A Rock for a Rock

by Eliezer Segal

News Item: 1989 — Outbreak of a prolonged Palestinian uprising, the “Intifada,” in territories occupied by Israel.

In reading the troubling reports of the current developments in the Israeli occupied territories one naturally tries to imagine oneself in the boots of the soldiers who are thrown into such a situation. After being trained in the doctrine of “purity of arms”–which forbids the use of force against civilian or other non-military targets–Israeli soldiers suddenly find themselves today outnumbered by violent throngs of stone-throwing women and children. To complicate the situation, the soldiers are conscious that any overreaction will be eagerly taken up by the international news media. Yet a second’s delay by the soldier in responding might result in serious injury.

In short, it is not an enviable situation.

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An Infallible Aim

Pondering all this, I am reminded of some events that took place during my own basic training in the Israeli army several years ago.

In accordance with the normal policy regarding draftees whose number comes up when they are older than the normal draft age, I was assigned to a “Stage 2” unit. There we were given four months of standard G.I. combat training (in my case, for the Engineering Corps) without the usual full three years of regular service.

The “Stage 2” units consist mostly of immigrants and can serve as a reliable index of the status of aliyah at any given point in time. Our unit had representatives from 21 different countries.

Our first actual mission (during Hanukkah 1983) involved patrolling in a refugee camp near Bethlehem (a frustrating fifteen-minute drive from my house). Much of our job consisted of marching through the alleys waiting for someone to fling a rock so that we could chase after them. We never caught anybody.

Whoever was not on patrol had to find ways to keep busy. Popular pastimes included housekeeping, endless rounds of “Trivial Pursuit,” and a circulating copy of Playboy supplied by somebody’s considerate wife.

One evening when I returned from patrol I noticed that some of the fellows had set up some tin cans on a rock wall and were competing at trying to knock them down with stones. The game quickly lost its interest when it became clear that one of our soldiers had an infallible aim. He just never missed.This sharp-eyed stone-thrower was named Moshe Desta. He was one of two Ethiopian Jews in our outfit (we also had one non-Jewish Ethiopian). This was several months before the public revelation of “Operation Moses,” the mass transportation of thousands of Ethiopian Jews to Israel. Before coming to Israel, Desta had been a shepherd and had used his skills to chase away threatening predators and to hunt the occasional bird.

Desta’s distinctive expertise became evident again at a later stage in our training when we were stationed “Somewhere in the Judean Wilderness” practising at using mine-detectors. This was the sort of exercise that only a few can undertake at a time, while the rest stand idly by. Desta employed some leisure moments by taking a stray piece of rope braiding it in a special way, placing a stone in it, and hurling it as a sling at various targets.

As expected, his accuracy was still infallible.

This aroused the interest of our commanding officer, who started asking him some very specific questions about the extent of his abilities. Desta replied as best he could, with his infectious and proverbial grin. (Our standard instructions when going out on night patrol were to remove all shiny objects so that “nothing should be visible except Desta’s smile”).

Desta showed our commanding officer how to tie together a sling. He showed him how to swing it so that it made a swooshing sound. He showed him how to turn off the sound.

The CO joked that this would be a great way to throw grenades. Desta replied with a perfectly straight face that in the Ethiopian army, that was how they three grenades!

The CO could not control himself any longer. He ordered a quick halt to the mine-detector practice and started issuing strands of rope. Everybody was to gather an arsenal of appropriately sized stones and we went off to the “stone-firing range” for target practice.

Needless to say, none of us came close to Desta’s achievements, but some (not I, to be sure) did demonstrate some potential.

At the time, I wondered idly whether we might in fact be seeing the beginnings of a turning-point in Israeli military doctrine: the founding of a “Rock Corps.” Could it be that under the leadership of a new generation of Ethiopian shepherds, this “Rock Corps” might present an appropriate response to challenges hurled by opponents in Gaza, the West Bank or Me’ah She’arim?

As the years have elapsed and no such Corps has been formed by the Israel Defence Forces, I still cannot help wondering occasionally how such a special military force would be accepted by the shapers of world opinion.

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My email address is: [email protected]

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Biblical Text on Abortion

by Eliezer Segal

Jews who are exposed to the public debate over abortion laws (and who can avoid it today?) tend to find themselves somewhat surprised at the degree of certainty with which some of the parties, notably the Roman Catholics and Protestant fundamentalists, are able to express themselves.

This tone is in marked contrast to the statements of our own rabbis who often hesitate to speak in generalizations, preferring to emphasize the complexity of the considerations in Jewish law. This, by the way, has not been the tenor of the debate conducted in Israel, where the question–like many other religious issues (autopsies are another example)–has become politicized, forcing many Rabbis into one-sided public statements.

While I do not wish to propose a normative Jewish position on the subject, I would like to examine one aspect of this debate, namely the use of biblical sources by Jews and Christians in support of their respective positions.

Let me begin by singling out one of the principal points of contention: Whatever their position concerning the permissibility of abortion, virtually all Jewish authorities would agree that abortion is not to be legally classified as murder.

This thesis seems to be spelled out quite clearly in the Torah. Thus, in Exodus 21:22-23 we read, “If men strive and hurt a woman with child so that her fruit depart from her, and yet no mischief follow, he shall be surely punished, according as the woman’s husband will lay upon him; and he shall pay as the judges determine. And if any mischief follow, then thou shalt give life for life.”

The text (presented here according to the non-Jewish King James translation) makes it clear that the causing of a miscarriage where it does not involve the death of the mother (“mischief”) is not to be treated as a capital offence; nor even as manslaughter, for which an entirely different procedure would be invoked, involving the exile of the culprit to a “city of refuge.” Rather it is perceived as a civil offence involving nothing more than a monetary compensation to the husband.

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Translations Differ

So given the fact that Christians accept the same Bible as we do, how can some of them argue with such certainty that the Bible regards abortion as murder?

The answer to this question involves a little-appreciated fact, namely, that the Christian Bible is not always identical to the accepted Jewish one.

In this particular instance the text used by the Roman Catholic church is actually based on a different reading of the text, as found in the earliest Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible, the Septuagint. This translation was prepared in the Egyptian city of Alexandria in the 3rd century B.C.E.Though incorporating much authentic Jewish interpretation and referred to with reverence in Talmudic literature, the Rabbis came to realize that this translation had come to differ to a considerable extent from the Judaism that was developing in the Land of Israel. The Septuagint was eventually abandoned by the Jews in favour of other translations into Greek and Aramaic that were more in keeping with what had become the Jewish “orthodoxy.”

