Pity for the Enemy

12 03 2011

In Matthew 5:43-44, Jesus is quoted as having made a rather brazen statement. “You have heard,” he says, “that you should love your neighbour and hate your enemy. Well I say that you should love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you.” In Berakhot 10a, Rabbi Meir is talked by his sensible wife into praying for the repentance of “bandits” (countryfolk, to be linguistically precise), but to suggest that somebody should go so far as to actually love the ones who threaten them might be a bit much. In fact, show me somebody who genuinely has compassion for those who endanger the lives of his children, and I’ll show you somebody who shouldn’t have any. But that’s only one of two reasons as to why this statement is a brazen one. The other, less obvious, reason is that nowhere is it said that you should hate them in the first place.

In fact, Jesus’ assertion (if we might take at face value that it was his) is renowned for going so much further than the statement attributed to Hillel before him: that which is harmful to you, do not do to another; that is the whole of Torah (Shabbat 31a). Like Rabbi Akiva, who in later years was to suggest that “Love your neighbour as yourself” (Lev 19:18) was the most important mitzvah (cf: Sifra 19:45), Jesus seems to be drawing on this principle in citing his modified ruling. Yet where does the Torah ever stress the corollary, that one should hate his enemies? Nowhere does the verb √שנא (nor the nouns שנאה or אימה), appear within the context of an imperative, commanding us to hate anybody or anything. There are ample passages that testify to an enmity for certain nations, people, animals, objects and practises, but nothing that says that you must actually despise those things. At least, not in the way that Jesus appears to be suggesting.

It strikes me that Jesus is employing a rather exclusionary interpretation of the word רעך, which I have above translated as “your neighbour”, but which more properly means “your friend”. I do not suppose that anybody (leastways, nobody who pretends to live in accordance with this principle) would suggest that it is referring to anything so exclusive as the individual who you would consider your actual companion, but it is through intimating that it is only those people whom one is required to love that Jesus derives the implicit corollary: those who are not your friends, you are required to actually hate. That is going a bit far for my liking, but then it is Matthew 5 that we are talking about.

Be that as it may, I was teaching my weekly Shabbat morning class on Isaiah this morning, and we were reading chapters 15 and 16. This lengthy oracle against Moab provided me with a wonderful opportunity to present also the Moabite Stone, and compare it (on a surface level) to the war between Moab and Israel, Judah and Edom in 2 Kings 3. Considering the generally polemical nature of all texts that concern Moab (and it is the exceptional character of Ruth that proves the rule), it is no surprise that Isaiah’s oracle (not unlike all of Isaiah’s oracles in this section) should be so gratuitously violent. Indeed, I even suggested that those sections in which he expresses sincere grief for the misfortune of the Moabites were anything but that, and that the Israelite poet who composed this particular oracle wanted nothing more than to crow bombastically over the annihilation of his foes. And yet… there is something strange about 16:3-4.

Having immediately followed on from the threat of destruction, levelled against even those few who escape God’s immediate wrath (15:9), the prophet now admonishes us to show mercy to their refugees, to hide their escapees, and to be a general refuge for them. That the editors of the NRSV noted the incongruence of this passage might be demonstrated in the fact that they enclosed it in quotation marks. Somebody is saying this, but it is evidently neither the prophet himself nor God. In a footnote to the New Jerusalem Bible, the assertion is made that this is the Moabites who are speaking. That might make sense, and may be what the NRSV is meaning to suggest. But is that what the Hebrew actually says?

יגורו בך נדחי מואב הוי סתר למו מפני שודד

I would translate this as “Let the Moabite refugees dwell among you; be a hiding place for them from the despoiler”. If I were to vocalise it, in other words, I would render it as yaguru vakh nidchei mo’av hevei seter lamo mifnei shoded. Yet I was most intrigued to discover that this is not how it is actually vocalised in the MT. On the contrary, there it is vocalised as yaguru vakh niddachai mo’av hevei seter lamo mifnei shoded. In other words, “Let my refugees live among you, O Moab; be a hiding place for them from the despoiler”.

I think that it is safe to say that this reading makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Instead, I would suggest that it is a symptom of exegetical discomfort over the possibility that Isaiah is here exhorting the Israelites to have compassion for their foes. While I can understand the Masoretes having had a problem with this possibility, I find it difficult to understand why certain Christian translations would find it problematic, especially when it occurs in what is widely referred to as the fourth gospel.

