Machshava

The philosophic views of Rambam and his followers caused an uproar as they spread across Europe. In 1232, R. Shelomo from Montpellier convinced the rabbis of Northern France to ban the reading of Rambam’s philosophic works. As the controversy progressed, pro Rambam forces issued a counter ban and things eventually deteriorated to the point where Dominican friars burned Rambam’s works. At an earlier stage, Ramban wrote a remarkable letter to the rabbis of Northern France asking them to rescind their ban. This letter is a tour de force of content and style, interweaving biblical and rabbinic allusions while maintaining rhyming verse. Its arguments against the ban still resonate with relevance for contemporary controversies.

Ramban actually sympathized with a critique of Rambam’s philosophy. His commentary on Torah includes vigorous rejection of Rambam’s views on the purpose of sacrifices, the holiness of Hebrew, and on the reality of angelic visits. Despite that, Ramban was against this ban. I would like to focus on six factors that he mentions. [All page numbers refer to R. Hayyim Chavel’s edition of KItvei haRamban Volume 1, pp. 336-351].

Rambam’s numerous accomplishments cannot be ignored. His Mishna Torah is a work of astounding halachic greatness. His philosophic writings convinced Jews exposed to Aristotelian thought to remain within the orbit of Jewish tradition. The community of Yemen felt such a debt of gratitude to Rambam that they mentioned him in their recital of kaddish (p. 341). We can not easily place a ban on someone with such outstanding rabbinic achievements.

In a related vein, Ramban also mentions the excellent parts of Rambam’s Sefer Madda, the philosophical first book of Mishna Torah, which will be lost if placed under the ban. He singles out Hilchot Teshuva for special praise. Rambam gathered scattered rabbinic comments about repentance and produced a coherent and insightful work on this crucial religious topic (p. 343).

Furthermore, different communities have varying needs. The rabbis of Northern France lived in a society unexposed to prevailing philosophic trends. They could ignore questions raised by the encounter with Greek and Islamic philosophy. The rabbis of Spain had no such luxury and Rambam provided a model for a Jewish response to Aristotelian thought. At one point, Ramban asks the French rabbis why they included Spain in the purview of their ban (p. 343). Each community must address its particular situation.

Ramban faults the French rabbis for their harsh tone, citing the Talmudic exhortation to instruct others pleasantly (p. 342). He adds that the ban will prove counter productive because Rambam’s followers will invariably fight back with their own vitriol against the French rabbis. The resulting debate may cause the Jewish people to split into two groups, each with its own Torah (p. 341).

Earlier authorities, such as R. Avraham ben David and the sages of Lunel often disagreed with Rambam but never suggested a ban on his works (p. 345). Thus, the outstanding rabbinic voices of the previous century did not agree with the zealotry of the Northern French rabbis. Finally, Rambam is flatly right about one very important issue. Some had complained about Rambam’s denying corporeality to God but he is absolutely correct for doing so (p. 345).

Ramban felt quite comfortable vehemently disagreeing with Rambam and he does so in many paces in his literary corpus. However, harshly worded bans against the works of a truly great individual are usually both fundamentally wrong and practically unhelpful. Surely, this letter can instruct us regarding our own controversies.

Does Judaism believe in a stable, natural order or is nature a misleading illusion because, in truth, God directs every moment? Medievals and moderns debate this point and the argument can have serious implications. Does human effort and initiative working within the natural order truly solve problems? Who protects the state of Israel - kollel students or those serving in the army? Is becoming a doctor a wonderful way to help people or just another profession? Assumptions regarding the natural order can impact on our response to all of these questions.

Some passages of Ramban have led many to think that he denied the natural order altogether. In his commentary on the Torah (Shemot 13:16), Ramban writes that “A person has no portion in the Torah of Moshe Rabbenu until he believes that all our happenings are miracles; they have no nature or customary order of the world.” This passage strongly implies a denial of nature and Ramban is often cited in such a fashion.

In an excellent article (“Miracles and The Natural Order in Nahmanides,” Rabbi Moses Nahmanides: Explorations in His Religious and Literary Virtuosity ed. Isadore Twersky, Cambridge, 1983), David Begrer proves the error of this standard understanding of Ramban. In several passages, Ramban limits intensive providence to the truly righteous. The rest of humanity is left to the accidents of nature.

