Naso (Rambam)

Parashat Naso presents a collection of halakhot on a variety of different subjects—which, according to at least one tradition, were given on the day that the Tabernacle / Sanctuary was erected in the desert. The concluding section of the portion: the priestly blessing, which was first uttered on that occasion, and the list of gifts brought by the “princes” of the twelve tribes—is explicitly connected with that occasion. Hence, strangely enough, this parsha is a direct continuation of the events described in Leviticus 10; or perhaps it is not so strange after all, as all of the intervening chapters are concerned with law, and do not contain any narrative. From this point on, and especially from next week’s parsha on, the Torah continues with the events in the desert. We will touch upon some of these in our discussion below:

The Nazirite: Saint or Sinner?

According to the “conventional wisdom” of modern Judaism, the Nazirite is an extreme type who has deviated from the “high road” of Judaism—the balanced, “middle path” celebrated by Rambam in Hilkhot Deot (see HY V: Tazria). It is for this reason that, when he completes his course of Naziritehood, he is required to bring a sin-offering in atonement. Thus, we read in Nedarim 10a:

Our Rabbis taught: Rabbi Eleazar ha-Kappar said: “And he shall make atonement for him, because he sinned regarding the soul” (Num 6:11). And regarding what soul did he sin? But because he pained himself [i.e., abstained] from wine. And is it not an a fortiori? If one who only abstained from wine is called a sinner, one who abstained from every other thing, all the more so! It follows from this, that whoever constantly fasts is called sinner.

On the face of it, this is seemingly conclusive proof that asceticism is frowned on; nay, that one who habitually refrains from enjoying the good things of this world is himself a sinner. Yet is this really so? Another Rabbinic homily (b. Ta’anit 11a), based upon a turn of phrase a few verses earlier in the same chapter, arrives at the diametrically opposed conclusion:

Rabbi Eleazar said: Whoever constantly fasts is called holy. As is said: ”He shall be holy; he shall let the locks of his hair grow long” (Num 6:5). And if one who only abstained from one thing is called holy, one who does so from everything, all the more so!

What is the institution of Naziritism all about? In this week’s reading (Numbers 6:1-21), the Torah seems to be providing a fixed framework for the person seeking a life of asceticism or withdrawal from the normal course of life. The Nazirite is a man or woman who voluntarily takes an oath to live in an out-of-the-ordinary manner (ki yafli lindor neder nazir), involving abstention from three kinds of activity: contact with the dead, cutting one’s hair, and consuming wine and other grape products. The institution of the Nazirite combines two interrelated themes: the desire for more intense religious life, in which one’s life as a whole is devoted to God; and a certain rejection of civilization and a return to the primitive. (For a fuller discussion of this subject, see HY I: Naso)

As we mentioned on an earlier occasion (see HY V: Tazria), in Hilkhot Deot 1.5 Rambam draws a contrast between the “wise man,” who follows the balanced, middle path, and the “pious” man, or between the tzaddik and the hasid. This same tension is reflected in the attitude toward the Nazirite, as reflected in the above Talmudic dispute. Indeed, this may even be seen, in a certain sense, within the thought of Maimonides himself. In Deot 3.1 (see HY V: Aharei-Kedoshim), Rambam is outspoken in stating that Judaism rejects asceticism or what James calls “world-rejection.” All one’s acts should be for the sake of heaven—but within a worldly context. By contrast, at the conclusion of “Laws of Naziritehood,” Rambam presents a more nuanced, complex view. Thus, in Hilkhot Nezirut 10.14, we read:

One who says, “Behold, I shall be a Nazirite if I do such-and-such, or if I do not do such-and–such, and the like—such a one is a wicked person, and his Naziritehood is a Naziritehood of the wicked. But one who takes a vow to the Lord in a manner of holiness, this is pleasing and praiseworthy. And concerning this it is said, “the crown [nezer] of his God [or: his separation to God] is on his head […] he is holy to the Lord” [Num 6:7,8}. And Scripture equated him with the prophet, as is said, “And I raised up of your sons to be prophets, and of your young men to be Nazirites” (Amos 2:11).

