Archive for category History
The Boy in the Striped Pajamas
Posted by Yonason Goldson in Culture, History on October 26, 2008
Rabbi Blech articulates how writers of fiction have an obligation to accurately represent reality lest, as in this case, readers and viewers who may never have any other exposure to the Holocaust come away with the perverse misperception that mankind’s greatest crimes really weren’t so bad.
The Audacity of Irrational Hope
Posted by Yonason Goldson in History, Holidays, Politics on October 11, 2008
When idealists cry from the soapbox that they have the solutions to all the country’s problems, it’s hard not to give them a hearing. Maybe they’re right. Maybe we can fix our education system, our health care system, our political system, and our economy. But when they insist that we can solve all the problems of the world through diplomacy — that all our differences with hostile nations and cultures stem from misunderstanding and can be reconciled through sensitivity and a meeting of minds — then we have to wonder whether their other solutions have any more grounding in reality than the Philosopher’s Stone or the Fountain of Youth.
As evidence of the superiority of diplomacy over aggression, they point to the failures in Iraq. True, the US adventure there foundered badly. But this was because of mismanagement and not because the plan was fundamentally unsound. It’s easy to claim that, since results were not what we had hoped, we never should have gotten involved in the first place. But we never know what might have been, and there is good reason to believe that inaction would have produced even worse results.
The late Alistair Cook, who witnessed the folly and tragedy of Neville Chamberlain’s Munich Agreement with Adolph Hitler, saw the parallel even before American troops went into Iraq. His observations should be required reading for every advocate of appeasement.
One can only imagine how the pacifists seventy years ago would have wailed and wrung their hands over every casualty and setback had the allies struck preemptively against the Third Reich. But with the wisdom of hindsight, who would dispute how much human suffering might have been prevented?
It is not the threat from fanatics that poses the greatest danger to the world today. A far greater danger comes from the Pollyanna fantasies of “visionaries” who believe we can make peace with the merchants of violence who seek our destruction. The only possible approach to a culture of terrorism was addressed in Jewish philosophy 3300 years ago with the Torah’s response to the attack by the nation of Amoleik: there can be no peace with radical extremists who eagerly die in the cause of sowing death.
During the autumnal Festival of Sukkos, traditional synagogues around the world read publicly the prophet Ezekiel’s vision of a vast army called Gog and Magog, assembled from among all the nations of the earth to march forth against the people of Israel in the ultimate battle of mankind, the great war of the messianic era.
Over a century ago, the brilliant 19th century thinker Rabbi Samson Rafael Hirsch explained that the essence of this confrontation is not an engagement of military powers but a cultural battle of ideas. In Hebrew, the word “gog” means “roof.” In the context of Ezekiel’s prediction, it represents the philosophy of secular progressivism, the ideology that man defines his own standards of right and wrong, of good and evil, of virtue and corruption. It believes in the supremacy of human reason and human accomplishment, in an autocracy of intellectual elitism. Above all, it rejects any concept of a higher authority, the sanctity of life, or personal responsibility. It deifies convenience without commitment, moral equivalence without moral judgment, and personal autonomy without accountability. It is, plain and simple, the philosophy of moral anarchy.
It is this ideology that the prophet tells us will rise up in the End of Days in an attempt to conquer the world. Opposing it will be a very different ideology — the philosophy of Sukkah.
These little huts — sukkas — usually constructed of thin wooden panels and covered with branches of palm or bamboo, become home to the entire community of Torah observant Jews for seven days after the conclusion of the High Holidays. With only the most insubstantial shelther, the Jew is forced to recall that even the most solid structures of human design cannot guarantee security or protection. Every force of nature hastens to perform the Divine Will, and there is no place secure enough to hide from its power … as the victims of hurricanes, tsunamis, and earthquakes would testify. Only by living lives of virtue according to the absolute standards of good and evil can we reasonably hope to merit safety and redemption — at least in the next world, if not always here on earth.
The danger of well-intentioned irrationalism flourishes, ironically, in proportion not only to the imminent danger from extremist movements, but also in proportion to economic and social chaos. The collapse of financial institutions ruined by their own irrational exuberance and the decay of inner city communities pulled down by their own abandonment of basic family structure would seem to cry out for measured responses and the wisdom of experience. Instead, powered by unshakable faith in a brave new world of hope and change, rhetoric conquers qualification, charisma conquers character, and form conquers substance as grand schemes of breathtaking impracticality gain traction day by day. The foundations of civilized society are increasingly eroded by fanciful notions of utopian universalism.
