What is the Root of the Word “Torah”?

From RRW
Guest Blogger: Mitchell First

                       What is the Root of the Word “Torah”?

                Hebrew has a root Y-R-H. It means to “proclaim/instruct.” This is the root of the word TORaH.  (In the noun form of Y-R-H, the “yod” changes to a “vav.” This is common.)

               The root Y-R-H is interesting because it also has another meaning: “throw/cast/shoot.” This meaning is found, for example, in  Oz Yashir: “The chariots of Pharaoh and his army, God cast (yarah) into the sea.”

                 Could these two Y-R-H meanings have a common origin? It seems unlikely. But it is interesting to mention some of the creative attempts that have been made to connect them. One suggestion is that both are a form of guiding. Another suggestion is that a teacher casts the stone of wisdom into the hearts of his students!  (This suggestion was made by Solomon Mandelkern in his concordance.)

                 I also cannot resist mentioning some other very unusual suggestions for the root of the word Torah. Rav S.R. Hirsch (comm. to Genesis 16:5) suggests that the root is H-R-H, since teaching means “to plant a spiritual seed in someone.” Also, a scholarly work Brown-Driver-Briggs suggests that the root of the word Torah was perhaps Y-R-H with the meaning “casting lots”!                      

                   The root Y-R-H also has a third meaning, “to water.” But according to many scholars, this meaning is just a by-form of the root R-Vav-H= “to drink/be saturated.” This third meaning is the basis for the Biblical words “yoreh” and “moreh,” which refer to the “early rain” (=rain in the fall season). (See Koehler-Baumgartner, pp. 404 and 436 and Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, vol. 6, p. 336. Such an explanation is also alluded to at Taanit 6a, second explanation, and in Rashi to Deut. 11:14.)

               Of course, one can alternatively view the early rain as moisture that is “thrown” to the earth. 

 

                 It has also been suggested that the early rain provides “instruction” on some level. (See, e.g., Taanit 6a, first explanation.) But this explanation seems farfetched.

               With regard to the later rain, “Malkosh” is the word for the “later (spring) rain.” As seen from Amos 7:1, “lekesh” is the word for the “later (=spring) crops.” See, e.g., the Soncino commentary.

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               Now I would like to talk about a separate word “histakel” (H-S-T-K-L, He-Samekh-Tav-Kaf-Lamed). People generally assume that this word means “look.” But what is the origin of this word?

              H-S-T-K-L is in the hitpael form, although a switching of the order of the second and third letters has occurred. (This is a common phenomenon.) We must pretend that the word is H-T-S-K-L in order to analyze it.  Now, I will raise two questions:  1) Is there really a root Samekh-Kaf-Lamed that means “look”? 2) Why would the word be in the hitpael form? Hitpael is usually (but not always) reflexive. Does the word mean “to look at yourself?”

             If you use your “sekhel” (root: Sin-Kaf-Lamed), you can figure out where I am heading here. Really the root of the word is Sin-Kaf-Lamed, which means something like “acted intelligently.”  This root Sin-Kaf-Lamed appears many times in Tanach. Over the centuries, the Biblical “Sin” became a “Samekh” in many different words. (A classic example is the word “erusin”:betrothal. In the Tanach, it is spelled with a Sin.)  So H-T-S-K-L originally meant “thought to himself.” Of course, I am not denying that it took on the meaning “look” over time.    

              A reason that people are not aware of the origin of this word is that there is no word H-Sin-T-K-L in Tanach.  If there were, when people saw the word H-Samekh-T-K-L in rabbinic Hebrew, they would have immediately realized that the “Samekh” is an evolution from the original “Sin.”

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               A while ago, I wrote about sneezing and coughing. I pointed out that there is no word for cough in Tanach and that the root for sneeze, Ayin-Tet-Shin, appears one time in Tanach, at Job 41:10. I suggested that this was the same word as “achoo,” and that both were words that sounded like what they were. (This is called an “onomatopoeia.”) An alert reader, Alan Schwartz, pointed out to me that there is a different root for sneeze that also appears one time in Tanach. The root is Z-R-R. In the dramatic story of Elisha reviving the Shunamite woman's son, the child sneezed ("va-yizorer") seven times and awoke. See 2 Kings, 4:35. So I stand corrected. It has been suggested that this root, Z-R-R=sneeze, is also an onomatopoeia!