The Jewish abandoning of the Septuagint was also facilitated by the fact that it was by then the “official” version of the nascent Christian church.

The Biblical passage in question is rendered in the Septuagint as follows: “…if there is no form, then he shall be fined…but if it has a form, then you shall give life for life.”

According to this reading, the verse deals only with the fate of the fetus and is concerned with distinguishing between an undeveloped and developed fetus, a distinction that is recognized by halachah and, for that matter, by the old Canadian law. It establishes that the penalty “life for life” is to be inflicted upon one who destroys a developed fetus.

This version of the passage became the source for the subsequent Roman Catholic positions on the subject–though it does not quite help us to explain similar statements made by Protestant groups who do not accept the Septuagint tradition. These latter groups generally base their positions not so much on specific Biblical texts as on broader positions vis à vis permissiveness or the family.

Those Protestant theologians who do take the Exodus passage into account relate to it in a number of different ways. In a 1969 symposium on the subject of abortion, several participants used the verse to justify liberal positions–including at least one who, during the course of the conference, became persuaded by it to alter his previously held “pro-life” views.

Other participants resorted to alternative interpretations, construing the word “mischief” to refer to the fate of the fetus as well as of the mother (this was cited in the name of the distinguished Jewish Biblical scholar Umberto Cassuto).

Still others argued that on this point, the text, like much of Biblical law, was to be superseded by other quotations in both the “Old Testament” and Christian scriptures that seem to refer poetically to the existence of souls before birth.

A favourite citation of this sort is Jeremiah 1:5: “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you for my own.” Taken literally this verse could extend the life-span of the fetus to before conception!

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Dead Sea Scrolls

All this should not make us forget that the Septuagint is in fact a Jewish translation, and reflects traditions that were once held by Jews, whether in the Land of Israel or in Alexandria.

The discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls had greatly increased our knowledge of the range of views that were current at the time. The authors of these writings also took a very rigid approach to the status of the fetus. For example, Leviticus 22:28 prohibits the slaughtering of an animal and its young on the same day. The “Temple Scroll,” one of the most important sources of our knowledge of the Dead Sea sect’s laws (published for the first time in 1978) perceived this as a prohibition against slaughtering pregnant animals, a prohibition which does not exist in rabbinic law.

It is of the essence of religious differences that they can rarely be discussed in simplistic terms of right and wrong. If we trace an issue far enough, we often find that it rests upon unprovable axioms of faith or accepted tradition.

In this particular instance, we might suitably adapt the well-known observation of George Bernard Shaw and recognize the extent to which Judaism and Christianity are separated by their common Bible.

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My email address is: [email protected]

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The Islamic “Yom Kippur”

by Eliezer Segal

While political events tend to emphasize the divisions between Jews and Muslims, for students of the Islamic past it is the uncanny similarities between the two religious traditions that continually arouse one’s amazement. The resemblances extend to many areas of ritual and observance.

Muhammad, the founder of the Islamic faith, was in close contact with the affluent and influential Jewish tribes of Arabia (among whom were to be found the ancestors of today’s Yemenite Jews) who probably accounted for the majority of the population of al-Madinah, the first Islamic community.

Much Jewish teaching was incorporated into Muhammad’s message, and he in turn directed much of his preaching to the Jews, in hope that they would accept him as a true prophet. Almost all of the names used to designate the principal observances of Islam derive from Hebrew or Aramaic terms that were in common use among the Jews.

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Fast of Ramadan

Many are aware that Muslims devote an entire month—that of Ramadan—to a fast that extends through the daylight hours, coinciding with the revelation of the Koran, the sacred scripture of Islam. The fast is known as the sawm (identical to the Hebrew word for a fast, tzom). Less widely known is the fact that the institution of Ramadan took the place of an earlier practice, a single-day (24 hour) fast known in Arabic as the Ashura.

Islamic tradition bases this custom on a reference in the Koran (2:183-187) to keeping “the fast as it was prescribed for those before you”. Muslim tradition explains that “those before you” were the Jews, and that Muhammad in this passage was commanding that his followers adopt the Jewish custom of fasting on the Day of Atonement.

The Arabic word Ashura is none other than the Hebrew word Asor, the tenth, the term used in the Bible (Leviticus 16:29, etc.) to designate the date of the holiday (the tenth day of the seventh month).

The origin of this precept is described in the Muslim “oral tradition” (Hadith) as collected by the noted 9th century authority, Al-Bukhari:

When the Prophet came to al-Madinah he found that the Jews observed the fast of Ashura. He enquired about this and was told that it was the day on which God had delivered the Children of Israel from the enemy and Moses used to keep a fast on it as an expression of gratitude to the Almighty. The Prophet thereupon remarked that “Moses has a greater claim upon me than upon you,” and he fasted on that day and instructed his followers to do the same.

The reference to the deliverance from “the enemy” is puzzling. In other versions of this tradition, the event it is explicitly identified as the drowning of Pharaoh’s armies in the Red Sea. This does not seem to correspond with any Jewish traditions about the significance of Yom Kippur.

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Joy of Yom Kippur

Muslim interpreters were further puzzled by other traditions which depicted the Jewish holiday in question as a joyous festival, in which women were accustomed to dress up in ornamental finery. This did not seem to agree with the Biblical portrayal of a solemn day devoted to contrite prayers for the atonement of sins.

Some Islamic scholars were consequently moved to reject the traditional identification, and apply it to Passover. Such an identification was made more likely by the dual system used for enumerating the Jewish months, according to which the month that had originally been counted the first (Nisan) came later to be regarded as the seventh. The fact is, however, that the older Islamic traditions do appear accurate. For in a way that non-Jews often have difficulty appreciating, the Jewish mood on Yom Kippur has always been one of joy and good spirits, precisely because of the confidence that God has indeed forgiven our sins and we may joyfully begin life anew with a clean slate.

The Mishnah (end of Ta’anit) describes this atmosphere vividly: “Israel knew no days as joyous as…the Day of Atonement, in which the daughters of Jerusalem would go out in…white garments and dance in the vineyards…”

As to the question of the supposed victory over Moses’ enemy on Yom Kippur, it seems clear that the original reference was not to Pharaoh or any mortal foe of the Jews, but rather to Satan (the Hebrew term literally translates as “the Antagonist”). This accords with the traditional Jewish identification of Yom Kippur as the day on which Moses finally concluded the 40 days of prayer and pleading with God to forgive the Israelites for the sin of worshipping the golden calf.

