TODAY, I would like to make two announcements: Rabbi Russell Resnik, who edited this journal since 2018, has stepped down to continue to pursue his interests in writing, counseling and pursuing the good life of relationships with his wife of 52 years, children, grandchildren, and friends, while engaging in hiking and cycling. Rabbi Resnik has done a superb job at the helm of this journal, steering it as a guide to scholarly messianic issues, while peppering it with some more popular reads. It will be very difficult to transition to another editor and meet the standards set by Russ. For now, I will be interim, as we search for a new editor of this journal that has been publishing since 1994. Additionally, after this issue, Kesher is going the way of many journals today, and that is wholly on line. Those who have paid for print subscriptions will be contacted to make necessary adjustments.

This issue’s Messiah theme opens with the article, Jewish Images of the Messiah Throughout the Ages, which cites cases in which a religious movement, as the Dead Sea Sect, or a person as the Rambam, portrays the Messiah in its/his own image. Joseph: A Prefiguration of Messiah approaches its subject from a unique perspective, at times controversial, when comparing Joseph with Messiah. The third article, The Daring Life and Faith of the Wife of Joseph, highlights the life of Miriam in all her earthly holiness, and heavenly spirituality. This issue rounds out with articles on Creation, Covenant, and Strange Climate, a biblically focused broad-based environmental article; Awakening the Inner Voice: Prayer, Identity, and Divine Encounter, by a recent graduate of MJTI; Faded Ink and Torn Parchment, in which the author digs deeply into the Cairo Geniza to expose Jewish life under Islam; and a review of a book that critiqued Maimonidean and Kabbalistic challenges to the Incarnation. The issue closes with a play, Ogrodowa Street, based upon the life of a Holocaust survivor, Rachmiel Frydland, who came to the Lord in Poland, right before World War II broke out and survived the most threatening and terrifying conditions.

It is my hope you will read the articles that interest you. These are not just written for posterity but for NOW. We would love to hear any comments you have on any of the articles, as well as any suggestions and submissions. Please send those to: Editor@Kesherjournal.com; or P.O. Box 928004, San Diego, California 92192.

— Rabbi Elliot Klayman, Interim Editor

The Hebrew Bible contains messianic forecasts, which often form the expectation of a coming Messiah who will advance God’s program of redemption and reconciliation. Prophecies contained in the Tanakh support the position that Messiah will be born in Beit-Lechem, from the tribe of Judah,1 from the root of Jesse, and that from King David2 he will succeed to the Messianic throne.3

Other prophecies raising messianic awareness suffer from ambiguity. For example, within the Hebrew Bible the word mashiach (מָשִׁיחַ) is ordinarily translated “Anointed One,” and often references patriarchs, kings, priests, and princes. However, various Bibles translate mashiach as Messiah:

So know and understand: From the issuing of the decree to restore and to build Jerusalem until the time Mashiach, the Prince, there shall be seven weeks and 62 weeks. It will be rebuilt, with plaza and moat, but it will be in times of distress. Then after the 62 weeks Mashiach will be cut off and have nothing. (Dan 9:25-26 TLV)4

Although it is biblically clear that an “Anointed One is coming,” and that there is a general time frame as to when, the language is not sufficiently specific to yield objective Jewish consensus.

Additionally, Jewish methodologies for interpretation are numerous,5 leaving a large opening for exegetical variation. Furthermore, Orthodox Jews recognize a two Torah system — Written and Oral — based upon a chain of received tradition from Mount Sinai.6 This sharply distinguishes Jewish modes of interpretation from Christian forms, often resulting in opposing understandings. Within the Christian world there is virtually a homologous belief that Jesus fulfilled messianic prophecies; and, as attested by witnesses in the New Testament, qualifies as Messiah. In sharp contradistinction, Jewish understanding of the Messiah is far from uniform; and throughout the ages it produced a variety of positions on identification markers of the Messiah, and continues to do so.

Purpose

The purpose of this article is two-fold. First, it displays a variegated picture of the Messiah extrapolated from varying Jewish views throughout the historical periods. It presents widespread diversity of thought and ideas that form differing Jewish messianic portraits, derived from a sampling of Jewish exegetes, rabbis, notable scholars, Jewish communities, and pseudo-messiahs. Simply, this article is a rendering of a multi-dimensional relief reflecting 2500 years of what the Jewish people have stored in their shared memory as they pondered the Messiah, and as their sages and rabbis discussed the concept as recorded within Jewish literature. By searching messianism within the Mishnah, Gemarot, Midrashim, Dead Sea Scrolls, and other rabbinic and literary sources, we can access a diversity of Jewish individual and group concepts of Messiah throughout the ages. Observed through the lens of this kaleidoscope, sharply differing pictures of Messiah emerge.

Second, this article seeks to provide the rationale as to why an individual or community portrays the Messiah in the way it does. What were the underlying influences on the writers and messianic pretenders that moved them to identify Messiah as they did? This article contends that each of the individuals and groups discussed here depicted the Messiah in their own image, based upon their peculiar self-identity formed by their particular ideas, philosophies, and religious perspectives.

In order to achieve these purposes this article (1) examines the characterizations of the messiah within three distinct Jewish traditions: Dead Sea Community (Yachad), Late Antique Rabbis, and Maimonides, each’s depiction of Messiah, and explanation of each’s construction of the Messiah in their own image; and (2) presents how Sabbateans, Rashi, and Chabadniks, cite Isaiah 53 (the suffering servant) in support of their appointed Messiah, each in their own particular self-image.

Dead Sea Sect

On the western shore of the Dead Sea, about 13 miles east of Jerusalem, nine miles south of Jericho, lies Khirbat Qumran, the site of one of the most significant ancient textual findings of the 20th century. Although there remains some controversy surrounding the site and the Dead Sea Scrolls discovered in its caves (1947, 1952-56), scholarly consensus supports the position that a religious community lived there from 100 BCE until circa 68 CE
when they were routed by the Roman forces during the Jewish Revolt. These are the
Qumran-Essenes. Near Qumran excavators found within eleven caves a collection of fragments and complete copies of all the books of the Hebrew Bible (except Esther), including non-canonical writings, and other documents and letters from the Second Temple period, which established the doctrine, rules, and practices of the sect.7

From the sectarian writings within the Scrolls it may be derived that the Qumran Community was a separatist group, deeply rooted in priestly holiness. This required an isolated communal existence. They held their goods in common, practiced strict rules of purity, and were dedicated to study, prayer, and rigorous discipline.8 The Community at some time was led by the Teacher of Righteousness who is highlighted in the sectarian manuscripts, without identifying his name.

Aaron, Moses’ brother and High Priest, is prominent in the Sect’s writings, symbolizing the heightened regard for the priesthood cult. The community appears to be a prototype for Israel’s ideal, which emphasizes a most high dwelling place for Aaron. In their meetings, the priests, the elders, and the laity were seated in that order of priority. The community’s focus on the centrality of the priesthood, both in their writings and their praxis, manifests a desire to elevate the priesthood within their community as the quintessential paradigm. They were a covenantal community who owed fidelity to God and to the communal members, living under the authority of the sons of a Zadokite priesthood:

They shall separate from the congregation of the men of injustice and shall unite, with respect to the Law and possessions, under the authority of the sons of Zadok, the Priests who keep the Covenant, and of the multitude of the men of the Community who hold fast to the Covenant.9

It appears that this sectarian structure was a reaction to the Jerusalem Temple priesthood, which they believed was an illegitimate construction. It is presumed that this harkens back to the Hasmonean dynasty when Jonathan was appointed High Priest, and to the contention of the sect’s predecessors that he was not part of the rightful Zadokite priesthood. Hence, it is plausible that the dissenters challenged the legitimacy of the priestly Temple installations, maintaining that the correct household within Aaron’s genealogy had been usurped. Although they did not totally boycott the Temple in Jerusalem, they nonetheless built an alternative proleptic priesthood within their own community that was more to their liking and that was prophetic in its expression, as well as a model for what they saw as the priesthood in olam ha-bah.10 Their sectarian writings, including the Temple Scroll, references the new Temple and the priesthood; there are some noteworthy differences which may further indicate that they were seeking to live in their day as if they were living in the Temple and priesthood times to come. Very instructive

within the Temple Scroll is the order in which the Community seats its “men of renown” with particular emphasis on the interrelationship among Priest, Aaron, Messiah, and their roles:

This is the sitting of the men of renown called to the assembly for the council of the community when God will have begotten the Messiah among them. The Priest shall enter at the head of all the congregation of Israel, then are all the chiefs of the sons of Aaron, the priests, called to the assembly. . . . And they shall sit before him, each according to his rank.

Afterwards, the Messiah of Israel shall enter. The chiefs of the tribes of Israel shall sit before him, each according to his rank, according to their position in the camps and during their marches. . . . And when they gather for the community table, or to drink wine, and arrange the community table and mix the wine to drink, let no man stretch out his hand over the first-fruits of bread and wine before the Priest. . . . And afterwards, the Messiah of Israel shall stretch out his hands over the bread. And afterwards, all the congregation of the community shall bless, each according to his rank. (1Q28a 2.11-21)

The seating arrangement here is a sign of the prominence of the Priests, and of the sons of Aaron, who are the High Priests. A Priest is the first to bless the bread and the wine; afterwards, the Messiah blesses the bread. Whatever can be made out of this hierarchy, it is clear that the High Priest, and the Messiah are involved together in a liturgical ritual. The Community is acting out the script of how they see the roles of those in the eschaton, and reliving it in pageantry within their Community at the table of purity where they come together for meals, in a liturgical enactment. Another Community Rule clarifies the nexus between the now and the future by prophetic emphasis:

They shall depart from none of the counsels of the Law to walk in all of the stubbornness of their hearts, but shall be ruled by the primitive precepts in which the Men of the Community were first instructed until there shall come the Prophet and the Messiahs of Aaron and Israel. (IQS, 7.3)

Here, there is a close association among the Prophet and the Messiahs of Aaron and Israel. For the future, the Community embraced dual Messiahs. It is fair to say that their focus was on a Priest-Messiah in connection with a Messiah of Israel.11 This reinforces the thesis that the Dead Sea Sect imagined the Messiah(s) in its own image: The High Priestly Messiah in conjunction with the Israel Messiah, priest and laity, served together in ritual purity for the cleansing of the Community of Israel.

The Dead Sea Sect pageantry portrays the Priests, the Sons of Aaron, the Zadokite Priesthood, Messiah of Aaron, Messiah of Israel, and the Prophet, all intertwined in a ritual drama. They all have their roles in the eschatological Community Banquet; however, the hierarchical focus is heavily on the Priesthood, which even fuses with Messiah in one office, as the “Messiah of Aaron.” Why the obsession with Priesthood?

Apparently, something happened at some time to cause this Qumran group to congeal. It was likely a schism between the Teacher of Righteousness and the Wicked Priest (the Liar), the sons of light and the sons of darkness. There is also the Zadokite Priest, a term widespread within the sectarian writings, which appears to refer to the “lawful priesthood” and also to the Community itself, as the “sons of Zadok.” They were perhaps known in the Community as the legal and righteous line of the Temple Priesthood, which was apparently ignored by the Temple powers. During the Hasmonean period the priesthood was up for bid and it descended to a place where the rightful Sons of Aaron and the family of Zadok were no longer chosen to fulfill the Temple rule and duties. This may have been the point of alienation, and the origin of Qumran Temple resistance, which led to a quiet rebellion, as demonstrated through withdrawal.

The Temple Priesthood, its appointees, and perhaps the Temple itself, became corrupted and triggered the formation of the Community. Herod’s Temple was a modification that may have also been an aggravating source of discontent. In fact, the Temple Scroll markedly differed in its description of the Temple’s construction, and was bursting with prescriptions that were at odds with Temple practices. The Community laid down a general objection by not employing the lunar calendar upon which the Jerusalem calendar was based. By using a modified solar calendar they just may have been issuing a strong statement that their calendar better reflected the times and the seasons, the haggim and the New Moons. The different calendrical calculations made it harder to worship and celebrate together.12

It would also have been difficult to make the 25-mile trek to Jerusalem to participate regularly in the sacrifices and other Temple-related activities. However, the Community and its leaders undoubtedly saw themselves as the true and elect Israel, and exercised the purity as prescribed by God, in recognition that they were all priests. They transferred the priesthood from the Temple to the Community and in their reality, the Qumran Community was the incarnated Priesthood God prescribed and approved.

It was quite natural for them to conceive of Messiah in terms of the Messiah of Aaron. No wonder they incorporated the priestly figures and situated them along with Messiah at their table. These were not the priests whom they had rebelled against, but rather ones they had refashioned in a proper place alongside the two Messiahs — a Holy Priesthood that practiced purity in every facet of their lives. The Community was wrapped up in this messianic priestly identity. The Dead Sea Sect was that corporate Aaronic priesthood, in tandem with two Messiahs, with a view toward the Banquet to come, just as the Priests and Messiahs were pre-shadowed in the Community meetings and banquets. They embraced a priestly Messiah reflected in their pagentry — in their own image.

Rabbinic Writings of Late Antiquity

With the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE, Judaism was in crisis. Jerusalem ceased to be the spiritual center of the Jewish people. The Jerusalem Sanhedrin was no more; hence, the legislative and judicial arms were curtailed. Priests were out of a job, and the sacrificial cult was non-operative. In the darkness of the hour there arose one hero who “saved a little” of Judaism through his wisdom, his cunning, and his creative exegesis. Yohanan ben Zakkai, trapped in Jerusalem during the early revolt of 66 CE, gathered two of his disciples who facilitated his escape in a coffin to be taken to the Roman Commander, Vespasian. Yochanan pleaded with him for a relocation in Yavne,13 a town 30 miles northwest of Jerusalem. There he gathered disciples who studied and began the process of formulating a Temple-less Judaism, which included bloodless substitutionary “sacrifices”: prayer, study, and lovingkindness. In the school of Yavneh, which moved to Usha, Beit Shearim, Sepphoris, and ultimately Tiberias, work began and continued on the Mishnah, a compendium of law and stories, derived from schools of Hillel, Shammai, Ishmael, and others. The work was redacted circa 200 CE.14

Rabbis in Babylon and in Israel continued to work on a companion to the Mishnah which developed into the Gemara. Other rabbinic writings arose including Tosefta, Midrashim, Responsa, and Commentaries. The rabbinic writings contained scattered references to the Messiah, which identified his characteristics, and thus a portrait of how rabbis framed the Messiah. They pictured him according to their own ideals and interpretation of law, culture and custom.

The Jewish Messiah who was to come was not uniformly pictured as one specific person with all his identifying markers intact, by the rabbis and sages, but rather was robed in a composite of different names, qualities, and activities. The rabbis were not homologous in their outlook, thinking, and theology, all of which were developing in different times, places, and directions, and thus produced a scattered portrait.

Within their writings over 600 years, rabbis portrayed the Messiah in the image of their concept of the ideal rabbi. Of course no two rabbis were of the same ilk and deviation abounded. Additionally, the rabbis in the West in the land of Israel were different from the Rabbis in the East in Babylon, based upon their experiences, training, and circumstances.15

Generally, the rabbis exalted the Torah, and were scholars and servants modeling the spiritual example of right behavior. They earned respect from their adherents. Their students observed their rabbinic mentors and sought to mirror them.16 They perceived them as religious authorities with the power to release vows; preachers with the charisma to hold a crowd’s attention; rainmakers in the mode of Elijah, Elisha, and the first-century Honi the Circle-drawer.

In the West the rabbis in Israel were under the Patriarchate17 (3rd to 5th centuries), headed by the Nasi, the leading communal office within Israel under Roman Rule.18 The Nasi served as a liaison to the Roman authorities, often taking part in mediating and resolving disputes. They also

perceived themselves as overseers of the Rabbis, whom they enlisted for help with government affairs and tapped their favored rabbis to establish courts, teach and raise funds in the diaspora.19

In the East, in Sassania, Babylon and Iran, from the 3rd to the 10th centuries, the Exilarch was the head of the Jewish community, in the direct line of Davidic lineage.20 That community believed the Messiah would come out of the Exilarchate, although there was contention with the rabbis who believed that they themselves would produce that Anointed One. Messianic expectations and hope were always lurking in the air, triggered by gematria calculations, mysticism, religious speculation, charismatic personalities, and dire circumstances befalling the yishuv. Yet, the rabbis downplayed the Messiah. The fall of Bar Kokhba at Betar, and his failed revolt, had contributed to a more moderate rabbinic focus on Messiah. Instead, daily halakha and mitzvot occupied center stage for the community. Once in a while they would go to the window to see if Messiah was nigh.21

Jewish laity in Babylon and Iran treated their eastern rabbis reverentially, not much differently from the treatment of rabbis afforded in Roman Palestine beginning in the late 2nd to 3rd centuries. Perhaps this was greatly influenced by a type of mimesis — an imitation of the treatment the Iranian priests generated from their constituents. Here, the rabbis were perceived as authoritative, steeped in Torah, versed in theology, learned, and filled with piety, exuding ethical rectitude.22

Rabbis were the priests of the people and in possession of the secrets of the Holy One. Their hallowed spiritual existence knew no limits; some were able to connect to the face of the Shekinah. In his piety, the rabbi was considered in some circles Torah incarnate, a super-mensch. Those who aspired to become ordained rabbis were required to engage in rigorous study in an academy, and be disciples of a master Torah scholar. They sought to model Moses, the lawgiver, in their Torah praxis; his prayers were effective and he was an extraordinary sage-wiseman when it came to overcoming the yetzer harah.23

Rabbis were also formed in the crucible of study, knowledge, humility, and charisma, demonstrated by acts of lovingkindness. Ultimately, the key for attaining the elevated position of rabbi was meeting the needs of the people. This required sacrifice. Aside from the theurgic aspects, counseling, prayers, and enforcement of decrees and Mosaic laws, they also were very much aware and concerned about community needs, and offered empathy and help in their attempts to right wrongs, and reduce the suffering of their communities, including the plight of the poor.24

Rabbis were the spiritual heads of the communities, successors of the prophets of old, holy beings who served the people. In large part that is how the rabbis saw the Messiah as they recorded their perceptions of Messiah within their writings. That is how they perceived themselves.

No two rabbis were totally alike in their thoughts and theology. Didactics and diversity of viewpoints were not only acknowledged but encouraged. Rabbinic thinking and discourse were preserved; even the minority opinions from every “drop” from the sages were sacred and worthy of codification.25 In the rabbinic world, according to Shaye Cohen, sectarianism was diminished in favor of a “grand coalition,” where dissent was tolerated as long as it was not so divisive as to deny majoritarianism. 26 Even the name of the Messiah varies within the schools, where different rabbis assigned names of the Messiah, reflective of their schools and likeness.27 Hence, not only is there a diversity of opinion here, but the name of the Messiah is closely related to the particular school or personage, which reflects the founder:

Rab said: The world was created only on David’s account. Samuel said: On Moses’ account; R. Johanan said: For the sake of the Messiah. What is his [the Messiah’s] name? — The School of R. Shila said: His name is Shiloh, for it is written, until Shiloh come. The School of R. Yannai said: His name is Yinnon, for it is written, His name shall endure for ever: e’er the sun was, his name is Yinnon. The School of R. Haninah maintained: His name is Haninah, as it is written, Where I will not give you Haninah. Others say: His name is Menahem the son of Hezekiah, for it is written, Because Menahem [“the comforter”], that would relieve my soul, is far. The Rabbis said: His name is “the leper scholar,” as it is written, Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him a leper, smitten of God, and afflicted. (b.Sanhedrin 98b)

Another Talmudic entry comes closer to tying the personage of the Messiah to the particular rabbi who is inscribing it:

R. Nahman said: if he [the Messiah] is of those living [today], it might be one like myself, as it is written, And their nobles shall be of themselves, and their governors shall proceed from the midst of them. Rab said: if he is of the living, it would be our holy Master. . . .”28

Rabbis were wed to Torah and the Hebrew Bible, so it is no surprise that they would seek to explain what appeared to be contradictory portraits of the Messiah in biblical writings as they wrestled to reconcile the apparent textual incompatibilities, and applied their form of exegesis:

[I]f they are worthy, I will hasten it: if not, [he will come] at the due time. R. Alexandri said: R. Joshua opposed two verses: it is written, And behold, one like the son of man came with the clouds of heaven whilst [elsewhere] it is written, [behold, thy king cometh unto thee. . . .] lowly, and riding upon an ass! — if they are meritorious, [he will come] with the clouds of heaven; if not, lowly and riding upon an ass.29

The community extolled and emulated their rabbis. In turn, the rabbis perceived themselves as the people portrayed them. Being a rabbi was a calling; it was not like being a priest which was inherited paternally. Being a rabbi was meritorious. They were authoritative and even more so, in some respects, than God, as clear from the Aknai Oven aggadah, where it was proclaimed that “Torah is not in heaven” and where even God admitted to Elijah that his children (sages/rabbis) had overruled him. Torah was on earth among the rabbis to interpret; they had paved the way for Messiah to be conformed to diverse and often contradictory characteristics and imagery. Even as the rabbis espoused in their writings and interpretations of messianic prophecies and scripture great variations, so too was their image of Messiah; there was much speculation but little agreement. Their own diversity of thought was reflected in their collective imagery of Messiah in all their collective diversity — a Messiah in their diverse likenesses.

