Tag Archives: Baal Shem Tov

Things You Didn’t Know About Shabbat

Moses looks out to the Promised Land, by James Tissot. This week’s parasha begins the fifth and final book of the Torah. This book is Moses’ final speech to his people in the last 37 days of his life.

This week’s parasha begins with the words Eleh hadevarim, “These are the things” that Moses spoke to all of Israel. Our Sages taught that the term eleh hadevarim is particularly significant. The words appear just three times in the whole Torah. By stating that these, specifically, are the things that God commanded, we are being called to give extra attention to them. The first instance of this term is in Exodus 19:6, where God promises that “You shall be for me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation—these are the things that you should relate to the Children of Israel.” God underscored that Moses should make it clear to the people: they are absolutely unique in the world, and their task is to be entirely righteous and holy. This is probably the most essential thing that every Jew must remember.

The only other instance of the term (aside from the introduction to this week’s parasha) is in Exodus 35:1, where we read how

Moses assembled the entire congregation of the Children of Israel, and said to them: “These are the things which Hashem has commanded, that you should do them: Six days shall work be done, but on the seventh day there shall be for you a holy day, a Sabbath of Sabbaths to Hashem…”

Here God is underscoring what may be the most important mitzvah: Shabbat. This mitzvah is among the very first mentioned in the Torah, and one of the most frequently mentioned. It is certainly among the severest, being one of 36 mitzvot whose transgression carries a death penalty. Unlike many other well-known mitzvot which are not explicitly mentioned outside of the Chumash (such as tzitzit or tefillin), Shabbat is clearly noted throughout the Tanakh. It is the reason that today the whole world follows a 7-day week. There are more halachot regarding Shabbat than perhaps any other topic. While the Talmudic tractate of Bava Batra may be the longest by number of pages, the tractate Shabbat is by far the longest by number of words. (The former has 89,044 words while the latter has a whopping 113,820!) And to determine if a person is Torah-observant or not, it typically suffices to ask if they are shomer Shabbos.

Ahad Ha’am

The power of Shabbat was best described by Asher Zvi Hirsch Ginsberg (1856-1927, better known by his pen name, Ahad Ha’am). He famously said that “More than the Jews have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jews.” Ginsberg was born into a Hasidic family and raised very religiously. Though he later had many issues with ultra-Orthodoxy and became mostly irreligious, he nonetheless opposed political Zionism and argued for a spiritual Zionism based on traditional Jewish values. He accurately wrote that Israel must be “a Jewish state and not merely a state of Jews.” Among other things, it was Ginsberg who played a key role in convincing the Zionists that Hebrew must be the official language of Israel, and not German as pushed by Herzl. He also argued for state-wide Sabbath observance. In his 1898 essay Shabbat v’Tzionut, “Sabbath and Zionism” (where that famous quote above is from), he wrote:

Anyone who feels a true bond in his heart, with the life of the nation over many generations, simply will not be able—even if he believes neither in the World to Come nor the Jewish State—to imagine the Jewish people without Shabbat Malketa.

While his wife was strictly shomer Shabbos, Ginsberg himself wasn’t so careful with all the rules. It seems he disagreed with the Talmudic derivation of the 39 melachot, the categories of “work” prohibited on Shabbat. Ironically, the Talmud (Chagigah 10a) itself admits that “the laws of Shabbat… are like mountains hanging by a hair, for they have little scriptural basis but many laws.” Keeping Shabbat to rabbinic standards is hard and hefty like a mountain, yet the basis for doing so from a Torah perspective is minimal.

The Torah does not list the 39 prohibited works. Rather, the Talmud explains, they were derived from the 39 works done to build the Tabernacle, based on the juxtaposition of the command to keep the Sabbath and the command to construct the Tabernacle in Exodus 35. Elsewhere (Shabbat 70a), Rabbi Natan shows how the number 39 can be derived from the words eleh hadevarim in that Exodus passage. The plural word devarim implies a minimum of two, and the definite article “ha” adds another, making three. The gematria of the word eleh is 36. Altogether, we have 39!  

Today’s halachot of Shabbat have come a very long way since the 39 melachot of the Talmud. Each generation since has added more and more fences, and in recent centuries Shabbat observance has become ever more stringent. A story is told of the Baal Shem Tov that he saw a vision of two men, one going to Heaven and the other to Gehinnom. The first, while being entirely ignorant of the law, would enjoy himself mightily on the Sabbath and have a day of true rest, as the Torah commands. The second was so strict with every little halacha that his Shabbat was nothing but prohibitions, restrictions, and fears that he would inevitably transgress something. Above all else, Shabbat must be a day of rest and joy.

Shabbat in Jubilees

Interestingly, the ancient Book of Jubilees (written in the late Second Temple era, and before the Mishnah and Talmud) provides a different list of Shabbat restrictions. While Jubilees is considered an apocryphal text, and is generally not accepted in traditional Judaism (Ethiopian Jews are pretty much the only ones that consider Jubilees a canonical text), it did make an impact on other traditional Jewish texts, especially midrashic and mystical ones.

Jubilees lists fifteen prohibitions: doing one’s professional work, farming, traveling on a journey, and riding an animal, commerce, water-drawing, carrying burdens, and carrying things from one house to another, killing, trapping, fasting, making war, lighting a fire, cooking, and sexual intercourse. (See Jubilees 2:29-30 and 50:8-12.) Just about all of these—the major exception being sexual intercourse—is also forbidden in the Talmud. When we keep in mind that 11 of the 39 Talmudic prohibitions fall under the category of farming and baking, and many more under trapping, killing, and cooking, the two lists start to look very similar.

In some ways, the Jubilees list is even more stringent, which fits with the assertion of historians that Jubilees was probably composed by the Essene sect (or their forerunners). The Essenes were the religious “extremists” of their day, who fled the corruption of Jerusalem to live in isolation, piety, celibacy (for the most part), meditation, and study. Interestingly, the oldest known tefillin that archaeologists have uncovered are from Essene caves around the Dead Sea.

The Mishnah was first recorded about a century after the Essenes all but disappeared. There (Shabbat 7:2) we have the following list of melachot:

The principal melachot are forty minus one: Sowing, plowing, reaping, binding sheaves, threshing, winnowing, sorting, grinding, sifting, kneading, baking; shearing wool, whitening it, combing it, dyeing it, spinning, weaving, making two loops, weaving two threads, separating two threads, tying [a knot], untying [a knot], sewing two stitches, tearing for the purpose of sewing two stitches; hunting a deer, slaughtering it, skinning it, salting it, curing its hide, scraping it, cutting it; writing two letters, erasing for the purpose of writing two letters, building, demolishing, extinguishing a flame, lighting a flame, striking with a hammer, carrying from one domain to another.

A Periodic Table of the 39 Melachot, by Anshie Kagan

A Taste of Eden

The Midrash relates the 39 melachot of Shabbat to the 39 curses decreed following the sin of the Forbidden Fruit in the Garden of Eden. God pronounced 9 curses and death upon the Serpent, 9 curses and death upon Adam (and all men), 9 curses and death upon Eve (and all women), as well as 9 curses upon the earth itself (with, obviously, no death). That makes a total of 39 curses (see, for example, Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer, ch. 14). Thus, keeping the Sabbath reverses the curses of Eden, and is simultaneously a taste of Eden before the fall of mankind.

The Zohar (III, 182b) explicitly compares Shabbat to a “lower” or “earthly” Garden of Eden. The Talmud (Berakhot 57b), meanwhile, states that the pleasure of Shabbat is one-sixtieth of the pleasure of Olam HaBa, the World to Come. On the same page, we are told that three things give one a sense of Olam HaBa. One is basking in sunshine. Another is “tashmish”—either sexual intercourse, or that feeling of satisfaction when relieving one’s self in the bathroom. The third is Shabbat.

The Arizal (in Sha’ar Ruach HaKodesh) taught that Shabbat is the only day when the highest realm of Atzilut is revealed. The lowest of the olamot or “universes”, Asiyah, is revealed on Tuesday and Wednesday. In the account of Creation, it was on these days that Earth and the luminaries—ie. this lower, physical cosmos that we are familiar with—were made. The second, Yetzirah, is revealed on Monday and Thursday, days on which the Torah is publicly read. In Creation, on Monday the waters were split into upper and lower domains, while on Thursday the waters below and the “waters above” (the skies) were filled with life (fish and birds respectively). The higher universe of Beriah is revealed on Sunday and Friday, corresponding to the first day of Creation when God brought forth divine light, and the last day of Creation when God made man. Only on Shabbat is it possible to glimpse into the highest universe of pure divine emanation, Atzilut.

The mochin above (in blue) and the middot below (in red) on the mystical “Tree of Life”.