A verse in Bereishit (18:19) says that God “knew Avraham.” Ramban suggests that “knowledge” here refers to providence. Ramban explains that whereas most people are left to accidents, the pious receive God’s careful attention to know them and guard them as individuals. As we say every Shabbat morning, “Behold, God’s eye is on those that fear him” (Tehillim 33:19).

Ramban’s famous discussion of the role of human medicine (see his commentary on Vayikra 26:11) says that in an ideal universe, sickness would inspire repentance and there would be no need for doctors. However, people chose to consult doctors and “God left them to the accidents of nature.”

Someone might argue that individuals are subject to nature but that the Jewish collective knows only constant providence. Dr. Berger refutes that reading based on Ramban’s commentary to Iyyov (36:7). There, Ramban asserts that most people belong to the group subject to the natural order. He utilizes this point to explain why the Torah treats warfare as a human endeavor that requires strategy and planning. The wars of the Jewish people certainly consist of the actions of the Jewish collective and yet, Ramban writes of working within the natural order because the people’s religious stature does not merit acute providence.

How do we reconcile all of the above with the passage from his commentary on Shemot? Dr. Berger provides an explanation. “All things that happen to us in the context of reward and punishments are miracles (p. 127).” Ramban is not denying the natural order but rather arguing that that order plays no role in the working out of divine justice. God dispenses reward and punishment in a purely miraculous fashion. At the same time, the natural order exists and most individuals find themselves unworthy of the kind of providence that lifts them beyond its limitations.

I argued in the first paragraph that this question can have serious repercussions. If so, Dr. Berger has performed an important service in clarifying Ramban’s true position.

How significant are gematriyot, halachic and aggadic derivations based on the numerical value of Hebrew words? Logically, we would not grant them much weight. After all, we could play with numerical values to support all kinds of strange conclusions. On the other hand, the Talmud utilizes gematriyot to establish Jewish law. One source derives the number of prohibited categories of work on the Sabbath from a gematriya (Shabbat 97b). Another source employs gematriya to prove that the assumed duration for an unspecified period of nezirut is thirty days (Nazir 5a). If they impact on halacha, gematriyot seem to truly matter.

Some of our greatest rishonim downplayed the significance of gematriyot. Rambam argued that we know the standard duration of nezirut from a received tradition and the numerical derivation is merely an asmachta, a mnemonic device to enable easy recall of the law (Hilchot Nezirut 3:2, commentary on the Mishnah Nazir 1:3). Rabbenu Asher (cited in the Shitah Mekubezet Nazir 5a) agrees with Rambam, pointing out that gematriya does not appear on the list of the thirteen hermeneutical principles for deriving halacha from biblical verses. Apparently, it is not an appropriate method for doing so.

This idea influences the reading of the last mishna in the third chapter of Avot. That mishna contrasts calculations regarding nidda and bird offerings that are real halacha with tekufot and gematriyot that are appetizers or desserts accompanying the main course of wisdom. Meiri suggests that “gematriyot” here refers to general mathematics. According to his reading, the mishna teaches that other wisdoms have value but they are secondary to the main course of Torah. R. Shimon ben Zema Duran (Magen Avot) says that the term “gematriyot” in this mishna means specifically the numerical usage of Hebrew words. He explains this mishna in accordance with Rambam’s view of gematriyot. They are only memory aids and not authentic sources of Jewish law; therefore, they are not the main course of Torah. For R. Duran, the mishna contrasts gematriyot which are less important with calculations about a women’s menstrual cycle which are part of essential halacha.

Ramban penned a polemical work entitled Sefer haGeulah (it appears in the first volume of C. Chavel’s Kitvei haRamban) that defends the Jewish conception of redemption and the end of days. In the first section, he states that we have no right to initiate our own gematriyot to derive principles. Certain gematriyot were handed down at Sinai to help Jews remember laws they has learned orally. Ramban compares them to the hermeneutical principle called gezera shava whose usage also depends upon received tradition. While Ramban does trace some gematriyot back to Sinai, he denies the significance of any later creative efforts using such calculations.
Rabbis who use gematriyot to enliven their sermons and speeches can continue to do so. Yet, they and their community should understand the difference between playing with numbers and authentic Torah.

