Author Archives: yishmaelgunzhard

by Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

Within the first words that God addresses to the bearer of a new covenant, there are already hints as to the nature of the heroism he would come to embody. The multi-layered command “Lech lecha – go forth” contains the seeds of Abraham’s ultimate vocation.

Rashi, following an ancient exegetic tradition, translates the phrase as “Journey for yourself.”[1] According to him, God is saying “Travel for your own benefit and good. There I will make you into a great nation; here you will not have the merit of having children.” Sometimes we have to give up our past in order to acquire a future. In his first words to Abraham, God was already intimating that what seems like a sacrifice is, in the long run, not so. Abraham was about to say goodbye to the things that mean most to us – land, birthplace and parental home, the places where we belong. He was about to make a journey from the familiar to the unfamiliar, a leap into the unknown. To be able to make that leap involves trust – in Abraham’s case, trust not in visible power but in the voice of the invisible God. At the end of it, however, Abraham would discover that he had achieved something he could not have done otherwise. He would give birth to a new nation whose greatness consisted precisely in the ability to live by that voice and create something new in the history of mankind. “Go for yourself ” – believe in what you can become.

Another interpretation, more midrashic, takes the phrase to mean “Go with yourself ” – meaning, by travelling from place to place you will extend your influence not over one land but many:

When the Holy One said to Abraham, “Leave your land, your birthplace and your father’s house…” what did Abraham resemble? A jar of scent with a tight-fitting lid put away in a corner so that its fragrance could not go forth. As soon as it was moved from that place and opened, its fragrance began to spread. So the Holy One said to Abraham, “Abraham, many good deeds are in you. Travel about from place to place, so that the greatness of your name will go forth in My world.”[2]

Abraham was commanded to leave his place in order to testify to the existence of a God not bounded by place – Creator and Sovereign of the entire universe. Abraham and Sarah were to be like perfume, leaving a trace of their presence wherever they went. Implicit in this midrash is the idea that the fate of the first Jews already prefigured that of their descendants[3] who would be scattered throughout the world in order to spread knowledge of God throughout the world. Unusually, exile is seen here not as punishment but as a necessary corollary of a faith that sees God everywhere. Lech lecha means “Go with yourself” – your beliefs, your way of life, your faith.

A third interpretation, this time more mystical, takes the phrase to mean, “Go to yourself.” The Jewish journey, said R. David of Lelov, is a journey to the root of the soul.[4] In the words of R. Zushya of Hanipol, “When I get to heaven, they will not ask me, why were you not Moses? They will ask me, Zushya, why were you not Zushya?”[5] Abraham was being asked to leave behind all the things that make us someone else – for it is only by taking a long and lonely journey that we discover who we truly are. “Go to yourself.”

There is, however, a fourth interpretation: “Go by yourself.” Only a person willing to stand alone, singular and unique, can worship the God who is alone, singular and unique. Only one able to leave behind the natural sources of identity – home, family, culture and society – can encounter God who stands above and beyond nature. A journey into the unknown is one of the greatest possible expressions of freedom. God wanted Abraham and his children to be a living example of what it is to serve the God of freedom, in freedom, for the sake of freedom.

Lech Lecha means: Leave behind you all that makes human beings predictable, unfree, delimited. Leave behind the social forces, the familial pressures, the circumstances of your birth. Abraham’s children were summoned to be the people that defied the laws of nature because they refused to define themselves as the products of nature. That is not to say that economic or biological or psychological forces have no part to play in human behaviour. They do. But with sufficient imagination, determination, discipline and courage we can rise above them. Abraham did. So, at most times, did his children.

Those who live within the laws of history are subject to the laws of history. Whatever is natural, said Maimonides, is subject to disintegration and decline. That is what has happened to virtually every civilisation that has appeared on the world’s stage. Abraham, however, was to become the father of an am olam, an eternal people, that would neither decay nor decline, a people willing to stand outside the laws of nature. What for other nations are innate – land, home, family – in Judaism are subjects of religious command. They have to be striven for. They involve a journey. They are not given at the outset, nor can they be taken for granted. Abraham was to leave behind the things that make most people and peoples what they are, and lay the foundations for a land, a Jewish home and a family structure, responsive not to economic forces, biological drives and psychological conflicts but to the word and will of God.

Lech Lecha in this sense means being prepared to take an often lonely journey: “Go by yourself.” To be a child of Abraham is to have the courage to be different, to challenge the idols of the age, whatever the idols and whichever the age. In an era of polytheism, it meant seeing the universe as the product of a single creative will – and therefore not meaningless but coherent and meaningful. In an era of slavery it meant refusing to accept the status quo in the name of God, but instead challenging it in the name of God. When power was worshipped, it meant constructing a society that cared for the powerless, the widow, orphan and stranger. During centuries in which the mass of mankind was sunk in ignorance, it meant honouring education as the key to human dignity and creating schools to provide universal literacy. When war was the test of manhood, it meant striving for peace. In ages of radical individualism like today, it means knowing that we are not what we own but what we share; not what we buy but what we give; that there is something higher than appetite and desire – namely the call that comes to us, as it came to Abraham, from outside ourselves, summoning us to make a contribution to the world.

“Jews,” wrote Andrew Marr, “really have been different; they have enriched the world and challenged it.”[6] It is that courage to travel alone if necessary, to be different, to swim against the tide, to speak in an age of relativism of the absolutes of human dignity under the sovereignty of God, that was born in the words Lech Lecha. To be a Jew is to be willing to hear the still, small voice of eternity urging us to travel, move, go on ahead, continuing Abraham’s journey toward that unknown destination at the far horizon of hope.

Shabbat Shalom

NOTES

[1] Rashi, 12:1.

[2] Bereishit Rabbah 39:2.

[3] On the principle, “What happened to the fathers is a portent of what would happen to the children,” see for example, Nahmanides, commentary to Genesis 12:6. On Nahmanides’ use of this principle throughout his commentary, see Ezra-Tzion Melamed, Mefarshei Hamikra (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1975), vol. 2, 950–53.

[4] R. David of Lelov, Pninei Ha-Hassidut (Jerusalem, 1987), vol. 1, p88.

[5] R. Ephraim Lundschitz, Kli Yakar to Bereishit, 12:1.

[6] Andrew Marr, The Observer, 14 May 2000.

As taken from, http://rabbisacks.org/4-dimensions-journey-lech-lecha-5779/

Estudio del Dr. Jack Rubinstein demuestra que judíos que usan sus “tfilim” todos los días tienen mejor salud y circulación sanguínea

Un estudio piloto dirigido por investigadores de la Facultad de Medicina de la Universidad de Cincinnati (UC) sugiere que los hombres judíos que practican el uso de tefilín, que involucra el ajuste de un brazo con bandas de cuero como parte de la oración diaria, pueden recibir beneficios para la salud cardiovascular.

Los investigadores proponen que pueden producirse beneficios a través del precondicionamiento isquémico remoto que resulta en protección durante los ataques cardíacos. Los resultados están disponibles en línea en el American Journal of Physiology-Heart and Circulatory Physiology.

