Zionism & Modern Israel

Hook

The Ten Commandments, or "Aseret HaDevarim" – the Ten Utterances – stand as a foundational moment not just for the Jewish people, but for much of human civilization. They are the bedrock of our moral and ethical landscape, a divine blueprint for how a people might live in covenant with God and with one another. Yet, even at their inception, as recorded in Exodus 20, these utterances were met with a profound mixture of awe and trepidation. The very air crackled with divine power, the mountain smoking, the thunder rolling, the horn blaring – a spectacle designed to impress upon the nascent nation the gravity of the moment. But the people, overwhelmed, cried out to Moses, "You speak to us, and we will obey; but let not God speak to us, lest we die." This visceral reaction, this felt distance from the divine voice, reveals a fundamental tension that has echoed through millennia of Jewish history and, indeed, through the narrative of Zionism and the State of Israel: the tension between divine revelation and human reception, between the absolute and the practical, between the universal and the particular, between the ideal and the lived reality. This lesson explores how this ancient drama, etched into the very fabric of the Ten Commandments, continues to inform our understanding of peoplehood, responsibility, and the ongoing project of building a just and hopeful society, particularly within the complex context of modern Israel.

Text Snapshot

God spoke all these words, saying: I יהוה am your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, the house of bondage: You shall have no other gods besides Me. You shall not make for yourself a sculptured image, or any likeness of what is in the heavens above, or on the earth below, or in the waters under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or serve them. For I your God יהוה am an impassioned God, visiting the guilt of the parents upon the children, upon the third and upon the fourth generations of those who reject Me. but showing kindness to the thousandth generation of those who love Me and keep My commandments. You shall not swear falsely by the name of your God יהוה; for יהוה will not clear one who swears falsely by God’s name. Remember the sabbath day and keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath of your God יהוה: you shall not do any work—you, your son or daughter, your male or female slave, or your cattle, or the stranger who is within your settlements. For in six days יהוה made heaven and earth and sea—and all that is in them—and then rested on the seventh day; therefore יהוה blessed the sabbath day and hallowed it. Honor your father and your mother, that you may long endure on the land that your God יהוה is assigning to you. You shall not murder. You shall not commit adultery. You shall not steal. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. You shall not covet your neighbor’s house: you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, or male or female slave, or ox or ass, or anything that is your neighbor’s.

All the people witnessed the thunder and lightning, the blare of the horn and the mountain smoking; and when the people saw it, they fell back and stood at a distance. “You speak to us,” they said to Moses, “and we will obey; but let not God speak to us, lest we die.” Moses answered the people, “Be not afraid; for God has come only in order to test you, and in order that the fear of God may be ever with you, so that you do not go astray.” So the people remained at a distance, while Moses approached the thick cloud where God was.

Context

The Divine Revelation at Sinai

• Date: Approximately 13th century BCE, during the Exodus from Egypt and the journey through the wilderness. This event marks a pivotal moment in the covenantal relationship between God and the Israelite people.
• Actor: God (יהוה) speaking directly to the Israelite nation, mediated through Moses. The text emphasizes the collective nature of this revelation, addressing "all your assembly."
• Aim: To establish a foundational covenant, outlining the core principles of ethical monotheism and social justice that would define the Israelite nation. This was not merely a set of laws, but a framework for a people's identity and relationship with the Divine and with each other.

The Ten Utterances as a Covenantal Document

• The "Ten Utterances" (Aseret HaDevarim) are presented as the direct communication of God to the entire nation, underscoring their central importance in the covenantal agreement.
• The initial declaration, "I am the Lord your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, the house of bondage," serves as the preamble, grounding the subsequent commandments in the foundational act of redemption. This establishes God's authority and the basis for the people's obligation.
• The commandments themselves encompass both the individual's relationship with God (prohibitions against idolatry, false oaths) and the community's interpersonal responsibilities (honoring parents, prohibitions against murder, adultery, theft, false witness, and coveting).

The Israelite Response and the Role of Mediation

• The overwhelming sensory experience of the revelation led the people to express fear and a desire for mediation through Moses, highlighting the vast gulf between the human and the divine.
• Moses' response, "Be not afraid; for God has come only in order to test you, and in order that the fear of God may be ever with you, so that you do not go astray," frames the divine encounter as a pedagogical one, aimed at instilling reverence and guiding behavior.
• This dynamic foreshadows the ongoing need for interpretation, application, and human agency in navigating the divine will, a theme central to Jewish tradition and the modern Zionist project.

Two Readings

Reading 1: The Covenantal Imperative – Peoplehood as Divine Mandate

This reading understands the Ten Commandments primarily through the lens of covenantal theology. The narrative begins not with abstract pronouncements but with a powerful act of divine intervention: "I am the Lord your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, the house of bondage." This is the historical and theological foundation upon which the entire edifice of the commandments rests. The commandments are not merely ethical guidelines; they are the terms of engagement for a chosen people, a people bound to God by a unique relationship forged in the crucible of liberation.