The Arizal also taught that only on Shabbat are the highest states of consciousness completely open (Pri Etz Chaim, Sha’ar Hanagat Limmud, 1). He was referring to the inner states of the Mochin, the three highest, “intellectual”, sefirot. The first of these is the sefirah of Keter, willpower. The second is Chokhmah, typically translated as “wisdom”, but more accurately referring to knowledge. The third is Binah, “understanding”. The Sages say there are 620 pillars in Keter, 32 paths in Chokhmah, and 50 gates in Binah. The 620 pillars correspond to the 620 mitzvot in the Torah (613 for Israel, and 7 Noahide laws for the rest of the world, or sometimes the 7 additional rabbinic mitzvot). The 32 paths correspond to the 22 Hebrew letters and the 10 base numerical digits (as well as the Ten Sefirot) that form the fabric of Creation. The 50 gates correspond to, among other things, the 50 times the Exodus is mentioned in the Torah, the 50 days between Pesach and Shavuot, the 50 questions posed to Job, and the 50 levels of impurity and constriction. The mysteries of all these esoteric things is revealed on Shabbat. For this reason, the Arizal taught, the sum of 620 pillars, 32 paths, and 50 gates is 702, the gematria of “Shabbat” (שבת).

Shamor v’Zachor

So significant is Shabbat that it is one of the Ten Commandments. The Torah relates the Ten Commandments on two occasions. In the first account of the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20), we read:

Remember [zachor] the Sabbath day to keep it holy. Six days shall you labour, and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath to Hashem, your God… for in six days Hashem made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested on the seventh day…

In the second account of the Ten Commandments (Deuteronomy 5), we read:

Observe [shamor] the Sabbath day to keep it holy, as Hashem, your God, commanded you. Six days shall you labour, and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath to Hashem, your God… And you shall remember that you were a servant in the land of Egypt, and Hashem, your God, brought you out from there…

The first case uses the verb zachor, to commemorate, while the second uses shamor, to safeguard. The first refers to the positive mitzvah of resting and delighting on the Sabbath, while the second refers to the negative mitzvah of not transgressing the Sabbath through work and other profane things.

We further see that the first instance ties Shabbat to Creation, while the second instance ties Shabbat to the Exodus. In the former case, since God created the universe in six days and “rested” on the seventh, we should emulate His ways and do the same. In the latter case, since we were once slaves—working round the clock, seven days a week—we must always take a full day off work so as to remember that we are no longer in servitude. Only slaves work seven days a week! Thus, the first instance uses the verb zachor, to remember Creation, and the second instance uses the verb shamor, to make sure we do not labour on this day.

In reality, the two are one: when we remember Creation we are reminded that we are here for a reason. We are not a product of random chance in a godless, purposeless universe—as some would have us believe. We were created with a divine mission, in God’s image. And thus, we must make sure that we never fall into servitude; that we do not live under someone else’s oppression or dominance (whether physical, emotional, or intellectual). We must be free people, in God’s image, with no one above us but God.

Sefer HaBahir (#182) adds another dimension to the two verbs: it states that zachor alludes to zachar, “male”, and shamor relates to the female. For men, it is more important to remember Creation when it comes to Shabbat, while for women it is more important to remember the Exodus. Perhaps what the Bahir means to say is that for men—who are prone to have big egos—it is vital to think of Creation and remember who the real Master of the Universe is. For women—who are generally the ones cooking and preparing for Shabbat, serving food, and taking care of the kids while the men are at the synagogue—it is vital to think of the Exodus and remember that they are not slaves! Take it easy and ensure that Shabbat is a complete day of rest for you, too.

To conclude, the Talmud (Shabbat 118b) famously states that if all the Jews of the world kept two consecutive Shabbats, the final redemption would immediately come. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai bases this teaching on Isaiah 56:4-7, where God declares that those who “keep My Sabbaths, and choose the things that please Me, and hold fast by My covenant… them will I bring to My holy mountain, and make them joyful in My house of prayer…” The verse says Sabbaths in plural, and as stated earlier, this implies a minimum of two. Perhaps we can say that Israel needs to observe one Shabbat in honour of zachor and one in honour of shamor. The upcoming Jewish New Year of 779 may be a particularly auspicious time to do so, for the gematria of shamor (שמור) and zachor (זכור) is 779. We should redouble our efforts to create a truly restful, spiritual Shabbat for ourselves, and strive to open the eyes of those who are not yet fortunate to do so.

Is It Necessary to Have a Hebrew Name?

‘Elijah Taken Up to Heaven’

This week’s parasha is named after Pinchas, grandson of Aaron, who is commended for taking action during the sin with the Midianite women. Pinchas was blessed with an “eternal covenant”, and Jewish tradition holds that he never really died. Pinchas became Eliyahu, and as the Tanakh describes, Eliyahu was taken up to Heaven alive in a flaming chariot (II Kings 2). While we know what the name “Eliyahu” means, the name “Pinchas” is far more elusive. It doesn’t seem to have any meaning in Hebrew. Historical records show that there was a very similar name in ancient Egypt, “Pa-Nehasi”. Did Pinchas have a traditional Egyptian name?

When we look more closely, we find that multiple figures of the Exodus generation actually bore Egyptian names. For example, “Aaron” (or Aharon) doesn’t have a clear meaning in Hebrew, and appears to be adapted from the ancient Egyptian name “Aha-Rw”, meaning “warrior lion”. Even the origin of Moses’ name is not so clear.

Although the Torah tells us that Pharaoh’s daughter named him “Moshe” because she “drew him [meshitihu] from the water” (Exodus 2:10), it seems very unlikely that an Egyptian princess should know Hebrew so well and give her adopted child a Hebrew name. Our Sages noted this issue long ago, and grappled with the apparent problem. Chizkuni (Rabbi Hezekiah ben Manoach, c. 1250-1310) writes that it was actually Moses’ own mother Yocheved that named him “Moshe”, and then informed Pharaoh’s daughter of the name. Yet, the Midrash affirms that Yocheved called her son “Tuviah”, or just “Tov” (based on Exodus 2:2), and Moshe was the name given by Pharaoh’s daughter. Meanwhile, Ibn Ezra (Rabbi Abraham ben Meir ibn Ezra, 1089-1167) suggests that Pharaoh’s daughter called him “Munius”. Josephus takes an alternate approach entirely, saying that Pharaoh’s daughter (whose name was Thermuthis, before she became a righteous convert and was called Batya or Bitya in Jewish tradition) named him Moses because the Egyptian word for water is mo.

The most elegant solution might be that Pharaoh’s daughter called him “Mose” (spelled the same way, but pronounced with a sin instead of shin), which means “son” in Egyptian. This is most fitting, since Pharaoh’s daughter yearned for a child of her own, and finally had a “son”. In fact, we see this suffix (and its close variant mses, from which the English “Moses” comes) used frequently in Egyptian names of that time period, such as Ahmose, Thutmose, and Ramses. Thus, he would have been known as Mose (or Moses) during his upbringing, but later known to his nation as Moshe, with a more appropriate and meaningful Hebrew etymology, yet without having to change the spelling of the name (משה) at all.

All of this begs the question: is it important to have a Hebrew name? And is it okay to have a Hebrew name together with an English name, or a name in the local language of wherever a Jew may live?

Why Are So Many Sages Called “Shimon”?

When looking through the names of the many rabbis in Talmudic and Midrashic literature, we find something quite intriguing. Although we would expect the Sages to be named after great Biblical figures like Moses, David, or Abraham, in reality there are essentially no sages with such names! Instead, we find a multitude of names of lesser-known Biblical figures, and many names that have no Biblical or Hebrew origin at all.

One very common name is Yochanan: There’s Yochanan ben Zakkai and Yochanan haSandlar, Yochanan bar Nafcha, Yochanan ben Nuri, and Yochanan ben Beroka. Another popular name is Yehoshua. While we might not expect this name to be so popular (considering its association with Jesus), we still find Yehoshua ben Perachia, Yehoshua ben Levi, Yehoshua ben Chananiah, Yehoshua ben Korchah, and many others. There are also lots and lots of Yehudas like Yehuda haNasi (and his descendents, Yehuda II and Yehuda III), Yehuda ben Beteira, Yehuda bar Ilai, and Yehuda ben Tabbai. And there are tons of Elazars: Elazar ben Arach, Elazar ben Azariah, Elazar ben Pedat, and many more with the similar “Eliezer”.