Jack Rubinstein, MD, profesor asociado de la División de Salud Cardiovascular y cardiólogo de UC Health, dice que inscribió a 20 hombres judíos que viven en el Gran Cincinnati, nueve que usan tefilín diariamente y 11 no usuarios de tefilín, en el estudio. Su equipo de investigadores registró información de referencia sobre todos los participantes durante la madrugada y luego datos adicionales después de usar tefilín durante 30 minutos.

Midieron los signos vitales de los participantes, extrajeron sangre para el análisis de las citocinas circulantes y la función de los monocitos, y también midieron el flujo de sangre en el brazo no envuelto con tefilín.

Los hombres que participaron en el estudio tenían entre 18 y 40 años y todos gozaban de buena salud.

“Tefillin se utiliza para las oraciones matutinas de hombres judíos mayores de 13 años casi a diario”, dice Rubinstein. “Se coloca en el brazo no dominante alrededor del bíceps y el antebrazo de una manera bastante apretada. Nunca se usa de una manera que impida el flujo de sangre. Esto se usa durante unos 30 minutos de forma continua. Las oraciones están sentadas y de pie tan a menudo que tienes que volver a apretar la correa alrededor de tu brazo “.

El uso de tefilín, también llamado filacterias, se remonta a los mandamientos de las Escrituras en los libros de Deuteronomio y Éxodo que exhorta a los fieles seguidores a cumplir con la ley religiosa y a “atarlos como una señal en su brazo”. Rubinstein dice que la unión del brazo y la incomodidad que los usuarios a menudo informan puede servir como un preacondicionamiento de la forma y ofrecer un grado sustancial de protección contra la lesión de reperfusión isquémica aguda (una parte del corazón se ve privada de oxígeno y luego se daña cuando se reoxigena) que se produce como resultado de un corazón. ataque.

“Una de las formas en que se produce la protección es a través del dolor”, dice Rubinstein, también miembro del Instituto de corazón, pulmón y vascular de la UC. “Sentir dolor es en realidad un estímulo precondicionado.

“Encontramos que las personas que usan tefilín a corto o largo plazo registraron un efecto positivo medible en su flujo sanguíneo. Eso se ha asociado con mejores resultados en la enfermedad cardíaca “, dice Rubinstein.

El flujo de sangre fue mayor en los hombres que usaban tefilín diariamente y mejoró en todos los participantes después de usarlo solo una vez como parte del estudio, explicó Rubinstein. Los hombres que usaban tefilín diariamente también tenían menos citoquinas circulantes (moléculas de señalización que pueden causar inflamación e impactar negativamente en el corazón) en comparación con los no usuarios, lo que sugiere que el uso casi diario provoca un efecto similar al observado con otros métodos para provocar el preacondicionamiento isquémico remoto. como efecto

Durante años, los investigadores han estudiado el preacondicionamiento induciendo pequeños ataques cardíacos en modelos animales y descubrieron que protegían al animal de ataques cardíacos más grandes y graves en el futuro. Este mismo preacondicionamiento podría usarse al ocluir parcialmente el flujo de sangre en una parte del cuerpo y, por lo tanto, servir como elemento protector en otra parte del cuerpo para disminuir la lesión, dice Rubinstein.

“El problema de traducir esto a las personas es que no sabemos cuándo alguien va a tener un ataque al corazón”, dice Rubinstein. “Es casi imposible precondicionar a alguien a menos que esté dispuesto a hacer algo a diario. El uso de tefilín puede de hecho ofrecer protección, ya que se usa casi a diario “.

Rubinstein dice que hay estudios en Israel que han encontrado que los hombres ortodoxos tienen un menor riesgo de morir de una enfermedad cardíaca en comparación con los hombres no ortodoxos. Esta protección no se encuentra en las mujeres ortodoxas que usualmente no usan tefilín.

Otros investigadores que participan en el estudio incluyen a Phillip Owens, PhD, y Michael Tranter, PhD, ambos profesores asistentes en la División de Salud y Enfermedad Cardiovascular de la UC, junto con Nathan Robbins, Keith Saum, Shannon Jones, Akiva Kirschner, Jessica Woo, Connie McCoy , y Samuel Slone.

Marc Rothenberg, MD, PhD, Director de la División de Alergia e Inmunología de Cincinnati Children’s y profesor de pediatría en la UC, junto con Elaine Urbina, MD, Directora de cardiología preventiva de Cincinnati Children’s y profesora de pediatría de la UC, fueron coautores de la estudiar.

El estudio recibió financiamiento interno de la Universidad de Cincinnati.

Rothenberg es consultor de Pulm One, Spoon Guru, ClostraBio, Celgene, Shire, Astra Zeneca, GlaxoSmithKline, Allakos, Adare, Regeneron y Novartis. Tiene una participación en el capital de los primeros cuatro productos de Immune Pharmaceuticals, y regalías de reslizumab (Teva Pharmaceuticals) y UpT.

Según tomado de, https://diariojudio.com/noticias/estudio-del-dr-jack-rubinstein-demuestra-que-judios-que-usan-sus-tfilim-todos-los-dias-tienen-mejor-salud-y-circulacion-sanguinea/280129/

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

by Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

The parsha of Noach brings to a close the 11 chapters that precede the call to Abraham and the beginning of the special relationship between him and his descendants, and God. During these 11 chapters, the Torah gives prominence to four stories: Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel, Noah and the generation of the Flood, and the Tower of Babel. Each of these stories involves an interaction between God and humanity. Each represents another step in the maturation of humanity. If we trace the course of these stories, we can discover a connection that goes deeper than chronology, a developmental line in the narrative of the evolution of humanity.

The first story is about Adam and Eve and the forbidden fruit. Once they have eaten, and discovered shame, God asks them what they have done:

And He said, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten from the tree that I commanded you not to eat from?”

The man said, “The woman You put here with me – she gave me some fruit from the tree, and I ate it.”

Then the Lord God said to the woman, “What is this you have done?”

The woman said, “The serpent deceived me, and I ate.” (3:11 –13)

Faced with primal failure, the man blames the woman, the woman blames the serpent. Both deny personal responsibility: it wasn’t me; it wasn’t my fault. This is the birth of what today is called the victim culture.

The second drama is about Cain and Abel. Both bring offerings. Abel’s is accepted, Cain’s is not – why this is so is not relevant here.[1] In his anger, Cain kills Abel. Again, there is an exchange between a human being and God:

Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

The Lord said, “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground (49:9-10).

Once again the theme is responsibility, but in a different sense. Cain does not deny personal responsibility. He does not say, “It wasn’t me.” He denies moral responsibility. “I am not my brother’s keeper.” I am not responsible for his safety. Yes, I did it because I felt like it. Cain has not yet learned the difference between “I can” and “I may.”

