Ways to Look at the Ten Plagues” as it originally appeared in Bible Review, June 1990. The article was first republished in Bible History Daily in July 2011.—Ed.


Exodus in the Bible and the Egyptian Plagues

The Book of Exodus in the Bible describes ten Egyptian plagues that bring suffering to the land of pharaoh. Are these Biblical plagues plausible on any level? In the following article, “Three Ways to Look at the Ten Plagues,” Ziony Zevit looks at these Biblical plagues from various vantage points. There’s something unique about these Egyptian plagues as presented in Exodus in the Bible. They’re different from the curses to Israelites as mentioned in Leviticus. Some have connected the Egyptian plagues to natural phenomena that were possible in ancient Egypt. Torrential rains in Ethiopia could have sent red clay (“blood”) into the Nile, which could have caused a migration of frogs, further causing lice and flies, which caused the death of cattle and human boils. A second set of meteorological disasters, hailstorms (the seventh of the Biblical plagues) and locusts, may have been followed by a Libyan dust storm—causing darkness.Many of the Egyptian plagues could also be interpreted as “attacks against the Egyptian pantheon,” Zevit notes. Many of the Egyptian plagues mentioned in Exodus in the Bible have some correlation to an Egyptian god or goddess. For example, Heket was represented as a frog and Hathor as a cow. An ancient Egyptian “Coffin Text” refers to the slaying of first-born gods.

A third way to look at the Biblical plagues is by asking, “why ten?” Ultimately the plagues served to increase the faith of the surviving Israelites. On this count ten could be connected to the ten divine utterances of the creation account of Genesis 1. In relating the ten Egyptian plagues, the Exodus in the Bible could represent a parallel account of liberation, affecting all aspects of the created world.

In the free eBook Ancient Israel in Egypt and the Exodus, top scholars discuss the historical Israelites in Egypt and archaeological evidence for and against the historicity of the Exodus.

Three Ways to Look at the Ten Plagues
Were they natural disasters, a demonstration of the impotence of the Egyptian gods or an undoing of Creation?by Ziony Zevit

When the enslaved Israelites sought to leave Egypt, Pharaoh said no. The Lord then visited ten plagues upon the Egyptians until finally Pharaoh permanently relented—the last of the plagues being the slaying of the first-born males of Egypt. Some of the plagues are the type of disasters that recur often in human history—hailstorms and locusts—and therefore appear possible and realistic. Others, less realistic, border on the comic—frogs and lice. Still others are almost surrealistic—blood and darkness—and appear highly improbable.

Many questions have been raised about the plagues on different levels. Some questions are naturalistic and historical: Did the plagues actually occur in the order and manner described in Exodus? Are there any ancient documents or other types of evidence corroborating that they took place or that something like them took place? Can the less realistic and surrealistic plagues be explained as natural phenomena? Other questions are literary and theological: Is the plague narrative a hodgepodge of sources pasted together by ancient editors (redactors)? What is the origin of the traditions in the extant plague narrative? What is the meaning of the narrative in its biblical context? Beyond the obvious story, did the plague narrative have any theological implications for ancient Israel?

My research has not provided answers to all these questions, but it will, I believe, provide some new insights.

For centuries exegetes have been struggling with the order, the number and the meaning of the plagues. As early as the medieval period, Jewish commentators noticed certain patterns in the narrative that reflected a highly organized literary structure. In the 12th century, a rabbi known as the Rashbam (Rabbi Samuel ben Meir),1 who lived in northern France, recognized that only certain plagues were introduced by warnings to Pharaoh, while others were not. To appreciate the pattern, divide the first nine plagues into three groups each; in the first two of each group, Pharaoh is warned that if he does not let the Israelites go, the plague will be visited on the Egyptians; in the third plague of each group, the plague strikes without warning.

In the 13th century Bahya ben Asher2 and in the 15th century Don Isaac Abravanel3 noted a certain repetitive pattern in who brought on the plagues. The first three plagues are brought on by Moses’ brother Aaron, who holds out his staff as the effective instrument (Exodus 7:19; 8:1; 8:12).a In the next group of three, the first two are brought on by God and the third by Moses (Exodus 8:20: 9:6; 9:10). In the last group of three the plagues are brought on by Moses’ holding out his arm with his staff (Exodus 9:22–23; 10:12–13; 10:21 [the last without mention of his staff]).

These patterns indicate that the plague narrative is a conscientiously articulated and tightly wrought composition.

Taking the plagues as a whole, however, it is clear that they differ considerably from the curses with which the Israelites are threatened in the so-called curse-lists of Leviticus and Deuteronomy. In the curse-lists, the Lord tells the Israelites what will happen to them if they do not obey the Lord’s laws and commandments, if they breach the covenant. They will suffer, according to Leviticus, terror, consumption, fever, crop failure, defeat at the hands of their enemies, unnecessary fear; wild beasts will consume their children and cattle; they will die by the sword; they will be so hungry that they will eat the flesh of their children and, in the end, go into exile (Leviticus 26:14–26). Similarly in the augmented list of curses in Deuteronomy 28:15–60, they will suffer confusion, consumption, inflammation, madness, blindness, social chaos, military defeat, etc.

The maledictions in the curse-lists of Leviticus and Deuteronomy have been shown to be part of a stock of traditional curses employed during the biblical period in the geographical area extending from Israel to ancient Mesopotamia. Not only are they attested in the Torah (the Five Books of Moses), but also in the prophets; they also appear in the “curse” sections of contemporaneous ancient Near Eastern treaties.4These “curses” reflect the kinds of things that could, and probably did, happen in this geographical area as a result of natural or humanly-impose calamities. True there is some overlap between these curses and the plagues. Dever (pestilence) occurs both in the Egyptian plagues and in the curse lists of Leviticus. 26:25 and Deuteronomy 28:21. “Boils” occurs in the curse list of Deuteronomy 28:35 while a locust-like plague is mentioned in. Deuteronomy 28:42. Nevertheless, in the Pentateuchal curse lists, the Israelites—on their way to the Promised land—are threatened with disasters they might expect in the ecological system of the land to which they were headed, not those of the land of Egypt from which they were fleeing.