The peoplehood aspect is paramount here. The commandments are addressed to "Israelites," a collective entity. The preamble itself establishes the shared identity and destiny of this nascent nation, liberated from slavery and called into a new existence. The commandments then delineate the internal structure and ethical framework that will sustain this peoplehood. The prohibitions against idolatry are not simply theological; they are also essential for maintaining the distinct identity of Israel, preventing assimilation into the surrounding polytheistic cultures. The commandments regarding social justice – honor your parents, do not murder, do not steal, do not bear false witness, do not covet – are designed to create a community characterized by respect, integrity, and mutual consideration, a community worthy of its divine calling.

Responsibility in this framework is twofold: responsibility to God and responsibility to the people. The first five commandments focus on the direct relationship with the Divine – acknowledging God’s sovereignty, maintaining purity of worship, and observing sacred time (the Sabbath). These are the pillars that uphold the covenant. The remaining five commandments, often referred to as the "social" or "ethical" commandments, demonstrate how this covenantal relationship is to be lived out in the human sphere. They are not separate from the divine commandments but are their logical outworking. To honor God means to honor the image of God in one's neighbor. To break these commandments is to break faith with the covenant itself.

The tension arises from the sheer, overwhelming power of the revelation. The people’s cry, "Let not God speak to us, lest we die," reveals a fundamental human limitation. The divine is absolute, terrifyingly so. They cannot directly bear the unmediated word. This necessitates mediation, interpretation, and the development of human institutions to translate the divine will into practical, lived reality. This is where Moses, and later generations of interpreters, play a crucial role. The commandments are not a static legal code but a living document that requires constant engagement and application.

For the Zionist project, this reading offers a compelling narrative. The return to Zion, the establishment of a Jewish state, is seen not merely as a political act but as a spiritual and national renaissance, a re-establishment of a peoplehood called to live by these ancient, yet eternally relevant, principles. The challenge is to embody the covenantal spirit in the very act of nation-building, to create a society that reflects these divine imperatives in its laws, its institutions, and its interactions with both its own citizens and the wider world. The responsibility lies in ensuring that the modern State of Israel is not just a political entity, but a living testament to the enduring values of the Ten Commandments, a beacon of justice and holiness in the land promised to its ancestors. The hope is that in rebuilding a physical homeland, they are also rebuilding a spiritual one, fulfilling a divine promise through human endeavor.

Reading 2: The Civic Foundation – Universal Ethics and Human Agency

This reading views the Ten Commandments through a civic and humanistic lens, emphasizing their universal applicability and the crucial role of human agency in their implementation. While acknowledging their divine origin, this perspective highlights how these utterances provide a foundational blueprint for any just and ordered society, regardless of its specific religious or historical context. The emphasis shifts from exclusive covenantal relationship to universal ethical principles that govern human interaction.

The peoplehood aspect here is understood in a broader sense – as the shared humanity that binds all people. The commandments, particularly those relating to interpersonal conduct, speak to fundamental moral intuitions that are recognizable across cultures. The prohibitions against murder, theft, adultery, and false witness are not exclusively Jewish concerns; they are the bedrock of any functioning society that values life, property, fidelity, and truth. The commandment to honor parents can be seen as a recognition of the fundamental importance of family and intergenerational respect for social cohesion.

Responsibility in this reading is primarily understood as human responsibility to one another and to the collective good. While the commandments are presented as divine injunctions, their power lies in their ability to foster a moral society. The act of obeying these commandments becomes an act of responsible citizenship. The fear of God, as Moses explains, is not necessarily about a direct, terrifying encounter, but about an internalized moral compass that guides individuals to act justly and ethically. The "stranger who is within your settlements" is explicitly included in the Sabbath observance, pointing towards a universal concern for the well-being of all members of the community, a principle that resonates deeply with modern notions of human rights and social welfare.

The tension in this reading emerges from the very universality of these principles. While the commandments offer a powerful ethical framework, their implementation requires constant human effort, interpretation, and adaptation to specific historical and social circumstances. The people's fear at Sinai can be seen as a recognition of the immense challenge of living up to such high ideals. The need for Moses as an intermediary highlights the human role in translating abstract divine will into concrete, actionable laws and social structures. The diversity of interpretations of these commandments throughout history, as exemplified by the scholarly debates highlighted in the provided commentaries (e.g., Ibn Ezra's detailed analysis of textual variations), underscores the ongoing human endeavor to understand and apply these ancient texts to ever-changing realities.

For Zionism and the State of Israel, this reading offers a way to engage with the Ten Commandments as a universal ethical legacy. The founders of modern Israel, while deeply rooted in Jewish tradition, also drew inspiration from Enlightenment ideals of human rights and democratic governance. This perspective allows for the State of Israel to be seen as an embodiment of these universal ethical principles, striving to create a society that upholds justice, equality, and human dignity for all its inhabitants, including its Arab minority and other "strangers within its gates." The hope lies in the possibility of building a state that not only safeguards Jewish continuity but also serves as a model for ethical governance in the region and beyond, demonstrating that ancient wisdom can inform and inspire contemporary civic life. The responsibility is to ensure that the universal ethical core of these commandments is not overshadowed by particularistic concerns, but rather informs a vision of a just and compassionate society for all.

Civic Move

Dialogue Across Differences: Bridging the Sinai Gap

The profound reaction at Mount Sinai – the people’s fear and desire for mediation – reveals a fundamental tension that continues to shape our understanding of the Ten Commandments and their application: the gulf between the absolute divine ideal and the human capacity to receive and implement it. This tension is not a flaw in the commandments but a profound insight into the nature of revelation and human responsibility. It highlights the ongoing need for dialogue, interpretation, and the bridging of perceived divides.