According to the Midrash, it was on Yom Kippur that God finally announced (against the counter-arguments proposed by Satan) that Moses was allowed to present the people with the second tablets of the Law. This story was well known to Muhammad, and alluded to elsewhere in the Koran.

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Jewish Roots

There are a number of other instances in the development of Islamic ritual, in which Muhammad is reported to have ordered a shift away from an earlier practice which had been identical with the Jewish observance.

Such changes have normally been attributed to Muhammad’s frustration at the fact that the Jews did not ultimately come to accept him as a prophet. Thus, for instance, he originally ordered that his followers pray three times a day and in the direction of Jerusalem–like the Jews–but later altered it to five times, and towards Mecca.

In the case of the Ashura, however, the story is somewhat different. While Muhammad did indeed replace it with the fast of Ramadan, he did not altogether abolish the former custom, and pious Muslims, especially among the Shiites (for whom the date has other historical associations), are still encouraged to observe the tenth day of the month Muharram as a voluntary fast, “to atone for the sins of the coming years.”

The last ten days of Ramadan (termed I’tikaf) have a special status, and have been traced by some scholars to the custom of some pious Jews of fasting throughout the “ten days of penitence” between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

Medieval tradition recommends that pious Muslims also fast on Mondays and Thursdays, another custom that has venerable Jewish roots. Some scholars have even suggested that the idea of fasting for an entire month also has its root in the Jewish custom of observing the whole month of Elul as a penitential period. The association with the revelation of the Koran also parallels the Jewish identification of Yom Kippur with Moses’ giving of the second set of tablets.

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My email address is: [email protected]

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Judaism’s Democratic Tendency

by Eliezer Segal

[1988:] Whether we look to Canada, the United States, or Israel, the air is filled with election campaigning.

At first glance, this might appear like an entirely modern, Western phenomenon. Anti-democratic forces in Israel have even argued that the idea of democracy is inherently opposed to Judaism. The familiar political structure of ancient Judaism was generally monarchical, or even “theocratic,” a term originally coined by the First Century Jewish historian Josephus Flavius to describe the priestly-dominated government of the Second Temple era.

Actually, even though as influential an individual as Maimonides asserts that the Torah commands us to appoint a king, the biblical sources (e.g. Deut. 17:24-20; I Samuel 8) are ambivalent about the subject. The talmudic rabbis, moreover, were far from certain that the Torah viewed monarchy as an ideal political structure.

It has been argued that Judaism does not actually recommend any particular political system. Provided that the leadership is guided by suitable religious and moral ideals, Jewish tradition has sanctioned a number of different political models.

A Jewish City-State

Among the most venerable of the Jewish political structures is the kehillah (community), a town-centered institution whose roots date back to the beginnings of the Second Temple era.

Talmudic sources describe the extensive authority exercised by the kehillah, and by its constituent members, the citizens or “b’nei ha’ir“, in such areas as the allocation of funds for welfare, education and defence, as well as the supervision of weights, measures and prices, the fixing of salaries, and more.

Some historians have argued that the kehillah originated as a Jewish response to the Hellenistic ideal of the polis, or city-state, which was the dominant expression of Greek culture in antiquity. Jews, at once accommodating themselves to the prevalent world-order and reacting to its pagan character, produced their own counterpart which, typically, outlived all the Greek-style cities.

In enumerating the far-reaching responsibilities of the kehillah, the Talmud refers only to the “citizens,” meaning adult male residents–never to the king, Patriarch (Nasi) or even to the rabbinic court. In general, subsequent Jewish tradition has accepted these guide-lines at face value and, with certain qualifications, assigned legislative and executive authority to the town’s lay citizenry.

Though the Talmud speaks at greater length of authoritarian structures involving rabbinical courts, a Nasi, and a king (to which it is often hostile), it is clear that in reality it was the local communities which constituted the dominant form of government. The relative silence regarding the kehillah has been attributed to the fact that the Mishnah and Babylonian Talmud were edited at times when there was a strong (but unsuccessful) move towards centralized authority.

Nonetheless, it is evident that in Eretz Yisrael throughout the talmudic period and afterwards, and in Spain, Italy and Germany thereafter, the democratic communal tradition continued to thrive, long after the Roman Empire had become feudalized and the centralized rule of the Babylonian yeshivot had declined.

Characteristic of the authority entrusted to the kehillah is the fact that various privileges which the Talmud allotted only to official religious courts were transferred by medieval scholars to the lay community leaders. Accordingly the community was assigned absolute control over its citizens’ property, an authority which the Talmudic sources restricted to the recognized Rabbinical courts.

Majority Rule

Basing himself on this analogy, the renowned 13th century Spanish talmudist Rabbi Solomon Ibn Adret (Rashba) summarized the principle that communities should be governed by majority rule:

As regards the decisions of the people of a specific locality, the law is that whenever the majority agree to enact a law, and accept this law, we pay no attention to individual opinions, since the relation of the majority in each town to the individuals of the community is equivalent to the relationship between the Great Court to the entire Jewish people: Whatever they decree shall stand, and whoever disobeys is to be punished.

Dissenting Minority

At least one important medieval Rabbi, the noted French scholar Jacob ben Meir Tam (known as “Rabbenu Tam”), denied the power of the majority decisions to obligate the dissenting minority

Rabbenu Tam’s view remained itself a dissenting minority position. One of his most distinguished successors in Germany, Rabbi Asher ben Yehiel (the Rosh, or Asheri) rejected the view arguing, among other things, that unless we accept the principle of majority rule, no community will ever be able to come to any decisions.

Representative Democracy

Another principle which is accepted universally in Jewish communal law is that of “representative democracy,” that is, that the actual management of the community cannot always be carried out by the whole population, but is placed instead in the hands of a small governing body.

The Talmud speaks of an institution called shiv’ah tovei ha’ir, the “seven leaders of the town.” R. Solomon Ibn Adret, in explaining this term, observes as follows:

The “leaders of the city” mentioned in the sources are not men of exemplary learning or wealth or honour, but rather seven men whom the community has appointed as executives to oversee its affairs…

Elsewhere he explains that this institution exists not by virtue of any intrinsic superiority of the leaders, but merely because it would be too cumbersome to bring every question to a vote.

Otherwise [he writes] no community would ever be able to do anything–plan a budget or pass legislation–without assembling all the taxpaying citizenry (in questions that entail expenditures), until a consensus can be reached–a consensus which would have to include the women as much as the men, since how can anyone dispose of their money without their permission?