The third is the story of Noah. Noah is introduced with great expectations: “He will comfort us” (5:29), says his father Lamech, giving him his name. This is the one to redeem man’s failure, to offer comfort for “the earth which God cursed.” Yet though Noah is a righteous man, he is not a hero. Noah does not save humanity. He saves only himself, his family and the animals he takes with him in the ark. The Zohar contrasts him unfavorably with Moses: Moses prayed for his generation, Noah did not. In the end, his failure to take responsibility for others diminishes him as well: in the last scene, we see him drunk and exposed in his tent. In the words of the Midrash, “he profaned himself and became profaned.”[2] One cannot be a sole survivor and still survive. Sauve-qui- peut (“let everyone who can, save himself”) is not a principle of Judaism. We have to do what we can to save others, not just ourselves. Noah failed the test of collective responsibility.

The fourth is the enigmatic story of the Tower of Babel. The sin of its builders is unclear, but is indicated by two key words in the text. The story is framed, beginning and end, with the phrase kol ha’aretz, “the whole earth” (11:1, 8). In between, there is a series of similar sounding words: sham (there), shem (name), and shamayim (heaven). The story of Babel is a drama about the two key words of the first sentence of the Torah: “In the beginning, God created heaven (shamayim) and earth (aretz)” (1:1). Heaven is the domain of God; earth is the domain of man. By attempting to build a tower that would “reach heaven,” the builders of Babel were humans trying to be like gods.

This story seems to have little to do with responsibility, and to be focusing on a different issue than do the first three. However, not accidentally does the word responsibility suggest response-ability. The Hebrew equivalent, aĥrayut, comes from the word aĥer, meaning “an other.” Responsibility is always a response to something or someone. In Judaism, it means response to the command of God. By attempting to reach heaven, the builders of Babel were in effect saying: we are going to take the place of God. We are not going to respond to His law or respect His boundaries, not going to accept His Otherness. We are going to create an environment where we rule, not Him, where the Other is replaced by Self. Babel is the failure of ontological responsibility – the idea that something beyond us makes a call on us.

What we see in Genesis 1–11 is an exceptionally tightly constructed four-act drama on the theme of responsibility and moral development, presenting the maturation of humanity, as echoing the maturation of the individual. The first thing we learn as children is that our acts are under our control (personal responsibility). The next is that not everything we can do, we may do (moral responsibility). The next stage is the realisation that we have a duty not just to ourselves but to those on whom we have an influence (collective responsibility). Ultimately, we learn that morality is not a mere human convention, but is written into the structure of existence. There is an Author of being, therefore there is an Authority beyond mankind to whom, when acting morally, we respond (ontological responsibility).

This is developmental psychology as we have come to know it through the work of Jean Piaget, Eric Erikson, Lawrence Kohlberg and Abraham Maslow. The subtlety and depth of the Torah is remarkable. It was the first, and is still the greatest, text on the human condition and our psychological growth from instinct to conscience, from “dust of the earth” to the morally responsible agent the Torah calls “the image of God.”

Shabbat Shalom.

NOTES

[1] For more on Cain and Abel, see the essay “Violence in the Name of God”, Covenant and Conversation: Genesis, p29.

[2] Bereishit Rabbah 36:3.

As taken from, http://rabbisacks.org/drama-four-acts-noach-5779/

By Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo

“Because of Our Sins, This Has Befallen Us?”

ויאמר אלהים לנח קץ כל בשר בא לפני כי מלאה הארץ חמס מפניהם והנני משחיתם את הארץ

And God said to Noah, “The end of all flesh has come before Me, for the earth has become full of robbery because of them, and behold I am destroying them from the earth.”

Bereshit 6:13

Part One

I believe that if a triangle could speak, it would say, in like manner, that God is eminently triangular, while a circle would say that the divine nature is eminently circular. Thus each would ascribe to God its own attributes, would assume itself to be like God and look on everything else as ill-shaped.

Baruch Spinoza^[1]

Throughout all of human history, mankind has been confronted with enormous and deadly natural disasters. Each time many good souls, Jews and non-Jews, wonder what the higher meaning is behind all this. Particularly, religious people postulate that there is a divine purpose to these catastrophes, and most of them believe that it must be human moral and religious failure that caused this divine wrath to rain down on them and their fellow men.

Within religious communities, such reactions and attitudes are part of their outlook on life, and there is a strong tendency among some religious people to blame the irreligious for these disasters. Many even blame themselves for the lack of their own religiosity and religious observance.

This is especially true about religious Jews. We feel responsible for the shortcomings of mankind and so we endlessly repeat: mipnei chato’enu, because of our sins, this has befallen us. Many even believe that disasters visited upon non-Jews are of our making. While there is something very beautiful about this mindset, not letting us off the hook, even when it is not we who are affected but the gentiles, there is also something very wrong with it. Not only does it play into the hand of anti-Semites, but it is also theologically unsound.

It can hardly be denied that the Torah and Jewish tradition are replete with examples of God warning the Jewish people of grave consequences if they do not follow the Divine Will.

Maimonides’ famous statement in his Mishneh Torah^[2] seems to bear this out. The great sage teaches us that after each catastrophe that has befallen the community, Jews should blow trumpets, fast, and repent. To believe that these tragedies are accidental and of no meaning is highly irresponsible, warns Maimonides. It is the epitome of callousness and denial of Divine Providence. It is close to atheism.

Still, this cannot be the whole story. Common sense and a keen understanding of Jewish religious philosophy and sources seem to tell us that there is more to this than meets the eye. In fact, the constant emphasis on the moral and religious responsibility of Jews, and mankind at large, for any disaster that befalls them may well be a serious deviation from Jewish religious teachings. While many might argue that any denial of divine retribution would constitute apikorsut (heresy), it could very well be that the opposite is heresy and even a form of idol worship.

Is the Human Being the Measure of All Things?

Do good and evil events in this world really always depend on human behavior? Was there no other reason for God to create the universe than to test human beings and reward or punish accordingly? Is man really the measure of all things? Rambam seems to doubt this in his Moreh Nevuchim^[3] where he states that God made everything lema’anehu,^[4] which many commentators understand as referring to human beings, (i.e. for the sake of man), but Maimonides understands to mean for His (i.e. for God’s) sake rather than for the human being.

Are we compelled to believe that Stephen Hawking’s black holes and baby universes, the millions of stars and other celestial bodies, were created only to test man’s moral and religious conduct? Would it not be more logical to conclude that God’s reasons for creating the universe are much greater and more significant than the problem of human behavior? Why create planets and invisible baby universes when what is of sole importance is human behavior on one tiny globe?

When Iyov (Job) demands an explanation from God as to why he has lost all his children, belongings and wealth and is suffering such terrible pain, God’s response is not that he has in any way misbehaved. Instead, He asks Iyov: “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding.”^[5] God challenges Iyov’s very notion that suffering is always related to sin. Who says that My treatment of human beings is always to be judged by your criteria of righteousness? There are larger issues at work.

