Pandemics

Shavuot 15b ~ The Forgotten Havdalah of Rabbi Akiva

In a Mishnah that we learned two days ago, we read that any additions to the area of either Jerusalem or the Temple Courtyard had to be accompanied by certain attendees and specific offerings:

משנה שבועות יד, א

שֶׁאֵין מוֹסִיפִין עַל הָעִיר וְעַל הָעֲזָרוֹת אֶלָּא בְּמֶלֶךְ וְנָבִיא וְאוּרִים וְתוּמִּים וְסַנְהֶדְרִין שֶׁל שִׁבְעִים וְאֶחָד, וּבִשְׁתֵּי תּוֹדוֹת וּבְשִׁיר

Additions can be made to the city of Jerusalem or to the Temple courtyards only by a special body comprising the king, a prophet, the Urim VeTummim, and the Sanhedrin of seventy-one judges, and with two thanks-offerings and with a special song.

On today’s page of Talmud we learn more from a Baraita about the identity of that “special song.”

שבועות טו, ב

וּבְשִׁיר. תָּנוּ רַבָּנַן: שִׁיר שֶׁל תּוֹדָה – בְּכִנּוֹרוֹת וּבִנְבָלִים וּבְצֶלְצֶלִים עַל כל פִּינָּה וּפִינָּה וְעַל כל אֶבֶן גְּדוֹלָה שֶׁבִּירוּשָׁלַיִם, וְאוֹמֵר ״אֲרוֹמִמְךָ ה׳ כִּי דִלִּיתָנִי וְגוֹ׳״, וְשִׁיר שֶׁל פְּגָעִים, וְיֵשׁ אוֹמְרִין שִׁיר שֶׁל נְגָעִים

The Sages taught in a Baraita: They sang the song of thanksgiving, (Ps. 100, which begins: “A psalm of thanksgiving,)” accompanied by harps, lyres, and cymbals, at every corner and upon every large stone in Jerusalem. And they also recited (Ps. 30 which begins): “I will extol You, O Lord, for You have lifted me up,” and the song of evil spirits, (Ps. 91, which begins: “He that dwells in the secret place of the Most High.)” And some say that this psalm is called the song of plagues.

Psalm 91 - The Song of Plagues

In Jewish traditions, (including those of Ashkenaz, Yemen, Sefarad and North Africa) Psalm 91 is recited on several occasions. On Shabbat and Chagim in the morning service, it is added to the psalms of praise (פסוקי דזימרה). It is part of the prayers recited before sleep, and at Ma’ariv on Saturday night. It is also chanted at a Jewish burial. (You can hear many of the different ways in which various communities chant this Psalm on a charming website from the Jewish National Library here). But why does the Baraita call it The Song of Evil Spirits or The Song of Plagues?

Psalm 91 lists a number of dangers and tragedies that the psalmist faced. Snares and night terrors, “the arrow that flies at day, the plague that stalks in the darkness, and the scourge that rages at noon.” “In all likelihood” wrote the biblical scholar Robert Alter in his 2007 work (The Book of Psalms: A Translation with Commentary (322),

..the setting evoked is a raging epidemic in which vast numbers of people all around are fatally stricken. The image of martial danger, however, introduced by the flying arrow of verse 5 and the shield and buckler of verse 4, is superimposed on the image of danger from the plague, life imagined as a battlefield fraught with dangers.” But for those who trust in God, wrote the psalmist “no harm will befall you, nor will affliction draw near to your tent.”

Here is the full text of Psalm 91, so you get a sense of what Alter is talking about:

יֹשֵׁב בְּסֵתֶר עֶלְיוֹן בְּצֵל שַׁדַּי יִתְלוֹנָן׃

O you who dwell in the shelter of the Most High
and abide in the protection of Shaddai—

אֹמַר לַיהֹוָה מַחְסִי וּמְצוּדָתִי אֱלֹהַי אֶבְטַח־בּוֹ׃

I say of the LORD, my refuge and stronghold,
my God in whom I trust,

כִּי הוּא יַצִּילְךָ מִפַּח יָקוּשׁ מִדֶּבֶר הַוּוֹת׃

that He will save you from the fowler’s trap,
from the destructive plague.

בְּאֶבְרָתוֹ  יָסֶךְ לָךְ וְתַחַת־כְּנָפָיו תֶּחְסֶה צִנָּה וְסֹחֵרָה אֲמִתּוֹ׃

He will cover you with His pinions;
you will find refuge under His wings;
His fidelity is an encircling shield.