Sadly, the outcome of unfounded hope is usually prolonged and exacerbated hopelessness.
The respect for life, charity tempered by accountability, social consience that sprouts forth from traditional values — these are the characteristics that will come increasingly under attack as human beings allow themselves to be seduced by their own cleverness and their own moral judgment. We needn’t look too far to conclude that the signposts of the messianic era have already appeared before us. And we needn’t look too far or think too deeply to recognize which qualities of leadership are necessary to prepare us for the approaching storm.
Not in Heaven — Parshas Nitzavim
Posted by Yonason Goldson in History, Philosophy, Weekly Parsha on September 24, 2008
This commandment that I set before you today is neither remote nor inaccessable from you. It is not in heaven, so that you should say, “Why shall ascend to the heavens and bring it down to us so that we can understand it and keep it?” It is not beyond the sea, so that you should ask, “Who will cross the sea and bring it back for us so that we can understand and keep it?” Indeed, it is very close to you — it is in your mouth and in your heart, so that you can keep it.
Deuteronomy 30:11-14
One of the most enigmatic episodes in the Talmud is based on these verses. The following explication is excerpted from the forthcoming history (G-d willing), In a Single Glance.
During the era that shaped the form and structure of the Talmud, the ideological differences between two great Torah academies, Beis Hillel and Beis Shammai, never diminished the respect and affection the scholars of either house felt for the scholars of the other. Despite the Talmud’s description of their debates as battles fought “with swords and spears,” neither school ever resorted to any means other than sound Talmudic reasoning to advance its position.
Among members of the Sanhedrin, however, differences of opinion did not limit themselves to simple halachic interpretation. Disputes between the sages reflected the core of Talmudic philosophy, upon which the preservation of the Oral Law depended. To what extent will halachic leniency erode respect for Torah? To what degree must individual sages submit to the majority opinion by relaxing their own personal standards of Torah observance? Concerns such as these influenced not only isolated halachic rulings, but the very fabric of the Torah nation. The sages understood that their decisions would shape the attitudes of entire generations of Jewish society.
Given the need to set standards for future generations, individual sages would sometimes perceive the determination of a seemingly inconsequential halachic debate as if the future of halachic integrity depended solely upon its outcome.
One such dispute arose between the members of the Sanhedrin and Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrkanus, a sage so revered that his colleagues referred to him as “Rabbi Eliezer HaGadol — the Great.” Rabbi Eliezer asserted that a certain type of oven could not acquire tumah, ritual impurity, but even with his superior scholarship he failed to convince any of his colleagues. Frustrated by the failure of his arguments, Rabbi Eliezer proceeded to invoke a series of miracles: he made a carob tree uproot itself and walk across the garden; he made water in a stream run uphill; and he made the walls of the Lishkas HaGazis (the chamber in which the sages convened) tilt inward over the heads of the sages.
The sages remained unmoved and resolute in their collective opinion. Finally, at Rabbi Eliezer’s command, a heavenly voice rang out in the chamber declaring that the halacha followed the ruling of Rabbi Eliezer.
Rabbi Yehoshua, the Av Beis Din, arose in his place. Seemingly unimpressed, he declared: “Torah lo baShomayim hi — the Torah is not in heaven.”
In other words, it was irrelevant whether Rabbi Eliezer possessed greater insight into the divine will or whether he had attained such a high spiritual level that G-d Himself testified on his behalf. The Torah itself mandates that responsibility for its interpretation and application rests in the hands of the sages of each generation and depends upon their judgment. They, through consensus, both assess and determine the spiritual level of the era in which they live. Consequently, it is the majority opinion of sages that determines halachic reality and nothing else. An individual scholar may be “right” in an absolute, metaphysical sense, but if he cannot convince the majority of his colleagues through logical and textual proofs, then his own opinion is inconsistent with the spiritual potential of his generation. The system handed down from G-d to Moshe at Sinai may never be overruled — not even by the G-d who gave it.