“As the Waters Cover the Sea”

28 01 2011

There are various places online where you can read about the top applications for the iPad, iPhone and iPod Touch. Assuming that you are interested in games, or various forms of social organisers and search tools, these lists can be quite helpful. But what happens if your tastes are a little more… boutique? What are the best applications for the Hebrew scholar? For the purveyor of rabbinic literature? For the biblical geek? Well, my friend, you have come to the right place, for while I don’t want to out myself as a “fan-boy”, the number of Apple devices that I now use has reached a disconcerting five, and I am told that I am a bit of a Jew.

What follows is not only in praise of Apple (although I suspect that various mediaeval artists were correct when they depicted it as the fruit of all knowledge), but is simply my top-five list of Hebraic/rabbinic/biblical applications in general. Those who are interested in such things: knock yourselves out. (Those who are not: what are you doing here?)

[And to all of you: I am sure that this list is not nearly exhaustive! If you know of other applications that you can recommend, please share them in the comments thread.]

5. Even though I no longer use it, I feel the need to draw people’s attention to “the iPhone application 1800 years in the making”. Crowded Road’s iMishna is fantastic. I am surprised that it is presently selling for $15 (I seem to remember it being very cheap when I purchased it originally), but I do think it’s excellent. It contains the full text of the Mishna (I cannot tell you which manuscripts it relies upon), and the commentaries of Rav Ovadiah of Bartenura and the Tosafot Yom Tov. Apparently, you can also download lectures by a certain Rabbi Chaim Brown, although this is not a feature that I have ever utilised and so I cannot vouch for their quality. As an application that enables you to search for Hebrew words within individual tractates, individual orders, or throughout the Mishna as a whole, this is an excellent product. I almost got hit by a car once because I was somewhat engrossed in Tractate Avot while walking from Chatswood to Artarmon, but I’ve nobody to blame for that but myself. Knowing Mishna off by heart is much safer.

4. Now, I got excited once before about a website that enabled me to download the full text of the Hebrew Bible, spoken by a fellow with a beautiful Sephardi accent. It remains a marvellous site, but I have found something better. Granted, it won’t suit everybody. Indeed, it may not even suit anybody, but it has provided me with hours of genuine fascination, and so I share it with you: Rav Nissan Kaplan, the mashgiach ruchani at the Mirrer Yeshiva, Jerusalem, has uploaded a very large number of audio files. While driving, I occasionally listen to his mussar schmuessen, although mainly for the nostalgia value. When I have more time on my hands, I listen to a halakha or a gemara shiur. Other excellent (and decidedly more “academic”) lectures are available from Merkaz, but the audio quality is generally pretty poor. And of course, neither of these sites are actually “applications”, but they make my iPod happy.

3. I have heard lots of good things about Bible Works, but I have never used it. Instead, I use a program called Accordance, which runs like a charm on both my iMac and my MacBook. Without this program, I would never have been able to write my Honours thesis (which was a fascinating analysis of the frequency and distribution of locative-heh suffix forms in Chronicles), and I am tremendously impressed me with the acumen of former generations of scholars who were able to find such information without the aid of a computer program. I am running an old version of the software (6.9.1), and despite spotting the occasional error, an ability to search quickly and easily for grammatical and syntactic features of the Hebrew text (BHS, with Groves-Wheeler Westminster Hebrew Morphology) makes it well worth whatever it was that I paid for it back in 2005. I use it less today than I used to, but it remains a sensational resource.

2. Why don’t I use “Accordance” as often as I once did? Because I have a concordance in my pocket! Bill Clementson’s HebrewBible is the very best thing about the Apple iPhone. As you can see from the link, it has a wide variety of different features, but its most useful one is the fact that it contains a fully functional concordance. Many a time I have whipped out my iPhone in class in order to quickly search for a Hebrew root. The application finds the various occurrences for me, and even presents the individual verses that feature that particular word. It relies on an internet connection in order to operate, but if there’s a network available (or if you have 3G on your device), you will also be pleased to note the inclusion of the full text of the BDB.

As for the biblical text, the Hebrew is taken from a variety of different manuscripts (the Aleppo Codex is given preference, although they have apparantly privileged the Leningrad Codex in those places where the Aleppo is unavailable), and you can even switch to Aramaic (Onkelos, based on various Yemenite manuscripts). The English is based on the 1917 JPS, although I find it handy to also utilise Paul Avery’s (free) Holy Bible, which has the King James Version amongst others. At $9, Bill Clementson’s “HebrewBible” is worth every cent.

