The Fallen Realms

Humanity’s place in the universe

The human creature is, of course, subject to the natural order. Humans carry on their relationship with God in the world and through the world. The commandments of Torah are obeyed not solely as observances between humans and God but as actions between humans themselves and between humans and the world. The creation story describes the human as ruler over the earth and its inhabitants (Genesis 1:26–28; Psalms 8:5–9); nonetheless, far from being an arbitrary master, human dominion is limited by Torah. The regulations in the Torah are concerned not only with transactions between humans but also with human responsibilities to cultivated land, to the produce of the soil, and to domesticated animals. Bound in the network of existence, humans as moral creatures are responsible for creation in all its parts.

Even the destruction of the Jewish commonwealth in the 1st and 2nd centuries CE did not alienate Jews from these responsibilities, as the elaborate system of Mishna and Gemara reveals. The gradual but consistent exclusion of the Jews from immediate connection with large segments of the natural world, through legislation in Christendom and Islam, tended to dull their awareness of it. The recurring references to the natural world in the religious calendar, however, and the observation of harvest festivals even by city dwellers continued to remind the community of its ties. Thus, at the end of the 19th century, the nascent Zionist movement recognized that the regeneration of the Jewish people involved, among other requirements, a responsible relation to the natural order expressed in its attitude toward and treatment of the land.

If nature as the place of divine disclosure has, during long periods of Jewish existence, assumed a somewhat subordinate role, it has never been rejected or been seen to be irrelevant to the divine purpose. Indeed, in Jewish eschatology, its restoration is part of the goal of history.

00:1505:20Intermediary beings: angels and demonsThe exact nature of nonhuman beings mentioned in Scripture—angels, or messengers (angel is derived from the Greek word angelos, which is the equivalent of the Hebrew word mal’akh, “messenger”)—is not altogether clear, and their roles seem ephemeral (see angel and demon). In the postexilic period, perhaps under Iranian influence, and in the late biblical and postbiblical literature, these beings emerge as more complete and often as clearly identifiable individuals with their own personal names. The unfocused biblical view gave way to an elaborate hierarchy of functionaries who acted, in some apocalyptic visions, as a veritable heavenly bureaucracy. Despite a consensus concerning their existence, there was little agreement about their role or importance. In some Midrashim, God takes counsel with them; in other sources, the rabbis urge Jews not to involve them but to approach God directly.

Like their counter-figures the demons, angels have a residual existence rooted in various layers of the Jewish experience and interpretation of the universe. At some times they are highly individualized and sharply realized; at others they are much more imaginary. The medieval philosophers and the early mystics saw them through Aristotelian or Neoplatonic categories. The Kabbalists continually invented new angels and fitted them into their complicated network of cosmic existence. Their role, however, even in periods of considerable emphasis, was peripheral, and they were outside the great movements and meanings of Jewish thought.

Contemporary philosophical speculation about the nature of the universe has, of course, required a response from Jewish thinkers. But, given the particular temper of a period in which metaphysics has not been central to much of theological discussion, no major statement has developed that has taken hold of the dominant positions and attempted to view them from the Jewish creationist perspective. The attempt within Reconstructionism to provide a naturalistic framework for Judaism, while courageous, seems to be based on a philosophical naturalism that many consider outmoded.

EschatologyThe future age of humankind and the worldThe choice of Israel, according to the Bible, occurred because of humankind’s continual failure, by rebellion against its creator, to fulfill its divine potential. The subsequent inability of Israel to become the holy community and thereby a witness to the nations gave rise to the prophetic movement that summoned the people to obedience. An integral part of prophetic summoning, side by side with threats of punishment and warnings of disaster, was the vision of a truly holy community, a society fully responding to the divine imperative. This kingdom of the future was conceived of as entirely natural, functioning as any normal social and political unit. The future kingdom would be governed by a human ruler, who would carry out his tasks within the sphere of divine sovereignty, serving primarily to exhibit his own obedience and thus to stimulate the obedience of the entire people. This future monarch was often, though not always, portrayed in terms of an idealized David, using features of his life and reign that would emphasize submission to God, social stability, economic satisfaction, and peace. During the period of the monarchy, the prophetic demand was directed toward each succeeding king, with the hope—or even the expectation—that he would be or become the new David, the ideal ruler.

