by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks

Something remarkable happens in this week’s parsha, almost without our noticing it, that changed the very terms of Jewish existence, and has life-changing implications for all of us. Moses renewed the covenant. This may not sound dramatic, but it was.

Thus far, in the history of humanity as told by the Torah, God had made three covenants. The first, in Genesis 9, was with Noah, and through him, with all humanity. I call this the covenant of human solidarity. According to the sages it contains seven commands, the sheva mitzvoth bnei Noach, most famous of which is the sanctity of human life: “He who sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed, for in the image of God did God make man” (Gen. 9:6).

The second, in Genesis 17, was with Abraham and his descendants: “When Abram was ninety-nine years old, the Lord appeared to him and said, ‘I am God Almighty. Walk before Me and have integrity, and I will grant My covenant between Me and you … I will establish My covenant between Me and you and your descendants after you throughout the generations as an eternal covenant.’” That made Abraham the father of a new faith that would not be the faith of all humanity but would strive to be a blessing to all humanity: “Through you all the families of the earth will be blessed.”

The third was with the Israelites in the days of Moses, when the people stood at Mount Sinai, heard the Ten Commandments and accepted the terms of their destiny as “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.”

Who, though, initiated these three covenants? God. It was not Noah, or Abraham, or Moses, or the Israelites who sought a covenant with God. It was God who sought a covenant with humanity.

There is, though, a discernible change as we trace the trajectory of these three events. From Noah God asked no specific response. There was nothing Noah had to do to show that he accepted the terms of covenant. He now knew that there are seven rules governing acceptable human behaviour, but God asked for no positive covenant-ratifying gesture. Throughout the process Noah was passive.

From Abraham, God did ask for a response – a painful one. “This is My covenant which you shall keep between Me and you and your descendants after you: every male among you shall be circumcised. You must circumcise the flesh of your foreskin. This shall be the sign of the covenant between Me and you” (Gen., 17:10-11). The Hebrew word for circumcision is milah, but to this day we call it brit milah or even, simply, brit – which is, of course, the Hebrew word for covenant. God asks, at least of Jewish males, something very demanding: an initiation ceremony.

From the Israelites at Sinai God asked for much more. He asked them in effect to recognise Him as their sole sovereign and legislator. The Sinai covenant came not with seven commands as for Noah, or an eighth as for Abraham, but with 613 of them. The Israelites were to incorporate God-consciousness into every aspect of their lives.

So, as the covenants proceed, God asks more and more of His partners, or to put it slightly differently, He entrusts them with ever greater responsibilities.

Something else happened at Sinai that had not happened before. God tells Moses to announce the nature of the covenant before making it, to see whether the people agree. They do so no less than three times: “Then the people answered as one, saying, ‘All that the Lord has spoken we will do’” (Ex. 19:7). “The people all responded with a single voice, ‘We will do everything the Lord has spoken’” (Ex. 24:3). “The people said, ‘All that the Lord has spoken we will do and heed’” (Ex. 24:7).

This is the first time in history that we encounter the phenomenon enshrined in the American Declaration of Independence, namely “the consent of the governed.” God only spoke the Ten Commandments after the people had signalled that they had given their consent to be bound by His word. God does not impose His rule by force. At Sinai, covenant-making became mutual. Both sides had to agree.

So the human role in covenant-making grows greater over time. But Nitzavim takes this one stage further. Moses, seemingly of his own initiative, renewed the covenant:

All of you are standing today before the Lord your God—your leaders, your tribes, your elders and officials, all the men of Israel, your children, your wives, the strangers in your camp, from woodcutter to water-drawer — to enter into the covenant of the Lord your God and its oath, which the Lord your God is making with you today, to establish you today as His people, that He may be your God, as He promised you and swore to your ancestors, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. (Deut. 29:9-12)

This was the first time that the covenant was renewed, but not the last. It happened again at the end of Joshua’s life (Josh. 24), and later in the days of Jehoiada (2 Kings 11:17),  Hezekiah (2 Chron. 29) and Josiah (1 Kings 23: 1-3; 2 Chron. 34: 29-33). After the Babylonian exile, Ezra and Nehemiah convened a national gathering to renew the covenant (Nehemiah 8). But it happened first in today’s parsha.

It happened because Moses knew it had to happen. The terms of Jewish history were about to shift from Divine initiative to human initiative. This is what Moses was preparing the Israelites for in the last month of his life. It is as if he had said: Until now God has led – in a pillar of cloud and fire – and you have followed. Now God is handing over the reins of history to you. From here on, you must lead. If your hearts are with Him, He will be with you. But you are now no longer children; you are adults. An adult still has parents, as a child does, but his or her relationship with them is different. An adult knows the burden of responsibility. An adult does not wait for someone else to take the first step.

That is the epic significance of Nitzavim, the parsha that stands almost at the end of the Torah and that we read almost at the end of the year. It is about getting ready for a new beginning: in which we act for God instead of waiting for God to act for us.

Translate this into human terms and you will see how life-changing it can be. Many years ago, at the beginning of my rabbinical career, I kept waiting for a word of encouragement from a senior rabbinical figure. I was working hard, trying innovative approaches, seeking new ways of getting people engaged in Jewish life and learning. You need support at such moments because taking risks and suffering the inevitable criticism is emotionally draining. The encouragement never came. The silence hurt. It ate, like acid, into my heart.

Then in a lightning-flash of insight, I thought: what if I turn the entire scenario around. What if, instead of waiting for Rabbi X to encourage me, I encouraged him? What if I did for him what I was hoping he would do for me? That was a life-changing moment. It gave me a strength I never had before.

I began to formulate it as an ethic. Don’t wait to be praised: praise others. Don’t wait to be respected: respect others. Don’t stand on the sidelines, criticising others. Do something yourself to make things better. Don’t wait for the world to change: begin the process yourself, and then win others to the cause. There is a statement attributed to Gandhi (actually he never said it[2], but in a parallel universe he might have done): ‘Be the change you seek in the world.’ Take the initiative.

That was what Moses was doing in the last month of his life, in that long series of public addresses that make up the book of Devarim, culminating in the great covenant-renewal ceremony in today’s parsha. Devarim marks the end of the childhood of the Jewish people.  From there on, Judaism became God’s call to human responsibility. For us, faith is not waiting for God. Faith is the realisation that God is waiting for us.

Hence the life-changing idea: Whenever you find yourself distressed because someone hasn’t done for you what you think they should have done, turn the thought around, and then do it for them.

Don’t wait for the world to get better. Take the initiative yourself. The world is waiting for you.

Shabbat Shalom.

NOTES

[1] Of course, the Babylonian Talmud argues that at Sinai God did impose the covenant by force, namely by “suspending the mountain” over the people’s heads. But the Talmud then immediately notes that “this constitutes a fundamental challenge to the authority of the Torah” and concludes that the people finally accepted the Torah voluntarily “in the days of Ahasuerus” (Shabbat 88a). The only question, therefore, is: when was there free consent?
[2] See Brian Morton, ‘Falser words were never spoken,’ New York Times, 29 August 2011. The closest he came was, “If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. … We need not wait to see what others do.”

As taken from, https://mailchi.mp/rabbisacks/nitzavim-5778-243865?e=97ac870b13

by Rabbi Jonathan Lopes Cardozo

Yes, Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur are serious days. They require us to place God in the center of our lives and then to repent and ask forgiveness for our misdeeds.

But, let’s be honest. Many of us know that, however much we try, true repentance probably won’t happen and we’ll just fall back into our old ways. The effort involved in surviving this, year after year without becoming depressed, is nearly brutal. The fact that we keep on trying is an enormous human accomplishment. After all, what is the point of going through the motions only to discover that we are back where we were? It’s torturous!

How does one survive this?

Strangely enough, it’s humor that does the trick.

Here’s how it works. We are all romantics. What this really means is that we are not prepared to be content with our physical and spiritual lives. There is more to life than what we experience, and our goal is to achieve it. There is always a gap between what we want our life to be and what it is in reality.

But sooner or later, a kind of rapprochement develops between the two, which mainly consists of the fact that this lack of contentment with our lives slowly starts to give way to the reality that is forced on us. This process begins the moment we enter primary school. We are completely “authentic” at the start, but we slowly conform to the reality around us and lose our real self. During puberty, it may slow down a bit as a result of adolescent rebellion. But by the time we enter the world of higher education, get married, and become absorbed with “the facts of life,” it begins to be a kind of suit of armor, which we can no longer break out of and which will accompany us for the rest of our earthly existence. The result is often tragic. It’s like painters who believe they have completed a painting and just at the last moment realize that something is lacking. They turn back to have another look at their painting, and while they are sure that the objective of their work has indeed, more or less, been realized, they also know that something essential is missing and that they have somehow overlooked “the real thing.” But as a result of their armor, they cannot discover it. The great Dutch author Willem Bilderdijk (1756-1831) once compared this to an opera singer who gets a lavatory as a room in which to practice. It suffocates him.

But most people do not realize this and live happily in the bathroom wearing their armor. Our society anticipates this and catches us in its net.

Only great souls are aware of this and, often with much effort, throw off their armor and venture outside the bathroom. As a result, they frequently clash with society and are misunderstood. But they are also the ones who move society forward. They realize that they are like prisoners looking through the bars; and once they have seen the garden of their lives, they bend the bars and walk out.

But to do so requires humor.

What is humor?

Humor is that which keeps us laughing, despite everything. Humor is conquered sadness. It is the melancholy that you pierce through and then profit from. It is the affirmation of our superiority over all that goes wrong. It is also the awareness that we live in the midst of continuous absurdity which, if we take a step backwards, makes us realize that even if we attempt to live a life of soberness—using all our faculties of logic, common sense and joy—we will still end up staring at the mystery of living a life we cannot grasp and will never understand no matter how much we’ve convinced ourselves that we have it all “under control.” Humor teaches us that there is meaning behind absurdity, although we can’t figure out what that meaning actually is.

But most of us miss the joke and walk around with a sad face. Interestingly enough, it was the victims of the Holocaust who, under impossible and most cruel circumstances, saw the absurdity of it and sometimes managed to use a wry form of humor regarding their situation, to help see some (religious) meaning behind it.[1] It kept them alive. No one will doubt that this was a phenomenal human accomplishment that only a few could achieve.

A Dutch proverb describes it well: Humor is training for the game of life.

And so, Rosh HaShana is a day of infinite humor, because it confronts us with all the absurdity and foolishness of our life’s ambitions—receiving honor, acquiring money, accumulating material possessions, and more. But we also realize that these ambitions shape our lives with the purpose of having us laugh about them in the presence of God, because it is God who has, strangely enough, created this condition. It is through the everydayness, the trivialities, and the absurdity of human existence that God wants to meet us. Nothing could be more serious, humorous, or odd. It is a type of funfair, but with the misfortune of having a merry-go-round that often becomes badly dislocated, causing people to get hurt and even die.

But that’s not all.

Rosh HaShana asks us to re-crown God and put Him in the center of our lives. It is a festival of uncompromising monotheism, the belief that all that exists is His handiwork and that He is everywhere. He is transcendent, immanent, omnipotent, omniscient and eternal. There is no “Other” but God.

This means that we are trying to crown a Being about Whom we have not the slightest clue. We don’t know Who He is, what He is, and why He does the things He does, which often make no sense, are unacceptable, and even cruel. He is the great Unknown to Whom the words “Exist” and “Is” don’t even apply, since these definitions are sorely deficient.

This is the pinnacle of absurdity and humor. How do you crown a Being when you haven’t the slightest comprehension of who He is, and sometimes even wonder whether He is? It is rather pathetic.

It is this type of paradox that is at the center of Rosh HaShana. We try to accomplish something which, by definition, is completely impossible. So why even try?

Crowning a Being that is not a Whom, a What, or an It, but only an Ein Sof, an “Endless End,” and an Infinite, makes no sense whatsoever. It sounds like a bad joke, like someone is pulling the wool over our eyes on the most serious day of the Jewish year.

And here again is the humor. Rosh HaShana takes us back to our childhood; back to our pre-school innocent authenticity. We are asked not to comply with our maturity, which was developed by our armor during high school and later in life. Rather, we are asked to go back to being romantics, feeling discontent with our lives, and re-experiencing the gap between what we are and what we wanted to achieve before we fell into the “trap” of maturity. This is humor of the highest order.

Which stories are children’s favorites? No doubt fairy tales! And which are the most popular fairy tales? The ones that are completely incomprehensible, in which the impossible takes place: flying animals; houses built on clouds; princes turning into frogs; lions that can speak; wizards and witches who travel on brooms. It is a world in which all definitions, logic, and common sense are violated. But nothing excites a child more than these stories. Why? Because in the fairy tale, the child enters a world where there are no limits, where omnipotence and transcendence are obvious because there is no armor to block them. There is the capacity to believe in something that is impossible and therefore “true” in the realm of eternity. It is the expression of an unlimited “faith capacity” that the child demonstrates.

But there is still more. All fairy tales are about yearning, not fulfillment.[2] The prince has to defeat the seven dragons, after which he must live seven years as a frog before he can marry the princess. This is narrated in great detail. But once he has married the princess, the fairy tale comes to an end. All we are told is that they “lived happily ever after.”

And this is as it should be, because real life begins where the fairy tale ends. The fairy tale is concerned with the engagement. But life deals with the much more difficult task of the marriage between two people, one of which has been a frog for seven years, and the other has slept for a hundred years. In the fairy tale, there is total silence regarding what happens afterwards. It only tells us about the journey, not the arrival.

Paradoxically, this describes our lives. We live a real life only after we have left the fairy tale of our lives. We believe we’ve got it all together. But later in life we suddenly realize that we never left the fairy tale. Until the last day, we are still busy with the journey and realize that we will never arrive. In fact, we don’t even know what this arrival consists of. It is beyond our grasp. And it is exactly that which makes life so exciting. The longing keeps us alive. We may tell ourselves that we have arrived, but we simultaneously realize that the happiness we caught along the journey starts repeating itself now that we have arrived, and the dragon of boredom consumes us. The story then comes to an end.

Many mature people, especially those who have religious souls, experience this when they sing religious songs with fervor and devotion but have not the slightest clue what these songs mean. They are on a journey and are longing to understand, but they know it will never fully happen.

One just has to think about the Jewish women and men who say their daily kapitel tehillim (chapter of psalms) while, for the most part, having not the slightest clue what these psalms actually mean; or, the Jewish children who are asked to sing Anim Zemirot (an almost incomprehensible kabbalistic song) in the synagogue on Shabbat morning. They will sing the song with great devotion, knowing that it touches on something most holy, far beyond their comprehension. The synagogue members who respond to the children with every second verse also have no clue about what they are singing, but in no way does this lessen its spiritual meaning. In fact, it only adds, because it is pure. It is the journey that keeps them fascinated. The armor of maturity has been thrown off, and the impossible becomes possible, but still incomprehensible.

The same takes place in church, where people sing Latin Gregorian songs without knowing a word of Latin and where the translation is even more unintelligible. They do this in an uncomplicated but most devoted way, with the conviction that something enormous is at stake. And this is true.

In all these cases, the songs are fairytale-like and consequently of utmost beauty.

This is certainly not a plea for singing only religious songs that are incomprehensible, but it is to remember that these songs are of the greatest importance because they confront us with the meaning behind the absurdity of life, which is revealed in these fairytale-like songs with which all of us live. In some way, they tell us that the songs we do understand are ultimately just as much a part of the absurdity as those we do not understand. They confront us with the ineffable, the mysterium magnum. They restore us to our rightful place. They turn us into children, which we have always been and always will be however much we want to deny this. We are still traveling.

The problem is that there is a wisdom “out there,” which is transmitted on a wavelength that is out of range of our spiritual transistor’s frequency. Yes, we turn on the radio, but we’re only able to hear some strange noises and unusual static. There is a serious transmission failure. We can’t find the pipelines because we have become locked in our armor and are too far removed. This is the only human condition known to us. And on Rosh HaShana we become aware that we will never catch this wavelength.