1. And this brings us to number 1. The absolute greatest in 21st century gadgetry! Good.iWare’s Goodreader for the Apple iPad is a product that I cannot recommend highly enough. This is where my search for the perfect e-Reader ended. I wanted something with a large screen, PDF functionality and full Hebrew support. The only device with E Ink that seemed to be available was the Pocketbook 902, and I can certainly recommend it to those whose PDFs are very small, or who are also likely to read material in alternative formats. But if, like me, you are getting your literature from HebrewBooks.org, then you are going to need something that can handle files approaching 200MB. As beautiful as the Pocketbook 902 is, it just doesn’t cut it.

Goodreader on the iPad enables you to go online within the program itself and download PDFs directly from the website. It then allows you to rename them, create folders for them, organise them within your folders, preview them before viewing them, and even make your own notes on them when you do. It loads pages quickly (at worst, a little over a second), allows you to jump to specific pages in advance, lets you search within the documents (in Hebrew as well as in English), and reloads the pages if you zoom so that the writing is still sharp. It has a number of other features as well, which I’ve not yet had the time to encounter, and is absolutely perfect for those who wish to have a rabbinic library on the go. I have already dumped the entire Mishna onto it, the entire Babylonian Talmud, some PDFs of Hebrew and Greek verbal paradigms, Midrash Rabba, Torat Kohanim and a handful of inscriptions: the Mesha Stele, Tel-Dan Inscription, Kilamuwa Inscription, Kuntillet Ajrud Inscription and the Gezer Calendar. Next stop: Rambam’s Mishne Torah and the Shulchan Arukh! And all for a whopping $4. (Not including the cost of the iPad).

Now I know what you’re going to say: why would you want to read these sorts of things on an eReader anyway? Indeed, I have asked the same question myself. When faced with the choice, I will opt for printed literature 100% of the time, and my overcrowded bedroom is a testament to that fact. But in truth, we are none of us always at our desks. And when attending a conference, sitting at the university, travelling on a bus, sleeping in a tent, hiking through the bush, even walking down the street, there are times when I wish to consult something, confirm something, prove a point, or simply sit and learn. The fact that the 21st century has provided regular people with an ability to do this, wherever they may be and whatever they might have been otherwise doing, is astonishing.

I sometimes wonder what Maimonides might have said, had he been transported from the 12th century to the 21st, and had he been able to witness the tremendous proliferation of Torah, made readily available to all manner of individuals excluded in the past. Whether it’s the awe-inspiring Bar Ilan Responsa Project, the far-reaching commentaries of Rav Adin Steinsaltz, or the tremendous proliferation of vernacular translations by Artscroll, this would surely have been considered a fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy (11:9) that the knowledge of God would cover the earth as the waters cover the sea. When you consider the ready availability of these texts and their highly portable nature, I imagine that there is only one word that Maimonides could have used to describe it.


Goliath’s Song

5 12 2010

This afternoon, together with a small group of Sydney Jews who love to hear themselves speak, I got to talk about myself in Hebrew to a representative of Israel’s Reshet Gimel radio station (!רק מוזיקה ישראלית), who recorded it for playback. While it was fun to speak a little Hebrew again, I thought I’d share the song that I chose to introduce. By 1970s Israeli rock band Kaveret, this song (שיר גוליית, “The Song of Goliath”) is one of my favourites.

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… of blessed memory.

24 11 2010

I don’t want to be a pedant (what a lie), but The Jewish Press has a banner at the top of their page, announcing the passing of a Mrs Irene Klass. They have concluded the announcement with the italicised declaration, Tehi Zichrah Baruch. This is a great example of hypersensitivity towards (ostensibly) feminine nouns. Because Mrs Klass was a woman, the noun receives a feminine suffix (Zichrah, rather than Zichro ), but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a masculine noun! If it were a feminine noun, then we would expect the final adjective to be Beruchah. Whoever wrote this knew, deep down, that zecher is a masculine noun, for they wrote Tehi Zichrah Baruch. So why did they write Tehi Zichrah Baruch, rather than Yehi? Because they never went to Hebrew school, that’s why.

