Raymond Apple - Academia.edu (original) (raw)
Papers by Raymond Apple
Jewish Bible Quarterly, Apr 1, 2014
Jewish Bible Quarterly, 2017
Jewish Bible Quarterly, 2017
Article by Rabbi Dr Raymond Apple in The Jewish Bible Quarterly, Vol. 45, no. 2, April-June 2017.
Jewish Bible Quarterly, 2016
Jewish Bible Quarterly, Oct 1, 2013
The two major lines of Jewish exegesis are peshat--the plain meaning, and derash--the homiletical... more The two major lines of Jewish exegesis are peshat--the plain meaning, and derash--the homiletical interpretation. It could be said that peshat is more objective and derash more subjective, but this generalization should not be pressed too far. There is a popular notion that derash is a sort of Jewish Aesop's Fables, a collection of legendary material that provides extra drama and color; but it would be a mistake to imagine that the masters of Midrash were mere tellers of tales. In most midrashim there is a message which we can begin to uncover by asking: What idea does the midrashic text want to teach? When we ask this question we find that the Sages of the Midrash were serious philosophers who often used derash to address major problems in theology and ethics. This paper shows how the exegesis of an ambiguous word in the Bible leads in two different directions, with the contrast between peshat and derash allowing the rabbinic Sages to read important theological content into--or out of--a seemingly innocuous verse. That verse is Exodus 19:17, which speaks about where the Israelites were when the Torah was given. The verse reads: va-yityatzevu be-tahtit ha-har. If we try to imagine the scene, we may visualize a large crowd gathered in open country with the mountain looming in the background, apparently indicating a peshat of they stood at the foot of the mountain. Tahtit is connected with tahat, "under, below, beneath." These translations appear to be interchangeable synonyms, and are generally treated as such. (1) However, they are capable of being separated into two categories--"low/lower/lowest" and also "below/under/beneath." Because of the ambiguity of the Hebrew words, the translations of tahat and tahtit waver between "at the foot of" and "beneath." In Brown, Driver and Briggs' Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament, (2) ad she'ol tahtit (Deuteronomy 32:22) is translated as to the lowest She'ol (the nether-world). The Jewish Publication Society of America 1917 translation of the Bible renders the phrase unto the depths of the nether-world; the 1962 translation gives to the base of the hills. Three times, in Ezekiel 31:14, 16, and 18, the text has eretz tahtit, meaning the nether parts of the earth according to the JPS 1917 translation, but the lowest part of the nether-world in the 1962 version, which--probably in view of the parallel bor, the pit, at the end of verse 14-sees it as a reference to She'ol, the subterranean abode of the dead. In that case tahtit is not at the base of something, but below the surface. We thus see that the translation of tahtit varies between "low" and "under." However, when it comes to Exodus 19:17b, the 1917 JPS version translates the Hebrew as They stood at the nether part of the mount. Similarly, the 1962 version reads: They took their places at the foot of the mountain. This indicates--as we noted above--an assemblage in open country at the foot of the mountain: the camp is on terra firma, beside but close to the base of the mountain, with Mount Sinai as an impressive backdrop. This is accepted by Rashi, who writes: "In its literal meaning, (be-tahtit ha-har) signifies be-raglei ha-har, at the foot of the mountain." Similarly, Moses' recollection of the event in Deuteronomy 4:11, Va-ta'amdun tahat ha-har, is understood in both the 1917 JPS version (Ye stood under the mountain) and the 1962 version (You stood at the foot of the mountain) as having tahat refer to the base of Mount Sinai. Rashi adds to his first, peshat-based comment, a second, contrasting derash that the people were standing not at the base of but literally beneath the mountain. This derash is linguistically possible in view of the evidence above that both tahtit and tahat can be at the foot of and beneath. However, Rashi justifies the derash not on the basis of linguistics, but on an aggadah in TB Shabbat 88a (with parallels in Avodah Zarah 2b, Mekhilta Ba-Hodesh 3, etc. …
Jewish Bible Quarterly, Jul 1, 2012
People wax lyrical when they describe the Psalter. Rowland E. Prothero calls it "the whole m... more People wax lyrical when they describe the Psalter. Rowland E. Prothero calls it "the whole music of the heart of man." (1) Solomon B. Freehof's view is: "The Psalms embody the highest ideas of biblical literature ... (with) a uniqueness of mood and expression." (2) W.O.E. Oesterley calls the Psalms "poetry and religion ... hand in hand." (3) Over and above psalms that seem to make music, there are--scattered through the Book of Psalms--Wisdom poems which neither praise, celebrate, nor even complain, but reflect on the meaning of life. Their themes--righteousness, reflection and resolution--are typical of Wisdom literature as a whole. We recognise Wisdom psalms by their vocabulary (wise, happy, blessed, good), by their contrasts and comparisons (especially the wicked as against the righteous), and by their themes (for example, the benefits of practical morality). Their authors are philosophers as well as poets. They weave together the spiritual quest and the search for moral foundations. These psalms join the books of Job, Proverbs and Ecclesiastes as examples of Wisdom literature in the Bible. WHY BEGIN WITH ASHREI? There may have been a feeling that the Book of Psalms should begin with an aleph--the first letter of the alphabet. The Midrash (Gen. R. 1:10; cf. TB Hag. 11b) states that the Torah itself would have begun with an aleph had a bet not been preferred for theological reasons. Later, the Decalogue (Ex. 20:2, Deut. 5:6) does open with the aleph of anokhi, "I." Retelling the history of mankind from the beginning, Chronicles starts