[Paleopsych] Book World: In the Beginning
Premise Checker
checker at panix.com
Sun May 22 17:04:40 UTC 2005
In the Beginning
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/05/19/AR2005051901405_pf.html
Reviewed by Mark Oppenheimer
Sunday, May 22, 2005; BW08
WHOSE BIBLE IS IT?
A History of the Scriptures Through the Ages
By Jaroslav Pelikan. Viking. 274 pp. $24.95
WHY THE JEWS REJECTED JESUS
The Turning Point in Western History
By David Klinghoffer. Doubleday, 247 pp. $24.95
AFTER THE APPLE
Women in the Bible -- Timeless Stories of Love,
Lust, and Longing
By Naomi Harris Rosenblatt. Miramax. 264 pp. $23.95
Many authors who write about the Bible are so tendentious that their
books are worthless; other writers are thoughtful and well-meaning but
nonetheless argue as much from faith as from evidence. Which is why
any syllabus of religion reading should begin with a book that teaches
humility, reminding us how difficult it is even for the faithful to
get at God's words. After all, God is perfect, but translators and
scribes are not. One such book is Whose Bible Is It ?, a new history
of how the Bible was written, redacted and translated into its present
editions, written by the esteemed church historian Jaroslav Pelikan.
The book is far from perfect, but fortunately Pelikan is at his best
where most readers will be at their worst: in antiquity. He begins
with lucid, succinct explanations of the Hebrew Bible's translation
into its first Greek edition, known as the Septuagint, then into
Jerome's Latin version, the Vulgate. A fluent reader of Hebrew, Greek
and Latin (and, for what it's worth, German, Italian, French, Russian,
Slavonic and Czech), Pelikan is good at unsettling our notions of what
the Bible really says. By the end of the 4th century, there were
competing Hebrew, Latin and Greek versions of every major book of the
Bible, and almost nobody could read them all and compare. Few Greeks
would know, as Pelikan does, that what they read as "They have pierced
my hands and feet," a line from the 22nd psalm that Jesus cries on the
cross in the New Testament, was originally rendered by Hebrew scribes
as "Like lions [they maul] my hands and feet" -- which, lacking the
"piercing," seems much less like an Old Testament foreshadowing of the
crucifixion.
But as Pelikan moves beyond antiquity, what promised to be a handy
history of Bible translations becomes less thorough and more
eccentric. He spends too little time, for example, on the numerous
Bible translations published during the Reformation and the
Renaissance, and he pays almost no attention to the 20th-century
English versions of the Bible. Many of these are not new translations
but editions of a standard translation annotated for particular niche
audiences; the Christian publishing house Zondervan offers, for
example, a Mom's Devotional Bible , a Recovery Devotional Bible , a
Sports Devotional Bible and dozens more like them. While Pelikan may
find these editions tangential to a narrative focused on figures like
Luther, Gutenberg and Calvin, they are immediately relevant to many
Christians' experience of the Bible today.
Pelikan essays some pet scholarly theories, and many readers may not
realize when he is moving from a recitation of acknowledged fact to an
assertion of opinion. It is by no means obvious, for example, that the
Babylonian Talmud -- the systematic compendium of Jewish law and
teachings completed around the year 600 -- is some sort of analogue to
the New Testament, just because they are both extensions of the Old
Testament. This is Pelikan's most original point, one he repeats
several times -- for example, "According to Judaism, the written Torah
is made complete and fulfilled in the oral Torah, so that the Talmud
is in many ways the Jewish counterpart to the New Testament." He is at
his queerest in noting that New Testament expositor Martin Luther King
Jr. marched for civil rights alongside a "scion of the Talmud," Rabbi
Abraham Joshua Heschel -- a great Jewish teacher, to be sure, but not
known as a Talmudist, except in the sense that all rabbis are "scions
of the Talmud."
Pelikan's juxtaposition is appealing -- look at the variety of wonders
the Old Testament has made possible! -- but ultimately silly. The
Talmud can be contemptuous of Christianity, and its main purpose is to
adumbrate rules for living that -- it so happens -- Christians dismiss
as legalistic, outmoded and unnecessary. Pelikan's commitment to this
pairing surely derives from his well-meaning ecumenism: He is rightly
lauded for his promotion of religious tolerance and his opposition to
anti-Semitism, and this book concludes with a charge to read the Old
and New Testaments and "to interpret them and reinterpret them over
and over again -- and ever more studiously to do so together." Whose
Bible Is It? will surely aid in that project. But it would be a more
bracing, intellectually gratifying read if Pelikan were a tad less
earnest -- and if he were franker, with himself and with us, about his
agenda.