Perhaps the most common name is “Shimon”. There is Shimon haTzadik and Shimon bar Yochai, Shimon bar Abba and Shimon ben Shetach, Shimon ben Gamaliel (both I and II), Shimon ben Lakish (“Reish Lakish”), and more. We would think this is a strange choice, considering that the Biblical Shimon was actually of somewhat poor character (at least compared to the remaining Twelve Sons of Jacob). In fact, on his deathbed, Jacob did not bless Shimon at all, and instead said he wanted nothing to do with his violent nature. Moses, meanwhile, completely omits Shimon in his last blessings! So why would so many of our Sages be called “Shimon”?

A Good-Sounding Name

What might explain the strange selection of names among our ancient Sages? While no clear reason stands out, there is one plausible answer. It appears that the choice of names above was heavily influenced by the contemporary Greek society. Just as today many Jewish parents seek Hebrew names that also sound good in English, it seems parents back then wanted names that sounded good in Greek (since most Jews lived in the Greek part of the Roman, and later “Byzantine”, Empire).

We find that Greek names tend to end with an “n”: Platon (“Plato” in Greek), Jason, and Solon, for example. Numerous others end with “s”: Aristotles (“Aristotle” in Greek), Pythagoras, Philippos. Indeed, many of our Sages actually have such Greek names directly: Yinon, Hyrcanus, Pappus, Symmachus, Teradyon, and Onkelos. There is no indication that these great rabbis had some other “Hebrew” name.

Those that did want to bear Hebrew names could choose names already ending with an “n” like Shimon and Yochanan. Or, they could choose names where adding an “s” to the end would be easy: Yehoshua in Greek is Yeosuos (later giving rise to Yesus, ie. Jesus), while Yehuda is Yudas (Judas). Such names would be easy to convert between Hebrew and Greek. We know from historical sources that several people named Chananiah were simultaneously called “Ananias” in Greek.

The same is true for Elazar or Eliezer. Many Greek names transliterated into English and other languages simple lose their “s” and end with an “r”: Antipatros becomes Antipater, while Alexandros becomes Alexander. In reverse fashion, Elazar could easily become Elazaros (or Lazarus)—very palatable in the Greek-speaking world which our early Sages inhabited.

On that note, what do we make of “Alexander”? A great number of Jews both modern and ancient (there is Alexander Yannai and Rabbi Alexandri in the Talmud) have this name. Some cite a famous Midrashic account of Alexander the Great’s arrival in Jerusalem as being proof that while Alexander is not a Hebrew name, it is something of an “honorary” Jewish name. This requires a more careful analysis.

Is Alexander a Jewish name?

The Talmud (Yoma 69a) describes Alexander the Great’s conquest of Judea. As he is marching towards Jerusalem, intent on destroying the Temple, Shimon HaTzadik goes out to meet him in his priestly garments (he was the kohen gadol at the time). When Alexander sees him, he halts, gets off his horse, and bows down to the priest. Alexander’s shocked generals ask why he would do such a thing, to which Alexander responds that he would see the face of Shimon before each successful battle. Alexander proceeds to treat the Jews kindly, and leaves the Temple intact. The Talmud stops there, though it does mention that this event took place on the 25th of Tevet, which was instituted as a minor holiday on which mourning was forbidden. (The story is also attested to by Josephus, though with a different high priest—see here for more.)

‘Alexander the Great and Jaddus the High Priest of Jerusalem’ by Pietro da Cortona (1596-1669)

According to one tradition, the priests at the time wanted to honour Alexander for his kindness, and named all the boys born that year “Alexander”. In another version, Alexander was given a tour of the Holy Temple and, naturally, wished to place a statue of himself inside. Since this was impossible (but they couldn’t refuse the emperor), Shimon haTzadik convinced him that it would be a greater honour for all the children born to be named “Alexander”. Either way, some like to say that “Alexander” has become a Jewish name ever since.

In truth, this suggestion looks more like a modern way of explaining why so many Jews were named Alexander. In reality, the Midrash clearly states that a Jew should not name his child Alexander. We read in Vayikra Rabbah 32:5:

In the merit of four things was Israel redeemed from Egypt: they did not change their names*, nor their language, they did not speak lashon hara, and not one among them committed sexually immoral sins… They did not call Yehuda “Rufus”, and not Reuben “Lullianus”, and not Yosef “Listus”, and not Benjamin “Alexander”…

Apparently, when Midrash Rabbah was composed—just like today—it was common for Jews to have a non-Jewish name that they would use regularly, together with a Hebrew name that they would use only in Jewish circles. The Hebrew name “Benjamin” was often paired with “Alexander”.

We see from the Midrash above that it is important to have a Hebrew or Jewish name. But what exactly counts as a “Jewish” name?

Non-Jewish “Jewish” Names

Although today most Jews insist on having Hebrew or Biblical names (and rightly so), it seems that our Sages weren’t so strict in this regard. Indeed, many of them bore Greek, Latin, or Aramaic names with no second Hebrew name. Akiva, Avtalyon, Nechunia, Mani, Nittai, Nehorai, Adda, Papa, Simlai, Tanhum, Tarfon, Ulla, and countless others are cited in rabbinic literature. As we saw earlier, those that did have Hebrew names naturally chose names that would be palatable to the surrounding Greeks, much like many Jews today choose names that have easy English homonyms.

This trend continued for centuries, all the way up to modern times. The result is that many seemingly “Jewish” names are actually adaptations of very non-Jewish names. For example, one popular name among Ashkenazi Jews in the past was Feivel or Feibush. This name, meaning “bright”, comes from Phoebus, one of the appellations for the Greco-Roman god of light, Apollo. With this in mind, there may actually be a big halachic problem of bearing this name, since it is forbidden to recite the names of idols. (Some say the name was only meant to substitute the Biblical name Shimshon, the root of which is “sun”, thus having a similar meaning to Phoebus.)

Another appellation for Apollo was Lycegenes or Lukegenes, “born of a wolf” (possibly the source of the name “Luke”), which would be “Wolf” in Germanic countries, where the wolf was an important symbol in European mythology. Wolf also became very popular among Ashkenazis, who usually added the Hebrew translation Ze’ev to the name. The same is true for the classic German/Norse name Baer (“Bear”), to which Ashkenazis added Dov, its Hebrew translation. None of these names are Biblical or Talmudic, nor is their origin truly Hebrew.

Having said that, many have linked these names to Biblical characters. For example, Benjamin is described in the Torah as a wolf (Genesis 49:27), so some carried the name “Binyamin Wolf”, where the former was their actual Jewish name while the latter was their social name. The same goes for “Yehuda Leib”, where Leib means “lion”, like Aryeh, the symbol of the Biblical Yehuda. It has even become common to combine all three to form “Yehuda Aryeh Leib”. Similarly, there’s “Naftali Tzvi Hirsch”, since the Biblical Naftali is described as a deer, ayalah or tzvi, and “Hirsch” is German for “deer”.

Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, the “Alter Rebbe” (1745-1812)

“Schneur”, too, is of non-Jewish origin, and comes from the Spanish name Senor (and is sometimes a German equivalent for Seymour). Chassidim have since reinterpreted it in the Hebrew as Shnei Or, “two lights”. It probably didn’t have this meaning when it was given to Schneur Zalman of Liadi, the founder and first rebbe of Chabad. In his case, “Schneur” was likely meant to be his social name while “Zalman” (Solomon, or “Shlomo) was his traditional Jewish or Hebrew name.

Sephardic Jews are just as culpable. Many have Arabic names like “Massoud” (which means “lucky”) or “Abdullah”. In fact, Rav Ovadia Yosef’s birth name was Yusuf Abdullah, and it was only when the family made aliyah to Israel that “Abdullah” was replaced with its Hebrew translation “Ovadia” (which is a Biblical name). At one point, a popular female Sephardic name was “Mercedes”. This one is highly problematic, as it happens to be a Spanish appellation for the Virgin Mary! (The automobile brand Mercedes is named after a Jewish girl of that name, the daughter of the company’s founder Emil Jellinek and his French-Sephardi wife.) A similar problem lies with the very popular “Natalie”, which literally means “Christmas” in Latin.

Is it okay to bear such names? A distinction must be made between those that clearly have an idolatrous origin versus those that were simply adapted from non-Jewish names but still carry a good meaning. The latter are certainly permissible, since many of our great Sages had such foreign names. Over time, many of these evolved a deeper, Jewish meaning. For instance, Adele was a classic German name (meaning “noble”) and yet the Baal Shem Tov chose it for his daughter. He explained to his chassidim that he received this name through divine inspiration, and that it is an acronym (אדל) for the important words in the Torah אש דת למו—that God gave His people “a fiery Torah” (Deuteronomy 33:2). The Torah, like fire, purifies all things. The Baal Shem Tov’s daughter went on to become a holy chassid of her own, imbued with so much Ruach haKodesh that she was nicknamed Adele HaNeviah, “Adele the Prophetess”.