The Babylonian Exile added a new measure of urgency to this expectation, but it was not expressed in any uniform fashion. The later chapters of the Book of Ezekiel provide the constitution for the new commonwealth but do not describe the peculiar characteristics of the ruler, while the later chapters of the Book of Isaiah focus on several figures—including Cyrus II the Mede, who conquered the Babylonian Empire and freed the Jews from Babylonian captivity—who are seen as the divine instruments ushering in a new era. Although the virtues ascribed to these figures are extraordinary, they are neither superhuman nor suprahuman; indeed, they are required of all Israel and of all humanity. The frustrations of the postexilic period, when several attempts to bring the holy community into being were largely thwarted by the imperial designs of the great powers—as they had been in the preexilic period—led to an emphasis on the futuristic quality of messianic hope. This was abetted undoubtedly by external influences, such as Iranian thought, in which the cosmic rather than the historic aspect of a future era dominated. Because ancient cosmic myths had been part of the Israelite intellectual inheritance, as seen in literary usages throughout Scriptures, the impact of such ideas was to reinvigorate the mythic elements in Judaism. Thus, hopes for the future at the end of the Persian period and through the Hellenistic period comprised both historical expectations focused upon an earthly community and cosmic-mythic visions that moved on a broader stage. The latter were, of course, never entirely absent from historical expectations, for a renewal of nature was viewed as integral to the functioning of true society. The obedient community required, and was to be granted, a natural world in which true human relations could exist. In its most vivid form, the apocalypse (i.e., a visionary disclosure of the future), the literature of the period affords a remarkable insight into the agonies and urgencies of the people (see apocalyptic literature). After the disappointments of the past are recounted, the present, in transparent disguise, is portrayed, and the imminent and desired intervention of God is described in awesome detail as a means of affirming and confirming the faith of those who saw themselves as the remnant, or perhaps the promise, of the holy community.

The king-messiah and his reignIsrael’s hope was for the restoration of divine sovereignty over all of creation. Among the variety of expressions of such hope, that which centred around the idealized king assumed an ever more important (but never exclusive) role. Many of the writings that report the ideas and attitudes of the Jewish community in the period immediately preceding and following the rise of Christianity are either ignorant of or more probably indifferent to the personal element. God is envisioned as the protagonist of the end, actively intervening or sending his messengers (i.e., angels) to perform specific acts in ending the old era and inaugurating the new one. On the other hand, in some writings of the period the anointed king-messiah (Hebrew: mashiaḥ, “anointed”)—the title reflects the episode in 1 Samuel 16 in which David is thus singled out as the divinely chosen ruler—becomes more sharply defined as the central figure in the culminating events and, given the cosmic-mythic components, assumes suprahuman and, in some instances, even quasi-divine aspects. Although the doctrine of last things in Judaism is not necessarily messianic, if that term is properly limited to an inauguration of a future era through the action of a human, suprahuman, or quasi-divine person, the messianic version of eschatology played a more compelling role in Rabbinic Judaism than other modes. The same is true with regard to the locus of the “world (or age) to come.” Given the ingredients noted above, it was possible to construct various eschatological landscapes, ranging from the mundane to the celestial, from Jerusalem in the hills of Judah to a heavenly city. Indeed, medieval theologians, confronted with an embarrassment of riches, sought to combine them into an inclusive system that involved as many of the possibilities as could be brought together. In such patterns the messianic this-worldly emphasis was understood as a preliminary movement toward an ultimate resolution. The ideal ruler, the new David, would reestablish the kingdom in its own land (in Zion, or Palestine) and would reign in righteousness, equity, justice, and truth, thus bringing into being the holy nation and summoning all humankind to dwell under divine sovereignty. As a component of this reestablished kingdom, the righteous dead of Israel would be resurrected to enjoy a life in the true community that did not exist in their days. This kingdom, however long it was destined to endure, was not permanent. It would come to an end either at a predetermined time or as a victim of unrepentant nations and cosmic foes, at which point the ultimate intervention by God would take place. All the wicked throughout history would be recalled to life, judged, and doomed, and all the righteous would be transformed and transported into a new world; i.e., creation would be totally restored.