with a large aleph. Even if it was considered significant that the Psalter begins with the letter aleph, this does not yet explain why the specific word chosen was ashrei. According to Yalkut Shimoni on the first verse of this psalm, David, the traditional author of Psalms, wanted to begin his book where Moses had left off in the Torah. Moses said, ashrekha Yisra'el (Fortunate are you, O Israel; Deut. 33:29); here David begins with the words ashrei ha-ish. However, it seems that there is a more fundamental reason to begin Psalms with this particular ashrei. This psalm is a Wisdom poem, and beginning the Book of Psalms in this way, prioritizing a Wisdom poem, bolstered the case for the hakham, the sage and scholar, as against the hasid, the holy pietist, placing study and contemplation above cultic and private devotions. It may have been part of an ancient struggle to define the ideal Jewish type. This is not necessarily a revolt against religion but a debate within it. Wisdom and piety are both important, and the question is which has priority. The rabbis assert, An ignorant person cannot be pious (Avot 2:8), wisdom is the path to piety. The happy man of Psalm 1 chooses a life in the Torah (verse 2), studying it in both his active and his restful hours: He contemplates his Law day and night. According to Rashi's commentary the "his" refers in the first instance to God, but once the happy man engages with the Torah it becomes his own. We presume he prays and follows regular pietistic practices, but his real priority is his study of God's word. THE MEANING OF ASHREI HA-ISH Happy is the man is probably the most common English rendering of ashrei ha-ish. Ashrei appears to denote the contented state of being that comes from the directed life. The root of ashrei is aleph-shin-resh, which opens up an array of possible connections with words featuring the same root. Rashi supports the linking of aleph-shin-resh with ashur, meaning a step. He notes that Psalm 1:1 uses a series of verbs connected with stepping or moving: walk, stand and sit. Complementing but complicating this approach with questionable etymology, Samson Raphael Hirsch (5) translates ashrei ha-ish as "forward strides the man." Aleph-shin-resh thus connotes action, not a mere state of being. This approach is found elsewhere in the Bible, for example: al te'asher be-derekh ra'im (Walk not in the way of evil men; Prov. …
Journal of Religious History, 2014
Norman Simms, In The Context of His Times: Alfred Dreyfus as Lover, Intellectual, Poet, and Jew. ... more Norman Simms, In The Context of His Times: Alfred Dreyfus as Lover, Intellectual, Poet, and Jew. Boston: Academic Studies Press, Reference Library of Jewish Intellectual History, 2013. Pp. 350. ISBN-10: 16181122368; ISBN-13: 978-1618112361 (Hardcover) $US54.45. This is a remarkable, stimulating and indeed paradigmatic book. Don't be put off by the heavy title, the untidy book cover and the sometimes tortuous writing style. The work is well worth reading and utterly absorbing. The author is a Jewish academic who was born and educated in the United States and lived most of his life in New Zealand. Unlike most of us, he has resisted the easy option of choosing conventional standards and positions. It might have made him pay a heavy price, but he has not allowed himself to be the mere product of a ready-made mould. He is who he is. That is an Imitatio Dei, since God's self-description of Himself in Exodus 3:14 is Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh, "I am who I am". Apart from developing and defending his own position in relation to a sheaf of intellectual issues--including "text and counter-text"/"text and anti-text"/"text and non-text"/"text and un-text"--Simms does not limit himself to academic analysis but engages in conversation, dialogue and debate with his readers. Hence a passage which he calls "A Dialogic Interruption" beginning on page 167 and involving "You" (the reader) and "Me" (the author) in blunt argument about whether the correct conclusion is that Simms is a midrashist whose book is a Midrash on who Alfred Dreyfus was--not the stiff, formal army officer whose fate was governed and regulated by external conditions, but a thinking and feeling individual who--especially in his prison cahiers--reflects and writes existentially. In the first book in Simms' series on Dreyfus, the author addressed the accepted story of Dreyfus as "a historical man caught up in circumstances". In the present work Dreyfus becomes a person. The bounds, bondage and biases of French society are not omitted, but the author looks at Dreyfus from within, a dimension that history tends to miss or dismiss. It is not a sort of snapshot frozen in time and place. Even that would have only limited value. It is said that the camera never lies, but it does--not just because the product of the camera can be and is manipulated so as to lose all or much credibility, but because the people who are pictured are rarely real people, but rather, just ciphers. What then do we discover about Dreyfus? A man who found release in meditating and writing; a largely idiosyncratic thinker, not one of the great philosophers of his own or any other time, but a shrewd and generally articulate observer on themes as diverse as art, music, poetry, drama, education, mathematics, science--even religion. He was aware of many of the intellectual and cultural movements of his time, though there were gaps in his cultural equipment. Unlike people who are in prison these days, he lacked access to a substantial prison library, but he could dredge up out of his memory and analyse many of the ideas, events and experiences he had encountered, and could read a range of magazines, for all that their paper was affected by the humid climate. Simms has succeeded in the task he set himself--"to tease (Dreyfus) out from his various writings" (302). These writings take two main forms--correspondence with his wife Lucie, which sometimes almost reaches a peak of quasi-intimate exchange, and his cahiers (prison notebooks) filled with both writing and doodling. Not all the cahiers survived: Dreyfus imposed a form of self-censorship on himself. Prison diaries of course have become a genre of literature, but these cahiers are more than diaries. Writing releases the soul of many people who are confined or constrained by circumstances, but these journals are not a form of writing for its own sake or even merely a means of escape from a state of rage and bewilderment. …
