Noach found the avrashna hiding in the hold of the Ark. He said to it, “Do you not want food?” It replied, “I saw that you were busy, and I didn’t want to trouble you.” He said to it, “May it be His will that you never die, as it says, ‘I shall expire with my nest, and as the chol, I shall increase my days.’ ”
Rashi explains: “Avrashna – a type of bird, called chol in the language of Scripture, and it never dies.” This certainly is reminiscent of the phoenix.
Do these Torah sources confirm the existence of such a naturally impossible creature as a phoenix that lives forever and regenerates itself in its old age? It seems that some of the commentaries understood it to be a real bird, as do some people today. But there were those who argued that it is intended to be a metaphor, as the Yefeh Toar explains:
If the matters are not as their simple meaning, one can say that the chol bird alludes to the flight (te’ufas) of the intellect, which is never consumed, and it is called chol because of the proliferation of its insights, like the sand of the sea. And even though the animal aspect inside man, and the animalistic energy, are consumed, such that he dies, his intellect nevertheless still flies and attains new insights after his death for all eternity.
This general approach of explaining passages allegorically was one that was adopted and brought to great heights by the Maharal and Ramchal.
The Mud-Mouse
The final approach to these types of issues takes a different line. There are authorities who state that although the sages of the Talmud were towering in their Torah scholarship, their knowledge of the natural world was not something received at Har Sinai. When it came to science, they accepted the reports of the experts of their era, which included information that we now know to be false.
For example, the Gemara describes a mouse that, instead of being born from parent mice, grows from dirt. This was a prevalent belief in the ancient world, but modern science firmly rejects the notion that a mouse could grow from dirt. Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch explains that since the naturalists of Talmudic times reported of such creatures, the sages of the Talmud had no reason not to rely on these experts. Acknowledging that no such mouse exists is no reason to view the Talmudic sages with any less respect.
It is this approach that was recently branded as heresy by numerous distinguished rabbinic authorities in the haredi world. Their position is that every single statement in the Talmud must be understood as either received from Sinai or otherwise divinely inspired, even statements about the natural world. Accordingly, they would state that if the Talmud describes a mouse that grows from dirt, such a creature must indeed exist.
Be that as it may, I am writing for those communities whose rabbinic leaders follow the position of Rambam, Rav Hirsch and scores of other Rishonim and Acharonim over the ages who took the rationalist approach that Chazal were not infallible on scientific matters.
The Talmud records a dispute between Chazal and non-Jewish scholars as to where the sun goes at night, with the Jewish sages taking the position that the sun goes behind the sky at night rather than on the other side of the planet. The Gemara itself cites Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi acknowledging that the non-Jewish sages appeared to be correct. While there were some authorities who reinterpreted this passage differently, the vast majority of authorities over the ages accepted its straightforward meaning – that the Jewish sages were not infallible on matters pertaining to science.
There are those who acknowledge that this rationalist approach has legitimate roots from a historical perspective but nevertheless oppose it on the grounds that it could be dangerous. They fear that if we teach our students that Chazal could err in some matters, they might start questioning Chazal on everything.
I do not discount these concerns, but it is clear to me that, for the communities to which my book is targeted, the dangers in the other direction are even greater. People who grow up in a world where there is exposure to modern science and popular culture might enjoy reading Rowling or Tolkien, but they know these monsters are fictitious. When they encounter statements in the Talmud or Midrash that run counter to their knowledge of the natural world, they are challenged in their faith. If their rabbinic leaders dismiss their questions or, worse, chastise them for asking, their difficulties become a crisis.
For such people, learning that the great Torah authorities of history did not see any need to accept Talmudic statements of science as being infallible is a great reassurance, and can be a lifeline for someone whose emunah is drowning. Precisely that approach which causes a crisis in rabbinic authority for some, rescues rabbinic authority for others.
Sacred Monsters is not a book for everyone. But for the person challenged by statements in the Gemara about Moshe Rabbeinu being fifteen feet tall; for the reader curious about the role of centaurs and werewolves in Jewish tradition; or for the teenager interested only in Harry Potter and who finds Torah boring, the book will prove most valuable.
In my utterly unbiased opinion, I can even assure the reader that Sacred Monsters is more worthy of purchase than Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Although, judging by the print run of both books, apparently there are 11,998,000 people who disagree with that assessment.