The Maimonidean View

Moses ben Maimon (Maimonides, 1138–1204) believed in a Messiah who would fulfill the office in ways aligned with his own interpretation of scripture. His rationalist view was highly influential in his depiction and still impresses people throughout the world today 800 years later. We can piece together a composite of the Maimonidean view of the Messiah through several of his writings, including Mishneh Torah, Epistle to Yemen, and the twelfth article of his Thirteen Articles of Faith. His concept of Messiah was shaped by his rational Aristotelian philosophy,30 Torah, rabbinic writings, Jewish persecutions, and reactions to Islam and Christianity.31

Maimonides perceived, as do most of those learned rabbis and sages who came before him, that, although David died, there would be one successor who would come and sit on his throne — King Messiah. It was clear to Maimonides that Messiah would be Jewish. In refutation that Mohammad, or some other gentile was Messiah, in his Epistle to Yemen,32 among other rebuttals, he cited Deuteronomy 18:15, 18:

The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet from among your own, like myself [Moses]; him you shall heed. . . . I will raise up a prophet for them from among their own people, like yourself [a Hebrew]: I will put My words in his mouth and he will speak to them all that I command him.

What is accentuated here is that the Prophet would be like Moses, raised up from among Moses’ brethren. Thus, he would be a Jew descended from Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob and there would be grave consequences for disobeying his word. Hence, Messiah will be greater than all the prophets who came before. His prophecies will come to pass; a prophecy that fails would discredit his messiahship, and impose punishment.

Messiah is superhuman, but not a god, according to Maimonides. He will be ultra-wise in his knowledge of Torah, and he will subdue the rulers of the earth who will greatly fear him. He will not raise the dead or perform miracles, 33 or change the customary order of the world.

When will Messiah come? In the twelfth of his Thirteen Articles of Faith,34 Maimonides said:

I believe with complete faith in the coming of the Messiah, and even though he should tarry, nevertheless I shall wait for his coming every day.35

Yet, he was insistent that we not search for the time of his coming:

Nor shall the individual set a date for his coming. Nor shall he attempt to derive deductively from Scriptural verses, a set date for his coming. The Sages said, “May the souls expire of those who calculate the date of the coming of Messiah.”36

In Mishneh Torah, in his Book of Kings and Wars, Maimonides institutes a two-tiered approach for Messianic identification:

If a king will arise from the House of David who diligently contemplates the Torah and observes its mitzvot as prescribed by the Written Law and the Oral Law as David, his ancestor, will compel all of Israel to walk in (the way of the Torah) and rectify the breaches in its observance, and fight the wars of God, we may, with assurance, consider him Mashiach.37

There is a potential Messiah then in every generation, who satisfies the first tier — the first five qualifiers:

• He traces his lineage to the house of David
• He reinstates widespread Torah observance
• He studies Torah
• He performs good deeds in accord with Written and Oral Law (Torah)
• He fights battles for the Lord

Maimonides embraced a rationalistic concept of Messiah, with a weighted view on the one redeeming quality in life he sees as the major force and focus for Jews — Torah study.38 Having reached the first tiered plateau, he goes on to second tier qualifications of the Messiah:

If he succeeded in accomplishing these [five actions], and he subdued all the surrounding nations and he built the Temple in its place and collected the dispersed of Israel — then this is the messiah for certain. 39

In summary, the second tier requirements are:

• He subdues Israel’s enemies
• He rebuilds the Temple at the ancient site
• He regathers the dispersed of Israel

On these grounds Maimonides discounted Bar Kochba and Jesus from the notion of being the Messiah.40 According to him, death cannot intervene between the two tiers. He must fulfill all the requirements contained in Tier 1 and 2 before death.41

What will the world look like when Messiah comes, according to Maimonides? This question is key to Maimonides perception of Messiah in his own image. Steeped in Aristotelianism, his first work, as a teenager, was a piece on logic. He embraced a rational, as opposed to a mystical, philosophy. There was not a big difference between the world we live in and the world to come, except olam habah would afford more freedom to study Torah.42 First, there will not be foreign domination and oppression. Second, the condition of the earth will be more favorable for the production of food; hence, people will not need to toil as much as they do in this world, and they will live longer. Consequently, there will be more time to devote to Torah study. Messiah will teach the law out of Jerusalem. Maimonides reckoned the messianic kingdom as a natural fulfillment of the perfect laws of nature:

Knowledge will increase. There will be no war, famine, or discord. The nations will be subdued; simply, it will be a perfect environment for study of Torah.43 . . . “The world will be filled with the knowledge of God as the waters cover the ocean bed.” (Isa 11:9)

Maimonides’ concept of the world of Torah expanded for olam habah and his logic-based thinking produced a Messiah in his own rational image who would facilitate the proliferation of Torah study. Of the first five Maimonidean qualifiers, three are directly associated with Torah: he studies Torah, performs the deeds of Torah, and promulgates widespread Torah observance. A fourth qualifier, “fighting battles for the Lord,” may well be a reference to “spiritual battles,” however, given Maimonides’ rationalist approach, in all probability he was positing literal battles, aware of the need to rid Israel of its enemies so that Torah freedom would prevail. Further, the second tier requires that Messiah “subdues Israel’s enemies.” There is a progression from the first tier “fighting battles” to the second tier “subduing enemies.” Hebrew canon supports this concept of a conquering Messiah: “Then the Lord will come forth and make war on those nations [who come against Jerusalem] as He is wont to make war on a day of battle.” (Zech 14:3) This is a sensible understanding of a Messiah whose environment was not very different from the conditions of olam hazeh.

For the Christians against whom Maimonides negatively reacted, Messiah had come. For Maimonides and the Jews, he had yet to come44 Christians were unified as to the identity of the Messiah who came and was to return. Maimonides developed his own outlook of the Messiah based upon his reasoned approach to life, Torah, and a logical-scientific view of the ideal Jewish society. This is the Messiah who Maimonides constructed in his own rational image as sensible to prepare the world for Torah study in the world to come. This is Messiah in Maimonides’ own philosophy, in his own weltanschauung. Maimonides’ rational outlook created a rational Messiah in a rational world to come, where Torah dominated. This was Messiah; this was Maimonides.

Isaiah 53 Application to Messianic Figures

To buttress the argument that sages, scholars, individuals, and communities perceive the Messiah according to their own predilections and in their own image, three groups are selected from medieval to modern, each of which embraces different Messiahs and cites Isaiah 53 as one of their proof texts are examined: Rashi, Sabbateanism, and Lubavitch.

Rashi

Ample evidence exists that interpreters “heard” Isaiah 53 speaking of the Messiah as a person through the Tannaitic, Amoraic, and Medieval eras.45 Rabbi Shlomo ben Isaac (Rashi) (1040–1104), one of the most distinguished Jewish exegetes of all time, produced two major works: Commentary on the Talmud and Commentary on the Bible. Rashi’s commentaries have appeared for the last 900 years in every Jewish Bible commentary and edition of the Talmud. In his Commentary on the Talmud he cites Isaiah 53 as speaking of a personage — a suffering Messiah.

Leading up to the First Crusade in 1096, Rashi led a peaceful existence studying and teaching, having spent some time in Worms and Mainz, north of Troyes, France, Rashi’s home city. Probably during the early pre-Crusade period, he embraced the traditional view that Messiah was a person who would effectuate salvation for Israel. In Sanhedrin 98a, he gently interacts with the Talmudic passage that recognizes a Messianic personage who “was wounded because of our transgressions” (Isa 53:5), and “our diseases he did bear” (v. 4). However, in his Commentary on the Bible, he applies Isaiah 53 not to a personage, as he does in the Talmud, but rather to Israel collectively. Possible reasons why his understanding was different than his Talmudic application include: (1) He wrote the Talmudic portion before the Crusades; (2) He intended to combat Christian polemics that Jesus was the Messiah; (3) He empathized with the sufferings that the Jewish people were experiencing as the Crusaders devastated Jewish communities, senselessly killing them along their way “to liberate the Holy Land” from Islamic domination. Rashi suffered personally as he lost friends to the Crusader incursion. Hence, he vicariously experienced Israel, the people of God, suffering. Before Rashi, there were some who identified the suffering servant of Isaiah 53 as Israel suffering for its own sins, and some Jewish circles believed that Israel would be the savior of the world. Rashi actually combined these two understandings and expanded it: Israel was suffering for the sins of the world in order to effectuate universal salvation.46

Rashi saw the Messiah according to his own predilections and outlook; hence, perhaps he perceived Isaiah 53 as applying both to Israel and to a Messianic personage, and that on some plane in his mind both were true. Rashi’s psyche changed when the Crusaders engaged in mass Jewish slaughter, and consequently, his image of Messiah changed. This supports the position that there is subjective diversity within the Jewish community of scholars and exegetes when focusing on scripture as relating to Messiah. This diversity is often dependent upon the viewpoint of the beholders, influenced by outside influences. For example, many early Zionists experienced Israel as the “Messiah,” even if they did not clearly express it. Many had fled from their homelands where persecution and genocide was rampant. They poured into Palestine, and worked the land; as they changed the contours of the land, they, in turn, were changed by their work on the land. It prepared them for the rough future to come with the ungenerous soil, disease, hostile neighbors, and war, strengthening them for the task ahead. Yet, due to their experience, Israel was their savior, their protector. Isaiah 53 may certainly have subjectively confirmed this for them.

Sabbateanism

Sabbateanism arrived on the scene as a proto-messianic movement in 1648 when Shabbetai Zvi declared himself to be the Jewish Messiah. Zvi had evidenced bizarre antics which may have been due to a manic-depressive condition. 47 These included marrying a Torah, pronouncing the ineffable name of God, dressing a fish as a baby, marrying without consummating, eating forbidden foods, changing fast days and feasts, and engaging in other antinomian teachings and behavior. 48 Zvi was supported by a well-respected theologian, prophet, and kabbalist, Nathan of Gaza, who was his “wing man,” a forerunner who rationalized Zvi’s behavior and explained his strangeness in positive messianic terms.49

Ultimately, in 1665–66 Sabbatean Messianism reached a high pitched fervor, with great anticipation that Zvi was to be crowned Messiah by the Sultan of Turkey. Prophecy spread like wildfire that “Shabbetai Zvi is the Messiah,” not just among the mature but also among children in unison singing and shouting the message in the streets. Diaspora Jews sold their belongings and planned on moving to the Holy Land, until it was clear that the Sultan was not going to yield his miter to Zvi, but instead imprisoned him. Later the Sultan demanded that Zvi convert to Islam or be executed. Zvi chose life. He thereby descended into Islam in order to avoid death, and was afforded quasi-liberty to continue a syncretistic religious life until his death, ten years later.

Zvi’s apocalyptic messianic mission was fueled by neo-Lurianic kabbalism, prophecy, and the intensified signs of the times, contributing to belief among Jews and Christians alike that the “footsteps of the Messiah” were nigh. His messianic claims garnered great support among the masses of world Jewry, and Christians as well, throughout the Ottoman Empire and Europe; it is reputed that most of worldwide Jewry embraced Zvi as the Messiah.50 The movement waned after Zvi’s Islamic conversion and then decreased to the Donmeh,51 a small sect which exists in Turkey today, believing that Zvi will return.52

Isaiah 53 was applied to Zvi to buttress his credentials as the Messiah:

[a] man of suffering, familiar with disease. As one who hid his face from us . . . [y]et it was our sickness that he was bearing, Our suffering that he endured . . . Smitten and afflicted by God. (Isa 53:3–4)

According to Nathan’s teaching, within a somewhat distored kabbalistic construction, Zvi had to descend into the depths of the sin of conversion to Islam to release the supernal lights hidden by the kelipot (husks), to effectuate redemption through sin. 53

Mass Jewry was convinced that Zvi was the coming Messiah. It was a fatal attraction that moved the people to accept the claims of a madman. A widespread conflagration progressed, where the embers waxed hot until extinguished when the masses were awakened from their hypnotic trance. The messianic image was shaped by Zvi and Nathan, and their followers accepted Zvi as Messiah even though his actions fell short of the traditional messianic ideal. Additionally, Isaiah 53 was applied in support of his messiahship, in a theological stretch apparently intended to gain a scriptural basis for his claims. Rather than conforming to the image of Isaiah 53, it seems more like the adherents conformed Isaiah 53 to the image of Zvi, and redefined him in the image of Nathan’s theological position.

Lubavitch

The Lubavitch sect of Judaism came out of the Hasidic movement, which originated in the early 18th century. Its founder — the Baal Shem Tov — traveled the Ukrainian countryside teaching through stories and exhibiting a lively Judaism of piety and holiness punctuated by dance, song, and merriment. He drew on a spiritual relationship with God, through intensity of prayer, good deeds, and mysticism. The Baal Shem Tov was a type of messiah for his adherents and manifested a charismatic messianic holiness; he popularized closeness to God among the

masses, through his teachings, esoteric antics, and devakut,54 gathering his devotees through his travels.55

Schneur Zalman of Liady, the third Hasidic Rebbe, was the founder of the Lubavitch movement, also referred to today as Chabad.56 He furthered the movement by seeking to draw people into a personal closeness to God through fervent spiritual activism, which incorporated forms of kabbalism.57 Zalman taught that the tzaddikim who headed the Hasidic communities were local messiahs, ordinary people who were spiritually endowed, adorned with special godly traits. Accordingly, the Messiah is “no more than a successful tzaddik.” 58

In 1951, after the death of his father-in-law, the sixth Rebbe of the Chabad movement, Menachem Mendel Schneerson, succeeded to the headship and began his spiritual work.59 On June 12, 1994, after 43 years of indefatigable work building the community through his genius and creative skills, this seventh dynastic rebbe had a stroke and died. Nonetheless, a large group within the sect believed that he was the promised Messiah.60 Although this group was initially very verbal with an evangelistic thrust about their insistence, the clamor has since calmed, and for many to a silent retreat. Still, however, a sizable number of Chabadniks believe that Menachem Schneerson is “Mashiach Now.”61 David Berger, an orthodox rabbi, is appalled that the Chabad, a hyper-orthodox branch of Judaism, has dared to have adherents who believe this claim. He highlights specifically where Schneerson’s alleged messiahship violates Maimonides’ qualifications for being the Messiah: the Jewish people were not redeemed during Schneerson’s life. Moreover, Berger notes that, according to Maimonides, there cannot be a pause between death of Messiah and redemption; it cannot be held in abeyance as in Christian theology that recognizes two comings with death in between and a second coming that completes the hope of Messianic redemption. Even a Schneerson “second coming” would not cure Maimonides’ messianic deficit.

The Chabad group applied Isaiah 53 to Schneerson,62 undoubtedly including his last illness whereby he had suffered a stroke, reflecting the motif of the suffering servant who atones for the sins of the people (Isaiah 53:5). Those within the movement who still await his resurrection and return cite Isaiah 53, in spite of the truth that Schneerson did not fulfill Maimonides’ criteria, which include the restoration of the Jewish people before his death. Isaiah 53 is cited widely as messianic prophecy by Christians in reference to Jesus. If Schneerson is not disqualified as the Messiah because of a failure to satisfy Maimonidean criteria, then neither is Jesus. The Chabad movement resonates with Schneerson being the Messiah, the seventh Rebbe (and apparently the last) of the Lubavitch movement. He possessed the messianic characteristics they understood as concerning Messiah — a prolific wise teacher, and the epitome of righteousness who sacrificed and suffered for his community. Schneerson’s followers were shaped by his messianic qualities, and saw him worthy to rise from a local messiah to a universal one. He was the embodiment of the community. He and his community were one. He was their mirror image, and thus the community was conditioned to the mold of how his followers recognized the Messiah — in the self-image of the Chabad community Schneerson had projected in his own image.

Summary

This article is not an end in itself, but rather a springboard to more psycho-social studies on messianism and its thinking. Here we have taken a few samples from the universe of Jewish messianism to demonstrate that sundry Jewish groups and individuals have come to different understandings of the identity of the Messiah, thus presenting a diverse composite picture of Messiah. Moreover, their understandings track closely their own concept of Messiah as influenced by their own experiences, and subjective positions, which exhibit Messiah in their own self-images. Hence, the Dead Sea Sect highlights the priestly nature of Messiah because of its hyper-focus on the priesthood in reaction to what they concluded was an impure priesthood operating in Jerusalem. The Late Antique rabbinic groups present a variegated Messianic view, inasmuch as they are living within widely diversifed local community influences. Maimonides advocates for a rational-based Messiah inasmuch as he harbors a rational theo-philosophical view.

Because there is such diversity of Jewish groupings and thinking throughout the ages, there arises a portrait of the Messiah that is not one-dimensional but rather layered on a masechet, a web which is the warp and woof of Jewish messianism (Judges 16:13–14). This presents a fertile field for further examination of a topic ripe for expanded research, discussion, and scholarly pursuit.

Postcript: Messiah in His Own Image

This article has focused on Jewish renderings of the Messiah in the images of personages and communities, all which have thus far proved to be unrealized — pseudo-Messiahs. Nonetheless, it would be lacking if it did not highlight Yeshua, in contrast to other messianic portraits.

When addressing his disciple Philip, Yeshua affirmed:

He who has seen Me has seen the Father. How can you say, “Show us the Father?”. . . Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in Me — or at least believe because of the works themselves. (John 14:9b–11)

Accordingly, Yeshua comes in the image of the Father. His messianic claims are in part rooted in his place of birth, lineage, and Israelite tribe, which accorded with biblical prophecy; and in the quality of his teachings and works as recorded within the New Covenant Besorah (Good News). He impressed the people who witnessed him, and his followers believed that his life was consistent with the image of the Messiah prophesied in the Hebrew Bible. These characteristics included his birth in Beit-Lechem (Micah 5:1), from the tribe of Judah (Gen 49:10), and of David’s lineage (Isaiah 11:1; Jeremiah 23:5-6). None of the promoters of the pseudo-Messiahs discussed above made claims to these biblical fulfillments. The Dead Sea Sect, Maimonides, and for the most part the Rabbis of late antiquity were silent, as regarding these prophecies, in application to their preferred messiah. Instead, they were willing to promote a Messiah in their own image, rather than to adhere more closely to the Biblical image.

Inasmuch as Yeshua’s image was advanced by what he did and taught, consistent with prophecy, he holds a discrete place among the “messiahs” of Israel who came before and after him. Moreover, he meets R. Gamliel’s test of time, which he recommended to the Sanhedrin on the question of what to do with the followers of Yeshua who were stirring up the community. He said “But if it is of God, you will not be able to stop them. You might even be found fighting against God.” (Acts 5:39)

Rabbi Elliot Klayman is the Interim Editor of Kesher, and also edits The Messianic Outreach. He has published numerous articles in messianic publications. He lives in San Diego, California with his wife of 51 years.

The story of Joseph victimized by his own brothers is a well-known part of Torah. For Christians and Messianic Jews, the similarity of Joseph’s path to the life of Messiah is quite obvious. It is worth noting that even in traditional Judaism the figure of Messiah is closely linked to Joseph (almost as much as to David).1 However, could this similarity be much deeper than we are accustomed to think?

The beloved son is attacked by his brothers and eventually sold into slavery by Judah for twenty silver pieces (Gen 37:26–28). But what if we say the following: Israel and his sons rise against Joseph because he pretends to be God, which in their eyes is idolatry.

The father deliberately sends his beloved son to his brothers to his death. Let us analyze the story of Joseph and try to find out whether this reading is indeed so far-fetched as it may seem at first.

A brief reminder about the story of Joseph

Jacob had twelve sons. Only two of them were born to Rachel, whom he married out of love: Joseph, now 17 years old and newborn Benjamin. Other sons were from Rachel’s sister Leah and their maidservants Bilhah and Zilpah (Gen 35:23–26).