What Pelikan does for the history of Bible, David Klinghoffer has done
better for the history of Jews' resistance to Christianity. Why the
Jews Rejected Jesus is an ambitious survey of a big topic, but
Klinghoffer's frank conviction lends his material urgency and
narrative verve; it's fun to read the words of someone so sure that
he's right. An observant and politically conservative Jew, Klinghoffer
is not one to wear his learning lightly; his column in the Jewish
weekly the Forward is by turns smart and annoying, and he is never
caught in the embarrassing position of giving his opponents the
benefit of the doubt. But perhaps that makes him the perfect man to
write a book on a topic so difficult. Given the influence of Mel
Gibson, the medieval but still lingering "blood libel" that Jews use
the blood of Christian infants to bake their Passover matzahs, and the
notorious fraud known as The Protocols of the Elders of Zion that
purported to expose a sinister Jewish cabal, Klinghoffer has decided
that the Jews need to re-learn the ancient art of the disputation, the
debate between Christianity and Judaism.
Roman emperors used to force Jews to debate Christians in public, as a
kind of sport. Klinghoffer also takes obvious pleasure in the mere
unsheathing of his sword, but he has other, more pressing goals. He is
tired of Jews who don't know their history and so say things like,
"Jews have never proselytized." He is disappointed in Jews' ignorance
of their own scripture, which Christians have for millennia twisted to
what he considers heretical ends. And he is fed up with Jews ("Reform
Jews," one can almost hear him hiss) ill-equipped to refute the
apologia of Christian evangelists.
Klinghoffer is a lively historian, and he's much fairer than his
right-wing journalism would lead one to expect. His book is at once a
primer on scripture, a vivid picture of the ancient and medieval
dialogue between Jews and Christians, and a theological explication of
why Christians' messianic claims have made so little sense to Jews.
The most salient reason Jews didn't believe Jesus was the messiah,
Klinghoffer persuasively argues, is that the Hebrew Bible, in books
like Ezekiel, makes it quite clear what the reign of the messiah will
look like -- and Jesus has accomplished nothing of the kind. There has
been no ingathering of the exiles, no eternal peace, no rebuilding of
the Temple -- none of the things the messiah was supposed to bring.
And no interpretive trickery by Christians can get around that fact.
Klinghoffer's principal appeal is not to the intellect but the gut. He
has the courage to say what many Jews silently believe: This whole
Christian thing just doesn't make much sense. It doesn't feel like the
messiah has come; it's unlikely God would ever become human; and,
above all, we like our religion and see no good reason to abandon it.
The book's major weakness, though, is that in summing up all the
reasons that Jews reject Jesus, Klinghoffer fails to include the most
important reasons of all: simple and profound faith, emotions like
loyalty, love, nostalgia and guilt, and cherished cultural traditions
like Passover Seders and latkes at Hanukkah time. Klinghoffer's
intellectual pugnacity leads him to miss these far homelier reasons
that Jews don't choose apostasy.
And these affective Jews, as we could call them, are the ones most
likely to enjoy Naomi Harris Rosenblatt's After the Apple .
Rosenblatt's common-sense explications of Bible stories involving
women are not meant for scholars or amateur disputationists, but they
may be just the thing for spiritually curious women (or men) seeking
role models or inspiration. It's never a bad time to re-visit Sarah's
jealousy of Hagar, Ruth's loyalty to Naomi or Esther's resourcefulness
in facing the genocidal Haman. Moreover, Rosenblatt, a
Washington-based psychotherapist, avidly looks for contemporary
lessons in these old stories. Although her therapeutic style can rob
the Bible of its grandeur and mystery -- Sarah is "a role model for
women . . . fortunate to live more than a third of their lives after
childbearing age" -- she speaks to a kind of religious person more
common than the rationalist readers that Pelikan and Klinghoffer seem
to be after. Rosenblatt writes for people who want comfort and
guidance from God. She is telling us that the Hebrew Bible is a joy to
read. She's assuring us of something Pelikan and Klinghoffer surely
believe but never come right out and say: The reason we translate the
Bible -- and the reason we fight over it -- is that its wisdom
persists. ·
Mark Oppenheimer is the author of "Thirteen and a Day: The Bar and Bat
Mitzvah Across America."
More information about the paleopsych
mailing list