Beruflich Dokumente
Kultur Dokumente
468
Formerly Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series
Editors
Claudia V. Camp, Texas Christian University
Andrew Mein, Westcott House, Cambridge
Founding Editors
David J. A. Clines, Philip R. Davies and David M. Gunn
Editorial Board
Richard J. Coggins, Alan Cooper, John Goldingay, Robert P. Gordon,
Norman K. Gottwald, Gina Hens-Piazza, John Jarick, Andrew D. H. Mayes,
Carol Meyers, Patrick D. Miller, Yvonne Sherwood
Omri Boehm
A\
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NEW
Y O R K
L O N D O N
10987654321
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To fear God is not the same as to be afraid of him. We are afraid of God when we have
transgressed and feel guilty, but we fear him when we are so disposed to conduct
ourselves that we can stand before him.
Kant
CONTENTS
Foreword by Jack Miles
Acknowledgments
ix
xiii
INTRODUCTION
Chapter 1
ABRAHAM: A MODEL OF OBEDIENCE?
12
Chapter 2
THE ORIGINAL VERSION OF THE STORY: ABRAHAM DISOBEYS
20
Chapter 3
34
Chapter 4
41
Chapter 5
49
Chapter 6
58
Chapter 7
73
viii
Chapter 8
86
Chapter 9
101
Chapter 10
A RELIGIOUS MODEL OF DISOBEDIENCE
121
Bibliography
137
Index of References
Index of Authors
141
144
FOREWORD
Jack Miles
Before you lies a book that, long before I met its author, I yearned to
read. Perhaps no passage in all of Scripturesurely no passage in the
Tanakhhas provoked so broad and deep a literature of commentary as
Gen 22, the story of the heart-stopping human sacrifice that somehow
never took place. But this literature, many centuries in the writing, comes
down to us in three streams that no one before Omri Boehm has brought
fully to confluence. The first and oldest stream is that of traditional
Jewish and Christian religious commentary: midrash, hagiography, and
rabbinic or patristic exegesis. The second stream is that of philosophical
and theological commentary, Jewish and Christian, again, but rising and
subsiding in powerfully different waves: what Maimonides and Aquinas
do with this haunting story is not what Spinoza and Kant do, and theirs
was far from the last wave to break. The third stream is that of modern
historical commentary, reading the ancient Israelite text critically by
reading it in and against its context in the recovered literatures and
reconstructed cultures of Semitic antiquity.
Even the oldest of these streams continues to flow in a new way.
Aggadic midrashcommentary by artful narrative expansionlives on
as biblically inspired poetry and fiction, now being written by women as
well as men. As for philosophical and theological speculation inspired by
Gen 22, it has been given a grim but overwhelmingly powerful new
impulse by the Shoah, Finally, as regards the unfinished enterprise of
historical-critical Bible scholarship, there awaits the still unexcavated
and inexhaustible immensity of the ancient Near East. In the present
context, I might mention, as just one example, the Harvard Punic Project,
which unearthed the tiny skeletons of literally thousands of sacrificed
infants from the "Tophet" of ancient Carthage.
Because this trio of discursive streams continues to flow, but not for
that reason alone, the last word about the Akedah, the Binding of Isaac,
will never be written, and Omri Boehm makes no claim to the contrary.
He has produced, nonetheless, an original thesis about the righteous
Father!
Yes, my son.
Here are the firestone and the wood; but where is the sheep
for the burnt offering?
God will see to the sheep for His burnt offering, my son.
(Gen 22:7-8)
"And the two of them walked on together," the text continues, clearly
implying silence. Abraham's reply to his son's question may no less
grammatically be translated: "Let God see to the sheep for His burnt
offering, my son." In Boehm's reconstructed text, these are the last words
Abraham speaks, and they hang in the air as a challenge to the God who
has commanded the inhuman. Is Abraham willing to comply or not? In
an interpolated passage, the received text has an angel of the Lord
attribute obedient, submissive intentions to Abraham, but Abraham
never gives voice to these himself, nor does he express acquiescence
or pleasure in the angel's praise. In effect, even in the received text, his
last words to Isaac are his last meaningful words. Modern commentators
have tended to be troubled by Abraham's presumed, scandalous obedience. Ancient commentators, less ready to credit the angel's praise, were
often troubled by what they saw or suspected to be his latent, scandalous
disobedience. Boehmand this, I repeat, is the great merit and charm of
this bookbrings both "families" of interpretation into a single great
conversation.
Abraham's silence after Gen 22:8 is equaled, in the Bible, only by the
thematically related and comparably portentous silence of Job 40:4-5
and 42:5-6. "I am of small worth," Job says to God in a first attempt to
retreat into silence:
What can I answer you?
I clap my hand to my mouth.
I have spoken once, and will not reply;
Twice, and will do so no more. (Job 40:4-5)
But Job's silence only further enrages the Lord, who hears it, correctly,
as resigned rather than repentant and who, in reply, blasts forth"from
the tempest"the single most overbearing oration in the entire Bible.
Foreword
xi
But Job will not be provoked. His terse and enigmatic rejoinder ends, in
the Jewish Publication Society translation:
I had heard You with my ears,
But now I see You with my eyes;
Therefore, I recant and relent,
Being but dust and ashes. (Job 42:5-6)
The wording aside, the effect upon God is beyond dispute. As before
with Abraham, so now with Job, it is God who must be satisfied with his
defiant creature's response rather than the creature with God's. In both
exchanges, divine rhetoric inadequately masks a divine defeat.
These two paradigmatic biblical encounters come together in the climactic eighth of Boehm's ten chapters: "'He Destroys Both the Innocent
With the Wicked': Between Job and Abraham." At the end of Job's
career as at the beginning of Abraham's, the issue is divine destruction of
innocent life, and the reader must determine whether God's Favorite
the father of Israel or the archetype of all righteous Gentilesis to be
celebrated for his gracious submission or for his terminal defiance.
In our day, as never before, theology has come round to theodicy. By
bringing his exceptionally rich consideration of the Binding of Isaac to a
focus on the death of the innocent, Omri BoehmIsraeli by birth and
early education, American and European in his more recent formation
has written a commentary on one chapter of one book of the Bible that
becomes, in its most cogent moments, an apology for the continuing,
fertilizing relevance of the Bible as a whole and a refreshing reminder of
why the wise look back as often as they look ahead.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I began thinking about the ideas presented in this book when I was
eighteen, and still a high-school student. Special thanks are due to Leiki
Saban and Tami Ezer, my Tanakh Hagbarah teachers, for inspiring my
initial interest in the subject. I wish to thank also my friends, Ortal, Eliel,
Alex, Shuvi, and Haggai, who encouraged me in pursuing the first steps
of the writing. Professor Avi Horvitz, of the Hebrew University in
Jerusalem, read an early draft of my first paper on Gen 22, and Professor
Ed Greenstein offered a great deal of help, criticizing and commenting
on the material in the second and the fifth chapters. I have benefited
greatly from my teachers, including Robert Adams, Sara Klein-Breslavi,
Robert Burt, John Hare, Yair Hoffman, Menachem Fisch, James Ponet,
and Osnat Zinger, as well as from the help of Christoph Levin, Hanna
Kasher, liana Arbel, and Mati Schechtman. My grandmother, Shoshana
Boehm, has provided much help with German texts, and Mira Reich
proofread and corrected the manuscript, preventing many embarrassing
errors. Special thanks are due to the red head girl, Anat Schechtman, for
giving my book its name.
Three institutions supported me in the period of writing the book: the
"Adi Lautman Program for Outstanding Students," Tel Aviv University
(2001-2003), the "Shalem Center," Jerusalem (2003), and Yale University (2004).
INTRODUCTION
"Take your son, your favored one, Isaac, whom you love and go to the
land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering..." Must Abraham obey his God? It is usually thought that the Akedah presents not
only an ethical question but also an ethical reply. But for the intervention
of the angel, Abraham would have killed his son. The moral to be drawn
would be that obedience to God takes precedence over morality as
humanly conceived. However, in a textual study of Gen 22 (first presented as a paper in Vetus Testamentum 52 [2001]: 1-12), I suggested
that the figure of an "angel of YHWH" (w. 11-12), apparently checking
Abraham at the last moment before he kills Isaac, is a secondary
interpolation in the original text (together with the second angelic speech
which is usually considered as such). If this is so, in the original narrative
Abraham actually disobeyed the divine command to slay his son,
sacrificing the ram "instead of his son" (132 firm, v. 13) on his own
responsibility:
Then they came to the place of which God had told him, and Abraham
built an altar there and placed the wood in order, and he bound Isaac his
son and laid him on the altar upon the wood; And Abraham stretched out
his hand and took the knife to slay his son... But Abraham lifted up his
eyes and looked, and behold behind him was a ram caught in a thicket by
its horns. And Abraham went, and took the ram, and offered it up for a
burnt offering instead of his son. (Gen 22:9-10, 13)
Introduction
Faith" and the "teleological suspension of the ethical." Can these concepts be sustained after Abraham's disobedience is argued? Kant too
referred to the story in his religious and political writings, condemning
Abraham's readiness to slay his son. Abraham should have disobeyed,
Kant contends, since he could never have been certain that the command
was truly divine. In the third part of the book, I re-open the philosophical
debate between Kant and Kierkegaard. It will become clear that the
reinterpretation of the biblical text is relevant to both, shedding new light
on their argumentation.
In earlier days Abraham's readiness to sacrifice his son was perceived
as a supreme act of faith. In our liberal-democratic culture people often
regard it as a distressing and unethical religious submissivenessperhaps even as an act of insanity or domestic violence. These views seem
to me erroneous and misleading. Given the divine command to sacrifice
Isaaca situation perhaps inconceivable to a modern reader who is not
ready, or able, to concededisobedience cannot be regarded a "better"
alternative to obedience. There is no "better alternative" for Abraham in
this narrative, neither rationally nor ethically: killing one's son and
disobeying a direct divine command are both unthinkable. Therefore, this
book does not discuss such questions as what Abraham should have done
or whether he in fact did the right thing. I do not know how to answer
them and, in fact, would be suspicious of any account that claims to do
so. Instead, I shall remain as close as possible to the narrative itself,
attempting to verify textually what Abraham did. Having established his
disobedience, I will go on, in the concluding chapters, to inquire into its
philosophical significance and religious implications.
Religious faith, drawing on the Binding as a model, has often been
understood in terms of obedience. By reinterpreting Gen 22 I seek to
argue against this conception. The monotheistic model of faith presented
by Abraham was actually a model of disobedience.
modern text and consequently from any text that the criterion can be
made to suit. While most modern texts are products of an instantaneous
one-act composition (the final form being determined almost immediately after the writing process), the Bible is the result of a progressive
process. Most scholars agree that this is a composite text, a product of
writing, rewriting and editing, taking place in different places, times and
even centuries.5 During this time period, the Israelite culture was undergoing through conscious struggles of determination of a new identity.
Religious-political changes were continuously taking shape as the Israelites were not only breaking apart from the pagan world of without, but
also struggling within as to the form of the monotheistic culture they
constituted. Such an atmosphere naturally stimulated controversies and
disagreements: What is the "identity" of the new monotheistic deity?
What would be the correct way to worship it? Many traditional stories
had to be continuously edited and revised by different authors of different schools, in order to be assimilated into changing world views.
Hence Austin's criterion becomes problematic: it is difficult to ascribe
a given biblical text to a definite author, or to determine its target of
readership. Furthermore, since many biblical themes were formulated
to carry religious significance and become canonical, their appeal to a
contemporary readership is elusive: some may have been consciously
designed to appeal to a future readership as well. This is not to say that
Austin's approach should be dismissed altogether in the biblical context;
but it must be closely accompanied by the methodological assumptions
of biblical criticism, and modified by the specific characteristics of the
biblical text.
seems to suggest, though not in explicit language, that these passages are
in fact later interpolations, incorporated into the text by human authors.6
In 1670 Spinoza published his Tractatus Theologico-Politicus (The
Theological-Political Treatise), contesting the authority of Scripture and
insisting that the sacred text must be subjected to scientific methods of
examination. It was only in 1753, however, six hundred years after Ibn
Ezra's commentary on the Torah, that a modern critical approach was
explicitly pronounced, in Astruc's "First Documentary Hypothesis."
Astruc observed that some narratives in Genesis consistently refer to the
Deity as (YHWH) iTliT while others equally consistently use (God)
DTD^X, and suggested that Genesis was composed of two originally independent sources. The first he titled Elohiste (E), the second Jehoviste (J).
Ever since Astruc first proposed the criterion of divine names for distinguishing different sources of the biblical texts, scholars have argued
and disagreed about its correct elaboration and implication in biblical
exegesis.7 In 1823 Stahelin offered his "Supplementary Hypothesis,"
arguing that the Torah is basically an E text into which J passages were
only inserted. In 1853 Hupfeled revisited this assumption, pointing out
that what had generally been recognized as the "Elohiste" should in fact
be analyzed into two sources, differing in their style of writing,
worldviews and age of composition (he recognized the first as the author
of the basic text, identified today as E, the second as a much later source,
identified today as the Priestly source [P]). In 1876 these hypotheses
received a more stable articulation in the so-called Graf-Wellhausen
"critical hypothesis." Graf and Wellhausen agreed that the text of
Genesis basically belonged to two parallel sources, E and J, which were
incorporated into one composite text by a later redactor (referred to today
as RJE). They suggested that the latest source was P (dating to the exilic
or post-exilic period), interpolated into the composite text of Genesis that
had previously been redacted.
In recent years there is a growing disagreement among biblical scholars as to the correct implications of the "documentary hypothesis," the
"critical hypothesis" and the like. The uncertainty involved in them has
even caused some scholars to suggest that they are inadequate for biblical criticism and should be abandoned altogether,8 It is beyond the scope
6. See R. H. Pfeiffer, Introduction to the Old Testament (New York: Harper,
1941), 43.
7. For instance, J. Skinner's Introduction to his Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1910).
8. For instance, T. D. Alexander, "Gen 22 and the Covenant of Circumcision,"
JSOT25 (1983): 17-22; G. W. Coats, "Abraham's Sacrifice of Faith: A FormCritical Study of Genesis 22," Int 27 (1973): 389-400.
of the present study to address these controversies here, which are not
intimately related to my purpose. In what follows I shall briefly sketch
the critical assumptions that are related and, it seems to me, can be
generally agreed upon.
The Bible is a composite text, created by several authors of different
schools and different world views. These authors can sometimes be identified and distinguished by their usage of divine names, their style of
writing and the manner in which they represent the Deity. If applied with
caution, these criteria may be valid; some biblical texts do persistently
prefer one divine name to another (this principle is somewhat asymmetric: E is particularly persistent in avoiding the term JTBT while J may at
times use DVrfPK). The different sources were assimilated and fitted into
one composite narrative (sometimes referred to as JE) by an act of general redaction; the relatively ''young source," P, was inserted into this
composite text only after it had been redacted (actually there is some
disagreement on this last point; however, this disagreement is irrelevant
to my discussion of Gen 22).
Even though they should not be taken uncritically, these assumptions
are important; if applied responsibly they may adequately explain many
biblical phenomena that otherwise cannot be accounted for (such as
interpolations, repetitions of stories, different versions of the same story
and so forth). But what, then, would count as a responsible application?
To the best of my knowledge there has not been much methodological
reflection on this matter by biblical critics. I shall briefly offer two
necessary, though admittedly not sufficient, criteria.
3
a. The Ockham 's razor criterion is originally an ontological imperative:
"Entities are not to be multiplied beyond necessity." One must not
believe in the existence of more objects than a minimum necessary, since
no entity exists without reason and hence would not be if it were not
necessary. But it is the epistemological version of this reasoning and its
methodological application that are of interest for the biblical scholar.
When explaining a given phenomenon, one must appeal to the smallest
number of factors required. That is, any phenomenon must be explained
by the least number of explanatory elements.
This criterion, which is frequently appealed to in the empirical
sciences, can easily be made to apply to biblical interpretation: when
explicating the meaning of a biblical text, a difficulty in it or any other
biblical phenomenon, the interpreter should attempt to do so by the
smallest number of explanatory factors possible (indeed, only the
10
with the truth values of judgments and utterances, it does not appear
usefully applicable for textual problems of biblical interpretation. It was
elaborated on by Ronald Dworkin, however, who extended it to account
for a wider range of interpretational questions.12 Dworkin writes that
when a text has more than one alternative interpretation, the one to be
preferred is that yielding the most excellent literary work. This means
that, pace Quine, logic should not necessarily be the only criterion of
charity but may be supplemented by literary, aesthetic and other criteria.
The best interpretation would be the one covering all aspects of the text
(aesthetic, verbal and logical), maximizing their merits to the highest.
