We could talk for months about this week’s parsha, and I might just have to write for FrumSatire for another 10 years to give myself enough Ki Sisa’s to cover each of these topics.There’s the use of the reflective copper for the Mishkan washbasin (Exodus 30:18), the intricacy of the mixed incense (30:22), there’s Betzalel’s sudden wisdom (31:1), the question of the suspension of Shabbos during the construction of the Mishkan (31:12), the nation’s seemingly odd urge to replace Moses (32:1), Aaron’s involvement in the sin of the golden calf (32:2) and the difficulty encountered when we see reconsidering his decision to destroy the Nation of Israel (32:14). Moreover, there’s the notion that Moses acted on his own authority when he smashed the tablets (32:19), collected the tribe of Levi ordered them to slaughter their beleaguered brethren (32:26) and moved his tent outside of the encampment-at-large (Exodus 33:7). There’s the profound oddity of God stating that He can no longer be found among the people lest He destroy them (33:4) and this often glossed over idea of the Children of Israel having crowns from Sinai that they could no longer wear. (33:4-6)
But perhaps the most astounding topic in this week’s parsha is that Moses asks God “hareini na es kevodecha” — “please grant me a vision of Your Glory” (33:18) but God ultimately rejects his request, explaining that “lo suchal liros es panai ki lo yirani ha’adam vachai” — “you cannot see my face for no one can see My Presence and live.” (33:20) Instead, God seemingly offers Moses the next best thing: “v’ra’isi es achorai u’fanai lo yeirau” — “you will see My Back but My Face will not be seen.” (33:23)
This all sounds nothing less than fabulously bizarre. To relate it to something we can think about more easily, although I’ve never been to a peep show, I imagine that it goes something like this: there’s a girl in a small room with a one-way mirror and the guy in the other room on the other side of the one-way mirror can see in. He has a little button that he can push to send messages to the girl and he asks her to remove certain articles of clothing and it proceeds from there — sort of like in The Rock, but the the long-haired individual in the showroom is a little bit more attractive than Sean Connery and they make sure she doesn’t have a chair or a coin with which to scratch up the mirror.
My point in comparing the two is that there’ll come a time during this proverbial peep show when the girl will refuse to undress further and there’s two ways of understanding her refusal. Either the girl has her limit, contractually defined prior to the start of the peep show, beyond which she will not pass. If you’re fine with proceeding up to point X, you can see the girl behind door X, but if you’re interested in venturing to point XX, you’ll need to see the girl behind door XX, and so on and so forth.
Another manner of doing business at the peep show, I imagine, is to only have girls that are interested in XXX levels of peep showiness, and how many X’s the show reaches, so to speak, depends entirely on how much the peeper is willing to pay — in other words, the level one can achieve depends entirely on what the viewer brings to the table. Fees increase as the show proceeds and just like Monty Python’s argument clinic, paying more money keeps the show going and peeping can thus advance not only in quantity but also in quality. In this case, when the girl in the room refuses to proceed, it’s not an absolute refusal but a relative one, contingent on the viewers ability to meet the aforementioned demands on his wallet.
As explained above, the first peep show business plan can be said to run according to an Ishmaelian perspective, while the second style of peep show management is consistent with an Akivan model.
According to R’ Ishmael’s very transcendent understanding of God, He is there but we cannot describe Him, and if we can sense Him, it is not with the five senses. He is so far beyond anything we can imagine, because as much as one is psychologically jarred at the idea of hearing mint chocolate chip ice cream, one can taste and smell it. But for something that exists that cannot be sensed at all, what are we to make of that? It is beyond our comprehension, which is right where R’ Ishmael likes it. Thus, when Moses asked to see God, he was not asking to see God, even though that’s what the text attests to, for the text is not a stale, unimaginative rendition of pure literalism. R’ Ishmael claims that Moses quest for seeing was a metaphor for understanding. From this understanding arose that notion that any reference to beholding the Glory of God must necessarily be a desire for something else, for the Glory of God is imperceptible by our senses, and like the girls who work at the first peep show who’s contract has limits, we, as mortals, exist in this world bound by the contract of nature and in that contract it is explicitly stated that one cannot see God, and this limit has nothing to do with permission or prohibition.
