Al Reguel Ajat

The white marble of the Bet Hamikdash shone in a very special way. When we arrived at Mount Moriah, we noticed that the Temple was surrounded by a wall as if it were a fortress. We entered through one of its gates and passed through several courtyards with columns. We ascended a flight of steps and arrived at the Nicanor Gate, a huge bronze gate that required twenty men to open. That gate led us to the women’s courtyard and from there we went to the men’s courtyard, where half was reserved for us lay people and the other half for the Kohanim. To the right of the Courtyard of the Priests was the altar and the place for sacrificing animals. Around the courtyard there were several rooms: one where the Sanhedrin met, another where the Cohen Gadol lived during the week before Yom Kippur and others where the Kohanim bathed and groomed themselves. Above was the Hechal, a large, dark room where only the light of the Menorah illuminated it. From this room one passed to the most sacred place, the Kodesh Hakodashim, where only on Yom Kippur the High Priest, the Cohen Gadol, could enter.

We all prepared for the Great Day. We asked forgiveness from one another and fasted for our transgressions. But the one who prepared the most was the Cohen Gadol. It took him seven days to do so. He went over all the rituals and Torah readings that he would do on Yom Kippur. He had to do it perfectly. If he made a mistake, another priest was ready to replace him.

When the Great Day came, the Cohen Gadol bathed several times. Then he dressed in golden clothes. It was quite a sight to see: he looked like a shining sun. He lit the incense and arranged the lights of the Menorah. Then he washed and changed his clothes again. His clothes were now white linen of great simplicity. A young bull was ready for the first sacrifice. The High Priest proceeded to sacrifice it and say the appropriate blessings.

Then he went to where the two goats were. He took out two gold tablets, one reading “For God” and the other reading “For Azazel.” He turned them over and the fate of the goats was sealed: one would be sacrificed for God and the other would be the scapegoat. The people awaited the ritual by which all their sins would be placed on the animal. Then it was taken away to be lost in the desert.

After the sacrifices, the High Priest prepared the incense, took off his sandals and entered the Kodesh Hakodashim, where he prayed for a long time for a good year for his people. The people were relieved when they saw him leave. They feared for his life. The service ended when the High Priest took out the Torah scrolls and read the parts that speak of Yom Kippur (Vaykra 16). He then recited other verses from the Torah from memory and finished with the eight traditional blessings.

This was the Yom Kippur ritual in the time of the Bet Hamikdash, certainly different in form from what we do today, but with the same foundation of our ancient values.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: The Jewish Festivals, History and Tradition by Hayyim Schauss and The Torah, A Modern Commentary edited by W. Gunther Plaut.

It is written in Vaykra 23.24: “Speak to the Children of Israel and say to them: In the seventh month, on the first day of the month, you shall have a day of rest, a sacred occasion which you shall commemorate with trumpets.” Also in Bamidvar 29.1 it says: “In the seventh month, on the first day of the month, you shall observe a sacred occasion: you shall not work in your occupations. You shall observe it as the day on which the horn is blown (Yom Teruah).”

The first thing that is interesting to note is that the term Rosh Hashana is not used in the Torah, so it seems that in biblical times they did not celebrate a holiday with that name. What they celebrated at that time was the Feast of Harvest, which had rituals that are now associated with Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur and Sukkot. In Shmot 23.16 it says: “You must observe… the Feast of Harvest (Hag Haasif) at the end of the year,…” referring to the end of the harvest and the beginning of a new agricultural cycle.

The celebration of Rosh Hashana as an independent holiday began after the Babylonian Exile. It was in the time after the destruction of the Second Temple, in the writings of the Tanaim, that a group of sages of the Talmudic era used the term Rosh Hashana. Thus, the autumn festival was divided into three separate festivals: Rosh Hashana on the first day, Yom Kippur on the tenth day, and Sukkot on the fifteenth of the month of Tishrei.

It is in the Mishnah, compiled in the second century of our era, where Rosh Hashana is spoken of as the day on which God judges men (Rosh Hashanah 1:2) and in the Gemarah, completed in the fifth century, the subject is expanded. Since the Torah states that the shofar must be blown on that day, the sages included the story of the Sacrifice of Isaac to be read on that day, because of the connection with the ram and its horns entangled in the bush, which Abraham uses to replace Isaac in the sacrifice.