While Iyov’s friends argue that he must have sinned, God rejects this argument. He declares that such an attitude is a denial of His multidimensional being and His larger cosmic plan. Iyov’s suffering has nothing to do with sin. God protests this very idea and tells him it is a declaration of preposterous heresy and an expression of childishness to think that way. Even worse, it is a reflection of man’s arrogance. Is he really so important? Since when is the human being able to judge God and decide why He created the universe? Such haughtiness is nothing but an attempt by the human being to squeeze God into the parameters of what she or he believes God should be. It is based on preconceived ideas of what God is and is not. The human being constantly tries to view God through her or his own prism. But that reveals more about the human being than it does about God. Such an attempt is nothing less than idol worship. It is as if one is trying to describe a three-dimensional image by way of a flat surface.

During a two-and-a-half-year debate, Bet Hillel and Bet Shammai^[6] discussed the question of whether it is better for human beings to have been created, or not. They concluded that it would have been better for human beings not to have been created, but now that they ar created they should watch their deeds. This is a most remarkable observation. The truth about this bizarre debate is that it touches on one of the greatest mysteries known to mankind:

What is the purpose of the universe and of human existence? Is that something he can even know? By deciding that it would have been better for the human being not to have been created, Bet Hillel and Bet Shammai made a powerful point. There is no way to know the ultimate purpose of human existence. We have no idea why God wanted humankind, or for that matter a universe to exist. Perhaps to reward the human beings for their good deeds? Maybe so that they may enjoy life and merit to observe the mitzvoth?

But these answers only raise more questions. Why does the human being need to be created so as to be rewarded, or to enjoy life and perform the mitzvot? Would it not have been better if humankind not to have been created? First, human beings would have been unaware of what they were missing. Second, they would not have had to encounter the many and frequent severe trials accompanied by unbearable pain. Are the joys of life and reward really enough reason to warrant creation when it goes hand in hand with genocide, natural calamities, disease and death? From the point of view of righteousness there is nothing to support creation. It is unjust and indefensible. Yet, God has decided it must be. The reason, then, must be much greater than the human being can ever fathom.

Ultimately, God alone is responsible, not only for natural catastrophes but also for man’s evil deeds. After all, He created mankind and gave it the capability to do evil. The most Bet Hillel and Bet Shammai could conclude was: now that human beings are here, they had better watch their deeds.

Notes:

[1] Benedict de Spinoza, Letter 60 (56) “Between Spinoza and Hugo Boxel on Ghosts,” in Improvement of the Understanding, Ethics and Correspondence, trans. R.H.M. Elwes (New York: Cosimo, 2006), 392.

[2] Hilchot Ta’anit 1:1-4.

[3] Moreh Nevuchim, part 3, chap. 13.

[4] Mishle 16:4

[5] Iyov 38:4.

[6] Eruvin 13b.

To be continued next week.

As taken from, https://www.cardozoacademy.org/thoughts-to-ponder/parashat-noah-natural-disasters-are-we-to-be-blamed/?utm_source=Subscribers&utm_campaign=0632610199-Weekly_Thoughts_to_Ponder_campaign_TTP_548_COPY_01&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_dd05790c6d-0632610199-242341409

By Leila Leah Bronner

Within Judaism the term Messiah has many connotations. In the Hebrew Bible the term referred to an “anointed one,” a divinely chosen figure who would bring to fruition God’s plan for his people and for all humankind. The term also conjured up images of a future world filled with peace and divine tranquility. These two biblical ideas were elaborated upon in the post-biblical era. The purpose of this study is to explore how references to a Messiah originated, developed and were expanded upon in Jewish thought and history. I will trace messianic imagery beginning in the Tanakh (Bible), and follow its reinterpretation through Mishnaic, Talmudic, Midrashic, Medieval and modern sources. I desire to show how the Messiah idea developed throughout the ages and offer comments on why the idea developed as it did.

What does “messiah” mean?

In biblical usage the word “messiah” (mashiach) referred to any person charged with a divine office as king or priest, who was physically anointed with oil, a symbol of being chosen for a special purpose. The English word “messiah” is derived from the Latin and Greek messias, related to the Aramaic ajyvm, ultimately with its source back in the Hebrew mashiach, “anointed one.” The word mashiach was translated into the Greek Septuagint as christos, which also means “anointed.” This Hebrew word mashiach as we noted above was thus first applied to the kings of Israel who were installed in their royal office by a ritual act of investiture. These antecedents of the Messiah figure in the Bible may have their origin as far back as the enthronement of David in Jerusalem who reigned from 1010 to 970 BCE. With the symbolic act of anointing, it was believed that God endowed the king with wisdom and strength to fulfill the duties of royal office. The redeeming functions of the Anointed One was expressed by the Prophet Isaiah: “The spirit of God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; he has sent me as a herald of joy to the humble, to bind up the wounded of heart…” (Isaiah 61:1). This religious act of empowerment with the gift of God’s spirit would furnish the model for post-biblical messianic figures.

Since Israelite kings were installed in office by anointing, they could all be considered “messiahs,” i.e., anointed ones. We read accounts of the first three kings of Israel: Saul (1 Sam.10:1), David (1 Sam.16:13), and Solomon (1 Ki.1:34-39) being anointed by prophets. Therefore we note that “messiah” could refer to anyone divinely appointed to a task that affected the destiny of the Jewish people. Eventually the term came to denote a divinely-inspired future king with eschatological dimensions, that is, one who would arrive at the end of time. This future messiah was expected to restore the kingdom of Israel and usher in an era of peace. Although the longing for an ideal order under an ideal Davidic king began to crystallize already in biblical times, in the Bible the term mashiach was not yet used in its specific, later eschatological meaning.

In the time of the kings and prophets from about the eighth century BCE until the destruction of the First Temple in 586 BCE, the hope of salvation began to play a dominant and conspicuous role in the life of the people. These expectations originated in the dynastic promise offered by the prophet Samuel: “Your house and your kingship will ever be secure before you; your throne shall be established forever” (2 Sam 7:16). In the Jewish imagination, the Davidic persona and era became the pattern of the Messianic figure and age. The later prophets, such as Amos, Isaiah, Micah, Hosea, Ezekiel, Jeremiah, and others, embellished and expanded the vision of the Davidic King and the Messianic Age to come, although some omitted reference to the Davidic ruler. They simply described the future age as a time of unparalleled material plenty and spiritual tranquility (Isaiah 2:1-4; 11:1-9).

The prophets offer hope of future redemption in the face of evildoing and social iniquity in their own day. If the problems could not be solved in the present, at least hope was held out that resolution would come at the end of days, when a king of the highest ethics, wisdom, and strength would at last bring about a time of peace and righteousness. Scholars of the messianic idea have distinguished between two types of messianism: “restorative,” (“renew our days as of old”) and “utopian,” (“no eye has seen it”). The first evokes the national historical memory of the “good old days” of the Davidic kingship; the second looks forward to a highly developed persona leading all the earth’s inhabitants into an idealized, perfected world.

The prophets foretold that before the vision of this perfect future age, the sins of the people would first lead to their punishment, suffering, and exile. Only then, with sincere repentance, would they enjoy forgiveness and a return to the Land. Amos and several other later prophets describe this period of affliction and harsh judgment to come as the yom yhwh, “day of the Lord.” This difficult passage of time would be followed by the ingathering of the scattered people and a recovery of independence in their land in an era of peace. This future age would be characterized externally by liberation from oppressive foreign rule, and internally, by a moral reawakening and reformation within the nation. In the poetic writing of the later prophets we find various descriptions of this golden era which follows on the heels of the “Day of the Lord.”

