Conversion at Sinai

 

The Revelation at Sinai is usually recalled as an extraordinary event of collective prophecy through which the Jewish people were charged with the mitzvot of the Torah. However, Chazal also identify another dimension to our experience at Har Sinai -- a process of conversion. Moreover, from that very process they derive the necessary components of all future conversions:

 

Rebbe said: “‘As for you [will it be for the convert]’ (Bamidbar 15:15)—[that is,] as for your ancestors.  Just as your ancestors entered the covenant through circumcision, ritual immersion and sacrifice, so too [future converts] will enter the covenant through circumcision, ritual immersion and sacrifice.’” (Keritut 9a) 

 

In other words, Sinai represents the quintessential forging of a covenant and, therefore, acts as a prototype for future, private transformations. Any individual forever after who elects to participate in the covenant must follow the pattern set by Sinai.

 

Analyzing Matan Torah as a conversion ceremony, then, can afford us not only insights into that chapter of history, but also into the nature of conversion to Judaism in general.

 

 

 

In considering Sinai-as-conversion, I propose that we examine it in light of a framework for halakhic conversion advanced by R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik. According to R. Soloveitchik, conversion is a dual experience. On the one hand, through conversion the individual accepts upon himself the yoke of Heaven, as well as the privileges of spiritual elevation and intimacy with the Divine.  On the other hand, the convert is simultaneously joining a distinct sociopolitical entity, first imagined through God’s election of Avraham and later forged in the crucible of Egypt, with its own attendant responsibilities and privileges. 

 

Ruth, whose journey serves as a template for the conversion process (Yevamot 47b), pithily captures this striking duality in the closing words to her own declaration of commitment:  “Your people is my people; your God my God” (Rut 1:16).

 

According to R. Soloveitchik, these two aspects of conversion correspond to the dual covenants in which each and every Jew participates: 1)Berit Avot, the covenant with our forefathers which foresees Jewish peoplehood and a Jewish homeland; and 2)Berit Sinai, the covenant that binds each and every one of us to the details of Jewish law. (R. Soloveitchik sometimes alternatively referred to the first covenant as the “Covenant of Egypt.”). R. Soloveitchik writes:  

 

A gentile who wishes to join the nation must take upon himself both covenants.  He places himself in the ambit of Jewish fate and sanctifies himself for the acceptance of the Jewish destiny.  The act of conversion involves associating oneself as a member of the people of the Covenants of Egypt and of Sinai.  Keep this important principle in mind:  there is no such thing as partial conversion.  One cannot omit one iota of either of these two Covenants.  Total devotion to the Jewish people—as a nation that God took to Himself in Egypt, with all its tribulations, suffering, responsibilities, and actions; and as a holy people that is itself consecrated, heart and soul, to the God of Israel and His halakhic and moral demands—is the absolute foundation of Judaism and hence is also the basis of conversion. (Kol Dodi Dofek: Listen—My Beloved Knocks, 75)

 

 

Through the convert’s unique undertaking, we learn about “the absolute foundation of Judaism” in its natural state—our binary commitment to both nation and religion.  Furthermore, the non-negotiability of his path tells us not only about the process of conversion specifically but also about the makeup of Judaism generally—a composite of berit Avot and berit Sinai together, inextricably fused into a single vision.

 

 

 

However, if we now step back and reflect on the relevance of Sinai to the lone, searching soul who stumbles upon Judaism, we immediately notice some incongruities.  True, by standing at the foot of Har Sinai, the Jews went from carrying minimal halakhic burden to being bound by 613 mitzvot, just as the interested gentile wishes to do.  However, the comparison ends there.  The potential convert is a total foreigner in every sense, emerging from an alien world and trying to penetrate a new community.  How can he be compared to the descendants of Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov who stood at the brink of a new covenant but whose lives as slaves-turned-victors had already been saturated with an acute awareness of their otherness as Jews?  Can their respective conversions really be indistinguishable?

 

In this shiur, we will analyze certain anomalies regarding the Sinai-as-conversion framework and reflect upon how Sinai might be both the paradigm for conversion and an exception at once.

 

 

1.  After Har Sinai – Can I Marry My Sister?

 

Perhaps the most striking demonstration of the total metamorphosis that conversion entails is the severance of all previous familial ties.  “According to Biblical law, a convert may marry his mother or his maternal sister who has converted” (Rambam Hilkhot Issurei Bi’a 14:12), for “one who has converted is like a newborn babe” (Yevamot 22a) whose blood ties have been dissolved.

