Reflections on Studying the Tanakh (Column 134)

With God's help

Yesterday I heard about a new Ministry of Education program for Tanakh studies from kindergarten through the end of high school. The foundation of this reform is apparently the ongoing sense of ignorance and lack of connection to Tanakh among Israeli students and graduates of the education system (for some reason people speak specifically about the secular, but I do not think it is any different among the religious, including your humble servant). The goal, as usual, is to make this study more appealing and refreshed for students, and to make it relevant to them.

The wasteland that has always accompanied Tanakh studies is well known. There is no more yawn-inducing subject (even Talmud and literature already look better). What is interesting is that at older ages—hesder / advanced yeshiva and beyond—Tanakh has in recent years become astonishingly popular. Tanakh study days attract thousands of people who take a day off and go listen to classes and lectures on Tanakh topics. The 929 project is another example of this phenomenon. So perhaps they will manage to convey some of that to the younger ages? Perhaps…

To tell the truth, it is specifically the second phenomenon (the growing interest in Tanakh among older people) that leaves me amazed. As a Talmudist at heart, Tanakh fills me with tedium and weariness. Tanakh classes were no small nightmare for me, and to this very day that is true of most of them. I cannot decipher the secret of Tanakh's charm in people's eyes. It is very far from the sophistication and complexity of a typical Talmudic passage, which, even if some question its relevance (in my opinion this is a misunderstanding), everyone will admit at least presents a serious intellectual challenge.

Even among those who enjoy Tanakh, it seems to me that this is mainly literary enjoyment (as Meir Shalev and company attest). In my view there is literature that is far finer and more enjoyable, but that is of course a matter of taste. But even if it is indeed fine literature, is that the value of studying Tanakh? Is what is at stake simply not missing out on fine literature? In my view there are much more important things, and this certainly does not justify imposing this tedium on all Israeli students.

It cannot be denied that this is an impressive text in several respects. I think I once recounted here the story of a well-known Swiss mathematician who used to come work with us at the Weizmann Institute every year, and who was an avid lover of Tanakh (and the Maharal, in English of course). He said that this is a rare text in its honesty, and in the fact that it does not present the heroes as perfect gods but as human beings with virtues and flaws, who undergo ups and downs, possess urges and drives, sin and repent, are rebuked and punished. Mortals like you and me. He argued that this is a very rare characteristic among the ancient texts and myths known to him. Fine, perhaps. But why is that important? Why should that cause me to study this text? I personally do indeed think its heroes were human beings, and I do not need that lesson.

So if I derive no literary enjoyment from this text, and even if I do that is not a justified reason to make it the crown of my joy (in any case, no more than Dostoevsky, Elsa Morante, Hemingway, or Gogol), and if the lesson about the character of its heroes is also superfluous for me, what else am I supposed to learn from Tanakh? Well, surely you will agree that it is mainly about two things: facts (historical, metaphysical, and perhaps others as well) and value-laden spiritual lessons. So let us examine these topics one by one.[1]

Historical facts

There are quite a few facts in Tanakh that are part of our history, and that is of course worth knowing. But the history in Tanakh is not necessarily accurate (as is well known, there are quite a few debates surrounding the matter, and certainly surrounding specific facts). In any case, there is no doubt that in secular education they do not assume that it offers a completely reliable factual account. So from their standpoint, studying Tanakh in order to know history sounds somewhat strange.

But beyond that, it is clear that Tanakh, even if it is entirely reliable, does not present a complete historical picture. And in general, I really do not think this is the ultimate textbook from which one should learn history, even the history of the Jewish people. There are better books (which may be based in part on Tanakh, and that is perfectly fine) that will give us the picture more accurately and in greater detail. When one wants to study history, one should study history and not extract it by rather tortuous means from Tanakh, which mixes it together with laws, rebukes, and values.

Take, for example, the description of creation at the beginning of Genesis. Today we explain that this is a parable and not an authentic description of what happened. So facts cannot really be learned from there. Facts are learned from scientific research (as far as possible), and afterwards we arrange Scripture so that it fits. Exactly as Maimonides instructed us in the Guide of the Perplexed (with respect to the issues of corporealism and eternity). So why study these chapters? Well, perhaps for a spiritual lesson. On that, see below.