In a well known Talmudic story, the sages follow the rabbinic majority and ignore miracles initiated by R. Eliezer to support his halachic position. Even when a heavenly voice sides with R. Eliezer, R. Yehoshua declares that “the Torah is not in heaven” and the majority position prevails (Bava Mezia 59b). The commentators ponder whether the sages truly upheld a ruling they knew to be false. Tosafot suggest that the heavenly voice only spoke to honor R. Eliezer. In other words, the supporting signs and wonders do not necessarily indicate that R. Eliezer was right and the sages did not stick with an obviously erroneous ruling. Others contend that the Jewish legal system is based on rabbinic reasoning and interpretation, not on prophetic voices, and that the integrity of the system demands adhering to the results of the right procedure even when one knows that it led to the incorrect answer.

Rabbenu Nissim (RaN) takes this second position. He apparently felt quite strongly about this idea as he discusses it in three different derashot (3, 7 and 11). He adds a sharp question on his own position that requires a brief introduction based on a different medieval Jewish theological text.

Theologians debate whether God’s actions, both the creation of the world and the giving of commandments, reflect divine will or divine wisdom. Wise actions successfully bring about certain goals whereas acts of will need no further justification. Obviously, the whole enterprise of finding reasons for the commandments (ta’amei hamizvot) only gets off the ground if we take the divine wisdom position. For that reason, Rambam prefaces his lengthy discussion of the reasons for the commandments with a forceful endorsement of the divine wisdom position, citing philosophic and religious reasons for his opinion. Verses such as: “How great are your works O God. You made them all in wisdom” (Tehillim 104:24) support his position. Rambam also addresses verses that conceivably support the opposition including “every thing He wants, God does” (Tehillim 135:6). He cogently argues that those verses say nothing about the reasons for divine actions. Rather, they state that nothing can stop God from fulfilling what He sets out to do (Moreh Nevukhim 3:25).

Our two theological questions intersect in a passage of Rabbenu Nissim. If we say that the commandments simply reflect God’s will and God commanded us to follow the interpretations of our sages, then everything works well. No spiritual or physical harm can come from this. If on the other hand, each mizva promotes particular goals, the getting the details wrong could interfere with the promotion of those goals. From that perspective, how could the sages knowingly adhere to a ruling which does not fulfill what God intended when He commanded that mizva? Should we then reject Rambam’s view regarding mizvot reflecting divine wisdom? Yet R. Nissim insists that Rambam is correct (derasha 11).

R. Nissim offers two solutions. He concedes that a given rabbinic ruling might actually lead away from the goals God desires. Nonetheless, it is worthwhile to live with those few instances in order to have a system of authority with good people making the decisions rather than a halachic free for all of anarchy. According to this answer an individual ruling may do more harm than good but from the perspective of the entire legal system, the good far outweighs the harm. Alternatively, RaN suggests that the very act of listening to the sages generates positive impact on human character. If so, even the individual wrong ruling itself generates something positive and cannot be termed harmful.

Either way, important ideas emerge. Ran does not assume that rabbinic decisions are infallible or that no harm can come from incorrect decision. At the same time, he maintains a strong sense of faith in the sages, an understanding of the need for rabbinic authority, and a confidence in the quality of the system. His position can help situate us between two problematic poles – those who reject any notion of rabbinic authority and those who can not imagine rabbis in error.

Why does an omniscient God who already knows the results test mankind? A comprehensive approach to this question demands looking at the six times the term “nissayon” appears in Chumash. Biblical tests include the akeda (Bereishit 22:1), the manna (Shemot 16:4, Devarim 8:16), the revelation at Sinai (Shemot 20:16), the forty years in the desert (Devarim 8:2), and false prophets (Devarim 13:4). Space limitations prevent a sweeping study analyzing each example and we will rely on our rishonim, who themselves surveyed all the evidence, for insight.