It is interesting to see that the traditional exegetes of the Bible, on the
assumption that the text is divine, actually applied the Charity Principle
in their works quite persistently. They often comment not only on stories,
words or phrases, but also on the significance of parts of speech and
letters, not permitting the text to have even one logical error, flaw of
formulation or even redundancy of words. Abrabanel, for instance, in his
commentary on Gen 22:13 ("and Abraham went, and took the ram and
offered it up as a burnt offering instead of his son...") points out what
appears to be an extremely minor literal flaw:
How did Abraham know that the ram that he saw was there in order to be
sacrificed "instead of his son" 031 nnn)? He [God] did not command him
[to slay the ram]. This ram could have belonged to another person's flock,
so that the burnt offering would turn out to be a theft.13
11
his son, so why does the text have to explain?"14 As Abrabanel found it
perplexing that Abraham sacrificed the ram instead of his son without
being specifically ordered to do so, Kuli could not agree that the verse
might be redundant. In his view, there must be a reason why the text
mentions that the ram was sacrificed "instead of (in nnn) Isaac: by this
time Isaac supposedly had already been saved by the angel (v. 12); why
then is it explained that the ram was sacrificed "instead" of him?
To modern eyes, this meticulousness may often seem exaggerated or
even obsessive. As will become clear in the following chapters, this is
actually a fruitful systematic application of the Charity Principle, yielding some of the most precise explanations of the biblical text; in this
case, a most accurate one of Gen 22.
Most biblical scholars no longer share the assumption that the text is
sacred and divine, tending to analyze it according to ("higher"/"lower")
critical methods, thus emphasizing the assumption that it is only man
made. This tendency is problematic. Dworkin's Charity Principle reminds
us that, man made or not, if we wish adequately to interpret the Bible, we
must assume that it is of the highest possible perfection.
A responsible interpretation, then, strives to discover the objective
meaning of the biblical stories by asking: How did the author intend to
influence the reader's mind? In answering this question a biblical interpreter should consider the possibility that the text may have more than
one author (thus carrying with it more than one intention), and be able to
account for such a phenomenon. Sometimes, this can be done by distinguishing different authors from each other according to their usage of
divine names, their style of writing and other philological criteria. However, since these methodological assumptions are not definitive, any
interpretation should be evaluated by the criteria of Ockham's razor and
the Charity Principle. Among competing interpretations, that which
observes them more successfully is the one to be preferred.
I would like to emphasize that even though this book employs (particularly in the first two chapters) methods of biblical source criticism, it
is by no means committed to them. As pointed out in the Introduction,
this fact should be made clear in Chapters 6 and 7, dealing with Maimonides' and Ibn Caspi's interpretations. Clearly, Ibn Caspi and Maimonides
did not approach the Bible with a modern-critical perspective. Yet, as I
shall argue, their interpretations of the Binding come extremely close to
the one elaborated in this book.
14. Y. Kuli, Yalqut Me 'am Lo rez: A Collection ofAggada, Commentaries, and
Halakha. Genesis (Jerusalem: H. Wagshall, 1967 [Hebrew]), 430.
Chapter 1
Abraham, don't let your thoughts grow proud! You built one altar and did
not offer up your son, but I built seven altars and offered up my sons on
them! ("The Woman and her Seven Sons," Yalkui)
It is usually thought that the purpose of the Binding was to put Abraham's obedience to the test. In order to examine him, God commands
that he makes the most terrifying sacrifice conceivable. Is his faith strong
enough? From this conception follows the common appreciation of
Abraham's religious conduct; namely, that in his readiness to sacrifice
his son he performed an exceptional act of obedience, presenting a model
of unprecedented devoted faith. "The founding father's willingness to
sacrifice his son as a proof of devotion," says Sarna, "created an inexhaustible store of spiritual credit upon which future generations may
draw."1 Vermes similarly writes that by consenting to offer his son
"Abraham proved his perfect love [for God], and his example became the
cornerstone of the whole Jewish theology... "2
If we look more carefully, however, it appears that this common
understanding cannot be adopted without reservations. The obedience
Abraham displays in the narrative was in fact nothing out of the ordinary
in the Near East, where stories of child sacrificein which the son is
actually slain by his fatherare frequently encountered. His sacrifice
was no more tremendous, to give only one example, than that of Mesha
the king of Moab who, observing that a battle was going against his city,
"took his son who was to reign in his stead, and sacrificed him for a
burnt offering upon the wall" (2 Kgs 3:26-27). Why not acclaim Mesha
as a religious ideal, a "knight of faith"?
13
14
15
(sacrifice it, if you will), the second time he is ordered to sacrifice his
Israelite future.8
Since the command of sacrifice sets forth a paradigmatic trial, it is
reasonable to expect that the narrative presents an exceptional moment of
faith. Since Abraham was ready to do the inconceivablechecked by the
angel at the very last moment and praised for not "sparing" his sonthis
paradigm has often been interpreted in terms of obedience. Indeed, to
modern eyes this may seem obvious: a father's readiness to sacrifice his
beloved son presents an exceptional act of submission. To earlier readers,
however, this was not quite as obvious. On the contrary, as I already
said, stories of child sacrifice were frequently encountered in the Near
East; there was nothing out of the ordinary in Abraham's readiness to
sacrifice Isaac.
The Near Eastern stories all share a common pattern: they tell of a
noble leader of a people or a city who, in a time of impending danger of
destruction, sacrifices his son in order to appease the gods. The act of
sacrifice and the death of the leader's son (who is often termed, like
Isaac, his "only son," TIT9) are thus the key to the survival of the people:
because the son was sacrificed, the people are saved. Isaac's case,
indeed, is very similar in this respect. As the child of the promise, he too
is the key to the survival of the people, though in a different way than
that common in the Near Eastern tradition. If the people of Israel are to
exist, Isaac has to live. This un-coincidental similarity indicates that the
Akedah is not only similar to the Near Eastern traditions but must be
somehow connected to them. I shall explore this relation in detail in
Chapter 5. Suffice it to say here that in light of this association, Abraham's obedience, his readiness to go to the last moment, becomes quite
immaterial. In the Near Eastern stories, the father is not only willing to
slay his son but, unlike Abraham, eventually does so.
2
16
17
When they see my son returning with me, they will say that I proved the
liar to God on high and despised His words, and they will not believe that
the cause [of restraint] was the Lord's. Then let the Holy one, blessed be
He, take note that I have not rebelled against His commands and may He
be my Witness.1^
3
Philo of Alexandria, polemicizing with Hellenistic critics who ridiculed
Abraham's obedience, invested much effort in dismissing such claims.14
There is a crucial difference between Abraham's "sacrifice" and those of
other Near Eastern fathers, he argues. Whereas they served God to
achieve a definite purpose, Abraham served God purely, with no intention of gaining anything in return. In the Near Eastern traditions fathers
did indeed sacrifice their sons in order to gain something in return,
namely, the rescue of their people.15 Thus Abraham, who does not embark
on a sacrifice to rescue his people (but on the contrary jeopardizes their
existence), is unique. His is a pure religious sacrifice.
Kierkegaard adopts the same line of argument. He too finds himself
defending Abraham's obedience, comparing it to the apparently superior
religious conducts of noble fathers who actually sacrificed their sons (he
calls them "tragic heroes"). The crucial difference, Kierkegaard says, is
that while they were acting in an "ethical dimension" (that is, in so far as
they sacrificed their sons for the purpose of saving their people their
conduct was not murder but could be deemed "good") Abraham was not.
His is not an ethical sacrifice made in order to save the public. It is solely
religious, performed out of duty to God:
The difference between the tragic hero and Abraham is very obvious. The
tragic hero is still within the ethical. He allows an expression to have its
telos in a higher expression of the ethical; he scales down the ethical relation between father and son or daughter and father to a feeling that has its
18
Thus Abraham's trial is an instance of sharp collision between an ethical dimension and a religious one. "Ethically speaking," says Kierkegaard, "Abraham was going to murder his son." Religiously, he adds, "he
was going to sacrifice him." It is in this tension that the Akedah is different from any other story of child sacrifice, and in this respect (namely,
the "teleological suspension of the ethical") that Abraham's act of faith is
exceptional. With this explanation (which has a strong echo of Philo),
Abraham is supposed to regain his incomparable character, justifying his
place as the "father of monotheism"; in Kierkegaard's words, his place as
the "Knight of Faith."
Kierkegaard's line of defense is very attractive. It is, nevertheless,
insufficient and inconsistent with the simple text. As the angel of YHWH
explains in w. 11-12, it is by obedienceand nothing elsethat Abraham has demonstrated his great act of faith: "for now I know that you
fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your only son, from
me." There is nothing in these words to suggest Kierkegaard's argument
that Abraham's willingness to slay his son was exceptional in being pure
of purpose, a clean religious conduct; the angel acclaims the merits of
Abraham's act of obedience with no further explanation. If anything, his
words actually contradict Kierkegaard's argument, emphasizing that
Abraham's obedience would receive a reward: "Because you have done
this thing, and have not withheld your son.. .blessing I will bless you"
(w. 15-19).
4
The difficulty in explaining the religious significance of the Akedah has
led more recent scholars to suggest other alternatives. The first thing that
strikes the reader as exceptional in this story is the fact that Isaac was not
eventually killed. It has therefore been suggested that the story is
intended as a polemic against the ritual of child sacrifice: it presents the
well-known tradition of the noble father who sacrifices his son, but
changes the outcome. The son survives; God does not will the death of
the son. Thus Spiegel writes that "Quite possibly the primary purpose of
the Akedah story may have been only this: to attach to a real pillar of the
16. Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, 69-70.
19
Chapter 2
21
On the face of it, the story hardly calls for further interpretation: God
commands Abraham to sacrifice his only son; Abraham wakes up the
next morning, takes Isaac to the land of Moriah, binds him on the altar
and seizes the knife. The angel intervenes, freezing the scene and saving
Isaac's life at the last moment; Abraham then sees a ram and sacrifices it
on the altar instead of his son. The most intimate emotions are expressed
in this story without any cumulation of language. The most difficult philosophical dilemmas are expressed without overt appeal to complicated
concepts. But for the intervention of the angel, Isaac would have been
slain by his father; the moral to be drawn therefore is that obedience to
God takes precedence over the moral, as humanly conceived.
In spite of the apparent clarity of the narrative, however, its style and
composition are quite elusive. It has been widely accepted by scholars
that Gen 22:1-13, 19 is the original story, traditionally ascribed by
source critics to E. This conclusion is based on the extensive use of God
(DTTl^X) for the deity, the strong allusions to the story of Hagar (also
usually ascribed to E) and a few other stylistic and structural components. The "second angelic speech" (w. 14-18) is, in this view, usually
considered a later interpolation to the original account. In contrast to the
body of the story, this angelic address uses the divine name YHWH
(HUT), not God (DTn^K), and differs also in style and composition, being
repetitive in wording and using long explanatory arguments; the rest of
the story is economical in manner.1 Furthermore, if we simply disregard
these verses, which come after the event has actually come to an end, the
narrative remains coherent and the reading flows well. This point is
striking, especially when keeping in mind the precise and delicate
formulation of the narrative:
1. For a brief synopsis of critical standpoints, see Wenham, Genesis 16-50,
101-2.
22
23
scholars to suggest that the author responsible for w. 15-18 left his mark
also on the text and content of what has so far been considered the original account (Gen 22:1-13, 19).6 Thus Wenham writes that there may
have been "a simpler, shorter account of the sacrifice of Isaac, but to
identify the original account with w. 1-14 is too simple, for the author
responsible for w. 15-18 has also left his mark on w 1-14, so that
identifying the limits and content of earlier versions of the story is
elusive."7
Wenham's observation that the author responsible for w. 15-18 influenced the text as well as the content of the original account is accurate. If
there is some part which is not original to the narrative but is nevertheless an indispensable one arising from Abraham's obedience, it follows
that the very nature of the original account must have differed from the
story as it is known today. However, to my mind, to renounce explanation
of the textdismissing the limits of the original account as "elusive"
without attempting to recognize themis proper only in the absence of a
reasonable alternative interpretation. This is implied by the Ockham's
razor criterion (see discussion in the Methodological Remarks): in
searching for an explanation, we should prefer the simpler one.
I suggest that w. 11-12, where the angel checks Abraham at the last
moment, bear the imprint of the author responsible for w. 15-18 in the
original story, that is, that Gen 22:1-10, 13, 19 constitutes the original
account. This is supported by textual considerations (usage of divine
names and style of writing) as well as by the structure of the text. If this
is so, in the original account Abraham actually disobeyed the divine
command to slay his son, sacrificing the ram "instead of his son" (nnn
133, v. 13) on his own responsibility. This interpretation thus brings
together the textual and narratory understandings of the text, explaining
the reason for the later redaction of this story: anxious to conceal Abraham's disobedience, a later redactor interpolated the figure of the angel,
thereby shifting responsibility for interrupting the test from Abraham to
the angel.
2
The first evidence for the secondary nature of the first angelic speech is
that, like the second speech, it uses the divine name YHWH (HIPP). This is
at odds with the divine name used throughout the narrative, which is
6. L. Kundert, Die Opferung, Bindung Isaaks (WMANT 78; Neukirchen-Vluyn:
Neukirchener, 1998), 1:32.
7. Wenham, Genesis 16-50, 103.
24
always God (DTn^K). As noted above, scholars used to hold that the
original story was an Elohistic composition while only the later interpolations use YHWH.8 However, such a simple distinction has proved
problematic. Whereas w. 14-19 (containing the angel of YHWH) can
readily be considered a later insertion in the original episode, we are left
with the "angel of YHWH" of w. 11-12, apparently an integrated participant in the story. In fact, the angel appears to be not only an integrated
but also a very necessary part, indeed, the climax of the whole. It is hard
to imagine the story as logical without the angel. Thus, if one does not
consider the possibility that these verses are secondary, one cannot
distinguish between "original" and secondary on the basis of the divine
names used.9 This was pointed out by Moberly, who observed that
the criterion of usage of divine names, which has often been appealed to in
this context is problematic. Gen 22:1-14 does in general use "elohim," while
w. 15,16 both contain "yhwh." But 22:1-14 is not, in fact, consistent.. .the
angel of verse 11 is the angel of yhwh... [This] usage is particularly significant since there is no good reason to consider it redactional.10
However, not only can this speech be redactional, there is in fact good
reason to consider it as such. There is a strong polemical motive in this
verse, since the angel stops the action at a volatile moment. As the angel
explains at some length, this is just before Abraham sacrifices his son:
"for now I know that you fear God, seeing you have not withheld your
son, your only son, from me." Yet, discounting the angel's presence in
the text, this is actually the moment just before Abraham lifts his eyes,
sees, and sacrifices the ram instead of his son:
8. It is not my present aim to address the recent disagreements regarding the use
of the divine names as a guide to source analysis (e.g. Alexander, "Gen 22 and the
Covenant Circumcision"; and Coats, "Abraham's Sacrifice of Faith"). The different
use of divine names is mentioned here only in order to try and distinguish two
different styles of writing.
9. See n. 3 above.
10. Moberly, "The Earliest Commentary on the Akedah," 308.
25
and took the knife to slay his son... But Abraham lifted up his eyes and
looked, and behold, behind him was a ram caught in a thicket by its horns.
And Abraham went, and took the ram and offered it up for a burnt offering
instead of his son. (Gen 22:9-10, 13-14)
The criterion of the divine name can and should be appealed to for the
distinction between original and secondary. It explains at once the style
of writing and the content of the story: the exceptional verses which,
with w. 14-18, differ in style and in the use of the divine name, taken
together mark the difference between a story in which Abraham disobeys
and a story in which he obeys. The "angel of YHWH" of the first angelic
speech was interpolated in order to conceal Abraham's disobedience.
The second angelic speech, undeniably a secondary interpolation, was
thus necessitated by Abraham's apparent obedience.
This observation is even more telling in view of the fact that the style
of the first angelic speech, as the style of the second, is repetitive, poetic
and full of explanatory arguments. This is in strict contrast to the economic manner of the body of Gen 22. As was pointed out by E. Auerbach, it is an essential feature of this story to avoid any descriptions and
explanations; the text says only a necessary minimum, thus creating its
forceful effect:
The externalization of only so much of the phenomena as is necessary for
the purpose of the narrative, all else left in obscurity; the decisive points
of the narrative alone are emphasized, what lies between is non-existent;
time and place are undefined and call for interpretation; thoughts and
feelings remain unexpressed, are only suggested by the silence and the
fragmentary speeches; the whole, permeated with the most unrelieved
suspense and directed toward a single goal...remains mysterious and
fraught with background.11
26
This midrash explains the double call from heaven as a sign of Abraham's devoted intention to sacrifice his son. This is implausible: why
should Abraham "hurry" to do so? If anything, such an apologetic explanation, raising more difficulties than the problem it seeks to solve,
indicates that the double call is problematic and demands an explanation.