From that time on, the New Year began to be celebrated in synagogues, by blowing the Shofar and praying. The prayer began to be led by several people, one leading Shacharit and another the additional Musaf prayer. Over time, more parts were added to the prayer, such as the Piyut part, a liturgical poem from the Middle Ages.

The structure of Rosh Hashana has remained more or less the same as it was celebrated in the time of the Talmud, although over time new readings and rituals of great beauty have been added, the result of the creativity of the Jewish People over the centuries. But all this does not explain why the Jewish New Year begins in the seventh month.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: The Jewish Festivals, History and Tradition by Hayyim Schauss.

When a Jewish baby is born or when a boy or girl reaches the age of bar or bat mitzvah, the desire of the people is that he or she arrives at a life of Torah, of Chuppah and of Maasim Tovim. Chuppah means the canopy used in the wedding ceremony and Maasim Tovim means good deeds. But arriving at a life of Torah means, among other things, arriving at a life of study.

According to Jewish tradition, God gave the Torah to the children of Israel at Mount Sinai, as a source of blessings and life. In other words, God, when giving the Torah to the Jews, seemed to say to them: “Here, take this book home and tell me what you think of it.” And ever since then, they have been reading and studying it and telling God and themselves what they think His Book is. These comments appear in many places: in the Talmud and in the sermons of the rabbis, in works of fiction and nonfiction, but especially in any conversation between two or more Jews studying Torah together.

Judaism’s special way of studying Torah is through the method of “Midrash,” a word that in Hebrew means to seek, investigate, or even demand. Midrash transforms reading into an imaginative yet disciplined search for Revelation, typified by a passion that is at once personal and collective, scholarly and creative, arduous and fun.

Torah study is firmly grounded in human relationships. The Talmud especially discourages solitary study, and the rabbis advise “to get yourself a teacher and a study partner” and “to form groups for the purpose of study, since Torah can only be acquired in a group.” The real secret of Jewish survival is these constant conversations within these groups, which have been going on for three and a half thousand years.

These conversations have always been endless debates. Those who seek a simple catechism of faith to memorize must be confused and disappointed with the way Jewish pedagogy is dialectical and argumentative. Being Jewish means immersing oneself in the give and take that is Talmudic argument. And the only way to master this art of interpreting the Torah is through continuous study. Indeed, we were born, among other things, to study.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Choosing a Jewish Life by Anita Diamant.

The Jewish people have never believed themselves to be the possessors of the only true faith or to have the exclusive path to reach God, and for this reason Judaism is not a proselytizing religion; there are no Jewish missionaries seeking to convert people of other religions to Judaism. Since our rabbis teach us that all the righteous among the nations could reach the “world to come,” there was no need to save the souls of those who are not Jews, since their own religions can give them access to God.

Abraham Joshua Heschel says that “the idea of ​​the chosen people does not suggest a preference of God that implies discrimination towards other peoples. It does not mean that the Jewish people have a special quality that distinguishes them, but rather what they have is a special relationship with God.”

Rabbinic tradition does not connect the idea of ​​the chosen people with a feeling of superiority; On the contrary, the rabbis believed that God had imposed far more severe responsibilities on the Jews than on other peoples of the world, simply by giving them the Torah.

Today the phrase “chosen people” is linked to its complement of being “the people who chooses.” This is not a modern idea. According to the Midrash, (Mechilta Vachodesh 5) the Hebrews were not even God’s first choice to give the Torah. God went to other nations first, asking them if they would be willing to accept the divine covenant. But the other nations found the implications of that covenant too arduous. When He comes to the Hebrews, they reply (Shmot 24:7) Naase venishmah, we will do and we will listen. But still, the Midrash tells us that God was hesitant to give His Torah to the people of Israel and asks them for a guarantor to guarantee that they will observe His commandments. Israel offers its Patriarchs and Prophets, including heaven and earth, but God does not believe that all of that is enough. So the Israelites offer their children as collateral, even those who were not born, and now God agrees to give them the Torah. (Midrash Aseret Hadivrot 68).