Jewish “Non-Jewish” Names

The opposite case exists as well: names that appear to be non-Jewish but actually have a clear Jewish origin. Take “Elizabeth”, for example. While it may sound like a classic European name, it is actually the transliteration of “Elisheva” (אלישבע), the righteous wife of Aaron (Exodus 6:23). Some Jewish name sources incorrectly write that John is a non-Jewish name, associating it with the “New Testament” John. Yet, even that John was originally a Jewish man living in Israel, and “John” is simply a transliteration of the Hebrew name “Yochanan”. (It sounds closer in Germany and Eastern Europe, where “John” is “Johan”, or “Yohan”.)

There are numerous other examples. Susanna is Shoshana (שושנה), and Abigail is Avigayil (אביגיל). In the Tanakh, the latter makes an important comment about names, pointing out that because her first husband’s name was Naval (“abomination”) he acted abominably (I Samuel 25:25). She later married King David and is considered a prophetess in her own right.

Many are surprised to discover that “Jessica” comes from the Torah. It is an English adaptation of Iscah (יסכה), mentioned in Genesis 11:29 and, according to our Sages, the birth name of Sarah. Rashi comments:

Iscah. This is Sarah, because she would see [סוֹכָה] through divine inspiration, and because all gazed [סוֹכִין] at her beauty. Alternatively, יִסְכָּה is an expression denoting princedom [נְסִיכוּת], just as Sarah is an expression of dominion [שְׂרָרָה].

Interestingly, it appears that the earliest recorded use of the transliteration “Jessica” comes from Shakespeare’s play The Merchant of Venice. Here, Jessica is the Jewish daughter of the play’s Jewish villain, Shylock. Although many see The Merchant of Venice as an anti-Semitic work, others actually see it as Shakespeare’s cunning manipulation of that era’s rampant anti-Semitism and his own “plea for tolerance”. After all, Shylock’s most famous speech (Act III, Scene 1) reads:

Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, heal’d by the same means, warm’d and cool’d by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.

Shylock argues that his own villainy is nothing but a reflection of the villainy of the Christian world. Shakespeare recognized the cruelty that Jews had suffered, and tells his anti-Semitic audience that Jews are human, too.

Is It Necessary to Have a Hebrew Name?

Ultimately, it is certainly beneficial to have a Hebrew name of some sort, whether Biblical, Talmudic, adapted, or modern. After all, Hebrew is a holy language, and each of its letters carry profound meaning. The Hebrew term for “name” is shem (שם), which is a root of neshamah (נשמה), “soul”, and spelled the same as sham (שם), “there”, for it is there within a person’s name that his or her essence is found. For this reason, the Talmud (Yoma 83b) tells us that Rabbi Meir used to carefully analyze people’s name to determine their character. (This Talmudic passage was explored at length in Secrets of the Last Waters.)

The Talmud (Rosh Hashanah 16b) also notes that changing one’s name is one of five things a person can do to change their fate. Indeed, we see this multiple times in Scripture. Abraham and Sarah have their names changed (from Abram and Sarai) to allow them to finally have a child. Jacob becomes Israel, while Hoshea becomes Yehoshua (Joshua). At some point, Pinchas becomes Eliyahu, and even Yosef (Joseph) becomes Yehosef (Psalms 81:6). On that last name change, the Midrash explains that it was only because Yosef had an extra hei added to his name that he was able to ascend to Egyptian hegemony.

Thus, having a name with a deep meaning, in Hebrew letters, and one that is actually used regularly (as opposed to a secondary Hebrew name that no one calls you by) is of utmost significance. If you don’t yet have such a name, it isn’t too late to get one!


*This Midrash presents a possible contradiction: how can it say that the Israelites did not adopt Egyptian names when we see that some clearly did? Maybe most of the Israelites did not adopt Egyptian names, though some did. Thankfully, another Midrash (Pesikta Zutrati on parashat Ki Tavo) steps in to offer an alternate reason. Here, Israel was redeemed in the merit of three things: not changing their clothing, their food, and their language. Changing their names is conspicuously absent.

The Mysterious Custom of Upsherin

In this week’s double Torah portion (Acharei-Kedoshim) we read that “when you will have planted all manner of trees for food, its fruit shall be forbidden; three years shall it be forbidden to you, it shall not be eaten.” (Leviticus 19:23) This refers to the mitzvah of orlah, where a newly-planted tree must be left unharvested for its first three years. Seemingly based on this, a custom has developed to leave the hair of newborn boys uncut until age three. On or around the boy’s third birthday, a special celebration is held (called upsherin or halakeh), often with family and friends taking turns to cut a bit of the boy’s hair. Henceforth, the boy is encouraged to wear a kippah and tzitzit, and his formal Jewish education will begin. It is said that just as a tree needs the first three years to establish itself firmly in the ground before it can flourish and its fruit be used in divine service, so too does a child.

Lag B’Omer 1970 in Meron. Photo from Israel’s National Photo Collection

Indeed, the Torah makes a comparison between trees and humans in other places. Most famously, Deuteronomy 20:19 states that fruit trees should not be harmed during battle, “for is the tree of the field a man?” The tree is not an enemy combatant, so it should be left alone. Although the plain meaning of the verse is that the tree is not a man, an alternate way of reading it is that “man is a tree of the field”. Elsewhere, God compares the righteous man to a tree firmly rooted in the ground (Jeremiah 17:8), and in another place compares the entire Jewish nation to a tree (Isaiah 65:22).

Having said that, the custom of upsherin is essentially unknown in ancient Jewish sources. It is not mentioned anywhere in the Talmud, nor in any early halachic codes, including the authoritative Shulchan Arukh of the 16th century. Where did this very recent practice originate?

Lag b’Omer and the Arizal

The first Jews to take up this custom were those living in Israel and surrounding lands under Arab Muslim dominion in the Middle Ages. We see that Sephardic Jews in Spain and Morocco did not have such a custom, nor did the Yemenite Jews. In fact, Rav David Bar-Hayim points out that Yemenite Jews did not even have a custom to abstain from haircuts during Sefirat HaOmer at all. This is particularly relevant because the upsherin ceremony is often connected with the Sefirat HaOmer period, with many waiting until Lag b’Omer for their child’s first haircut, and taking the boy to the grave of Rashbi (Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai) in Meron for the special ceremony.

It appears that the earliest textual reference to upsherin is from Rabbi Chaim Vital (1543-1620), the primary disciple of the Arizal (Rabbi Isaac Luria, 1534-1572). Because of this, many believe that upsherin is a proper Kabbalistic custom that was instituted by, or at least sanctioned by, the great Arizal. In reality, the text in question says no such thing. The passage (Sha’ar HaKavanot, Inyan HaPesach, Derush 12) states the following:

ענין מנהג שנהגו ישראל ללכת ביום ל”ג לעומר על קברי רשב”י ור”א בנו אשר קבורים בעיר מירון כנודע ואוכלים ושותי’ ושמחים שם אני ראיתי למוז”ל שהלך לשם פ”א ביום ל”ג לעומר הוא וכל אנשי ביתו וישב שם שלשה ימים ראשו’ של השבוע ההו’ וזה היה פעם הא’ שבא ממצרים אבל אין אני יודע אם אז היה בקי ויודע בחכמה הזו הנפלאה שהשיג אח”כ. והה”ר יונתן שאגי”ש העיד לי שבשנה הא’ קודם שהלכתי אני אצלו ללמוד עם מוז”ל שהוליך את בנו הקטן שם עם כל אנשי ביתו ושם גילחו את ראשו כמנהג הידוע ועשה שם יום משתה ושמחה

On the custom of Israel going on Lag b’Omer to the grave of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and Rabbi Elazar his son (who are buried in the town of Meron as is known) and to eat and drink and rejoice there—I saw that my teacher, of blessed memory [the Arizal], that he went there once on Lag b’Omer with his whole family and remained there for three days, until the start of the sixth week [of the Omer]. And this was that one time, when he came from Egypt, but I do not know if he was then knowledgeable in this wisdom that he would later attain. And Rav Yonatan Sagis related to me that in the first year before I went to him to learn with my teacher of blessed memory, he took his small son with his whole family and there they cut his hair according to the known custom, and he held a feast and celebration there.

