Popular beliefs: a critical look

Where we stand

It is worth pausing to sum up. There is a God. He created the world and the laws of nature, and he is the source of morality and of our knowledge. He commanded us, hence the duty to keep halakha. Since then he hardly intervenes: we have free choice, the world runs according to laws, and there are no miracles and no prophecy. That is the skeleton. And now let us examine some beliefs that are considered “principles” today, and see whether they belong to the skeleton.

For each one we will ask four questions. Are the concepts defined? Do the arguments withstand examination? Does it have a clear source? And does it serve a need, which casts doubt on its truth?

“Principles” that are really reasonings

First, a general phenomenon. Sometimes sages presented ideas they reached on their own as if they were “principles of faith” or “a tradition from Sinai,” in order to strengthen them. Clarifications about the coming of the Messiah and the world to come, the kinds of providence, the reasons for the commandments, “lights” and “vessels” in Kabbalah. Most have no binding source, and are the creation of thinkers. And today it is common to present ideas of Maimonides, the Kuzari, Rav Kook or the Maharal as if they were binding. That is a transfer of the authority of halakha to a domain where it has no place.

The chosenness of Israel

The common belief: there is an essential, innate difference between a Jew and a gentile. Not only a difference of culture or education, but a difference in the “soul,” almost like the difference between two species. The Kuzari even compares the difference between a Jew and a gentile to the difference between a human being and an animal. To examine this belief, let us ask three questions about it.

What exactly is being claimed? There is no doubt that every people has its own character traits. The Belgians differ from the Italians, and both differ from the Chinese. And it is very likely that the Jewish people too has special traits: the common origin, marriage within the people, the hardships, the shared culture and history left their mark. But such differences exist between any two peoples, and so they are not “chosenness.” Chosenness claims something else: that we have a uniqueness compared to all peoples, of a kind no other people has. And here the problem begins: what is an “essential difference,” as opposed to a difference acquired through culture? If genetics is meant, every person has a unique genetics. If a psychological structure is meant, that too differs from person to person. Even in science, the decision of when two animals are “a different species” is made by criteria human beings set. That is, it is not clear that the concept of “essential difference” has a clear meaning here at all. And what about the evidence usually brought for chosenness? For example, the high number of Jews among Nobel Prize winners, or the fact that the people survived thousands of years of exile and returned to its land. These are impressive facts, but they do not prove an “innate difference.” They can be explained no less well by circumstances: a people that lived for many years in distress, persecuted and excluded from many professions, learned to survive by means of intellect and education. And a people that for generations valued learning above all, and taught every child to read and argue about texts, raises people who succeed in fields of thought. That is, the success can be a result of history and culture, and not of an innate trait. And when there is such a simple explanation, there is no need to assume “chosenness.”

Do we see such a difference? Suppose for a moment that the concept is clear. An essential difference between a human being and an animal one sees at once, without effort. Does one see such a difference between a typical Jew and a typical gentile? Some say yes, but it is hard to accept. It seems that whoever says so is not describing what he sees, but what he infers from the sources: “the Sages said it, so it is surely true.” One could even test it: describe to someone the behavior of different people, and ask him which of them is Jewish. It is hard to believe he would succeed. And even if he did, it would not yet be proven that this is an innate difference, and not a difference of culture.

What are the sources? The central verse is “And now, if you will listen to my voice and keep my covenant, you shall be my treasure (segulah) among all the peoples” (Exodus 19). Notice the word “if.” This is not a description of what we are from birth, but a goal set before us, on condition that we keep the covenant. And “The Lord has chosen you” too speaks of God choosing us, and not of an innate trait in us. And if you ask: what about the Kuzari? Here it is worth knowing several things. First, Maimonides apparently does not accept the Kuzari’s position, and in his view the difference between a Jew and a gentile is at most a difference of culture and history. That is, we have one of the greatest Rishonim holding the non-essentialist position, and he did not see it as a deviation from tradition. Second, for most generations the Kuzari was one book of thought among many, which most Torah learners did not study, and its author, Rabbi Yehuda Halevi, was mainly a poet. Only in recent generations, following the Vilna Gaon and especially Rav Kook and his son, did it become a pillar of Jewish thought. And third, where did the Kuzari get that only Jews can reach prophecy? And where did he get that this is an innate trait, and not simply God’s choice of this people?

The summary: this belief has no clear source. Its concepts are not defined. The arguments for it are weak, and empirically it seems refuted. And there is one more thing worth noticing, which perhaps explains why this belief is so strong despite all the difficulties. When examining a belief, it is worth asking also: does it answer some need? Because if so, it may be held because of the need, and not because it is true. And in this case there is a clear need. In the past, the gentiles around the Jews were often persecutors, cruel or uneducated, and it was easy to feel that we were different from them. Today, when the gentiles we meet are educated, moral and decent people, sometimes more than we are, it is harder to feel different. And then a fear arises: if we are not different from them, what makes us special? And “innate chosenness” answers exactly this fear: even if in our deeds we resemble them, in our soul we are different. Perhaps this is why many see this belief as a binding principle, and whoever denies it is considered “illegitimate” in their eyes. And if whoever holds the opposite position is a “heretic,” he is in good company: Maimonides, as noted, apparently thought so.