This has been only a small glimpse into the rich and vibrant world of Jewish political life. It should, however, be sufficient to demonstrate that such “modern” inventions as majority rule, representative democracy and executive responsibility all have long and distinguished roots in Jewish history and tradition.

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• First Publication:
  • The Jewish Star, Calgary / Edmonton, October 21-November 3, 1988, pp. 4-5. 
• For further reading:
  • I. Baer, “The Foundations and Origins of Jewish Communal Organization in the Medieval Period,” Zion 15 (1960), pp. 85-121.
  • M. Elon, Jewish Law: History, Sources, Principles, Jerusalem, 1973, pp. 564-74.
  • S. Morrel, “The Constitutional Limits of Communal Governmnent in Rabbinic Law,” Journal of Jewish Social Studies 33 (1971).

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My email address is: [email protected]

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Mulroney’s Persian Predecessor

by Eliezer Segal

News Item: June 1993—After heated public debate, the Canadian government under Prime Minister Brian Mulroney ratifies the North American Free Trade Agreement with the United States, which will go into effect in January 1994.

The Canadian free trade debate is by no means without precedent.

The argument over the relative wisdom of protecting local industry or of opening up foreign markets has been with us for millenia. Talmudic literature records a number of instances of such exchanges, many of which sound as if they could have been taken straight out of today’s newspapers.

One of the earliest recorded instances of rabbinical legislation dates back to the time of the Maccabees and consists of a decree declaring that glass is capable of becoming ritually impure.

In a famous lecture delivered at the opening of the Institute of Jewish Studies of the Hebrew University in Jerusalem in 1929, the noted talmudic scholar Louis Ginzberg argued that this measure was originally intended to curb the imports of glass products from Tyre and Sidon (in what is now Lebanon), which at that point in history were just beginning to export this novel and desirable product to the Holy Land. Judean technology was not yet capable of manufacturing glass vessels and was at a disadvantage since this material, which is not mentioned in the Torah, was thereby thought to be exempt from the possibility of ritual defilement. Such a claim would have made the product very attractive in a market that was dominated by the Temple and the priesthood.

By declaring that the imported dishes were equally susceptible to impurity, the ancient Jewish sages were in effect protecting the local manufacturers of earthenware vessels from what they perceived as unfair foreign competition.

According to Ginzberg, similar motives were at work in a number of other early laws. One generation after that first decree, Jewish sages were arguing that such commodities as Alexandrian wheat, Baalbekian garlic, and metal vessels were all impure or susceptible to defilement. All these decisions can be perceived as attempts to protect local industries.

Other scholars of the time opposed this protectionism; they felt that free international competition would ultimately serve to lower prices, better serving the broader needs of the average consumer.

Ginzberg also notes that the sages of talmudic times were concerned as well with limiting exports of strategic resources, especially the sale of real estate and large cattle to foreign land-owners who would use these items to undermine Jewish control over Judean territory.

Ginzberg’s interpretations have not been universally accepted by scholars, but they do offer a fascinating insight into the interrelations between Jewish law and day-to-day concerns.

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Free Trade Negotiations

Visitors to Jerusalem may be familiar with the nearby village of Motsa, down the hill on the road to Tel Aviv.

The Arab name of this village was Qalunia, reflecting the Roman title of the village as recorded in the Talmud: “Colonia” (i.e. colony), which denoted a status that carried with it an exemption from customs duties. Talmudic tradition fancifully traced the Hebrew name to the same source–motza in Hebrew means removed, in the sense of “removed (or exempted) from the obligation to pay duties.”

At the beginning of the third century we find one of the greatest of talmudic leaders, the Patriarch Rabbi Judah Ha-Nasi (the renowned compiler of the Mishnah) actively lobbying to have the Galilean town of Tiberias declared a colonia.

As described in Rabbinic legend, “Rabbi” (as Rabbi Judah was known) was approached by his constant companion, the Roman Emperor “Antoninus” (possibly the Stoic philosopher-ruler Marcus Aurelius), who sought his advice: “I want my son Severus to succeed me, and to have Tiberias declared a colonia. If I ask them [the Senate] to allow one request, they will do it; but not if I ask for both.” This phenomenon of a head of state facing a hostile senate is not a recent invention.

In those days too, free trade negotiations were conducted in secrecy. Rabbi Judah, who was obviously in favour of instituting free trade in Tiberias, replied with the following coded message: He ordered to have a man carry another on his shoulders, and the topmost man to carry a dove. The lower figure was to tell the upper to release the dove.

Antoninus understood the symbolism. He asked the Senate to confirm his son”s appointment, and in turn instructed his son to declare Tiberias a free trade colonia. [2] The rabbis would often read their own preoccupations into events depicted in the Bible. For example, when we read the midrashic versions of the Book of Esther we often have the impression that the free trade debate was one of the major themes of the Purim story.

To cite some typical examples: in describing the elaborate decorations for King Ahasuerus’ great banquet, mention is made of dar and soharet (Esther 1:6), generally translated as “shell and onyx marble.” A talmudic rendering reads this as, “He declared freedom (dror) to all who dealt in trade (sehorah).”

Similarly, among the various promises made by the king in order to persuade Esther to divulge her nationality, the rabbis include a pledge to reduce duties (as indicated in Esther 2:18 “And he made a release to the provinces”).

Indeed, according to the Aramaic version of Esther, the official edict issued by Ahasuerus in support of the Jews is addressed to “all who desire to export goods from one nation to the other, from one people to the other.”

The Persian monarch truly comes across in these sources as an oriental Brian Mulroney.

These quotations, cited from among a wealth of materials in our traditional literature, should suffice to indicate once again how similar the world of our ancestors was to our own.

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My email address is: [email protected]

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The “Holy Maccabee Martyrs”

by Eliezer Segal

The frustration of constantly having to explain to non-Jewish neighbours that Hanukkah is not “the Jewish Christmas” serves to confirm the conviction that the Festival of Lights, as a supreme celebration of Jewish nationalism is, more than any other of our holidays, uniquely Jewish. Since it is not mentioned in the Bible, it does not make up part of the “common heritage” that we are supposed to share with Christianity.

In actuality this hypothesis turns out to be completely wrong. Seen from a historical perspective, the above picture can be totally reversed: The principal documents of the events, which are contained in the first two “Books of Maccabees,” were actually preserved not by Jews, but by the Christian Church. Our own Talmudic sources retained only the vaguest of memories of the wars, preferring to emphasize other aspects of the festival, such as the laws of the kindling of the lamps and such peripheral tales as the miracle of the oil jar.