Jewish Bible Quarterly, Jul 1, 2011
Solomon wrote the Song of Songs when he was young, Proverbs as an adult and Ecclesiastes in old a... more Solomon wrote the Song of Songs when he was young, Proverbs as an adult and Ecclesiastes in old age (Cant. R. 1:10), reflecting the tradition that Solomon engaged in wisdom activity (I Kgs. 5). Ascribing these books to the wise king (I Kgs. 3:12) gave them status and credibility. The last chapter, Proverbs 31, has two sections, perhaps connected. Both describe clever women, but where one woman preaches, the other practises. In the lesser known section, verses 1-9, a king's mother warns her son against inappropriate conduct; in verses 10-31 a "woman of worth" (eshet hayyil) is praised for her accomplishments in an alphabetical hymn. The chapter faces us with many questions. Are the two women separate and distinct? Are they historical or allegorical figures? Is there a connection with the earlier parts of Proverbs? The first woman is worried about her son the king's behavior, and tells him that kings must have standards and avoid impropriety. Abraham Ibn Ezra believes Proverbs as a whole is about heeding one's parents (1:8, 6:20, etc.): there is the constant address to beni, "my son." The early chapters of Proverbs are the lessons of the father, whom Ibn Ezra believes to be David, with the final section the advice of the mother, Batsheva. Ibn Ezra follows rabbinic tradition in identifying Solomon with King Lemuel, mentioned in the first verse of chapter 31. This seems to be based on the idea that both are described as sometimes acting foolishly. However, if this is so and the mother is Batsheva, it is not at all certain that the queenly advice tallies with what we know about her. We are aware of how she became David's wife but do not have much idea of her thinking. Presumably, any Israelite queen would be aware of the requirements of Deuteronomy 17:14-20; this queen echoes them when she warns the king not to be a sensualist who lives in luxury and neglects his responsibilities. However, though Deuteronomy warns kings against women, there is no mention of wine, which we would have expected in this context. The Torah was certainly con
The Australian Journal of Jewish Studies, 2013
Introduction Loyalty to authority was always basic to Jewish ethics, which maintained that rulers... more Introduction Loyalty to authority was always basic to Jewish ethics, which maintained that rulers and leaders were essential to human society. Without them, there would be anarchy: in the words of the Mishnah Pirkei Avoth (3:2) "people would eat each other alive". The same thought is echoed when Shakespeare, who--as Hermann Gollancz points out, knew rabbinic sayings in Latin translation (Gollancz 1924:294)--says in Coriolanus 1:1 "You cry against the noble Senate, who, under the gods, keep you in awe, which else would feed on one another". Leaders protect society from itself. The standard work on the commandments, Aaron Halevi's Sefer HaHinukh (Mitzvot 71: 497) says that every nation needs a leader, even a bad one, so that the nation will not disintegrate into conflict. Leaders offer a sense of purpose and harness the people to a task: Philo Judaeus, the Alexandrian-Jewish philosopher, says in his Virtues (chapter 54) "The pilot of a ship is worth as much as all the crew". Respect for leaders is both important in itself and a counsel of prudence and self-protection: Jews in unfriendly lands preferred a degree of stability to fragility and expulsion. Monarchy as the Norm In ancient times, few people ever saw their ruler in person, heard his voice or witnessed his glory. The Talmud (TB Berakhot 58a) reported that the people were agog to see the king, Jew or gentile, and even a blind person sensed his advent. A benediction was required by halakhah (Jewish law): On seeing a Jewish king and his court, it was Barukh.shenathan mik'vodo levasar vedam, "Blessed be He ... who gave some of His glory to flesh and blood"; on seeing a gentile king, Barukh...... shenathan mik'vdo liv'ru'av, "who gave some of His glory to His creatures". Jewish kings, though criticised for their lapses, were presumed--in theory at least--to exemplify Divine standards; the Talmud (TB Berakhot 58a) considers that earthly royalty echoes that of Heaven. The Book of Proverbs 21:30 states "There is no wisdom, understanding or counsel against the Lord". However, Jewish teaching and experience had its doubts about gentile kings and deemed them lacking in ethics. Some authorities, reflected in Artscroll 1984:228, limit the benediction for a monarch to "a gentile king who rules lawfully". Monarchy was the norm, but the title "king" does not necessarily denote the supreme ruler of a whole nation or land. The modern notion of nation states had not yet arisen. The word "king"--melekh--had a wide compass and could equally refer to the Pharaohs of Egypt or the chieftain of a smallish tribe. In Psalm 2:2, "kings of the earth" might mean monarchs of other lands or local princes; in Ecclesiastes 1:1, melekh might even be a rich man or land-owner. The word could be applied to a prince, judge, general or counsellor or all of them at once. Maimonides says "Moses our Teacher was a king" (MT Bet haBehirah 6:11). How a man became a king is not defined: Exodus 1:8 merely says "A new king arose over Egypt". A king might inherit the crown. Another king (such as Ahasuerus in the Book of Esther) might lead a coup. The appointment would be by God in the case of a Jewish king. The people did not vote. Republics only became a subject of serious debate in the Middle Ages. However, absolutist monarchism is echoed in a note in the Artscroll Siddur: "Regarding modern-day elected rulers, opinions differ. Most authorities suggest that the blessing be recited with the phrase Attah HaShem E-lohenu Melekh Ha olam omitted" (Artscroll 1983:228), a halakhic device that reduces the status of the benediction. Jewish and Gentile Kings Whatever "king" means, there is a distinction between Jewish and gentile kings, but both had to be obeyed. In the Diaspora, there is a halakhic principle of dina demalkhutha dina, "the law of the land is the law" (TB Nedarim 28a; Gittin 10b: Bava Kamma 113a/b; Bava Batra 44b/45a. Also see Kirschenbaum and Trafimow 1991:925; Frank 1995; and Shilo 1974) (1). …