Rambam (Moreh Nevuchim 3:24) explains that tests are meant to educate others. If other nations see that the Jewish people resist a false prophet’s call to worship idols even when he produces a sign, then they learn something about our dedication to monotheism. The example of the manna teaches us that God provides for those who serve him. The akeda imparts two lessons. It reveals that love and reverence for God can motivate a religious person to fulfill excruciatingly difficult obligations. It also indicates the assurance that prophets have regarding the authenticity of their message. Had Avraham harbored any doubts about the truth of the prophecy, he surely would not have embarked on such a mission.

Ramban (Bereishit 22:1) offers an alternative explanation. For Ramban, the person undergoing the test benefits because the challenge actualizes goodness that was only raw potential before the test. Trials and tribulations often encourage personality growth and make the person who successfully navigates those difficulties worthy of greater reward. This differs from Rambam who sees the beneficiaries of divine tests as other people, either those watching at the time of the test or those reading about it later in history.

I have taught this debate on a number of occasions but recently realized a new angle on this argument. Perhaps it would be a mistake to say that we must follow either Rambam or Ramban’s understanding of divine tests. Rabbenu Nissim (Derashot haRan derasha 6) sees the two views as complimentary. A divine test can benefit either the community or the person undergoing the test. No need exists to force every test into a single model.

Perhaps Rambam himself would agree. As mentioned above, God describes dependence on manna during forty years in the desert as a test. The Torah says that this test will “do you good at your end” (Devarim 8:16). In the same chapter of Moreh Nevuchim, Rambam explains the benefits the Jewish people received from their extended journey. The scarcity of resources in the desert would help Am Yisrael appreciate the bounty found in the land of Israel. Furthermore, a people hardened by forty years of wandering would prove more courageous on the battlefields awaiting them upon encountering the Canaanite nations. Here, Rambam himself stresses the character growth that tests can bring.

We can broaden this point to all of our attempts to understand divine providence. Such attempts are complicated and quite difficult. We may be tempted to simplify by finding one model and applying it across the board. Rabbenu Nissim informs us that divine providence is too complex to be reduced to a single model. Divine tests sometimes fit one model and at other times, another.

Many students wonder about the apparent impracticality of halacha’s criminal justice system. We can only punish transgressors who receive an explicit warning and verbally affirm their understanding of that warning with two valid witnesses reporting on the crime. Such criteria make it almost impossible to ever administer punishment. If we think that punishments deter criminals and help maintain the social order, then the halachic system seems deficient.

Ran offers an important approach in the very beginning of his eleventh derasha. He argues that judges were never meant to maintain social order but rather to bring down the Divine overflow that stems from considerations of pure justice. According to Ran, corporeal punishment can only be justified by an assurance that the criminal understood the implication of his actions. When the Torah says “You shall judge the people with a just judgment” (Devarim 16:18), it not only tells the judges to act with integrity but also expresses the essence of the Jewish judiciary. Principles of justice motivate them rather than pragmatic considerations.

This does not mean that Torah is indifferent to the needs of social order. Ran argues that the king has the power to punish when necessary even if the legal requirements for punishment are lacking. One gemara (Sanhedrin 4a) actually talks about beit din’s ability to punish in order to bolster a society weak in religious character but Ran views this gemara as a response to the absence of monarchy. In the absence of a king, the courts had to don both mantles, trying both to bring down the divine overflow and to keep society running smoothly. Alternatively, Ran suggests that beit din had jurisdiction of extra legal punishments pertaining to mizvot but that the king was in charge of punishments relevant to other societal issues.

A sharp division of responsibility enables the court system to stand for justice without the admixture of pragmatic considerations. However, it also creates the danger of the king misusing his freedom to punish. Ran seems to imagine the king using this power sparingly but it remains unclear how the rest of the polity could enforce this limitation. Ran does mention the need for the king to constantly have with him a sefer Torah as a reminder not to abuse this power.

Ran’s approach opens up new insight into an important biblical story. Many commentators wonder why Shmuel haNavi reacts negatively to the people’s request for a king. The Torah either commands monarchy or, at the very least, sets it up as an option. Why is the prophet so upset? The people say “Give us a king to judge us like all the nations” (I Shmuel 8:5). While many think that “like all the nations” is the problematic phrase, Ran argues that “to judge us” is the problem. The people want only the king’s justice because they care solely about a well running society and not about principles of abstract justice. To this, the prophet objects.