Ibn Caspi too finds it necessary to comment on the angel of YHWH's
double call in v. 12 as against Elohim's single one in v. 1. In his explanation, he refers to the midrash cited above, remarking that according to the
Rabbis the double call from heaven suggests that "the sword was already
placed on Isaac's neck, out of Abraham's urgent desire to slaughter
him."14 He dismisses that explanation, however, as addressed only to the
common people, who are unable to understand the "secrets of the Bible."
The knowledgeable reader, Ibn Caspi explains, who is able to understand
such clues as the angel's double call, will be able to grasp the "true, concealed meaning" of the story. In Chapter 6 I discuss Ibn Caspi's interpretation in full, arguing that when he talks about an esoteric meaning of
Gen 22, he is thinking along the lines I suggest here.15 Here it suffices to
say that in Ibn Caspi's view the key to the secret of this story is the
alternation of the divine names (mrP/OTT^X) throughout the narrative.
13. See Tanhuma Wayyeray Gen 4 in Midrash Tanhuma (trans. J. Townsend; New
Jersey: Ktav, 1989), #128.
14. See Ibn Caspi's Gevia Kesef (throughout this work the following English
edition will be cited: Joseph Ibn Kaspi 's "Gevia Kesef: A Study in the Medieval
Jewish Philosophical Exegesis [trans. B. Herring; New York: Ktav, 1982]).
15. For the text of Ibn Caspi and a full discussion, see Chapter 6.
27
The double call from heaven is not the only stylistic difference that
marks the first angelic speech in the context of Gen 22. The angelic
command "lay not thine hand upon the lad" in v. 11 is immediately
followed by a poetic repetition "and neither do thou any thing unto him."
This too has attracted much attention. Wenham writes that "Though the
words of the third panel so often echo the first, how different is their
thrust! The original order is now explicitly countermanded. The parallelism, "Do not lay... Do not do anything," gives the prohibition a quasipoetic flavor.. ."16 C. Westermann writes that the unusual style must be
due to the fact that this is the climax of the story: "at its high points, the
narrative often takes on poetic form."17 Since this is, apparently, the
climax of the story, the narrative might well take on a poetic form.
Nevertheless, as we are looking for the imprint of the later author on the
original account, we may keep in mind that these verses, which in the
first place use YHWH (?T)fP) and not God (DTH^K), also show a striking
stylistic difference.
Furthermore, it is suspicious that the angel takes on the burden of interpreting the story for the reader. It is the most essential characteristic of
this text to avoid unnecessary explanations. In fact, the writer puts much
effort into avoiding even some necessary ones as well, thus demanding
from the reader an independent, subtle interpretation. "Thoughts and
feelings," observes Auerbach, "remain unexpressed and are only suggested by the silence."18 This remark cannot be made to apply to the
words of the angel. His speech provides detailed information of Abraham's internal states of mind, emphasizing his apparently unquestionable
intention to kill his son. Why should Abraham's "unshaken intentions,"
which have so far remained in the dark, be so meticulously emphasized
by the angel?
In fact, the mere presence of a figure of an angel in this episode and
the manner of its appearancethe call from heavenare unexpected and
unusual in this cycle of stories. This is especially true when we consider
the context of the God-Abraham relationship which is notable for its
face to face encounters. One need only recall their meeting in the story of
Sodom (Gen 18) in order to sense the discrepancy. In this encounter God
first asks himself "shall I hide from Abraham what I am doing?" (Gen
18:17-19) and immediately shares with Abraham his plan to destroy the
city (Gen 18:20). Abraham's response is by no means less direct. He
stands up, "and Abraham came near," and says: "would you also destroy
16. Wenham, Genesis 16-50, 110.
17. C. Westermann, Genesis 72-36 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987), 161.
18. Auerbach, Mimesis, 11.
28
the righteous with the wicked? ... [F]ar be it from you to do such a thing
as this... Shall not the judge of all earth do right?" (Gen 18:23-25). In
the Akedah too it was God himself, not an angel, who commanded the
sacrifice (Gen 22:1-2). Why, then, is he not the one to call it off?
Yaacov Kuli asks: "As for the text, 'But the angel of the Lord called
out to him from heaven,' it is known that the dwelling of the angels is in
the firmament. So why did not the Holy One blessed be He himself in all
his glory speak to him?"19 H. C. Brichto too points out the inconsistency
involved in this angelic appearance, posing the questions: Why does an
angel appear and not God (Elohim) himself as at the beginning of the
episode? And if an angel instead of God (Elohim), why an angel of
YHWH and not of Elohim?20 A famous midrash puts this difficulty in
Abraham's own words:
"BUT THE ANGEL OF THE LORD CALLED UNTO HIM. " Abraham
said to him: Who are you? He said to him: I am an angel. Abraham said
to him: When the holy one told me to sacrifice him, he told me so himself. So now I ask that he himself tell me [to stop].21
Most scholars seek to resolve the difficulty of the angelic call from
heaven by suggesting that the urgency of the moment caused this unusual
manner of intervention. As Sarna writes: "the critical urgency of the
moment precludes their usual personal appearance...and dictates this
exceptional mode of angelic intervention, just as it did [in the Hagar
story] in 21:17."22 But could not God himself have stopped Abraham in
time? Moreover, the angel who appears to Hagar in Gen 21:17 was
called the angel of "God" (DTr6K -p6a) whereas in Gen 22:12 it is an
"angel of YHWH" (miT "J*6a). Like Gen 22:1-19, Gen 21 is ascribed to
E. Therefore the angel's presence here again presents the problem of the
appearance of an "angel of YHWH" (mrp ""JX^fc) in the thick of what
seems to bebut for this exceptiona composition of E.
Moberly comments on this issue, suggesting that since the expression
"Angel of YHWH" is common in the Bible, the problematic use of the
divine name here could be dismissed as "purely formulaic." However, he
observes, the fact that "angel of Elohim" is used in the Hagar story in
Gen 21:17 (also E) indicates that it could have been used here too and,
therefore, "YHWH" must be more than merely formulaic in this verse.23
19.
20.
1998),
21.
22.
23.
29
Comparing this angelic speech to the speech made to Hagar seems, then,
to compound the problem rather than resolve it.
C. Westermann also comments on the unusual nature of this angelic
appearance. He observes that the angelic "call from heaven" is highly
exceptional since, when there is an angelic intervention in the patriarchal
stories, the narrative ordinarily refers to an "earthly messenger." Westermann associates this problematic difference with the fact that this episode
is a late narrative.24 Genesis 22 is indeed a late narrative. Yet most scholars, including Westermann, recognize that in its original form it is early,
and an integral part of the patriarchal stories.25 Could, then, this "angel of
YHWH" appearing to Abraham in w. 11-12 have had a part in it?
3
The secondary nature of the first angelic speech is further suggested
by its inaccurate placement at the climax of the story. It is remarkable
that if we omit these verses, which are usually considered so vital a part
of the episode, the narrative remains logical. In fact, it moves even more
coherently.
Abraham's actions in w. 1-10 follow on from each other, forming a
rapid and laconic sequence, and heightening the tension up to the climax:
"...they came...he built...he laid...he bound...he laid...he stretched
forth.. .he took..." At this point, the intervention of the angel arrests the
economical flow of the episode with wordier and more detailed phrases.
This could seem a natural course of events, since the tension of the story
does not have to increase at this point, but rather, to be resolved.
However, the angelic speech tends to over-explicate Abraham's obedience, which does not seem to require explanation at this point. It comes
instead of a sharp resolution of the tension, focused on the safeguarding
of Isaac, which would be desirable here. G. W. Coats, for example, has
noted that as we approach v. 11, "the tension must break with either the
death of the son or his miraculous preservation."26 He therefore finds it
problematic that at the peak of the tension the focus is instead on the
angel's emphasis on Abraham's obediencewhich, in his view, is not at
all in question. This suggested to him that the angel's speech might be a
dividing line between two different versions of the narrative.
24. Westermann, Genesis 12-36, 161.
25. See, e.g., T. Veijola "Das Opfer des Abraham: Paradigma des Glaubens aus
dem nachexilischen Zeitalter," ZTK 85 (1988): 129-64; Moberly, "The Earliest
Commentary on the Akedah," 302-23.
26. G. W. Coats, Genesis: With an Introduction to Narrative Literature (Grand
Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983), 160.
30
31
Instead of his son (133 nnn)Abraham said before him: Master of the
whole universe, behold, I am slaughtering the ram; do Thou regard this as
though my son Isaac is slain before thee. He took the blood of the ram
and said: Do Thou regard this as though the blood of my son were being
poured before Thee. As Abraham skinned the ram, he said: Do Thou
regard this as though it were the skin of my son Isaac which is being
flayed before thee. As he coated the ram with salt, he said: Do Thou
regard this as though the salt were being poured on my son Isaac. As he
offered the limbs of the ram he said: Do Thou regard this as though these
were the limbs of my son Isaac being offered to thee. As he burned the
ram he said: Do Thou regard this as though the Ashes of my son Isaac
were heaped up on top of the altar before thee... (Gen. Rab. 13)
32
One scholar who came close to this interpretation was M. Berdichevsky (M. Bin-Gorion). In his late work Sinai und Garisim, he wrote
that the angelic figure (w. 11-12) was a later interpolation. Commenting
on the angel's speech, Berdichevsky says: "all this, it seems, is only
explication of [the next verse] "and Abraham lifted up his eyes; Kahana:
that the angel called from heaventhis is an interpolation..."; "Because
of the surprising appearance of the ram an idea flashed through
Abraham's mind to sacrifice it instead of his son."30 In Berdichevsky's
account the angela later interpolationis not the cause of the stopping of the sacrifice but an explanation or, indeed, an interpretation of it.
The cause is Abraham. This is further elaborated in Berdichevsky's
interpretation of v. 13:
"And he offered it [the ram] as a burnt offering..."this source does not
know of the angelic speech. After the clause "and the angel of the Lord
called to him..." (v. 12) that is, after Abraham was already surprised, the
verse "and Abraham lifted up his eyes..." is not very appropriate. See
also Rashbam: "and he lifted up his eyes"probably he had already lifted
up his eyes...31
33
is clearly distinguishable from the rest of the story, and they contend that
it is a later interpolation. Emerton even considered it a "clumsy addition."32 Others, again, have argued that the verses could not simply have
been inserted into the original account. According to this view, since the
focus is placed strongly upon the testing of Abraham, the story could not
have been concluded without the extra blessings that he receives in
return for his extraordinary obedience. As Wenham says:
Had Abraham not undergone the test, there would have been no risk of
losing Isaac's life. For God to spare Isaac's life, which would not have
been at risk without Abraham's obedient submission to the test, and then
merely to say "now I know you fear God," is somewhat of an anticlimax.
Surely God should say more.. ,33
We can close this gap, and confirm both observations. The second
angelic speech is secondary, though indeed necessitated by Abraham's
obedience: his apparent obedience, created by the interpolation of the
first angelic speech into the original account by the later author.
4
In the previous chapter I argued that the model Abraham presents in Gen
22 cannot be one of obedience: his "readiness" to sacrifice Isaac is not as
convincing (in fact less so) than various contemporary fathers' actual
sacrifice. Note that this difficulty was associated with the angelic personage whoacclaiming Abraham's obedience as the story's unequivocal
center of gravitycreates a perplexing discrepancy: on the one hand,
obedience cannot be the exceptional element of the story; on the other, it
has to be, since this is what the angel actually says.
We may now overcome this difficulty. The model presented by Abraham was indeed exceptional in the Near East, though not as an act of
obedience; it was an act of disobedience.
Should Abraham execute God's command under any circumstances,
even though it is manifestly immoral? In the light of this episode it has
constantly been argued that God's command takes precedence over the
rule of ethics; as Kierkegaard formulated it, this is the "teleological
suspension of the ethical." However, if Abraham actually disobeyed
God's manifestly illegal order, it was he, the monotheistic believer, the
"Knight of Faith," who was responsible for the determination of good
and evilnot God. He thus presents us, not with the "suspension of the
ethical," but with a preference for it.
32. See n. 3 above.
33. Wenham, Genesis 16-50, 102.
Chapter 3
35
36
Like Abraham, Moses too attempts to prevent the deity from carrying out
its intention, praying and asking to have mercy on his people:
And Moses said to the Lord: "Then the Egyptians will hear it, for by your
might you brought these people up from among them. And they will tell it
to the inhabitants of this land. They have heard that you, Lord, are among
these people; that you, Lord, are seen face to face and your cloud stands
above them. .. .Now if you kill these people as one man then the nations
which have heard of your fame will speak saying, 'because the Lord was
not able to bring this people to the land which he swore to give them,
therefore he killed them in the wilderness.' Pardon the iniquity of this
people, I pray, according to the greatness of your mercy just as you have
forgiven these people from Egypt even until now." (Num 14:13-19)
Since Moses says "if you kill these people as one man" it is clear that he
too, like Abraham before him, is confronting a divine injustice; God does
not intend to distinguish between the righteous and the wicked. Yet their
speeches are very different. Abraham does not plead for his sons, the
sons of Israel, as Moses does, but for the almost unknown people of
Sodom; his speech expresses a sole concern with the divine plan: "Shall
not the judge of all earth do right?" Since his reasons are not the same,
his argumentation is also different. Abraham does not try to convince
God by quasi-political arguments as Moses does (".. .the nations which
have heard your fame will speak saying 'because the Lord was not able
to bring his people to the land which he swore to give them, therefore he
killed them'") but poses a strict ethical demand: "Far be it from you to
do such a thing..." Lastly, he neither prays to God nor pleads for mercy
as is the case with Moses (".. .1 pray according to the greatness of your
mercy...), but sees himself responsible for changing God's unethical
way: "...[I] have taken upon myself to speak to the Lord..." Since the
actual lives in Sodom are irrelevant to Abraham in Gen 18, due to the
fact that his personal destiny was supposed to be irrelevant in Gen 22
his concern being strictly with divine injusticeone must wonder why
he did not question the divine order in Gen 22 as he did in the story of
Sodom.
Moreover, the story of Sodom, as the Akedah, is in fact a trial of faith:
God first says "I have known him in order that he may command his
children... that they keep the way of the Lord to do righteousness and
justice..." and then, in Abraham's performative speech one can realize
what doing "righteousness and justice," keeping the way of the Lord,
actually means: "Shall not the judge of all earth do right?" Levenson
writes:
37
Whereas in chapter 18 Abraham passes the test God assigns him (w 1719) by speaking up in protest against God's own counsel, in chapter 22 he
passes the test by obeying the divine command unquestioningly.4
Since this is the case, the disparity between the stories lay in more than
Abraham's personal character; it reflects a contradiction in theological
worldviews: not so much a tension in what Abraham actually did and
how he acted, but in the evaluation of what he should have done. But let
us re-examine the world view that underlines the story of Sodom; we
will see that the contradiction is even sharper.
2
Abraham's rhetorical reaction to God's unethical plan can be analyzed
into two arguments. "Will you also destroy the righteous with the
wicked?" he asks, "Suppose there were fifty righteous within the city;
would you also destroy the place..?" First, there is a demand for individual justice ("would you also destroy the righteous with the wicked?"),
and second, a plea that if a certain number of righteous men will be
found in the city it will be spared for their sake. These two arguments are
rather different; while the first is strictly ethical in content, posing a
demand to distinguish between good and evil, the second is nothing but a
deala bargaining for mercy.
In his reply, God meets only the second request, leaving the first unanswered: "If I find in Sodom fifty righteous within the city," he says, "I
will spare all the place for their sakes." From now on, the dialogue does
not extend much beyond this level. Abraham attempts to reduce to a
minimum the critical number of righteous necessary to save the city
while God complies with his pleas, reducing the amount. As they compromise on ten, the debate is over and the consequence well known:
Then the Lord rained brimstone and fire on Sodom and Gomorrah, from
the Lord out of the heavens. (Gen 19:24)
We are never told how many righteous men were eventually found in
Sodom at the time of its destruction, but we assume that they were fewer
than ten; for God had given Abraham his promisethe city would be
saved if ten righteous men were found in it. It is surprising, therefore,
that even though God did not reply to Abraham's ethical demand, he did
not altogether ignore it, pulling Lot and his family out prior to the
destruction of the city:
4. Levenson, Death and Resurrection, 129.
38
Abraham's ethical protest, which appeared to have been forgotten, eventually achieved a small success. Not only did he not endure any angry
reply to his disobedient wordshe actually contrived to modify God's
intentions. With this in mind, a re-examination of the opening scene of
the story is worthwhile. In Gen 18:17-19 God asks:
Shall I hide from Abraham what I am doing? Since Abraham shall surely
become a great and mighty nation, and all the nations of the earth shall be
blessed in him? For I have known him, in order that he may command his
children and his household after him, that they keep the way of the Lord
to do righteousness and justice...