In the context of Zionism and modern Israel, this tension manifests in numerous ways, particularly in the complex relationship between religious and secular Israelis, between Jewish and Arab citizens, and between the State of Israel and the international community. The very establishment of a modern, democratic state grounded in Jewish tradition necessitates a continuous conversation about how these ancient ethical imperatives are to be lived out in a pluralistic society.

Therefore, a crucial civic move is to foster structured dialogue aimed at understanding the diverse interpretations and lived experiences of the Ten Commandments within Israel and beyond. This is not about finding a single, monolithic interpretation, but about cultivating empathy and recognizing the shared human endeavor to grapple with these foundational principles.

Specific Actions for Dialogue and Learning:

1. Intergroup "Sinai Dialogues": Organize facilitated dialogues between different segments of Israeli society (e.g., religious Zionists, secular Israelis, Haredim, Arab citizens of Israel) to discuss their understanding of key commandments like "You shall not murder," "You shall not steal," or "Honor your father and your mother." The goal is to explore how these principles are interpreted and applied in their respective communities and to identify common ground and areas of divergence. This can be done through community centers, educational institutions, or religious organizations.

2. "Sabbath of Strangers" Initiative: Expand and deepen the understanding of the commandment to include the stranger in Sabbath rest. This could involve educational programs in schools and synagogues that focus on the rights and dignity of non-Jewish residents and migrant workers in Israel, drawing lessons from the biblical inclusion of the stranger. This initiative could also involve practical steps, such as advocating for policies that ensure fair labor practices and social inclusion for all residents, regardless of their background.

3. Cross-Cultural Ethics Workshops: Develop and implement workshops in Israeli universities and professional organizations that explore the ethical frameworks of the Ten Commandments alongside other foundational ethical systems (e.g., Islamic ethics, secular humanism, international human rights law). This would help to demonstrate the universal resonance of many of these commandments while also exploring how different cultures and traditions approach similar moral challenges. Such workshops could invite scholars and community leaders from diverse backgrounds to share their perspectives.

4. "Witness to Truth" Media Project: Create a multimedia platform (e.g., a website, podcast series, documentary film) that features diverse voices from Israel and the Palestinian territories discussing the commandment "You shall not bear false witness." This project would aim to highlight instances where truth-telling and accurate representation are crucial for understanding and reconciliation, while also exploring the challenges of overcoming historical narratives and propaganda that can distort truth.

5. Legislative Ethics Review: Establish an independent, multidisciplinary ethics committee to review proposed legislation through the lens of the Ten Commandments and other core Jewish ethical principles. This committee would not have veto power but would provide public reports and recommendations, fostering a national conversation about the ethical implications of laws and policies. This move acknowledges that the "Ten Utterances" are not just ancient texts but living principles that should inform present-day governance.

These civic moves are grounded in the understanding that the divine revelation at Sinai was not an endpoint but a beginning – a call to ongoing human responsibility and engagement. By actively seeking to understand and dialogue across our differences, we can begin to bridge the "Sinai gap," transforming fear into understanding and abstract ideals into lived reality, thus honoring the profound legacy of these foundational utterances for the future of Israel and for humanity.

Takeaway

The Ten Commandments, born from a thunderous revelation at Sinai, offer us not a finished blueprint but a perpetual challenge. They remind us that true peoplehood is forged in covenant, not just with the Divine, but with one another. Our responsibility is to bridge the awe-inspiring distance between the ideal and the real, translating ancient wisdom into contemporary acts of justice, compassion, and truth. In the ongoing narrative of Zionism and the State of Israel, this means embracing the inherent tensions, fostering open dialogue, and actively working to build a society where the echoes of Sinai resonate not in fear, but in hope and shared human dignity for all.

Hook

This passage from Tractate Zevachim grapples with a profound tension: how do we reconstruct sacred spaces and practices, especially after periods of destruction and exile? It’s a question that resonates deeply with the journey of Zionism and the modern State of Israel, which, in many ways, is a monumental act of reconstruction. The text presents us with the challenge of rebuilding the Temple altar, not just physically, but also spiritually and historically. How did they know where to place it? What were its essential dimensions? The Rabbis, through careful interpretation of scripture and visionary experiences, sought to re-establish the precise details of a lost sacred center. This pursuit of accuracy, of knowing "the right way" to build and to serve, is a powerful metaphor for the ongoing efforts to build and define the Jewish homeland in our own time.

Text Snapshot

"And they set the altar upon its bases... and they offered burnt offerings thereon unto the Lord, and thankful offerings." (Ezra 3:3)

"Then David said: 'This is the House of the Lord God, and this is the altar of burnt offering for Israel.'" (I Chronicles 22:1)

"Rabbi Elazar says: They saw a vision of the altar already built and Michael the archangel standing and sacrificing upon it." (Zevachim 62a)

"Rabbi Eliezer ben Yaakov says: Three prophets ascended with them from the exile: One who testified to them about the size and shape of the altar, and one who testified to them about the proper location of the altar..." (Zevachim 62b)

"The corner... the ramp... the base... and that it must be exactly square, are indispensable... But the measurement of its length, and the measurement of its width, and the measurement of its height are not indispensable." (Zevachim 62b)

Context

Date and Event

The primary context for the discussion in Zevachim 62 is the rebuilding of the Second Temple in Jerusalem after the Babylonian exile, a process that began in the late 6th century BCE. This was a period of immense historical significance, marking the return of a Jewish people to their ancestral land after decades of displacement and destruction.

