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How can the world’s basic operating system, not going to be rebooted overnight, coexist with prophetic visions and expectations of miraculous events like the resurrection of the dead?

by Rabbi Boruch Merkur

This discussion focuses on the tension between two distinct yet interconnected ideas in Jewish thought: the concept that the world will continue to operate in its usual manner and the idea of miraculous events, such as the early resurrection of the particularly virtuous during the Messianic era. How can these seemingly conflicting notions be reconciled?


THE WORLD OF MOSHIACH AS THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT

The Talmud in Berakhot (34b) teaches: “Rava says: What is the meaning of: ‘For there shall be no needy among you’ (Deuteronomy 15:4)? Is it possible for there to be a time when there is no needy person among the Jewish people? Doesn’t that suggest a huge miracle? Rather, the verse means that there will be no completely impoverished person among you, but there will still be poor people.”


In line with this, Maimonides (Rambam) writes in Hilchot Melachim (12:1): “Do not presume that in the Messianic age any facet of the world’s nature will change or there will be innovations in the work of creation. The world will continue according to its natural order.” Rambam teaches us not to expect the laws of nature to suddenly change when the Messiah arrives. Everything will continue to operate “according to its natural order.”


The principle of “according to its natural order” entails a warning that we should not expect a supernatural hero to appear and immediately transform the world into paradise. In fact, the world, for the most part, will continue as it always has done, following the laws of nature and human behavior.


However, in Jewish thought, as articulated by Rambam himself, the resurrection of the dead—Techiyat HaMeitim—is an essential doctrine, one of the Thirteen Principles of Faith, indicating its centrality to Jewish belief (affirmed by scriptural references such as Isaiah 26:19 and Daniel 12:2, and is elaborated upon in Talmudic discourse). At first glance, people rising from the dead would be a blatant violation of the world’s natural order.


Clearly, there is tension between these two views. On one hand, we have the very grounded, almost pragmatic view that the world’s basic operating system is not going to be rebooted overnight. On the other hand, there are prophetic visions and expectations of miraculous events such as the resurrection of the dead. How can these versions of the future coexist?


EARLY RESURRECTION

The Talmud (Sanhedrin 91b-92a) discusses who will be resurrected, but it leaves room for interpretation in terms of the timing of this momentous event. The Talmud states: “Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi said: All those who are destined to arise at Techiat HaMeitim (the Resurrection) are destined to arise with their blemishes (that they had during their lifetimes), as it is stated: ‘And your people also shall all be righteous; they shall inherit the land forever’ (Isaiah 60:21). The verse does not say ‘righteous ones’ (tzaddikim), but rather ‘your people also shall all be righteous’ (yitzdaku), indicating that they shall become righteous at that time.


This source suggests that not everyone who is resurrected will be righteous from the outset; rather, some will become righteous at that time. This implies that there might be different categories or levels of people who are resurrected.


A mystical interpretation of this Talmudic concept is unveiled in The Zohar:


Rabbi Yitzchak said: ‘There are three categories of souls that will be resurrected.


The first category is the souls of the righteous who have been hidden in the Garden of Eden since the day that they departed from this world. They will be resurrected first, as it is written: “And many of them that sleep in the dust of the earth shall awaken, some to everlasting life” (Daniel 12:2).


The second category is the souls of the righteous who have been hidden under the Throne of Glory since the day that they departed from this world. They will be resurrected after the first category, as it is written: “And some to reproaches and everlasting abhorrence” (Daniel 12:2).


The third category is the souls of the righteous who have been wandering in the air since the day they departed from this world. They will be resurrected after the second category, as it is written: “And they that are wise shall shine like the brightness of the firmament” (Daniel 12:3).’


Here, the Zohar outlines different categories of souls based on their location and level of holiness and assigns them different times of resurrection.


There is a strong tradition established here that the exceptionally righteous will be resurrected first, possibly soon after the arrival of the Messiah. This could be based on the idea that these souls are closer to God and therefore more deserving of eternal life. Alternatively, this assumption could be based on the idea that these souls have a special role or mission in the Messianic era, and therefore need to be resurrected earlier.