We will quote briefly from a few verses to illustrate the graphic images both of the terror of the Day of the Lord, and the beauty of the ensuing peace that is to follow. Amos, for instance, speaks about the dark Day of Judgment when God would destroy Israel for its wickedness:

Woe to you who wish for the Day of the Lord. It shall be darkness, not light, as if a man should run from a lion and be attacked by a bearÖ.blackest night without a glimmer. (Amos 5:18 ñ20)

He continues, stating that Israel would be exiled, but eventually would return and rebuild the land:

In that day I will raise up the fallen tent of David. I will fix its breaches and restructure its rooms. I will build it firm as in the days of oldÖ. “Days are coming,” declares the Lord, when the ploughman would overtake the reaper and the treader of grapes with the one who sows the seed. The mountains shall drip with sweet wine and the hills will wave with grain. I will restore my people IsraelÖ.(Amos 9: 13-15).

These verses refer to an overflowing abundance of the earth’s fertility. So abundant would the grain harvest be that it would take all summer to gather it in, such that the reaper would still be harvesting when the ploughman would begin preparing the fields for the next season’s planting. The vine would also yield so richly that the treader of grapes in the wine press and the sower of seed in the fields would overlap (as in Lev. 26:5). Metaphorically, these agricultural images in Amos symbolize the spiritual plenty which will follow for the repentant people restored to their land by God.

Isaiah also spoke about the havoc and terror to expect in the Day of the Lord:

Howl! For the Day of the Lord is near. It shall come like havoc from Shaddai. Therefore, all hands shall grow limp, and all men’s hearts shall sink; and be overcome by terror, they shall be seized by pangs and throes, writhe like a woman in labor. They shall gaze at each other in horror, their faces livid with fright” (Is. 13:6-9).

After these images of affliction on the Day of the Lord, Isaiah introduces the image of a righteous king, and pictures the peace and plenty that would result from this ruler’s reign.

But a shoot shall sprout forth from the stock of JesseÖ the spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him, a spirit of wisdom and insightÖ. He shall not judge by what his eyes see nor decide by what his ears hear. Thus he shall judge the poor with equity, and decide with justice for the lowly of the landÖ. The wolf shall dwell with the lamb and the leopard shall lie down with the kidÖ. Nothing evil or vile shall be done; for the land shall be filled with devotion to the Lord as the waters cover the sea (Is. 11:1-10).

The prophets Isaiah, Micah, Jeremiah, and Zechariah see their redeeming Messiah as an ideal human leader possessed of lofty spiritual and ethical qualities. This future king is seen as a natural successor to David, a righteous judge and a protector of the weak, as described in Isaiah above. While these prophets speak about a future redemption being ushered in by an ideal human king with high spiritual and ethical qualities, other prophets, such as Nahum, Zephaniah, Habakkuk, Malachi, Joel and Daniel, do not describe a human figure from the House of David, but rather God himself ushering in the redemption of the future messianic age.

Most of the prophets do predict the coming of a Golden Age for Israel and for the whole world. As mentioned, each prophet dwells on particular aspects of this future age. Together, they present a complete picture of the principle features of that messianic age. These elements include the great judgment on the wicked world, the Day of the Lord, the establishment of Israel in its land under the rule of a righteous king, the acknowledgment of the God of Israel by the nations of the world, the spread of the rule of justice, righteousness and peace, the taming of wild creation, and restoration of the pristine fertility of the soil. These comforting words of the prophets foresee a future when all humankind will worship the true God, warfare will be banished from the earth, and peace will reign supreme.

Eventually all these ideas regarding the Messiah were elaborated upon in the Apocrypha and other writings. However the doctrine of Messiah that developed within Judaism came mostly out of the writings of rabbis in the Mishna, Midrash, and Talmud. The rabbis use the Bible for inspiration in their musings of the Messiah. Whereas the biblical prophets were more literary and poetic in their descriptions of a messianic figure or age, the rabbis attempted to make the idea more concrete by discussing different aspects and elements of the messiah (or messianic age). Now we will turn from our focus on biblical material to commence with an analysis of the concept of Messiah found in rabbinic sources.

Messianism in the Mishna

How prominently does the Messiah feature in the Mishna? Surprisingly, not so much. Not much place is devoted to the subject of the Messiah. The Mishna, a seminal rabbinic source, compiled by Rabbi Yehudah HaNassi in 200-250 CE, gives a few references to the messianic age, but none to the actual person of the Messiah. One reference is in Mishna Brachot in connection with the Exodus. Another appears in Sota describing the havoc that will reign at the end of time when the Messiah is expected to come. Let us look more closely at each of these references. First, the discussion in Brachot: The sages asked “What is the meaning of the verse ëYou should remember the day of your departure from the Land of Egypt all the days of your life’?” (Deut. 16:3). An answer was that if Scripture had simply stated “the days of your life” this would mean only during the days, but since it stated “all the days of your life,” this is taken to mean also during the nights one must remember the Exodus from Egypt. The sages further expanded on that first interpretation. Thus, “days of your life” would refer to this world only, but “all the days of your life” would also include the Days of the Messiah (Mishna Brachot 1:5).

The section in Mishna Sota, which some scholars designate as the “little apocalypse” because of its catastrophic contents, reads:

With the footprints of the Messiah arrogance shall increase and dearth reach its height; the vine will yield its fruit but will be expensive: and the empire shall fall into heresy and there be none to utter rebuke. The council chamber shall be given to immoral practices…. children shall shame their elders, the son will dishonor the father, the daughter, the mother. The face of the generation is as the face of the dog….. (M. Sota 9:15).

This is the one Mishnaic text that becomes almost apocalyptic in tone and content when picturing the social and political upheavals, hunger epidemics, and economic wants caused by apostasy, desecration of God’s name and forgetting the Torah. It is interesting to notice that the person of the Messiah does not feature in this dramatic text, only the messianic age. In general the Mishna only speaks of a messianic age, not the person of the Messiah.

Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai was the sage who negotiated with the Romans during the days leading up to the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE. He sought permission for control of Yavneh and her wise men, as a center for study, rather than putting his efforts into opposing the conquest of Israel by the Romans. We have some information about his messianic leanings. While the tendency of the people was to follow any person that promised to be the Messiah and free them from Rome, Yochanan ben Zakkai played down messianic sentiments among the people, as he feared antagonizing the Romans. In like manner, R. Yehuda HaNassi, the compiler of the Mishnah in around 200 CE, was also reluctant to encourage any mention of the Messiah, especially after the failure of the Bar Kochba revolt in 132-135 CE.