Therefore, Rosh HaShana is of the greatest importance. Having to crown a Being whom we cannot fathom forces us to believe in the fairy tales of the Divine. When we state in our prayers that “God was King, is King and will forever be King,” we enter a space where all such expressions are completely beyond our intellectual capacity. We do not know what we are saying. It is all holy absurdity. And consequently, it is most significant.

For this reason, there is an interplay of words in our prayers, when we laud God as the King but then at a certain moment are silenced by our awareness that all these expressions are deficient. We realize that our words are completely inadequate and we are not tuned in to the transistor’s transmission, which by definition cannot reach us.

We then do what children do when they cannot find the words. They start looking for other ways to overcome the problem. Sometimes, out of frustration, they’ll make incomprehensible sounds to let off steam and simultaneously try to reach a level that no words can reach. In that case, they may take a whistle, or other blow toy, and produce strange sounds that belong to the world of fairy tales.

This is the purpose of the shofar. When words are no longer effective, we look for other ways to pull through and release our frustration. And so we start to blow a strange sound that can pierce through all heavenly levels until it makes it to the One Who is totally unknown.

And somehow we have a good laugh over it. What do you do when absurdity and inadequacy hits you? You can become depressed and melancholic. But here Judaism proves its genius. It turns the tables on us and asks us to overcome our negative feelings and instead celebrate this absurdity. It asks us to dress like kings and queens, have tasty meals, sing optimistic songs, and turn Rosh HaShana into a fantastic holy celebration.

It is all a cavalcade of our lives and therefore very serious.

“To live is like to love—all reason is against it, and all healthy instinct for it,” said Samuel Butler.

It is Divine humor that tells us to continue to live with this absurdity; and supreme holy witticism that asks us to live with laughter. We are asked to enjoy the journey and realize that there is no arrival.

Tizku le-shanim rabot.

NOTES

[1] See Eliezer Berkovits, With God in Hell: Judaism in the Ghettos and Deathcamps, Sanhedrin Press, NY & London, 1979.

[2] See Godfried Bomans, Wij Horen U Niet, Elsevier, 1961, Dutch.

As taken from, https://www.cardozoacademy.org/thoughts-to-ponder/rosh-hashana-fairy-tales-and-humor/?utm_source=Subscribers&utm_campaign=ce80367f86-Weekly_Thoughts_to_Ponder_campaign_TTP_548_COPY_01&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_dd05790c6d-ce80367f86-242341409

What happens when you die? How can your way of life affect the eternal reality?

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by Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo

On Rosh HaShanah all the inhabitants of the world pass before Him like a flock of sheep.[1]

Like walking on a small narrow road where no two can pass by at the same time.

In this mishnah, the Sages highlighted man’s uniqueness and loneliness in his encounter with God. Human beings are, above all, individuals. They meet God privately, each one having been created in a particular way with varying talents, emotions and levels of wisdom. Privacy is, after all, the privilege of the individual.

Still, this individuality is of little value if man is unable to exercise it in his connection with God and his fellow man. Only in relationships can man be an individual, for if he does not live in an encounter with the Other, he cannot be unique, since it is distinctiveness that makes man special. Like a flower that we single out from among all others, and whose beauty we individualize, so man does not become human unless his uniqueness is highlighted.

However, individuality is also an enormous challenge – a call for responsibility, from which there is no escape. It is man alone who is responsible for his deeds, and it is primarily through these that man meets the Other. Nothing has more far-reaching consequences than the human deed. One act may determine the fate of the world. It is through the application of his deeds that man reveals his thoughts and feelings. And even when the act is done in the company of his fellow men and with the cooperation of others, it still remains distinct.

According to a view in the Talmud,[2] Rosh HaShanah celebrates the birth of the first human being—the first creature destined to be an individual—while Yom Kippur reminds him of his responsibilities. Though other creatures no doubt have some degree of individuality, they do not carry responsibility for their deeds, and  are therefore  not distinctive.

Consequently, it is the uniqueness of the human deed that is the focal point of Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur. The High Holidays, then, are a protest against the notion that some of our deeds are trivial. Since all of our deeds take place in the presence of God they must all be significant. Our encounter with God on the High Holidays teaches us a powerful lesson: There are no deeds of insignificance. It warns that we should never see our lives as common and irrelevant. However small a deed may seem in our eyes, Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur make us aware that our entire lives, and even the most trivial deeds, should be attuned to eternity. Time is broken eternity; every moment counts because it is part of a great and infinite mystery of which not even a second can be recaptured. We do not live in our private time but in God’s time, in which we spend every second of our lives. It is therefore imperative that we instill divine eternity into all of our deeds, making the small things significant, the common unique, and the momentary eternal.[3]

We must internalize the truth that only through detail can one really live a life of profundity. Detail is, after all, the breaking down of generalities into such subtle components that they touch eternity. Man needs to live profoundly because only a contemplative life has meaning.

Every ordinary act should be turned into a kind of  mitzvah, a spiritual challenge, making it a dignified encounter with God. On Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur we are reminded that our deeds must redeem God’s presence and rescue Him from oblivion. In doing the finite we must be able to perceive the infinite.

The High Holidays are a warning to live vertically and not horizontally. When we live our lives in the constant pursuit of new material objects, believing that through them we will find meaning and joy, it would behoove us to look around and see the continuous boredom in which our Western world finds itself. The excitement of new possessions leads to the trivialization of our lives after a day or two – but only if we view them horizontally. If we look at what we have in a vertical dimension, meaning in the process of constant spiritual growth, then we see these objects in the light of eternity and, consequently, in profundity.

As we enter a new year, we encounter major challenges. Let us hope we handle this well in our private life and sincerely pray that the governments of Israel and America will make the right decisions concerning Hamas, Iran and The Islamic State. One small mistake may bring a disaster.

May God grant the Jewish people and all of mankind the wisdom to make the right choices, as well as the opportunity to live in peace and with great profundity.

Tizku leshanim rabot.

NOTES

[1] Mishnah Rosh HaShanah 1:2.

[2] Rosh HaShanah 10b.

[3] Abraham Joshua Heschel.

As taken from, https://www.cardozoacademy.org/thoughts-to-ponder/rosh-hashanah-what-really-counts/?utm_source=Subscribers&utm_campaign=8369856319-Weekly_Thoughts_to_Ponder_campaign_TTP_548_COPY_01&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_dd05790c6d-8369856319-242341409

The secret to living without regret.

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by J. Kristen Urban

The present conflict within Israel/Palestine between the Israeli state and Palestinian Arabs living in territories occupied by Israel during the 1967 Six Day War is often pictured as mirroring a “sibling rivalry” that has been a part of biblical history for centuries. But while the Genesis story of Isaac and Ishmael is painful reading today for anyone sensitive to the emotional well-being of the other, the narratives that have grown up around this story in Judaism and in Islam are markedly different! What constitutes an expulsion within Jewish tradition, and thus evokes a concern for the trauma visited upon Hagar and Ishmael, actually marks the beginnings of the Islamic tradition and is accepted as the action of an unfathomable and all-knowing God/Allah.

As children of Abraham, Jews and Muslims draw upon rich moral traditions embedded within a shared past recorded in Genesis of the Hebrew Bible and referenced in the Qur’an.^[1] It is a past that identifies Ishmael as the father of the Arabs, while his half-brother Isaac becomes the progenitor of the biblical Israelites. What we read in the Genesis account, however, is not an idyllic story, but as Rabbi Jeffrey Salkin observes, the story of a dysfunctional family: “It is the eternal pattern of the book of Genesis: damaged, shattered relationships between siblings and within families.”^[2] Indeed, the great drama of Genesis, according to Salkin, is the battle between brothers, whether we talk about Cain and Abel, Isaac and Ishmael, or Jacob and Esau:

The Jewish scholar Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi suggests that the Oedipus complex—the battle between father and son—is not at the heart of civilization. No, Yerushalmi says, it is the Cain complex—the battle between siblings. … each one battling for the exclusive love of God. In her book The Curse of Cain, Regina Schwartz bemoans what she calls the Torah’s scarcity principle—this painful idea that there can be only one land, one covenant, one blessing. It is, as she suggests, the dark side of monotheism.^[3]

The present conflict within Israel/Palestine between the Israeli state and Palestinian Arabs living in territories occupied by Israel during the 1967 Six Day War is often pictured as mirroring a “sibling rivalry” that has been a part of biblical history for centuries. But while the Genesis story of Isaac and Ishmael is painful reading today for anyone sensitive to the emotional well-being of the other, the narratives that have grown up around this story in Judaism and in Islam are markedly different! What constitutes an expulsion within Jewish tradition, and thus evokes a concern for the trauma visited upon Hagar and Ishmael, actually marks the beginnings of the Islamic tradition and is accepted as the action of an unfathomable and all-knowing God/Allah.

Such narratives grow out of the sociopolitical contexts of our lives and reflect those realities. When Aristotle spoke of “legitimate” governance in Book III of his Politics, he introduced the concept of “constitution” by which he meant that a government serving the interests of its people must also derive from the set of historical experiences and socio-political institutions they have shared—in a word, their political culture. He understood that a community lives together within a context that both brings meaning to its members and serves to define itself as unique from other communities. Athenians and Spartans constitute such examples. As English School proponent Scott Thomas explains, individuals come to understand themselves as embedded within linguistic traditions and social practices that are “passed on through the narratives that shape the identity of the community.”^[4] Drawing upon Alasdair MacIntyre’s Aristotelian-centered social theory as a means of integrating the study of religion into the study of international relations today, Thomas further explains that,

In MacIntyre’s account of social action, the self has a life story, embedded in the story of a larger community from which the self derives a social and historical identity. The life stories of members of the community are intermingled with the stories of others in the story of the communities from which they derive their identity. Thus it follows from MacIntrye’s narrative construction of the self that human actions, such as the construction of state practices, become intelligible only when they are interpreted as part of a larger narrative of the collective life of individuals, communities, and states.^[5]

Indeed, it is this notion of narrative that is at the heart of a project between Israeli and Palestinian peace advocates, presented in the 2006 work edited by Robert I. Rotberg, Israeli and Palestinian Narratives of Conflict: History’s Double Helix. Introducing the project, Rotberg writes,

History’s Double Helix is an apt metaphor for the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, and the way that their intertwined reckonings of the past provide fodder and direction for the tit-for-tat battles of the intifada and its inevitable response. . . . A greater appreciation of the separate truths that drive Palestinians and Israelis could plausibly contribute to conflict reduction.^[6]

It’s not an easy undertaking, however, as psychologists Daniel Bar-Tal and Gavriel Salomon intimate:

The collective memory narrative has a number of characteristics. First, it does not necessarily tell a true history but rather describes a past that is useful for the group to function and even exist. It is a story that is biased, selective, and distorted, that omits certain facts, adds others that did not take place, changes the sequence of events, and purposely reinvents events that did take place. In short, it is a narrative constructed to fit the current needs of the group. … The narrative of past events, moreover, not only undergoes major revisions to suit present day needs, but is often invented years after the events have taken place.^[7]

Which is to say, collective narratives are functional. That collective narratives are functional, however, is what gives them potential within the peace community. As MacIntyre argues, tradition does not mean stagnation; rather, historically driven understandings must be revisited to make palpable “those future possibilities which the past has made available to the present.”^[8] Can the religious imaginings of two peoples, then, be brought to bear on the discourse concerning political identity today? Using secondary sources—I am a political scientist, not a theologian—I will examine first the Genesis narrative of the Jewish midrashim (body of Jewish rabbinical commentary and interpretations) surrounding the Isaac/Ishmael story and then the Qur’anic narrative of this same story as understood in Islamic exegesis.

The Genesis Story

Briefly, the story of Isaac and Ishmael that is found in Genesis 16-21 introduces us to Abram and Sarai, who will later be re-named Abraham and Sarah, the world’s first Jews. As the story goes, they have moved to Canaan from Mesopotamia. Being old and childless, Sarah gives her Egyptian maid, Hagar, to Abraham in hopes the couple will have a child by the maid. When Hagar becomes pregnant, her continued presence in their house becomes intolerable to Sarah, who complains to Abraham. “Do with her what you want,” he tells her. Sarah treats the maid badly and Hagar escapes into the wilderness. There she is met by an angel of the Lord, who tells her to return to her mistress and submit to her authority—that the Lord

will so greatly multiply your descendants that they cannot be numbered for the multitude. … [that] you are with child, and shall bear a son; you shall call his name Ishmael; because the Lord has given heed to your affliction. He shall be a wild ass of a man; his hand against every man, and every man’s hand against him; and he shall dwell over against all of his kinsmen. (Gen. 16:9-12)

More than ten years later, Sarah becomes pregnant and has a son Isaac, whom Abraham fetes with a great celebration at the event of Isaac’s weaning. Genesis 21:9 tells us that “Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, whom she had borne to Abraham, playing [metzachek] with her son Isaac.” There have been countless rabbinical explanations of what Ishmael might have been doing, but whatever it was, Sarah appeals to Abraham, demanding that he send her away (Gen. 21:10). Abraham is not happy to hear this, but when God tells him to do what Sarah asks, he consents, and the two are cast into the wilderness alone, Abraham giving them bare provisions when he sees them off. At one point a spring of water miraculously wells up in the desert and revives them. An angel appears to confirm God’s earlier message to Hagar that Ishmael would be the father of a great nation (Gen. 21:14-21). The next time we read of Ishmael, he and Isaac are coming together to bury their father, after which follows a list of Ishmael’s twelve sons (the number twelve representing a sign of nationhood), who survived him after his death at 137 years of age (Gen. 25:9-18)

Jewish Narratives

The Isaac/Ishmael story of Genesis is a problematic one for Jews, whose ethical center is grounded on a caring egalitarian ethic and the command to take care of “the widow, the orphan, and the stranger” that is found in Exodus 22:21-24 and Deuteronomy 10:18. Indeed, when Rabbi Milton Steinberg discusses what it means to be a religious Jew, he quotes the succinct statement of the famous Palestinian sage Hillel: “That which is harmful to thee do not to thy neighbor. That is the whole doctrine. The rest is commentary.”^[9] Sarah’s relationship with Hagar, which results in the expulsion of Hagar and Ishmael to the wilderness, and the characterization of Ishmael in this story are especially troublesome passages that, on the face of it, violate this “Golden Rule.” How have these events been explained in the Jewish narrative tradition?

