We started in Krakow with a trip to Jewish quarter  kazimierz  and the area which still holds a bit of the old feel from what we imagine. Close by is Shindler’s factory where they were just opening their museum to the shoah and the heroic acts of Shindler that happened there. It was a little too renovated for some of us , and for those that saw the movie, but nevertheless they are preserving it. which should be commended. We visited a concentration camp right in there heart of Krakow, and saw how people are living just where the Jewish ghetto walls were. Strange to think how it must be to live there. In one SS officer’s house where many of the torturing was executed ;currently it an active  apartment house, called the grey house then. Across the street is a colorful apt building with flower pots on the balconies.Many of the places that once were ghettos or camps were left as grassy area , most with some type of monument.

there were some delightful restaurants  there in this quarter, where ironically I had the best pirogies of my life.and we were serenaded by a sweet man playing klezmer. One needed to find the moments of peace and beauty in this trip. Krakow is a beautiful, very youthful lively city.

My trip to Auschwitz was moving , I had a lot of time to meditate, remember and say prayers  and light candles for all of those that requested, as well relatives of mine that had perished there. I was amazed by the sheer massiveness of the place, and the efficiency and propaganda ,and deception with which they carried out their massive killings. I always wondered how the Jews barely reresisted. They really believed that they were going to a better place or if they behaved they might actually be saved; really till the last minute as evidence by the massive number of personal belongings that are in Auschwitz. It is now set up as a museum, where the famous sign of work will set you free is posted above the entrance.I tell you it’s such a strange feeling to willingly walk in through those gates. As a Jew you are saying how could I enter this place where we tried so hard to leave? There was a lot of fear that arose in me my first time , till I realized the Nazis weren’t there anymore to harm me.  Although these fears were allayed something still was nagging at me knowing that other such terrible atrocities, unfortunately are still  happening  in this world.

Most of the buildings and barracks,and one remaining gas chamber are kept as is. Even the buildings that the Nazis tried to destoy and remove the evdence are left just as it was in many ways when they found it. When the Russian army came in afterwards, they did what they thought was good by helping to clean the place up and create massive graves for the bodies, instead of proper burials, although to identify the bodies was nearly impossible. Upon arrival we see very disturbing movies to this affect, then we went on to a tour where we saw the massive personal affects such as shaving brushes and mugs,pots to cook in, shoes, hair (which has lost its color over time,and will eventually turn to dust they say for lack of proper compounds known to preserve it ).

There are many building dedicated to all the different groups that lost lives there. French, Poles,Roma/Sinti commonly called gypsies.Such a vibrant and lively group nearly destroyed.I was struck at the beauty and the color and the vibrant life that virtually popped out of those pictures.

After some spartan soup and bread in their cafeteria. There is no food permitted on the grounds; we go to few minutes away Auschwitz/Birkenau where the train tracks ended and so many people are seen arriving on the platform. I am struck by the lush green of these hot June days against what was at one time so barren of any vegetation.

There is a very moving gallery called the sauna (in Birkenau)where many pictures are displayed there in a endless wall of beautiful faces, brides, babies, grandparents..

The days were spent mediating, reading names of those that perished and simply bearing witness.The mornings we had council groups,our group had ,a mixture of poles, Germans, Americans, people whose families had been Nazis and victims. it was a strong meeting. One night we saw the art of a beautiful man that passed on last year.

Marian Kolodziej's Art

Marian Kolodziej who was #432,and went into the camps in ‘41 and out at the liberation, He had been arrested as a Polish resister, so was not immediately killed. Afterwards  He became a very known set designer  for theatre, and at 80 he had a stroke,and with the advice of his DR and the help of his wife started drawings . What came out was what had been held in him all these years, the faces and eyes and the amazingly detailed and beautiful pictures that he continued incessantly drawing till his passing . The pictures are in oswiecim (the town  in which the Germans changed  to Auschwitz )in a Franciscan monastery displayed in a striking and dramatic way by him.

We extended the trip to include a teaching at a dominican monestary in Lublin ;Ohad  was asked to teach chasidut.It was an amazing  opportunity- very unique, young students plagued with questions of evil ,and its existence.We visited a theatre/museum TEATR NN there dedicated to memorializing the lives of those  who past in the shoah and those who helped them with amazingly  precise details of the life and the Jewish life in Lublin before. They deal with the difficult subjects with inspiration, creativity and love.

We ended the trip in Warsaw,there I had one of my stronger prayers in the place where the Warsaw ghetto stood, and was completely demolished. My grandpa Max Mandelbaum lived there, and Sophie, my great grandma ,before coming to Ellis Island in 1911. I imagined what he looked at and saw when he was there. The old city was destroyed but the European community was so devastated by this loss to the great Warsaw, it rebuilt this area for the 3-4 years after the war. They tried to replicate it in as much of the exact detail that it once stood.Something made me feel a bit like walking through a movie set there. but the effort is so great, and the fact the you can walk there in what it once was like is amazing.

Well that’s it, for now I bless you all with love , happiness and aliveness. one thing I saw there was the preciousness of life,and how we have been granted life, let’s live it fully with love and open heart.

Rabbi Ohad Ezrahi, Jewish Spiritual Teacher of the Hebrew Path

English tr., Yair Ohr

As a peace activist, I am hurt and frustrated to see supposed “peace activists” attacking other human beings with violent rage: that is NOT the way to bring peace. As an international peace activist, I want to say to those who were involved in the violence on board the Marmara flotilla: You are not peace activists. You came as confrontationists looking for a fight, and you are personally responsible for the bloodshed that took place. I would have expected other peace activists from around the world to come out loudly and say this unambiguously, but it seems that their voices have suddenly gone silent.

And as an Israeli, it frustrates me to see the Israeli Army so foolishly falling into this trap. Could the Israeli army with all its advanced intelligence gathering systems not have obtained more accurate information about what was planned for them on board the ship? Couldn’t they have just neutralized the ship’s engine by some simple commando action in order to stop the ship dead at sea, without direct confrontation, thus avoiding any bloodshed?

The State of Israel has become a very clumsy bully that strikes out heavily against anyone who irritates it, then justifies by crying, “But he started! He spit on me! He insulted me! He hit me with an iron rod!” The modern Israeli Army resembles the Golem of Prague, which was sent to protect the Jews, but was an inept and dangerous creature. But unlike the original Golem, it seems that the modern Israeli version lacks any sage guidance to control it, and no one knows to erase the Divine Name from its forehead and return it to dust at the right time, as did the Maharal of Prague in the famous story.

Many of us right now want only to hide our faces in the ground out of shame: ashamed of “our” state that conducts itself with such inane stupidity; ashamed of the “peace activists” who tried to murder soldiers with clubs and knives; ashamed of the hypocritical reaction of peace lovers around the world who are taking a lopsided and cursory stance, ignoring the complexity of the issue.