Not surprisingly, R’ Joshua ben Chananiah, the rebbe of R’ Ishmael, held this view as well and professed it during an interaction with a particular Kaiser (Bavli Chullin 59b, second to bottom line), saying that God is too great to be gazed at. The sun, which is “but one ten thousandth of the dazzling brilliance of the celestial creatures” (Yalkut Shimoni Ki Sisa 396) cannot be gazed at, so how much more so God Himself. While this analogy doesn’t match perfectly with the idea R’ Joshua was trying to advance — for the sun can be stared at if enough filters were employed, the intent of his message is clear: seeing God’s Glory is impossible in principle because of the limitations of being human. This idea is very popular is promoted in yeshiva even though it runs quite counter to the Akivan worldview, and might even be popular among Muslims, seeing how it’s featured in this comic strip featuring Imam Jafar as-Sadiq, Shi’a Islam’s 6th Imam. Funny how as-Sadiq was born in 702 CE, approximately 550 years following the death of R’ Joshua and 200 years after this idea had been written in the gemara, but no credit is given to the sages.
R’ Akiva’s understanding of the matter operated on a very different scale. Indeed, “lo yirani ha’adam vachai,” (“no man shall see My Presence and live”) — but that was merely a rule contingent of the very generalized nature of man. Many of chazal, intent on climbing the forbidden ladder and reaching the mystical heights of their spiritual aspirations, balked at such restriction on the mortal and instead made the claim that numerous incidents of divine sightings took place throughout history by various individuals (and for those who complain that R’ Ishmael interpreted things ex post facto to fit nicely into his desired path of understanding, this, I think, goes well beyond anything he even tried to say. What does it mean for chazal to explain something in a certain manner so as to leave room for doing something that would otherwise be impossible? I don’t know.) — the claim is made that all three of the patriarchs saw God. Similarly, R’ Abbahu claimed that Shimon HaTzaddik, a kohein gadol of the 3rd or 4th century, saw God when he entered the Holy of Holies, as did Ishmael ben Elisha (the high priest, and not of the Schools of Akiva-Ishmael). Then there’s the claim that Potiphar saw God when he purchased Joseph and Pharaoh’s daughter saw God when she rescued Moses from the Nile.
What R’ Akiva does with the textual claim that no one can see God and live is to make it refer to man in a relative fashion. Man cannot perceive God because he is, in what sounds to be a bit tinged with Christianity, although it might very well be that they got it from us, sullied in sin. If man were not affected by sin, as the claim is made of Moses, he can indeed perceive God, and in fact, he did.
Very interesting. Gives me much to think about.
Just out of curiosity, can you provide sources for these statements about about the various individuals “seeing G-d”? My guess is that they can all be understood metaphorically as well.
There is a gemara in Berachos that deals with (I believe, though I could be wrong. I don’t have it with me right now) this possuk and explains that what Moshe wanted to know was why there are tzadikkim who suffer and rashaim who don’t (tzadik vera lo and rasha vetov lo). The gemara takes it for granted that no-one can actually see G-d.
These multiple references are very Akivan, if you will — they appear completely farfetched from a rationalist perspective and are reached only with exquisite gymnastics of grammar and vocabulary.
It says of Abraham “vayisa Avraham es einav vayar es hamakom meirachok” — “Abraham raised his eyes and saw the place from afar.” (Genesis 22:4) The Aggadas Bereishis (31) explains how the word hamakom can be seen as a reference to God, as it serves as a rabbinic appellation for God.
The Midrash Tanchuma [Vayeishev 8] states that one explanation for Isaac’s partial blindness came about because he gazed at the shechina while bound to the alter.
It says of Bas Pharaoh “vatiftach vatireihu es hayeled” — “She opened [the box in which Moses had been placed and] she saw the child.” (Exodus 2:6) Rashi comments that peshuto shel mikra is that she saw the child, while the midrashic understanding is that she saw the shechina with him, based on the gemara in Sotah (12b, 10th wide line) that complains about the grammatical form of vatireihu, and Rashi there explains it further based on the extra word es.