Actors

The key actors are the returning Jewish exiles, guided by religious and political leaders such as Zerubbabel and Joshua the High Priest. Crucially, the Talmudic discussion also invokes the authority of prophets, both those who returned with the exiles and those whose words were preserved in scripture, as well as prominent Rabbis who lived centuries later and debated the interpretation of these events and laws.

Aim

The overarching aim of the discussions in Zevachim 62 is to re-establish the halakhic (Jewish legal) framework for the sacrificial service in the newly constructed Temple. This involved determining the precise specifications for the altar, the central instrument of this service. The rabbis sought to ensure that the rebuilding was not merely a physical construction, but a faithful restoration of divinely ordained practice, drawing upon scripture, tradition, and even prophetic revelation to guide their decisions.

Two Readings

Reading 1: The Covenantal Imperative of Reconstruction

This reading views the rebuilding of the altar and the Temple as a covenantal imperative, a fundamental obligation stemming from God's relationship with the Jewish people. The meticulous detail with which the Talmud discusses the altar's dimensions and placement underscores the belief that this was not just about architecture, but about fulfilling a sacred trust.

• Focus on Divine Will: The text emphasizes how the knowledge of the altar's proper form and location was derived from divine sources – visions, prophetic pronouncements, and scriptural interpretation. This highlights the idea that the Temple and its service were not human inventions, but divinely revealed instructions, passed down through generations. The debate over whether the First Temple's altar was "ideal" versus the Second Temple's "expanded" altar (Rav Yosef's interpretation) shows a deep engagement with the historical unfolding of divine will.
• Sacred Geography and Identity: The altar was the spiritual heart of the Jewish people. Its precise location was seen as divinely ordained, a fixed point around which Jewish life and worship revolved. The quest to find its exact spot – through visions of Michael, the ashes of Isaac, or the scent of incense versus burnt limbs – speaks to a profound connection between the physical space and the spiritual identity of the people. Rebuilding it was an act of reaffirming that identity and the covenantal bond.
• The Indispensable vs. The Flexible: The distinction between indispensable elements (corner, ramp, base, squareness) and non-indispensable elements (exact length, width, height) is crucial. It suggests a theological understanding of core principles versus adaptable applications. The "indispensable" elements represent the unbreakable essence of the covenantal act, while the "flexible" dimensions allow for adaptation to changing circumstances, as long as the core is preserved. This is particularly relevant in the context of the Second Temple, which, while sacred, was a restoration, not an exact replica of the First Temple.

Reading 2: The Civic Project of National Re-establishment

This reading frames the rebuilding of the altar within the broader context of a civic project of national re-establishment. While acknowledging the religious significance, it emphasizes the practical and political dimensions of rebuilding a shattered nation.

• Rebuilding as a Societal Endeavor: The return from exile and the rebuilding of the Temple were not solely religious acts; they were also acts of civic reconstruction. The altar, as the focal point of worship, was a tangible symbol of national unity and continuity. Its reconstruction was a public undertaking, requiring collective effort and leadership. The prophets who "ascended with them from the exile" were not just spiritual guides, but also facilitators of this collective project, providing the necessary knowledge for its successful execution.
• The Authority of Tradition and Law: The Talmudic debate itself is a testament to the importance of established legal traditions and authoritative interpretations in guiding civic endeavors. The meticulous examination of verses and the reliance on rabbinic authority demonstrate how a society structures itself and makes collective decisions. The emphasis on "indispensable" elements can be seen as establishing foundational laws and principles for the new civic order, while "non-indispensable" elements allow for pragmatic adjustments.
• Navigating Historical Memory and Pragmatism: The discussion about the altar's dimensions and the debates between different rabbis (e.g., Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi vs. Rabbi Yosei, son of Rabbi Yehuda on the karkov) reflect the challenges of applying ancient laws to a new reality. The need to reconcile scriptural accounts, historical memory (the First Temple), and practical considerations in the Second Temple era demonstrates a civic pragmatism. The debate about whether an altar could be built on "tunnels" – and Tosafot’s clarification that a necessary pit for the altar is not considered a forbidden tunnel – highlights the need for practical solutions within the framework of religious law. This is akin to modern nation-building, where historical aspirations must be balanced with present-day realities.

Civic Move

Engage with the "Democracy of the Altar": A Study in Essential Principles and Adaptable Frameworks

The Zevachim passage, in its intricate discussion of the altar, offers a powerful analogy for navigating the complexities of building and sustaining a society, particularly one rooted in both historical memory and forward-looking aspirations. Just as the Rabbis distinguished between the "indispensable" elements of the altar (corner, ramp, base, squareness) and those considered "not indispensable" (exact length, width, height), we can apply this framework to our own civic and national life.

Our Civic Move: Organize a series of facilitated dialogues or educational workshops across different sectors of society (e.g., religious communities, academic institutions, civic organizations, youth groups) focused on identifying the "indispensable principles" of our collective life and distinguishing them from the "adaptable frameworks" through which they are expressed.

