Fun fact about me: I actually prefer the Old Testament to the New. I know what you’re about to say: “But it’s so horrid! There’s so many violent parts! There’s so many strange laws! It’s just so… ugh!” But do you know what? That’s exactly what I like about it. It’s not that I don’t find the Old Testament problematic in many instances. To be honest, even God’s actions in the Old Testament are deeply disturbing to me. For example, I always think of the last plague God inflicted upon Egypt. In case you don’t remember, that’s the one where God killed the first-born son of every Egyptian family. The Hebrews were spared only because they put a sacrificial lamb’s blood above their door, so God would know to “pass over” them. (Pity the poor souls who forgot!) For many Jews, this is of course something to celebrate, and it is commemorated with Passover every year. However, when I stop to think about the story—I mean really think about it—I am appalled. Quite truthfully, I think it’s f***ing horrible. It does not paint a very moral picture of God. And yet, that is precisely why I like it: it is provocative and challenging.

My impression of Judaism has always been that it is quite unwilling to shy away from these tough questions. If I’m honest, Christian answers to some of these same questions (since Christianity was, at first, a Jewish “heresy” or sect) often seem too self-assured, supported by a large apologetics industry, and this I believe is the result of the impetus to evangelise that simply does not have a Jewish parallel. On the contrary, the history of the Jewish people throughout their scriptures paints a picture of their own rocky relationship with the deity that chose them, never mind anyone else. Consequently, as I have read books such as Ecclesiastes and Job, I have found a profound existentialism in the Hebrew scriptures that I feel is often overlooked.

Ecclesiastes is a book I would like to discuss at greater length because not only do I believe it is the most profound book in the whole of the Bible but because it is also one of the less familiar ones to your average reader. Most people, of course, would know some of the stories from the Hebrew scriptures, but this niche category of wisdom goes somewhat unappreciated. This is perhaps because in order for Ecclesiastes to be understood, since it is more a philosophical work than a narrative, one must already be situated within the context of the Jewish faith, which was incredibly diverse in its early days. It is not catechetical: there is no simple moral to take away. Instead, Qohelet (the book’s author) asks some rather daunting questions about the value of toil (viz., labour), the justice of God, and the fleeting nature of things—even life itself. It’s even arguable that Qohelet doesn’t believe in an afterlife at all, and so you can (I would argue) understand the book as his searching for meaning in this life itself rather than one that comes after. In this respect, he anticipates many of the philosophers that would come after him, particularly Camus and his image of an ever-toiling Sisyphus. Thus, his central thesis is eminently concerned with value, of which he classifies all as hebel (frequently translated as “vanity” and sometimes “absurdity”, though it is perhaps best rendered as “vapour”).

So, in light of life’s “vaporous-ness”, what would Qohelet have us do? He says, “There is nothing better for mortals than to eat and drink, and find enjoyment in their toil.” (Eccl. 2:24) What I love about this response is how it is presented amidst the backdrop of everything else Qohelet has said. He doubtlessly raises a lot of challenging and thought-provoking questions, but this appears somewhat compartmentalised. En lieu of the typical existential crisis, Qohelet adheres to perhaps my favourite Humean maxim: “Be a philosopher; but, amidst all your philosophy, be still a man.” As we walk this earth, none of us are the finished article, but that does not prevent us from experiencing some of life’s riches. In fact, we see this theme in many of the stories from Genesis onwards. As I said, many people are startled by the inhumanity of some of these individuals, and yet this reveals the rather human side of them as well. This applies to God just as well, for he, too, is described with the full range of human emotions (and sometimes even anatomy!), thus blurring the conceptual line between Israel’s notion of divinity and humanity. As a last word, then, I would say that what I appreciate most in the Jewish religion is its confrontation with its own “messiness” which, though challenging, is immensely rewarding even for those of us who may be unbelievers. This, after all, is the tradition that posited that man was made in God’s image, and while this may be so, one might learn as much from considering that it was God who man made in his own image.