Sheepchase

This is such an interesting response to my explanation for Israeli legal tricks to avoid the religious designation of mamzerut that it's worth answering. Not because the complaint matters. And yes, it's vaguely "anti-Jewish medieval polemic" style. But because the answer is interesting. In Judaism, you see, the great God-given law, once actually given, is from that moment a human-shaped law. It's a core principle of the tradition. Because if the law keeps needing to refer back to God for rulings, that's revelation. And if revelation continues, then the Torah isn't the thing itself, merely the opening shot. Even prophecy, the dimmest, thinnest shadow of the thing, has stopped, the tradition affirms. Thus Deuteronomy teaches: "Surely, this commandment that I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond reach. It is not in the heavens, that you should say, 'Who among us can go up to the heavens and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?' Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, 'Who among us can cross to the other side of the sea and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?' No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it." No written law can encompass lived experience. So law speaks in categories, not just details. The application and adaptation are for humans. And more fundamentally, we're supposed to bend the law toward mercy. That's a core precept of the whole system. It's in Ramban's interpretation of the very chapter of Deuteronomy quoted above. God is infinite truth. But as God teaches in the Torah itself, infinite truth isn't always enough. In the here and now, in the narrow confines of our limited human experience, we need mercy too. That's why the Torah, while it commands that we obey the laws, includes among those laws, "be holy," "love your fellow like yourself," and other instructions that boil down to being merciful and good, not just sticklers for the law. It's also in the examples of our fathers. Abraham argues with God to spare Sodom, and he doesn't mince words: “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do justice?” That's a hell of a thing to throw at God. Justice isn't just what wicked people deserve, justice is also generosity and mercy beyond what is deserved. There are many other examples of arguing with God -- Jacob wrestling the angel, Moses routinely protesting the divine will. These are usually held up as examples of goodness. In one famous debate about an oven in the Talmud (Bava Metzia 59b), one rabbi manages to summon a divine voice to affirm he's right. The opposing rabbi decrees, "it isn't in the heavens," and the rabbis rule by the that opposing rabbi. And God, the story tells, laughs in pride and says, "my children have defeated me." The proud father who sees his children, obedient to the law and joyful in its service but nevertheless carving out their own path, knows He taught them well. That's what Israeli courts do about mamzerut, and it's a practice enshrined in long-standing Jewish law. We are to carve our own path through the law, erring on the side of mercy. That's the tradition. (If you want more, if you want to see the Talmud literally mock these issues, point out that nobody cares about a mamzer's status if they have money or if their family has power, and then conclude that God irons out the imperfections in the end, go to Kiddushin 71.) And it's worth mentioning: Christianity took this thread in Jewish religious culture and built a vast and beautiful religious universe out of it. This is the part of our tradition that Christians should have the least trouble understanding. When Jesus says, "I desire mercy, not sacrifice," he's quoting the prophet Hosea. In Christianity, this became the warp and woof of redemption itself.