The particular emphases that one or the other of these ideas received and the ways in which they were interpreted—philosophically, mystically, and ethically—were determined most frequently by the situations and conditions in which the Jewish community found itself. With a considerable body of ideas at its disposal and with the details of none of them ever receiving the kind of affirmation given to statements about God, Torah, and Israel, freedom of speculation in the realm of eschatology was little restricted. Thus, Joseph Albo, in his work on Jewish “dogmas”—the Sefer ha-ʿiqqarim (1485; “Book of Principles”)—was not inhibited from denying that belief in the messiah was fundamental. The mystical movements of the Middle Ages found in eschatological hopes a crucial centre. The early Kabbala was little interested in messianism, for it reoriented such expectations in the direction of personal redemption. However, following the disasters of the late 15th–17th centuries (e.g., the expulsion of the Jews from Spain and the Cossack m******e of the Jews in Poland), messianic speculation in all its varieties underwent a luxuriant growth, finally running wild in the movements surrounding Shabbetai Tzevi of Smyrna and later Jacob Frank of Offenbach. These tragedies for the Jewish communities once again resulted in deferring eschatological hopes or at least limiting their application.

Secularization of messianismIn the 19th century, with the political emancipation of the Jews in western Europe and the development of an optimistic evolutionism, messianism was transformed by many liberal thinkers into a version of the idea of progress, a goal that was often thought of as immediately attainable through enlightened social and political action. When disillusionment with emancipation set in, messianism was even more completely secularized by segments of the community who saw its meaning and fulfillment in some form of socialism. In others it was absorbed into the emerging political nationalism—Zionism. Similar developments took place in eastern Europe, with parallel transformations. In the 20th century, particularly after the events symbolized by Auschwitz (a Nazi death camp in Poland, where more than one million Jews were killed), the earlier modern interpretations, particularly of messianism, but also of eschatology as a whole, were considered inadequate. Although no compelling statement was forthcoming, Jewish thinkers beginning in the second half of the 20th century attempted once again to come to grips with eschatological concepts in all their varieties and forms. 

Basic practices and institutionsThe hallowing of everyday existenceSystematic presentations of the affirmations of the Jewish community were never the sole mode of expressing the beliefs of the people. Maintaining an equal importance with speculation—Haggadic, philosophic, mystical, or ethical—was Halakhah (Oral Law), the paradigmatic statement of the individual and communal behaviour that embodied the beliefs conceptualized in speculation. Life in the holy community was understood to embrace every level of human existence. The prophets vigorously resisted attempts to limit the sovereignty of the God of Israel to organized worship and ritual. The Pharisees, even while the cult of the Jerusalem Temple was still in existence, sought to reduce priestly exclusiveness by enlarging the scope of sacral rules to include, as far as possible, all the people. Rabbinic Judaism, Pharisaism’s descendant, continued the process of democratization and sought to find in every occasion of life a means of affirming the presence of the divine. Some critics of Rabbinic Judaism, however, have seen the legal aspect of Jewish life as stifling. Although legalism is always a danger, spontaneity is not necessarily lacking in a world governed by Halakhah. Moreover, the intention of the Halakhic attitude is to remind Jews that every occasion of life is a locus of divine disclosure. This is most clearly seen in the berakhot, the “blessings,” that are prescribed to accompany the performance of a broad spectrum of human actions, from the routines of daily life to the restricted gestures of the cultic-liturgical year. In these God is addressed directly in the second person singular, his sovereignty is affirmed, and his activity as creator, giver of Torah, or redeemer—expressed in a wide variety of eulogies—is proclaimed. There are no areas of human behaviour in which God cannot be met, and the Halakhic pattern is intended to make such possibilities realities. The situation of the Jewish community, however, determines how this intention is realized. On more than one occasion, the Halakhic pattern has served as a defense against a hostile environment, thus becoming a kind of scrupulousness (an obsessive concern with minute details), but, just as often, the dynamic of the intention has broken through to reestablish its integrity and to hallow life in its wholeness.