The plagues visited on the Egyptians are quite different.5 To understand their significance we should focus on Egypt in particular rather than the ancient Near East as a whole.

Exodus in the Bible and the Egyptian Plagues

The most sophisticated attempt to relate the Egyptian plagues to natural phenomena does so in terms of Egypt’s ecosystem. According to this interpretation, the first six plagues can even be explained in their sequential order: The naturalistic account is connected initially with the violent rain storms that occur in the mountains of Ethiopia. The first plague, blood, is the red clay swept down into the Nile from the Ethiopian highlands. The mud then choked the fish in the area inhabited by the Israelites. The fish clogged the swamps where the frogs lived; the fish, soon infected with anthrax, caused the frogs (the second plague) to leave the Nile for cool areas, taking refuge in people’s houses. But, since the frogs were already infected with the disease, they died in their new habitats. As a consequence, lice, the third plague, and flies, the fourth plague, began to multiply, feeding off the dead frogs. This gave rise to a pestilence that attacked animals, the fifth plague, because the cattle were feeding on grass which by then had also become infected. In man, the symptom of the same disease was boils, the sixth plague.

A second sequence of plagues, according to this explanation, is related to atmospheric and climatic conditions in Egypt. Hailstorms, the seventh plague, came out of nowhere. Although not common, hailstorms do occur rarely in Upper Egypt and occasionally in Lower Egypt during late spring and early fall. In this reconstruction, the hailstorm was followed by the eighth plague, locusts, a more common occurrence. The ninth plague, darkness, was a Libyan dust storm.6

The final plague, the death of the first-born, although not strictly commensurate with the other plagues, can be explained in ecological terms. It may be a reflection of the infant mortality rate in ancient Egypt.7 There is a problem with this explanation, however. According to the biblical narrative, the tenth plague struck all first-born males of whatever age, not just new-born infants.

This ecological explanation of the plagues does not prove that the biblical account is true, but only that it may have some basis in reality. As indicated, it also has weaknesses: The ecological chain is broken after the sixth plague, there being no causality between the plague of boils (the sixth plague) and the hail. The chain is again broken between the ninth and tenth plagues. In addition, there is no real link between the plagues in the seventh-eighth-ninth sequence (hail-locusts-darkness). Nevertheless, this explanation does firmly anchor the first six plagues in the Egyptian ecosystem, just as the curse-lists in the Torah reflect real conditions in the Land of Israel.

Exodus in the Bible and the Egyptian Plagues

Moreover, two ancient Egyptian texts provide additional support. One is relevant to the first plague, blood. In “The Admonitions of Ipu-Wer,” dated at the latest to 2050 B.C.E., the author describes a chaotic period in Egypt: “Why really, the River [Nile] is blood. If one drinks of it, one rejects (it) as human and thirsts for water.”8

The second text, known as “The Prophecy of Nefer-Rohu” dates towards the beginning of the Middle Kingdom, about 2040–1650 B.C.E.; it relates to the ninth plague, darkness: “The sun disc is covered over. It will not shine (so that) people may see … No one knows when midday falls, for his shadow cannot be distinguished.”9

The ten plagues may also be interpreted as a series of attacks against the Egyptian pantheon. This suggestion finds support in Numbers 33:4 where we are told that the Egyptians buried those who had died by the tenth plague, by which plague “the Lord executed judgments againsttheir gods.”


Watch full-length lectures from the Out of Egypt: Israel’s Exodus Between Text and Memory, History and Imagination conference, which addressed some of the most challenging issues in Exodus scholarship. The international conference was hosted by Calit2’s Qualcomm Institute at UC San Diego in San Diego, CA.


According to this suggestion, the plague of blood (No. 1) was directed against the god Khnum, creator of water and life; or against Hapi, the Nile god; or against Osiris, whose bloodstream was the Nile. Frogs (No.2) was directed against Heket, a goddess of childbirth who was represented as a frog. The pestilence against cattle (No. 5) might have been directed against Hathor, the mother and sky goddess, represented in the form of a cow; or against Apis, symbol of fertility represented as a bull. Hail (No. 7) and locusts (No. 8 ) were, according to this explanation, directed against Seth, who manifests himself in wind and storms; and/or against Isis, goddess of life, who grinds, spins flax and weaves cloth; or against Min, who was worshiped as a god of fertility and vegetation and as a protector of crops. Min is an especially likely candidate for these two plagues because the notations in Exodus 9:31 indicate that the first plague came as the flax and barley were about to be harvested, but before the wheat and spelt had matured. A widely celebrated “Coming out of Min” was celebrated in Egypt at the beginning of the harvest.10 These plagues, in effect, devastated Min’s coming-out party.Darkness (No. 9), pursuing this line of interpretation, could have been directed against various deities associated with the sun—Amon-Re, Aten, Atum or Horus.

Finally, the death of the firstborn (No. 10) was directed against the patron deity of Pharaoh, and the judge of the dead, Osiris.