Is every Jew who is killed a “martyr”?

A soldier who fell, or someone murdered in a terror attack, is called “kadosh,” holy, a martyr. The concept derives from “kiddush Hashem,” the sanctification of God’s name. One who died for the sanctification of God’s name is one who chose to give his life, deliberately, for a religious value. And now the test: a person who died in a car accident, no one calls a martyr. He paid a heavy price, but he did not choose, and not for the sake of Heaven. A person murdered in a terror attack while walking in the street also did not choose and did not intend. By the definition itself, he is not a “martyr.” With a soldier who chose to risk his life for his people, at least some of the conditions are met, choice and purpose, and so the situation is different.

The idea that “every Jew killed because he is a Jew is a martyr” has no source in the Sages, and as far as is known, not in the Rishonim either. Articles that looked for a source for it came up empty. The sources that speak of Rabbi Akiva and the other martyrs of the empire, who gave their lives knowingly for Torah study, were extended to every murder victim. There is also a kabbalistic story about the stature of the martyrs, but there too it concerns those who gave their lives. And in the background stands the view that God runs history, and so every death is “intended.” That view we have already rejected.

One can also write about this in pain, and not only in analysis. After the murder of yeshiva students in a terror attack, a believing person wants to say that they fell for the sanctification of God’s name. But he cannot, because it is not true: they were murdered for nothing, without intention and without choice, and their death is a terrible desecration of God’s name. “Where are his awesome deeds?” This is a position that refuses a consolation that is not true.

“Turn it and turn it, for everything is in it”

There is a widespread popular belief that all the knowledge in the world is found in the Torah. On the strength of it, people look in the Torah for “codes” and equidistant letter sequences that predict events, laws of physics and mathematics, principles of psychology and biology, and even an economic system, socialism or capitalism.

A story to illustrate: a yeshiva student in Bnei Brak traveled every day at noon to study physics at the university. His friends asked him: “Why do you go? Everything is in the Torah.” He answered: “If everything is in the Torah, then physics too is Torah, and there is no problem with my going. And anyway, find me the solution to the equation I am working on in the letter sequences, and save me the trip.” No one found it.

But beyond the joke, the question is one of principle: is this knowledge really found somewhere in the Torah? There is no logical consideration either way here, and the Torah itself does not say that everything is found in it. So the burden of proof is on whoever claims it. And meanwhile, no one has found in the Torah scientific knowledge that was not known before science discovered it. The Sages did not find in it cures or inventions they did not know in their time either.

And what are the sources for the belief? The first is the Mishnah in Avot: “Turn it and turn it, for everything is in it.” But plainly, the Mishnah only says that the Torah is very important, and that one must use it as the foundation of life. This is a familiar literary exaggeration in the Sages, and not a statement that all science is found in it. It is true that some commentators, like Rabbenu Yonah, wrote that “all the wisdom of the world is contained in it.” But even if they meant this literally, how did they know? They themselves did not find the sciences of the world in it. One can also understand that what is meant is wisdom of values and of life, not scientific knowledge. The second source is the midrash at the opening of Bereshit Rabbah: just as a king who builds a palace uses an architect’s plan, so God “looked into the Torah and created the world.” But this too is a parable about the importance of the Torah, and not a claim that the laws of physics are written in the Torah.

In the same way, the search for “the Torah’s socio-economic system” is a product of modern thinking. Halakhic decisors always dealt with concrete cases: what is the law in this question, in this place and at this time. They did not build systems. Whoever takes individual rulings and extracts a “system” from them draws out something they were not meant to give, and usually finds in them exactly what he himself thought beforehand.

Kabbalah and the Zohar

The common belief: the Zohar was written by Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, and all of Kabbalah is a tradition handed down at Sinai. To examine this, it is worth first understanding what Kabbalah is.

What is Kabbalah? Many think Kabbalah is “mysticism”: spiritual experiences, visions, things above reason. But most of Kabbalah is not like that. It is a rational and orderly system, with concepts of its own (sefirot, worlds, tzimtzum), and discussion in it is conducted just as in halakha: raising difficulties, reconciling contradictions, building complicated structures. “Practical Kabbalah,” amulets and incantations, is marginal, and sometimes entirely outside the field. There is also a resemblance between Kabbalah and the mystical teachings of other peoples. Perhaps someone learned from someone, and perhaps people of spiritual power reached similar ideas separately.