Among the Christians, on the contrary, the Books of Maccabees were, until very recently, accepted as part of their Bibles. This was true of most of the older Protestant versions, including the standard “King James” English translation of 1611, and it is still the case in most Roman Catholic editions.

In order to understand how this came about we must transport ourselves back to Alexandria, Egypt, the home of one of the most renowned Jewish communities of antiquity.

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Greek and Hebrew Bibles

Like many of us today, most of the Greek-speaking Alexandrian Jews were not comfortable enough in Hebrew to read their Bible in the original and had to make use of a Greek translation. Their translation, which we loosely refer to as the Septuagint, after the Greek version of the Torah which was its earliest and most revered component, came to include Greek versions of the rest of the entire Hebrew Bible. The versions current in Alexandria also came to contain a number of other, later works (and expansions to Biblical books). Among these latter works were included the “Books of Maccabees.”

With the development of the Christian Church, its leaders were quick to choose the Alexandrian Jewish Bible as its official Greek version. This choice reflected the veneration with which the Septuagint had long been regarded by the Jews, and also served special Christian interests: some central Christian claims for support from “Old Testament” prophecy made sense only in the Septuagint translation (e.g. the doctrine of virgin birth originated in a mistaken rendering of Isaiah 7:14).

It is generally believed that it was because of the Septuagint’s identification with the Church, and because it did not reflect the sophisticated exegetical (midrashic) methods being developed in Eretz Israel that it came to be abandoned by the Jews, though the Talmud preserves the legend of the miraculous circumstances surrounding its composition.Those works which were included in the Greek, but not in the Hebrew Bible, came to be known as the “hidden” books–the Apocrypha. Among these were the Books of Maccabees.

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The Maccabee Inspiration

As a result of this development the persecutions of Antiochos Epiphanes, the heroism of the Jewish martyrs and the military exploits of the Maccabees were all familiar topics to any medieval Christian who read his Bible. By contrast, Jews knew of the events only from incomplete translations into Hebrew that had been made from the Christian Apocrypha collections.

This is especially ironic when we recall how conspicuously Jewish the Books of Maccabees are in their religious attitudes and ideologies. First Maccabees was composed in Hebrew, but the original has been lost, probably irretrievably.

As part of the Christian heritage, the events and personalities of the Hanukkah story were used as archetypes for distinctly Christian ideals and concerns. The ancient Jewish martyrs, ready to die for their faith, served as models of inspiration for Christians facing persecution at the hands of the Romans, even as Antiochos was perceived as a prototype of anti-Christian tyrants like Nero or Diocletian.

Like the Jews, the Catholics were generally more impressed with the accounts of martyrdom than with the military victories.

The only event from the Books of Maccabees to find its way into the Talmud is, I believe, the touching tale of the mother and her seven sons who stalwartly chose death rather than participate in idolatrous worship. This story is given special emphasis by Church tradition as well, and it is these martyrs, rather than the military heroes of the revolt, who are normally referred to as “the Holy Maccabees,” and whose deeds are celebrated throughout the Catholic Church on August 1st–the only “Old Testament” figures to achieve such an honour.

Imagine celebrating Hanukkah in the middle of summer!

At a later period, the religious militancy of the Maccabees was cited as a precedent for various “holy wars,” including the Crusades (whose victims were often innocent Jews) and other military campaigns taken in the name of the faith.

The Maccabees’ readiness to oppose the “legal” rulers of Judea inspired various Christian dissident groups who found themselves in rebellion against the State or against the official Church–an imagery which was drawn upon repeatedly during the Protestant Reformation (though the Catholics also found ways to see themselves as the legitimate heirs to the Maccabees).

Interestingly, the rise of autonomous nation-states in the modern era led to a re-interpretation of the Maccabean uprising. Those writers who proclaimed the supremacy of the State tended to favour the position of Antiochos. Thus, Voltaire (who was at any rate a virulent anti-Semite) praised Antiochos as the legitimate and cultured king of Judea, who justly tried to stamp out the disobedience of the barbarous Jewish rebels. This re-reading of events became even more popular among scholars with the rise of political anti-Semitism in Europe.

Perhaps the most welcome consequence of the familiarity of Christians with the story of the Maccabees is the way that it has also served as a source of inspiration to artists and composers. In particular, one feels a certain gratitude for the fact that G. F. Handel composed his oratorio “Judas Maccabeus” whose pompous themes fill the Israeli radio waves during the Hanukkah season, and serves as the only real alternative to the ubiquitous Maoz Tzur tune.

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A Landmark in Jewish Scholarship

by Eliezer Segal

The North American Jewish community did not take much notice of a gathering that took place in Boston last month [December1988]. Nevertheless the occasion marked a significant milestone in the development of Jewish intellectual life on this continent.

The event in question was the 20th annual conference of the Association for Jewish Studies (AJS), the academic organization of teachers and researchers of Judaica at post-secondary institutions in the U.S. and Canada.

The gathering had all the trappings of a typical academic conference. The main activities involved exchanges of scholarship, as some two hundred papers were presented on a remarkable assortment of topics relating to Jewish history, literature, ideas and social studies. In the background booksellers were exhibiting their wares, candidates were being interviewed for positions, organizational meetings were convened and–what many would consider the most important purpose of such conferences–a venue was provided for informal contacts between scholars to exchange opinions and discuss projects.

This characterization could apply equally to any scholarly conference, whether it be devoted to anthropology or zoology. And indeed it was precisely the normalcy of the conference that was singled out as a significant phenomenon. Twenty years ago when the founding conference of the AJS was convened at Brandeis University, there were many who could not imagine that a viable organization could be established.

European Scholars

At a special session devoted to the commemoration of the AJS’s 20th anniversary some of the previous presidents of the organization reminisced about the founding meeting in 1969.

The 60 people who had participated in that meeting accounted for virtually all the teachers of Judaica in North American academic institutions at the time (20 years earlier the number had been 12). Though an interest in Jewish studies had blossomed on many campuses, inspired largely by the wave of Jewish consciousness sparked by the Six Day War of 1967, there were few serious academic programs in existence.

The previous generation had been dominated by a handful of European-trained scholars concentrated around the larger east-coast universities and seminaries. Much of the actual teaching on campuses elsewhere was relegated to local rabbis or sympathetic Jewish faculty members who might agree to offer a course in a Jewish aspect of their principal field of expertise (e.g. “Jewish-American writers,” “Middle Eastern politics,” etc.).As usual, the established Jewish institutions opposed the new organization, at least until they could find a way to control it.