Additional data from Egyptian religious texts clarifies the terrifying tenth plague. The famous “Cannibal Hymn,” carved in the Old Kingdom pyramid of Unas at Saqqara, about 2300 B.C.E., states: “It is the king who will be judged with Him-whose-name-is-hidden on that day of slaying the first born.” Variations of this verse appear in a few Coffin Texts, magic texts derived from royal pyramid inscriptions of the Old Kingdom and written on the coffins of nobility of the Middle Kingdom, about 2000 B.C.E. For example, “I am he who will be judged with Him-whose-name-is-hidden on that night of slaying the first born.”11Although the first-born referred to in the Coffin Text and probably also in the “Cannibal Hymn” are the first-born of gods, these texts indicate that an ancient tradition in Egypt recalled the slaying of all or some of the first-born of gods on a particular night.12

Assuming that some form of this pre-Israelite Egyptian tradition was known during the period of the enslavement, it may have motivated the story of the final plague. However, in the biblical story, he who revealed his hidden name to Moses at the burning bramble bush revealed himself as the Him-whose-name-is-hidden of the Egyptian myth, and alone slew the first-born males of Egypt. In this final plague, then, there was no conflict between the Lord and an Egyptian deity; rather through this plague the triumphant god of Israel fulfilled the role of an anonymous destroyer in a nightmarish prophecy from the Egyptian past.

One weakness in interpreting the plagues solely as a religious polemic against Egyptian gods, however, is that some of the plagues are unaccounted for; and not all of the plagues can be conveniently matched up with Egyptian gods or texts. Specifically, divine candidates are lacking for the third, fourth and sixth plagues—lice, flies and boils. Even if scratching through Egyptian sources might produce some minor candidates that could fill these lacunae, there is another difficulty with the religious polemic interpretation. The Egyptian material on which this interpretation rests comes from different times and different places. The extant data do not enable us to claim that the perception of the pantheon presented above was historically probable in the Western Delta during the 14th–12th centuries B.C.E. when and where Israelites became familiar with it. Nevertheless, despite these difficulties, the Egyptian material describing links between Egyptian deities and natural phenomena does provide us with some insights into the way the plagues were intended to be understood.

Another line of interpretation, however, results from Posing the questions: Why ten plagues? Why these ten plagues?

According to Exodus 7:4–5, the function of the plagues is didactic: “I will lay my hands upon Egypt and deliver hosts, my people, the Israelites, from the land of Egypt with great acts of judgment. And the Egyptians shall know that I am God when I stretch out my hand against Egypt.” Despite the reference to the Egyptians learning a lesson—namely, the Lord’s power—it seems clear that the real beneficiaries of the plagues were not intended to be Egyptians. If the education of the Egyptians was the reason for the plagues, the lesson was certainly lost on the intended beneficiaries. The true beneficiaries of the lesson that God said he would teach were the Israelites. As we read in Exodus 14:31: “When Israel saw the mighty act [literally ‘hand/arm’] which the Lord had done in Egypt, the people feared the Lord, and they believed in the Lord and in his servant Moses.”

What ignited the faith of the Israelites was not their physical redemption from Egypt, but rather “the mighty act which the Lord had done in Egypt”—that is, the plagues.

What was there about the plagues that triggered Israel’s response in faith? Through the plagues the Lord demonstrated that he was the God of creation. As we examine the narrative closely, we will see how this notion is conveyed.

The first plague, blood, is described in Exodus 7:19. There we are told that Aaron is to take his staff and hold it over all of Egypt’s bodies (or gatherings) of water and they will become blood. The Hebrew word for “bodies” or “gatherings” of water is mikveh. This is the same word that appears in the opening chapters of Genesis when God creates the seas: “God called the dry land Earth, and the gatherings (mikveh) of waters He called Seas. And God saw that it was good” (Genesis 1:10). The use of the word mikveh in Exodus 7:19 in connection with the plague of blood cannot fail to evoke an association with the creation of the seas in Genesis 1:10 and indicates the cosmic import of the plague. Similarly, the expression in Exodus 7:19 “Let them become blood” echoes the use of “Let there be(come)” in the creation story in Genesis.

However, in contrast to the creation, where the primeval waters are not altered by a creative act, the first plague demonstrates that God is able to change the very nature of things.

Plagues two, three and four—frogs, lice and flies—form an interesting triad. The frogs are associated withwater, the lice with earth, and the flies with air. Frogs, we are told, came out of the “rivers, the canals, and the ponds of Egypt” (Exodus 8:1). In Exodus, the Nile swarmed with frogs which then covered all the land (Exodus 7:28–29), while in Genesis God says, “Let the waters swarm with swarms of living creatures” (Genesis 1:20). Understood against the background of Genesis, the frog plague in Egypt was a new creation of life, although not a beneficent one.

Similarly, with lice (the third plague) that came forth from the dust of the earth (Exodus 8:12–13). The lice correspond to the crawling creatures (remes) that come forth from the earth in Genesis 1:24.

Flies (the fourth plague) correspond to the flying creatures; in Genesis God orders that “flying creatures multiply in the land” (Genesis 1:22). In Egypt, the flies not only multiplied in the land, they filled the land. After the fly plague the situation in Egypt was a complete reversal of the one anticipated by the divine blessing to mankind in Genesis 1:28, where God tells man to “Rule the fish of the sea, the winged creatures of the heavens, and all living creatures which creep on the earth.” In Egypt, these creatures were totally out of control.


Was Moses more than an Exodus hero? Discover the Biblical Moses in “The Man Moses” by Peter Machinist, originally published in Bible Review and now available for free in Bible History Daily.


The fifth plague (pestilence) affected only animals, not men; and only the field animals of the Egyptians, not those of the Israelites (Exodus 9:3–7). In Genesis 2:18–20 the animals are created specifically for man. In the plague of pestilence, the domestic animals that were under man’s dominion were taken away from the Egyptians. That which was first created for man was first removed from the Egyptians by the firstplague directed specifically against created things.The sixth plague, boils, is the only one that does not fit easily into the pattern I have been describing. Perhaps it should be understood against the background of the Torah’s laws of purity: A person afflicted with boils is ritually unclean (Leviticus 13:18–23). This is complemented by the stringent demands of Egyptian religion during the New Kingdom, about 1550–1080 B.C.E., concerning the ritual and physical purity requited of priests before entering a sanctuary.13 Egyptians considered themselves superior to other peoples. Pharaoh himself was a god and his officers were priests. Perhaps the image of these superior, “holier than thou” individuals suffering from boils, a painful and unaesthetic affliction, was humorous to the Israelites and was considered a barb against Egyptian religion.