Jewish tradition tells us of a relationship between God and the children of Israel that, like a coin, has two sides. That relationship of choosing and being chosen was the divine way for the Torah to reach man. That is why we were chosen.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Choosing a Jewish Life by Anita Diamant.

Para Gabriel.

Our tradition recognizes that often the way we relate to faith is not always rational but emotional. For example, a breathless look at nature or an unexpected act of kindness that touches us in a profound way, represent those moments of spirituality that fill our soul.

Sometimes it is the birth of a child. A child emerges into the world and despite the presence of nurses, doctors, machines, family members and all the elements that intervene in a modern birth, we know deep down that we are witnessing a miracle. We look at our child and recognize that all the biology books in the world cannot explain this new beginning. We hold in our arms not simply another person, but a being with infinite value and enormous potential. We hold a part of ourselves and know that if we are lucky, this part of us will outlive us. Suddenly, we have a little piece of immortality. And we ask ourselves: Who will remember us? How will he remember us?

The question “Do you believe in God?” is not a central question in Judaism. Not that one cannot ask it. But Judaism puts the emphasis on another point, not so much on believing but on having faith. It is not so much about proving the existence of God, but on feeling the presence of God. Not so much on philosophical arguments about God but, as the great philosopher and rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel said, on experiencing those moments of “awe and wonder,” moments where God suddenly seems to be very close.

Judaism does not seek certainty in our effort to know God. What it seeks is that closeness to God that gives us refuge, it is that feeling of the Divine presence, it is a glimpse of God’s love. The path to finding God is not an easy path, nor is it predictable and certainly not without obstacles, but it is open to all, to those who believe and to those who do not.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: God was not in the fire, the search for a spiritual Judaism by Rabbi Daniel Gordis.

When Moses and the Hebrew people leave Egypt and wander for forty years on their way to the Promised Land, the Torah calls them “The Children of Israel.” Why the children of Israel? Why not the children of Abraham or the children of Moses, the liberator of the slaves? Why did tradition choose to call them “children of Israel?”

In the biblical account, God changed Jacob’s name to Israel, as Breishit 32:24-29 describes: “So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until the break of day. And when the man saw that he could not overcome him, he touched the hollow of Jacob’s thigh, and Jacob’s thigh went out of joint as he wrestled with him. And he said, “Leave me alone, for the break of day is breaking.” And Jacob said to him, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” And the man said to him, “What is your name?” And he said to him, “Jacob.” And the man said to him, “Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel; for you have struggled with God and with men, and have prevailed.”

The word Israel in Hebrew means “to wrestle with God.” Why call the Hebrews the children of Israel, the one who wrestled with God? With this, tradition suggests that to be truly descended from Israel, modern Jews must not assume that tradition demands submissive obedience. On the contrary, the name of the Jewish people comes from an ancestor who wrestled with God while on the road. Struggling on a journey is what the term “odyssey” means.

The importance of “struggling” is present in the life of the Jewish people from its beginnings. Forty years to cross a desert that anyone would have done in much less time is a clear example. What is the message? That the value is in the effort, in the struggle to arrive. The Torah is teaching us that the path to Judaism is one of effort and struggle. To imagine Judaism as something perfectly packaged and happily perennial, is to trivialize it. Nothing important in our own lives has come easy. Everything that has given us deep satisfaction has come through hard work and effort. Why should our own Judaism be any different?

True Judaism involves a passionate struggle and an honest search. It is about beginning that journey towards the Promised Land. It was started by the patriarch Abraham when God told him Lech Lecha, leave your house, and in the Torah it is continued by Moses with the departure from Egypt. Our tradition suggests that we are a people in constant search of the Promised Land, knowing that the most enriching part of our lives is the process of searching and not the joy of having reached the goal. The Gaon of Vilna, one of our great rabbis, was once asked if an angel were to come to reveal to him all the divine truth, would he accept it? He answered no, because life has more meaning and is richer if one has to fight for that truth on one’s own. Being human is perpetually asking questions, knowing that we will never be totally satisfied with the answer. Being Jewish involves striving to understand our place in the world, working to become more whole beings, and recognizing that the struggle to achieve it is more important than the final result. That is why we are the “Children of Israel, the fighters with God.”