First, what we see in this passage is that the Arizal apparently only visited Meron on Lag b’Omer once, when he just made aliyah from Egypt, and before he had become the pre-eminent Kabbalist in Tzfat. (Some say this was actually before he made aliyah, and was simply on a trip to Israel.) Lag b’Omer is the 5th day of the 5th week of the Omer, and the Arizal stayed there for the remainder of the fifth week. Rav Chaim Vital wonders whether the Arizal was already an expert mystic at the time or not. Once he became the leader of the Tzfat Kabbalists, the Arizal apparently never made it a point to pilgrimage to Meron on Lag b’Omer. Rabbi Vital notes just that one time in the past, and it almost seems like once the Arizal was a master mystic, he understood there was nothing particularly mystical about it. In any case, nothing is said here of cutting hair.

The next part of the passage is more problematic. To start, it is unclear whether Rabbi Vital means that he and the Arizal went to study with Rav Yonatan Sagis, or that he and Rav Sagis went to study with the Arizal. We know that Rabbis Sagis and Vital were later both students of the Ari. However, when the Ari first came to Tzfat he was essentially unknown, and was briefly a disciple of other Kabbalists, namely the Ramak (Rabbi Moshe Cordovero, 1522-1570). In fact, the Arizal only spent a couple of years in Tzfat before suddenly passing away at a very young age. Whatever the case, it is unclear from the passage whether it was the Arizal or Rav Sagis who was the one to take his son for a haircut on Lag b’Omer. Based on the context, it would appear that it was Rav Sagis who did so, not the Arizal, since we already learned that the Arizal did not make it a point to pilgrimage to Meron.

The nail on the coffin may come from an earlier passage in the same section of Sha’ar HaKavanot, where we read:

ענין הגילוח במ”ט ימים אלו לא היה מוז”ל מגלח ראשו אלא בערב פסח ובערב חג השבועות ולא היה מגלח לא ביום ר”ח אייר ולא ביום ל”ג לעומר בשום אופן

On the matter of shaving during these forty-nine days [of the Omer], my teacher of blessed memory did not shave his head [hair], except for the evening of Passover and the evening of Shavuot, and would not shave his hair at all [in between], not on Rosh Chodesh Iyar, and not on Lag b’Omer.

According to the Arizal, one should not shave at all during the entire Omer period, including Lag b’Omer! If that’s the case, then the Ari certainly wouldn’t take his child to Meron for a haircutting on Lag b’Omer. It must be that the previous passage is referring to Rav Sagis. Nowhere else in the vast teachings of the Arizal is the custom of waiting until a boy’s third birthday (whether on Lag b’Omer or not) mentioned. Thus, the Arizal was not the custom’s originator, did not expound upon it, and most likely did not even observe it.

So where did it come from?

A Far-Eastern Custom

While no ancient Jewish mystical or halachic text before the 17th century appears to mention upsherin, a similar custom is discussed in much older non-Jewish sources. The Kalpa Sutras of the ancient Hindu Vedic schools speak of a ceremony called Chudakarana or Mundana, literally “haircutting”. It is supposed to be done before a child turns three, usually at a Hindu temple. It is explained that the hair a child is born with it connected to their past life, and all the negative things which that may entail. Removing this hair is symbolic of leaving the past life behind and starting anew. Interestingly, a small lock of hair is usually left behind, called a sikha, “flame” or “ray of light”, as a sign of devotion to the divine. This is surprisingly similar to the Chassidic custom of leaving behind the long peyos at the upsherin.

Hindu Sikha and Chassidic Peyos

From India, the custom seemingly moved across Asia to Arabia. One Muslim tradition called Aqiqah requires shaving the head of a newborn. Of this practice, Muhammad had apparently stated that “sacrifice is made for him on the seventh day, his head is shaved, and a name is given him.” An alternate practice had Muslims take their boys to the graves of various holy people for their first haircut. The Arabic for “haircut” is halaqah, which is precisely what the Sephardic Jews of Israel called upsherin. Thus, it appears that Jews in Muslim lands adopted the custom from their neighbours. However, many of them waited not until the child is three, but five, which is when the Mishnah (Avot 5:22) says a child must start learning Torah. (In this case, the practice has nothing to do with the mitzvah of orlah or any connection to a sapling.)

In the early 19th century, Rabbi Yehudah Leibush Horenstein made aliyah to Israel and first encountered this practice of “the Sephardim in Jerusalem… something unknown to the Jews in Europe.” He was a Chassid, and in that time period many more Chassidim were migrating to Israel—a trend instigated by Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Vitebsk (c. 1730-1788), the foremost student of the Maggid of Mezeritch (Rabbi Dov Ber, d. 1772), who in turn was the foremost student of the Baal Shem Tov (Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer, 1698-1760) the founder of Chassidism. These Chassidim in Israel adopted the practice from the local Sephardim, and spread it to the rest of the Chassidic world over the past century and a half.

While it has become more popular in recent decades, and has been adopted by other streams within Orthodoxy, and even many secular Israelis and Jews, upsherin is far from universally accepted. The Steipler (Rabbi Yaakov Yisrael Kanievsky, 1899-1985) was particularly upset about this practice (see Orchos Rabbeinu, Vol. I, pg. 233). When a child was brought before Rav Yitzchok Zev Soloveitchik of Brisk (1886-1959) for an upsherin, he frustratingly replied: “I am not a barber.” Other than the fact that it is not an established or widespread Jewish custom, there is a serious issue of it being in the category of darkei Emori, referring to various non-Jewish (and potentially idolatrous) practices.

Not So Fast

While there is no mention of the upsherin that we know today in ancient Jewish mystical or halachic texts, there is mention of something very much related. In one of his responsa, the great Radbaz (Rabbi David ibn Zimra, c. 1479-1573) speaks of a practice where some people take upon themselves a “vow to shave their son in the resting place of Samuel the Prophet” (see She’elot v’Teshuvot haRadbaz, siman 608).

Recall that Samuel was born after the heartfelt prayer of his mother Hannah who was barren for many years. She came to the Holy Tabernacle in Shiloh and vowed that if God gave her a son, she would dedicate him to divine service from his very birth, and he would be a nazir his entire life (I Samuel 1:11). This means that he would never be allowed to shave or trim the hair of his head, just as the Torah instructs for anyone taking on a nazirite vow. There is something particularly holy about this, and we see earlier in Scripture how an angel comes to declare the birth of the judge Samson and instructs the parents to ensure he would be a nazirite for life, and that no blade ever come upon his head (Judges 13:5).

The Tanakh goes on to state that once Samuel was weaned, Hannah took him to the Tabernacle and left him in the care of the holy priests so that he could serve God his entire life. How old was he when he was weaned? While it doesn’t say so here, there is an earlier case where the Torah speaks of a child being weaned. This is in Genesis 21:8, where we read how Abraham through a great feast upon the weaning of his son Isaac. Rashi comments here (drawing from the Midrash and Talmud) that Isaac was two years old at the time. For this reason, many Chassidic groups actually perform the upsherin at age two, not three.

Back to the Radbaz, he was born in Spain but was exiled with his family in the Expulsion of 1492. The family settled in Tzfat, where the Radbaz was tutored by Rabbi Yosef Saragossi, the holy “White Saint” credited with transforming Tzfat from a small town of 300 unlearned Jews to a holy Jewish metropolis and the capital of Kabbalistic learning. In adulthood, the Radbaz settled in Fes, Egypt and his fame as a tremendous scholar and posek spread quickly. In 1517, he moved to Cairo and was appointed Hakham Bashi, the Chief Rabbi of Egypt. There, he founded a world-class yeshiva that attracted many scholars. Coming full circle, it was here in the yeshiva of the Radbaz that the Arizal began his scholarly career. In the last years of his life, the Radbaz wished to return to the Holy Land, and made his way back to Tzfat. It is possible that the Arizal left Egypt for Tzfat in the footsteps of his former rosh yeshiva. Ironically, the Radbaz (who lived to age 94, or even 110 according to some sources) would outlive the Arizal (who died at just 38 years of age).

While neither the Arizal nor his old teacher the Radbaz discuss cutting a three-year-old’s hair in particular (or doing it at the tomb of Rashbi), the Radbaz does speak of a personal vow that one may take to cut their child’s hair at the tomb of Samuel the Prophet. This practice comes from emulating Hannah, who took a vow with regards to her son Samuel. Samuel went on to be compared in Scripture to Moses and Aaron (and the Sages say Moses and Aaron combined!) Of course, Hannah never cut her child’s hair at all, but perhaps there is something spiritual in treating the child like a nazirite until the child is “weaned”.

In any case, the question that the Radbaz was addressing is what one must do if they took up such a haircutting vow but are unable to fulfil it because the authorities prohibit Jews from going to the grave sites of their ancestors. From here, some scholars conclude that the Ottoman authorities at the time really must have prohibited Jews from going to the grave of Samuel, near Jerusalem. Thus, it is possible that those Jerusalem Jews who had a custom of going to Samuel’s grave decided to journey to another famous grave instead. Perhaps it was in these years of the early 16th century that the custom to go to Rashbi in Meron (instead of Shmuel near Jerusalem) evolved.