Sarah and Hagar

As Elie Wiesel painfully observes: “How can Jewish history begin with a domestic quarrel between a rich elderly mistress and her young servant?”^[10] He continues,

If only Sarah could have shared her love between Isaac and Ishmael! If only she could have brought them together instead of setting them apart! Maybe some of today’s tragedies would have been avoided. The Palestinian problem is rooted in the separation of these two brothers. As always, we must ask, Is it the mother’s fault?^[11]

It is true that the relationship between Sarah and Hagar reflects one set of issues that have spawned a number of midrashim over the centuries. The most ancient of these sought to protect the image of Abraham and Sarah, who were seen to constitute a new beginning in God’s creation. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr quotes Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann in explaining that,

In light of the preceding eleven chapters [of Genesis], then, the singling-out of Abram and Sarai appears as still another attempt by God to set things right, “to fashion an alternative community in creation gone awry, to embody in human history the power of the blessing.” [Gen.12:1-3]^[12]

Thus, Sarah’s infertility was variously explained in the Midrash Rabbah as being God’s way of ensuring that Sarah’s prayers would not cease; that since she was beautiful and rich, she might have become too independent had she immediately been blessed with sons; and that “[she] might give the greatest possible pleasure to [her] husban[d], since pregnant women are bloated and inelegant.”^[13] However, for the rabbis, Darr contends that Sarah was foremost a symbol of hope: “certain of their elaborations upon the Sarah stories indicate that they perceived in Sarah a presage of the world to come.”^[14] This was larger than imagining the future of Zion, however—symbolizing how God could bring a people out of a barren matriarch; it served as an example of how God’s people, living in a difficult present, ought to live in order to bring about such a future. Darr continues,

More than a Bronze Age relic or a portent of the future, Sarah was a model for faithful Jewish living. When Abram and Sarai were in Haran, for example, and Abraham busied himself converting the heathen to Judaism, Sarai was right beside him converting the women. Despite her great beauty, she remained modest and loyal to her husband. Moreover, in times of trouble she, like other biblical matriarchs, prayed to God, and the Lord took pleasure in her prayers. It was on account of her good deeds, therefore, that Sarah was relieved of the onus of barrenness and granted a child.^[15]

Although it conforms to such legal standards of the day as the Hammurabi Code in terms of a moral reckoning, Sarah’s treatment of Hagar and Ishmael borders on cruelty. And while rabbinical interpretations of the past tended to exonerate her actions by focusing on the insubordination of Hagar and Ishmael, more recent interpreters do criticize her harsh demands. For example, Darr quotes from Renita Weems’ essay, “A Mistress, A Maid, and No Mercy,” saying,

Taking advantage of Hagar’s slavewoman status, exploiting the fact that the woman who tended to her house was vocationally limited and her financial options virtually non-existent, Sarai took advantage of her status over Hagar. She knew that the way to enslave a slave—all over again—was to humiliate her, to destroy her (newfound) sense of self-worth, to dehumanize her.^[16]

Elie Wiesel condemns her actions as well, but draws upon earlier tradition for support that also seeks to explain Jewish history:

The great Rabbi Moshe ben Nahman—the Ramban–Nahmanides—comments that when our ancestress Sarai (or Sarah) persecuted Hagar, she committed a sin. Abraham, by not preventing her, became an accomplice to that sin. That is why God heard the lament and the tears of Hagar and gave her a wild son whose descendents would torment in every way the descendents of Abraham and Sarah. The sufferings of the Jewish people, said the Ramban, derive from those which Sarah inflicted upon Hagar.^[17]

Phyllis Trible, in Texts of Terror, also sees a foreshadowing of Jewish history in her condemnation of Sarah’s actions:

As the life of the mistress has prospered, the lot of the servant woman has worsened. With a disturbing twist, the words of Sarah anticipate vocabulary and themes from the Exodus narrative. When plagues threatened the life of his firstborn son, Pharaoh cast out (grš) the Hebrew slaves. Like the monarch, Sarah the matriarch wants to protect the life of her own son by casting out (grš) Hagar the [Egyptian] slave. Having once fled from affliction (Gen. 16:6b), Hagar continues to prefigure Israel’s story even as Sarah foreshadows Egypt’s role. Irony abounds.^[18]

Finally, Darr draws our attention to the patriarchal stage upon which the Genesis drama is being played out. If we see Sarah and Hagar as actors “under the direction—indeed the total control—of a director: the anonymous, omniscient biblical narrator,”^[19] we may be predisposed to thinking about Sarah, Hagar, and Abraham in certain ways. For example, this narrator does not question the institution of slavery or the pain caused by the institution of patriarchy; rather, he blames the victims. “He suggests, for example, that if females suffer in polygynous relationships, it is not because such relationships are likely to be oppressive, but rather because women are vicious and competitive.”^[20] Feminist scholar Esther Fuchs adds to this with her criticisms that,

Hidden in the background of the power struggle between these women [however] is the male protagonist for whose approval both women are vying. In this manner biblical ideology shifts our attention away from the source of the problem to its symptoms, blaming … the female victims of polygyny for its unsavory aspects.^[21]

In Genesis 16:2 we hear Sarai tell Abram, “Because Yahweh has prevented me from bearing children, go to my maid. Perhaps I shall be built up from her.” Things do not go as planned. Trible suggests that when Hagar learns she is pregnant,

Hagar acquires a new vision of Sarai. Hierarchical blinders disappear. The exalted mistress decreases, while the lowly maid increases. Not hatred, but a re-ordering of the relationship is the point. … This unexpected twist provides an occasion for mutuality and equality between females, but it is not to be. If Hagar has experienced a new vision, Sarai remains within the old structures.^[22]

What we are told in Genesis 16:4 is that for Hagar, Sarai was “lowered in her eyes.” Darr relays that “the rabbis, motivated no doubt by a desire to exonerate Sarah as much as possible, explained it very much at Hagar’s expense:” and quotes the following from Louis Ginzberg’s The Legends of the Jews:

No sooner had Hagar’s union with Abraham been consummated, and she felt that she was with child, than she began to treat her former mistress contemptuously, though Sarah was particularly tender toward her in the state in which she was. When noble matrons came to see Sarah, she was in the habit of urging them to pay a visit to “poor Hagar,” too. The dames would comply with her suggestion, but Hagar would use the opportunity to disparage Sarah.^[23]

Abraham gives Sarah complete authority over Hagar, and we are told by the Genesis narrator that “Then Sarah dealt harshly with her” (16:6). Hagar flees to the wilderness where a number of very interesting things happen. First, she is confronted by the Lord’s angel, who tells her she must return to her mistress’ authority. Then Hagar receives a divine promise: “I will greatly increase your offspring and they shall be too many to count” (16:10). Lest this seem like a small thing, Darr quotes Jo Ann Hacket’s “Rehabilitating Hagar”: “This is the only case in Genesis where this typical J-writer promise is given to a woman rather than to a patriarch, and so we sit up and take notice.”^[24] Third, Hagar receives a speech concerning her unborn child (Gen. 16:9-12). While technically this is not an annunciation speech since Hagar already knows she is pregnant, Darr explains in a footnote that

The rabbis believed … the angel’s words were a true annunciation speech, for they claimed that Hagar’s first conception ended in miscarriage before her escape, when her jealous mistress “cast an evil eye on her.” Ishmael, about whom the angel spoke, was not conceived until after Hagar returned to Sarai and Abram.^[25]

Finally, Hagar’s encounter with the divine is a singular event for another reason: “So she called the name of the Lord, who spoke to her, ‘Thou art a God of seeing’; for she said, ‘Have I really seen God and remained alive after seeing him?’” (Genesis 16:13). Thus, Hagar’s response is to name God—“an astonishing act undertaken by no other person in the Hebrew Bible. ‘You are El-roi [“God of seeing”],’ she says.”^[26] Trible comments on Hagar’s exceptional insight:

The expression is striking because it connotes naming rather than invocation. In other words, Hagar does not call upon the deity … instead, she calls the name, a power attributed to no one else in all the Bible. … The maid … after receiving a divine announcement of the forthcoming birth, sees (r’h) God with new vision. Hagar is a theologian. Her naming unites the divine and human encounter: the God who sees and the God who is seen.^[27]

The Expulsion

Hagar returns to Sarai and Abram, whence Hagar gives birth to Ishmael. Fifteen years later, when Isaac is roughly three, at the time of his weaning, Sarah demands that her husband “Cast out this slave woman with her son; for the son of this slave woman shall not be heir with my son Isaac” (Gen. 21:10). The story continues,

But God said to Abraham, ‘Be not displeased because of the lad and because of your slave woman; whatever Sarah says to you, do as she tells you, for through Isaac shall your descendents be named. And I will make a great nation of the son of the slave woman also, because he is your offspring.’ So Abraham rose early in the morning and took bread and a skin of water, and gave it to Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, along with the child, and sent her away. (Gen. 21:12-14)

The tough questions? Why would Sarah demand this? Why would God side with her? Why didn’t Abraham do more to help Hagar, such as provide her with real provisions, guards, a camel? Trible notes the language of distance and separation in the Genesis narrative, which serves to reinforce the terror of the expulsion of this mother and son into the unknown:

To minimize Abraham’s relationship to Ishmael, God calls him “the lad” rather than “your son.” Moreover, the deity describes Hagar not as “your wife” but as “your slave woman,” a description that tellingly emulates the vocabulary of Sarah (Gen. 21:10). If Abraham neglected Hagar, God belittles her.^[28]

Once in the desert, the water runs out and both Hagar and Ishmael are near death. Hagar is distraught:

She left the child under one of the bushes, and went and sat down at a distance, a bowshot away; for she thought, “Let me not look on as the child dies.” And sitting thus afar, she burst into tears. God heard the cry of the boy, and an angel of God called to Hagar from heaven and said to her, “What troubles you, Hagar? Fear not; for God has heeded the cry of the boy where he is. Arise, lift up the boy, and hold him by the hand, for I will make a great nation of him.” Then God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water. She went and filled the skin with water, and let the boy drink. God was with the boy and he grew up; he dwelt in the wilderness and became a bowman. He lived in the wilderness of Paran; and his mother got a wife for him from the land of Egypt (Gen. 21:15-21, Hebrew Bible).

Hagar moves away from her child so as not to see him die? Elie Wiesel tries to explain such un-motherly behavior. Perhaps “she distances herself so she can cry out loud. As long as she is near her son, she manages to hold back her tears—so as not to frighten him, not to distress him. What could be more natural, more human, on the part of a mother?”^[29]

Hagar weeps, but God responds to Ishmael. The rabbis explain this by saying that Hagar was praying to idols, while Ishmael’s cries were to God. Indeed, we learn from Ginzberg’s collection of Jewish legends that Ishmael cried: “Oh Lord of the world! If it be Thy will that I should perish, then let me die in some other way, not by thirst, for the tortures of thirst are great beyond all others.”^[30] Darr observes that the narrator’s patriarchal lens may be at work here—Hagar’s personhood is not as significant as saving the life of the male heir, destined to be the father of a nation. She also quotes Elsa Tamez, a Latin American liberation theologian who sees in Ishmael’s name a reason for the change in focus:

God has heard the cry of Ishmael; he is called Ishmael, because God is, and always will be, ready to hear the cries of the son of a slave. Ishmael signifies in Hebrew ‘God hears,’ and God will always listen to children such as Ishmael who are the victims of injustice.^[31]

Ishmael’s Character

A third troublesome aspect of the Isaac/Ishmael story that we consider here is the description of Ishmael provided in two separate Genesis accounts and the inferences that have been drawn from them within Jewish tradition. The first description of Ishmael comes from the angel who first meets Hagar when she is pregnant in the wilderness. Hagar is told that “He will be a wild ass of a man; his hand against everyone, and everyone’s hand against him; he shall dwell alongside all of his kinsmen” (Gen. 16:12). As Salkin observes, this portrayal suggests that

Ishmael is less than fully human; he is like a boy reared by wolves in the wilderness. He is destined to be violent, confrontational, an archer, a warrior, a loner. He will dwell al penei kol echav, “alongside all his kinsmen.” [That is, not with them.] But the phrase al penei can also be translated as “in the face of.” Ishmael will get into people’s faces, which is precisely what gets him and his mother thrown out of Abraham and Sarah’s household.^[32]

Darr quotes Gerhard von Rad, who finds in this Genesis verse, “a worthy son of his rebellious and proud mother! In this description of Ishmael there is undoubtedly undisguised sympathy and admiration for the roving Bedouin who bends his neck to no yolk.”^[33] Wiesel tells us how the earlier rabbis interpreted this, and with his own commentary, provides us with a more sensitive perspecti

He would be wild. … He would have his fingers in everything. The commentators did not hesitate to explain: He would be a thief. Violent. Poor thing: he isn’t even born yet and already he is being accused of crimes and sins as vague as they are unfair. He is not even born yet and already he is being made an antisocial being. From the moment he arrives, what does he see? Helpless, he is witness to some painful scenes: His mother is humiliated without end. What must he think of the system in which he grows up? What must he think of the patriarch Abraham whose reputation transcends borders? Or of God who permits so much injustice within His human family?^[34]

Arthur Waskow wrestles with this text from God as a Fabranganer, a member of a community of Jews that comes together on a weekly basis to discuss Torah using a midrashic style of learning. He focuses on Ishmael’s name rather than the descriptive passage provided by God’s angel:

Literally, the Hebrew Yishma El means “God heard,” and the name is given first by God directly to the pregnant Hagar when God hears her sorrow over Sarah’s harsh treatment of her. Then the name is confirmed in the desert when God hears the despairing cry of Ishmael and Hagar and offers them life and water. But this name also has echoes in the other line of Abraham’s seed; for at the crossroads moment of Jewish history, the moment of deepest despair and suffering in Egypt, the people cried out and their cry came up to God, and God heard their groaning and began the process of their deliverance from Egypt. Again so like! The cry of despair rises from the exiles of the Land, both sets of exiles, both seeds of Abraham: the cry rises from the child of Hagar and from the children of Sarah. And the cry is heard.^[35]

The other troublesome Genesis passage (21:9) depicts an Ishmael who, on the day of his brother’s weaning celebration, metzachek (laughs or plays) on the sidelines. Waskow tells us, “The word is usually translated ‘making sport.’ The rabbis, clearly concerned over the seeming injustice of the expulsion, have argued that it means Ishmael was engaged in idolatry, or violence, or sexual license.”^[36] As Salkin explains,

The rabbis imagined that Ishmael committed every classic sin. Maybe Ishmael was “fooling around” violently. One midrash portrays Ishmael as shooting arrows at Isaac … (Genesis Rabbah 53:11). The midrash foresees that he will become a highwayman and a robber. Ishmael will use his archery skills to hunt defenseless animals (Genesis Rabbah 49:5). Maybe Ishmael was “fooling around” sexually. The midrashim suggest that he is polymorphously perverse–sexually violating married women and Isaac. Maybe Ishmael was “fooling around” religiously by worshiping idols. A midrash suggests that Ishmael used to catch locusts and sacrifice them to idols as “make-believe sacrifices” (Genesis Rabbah 53:11). Ishmael is like the wilderness, which is his home. He is open to everything—a man with no boundaries, a man untouched by civilization.^[37]

Darr notes that “the participle metzacheq is a form of tczhq, the same Hebrew root underlying Isaac’s name (Yitzchaq),” which in itself, connotes nothing bad, simply a young boy having fun.^[38] She quotes Gerhard von Rad, who runs with this; however, “What Ishmael did need not have been anything evil at all. The picture of the two boys playing with each other on an equal footing is quite sufficient to bring a jealous mother to a firm conclusion: Ishmael must go!”^[39] Salkin reinforces this interpretation when he asks: “Is it, as Norman Cohen, professor of Midrash at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, has suggested, that Sarah notices that Ishmael resembles Isaac more than she would have liked to admit, even to herself?”^[40]

Islamic Interpretive Literature: Isaac/Ishmael Story

Muhammad was born in Mecca around 570 CE and began receiving divine revelations in 610, revelations, which continued for 22 more years until his death.^[41] Transmitted orally to Muhammad, God’s final prophet, and from Muhammad thence to his followers, these revelations were transcribed into written form, collected, and compiled into the collection called the Qur’an within 30 years of Muhammad’s death. Unlike the texts of the Hebrew and Christian Bibles, which are generally believed to reflect the inspired word of God, received and recorded by a number of authors over a span of centuries, Muslims believe the Qur’an to be the actual word of God. Indeed, God’s original “book,” which is written in gold, exists in Heaven, and was the source from which all God’s revelations have been given. Since both Jews and Christians misconstrued the original message, it is by means of the Qur’an that He has presented His final message to mankind.

From the Muslim perspective, then, it is to be expected that many of the biblical stories are also reflected in the Qur’an, however, often with variations. As well, since both Jews and Christians were well-represented in the Arab world in the pre-Islamic centuries and had broad discourse with each other through trade and social interactions, many of the biblical stories are not entirely “filled out” in the Qur’an, the assumption perhaps being that they were already known. Reuven Firestone writes that during the first century or so of Islam’s beginnings, Muslims were encouraged to explore these stories with Jews and Christians, “to learn traditions about the biblical and extra-biblical pre-Islamic prophets, though they were apparently forbidden to study or copy Jewish or Christian scripture or learn their religious practices.”^[42] By the time of the Abbasid Caliphate, beginning in 750 CE, such consultation was discouraged, when not forbidden. However it must be recognized that Jewish and Christian converts to Islam often brought their own knowledge and interpretations with them when they joined the Islamic faith community, further contributing to variations in the narrative storyline

Firestone highlights three primary types of literature identified in his study of Islamic exegetical literature:

The first category of ideal types is Biblicist—that is, those traditions that evolved out of a biblically based religious milieu. The second category we call Arab. This refers to traditions that had evolved out of a pre-Islamic Arabian environment independent of Biblicist influence. The third ideal-typical category is Islamic, referring to material reflecting Islamic world views that would appear independent of the first two categories.^[43]

Since this part of my research relies extensively on Firestone’s work, it is important to know that, by his own appraisal,

The Muslim exegetical works examined in this study represent a small sample of the hundreds if not thousands of medieval works of this type available in printed editions and manuscripts. … The investigation is therefore limited to a sample of twenty medieval works which represent some of the major genres of medieval Arabic literature and major approaches to medieval qur’ānic exegesis. … They represent Sunnī, Shi’ite, mystical, and Mu’tazilite exegesis as well as major legal schools of Islam, thus typifying the most common and influential medieval Islamic worldviews.^[44]

He also notes that these are sources that are available and widely read today throughout the Muslim world. Most of the ones I draw upon in his examples would be traced to sources from within one hundred years of Muhammad’s death.