European Judaism, 2012
For a long period Australia was a British colonial offshoot and its Jewish community followed the... more For a long period Australia was a British colonial offshoot and its Jewish community followed the dictates of the Chief Rabbi of Britain, Nathan Marcus Adler, who, with his son and successor Hermann Adler, brought the German rabbinic outlook to his religious leadership. Over the decades many Australian ministers (not all were fully qualified rabbis) were German or trained in the German rabbinic style, though there was often an anti-German reaction on the part of Eastern European rabbis and laymen. Though many of the ministers were quintessentially British, they were mostly trained under German Jewish scholars at Jews' College in London and displayed the German synthesis of Jewish and Western culture. Since the Second World War Australian Jewry has changed radically both as a result of post-Holocaust immigration and because of the growing diversity of the community. There is a strong Eastern European flavour and the British chief rabbinate is no longer the community's automatic authority. The first Jews in Australia were convicts transported by the British government on the First Fleet in 1787, arriving in Botany Bay in January, 1788. 1 None of these Jews was particularly religious; hardly any knew any Hebrew; but they probably recognised each other from the 'Jewish' streets of London. They did not come together as a community or hold any form of Jewish worship until 1803, when prayers were recited for Joseph Samuel, a Jew who was about to be executed. The first organised community activity was in about 1817, when Jewish convicts were sought out by Joseph Marcus, himself a former convict. In his youth Marcus had been a yeshivah (Talmudical college) student, though he was neither a rabbi nor, despite the view of a Christian contemporary, 'Australia's only acknowledged Levite'. He had come from Germany via England and spoke English with a German accent, but our story does not start with him but some years later.
Jewish Bible Quarterly, 2014
Among the notable features of Solomon's Temple were the two monumental pillars or columns which f... more Among the notable features of Solomon's Temple were the two monumental pillars or columns which formed a major artistic feature of the Sanctuary. Our first question is: What were these pillars made of? I Kings 7:15 states that they were made of nehoshet, a word that the biblical text employs in a rather indeterminate sense: it can mean pure copper or a copper alloy. Nehoshet is generally translated to mean copper, but the pillars are more likely to have been made of bronze, an alloy of copper with a small amount of tin. This material is more durable than copper or stone and was used for various building materials in the ancient world. The JPS translation thus reads columns of bronze. According to II Chronicles 4:16, all the Temple vessels were made of nehoshet maruk, "burnished bronze." The pillars were heavy structures: one column was 18 cubits high and measured 12 cubits in circumference (I Kgs. 7:15)-about 8.2 m tall and 1.8 m thick. They were probably made in parts, cast in clay molds (II Chron. 4:17), taken to Jerusalem, and assembled there. Not only the pillars but the whole edifice required the making and moving of massive materials, which could be handled with relative ease today, but would then have created major technical difficulties. Recognizing the magnitude of the problem, Song of Songs Rabbah 1:1, 5 posits that the stones of the Temple carried themselves and placed themselves in position. Superficially, it seems that the pillars stood outside the entrance of the Temple, although we cannot be sure how far outside the doors they were. In place of the ambiguous phrase le-ulam ha-heikhal (lit. "for the portico of the hall"; I Kgs. 7:21), II Chronicles 3:15 has lifnei ha-bayit-before [in front of] the house, while verse 17 of that chapter has al-penei ha-heikhalin front of the hall. Keil comments, "This unquestionably implies that the two brazen pillars stood unconnected in front of the hall, on the right and left sides of it and not within the hall as supporters of the roof. Nevertheless many have decided in favor of the latter view."
Jewish Bible Quarterly, 2015
A pilgrim who came to the Temple with his first fruits recited a declaration recorded at the begi... more A pilgrim who came to the Temple with his first fruits recited a declaration recorded at the beginning of Deuteronomy 26, central to which is a phrase from verse 5, arami oved avi – three apparently simple words, but what trouble they caused for the scholar and, indeed, for anyone who encountered them in the Passover Haggadah! People familiar with Hebrew grammar might wonder why the translation of these words seems so forced. Here is the Jewish Publication Society (NJPS) translation of the declaration: When you enter the land . . . you shall take some of every first fruit of the soil . . . [and] put it in a basket . . . The priest shall take the basket from your hand and set it down in front of the altar of the Lord your God. You shall then recite as follows before the Lord your God: 'My father was a fugitive Aramean. He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there; but there he became a great and very populous nation' (Deut. 26:1-5). The New English Bible (NEB...