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Mitchell First is a personal injury attorney and Jewish history scholar. He can be reached at MFirstAtty@aol.com. He enjoys casting stones of wisdom into the hearts of his readers.

JVO Blog: Sinai – The Binding of Belief and Knowledge

Jewish Values Online (jewishvaluesonline.org) is a website that asks the Jewish view on a variety of issues, some specifically Jewish and some from the world around us -- and then presents answers from each of the denominations of Judaism. Nishmablog's Blogmaster Rabbi Wolpoe and Nishma's Founding Director, Rabbi Hecht, both serve as Orthodox members of their Panel of Scholars. Nishmablog, over the years, has also featured the responses on JVO by one of our two Nishma Scholars who are on this panel. 

The Jewish Values Online website also offers a blog which presents comments on various topics within Judaism and the Jewish world. See http://www.jewishvaluesonline.org/jvoblog/index?aid=0. Rabbi Hecht is also a blogger on this blog.

His latest post 

Sinai – The Binding of Belief and Knowledge
is now available http://jewishvaluescenter.org/jvoblog/Sinai

A link is also up on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/JewishValuesOnline/  

While comments are most welcome at both these sites, as we also would like to develop a discussion on this topic here at Nishmablog, we also present the article below

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            One of the difficulties in approaching the Biblical text is that it describes realities that are vastly different than our own. It describes occurrences which are beyond our comprehension. This further extends to the truth of God’s Existence. It is why we, generally, use the world belief in describing our comprehension of the Almighty and the acceptance of miracles. Given the reality of our present world, we cannot know, through rational means, beyond reasonable doubt, of His Existence and cannot honestly fathom the open miracle. In fact, His very Existence challenges the parameters of rational thought for He, by definition, is beyond these parameters. Belief thus is the term we use to reflect this lack of scientific, quantifiable, concrete evidence – and so we apply it to any recognition we have of God. We understand it to imply a recognition of God on a different plane, from a different perspective.  As various scholars of Torah explain, it can reflect a perception of our souls; we, spiritually, experience God. There is, though, a hesitation, a vagueness.

            Given this understanding of the use of this term, would it be proper then to say that Adam and Eve simply believed in God? Pursuant to the Biblical text, it would seem clear that Adam and Eve had absolute evidence of God’s Existence. He created them, spoke to them, interrelated with them. Solely applying the term ‘belief’ to Adam and Eve would, indeed, seem strange. It would seem better to say that Adam and Eve had a  knowledge of God through the evidence, beyond a reasonable doubt, which supported the conclusion of His Existence. Their interaction with the world in which they existed was based on knowledge just as our interaction with our world is. There was an absolute rational argument for the acceptance of the Existence of God – albeit, though, that this very conclusion also inherently challenged reason itself. This paradox is what, in fact, defines an important aspect of the Torah experience. In the realm of Torah, reason and belief, both, necessarily exist.

            How do we actually know that our sense of belief informs us of what is true? This is the challenge of belief. There is no argument able to fully substantiate what we believe to be true in the same manner that no argument in itself can negate a belief. Belief is ultimately personal; we believe because we believe. But does that necessarily mean that one’s beliefs are by definition correct? Given the multitude of contradictory beliefs in the world, the answer to this question would be obvious. It is reason which we use to substantiate our perceptions of the truth. It is reason which also must be the basis of any communication between individuals for, while belief is personal, reason, through its objectivity, allows for the communal. Reason and belief both have their limitations. They both also have their purpose. Our existence must thus flow from both reason and belief.

            The chasm between the Existence of God and the nature of humanity furthermore means that He is truly beyond our comprehension. Nevertheless, He Exists – furthermore, actively Exists within our existence. Our base link to Him flows from our attribute of belief, notwithstanding that, as with all human attributes, it demands further contemplation within reason, This is because the very purpose of our existence on this Earth is to grow and the value of this growth is marked in its challenge . To grow means to contemplate, analyze, consider – render thoughtful decisions – and this is only possible with the application of our facilities of reason. This is a further explanation for why there is both belief and reason. This is why Torah demands both reason and belief. It is thus not surprising that the mitzvah of deep analytic Torah study is so fundamental. It demands both reason and belief in its very essence.

