Author: ענת קציר

ענת קציר

נראה כי מעולם לא היה נתון בית המשפט בישראל בקונפליקט מרכזי ומעורר מחלוקת בצורה כל כך רועשת ורוגשת. כאילו נקרע בין קולות פוליטיים וחברתיים, ומוצא עצמו במרכז סערה ציבורית ופוליטית מרכזית המאיימת לשנות את פני המדינה לנצח. גם בימים טרופים אלו, של אחרי השבעה באוקטובר, המחלוקת סביב בית המשפט הישראלי לא פסקה, ונראה כי סדר היום הפוליטי מותח את הגבולות ומייצר מכבש לחצים המשפיע על אמון הציבור במערכת מתוך מטרה לשרטט מחדש את גבולות הגזרה במערכת האיזונים בהובלה של מדינת ישראל.

בצורה הנאיבית ביותר, ניתן לומר כי מצד אחד של המתרס מצוי בית המשפט העליון, וציבור

המגדיר עצמו כליבראלי ומתקדם ומהצד השני, ההנהגה הפוליטית וציבור המגדיר עצמו כשמרן.

ניסיון השינוי הנוכחי נוצר כ״סופה מושלמת״ של אינטרסים פוליטיים וכח פוליטי של קואליציית 2023. בראש האינטרסים, רבים תולים את הקטליזטור לשינוי בצורך פרסונאלי של ראש הממשלה להימלט מההשלכות המשפטיות של פרשיות בהן הוגש כנגדו כתב אישום. בנוסף, תהליכים רבים בשנים בהן ציבורים מסוימים, בעיקר החרדים והמתנחלים, מצאו עצמם כנפגעים מפסיקות בית המשפט, ולאור צורך דוחק בזמן בשינויים בעלי השפעה ארוכת שנים על צורת ודרך חייהם בשלו מבחינתם התנאים לשינוי.

האירוניה, לדעתי, טמונה בכך שלמרות שרוב הציבור החרדי/מתנחלי הצטרף למחאה כנגד בית המשפט והניסיון לשנותו, אותו בית המשפט אותו הם מנסים לשנות הינו בעצם התגלמות דרכם של נביאי ישראל בעת העתיקה. במאמר זה אנסה להציג את בית המשפט כגוף שבהתנהלותו מושך קו מגשר ברור להיסטוריה היהודית וממשיך למעשה את המסורת עתיקת היומין של ביקורת ובקרה על השלטון היהודי בארץ ישראל.

בכוונתי להצביע על הגורמים המשותפים בין נביאי ישראל בעת העתיקה לבין בית המשפט העליון של מדינת ישראל המודרנית, תוך כדי ניתוח סיפורי הרקע של הנביאים/שופטים, ייעודם, תפקידם, יכולת ההשפעה, מקור הכוח ודוגמאות למאבקים השונים בין אלו לבין השלטון—אז וכיום.

הנביא המקראי –

כמה נביאים היו בעת העתיקה? מחד, מוזכרים 48 נביאים שונים בשמם. מאידך, מוזכר הסיפור על הנביא אלישע שהסתיר 100 נביאי ישראל מאיזבל המלכה. התלמוד מפרש זאת כך (מגילה יד ע״א): ״תניא, הרבה נביאים עמדו להם לישראל כפליים כיוצאי מצרים, אלא נבואה שהוצרכה לדורות נכתבה, ושלא הוצרכה לא נכתבה״ כלומר, למעשה, רבים היו אותם הנביאים בעת העתיקה, אולם רק מעטים והמצוינים מבין הנביאים, שיש מנבואתם לימוד לדורות נשתמרו בתנ״ך עד ימינו.

שלוש תקופות מרכזיות היו לנביאים בהיסטוריה היהודית ראשונים, תקופת מעבר, ואחרונים. הרב יואב אוריאל מחלק תקופות אלו ביתר פירוט¹; נביאים ראשונים: התקופה העוברית (משה ויהושע) התקופה הטרום מלכותית והטרום נבואית (תקופת השופטים), תקופת שמואל ומקור הקשר בין הנבואה למלכות, התקופה הגדולה של דוד ושלמה, תקופת שורשי הפירוד (ירבעם-נדב), תקופת ניצני התנתקות המלוכה ומהנבואה (בעשא-עמרי), מלחמות המלכות בנבואה (אחאב ואליהו), תחילת תופעת נביאי השקר (תקופת אחאב), התעלמות המלכות מן הנבואה (אחזיהו), תקופת אלישע.
ככלל, כפי שמציין הרב יואב אוריאל ״כאשר עם ישראל נמצא בבריאות מלאה, אז מצא את כוח הנבואה קשור בקשר הדוק עם מלכות ישראל של אותה התקופה. ׳סדר היום׳ של מלכות ישראל, ובאופן כללי יותר – המצב הלאומי והפוליטי של העם יהיה חלק עיקרי מהתייחסותם של הנביאים״ (שם).

שני רכיבים מהותיים מבטאים את הקשר של הנביא ללאומיות – הקשר בין כח הנבואה לעם ישראל כולו, והקשר הספציפי בין הנבואה ובין המושל, מלך ישראל. לגבי הראשון, חשוב לזכור כי כל נביא קשור לדור המסוים אשר בו הוא חי ובוא ואיתו הוא פועל. זאת, מעבר לקשר של העקרונות הכללים של חיי ישראל. מלך ישראל הוא זה שמייצג את ריכוז הכח של כללות עם ישראל, ומשכך, הקשר של הנבואה לעם ישראל חייב לבוא לידי ביטוי בקשר בין הנביאים למלך הפועל בזמנם, ואיזון עדין בין הנביא למלך הוא זה שמאפשר פריחה ושגשוג של הממלכה והעם.

מאיפה ״צמחו״ הנביאים? הרקע התרבותי והסוציו-אקונומי שלהם כמו גם הגאוגרפי היה מגוון ביותר.

בספר דברים נכתב ״נָבִיא מִקִּרְבְּךָ מֵאַחֶיךָ כָּמֹנִי יָקִים לְךָ יְ־הוָה אֱ־לֹהֶיךָ, אֵלָיו תִּשְׁמָעוּן״ (י״ח 15), רמז לכך שהנביאים צריכים לצמוח מהעם, להיות כשאר האדם. בעוד ישעיהו הנביא, לפי תלמוד בבלי, היה בנו של יהואש ואחיו של אמציה, שהיו מלכי יהודה, יואל הנביא הפגין בנבואותיו ידע חקלאי עמוק, מה שכנראה מעיד על רקע של עובד אדמה ומיכה המרשתי מתייחס למעמד הנמוך כ״עמי״ וההנחה הרווחת היא כי הגיע מבין המעמד הנמוך. בעוד לתפיסת התלמוד נביא צריך להיות אדם בעל שאר רוח והוא בבחינת ״חכם, גיבור ועשיר״, הרי שקיימת השאיפה לפיה עם ישראל כולו יגיע לדרגת ״נביאים״ כפי שנאמר ״ומי ייתן כל עם ה׳ נביאים כי ייתן ה׳ את רוחו עליהם״ (במדבר י״א, 29).

צמיחת הנבואה הקלאסית ונושאי הטפותיה מגיעים על רקע שני גורמים מרכזים בישראל: הגורם החברתי-כלכלי והגורם המדיני.

על רקע הקמת וצמיחת המלוכה בישראל גדל הקיטוב בין מעמדות העם – ההבדל בין האריסטוקרטיה החדשה לדלות רוב העם—שהחריפה בעיקר אחרי פילוג המלוכה ועקב ריבוי מלחמות. תוכחה כנגד חוסר המוסר שברקע החברתי-כלכלי משותפת לכלל הנביאים, ברמת חומרה זו או אחרת. (מיכה ב, 1-2 ״הוֹי חֹשְׁבֵי־אָוֶן וּפֹעֲלֵי רָע עַל־מִשְׁכְּבוֹתָם; בְּאוֹר הַבֹּקֶר יַעֲשׂוּהָ, כִּי יֶשׁ־לְאֵל יָדָם׃ וְחָמְדוּ שָׂדוֹת וְגָזָלוּ, וּבָתִּים וְנָשָׂאוּ; וְעָשְׁקוּ גֶּבֶר וּבֵיתוֹ, וְאִישׁ וְנַחֲלָתוֹ״ ; עמוס ב׳ 6 ״‍כֹּה אָמַר יְ־הוָה עַל-שְׁלֹשָׁה פִּשְׁעֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְעַל-אַרְבָּעָה לֹא אֲשִׁיבֶנּוּ עַל-מִכְרָם בַּכֶּסֶף צַדִּיק וְאֶבְיוֹן בַּעֲבוּר נַעֲלָיִם״ ; עמוס ג׳ 9 ״הַשְׁמִיעוּ עַל אַרְמְנוֹת בְּאַשְׁדּוֹד וְעַל אַרְמְנוֹת בְּאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם וְאִמְרוּ הֵאָסְפוּ עַל הָרֵי שֹׁמְרוֹן וּרְאוּ מְהוּמֹת רַבּוֹת בְּתוֹכָהּ וַעֲשׁוּקִים בְּקִרְבָּהּ״ ; יחזקאל ז׳ 13-15 ״כִּי הַמּוֹכֵר אֶל־הַמִּמְכָּר לֹא יָשׁוּב וְעוֹד בַּחַיִּים חַיָּתָם כִּֽי־חָזוֹן אֶל־כָּל־הֲמוֹנָהּ לֹא יָשׁוּב וְאִישׁ בַּעֲוֺנוֹ חַיָּתוֹ לֹא יִתְחַזָּֽקוּ׃ תָּקְעוּ בַתָּקוֹעַ וְהָכִין הַכֹּל וְאֵין הֹלֵךְ לַמִּלְחָמָה כִּי חֲרוֹנִי אֶל־כָּל־הֲמוֹנָֽהּ׃ הַחֶרֶב בַּחוּץ וְהַדֶּבֶר וְהָרָעָב מִבָּיִת אֲשֶׁר בַּשָּׂדֶה בַּחֶרֶב יָמוּת וַאֲשֶׁר בָּעִיר רָעָב וָדֶבֶר יֹאכֲלֶֽנּוּ׃״)

התסכול בעם עקב המצב המדיני המתדרדר עקב המלחמות הרבות, ועל רקע עלית אימפריות אזוריות גרם להופעתם של הנביאים הגדולים בשעות הגורליות לעם ישראל (ולעולם כולו).

בניתוח תורת הערכים של הנביאים הקלאסיים, ניתן לראות כי אלו הציגו את תורת עליונות המוסר ואפילו הפירוש כי הדרישה האמיתי של האל מהאדם היא מוסרית ולא פולחנית. ניצנים לכך אפשר לראות כבר בתוכחתו של נתן כנגד דוד המלך (פרשת אוריה, שמואל ב׳ י״ב 7-12: ״כֹּה-אָמַר יְ־הוָה אֱ־לֹהֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל, אָנֹכִי מְשַׁחְתִּיךָ לְמֶלֶךְ עַל-יִשְׂרָאֵל, וְאָנֹכִי הִצַּלְתִּיךָ, מִיַּד שָׁאוּל. וָאֶתְּנָה לְךָ אֶת-בֵּית אֲדֹנֶיךָ, וְאֶת-נְשֵׁי אֲדֹנֶיךָ בְּחֵיקֶךָ, וָאֶתְּנָה לְךָ, אֶת-בֵּית יִשְׂרָאֵל וִיהוּדָה; וְאִם-מְעָט—וְאֹסִפָה לְּךָ, כָּהֵנָּה וְכָהֵנָּה. מַדּוּעַ בָּזִיתָ אֶת-דְּבַר יְ־הוָה, לַעֲשׂוֹת הָרַע בעינו (בְּעֵינַי), אֵת אוּרִיָּה הַחִתִּי הִכִּיתָ בַחֶרֶב, וְאֶת-אִשְׁתּוֹ לָקַחְתָּ לְּךָ לְאִשָּׁה; וְאֹתוֹ הָרַגְתָּ, בְּחֶרֶב בְּנֵי עַמּוֹן. וְעַתָּה, לֹא-תָסוּר חֶרֶב מִבֵּיתְךָ—עַד-עוֹלָם: עֵקֶב, כִּי בְזִתָנִי, וַתִּקַּח אֶת-אֵשֶׁת אוּרִיָּה הַחִתִּי, לִהְיוֹת לְךָ לְאִשָּׁה. כֹּה אָמַר יְ־הוָה, הִנְנִי מֵקִים עָלֶיךָ רָעָה מִבֵּיתֶךָ, וְלָקַחְתִּי אֶת-נָשֶׁיךָ לְעֵינֶיךָ, וְנָתַתִּי לְרֵעֶיךָ; וְשָׁכַב עִם-נָשֶׁיךָ, לְעֵינֵי הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ הַזֹּאת. כִּי אַתָּה, עָשִׂיתָ בַסָּתֶר; וַאֲנִי, אֶעֱשֶׂה אֶת-הַדָּבָר הַזֶּה, נֶגֶד כָּל-יִשְׂרָאֵל, וְנֶגֶד הַשָּׁמֶשׁ״) כמו גם בזעמו של אליהו על אחאב (כרם נבות, מלכים א׳ כ״א 17-19: ״וַיְהִי דְּבַר יְ־הוָה אֶל אֵלִיָּהוּ הַתִּשְׁבִּי לֵאמֹר. קוּם רֵד לִקְרַאת אַחְאָב מֶלֶךְ יִשְׂרָאֵל אֲשֶׁר בְּשֹׁמְרוֹן הִנֵּה בְּכֶרֶם נָבוֹת אֲשֶׁר יָרַד שָׁם לְרִשְׁתּוֹ. וְדִבַּרְתָּ אֵלָיו לֵאמֹר כֹּה אָמַר יְ־הוָה הֲרָצַחְתָּ וְגַם יָרָשְׁתָּ וְדִבַּרְתָּ אֵלָיו לֵאמֹר כֹּה אָמַר יְ־הוָה בִּמְקוֹם אֲשֶׁר לָקְקוּ הַכְּלָבִים אֶת דַּם נָבוֹת יָלֹקּוּ הַכְּלָבִים אֶת דָּמְךָ גַּם אָתָּה״) וזה המשיך ביתר שאת אצל עמוס כמו גם ישעיהו, מיכה, ירמיהו ישעיהו השני זכריה והושע.

הנביא עמוס, שהתנבא בימי בית ראשון על ממלכת ישראל וממלכת יהודה בימי עוזיהו בן עמציה וירבעם בן יואש. עמוס הגדיר עצמו כרועה צאן ״לא נביא אנוכי ולא בן נביא״ ובנבואותיו הדגיש את החטאים שבין אדם לחברו ולא רק בין אדם למקום. עיקר תוכחתו מופנית לאלו השומרים על מצוות שבין אדם למקום אך לא במצוות חברתיות ומוסריות. משל ״פָּרוֹת הַבָּשָׁן אֲשֶׁר בְּהַר שֹׁמְרוֹן. . . . הָעֹשְׁקוֹת דַּלִּים הָרֹצְצוֹת אֶבְיוֹנִים הָאֹמְרֹת לַאֲדֹנֵיהֶם הָבִיאָה וְנִשְׁתֶּה״ הינו דוגמא חדה ללעג שרחש לנשות יהודה העשירות המתנהלות בחוסר מוסריות.
הנביא ירמיהו נולד לחלקיהו בן שפן/שלום (שהיה כהן גדול, נביא ועשיר). לפי המתואר, קיבל את תפקידו בגיל צעיר למרות שסירב תחילה (״כי נער אנכי״), ותפקידו זה הוגדר כ ״רְאֵה הִפְקַדְתִּיךָ הַיּוֹם הַזֶּה עַל הַגּוֹיִם וְעַל הַמַּמְלָכוֹת לִנְתוֹשׁ וְלִנְתוֹץ וּלְהַאֲבִיד וְלַהֲרוֹס לִבְנוֹת וְלִנְטוֹעַ״ (א׳ 10). בתור ״נביא החורבן והפורענות״, פנו עיקר נבואותיו לעם, שריו וכהניו שפעלו בחוסר מוסריות. בזמן מלכות יהויקים הפך ירמיהו ל״אויב העם״ כאשר הוכיח וניבא כנגד יהויקים והתנהגותו הנהנתנית בניגוד לאביו—״אביך הלוא אכל ושתה ועשה משפט וצדקה אז טוב לו״ (כ״ב, 15)

ניתן לעמוד על ההבדל בין השופטים המקראיים לנביאים – בעוד השופטים היו בעלי סמכות לקבוע ולשנות עובדות, כמו גם להעניש אנשים, בדומה לבית משפט פלילי של ימינו, כוחם של הנביאים הוא בתוכחה שמטרתה לגרום לאחרים (לעם, להנהגה) לשנות דרכיהם. רוב הנבואות נועדו לאוזני העם כולו, למען יראו ויראו, גם באם התוכחה הייתה כלפי השלטון. הבדל זה, מציב את הנביאים, כביכול, בעמדת חולשה – כוחה של נבואתם תלוי לחלוטין בפועלו של השלטון והמוכנות לקבלת הסמכות שבתוכחה ומכאן לשינוי התנהגותי (שלא תמיד אכן התרחש). פומביות הנבואות מספקת חיזוק לנביא ברתימת הסכמת העם וקבלת הנבואה כאלטרנטיבה להתנהלות השלטון. מאידך, ביקורת יתר מצד הנביא, או כזו שאינה מכירה במגבלות כוחה עשויה לגרום לתחושת נרדפות של השלטון וכתוצאה מכך ניסיון פגיעה בנביא.