Jewish Bible Quarterly, 2017
Jewish Bible Quarterly, Apr 1, 2013
Australian Journal of Forensic Sciences, 1983
Jewish Bible Quarterly, Apr 1, 2014
Jewish Bible Quarterly, 2017
Jewish Bible Quarterly, 2017
Article by Rabbi Dr Raymond Apple in The Jewish Bible Quarterly, Vol. 45, no. 2, April-June 2017.
Jewish Bible Quarterly, 2016
Jewish Bible Quarterly, Oct 1, 2013
The two major lines of Jewish exegesis are peshat--the plain meaning, and derash--the homiletical... more The two major lines of Jewish exegesis are peshat--the plain meaning, and derash--the homiletical interpretation. It could be said that peshat is more objective and derash more subjective, but this generalization should not be pressed too far. There is a popular notion that derash is a sort of Jewish Aesop's Fables, a collection of legendary material that provides extra drama and color; but it would be a mistake to imagine that the masters of Midrash were mere tellers of tales. In most midrashim there is a message which we can begin to uncover by asking: What idea does the midrashic text want to teach? When we ask this question we find that the Sages of the Midrash were serious philosophers who often used derash to address major problems in theology and ethics. This paper shows how the exegesis of an ambiguous word in the Bible leads in two different directions, with the contrast between peshat and derash allowing the rabbinic Sages to read important theological content into--or out of--a seemingly innocuous verse. That verse is Exodus 19:17, which speaks about where the Israelites were when the Torah was given. The verse reads: va-yityatzevu be-tahtit ha-har. If we try to imagine the scene, we may visualize a large crowd gathered in open country with the mountain looming in the background, apparently indicating a peshat of they stood at the foot of the mountain. Tahtit is connected with tahat, "under, below, beneath." These translations appear to be interchangeable synonyms, and are generally treated as such. (1) However, they are capable of being separated into two categories--"low/lower/lowest" and also "below/under/beneath." Because of the ambiguity of the Hebrew words, the translations of tahat and tahtit waver between "at the foot of" and "beneath." In Brown, Driver and Briggs' Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament, (2) ad she'ol tahtit (Deuteronomy 32:22) is translated as to the lowest She'ol (the nether-world). The Jewish Publication Society of America 1917 translation of the Bible renders the phrase unto the depths of the nether-world; the 1962 translation gives to the base of the hills. Three times, in Ezekiel 31:14, 16, and 18, the text has eretz tahtit, meaning the nether parts of the earth according to the JPS 1917 translation, but the lowest part of the nether-world in the 1962 version, which--probably in view of the parallel bor, the pit, at the end of verse 14-sees it as a reference to She'ol, the subterranean abode of the dead. In that case tahtit is not at the base of something, but below the surface. We thus see that the translation of tahtit varies between "low" and "under." However, when it comes to Exodus 19:17b, the 1917 JPS version translates the Hebrew as They stood at the nether part of the mount. Similarly, the 1962 version reads: They took their places at the foot of the mountain. This indicates--as we noted above--an assemblage in open country at the foot of the mountain: the camp is on terra firma, beside but close to the base of the mountain, with Mount Sinai as an impressive backdrop. This is accepted by Rashi, who writes: "In its literal meaning, (be-tahtit ha-har) signifies be-raglei ha-har, at the foot of the mountain." Similarly, Moses' recollection of the event in Deuteronomy 4:11, Va-ta'amdun tahat ha-har, is understood in both the 1917 JPS version (Ye stood under the mountain) and the 1962 version (You stood at the foot of the mountain) as having tahat refer to the base of Mount Sinai. Rashi adds to his first, peshat-based comment, a second, contrasting derash that the people were standing not at the base of but literally beneath the mountain. This derash is linguistically possible in view of the evidence above that both tahtit and tahat can be at the foot of and beneath. However, Rashi justifies the derash not on the basis of linguistics, but on an aggadah in TB Shabbat 88a (with parallels in Avodah Zarah 2b, Mekhilta Ba-Hodesh 3, etc. …
Jewish Bible Quarterly, Jul 1, 2012
People wax lyrical when they describe the Psalter. Rowland E. Prothero calls it "the whole m... more People wax lyrical when they describe the Psalter. Rowland E. Prothero calls it "the whole music of the heart of man." (1) Solomon B. Freehof's view is: "The Psalms embody the highest ideas of biblical literature ... (with) a uniqueness of mood and expression." (2) W.O.E. Oesterley calls the Psalms "poetry and religion ... hand in hand." (3) Over and above psalms that seem to make music, there are--scattered through the Book of Psalms--Wisdom poems which neither praise, celebrate, nor even complain, but reflect on the meaning of life. Their themes--righteousness, reflection and resolution--are typical of Wisdom literature as a whole. We recognise Wisdom psalms by their vocabulary (wise, happy, blessed, good), by their contrasts and comparisons (especially the wicked as against the righteous), and by their themes (for example, the benefits of practical morality). Their authors are philosophers as well as poets. They weave together the spiritual quest and the search for moral foundations. These psalms join the books of Job, Proverbs and Ecclesiastes as examples of Wisdom literature in the Bible. WHY BEGIN WITH ASHREI? There may have been a feeling that the Book of Psalms should begin with an aleph--the first letter of the alphabet. The Midrash (Gen. R. 1:10; cf. TB Hag. 11b) states that the Torah itself would have begun with an aleph had a bet not been preferred for theological reasons. Later, the Decalogue (Ex. 20:2, Deut. 5:6) does open with the aleph of anokhi, "I." Retelling the history of mankind from the beginning, Chronicles