New American Scholars

Of great concern to the founders of the AJS was the disturbing lack of an American scholarly tradition of Jewish studies. European Jewish scholars could presume a familiarity with classic Jewish texts and languages–an assumption that was obviously not valid in 1969 America. A real fear was felt that it might prove impossible to train a new generation of Judaica teachers who would uphold acceptable scholarly standards.

The 1988 conference was the finest proof of the groundlessness of the fears–though, to be sure, similar trepidations were still being expressed about the coming generation.

About 400 individuals participated in the conference, representing a cross-section of the state of Jewish studies in North America. Most were young scholars and many of these had already authored important contributions to Jewish learning. Particularly among those dealing with the more traditional textual subjects, it seemed that the great majority had done some of their studies in Israel. In all, they offered impressive testimony that Jewish studies are alive and well on the North American campuses.

The variety of subjects dealt with at the conference can serve as an index to the present concerns of academic Jewish scholarship. Predictably, sessions were devoted to such traditional topics as Bible, Talmud, Midrash, Jewish philosophy and Kabbalah. Many of the papers were concerned with applying to Jewish literature of all periods (including Bible, Yiddish and everything in between) the methodologies current in general literary studies. Similarly, the approaches of contemporary social-scientific research were being applied to topics in Jewish history, and especially to the study of the North American Jewish community.

Feminist Presence

As has been the case for a number of years now, many sessions were devoted to exploring the place of women in Jewish society, literature and religious tradition. This pre-occupation reflects the power of feminist ideologies throughout the contemporary academic world, but of course is of special concern to Jewish tradition, whose “official” formulations have almost exclusively been composed by and for men.

Female scholars do in fact play a role in the AJS (the outgoing president is the noted Yiddish scholar Ruth Wisse of Montreal). While much of the feminist scholarship tended to be shallow and doctrinaire, it also inspired fascinating sessions on such topics as “The Experience of Medieval and Renaissance Jewish Women,” as well as an interest in popular and folkloristic aspects of Judaism that might otherwise have been overlooked.

The feminist presence also created some “extracurricular” complications–for example, the meals were arranged so as to avoid the recitation of Birkat Ha-Mazon, the blessing after the meal, in order to avoid tension between the feminists and traditionalists over the inclusion of women in public prayers.

Clearly much progress in Jewish scholarship has occurred over 20 years. This landmark in the intellectual history of North American Jewry offers much hope for the quality of Jewish learning in coming years.

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My email address is: [email protected]

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Fund Raising and Fund Taking

by Eliezer Segal

As has been noted in the pages of recent issues of The Star, we are currently marking a number of anniversaries commemorating the beginnings of the Jewish community of Alberta (the centenary of Jewish settlement) and, in Calgary, the 80th anniversary of Congregation House of Jacob, the oldest Jewish institution in the province.

The establishment of Jewish communities and institutions has always struck us as a remarkable achievement, involving delicately balanced combinations of vision, sacrifice and practical ability.

The designated readings from the Torah over the next few weeks tell of what was perhaps the first communal building project in Jewish history, the construction of the mishkan, the portable sanctuary that was to serve as the center of worship during the people’s wanderings through the wilderness, until it was replaced by the permanent Temple built by King Solomon in Jerusalem.

Needless to say, the biblical passages describing this event have a lot to teach us about the nature of communal involvement and the skills and attitudes required for the building of successful Jewish institutions.

The sages and rabbis of previous generations were wont to interpret the scriptural verses in the light of their own concerns and to find in them useful models for their own congregational life.

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The First Fund-Raiser

As with any Jewish communal endeavour, the building of the mishkan was preceded by a fund-raising drive. The talmudic sources already recognized that this first fund-raiser was to serve as a model for subsequent efforts: “This drive was run by Moses; but in future generations it would be administered by treasurers, officers and financial controllers.”

A community such as ours, that is hard-put to keep its synagogues and schools on a solid financial footing, has much to learn from this earliest of Jewish “appeals.”

The wording of the biblical passage is inherently enigmatic: God orders Moses to tell the people “that they shall take for me an offering, of every man whose heart makes him willing you shall take My offering” (Exodus 25:2). On the one hand, emphasis is placed on taking the contributions, without regard for the willingness of the donors; the commentators have called attention to the surprising fact that the normal Hebrew words for giving are virtually absent throughout the relevant chapters.

On the other hand, the very same verse also underscores the voluntary character of the contribution, as the people’s hearts motivate them to give to the cause.The approaches of traditional Jewish interpreters to this ambiguity can serve as indicators of their attitudes towards larger questions of religious philosophy and human psychology.

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Motivation vs. Obligation

Most of the commentaries tend to prefer one or the other of the two options. Those whose purpose is to stress the importance of sincere motivation in philanthropic activity (such an attitude is typical of Hasidic homilies and other moralistic tracts) may read the verse as saying that donations should not be accepted from those whose motives are suspect.

Others however take the opposite stance: the commitment to supporting community institutions should not be left to the fickle and unpredictable vagaries of spontaneous inspiration, but should be grounded and regulated in legal obligation. Such an approach underlies the explanation of that “arch-Litvak” Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehudah Berlin (the “Netziv of Volozhin”) to Exodus 39:22: “And the children of Israel did according to all that God had commanded Moses; so did they do.”

According to the Netziv the verse should be understood as saying: “In spite of their enthusiasm at the moment, which might have inspired them to go beyond what God had ordered, the people restrained themselves and obediently restricted their activity to a precise fulfilment of God’s commands, and no more.”

One of the tensions which the Talmudic Rabbis perceived as having arisen in the mishkan building project involved the relationship between the wealthy donors and the average Israelite-in-the-street who could only afford to contribute his few pennies to the cause.

As related in Talmudic legend, the tribal princes (nesi’im) were quick to respond to Moses’ call, offering to pay for the entire project. Moses rejected the offer as running counter to God’s intention (Exodus 25:2-3): “Of every man whose heart makes him willing you shall take my offering.”

In the creation of Jewish institutions the purpose was not simply to get the job done as efficiently as possible; getting the people involved in the project was perceived as an end in itself.

In later generations this principle was to inspire a heated controversy between the Pharisees–who refused to allow communal offerings to be donated to the Temple by wealthy individuals–and their Sadducee opponents.