The next two plagues, hail and locusts involve the destruction of another part of creation, primarily vegetation. What was not destroyed by the hail was consumed by the locusts. When these two plagues had run their course, Egypt could be contrasted to the way the world appeared after the third day of creation: “The land brought forth vegetation: seed bearing fruit with seed in it” (Genesis 1:12). By contrast, in Exodus 10:15 we are told that “nothing green was left of tree or grass of the field in all the land of Egypt.”

Perhaps the most misunderstood of all the plagues is darkness, the ninth plague. In Exodus 10:21–23 we read that a thick darkness descended upon all the land of Egypt for three days. “People could not see one another, and for three days no one could get up from where he was; but all the Israelites enjoyed light in their dwellings” (Exodus 10:23). What is described here is not simply the absence of light. The darkness is something physical, “a darkness that can be touched” (Exodus 10:21b). The alternation of light and darkness, of day and night, has ceased. Yet darkness and light exist side by side in geographically distinct places. The Israelites did have light. In short, in Egypt, God had reverted the relationship between darkness and light to what had been prior to the end of the first day of creation—that is, to the state that existed briefly between Genesis 1:4 and Genesis 1:5.

The final plague, the death of the first-born, is only a forerunner to the complete destruction of all the Egyptians at the Red Sea, or Reed Sea.b Here we hear a twisted, obverse echo of the optimism expressed in Genesis 1:26, where God said, “I will make man in my image and after my likeness.” Instead of creating, he is destroying—first, the first-born, and then, at the sea, all of Egypt.

Exodus in the Bible and the Egyptian Plagues

At the end of the narrative in Exodus, Israel looks back over the stilled water of the sea at a land with no people, no animals and no vegetation, a land in which creation had been undone. Israel is convinced that her redeemer is the Lord of all creation. It is this implicit theological principle that motivated the explicit creation of the literary pattern. He who had just reduced order to chaos was the same as he who had previously ordered the chaos.

One question still remains. What is the significance of the number ten in the Exodus tradition? Why ten plagues? The answer, I believe, is clear. The number of plagues in Exodus was meant to correspond to the ten divine utterances by which the world was created and ordered (Genesis 1:3, 6, 9, 11, 14, 20, 24, 26, 28, 29).14 The destruction of Egypt was part of the redemption of Israel, so the Exodus narrator tied his story of redemption to the story of creation through subtle echoes and word plays.15

Interestingly enough, there are two other accounts of the plagues in the Bible, one in Psalm 78:44–51 and the other in Psalm 105:28–36. These psalms differ somewhat between themselves; they also differ with the narrative in Exodus—regarding what constitutes a plague and the order in which they occurred.16 These differences can be taken to indicate that the specific number and order of the plagues was less important to Israel than the fact of the plagues and what was revealed to Israel through them.

For the psalmists, authors of liturgical texts, there were only seven plagues, a number clearly evoking the seven days of creation. In Egypt, however, the cycle did not end in a Sabbath; it culminated in a silent devastation. At the end of the seventh day (plague), creation in Egypt had been undone.

This tangle of threads—creation, on the one hand, and deliverance from slavery, on the other—is gathered together and neatly knotted in the Sabbath commandment of the Ten Commandments. In the Ten Commandments as set forth in Exodus, the motivation for observing the sabbath (the fifth commandment) is to commemorate creation: “Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath of the Lord your God: You shall not do any work … for in six days the Lord made heaven and earth and sea, and all that is in them, and he rested on the seventh day” (Exodus 20:9–11). In the Ten Commandments as set forth in Deuteronomy, however, the reason Israel is commanded to observe the sabbath is different—not creation, but the delivery from Egyptian slavery. After being told to refrain from work on the sabbath—in the same language as in Exodus—the reason is given: “Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt and the Lord your God freed you from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm [a reference to the plagues]; therefore the Lord your God has commanded you to observe the sabbath day” (Deuteronomy 5:15).

As we have already noted, Psalms 78 and 105 preserve a tradition of seven plagues. In the Ten Commandments in Exodus 20, Israel is told to remember the seventh-day sabbath to commemorate the six-day creation; in Deuteronomy 5, Israel is to observe the seventh-day sabbath to commemorate the deliverance from Egyptian slavery by God’s outstretched arm involving, according to the tradition in the Psalms, seven plagues.

This explanation of the plagues and their number also answers some historical questions concerning the biblical tradition of the ten plagues:

1. The plague tradition includes calamitous events that do not derive from experiences in the Land of Israel; this establishes a prima facie case that the tradition has roots in an ecological system unknown to the Israelites living in their own land.

2. An Egyptian milieu not only provides a basis for explaining the plagues in terms of natural phenomena, it also allows us plausibly to link at least some of the sequences of plagues.

These two points lead me to conclude that a historical kernel must underlie the Egyptian plague traditions preserved in the Bible.

3. We can speculate a bit further: perhaps a series of natural disasters occurred in Egypt in a relatively short period of time. Egyptian religion would have had to explain it. A link between these disasters and various Egyptian deities (expressing their displeasure) formed.17 No matter how Egyptians interpreted these disasters, Israelites could have accepted the notion that they were divinely caused but would have viewed them as contests between their patron and the gods of Egypt, the result of which were judgments against the gods of Egypt and their earthly representatives.18 Trace of this stage in the development of the tradition can be found in the Biblical narrative. During this, the interpretative stage, the plagues were theologized, providing cosmic meaning to the natural phenomena even as they were removed from the realm of what we would call “nature.”