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: God was not in the fire, the search for a spiritual Judaism by Rabbi Daniel Gordis.

Although the mitzvoth come literally from the Torah, studying the Bible alone does not help us much to understand them. For example, three times we find it written in the Torah: «You shall not cook a goat in its mother’s milk» (Shemot 23:19 and 34:26 and Devarim 14:21). What did God mean? Our sages interpreted the divine words, and their comments led us to the laws of kashrut that imply the separation of meat dishes from milk dishes. And the law applies to all types of meat: beef, goat and poultry, and in relation to milk, they do not refer only to the mother’s milk but also to that of other mammals. And they clarify: the precept of separating meat from milk is not exclusively in the pot where it is cooked, but in all dishes, and they teach us that we must try to have two sets of dishes, one for meat and the other for milk. How did all these rules developed, in many cases filling many volumes, just from such a simple phrase?

The task of interpreting and commenting on the word of God is where the essence of Judaism is found. And in this task, we can perceive a humanizing tendency in the way in which the Jewish people read and apply the sacred texts. For example, the Torah contemplates the death penalty for some transgressions, but the procedure established by the rabbis in the Talmud makes it almost impossible to carry it out.

There are several origins of the precepts (Halacha) that govern the practice of Judaism: We have first of all the commandments of the Torah. Secondly, the acts of rabbinical authorities called Ma aseh that came to have the character of law. Third, the Midrashim, understood as the interpretation of verses of the Torah, and which gave rise to many precepts. Fourth, the custom, Minhag, practices that developed over time, which were independent of the Scriptures and which the sages gave the status of obligatory. Fifth, the Takanot, edicts promulgated by the rabbis caused by social conditions, such as that of Rabeinu Gershom who prohibited polygamy. And finally, sixth, the jurisprudence, Hora’ah, instructions ordered by the Supreme Rabbinical Court, also with the force of law.

The process of forming the Halacha began at Mount Sinai, continues to this day and apparently will continue forever. Man’s circumstances are changing and Judaism adapts to them. Some currents within Judaism believe that this process can be stopped and even reversed, but they do not realize that this has been done since time immemorial and will continue to be done. It is a kind of Darwinian evolution of religious precepts, where the most solid are those that will endure over time. The question is: do we want dinosaurs or eagles?

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: An introduction to the history and sources of Jewish Law, edited by N.S. Hecht and others. And Settings of Silver, an Introduction to Judaism by Stephen M. Wylen.

The Hebrew term for what we call “praying” in English is Tefila. This word is derived from the Hebrew root “fei, lamed, lamed,” which means “to judge,” or “to intercede on someone’s behalf,” or “to have hope.” Therefore, tefila implies judging ourselves, or interceding on our behalf before God, or expressing our feeling of hope that something will change for the better.

Jewish liturgy is based on three types of prayers: prayers to thank God, prayers to praise God, and prayers to ask God for something. Although each type has a different purpose, the content is similar and consistently reflects the understanding of Judaism held by our sages.

There are several examples of spontaneous prayers in the Bible. For example, Hannah prayed to God to be able to have a son, and her request was granted with the birth of Samuel. But in biblical times, sacrifices were the accepted way to relate to God. With the destruction of the first Temple and the exile to Babylon, Jews in the diaspora developed alternative rituals to sacrifices, since they could not perform them in Babylon. Studying the Torah was one of them.

Many of the first prayers were psalms, hymns or poems taken from the Bible that were accompanied by music. The first prayer to be written down was the Amidah, followed later by the Shemah. Biblical passages were added over time. A frame of reference for prayers existed in Talmudic times and they were prayed from memory.

The order of the prayers was finally fixed only in the 9th century, when the traditional prayer book appeared, the “Sidur” which means order, of which there are many versions. The earliest known is the Seder of Rav Amram Gaon from around 850. The first printed siddur appeared in Europe in 1485.

