A friend recently posted on Facebook that he felt angry while reading the laws of the “beautiful captive woman” in that week’s parasha. Considering the abuse suffered by female hostages in Gaza, he found it unbearable to read a passage in the Torah that seemed to condone similar circumstances.
The responses in the comments varied. Several agreed, finding this passage and others in the Torah morally objectionable. Others took a more deferential approach to the divine nature of the Torah. Some offered an apologetic explanation, noting that the laws were progressive for their time and, in any case, haven’t been practiced for thousands of years. None of these responses satisfied the original poster, who remained angry—he expected the Torah to reflect a moral stance that he could be proud of today.
My response to him was different. I wrote that the Torah wants him to be angry. That’s why it includes the stories of Sarah, Rebecca, and Dinah’s abductions. The outrage these stories provoke is intended to shape our perspectives, and the convergence of the written law with our values—the very values that the Torah promotes—leads to the development of halakha, the Oral Torah. Without that anger, without that sense of outrage, halakha would remain frozen in time, unable to speak to different people across the changing centuries.
I recognize that this view of a “dynamic” Torah isn’t intuitive for most people. More commonly, people perceive the Torah as static and unchanging, which can lead to the frustration I saw in that Facebook post. But I believe that appreciating the dynamic nature of the Torah can help resolve many of the moral conflicts we encounter today.
Two books published in recent years explore this dynamic nature of the Torah. One is Gishat HaTemurot [Hebrew], edited by Hezi Cohen and Aviad Evron (Maggid, 2019). “Gishat HaTemurot” translates to “the transitions approach.” Many are familiar with the methodology of Rabbi Mordechai Breuer (1921–2007), who argued that the apparent contradictions in the Torah represent parallel bechinot, or “aspects,” of the same divine document. His son-in-law, Rabbi Avia Hacohen, expanded on this, suggesting that the two aspects are not simply parallel, but rather one transitions from the other.
The book explores the implications of this approach in the Torah’s legal texts. For example, it notes that while the legal status of women and slaves in Exodus is an improvement over the norms of the Ancient Near East, the laws in Deuteronomy reflect further progress. This progression, a kind of “vector,” points us in the direction the Torah wants us to follow. As such, it serves as a precursor to the Oral Torah, which continues to build on the transitions found within the written Torah.[1] (For further analysis of Gishat HaTemurot, see my review in Tradition.)
Another book addressing this issue is Subversive Sequels in the Bible by Judy Klitsner (Maggid, 2019). Klitsner reaches similar conclusions but focuses on the narrative sections of the Torah. For instance, she discusses how the stories of the Tower of Babel and the midwives in Egypt reflect a progression in the theme of individual responsibility and agency, from Genesis to Exodus.
In her conclusion, Klitsner writes:
“If we are truly to search for original intent, perhaps the closest we might get is to be true to the text’s own dynamic nature. Thus, following the Bible’s own model, we continue to interpret in line with a changing reality even after the canon has been closed.” (p. 203)
Taken together, these two books help us understand why the Torah contains both stories and laws. Stories are inherently dynamic; their protagonists and circumstances change as the narrative unfolds. The laws of the Torah arise from these narrative contexts, making them part of this dynamic flow. If the Torah were meant to be a set of unchanging rules, it could have sufficed as a dry legal code.
This dynamism extends into the post-biblical works of the Oral Torah. The rabbinic texts, even more so than the biblical canon, evolve and offer new insights, whether in the dialogical format of the Talmud, the diverse contexts of responsa, or the endless innovations of the commentaries. As Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits explains,[2] halakha is formed through the convergence of three components: the laws found in the written Torah’s commandments, the ideals the Torah seeks to promote (through its moral messages), and the human situation in the contemporary historical context. The posek, or halakhic authority, combines these three factors to implement the halakha in accordance with the Torah’s goals.
This rhythm of halakhic development has been present for centuries and is clearly evident in the countless volumes of rabbinic literature. Why then is it so commonplace to perceive the Torah, and the halakha in its wake, as a static entity, unchanging since it was delivered on Mount Sinai?
I believe this perception stems from a particular understanding of God’s nature. Since God is perfect and unchanging, so too must His Torah also be perfect and unchanging. Consequently, the halakha, derived from the Torah, is seen as impervious to change, regardless of changing historical circumstances.
This view leads to difficult conclusions. If the Torah is unchanging, how do we reconcile the evolving narrative and subsequent laws? For example, how do we explain the laws of Passover, which are based on events of the Exodus? Those who hold to this view propose that the Torah preceded creation, which allows for the interpretation that even Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob kept the laws of Passover.[3]
This is hard to align with a straightforward understanding of the Torah. No less challenging is the notion of halakha as static. To avoid acknowledging change in the halakhic system, proponents claim that all details of the Oral Torah, no matter when written, were given at Sinai along with the Written Torah. Again, this conflicts with our understanding of the innovative nature of rabbinic literature.
However, this is not the only way to approach the issue. The idea that perfection means being unchanging, while found in Jewish sources (such as in the works of Maimonides), actually has its roots in Greek philosophy. A brief review of the Bible shows that God does change His plans—He becomes angry, and then forgives. This isn’t a flaw. As Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook wrote:
We understand in the Absolute divine perfections, two values of perfection. One value of perfection, because of its greatness and completeness, has no association with increment. However, if there were not a possibility of increase, this itself would be a deficiency. Because the Perfection which progresses and increases consistently has an extra, transcendental pleasure, a certain height that we yearn for, to grow from power to power, and therefore the divine perfection could not miss this advantage of increment.[4]
According to Rabbi Kook, denying God the possibility of increasing His perfection would actually diminish His perfection. This is essentially the same argument made by Klitsner and the authors of Gishat HaTemurot. The Torah becomes “more perfect” by transitioning to higher levels of morality. Similarly, a halakha that adapts to changing historical realities is better able to achieve the Torah’s goals.
This was the message I tried to convey to my friend on Facebook, and it’s a message I hope resonates with all of us who struggle with the tension between the Torah’s words and our own moral compass. As Klitsner suggests, if we point our microscope at the text of the Torah, we will discover motion, pointing us toward greater moral clarity. Our task is to follow that trajectory.
[1] The connection between the Book of Deuteronomy and the nascent Oral Torah is also examined at the end of The Last Words of Moses by Micha Goodman (Maggid, 2023).
[2] See my essay, “Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits and Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik: Neighbors Behind Fences,” Hakirah, vol. 24, Fall 2023, p. 164.
[3] For a discussion of this position, see my essay, “Could It Have Been Different? History According to the Rabbis Joseph Soloveitchik”, Lehrhaus, April 2, 2020.
[4] R. Abraham Isaac Kook, Orot Ha-Kodesh, vol. 2 (Mossad Harav Kook, 1964), 532. The translation is mine, from my essay, “Humans Blessing God — A Mystical Idea And Modern Implications”, Tradition, 50:4, Winter 2018, pp. 19-36. In the essay, I show that this view was not only held by R. Kook, but also shared by R. Samson Raphael Hirsch and R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik.