The Sinner and the Amnesiac: The Rabbinic Invention of Elisha ben Abuya and Eleazar ben Arach 9781503617599

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THE SINNER AND THE AMNESIAC

Nostalgia Jewishness is a lullaby for old men gumming soaked white bread. . , modernist Yiddish poet

CONTRAVERSIONS JEWS AND OTHER DIFFERENCES

daniel BOYARIN boyarin, AND DANIEL CHANA chana KRONFELD kronfeld,, EDITORS and

naomi seidman,

editors

The task of ‘‘The Science of Judaism’’ is to give Judaism a decent burial.  , founder of nineteenth-century philological Jewish Studies

THE SINNER AND THE AMNESIAC THE RABBINIC INVENTION OF ELISHA BEN ABUYA AND ELEAZAR BEN ARACH

ALON GOSHEN-GOTTSTEIN

Stanford University Press • Stanford, California 

Stanford University Press Stanford, California ©  by the Board of Trustees of the Leland Stanford Junior University Printed in the United States of America Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Goshen-Gottstein, Alon. The sinner and the amnesiac : the rabbinic invention of Elisha ben Abuya and Eleazar ben Arach / Alon Goshen-Gottstein. p. cm. — (Contraversions) Includes bibliographical references and index.  --- (cloth : alk. paper) . Elisha ben Avuyah, ca. –ca. . . Eleazar ben Arakh, st cent. . Tannaim—Biography. . Rabbinical literature— History and criticism. I. Title. II. Contraversions (Stanford, Calif.) ..   .''—dc [] - � This book is printed on acid-free, archival quality paper. Original printing  Last figure below indicates year of this printing:           Typeset by Tseng Information Systems, Inc.

‫לא טוב היות האדם לבדו )בראשית ב ‪,‬יח(‬ ‫בעו רבנן רחמי עליה ‪ ,‬והדר תלמודיה )שבת קמז ‪,‬ב(‬

ON FRIENDSHIP: A PERSONAL PROLOGUE

W  , even an academic one, does not happen in a vacuum. I wrote this book during a difficult period in my life and its personal meaning cannot be divorced from particular events. It was a period of tribulation and challenge, set on by the vicissitudes of academic life. The fruits of this period are above all the lessons I have come away with, perhaps the most important of which is the value of friendships and how crucial they are to my existence. I therefore wish to dedicate this book to all who stood by me during that period. Even though some years have passed since those times, and since this work was completed, the personal lessons and the gratitude for proven friendship still remain with me. One of the themes of the stories analyzed in this book is the interdependency of human lives: the two rabbinic heroes who are the focus of these stories needed help from their friends. The story of Elisha ben Abuya revolves around being ‘‘in’’ and being ‘‘out,’’ as these find various expressions. The key to his ultimate acceptance, and being ‘‘in,’’ lies in the help he receives from his associates—above all, from R. Meir. Similarly, R. Eleazar ben Arach is shown as a sage whose entire learning depends on his colleagues. The degree of need is expressed in the story of how R. Eleazar forgets the most basic Torah teaching and regains his lost knowledge only through the power of the prayer of his colleagues. Having faithful friends is fundamental to the vocation of the sage-scholar. The plain sense of Genesis :, which I use in the dedication of this work, may be expanded to include all who have taught me that, in spite of my vii

name, I am not alone, but it applies especially in its primary sense. Tamara is a rock of strength and support, and I recognize that, had I not had her support in myriad ways during this period, its outcome would have been very different. My family as well as communities and communions of shared spiritual vision gave me the strength to see a different future and to help a vision take shape. Both Isabelle and Thérèse helped me develop the outline of this future vision, drawing from within myself all that was required. My former colleagues at the Hartman Institute stood by me both morally and practically. I wish to single out in particular the ongoing care shown by David Hartman and the solid manifestations of friendship shown by Moshe Idel. Menahem Hirshman’s integrity and loyalty are like a beacon in the darkness. Professionally, he also provided me with the textual variations for Qohelet Rabba. As I write these lines, I realize the great wealth of support that I have been blessed with. Limitations of space prevent me from acknowledging all who have shown me their care and friendship during the past years. There are two people who continue to contribute to my work by accepting my absences: my sons, Elisha and Neriya. Their blessing is that of friendship, and beyond. l Life is not lived in isolation, nor is the writing of a book conducted in solitude. Numerous colleagues have contributed to the making of this book. Rabbi Yehoshua Hutner, director of the Institute for the Complete Israeli Talmud, greatly facilitated my work by making all manuscript recordings available to me. Steve Wald shared with me the fruits of his work on these manuscripts and helped me chart a course in their analysis. This manuscript benefited from several thorough readings by friends. Leib Moskovitz made numerous suggestions and provided me with important references. Günther Stemberger shared his critical acumen and breadth of knowledge; these find expression throughout the completed work. Several friends helped me to shape the project and give it clear focus. These include Michael Fishbane, Daniel Boyarin, and Elliot Wolfson. Shama Friedman, Richard Kalmin, and Hayim Shapiro made helpful suggestions to parts of the manuscript. Sara Friedman translated the Hebrew version of the study viii

PROLOGUE

on R. Eleazar ben Arach into English, and her translation is the basis of the chapter in the book. After I had submitted this work to press, Jeff Rubenstein and I discovered that we had been working independently on parallel projects and had reached some similar conclusions. I see our fundamental agreement as confirmation of the essential validity of my argument. More than anyone else, Zvi Volk, my editor, lived, breathed, and suffered with this manuscript for much longer than either of us had anticipated. His devotion is exemplary. I shall never forget the image of him reading final corrections while temporarily hospitalized. He turned a cumbersome and repetitive manuscript into the present work. I wish to express my gratitude to the staff of Stanford University Press, especially the series editor, Daniel Boyarin, who believed in this project from its inception and whose enthusiasm and faith helped it materialize, and Helen Tartar, who gave me what she acknowledges to be an editor’s greatest contribution: unfailing support. I also gratefully acknowledge the good work of Mary Severance, who saw the manuscript through publication, and Shirley Taylor, who as copy editor sorted out numerous stylistic inconsistencies and, throughout, supplied the apt phrasing. A. G-G.

PROLOGUE

ix

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION: THE QUEST FOR RABBINIC BIOGRAPHY: HISTORY, HERMENEUTICS, AND IDEOLOGY 1

PART I

•

ELISHA BEN ABUYA: A CRITICAL BIOGRAPHY

1 THE STUDY OF ELISHA BEN ABUYA: METHODOLOGICAL CONSIDERATIONS

21

2 ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN TANNAITIC LITERATURE

37

3 ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN POST-TANNAITIC SOURCES 4 BAVLI ḤAGIGA I: COMING INTO SIN 5 ELISHA AND RABBI MEIR

62

89

125

6 THE STORY OF YERUSHALMI II

163

7 BAVLI AND YERUSHALMI: IDEOLOGY, LITERARY FORMATION, AND HISTORICAL INFLUENCE

199

PART II • RABBI ELEAZAR BEN ARACH: A CRITICAL BIOGRAPHY

8 RABBI ELEAZAR BEN ARACH: SYMBOL AND REALITY

233

CONCLUSION: COLLECTIVE TORAH CULTURE AND INDIVIDUAL RABBINIC BIOGRAPHY 267 APPENDIX: BAVLI ḤAGIGA I: HEBREW TEXT AND VARIATIONS 277 

285

  403

xii

CONTENTS

389

THE SINNER AND THE AMNESIAC

INTRODUCTION: THE QUEST FOR RABBINIC BIOGRAPHY HISTORY, HERMENEUTICS, AND IDEOLOGY

T    literature is fraught with many difficulties that stem from the particular nature of the texts. Even lengthy literary compositions, such as midrashim or talmudim, are in fact collections of shorter literary units. The basic unit of analysis is usually a fragment that engages in the exposition of a biblical verse or a legal tradition. Editors integrate units into longer works that eventually become different works or books. The editorial process is thus crucial in the hermeneutics of rabbinic literature, the importance of which has been emphasized in the relevant research of the past several decades. Understanding rabbinical sources involves a synthesis of the original rabbinic dicta, on the one hand, and an editorial process that presents, organizes, and at times integrates the disparate sources into larger wholes, on the other. One of the methodological difficulties concerns the definition of the unit of examination and interpretation. Such definition requires reconstructing the original rabbinic dictum, independent of its editorial reworking.1 In addition, the sources must be interpreted in their entirety, taking into account the overall message and the way in which smaller units may form the building blocks for a longer work, compiled by an editor. This introduces a fundamental problem: how to determine the boundaries of any given rabbinic statement. What is the critical unit? Is the particular unit part of a larger whole, or can it stand on its own and thus be legitimately separated from its context? Both the definition of the literary boundaries of a rabbinic passage

1

and the task of interpreting such a passage are aspects of this fundamental, and at times complicated, question. A second, no less crucial question concerns the exegetical nature of rabbinic literature. Most of this literature takes the form of commentary. Rabbinic authors often make a given statement in relation to previous traditions, ranging from commentaries on the Bible, as in the various midrashim, or commentaries on previous rabbinic traditions, as in the talmudim. To be understood, their statements must be seen in light of these scriptural or rabbinic traditions: rabbinic sources cannot be interpreted if one ignores their hermeneutical dimension. Indeed, it is often this very dimension that accounts for the need to make a particular statement. In other words, reading rabbinic literature is a process of listening to, perhaps even joining in, a multilayered dialogue. Biblical roots, rabbinic interpretation, and editorial activity all interact in the formation of rabbinical texts. Beyond this, the collective nature of the rabbinic enterprise must be taken into account.2 Rabbinic literature records the names of hundreds of rabbis, some more prominent than others. The literature is not the work of one man, any more than it is the work of a small group of gifted individuals. It is the work of an entire class of people engaged in a common intellectual and cultural endeavor that spans several generations.3 A surprisingly large portion of this literature is anonymous, and that portion often reflects the activity of editors. However, the anonymous component of rabbinic literature, much of which is early and original rather than being a later editorial interpolation, betrays the collective nature of the overall enterprise.4 The attribution of a personal voice is less significant than hearing that voice as part of the chorus. Despite the ostensibly meticulous care taken to record the names of individual tradents, the history of text transmission includes creatively manipulating these traditions, as well as ascribing them to individual teachers.5 Whatever the historical, cultural, or editorial practices that led to this kind of imprecision, this creative manipulation reveals something fundamental about the nature of rabbinic writing: it expresses the creation and transmission of a tradition as a collective enterprise. To learn about the thoughts, beliefs, and religious outlook of the rabbis, we must take these basic features of the literature into account, regardless of whether our perspective is that of philosophy or the history of religion. Only after paying careful attention to the texts can we reach any meaningful conclusions regarding the philosophy or religion of the rabbis. 2

INTRODUCTION

Though such an approach may seem obvious, it differs radically from the methods of analysis applied to rabbinic scholarship in the nineteenth and most of the twentieth century. Until recently, the basic approach was historical. As a result, questions concerning the facts of life, including questions about religion and philosophy, were addressed to rabbinic texts. The texts thus served in some ways as a reservoir of potential answers to these questions, which were posed in an attempt to study the historical perspective of various facets of the rabbinic period. What characterized the greater portion of the readings of rabbinic literature was the positivistic acceptance of rabbinic reports: if a quote or activity was attributed to a particular rabbi, it was assumed to be reliable. The method of addressing various questions to the rabbinic texts and assimilating the information into new structures ignored some fundamental aspects of the literature. First, it ignored the context and the literature itself. It seldom treated the exegetical dimension as significant in the formation of rabbinic sources, and it paid little attention to statements in a broader literary context. Indeed, modern investigation of rabbinic sources generally continued in the footsteps of ancient editors, piecing disparate statements together into larger wholes. By taking rabbinic statements out of context and integrating them into new thematic contexts, modern research often functions as a latter-day editor of the texts. The new context is defined by historical or ideological concerns, and therefore runs the risk of imposing a different agenda on the rabbinic texts. My working assumption is that texts should not be treated as a reservoir of information in which we can find answers to historical or other concerns of a later culture. We should try to discover their internal concerns, to study their exegetical, contextual, and literary components and not just the historical dimension. In fact, the very category of history that informs so much of the examination of rabbinic sources may actually cause distortion.6 Though rabbinic scholarship had to do away with legendary accretions, it tended to recognize basic historical veracity in rabbinic sources. In the past decades this trust has been called into question: in approaching the rabbinic sources with such trust, are we perhaps projecting onto the rabbis some of our own cultural presuppositions? 7 History is a major consciousnessshaping factor in our culture. We question how accurately events are presented, and we seek to recover the smallest details of the past. The knowledge of past events has become a significant part of human knowledge. But in

THE QUEST FOR RABBINIC BIOGRAPHY

3

placing too much trust in the historical veracity of all accounts—specifically in the rabbinical accounts—we are overlooking the historical context itself.8 Rabbis might be providing information for reasons other than the satisfaction of historical curiosity. Uncovering why rabbis might tell stories is part of reading rabbinic material for its sake, as literature, and within the context of the rabbis’ own time. This is one dimension that might supplant what is commonly perceived to be the historical concerns of the text.9 To understand rabbinic writings, we must accept a great part of them as story rather than as history. We must detach ourselves from our modern historical concerns and look at the texts as literature. We must account for why stories are told, even if they are not historically accurate. One suggested answer is that stories are told for didactic reasons— that is, they express the rabbinic outlook and perception concerning man’s religious reality.10 Though this may be true for many stories, we should not assume that all rabbinic stories are pedagogically oriented or express a religious outlook.11 Other scholars suggest that some stories have only an ideological purpose.12 Story is, of course, a primary means of conveying ideology. In reading rabbinic stories, one may not know the truth of the facts as they are reported, but one may have some understanding of the world view and social outlook of the storytellers: ‘‘If they [the stories] are not factual for the history of the period of which they speak, then they surely testify to the social relationships and imaginative life—the history—of the period(s) to which they speak.’’ 13 The common denominator of these positions is that stories describe reality not as it was but as it should have been. They convey the religious ideals of the sages, which should be seen as paradigmatic rather than historical.14 They are idealized constructions of what rabbinic society ought to be.15 Having come this far, we may say that rabbinic stories are significant because they reveal traits of social culture and of mind.16 In reading them, we engage in a different kind of history. Jacob Neusner has suggested that the collective nature of rabbinic texts makes them more suitable to the concerns of social history, and of the history of mentalité, than to the concerns of common positivist historical writing.17 Rabbinic stories express collective concerns that reflect a collective mentality. They should be viewed on this level rather than on the contentual level. Beyond their ideological and religious dimensions, rabbinic stories have an interpretative dimension. Obviously, the primary text for interpretation 4

INTRODUCTION

is the Bible, but interpretation is also the background for tales of rabbinic heroes.18 Besides interpreting biblical texts, rabbinic stories fulfill the function of interpreting earlier rabbinic materials. In the cases to be examined, instead of the classical dichotomy of history and literature, I propose the dichotomy of history and hermeneutics.19 When the primary reference point is to a constitutive text, the historical concerns are replaced by hermeneutical concerns. Inasmuch as the interpreted text is an independent focus of attention, intellectual creativity might revolve around the text, rather than its historical basis. Therefore, the text could replace historical veracity as the primary reference point. From this perspective, it may often not be relevant either to the rabbinic interpretation of biblical texts or to the rabbinic reports of rabbinic lives to reflect on historical authenticity. Once the concerns of the text are viewed in terms of hermeneutics, their literary, and therefore historically artificial, nature becomes natural. An awareness of the hermeneutical dimension is significant in establishing the degree of historicity that can be presumed. In scholarly discussions, we tend to base our judgments of the reliability of rabbinic witness on the degree to which literary considerations affect the reading of the sources— that is, if the text has a strong literary element, we assume that this weakens the historical dimension. This is not always true, of course. Rabbinic texts can carry a historical witness that is couched in elaborate literary terms and structures. Though the details of literary embellishment may not be historically accurate, the embellishments do not necessarily preclude historical reliability. It is at this point that recognizing the hermeneutical elements of texts becomes significant. If we understand that a text had as its primary purpose the interpretation of earlier texts, we need not be so concerned about historical accuracy. The hermeneutical dimension of rabbinic activity explains why traditions, stories, and sayings developed. Its significance for rabbinic culture allows us to view it as a culturally generative force that is an alternative to history. By reconstructing the hermeneutical processes that led to the formation of a rabbinic passage, we can analyze not only its form and literary embellishment, but also trace its origins and formation. The hermeneutical dimension allows us to get past the dichotomy of history and literature and suggest the framework in which the texts should be appreciated. Rabbinic literature contains a variety of literary forms—stories, parables, proverbs, units of interpretation, numerical lists, and more. A search for historical information can blind us to the literary richness of a text. But

THE QUEST FOR RABBINIC BIOGRAPHY

5

this richness is a necessary part of understanding the text, and if we fail to take it into account, we run the risk of drawing incorrect conclusions. To appreciate a text in its context and in its entirety, we must consider not only its hermeneutical dimension but also its literary structure, genre, and logic. Any text contains within itself an echo of the historical moment in which it was composed and a historical message that might be relevant to that moment. But we can come close to uncovering the historical moment that underlies the text only by entering the text in its totality, as a literary and hermeneutical unit. Thus the literary study of the texts forms the foundation for any possible advances in the study of religion and its history. The methodological challenge that emerges from all these considerations touches on the ability to appreciate the multilayered nature of rabbinic texts. The purpose of this book is to find a balance between historical, literary, hermeneutical, religious, and ideological concerns. I do not believe it is possible to suggest one formula that will suit the entire corpus of rabbinic literature; different equilibriums will be found for different topics and subjects of research.20 This study intends to develop a methodological equilibrium appropriate for its subject matter: the lives of two particular rabbis. Since the quest for the life of a historical person is by definition historical, I did not want to deal with the rabbinic materials exclusively as literature or ideology, devoid of the historical aspects. However, the quest for these historical persons traverses a complex network of literary, hermeneutical, ideological, and philosophical considerations, and it is therefore admirably suited to analysis from a methodological point of view that appreciates the complexity of rabbinic texts, though its conclusions must remain specific to the examples or the type of subject matter under consideration. Multiple levels of analysis converge in the study of the lives of rabbinic heroes, and different readers will see this work in different ways. First and foremost, it offers a series of readings of particular texts. These readings stand independently of any theory or historical conclusion that they attempt to support. Nevertheless, I hope to draw specific historical conclusions about the lives of the rabbinic heroes discussed. Ultimately, I view the significance of the present exercise as an example of one type of equilibrium between the various methodological approaches to the reading of rabbinic sources. The discovery of the appropriate balance between these approaches also holds the key to their religious significance. The study of biography is im6

INTRODUCTION

portant in the study of a religious tradition. It is reasonable to expect that the life of a holy person is central in religious education because it has some universal meaning common to all religious traditions. This expectation is not met in the two men whom I discuss in the present study. The lives of certain rabbinic heroes do not serve the kind of pedagogical or exemplary function we might expect to find in a religious biography. In order to determine their religious significance, we must approach the texts by way of multiple disciplinary perspectives. The significance of the methodological equilibrium is apparent. Underlying the use of example and the telling of a life is a historical assumption concerning the truth of the story. But recognizing that reports of the lives of sages may not have a historically factual basis does not invalidate their religious significance. The texts may not tell us much about the actual lives of religious personalities, but they can tell us a great deal about the ideologies of the community that chose to capture the memory of the sages through the tales it told of them. This ideology may be expressed by setting up examples to be followed, regardless of the historical veracity of what the later tradition records or it may use the figures of certain rabbis in order to express ideological concerns by means other than the example or the historical tale. From the perspective of ongoing tradition, the accurate historical reporting of the lives of rabbinic heroes has far less importance than later rabbinic reports of those heroes.21 This book focuses on the lives of two rabbinic heroes and the tales told of them: R. Eleazar ben Arach and Elisha ben Abuya. Neither sage appears as a central figure in the rabbinic world. There are virtually no legal traditions attributed to them, and they made only marginal contributions to the formation of the oral Torah and to Jewish culture and history in general. Yet they have unique reputations. There are rabbinic reports that suggest that both figures are exceptional. Though little is known of him, R. Eleazar ben Arach is viewed as the ideal rabbinical scholar while Elisha ben Abuya is viewed as the rabbinic archvillain. Despite a supposed common engagement in mystical studies, their biographies are quite different. Curiously, however, though because of their relative obscurity we might expect the stories told of them to be reliable and untendentious, the opposite is true. My research suggests that the stories of the two rabbis are part of the fictional process of rabbinic literature. Perhaps, indeed, the obscurity of the two heroes left the imagination more open to construct their images. Perhaps their marginality allows

THE QUEST FOR RABBINIC BIOGRAPHY

7

us to investigate the ways in which rabbinic biography serves purposes that are not strictly historical or informative.22 The major portion of this study is devoted to Elisha ben Abuya. The positivistic historical credulity of previous scholarship and its attempt to discover the historical figure by means of a straightforward presentation of rabbinic statements may be most inaccurate in his case. Applying the criteria appropriate to the reading of rabbinic sources forces us to adopt a hermeneutic of suspicion concerning the reports of his activities. This is a case where careful reading of the text makes a difference to the historical construction of the world of the sages. In this case, the application of hermeneutics of suspicion might leave us bereft of the historical certitude that characterized our knowledge according to conventional models of interpretation; the more we are aware of the complexities accompanying the reading of rabbinic texts, the less certain is our knowledge of their historical accuracy. Yet if we lose something in terms of clear constructions of rabbinic history and life, we gain something in terms of our appreciation of rabbinic culture and its concerns. Rabbinic sources do not relate neutral events in a historically objective manner. They construct stories that are then integrated into larger ideologically motivated literary units in such a way as to impart particular ideological messages. The sources do not necessarily relate the historical facts about the heroes but they do illustrate the cultural concerns that find expression in the stories told about them. Central in the stories of both sages is the Torah and Torah study, an essential part of rabbinic Judaism. What this study suggests is the central place that Torah study occupies in all areas of religious life and writing. One cannot appreciate stories told of rabbis without being aware of the forms of Torah study and the struggle with the status of Torah study within rabbinic culture. When we become aware that the various aspects of Torah study are the primary concerns of the various texts being analyzed, new agendas emerge to be examined, and new questions come to our attention. If we are unable to reconstruct the historical facts of the period, our sources are important witnesses for the relevant ideological struggles. As a result, rather than asking when an event took place, we may question what drives, tensions, and forces shaped rabbinic culture. Certain types of texts are not so much the history of people and institutions as they are the history of ideas.23 8

INTRODUCTION

The analysis I offer may be viewed as an extension of more than a century of scholarship that attempted to determine the historical kernel underlying rabbinic legends. Like most historians, I take a critical approach to the text, not accepting its statements at face value but trying to arrive at a historical reality that is not transparent from the text. I also, however, attempt to go beyond the simple dichtomy of fact and legend that characterizes the historical scholarship of the past century and a half. This historical method leads to a partial acceptance of the text, while rejecting the legendary accretions to the historical facts as being insignificant. My reading of the texts assumes that nothing is discarded. My question is not what external historical facts the text records but rather, how does the text as a whole provide a witness to a historical or ideological process. The witness is not what is contained in the text but what emerges from it as a statement about a moment in a particular cultural history. It is obvious that when read this way, history might have to yield to a more phenomenological analysis of the literary data. As an example, the study of R. Eleazar ben Arach will suggest that most of the traditions relating to him were formulated as part of an ideology that favors one form of Torah study over another. These formulations have little to do with the sage’s life, which because of its symbolic value in the broader question of methods of Torah study is told in a progressively peculiar manner. But though the ideological basis of the texts lessens their reliability as history, it does not invalidate their historical witness for ancient Judaism. On the contrary, this analysis allows us to uncover an ideological struggle, which stems from a significant phenomenological variation within rabbinic culture. Such a distinction allows us to view the process of Torah study as a rich process that is subject to its own internal tensions, and it leads us to formulate important questions: In what ways can Torah study be classified? What types of activity constitute Torah study? Can we recognize tensions within the method of Torah study? What are the concepts of revelation and scripture that are attendant upon different methods of Torah study? What is the role of man within the structure of religion, and what is his role concerning the study of the Torah? 24 I do not purport to provide comprehensive answers to all these questions in the course of the present study. The point is that discovering the internal logic of the texts allows us to create a phenomenology that emerges from the texts and influences our understanding of history. Because the different models for Torah study are expressed in the concrete lives of people and give

THE QUEST FOR RABBINIC BIOGRAPHY

9

rise to power struggles, the criteria that emerge from uncovering the logic of these sources become useful tools in appreciating history. The present study addresses the question of the historical fact only after a full appreciation of the rabbinic stories. The guidelines set forth by Jan Vansina are very helpful in this context. Vansina treats any information source received from the past as a message: ‘‘Messages encompass written sources, iconographic sources, oral history, and oral tradition.’’ 25 Vansina explains: ‘‘All messages have some intent which has to do with the present, otherwise they would not be told in the present and the tradition would die out. So all messages have another aim besides their possible historical aim. What we then mean by historical intentional message is that the performer intends to use history as an argument, as proof, as legitimacy. His intention is historical when he wants to tell history, to teach, or to argue. When these intentions are absent, as for instance in much poetry or in telling tales, whatever information about the past occurs is accidental, unintentional.’’ 26 ‘‘Knowledge that we receive not as historically intentional message, but as a message that is conveyed unintentionally is all the more precious for being unintentional.’’ 27 No conscious distortion of truth is to be feared from such a message, hence we can use it more freely in our reconstruction of the past. The methodology that scrutinizes the conscious intent of the message before accepting its testimony will also be useful in this study. I have attempted to ask the question: Having recognized that a particular ideology shapes the stories about the two sages, in what way can our sources serve as historical testimony? As in Vansina’s work, it is the unintentional witness who is favored, as opposed to the explicit testimony that is ideological. Following this methodology leads to assigning different qualitative values to different rabbinic traditions. Accordingly, the quality of the report need not be solely a function of who presents it or the period it emerges from. The more independent the witness is from the recognized ideological concerns, the more reliable its testimony. Such a qualitative assessment of the sources seems to be a necessary result of appreciating the complexity of the formation and transmission of the rabbinic sources. Although the term biography is sometimes used in this study, I question whether the term is really appropriate to describe rabbinic literature. Generally, it can be said that biography is the history of one person; the kinds of concerns that lead to the writing of history also lead to the writing of a biography, which is a fairly complete and systematic description of the life 10

INTRODUCTION

of one person.28 Obviously, biographies are shaped by their writers in order to highlight particular features that they consider significant or noteworthy. But that is also precisely how history is written. What makes a biography more than a story is the sustained interest in the life of an individual as it is told systematically, chronologically, or thematically, the focus being on somebody who merits particular attention because there is something to be learned about his or her life. The significant unit in the writing of a biography is the life of its hero. Following this definition leads us to ask whether there are true rabbinic biographies. Because rabbis are religious figures, and perhaps even holy figures, the question may be different: are there any rabbinic hagiographies? This is another way of addressing the relationship between the genre of gospels and the stories told of rabbis. Gospels are a good example of spiritual biography.29 They concentrate on the life of one figure who is deemed worthy of exclusive attention and the life story is told in as full a manner as possible, attempting to provide all known information about him.30 Since their ideological convictions influence their choice of what they consider essential in the life of their hero and give unique shape to his life, the result is an independent literary work that describes the life of a religious hero. Scholars have noted the lack of gospels within rabbinic Judaism.31 In comparing gospels with stories told of rabbinic heroes, it must be remembered that there is no talmudic gospel of any rabbi—that is, during the talmudic period as opposed to later periods, there was no single rabbi whom the culture deemed worthy of exclusive attention.32 This is in sharp contrast to the gospel and it says a good deal not only about the nature of the respective literatures but also about the nature of their heroes. Why is a gospel, or a hagiography, written? Like any biography, the gospels tell the story of one special person who is understood to be unique and therefore merits a special story. Like any biography, what inspires the writing of hagiography is the degree to which the individual is recognized as exceptional and set apart from his contemporary cultural context. Biography, and in particular hagiography, is founded on a certain distance between the venerated person and context. This distance stems from two attitudes: The first is the recognition of the venerated subject as significantly different from those around him, possessing special powers or knowledge that set him apart from others. Beyond this is the recognition of the very individuality that makes him worthy of