Two verses before the popular request for a king, the book of Shmuel reports that Shmuel’s children were corrupt judges who took bribes. I would like to explain (and here I differ from Ran’s understanding of this episode) that the effectiveness of a message emphasizing the importance of ideals beyond pragmatic considerations depends upon leaders who truly represent models of integrity and decency. Once leaders turn corrupt, the people will naturally restrict their focus to practical goals. Sadly for Shmuel, the behavior of his own sons brought about the very request that so incensed him.

[For further discussion of Ran’s theory, see the excellent article by Warren Zev Harvey entitled “Liberal Democratic Themes in Nissim of Gerona” that appeared in Studies in Medieval Jewish History and Literature Volume 3.]

I noted in an earlier blog entry that medieval philosophical and theological texts often help our efforts at biblical interpretation. Rabbenu Nissim’s reading of the tower of Babel story provides another fine example. Rabbenu Nissim, a famous Talmudic commentator who lived in fourteenth century Spain, penned a fascinating work entitled Derashot haRan that touches on a host of significant theological issues including the relationship between rabbinic consensus and absolute halachic truth and the balance between a criminal code based on ideal justice and a more practical code. Ran represents the moderate rationalist school of the late Middle Ages that includes R. Yosef Albo and R. Hasdai Crescas as well.

The Torah‘s account of Migdal Bavel does not explicitly tell us how the builders sinned. After all, the desire to engage in a united, massive building project in itself does not violate any moral or religious principles. Chazal in several midrashim try to fill this lacunae. Rashi (Bereishit 11:1) cites one midrash which says that the tower builders wanted to wage war with God. This interpretation certainly explains why God decided to abort the project but it also faces some difficulties. The verses give no hints to such a motivation. Additionally, if such was their motivation, the punishment seems much too lenient as God merely scatters them and sabotages the building project but no more.

Rabbenu Nissim adds a very interesting critique in his first derasha. “It is astonishing that the whole world would agree to such foolishness. If their sight was darkened and their intellect was blinded, then their utter stupidity should save them from punishment.” Ran finds it hard to believe that people could think that building a tower would enable them to fight the majestic power of God. People so idiotic may not be responsible for their decisions. A possible rephrasing of Ran’s point might say that even the problematic characters of Tanach should not be subject to caricatures of stupidity. Plenty of people make bad choices but even choices that we do not approve of usually have some logic to them.

A close reading of the account motivates Ran to go in another direction. God says that “they have begun to do this and now nothing they planned to do will be restrained from them (Bereishit 11:6).” According to Rabbenu Nissim, this verse indicates that the builders have not yet done anything wrong but that the project could lead to something negative. Migdal Bavel is not a story of sin and punishment but a story of preventing great harm that might emerge form what begins as an innocent endeavor. The leniency of God’s response now makes sense.

The historical setting was one in which the overwhelming majority of people believed in idolatry and paganism. In this context, anyone who championed the monotheistic idea was subject to potential persecution. Avraham taught monotheism and had to flee from Nimrod’s wrath. The fact that different governments ruled in various areas enabled Avraham to take his message elsewhere. If the entire known world had been under one authority, then the Avraham’s of this world would have no place to go. For this reason, God broke up the tower of Babel.

We often think of greater centralization and of bringing different forces together as a positive endeavor. Ran reminds us that the whole also depends upon the sum of the parts. When centralization enables the wrong ideas to wield exclusive power, then a division of power is preferable.

(To see a commentary that expands on the idea that Migdal Bavel teaches us of the need for different approaches and opinions see Neziv’s Ha’amek Davar)

Showing the ongoing relevance of the classic medieval Jewish philosophy texts is one of this blog’s primary goals. I have argued that these texts discussions of ethics and reasons for the commandments remain very relevant. Biblical interpretation and analysis reflects another area of ongoing relevance. R. Yosef Albo’s discussion of the asseret hadibrot is a case in point.

