Showing posts with label olam haba. Show all posts
Showing posts with label olam haba. Show all posts

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Life cycle: the wheel goes 'round / b.Sanhedrin 92a

The term “life cycle” is tossed around a lot. Certainly, a community experiences birth, growth, marriage, aging, and death, and then more births in its midst. But does an individual experience a life cycle? I was born, I go through various stages of life, and then I die. How is that a cycle? For the Rabbis it was a perfect cycle: birth, all the stages of life, death, resurrection/rebirth. The belief in resurrection of the dead affirmed for them a true life cycle.

We are still amidst the Rabbis’ epic effort to prove that resurrection of the dead derives from the Torah. They have pulled out nearly all the stops, threatening the loss of olam haba (the world-to-come), citing numerous verses creatively interpreted, and envisioning court cases before Alexander the Great that affirmed their view. Very near the bottom of daf 92a is a passage I take as a unit (though far more learned and esteemed scholars of Talmud disagree).
And R. Elazar said: Whoever looks at a woman’s genitals, his bow will be empty, as it says, Your bow is stripped bare (Habbakuk 3:9).

And R. Elazar said: Be forever in the dark and live.

R. Zeira said: Also we have learned this: We do not open windows in a dark house to see its plague [referring to mishnah Nega’im 2:3]. Learn from this.

R. Tavi said in the name of R. Yoshiyah: What is the meaning of the grave, a barren womb, earth that cannot get enough water (Proverbs 30:16)? What is the connection between the grave and the closed [barren] womb? It is to teach you [that] just as the womb takes in and expels, so too does the grave take in and expel. And in fact these are a kal va’chomer: If a womb, into which things are deposited quietly, and from which things emerge noisily, then [concerning] the grave, into which we deposit things noisily, isn’t it logical that things emerge [from the grave] amidst great noise? From here [we have] a response to those who say that resurrection of the dead does not derive from Torah.
The Rabbis are attempting to prove resurrection from Torah. R. Elazar opens with an image of marital intimacy, the quintessential act that brings new life into the world. If you look at your wife’s genitals in the course of lovemaking, however, your bow I stripped bare. (Please see my note at the bottom of this blog post for more on whether R. Elazar was standing on solid ground with this claim.) At first glance we might think that the verse from Habbakuk applies to the wife, but R. Elazar surprises us and applies it to the husband: the man who looks at his wife’s genitals will suffer either impotence or sterility (I’m not sure which; perhaps he means either). This behavior will result in the diminution of life - a kind of death. Lovemaking intended to engender new life, will achieve the opposite.

Understood this way, his counsel to “be forever in the dark and live” makes sense. He cannot see what he shouldn’t be looking at in a dark room. In other words, give up those romantic candles and buy room-darkening blinds. Perhaps there is a very subtle hint here of where we’re going. Being in the dark to generate new life parallels or foreshadows the dark of the grave, which precedes rebirth by resurrection. From birth to death to life after death.

R. Zeira offers us much the same message, but in citing Nega’im (the tractate about tzara’at, skin afflictions that affect people, clothing, and homes) he suggests that this behavior will bring a plague upon your house. All the good of intimacy gives way to loss, death and disease if you don’t “follow the rules.” From birth to death.

We begin with a fertile womb that doesn’t conceive because of inappropriate sexual behavior. The images of male sterility (diminution of life, death of the potential to have children) and plagues sets us up for R. Tavi’s interpretation of Proverbs 30:16. R. Tavi quotes a snippet from the middle of the verse. (The entire verse, with R. Tavi’s phrase bolded, is: The leech has two daughters, “Give!” and “Give!” Three things are insatiable; four never say, “Enough!”: the grave, a barren womb, earth that cannot get enough water, and fire that never says, “Enough!”) R. Tavi uses this excerpted phrase to equate the grave and the womb, and then apply the argument of kal va’chomer (a fortiori argument) to them. The argument goes like this: Proverbs 30:16 juxtaposes “womb” and “grave” to tell us that they evince the same phenomenon. Sperm is quietly deposited into the womb, but the baby that emerges is noisy. The process goes from quiet to noisy. The grave must therefore follow that same pattern. We deposit the body into the grave amidst the noise of crying and mourning; therefore (1) something must emerge from the grave (as from the womb); and (2) what emerges must be extremely noisy. In the minds of the Rabbis this must mean that people are resurrected to the noise of the messianic age. Hence we derive resurrection from Proverbs 30:16.

Then why the conversation launched by R. Elazar before it? The passage begins with an image of life and procreation -- a couple engaged in lovemaking. Conception and birth. R. Zeira introduces the idea of plague -- it may cause death. Conception, life, then death. R. Tavi’s interpretation of Proverbs 30:16 “proves” resurrection of the dead. We have the process: birth, life, death, rebirth/resurrection.