So what is the real problem? For years I have been saying that the State of Israel, as a society, is exhibiting the collective psychological symptoms of post-trauma. Our collective psychology resembles that of someone who was traumatized as a child, such as sexual or physical abuse, but never had the opportunity to work it through in any form of therapy. This person grows into adulthood full of relentless rage and fear. He is always “on guard,” responding disproportionately to anyone who spits in his direction.

And as known to experts in the symptoms of post-trauma: whoever suffered violent trauma in childhood will recreate for himself the very same reality that will only prove to him that the world is exactly as he fears it to be: aggressive, violent, and that everyone is against him, so to protect himself, he too must be aggressive and violent—even more so than all the others. It is very difficult to prove to such a person that he himself is an active contributor to the creation of this violent reality. He is not only defending himself against it—he is actually creating it, for only in that situation does he feel “at home.”

That is our situation here in Israel: only if the entire world is against us do we feel comfortable. It has that familiar sensation of massacres and pogroms. Only when “they” want to annihilate us are we relieved, feeling that at least this is how we always knew it to be. Not long ago on Pesach we sang, “In each and every generation they rise up to destroy us…,” so reality has once again slapped us in the face and proved that we are right, as always—and this time, they have tried to do it by hurling broken beer bottles at us with slingshots…

What am I saying? I am saying that the time has come for us to seek treatment. If we don’t get reparative therapy for the fear that controls and manipulates the Israeli society, we will not survive.

Nowadays, God does not need to save us from “them”—He needs to save us mainly from ourselves! We, the Israelis, as a society and as individuals, need therapy—urgently. Preferably it should be some type of alternative therapy, but any type of therapy requires the willingness of the suffering one to acknowledge his situation and seek help. Perhaps, as a society, we can agree to forgo for a while our hopeless clinging to the “righteousness of our path,” and to declare to ourselves and to the world that we are in trouble, and that we need help.

Importance Of Ceremonies

Something that was so common in the ancient world but is often forgotten in modern times is the knowledge of how to create meaningful ceremonies

I’m not talking about state pomp and ceremony that often includes soldiers and trumpets, but life ceremonies – rituals that individuals experience on a personal level, sometimes in the presence of family and community, sometimes just with a friend, a priest or priestess, or someone that accompanies us on our path. These rituals have deep and transformative significance.

In Judaism, as with any spiritual culture, ceremonies represent milestones in a person’s life. First there is the Brit – circumcision of baby boys – and Brita for girls, and then at age 13 a boy’s Barmitzvah and a girl’s Batmitzvah when she is 12. Later comes a wedding and funeral.

Different daily ceremonies symbolize the milestones of time. For practising Jews there are morning, noon and evening prayers, the welcoming of Shabbat and the distinction between Saturday (Shabbat) and the rest of the week.

There are also the Jewish holiday rituals that distinguish holy days from the rest of the year. For example, the sharing and delivering of sweets at Purim, purifying the home before Passover and lighting candles during Hanukah. All these and more are rituals that originally had deep meaning in order to sanctify our lives. And, if done correctly can effect transformation in a person’s life.

Transformation Through Ceremony

the Ceremonial Gate

A ceremony can be a defining moment, a kind of gateway. From the moment a person passes through the gateway of a ritual be it daily or a holy day, they are entering a different space.

A few years ago I had a heartfelt conversation with a Rabbi. He told me about a talk he had with a religious woman. In the conversation he said to her that he and every other religious person actually has the same thoughts and religious desires. Amazed, she asked him “You pray for hours, and go to the temple three times a day, and keep the Sabbath, and all this hasn’t made you any different from me?”
The woman’s words touched the Rabbi’s heart and forced him to search deep within himself – he found himself asking “Do his daily rituals have any real meaning?”

Authentic religious ceremonies can transform a person. When I go through a real ritual, I know something within me has changed, and in a sense I am not the same person I was before.

If nothing has happened, if the ceremony has failed to help me transform, I acknowledge that it didn’t work.

The famous American mythologist Joseph Campbell said, “Religion is really a kind of second womb. It’s designed to bring this complicated thing, which is the human being, into maturity.”

Kabalah ‘Second Pregnancy’

In Kabalah there is a term called the ‘second pregnancy’ whose goal is different from the first one. The first pregnancy is physical, its’ objective is to give birth to the body and soul.

The second pregnancy is meant to give birth to the mind. This means that the person goes into another kind of fetal state, a kind of pregnancy within the religious womb, and when he is born, he is more spiritually mature, with more mental depth and a wider perspective.

Real Sacredness

A good ceremony or ritual works like medicine. Good medicine is effective, and if it is not – than hopefully it won’t do harm.

Empty rituals leave a residue of loneliness. It doesn’t matter how many guests arrive at a ceremony, or how many gifts we receive. The heart wants to touch and be touched.

Real sacredness is a thing that touches you deeply, and invites you to touch and be touched. Sacredness is about getting closer to divinity, to the unity of all things. That is why when we come close to divinity we feel united with ever-widening circles of people.

In the beginning we feel one with those close to us, then with people who are different from us, and finally even with those who see themselves as our enemies.

The more that divine unity is evident in the heart of man, the more he feels at one – not only with people, but also with nature.

When we touch holiness it affects us deeply, and reveals to us that we are not separate beings, but part of a great fabric of wonderful and divine mystery.

Until we feel this in our hearts, we may feel alienated from the world, but the more we feel divinity the more we feel connected and intimate with everything because sacredness is intimacy.

Good ceremony reminds us of what the heart knows deep inside. This is something every child knows and adults sometimes forget - the wonderful and mysterious unity of existence.

A good ceremony encourages the heart to remove defensive barriers and allow love to enter, to be touched by the mystery that carries us to a new place, that is, to the holy landscape beyond the gate of ceremony.

A class by Rabbi Ohad Ezrahi (Israel, 2006)

(This class was given in Tel Aviv, as a part of the series of lectures about Main Characters in Jewish Mysticism. It was transcribed by Michal Gilo, and translated by Reb J.)

Our class today is devoted to two figures that were active during the period of the Hasmoneans: the first is Rabbi Shimon ben Shetach, and the second is Choni haMaagal. We’ll first orient ourselves to that specific time in history before going in depth into these figures and their stories.

In the previous lessons we spoke about Alexander the Great having conquered the entire Middle East, from Persia all the way to Egypt. But he died young at age 31 and his vast empire was divided among his heirs: the Antigonid Empire based in Greece; the Seleucid Empire based in Mesopotamia and Persia, and the Ptolemaic Kingdom based in Egypt and Palestine. We also spoke about the interesting ideas of Shimon haTzaddik regarding beauty and holiness, and how according to legend, he met Alexander the Great.