 

Based on this principle, some Acharonim (post-Renaissance authorities) raise an interesting question.  If Sinai was indeed the prototype for conversion, does that mean that each Jew present at the Giving of the Torah became akin to a “newborn babe,” disconnected from all others?  In the wake of Har Sinai, could a Jew technically marry his sister or his mother?

 

R. Meir Simcha of Dvinsk actually embraces this logic, maintaining that the very principle that a convert is like a newborn is derived from God’s blanket instruction after the Giving of the Torah for the men to “return to your tents,” a euphemism for their wives (Devarim 5:27 and Meshekh Chokhma there).  Even though some of their previous relationships should have been rendered forbidden by Torah law, they were allowed to continue with them, for all Jews at Har Sinai were “like newborn babes!”

 

Others reject this conclusion, based on analysis of the reason and basis for the “rebirth” associated with conversion.  The Maharal differentiates between voluntary conversion, through which an individual becomes “like a newborn babe,” and the compulsory conversion of Sinai,[1] which did not erase previous identities:

 

Certainly one who has converted of his own volition—such as a gentile—since he did not need to convert yet converts himself, is an entirely different creature.  But the Jews who left Egypt, since they were obligated to accept the Torah and were compelled into this, were not like newborn babes. (Gur Aryeh on Bereishit 46:10)

 

For the Maharal, it seems, the rebirth of conversion is a function of the process—specifically, of the individual’s spontaneous and voluntary surrender of his previous identity and embrace of a new one—rather than of the objective outcome.  In other words, rebirth is a possibility of conversion, but apparently not essential to it. 

 

A different answer to this problem, quoted in the name of R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, is based on a similar recasting of the principle of rebirth.  R. Soloveitchik suggests that it is the process of conversion that irreversibly severs the convert’s ties to his relatives, even if they subsequently convert as well.  However, regarding the collective transformation at Sinai, as the entire people underwent conversion as a single unit, family relationships were maintained.  At no point was one individual separating himself from his surroundings, which is what strains family ties and ultimately leaves the convert isolated, as if he were “a newborn babe” (Reshimot Shiurei Maran Ha-Grid Ha-Levi, Yevamot, 510-511).

 

Based on our understanding of the dual nature of conversion, perhaps we can suggest yet another approach to this problem.  Let us ask ourselves:  On the brink of the Giving of the Torah, did anyone need to lecture those who stood at the foot of Har Sinai about Jewish suffering?  Did the “nation of survivors from the sword” (Yirmiyahu 31:1), who had emerged from generations of servitude and had narrowly avoided genocide, need to be told that “Jews in the present era are afflicted and crushed and subjugated and strained, and suffering comes upon them,” as the standard convert must hear (Rambam Hilkhot Issurei Bi’a 14:1)?  Or can we presume that their identification with berit Avot—more, their embodiment of it through their own personal journey from slavery to redemption—was sufficient?

 

In other words, the Jews at Sinai indeed entered a covenant, but perhaps only one. Their assumption of obligation towards the 613 mitzvot models the process for future seekers, but they cannot possibly exemplify the abandonment of a former identity and embrace of a new one, for they did nothing of the sort!  Whereas the individual convert breaks former ties and joins a new community, those who left Egypt showed up at Har Sinai celebrating their distinct identity as the progeny of Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov and the bearers of their forefathers’ legacy.

 

Moreover, argues R. Meir Dan Plotzki, their entrance into berit Sinai was not merely an addition to their underlying identity but was a direct outgrowth of it:

 

For the very giving of the Torah to the Jewish people was because they are linked to it, and because it belongs to them by dint of their being the progeny of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov.  Only one who wants to convert from another nation, who is separating himself from the nations of the world… and cleaving to God, may He be blessed, is “like a newborn babe.”  However, the Jews were the exact opposite!  For they were destined from the outset to receive the Torah… and for this purpose did they leave Egypt, in order to accept upon themselves the holy Torah.  With this was the original purpose of their creation achieved, for which they were primed since then, by dint of their being the progeny of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov, to whom God had promised to give them the holy Torah and to bequeath to them the Land of Israel.  If so, how is it conceivable to say that they were like newborn babes?!  (Keli Chemda, Vayigash 2:1)

 

At Har Sinai, the Jewish nation was privileged to enter berit Sinai precisely because it was party to berit Avot.  To suggest that the new covenant effectively dissolved the familial bonds that held the nation together and to its past paradoxically undermines the foundations of berit Sinai itself!