This premise seems to contradict the notion that the world will continue “according to its natural order,” which implies that the world will not experience any drastic changes or miracles in the early stages of the Messianic era.


How can these two seemingly opposing views be reconciled?


RECONCILING THE NATURAL MODEL OF REDEMPTION WITH THE MIRACLE OF RESURRECTION

The intricate balance between a Messianic redemption that unfolds "according to its natural order" and the concept of an early resurrection for exceptionally righteous individuals can be explored through various scholarly interpretations:


1. Phased Transition: Abarbanel provides a chronological framework where the Messianic era unfolds in stages, each with increasing divine intervention. He describes these stages in detail:


- The first stage is about the return and rebuilding: "The first stage is when Israel will return to their land and rebuild Jerusalem and its Temple…” This period is characterized by actions that are natural and human-driven.


- The second stage introduces divine revelation: "The second stage is when God will reveal Himself to them and perform great wonders and miracles for them…” Here, the supernatural becomes gradually more apparent.


- The third stage expands to global recognition: "The third stage is when all the nations will recognize God and His Messiah, and submit to His rule…” This suggests a transformation in global consciousness.


- The final stage culminates in resurrection: "The fourth stage is when God will resurrect all those who are destined to arise.” This ultimate stage introduces the miraculous event of resurrection, which is seen as a culmination of the process rather than a sudden occurrence.


Abarbanel’s phased approach suggests a measured transition that accommodates the natural before evolving into the miraculous.


2. Exceptional Cases: Alshich acknowledges the possibility of exceptions for extraordinary individuals, providing an analogy to convey their uniqueness:


- "There are some individuals who are so holy and pure that they merit to be resurrected before everyone else. These are like ‘the first fruits’ (bikkurim) that are offered in the Temple before all other produce. They are also like ‘the choicest of your valleys’ (mivchar amekecha) that are mentioned in Isaiah 22:7, which refer to those who dwell in lowly places but are exalted by God.”


Alshich’s metaphorical language captures the distinction between general resurrection and the precedence given to the exceptionally righteous. This approach proposes that divine providence allows for certain individuals to transcend the common order due to their elevated spiritual status.


3. Spiritual vs. Physical Resurrection: Arizal introduces the concept of gilgul, which implies different modalities of resurrection, possibly occurring without conflicting with the natural world:


- "There are two types of resurrection: one is called ‘the revival of souls’ (techiat haneshamot) and the other is called ‘the revival of bodies’ (techiat hagufot). The revival of souls is when a soul returns to this world in a different body than before, either for its own rectification or for the rectification of others. The revival of bodies is when a soul returns to its original body that it had in its previous incarnation.”


Arizal’s distinction between the revival of souls and bodies suggests that a soul’s return may initially occur in a manner that aligns with the natural order—perhaps in a different guise or form—before a more literal physical resurrection takes place.


4. Qualitative Changes: The Chassidic tradition, particularly as explicated in the Tanya, proposes a shift in the very fabric of reality come the Messianic age. This thought posits:


- In the era of the Messiah, "the divine will be so revealed that even physical existence will reflect God’s oneness.”


This suggests that in the Messianic era, the boundaries between the natural and the miraculous may dissolve, as miracles become the natural expression of a world that has reached a heightened state of divine revelation. Here, the early resurrection of the exceptionally righteous isn’t seen as a breach of natural law but as an anticipation of a universal condition where miracles are woven into the fabric of everyday existence.


In sum, our exploration into the delicate balance between the natural world and miraculous events within the context of the Messianic era uncovers the profound layers of Jewish thought on the subject. The resolution of this apparent dichotomy is found in a deeper appreciation of both the laws of nature and the acts of divine intervention. This nuanced understanding embraces a spectrum of possibilities, from the gradual unfolding of events to the recognition of extraordinary phenomena, and from the nuances of resurrection to the transformational shifts in the fabric of reality. Each framework provides a distinct lens through which we can view the Messianic era. These reflections serve as a reminder that the divine blueprint interweaves the mundane with the wondrous, the everyday with the supernatural, all of which mirror the Creator’s endless wisdom and kindness.