And we also spoke about the rebellion of the Hasmoneans, who routed the Greeks and established an independent kingdom. A monarchy was thus restored to Israel, but it was not that of a scion of the House of David, but rather, Shimon the Hasmonean, who was the high priest, was crowned king. This turn of events was a thorn in the eyes of the Jewish sages, who believed in the division of power. It is not ideal, according to the Torah, for a high priest to also serve as king. A high priest must serve as a high priest, and a king must rule as a king.  But the Hasmonean kings were not interested in sharing power, many of them also holding positions of priestly power. Nevertheless, one of them—Yochanan Hurkenus, or Yochanan the High Priest—was considered a holy man and even a prophet. The Talmud attributes to him the holy spirit, and Josephus Flavius attributes to him prophecy.

Eventually, the throne reached the hands of Yanai. Besides being king, Yanai was also a high priest, following the Hasmonean tradition. But the sages had not made peace with this phenomenon. The special problem for Yanai, though, was that during his reign, the leading sage was none other than his own brother-in-law, Shimon ben Shetach, his wife Shlomtzion’s younger brother. This means that at that time, heading the rabbinical high court was a great sage who held opinions unacceptable to the priesthood and the ruling family. Eventually, King Yanai got sick of these rabbinical sages, and as irritated kings are wont to do to those who oppose them, he ordered to have them all slaughtered. Whoever could, such as the sage Rabbi Yehoshua ben Prachyah, fled to Egpyt. Meanwhile, though, Queen Shlomtzion hid her younger brother until the king’s “crisis” passed, at which time he decided to reconcile with the rabbinical sages, whom the masses generally supported.

But what happens when an entire generation of sages disappears from the world and only one is left? What happens is—and it is important to pay attention to this point—that the one surviving is the one who transmits the tradition. At that time, the Oral Torah was still that—oral, and not formally written down. So since most of the sages were murdered, Shimon ben Shetach became one of the major transmitters through whom the tradition of the Oral Torah was passed down all the way to us.

Now, Shimon ben Shetach was a very interesting figure, and a far from simple one. He was not the only survivor, but among the few. Throughout the history of the transmission of the Oral Torah, there have been a few key figures through whom the majority of the tradition was passed down. One of them was Shimon ben Shetach, who as said, was a complex character.

The story of our focus today, though, is his relationship to women, and to the feminine principle in general. Shimon ben Shetach was know to be the one who hanged eighty witches—this was the single case of witch-hunting in Jewish history.

Let us try and understand what this says about his relationship to women in general and to witches in specific, and what it says about his relationship to the world of magic and mysticism in general. Is there any connection, and if so, what?

Some credit

Let us preface our discussion by giving some “credit” to Shimon ben Shetach. Before we judge him negatively for hanging the witches, I would like to show a complete picture of his character. One of the unique innovations of Shimon ben Shetach is the ketubah—the marriage contract—as it is formulated till this day. He was the one who instituted that the financial obligation of a husband to his wife takes precedence over all his other financial obligations. If a husband has no money, the courts can sell his house, and “even the shirt on his back” to meet those obligations. This was Shimon ben Shetach’s ordination, and till this very day it influences peoples’ lives in a very practical way. From this perspective, if we would ask what his attitude to women was, we would say that he certainly cared for them and for their welfare.

Besides the ketubah, Shimon ben Shetach also made another very important institution: the halakhic law that circumstantial evidence is not accepted in Jewish courts.

Today, civil courts do not follow this practice, but the Talmud quotes Shimon ben Shetach as saying: “I once saw someone running with a knife after another person and they both entered into a house. I ran after them and saw that one of them was just killed and the other was standing with the knife in his hand. I said to him, ‘There are only I and you here, so it is probable that you have killed him and not I, but I will not judge you in court, for in order to be judged in court there must be two witnesses. Therefore, may God judge you.”

The Talmud then concludes, “A snake came along and bit him, and he died.”

It was Shimon ben Shetach himself who instituted this practice of not accepting circumstantial evidence. The purpose was to prevent an innocent person being put to death. Only two witnesses can testify in court. As we will later see, this did not help him to prevent an innocent person being put to death, and in fact caused him great personal harm.

Another institution of Shimon ben Shetach was the law of obligatory education. All the way back then, the first century before the Common Era, Shimon ben Shetach initiated a practice that every Jewish community meticulously keeps till this day: children must begin their educational training by the age of six, whether with a private teacher or in a school. This institution of his took hold already during his time and has been typical of Jewish communities throughout history. Each community established an educational system that was provided for free for those who could not afford it, such as orphans. It was the community’s responsibility to see to it that all children would receive an education, no matter whether they came from wealthy or poor families, or were orphans.

Judging the king

Here is another story about Shimon ben Shetach’s character: One of King Yanai’s slaves had murdered someone. Shimon ben Shetach said to the sages, “Get hold of him and we’ll pass judgment on him.” But Jewish law is that when a slave has committed a crime, his master must also come before the courts. So they sent a messenger to the king asking him to bring his slave into court. When Yanai sent along the slave by himself, Shimon sent another message to him saying, “You must come too!” The king arrived at court and sat down. Shimon then said to him, “King Yanai! Stand up while we testify against you. Not before us are you standing, but before the One Who created the world.” Now remember, King Yanai was Shimon’s brother-in-law who had murdered all the sages, yet Shimon was undaunted and not afraid of him. But the king says, “I will do not as you say, but as your colleagues say,” implying that Shimon always opposed him.

The Talmud then relates, “The king looked to his right, and they all hid their faces towards the ground. He looked to his left, and they too hid their faces towards the ground.” The sages feared the king’s anger. So Simon ben Shetach says to them, “You are making calculations. May the Master of Calculations exact punishment from you.” In other words, he was telling them, “If you are moved to action by your personal interests, you are incapable of being faithful to the truth.” The Talmud concludes that the angel Gabriel came and struck them down to the ground and they died. Henceforth, “a king neither judges nor is judged” became the practice in the rabbinical courts.

This was Shimon ben Shetach. He was undaunted by anything and was as straight as a ruler. But apropos, we see that miracles happened in his honor, such as the snake biting the man whom Shimon had said should be judged by heaven, and the angel Gavriel coming to put to death the sages who were not being faithful to their positions in court.

Returning the Arab’s stone

Yet another story the Talmud tells about Shimon ben Shetach is that he earned a living from working in textiles. Rather than support himself from the rabbinate, he insisted on working for his own sustenance and not taking a penny from the communal coffers. His students, though, seeing how much time and effort he was putting in to make his business rounds on foot, insisted on purchasing for him a donkey. On their way bringing it to him, they found a precious stone in the donkey’s sack. They came and told their master excitedly: “Rebbe! God has given you a gift! You’ll never have to work again!” But Shimon said: “Does the owner of the donkey know that there was a precious stone there?” “Obviously not,” his students answered. “If so, go and return the stone to its owner.” When the students returned it, the owner, who was by the way an Arab, said, “Blessed be the God of Shimon ben Shetach!”

