Post by Rabbi Neil on May 12, 2018 0:12:06 GMT
Our Rabbinic tradition teaches (Pirke Avot 1:6) aseh l’cha rav – get yourself a teacher. Why? I never used to ask this question because it seemed obvious – because Judaism is really extensive and it’s important to know how to turn to for an authentic response. You can’t just make Judaism up, after all. That, at least, is the Rabbinic tradition. Or, to put it another way, the tradition that bases itself on authority urges its followers to attach themselves to an authority figure. This actually really gets me wondering. And because last Friday was Star Wars Day and I didn’t get to give a sermon on it, I hope you’ll allow me to bring a little of that into this sermon. And if not, aseh l’cha rav acher, get yourself a different teacher!!! And by the way, with the Solo movie coming out in a few weeks, be aware that this subject may return!
One of the big objections that some people had to The Last Jedi was that the character Rey seemed to learn The Force without much instruction at all. It annoyed them that she seemed to intuit it. It flew in the face of a tradition of learning deep and profound secrets from an authority figure. In fact, George Lucas rather threw a spanner into that whole concept decades ago during the prequels when he showed that the Jedi masters could be deeply flawed. Indeed, that was Luke’s entire issue throughout much of The Last Jedi – that hubris can easily take over an authority figure. Then the teaching becomes less about the subject and more about holding onto power, or respect.
This all leads to the question of whether Judaism can be intuited. In other words, are the teachings of Judaism in line with the natural order of the universe (which means that careful analysis of the world would automatically lead to intuitive learning of Judaism), or are they in opposition to the natural order of the universe (in which case they need to be taught because they’re not obvious)? And if they aren’t obvious, what makes one interpretation the appropriate one over another? What gives authority, other than a chain of authority itself? I’m starting to wonder if that’s actually a very good source of authority at all? And that’s interesting because my Rabbi taught me how to be a Rabbi and I treasure that and I studied Torah with him and philosophy and Jewish ethics and when I teach it’s like him teaching through me. But that’s not authoritative. I can’t say that one student should study with me because of that tradition, or because it’s correct. It’s just how I understand Judaism.
I do wonder this around b’nei mitzvah, especially with students who are bright like Max. As you’ll see tomorrow, Max gives a very competent drash, or commentary on the Torah, and there was a moment when I profoundly disagreed with her interpretation. But then I thought, “Actually, there’s a real way to play with the text to make that work.” More on that tomorrow. But my point is that I come from a Rabbinic tradition of hermeneutics, of specific ways of approaching how to read Torah. Without some guidelines on hermeneutics, on how to read the text, it could end up as a free-for-all, and the problem with that is that then it’s impossible to say what Judaism says about anything. In bygone years, in the early years of Rabbinic Judaism, there were specific hermeneutical rules, specific ways Torah could be read. Mishnah and particularly Talmud are offshoots of that guided way of thinking. With specific rules of interpretation, sensible and sometimes extremely profound discussions could be held, simply because everyone knew the rules of interpretation, so everyone was playing the same intellectual game. Authority wasn’t about power, it was about holding together communal discussion. The problem, though, is that as times change, ways of reading texts change. Once the Jewish community became aware of the Enlightenment, it had to necessary bring in questions of the historicity of the text, questions which had never been asked before. It’s not appropriate to limit questions. But then I would say that, because I’m a post-Enlightenment Rabbi who embraces the learning of the Enlightenment.