The prayer book contains prayers written in all different periods of Jewish history. It is an anthology of Jewish literary creativity. There are selections from the Bible, the Talmud, the Midrashim, the writings of Maimonides (the Ygdal) and the Kabbalah (Lejah Dodi). There are medieval prayers such as the Unetaneh Tokef and contemporary prayers such as the prayer for the welfare of the State of Israel and the country in which one resides. It is a treasure and a compendium of Jewish beliefs and is constantly evolving to be able to express those beliefs in the language of each generation.

Praying in Judaism is more than just an expression of our faith. It gives us a sense of belonging to a community and affirms our Judaism in a social context. Being in the synagogue with others who share our beliefs is often more important than the meaning of the words we say when we pray.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: “What do Jews Believe? by David S. Ariel.

It is written in the Talmud, in Menahot 29b: “Rav Judah said in the name of Rab: At the time when Moses ascended to heaven, he found the Kadosh Baruchhu (God) sitting and placing crowns on the letters (of the Torah). And he said to him: Teacher of the world, what is holding back your hand? And God answered him: There will be a man who will come at the end of several generations with the name of Akiva ben Yosef who will investigate every point and every form of the letters (of the Torah) and will bring forth mountains and mountains of laws (halachot). Moses said to God: “Teacher of the world, teach me” and God said to him: Turn around. And Moses went and sat in the eighth row (of Akiva’s academy) and could not understand what was being said. His strength failed him. When they reached a certain point, the students said to him: Rabbi (Akiva), how do you know this? He replied: It is the Law of Moses from Sinai. This calmed his mind. Moses returned to God and said: With a man like this, you chose me to give us the Torah? God replied: Silence. That is how I thought it.”

This is the basis of the development of the oral tradition of Judaism. When Moses asked God why He continued to work on His Torah, God replied that Rabbi Akiva, one of the leaders of the tradition in the second century, was going to decipher these ornaments and discover new laws and interpretations in them. This explanation arouses Moses’ curiosity and he is transported twelve centuries ahead to Akiva’s academy.

Moses is confused by his lack of familiarity with rabbinical law, or rather, with the rabbinical interpretation of the Law of Moses, and his uneasiness makes him feel alien to the very Judaism that he founded. His mind is put at ease when he learns that the rabbis attribute the origin of their laws to him. Although this comforts him, he seems to have no idea how this works.

This legend is a masterpiece in the world of rabbinical explanation of how our laws and traditions can be innovated without violating what is written in the Torah. The rabbis made the belief in the divine origin of the Torah elastic enough to allow innovation but at the same time rigid enough to prohibit radical departures from the original text. They claimed, paradoxically, that they were not introducing anything new, since their laws were inherent to the written Torah, while at the same time accepting that their system of interpretation would be difficult to understand, even for someone like Moses himself.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: “What do Jews Believe? by David S. Ariel.

The rabbis of the Talmudic era asked themselves: Why did God create only one Adam? Why not several? Some said it was to highlight the value of the individual. Others to emphasize that all men are equal, since they all come from the same ancestor, Adam, the father of humanity.

One man was created to teach us that if someone takes the life of a single person, say our sages, it is as if he were destroying the entire world, but if one person saves the life of another, it is as if he were saving the entire world. Also the creation of one man is intended for peaceful coexistence among men, since none can say: “my father is greater or better than yours.”

A man can die-cut many coins using the same mold and all the coins will be identical. But God conceives each human being using the first man as a “mold” and yet they are all different from each other. As if the entire universe was created for him.

The rabbis conclude that the creation of the human being is the true purpose of creation itself. There is no other being, other than man himself, who can perfect or destroy the world. Human beings must be aware that we have dominion over the earth and of the consequences that this fact implies. There is no one else who can clean up what man messes up. The Midrash tells us: When God created Adam, He took him and showed him the trees of the Garden of Eden and said to him: “How beautiful and splendid is my work. Everything I have created, I have created for you. Take care of it and do not corrupt yourself and destroy my world. Because if you corrupt yourself, there will be no one else who can repair it.”

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: “What do Jews Believe? by David S. Ariel.