The father loved most, the firstborn son of his beloved Rachel, and that is why the other ten adult brothers hated Joseph. Jacob distinguished Joseph by a special robe, and the beloved son brought him a bad report about his brothers (Gen 37:2–4). Then Joseph had two dreams. In the first, the sheaves of his eleven brothers are bowing to his own sheaf. He recounts this dream to his brothers and they hate him even more (Gen 37:5–8). In Joseph’s second dream, not just sheaves, but the sun, the moon, and eleven stars are prostrating themselves to him. Joseph recounts this second dream to both his brothers and his father (Gen 37:9–10).2 Now his father loses his patience: “What is this dream that you have dreamed? Will we come, I, your mother, and your brothers, to prostrate ourselves to you to the ground?” (Gen 37:10).Note that Joseph’s mother Rachel has already passed away (Gen 35:19). That means it is physically impossible for her to bow to her son. If so, what is the meaning of this dream?

The Bible says that after this second dream, “his brothers envied him, but his father awaited the matter,” or, literally, “kept the words” (Gen 37:11). He kept in mind the dream of Joseph. Yet, for what purpose? A classical Jewish commentary by the medieval sage Rashi explains: “He was waiting and looking forward in expectation of when it [the fulfillment] would come.” And he rebuked Joseph in the presence of the other sons “because he was bringing hatred upon himself.”3

As to the dilemma regarding Rachel, having passed, Rashi suggests that either “the matters,” in fact, “referred to Bilhah, who had raised him [Joseph] as [if she were] his mother,” or perhaps this was just a “meaningless component” of the dream.4 Perhaps, even the renowned Jewish commentator does not fully understand what to do with this dream where the dead Rachel prostrates herself to Joseph. According to Rashi, Jacob himself did not know that the moon in Joseph’s dream was Bilhah instead of Rachel. But, if so, which fulfillment was Jacob waiting for? If he did not think it was Bilhah instead of Rachel, he would take this dream as utterly unrealizable, because Rachel was dead. In the words of Jacob: “Will we come, I and your mother? . . . Rashi also interprets in the context of the dream’s unreality. In his view, for Jacob it was a way of saying: “Just as it is impossible for your mother, so is the rest meaningless.”5 Thus, it seems that Jacob could not be waiting for this dream to be fulfilled, because he took it as unrealistic, as well as very impudent on the part of Joseph. If so, why did Jacob remember this dream? A man remembers something that impresses or strikes him, so that it is worth further consideration; and he may act upon this consideration.

What does Jacob do afterwards? He sends Joseph to his brothers who went to pasture their father’s flocks. Jacob gives Joseph a seemingly ordinary, but actually very strange commission. Go to Shechem where his brothers are pasturing; see the “welfare of the flock, and bring word back to me.” (Gen 37:14).

What’s wrong with this commission? In fact, almost everything.

Shechem is an unsafe place for Jacob’s sons to pasture.

Earlier, Shechem, the son of Hamor, the prince of the land, saw Dinah, the daughter of Leah, and violated her. For this crime, Jacob’s sons, Simeon and Levi, slew every male in the city (Gen 34:1–31). This means that just to go pasture in Shechem is not a good idea. The locals could spot Jacob’s sons and try to take revenge.

Genesis does not say who decided to pasture there, Jacob or his sons. However, even if this crazy idea came to the minds of his sons, they would scarcely realize it without asking their father’s permission. Curiously, when Joseph came to Shechem, he did not find his brothers, because they had already traveled away (Gen 37:17). Quite possibly, they moved on because they were afraid to stay in Shechem for a long time, feeling danger. The question remains: why take the risk and go to Shechem, if there are also other places available for pasturing? There is Dothan, where the brothers moved from Shechem. Why not go with their flocks to safe Dothan in the first place?

The commission of Jacob is of no practical use.

Young Joseph is much less experienced than his adult brothers. Obviously, this is not their first pasturing far away from home, so they need less supervision, much less than Joseph. If so, why does Jacob decide at this very moment to send Joseph to “just look at his brothers” who hate him more than ever before? Joseph does not bring his brothers any food, or drink, or arms. His task is simply to go a long way across the dangerous territory in order to see if everything is well with his brothers and the cattle, and then take the same long way back. Could Jacob explain to Joseph: your brothers are pasturing in Shechem, and this is a dangerous land, so go and see if all is well with them?

Why doesn’t this explanatory logic work well? First, it is better not to risk one’s life but rather locate another place for pasturing. Second, when Joseph is looking alone for his brothers at Shechem, he would be in much greater danger than his ten adult brothers. Third, Jacob sends Joseph, not to help his brothers, but only to “see” to their welfare. Thus, if Joseph were to find his brothers in danger, he should go the same long way back and inform Jacob that they are in danger; only after that would Jacob send them help. However, during his return and the arrival of help anything might happen to the brothers. They could be removed to another place or simply be killed. That is why there is no sense in sending Joseph first and help, only afterwards. It would be better to send at once several servants who could effectively assist the brothers onsite. If Jacob was truly worrying that the brothers could be assaulted at Shechem, he shouldn’t send Joseph alone to them. Instead, he should send someone else with Joseph for his own safety. However, Jacob did not do that. Even if we agree with some Jewish commentators that Jacob considered Joseph a great righteous man, so that he is not in any danger,6 why tempt the Creator? A righteous man would never cross the street at a red light just because he is righteous. All the more a father would not send his righteous son to take an unnecessary risk without ensuring all precautionary measures. Yet that’s what Jacob did.

It is dangerous for Joseph to meet his brothers in an uninhabited place,
and Jacob knows that.

Jacob sends his son to meet his brothers (who hate him) in a lonely field where they would be virtually alone. This is obviously dangerous for Joseph. Jacob ought to understand that after the last dream it would be better for Joseph to meet his brothers only with others present, so that the brothers would not be tempted to hurt him, nor would Joseph be accosted by others. Accordingly, Jacob ought to keep Joseph close to him until the brothers’ hatred cools. Instead, he sends Joseph to meet them far away, in a lonely field, where nobody else would see them.

We don’t know whether Jacob knew the story of Cain who slew his brother Abel in the field (Gen 4:8). Regardless, Jacob ought to have foreseen a similar course of events. This time not just one brother would rise up against another but ten brothers seized by hatred might rise up against one, being alone in the field. It is quite obvious that they might hurt him. The British Bible commentator Matthew Henry remarks, “Joseph and his father had . . . more of the innocence of the dove than of the wisdom of the serpent, else [Joseph] had never come thus into the hands of those that hated him.”7 A similar explanation was suggested by John Chrysostom: “From day to day” the brothers “deepened their hatred, the fire that burnt secretly within them, without their father or the young man suspecting anything of the kind nor the fact that they were about to proceed to such awful folly.”8 Gordon J. Wenham makes a similar claim: “To judge from the conversation in 37:13, neither Joseph nor Jacob thought he was in danger from the brothers. Jacob was just worried about how his sons and flocks were. . . . Jacob, fearing attacks from outside the family, is apparently blind to the lack of peace within.”9

Such explanations are not simply naïve; in fact, they insult the intellectual abilities of Jacob who previously demonstrated time and again his intellect and wisdom. When commentators and most of the readers see that Joseph’s assignment was dangerous, Jacob, having no less insight, would see it even clearer.

Further, events demonstrate that Joseph most likely understood the danger of this commission as well. An important detail is that he was not to “just go to Shechem, and if your brothers are not there, go back home.” Jacob clearly says, “Go now and see to your brothers’ welfare and the welfare of the flocks, and bring me back word” (Gen 37:14). Thus, Joseph had to return to Jacob with one of two possible answers:

• The brothers (and the flocks) are well.
• The brothers (and the flocks) are not well.

Joseph could not return to Jacob and just say, “The brothers are not in Shechem.” This is not an answer to Jacob’s question. He must tell Jacob not where the brothers are but whether they are well. That is why Joseph had to find the brothers.

Jacob’s reaction to the robe dipped in blood

After the brothers sold Joseph into slavery, they took his robe, slaughtered a goat, dipped the robe in the blood, and brought it to the father saying, “We have found this; now recognize whether it is your son’s robe or not.” (Gen 37:32) The reaction of Jacob to this robe and their words is very strange.

Without asking his sons anything, Jacob announces at once what has
happened, based only on the robe dipped in blood.

Jacob does not just say “yes, I recognize this robe,” but “a wild beast has devoured him.” He states this very positively: “Joseph has surely been torn up” (Gen 37:33). Why is he so positive about that? He did not interrogate his sons; he just saw Joseph’s bloodstained robe and cried at once that his son had been devoured by a beast.

It would have been more reasonable to ask his sons first about the details. Where did they find the robe? Who was there? Did they look for his brother after finding his robe? The sons knew this robe perfectly well; it was one of the reasons for their dislike of Joseph.

Curiously enough, Jacob’s words that “a wild beast has devoured him” are completely identical to what the brothers themselves were saying when they plotted against Joseph: “So now, let us kill him, and we will cast him into one of the pits, and we will say, ‘A wild beast devoured him.’ ” (Gen 37:20) The brothers, however, had not yet told Jacob anything, but rather just showed him the robe. Jacob himself announces exactly what his sons agreed to say in the field. He did not hear them there but for some reason he now repeats them verbatim. It looks as if Jacob announced to everybody at once what had happened, so that he would not force his sons to lie by further interrogations.

Why is Jacob so positive that it was a beast, not a man, and
why is he sure that Joseph has been devoured, not just wounded?

It is not clear why Jacob says it was a beast, and not a man (for example from Shechem) who killed Joseph. Maybe the reason is that a homicide would call for revenge, whereas being devoured by a beast puts an end to the whole story. It is not clear why Jacob is so sure that the beast has devoured Joseph and not just wounded him. Jacob did not see the body or the beast; he did not know any details. His sons told him nothing and he asked them nothing.

Jacob does not command his sons to go find Joseph who might be still
alive nor does he command them to find his corpse in order to bury him.

What would be a natural reaction of a father who sees the bloodstained robe of his son? He would be full of fright but still would hope his son to be alive, maybe wounded, but alive. That is why Jacob would not just interrogate his sons, but immediately give an order to them, as well as the servants, to run and look for Joseph, who might lie somewhere wounded waiting for help. However, Jacob does not do that. Neither does he command them to go and find Joseph’s corpse, although it is a sacred duty to bury the corpse by the end of the day (Deut 21:23). Even if they could not find the dead in time, by sunset they should nonetheless make the attempt. The explanation might be found in the second dream of Joseph, where his dead mother prostrates herself to him. The father rebuked Joseph for this dream and “awaited the matter” (Gen 37:10–11). Immediately after that Jacob begins to act strangely toward his beloved son.

What could Jacob see in this dream?

If we have a dream in which living people bow to a person, as it was in the first dream, this is clear enough: it means that this person will rule over someone (or strive to do so). It is another matter with the dead. They are in the world of souls in close proximity to the Creator; thus, they can only worship him. Could Jacob have thought that he was too indulgent to Joseph, so that Joseph wished to be a god to whom both the living and the dead would bow? Indeed, what could Jacob think when he learned about that dream? He could not take this dream as prophetic because neither alive or dead would [Jacob] prostrate to a man. Jacob’s own reaction shows that he could not even imagine that anything like this would ever happen. Jacob might think that this dream was not God-given. However, a person often sees in dreams a reflection of waking thoughts. Jacob might conclude that Joseph began to think about himself as a god, and this had been reflected in his dreams. This would be a scary thought for the father. Such a sin of Joseph would be idolatry. Should Jacob not appropriately deal with this matter, God just might avert his face from the house of Jacob. That is why the father of Joseph had to do something; he couldn’t just sit and watch, especially since he had been indulgent to Joseph. Jacob surely knew the test given by God to Abraham: namely, to sacrifice
his beloved son Isaac in order to demonstrate his loyalty (Gen 22:1–19).

Now Jacob recognizes that his own beloved son aims at being God. Jacob could easily take it as another test from heaven: whom does he love more and whom will he side with?: his beloved son who believes himself a god, or the Creator? In such a situation Jacob would certainly choose God and sacrifice his beloved son. That is why he quite possibly would give up Joseph.

There is one more analogy. God promised to Abraham that his seed (that is, the descendants of Isaac) will be as numerous as the stars (Gen 15:5). Then suddenly God orders Abraham to sacrifice Isaac. What about the seed? This is the very essence of the trial: to trust God despite all irrationality. Jacob could believe that God was giving him a similar test. Rashi remarks that Jacob had a sign from God: if none of his sons would die within his lifetime, he would not see the face of Gehinnom (Gehenna).10 Now one of his sons falls into idolatry. This is not physical, but spiritual death. What should he do? Should he close his eyes to Joseph’s sin, hoping to gain the promised lot for himself? This would be unfair, and one cannot deceive God. Thus, Jacob, in order to prove his loyalty to God, had to sacrifice not only Joseph, but also his destiny after death, just as Abraham was ready to sacrifice his promised seed. Jacob could be wrong in his assumptions regarding Joseph, but his motive would be to deliberately abandon everything — his beloved son and his destiny after death — in order to demonstrate his faithfulness to God.

One could argue that the Creator did not tell Jacob directly what he is expected to do, as he did with Abraham. In that case, God commanded Abraham to sacrifice his innocent son. Here it seems that Jacob’s beloved son has already fallen into sin. Thus, Jacob could believe that God says nothing to him because he wants to see how Jacob would react to his beloved son’s “idolatry.” This could also explain the strange behavior of Jacob after the loss of his son. Scripture further says:

And Jacob rent his garments, and he put sackcloth on his loins, and he mourned for his son many days. And all his sons and all his daughters arose to console him, but he refused to be consoled, for he said, ‘Because I will descend on account of my son as a mourner to the grave’; and his father wept for him (Gen 37:34—35).

Some take the words “and he mourned for his son” to mean that Jacob mourned for Joseph. However, Rashi interprets them differently, as meaning that Isaac “was weeping over Jacob’s distress.”11 The Jewish sages further explain that Isaac did not mourn the death of Joseph because he had a revelation from God and knew that Joseph was alive.12 That is why Isaac wept only over Jacob’s distress. However, Joseph, sold to slavery, was in no less distress. Why did Isaac not weep over the grave situation of Joseph? Perhaps it was because he considered only Jacob an aggrieved person because his son had fallen into idolatry.

Jacob refused to be consoled after the death of Joseph. Jewish commentators note that this is unusual, because after the appropriate days of mourning one should move forward.13 Jacob does not do that. Rashi explains that Jacob could not be consoled because “[n]o
one accepts consolation for a person who is really alive but believed to be dead, for it is decreed that a dead person should be forgotten from the heart, but not a living person.”14 The orthodox rabbi Meir Muchnik, referring to another Jewish sage, Netsiv, considers another explanation: Jacob could not be consoled because he possibly began to doubt the righteousness of Joseph only after his alleged death. Indeed, if Joseph had been devoured by a wild beast, it means that in fact he wasn’t righteous.15 Rabbi Muchnik disagrees; the actual reason was that Joseph seemingly perished spiritually, and this was indeed a capital failure.According to Rabbi Muchnik, Jacob might have known that Joseph was alive, but did nothing to find him exactly for this reason:

Why did Jacob not try to find Joseph? . . . This is not at the world’s end. Egypt is nearby. . . .
The answer seems to be this: as we have concluded, the main “loss” was not just Joseph himself, but his righteousness. Jacob doubted whether Joseph was indeed the saint he seemed to be, whether he managed to bring him up rightly. If actually he didn’t — even if Joseph is alive, so what? Now he is like Esau, who is also alive but lost for the Jewish people. That Joseph, who was a righteous saint, was dead — or maybe didn’t even exist?16

In the same article Rabbi Muchnik mentions some hints in Torah that the brothers suspected Joseph was in danger of idolatry.

“Behold, that dreamer is coming” — they said contemptuously (Genesis 37:19). The Jewish sages interpret this as . . . “this one will lead us to [the idols of] Baal.” They had seen in Joseph the germ of inclination to idolatry.17

Maybe Jacob and the brothers began to doubt indeed the righteousness of Joseph and suspected him of idolatry, but was this before his “death”?

Later, during the times of hunger, when Joseph held Simeon in Egypt and commanded the brothers to bring Benjamin, Jacob says to his ten sons: “You have bereaved me — Joseph is gone, and Simeon is gone, and you want to take Benjamin!” (Gen 42:36). This suggests that Jacob knew about the involvement of the brothers in the death (disappearance) of Joseph. He knew, but, once again, did nothing to find him.

Still later, when the sons tell him that Joseph is alive, Jacob refuses to believe them: “and his heart changed, for he did not believe them.” (Gen 45:26) The words “his heart changed” (literally recoiled, or withdrew) may suggest that he was scared. It would seem that a father would rejoice and hasten to check whether his beloved son is alive, but Jacob does not hasten and apparently does not believe. Further, when Jacob meets Joseph in Egypt, he does not fall on his neck and weep. Only Joseph falls on the father’s neck and weeps for a long time, but not vice versa (Gen 46:29). Jewish commentators suggest that Jacob did not fall on the neck of Joseph, did not weep and kiss him, because in his mind he was reciting the Shema.18 However, perhaps he was considering whether he understood rightly the second dream of Joseph?

If Jacob took this decision regarding Joseph, why did he do it through his sons, involving them in the sin of homicide (or selling to slavery, which by then standards was almost the same)? The point is that Jacob and at least some of his sons could perceive it not as a sin, but as an act of zealous love to God, a reproof to idolatry, and passing the test sent from heaven.

Another possible suggestion is that Jacob had no intention to involve his sons (at least all of them) in his plans. The text is silent on the formation of a plot of Jacob with all his sons. This is demonstrated by the behavior of Reuben who wanted to “save [Joseph] from their hand[s], to return him to his father.” (Gen 37:22) It could be the case that Jacob did not send his sons to pasture in Shechem accidentally, and the sons did not coincidenrally move to another place. This would mean Jacob did something similar to what David did to Uriah when he sent him to “the forefront of the fiercest battle . . . so that he will be hit and will die.” (2 Sam 11:15) Jacob could have ordered his sons to go to Shechem and move after a while to another place, without telling them his intention. Then he sent Joseph to Shechem. He could have assumed that young Joseph, looking for his brothers in Shechem after they had already moved from there, could encounter some locals who could recognize him as a son of Jacob and would want to wreak vengeance upon him. Then, in order to avoid revenge on the people of Shechem, one could announce that Joseph had been devoured by a wild beast. Even later, if it became clear that it was somebody from Shechem instead of a wild beast, one could claim that it was divine punishment to Joseph for his idolatry. Moreover, his brothers, who hated Joseph, would scarcely hasten to avenge his death.

Indeed, Joseph wandered in Shechem, looking for his brothers, by himself, exposed to danger.

Then a man found him, and behold, he was straying in the field, and the man asked him, saying, ‘What are you looking for?’ And he said, ‘I am looking for my brothers.’ (Gen 37:15–16)

[Joseph did not run into this man; the man found him.]

‘Tell me now, where are they pasturing?’ said Joseph. And the man said, ‘They have traveled away from here, for I overheard them say, Let us go to Dothan.’ So Joseph went after his brothers, and he found them in Dothan. (Gen 37:16–17)

The role of this unknown man in this story is extremely important. It is as though he stands at the crossroad and directs the story to another path. Who is this man? An oral tradition in Judaism maintains that it was the angel Gabriel.19 If so, God himself interfered in the course of events by sending his angel.

Joseph could not leave Shechem because he did not know his brothers’ whereabouts. He also could not return to his father without information about the brothers, whether they were well. Without Gabriel’s assistance he would have no other choice but to keep looking for his brothers in Shechem, running the risk of violence from the locals. However, Gabriel helps Joseph and he finds his brothers in Dothan. Seeing him from far away, they begin to plot against him: “So now, let us kill him, and we will cast him into one of the pits, and we will say, ‘A wild beast devoured him.’ ” (Gen 37:20) Let us accentuate once again: it seems very strange that Jacob, as soon as he sees Joseph’s bloodstained robe, immediately repeats the same words: “a wild beast has devoured him.” (Gen 37:33) The text does not specify who of the brothers pronounces these words in the field. However, it was Judah who suggested to the brothers that it would be better not to leave Joseph in the pit but instead sell him to the Ishmaelites (Gen 37:27).

Commenting on the next chapter of Genesis, Rashi says: “Judah had deceived his father with the kid in whose blood he immersed Joseph’s coat.”20 In this regard, one should recall that in Genesis and the oral Jewish tradition Judah and Joseph are considered the leading forces of the Jewish people and are often contrasted one to another.21 Professor Aleksander Lopukhin remarks: “Tradition says that the suggestion to kill Joseph came from either Simeon and Levi (cf. the bloodshed in Shechem) or from Simeon alone; in the latter case this also explains why it was Simeon who Joseph left as a hostage in Egypt
(Gen 42:24).”22 Also, quite possibly there could be a conspiracy of Jacob and Judah and/or Simeon and/or Levi: if Joseph managed to find the brothers, they would cast him into a pit or sell him to slavery and bring to the father his bloodstained robe, thus causing the father to react the way he did. Once again, for Jacob and his sons it could seem as the only proper response to Joseph’s “idolatry,” which could turn God’s grace away from the house of Jacob.