 

Translating this argument into more formal terms, we can suggest that the principle of “one who has converted is like a newborn babe” is not a function of his entrance into berit Sinai, but of his joining berit Avot.  It is not his obligation in mitzvot which affords him his new identity, distinct from his former one and removed from all those who were connected to it, but his participation in a new community.  At Sinai, however, where Jews stood proud of their heritage and lineage and where the proceedings built upon that very foundation, their original identities followed them into their new lives as observers of the law.  Moshe, the son of Amram, remained such even after the Giving of the Torah, and so Aharon and Miriam remained his brother and his sister, respectively, with all of the attendant ramifications.[2]  

 

 

Basic to the laws of conversion is the need for the three elements of circumcision, immersion and the offering of a sacrifice (in the time of the Temple), derived in Keritut 9a from the experience of our ancestors at Sinai.  Regarding their circumcision, the Rambam writes that it occurred “in Egypt… for they had all ignored the covenant of circumcision in Egypt, except for the tribe of Levi, and regarding this does it say, ‘And your covenant did they protect’ (Devarim 33:9)” (Hilkhot Issurei Bi’a 13:2).

 

It is not clear from the words of the Rambam whether this last observation is parenthetical or carries legal implications.  Indeed, the Ramban asks for clarification: “And if you ask, how did the tribe of Levi enter under the Divine canopy?” (Yevamot 46a)  If circumcision is such a critical step for conversion, what could the Levites, who had performed this rite long before, do?

 

The Ramban offers two possible answers to this problem.  The first is that each of the Levites had a drop of blood drawn from the site of circumcision (hatafat dam berit), which is the classic solution for any convert whose foreskin has previously been removed (see Rambam Hilkhot Mila 1:7).  The second, which the Ramban prefers, is that the Levites did not require any substitute for circumcision, for the act of ritual circumcision had already been fulfilled in them.  For a gentile with no connection to Jewish heritage, the removal of the foreskin is a meaningless act that does not avoid the need for the rite of circumcision at the time of conversion.  For the Levites, however, their circumcisions constituted halakhically endowed acts. Because of this, the Levites had the same status at Sinai as women, who required only immersion.

 

Tosafot, however, add something to the Ramban’s approach:

 

Even though those who were circumcised in the days of Avraham did not undergo circumcision during the Exodus, still, when they circumcised themselves to begin with, they circumcised in order to enter the covenant of God and to separate from the rest of the nations, and now they also immersed.  (Keritut 9a)

 

In contrast to the Ramban, who only negates the Levites’ current need for circumcision by equating them to women, Tosafot claim that their earlier circumcisions were themselves laden with covenantal meaning.  Their circumcisions were not performed as part of becoming responsible for mitzvot, but they were done, in the words of the Rosh, “in order to enter the covenant that God forged with Avraham” (Shita Mekuvetzet Keritut 9a #33). According to Tosafot, circumcisions that preceded the Exodus were a manifestation and fulfillment of berit Avot.  As such, they needed no repetition later, for the significance of the convert’s circumcision—“to separate from the rest of the nations” and “to enter the covenant that God forged with Avraham”—had already been achieved.

 

On one level, Tosafot distinguish between the Jews at the time of the Exodus and a gentile who wishes to convert at a later point.  The Jews of the Exodus already participated in berit Avot, thereby obviating the need for repeat circumcision for those who had already undergone one, while a gentile is entering both covenants at once and therefore requires a fresh act of circumcision in all circumstances.  On another level, though, R. Soloveitchik differentiates between the significance of circumcision and the significance of immersion for conversion more generally:

 

Circumcision, which was given to Abraham the Hebrew, the father of Jewish fate, and which was fulfilled in Egypt prior to the offering of the Paschal sacrifice—the symbol of redemption from Egypt—signifies the fateful otherness of the nation, its necessary isolation and uniqueness…. If the Covenant of Fate is not sealed in the flesh, then the singularity of peoplehood is absent and the gentile remains outside the bounds of the Covenant of Egypt.