From the Muslim standpoint, Abraham was not the world’s first Jew—rather, he was a good Muslim. As the Qur’an tells us: “Abraham was not a Jew nor yet a Christian; but he was true in Faith, and bowed his will to Allah’s (which is Islam), and he joined not gods with Allah” (Q 3:67). His story is critical to the story of Muslims, as Ingrid Mattson relates:

According to the history of the pre-Islamic Arabs, Mecca was founded as a settlement by Abraham, his concubine-wife Hajar, and their son Isma’il. It was Abraham and his son who built a simple structure, the Ka’ba (literally ‘the cube’) as a center for the worship of God. Other traditions traced the founding of Mecca as the primordial and most sacred of holy sites to Adam, the father of humanity, but credited Abraham and his family with establishing a permanent settlement there.^[45]

The Qur’an, which addresses fundamental aspects in the relationship between God and humanity—such as the meaning of life and death, social and economic justice, issues of war and peace, and the significance of community—does not present a narrative history as one finds in the Hebrew Bible. In short, we do not see the “troubling passages” regarding the Isaac/Ishmael story that are found in the Genesis narrative. In fact, Ishmael, the father of the Arab peoples, is only mentioned twelve times in the Qur’an, none of which have evoked the kind of commentary found in the Jewish tradition. These would include Q 2:127, Q 2:133, Q 2:140, Q 6:84-87, Q 14:39, Q 21:85, and Q38:45. Four additional representative samples would be:

Remember We [the divine] made the House a place of assembly for men and a place of safety; and take ye the station of Abraham as a place of prayer; and we covenanted with Abraham and Isma’il that they should sanctify my House for those who compass it round, or use it as a retreat, or bow, or prostrate themselves (therein in prayer). (Q 2:125)

Say ye, “We believe in Allah, and the revelation given to us, and To Abraham, Isma’il, Isaac, Jacob, and the descendents (children of Jacob) and that given to Moses and Jesus and that given to (all) Prophets and their Lord: we make no difference between one and another of them: and we bow to Allah (in Islam).” (Q 2:136)

We have sent thee inspiration, as we sent it to Noah and the messengers after him: We sent inspiration to Abraham, Isma’il, Isaac, Jacob and the descendents, to Jesus, Job, Jonah, Aaron, and Solomon, and to David We gave The Psalms. (Q 4:163)

Also mention in the Book (the story of) Isma’il: he was (strictly) true to what he promised, and he was a messenger (and) a prophet. He used to enjoin on his people prayer and charity, and he was most acceptable in the sight of his Lord.” (Q 19:54-55)

Firestone notes that, while most of the Qur’anic passages merely include Ishmael with the historical rendering of God’s chosen prophets and messengers—one to be revered, as one reveres his father, Abraham—Q 19:54-55 would seem to offer the opportunity for extensive exegetical commentary:

But here we find an extreme scarcity of traditional material. Most likely, this is due to the simple lack of reports available that would paint Ishmael in a favorable light. By the sixth century CE, Jewish exegesis had already long considered Ishmael an enemy of the Jews and contained few traditions that would supply positive information. Pre-Islamic Arabian traditions had virtually nothing to say about Ishmael, since we see no Arabian material about him among the exegetes.^[46]

Interestingly, Q 21:85 has spawned several variations on the characterization of Ishmael as being a man of extraordinary patience. Firestone quotes al-Tabarī:

He cites a tradition … on the authority of Sahl b. ’Uqayl that Ishmael promised a man to meet him at a [certain] place. He came but the man forgot. Ishmael remained and stayed there all night until the man came the next day. He said: “You did not leave?” Ishmael said: “No.” He said: “But I forgot!” He replied: “I would not leave until you came.” Thus, he was true and sincere (sādiq).^[47]

In other versions, being a man of his word—and great patience—Ishmael stays for as long as three days, waiting until the man finally shows up. Other character traits we learn from these mostly descriptive passages from the Qur’an point to Ishmael as being one of God’s inspired prophets, a righteous, pious, and generous man; and the one who, with his father Abraham, was commissioned by God to build (or re-build) the Ka’ba in Mecca.

Nor do we learn much about Sarah beyond what we read of her in the biblical Genesis passages. Firestone posits that “the most interesting rendition of the birth of Ishmael is found in Ibn Kāthir,” who gives us a lengthy story, sandwiched within which are his (Ibn Kāthir’s) own explanatory notes. For example,

The People of the Book [Jews, Christians] say:

Abraham requested a sound progeny from God, and God gave him good news about having descendents. After Abraham had been in the Holy Land for twenty years, Sarah said to Abraham, “God has forbidden me from having a child. Go in unto my maidservant; perhaps God will provide you with a son through her.”

When she gave her to him, he had sexual relations with her and she became pregnant. When she became pregnant her soul was exalted and she became proud and arrogant to her mistress, so Sarah became jealous of her. Sarah complained to Abraham, who said to her, “Do with her as you desire.” Hagar was frightened and fled. She stopped at a spring.

An angel said to her, “Do not fear, for God will do good for this boy that you are carrying.” He commanded to her that she return and announced to her that she would give birth to a boy whom she would name Ishmael. He would be a wild man. His hand would be over everyone, and the hand of everyone would be against him. His brethren would rule over all the lands. Then she thanked God.

[This prophecy is appropriate for his offspring, Muhammad, for he was the one through whom the Arabs ruled. They ruled all of the lands throughout the east and west. God bestowed upon them useful knowledge and virtuous acts which were not given to any of the people before them. This is because of the honor of their messenger above all of the other messengers, the blessing of his mission, the good fortune of his revelation, the perfection of that which he brought, and the universality of his mission to the people of the earth.]^[48]

What is referred to as the “expulsion” in Genesis narratives is a “beginning” in Islamic exegesis. However, the Qur’an only tells us that Abraham and Ishmael (thence, presumably Hagar) are in Mecca and that father and son build the Ka’ba. It does not say anything about how they got there. Hence it is through exegetical narratives that these blanks are filled in. Firestone cites three primary storylines, each told on the authority of a separate traditionist: Ibn ‘Abbās, ‘Alī, and Mujāhid.^[49] The Ibn ‘Abbās version “exhibits all the earmarks of a Biblicist tradition that has evolved to the point where it is acceptable to an Arab Islamic milieu.”^[50] Firestone counts nineteen full and partial renditions of this story, which proceeds as follows:

1. The narrative takes place subsequent to Sarah’s behavior to Hagar. Sarah’s jealousy of her handmaiden after the birth of Ishmael causes conflict and strife between the two women.

2. Hagar lets down her dress or soaks the bottom of her dress to hide her tracks from Sarah.

3. Abraham gives Hagar and Ishmael a saddlebag of dates and a water skin (or a water skin only).

4. Abraham personally brings Hagar and Ishmael to Mecca, to the House [the Ka’ba] or to the location of Zamzam [the well of water provided to Hagar], and leaves them under a large tree (in all versions Abraham brings them to Mecca without God commanding him to do so and without any supernatural assistance).

5. After depositing them there, Abraham departs on his return to Syria, and arrives at Kadā.

6. Hagar follows him and asks him to whom he is entrusting them in that desolate place. When he finally answers, “To God,” or that God commanded him, Hagar is satisfied. Abraham then recites Qur’an 14:37 (or Q 14:38).

7. Ishmael was still being suckled at the time. The water in the water skin runs out and Hagar’s milk stops flowing for her son. Ishmael gets thirsty and begins writhing or having a seizure. Hagar cannot bear to see him die.

8. She climbs the nearby hills of Ṣafā and then Marwa and runs between them seven times like someone exerting himself (or in distress, or like someone not exerting himself).

9. A comment is asserted here on the authority of the Prophet or Abū al-Qāsim that this is why people run between Ṣafā and Marwa [as part of the ritual of the Islamic Hajj].

10. Hagar is desperate because of the worsening condition of her son. She thinks she hears a voice, which turns out to be an angel (or Gabriel), who scratches on the ground with his heel, which brings forth the water.

11. Hagar immediately dams up the flow or scoops water into her water skin (or both).

12. A second comment is inserted here on the authority of the Apostle, Abū al-Qāsim or the Prophet or Ibn ‘Abbās, to the effect: “May God have mercy on the mother of Ishmael. If she had not done that, then Zamzan would be flowing forever with a great volume of fresh water.”

13. The angel tells Hagar not to worry about perishing, for the boy and his father will build the House of God there.^[51]

Aside from the obvious Biblicist parallels in this rendition, Firestone notes that there are also elements of Arab lore and Islamic attempts to explain common pre-Islamic traditions. For example, the pre-Islamic tradition of running between the idols adorning the two hills of Ṣafā and Marwa is here reconfigured into part of the ritual that becomes the Islamic Hajj. Additionally, the miracle of the Zamzam (zammat, “she collected”) well in Mecca is explained—as well the reason why it contains so little water!^[52]

Firestone finds the ‘Alī version of this story to have little grounding in the Biblicist tradition aside from the names of the characters, and writes that it “most likely originated as an Arab or otherwise non-biblically oriented legend that evolved into a hybrid containing some components of Biblicist as well as pre-Islamic Arabic material.”^[53] While a number of variants can be found on the ‘Ali version, the main elements of the story that differentiate it from the Ibn ‘Abbās would be the following. First, in this version, God commands Abraham to establish a site of worship at the Ka’ba and he brings Hagar and Ishmael with him: there is no mention of discord between Sarah and Hagar. Second, a supernatural being, the sakīna [in Jewish tradition the shekhinah is God’s spirit], guides him to the delegated place and points out the exact location for the building of God’s House. Third, after Abraham builds the house, he leaves, though Hagar and Ishmael begin to follow him. When she asks who will take care of them, Abraham replies that he is entrusting them to God, which satisfies Hagar. Finally, when Ishmael becomes thirsty, Hagar runs between Ṣafā and Marwa seven times, looking for help. When she returns, she finds Ishmael scratching his heel into the dirt and the presence of the angel Gabriel. Gabriel asks who she is and she tells him she is the mother of Abraham’s son. When he wants to know

“To whom did he entrust you?” She answers, “To God.” Gabriel is satisfied, the boy scratches the ground with his finger, and the water of Zamzam flows out. Hagar begins to hold back the water and is chastised by Gabriel, who says: “Stop that, for the water is fresh!” or in another rendition, “for it quenches thirst!”^[54]

As recounted by Firestone, the Mujāhid version, while it contains a number of renditions and, hence, variations, differs from the ‘Alī version in two essential aspects. First, it tells us that the angel Gabriel accompanies Abraham, Hagar, and Ishmael as their guide to locate the place where God wants his House built. Second, they all travel by means of the legendary supernatural steed, Buraq. Additionally, only a couple renditions mention the Ṣafā and Marwa excursions or the Zamzam event.

So Ishmael and Hagar arrive in Mecca. How does Abraham’s eldest son—who comes to the area speaking Hebrew—become the progenitor of the Northern Arabs and ultimately, of Muhammad? Firestone provides us with a body of narratives that explain this. According to traditional Arab genealogical reckonings, the Original Arabs arose from tribes long extinct, but whose descendents included the ancient tribe, the Jurhum, who “migrated from Yemen to Mecca, where they are assumed to have controlled the religious rites of the Ka’ba or even to have built it, but were eventually forced to concede control of the holy city and then died out long before the beginning of Islam.”^[55] Firestone identifies Ibn ‘Abbās as the primary authority with respect to the Jurhum narratives, which tell us that the Jurham either lived near Mecca or were passing by when they realized there was water in the Meccan valley—the miraculous Zamzam well. They come to check it out, find Hagar and Ishmael as the inhabitants, and ask permission of her to allow them to live there also. She agrees, but retains the water rights. Thus, Ishmael grows up with the Jurhum: he learns Arabic from them, learns to hunt from them, and eventually marries a Jurhumite woman.^[56]

Nor, according to Islamic exegesis, is Ishmael bereft of his father’s love and care. Indeed, Abraham comes to visit Hagar and Ishmael a number of times. Several of the later traditions say that his travel was expedited because he rode the Buraq provided him by Gabriel from Paradise.^[57] Again, it is Ibn ‘Abbās who provides us with the principal narrative, a story that serves to extend the biblical story that ends abruptly in Genesis 21:21. But Islamic elements also enter the narrative that show Abraham giving guidance concerning what would be considered a “proper wife” for Ishmael, and “ensures that the second generation matriarch of the leadership of Islam is fitting for her role.”^[58] The narrative also depicts Ishmael as a dutiful son who obeys his father’s wishes, is a good provider for his family, and is a man who observes the religious sanctity of the Sacred Precinct of Mecca. As Firestone writes:

The Islamic version affirms that Ishmael was never rejected in favor of his younger half brother Isaac. The forbear of the northern Arabs and the Quraysh [Muhammad’s tribe] continued to receive his father’s blessing; his second wife, befitting the Arab matriarch and the progenitor of Muḥammad, received explicit approval from father Abraham. Ishmael remains closely connected with his father and in so doing, remains firmly within the Abrahamic monotheistic tradition.^[59]

Discussion and Conclusions

This paper argues that the narratives by which a community defines itself have everything to do with the social and cultural realities in which the community finds itself embedded. That the narrative may change to mirror changing conditions is the means by which identity and tradition are maintained over time; indeed, the resilience of a community’s identity might be measured by its ability to reconcile itself to social and political change. The Jewish midrashic tradition, by which rabbinical authorities struggled with the difficult texts of the Hebrew scriptures, has demonstrated the vibrancy of such a process. In considering the explanations surrounding the Isaac/Ishmael stories found in Genesis, it is apparent that the harshest accounts of Hagar and Ishmael are found in the earliest rabbinical writings. These were times—following the Babylonian exile (586 BCE) and, later, the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem by the Romans (70 CE)—when the political world of Jews was one of living in minority status. The necessity of promoting a clear distinction between us and them, of explaining the concept of being chosen, of clarifying what it meant to be a Jew in the face of political persecution and turmoil, would have certainly impacted the development of the narrative. Later reflections—certainly those promoted since the founding of the state of Israel—have spawned more generosity. Indeed, we find both rabbis and scholars interpreting these stories in light of the “caring ethic” promoted by Judaism from its beginnings. As well, we find Jewish feminists challenging exploitative or dehumanizing characterizations deriving from what they see as patriarchy-centered narrators.

However, from the perspective of Islamic exegesis, the trauma of Isaac and Ishmael seems to be non-existent! Abraham obeyed God. Hagar and Ishmael show no sense of loss, no anger at having been expelled from Abraham’s house. Indeed, in following God’s commands, Abraham was making it possible for Islam’s groundwork, the lineage of Muhammad, to be laid. Ishmael and Hagar, under God’s protection, moved to the Meccan Valley, became integrated with the Jurhum, one of the tribes of the Original Arabs, and thence, arabized. Abraham never abandons his older son, but returns on many visits, and bestows his love and blessing on Ishmael. It is not inconsequential that these narratives arose within a century or so of Muhammad’s death (d. 632 CE), at a time when the Islamic Empire was on the ascendancy. That is, Muslims could afford to be “generous” in their understandings—they were to be in power for much of the next one thousand years.