Metaphysical facts

People think that Tanakh can teach us metaphysical facts. Perhaps ideas about providence, redemption, the World to Come, the unique quality of the Jewish people, and the like. First of all, I assume that in secular education this certainly cannot be a reason to study this text. But even with respect to myself and the religious world, I am very doubtful. First, these metaphysical facts are a tiny part of the text. That does not explain the value of studying all the chapters and books that deal with various people and events in our history. Second, someone who does not accept the metaphysical picture of angels, providence, the World to Come, and the like will interpret Tanakh differently (metaphors, allegories, and parables; The Torah speaks in human language ("the Torah speaks in human language")). And third, the picture Tanakh describes is very general, and one cannot derive details from it. Even if we interpret one verse or another as referring to redemption, there is no way to extract any details from it. So what did we learn from Tanakh beyond the fact that there will be redemption? We already knew that, no? So too with providence. Among Jewish thinkers there are many disputes surrounding providence, and no one changes his position because of one passage or another in Tanakh. Needless to say, I myself went further still, and in fact argued that today there is almost no involvement of the Holy One, blessed be He, in the world at all. The plain sense of Tanakh obviously contradicts this, and so I proposed other interpretations of the verses (a change in God's policy; a gradual withdrawal from history. I will not return to all that here; it has already been discussed on the site more than once). From this it follows that even claims that stand in direct opposition to Tanakh do not really fall before it. If an eye for an eye ("an eye for an eye") is interpreted as monetary compensation, and if the whole passage of a stubborn and rebellious son (the stubborn and rebellious son) is nullified de facto because of the Sages' interpretations, then interpreting any other verse so that it does not contradict what we think is easy enough for us. As stated, we even have Maimonides' license to do this (to interpret Scripture creatively so that it accords with science and philosophy).[2]

The same is true of events involving angels, which Maimonides, for example, explains—at least some of them—as dream or parable. The same is true of the allegorists (Philo or Yedaya ha-Penini). That is, these metaphysical facts too are interpreted according to the assumptions of the reader and do not really teach us anything factual (except perhaps a value-laden spiritual lesson. Again, on that see below).

Values

We are left with value-lessons. If it is neither really possible nor really worthwhile to learn facts from Tanakh, then perhaps the factual descriptions (whether literal or allegorical) come to teach us moral and spiritual lessons. For example, the description of creation comes to teach us the hierarchy between the inanimate, plant life, animal life, and human beings (and Jews?). And similarly, Abraham's encounter with the angels, which according to Maimonides took place in a dream, comes to teach us some value lesson. And so too regarding all the factual descriptions in Scripture, from which, as noted, it is not reasonable to learn the facts themselves (even if they are true). Perhaps they too came to teach us moral and spiritual lessons. So what remains is to examine the possibility of learning such lessons from Tanakh.

My great problem with learning moral lessons from Tanakh is mainly practical: I do not see how this can actually be done. There are trivial lessons, of course: God commands and one must fulfill His commandments. He exists and created the world (facts). One should be humble and modest, be content with little, and not pursue power and domination. Fine, I understand. Do you have anything new to tell me? If I derive from studying some biblical passage a lesson that does not seem reasonable to me, we all know that we will interpret that passage accordingly so that it fits our a priori conceptions. And if the lesson fits my conceptions—then why do I need Tanakh?

For example, one should cleave to God's attributes: Just as He is merciful, so you should be merciful; just as He is gracious, so you should be gracious ("Just as He is compassionate, so you be compassionate; just as He is gracious, so you be gracious"). We learn His attributes from Tanakh. So what about jealous and vengeful ("jealous and avenging")? Are we to learn that from Him too? We are told not. How do you know not? After all, those too are attributes of the Holy One, blessed be He. Because reason tells us that these are traits it is not fitting for us to acquire and act upon. Therefore we explain that jealous and vengeful remains with the Holy One, blessed be He, and not with us. That is, we adopt only some of the traits in the series of the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy (?!), and even that is not because of Tanakh but because it is obvious to us that this is indeed how one ought to act. The traits that in our view are not proper to adopt are precisely the ones we do not adopt, even though all of them are His attributes as described in Tanakh. So in fact what determines the correct traits for us is our own reason, not Tanakh. So what did we learn from Tanakh itself? What did the command to cleave to God's attributes add for us in moral terms?

The same is true of morality. The Torah commands us And you shall do what is right and good ("you shall do what is upright and good"). But it does not spell out what is upright and good. The commentators there explain that this means what lies beyond the law, that is, the law does not guide us as to what is upright and good. So how do we know? By reason. Fine, but if we already know by reason that this is the upright and good thing to do, what did the verse add? It did not teach us what is upright and good, but at most revealed to us that the Holy One, blessed be He, also expects us to follow the dictate of our conscience. That has religious value as well, not only human-moral value. Fine. But that is not a moral or value lesson; it is religious information that does not really matter on the practical plane (because practically, one is obligated to act that way in any event).