Joseph in Egypt and his treatment of his brothers

When Joseph was a high-ranking person in Egypt, he named his firstborn “Manasseh, for ‘God has caused me to forget all my toil and all in my father’s house.’” (Gen 41:51). Why not just brothers? “All my father’s house” also includes the father himself. Maybe Joseph felt offended by his father because of being sent to this risky venture of finding his brothers? This would also explain why during nine years after being released from prison Joseph did not attempt to contact Jacob. The behavior of Joseph after his brothers came to Egypt is no less strange than the previous events after his second dream. Ten brothers who sold Joseph now came to him. Jacob did not permit the youngest one, Benjamin, to go with them to Egypt. Joseph asks the brothers whether they have a father and a brother; they tell him the detail (Gen 42:1–13). Thereafter Joseph accuses them of espionage, keeps Simeon in prison, and sends the other brothers home with the command to bring him Benjamin. He says that without the eleventh brother they will not receive either Simeon or grain next time (Gen 42:14–20).

Jewish commentators say that Joseph wanted to realize the two dreams, which were as a blueprint from God, so that its implementation would help the house of Jacob. That is why for the realization of the first dream the eleventh brother had to bow to Joseph too.23 However, Joseph could not realize the second dream under any circumstances. Even if Jacob would prostrate himself to him, his mother wouldn’t. And it is doubtful that Joseph would substitute Bilhah for his mother, as some commentators suggest. Thus, Joseph keeps Simeon in order to make the brothers bring Benjamin. After they return with Benjamin, Joseph orders his servants to put his goblet in Benjamin’s sack. His purpose is to accuse Benjamin of theft and keep him in Egypt (Gen 44:1–17). Some commentators, again in the context of Joseph’s dreams and their realization, suggest that for Joseph this was the way to implement his second dream. The point is that if Joseph would keep Benjamin as his slave, this would force Jacob to come to Joseph in order to liberate Benjamin. However, such an artful plan is completely superfluous. Further events demonstrate that Joseph could simply tell his brothers to go bring his father (Gen 45:13). On the other hand, if Jacob learned about Benjamin’s slavery, he could die and would never come to Egypt. Also, even if Jacob would come to Egypt to liberate Benjamin, would he also bring Bilhah with him? She is of no use in rescuing Benjamin from slavery. Thus, the suggestion that for Joseph this was the way of implementing his second dream obviously falls short.

Another interpretation is that Joseph is testing his brothers’ attitude toward Benjamin. This interpretation, however, does not take into account that this “test” of the brothers was absolutely merciless to Jacob, who would suffer the most because of this pseudo-trial. The reader of the Bible should ask: what is the attitude of Joseph toward his father at the moment when his brothers come to Egypt? If Joseph has no grudge against Jacob but only warm filial feelings, why does he inflict two crushing blows to the mental (and physical) health of his father? First, one of Jacob’s sons does not return from Egypt, being enslaved there. What would Jacob feel upon hearing about the slavery of Simeon? The second blow is even worse: the entire house of Jacob could die of starvation if the father refuses to permit Benjamin to go to the “ruler” of Egypt who has already imprisoned Simeon. In other words, Joseph gives to his father a hard choice: either die of starvation or run the risk of losing the second beloved son, the last one from Rachel.

Why torture his old and innocent father? These decisions look like revenge rather than love. Let us recall that the initial intention of Joseph was even more terrible: to keep all brothers in prison except the one to be sent to fetch Benjamin (Gen 42:16). Such a message could be insufferable for Jacob. After three days of consideration Joseph probably reaches the same conclusion and softens his requirements (Gen 42:17–19).

If Joseph had no grudge against Jacob, however, he would not resort to these tortures. Any “trials” of the brothers are not worth the tears of the old father, especially while the entire house of Jacob is threatened by famine. Indeed, Joseph could easily disclose himself to his brothers at once and ask them to bring their father and the entire family, just as he did eventually (Gen 45:3–13). Yet, Joseph does not do that.

The fact that Joseph deliberately neglects the feelings of his father is confirmed by the words of Judah:

And we said to my lord, ‘The boy cannot leave his father, for if he leaves his father, he will die.’ And you said to your servants, ‘If your youngest brother does not come down with you, you will not see my face again.’ (Gen 44:22–23)

Joseph would rather save Benjamin than Jacob’s health or even life.

The wording of Joseph’s sentence is also remarkable: “The man in whose possession the goblet was found he shall be my slave, but as for you, go up in peace to your father.” (Gen 44:17)In other words, “Now Benjamin will remain here, and you may go to your father. Good-bye!” Joseph does not say that they should return with their father, nor indeed whether they may return at all. He seemingly has no interest in this. Such manipulations are too complicated and cruel toward Jacob to be performed only to “test” the brothers. It seems that Joseph wants only Benjamin. Why? Maybe because only Benjamin was not guilty in his sufferings, whereas Joseph believed that the father and the ten brothers shared this guilt. That’s why he felt offended by them and would like to see face to face only the guiltless one. At the same time, Joseph ordered his servants to fill the sacks of his brothers with food and money (Gen 44:1). However, it may be

that his thinking was: “Well, you and my father sold me; that means, you don’t need me. Okay, let’s live separately; I give you food and money and wish you good luck.”

Joseph’s behavior changed only after Judah expressed his willingness to sacrifice himself for Benjamin (Gen 44:18–34). Only after that does Joseph reveal himself to them and ask “Is my father still alive?” (Gen 45:3). Why does Joseph ask this just after Judah said that the father is alive? It looks like only now does Joseph accept his father again by calling him “my father,” and he finally forgives everybody. Only now does Joseph begin to hasten his brothers to bring their father to Egypt. This suggests that until this moment he did not plan to move his father there and needed only Benjamin.

Joseph’s grievance could also have obstructed his understanding of the truth that he tells his brothers immediately after giving them pardon: everything comes from God, so don’t be sad (Gen 45:5–8). Joseph could understand this clearly only after freeing himself from the grievance that did not let God’s revelation come to him.

It is noteworthy that when Jacob dies, the brothers become frightened of Joseph’s revenge and send him a message asking him to forgive them. Later on they say to him that they are his slaves; however, Joseph’s reply is: “Do not be afraid! For am I in the place of God?” (Gen 50:19).24 He could have said “Don’t be afraid, for I fear God and will do nothing to you.” Rather, he says, “I am not in the place of God, responding to a question they didn’t ask, yet not denying an idolatrous bent.

Interpretation of the second dream

As to the second dream, it seems that it is not related at all to the meeting of the brothers and Jacob with Joseph in Egypt. To begin with, the scenery of this dream is situated in heaven (Gen 37:9) not earth (as with the sheaves), so that it may relate to the spiritual sphere. Also, Rachel is already dead (Gen 35:19) and cannot prostrate herself. There is no special need to substitute Bilhah for Rachel, because this dream is not realized as related to the father as well as the mother. Jacob did not prostrate himself to Joseph in Egypt. When they met the first time in Egypt, Joseph fell on Jacob’s neck but Jacob did not bow to Joseph (Gen 46:29). When Joseph brought Jacob to Pharaoh, Jacob did not bow either (Gen 47:7–10). When Joseph swore to bury Jacob in the land of his forefathers, Jacob “prostrated himself on the head of the bed,” but did not prostrate himself to Joseph. When Joseph came to Jacob with his sons for blessing, Jacob did not prostrate himself to him; instead, Joseph prostrated himself to the ground before Jacob (Gen 48:1–22). Finally, when Jacob gathered all his sons before his death, he also did not bow to Joseph (Genesis 49:1–33).

Only the first dream of Joseph, is related to hunger. The second one has a different kind of meaning. Most likely, it portrays Joseph as a prototype of Messiah, before whom the living and the dead will bow. Jacob, however, could not know this, and that is why this dream could displease him so much that he decided, “for Heaven’s sake,” to sacrifice his beloved son who had fallen into grave sin.

Let us sum up the story of Joseph

The father deliberately sends his beloved son to his brothers for death. Israel and his sons rise against Joseph because he pictures himself as God, which they perceive as a terrible idolatry. It is noteworthy that the key complaint of the Israelites against Yeshua was precisely that he called himself God (the Son of God). For a Jew, such a claim was unthinkable by definition. He was asked during his trial, “Are you the Son of God?” (Luke 22:70) This was the decisive reason for the death sentence (John 19:7). The stories of Joseph and Yeshua are similar in that both were accused of idolatry, particularly that each of them self-portrays as God, although in the story of Joseph this is not as obvious, due to other overshadowing factors. Jacob and his sons knew nothing about Daniel chapter 7, as this book did not yet exist, nor did other prophecies hint that God could become incarnated in a man. That is why their suspicion about Joseph’s idolatry after he dreamed that both the living and the dead will prostrate themselves before him is quite reasonable. It would be strange if they would take it otherwise.

Initially, Joseph becomes a king over Gentiles, whereas his brothers and Israel come under his rule only after 22 years of separation. Israel (Jacob) and his sons come to Joseph because they suffer from hunger and only Joseph can remedy it (Gen 42:1–6). This is a reunion of the house of Israel with Joseph. Does this remind you that Messiah has been initially recognized as the king and deliverer by Gentiles, whereas the house of Israel has not returned to him definitively for 2000 years? The ruler of Egypt was considered by the sons of Jacob [or Israel] as a source of danger but turned out to be their brother and the source of salvation. It could be the same with Messiah. The brothers of Joseph considered the ruler of Egypt who sold them grain a source of danger for them. This is not surprising because this ruler accused them of spying and framed the youngest brother in order to keep him in Egypt (Gen 42:9–20). However, at the last moment, totally unexpectedly for the brothers, the source of danger turned out to be the source of their salvation in the time of starvation. It could be the same with Messiah. Traditional Jews themselves often recognize that in the “latter days” this transformation of “enemy” into “brother” is possible.

Rabbi Muchnik expresses:

What was the end of Jacob’s troubles? Suddenly — again, unexpectedly — the news came: Joseph is alive! And he appeared just where it seemed to be the source of all the latest woes. . . . So, our expulsion will end in a similar way. It is not known how exactly this will happen, but it will also happen suddenly. Salvation may come from where it was not expected, possibly even from the main source of woes, whatever this could mean.25

Those who believe in Messiah know what it means. The similarity of the path of Joseph’s life and the historical path of Messiah is indeed extraordinary. This underscores again that the story of Yeshua is deeply embedded within the life of Joseph, the book of Genesis and the entire Bible.

Of all the famous people of history, probably none has had their lives more obscured by legend and myth than Miriam, the wife of Joseph, more commonly known as Mary, or Miriam, the mother of Jesus. Miriam was Mary’s Hebrew name. In the Aramaic speaking town that she grew up in, she would have been called Maryam. This sounds strange to our ears because she probably has not been called by her Hebrew or Aramaic names in churches in a very long time. Most people’s image of her is as a praying figure in a stain glass window or as a statue with European features. Miriam was in fact a devout Jewess in every sense of the word and we cannot know her as she was unless we understand this.

The first picture that we see of her in scripture is as a young girl who had recently been betrothed to an older man as was the custom of the day. Miriam was probably no more than 13 or 14 years old at the time. This was typical of a time in which people died young by today’s standards. Her acceptance of the angel’s invitation to become the mother of the Christ (Messiah) was a daring act of faith because it entailed having a pregnancy from a source other than her husband to be, Joseph. The complications from such a matter could be endless in her hometown of Nazareth, but Miriam embraced her call with joy. The families of the time were typically large and it was common place to assist close relatives as part of a large extended family. She visited her cousin, Elizabeth, during her one year betrothal period.

Miriam’s life at this early period was directed by the personal prophecies that she received. Simeon and Anna’s prophecies to her heralding the mission of her Son were notable (Lk 2:29 -33, 36 -38). Elizabeth also greeted her calling her Miriam, the mother of her Lord, and by extension Israel’s Lord (Lk 1:43). Miriam’s inspired response to Elizabeth was a Hebrew prophetic word from beginning to end. Excerpts from no fewer than five psalms are a part of it and its message of hope and restoration of the downtrodden is very much in the spirit of other Hebrew prophets.3 A close examination of Miriam’s prophetic word teaches much about the prophetic gift and how it develops within a person.

Miriam’s word began with the exclamation, “My soul magnifies and extols the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior” (Lk 1:46-47). Miriam’s soul and spirit joined together in seamless harmony to praise God for his grace and favor. She rejoiced at the core of her being and her mind and emotions eloquently added to the prophetic word. There was no dichotomy here between the human and spiritual side of Miriam. Like the incarnation of Messiah himself, they worked together synergistically to produce a timeless prophetic word that arose from her experiences and knowledge of scripture. Miriam’s family was of humble means and had seen the oppression by the rich and powerful in Galilee. She had an authentic prophetic burden for the plight of the poor.

When Miriam gave this word, she was an adolescent, yet already her mind was steeped in scripture. Jewish mothers of the time were expected to instruct their young children in Torah and Miriam had prepared herself for the task. The gospel of Luke describes her as a young woman who pondered these things in her heart (Lk 2:19). The word that she gave was a combination of appropriate scriptures coupled with her own words. This is what an authentic prophetic word looks like — the Spirit of God working through the totality of a person’s being and experiences. Miriam was a prophetic woman even at this young age because she had already received the Holy Spirit into her life. God was indeed her Savior.

It is remarkable that God would entrust the care and nurture of his Son into the hands of such a young woman. It is even more remarkable that Miriam and Joseph accomplished this great calling during the perilous times of the first century. When Jesus (Yeshua) was very young, the family had to flee through the Sinai desert to escape the genocidal paranoia of King Herod. The couple became refugees because of their son and were strangers in a strange land. During the flight to Egypt, I imagine that Miriam pondered and thought about the words of Psalm 107 which she must have known:

They wandered in the wilderness in a desert region; they did not find a way to an inhabited city. They were hungry and thirsty; their soul fainted within them. Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble; he delivered them of their distresses. He led them also by a straight way, to go to an inhabited city. (Ps 107:4-7)

They successfully found refuge in Egypt. Was this the story of their flight through the desert wastes of Sinai?

Miriam at this point in her life was anything but a gloriously adorned figure in a nativity display She had to be tough and resilient to ride on the backside of a pack animal through the Sinai desert caring for her child who was still a toddler. Obscurity and hard work were what her

life was about and this was to be her family’s lot for many years to come. Yet, she and Joseph also had the joy and wonder of seeing her Son grow up and mature into the Messiah of Israel.

Miriam was a woman of her culture, and very likely took part in ancient Hebrew dances to celebrate her marriage. This was the custom of the time and she had much for which to rejoice. Can we see her dancing arm in arm with her relatives and neighbors, kicking up her heels in the sunlight and breeze of Nazareth? This historical imagination is consistent with the reality of the times.

The gospels record that Yeshua had a number of brothers and sisters and this is completely consistent with supporting the needs of agrarian cultures of the time. Many hands were needed to do the work and since there was no social welfare, having a number of children insured someone would look after the elderly. Miriam and Joseph had a normal marital life with a number of children (Matt 13:55-56). Joseph chose not to know Miriam sexually until Yeshua was born (Matt 1:25). After that, the implication is that they had normal marital relations. It would not have been much of a marriage without this in their Jewish culture.

Miriam and Joseph had a marriage to be admired, successfully bearing and raising a Jewish family. She became a living example of what a grace-filled motherhood could be as she raised other children who had yet to believe in her divine Son. She had to deal with family difficulties like anybody else. In this way her life gives hope and encouragement to all the mothers of faith who would follow after her. James and Jude were products of this family and they wrote two letters of the New Covenant. This should be celebrated and not denied.

The belief in Miriam’s perpetual virginity is one of the many myths that have grown up around her. She was obviously a family woman and not some sort of a nun. The first written record that we have of the perpetual virginity is in a mid-2nd century apocryphal book, Protoevangelium of James. This book was not written by James and contains a number of errors inconsistent with scripture.4

While Christians may differ over Miriam’s perpetual virginity, belief in the virgin birth of Yeshua is an essential of the faith. This doctrine protects his identify as the eternal divine Son of God Almighty. If Joseph or someone else were the biological father, then he is a mere man who could have been a prophet, but not God. Because of the virgin birth, Miriam is called the mother of God or the theotokos in Orthodox and Catholic churches. Martin Luther and John Calvin also called her theotokos. Scripture refers to her as the mother of the Lord,
and it was from her seed that the Messiah would come and crush the head of the serpent (Lk 1:43; Gen 3:15). This title does not make Miriam a demi-goddess or even a mediator between God and man. She was not the source of Yeshua’s divinity but only of his humanity as his mother. Only her Son could act as a mediator and a bridge between God and man because of him being true God and true man (1 Tim 2:15).

It is curious that evangelicals and protestants who staunchly defend the deity of Messiah have difficulty in bestowing this understanding upon Miriam. She was the human mother of the Messiah, whom all the major branches of Christianity affirm as God in the flesh. In that sense, she was the mother of God. We should all marvel and celebrate that God “selected an ordinary teenage girl this way.” What a great story of grace outpoured into someone’s life! As Miriam said:

For He has had regard for the humble state of his bondslave; for behold, from this time all generations will call me blessed. For the Mighty One has done great things for me and holy is his Name. (Lk 1:48 – 49)

This should be a lesson to all of us about those whom God chooses to serve him. Miriam was of humble origins and considered herself a willing bondslave of God. She may have stood only five feet tall as was typical of women in the first century. She was a picture of weakness in her natural self, yet she gave birth to a Son who shook Israel, and in time impacted the world. This was a feat that great generals and vast armies could not do. Yes, in her life the weakness of God was proven to be greater than the strength of men (1 Cor 1:25).

When we look objectively at the life of Miriam, what stands out undeniably is that she was one of us. Much of her life was obscure and typical of Hebrew women of the period. Yet, she triumphed over her circumstances and successfully raised a large family. There were a few crucial times in her life when she was asked to play an important role as she did at the foot of the crucifixion stake and at the wedding feast in Cana. Miriam always showed up as a strong woman and she followed Yeshua to Jerusalem for the climax of his life and her mission as his mother. It was emotionally devastating for her to see her son in agony on the stake. She finally experienced the sword piercing her soul that Simeon had prophesied over her decades before in the temple. Yet, she hung on as she had hung on to the reins of the pack animal that carried her and her first born son into the Sinai wilderness with Joseph. She did not shrink from her calling and destiny.

Miraim’s life had a new beginning when she participated in the outpouring of the Holy Spirit on the day of Shavuot (Pentecost) (Acts 1:13-14). What a great experience of inner healing and emotional release this must have been for her. Shavuot vindicated everything that she had experienced and suffered. Her son was “departed,” but all those around
her were now her spiritual family. She was a member of the infant kehilah (assembly) who shared in its community life.

Miriam was in fact the first person to accept Messiah into her life and she did so both physically and spiritually. She was also a prophetic woman who probably continued to exercise her gifts throughout her life. The assembly needed a figure and she lived out this role.

Like so many of the figures of history, legends and myths have grown up around Miriam which have hidden her true significance. She was not some sort of a divine mediator. She was not above the assembly of believers, but in it from the beginning. She did have a unique calling to be the mother of the Messiah. Her willing faith and obedience were essential in opening up the doors of the New Covenant Congregation. Miriam, wife of Joseph, was undoubtedly the greatest of Women of the Bible.

There is a strand of ancient church tradition that says that Miriam lived to an old age in the care of John the apostle. It also says that she finished her days in Ephesus where John had taken her to escape from the looming siege of Jerusalem by the Romans in 70 ce. This would be in keeping with the story of her life to once again in her old age be in danger because of her Son. Once again she would embark on a perilous journey. According to the story, she and John did find their safe haven in Ephesus and there she entered into the pages of history.

What a life Miriam, the wife of Joseph lived! It extended from the time of Augustus to possibly the reign of the emperor Nero. Her life was a great human link between the Hebrew Bible and the New Covenant. She saw it all and left her indelible mark on history. She should be celebrated for who she was — a woman of her times who rose to be the mother of Messiah and Lord.

Tyrone Flanagan was discipled by Messianic Jews early in his Christian walk and has always had a great interest in the Hebrew and Aramaic origins of the Messianic faith. Among his other publications, he has produced an allegory using animals to tell the story of the early church. He presently lives on California’s beautiful central Coast and is retired from working in the allied health profession.

