Ani Maamin: Biblical Criticism, Historical Truth, and the ThirteenPrinciples of Faith (Maggid Books, 2020) by Rabbi Dr. Joshua Berman
Review by Rabbi Reuven
Chaim Klein
In many ways, this book is
an anthology of various essays and articles that Joshua Berman published in
other places (plus lectures he gave for Torah in Motion) that he has brought
together to present the layman with his take on how to understand the Bible. It
is a less scholarly version of Berman’s earlier work Inconsistency in the
Torah (Oxford University Press, 2017), which was previously reviewed by
Simcha Rosenberg in JBQ, 46:2. Like Cassuto before him, Berman takes aim
at Bible Critics for not applying their own rigorous standards of criticism to
the theories which they heartily embrace. In doing so, his book offers a
learned dismissal of the in-vogue methods of source criticism typified by
Wellhausen’s Documentary Hypothesis. He instead reads the books of the Bible
and other ancient texts as is, and thus proposes a fundamentally different way
of understanding the Bible.
Berman’s book is actually
comprised of two separate parts with little to no interaction between them. In
the first part, he lays out his theory for understanding the Bible within its
Ancient Near Eastern context. This part of the book advocates for a bold new
approach towards looking at the Bible. Although this part of the book is more
hermeneutical and scholarly, it is still presented in a way that it is readable
to the layman without getting too technical.
The second part of this
book discusses Maimonides' 13 Principles of Faith, especially focusing on his
eighth principle which has often been understood to mean that the entire text
of the Torah was given to Moses. In this part of the book, Berman traces the
history of the acceptance of those principles within the Jewish community, and
ultimately attempts to reduce the value of the 13 Principles of Faith to their apologetic
effectiveness.
Berman opens his discussion on how the Bible must be read by citing
Maimonides' Guide for the Perplexed which views many of the Torah's
commandments, especially those related to ritual sacrifice, as helping wean the
Jews from the practices of pagan idolaters. Maimonides cites from what he understood
were ancient pagan (Sabian) texts to paint a picture of what sort of rituals
those pagans engaged in, and explains that the Torah intends to help the Jews
turn away from those particular practices.
For Berman, the takeaway
from Maimonides' discussion is that if one wants to truly understand the
Torah's intent, one must understand it in its Ancient Near Eastern context,
which means that one must be familiar with similar works written in the same
time and place as the Torah to better appreciate what the Torah means to do.
Berman duly notes that even those classical commentators who strongly disagree
with Maimonides' view on sacrifices (like Nahmanides and others) do not
criticize him for his reliance on what was assumed to be ancient pagan texts.
This shows that they too acknowledge the value in understanding the Torah in
its Ancient Near Eastern context.
While Maimonides'
endorsement of this approach is limited to using those sources to help clarify
one's understanding of the pagan cults that surrounded the early Israelites,
Berman cites Gersonides as extending this approach to even understanding a
literary feature of the Torah: Gersonides notes that when recording the details
of the instructions for constructing the Tabernacle and its implementation, the
Torah heavily engages in seemingly-needless repetition. Gersonides accounts for
this repetition by suggesting that it reflected a literary style that was in fashion
in ancient times. What Berman draws from this is that Gersonides was sensitive
to the fact that the Bible must be read as a product of its own time and place,
and that we cannot impose our own contemporary literary conventions on the
Bible. While we might find repetition messy or tedious, Berman notes that in
ancient texts it was indeed a common literary device like Gersonides suspected.
Before proceeding with his
endeavor, Berman cautions the reader with a caveat: He notes that reading the
Bible in its Ancient Near Eastern context is not the only reading possible. It
is, rather, one of multiple dimensions by which the Bible may be read. In
making this point clear, Berman invokes the rabbinic concept of Shivim Panim
la-Torah, that there are seventy ways to interpret any aspect of the Torah.
Thus, his particular reading is just another one of those multiple possible
reading, and should not displace or replace any of the other traditional ways
to read the Bible.
Berman lays out his
approach by first discussing the narrative sections of the Bible, asking whether
they are actually historical or were even meant to reflect a historical
reality. He warns the reader that we cannot impose our modern definitions of
“truth/fact” and “falsehood/fiction” on an Ancient Near Eastern text in whose
milieu such concepts did not yet exist. (It would be interesting to consider
whether Berman’s assumptions are belied by Jan Assmann’s concept of the Mosaic
Distinction, according to which it is the Bible itself which introduces those
concepts to religious/cultic discourse.)
Instead of viewing the
issue of the Bible’s historicity as a black-and-white, yes-or-no question,
Berman urges the reader to see this question in shades of grey. Essentially,
Berman argues that the stories in the Bible are comprised of a core nucleus
that reflect an actual historical reality, but upon which rhetorical
embellishments were overlaid. He brands this ancient genre “exhortative,” for
its basic facts might be rooted in reality, but the purpose of the text is
really to convey certain lessons based on the historical events that it relates
and exhort its readership to undertaking or not undertaking certain actions.
In supporting this
contention, Berman adduces several instances in which details of certain
Biblical narratives (like direct quotes in dialogue or exact numbers of people
in a group) were not meant to be understood as reflecting the historical
reality of the stories they tell. Instead, those details are types of symbolic
metaphors and allegories which appear in the text for their exhortative value
in bolstering the overarching lesson of the story. If the purpose of the text
was to relay historical information, then those details might be considered false
and inaccurate. But since the purpose of the text is actually exhortative,
these details are still valuable. Essentially, Berman understands that in the
ancient world relaying what we would call “homiletics” or even “propaganda” was
considered excusable if it furthered the general cause of the exhortation.