At first glance, these ten utterances divide into two groups – mizvot between humanity and God and interpersonal commandments. The last five include the prohibitions against murder, adultery, theft, bearing false witness, and coveting a neighbor’s possessions. All five firmly belong in the interpersonal sphere. The same clarity of demarcation exists with regard to the first four utterances.

Denying other gods, not making or worshiping graven images, not taking God’s name in vein, and keeping the Sabbath in order to remember God’s creation all establish our people’s basic relationship with God. Only the fifth utterance, the need to honor one’s parents, does not fit in. Surely, this interpersonal inclusion in the first have of the dibberot ruins the perfect symmetry.

Some commentators did not consider this a problem. Ramban (Shemot 20:11) writes that the first four dibberot wrap up our obligations to God and the commandment to honor parents initiates the discussion of obligations towards people. He does also mention certain parallels between obligations to God and to parents but his opening comments reveal that he did not feel the need to maintain the perfect symmetry between two sets of five.

R. Albo (Sefer haIkkarim 3:26) assumes the exact symmetry. He employs a parable of a king who builds a state, takes a people out of slavery and settles them in that state. The people should acknowledge the king, not rebel by showing allegiance to other rulers, not disgrace his name and pick a day to commemorate what the king has done. So far, this parable parallels the first four dibberot.

Yet the younger generation in that province might not recall all that the king did in the early years of the state. They dream of rebellion or of finding another leader. Only a respect for the received traditions of their parents prevents this attitude. Children who honor their parents are more likely to take their accumulated wisdom and their vision of the good seriously. For this reason, honoring parents does belong in the section addressing responsibilities to God (a similar interpretation appears in R. Hirsch’s commentary on Shemot 20:12).

Modernity brought with it a great sense of excitement about fresh ideas and novel approaches. Sometimes, it also exhibited a rush to throw off the “yoke” of tradition in order to start from scratch. As modernity progressed, many thinkers realized that their intellectual endeavors also depended upon a tradition. Modern science (even according to Kuhn) builds in some fashion upon the work of predecessors and literature relies on symbols and allusions developed over millennium.

I am not claiming that the role of tradition in these disciplines exactly mirrors its role in Orthodox Judaism. The point of these analogies is that we should not think of working within a tradition as a foolish constraint that inhibits productive thought and behavior. Quite the contrary! The framework of a tradition enables constructive and creative work. Honoring our parents and accepting the account of God handed down through numerous generations of Jewish ancestors reflects a crucial first step. Without that step, the first half of the dibberot would remain incomplete.

R. Yosef Albo, a fifteenth century Spanish Jewish philosopher, participated in a disputation in 1414 and composed the Sefer haIkkarim, a work dedicated to exploring the fundamental principles of Jewish faith. Rambam had enumerated thirteen fundamental beliefs but had not explained the methodology involved in the selection of these principles. In the first book of his major work, R. Albo addresses the question of defining the criteria for ikkarim. Our analysis of his criteria will wait for a subsequent discussion.

Unlike Rambam, R. Albo contends that Judaism has three fundamental principles: creation, revelation and redemption (Sefer haIkkarim 1:4). However, a reader who concludes that Rambam has ten more fundamental principles than R. Albo would be mistaken. R. Albo realized that all of Rambam’s thirteen principles can be divided into his three broader categories. Belief in God includes the existence of God, His eternality, and His unity. The principle of revelation subsumes the existence of prophecy as well as the giving of the Torah and the unique prophetic ability of Moshe. Redemption incorporates Divine knowledge, reward and punishment, and the belief in the messiah. While there are some important differences between Rambam and R. Albo on some of the details, they do not disagree regarding ten different principles. Three versus thirteen is a question of categorization more than substance.

R. Albo’s three principles do convey the basics of Jewish belief. Indeed, once we begin to search for them, they seem to turn up in several places in our tradition. The mishna in Sanhedrin (Sanhedrin 90a) excludes the following from the world – to – come: the apikores, a person who denies revelation, and a person who denies the resurrection. We can easily see that if the apirokes refers to a person who denies God, then this misna points to the same three crucial beliefs (Sefer haIkkarim 1:10) .