Such generosity may be difficult to imagine with respect to the Israeli/Palestinian conflict at this point in time. While Israeli historian Ilan Pappe hopes for the emergence of a “bridging [political] narrative,” such as that used in literary and dramatic works, as a means by which Palestinians and Israelis might come together to develop a single narrative that today accommodates the collective histories of both peoples,^[60] the political realities are not presently conducive to such a project. Believing such a goal can only come about when each party respects the collective narrative of the other, Dan Bar-On and Sami Adwan have sought to impact such perceptions through the public education curricula of Israelis and Palestinians.^[61] Citing observations of Emmanuel Levinas, who recognized that “the totality of the self cannot contain the infinity of the otherness of the other,”^[62] Bar-On and Adwan were prepared for resistance, as their participants sought to determine within themselves how much, and to what extent, they were able to accept the collective history of the other as part of the representation of their own reality today. While the Israeli high school students and their teachers were more willing to accept a side-by-side set of narratives representing an Israeli narrative and a Palestinian narrative, young Palestinians still living under the hardship of Israeli occupation found it much more difficult to be so open to the story of the other. It would seem the actions of individuals here can only, as MacIntyre suggested, be interpreted as part of the larger collective narrative:^[63] if the politics change, then so, perhaps, will the political narratives. But perhaps there is an opening for exploring the religious narratives of two brothers separated in their youth.

 

1. 1. Quotations from the religious scriptures will be found in the Hebrew Bible and the Qur’an.
2. 2. Rabbi Jeffrey K. Salkin, Searching for My Brothers: Jewish Men in a Gentile World (New York: The BerkeleyPublishing Group, 1999), 15.
3. 3. Rabbi Jeffrey K. Salkin, Searching for My Brothers: Jewish Men in a Gentile World (New York: The Berkeley Publishing Group, 1999), 16. Salkin references two other sources: Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi, Freud’s Moses: Judaism Terminable and Interminable (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1991); Regina Schwartz, The Curse of Cain: The Violent Legacy of Monotheism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997).
4. 4. Scott M. Thomas, “Taking Religious and Cultural Pluralism Seriously,” in Religion in International Relations: The Return from Exile, edited by Fabio Petito and Pavlos Hatzopoulos (New York, NY: Palgrave, 2003), 28.
5. 5. Scott M. Thomas, “Taking Religious and Cultural Pluralism Seriously,” in Religion in International Relations: The Return from Exile, edited by Fabio Petito and Pavlos Hatzopoulos (New York, NY: Palgrave, 2003), 38. Thomas references MacIntyre within this passage: Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory, 2nd ed. (London: Duckworth, 1985), 205-210.
6. 6. Robert I. Rotberg, “Building Legitimacy through Narrative,” in Israeli and Palestinian Narratives of Conflict: History’s Double Helix, edited by Robert I. Rotberg (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2006), 2.
7. 7. Daniel Bar-Tal and Gavriel Salomon, “Israeli-Jewish Narratives of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict: Evolution, Contents, functions, and Consequences,” in Israeli and Palestinian Narratives of Conflict: History’s Double Helix, edited by Robert I. Rotberg (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2006), 23. In this discussion, the authors also cite Patrick Wright, On Living in an Old Country: The National Past in Contemporary Britain (London, 1985), 142, 165.
8. 8. Alasdair MacIntyre, “After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory (extracts),” in The MacIntyre Reader, edited by Kevin Knight (Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press, 1998), 94.
9. 9. Rabbi Milton Steinberg, Basic Judaism (Orlando, FL: Harcourt, Inc., 1947), 12.
10. 10. Elie Wiesel, “Ishmael and Hagar,” in The Life of Covenant: The Challenge of Contemporary Judaism (Essays in Honor of Herman E. Schaalman), edited by Joseph A. Edelheit (Chicago: Spertus College of Judaic Press, 1986), 236.
11. 11. Elie Wiesel, “Ishmael and Hagar,” in The Life of Covenant: The Challenge of Contemporary Judaism, edited by Joseph A. Edelheit (Chicago: Spertus College of Judaic Press, 1986), 248-249.
12. 12. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 93. Also: Walter Brueggemann, Genesis, Interpretation Series (Atlanta, GA: John Knox Press, 1982), 105.
13. 13. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 93.
14. 14. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 116.
15. 15. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 116. In this paragraph, Darr also references Mary Calloway, Sing, O Barren One: A Study in Comparative Midrash, Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series, no. 91 (Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1986), 5-12, 123-130; and Genesis (Lech Lecha) XXXIX 14, 324.
16. 16. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 153. Darr quotes from Renita Weems, Just a Sister Away: A Woman’s Vision of Women’s Relationships in the Bible (San Diego, CA: LuraMedia, 1988), 10.
17. 17. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 151. Darr quotes Elie Wiesel, 248.
18. 18. Phyllis Trible, Texts of Terror: Literary-Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives, Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984), 21.
19. 19. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 154.
20. 20. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 155.
21. 21. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 155. Darr quotes Esther Fuchs, “A Jewish Feminist Reading of the Hagar Stories.”
22. 22. Phyllis Trible, Texts of Terror: Literary-Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984), 12.
23. 23. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 136. The author quotes Louis Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews, Vol. 1, translated by Henrietta Szold (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1909), 238. For this passage, Darr also references Genesis (Lech Lecha) XLV 4, 382.
24. 24. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991),139. The author quotes Jo Ann Hackett, “Rehabilitating Hagar: Fragments of an Epic Pattern,” in Gender and Difference in Ancient Israel, edited by Peggy L. Day (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1989), 15.
25. 25. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991),159, note 23. The author also quotes Ginzberg, Legends, 239; and cites Rashi (Rabbi Shelomoh Yitschaki, Solomon ben Isaac), Commentaries on the Pentateuch, translated by Chaim Pearl (New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 1970), quoted in The Soncino Chumash, 77.
26. 26. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 141.
27. 27. Phyllis Trible, Texts of Terror: Literary-Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives, Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984), 18.
28. 28. Phyllis Trible, Texts of Terror: Literary-Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984), 21-22.
29. 29. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 149. Darr quotes Wiesel, 240, 245.
30. 30. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 146. Darr quotes Ginzberg, Legends, 265.
31. 31. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991),146. Darr quotes Elsa Tamez, “The Woman Who Complicated the History of Salvation,” translated by Betsy Yeager, in New Eyes for Reading, edited by John S. Pobee and Bärbel von Wartenberg-Potter (Oak Park, IL: Meyer Stone Books, 1986), 16.
32. 32. Rabbi Jeffrey K. Salkin, Searching for My Brothers: Jewish Men in a Gentile World (New York: The Berkeley Publishing Group, 1999), 29-30.
33. 33. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 140. Darr quotes Gerhard von Rad, Genesis, Old Testament Library, translated by John H. Marks (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1961), 189.
34. 34. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 140-141. Darr quotes Wiesel, 240.
35. 35. Arthur I. Waskow, Godwrestling (New York: Schocken Books, 1978), 25.
36. 36. Arthur I. Waskow, Godwrestling (New York: Schocken Books, 1978), 24.
37. 37. Rabbi Jeffrey K. Salkin, Searching for My Brothers: Jewish Men in a Gentile World (New York: The Berkeley Publishing Group, 1999), 30.
38. 38. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 142-143.
39. 39. Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, Far More Precious than Jewels: Perspectives on Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 142-143. Darr quotes von Rad, 227.
40. 40. Rabbi Jeffrey K. Salkin, Searching for My Brothers: Jewish Men in a Gentile World (New York: The Berkeley Publishing Group, 1999), 29.
41. 41. For a more complete discussion of the genesis of the Qur’an, the reader is referred to the following: Ingrid Mattson, The Story of the Qur’an: Its History and Place in Muslim Life (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2008); M. M. Al-Azami, The History of the Qur’anic Text from Revelation to Compilation: A Comparative Study with the Old and New Testaments (Leicester, UK: UK Islamic Academy, 2003).
42. 42. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 8. Firestone quotes M. J. Kister, “Haddithŭ ‘an banī isrā’īla wa-ḥaraja: A Study of an Early Tradition,” Israel Oriental Studies II (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1972), reprint edited by M. J. Kister, Studies in Jahiliyya and Early Islam (London, 1980), 218-222.
43. 43. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 9.
44. 44. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 20-21.
45. 45. Ingrid Mattson, The Story of the Qur’an: Its History and Place in Muslim Life (Malden, MA: Blackstone Publishing, 2008), 4.
46. 46. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 45.
47. 47. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 46.
48. 48. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 42.
49. 49. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 63-71. Ibn ‘Abbās: ‘Abdullah b. ‘Abbās b. ‘Abd al-Muṭṭalib, died in 687 CE. He is considered “an excellent commentator and the originator of Islamic exegesis,” having learned most of the traditions from the Companions of the Prophet. Firestone also notes that he has been referred to as the “rabbi of the community,” and “the interpreter of the Qur’an.” ‘Alī: ‘Alī b. Abī Tālib died in 660 CE. ‘Alī was the cousin and son-in-law of Muhammad and the last of the Four Rightly Guided Caliphs (successors) of the Prophet. He is a well-respected transmitter of the tradition. Mujāhid: Mujāhid b. Jabr al-Makhzūmī, died in 722 CE. According to Firestone, he was a great authority on Qur’an commentary and recitation and a respected transmitter of tradition, “though he has been criticized for taking traditions from the People of the Book.”
50. 50. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 64.
51. 51. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 63-64. The reader is invited to consult Firestone, who identifies the various renditions throughout this passage.
52. 52. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 65.
53. 53. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 69.
54. 54. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 68.
55. 55. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 72.
56. 56. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 73.
57. 57. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 76-79.
58. 58. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 77.
59. 59. Reuven Firestone, Journeys in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abraham-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 78-79.
60. 60. Ilan Pappe, “The Bridging Narrative Concept,” in Israeli and Palestinian Narratives of Conflict: History’s Double Helix, edited by Robert I. Rotberg (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2006), 194-204.]
61. 61. Dan Bar-On and Sami Adwan, “The Psychology of Better Dialogue between Two Separate but Interdependent Narratives,” in Israeli and Palestinian Narratives of Conflict: History’s Double Helix, edited by Robert I. Rotberg (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2006), 205-224.
62. 62. Dan Bar-On and Sami Adwan, “The Psychology of Better Dialogue between Two Separate but Interdependent Narratives,” in Israeli and Palestinian Narratives of Conflict: History’s Double Helix, edited by Robert I. Rotberg (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2006), 206. The authors cite Emmanuel Levinas, Totality and Infinity (Pittsburg, 1969) on page 222.
63. 63. Alasdair MacIntyre, “After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory (extracts),” in The MacIntyre Reader, edited by Kevin Knight (Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press, 1998), 93

As taken from, http://www.religionconflictpeace.org/volume-2-issue-2-spring-2009/isaac-and-ishmael

Yerahmiel Barylka^*

“¡Buscad al Eterno mientras puede ser hallado! ¡Llamadle en tanto que está cercano! Deje el impío su camino, y el hombre inicuo sus pensamientos. Vuélvase al Eterno, quien tendrá de él misericordia; y a nuestro Dios, quien será amplio en perdonar” ¹

“Venid, pues, dice el Eterno; y razonemos juntos: Aunque vuestros pecados sean como la grana, como la nieve serán emblanquecidos. Aunque sean rojos como el carmesí, vendrán a ser como blanca lana” ²

“Que no le diga a la persona que es baal teshuvá, ‘recuerda tus acciones pasadas, y si es hijo de prosélito, no le recuerde las acciones de los padres antes de la conversión’” ³

“El solía decir que es mejor una hora de teshuvá y de buenas acciones en este mundo, que toda la vida en el mundo eterno”… ⁴

“Los piadosos y las personas de buenas acciones solían bailar delante de ellos con antorchas y les elogiaban. ¿Qué decían? – loado quien no ha pecado y quien hubiera pecado que sea perdonado. Y había quienes decían: “loado mi nacimiento, que no avergüenza mi vejez,… y hay quienes decían ‘loada tu vejez’ que perdona (las faltas de tu juventud), a los que volvían en teshuvá⁵

“Antes de que el mundo fuera creado… Dios había pensado crearlo…, pero supo que éste no se mantendría en pie (por las faltas de los humanos)… hasta que creó el arrepentimiento”⁶

“Regresa un día antes de tu muerte. Le preguntaron los alumnos a Rabí Eliécer, ¿acaso se sabe cual es el día de la muerte para que haga teshuvá? Les dijo por cierto, que haga teshuvá hoy, no sea que muera mañana, que haga teshuvá mañana por si fallece pasado mañana, así hará teshuvá todos los días” ⁷

“Quien dice: Pecaré y me regresaré, no le permiten que haga teshuvá. Pecaré y Iom Kipur me absolverá, no es perdonado en el Día del Perdón. Pecaré y mi muerte me borrará las acciones, el día de la muerte no le corrige. Rabí Eliécer hijo de Rabi Iosi dice quien peca y se arrepienta y sigue inocentemente, no se mueve de su lugar hasta no ser perdonado. Y quien dice pecaré y regresaré sólo le absuelven tres veces, pero, ninguna más⁸

“Ten piedad de mí, oh Dios, conforme a tu misericordia. Por tu abundante compasión, borra mis rebeliones. Lávame más y más de mi maldad, y límpiame de mi pecado. Porque yo reconozco mis rebeliones, y mi pecado está siempre delante de mí. Contra ti, contra ti solo he pecado y he hecho lo malo ante tus ojos. Seas tú reconocido justo en tu palabra y tenido por puro en tu juicio. He aquí, en maldad he nacido, y en pecado me concibió mi madre. He aquí, tú quieres la verdad en lo íntimo, y en lo secreto me has hecho comprender sabiduría. Quita mi pecado con hisopo, y seré limpio; lávame, y seré más blanco que la nieve. Hazme oír gozo y alegría, y se regocijarán estos huesos que has quebrantado. Esconde tu rostro de mis pecados y borra todas mis maldades. Crea en mí, oh Dios, un corazón puro y renueva un espíritu firme dentro de mí. No me eches de tu presencia, ni quites de mí tu santo espíritu. Devuélveme el gozo de tu salvación, y un espíritu generoso me sustente. Entonces enseñaré a los transgresores tus caminos, y los pecadores se convertirán a ti. Líbrame de homicidios, oh Dios, Dios de mi salvación, y con regocijo cantará mi lengua tu justicia. Señor, abre mis labios, y proclamará mi boca tu alabanza. Porque no quieres sacrificio; y si doy holocausto, no lo aceptas. Los sacrificios de Dios son el espíritu quebrantado. Al corazón contrito y humillado no desprecias tú, oh Dios. Haz bien a Sión, con tu benevolencia; edifica los muros de Jerusalén. Entonces te agradarán los sacrificios de justicia, el holocausto u ofrenda del todo quemada. Entonces se ofrecerán becerros sobre tu altar” ⁹

El ser humano comete errores

El ser humano, en su soledad, comete errores. Faltas contra el prójimo, contra Dios, y contra él mismo. Muchas veces se arrepiente de esos actos, otras, ni siquiera es consciente del daño que se hace y del perjuicio que crea a los demás. Hay faltas que indican violaciones de normas legisladas por los países, otras a las costumbres, otras al mandamiento religioso. Dentro de sus angustias, el ser humano, desea encontrar un instante de paz interior. Encontrar coherencia entre el querer ser y el ser. Poder enmendar los errores. Incluso, obtener perdón de los afectados. Y, si es un hombre de fe, lograr la absolución divina. Las personas son también entes sociales y como tales, sus acciones, aún las más recónditas, influyen en el otro.

El judaísmo, como muchas otras culturas, diseñó un camino que permite la corrección de las acciones fallidas. Camino que es peculiar y que no es nada fácil. Acciones que fueron discutidas y compiladas, y que incluso tienen fecha fija. El gran día del Perdón, Iom Kipur.

Regla general

Maimónides establece esta regla: Todos los preceptos prescritos por la Torá, si fueran trasgredidos voluntaria o involuntariamente, si son de hacer o de abstenerse, deben volverse en teshuvá, se deberán confesar ante Dios. Y toda persona que ofreciere un sacrificio por faltas cometidas, las ofrendas por si no lo perdonan si no hace teshuvá y si no se arrepiente, y si no se confiesa… y lo mismo debe hacer quien es pasible de sufrir alguno de los cuatro castigos capitales.