Interestingly, differing Rabbis had differing hermeneutics, that is, differing ways of reading the text. Rabbi Hillel had 7 rules, Rabbi Yishmael had 13 rules. Rabbi Eliezer had 32 rules. So, even between differing authorities, they couldn’t totally agree on how to read the texts! I think this is important, though. As we end the Book of Leviticus, we end an entire book dedicated to the Priesthood, which was a differing kind of authority. There, authority meant strict obedience, and deviation from the authoritatively received tradition, such as deviation as made evident by Nadav and Avihu, meant death. Rabbinic tradition is very different. Yes, there are Rabbinic stories of one student in particular who deliberately disagreed with his Rabbi and who was humiliated for it. (To clarify, by the way, the Rabbi ends up being socially exiled and the student ends up becoming a great Rabbi himself. I just add that in case anyone thinks that I consider that disagreeing with me deserves humiliation!) In general, though, Rabbinic tradition is one of people acquiring a teacher not because Judaism tells you what to do, but specifically because differing Rabbis had differing ways of teaching. Get yourself a Rabbi doesn’t mean succumb to authority and lose your identity, it actually means “Choose which teacher’s mode of interpretation most authentically speaks to you.” I find this extremely liberating, actually, if for no other reason than it truly shows how Judaism developed from an authoritarian structure to a much more open structure of guidance. The difficult, I find, is when people conflate the two and assume that all authority is authoritarian.
Is it possible to be otherwise? Well, let’s return to hermeneutics and the concept of normalcy. When the Hellenistic philosopher Philo read Torah, he interpreted every narrative as allegory. To him, for example, Abraham wasn’t a real person, he was an allegory for a character trait that the Biblical character Abraham most possessed. When the 17th century Spinoza read Torah, he understood God not in a sentient sense, but as a Being who encompassed everything in the universe. There are some who say that Spinoza’s interpretation was no longer Jewish, but I cannot possibly agree – indeed, some Chasidic thought over the last couple of hundred years comes extremely close to Spinoza’s pantheism. But that’s the point. That’s literally the point of Judaism. Some teachers, some Rabbis, would say that Spinoza does fall outside Judaism. They would say that Philo was too Hellenized and not an authentic philosopher. So, aseh l’cha rav, we all need to understand that when we get ourselves a teacher, we’re actually make a choice of interpretation.
There’s a risk, there, though. It’s rather like internet search engines today, which guide our searches based on the kinds of things we’ve previously searched for. As a result, we don’t learn as much, we’re not exposed to as many differing opinions, or ways of looking at the world. We’re guided to be the same and aren’t challenged. So, maybe aseh l’cha rav actually means, choose someone who will challenge you. That, in fact, is what I hope it means, but then I would say that because I’m a fairly challenging kind of guy.
Jewish education shouldn’t be about ego. It shouldn’t be about the teacher elevated themselves above the student. It shouldn’t be authoritarian, but it can be corrective. A student can suggest something and the Rabbis or teacher can say, “That’s interesting, but…” and then provide a response that is more coherent to the larger body of Jewish literature. That cannot deny the student’s claim, though, because it’s totally legitimate to ask a question and to bend the meaning of a text of word in one context while not doing so in another context, simply because it fits and makes a nice lesson in this one point. In fact, an extensive part of midrashic literature of based exactly on the premise that that kind of hermeneutic is appropriate. In such a case, the teacher should acknowledge the creativity of the student, and also be able to say that in the larger corpus of Jewish literature, that cute trick may not apply elsewhere. Students should be encouraged to be creative, to bring in new readings of a text that transcend normal interpretations, and yet should also be shown when the new innovative reading unfortunately doesn’t make sense. And that’s because, to return to where I started, Judaism isn’t intuitive. It’s not in line with the world. No-one spends a few days sitting meditating over the world and thinks, “I should now separate meat and milk every time I eat,” or “Now that I’ve contemplated the world, I discover that universal truth that I should pray in the morning with a large cloth draped over my shoulders.” Judaism is a way of thinking about the world that deliberately transcends intuition. That means that intuitive readings can have their place and should be encouraged but also that they don’t always automatically make sense within the total Jewish framework. In other words, the teacher learns from the student as the student learns from the teacher. The student brings in new creative ways of reading texts while the teacher provides the framework to assess now whether the new reading is valid, but whether it is makes sense in a Jewish context.