במעבר לימינו אנו, ולמדינת ישראל, במגילת העצמאות, מיד אחרי ״אנו קובעים״, הפסקה הראשונה שמגדירה את אופייה של המדינה היהודית דורשת: ״מְדִינַת יִשְׂרָאֵל תְּהֵא פְּתוּחָה לַעֲלִיָּה יְהוּדִית וּלְקִבּוּץ גָּלֻיּוֹת; תִּשְׁקֹד עַל פִּתּוּחַ הָאָרֶץ לְטוֹבַת כָּל תּוֹשָׁבֶיהָ; תְּהֵא מֻשְׁתָּתָה עַל יְסוֹדוֹת הַחֵרוּת, הַצֶּדֶק וְהַשָּׁלוֹם לְאוֹר חֲזוֹנָם שֶׁל נְבִיאֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל; תְּקַיֵּם שִׁוְיוֹן זְכֻיּוֹת חֶבְרָתִי וּמְדִינִי גָּמוּר לְכָל אֶזְרָחֶיהָ בְּלִי הֶבְדֵּל דָּת, גֶּזַע וּמִין; תַּבְטִיחַ חֹפֶשׁ דָּת, מַצְפּוּן, לָשׁוֹן, חִנּוּךְ וְתַרְבּוּת; תִּשְׁמֹר עַל הַמְּקוֹמוֹת הַקְּדוֹשִׁים שֶׁל כָּל הַדָּתוֹת; וְתִהְיֶה נֶאֱמָנָה לְעֶקְרוֹנוֹתֶיהָ שֶׁל מְגִלַּת הָאֻמּוֹת הַמְּאֻחָדוֹת.״

ההדגשה, באותו המשפט כי יסודות החרות הצדק והשלום יהיו בבסיס המדינה הצעירה, כמו גם הקישור של יסודות אלו לחזונם של נביאי ישראל נכתבה תוך שימת לב רבה גם לחזון העתידי וגם לקישור העבר היהודי והחזון שהציגו נביאי ישראל לגבי צידוק מוסרי וצדק חברתי.

היה זה מנחם בגין שכתב על שלטון החוק ועליונות המשפט תחת הכותרת ״ובמדינתו פנימה יהיה הצדק השליט העליון, השליט גם על שליטיה״². בדברו על ז׳בוטינסקי³ אף ציין ״בפשטותו, צדק הלא היא מלחמה נגד היפוכיו. . . .נביא אלא ארבעה מהם: רשע, עוול, מירמה ומזימה. המלחמה באלה והשאיפה לעקור אותם, הרי הוא הצדק האנושי בפשטותו. כאבותינו, כנביאים, כחוזינו כמחוקקינו. . . .דרשו צדק לעמכם, דרשו צדק מעמכם. כי זה הרעיון המופשט והפשוט, הממשי והנצחי, המוסתר והמופיע, המודבר והמנצח, הנותן טעם לחיי אנוש, קדושה לפועלו, אחרית לתקוותו: צדק צדק תרדוף״.

להרכבו של בית המשפט העליון נודעה משמעות משפטית אך גם משמעות ציבורית וחברתית. לפי גישת הריאליזם המשפטי, השופט לא רק משתמש בכישורי המשפט שרכש כי עם גם בהשקפת עולמו, בדומה לנביאים, ומכאן יש חשיבות לדמוגרפיה של שופטי בית המשפט העליון. ההתפתחות בגישה זו ברורה על רקע השינויים בהרכבו של בית המשפט – החל בהקמתו בשנת 48 עם שלושה שופטים גברים (אחד מהם דתי) שאינם מזוהים עם מפלגות שאינן המרכז הפוליטי, דרך הוספת שופטים ספרדים (1962), נשים (1977) וערבים (2004).

לבית המשפט העליון בהוויה הציבורית ישנה חשיבות רבה, ולפי סקרים האמון בו גבוה משמעותית מאמון הציבור בגופים אחרים (כנסת, ממשלה, מפלגות), אך אמון זה נמצא בשחיקה מתמדת – מ-80% אמון בשנת 2000 לרמה של 52% בשנת 2020⁴.
בעוד בתקופת הנביאים, היו הללו אחראים על רדיפת הצדק ווידוא כי ערכי המוסר האוניברסליים נשמרים ע״י השלטון, עליונות המשפט הישראלי היא זו שצריכה לספק כלים אלו לפי החזון העתיק. מכיוון שכך, לפתחו של בית המשפט העליון, בשבתו כבג״ץ, מגיעות עתירות רבות העוסקות במחלוקות בציבור עם משמעויות פוליטיות. עתירות אלו עומדות בבסיס מחלוקות ומאבקים הגורמים במתכוון לפגיעה ושחיקה במעמדו של בית המשפט, מתוך קריאת תיגר על עצם התערבותו של בג״ץ בנושאים אלו. ביקורת חריפה על בית המשפט מצד המערכת הפוליטית/שלטונית אינה דבר חדש כלל ועיקר. בשנת 2011, נשיאת בית המשפט העליון, דורית בייניש דרשה בנאום חריג ״משך מספר שנים מתנהל מסע התופס תאוצה משנה לשנה, במטרה להחליש את מערכת המשפט ובראשה בית המשפט העליון. זהו מסע של דה-לגיטימציה שבראשו עומדים מספר פוליטיקאים, חברי כנסת ואף שרי ממשלה, שמנצלים את חסינותם ומוסרים לציבור הרחב מידע מוטעה ומטעה שהידרדר להסתה המופנית נגד בית המשפט, נגד חבר שופטיו ונגד עבודתו השיפוטית״⁵ דומה הוא הדבר ליחס לו זכו נביאים רבים מצד חלק מהמלכים אותם ביקרו בעבר.

נבחן מספר מקרים ומאבקים מפורסמים של בית המשפט העליון בשנים האחרונות.

בג״ץ בבלי נגד בית הדין הרבני הגדול⁶ מהווה את אחד מפסקי הדין הבסיסיים בדיני המשפחה בישראל. תחת הרכב שלושה שופטים בראשות הנשיא מאיר שמגר, המשנה לנשיא אהרון ברק והשופט שלמה לוין קבע בשנת 1994 בית המשפט תקדימית כי ״על כל בתי הדין הדתיים להפעיל, בסוגיות ׳אזרחיות׳ נלוות שאינן חלק מענייני המעמד האישי (כפי שדיבור זה מתפרש על-פי דין המדינה) הנתון לסמכותם, את המפשט האזרחי הכללי, כפי שפורש על ידי בית המשפט העליון״. הרקע לבג״ץ זה הינו קשר בין בני הזוג בבלי שנסתיים בגרושין. הבעל כרך בגירושין גם את המזונות וגם את חלוקת הרכוש, ולכשגרושתו פנתה בתביעה לבית המשפט המחוזי לגבי חלוקת הרכוש, נדחתה פנייתה בטעון כי הסמכות לדון בעניינם נתונה לבית הדין הרבני. האחרון דחה את תביעת הגרושה למחצית הרכוש בפוסקו כי הלכת השיתוף אינה חלה בבתי הדין הרבניים. משכך, פנתה הגרושה לבג״ץ. משמעות פסיקתו של בג״ץ הינה כי בית הדין הרבני מחויב לפסוק בהתאם לנורמות המשפטיות האזרחיות מלבד בסוגיות הקשורות לנישואין וגירושין (וזאת, כיוון שפסק הדין של בית הדין הרבני פוגע בחוק שיוויון זכויות האישה – 1951).

בשנת 2011 ניתן בג״ץ 11437/05 קו לעובד ואחרים נגד משרד הפנים ואחרים (מוכר יותר כבג״ץ נוהל עובדת זרה, והמשכו בדנג״ץ 3860/11)⁷. בעקבות העליה בהיקף הבאת עובדים זרים לישראל החל בשנות ה-90, החלו ניסיונות חקיקה לצמצום בעיות הנלווה לתופעה זו. בין השאר, גובש ״נוהל עובדת זרה״ (2009) שמחייב עובדת זרה לעזוב את ישראל עד 90 ימים מיום הלידה ואם מעוניינת האם לחזור ולקבל אשרת עבודה, תאלץ לעשות זאת ללא התינוק. בפסיקתה זו האחרונה של השופטת אילה פרוקצ׳ה (יחד עם השופט סלים ג׳ובראן והשופט אליקים רובינשטיין) התקבלה הכרעה פה אחד שקבעה כי הכפייה על אישה לבחור בין המשך תעסוקה לבין הגשת זכותה לאימהות אינה מתיישבת עם התפיסות הערכיות והמשפטיות-חוקתיות בישראל. הגדיל ועשה השופט רובינשטיין והתייחס למסורת היהודית בציינו כי עם ישראל נצטווה לאהוב את הזר, וציטט ״ואהבתם את הגר כי גרים הייתם בארץ מצרים״ (דברים י׳ 19) וגם כי יחס מיוחד זה לזר מתבטא גם במעמדו של הזר במשפט בכלל ובדיני העבודה בפרט ״תורה אחת ומפשט אחד יהיה לכם ולגר הגר אתכם״ (במדבר ט״ו 16)

גם בעניינים הקשורים לתרבות ניתן למצוא פסיקות כנגד השלטון – בבג״ץ 9647/16 של האגודה לזכויות האזרח בישראל נגד שרת התרבות והספורט משנת 2016⁸, נדרש בג״ץ לעניין בו תקנה השרה מירי רגב (חודש לאחר שמונתה לתפקיד) את מבחן הענקת תמיכה למוסדות תרבות על בסיס הופעות ביהודה ושומרון (הופעת – נתמכת. נמנעת – הפסדת). במקרה זה, דעת הנשיאה חיות והמשנה חנן מלצר כנגד דעת השופט דוד מינץ פסלה את סעיף הבונוס. בפסיקה זו ניסה בג״ץ לאותת למפלגות שלטון כי למרות השאיפה להיטיב עם בוחריהן תוך תמיכה בפעילויות המתאימות למדיניות השלטון, בג״ץ לא יאפשר חקיקה ופסיקה מסוג זה.

לעיתים, התערבות בג״ץ היוותה קטליזטור לפתרון בעיה, גם באם לא היה זה בג״ץ עצמו שהכריע את הכף: המאבק להשוואת קצבת הנכות לשכר מינימום (מאבק הנכים) החל בצורה אינטנסיבית בשנת 2017. הרקע למאבק בשיעור העוני של נכים בישראל שגדל בשנים 2002-2014 פי ארבעה לעומת הגידול בשיעור העוני בכלל האוכלוסייה⁹ ולפי דו״ח של מינהל המחקר והתכנון של הביטוח הלאומי נמצא בו החרפה בשיעורים גבוהים יותר. עתירה שהגישו ארגוני נכים לבג״ץ בשנת 2017 ציינה כי ב-16 השנים נשחקה קצבת הנכות מול כל המדדים המקובלים. ועדות ויוזמות חקיקה, כמו גם פעילות ציבורית החלו בכנסת ה-17 (2006) שחלקן הבשילו בכנסת ה-20 (2015). קמפיין מחאה ארצי להשוואת קצבת הנכות לשכר המינימום פרץ בעזרת הרשתות החברתיות בשנת 2015, תחת השם ״נכה, לא חצי בן אדם״ (כפרפרזה לציטוט מתוך וועדת כנסת: ״מדינה שקובעת ששכר המינימום הוא 4300 ש״ח צנועים מצפה מנכה שיתקיים מ-2300ש״ח. מה הוא, חצי בנאדם?״¹⁰ מספר ניסיונות חקיקה נפלו על חודו של קול בשנים 2015 ו-2016, ובשנת 2017 מינה שר האוצר כחלון ועדה בראשות פרופ׳ ירון זליכה לבחינת נושא הקצבאות. לפני פרסום המצלות הועדה, עצומה של קואליציית ארגוני הזכות לבריאות דרשה כי ״אנו החתומים מטה. . . . קוראים לשר האוצר ח״כ משה כחלון, לעשות צעד אמיץ ולהוציא את הנכים במדינת ישראל ממצב של עוני מרוד לקיום כלכלי נאות. היום ולא בעוד 5 שנים!״ רגע לאחר פרסום מסקנות ועדת זליכה, מינה ראש הממשלה ועדה חדשה בראשות פרופ׳ אבי שמחון לבחינת הנושא. מהלך זה, כדוגמא נוספת לגרירת רגליים ומשיכת זמן ע״י הכנסת והממשלה, גרם להסלמת מאבק הנכים ובמקביל הגישו ארגון הגג של הנכים, ארגון נכה, לא חצי בן אדם והשופטות בדימוס ברכה אופיר-תום וציפורה ברון עתירה לבג״ץ בדרישה להשוואת קצבת הנכות לשכר המינימום. בפנייתם, טענו ארגוני הנכים כי המדינה מפרה את חוק יסוד ״כבוד האדם וחירותו״ משום שהיא מפלה לרעה את הנכים ומביאה אותם להתקיים מתחת לקו העוני. בתשובה לבג״ץ טענה הכנסת כי ארגוני הנכים לא הוכיחו שקצבת הנכות אינה מאפשרת את הזכות לקיום אנושי בכבוד. במקרה זה, בג״ץ התערב בפרשיה זו עקב גרירת הרגליים של הפוליטיקאים, ואכן, התערבות זו גרמה לשינויי חקיקה שפתרו והשוו את התנאים לציבור הנכים.

השנים האחרונות מייצרות דוגמאות רבות ומאוד טעונות לתוכחה וההתערבות של בג״ץ עם השלטון.

אחד המקרים המעטים בהם התערב בג״ץ בעבודת הכנסת הינו בג״ץ 2144/20 של התנועה למען איכות השלטון בישראל ואחרים נגד יושב ראש הכנסת ואחרים¹¹. כבר בשנת 2013 נבחר ח״כ יולי אדלשטיין ליו״ר הכנסת ה-19, תפקיד אליו נבחר שוב גם בכנסת ה-20 וה-21. מתוך עקרון הרציפות (הוא המשיך בתפקידו זה גם בכנסת ה-22 וה-23). אלא, שימים ספורים לפני השבעת הכנסת ה-23, הגישו מספר סיעות, המונות יחדיו 61 ח״כים, בקשה לקיים דיון בנושא בחירת יו״ר כנסת חדש. יומיים לאחר מכן, הודיע אדלשטיין כי לא יקבע בסדר היום בחירת יו״ר חדש, דבר שגרר פניה לבג״ץ. לפני שפסקו, דרש הרכב חמשת השופטים בראשות הנשיאה אסתר חיות, המשנה חנן מלצר והשופטים ניל הנדל, עוזי פוגלמן ויצחק עמית, ב23 למרץ 2020 כי ישיב היו״ר אדלשטיין אם הוא נכון להעלות נושא זה על סדר היום של הכנסת לא יאוחר מ25 למרץ 2020. שעה לאחר שהוגשה לבית המשפט התגובה (דחיה מוחלטת) של היו״ר, פסק ההרכב פה אחד כי על אדלשטיין לכנס את המליאה לבחירת יו״ר בהקדם האפשרי ולא יאוחר מ25 למרץ. כפי שציינה הנשיאה חיות ״הסירוב הנמשך לאפשר הצבעה במליאת הכנסת. . . .חותר תחת יסודות התהליך הדמוקרטי. . . .אין מנוס מן המסקנה כי בנסיבות שנוצרו מדובר באחר מאותם מקרים חריגים שבהם נדרשת התערבותו של בית משפט זה על מנת למנוע פגיעה בשיטת המשטר הפרלמנטרית שלנו״. (באחרית דבר, אדלשטיין התפטר מתפקידו כדי שלא יעלה את הנושא על סדר יומה של המליאה, ובג״ץ קיבל פס״ד נוסף בערב ה-5 במרץ שבו נקבע כי למרות ההתפטרות שטרם נכנסה לתוקף, תוטל על ותיק חברי הכנסת, עמיר פרץ, הסמכות התחומה ומוגדרת שיוכל לקיים את פסק הדין הראשון ולכנס את המליאה לבחירת יו״ר. למחרת, ב26 למרץ, נבחר בני גנץ להיות יו״ר הכנסת ה-23).