Most people are worried about the strange, changing climate, but are unsure what to believe or do. Accelerated climate change is one consequence of poor human stewardship of the environment, resulting from an unbalanced view of our role in the world, ultimately a spiritual flaw. Trying to scare people into action does not work; rather, it produces paralysis. Instead, there are sources of trustworthy scientific information combined with a biblical framework and actionable steps.1

I first make the scientific and biblical case for environmental stewardship. Next, I tie it into material from Genesis Creation stories, sin and the flood, Abraham, Jacob, Joseph, the Exodus, Passover, and Esther, and show that Solomon’s wisdom included lessons from his ancestors. I argue that the consequences of human evil and folly can be severe, but God in covenant with his Creation will bring both judgment and ultimate redemption. Following, I integrate Messiah Yeshua into the image.

This essay is indebted to Rabbi David Fohrman’s close reading of the Hebrew Bible, illustrating traditional teaching2 that that the Torah contains multiple layers of meaning. A phrase in the Chumash (five books of Moses) when repeated elsewhere in the Bible uses each passage to interpret the other.3 This strengthens faith by demonstrating God’s faithfulness in all times. Blessed is the Infinite God, who calculated the end from the beginning! (Isa 46:10).4

The Need for Earth Stewardship

Burning coal, oil, and gas has brought us longer lifespans on average, larger population, upward social mobility, medical breakthroughs, useful consumer products, and leisure. It has also brought us extreme inequality, global warming including adverse weather and health effects, plus pollution and destruction of ecosystems, with their food and water sources. Humans are using resources more quickly than they can be replaced and regenerated.5

These effects will worsen due to a delay in experiencing the full consequences of past behavior, with further damage if humans fail to improve our stewardship. Ecological disasters will inflame political instability and create climate refugees. Such instability already affects America’s food security since our supply chains extend around the globe.

Unpleasant solutions to unsustainable growth and resource use include war, genocide, famine, epidemic disease (Lev 26:25-26; Rev 6:8), or our own extinction. Some optimists think that technological innovation, such as leaving earth to colonize other parts of the solar system, will solve our problems.6 However, many environmental damages are not quickly reversible, nor is Mars easier to live on.

Religion has been misused to justify neglect or abuse of the earth. Christians may hope to be raptured from our ruined planet.7 Aum Shinrikyo, combining elements of several religions, sought to hasten redemption by releasing nerve gas in the Tokyo subways. Messianic terrorism and messianic escapism each have appeal within a number of religions.

In the secular realm, social media prioritize outrage-provoking content and users share sensational false stories more widely than true ones. Several fossil fuel companies promote doubt about science and spread disinformation so as to continue polluting without accountability.8

In contrast, humankind was put in Eden with a mandate to guard and serve (Gen 2:15), for which we are accountable.9 Noteworthy is the Midrash: “If you are planting a tree when you are told that Messiah has arrived, first finish planting the tree and then go to greet Messiah.”10

Biblical prophets do not usually predict the future; they warn of judgment unless people repent. One possible future is a miraculous intervention, another is a natural change. Repentance may be motivated by love or fear. Any of these visions are possible. “[Messiah will come] today, if you would but hearken to his voice.”11

Humankind has sought to fill the earth and subdue it, to rule over the rest of creation (Gen 1:28). Yet humanity has not imitated the One who said “Enough” and ceased creating on the seventh day. We have too rarely seen ourselves as a part of nature and dependent upon it. We have little chance of averting environmental catastrophe unless we recognize that we are not the masters of Being, but only a part of Being.12

Jared Diamond is cautiously optimistic because he thinks we know what we need to do to address our problems. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks illustrated his hope through recounting the journey of the Israelites from slavery in Egypt to living as free people, under God-given laws, in the land promised to their ancestors. A generation left Egypt physically but not mentally, and died in the wilderness, but God kept covenant and brought their children into the land.13

Rabbi Sacks tied the rise of the West to biblical religion, which puts emphasis on the individual, created in the image of God. Yet science and biblical religion may be blamed today as tools in despoiling the earth. Such charge is only partially true, for there are two Creation stories in Genesis.

Evidence from the Tanakh

Two Creation Stories

The Almighty is not limited by time or space. Yet God loves and interacts with his creation in the physical world. The Bible’s two Creation stories convey complementary aspects of reality. In like manner, the theory of light being both waves, which are spread out, and photons, which occupy discreet places, convey the truth about light better than a simpler theory. The right and left sides of the brain are themselves complementary, as are reason and emotion, and verbal and nonverbal modes of perception.

Genesis 1:1-2:3 depicts Creation from a human perspective. It calls the divinity Elohim, which means king and judge. God creates in six days by speaking: creation obeys. God is a builder, and humans, his image, are also builders. God evaluates his creation as Good, and introduces order by making distinctions and separating. Perhaps God’s greatest separations are time and space themselves.

The first Creation account remains important for humanity’s future course. The wave of information technology that brought us nanotechnology, computers, the internet, and smart phones, must and may be followed by a wave of sustainable technologies.14 Humans will be compelled by environmental degradation to end the era of fossil fuels. We can and should transition to renewable energy sources. Yet there is also a spiritual aspect to our transition.

The second Creation story supports a humble and holistic relation to the natural world. The pivot to the second story is through the seventh day of rest concluding the first story.

Genesis 2:4-25 depicts Creation from God’s perspective. It calls the divinity YHVH-Elohim, which adds a relational, merciful, and covenantal aspect of God. All of Creation and human history is one day, because the Lord God sees past, present, and future together. God does not issue commands, yet still facilitates the growth of his creatures.

Creation story two mirrors the end of story one and comments upon the sequence of the first Creation story in reverse order.15 The first account is an orderly sequence in time while the second account is a sequence outside of time. In the first story God creates by his Word, while in the second, things happen through the vitality of God’s essence. In the first story, creation is organized so that things are self-perpetuating. In the second story God is intimately involved all along. The first story limits descriptions to function, while the second story notices beauty. Because in story two, things that were once together long to reunite, it presupposes story one in which God creates and then separates things.

A judge evaluates situations as good or bad. In the flood story, Elohim destroys life which has corrupted itself. In Genesis 2, YHVH-Elohim acts otherwise. It is not good for the man to be alone. Rather than destroying what is not good, God improves the situation by making woman. In the first Creation story, male and female cooperate in raising children and ruling as God’s representatives. Like God, their power is in what they can do. In the second story the woman fills the man’s need for companionship. The man praises the woman as “flesh of my flesh and essence of my essence” (Gen 2:23), where “essence” (עצם) means the breath that God breaths into, that part of man that comes from God and not the earth.

Heaven and earth are products of story one creation, but in story two they themselves become creators, reuniting what had been separated, with the aid of water, to produce new life. Humans and God are midwives to the rest of creation. By serving the land humanity connects from whence it came.

The man is commanded to enjoy the fruit of every tree, except one. One tree is prohibited. Love must be combined with respect. The temptation to eat of the forbidden tree is the temptation to believe that I am the master of the garden, or that eating desirable fruit will make another person love me more. When the woman loves the man for who he is, he does not need to pretend that he is God, the ultimate judge of what is good or evil.

On the seventh day, God abstained from all his work and sanctified the day (Gen 2:3). The extraneous final word “la-asot” (to do) suggests that God ceased one kind of work to begin creating in another way. The Sabbath, a timeless day, continues into the day of story two (Gen 2:4) in which God creates through wholeness. The man and woman live a version of Sabbath in the Garden of Eden in the east (2:8), literally “from before,” meaning before time. For humans to observe the Sabbath is to cease, like God, from creating by artifice in order to begin creating through togetherness.16

Sin and the Flood

The first sin was for us to deny our Creator by deciding ourselves what is good and evil instead of what God had already told us.17 As a result, we were alienated from our sources (God and the earth), expelled from the Garden, and cursed (Gen 3:16-19). The purpose of the curse on the land was to prompt humanity to return to our sources in repentance.18

The curse deepened after Cain killed his brother. God had warned Cain that inadvertent sin (chatat, חטאת) crouches at the door. After being confronted by God, however, Cain called his deed “my willful sin” (avoni, עוני), which was greater than he could bear (Gen 4:13). Before committing sin, one does not perceive its true consequences.19 There is a tendency to
ignore warnings until faced with sober reality (1 Sam 25:37). The consequences of poor earth stewardship repeatedly ambush humanity and lead to regret.

Generations after Cain, Lamech named his son Noah, sensing that he would comfort mankind from the sadness that comes from the ground that the Lord cursed (Gen 5:29). Comfort often involves no longer trying to change a painful fact. Yet not all painful facts should be accommodated; sometimes we ought to address their root causes. Rashi, commenting on Genesis 5:29, cites the Midrash that Noah created the plow, which comforted humanity by making it easier to grow crops. The biblical text suggests, however, that this technical solution anesthetized humanity to its spiritual plight.

Lamech’s hope for Noah used words for comfort (yinachameinu, ינחמנו), work (mi-maaseinu, ממעשנו), sadness/toil (umeitzvon, ומעצבון), and ground (ha-adamah, האדמה). In response, God regretted (va-yinachem, וינחם) that he had made (asah, עשה) man, was saddened (va-yitatzeiv, ויתעצב), and determined to wipe out man from the earth (ha-adamah, האדמה). Scripture, by citing similar words of Lamech and God, indicated that the sadness intended by the curse upon the ground was not achieving its purpose. Humanity was not trying to overcome alienation from its sources. Hence, God would destroy and begin anew.20

After the flood, God gave the rainbow as a sign that he would never again destroy the world that way. Mankind had not morally changed, but God nevertheless granted it more scope for action. After the flood, eating meat and the technology of ploughs and bricks were permitted. Mankind’s task was to come as close to the Creator as possible without letting their power and inventions blind them to their spiritual life. Yet this immediately happened at the Tower of Babel.

The Bible is a book of instruction in all generations. Two principles of objective morality from Genesis 8-9 have been demonstrated scientifically in computer simulations: the need in our world for both justice and forgiveness.21 Why then, asked Rabbi Saadiah Gaon, was revelation necessary? Because, he answered, it takes mankind time to arrive at truth, with many slips and pitfalls along the way.

Popular depictions of Noah’s ark include lions, elephants, and zebras. Animals such as these have suffered catastrophic population declines since 1950. The buffalo, once abundant on the North American plains, was nearly exterminated in the 1870s. Over earth’s geological record, five mass extinction events have been identified. Humans are the cause of an ongoing sixth mass die-off of species.

Periods in the earth’s history may be identified by the different characteristics of rock layers. A new geologic period has been unofficially named the Anthropocene era, because of the unique ability of humans to change the earth. Plastic and cement suddenly appear in
the geologic record, a kind of ruined Tower of Babel. Malign evidence of human activity also persists in polluted air and water.22

Abraham’s Legacy

The builders of the Tower of Babel were obsessed with making a name for themselves (Gen 11:4). By contrast, God chose Abram because Abram was more concerned with others.

After Abram’s brother Haran died, he and his brother Nahor took wives (Gen 11:29). Nahor married Haran’s daughter Milcah. According to Midrash, Abram’s wife Sarai is Iscah, the other daughter of Haran (both Sarai and Iscah mean princess, and Sarai was Abram’s niece). Abram and Nahor intended to build up Haran’s legacy through care of his children and by producing additional offspring. However, Sarai was barren.

God called Abram to leave his country and go to a land that God would show him. God would make him a great nation and one by whom all peoples would be blessed (Gen 12:3). Thus, Abram and Sarai left, and took Lot, the son of Haran.

In the land of Canaan, Abram built altars, rather than towers, and called on the name of God. He was concerned with God’s name rather than his own.23 God intensified his promise of land and children.24

It became clear that Lot would not produce Abram’s legacy. God renewed his promise, but, after ten years without children, Sarai gave her Egyptian slave Hagar to bear children with Abram on her behalf. The verbs, “she took,” “she gave,” and Abram’s heeding of his wife mimic actions in the Garden of Eden where Eve gave forbidden fruit to Adam. Here, Hagar is the forbidden fruit.

Based on Rashi, Rabbi Fohrman suggests that Sarai was angry at Abram because he had asked God what “I” (Gen 15:2-3, 8) rather than ‘’we” would inherit. Sarai therefore sought to become the surrogate mother of Hagar’s child. This plan would be foiled if Hagar was a full wife. Consequently Sarai, by subjugating Hagar, reasserted that she controlled her. This foreshadows the slavery of the Israelites. When you overreach for legacy, and innocent people are involved, those terrible results will have large repercussions.25

In Creation story one, humans were to populate and rule the world. Correspondingly, Abram was promised land, descendants, and that he would bless the whole world. In Creation story two, God brought animals to the man, but none was a suitable companion. God put the man to sleep and built (Gen 2:22) the woman from his rib. Similarly, Abram appeared to have no suitable companion because Sarai was barren. At the covenant between the parts (Gen 15), God put Abram to sleep. His story could have immediately continued with Abram being built up by God through Sarai, but instead she took God’s role, hoping to be built up (Gen 16:2) through Hagar. After Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, their perception changed.
After Hagar became pregnant, she and Sarai perceived one another differently. The Abraham story continues to echo the Creation.26

Our creativity is what it means to be the image of God, but creativity needs to be rightly directed. Eating the forbidden fruit causes creative passion to become no longer something you possess but what you are, which is a dangerous mix-up.27 Classical Torah commentators say that yetzer ha-ra, the evil inclination, or creativity gone awry (y-tz-r, means to create)28 became internalized when humanity ate of the Tree of Knowledge.

The place of Sabbath in the Creation story is filled by circumcision in the Abraham story. Borrowing from later Scripture, Sabbath and circumcision are signs of the covenant to guard (שמר) forever, for all generations (Gen 17:7- 8; Ex 31:16). Structurally, both Sabbath in Creation and circumcision in Genesis 17 are chiasms — the second half of each passage is a mirror image of the first half. In Genesis 16:6 -17:26, Abram is renamed Abraham, mirrored by Sarai being renamed Sarah. In the beginning of the chiasm, Abram allows Sarai to subjugate Hagar, an act not commanded by God. At the end of the chiasm, Abraham circumcises his household as God commanded.

The chiasm’s center contains three points: walk before God and be whole, covenant, and that God will make Abraham very great (Gen 17:1-2). The symbolism of covenant on the male reproductive organ, like the symbolism of Sabbath, is disciplined creativity. If you set bounds, your creativity will flourish.29

Threat and Protection in Every Generation

The Passover Haggadah cites the story of Jacob and Laban as proof that “in every generation, men rise up to kill us, but the Holy One saves us from their hand.” The covenant between the parts has protected Israel in every generation. In that covenant God does not promise to send Abraham’s descendants into exile, but rather to redeem them from exile.

Parallels between Jacob leaving Laban (Gen 31:22-23) and the Israelites leaving Egypt (Ex 14:5-9) suggest that the prophecy that Abraham’s descendants would be enslaved in a foreign land could have been fulfilled earlier. Jacob sought to fulfill the prophecy by returning home. He had been oppressed by Laban by being cheated out of wages and tricked into a marriage.

Immediately after Joseph — the fourth generation from Abraham — was born, Jacob asked Laban to send him away (Gen 30:25). Jacob could have fulfilled God’s promise to Abraham if not for the sale of Joseph into slavery. Instead, the children of Israel made history repeat itself. As one son’s deception of his father with a goat and a coat led to 21 years of exile with Laban, ten sons’ deception of their father with a goat and a coat led to 210 years of exile in Egypt. The Egyptian exile was longer, harsher, and involved far more people than exile with Laban. Perhaps if Jacob had never deceived Isaac, fulfillment of the prophecy to Abraham would have been even milder than exile with Laban.30 The Haggadah teaches that as the covenant between the parts was fulfilled more than once in Scripture, it will continue to be fulfilled throughout history.31

Jacob’s Burial and the Exodus

Elements in the story of Jacob’s burial appear in the Exodus, suggesting that the latter could have been amicable like the former, but human choices made it hostile. Leaving Egypt to bury Jacob was potentially difficult as Joseph was a high Egyptian official. However, Pharaoh gave permission to leave. Egyptian officials and soldiers accompanied the funeral party as far as the Jordan River. After mourning Jacob alongside the Egyptians, his children crossed the river and buried him. The inhabitants of Canaan noticed but did not interfere (Gen 50:7-14).

The Exodus was full of conflict because Pharaoh refused to let God’s people go. The Israelites, with Moses, formerly a prince of Egypt, and accompanied by Joseph’s bones, were chased by the Egyptian army. That army was wiped out at the Red Sea, which only the Israelites crossed. Egypt mourned but Israel rejoiced. The inhabitants of Canaan heard and some determined to fight.32

Esther, Eden, and Esau’s Tears

The book of Esther captures the recurrent, fragile Jewish experience in gentile cultures. Seemingly out of nowhere, virulent antisemitism arises and threatens the annihilation of Israel, but relief arises from an unexpected place. The world cannot exist without both justice and forgiveness, but consequences may be long delayed.

On one level the book of Esther replays the temptation in the Garden of Eden. Haman as Adam has everything he could want, except that Mordechai will not bow to him, which represents the forbidden fruit. Haman’s wife Zerah, in the role of Eve, advises Haman to give in to his desire to hang Mordechai on a tree. Haman goes to the king to put this plan into action. Thinking that the king wants to honor him, Haman recommends putting the honored man on the king’s horse, and wearing the king’s clothes. Haman wants to be king, which for him, as Adam portrays, he wants to be God. This ends badly for Haman as it did for Adam.

On a second level the book of Esther again replays the temptation in the Garden of Eden, but the king corresponds to Adam, because he seeks a companion. Queen Esther corresponds to a redeemed Eve, and Haman to the snake. Esther saves the Jewish people by teaching the king to distinguish between aesthetic good (Esther 5:4, 8) and moral good (Esther 8:5, “kasher”). This is how the original Eve was meant to help Adam.

On a third level the book of Esther links to the stories of Jacob and Esau. Jacob deceived his father and took the blessing intended for Esau. When Esau learned of it, he let out a great and bitter cry (Gen 27:34). This cry evoked justice from heaven which caused Jacob to cry when he met Rachel, not in joy but (according to midrash) in sorrow. Esau’s cry also caused Jacob’s descendant Mordechai to cry bitterly when he learned that Esau’s descendant Haman had plotted to kill the Jewish people (Esth 4:1), the only other place that “great and bitter cry” appears in Tanakh (cf. Bereishit Rabbah 67:4).33 However, relief arose from Jacob’s reconciliation with Esau. Jacob prayed that God deliver him (Gen 32:12), then sent a gift to Esau, putting space or relief (revach) between the flocks (Gen 32:17). This, suggests Rabbi Fohrman, is the revach and deliverance (Esther 4:14 ) that Mordechai knew would come.34

Solomon, Joseph, and Judah

God’s gift of wisdom to Solomon (1 Kings 3:12) is followed in Scripture by the case of two mothers who claimed one living baby. Solomon ruled that the baby be cut in two. The false mother revealed herself by callously agreeing to divide the baby, while the true mother out of compassion for the baby asked Solomon instead to give it to the other woman. Solomon gave the baby to the true mother. Scripture demonstrates the king’s wisdom, but also suggests why he failed to teach his son Rehoboam how to rule, and how God imparts wisdom.

Solomon was like the contested baby. He loved God (1 Kings 3:3), but he also loved Pharaoh and Pharaoh’s daughter. He built one house each for God and for Pharaoh’s daughter. In building the temple Solomon put the Israelites to hard labor under taskmasters just as Pharaoh had in Egypt.

In the next generation Rehoboam thought that kingship was about personal power, the path of Pharaoh, not loyalty to YHVH, and not looking after the people. If his father disciplined with whips, he would discipline with scorpions (1 Kings 12:11). The tribe of Judah followed Rehoboam while the tribe of Ephraim, a son of Joseph, followed Jeroboam.

Through intertextual echoes the story of Joseph and his brothers parallels the split baby case. Joseph was sold into slavery by his brothers. When he became second only to Pharaoh, he tested the brothers, who did not recognize him when they came to Egypt to buy grain. Joseph arranged for his brother Benjamin to be falsely accused of stealing, then decreed that he keep Benjamin as a slave. Benjamin represented the baby of the Solomon story, while Judah and Joseph represented the rival mothers. Joseph even called Benjamin his son (Genesis 43:29). Judah was revealed as the true claimant when he pleaded with Joseph to keep Judah as a slave and let Benjamin return home. Joseph then revealed himself as their lost brother.35

Joseph was a Solomonic figure who tested Judah to show that Judah’s highest concern was for Benjamin. By contrast, Rehoboam’s highest concern was for himself. Consequently, Rehoboam’s kingdom was divided in two.36

These stories teach that a true leader will put the interests of the “baby” above their own selfish interests. The flourishing of humanity (cf. Jer 29:7) within earth’s ecosystems (which humanity actually depends upon for existence) is such a baby. The linked stories of Joseph and Solomon also suggest that God gives wisdom by directing us to remember our origins. One of humanity’s sources is YHVH-Elohim and another source is the earth.