לֹא־תִירָא מִפַּחַד לָיְלָה מֵחֵץ יָעוּף יוֹמָם׃

You need not fear the terror by night,
or the arrow that flies by day,

מִדֶּבֶר בָּאֹפֶל יַהֲלֹךְ מִקֶּטֶב יָשׁוּד צהֳרָיִם׃

the plague that stalks in the darkness,
or the scourge that ravages at noon.

יִפֹּל מִצִּדְּךָ  אֶלֶף וּרְבָבָה מִימִינֶךָ אֵלֶיךָ לֹא יִגָּשׁ׃

A thousand may fall at your left side,
ten thousand at your right,
but it shall not reach you.

רַק בְּעֵינֶיךָ תַבִּיט וְשִׁלֻּמַת רְשָׁעִים תִּרְאֶה׃

You will see it with your eyes,
you will witness the punishment of the wicked.

כִּי־אַתָּה יְהֹוָה מַחְסִי עֶלְיוֹן שַׂמְתָּ מְעוֹנֶךָ׃

Because you took the LORD—my refuge,
the Most High—as your haven,

לֹא־תְאֻנֶּה אֵלֶיךָ רָעָה וְנֶגַע לֹא־יִקְרַב בְּאהֳלֶךָ׃

no harm will befall you,
no disease touch your tent.

כִּי מַלְאָכָיו יְצַוֶּה־לָּךְ לִשְׁמרְךָ בְּכל־דְּרָכֶיךָ׃

For He will order His angels
to guard you wherever you go.

עַל־כַּפַּיִם יִשָּׂאוּנְךָ פֶּן־תִּגֹּף בָּאֶבֶן רַגְלֶךָ׃

They will carry you in their hands
lest you hurt your foot on a stone.

עַל־שַׁחַל וָפֶתֶן תִּדְרֹךְ תִּרְמֹס כְּפִיר וְתַנִּין׃

You will tread on cubs and vipers;
you will trample lions and asps.
כִּי בִי חָשַׁק וַאֲפַלְּטֵהוּ אֲשַׂגְּבֵהוּ כִּי־יָדַע שְׁמִי׃

“Because he is devoted to Me I will deliver him;
I will keep him safe, for he knows My name.

יִקְרָאֵנִי  וְאֶעֱנֵהוּ עִמּוֹ־אָנֹכִי בְצָרָה אֲחַלְּצֵהוּ וַאֲכַבְּדֵהוּ׃

When he calls on Me, I will answer him;
I will be with him in distress;
I will rescue him and make him honored;

אֹרֶךְ יָמִים אַשְׂבִּיעֵהוּ וְאַרְאֵהוּ בִּישׁוּעָתִי׃ 
I will let him live to a ripe old age,
and show him My salvation.” 

Because of these references, the psalm was called an “amulet psalm,” although on today’s daf the Talmud refers to it as a Song [to Ward Away] Evil Spirits (shir shel pega’im) or a Song [to Ward Away] Plagues (shir shel nega’im).[ii] In it, plague – dever - is personified. It moves unseen and is therefore unstoppable; in its wake “a thousand fall.” Then something extra happened; by reciting it, the psalm took on magical properties, as we read on today’s daf:

רַבִּי יְהוֹשֻׁעַ בֶּן לֵוִי אָמַר לְהוּ לְהָנֵי קְרָאֵי, וְגָאנֵי

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi would recite these verses to protect himself from evil spirits during the night and fall asleep while saying them.

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi (c. 220-250 CE), a talmudic sage from the village of Lod would say the psalm as he fell asleep at night, despite objections from his colleagues that it was forbidden to use words of scripture as protection. And according to the Midrash, Moses himself recited this amulet psalm when he ascended Mount Sinai, “because he feared evil spirits”:

במדבר רבה 12:3

וְנֶגַע לֹא יִקְרַב בְּאָהֳלֶךָ, אָמַר רַבִּי יוֹחָנָן, עַד שֶׁלֹא הוּקַם הַמִּשְׁכָּן הָיוּ הַמַּזִּיקִין מִתְגָּרִין בָּעוֹלָם לַבְּרִיּוֹת, וּמִשֶּׁהוּקַם הַמִּשְׁכָּן שֶׁשָּׁרָה הַשְּׁכִינָה לְמַטָּה, כָּלוּ הַמַּזִּיקִין מִן הָעוֹלָם, הֲדָא הוּא דִכְתִיב: וְנֶגַע לֹא יִקְרַב בְּאָהֳלֶךָ, זֶה אֹהֶל מוֹעֵד. אָמַר רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן בֶּן לָקִישׁ מַה לְּךָ אֵצֶל סֵפֶר תְּהִלִּים, וַהֲלֹא בִּמְקוֹמוֹ אֵינוֹ חָסֵר (במדבר ו, כד): יְבָרֶכְךָ ה' וְיִשְׁמְרֶךָ, מִן הַמַּזִּיקִין, אֵימָתַי, וַיְהִי בְּיוֹם כַּלּוֹת משֶׁה, מַהוּ בְּיוֹם כַּלּוֹת, שֶׁכָּלוּ הַמַּזִּיקִין מִן הָעוֹלָם