So, this week we end the book of Leviticus, a book about priests, with a bat mitzvah, which is a wonderful way to do it, because it allows us to look back to the traditions of the past and to connect them to the insights of the present. In so doing, we can look back with reverence to the thousands of years of tradition that have gone before us, and ensure that we learn that tradition from those in the know, while simultaneously embracing new ways of thinking and trying to bring them into an ever-evolving way of looking at the world, at each other, and at our sacred texts. May we all acquire ourselves teachers – teachers from the past and teachers from the present – so that we may all learn to develop our Jewish paths both authentically and creatively, and let us say, Amen.
One of the big objections that some people had to The Last Jedi was that the character Rey seemed to learn The Force without much instruction at all. It annoyed them that she seemed to intuit it. It flew in the face of a tradition of learning deep and profound secrets from an authority figure. In fact, George Lucas rather threw a spanner into that whole concept decades ago during the prequels when he showed that the Jedi masters could be deeply flawed. Indeed, that was Luke’s entire issue throughout much of The Last Jedi – that hubris can easily take over an authority figure. Then the teaching becomes less about the subject and more about holding onto power, or respect.
This all leads to the question of whether Judaism can be intuited. In other words, are the teachings of Judaism in line with the natural order of the universe (which means that careful analysis of the world would automatically lead to intuitive learning of Judaism), or are they in opposition to the natural order of the universe (in which case they need to be taught because they’re not obvious)? And if they aren’t obvious, what makes one interpretation the appropriate one over another? What gives authority, other than a chain of authority itself? I’m starting to wonder if that’s actually a very good source of authority at all? And that’s interesting because my Rabbi taught me how to be a Rabbi and I treasure that and I studied Torah with him and philosophy and Jewish ethics and when I teach it’s like him teaching through me. But that’s not authoritative. I can’t say that one student should study with me because of that tradition, or because it’s correct. It’s just how I understand Judaism.
I do wonder this around b’nei mitzvah, especially with students who are bright like Max. As you’ll see tomorrow, Max gives a very competent drash, or commentary on the Torah, and there was a moment when I profoundly disagreed with her interpretation. But then I thought, “Actually, there’s a real way to play with the text to make that work.” More on that tomorrow. But my point is that I come from a Rabbinic tradition of hermeneutics, of specific ways of approaching how to read Torah. Without some guidelines on hermeneutics, on how to read the text, it could end up as a free-for-all, and the problem with that is that then it’s impossible to say what Judaism says about anything. In bygone years, in the early years of Rabbinic Judaism, there were specific hermeneutical rules, specific ways Torah could be read. Mishnah and particularly Talmud are offshoots of that guided way of thinking. With specific rules of interpretation, sensible and sometimes extremely profound discussions could be held, simply because everyone knew the rules of interpretation, so everyone was playing the same intellectual game. Authority wasn’t about power, it was about holding together communal discussion. The problem, though, is that as times change, ways of reading texts change. Once the Jewish community became aware of the Enlightenment, it had to necessary bring in questions of the historicity of the text, questions which had never been asked before. It’s not appropriate to limit questions. But then I would say that, because I’m a post-Enlightenment Rabbi who embraces the learning of the Enlightenment.
Interestingly, differing Rabbis had differing hermeneutics, that is, differing ways of reading the text. Rabbi Hillel had 7 rules, Rabbi Yishmael had 13 rules. Rabbi Eliezer had 32 rules. So, even between differing authorities, they couldn’t totally agree on how to read the texts! I think this is important, though. As we end the Book of Leviticus, we end an entire book dedicated to the Priesthood, which was a differing kind of authority. There, authority meant strict obedience, and deviation from the authoritatively received tradition, such as deviation as made evident by Nadav and Avihu, meant death. Rabbinic tradition is very different. Yes, there are Rabbinic stories of one student in particular who deliberately disagreed with his Rabbi and who was humiliated for it. (To clarify, by the way, the Rabbi ends up being socially exiled and the student ends up becoming a great Rabbi himself. I just add that in case anyone thinks that I consider that disagreeing with me deserves humiliation!) In general, though, Rabbinic tradition is one of people acquiring a teacher not because Judaism tells you what to do, but specifically because differing Rabbis had differing ways of teaching. Get yourself a Rabbi doesn’t mean succumb to authority and lose your identity, it actually means “Choose which teacher’s mode of interpretation most authentically speaks to you.” I find this extremely liberating, actually, if for no other reason than it truly shows how Judaism developed from an authoritarian structure to a much more open structure of guidance. The difficult, I find, is when people conflate the two and assume that all authority is authoritarian.