R.Yochanan ben Zakkai, as we saw, made only one positive pronouncement about the Messiah, which in his case, referred specifically to King Hezekiah. Ben Zakkai identified with this historical persona because he believed that, like the king, he had devoted his life to saving his people. Yet, often he worried about the fact that he had not saved Jerusalem, while Hezekiah had miraculously saved Jerusalem in 702 BCE. Ben Zakkai, who was alive during the destruction of the Temple, and who according to rabbinic tradition, lived 120 years, also possibly saw the rise of Bar Kochba, and thus was suspicious of messianic movements. The issues encapsulated in the myth and person of the Messiah are scarcely addressed in the Mishna. One story states that prior to ben Zakkai’s death he said “Prepare a throne for King Hezekiah, who is coming” (Ber. 28b ARN 25:40). This is probably the only messianic proclamation of the sage. He said once “If the young say to you, come, let us build the Temple, do not listen to them. If the old say come let us destroy the Temple, listen to them.” These sentiments indicate that he wished to curtail any rebuilding of the Temple, which smacked of messianic steering. He also said, “If you have a seedling in your hand, and they say, look here comes the Messiah, go on and plant first, and then meet the Messiah.”

As an endnote, we can posit that the limited material regarding the Messiah may be attributed to the Jewish leaders’ fear of antagonizing the Roman authorities with messianic aspirations. These rabbis also lived through the rise of the Bar Kochba debacle and were thus suspicious of false messianic figures. Conversely, the later rabbis of the Talmud were sufficiently removed from these events and could freely speculate of a future Jewish Messiah. Now we shall turn from the Tanna’im of the earlier Talmudic period to the Amora’im of the later Talmudic period. In later Jewish literature, rabbinic discussions regarding the Messiah abound.

Messiah in Talmud and Midrash

“On the day that Jerusalem was destroyed the Redeemer was born.”

The above adage from rabbinic sources (Eicha Rabbah 1:51; Yer.Brachot 2:4) is suffused with optimism regarding the messianic concept. It expresses faith that on the day the Temple was destroyed the Messiah would be born; the seeds of redemption are seen as planted in the ashes of destruction. The belief in a Messiah is the supreme expression of the Jewish spirit, enabling the Jewish people to endure all the trials and tribulations throughout the ages. The concept of the Messianic Age endows life with perspective, lends purpose to history, and offers hope to humanity. This hope for a Messiah projects toward the final goal in history when a new era will be ushered in, warfare will be banished from the earth, and peace will reign supreme. It is permeated with an aura of hope and redemption for Israel and humanity.

The Talmud, unlike the Mishna, had hundreds of references to the Messiah and the messianic age. The question that occupied the minds of the sages, was what actionsóhistorical, social, religiousówould bring the Messiah? Having learned from the Bar Kochba tragedy, they tend to veer away from the political into the spiritual. No practical or political steps are ever taken by these sages to bring the Messiah. Unlike the Mishna, which quoted the Tanakh sparingly, the rabbis of the Talmud study scripture to discover prooftexts to show that the Messiah is not only historical but becomes ahistorical. Will the coming of the Messiah be a metaphysical or a natural phenomenon? Then, as today, they agonize over the messianic problem. The Talmudic sages discussed catastrophic events that would end in the coming of the Messiah (San. 97a). Whereas in Sota, the moral and spiritual decay was emphasized, in the tractate Sanhedrin the elements of nature cause suffering to society. But Sanhedrin describes a person, the son of David, who will usher in salvation. Here we get the paradigm for messianic discussions in the future; you have both the age and the person. The rabbis discuss the character of the Messiah, and draw on the book of Isaiah, to show that he must have outstanding qualities of mind and soul. They endow him with the highest spiritual powers (Is. 11). Accordingly, solely by smell he can decide who is just and who is wicked. In these discussions, the sages evaluate Bar Kochba and decide that he did not have the qualities necessary to be the Messiah, and he therefore failed. The Bar Kochba defeat changed the attitude of the sages to the Messiah, whereas Rabbi Akiva demonstrated belief in the Messiah as judge, warrior and leader. Subtle Talmudic combinations after the method of midrash developed a picture of the Messiah diligently drawn where everything political or figurative in Isaiah’s description was taken in a literal sense and expounded and dogmatized accordingly. These sages and their highly colored flights of fancy on the redeemer greatly influenced their success to glorify the personality of the Messiah. The era of the messianic figure with metaphysical qualities bordering on an eschatological person begins, grows and develops.

Names of the Messiah in the Talmud

The sages discuss the names of the Messiah and offer a variety of explanations. There is one opinion, that the name of the Messiah was one of the ten things created before the world. The Talmud describes great teachers competing in puns about their teachers names. Each school selects a name for the Messiah, resembling the name of the school’s head. Biblical passages were studied and interpreted in a messianic sense to yield a variety of names by which the Messiah might be called. R. Shela said that, “the Messiah Shilo for it is written, ëuntil Shilo comes'” (Genesis 49:10). R. Yannai said, “It was Yinnon” (Psalm 72:17). R. Haninah said, “It was Haninah” (Jeremiah 16:1) (San.98b). Each school displayed keen interest in identifying the Messiah by identifying the name of a leading scholar with him. The name of Menachem, the son of Hezekiah, was also suggested as the name of the Messiah. The names were suggested also because of their respective meanings, so that each name told something of the characteristics of the Messiah. For instance, Menachem, is symbolic rather than a proper name, and suggests that the Messiah must be the comforter and redeemer of the Jewish people. Haninah comes from the Hebrew root meaning “compassion.” All of the names thus far are positive. However, we also find a negative designation. One of the strangest names given to the Messiah is hlpn rb, which means “fallen.” R. Nahman noticed the negative connotation of a name like “Fallen.” He explained it by referring to the work of Amos, who speaks of the tent of David falling and then being raised up from its destruction (San.96b). This name then demonstrates how the Messiah might emerge after a time of tragedy. This is often a theme within rabbinic thought: good will come out of bad. All these discussions regarding the name of the Messiah indicate that the sages searched to discover who the Messiah would be and when the Messiah would come.

Other Messianic Notions in the Talmud

One of the important issues regarding the Messiah dealt with the conduct needed on the part of Israel to usher in his arrival. Two leading sages of the Talmud, R. Eliezer and R. Joshua discuss this conduct (San.97b). R. Eliezer makes redemption dependent on repentance: “If they do not repent, they will not be redeemed. Repentance comes first. Redemption is not an eschatological act, and has no appointed time.” R. Joshua differs in his interpretation of the sources. He claims that the nation will be redeemed, even if it does not repent. R. Joshua does not sever the connection between repentance and redemption, but states that it is impossible to believe that Israel will not be redeemed even if they do not repent. He offers as a proof the redemption of the Israelites from Egypt was based on God’s loving-kindness rather than on Israel’s repentance.

The question of who the Messiah would be is also discussed frequently by the Amoric sages, 200 ñ 500 CE. Whereas the M. Sota 9:15 stressed the dominance of moral and spiritual decay, Sanhedrin stresses havoc in the all negative elements that bring suffering in society: “In the seven year cycle at the end of which the son of David will come, in the first year, this verse will be fulfilled: ëAnd I will cause it to rain on one city, and not at all on another city'” (b. Sanh. 97a). Sanhedrin describes in great detail the troubles that will afflict the generation when the son of David comes. The most surprising feature of this passage is that less is said about the person of the Messiah and more about the Messianic Age.