What does "to keep the way of the Lord to do righteousness and justice"
(BSOai np"TX rmsh 7I *]-n niOB^) mean here? Most scholars understand it as "Abraham will command his children to keep on going in
God's way."5 However, as M. Fisch has pointed out, on this understanding God's question ("Shall I hide from Abraham what I am doing? .. .For
I have known him in order that he may command his children.. .that they
keep the way of the Lord to do righteousness and justice...") does not
make sense.6 This question conveys an argument: "I, God, tell Abraham
my intentions because he keeps my ways and will command his children
to keep my ways." In the common understanding of this verse, this is
illogical: why should the fact that Abraham commands his children to
continue ("keep on going") in God's way be the reason for God to share
his divine intentions with Abraham? As Fisch says, "A commander in
the army does not share his intentions with his soldiers because he
knows that they will unquestionably comply."7
"To keep the way of the Lord to do righteousness and justice" cannot
be interpreted, therefore, as "Abraham will command his sons to keep on
going in God's way, to do justice" but rather as: "Abraham will command his sons to keep God's way (i.e. guard his way)to do justice."
(The Hebrew remains just as valid: ...1JT3 DK iTCr nX ]SCb TTUTP "O
BSOQI fTpTO rtWSh mrp "pi inaen.) In fact, Rashi understood these
words in the same way. He writes,
39
40
10. Maimonides, Guide 111:24 (my emphasis) (throughout this work the following edition is cited: M. Maimonides, The Guide for the Perplexed [trans. M. Friedlander; London: Routledge, 1928]).
Chapter 4
42
Whether Abraham could think clearly or not is left for the reader to
wonder. That this question reflects a real difficulty in the text is evident.
When describing a reasonable sequence of proceeding an author may
write somewhat loosely, without paying attention to details. In order to
create such an illogical order, however, this author must have deliberately violated the logical one. This is an illogical order of proceeding in
what is probably the most meticulously narrated story in the Bible. We
must therefore inquire not only into Abraham's intentions but also into
the author'swhat was he trying to convey?
As the journey continues the confusion grows worse. In contrast to
Abraham's first swift actions (rising early in the morning, saddling the
donkey, gathering the men, cutting wood), there comes a rather long,
slow sentence: 'Then, on the third day, Abraham lifted up his eyes, and
saw the place that God had told him from afar off' (v. 4). This sentence
is awkward. First, the reader must query the content: "Why did the
journey take so long if Abraham was moving so fast? Why did it take
Abraham three days to travel from Hebron to Mount Moriah? The rabbis
have asked. This is a mere eight hour walk!"3 Was he confused? Was
he deliberately delaying his arrival? There is also the style of the
43
In the next lines Maimonides explains the delay a bit further: "He
consented to kill him after a journey of three days";5 that is, "proper
consideration" means that it was not clear that Abraham would eventually obey. Ibn Caspi, commenting on Maimonides' words, says:
Maimonides excelled further in saying that the Torah, in informing us
that the actual binding took place three days after the command, was so
that we should not imagine that it was carried out in confusion...but
rather after consideration and thought. For A braham must have wondered
how the Lord could command him to perform such an abomination... ?6
Maimonides never explicitly said that Abraham's delay was due to any
ethical doubts, only that it indicates "careful consideration." For some
reason, Ibn Caspi insists that this was what Maimonides actually meant;
we shall see later on that this is quite accurate.
The time gap in Abraham's journey was also reflected in a famous
Midrash, ascribing the delay to the devil's intervention on the way:
44
As with Ibn Caspi's reading, this Midrash explains the delay by ethical
arguments, put in the devil's voice of reason. It would not be too much
of a speculation to suggest that this Midrash actually expresses Abraham's thoughts, only transferring them to Satan.
Verse 5 presents another difficulty. "Stay here with the donkey,"
commands Abraham his servants: "the lad and I will go yonder and
worship, and we will come back to you" (Gen 22:5). "We will come
back?" ask the rabbis, "if Abraham intended to sacrifice his son, how
could he say, 'we will return to you'? He should have said 'I will return
to you.'997 This would not seem to be a significant difficulty for it admits
a simple explanation: Abraham is plainly lying to his servants, thereby
hiding the truth also from his son. But is this in fact the case? Once
again, the meaning of Abraham's words is obscure and open to speculation; as Wenham writes, he can be understood in various ways:
He [Abraham] simply but enigmatically states "stay by yourselves... So
that we can worship and return." In light of the command to sacrifice
7. Kuli, Yalkut Me 'am Lo 'ez9 314.
45
Isaac, it is odd that he says "we shall return." Is this economy with the
truth a smokescreen, hiding the true plan from the servants and Isaac? Is
Abraham perhaps having second thoughts about sacrificing his son? Or
does he hope that somehow Isaac would return as a result of Divine intervention? His remark leaves us to speculate, and the narrator does nothing
to stop us.8
2
The confusion reaches a climax in v. 8. Isaac turns to his father with an
innocent question"Look, the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb
8. Wenham, Genesis 16-50, 106.
9. Ibn Caspi, Gevia Kesef 145a.
10. Rashi, Perush alHatorah.
11. Maimonides, Guide 111:24.
46
for the burnt offering?"but the father's reply is obscure: HXT DTTl^K
^32 rb*\xh ntDn 1^ ("God will provide for himself the lamb for a burnt
offering, my son"). In fact, so obscure is this wording that the translation
is not at all self-evident: The Hebrew HXT may be translated literally as
"see," so that God would be the quiescent agent, "God shall see the
lamb...," or as "show," so that God would become active: "God shall
show the lamb." However, the word TOT is followed by another accusative, "6, which may be understood as "him," "himself or "for himself."
Since such a combination, !*? TOT ("see himself), is exceptional in
Hebrew, it is certainly crucial for understanding Abraham's words,
placing a strong emphasis on God's passivity. This is not merely "God
shall see" but "God shall see himself a lamb for a burnt offering" or even
"God shall see for himself..." The KJV actually gives "for himself but
escapes the provocative result that "God shall see for himself the lamb"
by translating TOT not literally as "see" or "show," but as "provide":
"God shall provide for himself..." While this is a possible interpretation
of the Hebrew, there is no reason not to use here a simple translation.
Thus the verse is more responsibly translated as "God shall see for
himself the burnt offering, my son." In fact, the English reader may take
into account that TOT could be also translated as "find out": "God will
find out for himself the lamb, my son."
Jack Miles writes:
As for the sentence "God will see to the sheep..." ...Is this sentence
spoken past Isaac to God? Is it a plea? Is it a challenge? The verb form
translated "will see to" may be either future or jussive; that is, either
"God will see too" or "let God see to."12
47
why did he arrange the wood, bind Isaac, and place him on the wood
without first igniting it? According to the laws of sacrifice, one must first
kindle the fire, and only then can one slaughter the sacrifice.13
48
Chapter 5
What was the act that determined the Akedah's extraordinary religious
impact on generations to come, establishing Abraham as the father of
monotheism? I raised that question in Chapter 1, where it became clear
that, when taking into account the context of the Near East, it admits no
simple answer. Here I would like to propose one.
1
According to the common understanding, Abraham's religious significance lies in his readiness to obey: he is commanded to make the most
precious sacrifice conceivable; by complying, he presents an unprecedented act of faith. As observed in Chapter 1, however, this is untenable.
Similar stories of child sacrifice are frequently encountered in the ancient
Near East where fathers are not only ready to sacrifice their "only
beloved sons," but, unlike Abraham, also eventually do. It was therefore
hard to see what is supposed to mark Abraham's model of obedience as
exceptional; it is, in fact, inferior to that of his contemporaries. A different approach accounting to Abraham's religious significance, an
approach which has been widely accepted among biblical scholars,
explains the Akedah as a polemic against the ritual of child sacrifice: the
story presents the well-known myth of child sacrifice but changes the
ending; God does not wish the death of the son. As such, it apparently
50
51
52
form. Like an image and its reflection in a mirror, the inverted image and
its movements become an antithesis of the original one. A reader who is
able to trace the relation between such stories and understand itin
similarities but especially in differenceswill be able to re-evaluate
them; their participants, actions and contents.7
It will become clear that the striking resemblances between the
Abraham narrative and the ancient myth of child sacrifice, together with
the equally striking contrasts (such as those that suggested to Sarna that
there is no relation between the stories at all), form such a reflection.
The dissimilarities, in other words, are not without meaning; they are
"opposite parallels." Only when we have recognized the details of the
reflection, will we be able to appreciate the religious significance of the
moment it introduced in the ancient Near East.
2
Shortly before engaging in battle against the children of Ammon,
Jephthah vows a vow:
And Jephthah made a vow to the Lord, and said "If you will give the
Ammonites into my hand, then whoever comes out of the doors of my
house to meet me, when I return victorious from the Ammonites, shall be
the Lord's, to be offered up by me as a burnt offering." So Jephthah
crossed over to the Ammonites to fight against them; and the Lord gave
them into his hand. He inflicted a massive defeat on them from Aroer to
the neighborhood of Minnith, twenty towns, and as far as Abel-Keramim.
So the Ammonites were subdued before the people of Israel. Then Jephthah came to his home at Mizpah; and there was his daughter coming out
to meet him with timbrels and with dancing. She was his only child; he
had no son or daughter except her. (Judg 11:30-34)
The daughter lived for two more months, bewailing "her virginity on the
mountains" (cf. Judg 9:34), but eventually returned willfully to her
father, who "did with her according to the vow he had made" (Judg
11:38-39).
Disregarding obvious differences, the similarities between this story
and Gen 22 are striking.8 Jephthah's daughter is called his "only one"
7. See Y. Zakovich, "Reflection StoryAnother Dimension of the Evaluation of
Characters in Biblical Narrative," Tarbitz 54, no. 2 (1985): 165-76 (in Hebrew).
Many reflection stories have been pointed out by Zakowich and others, showing how
important this phenomena is for the understanding of biblical texts.
8. For a though analysis, see D. Marcus, Jephthah and his Vow (Lubbock, Tex.:
Texas Tech, 1986).
53
Compare "and he took his firstborn son..." (in DK Hp^l, 2 Kgs 3:27)
with "take your son" ("p HK X3 np) in the Binding (Gen 22:2) and also
".. .and offered him as aburnt offering" (nbwh irnim, 2 Kgs 3:27) with
"and offer him there as a burnt offering..." (Tlbwb DC0 ir6um),
occurring also in the vow made by Jephthah: ".. .to be offered up by me
as a burnt offering..."(rfTU) inform, Judg 11:31). Further, while Abraham sacrifices the ram "under [i.e. instead of] his son" (133 Dnn, Gen
22:13), the king of Moab sacrifices his "firstborn son" who will rule
"under [i.e. after] him" (ITinn, 2 Kgs 3:27). The verbal similarities are
striking; it is difficult to argue as Sarna that the Akedah has "nothing in
common" with the pagan myth of child sacrifice.9 As Levenson observes,
"The terminology of Mesha's sacrifice of his first born is almost identical
to the language of YHWH's initial command to Abraham.. .and to that of
Jephthah's vow"; "At the very least, this argues for more continuity
between Israel and its neighbors to the east.. ."10
9. See Sarna, Genesis, 153.
10. Levenson, Death and Resurrection, 15.
54
Here too one can trace both the similar motifs and the verbal echoes.
Philo refers to the sacrificed son as the only begotten son, using ledoud
(IsouS') that bears a strong resemblance to the biblical yahid (TIT). The
motif of circumcision echoes Abraham's circumcision in Gen 17where
it is strongly connected to the protection of his seed (w. 4-13)and the
basic elements of those testimonies fit the story of Mesha who, similarly,
practices child sacrifice in order to save his city. Again, the evidence
suggests that all stories appeal to some common origin, a well-known
myth of child sacrifice. Levenson concludes that "piecing together these
texts we can, with all due caution, speculate that they all reflect a pattern. .." If such a pattern indeed existed, he writes, "then it is clearly one
with a rich set of reflexes in the Hebrew Bible.. ."13
We may draw this outline as follows. First, the context is one of a
disaster threatening a city or a people. This is so in the stories of Mesha
and Jephthah, as well as the testimony of Philo. Second, the sacrifice of
the son is not regarded as an everyday kind of act, carried out by
ordinary people; it is the sacrifice of the son of the king, indeed his "only
begotten son" (TfP), who is to rule after him. The son's terming as
"only" (TIT) in this way is crucial, recurring in the stories of Jephthah
11. Eusebius, Praparatio evangelica 1.10.40.
12. Ibid.
13. Levenson, Death and Resurrection, 117.
55
(his daughter being his "only" one), Abraham (as Isaac is termed as
his "only son who you love") and in the writings of Philo. This term
reoccurs in the Bible: Amos threatens that God will make the earth
mourn as "for an only child" (Amos 8:10), and Jeremiah adheres to the
same language, drawing the connection of the only son's sacrifice to the
context of the impending disaster in a forceful lament: "My poor
people.. .strew dust on yourselves, mourn as for an only child (TP *73K).
Wail bitterly for suddenly the destroyer is coming upon us" (Jer 6:26).
Third, the protagonist of the story takes action in order to save his
people. He initiates the sacrificea "burnt offering" of his "only son"
in order to appease the angry deity. According to Philo's testimony, he
also circumcises himself and his men. Fourth, these actions prove
effective: it appears to be an accepted belief that the sacrifice of the only
son and the act of circumcision are good ways to appease the gods and
save the people. Thus, Jephthah vows on the assumption that this may
help him gain a victory (and it actually does); Moab is saved because of
Mesha's sacrifice; and, in Jeremiah's lament, we see that the people
should moan as for an "only child" because the "destroyer is coming"
upon them.
In short, according to this scheme a people is safeguarded by its
leader's sacrifice of his "only beloved son" as a "burnt offering." (Indeed,
it is hard not to think here of Jesus, more precisely of the Crucifixion, in
which the world is redeemed through God's sacrifice of his only beloved
son. I discuss this issue in some detail in the conclusion of the book.)
The recurrence of similar motifs is striking. But it is the joint recurrence of the verbal motifs that, it seems to me, really puts beyond doubt
the existence of some common origin, a myth of child sacrifice, the
motifs underlying which were reconstituted above.
3
We may now return to the initial question: What is intended by the purposeful composition of the Abraham narrative using traditional accounts
of child sacrifice, but in a modified way? On a first comparison, the
recurrence of two important motifs is evident: child sacrifice (Gen 22)
and circumcision (Gen 17), Many commentators have observed these
common features, noting that while both elements are found in Genesis,
they are very different from the variants current in other versions of the
myth. This was mentioned by Sarna, who observed that it is not Abraham who takes the initiative (like the hero of the ancient myth) but God
himself, and even more important, that those motifs occur out of their
56
51
the picture is inverted, and the reflection appears: the people would exist
not through Isaac's sacrifice, but though his getting off the altar safely.
Now that we recognize this inversion, we are in position to re-evaluate
the religious significance of Gen 22the narrative uses the ancient Near
Eastern myth to introduce a daring theological conception: in the usual
story the people are saved because its leader was ready to sacrifice his
"beloved son"; in this story they are saved because of his refusal to do
so. Abraham's ethical integrity thus becomes an essential foundation,
underling the very existence of his seed.
Chapter 6
59
His later references to his Egyptian visit indicate that there he acquired
some important exegetical skills, gaining acquaintance with Near Eastern
traditions and some knowledge of the Arabic language. On his return to
Europe in 1318 his first scholarly effort, Sefer Hasod (The Book of the
Secret}, appeared. This work, which is a systematic study of methodological questions of biblical exegesis, was greeted most unfavorably by
Ibn Caspi's contemporaries, most notably Kalonymus b. Kalonymus, the
famous Jewish poet. Using exceptional sardonic language and addressing
Ibn Caspi as "our master" and "the great prince who performs miracles,"
Kalonymus criticized many of the arguments presented in the book as
"too pretentious," dismissing others as altogether wrong. The incident
had a crucial effect on Ibn Caspi's attitude to contemporary scholars. He
wandered throughout Europe in search of a teacher or a study companion
in order that, as he once said, "the Lord may work a miracle for me, so
that I find a disciple after my mind, to whom I may bequeath [my] inmost
thoughts and opinions."2 He seems never to have found such a disciple or
even a suitable place to settle, spending his mature years in continuous
movement throughout Europe.
But if Ibn Caspi's relation to contemporary scholars can be described
as somewhat problematic, his attitude to the general Jews surrounding
him may be regarded as truly hostile. In his attack on Ibn Caspi,
Kalonymus once accused him of addressing the masses of the people as
"nothing but animals." This was accurate; this attitude is indeed implied
by his writings, considering common folk as "fools" who cannot think
freely and whose thought is "wholly dependent on customary superstitious beliefs." Surrounded by enmity, he came to the conclusion that a
person's quality stands in the opposite relation to his/her popularity:
someone who is unpopular in his/her community has the chance of being
a righteous person; a scholar not accepted among his/her contemporaries
is very likely an innovative one.