            This is why our present world is a challenge to us. The division between the realm of reason and the realm of belief is strong. This does not mean that we can never, in some manner, connect the two but it is challenging. From a Torah perspective, this is a reflection of the challenge of growth and, as such, is defensible and understandable – but nonetheless a challenge which we are to recognize and respect. In the Biblical world, the division between the two realms was not as apparent; this is also why we have some difficulty relating to this world. There was still, though, a challenge even in that world – for a full definition of God’s Existence is incomprehensible to the rational.

             The challenge of the tension of reason and belief is fundamental to our process of growth. The process of Torah is to bring them closer together within the outlook of humanity. There was one moment in history, though, when their ultimate bonding within the perspective of the human being was reached and this was Sinai. In the communal Revelation of Sinai where every individual there was part of an event within the realm of human reality, there was a distinction in the perception and understanding of God which never was repeated. Reason and belief  bonded within this reality to the extent that they can. The Jewish nation thus had no doubt on any level that they were being addressed by God. As Maimonides powerfully declares, Sinai was absolutely unique. 

            This, however, was not our endpoint but rather are starting point. It was from the recognition of this ideal that we were to then take action to attempt to re-create Sinai within our lives given the challenges we face. Our modern world is where we now encounter these challenges to which we must respond. Sinai is our ideal which, through Torah, gives us insight into how to respond. It also is the ideal toward which we must strive. The key is that human existence is all about growth and thoughtful development. If we find it difficult and challenging: that is because it is supposed to be!

 

Cory Booker and the Orthodox rabbi were like brothers. Now they don’t speak. from the Washington Post

From RRW

https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2019/05/31/cory-booker-orthodox-rabbi-were-like-brothers-now-they-dont-speak/

Stoicism on Judgmentalism

From RRW

 

Somebody is hasty about bathing; do not say that he bathes badly, but that he is hasty about bathing. Somebody drinks a good deal of wine; do not say that he drinks badly, but that he drinks a good deal. For until you have decided what judgement prompts him, how do you know that what he is doing is bad? And thus the final result will not be that you receive convincing sense-impressions of some things, but give your assent to others.

Comment

We should learn to suspend these sort of value judgements and just describe events to ourselves in the form of an "objective representation" (phantasia kataleptike). Stick to the facts without, unnecessarily, adding judgements or strong emotions. Don't criticize people by condemning their behaviour as wrong or bad. Just remain with the facts, describe what happened, and make a decision based on that.

Cognitive therapists call it "mind reading" when people jump to conclusions about what others are thinking. You can see that happening every day between people arguing on the Internet! Epictetus says that it's impossible for us to know whether someone's behaviour is "bad" in the moral sense unless we understand their motives. And if we understood that they were misguided then we probably wouldn't feel angry with them anyway. We should therefore generally suspend judgement. His final sentence makes a technical point: that we should base our thinking on the objective details of the situation and not our assumptions, inferences, and value judgements, which go beyond what we can know for certain.

If I forget you, Jerusalem... (Ps. 137)

From RRW
Guest Blogger: Mitchell First

“If I Forget You Jerusalem…”: Psalms 137:5

Psalms 137:5 reads: “If I forget you Jerusalem, tishkach yemini.” But what do the last two words mean? Note that that second to last word is “tishkach,” not “eshkach” (=I will forget).

On the simplest level, “tishkach yemini” means “my right [hand] will forget.” But forget what? It seems like the “ikar chaser min ha-sefer” here!

Many take the approach that the meaning is: “My right hand shall forget its musical skills.” One who adopts this approach is the Radak. Note that for most people it would be the right hand that strums the strings of the harp.

To understand the rationale for this approach, let us look at the preceding verses. This psalm begins “Al naharot Bavel….” Verse 2 continues: “On the willows there, we hung up our harps.” In verse 3, those that led them captive ask them to “sing us one of the songs of Zion.” In verse 4, the Israelite (or Levite) response is: “How can we sing a song of God on foreign lands?” Then comes our verse 5.

But let us look at verse 6 that begins “tidbak leshoni”: “Let my tongue adhere to my palate if I fail to recall you.” This implies that verse 5 may not be limiting itself to loss of musical skills. A loss of speaking ability may be implied here as well. (A response might be that verse 6 is only alluding, in an exaggerated manner, to a singing problem.)