Some time ago I was asked here on the site why there is more value in studying moral lessons from Pirkei Avot or from verses in the wisdom books (Proverbs, Ecclesiastes) than from books of advice and guidance like Dale Carnegie. What is distinctively Torah about that? The wisdom of the poor man is despised ("the wisdom of the poor is despised"), or I found nothing better for the body than silence ("I have found nothing better for the body than silence"), not to mention acts of kindness upon which the world stands—all of these are maxims and insights that I could have learned from anywhere else, and in fact each of us also understands them on his own. After all, if I did not agree with them, I would not learn them even if they were written in Pirkei Avot or the book of Proverbs. At most I would engage in creative interpretation and fit them to my own insights. So why is the study of Proverbs or Pirkei Avot essentially different from the study of Dale Carnegie?

Bottom line: think what spiritual or moral lesson can be learned from Tanakh. I mean a lesson that we would not know without it. It is important to emphasize that some of these lessons and values were implanted in our culture and in world culture as a whole thanks to Tanakh. That is certainly true, and therefore it is clear that it had an important historical role in the moral and cultural development of our civilization. My question is what the situation is today. What value is there for me today in studying Tanakh? What can it newly contribute and offer to me, Miky Abraham, a man of the twenty-first century? I do not see many such lessons that can be learned from it, if any at all.

Tanakh in secular education

I have a great deal to say about the problem and the tendencies of the program, and about the failure at the base of this whole conceptual framework. What it is trying to do is basically empty Tanakh of its anachronistic contents, insert into it literature and philosophy that are more relevant, and thus it will become relevant. So why resort to Tanakh at all? Would it not be better to study the relevant sources themselves? What does the use of Tanakh add for us? And if the goal is to study it itself and for its own sake, that is precisely the problem. It is not really very interesting to anyone, and in my view it is not very important either.

And what about values? There too the situation is similar. In secular education, the phenomenon I described above is much sharper and clearer. The teachers will certainly teach the children the values that are already well known to them, only they will use Tanakh for that purpose. Will they teach from there the important value of being jealous and vengeful? Or perhaps of cutting off enemies' heads and sticking them on top of the wall? Or maybe of killing Sabbath violators or adulterers? All of these will undergo creative interpretation in the classroom (and sometimes justifiably), or be filtered out of the curriculum, or alternatively remain as an eternal exhibit of the folly and wickedness of the Holy One, blessed be He, and of Judaism. What will remain for the student after all this study? The values he believes in and is committed to anyway. So what did he learn from Tanakh?

And I have not yet touched on the greatest question of all: what is the meaning of high school studies in general, and Tanakh studies in particular? It was irrelevant and will remain so. What students learn in high school hardly affects their knowledge or what remains with them afterward. School is mainly a babysitter for the parents (after all, one must take care of our GDP), and nothing more. If a student knows something, it is despite school and not because of it. In school he only learns to hate the subjects taught there (I carry such scars with me to this very day. Cf. Agnon).[3] What practical difference does it make whether students yawn at program X or Y?

Among other things, we are told that the study will be experiential and deep, and that the mechanical memorization that accompanied Tanakh studies all these years will cease (we have been informed that the "workbooks" are being abolished. Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good ("give thanks to the Lord, for He is good")). This reminds me of a story from my own life. When I was a child ("when I was young"), when I taught mathematics at the yeshiva high school in Ramat Gan, I kept asking the students what they were studying in history. I asked them whether they had ever needed to think within that framework, or whether it was just memorization. One day I had a math class with them immediately after a history matriculation exam (or practice exam). The students came back, and again I asked them whether there had been thought questions there or only knowledge questions. They answered that of course there had been thought questions too. We had not yet finished speaking when one of them turned to another and asked him something like this (it was many years ago, so I no longer remember the details): "Tell me, what was the fourth of the five reasons for the outbreak of such-and-such war? I remembered the first three and the last one, but the fourth one slipped away from me. What a drag." That, of course, was the "thought question" on that exam, and The rest—go and learn ("go and infer the rest").

There is of course room to study Tanakh in a secular framework as part of the national ethos. So that when people speak to you about the Binding of Isaac, Amnon and Tamar, the poor man's ewe lamb, the bond to the land, and the like, you know what they are talking about. It is hard to become integrated into our culture and language without knowing who Abraham and Isaac were (yes, yes, Sarah and Rebecca too). But in truth that is not very significant in my eyes. Again, a matter of taste.