Here everything depends upon the Nazirite’s intention. If the Nazirite takes his oath because he is weak-willed, as a kind of artificial means of assuring that he will follow the good and the upright path—this is seen in a negative light, as a misuse of Naziritehood. But if, on the other hand, his motivation is pure, rooted in a simple, sincere desire for holiness and to draw closer to God, then this is praiseworthy. (This is based upon a sugya in Nedarim 9a-10b, which brings examples of the different kinds of Nazirites; see our essay on “Hair” in HY III: Ekev.) The same holds true with regard to any kind of piety, whether expressed through fasting or any other kind of supererogative religious behavior. In our own day, when many seem to be pursuing a path of intense, even extreme piety, we might say that, insofar as it derives from a negative constellation of inner psychological forces—guilt, the inability to follow ones own will, an agonized sense of self or, alternatively, by the desire for a certain kind of social aggrandizement or benefits that come from being considered pious by others—then the path itself is suspect; if, on the other hand, it is rooted in a fresh, pure desire for holiness, then it is much to be praised and encouraged.

The Trial of the Adulterous Wife

The law contained in Chapter 5 of Numbers is one of the most baffling and problematic in the Torah. The law of Sotah requires that a woman suspected by her husband of adultery may be called to undergo a test, in which she must drink water in which the words of a curse have been dissolved. If she had in fact been unfaithful, she suffers the most dire and immediate physical consequences (we discuss this in detail in HY I: Naso). Rambam codifies these laws in the final section of Sefer Nashim, the book devoted to various aspects of marital life, which concludes with the following halakhah. Hilkhot Sotah 4.19:

19. It is not proper for a man to immediately be jealous [i.e., make a formal expression of his suspicions] before witnesses, but rather between the two of them, gently, in a manner of purity and admonition, so as to guide her in the upright path and to remove the stumbling block. But whoever is not strict with his wife and children and the members of his household, warning them and constantly overseeing their ways so as to assure that they are free of all transgression and sin, he has sinned, as is said, “And you shall know that there is peace in your tent, and you shall inspect your fold and miss nothing” [Job 5:24].

There are two basic points in this halakhah: on the one hand, that a man should as far as possible behave gently towards his wife. Even in an extreme case such as this, in which he suspects the most serious possible violation of their marital life, he should not scream and carry on and berate her, but speak softly, kindly, and gently (see the next section). On the other hand, this does not imply that he is indifferent to his wife’s (or his children’s) behavior, and that he should allow an atmosphere of total looseness and permissiveness, especially in sexual matters.

The contemporary theory of marriage as based on total respect for the autonomy of the other person (“open marriage”) is not a Jewish one. Such openness would be viewed by the Torah, not as respect, but as apathy and lack of respect for the other—and perhaps also for oneself. A man should be insistent upon the ethical behavior, modesty and chastity, of his family. Rambam saw this type of jealousy, which many moderns would consider sign of possessiveness, as a virtue. Elsewhere, he quotes the Rabbinic dictum that “A man is not jealous towards his wife unless there entered him a spirit of purity” (Ishut 15.17, quoting Sotah 3a). There is a need for checks and balances, so to speak: against the love and kindness and affection that are the sine qua non of marriage, there is the expectation of fidelity, that is reinforced by a certain watchfulness and even by the formal procedure of “jealousy” involved in the laws of the “wayward wife,” where need be. (Of course, such suspiciousness can itself be exaggerated. We are all familiar with stories of abusive, controlling, and paranoiac men who restrict their wife’s freedom in such an extreme way that they cannot live an ordinary life. There is a delicate balance required by these laws, that are in theory only to be used when circumstances warrant it—and in any event were abnegated long ago.