Later thinkers pointed out that the three blessings surrounding the morning Shema reflect the identical themes. The blessing about the creation of light emphasizes God as the creator of the universe. The second blessing about God lovingly choosing the Jews includes the theme of the giving of the Torah. Finally, the third blessing concludes “redeemer of Israel.” This triple theme influenced Franz Rosenzweig’s Star of Redemption.

A verse in Yeshayahu (33:22), “God is our judge, God is our law giver, God is our king, He will redeem us,” may also reveal the same themes. God’s kingship stems from an acknowledgment of His existence and from the nature of His being. God is the law giver because He gave the Torah. God also judges in His providential role that includes the ultimate redemption (Sefer haIkkarim 1:4).

Finally, these three ideas constitute the middle part of the amida for mussaf on Rosh haShana. In the first section, we cite verses about divine kingship. In the second section, the verses focus on God sitting in judgment. What is the essential theme of the final shofarot section? The verses from the Chumash incorporated into our prayer mention the shofar at Sinai (Sefer haIkkarim 1:4). If so, the prayer service that stands at the apex of one of the holiest days of the Jewish year includes these very three ideas.

The various expressions of these themes indicate that R. Albo was on to something. Judaism allows a good deal of leeway for theological debate. However, traditional Jewish thought begins with affirming the existence of a God who gave us the Torah and who ensures some form of ultimate justice.

Rambam famously explained sacrifices as a historical concession to religious concepts of the ancient world. Jews at the time of the exodus thought of offering sacrifices as the quintessential religious act, akin to how we view prayer. God did not eliminate this practice because He understood that the people would find this directive impossible. Instead, He redirected the sacrificial order to wean the people away from paganism and towards monotheism (Moreh Nevuchim 3:32, 46) . Ramban vigorously attacked this view in his commentary on the Torah (Vayikra 1:9) . Among his critiques, Ramban argues that if Rambam is right, the Torah would not employ the term “reah nihoah,” a pleasant odor, to describe sacrifices. Rambam actually anticipated this critique. He writes: “they are indeed a pleasant odor because they remove the pagan worldview” (3:46). What could please God more than moving people towards monotheistic truth?

This debate deserves lengthy study that would include Ramban’s powerful arguments as well as Ritva (in his Sefer haZikaron) and Abravanel’s follow up comments. We shall leave that for another time and focus on a frequently neglected theme in Rambam’s thinking about sacrifices. Halacha includes two types of sin offerings, hataot hizoniyot and hataot pnimiyot. In the former case, the blood was sprinkled on the outer altar, the priests ate a portion of the animal, and the remainder was consumed on the altar. With regard to the latter, the blood was sprinkled on the curtain, priests did not eat, and the animal was taken outside Jerusalem to be burned (Zevahim 5: 2-3). Examples of the second category include the sin offering brought by a prince and the sin offering brought for a communal error.

Rambam locates a different theme in the hataot pnimiyot (called so, because their blood is sprinkled on the curtain, close to the innermost part of the temple). He explains that the total burning of these animals symbolically suggests the eradication of sin. We burn them outside of the camp to indicate revulsion towards transgression and distancing ourselves from sin (3:46). The goat sent off a cliff each Yom Kippur reflects a more powerful version of this theme. This animal atones for all major sins in a general fashion. We do not perform the normal temple service (slaughtering etc.) on this animal because we want to distance ourselves from this symbol of sin in the strongest manner possible. We send it off to a desolate area as if we quarantine the sin to a place where it can not infect others.

One dangerous potential misconception remains. Rambam emphasizes that “sins are not a physical entity that can be transferred from one item to another. These actions are merely symbols to help us acquire a certain image in our souls.” No magic exists that can transfer my sin on to a particular animal. Rather, our shunning of the goat should help inspire us toward a sense of revulsion towards sin and generate authentic repentance.

Rambam’s using historical context to explain the institution of sacrifices remains controversial. However, that issue does not exhaust Rambam’s thinking about the purposes of sacrifices. Even if historical context helped motivate the institution of sacrifices, God utilized this institution to teach important religious themes. Attempting to distance ourselves from sin reflects a prominent theme with the crescendo of that theme occurring every Yom Kippur.