So, there may be something to the upsherin custom after all. Of course, we still don’t know when the practice of going to Samuel’s grave emerged. That appears to have been a local custom (or possibly not a custom at all, but a personal vow) of Jerusalem’s medieval Jewish community. It, too, may have been influenced by neighbouring Muslims who went to the graves of their saints to cut their children’s hair.

Whatever the case, we see that foundations of upsherin are not so clear-cut. Contrary to popular belief, it is neither a universally accepted Jewish custom, nor a mandatory halachic requirement. It did not originate with the Arizal either, although we do see some basis for it in the writings of the Radbaz. For those who wish to uphold this custom, they have upon whom to rely, and should meditate foremost upon the holy figures of Hannah and Samuel, who appear to be the spiritual originators of this mysterious practice.

Has the Erev Rav Infiltrated Orthodox Judaism, Too?

Last week we opened with a discussion of the Erev Rav, a small group within the Jewish people whose souls stir nothing but trouble for the nation. Their origins are not Israelite, and although halachically Jewish—and possibly even well-meaning people who are not consciously aware of their inner nature—they aim to destroy God’s original Torah. We cited the Arizal in explaining how the weapon of the Erev Rav is da’at: logic, reason, and knowledge, which they twist in the wrong ways to lead people astray.

The Zohar continues to speak of the Erev Rav in its commentary on this week’s parasha, Beshalach, most famous for the account of the Splitting of the Sea. The Zohar starts with an examination of the first verses in the portion, which state that God did not lead the nation directly to Israel, but round-about through the wilderness surrounding the Red Sea. The Torah says God did this so that the nation would not march near the mighty Philistines and fearfully want to return to Egypt.

The Zohar asks: why does God say “the people” (ha’am), and not “My people” (‘ami), as He had always said previously? The Zohar answers that this is because the Erev Rav was among the people, and goes on to prove that whenever the Torah says ha’am (such as in the Golden Calf episode), it refers specifically to the wicked Erev Rav. It was they who would fear the Philistines and might wish to return to Egypt, for certainly no true Israelite would ever wish to return to the slavery and brutality from which they had finally escaped.

The Zohar goes on to confirm that it was the Erev Rav who was responsible for the Golden Calf, and the resultant exile of the Jewish people, as well as “the deaths of thousands among Israel, the submission to foreign kingdoms, and the breaking of the Tablets”. It is the Erev Rav that leads Israel astray, and keeps them in exile. They seek to “break the Tablets”—to twist the Torah in a false direction. And the result is the many horrible catastrophes that befall the nation.

We wrote last week how the Shabbateans, Frankists, and even the leaders of Reform Judaism fit the mold of a modern Erev Rav very well. But what about the Orthodox Jewish world? Has the Erev Rav infiltrated traditional Orthodox communities?

A Battle of Rabbinic Giants

Rav Yonatan Eybeschutz

In the first half of the 18th century, in the decades that immediately followed the Shabbatean heresy, two of the great Ashkenazi rabbis were Yonatan Eybeschutz (1690-1764) and Yakov Emden (1697-1776). Rav Eybeschutz was born in Poland and was quickly recognized as a saintly prodigy, even as a child. He eventually settled in Prague, and would become the head of the city’s yeshiva and its top judge. In 1750 he was elected as the chief rabbi of the “Three Communities” of Altona, Hamburg, and Wandsbek. Altona was the birthplace of Rav Emden, who presided over one of its main synagogues and the city’s printing press.

As we mentioned last week, Prague was one of the strongholds of the Shabbateans. It seems that a young Eybeschutz may have dabbled in some Shabbateanism early on, but rejected it as he grew older and wiser. A text called V’Avo HaYom el Ha‘Ayin originated in Prague in 1724 and was clearly trying to infuse Shabbatean ideas among traditional Jews. Some, including Rav Emden, pointed a finger at Rav Eybeschutz. The latter defended his innocence, and in 1725 spoke out publicly and passionately against Shabbateanism.

The controversy died down, only to be reignited in 1751 by Emden shortly after Eybeschutz was elected as chief rabbi (beating out Emden, who was also a candidate for the position). Apparently, a number of amulets authored by Rav Eybeschutz had Shabbatean symbolism. Eybeschutz again pleaded his innocence, but the attacks grew stronger. Rabbi Yakov Yehoshua Falk (the Pnei Yehoshua, 1680-1756) weighed in, writing of Eybeschutz that “All of his deeds, from the earliest times, are characterized by deceit.”

Rabbi Eliyahu Kramer, the Vilna Gaon

Rav Eybeschutz went on a campaign to prove his innocence, collecting 50 letters with 300 signatures of various rabbis that attested to his fine character and virtue. Interestingly, one of the people he asked was a young Rabbi Eliyahu ben Shlomo, the Vilna Gaon (1720-1797). At this time, the Gaon was virtually unknown outside of Vilnius. He began his response with a long, flattering address to “the leader of the nation… the true gaon, the famous, the profound, the erudite lamp of Israel… our teacher and rabbi, Rabbi Yonatan…” yet went on to imply that he could not really take a stance on the matter, for “I come from a distant land, I am young, I hold no office.” He goes on to ask Rav Yonatan for forgiveness, and “that you judge me favourably.” He did seem to suggest that the amulets in question were not inappropriate.

Rav Emden went on to publish his own response to Rav Eybeschutz, and called the Vilna Gaon’s light defence “the testimony of a boor from Vilna, an ignorant youth…” Although Emden later regretted this remark—when he realized how saintly and wise that “ignorant youth” really was—he was known to lash out at others with such fiery language. He accused many more of being closet Shabbateans, even the great Ramchal (Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, 1707-1746)! And he scuffled with those who weren’t Shabbateans, too. Emden got into trouble with Rav Moshe Hagiz (1671-1750), the chief Sephardic rabbi of Altona, as well as with Rav Ezekiel Katzenellenbogen (1670-1749), the chief Ashkenazi rabbi of Altona. Some credit Emden with squashing Shabbateanism, while others critique that it was Emden who first made it fashionable to criticize rabbis and speak derogatorily about them—now unfortunately a common practise.

Moses Mendelssohn

Emden was himself a controversial figure, known for a number of questionable stances. He wanted to reinstate polygamy (to be fair, so did the Vilna Gaon, but for other reasons), or at least permit concubines. He spoke negatively of philosophy and science, but positively of alchemy and Christianity; wrote that the Rambam’s Moreh Nevuchim (“Guide for the Perplexed”) was written by an imposter, and that major chunks of the Zohar are false. More disturbingly, he had a great relationship with Moses Mendelssohn, the founder of the Haskalah movement and one of the early fathers of reform—whom we had linked with the modern Erev Rav.

It is therefore quite difficult to determine who was right in the Emden-Eybeschutz controversy. Many scholars believe that Eybeschutz may have been a Shabbatean in his youth until 1724, but certainly was not after this. After all, he himself decreed a herem (excommunication) upon the Shabbateans. Yet, he also spoke positively of Mendelssohn and of Christianity, and even hired a former student who had converted to Christianity. In 1760, a group of students from Eybeschutz’s yeshiva revealed themselves to be Shabbateans, resulting in the closure of the yeshiva. At the same time, his son Wolf Eybeschutz joined the Frankists and claimed to be a Shabbatean prophet!

It appears this was enough proof for Emden, who declared himself the winner of the controversy. In fact, he changed his name from Yakov to Israel (or added “Israel” to his name), just as the Biblical Jacob’s name was changed to Israel because he had “fought with great men and prevailed” (Genesis 32:29). The two rabbis died within a couple of years of each other (both were buried in Altona’s Jewish cemetery within a stone’s throw of one another), and the controversy was soon forgotten, replaced by a new one: Chassidim vs. Mitnagdim.

The Battle to Save Judaism

We wrote last week how the Baal Shem Tov, founder of the Chassidic movement, worked tirelessly to defeat the Frankists and Shabbateans. His Chassidism arguably saved Judaism by providing a kosher alternative to Shabbatean mysticism. At the same time, the early Chassidim appear to have themselves been influenced by Shabbateans, particularly in Poland. The Baal Shem Tov, too, was known to study and speak highly of a book called Sefer HaTzoref. This massive work was written by Yehoshua Heschel Zoref (1633-1700) of Vilna, who had declared himself Mashiach ben Yosef to Shabbatai Tzvi’s Mashiach ben David. Some argue the Baal Shem Tov was unaware of the book’s origins. Nonetheless, Zoref would start a “Chassidic” movement of his own in Lithuania and Cracow. This is one reason why the Vilna Gaon (in Lithuania) was so antagonistic towards the wider Chassidic movement, among whom there could be lurking secret Shabbateans.

