Rabbi Freedman’s Shabbat Message

וַיְהִי בַּיּוֹם הַשְּׁמִינִי
And it came to pass on the eighth day.
(Leviticus 9:1)

Months of planning went in to the building of the Mishkan and it is in this week’s sidra that the Holy Sanctuary finally becomes operational. Following a seven day consecration ceremony, the parasha describes how on the eighth day Aaron the High Priest was called upon by Moses to offer the inaugural sacrifice.
The creation of the Mishkan was intended to become a home for God’s spiritual presence within the camp of Israel; a place where holiness could flourish and prosper.

This edifice, and the concept behind it, is often compared to the creation of the world. Just as the Mishkan was built as a place in which the Israelites could imagine and contemplate God’s infinite presence, so God created the universe to offer mankind a home in which He hoped they would flourish, live a godly life and be successful in all their endeavours. Both came to fruition after a seven day period and so in both cases the eighth day became critical.

With regards to the Mishkan, it was from the eighth day that Israel would be able to draw closer to God via the korbanot or sacrifices, and similarly, with regards to the Universe, it was from a different eighth day that God could view humanity and assess them in terms of their righteousness, their ingenuity and their accomplishments. In the simplest of terms, the Mishkan was created by man for God, while the Universe was created by God for man.

The two stories also overlap in relation to the use of fire. Most of the offerings in the Tabernacle involved fire and it is clear from the text that its preparation and implementation was of such consequence that when done incorrectly it had terrible consequences for the officiating priests.

We see this directly from the story of Aaron’s two sons Nadav and Avihu, who brought ‘strange fire’ to the altar and suffered the ultimate punishment.

In regards to the story of creation, there is an oral tradition, that as the seventh day ended, God taught Adam to rub two stones together to produce fire for his own safety and security – a legend forever memorialised in the custom of burning more than one candle during the Havdalah ceremony on Saturday evening – i.e. at the end of the Seventh Day.

This legend reflects one of the great advances in science – the discovery by human beings how to create fire, control it and use it to their advantage. With this power, humans could become more versatile and extremely adaptable – they also became the dominant species on earth – it was in many ways the first great step on the long road to modernity where human beings have introduced technology and harnessed energy. With the domestication of fire tens of thousands of years ago, humans had a dependable source of light and warmth, and a deadly weapon against their prey and for that matter against their enemies. The power of fire seemed limitless – a single human being, man, woman or child, with a single flint or spark could burn down an entire forest. In the intervening years nothing much has changed.

In this context, fire, which came into our hands on the eighth day, has become a metaphor for all human technology and science – it is the ultimate two-edged sword – it can warm or burn, it can create or destroy, it can heal or harm. From a Jewish perspective, fire represents the potential dangers that accompany scientific advancement and therefore each comes with the imperative to be applied ethically and in accordance with the Divine Will.
The eighth day therefore represents that unique moment in time when humans began to use their intellect for scientific innovation and creativity. It is characterized as a partnership between God and man: God empowers humans with the ability to understand the natural world, and humans give their word לְעָבְדָהּ וּלְשָׁמְרָהּ to cultivate and protect God’s creation. (Genesis 2:15)

While this concept is deeply rooted in Jewish theology, the Greeks taught something quite different. In ancient Greek mythology, Prometheus was said to have stolen fire from the gods, which he then gave to humanity with no conditions attached.
How scientists see themselves and their discoveries may well depend on whether they view science as a gift from God, or simply as knowledge acquired incidentally and entirely through their own hands. For those who adopt the Jewish viewpoint, conscience is a prerequisite, as is the idea that every discovery should bring blessing into the world.

Judaism has long maintained a deeply nuanced approach to science: it affirms the value of human knowledge and discovery as part of humanity’s divine mandate, yet insists that all such knowledge be governed by ethical and spiritual considerations. Science, in this view, is not morally neutral – it is a powerful tool that must be guided by religious conscience and accountability.
The Talmud (TB Shabbat 75a) goes so far as to state that one who understands astronomy and fails to apply it neglects a divine gift. Likewise, Maimonides saw scientific inquiry as a pathway to אהבת ה׳ the love of Hashem, since understanding the universe leads, he said, to a greater knowledge and reverence of God.