There’s a lot more to be said, but I must get ready for Shabbos, so perhaps more can be said about it then.
It doesn’t seem to me that this proves anything about literally seeing G-d as opposed to perceiving His presence in some other way even lower than what was shown to Moshe.
If there was proof, then either R’ Akiva or R Ishmael would win the day and the other would keep quiet. It’s only because it’s never been formally declared or agreed upon that Judaism maintains one perspective over another that such debates can carry forward unrestrained, and it’s up to one’s inclination to follow one or the other.
The fact is that the Torah states two very opposite things:
1) One cannot see God
2) Moses saw God
All midrashim are thoroughly suspect of being the stuff of metaphor, which makes it quite difficult to put a midrash up against a biblical verse. But both R’ Ishmael and R’ Akiva develop their views from the same verse, “lo suchal liros es panai ki lo yirani ha’adam vachai” — “you cannot see my face for no man see My Presence and live.” (Exodus 33:20)
R’ Ishmael takes it at face value and explains it not as God’s policy (such as when you tell your child, “You cannot have another cookie because no one can have a cookie after they brush their teeth at night”) but as a existential assertion defining the reality of the universe (such as when you tell your child, “You cannot marry and still remain a bachelor.”)
This should appear to all of us as very straightforward and quite in line with the Ishmaelian worldview. On the contrary, R’ Akiva takes this verse completely for something that it doesn’t appear to mean — that ha’adam refers not to a man of flesh and blood but to a celestial creature, as it the term is used in the vision of Ezekial: “u’d’mus pneihem, pnei adam” — “as for the likeness of their faces, they had the faces of man. (Ezekiel 1:10) This is contrary to anything anyone would have imagined from reading the verse and was foreign to the way it had been interpreted until then.
Thus, when it states that no man can see God, what it meant (according to the Akivan perspective) was that no angel could see God, but that man can see God, if he is worthy. Moses was worthy, ergo, he was able to see God, and the disciples of R’ Akiva taught this with complete confidence, in line with their understanding (promoted by the likes of R’ Meir, R’ Judah and R’ Shimon) that the righteous are greater than the ministering angels.
R’ Ishmael would then find himself up against the other explicit verse — that Moses saw something of God’s presence, namely, his achorai — but R’ Ishmael, in common form, explains things as having been spoken as best as they could using the words we have available, and that it refers, as you stated above, not to a spatial reference (as the Akivans who claim that Moses saw God’s tefillin knot) but to a temporal reference, in that Moses asked to understand God’s manner of dealing with the universe, and God responded that no one may see it going forward and still live because one must be dead to be able to appreciate God’s utter timelessness in dealing with reward and punishment, but seeing how Moses was special, god allowed his to see it in retrospect (ashorai).
If one finds this all too much to accept, seeing how the most fanciful of ideas comes hanging by half a thread, you likely fall into the category of a rationalist and would resist the temptation to mystify everything, as R’ Akiva had a proclivity to do. That’s how I would categorize myself, and if someone out there senses that these sorts of claims form the basis of their hesitation to fully embrace the claims of Judaism, such a person should know that there were very prominent scholars who rejected such elaboration well before it even became popular.
“If one finds this all too much to accept, seeing how the most fanciful of ideas comes hanging by half a thread, you likely fall into the category of a rationalist and would resist the temptation to mystify everything, as R’ Akiva had a proclivity to do.”
And yet, as you mention multiple times in other divrei Torah, the Akivan approach is taught as the “one true way” in school, but I doubt anyone teaches that it is possible to literally see G-d.
Yes — much like the lowly worthless politicians who run the world despite protest, both silent and loud, from all directions, the yeshiva principal runs the show, some times coercing, other times merely directing, the manner in which young children are taught. If parents complain, they are labeled “trouble” and their opinions and positions are immediately discounted well in advance of any and all future complaints.
In order to do its job, administration required power, and abuse of that power is the rule rather than the exception in nearly all cases and with hardly any exception.
And you shouldn’t doubt it, for it is “known” by some that Moses saw God, so it must have been taught by some that he did so, for how else would the assertion come about?