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special attention. A precondition for the writing of biography, hagiography, or gospel is the ability to isolate a person from his environment. When the religious personality is not isolated, there can be no hagiography. Talmudic stories about rabbis lack both conditions necessary for the writing of a gospel; they are not always stories about saints. Indeed, many rabbinic stories portray the rabbis in the midst of power struggles and human temptations and make no attempt to uphold any image of saintliness. Other stories are based on teaching and morals. Though they may occasionally extol individual virtues, illustrate special powers, and even offer a saintly image of particular rabbis, the function of talmudic stories as a genre is not to present their protagonists as paragons of religious virtue. More important is the absence of the second attribute of hagiography. Rabbinic literature is a collective enterprise, which means that individual rabbis are assimilated into the larger collective, so that stories about individual rabbis must be assessed against this general background. The collective nature of the literature creates formidable obstacles when we try to assess the uniqueness of a particular rabbi’s teachings or reconstruct his life. Personality, virtue, understanding, power, and religious genius distinguish one rabbi from another, yet in the general context of rabbinic literature, how fundamentally different is a Hillel from a Rabbi Yoḥanan, or a Rabbi Akiva from a Rabbi Judah the Patriarch? In spite of their achievements, which may be formidable, even the most distinguished rabbi is not sufficiently set apart from the company of others to deserve exclusive attention. The difficulty in attempting to isolate the teachings of any one rabbi for the purpose of creating a spiritual portrait can be illustrated by reference to tractate Avot. Even though we can point to the religious genius of Rabbi Akiva in some of his formulations, or notice the thick concentration of statements attributed to Hillel, the reader is most impressed by the fact that so many different teachers from different generations seem to do the same thing.33 Common concerns indicate an ongoing discussion of a collective culture in which the individual voice is merged into the whole. Although the individual voice is never lost, we come to know it only in the context of a collective enterprise. This is the reason that the success of any study that focuses on the person or teaching of any individual rabbi will always be limited.34 Neusner and his students have concluded that the collective nature of rabbinic literature precludes the possibility of writing a rabbinic biography.35 12

INTRODUCTION

Perhaps we can overcome this limitation by focusing on a rabbinic figure who is outside the collective and whose teachings and tradition may therefore not be shaped in accordance with collective concerns. Elisha ben Abuya is such a candidate. He is the sage who is the ‘‘other.’’ He is beyond the pale of legitimacy. Writing his biography can thus be a test case for the relationship between the individual and the collective. R. Eleazar ben Arach may also serve as a test case, although in a different way: he left no halakhic legacy, his traditions are few, and what is known of him is sketchy at best. Since he is not at the forefront of significant power struggles, rabbinic literature could be expected to give a fairly accurate portrait of his character and deeds. In fact, both test cases turn out to be excellent examples of the guidelines presented above. As such, this endeavor may be a final attempt at the reconstruction of rabbinic biography. Writing a rabbinic biography entails difficulties beyond those already mentioned. They stem from the nature of the rabbinic sources and the sort of information contained in them. Rabbinic literature left no personal writings by rabbis in their own names, and certainly no autobiography or personal reflection.36 What is perhaps even more significant is the lack of raw material. It appears that the sources were not interested in preserving the relevant information concerning the details of the lives of most of the rabbinic heroes. Random anecdotal information is preserved, but even for some of the major figures of rabbinic Judaism, there is very little information about their real lives, and virtually nothing is known of their internal or subjective reality. There is no access to the kind of material that makes biographies interesting, because we know next to nothing about their feelings and struggles. The difficulties relate to the nature of transmission and development of traditions. In a tradition that constantly recasts its stories and shapes its traditions and memories, how do we re-create the life of a sage? 37 One solution is to concentrate on the development of tradition, rather than to try to get at the historical reality itself: ‘‘Although questions about rabbis as historical figures ought not to be ignored, the character of the evidence suggests that the basic problematic of rabbinic ‘biography’ is not the recovery of the life or mind of a given master, but the study of how and if his traditions change and develop across documents and through time.’’ 38 The suggestion that the study of rabbinic biography is the study of the evolution of tradition allows us to reflect on the role of interpretation in the formation and development of biographical stories. I suggest that biographical traditions develop not

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13

only as a result of historical memory or under the forces of current ideology but because tradition demands interpretation: because texts exist, they call for interpretation; because they are interpreted, a life story develops. Recognizing the mechanism of tradition not only explains why traditional material cannot serve in the making of a biography; it also illuminates our understanding of the fundamental impetus of interpretation that informs the sources. In the cases to be presented, the reason we cannot write a historical biography is closely linked to the nature of the material, which calls for interpretation within the tradition. In this sense, the study of rabbinic biography is the search for the rabbinic hermeneutical key that led to the formation and development of tradition. All this leads to the realization that the significant unit for presentation is not the life of the sage; it is the stories about sages. These stories are not formulated in an attempt to tell the life of the sage. They are told because the sage, as part of the collective culture, has some bearing on the common cultural concerns. Various anecdotes are coupled into a larger story cycle. The cycle may bear the stamp of the editor who compiled it, but the editor is concerned not with the life itself but with some culturally significant message that emerges from the stories. For the storytellers, the rabbi himself, not his life, is the significant unit, a means of developing larger ideas and ideologies. Stories about rabbis do not serve as raw material for a hagiography, much less a biography. The literary and ideological nature of rabbinic storytelling practices precludes the possibility of arriving at a historical person and therefore of reconstructing his biography. Having recognized the collective nature of rabbinic culture as a barrier to the telling of a life of a sage, we must still ponder the deeper implications this has for the religious understanding of the rabbis. Susan Ashbrook Harvey defines hagiography as a way of ‘‘celebrating the saint as one through whom God acted in the realm of human life.’’ 39 ‘‘Hagiography is about a theology of activity. The careers of the saints are one expression of this theology,’’ and the hagiographer’s method is to describe ‘‘persons blessed with the capacity to reveal holy presence in the workings of the world.’’ 40 In speaking of the life of a holy person in the context of early Christianity, much as in the case of the Gospels, the entire life of the person is taken into account. And since the holy man’s entire life is an expression of the presence of God, his everyday life justifies paying attention to its details and its message. In this sense, rabbinic literature does not produce a life of a holy man. 14

INTRODUCTION

Inasmuch as not all rabbis would be considered holy men, the heroes of the collective enterprise are not necessarily viewed as holy men. However, the ultimate issue is not that rabbinic culture did not recognize the existence of holy men.41 Rather, it did not recognize the life of the holy man as significant. What made a rabbinic hero holy was the way in which he embodied the common collective virtues that are intrinsic parts of the religious ideals of rabbinic Judaism: Torah study, religious observance, and moral excellence. Holiness was achieved through participation in the collective religious goals. Everyday life was not, in and of itself, the arena for the manifestation of special religious status, even if it provided the possibility for holiness. The theological language of the rabbis would not allow them to speak of God as revealing his presence in the life of a person. Moreover, even if this is not articulated, to write a hagiography is to write a book about God’s expression in a particular human life; therefore, beyond the absence of personal individuality within a collective culture, theological awareness would not permit the shifting of emphasis from man to God as the ultimate subject of a hagiography. Because holiness and religious virtue are attained by means of a common path, one cannot tell the tale of the single individual in whose life God finds unique expression. Because the arena of religious excellence is clearly demarcated, the entire life cannot take on a unique significance. It seems to me that not only did rabbinic culture not produce a biography or a hagiography, but, owing to its theological constitution, it could not produce one. That said, I suggest that we can nonetheless define a sense in which it is possible to speak of approaching the life of a rabbinic hero as a biography. Rabbinic literature never systematically told the life of any of its heroes, nor did it preserve the materials necessary for such a story, but it still contains materials that relate to various rabbinic figures. The attempt to treat these materials in a sustained and systematic manner might be viewed as the beginning of a biographical study. In the first instance, by combining the sources that deal with a particular historical person, it places a particular focus on this person, by viewing his life through a biographical lens. Moreover, a sustained review of the sources relating to any figure may amount to an attempt to get at the historical person, regardless of the dearth of information about his life. Recasting rabbinic materials in a context that highlights biographical issues and attempts to some extent to arrive at the historical person is thus, to a small degree, a way of casting a rabbinic biography.

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15

In order to do justice to the complexity and the nature of the rabbinic material, I suggest the term ‘‘critical biography,’’ rather than just ‘‘biography.’’ It would obviously be inappropriate to gather various stories and arrange them in a cohesive manner that covers a life from birth to death and allows particular struggles to emerge.42 We must try to account for the formation of all sources relating to the life of the hero under discussion, even if we cannot incorporate all sources into a running narrative. A critical biography designates a systematic account of all sources that are relevant to the sage’s life. We must ask why different tales emerge, and what accounts for the diversity within what is reported by tradition. The systematic examination of all relevant sources, including their literary, hermeneutical, and ideological dimensions, is what makes this a critical exercise. In most cases, as this study will make apparent, what we encounter is the image of the sage as it is worked out through the different layers of tradition and their various intellectual designs, including hermeneutical and ideological. This biographical study is critical in that it distinguishes between the life of the historical person and the constantly developing image of the person as refracted through this developing tradition.43 To a great extent, we cannot speak of the life of the historical person, only of the life that the community, or its storytellers, project on a particular figure. My study is biographical inasmuch as it relates to the lives of the sages and all that is known of them; it is critical because it attempts a systematic exposition of the sources and distinguishes the historical person from the projected personality. Only by appreciating the common cultural concerns that are projected onto the historical person can we begin to approach the historical reality of these writers. Though this may be far less than what is usually expected in a life or biography, perhaps we should not limit our perspective to an apology for the lack of proper biography in rabbinic literature. Recent discussions have highlighted how culturally conditioned the western notion of biography is.44 It is based on a cultural sense of individuality and individual ego, but other cultures—the Japanese, for example—reveal different balances between cultural ethos and individual life.45 Rabbinic culture allows us to consider the manner in which a collective cultural ethos shapes the narration of an individual life. That this tale may have little to do with historical reality and could not be considered a biography is a point to which a major portion of the present study is devoted. However, having granted this point, we may 16

INTRODUCTION

reflect on the relevance of the rabbinic stories to a broader theory of biography. What emerges from the rabbinic lives analyzed in this book raises the question of individual biography and collective ethos, a kind of ‘‘group biography.’’ 46 Thus, while I acknowledge that in the strictest sense we cannot speak of rabbinic biographies in a collective culture, the specific cultural situation in which these lives are told may challenge our notion of what it means to write about a life. If, as Leon Edel notes, writing about a life requires the imposition of structure and meaning on the facts told, then cultural and group values must influence the way in which the life of the individual is presented or constructed.47 Once we are willing to acknowledge that, rabbinic sources provide us with one model of the relationship between personal and group lives and values that allows us to reflect further upon the wider meaning of presenting a life. In approaching the relevant texts and stories, we must ask who the storytellers are and who their intended audiences are. We must locate the particular world view and ideals that find expression in the stories. This of course hinges on our understanding of the nature of rabbinic sources: if the stories are true narrations of historical events, they may express the complexity of the placement of the sages within society. The sages are part of a larger public culture, and their actions may express values that belong to the wider audience. Thus, to the extent that the stories reflect real historical situations, the values and tensions they express may come from a wide circle that extends well beyond the confines of the beit midrash, the rabbinic house of study. My understanding of the rabbinic sources is different: I see these stories as the creation of storytellers and editors working within the confines of the rabbinic world. This determines the set of values that finds expression in these stories and to a large extent also suggests the readership of the texts. I believe these texts to be the product of the schools and of the imagination and concerns of the rabbis.48 Thus, the issues, concerns, and values they project are those particular to the rabbis. Perhaps the strongest proof for this suggestion is the thematic uniformity found in the texts to be studied: the central theme, developed in diverse ways in the texts, is the Torah, including its study and status. This fact alone can serve as a reference point for the circle from which the texts originate. In the final analysis, the collective nature of rabbinic literature is itself an expression of the centrality of the Torah. It is not coincidence that much of the literature is anonymous. Rabbinic culture is engaged in creating the

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17

supreme cultural value, the Torah. The voice of the individual rabbi is important because it is the voice of the Torah. For the rabbis, it is the Torah that is the ultimate subject and author of their sayings. When they speak, they speak not from themselves but as representatives of the Torah. The individual sage is not merely assimilated into the larger collective, he is ultimately assimilated into the Torah, and this sacrifice or assimilation of self to the larger value of the Torah may very well be the meaning the sages find in the study of Torah, in a process of ongoing human creativity that expands the meaning of the Torah. Because it is the Torah that is the ultimate cultural hero, the lives of the individual rabbis are culturally significant only as shadows that are overpowered by its greatness. When storytellers create stories in which they use the rabbis as projections of the Torah, they are deeply loyal to rabbinic self-understanding. In such a culture, where the individual voice is subsumed by the greatest cultural value, it is legitimate for this value to be projected onto the life of the individual and to shape how he is to be remembered by the collective.

18

INTRODUCTION

1 THE STUDY OF ELISHA BEN ABUYA METHODOLOGICAL CONSIDERATIONS

T  is the collective work of many rabbis, only some of whom stand out as unique. Most of them bear no particular mark of distinction, and even the most illustrious rabbis are known to us only as they are embedded within rabbinic culture, which often colors them in accordance with the broader cultural concerns. For this reason it is often difficult to make out the individual features of particular rabbis, either by way of personality or by way of unique teaching or religious innovation. Within this constellation of rabbinical personalities, Elisha ben Abuya is unusual not only because of this sobriquet, Aḥer, but also because of the actions ascribed to him. Elisha ben Abuya has fascinated the Jewish psyche for generations. He is the only rabbinic figure who has come to be known as a sinner, an apostate, and a heretic. His life and deeds have been of interest both to those who have remained within the confines of traditional Jewish society and to those who see him as a forerunner of their own move away from tradition. Writers, thinkers, and scholars have focused on him for the past  years. The boundaries between critical scholarship, traditional rabbinic writing, and ideologically colored publicistics are not always distinguishable within the various writings of the period, and I shall not attempt to review the portrayals of Elisha found in the literature.1 Rather, I shall focus on the methodological presuppositions and hermeneutical strategies that have characterized past scholarship. Since my reconstruction of the sources describing

21

Elisha presents a radical departure from most descriptions of him, it is necessary to highlight the methodological assumptions that have governed previous research.

Elisha ben Abuya in Previous Scholarship: A Methodological Survey Several difficulties are implicit in any attempt to reconstruct the historical reality of Elisha ben Abuya. The first difficulty, or set of difficulties, has to do with the nature of the rabbinic material. The reports about Elisha are scattered in various sources, of different dates, but all in the amoraic period, that is, probably several hundred years after the period in which Elisha lived. None of the sources used conventionally for piecing together the life of Elisha is contemporary with the sage. The doubts that one might cast upon the reliability of rabbinic sources in general are therefore applicable here as well, and in view of the nature of the person under discussion, they should be even stronger. Because we are dealing with a unique and controversial figure, we must be aware of the likelihood that the long distance in time from the actual historical person had a great deal to do with negative portrayals. We must also face the question of the ascription to Elisha of a variety of offenses in different sources: different sources report different, often contradictory, actions. The investigation is further complicated by the numerous mentions of Elisha and supernatural phenomena, including heavenly voices and fires. Some methodology must be employed to allow us to come to terms with the legendary and miraculous elements of the text. To the modern researcher, some of the actions attributed to Elisha are simply unreasonable, even within the context of rabbinic thought. And along with the problem of credibility and the possibility of texts that seem to be historically inaccurate, we must also take into account the absence of any mention of Elisha outside rabbinic sources.2 All scholars who have written about Elisha have had to assume that some historical information is contained within the talmudic material. Certainly the implied trust in the talmudic literature as conveyor of historical information underlies all discussions about Elisha ben Abuya. But writing a history of his life is anything but straightforward. Methodological choices leave room for the individual choices resulting in a great diversity in the way Elisha 22

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

is portrayed in scholarly literature. In attempting to arrive at a portrait that is historically accurate, scholars have made dubious methodological choices that have become the basis for their portrayal of Elisha. Henry Fischel, a scholar who has attempted to assess the state of the knowledge of Elisha as a heretic, writes, ‘‘his heresy has remained an enigma. . . . Modern scholarship has offered a wide range of solutions, all more or less unsatisfactory.’’ 3 This statement of one aspect of the study of Elisha could apply to virtually all scholarship about this sage. All attempts to reconstruct the historical personality rely on the interpretation of the relevant rabbinical passages. Fischel’s view that the interpretations and resulting reconstructions are all ultimately unsatisfactory serves as an indication of the complexity of the task at hand. Abraham Krochmal’s Iyun Tefila, published in Lemburg (Lvov) in , is a good example of the difficulties the historical biographer faces.4 Odd as his presentation may seem to contemporary scholars, much of what Krochmal proposes is shared by many writers.5 He begins his discussion with a series of questions challenging the logic of rabbinic reports of Elisha ben Abuya. He questions various reports concerning Elisha as unreasonable and unlikely. Thus, one cannot reasonably assume that Elisha is a child killer, he says; it is simply unreasonable that such a deed would not produce a violent reaction within the community and go unpunished.6 He also doubts the report of Elisha’s heavenly ascent, calling it unlikely and fantastic. The miraculous element is, in Krochmal’s hands, a basis for undermining the authenticity of the historical report. He also objects to certain rabbinic reports. What is told of Elisha is inconsistent with positions taken elsewhere within the rabbinic corpus. If Elisha’s sin is his association with Greek culture, this is not consistent with rabbinic statements permitting contact with Greek culture. If having heard a heavenly voice bars him from repenting his sins, this is not consistent with other rabbinic sources extolling the virtue of repentance. Krochmal in this way, by posing a series of excellent questions, undermines the reliability of rabbinic reports and establishes the difficulty of accepting them at face value. There must be another method through which the historical composite of Elisha can be reconstructed. Having established doubt about the basis in fact of the rabbinical accounts, Krochmal concludes that they are simply false rumors.7 Scholars who have written about Elisha ben Abuya can be divided into

METHODOLOGICAL CONSIDERATIONS

23

two camps: those who attempt to make sense of what is available in all sources and those who accept some of the reports but reject others. The latter group, which forms the majority, must find a way to discredit the historical validity of a given talmudic tradition. Earlier scholars, before the range of choices expanded to include literary invention and hermeneutical analysis, sought a way to make sense of the material within its historical context. Krochmal suggested that the stories were rumors that accumulated around Elisha ben Abuya; but how to determine the sources of the rumors? At this point, sound methodological objections give way to wild speculations concerning the relations between R. Akiva and Elisha ben Abuya. These speculations are of no value to the critical historian but they underscore the methodological complexity of writing Elisha’s history. Since the material does not really yield itself to historical analysis, an alternative history is developed. A key feature in Krochmal’s analysis is his attempt to arrive at the historical reality by viewing rabbinical statements in a biographical context, particularly the statements of Elisha ben Abuya himself. Rather than relay particular views that are generally supported in rabbinic literature, these statements bear the mark of individual teachers and their life situations, particularly their power struggles and conflicts. Smolenskin, in , was the first to suggest reading the sayings of Elisha in a biographical context. The idea was then echoed by other writers in the nineteenth century, including Lilienblum, Brill, I. H. Weiss, and Krochmal, and in the first half of the twentieth century by B. Z. Bacher, and Finkelstein, who further develop this approach.8 In the history of scholarship, an increasing number of Elisha’s statements are viewed as expressing his life experience and as being anchored in the context of particular struggles he was engaged in, notably his struggle with R. Akiva, which becomes the hidden agenda of many of Elisha’s statements.9 Finkelstein adds the sociological dimension, thus further developing this method of reading the rabbinic sources.10 Not only Elisha’s statements are read in this manner but also the statements of rabbis associated with him. Bacher reads a particular statement of Ben Azzai as relating to Elisha.11 Various authors accepted the teachings R. Meir delivers to Elisha as being biographically relevant.12 This method is not limited to scholarship of previous generations. Two monographs about Elisha ben Abuya published within the last decade continue to tell of his tensions with R. Akiva.13 The biographical reading of Elisha’s statements is intended to help the 24

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

reader discover the historical reality, but several authors point out the striking discrepancy between what Elisha recommends and what tradition tells of his actions. In fact, his actions are often the exact opposite of what has been ascribed to him. Louis Finkelstein describes the grief Elisha’s colleagues must have felt when Elisha acted in a way contrary to his recommended teachings.14 This discrepancy may, of course, be mere coincidence, but it may also lead to adopting a different view of the formation of the relevant sources. All the scholars I have mentioned in this discussion assume that the sources are historical records. This means that even seemingly innocent rabbinic statements can be taken as windows through which historical and biographical data can be viewed. In order to support such a reading, one must assume that a high degree of individuality is the basis for any particular rabbinic statement: any statement to be analyzed must be unique, so as to reflect an individual’s particular life circumstance. As I have emphasized, however, rabbinic writing is a collective enterprise, and the statements of one rabbi are often very similar to those of another. The fact that teachings like Elisha’s are found adjacent to his own and are attributed to other rabbis shows that Elisha’s teachings address common cultural concerns and not necessarily his own circumstances.15 That being so, the researcher may glean very little of a biographical nature from sources that are part of a larger collective discourse. If the sources express general cultural or ideological concerns and are not autobiographical reflections, this casts a serious doubt upon one aspect of previous scholarship. Moreover, an important question emerges: What is the relationship between what Elisha said ought to be done and what he himself is reported to have done? Is the discrepancy between the two coincidental? I suggest a different relationship between Elisha’s sayings and stories told of him. If the sources are not historical reports and Elisha’s sayings are not couched in an autobiographical context, it is possible that stories may be told in light of previously articulated statements. His teachings are indeed charged autobiographically. This is not a feature of the original saying, however, but something that grew out of the storytelling by later generations, which did not necessarily attempt to be historical. Statements made by teachers were adopted and formed into a new literary context. In my analysis, I shall invert a methodological assumption common in scholarship: it is not that statements give us a glimpse of the real story; rather, the invented story

METHODOLOGICAL CONSIDERATIONS

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relies on a particular statement. Taken in this light, the talmudic sources can be seen as a form of literature rather than as history. Not all researchers have chosen the path of biographical hermeneutics to determine Elisha’s historical reality. Much of the scholarship has been devoted to placing Elisha within the historical context of his time. Much of the scholarship has assumed that Elisha abandoned rabbinic Judaism in favor of some other form of belief. References to Elisha as an apostate are so common that they are rarely examined.16 But if he is an apostate, one must ask: What alternative form of belief did he embrace, or, having left rabbinic Judaism, which religious group did he join? Perhaps the most common perception is that Elisha became a gnostic, as Grätz first suggested. Less common is the view of Elisha as a Christian; this view was expressed mainly in the nineteenth century but it continues to be echoed by some present-day writers.17 Some have related Elisha to Philonic philosophical speculations; others have suggested a connection to the Sadducees or even the Essenes.18 Possible contact has been suggested not only with every conceivable group within Judaism but also with various religious movements outside Judaism, including Epicurean philosophy.19 One has to marvel at how scholars have related virtually every imaginable ideological affiliation to Elisha, so many that the various suggestions cancel each other out. What is important in the present context is not the specific identification of Elisha with a particular group, but rather the appreciation of the need to identify Elisha as a member of a particular ideology, in order to reconstruct his historical reality. This reconstruction is so tenuous that no unequivocal answer emerges, and much room is left for the fantasies of the individual writer. That so many possibilities can be suggested stems from the nature of the rabbinic material. Elisha appears in different sources, and any attempt to identify him with a particular group nearly always entails the choice of a particular source or statement as a key witness. Thus, methodologically, to arrive at a particular identification of him one must choose a primary witness and explain why other witnesses are ignored. Krochmal simply dismissed some accounts as unreasonable, but there are more sophisticated analytical tools.20 In the present context, it does not seem necessary to point out which scholars relied on which texts in order to substantiate their claim. From the methodological perspective, the essential point is that the attempt to identify Elisha historically is nearly always related to some arbitrary choice of sources.21 26

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This selection obviously requires an explanation of why certain texts are disregarded. These explanations include rumors and hearsay, as in Krochmal’s case, popular imagination, and the work of the common mind of later generations; or malicious reports spread by ideological opponents.22 What is essential is that certain traditions are viewed as historically reliable while others are seen to be unreliable. It is clear that the writer’s sensibility is the ultimate arbiter of what is a historically reliable tradition and what is popular lore, devoid of historical value.23 In either case, the result is the basis for a sociological and historical identification of Elisha. There are a few instances of attempts to arrive at a unified theory for all rabbinic sources relating to Elisha ben Abuya, but these all-encompassing theories tend to stretch the material to suit their needs and often juxtapose conflicting statements in ways that do not always preserve the integrity of the original text.24 It is interesting that Grätz, one of the earliest treatments of the material, and Assaraf, one of the most recent, both attempt a total interpretation of the material on essentially historical grounds. However, as particularly obvious in the latter case, the synthetic reading creates complex historical reconstructions, which, while covering all sources, remain highly improbable.25 I should like to take issue with the methodological assumptions that are the basis for all these discussions and suggest another approach. The need to identify Elisha’s new persona stems from the historical assumption. But if we do not read the sources as history, there is no need for such identification: if we view the reports as literary creations, certain questions are no longer relevant and other questions can enter the discussion instead. In order to establish a historical reality underlying the rabbinic reports we have to rely on the testimony of some sources and disregard others. By taking a literary approach we are not obliged to dismiss some sources as hearsay, gossip, or plain maliciousness. The challenge, then, is to determine what literary or hermeneutical reasons led to the formation of these reports. If we concentrate on understanding how all the different texts were created, putting aside the question of historical reality, we can pursue the study of each text’s particular concerns and tendencies. Those who have sought to identify Elisha with a particular sociological or religious group are not the only ones who have had to make choices regarding historical accuracy. Most authors who write about Elisha ben Abuya search for the grain of historical truth in each tradition, and, if possible, a

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seminal fact common to the various traditions.26 It is interesting to note that the earliest scholarly description of Elisha, that of Adolph Jellinek (), is virtually identical both in method and in thesis to one of the most recent presentations. Jellinek chose to disregard the mystical testimonies concerning Elisha and to emphasize his Greek education, which he assumed from the heretical books Elisha is supposed to have read. Elisha’s doubts about the doctrine of theodicy were what led him to leave the religion of his forefathers. Thus, a historical construct is presented that attempts to cast the life of Elisha into a biographical framework; but it is obvious that this portrayal derives more from the author’s own world view than from a historical reality.27 There are choices to be made when adopting a particular way of presenting Elisha’s life: for instance, rabbinic statements about heretical books Elisha supposedly read are given more importance than ever intended, and certain legends, such as those pertaining to his youth, are seen as historically valid. Most important, it becomes necessary to disregard some aspects of the tradition, such as the mystically based interpretation of the cause of Elisha’s fall. Meir Ayali’s discussion of Elisha ben Abuya () seems to make exactly the same choices. Ayali is well aware of the literature and of the complexity of the discussion, but his thesis is very similar to Jellinek’s. His conscious articulation of the point that is common to all rabbinic traditions is that Elisha sinned, and his reconstruction of the circumstances that led him to sin is nearly identical to Jellinek’s. I offer the comparison merely to underline the continuity of certain implied methodological assumptions throughout the history of Elisha studies. If we accept Fischel’s judgment that no satisfactory solution has been found to the problem of Elisha, we might conceive this as a call to attempt a different methodology. I have mentioned the difficulty of accepting the preponderance of miraculous elements in the stories about Elisha ben Abuya. For the proponents of the historical approach, this is the biggest hurdle. The key witness to Elisha’s gnostic affiliation is a text that not only reports a heavenly ascent but also assumes the reality of a heavenly voice that makes declarations concerning Elisha. Writers who have relied on this text’s ascription of Elisha’s belief in two heavenly powers have often done so with several implied assumptions: the textual report regarding Elisha’s belief is reliable, but the supernatural elements can be discounted. On the whole, without saying so implicitly,