4. The Plague traditions, which were maintained orally by the Israelites until some time after the establishment of the monarchy, continued to be reworked in the land of Israel. There, far from the ecological context of Egypt, some phenomena natural in Egypt would have appeared incomprehensible to them and even fantastic, inviting imaginative embellishment.

The Israelite traditors, those who passed on the tradition, were no longer familiar with the Egyptian cultural milieu in which the disasters had been theoligized and made meaningful by their ancestors. Thesetraditors, therefore, made them meaningful within their own world view by connection the plagues, which initiated the emergence of Israel as a covenant community, with the creation of the world.

Segun tomado de, http://www.biblicalarchaeology.org/daily/biblical-topics/exodus/exodus-in-the-bible-and-the-egyptian-plagues/?mqsc=E3795714&utm_source=WhatCountsEmail&utm_medium=BHD+Daily%20Newsletter&utm_campaign=E5T430  el jueves, 30 de abril de 2015.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on April 30, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

Surprising Facts about the Jews of Mexico.

Surprising Facts about the Jews of Mexico

Surprising Facts about the Jews of Mexico

Mexico boasts a thriving Jewish community with roots that go back 500 years.

by

Some of the most vibrant Jewish neighborhoods in North America exist “South of the Border” in Mexico, where over 40,000 Jews have created a close-knit, distinct community.

Here are some surprising facts about North America’s least-known Jewish centers.

Early Jewish Haven

When Hernan Cortés first conquered Mexico for Spain in 1521, he did so with a number of secret Jews amongst his men. Judaism was banned at the time in Spain, and soon many secret Spanish Jews departed for “Nueve Espana in the New World to try and live a more Jewish life. In fact, Spain’s first Viceroy in Mexico, Antonio de Mendoza, possessed a Jewish surname, and historians suggest he was possibly one of the secret Jews who moved to the new territory.

King Phillip II of Spain soon established the Kingdom of Nuevo Leon in Mexico (and parts of what is today Texas), and appointed Don Luis de Carvajal – a well-known Portuguese-Spanish nobleman who was born to Jewish converses, or forced converts – as Governor of the new territory. Carvajal welcomed both Jews and Catholics into his land. His nephew, Louis Rodriguez Carvajal, embraced his Jewish identity in the new kingdom, and encouraged other secret Jews to do the same.

Inquisition in Mexico

The Spanish Inquisition, which forbade any Jewish practice, spread to Mexico in 1571. Many of the new territory’s Jews fled to neighboring Peru: Jews who chose to remain faced torture and execution if it was ever found that they continued to practice their faith.

Some of the earliest victims of the Mexican Inquisition were the family of the Governor Louis de Carvajal. His sister Francisca was arrested on charges of being a Jew, tortured, and burned at the stake, along with four of her children – Isabel, Catalina, Leonor, and Luis – in 1596; another of her sons, Luis, committed suicide in prison rather than face more torture. In 1601, another of Francisca Carvajal’s daughters, Mariana, was burned at the stake for the crime of being Jewish as well. Governor de Carvajal himself was arrested on charges of practicing Judaism, and died in prison 1595.

Jews were soon pursued throughout Mexico. “Suspicious” activities that could brand someone a Jew included bathing on a Friday and afterwards putting on clean clothes; draining and disposing of blood after slaughtering a bird to eat; fasting on Yom Kippur; eating tortillas (which are unleavened) during Passover; and circumcising sons. Anyone guilty of these “crimes” faced drastic punishments including torture, imprisonment, forced wearing of a sanbenito, a knee-length yellow gown, or a dunce-cap, and execution. (Visitors to the Zocalo, the main plaza in the center of Mexico City today, might be unaware that this was the main location where generations of Jews were publicly burned at the stake for the “crime” of being Jewish.)

By the time the Inquisition was abolished in Mexico in 1821, approximately 100 Jews had been killed, and many more imprisoned.

Cinco de Mayo, the Struggle for Mexican Independence, and Mexico’s Jews

Cinco de Mayo celebrates the Battle of Puebla, when a small Mexican force led by General Ignacio Zaragoza Seguin defeated a much larger French army, on May 5, 1862. (The area of Puebla might have been home to a thriving secret Jewish community of its own; see the section on Jewish-Mexican food, below.)

Despite this victory, French forces went on to conquer Mexico, and set up the short-lived Second Mexican Empire. In 1864, Emperor Maximilian I declared himself ruler and though he never consolidated his reign over all of Mexico, the short-lived monarch did make one remarkable change in Mexico: he issued an edict of religious tolerance, and invited German Jews to settle in Mexico. When Maximilian was deposed and executed in 1867, his successor, Mexican nationalist President Benito Juarez, continued to enforce a separation of Church and State, ensuring that Mexico remained a haven for Jewish immigrants.

Jewish refugees began to pour into Mexico. Ashkenazi Jews fleeing pogroms in Russia and Eastern Europe came in the 1880s, establishing Mexico’s first synagogue, in Mexico City, 1885. Sephardi Jews soon followed, fleeing persecution in the crumbling Ottoman Empire, and finding a new home in Mexico. (Sephardi Jews had an added incentive to immigrate to the new nation; they spoke Ladino, a Spanish-derived Jewish dialect that helped them feel at home in Spanish-speaking Mexico.)

Lithuania, Damascus and Aleppo in Mexico City

Mexico’s oldest standing synagogue is the Sephardi Synagogue, built in 1923 in the heart of Mexico City, at 83 Justo Sierra Street. Although the Jewish community has long since moved to the suburbs, Jews who work downtown still frequent the congregation during the working week. Down the street is Mexico’s first Ashkenazi synagogue, Justo Sierra, built in 1941 as a replica of a magnificent Lithuanian synagogue; builders worked from a photograph, copying the ornate details faithfully. Now a cultural center, it is the only Mexican synagogue that is open to the public. Fear of crime and terrorism haunt Mexico’s Jews, making them highly security-conscious and wary of maintain the safety and security of their synagogues and other communal buildings.