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A different approach to our verse is: “My right hand shall forget its skills in general.” Many understand the verse this way. (E.g., the Daat Mikra commentary: “tishkach et pe’uoloteha,” and Rav S.R. Hirsch: “all the skills which my hand had known heretofore.”)

(A common English translation of our verse is “let my right hand forget its cunning.” Those who translate in this way are merely copying from the King James version of the early 17^th century. At that time, “cunning” just meant “ability.” So this common English translation is agreeing with the approach just suggested.)

What other ways are there to understand our verse?

- Some understand “tishkach” as “become paralyzed,” or “cease to function.” In this way, there is nothing missing from the end of the verse. But these are not the simplest understandings of “tishkach.”

- There is a Hebrew root Caf-Ḥet-Shin that has the meaning “become lean, wither.” Some have suggested that this is the meaning of our word here, as perhaps C-Ḥ-Sh developed the variant Sh-C-Ḥ. But this seems very farfetched. (This is not just a “keves” vs. “kesev” variant, but a more unusual one.) This approach is mentioned as a possibility in the Daat MIkra. It is adopted by Robert Alter in his The Book of Psalms: A Translation with Commentary.

(Regarding C-Ḥ-Sh, this is an unusual root on its own. It has two different meanings “become lean” and “deceive, deny.” I have seen it suggested that the latter is a sense enlargement of the former, but the connection seems farfetched.)

- “Let my right hand be forgotten.” (See, e.g., Pseudo-Rashbam on the AlHaTorah site.) “Tishakhach” would be the passive (nifal) form. Our verse has “tishkach”? Well, that is pretty close. We can understand how the former might have evolved into the latter by the time of the Masoretes. If one goes through the entire Tanach, there are often times when the Masoretes use a grammatical form that does not seem to be correct. In these instances, they were perhaps trying to vocalize the word to reflect common speech.

But contextually does the passive stem make sense here? “If I forget Jerusalem, let my right hand be forgotten.” Forgotten by me? Perhaps forgotten by God is better, the implication being that God will not help my hand do its normal activities. (For the latter, see the view of Chakhmei Tzefat on the AlHatorah site.) But the fact that “tidbak” is not in the passive militates against “tishkach” being an evolution from “tishakhach. “Tishkach…” and “tidbak…” are parallel phrases here.

To conclude, Rav Hirsch points out that our verse has the style of an oath. Oaths are very often elliptical in style, i.e., they don’t finish their sentences and they leave out key elements. (See, e.g., 2 Sam. 3:35.) With this in mind, we should be able to accept the “forget its musical skills” and “forget its skills” approaches expressed above. We should simply imagine that the text has three dots after the word “tishkach.”

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A separate issue is who is speaking in verse 5. Normally we would understand the speaker as the Israelites or Levites. But the Targum understands God as speaking here, and responding to the Israelite/Levite affirmation of verse 4 that they could not sing a song of God on foreign soil. As ArtScroll explains the Targum: “God’s Holy Spirit responded to Israel’s proclamation of faith and declared: ‘If I forget Jerusalem, I will forget my right hand.’ (But as I mentioned at the outset, the verse does not use the word “eshkach.”)

With regard to Rashi, he writes only briefly on our verse: “knesset Yisrael omeret ken.” He is writing this to disagree with the Targum. But he does not explain how he himself understood the verse.

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In Aramaic, the root Shin-Kaf-Chet means “common,” “everyday.” This is almost the opposite of the Hebrew meaning. This is probably just coincidence. But over the centuries the Aramaic meaning has worked its way into Hebrew. For example, in modern Hebrew “shakhiach” means “common” and “shekhichut” means “frequency.”

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In his book Power and Principle, Z. Brzezinski writes that Menachem Begin said the following to him while they were talking a walk together at Camp David: “My right eye will fall out, my right hand will fall off before I ever agree to the dismantling of a single Jewish settlement.” From Brzezinski’s account, it does not appear that he understood what Begin was alluding to! (See similarly D. Gordis, Menachem Begin, p. 173.)

P.S. My son Shaya told me that his recollection is that Senator Cory Booker paraphrased the verse as follows at his speech at the AIPAC convention in March: “If I forget thee O Israel, may I cut off my right hand.”

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Mitchell First can be reached at MFirstAtty@aol.com. He would like to thank Rabbi Ezra Frazer for his assistance with this article.