Here's how this might unfold:

1. Identifying the "Indispensable": Using the altar's "indispensable" elements as a starting point, participants would engage in deep reflection and discussion to identify the foundational values, principles, and historical anchors that are non-negotiable for our peoplehood and societal well-being. This might include concepts like justice, human dignity, mutual responsibility, historical continuity, and the right to self-determination. The "corner," "base," and "squareness" of the altar serve as metaphors for these essential, structural elements of our shared existence.

2. Exploring the "Adaptable Frameworks": Participants would then explore the "non-indispensable" aspects – the "measurements of length, width, and height" – which represent the ways in which these indispensable principles are actualized and implemented in practice. This could involve discussions about:

   • Governance: What are the essential principles of democratic governance, and how can these be expressed through various institutional structures?
   • Social Cohesion: What are the core values that bind us, and what are the most effective ways to foster dialogue and understanding across diverse communities?
   • National Identity: What are the indispensable narratives and symbols of our shared history, and how can we engage with them in ways that are relevant and inclusive for future generations?
   • Religious Practice: What are the essential tenets of our faith traditions, and how can these be expressed in contemporary life in ways that are both authentic and accessible?

3. Facilitating Dialogue: The dialogues would be structured to encourage respectful disagreement and the exploration of different perspectives. The goal is not necessarily to reach a single, definitive answer, but to foster a deeper understanding of the inherent tensions between foundational principles and their practical application, and to build a shared language for discussing these challenges. This mirrors the Talmudic method of debate, where diverse opinions are presented and analyzed to arrive at a more nuanced understanding.

4. Learning from the Past, Building for the Future: By drawing parallels to the historical imperative of rebuilding the Temple and its altar, we can gain insight into the challenges and opportunities of building and sustaining a resilient society. The "visionary" aspects mentioned in the text (visions of Michael, ashes of Isaac) can inspire us to seek deeper meaning and purpose in our own civic endeavors, while the practical debates about dimensions and construction remind us of the importance of careful planning and grounded decision-making.

This civic move aims to cultivate a more mature understanding of how we maintain the core of our identity and values while remaining flexible and adaptive in our approaches to governance, social life, and national development. It's about building not just structures, but also a shared capacity for thoughtful deliberation and responsible action, grounded in both history and hope.

Takeaway

The complex debates surrounding the altar in Zevachim 62 reveal a profound truth: the reconstruction of sacred spaces, and by extension, the rebuilding of a people's future, is never a simple or singular act. It demands a constant engagement with foundational principles, a deep respect for tradition, and a courageous willingness to adapt and innovate. The indispensable elements of the altar represent the core values and identity that must be preserved, while the flexible measurements offer the space for growth and evolution. For Zionism and modern Israel, this passage teaches us that our strength lies not in rigid adherence to a single blueprint, but in our capacity to discern the eternal imperatives of our peoplehood and to creatively apply them to the ever-changing landscape of our national life, always with an eye towards building a future grounded in both justice and hope.

Hook

This passage from Maimonides' Mishneh Torah, specifically Hilchot Aveilut (Laws of Mourning), plunges us into a profound tension that resonates deeply with the modern Zionist project and the very fabric of Israeli society. It grapples with the definition of life, loss, and belonging, asking: who counts as a person for whom we mourn, and by extension, who is considered part of our collective? This ancient text, concerned with the precise boundaries of Jewish ritual law, unexpectedly illuminates our contemporary dilemmas about national identity, inclusion, and the sorrow that binds or divides a people. The very act of mourning, a universal human experience, becomes here a site of intricate legal and ethical deliberation, revealing differing perspectives on what it means to be a member of the covenantal community, and by extension, a citizen of a modern state. How do we navigate the grief of loss when the very definition of who is "lost" is contested? This is the hopeful, yet challenging, question Maimonides implicitly poses, one that the State of Israel, born from a yearning for collective self-determination and grappling with its diverse population, must continually confront.

Text Snapshot

"It is a positive commandment to mourn for one's close relatives, as implied by Leviticus 10:19: 'Were I to partake of a sin offering today, would it find favor in God's eyes?' According to Scriptural Law, the obligation to mourn is only on the first day which is the day of the person's death and burial. The remainder of the seven days of mourning are not required by Scriptural Law. Although the Torah states Genesis 50:10: 'And he instituted mourning for his father for seven days,' when the Torah was given, the laws were renewed. Moses our teacher ordained for the Jewish people the seven days of mourning and the seven days of wedding celebrations."

"We do not mourn for stillborn infants. Whenever a human offspring does not live for 30 days, he is considered stillborn. ... We observe mourning rites for all of those executed by the government, even when they were executed by the government's laws and the Torah granted it license to execute them. We don't withhold anything from them. Their estate is given to the government, but they are buried in their ancestral plots. We do not, by contrast, observe mourning rites for those executed by the court. We do, however, observe the rites of bitter regret (aninut), for aninut is an expression of the feelings in one's heart. ... Similarly, we do not mourn for heretics, apostates, and people who inform on Jews to the gentiles. Instead, their brothers and their other relatives wear white clothes, robe themselves in white, eat, drink, and celebrate for the enemies of the Holy One, blessed be He, have perished."