 

Immersion in a mikveh, in contrast to circumcision, represents the integration of man into his great destiny and his entry into the Covenant of Sinai…. It is not coincidental that the act of accepting the yoke of commandments is tied to immersion…. If the convert is circumcised and does not immerse himself, then the association of man to destiny is missing, and the gentile is fenced off from the Covenant of Sinai and from a halakhic identification with a holy nation. (Kol Dodi Dofek, 74-75)

 

For the Rav, circumcision and immersion mediate the convert’s entrance into berit Avot and berit Sinai, respectively.  His approach amplifies Tosafot’s point that a Jew who had already been circumcised did not require any further circumcision rite prior to the Giving of the Torah.

 

 

Another core requirement for conversion is the presence of a beit din (rabbinic court), as mandated by Yevamot 46b:  “Rabbi Chiyya son of Abba said in the name of Rabbi Yochanan: ‘a convert requires three [judges]; ‘judgment’ (Bamidbar 15:16) is written by him.’”  In light of this, mori ve-rabbi R. Hershel Schachter poses a simple question:  Where was the beit din at Sinai?  How was the Sinaitic conversion valid without a beit din, and, conversely, how can halakha require something that the Sinai prototype does not model?

 

R. Schachter answers by suggesting that the role of the beit din in conversion is to represent, and even invite, the Divine Presence.  At Har Sinai, God forged a covenant with the Jewish people directly and without intermediaries:  “Face to face did God speak with you at the mountain” (Devarim 5:4).  Similarly, every conversion that follows is not a personal act of commitment, but an establishment of a covenant between two parties.  On one side stands the convert-to-be, and on the other stands the beit din, whom the Divine presence accompanies, for “God stands in the Divine assembly” (Tehillim 82:1; Ginnat Egoz 35:5). 

 

Mori ve-rabbi R. Aharon Lichtenstein, however, associates the judges and their “judgment” with a very different aspect of the conversion process:

 

Knesset Yisrael does not merely mediate between the ger and the Almighty.  She is a participant, and not just a broker; a concerned party, and not just an agent of God…. The ger is born both as a servant of God and as a citizen of the nation, and hence the appropriateness of a bet din to judge and accept him. (“Conversion: Birth and Judgment,” 194, 197)

 

Implied in R. Lichtenstein’s words is that the bet din does not primarily represent the Divine, but the Jewish people.  The convert asks to enter two different covenants, one spiritual and one national, and the primary role of the beit din (though not necessarily its exclusive one) is to oversee the latter.

 

Using this approach, we can easily see why the presence of a beit din was not necessary at Sinai.  Sinai was the paradigm for all future commitments to the covenant of mitzvot, but the social dimension of joining a nation was completely absent.  Admittedly, national purpose took on added layers through Sinai, but the core identity had already been formed through berit Avot.  As R. Lichtenstein himself writes of the Jews at Sinai, “There is neither a judging nor a judged congregation; rather, a people standing together on the threshold of emergence into the world, and entering, without mediator or midwife, the world of eternal life as the lot of God’s inheritance” (198).

 

 

To summarize, while future conversion must include all of the components of Sinai, the Revelation at Sinai does not necessarily overlap completely with the standard conversion process.  As the Jews of Sinai were already participants in berit Avot, some elements, such as the presence of a beit din or repeat circumcision for those who had already received one, were unnecessary at Sinai.  Similarly, some of the consequences of standard conversion, such as the dissolution of all previous familial ties, may have been absent.[3]

 

Notably, this analysis does not only contribute to our understanding of this one historical anomaly.  Through utilizing the various components of conversion to reflect upon the experience at Sinai, the Revelation at Sinai becomes a tool through which to reflexively sharpen our understanding of the conversion process in general.  Circumcision, the presence of a beit din and the principle that “one who has converted is like a newborn babe” all emerge as functions, at least in part, of berit Avot.  Even so, when a prospective gentile embraces the totality of Judaism in one fell swoop, the various elements of conversion—circumcision and immersion, beit din and acceptance of mitzvot and, in R. Lichtenstein’s terms, “birth and judgment”—may interweave.  Thus the conversion process ultimately resembles the outcome for which it yearns—a unified whole in which spirituality and national destiny merge.

 

 

[This shiur is adapted from Rav Goldberg’s VBM series Before Sinai: Jewish Values and Jewish Laws.]