The Pharisaic approach has generally been upheld by subsequent generations of Jewish fund-raisers (including the various Israel appeals) who have recognized the importance of reaching out to the 85% of the population who are responsible for only 15% of the donations.

By the time we reach the end of the campaign (Exodus 36:5-7) the generosity of the people has surpassed the actual requirements of the Sanctuary, and Moses has to issue orders to stop accepting donations.

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The Golden Calf

In the intervening chapters the Torah has related a considerably less complimentary event, the people’s fashioning of the golden calf. This project too had to be financed by voluntary donations, and the people willingly contributed their jewellery to the cause. The Talmud Yerushalmi notes with a certain sardonic wonder the indiscriminate character of some Jewish generosity: “Said Rabbi Abba Bar Aha: It is impossible to figure out the nature of this people–when asked to contribute for the golden calf, they give; when asked to contribute for the Mishkan, they also give!”

That is to say, from their earliest history, the Jews could be identified as willing contributors to any appeal, without always looking carefully into the target of their generosity.

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Frontier, Fur, and a Fistfight

by Eliezer Segal

As our society becomes more sensitive to animal suffering, fur coats are no longer the conspicuous status symbol that they once were. Nonetheless, the quest for fur-bearing animals was one of the principal motives for European colonization of America from the seventeenth century, and it continued to be a mainstay of the Canadian economy until well into the nineteenth century. The heated rivalry between France and England over control of the St. Lawrence River and its tributaries was motivated largely by the concern with maintaining access to the abundant stores of fur-bearing animals in the interior regions.

In that early era of North American settlement, there were scarcely any openly Jewish residents in France itself; and the 1627 charter that established the colony of New France explicitly excluded all non-Catholics.

The situation changed crucially in 1763 with the British victory in the Seven Years’ War and the transformation of Quebec into a British colony. Many European Jews were attracted by the prospect of migration to the New World where they would enjoy civil rights and opportunities to exercise their entrepreneurial skills. In fact, they would be allowed greater rights in America than in England, where non-Christians were still subject to onerous restrictions. 

A noted example of this pioneering breed was German-born Ezekiel Solomon (or: Solomons) who settled in Montreal in the latter eighteenth century and was a partner in the prominent firm of Gershon Levy & Company who were a major player in the fur trade. The firm was perhaps the first, following the British conquest of New France,  to establish trading stations in strategic centres of the Great Lakes area formerly under French rule. The consortium controlled almost half the regional market, and they evidently had ambitions to cast their net as far west as Manitoba and “la mer du Quest.” However, their fortunes took a fatal turn with the outbreak of an uprising by the native tribes under chief Pontiac who had been allied with the French and wanted to drive out the British. At Michilimackinac, Michigan, Solomon was captured by Chippewa warriors and eventually ransomed. His merchandise and property were completely lost and he was forced into bankruptcy.

For much of his career, Ezekiel would spend most of his days in Montreal, and occupy his Michigan residence for only a few months each summer. 

The rugged temperament that was necessary for life on the frontier also came into play in Solomon’s dealings in the urban setting, as we may infer from an incident in 1775 when a marble bust of King George III, donated by His Majesty himself and exhibited prominently in Place des Armes, was vandalized. The numerous religious, ethnic and political factions were quick to accuse each other of the treasonous deed. An individual by the name of Sieur Le Pailleur cast the blame on the Jews, provoking a fistfight at which Solomon was arrested for knocking down his opponent.

What kind of Jew was Ezekiel Solomon?What role did his religion play in his life? 

Attempts to answer these questions reveal extreme contradictions. On the one hand, Solomon and his fellow Jewish fur traders were all listed as active members of Montreal’s orthodox Shearith Israel (Spanish and Portuguese) synagogue. He was in fact one of the synagogue’s founders, organizing a subscription for its establishment and soliciting donations from abroad for the purchase of Torah scrolls. In 1778 the synagogue honoured him as “hatan Torah” on Simhat Torah.

On the other hand, in 1769 he married Marie Elizabeth Louise Dubois, a Roman Catholic, in a ceremony held at an Anglican church. Their six children were all given Catholic baptism. The spouses continued to practice and support their respective religious traditions, and Dubois was actively involved in the family trade. Some records assign her a name “Okimabinesikoue,” which might suggest indigenous ancestry. 

When their young son died in 1778, Ezekiel petitioned Shearith Israel to allow his burial in their cemetery, in spite of his being a baptized, uncircumcised child of a Christian mother. The request was granted.

A different picture emerges from Solomon’s life on the Great Lakes frontier. The crude house that he inhabited seasonally at Fort Michilimackinac from 1765 to 1781 has been subjected to intensive archeological excavation, owing to its historic importance as the residence of Michigan’s first known Jewish resident. The cellar storehouse that was discovered there provided glimpses into the daily lives of traders on the frontier, but very little information about any spiritual or ritual dimensions. The absence of identifiable Jewish artifacts can perhaps be explained on the premise that their owner would not have abandoned them when vacating the residence.

Adherence to a traditional Jewish religious regimen is often more accurately measured by the food that is consumed. In the present instance, the remains indicated little difference between the menus at Solomon’s house and those of his Christian neighbours, including pig, beaver and hare. It has been suggested that a decline in his consumption of pork during the later, more affluent years of his life might indicate an inner desire to return to his ancestral tradition once his situation became more secure.

Such were the ambiguities and contradictions that marked the lives of those Jewish pioneers as they planted their roots in North American soil.

The medieval “Book of the Pious” tells a curious tale of a Jew whose good and bad deeds were weighed by the heavenly authorities. It turned out that his sins outweighed his virtues, which would have blocked his acceptance into the next world. However, a sympathetic angel insisted that they load the man up with animal pelts until the additional burden tipped the scales in the direction of his admission to paradise. 

It was explained that those furs had earned him credit when he had offered them in payment for the Jewish community’s taxes.

Perhaps a similar arrangement could be negotiated for the likes of a certain flawed Canadian fur trader.