This hostility to the common people is beyond anecdote; it constitutes
an important element in Ibn Caspi's thought. Basing his social ideas
mainly on Averroes' commentary on Plato's Republic and on Maimonides' Guide-, he held that a religious community is essentially divided
into two classes: the "common people" (DI?H Jion) and the "selected
individuals" (rfr'tton TTP), Whereas the first group is constituted of the
masses who are incapable of philosophical reflection, the second is comprised of the few who think freely and are independent of superstitious
2. Quoted in M. Steinschneider, Die Hebraischen Ubersetzungen des Mittelalters
(Berlin, 1893), 111.
60
61
2
The most fundamental assumption of Ibn Caspi's biblical exegesis, as
already noted, is the idea that the text has two layers of meaning: one
addressed to the common people, the other to knowledgeable individuals.
Whereas the one presents the plain meaning of the text, the other is to be
interpreted philosophically, according to the ideas found in the writings
of the Greeks. This assumption is based on a traditional view, generally
adopted by Jewish exegetes in the Middle Ages, that philosophy was
completely known to the Hebrews as early as the Mosaic period but was
4. Maimonides, Guide, Introduction.
62
lost in exile. Ibn Caspi thus found it not only appropriate to apply metaphysical and logical arguments as a means of explicating biblical texts
but absolutely necessary. One of Aristotle's fundamental metaphysical
ideas, for instance, is his classification of the "four causes": "material,"
"formal," "agent" and "purpose." (In his book MitsrafLakeseflbn Caspi
lists the four different Hebrew terms that signify causality, suggesting
that each corresponds to one of the Aristotelian causes. These terms are,
respectively, "lema'an" []OSb]9 "biglal" [^], "ba'avur" [TDM] and
"ya'an" []IP]. Later, the application of this classification to the biblical
text would enable him to account philosophically for stories such as the
creation, divine revelations and miracles.)
Nevertheless, even when he appeals to complicated metaphysical
notions, Ibn Caspi's first commitment is to the plain meaning of the text.
As someone who wrote books on the methodology of interpretation, his
position is very firm and well articulated:
Everything should retain a simple meaning together with a hidden meaning as is proper and as our sages have said "a verse cannot depart from its
plain meaning" (BT Sabbat 63a) unless Scripture indicates that it
occurred in a prophetic vision, or else if the plain meaning is rationally
impossible.5
63
3
In his book on Ibn Ezra, Kevusat Kesef, Ibn Caspi says that from the
names of God mentioned in scripture, "one can learn the most wonderful
and sublime things."71 remarked earlier that Ibn Ezra gave the criterion
of the divine names a central place in his exegesis, long before it was
identified by the first biblical critic, Astruc, in 1757. Ever since Ibn Ezra
first enunciated this criterion, traditional exegetes, including Maimonides, Halevi and others, applied it extensively in their commentaries. Ibn
Caspi's remark shows that he too finds it fruitful. Discounting minor
differences, he generally accepts Maimonides' view that the difference
between "Elohim" (DTT^K) and "YHWH" (mm) should be explained
philosophically: while the first is supposedly an "equivocal term," referring to God by the mediation of his attributes, the second is the deity's
proper name, referring directly to his essence.
As Maimonides observed in the Guide, "God" (DTTl^X) is not used
solely in reference to God, but also to other beings, including deities,
rulers and judges; he infers that this is a homonymous term which the
Torah uses in describing any entity that has the attribute of judgment.
The Tetragrammaton (mm, YHWH), by contrast, is never used with
reference to any being other than the supreme deity; Maimonides therefore interprets it as the deity's proper name. Based on God's saying to
Moses, "Ehyeh asher Ehyeh" (mflX nX mnx, "I'll be whatever I'll
6e"), Maimonides holds that both its letters (mm) and the pronunciation
indicate the notion of "existence." And since God's essence is identical
with his existence, he argues that this name is a direct, "unequivocal"
reference to it.8
6. Ibn Caspi, Gevia Kesef.
7. Ibn Caspi, Kevusat Kesef, 21.
8. See Chapter 7.
64
Ibn Caspi opens his account of Gen 22 by saying that God's command to
Abraham that he sacrifice his only son constitutes a twofold moral sin:
the "sin of murder" and "the sin of committing an abomination before
65
the Lord."9 The first sin is that of taking innocent human life, the second
is the contempt for religion involved in this act; that is, the performance
of a moral sin in the name of an apparently religious conduct. Having
taken such an extreme stand against the command, Ibn Caspi then has to
reconcile his position with the story's central place in the Jewish
tradition. How is it possible that "God" commands such an abomination
and Abraham is supposed to obey? Why has the story become the most
basic model of the Jewish faith?
The solution is found in the twofold semantic axis of the biblical text.
The first, addressed to the common reader, is that involving the abomination of God's demanding Isaac's sacrifice and Abraham, apparently,
being supposed to obey. "However," Ibn Caspi says, "notice the difference between the lesson that a fool will glean from the verses of the
Torah, and what a treasured individual will take from them." He offers a
twofold explanation to four stages of the narrative, each addressed to a
different class of readers. As the true meaning of each of these stages is
uncovered, it turns out that the story has nothing like an abomination, but
introduces what is actually one of the most fundamental principles of the
monotheistic faith.
"[A]nd God tested (TO3) Abraham" (v. 1). What does "tested" mean
here? Why did God test Abraham? "Maimonides excelled greatly," writes
Ibn Caspi, "when he said at length in the Guide 111:24 that the intended
meaning (of 'God tested Abraham') was 'to make known and inform'."
Yet "not every one," he continues, "will understand what he said."
Ibn Caspi is alluding here to Maimonides' explanation in the Guide
111:24 that all the "trials" (niarcra) mentioned in Scripture were not
intended as examinations or tests, but in some cases as exhibitions
demonstrations of religious models. In this view, when God tests a certain individual, commanding him to perform a particular act, the purpose
of the test is not "the accomplishment of that particular act" but the
demonstration of the tested individual's being "a model to be imitated
and followed." Accordingly, Gen 22 was not intended to examine
Abraham's faith but to demonstrate two fundamental religious principles.
First, "the limits of love for God and...fear of him," and second, that
"the prophets consider as true that which comes to them from God in
prophetic revelations."10
At first, it may seem that Ibn Caspi is simply repeating Maimonides'
explanation in his own words. "Firstly," he says, "[the writer of Torah]
wanted to inform us that God tests people in order to show that there are
9. Ibn Caspi, Gevia Kesef, 143.
10. Maimonides, Guide 111:24.
66
among them ones who love Him..."; "the second benefit (that we are to
learn) is that it is correct for the Lord, as it is for us, to command something and then later to command its oppositeas was the case here."
However, having given such a clear reference to the Guide, Ibn Caspi
continues: "The third benefit, besides the ones mentioned by Maimonides, is the one that is most precious, and the greatest principle for which
the chapter was recorded."11 Was there then a "third matter" which
Maimonides does not mention explicitly? Ibn Caspi says: "It was the fact
that Abraham prevented carrying it [the sacrifice] out at the point when
he was approaching the act." On what grounds does Ibn Caspi arrive at
this conclusion? At this point he goes on to speak of the continuous
"hints" provided by the writer of the Torah. ".. .Then, on the third day,
Abraham lifted up his eyes, and saw the place afar off (Gen 22: 4). As
observed in Chapter 4, the rabbis repeatedly observed that this was
actually too long: "why did it take him [Abraham] three days to travel to
the Moriah?" they ask; "it should have taken him eight hours!"12
Maimonides argued that the delay in the journey indicates that Abraham's readiness to kill his son was not shrouded in "confusion or fear,"
but reached after careful, rational consideration. Ibn Caspi expounds:
"Maimonides excelled further in saying that the intention of the Torah in
informing us that the actual binding took place three days after the
command, was so that we should not imagine that it was carried out in
confusion or haste but rather after considered thought.. ,"13 Yet here too
he goes on to ascribe to the interpretation ideas that are not foundat
least not explicitlyin Maimonides: "...For Abraham must have
wondered," he says, "how the Lord could command him to perform such
an abominationas was proven by [the story's] end." The "end" of the
story, then, shows that Abraham's "careful considerations" were actually
expressions of his ethical doubts. The story's end, of course, is the
"prevention of the act" (HinDil).
"Stay here by yourself," says Abraham to his servants, "and I and the
lad will go yonder and worship, and we will come pITTO] again to you"
(Gen 22:5). As we have seen, the rabbis found this difficult. Why "we
will come again?" they asked; "he should have used the singular, he was
supposed to slay his son!" This is actually another hint, Ibn Caspi
proposes. Abraham's servants, he says, "were inferior people... [They]
were not fit to accompany Abraham in such a holy place"; "they were not
compatible with the revelation of so important a secret as this, nor with
11. Ibn Caspi, Gevia Kesef, 217-19.
12. Kuli, Yalqut Me 'am Lo 'ez, 430.
13. Ibid, 273.
67
68
This last statement makes it clear that the key to Ibn Caspi's account of
the story is to be found in his philosophical explanation of the divine
names. As we have seen above, "God" (DTD^X), is a homonymous term,
referring to other beings as wellsuch as kings or other deities. A
prophetic vision involving this term accordingly originates in "the
heavenly spheres" (inferior to the "separate intellect"); it is mediated by
the prophet's imaginative faculty, as opposed to prophetic visions
perceived by his intellect:
When the Torah refers to Abraham's act it is careful to say "thou art a
God-fearing man (DTH^K K"V), seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thy
only son..." for the sacrifice of his son was because he feared God, i.e.
the heavenly spheres. Such an act was also the result of the imagination,
for such was, and still is, the custom of the nations in making offerings
and sacrifice.17
69
Jephthah, then, had to "withdraw his vow" but, as a fool, waited for an
angel to stop the sacrifice. Abraham was not a fool, however; as Ibn
Caspi observes, the command to prevent the sacrifice is not associated
with "God" (DTr6) but with YHWH (mm). He infers from this that
Abrahamas an individual human subjectis actually the one responsible for the prevention of the sacrifice. "The prevention," he says, "is
necessitated of the intellection by the separate intellect and emanation
from him [YHWH]." And, further, when our intellect emanates from the
separate intellect, we "bring God inside our heads."
5
"And Abraham went, and took the ram, and offered him up for a burnt
offering in the stead of his son" (Gen 22:13). In Chapter 2 I argued that
this was originally the climax of the story, where Abraham independently
sacrifices the ram "instead of his son." Here too Ibn Caspi suggests a
twofold interpretation. First, the story is supposed to mark a turning
point: from human to animal sacrifice. As he observes, Abraham's sacrifice of the ram gave rise to traditions of animal burnt offerings, relying
on the rationale that "God had prevented him [Abraham] from making
such sacrifice to him by substituting a ram, and it is proper to us to do the
same." A similar reasoning, it may be observed, has been adopted by
modern scholars who hold that the narrative serves as a polemic against
child sacrifice.19 Spiegel (quoted earlier) is most explicit, saying that the
purpose of the story was "to abolish human sacrifice." Ibn Caspi rejects
this view as that of the common reader. "While this was to be communicated to the masses," he writes, "it [v. 13] was also to be understood by
the selected individuals"; "...it is stated that Abraham, of his own
volition, took the ram and offered it up for a burnt offering instead of his
son." He draws that the "first intention" (mitwn milD) of the verse is
"the mentioned prevention" (mDT3f7 rUP3Qn). "The ram's sacrifice," he
says, is only "reminded in it." Had Ibn Caspi thought that by the time
Abraham sacrificed the ram "instead of his son" (133 nnn) the angel had
already stopped the sacrifice, the sacrificing of the ram as a burnt offering
would not have been merely "reminded" in the act of prevention.
Shortly after Abraham sacrificed the ram, the angel of YHWH called
from heaven a second time (w. 14-18). To be sure, it is generally agreed
by modern scholars that this speech is secondary, interpolated by a later
redactor. For a traditional exegete, however, holding as Ibn Caspi did
19. For discussion see Chapter 7.
70
that Abraham's true conduct was disobedience, these angelic words pose
a problem: while he cannot dismiss them as "secondary," they praise
Abraham, rewarding his obedience:
Then the angel of the Lord called to Abraham a second time from heaven;
And he said "By myself I have sworn, says the Lord, because you have
done this thing and have not withheld your son, your only son blessing I
will bless you and multiplying I will multiply your descendants as the
stars of the heaven and as the sand which is on the seashore; and your
descendants shall possess the gate of their enemies; in your seed all the
nations of the earth shall be blessed because you have obeyed my voice.
(Gen 22:15-18)
Yet, the plain meaning of this speech is, according to Ibn Caspi, not the
true one; Abraham was rewarded "twice," he says: first for the apparent
obedience, but then for the "prevention":
The Torah is careful to allude twice to reward. The first was at the beginning when saying "because thou hast done this thing and has not withheld
thy son, thy only son," which refers to the command [to sacrifice]. The
other was at the conclusion of his words, saying "because thou hast
hearkened to my voice," which refers to desisting, which was superior.20
6
71
72
Ibn Caspi, at all events, greeted the elder: "[May] your heart be
blessed for putting my mind to rest."
7
More than once, Ibn Caspi insists that this account of Gen 22 is in fact an
explicit explanation of Maimonides' own esoteric words; did indeed
Maimonides himself suggest this interpretation? The possibility should
not be ruled out. Ibn Caspi defines his Gevia Kesefas an explicit explanation of Maimonides' esoteric interpretations of the Torah; he even
dwells on this fact in the opening of his account of the narrative, saying
that "There are deep things in this matter [Gen 22] that are discussed
elsewhere, but I will write here what is appropriate to the intention of
this work." As noted earlier, Ibn Caspi never hesitates to criticize
Maimonides or explicitly depart from his views wherever he sees fit. We
may therefore safely assume that, as here he insists that this is actually
Maimonides' interpretation, he sincerely believed so.
In his first reference to the Guide 111:24 Ibn Caspi wrote that Maimonides stressed two important "benefits" for the sake of which this narrative
was written, but that a third one, other than those openly discussed by
Maimonides, is actually the most important. "The third benefit, besides
the ones mentioned by Maimonides, is the one that is most precious, and
the greatest principle for which the chapter was recorded"; "It was the
fact that Abraham prevented carrying it out at the point when he was
approaching the act."
Can such a third benefit actually be traced in the Guide!
Chapter 7
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15
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this Treatise contains..." he writes, "you must connect its chapters with
one another."8 The true opinions of the Guide, in other words, are never
presented in full at any one point. Its arguments, deliberately broken into
fragments, are scattered throughout the treatise. In this way the reader is
assigned an unusually active role of interpretation: to apprehend Maimonides' true opinion on some issue, he/she has to gather the various
allusions to it from throughout the Guide and independently reconstruct
it. Finally, such a reconstruction should make us able to perceive also
the third concealing method, namely, that of writing in contradictions.
Maimonides says that he included in the work some self-contradictory
arguments: one line of argument may be developed on the basis of a
certain premise and another on the basis of a second premisecontradicting the first. A reader encountering such arguments is left to speculate: Which did Maimonides genuinely intend?
It may be noted that while these writing techniques are designed to
conceal the true ideas of the Guide, they are at the same time also the key
to their discovery. Wherever some word seems of particular, uncoincidental importance, whenever one paragraph sheds important light on
another or when a contradiction occursthe reader may rightly assume
that Maimonides' true opinions should be looked for.
In the Introduction to the Guide, Maimonides specifies two elements
of the Bible's language that enable it to carry its twofold dimension of
meaning: equivocal terms and parables. Equivocal terms are single
words that can be understood in more than one sense; their signification
is not unique. Parables are more composite units of narrative (such as
verses or whole passages) that should be interpreted as allegories: they
have both an "external" sense and an "internal" one, the first being the
plain meaning of the text, the second the true one it encodes.
One of the most important biblical words interpreted as an equivocal
term is "God" (Elohim; DTTl^K). Needless to say, interpreting this word
as equivocal may shed crucial light on many biblical stories, including
the Binding. According to Guide 1:2, this word has no less than three
different senses. "Every Hebrew knew," Maimonides writes, "that the
term 'Elohim* [God] is equivocal, designating the deity, the angels and
the judges governing the cities." "God" is not the deity's proper name,
then, but only a general term. In 11:6, Maimonides is more specific. He
argues that this term is not simply equivocal but derivative: originally
designating the judges, it later came to signify also the angels and the
deity; these beings too, he says, share the attribute of judgment.
8. Ibid.
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These words explain more than the kind of punishment imposed on man
because of the sin. They explain the kind of "judgment" the word "God"
stands for. It does not signify the monotheistic deity who is characterized
by necessary absolute truths, but stands for relative, ethical conventions,
that are liable to cultural changes in different times and places.