בג״ץ 2412/23 של התנועה לאיכות השלטון בישראל נגד הכנסת ואחרים, הידוע גם בשמו ״בג״ץ חוק הנבצרות״¹² נדון בהרכב מורחב של 11 שופטים. הרקע לתביעה היתה עתירתה של התנועה למען איכות השלטון נגד היועמ״שית גלי בהרב-מיארה¹³ בדרישה להוציא את ראש הממשלה לנבצרות. בעקבות הוראה של השופטת דפנה ברק-ארז ליועמ״שית לנמק מדוע לא לבצע נבצרות זו (10 פברואר, 2023). הכנסת הזדרזה (23 במרץ 2023) לחוקק תיקון לחוק יסוד: הממשלה המאפשר הוצאה לנבצרות של ראש ממשלה רק בשל אי-מסוגלות פיזית או נפשית ורק בהודעת ראש הממשלה אחרי אישור ברוב מיוחד בוועדת הכנסת או בהחלטת רוב מיוחד של הממשלה שתקבל אישור נוסף של רוב מיוחד בוועדת הכנסת (על בסיס חוות דעת רפואית) ועוד אישור נוסף במליאת הכנסת. חוק זה סומן כאחד שבא להגן ספציפית על ראש הממשלה בנימין נתניהו על רקע משפטו הפלילי. ב3 בינואר 2024 פסק הרכב בג״ץ כי התיקון לחוק יחול רק מהכנסת הבאה ולא מהכנסת הנוכחית. בעמדת הרב כתב השופט פוגלמן (מ״מ הנשיא) כי ״תיקון זה הוא נקודת קיצון בתהליך ממושך של שחיקה במעמדם של חוקי היסוד ובניצול הקלות שבה ניתן לתקנם לצרכים אישיים-נקודתיים. הוראות התיקון כוננו על מנת לשרת תכלית פרסונאלית מובהקת. . . .״.
בג״ץ זה כנגד חוק הנבצרות מעלה עוד נקודה חשובה בבוחננו את בג״ץ כמבקר השלטון. מהן הגבולות בהן מותר לבג״ץ להתערב בפעולות השלטון? לנשיא אהרון ברק יוחסה הממרה ״הכל שפיט״, שגרמה ל״מהפכה שיפוטית״ ופתחה את הדלת להתערבות (יש שיגידו) מוגזמת של בית המשפט בהחלטות שלטוניות. בחינה מדוקדקת יותר מגלה (בג״ץ רסלר, פסקה 47 לפסק דינו של השופט ברק, 1988) כי ״סכסוך הוא שפיט מוסדית, אם ראוי לו לסכסוך שיוכרע על-פי המשפט בבית המשפט. סכסוך אינו שפיט מוסדית, אם ראוי לו לסכסוך שלא יוכרע על-פי אמות מידה משפטיות בבית המשפט. השפיטות המוסדית עוסקת אפוא בשאלה, אם המשפט ובית המשפט הם המסגרות הראויות להכרעה בסכסוך. השאלה אינה אם ניתן להכריע בסכסוך על-פי המשפט ובבית המשפט; התשובה על שאלה זו היא בחיוב. השאלה היא אם רצוי להכריע בסכסוך – שהוא שפיט נורמאטיבית – על פי אמות מידה משפטיות בבית המשפט״¹⁴ כלומר, למרות שכביכול ניתן להיעזר בשיפוט לפתרון כל סוגיה שהיא, לא בכל סוגיה ראוי שיתעסק בג״ץ. ולראיה, לאורך השנים נמנע בג״ץ מהתערבות בנושאי חוץ וביטחון מובהקים כמו גם הנושאי מדיניותה של ישראל ביהודה ושומרון, הסכמים מדיניים וכו׳. המגוון והרקע השונה של שופטי בג״ץ ושבתם יחד בהרכבים משתנים לדיונים, מאפשר וויסות עצמי של בג״ץ. גם בג״ץ חוק הנבצרות, שבעניינו התקבל אומנם פסק הדין בהכרעת רוב (6 שופטים), כלל דעת מיעוט שנשמעה היטב מפי השופט סולברג שקבע ״. . . .הניסיון להסיק על תכליתו הפרסונאלית מחוץ ללשונו, ובנסיבות חקיקתו, כרוך בהבחנה בלתי-משכנעת בין מניע לבין תכלית; בהצרה של סמכות הרשות המחוקקת והמכוננת, ביחס לעניינים התלויים ועומדים לפני בית המשפט; ובאימוץ הגדרה שגויה של תחולה רטרוספקטיבית״.
סוגייה זו, של ״גבולות הגזרה״ ויחסי איזון הרשויות ובעיקר בג״ץ מול הרשות המחוקקת (מכוננת) והרשות המבצעת הינה בבסיס ה״מהפכה המשפטית״ והמחאה הציבורית החזקה שהחלו בארבעה בינואר 2023.

בימים טרופים אלו, ומיד לפני סיום כתיבת שורות אלו, פסק בג״ץ שוב בצורה תקדימית בעניין גיוס בחורי הישיבות, נושא בו המחוקק משך רגליו במשך שנים ארוכות ומהווה סממן בוטה לחוסר שווין וצדק בין חלקים שונים של החברה הישראלית. למרות, ואולי אל אחת כמה וכמה בגלל, הקולות הרועמים הקמים על בית המשפט וכנגד התערבותו בסוגיות הקריטיות לחברה הישראלית, ממשיך בג״ץ להוות קול ברור ומנומק המשווה לסעד משפטי-ערכי לחברה הישראלית, לעיתים גם כנגד הממשל, על בסיס אותו חזון עתיק, ולמען המסורת והערכי השלום הצדק והשווין, ממש כמו הנביאים הגדולים עליהם ובעזרתם נבנתה האומה. כפי שרשם המשנה לנשיאה, השופט רבלין בבג״ץ חוק האזרחות והכניסה לישראל תשס״ג:¹⁵ ״ס. לא התיקון הראשון לחוקת ארה״ב הוא מורנו, אלא דברי הנביא ״קְרָא בְגָרוֹן אַל תַּחְשֹׂךְ כַּשּׁוֹפָר הָרֵם קוֹלֶךָ וְהַגֵּד לְעַמִּי פִּשְׁעָם וּלְבֵית יַעֲקֹב חַטֹּאתָם״ (ישעיהו נח, א), וגם דברי משורר התהילים ״נְצֹר לְשׁוֹנְךָ מֵרָע וּשְׂפָתֶיךָ מִדַּבֵּר מִרְמָה״ (תהלים לד, יד). עמדתי על כך בעניין אונגרפלד:

״חברי מקדש את חופש הביטוי, ולא יתכן חולק על חשיבותו העצומה של זה במדינה דמוקרטית, לא כל שכן בביקורת על השלטון, שהיא חלק מרכזי בשיח דמוקרטי. מי לנו גדולים מנביאי ישראל, ששילמו—בודאי בחלקם—מחיר אישי יקר על ביקורתם כלפי השלטון. . . . במשפט הישראלי נוטים אנו לרעות בשדות זרים בהאדרתו של חופש הביטוי, אך זהו מה שלימדונו הנביאים, והכרזת העצמאות של מדינת ישראל קובעת כי המדינה ׳תהא מושתתת על יסודות החרות, הצדק והשלום לאור חזונם של נביאי ישראל׳. . . .״

לדידי, האחריות שנפלה לידי בג״ץ בימינו, דומה לנטל שנגזר על הנביאים בעת העתיקה. בג״ץ, בשבתו כבית משפט גבוה לצדק, נדרש בימינו לספק הכרעות בנושאי טוהר השלטון, זכויות אדם והגדרת הגבולות החברתיים בהתייחסות למצוות/חוקים שבין אדם לחברו, קרקעות, גיאו-פוליטיקה, וכדומה. עם זאת, אני לא אטען שבג״ץ הוא מוסד ללא דופי. שופטי בג״ץ, לא בשונה מהנביאים, לא נקיים משילוב רגשות אישיים ואג׳נדות בתוך קבלת ההחלטות. עם זאת, דווקא תכונות אנושיות אלו, הן מבחינתי שמחזקות את הקשר הישיר בין גורל הנביא לגורל עמו, בין גורל בג״ץ לגורל ישראל. או כפי שרשם השופט מישאל חשין, בפסק דין משנת 1994: ״אינני חש עצמי כמי שיושב במגדל שן. בתוך עמי ישבתי ובתוך עמי אנוכי יושב: אני בו והוא בי. וגם על מקומי כיום באוהל-של-משפט, ריח הגלימה שעלי כריח השדה. שנים רבות הייתי יוצא ובא בשערי בית המשפט הגבוה לצדק כבא-כוחם של מתדיינים, ויודע אני בי כיצד נהגתי אני וכיצד נהגו אחרים כמותי. בית המשפט הגבוה לצדק ראינו בו, עמיתי ואני, מקדש-מעט, וקודם היכנסנו אליו התקנו עצמנו לקראת אותה כניסה: נטלנו את ידינו להיכנסנו בבור-כפיים, היטבנו שער ראשינו והסרנו רבב מעל בגדינו.״

Rabbi Anat Katzir is the Rabbi-Educator of Kol Dorot – A Reform Jewish Community in Oradell, New Jersey.  She is a graduate of Tel Aviv University School of Law, HUC School of Education, and ordained by the Academy of Jewish Religion in New York, and currently serves as the Hebrew copy editor of this journal. 

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¹ https://www.bneyzion.co.il/מאגר-השיעורים-והמאמרים/נושאים-כלליים-בתנך/נבואה-ונביאים/המלכות-והנבואה-בישראל/היחס-בין-המלכות-והנבואה-בתקופות-הראשונות-של-עם-ישראל

² https://db.begincenter.org.il/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/
/הפרדת-רשויות-ועליונות-המשפט-בדמוקרטיה-הישראלית-בהשקפתו-של-מנחם-בגין.pdf

³ זאב ז׳בוטינסקי והמלחמה על צדק 26.7.1963

⁴ https://www.dyoma.co.il/מדד-דיומא/636-מדד-דיומא-–-אמון-הציבור-בבית-המשפט-העליון-על-פי-מדד-הדמוקרטיה-הישראלית-של-המכון-הישראלי-לדמוקרטיה

⁵ https://www.mako.co.il/news-law/legal/Article-ee71db624baf331017.htm

⁶ https://www.cwj.org.il/sites/default/files
/בגץ%201000-92%20בבלי%20נ%27%20בית%20הדין%20הרבני.doc

⁷ https://supremedecisions.court.gov.il/Home/Download?path=HebrewVerdicts%5C11/600/038/n06&fileName=11038600_n06.txt&type=4

⁸ https://supremedecisions.court.gov.il/Home/Download?path=HebrewVerdicts%5C16/470/076/K22&fileName=16076470.K22&type=4

⁹ https://www.haaretz.co.il/0000017f-dbd1-df9c-a17f-ffd9783a0000

¹⁰ http://main.knesset.gov.il/Activity/Committees/Foreign/News/Pages/181114א.aspx

¹¹ https://supremedecisions.court.gov.il/Home/Download?path=HebrewVerdicts%5C20/440/021/V14&fileName=20021440.V14&type=4

¹² https://supremedecisions.court.gov.il/Home/Download?path=HebrewVerdicts%5C23/120/024/M24&fileName=23024120.M24&type=4

¹³ https://supremedecisions.court.gov.il/Home/Download?path=HebrewVerdicts%5C23/580/011/A01&fileName=23011580.A01&type=4

¹⁴ https://www.nevo.co.il/psika_word/elyon/padi-na-2-441-l.pdf

¹⁵ https://supremedecisions.court.gov.il/Home/Download?path=HebrewVerdicts/07/660/004/o30&fileName=07004660_o30.txt&type=2

Einat Ramon

In memory of our late teacher and founder of spiritual care in Israel, Rabbi Pessach Krauss z″l, may his memory be for a blessing.

Introduction

One of the two founders of the field of professional spiritual care in the United States, Dr. Richard Clarke Cabot (1868–1939), was a physician from Boston who lived in the first half of the twentieth century.¹ Toward the end of his life, he also taught theology and philosophy at Harvard University. In his book The Art of Ministering to the Sick (1957), he dedicates a chapter to reviewing the professional tools available to the spiritual care provider.² These tools are different from those available to other professionals in the fields of mental and physical health. This article will attempt to address the similarity between these professional tools and the practices for improving physical and mental health discussed in Hasidic literature. Special attention will be paid to the earlier works from the first–third generations of Hasidism—those laid out by its founder, the Baal Shem Tov (Israel ben Eliezer, 1698–1760); by one of his two main disciples, Rabbi Yaakov Yosef Katz from Polnea (1695–1781); and by the Baal Shem Tov’s grandson, Rabbi Moshe Haim Ephraim of Sudilkov (1748–1800) and the Baal Shem Tov’s great-grandson, Rabbi Naḥman of Bratslav (1772–1810). All four founders of the Hasidic spiritual movement were residents of Podolia, a district in the southern part of the Ukraine. Many of their statements concerning their teacher’s conceptual tools that support the soul—and, as a result, the state of the human body—are collected in the Book of the Baal Shem Tov on the Torah.³ While the Baal Shem Tov did not leave many writings, Rabbi Yaakov Yosef Katz was the first to explain the new Hasidic spiritual innovations of his teacher, the Baal Shem Tov. These teachings were translated into a full and rich theology, consisting of teachings and spiritual tools in the works of many of his followers. However, as mentioned above, in this comparative essay I will focus on three interpretations of a number of spiritual tools that he mentions by his direct disciples, including his close student and his two of his family members.⁴

A fundamental assumption upon which to base such a comparative study is the conceptual infrastructure of both spiritual care theory from the twentieth century and early Hasidic theology and customs from the eighteenth century concerning the substantial but unpredictable connection between the human body and psyche. This must be taken into account even though we do not always understand it. In Cabot’s view as both a doctor and educator, every person is meant to grow regardless of the state of their health.⁵ The Baal Shem Tov states: “If he were to believe that this came to him from God, he would not grow angry at all.” Just as Cabot believed that any suffering a patient experiences is a stimulus to growth, the Baal Shem Tov felt that it is a person’s task to strengthen themselves for work, especially after experiencing “some act of ugliness from a friend.”⁶

According to Rabbi Moshe Haim Ephraim, speaking in his grandfather’s name, the foundational idea of Hasidism is that “the Lord does not inflict a person with suffering, unless he first visits them with melancholy.”⁷ The idea that depression precedes illness (and other types of suffering) ties the health of the body and the psyche closely together, emphasizing the movement’s worldview. Nonetheless, Hasidism does not see faith as a kind of magic formula that is guaranteed to prevent the factors that lead to suffering or to cure illness. External occurrences, including those that cause human pain, are also according to the result of divine commands or luck. This also applies to the phenomena of bodily illness and suffering.⁸

The role of both the Hasid and the Tsaddik (the leader in Hasidism) who helps him is to strengthen individuals in their efforts to deal with the sufferings they are experiencing. The fundamental idea is that, unlike the spiritual care provider, the Hasidic Tsaddik has the supernatural ability to sweeten the divine decree. This is seen as an expansion and extension of the talmudic dictum that “the Holy One, Blessed be He, decrees, and the righteous man annuls the decree” (b. Moʾed Qatan 16b).⁹

The intention of Hasidism is thus to prevent melancholy and to endow happiness and humility—that is, the acceptance of one’s fate—as a way of life, in order to sweeten the divine decrees with which people wrestle to the best of their ability.¹⁰ In a professional context, the fundamental assumption of the relation between the body and the psyche neither supposes nor promises that spiritual care operates according to natural laws.¹¹ Both Hasidism as a theological school of thought and theoreticians of spiritual care emphasize that the spiritual care provider, or the Hasid or Tsaddik assisting him, can help a sick person to deal more successfully with their situation and focus their energies on using the crisis to grow spiritually.¹² In both spiritual care and Hasidism, then, there are methods for strengthening both the psyche and the body.

Following the presentation of these ideas, this article will follow the form of a comparative study between the two fields examining the writings of early Hasidic school of thought through the lens of spiritual care as a profession that has taken its first steps in the State of Israel over the course of the last two decades.

Practices of Spiritual Care

Cabot began his professional training in philosophy at Harvard as a student of the American philosopher William James (1842–1910). He then turned to medicine and published research in cardiology, hematology, and pulmonology.¹³ Later in his life, he returned to teaching philosophy and theology. As an exceptional polymath, Cabot was a pioneer in teaching medicine by discussing patient cases as a means of medical instruction. His method worked to integrate social workers within the hospital staff. Later on he advocated for clergy to be trained and hired as spiritual care providers in hospitals. Together with the Protestant minister Anton Boisen (1876–1965), Cabot launched the first clinical-pastoral education training course in the Boston hospital, and when their paths later diverged, Cabot continued to bring in clergy to work with the patients in various wards.¹⁴ When he returned to teach philosophy and religion at Harvard and at a nearby Christian theological seminary, he undertook a study of social ethics. His book on spiritual care for the sick was written and published in 1936, three years bofore hs death.

Cabot’s book, one of the first to be written in the field, reflects the population of American patients that preceded the waves of immigration from South America and Asia in the middle of the twentieth century. As mentioned, it recounts a wide variety of tools in the arsenal of the spiritual care provider. It reflects not only the uniform character of the hospital and the community at that time but also the close ties between them and the innocence that American society lost over the course of the twentieth century.

Even at a backward glance, however, the list of tools mentioned is a fascinating one. Near the beginning of the book, Cabot addresses the various aspects of spiritual growth, demonstrating that the spiritual care provider’s attentiveness amounts to an expression of love that helps the sick person to grow. Cabot emphasizes the value of theoretical instruction, aesthetic appreciation, and integrating the patient with their environment so as to communicate to them that they are crucial to their surroundings.¹⁵ In describing the different aspects of spiritual growth, Cabot reflects the tools of spiritual care that were, in his time, primarily the province of people of faith. In fact, this is still an accepted stance today in the United States and Europe.

In contrast, there is currently a desire in Israel “to separate religion from the spiritual care provider,” even though the numbers of religious or quasi religious spiritual care providers has been on a constant rise. Such a separation is necessary, in my opinion, if we are to encourage the growth of the professional field in Israeli society, where religious issues are the most charged of all. Nonetheless, a variety of tools is available to the community of spiritual care providers that derives from the traditional Jewish cultures.