The Talmud uses biblical verses as an impetus to predict the coming of the Messiah. Foremost among these is Isaiah 11:1ff, which opens with the hope for a restoration of the Davidic dynasty. It depicts the Messiah as a human being, a person of wisdom and understanding.

“And there shall come forth a shoot out of the stock of Jesse, and a twig shall sprout from his trunk. And the spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and of the fear of the Lord” (Isaiah 11:1-2).

Surrounding the arrival of this unique personality, amazing events, contrary to nature, would be observed:

“The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, the leopard with the kid; the calf, the beast of prey, and the fatling together” (Isaiah 11:6).

The rabbis of the Talmud, as we have shown, have much to say about the Messiah and the messianic age to come; we have barely scratched the surface. We alluded to a few references, but there are many more. These references often veer away from the political to the spiritual, from the natural to the supernatural, from the rational to the emotional. Whereas in the Mishna the word mashiach and quotes of Scripture occur sparingly, in the Talmud both the word mashiach and numerous scriptural references as prooftexts appear again and again. They aim to show that the Messiah is not only a historical figure but also an ahistorical one. Will the coming of the Messiah be a natural or a metaphysical phenomenon? The answers of the sages differ greatly on this matter. Although the Bible speaks of a future Davidic king who would usher in an era of peace and prosperity, the rabbis further develop this notion. According to the rabbis the Messiah will bring an end to all the suffering of the Jewish people. Overall, we find that the rabbis of the Talmudic period were most taken with the idea of a personal Messiah. Their ideas were transmitted and passed down through the ages.

Some of these ideas were developed by the great Jewish philosopher Maimonides, one of whose 13 Principles of Faith deals with belief in the Messiah. The belief continued to occupy the minds of medieval Jewish philosophers and thinkers, often during times of persecution and suffering. The Spanish persecutions in the 13th century, which resulted in the expulsions of 1492, brought about a new mystical movement known as Kabbalah. This mystical movement provides an example of another doctrine that arose during tumultuous times and encompassed some messianic ideas. In the Kabbalistic doctrine of the holy sparks, the Messiah will come when all the sparks have been rescued from the domain of the demonic powers. This ideology gave rise to the 17th century figure, Shabbetai Tzvi, a sad example of misdirected messianic yearning. The community pinned its hopes on a flawed human individual who disappointed in the end. But eventually these yearnings found expression in the Hasidic movement of the 18th century. Now we will delve into some modern concepts regarding the Messiah.

Modern Trends in Thinking

The modern age brought new and different interpretations of the traditional messianic hope. The Jewish leaders of the modern era were heirs to all the concepts we have already outlined, and they contributed their own ideas to the long-held Jewish belief in a Messiah. Here we will briefly delineate the major trends and explain how these newer ideas differed from the older beliefs.

A new era dawned in Judaism with the emergence of the Enlightenment in the 18th century. Philosophers of the Enlightenment (Haskalah) stressed rational thinking and de-emphasized the supernatural. One outgrowth of this time period was the advent of Reform Judaism, a movement that brought fresh interpretations regarding messianic hope and belief in a personal Messiah. The Reform rabbis disregarded belief in a personal Messiah and interpreted the ancient messianic hope to refer to a period of peace and human regeneration. Although early on, the Reform movement was not Zionist, they changed their views eventually with the establishment of the Jewish state.

Another modern movement to arise out of the ancient stream of messianic thought was modern Zionism. Zionism was a movement to secure the return of the Jews to the land of Israel. Although a consciously secular movement aimed at solving the Jewish problem it could draw emotionally as well as ideologically on a long religious tradition of messianic hope in an ultimate restoration of Zion.

With the rise of religious Zionism at the end of the 19th century, messianic belief again underwent reinterpretation. One of the forerunners of this theory was a very pious and religious rabbi, Rabbi Hirsch Kalisher, who was the founder of religious Zionism. He said that the beginning of redemption would be brought to pass in a natural way, by the desire of the Jews to settle in Palestine and by the willingness of the nation to help them in the work. The Messiah would come, it was asserted by Kalisher, and all the miracles and wonders would occur only after a goodly number of Jews would have established their home in the holy land and after Jerusalem would have been rebuilt and the temple erected again. The religious Zionists were eventually reorganized by Rabbi Reines. He specifically founded the religious wing of the Zionist organization. It was called Mizrahi, a word formed from the abbreviation of “spiritual center.” The motto of the movement was: “The land of Israel to the people of Israel according to the Torah of Israel.” There are other religious movements within the Zionist movement too numerous to discuss here.

Perhaps the leading exponent of religious Zionism was Rabbi Avraham Isaac Kook, who was the chief rabbi of Israel from 1921 to 1935. He perpetuated the notion that we were living in the “beginning of the sprouting of our Redemption.” Influenced by this phrase Orthodox synagogues utilize these words in their prayers for the welfare of Israel and many messianized Zionist groups still hold this philosophical position. Others, however, in contrast to Kook, feel that messianism as an eschatological concept should be kept out of the pragmatics and ambiguities of current politics.

Different schools of interpretation arose regarding biblical and Talmudic messianic texts. We will discuss some of these. The most radical anti-Zionist interpretation is that of the Satmar Rebbe, who vehemently opposed the establishment the state of Israel, as his followers still do today. The Satmar Rebbe, for instance, offered the following explanation based on the Talmud: 1. Israel should not return to their land by force, 2. Israel should not rebel against the nations of the world, and 3. the nations of the world should not oppress Israel too much (Talmud Bavli Ketuvoth 111a). In short, his theory was that the Jews should not attempt to bring about the redemption (the coming of the Messiah) on a natural level, but accept their suffering and oppression and wait for miraculous redemption by a divinely appointed Messiah.

Rabbi Aaron Soitchik’s view was a much different view than that of the Satmar Rebbe. He taught that the nations of the world did not observe the oath of the Talmud that the Satmar Rebbe said they should. Using the Holocaust as proof, Soitchik pointed out that the nations of the world had persecuted the Jews, and further taught that the Jews deserved a safe haven from all their suffering. According to Soitchik, it is not only permissible, but mandatory for the Jews to fight in order to establish a homeland for themselves. Unlike the Satmar Rebbe, Soitchik believed the Jewish people needed to take a proactive stance in procuring their own survival and obtaining a Jewish state. Soitchik had two different theories regarding the Messiah. He taught that the Messiah may come on a meta-natural level (“from the clouds”), or on a natural level (“within the framework of history”). The method of the Messiah’s return would depend upon Israel’s repentance. If Israel repented the return of the Messiah would be immediate and supernatural. If Israel did not repent, then the Messiah would still return, but his return would take place gradually, on a natural level. The return of the Messiah and the Zionist hopes were wedded together in Soitchk’s mind. He taught that messianic redemption on a natural level would take place through colonization, settlement, and reclamation of the land of Israel.