starts with a large aleph. Even if it was considered significant that the Psalter begins with the letter aleph, this does not yet explain why the specific word chosen was ashrei. According to Yalkut Shimoni on the first verse of this psalm, David, the traditional author of Psalms, wanted to begin his book where Moses had left off in the Torah. Moses said, ashrekha Yisra'el (Fortunate are you, O Israel; Deut. 33:29); here David begins with the words ashrei ha-ish. However, it seems that there is a more fundamental reason to begin Psalms with this particular ashrei. This psalm is a Wisdom poem, and beginning the Book of Psalms in this way, prioritizing a Wisdom poem, bolstered the case for the hakham, the sage and scholar, as against the hasid, the holy pietist, placing study and contemplation above cultic and private devotions. It may have been part of an ancient struggle to define the ideal Jewish type. This is not necessarily a revolt against religion but a debate within it. Wisdom and piety are both important, and the question is which has priority. The rabbis assert, An ignorant person cannot be pious (Avot 2:8), wisdom is the path to piety. The happy man of Psalm 1 chooses a life in the Torah (verse 2), studying it in both his active and his restful hours: He contemplates his Law day and night. According to Rashi's commentary the "his" refers in the first instance to God, but once the happy man engages with the Torah it becomes his own. We presume he prays and follows regular pietistic practices, but his real priority is his study of God's word. THE MEANING OF ASHREI HA-ISH Happy is the man is probably the most common English rendering of ashrei ha-ish. Ashrei appears to denote the contented state of being that comes from the directed life. The root of ashrei is aleph-shin-resh, which opens up an array of possible connections with words featuring the same root. Rashi supports the linking of aleph-shin-resh with ashur, meaning a step. He notes that Psalm 1:1 uses a series of verbs connected with stepping or moving: walk, stand and sit. Complementing but complicating this approach with questionable etymology, Samson Raphael Hirsch (5) translates ashrei ha-ish as "forward strides the man." Aleph-shin-resh thus connotes action, not a mere state of being. This approach is found elsewhere in the Bible, for example: al te'asher be-derekh ra'im (Walk not in the way of evil men; Prov. …
Journal of Religious History, 2014
Norman Simms, In The Context of His Times: Alfred Dreyfus as Lover, Intellectual, Poet, and Jew. ... more Norman Simms, In The Context of His Times: Alfred Dreyfus as Lover, Intellectual, Poet, and Jew. Boston: Academic Studies Press, Reference Library of Jewish Intellectual History, 2013. Pp. 350. ISBN-10: 16181122368; ISBN-13: 978-1618112361 (Hardcover) $US54.45. This is a remarkable, stimulating and indeed paradigmatic book. Don't be put off by the heavy title, the untidy book cover and the sometimes tortuous writing style. The work is well worth reading and utterly absorbing. The author is a Jewish academic who was born and educated in the United States and lived most of his life in New Zealand. Unlike most of us, he has resisted the easy option of choosing conventional standards and positions. It might have made him pay a heavy price, but he has not allowed himself to be the mere product of a ready-made mould. He is who he is. That is an Imitatio Dei, since God's self-description of Himself in Exodus 3:14 is Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh, "I am who I am". Apart from developing and defending his own position in relation to a sheaf of intellectual issues--including "text and counter-text"/"text and anti-text"/"text and non-text"/"text and un-text"--Simms does not limit himself to academic analysis but engages in conversation, dialogue and debate with his readers. Hence a passage which he calls "A Dialogic Interruption" beginning on page 167 and involving "You" (the reader) and "Me" (the author) in blunt argument about whether the correct conclusion is that Simms is a midrashist whose book is a Midrash on who Alfred Dreyfus was--not the stiff, formal army officer whose fate was governed and regulated by external conditions, but a thinking and feeling individual who--especially in his prison cahiers--reflects and writes existentially. In the first book in Simms' series on Dreyfus, the author addressed the accepted story of Dreyfus as "a historical man caught up in circumstances". In the present work Dreyfus becomes a person. The bounds, bondage and biases of French society are not omitted, but the author looks at Dreyfus from within, a dimension that history tends to miss or dismiss. It is not a sort of snapshot frozen in time and place. Even that would have only limited value. It is said that the camera never lies, but it does--not just because the product of the camera can be and is manipulated so as to lose all or much credibility, but because the people who are pictured are rarely real people, but rather, just ciphers. What then do we discover about Dreyfus? A man who found release in meditating and writing; a largely idiosyncratic thinker, not one of the great philosophers of his own or any other time, but a shrewd and generally articulate observer on themes as diverse as art, music, poetry, drama, education, mathematics, science--even religion. He was aware of many of the intellectual and cultural movements of his time, though there were gaps in his cultural equipment. Unlike people who are in prison these days, he lacked access to a substantial prison library, but he could dredge up out of his memory and analyse many of the ideas, events and experiences he had encountered, and could read a range of magazines, for all that their paper was affected by the humid climate. Simms has succeeded in the task he set himself--"to tease (Dreyfus) out from his various writings" (302). These writings take two main forms--correspondence with his wife Lucie, which sometimes almost reaches a peak of quasi-intimate exchange, and his cahiers (prison notebooks) filled with both writing and doodling. Not all the cahiers survived: Dreyfus imposed a form of self-censorship on himself. Prison diaries of course have become a genre of literature, but these cahiers are more than diaries. Writing releases the soul of many people who are confined or constrained by circumstances, but these journals are not a form of writing for its own sake or even merely a means of escape from a state of rage and bewilderment. …