In all likelihood, genuine Shabbateanism died out among the Chassidim, and the movement as a whole would prove itself to be legitimate. But various Shabbatean-like tendencies remained, including both occasional antinomianism and frequent messianism. Others “proved” their innocence by being scrupulously pious, as many secret Frankists had done. This kind of piety would become a staple of Chassidism, so much so that “Ultra-Orthodoxy” and “Chassidism” are often used interchangeably by the public. Whether through senseless additional rules that have no origin in Torah, or through blind worship of their rebbes bordering on idolatry, many Chassidic groups have twisted the Torah in a false direction.

Meanwhile, there are those that are vehemently opposed to the State of Israel, as if yearning to stay in exile forever. Yes, the State of Israel is far from ideal, and is not religious as it needs to be, but instead of crusading against it so passionately, why not work to make it the way it should be? Why not put the same effort into infusing Israel with more spirituality and influencing its leaders in a positive direction instead of causing divisions and hillul Hashem? There are even those who have, in a show of support, brazenly met with genocidal Arab and Iranian leaders—do they not realize these people want to “drive the Jews into the sea”? Regardless of one’s stance on the State, there are innocent Jewish families living in the Holy Land, as God commanded them to. Amazingly, the Zohar on this week’s parasha explicitly says that it is the Erev Rav which strives to bring catastrophes upon the Jewish people and keep Jews forever in exile. These “chassidim” do exactly that.

The most famous (and most vehement) of the anti-Israel Chassidic sects, ‘Neturei Karta’ (clockwise from top left) meeting with Hamas Prime Minister Ismail Haniyeh, joining an anti-Israel protest in Berlin (under the eye of the Ayatollah), and meeting with former Iranian president Ahmadinejad.

The Battle for Each of Us

We said previously that the power of the Erev Rav is in manipulating knowledge, or da’at. We showed how Reform leaders have used it to twist Jews to the extreme left and abandon the Torah. The same can be done in the opposite direction, though, where Judaism is taken to the other extreme; to the point where the religion becomes a prison of fences, and we forget the real mitzvah that the fences are supposed to safeguard. The Talmud calls this phenomenon being a chassid shoteh, or “pious” to the point of foolishness. Sadly, the Orthodox world of today is full of this. We wrote in the past how the great Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananiah said this kind of extreme legalism will turn people away from Judaism, make it impossible for the majority to fulfil the law, and destroy the religion in the long run. He went so far as to say that the chassid shoteh “brings destruction upon the world” (Sotah 20a). In many ways, he was right.

Ironically, it is usually these same people who convince others that they are the true holders of Torah and everyone else is only a pretender. The Tanakh speaks of such hypocrites, with God proclaiming that tofsei haTorah lo yeda’uni, “the upholders of Torah do not know Me” (Jeremiah 2:8). God did not say the gentiles don’t know Him, or the idol worshippers, or the Jews that have gone astray, but specifically the Jews who think they know and uphold the Torah best are the ones who are often furthest from Hashem. And this all goes back to another famous prophecy from the Talmud (Sotah 49b):

In the footsteps of Mashiach, insolence will increase and honour dwindle… the meeting place of scholars will be used for immorality… the wisdom of the learned will degenerate, fearers of sin will be despised, and the truth will be missing…

The Talmud speaks of our days as a time when real ancient wisdom will literally “rot” away, when heresy and corruption will be rampant among scholars and leaders, the genuinely righteous and God-fearing will be rejected, and the truth will be hard to find.

It is therefore absolutely incumbent upon every single Jew today to constantly evaluate the community and congregation they are a part of, and to use their critical thinking in analyzing their leaders and their hashkafa. There are many truly virtuous, saintly rabbis, and there are also a fair share of their wayward counterparts that masquerade as such. Do your research, use your head, and listen to your gut. Do not be a sheep.

The Secret Origins of Reform Judaism

Where did Reform Judaism come from? For many centuries, Judaism was a single entity without major divisions or denominations like those in the Christian world (Catholic, Orthodox, Protestant, etc.) or in the Muslim world (Shiite, Sunni, and others). In the middle of the 19th century, a new “branch” of Judaism suddenly emerged among Ashkenazi Jews in Europe. This was Reform Judaism, which quickly separated itself from “Orthodoxy”, meaning the traditional Jewish way.

An 1806 depiction of Napoleon “emancipating” the Jews

The classic answer to explain this development is that once Jews in Europe were “emancipated” at the turn of the 19th century, they assimilated into European society and wished for a more “modern” version of Judaism that would be acceptable to their “enlightened” Christian neighbours. At the same time, the state of Jewry was at a very low point for a number of reasons (including poverty, persecution, and pogroms), and these early reformers wanted to help the poor “ghetto Jew”; to make him more educated and more prosperous.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch

Of course, this latter reason is admirable, and it is true that many European Jews at this time needed a big boost both morally and financially. This is why the great Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch (1808-1888) started a Torah im Derech Eretz movement which strove to educate and empower Jews, but without abandoning Torah and mitzvot, as did his contemporary Rabbi Azriel Hildesheimer (1820-1899).

Abraham Geiger

Meanwhile, the Reform movement sought to abandon traditional Torah, and relegate mitzvot to being optional at best. One of the fathers of Reform Judaism, Abraham Geiger (1810-1874) emphatically stated that the “Talmud must go”. He removed prayers that mourned the Temple or spoke of a return to Jerusalem, for this would be unpatriotic for a German to recite. To this day, Reform Jews call their synagogue a “temple”, the idea being that there is no need to yearn for rebuilding the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, the local “temple” being a valid substitute. Geiger admitted that his “new” Judaism is modelled on Protestant Christianity, and that the Torah and Talmud should be studied “from the point of view of the historian”. For Geiger and his successors, Judaism was nothing more than ancient history, with a set of voluntary cultural traditions.

Why take such an extreme position? Why work so hard to assimilate Jews and to abandon the Torah entirely? Why not follow the balanced model of Rav Hirsch or Rabbi Hildesheimer? Where did this strong antinomianism (rejection of law) come from?

The Erev Rav

In this week’s parasha, Bo, we are told that an erev rav, a “mixed multitude”, emerged with Israel out of Egypt (Exodus 12:38). These were not Israelite descendants of Jacob, but various Egyptians and other nations among them that were awed and convinced by God’s plagues and miracles, and wanted to join the Israelites. They, too, stood at Sinai, and thus became Jews.

Yet, it was these same erev rav “Jews” that just 40 days later instigated the incident of the Golden Calf. The Sages state there were 3000 of them, and their goal was to incite the Jews to immorality and idolatry, drawing them away from God. After Moses came down from the mountain, we read how these instigators were punished, and Exodus 32:28 states explicitly that 3000 of them were slayed. While this evil erev rav was removed from the Exodus generation, it is said that the same 3000 souls reincarnate in future generations to cause havoc among the Jews (see, for example, the Arizal in Sha’ar HaGilgulim, ch. 39). While they may be halachically “Jewish”, spiritually they are anything but. They are not necessarily conscious of this, and appear to be well-meaning people, but their inner calling is the very elimination of traditional Judaism.

The erev rav accomplishes this through various means, central among them the use of cunning “reason”. The Arizal taught (see Sha’ar HaPesukim on Ki Tisa and Balak) that they twist the power of da’at, “knowledge”, and lead Jews from true da’at Hashem, knowledge of God, to a foreign da’at of idolatry and immorality. [For those who like gematria, the Arizal illustrates this beautifully by pointing out that the numerical value of erev rav (ערב רב) is 474, equal to da’at (דעת).]

The Zohar (I, 25) prophesies that this erev rav will be particularly powerful in the End of Days, and will lead countless Jews astray. Thankfully, they will ultimately be destroyed, and this is the deeper meaning of Zechariah 13:2, which states how the “prophets of the impure spirit” will be removed from the earth. Prior to this, though, they will succeed in causing Jews to abandon true Judaism; to assimilate and to forget the God of Israel and His Torah.

Before we get into the depth of the matter, one can already see how “Reform Judaism” has accomplished the above goal quite well: recent statistics show that only 29% of Reform Jews say they have a strong belief in God, and only 4% regularly attend their “temple”. A whopping 80% of Reform Jews intermarry, with the express approval of the “rabbis” who officiate these weddings. The same rabbis are often quite proud to publicly trample Torah law—in fact, the first graduation ceremony of the Reform seminary Hebrew Union College in 1883 featured frog legs and shrimp, and was called the “treif banquet”.

The leaders of Reform Judaism have accomplished the role of the erev rav quite well. Where exactly did they come from?