And no plague will come near your tent” (Psalms 91:10) – Rabbi Yochanan said: Until the Tabernacle was erected, the demons would provoke people in the world. When the Tabernacle was erected, when the Divine Presence rested below, the demons were eliminated from the world. That is what is written: “And no plague will come near your tent” – this is the Tent of Meeting. Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish said: Why must you go to the book of Psalms? In its place it is not lacking: “May the Lord bless you and protect you” (Numbers 6:24). When? “It was on the day that Moses concluded.” What is “the day that [Moses] concluded [kalot]’? It means that all the demons were eliminated [shekalu] from the world.

Rabbi Yehoshua’s custom spread in the period following the final editing of the Talmud, an era roughly from 590-1040 C.E. and known as the period of the Ge’onim. It was sometime during this period that Psalm 91 was incorporated into a prayer that is now completely forgotten: Havdala de Rabbi Akiva.

The Forgotten Havdalah of Rabbi Akiva

The composition is a lengthy addendum to the traditional brief prayer, the havdala, said over wine, a candle and spices at the end of the Sabbath and Chagim. The Havdala de Rabbi Akiva was part prayer and part incantation, whose purpose was to ward off witchcraft and evil spirits for the week that lay ahead. Although not recited today, the Havdala de Rabbi Akivah spread from Babylonia to Italy and Spain, and from there to the Jewish communities of Ashkenaz living in the Rhineland. In it, Psalm 91 was recited in its entirety, with the names of God and several angels additionally woven into each verse.

The full text of the Havdalah of Rabbi Akiva can be found in several Hebrew manuscripts, although they differ in many places. This one, from the collection of the Vatican (ebr. 228 93r-98v), is dated 1426-1500:

Havdala de Rabbi Akiva, Vat. ebr. 228.

Another version of the text is held at the Bodleian Library in Oxford. It is catalogued as Bodleian Library MS. Michael 9. (Gershon Scholem and others referred to it simply as Oxford MS 1531, when they are referring to what they should have referenced as Neubauer 1531.) The manuscript dates to the early 1300s and is described as “Ashkenazic cursive script, most probably by one hand over a long period.” It contains kabbalistic and Hekhalot texts, the latter being collections of mystical literature, mostly about entering heaven alive, written in late antiquity through to the early Middle Ages. Here is the opening page:

This forgotten Jewish prayer is mentioned in several texts. Rabbi Avraham ben Azriel cites it in his perush on the piyyutim called ערוגת הבושם (Arugot Bosem) written around 1230, and the kabbalist Rabbi Naphtali Hertz of Treves (1473-1540), mentions it in his siddur. (In a long paper on the Havdalah of Rabbi Akiva, that was published posthumously by Gershon Scholem, he notes several other medieval and early modern texts that mention the prayer.) It was also mentioned by the rabbis of Sepharad, such as Shlomo ibn Aderet (1235–1310) known as the Rashba who refers to it in one of his responsa.

The full text is very, very long (Scholem broke it down into 15 sections). You can find it here, and the only attempt of an English translation of which I am aware is here.

זו היא הבדלה דרבי אקיבא

לבטל הכשפים לבטל הכשפים ולניזוק מרוח רעה ולמי שאסור מאשתו ולפתיחת לב
הרוצה להזכיר במוצאי שבת צריך לרחוץ במים וללבוש בגדים נקיים ולישב במקום טהור או בבית הכנסת ויהיו ידיו טהורות. וכשיבא לאומרה ישים לפניו כלי נקי וישפוך אחד על ידיו מים טהורים

השופך יאמר ליהודים היתה אורה ושמחה וששון ויקר. והמקבל יאמר הָבָה לָּנוּ עֶזְרָת מִצָּר וְשָׁוְא תְּשׁוּעַת אָדָם. באלה’ים נעשה חיל והוא יבוס צרינו. ויהיו המים שמורים לפניו עד שישלים לומר כל ההבדלה. וצריך להדיח ולשטוף כוס נקי ולמלאותו מיין טוב מקנקן מלא. ולא ידבר המוזג עד שיתנהו ביד הקורא