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many writers have simply disregarded the fuller composition of the text and have isolated a passage to support their position.28 The question of disregard for the sources thus touches not only on the choices made between different rabbinic texts but also on the different elements within a particular tradition. While many writers have based their claims on a particular aspect of the text and have ignored the legendary context, other authors struggle to make sense of the legendary element. Nineteenth-century scholarship is replete with rationalistic readings of the legendary material in the Elisha stories. One tendency is to transfer heavenly events to human agents: the heavenly voice that comes from behind the heavenly veil is transcribed as the voice that issues behind R. Akiva’s veil, or the voice of the sages.29 The heavenly voice itself is seen not in its heavenly context but as the collective voice of the sages, or of the people.30 Some explain the heavenly voice in terms of Elisha’s psychological reactions; for one contemporary author, Rowland, the heavenly voice is the voice of Elisha’s inner convictions.31 Others attempt to account for the heavenly voice by means of mantic techniques or by transferring the oracular element from the divine initiative to human action.32 What all explanations have in common is the attempt to take the heavenly voice out of the realm of the miraculous and relate it to the human. This is a prerequisite for historical writing. In similar fashion, what seem to be reports of proceedings in the heavenly court are viewed by various writers as the deliberations of sages or as human discussions.33 One writer even went so far as to suggest that Metatron, the great angelic figure, is in fact a human figure.34 No less interesting are some of the explanations offered for other miraculous elements in the story: the smoke that rises from Elisha ben Abuya’s grave is either volcanic smoke, an accidental conflagration caused by lightning, or the effect of plaster poured on his grave.35 There are other ways of accounting for the fantastic elements in these stories, but the essential point is that the supernatural element presents a problem in terms of historical interpretation. It seems to me that a proper reading of the sources cannot select the elements in the text it finds compelling for its theory and disregard the rest.36 Nor can it reduce the miraculous element to something else, thus ignoring the inner logic of the text. A text must be read in its entirety, so that its meanings may be appreciated in context.37 That the reports about Elisha are couched in the context of legends, replete with miracles and details that most

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readers will take as nonfactual, should in itself caution us not to treat the material as a historical report shrouded in folklore, but to recognize it as stories, legends, and commentaries and not necessarily as history or biography. Concern for the logic of the text, rather than for the record of a historical event captured in it, also dictates a particular approach to the variety of texts under discussion. As noted previously, scholars have adopted two different strategies for approaching the texts, neither of which followed a clear articulation of the underlying methodology. One strategy has been to select the report of a particular text and to ignore the testimony of the others, the selection being dependent on the particular scholar’s sensibilities rather than on any inherent textual logic. Another strategy has been to attempt a synthetic reconstruction of the image of Elisha based on the information found in different sources. As a consequence of the recognition that the texts should be read in their entirety and not for the historical information they contain, we must take a particular approach to the diversity of sources and reports concerning Elisha ben Abuya; each source ought to be viewed as a distinct report, exhibiting a particular logic and understanding. Rather than seek the historical facts about Elisha ben Abuya that are common to all versions, we should seek to understand the logic of each source and then ask what its logic is, how it came to be formed, and whether there is a particular message it wishes to convey. In past scholarship, this method has been best exemplified by Bin Gorion’s concise treatment of the figure of Elisha.38 Bin Gorion separated the sources and attempted to understand each one before attempting to deal with the historical Elisha ben Abuya. Not surprisingly, having followed this course of analysis, little was left for Bin Gorion to say about the historical Elisha. The sensitive approach he took to the individual texts forced him to recognize that Elisha functions as a symbol in rabbinic literature and serves as a projection of particular attributes that are assigned to him, and that the historical Elisha ben Abuya therefore remains an enigma.39 My analysis of the sage has much in common with Bin Gorion’s methodology and conclusions and it is to be taken as a continuation of the direction that Bin Gorion charted. My discussion will advance beyond Bin Gorion’s analysis in that it will address two dimensions that his research did not sufficiently account for. The first is the literary presentation of the different traditions. Because Bin Gorion’s primary interest was a search for historical information about 30

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Elisha ben Abuya, he extrapolated historical information from different sources. From the literary perspective, his analysis is less detailed than mine. Second, as in most of the discussions down to recent times, concern for the historical dimension of the texts has excluded the exegetical and hermeneutical dimensions and has paid small heed to the texts as instruments of interpretation.40 Whether it is the biblical or the rabbinic text that underlies a particular passage, the researcher must bear in mind that texts are not unbiased reports that were formulated with historical accuracy in mind but are instead illuminations of other texts that are in need of commentary; rabbinic culture is a culture of commentary. So we must attempt to understand how previous texts led to particular statements. Given the exegetical function of most of the texts relating to Elisha ben Abuya, we cannot rely on their historical witness. One further methodological approach can be discerned in the recent analysis of the figure of Elisha ben Abuya by Yehuda Liebes.41 Liebes, sensitive to the unique character of the different sources, chooses one passage to become the center of his analysis. This passage, the Bavli’s lengthy presentation of the story of Elisha, is the most integrated literary report of the story of Elisha and makes best sense in interpreting the Pardes passage. Although this version has a consistent logic and is structured as a complete literary unit, it does not give Liebes a key to the historical Elisha, but it does enable him to relate to the literary figure. For the purpose of his analysis, Liebes individually examines each of the versions that report Elisha’s activities. Nonetheless, his preference for the Bavli’s version seems to resort to categories of historical veracity rather than purely aesthetic or literary principles.42 Based on historical considerations, Liebes thus prefers one particular version as the best version, while at the same time acknowledging that its true value is limited to the depiction of the literary person of Elisha.43 I feel that in dealing with an individual’s literary image, all versions must be considered in order to determine their merits. Having established his preference for the Bavli’s version, Liebes provides in-depth analysis that introduces an element not found in previous scholarship: psychological analysis of Elisha’s character.44 By moving from the historical to the literary, Liebes opens up the figure of Elisha to a new form of investigation.45 My analysis agrees with Liebes concerning the need to concentrate on the literary rather than the historical persona. In principle, it is possible that rabbinic storytellers shaped their heroes with great psychologi-

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cal complexity, allowing this to influence the story, but in our case this is not the most helpful way to read the sources. Many of Liebes’s psychological insights do not seem convincing. Still, the exegetical and hermeneutical functions of many of the passages need to be examined, and I believe an analysis that combines literary and interpretive elements can adequately account for virtually all the traditions concerning Elisha ben Abuya. Even though I have chosen a different path from the one taken by Liebes, his contribution to the methodological history of the study is noteworthy. One final aspect relating to modern studies of Elisha ben Abuya concerns his sobriquet, Aḥer, the other. Several of the recent studies have appeared in the context of discussion of identity and otherness, or with strong awareness of Elisha’s being an ‘‘other.’’ 46 These discussions focus on what made Elisha different and what a society considers to be the limits of its selfdefinition. This sort of examination may be useful from the perspective of cultural studies, but it does not help to clarify the historical Elisha.47 The sources that tell his story did not necessarily set out to account for his epithet, Aḥer; if traditions were invented to account for this name, the result would be a clear delineation of whom society sees as its other. But if Elisha’s sobriquet and the legends were created independently, we cannot use the sources to gain an understanding of who is the ‘‘other.’’ A synthetic reading of the talmudic material pertaining to Elisha has a certain interest. However, in the context of understanding the historical Elisha as an ‘‘other,’’ we ought to limit our study to those sources that make a conscious attempt at understanding the concept ‘‘Aḥer.’’ The methodologically significant point is that before utilizing the testimony of one source in response to a particular question, one should determine whether that source addresses that question. In fact, very few sources that relate to Elisha ben Abuya are relevant to his sobriquet, Aḥer. The study of the historical Elisha has been far from objective. Assaraf noted that the portrayal of Elisha was colored by ideological tensions that characterized the nineteenth century.48 The result is that much of what has been written about Elisha attempts to rehabilitate him, to justify his actions, or in some other way portray him from a less negative point of view. This is not a nineteenth-century phenomenon but dates back to the talmud itself.49 Various post-talmudic authors try to mitigate the severity of transgression associated with Elisha. In the Sefer Yuḥasin, for example, the author suggests that Elisha continued to teach his students Torah even after falling on 32

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evil ways.50 On classical rabbinic grounds, Brill also attempts to prove that the transgressions associated with Elisha are not so severe because they do not involve public transgressions of the Sabbath; others have suggested that Elisha’s transgressions only pertained to matters that are derabanan (instituted by power of rabbinic, rather than biblical, legislation).51 A more historical attempt to justify Elisha is found in some of the writers already mentioned. Beginning with Smolenskin, those authors discuss the tensions between Elisha and R. Akiva in an attempt to improve Elisha’s image. By casting doubt on the historical reliability of the sources, they enable Elisha to emerge as a positive figure. In effect, this reconstruction of history serves to rehabilitate him. Some of his biographers, including Back, who cast Elisha in terms similar to the modern German Jew, end up changing his image in the process. Their historical reconstruction exhibits such empathy for the cultural and ideological circumstances leading to Elisha’s break with tradition that the reader has no choice but to sympathize with him.52 His struggles are seen as a reflection of the trials and tribulations of some modern Jews: to understand Elisha is to forgive him. The proponents of the method that seeks to separate the historical truth from legends are inevitably engaged in the project of exonerating Elisha, and the result is that there is virtually no account in modern literature that actually condemns him.53 After eliminating the misrepresentations, all attempts at understanding what led to whatever is conceded historically function as justifications of his actions. The same holds true for contemporary attempts to tell Elisha’s story. Beginning with the historical reconstruction of his life, one is soon involved in the process of justifying him. A clear example of this may be Assaraf ’s work, which is the most recent. By presenting Elisha as a member of an ancient form of Judaism who cannot go along with the changes instituted by the Pharisees, Assaraf offers both an explanation of and a justification for Elisha: he is not a revolutionary but a conservative who holds on to traditional ideals and beliefs. He is not really all that bad, even if as a result of his frustrated traditionalism he becomes a gnostic. Once more, Assaraf sympathizes with Elisha rather than condemning him.54 What follows constitutes another form of justification. It does not grow from any ideological program that casts Elisha as a hero, nor is its sole purpose the justification of Elisha; and it does not grow out of any historical reconstruction. Rather, it is an inevitable outcome of the application of the

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hermeneutics of suspicion to the sources that describe Elisha. Most of the Elisha apologetics took the form of reconstructing history, in a way that amounted to rehabilitating and justifying him. I shall arrive at a similar conclusion by casting doubt on the negative description of Elisha and by accepting the unwitting testimony of certain sources that do not describe him negatively. As a result, a different image of Elisha will emerge.

The Quest for the Historical Elisha ben Abuya: Preliminary Methodological Guidelines In order to adopt a totally uncritical attitude toward the rabbinic reports of Elisha ben Abuya, one would have to believe in the historically factual basis of all rabbinic accounts. The list of vices ascribed to Elisha, both in the rabbinic sources and in the works that claim to base themselves upon these sources, includes: murder, desecration of the Sabbath and Yom Kippur, sexual license, collaboration with Roman authorities in causing Jews to turn against their own religion, practice of magic against Torah students, belief in some form of gnostic dualism, and ultimately, heresy. Although the list is formidable, it is unlikely that Elisha really was guilty of everything that is ascribed to him; moreover, the image of Elisha that emerges from the various sources is filled with contradictions. For example, the source that describes Elisha as causing others to violate the Sabbath has a different tone from the source that represents him as protecting R. Meir from accidentally violating the Sabbath. The source that says he silences or removes students away from Torah study portrays a different Elisha from the Elisha in the dialogues who expresses his dismay at the forgetting of certain Torah traditions. His image as a rebel in some of the sources is very different from his image as one who inadvertently errs and has to pay the consequences. It is clear that, rather than taking the sources at face value, a methodology must be developed to assess the historical reliability of the wide range of reports. The current task is twofold. First, it attempts a qualitative analysis of the sources based upon their degree of reliability. This requires establishing a hierarchy of the rabbinic sources as relevant testimonies on Elisha’s life. In addition, in order to judge whether the sources are historically unreliable, there must be a plausible explanation for how they were formed. Rabbinic reports cannot be dismissed as hearsay, as they were by Krochmal 34

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more than a century ago. The formation of the various reports of Elisha’s activities must be accounted for in a manner that is consistent with the literary and hermeneutical canons of rabbinic literature. There are no extrarabbinic sources that refer to Elisha ben Abuya, which means that this analysis must be based solely on internal rabbinic evidence.55 There are several principles that can serve the creation of a hierarchy to determine historical reliability. . Contemporaneity. It is obvious that contemporary sources offer the best portrait of the historical person. But because all rabbinic literature has undergone editing, it is highly unlikely that one can find a contemporary, or near-contemporary, reference to a Yavnean sage. Nonetheless, I suggest that in the case of Elisha ben Abuya there may be a voice that reflects a contemporary image of the sage. If so, this source will be of supreme value to this study. . Stratification of rabbinic literature. Talmudic and midrashic literature covers a period of hundreds of years. Some of the sources that speak of Elisha ben Abuya may be dated as much as  years after he lived. But even if a contemporary record is not available, the literature should be viewed through its historical strata. It seems obvious that tannaitic sources are more reliable than amoraic sources when trying to learn about the life of a tannaitic sage. That this obvious rule of thumb has not been applied in previous Elisha studies is due to the dearth of tannaitic sources about him. More specifically, whereas the tannaitic sources record only Elisha’s sayings but tell no stories about him, amoraic sources record none of his sayings and only tell tales of his wicked behavior. Previous scholarship, which tended to gather the information where it was available, turned to the amoraic sources as the only ones in which Elisha’s story is told.56 My qualitative analysis will address the state of our knowledge as it emerges from tannaitic sources. The division between teachings and stories of tannaitic and amoraic sources will be judged to be historically significant. . Internal rabbinic hermeneutics. Because rabbinic culture is one of interpretation, constantly interpreting earlier statements and drawing new understandings, the hermeneutical element has to be considered when examining the life of a rabbinical hero. In the case of Elisha, it will become evident that most of what is told of him fulfills a hermeneutical rather than a historical function—that is, stories are told in order to make sense of earlier

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sources, not because historical memory comes to expression in the tales told by rabbis. This process of internal rabbinic hermeneutics is of major importance in understanding how the image of Elisha was shaped in the eyes of later generations. The hermeneutical dimension allows us both to understand how his image developed and to neutralize the historical value of the testimony expressed in hermeneutically informed sources. . Ideological concerns. The rabbis and the storytellers, as part of rabbinic culture, convey a distinct ideological message that characterizes the world view of their particular social group. Religious and literary creativity is motivated not by the concern for the preservation of past memory but by a community’s contemporary religious and ideological needs. Examination of any rabbinic document must go beyond the face-value testimony or report and ask what ideological tendency the report expresses and to what extent it has been shaped by the desire to convey a specific ideological message. The degree of presence of ideological concern in a text is opposite to its degree of historical reliability: if it can be shown that a text is ideologically based, it is fair to suspect that the details of the text may have been shaped in order to accommodate an ideological need. In contrast, if a text seems to have no particular ideological agenda, and seems to be what might be termed an unconscious observer, it is likely that it contains greater historical reliability. Therefore, we must examine witnesses in terms of their ideological tendencies and select those that are not ideologically tinted in their use and reference to the life of a rabbinic hero. These four criteria will be applied to the rabbinic reports of Elisha ben Abuya. Not surprisingly, there is an inverse relationship between the first two and the last two criteria. The earlier tannaitic sources seem to be free of ideological and hermeneutical concerns, and the image of Elisha that emerges from them seems to be very different from the image that emerges from the amoraic sources, which are heavily ideological and hermeneutical.

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2 ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN TANNAITIC LITERATURE

A   of Elisha ben Abuya have been preserved in tannaitic literature, several of his sayings have been preserved in Avot and Avot de Rabbi Natan. Furthermore, I should like to suggest that there is a Yavnean tradition that refers to Elisha ben Abuya and that can be dated to his time rather than to later tannaitic redactors. This tradition is significant for several reasons. First, it meets the criterion of contemporaneity, which, given the nature of the transmission and redaction of rabbinic literature, is usually very difficult. It enables researchers to come close to the historical subject and to get the best vantage point of the hero. Second, this tradition served as the basis for the formation of the classic Pardes passage. The ability to locate it chronologically produces another view of the formation of later rabbinic traditions and provides a critique of their historical significance. To the extent that Elisha’s tarnished reputation is a product of the Pardes passage, the ability to hear the earlier voice that is the basis of the Pardes passage, and to recognize that its testimony may be of a different nature, makes it possible to retrieve the historical memory of Elisha from the workings of rabbinic literary and hermeneutical creativity.

Elisha ben Abuya: A Yavnean Testimony The tradition referred to appears, with slight variations, in the two versions of Avot de Rabbi Natan. Version A includes the following account: 37

Of four sages: If one sees Rabbi Yoḥanan b. Nuri in his dream, let him look forward to fear of sin; if Rabbi Eleazar b. Azariah, let him look forward to greatness and riches; if Rabbi Yishmael, let him look forward to wisdom; if Rabbi Akiva, let him fear calamity. Of three disciples: If one sees Ben Azzai in his dream, let him look forward to saintliness; if Ben Zoma, let him look forward to wisdom; if Elisha b. Abuya, let him fear calamity. Of three prophetic books: If one sees the Book of Kings in his dream, let him look forward to greatness and riches; if Isaiah, let him look forward to consolation; if Jeremiah, let him fear calamity.1 A similar tradition appears in Version B of Avot de Rabbi Natan: Concerning three sages: If one sees R. Eleazar b. Azariah in his dreams, let him look forward to wisdom; if R. Akiva, let him look forward to fear of sin; if R. Yishmael, let him fear calamity. Concerning three disciples: If one sees Ben Azzai in his dream, let him look forward to wisdom; if Ben Zoma, let him look forward to fear of sin; if R. Elisha b. Abuya, let him look forward to calamity.2 The criterion for dating this tradition seems to emerge from its subject matter. The tradition attributes meaning to the seeing of specific rabbis in a dream. The subject matter of this tradition gives two reasons for seeing this tradition as contemporary with the sages it mentions. First, people see familiar figures in a dream. To dream of a total of seven rabbis, all of whom are of the same generation, assumes the tradition to be contemporary with the people mentioned. It may be safely assumed that the images of these rabbis are known to the dreamers, and this familiarity leads to dreaming about them.3 Second, the very fact that no rabbi of a later generation is mentioned is further proof of the dating of this tradition. There are many worthy examples of wisdom, fear of sin, or greatness and wealth from later generations of rabbinic, or even tannaitic, times.4 That the list stops at a particular point indicates when it was composed. What can be learned about Elisha ben Abuya from these lists? The sight of Elisha is associated with ‘‘calamity.’’ For later generations who view him as an archsinner, this calamity is usually taken to mean sinful behavior.5 However, because, apart from Elisha’s sayings this is the oldest reference to the 38

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sage in the literature, its meaning must be considered in context. The passage contains several other references to ‘‘calamity.’’ R. Akiva and R. Yishmael both conjure the same association, in different versions of the Avot de Rabbi Natan text. The likely interpretation is to their martyr’s death.6 A strict reading in context suggests that Elisha also died a martyr’s death. In context, there is no reason to distinguish the application of the term from one case to another. At the very least, some grave calamity must have happened to him, such as in the Book of Jeremiah. Thus, the earliest and only contemporary report about Elisha ben Abuya suggests an unhappy end, probably owing to historical circumstances. That the text does not refer to Elisha derogatorily is corroborated by a further fact concerning Avot de Rabbi Natan. Not one of Elisha’s teachings is to be found in amoraic literature; other than in Avot, a collection of his sayings appears only in Avot de Rabbi Natan.7 This absence may, I think, be accounted for by his reputation: once the image of Elisha the villain had spread, tradition censored his mention.8 The preservation of his teachings in Avot de Rabbi Natan may indicate that during the period when Elisha’s teachings were compiled, the editors were unaware of any taint attached to his name.9 The inclusion of his sayings in Avot de Rabbi Natan thus corroborates the understanding of the meaning of ‘‘calamity’’ associated with the image of him in a dream. From this earliest level, nothing can be learned of his sins. Rather, he is compared with the greatest of rabbinic figures, R. Akiva and R. Yishmael.

Elisha ben Abuya: The Witness of Avot The next degree of chronological proximity to the historical Elisha ben Abuya is to be found in tannaitic sources. While not necessarily contemporary to Elisha’s life, the edited tannaitic works emerge from the same time period, and it is possible that the memory of the historical Elisha ben Abuya is transmitted faithfully through them. As stated previously, tannaitic sources do not contain any reports of the life of Elisha. They only offer his sayings. Upon close examination, the sayings can function as a witness to Elisha’s life: even though they cannot provide any positive biographical information, they are of importance in correcting the later images of him as a great sinner. In light of later tradition that censored Elisha’s teaching, his

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mention in tannaitic sources might be taken as indication that at that time, his reputation was unblemished. The point can be made forcefully with the primary tannaitic mention of Elisha, in Mishna Avot :: Elisha ben Abuya said: ‘‘He who studies Torah as a child, to what can he be compared? To ink written on fresh paper. And he who studies Torah as an old man, to what can he be compared? To ink written on paper that has been erased.’’ Initially, this seems to be merely a statement about Torah study, recorded in the name of Elisha ben Abuya but having no biographical value.10 If it is assumed that Elisha ben Abuya was a scholar who went astray, one would most likely accept this statement as a record of his teaching prior to his falling away.11 To my mind, it can be seen as evidence that as late as the time of the composition of this chapter, and its inclusion in the Mishna by Rabbi Judah the Patriarch, Elisha ben Abuya was not thought of as one who had left the fold.12 Reading this mishna as a record of Elisha’s teaching before going astray has to make an implicit assumption about the nature of the tractate as a whole and the meaning of citing a teaching in the name of a particular authority within Avot: in order to uphold both the view of Elisha’s wickedness and his inclusion in Avot, it must be assumed that Avot functions as a kind of catalogue of rabbinic statements by various authorities, because those teachings are deemed to be of some interest or value. A different understanding of the function of Avot, and the significance of being included in it, would alter the meaning we attach to this source as a witness to the person and actions of Elisha ben Abuya. I suggest that the purpose of this chapter in Avot is not only to record particular sayings; it also has another function. In the context of Avot, the mention of a rabbi by name is a sign of honor and a way of commemorating this sage.13 Had anything unsavory been known about Elisha ben Abuya, he would not have been mentioned in this context, and so the mention of him is proof that he is viewed as a legitimate member of rabbinic society. This is an important source, dating from two generations after Elisha ben Abuya, and it portrays him as a legitimate rabbinic authority. The sources that portray him in a negative light would have to be later, or at least parallel developments, that would necessitate explanation. The witness of Avot is significant not only because it is relatively early. It is 40

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significant because of the type of testimony it offers. The source in Avot does not attempt to make any particular statement about Elisha ben Abuya. It is not concerned with the way he is portrayed, nor does it attempt to account for his behavior or life in any manner. In this respect it is a disinterested witness. Precisely for this reason, it is more reliable. Paradoxically, the source that does not offer testimony to the sage may offer us a more reliable testimony than sources that purport to tell us of his deeds. Thus, both historically and qualitatively, the spare, silent witness of Avot is enormously valuable. In order to evaluate this claim, the function of the fourth chapter of Avot must be considered, beginning with the mishna immediately preceding Elisha’s statement. There is a tradition in the name of Shmuel HaKatan, in Avot :, that reads: Shmuel the Younger said, ‘‘Rejoice not when thine enemy falleth, and let not thine heart be glad when he stumbleth, lest the Eternal see it and it displease Him, and he turn away his wrath from him [to thee].’’ (Prov. :–). Shmuel HaKatan may be providing a very important moral teaching, but this teaching is not original; the source is Proverbs . Why is this verse attributed to him? The possibility that whoever attributed this statement to him was unaware of its biblical origins is out of the question. Perhaps the sage quoted this verse so often that it became in some way identified with him.14 Yet the question remains why Rabbi Yehuda chose to incorporate this statement in the Mishna, as though it taught something novel.15 This suggests that inclusion in this context is significant not only for the teaching it provides but also for the very mention of the sage’s name; in other words, this is a way of honoring a sage. The fact that Elisha ben Abuya is mentioned directly after Shmuel HaKatan must be assessed in this light. The collection of sayings in Avot is commonly understood to be the moral or aggadic teachings of sages whose halakhic rulings are preserved in the Mishna. However, closer examination reveals that not all cases are consistent with such an understanding. One is struck by the number of sages who are mentioned in Avot but are not mentioned anywhere else in the Mishna. In chapter  alone, nine sages are mentioned who appear nowhere else in the Mishna.16 These include Levitas of Yavneh (:), Ishmael son of Yohanan ben Baroka (:), Ishmael son of Yose (:), Yonatan (:), Yannai (:),

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN TANNAITIC LITERATURE

41

Yaakov (:–), Shmuel HaKatan (:), Elisha ben Abuya (:), and Elazar HaKappar (:).17 Of the total of twenty-five sages mentioned in this chapter, some of whom were mentioned in other contexts in Avot, nine sages is significantly high.18 Other chapters in the tractate also contain instances of sages known from the Mishna only from their sole saying in Avot: in the third chapter there are two to four additional instances, depending on the criteria applied; in the second chapter, there is one occurrence.19 Yet by far the greatest concentration seems to be in this chapter of Avot, which is the final chapter in which statements are attributed to individuals; the fifth chapter is essentially anonymous. This may account for the high concentration of otherwise unknown rabbis, at least within the mishnaic corpus. The understanding that the teachings that are recorded in Avot have been preserved for their intrinsic merit also bears consideration. If teachings were recorded because of the significance of the message delivered by the particular rabbinic authority, a novel teaching, or a new perspective in each statement in the tractate, should be expected. However, an examination of Avot reveals that, from the thematic point of view, there is a substantial amount of repetition. Many of the rabbis are doing essentially the same thing: relating to similar concerns and capturing different angles of a limited number of themes, most particularly, the theme of Torah study. Though each teacher has his individual nuance, the variety of statements reflects the collective nature of the rabbinic enterprise. The rabbis as a collective are working out the meaning of their central religious concerns. The result is that inclusion in tractate Avot fulfills not only the function of recording particular statements but also an honorific function, as witnessed by the high number of mishnaic authorities who are not mentioned elsewhere but whose words are recorded in this context. The main reason for including them in this context is that they belong to the collective enterprise. Each named authority engages in common concerns, and his memory is retained as part of the ongoing communal venture. Elisha ben Abuya’s name in this context is therefore very significant. The mention of him is not to preserve a precious teaching that might otherwise be lost to all generations but to preserve the memory of the sage himself.20 Had Elisha been known as a great sinner at the time of the composition of this chapter, it is highly unlikely that his name would have been included. That he is mentioned serves as an early and significant countertestimony to the later reports of his sinful activities. 42

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

Elisha ben Abuya: Additional Tannaitic Traditions The statements attributed to Elisha ben Abuya in Avot and Avot de Rabbi Natan are aggadic in nature. In other sources there is only one halakhic tradition related to him. It is recorded in Bavli Mo’ed Qatan a: There was the case of the father of R. Zadok who had died at Ginzak, and he was not informed for three years. He [thereupon] came and asked of Elisha b. Abuya and the elders that were with him and they told him to observe seven [days] and thirty. This is a perfectly normal reference to Elisha as a member of the rabbinic guild, who participated in its discussions. However, one might object by suggesting that it reflects a period prior to his having sinned. In this instance, the considerations that applied to the fourth chapter of Avot do not apply. Nonetheless, this tradition does not convey the air of an event that pertains to a sage who later went astray. Far from hinting at any problem associated with Elisha, it presents him as an authority figure, surrounded by venerable sages. Had the charge associated with him been extremely negative, some disclaimer within the tradition could be expected in order to indicate that the incident occurred before Elisha sinned. That the flavor of the passage is one of complete normality might indicate that, in this tradition, Elisha ben Abuya’s reputation is pure. In the talmudic discussion, this tradition is brought as a baraita because the Talmud sees it as a tannaitic source. The earlier tannaitic materials seem to be unaware of any sin being associated with the memory of Elisha ben Abuya; this example joins with the other tannaitic instances presented, in which the figure of Elisha ben Abuya appears to be completely normal, and there is no strain resulting from the reports of his sinful behavior.21 Mo’ed Qatan presents the only halakhic tradition associated with Elisha ben Abuya. This may explain why the later and negative images developed: if he had been a central figure in halakhic discussion, that could have served as a check against the circulation and development of stories associated with his name. I do not think that Elisha traditions were repressed from the halakhic discussion; had that been the case, the tradition in Mo’ed Qatan would have also been repressed.22 The naturalness with which it is brought shows no signs of uneasiness with the figure; rather, like Shmuel HaKatan, who is