So the picture we have of Shimon ben Shetach until here is: “Let the law carve a hole through the mountain.” This approach was characteristic of him. At the same time, he was an honest person, did not show preference to anyone, nor could he be bought with money. From his perspective, justice was the most important thing. He did not even give special treatment for the royal family, and neither was he lenient with himself. He served God altruistically and was as straight as a ruler, and I am not using that last phrase lightly. If we try to characterize types of people empowered by the energy of yosher/straightness, as opposed to people empowered by the energy of igulim/circles, Shimon ben Shetach stands out as a typical example of yosher.

Straight and Circular – Igulim ve’Yosher

The kabbalah of the Ari speaks about two types of spiritual lights/energies that bring our reality into existence: straight light and circular light. They are two spiritual entities that are completely different. In the kabbalah, we consider the straight light as a masculine function, whereas the circular light is considered a feminine quality. Hence, for example, linear thinking is masculine. Of course, both men and women possess both straight and circular light, for in each of us are both masculine and feminine energies, but straightness is a distinctive masculine energy, whereas circularity is a distinctive feminine energy.

Simon ben Shetach was typically masculine—sharp, for better or worse. Linear thinking of the yosher type is a categorical type of thinking. When a yosher person thinks about justice, he does not take this ethical principle lightly. He does not look to find compromises, to be lenient, to round corners, to understand the accused or simply to bridge a gap between litigants—these are more feminine and “round” qualities. His thinking is categorical. Clearly, such thinking—rational, linear—dose not allow for any magical phenomena.

Magic

Magic does not fit into a linear perception of the world. On the contrary: When do we call something “magic”? When you expect a certain chain of cause and effect to happen, and something entirely unexpected takes place, without any evident cause having brought it about. For instance, when Rabbi Eliezer, several generations later, taught Rabbi Akiva to fill a field with squash with some specific words and then to cause them to disappear—this was magic. Magic is specifically something that contradicts our linear thinking. Since it is not rational, it unravels the threads of our thought patterns that seduce us into thinking that the world is ruled by logic. Every time something non-rational happens, we call it a miracle, a wonder, or magic.

True magicians do not know themselves how they produce their magic, but they feel obligated to believe in wonders, to live in wonder, and to believe in the “magic” that exists in the world. A true magician only knows that if he makes a certain potion according to a certain formula, the result will be something “magical.” So he believes in the power of magic, in the power of wonder, in the wondrous nature of existence, but he also knows that he must fully concentrate on and be completely present to what he is doing, for the process demands the best of his spiritual powers.

The prophets whom we have spoken about—Elijah and Elisha, for example—what characterized them? Elijah had a spiritual role to play within the strata of the royal government of the Kingdom of Israel. He rebuked the king—he rebuked Ahab and Jezebel and maneuvered their downfall, then arranging at the end of his life to have Yehu crowned in their stead. The very role of a scriptural prophet is to rebuke the masses, though he also rebukes the rulers. But besides this, he is also a miracle worker. Most of the stories connected with Elijah and Elisha are miracle stories.

The split of the prophet role

What happened, though, during the period about which we are talking was that the role of the scriptural prophet became split into two: During the period of the prophets, the prophet held two roles: on the one hand, a man of ethics and justice who rebukes the people and the king, and on the other hand, a wonder worker who heals and brings rain. But during the period under our discussion, these two roles were split between two different types of people: the man of God, on the one hand, the miracle worker, and on the other hand, the man of justice and ethics who rebukes. Shimon ben Shetach was a man of uprightness, justice and rebuke, while the miracle worker of his time was Choni haMaagal.

The following story appears in several places, both in the Mishnah and in the Talmud. I read it from the Talmud, since the text there goes into more detail.

Choni and the circle

“The rabbis taught: The month of Adar once passed and rain had not come.” Spring had officially arrived and there had been no rain during the winter. It was a drought year. In ancient times, this meant that people would die of hunger and thirst. The wells were empty and there was nothing to drink or anything with which to water the fields. “[Choni haMaagal] drew a circle in the ground and stood in it.” A circle —remember the circular energy we spoke about above? And Choni’s very name was haMaagal, from the Hebrew root of igul, a circle. In any event, Choni was following in the footsteps of the prophet Habakkuk, who also drew a circle around himself and refused to leave it until God answered him, as our sages comment on Habakkuk’s saying, “I will remain on this station of mine and will stand in this bastion.” Our sages say that this was an ancient tradition. When you want to beg for something urgently, you say to God, “I will not leave this circle until You fulfill my request,” and of course, you must be willing to keep your side of the bargain…

So Choni said to God, “God! I am not moving from here until you have mercy on Your children.” Choni swears that he will not move, and someone like Choni will keep his word. He is willing to die in the circle if rain does not come. He has undertaken an unconditional obligation. He says to God: “Your children have approached me, for I am like a member of Your household.” Being that the case, they are all relying on him.

The Talmud continues: “It began to drizzle. [Choni's] students said, ‘We have seen You, but may we not die!’” This is an interesting phrase. The verse says elsewhere, “Man shall not see Me and live,” for finite Man cannot maintain his selfhood in the conscious presence of the Infinite. So, as they beheld Choni interacting with God in such an intimate way, they were experiencing themselves the presence of God, and they therefore say, “May we not die!” But they also tell him that this drizzle is as if God is saying: “OK, I’ll give you these two and a half drops of rain just so that you are able to leave your circle.” Choni responds by saying to God: “This is NOT what I asked for! I want rain to fill the wells, pits and caverns!” Rain began to come down in torrents, the Talmud tells, until each and every drop was big enough to fill buckets. “We have seen You, but don’t let us die!” his students call out. It seemed as if the rains were coming to destroy the world”. So again Choni says to God: “This is NOT what I asked for! I want rain of goodwill, blessing and bounty.” And the Talmud concludes, “The rain began to fall as needed.”

Choni haMaagal was working with God to achieve something in proper proportion, and he demands exactness. He is also audacious, what in Chassidic texts is referred to as holy chutzpah. He demands of God that the rains be exactly as needed, not more than enough and not too little. But the Talmud continues to tell us that the rain fell in such quantities that the people had to walk up to the Temple Mount, since the lower areas were all flooded. So the people came and said to Choni: “Rebbe! Just as you prayed for rain to come, pray now for it to stop.”