At the end of his book, Cabot expands upon what he only alluded to at first. He recommends that spiritual care providers equip themselves with books so that they may lend them to patients. Furthermore, he guides them in making the necessary matches between the suggested reading material and the patients who require it by demonstrating the greatest possible sensitivity toward the patients’ beliefs and opinions.¹⁶ He mentions a puppy that delighted the patients on the ward, a small boy who visited and became a source of cheerfulness and joy, and a variety of spiritual foods of growth that the spiritual care provider is able to bestow.¹⁷

Counting teaching as an expression of spiritual growth, Cabot then clarifies how to help patients derive benefit from books and reading in order to improve both their spirits and their ability to cope. There are patients to whom an intellectual challenge grants spiritual strength; others need to keep occupied when faced with an extended hospitalization, and some wish to read spiritual literature or prayers. The spiritual care provider who is familiar with the spiritual care recipient’s world of beliefs and opinions will know which book to recommend and how to conduct a discussion about it that draws upon the provider’s familiarity with that particular text. Encouraging patients to write is also one of the tools that Cabot and his cowriter Russell Dicks recommended, anything from arranging lists that document the patient’s activities to keeping a diary.¹⁸ In the end, Cabot recommends keeping busy with occupational activities and art, fields that now have come mostly under the professional supervision of occupational and art therapists.¹⁹

A glance at the professional literature on spiritual care reveals that Cabot’s readiness to directly address the care provider’s set of tools demonstrates a certain innocence. The spiritual care books of our era lack practical, professional lists of the sort that Cabot and Dicks provided. This lack is due in part to the growth of therapeutic professions like occupational therapy and, later, arts, transpersonal therapy, other modalities that have taken responsibility for some of the fields that the two men named as the professional domain of the spiritual care provider. It was also influenced by the development of spiritual care in the United States, which has been inspired by the minimalist psychological methods of the school of Carl Rogers (1902–87). These factors began to limit the role of the spiritual care provider to asking questions and listening rather than directing the spiritual care recipient toward a world of content defined by their own worldview and interest that is meant to improve and expand their spiritual resources.²⁰

E. Brooks Holifield, an American historian of this field, thus characterized a central dimension in the thinking of spiritual care in the United States after World War II as one that focuses on the value of individuals’ “self-realization. …The good for which they aimed was ‘growth.’ …This had triggered the enthusiasm for Carl Rogers.”²¹ In the context of this professional viewpoint, the spiritual care provider’s toolset came to be marginalized. It is therefore no wonder that the professional literature dealing with spiritual care praxis in postmodern contexts lacks any reference to the wide variety of professional tools we find in the earliest professional literature. The American spiritual care provider of our times is trained to listen carefully to whatever the people whom they are attending are saying.²² The provider’s reflexive focus upon the patient’s story and their subsequent processing and evaluation deserve more attention in this literature. If that were already the case, providers would ask more questions about ways of coping and about various support systems, including the family, the community, and especially the patient’s world of beliefs and opinions.

From a picture of the multicultural North American population of the twenty-first century, which includes diverse status levels and kinds of people, it emerges that the professional tool of the spiritual care provider is now defined, more than anything else, as an awareness of all aspects of the patient’s social identity. The professional work program seeks to provide the patients with a feeling of security in their relationship with the spiritual care provider and of personal security in general, including the option to grieve over their loss, and establish a new connection to life.²³ According to the professional literature written mainly by American Protestants, the main tools spiritual care providers can use to help their patients are empathetic listening and conversation.

However, a cursory glance at the work of spiritual care providers in Israel, which has yet to be examined statistically, testifies to a search for additional tools in pastoral care that go beyond what is now accepted in the United States. We hear and are witnesses to the work that Israeli providers are doing with various texts, including (but not limited to) reading Psalms or Hebrew poetry and other texts, singing songs with the patients, painting with them, using guided imagery or meditation, creating texts, writing life stories, doing activities in nature, watching theater or writing and performing plays. Some of these are being used during the care providers’ training. In the case of the Marpeh academic spiritual care training program at the Schechter Institute, the spiritual caregivers-in-training themselves often develop these tools during their training.²⁴ This is the source of my interest in asking what uniquely Jewish spiritual tools may help strengthen Israelis in a postsecularized Zionist Jewish context. The term “postsecularized” means that Israelis may, in times of distress, freely turn to diverse Jewish and Israeli practices and texts as resources for spiritual support.

Spiritual Care Practices in the Teaching of the Baal Shem Tov

In light of my observations about the professional development of spiritual care in the United States in the twentieth century, I will attempt to examine the tools that early eighteenth-century Hasidism placed before us for developing the spiritual strength that this movement believes is helpful to both the body and the mind. Most of the following statements that have been taken from the Book of the Baal Shem Tov address spiritual techniques for defeating “melancholy.” This term is used in Hasidic literature to designate depression, which, as mentioned above, also affects the body’s strength.²⁵ It is therefore worth mentioning that the secondhand transmission of Hasidic sayings through students or the students of students is, in fact, colored by the authors’ worldviews. Nonetheless, we can discern here a systematic Hasidic viewpoint and the spiritual tools for dealing with the sufferings and spiritual/psychological crises that are characteristic of Hasidism from its beginnings until the present day that offer a universal spiritual perspective for dealing with this challenge.

The Cultivation of Humility: A Worldview that Accepts Reality

The most effective tool for relieving a sick or troubled person’s suffering, even if it is the hardest to achieve, may well be developing a state of mind that completely accepts reality. This is what Hasidic literature calls a position of complete humility:

People do not deserve to arrive at the point of truth unless they first acquire in their psyche a measure of humility and degradation achieved in full, to the very end, to the point that they seem in their own eyes to be nothing at all…the truth is humility and degradation, while pride is the lie.²⁶

According to the Baal Shem Tov, those who accept this position are in contact with the unity that exists within the principle of the creation of the world: “And when people accept their sufferings in love and happiness, the unity is created; and they bring close, and connect with, and speak to…the soul that is joy and spiritual vitality, and the verdict is annulled and mercy is shown.”²⁷ This viewpoint is subsumed within a broader Hasidic view of the world, which this article does not have the space to explain.

At first glance, the instruction to obliterate oneself may lead a person to asceticism and depression, precisely the opposite of what the spiritual work of the Hasid is supposed to achieve. In this context, therefore, we may come to understand the Hasidic work of joy that was meant to prevent the Hasid from sinking into melancholy—a deep, existential, psychological crisis of sadness and depression. In this context, the Baal Shem Tov clarifies the next spiritual tool. It therefore emerges that the cultivation of a worldview focusing on unity with God—on accepting reality as His will—is the best way to relieve both physical and psychological human suffering. Nevertheless, this spiritual goal is difficult to achieve because of the enormous act of self-negation it requires. Furthermore, as a fervent desire, it is a higher spiritual goal than a basic level of humility, and one that a person continues to seek throughout their life but may never fully achieve.

Coping with Sadness and Melancholy:
Eating, Drinking, Happiness and Balance

Hasidic literature acknowledges the struggle to achieve humility, which minimizes a person’s suffering by seeing reality through the lens of unity with God. For this reason the Baal Shem Tov’s thought developed a strategy for coping with melancholy and with the difficulty of achieving an awareness of transcendence above and beyond one’s sufferings. He instructs his Hasidim:

There is the way that the wicked behave—eating, drinking, joyfulness, laughter and so forth; and there is the way that the righteous behave—fasting, weeping and crying, eulogies and so forth. But when the sickness of melancholy takes hold through sadness, asceticism and so forth, he needs to adopt the values of the wicked—eating, drinking, and joyfulness—in order to take away the above-mentioned sickness. And when, at times, he sees that the evil inclination is taking hold of him, let him dress in black and adopt a sad demeanor; and all this he must do to balance the scales of his psyche. And this is what he said, though I do not know which of them is desirable.²⁸

This instruction is a form of the expression “the lessened that strengthens the increased,” coined by his great-grandson Rabbi Naḥman of Bratslav. It directs the individual toward activities that suit their disposition and asks of them an inner attentiveness to the directions toward which their spirit is being drawn. If they are drawn toward their lusts, this will lead to a decline in their spiritual/psychological condition; Hasidism does not distinguish between spirit and psyche in the way that modern thought does. In cases of potential addiction, people should try to restrict their inclinations and impose on themselves an “inclinationary limitation.” If there is a tendency toward sadness and depression, however, the Baal Shem Tov directs his students to behave in the way that “the wicked behave” in order to balance themselves—that is, eating, drinking, play, and joyfulness. How is it possible to prevent an individual from lapsing into hedonism as a consequence of this advice? The Baal Shem Tov explains that, as long as “the work of prayer” is at the core of their various activities, it will guarantee that “the wise person is able to eat good things and all the other delights…and to deny himself in this way.”²⁹

This worldview, which sees in the Torah of Israel—the Torah of life—a means of preventing suffering and its causes, has consequences for how we view the reasons behind the commandments. While this is not the place to examine this theory in depth, it is worth remembering that the Baal Shem Tov’s ideas are rooted in a religious Jew’s way of life as a given and bound up with defined kabbalistic understandings of the world that may not be dissociated from the techniques that strengthen the spirit. From the kabbalistic viewpoint, a life of fulfilling the commandments is one that leads to healing and spiritual strength. This is the deeper meaning of the verse: “I am the Lord who heals you” (Exodus 15:26).

While kabbalistic and Hasidic circles assume that the Torah heals, in this article it is my purpose to examine the way in which the Hasid or the Tsaddik is instructed to treat melancholy, because sorrow or self-flagellation, even if it results from a failure to observe the commandments, “is a great hindrance to the worship of the Holy One, Blessed be He.” The solution is that “he will be made sad by his transgressions and will return to rejoicing in the Creator, blessed be his name,” the point closest to our own interest here in spiritual care.³⁰ The Baal Shem Tov spells out in these instructions a way to aid the uplifting of the spirit by the material sustenance of the body without lapsing into hedonism: “While he is eating, let his intention be to draw out the vitality that is within it in order to lift it up in service to the Creator, Blessed be He; and so in all his other activities, all his thoughts should be directed toward actions that will bind him upward.”³¹ In other words, it is not enough for a person who has been seized by melancholy to eat, drink, and rejoice. All these activities must be accompanied by awareness, and by remembering that these actions connect him with his spirit, with God. This is the root of happiness, since these activities are incapable, in and of themselves, of making people happy.

Self-Care, Prayer and Suffering

The fundamental principle of Hasidism follows the insights of the sages of Israel, who said long ago that “the decree of judgment is changed by prayer from bad to good,” especially when “the person prays for himself.”³² Yet it remains for us to ask: What evidence is there for a link between prayer and an improvement in the state of the human spirit? What is the quality of the spiritual process that takes place here? Furthermore, “a person will know whether their prayer has been answered, if after they pray their heart is joyous, and the opposite if it is saddened.”³³ In other words, the essential criterion of the success or failure of personal prayer is the measure of happiness that it elicits.

In the part of his essay called “The Column of Prayer,” which is attached to his commentary on the parashah of Noah and deals with questions of prayer in Hasidism, the Baal Shem Tov sharpens this point. He indicates that the emotion that governs prayer affects both the individual’s state of mind and the actions they take afterward, “because after the prayer that a person offers, they need to take care in their actions since they are likely to fall, God forbid, into anger or other inappropriate behaviors.”³⁴ Thus the Baal Shem Tov’s book repeatedly mentions the value of joy in serving God. Time and again he tells us that “prayer that is offered out of joy is certainly better received before Him, may his name be blessed, than prayer offered in sadness and tears.”³⁵ And from an awareness of the spiritual danger that lies in melancholy, the Baal Shem Tov warns that “there are those who pray in sadness because of the melancholy that has overwhelmed them, and they imagine that they are praying in great trepidation.” In fact, however, “prayer of this sort is not the worship of God but a learned commandment of human beings.”³⁶ Another way of coping with great distress or melancholy is to comprehend that the distress is greater than the person themselves. In Hasidic terminology this is called “the distress of God’s Presence,” and it is inseparable from the imperfection of the world.

The “distress of God’s Presence” has a psychological aspect that relieves a person of the weight of their distress. As a student of the Baal Shem Tov, Rabbi Yaakov Yosef Katz states: “Because if, God forbid, a person is in some great distress, and their prayer is on themselves…, and it would have made better sense to pray on it…so long as they are unable to restrain themselves when it comes to the distress itself.” In such cases, they should direct their prayers “towards the utility of God’s Presence.”³⁷ So if a person’s suffering is a consequence of the fact that they are feeling hatred, the Baal Shem Tov recommends that his Hasidim pray about it and thereby disconnect from the evil within them, “to correct them, to lift them up through the words of the prayer.”³⁸

In his commentary on the name of Judah, the Baal Shem Tov explains the moment when we generally relate to prayer as a request for ourselves or for others. It is an alleviation of the distress embedded in this name “whose character is one of thankfulness and praise to Him, may his name be blessed…because every form of distress is contained within this name, and when he brings to it thankfulness and praise as I mentioned above, the distress is alleviated.”³⁹ For, according to the Baal Shem Tov, at the moment when we praise God, we receive everything—even our sufferings—in love. In this way, the distress is alleviated.⁴⁰

One’s Relation to Sickness and the Illnesses of Others

According to Hasidism, “The Divine Presence relieves the sick person, as it is said (Psalm 41) ‘God will relieve him on his sickbed, and in his mercy will relieve me as well.’”⁴¹ This worldview defines the role of a single individual’s prayers for a sick person as follows:

During prayers for the sick and for any distress that may befall a person, he should mention the sick person there and make the Yichud in his Name, in order to sweeten the judgment that is bound up with his Name…and one should not go on at length about this to those who understand science, because it is a great secret and should not be touched upon in writing.⁴²

Hasidism and Spiritual Care: Professional Thoughts

A glance at the quotations taken from the Baal Shem Tov and his disciples about coping with sadness and melancholy testifies to the fact that the spiritual training of Hasidism at the start of its development actually bears a great similarity to the second wave of professional insights in spiritual care. Like the influence of Carl Rogers, these teachings emphasize the direct training of human consciousness. The Baal Shem Tov saw in melancholy and sadness a danger to an individual’s spirit and body and to their influence on their environment—that is, a danger to the world. He therefore instructed his students to address this tendency, which takes hold of everyone at some time, by finding the necessary balance. A person’s spiritual balance is also upset when they are absorbed in their inclinations. If their frame of mind leads them in this direction, then, for the sake of balance, they must limit the degree to which these inclinations are expressed.

These ideas are reminiscent of Maimonides’s guidance of people toward the golden mean. Yet early Hasidic teachings take a spiritual and psychological step beyond this, suggesting that those who are deep in melancholy should behave as wicked people do—eating, drinking, and being joyful—so long as they remember that God is the source of the food, the drink, and the joyfulness. Maintaining this perspective, along with being aware of God and negating oneself in His presence, forms the cognitive basis for improving an individual’s spiritual condition. In addition to these inner practices, yearning for a state of humility (if nothing else) lightens the burden of their troubles and sufferings.

The Baal Shem Tov recommends that people pray for themselves, for the improvement of their enemies’ virtues (if the latter is the source of their sufferings) and for the sick person at whose head lies God’s Presence. However, he does not go into detail regarding the exact process that makes such prayer psychologically possible.⁴³ It goes without saying that if we were to trace the philosophical lines of thought behind these spiritual practices in the writings of his successors—particularly Naḥman of Bratslav, who expressed (perhaps more than anyone else) his ideas about the problem of sadness and melancholy—we would have access to a broader development of the tools available to individuals as they struggle with this spiritual and psychological problem.

A separate issue is our own professional question about today’s spiritual care providers in Israel, who turn to Hasidism as both a spiritual source and a magnet for professional spiritual practices. Given that all of Hasidism is rooted in the world of Torah—the world of kabbalistic cosmology and the keeping of the commandments—can these practices be helpful to members of the secular or traditional community who are not part of this world of kabbalistic beliefs, ideas, and customs? It seems that the secularization of Hasidic practices is already taking place in the work of spiritual care providers in Israel, whether consciously or not. If there is within this article the potential to enrich them, then that is a positive outcome.

The possibility of expanding the viewpoint of an individual who is suffering from physical, emotional, or spiritual pain may be couched in other ways that do not necessarily involve phrases like “the distress of God’s Presence” or “the unity of God.” We may ask a person who is seeking spiritual care what sort of broad worldview may ease their mind. Prayer may also undergo a process of secularization, if that is necessary in the context of spiritual care, by means of guided imagery. Furthermore, we may assume that this is why this particular tool of spiritual care is used so widely by Israeli spiritual care providers. On the basis of the Baal Shem Tov’s instructions for prayer, a person may imagine themselves in an improved situation, may picture something that makes them happy, and so may emerge in good spirits from the guided imagery which replaces traditional prayer for them.

Of course, at the highest level of spiritual care we may see how it is possible to be thankful for each aspect of life, including the difficult ones. Testimonies and stories about spiritual care do in fact describe these kinds of situations; however, they are difficult to grasp and require a great deal of motivation and psychological strength, and this is true in both the Hasidic and the rationalistic contexts, whether religious or secular.

Be that as it may, examining the ways in which the Baal Shem Tov’s sayings address the problem of melancholy gives us a road map, one that leads us to ask at every turn: Have we opened up a worldview broad enough to allow people to rise above their personal suffering? Have we led ourselves to imagine, to hope, to pray for something good? Have we been thankful for what exists? If we have expressed our thoughts about all of these situations, then we have made use of the basic tools available to the spiritual care provider, and Hasidism may serve in this context as a resource to that end.

Dr. Einat Ramon is a senior lecturer in Jewish thought at the Schechter Institute for Jewish Studies. Her research specialty is the field of modern Jewish thought. She is the founder and director of the Marpeh Academic Program for Training in Spiritual Care and one of the founders of that professional field in Israel.

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¹ I would like to take the opportunity to thank the primary donors who helped the Marpeh Academic Program for the Training of Spiritual Caregiving at the Schechter Institute, primarily the UJA Federation of New York, the Jewish Federation of the Greater MetroWsest, New Jersey, Cecillle and Rabbi Stanley Asekoff, and Dr. Joan Krauss, who has supported most of my scholarship and studies produced by the Marpeh program in memory of her late husband, Rabbi Pessach Krauss z"l, a former chaplain and teacher at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. Rabbi Krauss was one of the very first Jewish chaplains in the United States, and the first founder and teacher of spiritual care in Israel following his aliyah by the end of the twentieth century.

² R. C. Cabot and R. L. Dicks, The Art of Ministering to the Sick (Macmillan, 1957), which was one of the first professional works written in this field.

³ Baal Shem Tov on the Torah, ed. Nathan Neta Hacohen and Shimon Menachem Mendel from Gwatshau, 3 vols. (Nofet Tsoffim, 1997), 1:108, 386 (Hebrew).