This is the Havdalah of Rabbi Akiba to defend against witchcrafts and against injury from an evil spirit, or for [one] who his woman is forbidden him, or to open a heart. The one who desires to remember at the end of Shabbat needs to wash in water and to dress in clean clothes and sit in a pure place or in a synagogue. He will have pure hands. When he is about to recite it, he will place before him a clean vessel and he will pour pure water once upon his hands. The one pouring will recite, “To Jews let there be light, celebration, joy, and dignity,” while the recipient [of the water] will say, “Bring to us help from distress and falsehood; the deliverance of humanity. Through God may we do virtue and may He trample our enemies. And they will be keep the water in front of him until he completes reciting the entire havdalah. And he needs to wash and rinse a cup clean and fill it from a full pitcher of good wine. But the wine-pourer is not to speak until the cup is given in to the hand of the one reciting [the ritual].

And what of Psalm 91, יושב בסתר? Well, it appears, but not in its usual form. Instead, interspersed within the traditional text are a several mystical words, some of which are the names of angels, some of which are names sound like angels. Here it is

יֹשֵׁב בְּסֵתֶר עֶלְיוֹן ביאו בְּצֵל שַׁדַּי יִתְלוֹנָן צבאות׃ אֹמַר לַיהֹוָה מַחְסִי וּמְצוּדָתִי מיכאל. אֱלֹהַי אֶבְטַח־בּוֹ גבריאל׃ כִּי הוּא יַצִּילְךָ מִפַּח יָקוּשׁ מלטיאל מִדֶּבֶר הַוּוֹת יהוה ׃ בְּאֶבְרָתוֹ  יָסֶךְ לָךְ אימיאל וְתַחַת־כְּנָפָיו תֶּחְסֶה עמניאל צִנָּה וְסֹחֵרָה אֲמִתּוֹ אבאל׃ לֹא־תִירָא מִפַּחַד לָיְלָה נתנאל מֵחֵץ יָעוּף יוֹמָם אנאל׃ מִדֶּבֶר בָּאֹפֶל יַהֲלֹךְ יהיאל מִקֶּטֶב יָשׁוּד צהֳרָיִם סוריאל׃ יִפֹּל מִצִּדְּךָ  אֶלֶף צוריאל וּרְבָבָה מִימִינֶךָ אֵלֶיךָ לֹא יִגָּשׁ סמאל׃ רַק בְּעֵינֶיךָ תַבִּיט גדיאל וְשִׁלֻּמַת רְשָׁעִים תִּרְאֶה אזאל׃ כִּי־אַתָּה יְהֹוָה מַחְסִי י’י צבאות עֶלְיוֹן שַׂמְתָּ מְעוֹנֶךָ ירבאתה׃ לֹא־תְאֻנֶּה אֵלֶיךָ רָעָה צדעיאל וְנֶגַע לֹא־יִקְרַב בְּאהֳלֶךָ אזקיאל חזקיאל׃ כִּי מַלְאָכָיו יְצַוֶּה־לָּךְ שומריאל לִשְׁמרְךָ בְּכל־דְּרָכֶיךָ שלהיאל סרתיאל׃ עַל־כַּפַּיִם יִשָּׂאוּנְךָ מלאכי השרת פֶּן־תִּגֹּף בָּאֶבֶן רַגְלֶךָ אדוניאל׃ עַל־שַׁחַל וָפֶתֶן תִּדְרֹךְ אדריאל תִּרְמֹס כְּפִיר וְתַנִּין מלכיאל׃ כִּי בִי חָשַׁק וַאֲפַלְּטֵהוּ אבראות אֲשַׂגְּבֵהוּ כִּי־יָדַע שְׁמִי חי אכתריאל׃ יִקְרָאֵנִי  וְאֶעֱנֵהוּ יה פתי?וה עִמּוֹ־אָנֹכִי בְצָרָה מטטרון אֲחַלְּצֵהוּ וַאֲכַבְּדֵהוּ רחום זיותאל זכוריאל׃ אֹרֶךְ יָמִים אַשְׂבִּיעֵהוּ רוח פיסקונית וְאַרְאֵהוּ בִּישׁוּעָתִי ברחמים׃

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New Essay: When Shemitta and a Pandemic Coincide

This year we are living through both a shemitta year and a pandemic in Israel, and exactly 120 years ago these same conditions were also present as the Jewish inhabitants of Ottoman Palestine faced the threats of a shemitta year and a terrible wave of pandemic cholera.