Today’s Mexican Jewish community is tightly-knit, and contains several distinct strands: two separate Syrian communities thrive, each with their own traditions, from Aleppo and Damascus. Ashkenazi Jews maintain the traditions they brought with them from Eastern Europe. Another group of Mexican Sephardi Jews hails from the Balkans, and keeps those memories alive through family recipes and customs. Finally, a fifth group has made its mark on Mexico’s Jewish community in recent years: immigrants from the United States, who call Mexico home now and have brought their own distinct traditions from North of the Border to Mexico.

Jew-Mex: Jewish-Mexican Cuisine

A few of Mexico’s best-known dishes turn out to have surprising Jewish origins. Bunuelos, the quintessential Mexican winter holiday dish of golden, deep-fried balls of cheese-infused dough, originated as a Sephardi Hanukkah dish: the oil used the fry these savory snacks was originally meant to invoke the oil used to miraculously light the Menorah in the Temple during the first Hanukkah.

Some theorize that the springtime Mexican dish Capirotada – a rich bread pudding infused with sweet cheese and drenched in syrup – also originated with Mexican Jews, as a way of disguising their consumption of unleavened bread during Passover.

Pan de Semita, the iconic sesame-seed-studded roll of Mexico’s Puebla region (the area where the Battle of Puebla, celebrated in Cinco de Mayo celebrations), has been linked to secret Jews who possibly ate it as an unleavened alternative to regular bread during Passover. Another iconic Mexican regional dish – roast suckling goat, enjoyed in and around the Mexican city of Monterrey (which also contains an established Jewish presence) – was likely Jewish in origin: a way for secret Jews to avoid eating the roast suckling pig so popular in much of Mexico.

Culinary influences have gone both ways: Mexican Jewish cooks have adapted the bright flavors and fresh fruits of Mexico to traditional Jewish dishes, adding chilies to gefilte fish and tropical spices to chicken soup. In Mexico City today, kosher consumers can enjoy Mexican staples embraced by the Jewish community such as quesadillas (corn tortillas that are filled, folded and fried), flautas (tortillas that are rolled and fried), sopes (fried circles of cornmeal dough), chalupas (cups of fried cornmeal) – all filled with Mexican delicacies such as queso (cheese), nopales (cactuse), frijoles (refried beans), salsa, and guacamole. Even street food has been available at kosher stands in Mexico City, ensuring that Mexico’s Jews don’t miss out on their country’s delicious snacks.

Tight-Knit Community, Bright Future

Centered today in Mexico City, Monterrey and Guadalajara, Mexico’s Jewish community is tightly-knit, with enviable levels of Jewish engagement. Jewish organizations reach every corner of the community’s life, providing independent ambulance services, welfare organizations, social groups – even a dedicated anti-kidnapping response group.

Intermarriage rates are among the lowest in the world: 94% of Mexican Jews marry other Jews. Approximately 95% of Mexican Jews are affiliated with the Jewish community, and about 95% of children attend one of the community’s sixteen different Jewish schools.

Rates of anti-Semitism remain low. In June 2003, then-President Vicente Fox passed a law that forbids discrimination, including anti-Semitism, adding a greater level of security for Mexico’s 40,000+ Jews. Jewish community leader Renee Dayan-Shabot was in the Mexican Senate the day the law was passed. “It came time for any arguments against the law,” she recalls, “and there was complete silence.” Then, as now, Mexico embraced its small but vibrant Jewish population.

Segun tomado de, http://www.aish.com/jw/s/Surprising-Facts-about-the-Jews-of-Mexico.html el domingo, 26 de abril de 2015.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on April 26, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

New carpets at Dome of Rock spark religious row

New carpets at Dome of Rock spark religious row, rekindle Holy Ark mystery Archaeologists fume as new rugs laid at Jerusalem shrine, covering geometric patterns that some claim point to sacred.

The Dome of the Rock, opposite the al-Aqsa Mosque, during a recent visit (photo credit: Mitch Ginsburg/ Times of Israel)

The Dome of the Rock, opposite the al-Aqsa Mosque, during a recent visit (photo credit: Mitch Ginsburg/ Times of Israel)

In this Sunday, April 19, 2015 photo, workers place carpets over ancient floor designs in the cave under the Dome of the Rock shrine in Jerusalem. The Dome of the Rock enshrines the large rock slab where Muslim tradition says Mohammed ascended to heaven. Jews believe the rock may be where the holiest part of the two ancient temples stood about 2,000 years ago.

In this Sunday, April 19, 2015 photo, a worker places new carpets at the Dome of the Rock shrine in Jerusalem. (photo credit: AP Photo/Mahmoud Illean)

In this Sunday, April 19, 2015 photo, a cleric walks on the new carpets at the Dome of the Rock shrine in Jerusalem. (photo credit: AP/Mahmoud Illean)

But there is no such thing as routine remodeling when it comes to the most contested piece of real estate in Jerusalem, where the presence of a mere screwdriver can threaten to ignite religious tensions. The carpet has sparked a verbal holy war over the hilltop compound, which is revered by Jews and Muslims whose competing claims often spill over into violence. Israeli archaeological authorities say the repairs were carried out behind their backs, and an Israeli government minister urged an immediate halt to the work, claiming it might cause irreparable damage. Frustrated Israeli researchers say previously undocumented ancient floor designs were discovered when the old carpets were peeled off, but they didn’t get a chance to document the designs before workmen covered them up with the new carpet.