Context

The Mishneh Torah, compiled by Rabbi Moses ben Maimon (Maimonides) between 1170 and 1180 CE in Fes, Morocco, stands as a monumental achievement in Jewish legal and philosophical literature. It aimed to systematically organize and codify the entirety of Jewish law (Halakha) derived from the Talmud and other rabbinic sources, presenting it in a clear, logical, and accessible manner. This work was revolutionary not only for its comprehensiveness but also for its philosophical underpinnings, seeking to reconcile Jewish law with Aristotelian philosophy and rationalist thought. Maimonides, a physician and philosopher, sought to provide a framework for Jewish life that was both deeply rooted in tradition and responsive to the intellectual currents of his time.

The specific section on mourning (Avei'lut) in Hilchot De'ot (Laws of Ethical Dispositions) and Hilchot Avei'lut addresses the intricate laws and customs surrounding death and grief within Jewish tradition. It delves into the obligations of mourners, the duration of mourning periods, and the specific practices associated with them. This section is not merely a technical legal document; it reflects a profound understanding of human psychology, community responsibility, and the spiritual significance of navigating loss. Maimonides' meticulous categorization and clear articulation of these laws were intended to provide clarity and guidance to Jewish communities across the diaspora, ensuring the continuity of Jewish practice and identity in a world often fraught with instability and external pressures.

The laws of mourning, as outlined by Maimonides, are deeply interwoven with concepts of Klal Yisrael (the Jewish people as a collective) and Kiddush Hashem (sanctification of God's Name). The way an individual mourns, and how the community responds, reflects the community's understanding of its shared fate, its relationship with the Divine, and its moral obligations. The distinctions Maimonides draws – between Scriptural law and Rabbinic ordinance, between different categories of death and the deceased – highlight the complex moral calculus involved in communal grief. These distinctions have evolved over centuries, but the underlying principle remains: mourning is not just a private act of sorrow, but a public declaration of shared values, communal bonds, and a collective memory.

Two Readings

Reading 1: The Covenantal Community and the Boundaries of Belonging

This reading frames the Mishneh Torah's discourse on mourning through the lens of the covenantal community, viewing Jewish identity and belonging as defined by a shared commitment to mitzvot (commandments) and an allegiance to the collective destiny of Israel. From this perspective, Maimonides' distinctions are not merely legalistic quibbles but profound statements about who is considered an integral part of the covenantal fabric, and therefore, who merits communal grief.

The core of this reading lies in the concept of Klal Yisrael, the indivisible unity of the Jewish people, bound together by a sacred pact with God. Mourning, in this context, is an expression of solidarity, a visceral acknowledgment of loss that reverberates through the entire community. When Maimonides states, "We do not mourn for stillborn infants. Whenever a human offspring does not live for 30 days, he is considered stillborn," he is not being callous, but articulating a traditional understanding of life's threshold for communal recognition. The emphasis is on the established presence within the covenantal community. Similarly, the exclusion of mourners for those who have "deviated from the path of the community," who "throw off the yoke of the mitzvot," or who are "heretics, apostates, and people who inform on Jews," signifies a clear demarcation of boundaries. These individuals, by their actions, are perceived as having severed their organic connection to the covenantal body. Their deaths are not mourned by the community because they have, in a sense, already separated themselves from it. The celebratory response described for the death of informers ("their brothers and their other relatives wear white clothes, robe themselves in white, eat, drink, and celebrate for the enemies of the Holy One, blessed be He, have perished") underscores this severe rupture. It's a grim testament to the perceived betrayal and the communal relief at the removal of a threat to the collective's spiritual and physical integrity.

This perspective also sheds light on the differential treatment of those executed by gentile authorities versus those executed by a Jewish court. The text states, "We observe mourning rites for all of those executed by the government, even when they were executed by the government's laws and the Torah granted it license to execute them." This is because their death, even if legally sanctioned by external powers, is seen as a tragedy befalling a member of Klal Yisrael at the hands of an oppressor. The community grieves the loss of one of its own, irrespective of the circumstances of their demise, as long as they were not actively rebelling against the covenant themselves. However, for those executed by a Jewish court, the situation is different. While the text says, "We do not, by contrast, observe mourning rites for those executed by the court. We do, however, observe the rites of bitter regret (aninut)," this signifies a complex acknowledgment. Their death, though a legal outcome within Jewish law, is not met with communal mourning because it represents a failure within the covenant itself. The community may feel regret, but the formal mourning rites are reserved for losses that reinforce, rather than fracture, the communal bond.

The concept of aninut, the period of bitter regret before burial, is crucial here. It’s an internal, deeply personal state of sorrow that transcends formal communal mourning. This distinction allows for the acknowledgment of personal grief without necessarily extending communal mourning to individuals whose actions have, in the community's estimation, placed them outside the circle of communal solidarity. This reading emphasizes that the boundaries of mourning are not arbitrary but are tied to the very definition of who constitutes the "us" within the covenant. It speaks to a powerful sense of collective responsibility and identity, where the integrity of the community's spiritual and moral standing is paramount, even in the face of individual tragedy.