El judaísmo subordina, en el caso de las faltas al prójimo, el perdón divino al previo perdón humano.

Un sentido más profundo…

Pero, más allá de la letra reglamentada, el perdón, incluso, el perdón de uno a sí mismo, que permitirá al pecador arrepentido vivir sin culpa por el error cometido, exige un proceso personal de reparación, cercano casi a un volver a vivir o a un nacer nuevamente. Las acciones tratan de retrotraer a la persona del pecador a una situación más compleja que la que podría haberse obtenido únicamente a través de haber vuelto atrás el reloj de la existencia personal al instante anterior al del error. Con ello no sería suficiente. Es menester dar marcha atrás a la historia personal y limpiar las aureolas que dejaría la falta en la personalidad y en la conducta. Se necesita restituir el tejido espiritual a su totalidad y a su integridad. De ahí el desafío de la teshuvá.

En las faltas hacia el prójimo, nadie puede perdonar desde “fuera”, excepto el damnificado, después de haber sido reparado. Nadie puede ser perdonado sin el reconocimiento del error, sin el arrepentimiento, seguido por confesión o autoconfesión. Sin un compromiso interior de no reincidir. Sin haber sido puesto en la prueba de las mismas circunstancias.

Peculiaridades

Frente a las culturas que establecen la culpa como algo que no se puede expiar por nuestras propias acciones y la culpa por los pecados cometidos contra Dios, que hace menester Su intercesión, el judaísmo presenta otro modelo. El perdón no se obtiene por gracia sino por acción. El alma no queda en paz si no atraviesa el proceso de la teshuvá en su totalidad. El Talmud interpreta las palabras “ante el Eterno” como si se dijera “contra el Eterno”. Con esto nos quiere decir que el día de Kipur anula las faltas que comete el hombre contra Dios, y no las cometidas contra sus semejantes. Estas sólo pueden ser perdonadas después de haber reparado el perjuicio que se causó y pedido disculpas por las ofensas. “Si ofendéis a vuestro compañero, implorad su perdón; si os rechaza, pídanle hasta tres veces que os perdone; y si aún así se rehúsa a perdonar, vosotros ya cumplisteis con vuestro deber”¹⁰ . “El hombre que no perdona cuando se le piden disculpas hasta por tres veces, es considerado cruel” (Midrash).

Teshuvá

Teshuvá es traducida como “arrepentimiento”, y a pesar de que esta traducción es cercana, sabemos que el vocablo hebreo que más se acerca a arrepentimiento es /i>jaratá. Teshuvá, se relaciona con “shuv” que significa retornar, “lashuv” “volver, retornar” y “lehashiv” que puede significar “devolver” o también “contestar, responder”. Es por eso que la palabra teshuvá significa mucho más que arrepentimiento, y por lo tanto debemos deducir que hacer teshuvá es mucho más que arrepentirse. “Todos los preceptos de la Torá, tanto los mandatos como las prohibiciones, si fueran transgredidas deliberada o involuntariamente por el hombre, al hacer teshuvá y arrepentirse de su error, debe confesarse delante del Eterno… diciendo: ‘Dios, he errado, he pecado, he transgredido delante de Ti, he hecho tal y tal acción, y me avergüenzo, y jamás repetiré la misma’”. ¿Cuál es la Teshuvá perfecta? Aquella en la cual hallándose nuevamente el trasgresor en una situación semejante a aquella en que pecó, se sobrepone a los motivos que provocaron su incorrecto proceder”.

Los principios de la teshuvá son: 1) abandonar el pecado y retirarlo incluso del pensamiento, 2) decidir con todo el corazón no ser reincidente en el futuro, 3) arrepentirse sinceramente por el pasado, 4) confesar con sus labios. La teshuvá depende del deseo sincero de no tropezar nuevamente con el pecado.

El término teshuvá, debe entenderse como la acción de aceptar, con dolor, el haber cometido un error, y regresar a las buenas acciones, después de asumir la decisión de cambiar radicalmente la conducta equívoca, y confesar la acción. Así lo resume Maimónides¹¹ .

Baal Teshuvá

La noción de Baal Teshuvá –quien ha regresado de sus faltas-, es tan grande que nuestros sabios afirmaron que en el lugar (el nivel espiritual) donde se encuentra esa persona es más elevado que el de un justo que no hubiera pecado. Y ello se comprende ya que quien llevó a cabo alguna actividad prohibida o indeseada, puede quedar con el hábito de regresar a ella, añorando el eventual placer que pudo darle. Reprimir o sublimizar acciones pasadas provoca un esfuerzo muy duro. Cada uno de los pasos del proceso puede ser independiente del otro: El pesar puede ser sincero sin el compromiso de cambiar, se puede decidir cambiar sin asumir el dolor por la acción, se avanza en la acción pero no se confiesa. Sin embargo, esa independencia no anula su validez. Las normas de teshuvá son diferentes si las acciones realizadas fueron deliberadas o por negligencia o error. El concepto de Baal Teshuvá, sin embargo no debe ser aplicado a las personas que no fueron observantes por ignorancia o por no haber sido educados en el cuidado de los preceptos. En este trabajo usaremos indistintamente los términos teshuvá y arrepentimiento, sólo para facilitar la fluidez del texto. Aunque no son equivalentes.
Las fuentes¹² , “Y os será estatuto perpetuo: En el mes séptimo, el día décimo del mes, afligiréis vuestras almas y ningún trabajo haréis; tanto el nativo como el peregrino que mora en medio de vosotros; porque en este día se hará expiación por vosotros para purificaros; de todos vuestros pecados quedaréis puros ante el Eterno.(Como) sábado solemne será para vosotros, en el cual habéis de afligir vuestras almas; estatuto perpetuo es” que consagran a Iom Kipur como día de expiación, nos presentan un concepto importante para comprender la senda que debe recorrer todo pecador a fin de llegar a quedar limpio de su falta.
Si extendiéramos el concepto de teshuvá al máximo, diríamos que para poder tener el mérito del perdón divino, es menester nacer de nuevo o retroceder la historia personal como si pudiéramos detener el reloj y el calendario, retrocederlos y purificarnos al extremo que la falta quede totalmente borrada de nuestra historia personal. Esas exigencias son muy difíciles de lograr, casi imposibles. El trabajo que se exige en este caso, es el de elaborar la acción, pasar por un proceso de elaboración sicológica y espiritual agotadores, a fin de no dejar siquiera aureola ni señal del error. La fórmula es complicada. Exige de teshuvá, concepto que es más que un simple arrepentimiento, de confesión y aceptación. Pide una toma de conciencia del error, colocarse en la misma circunstancia de la falta y ser fuerte para no ser seducidos ni por la costumbre, ni por las circunstancias. Comprometerse a no repetir el error y cumplir con la promesa, y lo que no es más fácil, obtener la satisfacción del Otro, herido, o molesto por la acción. El perdón no sólo borra el castigo divino por la trasgresión, sino debe llegar a la altura de eliminar el daño metafísico que se comete con la falta contra la armonía de la Creación. El arrepentimiento permite cambiar el entorno terrenal y elevarlo hasta que el pecador se incorpore al entorno celestial.

Las normas según Maimónides

Maimónides consagra diez capítulos para tratar el tema de la contrición, los seis primeros tratan acerca de las personas que conocen las faltas específicas que cometieron y de las que se arrepiente.
Y así afirma en el primer capítulo:

Todos los preceptos bíblicos, tantos los de hacer como los que ordenan abstención de acciones, si alguna persona las hubiera trasgredido, sea culposa o inocentemente, cuando realiza teshuvá, y se arrepienta de sus acciones, debe confesarse ante Dios, como está escrito¹³ : “Di a los hijos de Israel: Cuando algún hombre o mujer cometiere cualquier pecado de los (que suelen cometer los) hombres, prevaricando contra el Eterno, se tendrá por culpables a tales personas, y éstas confesarán el pecado que hubieren cometido, y restituirán íntegramente aquello en que hayan delinquido añadiendo la quinta parte sobre ello, y darán todo a aquél contra quien han cometido la culpa”. La confesión es un mandamiento… y quien más se confiese mejor es. … no se perdonará si no se arrepienten y se confiesan. … y aún en los casos en los que haya devuelto lo sustraído y pagado la deuda o hubiera presentado una ofrenda, no será perdonado… ni siquiera si hubiera indemnizado por el daño físico causado, si no se hubiera confesado y arrepentido.

Maimónides trata otro tipo de teshuvá, en la que las personas reconocen también la necesidad de revisar todas sus sendas, y no sólo aquellas acciones en las que pecó. El rabino Arón Lichtenstein, afirma que en los casos puntuales, es suficiente que no repita la falta para llegar al objetivo de teshuvá, pero, en este tipo, se convierte en una obra vital… este tipo de teshuvá es mucho más difícil que el puntual…

El concepto de arrepentirse antes del incierto día de la muerte, lo que significa que el proceso debe iniciarse inmediatamente, marca una diferencia en la calidad espiritual de la vida, ya que obliga a una constante búsqueda de elevación. Es un concepto que no tiene objetivo definido. Aquí se incluyen todos los valores. El rabino Jaim Vital dice que perfeccionar los valores no es una norma per se, ya que se ubica a lo largo y a lo ancho de todos los mandamientos.

Maimónides nos continúa diciendo:

No digas que no hay teshuvá sino de pecados que tienen una actividad consigo, como prostitución, robo y hurto. Tal como hay que regresar de esas acciones, también se deben revisar los malos pensamientos, y tornar del enojo, del odio, de los celos, de la burla, de perseguir el dinero, y los honores… de todo ello hay que hacer teshuvá…

Pedido de perdón a una persona fallecida

En el momento del sepelio, después de todas las oraciones e inmediatamente después de colocar una pequeña piedrita en señal de la presencia, se le pide perdón al fallecido. El pedido lo realiza algún representante de la congregación encargada del sepelio o un familiar. También se pide disculpe si en la inhumación se le trató indebidamente y se lo libera de sus obligaciones con sociedades de las que formó parte. Este momento es singular y se une a la obligación de pedir perdón al ofendido aún cuando ya hubiera fallecido.

Un ejercicio de lectura talmúdica respecto al perdón

Me permito incluir en este trabajo una traducción libre de un texto talmúdico¹⁴ , nos trae una de las fuentes más apasionantes que intenta con un lenguaje más que simple y ejemplar darnos a comprender las dificultades del desafío.
Recomendamos la lectura en forma fluida intentando desentrañar el mensaje que se oculta tras los relatos, para poder llegar a la esencia de la discusión. Y así dice:

“El Día del Perdón no absuelve por las faltas cometidas por el hombre a su prójimo, hasta que el afectado no sea satisfecho. Explicó Rabí Eleazar ben Azariá el versículo¹⁵ : “Porque en este día se hará expiación por vosotros para purificaros; de todos vuestros pecados ante el Eterno quedaréis puros”, diciendo: Los pecados que son entre la persona y la divinidad¹⁶ , – son perdonados por el Día de Perdón, las faltas cometidas contra el prójimo sólo se perdonan si el prójimo lo hace. Dijo Rabí Akivá: Loados sean Israel, ¿Ante quién se purifican, quien les purifica – Vuestro Padre que está en las Alturas, como está escrito¹⁷ “Esparciré sobre vosotros agua limpia, y seréis limpiados de todas vuestras inmundicias; y de todos vuestros ídolos os limpiaré” y también está escrito¹⁸ “el Eterno es el manantial de aguas vivas de Israel” – tal como las aguas vivas purifican a Israel, así también lo hace el Eterno.

Hemos estudiado que: “El día del Perdón no absuelve por las faltas cometidas por el hombre a su prójimo” ¹⁹ , Rav Iosef bar Jabi le mostró una contradicción a R’ Avahu: dice la mishná que: “El día del Perdón no absuelve por las faltas cometidas por el hombre a su prójimo”, pero está escrito²⁰ : “Si pecare el hombre contra el hombre, E’lohim le juzgará”, significando que si orare al Señor, tendrá perdón! – Le contestó: la palabra E’lohim (Dios), en este versículo significa Juez, y la intención no está referida a D’s. Si fuera así, dime hasta el final “Mas si alguno pecare contra el Eterno, ¿quién rogará por él?”. Ello quiere decir que el principio del versículo habla acerca de los pecados del hombre contra su prójimo, a lo que le contestó que está escrito: “Si pecare el hombre contra el hombre, E’lohim le juzgará“, entonces irá a una corte y hará lo que ella le ordene y se le perdonará. “Mas si alguno pecare contra el Eterno”, quién orará por él, el arrepentimiento y las buenas acciones.
Dijo R’ Itzjak: Quien ofende a su prójimo así sea sólo con la palabra – debe amigarse (disculparse) con él, tal como está escrito²¹ : “Hijo mío, si salieres fiador por tu amigo, Si has empeñado tu palabra a un extraño, Te has enlazado con las palabras de tu boca, Y has quedado preso en los dichos de tus labios. Haz esto ahora, hijo mío, y líbrate, Ya que has caído en la mano de tu prójimo; Ve, humíllate, y asegúrate de tu amigo”. Y ello se debe comprender que si tienes dinero que le debes, abre tu palma de la mano y entrégale el dinero que le debes, y si le faltaste con la palabra, envíales a muchos amigos que en tu nombre se disculpen y pidan su perdón.
Dijo rav Jisda, y debe pedirle perdón con tres filas de tres personas, tal como está escrito²² “(Iashur) El mira sobre los hombres; y al que dijere: Pequé (jatati), y pervertí (aviti) lo recto, y no me ha aprovechado (lo shave li), Dios redimirá su alma para que no pase al sepulcro”. La palabra iashur indica filas –shurot–, y tal como el versículo utiliza tres palabras para indicar pecado, jatati, aviti, lo shave li, nos sugiere poner tres filas ante las que pedirá perdón. Dijo R’ Iosi bar Janina: quien pide perdón a su prójimo no debe hacerlo más que tres veces, porque está escrito²³ : ana, na, na “Así diréis a José: Te ruego que perdones ahora la maldad de tus hermanos y su pecado, porque mal te trataron; por tanto, ahora te rogamos que perdones la maldad de los siervos del Dios de tu padre. Y José lloró mientras hablaban”. Más no debe pedir ya que el ofendido le debe perdonar. Pero si el ofendido hubiera fallecido antes que le pidan perdón, trae diez personas y se paran frente a la tumba del ofendido y dice delante de ellos: “He pecado ante el Dios de Israel, y frente a fulano a quien dañé”.
Se cuenta que R’ Irmiah tuvo un incidente con R’ Aba. Fue R’ Irmiah y se sentó en el umbral de la casa de R’ Aba, a fin de pedirle que le disculpe. Cuando la sirvienta de R’ Aba arrojó las aguas servidas de la casa, cayeron sobre la cabeza de R’ Irmiah que estaba allí. Y entonces dijo sobre sí mismo: me hice como la basura sobre la que vierten las aguas sucias, y se llamó a sí mismo²⁴ : “El (que) levanta del polvo al pobre y al menesteroso alza del muladar”. Al oír R’ Aba lo que le había sucedido, salió a su encuentro diciéndole: Ahora debo yo pedirte perdón a ti, por la vergüenza que te hice pasar, tal como está escrito²⁵ : “Haz esto ahora, hijo mío, y líbrate, ya que has caído en la mano de tu prójimo, ve, humíllate, y asegúrate de tu amigo”. Se cuenta que R’ Zeira, cuando tenía alguna cuestión con un semejante que lo había ofendido, iba y pasaba delante del otro a fin de darle oportunidad para que saque las cosas que tenía en su corazón y se amigue. Ya que se preocupaba que le fuera fácil a ese hombre pedirle perdón y perdonarle.
Se cuenta que Rav estaba enojado con un faenador ritual, y este no se presentó para disculparse. En la víspera del Día de la Expiación, dijo: Yo iré a disculparme. Se encontró con Rav Huna, su alumno, que le dijo: ¿Adónde se dirige? A lo que le respondió: voy a disculparme con Fulano. Le dijo Rav Huna: Va Aba (que es el nombre de Rav) a matar a una persona, (porque suponía que ese ser no iba a tener un buen final). Fue Rav y llegó donde él, y ese Fulano estaba sentado partiendo una cabeza de vacuno y levantó la vista y lo vio diciéndole: ¿Tú eres Aba? Vete, no tengo de qué hablar contigo. Y se opuso a dialogar con él. Mientras finalizaba la frase y seguía partiendo la cabeza, se desprendió uno de los huesos y le golpeó en el cuello matándolo, cumpliéndose así lo que había previsto Rav Huna.
Se cuenta que Rav estaba leyendo las escrituras semanales, frente a Rabí cuando comenzaron los debates en el seminario. Luego que comenzaron, ingresó R’ Jiia, tío y maestro de Rav, regresando Rav al inicio de la clase. Tras él, ingresó Bar Kafra, y nuevamente reinició por el honor que le merecía Bar Kafra. Entró R’ Simón ben Rabi, volvió a iniciar la lectura. Luego llegó R’ Janiná bar Jamá, y Rav se dijo a sí mismo: ¿Tantas veces volveré a comenzar?, por lo que no reinició sino que continuó desde el lugar en el que se encontraba. Se enojó con él R’ Janiná porque vio que él era menos importante que otros. Rav fue en las vísperas del Día de la Expiación trece años a contentarle pero no le perdonó. Y preguntaron, ¿cómo hizo Rav?, si ya había dicho R’ Iosi Bar Janiná, que quien pide perdón a su prójimo ¡no debe hacerlo más que tres veces! Contestaron: Dado que Rav era piadoso, quiso comportarse más estrictamente de lo que pide la norma. Y preguntaron, ¿y R’ Janiná por qué se comportó así que no le perdonó pese a todas las veces que le pidió? Si ya había dicho Rabá, todo quien domina sus cualidades y perdona a quien le haya ofendido, ¿le perdonan desde las Alturas todos sus pecados? Explicaron: la cosa fue así: R’ Janiná soñó que colgaban a Rav sobre una palmera, y nosotros estudiamos que aquellas personas acerca de las que se sueña que serán colgados de una palmera, luego se convierten en directores de academias de estudio. De aquí aprendemos que él será líder, y no le perdonaré para que esté obligado a ir a estudiar Torá a Babilonia, y así se cumplirá el sueño y será un jefe de academia y cabeza de sabio, porque si no, él se quedaría en Israel y no habría quien pueda enseñar en Babilonia”.