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The reunion of Avrohom with Hagar, who remained as pure as incense, so she was known as Keturah. * On the sixth reading of Parshas Chayei Sara, with integrated commentary of Rashi.

by Rabbi Boruch Merkur

In the autumn of his years, Abraham's heart turned to companionship once more, and he took a wife named Keturah. A familiar presence, Keturah was none other than Hagar, who once wandered the desert with her son. Her return was marked by a new name, a whisper of change like the scent of incense that clings to the folds of garments long after the smoke has cleared.


Keturah (related to the word "ketoret," incense), a name that spoke of her deeds, indicates that she was as pleasing as the fragrance offered on high. The name also told of a promise kept, a life untouched since the day she parted from Abraham. Her return was a testament to the unwavering paths that had brought them to this reunion.


As Abraham welcomed her, it was not just the first joining of two souls but the merging of past and future, a tapestry woven through time, each thread a story, each color a memory. In the presence of Keturah, Abraham found not just a partner but a mirror to the life he had lived, a companion for the days yet to unfold.


*


Abraham's life oversaw a growing family tree. Keturah, the woman who was once Hagar, brought forth new life, a testament to Abraham's enduring vitality. She bore him a lineage of sons: Zimran, whose name carried the melody of the mountains; Jokshan, whispering of distant lands; Medan, echoing the morning; Midian, a shadow stretching across the desert sands; Jishbak, a name like a brook's gentle babble; and Shuah, resonating like the breath of wind through the dunes.


Each son was a note in Abraham's lengthy symphony, a distinct sound that would resonate through generations. They were the seeds of nations, the beginnings of stories that would weave through history long after their patriarch's journey on this earth would end. Each name was a promise, each life a continuation of Abraham's covenant, an assurance that his legacy would endure, as numerous as the stars he once counted in the promise of his God.


*


Jokshan, son of Abraham and Keturah, continued the lineage with two sons of his own: Sheba, whose name would come to be associated with wealth and splendor, and Dedan, father to nations that would scatter across the lands like seeds in the wind. The sons of Dedan were known as Ashurim, Letushim, and Leumim, each a tribe that would carve its own path, their names etched in the annals of the peoples who walked the earth.


The Ashurim were known for their might, the Letushim for their wandering tents that kissed the edges of the horizon, and the Leumim, perhaps, for their congregation, a people banded together. Each name that echoed from Dedan was an echo of the promise given to Abraham, of a world made vast and varied by his offspring. These were the early chapters of a story that would span continents and centuries, a narrative of divergence from a single, sacred lineage.


*


Amidst the lineage of Abraham, Midian, another son of Keturah, brought forth his own progeny. The names of his sons—Ephah, Epher, Enoch, Abida, and Elda'ah—would come to signify the continuation of a legacy that stretched like a canopy over the sands of time. Each son, a bearer of his own destiny, would ripple through the generations, their lives and journeys a testament to the seeds sown by Abraham.


Ephah, Epher, Enoch, Abida, and Elda'ah were living branches, each sprouting with potential, carrying within them the echoes of their forefather's covenant. They were the sons of Keturah, whose union with Abraham was a continuation of a narrative that spoke of divine promises and human endeavor.


All these were the sons of Keturah, a woman whose name symbolized the incense of good deeds, and whose children's names would make their mark on history.


*


Abraham, the patriarch, settled his affairs with a gesture that echoed the divine command he had received long ago. Avrohom provided Isaac with all that he possessed. This was not merely a transfer of earthly belongings but the handing down of an intangible heritage, rich with promise and covenant.


The gift bestowed upon Isaac was saturated with the power to bless, the very ones that the Almighty had placed in Abraham's trust. These blessings, potent and unbounded, were the same that had transformed Abraham into a fountain of benediction, able to endow favor upon whom he chose. Now, this sacred charge, this divine power of enrichment, was given to Isaac, securing his role in the unfolding saga of their lineage.