Tanakh in the religious world

Beyond the value mentioned above, the connection to the Jewish ethos, in the religious world Tanakh study also has the value of Torah study. This is a sacred text, the word of God and His prophets, and when one engages with it, this is a kind of connection to the Holy One, blessed be He. In fact, the value that may perhaps remain for students is the very use of Tanakh itself. And from this it follows that specifically in religious education there may perhaps be room to study all the things we would learn anyway (literature, history, philosophy), but to do so (usually less successfully) through Tanakh. Beyond the fact that some connection may be created to our historical and religious heritage, there is here the value of Torah study.

Beyond that, in the religious world there is also the value of studying the legal sections. Everything I said above is relevant to the narrative sections of Tanakh. The commandments and legal sections are of course intrinsically valuable. Without them I would not know that one must redeem a firstborn donkey, that it is forbidden to eat milk and blood, or that one must offer sacrifices and beware the impurity of creeping creatures, or the laws of one with crushed testicles (a man with crushed genitals). Jewish law is the only part of Tanakh (mainly in the Torah) whose value is self-evident. But that too, of course, is relevant only in a religious world.

The sanctity of content and wording

I will mention here again what I have already written in the past. Scripture is holy with the sanctity of the text and the book; its wording is sanctified in every letter and word, whereas the Oral Torah has no sanctity of wording and words, nor of the book, but only of content and ideas. A Talmud written in English is holy exactly like one in Aramaic, Swedish, or Hebrew. The main thing is the ideas, not the formulation. In the Torah, as we have seen, the ideas do not really exist (they are created mainly by the learner), and so it is no wonder that all that remains is the sanctity of the wording. This is a holy text and a holy book.

It is therefore no wonder that, in the language of Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin (Nefesh HaChayim, Gate 4, chapter 6), Scripture (in truth he is speaking mainly about the aggadic sayings of the Sages, but it seems to me the same applies to Scripture) is the word of the Lord ("the word of God"), whereas the Oral Torah is the will of the Lord ("the will of God"). Studying Scripture is Torah study, but its value, in my opinion, is limited. You are engaging with God's word in some qualitative sense; these are His utterances that came forth from His mouth. But you do not learn anything new from it (as I explained above), meaning that the ideas you extracted from the text are not His (God's, or really the text's) but yours. By contrast, in studying Jewish law in the Oral Torah (of course there is no full identity between the two, and this is not the place for that), there you learn new ideas that you would not have known beforehand. There you bend yourself before God's will and His commands.

One may say that Jewish law and the Oral Torah are sources of authority and not only sources of inspiration (see more on this below). You learn from them new understandings and ideas, which does not happen in the study of Scripture and aggadah. And that, in my opinion, is the main reason that yeshivot place emphasis on Talmud study in its legal sections and not on Scripture or aggadah. It is not only fear of inquiry and critical thinking, and not only the great difference in effort and intellectual depth, but mainly the spiritual and religious meaning of the study.

The renewed interest in Tanakh

If we return to the renewed interest that adults have found in Tanakh in recent years, I truly do not understand it. After all, one learns nothing there. Never in my life have I heard of a new idea that emerged from studying a Tanakh passage. There can of course be brilliant interpretive flashes that show us a link between interpretations, an interesting conceptual or historical connection, and so forth. But the idea or value itself is always trivial, known, and accepted by us in advance. And if it is not—then presumably we will reject the proposed interpretation and offer another creative interpretation that will fit our a priori insights. Unless, of course, we are persuaded; then we will adopt the new insight, but as stated, we will do so because we were persuaded and not because of Tanakh's authority. It was the trigger for discovering that insight, not the thing that really taught it to us. In that sense, Tanakh is not a source of authority. We will not accept a moral or value idea that is unacceptable to us by force of Tanakh's authority. On the contrary: precisely because of its authority, we will assume that obviously it does not say something so irrational or immoral, and therefore we will interpret it so that it does say something rational and moral.

My explanation for the awakening of interest in Tanakh is that people apparently very much enjoy studying themselves. That is pleasant and comfortable, much more so than laboring to crack a tangled Talmudic passage that seems (in most cases, mistakenly in my view) irrelevant and detached from us. Beyond that, how can one discuss various psychological and moral ideas just like that in the middle of life? It is better and more convenient to do so while studying some text. And if it is defined as Torah and as study of value, so much the better. Tanakh basically offers people a platform on which things can be discussed and ideas clarified. Let us read a passage, and each person will raise his thoughts and we will discuss them. There will be many interpretations, we will argue, discuss various insights, and arrive at conclusions. Not conclusions that we learned from the text, of course, but conclusions that will grow out of us. Much nicer and more pleasant than breaking your teeth on the Talmudic topics of migo le-hotzi or ḥanan. Here, without much work, anyone can express himself. You throw out one idea, the other person throws out another, and everyone enjoys it.