“I have a tradition,” he answered them, “that one does not pray to halt an abundance of bounty.” But he advises them to bring an ox as a thanksgiving offering. When they brought it into the Temple, Choni lays his two hands upon it, as was the sacrificial procedure to rest one’s weight on the animal, thereby transferring one’s karma to it. He says, “God! Your people Israel whom You took out of Egypt can bear neither too much good or too much suffering. May it be Your will that the rains stop and that there be plenty in the world.” And the Talmud concludes that the rains immediately stopped and the sun came out.

This was Choni and his magical practices. So let’s try now and get a picture of his character. We see that he possessed this holy chutzpah, and that he was very close to God—”a member of His household.” He was also very popular with the people as a miracle worker. Certainly, after this incident in which he literally saved the people from starvation, his popularity must have skyrocketed. But just then, Shimon ben Shetach sends him a message: “If you were not Choni, I would put you into excommunication,” in other words, if Choni was not who he was. Why? Because he acted with chutzpah towards God. From Shimon’s perspective, one does not argue with God. But Choni had a “circular” nature, rather than a straight one like Shimon’s, so he does not accept the drought and he argues with God.

Censorising the holy magician

But even more importantly: Choni is a magician. He is able to cause wonders. He is a holy magician who was involved in practical magic. Since this story reaches us via the Talmud, we must take into consideration the likelihood that it was censored. This is not a story that reaches us via the channels of the mystics, but specifically via the channel of the classical rabbinical literature. Therefore, though the Talmud cites this story, there is a high probability that certain magical details were omitted due to censoring. The Talmud attenuates the importance of the magical aspect of this story. The only thing we know about Choni’s practices is that he made a circle around himself and swore that he would not leave it. So he also uses oaths. In short, we see that he has specific techniques. And the Talmud adds that these practices were ancient, since the times of the prophets.

But Shimon ben Shetach does not approve of this way of action. From his point of view, if you pray and rain doesn’t come, just accept it. But Choni follows the ways of the prophets of old and succeeds in bringing rain. He opens the gates of heaven because he possesses the keys of rain. Elsewhere, the Talmud states that the prophet Elijah also possessed the keys of rain.

Shimon also says to Choni, “But what can I do that you are like a son kvetching before his father.” That is, as if Choni were a spoiled child saying to God, “Wash me with warm water. No! That’s too hot! Add some cold water. No! That’s too cold! Add some hot water.” In parent-child relations there are no rules of justice. The very relationship is beyond any rules. Such behavior is acceptable from a child as part of his charm, and that is legitimate. So Shimon tells Choni that he is like such a child to God, nudging to be pampered with candies and sweets.

And who was it that declared himself a son of God just two generations later? Jesus! And the Christian Church makes a big fuss over him. But Jesus was part of certain school of spiritual thought, a link in the tradition of the “early chassidim” who were able to cause miracles and saw themselves as the sons of God, albeit not exclusively. Choni actually meant, “We are all Your children, but I am especially close to You.”

But Shimon says that despite Choni’s being like a son to God and having a special relationship with Him, nevertheless, “I would put you into excommunication,” because the practice of magic and arguing with God is not according to my liking, even when it is for the people’s benefit, and even when it is successful.

This insight that the double role of the prophet became split during the period we are discussing I would like to cite in the name of Professor Ephraim Elimelekh Orbach.

During this period under our discussion, there was an entire school of spiritual practice called, “the early chassidim,” who were not masters in the rabbinical law. The Talmud relates several miracles stories about him, but not one single law in his name. Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa, mentioned later in that Talmudic passage about Choni haMaagal, was also part of that school. The school of these early chassidim was involved in magic and wonder working, and in attaining a bonding of the soul with God, what in the chassidut of the Baal Shem Tov was called, deveykut. Attaining this deveykut/bonding with God is what interested the schools of the early and the later chassidim. Such a relationship opened the door to miracles, since it meant that the linear and banal world that we see is not all there is. Wonders can take place at any time and place. A flower—the “flower” of the Shekhinah/Divine presence—can suddenly open. Existence is rich, because God, the Omnipresent, is not “Out There,” but here! The close relationship with Him is like that of a son with his father—informal.

On the other hand, there was another school of thought—that of the rabbinical sages—based upon the halakhic law. While the first school of thought belonged to the “circular” way of thinking, this latter school of thought belonged to the linear/straight way of thinking, of masculine ethics and meticulousness—a “Let the law carve a hole in the mountain” mentality. The people of this school were straight and good, but their thinking was very linear.

So what was united in the prophets became split into two personalities in later times. With the spiritual downslide of the generations, these two directions—the wondrous and the practical—became split into two separate schools of thought. The cause of this development within the Jewish people was the difference between the First Temple and the Second Temple—prophecy existed during the First, but disappeared during the Second. This is how the rabbinical sages saw it. The Babylonian exile created a different paradigm of Judaism—the era of Scriptures was over. A period in history had come to a close, at least as far as mainstream Judaism was concerned.

But the early chassidim did not see things that way. However, since the rabbinical sages did, and they were the ones who shaped normative Judaism for the coming generations, this marginalized the chassidim.

In order to illustrate this, I now cite the conclusion of the Talmudic story of Choni haMaagal, who slept for seventy years.

Immediately after the story of the rain, the Talmud relates that Choni was always bothered by a verse in Psalms, “When God returns the exiles of Zion, we will be like dreamers.” The simple meaning of this is that when the people returned from Babylon, the entire exile seemed like a dream. Now, the Babylonian exile was seventy years, as known, so Choni asked himself, “What does this mean? Can someone sleep for seventy years?” One day, Choni was walking along and he passed someone planting a carob tree. In answer to Choni’s questioning him why he is planting a tree that takes seventy years to bear edible fruit, the man answers that he is planting it for his descendants, just as his forebears planted for him. Choni then has a bite to eat, lies down underneath the carob tree and falls asleep. And he sleeps for seventy years. Upon awakening, Choni sees someone eating from that carob tree that he had seen planted seventy years earlier. Choni asks, ‘”Are you the one who planted it. “No,” he answers. “I am his grandson.” Realizing that he has slept for seventy years, Choni proceeds into town to ask after his son, but is told that he has already died, but that his grandson is still alive. Telling them that he himself is Choni, they do not believe him. So Choni makes his way to the beit midrash [study hall], where people are in heated discussion on a Talmudic subject. Then he hears them say, “Ay! When Choni was still alive, he would enter the beit midrash and the matter would become clear as day.” “I am Choni!” he says, but no one believed him, and may have even ridiculed him. Frustrated, Choni goes out and begs mercy of God to take his life.