In this light, it appears that Ibn Caspi's discussion of this word was
faithful to Maimonides, only made in more explicit language. As we
recall, Ibn Caspi explained that the name "God" does not represent the
9. See S. Klein-Braslavy, Maimonides' Interpretation of the Adam Stories in
Genesis (Jerusalem: Rubin Mass, 1986), 43-106. The reading of Maimonides, I
suggest, here is slightly different.
10. Maimonides, Guide 1:2.
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deity (= the "separate intellect") but the "heavenly spheres," standing for
traditional customs and conventional beliefs (even the pagan gods).
Unlike Maimonides, he did not adduce the story of the Garden of Eden
to demonstrate his argument, but the Binding of Isaac: "When the Torah
refers to Abraham's act, it is careful to say 'thou art a God (DTTl^X)fearing man'," he wrote. "For the sacrifice of the son was because he
feared God (DTD^S), i.e. the heavenly spheres...; for such was, and still
is, the custom of the nations making offering and sacrifice."11 Maimonides, in the light of his interpretation of the Fall, would have no quarrel
with these words.
2
As has been noted, Maimonides interprets God's command to sacrifice
Isaac and the angelic command to desist as moments of prophetic
revelation. It is necessary therefore to consider first his theory of prophecy, before moving to his account of Gen 22.12
In the Guide 11:36, Maimonides analyzes the process of acquiring
prophecies as the following:
Know that the true reality and quiddity of prophecy consists in its being an
overflow overflowing from God.. .through the intermediation of the Active
Intellect, toward the rational faculty and thereafter toward the imaginative
faculty. This is the highest degree of man, and the ultimate term of perfection that can exist for his species; and this state is the ultimate term of
perfection for the imaginative faculty.
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gain social and religious authority. When a prophet reaches the highest
degree of perfection, Maimonides explains, his/her entire soul becomes a
prophetic medium: his/her intellect perceives the divine overflow from
the active intellect while his/her bodily organsnot only his/her imagination and speech organsact according to its influence.
Following al Farabi, Maimonides believes that not all prophecies are
of the same degree of perfection. In 11:45, he enumerates eleven different
degrees of prophetic activity, into which the prophetic instances recorded
in the Bible can be classified. His first, general division is between
prophetic "dreams" and prophetic "visions." Images appearing in a prophetic dream are experienced while the prophet is asleep and, in most
cases, have a subjective manner of appearance. Images appearing in a
prophetic vision, however, which are experienced while awake, are perceived as almost real, objective figures. A prophet seeing them, Maimonides writes, "sees a thing as if it were outside" (11:45).
These two general divisions are later further classified into subdivisions. The lowest kind in the sequence is one where, in a prophetic
dream, a prophet perceives and understands what Maimonides calls
"prophetic parables" (that is, not plain articulated speech). From this
stage there follow in ascending order hearing articulated speech, seeing a
man speaking, seeing an angel speaking and seeing God (DTn^K) speaking, which is the highest degree of the lower kind of propheciesthose
experienced while asleep.
From this stage begins the classification of the prophetic visions. It
follows a similar path: the lowest kind is that in which a prophet perceives parables while awake, from which follow hearing articulated
speech, seeing a man speaking and, lastly, seeing an angel speaking. At
this point Maimonides raises the question whether it would be possible
also to see God in a prophetic vision, ruling this possibility out. The
human imaginative faculty, he argues, is unable to construct an objective
image of the deity. This is crucial: the highest possible prophetic degree
is not that of seeing God speaking, but that of seeing an angel. "The
eleventh degree," Maimonides writes, "consists in the prophet's seeing
an angel who addresses him in a vision.. .as Abraham in the time of the
Binding. In my opinion, this is the highest of the degrees of the prophets
whose states are attested by the prophetic books..." (11:45).
3
Having conducted a comprehensive study of the story of Job, Maimonides turns in 111:24 to a more general treatment of the subject of "trials"
recorded in the Bible. This subject, he says, is very difficult. "It is one of
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the great difficulties" of the Torah.13 In practice, it seems that his intention in this discussion is to go beyond a general treatment of the biblical
concept of trial; for having discussed the conceptual difficulties involved
in the biblical trial stories, he undertakes an extensive interpretation of
one in particular: the Binding of Isaac. Maimonides offers some subtle
argumentation, developing what seems an esoteric account of the narrative. I will therefore quote rather extensively, and comment on Maimonides words in some detail.
The fundamental religious difficulty involved in the notion of trial is a
problem of theodicy: How is it possible that the good deity torments a
righteous man in order to test him, when he had not first committed a
sin? Maimonides opens the chapter with an exposition of the common,
vulgar solving of the problem, according to which "God sends down
calamities upon an individual, without their having been preceded by a
sin, in order that his reward be increased."14 Apparently, there is some
equilibrium between righteousness and reward so that in order to increase
a reward to a certain individual, God will first have to balance it by
adding to his suffering. Maimonides rejects this explanation, however,
contending that a fundamental principle of the Torah runs counter to it.
This principle, expressed by a famous dictum of the sages, is that the
deity is free of any such ethical flaw: "There is no death without sin,"
they said, "and no suffering without transgression" (b. Shabbai).
At first, Maimonides' contention may seem an innocent insistence on
the fundamental principle of theodicy. Any reader of the Torah "who is
endowed with intellect," he writes, must know that it is impossible to
ascribe such injustice to the deity. The context of these words, however,
should also be borne in mind. Maimonides has just finished commenting
on the story of Job and, a few lines later, he gives his interpretation of the
Binding of Isaac. While a reader "endowed with intellect" would agree
that no kind of injustice may be ascribed to the deity, such a reader will
at the same time require a satisfying explanation. Maimonides' interpretation of the narrative will therefore have to supply a reasonable
solution to the tremendous injustice (apparently?) ascribed to "God"
(D'TTfrX) in these stories. (I deal with the story of Job in the next
chapter.)
From the theological problem of theodicy, Maimonides goes on to
comment on the philosophical problem of omniscience. Particularly, why
should the monotheistic deity, which is omniscient, examine its servants?
Maimonides writes that the idea of examination is contained "externally"
13. Ibid, 111:24.
14. Ibid.
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in all the biblical trial stories. On this view, the trials took place "in order
to test and to receive information so that one could know the degree of
faith or the degree of obedience in the individual or nation in question."15
Yet, as we have seen, "externally" means for Maimonides that the trial
stories are actually parables, where the idea of examination is not the true
one. According to Maimonides, it is impossible that the omniscient deity
would test his servants in order to receive information about their faith.
He "already knew it," Maimonides says.
Against these misguided conceptions Maimonides introduces his own:
"Know that the aim and meaning of all the trials mentioned in the Torah
is to let people know what they ought to do or what they must believe."
The biblical trials are not intended as examinations but, rather, as exhibitions: demonstrations of religious models. "The notion of trial," he continues, "consists as it were in a certain act being done, the purpose being
not the accomplishment of that particular act, but the latter's being a
model to be imitated and followed."16 From this conception follows Maimonides' famous insistence that the Binding of Isaac was not intended to
examine Abraham's obedience but to become a model of faith: it was
supposed to "to make known" two great ideas that are "fundamental
principles of the Law." The first, he writes, is the extent to which the
"limits of love for God.. .and fear of Him" may reach: the story expresses
that notion in Abraham's readiness to make a sacrifice that "bears no
comparison," going beyond the value of property or even that of human
life. "Because of his fear of God and his love to carry out His command,"
Maimonides explains, "Abraham held his beloved son as little."
It follows from Maimonides' words that the notion that the story
conveys is not the limits of love for God and fear of him but the fact that
there are actually no such limits, for in relation to Abraham's love and
fear, the sacrifice Maimonides defines as "bearing no comparison"
becomes "little." His love and fear are therefore infinite.
The second "fundamental principle of the law" (= the Torah) that the
story is meant to make known is that prophets possess a certain, absolute
knowledge of the divine messages they perceive. This, apparently, is
demonstrated by Abraham's readiness to obey: "Even though this command came to Him in a dream or in a vision," writes Maimonides, "he
hastened to slaughter." Were Abraham not certain of the divine message
he had perceived, so the argument goes, or had some doubt intervened,
he would not have found the strength to slay his son.
15. Ibid.
16. Ibid.
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comes from "God" (DTD^K) to them. Yet, for some reason, he confused
prophetic visions together with dreams. Let us consider this passage in
full:
[Scripture] wished to make it known to us that all that is seen by a
prophet in a vision of prophecy is, in the opinion of the prophet, a certain
truth, that the prophet has no doubts in any way concerning anything in it,
and that in his opinion its status is the same as that of all existent things
that are apprehended through the senses or through the intellect. A proof
for this is the fact that [Abraham] hastened to slaughter, as he had been
commanded, his son, his only son whom he loved.. ,18
Again, what is the reason for Maimonides' insistence on the alternative of vision? Why the mixing of visions with dreams?
Furthermore, is it at all possible that God's (DTTI^X) command to
Abraham should have the absolute status of an objective truth? As we
have seen, "God" in Maimonides is not the deity's proper name but a
derivative one. It stands for contingent judgments of "good and evil,"
relative to cultural changes, which are not assigned with absolute truth
values. Could anything coming to Abraham from "God" have been
perceived as a "certain truth"?
That it could not is demonstrated also by the angel's command to
desist. Had God's (DTTl^K) word been absolutely certain, the command
could never have changed and negated by the angel. This problem was
expressed in the following Midrash of which Maimonides, it is reasonable to assume, was aware:
But the angel of the Lord (mm) called unto him (v. 12) Abraham said to
him: who are you? He said to him: I am an angel. Abraham said to him:
when the holy one told me to sacrifice, he told me so himself. So now I
ask that he himself tell me [to stop].20
18. Ibid, (my emphasis).
19. Ibid.
20. Midrash Tanhuma Wayyera Gen 4, p. 128 (see also discussion in Chapter 2).
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It is not only that the angel contradicted God's word that is striking,
but the fact that Abraham somehow eventually trusted it, violating God's
initial command. Had God's command, perceived in a prophetic dream,
been absolute, Abraham would not have trusted the angel. Moreover had
the angel's command, perceived in a prophetic vision, had any doubt in
it, Abraham would not have found the strength to violate God's initial
command. The Akedah thus makes known a fundamental truth of prophecy: prophets doubt what comes from God (which may be interpreted
here as the relative norms of the religious community) but do not doubt
the direct revelations, emanating their intellect in prophetic visions.
For that reason Abraham trusted the angel of YHWHviolating God's
command of sacrifice. It is worthwhile here to remember again what
Maimonides had said of the angel's appearance: "The eleventh degree
consists in the prophet's seeing an angel, as Abraham at the time of the
binding. In my opinion, this is the highest of the degrees of the prophets
whose states are attested..."
Maimonides' words contain yet another clue to his opinion on Abraham's act. In the concluding passage he refers to God's words about
Abraham at the beginning of the story of Sodom, quoting the divine
voice saying that "...I have known him (TH^T *O), to the end that he
may command his children and his household after him, that they may
keep the way of the Lord, to do righteousness and judgment..." (Gen
18:19). (We have considered these words in Chapter 3.) Maimonides
compares them to the Binding of Isaac: "thus just as they followed his
[Abraham's] correct and useful opinions, namely, those that were heard
from him, so ought one to follow the opinions deriving from his actions"
(11:24). The opinions drawn from what is "heard" of Abraham in Sodom
are well known to his descendants. "Far be it from thee to do such a
thing.. .shall not the judge of all earth do no right?" The same opinions
are "made known," then, also from Abraham's "actions." "Especially,"
Maimonides writes, "from the act in which he verified the fundamental
principle affirming the truth of prophecy" (nxiiwn nrPDK nr3).
Let me conclude by repeating the main course of the argument. First,
Maimonides writes in the conclusion of his discussion of the Binding
that, "in truth," Abraham demonstrates in the narrative the "fundamental
principle affirming the truth of prophecy" (nX*Q3n nrPQK nr55). As I
have argued, these words suggest that we should study Maimonides'
interpretation of the Binding in the light of his theory of prophecy.
Second, when this is done, it becomes clear that Abraham receives in the
narrative two kinds of prophetic revelations: prophetic dreams, which are
the lower kind, and prophetic visions, which are the higher. Third, the
command to sacrifice Isaac, imposed by God (DTH^X), belongs to the
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rrman nrrax).21
21. Ibn Caspi, Gevia Kesef, 150 (my emphasis). Compare the emphasized statement to Maimonides' saying (repeatedly dealt with in this chapter) that, "in truth,"
Abraham verifies in the narrative "the fundamental principle affirming the truth of
prophecy" (nX*Q3n nTTQK Drs). It is important to point out that the English translation of Ibn Caspi's Gevia Kesef gives here something altogether different ("the
third benefit is that the holy king tests its servants"). But this is mistaken. The
Hebrewas confirmed also against Ibn Caspi's own hand-writing manuscriptsays
nmin nrVQX nra ("the fundamental truth of prophecy"). I do not know what the
origin of the translation error is. It could be related to the fact that the original
thirteenth-century Hebrew manuscript is, after all, in Ibn Caspi's handwriting. Yet I
would like to emphasize that this manuscript is not vague, but quite clear. I would
like to thank Hannah Kasher for bringing this translation error to my attention.
Chapter 8
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10. This can be inferred from "The Trial and the Fear of God," where Leibowich
mentions an "important figure, both morally and intellectually very well established
in the world of Judaism" who recently said that "after Auschwitz he has lost his faith
in God." Leibowich says, "My reply is: this means that you never believed in God;
you only believed in God's help" (p. 36).
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3
Leibowich's explanation is attractive. His reading of Job, however, as
well as his account of the story's relation to the Akedah, is problematic
and hard to defend. The first objection with respect to his reading of Job
concerns the way he understands God's reply. In Leibowich's view, the
divine answer is the moral of the story; it is what made Job withdraw his
improper wish to know the reason behind his suffering. However, if
placed in the correct context, God's reply cannot serve the function
Leibowich ascribes to it; for the answer uttered from the tempestthat
there is no answer and that there need not be oneis actually ironic.12 As
has been pointed out by scholars, there is a straightforward answer to
Job's demand to know the reason. Even though Job himself is not aware
of it, the reader isand so is God: the reason is God's wager with Satan.
In this light, Job did not suffer in spite of his "fear of God," but actually
because of it, for he would not have been tested if he were not "God
fearing"; indeed, he would not have suffered in the first place if God had
not been boasting about him. This irony must be a key for understanding
the moral of this story, since the author very carefully devised it as the
context of the trial.13 And it would seem highly implausible therefore to
suggest, as Leibowich does, that the moral of the story is to be found in
God's words. We will see later on that the moral of the story is to be
found elsewhere, not in God's reply to Job, but in his reply to Eliphaz
(who serves as a model of an ordinary dogmatic believer).
But there is yet another, more serious objection to Leibowich's view.
As noted earlier, one motif that both stories share is a relation between
the "fear of God" and the divine "blessing." We have seen that Job's trial
is devised in order to make sure that his "fear of God" is not a mere
result of God's blessing, and that Abraham was blessed (by the fulfilment of the divine promise to multiply his seed) because he withstood
his trial; because he demonstrated his "fear of God" he was blessed by the
angel. But here there is a fundamental defect in Leibowich's argument.
12. Cf. Y. Hoffman, Blemished Perfection (Jerusalem: Bialik, 1995 [Hebrew]),
215-25.
13. Ibid.
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And soas if to break the silenceJob suddenly opens his mouth and
begins to lamentcursing the day of his birth.
At this point, Job apparently utters no direct attack on God, limiting
his complaint to the cruel fate that has forced him into life. "Would the
day in which I was born be lost," he begs, "let God not seek it from
above and let no light shine upon it"; "Why did I not emerge from the
belly and perish? Why did knees receive me and why were there breasts
that I should suck?" It seems that some insult is conveyed in these words.
What Job is asking here is to have not taken part in God's creation: "That
nightmay pitch darkness take it; shall it not rejoice among the days of
the year" (Job 3:2-3).
As soon as Job falls silent Eliphaz, the oldest and most respectable of
the friends, begins to reply, saying that Job himself should know the
answer to his complains. He reminds Job that he was the one who used to
comfort suffering men by arguing that there is justice in the world: no
righteous man ever suffers without reason.
It has been observed that Eliphaz's words are somewhat ambiguous.
They may convey some indirect criticism on Job since one plausible
interpretation is "if you were as righteous as you claim, you would not
have suffered." However, even if this be so, at this point Eliphaz is still
pretending to be Job's friend. He is not accusing him but only trying to
strengthen his faith. His next speeches, at all events, will become less
ambiguous, as well as less polite. We shall return to this.