As Abraham extended all to his beloved son, it was a confirmation of the faith and destiny that would carry forward through Isaac. The narrative of a people yet to be, a nation founded on the principles of faith, justice, and an unbreakable bond with the Divine, was entrusted to Isaac's keeping, as per the promise of the Lord.


*


In the waning years of Abraham's life, as he felt the weight of days upon him, he turned his gaze towards the future. With deliberate intention, he bestowed gifts upon the sons of his concubines, the children of Hagar, known also as Keturah.


These gifts, though not detailed in substance, carried the weight of a father's foresight, ensuring they would not be left empty-handed as they ventured away from the shadow of Isaac, the son of promise. The Sages pondered these gifts, some seeing them as a transfer of power over spiritual impurity, others as the relinquishment of material wealth given in Sarah's merit, a wealth Abraham refused to enjoy for himself.


With the same hands that once trembled above Isaac on Moriah, Abraham sent his other sons eastward, away from the covenantal land promised to his lineage through Isaac. In this act, he created a buffer of distance, a respectful space between the heir of his covenant and those of different destinies.


*


As Abraham's days stretched into years, his years into decades, he walked the earth for a span that tethered together a century, seven decades, and five years. A life lived across shifting sands, beneath changing skies, beside the laughter of a promised child, and within the echoes of divine conversations. His years, though marked by the passage of time, told a story of a man whose heart remained untarnished by the years; at a hundred, he held the purity of a man of seventy, and at seventy, the innocence of a child of five, untouched by sin.


In this calculation of years, we glimpse the quality of Abraham's life as well as their length. A patriarch whose every chapter, from the bold strides of his youth to the reflective steps of his old age, was inscribed with a singular dedication to a path devoid of misstep, his soul as pristine as when he first heeded the call to journey to an unknown land.


*


And so, the final day of Abraham's earthly sojourn dawned, and as the sun set on his life, he took his last breath with the peaceful resignation of one who has seen many seasons come and go. He departed this world as one who had sipped deeply from the cup of life, aged and contented, his soul satiated by a plethora of experiences, both bitter and sweet. With dignity, he closed his eyes to this temporal realm and was gathered to his forebears, leaving behind a revolution of consciousness.


Abraham's life, marked by unwavering faith and boundless hospitality, had been a beacon to his family and to the nations. As he crossed over the threshold from the temporal to the eternal, one could almost hear the blessings and the tales of journeys taken, promises kept, and challenges met. Abraham's days were more than just a tally of time, they were a testament to a life lived in full resonance with the divine will.


*


In the quiet of the Canaanite landscape, where the silhouettes of the future and the shadows of the past met, Isaac and Ishmael came together, setting aside any former strife. United in grief and reverence, they bore Abraham to his final resting place in the Cave of Machpelah. The field of Ephron son of Zohar, which faced Mamre, became the silent witness to the patriarch's interment.


The act of burying their father was not merely a fulfillment of duty; it signified Ishmael's return to the fold, a penitent heart leading him to defer to Isaac, the chosen son. This act of respect and unity encapsulated the essence of Abraham's "good old age," a life that, even in its concluding chapter, continued to sow seeds of harmony and hope.


As the two brothers emerged from the cave, the age-old oaks of Mamre stood tall, their branches whispering the tales of Abraham, a man who walked with God. The weight of his years had been full of complexities and trials, yet also brimming with divine promise and fulfillment. Now, Abraham was gathered to his people, leaving behind a legacy that would stretch into eternity, as enduring as the stars he once counted under the promise of the Almighty.


*


The field that Abraham had secured from the sons of Heth became a family inheritance, a testament to the life he had built. There, beneath the terebinths of Mamre, in the Cave of Machpelah, Abraham was laid to rest alongside Sarah, his companion through journeys and the mother of all Jewish descendants. The cave, a silent witness to the covenant and the promises whispered within its chambers, now cradled the patriarch and his wife, holding the beginnings of a people in its earthen embrace.