Sólo como breve guía, recomendamos una segunda lectura para poder determinar en cada uno de los relatos la interacción habida entre quienes ofenden y quienes son ofendidos. En todos los relatos hay una tensión muy especial entre los que piden perdón y los ofendidos. A veces, los roles se mezclan y los seres humanos aparecen con toda su humanidad.

Dios espera el arrepentimiento

En la Tosefta²⁶ , leemos que los siete días que corrieron antes del diluvio, nos enseñan que en esa semana esperaba el Eterno la teshuvá de las personas para detener su decisión de provocar su muerte. Ver Génesis²⁷ : “y fue a los siete días y las aguas del diluvio fueron sobre la tierra”.

El texto del profeta Ezequiel²⁸ nos desafía nuevamente para entender la materia, presentándonos el arrepentimiento como fórmula de vida:

A ti, pues, hijo de hombre, te he puesto por atalaya a la casa de Israel, y oirás la palabra de mi boca, y los amonestarás de mi parte. Cuando yo dijere al impío: Impío, de cierto morirás; si tú no hablares para que se guarde el impío de su camino, el impío morirá por su pecado, pero su sangre yo la demandaré de tu mano. Y si tú avisares al impío de su camino para que se aparte de él, y él no se apartare de su camino, él morirá por su pecado, pero tú libraste tu vida. Tú, pues, hijo de hombre, di a la casa de Israel: Vosotros habéis hablado así, diciendo: Nuestras rebeliones y nuestros pecados están sobre nosotros, y a causa de ellos somos consumidos; ¿cómo, pues, viviremos? Diles: Vivo yo, dice Dios el Señor, que no quiero la muerte del impío, sino que se vuelva el impío de su camino, y que viva. Volveos, volveos de vuestros malos caminos; ¿por qué moriréis, oh casa de Israel? Y tú, hijo de hombre, di a los hijos de tu pueblo: La justicia del justo no lo librará el día que se rebelare; y la impiedad del impío no le será estorbo el día que se volviere de su impiedad; y el justo no podrá vivir por su justicia el día que pecare. Cuando yo dijere al justo: De cierto vivirás, y él confiado en su justicia hiciere iniquidad, todas sus justicias no serán recordadas, sino que morirá por su iniquidad que hizo. Y cuando yo dijere al impío: De cierto morirás; si él se convirtiere de su pecado, e hiciere según el derecho y la justicia, si el impío restituyere la prenda, devolviere lo que hubiere robado, y caminare en los estatutos de la vida, no haciendo iniquidad, vivirá ciertamente y no morirá. No se le recordará ninguno de sus pecados que había cometido; hizo según el derecho y la justicia; vivirá ciertamente. Luego dirán los hijos de tu pueblo: “No es recto el camino del Señor”; el camino de ellos es el que no es recto. Cuando el justo se apartare de su justicia, e hiciere iniquidad, morirá por ello. Y cuando el impío se apartare de su impiedad, e hiciere según el derecho y la justicia, vivirá por ello. Y dijisteis: No es recto el camino del Señor. Yo os juzgaré, oh casa de Israel, a cada uno conforme a sus caminos.

De estos versículos, particularmente del 19, la Tosefta²⁹ aprende, que “aun si la persona hubiera sido un malvado durante toda su vida, y hace teshuvá en sus finales, Makom lo recibe”.

Encontramos una fuente sumamente ilustrativa que deseamos compartir, y que aparece en Avot de Rabí Natán³⁰ , y esta es su traducción libre: “El solía decir… leemos en Qohelet³¹ , “Aún hay esperanza para todo aquel que está entre los vivos; porque mejor es perro vivo que león muerto”.

Porque un perro vivo es mejor que un león muerto, es mejor que Abraham, Isaac, y Jacob que descansan en el polvo, porque en este mundo aún puede regresar en teshuvá, y el Santo Bendito lo recibirá, pero, un justo ya fallecido, no puede sumar más méritos…”

Leímos también en Avot de Rabí Natan³² : “Todo quien permite que otros hagan acciones buenas, no le permiten que peque, para que sus alumnos no estén en el mundo venidero, y él descienda al Sheol, tal como está escrito en Salmos³³ “Porque no dejarás mi alma en el Sheol…” y todo quien hace pecar a los otros no le permiten que haga teshuvá para que no ocurra que sus alumnos se encuentren en las profundidades del Sheol, y el esté gozando del mundo venidero, como está escrito³⁴ , “El que es perseguido por homicidio será un fugitivo hasta la muerte. ¡Que nadie le brinde su apoyo!”

Las ofrendas de perdón

En la época del Templo, se realizaban ofrendas de expiación por diversas categorías de faltas.
La más clásica de ellas, es la del chivo expiatorio, tal como aparece descrita en Levítico. ³⁵ El servicio sacerdotal de Kipur era realmente impresionante, al grado que los poetas sefarditas de la Época de Oro en España, imaginando el esplendor del sumo sacerdote cuando hacía el servicio sagrado de Yom Kipur en el Templo, hicieron su descripción con lindos versos, los cuales fueron introducidos en la liturgia de este día. Ibn Gabirol³⁶ escribe: “¡Bienaventurados los ojos que vieron todas estas cosas! ¡Bienaventurados los ojos que vieron a los levitas y al pueblo atentos a la Gloria Divina resplandeciendo con viva luz, y al sumo sacerdote anunciando al pueblo que acudía a él: De todos vuestros pecados ante el Eterno, estaréis limpios! ¡Bienaventurados los ojos que vieron los muros del santuario amado, la Gloria Divina irradiando con luminosa claridad; y al sumo sacerdote distribuyendo la palabra santa como el rocío benéfico, rodeado de los sacerdotes y del pueblo semejantes a las plantas de olivo, acompañándolo con la exaltación con que se acompaña a un rey!

Pese a las bellas palabras que describen el servicio, basándose en el sentimiento poético, el tema de los sacrificios, sin embargo, no fue fácil de digerir por los exegetas. ¿Es acaso el chivo expiatorio una ofrenda a Dios?, se preguntaron algunos, y es Ibn Ezra quien opina que no, porque no es faenado por los seres humanos, y que sus razones forman parte del conocimiento esotérico. Najmánides es desmentido varios siglos después por el rabino Dr. Iosef Soloveichik quien se escandaliza ante la posibilidad de pensar, como lo hace aquel, que los sacrificios del chivo son una especie de aporte a Satán para que no se interponga ante las ofrendas del pueblo. Una explicación original aparece en la obra Orot Hateshuva, ³⁷ “las personas deben hacer todo lo que puedan para enmendar la falta, pero no son responsables por el mal en el mundo… sólo el Santo Bendito asume esa responsabilidad, según Isaías³⁸ “Que formo la luz y creo las tinieblas, que hago la paz y creo el mal. Yo el Eterno que hago todo esto”, que comparte con las personas. Después de los esfuerzos de la persona para enmendar el mal, le toca a El. Por ello se presentan dos ofrendas. Una para Dios, para perdonarnos por nuestra culpa, y la segunda, la de Azazel, para perdonar a Dios por la creación del mal. Se lo envía a una zona despoblada como el desierto, vacía, tal como nuestros defectos, que no dependen únicamente de nosotros. Este desarrollo teológico es consecuencia de la dificultad de comprender la muerte del chivo sin faena a través de un acto violento en particular, y sin que se quemen sus restos en el altar. El acto pareciera conducir a un acto de teshuvá colectivo, después de que cada persona pudo pasar por un acto individual. Maimónides nos explica que el chivo lleva encima todos los pecados, y ello impide que sea faenado por los procedimientos acostumbrados.

Lo que se intenta es alejarlo. El Talmud, discute³⁹ si la muerte del chivo perdona sin teshuvá, y ello provoca un debate entre Rabanan, que consideran que sí, y Rabí, que cree que no. En el Talmud de Jerusalén, Iomá 8:6, el dilema talmúdico permite a los rabinos una nueva sutileza, la de poder dividir entre faltas suaves y graves, cuando las primeras podrían ser perdonadas por el chivo expiatorio aun sin teshuvá. Sin embargo, de las opiniones de Maimónides debería entenderse el concepto al revés: Teshuvá es suficiente, y no necesita de la muerte del chivo para perdonar las faltas leves. Y en esta época en la que no hay más ofrendas, teshuvá es suficiente para todas las faltas.

Colofón

En los diez días de contrición entre Rosh Hashaná y Yom Kipur, se deben revisar las acciones de todo el año, también aquellas acerca de las que se duda si son o no pecaminosas, y hacer teshuvá. La tarea con esas acciones dudosas es más importante que la que se debe hacer con aquellas cuya gravedad salta a la vista. Y en esos días, habrá que reforzar aquellas acciones positivas, caritativas, que permitan equilibrar el balance individual. Leemos en el Talmud: ⁴⁰ “durante todo el año, las personas deben verse como mitad culpables y mitad inocentes, y ver a todo el universo en esa posición. Si pecare en una sola falta, condenaría al mundo todo, se condenaría a sí mismo. Pero, si agregare una buena acción, podría salvarse, y con él a todo el universo.”

Con este concepto, teshuvá se convierte en una acción social, que no sólo trabaja sobre el individuo sino que también se extiende al medio que lo envuelve.

Otro concepto, basado en Isaías: ⁴¹ “Deje el impío su camino, y el hombre inicuo sus pensamientos, y vuélvase al Eterno, el cual tendrá de él misericordia, y al Dios nuestro, el cual será amplio en perdonar”, obliga a un trabajo espiritual y psicológico de reconstrucción. Abandonar los pensamientos, es abandonar la rutina, dejar el camino trillado y enfrentarse a lo desconocido. “No nos librará Assur; no subiremos sobre caballos, ni nunca más diremos ‘dioses nuestros’ a la obra de nuestras manos: porque en ti el huérfano alcanzará misericordia”- ⁴² Cuando podamos aceptar que no somos como dioses y que nuestras obras son sólo humanas, y por lo tanto falibles, podremos emprender el cambio de camino. Teshuvá se convierte así en un desafío.

Camino que personas creyentes o no, deberían emprender. Y como decimos en Israel: “es mejor una hora antes de…”