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN TANNAITIC LITERATURE

43

mentioned right before him, and several other sages who are mentioned in Avot, including Eleazar ben Arach, there are no halakhic traditions related in his name. It seems that his legacy did not include much halakha, or that his teachings, for any of several historical reasons, were never recorded or transmitted. l There is one more Elisha tradition to be considered in this context. It is conceivable that the tradition is tannaitic,23 though in including it in the present context I do not necessarily assume so. It is sufficient to note that this tradition, too, seems to present a favorable view of Elisha. Even if the source is not taken to be tannaitic, it is possible that it is based on an earlier tradition that precedes the development of the image of the wicked Elisha. This source implies that descriptions of Elisha that did not highlight his negative behavior continued to circulate even as the image of him as a sinning scholar developed. The relevant passage is a brief statement appended to Ruth Rabba’s presentation of Elisha, according to the Oxford  manuscript.24 Ruth Rabba is a parallel version of what will be referred to below as Yerushalmi II. Its discussion runs parallel to the Yerushalmi’s, and its witness is limited to changes in detail, which indicate developments in the traditions concerning Elisha ben Abuya. There is one statement that is brought in Ruth Rabba, however, that has no parallel in any other rabbinic text. This occurs at the end of Ruth Rabba’s presentation, after the discussion found in the Yerushalmi has been brought in its entirety. This tradition is not found in any of the existing parallels, namely, the Yerushalmi and Qohelet Rabba. Its occurrence at the end of the presentation indicates that it is a later addition to the Elisha story, shared by Ruth Rabba and its parallels. It can therefore be seen as an independent source. This would account for the different note sounded in this brief passage: They said of Elisha ben Abuya, that the Temple court was never against the face of any man in Israel [so eminent] in wisdom and powerful in the Torah. And when he would speak and teach in lishkat hagazit or in the beit midrash in Tiberias, all the comrades would rise to their feet, and listen to his words. Then they would all come and kiss him

44

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upon his head. If in Tiberias this was so, all the more so in other cities and states. This tradition is obviously anachronistic. It locates Elisha ben Abuya in Jerusalem, at the time of the Temple, and in Tiberias. If this tradition were trusted, Elisha would be the oldest surviving rabbi in rabbinic history. Locating him in Jerusalem at the time of the Temple as well as in Tiberias in his own time indicates an influence of Yerushalmi II. As will be seen below, the Yerushalmi anchors Elisha’s sinful activities during the time of the Temple. It tells of the day of his circumcision in the presence of the great men of Jerusalem, and reports a heavenly voice applying to him that issues forth from the Holy of Holies. At the same time, it reports his teaching activities in and around Tiberias. The tradition in Ruth Rabba seems to be dependent on these anachronistic descriptions of Elisha. Both placing it at the end of Ruth Rabba’s presentation and the analysis of its geographical presentation of Elisha indicate that in its present form it is a late tradition.25 However, this should not prevent us noting the unique features of this tradition, particularly that it does not indicate a sage who has gone astray. Elisha ben Abuya is a great sage whose greatness spans generations and stands out in great centers of learning. He is viewed as a perfect sage, in fact as the perfect sage. The expression ‫העזרה ננעלת‬, the Temple court was never shut against the face of any man in Israel, is a way of expressing his greatness in absolute terms. Even when the entire House of Israel is gathered together, such as at Passover for the sacrifice of the Paschal offering, there is no one greater. The passage records Elisha’s superiority in two ways: first by reference to ‫העזרה ננעלת‬, indicating that there is no one greater to be found in his presence, second by reference to the reception of his teaching, which receives general approval, expressed by unanimous kissing motions. What is the point of this tradition? One might reasonably argue that it portrays Elisha before he sinned. This sage who was so great unfortunately went astray. It does not mention his sin because it follows a discussion that offered ample explanation for the sins of Elisha ben Abuya. Such a reading is possible, but it is not compelling. If, indeed, the purpose of this tradition was to contrast his greatness with his ensuing fall, this should have been stated. Even if the passage does not account for what went wrong, the contrast between his earlier and later days should be expressed in this tradition. Noth-

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN TANNAITIC LITERATURE

45

ing in this passage indicates that anything went wrong with Elisha. Moreover, it is modeled after a mishna in tractate Eduyot, concerning Akavya ben Mahalalel, a sage who is said to have been placed under a ban. The following tradition appears in Eduyot :: Akavya ben Mahalalel testified to four matters. They said to him, ‘‘Akavya, retract these four views that thou hast stated and we will make thee Head of the Court in Israel.’’ He replied to them, ‘‘It is better for me to be dubbed a fool for all my days than to be made a wicked man before the Omnipresent even for one hour, so that people should not say, ‘He abandoned his convictions for the sake of office.’ ’’ They excommunicated him and he died while he was under the ban, and the court placed a stone upon his coffin. R. Yehuda said, ‘‘Heaven forbid [that it should be said] that Akavya was excommunicated!—for the Temple Court was never against the face of any man in Israel [so eminent] in wisdom and in the fear of sin as was Akavya ben Mahalalel. But whom did they excommunicate? It was Elazar ben Enoch, because he disputed [the rabbinic regulations] concerning the cleanness of the hands; and when he died the court sent and laid a stone upon his coffin.’’ In this mishna, two opinions are expressed concerning Akavya’s historical fate. The first is that he was a great sage, who was placed under a ban for dissenting. The second opinion is expressed by Rabbi Yehuda, who said that Akavya was never placed under a ban. He testifies to Akavya’s greatness, because of which it would be unthinkable to ban him, by saying, ‘‘The Temple Court was never against the face of any man in Israel [so eminent] in wisdom and in the fear of sin as was Akavya ben Mahalalel.’’ This means that Akavya was obviously not banned. The addition to Ruth Rabba employs the formula found in Eduyot :, which raises the question of how much of the usage of Mishna Eduyot is carried over into this source. Is it merely the phrase that is borrowed, or is this phrase used here because of a basic similarity in situations? The majority opinion holds the sage to be in the wrong, so he is exonerated by the one making the particular statement. If so, perhaps it should not be assumed that this tradition intends to describe Elisha ben Abuya prior to his sinning. By not referring to sinful behavior, it is to be construed in a manner analogous to R. Yehuda’s treatment of Akavya. Thus, 46

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

Elisha is portrayed as a great rabbi, and this source is either not cognizant of the possibility that he went astray, or perhaps denies such a possibility. The meaning of this text to our discussion obviously depends on how the text is dated. If it is considered to be tannaitic,26 then its testimony joins that of other tannaitic sources that seem unaware of any evil attached to the sage. If we consider the text to be a later text, especially in light of its being appended to a longer discussion that acknowledges Elisha’s sinful behavior, what can be learned from it is more limited. The text seems to testify to the possibility that even at a late point in tradition history, there may have existed differing outlooks about the historical person of Elisha ben Abuya. An indirect witness to the complexity of the historical problem at hand, and to the uncertainty of the negative reports of Elisha, is to be found in the fact that even in later times there may be favorable reports of him.

Elisha ben Abuya and the Entry into Pardes There is one tannaitic tradition that, depending on how it is interpreted, may cast Elisha ben Abuya in a negative light. This is the classic passage describing four who entered an orchard. Both in tradition history and in the scholarly history, this passage has been interpreted in a manner that is unfavorable to Elisha. The following departs from common conventions of the reading of this passage. In my understanding, nothing of a historical nature can be learned from this passage, nor does it provide any indication of the historical Elisha ben Abuya. However, the understanding within tradition history that this passage reported historical facts has led to the formation and development of the image of Elisha the sinner. I claim that Elisha’s later negative image is a direct result of this passage. The interpretation of this passage is thus crucial to any reconstruction of the historical Elisha ben Abuya and of his image as it develops throughout the generations.27 Four entered an orchard (‫)לפרדס‬.28 One gazed and perished, one gazed and was smitten, one gazed and cut the shoots (‫)הציץ וקיצץ בנטיעות‬, one went up whole and came down whole. Ben Azzai gazed and perished. Concerning him Scripture says, ‘‘Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints’’ (Ps. :). Ben Zoma gazed and was smitten. Concerning him Scripture says, ‘‘If you have found honey, eat only

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN TANNAITIC LITERATURE

47

enough for you [lest you be sated with it and vomit it]’’ (Prov. :). Elisha gazed and cut the shoots. Concerning him Scripture says, ‘‘Do not let your mouth bring your flesh into sin etc.’’ (Qoh. :). R. Akiva went up whole and came down whole. Concerning him Scripture says, ‘‘Draw me after you, let us make haste [The king has brought me into his chambers]’’ (Song of Sol. :).29 This passage clearly suggests that something went awry with Elisha ben Abuya. The proof text introduces the element of sin. It is easy enough to be drawn into an understanding of this passage as a report of sinful activity, even if some of the details of the text are perplexing, but unless an understanding of the entire text can be offered, no conclusions can be drawn about its parts. This passage is, indeed, one of the most enigmatic and contested passages in rabbinic literature, and any conclusions must take into account the genre to which it belongs. In this case, in order to learn about Elisha ben Abuya, it must be assumed that the passage constitutes a record of a particular event, for otherwise it has no testimonial value. Four Entered Pardes: The Problem of Genre In the history of scholarship of the past several decades, two major approaches have been taken with regard to the problem of genre. One approach, spearheaded by Gershom Scholem although not initiated by him, sees in this story a testimony of a mystical experience.30 The various terms employed, and in particular the term pardes, are seen as expressive of a heavenly ascent into paradise, and thus as a testimony of a mystical experience.31 The other approach, which deliberately seeks to tone down the mystical and ecstatic element of the Pardes story, sees it as a parable.32 If it is a parable, it cannot be a record or testimony of a mystical event, though, even if it is a parable, the question of the subject remains open. Ephraim E. Urbach, who first took this line of interpretation, suggested that the story is a parable, not a mystical record; however, it refers to ma’aseh merkava (‘‘the work or story of the divine chariot,’’ mentioned in the first chapter of Ezekiel) and thus retains esoteric significance.33 Others have been more extreme in their attempt to remove the Pardes passage from the pale of mysticism. Following Urbach, several alternative readings were offered, some of which move both the story and its references out of the realm of Jewish esotericism. Peter Schäfer in48

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

terprets the story of the four as an allegory of four types of Torah scholars.34 David Halperin’s detailed analysis of the various merkava traditions takes a similar approach, maintaining that the original meaning of the story of the four who entered Pardes is independent of its context and therefore need not express any particularly mystical content.35 Other scholars have sided with one of the two aforementioned schools of thought.36 There is a third possibility for the definition of genre. Neither of the two possibilities suits the Pardes passage as it is found in the Tosefta. In the Tosefta, the Pardes passage forms part of a larger unit, which Halperin calls the ‘‘mystical collection.’’ 37 Within the ‘‘mystical collection’’ there are particular markers that indicate the specific genre employed by the text. Thus, the first and sixth units introduce their material with the term ma’aseh, a story, indicating that it is to be understood in narrative and therefore ostensibly historical terms. The fifth unit contains two passages that are introduced by the term mashal, indicating a parable. However, the Pardes passage has no term introducing it, which is significant because it is unlikely that it would be omitted in this case if the other stories about sages are introduced with ma’aseh. If the passage is understood as a historical story, the likely opening would have read ‫( מעשה בבן עזאי ובבן זומא ובאלישע וברבי עקיבא שנכנסו לפרדס‬A story about Ben Azzai and Ben Zoma and Elisha and R. Akiva, who entered the pardes), as we find in other instances in which stories are told concerning several sages.38 The particular opening formula in this case is not consistent with the common opening formula of stories told of a group of rabbis. The fifth unit tells a parable of an orchard. The lack of the introductory parable formula in the Pardes passage suggests that this is not just a simple parable; moreover, if the Pardes episode is a parable, we lack a clear demarcation between it and its moral. These technical considerations lead us to think of a third possibility in defining the genre of the Pardes passage. In his support of Urbach, Halperin introduces a passage that enables consideration of another category of genre at work in the Pardes episode.39 Halperin attempts to support Urbach’s analysis by comparing the structure of the passage to that of aggadic enumerations found in the Mekhilta. He points to the following: You may say: ‘‘There are three sons. One sought the honor of the father and the honor of the son. One sought the honor of the father and not the honor of the son. One sought the honor of the son and not the

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN TANNAITIC LITERATURE

49

honor of the father. Yirmiyahu sought the honor of the father and the honor of the son; as it is said: ‘We have sinned and rebelled, Thou hast not forgiven’ (Lam. :). Therefore he received a double portion of prophecy, as it is said: ‘And much else was added’ (Jer. :). Elijah sought the honor of the father and not the honor of the son; as it is said: ‘I have been very jealous for the Lord, the God of Hosts, etc.’ ( Kings :). What is said there . . . I do not desire your prophecy. Yonah sought the honor of the son and not the honor of the father; as it is said: ‘And Yonah arose to flee, etc.’ (Jon. :), what is said there: (Jon. :) . . . ‘a second time he spoke with him,’ but not a third.’’ 40 Because of the use of the metaphorical language of sonship and fatherhood, Halperin sees this passage as a metaphor, and he finds in it a structure similar to the metaphorical structure that Urbach suggested for the third unit of the ‘‘mystical collection.’’ A closer examination of this passage indicates that it belongs to a different literary genre, one that helps explain the Pardes passage. This sort of enumeration list serves as a kind of typology by means of which different types are distinguished: the emphasis is not so much on the metaphor of father and son as it is on the different types of attitudes that can be taken toward the father (God) and the son (Israel). Its main point is the typology of different prophetic attitudes, or the typology of the prophet placed between God and Israel.41 It opens with a theoretical statement of the different types; at this point, the typology is pure and the individual cases that conform to this typology are not mentioned. Each type is designated impersonally by the word: ‫‘‘( אחד‬one’’). It then goes on to name the individuals who correspond to this typology, introduces a proof text concerning each one, and then tells their fate. It is through this recompense that the midrash engages in evaluation. Clearly, Yirmiahu is the favored prophet, with Yonah following as a dubious second. The structural similarity between this passage and the Pardes passage is obvious: it, too, opens with a general statement concerning four possibilities, then it names those who were formerly identified as ‫אחד‬, and provides suitable proof for each that describes the outcome of his behavior.42 This corresponding structural frame allows examination of the Pardes passage as a typology. Scriptural verses are applied to all four heroes of this episode; these verses are the author’s evaluation, however, not a historical description, and they express

50

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a particular ideology and conform to a given literary type, which in this case is a typological list. Unlike the typology of prophets, the Pardes story refers to four heroes, not three. This directs the attention to rabbinic enumerations employing the number four. Another passage in the Mekhilta is relevant in this context: There are four types of sons: the wise, the wicked, the simpleton, and the one who does not know enough to ask. The wise, what does he say? ‘‘What mean the testimonies and the statutes and the ordinances which the Lord our God hath commanded you?’’ (Deut. :). You explain to him, in turn, the laws of the Passover, and tell him that the company is not to disband immediately after partaking of the paschal lamb. . . . The wicked one, what does he say? ‘‘What mean ye by this service?’’ (Exod. :). Because he excluded himself from the group and denied that which is essential, do thou also exclude him from the group, and say unto him: ‘‘It is because of that which the Lord did for me’’ (Exod. :)—for me, but not for you. Had you been there, you would not have been redeemed. The simpleton, what does he say? ‘‘What is this?’’ And thou shalt say unto him: ‘‘By strength of hand the Lord brought us out from Egypt, from the house of bondage.’’ As for him who does not know enough to ask, you should begin and explain to him. For it is said: ‘‘And thou shalt tell thy son on that day’’ (Exod. :).43 This typology of four sons serves a hermeneutic purpose: to reconcile contradictory or superfluous biblical passages. The hermeneutic dimension is thus central to this passage and perhaps to the genre as a whole.44 Each son elicits a different reaction, which is supported by a particular verse; thus the reaction to each son fulfills the same role that the different consequences of prophetic behavior had in the previous passage. So far, the similarity with the Pardes structure is obvious.45 However, the typology of sons is of particular importance for an understanding of the formation of the Pardes episode. In this list of four sons, as opposed to the list of three prophets, there is a pattern of qualitative differences between them: the sons are characterized as wise, on the one extreme, and wicked, on the other, with two intermediate positions that are harder to define.46 Other rabbinic listings of four types

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN TANNAITIC LITERATURE

51

reflect a similar division. The lists of four things found in Mishna Avot , for example, though slightly different in terminology, reflect a similar essential distinction between the two extremes of good and evil and the two intermediate positions. There are four types of characters among disciples: Quick to comprehend and quick to forget: his gain disappears in his loss. Slow to comprehend and slow to forget: his loss disappears in his gain. Quick to comprehend and slow to forget: a wise man. Slow to comprehend and quick to forget: this is an evil portion. Other types of characters are the four types of temperament, four types of characters in almsgiving, and the four types of characters in attendance at the beit midrash.47 In all these cases the typology describes two extreme and two intermediate positions, which vary according to the situation. Although this typology, unlike the passages from the Mekhilta, does not serve a hermeneutic function, neither the hermeneutic dimension’s appearance in the midrash nor its absence in the Mishna is surprising. The typologies vary from case to case, but one can recognize a consistent pattern of extreme and intermediate positions in these lists. The positions are less essential than the extremes. The clear-cut distinctions allow a reconsideration of some of the dimensions of the genre, particularly with regard to the Pardes passage, where the key number is also four. These four are divided into two extremes, which are represented by R. Akiva, on the one hand, and Elisha b. Abuya, on the other. R. Akiva represents a wise or righteous man; Elisha represents a wicked man. The middle positions are occupied by Ben Azzai and Ben Zoma, who receive equivocal evaluations. A clear example of this is found in the death of Ben Azzai. If he really dies, there seems to be something amiss, yet the proof text refers to his death as the death of a pious man. The different versions of the Pardes story reveal changes in tradition history that reverse the fates of Ben Azzai and Ben Zoma, but this is not cause for concern.48 From the perspective of this typological list, what is important is not the precision concerning the historical fate of either Ben Azzai or Ben Zoma as much as the interim place they jointly occupy in the list.49 From another perspective, there seems to be a hierarchy in the presentation of the sages. Their fates are presented from the most extreme consequence: the death of Ben Azzai, the insanity

52

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of Ben Zoma,50 the effects of Elisha b. Abuya, who himself was not harmed, and the positive outcome of R. Akiva, who came out in peace and left his environment intact. From the perspective of their respective outcomes, Ben Azzai is the furthest removed from R. Akiva, while from the perspective of the typological list, Elisha b. Abuya is the furthest, and the two are placed next to each other, as in other typological lists that juxtapose the wicked and the wise. The parallels between these typological lists and the Pardes story are convincing enough to allow consideration of the Pardes incident in light of this genre.51 Recognizing that the Pardes passage has the literary features of a typological list raises the question of the purpose of such a list in this present context. What is the unique message that is expressed by a typological list that is particularly suited to this literary genre as opposed to other genres? The point of the genre of a typological list is not to claim that certain events took place historically; rather, it demonstrates that certain consequences might result from undesired activities. From the perspective of the typological list, its concern is with the possibilities rather than with their historical actualizations.52 Its warning is based not on a particular occurrence but on the generalization that is expressed by the typological list. In the context of the ‘‘mystical collection’’ it serves as a means of demonstrating the different types of danger that might befall one who engages in unacceptable visionary practices. As such, the typological list expresses the reservations toward these practices in a rich and nuanced way.53 To say that mystical gazing is deadly may be hyperbole. In the framework of the typological list, there are statements that do not necessarily address reality in a factual manner. The best example of such a possibility is the cutting of the shoots. This enigmatic expression, the later history of which I shall analyze in detail, may not have a clear reference in reality. Unlike killing and being smitten (presumably: going insane), cutting the shoots is not an everyday expression that describes a common reality. This nonfactual element within the typological list may indicate that the list as a whole should not be taken as a factual description. However, it also indicates that understanding this particular passage requires looking beyond the typological list. This passage constitutes a mixture of literary genres. Unlike all other cases of a fourfold typology so far examined, the opening statement is not an abstract typology but a reference to what seems to be an event that underlies the

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53

typology. The actual contents of the typology seem to have some parabolic features, which would best account for the expression ‘‘cut the shoots.’’ 54 As a result, this is not a pure literary type but a composite one that contains elements of the typological list as well as other elements.55 Three Entered Pardes: Constructing the Typological List Whether this typological list, a composite type, contains historical information about identifiable people is questionable. In most of the examples so far discussed, typological lists referred to abstract types. When people talk of a particular person, they normally tell a story rather than construct a typological list. Though it has certain features of a typological list, does this passage contain historical information? Can it also be viewed as a story? It can be argued that the literary features of the passage, and its intermingling of genres constitute the superstructure that rests on the factual basis of certain events. In other words, perhaps there is a grain of historical truth that accounts for the mention of specific people in the framework of a typological list cum parable. In my opinion, the Pardes passage grows out of the reworking of earlier traditions and not out of the reference to historical facts. Had there been independent reports of harmful mystical engagement by the three sages, in sources that are independent of the Pardes passage, they would justify finding reference to historical facts in the Pardes episode. Since there is no such reference and the only source of information is the Pardes episode itself, it cannot be explained on objective historical grounds, nor did the editor intend it to be read historically. It follows, then, that we need not be concerned with conflicts found either within the ‘‘mystical collection’’ or between the Pardes text and other texts.56 The Yavnean testimony, quoted previously, is helpful in tracing the development in the creation of the Pardes passages: Of four sages: If one sees Rabbi Joḥanan b. Nuri in his dream, let him look forward to fear of sin; if Rabbi Eleazar b. Azariah, let him look forward to greatness and riches; if Rabbi Yishmael, let him look forward to wisdom; if Rabbi Akiva, let him fear calamity. Of three disciples: If one sees Ben Azzai in his dream, let him look forward to saintliness; if Ben Zoma, let him look forward to wisdom; if Elisha b. Abuya, let him fear calamity.57 54

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This is the only tradition other than the Pardes passage that lists all the heroes of the Pardes passage in the same context. I have already noted that because of its subject matter—seeing images of known people in a dream—the tradition is the closest in time to the people it mentions. Dating it early already makes it unlikely that this tradition assumes the Pardes episode as the basis for its characterization of the different rabbinical heroes. Moreover, it cannot be said that the list of rabbis and disciples relies on the Pardes passage for its information about them. First, if the Pardes passage underlies this list, it would be unreasonable to place R. Akiva on a different list from his three contemporaries. The characterization of the sages does not emerge from the Pardes passage: neither wisdom nor fear of sin is expressed in the behavior of either Ben Azzai or Ben Zoma. That the association when seeing Elisha ben Abuya is identical to that of R. Akiva makes it even more unlikely that this list expresses the same information contained in the Pardes episode, where the fate of the two is contrasted. All this leads to the opposite relationship between the two texts. The Yavnean testimony is the basis for the Pardes passage and provides it with its raw material. The message of the ‘‘mystical collection,’’ of which the Pardes episode is a part, is that students should not engage in unguided visionary meditations of the merkava. The only legitimate approach to the merkava is the path of exegesis, where the student’s skills can be controlled by the presence of a qualified master.58 The Pardes passage is a typological list that delves into the dangers inherent in uncontrolled visionary practices. The typological list is created by reference to two previous lists, one a list of three disciples, the other of sages, in which R. Akiva is mentioned. The author of the Pardes episode has merged the characters found in these first two lists into one typological list. The message is straightforward: the disciples meet a bad end, while the master, who is qualified, comes out of the orchard unharmed.59 Fundamental to inclusion in this typological list is the fact that the three heroes who met fateful ends are unordained disciples, who should not engage in the contemplation of the merkava.60 If the editor simply created a narrative typological list in order to pit two groups of sages against each other, why did he include certain details about each rabbi? If this is not a historical report, why are the details included? To understand the editor’s logic, it is necessary to return to the basic structure of the ‘‘mystical collection,’’ which is divided into two parts that contrast legitimate study of the Torah to visionary activity that is external to the study

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of the Torah. The editor has taken statements attributed elsewhere to each of the three, many of which are found in the same context where the lists are found; Avot de Rabbi Natan,61 and each of the three acts in a way that contradicts or undermines his teaching.62 This accounts for the close relationship between certain statements of the Pardes sages and the stories told about them. The editor’s point is basic: visionary activity is a form of uncontrolled pleasure seeking, and whoever tries it is doing something other than studying Torah. The sages who engage in visionary activity therefore contradict their own teaching. The editor, like the midrashic authors with their biblical heroes, takes great liberty with the sages, their sayings, and their fates. The midrashic genius turns toward the rabbis themselves, creating a powerful episode: the story of the Pardes. In order to deal in greater detail with the traditions of Elisha ben Abuya and his fate in the Pardes passage, I offer one example each for Ben Zoma and Ben Azzai of the way in which ‘‘looking’’ subverts teaching.63 Perhaps the most transparent case is that of Ben Azzai.64 Avot de Rabbi Natan, Version A, associates him with saintliness.65 The reference to him in the Pardes passage also mentions the quality of saintliness, through the proof text: ‘‘Precious in the eyes of the Lord is the death of his saints.’’ Beyond the affirmation of his saintliness the use of this verse is a clear echo of a statement attributed to Ben Azzai in Genesis Rabba: Ben Azzai says, ‘‘Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints’’ (Ps. :). When does the Holy One, blessed be He, show them the recompense that is coming? Right near their death. That is in line with this verse: ‘. . . is the death of his saints.’ Therefore: ‘She laughs at the time to come’ (Prov. :).’’ 66 The same verse concerning Ben Azzai in the Tosefta also appears in this text. The editor could have resorted to an existing statement of Ben Azzai’s by explaining the story in the following manner: Rather than waiting to see the recompense when he died, Ben Azzai’s impatient desire led him to his own premature death, for he attempted to look at something he was unable or unworthy to look at. Ben Azzai’s teaching that one can only see God when dying would thus be subverted by his attempt to see God in this life in order to indicate the harmful effects of unguided gazing. The same type of creative manipulation of earlier material is also found 56

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

with regard to Ben Zoma, the author of a vineyard parable that has features similar to the Pardes passage. This parable is found in Version B of Avot de Rabbi Natan: Ben Zoma says: ‘‘Who is a wise man? He that learns from all men, as Scripture says: ‘From all my teachers I have got understanding’ (Ps. :). Who is an honorable man? He that honors mankind, as Scripture says: ‘For those who honor me I will honor, and those who despise me shall be lightly esteemed’ ( Sam. :). Who is a mighty man? He that subdues his evil impulse, as Scripture says: ‘He who is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he who rules his spirit than he who takes a city’ (Prov. :). Who is a rich man? He that is content with his portion, as Scripture says: ‘You shall eat the fruit of the labor of your hands; you shall be happy, and it shall be well with you (Ps. :). ‘You shall be happy’ in this world, ‘and it shall be well with you’ in the world to come.’ He used to say: ‘‘Do not look into a man’s vineyard. If you have looked, do not go down into it. If you have gone in, do not gaze. If you gazed do not touch. If you touched, do not eat. If a man eats, he removes his soul from the life of this world and the life of the world to come.’’ 67 Ben Zoma’s vineyard passage has long been recognized as relevant to the Pardes passage.68 It employs the same verb for ‘‘looking’’ as found in the Tosefta, it contains a warning not to do that which the Pardes story reports was done, and it warns of dire consequences,69 some of which are expressed in the Pardes story.70 In its original context, the warning may have had no mystical meaning, because it follows a series of statements by Ben Zoma describing who is wise, mighty, or rich. Such a person would clearly not go into another’s vineyard. Therefore the vineyard passage may well be a moral admonition that combines reference to the various virtues upon which Ben Zoma expounded previously.71 The editor of the ‘‘mystical collection’’ used this passage as the basis for the formation of the Pardes story and chose this statement to depict Ben Zoma as acting in a way contrary to his own teaching. Ben Zoma is portrayed as one who is neither mighty, wise, nor rich. His desire leads him to transgress against his own admonitions. The proof text describing Ben Zoma’s inability to control his appetite is consistent with the

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subversion of Ben Zoma’s statements in the hands of the editor of the Pardes passage in the Tosefta. Turning to Elisha ben Abuya, the editor has been most daring. One who sees him should fear calamity. Whatever this meant in the original context, the editor has changed it to mean that calamity does not come only to the individual, it comes to his surroundings as well. Elisha ben Abuya brought calamity on the orchard by cutting the shoots. Read in the context of the vineyard parable, this may be the ultimate sign of gluttony and impatience. He may not have intended destruction, but his desire was so powerful that as he plucked the fruit of the orchard, he ripped the shoots. The editor of the Pardes may have intended to portray Elisha as expressing extreme desire.72 It should be recalled that typological lists are founded on the contrast of the righteous and the wicked. The shift in the presentation of Elisha may have been one way of adapting the typological list to the parable of the orchard, thus crossing between two literary genres. Elisha’s wickedness finds expression in the harm he brings upon the orchard itself. The editor created a typology by means of which he attempted to express the most extreme form of desire and gluttony. The source in Avot de Rabbi Natan does not indicate any act of particular wickedness that Elisha ben Abuya committed. Since the nature of the Pardes passage is neither biographical nor historical, there is no need for concrete reference to the life of Elisha ben Abuya. The editor seeks to portray the sage as going against his own teaching because of spiritual desire, but he does not intend this to be taken as relating to the historical Elisha ben Abuya or his two colleagues. Rather, the editor may have reconfigured the raw material, and, having put it together, come to the striking conclusion that Elisha cut the shoots; but this had meaning only in the context of the typology. To appreciate this process, we can retrace how the editor came to mention Elisha ben Abuya as cutting the shoots. Statements found in Elisha’s name in Avot de Rabbi Natan read: He used to say: ‘‘One may learn Torah for ten years and forget it [all] after two years.’’ How so? For example: If for six months one neglects to review, he then says of the unclean, ‘‘It is clean,’’ and of the clean, ‘‘It is unclean.’’ If for twelve months he does not review, he then confuses the sages with one another. If for eighteen months he does not review, he forgets the chapter headings. If for  months he does not review, he forgets the treatise headings. And after saying of the un58