A New Cult

The story of Reform Judaism actually begins two centuries earlier. In the middle of the 17th century, there was a great messianic fervour, particularly in Europe. Many Christians believed that the year 1666 would be the last (having the symbolic 666), while some Jews also clung to several opinions—including a possible reference from the Zohar—that the End of Days would come in the mid-1600s. Meanwhile, Eastern European Jews were experiencing perhaps their worst catastrophe yet, the Chmelnitsky massacres.

Shabbatai Tzvi

In the midst of this, a mentally-unstable Jew named Shabbatai Tzvi (1626-1676) started to have illusions of grandeur. Although he was a noted Torah scholar, his family and rabbis rejected his fits of megalomania. Tzvi left his hometown of Smyrna and eventually ended up in the Holy Land, where Nathan of Gaza soon proclaimed him the messiah. Although rejected by the majority of rabbis, and at one point excommunicated, Tzvi’s fame continued to spread.

Eventually, he stirred enough of a storm that the Ottomans arrested him and gave him the option of converting to Islam and ending his messianic pretensions, or death. Tzvi converted, and became an honoured Ottoman effendi. His closest followers converted with him. The messianic dream came to an end. Yet, many people still believed him to be the messiah, even after his death. While those of his followers that converted to Islam lived in Turkey and were known as the Dönmeh, there were also Jews who continued to practice Judaism but were secretly “Shabbateans”, particularly in Eastern Europe.

The biggest problem with Tzvi is that he claimed to fulfil the messianic role of bringing a “new Torah”, the Torah of Atzilut, and this Torah does not require strict adherence to mitzvot. He publicly ate chelev, prohibited non-kosher fats, and even recited a blessing over it. The Shabbateans feasted on fast days, and there were also rumours that they suspended the laws of prohibited relationships.

Among the Dönmeh, the latter abolition took particular significance, and their future leader Baruchiah Russo (d. 1720) abolished any restrictions on sexuality, developing a series of bizarre sexual practices. In the middle of the 18th century, this community was paid a visit by one Polish-born Jacob Frank (1726-1791), the son of a secret Shabbatean. In 1755, Frank returned to Poland and started preaching the way of the Dönmeh. He founded his own Shabbatean sect, claiming to be the final incarnation of Shabbatai Tzvi.

Jacob Frank

Following the model of the Dönmeh in Turkey, who outwardly converted to Islam, Frank and his followers outwardly converted to Christianity. Because of this, they were assisted by the Catholic Church. (Frank himself was baptised by King Augustus III of Poland!) The Frankists took antinomianism to an extreme, and sought to destroy Torah law entirely, and all of traditional Judaism with it. While Frank and about 500 of his followers converted, it is estimated that several thousand more (3000?) remained as outwardly practicing Jews, often very religious-looking and supposedly very pious to mask their secret Frankism. Frank believed that in such a way, the Dönmeh will destroy Islam, his Frankists would destroy Christianity, and those secret Frankists among the Jews would destroy Judaism.

Thankfully, their plot was averted. The Dönmeh had no influence on Islam (a tiny isolated community still lives in Turkey today) nor was Christianity affected very much, mainly because there was a much greater wave of atheism and “Enlightenment” already passing over Europe. The Frankists were excommunicated by the rabbis, who also made it incumbent upon every Jew to expose any Frankist they may suspect.

At the same time, the Chassidic movement took off, and it is quite likely that the Baal Shem Tov (Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer, 1698-1760) decided to go public with his previously-secret group of Chassidim to counter the Frankist threat and provide Jews with a valid mystical approach. Sadly, the Baal Shem Tov died in 1760, just months after the Frankists publicly converted to Christianity and reignited a blood libel against Jews at the end of 1759. It is said that the Baal Shem Tov succumbed to a young and untimely death because of his grief over the Frankists. He toiled effortlessly to stop them; his efforts were not in vain.

By the early 19th century, Frank himself was dead, and the movement couldn’t live on without his power, wealth, and charisma. His daughter Eva lead for a while, but soon ended up destitute and without followers. The movement was quashed, but thousands of Frankists remained across Europe, ostracized from the Jewish community, and without any leadership, organization, or support. Where would they go?

Reform and the Franks

Gershom Scholem

World-renowned philosopher and scholar Gershom Scholem (1897-1982) thoroughly researched the origins and history of Shabbateanism and Frankism, and published a great deal of literature on these movements. Besides this, Scholem was an expert on Jewish mysticism, and was once called “without challenge the greatest living authority on Kabbalah.” He was professor of Jewish mysticism at Jerusalem’s Hebrew University for over three decades, and his breadth of Kabbalistic knowledge was astounding.

In The Messianic Idea in Judaism (pg. 141), Scholem wrote:

The leaders of the “School of Mendelssohn”, who were neither Shabbateans themselves, of course, nor under the influence of mysticism at all, to say nothing of mystical heresy, found ready recruits for their cause in Shabbatean circles, where the world of Rabbinic Judaism had already been completely destroyed from within, quite independently of the efforts of secularist criticism. Those who had survived the ruin were now open to any alternative or wind of change; and so, their “mad visions” behind them, they turned their energies and hidden desires for a more positive life to assimilation and the Haskala [“Enlightenment”], two forces that accomplished without paradoxes, indeed without religion at all, what they, the members of the “accursed sect”, had earnestly striven for in a stormy contention with truth, carried on in the half-light of a faith pregnant with paradoxes.

Moses Mendelssohn

Scholem points out that the members of the Shabbatean and Frankist “accursed sect” found a comfortable new home in Reform Judaism, the “School of Mendelssohn”, which accomplished so well what the sect was trying to do through subversion and infiltration. Moses Mendelssohn (1729-1786) was the backbone of the Reform founders. While himself initially well-intentioned, and wishing to help the “ghetto Jew”, he would end up raising the platform for Reform. In fact, the philosopher Immanuel Kant admitted that Mendelssohn’s work was “the proclamation of a great reform”, while Heinrich Heine proudly credited him: “Mendelssohn overthrew the Talmud.” (Yes, and five of Mendelssohn’s own six children converted to Christianity. So much for his reformed Judaism.)

Scholem further wrote of the link between the old cult and the new reform religion:

Around 1850, a consciousness of this link between Shabbateanism and reform was still alive in some quarters. In circles close to the moderate reform movement, a very remarkable and undoubtedly authentic tradition had it that Aaron Chorin, the first pioneer of reformed Jewry in Hungary, was in his youth a member of the Shabbatean group in Prague. Prossnitz and Hamburg, both in the eighteenth century centers of Shabbatean propaganda and the scene of bitter struggles between the orthodox and the heretics or their sympathizers, were among the chief strongholds of the Reform movement in the beginning of the nineteenth century. The sons of those Frankists in Prague who in 1800 still pilgrimed to Offenbach, near Frankfort, the seat of Frank’s successors, and who educated their children in the spirit of this mystical sect, were among the leaders, in 1832, of the first “Reform” organization in Prague. The writings of Jonas Wehle himself, the spiritual leader of these Prague mystics around 1800, already display an astonishing mixture of mysticism and rationalism… from which it is clear that his particular pantheon had room for Moses Mendelssohn and Immanuel Kant side by side with Shabbatai Tzvi and Isaac Luria. And as late as 1864, his nephew, writing in New York, lengthily praises in his testament his Shabbatean and Frankist ancestors…

Scholem’s conclusions are clear: Reform Judaism became a springboard for a new Shabbateanism. This may explain why it took such a strong antinomian turn, steadily shedding all mandatory observance of mitzvot. And just as it took hold across Europe, it immigrated to the United States, where the New York descendants continued in the footsteps of their fathers, as we see above. Today, the United States is the home of the largest Reform community. The statistics we pointed out earlier confirm that the Frankist vision of a destroyed, assimilated, lawless Judaism—indeed the vision of the first erev rav millennia ago—has been realized in Reform.

It is important to clarify that this does not meant that millions of Reform Jews are all part of some kind of conspiracy or evil faith, God forbid. Rather, Reform Jewish adherents are good-hearted people that have been duped into a flawed system of beliefs. Many are likely unaware of the hidden origins of their religion, and all that it truly represents.

Sure, Reform is not entirely without merit, and has its positive aspects, just as its founders had some valid arguments. Nor is present-day “Orthodox” Judaism perfect (far from it, and even further from it among certain “Ultra-Orthodox” groups). But one side, as a whole, is still cleaving to Hashem, His Holy Land, and His Holy Torah; the other isn’t.

Every Reform Jew, and every Jew in general, should undertake a serious evaluation of their beliefs and the system of which they are a part. Do your diligent research, and find where the real truth lies.