1. Isaías 55:6-7
2. Isaías 1:18
3. Mishná Baba Metziá Cap. 4 mishná 10
4. Mishná Avot, capítulo 4, mishná 17
5. Tosefta Sucá, Capítulo 4, Halajá 2
6. Pirké de Rabí Eliécer cap. 3
7. Avot de Rabí Natán versión a, capítulo 15
8. Avot de Rabí Natán cap. 40
9. Salmo 51:3- 21
10. Talmud Babilónico Yomá 87
11. Hiljot Teshuvá 2:2
12. Levítico 16:29-31
13. Números 5:6-7
14. Iomá 85b y 87a
15. Lev. 16:30
16. En el texto aparece la palabra Makom, el Omnipresente. Levinas dice que desea significar que no es el Día que provoca el perdón por sí mismo como si fuera por un acto mágico. La fecha sólo libera al alma de la culpa, pero, el arrepentimiento debe ser cotidiano, para que tenga efecto. La Tosefta en Ioma 4:9, establece que el “décimo día – día de expiación, perdona a quienes se regresen de sus acciones negativas, el día sólo perdona a los que se arrepienten.”
17. Ezequiel 36:25
18. Jeremías 17:13
19. Es difícil establecer la diferencia entre faltas contra Makom y contra el prójimo. Si bien, la ofensa al prójimo sería todo lo que causa daño físico o económico al otro, estas faltas son también faltas contra el Omnipresente, con quien la relación no se limita únicamente al culto o a los principios relacionados con Él. “Poner en duda el triunfo final del Bien, o colocar lo material como valor fundamental – dice Levinas – son pecados con Makom”. La Tosefta en Ioma, cap. 4 halajá 9, nos dice que: Ofrendas por faltas cometidas, y la muerte y el Día de la Expiación, no perdonan si no se acompañan por la Teshuvá, porque el versículo de Levítico 23:27, tiene la limitación de la palabra aj, “Mas” el día décimo de este séptimo mes, será el día de las expiaciones; convocación santa será para vosotros, y afligiréis vuestras almas y presentaréis ofrenda de fuego al Eterno. Y no haréis ninguna clase de trabajo en este mismo día, porque es día de expiaciones, para hacer expiaciones por vosotros ante el Eterno, vuestro Dios”, para expresarnos que sólo es perdonado si hace teshuvá, y si no, no sus pecados no le son perdonados… Rabí Iehudá dice que la muerte y Iom Kipur perdonan con el arrepentimiento, el arrepentimiento perdona con la muerte, y el día de la muerte es considerado como el de la teshuvá.
20. I Samuel 2:25
21. Proverbios 6:1-3
22. Job 33:27-28
23. Génesis 50:17
24. Salmos 113:7
25. Proverbios 6:3
26. Sotá 10:4
27. 7:10
28. 33:7-20
29. Kidushin 1:16
30. Versión A, Cap. 12
31. Eclesiastés 9:4
32. Cap. 40
33. 16:10
34. Proverbios 28: 17
35. Levítico 16:8 Y Aarón echará suertes sobre los dos machos cabríos, una suerte “para el Eterno” y la otra “para Azazel”. 16:9 Y presentará Aarón el macho cabrío sobre el cual cayó la suerte “para el Eterno”, y lo ofrecerá como ofrenda por el pecado; y el macho cabrío sobre el cual cayó la suerte “para Azazel”, será colocado vivo ante el Eterno para hacer expiación por medio de él, enviándolo a Azazel en el desierto. 16:11 Y presentará Aarón el novillo de la ofrenda por el pecado, que es de él, y hará expiación por sí y por su casa, degollando al novillo de la ofrenda por el pecado, que es de él. … 16:16 Así el hará expiación por el santuario, a causa de las impurezas de los hijos de Israel y de sus transgresiones, con motivo de todos sus pecados. Y del mismo modo hará con la tienda de asignación que está entre ellos, en medio de sus impurezas. 16:17 Y no ha de haber hombre alguno en la tienda de asignación cuando él entre paga hacer expiación dentro del santuario, hasta que salga; así hará expiación por, sí y por su casa y por toda la congregación de Israel. 16:18 Y saldrá al altar que está delante del Eterno, y hará expiación por él. Y para ello tomará de la sangre del novillo y de la sangre del macho cabrío, y la pondrá sobre los cuernos del altar, alrededor. 16:19 Y de la sangre asperjará sobre él siete veces con su dedo índice; así lo purificará y lo santificará de las impurezas de los hijos de Israel. 16:20 Y cuando hubiere acabado de hacer expiación por el santuario y por la tienda de asignación y por el altar, hará presentar el macho cabrío vivo. 16:21 Y pondrá Aarón sus dos manos sobre la cabeza del macho cabrío vivo, y manifestará sobre él todas las iniquidades de los hijos de Israel, y todas sus transgresiones, y todos sus pecados, cargándolos así sobre la cabeza del macho cabrío, y lo enviará al desierto 16:22 Y el macho cabrío llevará sobre sí todas las iniquidades de ellos a tierra inhabitada; y así el hombre dejará ir al macho cabrío por el desierto. 16:23 Y entrará Aarón a la tienda de asignación, y quitándose las vestiduras de lino con que se vistió al entrar en el santuario, las dejará allí. 16:24 Y lavará su carne con agua en lugar sagrado, y se pondrá sus vestidos (comunes); y saldrá y ofrecerá su holocausto y el holocausto del pueblo, haciendo expiación por sí y por el pueblo. 16:25 Y hará consumir sobre el altar el sebo de la ofrenda por el pecado. 16:26 Y aquél que hubiere llevado el macho cabrío a Azazel, lavará sus vestidos y bañará su cuerpo en agua; y después de esto podrá entrar en el campamento. 16:27 Y en cuanto al novillo de la ofrenda por el pecado y al macho cabrío de la ofrenda por el pecado, cuya sangre fue traída dentro del santuario para hacer expiación, los sacarán fuera del campamento y quemarán a fuego sus pieles y su carne y su estiércol. 16:28 Y el que los quemare lavará sus vestidos y bañará su cuerpo en agua, y después de esto podrá entrar en el campamento. 16:29 Y os será estatuto perpetuo: En el mes séptimo, el día décimo del mes, afligiréis vuestras almas y ningún trabajo haréis; tanto el nativo como el peregrino que mora en medio de vosotros; 16:30 porque en este día se hará expiación(2) por vosotros para purificaros; de todos vuestros pecados quedaréis puros ante el Eterno.(3) 16:31 (Como) sábado solemne será para vosotros, en el cual habéis de afligir vuestras almas; estatuto perpetuo es. 16:32 Y el sacerdote que fuere ungido y consagrado para ser (sumo) sacerdote en lugar de su padre, hará expiación y se vestirá las vestiduras de lino, las vestiduras sagradas; 16:33 y hará expiación por el santo santuario; por la tienda de asignación y también por el altar hará expiación; y por los sacerdotes, y por todo el pueblo de la congregación, hará expiación. 16:34 Y esto os será estatuto perpetuo, para hacer expiación por los hijos de Israel, a causa de todos sus pecados, una vez al año. E hizo Aarón según había ordenado el Eterno a Moisés.
36. (1021-1058)
37. Citada por el rabino Shlomo Jaim Aviner, en Tal Hermón. Jerusalén 5745, pags. 481-581
38. 45:7
39. En Shavuot 12,b
40. En Kidushin 40
41. 55:7
42. Oseas 14:4

Según tomado de, http://www.jcrelations.net/Perd__n__contrici__n_y_arrepentimiento_en_la_tradici__n_jud__a.3039.0.html?searchAutor=Barylka%252C%2BYerahmiel&L=5

by B. Gordon

The scientist’s recently disclosed private papers reveal his deep reverence for ancient Jewish wisdom.

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Mystery, Nazis and Paul the Apostle

Veria’s Jews are said to have heard the gospel directly from Paul himself, documenting his visit, says one legend, on a long-lost Torah scroll. But by the time the Nazis were defeated, this 2,000-year-old community was extinct.

The interior of the synagogue in Veria, Greece.Courtesy of Evi Meska

Following the angry reception that greeted him when he preached to the Jews of Thessaloniki, around the year 50, the Apostle Paul was spirited out of town by fellow believers in Jesus’ resurrection. They brought him to Berea, some 60 kilometers (37 miles) to the west. There too, Paul spoke in a synagogue, but in Berea the Jews “were more noble than those in Thessaloniki, for they received the word with all eagerness,” according to the account in Acts of the Apostles 17.

If nothing else, the New Testament reference to Veria (as Berea is known today) is proof that a Jewish community existed in this Macedonian town as early as the first century. That was the case for the following two millennia, albeit with interruptions, until 1943, when the Holocaust brought Jewish life in Veria to an abrupt end.

Today there are no Jews in Veria, a town of some 66,000 residents, but the quarter where they lived still stands (and is undergoing gentrification), and at its heart is a synagogue that draws a small but steady stream of visitors. Many of those who come seeking the synagogue are Jews, but there are also Christians who want to see the place where Paul preached the gospel 2,000 years ago. In fact, the current synagogue, which is perched above the Tripotamos river that runs through Veria, is less than 200 years old. But there is a belief, widespread though not substantiated, that the synagogue where Paul spoke stood at the same site.

 

If visitors are lucky, Evi Meska will be at the synagogue when they drop by, to describe the history of the building she has come to champion, and tell of her hopes to develop Veria – which already draws tourists interested in seeing the spectacular royal Macedonian tombs in nearby Vergina – into a mandatory stop on the Jewish itinerary of northern Greece. Part of her ambition is to create a memorial to the town’s Jews who were murdered in the Holocaust.

Meska will also mention a modern legend about a mysterious Torah scroll that was supposedly in use at the time of Paul’s visit and was lost in the Holocaust. It’s an outrageous idea, but if you’re like me, you won’t be able to get that story out of your head.

Evi Meska herself is not Jewish. But in 2002 she was working for the municipal tourism office, shortly after the synagogue underwent a partial renovation, and was asked to take around the building a group of Holocaust survivors from Veria who had come back from Israel to visit their birthplace. It was then that she learned firsthand about the destruction of the community.

Before they expelled Veria’s Jews from their town, on May 1, 1943, the Germans locked up some 300 of them in the synagogue. For three days, they were denied food and water. Those who survived were then deported, first to Thessaloniki and then to Auschwitz.

Hearing about the deportation “was a shocking moment for me,” Meska recalls. “The Holocaust went from being in my head to my heart.”

The ‘Da Vinci Code’ Torah

At the start of the war, Veria had a Jewish population of some 600 to 650, to whom were added about 200 Jewish refugees from other parts of the country. According to Giorgos Liolios, who has documented the Holocaust in Veria, 460 Veria Jews died in the Holocaust, 448 of them at Auschwitz. It is also known that 136 of the town’s Jews escaped deportation by fleeing to the mountains, and that 123 of them returned after the war. When they came back to Veria, however, the survivors found that their homes were occupied by newcomers and their possessions were all gone. Virtually all of them left, some of them for Thessaloniki, but the majority left Greece for either Israel or the United States. By 1970, Veria’s Jewish community was declared defunct, and management of its affairs was transferred to the Jewish Community of Thessaloniki.

 

In 2002, when the renovated synagogue was reopened, the Central Board of Jewish Communities in Greece published a pamphlet containing a detailed history of the Jewish community of Veria. Appended to it was the text of an article published in the Greek newspaper Kathimerini in May 1951 that reads like a variation on “The Da Vinci Code.” That seems to be the source of the tale of the 2,000-year-old Torah scroll.

In precise, authoritative language, the anonymously written article describes how, during a visit to Veria in 1941, Isaac Kambelis, a senior representative of the Thessaloniki Jewish community, was shown an ancient Torah scroll. In the scroll’s margins was writing describing a visit by a “shaliah” – Hebrew for “messenger” or “apostle” – named “Saul,” who preached about the coming of the Messiah. When Kambelis described what he had seen to Thessaloniki’s chief rabbi, Zvi Koretz, the latter asked a respected Jewish scholar to travel to Veria to inspect it for himself. That scholar, “the wise Barouch Ben Jacob,” according to Kathimerini, confirmed, among other things, that the scroll appeared to date back to the second century B.C.E.

A plan to submit the scroll to further examination among foreign experts was interrupted by World War II, when, according to the same article, the Nazis confiscated all the religious objects belonging to Veria’s Jewish community and transported them to a four-story museum in Auschwitz. After the Russians liberated the death camp, they gave the Torah to Hungarian survivors, who, “even though they regarded it as passul [forbidden for ritual use, because it had been written upon], they used it for the purpose of religious ceremonies, because they did not have any other.” Eventually, says the article, it ended up in the hands of the survivor “Ernest Klein, a merchant from Budapest.” After that, its fate is unknown.

When Minna Rozen, professor emeritus of Jewish history at the University of Haifa, visited Veria a year or two ago, she too was shown around the synagogue by Evi Meska, and she too heard and was startled by the account of the “Paul scroll,” which she decided to check out, if only because “it was such a nice story.”

Prof. Rozen says she found no record of the visits of either Isaac Kambelis or Barouch Ben Jacob to Veria in the prewar archive of the Jewish Community of Thessaloniki. She also notes that the reference to a Jewish museum in Auschwitz is “nonsense.” It is true, however, that the Germans shipped many of the ritual objects and documents they stole from Jewish communities around Europe to Prague for display in what was planned to be a museum of an “extinct” people.

She questions, too, the idea that someone would have gone to the trouble of documenting the visit of Paul to Veria in real time: “At the time that he came there, he was not an important person,” she points out.

But Rozen notes that the story doesn’t add up for a more basic reason: After the Ottomans conquered Constantinople, in 1453, they forcibly brought to their new capital Jews, Muslims and Christians from all over the empire, to repopulate and rebuild the city after the decline of the final years of Byzantine rule. Among the groups who were transferred there was Veria’s entire community of Romaniote Jews, as the Greek-speaking Jews of the Byzantine empire were called. “And when they were deported,” notes Rozen, “they took their Torah scrolls with them.” And neither they nor their scrolls ever returned.

Lost history, restored synagogue

According to Elias Messinas, no physical evidence remains of the Romaniotes’ presence in Veria either. Less than a half-century later, however, their place was taken by Sephardi Jews, who “brought with them their own culture, language and religious traditions,” writes Messinas in his 2011 book “The Synagogues of Greece.”

Messinas, an Athens-born, Yale-trained architect who today divides his time between Greece and Israel, undertook to do a survey of the remains of the country’s synagogues for his doctorate. “By the 1990s,” he recalls, “in remote corners of Greece where no communities survived, synagogues and cemeteries were abandoned.” After spending months in surveying and documenting them, Messinas’ hope was to convince the Jewish leadership to preserve the sites, as part of the Jews’ cultural legacy.

In the case of Veria, a preservation program was attempted, with the support of the Getty Grant Program. In addition to the synagogue itself, which by the ’90s was in very bad repair, there was also the surrounding Jewish quarter, called Barbouta, and a cemetery just across the river, on what had once been the outskirts of town, but was now in the heart of a growing residential neighborhood.

The abandoned site of the cemetery was developed by the city as athletic fields, in return for establishment of a memorial to the city’s Jews on the site, to be created from the remaining gravestones – as was done some years later in Thessaloniki. The city also restored the synagogue façade in 1996 along with new pavement for the Barbouta area. A few years later, the interior of the synagogue was also renovated by the Jewish community.

Like Evi Meska, Giorgos Liolios is not Jewish. But there seems to be consensus among all concerned that he knows as much about Veria’s Jewish history as anyone. A lawyer and journalist by training, and a poet and novelist in his free time, Liolios has also written two Greek-language books about Jewish history – one about Veria, the other about the island of Sifnos.

In “Shadows of the City” (2009), Liolios says he attempted to reconstruct the events of the Holocaust in Veria, and more generally in Greece, and to name the “460 victims of the Jewish community of Veria.” In a written statement he sent to Haaretz, Liolios described the conversion of the cemetery into a sports facility as “an unholy act,” and “unacceptable if you consider the way we should manage the memory of the dead.”

He is no less disturbed by what he refers to as “the destruction” of the synagogue’s interior.

As the person who had painstakingly studied and published the history and architecture of the synagogue, Messinas was glad that the building was finally preserved, though he would have preferred if the work had been more accurate in preserving the synagogue’s original character. For example, the interior walls were repainted in blue instead of repairing the existing faux-marble – a traditional and unique decoration – and images depicting holy sites in the Land of Israel were added to the walls.

According to Liolios, both the plan to redevelop the cemetery and the manner in which the synagogue was renovated are examples of a larger, monument-based approach to Jewish memory that he sees as an inappropriate way to teach about the Holocaust.

“I believe,” Liolios wrote, “that we should be more interested in a systematic and persistent effort to manage and point out the memory of Jewish presence in the city and the Holocaust, with the help of various tools (mainly through school education).

“I would not, of course, oppose the installation of a Holocaust monument in Veria, but if it is to happen, it should be placed in a central part of the city rather than being ‘hidden’ in a remote corner of the city,” so that both locals and visitors will encounter and interact with it. Liolios says he wants to avoid the situation in which “Holocaust monuments are being set up just to say that we have repaid our debt to memory.”

Empathy and wonder

As a model of an effective memorial, Liolios points to the Stolpersteine project, in which small commemorative plaques are embedded in the sidewalk where Jews lived or worked before their deportation. The “stumbling stone” project began in Germany, but now has spread to everywhere Jews were persecuted during the Nazi period. Liolios believes they are an effective way to stimulate empathy and wonder. “Although there is generally a good climate in Veria,” he wrote, “there is still a large number of inhabitants who have anti-Semitic ideas or are suspicious,” and they need to be encouraged to empathize with the victims.

There’s some irony in the fact that the two great champions of Jewish commemoration in Veria are non-Jews, although it shouldn’t be so surprising, considering that no Jews live today in the city. For her part, Evi Meska would like nothing more than to see a memorial created in the basement of the Veria synagogue, which once housed the community’s mikveh, its ritual bath. She imagines bringing some of the tombstones from the former cemetery into the basement. “People died in the synagogue: it’s a place of memory,” she says.

Across from the synagogue, she proposes restoring a house and turning it into a museum: “I have pictures, stories, histories of the survivors, a lot of things to put in the museum.”

When I spoke with David Saltiel, a businessman who serves as president of both the Central Council of Greek Jews and the Jewish Community of Thessaloniki, he said that he “hadn’t thought about” a museum in Veria, noting that creating such an institution requires money, content and dedicated professionals, all of which are in short supply.

Instead, Saltiel says his current priority is the expansion of the excellent Jewish Museum of Thessaloniki with an additional 500 to 600 meters of floor space. And adjacent to the train station of that city, which is where the Jews of Thessaloniki began their final journey to Auschwitz, the foundation stone was laid last January for a Holocaust museum. The major funding for that is also coming from non-Jewish sources: Greece’s Stavros Niarchos Foundation, the eponymous philanthropic organization established by the estate of the late Greek shipping magnate, and the government of Germany.

As taken from, https://www.haaretz.com/world-news/europe/.premium-the-secret-history-of-one-of-greece-s-oldest-jewish-communities-1.6411008?=&utm_campaign=hda-weekend-new&utm_medium=email&utm_source=smartfocus&utm_content=https%253A%252F%252Fwww.haaretz.com%252Fworld-news%252Feurope%252F.premium-the-secret-history-of-one-of-greece-s-oldest-jewish-communities-1.6411008&ts=_1535203519732