I suppose I wasn’t in third grade in yeshiva, so anything is possible. I can see how younger children would need to be taught that Moshe saw G-d in the burning bush, for example only because it’s much harder to explain that he *perceived* G-d there, but during the time in (admittedly MO) day school (6-12 grades) I certainly was taught that it is not possible to see G-d.
My high school rabbeim would have roasted me alive for comparing the Divine presence to a peep show, no matter how many “l’havdils” I threw in. And you didn’t even use one!
I’m uncomfortable with an interpretation that disregards the plain meaning of the pasuk. Once you start interpreting, you can make anything mean anything. You can even make something, like, famously, ayim tachas ayin, mean the exact opposite of what it says, and then laugh at the poor benighted goyim who, without the benefit of the mefarshim, are stupid enough to think that the Torah means what it says.
I think we should take the Torah at its word. Moshe was asking to see God, probably because the writers of the Torah were corporealists. God tells Moshe that to see Him would be fatal, because a mere human cannot look on the glory of God. Others were able to see God because the authors of their stories forgot about this conversation. Any long-running collaborative work develops plotholes.
Incidentally, the golden calf wasn’t an arbitrary image. Hashem was often identified with Baal and El, and the bull was commonly used to represent them. There is nothing quite like seeing a picture of a bull figurine or drawing and knowing that it was meant to represent Hashem. Like this one: http://members.bib-arch.org/image.asp?PubID=BSBKAM&Volume=00&Issue=00&ImageID=40&SourcePage=publication.asp&UserID=0&
I didn’t say l’havdil because I didn’t compare the divine presence to a peep show — I don’t indicated in the title that I might to draw the audience in. What I did do was say that, had the tannaim been involved in running peep shows, there likely would have been a split on management techniques falling roughly along the lines of the Akivan-Ishmaelian split as indicated.
As to your other point, I think explaining things this way falls in line with a much more straightforward understanding of what the Torah says than R’ Akiva’s method — please see my lengthy response to BZ above. And saying what you said is being belligerently cynical and I don’t see why we need to go there. Suffice it to say that the rationalist will explain all references to God-seeing to metaphors and allegories and the mystic will do whatever he does, and there are varied approached to this depending on how mystical one is.
And I’m unfamiliar with this supposed tie-in of God with these gods.
> And saying what you said is being belligerently cynical
True, but it is what I was taught in yeshiva. And ayin tachas ayin is the golden standard of interpretation changing the meaning of a text 180 degrees.
> And I’m unfamiliar with this supposed tie-in of God with these gods.
“El” and “Baal” are explicitly used as names of Hashem. Gods in the ancient world tended to get conflated with one another, so that the Ugaritic El became identified with the Caananite Baal, who in turn became identified with the Persian Marduk. Hashem was identified with Baal, so much so that he even acquired Baal’s consort Asherah.
If I remember correctly, the pasuk “Let us make man” echoes a similar passage in the Enumah Elish where El is addressing the assemblage of his children-gods. El battles Yam to create the world, Hashem brings the world forth from “the deep.” The children of god who consort with the daughters of man are midrashicaly identified as malachim and the ancestors of the giants. In Ugaritic mythology, they are literally the children of El and gods in their own right. And so on.
You are confusing halacha with aggada — the rational for interpreting biblical text differently than how an uninformed 3rd grader would read it is different for different places in the text.
Halacha is very strange — Judaism is very strange, although I sense that someone of your caliber has already figured that out (no sarcasm intended, despite how that sounds). We’re exceedingly technical with the grammar and syntax of the biblical text, deriving what amounts to a tremendous array of requirements and prohibitions that surpass in magnitude what any outsider would possibly consider to be found in the text. What helps us is that the text is, as R’ Jonathan Rietti says (and it’s a persuasive argument, I think), way too demanding for the amount of detail given. Anyone who considers taking the biblical text seriously will have a lot of explaining to do if that’s all there is to it, because little to no detail is given regarding the very many rules for which, for example, death is proscribed for transgression of the prohibition. It’s for this reason that I take it for granted that there’s an extensive oral companion to the written text and that anyone who denies the existence of said oral companion can be considered a fool. One may contest that the oral tradition that Judaism claims is the oral companion is the true companion, but we won’t argue that point here. Suffice it to say that the Torah is from the God of Moses and that the Talmud that we have access to is the authentic extra-textual counterpart.