In contrast to Eliphaz, Job's two other friends, Bildad and Zophar, go
on the offensive from the first moment. "How long will you speak such
things," asks Bildad immediately as he starts to answer Job, "seeing that
the words of your mouth are [like] a mighty wind." It is clear that he
does not intend to console his friend but to accuse him. He continues:
"Does God prevent judgment? Or does the Almighty prevent justice?"
This, of course, is a rhetorical question. In Biblical Hebrew, the name
"God" (DTH^K) often stands for the property of judgment. Bildad's question is therefore bold: "is it possible that the judge will distort judgment?" Indeed, here Abraham again offers an analogy. He presented a
similar rhetorical question, using the same logical assumption: "Shall not
the judge (BBW) of all earth do justice (BBBD)?" But the difference
between Abraham and Bildad is evident. While Bildad addresses his
rhetoric to his friend, Job, Abraham addressed the deity. His assumption
was not that God necessarily does justice, but that he necessarily has to.
It is outside my scope here to present a full account of Job's debate
with his comforters. Bildad and Zophar are never developed into full
blooded characters; they serve merely as Job's background, and never
present any sound theological argumentation that could resolve Job's
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Eliphaz's line of reasoning is clear. If Job's righteousness is incompatible with "divine justice" then he must have sinned. Moreover, if in order
to maintain the idea of divine justice there has to be a proportion between
the degree of evil and that of suffering (as Job indeed has contended),
then Job must have sinned severely, for the suffering God imposes on
him is extreme.
As the reader knows, however, these accusations are false. Again, it is
the Prologue that establishes the context: Job never took pledges from his
brothers, neither did he send any widow away; he was "God-fearing" and
"shunning evil." But what is crucial for the understanding of the story is
that this truth is known also to Eliphaz. He is presented not merely as one
who makes false accusations but as one who consciously lies. If Eliphaz
had accused Job of hidden sins (such as murder or rape), he might not
have been lying but simply committing an innocent mistake, that of
deducing (a priori) that Job must has sinnedgiven the fact that he is
actually suffering. The only assumption here, innocent even if dogmatic,
would be that God does justice.
This is not how things are presented, however. Eliphaz accuses Job of
openly committed sins: vain pledging, stripping the naked and withholding water from the thirsty. If Job had committed such misdeeds, people
would have known of it. If Job were guilty of these charges, in other
words, Eliphaz would have to know it not only a priori but also from
experiencewhich he obviously does not. His character thus presents
the consequence of blind insistence on the dogma of divine justice. He
starts by trying to defend it through complicated theoretical solutions, but
ends up with lying accusations. Is this the kind of relation to God that
this text proposes? While this would be the conclusion yielded by
Leibowich's interpretation, it seems extremely hard to accept.
Job presents the antithesis to Eliphaz's argument. He is not committed
to a dogmatic appeal to the theory of reward and punishment, or to the
axiom of divine justice. His sole commitment is to the truth, and he
believes that God too must prefer it. Job therefore thinks that it is better
to "bless" God to his face, rather than flatter him with lies:
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different from his friends. While they state the paradox as a rhetorical
argument (Job is necessarily guilty for his innocence contradicts God's),
Job confirms it only as a definition of the problem. He is well aware of
the idea of divine justice, but at the same time aware also that it clashes
with the truth.
Eventually, Job too reaches the conclusion that appealing to the idea
of judgment would be impossible for him, for it involves going against
the Almighty. History teaches us, says Job, that no human has come back
safely from a confrontation with God: "who hardened his heart against
him and remained whole?" (Job 9:4). Even if we disregard that argument,
he continues, who will have the courage to call God to justice? "Who can
hold him back?" he asks, "who will say to him 'what are you doing ( HQ
iTOUn)?'" (9:12). Lastly, even if God is proven wrong by one of his
servants he will never change his course of action, he will "not turn back
his anger..." (9:13). This set of arguments leads him to renounce the
notion of judgment altogether. He declares, "'He [God] destroys both the
blameless (DTI) and the wicked (JflEn)" (9:22), and asks to die.
But is bringing God to justice truly impossible? The terminology of
Job's declaration recalls much of Abraham's speech in the story of
Sodom: "Far be it from you to kill the righteous (p'HJS) with the wicked
(flan)," he protested, "Far be it from you to do such a thing." Job uses
this terminology in arriving at the conclusion that it is impossible to enter
into juridical proceedings with God; he states God's injustice as a fact.
But Abraham, using a very similar formulation, has shown otherwise.
God's injustice can be reversed.
In fact, the verbal similarity between Job's argument and Abraham's
can be even more closely connected, if we consider Job's unusual
employment of the word innocent (DPI). Abraham uses the formula
"righteous (p*nx) and wicked (U8n)," but Job changes the first term to
"innocent." The fact that he does not use "righteous" cannot be accidental. The combination "righteous and wicked" is a recognized idiom in the
Bible while "innocent and wicked" is not Statistically, for every time
that one of the synonyms of the term "righteous" (such as "innocent")
appears in Psalms or Proverbs, the actual term appears about twice. In
Job, however, for every use of the word "righteous," one of its synonyms
is seen four times.17 The word "wicked" (SVH), it is interesting to
observe, appears at the same rate as in the rest of the Bible. I have no
explanation for the author's avoiding "righteous" (thus blurring the
relation to Abraham). R. Zarhia ben Isaac, a medieval exegete, once said
of Job that it was "written and arranged in order to suggest and hint
17. The statistics are drawn from Hoffman, Blemished Perfection, 341.
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secrets..." He asserts further that had the writer openly revealed his
intentions, "most human beings, or all human beings, would have run
from it."18 At all events, it seems clear that when Job is made to say that
God "destroys both the innocent and the wicked," his words actually
refer to Abraham, who prevented God from doing precisely that. Abraham is the counter of Job's arguments, refuting the reasoning that led Job
to declare judgment impossible. Abraham is the one who confronted God
but "remained whole," the one who had the courage to bring God to
justice. Contrary to Job's argument, God changed his course of action
when he was proved wrong by Abraham. "Who will say to him 'what are
you doing (!TO17n HD)?'" asks Job, which appears to be a rhetorical
question. But in the esoteric dimension of the text there is an answer
Abraham has actually said: "Far be it from you to do such a thing"
5
"And it came to pass after the Lord had spoken these things to Job, that
the Lord spoke to Eliphaz the Temanite..." (HIIT im "IPTX rpm
n^XH D*H3"Tn DS. ..). Here, in God's reply to the dogmatic believer, not
in his reply to Job, the real moral of the story is expressed. His words to
Eliphaz are much shorter than his words to Job, but also much more to
the point: "My wrath is kindled against you and your two companions,"
he says, "because you did not speak correctly, as did my servant Job"
(Job 42:7). Eliphaz thus confirms Job's earlier contention that uttering
dogmatic lies is worse than "blessing" God to his face. It is in light of
this understanding of the story that its relation to Abraham is better
accounted for: Abraham and Job are both seeking to ground their faith
without adopting the dogma of divine justice. Their ideal is one of bringing God to judgment, or even of guarding his ways (see the discussion in
Chapter 3). Only Abraham, however, achieves this aim.
Leibowich would contend that this kind of faith is grounded on
anthropocentric principles. This is true, as long as it subjects God to
human understanding. It is not true, however, that this conception yields
the shallow religious attitude that Leibowich so persistently argues
against; reason-based religion is not necessarily the vacuous religious
attunement Leibowich opposed. For without insisting to subject God to
human understandingif based merely on absolute surrender before
Godfaith would be drained of substantial value. Kant addressed that
issue, commenting specifically on Job:
18. Quoted in ibid.
100
Indeed, it would have been easier for Job to hold on blindly, like Eliphaz,
to the dogma of "reward and punishment." But this would not be more
"proper" than "blessing God to his face." Similarly, it would have been
easier not to argue against the injustice involved in the destruction of
Sodom, as Abraham did in Gen 18. And lastlyeven if this is hard to
conceiveit would have been easier for Abraham to sacrifice Isaac after
all. It is only by his disobedience that Abraham insists that man's relation
to God must be rooted in something other than mere fear. "That which
Abraham said," wrote the rabbis, "said also Job."
19. Immanuel Kant, "On the Miscarriage of all Philosophical Trials in Theodicy"
[ 1791 ], translated by Allen Wood in Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason
and Other Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 26.
Chapter 9
102
God tested Abraham and said 'take your son, your only son whom you
love, and offer him up for a burnt offering..." (Gen 22:2). If one wishes
to question this premise, one has to apply some sophisticated strategy of
textual interpretation. (The Maimonidean interpretation considered in
Chapter 7, for instance, is a good example of such a strategy. It denies
the second proposition by explaining the "God" [DTTI^X] commanding
the sacrifice as "public norms and opinions," or even pagan gods. That is,
it is not the monotheistic deity who issued the command.) Lastly, it is
wrong for a father to kill his son (Proposition 3) both ethically and
religiously: ethically, since this involves taking innocent human life (of a
son whose existence depends on his father's protection); religiously,
since it is a pagan ritual, forbidden by the monotheistic law (cf. Jer 7:31;
19:1-10).
The story brings these propositions into conflict; its force lies in the
formal inconsistency among them: if compliance with God's command is
morally justified (Proposition 1), and God commanded Abraham to slay
Isaac (Proposition 2), then it is not wrong for him to kill his son (i.e. notProposition 3). Contradiction would arise from any of the combinations:
if 3 and 2 are granted, then not-l; if 1 and 3, then not-2. In short, to
resolve Abraham's Dilemma one must restore formal consistency, by
denying (at least) one proposition. But which one?
1
103
104
Moriah takes longer than expected, which suggests that his eventual
decision was not the result of mere anxiety. "If he had chosen to do this
immediately, as soon as the order came to him, it would have been an act
of stupefaction and disturbance in the absence of exhaustive reflection,"
Maimonides writes. "But his doing it days after the command.. .shows
that the act sprang from thought [and] correct understanding.. ."6
Further, as stressed above, on the assumption that Abraham was not
deluded, that the ultimate God actually demanded the sacrifice, disobedience cannot easily be called the "correct" alternative, as some authors
have ventured to think. It would not have been more virtuous, sane or
rational to violate a direct divine command; not necessarily more ethical
even. This is not to suggest that obedience would have been the correct
alternative and that Abraham should be condemned for violating God's
wordfar from it. It is rather to insist that the story contains an essential
tension that does not tolerate any visible mistakes or easy alternatives.
(Perhaps it tolerates no answers at all, as some authors have proposed;
we will consider this possibility in the next chapter.) For that reason let
us hold fast to the initial strategy. Rather than ask what Abraham ought
to have done, we may rely on the text as an authority and ask: Given
Abraham's disobedience, what is the religious value of his deed? As we
shall see, this question leads back from Kierkegaard's interpretation of
Abraham to that of Kant. It leads from Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling back to Kant's Religion Within the Boundaries of Reason Alone.
3
105
106
107
108
These lines draw heavily on the religious authority of the biblical text.
Johannes' argument would have been futile had he been referring to
some arbitrary fictional character, asserting with great pathos that faith
must be a paradox, since otherwise this personage is "lost," that is,
nothing but a murderer. Were that his argument, it would be very
19. For a discussion of the problem of religious authority in Kierkegaard, see, for
instance, John Whittaker, "Kierkegaard on the Concept of Authority," International
Journal for Philosophy of Religion 46, no. 2 (1999): 83-101.
20. Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, 56.
109
110
111
No one, indeed, will be able to boast that he knows that there is a God,
and future life: if he knows this, he is then the man for whom I have long
and vainly sought. All knowledge, if it concerns an object of mere reason,
can be communicated; and I might therefore hope that under his instruction my own knowledge would be extended in his wonderful fashion...
(Critique A829/B857)
24. Kant, "On the Miscarriages of All Philosophical Trials in Theodicy," 24-25.
25. Ibid.
112
113
114
115
Kant not only challenges Proposition 2 but explicitly rejects it. Abraham
should have disobeyed since God was not the one to command the
sacrifice.36
33. See, for instance, Cassirer's discussion of this affair, in Cassirer, Kant's Life
and Thought, 375-81.
34. Immanuel Kant, On the Conflict Between the Faculties (Maryknoll, N.Y.:
Orbis, 1979), 115.
35. Ibid.
36. To be sure, Kant's rejection of the second proposition is altogether different
from the speculations of the recent authors mentioned above. While their rejection is
116
117
5
Kant concludes the Second Critique with a comment on the experience
of the "sublime," anticipating the analysis in the Third Critique, the Critique of Judgment. The notion of the sublime has important religious
implications, as we shall see, since Kant applies it to the interpretation of
religious experience, revisiting the biblical notion of the "fear of God."
"Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing admiration and
reverence..." Kant writes, "[t]he starry heavens above me and the moral
law within me."37 The starry heavens, infinitely large, defy our sensual
apprehension and threaten to annihilate our human sense of worth;
compared to the immensity of the skies, everything else appears absolutely small. According to Kant, the experience of the sublime occurs
before colossal natural objects that exceed our sensual abilities. He
invites us to consider the "boundless ocean" at it is "heaved up," violent
thunders and "devastating hurricanes": "Compared to the might of any of
these, our ability to resist becomes an insignificant trifle."38 Indeed, any
of these threaten to tear the human body apart, provoking terror and fear.
The experience of the sublime, however, is very different from one of
mere fear. Kant maintains that it is possible for us "to consider an object
37. Immanuel Kant, Critique of Practical Reason (trans, and ed. M. Gregor;
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 133-34.
38. Immanuel Kant, Critique of Judgment (trans. M. Gregor; Indianapolis:
Hackett, 1987), 120.
118
fearful without being afraid of it."39 If we observe the "heaved up" ocean,
for instance, but at the same time we are confident of our secure personal
position, its sight would become not only fearful but extremely attractivein fact, the more fearful the more attractive. Kant explains this
attraction by contrasting it with the attraction of the beautiful. Beauty, in
his view, is experienced when nature welcomes our comprehension,
lending itself as if purposefully designed by a deity harmoniously to
accord with our understanding. The sublime, according to Kant, provokes
the opposite sensation: the might of nature, embodied in such natural
events as erupting volcanoes or hurricanes, overpowers our senses and
lacks the traces of purposeful design. Facing its inability to apprehend
such overwhelming power, our reason turns (by means of "a certain
subreption") to reflect on its own, inner immensity; not immensity by
any natural standards, of course, but by moral onesin relation to
human morality, nature's infinite power is immaterial. Physical power
can perhaps tear our body apart, but would never overcome our dignity
as rational agents:
Though the irresistibility of nature's might makes us, considered as natural beings, recognize our physical impotence, it reveals in us at the same
time an ability to judge ourselves independent of nature, and reveals in us
a superiority over nature that...keeps the humanity in our person from
being degraded.40
119
only elevate our own personal dignity? Is it reasonable that divine power
is immaterial and small in relation to our reason? Indeed, it is commonly
assumed that in the presence of God sublimity must be attributed to
outward events, not to our own reason, and hence that the proper
religious response is not experiencing the sublimity of our own nature,
but "submission, prostration and feeling of our utter impotence..." This
is an experience of fear:
It seems that in general the only fitting behavior in the presence of the
deity is prostration, worship with bowed head and accompanied by contrite and timorous gestures and voice; and that is why most peoples have
in fact adopted this behavior and still engage in it.. .^
120
47. Ibid.
Chapter 10
122
123
124
specific way for him to meet the challengein this case, apparently, to
obey. A "correct" response is required from him, in other words, in order
to emerge successfully from the trial. If Abraham is "exhibited as a
model," however, nothing is assumed prior to the trial. His act determines, for future generations, the measure of an approved religious
conduct; but at the moment he himself acts on the stage, no such measure
already exists.6 E. Mooney, revisiting Kierkegaard's notion of "fear and
trembling," has observed that in order for there to be a genuine anxiety in
the narrative there must be no right and wrong alternatives for Abraham.
"If Abraham could know, or we could know that he had picked the
'right' alternative," Mooney writes,
then there would be no terrifying dilemma, no fear and trembling...
Having a rule for breaking the deadlock of even the worst imaginable
dilemma, reason would have triumphed, things for Abraham would be
clear cut, settled. But if this is indeed a story of fear and trembling, there
can be no such rationalistic solution available. There is no "right choice"
for Abraham to make.7
125
was a correct way for Abraham to withstand it. In view of the angel's
words, how could Maimonides or Augustine responsibly say that the purpose of the trial was not to test Abraham but to present him as a model?