What is the Talmud trying to tell us here? It seems that the Talmud is trying to say with this story, “Choni! Your time has passed! Have you not noticed that there was a Babylonian exile? You are just like a person who slept through the seventy years of exile and upon awakening thinks that nothing has happened, that nothing has changed. Do you think that you can continue to live as if in biblical times? Don’t you realize that the world has changed!” Choni continues to beg, “Recognize me! I am still here!” But the Talmud tells him, “You are going around making miracles as if you were a prophet before the exile. But we have undergone a paradigm shift, and your time has passed.”

This is why the Talmud brings this story of Choni’s sleeping for seventy years immediately after the story of his bringing rain, and Shimon ben Shetach’s dissatisfaction about Choni’s ways. This was the critique of the rabbinical sages who compiled the Talmud—a critique against the Choni “circular” personality. History had changed, the rabbis argued. We are not living any longer during the times of the prophets!

To the sages’ credit, though, they did not omit the story altogether. They preserved differing opinions within their own tradition. All types of stories can be found in the rabbinical tradition, even stories of ways and ideas that differed from the ways and ideas of the sages.

Now we turn to the story of Shimon ben Shetach’s great witch hunting, a sad story however we look at it.

A certain tax collector, a ruthless person who collected taxes for the government and reported evaders to them, had died. That very same day, a great rabbi had also died in the same town, and the entire townspeople gathered to give him his last honor. Thus, going in the same direction were the funeral processions of the great rabbi accompanied by all the townspeople and that of the tax collector accompanied by his family. As they both reach the cemetery outside of town, a band of marauders attacks. All present from both processions flee for their lives, leaving behind both bodies. One student of the deceased rabbi, though, hides in the field, not wanting to abandon his beloved teacher. Eventually, everyone returns, each group to bury its dead. But for some reason, the two bodies are exchanged, and the townspeople take the body of the tax collector to bury in great honor. The student who had never left and was aware of the mistake cries out, “No! You’re making a mistake!” But no one pays him any attention, and the great rabbi is buried in the plot of the tax collector.

The student is extremely upset. What had his great teacher done to receive such a disgrace, and what had the tax collector done to receive such honor? That night, his teacher appears to him in a dream and tells him, “Don’t worry. Come and I will show you the honor I have been given in Gan Eden and the punishment that the tax collector is suffering in hell.” He shows his student how the hinge of the door of hell is swinging on the tax collector’s ear. The rabbi then explains to his student: I once heard a Torah student being dishonored and I did not protest. Therefore, I was punished. The tax collector, though, once prepared a meal for the governor, and when the governor did not come, he distributed the food to the poor. For this, he was rewarded.”

“How long will the tax collector suffer this punishment?” the student asks. “Until Rabbi Shimon ben Shetach dies and takes his place,” the sage answers. The student was shocked to hear this, but the rabbi explains, “Because there are Jewish witches in Ashkelon and Rabbi Shimon is doing nothing to stop them!”

This is how the story appears in the Babylonian Talmud, according to Rashi. However, an earlier source and version of this story appears in the Palestinian Talmud. There is a slight difference in that version. There, the issue held against Rabbi Shimon, according to the sage who appeared in a dream to his student, was that he had promised to uproot witches but had not done so. “When I will be appointed head of the court, I will put anyone involved in witchcraft to death!” Rabbi Shimon is quoted as saying. Yet, despite being appointed, he had not made good on his promise (it seems that even then, elected public officials did not keep their promises…).

Anyway, this student went and told Rabbi Shimon ben Shetach about the dream. What did Rabbi Shimon do? He immediately gathers eighty young and strong men on that rainy day, hands each one a large jug with a garment stuffed inside each one of them, and instructs them to keep the jugs upside down over their heads, to keep the clothes dry. Allotting one young man for each witch, he instructs them, “When you enter, each one of you must lift one of the witches off the ground. This will render them impotent.” So we see that when a witch is not touching the ground, she is unable to do any witchcraft. This is a very interesting concept that we will speak about shortly.

Rabbi Shimon leads the young men to the witches’ cave in Ashkelon, leaves them outside and enters alone. “Who are you?” they ask him. “I am a witch, like you, and I have come to exchange secrets,” he answers. “How did you get here on such a rainy day?” they ask. “I walked between the raindrops,” he replies, implying that he did this with magical powers. “Let us show each other what we can do,” he says.  So one of them utters a magic word and some bread immediately appears, a second utters another word and a different type of food spontaneously appears, and a third one utters yet a different word and wine appears. “So now,” they ask him, “what can you do?” “I have a special type of magic,” he says. “If I whistle twice, a young man will immediately appear for each one of you to give you a good time.” “Yes! Yes! Please bring them!” they all say enthusiastically. Rabbi Shimon had prearranged with the young men that with the first whistle they remove the dry garment from the jug and change into it, and with the second whistle they enter. Shimon whistles to them, they change into their dry clothes, and presto, like magic!—as least as far as the witches see—eighty young and virile men are after them. Each young man then sweeps one of the witches off her feet and carries her away to be hanged.

But there is a short and tragic continuation to the story. The families of the witches were very upset. Two of them came to court and testified falsely against Rabbi Shimon’s son, bringing the death penalty upon him. As he was being brought out to be stoned to death, he says, “If I have sinned, may my death atone for me, but if I have not sinned, may the responsibility be on the neck of the witnesses.” The witnesses hear this, and shuddering, begin to have regrets. They tell the judges that they had testified falsely out of anger towards Rabbi Shimon for putting their relatives to death. But Jewish law does not allow witnesses to retract their testimony, and the young man is put to death.

So Rabbi Shimon does not get off lightly from this story. He who had instituted to rely solely on two witnesses as the test of absolute truth, rather than even blatant circumstantial evidence, is forced to accept the testimony of two false witnesses who had fabricated their story so well as to pass the rabbi’s interrogations, and to allow his own son to be put to death.

There is great depth in this story. Shimon wants things to be as clear as day, rather than leaving them to the clouds of doubt. Therefore, he rules to pass judgment only upon the testimony of two witnesses. He is afraid of mistakenly incriminating an innocent man with circumstantial evidence, so he relies only on the interrogation of witnesses. But in the end, his own son is put to death following the guidelines that he felt were impeccable—two witnesses, two false witnesses who had come to avenge Shimon’s putting their relatives to death. In effect, it was the feminine principle that avenged itself from Rabbi Shimon—from him and his linear thinking which he so zealously followed. The circular people avenged themselves from the man of straight lines.

But let us return to the main point. Why does the Talmud make a point of stating that these were female witches? Because witchcraft is a classic example of the feminine principle, of something connected with women. In fact, the Talmud states elsewhere, “Most women are witches,” and, “One who takes many wives just increases witchcraft [in his home].” And this despite the fact that Scriptures and the Talmud are filled with stories of male witches, such as the magicians of Egypt and Babylon. Throughout Scriptures there is only mention of two female witches—Saul’s necromancer who brought up Samuel, and Queen Jezebel.