⁴ This comparative essay is not a historical or even a theological analysis of Hasidism but a professional article that wishes to highlight Hasidic tools relevant to spiritual care. It is a parallel article to the ones that I highlighted in an essay on tools that could be available to Jewish spiritual care providers and spiritual care recipients. For a discussion of various topics in the study of Hasidism, see Einat Ramon, “Gratitude, Israeli Spiritual Care and Contemporary Hassidic Teachers: The Theme of Thankfulness in the Works of Rabbis Brazofsky (the Netivot Shalom), Rav Arush and Yemima Avital,” Alternative Spirituality and Religion Review 5, no. 1 (2014): 78–100. For further reading about the Baal Shem Tov and his immediate disciples, including the ones mentioned in this article, see Moshe Rosman, Founder of Hasidism: A Quest for the Historical Baal Shem Tov, Litman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2nd rev. ed. (2013); Emanuael Etkes, The Besht: Magician. Mystic and Leader (Brandeis University Press, 2012); Arthur Green, Tormented Master: The Life and Spiritual Quest of Rabbi Nahman of Bratslav, Jewish Lights Classic Reprint (1992); and Moshe Idel, Hasidism: Between Ecstacy and Magic (SUNY Press, 1995).

⁵ Cabot and Dicks, Art, 16.

⁶ See, respectively, Cabot and Dicks, Art, 17 and Baal Shem Tov, 1:108–9.

⁷ In other words, “he takes from them their level of security” in their faith (Baal Shem Tov, 1:326).

⁸ This is a paraphrase of of Degel Maḥanei Ephraim by Rabbi Moshe Haim Ephraim from Sudilkov, relating his grandfather’s perception of suffering (Baal Shem Tov, 1:326).

⁹ Furthermore, “when his (a person’s) body (is sick), his soul is weakened as well; and he cannot pray as he should even though he is free of sin. Hence a person must be very careful to preserve his health” (Baal Shem Tov, 2:237).

¹⁰ Baal Shem Tov, 1:13.

¹¹ Although natural laws are not fully known to us (and may therefore surprise us), we should point out that this is a further point of commonality between the two disciplines.

¹² Cabot and Dicks, Art, 16–17.

¹³ C. S. Roberts, “The Case of Richard Cabot,” in Clinical Methods: The History, Physical, and Laboratory Examinations, ed. H. K. Walker, W. D. Hall, and J. W. Hurst, 3rd ed. (Butterworths, 1990), https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK702/.

¹⁴ Boisen suffered from mental illnesses that hampered his ability to work for long periods, and he focused primarily on serving as a spiritual care provider in psychiatric wards.

¹⁵ Cabot and Dicks, Art, 16–17.

¹⁶ Cabot and Dicks, Art, 162–164.

¹⁷ Cabot and Dicks, Art, 16–17.

¹⁸ Cabot and Dicks, Art, 16–17, 168–69.

¹⁹ Cabot and Dicks, Art, 169–70.

²⁰ E. Brooks Holifield, A History of Pastoral Care in America: From Salvation to Self Realization. (Wipf and Stock, 1983), 295–306.

²¹ Holifield, History, 288–89.

²² Carrie Dohering, The Practice of Pastoral Care: A Postmodern Approach. (Westminster John Knox, 2006), 133.

²³ Dohering, Practice, 100–110, 133–42.

²⁴ For a selection of lectures in Hebrew on different methods that Marpeh students and graduates have developed, see: https://marpeh.org.il/העשרה-בוידאו/. See also Einat Ramon, Truth and Lovingkindness: Sources on Spiritual Care in Midrash and in Modern Jewish Thought, ed. David Golinkin (Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies, 2018) and Netta Bentur and Michael Schultz, eds., Meeting in the Midst: Spiritual Care in Israel (JDC-Eshel, 2017).

²⁵ For a discussion of various topics in the study of contemporary Hasidic or quasi-Hasidic thought in Israel, see Ramon, “Gratitude.”

²⁶ Baal Shem Tov, 1:49.

²⁷ Baal Shem Tov, 1:53.

²⁸ Baal Shem Tov, 1:66, emphasis mine.

²⁹ Baal Shem Tov, 1:68.

³⁰ Baal Shem Tov, 1:127–28.

³¹ Baal Shem Tov, 1:281.

³² Baal Shem Tov, 1:251.

³³ Baal Shem Tov, 1:259.

³⁴ Baal Shem Tov, 1:258.

³⁵ Baal Shem Tov, 1:179.

³⁶ Baal Shem Tov, 1:179.

³⁷ Baal Shem Tov, 1:244.

³⁸ Baal Shem Tov, 1:247.

³⁹ Baal Shem Tov, 1:361.

⁴⁰ Baal Shem Tov, 1:361.

⁴¹ Baal Shem Tov, 1:138.

⁴² Baal Shem Tov, 1:116.

⁴³ This may also be due to the fact that all the statements appearing in his name are from his many students, some of whom were only indirectly connected to him. They are therefore offered as individual fragments.

Earl Schwartz

An anxious preoccupation with the intellectual traits of common folk is evident in many a work by a medieval Mediterranean thinker, including texts ostensibly focused on metaphysics.¹ One need not go further than the introduction to these works before coming across a reference to the “multitude.” These thinkers were not the first to ponder an intellectual dimension to social stratification. While Pericles had sought to broaden public participation in government, Plato, writing a generation later under the cloud of the “democratic” execution of Socrates, bemoaned the beastly attitudes of the multitude.² A continent away, Confucius likewise advocated social coherence through hierarchy, unruffled by unmanageable women and contentious “little people.”³ For such thinkers, how and what common folk might think was relevant only to the extent that it was related to questions of social order, or could inform the benevolence incumbent upon those who knew better. And, as Plato suggested, if circulating a contrived myth of origin could further those ends, it was simply prudent policy.⁴

But medieval Muslim, Christian, and Jewish thinkers found themselves in quite a different position. They would have to account for a shared eccentricity: the tendency of their scriptures to elevate common folk to uncommon prominence, particularly as mediators of revelation. Unlike the more typical association of group identities with extraordinary figures and wondrous quests, Tanakh, New Testament, and Quranic texts tell of a God intent upon engaging all-too-human human beings, absent any indication of their having sought such an encounter or having prepared for one. Tanakh in particular emphasizes revelatory events experienced by large groups of women, men, and children alike.⁵ This legacy would press Jewish thinkers, as they speculated about the mind and its functions, to address the possibility that any human being, for no other reason than that they are human, is equipped to encounter and engage what is ultimately true.

Works by Mediterranean Jewish intellectuals are laden with these tensions, reflected in the ways they employed terms associated with the undistinguished masses. This article surveys Maimonides’ use of two such Arabic terms, al-jumhur (الجمهور or אלג׳מהור) and al-ʿawam (العوام or אלעואם), along with related forms.⁶ To provide some literary context for Maimonides’ usage, references by three other prominent medieval Mediterranean Jewish thinkers, Saadia al-Fayumi (Gaon), Bahya ibn Paquda, and Yehuda Halevi are also briefly discussed. All four thinkers wrote major works in Judeo-Arabic, which facilitates comparison of terminology.⁷

As philosophical orientations rooted in classical Greek sources moved through medieval intellectual circles, Jewish thinkers, along with their Christian and Muslim counterparts, were challenged not only by the intellectual import of the various systems, but also by their presumed social corollaries. When and how they used particular terms may help us to better understand their reactions to these challenges, beyond what they may have asserted explicitly about common folk. What their use of the terms denoted in particular contexts warrants consideration, along with references that appear redundant or otherwise unnecessary, and repeated associations and cumulative connotations. In tracing a given thinker’s usage, it will also be important to consider whether it suggests a gap between what he was in fact inclined to believe about common folk and what he believed he was bound, or expected, to affirm.

Saadia al-Fayumi (Gaon) (882–942 CE)

In his Kitab al-Huruf, Saadia Gaon’s contemporary Abu Nasr al-Farabi offered a descending scale of human acumen, concluding: “Religion, when adapted to humanness, always comes after philosophy, since it aims simply to instruct al-jumhur in theoretical and practical matters that stem from philosophy in such a way as to enable them to understand them by persuasion or imaginative presentation, or both.”⁸ Al-Farabi’s characterization of popular religion as an accommodation to the intellectual inadequacies of the masses is rooted in the classical Greek texts he championed. Although well acquainted with the sources that inspired al-Farabi, Saadia would challenge these premises, emphasizing instead the biblical focus on lived experience.

Saadia reached the highest echelons of Jewish institutional life, but unlike many prominent medieval Jewish figures, he may have grown up in a village, the child of working-class parents.⁹ In combination with his reading of biblical sources, this background perhaps influenced his thinking about intellect and hierarchies. In the introduction to his best-known work, הנבחר באמונות ובדעות/אלמכ׳תאר פי אלאמאנאת ואלאעתקאדאת, he notes that the ʿawam who dismiss philosophical inquiry as a high road to heresy are also purveyors of absurd folk beliefs: “only those of the ʿawam see it this way…as is said of some of the ʿawam of our people (אמתנא, amtana), that they think the moon is swallowed by some sort of sea creature, and that is its missing portion….”¹⁰ Given the derogatory overtones of ʿawam in Saadia’s day, such an aside could well have preceded an intellectual scale of competence akin to al-Farabi’s.¹¹ Notably, however, Saadia goes on instead to assert that the Tanakh’s emphasis on sensory experience in its accounts of revelation, witnessed by women, men, and children, was not to be understood as a condescending literary device for the edification of the public at large. Rather, it conveyed the primacy of “what has been seen by our eyes and heard by our ears”:

And even if we sufficiently extend our rational analysis to its completion, it does not matter, and anyone who falls short due to some obstacle is not left without religion (din). Even women and children, and one who is not adept at analysis, have a full and coherent religious faith, because all people (כל אלנאס/kul al-nas) are equal when it comes to sensory derived knowledge. Praise to the Wise Guide! And that is why you will often find in the Torah that children and women are included with the fathers when signs and proofs are mentioned.¹²

Through the balance of the work Saadia affirms the clarifying role that rational analysis can play in Jewish life and makes numerous references to ignorant people (ג׳אהל, jahil) in doing so, but never in connection with al-jumhur or al-ʿamah. In a metaphorical passage at the opening of section 5, אלעאמה, al-ʿammah and אלעאמי, al-ʿammi refer to someone unskilled in a particular craft, and in this sense indicative of all people when it comes to examining a soul, a craft in which God alone is expert. Here, too, neither the metaphorical usage nor its correlate comes with demeaning connotations.¹³

This inclusive sensibility is also evidenced in Saadia’s Tafsir, a Judeo-Arabic interpretive translation of the Tanakh. In general, the Tafsir reflects a preference for Arabic words that sound similar to the original Hebrew.¹⁴ However, ʿawam is consistently avoided as a translation of the Hebrew ʿam. Instead, terms such as קום, qaum; שעב, shaʿb; and אמה, umma are employed.¹⁵ It seems likely that this avoidance of ʿawam was prompted by its condescending connotations. While al-ʿawam is used specifically in Emunot vedeot in connection with nonsensical folk beliefs, qaum and umma are the preferred terms in that work as well. Saadia did resort to insulting language regarding individuals with whom he clashed, but not in reference to broad swaths of the population.

It is commonly observed that Saadia Gaon was the first rabbinic figure to achieve lasting prominence not only as a halakhist and exegete but also in philology and philosophy. Often characterized as a Jewish “kalamist,” he affirmed, in Alexander Altmann’s words, not a philosophical system of autonomous reason “but an exercise in theology anchored in a religious tradition”—a method for corroborating revealed doctrine, and a tool for defending Jewish thought and practice.¹⁶ Common folk might not be skilled in the use of these tools, but that did not mean that their awareness of God’s presence and purposes was thereby deficient. The covenant of Israel was rooted in the whole people’s existential heritage. Philosophy, at best, refined the terms of that heritage. If al-Farabi found a modicum of common ground in a descending staircase of reason, Saadia countered with ascending emanations of shared experience, the biblical narrative serving as a check on presumptions about “the masses” characteristic of the philosophical sources that led to medieval rationalism.

Bahya ibn Paquda (ca. 1050–ca. 1120 CE)

Almost nothing is now known of Bahya ibn Paquda’s life, although he commonly bears the title hadayan. The primary theme of his חובות הלבבות (Duties of the Heart), the development of deep personal piety, suggests Sufi influences. The writings of Abu Hamid al-Ghazali, whose renown would stem primarily from his vociferous rejection at midlife of earlier philosophical inclinations, appear to have been one source of this influence.¹⁷ However, al-Ghazali’s تهافت الفلاسفة, Tahafut al-falasifa (Incoherence of the Philosophers) begins with an attack not on rationalist philosophy, but on elitist philosophers: “I have seen a group who, seeing themselves as distinguished from their fellows by their greater perceptiveness and intelligence…they hold themselves above helping the masses (الجماهير, al-jamahir, plural) and the common people (الدهماء, ad-dahma)…. When I perceived this vein of nonsense throbbing in these fools, I took it upon myself to write this book.”¹⁸ But if al-Ghazali influenced ibn Paquda regarding the importance of not holding oneself “above helping al-jamahir,” it did not lead to a comparable disdain for arrogant philosophers or philosophy. On the contrary, neither intellectuals nor common folk are explicitly disparaged in Hovot halivavot. The book is amply laced with philosophical passages, enlisted to buttress its devotional focus, along with an al-Farabi-like treatment of biblical imagery as an accommodation for the theologically unsophisticated, but references to al-jumhur and אלעאמה, al-ʿammah although sometimes ambiguous, never devolve into scorn.¹⁹

That the introduction closes with praise for Saadia (the only such accolade in the introduction) is telling in this regard. Following a parable on varying degrees of intellectual comprehension, he concludes: “be aided in your grasp of [the Torah] by reading the books of the Gaon, Rabeinu Saadia—may remembering him be a blessing—for they enlighten the mind, and sharpen understanding, and guide the simple-minded, and awaken the lethargic.”²⁰

Ibn Paquda’s recommendation of Saadia’s writings suggests that he shared Saadia’s understanding of a complementary relationship between revelatory events and correct reasoning. In the first chapter of Hovot halivavot, in reference to the need to attune how one conveys “matters of the heart” to the competencies of the learner, he employs the expression “the foolish ignoramous” (الجاهل الغبئ, al-jahl al-ghabi) but not al-jumhur or al-ʿawam. When, in connection with biblical metaphors, he references aljumhur in the following paragraph, the context suggests relatively benign connotations. The uses of such metaphors, he observes, are “in keeping with the understanding of al-jumhur (حسب افهام الجمهور, hasb afham al-jumhur) and in terms that al‘ammah use when speaking to one another.”²¹ Between the two passages he inserts an allegory in which the abundance of such metaphors is likened to ensuring that farm animals receive sufficient feed. The imagery is condescending, although it could be seen in light of the biblical association of shepherding with benevolent leadership, which came with comparable connotations. In a later passage on levels at which the Torah can be engaged, from minimal to most admirable, he concludes that the ten tiers, taken together, constitute “the great majority of the people” (اكثر جمهور الامه, akutr jumhur al-uma).²² If he had intended negative connotations for the accompanying reference to “jumhur” or umah, one would expect the phrase to reference only the lower levels rather than all ten. The description of the lowest category includes a number of disparaging terms but no reference to al-jumhur. Such ambiguities could be attributed simply to inconsistency or ambivalence. Alternatively, assuming the book was intended for a relatively broad readership, ambiguous terminology might reflect a measure of caution.²³ But it is equally plausible that, for ibn Paquda, “those who cannot grasp what is ultimately true” was not a definitive characteristic of “the jumhur” of his fellow Jews.

Yehuda Halevi (ca. 1080–ca. 1140 CE)

Yehuda Halevi’sאלחגה ואלדליל פי נצר אלדין אלדליל, al-ḥujja wal-dalil fi naṣr al-din al-thalil (Argument and Proof in Defense of the Despised Religion, or Sefer haKuzari) would prove the most durable of medieval Jewish works directed against a rationalist demotion of al-jumhur. Notwithstanding his ample connections to elite social and intellectual circles, Halevi’s defense of the “despised religion (din),” a refutation of the accusation that the Jewish people had become an artifact of a bygone era, is concomitantly a defense of the despised common folk among its adherents.²⁴ The first reference to al-jumhur occurs in the opening sentence of the introduction, in Halevi’s own voice, prior to imagined exchanges between the king of Khazaria and a “philosopher,” a Christian, a Muslim, and a Jew: “I’ve been asked about my position regarding the charges and responses the philosophers have brought against us, and by people of various doctrines, and those of the sectarians [var. Karaites] who oppose al-jumhur.”²⁵ Avraham Zifroni understood the last words of the passage to mean “those who disagree with what is accepted by the Jewish people as a whole (kelal Yisraʾel).”²⁶ If so, the mention of al-jumhur, although seemingly incidental, presages what follows. In offering the historical experience of the Jewish people as their “defense,” Halevi makes clear that he is speaking of the whole people.