You question the veracity of the Talmudic claim that “an eye for an eye” (Exodus 21:24) refers to monetary compensation, which amounts to questioning the authority of the Talmud. Your question is valid, but it should not be done with such aggression — it seems to me that you ask a good question, but perhaps have just been asking the wrong person.
In speaking to my spiritual adviser today, he said that we take this and the rest of the seemingly biblical calls for tit-for-tat justice as a metaphor for financial retribution because we are faced with a number of conflicting verses, such as the verse just a few earlier, Exodus 21:19: “rak shivto yitein v’rapo yirapei” — “he shall compensate for lost time and medical expenses.” In light of this, it is understood that the court does not administer similar damage to the attacker, but rather exacts payment from him. This is different from “v’nasata nefesh tachas nafesh” — “and you shall repay a life for a life,” because verses detailing death as the punishment for murder can be found, such as Exodus 21:12: “makei ish vameis mos yumas” — “one who hits and kills another shall die.” Whether the confusing verses in question speak of days on which we are to eat matzah or the death penalty, the talmudic approach is to gather other verses that speak of the same thing and see where they overlap and agree, and when considering the gamut of verses related to physical damage, the conclusion is that one is responsible to pay for another’s damages — in the form of nezek (damages), tzar (pain and suffering), ripui (medical expenses), sheves (lost productivity) and boshes (embarrassment) — whereas when one kills another and it is deemed to pass the critical threshold of premeditation, etc., the killer is responsible with his or her life.
Just one point of interest on what you’ve asked — there is a distinction between the origins of certain biblical commandments and others. For example, there is a technical requirement when redeeming produce of ma’aser sheini (the second tithe) that it be done with actual coins and not bullion, and this is me’akeiv (figuratively, it’s a “deal breaker,” such that using bullion is ineffective for redemption). The question arises how this can be, if coinage was not invented until the 5-6th century BCE, nearly 800 years after the Torah was given!
The answer to this, unlike what the 5th comment here from Tzvi suggests, as explained by R’ Hershel Schachter, is that this was an innovation of chazal in what we may call continuing revelation. It had not been known up to that time exactly what the term v’tzarta hakesef b’yadecha (Deuteronomy 14:25) meant, but after chazal encountered coinage, they reached a consensus to mandate that only coins be used for redemption from then on.
Unlike this example of new biblical legislation, the “eye for an eye” understanding is apparently from Sinai, as detailed by Maimonides as he claims it as an example of something mefurash mi’Sinai (evident from Sinai).
And, again, in respect to the Enuma Elish and its apparent influences on the composition of Genesis, I’m going to have to admit ignorance. I will, however, look into it and try to get back to you. We did cover Ugaritic in the Intro to Bible with R’ Ellman at YU and had I known that I would ever be needing that information, I would have taken notes and then kept them. There were these notes by a guy named Graff that everyone used, and his brother lives in Passaic, so maybe I’ll contact him to see if he has access to them.
Can you provide any sources for your description of a peep show? It sounds odd, since it’s possible to go to a strip club and end up with a girl fully naked and grinding on your lap for a small sum. Why would anyone go to a peep show?
I have no sources for my description — as I said, it’s what I imagine a peep show is (or was, if they no longer have them).
And the point is not whether that’s really the way it is, but how to approach the idea from the two perspectives mentioned taking for granted that it’s this way.
> Judaism is very strange
Yeah. It’s surprising how often I’ve said to someone something like, “waving around a bunch of twigs and a fruit is also strange” and gotten a blank look. Which reminds me of something I read on a blog somewhere a long time ago:
Those silly Indians, thinking that dancing around a fire, waving their arms, and chanting will make it rain. Don’t they know that circling a bimah, waving a lulav and esrog, and chanting is the way to make it rain?
> We’re exceedingly technical with the grammar and syntax of the biblical text, deriving what amounts to a tremendous array of requirements and prohibitions that surpass in magnitude what any outsider would possibly consider to be found in the text.