Jewish Bible Quarterly, Jul 1, 2011
Solomon wrote the Song of Songs when he was young, Proverbs as an adult and Ecclesiastes in old a... more Solomon wrote the Song of Songs when he was young, Proverbs as an adult and Ecclesiastes in old age (Cant. R. 1:10), reflecting the tradition that Solomon engaged in wisdom activity (I Kgs. 5). Ascribing these books to the wise king (I Kgs. 3:12) gave them status and credibility. The last chapter, Proverbs 31, has two sections, perhaps connected. Both describe clever women, but where one woman preaches, the other practises. In the lesser known section, verses 1-9, a king's mother warns her son against inappropriate conduct; in verses 10-31 a "woman of worth" (eshet hayyil) is praised for her accomplishments in an alphabetical hymn. The chapter faces us with many questions. Are the two women separate and distinct? Are they historical or allegorical figures? Is there a connection with the earlier parts of Proverbs? The first woman is worried about her son the king's behavior, and tells him that kings must have standards and avoid impropriety. Abraham Ibn Ezra believes Proverbs as a whole is about heeding one's parents (1:8, 6:20, etc.): there is the constant address to beni, "my son." The early chapters of Proverbs are the lessons of the father, whom Ibn Ezra believes to be David, with the final section the advice of the mother, Batsheva. Ibn Ezra follows rabbinic tradition in identifying Solomon with King Lemuel, mentioned in the first verse of chapter 31. This seems to be based on the idea that both are described as sometimes acting foolishly. However, if this is so and the mother is Batsheva, it is not at all certain that the queenly advice tallies with what we know about her. We are aware of how she became David's wife but do not have much idea of her thinking. Presumably, any Israelite queen would be aware of the requirements of Deuteronomy 17:14-20; this queen echoes them when she warns the king not to be a sensualist who lives in luxury and neglects his responsibilities. However, though Deuteronomy warns kings against women, there is no mention of wine, which we would have expected in this context. The Torah was certainly con
The Australian Journal of Jewish Studies, 2013
Introduction Loyalty to authority was always basic to Jewish ethics, which maintained that rulers... more Introduction Loyalty to authority was always basic to Jewish ethics, which maintained that rulers and leaders were essential to human society. Without them, there would be anarchy: in the words of the Mishnah Pirkei Avoth (3:2) "people would eat each other alive". The same thought is echoed when Shakespeare, who--as Hermann Gollancz points out, knew rabbinic sayings in Latin translation (Gollancz 1924:294)--says in Coriolanus 1:1 "You cry against the noble Senate, who, under the gods, keep you in awe, which else would feed on one another". Leaders protect society from itself. The standard work on the commandments, Aaron Halevi's Sefer HaHinukh (Mitzvot 71: 497) says that every nation needs a leader, even a bad one, so that the nation will not disintegrate into conflict. Leaders offer a sense of purpose and harness the people to a task: Philo Judaeus, the Alexandrian-Jewish philosopher, says in his Virtues (chapter 54) "The pilot of a ship is worth as much as all the crew". Respect for leaders is both important in itself and a counsel of prudence and self-protection: Jews in unfriendly lands preferred a degree of stability to fragility and expulsion. Monarchy as the Norm In ancient times, few people ever saw their ruler in person, heard his voice or witnessed his glory. The Talmud (TB Berakhot 58a) reported that the people were agog to see the king, Jew or gentile, and even a blind person sensed his advent. A benediction was required by halakhah (Jewish law): On seeing a Jewish king and his court, it was Barukh.shenathan mik'vodo levasar vedam, "Blessed be He ... who gave some of His glory to flesh and blood"; on seeing a gentile king, Barukh...... shenathan mik'vdo liv'ru'av, "who gave some of His glory to His creatures". Jewish kings, though criticised for their lapses, were presumed--in theory at least--to exemplify Divine standards; the Talmud (TB Berakhot 58a) considers that earthly royalty echoes that of Heaven. The Book of Proverbs 21:30 states "There is no wisdom, understanding or counsel against the Lord". However, Jewish teaching and experience had its doubts about gentile kings and deemed them lacking in ethics. Some authorities, reflected in Artscroll 1984:228, limit the benediction for a monarch to "a gentile king who rules lawfully". Monarchy was the norm, but the title "king" does not necessarily denote the supreme ruler of a whole nation or land. The modern notion of nation states had not yet arisen. The word "king"--melekh--had a wide compass and could equally refer to the Pharaohs of Egypt or the chieftain of a smallish tribe. In Psalm 2:2, "kings of the earth" might mean monarchs of other lands or local princes; in Ecclesiastes 1:1, melekh might even be a rich man or land-owner. The word could be applied to a prince, judge, general or counsellor or all of them at once. Maimonides says "Moses our Teacher was a king" (MT Bet haBehirah 6:11). How a man became a king is not defined: Exodus 1:8 merely says "A new king arose over Egypt". A king might inherit the crown. Another king (such as Ahasuerus in the Book of Esther) might lead a coup. The appointment would be by God in the case of a Jewish king. The people did not vote. Republics only became a subject of serious debate in the Middle Ages. However, absolutist monarchism is echoed in a note in the Artscroll Siddur: "Regarding modern-day elected rulers, opinions differ. Most authorities suggest that the blessing be recited with the phrase Attah HaShem E-lohenu Melekh Ha olam omitted" (Artscroll 1983:228), a halakhic device that reduces the status of the benediction. Jewish and Gentile Kings Whatever "king" means, there is a distinction between Jewish and gentile kings, but both had to be obeyed. In the Diaspora, there is a halakhic principle of dina demalkhutha dina, "the law of the land is the law" (TB Nedarim 28a; Gittin 10b: Bava Kamma 113a/b; Bava Batra 44b/45a. Also see Kirschenbaum and Trafimow 1991:925; Frank 1995; and Shilo 1974) (1). …
