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By Root 442 0

of triumphant Christianity's (and later Islam's) supersessionist theologies, insisting that history had proven how wrong the Jews were in not accepting Christ (or the Qur'an). The election of Israel thus remained a cornerstone of Jewish theology, even as the old tribal deity evolved toward greater universalism. A degree of inconsistency arose between these two, but the rabbis did not seem to feel much need to reconcile them. Yes, God is Father and Ruler of all the world, as the High Holy Day liturgy makes very clear. But that same prayer text, calling upon Him as “Our Father, Our King,” clearly sees God as Parent and King to Israel in particular; it is our Jewish martyrs who “have gone through fire and water for the sake of Your name.” The classical Hebrew poets often depict Israel in exile as a wounded child or a temporarily abandoned mate, calling upon God to vindicate his or her true position by again manifesting His love.

The fierce tribal God of Israel's wanderings who demanded that they slay every man, woman, and child of their foes is now increasingly transformed into the loving Father of all His creatures. This change takes place almost simultaneously in the emergence of Christianity and rabbinic Judaism, even though it is often still popularly associated with the New Testament. While described almost exclusively in male language, the God of the rabbis is, in admittedly stereotypic terms, a rather “feminized” male, bearer of rahamim, womblike compassion, unfailing nurturer, lover of peace. “Our Father, compassionate Father” is best worshipped by those who “dwell in tents,” (like the rabbinic image of our father Jacob, Rebecca's favorite). Those “tents” are here converted to “synagogues and houses of study.”22 This is where faithfulness to Y-H-W-H may best be shown, rather than the terrain of those who go forth in conquest, be it military or adventurous. As the Jews were transformed from nomads and warriors into town dwellers, merchants, and increasingly “people of the book,” their God too became one chiefly encountered in the study of Torah, “the best of all goods,” as a Yiddish saying would have it. As the people Israel became politically powerless, remaining so for many centuries, they needed a God who could relate to their situation and even join them in a life of exile and wandering. This is the God who is with them wherever they are exiled, who longs for His wayward children to return to Him,23 who knows how to mourn with them in their sorrows, both personal and collective, and who smiles at the thought that they have bested Him in interpreting His Law.24 The royal and parental metaphors are affectionately united in the widespread notion that “all Israel are the children of the King.”25 While the call for ultimate vindication through triumph (and sometimes even vengeance) was not altogether abandoned, Judaism came to live with a God less manifest in power than in love for Israel's faithfulness to Him. This loyalty was expressed by life according to halakhah, the “path” of proper living, and their devotion to its study and practice.

The humanizing (and perhaps “feminizing”) of God has much to do with His learning to love and forgive, rather than to destroy in great blowouts of anger. This process reflects a projection of human experience, particularly that of males. We now understand civilization itself as a product of that taming of inner aggression. The instinct to fight, conquering weaker species, sometimes for food, and fending off predators as best we can, is an essential part of our evolutionary legacy. Within a species, contests of strength among males, often as ways of attracting the potentially most fruitful female partners, are also part of what we bear within our extended genetic memory. The viciousness of this legacy lies buried within us, long outliving the time in our biohistory when its use may have been appropriate. Human history is punctuated with frequent reminders that perceived slights, challenges to “manhood,” rival claims to territory, and the like can peel off the veneer of civilization