And some researchers claim the Bible’s deepest secrets may lie beneath some of the newly exposed floor designs.

“Something is there. I don’t know what. But something is hidden there,” said Israeli archaeologist Zachi Dvira, who studies the site.

In this Sunday, April 19, 2015 photo, a worker carries new carpets at the Dome of the Rock shrine in Jerusalem. The Dome of the Rock enshrines the large rock slab where Muslim tradition says Mohammed ascended to heaven. Jews believe the rock may be where the holiest part of the two ancient temples stood about 2,000 years ago. (photo credit: AP/Mahmoud Illean)
In this Sunday, April 19, 2015 photo, a worker carries new carpets at the Dome of the Rock shrine in Jerusalem. The Dome of the Rock enshrines the large rock slab where Muslim tradition says Mohammed ascended to heaven. Jews believe the rock may be where the holiest part of the two ancient temples stood about 2,000 years ago. (photo credit: AP/Mahmoud Illean)

Officials with the Waqf, the Muslim authority that administers the Al Aqsa Mosque compound, which includes the Dome of the Rock, reject the Israeli accusations.

Sheikh Azzam Tamimi, the head of the Waqf, said the work is long overdue and has defiantly proclaimed that he was forbidding any Israeli involvement.

“Our work in Al Aqsa is transparent,” he told The Associated Press. “We are only putting down carpet and felt. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The work quietly began more than a month ago, and Israel facilitated the renovation project, said Jamal Al Quda, a member of a group of Jordanian carpet layers who received Israeli visas for the job.

 

A packing list dated March 11 from an Egyptian carpet company to the Jordanian Embassy in Tel Aviv lists 80 bales of carpeting for the Marwani prayer area located at the compound, and the prayer area encircling the rock slab inside the dome.

Jordan’s King Abdullah II financed the project, according to Waqf. Israel captured Jerusalem’s Old City from Jordan in the 1967 Mideast war, but under a longstanding agreement, Jordan remains the custodian of the area’s Muslim holy sites.

On a recent afternoon in a small cave underneath the shrine’s rock, Al Quda dribbled Israeli all-purpose glue from a large tin onto an intricate stone tile decoration on the cave’s marble floor. He said it was necessary to affix the base layer of thin dark felt before rolling out the carpet above it.

Some Israeli archaeologists are alarmed about the glue used but Al Quda said the glue wouldn’t damage the floor.

“It comes off my hand,” he said, rubbing his fingers.

The cryptic geometric designs have sparked the imagination of some researchers about what secrets may lay beneath.

Ancient Jewish traditions say the gold-cased Ark of the Covenant, which contained the Ten Commandments, may have been hidden away in a chamber when the First Jewish Temple was destroyed some 2,500 years ago. It’s an Indiana Jones-type mystery that touches upon a holy grail for biblical enthusiasts.

While Jerusalem may be the most excavated city in the world, the Dome of the Rock and its hilltop plaza are an archaeological gold mine that has never been properly dug because of the political sensitivities surrounding the site, which is considered Judaism’s holiest spot and Islam’s third holiest.

In this Sunday, April 19, 2015 photo, a cleric walks on the new carpets at the Dome of the Rock shrine in Jerusalem. (photo credit: AP/Mahmoud Illean)
In this Sunday, April 19, 2015 photo, a cleric walks on the new carpets at the Dome of the Rock shrine in Jerusalem. (photo credit: AP/Mahmoud Illean)

The Dome of the Rock enshrines the large rock slab — or Foundation Stone — where Muslim tradition says the Prophet Muhammad ascended to heaven. Jews believe the rock may be where the holiest part of the two ancient Temples stood as early as about 3,000 years ago — the site of the Holy of Holies — and where religious Jews pray a third Temple will one day be built. According to Jewish tradition, the stone is also the site where Abraham prepared to sacrifice his son Isaac.

The Foundation Stone in the floor of the Dome of the Rock shrine in Jerusalem. The round hole at upper left penetrates to a small cave, known as the Well of Souls, below. The cage-like structure just beyond the hole covers the stairway entrance to the cave. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Foundation Stone in the floor of the Dome of the Rock shrine in Jerusalem. The round hole at upper left penetrates to a small cave, known as the Well of Souls, below. The cage-like structure just beyond the hole covers the stairway entrance to the cave. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The adjacent Western Wall, believed to be one of the last remnants of the Temple complex, is the holiest site where Jews can pray. Palestinian officials reject Jewish historical ties to the site.

The competing claims have spilled over into violence.

In 1999, the Muslim authorities who administer the site dug an enormous hole 12 meters (40 feet) deep as part of construction for an underground prayer area, dumping 10,000 tons of earth in a nearby valley and an east Jerusalem dump.

The director of the Israeli Antiquities Authority at the time called it an “archaeological crime.” For years, Dvira and veteran Israeli archaeologist Gabriel Barkay have been leading a team of archaeologists and volunteers in combing through the dirt for historical finds.

The initiative, called the Temple Mount Sifting Project, is conducted under the auspices of the Elad Foundation, a group that also purchases Arab homes in contested parts of East Jerusalem and helps move Jews in. Critics say this nationalist agenda should not mix with archaeology.

Moses and Joshua bowing before the Ark, painting by James Jacques Joseph Tissot, c. 1900 (photo credit: Wikipedia/Jewish Museum)

Moses and Joshua bowing before the Ark, painting by James Jacques Joseph Tissot, c. 1900 (photo credit: Wikipedia/Jewish Museum)

Israel’s state comptroller wrote a scathing report in 2010 about the Muslim authorities’ illicit work projects at the compound and Israel’s failure at enforcing supervision there. Israeli officials kept the report classified out of concern that its publication could harm the sensitive relationship with Jordan.

