July 18th: Pinchas
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
Last week, we (and King Balak of Moab) learned that God’s Prophets are not for hire. A Prophet (in Hebrew Navi, one who brings the word of God) can only prophesy what God tells him/her. So, though Balak tries to pay the Prophet Balaam to curse the Israelites, God orders a blessing, and that is just what Balaam does: “Mah tovu ohalecha, Ya’akov, mish’kenotecha, Yisrael! How beautiful are your tents, O Jacob; your dwellings, O Israel!” (Numbers 24.5)
That is the nature of Prophecy, but Halachah (Jewish Law) is a different kind of endeavor—one in which the already revealed wisdom of God must be understood, interpreted, and then applied to the vagaries and idiosyncrasies of human life. Sometimes Halachah is just followed, but sometimes adaptations are necessary. A case in point comes this week in Numbers 27 when Zelophechad, an Israelite who has already been assigned his piece of land in Eretz Yisrael, dies without a male heir. Though he leaves five daughters, the Biblical understanding is that daughters do not inherit. They are “taken care of” by marrying and then sharing in their husbands’ inheritances. So, when Zelophechad dies and does not have a son, his allotment in the Promised Land is forfeit—a situation his five daughters find unjust. Thus do Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah approach Moses and ask for a Halachic adjustment: “Let not our father’s name be lost to his clan just because he had no son! Give us a holding among our father’s kinsmen.” (Numbers 27.4)
Moses consults God, and the answer comes in Numbers 36 where the Lord essentially functions as the Posek (Halachic Judge). Modeling what is later called the Rabbinic or Talmudic Process, God looks into the matter, consults the affected parties, and issues a Halachic decision: The daughters do inherit their father’s allotment, but they must marry husbands from their own tribe, Manasseh, lest Manasseh land be controlled/owned by husbands from another tribe. It seems a just and straightforward solution, but more important is the dynamic: The Halachah gives a rule but following it in this case will be problematic. Someone complains to the authorities, and a Posek finds a way to adapt the Halachic principles and apply them with both righteousness and compassion. For some 2000 years, this how the Sages, Rabbis, and Poskim have worked for and with Jewish Law. Sometimes Torah is to be followed. Other times, it requires interpretation.
Important in this process is approaching Halachah case-by-case, recognizing that changes in circumstances may require adjustments in practice. Last week, I mentioned an example taught by Reb Zalman about a Rabbi applying different degrees of strictness to people with different financial abilities. Similarly do some Rabbis prescribe adaptations based on different levels of knowledge and ability. When it comes to children, adults with intellectual or physical disabilities, or adult students working on their spirituality, the usually definitive rules for worship and prayer may be adapted. As much as Halachah involves obeying God, it is also a practical endeavor where Rabbis have room to focus more on what is helpful than on what is prescribed.
Some adjustments are necessary because Halachah is not working as it is intended. 2000 years ago, Hillel noticed a problem with lenders, borrowers, and the seven-year Sabbatical Year Cycle. Since all debts were to be cancelled in the Sabbatical Year, lenders were reluctant to make loans as it approached. Even though the Torah prohibits such reluctance, they worried about getting their money back, and their hesitations made it difficult for borrowers to find needed funds. Hillel resolved the issue by altering the rules: instead of tying all loans to the standard Sabbatical Year Cycle, each loan was assigned its own seven-year cycle, giving a borrower six full years to repay a debt—and lenders better chances to be repaid. Called the Prosbul, Hillel changed the “letter of the law” in order to better serve the “spirit of the law” and solve a problem.
Of course, different human interpreters mean different interpretations—and Jewish Tradition is full of cases where one Rabbi disagrees with another. Some differences seem to stem from the personalities and dispositions of the Rabbis being asked, while others seem to be based on the Rabbis’ relative comfort with individuality and flexibility. Is flexibility a good strategy for Jewish observance and survival, or does it court danger and communal collapse? There are many examples of such disagreements, but one I find delightfully curious took place in Germany in the mid-19th Century. Some Orthodox Rabbis approved the modern style of men wearing short suitcoats, while others insisted that men’s suitcoats remain knee-length lest Jewish observance and survival be compromised.
Our Tradition of multiple opinions is enshrined in the Mishnah and Talmud: minority opinions are recorded, respected, and often quoted in subsequent discussions. Thus do some modern disagreements continue ancient differences of opinion. This was the case in the early 20th Century when two prominent Orthodox Rabbis disagreed about the Kashrut of Coca Cola. Back then, the soft drink’s recipe included meat-based glycerin, a by-product of non-Kosher meat processing. One Rabbi ruled that the non-Kosher ingredient renders the beverage non-Kosher. However, another leading Orthodox Rabbi cited a Talmudic principle about substances being existentially transformed by chemical processing—and held that the animal-based glycerin had been changed from meat to merely a chemical—making the glycerin’s origin irrelevant and Coca Cola perfectly Kosher. Though diametrically opposed, both opinions were strictly Orthodox and based on ancient Halachic precedent. The Orthodox community was passionately divided on the subject until a change in ingredient-sourcing put the matter to rest. Coca Cola began using vegetable derived glycerin, and it has been unanimously Kosher ever since.
A similar intra-Orthodox controversy created tension a hundred years earlier. During a time of real estate shortages and construction difficulties, some Orthodox congregations considered buying old church buildings. One Orthodox Rabbi ruled the possibility Kosher, ruling that former Christian worship places could be repurposed as synagogues. However, another Orthodox Rabbi prohibited such re-consecrations, and he cited Talmudic passages (Avodah Zara) about Jews not being too involved with their idolatrous neighbors. Are churches places of idolatry? Do such ancient categories still apply? Whatever the conclusion of each Posek, both were Orthodox, and both based their rulings on Halachic precedent. Thus were those new congregations put in a position of “Rabbi shopping,” looking for a Rabbi whose rulings they would choose to obey.
The Halachic conversations continue in each generation, and the arguments take place both between our “denominations” and within them. Lots of Jews. Lots of principles. Lots of opinions. Above it all, however, is the One God Who watches, Who cares, and Who is endlessly patient.