Indeed, although any sage may debate halacha as far as his reason allows and his conscience demands, every sage must ultimately accept the majority decision once the Sanhedrin has ruled. By invoking miracles, Rabbi Eliezer demonstrated a contempt for the halachic process that his colleagues could not sanction. Rabbi Eliezer’s refusal to accept majority rule left the Sanhedrin no alternative other than the painful decision to place their revered colleague in cherem, imposing upon him the ban of excommunication.
As a result, none of the sages had any contact with Rabbi Eliezer for the rest of his life. Only as Rabbi Eliezer lay on his deathbed did the sages relax the cherem to visit him before he died. All of the Torah knowledge he possessed but had not yet taught went with him to the grave, and his bitterness over the verdict of the sages contributed to the early death of Rabbi Yehoshua — his own brother-in-law. Nevertheless, in the eyes of the Sanhedrin these tragedies were the lesser evil; nothing warranted the risk of irreparably compromising the integrity of Torah should the Jewish people learn from Rabbi Eliezer’s example that halachic decision is ever negotiable.
However, so exceptional was Rabbi Eliezer in his scholarship and righteousness that one of the sages, Rabbi Nosson, doubted whether the harsh response of Rabbi Yehoshua and the Sanhedrin had been justified. Rabbi Nosson sought out Elyahu HaNovi (the prophet Elijah) and asked how the Almighty had reacted when the sages overruled Rabbi Eliezer and the heavenly voice. Elyahu told him that G-d had declared: “nitzchuni bonai — My children have defeated Me.”
Far from being angry, the Creator rejoiced at the sages’ demonstration of the immutability of the system of Torah law G-d Himself had established. Once that system had been entrusted to Moshe as representative of the Jewish people, no force in the universe could alter it. By proclaiming that the Torah is not in heaven, Rabbi Yehoshua had shown future generations the extent and power of rabbinic authority.
But that was not all. The word netzach can be translated not only as “victory” but as “eternity.” Interpreted this way, nitzchuni bonai would mean, “My children have made Me eternal.” The Oral Torah allows for Jewish law to adapt itself to a constantly changing world while the Written Torah keeps Jewish law anchored with unalterable moral and legal axioms. Without concrete limits, Jewish practice would continually change until it retained no resemblance to the Divine Word given at Sinai. Without flexibility, Jewish law would calcify, losing all relevance to the present.
By overruling Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Yehoshua demonstrated not only the immutability of the Torah but its eternal relevance. Because the sages interpret the Torah according to the spiritual level of each generation, the Torah never becomes outdated, never becomes inapplicable, never requires editing or revision. The law is the law, forever and without exception. And it is the eternity of the law that keeps the Jewish people eternal.
Popularization of Kabbalah
Posted by Yonason Goldson in History, Philosophy on August 21, 2008
Here’s a primer on the origins and expansion of mysiticism in my Jewish History column today on Jewish World Review.
Post-Tisha B’av reflections
Posted by Yonason Goldson in History, Holidays, Philosophy on August 11, 2008
Spent Tisha B’av afternoon watching a 5-hour documentary on Auschwitz. What struck me most was the motivation for the SS innovation of gassing their victims as a replacement for firing squads. True, they sought efficiency in mass-murder. But a more immediate concern was the psychological and emotional effect upon the executioners. Incredibly, the same generals who worried that mass-execution might turn their soldiers into “either neurotics or brutes” were incapable or unwilling to entertain even the most fleeting notion that any act having such an effect upon their men had to be intrinsically evil.
This is truly the character of Amoleik, which defines good and evil not in terms of absolute morality but only in terms of pragmatic self-interest.
What is the definition of “objective” history?
Posted by Yonason Goldson in History on August 1, 2008
I received a couple of comments regarding yesterday’s post linking my JWR article about Ezra’s return to Israel from Babylon — one was polite and respectful; the other was … less so. Here are some thoughts about historical veracity:
A difficult matter involves the resolution of inconsistencies between Torah and secular sources. Secular historians date the arrival of Alexander the Great in the Middle East somewhat earlier than Torah sources, and they question whether the conqueror ever visited Israel at all. They believe that the First Temple was destroyed by the Babylonians in 587 BCE, where Torah sources date the destruction in 422 BCE; they believe that the Second Temple stood for 589 years, where Torah sources clearly state that it stood for only 420.
Although many such questions remain questions, others have fallen away. From Thomas Hobbes in 1651 through Julius Wellhausen in 1886 to the middle of the 20th Century, secular theologians insisted with unanimity upon the “Documentary Hypothesis,” that the Torah is in fact a synthesis of four separate documents of independent origins edited during the leadership of Ezra the Scribe, sometime after 539 BCE.