soferModern sofer with a Torah scroll.DancingManThe traditional pattern of individual and familial practicesThe traditional pattern of an individual’s life can be discerned by examining a passage from the Babylonian Talmud (tractate Berakhot 60b) that was reworked into a liturgical structure but which in its original form exhibits the intention discussed above. In this passage, the blessings accompanying one’s waking and returning to the routines of life are prescribed. There is a brief thanksgiving on awakening for being restored to conscious life; then a benediction is offered over the c**k’s crowing; following this, each ordinary act—opening one’s eyes, stretching and sitting up, dressing, standing up, walking, tying one’s shoes, fastening one’s belt, covering one’s head, washing one’s hands and face—has its accompanying blessing, reminding one that the world and the life to which he has returned exist in the presence of God. These are followed by a supplication in which the petitioner asks that his life during the day may be worthy in all of its relationships. Then, as the first order of daily business, Torah, both written (Bible) and oral (Mishna), is briefly studied, introduced by doxologies to God as Giver of Torah. Finally, there is a prayer for the establishment of the kingdom of God, for each day contains within itself the possibility of ultimate fulfillment. As indicated, this was originally not a part of public worship but rather was personal preparation for a life to be lived in the presence of God (even today it is not, strictly speaking, part of the synagogue service, though it is frequently recited there).

Such individual responsibility marks much of Jewish observance, so that the synagogue—far from being the focus of observance—shares with the home and the workaday world the opportunities for divine-human encounter. The table blessings, Kiddush (the “sanctification” of the Sabbath and festivals), the erection of the booth (sukka) for Sukkoth (the Feast of Tabernacles), the seder (the festive Passover meal) with its symbols and narration of the Exodus, and the lighting of the lamps during the eight days of Hanukkah (the Feast of Dedication) are all the obligation of the individual and the family and have their place in the home. It is here too where the woman’s role is defined and where, as contrasted with the synagogue, she functions centrally. Given the traditional dietary regimen of the Jewish community—the exclusion of swine, carrion eaters, shellfish, and certain other creatures, the separation of meat and dairy products, the ritual slaughtering of animals, the required separation and burning of a small portion of dough (ḥalla) when baking, the supervision of the Passover food requirements, and many other stipulations—there exists a large and meticulously governed area in the home that is the sphere of woman’s religion. There seems not to have been a hierarchy of values in which the home-centred—as contrasted with the synagogue-oriented—practices were given an inferior status. In modern times, however—particularly in Western societies, where the pervasiveness of religious obligation has been replaced by ecclesiastical institutionalism on the prevailing Christian model—this whole crucial area has lost much of its meaning as a place of divine-human meeting. Thus, for many it is only the synagogue that provides such an opportunity, and the individual act has been reduced on the scale of values. With this downgrading, woman’s religion has lost much of its significance. However attenuated personal religious responsibility may have become, the intention of the Halakhic structure, the hallowing of the individual’s total existence, remains a potent force within the Jewish community.

synagogueOrthodox synagogue in Košice, Slovakia.Marian GladisThe traditional pattern of synagogue practicesThe other focus of observance is the synagogue. The origins of this institution are obscure, and a number of hypotheses have been proposed to account for the appearance of this lay-oriented form of worship. According to various ancient sources, during the period of the Second Temple—following the return from Babylon and continuing until the Temple’s destruction in 70 CE—various non-sacrificial modes of worship emerged that were independent of the priesthood and the official cult. The reports by the philosopher Philo Judaeus and the historian Flavius Josephus in the 1st century, buttressed by the Dead Sea Scrolls, provide some knowledge of the practices of the contemporary Essenes. Rabbinic sources, including the earliest layers of the traditional order of worship, provide insights into an apparently Pharisaic mode, and passages from the Acts of the Apostles concerning James and other Jewish Christians suggest still other varieties. In any case, the practitioners of what eventually became Rabbinic Judaism observed a form of worship that, with the destruction of the Temple cult, provided a new centre and even absorbed enough from the defunct priestly institution to suggest continuity and legitimacy with the Judaic past. This was probably the basic pattern for synagogal liturgy in the millennia that followed.

