The People and Their Foundational Literature

The people who, from the 12th century B.C.E. on, lived for more than a thousand years in the land of Israel, in the kingdoms of Israel and Judah, gave the world the Hebrew Scriptures.

At first, the people of these two kingdoms recorded their experiences and transmitted the values they learned from them orally. Over time, as writing became more widespread, this oral heritage was systematized into 24 volumes, which form the literary foundation of the Jewish People.

For the Jews, in particular, this collection of books—their foundational literature—encapsulates what is authentically and exclusively Jewish.

All authentic Jewish thought begins in the foundational literature. It is there that the values, ideals, and hopes of the Jewish people are rooted.

From a formal perspective, the Hebrew Scriptures constitute a literary anthology composed of 24 books. Written and revised by various authors over several centuries, these volumes are organized into three categories: Torah (Pentateuch), Neviim (Prophets), and Ketuvim (Writings).

The first Hebrew letter of each of the three sections forms the acronym TaNaKh.

The way one names this collection of books is not neutral.

When the whole set is called “Torah,” Kitvei ha-Kodesh, “Old Testament,” or simply “Bible,” the choice of name already reveals an ideological stance.

Each label, in that case, highlights only a part of what the TaNaKh represents. In doing so, it reduces the TaNaKh and restricts its true dimension as a heritage of values and visions intended for all humanity.

It is easy to imagine that this collection of 24 books is merely a work of doctrinal exposition. But that would reduce far too much what it really is.
The TaNaKh is indeed a religious text—but it is also literature at the highest level. In fact, it is a literary masterpiece, one of the most influential classical collections in all of history. To recognize this in no way diminishes the rabbinic perspective; on the contrary, it broadens our understanding of its greatness.
The TaNaKh is undoubtedly one of the pillars in the very formation of the idea of humanity itself.

Much of what it contains—especially its non-legal portions and the moral power of the prophets—went beyond the limits of Judaism. It became a shared inheritance for much of humanity, ceasing to be something exclusively Jewish.

These books were written to help individuals and peoples seek what is true and good, to the extent that their human capacities allowed them.

Judaism does not invent; it discovers perspectives—not necessarily what others saw.

That is why, in religious language, the word used to describe this phenomenon is “revelation.” Something that is there is revealed. What is revealed is what the human being is, and how life works.

From there, based on the knowledge acquired, the next step was to conceive behaviors—how to act in life as a human being.

The human being, or if you prefer, human nature, however, is not static, immutable. Through the knowledge gained as a result of interacting with the rest of the world, humanity changes. What religion calls “revelations” are ongoing.

“Revelation” is always partial; it sheds light on the moment, perhaps even a little on the future. Revelation, however, is never complete. There is always something still to be discovered, to be revealed.

The Talmud tells an imaginary story of Moses sitting in a study session with Rabbi Akiva (one of Judaism’s greatest teachers who lived more than a thousand years after Moses). Moses did not understand a word of what Rabbi Akiva was saying. His only consolation came when a student asked Rabbi Akiva: “Master, what is the source of this decision?” He replied: “It is a law given to Moses at Sinai.”

The understanding is that human knowledge is cumulative. Each generation stands on the shoulders of the one before it. While dependent on the previous generation to stand on its shoulders, it now has a new perspective. It sees something that previous generations necessarily could not see.

A generation that does not produce a new discovery, that does not “create” something new, impoverishes the world. Certainly, it fails to fulfill Judaism’s central commitment: “the continuation of the work of creation.”

It is not only by bringing more children into the world that the world is created, but by helping them to understand how to think.

Jews are constantly discovering how to do things that had not been done before, and improving those already done. From the beginning they are taught to be curious and to take risks.

No doubt it is not easy to take this attitude in life. There are many mistakes, perhaps more than achievements. Yet this is the way a Jew is taught to think, because when achievements do occur they are usually incomparable in magnitude and importance.

This disposition in life requires a special character. Some call it being “stiff-necked,” others “arrogance.” Though in reality, it is the conviction that this people was not chosen to enjoy the luxury of standing aside from the world.

There is a Jewish way of thinking. There is a way of being Jewish. It is demanding, it is difficult, but also rewarding, for it allows those peaks where the Jew looks back and a little forward, and can say that there was a reason he came into this world … and he accomplished.

To perceive the reason for our temporary existence in the world is the source of the feeling of individual fulfillment.