NOTE:

This passage initially caught my eye because it opens with a claim similar to one found elsewhere in the Talmud, in masechet Nedarim, daf 20. There the Rabbis handily and brilliantly dismantle the claim that a husband should not look between his wife’s legs at her genitals.

Nedarim 20 features a protracted discussion of sexual practices, arrived at by branching off from the main topic twice. R. Yochanan b. Dahabai claims to have learned four things from the Ministering Angels: a man should not engage in anal sex with his wife, nor kiss her genitals, nor converse with her while engaged in lovemaking, nor even look at her genitals. (Puritanical, no? It was H.L. Mencken who defined Puritanism as, “The haunting fear that someone, somewhere may be happy.” R. Yochanan b. Dahabai sounds like he’s from that school.) The Rabbis then recount Ima Shalom’s testimony that her husband, R. Eliezer, engaged in the most modest sex imaginable, never uncovering more than a few square inches of her skin at a time. The Sages then cleverly turn her testimony upside down and use it not only to permit talk during lovemaking, but to laud it. The notoriously strict and stringent R. Eliezer now becomes the model for a liberal attitude toward marital intimacy. But wait! R. Yochanan b. Dahabai claimed he learned the four prohibitions from heaven. The Rabbis are able to dismiss R. Yochanan b. Dahabai’s rules altogether by saying that “Ministering Angels” is merely a polite term for rabbis; hence his rules are simply the opinion of some. In fact, they now tell us, a husband and wife may do whatever they wish because -- as R. Yehudah haNasi unequivocally affirms -- Torah does not regulate consensual sexual acts between a husband and wife. Torah is concerned only with emotional states, especially those that might lead to violence.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Making Sense (nor not) of Suffering (Berakhot 5a)

This week, I want to take a step back to the subject of my first two posts and considered the background against which the Rabbis promulgate their theory of yissurim shel ahavah (afflictions of love). But I want to begin with a caveat: Last week in Pamplona, Spain, a 27-year-old man was gored to death in the Running of the Bulls. One day later, two more men were seriously injured as the event was repeated. This reminded me of the poster offered at http://www.despair.com/tradition.html. Below a picture of the running of the bulls it says: “Tradition: just because you’ve always done it that way doesn’t mean it’s not incredibly stupid.”

Many people view suffering through a traditional lens. This lens was first ground by Tana”kh (Hebrew Scripture) that tells us that there are two causes for human suffering for which God is responsible. Either suffering can test our faithfulness (consider the Akedah, God’s command to Avraham to sacrifice his beloved son, Yitzhak), or suffering is God’s pay back for disobedience; that is to say: punishment. The latter is clearly the predominant view.

Torah sets the stage for the theology of reward and punishment. God, creator and owner of the universe, intervenes in human affairs in response to Israel’s behavior. While there are numerous passages in Torah that express this theology, one will suffice. Parshat Re’eh opens with this admonition:

See, this day I set before you blessing and curse: blessing if you obey the commandments of the Lord your God that I enjoin upon you this day; and curse, if you do not obey the commandments of the Lord your God, but turn away from the path that I enjoin upon you this day and follow others gods, whom you have not experienced. (Deuteronomy 11:26-28)

This paints a picture of a scary, commanding, demanding, coercive God: Do My will and enjoy reward, but disobey Me and I will reign down havoc on your lives.

For the prophets, the cataclysmic events of 722 BCE (destruction of the northern ten tribes by the Assyrians) and 586 BCE (Babylonian destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem and exile of the population to Babylonia) are understood within a worldview informed by this theology. The prophet Amos, a shepherd and tender of sycamore trees, lived in the hill country south of Jerusalem in the 8th century BCE. He berated the northern kingdom of Israel, and particularly the upper socio-economic classes, for breaching God’s covenant by amassing wealth at the expense of the poor, violating the sexual boundaries delineated in Torah, and engaging in empty religious rituals. While the Book of Amos ends on a note of hope and restoration for Israel, much of the book predicts doom and destruction at the hands of Israel’s enemies in a military defeat orchestrated on-high by God:

Thus said the Lord:
For three transgressions of Israel,
For four, I will not revoke it:
Because they have sold for silver
Those whose cause was just,
And the needy for a pair of sandals.
Ah you who trample the heads of the poor
Into the dust of the ground,
And make the humble walk a twisted course!
Father and son go to the same girl,
And thereby profane My holy name.
They recline by every altar
On garments taken in pledge,
And drink in the House of their God
Wine bought with fines they imposed…

Hear this word, O people if Israel,
That the Lord has spoken concerning you,
Concerning the whole family that I brought up from the land of Egypt:
You alone have I singled out
Of all the families of the earth –
That is why I will call you to account
For all your iniquities…