Tanakh as a source of inspiration or authority

In the secular and pluralistic study houses that have arisen in recent years, it is customary to say that Torah and Talmud and Tanakh are sources of inspiration for them and not sources of authority. They study them and choose what seems right to them and throw away the rest. No wonder they focus mainly on aggadah and stories and less on the legal sections. There there are novel things, and I assume most of them are not acceptable to them, so why study them?! But I specifically ask: why study what is acceptable to them? There nothing at all is renewed for them. Such a learner leaves the study exactly as he entered it. The insights he brought with him remain with him, and whatever does not fit them is discarded and interpreted otherwise.

I once told my students in Yerucham that the argument from which we learned something is only an argument in which we lost. An argument we won showed us that we had been right from the outset. We learned nothing new from it, and we emerged from it as we entered it. An argument in which we lost taught us that previously we had been mistaken and gave us a new insight. Of such an argument one can say that we learned. The same is true of study. There too, study has significance mainly when it changes what we think, or at least gives us a deeper understanding of our thoughts and insights. Study from which we emerge as we entered, with nothing in our thinking having changed, is not worth much.

As we have seen, even in the religious study hall Tanakh is basically a trigger for discussion and a source of inspiration, but certainly not a source of authority. In principle, one could do the same thing with any random text, so long as we come in advance with an orientation to do so. If we were prepared to discuss Chipopo and what happens in it seriously, that is, to discuss the moral and value insights that arise from it, I think we would arrive at the same things and the same conclusions (that is, exactly the insights with which we came to the study). Not to mention greater literary works (with apologies to Tamar Borenstein-Lazar). My claim is that in fact the study of Tanakh (I mean its non-legal parts) in a religious and secular study hall looks very similar. In both, it is a source of inspiration and not a source of authority. A trigger for clarifying what I myself think, and not a source that comes to teach me something new and change my positions.

Do positions not change as a result of study?

To conclude, let me make one more important remark. One might seemingly understand from my words that a person never changes his position as a result of studying Tanakh (or Hasidism). That is of course not factually true, and I am not claiming it. My claim is that even if this happens, it is only because the learner became convinced that he had been mistaken, and not because he submitted himself before Tanakh's authority. But that could also happen with Chipopo or Dostoevsky, or simply from contemplating a beautiful landscape, a cat (modesty from a cat ("modesty from a cat")), or a telephone pole. Tamar Borenstein-Lazar too can claim that One who rules his spirit is better than one who conquers a city ("better one who rules his spirit than one who captures a city"), and if I am convinced that she is right, I will change my position. Therefore, even if this happens to me while studying Tanakh, Tanakh is still a source of inspiration and not a source of authority. I do not learn from Tanakh but use it as a source of inspiration or a trigger for discussion, and it is the discussion that changed my position, if at all.

A solemn appeal and a challenge to readers

As a gesture to the Ministry of Education and its new program, and as an attempt honestly to examine the things I have said here, I would like to conclude by inviting the site's readers to convince me that there is nevertheless substantial value in studying Tanakh.

To do so, you should briefly propose here one new moral or spiritual idea (not a fact) that can be learned from Tanakh. Please point to the relevant passage, explain the idea, and explain the way it emerges from the verses.

Please do not bring a simple moral or human insight or value. Focus on ideas with which I am unlikely to agree in advance, and try to convince me that I am mistaken because it can be proven that this is what emerges from Tanakh. That is, focus on persuading me by virtue of Tanakh's authority (and not merely by showing me that it is reasonable, that is, by pointing out an error in my own judgment). In my understanding, only this can prove that there is substantial value in studying Tanakh—namely, that it can teach me something I would not know without it.

[1] These matters came up in my series on poetry (107-113) and in the posts on Hasidism that appeared before it (104-106), and even more so in the discussions in the comments there. There I briefly referred also to Tanakh, which in certain respects is similar to Hasidic texts. From it, as from them, it is difficult to learn anything new, as I shall explain again below.

[2] Incidentally, this is what he does in the sixth chapter of the Eight Chapters, when he contrasts the position of the philosophers—according to whom one who identifies with the values is superior to one who subdues his inclination—with the opposite position of the Sages. He does not reject the philosophers' position, but reconciles it with the Sages. And so in many other places in his writings.

[3] My late father took over the management of the technological high school run by Bar-Ilan University. He told me that in his assessment there was a serious problem there in the realm of Jewishness. I asked him what he intended to do about it, and he said that at the first stage he would cut the Talmud hours in half. To my astonishment, he explained that adding hours in a hated subject that is perceived as irrelevant does not help; it only harms. That is a very important lesson that I carry with me to this day. Increasing the study of a given field does not always help create a connection to it.