European Judaism, 2012
For a long period Australia was a British colonial offshoot and its Jewish community followed the... more For a long period Australia was a British colonial offshoot and its Jewish community followed the dictates of the Chief Rabbi of Britain, Nathan Marcus Adler, who, with his son and successor Hermann Adler, brought the German rabbinic outlook to his religious leadership. Over the decades many Australian ministers (not all were fully qualified rabbis) were German or trained in the German rabbinic style, though there was often an anti-German reaction on the part of Eastern European rabbis and laymen. Though many of the ministers were quintessentially British, they were mostly trained under German Jewish scholars at Jews' College in London and displayed the German synthesis of Jewish and Western culture. Since the Second World War Australian Jewry has changed radically both as a result of post-Holocaust immigration and because of the growing diversity of the community. There is a strong Eastern European flavour and the British chief rabbinate is no longer the community's automatic authority. The first Jews in Australia were convicts transported by the British government on the First Fleet in 1787, arriving in Botany Bay in January, 1788. 1 None of these Jews was particularly religious; hardly any knew any Hebrew; but they probably recognised each other from the 'Jewish' streets of London. They did not come together as a community or hold any form of Jewish worship until 1803, when prayers were recited for Joseph Samuel, a Jew who was about to be executed. The first organised community activity was in about 1817, when Jewish convicts were sought out by Joseph Marcus, himself a former convict. In his youth Marcus had been a yeshivah (Talmudical college) student, though he was neither a rabbi nor, despite the view of a Christian contemporary, 'Australia's only acknowledged Levite'. He had come from Germany via England and spoke English with a German accent, but our story does not start with him but some years later.
Jewish Bible Quarterly, 2014
Among the notable features of Solomon's Temple were the two monumental pillars or columns which f... more Among the notable features of Solomon's Temple were the two monumental pillars or columns which formed a major artistic feature of the Sanctuary. Our first question is: What were these pillars made of? I Kings 7:15 states that they were made of nehoshet, a word that the biblical text employs in a rather indeterminate sense: it can mean pure copper or a copper alloy. Nehoshet is generally translated to mean copper, but the pillars are more likely to have been made of bronze, an alloy of copper with a small amount of tin. This material is more durable than copper or stone and was used for various building materials in the ancient world. The JPS translation thus reads columns of bronze. According to II Chronicles 4:16, all the Temple vessels were made of nehoshet maruk, "burnished bronze." The pillars were heavy structures: one column was 18 cubits high and measured 12 cubits in circumference (I Kgs. 7:15)-about 8.2 m tall and 1.8 m thick. They were probably made in parts, cast in clay molds (II Chron. 4:17), taken to Jerusalem, and assembled there. Not only the pillars but the whole edifice required the making and moving of massive materials, which could be handled with relative ease today, but would then have created major technical difficulties. Recognizing the magnitude of the problem, Song of Songs Rabbah 1:1, 5 posits that the stones of the Temple carried themselves and placed themselves in position. Superficially, it seems that the pillars stood outside the entrance of the Temple, although we cannot be sure how far outside the doors they were. In place of the ambiguous phrase le-ulam ha-heikhal (lit. "for the portico of the hall"; I Kgs. 7:21), II Chronicles 3:15 has lifnei ha-bayit-before [in front of] the house, while verse 17 of that chapter has al-penei ha-heikhalin front of the hall. Keil comments, "This unquestionably implies that the two brazen pillars stood unconnected in front of the hall, on the right and left sides of it and not within the hall as supporters of the roof. Nevertheless many have decided in favor of the latter view."
Jewish Bible Quarterly, 2015
A pilgrim who came to the Temple with his first fruits recited a declaration recorded at the begi... more A pilgrim who came to the Temple with his first fruits recited a declaration recorded at the beginning of Deuteronomy 26, central to which is a phrase from verse 5, arami oved avi – three apparently simple words, but what trouble they caused for the scholar and, indeed, for anyone who encountered them in the Passover Haggadah! People familiar with Hebrew grammar might wonder why the translation of these words seems so forced. Here is the Jewish Publication Society (NJPS) translation of the declaration: When you enter the land . . . you shall take some of every first fruit of the soil . . . [and] put it in a basket . . . The priest shall take the basket from your hand and set it down in front of the altar of the Lord your God. You shall then recite as follows before the Lord your God: 'My father was a fugitive Aramean. He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there; but there he became a great and very populous nation' (Deut. 26:1-5). The New English Bible (NEB...
Jewish Bible Quarterly, 2017
Jewish Bible Quarterly, Apr 1, 2013
Australian Journal of Forensic Sciences, 1983