In 1941, however, Umberto Cassuto published his refutation of the Documentary Hypothesis, leaving the theological community deeply divided with Wellhausen’s defenders very much on the defensive.
As recently as 2001, the historians Finkelstein and Silberman insisted that camels were not domesticated earlier than the late second millennium BCE, thereby refuting the biblical account that Abraham possessed domesticated camels around 1800 BCE. Since these assertions are based on a lack of supportive evidence rather than empirical counterevidence, they hardly constitute a refutation of the Torah or, indeed, proof of anything. In any event, the historians Bulliet and Zeuner have marshaled evidence showing that camels were domesticated no later than 1900 BCE, and perhaps as early as thousand years before that.
By and large, archeology has begun to support, rather than challenge, the historical accuracy of Torah. The Egyptian papyrus of Iphoar (translated into English by Egyptologist Alan Gardiner) describes the desolation of Egypt with remarkable similarity to the biblical account of the ten plagues.
In 1999, archeologists Avraham Biran and Gila Cook uncovered in a northern Israel excavation a flattened basalt stone bearing an Aramaic inscription commemorating a Syrian military victory over the “king of Israel” and “the House of David.” This followed decades in which historians and archeologists insisted that there was no evidence whatsoever to substantiate the existence of King David.
In 2003, Shimon Ilani of Israel’s Geological Institute declared as authentic a 2800-year-old sandstone tablet inscribed with instructions from King Joash to the Temple priests consistent with the biblical record in 2 Kings 12.
Nevertheless, bewildering and seemingly irreconcilable differences persist, most notably with regard to the duration of the Second Temple era. In the heavily documented world of the 21st Century, it is difficult for us to imagine how chasms of discrepancy could have formed in the historical record. However, during most of human history there was no universal calendar. Dates were recorded according to the year of the local monarch, and in many of these dynasties, kings were named after their grandfathers, creating a chain of alternating names which in turn creates confusion for historians trying to piece together events hundreds or thousands of years later.
Furthermore, “history” changed from place to place. Royal historians recorded only those events that met the approval of their rulers, and presented them with the most flattering editorial spin. When Egypt defeated Syria in war, Syrian historical records mention nothing about war with Egypt. When Syrian history begins to describe its army’s victories, Egyptian military history falls silent.
History, therefore, becomes a patchwork that often degenerates into educated guesswork, with the cultural, religious, and psychological preconceptions and biases of the interpreters inevitably shaping their historical conclusions.
In contrast, Jewish history has never shied away from unpleasant truths. The Torah, the prophets, and the sages have shown meticulous concern for preserving accurate chronology, as well as brutal honesty in portraying unflattering events. The authorities that invalidate a Torah scroll if even one letter has been altered prove their reliability as defenders of historical accuracy. The sages that indict Jacob for complaining about his life before Pharaoh, Moses for overzealously rebuking the people, and Gideon for taking too many wives testify to their own objectivity as honest interpreters of the historical record.
Ironically, from the perspective of historical accuracy, oral tradition may have advantages over written history. Written errors, whether intentional or inadvertent, eventually become accepted as facts with the passage of time. What may have seemed clear at one point in history may later be unclear or, even worse, may be interpreted to mean something contrary to what was originally intended. An oral tradition dependant upon face-to-face interaction between teacher and student preserves an integrity of transmission impossible through the one-way medium of writing.
Most significantly, perhaps, is the general historical community’s rejection of divine intervention. Just as secular scientists cannot accept any explanation of the origins of life and universe that involve a deity, neither can secular historians accept any fact or analysis that implies the guiding hand of a higher power. Consequently, they reject the Torah-based historical record as “religion” and considered themselves compelled to search elsewhere for their understanding of history.
Postscript: Here are some thoughts about the Documentary Hypothesis from Rabbi Gil Student at Hirhurim.
Hope and change
Posted by Yonason Goldson in History on July 31, 2008
Real leadership lies in the ability to motivate a people to recognize what needs to be done and inspire them to do it. The rarity of leaders, however, is not merely a symptom of contemporary society. At the outset of the Second Temple period, Ezra the Scribe awakened the collective conscience of a nation. Read about it in my current article in JWR:
Torah Ideals 
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