This halakhah is the final one in Sefer Nashim, “The Book of Women.” The flip side of marital harmony, of home and family as the bastion of Judaism, the ideal of “peace in your tent,” is the danger of uncontrolled sexuality as an element within human nature that requires careful disciplining. For that reason, remembering the principle of the late Yaakov Levinger according to which the final passage in each book of the Yad serves as a link to the next one, this is a fitting transition to Sefer Kedushah. That book is concerned with the holiness gained through control of the potentially unruly appetites of the human being, by purity in matters of sexuality and eating—as does this halakhah, in which the terms holiness and purity figure prominently.

Man, Woman and Marriage

Having discussed the extreme case of the adulterous wife, a few words are in order about Jewish marriage in general, and Sefer Nashim (“The Book of Women”) which Rambam devotes to this subject. Rambam here summarizes all of family law: the procedures for betrothal, marriage and divorce; the respective rights and duties of each partner (these in the first two treatises, Ishut and Gerushin); and three special cases: levirate marriage (Yebum ve-Halitzah); the provisions for a young girl who was seduced or raped (Na’arah Betulah); and the case of a woman suspected of adultery (Sotah). In the first of these tractates, after giving the basic formal rules of the husband’s responsibilities to his wife, Maimonides express in a few pithy words the spiritual basis of the relationship between the two. Hilkhot Ishut 15:19:

19. And our Sages commanded that a man should honor his wife more than his own body and love her like his own body. And if he has money he should benefit her according to his wealth. And he may not impose upon her excessive fear, and his speech with her should be gentle and he should not be impatient or angry.

20. And they commanded that the wife should greatly honor her husband and that she should stand in awe of him and perform all her actions according to his word. And he should be in her eyes like a prince or king, and that she should go about in the desire of his heart, keeping way whatever he dislikes. Such is the path of the holy and pure daughters of Israel and sons of Israel in their marriage. And by these ways their dwelling together shall be pleasant and praiseworthy.

The picture portrayed here is one of a traditional family, with a clear hierarchy or division of roles between husband and wife: the husband is obligated to cherish and respect his wife, to take care of her needs, and particularly to be responsible for providing her with a reasonable, and even comfortable standard of living; whereas the wife is expected to be obedient, acquiescent to his wishes and desires. Such an approach is very remote from contemporary mores of feminism and the quest for equality and sharing between the sexes. Unless one wishes to become bogged down in sterile and anachronistic criticism, the above must be understood in its own terms.

The image of marriage here is in its own way almost idyllic. I once heard in the name of the Rav an interesting observation: this halakhah essentially utilizes the same concepts as are found in the relationship of children to their parents, but here it is, so to speak, bifurcated between husband and wife. Children have a dual set of halakhic obligations to their parents: yirah and kavod, “awe” or “reverence,” and “respect,” as inferred from Exod 20:12 and Lev 19:3. The one expresses a sense of reverence, originating in the sense of moral indebtedness to the parent for life itself, and (assuming a more or less normal family) for the efforts and devotion they invested in the process of one’s growing up. It is based, in a very real sense, on a sense of the parent’s superior position relative to oneself (again, an old-fashioned idea, that doesn’t go down well in our day and age), similar to the awe and reverence shown to a Torah teacher, and to the Almighty Himself, and is expressed in certain gestures of honor and acknowledging their different place. On the other hand, kavod, “honor,” is interpreted here in the particular sense of to love, cherish, care for, expressed in taking care of the parent’s personal needs and, especially, caring for them in their old age, when the position of parent and child is largely reversed.

Applying this to marriage, the above halakhot reflect a definite primacy or superior role allotted to the male, as the “head” of the family: he is responsible to care for his wife, and should do so in a generous, kindly, and soft-spoken manner. The wife is conceived as an ezer kenegdo, a “helpmate.” To paraphrase the words of the old Anglo-Saxon marriage vows, he is expected mostly to “love and cherish” and she “to honor and obey.” If these guidelines are truly observed—and I have seen this in many religious Jewish homes—the result is indeed that “their dwelling is pleasant and praiseworthy,” as the Rambam puts it here.