The synagogue at Capernaum, northwestern shore of the Sea of Galilee, Israel, 3rd–2nd century BCE.Lee BoltinAt the heart of synagogal worship is the public reading of Scriptures. This takes place at the morning service on Sabbaths, holy days, and festivals, on Monday and Thursday mornings, and on Sabbath afternoons. The readings from the Pentateuch are currently arranged in an annual cycle so that, beginning with Genesis 1:1 on the Sabbath following the autumnal festivals, the entire five books are read through the rest of the year. The texts for festivals, holy days, and fasts reflect the particular significance of those occasions. In addition, a second portion from the prophetic writings (Joshua, Judges, Samuel, and Kings, as well as the three major and 12 minor Prophets, but not Daniel) is read on many of these occasions. The readings take place within the structure of public worship and are incorporated into ceremonies in which the Sefer Torah (“Book of the Torah”), the pentateuchal scroll, is removed from the ark (cabinet) at the front of the synagogue and carried in procession to the reading desk; from it, the pertinent text is chanted by the reader. The text for the service is divided into subsections varying from seven on the Sabbath to three at the weekday morning service, and individuals are called forward to recite the blessings eulogizing God as Giver of Torah before and after each of these. The order of worship is composed of the preparatory blessings and prayers, to which are added passages recalling the Temple sacrificial cult (thus relating the present form of worship to the past); the recitation of a number of Psalms and biblical prayers; the Shema and its accompanying benedictions, introduced by a call to worship that marks the beginning of formal public worship; the prayer (tefilla) in the strict sense of petition; confession and supplication (taḥanun) on weekdays; the reading of Scripture; and concluding acts of worship. This general structure of the morning service varies somewhat, with additions and subtractions for the afternoon and evening services and for Sabbath, holy days, and festivals.

The prayer (tefilla) is often called the shemone ʿesre, the “Eighteen Benedictions”—though it actually has 19—or the ʿamida, “standing,” because it is recited in that position. It is made up of three introductory benedictions (praise of the God of the Fathers, of God the Redeemer who resurrects the dead, and of God the Holy One who fills the earth with his glory) and three concluding acts (a prayer for the acceptance of the service, a thanksgiving, and a prayer for peace). Between the introductory and concluding sections there is a series of intermediate petitions for knowledge, well-being, acceptance of repentance, forgiveness of sin, and others. On the Sabbath and on festivals the petitions are replaced by benedictions that mention the specific occasion but are not petitionary; it is considered inappropriate to attend to workaday concerns at these times.

The general outline of this order of service is found throughout the entire Jewish world, but the details have varied in different periods and geographic and cultural areas. The public service, requiring the presence of at least 10 males, the minyan (“quorum”), is generally led by a synagogal official, the ḥazzan, or cantor, but any Jewish male with the requisite knowledge may act in this capacity, since there is no clerical class in the community to whom such leadership is limited.

The synagogue room itself has a very simple basic form, though it may be embellished considerably. The only requirements are a container for the Torah scroll(s), called the aron ha-qodesh (“the holy ark”), a chest against the east wall or a recessed closet with doors and a curtain; a prayer desk (ʿamud) facing the ark, at which the reader stands when reciting the service; and the pulpit (bima)—in or close to the centre of the room, according to some requirements—from which the Torah is read. In the Spanish-Portuguese tradition, only one desk (called teva) is used. The ark contains one or more scrolls, on which are written the Five Books of Moses. These are variously ornamented, depending upon the cultural region: European communities deck them in coverings of cloth, and Eastern communities (North African and Near Eastern) place them in wooden or metal containers. In addition, silver ornaments (rimonim) in the form of towers or crowns are often set on the tops of two rods on which the scroll is wound, and a breastplate (hoshen) and a pointer (yad) are suspended from them.