The term al-jumhur (or al-jamahir) appears an additional thirty-nine times in Sefer haKuzari, and never derisively. The closest Halevi comes to implying a negative connotation occurs in a passage in which the ḥaver, the Jewish representative, remarks that it might not be productive to explain all biblical metaphors to al-jumhur (book 3, section 73), but the comment comes without slight. On the contrary, it is clear from the balance of references that being included in the jumhur of the Israelites and their Jewish descendants is a sign of distinction. Before the appearance of the ḥaver, both the Christian and the Muslim emphasize the public nature of the wonders experienced by the biblical Israelites, the Christian affirming: “[God] dwells among those who please him, from among al-jamahir. And the general principle: Whatever one finds in the Torah and books of Israel cannot be doubted, as they have been published, and preserved and revealed among the mass multitudes (אלגמאהיר אלעט׳אם, al-jamahir al-ʿidham).”²⁷ When the ḥaver is summoned, he need only reiterate what has proven so convincing to Christians, Muslims, and Jews alike, concluding:

And so, He begins his words to the jumhur of Israel (לגמהור בני אסראיל, ljumhur benei Israel) with “I am the Eternal God who took you out of the land of Egypt.” He doesn’t say, “I created the world, and I created you.” So too I began with you, King of the Khazars, when you asked me about my faith, and I responded in terms of what is incumbent upon me and incumbent upon the whole people of Israel, as this position was made clear to them with their own eyes, then leading to an ongoing tradition which is the equivalent of being an eyewitness.²⁸

In the one instance al-ʿamah and al-jumhur are juxtaposed in the Kuzari, the resulting expression indicates the “general public,” without any associated deprecation.²⁹

In part 4 of the Kuzari, the ḥaver critiques displacement of the biblical emphasis on the divine-human encounter by speculative analysis. Such an approach, he argues, leads to a cold and ultimately ineffectual abstraction of both God and human beings. Those truly faithful to Torah are comforted by biblical texts despite their plain language and rugged similes, “not placing their trust in philosophers, with their eloquence and fine treatises, and what they conclude by way of proofs. Even so, al-jamahir do not follow them, in as much as souls can, as it were, be inspired with the truth, as it is said, ‘Truths are recognized.’”³⁰ While Saadia contended that common folk tended to dismiss philosophical discourse as sophisticated apostacy, Halevi argues that common Jews simply are not impressed by philosophers, as they can intuit in a far more intimate way what lofty philosophical arguments can only suggest.

Halevi’s emphasis on experience, like Saadia’s, aligned with biblical connotations of “knowing” as engaging not only the mind but also the person. However, he went on to argue that not only were the experiences of biblical Israelites unique, but the Jewish people were as well, as heirs to the “divine thing” received by Abraham and inherited by “the jumhur of his descendants.”³¹ Jews by descent were distinguished from other peoples by their singular lineage: “See how אלאמר אלאלאהי, al-amr ilahi (“the divine thing”) lodged in Abraham, and then in the jumhur of his chosen elect (צפותה, tsafwata), and in the holy land, leading the umma, step by step, as He watched over His seed so that not a single one would be lost.”³² Halevi repeatedly describes the Jewish jumhur in terms of collective commonalities, but in this and related passages, it is at the same time deemed a jumhur that embodies a distinguished status not assigned to other peoples; a jumhur that is both inclusive, and elite.³³

Maimonides (1138–1204 CE)

Halevi’s insistence that the Jewish story was centered on the people as a whole stood in stark contrast to Maimonides’ perspective a generation later. While Halevi resolutely defended a unique vocation for the Jewish multitude, Maimonides would repeatedly discount the religious testimony of common folk.

Hierarchies figure prominently in Maimonides’ writings, although he clearly did not conflate intellectual preeminence with social indifference.³⁴ He made this plain in a letter to Shmuel ibn Tibbon regarding his daily schedule, and in the uncharacteristically passionate aside in his Mishneh Torah that “If a poor person asks for something from you and you have nothing at hand to give, then you comfort the person with words…. And woe to anyone who would insult a poor person—woe to them!”³⁵ Nor did he laud, as did Plato and Aristotle, the intellectual advantages of leisure (scholé) enjoyed by those who could rely on the labor of others, or disparage working for a living,³⁶ though in a letter to Yosef ben Yehuda (ibn Shimon), written in his fifties, he wove together mention of the medical care he provided the lowly ʿawam of Cairo with regret that the time thus expended could otherwise be devoted to study.³⁷

Maimonides’ prioritizing of communal schools among essential Jewish institutions also reflects a more complex understanding of the needs and potential of society at large,³⁸ but it was, even so, inclusivity constricted by common hierarchical prejudices, as he stopped short of including girls.³⁹ A more equitable position was by no means unimaginable. His Cordoban contemporary Abu al-Walid ibn Rushd, whom he highly respected, contended that it was a foolish waste of potential to exclude women from public life, but nothing comparable appears in Maimonides’ writings.⁴⁰

Isadore Twersky observed that the Mishneh Torah exhibits a “definite elitist ethos,” keyed to intellect, but in noting Maimonides’ use of various demeaning terms for nonintellectuals, he does not comment on the absence in the Mishneh Torah, unlike elsewhere in his writings, of insulting references specifically linked to “hehamon.”⁴¹ In the introduction and conclusion of Sefer haMitsvot, a kind of preface to the work, Maimonides does refer to hehamon in connection with lack of learning, but the references are free of explicit disdain. The resulting impression, as in his Shemonah peraqim (the introduction to tractate Avot in his Mishnah commentary), is of an intellectual hierarchy that does not directly correspond to social coordinates. By contrast, the first of many pointed comments regarding al-jumhur in his Guide for the Perplexed (Moreh Nevukhim), written with a much narrower range of readers in mind, occurs in the opening hundred words:

The primary subject of this work: to clarify subjects related to terms appearing in the prophetic books. Among these terms are homonyms. The simpletons take them as meaning only some of the things to which the homonym refers. Also: metaphors. Once again, they grasp them in light of their most immediate inference. And this work is not intended to explain them all to the multitude ללג׳מהור), liljumhur), nor to beginners in analysis, nor to those who have only done analysis of Torah wisdom, i.e., talmudic study of it, for the subject of this work is entirely of a particular sort: “true knowledge of the Torah” (עלם אלשריעה עלי אלחקיקה, ʿilm al-shariʿa ʿale al-hakikah). ⁴²

Maimonides was writing for an exceedingly limited readership that he could presume did not see itself as among the jumhur to whom he refers, a jumhur that included those whose learning was limited to classical Jewish sources.⁴³ This being the case, he here indicates a much more pronounced gap between the unlearned, the traditionally learned, and the truly knowledgeable than he does in his Mishneh Torah. The reference, so early in the introduction to the Guide, is striking, but the next uses of jumhur, a little further into the introduction, are even more so. Beyond the concern Maimonides shared with al-Farabi that foundational concepts be appropriately communicated to those unequipped for philosophical analysis lay great uneasiness with the possible effects of miscommunication, reflected in a mix of recommendations for accommodating common folk, along with the need to simply conceal some things from them. Speaking of the allusive and patchy structure of the Guide, he comments: “For my intention—that the truths shine through and then disappear—so as to not go against the divine intent, with which it is improper to differ, that these particular truths be inconceivable to the masses of people (ג׳מהור אלנאס, jumhur al-nas).”⁴⁴ Building on the metaphor of lightning, a momentary bit of light for some but a near continuous flashing for Moses, he concludes that when it comes to the common crowd (ג׳מהור אלעאמה, jumhur al-ʿammah) in the words of Psalm 83:5, “They won’t know, they won’t understand, they will walk in darkness.”⁴⁵ While juxtaposition of al-jumhur and al-ʿamah in Halevi’s Kuzari came with no accompanying deprecation, here the proximity of the terms would appear to make what follows all the more explicit. It was not only prudent, Maimonides suggests, to direct such people away from reasoning they could not properly comprehend, but one conformed to divine intent in doing so, evidenced by the deficient intellectual skills of the great majority of people.⁴⁶ This assertion, in turn, leads to a passage on biblical imagery and metaphors, where his disdain is extended to those who misinterpret such references, including “an ignoramous from among the common rabbis (ג׳אהל מן ג׳מהור אלרבאנין, jahil min jumhur al-rabanin).” Jumhur would seem entirely superfluous to the characterization of such figures, but it is in keeping with Maimonides’ habitually negative use of the term.⁴⁷ Similarly, near the close of the introduction, he comments that among the reasons one might find apparent inconsistencies in the text that followed is that discretion required that he first approach a given issue on the basis of certain premises and then, elsewhere in the text, on the basis of other, contradictory premises. However, “it is necessary that aljumhur be prevented from sensing any bit of contradiction, and that the author therefore devise a strategy to completely disguise the matter.”⁴⁸ Here again, reference to al-jumhur, linked to the need for deception, appears gratuitously demeaning, when a more specific reference to readers unprepared to grapple with what was intended would have sufficed.

While Saadia saw the providence of a “Wise Guide” at work in having provided all people (kul alnas) sensory access to revelatory events, halfway through part 1 of the Guide Maimonides returns to the theme of why it is inappropriate to introduce some people to a philosophical understanding of ultimate truths. In building his case, he references a Mishnah on personal qualities necessary for study of “the Chariot,” which is commonly understood as mystical lore but which he identified as metaphysics, and concludes: “This being the case, how then could one involve the masses of people (ג׳מהור אלנאס, jumhur al-nas), children, and women in these matters? …For these reasons, these matters are very appropriate for an elite individual, and not for aljumhur, and should be kept from the beginner…as one would prevent a little child from taking coarse foods and carrying weights.”⁴⁹

The second section of the Guide deals in similar terms with the prerequisite role of character and intellectual development in prophecy, contrary to

the opinion of the ignorant jumhur (ג׳מהור אלג׳אהליה, jumhur aljahilia)—and some of the common folk (ʿawam) of our Torah also believe it—that God, Who is blessed, selects any person God wants from among the people, inspires him with the spirit of prophecy, and sends the person off. It makes no difference to them whether that person is wise or stupid, old or young, provided he be somewhat good and of proper moral character.⁵⁰

Rather, he will argue, the biblical text, properly understood, indicates that what other Israelites experienced at Mount Sinai as sensory phenomena, Moses engaged intellectually, a paradigmatic illustration of the divide between conventional thinking and “true knowledge of Torah.”⁵¹ After reiterating that the biblical text distinguishes between what passed “before the eyes of all Israel” and what Moses perceived, he adds: “and so too Elijah on Mt. Carmel, in the presence of the ‘little people’ (נזר מן אלנאס, nazr min al-nas).”⁵² A bit further on, commenting on the possibility that a person prepared and qualified for prophecy might nevertheless seek to suppress prophetic inspiration, he cites Amos 3:8 (“The Eternal One, God, spoke—how can one not prophesy?”), but makes no mention of Amos’s insistence that he was not a prophet but a common laborer seized by a calling (Amos 7:14).⁵³

Like ibn Sina, Maimonides maintained that, given the great range of intellectual competence in populations, shared obligatory practices, even though they were understood from differing perspectives, played an important role in maintaining communal common ground, reinforced by the study of traditional sources. However, this common ground did not extend to philosophical argumentation. One was even less equipped to think philosophically using common intellect, he argued, than to practice medicine, his other field of expertise.⁵⁴ Inasmuch as most people were not prepared to understand “true knowledge of Torah,” he was untroubled by the need to compose the Guide in such a way as to deflect all but a relative few, despite the personal consequences:

I am the kind person who, when dealing with a difficult subject and little leeway, and having a strategy for teaching a truth that comes with a demonstration that is only appropriate for one outstanding person, rather than appropriate for ten thousand ignoramuses, chooses to tell it directly to that person, while remaining indifferent to the insults of the majority of people (אלכלק אלכתיר, al-khalq al-katir).⁵⁵

Already in his Mishnah commentary, composed in his early adult years, he had taken the position that highly abstract formulations of foundational truths must not be imposed on, or even offered to those not ready to understand them: “just a tiny bit of it will be understood by al-jumhur, and when the ignoramus hears these things it will undermine that person’s faith, as it will seem that they contradict the truth, when in fact it is the truth.”⁵⁶ Indications of this concern are pervasive in the Guide.

As has been noted, Maimonides also used al-jumhur in reference to those with at least a modicum of Jewish learning, as he does, for example, in the reference to “common rabbis” (ג׳מהור אלרבאנין) in the introduction to the Guide,⁵⁷ along with his clarification of ג׳מהור אהל אלשריעה, jumhur ahl al-shariʿa in the parable of the “King in His Palace” near the close of section 3: “I mean ʿamei haarets engaged in the mitsvot.”⁵⁸ Thus the Guide begins and ends with demeaning references to al-jumhur—namely, the great majority of Jews, including those “unlearned” beyond the study of Tanakh and traditional rabbinic sources.

Maimonides’ מקאלה פי תחית המתים (Treatise on the Resurrection of the Dead), written in his fifties, is also laced with disparaging references to al-jumhur, one of which includes an adjectival form of the word. Following a critique of the notion held by the “ignorant” (אלג׳האל, al-juhal) that created beings such as angels are embodied, he derides those who hold such opinions:

And if it is not enough for such a fool to leave the matter in doubt and not decide one way or the other, but holds instead to his ראיה אלג׳מהורי-type of perspective, and belittles our perspective and insults us for seeing the angels and those of the world to come as separated from and devoid of the material…⁵⁹

Context suggests that his use of the adjective ג׳מהורי, jumhuri connotes a combination of social status and state of mind, somewhere between “popular” and “vulgar.” Deficient reasoning could be attributed to “some,” or “those,” “the ignorant” or “unlearned,” but here as elsewhere Maimonides associates the shortcoming with al-jumhur. This tone is also evident in a nearby passage in which he offers the assurance that there was nothing in the Treatise not already stated in the Mishnah commentary and the Guide, although the present work included stylistic accommodations for al-jumhur, along with children (the Finkel text reads here “אלג׳האל, al-juhal”) and women.⁶⁰ The Treatise concludes with an apology and explanation to אהל אלעלם, ahl al-ʿilm (“knowledgeable people”) that its pedantic tendencies are, once again, an accommodation to al-jumhur, who are its intended readership. How that readership would not be offended by the inclusion of such references is unclear, unless it was assumed that the text would be editorially channeled through such “knowledgeable people.”

Along with ibn Sina, ibn Paquda, Halevi, and ibn Rushd, Maimonides maintained that there was little to be gained from exposing the intellectually unprepared to potentially alienating abstract interpretations of scriptural passages.⁶¹ But was he convinced that the socio-intellectual divide was irreversible? In his Mishnah commentary he links the lamentable intellectual limitations of al-jumhur to a set of tenets, his thirteen “Fundamentals.” In forging an intellectual connection to these principles, despite its deficiencies, one secured a “share in the world to come,” and they must therefore be affirmed.⁶² This recourse to formulations that emphasized the rewards gained through fidelity to the principles they conveyed could be understood as simply one more expression of disdain, but nearby text includes an intriguing twist. Preceding the Thirteen Fundamentals, Maimonides offers a sketch of cognitive moral development that appears to be universal, like the modern taxonomies to which his stages bear a striking similarity.⁶³ Juxtaposition of an obligatory creed to a set of universal developmental stages, culminating in rational acumen, although once again hierarchical, could be seen as indicating that the intellectual deficiencies of the masses were largely a matter of circumstance and condition, not inherent character, inasmuch as one can grow and learn beyond immature forms of reasoning:

And so, that it might become a matter of faith, they allowed that al-jumhur do the mitsvot in the hope of receiving a reward, and shunning the transgressions out of fear of punishment, and they encouraged them in this way, and affirmed their intentions, until they might grasp what can be grasped, and know the truth. What is the sure way in this regard? It’s like how a child is treated when studying, as I’ve noted metaphorically… al-jumhur lose nothing at all by doing the mitsvot out of fear of punishment and hope of a reward. Rather, they are simply not fully developed, and this being the case, it is a good thing through the competence, habit, and effort that it takes to fulfill the Torah that they are inspired to know the truth.⁶⁴

Similarly, in the Guide, his endorsement of dogmatic formulations for al-jumhur is paired with the need to realize the potential of youth through education:

Rather, just as one must educate youth and simplify for al-jumhur that God (Be Blessed!) is one and there is no need to be in service to any other, so too one should pass along to them as a matter of tradition that God is not a body and is totally unlike any of His creations in any respect, and that His existence is unlike their existence, and that “living” in his case is unlike…and that His wisdom is unlike…and that the distinction between Him and them is not only a matter of degree.⁶⁵

Such references to al-jumhur alongside maturing youth are intriguing, but come up short of a complete analogy. In the passage above, for example, dogmatics would appear to play an educational role with youth, but is said to “simplify” truths for al-jumhur.

Sarah Strousma has suggested that proposing a catechetic set of tenets was perhaps influenced by Almohad sponsorship of comparable dogmatic statements and concludes that Maimonides would come to play in this regard “the role assigned to the ruler according to the Platonic philosophical tradition: the role of the lawgiver who builds a virtuous city, the one who guides his flock toward true beliefs.”⁶⁶ If so, disparaging references to the unlearned and not-learned-enough might reflect something of the on-the-job training of an urbane philosopher king of proud and prominent lineage.⁶⁷ But the fact that comparable references appear in his Mishnah commentary, completed before his first appointment as rais al-Yahud, suggests deeper roots.⁶⁸ Nor is his terminology inherently rabbinic. Rather, in keeping with Strousma’s metaphor, Maimonides’ references to al-jumhur and al-ʿammah would seem to echo references to the polloi in the classical Greek sources he read in Arabic translation.

Maimonides wrote occasionally of his need to contain an inclination toward self-importance, although he framed the issue in terms of a personal struggle with presumptuousness rather than unjustified assumptions about “common folk.”⁶⁹ However, even in such contexts, he could not help but note their presence. Perhaps Strousma’s analogy pertains here as well. In a letter to Yosef ben Yehudah, once again dealing with criticism of his work, he insisted that he would respond to any slights with utmost humility, followed by the aside that “he” (the critic, or perhaps “it,” the criticism) nevertheless was likely to “do me [us] great damage among the hamon.”⁷⁰

This tendency is also evident in his description to Yosef ben Yehudah of how his medical practice deprived him of time for study:

I want you to know that I’ve become very famous in the field of medicine among the elites, e.g., the head kadis, the emirs and the court of al-Fadl and others among the leaders of the state, people from whom I receive nothing. As for the common people (al-ʿawam), I am way above them and they have no way to reach me, so that’s how I always waste the day in Cairo, visiting the sick.⁷¹

It was unnecessary in this context to distinguish between the elites that brought him renown and “plain folk” who simply brought him troubles that ate away at his day, but such was his inclination. Yet, although he was put out by the demands put on him by a needy al-ʿawam, he nevertheless complied.