The Torah warns against unrestrained technological ambition. In the story of the Tower of Babel, human ingenuity was divorced from moral purpose and it led to fragmentation and disaster. Similarly, rabbinic literature repeatedly emphasizes that power without ethical restraint is potentially highly dangerous. As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks wrote in The Great Partnership, “Science takes things apart to see how they work. Religion puts things together to see what they mean,” implying science gives us power, but religion teaches us how to use that power responsibly.
In the last century this was the question asked by J. Robert Oppenheimer when he invented the atomic bomb. He knew that this weapon would help the United States win the war and yet he also knew that this weapon had the capability to destroy the human race. He wrestled with the responsibility of unleashing such unprecedented destruction, famously quoting the Bhagavad Gita, “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”
Oppenheimer believed that developing the bomb was a necessary step to end World War II, driven by the belief that a ground invasion of Japan would cause greater casualties, but following Hiroshima and Nagasaki, he opposed the development of the more powerful Hydrogen bomb, leading to his alienation from the US government and political humiliation.

He grappled with the idea that scientists should not be held responsible for the way in which politicians use their inventions; yet, perhaps because of his Jewish background, he felt immense guilt over the hundreds of thousands of deaths caused by his creation. Oppenheimer in the post-war era was forever torn between his scientific calling and the horrific potential of what he had created.

Another Jew, even more famous, grappled with the same dilemma. Albert Einstein’s feelings about the atomic bomb were characterized by a profound, lifelong conflict between his deeply held pacifist beliefs and his fear of Nazi Germany, leading to intense regret over his role in initiating the bomb’s development. While he never worked on the Manhattan Project itself, his 1939 letter to President Roosevelt initiated the US effort. He later described this as “the one great mistake in my life”.

In the end, Judaism teaches that the question is not, can we do something, but should we? That is a question science alone cannot answer.
This was illustrated most poignantly by American rabbi and author, Harold Schulweis. He asked the question, “Which is true – science or faith, Genesis or Darwin?” His answer was most revealing:
I read two accounts concerning the same event: A blind man is operated on by an ophthalmologist. In his notes the ophthalmologist describes the operation, the diagnosis, the detailed protocol, the physiology of the eye, the instruments employed in dealing with the optical nerves connected to the brain. The language of his book is scientific, exact, precise, detailed and literal. The other account was written by the blind man who was given new sight by the ophthalmologist. He describes the event in terms of excitement, exultation, exaltation and gratitude. His writing is filled with ecstasy, poetry and awe. He describes the first time that he set his eyes upon his newborn child and how he witnessed a sunrise and sunset.

Which of these two books is true? Which of these two books is truer? Are these two books contradictory? Both books refer to the same event. But consider how different their intention. Both books are true but are judged differently according to their purpose.

Science is not Torah. Torah is not science. Science is concerned with facts. Torah is concerned with values. Science is concerned with “what is,” the Torah is concerned with “what ought to be.” History is concerned with “what was.” Torah is concerned with “what should be.”

With these words, Schulweis provides us with an appreciation of the difference between science and religion and he writes of course from a Jewish perspective.

Science offers us knowledge, Torah offers us wisdom. With knowledge architects, engineers and builders constructed Auschwitz, but with wisdom they should have built schools and hospitals. The truth remains that science is morally neutral; science can only tell you ‘what is’, it is left to religion to inform us ‘what for’. And he concludes by reminding the reader that while Darwin was concerned with the Origin of the Species, Judaism’s primary concern is with the Purpose of the Species. Similarly he reminds us that while Darwin entitled his book The Descent of Man, the Torah’s main function is to promote The Ascent of Man.

To summarise the relationship therefore, between faith and science, I return to the greatest Jewish scientist of all time, Albert Einstein.

“Science can only be created by those who are thoroughly imbued with the aspiration toward truth and understanding. This source of feeling, however, springs from the sphere of religion. To this there always belongs the faith in the possibility that the regulations valid for the world of existence are rational, that is, comprehensible to reason. I cannot conceive of a genuine scientist without that profound faith. The situation may be expressed by an image: science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.”
…. and it all began בַּיּוֹם הַשְּׁמִינִי, on the eighth day.

Shabbat Shalom
Rabbi David Freedman