Torah crown, Poland, late 18th century; in the Jewish Museum, New York City.Graphic House/Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc.Accommodations for the worshippers vary according to the cultural milieu, from rugs and cushions in Eastern synagogues to pews and standing desks in European ones. Given this essential simplicity, the synagogue room itself may be used for purposes other than worship—e.g., study and community assembly. Again, this varies with the cultural pattern.

Ceremonies marking the individual life cyclesThe life of the individual is punctuated by observances that mark the notable events of personal existence. A male child is circumcised on the eighth day following birth, as a covenantal sign (Genesis 17); the rite of circumcision (berit mila) is accompanied by appropriate benedictions and ceremonies, including naming. Females are named in the synagogue, generally on the Sabbath following birth, when the father is called to recite the benedictions over the reading of Torah. A firstborn son, if he does not belong to a priestly or a levitical family, is redeemed at one month (in accordance with Exodus 13:12–13 and Numbers 18:14–16) by the payment of a stipulated sum to a cohen (a putative member of the priestly family). At age 13 a boy is called to recite the Torah benedictions publicly, thus signifying his religious coming-of-age; he is thenceforth obligated to observe the commandments as his own responsibility—he is now a bar mitzvah (“son of the commandment”). Many Conservative and Reform congregations have instituted a similar ceremony, called the bat mitzvah, to celebrate the coming-of-age of girls. Marriage (ḥatuna, also qiddushin, “sanctifications”) involves a double ceremony, performed together in modern times but separated in ancient times by one year. First is the betrothal (erusin), which includes the reading of the marriage contract (ketubba) and the giving of the ring with a declaration, “Behold you are consecrated to me by this ring according to the law of Moses and Israel,” accompanied by certain benedictions. This is followed by the marriage proper (nissuʾin), consisting of the reciting of the seven marriage benedictions. The ceremony is performed under a ḥuppa, a canopy that symbolizes the bridal bower.

The burial service is marked by simplicity. The body, prepared for the grave by the ḥevraʾ qaddishaʾ (“holy society”), is clad only in a simple shroud and interred as soon after death as possible. In Israel no coffin is used. There are observances connected with death, many of which belong to the realm of folklore rather than Halakhic tradition. A mourning period of 30 days is observed, of which the first seven (shivah) are the most rigorous. During the 11 months following a death, the bereaved recite a particular form of a synagogal doxology (Kaddish) during the public service as an act of memorial. The doxology, devoid of any mention of death, is a praise of God and a prayer for the establishment of the coming kingdom. It is also recited annually on the anniversary of the death (yahrzeit).

Holy places: the land of Israel and JerusalemThe land of Israel, as is evident from the biblical narratives, played a significant role in the life and thought of the Israelites. It was the promised home, for the sake of which Abraham left his birthplace; the haven toward which those escaping from Egyptian servitude moved; and the hope of the exiles in Babylon. In the long centuries following the destruction of the Judean state by the Romans, it was a central part of messianic and eschatological expectations.

During the early period of settlement, there apparently were many sacred localities, with one or another functioning for a time as a central shrine for all the tribes. Even the establishment of Jerusalem as the political capital by David and the building of a royal chapel there by Solomon did not bring an end to local cult centres. It was not until the reign of Josiah of Judah (640–609 BCE) that a reform centralized the cult in Jerusalem and attempted to end worship at local shrines. Although Josiah’s reform was not entirely successful, during the Babylonian Exile and the subsequent return, Jerusalem and its Temple defeated its rivals and became—in law, in fact, and in sentiment—the centre of Jewish cultic life. This did not inhibit, however, the rise and development of other forms of worship and even—on a few occasions—other cult centres. Nonetheless, no matter how unpopular the priesthood of the Jerusalem Temple became with some segments of the population—the Qumrān community seems to have denied its legality, and the Pharisees complained bitterly about its arrogance and exactions, attempting, when feasible, to impose and enforce Pharisaic regulations upon it—reverence for the Temple seems to have remained a widespread sentiment. With the destruction of the Temple by the Romans in 70 CE, such reverence was transformed both by messianic expectations and by eschatological hopes into fervent devotion, which, over the following centuries, became idealized and even supernaturalized.