To read a new essay published at TraditionOnline about how the Jews of the First Aliyah faced that terrible year, and how it differs from the present shmitta-pandemic conjunction, click here.

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Talmudology Bonus ~ Plagues and the Census

In the Torah portion (כִּי תִשָּׂא) to be read this Shabbat, we will read about the first census that was to be taken after the Exodus from Egypt:

שמות 30:11-16

וַיְדַבֵּר יְהֹוָה אֶל־מֹשֶׁה לֵּאמֹר׃

כִּי תִשָּׂא אֶת־רֹאשׁ בְּנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵל לִפְקֻדֵיהֶם וְנָתְנוּ אִישׁ כֹּפֶר נַפְשׁוֹ לַיהֹוָה בִּפְקֹד אֹתָם וְלֹא־יִהְיֶה בָהֶם נֶגֶף בִּפְקֹד אֹת זֶה  יִתְּנוּ כל־הָעֹבֵר עַל־הַפְּקֻדִים מַחֲצִית הַשֶּׁקֶל בְּשֶׁקֶל הַקֹּדֶשׁ עֶשְׂרִים גֵּרָה הַשֶּׁקֶל מַחֲצִית הַשֶּׁקֶל תְּרוּמָה לַיהֹוָה׃ כֹּל הָעֹבֵר עַל־הַפְּקֻדִים מִבֶּן עֶשְׂרִים שָׁנָה וָמָעְלָה יִתֵּן תְּרוּמַת יְהֹוָה׃ הֶעָשִׁיר לֹא־יַרְבֶּה וְהַדַּל לֹא יַמְעִיט מִמַּחֲצִית הַשָּׁקֶל לָתֵת אֶת־תְּרוּמַת יְהֹוָה לְכַפֵּר עַל־נַפְשֹׁתֵיכֶם׃ וְלָקַחְתָּ אֶת־כֶּסֶף הַכִּפֻּרִים מֵאֵת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְנָתַתָּ אֹתוֹ עַל־עֲבֹדַת אֹהֶל מוֹעֵד וְהָיָה לִבְנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל לְזִכָּרוֹן לִפְנֵי יְהֹוָה לְכַפֵּר עַל־נַפְשֹׁתֵיכֶם׃

God spoke to Moses, saying: 

When you take a census of the Israelite men according to their army enrollment, each shall pay God a ransom for himself on being enrolled, that no plague may come upon them through their being enrolled. This is what everyone who is entered in the records shall pay: a half-shekel by the sanctuary weight—twenty gerah to the shekel—a half-shekel as an offering to God. Everyone who is entered in the records, from the age of twenty years up, shall give God’s offering: the rich shall not pay more and the poor shall not pay less than half a shekel when giving God’s offering as expiation for your persons. You shall take the expiation money from the Israelites and assign it to the service of the Tent of Meeting; it shall serve the Israelites as a reminder before God, as expiation for your persons

In this passage, the undertaking of a census is viewed as an inherently hazardous undertaking. It would result in a pandemic outbreak, but this would be prevented by the giving of the half-shekel.

Three further censuses were carried out when the Children of Israel were in the wilderness, and they are mentioned in the Book of Numbers (1-2, 26 [which follows a pandemic] and 31). Later censuses were commanded by Joshua, King Saul, and King David and these all passed without incident.

The Dangerous Census Taken by King David

It is this obvious danger that King David was warned about when he commanded his military advisor Joab to “make the rounds of all the tribes of Israel, from Dan to Be’er-Sheva, and take a census of the people, so that I may know the size of the population.” But Joab was reluctant. “May the Lord your God increase the number of the people a hundredfold, while your own eyes see it” he told his king. “But” Joab asked, “why should my lord king want this?” 

David was not persuaded, and the census was taken, but something – we are not told what – convinced David that he had made a mistake. “But afterward David reproached himself for having numbered the people. And David said to the Lord, “I have sinned grievously in what I have done. Please, Lord, remit the guilt of Your servant, for I have acted foolishly” (v. 10). God refuses to absolve David, and the prophet Gad gives the king a choice of punishment: “Shall a seven-year famine come upon you in the land, or shall you be in flight from your adversaries for three months while they pursue you, or shall there be three days of pestilence in your land? Now consider carefully what reply I shall take back to He who sent me.” David asks that he not fall into the hands of men, and here the Greek translation known as the Septuagint adds a line not found in the original Hebrew: “So David chose the pestilence. It was the time of the wheat harvest.” As a result of this choice, “God sent a pestilence upon Israel from morning until the set time, and 70,000 of the people died, from Dan to Be’er-Sheva.”

