Latest Essays

The parallels between Proverbs 22:17–23:11 and the Egyptian Instruction of Amenemope are well established. But how can their specific similarities—and differences—be explained? Rather than simply borrowing Egyptian wisdom traditions, the Hebrew author adopted the very scribal techniques used in Egyptian schools to study and transmit such texts, composing a wisdom teaching in Egyptian style that became part of the Book of Proverbs.

Well, we can theoretically arrive at a 3^rd century B.C.E. archetype by using the conservative Masoretic Text (MT) as the default and comparing it with non-harmonistic variants in the Septuagint (LXX), Samaritan Pentateuch (SP), and Qumran fragments. But textual criticism offers little help in understanding what the text of the Torah looked like at an earlier stage, or how and when it was composed.

Writers in the Second Temple period portray Moses as the Torah’s author and master lawgiver, attributing commandments directly to him. The rabbis, by contrast, repeatedly depict Moses as forgetful, confused, and sometimes mistaken—downplaying his authority to emphasize the Torah’s divine authorship and elevate the rabbis’ own role as its interpreters.

Through subtle echoes of other biblical narratives, the book of Ruth recasts women not as rivals competing for men, but as partners bound by loyalty and kindness.

On Shavuot night, sometime in the 1530s, R. Joseph Karo and R. Shlomo Alkabetz hold an all-night study session, reciting a selection of biblical passages, followed by Mishnah and kabbalah. At exactly midnight, the voice of a divine being speaks through Karo, thanking the scholars for raising her from the dirt through their sleepless Torah study, and admonishes them not to be materialistic, and instead, to move to Israel.

In modern times, Shavuot (“Weeks”) has also become known as חג הבכורים, “the festival of firstfruits,” and in Israel it is celebrated as an agricultural festival. Indeed, bringing firstfruits of grain and fruits to the temple at certain times of the year is biblical, but what, if any, is its connection to Shavuot?

The Decalogue forbids patently reprehensible acts; but the prohibition against coveting is a potentially victimless offense and is the only one that exclusively addresses men. Moreover, this tenth commandment has no clear parallels in ancient Near Eastern law. An anecdote in a fourteenth-century Hittite text, however, suggests that its roots are in treaty tradition.

What did it feel like to stand inside the gates of ancient Jerusalem at the height of its glory? A postexilic psalm imagines just that—revisiting a bustling city filled with pilgrims, justice, and divine presence. Blending memory, longing, and hope, Psalm 122 transforms Jerusalem into both a vivid past reality and a future ideal, culminating in its enduring call: שַׁאֲלוּ שְׁלוֹם יְרוּשָׁלִָם, “Seek the peace of Jerusalem.”

On the road to Meron, where the Safed kabbalists believe Jesus is buried, R. Hayyim Vital (16^th cent.) encounters a dangerous spirit, who overpowers him in a moment of spiritual weakness. The spirit later tosses him in the air and exhausts him nearly to death, but Vital makes it to his master, the great R. Isaac Luria, the Arizal, who, fearing the spirit will kill Vital and thwart his plans to bring about the messianic age, exorcises it.

Leviticus chapters 25, 26, and 27 are not only each explicitly set at Sinai, but are also tied together by a network of Leitwörter, numerical patterns, and unusual forms. Significant is the use of ג.א.ל, “to redeem”—whether of land, houses, persons, or sanctuary dedications—19 times in chapter 25 and 12 times in chapter 27. In contrast, ג.א.ל is entirely absent from the curses and blessings of chapter 26, and its place is taken by ג.ע.ל, “to reject with disgust,” a root that does not appear anywhere else in the Torah.

Ten lavers, mounted on wheels, and decorated with images of lions, bulls, and cherubs, stood on either side of the bronze sea in the Jerusalem Temple’s courtyard. Are these the “chariots of the sun” (2 Kings 23:11) that Josiah’s reform purges from the Temple?

In the courtyard of the First Temple, in addition to ten lavers, stood a massive bronze basin of water, supported by twelve bronze bulls. What was its function?

Seed, blood, or nothing? This debate among the Greeks about the role of women in the development of a fetus influenced the way Second Temple and Rabbinic interpreters understood the meaning of the biblical verse "If a woman emits seed" (Leviticus 12:2).

The products of a period in which Judaism was considered to have been superseded by Christianity and Jews were treated as inferiors, the Talmud and Toledot Yeshu literature developed a biting, farcical retelling of Jesus’ story, which, at the same time, reveals the Jewish struggle to explain his massive impact on world religion. Yet, medieval rabbis also responded to Jesus’ death in a serious way, noting that ultimately, things turned out for the best: Jesus always planned to be crucified, and Jesus asked God to forgive everyone involved.   

The answer isn’t found in the Bible—but in Greek philosophy.

The Hebrew particle נָא naʾ appears almost four hundred times in the Bible. How should it be translated? To answer this question, we need to look at: 1) the biblical contexts; 2) the ancient translations of the Bible; 3) medieval grammarians; and 4) modern grammarians.

“Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and YHWH your God brought you out from there with a strong hand and with an outstretched arm...”( Deuteronomy 5:15). Two Egyptian motifs—military dominance and divine benevolence—lie behind this image of YHWH.

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John all include accounts of women discovering Jesus’ tomb empty three days after his crucifixion that share a common structure, but vary considerably in their details. Christians reading the story at Easter experience vicariously the women’s fear and awe, just as Jews re-experience the Exodus through the Haggadah.

In Ezekiel’s graphic metaphor of a girl abandoned in the blood of her afterbirth, God sees baby Jerusalem and urges her to live (Ezekiel 16:6–7) but leaves her there until she is older. The verse’s inclusion in the Haggadah (ca. 16^th century) hinges on Mekhilta’s radical reinterpretation and regendering of the blood as representing Israel’s first mitzvot in Egypt: circumcision and the paschal offering. In response to Christian supersessionism, women’s menstrual blood was added as a third example of Israel’s blood-based mitzvot.

As a Christian, the Exodus is my story of divine liberation and hope. As an Egyptian, it casts my homeland as the oppressor of God’s people—forcing me to wrestle with faith and identity.

Pig’s blood, crushed bird heads, animal fats, and fine oils were all used to mark the doorposts and thresholds in the ancient Near East, to protect against a host of dangerous supernatural powers. The Torah repurposes this ritual as a practical sign allowing YHWH to distinguish between Israelite and Egyptian households. An anthropological lens points to yet another layer of meaning in this ritual, carried out on the very night before Israel leaves Egypt.

In what ways are we still enslaved—and what would real freedom look like today, both personally and collectively?

The Bible portrays YHWH as in control of opening and closing the womb. Yet biblical narratives and other ancient evidence show women seeking fertility through plants, rituals, amulets, and midwifery practices—revealing a world in which divine control and human agency coexist in the pursuit of conception and safe birth.

From Miriam leading the women in a tambourine-accompanied victory dance at the parting of the Sea to King David leaping and dancing before the Ark of the Covenant, the Bible celebrates dance in many forms. The whirling, ecstatic motion of dance unites the people, carrying them into a trance and bringing them closer to the divine. Yet when Moses sees Israel dancing around the golden calf in a festival dedicated by Aaron to YHWH, he erupts in anger. Why?

The biblical accounts of the Tabernacle and Solomon’s Temple reflect ancient Near Eastern ideas of divine residence. Ezra’s account of the Second Temple, however—where the altar is built first—reflects a theology closer to the Greek world, also echoed in the patriarchal stories of Genesis.