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• First publication:

• Alberta Jewish News, June21 2023, p. 14.
• For further reading:
• Anctil, Pierre. “1. Jews and New France.” In Canada’s Jews In Time, Space and Spirit, edited by Ira Robinson, 13–20. Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2013.
• Evans, Lynn L. M. “Ezekiel Solomon at Michilimackinac: Another Look.” Michigan Jewish History 52 (2012): 32–37.
• Godfrey, Sheldon J., and Judy Godfrey. Search Out the Land: The Jews and the Growth of Equality in British Colonial America, 1740-1867. McGill-Queen’s Studies in Ethnic History 23. Montreal and Buffalo: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1995.
• Heineman, David E. “Jewish Beginnings in Michigan Before 1850. Being Some Notes on Residents of the Very Early Days, Several Biographical Notices of More Notable Citizens Between 1840 and 1850, and an Account of the Beginnings of the Immigration of About That Time.” Publications of the American Jewish Historical Society, no. 13 (1905): 47–70.
• Kalbfleisch, John. This Island in Time: Remarkable Tales from Montreal’s Past. Montreal: Véhicule Press, 2008.
• Marcus, Jacob Rader. The Colonial American Jew, 1492-1776. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1970.
• Petersen, Eugene T. “The Fort of Ezekiel Solomon.” Michigan Jewish History 6 (1963): 11–14.
• Scott, Elizabeth May. “‘Such Diet as Befitted His Station as Clerk’: The Archaeology of Subsistence and Cultural Diversity at Fort Michilimackinac, 1761–1781.” Ph.D., University of Minnesota, 1991.
• ———. “Who Ate What? Archaeological Food Remains and Cultural Diversity.” In Case Studies in Environmental Archaeology, edited by Elizabeth J. Reitz, Sylvia J. Scudder, and C. Margaret Scarry, 357–74. Interdisciplinary Contributions to Archaeology. New York: Springer, 2008.Steinberg, Ellen F., and Jack H. Prost. From the Jewish Heartland: Two Centuries of Midwest Foodways. Urbana, Chicago and Springfield IL: University of Illinois Press, 2011.

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My email address is: [email protected]

The War Against Purim

by Eliezer Segal

The Talmudic Sages were well aware that in adopting the Book of Esther and the festival of Purim as parts of biblical tradition, they were opening a door to some potential problems in public relations.

In one remarkable passage, the Rabbis created a fictitious dialogue between Esther and her contemporary sages which must reflect the sort of rabbinic debates that were taking place in the 1st century over the acceptance of the Scroll of Esther into the scriptural canon: When Queen Esther asked that her book be included in the Bible, the rabbis are said to have responded, “You will awaken animosity between us and the nations!”

Jews over the ages must have often felt discomfort at the vengeful mood that seems to characterize Jewish-Gentile relations in this book, and may have frequently looked over their collective shoulders to check who was listening to the recital of the Megillah.

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Haman the Jew

In the early Christian Church, there was also considerable reluctance about accepting Esther into their Bible. It was not until 397 C.E. that a formal decision was made to accept it, in the Greek version that included a number of additions of a more palatable religious nature, including prayers of Mordecai and Esther that are lacking in the Hebrew.

Esther was seen as a symbolic representation of the Church, and Haman (who died by crucifixion, according to rabbinic legend) as an antithesis to Jesus. In an extreme (but almost inevitable) example of such allegorical role-reversals Haman was made to represent the Jews, and Vashti the Synagogue!

Even so, not all Christians were at peace with the inclusion of Esther in holy scripture. Martin Luther, the leader of the Protestant Reformation and one of history’s most vicious antisemites, did not hesitate to complain, “I am so hostile…to Esther that I wish it did not exist at all; for it Judaizes too much and has heathen perverseness.”

Unlike other works of the Hebrew Bible, whose national context could be universalized, Esther was too much a celebration of undiluted Jewish national feelings–a fact which Luther could not stomach.

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Italian Carnivals

In other countries of the Diaspora different sorts of objections were being raised against Purim.In Italy, for example, the Catholic authorities were particularly disturbed by the carnivals that came to be associated with the holiday (a feature which had originally been introduced by the Italian Jews). The Jewish celebration fell during the sombre Lenten season, and proved an attractive source of relief for Christians looking for amusement. Church authorities in 16th century Venice came to fear that Judaism might appear too attractive, and tried unsuccessfully to enforce separation of the two communities during the festivities.

The founders of the Jewish Reform movement, who were much concerned with making Judaism respectable in the eyes of their Christian neighbours and with defining Judaism as a system of beliefs devoid of any parochial national or ethnic associations, were equally uncomfortable with the Book of Esther and the celebrations associated with Purim.

“Enlightened” German scholarship, not bound by the religious reverence that had moderated earlier Christian assessments of Esther, were quick to pounce on the Megillah as an example of blood-thirsty Jewish chauvinism.

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Moral Corruption

As early as 1790 an article appeared in a Berlin Jewish monthly suggesting that Jews abandon the observance of Purim because it fomented moral corruption, since Jews were secretly equating the ancient Persians of the biblical story with their own Christian contemporaries.

A defence of Purim was written in response by David Friedlaender, a distinguished student of Moses Mendelssohn. Friedlaender argued that among Prussian Jews, at least–who were cultured and devoted to their fatherland–no such suspicions need be entertained. The festivities even encourage generosity and charitable activities.

However in a manner typical of his disdain for the uncouth traditionalist Jewish masses, Friedlaender adds that the way the average Jew celebrated Purim, though not immoral (since the noise he makes on hearing Haman’s name is merely a mechanically performed habit, done unthinkingly like all other Orthodox religious rituals), is surely disgraceful. Such a Jew spends the whole morning at synagogue in anticipation of the gluttonous feast that awaits him at home.

Friedlaender, by the way, was later to achieve notoriety when he offered to convert to Christianity, on the condition that he not be required to accept any distinctly Christian dogmas or rituals. In the end he did not go through with the conversion. The “universalistic” Protestant clergyman to whom he had submitted his offer insisted that it be accompanied by an acknowledgment that Christianity was a superior religion, an admission which even Friedlaender, embittered as he was with his Judaism and his Jewish community, was not prepared to concede.

Such attitudes were to typify the responses of the Reform leadership. Abraham Geiger, one of the giants of 19th century Jewish scholarship and the principal ideologist of the movement, observed that the Book of Esther was marred by “bad taste and mean feelings.”

A 20th Century Reform thinker, Schalom ben Chorin, actually proposed, in 1938, the elimination of Purim and the removal of Esther from the Jewish Bible, arguing that “both festival and book are unworthy of a people which is disposed to bring about its national and moral regeneration under prodigious sacrifice.”

In retrospect, we can look back with considerable sympathy at the misgivings expressed by Queen Esther’s rabbinic advisers. Indeed, Purim does have a way of arousing animosities among our Gentile neighbours, especially where the hostility is there in the first place.

Conversely, the degree to which Jews are willing to openly celebrate this story of national deliverance can serve as an accurate gauge of our feelings of security, Jewish pride and positive self-image.

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