Taking this idea a step
further, Berman explains away narrative inconsistencies between the first four
books of the Pentateuch and the Book of Deuteronomy by arguing that they were
said in different contexts. In a brilliant analysis of Deuteronomy, Berman
finds similarities between that book and texts of vassal-client treaties in the
Ancient Near East. At the Plains of Moab, when the Jews were on the cusp of
entering the Land of Israel, they needed to “renew their vows” with God (so to speak)
and reaffirm their commitment to the Sinaitic Covenant. The Book of Deuteronomy
served to spell out the exact terms of that agreement.
Berman’s expertise in
ancient epigraphy allows him to realize that these sorts of ancient treaty
texts typically had a historical preamble which narrated the history of the
relationship between the parties signing the deal,and that subsequent treaties
between the same parties never consistently told the exact same story to
introduce the terms of their agreement. Important details in those historical
narratives would commonly fluctuate depending on the exact context of that
particular treaty. These texts could also be branded exhortative in nature, as
their purpose was to affirm or reaffirm commitments, while the historical
elements were merely used as background, framing the context of the agreement.
In the same way, argues
Berman, the historical narrative about the Jews’ exodus from Egypt, their receiving
the Torah at Mount Sinai, and their subsequent failings were reframed in
Deuteronomy with a specific exhortative context in mind, and thus
understandably might differ from the details found in the earlier books of the
Bible. In some ways, Berman has Moses, who he acknowledges wrote Deuteronomy,
contra prevailing notions in academia, play God’s “hype man,” as he puts a
different spin on historical facts for the purpose of upholding the covenant.
Berman then turns to the
problem of legal inconsistencies in the Torah. He tries to resolve this issue
by attempting to dispel the reader of the notion that the Torah’s laws are
meant to be a code of statutory law to be applied as written. Instead, he urges
the reader to view the Torah as a sort of common law corpus that presents a set
of Divine values and principles, many of which were in opposition to Ancient
Near East society (for example, the Bible’s destratification of society and its
relatively egalitarian agenda) that allows future judges to make ad hoc legal
decisions in each situation based on those values.
In a lecture entitled
“Aspiring to Kedusha” that addresses the calls to introduce Biblical Criticism
into Yeshiva University’s curriculum, the late Rabbi Aaron Soloveichik (1917–2001)
explicitly rejected the notion that the Torah’s laws ought to be characterized
as common law. He understands the fluid nature of common law to be on par with
the fluidity of paganism which tends to be customized to its adherents’ whims.
Instead, Rabbi Soloveichik understands Halakha to reflect a sort of
highly-nuanced statutory law which calls for different rules in slightly
different situations. Berman does not consider this possibility but instead
presents statutory law as totally inflexible, which leads him to read the Bible
as in a different light.
In the second part of his
book, Berman ostensibly removes his “professor” hat and puts on his “rabbi” hat
to discuss Maimonides’ 13 Principles of Faith. Nonetheless, certain academic
assumptions pervade this section of his book, such that it is not merely a
rabbinic dissertation but a critical analysis. It is almost like a
separate book and has to be treated separately. In fact, the two halves of the
book never reference each other.
The upshot of this section
is that the whole concept of Principles of Faith in Judaism were only
formulated in response to certain outside stimuli. In particular, he argues
that Maimonides’ eighth principle about the entire Torah’s Mosaic origins was
originally intended to counter Islamic claims that the Jews falsified the
Torah. Berman shows how in Jewish communities where this libel was not in play,
many prominent rabbinic commentators continued to assume that certain parts of
the Pentateuch were post-Mosaic. This part of the book really deserves its own
separate review. Instead of reviewing all his arguments in that section, I will
suffice with quibbling over two small errors that appear therein:
On page 196, Berman writes
that Rabbenu Hananel "wrote a brief commentary on the Torah, most
of which was lost until the twentieth century." In fact, Rabbenu Hananel's
commentary on the Torah remains effectively lost. Rabbi Charles Ber Chavel (1906–1982)
compiled quotes cited in the name of Rabbenu Hananel from various
sources, and published them in Mossad HaRav Kook's Perush Rabbenu Hananel
al ha-Torah. It is this work which appears in the Torat Haim
edition of the Pentateuch, not Rabbenu Hananel's actual commentary.
In a footnote on page 223,
Berman refers to the commentary of Maharik to Hilkhot Terumot 11:1, and
identifies Maharik as the 15th century Italian sage, Rabbi Joseph
Colon ben Solomon Trabotto. While Trabotto did actually pen a commentary to
some sections of Maimonides' laws (published by Eliyahu Dov Pines in 1971), he
did not write on the laws of Terumot. Berman apparently meant to refer
to the oft-cited commentary known as "Mahari Corcos," written by
Rabbi Joseph Corcos (d. after 1575), who was born in Spain and, after the
expulsion, moved to Egypt and then Jerusalem.
As the work of an ordained
Orthodox rabbi and leading Biblical scholar, Joshua Berman's book is an attempt
to seal the great fissure between traditional Judaism and academic Biblical
scholarship. Does Berman's work actually bridge the gap between the two fields
that James L. Kugel (another Orthodox Jew who is a prominent Bible scholar) has
written "are and must always remain completely irreconcilable"? That
question we leave to the reader.