A different account of this story is found in the Book of Chronicles. In one of its versions it is Satan who entices King David to count the population. Joab then decides to count those under the age of twenty, in clear defiance of the orders for the census found in the Book of Exodus. “Joab son of Zeruiah did begin to count them, but he did not finish; wrath struck Israel on account of this, and the census was not entered into the account of the chronicles of King David” (1 Chronicles 27:24). In addition, there is no mention – in either version - of the giving of the required half-shekel. This is the basis for several medieval biblical commentaries who explained that the pandemic that followed was because the expiation (kopher) had not been given. Rashi believed that the counting invoked the Ayin Harah, the Evil Eye, and this was the cause of the pandemic that followed, though he doesn’t elaborate.

ולא יהיה בהם נגף. שֶׁהַמִּנְיָן שׁוֹלֵט בּוֹ עַיִן הָרָע, וְהַדֶּבֶר בָּא עֲלֵיהֶם, כְּמוֹ שֶׁמָּצִינוּ בִימֵי דָּוִד

for numbers (i.e. things that have been numbered) are subject to the influence of the “evil eye”, and therefore if you count them by their polls pestilence may befall them, as we find happened, in the days of David (II Samuel 24:10 and 15).

As a consequence of King David’s refusal to take a personal punishment for his crime of counting the people, a pandemic killed 70,000 of his subjects. This belief remained prevalent among the Jews of eastern Europe, who had a saying in Yiddish “When you don’t count, a blessing comes” [Az me tseylt nisht, kumt arayn di brokhe], and Jewish children would protect themselves when being counted while in Polish public schools by whispering “oyf di tseyn” - “on my teeth.”

The Pandemic Gods of the Ancient Near East

The fear of taking a census is actually far older than the Torah itself. It can be found in the writings found at Mari, an ancient city in what is now northwestern Syria. The royal archives there contained thousands of letters which were first excavated in the 1930s, and include detailed written records of how the census was to be taken. Some of the words that appear on the Mari cuneiform letters are like the Hebrew constructs used in the Bible. For example, “to record” (paqadum) has the same root as the Hebrew root word p-k-d meaning “to count.” And the famous Jewish Assyriologist Ephraim Avigdor Speiser (1902-1965) noted that in Mesopotamian lore “the writing down of names could on certain occasions be a very ominous process…on periodic occasions, the higher powers made lists which determined who among the mortals was to live and who was to die.” 

There must thus have been a time when the ancient Near Easterner shrank from the thought of having his name recorded in lists that might be put to unpredictable uses. Military conscription was an ominous process because it might place the life of the enrolled in jeopardy. The connection with the cosmic " books " of life and death must have been much too close for one's peace of mind. It would be natural in these circumstances to propitiate the unknown powers, or seek expiation as a general precaution. In due time, such a process would be normalized as a tebibtum in Mesopotamia, and as a form of kippurim among the Israelites… And such fears would be kept alive by plagues, which must have decimated crowded camps more than once.  

Nergal. Fragment of impression of seal from Larsa. 2nd millenium BCE, Baghdadi Museum. From here.

In ancient Mesopotamia, there were several deities associated with plagues and pandemics.  Nergal, the king of the underworld, was a god of war who was also responsible for plagues. Around the second century B.C.E his role was merged with another god, Erra, and the combined Nergal/Erra god-complex became responsible for both war and pestilence.  Namtar (literally, “fate”) was another Mesopotamian deity associated with disease, whose role, wrote to John Betz, “was more similar to the that of the grim reaper of modern folklore” (A Tale of Two Plague Gods,” Biblical Archeology Review 47, no. Winter 2021). He is described in Sumerian texts as having “no hands, has no feet, [and] who takes away/goes about by night.” Nergal acted as a sort of judge to whom an appeal for clemency could be made, while Namtar had the role of judicial executioner, who could not be reasoned with. “In some ways” Betz noted, “this dynamic is not unlike that between YHWH and personified pestilence. As in Habakkuk 3, plague and pestilence are sometimes YHWH’s instruments, but elsewhere we find prayers to YHWH against plague and disease. Returning to 2 Samuel 24:10-25 and 1 Chronicles 21:1-30, we can see this distinction. The angel bringing the plague cannot be reasoned with, but YHWH can be. When YHWH is moved to compassion by his people’s suffering, he is the one who tells the angel to halt the plague.”