*


After Abraham's departure from this world, the mantle of blessing was bestowed upon Isaac. God Himself, in His infinite kindness, offered comfort to the mourning son, embracing him with the gentle assurance reserved for those who grieve. Isaac, now the carrier of his father's legacy, settled near Be'er Lachai Ro'i, the very place where Hagar once found solace and revelation by the well. It was here, in the tranquility of this haven, that Isaac continued to cultivate the promise sown by his father, under the watchful care of the Almighty who had chosen him to uphold the covenant into the next generation.

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While Abraham lived, they dwelt securely. But after his death, they "fell," leaving them to navigate the currents of their destinies alone. * On the seventh reading of Parshas Chayei Sara, with integrated commentary of Rashi.

by Rabbi Boruch Merkur

Of the generations that followed Abraham, Ishmael emerged with a lineage of his own. Born of Hagar, the Egyptian handmaiden to Sarah, Ishmael carried both the weight of his father's legacy and the imprint of his mother's journey from servitude to motherhood. Though his path diverged from Isaac's, the blood of Abraham ran through him just as surely, and his descendants would go on to forge their own stories under the same wide sky that their grandfather once gazed upon with a promise.


*


Ishmael, son of Abraham, the child of promise and the desert dweller, fathered a lineage robust and sprawling as the stars. His firstborn, Nebaioth, emerged into the world, soon followed by Kedar's quick spirit, Adbe'el's wisdom, and Mibsam's laughter. Each name, a story; each son, a distinct path, woven from the same paternal lineage. They came forth in succession, each birth a testament to Ishmael's burgeoning tribe.


*


In the unfolding narrative of generations, the sons of Ishmael took their place in the lineage of their father, Abraham's firstborn. Their names were etched into the fabric of their family's story: Mishma, Dumah, and Massa. Each name, a testament to the life and times they were born into, resounded with the echoes of their destinies, marked in the continuum of their forebears.


*


The chronicle of Ishmael's descendants continued to unfold, a testament to the enduring promise given to Abraham. Hadad, Tema, Jetur, Naphish, and Kedmah — each name a story, each a bearer of Ishmael's legacy, casting long shadows over the dunes of time. They spread across lands, their destinies interwoven with the sprawling family tree that took root from Abraham's lineage. Each carried the invisible threads of their heritage, weaving the fabric of a people who would remember their place in the narrative of the ages.


*


Within the open expanses and the fortified enclosures, the sons of Ishmael thrived, each prince sovereign to their own clan. They dwelt in places where walls either stood as silent sentinels or were absent, leaving the horizon unbroken. The cities, some guarded by towers and others open to the sky, echoed with the names of the twelve — names that would carry forth into the annals of history. Each prince, a leader, each settlement, a testament to their burgeoning nations, spread across the vast canvas of the desert.


*


Ishmael's days, they say, were numbered not merely for the sake of record, but to mark time for another's tale — that of Jacob. From the span of Ishmael's life, one could discern the hidden chapters of Jacob's journey, the silent years spent in the halls of Eber's academy, fourteen in total, before he stepped into the embrace of Laban's land.


It was said that as Jacob parted from his father Isaac, Ishmael breathed his last, a chapter closed so another might open. And in this passing, the scripture whispers a truth held for the righteous: Ishmael expired — a term reserved for those who leave this earth in peace.


*


The sons of Ishmael, born of Abraham's line, spread their reach from Havilah to Shur, the land skirting the boundaries of Egypt, threading their way toward Asshur. It was said they settled in the span before Egypt, a place where their tents were pitched, their herds grazed, and their lineage flourished.


And yet, their dwelling was marked by the word "fell" — an echo of their ancestor's fate. While Abraham lived, they dwelt securely; his presence a bastion against the tumult of the world. But after his death, they "fell," as if their anchor had been lifted, leaving them to navigate the currents of their destinies alone. Before all his brothers, Ishmael's seed would find their place, yet it was a dwelling touched by the shadow of loss, the fading imprint of a patriarch's guiding hand.

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