One of the highlights of my summer—besides discovering my four-year-old daughter Lila’s obsession with being in the pool for hours on end; or my seventeen-month-old-Nina’s increasingly adorable pronunciation of Aba (dad, in Hebrew); or the few extra hours here and there that I’ve gotten to spend with Caroline…
Okay, so one of the professional highlights of my summer, and really each week, are the Torah discussions that take place at approximately 10:30 each Saturday am as part of our services.
In retrospect, I wish I had done each week what I’m about to do now, which is to summarize the gist of the conversation. The particular mode of learning that a Torah discussion facilitates—deep levels of intention to draw out meaning for our lives, a diversity of voices weighing in, building on one another’s thoughts—can lead to powerful insights. It’s in many ways why podcasts have become so popular: dialogue can be an especially compelling mode of thought to follow, with each person’s thought or question sharpening the next person’s; they oftentimes can hold our attention better than longform writing or speaking. (Still, there’s a time and a place for all modes—High Holidays will, as always, feature some of that longform in the form of sermons, which allow one to go deeper on one particular thought or teaching).
This past week was particularly challenging to home in on a topic for discussion, as we are in the final parashot (portions) of Sefer Devarim (the Book of Deuteronomy), the fifth and final book of the Torah. (Sefer Devarim takes place at the end of the Israelites’ 40 years of wandering in the wilderness, on the precipice of the Promised Land, about to enter. Moses knows he will not be joining them, and delivers a series of speeches—really, Divrei Torah, words of Torah. The word Deuteronomy comes from the Greek deutero, second or repetition, and nomos, law—in some ways a repetition of the law that was revealed at Sinai.)
Many of the laws present in the parshah are, on the face of it, challenging for modern sensibilities, with elements of what today we might call tribalism, patriarchy, and discrimination.
Still, Torah interpretation has rarely been bound by literalism, and, if anything, it is remarkable to watch even the most ancient, venerated of rabbis go to clever lengths to produce insights deeply rooted in tradition while also sensitive to, and informed by, the values of its, and our, day.
A classic example is the Talmud’s—perhaps other than the Torah the most authoritative document in all of Jewish tradition, and in some ways more so because it often presents the normative interpretation of Torah—treatment of one of this past week’s verses.
In this past week’s Torah portion, Moses tells the people, “No Ammonite or Moabite [neighboring non-Israelite tribespeople] shall be admitted into the congregation of יהוה [God]; no descendants of such, even in the tenth generation, shall ever be admitted into the congregation of יהוה, because they did not meet you with food and water on your journey after you left Egypt… You shall never concern yourself with their welfare or benefit as long as you live” (Deuteronomy 23:4-5).
On the face of it, this text engages in collective punishment, excluding descendants of transgressors from the possibility of joining the Israelite community should they desire to do so. Today, people who are not born Jewish but who wish to become a part of Jewish community sometimes face discrimination when encountering certain Jewish communities, despite texts that suggest we should welcome those who have chosen to convert in ways that are exactly equal to those born Jewish (not to mention acting lovingly towards those who want to be part of the community but have not converted).
But the Talmud approached this law in a unique way, in the following exchange:
One day, Yehuda, an Ammonite convert, came before the students in the study hall and he said to them: “What is my legal status in terms of entering into the congregation of Israel? Can I marry a Jewish woman?” Rabban [Chief Rabbi] Gamliel said to him: “You are forbidden to enter into the congregation in this way.” Rabbi Yehoshua said to him: “You are permitted to enter into the congregation in this way.” Rabban Gamliel said to Rabbi Yehoshua: “Wasn’t it already stated: ‘No Ammonite or Moabite shall be admitted into the congregation of יהוה; no descendants of such, even in the tenth generation, shall ever be admitted into the congregation of יהוה’ (Deuteronomy 23:4)? How can you permit him to enter the congregation?”
Rabbi Yehoshua said to Rabban Gamliel: “Do Ammon and Moab reside in their place? [That is, is it truly Ammonites and Moabites who now live in the areas known as Ammon and Moab?] Sennacherib [a Seventh Century BCE Assyrian King] previously came and [through his policy of population transfer, that is, displacing previous residents] scrambled all the nations and settled other nations in place of Ammon—as it is stated in reference to Sennacherib: ‘II have erased the borders of peoples; I have plundered their treasures, and exiled their vast populations.’ (Isaiah 10:13).” “And,” Rabbi Yehosua effectively concluded, “who is to say that this person, therefore, is truly an Ammonite? From a legal perspective we should conclude that he is not, and permit him to marry whomever he wishes.”
The anecdote concludes that the students in the study hall permitted Yehudah to enter the congregation in the full way with all the privileges of a member of the community.
The teaching is an example of a group both deeply committed to tradition—they spend their lives immersed in it, recognizing the virtues of being grounded in it—while also recognizing the need for growth and evolution within the tradition to account for changed circumstances.
It’s this balance of having the humility of being grounded in tradition, while also inviting our own authentic spirits to engage with it that is present in Society Hill Synagogue and in many Jewish communities today.