The rabbinic emphasis on acquired competencies has always come with the risk of alienating those who see themselves, or are seen by others, as incompetent. The foundational distinction Maimonides drew between those who could and those who could not properly understand “the true knowledge of the Torah” amplified this risk.⁷² His inclination to characterize the people he encountered in socially stratified terms reinforced this tendency, making the last lines of Mishneh Torah, in reference to the reign of the messiah, all the more noteworthy:

In those times there will be no famine or war there; no envy or rivalry, for goodness will be prevalent, and comforts will be as common as dust. And the whole world will be wholly occupied with knowing God, And so the people Israel will be great hakhamim, knowing the obscure things, and coming to a knowledge of their Creator, to the extent possible for a person. As it is said, “for the Earth will be filled with knowledge of God, as does water cover the sea.”⁷³

The assertion in the introduction to the Guide that God intends that certain truths remain incomprehensible to al-jumhur notwithstanding, the close of the Mishneh Torah could be taken, once again, to indicate that the inability of the greater portion of humanity to flourish intellectually is largely a result of human designs. It could be inferred that the resulting conditions will be remedied only on the far side of a messianic divide, but the passage, which includes no references to upper and lower intellectual strata, only to the people as a whole, can also be understood as asserting that pervasive “knowledge of God” is possible whenever conditions conducive to human development are realized. Guide 3:27, set among chapters replete with references to al-jumhur, jumhur al-hakhamim, and al-jumhur al-ʿammah⁷⁴ complements this position. It begins by recommending, once again, that al-jumhur be provided suitable tenets, constructed of a mixture of the explicit and the metaphorical, as it is not in the nature of al-jumhur al-ʿammah to tolerate a straightforward rendering of such things. But this is followed by the assertion that if the intellectual development of every member of the populace (כל ואחד מנהם, kul wahad minhum) is to proceed, a social order conducive to meeting their basic needs must first be established.⁷⁵

Saadia had been careful to speak of common folk in ways that did not presume an associated inability to perceive and respond to God’s presence. Ibn Paquda’s inclusion of all Jews in al-jumhur, from the most intellectually adept to the least sophisticated, struck a similarly inclusive note, while Halevi adamantly exalted the Jewish jumhur. Maimonides’ terminology stands apart from these predecessors in this regard. This distinction is epitomized in the fact that Halevi used al-jumhur to indicate the people as a whole, as Zifroni suggests and references confirm, while Maimonides’ usage consistently connoted a baser portion of the populace. Nevertheless, envisioning the amelioration of social conditions that impede intellectual development as a primary characteristic of the messianic era, in effect rendering his own use of al-jumhur and al-ʿammah obsolete, suggests his awareness that their negative connotations could not ultimately be reconciled with “true knowledge of the Torah.”⁷⁶

Conclusion

Commenting on the awkward intrusion of revelation on medieval philosophy, Lev Shestov concludes: “And indeed, the Bible was brought to the world by simple, ignorant people who were absolutely incapable of defending it by the methods which learned people use to attack it.”⁷⁷ Plato and Aristotle might have mentioned hoi polloi when discussing politics, but the thoughts of medieval Mediterranean Jewish intellectuals turned to common folk not only as a political concern, but also as they reflected on thinking, knowing, experience, providence, and revelation.

The convergence of adjacent societies around the Mediterranean primed intellectuals for the possibility that rationalism offered a precise, transcendent language for communication across broad cultural divides about the most important subjects. It was a powerful vision, but the language they labored to articulate would prove an Esperanto-like dialect: a universal language, comprehensible to a few. Maimonides’ writings spiral around this conundrum.

In the ensuing centuries, resistance to “aristocratic religion” continued to agitate traditions leading back to groups of ʿIvrim, rough-hewn Galileans, and nomadic ʿaʿrab.⁷⁸ Inequities born of class and caste, patronage, lineage, and gender have repeatedly spawned tensions. Amidst these clashes, the question “What can common folk possibly know about God and the world, and how could they know it?” has persisted. In more recent times we hear it in John Calvin’s retort that, when it came to knowledge of God, those who were otherwise most ingenious were “blinder than moles,” in Blaise Pascal’s affirmation of “The God of Abraham Isaac and Jacob, not the God of the philosophers or the scholars,” and in the disjunct between Karl Marx’s eschatological mission of the proletariat and Frederick Engels’s scrapping of common sense for “science.”⁷⁹ Such tensions have persisted among Jews as well, evident in clashes between the worldly maskil and enthused ḥasid, in the relatively recent popularization of kelal Yisraʾel to indicate Jewish life as defined by broad inclusivity, along with criticism of the term as a “battering ram…to level down values and undermine all criteria of judgment,” and in the ironic penname “Aḥad Haʿam.”⁸⁰

In the beginning, amid a bric-a-brac of divine hierarchies, the God of Abraham stood apart, without family or noble companions, lone and alone, except for human friends. Even the most prominent of these human companions came without credentials. As medieval Jewish intellectuals pondered, “What do we know about knowing?,” the question, “Why do our scriptures say that God chose to be known by, and through such people?” was never far from their thoughts. Neither the question, nor the people.

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^1* Personal note: When my father used the Yiddish expression proste mensch, he intended it as a compliment. It was only as an adult that I learned that the phrase was typically understood as a slight. I dedicate this study to my father.

Regarding the term “Mediterranean,” see S. Strousma, Maimonides in His World (Princeton University Press, 2009), 3–6.

² Plato, Republic VI.492–93 and Letters VII.341–44.

³ Y. Pines, “Confucius’ Elitism: The Concepts of Junzi and Xiaoren Revisited,” in A Concise Companion to Confucius, ed. P. Goldin (Wiley, 2017), 164.

⁴ See, e.g., Plato, Republic III.414.

⁵ E.g., the ten plagues, the crossing of the Sea of Reeds, the revelation at Mount Sinai, and Elijah’s vanquishing of the priests of Baal. Rabbinic shaping of the Passover celebration can also be seen in this light, i.e., as an experiential recapitulation of the miracle of liberation of a whole people, celebrated in homes, without need of religious functionaries or exceptional competence.

⁶ The word jumhur suggests “multitude,” “masses,” “crowd,” while the word ʿawam inclines toward “commonplace,” “general,” “the people”; cf. colloquial amkha in Yiddish.

⁷ Arabic manuscripts of the period were commonly written with Hebrew letters, but there is some question regarding the original orthography of Saadia Gaon’s Al-mukhtar fi al-amanat wa-al-ʿatiqadat (Emunot vedeot) and Bahya ibn Paquda’s Al-hidayah ila faraʾid al-qulub (Hovot halivavot).

⁸ Al-Huruf, 108, https://archive.org/details/KitabAlHurufBookOfLettersAlFarabi/page/n31/mode/2up.

⁹ Biblical sources are laced with misgivings about cities (the first city in the Tanakh is founded by Cain), while rabbinic usage of ʿam haʾarets (“people of the country[side]”) to indicate people unschooled in rabbinic ways reflects a more conventional urbanity, along with the Low German etymology of “boor,” Old English origin of “churl,” Old Arabic usage of ʿaʿrab, Old French “villian,” Old English “heathen,” and the Latin root of “pagan” and “peasant.” Regarding the possibility that Saadia came from a working class family, see H. Malter, Saadia Gaon, His Life and Works (Hermon, 1969), 25–28.

¹⁰ Y. Kafih, ed. and trans., Hanivhar beʾemunot uvideot. Lerabeinu Saadia ben Yoseif Fayumi (Dror, 1970), 23.

¹¹ Note the comments on the connotations of עואם in Kafih, Hanivhar, 23. n. 80. Regarding עואם אמתנא, ʿawam amtana, Kafih notes that, while he translated the phrase as המוני אומתינו, hamonei umatenu, ibn Tibbon chose עמי הארץ שבעירינו, ʿamei haarets shebiʿireinu (n. 81).

¹² Kafih, Hanivhar, 28. All translations are mine unless otherwise specified.

¹³ Kafih translates the terms into Hebrew using forms of המון, hammon, while ibn Tibbon used forms of פתי, peti, “simpleton.” Near the close of section 5, Henry Malter translates אלוצ׳יע, al-wadhiʿa (“lowly”) as “plebeian,” while in an earlier passage in the section on those who would deny a foundational principle, Alexander Altmann translates קום, qaum as “the multitude”; see Malter, Saadia Gaon, 220, and Altmann’s translation of an abridged version of the Guide in Three Jewish Philosophers (Atheneum, 1969), 132. Both translations are problematic. Malter seems to overlook the fact that Saadia was referencing a talmudic comment about a dal (i.e., an indigent person; see Kafih, 189 n. 18), while the Arabic qaum is better understood as referring to a particular group of people.

¹⁴ Malter, Saadiah Gaon, 145.

¹⁵ See Tafsir Exodus 1:9 and Deuteronomy 33:22 for qaum; Numbers 23:9, 24 for shaʿb; and Numbers 11:29 for umma.

¹⁶ A. Altmann, Essays in Jewish Intellectual History (Brandeis University Press, 1981), 37.

¹⁷ I. Husik, A History of Mediaeval Jewish Philosophy (Atheneum, 1973), 80.

¹⁸ Al-Ghazali, The Incoherence of the Philosophers/Tahafut al-falasifah, A parallel English-Arabic text translated, introduced, and annotated by Michael E. Marmura (Bringham Young University Press, 2000) introduction. The translation here is by the author.

¹⁹ Although manuscript evidence is lacking, Y. Kafih, trans. and ed., Torat hovot halivavot (Akiva Yosef, 1973), 8, https://tablet.otzar.org/#/book/14197/p/-1/t/1/fs/0/start/0/end/0/c argued that the original manuscript was undoubtedly composed in Hebrew lettering, which he employs in the reconstructed Judeo-Arabic text accompanying his translation. Nonetheless, given that the earliest extant manuscripts are in standard Arabic script, citations in this section are as well.

²⁰ The Arabic text employed by A. S. Yahuda ʿl-hidāja ʿilā farā’iḍ al-qulūb des Bachja ibn Jōsēf ibn Paqūda, aus Andalusien (Brill, 1912) differs somewhat from the ibn Tibbon translation cited here, but conveys the same appreciation of Saadia’s work. Kafih, Torat hovot halivavot 4:6 includes a passage from a liturgical baqashah composed by Saadia, although he is not identified as the author; see Malter, Saadia Gaon, 154.

²¹ Kafih, Torat hovot halivavot, 1:10. The references to الجمهور, al-jumhur and العامة, al-ʿammah are found in the Oxford manuscript of the text and are included in ibn Tibbon’s Hebrew translation. Ibn Tibbon translates العامة, al-ʿammah as benei adam (“people”).

²² Kafih, Torat hovot halivavot 3:4.

²³ Regarding the general character of the work and its intended readership, see J. Guttmann, Philosophies of Judaism (Schocken, 1973), 117–24.

²⁴ Traces of al-Ghazali’s influence have also been noted in Halevi’s writings; see Husik, History, 151–53 and Guttmann, Philosophies, 136–62.

²⁵ A. Zifroni, ed., Sefer haKuzari (Schocken, 1967), I:1.

²⁶ Zifroni, Sefer haKuzari, I:1, editor’s note.

²⁷ Zifroni, Sefer haKuzari I:4.

²⁸ Zifroni, Sefer haKuzari I:25. In his commentary on Exodus 20:1, Abraham ibn Ezra adds: “Rabbi Yehuda Halevi asked me why it says ‘I am the Eternal One, Your God, who took you out of the land of Egypt’ and does not say ‘I made the sky and the Earth, and I made you.” Similar to the ḥaver’s comment, Ibn Ezra observes that the signs leading to the liberation from slavery and the revelation at Mount Sinai were equally accessible to “the wise and not wise, adults and children” and thus a proper complement to a philosophical understanding of “I am haShem your God.”

²⁹ Zifroni, Sefer haKuzari 3:63. Ibn Tibbon translates al-ʿamah here as ʿam haarets.

³⁰ Zifroni, Sefer haKuzari 4:17. For “truths are recognized,” see b. Sotah 9b.

³¹ Zifroni, Sefer haKuzari 4:3.

³² Zifroni, Sefer haKuzari 2:50. Ibn Tibbon translates בגמהור צפותה, bejumhur tsafwata as behamon segulato. See also Zifroni, Sefer haKuzari 1:27. For a Jewish exclusivist but non-racist reading of the reference to “black and white” in the passage,” see D. Lobel, Between Mysticism and Philosophy Sufi Language of Religious Experience (SUNY Press, 2000), 35–37. In his poetic tribute to Natan ben Shmuel of Fustat, Halevi says that in a burst of renewed vitality, “I mixed in with the mix [of people]” (vehitʿaravti et haʿeirev). The reference comes with no associated slight.

³³ Micah Goodman, “Vehamaskilim yavinu. Keriah hadashah bisefer hakuzari,” Shalom Hartman Institute, https://heb.hartman.org.il/and-the-educated-will-understand-a-new-reading-in-the-book-of-khazari/ references this issue in making a somewhat tenuous argument for not presuming that the ḥaver always expresses Halevi’s own perspective.

³⁴ See, e.g., the disturbing parable of the king in his palace and the four levels of human fulfillment at the close of Guide for the Perplexed, III:51, 54. Also, his reading of the Passover Haggadah’s instruction that one “show oneself” rather than the more familiar “see oneself” as having been freed, along with the suggestion that someone currently in a servile position be used to demonstrate to a child the significance of liberation, with the explanation “My child, we were all slaves, like that servant woman or like that servant man, in Egypt, and on this night the Holy One who is blessed rescued us and liberated us” (Mishneh Torah, Halakhah of Ḥamets and Matsah 7:2).

³⁵ Mishneh Torah, Halakhah of Giving to the Poor 10:5:שאל העני ממך ואין בידך כלום ליתן לו פייסהו בדברים... ואוי למי שהכלים את העני – אוי לו. For the letter to ibn Tibbon, see (קובץ תשובות הרמב״ם ואגרותיו (לפסיא, 1859, https://www.daat.ac.il/daat/vl/rambamuvno/rambamuvno18.pdf, 9 (page 28 in the printed text). See also D. Z. Baneth, Igrot haRambam (Magnes, 1985), 68–69. In the letter to ibn Tibbon, Maimonides distinguishes between the “important” and “unimportant” among his daily visitors.

³⁶ See Moritz Vermehren’s emendation of σπουδῆ to σχολῆ in Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics H. Rackham, trans., (Loeb, 1975) X.vii.6–7, and Rackham’s parallel English note. The Greek σχολή is the source of “school” and “scholar” in European languages.

³⁷ See below, page 30. The comment comes shortly after recommending (perhaps with a touch of sarcasm) that his correspondent would do better to pursue a manual trade than become financially dependent on the Ras al-Galut (see below, n. 71). Regarding the eclectic character of the letter, Baneth (Igrot, 31–49) favored the argument that the extant versions contain passages from several different letters. Regarding earning a living, in his Mishnah commentary Maimonides once again associates having a source of income with independence from patronage. In commenting on Hillel’s “Don’t say ‘when I have the leisure I’ll study’—you may never have the leisure” (m. Avot 2:2), which may allude to then-current attitudes about leisure befitting an intellectual, he simply counsels that one set aside fixed times for study.

³⁸ Mishneh Torah, Halachah of Torah Study chapter 2 and Halachah of Prayer 11:14–15.

³⁹ Mishneh Torah, Halachah of Torah Study 1. His justification for allowing girls and women to go without a formal Jewish education rested on the assumption that female cognition was “poor” and not suited for study.

⁴⁰ N. Harhash, “Ibn Rushd’s Views on Women,” unpublished manuscript, https://www.academia.edu/12102310/Ibn_Rushds_Views_on_Women.

⁴¹ I. Twersky, Introduction to the Code of Maimonides (Mishneh Torah) (Yale, 1980) 468–71. The Mishneh Torah was written in Hebrew.

⁴² Guide, introduction, opening passage.

⁴³ See n. 57 below.

⁴⁴ Guide, introduction.

⁴⁵ Guide, introduction. The reference to lightning is ironic, given the biblical insistence that all the people experienced the sounds and the flaming flashes at Sinai (Exodus 20:15). Ibn Tibbon translates ג׳מהור אלעאמה as hamon haʿam.

⁴⁶ Y. ibn Shmuel Kaufman, Sefer moreh nevukhim (Shvil, 1935) 14, rephrased the passage: “Inasmuch as God created various creatures who conceive of God from different perspectives and different levels of conceptualization, and even among human beings there are different conceptual levels, we would argue that God’s intention was to not be conceived of by each and every one.”

⁴⁷ Freidlander’s incorrect translation, “ill-informed theologian,” clearly reflects discomfort with the implications of the phrase; see Moses Maimonides, The Guide for the Perplexed, trans. M. Friedlander, (Routledge, 1904), 5.

⁴⁸ Guide, concluding portion of the introduction.

⁴⁹ Guide, I:34.

⁵⁰ Guide, II:32 (S. Munk. ed., Le guide des egarés [Paris, 1856–66)]). Referencing both al-jumhur and “al-ʿawam of our Torah” raises the possibility that at least some references to אלג׳מהורbe understood as referring to non-Jews as well. See also Strousma, Maimonides, 93 n. 44 on Maimonides’ use of the expression “אלג׳אהליה ג׳מהור, jumhur al-jahilia” (“the ignorant masses”). While noting that אלג׳אהליה has been read by some as pejorative, she does not comment on negative connotations extending to jumhur. By contrast, commenting on the collective purposes of law as compared to the individual focus of medicine, Maimonides employs the expression אלעאמה אלאכתריה, al-ʿammah al-aktariya (“the majority of the ʿammah”) rather than al-jumhur in regard to the “common good”; see Guide, III:34.