Assuredly, thus said my Lord God:
An enemy, all about the land!
He shall strip you of your splendor,
And your fortresses shall be plundered…

(Amos 2:6-8; 3:1-2, 11)

Amos’ younger contemporary, the prophet Hosea, similarly preached a message of imminent destruction, God’s punishment for the covenantal crime of idolatry. Hosea re-enacted Israel’s faithlessness in his own life by marrying a woman of ill-repute and naming his children by her Lo-ruchamah (“Not pitied”) and Lo-ammi (“Not my people”). Hosea’s description of the coming punishment is painfully graphic:

Samaria [capital of the northern kingdom, Israel] must bear her guilt,
For she has defied her God,
They shall fall by the sword,
Their infants shall be dashed to death,
And their women with child ripped open.
(Hosea 4:1)

The aspect of this theology that I appreciate is that it affirms God’s intense interest in human behavior and human affairs. How we organize ourselves and treat one another is a matter of cosmic concern. But the theology of reward and punishment – presuming a demanding, punishing, coercive God – is not the only way to express God’s concern with our moral and religious behavior. Nor is it the only way to understand human suffering.

The claim that human suffering is God’s response to sin flies in the face of human experience. The Rabbis recognized this and so they offer another explanation. This one is, to my mind, even more problematic. On Berakhot 5a we find:

Raba (some say, R. Chisda) says: If a man sees that painful sufferings visit him, let him examine his conduct. For it is said: Let us search and try our ways, and return unto the Lord (Lamentations 3:40). If he examines and finds nothing [objectionable in his conduct], let him attribute it to the neglect of the study of the Torah. For it is said: Happy is the one whom You chasten, O Lord, and teach out of Your law (Psalm 94:12). If he did attribute it [neglect of Torah study], and still did not find [this to be the cause], let him be sure that these are chastenings of love. For it is said: For whom the Lord loves, God corrects (Proverbs 3:12).

Raba, in the name of R. Sahorah, in the name of R. Huna, says: If the Holy One, blessed be God, is pleased with a person, he crushes him with painful sufferings. For it is said: And the Lord was pleased with [him, hence] he crushed him by disease (Isaiah 53:10). Now, you might think that this is so even if he did not accept them with love. Therefore it is said: To see if his soul would offer itself in restitution (Isaiah 53:10). Just as the trespass-offering must be brought by consent, so also the sufferings must be endured with consent. And if he did accept them, what is his reward? He will see his seed, prolong his days (Isaiah 53:10). And more than that, his knowledge [of the Torah] will endure with him. For it is said: The purpose of the Lord will prosper in his hand (Isaiah 53:10).

Raba tells us that we can analyze our personal situation and determine the cause of our suffering. First, I should consider if I have sinned, in which case, my suffering is retribution for my sins. If not, I should consider if I have neglected Torah study. If not, then I may conclude that my pain and suffering – still presumed to be God’s doing – are yissurim shel ahavah (afflictions of love). In fact, Raba tells us, God goes so far as to crush those most loved with painful afflictions, which are most religiously efficacious if received with consent.

I appreciate that the Rabbis are struggling to retain a theology that affirms God’s omnipotence and goodness, but this sends me screaming in the other direction. It is religiously and spiritually off-putting. This theology speaks volumes about God’s nature and character and, to my thinking, none of it good. Why does a good and loving God need to exert such heavy-handed and punitive power over people? It sure isn’t making us any better! (God forbid that we should treat our children this way.) The assertion that God causes good people to suffer for their own good is entirely overboard. If olam haba (the world-to-come) is to be good and pleasurable, it can be so without our having suffered in olam ha-zeh (this world).

Yet because we are humans, we struggle not only with experience, but with meaning. We must cope not only with suffering, but with the meaning we attach to suffering. More on this subject next week.

Let me close by paraphrasing the poster I quoted above. This is a bit more cavalier and irreverent than I would want, but here goes: Tradition: just because you’ve always been taught to believe that way doesn’t mean it’s not incredibly stupid.

© 2009 Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

Monday, June 29, 2009

Pain and Suffering: not the same thing (Berakhot 5b)

Nobody I know likes pain. But not all pain is experienced as suffering. Pain may be physical, emotional, or spiritual. It may derive from illness or injury (physical), loss or separation (emotional), or shame or humiliation (spiritual). Suffering begins at the moment we ascribe meaning to the pain: this pain is a punishment, this pain is deserved, this pain is undeserved, this pain is the consequence of my selfishness, and so on. We’re pretty creative in bringing meaning to our pain and converting it into suffering.