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

clean, ‘‘It is clean,’’ and of the clean, ‘‘It is unclean,’’ after confusing the sages with one another, after forgetting the chapter headings and the treatise headings, he sits and keeps quiet in the end. And of him said Solomon, ‘‘I went by the field of the slothful, and by the vineyard of the man void of understanding, and lo, it was all grown over with thistles; the face thereof was covered with nettles, and the stone wall thereof was broken down’’ (Prov. :–); for once the wall of the vineyard falls, the whole vineyard is destroyed.’’ 73 The theme of Elisha ben Abuya’s statement is forgetting the Torah. The editor of the Tosefta, who seeks to describe spiritual gluttony as a cause for falling away from the Torah, would obviously find this a fitting theme. Furthermore, the proof text for Elisha’s statement refers to a vineyard, and the editor, who has already had recourse to the vineyard in Ben Zoma’s statement, would not fail to notice this reference. In fact, an identical expression is found in the proof text from Proverbs, ‫כרם אדם‬, and in Ben Zoma’s dictum, ‫כרמו של אדם‬, a person’s vineyard. Thus, the editor can easily join the two passages. The vineyard, which the editor transforms into an orchard, is described as being completely overgrown; Elisha’s statement thus equates forgetting the Torah with allowing the vineyard to be overgrown.74 Elisha, who spoke of moving away from the Torah and of overgrown vineyards, easily serves the intent of the editor, who uses his statements to indicate that spiritual gluttony goes against the Torah. In this instance, it is not the particular teaching of the sage that is subverted; rather, his teaching is applied to a situation that equates gluttony with abandoning the Torah. To the extent that Elisha ben Abuya’s point is that one must be vigilant in not allowing forgetfulness to creep into one’s Torah, his teaching is subverted again, as in the cases previously discussed. The neglected vineyard alone could have been a reason for describing Elisha as causing harm to the orchard, but in further tracing the editor’s steps, it can even be suggested how the expression ‘‘cutting the shoots’’ came to be a reference to Elisha ben Abuya. As seen in this last passage, the proof text mentions a stone wall falling on the vineyard. What happens to a vineyard when a stone wall falls on it? The answer to this question is found in a passage in Avot de Rabbi Natan: And make a hedge about the Torah. A vineyard which is surrounded by a fence is unlike a vineyard not surrounded by a fence. [This also

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means] that no one should make the fence more important than what is to be fenced in, for if the fence falls down, then it will cut down the plants. For this is what we find in connection with Adam: He treated the fence as more significant than what was essential. When the fence fell down, it cut down the plants.75 The combination of the vineyard and the falling fence naturally leads to a description of the kind of calamity that could befall the vineyard: cutting the plants.76 This concept concerns only the physical vineyard and is devoid of any symbolic or mystical associations. The consequences of the falling fence are relatively innocuous and do not express great wickedness, whereas cutting the plants is not an intentional act but is the result of other actions that caused the fence to fall. In this context, when the editor seeks to describe how Elisha ben Abuya goes against his own Torah, he employs the expression, ‘‘cutting the plants.’’ In the new context, the cutting of plants is the result not of some form of negligence but of an action attributed to Elisha ben Abuya. Nonetheless, it may be employed because it fits well within the metaphorical context and not because it has any specific meaning. Another of Elisha’s statements may have played a part in the editor’s work. ‘‘Do not let your mouth lead your flesh into sin’’ is the proof text for his behavior. Given Ben Zoma’s vineyard statement, the probable meaning of this proof text is that Elisha is drawn by his gluttony to eat the fruit of the orchard. His mouth leads him to sin by eating the wrong way and in the wrong context. The choice of proof text may express the editor’s sophistication.77 The following saying appears in the collection of Elisha ben Abuya’s sayings: He used to say: ‘‘When one studies Torah as a child, the words of the Torah are absorbed by his blood and come out of his mouth distinctly. But if one studies Torah in his old age, the words of the Torah are not absorbed by his blood and do not come out of his mouth distinctly. And thus the maxim goes: ‘If in thy youth thou didst not desire them, how shalt thou acquire them in thine old age?’ ’’ 78 Again the theme is acquiring or not acquiring the Torah. Elisha ben Abuya suggests that the ideal process is the absorption of the words of the Torah into the blood, which leads them to find expression in the mouth. Desire 60

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leads to a reversal of this relationship: in desire, the mouth causes the flesh to sin, so that by reversing the sequence of events for ideal Torah study the opposite result is achieved. This demonstrates how the editor of the ‘‘mystical collection’’ in the Tosefta has taken various statements made by all three sages and reworked them in order to indicate that spiritual gluttony, expressed by the act of looking into the orchard, is contrary both to the sages’ teachings of the Torah and to the Torah itself. All this occurs in a highly elaborate literary construction that makes sense only within the literary context of the Tosefta. Read outside this context, the Pardes episode appears to be a historical account containing factual information about its heroes. That such an understanding is to be found already in the Bavli does not validate the historical reading of the Pardes passage. Rather, it indicates how early the complex nature of the Pardes passage was not appreciated. I suggest that the development of Elisha’s negative image is a consequence of a misreading of the original intention of the Pardes passage. Once it is viewed as a historical report, the question of the precise nature of Elisha’s sins must be addressed, and this causes the rich image of the rabbinic archsinner to emerge.

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN TANNAITIC LITERATURE

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3 ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN POST-TANNAITIC SOURCES

B  to an investigation of the post-tannaitic references to Elisha, I want to explore another consequence of the Pardes passage: how Elisha received the sobriquet Aḥer, the other. Since not mentioning Elisha by name indicates the extent to which he is viewed by some sources as a great sinner, we must, in assessing the historical figure, take into account the formation of this sobriquet.

Development of the Sobriquet Aḥer Two significant distinctions must be drawn when discussing the sobriquet. One is historical, and the other relates to literary corpora. From the historical perspective, it should be noted that the sobriquet Aḥer does not appear in tannaitic sources.1 The traditions in Avot and in Avot de Rabbi Natan relate to Elisha by name. Even the version of the Pardes passage upon which I relied indicates no knowledge of his sobriquet.2 This point is of great significance and is in keeping with the kind of testimony that emerges from tannaitic sources. The name Aḥer may be a later development that reflects later views of Elisha. In addition, it should be noted that even in post-tannaitic sources, it may be possible to differentiate between Babylonian and Palestinian sources. The Bavli consistently relates to Elisha as Aḥer,3 except on one occasion. In contrast, the Yerushalmi refers to him by name and not by his sobriquet. 62

I do not suggest that the Yerushalmi is unaware of Elisha’s sobriquet. My analysis shows that some of the derashot attributed to Elisha play upon this name. However, if it is aware of the sobriquet and chooses not to use it, it may support the suggested distinction between the two talmuds. That the Yerushalmi continues to relate to Elisha by his proper name might indicate that it does not consider him such a grave sinner at least in the portions (which I term Yerushalmi II) where his proper name is used.4 Elisha is introduced in the Yerushalmi in the context of expounding upon the Pardes passage. The Yerushalmi opens its discussion by identifying Aḥer as Elisha ben Abuya, making it clear that it is aware of his sobriquet (unlike the Bavli, which never identifies Aḥer and assumes the name to be well known). This immediate identification of Elisha-Aḥer makes it clear that the Yerushalmi is quite aware of the sobriquet but prefers to refer to Elisha by name. In the Yerushalmi, the sobriquet appears only in the Pardes passage, not in any of its original material. If the sobriquet exists only in a source that precedes the Yerushalmi, which the Yerushalmi then comments on, it is conceivable that this formulation of the Pardes tradition took place in Babylonia.5 Having limited the scope of the sobriquet Aḥer as found in rabbinic sources, it is necessary to account for how it was formed. Why was Elisha called Aḥer? Two directions can be taken to answer this question. One seeks to account for the sobriquet in light of particular incidents related in the sources; the second is based on literary development within rabbinic sources.6 The most common understanding of the sobriquet is that it designates sinful behavior and Elisha’s move away from traditional observance.7 Traditionally, the most common explanation is based upon the Bavli’s story of Elisha, when Elisha visits a harlot, who proclaims him to be Aḥer. Though various writers have taken this to be the source of the sobriquet,8 there are many difficulties, not least of which is having to assume that the story as it appears in the Bavli is historically accurate and that the words of the harlot were overheard and then taken up by the sages.9 From the literary point of view it is a difficult reading of the Bavli. In the Bavli prior to the harlot episode, a heavenly voice refers to Elisha as Aḥer, but if he only became an Aḥer later, why does the heavenly voice relate to him at this point as Aḥer? It is clear that the harlot story in the Bavli is a later elaboration on an already extant name.10 Another classical explanation suggests that Aḥer was derived from

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN POST-TANNAITIC SOURCES

63

‘‘other’’ gods that should not be worshiped.11 The story of Elisha’s encounter with Metatron and the belief in two heavenly powers falls easily into such an explanation, though in all probability this story is later than the sobriquet. However this may be, my analysis suggests that Elisha did not ascribe to a doctrine of two powers, which in any case is different from idolatry. The etymological connection with other gods does not seem to provide the clue for the formation of Elisha’s sobriquet. Other traditions related in the Bavli have also figured in accounting for the sobriquet. The tradition that Elisha sang Greek songs was taken as proof for his greatest sin, discarding the Hebrew language, which is the ultimate cause of Elisha’s being an aḥer.12 In attempting to provide a coherent definition of what makes Elisha an ‘‘other,’’ recent writers have responded to various aspects of what is told of him. His denial of retribution, of the status of Torah, his causing others to sin, his leading others from Torah, are all taken as expressions of his otherness.13 While not referring to any moment at which Elisha becomes Aḥer, these writers focus on what makes him an other, and indirectly offer explanations regarding the formation of his sobriquet. Another approach that seems appropriate for an attitude that exhibits a higher degree of suspicion toward the incidents told in the sources is one that attempts a different, more critical, reconstruction of the life of Elisha. This is suggested by Back, who posits the theory that as Elisha came to be viewed as an archsinner, his real name was gradually eradicated.14 He accounts for the sobriquet in terms of a play on words that probably underlies the Bavli, which relates that R. Meir asked Aḥer ‫לאחר שיצא לתרבות רעה‬, after he had gone into evil courses. Back suggests that Elisha’s name was dropped from the original source, and that under the influence of the word ‫לאחר‬, after, the name ‫ אחר‬was formed. This suggestion per se is highly improbable. Aḥer underlies the Bavli’s discussion throughout, and the explanation that this omission gave rise to the name is improbable. From the methodological perspective, however, the suggestion merits attention because it seeks to account for the sobriquet on other rabbinic evidence, and through a process of literary development and influence, rather than as a consequence of any particular action by the historical Elisha. Though very different in content, from the methodological point of view the suggestions that follow bear close similarity to Back’s. My tracing of the formation of the sobriquet takes into account the dif-

64

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ference between tannaitic and post-tannaitic, probably Babylonian, sources. The fact that Elisha ceased to be referred to by his own name reflects the understanding that, because of his sinful actions, mentioning him should be avoided. But then why was Aḥer chosen as the new form of referring to Elisha? If there was a tannaitic source that, when played upon or distorted, would allow for the emergence of Aḥer, it might provide the likeliest account for the formation of the sobriquet. Because of its crucial role in the formation of the negative image of Elisha, the Pardes passage is the most likely place to search for the root of the sobriquet. The Pardes passage offers two possibilities. The first, and the most likely, lies in a simple orthographic change that reflects common rabbinic forms of expression. The Pardes passage is constructed in accordance with the conventions of typological lists. The four types, introduced by the term eḥad, contrast the good to the wicked, with two types between the opposites. Elisha is the wicked one in this typological list, quite evident from the fact that he wreaks havoc on the orchard. In the context of the typological list, if he is presented as the wicked one, and if as a consequence of this list his image is further developed, this might lead to a slight variation on the way the list refers to him. In the context of the typological list Elisha is eḥad. Once he is viewed as wicked, by means of a simple change, ‫אחד‬, one, is transformed to ‫אחר‬, other. The orthographic change from ‫ אחד‬to ‫ אחר‬is so slight that it can easily be seen how the name Aḥer could be formed from the already extant reference to Elisha as ‫אחד‬. Such a change makes sense in the context of the transmission of a written tradition.15 However, since it cannot be assumed that the Pardes passage, in its earliest stages, was committed to writing, we must also account for the change in the oral phase of the tradition. There are two ways in which this transformation makes sense, even if it was transmitted orally. The first relies on the orthographic similarity of ‫ אחד‬and ‫אחר‬, as found in other cases in rabbinic literature. If there are other instances in which the orthographic association of the two words is highlighted, these words may be related. If a relationship is known to exist between them, it can be carried over into the Pardes passage, thus yielding the sobriquet Aḥer. I suggest that reference to ‫ אחד‬and ‫ אחר‬as a pair may be standardized, and therefore is also relevant to the Pardes passage as well. In Bavli Eruvin a we find the following amoraic comment, upon an earlier rabbinic story:

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN POST-TANNAITIC SOURCES

65

Rav Yehuda said in the name of Samuel who had it from R. Meir: ‘‘When I was studying under R. Akiva I used to put vitriol into my ink and he told me nothing [against it], but when I subsequently came to R. Ishmael the latter said to me, ‘My son, what is your occupation?’ I told him, ‘I am a scribe,’ and he said to me, ‘Be meticulous in your work, for your occupation is a sacred one; should you perchance omit or add one single letter you would thereby destroy all the universe.’ What [relation is there between] the question of the one and the reply of the other? It is this that the latter meant: There is no need [for me to assure you] that I would make no mistakes in respect of the words that are plene or defective, since I am familiar [with the subject], but [I have even taken precautions] against the possibility of a fly perching on the crownlet of a daleth and, by blotting it out, turn it into a resh.’’ The talmudic discussion clearly refers to a written text concerning the care with which a scribe approaches his holy work. The precision of the text of the Torah bears cosmic weight and the world would be destroyed if a grave error were to occur in the text of the Torah.16 The Talmud offers an example of such an error: the change from daleth to resh. Presumably, what the Talmud refers to is the potential change of meaning in Deuteronomy :, from one God to another.17 This understanding is made explicit in a midrashic passage in Vayikra Rabba :: R. Levi said: ‘‘Even matters that appear to be mere strokes in the Torah are heaps upon heaps. They can destroy the whole world, and make it a heap (tel), the word ‘tel’ being used as in ‘tel olam,’ a heap forever (Deut. :). It is written, ‘Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one’ (Deut. :): If you make a daleth into a resh, you will destroy the world. Thou shalt not bow down to any other god (Exod. :): if you make the resh into a daleth you will destroy the world.’’ 18 The interplay between ‫ אחד‬and ‫ אחר‬is explicit in this tradition and works in both directions. In both cases, ‫ אחד‬is positive, ‫ אחר‬is negative. If there is a fixed relationship between the two, this would account for how the transition might have occurred in the Pardes passage, even if the text was not written. This transition might also be accounted for in another way. The start66

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

ing point is that Elisha is designated as eḥad, and that this in turn was transformed to Aḥer—not because of the orthographic similarity of the two words but because of their juxtaposition in common rabbinic linguistic usage. There are numerous occurrences in all strata of rabbinic literature, tannaitic as well as amoraic, of the juxtaposition of two things as ‘‘one’’ and ‘‘other.’’ 19 It can thus be suggested that the word ‫ אחד‬could activate its counterpart, ‫אחר‬, allowing an easy transition from ‫ אחד‬to ‫ אחר‬within the conventional norms of rabbinic expression.20 l Another typological list that suggests a related course of development of Elisha’s sobriquet is a passage from Tosefta Berachot :: One who begins [a benediction] with yod he and concludes it with yod he—lo, he is a sage. [One who begins] with yod he and concludes with aleph lamed, lo, he is a boor. [One who begins] with aleph lamed and concludes with yod he, lo, this is acceptable, but not preferable. [One who begins] with aleph lamed and concludes with aleph lamed lo, this is another way [i.e., heresy]. This passage presents four halakhic situations, concerning the pronunciation of the divine name, in accordance with the structure of the typological list: the wise vs. the other way, ‫דרך אחרת‬, with two intermediate possibilities. The negative choice is associated with the term ‫אחר‬.21 However, the list shifts in midstream from a description of the person (‫ בור‬,‫ )חכם‬to a description of the path. Perhaps one would not call the one who uses only the name Aleph Lamed an aḥer, for such an appellation would not convey a definite meaning; perhaps for this reason the path rather than the person is described. In any event, the proposed change from ‫ אחד‬to ‫ אחר‬in the case of Elisha ben Abuya would be consistent with another case of a typological list, where the wicked is characterized in terms of the ‫אחר‬. Even though Elisha is not called ‫ אחר‬as part of his typology, as this parallel would suggest, it shows that being an ‫ אחר‬could be viewed as part of a typology and therefore could also be the outcome of the mutation of the very form of the typological list. If the ‫דרך‬ ‫ אחרת‬is a heretical form, calling Elisha ‫ אחר‬may lead to the understanding that he also is a heretic. Alternatively, Aḥer may simply be an amplification of

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN POST-TANNAITIC SOURCES

67

the fact that he is portrayed as bad, and not an insinuation of any particular heretical quality. The explanation offered for the formation of the name Aḥer is directly related to the Pardes passage and may be further supplemented by an explanation that refers to another part of the ‘‘mystical collection.’’ This possibility may be highlighted, although it does not depend on a tradition that names Elisha aḥor, rather than Aḥer.22 In the Bavli, even where Elisha is called Aḥer, the sources play on the relation between Aḥer and aḥor, which may constitute yet another explanation for the formation of Elisha’s sobriquet.23 The Pardes episode is enigmatic. It is not obvious what crime Elisha committed. Early tradition may have made sense of it by referring to the adjacent tradition in the Mishna and the Tosefta. The Mishna teaches, ‘‘Whoever looks into four matters, it would be better for him had he not come into the world: What is above and what below, what is before and what after.’’ The Tosefta renders ‫פנים ואחור‬, ‘‘what is before and what is after,’’ as ‘‘what was and what will be.’’ Perhaps in addition to the eḥad-Aḥer transformation, one might suggest that a further, or parallel, step would be the transformation of aḥorAḥer. This might provide a clue to Elisha’s activities. At least one of the sages who entered Pardes is also implicated in this part of the mishna. There is a description of Ben Zoma looking at the relationship of the higher and lower waters. As I have suggested, the source plays on the mishna’s prohibition of looking at four things.24 Ben Zoma is looking at what is above and what is below. One possibility, though by no means the only one, is to see this passage as paraphrasing what was involved in the Pardes episode. Thus, the wrong gazing in the context of the Pardes is equivalent to looking at what is above and what is below. Similarly, one might suggest that the other two terms in the mishna, ‫לפנים ולאחור‬, are related to another character in the Pardes story. Thus, Elisha is aḥor, for having looked at what he should not have looked at. I am less convinced by this second possibility than I am by the first. The second possibility might have to be entertained as an extension, perhaps as a second stage, following the change from eḥad to Aḥer. However, this association is helpful in understanding the Bavli’s logic. The Bavli presents a very close relationship between the name Aḥer and his future, his entry into the world-to-come. Thus, questions of his otherness and questions of his future are central to the Bavli’s portrayal of Elisha, for even though the Bavli itself does not understand Elisha’s sin in terms of looking at what was 68

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

and what will be, it does serve as a witness to the close relationship between Aḥer, aḥor and the question of the future fate of Elisha ben Abuya.25 These themes may have also had a part in the formation of the name Aḥer.

Post-Tannaitic Sources That Describe Elisha ben Abuya Having suggested that the sobriquet Aḥer is a mutation of the basic form of the typological list and did not evolve as an independent testimony to Elisha’s great acts of wickedness, I now turn to the post-tannaitic sources that relate to Elisha ben Abuya. The following list of sources is drawn up from an analytical perspective to aid in studying the sources not only according to the literary corpora in which they are found but also according to their thematic concerns; thus, within one literary corpus there may be different discussions and views of Elisha. Presenting the material as it divides into subunits, with names assigned to them, will aid my analysis and serve as a basis for the later discussion of the development of traditions concerning Elisha ben Abuya. . Bavli Ḥagiga I (a–b). This is one of the most important sources concerning Elisha ben Abuya. It includes the Bavli’s explanation of the Pardes episode, which sees Elisha’s sins as a direct outcome of an error that occurred in the course of whatever took place in the Pardes, understood by the Bavli to be a heavenly ascent. The Bavli’s discussion is not limited to an explanation of what took place in the Pardes but proceeds to discuss Elisha’s behavior as a consequence of the story, which is understood as a particular event. The Bavli is one of the major sources about Elisha’s negative behavior. It also includes dialogues between Elisha ben Abuya and R. Meir. Finally, the Bavli has a detailed discussion of the fate of Elisha after his death and of the manner in which he is brought, through the intercession and active efforts of his rabbinic colleagues, into the world-to-come. Although this discussion obviously expresses the rabbinic attitude toward Elisha rather than a historical reference to him, in order to understand the Bavli completely, and to get a proper grasp of its concerns, these nonhistorical portions of its presentation must also be analyzed. From the perspective of the literary composition, these portions form an integral part of the Bavli’s story of Elisha ben Abuya. Thematic continuity within the Bavli’s discussion forces

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN POST-TANNAITIC SOURCES

69

us to consider that the various parts of the discussion are interrelated. Once the unit is seen as a whole, it becomes clear that the later, nonhistoric materials weaken the potential testimony of the earlier, ostensibly historical, reports about Elisha. The more the unit is analyzed as an integral literary whole, expressing similar concerns, the further it is removed from the realm of historical factuality. . Bavli Ḥagiga II (b). Though they are very brief, I consider the two statements at the end of the Bavli’s presentation as a separate unit. After the Bavli completes the story of the bringing of Elisha into the world-tocome, and following a short digression relating to the figures of Do’eg and Aḥitophel, the Bavli opens the discussion about Aḥer again by bringing two sources that discuss his otherness: Elisha would sing Greek songs, and when he would get up to leave the beit midrash, he would inadvertently drop heretical books. These two traditions are separate, both in location and theme, from the body of the discussion of the Bavli. . Bavli Kiddushin (b). This sugya suggests particular events that caused Elisha to sin. Of great interest is the fact that there is absolutely no overlap between the discussion in Kiddushin and in Bavli Ḥagiga. All that is known in this context is that Elisha sinned, without any details. . Yerushalmi Ḥagiga I (chap. :; b). The first part of the Yerushalmi’s discussion is an expanded comment on the Pardes passage. This gloss is intended to clarify the meaning of the phrase ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬, cut the shoots. It is in this context that some of Elisha’s worst behavior is related. At least at first sight, these traditions are exclusive to the Yerushalmi and do not constitute parallels to any of the sugyot in the Bavli. Some parallels to this part of the discussion are found in Shir HaShirim Rabba : and in Qohelet Zuta :. . Yerushalmi Ḥagiga II (ibid., b–c).26 Following the comments on the Pardes passage, the Yerushalmi has a lengthy passage on the relations of Elisha and R. Meir, which leads to a discussion of the fate of Elisha in the world-to-come and the manner in which he is finally redeemed. Although there are significant changes in detail and orientation, this material is equivalent to much of Bayli I. Additional material is interspersed throughout this sugya, interrupting the flow of the Elisha–R. Meir story cycle several times. One interruption incorporates the material found in Bavli Kiddushin; other interruptions introduce material unique to the Yerushalmi. Both sets of interruptions have one common concern: explaining Elisha’s behavior. None of this material appears in Bavli Ḥagiga, because it has its own explanation 70

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

of what went wrong with Elisha. Since the Yerushalmi does not resort to this explanation, it must offer its own explanation. It should be noted that multiple explanations of the same phenomenon weaken the testimonial value of the source. . Several midrashic passages constitute a parallel to Yerushalmi Ḥagiga II. The parallel encompasses the full scope of the Yerushalmi’s discussion, from Elisha’s exchanges with R. Meir to the question of his status after death. In these midrashic parallels, the story of R. Meir and Elisha is interrupted by the same additions that were introduced in the Yerushalmi’s discussion. It is therefore assumed that these midrashim are parallel versions of the Yerushalmi.27 Since no essentially new material is introduced in these midrashim, they do not help in tracing the historical Elisha, but the minor changes in detail between these versions and the Yerushalmi illustrate the development of the Elisha traditions and, to a certain extent, how his image evolved. They also illustrate some of the difficulties inherent in the Yerushalmi and the solutions devised. These midrashic sources will be useful mainly as a means of highlighting the particularities of Yerushalmi II. The midrashic parallels are Ruth Rabba :; Qohelet Rabba :; Qohelet Zuta :. Midrash Proverbs : is a partial parallel to Yerushalmi II but it is also influenced by Bavli Ḥagiga I and includes some elements that are not found in any other source.

Guidelines for Examining Post-Tannaitic Sources In examining post-tannaitic passages, we should bear in mind that the reports they contain may be influenced by the Pardes passage. There are three enigmatic components related to the Pardes episode that could lead to the formation of negative traditions about Elisha. The first is the meaning of the phrase ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬, cut the shoots or plants. If there is a particular tradition about Elisha that makes sense of this expression, its historical value will be significantly weakened. The second component is the proof text from Qohelet :: ‘‘Do not let your mouth bring your flesh into sin, and do not say before the angel that it was a mistake; why should God be angry at your voice and destroy the work of your hands.’’ To the extent that a particular tradition is hermeneutically shaped in order to make sense of this verse, it may be assumed that the story was fabricated in order to account for the

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN POST-TANNAITIC SOURCES

71

proof text and is not historically accurate. The third component is the name Aḥer. Even if it is thought not to be derived from the Pardes passage, it must be remembered that the sobriquet Aḥer could still influence other negative descriptions of Elisha. The problematic nature of these expressions is good reason to view all post-tannaitic interpretations with suspicion. The essential question is whether these traditions concerning Elisha can be reduced to any of these three components, or whether they are based on independent historical records. Any tradition that is considered to be a result of an attempt to decipher one of these expressions would be suspect, because it may have been developed to account for a difficulty found in the passage. In view of the diversity of sources describing Elisha, determining the reasons why certain things are told about him could help us to sort out the historically reliable material. The first stage of examination of post-tannaitic sources thus involves accounting for the influence of the Pardes passage on these sources. The second stage involves study of post-tannaitic sources that are not concerned with the interpretation of the Pardes event. These sources are more elaborate from a literary perspective and express a clear ideological point of view. The question is whether, after accounting for their literary and ideological concerns, we can discern historical testimony. Is a particular tale about Elisha what the author considered to be true, or did he use the story to advance a particular ideology? The challenge is to try to grasp the inner logic of the sources and to determine to what extent they may include historically reliable information about Elisha ben Abuya. Examining the larger literary complexes that portray Elisha leads to the third question that is germane to this discussion: What relationship do the different sources about Elisha have to one another? If there are sources that are interdependent, unless it can be determined that the later source is based on independent traditions, only the former source would be historically reliable. From this we see that the attempt to find the real Elisha ben Abuya involves not only rabbinic hermeneutics relating to the formative Pardes passage but also questions of the history and transmission of the text as they relate to different traditions and units of the story. The investigation of the development of traditions will not be based on preconceived notions of relations that should exist between literature such as the two talmuds, for example. Conclusions on the literary and historical dependence of the sources will be based on analyzing the sources themselves. In some cases, an exami72

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

nation of the different forms of motifs in parallel sources can suggest the direction of influence. Another key to the relationships between different versions can emerge if our examination of the way particular traditions are cast leads to uncovering broader ideological concerns. Thus we arrive at three main courses for examination: () an examination of the traditions about Elisha ben Abuya in light of the Pardes passage, in order to determine whether these traditions were shaped in relation to the passage; () an examination of the ideological and literary bases of the larger literary creations that contain reports about Elisha ben Abuya, in order to determine whether literary or ideological considerations shaped the way he is presented; and () an examination of the relationships between the different sources about Elisha ben Abuya, in order to discover primary sources that can contend for the status of reliable historical witnesses. I believe that the literary analysis of much of the Elisha material has merit quite apart from the historical discussion that frames my presentation. Not all readers, perhaps, will agree with the conclusions I draw concerning the value of the historical testimony of the sources, or even with my analytical approach; nonetheless, readers who are skeptical of my attempt to get at the historical Elisha ben Abuya might still benefit from the analysis of the relevant texts from the literary and hermeneutical perspective. The value of my discussion of the historical Elisha ben Abuya is not limited to its conclusions. The presentation of the sources sets the stage for a more detailed and critical analysis that should inform future discussion even if different historical conclusions are drawn.