Messiah Yeshua and the Rebirth of Community

It is eleven days journey from the mount where the Torah was given to the land of Israel. Yet the journey took the Israelites forty years (Deut 1:2-3). The journey lasts as long as it takes for people to change. The book of Numbers opposes two political ideas: never, and immediately.37

The task of halting human-caused climate change is intertwined with other large problems. The international community intends to combat climate change through sustainable development goals — firstly the eradication of extreme poverty.38 Third World nations will seek to increase per capita energy use to raise their standard of living. Burning fossil fuels would accelerate climate catastrophe, but denying people the means to escape poverty would be unfair. Switching from fossil fuels to renewable energy is the solution. The sustainable development goals appear to be technically feasible but politically utopian. Recommendations for accelerating decarbonization by America’s National Academies of Science, Engineering, and Medicine recognize that a strong social contract will be necessary. Society cannot be strong without justice, equity, and listening to everyone’s voice.39

This is the territory of politics and religion. Martin Luther King, Jr. addressed pressing issues with biblical language of justice and forgiveness, and of a common fate that unites all. We will either live together as brothers or perish together as fools, he said.40

The Jubilee is a redistribution of land and cancelling of debts every 50 years. Jubilee prevented Israelites from falling permanently into poverty and landless servitude. Otherwise, levelling is obtained with violence and misery. Every few generations the world economic order is overthrown due to the extreme inequality it generates. Inequality in the United States recently reached a level not seen since 1929 on the eve of the Great Depression.41 Under Babylonian threat, the Judahites briefly freed slaves. When they again enslaved them, the Lord proclaimed sword, plague, and famine upon them (Jer 34:17).

The Synoptic Gospels situate the Last Supper within a Passover seder. John’s gospel depicts Yeshua as the Lamb of God who is crucified on the eve of the festival when the lamb is slaughtered. For Paul, Messiah our Passover has been sacrificed (1 Cor 5:7). The Eucharist and the New Covenant come into focus when related to Pesach. The Passover was a judgment upon Egypt which saved and created the community of Israel.

The first Passover symbolized birth. The lamb was tied with its head over its knees (Ex 12:9), the fetal position. Each family that gathered for the meal was to stay in the house until morning, then leave the house hastily through a bloodied doorway. Nisan was to be the first of months, for the Jewish people were being born as a nation.42

Pesach bears a profound connection to the cleansing of the metzora, the person with a skin disease. The Hebrew word for plague (nega, נגע) appears in the Torah only for these two matters. Hyssop and a piece of wood are dipped in blood in the ceremony cleansing the metzora (Lev 14). Hyssop dipped blood is painted on the wood doorposts of the home at the first Passover (Ex 12). To purify the metzora, a bird is killed and another is set free in an open field. At the founding Passover, the firstborn of Egypt perished while God’s firstborn Israel went out free into the wilderness. The blood of the dead bird seeps into flowing water; the Egyptian army dies in the Red Sea.

Traditionally, tzara’at was interpreted as punishment for lashon ha-ra (evil speech), or haughtiness, sins which corrode society. The one afflicted with tzara’at was required to live outside the camp, ritually unclean, for seven days, the same length as the Passover festival. Exclusion from the camp is like excommunication. The metzora experiences a kind of partial death.43 His cleansing ceremony is a spiritual healing that follows physical healing. Modeled on the Passover, it is rebirth into the community of Israel.

Yeshua’s suffering, death, and resurrection resembles the affliction, ostracism, and cleansing of the metzora. The New Covenant in his blood establishes a community that crosses social barriers. It also strengthens Yeshua-followers to reach across social barriers for addressing the changing climate and intertwined problems. The challenges are very great. Perhaps one can do no more than to both hate and love at the same time. Therein lies hope.44

Tzara’at is often translated as leprosy, although each has different symptoms. In Isaiah 53:4, “stricken” or “plagued” (nagua, נגוע) has been identified with leprosy. In Talmud (Sanhedrin 98a) the messiah son of Joseph is a leper who humbly sits among fellow lepers until he is called. He will come “today, if you would but hearken.”

Conclusion

Scripture demonstrates that sinful human choices have consequences in history, but that our covenant-keeping God works through our decisions to ultimately redeem us and the world. Joseph’s brothers recognized that their misfortune in Egypt while purchasing grain during a famine was a delayed consequence of selling Joseph into slavery (Gen 42:21). Yet, Joseph saw that God had worked that betrayal into a larger narrative of great redemption (Gen 45:5-7).

After Pharaoh decreed that Hebrew baby boys be cast into the Nile, the parents of Miriam and Aaron resolved to separate, so as not to have more children.45 According to midrash, Miriam received a prophecy and convinced her parents to remarry. Moses was born, but after three months, his mother put him in a basket on the river. Pharaoh’s daughter came to bathe, noticed Moses, and was filled with compassion. However, Moses was under a death sentence by her father. Would Pharoah’s daughter save him? Miriam stepped forward with a proposal that tipped the princess toward redemption. “Shall I go and get you a Hebrew nurse to suckle the child for you?” (Exod 2:7).46

Pharoah’s daughter may be analogous to the most privileged people today — those who burn the most fossil fuels. Also, she represents humanity, ruler over other creatures. Everyone has conflicted emotions — on the one hand compassion for those parts of the world that are endangered; on the other hand, realism, revulsion of the other, or haughtiness. The message of the Bible, interpreted through a close reading of Hebrew, can tip us toward redemption. Perhaps this is the milk the world needs on which to suckle. Humanity has accomplished in an unbalanced way its Genesis 1 mandate to rule the world as God’s representatives. We have poorly understood and badly reflected the complementary Genesis 2 invitation to midwife life, with God, among the creatures with which we share earth. In the flourishing of ecosystems we will find our own flourishing. We are challenged to integrate both Creation stories so as to innovate and also observe Sabbath and enjoy each other. We are accountable to our Maker, who made a covenant with us and who sustains us. Human misrule brings severe climate consequences for all living things. Yet close reading of the Hebrew Bible reveals that God will ultimately accomplish his redemptive purposes. Halting human-caused climate change and adapting to unstoppable effects will likely force humans to cooperate in unprecedented ways. Torah and Messiah Yeshua’s community-creating sacrifice and New Covenant may provide strength and wisdom to his followers to participate in humanity’s necessary repentance and transition.

Jon C. Olson is a retired epidemiologist living in Connecticut. He volunteers for Citizens’ Climate Education and the nonpartisan Citizens’ Climate Lobby.

What is prayer? The ever elusive, conclusive answer, which perhaps unlocks the door to the essence of what it means to be a finite and fragile human being in relationship with a transcendent and omnipotent deity, has been deemed by many devout practitioners to be worth the search.1

Many devout practitioners have sought to define prayer. Two prominent leaders from the 20th century are worthy to be studied: Jewish scholar and philosopher Abraham Joshua Heschel and Christian Monk Thomas Merton. In the crisis of the Holocaust, the Civil Rights, and many other social issues of their time, both Merton and Heschel sought to bring forth hope by defining the meaning of prayer. Just as a butterfly finds its identity from emerging from the darkness of the cocoon, so too, one finds identity through prayer in the darkness of life. It is at this moment that the voice of prayer arises and the individual transforms to bring forth the will of God.

This article argues that, for Heschel and Merton, prayer is essential for humankind to discover its identity through divine encounter with God. While Merton approaches this through contemplation and union with Jesus, and Heschel through covenantal responsiveness of good deeds and visibility before God, both affirm that prayer awakens the inner voice and empowers a life aligned with the will of God. By studying the definitions of prayer that Heschel and Merton offer through the themes of identity and divine encounter, this article seeks to answer the weighty question of “what is prayer?”

THOMAS MERTON

Solitude and Silence: Developing the Identity of the New Man

Thomas Merton’s view of prayer is a time of sitting before God in contemplation, in search of an encounter with God. Fearing God is necessary in such an attempt to connect with him. Merton described this fear, or reverence, as the “dread” of a believer. It is the idea that before God we are sinners; we are nothing, empty without him. This dread in monastic tradition is treated as the “fear of the Lord,” which is the beginning of wisdom.2 Out of this dread, a person should not be led to despair but rather to self-discovery through an encounter with God though prayer. For Merton, dread lies at the foundation of contemplative prayer which is the next step in a life of prayer. When discussing contemplative prayer, Merton advances meditation, solitude, and purity of heart. These three aspects are rooted in the idea of personal prayer. In personal prayer these are necessary to release spiritual disciplines in the believer’s life; for example, fasting, teaching, counseling, and service.3 Absent personal prayer, these disciplines are not generated during the time expended in prayer, and thus lose their effectiveness. Developing the practices of meditation, solitude, and purity of heart are critical for recognizing Merton’s thoughts on how personal prayer drives action in the life of a believer.

“All good meditative prayer is a conversion of our entire self to God.”4 While meditation requires discipline and is traditionally viewed as prayer of the mind,5 it is much more than a technique used to find oneself or connect with God. It is not just a formula of words or a series of desires springing up from the heart. Rather, it is the orientation of our whole body, mind and spirit toward God in silence, attention, and adoration.6 As much as prayer is connecting with God, it is also about the inner transformation that happens within the individual. In Romans 12:2, Paul discusses this transformation when he says, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”7 In Hebraic thought, of which Paul was familiar, heart and mind are synonyms. Ultimately, this transformation happens as a result of the Holy Spirit working within the life of the believer, during the time of meditative prayer. When entering into meditative prayer, a person seeks to fully orient on God and allow the transformation to begin. The goal of this transformation is to be like Messiah. As Paul says, “we all, with unveiled face beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory — just as from the Lord, who is the spirit.” (2 Cor 3:18) However, Merton underscores a problem should the idea of the imitation of Messiah remain exterior. He maintains, “sometimes methods and programs of meditation are aimed simply at learning to play a religious role.”8 This is where the believer builds off the idea of having this dread of himself before God. Seeing oneself as nothing allows a complete focus on God, and thus, be filled with the Holy Spirit, as opposed to being self-filled. The true fear of the Lord happens when realizing how reliant we are on the Creator. Only when the process of this transformation begins, will a person come to realize “who I am” intended to be, which should be like Christ (Messiah). As Merton develops his thoughts on meditative prayer leading to transformation, Jesus’ statement in John 15 — “I am the vine and you are the branches” — comes into alignment with Merton’s thought on how this leads to action in the life of the believer. In John 15:1-8, Jesus describes how apart from him, his followers can do nothing. Merton concludes that the believer who becomes more like Messiah, will reach a point of detachment and freedom with regard to inordinate cares, doing without them for the sake of higher ends.9 The believer then may focus on the good things of life for the sake of the Kingdom of God.

The instruction to “Be still and know that I am God” is of great importance for solitude in the monastic way of life and its history (Psalm 46:10). Merton develops his thought of silence rooted in the dread of the believer by quoting St. Macarius:10 “It is not necessary to use many words. Only stretch out your arms and say: Lord have pity on me as you desire and as you well know how!”11 Merton calls this time of silence “interior recollection.”12 It is the idea of keeping Messiah Jesus continually on one’s mind. Merton’s description of sitting in silence is awesome; the basic idea is developing the life of Messiah within us. For believers, Jesus is the way of knowing God, which is why Psalm 46:10 is a staple in monasticism. The result of focusing on Messiah is a pouring out of the Holy Spirit. In this time of interior recollection the reading of scripture, specifically the Psalms, is the way to focus on Messiah and develop the interior life. Time of silence is not just strictly linked with monastic isolation, but rather a solitary life is a continual awareness of a person’s poverty and needs before God.13 Merton is fully aware that the monastic way of life is applicable for any vocation a believer chooses. Solitude and silence then are not limited to monks, even if it is more part of their spiritual practice than others. The solitary life is prayer immersion and this is applicable to anyone who chooses to pray. For Merton, his belief is that silence and prayer form a continual loop where one’s whole life becomes a prayer because all the silence is full of prayer.14 With Jesus always on one’s mind, Merton invokes John 5:19-20 to demonstrate how silence leads to action:

The Son cannot do anything by himself. He can do only what he sees the Father doing. Whatever the Father does, the Son does likewise. For the Father loves the Son and shows Him everything He does. (John 5:19-20)

Silence then is not just isolation or “quiet” time, but rather an understanding of neediness and dependence on God through Messiah Jesus, which is manifested through the Holy Spirit. Keeping this ever present in mind results in a life that is all prayer. Merton maintains that we pray in order for God to hear and answer us.15 However, the answer we receive must be God’s answer so that we know what the Father is directing us to do.

As Merton develops the idea of contemplative prayer through meditation and silence, the end result is purity of heart. The initial step is “prayer of the heart,” in which one seeks first the deepest ground of identity in God.16 As we build upon meditation and solitude — the process of focusing on Messiah, and the work of the Holy Spirit — we come to the place of finding identity in God. All prayer, reading, meditation, and other activities of the monastic life are aimed at purity of heart. Purity of heart is the enlightened awareness of the new man.17 This leads us to a fuller understanding of who we are and the world in which we live. For then we are actually now living as the created beings that God made us to be. It is actually a bad virtue if prayer leads someone to neglect the world around them and “escape” reality. A person cannot truly impact the world in absence of a knowledge of self-identity and God’s calling. When this occurs, the new man is awakened, and truly enlivened to live for God. As the reality of the crucifixion stake was present before Yeshua, his prayer in the garden was “not my will, but your will be done.” (Luke 22:42) This demonstrates that prayer then is not an escape from reality, but rather an opening to God’s will being done. This happens when one has purity of heart, as Merton has described.

ABRAHAM JOSHUA HESCHEL

The Living Soul: The Divine Encounter in the Depth of Prayer

Abraham Joshua Heschel viewed prayer as a way to seek God, be known by him, and live a life that sanctifies the world. While he shares similar views with Merton regarding prayer, he often arrived at slightly different conclusions. “Prayer is an event that starts in man and ends in God.”18 Heschel too believes that prayer is an encounter that shifts the focus away from the one praying, and directs attention to God. For Heschel, prayer is defined by God’s desire to know us and our deeds. To pray is to believe that God is actually present to listen, and respond. Jeremiah 33:3 is an example of the faith that is required: “Call to me, and I will answer you — I will tell you great and hidden things, which you do not know.” Heschel interprets this as God’s desire for us to pray and it is through prayer that God knows us. God looks down from heaven to see if anyone seeks him in prayer (Psalms 14:2). Why? Because in this seeking, the one who prays is exposed fully before the Lord. This is how David can say, “Adonai, You searched me and know me.” (Psalm 39:1) In his search for God, he allowed nothing to be hidden, even though God knows all. Thus, it is through prayer that a person is exposed to truly be known by God. Prayer then makes visible the things that are right and gives meaning to our deeds.19 Heschel’s beliefs on prayer are deeply rooted in God knowing us by our deeds.

Both Heschel and Merton recognize the inner transformation during prayer, as a gift from God. This transformation was of supreme import to Heschel as he sought to bring a deeper meaning of prayer to Jewish society and the synagogue. The habit of prayer is not the problem, but the lack of soul in prayer. Creating the habit of praying is important and necessary for developing a life of prayer, according to Heschel. Mere recitation of prayers without the heart engaged, lacks soul, which ultimately lacks life. As a result, this lack puts distance between us and God, which interferes with God’s longing for man where he consistently demonstrates his desire to draw near to us.20 Advancing Heschel’s thoughts on the idea of the soul being engaged in prayer (which gives life to prayer), there is additional meaning in the creation of man: “And the Lord God formed man out the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life and man became a living soul.” (Gen 2:7) God breathing into man the breath of life was not just man coming to life but God affording man the ability to speak. God gives us breath of life so we may communicate with him.

Heschel writes much on the soul not engaged in prayer, hinting that God gave man a soul for the purpose of being in dialogue with him. Thus, from the beginning God desired for man to communicate with him. The next logical step may be found in the popular Jewish phrase: “know before whom you stand.”21 Heschel believes that it is impossible to pray without an understanding of God; living a prayerless life, is to live without God. Another similarity between Heschel and Merton is found in the idea of praying to know God.22 While Merton finds this fulfilled in Jesus, Heschel concludes that our knowing God is in reality God knowing us. This thought was fundamental to Heschel’s view of spirituality:

The Bible speaks not only of man’s search for God but also of God’s search for man. Thou dost hunt me like a lion, exclaimed Job (10:16). . . . This is the mysterious paradox of Biblical faith: God is pursuing man. It is as if God were unwilling to be alone, and He had chosen man to serve him. Our seeking Him is not only man’s but also his concern, and must not be considered an exclusively human affair.23

Continuing with the idea of God giving man a soul to communicate with him, one reads of Adam and Eve hiding from God. In Genesis 3:9 God calls out to man, “Where are you?” It is from this verse that Heschel concludes that God is in search of man and desires to know us. The problem Heschel sees regarding prayer is that the soul of man is dead and distant from God. The inner transformation of the soul occurs only when man begins to pray. However, it is not just the prayer that creates the change, but rather faith in the fact that God desires our communication. It is faith in knowing that God not only desires to hear from us; he desires to speak to us. When God speaks, a person is truly transformed and the beginning that started in man finds its end in God.

According to Heschel, “To pray is to bring God back into this world.”24 Should a lack of prayer lead to increased distance from God, then logically prayer brings God closer into this world and in the life of the one who is praying. This is the power of prayer. It is directly tied to God’s existence. “One who comes to God must believe that he exists.” (Hebrews 11:6) Faith in his existence generates a belief that he can be addressed. This allows us to see him and know that he is ever present. Through a lack of prayer, his realness becomes absent in our lives. However, it is not God’s existence that is at stake here; rather, it is man’s. As Heschel remarks, “it is not God who becomes visible through prayer, but rather we make ourselves visible before God.”25 While Merton would promote this process in contemplative prayer, Heschel believes it is through deeds. Man is not just a spiritual being; rather, he is flesh and soul, thus actions count. In addition to faith, Judaism places significance on good deeds, i.e., doing mitzvot. Man is created in God’s image (Gen 1:26); hence, great importance is placed on doing mitzvot because this allows man to bear the image of God. We can love and care for others because God first showed us how he loves and cares for us (1 John 4:19). There can be a tendency to place deeds over spirituality and vice versa. However, Heschel views both as equally important and values both working together in one’s life. Proverbs 4:23 clarifies that a person should guard their heart because everything one does flows from there. This places importance on the inner life as it will be manifested in actions. Our thoughts, feelings, and beliefs affect everything we do. Heschel believes that when a person prays, that person’s whole life enters the prayers.26 God gave humans a soul; when Adam and Eve disobeyed by their deeds; they became less visible before God. When our actions flow from our heart and are carried into the presence of God, then how can one have assurance they will be visible to God? As Proverbs answers, “My son, give me your heart, and let your eyes observe my ways” (Prov 23:2). God desires that all yield their heart to him and observe his ways. The goal is for God to be ever present in our heart, so that his ways flow out of our life, making us more visible to him. As one becomes more visible to God it allows him to be more visible to us, and thus more present in our world. For Heschel, this is the goal of prayer: to bring God back into this world and allow his kingship to reign.27

Conclusion

For Heschel, prayer was a way for man to not only know God, but God to know man. Prayer awakens the soul of humankind, bringing about one’s true identity. His thoughts addressed the problem he saw in his time. It was not that God was absent in the world, but that the lack of soul in prayer created a lack of God’s presence. Prayer had often become just another
“ritual” in the synagogue. In a time where many could ask, “Where is God?” Heschel’s response was, God is asking man, “Where are you?”

For Merton, prayer was a recognition of our need for Jesus through the concept of the “dread” of God — the awareness that all are sinners before God. He believed there was no greater calling than to sit in contemplation and meditate on the supremacy of Messiah. This leads to a divine encounter and awakening of the “new man” through the transformative power of the Holy Spirit. While not everyone is called to this vocation, principles of contemplative prayer, silence, solitude, and prayer of the heart, may still be applied to any lifestyle by a continual focus on Messiah in all parts of life.