Qeiyafa Inscription

10 01 2010

Well, isn’t this exciting! Assuming that the text is actually Hebrew, the inscription discovered in the Elah Fortress at Khirbet Qeiyafa would be the oldest of its kind. Dating to the 10th century BCE, scholars have been quick to jump to all sorts of (exciting) conclusions, as regards the period in which various biblical texts might have been written. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves! Here is the clearest image of (a sketch of) the inscription that I could find:

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16 10 2009

This week is Shabbat Bereishit : the week on which the first parasha of the Torah is chanted in synagogues around the world. I would like to take a moment to comment upon the first clause of the Bible – more specifically, the first word.

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15th World Congress of Jewish Studies

23 07 2009

ManuscriptBoy, at Hagahot, has just gushed a little, regarding some of the exciting papers that are going to be presented at the upcoming World Congress of Jewish Studies. I know where he’s coming from! You can download the 217-page program yourselves, from here. Truly amazing! There are a number of sessions that have me almost clapping my hands with excitement, but by far the most amazing are the seven sessions on synchronic and diachronic approaches to Biblical Hebrew. What is one to do! In the interests of sharing my schedule (and possibly boring several of you to tears – although nobody is making you read it), the following papers constitute highlights for me:

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The Anterior Construction in Classical Hebrew, or “How to Serve a Glass of Wine”

3 03 2009

I have not read Ziony Zevit’s book, the title of which is also the title of (the first part of) this post, but I first encountered the phenomenon in a “ShulDrasha” by the Goblin King. The grammatical supposition is this: when the pluperfect is to be conveyed over any possible perfective reading, the waw-conjunctive is appended to the noun, rather than the verb.

An example:
וידע האדם* = “And the man knew [his wife]”
והאדם ידע (Gen 4:1) = “But the man had known [his wife]”

The practical upshot? That Cain had been born in the Garden of Eden, prior to the sin of his parents and the expulsion of his family.

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On Farmers and Other Robbers

5 01 2009

In 1961, Martin Hengel wrote a rather influential work on the history of the “Zealot movement” at the end of the second temple period¹. I enclose the phrase, “Zealot movement”, in parentheses because there are not a great many scholars today who would conceive of it as a particular group. The evidence is rather fragmentary and, in addition to its highly tendentious nature, it uses four different words to describe the people that Hengel all considered members of one and same sect. The first of these words, and perhaps the most important, is Zealot itself. This appears, in Greek, as ζηλωτης and primarily finds expression in the writings of Josephus. Josephus first begins to use this term in reference to (what he presents as) a particular group in his depiction of the siege of Jerusalem. Another word that he uses in the same context, as well as elsewhere, is Sicarii – a Latin word. This word is often considered to be the plural of the Latin sicarius, meaning “murderer”, or “assassin” (in relation to sica, “dagger”). According to Josephus, these were men who concealed daggers about their person and assassinated their enemies in broad daylight.

The other two words are a little bit more difficult to relate to one another, as they both seem to be very general. One is the Hebrew לסטים (listim), meaning “robbers”. The word is employed throughout the Rabbinic literature in a broad number of contexts, though often in relation to a violent crime, and certainly not always with a particular motive that transcends the exigencies of the moment. The other word, and the one that requires the most definition of the four, is the Aramaic בריונא (baryona). This word is especially important for Hengel, given that it is used in the Talmudic literature as synonymous with לסטים (“robbers”), but that it also appears in the Talmudic version of a story that Josephus also relates, but that he credits to the Zealot movement.

So, what does baryona (בריונא) actually mean?

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“Famous Last Words”

26 10 2008

Upon telling my father that I often leave books on my desk at uni overnight and that nobody is going to steal them, he laughed and said the three words that constitute the title to this post. That humours me. The only thing that people could steal, such that those would have been my ‘famous’ last words, would be my voice.

In reality, when people say that something constitutes one’s “famous last words” what they really mean to say is that those sentiments will be proven retrospectively to constitute a situational irony. Only that’s quite a mouthful…

The origin of this misunderstanding, so far as I believe, is that so many instances of genuinely famous last words have become genuinely famous for precisely that reason. I am certain that most of them are apocryphal (or, at the very least, not actually the very last words spoken) but their tragic irony renders them unforgettable nonetheless.

The Bible has one such instance as well, although it is my opinion that it is often mistranslated.

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