Something that was in part R’ Akiva’s innovation.
Regarding ayin tachas ayin and similar, of course there are reasons for interpreting the Chumash in the way that it is interpreted. Systematic, often very clever reasons. My point was that once we stray from the obvious meaning of a text, it can be made to mean absolutely anything. While interpretation can be useful and interesting and, as you point out, even necessary in cases where not enough information is given, we shouldn’t lose sight of what the text actually says. The interpretations may be interesting and practical, but I think that in general we should assume that it says what it means and means what it says.
1) Your pagan ritual equivalency reveals something deeply troubling about our yeshiva system indeed, for I had that same question some years ago, and the odds are that if you and I both had that question, it’s more ubiquitous than anyone can imagine. But, again, it speaks nothing of our failings and everything of that of our teachers and parents, whether intentional or not.
As I’ve said before, I live in Passaic with R’ Mordechai Becher and I go to a shul at which he speaks on a monthly basis — yesterday was his “R’ Becher Shabbos” and his topic of discussion was avodah zarah, based on the events of this past week’s parsha. Hashgocha pratis mamesh!!
R’ Becher spoke about one who writes the names of angels, extra biblical verses or symbols into the margins of a mezuzah and how such a person is called a fool and one who loses his portion in the world to come. Remarking that it’s unusually strong language for such a seemingly inconsequential deviation from normal, R’ Becher questioned the assertion that one is barred from the world to come for being a fool; “if that were the case, it would be empty up there!” he remarked only half jokingly.
He proceeded to explain that the first five of the Maimonidean 13 principles of faith are, at least for those that maintain their authenticity (and we won’t get into that now), immutable, violation of which renders one a heretic. We are bidden to fashion the mezuzah with the particular formula provided by the traditions handed down from Sinai and if one intervenes and places extra things in the mezuzah, it is evidence of that person’s lack of appreciation for what the mezuzah was meant to be, and so he is a fool. But more than that, adding these things is indicative of that person’s intent to transform the mezuzah into an amulet of sorts to reach certain spiritual and mystical ends, and it is thus tantamount to performing ritual service to someone or something other than God, in violation of the 5th of the 13 principles. Thinking that there is an automatic one-to-one relationship between one’s actions and some heavenly response, as though it was a chemical reaction operating on a dose-response curve, is not something that Judaism promotes — in fact, it is what Judaism admonishes against when it prohibits foreign worship. To throw the virgin into the volcano at dawn on the equinox to exact a good harvest season is in direct contradistinction to how Judaism sees divine worship — there must be a relationship and performing rituals devoid of such a personal interaction with the Almighty will reap no true benefits.
So while the Indians might have erroneously believed that dancing around a fire at the full moon wearing the blood of the hunt painted on their faces would soothe the wrath of the gods and produce future hunts that were prosperous and advantageous, Judaism does not promote the idea that circling the bimah and waving branches will make it rain. It’s just simply untrue, yet the notion is painfully prevalent as a result of too many 3rd grade rebbes and morahs who fail to do their jobs properly. To be fair, it’s difficult to know exactly when to discuss this with children because they’re usually either too young to comprehend or it’s felt that they’re too old to “waste time” on this sort of stuff because they’re too busy trying to finish the mesechta.
2) I wonder exactly what point of my position you’re against, for I am largely making that exact argument. For example, the Torah makes no mention of any plagues at the sea, yet there is a 3-way argument among the sages of the Talmud (mentioned at length in the haggadah immediately prior to Dayeinu) regarding how many plagues there were at the sea.
R’ Yosi Haglili, a contemporary of R’ Akiva known for his fanciful interpretations, claims 50 plagues at the sea to correspond to the “hand” that afflicted the Egyptians there (Exodus 14:31), as opposed to the 10 plagues in Egypt that were represented by the “finger” of God. (Exodus 8:15)
R’ Eliezer, as the rebbe of R’ Akiva, multiplied these numbers by four based on Psalms 78:49 and arrived at 40 and 200, respectively, to be outshined by none other than R’ Akiva himself, who claimed 50 plagues in Egypt and 250 at the sea based upon multiplying by a factor of 5 based on the same verse in Psalms. Keep in mind that none of this exists in the biblical texts and is so extravagant that, frankly, I’m surprised that you prefer this to R’ Ishmael. For all of this is based on the metaphors of speech that not meant to refer to what they are being ascribed. The Egyptian sorcerers made specific reference to the 3rd plague, not to all of the 10 plagues, when they spoke of the finger of God, ye tthis important point is ignored. And while R’ Eliezer was known for holding back from applying fanciful midrashim to reaching halachic decisions, he apparently did not hold the same for aggada, as evidenced by his involvement in this disagreement.