Tens of thousands of worshippers attend weekly Friday prayers, and the carpets have been replaced before — most recently 12 years ago, at a time of heightened violence when Israeli antiquities officials were granted limited access to the site.

Past renovation projects were done quietly behind the scenes. Leaked photos posted on social media sites — combined with the political influence of Israeli nationalists monitoring the site — drew extra attention and fueled the latest controversy.

Last week, Israel’s housing minister, Uri Ariel of the nationalist Jewish Home party, sent an alarmed letter to Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu about the carpeting project.

“There is no need to elaborate on how important this site is, where every modification, every excavation with heavy equipment can cause irreparable harm to the foundations of the Temple,” Ariel wrote.

Photos that were leaked to Facebook from the off-limits restoration site showed a number of geometric floor patterns never before documented by archaeologists, said Frankie Snyder, a researcher with the Temple Mount Sifting Project.

Some apparently date to when the Crusaders controlled the complex in the 12th century, she said.

“I’m worried about damage of the original floors,” said Barkay, the archaeologist. “The patterns were never properly documented.”

Israel Hasson, the director of the Israeli Antiquities Authority, said once the government body learned about the renovation, it made arrangements with the Waqf to send an archaeologist to document some of the floor patterns, but others already had been covered by the maroon and beige carpeting.

“We got to part of them. We didn’t get to it all. I won’t ask anyone to pull up the carpets to document it,” Hasson said. “We will wait for the next opportunity. We’re sure to be here over the next 2,000 years.”

In this Sunday, April 19, 2015 photo, workers place carpets over ancient floor designs in the cave under the Dome of the Rock shrine in Jerusalem. The Dome of the Rock enshrines the large rock slab where Muslim tradition says Mohammed ascended to heaven. Jews believe the rock may be where the holiest part of the two ancient temples stood about 2,000 years ago. (photo credit: AP/Mahmoud Illean)

Segun tomado de, http://www.timesofisrael.com/replacing-carpet-at-jerusalem-shrine-reveals-religious-rift/ el miercoles, 22 de abril de 2015.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on April 22, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

The medieval rabbi who put Aristotle before God

The medieval rabbi who put Aristotle before God

Aristotle
Aristotle in a painting by Raphael (1483-1520). Photo by Madava 1947 / Wikimedia Commons

On April 20, 1344, the medieval Talmudist, philosopher, mathematician and astronomer Rabbi Levi ben Gerson died. Alternately known by the acronym of his Hebrew name, Ralbag, and as Gersonides, among other monikers, Levi was a bold and brilliant scientist and thinker who straddled several different intellectual worlds and was not afraid to put forward unpopular theses — for example, that God could not have created the universe out of nothingness.

Levi ben Gerson was born in 1288 in Bagnols-sur-Ceze, in southern France. He came from a family of rabbinical scholars; there is speculation, for example, that a great-grandfather on his father’s side was Nachmanides, Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman. Few details are known about his personal life, but it is believed that Levi spent it in Avignon and in Orange, both in Provence.

Part of Levi’s lifetime overlapped with the period when the papacy was based in Avignon, and Rabbi Levi is believed to have had good relations with the popes, even dedicating one of his books to Pope Clement VI. It is also believed that he supported himself by working as a physician, rather than as a rabbi.

The 13th century is the period when Europe was rediscovering the philosophical works of Aristotle, mainly through the Arabic translations by the Spanish-Muslim philosopher Averroes (Ibn Rushd). Levi’s commentaries on Aristotle are in fact commentaries on commentaries that were written by Averroes.

Horrifying his peers

Like Maimonides before him, Gersonides attempted to reconcile the philosophy of Aristotle with traditional Jewish thought, but when he couldn’t, he tended to give preference to the logical conclusions of the Greek thinker. In the preface to his greatest work, “Sefer Milhamot Hashem” (“The Book of the Wars of God”), Levi wrote, “The Law cannot prevent us from considering to be true that which our reason urges us to believe.”

“The Book of the Wars of God” (which some of Levi’s opponents called “The Book of the Wars on God”) was divided into six parts, each dealing with one of the following big questions: the immortality of the soul, prophecy, the omniscience of God, divine providence, the nature of the heavenly bodies, and the eternity of matter.

In looking at these questions, Levi, relying on both empirical and inductive reasoning, took positions that were bound to provoke those Jewish (or Christian, for that matter) thinkers who held that God was omniscient and omnipotent.

So he argued that God did not create the universe ex nihilo, but rather out of preexisting, if inchoate, matter. He also said that it derived from the conviction that humans had free will, that God could not know in advance what a person’s fate was going to be; God could only know the alternatives from which humans could make their choices in life.

As a Jewish scholar, Rabbi Levi wrote commentaries on the books of the Torah, and on several of the prophets and other books of the Bible.

As a mathematician, Gersonides examined each of the different operations of arithmetic and algebra, and used inductive reasoning to prove mathematical theorems.

Levi ben Gerson is also remembered as one of the great astronomers of the era, and was in certain ways ahead of his time. On the one hand, he accepted the conventional astrological belief that the positions of the constellations contained information on people’s futures. On the other, he openly challenged the Ptolemaic system for calculating the movement of celestial bodies.

True, Levi never got to the point of concluding that the planets revolve around the sun, but he did improve on the existing model. He also devised a device and method for calculating the distances between objects in the sky that was far closer than anything that had previously existed.

Scientifically, Levi got as much wrong as he did right. But he helped strengthen the primacy of observation and experimentation in establishing theories of, for example, the movement of the moon, rather than the norm at the time of accepting simple belief unsubstantiated by empirical evidence.

Según tomado de, http://www.haaretz.com/news/features/this-day-in-jewish-history/.premium-1.652537  el lunes, 20 de abril de 2015.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on April 20, 2015 in Uncategorized