At this point in our discussion of modern messianism, we feel compelled to mention a recent unique phenomenon in the Jewish world, the emergence of a modern messianic figure. Never before heard of in the modern Jewish world, some followers of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, proclaimed him the Messiah. Though the Rebbe never wanted to be called the Messiah while he was alive, many of his followers believe he is just that and are still awaiting his resurrection which will bring about the messianic age and their own redemption. Presently, the Hasidic community is divided into two different sections: the meshechisten (messianists) and the anti-meshechisten (anti-messianists). This fringe messianists believe that the Rebbe will be resurrected to bring them to redemption in Israel and feel it is their duty to publicize this fact. This view has not however found widespread acceptance even among the Rebbe’s own followers, let along mainstream Judaism.

Conclusions

Belief in the Messiah has been described as the most glistening jewel in the glorious crown of Judaism. It was the comforting and uplifting faith in the Messiah which sustained the Jews through their long and torturous march through history. “I believe with a perfect faith in the coming of the Messiah, and though he tarry, I will wait daily for his coming.” This proclamation recited by Jews all over the world underscores the importance of the concept within Judaism.

Historically, Jewish opinion has held that the Messiah would be sent by God to usher in a new era in which all humankind would worship the true God, warfare would be banished from the earth, and peace would reign supreme. With strong antecedents in the Bible, the doctrine of the Messiah was developed, elaborated upon and given a variety of interpretations throughout Jewish history as we have demonstrated above. The biblical prophets allude to a coming messianic figure and age, the rabbis elaborate upon this theme, and religious Zionists see the beginning of its culmination in the founding of the state of Israel. According to Jewish belief, redemption can only come about by God’s direct intervention. For that moment we pray, and wait eagerly for the full flowering of the Redemption of Israel and humankind. “If it tarry, wait for it, for it will surely come.”

As taken from, http://www.bibleandjewishstudies.net/articles/jewishmessiah.htm

The People of the (Unwritten) Book

Considering the pride of place of the written Torah in our communal rituals, it often surprises those who know Jews only as “the people of the Book” that the greater part of Jewish observance is not to be found in the written Torah at all. Rather, Jewish law is casuistic law, or “case law”, built up over centuries of circumstances and responses. The quintessential compilation of Jewish law is not the written Torah, but the Talmud, a compendium the size of the Encyclopedia Brittanica summing up 800 years of discussions, arguments, folk tales, and even humor about the right way to live, as a nation and as individuals.

And the Talmud, in turn, has been layered over by 15 centuries of discussions and responses to changing circumstances, all the way up to the present day.  Thus, one could say that the written Torah is the foundation of Jewish law in much the way as the American Constitution is the foundation of American law.

What is “authentic Judaism”

The Judaism we know today—rabbinic Judaism—would be unrecognizable to a Jew living in the time of the Judges. For that matter, the same would be true of Jewish law during the Davidic Monarchy; it too might be unrecognizable to those who stood at Sinai.

There are those who argue that this process of continual re-interpretation has made the Judaism of our day less “authentic” than that of our ancestors’ time. There seems to be an implied assumption that the Jewish Law represented by the written Torah is somehow more authentic than the later rabbinic law.

Lurking behind this argument is the premise that “the rabbis” had an agenda which motivated them to stray from the written Torah. And yet, it isn’t really possible to attribute an agenda to the Tannaim or Amoraim, simply because they never represented a unified institution; the skillful redaction of the Talmud presents a picture of unity that never really existed. The sages quoted in the Talmud represented different groups and subgroups, some of which fell by the wayside, while others carried the day.

Rabbinic law is simply the evolution of the surviving Jewish norms, including the unwritten norms that were interwoven with the written law, and may even have preceded it. Halakhah incorporates not only a religious code, but civil law as well, and for most of Jewish history, it continued to function as such. Jewish communities were socially and legally autonomous, and lived by their own laws within the larger non-Jewish empires. While they were limited in some respects, they were self-governing in others.

While much of the legislation hashed out in the Talmud was inapplicable in exile, its civil legislation evolved into a robust economic and social system. In fact, one of the most fascinating things about the Talmud (as it is currently printed) is that you can actually trace the evolution of our current Jewish legal system by reading “from the center to the periphery” of the printed page: from Mishna to Gemara to Tosfot and later commentaries. Modern responsa databases, as well as Sefaria.org, allow one to continue the process beyond the borders of the written page, into responsa reaching up to the present day.

The growing Tree of Life

All of this is to say that halakhah is a living, breathing system. Not for nothing is the Torah called “a tree of life”; it grows, albeit slowly, in response to changing circumstances. Going back to the analogy of U.S. constitutional law, can we really say that U.S. law is not “authentic” unless we throw out all the amendments and return to the “pure” Constitution?

Put differently, we admire the “authenticity” of children. But is the adult any less authentic, simply because he has adapted to the myriad circumstances that life has placed in his path? Would anyone say that the child is more authentic than, say, a scholar who has spent her whole life learning and growing in her field, or a musician who has spent his whole life perfecting his art?

In the same way, Judaism as it exists today is a more mature culture, having dealt with the vicissitudes of exile and homelessness. It is no less authentic than that of our distant ancestors. It is the product of the same forces that have created us, just as the Judaism of our ancestors was a product of the forces that molded and shaped them. To say that our Judaism is less authentic in adapting to its surroundings is a bit like saying that a sparrow is less authentic than a velociraptor!

The Contract with Eternity

What’s more, if we believe that God has had a hand in our history, we must see the Torah as being continuously given via the same hand that puts these challenges in our path and requires us to adapt to them. The most radical part of the phrase “Torah miSinai”—Torah from Sinai—is not the notion that the Torah was given once and for all time. Rather, it is that in accepting the Torah we agreed, as a nation, to partner with something outside of ourselves, and to be molded by that force, for better or worse.

This is a very different form of partnership to that of the Social Contract, whereby individuals voluntarily surrender certain rights in exchange for security. In our case, we agreed to surrender, not rights, but national volition, and we did so blindly, trusting that the other half of the partnership knows what He’s doing. This may be one reason we place so great an emphasis on free will on the individual level—because at the societal level, we have surrendered it almost entirely, having agreed to play by rules that we accepted on blind faith.

Can we say that the society molded by our playing by those rules is inauthentic? We, like the musician who has been molded by his art, or the scholar by her learning, are the product of what we’ve produced, under the guidance of circumstance. We’ve honored our part of the Torah by allowing it to mold us as a nation. But it has been molded by us in turn.

For nations, as for individuals, the vicissitudes of life are part of what makes us who we are; we internalize their lessons and make them a part of us. It isn’t that we grow away from who we were—it’s that we grow to encompass more and more of our surroundings. In doing so, we don’t become “other”. Rather, we become “more”.

As taken from, https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/is-rabbinic-judaism-authentic-musings-on-living-torah/?utm_source=The+Daily+Edition&utm_campaign=daily-edition-2018-10-06&utm_medium=email     (emphasis mine)