Holy Land, Holy People

“Look at the beautiful palm trees!” my mother exclaimed. But to my almost-twelve-year-old eyes, it was all wrong. Palm trees belonged in California; here things were supposed to be different. As our taxi wound its way between the offending treesⁱ and out of the airport, the paved highways and modern buildings only added to my distress. Where was Erets Yisrael, artsenu ha-kedoshah, the land I had learned about and dreamed of visiting? My only solace during that early morning drive from Ben Gurion Airport to Jerusalem was the view of the kever of Shmuel ha-Navi perched upon a hilltop. At last, a landmark that I recognized, right out of a drawing in the Sefer Shmuel I used in school. However, only the next day, when we visited the Old City, was I truly satisfied. This was the Israel I had seen in my mind’s eye; the stone buildings and narrow alleyways left no room for mistake. Finally, I knew that I was in a place unlike any other, a place where I could imagine walking in the footprints my ancestors had worn into these same cobblestones.

As I think back to those first impressions, I realize that at that point I saw the uniqueness of Erets Yisrael as solely dependent upon its history. Therefore, only when I could see remnants of that past did I feel like I was in a land of holiness. During that trip, I learned from various experiences to expand my conception of sanctity, and find it not only in the history of the land, but also in the people who call it home. One such “Mi ke-amkha Yisrael” story occurred when we realized our new camera was missing from our car about twenty minutes after leaving Kever Rabbi Akiva. We returned, and as my father began looking around, he saw his anxiety mirrored on the face of a man running over and saying, “Is this camera yours?” and his subsequent relief matched by that same man’s instinctive reaction, “Thank God that I was able to fulfill the mitsvah of hashavat avedah!”

I think that these two ideas, holiness of place and of person, can be traced back to the conceptions of Ramban and Rambam of kedushat Erets Yisrael. ⁱⁱ

Ramban is known for his emphasis on the primacy of the land of Israel in Jewish thought and practice. He considers living in Israel a commandment that is obligatory even in a time of exile,ⁱⁱⁱ and states that the ideal place to perform all commandments is the land of Israel.^iv Although Rambam does not explicitly list living in Israel among the commandments, he does not ignore the land or its sanctity in his halakhic writings.^v In fact, the omission of mitsvat yishuv ha-arets may be attributed to a technicality of its being subsumed under the prohibition against settling in Egypt,^vi as the two are discussed together in Rambam’s Mishneh Torah.^vii According to this approach,^viii we can use the reason specified by Rambam for the prohibition of living in Egypt to shed light on his conception of living in Israel. This reason given is “because its actions are more corrupt than those of other nations.” Conversely, it would make sense that the implied reason to live in Israel would be, “because its actions are better than those of other nations.”^ix

In his commentary on the Torah, Ramban emphasizes the uniqueness of Erets Yisrael as a land that is “nahalat Hashem”^x and attributes the gravity of punishment in some situations to the fact that the sin was committed in Israel. ^xi He does not distinguish between different periods in Jewish history with regard to the land’s sanctity, and seems to think of kedushah as an intrinsic property of the land that lasts forever. Rambam, on the other hand, sees the land of Israel in a more utilitarian light. Based on his rationalist approach, he is wary of attributing intrinsic differences to different countries in a given region,^xii or claiming that God’s presence is more directly in one place than another. Therefore, he focuses on the fact that Israel, in its ideal state, is populated by those who keep the Torah and observe the commandments, and therefore, it is the best place to do so. ^xiii

While Ramban thinks that Israel is the best place for a Jew to perform the mitsvot because it is holy, Rambam thinks that its holiness stems from the fact that it is the best place for a Jew to perform the mitsvot. Therefore, we could say that Ramban, seeing the holiness as intrinsic to the land, might focus on the inanimate manifestations of its holiness, while Rambam would place more emphasis upon the people who can impact its holiness through their actions.

Yehuda Amichai underscores the conflict between these two sources of holiness in his poem, “Tourists.” ^xiv He tells of a tour guide who drew attention to a person only in order to point out, “a bit to the right of his head there’s an arch from the Roman period.” Then offering his commentary, Amichai berates the tour guide for emphasizing the place at the expense of the person saying, “redemption will come only when they are told: You see over there the arch from the Roman period? Never mind: but next to it, a bit to the left and lower, sits a man who bought fruit and vegetables for his home.”^xv  To Amichai, it is the person who is primary.

I prefer to think of these two sources of holiness as complementary, since in my mind, neither is complete on its own. It should also be noted that the distinction made earlier between the ideas of Ramban and Rambam is merely a difference in focus; it would be difficult to claim that either of them sees the two sources of holiness as mutually exclusive like Amichai does. Relegating the land’s sanctity to a function of the past makes it independent of our actions and therefore, less meaningful. At the same time, limiting it to a function of its present-day inhabitants is dangerous since it all but erases our link to the land. Synthesizing both of these ideas empowers us not only to walk in, but to deepen the footprints of our ancestors, and perhaps chart our own ground in a land that is ours me-az u-le-tamid.

Leah Kanner is a Senior at SCW majoring in Physics and Mathematics

ⁱ Which may have been less offending had I realized that without palm trees, Israel would be missing one of the shiva`at ha-minim as well as lulavim

ⁱⁱ I would like to thank Rabbi Dr. Mordechai Cohen for informing my understanding of this topic through assignments and class discussions.

ⁱⁱⁱ Nahmanides, Hasagot ha-Ramban le-Sefer ha-Mitsvot. Omitted Positive Commandment 4.

^iv Nahmanides, Commentary on the Torah, Leviticus 18:25 s.v. “va-titm’a ha-‘arets”

^v Maimonides, Mishneh Torah. Hilkhot Terumot 1: , Hilkhot Bet ha-Behira 6:14-16

^vi Maimonides, Sefer ha-Mitsvot. Negative commandment 46

^vii Maimonides, Mishneh Torah. Hilkhot Melakhim 5:7-12

^[1]viii Jacob S. Levinger, “The Uniqueness of Israel, its Land, and its Language,” Maimonides as Philosopher and Codifier. (Hebrew; Jerusalem, 1989)  90-94 (The discussion in this paragraph follows his argument)

^ix Levinger, “Uniqueness” 93

^x Genesis 12:1 “ ‘el ha-‘arets”, Genesis 19:5 s.v. “ve-ned`a ‘otam” Leviticus 13:47 s.v. “ve-ha-begged ki yehiyeh” Leviticus 18:25 s.v. “va-titma’ ha-arets”, Numbers 35:32 “ve-lo tahnifu”

^xi See Genesis 19:5 s.v. “ve-ned`a ‘otam” (destruction of Sedom), Leviticus 18:25 s.v. “va-titma’ ha-arets” (the punishment of tsara`at),

^xii See Levinger, “Uniqueness” 93 and footnote 9. Like other philosophers of his time, Rambam did think of the Middle East as the ideal climate for human development, however, this would not account for his distinguishing between Egypt and Israel.

^xiii Levinger, “Uniqueness” 93

^xiv I would like to thank Rabbi Dr. Jacob J. Schacter for drawing my attention to this poem at a lecture entitled, “History, Truth, and the Jewish Experience” on March 21, 2007 at Yeshiva University

^xv Yehuda Amichai, A Life of Poetry, 1948-1994, page 333