But on the other hand, the Biblical verse instructing to put witches to death speaks about the witch in the feminine. Why is this? The Talmud explains as said, because most women are witches. This is masculine thinking. The feminine world is a mystery to men, incomprehensible. What do women talk to each other about so much? What is the secret of feminine charm? Why do they drive men crazy so often? There is surely some witchcraft involved here…

One of the Jewish grammaticians of the Middle Ages, though—Rabbi Yonah ibn Janach—offers another explanation for the feminine form of the word witch in the verse. He says: the word in its feminine form is the proper noun for witchcraft and magic. He cites other Hebrew nouns like this that are gender neutral even though the words themselves are in the feminine form. In fact, elsewhere in Scriptures we find an explicit verse stating that the prohibition to practice magic and witchcraft relates equally to men and women. It is the Talmud, though, that states that generally speaking, most of those who practice witchcraft are women.

The truth is, as I said earlier, it is men who think that this is what women do. When men are involved in magic, that’s OK, but when women do things that men do not understand—that’s witchcraft and frightening. Everything women do together in their own company is perceived by men as a mystery. Birth and death are connected with the feminine principle, and is perceived as frightening. A woman is mysterious in a man’s eyes. This is the source of misogyny, the hatred of women arising from the fear of them. Every man originally emerges from a woman, but slowly and over time comes to identify himself as something different, while a woman grows to identify herself with her mother.

In all myths, in all dreams, in the depths of human psychology, mystery is connected with the feminine. Or in other words, woman symbolizes mystery. The soul is seen as feminine. All the five levels of the soul in the kabbalah are feminine words—nefesh, ruach, neshamah, chayah, yechidah.

The feminine perception of reality is “circular.” A circle is cyclic, and this perception is connected with nature. Woman is “naturally” connected with the nature of reality much more than man. The monthly menstrual cycle parallels the cyclic orbit of the moon. In modern times, when artificial light illuminates our nights, women do not experience this connection. But when people lived closer to nature, underneath the light of the moon, they directly experienced the connection between their own cycles and that of the moon. In those days, women generally began menstruating with the new moon and began their ovulation with the full moon. Those who deviated from this were the exceptions. And the Festivals were dependent upon the cycle of the moon to set the months of the Jewish calendar. In fact, the moon itself is seen in Jewish tradition as being a feminine entity.

Woman thus experiences nature within her very own body. Woman is nature, cyclicity, life and death. In men’s consciousness, the womb is the place from where one comes and to where one returns. Male consciousness is involved, consciously and unconsciously, with returning there. And he ultimately returns to the earth, another symbol of femininity.

The grave is itself a sort of womb, in which one is sown like a seed and from which one grows, entering the grave with death and reemerging in reincarnation for another cycle of life. Therefore, the Talmud refers to the womb with the Hebrew word that means a grave. The womb is the source of life, but ultimately also the symbol of its end. This is a cycle. Woman is also connected with the earth, the earth is circular and connected with the kabbalistic sefirah of Malkhut, the Shekhinah, the feminine aspect of the Divine. We can now understand why Shimon ben Shetach said that in order to dominate a woman, one must separate her from the ground.

I don’t know if those women in Ashkelon were really witches, and even if they were, if they were really doing anything harmful to anyone, but one thing is clear: they were a threat to Shimon ben Shetach’s world. For the masculine world, these women who celebrated in a cave in nature, and perhaps may have possessed some magical talents, were a source of fear. Their connection to nature was intimidating for male consciousness. Nature is foreign to male consciousness. Male consciousness feels out of place in the natural world. Therefore, for man, the natural world is something with and in which to do something—to “conquer nature.” Circular—feminine—consciousness, on the other hand, is just to be. To celebrate what is. From this perspective, we are nature. We are the cyclicity of nature. Therefore, religions with masculine consciousness aspire to be freed from the consciousness of life and death. This is quintessential masculine religion.

On the other hand, consciousness of love is quintessentially feminine. Those who worshiped the Great Mother gods did not sit around and meditate in search of freedom from the material world. Rather, their rituals were conducted in the forest, with good food and wine. They were celebrations of life and death. Celebrating cyclicity is feminine worship. But when men created institutional religions, they did so out of a base of fear of being trapped in that very cyclicity of life and death, of being trapped in nature, which for man is one big trap. So man is always asking himself, “Am I trapped or am I free?”

Man seeks to be free in every way. If he is a spiritual person, he will seek freedom by means of meditation. If he is a rational person, he will seek to master nature by means of scientific studies, rather than be mastered by it. Therefore, the basic effort of science during the twentieth century has been a search to establish all of existence on one principle. This is symbolized by the penis—a single pillar upon which the world can stand. The goal of masculine consciousness is to minimize chaos. The natural world is chaotic. Things just happen. Especially for women—it seems that something exciting is always happening to them. The world as such is an embodiment of the Shekhinah—the Great Mother. Things happen in this world that confuse a man, and as a man, one wants to make things simple, so after a woman has finished relating to her husband an entire drama, the husband bluntly says, “OK, darling, this is what you should do…”

To live in the cycle is to experience the drama of life, involvedness with life, a celebration of the emotions. Sometimes I am sad and sometimes I am happy. That’s the way it is, and it’s fun! It’s exciting for the feminine consciousness. But for the man, it is threatening. He always wants to solve problems, to take control of the situation. He feels safe only when things are resolved. But for the woman, the resolution is only a lull from life, for her excitement is to be involved in life’s drama. That is how she experiences that she exists.

Woman is nature. The kabbalah states that in Hebrew, “Nature”—haTeva—is numerically equivalent to Elohim, the feminine Name of God, in contrast to YHVH. Nature itself is perceived as circular in the kabbalah. Therefore, planet earth is round, the cosmos is seen as round, as the stars are round. Some even say that time is circular. Everything in the natural world is circular. In fact, the Talmud states that there is no thing in nature that is square. The only phenomenon in existence that is linear is consciousness. There is nothing in the objective world that is straight. Shimon ben Shetach represents linear thought, and therefore, for him, the circular is threatening. So he says to Choni, “If you were not Choni, I would put you into excommunication.” (From one of the listeners: If he had been Chanah rather than Choni, Shimon would not have been chonen her—pardoned her.)

What is interesting in Shimon’s world view is that in order to control a woman, one must separate her from the earth. On a deep level, this symbolizes how men seek to control women—by separating them from nature in all ways. How have men accomplished this? Most women you meet today are detached from their own natures. The tampon industry, for instance, is a male statement that women must conduct themselves “normally”—that is, like a man, who does not have a period. And if you must, hide it, so no one sees! That is considered nowadays, “normal.” Society teaches young girls to deny the basic cyclic nature of their femininity, telling them, “Be a man!” Therefore, 99% of the artificial skeletons used to teach the human body in biology classes are masculine in form. To be human is to be a man. There may be specific incidences of females, but men are representative of humanity.