As the centuries passed, the census remained unwelcome, but less than it had been before. In biblical times it was still ominous to be counted, but it became possible to prevent any harm by paying a half-shekel to the Temple. Which is why we read in this week’s Torah portion:

so that no plague may come upon them through their being counted

וְלֹא־יִהְיֶה בָהֶם נֶגֶף בִּפְקֹד

[Excerpted from Jeremy Brown. The Eleventh Plague. Jews and Pandemics from the Bible to COVID-19. Oxford University Press, Fall 2022.]

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Chagigah 4b ~ Pandemic Theodicy

On today’s page of Talmud Rav Yosef makes a radical suggestion. Sometimes death comes to those who do not deserve it.

חגיגה ד, ב

רַב יוֹסֵף כִּי מָטֵי לְהַאי קְרָא, בָּכֵי: ״וְיֵשׁ נִסְפֶּה בְּלֹא מִשְׁפָּט״, אָמַר: מִי אִיכָּא דְּאָזֵיל בְּלָא זִמְנֵיהּ? אִין, כִּי הָא דְּרַב בִּיבִי בַּר אַבָּיֵי הֲוָה שְׁכִיחַ גַּבֵּיהּ מַלְאַךְ הַמָּוֶת. אֲמַר לֵיהּ לִשְׁלוּחֵיהּ: זִיל אַיְיתִי לִי מִרְיָם מְגַדְּלָא שְׂיעַר נַשְׁיָיא. אֲזַל, אַיְיתִי לֵיהּ מִרְיָם מְגַדְּלָא דַּרְדְּקֵי

When Rav Yosef reached this verse, he cried: “But there are those swept away without justice” (Proverbs 13:23). He said: Is there one who goes before his time and dies for no reason?

Yes, like this incident of Rav Beivai bar Abaye, who would be frequented by the company of the Angel of Death and would see how people died at the hands of this angel. The Angel of Death said to his agent: Go and bring me, i.e., kill, Miriam the raiser, i.e., braider, of women’s hair. He went, but instead brought him Miriam, the raiser of babies.

Rav Yosef, a Babylonian sage who died in 323, developed this observation into a theological tenet: “Once permission is given to the Destroyer to kill, he does not distinguish between the righteous and the wicked. And not only that, but he begins with the righteous first, as it is stated in the verse (Ezekiel 21:8): “And will cut off from you the righteous and the wicked.” In Bava Kamma (60a) Rav Yosef applied his suggestion to include deaths that occur during a pandemic:

בבא קמא ס,א

תאני רב יוסף מאי דכתיב (שמות יב, כב) ואתם לא תצאו איש מפתח ביתו עד בקר כיון שניתן רשות למשחית אינו מבחין בין צדיקים לרשעים ולא עוד אלא שמתחיל מן הצדיקים תחלה שנאמר (יחזקאל כא, ח) והכרתי ממך צדיק ורשע

Rav Yosef taught a baraita: What is the meaning of that which is written with regard to the plague of the firstborn: “And none of you shall go out of the opening of his house until the morning” (Exodus 12:22)? If the plague was not decreed upon the Jewish people, why were they not permitted to leave their homes? Once permission is granted to the destroyer to kill, it does not distinguish between the righteous and the wicked. And not only that, but it begins with the righteous first, as it is stated in the verse: “And will cut off from you the righteous and the wicked” (Ezekiel 21:8), where mention of the righteous precedes the wicked.

Pandemic Deaths and The Problem of Theodicy

Death does indeed come randomly during a pandemic, and this teaching of Rav Yosef has been cited countless times in rabbinic literature.

Infectious diseases in the Talmudic world were often capricious, just as they are in our own. They might strike children or the elderly, or bypass them entirely and claim the lives of young, healthy adults. While those who were already sick and ailing from other causes were, and are, at an increased risk of death or disability during a pandemic, those who are perfectly healthy might die in a matter of a few hours. If there was no pattern or predictability, how was the talmudic mind to explain it all? “Be assured,” the Book of Proverbs taught, “that the wicked will not go unpunished, but those who are righteous will escape.” (Proverbs 11:21.) Pandemics tested the very notion of God’s divine justice.

The sages explained that natural disasters were not random events (for how could they be?) but were just chastisement for any number of sins. According to the Mishnah in Avot (5:8, 9) famine was the result of failing to tithe properly, attacks from wild animals were a punishment for swearing in vain or profaning God’s holy name, and plagues were the result of sins otherwise punishable by death, but which had not, or could not, be referred to a Jewish court for adjudication. They were the natural result of sin, even if the sin was unknown to others or mysterious even to the sinner. Plagues and pandemics might also be the result of a sin for which there was no court sanction at all; instead, it was left to God to exact the punishment (Yoma 66b). 