I’ve experienced plenty of physical pain in my life – especially after being hit by a red-light-runner in Washington, DC in 1998 -- including protracted periods of pain, but I never experienced any of it has suffering. My pain was just pain and I wanted to rid myself of it. One dear friend and colleague suggested that I consider the pain a korban (sacrifice) to God to atonement for my sins. Perhaps he had in mind the mizbeiach kapparah (altar of atonement) mentioned in Berakhot 5b. I tried that, but it didn’t work for me. Curiously, however, the fact that he had taken the time and trouble to consider what might alleviate my pain provided me enormous comfort.

Our tradition has bequeathed to us a theology and worldview that troubles me deeply: God, the Creator of the universe and Author of life, is often envisioned as the Cosmic Micromanager who visits punishment on the wicked and rewards those loyal to the covenant (Leviticus chapter 26, Deuteronomy chapters 4 and 11). It takes but a moment to realize that the world doesn’t work this way, and so our Prophets project the realization of promised justice into the future (Isaiah 2: 2-4, 12; Habakkuk 1 and 2:3-5; Malachi 3:16-17). There is the lone voice of Kohelet (Ecclesiastes) who admits there is no solution to the conundrum of suffering and injustice and hence the best we can do is enjoy what we have and shoot for righteousness. Not a bad existential viewpoint.

Perhaps it would be best if we could avoid experiencing pain as suffering, but we humans seek meaning – that is our nature. It’s one of the things we do best (and sometimes worst). And so the Bavli (Babylonian Talmud) in masekhet Berakhot tackles the question of suffering with the agenda of making meaning, so we can view suffering as purposeful. The radical idea is raised that there are cases in which God visits suffering on the righteous as a token of love. How is this loving? The righteous don’t deserve their suffering and hence will receive an even great reward in olam haba (the world-to-come) in compensation for what they have undeservedly suffered in this world.

On a psychological level, perhaps this works for some. For me, it raises ethical and theological red flags all over the place; it screams out, “the system is broken and we cannot fix it.”

This brings us to Berakhot 5b where three similar and connected anecdotes are recounted in which Sages visit other Sages who are sick and suffering affliction and ask, “Are your sufferings welcome to you?” In each of the three cases, the suffering Sage responds, “Neither they nor their reward.” This is a shocking response. Here's the passage:

R. Hiyya b. Abba fell ill and R. Yochanan went in to visit him. [R. Yochanan] said to [R. Hiyya b. Abba]: Are your sufferings welcome to you? [R. Hiyya b. Abba] replied: Neither they nor their reward. [R. Yochanan] said to [R. Hiyya b. Abba]: Give me your hand. [R. Hiyya b. Abba] gave him his hand and [R. Yochanan] raised him [up out of his sick bed].

R. Yochanan once fell ill and R. Chanina went in to visit him. [R. Chanina] said to him: Are your sufferings welcome to you? [R. Yochanan] replied: Neither they nor their reward. [R. Chanina] said to him: Give me your hand. [R. Yochanan] gave him his hand and [R. Chanina] raised him. Why could not R. Yochanan raise himself? They replied: The prisoner cannot free himself from jail.

R. Eleazar fell ill and R. Yochanan went in to visit him. He noticed that he was lying in a dark room so he bared his arm and light radiated from it. Thereupon he noticed that R. Eleazar was weeping, and he said to him: Why do you weep? Is it because you did not study enough Torah? Surely we learned: The one who sacrifices much and the one who sacrifices little have the same merit, provided that the heart is directed to heaven [Menachot 110b]. Is it perhaps lack of sustenance? Not everybody has the privilege to enjoy two tables [both learning and wealth in abundance]. Is it perhaps because of [the lack of] children? This is the bone of my tenth son! — He replied to him: I am weeping on account of this beauty that is going to rot in the earth. He said to him: On that account you surely have a reason to weep; and they both wept. In the meanwhile [R. Yochanan] said to him: Are your sufferings welcome to you? [R. Eleazar] replied: Neither they nor their reward. [R. Yochanan] said to him: Give me your hand, and [R. Eleazar] gave him his hand and [R. Yochanan] raised him.

If these are yissurim shel ahavah (afflictions of love) then both the afflictions and their reward ought to be welcome. My daughter Rachel years ago pointed out to me that there are numerous instances in gemara where halakhah or a classic Jewish theology is promulgated and then an aggadic anecdote is recounted that utterly undermines it. I think we have a fine example here: these Sages should welcome their afflictions as yissurim shel ahavah and yet they adamantly do not!

What is the response of the visiting Sage who raises the issue in each case? He extends a hand (the magic of the human touch) and raises his colleague out of bed. He heals him with love and caring, thereby affirming that the theology of yissurim shel ahavah is trumped by loving, caring human relationships.

(c) 2009 by Rabbi Amy Scheinerman