And let’s be honest. If they were to bring in here right now a female skeleton to study it as a human body, we would automatically think with surprise, Why are they bringing in a female skeleton? For man, woman is just an exceptional case of the human species, and is not seen as truly half of what it means to be human.

But man’s job is not to fear the feminine, but to pass through that fear and to learn to know that way of being, as well. Every man fears the Great Mother. The question is only if one is aware of it or not, if one has gone past that fear or not. One must pass through it and come out on the other side. To reach a place where one can celebrate the feminine within, and to understand that one has therewith entered into the Great Mother—the Shekhinah, Who embodies everything: everything that one is, and everything in the environment. Everyone possesses a consciousness that is embodied within the Great Mother, within the material world, within the physical body that is entirely sensual. We are contained within the Shekhinah that gives birth to us into the world, and consumes us as Mother Earth when we die. It happens to everyone. So we fear Her. But our task is not to escape from the world, but to enlighten it. Not to flee from a woman, but to enlighten her and make her happy. Not to flee from the Shekhinah, but to conjugate with Her. Therefore, the witches were happy when Shimon ben Shetach told them that he would bring them eighty young and virile men who would lift them off their feet. That is what a woman wants—a man with charm who knows how to lift her. But to do so, a man must indeed be able to “walk through the raindrops”—not to become soaked by her emotional storms, but to approach her filled with humor. And rather than hanging them—to elevate them!

With permission from the soul of Rabbi Shimon ben Shetach, who has certainly undergone great transformation since then, I would like to say that it seems that he had a psychological problem with the fact that his life was saved by his older sister, Queen Shlomtzion. He owed his life to a woman in a very personal way, over and above being born to woman. In the depths of his personality, he develops a fear of this power of the feminine over life. And when it came to the witches, this fear became an enmity.

But together with this, let us remember that it was Shimon who instituted the ketubah to protect the woman. He did not hate women, but he hated witches.

Now I would like to reveal another layer: We spoke earlier about the educational system that Shimon instituted as obligatory. This was only meant for boys. And the woman that Rabbi Shimon protects is the woman who has bought into the male story, the woman who has legally entered into a contractual relationship with a man, relinquishing to him ownership of her body, relinquishing her sexual freedom to her husband. In vulgar terms, the ketubah says: “I will support you, feed you, take care of you, have intimate relations with you, but you must not have relations with any other man. I can take other women as wives or concubines”—until Rabbeynu Gershom came along—”but if you sleep with any other man, you will be put to death.” And even after Rabbeynu Gershom’s ban on polygamy, any man taking an extra wife is not treated as having committed a major crime. The traditional Jewish marital contract is based upon the husband’s ownership of the wife’s sexuality. This was the woman for whom Rabbi Shimon was concerned. Such a woman is not involved in witchcraft… A woman who has forgone her personal freedom and entered into a deal that has made her a legitimate member of male society. “If you accept these conventions,” the ketubah says, “then we will take care of you, honor you, and mortgage your husband’s possessions for your financial benefit.”

How shall I now end this class on a happy note?

Let’s go back to the stormy and rainy day on which Rabbi Shimon went to visit the witches. A storm represents that the Great Mother is storming now. The weather symbolizes Mother Earth’s current state of being.

If we enter into the minds of these witches, the men’s coming in dry on a stormy day is a wonderful fantasy—a woman’s “wet dream.” That is what they most want: that someone will come to them on a stormy day—a day when they are feeling overcast, weepy and stormy—and be able to remain dry. A woman says to herself about such a man: “He is not running away from me. He has come to meet me where I am. He is not moved by my storms. He is not afraid. He is not hiding. He even invites me to play with him—’I will bring you young and virile men…’”

This is what a woman is always saying without words: “When I am stormy, surprise me with your magic! You be the greater magician than I!” This is what all “witches” really want…

So we conclude now with a blessing for our times, when witches have begun again to celebrate: I wish for all of us that Choni haMaagal and Shimon ben Shetach reunite. If I had to choose between them, I would choose the academy of Choni, but I feel that this split is part of Judaism’s illness—the illness we call, “exile,” an illness from which we must heal. Part of our work today is to reincorporate the circle into the line, and to reestablish conjugation between them.

The time has come to throw an evening for rabbis and witches…

The Hebraic Tribal Way is

• -      Living with the Divine Living Spirit, and not by any set religious dogma.
• -      Drawing upon wisdom and inspiration from ALL the sources of Israel – including Kabala, Magic, Mysticism and Rabbinical Judaism, sources of secular philosophy and paths that were defined in the past as “heresy” or “blasphemy”. The Hebraic Tribal Way is inspired also from ancient Canaanite findings and from our foremothers who were inclusively worshiping the Queen of Heavens.
• -      Renewing rituals and meaningful ceremonies, but not fixing them as dogma. It’s always renewing and responding to the Divine Spirit “live on air”…
• -      Creative. The Hebraic Tribal Way sees art – dance and singing, painting and photography, computer graphics and environmental technology, theater and sacred architecture as unique flowers that flourish in the human soul. These forms are lovingly offered with awe to the Divine – to the One that through us creates reflections to Her wonderful world. The Hebraic Tribal Way sees art not only as Esthetics but as a potential for inner transformation.
• -      Passionate. The Hebraic Tribal Way believes that passion, attraction and Eros spring from a holy source, and that the flames of Love are divine flames “Shalhevet-Yah“. Therefore it does not repress them but to the contrary – praises, sanctifies and rejuvenates in their flow for is a means of celebrating the love of God, Nature and Humanity.
• -      Open to fruitful and meaningful meetings with other religions or spiritual paths, coming from simplicity, with no inferior or superior approach.
• -      Natural and loving nature, therefore ecological – seeking to live rightfully with Mother Earth, respecting the rights of animals to live and die with dignity and joy. The Hebraic Tribal Way aspires to use healthy nutrition for the inner ecology of the individual.
• -      Community oriented. Knowing that it is not good nor is it natural for the human being to live in alienation and separation, but rather to be part of a community or a tribe. Hence, looking to establish communities of all sorts and sizes that support and empower the development of the full potential of each individual – children and grownups.
• -      Peacemaking. Acknowledging the fact that oneness is not sameness – for just as the rainbow, it is made of different shades living side by side in peace, influencing and fertilizing one another – the Hebraic Tribal Way is seeking for ways to transform fear, suspicion and violence to love, trust and playfulness. The Hebraic Tribal Way is aiming to create a culture of peace on a green-blue planet Earth.