> R’ Becher spoke about one who writes the names of angels, extra biblical verses or symbols into the margins of a mezuzah and how such a person is called a fool and one who loses his portion in the world to come.
Hashgacha pratis indeed! I was just reading over Shabbosabout the issue of adding to the mezuzah. It was a short article, but my understanding is that what R’ Becher quoted is the opinion of the Ramabm, and has become normative in the last few centuries. In the past there were Rishonim and Achronim who disagreed, and a few who even said the exact opposite, that including the names and seals of angels in the text of the mezuzah was an obligation, and the mezuzah is pasul without them.
> But more than that, adding these things is indicative of that person’s intent to transform the mezuzah into an amulet of sorts to reach certain spiritual and mystical ends
But that is exactly what the mezuzah has become. At some point it went from being simply a mitzvah to being regarded as an amulet that protects a building and its occupants. That’s why whenever something bad happens to someone, the first thing everyone says is that they should check their mezzuzos.
R’ Slifkin posted an article a couple of years ago on the change in the way mezuzah was perceived over the centuries. I don’t remember all the details, but you can probably still find it on his blog.
> Thinking that there is an automatic one-to-one relationship between one’s actions and some heavenly response, as though it was a chemical reaction operating on a dose-response curve, is not something that Judaism promotes
Maybe not according to R’ Becher, but in the popular imagination it most certainly does. More than that, there are many instances where we find the spiritual world is treated as though it operates according to mechanistic principles similar to the way the physical world operates.
> frankly, I’m surprised that you prefer this to R’ Ishmael.
I don’t. I’m not sure what I said to give that impression. I think that the whole enterprise of enumerating plagues at the yam suf is a terrible deviation from what’s supported by the text, which as you said makes no mention of plagues at all.
R’ Becher told a story about someone from Har Nof whose roof was leaking and he went to the rabbi to ask him what he should do.
Man: Should I check my mezuzahs
Rabbi: How about checking your roof.
Man: I already did but it didn’t help. Perhaps it’s not helping because of my mezuzahs
Rabbi: Ah, your roof is leaking but it has nothing to do with you…it must be the sofer’s fault!
R’ Hershel Schachter was also once approached by someone wanting to know why his daughter wasn’t finding a shidduch.
Man: Should I bring my mezuzahs to a mekubal?
R’ Schachter: If you have a problem with your mezuzahs, you take them to a sofer, not a mekubal!
I can’t speak for Jews, but with my research and my limited insight, I do try to speak for Judaism to some extent. There is only so much we can do for the fools who ruin it for the rest of us.
Great insight. Very audacious to compare it to a peep show, which you seem to describe in some detail.
Philipek – David here, author of the Jewish Przemysl blog. I have come to know Michal since she told me her faimly story and I will tell you she is anything but a rich land-baron and has no interest in revenge against her new tenants in the least. The parties involved here are her and the current Polish government. While I have not talked whit her about this, I think that her meaning with regards to “Well see what we’re…” relates to the authorities potentially hiding behind the tenants – using them as pawns to potentially deny her faimly’s property rights, again. My opinion is that if the building is hers, and the government is occupying it, then the government has the obligation to either pay her a “market” rent or to relocate the tenants. That’s what would happen here. (Non-Communist) Governments exist to enforce the laws, including property ownership. Her faimly has be wronged. It is up to the government (not the tenants!) to make it right. On the other hand, I live half a world away and have only been to your city once for 2 days (in 2003) so my understanding of the broader context of this issue, and Polish law, is quite limited. I welcome your viewpoint on all this. Thanks for commenting! RegardsDavid