What speaks in its favor? Kabbalah has a rich and consistent language and system of concepts, which shows that it is a real body of knowledge and not a chance invention. And more than that: it offers answers to questions philosophy struggled with. To the question “the righteous who suffers,” it answers with the doctrine of reincarnation: a person returns to the world, and receives in one incarnation what is due to him from another. To the question of evil, it answers with the doctrine of tzimtzum and the shattering. To the question of how multiplicity arose from unity, it answers with the doctrine of the sefirot and the worlds.

And what speaks against it? It is precisely this ability to answer hard questions that arouses suspicion. It is known that in all cultures mystical teachings grow up precisely when there are great difficulties that ordinary reason does not solve. A teaching that answers every difficulty may be true, but it may also arise precisely because of the difficulties. And on the question of tradition: our trust in the tradition of halakha rests on its having been transmitted continuously and on a broad front, in all communities, generation after generation. Kabbalah, even if it had a tradition, was transmitted among a few, from master to disciple, in secret. Such a tradition is very hard to verify, and so trust in it is weaker. In addition, over the generations there were sharp controversies around Kabbalah, and it also served false messiahs, like Shabbetai Tzvi.

So what is its status? Kabbalah has no formal authority: no one can be obligated to accept it. But if someone is convinced that the Arizal is right, that is entirely his right, and one may well lean toward thinking so. And even if Kabbalah is the creation of the kabbalists and not a tradition from Sinai, that does not mean it is without value. It may express deep spiritual intuitions of great people, and it is worth studying. What has no basis at all are the segulot: segulot for finding a match, for livelihood, a red thread from Rachel’s tomb. Many of them began as the “science” of their time, like folk medicine. Today they are “wild applications” presented as faith, and whoever criticizes them is considered a heretic. This is a good example of the damage done when authority is transferred to a domain that is not its own.

Emptiness: three kinds of questions

We have seen several examples of one recurring problem: in Jewish thought there are many questions that seem deep, but when examined, it turns out that something in them does not work. They can be sorted into three kinds.

The first kind: questions that have meaning, but we have no tools to answer them. For example, the chosenness of Israel. If the concept were defined, it would be a real question. But we have no practical way to decide it.

The second kind: questions that have no meaning at all. For example, pantheism. As we saw, “everything is God” is really atheism in other words. The dispute sounds deep: is God a being separate from the world, or is he the whole world? But let us check what exactly someone says who claims “God is the whole world.” He does not claim there is anything more in the world, beyond what the scientist sees: stars, stones, people, laws of nature. He only calls all this “God.” And the atheist looks at exactly the same world, and says “there is no God, there is only the world.” Is there an argument between them about anything? Is there an experiment, an observation or an argument that could decide who is right? No. They describe the same world, and give it different names. So this is a dispute about words, not about content.

The third kind: questions that have only one side. For example, the tzimtzum. The position “the tzimtzum is not literal” says there is nothing apart from God. That is really reverse pantheism: there only the world exists, and here only God. And since this side contradicts itself, as we saw, only one possibility remains. There is no real dispute here.

Another example, familiar to anyone who has studied Jewish thought: “Why did God create the world?” Beneath this question hide three different questions. The first: what was the cause that led him to create? But this question assumes that everything God does has a cause that moves him, and how do we know that? Even a person who chooses freely acts without a cause compelling him. And God, who is first, has nothing before him that could move him. The second: what is the purpose, for what was the world created? But here God is compared to a person who does things to achieve something, and it is not clear this is true of him. And the third: how could he decide to create at a particular moment, and not before? Here too assumptions are made about God and about time, which we have no way to check. That is, a question that looks like the foundation of all theology breaks down, when examined, into questions that have no answer or no meaning.

An experiment: a text generator. There is a funny and disturbing illustration of this. A computer program was built that produces texts “in the style” of a certain thinker, for example Rav Kook, without any content. It learns only the sentence structure and the typical expressions, and assembles sentences from them. The reader receives four texts, one genuine and three fake, and must guess which is genuine. An ordinary reader fails in many cases. Even an experienced reader does not always succeed. The meaning: if one cannot distinguish a genuine text from a sequence of words without content, one should suspect that some of the genuine texts themselves do not convey clear content. This does not mean they have no value. Perhaps they are poetry, and poetry works on the emotions and not on the intellect. But then they cannot be treated as claims about the world.

Not criticism from outside. Rabbi David Cohen, “the Nazir,” Rav Kook’s close disciple, himself wrote that many who engage in inquiry into the divine deal with “speech” and not with “essence,” that is, with words and not with content. And the scholar Shalom Tzadik showed that medieval Jewish thinkers interpreted the Mishnah “everything is foreseen, and permission is granted” in completely different ways, each according to the philosophical position he already held. That is, the interpretation is a result of the philosophy, and not its source. Exactly what is claimed here.