This covenantal understanding has profound implications for modern Israel. It raises questions about how the state defines its citizens, particularly minority populations or those who may not adhere to traditional religious norms. If the Jewish people are seen as a covenantal community, then the inclusion or exclusion from communal mourning can become a metaphor for inclusion or exclusion from national belonging. The state, in this view, has a responsibility to uphold the integrity of the collective, and this may involve drawing lines, however painful, about who shares in the collective grief and who does not. The hope here is that by understanding these traditional boundaries, we can engage in a more conscious and ethical approach to defining belonging in a pluralistic society, ensuring that no one is irrevocably cast out from the possibility of shared humanity and remembrance.

Reading 2: The Universal Human Condition and the Ethics of Compassion

This second reading, while acknowledging the traditional framework, shifts the focus from the covenantal community to the universal human experience of loss and the ethical imperative of compassion. It interprets Maimonides' distinctions not as rigid demarcations of belonging, but as practical guidelines that, when understood with empathy, can illuminate the enduring principles of human dignity and the ethical responsibilities we owe to one another, even in their absence.

From this perspective, the very act of mourning, regardless of religious affiliation or adherence to specific commandments, is a fundamental human response to death. It is an acknowledgment of the void left by a departed soul, a recognition of shared humanity. Maimonides' detailed legalistic approach, while rooted in Jewish law, can be seen as an attempt to give structure and meaning to this universal human experience, ensuring that grief is processed in a way that upholds dignity and community. The exclusion of mourning for certain categories of individuals, therefore, can be re-examined not as a judgment on their ultimate spiritual standing, but as a pragmatic or communal decision rooted in specific historical contexts and perceived threats to the collective.

Consider the case of stillborn infants. The rule that "Whenever a human offspring does not live for 30 days, he is considered stillborn" and that "We do not mourn for stillborn infants" can be understood not as a denial of parental grief, but as a cultural understanding that life's viability and the establishment of a recognized presence within the community had certain thresholds. Modern sensibilities, informed by advancements in neonatal care and a broader understanding of human development, might find this rule difficult. However, the underlying principle is about the community's capacity to absorb and formally recognize loss. This reading encourages us to look beyond the strict letter of the law to the ethical spirit it aims to uphold: the importance of acknowledging and supporting those who are grieving, even if the formal structures of mourning are different.

The complex situation of those executed by gentile authorities versus those executed by a Jewish court offers another point of ethical reflection. While the former are mourned by the community, the latter are not, with only aninut. This distinction, from a universalist ethical standpoint, highlights the tragic circumstances of state-sanctioned violence. The mourning for those executed by gentile authorities underscores a shared vulnerability of the Jewish people to external oppression. The absence of formal mourning for those executed by a Jewish court, while seemingly harsh, can be reinterpreted as an internal reckoning. It acknowledges a profound internal failure within the community's legal system, a tragedy that demands introspection rather than outward communal grief. The "bitter regret" (aninut) becomes a powerful symbol of this internal sorrow and the ongoing ethical responsibility to ensure justice and fairness within the community.

The most challenging aspect for this reading is the absolute refusal to mourn for "heretics, apostates, and people who inform on Jews." The jubilation described is particularly stark. However, even here, a universalist ethical lens can seek to understand the extreme measures taken by a persecuted minority to protect its integrity. While condoning such joy is difficult, recognizing the existential threat these individuals posed to the survival and identity of the Jewish people in hostile environments can provide context. This reading would advocate for a more compassionate approach today, emphasizing reconciliation and understanding over celebration of an enemy's demise, even for those who have caused immense harm. The focus shifts to the responsibility of the living to learn from past divisions and to forge a path towards healing and mutual respect, rather than perpetuating cycles of animosity.

In the context of modern Israel, this reading encourages a move beyond rigid definitions of belonging. It champions the idea that every human life has intrinsic value, and that the state has an ethical obligation to extend compassion and dignity to all its residents, regardless of their religious observance or political views. The act of mourning, or the absence thereof, becomes a powerful indicator of a society's ethical maturity. A society that can mourn its own internal failures, that can extend empathy even to those on its fringes, and that prioritizes human dignity above all else, is a society that is truly hopeful and future-minded. This reading calls for a broader definition of shared humanity, one that can encompass the complexities of a diverse population and foster a sense of collective responsibility rooted in universal ethical principles.

Civic Move

Building Bridges Through Shared Grief: The "Lest We Forget" Initiative

The Dilemma: The Mishneh Torah's intricate distinctions regarding who merits communal mourning, while rooted in ancient covenantal understandings, present a challenge to modern pluralistic societies, particularly Israel, where diverse populations grapple with shared and individual experiences of loss. The potential for exclusion, for drawing lines that deepen divisions, is ever-present. The hope lies in finding ways to acknowledge profound loss in a manner that fosters unity and understanding, rather than perpetuating alienation.

The Civic Move: To address this tension, we propose the establishment of a national initiative, tentatively titled "Lest We Forget: Honoring Every Loss." This initiative would not seek to override or replace existing mourning traditions but to create parallel, inclusive spaces for communal remembrance and dialogue that acknowledge the pain of all who have experienced loss within the Israeli context, irrespective of their background or the specific circumstances of the death.

Core Principles:

• Universality of Grief: Recognizing that grief is a fundamental human experience that transcends religious, ethnic, or political divides.
• Dignity in Remembrance: Affirming that every life, no matter how marginalized or contested, deserves to be remembered with dignity.
• Dialogue and Understanding: Creating platforms for diverse communities to share their experiences of loss and to learn from one another.
• Focus on the Living: Emphasizing how collective remembrance can foster healing and strengthen the bonds of Israeli society.