Merton and Heschel imagine prayer as extremely important to awaken identity, and bring about inner transformation that then manifests in outward actions. Prayer should fuel everything one does. In every generation, especially in times of despair, Merton and Heschel’s teachings inspire us to develop a life of prayer which leads to discovering our identity through divine encounter — awakening the gift of the inner voice to communicate with the transcendent, omnipotent God.

With prayer deeply tied to one’s identity, Messianic Jews may apply the principles of both Heschel and Merton to understand what it means to be Jewish believers in Yeshua. While Merton emphasizes knowing God through contemplative recollection of the grace offered through Yeshua, Heschel emphasizes God knowing us through spirit-empowered deeds established through prayer. The words of Yeshua in Matthew 7:23 carry deep theological implications, emphasizing the connection between being known by God and the way we live: “Then I will declare to them, I never knew you. Get away from Me, you workers of lawlessness” (Matthew 7:23).

Both Merton and Heschel taught how deeds flow from the disciplines of prayer as a result of divine encounter. For Messianic Jews this is especially meaningful because as Jewish believers in Yeshua, their identity is found in the grace offered through Yeshua, while at the same time their identity is expressed in the outward deeds of a Torah observant life. Both Merton’s and Heschel’s views reinforce one another: as we encounter God, God encounters us — leading to a transformed life. The table (see the next page) offers more than just a comparison of Merton and Herschel; it illuminates how the disciplines of prayer shape one’s identity through God.

Table — How the disciplines of prayer shape one’s identity:

Tyler Hoose is a recent graduate of the Messianic Jewish Theological Institute, earning a Masters in Jewish Studies, with honors. He enjoys teaching and writing and runs a homeschool cooperative. Tyler recently established a site for others to enjoy his teachings at tylerhoose.carrd.co.

Much of what we know about this part of the world during the medieval period comes from the Cairo Genizah, a remarkable hoard of fragmentary manuscripts, and some printed texts, from the Ben Ezra synagogue in Old Cairo (Fust.āt. ), Egypt. The manuscripts, which are estimated at more than 300,000 in total, are now dispersed across several continents in more than 50 libraries, museums, and private collections. The two largest collections are in the Cambridge University Library (consisting of more than 190,000 fragments, known as the Taylor-Schechter Collection) and the Jewish Theological Seminary in New York.3

The Genizah encompasses a remarkably wide range of documents, from religious texts, personal letters, and business correspondence. According to Benjamin Outhwaite, the collection includes:

large sections of Torah scroll and the leaves of model Bible codices, through more personal, scrappy copies containing biblical readings for the festivals; tens of thousands of manuscripts of liturgical and secular poetry, much of it previously unknown; midrash and Bible commentaries; halakhic and philosophical works, including holograph drafts from Moses Maimonides and his son Abraham; and, quite unexpectedly, abundant texts of everyday existence, in the form of thousands of legal documents, marriage contracts, divorce bills, personal letters, commercial records, shopping-lists, doctor’s prescriptions, magical amulets, and much more of the ephemera of daily life in the medieval Near East.4

These documents help paint, as Goitein put it: “a true mirror of life, often cracked and blotchy, but very wide in scope and reflecting each and every aspect of the society that originated it.”5 The Cairo Genizah opens up details of a world previously largely hidden, and illustrates the complexities, beauty, and challenges of daily Jewish life in medieval Egypt and beyond.

This article explores how the Cairo Genizah provides a complex, yet reliable understanding of Jewish life under Islam, particularly within Egypt, and of society more broadly, during the medieval period through its sheer size and volume, and also in its breadth of subject matter. It will also demonstrate through various examples from the documents themselves, and through interpretation and commentary by scholars, precisely why the Genizah is so valuable for a broad range of disciplines for understanding daily life, and the demands and attentions of those reflected in the texts, painting a much more accurate picture than previously understood.

Jewish Communities Under Islam in the Middle Ages

Under Islamic rule, the three major Jewish communities of antiquity ­— in Iraq, Palestine, and Egypt ­— were granted new possibilities and opportunities. Political unity enabled the freedom of movement, with fewer boundaries to hinder migration and trade, and many Jews during this period migrated across the Islamic world. However, as Benjamin Outhwaite explains:

Prior to the discovery of the Cairo Genizah there were very few historical sources, reliable or not, for the study of the Jews of Islamic lands in the Middle Ages, despite the fact that they comprised the vast majority of the world’s Jewish population at that time. Muslim countries did not, on the whole, preserve archives, and medieval Judaism did not embrace the genre of historical writing. The story of the Jews of Arab lands had to be told, therefore, from scattered references in Muslim chronicles and from predominantly literary or juridical sources; Bible commentaries, works of halakha, and responsa literature could all contain useful snippets on contemporary affairs. The contents of the Genizah, however, preserve the evidence —­ albeit patchy and incomplete, as Goitein suggested — of centuries of Jewish culture in the Muslim world.6

The period of time covered by the fragments is huge, with much of the material predating the reconstruction of the Ben Ezra synagogue in the 11th century, likely arriving with earlier waves of Jewish immigration.7 According to Outhwaite:

The earliest manuscripts are, in origin, perhaps not Jewish at all. They are the under-texts of palimpsests, mainly copies of the Greek Bible, which date from the sixth and seventh centuries CE. The parchment was cannibalized by Jewish scribes probably in the ninth and tenth centuries, who wrote liturgical poetry and midrashic texts over the earlier writing. Eventually these manuscripts ended their days in the Genizah as Jewish artefacts. Other literary pieces may also be dated to the pre- or early Islamic period, including some copies of the Hebrew Bible and the Aramaic targum.8

Although documents within the Genizah stretch all the way into the modern age, the collection is particularly rich in historical documents from the late 10th through
approximately the middle of the 13th centuries, the periods of Fatimid (969 -1171) and Ayyubid (1171-1250) rule in Egypt.9 This reflects the vitality and prosperity of the Jewish community in its golden age, along with the importance of Egypt as an economic hub for international trade, and the position of Fust.āt. as a major administrative center. In addition to the immense time period represented, the Genizah also reflects a wide geographical area, with manuscripts originating from as far east as Yemen, Persia, and India, and as far west as southern France and Spain.

Minority Life Under Islam

The situation for Jews was “both safeguarded and precarious.”10 In Egypt, as elsewhere, Jews walked a tight rope, with competing fidelities and commitments, along with expectations of the local authorities, and the broader challenges of being a tolerated class of non-Muslims (dhimmi). Islamic law protected Jewish lives, property, and freedom, but with certain restrictions. It granted the right to exercise their religion, but also demanded segregation and subservience, which were subject to the whims of local authorities, often leading to “conditions that under a weak or wicked government could and did lead to situations bordering on lawlessness and even to outright persecutions.”11

Jews and Christians were a tolerated class of non-Muslims (dhimmi); however, their treatment varied widely.12 Jews were required to pay a tax, or jizya, to the Islamic state for its protection, but were able to largely live, work, organize their own communities, and govern themselves. As Shelomo Dov Goitein notes, “Owing to the religious character of medieval society, the religious minorities formed a state within the state, by law as well as in fact.”13

Islamic rule also granted new possibilities and opportunities. Political unity enabled the freedom of movement, with fewer boundaries to hinder migration and trade. With the Fatimid establishment of Cairo as its capital in 969, the Jewish community in Egypt flourished. And as Fatamid influence expanded, more and more Jews flocked to the city and its environs, with its booming economy and culture. Many Jews became influential in business and trade, and some even served in governmental and administrative positions as kātibs (clerks), ministers, or even as court physicians.14 Therefore, Jews also had representation within the Fatimid court, not only through individual Jews serving within the administration, but also through the officially appointed representative of the local Jewish community, the rayis al-yahud (also called the nagid).

Daily Jewish Life

One of the unique aspects of the Cairo Genizah is its window into the daily lives of common people. According to Mark R. Cohen, the Genizah “contains more than 10,000 letters and documents from everyday Jewish life, dating mostly from the eleventh to thirteenth century.”15 Through these personal letters, marriage agreements, requests for charity assistance, and other similar materials, we can gain greater insight into what life was like for the average person. Although medieval archives do not usually preserve the artefacts of those often on the fringes of society, such as children, women, and the disadvantaged, yet these are well represented in the Cairo Genizah. We have examples of women receiving and writing letters, as parties to legal deeds, and most commonly, in matters of marriage and divorce.16 There are also significant women who achieved levels of fame, notoriety, and success in business. Documentary evidence of one such Jewish businesswoman, al-Wuh.sha, “records both her wealth and the secrets of her private life.”17

Marriage Agreements

Among the hundreds of thousands of manuscripts, a large number are related to marriage and family life. It was common at the time to have formal agreements on certain conditions regarding marriage. These conditions were inserted and written into pre-nuptial agreements (not to be confused with Ketubot, which are formal religious/ritual marriage contracts). Most of the conditions stipulated in the pre-nuptial agreements favor the women and served mainly to protect them from misbehavior and abuse, and could be enforced by a court.18 Amir Asher explains:

Several Genizah documents throw harsh light on the physical and verbal abuse used by husbands against their wives. This was a widespread phenomenon in all of the Jewish communities, under Islam and Christianity likewise, with no difference as assumed by
Goitein. . . . One of the ways to deal with violent husbands was to write a special clause in the pre-nuptial agreements ­— ‘a behaviour clause’. This stipulation orders that in any case of abuse against the wife, either by the husband or by one of his family members, the husband will be forced to pay a heavy fine, or even divorce his wife, if she wants to. This ‘behaviour stipulation’ had many versions. For example: ‘and he will not harm her nor raise his hand and beat her’ . . . , or: ‘and he will not curse her nor raise his hand and beat her’ . . . . In addition to the pre-nuptial agreements we also find such stipulations in agreements that were drawn up after marital dispute where the husband promises he will not harm his wife. Such stipulations are not to be found in Karaite marriage contracts. . . . These stipulations were not taken for granted, and the courts did enforce it when necessary . . . . It appears that women were also forced into behaving in a satisfactory manner towards their husband and his family, as seen in an agreement reached after a marital dispute: ‘She will not scorn him with contemptuous and derisive words, but be submissive toward him and his relatives’. . . . These
and other manuscripts show that the Egyptian Jews did their best to minimize the cases of beaten wives and of other types of violence in marriage life.19

Unlike within Ashkenazi communities, since polygamy was not yet forbidden, it was also common to find monogamy stipulations forbidding the husband from marrying another wife in Jewish pre-nuptial, betrothal and engagement agreements in Egypt from the time of Matzliach Gaon (who served as Rayis al-Yahud from 1127–1139).20 There could also be stipulations for how frequently a husband could travel or where a couple would live. As Ashur explains, “Women were usually married when they were very young, and in order to protect them it was stipulated in the marriage contracts that they should remain in the neighborhood of their family, and should not move to another town.”21 A number of other conditions could also be included in these pre-nuptial agreements, including details of one’s relationship to in-laws, forbidding a wife to leave the house, and even conditional gets (Jewish documents of divorce), to avoid leaving a woman an agunah should her husband disappear, especially considering the dangers of travel in the ancient world:

Unfortunately, in some cases the husbands were gone for good, leaving their wives ‘‘chained’’ (Agunah) to their marriage. Such circumstances led to adding more stipulations in the pre-nuptial agreements, restricting the travels of the groom. These conditions would define the duration of the husband’s absence and in several cases even ordered the husband to ask his wife’s permission, before setting off for such a journey, or to hand her a conditional divorce certificate to be implemented if he should fail to come back in the agreed timeframe (‘conditional get’).22

Charity Distribution

Hunger and a lack of clothing are another common theme within personal letters appealing for communal assistance. Although biblical texts and other ancient sources discuss supporting those in need, feeding the hungry, and clothing the naked, rarely do they discuss how the poor themselves experienced hunger and inadequate clothing. This is what makes the Cairo Genizah so unique, because it presents a wealth of accounts and appeal-letters directly from those in need, often containing personal details and descriptions. According to Mark R. Cohen:

The refrain “naked and starving” crops up regularly in the Geniza letters of the poor, often associated with complaints about illness. “Your slave is [in] adversity on account of nakedness and illness and lack of food for the upcoming holiday,” wrote a desperate man. A pathetic widow with a degenerative skin disease grieved bitterly about her misfortune: “I am naked and thirsty and have nothing. I am incapacitated, and there is no one to take care of me, even should I die” (that is, no one to pay her burial expenses). These are but two from among numerous examples. Nakedness meant not true nudity but lack of adequate clothing, as it should also be understood in Arabic letters by Muslims outside the Geniza. As we shall see, the level of starvation was sometimes exaggerated. However, when food and clothing were absent or available in short supply, those experiencing dearth expressed their lack in extreme terms.23

We also find descriptions of the diets of those who were poor, which unsurprisingly consisted predominantly of bread:

Normally, the poor had to buy bread by the loaf, which, though considerably more expensive in the long run than storing supplies of wheat to grind into flour as needed, was the most that they could afford. Besides, bread became stale after one day. An impoverished teacher lamented that he did not have enough money to buy even one pound, that is, one loaf of bread. Buying flour, preparing the dough at home, and bringing it to a neighborhood oven to be baked cost less than purchasing prepared loaves in the market. The absolutely destitute received a small semi-weekly ration of two loaves per adult from public (communal) charity on Tuesdays and Fridays, as well as a little wheat and cash periodically.24

These very personal accounts of hunger and need of clothing are vital for understanding what daily life was like for common people of the time. “Material of this quality and in this quantity otherwise does not exist. . . . Only for early modern Europe have letters from everyday life concerning the poor been found.”25 As Cohen goes on to note, “In the light of the information [we have] about the diet of the poor, the cries of hunger in letters of appeal are not exaggerated.”26

Religious Life

According to Marina Rustow, “From the tenth century onward, Mediterranean towns of any importance housed not two but three Jewish groups: Babylonian Rabbinites, Palestinian Rabbinites, and [Karaites]. Each had its own houses of worship, and each its own scholastic academy.”27 Furthermore, each of these groups actively sought to influence the community as a whole, recruit others to their institutions and practices, and raise financial support.

Palestinian influence and authority was aligned with the geon in Jerusalem and its yeshiva. The Babylonian community was centered around two yeshivot, each with its own geon. The Karaites also had their own academy based in Jerusalem, which they intentionally avoided calling a “yeshiva.” Each group also ran their own judicial and administrative institutions.28 Although the origins of each community were rooted in the immigrant experiences of their founders, loyalties soon became social rather than regional, and individuals often drifted between communities for various reasons. Therefore, as Rustow emphasizes, “their competition and jockeying for power defined Jewish life in the tenth and eleventh centuries. Without some sense of that jockeying, neither the medieval Jewish community nor medieval Judaism makes much sense in historical terms.”29

The Cairo Genizah provides numerous examples of letters from prominent geonim appealing for fidelity and financial support, as well as issuing disparaging words against the alternative communities and their practices. We also have halakhic responsa from these various geonim providing guidance and answers to queries from individual communities scattered around the Jewish world. According to Robert Brody:

This competition between the Babylonian and Palestinian centers may be viewed as a continuation of the situation which had prevailed in the Talmudic period, with one significant difference: whereas in the earlier period the sources reflect an ongoing dialogue, with many elements of debate, between the centers themselves, in the Geonic period the emphasis shifted to a competition for influence over peripheral regions.”30

Although the tension and competition between each of these communities was very real, there was also cooperation on larger communal matters, with a localized distribution of charity, collection of taxes and fees, adjudicating disputes, and the election and appointment of leaders.31 We also have evidence from the Genizah of intermarriage between the various communities, including ketubot and pre-nuptial agreements demonstrating a certain amount of cooperation. As Outhwaite adds:

[T]here is a significantly ecumenical character to the Cairo Genizah Collection, which has preserved, for instance, not just the expected correspondence of the Palestinian Ga’on in Jerusalem — who possessed formal ties to the Synagogue of the Palestinians through his local representatives in Fust.āt. — but also dozens of letters (originals and copies) from his rivals, the Babylonian Ge’onim of Pumbeditha and Sura, such as Nehemiah ha-Kohen (tenth century), Sherira and his son Hai (tenth–eleventh century), and Samuel b. Hofni (tenth–eleventh century).32

Although there was tension at times within the community, there was also a certain level of cooperation, especially reflected in the various types of writings which found their way into the Genizah of the Ben Ezra synagogue. Furthermore, the documents also reveal a technological development, as explained by Outhwaite:

Between the period of the Second Temple and the early Middle Ages, reflected in the two great collections of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Cairo Genizah, a change happens in Judaism’s transmission of its scripture. The texts from Qumran reflect a society necessarily wedded to the scroll as the medium for transmitting the Hebrew Bible. . . . In the ensuing centuries, even as surrounding cultures adopted the codex, this necessity was fixed, regulated and formalized into a set of halakhic prescriptions for the copying and reading of the Torah scroll, the only acceptable medium for the recitation of God’s law in rabbinic Judaism of late antiquity. . . . Yet, by the Middle Ages, the Cairo Genizah reveals a Jewish community that had embraced the codex with an impressive enthusiasm, evidenced by the tens of thousands of leaves from books big and small that were deposited into the genizah chamber of the Synagogue of the Jerusalemites in al-Fust.āt..33

Much more could be said of the religious ramifications and contributions illuminated by the Genizah, but these examples will have to suffice in demonstrating the complex tapestry painted of Fust.āt. ’s Jewish community during the medieval period.

Communal Life

Jews organized along religious lines, forming a “Jewish community” with its own social infrastructure. There were clear mechanisms supporting a robust communal life. As Rustow explains:

Jewish communities distributed charity, ransomed captives, collected taxes and fees, adjudicated disputes through a system of courts and legal specialists, and elected and appointed leaders. They also held property in trust and collected contributions from their members for expenditures, such as stipends for scholars.34

Social programs to feed and clothe those in need, along with the distribution of charity, was a major responsibility of the community, as reflected in the Genizah. Outhwaite describes further:

The poor — and particularly the “foreign poor,” immigrants to Egypt who lacked local connections or livelihoods — are frequently encountered. The synagogue was a center for the distribution of bread to the needy, and charitable collections were made from among the members of the congregation. Consequently, the Genizah preserves hundreds of documents relating to the disbursement of charity, the administration of charitable foundations, and the collection of funds. There are also a significant number of begging letters — petitions directed at the community’s charitable administrators, the parnasim — which relate woeful tales of privation and misfortune. Ironically, this imperfect archive preserves the papers of the poor and the working classes better than it does the elite of the community. . . . The very upper layer of society is largely absent from the Genizah’s legal deeds and correspondence, as they lived in Cairo alongside the Islamic elite, and their papers were presumably placed in repositories there.35

Jewish Community of Fust.āt.

During the Fatimid period, Fust.āt. was the major administrative center, even after the founding of Cairo as the new capital, and it remained such for centuries. This placed the Jewish community, and particularly the Ben Ezra synagogue, at the very heart of the Islamic empire.36 Prior to the decline of Abbasid rule, the center of Jewish civilization had previously been Bagdad, and Babylonian influence spread its textual traditions and liturgical practices across the diaspora.

Isolated sources describe Jews living in Egypt as early as the First Temple. However, the first major wave of immigration to Egypt followed the Temple’s destruction.37 In the 9th and 10th centuries, many Babylonian Jews emigrated along trade routes to North Africa and other parts of the world. As the Fatamid empire expanded and flourished, so did Jewish life in Fust.āt. , and many of the Jewish emigres settled in Egypt as the community prospered and grew.38 As previously discussed, during its classical period, Fust.āt. was divided into three Jewish groups: Babylonian Rabbinites, Palestinian Rabbinites, and Karaites, with each having its own respective houses of worship, and each its own scholastic allegiances.39

The core of the Jewish community in Fust.āt. was initially Palestinian and saw itself as being strongly linked to Eretz Yisrael both historically and traditionally, and subject to its authority.40 Its central synagogue (which we now know as the Ben Ezra Synagogue, and the source of the Genizah) was called HaKanisa HaGedolah, the Great Synagogue ­as opposed to HaKanisa HaKetanah, the smaller synagogue of the Babylonians. Both synagogues were located in the Qasr al-sham neighborhood, which was inhabited mainly by Jews.41 The Babylonian community followed different rites and customs, and maintained loyalty of one, or both, of the geonim in Baghdad.

In addition to the competing Babylonian and Palestinian communities, there was also a strong Karaite presence, with many of whom maintained close relations with the Islamic government, and some even rose to prominent positions within the Fatimid court. This gave the Karaites prestige and power in the wider Jewish community.42 Other distinctions were made on geographical grounds, such as the large number of Maghribi Jews, many from wealthy merchant dynasties.