N. Leibowich thus contends that Maimonides' explanation "does not
fit the narrative as a whole and, most certainly, not the words of the
angel..."8 J. Licht, in a work titled Testing in the Hebrew Scripture,
similarly explains that Maimonides' position diverges from the "plain
meaning of scripture"; "There is no doubt that the simple meaning is
directed to God's knowledge" he writes. "The violence of Maimonides'
methodology is clear...[in the Akedah] where it is said 4I know'."9
These views seem to me to oversimplify Maimonides' position. He
was well aware of his inconsistency with the angelic speech and commented on it specifically. Admitting that the "subject of trial" is "very
difficult," he makes the following comment:
... the external meaning of the trials mentioned in the Torah in the passage
in question is that they took place in order to test and to receive information so that one could know the degree of faith or the degree of obedience
of the individual or nation in question. And this is a great difficulty,
especially in the story of the binding, which was known only to God and
to the two individuals involved, to one of whom it was said: For now I
know that thoufearest God.10
Very explicitly, Maimonides here tells the reader that the notion of trial
as "exhibition" is problematicespecially in the Binding, where, as
Licht observes, the angel says "now I know." Maimonides actually takes
pains to cite the Hebrewnot Saadia's Arabic translation which masked
the difficulty. How, then, does he resolve the inconsistency? Even though
less explicitly, the answer is conveyed in the same lines. Consider the
first words: "the external meaning of the trials..." Here, the phrase
"external meaning" is revealing. As we recall, one of Maimonides' intentions in the Guide was to interpret the parables of the Torahparables
defined as narratives having two layers of meaning: an external and
an internal one; an exoteric as opposed to an esoteric (i.e. "true") one,
respectively. Maimonides thus implies, first, that Gen 22 is a parable
conveying an esoteric dimension; second, that the notion of trial as
"exhibition" is indeed inconsistent with the external meaning but
consistent with the true one; and third, that the angelic speech that he
8. N. Leibowich, Themes in Genesis (Jerusalem: International Zionist, 1974
[Hebrew]).
9. J. Licht, Testing in the Hebrew Bible and in Post-Biblical Judaism (Jerusalem:
Magnes, The Hebrew University, 1973), 26.
10. Ibid, (emphasis in original).
126
127
altar and did not offer up your son, but I built seven altars and offered up
my sons on them.. ."n
Writing more than a thousand years later that the Binding was
intended "to be imitated and followed," Maimonides may well have been
aware of this mother's words. As Rabbi Shlomo Riskin observes, Abraham was "asked to do" what all "subsequent generations of Jews" would
have to perform.12 The case of the woman and her seven sons would
recur again and again.
For example, the Jews of Mainz believed that their failure to defend
themselves was due to their sins. The year was 1096 and their attempts to
fend off the attacks of the first Crusaders were collapsing: "Oh, because
of our sins the enemy prevailed and captured the gateway." The
Crusaders, like the Romans, forced them to make a choiceconvert or
face torture and death. Here too the Jews looked up to Abraham, choosing martyrdom and refusing to abjure their religion:
Oh, our good fortune if we do His will! Oh, the good fortune of everyone
slain and butchered and killed for the Unification of his name. "There is
none better to sacrifice our lives to than our God..."; When were there
ever a thousand and a hundred sacrifices in one day, each and every one
of them like the Akedah of Isaac son of Abraham?13
128
129
the "Angel of YHWH" who stopped it. "God" is the attribute of Justice,
YHWH of Mercy. (Nahmanides, for instance, writes in his commentary
on Gen 22 that "the view of the Akedah chapter is that the one who puts
to the test and commands the Akedah is "God" [QTH^K], and the one
who prevents it and makes the promises is the angel of the Lord [miT].")
Through a history of persecutions and massacres, through the Holocaust and endless wars, the Binding has become for Jews a source of
hope for protection and, at times, redemption. "Thy children will be
involved in one empire after another, from Babylonia to Media, from
Media to Greece, from Greece to Edom; but finally they will be
redeemed through the horns of the ram."18
Clearly, these traditions do not simply rely on Gen 22 but on a specific
interpretation of it. As Sarna summarizes this tradition, "the willingness
of the founding father to sacrifice his son as proof of his devotion to God
created an inexhaustible store of spiritual credit upon which future
generations may draw."19 This reliance, as I have argued, is distorted.
The Abraham stories (encompassing especially Sodom [Gen 18], the act
of circumcision [Gen 17] and the Binding of Isaac [Gen 22]) were
intended to take up the basic scheme of child sacrificewhere a people
is saved through the sacrifice of the "beloved son"and invert its
theological implications. In the Binding, the people survive because their
father refused to sacrifice his "beloved son".. .not because he did so. We
may say that, very literally, the monotheistic people were saved through
the horns of the ram: Abraham noticed it "caught in a thicket" and
decided to sacrifice it instead of his son. In this light, blowing the Shofar
may be interpreted as an appropriate ritual for Rosh Hashanah or Yom
Kippur. But such an interpretation would be quite different from the one
traditionally adopted.
The model of the Binding still reverberates through Jewish tradition,
most evidently in the state of Israel where many individuals (among
them artists, politicians and rabbis) picture their political situation as a
tragic recurrence of the events on Mount Moriah. Naturally, conflicting
political parties interpret the narrative in different fashions. Some tend to
emphasize Abraham's brave submission, others the fact that Isaac was
eventually saved. Some evoke the Binding to encourage or even justify
the unavoidable sacrifices of war, while others withdraw from the story,
denying any commitment to its tradition. The poet Haim Guri depicts the
Jewish fortunes in the following verse:
18. Genesis Kabbah, Gen 22.
19. Sarna, Genesis, 394.
130
131
132
Jesus' claim that the promises made in the Old Testament would be
fulfilled and granted to his followers evoked an immediate, profound
Christian bond to Abraham. He is the ultimate patriarch, the founder of
monotheism and "father of many nations," whose people are the people
of God. The Old Testament emphasizes with great care that his descendantshis "seed" (IHT)are the heirs of the divine blessings. In Gen
13:15, God makes a promise to Abram that "all the land that you see I
will give to you and to your offspring forever," and, later, renaming him
"Abraham" and pronouncing him the father of "many nations," he seals
the Covenant with him: "I will establish my covenant between me and
you, and your offspring after you throughout their generations...to be
God to you and to your offspring after you... I will be their God" (Gen
17:8). Indeed, Gen 22 repeats the same motif as the angel of YHWH who
stopped the sacrifice appears a second time from heaven, reaffirming the
blessings on Abraham's seed and, in fact, reinterpreting them in an
important way. In the angel's speech, they are presented as contingent
upon the father's readiness to slay his "beloved son." Because of Abraham's obedience, Gen 22:15-18 affirms, his descendants will be blessed:
The angel of the Lord called to Abraham a second time from heaven, and
said, "by myself I have sworn, says the Lord: Because you have done
this, and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will indeed bless
you, and I will make your offspring as numerous as the stars of heaven
and as the sand that is on the seashore. And your offspring shall possess
the gate of their enemies, and by your offspring shall all the nations of the
earth gain blessing for themselves, because you have obeyed my voice.
133
Intuitively, the Hebrew "[in? ("your seed") in Gen 13:15; 17:8 and
22:17 is read in the plural. But, as Paul insists, it may just as well signify
a particular person"your descendant." Paul's addition, "who is Christ,"
identifies this descendant not as Isaac but as Jesus. Being of Abraham's
blood is thus neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition of becoming
an heir; it is unnecessary, since God can raise children to Abraham "from
stones"; insufficient, since Ishmael too was Abraham's blood but not
"The Christianizing of Abraham: The Interpretation of Abraham in Early Christianity," Concordia Theological Monthly 43 (1972): 723-31.
26. Ibid.
134
his heir. His "seed" refers exclusively to Christ. For Paul, one condition
has to be met in order to satisfy the necessary and sufficient requirements
for Abraham's blessings: participating in Abraham's model of faith.
The ideal of faith this introduces is quite evident; it suffices to note a
quotation from Hebrews:
By faith Abraham, when he was tried, offered up Isaac: and he that had
received the promises offered up his only begotten son, of whom it was
said that "In Isaac thy seed is called." (Heb 11:17-18)
The argument that the people of the Christian faith are Abraham's true
heirs was reinforced by yet another method of textual interpretation,
which is not rabbinical in origin but altogether Christian. Through it the
people of the new faith absorbed the model of the Binding into their
theology in a much deeper and more profound way. This is the act of
Crucifixion which, according to the Christian tradition, is prefigured in
the Binding: Jesus replaces Isaac and God replaces Abraham, in the
sacrifice of the "son" for the redemption of the world.
The first indications of this concept are already conveyed at the time
of Christ's baptism and later in the Transfiguration.27 In both cases a
heavenly voice employs the language of the "beloved son": "You are my
beloved son; with you I am well pleased" (Mark 1:11; Luke 3:22). "Then
from the cloud came a voice, 'This is my beloved son. Listen to him'"
(Mark 9:7; Luke 9:35). This term refers to Abraham's "beloved son" in
the Binding, Isaac, but not exclusively to him. As we have seen, the
attribute "beloved" son brings with it a wide contextthe general theme
of child sacrifice. Genesis 22 is only oneand highly unconventional
variation of it. By "theme" I mean the safeguarding of a people by their
leader's sacrifice of his beloved son; by "unconventional variation" I
mean that in the Binding the people are saved precisely by Abraham's
refusal to do so.
Christ, like Isaac, carries the wood himself: the one for the burnt
offering, the other for the Crucifixion, both to be sacrificed. Tertullian
makes the parallel very explicit. Isaac, he writes, "when delivered up by
his father for a sacrifice, himself carried the wood.. .and did at that early
date set forth the death of Christ, who when surrendered as a victim by
his father carried the wood of his own passion" (Tertullian, Against
Marcion 3.18.225). These words refer to Gen 22: 16 where, having left
his "young men" behind, Abraham "took the wood of the burnt offering
and laid it on his son..." Midrash Rabbah recognizes a similar analogy
27. See Levenson's analysis in Death and Resurrection, 200-202.
135
"He who did not spare his own Son" refers directly to the Binding, more
specifically to the angelic speech commending Abraham for not "withholding" or "sparing" ("[OH) his son. "Spare" in this passage is the Greek
verb used in the Septuagint for "withheld" (pheidomai) in both cases.
This explicit reference to Gen 22 shows not only that Abraham's readiness to sacrifice his son prefigures God's but, more precisely, that the
model of the Binding is supposed to prefigure the model of Crucifixion.
That is, Abraham's readiness to kill his beloved son ensured the blessing
of his seedthe people of God; in the same fashion, Christ's sacrifice by
his father will ensure the redemption of the world. Irenaeus expresses
this theology very lucidly:
28. P. Jaroslav, ed., M Luther: Lectures on Genesis (Saint Louis, Miss.: Concordia, 1964), 114.
136
The model of the Binding thus becomes the underlying element of the
Crucifixion. In the Old Testament, Abraham's seed is supposedly
safeguarded through his readiness to kill his beloved son, Isaac. In
Christianity, the world is redeemed through God's actual sacrifice of his
beloved, Jesus. But the Binding was, in fact, intended to play a different
variation on that theme. The survival of Abraham's seed was not the
result of his readiness to kill the beloved sonit was the result of his
refusal to do so.
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Leibowich, Y. "Abraham and Job." Pages 73-94 in Yahadut, Am Yehudi, u'Medinat
Israel (Judaism, Jewish People and the State of Israel). Edited by Y. Leibowich.
Jerusalem: Schocken, 1975.
"The Trial and the Fear of God in the Book of Job." Pages 34-44 in Mazor, ed., Job.
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Bibliography
139
140
INDEXES
INDEX OF REFERENCES
HEBREW BIBLE
Genesis
3
3:5
4
4:3
8.19
12
12:1-3
12:1
12:2-3
13:10
13:15
15
15:3-5
17
17:2
17:4-13
17:4
17:5
17:8
17:9
18
18:2
18:17-19
18:17
18:19
18:20
18:23-25
77
77
83
50
39
14
14
13,14
88
30
132, 133
56,91
56
54-56, 64,
129
51
54
51
14
132, 133
132
27, 34, 36,
37,86,91,
100,119,
129
30
27, 34, 37,
38
34,35
56,84
27
28,34
18:25-26
18:25
18:27
19:24
19:29
21
21:17
22
22:1-19
22:1-14
22:1-13
22:1-10
22:1-2
22:1
22:2
22:3
22:4
22:5
91
2,56,119
34
37
38
28
28
1-5,8,9,
11,13,14,
19, 24, 25,
27, 29, 32,
33, 36, 37,
40, 50, 52,
55-58, 60,
61,64,65,
72, 73, 78,
88,91,
107-9,
115,117,
125, 126,
128, 129,
131-35
28
23,24
21-23
23, 25, 29
28,64
26,41,65,
67, 70, 86,
121
14, 53, 102
43,87
42, 43, 66
44, 48, 66
22:6
22:7
22:8
22:9-10
22:9
22:10
22:11-12
22:11
22:12
22:13-14
22:13
22:14-19
22:14-18
22:14
22:15-19
22:15-18
22:15
22:16-18
22:16-17
22:16
22:17
22:19
135
19
50
1,25
46
22,30
1,2,18,
22-24, 29,
30, 32, 67,
116,122
24, 26, 27,
29
11,20,26,
28, 30, 32,
50, 53, 62,
83, 88, 124
25
1, 10,23,
25, 30, 32,
53, 69,
128, 135
24
21,25,69
22
2,18
22, 23, 25,
32,70,132
24,88
1
128
24, 53, 134
133
21-23,48,
70
142
Genesis (cont.)
24:1
88
24:35
88
39:25
30
Leviticus
1:2
1:3-9
18:21
20:1-8
47
47
123
123
Numbers
14
14:11-12
14:13-19
35
35
36
Deuteronomy
12:31
18:10
123
123
Judges
9:34
11:30-34
11:31
11:34
11:38-39
52
52
53
53
52
2 Kings
3:26-28
3:26-27
3:27
13:27
16:3
17:31
21:6
23:10
53
12
50,53
123
123
123
123
123
2 Chronicles
28:3
33:6
123
123
:10-11
:10
:12
:16
:19
:22
2:4
2:7
2:8
3:1-3
3:2-3
4:17
8:3
9:2-3
9:4-12
9:4
9:12
9:13
9:22
13:7-11
13:7-8
22:2-10
26:1-14
38:2-3
42:2-5
42:7
93
93
93
87
87
93
93
87
87
90
94
97
97
97
34
98
98
98
98
97
111
96
90
90
91
99
Isaiah
2:4
5:26
11:12
62:10
130
122
122
122
Jeremiah
6:26
7:31
19:5
55
102, 123
123
Ezekiel
20:31
123
NEW TESTAMENT
Matthew
3:9
133
Mark
1:11
9:7
134
134
Luke
3:8
3:22
9:35
133
134
134
John
1:29
135
Acts
7:2
132
Romans
8:32-35
11:1
135
132
2 Corinthians
132
11:22
Galatians
3:13-16
4:22-24
133
133
Hebrews
11:17-18
134
PSEUDEPIGRAPHA
4 Maccabees
6:23
6:29-30
14:20
14:26
126
126
126
15
MlSHNAH
Job
1:6-9
1:8
1:9
86
88
88,90
Amos
8:10
55
Micah
6:7
123
Sanhedrin
89
86
Index of References
TALMUD
Bavli Suta
27
51
CLASSICAL
Eusebius
Preparatio evangelica
16, 11110,
44:1V
54
1.10.40
54
Maimonides
Guide for the Perplexed
Introduction 61
1:2
76,77
1:8
62
1:71
74
11:24
73
11:36
78
111:24
40,43, 45,
65, 72, 73,
104,122
111:45
117
Tertullian
Against Marcion
3.18.225
134
Philo
De Abrahamo
33.178
17
Leviticus Rabbah
23.24
128
87
87
Yerushalmi Suta
5
87
MlDRASH
Genesis Kabbah
13
31
22
129
55
128
56
31
56:4
44,114
56:7
16
143
Tanhuma Wayyera
Gen 4
26,28,83
INDEX OF AUTHORS
Abrabanel, I. 10
Adams, R. 101,103,105,107
Alexander, T. D. 7,24
Allison, H. 110
Amichai,Y. 102,131
Amit,Y. 999
Auerbach,E. 25,27,41
Augustine 122
Avidan,D. 130
Baird,W. 132
Bar-Manoah, H. 17
Berdichevsky, M. 32
Boehm,O. 999
Brichto, H. C. 28
Cassirer,E. 110, 115
Coats, G.W. 7,22,24,29
Demsky, A. 6
Dworkin, R. 10
Emerton, J. A. 22
Fisch,M. 38
FishuS. 5
Ginzberg, L. 14
Gordis,R. 95
Greenstein, E. 5
Gunkel,H. 51
Guri,H. 130
Halbertal,M. 5
Hartom,E. S. 121
Hoffman, Y. 92,95,98,99
Index of Authors
145
Veijola, T. 29, 88
Verities, G. 12
Telpaz,G. 131
Yefet, S. 87, 88
Zakovich, Y. 52
Zimmerman, S. 127