Practical Steps:

1. Establish a National Council for Remembrance: This council would comprise representatives from diverse sectors of Israeli society: Jewish religious and secular leaders, Arab community leaders, Druze representatives, LGBTQ+ activists, human rights organizations, educators, artists, and bereaved families from various backgrounds. The council's mandate would be to guide the initiative and ensure its inclusivity.
2. Develop a National Day of Remembrance: Designate a specific day on the Israeli calendar (perhaps a day that already holds historical significance or a new, neutral date) dedicated to acknowledging all lives lost. This day would not be about commemorating specific historical events or conflicts but about the universal act of remembering.
3. Create Inclusive Memorial Spaces:
   • Digital Archive: A comprehensive online platform where individuals and communities can submit stories, photographs, and testimonies of loved ones who have passed away. This archive would be searchable and accessible to all, with options for privacy controls. It would include sections for:
     • Victims of terror (Jewish and Arab)
     • Soldiers and security personnel
     • Victims of accidents and natural disasters
     • Individuals who died by suicide
     • Stillborn infants and children lost in infancy
     • Victims of historical persecution (e.g., Holocaust survivors who passed away in Israel)
     • Marginalized communities whose losses may have been overlooked.
   • Physical Memorials: Explore the possibility of establishing neutral, reflective memorial sites in public spaces that honor all lives lost, without specific religious or political iconography, focusing on symbols of peace, hope, and continuity.
4. Facilitate Cross-Communal Dialogue Programs: Organize events, workshops, and educational programs that bring together individuals from different communities to share their experiences of loss and mourning. These programs could:
   • Bereaved Family Encounters: Facilitate structured meetings between families who have lost loved ones in different circumstances (e.g., a family who lost a child in a terror attack meeting a family who lost a child to illness, or an Arab family who lost a loved one in a security incident meeting a Jewish family who lost a soldier). The goal is not to equate suffering but to foster empathy and understanding.
   • Educational Curricula: Develop educational materials for schools that explore the universal themes of grief, loss, and remembrance, incorporating diverse narratives and perspectives.
   • Artistic and Cultural Initiatives: Support artistic projects (theater, film, literature, music) that explore themes of loss and remembrance from multiple viewpoints.
5. Partner with Existing Institutions: Collaborate with Yad Vashem, the IDF's fallen soldiers memorial, bereaved family organizations, religious councils, and community centers to integrate the initiative's principles into their existing work.

Potential Partners:

• Government Ministries: Ministry of Culture and Sport, Ministry of Education, Ministry of Social Equality.
• Religious Councils and Organizations: Chief Rabbinate, various Jewish denominations, Islamic Waqf, Christian denominations, Druze religious leadership.
• Civil Society Organizations: Human Rights organizations, peacebuilding NGOs, women's groups, LGBTQ+ advocacy groups, bereaved family associations.
• Academic Institutions: Universities and research centers focusing on sociology, history, psychology, and Jewish/Arab studies.
• Media Outlets: To promote awareness and encourage participation.

Examples of Similar Initiatives (and how "Lest We Forget" expands on them):

• Holocaust Memorials (e.g., Yad Vashem): While essential for remembering a specific, unique tragedy, "Lest We Forget" broadens the scope to include all forms of loss within the national context. It aims to create a sense of shared national mourning that encompasses all citizens.
• IDF Fallen Soldiers Memorialization: The yearly Memorial Day is a powerful example of communal grief for fallen soldiers. "Lest We Forget" would complement this by creating a framework to remember all who have died, acknowledging that loss is not confined to those who served in uniform.
• Interfaith Dialogue Initiatives: Existing interfaith dialogue often focuses on theological or social issues. "Lest We Forget" would use the universal experience of grief as a specific, deeply personal, and emotionally resonant platform for interfaith and intercultural engagement.
• Community Grief Support Groups: These are typically localized and focused on specific types of loss. "Lest We Forget" aims to nationalize and diversify this, creating a framework for recognizing and addressing the spectrum of loss experienced by the entire nation.

The Hopeful Outcome: By actively engaging with the difficult questions of who and how we mourn, "Lest We Forget" seeks to transform collective sorrow into a catalyst for empathy and a stronger sense of shared Israeli peoplehood. It envisions a society where the pain of loss, rather than becoming a wedge that divides, becomes a profound and unifying force, a testament to our shared humanity and our collective responsibility to remember and to heal. This initiative is an act of faith in the possibility of a more compassionate and inclusive future for Israel, built on the foundation of acknowledging every life that has touched this land.

Takeaway

The Mishneh Torah's detailed laws of mourning, born from ancient covenantal imperatives, reveal a profound truth: the way we mark death is deeply tied to how we define life and belonging. For us, in modern Israel, this ancient text offers not a rigid blueprint for exclusion, but a powerful invitation to introspection. It challenges us to consider who we include in our collective sorrow, and by extension, in our collective future. The hope is that by confronting these distinctions with honesty, compassion, and a commitment to universal human dignity, we can move towards a more inclusive understanding of peoplehood, where every life lost, no matter the circumstance, can find a place in our shared remembrance, strengthening the fabric of our society and illuminating a path toward greater unity and healing.