Elisha ben Abuya: The Witness of Bavli Kiddushin My investigation is governed by the hypothesis that the Pardes passage, replete with enigmatic expressions, fashioned what was told of Elisha. Therefore, in the search for historically reliable information, a good place to begin is as far away as possible from the Pardes-related traditions found in Ḥagiga. My exploration begins with Bavli Kiddushin: It was taught: R. Yaakov says, ‘‘There is no precept in the Torah, where reward is stated by its side, from which you cannot infer the doctrine of the resurrection of the dead. Thus, in connection with honoring

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN POST-TANNAITIC SOURCES

73

parents it is written, ‘That thy days may be prolonged, and that it may go well with thee’ (Deut. :). Again in connection with the law of letting [the dam] go from the nest it is written, ‘That it may be well with thee, and that thou mayest prolong thy days’ (Deut. :). Now, in the case where a man’s father said to him, ‘Go up to the top of the building and bring me down some young birds,’ and he went up to the top of the building, let the dam go and took the young ones, and on his return he fell and was killed—where is this man’s length of days, and where is this man’s happiness? But ‘that thy days may be prolonged’ refers to the world that is wholly long. And ‘that it may go well with thee’ refers to the world that is wholly good.’’ But perhaps such a thing could not happen? R. Yaakov actually saw such an occurrence. R. Yosef said, ‘‘Had Aḥer interpreted this verse as R. Yaakov, his daughter’s son, did, he would not have sinned. What actually did he see? Some say he saw such an occurrence. Others say he saw the tongue of a great man being dragged by a pig. He exclaimed, ‘Shall the mouth that uttered pearls lick the dust!’ He went out and sinned.’’ 28 The sugya begins with a baraita that discusses the place of ultimate compensation. The Torah’s promises for reward pertain to the world-to-come. The point is made by a reference to a hypothetical situation that belies the Torah’s promise of long life. The problem is overcome by means of understanding long life as indicative of life in the world-to-come rather than as a long physical life. This is the original tannaitic source. The talmudic discussion of this sugya explores the possibility of a hypothetical case that might undermine the Torah’s promises. Perhaps such an event could not really take place, in which event there would be no need for reinterpretation. The Talmud then transforms this imagined hypothetical case into a real-life event, thus reinforcing the tannaitic derasha. Following some stages in the talmudic discussion that are not relevant here, there is a statement by Rav Yosef, a third-generation Babylonian amora, that applies to Aḥer. Rav Yosef establishes a family relationship between Elisha ben Abuya and the tannaitic tradent that is not mentioned elsewhere: the source of Aḥer’s sin is his partial religious understanding.29 Had Aḥer known R. Yaakov’s derasha, he would have not sinned. It is interesting that the pioneer of the derasha that would have saved Elisha is his own grandson. For Elisha not to know this derasha

74

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

is simply bad luck. The derasha was articulated after his own time, and we infer that affiliating the derasha with Elisha’s grandson is meant to establish some relationship between Elisha and the teaching.30 He may have not known the teaching, but it is nonetheless quite close to home.31 This represents not only a reference to Aḥer but also the context in which the reference is understood: he is a sinner. The sugya gives no details about his sin; it simply preserves his memory as a sinner. Coupled with the epithet Aḥer, this is the most vague generalized memory of this sage in rabbinic literature. In other words, the details of his sin are not as significant as the memory of his being a sinner. From Rav Yosef ’s comment it may be inferred that the issue of theodicy was a primary cause of Elisha’s sins. The continuation of the talmudic sugya is an attempt to connect a particular event to this general statement. The first explanation is that this incident, which appears in the talmudic discussion, is the sort of incident that led Elisha ben Abuya astray. An alternative explanation does not touch on the reward for the fulfillment of the commandments; it touches on the reward for engaging in Torah study.32 In this case, the martyrdom of an unnamed Torah scholar, who is referred to simply as ‘‘great man,’’ is presented.33 The disrespectful and shocking sight of his tongue being dragged by a pig serves as a counterpoint to any anticipation of reward. Thus, two incidents are presented, both of which raise issues of worldly and otherworldly reward as the cause of Elisha’s sins. Is there a witness in this passage that sheds light on the historical Elisha? I suggest not. There are two voices in this sugya, that of Rav Yosef and that of the sugya itself. Rav Yosef is rather removed, both in time and in space, from Elisha. Rav Yosef refers to Elisha not by name but merely as Aḥer, making it obvious that he is a sinner. The sobriquet Aḥer could account for this view of Elisha. Rav Yosef ’s statement lacks any concrete reference to Elisha and suggests that he sinned only in the most vague manner. This is hardly a historical record. The sugya is even further removed from the historical Elisha in that it seems to be dependent on the preceding talmudic discussion that developed in accordance with its own logic, without any relation to Elisha ben Abuya. Thus, the hypothetical case of the baraita appears not only in the life of Rav Yaakov, the derasha’s author, but also in the life of Elisha ben Abuya. The second answer offered in the sugya does not seem to add any more to the

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN POST-TANNAITIC SOURCES

75

historical record than the first. This is apparent chiefly in not naming the person whose tongue was dragged by a pig. The second answer is significant not for its historical witness but for the thematic shift it introduces to the realm of Torah by touching upon the heart of rabbinic religion. This may heighten the problem of theodicy, and it also brings the issue much closer to Elisha, because he was a Torah scholar. The uncertainty evident in the contradictory explanations that are presented indicates that an ongoing discussion was taking place many generations after Elisha’s time and having little to do with Elisha himself. Elisha was associated with a particular problem of rabbinic theology, the problem of theodicy as it appears in instances of martyrdom and religious persecution.34 Drawing the figure of Elisha into an independent discussion of theodicy might even suggest that he had become a symbol of the problem. The position attributed to Elisha in this discussion is one that would accurately label him a heretic, because he denies basic tenets of Jewish belief. In this sense, this is not a personal story that leads him to antinomism, as we shall see in the relevant discussion of Bavli Ḥagiga, but an instance of classical heresy. From the historical perspective, however, there is little to commend this description. Elisha is presented as a symbol for this theological problem and not as the historical Elisha. I do not think the purpose of the explanations offered in order to account for what led him to sin is to mitigate the severity of his purported actions. Rather, these explanations are intended to explore the possibility that a rabbi might sin. In order to rationalize such a threat, it is suggested that only a rabbi with partial religious knowledge would be led to sin. Elisha is a rabbi whose teaching is faulty and is therefore drawn into sin.35 From the historical perspective this source carries little weight, but it illustrates an important feature that is significant in understanding how later tradition relates to the figure of Elisha: he becomes a symbol associated with problems particular to rabbinic theology. If this is an expression of rabbinic ideology rather than historical reporting, it is worthwhile considering the choice of details told of Elisha’s vision. Particularly thought-provoking is the report that Elisha sins by seeing a human tongue placed in a pig’s mouth. The anonymity of the report allows us to consider nonhistorical dimensions in which this episode might be significant. The Talmud does not relate to the pig by the biblical word ‫חזיר‬, ḥazir, but through a circumlocution, as ‫דבר אחר‬, davar aḥer, another thing.36

76

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The story of a great man, an anonymous Torah scholar, whose tongue has become associated with something that is ‫אחר‬, aḥer, raises the question of the relevance of this vision to the one who sees it. Could it be that what Elisha sees is his own condition? Is he not himself a great man whose mouth, which formerly uttered pearls of Torah, descended to the level of unmentionable anonymity? 37 I do not suggest that the Talmud does not intend this report to be factual; rather, that beyond the intended factuality, there may be a pointed reference to the life of Aḥer himself.38 Finally, I would like to suggest that both the structure and the thematic concerns of this short sugya may parallel the longer sugya in Bavli Ḥagiga. The discussion of the sugya itself, as opposed to Rav Yosef ’s statement, opens with the question ‫מאי חזא‬, what did he see? It ends with the statement ‫נפק‬ ‫חטא‬, he went out and sinned. These are the same terms that frame the opening episode in the sugya in Ḥagiga, opening with the question ‫מאי חזא‬, and concluding with the report of Elisha’s going out, ‫נפק‬.39 What is told in the interim concerns Elisha’s partial and mistaken knowledge. On account of his partial Torah knowledge, Elisha is incapable of handling what he sees, and is led to sin. As will be shown, his partial knowledge leads him astray on his heavenly journey, in Bavli Ḥagiga as well. In Bavli Kiddushin Elisha’s partial knowledge relates to the issue of the life in the world-to-come: he sins because he does not believe in the life of the world-to-come. In a different, though related manner, Elisha sins in Ḥagiga because he is excluded from the life of the world-to-come. Though both sugyot present completely different versions, and seemingly unrelated stories, closer examination reveals great similarity between the two. In both cases, partial Torah knowledge leads to the loss of a share or faith (or both) in the world-to-come.40 The two sugyot are almost opposite, and as such mutually exclusive, versions of a related tale, but they share much the same structure and thematic concerns.41 The sugya in Kiddushin casts Elisha in terms of classical problems of rabbinic theodicy, while the sugya in Ḥagiga creates a highly personalized tale that is replete with otherworldly concerns. Both sugyot, however, might share a fundamental structure, which may stem from the wider concerns of the rabbinic authors and not be exclusive to Elisha’s case. It is also possible that the enigma of Elisha ben Abuya led to some rudimentary reflections that found different expressions in parallel sugyot. Either way, though the sugyot themselves are unrelated and independent of each other, the underlying levels

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN POST-TANNAITIC SOURCES

77

of reflection that gave rise to both versions have much in common. They touch on the two ideas that are central to rabbinic thought: Torah and the world-to-come.42 In different ways, in the different renditions of the person of Elisha, his image is cast in terms of rabbinic culture’s most fundamental values.

The Testimony of Bavli Ḥagiga II Another sugya that mirrors the sobriquet Aḥer is found at the end of the Bavli’s discussion of Elisha ben Abuya. I present my analysis of this passage separately because I consider it to be independent of the body of the Bavli’s discussion.43 The Bavli’s discussion (Bavli I) is an extended presentation, beginning with the clarification of Elisha ben Abuya’s heavenly vision of Metatron, continuing with the sins that result from this vision, followed by dialogues with R. Meir, then by a story of Elisha ben Abuya’s visit to the beit midrash, and ending with a lengthy discussion of Elisha ben Abuya’s fate after death. Following this narrative, R. Meir’s status in the heavenly academy is presented as being directly related to Elisha’s status. Though the Bavli’s discussion can be broken up into distinct subsections, it has a thematic continuity that attempts to provide the reader with a sense of narrative continuity: events are arranged sequentially, either by some means of causality or through the literary and editorial contribution of the framers of the stories. After the conclusion of this unit, the bulk of the Bavli’s discussion, there are further materials. The sugya briefly discusses the figures of Do’eg and Aḥitofel, presumably figures who, like Elisha, were impaired Torah scholars. This discussion is the only interruption that the Elisha material suffers, and it signals the end of the large story cycle in Bavli I. After this digression, the Bavli returns to the figure of Elisha. This second handling of the sage forms an independent sugya. I have termed this sugya Bavli II.44 From both the thematic and the narrative points of view, Bavli II bears no relation to Bavli I. Following is Bavli II: What is Aḥer? Greek song did not cease from his home.45 It is told of Aḥer that when he used to rise [to go] from the beit midrash, many heretical books used to fall from his lap. 78

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

This passage is introduced by an introductory formula: ‫אחר מאי‬, What is Aḥer? Unlike the response to a similar question in Yerushalmi I, Elisha ben Abuya is not identified as Aḥer. The point of the question does not seem to be Aḥer’s precise identity—indeed, the Bavli seems to take his identity for granted. Rather, the question should be understood either as a request to clarify what made Aḥer an ‘‘other,’’ or as asking what accounts for the particular way of referring to him. Either way, there is a striking break from what preceded the passage. Both questions are well answered by the preceding sugya: Elisha is Aḥer because of the various deeds he committed and because he was a sinner. But the clarifying question, ‘‘What is Aḥer?’’ opens a whole new line of thought.46 None of the themes that were central in the first discussion is reflected in this brief passage. Most important, Bavli II does not state that Elisha sinned, and it speaks of ‘‘Greek song’’—a connection to Elisha that never appears in Bavli I. Bavli I portrays Elisha as a Torah scholar who sinned but never really left the rabbinic domain; it does not speak of him in a heretical context. The two images of Elisha contradict each other. Quite clearly, each sugya has its own concern: Bavli I presents an overall account of Elisha and an interpretation of all the elements in the Pardes passage; Bavli II wants to explicate Elisha’s sobriquet Aḥer, which the sugya obviously inherited from tradition. I suggest that the sobriquet was formed as an unfavorable paraphrase of the typological list in the Pardes passage. Once it became accepted, it became detached from its source. Bavli II accounts for the appellation Aḥer, which had already become commonplace. Interestingly, Elisha’s otherness is not understood in terms of sin.47 The question this raises is whether Bavli II is unfamiliar with the description of Elisha’s sins. If it is, then it is possible that Elisha became Aḥer independently of the reports of his sinning. The transition to Aḥer would then have been a consequence of the understanding that something negative is told of him in the Pardes episode. Yet in the first instance this negativity need not have been understood as a form of sinful behavior. It is difficult to ascertain whether, and to what degree, the view of Elisha the sinner is presupposed by Bavli II without clear articulation. If such a view is not recognized by Bavli II, then this would present further proof that not all stages in the tradition recognize the sage as a sinner.48 However, Bavli II follows Bavli I. The formation of Bavli II as an account of Elisha’s otherness allows the reader to get a glimpse of what this sugya considers otherness.49 Elisha’s

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN POST-TANNAITIC SOURCES

79

otherness is not expressed in terms of sin. It is expressed as moving beyond the conventional borders of society. Being an other is thus moving outside rather than remaining within: otherness is measured in relation to other social or ideological groups. Yet the faults attributed to Elisha are not of great halakhic severity: there is no formal prohibition against Greek music.50 This may explain why Rashi relates the problem to mourning behavior, appropriate to the reaction when the Temple was destroyed.51 Since, from a halakhic standpoint, Elisha did no wrong, singing Greek song must be taken to indicate belonging to an outside culture, of being ‘‘other.’’ The second tradition also relates to the meaning of Elisha’s sobriquet. His otherness is expressed in terms of sifrei minim, heretical books. This is a stereotyped expression, with an unspecified reference.52 The point is that these books are outside the scope of legitimate reading and learning; they are the literary expression of a group with which one is at odds. Aḥer is presumed to have studied these heretical or ‘‘otherly’’ books, many of which ‘‘used to fall from his lap.’’ Though he is not explicitly accused of being a heretic, this is a conceivable implication of this description. Still, his study of heretical books occurs in the beit midrash, which implies that Elisha never left the realm of the beit midrash even in his otherness. This is consistent with the image in Bavli I, which continues to relate Elisha to the beit midrash even after he sins. It seems that Elisha’s reading of heretical books is a private affair; he is not portrayed as seducing others into reading them.53 It is possible that the image of heretical books within the beit midrash is designed to weaken his image as a Torah scholar. His Torah may be thus impaired.54 Nevertheless, he is still portrayed as present in the heart of the rabbinic world rather than as one who has totally changed his ways. Elisha is viewed as an other, but not as a great sinner. If Bavli II is considered an independent source that the editors incorporated into the Bavli, does it have any historical value? Very little, it seems to me. These traditions are a conscious attempt to account for the name Aḥer, and as such, they emphasize what may be archetypical expressions of cultural or ideological otherness. Once the name Aḥer came into being, it had to be accounted for. The present sugya is one way of accounting for it. The traditions found in Bavli II are merely reactions to the name Aḥer. They do not provide any independent witness to the nature or activities of this sage.55

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The Testimony of Yerushalmi Ḥagiga I Following the two sugyot that provide insight into Elisha’s sobriquet, the next step is the discussion of the Pardes passage. In this regard, the Yerushalmi’s presentation of Elisha ben Abuya can be divided into two distinct units. The first is a commentary to the Pardes passage. The Yerushalmi then completes its presentation by referring to R. Akiva. The subsequent unit focuses on relations between R. Meir and Elisha, in this world and in the next. Following is the first unit: Aḥer looked and cut the shoots. Who is Aḥer? Elisha ben Abuya, who slew the young Torah scholars. They say: ‘‘He used to kill every disciple he saw mastering the Torah.’’ Moreover, he used to enter the schoolhouse, and when he saw pupils in the presence of their teacher he would say, ‘‘What are these doing here? This one should be a mason; this one should be a carpenter; this one should be a hunter; this one should be a tailor.’’ When they heard this they would leave [the teacher] and go [become workmen]. Of him Scripture says: ‘‘Do not let your mouth bring your flesh into sin,’’ etc., for he destroyed his own handiwork. Also at the time of the persecution they [the Romans] made [the Jews] carry burdens [on the Sabbath], and the Jews arranged it so that two people should share one load, because of the rule that two people doing one piece of work [are not violating the Sabbath]. Elisha said, ‘‘Make them carry the loads by themselves.’’ They went and made them carry them by themselves, but they arranged to unload in a karmelit [an area that cannot be classified either as private or as public space], so that they might not bring them out from private to public ground [which constitutes a violation of the Sabbath]. Elisha said, ‘‘Make them carry bottles’’ [which would be broken if left lying]. So they made them carry bottles. This passage is the most negative portrayal of Elisha in all rabbinic literature. It is also the most difficult to reconcile with any positive portrayal he might receive by being mentioned in Mishna Avot; it is hard to conceive of a child-killer’s being mentioned in Avot. This passage is a commentary on the Pardes episode, but it does not seem to address the meaning of the

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN POST-TANNAITIC SOURCES

81

Pardes episode or what exactly happened to Elisha there. The Yerushalmi does not attempt a coherent explanation of this passage, which is significant in determining historical veracity, for if the Yerushalmi does not attempt an explanation of the entire Pardes passage, it obviously loses sight of its meaning, which is literary rather than factual. The Yerushalmi breaks the passage down into its individual components, and the ensuing understanding is that this is a historical narrative.56 This event is set apart from any celestial occurrence that may have preceded it and to which the Pardes episode might have alluded, and no mystical, heavenly, or experiential act seems to underlie the hideous activities attributed to Elisha. Moreover, the Yerushalmi ignores not just the Pardes story, it also only partly explains the passage relating to Elisha. It comments on the meaning of cutting the shoots but ignores the meaning of the looking, ‫הציץ‬, that preceded the cutting. What it presents is an incomplete reaction to the Pardes passage. This passage is best understood in terms of two of the enigmatic expressions found in the Pardes tradition: ‘‘cut the shoots,’’ along with the proof text from Qohelet :.57 The Yerushalmi is apparently attempting to make some historical sense of these two traditions. In order to understand these traditions we must look at the meaning of ‫נטיעה‬, planting, in other contexts. The first tradition refers to Elisha as killer of young Torah scholars.58 Underlying this interpretation is the understanding of ‫ נטיעה‬as a young child.59 Such an understanding may be found in Yerushalmi Yevamot :,60 with reference to Rabbi Yose bar Ḥalafta: R. Yose b. Ḥalafta married his brother’s [childless] widow. He had intercourse with her five times, and he planted five plants, but with the use of a sheet. They are R. Ishmael b. R. Yose, R. Leazar b. R. Yose, R. Menahem b. R. Yose, R. Ḥalafta b. R. Yose, and R. Abdimos b. R. Yose. In this source, planting a ‫ נטיעה‬describes giving birth to children.61 The opposite would be obvious: cutting the shoots would be killing children. A parallel version of this tradition may capture a further nuance of ‫נטיעה‬. In Bereshit Rabba : the same tradition is brought with a slight variation: R. Yose b. R. Ḥalfutha [Ḥalafta] married his brother’s [childless] widow, with whom he had intercourse five times but with the use of 82

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

a sheet, and he planted five plants: R. Ishmael b. R. Yose, R. Eleazar b. R. Yose, R. Menahem b. R. Yose, R. Ḥalafta b. R. Yose, and R. Abdominos b. R. Yose. In this version the term ‫ נטיעה‬does not describe the act of conceiving children but refers to the end result: five sages in Israel. This may suggest that ‫ נטיעה‬designates the creation of a Torah scholar. This possibility is explicit in another source: Simeon bar Ba came to R. Hanina. He said to him, ‘‘Write a letter of recommendation for me, since I am going abroad to make a living.’’ He said to him, ‘‘Tomorrow I am going to your ancestors, and they will say to me, ‘That single planting [that gave us] pleasure which we had in the Land of Israel have you permitted to go abroad!’ ’’ 62 In this source, it is the precious Torah scholar who is described as a ‫נטיעה‬. In view of such usage we may regard the Yerushalmi’s interpretation of ‫קיצץ‬ ‫בנטיעות‬, cut the shoots, as very reasonable. To cut the shoots is to kill young Torah scholars.63 However, the Yerushalmi seems to mitigate this harsh view of Elisha. Elisha is portrayed as harming Torah students in two ways: by killing them and by influencing them to cease their Torah studies in favor of working with their hands. The second possibility is a milder form of ‘‘cutting the shoots’’ that does not carry the act to its logical conclusion.64 The students are not killed, they merely end their Torah study; in this instance, spiritual death replaces physical death. There is one significant difference between the two traditions. The first tradition is an attempt to paraphrase the enigmatic expression ‘‘cut the shoots.’’ This interpretative possibility does not take into account the proof text offered by the Tosefta to describe Elisha’s actions. The second tradition mentions the proof text explicitly. The proof text can function in more than one way. It can be an expansion of ‘‘do not let your mouth bring your flesh into sin.’’ The Hebrew ‫בשר‬, flesh, may perhaps be interpreted in this case as ‫שאר בשר‬, next of kin. The result is a midrash on the possibility of causing close relatives or associates to sin through speech. What kind of speech would constitute leading others into sin? The Yerushalmi answers by describing Elisha leading young Torah scholars away from

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN POST-TANNAITIC SOURCES

83

their studies. Even though this can sufficiently account for the formation of this tradition, the Yerushalmi makes explicit use of the conclusion of the verse. The words in the verse: ‘‘‫וחיבל את מעשה ידיך‬,’’ and destroy the work of your hands, are paraphrased with reference to the destruction of Elisha’s own handiwork. What is being destroyed? One possibility is that the students themselves are his handiwork, as he himself is a Torah scholar. Elisha is thus the one who destroys his own handiwork. Alternatively, the destruction wrought on his handiwork would refer to the loss of any merit previously acquired through virtuous action, on account of such a grave sin.65 Thus, as in the proof text, God is the one who destroys his handiwork. What is the nature of Elisha’s speech? By what authority does he proclaim the ideal earthly occupation for young Torah scholars? It may be that Elisha is portrayed as possessing magical powers, by which he makes the appropriate statements concerning each child. If so, the wicked sage may be a magician as well. However, this is not related to the Pardes story in any way. This point is significant for understanding the parallel to this description, found in Shir HaShirim Rabba :. There the question is asked: How did he ‘‘cut the shoots’’? When he entered a synagogue or beit midrash and saw children making progress in the Torah, he uttered incantations over them which brought them to a stop; and of him it is said, ‘‘Do not let your mouth bring your flesh into sin.’’ The text of this midrash seems to be dependent upon the Yerushalmi.66 Here the particulars of Elisha’s words are substituted by the more general expression: [He] said words upon them and they were silenced. The expression ‫אמר מיליא‬, pronounced a spell, suggests a magical spell.67 Thus, rather than kill young Torah scholars, or persuade them to stop their studies, Elisha invokes magic to silence them.68 It seems this midrash understood the Yerushalmi to be portraying Elisha as engaging in magic, perhaps because the view that Elisha killed Torah students was a bit too powerful and had to be mitigated by a magical understanding of his activities.69 From the exegetical perspective, this represents a different understanding of the manner in which the mouth may lead others into sin: not through seduction, conviction, or the use of rhetoric, but through the power of magical incantation. Interesting as this image of Elisha the magician is to the history of his image, 84

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it carries little historical value.70 Both the attempt to make sense of the proof text and the dependency upon the Yerushalmi make this text interesting in nonhistorical ways.71 The third and final tradition in this sugya of the Yerushalmi describes Elisha as counseling the Romans on how to cause Jews to violate the Sabbath. It hardly seems necessary to expand on the historical veracity of the Romans succeeding in making Jews feel they had violated the Sabbath. What should be of concern is what elements led to the formation of this tradition. This obviously presents another way to explain the proof text. The mouth leading the flesh to sin is the mouth of the adviser who successfully guides the adversary to cause transgression of the Sabbath. This interpretation would capture the full force of the biblical ‫להחטיא‬, emphasizing the power of willfully leading others into sin. In this context, it is not the Torah but the commandments that are the focus of attention.72 Is the proof text that describes leading others to sin the only element from the Pardes passage that shapes this report, or are there other elements that contribute to its formation? Midrashic expression contains other instances in which cutting the shoots expresses the failure to fulfill the commandments. This may be understood as the usage of the source that was suggested as the basis for the Pardes passage: And make a hedge about the Torah. A vineyard which is surrounded by a fence is unlike a vineyard not surrounded by a fence. [This also means] that no one should make the fence more important than what is to be fenced in—for if the fence falls down, then it will cut down the plants. For this is what we find in connection with Adam: he treated the fence as more significant than what was essential. When the fence fell down, it cut down the plants.73 This statement refers to protecting the commandments by extending prohibitions, in the same way a fence protects a vineyard. In this example, Adam is accused of having made such a fence, which in turn led to the violation of the divinely given commandment. He protected the divine commandment not to eat of the fruit of the tree by warning Eve not to touch the tree, but when the serpent pushed Eve to touch the tree, he could then further convince her to eat of its fruit.74 Cutting the plants in this context refers explicitly to violating the commandments.