But this strain of thought in which only the wicked perish in a pandemic was not the only approach taken by the rabbis of the Mishnah and Talmud. Indeed, as soon as this solution to the challenge of theodicy – that all deaths are deserved – had been suggested, it was challenged by everyday observation: bad things do happen to perfectly good people. The sages of Talmud took note of the innocents that lay buried around them and connected their deaths to a verse from Proverbs 13:23. “Some are swept away without justice.” This gave rise to a different approach in which it was no-longer assumed that all those who died in a pandemic were sinners deserving of their punishment. This is the teaching of Rav Yosef on today’s page of Talmud. In this new paradigm, perfectly innocent victims could be “swept away,” because once permission had been granted for the Angel of Death to go about his grim duty, everyone became a legitimate target.

Pandemic Exceptionalism

This statement of Rav Yosef in today’s page of Talmud is the focus of an essay by Rabbi Rabbi Shaul Magid, a professor of Jewish studies who received several orthodox rabbinic ordinations, although he has since moved away from these roots towards a more egalitarian practice of Judaism. His essay appears in an important recent book called Torah in a Time of Plague: Historical and Contemporary Jewish Responses, edited by Erin Leib Smokler, which was awarded the 2021 National Jewish Book Award for Modern Jewish Thought and Experience. Rabbi Magid noted that this passage “resists the notion of collapsing plagues into covenantal categories, whereby we can see them as acts of divine intervention to punish evildoers, Jews or non-Jews. Rather…plagues seem to be arbitrary occurrences.” Magid argues that plagues and pandemics are cases of what he calls a “covenantal exception.” This exception is a crucial theological category, for “without the notion of the arbitrary as extra-covenantal, Judaism becomes vulnerable to making all disasters, even those that equally affect non-Jews, the fault of the Jews, which could easily, and understandably, evoke negative reactions. Plague as the exception thus enables Jews to understand natural disasters outside the paradigm of reward and punishment.”

To support this suggestion, Magid cites the talmudic passage from today’s page of Talmud. In it, the Angel of Death was given permission to kill “Miriam the braider of women’s hair” but instead killed “Miriam the raiser of babies.” Rav Yosef, observes that pandemics do not distinguish between sinners and saints and developed it into a theological tenet: “Once permission is given to the Destroyer to kill, he does not distinguish between the righteous and the wicked.” Pandemic deaths are arbitrary. Magid notes that unlike the response to famine which includes penance, personal reflection is not mentioned in the Talmud as a reaction to pandemic deaths. The Talmud could have offered “a predictable response that would include both physical avoidance and acts geared towards nullification.” But it was silent.

The Problem with Covanental Exception

Magid’s theory of covenantal exception might illuminate the passage in Bava Kamma, but it does not explain numerous other Talmudic references which teach that pandemics are the consequence of community sin or personal religious laxity. And there were other Talmudic sages who remained convinced that there could be no innocent victims before God. According to Rabbi Hanina (Hullin 7b) “a person injures his finger on earth only if they declare about him on high that he should be injured.” Neither does it explain the many rabbis who, over the fifteen hundred years since the closing of the Talmud, have continued to emphasize the same message: pandemics are caused by sin and may be extinguished by repentance. There was no covenantal exception when the Torah described the deaths of twenty-four thousand people in a plague that punished immorality. There was no covenantal exception in the Mishnah (Avot 5:8) when it taught that plagues were the result of sins punishable by death. And there was no covenantal exception made for the epidemic waves of diphtheria, called askara in the Talmud , that was described as the most painful of all deaths and was the punishment for eating foods that are not kosher and for speaking ill of others.

Magid’s approach is lacking because it does not account for these other cases. However, it uncovers a much larger theme. There has never been a single Jewish response to the problem of theodicy. In some locales, in some books and in some eras, a pandemic was understood to be divine retribution for religious offenses of one sort or another. And in other locales, eras, and books, pandemics were understood to be natural disasters that killed those who were entirely innocent of sin. Magid’s theory of covenantal exception can only explain the latter, and even then, it leaves unanswered the question of why pandemics kill the just and the innocent in a world that is supposed to exist under the watchful protection of a benevolent God.

To read more about pandemic theodicy see my recent essay “Why Pandemics Happen to Good People” published last month on The Lehrhaus, and available here.

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