One often hears Jewish people remark, “We Jews believe that we can come directly to God.  We have no need for a mediator.”  Is this an accurate representation of historic Judaism?

Not exactly.  The individual Jew does not approach God directly.  This was recognized in the early 1950s by Will Herberg, one of the most prominent Jewish thinkers in America at that time:

In both Judaism and Christianity . . . there is no such thing as a direct and unmediated relation to God; this relation must in some way be mediated through one’s covenant status.  In Judaism, however, it is by virtue of his being a member of the People Israel that the believer approaches God and has standing before him; in Christianity, it is by virtue of his being a member of Christ . . . To be a Jew means to meet God and receive his grace in and through Israel; to be a Christian means to meet God and receive his grace in and through Christ . . . Authentic Judaism is therefore Israel-centered . . . while authentic Christianity is Christ-centered.  In neither need this centrality lead to a diversion from God, because in both it is through mediation that God is approached.

Popular fascination with Jewish mysticism has been with us now for more than a decade.  Among scholars it began much earlier.  Gershom Scholem (1897–1982) paved the way for a new generation of historians of religion who perceived the central role mysticism has played in Jewish theology, practice, and religious experience.  These scholars have transformed our understanding of the early Yeshua-movement.  It is no longer viewed as a departure from Judaism under the influence of pagan mystery religions and Greek philosophy.  The ascribing of divine attributes to the risen Messiah by Paul, John, and the author of the Letter to the Hebrews—all Jews—now makes sense as an appropriation of terms and concepts at home in the world of Jewish mysticism.  Common to this world were wide-ranging speculations concerning the enthroned divine image described by Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel, and concerning the mysterious biblical figure known as the Angel of Hashem.

The Jewish mystical tradition remained a potent force in Jewish religious life throughout the centuries that followed the destruction of the Second Temple.  In the Middle Ages, one particular form eventually became dominant.  Known as Kabbalah (“tradition”), this system of thought saw the One God of Israel not as an undifferentiated singularity but as a dynamic and unfolding interplay of divine powers(the ten Sefirot).

Many Christians and Messianic Jews struggle with the traditional teaching of the Christian Church regarding the Tri-unity of God. How can God be both singular and threefold? Does this teaching not violate both commonsense and the absolute monotheism of the Torah, the Prophets, and Jewish tradition?

I do not intend to answer these questions in this short column. Instead, I would like to examine the assumption that the Torah and the Prophets teach an “absolute monotheism.”

The God spoken of in the Torah and the Prophets is ininite in knowledge, power, and presence, invisible and without form. According to Psalm 145:3, the greatness of Hashem is “unsearchable.” As Solomon consecrates the Jerusalem temple, he acknowledges that heaven itself is too small to contain the presence of the Holy One. Hashem’s only limits are those that are self-imposed or intrinsic to Hashem’s character.

Nevertheless, this same God assumes a human form and appears to Abraham, Jacob, Moses, Joshua, Isaiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, and others. The people of Israel hear this God speak in human words at Sinai. They encounter Hashem not as an ininite, hidden, and unknowable power, but as a self-revealing God who speaks, acts, and feels.

In the second half of the twentieth century, many Jews and Christians began to understand their relationship to one another in a radically new way. Previously each had looked at the other’s faith as a kind of heresy, a false teaching incompatible with the truth upheld in one’s own tradition. Now theologians from both sides looked for ways to combat the heritage of mutual enmity and contempt.

Some propounded an attractive new perspective called dual-covenant theology. According to this view, God had established distinct covenantal bonds with the Jewish people and the Christian Church, and had called each to follow its own separate path through history. Jews and Christians should respect one another’s faith, and recognize that each had an equally valid connection to God and mission in the world.

While dual-covenant theology improved the overall climate of Jewish-Christian relations, it could not win the adherence of Jews and Christians who were deeply rooted in their faith traditions. Spiritually-grounded Jews could not view God’s covenant with Israel as anything but the center of history and of God’s dealings with all creation. There was another covenant —but it was the universal covenant with Noah, under which all humanity lived, and it did not elevate its participants to the unique status enjoyed by the descendants of Jacob, Rachel, and Leah.