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN POST-TANNAITIC SOURCES

85

If this is the source that served as the basis for the formation of the Pardes passage, the question is whether the author of this passage merely borrowed the phrase ‘‘cut the plants’’ as an extension of the metaphor of the falling fence, or whether a more serious meaning was intended. By saying that Elisha cut the plants, did the author of the Pardes passage intend to convey a sense similar to that of the source in Avot de Rabbi Natan? This reading might serve as a powerful objection to my reading of the Pardes passage: if such a reading is accepted, the author of the Pardes passage is telling us that Elisha ceased to fulfill commandments, which he expressed as cutting the plants. However, I have suggested that for the Tosefta, ‘‘cutting the plants’’ did not denote anything particular in the life of the historical Elisha ben Abuya. The Tosefta is structured along a division between its two parts: the first part reports legitimate Torah activity, and the second reports the seeking of worldly pleasures, which in turn expresses a view of mystical visionary practices. In this way the Pardes is intended to contrast with the Torah. If, in this context, to ‘‘cut the shoots’’ referred to no longer fulfilling the commandments, the clear division established by the Tosefta between its two parts would be broken. If ‘‘cutting the shoots’’ means not fulfilling the commandments, the second part would describe ideal activity (fulfillment of the commandments), which is defied only in Elisha ben Abuya’s case. To interpret the phrase in this sense in the Tosefta would be to disregard the logic of the unit as a whole. Therefore, I prefer to interpret the Tosefta as referring to Elisha in a metaphorical sense and to limit its borrowing to the phrase rather than to its original context. The testimony of the source in Avot de Rabbi Natan, even if it is not significant for understanding the original meaning of the Pardes passage, may be significant in understanding how later generations interpreted the meaning of ‘‘cutting the plants.’’ When the phrase is not appreciated in its original literary context, it comes to be understood in a historical context. If there are passages in which ‘‘cutting plants’’ refers to ceasing to fulfill the commandments, Elisha is also viewed in this manner. Another example illustrates rabbinic usage of the phrase: It is like the case of a king who had an orchard which he let out to two tenants, one of whom planted trees and cut them down, while the other neither planted any [trees] nor cut any down. With whom is the king angry? Surely with him who planted [trees] and cut them down. 86

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

Likewise, whosoever learns the words of the Torah and does not fulfill them, his punishment is more severe than that of him who has never learned at all.75 In this parable, planting trees is equated to learning Torah. Cutting them down, which in Hebrew is the same expression as that used with reference to Elisha, is not fulfilling the commandments. This source is particularly significant because it not only portrays the transgression of commandments but contrasts it to the study of Torah.76 Though this midrashic source is significantly later than the tannaitic sources, it is nonetheless instructive both of the possible meaning of the expression ‫ קיצץ בנטיעות‬and of the theoretical framework in which this term is used: the dichotomy between knowledge of Torah and violation of its commandments. Elisha ben Abuya would be the archetype of such a tension. This is explicit in the discussions of Bavli I and Yerushalmi II. In Yerushalmi I the saving grace of the Torah does not figure in the development of Elisha’s image. Indeed, the opposite is true: the first two statements in this part of the Yerushalmi make clear Elisha’s conscious opposition to the Torah. Of the sources referring to Elisha, this is the only one in which Elisha sins and also causes others to sin. This harsh image of him seems to be the product of a particular understanding of cutting the shoots, along with a particular exegetical emphasis. The proof text refers to someone who causes others to sin. The combination of the two elements yields an image of Elisha who causes others to sin. A further relationship may be established between the image of Elisha the sinner and the expression ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬. There are several examples of a wicked person, ‫רשע‬, also being described as one who cuts, ‫קוצץ‬: ‘‘Visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children and upon the children’s children, to the third and fourth generations’’ (Num. :). . . . If children persist, generation after generation, in the wicked ways of their forefathers, punishment therefore will be visited upon them. But if there be an alternating of the generations, with one generation righteous and the next wicked, and so on, then ‘‘The fathers shall not be put to death for the children, neither shall the children be put to death for the fathers’’ etc. (Deut. :). Hearing this, Moses rejoiced, saying, ‘‘In Israel there is no uprooter [of grape vines] who is also the son of an uprooter [of grape vines].’’ 77

ELISHA BEN ABUYA IN POST-TANNAITIC SOURCES

87

In this text, as in others, there is a parallel between ‫ קוצץ‬and ‫רשע‬.78 This can be seen as further support for the understanding of ‘‘cutting the shoots’’ as an expression of wickedness. Elisha can be seen as a sinner based on the expression ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬, and as leading others astray, based on the proof text. Yet why is Elisha portrayed as instructing the Romans how to cause Jews to sin? Surely there must be other ways in which Elisha could be depicted as leading others to sin. Here we must refer to the third character-forming aspect of the Pardes passage: Elisha’s sobriquet, Aḥer, of which Yerushalmi I is aware. It seems that in this context the meaning of Aḥer is the one who is the ‘‘other’’ by virtue of having aligned himself with the enemy, with those opposed to Torah. Elisha is cast as a collaborator with the Romans in times of religious persecution, and thus as the wicked ‘‘other.’’ Where Bavli II could portray Elisha as an ‘‘other,’’ without relating his otherness to sin, Yerushalmi I ties the two themes together. In Bavli II, Elisha’s otherness involves a crossing of the lines, even if he remains within the beit midrash. He does not lead others to follow his example. In Bavli II, the reading of heretical books is strictly Elisha’s private affair. In contrast, in Yerushalmi I, his otherness involves crossing the lines, leading others to sin, and cutting all ties that would keep him within legitimate societal boundaries. Yerushalmi I portrays the harshest image of Elisha in all talmudic and midrashic literature. It may be accounted for in terms of the elements that emerge from the Pardes passage. I cannot see a particular ideological agenda that governs the negative portrait of Elisha. Rather, Yerushalmi I is formed as an exegetical reaction to the Pardes passage, and its harshness is due to the unmitigated power of interpretation. Only when larger ideological considerations come into play is the hermeneutic dimension held in check, allowing a different image of Elisha to emerge. The interplay between the hermeneutical and the ideological dimension is best seen in the treatment of the Pardes passage in the Bavli.

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PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

4 BAVLI ḤAGIGA I COMING INTO SIN

T B provides the longest, and most elaborate, report of the life, activity, and even afterlife of Elisha ben Abuya. It is a complete literary unit that must be analyzed in its entirety. It can be analyzed on three levels: historical truth, interpretation and hermeneutics of previous texts and traditions, and the ideological concerns of a particular group through the stories it tells and the way it presents its heroes. In reading the Bavli, we must widen our perspective from the search for the historical Elisha ben Abuya to an appreciation of the way his image is presented. Only after examining the ideological, literary, and interpretative dimensions of the text can we assess its value as history—not of Elisha as a historical figure, for, like other sources, there is little to learn in the Bavli about the historical view of Elisha—but of the views, concerns, and unique forms of storytelling of the sages. Because of the length of the Bavli’s material concerning Elisha, an analysis of the relevant aspects is best approached by dividing the material into smaller units. An examination of all the Bavli’s relevant manuscripts and early printed editions reveals major textual changes in the cycle of stories about Elisha ben Abuya.1 A discussion of the manuscript evidence, a presentation of the chosen Hebrew base text, and a record of representative manuscript variations are given in the Appendix to this volume. For analysis here, I give an English translation of the chosen Hebrew text. The opening lines of the Bavli’s presentation of Aḥer are the most quoted, and the most discussed, part of the Bavli’s portrayal of Elisha. They relate to what went wrong with Elisha ben Abuya: 89

Aḥer cut the shoots. Of him Scripture says: ‘‘Do not let your mouth bring your flesh into sin, and do not say before the angel that it was a mistake; why should God be angry at your voice and destroy the work of your hands’’ (Qoh. :). What did he see? He saw Metatron, to whom permission was granted, for one hour a day, to sit and write down the merits of Israel. Said he: ‘‘We have learned that on high there is no standing and no sitting, no jealousy and no competition, and no back and no weariness. Perhaps, God forbid,2 there are two powers?’’ [Thereupon] they took Metatron out, and lashed him with sixty fiery lashes. Permission was [then] granted to him to burn the merits of Aḥer. A bat kol went forth and said: ‘‘Return, O backsliding children, except for Aḥer.’’ He said: ‘‘Since that man has been driven forth from that world, let him go out and enjoy this world.’’ So Aḥer went out into evil courses.

The Exegetical Dimension This story is full of numerous motives. It is the first attempt we have seen to link the story of Elisha ben Abuya with an understanding of the Pardes passage, which describes the heavenly ascent of the four Torah scholars.3 The Bavli thus seeks to tie in Elisha’s fate with what may have occurred in the course of the heavenly journey. The aim of the story is to make sense of the Pardes episode and how it relates to Elisha’s fate. The Bavli is an elaborate midrash on the verse applied to Elisha from Qohelet :, whose key element is: Do not say before the angel that it was a mistake.4 This provides the Bavli with the clue to tie Elisha’s fate with a relationship with a particular angel, which the Bavli decodes as a reference to Metatron.5 The verse teaches that something erroneous was said about the angel, with a negative consequence: the possibility that there are two powers on high, which is a classical source of concern in ancient Jewish theology.6 Elisha’s exclamation leads to Metatron’s lashing.7 But Elisha, too, must pay a price. His heavenly voyage brought suffering upon a great angelic being. The price is that all his merits are taken away from him and he is declared unable to enter the world-to-come. The manuscript traditions record various means by which the merits are removed. All Branch B manuscripts, with the exception of the printed edi90

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

tions, refer to burning Elisha’s merits. This establishes a relationship between the fiery lashes that Metatron received and the burning of merits. Branch A manuscripts 8 refer to uprooting the merits.9 The reference underlying this reading may be an understanding of merits, or perhaps commandments, as young plants: disposing of merit is like uprooting young shoots, reflecting the Bavli’s understanding of the enigmatic phrase ‘‘cut the shoots’’ as referring to not keeping the commandments, or to uprooting those commandments already performed by eliminating the merit gained through their performance. Finally, it should be noted that in the printed editions, Elisha’s merits are erased. This reading probably evolved as the result of Metatron’s previous act: recording Israel’s merits. This underscores the mirror image of the two actions performed by Metatron: writing the merits of Israel and erasing the merits of Aḥer.10 Removing Elisha’s merits is a further elaboration of the proof text. Following the mistaken statement made before the angel, the verse asks: Why should God be angry at your voice and destroy the work of your hands? The work of your hands is the commandments. The destruction of the commandments is the destruction of the merit acquired through their fulfillment.11 Thus, both Elisha’s error with regard to the angel and his subsequent punishment are ways of making sense of the proof text.12 Elisha’s punishment seems to be a divine reaction: Metatron is granted permission from on high, proving that this is not revenge for Metatron himself.13 Having been stripped of past merits and of the future hope of reparation, Elisha concludes that the delights of this world are all that is left for him. He thus decides to enjoy this world. The reader may be struck by the severity of the reaction. Elisha merely entertained a mistaken notion with regard to the angel, without malice or forethought. It is not even clear that Elisha adopted this as a theological position; he raises this as a possibility, which he disdains, rather than as a position that he marshals: ‫שמא חס ושלום‬, God forbid, there are two powers in heaven.14 The extreme reaction to a fleeting error seems to be unjust. But this is precisely the point of the story: Elisha is punished for an error, which stems from a misunderstanding. Whether it is an accidental or involuntary error is irrelevant. The key phrase in the proof text is ‫שגגה‬, unintentional error. This finds expression in various ways in the narrative. Elisha’s error is unintentional (‫שוגג‬-‫)שגגה‬, and it involves him in an error (‫ )שגגה‬concerning the nature of the angel. Since the proof text warns not to say before the angel

BAVLI HAGIGA I .

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that it was a ‫שגגה‬, then Elisha must be portrayed as having sinned unintentionally. The proof text discusses the possibility of an unintentional error having grave consequences. In this case, affecting the angel adversely is so severe that ‫שגגה עולה זדון‬, an unintentional act, is considered as though it were intentional. The message of the story is therefore precisely the lack of intent on Elisha’s part: in dealing with angels, events may occur that, however unintentional, may have severe repercussions. The disregard for intent is a reflection of the proof text, which relates to words that are uttered before the angel; disregard of intent may be a consequence of dealing with angels. Alternatively, we might view the disregard for intent in line with other instances in which there is no distinction between intentional and unintentional error. The most likely possibility 15 is the error in ‫תלמוד‬, in the teachings of Torah.16 Elisha’s error might be such an error: he is led to err by a teaching he quotes, ’‫גמירי דלמעלה וכו‬, ‘‘we have learned that above,’’ etc. The term ‫ גמירי‬indicates a quoted teaching. It prefaces a talmudic statement that is assumed rather than proved and therefore lacks a proof text. In fact, in several cases the teaching appearing under ‫ גמירי‬is juxtaposed with the authority endowed by the quoting of biblical verses.17 The teaching Elisha relies on is unparalleled: there is no way of knowing whether this is an authentic teaching that was only preserved in this context or whether it is a fictitious teaching created for the sake of the story and planted in Elisha’s mouth with the introductory term ‫גמירי‬.18 Either way, Elisha’s teaching is what leads him astray. He might therefore be viewed as one who erred with regard to his teaching. In such a case, intention is irrelevant. This story is constructed to serve an exegetical purpose. It is formed around the proof text from Qohelet, but it also offers an understanding of the phrase ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬, cutting the shoots, which the Bavli (like the Yerushalmi) seems to understand as an expression meaning not fulfilling the commandments.19 Elisha is therefore portrayed as an individual who goes into evil ways. In the Bavli, it becomes clear that going into evil ways might be equated with seeking worldly pleasure, but it is important to stress that according to this reading, Elisha’s statement regarding the existence of two powers in heaven is not in and of itself the referent of ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬. Mistaken theological perceptions are not the sin this unit refers to; rather, they initiate a chain of events that culminates in not fulfilling commandments, which is the proper reference of ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬. The Bavli faces a formidable hermeneutical challenge. It has to construct a bridge between Elisha’s heavenly 92

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ascent, the enigmatic proof text, and the description of Elisha as a sage who ceased to fulfill the commandments. All these elements are brought together in an elaborate construction. As an interpretative project, seeking to solve several textual difficulties simultaneously, the Bavli’s interpretation is brilliant. But it stems from the interpretation of the expression ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬, not from a historical record, and it does not provide new historical information concerning Elisha ben Abuya.

Elisha-Aḥer: Exclusion from Israel The story of Aḥer and his exclusion from Israel accounts for more than the proof text from Qohelet and the phrase ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬. It also attempts to account for the meaning of the name Aḥer.20 In what way is Elisha aḥer? I believe this question governs the Bavli’s narrative. It is clear that the Bavli takes for granted Elisha’s sobriquet, Aḥer; its task is to account for the appellation. The essential point of the first part of the story seems to be that Elisha’s ‘‘otherness’’ consists in his being in some sense outside the fold of Israel.21 Elisha’s becoming an ‘‘other,’’ that is, removed from Israel, differs from cases in which a Jew might assume another identity, by converting to another religion, for example. From the talmudic perspective, Elisha does not become part of another belief system, nor is Elisha aḥer simply because he sinned; it is not his behavior that makes him an ‘‘other.’’ For Bavli I, as opposed to other sources already examined, Elisha’s sinfulness is a consequence of his ‘‘otherness,’’ not its cause and essence. Elisha is a case by means of which the storytellers of Bavli I tease out issues of identity in its deeper sense. The teasing out of Elisha’s identity as ‘‘other’’ takes place where no acquisition of an alternative identity is involved. The Talmud constructs a unique situation where Elisha is excluded from Israelite sonship. The circumstances are not applicable to its readers and therefore could not constitute any threat, and Elisha’s loss of Jewish identity is temporary: the story concerns not only his loss of sonship and his share in the world-to-come but also his ultimate reinstatement in heaven. Thus, in the final analysis, this is not the story of a Jewish sage who is excluded from membership in the collective. The question is to what extent and in what manner Aḥer can be outside Israel. The concern for Elisha’s otherness has to be related to the proof text. This

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is the reason that the heavenly vision (Pardes) is of an angel (proof text) who sits and writes the virtues of Israel.22 Elisha views a heavenly moment that is colored by the particular status of Israel. Seeing the heavenly scribe seated prompts a mistaken utterance, which is a result of the gap between Elisha’s previous learning or expectation and what is really happening in heaven. All manuscripts, with the exception of the printed edition and M, suggest that permission is granted for one hour a day.23 This probably means that writing Israel’s merits is a daily ceremony, performed on high, of which Elisha was not aware. Perhaps this is an expression of the imperfection of his teaching, which does not match up to the heavenly reality. More likely, the point is not that Elisha’s Torah learning is faulty but simply that, when one enters heaven, there are exceptions to the rule that cannot be prepared for in advance. This would certainly be the understanding of those textual witnesses that view the event as a one-time rather than regular occurrence. Elisha is led astray by teaching that is correct, if insufficient. This leads him to the possible conclusion that there are two powers in heaven. We should note that Elisha does not directly question the permission given to Metatron to sit and write Israel’s virtues; there is no mention of a rebellion, or injustice, provoked in Elisha by the sight of the seated heavenly scribe. The problem is couched in theological terms. This theological reflection leads to a process that is the opposite of the moment of the original vision. Thus, as a consequence of his mistaken utterance, Elisha is punished in a manner that is the opposite of the special status Israel enjoyed in the opening vision. In other words, the opposite of recording Israel’s merits is the elimination of Elisha’s merits.24 This is not done because Elisha doubts or contests Israel’s special status. It has the net effect of juxtaposing Elisha and Israel in such a way as to present Elisha as removed or opposed to Israel, thus sharing a different lot. In a word, he is an aḥer. Precisely because the Bavli wants to tease out the meaning of Elisha’s otherness in terms of belonging to the collective of Israel, it reports Metatron’s sitting in order to record Israel’s merits. Elisha’s error is a consequence of the special status that Israel enjoys. If, owing to this status, he wreaks havoc in the upper world, he must be excluded from Israel’s status. This is the logic of measure for measure: the consequences of his error correspond to the circumstances that led him to err; removing Elisha’s merits corresponds to the writing of Israel’s merits. At the same time, the special status that Israel enjoys, because of which Metatron is given permission to sit, corre94

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

sponds to the removal of Elisha from that status—in other words, his being Aḥer. There is a quid pro quo relationship between the effects of Elisha’s actions on high and his own fate. Part of Metatron’s punishment is that he is taken out.25 Metatron suffers being excluded and removed from his heavenly context. The consequence of Elisha’s heavenly ascent is that he, too, is removed from his natural context, and is known as an aḥer. This relationship finds expression in the text through the use of the same verb in both instances. The text states of Metatron: ‫אפקוה למטטרון‬, they took Metatron out; of Elisha it states: ‫נפק לתרבות רעה‬, he went out into evil courses. The intrinsic relationship between Elisha’s becoming an aḥer and the story of the events that occurred on high can be looked at in another way. As a consequence of the thought that perhaps two powers exist in heaven, Elisha is pronounced to be an aḥer. In the Bavli, the first time Elisha is known as Aḥer is when the heavenly voice is sounded, following Elisha’s mistaken theological observation. Once again, there is a quid pro quo between Elisha’s error and its consequences. He thought Metatron was separate from God when he was writing Israel’s merits. This causes Elisha to be separated from Israel, thus justifying his becoming an ‘‘other.’’ Because he considered the existence of an ‘‘other’’ in addition to God, he became an ‘‘other.’’ 26 If Elisha contemplates the existence of separate ‫רשויות‬, domains, in heaven, he finds himself in his own domain, ‫רשות‬, separate from the body of Israel. That the storytellers intend aḥer as a contrast to the status an Israelite would enjoy emerges also in the message of the heavenly voice, which quotes a verse from Jeremiah :, ‘‘Return, O backsliding children—except for Aḥer.’’ The heavenly voice seems to be inserted as a device to exclude Elisha, rather than as a genuine call for Israel’s repentance. Israel’s merits have just been recorded in heaven, so the clear emphasis is on excluding Elisha. But what is it that Elisha is excluded from? He could be excluded from the possibility of repenting—later in the sugya this is how Elisha understands the bat kol in his reply to R. Meir—but a more serious exclusion may also be implied. Elisha may be excluded from being a son, which in turn excludes him from the possibility of repentance. This would be a clear expression of Elisha’s otherness: the one who is not a son. A son enjoys unconditional status that is not lost through faulty behavior. The threat that Elisha might no longer be considered a son is unique in rabbinic literature.27 It is made possible through a story that attempts to make sense of his designation as

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Aḥer. Obviously, it is only because the story has a happy ending that the storytellers can afford to tease out the issue of sonship, and its potential loss. Perhaps the message of the heavenly voice should be viewed as intentionally ambiguous. The bat kol contains two messages, one excluding Elisha as a son, the other excluding him from the possibility of repentance. Though I favor his exclusion from sonship as the primary meaning of the heavenly voice, there may be a shift between the two meanings. The primary meaning seems to be an exclusion from sonship rather than from repentance. This is consistent with the logic of the event, as narrated in the Bavli; because there was no sin related to Elisha prior to the heavenly ascent, he could hardly be excluded from repentance.28 The heavenly vision contained a view of the heavenly procedures and the effects Israel has upon them. In this context, if Elisha has to pay a price it would be in relation to the very status of Israel, and loss of his status as a son is more appropriate to the development of the story than repentance. Nevertheless, the understanding of the bat kol in relation to repentance may be intentional. This is what Elisha expresses in his conversations with R. Meir. For Elisha, understanding the bat kol with regard to repentance paradoxically opens the gates of the next world. At the end of the story Elisha enters heaven not because he repents but because of another process. In fact, not only could Elisha not repent: he did not need to. The heavenly voice remains in effect, even though Elisha ultimately enters the world-to-come. In part, this is made possible by the double meaning attached to the words of the heavenly voice. That Elisha’s sonship is consciously thematized in the story would account for the reference to Elisha as going into ‫תרבות רעה‬, evil courses. An examination of the uses of ‫ תרבות רעה‬in rabbinic sources reveals that the term is a stock term, though not exclusively, in the context of father-son relations.29 A father’s constant concern is to protect his son from going into evil courses: many stories and parables refer to the man or king whose son had gone into ‫תרבות רעה‬, to his father’s care for him, etc. The particular manner by which Elisha’s sinning is described is thus directly linked to the reference to sonship that precedes his going into evil courses. Because of whatever occurred on high, Elisha has become what every father fears—the son who has gone into evil courses. The heavenly voice speaks only of repentance and not of exclusion from the world-to-come. It does not say that Elisha is excluded from the next world. Yet it does not seem that Elisha is mistaken.30 The story proceeds as 96

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

though Elisha deduces correctly.31 What accounts for the move from exclusion from repentance to exclusion from the world-to-come? I think this is further evidence of the Bavli’s play on the meaning of ‘‘other’’ as one who is excluded from Israel. Had the Bavli simply wanted to exclude Elisha from the possibility of repentance, the conclusion that he is also excluded from the world-to-come would not have followed. But Elisha’s loss of status as a son would influence his status in the world-to-come, and this Elisha seems to understand. This is the reason that the heavenly voice does not resort to a formula stating that Elisha has no share in the world-to-come. The purpose of the heavenly voice is to exclude him as a son, not to punish him. Being excluded from the next world is a consequence of being excluded as a son. This claim is supported by referring to the precise words of the heavenly voice. ‘‘Return O backsliding children, except for Aḥer,’’ begins with an often-used call from Jeremiah :. In another midrashic source, Eicha Rabba, a heavenly voice uses this same verse: R. Jonathan said: Three and a half years the Shechinah abode upon the Mount of Olives hoping that Israel would repent, but they did not; while a bat kol issued announcing, ‘Return, O backsliding children (Jer. :), Return unto Me, and I will return unto you (Mal. :).’ When they did not repent, it said, ‘I will go and return to My place (Hos. :).’ 32 Though we cannot date with any certainty the story as told in Bavli Ḥagiga, since the source in Eicha Rabba is ascribed to R. Yonatan, a first-generation Palestinian amora, it is possible that his placing of Jeremiah : in the mouth of a heavenly voice precedes the story in Bavli Ḥagiga. Alternatively, having this verse uttered by a heavenly voice may have been a literary convention, as seen in the cumulative evidence of the sources. Either way, the storyteller may have had recourse to an existing description of the heavenly voice calling children to repent and used it as a device for adding the exclusion of Aḥer.33 If so, we must ask why this particular motive was chosen. It seems unlikely that his concern was with the call for repentance, since Israel had just had its merits recorded by Metatron. It is more likely that the choice of the particular phrase stems from the reference to Israel as children, which suggests that the storyteller used a preexisting tradition of a heavenly voice uttering Jeremiah :. In the preexisting tradition the message concerned

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repentance, and this meaning is not totally lost, as we see from the latter part of the story; but Jeremiah : suits the storyteller’s intention to emphasize a point that could only be made by referring to this verse: Elisha loses his status as a son, one that is enjoyed by all Israelites, and is thus an ‘‘other.’’ The exclusion of Elisha from sonship may be not only an elaboration of his sobriquet; it may also be a continuation of the play on the meaning of ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬. In view of the suggestion that the meaning of the heavenly voice, and of the story as a whole, is that Elisha is excluded from sonship, we can look at some orchard parables in rabbinic literature. It has already been noted that one referent of orchard parables is Israel.34 It is particularly noteworthy that the tradition that served as the basis for the formation of the Pardes passage appears in a late midrash with reference to Israel. According to my analysis, though this understanding may not be helpful in deciphering the original Tosefta passage, it may be significant for an understanding of the story of Elisha. We read in Tanna Devei Eliyahu, chapter : ‘‘That spoil the vineyards when our vineyards are in blossom’’ (Song of Sol. :)—spoil the house of Israel which is likened to a vineyard, as it is said, ‘‘The vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel’’ (Isa. :). The elder R. Eliezer said, [with the nations of the world in mind]: Since the Holy One’s vineyard is the house of Israel, do not gaze into it. Even if you gaze into it, do not enter it. If you enter it, do not breathe in its fragrance. If you breathe in its fragrance, do not eat of its fruit. But if you do gaze into it, enter it, breathe in its fragrance, and eat of its fruit, the end of such as you is that you will be rooted out of the world.35 In this source, the prohibition to look, which would lead to entering and eating the fruit of the vineyard, is explicitly related to Israel. This may be a secondary elaboration of the Ben Zoma tradition. Nonetheless, it shows us that this text can have such a meaning. In this text, as in Ben Zoma’s, the reference is to a vineyard rather than an orchard, but there are other sources where Israel is compared to an orchard.36 Two examples will suffice: R. Samuel b. Nahman said: [God is] like a king who had an orchard in which he planted rows of nut trees and apple trees and pomegran98

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

ates, and which he then handed over to the care of his son. So long as the son did his duty, the king used to look out for the good shoots wherever he could find one, and take it up and bring it and plant it in the orchard. But when the son did not do his duty, the king used to look out for the best plant in the orchard and take it up. So when Israel does its duty to God, He looks out for any righteous person among the other nations, like Jethro or Rahab, and brings them and attaches them to Israel. But when Israel does not do its duty to God, He picks out any righteous and upright and proper and God-fearing man among them and removes him from their midst. R. Samuel said: ‘‘[God was] like a king who had an orchard in which he planted rows of nut trees, apple trees, and pomegranate trees. He handed them over to his son, saying, ‘My son, I do not require anything of you, only when these trees yield their first fruit, bring it to me and let me taste, so that I may see the work of my hand and rejoice in you.’ So the Holy One, blessed be He, said to Israel: ‘My sons, I require nothing of you, only when a first son is born to any one of you, let him sanctify him in My name, as it says, ‘‘Sanctify unto Me all the firstborn’’ ’ (Exod. :).37 In both parables Israel is the orchard, in which death, birth, and conversion are signified by changes that take place in the king’s orchard. If the orchard or vineyard stands for Israel, harming it would mean harming Israel. This seems to be the point of the statement attributed to R. Eliezer. In these parables, removing something from the orchard refers to death. However, other meanings of removal from the orchard are possible. Just as planting within the orchard refers to conversion, cutting of trees might refer to apostasy. This is not the point of the parable in Shir HaShirim Rabba, but it is still a possible theoretical interpretation. If we can assume that the Bavli is aware of such use of orchard parables, that would account for the particular way in which the Bavli relates to Elisha. In reference to Israel, what would be the meaning of Elisha’s cutting the plants? Death would seem to be out of the question, since this is what happens to Ben Azzai. Becoming an ‘‘other’’ is more likely. According to the Bavli, this refers to one who loses his status as a son. The formal case of apostasy is not related here, possibly on the grounds that even an apostate remains an Israelite.38 Therefore, all the Bavli can do

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to create a category of one who is severed from the ‘‘orchard’’ of Israel is to base this exclusion on a heavenly decree rather than on any particular human action or decision. When Elisha hears the heavenly voice he realizes that he is to be excluded from the world-to-come. This realization is a reflection of the fact that in rabbinic literature, heavenly voices generally fulfill one of two functions. One type of heavenly voice is a calling: at Mount Sinai, a heavenly voice calls the children of Israel to study Torah daily.39 A far more frequent type is the voice that reveals the status of the protagonist in the world-to-come, or informs of the reward awaiting the person being addressed.40 In Elisha’s case, the bat kol combines both functions. On a first level, it calls for repentance; this is obviously how it serves in R. Yonatan’s tradition, which the Bavli elaborates on. But because Elisha is excluded by the bat kol, the bat kol’s announcement concerns both personal fate and status in the world-to-come. The result is that Elisha understands himself to be excluded both from Israel and from the world-to-come. Mishna Sanhedrin : presents the relationship between the two: ‘‘All Israel have a portion in the world-to-come, as it is said, ‘Thy people also shall be all righteous; they shall inherit the land for ever, the branch of My planting, the work of My hands, wherein I glory (Isa. :).’ ’’ 41 As Ed Parish Sanders correctly observes, the basic situation is that one belongs to the community of Israel, all of which is entitled to the worldto-come.42 The starting point is one of inclusiveness. One would have to do something wrong in order to be excluded, thereby losing the share in the world-to-come. This is also evident in the continuation of the mishna (:–): And these are they who have no share in the world-to-come: He who says there is no resurrection of the dead laid down in the Torah, and [he who says] the Torah is not from Heaven, and a heretic. R. Akiva says, ‘‘Also one who reads heretical books, or he who utters charms over a wound and says, ‘I will put none of the plagues upon you, which I have put upon the Egyptians; for I am the Eternal who heals you’ ’’ (Exod. :). Abba Saul says, ‘‘Also he that utters the Divine Name according to its letters.’’ Three kings and four commoners have no portion in the world-to-