⁵¹ Guide, II:33.

⁵² Guide, II:35.

⁵³ Guide, II:37.

⁵⁴ Guide, I:34.

⁵⁵ Guide, introduction. See Strousma, Maimonides, 74–75.

⁵⁶ Mishnah commentary, Hagigah 2:1; cf. “Seventh Letter of Plato,” 341–344.

⁵⁷ Yehudah ibn Tibbon, translator of Emunot vedeot, Ḥovot halivavot, and Sefer haKuzari, and his son Shmuel, translator of Moreh nevukhim, typically translated al-jumhur as hehamon. Eight centuries later, connotations of hehamon still caused discomfort. In his translation of the Guide, Yosef Kafih, ed. Rabeinu Mosheh ben Maimon (Mossad haRav Kook, 1977) translated ג׳מהור אלרבאנין as tsibbur harabanim, commenting: “jumhur—a big group, a large community. And I could not translate it as hamon lest it be taken, as is the widespread understanding of hamoni, as someone who is not learned, while in this case our Rav [Maimonides] refers to those who know the laws of sukkah and lulav, and perhaps the four bailees, ‘and they are both dimwitted and foolish,’ as is well known.” The ironic and sarcastic concluding phrase comes from Jeremiah 10:8, referring there to the “the sages of the nations” and their vacuous teachings; see http://www.daat.ac.il/daat/mahshevt/more/a1-2.htm#2, section I, n. 60.

⁵⁸ Guide, III:51.

⁵⁹ Kafih, ed., Rabeinu Mosheh ben Maimon, 77.

⁶⁰ Kafih, Rabeinu, 81. In the next paragraph, אלמלה (“populace”) would appear to have more neutral connotations.

⁶¹ See, e.g., ibn Rushd’s comments in his Al-Kashf ʿan Manahij al-Adilla fi ʿAqaid al-Milla, III:377.

⁶² Abraham ben David’s interjection that Maimonides’ reference to minim (“schismatics”) in connection with his tenet of divine formlessness fits a number of people who were in fact “greater and better than him” (Hasagot haravad, Halakhah of Repentence 3:7) suggests his exasperation with Maimonides the dogmatist as much as with the dogma.

⁶³ On medieval Jewish thinkers and a developmental approach to moral judgment, see E. Schwartz, Moral Development: A Practical Guide for Jewish Teachers (Alternatives in Religious Education, 1983), 8–15.

⁶⁴ Mishnah commentary, Sanhedrin 10:1.

⁶⁵ Guide, 1:35.

⁶⁶ Strousma, Maimonides, 76. See also M. Kellner, “Heresy and the Nature of Faith in Medieval Jewish Philosophy,” Jewish Quarterly Review 77, no. 4 (1987), 299–318.

⁶⁷ For a disparaging comment about villagers who cannot appreciate the advantages of city life, see Guide, 1:31.

⁶⁸ Having served as rais al-Yahud, Maimonides counseled Yosef ben Yehudah not only that positions of public authority may expose one to violent, negative responses from the government but also that attending to the preferences of the public and seeking their admiration was inevitably corrupting; see Baneth, Igrot, 93–94.

⁶⁹ See, e.g., Baneth, Igrot, 88-89. Abdul Latif al-Baghdadi, after meeting Maimonides, noted both exceptional qualities and elitist inclinations; see J. Kraemer, Maimonides: The Life and World of One of Civilization’s Great Minds (Doubleday, 2008), 208–10.

⁷⁰ Baneth, Igrot, 89. The letter was presumably written in Arabic, but there is no extant Arabic text.

⁷¹ Baneth, Igrot, 69. A few lines earlier Baneth translates talaf as ibud, and here as mekhaleh.

⁷² Guide, introduction, opening passage.

⁷³ Mishnah commentary on Sanhedrin 10:1 includes similar reflections.

⁷⁴ In Guide, III:26, אלג׳מהור ואלכ׳ואץ is translated by Shmuel ibn Tibbon as hehamon vehasegulot “the multitude and the distinguished,” while Ibn Tibbon’s father, in keeping with the tone of the Kuzari, translated גמהור צפותה (Zifroni, Sefer haKuzari II:50) as hamon segulato (“his distinguished multitude”).

⁷⁵ Y. Lebowitz, Emunah, historiah, veʿarakhim (Akademon, 2002) 95 comments on this strand of Maimonides’ writings: “the messianic era is not a necessary condition for the complete realization of human potential; ‘the exceptional individual’ having been formed having intelligence and free choice, is able—with great effort—to arrive at this completeness on one’s own, under existing conditions, but his realistic understanding led Rambam to recognize that this is not currently possible for hehamon and so the redemption is required in order to make possible collective tikkun for the people of Israel (and humanity)” (translation mine).

⁷⁶ Spinoza’s comments on the vulgus in the introduction to the Tractatus Theologico-Politicus are reminiscent of references to al-jumhur and al-ʿammah in the introduction to the Guide. Spinoza was quite familiar with Maimonides’ writings, but his bitter disavowal of any residual Jewish ties, followed by a life on the edge of other communities, offers an illuminating contrast to Maimonides’ inability to simply write off the common folk to whom he remained bonded. For Spinoza references, see L. Feuer, Spinoza and the Rise of Liberalism (Beacon, 1958), 80–88.

⁷⁷ L. Sheshtov, Athens and Jersualem (Ohio University Press, 1966), 315.

⁷⁸ For the expression “aristocratic religion,” see Y. Dan, Toledot sifrut haderush vehamusar (Keter, 1975), 61.

⁷⁹ See, respectively, Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, 2.2.18. The Pascal quote comes from the note discovered at his death sewn into his coat; see B. Pascal, Oeuvres complètes (Seuil, 1960), 618; see also F. Engels, Socialism: Utopian and Scientific (Kerr, 1908), 80–81.

⁸⁰ The irony is all the more apparent in light of Aḥad Haʿam’s tribute to Maimonides, Shilton haSekhel; see Aḥad Haʿam, ʿAl parashat haderakhim, ed. Y. Frankel (Dvir, 1965), 2:195. See also the comments on Aḥad Haʿam’s identification with Maimonides’ understanding of the relationship between a “spiritual center” and “the average Jew” in S. J. Zipperstein, Elusive Prophet: Ahad Ha-am and the Origins of Zionism (University of California Press, 1993), 253–57. On kelal Yisraʾel, see J. Krasner, The Benderly Boys and American Jewish Education (Brandeis, 2011), 325–26.

Michael McCloskey

There is a tree

500 years long¹

80 times ’round the sun

Is nearly a ⅙ ’round its trunk

Poets, playwrights

Have vaulted its boughs

Sages and seers swooned

To its balsam scent²

Mystics marked its paths

In hushed tones

Over candle-lit tomes.

 

But there is another tree³

So very close to it

Some say that they were entangled⁴

Like lovers in embrace

Winged lions cradling the vibrations of a holy event⁵

Until a mud-man,⁶ meant to be so much more,⁷

Cut the cord,⁸

With a knife’s precision,⁹

And the dark spark,¹⁰

And the King’s Crown,¹¹

And the Queen¹²

No longer

Could bathe

At will

In the primordial waters.¹³

 

There is a people¹⁴

Who,

Holding the first tree,

Walking the central beam¹⁵

Bring Him nearer to

His Beloved.¹⁶

 

There is a stream¹⁷

Who flows between These and These,¹⁸

Living Waters¹⁹

And this stream turns this way and that²⁰

Like an Egyptian prince

Who became a

Shepherd,

A prophet,

A God²¹

Yet in the end became a mother,²²

Standing between the clefts of the rock²³

As brother stood between the living and the dead²⁴

Gathering us between his breasts²⁵

Between the paths of fire and ice.²⁶

 

There is a road

Called progress

And it is paved with good intentions

The diaries of dissidents

And bodies.

 

There is a serpent

And some say a bull

Biting its own tail²⁷

Ready-made by human will²⁸

 

You see, the earthling

They bite again and again

And as they masticate

And master

And machinate,

subjugate,

Each a Pharaonic despot

Entombed within their mediated experience.

 

Bearers of Sinai²⁹

Know

That tree³⁰ was never

Meant to be bitten,

Or taken

But woven

Her highest boughs only a shadow of the Supernal root,

The Tree,³¹

Or roof³²

That Hillel

And Levinas,³³

And Berlin,³⁴

Climbed.

Sometimes called Liberty³⁵

Sometimes the Face³⁶

At others “thirst for words of the living God”³⁷

Words that dance like coals of fire³⁸

Or sparks from the hammer’s blow,³⁹

Like billions of cosmic seeds implanted within us that whisper “Where are you”?⁴⁰

“Here I am”⁴¹

“Go”⁴²

“I will go.”⁴³

Like fragile shattered tablets,⁴⁴

Made firm by human hands,⁴⁵

Propping up arms,⁴⁶

Prevailing.

 

There is a hole in the world,

A widening gyre,⁴⁷

That knows only one tree,⁴⁸

And feeds it birds that tweet

And a human clock that chimes

And tocks

And ticks

Built from shards of mirrors

And echoes,

And silos.

 

There is an ever-turning-fiery-sword⁴⁹

Before the garden gate,

A firestone in our hands⁵⁰ and a knife in our hearts⁵¹

Burning wood upon our children’s backs.⁵²

 

But I don’t know whether that sword⁵³ was a blade or a plowshare,⁵⁴

Or the winged lions were predating or embracing,⁵⁵

If Israel was a lover or a wrestler⁵⁶

Whether you are my brother or my enemy.

 

But I will balance on the central beam,⁵⁷

On the knife’s edge

In the meeting of the Face for service and not violence,⁵⁸

In the movement of freedom from toward freedom to

In the nexus of right and left

Supernal and terrestrial

Give and take⁵⁹

These and These

Mercy and Rigor

Yes and…

I will listen from trees

And rooftops

And through the voices of children,

And artists,

And teachers,

The great messy, glorious, and terrible, teeming mass of life

I take hold of the branches.

Will you join me?

Rabbi Cantor Michael McCloskey of Temple Emeth, Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts, is a passionate teacher of Torah in many contexts, including at the Academy for Jewish Religion in New York and Hebrew College in Newton, Massachusetts. A pianist, composer, and poet, his article, “Fathers, Mothers, Lovers, Monsters: The Golem in the Age of A.I.,” was published in the most recent issue of AJS Perspectives.

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¹ Genesis Rabbah 15:6. All texts cited here can be found at Sefaria.org.

² Zohar, Introduction 12:109

³ This is a reference to the tree of the knowledge of good and evil in Genesis 2:9.

⁴ See, e.g., Shaarei Orah: Fifth Gate, Sixth Sefirah, 251 and Radak on Genesis 2:9.

⁵ Exodus 25:22

⁶ This word captures the link between adam (“human”) and adamah (“humus, rich soil”) in Genesis 2:7 and also refers to the creaiton of humankind by Prometheus.

⁷ Humans are meant to be divine avatars on earth (see Genesis 1:27). Like the primordial light and the Sabbath, humans are of this world, yet there is something of the unconditional, or the world beyond, within them.

⁸ According to the mystical interpretations of Genesis, the primordial human, Adam, “cut the shoots” (i.e., separated or severed the two trees from one another), thus disconnecting the foundation of life from knowledge. Thereafter, the human being’s voracious appetite is for knowledge in order to wield it as power, not necessarily for improving or protecting life. See Shaarei Orah: Fifth Gate, Sixth Sefirah 251.

⁹ One might also understand this according to Richard L. Rubenstein, After Auschwitz: Radical Theology and Contemporary Judaism (Bobbs-Merrill, 1966), who suggested that “the thread uniting God and man, heaven and earth, has been broken” after the Shoah.

¹⁰ Zohar Bereshit 1:15a

¹¹ The ideal flow of the divine organism is from Keter (Crown), the highest emanation of divinity, which is totally without any forces or influence of judgements or severity, all the way to Shekhinah (Immanent). When we cut off the tree of knowledge from life, we cut ourselves off from the full range of divine effulgence.

¹² Shekhinah/Malkhut

¹³ Shekhinah, which represents the “lower waters,” becomes dry when separated from her male source in the “upper waters,” which are identified with the sefirah of Hesed (Lovingkindness) and flow to Shekhinah from her mate, Tiferet (Beauty or Balance).

¹⁴ ʿAm Yisraʾel

¹⁵ Tiferet/The Holy Blessed One

¹⁶ Malkhut/Shekhinah

¹⁷ Masorti-Conservative Judaism

¹⁸ A reference both to “these and these are words of the living God” (eilu veʾeilu divrei elohim ḥayyim hein, b. Eruvin 14b) and to the sefirot on the right and the left, taking from both and providing a sense of balance, just as the Bat Qol noted that the words of both the academy of Hillel and the academy of Shammai were vital.

¹⁹ Jeremiah 2:13

²⁰ Exodus 2:12

²¹ Exodus 4:16

²² Numbers 11:12; see also Isaiah 49.

²³ Exodus 33:22

²⁴ This is a reference to Aaron; see Numbers 17:13.

²⁵ Aaron and Moses are also compared in midrashic literature (see Song of Songs Rabbah 4:5:1) to two breasts. The one “gathering us between his breasts” could be Moses or a reference to the divine.

²⁶ See Tosefta Hagigah Lieberman 2:5 with regard to ascending and descending safely like Akiva from holy encounters. The goal is not to be too overcome with one’s emotions or zeal and not too distant or stoic, but moderate, attuned to and curious about all sides.

²⁷ This is a reference to the cosmic rending and separation from higher levels of divine flow that happened both with the eating of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil and the construction of the golden calf; See Zohar: Introduction 4:15. It also refers to the Ouroboros, the serpentine symbol of eternal destruction and rebirth that we witness in the world of time.

²⁸ The calf is made by Aaron and according to the will of some of the Israelites. The snake, in the garden of Eden, could very well be a projection of human desire for knowledge for mastery and power.

²⁹ “The people of Israel are the Merkavah,” i.e., a chariot for the divine throne and a moveable Sinai, bringing the experience and memory of revelation with them; see Perush Ramban: Introduction to Exodus (Sefaria.org).

³⁰ This is a refefence to the tree of knowledge.

³¹ The tree of life is connected to “words of the living God” and “these and these”; i.e., it conveys the idea of pluralism.

³² See b. Yoma 35b, where Hillel climbs to the roof in order to listen to words of the “living God,” paralleling the tree of life.

³³ Levinas’s pluralism entails choosing moral courage and moving toward another in an act of service rather than an act of violence, when they come into our sphere, potentially threatening us by their “alterity,” by which he means their unique perspective, ethos, or needs. He calls this response “The Face of God in the Person”; see Emanuel Levinas, Time and the Other, trans. Richard A. Cohen (Duquesne University Press, 1987).

³⁴ Levinas and Isaiah Berlin were also champions of pluralism. Thus, we read the following in Isaiah Berlin, “Two Concepts of Liberty,” in Four Essays on Liberty (Oxford University Press, 1969), https://cactus.utahtech.edu/green/B_Readings/I_Berlin%20Two%20Concpets%20of%20Liberty.pdf: “Pluralism, with the measure of ‘negative’ liberty that it entails, seems to me a truer and more humane ideal than the goals of those who seek in the great disciplined, authoritarian structures the ideal of ‘positive’ self mastery by classes or peoples or the whole of mankind. It is truer because it does, at least, recognize the fact that human goals are many, not all of them commensurable, and in perpetual rivalry with one another. To assume that all values can be graded on one scale so that it is a mere matter of inspection to determine the highest seems to me to falsify our knowledge that men are free agents, to represent moral decision as an operation which a slide rule could, in principle, perform. In the end, men choose between ultimate values; they choose as they do, because their life and thought are determined by fundamental moral categories and concepts that are, at any rate, over large stretches of time and space, a part of their being and thought and sense of their own identity; part of what makes them human.”

³⁵ The balance of positive and negative liberties that Berlin describes enables a culture of pluralism.

³⁶ This is a reference to Levinas’s “Face.” Note that the divine emanations or sefirot are also sometimes grouped into partstufim or faces upon the tree of life.

³⁷ Psalm 42:3

³⁸ Ezekiel 1:13. Fire is a symbol of the unconditional. One may revel in its radiance, its warmth, but it is wild and resists control, the monolithic.

³⁹ b. Sanhedrin 34a

⁴⁰ Genesis 3:9

⁴¹ Genesis 22:2, 7 and Exodus 3:4

⁴² Genesis 12:1

⁴³ Genesis 24:58

⁴⁴ Exodus 32:19

⁴⁵ The second set of tablets according to Exodus 34:27–28 are written by human hands, intimating greater human agency and investment.

⁴⁶ Exodus 17:12

⁴⁷ See “The Second Coming” by William Butler Yeats.

⁴⁸ This is a reference to the tree of knowledge.

⁴⁹ Genesis 3:24

⁵⁰ Genesis 22:6–7

⁵¹ This is from Hayim Gouri’s poem “Yerusha/Heritage.”

⁵² Genesis 22:6

⁵³ This is a reference to“the ever-turning fiery sword” guarding the way to the tree of life in Genesis 4:24.

⁵⁴ Isaiah 2:4

⁵⁵ Exodus 25:20 and b. Bava Batra 99a

⁵⁶ Genesis 32:25

⁵⁷ Qav haʾemtsai, which can refer both to Tiferet, the “central beam” of Kabbalah (which is, incidentally, associated with Jacob) and the shevil hazahav, or “golden mean,” of Maimonides.

⁵⁸ See “Levinas on the Face,” Philosophy Overload, YouTube.com, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CdFL_odCVdI.

⁵⁹ This is a reference to massaʾ umatan, which is essential to the flow of rabbinic discourse.