Is it possible to be otherwise? Well, let’s return to hermeneutics and the concept of normalcy. When the Hellenistic philosopher Philo read Torah, he interpreted every narrative as allegory. To him, for example, Abraham wasn’t a real person, he was an allegory for a character trait that the Biblical character Abraham most possessed. When the 17th century Spinoza read Torah, he understood God not in a sentient sense, but as a Being who encompassed everything in the universe. There are some who say that Spinoza’s interpretation was no longer Jewish, but I cannot possibly agree – indeed, some Chasidic thought over the last couple of hundred years comes extremely close to Spinoza’s pantheism. But that’s the point. That’s literally the point of Judaism. Some teachers, some Rabbis, would say that Spinoza does fall outside Judaism. They would say that Philo was too Hellenized and not an authentic philosopher. So, aseh l’cha rav, we all need to understand that when we get ourselves a teacher, we’re actually make a choice of interpretation.
There’s a risk, there, though. It’s rather like internet search engines today, which guide our searches based on the kinds of things we’ve previously searched for. As a result, we don’t learn as much, we’re not exposed to as many differing opinions, or ways of looking at the world. We’re guided to be the same and aren’t challenged. So, maybe aseh l’cha rav actually means, choose someone who will challenge you. That, in fact, is what I hope it means, but then I would say that because I’m a fairly challenging kind of guy.
Jewish education shouldn’t be about ego. It shouldn’t be about the teacher elevated themselves above the student. It shouldn’t be authoritarian, but it can be corrective. A student can suggest something and the Rabbis or teacher can say, “That’s interesting, but…” and then provide a response that is more coherent to the larger body of Jewish literature. That cannot deny the student’s claim, though, because it’s totally legitimate to ask a question and to bend the meaning of a text of word in one context while not doing so in another context, simply because it fits and makes a nice lesson in this one point. In fact, an extensive part of midrashic literature of based exactly on the premise that that kind of hermeneutic is appropriate. In such a case, the teacher should acknowledge the creativity of the student, and also be able to say that in the larger corpus of Jewish literature, that cute trick may not apply elsewhere. Students should be encouraged to be creative, to bring in new readings of a text that transcend normal interpretations, and yet should also be shown when the new innovative reading unfortunately doesn’t make sense. And that’s because, to return to where I started, Judaism isn’t intuitive. It’s not in line with the world. No-one spends a few days sitting meditating over the world and thinks, “I should now separate meat and milk every time I eat,” or “Now that I’ve contemplated the world, I discover that universal truth that I should pray in the morning with a large cloth draped over my shoulders.” Judaism is a way of thinking about the world that deliberately transcends intuition. That means that intuitive readings can have their place and should be encouraged but also that they don’t always automatically make sense within the total Jewish framework. In other words, the teacher learns from the student as the student learns from the teacher. The student brings in new creative ways of reading texts while the teacher provides the framework to assess now whether the new reading is valid, but whether it is makes sense in a Jewish context.
So, this week we end the book of Leviticus, a book about priests, with a bat mitzvah, which is a wonderful way to do it, because it allows us to look back to the traditions of the past and to connect them to the insights of the present. In so doing, we can look back with reverence to the thousands of years of tradition that have gone before us, and ensure that we learn that tradition from those in the know, while simultaneously embracing new ways of thinking and trying to bring them into an ever-evolving way of looking at the world, at each other, and at our sacred texts. May we all acquire ourselves teachers – teachers from the past and teachers from the present – so that we may all learn to develop our Jewish paths both authentically and creatively, and let us say, Amen.