Furthermore, despite sectarian tensions, there was clearly great cooperation as well. This is reflected in the Genizah assembly itself. As Outhwaite emphasizes, “The Cairo Genizah as a collection has managed to preserve significant deposits from the different Jewish groups of Fust.āt. . . . . There are documentary and literary manuscripts from the Babylonian and Karaite congregations, and even some Samaritan works.”43 So although Fust.āt. was typical in many ways to other communities in the wider Jewish world it was also unique due to its proximity to the Fatamid caliphate, and along with it, economic and social benefits. This not only drew Jews together from other parts of the world, but also attracted and provided a platform for significant leaders and thinkers, one of the most prominent being Maimonides. Furthermore, this rich and unique atmosphere together also allowed for greater technological innovation.

Wider Society

Although the Cairo Genizah clearly highlights and holds a magnifying class up to the Jewish community of Egypt and Fustat particularly, and the Jewish world more broadly, that is not to say it does not also help us better understand society more generally at the time.

One way the Genizah has shed light upon the broader world is in the complexity it presents of wider Mediterannean society. But rather than using “Mediterranean” to refer to any kind of historical, anthropological, or economic unit (implying one shared culture across the Mediterranean region), as Sarah Strousma notes, “the cultural boundaries of the ‘the Mediterranean world’ are surprisingly flexible, and at times reach impressive dimensions.”44
After all, “one should note that the Mediterranean basin did not provide group identity to its inhabitants.”45 Rather, as Strousma argues regarding Maimonides:

[I]n contradistinction to the historians who, in choosing this term, have sought to underline the Mediterranean’s distinctive unity, I employ it precisely in order to highlight the diversity within it. Maimonides is a Mediterranean thinker in the sense that he is more than a Jewish thinker, or more than an Islamic philosopher (that is to say, a philosopher pertaining to the world of Islam). In modern parlance, he could perhaps be called “cosmopolitan,” that is, a person who belongs to more than one of the subcultures that together form the world in which he lives. This last term grates, however, because of its crude anachronism as well as because of its (equally anachronistic) secular overtones.46

Stroumsa further elaborates:

In particular, his correspondence demonstrates a concern with a Jewish society that stretched across the cultural Mediterranean world, from southern France (known in medieval Jewish texts as “Provence”) to Baghdad, and as far south as the Yemen. It seems that in 1174 Maimonides was appointed head of the Jewish community of Cairo (rais al-yahud), an appointment that gave an official administrative frame to his authority among the Jews of Egypt as well as over the Jewish communities of Palestine and Yemen.47

Therefore, Stroumsa is arguing more broadly that the Genizah illuminates a Mediterranean world that emphasizes diversity rather than unity, a society that is more ‘cosmopolitan’ or ‘multi-cultural.’ This is supported by what we know of the Arabic-speaking world, particularly the exposure to so many classic works through translation. This would especially account for the surprisingly large number of Islamic documents found in the Genizah: tax receipts, rescripts issued by the chanceries, and petitions to the Fatimid and Ayyubid rulers.48 However, there is one additional reason we find such a large number of Islamic documents. As Outhwaite explains:

The preservation of such documents, written in Arabic script and many having no relation to Jewish affairs at all, might call into question the entire manner in which the Genizah was assembled in the Middle Ages. However, in most cases it is possible to see why the material ended up in the Collection. Even with the adoption and large-scale production of paper in Egypt — from the tenth century onwards, paper tends to replace parchment for most purposes . . . [and] writing materials were valued to the extent that a single sheet would invariably be used more than once. The Islamic chancery’s long paper documents were attractive for later writers, who cut them up and wrote on the back, in the margins, and even between the widely spaced lines of Arabic. The head of the Palestinian community in Fustat in the first half of the eleventh century — Efraim ben Shemarya, a wealthy businessman — frequently takes Arabic documents for his own writings and drafts of letters, demonstrating that the medieval vogue for recycling was not just the preserve of the poor. Indeed, it is evident throughout the Cairo Genizah, and the reuse of manuscripts — from Bible leaves through to letters of the ge’onim — by children practising their alef-bet suggests that the storeroom may have served to provide writing materials for those who studied in the synagogue too.49

Although we often emphasize the Jewish orientation of the Cairo Genizah, its contents also help us better understand society more generally at the time. Through its documents we discover a diverse Mediterranean world that is much more cosmopolitan and multi-cultural than expected. Of course we must be careful not to make too many modern associations with those terms, but it can still be helpful in envisioning a Mediterranean world that is much more in-touch and aware.

Conclusion

We can confidently echo Goitein in saying that the contents of the Genizah provide, “a true mirror of life, often cracked and blotchy, but very wide in scope and reflecting each and every aspect of the society that originated it.”50 The Cairo Genizah provides a complex, yet reliable, understanding of Jewish life under Islam, particularly within Egypt, and helps us better understand society more broadly, during the medieval period. Although not without imperfections, the Genizah’s enormous and broad collection provides exhaustive evidence of daily life.51 Outhwaite sums it up well in stating:

It has preserved literary treasures on an incredible scale, but for the historian of the political, economic, or social history of the Jewish communities of the Islamic world it is the rigorous legal deeds, the discursive letters, and the detailed commercial records that provide the greatest and rarest insights. . . . [F]ew would question the astounding impact that the discovery has had on our knowledge of the medieval Jewish world.52

Through its sheer size and volume, and also in its breadth of subject matter, the Cairo Genizah reveals details of a world previously largely hidden, and illustrates the complexities, beauty, and challenges of daily Jewish life in medieval Egypt and beyond.

Joshua Brumbach (DHL, Spertus Institute) serves as Senior Rabbi of Congregation Simchat Yisrael in West Haven, CT, President of the Messianic Jewish Rabbinical Council, Associate Professor of Jewish Studies at Messianic Jewish Theological Institute, and Adjunct Professor of Jewish Studies at The King’s University.

For Further Study

Ashur, Amir. “Protecting the Wife’s Rights in Marriage as Reflected in Pre-Nuptials and Marriage Contracts from the Cairo Genizah and Parallel Arabic Sources,” Religion Compass 6.8.

Bareket, Elinoar. Fustat on the Nile: The Jewish Elite in Medieval Egypt. Brill, 1999.

Brody, Robert. The Geonim of Babylonia and the Shaping of Medieval Jewish Culture. Yale University Press, 2013.

Cohen, Mark R. “Feeding the Poor and Clothing the Naked: the Cairo Genizah,” The Journal of Interdisciplinary History 35:3 (2005).

________. Under Crescent & Cross: The Jews in the Middle Ages. Princeton University Press, 1994.

Ehrlich, Uri and Ruth Langer. “The Earliest Texts of Birkat Haminim.” Hebrew Union College Annual, vol. LXXVI (2005): 63-112.

Goitein, Shelomo Dov. A Mediterranean Society: The Jewish Communities of the World as Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza. Volume II: The Community. University of California Press, 1971.

________. “The documents of the Cairo Geniza as a Source for Mediterranean Social History,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 80:2 (1960).

Outhwaite, Benjamin. “The Genizah as a source for Jewish history,” in Dean Phillip Bell (ed.), The Routledge Companion to Jewish History and Historiography. Routledge, 2019.

________. “The Sefer Torah and Jewish Orthodoxy in the Islamic Middle Ages,” in Bradford A. Anderson (ed.), From Scrolls to Scrolling: Sacred Texts, Materiality, and Dynamic Media Cultures. De Gruyter, 2020.

Rustow, Marina. Heresy and the Politics of Community: The Jews of the Fatimid Caliphate. Cornell University Press, 2008.

________. “Jews and Muslims in the Eastern Islamic World,” in Abdelwahab Meddeb and Benjamin Stora (eds), A history of Jewish-Muslim Relations: From the Origins to the Present Day. Princeton University Press, 2013.

Stillman, Norman A. “The non-Muslim communities: the Jewish community,” in Carl F. Petry (ed.), The Cambridge History of Egypt. Cambridge University Press, 1998.

Stroumsa, Sarah. Maimonides in his World: Portrait of a Mediterranean Thinker. Princeton University Press, 2009.

Summary

Brian Crawford’s new book represents the fruit of several years of thinking about Jewish apologetics. It comes with hearty endorsements from Richard Harvey, Darrell Bock, Mitch Glaser and others who are known to many readers of Kesher, and also from an Orthodox Jew who is not a follower of Yeshua. The level of research and argumentation goes well beyond that of many others who are also engaged in Jewish apologetics. In Crawford’s own words:

[This book] is an exploration of the nature of God as he has been understood in Greek philosophy, Orthodox Judaism, and Christianity. The book seeks to depict how Orthodox Jewish theology came to be, how it has departed from Scripture and science, and why the Incarnation, as articulated by Chalcedon, is the best solution to the unanswered questions in the Hebrew Scriptures.1

The three main sections are first, “Part I: Setting the Stage for the Incarnation,” which delves into God’s attributes and Jewish precedents for incarnational thinking. Here Crawford explores recent scholarship both Jewish and non-Jewish on the subject of the “embodiment of God,” and the varieties that this idea took. Part II is “A Critique of Non-Incarnational Maimonidean and Kabbalistic Thought,” which forms the heart of the book. This part consists of first, a close analysis of Maimonides and the Greek philosophical background to his “Non-Incarnational” (Crawford’s term) theology. Second, Lurianic Kabbalah is examined in the same way regarding its indebtedness to non-Jewish philosophy. Crawford offers an assessment of both systems, concluding that on the subject of the incarnation, they owe far more to various streams of Greek philosophy than to Scripture. Finally, in Part III (“The Incarnation of the Son of God”), Crawford moves into the New Testament’s portrayal of divine incarnation. Here we find sections on the New Testament as well as Chalcedon and the creeds. The aim of this part is to look into “the theological model presented by the NT . . . .” and to “assess whether its theology presents a coherent and justifiable worldview.”

What we have then is a kind of triptych: earlier Jewish views that divine embodiment was a real phenomenon; presentation of the sea change that happened with the Maimonidean and Kabbalistic systems; and the incarnation as presented in the New Testament and beyond.

According to Crawford, the audience of the book is quite broad; it is written for Messianic Jews, Gentile Christians, Orthodox Jews, and scholars of Maimonides and Kabbalah.

Detailed Description

In the Introduction (which is also Chapter 1), Crawford presents some terms of the debate. Prior to medieval times, many Jews (including the sages and rabbis) believed that God has a body. Beginning in the middle ages, however, and particularly with Maimonides, the mainstream Jewish view shifted to the idea that God is incorporeal. The idea that Jews once conceived of God as embodied is no doubt startling to modern Jews regardless of their religious bent. Even Rashi, Crawford tells us, believed in God’s embodiment. Yet, as anyone who broached these topics in Hebrew School will know, the current de facto and axiomatic understanding of God’s nature in the Jewish community (as well as by Christians) is that God is incorporeal. Rashi did not carry the day. Rather, from Maimonides onwards, “medieval Judaism took a philosophical turn that reverberates to this day.”

Then we have Kabbalah, a panentheistic view of the world which leads to the conclusion that Jesus was “divine just as the rest of the universe is divine” (at least it would if Kabbalists were thinking about Jesus, which they generally are not!). As Crawford sums up, “If Maimonides made the Incarnation impossible, Kabbalah makes the Incarnation redundant” (emphasis original). He cites Jewish thought leader David Novak: “Indeed, even today one can see the two main options in Jewish God-talk as being either Maimonidean or Kabbalistic.” In addition to explaining the Maimonidean and kabbalistic worldviews, Crawford also provides an apologetic response that seeks to overcome objections based on these two worldviews.2

The Scandal of a Divine Messiah is not for the faint of heart. It helps to have a background in — or at least a curiosity about — philosophy. As Bette Davis once said, “Fasten your seat belts . . . it’s going to be a bumpy night!”3

Let us unpack in more detail what Crawford has to say in Part II. In this large and discursive section, even before talking about Maimonides or Kabbalah, Crawford first introduces us to Plato, Aristotle, Neopythagoreanism, Gnosticism and Neoplatonism, all elements that contribute to the stew that became medieval Jewish philosophy. The outlines in the table of contents are detailed: section 4.1, then 4.1.1, then 4.1.2, etc., like a professor’s syllabus.

The topics pile on fast and furious. When we come to Maimonides, chapter 5 explains his “system of absolute divine incorporeality,” covering his arguments against Christianity, his famous book Guide to the Perplexed, his “Aristotelian-Neoplatonic Cosmology and Theology,” his well-known “negative theology,” and more. Following the explanation,
chapter 6 then assesses Maimonides, affirming what is good in the Maimonidean system before arguing against Maimonides’ conclusions.

Ch. 7 continues by introducing us to Lurianic Kabbalah (henceforth abbreviated LK), a particular variety of the larger kabbalistic system as formulated by Isaac Luria. Here again we have a crescendo of topics. The history of LK is given, its panentheism explained, its esoteric characteristics and “theurgical-magical” components unpacked, its mapping with Greek philosophies outlined, and its challenges to the Incarnation examined. Ch. 8 assesses LK’s metaphysics, offering an argument against its “Pan-Incarnational Panentheism” and critiquing its metaphysics, theology, and cosmology, including how LK interfaces with the doctrine of creation ex nihilo (“from nothing”), and more. The assessment continues in chapter 9 which covers LK’s “history, predecessors, and science.”

The discussion is something of a tour de force. It is ambitious, wide-ranging, and erudite, representing an extended argument that Judaism from medieval times on has been molded far more by Greek philosophy than by Scripture, and offering a detailed critique of two influential systems of Jewish thought that shape Jewish thinking to this day. Indeed, Crawford is not shy about calling the conclusions of those two systems “false” even when he finds positive things to say: “I seek to apply an evenhanded critical method to the doctrines of Maimonides and Kabbalah: keeping what is good and true, and calling for the removal of what is false.”

Crawford’s approach is two-pronged: first, a “historical-textual” approach that draws on Jewish texts of the past which are compatible with trinitarian thought; and second, a “theological-philosophical” approach, with which the book will largely be concerned, and which will help answer objections that the first approach does not address. I do not know how professional philosophers will assess Crawford’s arguments, but clearly he has done his homework and his discussion needs to be taken seriously. I know of nothing else like it.

As to Part III, Crawford summarizes it this way:

After investigating the Trinitarian and incarnational model proposed by the NT, I will compare its doctrine of God with the Maimonidean and kabbalistic models. The best theological model will have the greatest explanatory scope and plausibility, the least ad hoc doctrines, and the least known falsehoods. In the course of this investigation, I hope to demonstrate that the NT’s incarnational model exceeds its rivals in each of these areas.

However, Crawford also moves past the New Testament to the Nicene Creed, and his short discussion here is spot on:

Contrary to the perceptions of some, the Nicene Creed does not represent a surrender to Greek thought but rather a rebellion against the Platonic metaphysics that Arius (and Origen before him) had brought into the church.

In that connection he also cites Mark Kinzer: “In rejecting Arianism, the Nicene Creed took a stand against the common philosophical notions of the day, and for the biblical
portrayal of the God of Israel.”4 This needs to be said as there have been those in the Messianic Jewish community who believe that the early creeds corrupted the Jewishness of the gospel. That assessment, it turns out, is quite wrong, at least as far as trinitarian theology is concerned.

What Now?

Crawford has worked among Orthodox Jews in the past. The question now is how can his work translate into on-the-ground conversations and ministry among the Orthodox. Some questions come to mind that could well be addressed in, say, a future conference in a panel format:

• Crawford speaks about the authority of Scripture only, saying “I begin this book with only the assumption that the Hebrew Scriptures have the highest authority concerning what they teach, reflecting their prophetic status and freedom from error.” How does this interface with the haredim and other Orthodox who normally filter Scripture through the lens of Talmud and other rabbinic discussions? Traditionally, in these communities, Tanakh alone is for children just beginning their studies. But they are expected to “graduate” to studying the Talmud and the commentators. Do we have a common basis from which to proceed?
• As a corollary, the Jewish approach to Scripture has generally been to find multiple interpretations — the more the better. On the other hand, the traditional Christian approach is usually to find the one right interpretation. How do we navigate these different starting points to avoid speaking past one another? Interestingly, Crawford writes, “Maimonides follows Aristotle’s lead in believing that it is humanly possible to find the one ‘correct’ literal or allegorical meaning of a text.” In contrast, “in Kabbalah, the grammatical-historical interpretation of a text is not the meaning of a text, but only the first and lowest meaning.” Given Kabbalah’s dependence on Greek philosophy, could the emphasis on many meanings in a given text be traced to e.g., Neoplatonic influence? I would like to hear more about all of this.
• Crawford speaks about how Maimonides should be re-evaluated in an era that now looks to Copernicus and Newton for its views of the universe. “Maimonides’s cosmology is long dead in an era where we send astronauts to the moon and probes outside the solar system using heliocentric physical models derived from Newton and Einstein. How does the loss of Maimonides’s pre-Copernican cosmology affect his theology?” While Einstein gets a brief shout-out here, to the extent that he, along with quantum mechanics, etc. overturn or modify Copernicus/Newton, to what extent does the refutation of Maimonides need to be changed or qualified?
• Practically speaking, how can Jewish disciples of Jesus use this material as we engage in conversations with our Orthodox co-religionists (as a lover of history, I couldn’t resist using that older term for other Jews.). Most people are not convinced by argumentation alone; there are many other factors at work. In fact, in seminary, we discussed whether apologetics was really for nonbelievers or for believers. Does it help bring us to faith? Or is it really something that helps us make sense of things once we have already come to faith?

Conclusion

One factual correction: Crawford writes that, “The importance of history is most evident in the books called “historical books” by Christians and “Writings” (Ketuvim) in Judaism.” Actually, the historical books in the Jewish canon are mostly the “Former Prophets” (i.e., Joshua, Judges, Samuel, Kings). The only history in the Ketuvim would be Chronicles (and perhaps some of the megilloth).

Using a Mac desktop version I found the Abbreviations and Index to be entirely illegible. The Kindle version has the footnotes all numbered continuously except for the beginning and the Appendices. In general, Kindle formatting seems to remain problematic in many cases.

To date, the person best known for Jewish apologetics has been Michael L. Brown, especially in his five-volume series on Answering Jewish Objections to Jesus. Where Brown wrote more conversationally, often addressing his interlocutors directly, Crawford’s writing is a more straightforward exposition. He represents a new generation of Jewish apologists, and we will hope to hear more from him.

At a recent conference, Crawford promised a more lay-level user-friendly version of this book. Hopefully that will materialize in order to make the material more accessible and usable for many. In the meantime, The Scandal of a Divine Messiah is really required reading for all Jewish disciples of Jesus who are engaging with the Jewish community today, and especially its Orthodox manifestations.

Dr. Rich Robinson is a senior researcher for Jews for Jesus. He earned a PhD in Biblical Studies and Hermeneutics from Westminster Theological Seminary. Dr. Robinson’s major focus is on the intersection of the Bible, Yeshua and Jewish culture.

Welcome to “Ogrodowa Street,” a poignant and powerful play based on the life of Rachmiel Frydland, crafted by Steffi Rubin. This narrative unfolds in the heart of the Warsaw Ghetto during the harrowing days of World War II, capturing the essence of human resilience, faith, and the struggle for survival amidst unimaginable adversity.

Rachmiel Frydland, a young Orthodox Jewish prodigy, finds himself on an unexpected journey that leads him to Christianity, severing ties with the world he once knew. As bombs fall on Warsaw and the horrors of the Holocaust unfold, Rachmiel dodges arrest and eludes death for four years. We meet him on a chilly spring evening in March 1943, weary and ready to die, as he smuggles himself into the Warsaw Ghetto. There, he encounters Stasiek Eisenberg, an old friend from Ogrodowa Street, who is determined to persuade him to escape death one more time.

This play is not just a historical recount; it is a deeply human story that explores themes of faith, identity, and the indomitable spirit of hope. Through the interactions between Rachmiel and Stasiek, we witness the profound impact of friendship and the relentless pursuit of meaning in a world turned upside down.

The setting, costumes, and props are meticulously designed to transport the audience to the grim reality of the Warsaw Ghetto, while the fluid transitions and character changes keep the narrative dynamic and engaging. The use of a single tree on stage symbolizes various elements throughout the play, from the woods where Rachmiel hides to the ark of the covenant, adding layers of meaning to the visual storytelling.

As you delve into this script, prepare to be moved by the raw emotions and the stark portrayal of a time when humanity was tested to its limits. “Ogrodowa Street” is a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit and the importance of remembering and honoring those who lived through one of history’s darkest periods.

Steffi Rubin’s masterful writing brings Rachmiel Frydland’s story to life, inviting us to reflect on our own beliefs, the strength of our convictions, and the ways in which we can find light even in the deepest shadows.