100

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come. The three kings are Jerobeam, Ahab, and Manasseh. R. Judah says, Manasseh has a share in the world-to-come, as it is said, ‘‘And he prayed unto Him, and [God] heard his supplication and brought him back to Jerusalem into his kingdom ( Chron. :).’’ [The Sages] said to him, ‘‘He brought him again into his kingdom, but He did not bring him back to the life of the world-to-come.’’ The four commoners are Balaam, Do’eg, Aḥitophel, and Geḥazi. The starting point is that all are included in the world-to-come; however, some are subsequently excluded on account of their actions. Thus, exclusion from the world-to-come is related to the exclusion from Israel. Normally, repentance can counteract wrongdoing. As Sanders correctly notes, (p. ff.), repentance fulfills an important function because it permits one who has left to reenter. This provides a better understanding for the content of the heavenly voice. It excludes Elisha both from belonging and from repentance. Even though he has done no wrong, at this point in the development of the narrative, having been excluded, the door is shut. The heavenly voice thus excludes Elisha in two different ways. This results in Elisha’s being ‘‘out.’’ This is clearly emphasized by the story’s repeated use of language of going out. A look at the Bavli’s discussion of the mishna in Sanhedrin helps in understanding the sugya. In discussing the people who are mentioned in Mishna Sanhedrin as not having a share in the world-to-come, the Talmud includes the following: The Doreshe Reshumoth maintained: All of them will enter the worldto-come, as it is written, ‘‘Gilead is mine, and Manasseh is mine; Ephraim also is the strength of my head; Judah is my lawgiver; Moab is my washpot; over Edom will I cast out my shoe: Philistia, triumph thou because of me’’ (Ps. :–). [Thus:] Gilead is mine: this refers to Ahab, who fell at Ramoth-Gilead; Mannasseh is literally meant; Ephraim also is the strength of mine head: this alludes to Jerobeam, a descendant of Ephraim; Judah is my lawgiver: this refers to Aḥitophel, who is descended from Judah; Moab is my washpot: to Geḥazi, who was smitten on account of matters connected with bathing; over Edom will I cast out my shoe: to Do’eg the Edomite.43

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Exclusion from the world-to-come is not final, even when it is mentioned in the Mishna. Later exegesis can let everybody enter, though no explanation is offered according to which those who were excluded previously can later be admitted. Obviously, the proof text is the formal means of justifying the change in attitude; but what is the motivation? The source does not help answer this question. The impulse to grant entry even to those who are excluded may reflect an awareness of the unconditional status of belonging to Israel: thus, anyone who is part of Israel should ultimately enter the world-to-come.44 A similar tendency is found in the story of Elisha. The reader who is familiar with the continuation knows that Elisha finally enters the world-to-come without repenting. What enables him to do so is the Torah, both directly and through the intervention of its masters, the sages. If so, it is as if there are parallel paths to the world-to-come, one being the collective of Israel, the other being the power of the Torah.45 Torah and Israel are the two primary foci of rabbinic thinking, continuing themes throughout rabbinic literature.46 In this story cycle we have an original way of viewing the two concepts. Since this may be the only instance in rabbinic literature where an individual is excluded from Israel, it provides the opportunity to test the meaning of Torah and its limits. What is clear from the story is that, even where the value of Israel fails, the value of the Torah endures, so that even one who is excluded from Israel, and is an ‘‘other,’’ can still enter the world-to-come. Who would tell such a story? Obviously, those whose trade is the Torah. The previous discussion dealt with testing the limits of being an Israelite. This matter can only be raised in the present context because another question informs the discussion: the limits and the power of the Torah. If this is the only occasion in which the possibility of exclusion from sonship is entertained, that is so because there is another ideological concern: the ultimate significance of the Torah. In order to test the power of the Torah, a situation is created in which a rabbinic protagonist loses his status as being part of the collective. Israel and Torah are pitted against each other instead of being complementary. By centering the story on the image of a sage who, by virtue of his Torah, retains certain value but loses his status as a son, the sages can test their own status and express the value they see in the Torah. That this story is not a straightforward historical report is evident, first, by making a heavenly occurrence precipitate Elisha’s downfall. This passage has a clear hermeneutical purpose: it is intended to accommodate the proof 102

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text from Qohelet as well as to help understand the Pardes event as a mystical ascent. The ideological dimension itself tells us that the story is not meant to be historical. Once we understand this, we can begin to trace the ideological tendencies that underlie the story and grasp the identity of who would tell this story and why. The story of Elisha ben Abuya is told by Torah scholars, who employ the character of Elisha ben Abuya to test the status of Torah. The concern for ideological features in the story is the opposite of historical concern. Once it is clear that the Bavli intends to express a particular ideology by means of what it tells of Elisha, the Bavli’s presentation is no longer historical. Two sources of tension at the beginning of the story of Elisha ben Abuya juxtapose concepts that are normally complementary. The first source of tension is between the Torah and Israel. When Elisha is excluded from sonship and, as a result, from the world-to-come, he becomes a sinner. The second source of tension is between the Torah and ritual observance, that is, Torah and mitzvot, which ideally go hand in hand. In Elisha’s case, Torah exists independently of religious behavior. This exemplifies the ultimate power of the Torah: Elisha retains his relationship with the Torah, even though he ceases to observe its commandments. He is a test case. Both types of tension are introduced in the opening scene, and they are then worked out in the course of the story.

Was Elisha a Gnostic? The identification of Elisha as a gnostic is part of the quest for the historical Elisha ben Abuya.47 The historical perspective requires answers to certain questions. If we assume that the Talmud records actual events, then it is legitimate to ask what exactly happened to Elisha ben Abuya. The attempt to locate Elisha within a particular group known to have existed in rabbinic times is thus a natural outcome of the application of the historical perspective to the rabbinic sources. Having recognized that the story is ideologically, not historically, motivated, one might disregard the attempts at locating Elisha within a particular contemporary group. However, because of the wide circulation of the view that Elisha became a gnostic, I shall examine it in depth. I intend to point out the shortcomings of this view because, in addition to its being mistaken, it clouds the true issues of the story.

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The understanding that Elisha was a gnostic emerged as a logical way of making sense of the Elisha story as it appeared in the various rabbinic sources. The theory helps us to make sense of Elisha’s behavior by relating his sins to gnostic antinomianism. The story of his visit to the harlot, for example, can be viewed in terms of complaints of licentious behavior that were commonly lodged against gnostics. The reports of his struggles with issues of theodicy are also consistent with gnostic beliefs. Rabbinic passages that relate Elisha to ‫מינים‬, minim, heretics, strengthen the connection. Finally, the mention of two powers in heaven in the passage just analyzed supports the view of Elisha as a gnostic. The roots of this understanding go back to the Geonic period.48 This theory has informed the modern discussion of Elisha virtually from its beginning. Perhaps its earliest and most important proponent was Grätz.49 The list of those who have subscribed to this view is impressive: Friedländer, Rubin, Nachman Krochmal, I. H. Weiss, Yavetz, Herford, Landsberg, Scholem, Efrat, Margaliot, Schubert, Pearson, Stroumsa, Liebes, and Assaraf.50 Some writers, among them Back and Bin-Gorion, avoided this view, though without justifying their avoidance.51 Some modern writers also have called this view into question. Alan Segal deals with the reference to two powers in heaven in the context of ancient Jewish dualism rather than classical gnosticism.52 A note of caution concerning the hasty identification of Elisha with gnosticism was sounded by Ithamar Gruenwald, who sees the gnostic understanding of Aḥer and his life as the least likely; he notes that in all accounts of Elisha there is no single instance that can be unequivocally identified as gnostic.53 Christopher Rowland points out that the similarity between the story in the Bavli concerning two powers in Heaven and the gnostic demiurge is only superficial.54 To date, however, no clear rejection of the gnostic understanding of Elisha ben Abuya has been undertaken.55 Writers have either ignored this view or have pointed to certain drawbacks of particular interpretations. It is significant that even Segal, Gruenwald, and Rowland, who express a certain skepticism about the gnostic understanding of Elisha ben Abuya, still allow for it to some extent, or in varied forms, such as an internal Jewish gnosticism. A forthright rejection of Elisha the gnostic becomes possible either by recognizing that the sources are not historical, or by offering different, nongnostic, readings of the key texts. Some of the proponents of the gnostic theory (notably Grätz) have attempted to account for all the references to 104

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Elisha in the literature, which, of course complicates refuting his gnostic affiliation. Obviously, I shall not attempt to view all the material concerning Elisha from this perspective; I believe that my insights and interpretations of the texts are sufficient to make the gnostic understanding superfluous. The present discussion will be limited to the key texts that have been offered as proof for Elisha’s gnosticism. One key text that supports the claim that Elisha was a gnostic has traditionally been the statement found in Bavli II, according to which heretical books fell from Elisha’s lap when he arose to leave the beit midrash. However, the source is far from unequivocal. Perhaps the best indication of the difficulty involved lies in the fact that any proponent of a particular reconstruction of the life of Elisha ben Abuya relies upon this text for support. Thus, the heretical books are taken as Greek philosophical works (Jellinek and Back), as Philonic speculation (Siegfried), as gnostic works (Grätz), or as Christian books (Heimann).56 Present scholarship is very aware of the difficulty involved in a clear identification of minim in rabbinic literature.57 Not only is it highly unlikely that minim refers to gnostics, it is probable that Bavli II did not intend any particular referent at all. As suggested in the previous chapter, the statement grows out of Elisha’s designation as aḥer. It is not surprising that the one who is an ‘‘other’’ might be identified with the traditional others, the heretics, but such an identification does not necessarily refer to any particular group; it may be no more than a stereotypical expression aimed at all heretics. A second text that has appeared in the literature is Qohelet Rabba :, where Elisha is included in a list of heretics (minim). One need not dwell upon this source, because its reading is faulty; in all manuscripts of Qohelet Rabba the mention of Elisha is lacking, and along with it, one of the more substantial proofs for Elisha’s gnosticism.58 The story of Elisha’s heavenly ascent is one of the main sources used by those who claim that Elisha was a gnostic. It is my contention that only those who did not really read the text could arrive at such a conclusion. This is more than a case of potential differences in the interpretation of a rabbinic text. The history of reliance on this story to reconstruct Elisha’s image as a gnostic illustrates how inaccurate reading has affected the construction of some well-known ‘‘truths’’ regarding rabbinic heroes. Proper attention to the text renders it impossible to uphold the view that the text records the gnostic beliefs of Elisha ben Abuya.

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Tendentious, or at least insensitive, readings isolate certain elements from their literary context, but to understand the significance of a motive, one must see it in context and assess it in terms of its relative significance. The mere appearance of the two-powers motif in the story of Elisha’s heavenly ascent is not sufficient evidence that he held such a belief. At the point in the story when this theme is introduced, Elisha has ascended to heaven and sees Metatron seated. This leads him to utter the false exclamation, suggesting the existence of two powers in heaven.59 The proponents of Elisha the gnostic have taken this to be a chosen theological position. But as the story develops, it becomes clear that this is a one-time error on Elisha’s part and not a position he continues to maintain.60 Nothing in the story suggests that Elisha upholds this view after he returns from his heavenly journey. Quite the contrary. There is every reason to believe he does not. As a result of Elisha’s blunder, Metatron receives sixty fiery lashes. Some textual variants suggest that Metatron is whipped because of some fault he committed in the process.61 The most likely understanding, however, one supported by virtually all textual witnesses, is that Metatron is whipped not as a punishment for his own deeds but in order to teach Elisha a lesson. The process of removing and whipping Metatron would obviously lead Elisha to the proper conclusion: that there are not two powers in heaven.62 The point of Metatron’s suffering is to show Elisha that his initial reaction was false. Elisha views the event in its entirety, and there is no reason to assume that he does not understand.63 Once the point in the story at which Elisha utters the terrible heretical statement is recognized, there is no basis for the claim that this was a belief Elisha held; it was a spontaneous remark, and he corrected it immediately. As Rowland puts it, Elisha’s expression is no more than an exclamation, a view blurted out.64 It is not a theological position. That this was not Elisha’s position is further demonstrated by the qualifications that the Bavli text offers to the two-powers statement. Elisha is recorded as saying ‫שמא חס ושלום שתי רשויות יש‬, perhaps, God forbid, there are two powers.65 This tentative conclusion is viewed as abhorrent, a conclusion that one would not want to reach. I know of no other instance in the literature in which the two-power heresy is presented with these qualifications. These words appear in all manuscripts, and there is no reason to assume that they were added later. Therefore, they are part of Elisha’s speech. There is a major difference between declaring that there are two powers in heaven,

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as a heretical theological position, and the qualified, reserved, and hesitant question that Elisha utters. The story explains how Elisha is healed of this mistaken notion.66 Nothing in the form or the logic of the story indicates that this is a position that Elisha continues to subscribe to. An examination of the formula ‫ שמא חס ושלום‬in other talmudic passages reveals that it conforms to set patterns. These patterns further support the claim that Elisha is not portrayed as continuing to uphold a dualistic view of God. The expression ‫ שמא חס ושלום‬is almost unique to the Bavli.67 It is always part of a rhetorical question and is followed by an unequivocal denial of the question that was raised as a hypothetical possibility. Obviously, the clearest out-and-out rejection of a question is to say, ‘‘No.’’ 68 In other instances, the response addresses the concern expressed by the question, affirming that the worry was unfounded.69 Some of the instances in which the formula is employed include additional parallels to this passage; where a human being has doubts about God, or the divine perspective, the answer can be voiced by means of a heavenly voice, which quotes, paraphrases, or expands on a biblical verse with an exegetical gloss.70 A derasha can form part of the response to the query expressed by means of ‫שמא חס ושלום‬.71 Following is an example of how the formula functions with other components: This caused anxiety to Moses. ‘‘Perhaps, Heaven forbid,’’ [he said] ‘‘I have committed sacrilege with the oil of anointing?’’ But a bat kol was heard saying: ‘‘like the dew of the Hermon, that cometh down upon the mountains of Zion’’ (Ps. :–)—as the dew is not subject to sacrilege, so the oil that cometh down upon the beard of Aaron is not subject to sacrilege.72 Moshe is concerned that the presence of consecrated oil in his beard is a sacrilege. This is indicated by the words of the formula: ‫שמא חס ושלום‬. The point of the response is that he has not been involved in sacrilegious behavior. The bat kol quotes from Psalms :–, with an exegetical gloss, assuaging Moshe’s fears. The relevance of these parallels to the story of Elisha is twofold. First, in all cases in which ‫ שמא חס ושלום‬is used, it is followed by a rebuttal of the alleged claims. In this case, the rebuttal is Elisha’s viewing the flogging of Metatron. In light of the formula it uses, the Geonic interpretation, that Metatron is whipped in order to show Elisha that there is a master

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above him, seems to be the only possible understanding of the sources.73 The whipping of Metatron allows the rhetorical question to be answered in the negative: There is only one power in heaven. These parallels indicate another dimension in the story. Elisha’s musings are followed, first, by the flogging of Metatron, which leads to the burning of Elisha’s merits. Then, a heavenly voice comes forth to quote a verse and add an exegetical gloss that applies it to Elisha. As suggested, the heavenly voice is issued in line with those that proclaim reward and punishment and, in particular, the status of a protagonist in the world-to-come. Yet it seems that the source has also transposed the formula for the use of heavenly voices in cases of hypothetical questions, expressed by the words ‫שמא חס ושלום‬. Here, the concrete act of whipping Metatron provides the negative response. Still, the bat kol, found in the parallel instances, remains part of the narrative and appears later as a reaction to Elisha’s thoughts. In that context, the quote and its exegetical expansion deliver to Elisha a punitive message as in other cases of heavenly voices. The result is the merging of different literary uses of heavenly voices. The proponents of the view that Elisha subscribed to gnostic doctrines see the point of the story in Elisha’s mistaken theological belief in two powers in heaven; for them, the issue is one of true or mistaken theology. I suggest the crux of the matter is different. Elisha is not punished for mistaken theological notions, because he is not portrayed as continuing to adhere to them; rather, he is punished for the consequences of his actions in the heavenly realm.74 In order to correct Elisha’s mistaken theology, Metatron, an angel, was subjected to suffering. As a consequence of this, Elisha is punished by the burning of his virtues and becoming an aḥer. Throughout this process there is no overt intention in either Elisha or Metatron: their reactions are almost automatic. For angels, intention is not the key: the events are precipitated by Elisha’s thought and speech. However, his theological position is not the point of the story. The logic of the story is theurgic rather than theological: because of Elisha’s entry into the supernal world, suffering was inflicted on the great angelic being. It is this that Elisha must atone for.75 The purpose of Metatron’s punishment conforms to a pattern found elsewhere in rabbinic literature. This is not the only instance of mistaking a creature for God, which leads God to act. The following passage from Bereshit Rabba : constitutes an interesting parallel to the themes encountered in this discussion:76 108

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R. Hoshaya said: When the Holy One, blessed be He, created Adam, the ministering angels mistook him [for a divine being] and wished to exclaim ‘‘Holy’’ before him. What does this resemble? A king and a governor who sat in a chariot, and his subjects wished to say to the king, ‘‘Domine! (Sovereign)!’’ but they did not know which it was. What did the king do? He pushed the governor out of the chariot, and so they knew who was the king. Similarly, when the Lord created Adam, the angels mistook him [for a divine being]. What did the Holy One, blessed be He, do? He caused sleep to fall upon him, and so all knew that he was [but mortal] man. Thus it is written, ‘‘Cease ye from man, in whose nostrils is a breath, for how little is he to be accounted!’’ (Isa. :). In this text, the relationship between men and angels is the opposite of the relationship portrayed in Bavli Ḥagiga. It is the angels who are in danger of mistaking man for God, rather than the contrary. God’s reaction is to change man, but not as a punishment. It cannot be said that Adam is punished because of an angelic error. Nevertheless, it is God’s responsibility to rectify the error. He does this by demonstrating the difference between himself and Adam to the angels. In a later version, exploring the same theme, this kind of error by angels is explicitly tied to the problem of two powers, though one power is in heaven and the other on earth.77 As a consequence of the angelic error, God diminishes the gigantic stature of man. This parallel demonstrates that our reading need not assume that Metatron is to blame for what happens to him. An error must be corrected, and those involved have to bear the consequences. The parallel also supports the distinction between the initial mistake and the final conclusion. Just as, following the changes that take place in Adam, the angels no longer consider him to be God, so after Metatron is whipped, Elisha no longer confuses him with God. The two-power heresy is introduced as a means of advancing the plot in order to create a situation in which Elisha can be presented as wreaking havoc in heaven. It is not intended to portray his ultimate theological position. Rowland has noted that the story of Elisha and Metatron cannot be taken as indication of Elisha’s gnosticism.78 He points out that Metatron’s image is not of a gnostic demiurge, nor is the mere mention of the two-power theory sufficient to establish Elisha’s gnostic identity. In light of what is told of Metatron, it becomes clear that he is to be seen as a servant who must

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receive permission for his every action. This is very different from the gnostic demiurge.79 Rowland’s point is well taken, but it nonetheless accepts the testimony in the Bavli and seeks through this testimony to identify the historical Elisha ben Abuya. My reading seeks to cast doubt on the attempt to turn to a source like the Bavli in search of historical witness of Elisha ben Abuya. Needless to say, the reference to two powers in heaven is stereotypical, and it suits the needs of a storyteller who seeks to portray a situation in which Elisha can inflict damage on high.80 But I contend that the uses of the formula in the present context go beyond conventional stereotypes. Not only is the Bavli’s rendering of the two-power heresy different from what might be legitimately termed gnosticism, it also is not cast in such a way as to provide historically significant information concerning either Elisha or his beliefs. This source employs the formula in an almost frivolous manner, displaying a literary creativity that is concerned with producing a good story, rich in allusions, and not in any way reliable as a historical witness. The reader learns that permission was given to Metatron on two different occasions, once to write Israel’s merits and once to wipe away Elisha’s merits. In both cases the Talmud refers to this as ‫אתיהבא ליה רשותא‬, permission was granted to him: two permissions were granted. In other words, there were two different ‫רשויות‬, both domains and permissions. The storyteller takes the well-known phrase and casts it in a new context, with overtones of the stereotypical expression. These echoes indicate that the formula is no longer applied with its full importance. Instead of the traditional negative response to the question prefaced by ‫שמא חס ושלום‬, the question elicits a positive answer. The granting of two permissions to Metatron turns Elisha’s musings over the possibility of ‫ שתי רשויות‬in heaven into a self-fulfilling proclamation. Perhaps the storyteller takes this formula one step further. In its classical sense, ‫ שתי רשויות‬refers to the existence of two powers in heaven. It has already been noted that in other contexts the term ‫ רשויות‬refers to domains; in reference to the Sabbath, for instance, according to halakha, there are different domains between which objects can be transported. The record of the events on high suggests that different domains do exist. Metatron is taken out of one domain and relegated to another. Presumably, he is subsequently returned.81 The storyteller has transposed the meaning of the formula from

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its more conventional theological use to other means, in which the formula can be read affirmatively: there are, indeed, two ‫ רשויות‬on high. Two permissions are granted Metatron, and two domains exist on high. If I am correct in recognizing the creative use of this formula, the testimony of Elisha as a gnostic decreases even further. The formula is not the main point of the story and its use is secondary and playful. In conclusion, the analysis of the two-powers passage in the Bavli does not support the view that Elisha was a gnostic, any more than do some of the other proofs that have been presented. On the contrary: the Elisha presented in the Bavli is anything but a gnostic. It is hard to accept Elisha as a gnostic without finding some expression of it in his teaching. Being a gnostic would have meant adopting another theology and another attitude toward Scripture; the Bavli portrays him as one whose Torah is intact 82 and whose only fault lies in his actions. Rather than associate Elisha with a particular historical group (gnostics), the Bavli seeks to portray somebody expressing a purely Jewish form of individual antinomianism, expressly connected with the events that occurred on high. Elisha does not believe in a larger ideology, nor does he adhere to a different system of beliefs. The Elisha of Bavli Ḥagiga does not reject any particular Jewish belief, as the heretic in Bavli Kidushin would suggest. He is caught in a very personal set of circumstances.83 For this reason, in the Bavli at least, Elisha does not seem to pose a threat but can be portrayed as continuing to be active among his rabbinical colleagues and as engaging in Torah discussions. He is antinomian, yet he remains a part of the world of the sages. All this could not be told had Elisha become a gnostic.

Elisha and the Harlot Following the incident on high, as a result of which Elisha’s difficulties began, the Bavli reports the following incident, which seems to illustrate what it had in mind in referring to evil courses: ‘‘He found a harlot and demanded her. She said to him: are you not Elisha ben Abuya, whose name has gone out in the whole world? He tore a radish out of its bed and gave it to her. She said: He is an other [Aḥer].’’ 84

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Textual Considerations The episode relating Elisha’s encounter with the harlot is replete with significant textual variants, which must be assessed before analyzing the meaning of the story from literary and historical perspectives. The first significant fact is that talmudic manuscripts record this story as occurring at two different points in the Elisha story cycle. One location for the harlot episode is the one that appears above. The other is later, following the joint visit of Elisha and R. Meir to the thirteen synagogues. Some manuscripts present the story in the one location, while others include the story twice, though with minor variations. This is the only instance when I deviated from the use of manuscript Munich  as the base text. This manuscript only includes the episode in the second location. I have chosen the version L as the base text because it offers what I consider to be better readings and understanding of Elisha’s actions. From the perspective of textual witnesses, there is a clear division between Branch A and Branch B manuscripts. All Branch A manuscripts record the story in its first occurrence, and this textual tradition is not familiar with the later position of the story. In deciding to accept the story’s first location, I rely mainly on the witness of the Branch A manuscripts. Of the Branch B manuscripts, A, as well as G and H, record the story only in the second location; V and ESD relate the incident only in the first. The remaining witnesses double their testimony. Thus, in OCLPI the story appears in both locations. In these manuscripts some minor changes have been introduced between the first and second versions. Manuscript O distinguishes between the stories by adding elements to the first occurrence that are found in other stories of sages and harlots. The other witnesses resort to less significant changes in order to distinguish between the two occurrences. What accounts for the doubling in the location of the harlot episode? One possibility is that the source of the difference in locations is rooted in the different textual traditions. Thus, Branch A manuscripts locate the story in its first occurrence, while Branch B’s original reading located the story in the second context. This presents a significant difference between the two textual families. The doubling of the story in the Branch B manuscripts could then be taken as the influence of Branch A. This is one possible explanation. Few Branch B textual witnesses place the story in its second location only, and though these are qualitatively superior to those that record the story

112

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in the first location only, their testimony does not provide clear evidence that this is the original uncontaminated Branch B reading. The change in location may possibly also have been an internal development in Branch B manuscripts, not necessarily indicating this to be the root reading of this family of manuscripts. If such a change did occur, it would be out of literary considerations: the story may have been shifted first for literary reasons, and later copyists retained both the old and the new placement. It is also possible that the story was added in the second location and was later deleted from the first. Whatever theory one chooses to account for the formation of the different textual traditions, literary logic is the ultimate reason for the different versions. This is certainly true if it is assumed that the different readings distinguish different families, and it is no less true if it is assumed that the textual variations represent the development of tradition within a particular branch. In either case, the literary merits of each reading must be considered. The location of the story in the first instance is an illustration of the evil courses into which Elisha is previously said to have gone. This establishes his new identity following the heavenly ascent and allows him to be recognized as Aḥer. Since I shall ultimately interpret the story based on the earlier location, I reserve the explication of the merits of this reading for the later discussion. At this point I limit my discussion to evaluating the merits of the second location and the double reading. Barring the possibility of an attempt to bring harmony to different versions that led to the doubling of the story, the double reading can most likely be accounted for as an attempt to multiply Aḥer’s sins. The story of his relations with the prostitute is an obvious way of presenting Elisha as a sinner. The more he is said to have sinned, the worse his image. The shift in location from the first to the second position might also be accounted for on literary grounds. The final episode in Elisha’s life is his visit to the thirteen synagogues where he is said to kill a child. From a literary standpoint, this might be a weak ending that leaves the reader with a sense of inconclusiveness, even though my reading will attempt to offer a different sense to this episode. Placing the harlot episode at the end is climactic because it illustrates a grave sin and concludes with the final proclamation that Elisha is an aḥer. For some readers this would certainly be the most powerful conclusion to the story of Elisha’s life. I shall interpret the passage based on its location in the first context. From the textual point of view, this reading is supported by Branch A manuscripts,

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and it is clearly evident in most Branch B manuscripts. The choice of reading the story in this context is not only the result of weighing the different textual witnesses. It also expresses a certain understanding of its meaning, and therefore ultimately relies upon literary considerations. These will become more apparent in the following discussion. The meaning of Elisha’s actions in relation to the harlot is unclear. What is the point of uprooting the radish, and what does it signify? This lack of clarity finds expression in the manuscript tradition. There are three basic possible readings of this text. One is that Elisha uprooted the radish from its bed, or from the earth. Another is that he uprooted it on the Sabbath. The third is a combination of the first two. These readings cannot be divided according to manuscript branches. Both primary readings are present in both. The real puzzle cannot be worked out by counting the majority of manuscripts or relying on the readings of what are generally the best manuscripts. The difficulties lie in the interpretation of the reading of plucking a radish from its bed or from the earth, attested to in family A by M, and in family B only in L, and by the second occurrence of the story in O. What is the meaning of the giving of the radish? One possibility is that Elisha offers the radish as payment for the harlot’s services,85 which might be construed as the meaning of the act, according to M which omits the harlot’s response and only tells of the offering of the radish. One can, however, reasonably assume that a single radish is below standard wages, so there must be another meaning.86 The difficulty in this reading has led to the understanding that this act took place on the Sabbath, which is logical; it is an obvious sin, and it also fits in with later reports that Elisha transgressed the Sabbath. The mixed reading of plucking the radish from the bed on the Sabbath reflects the process of handling the more difficult reading by adding ‘‘on the Sabbath.’’ This change entered manuscript L, upon which our reading is based, where a later hand has added ‘‘on the Sabbath’’ between the lines. I suggest that the traces of what appears in L are typical of the textual development of this tradition. The key to understanding this passage lies in making sense of the act of plucking a radish from its bed. I consider it to be an act that is independent of any Sabbath violation. The words ‘‘on the Sabbath,’’ a later addition to the text, stem from lack of understanding of the meaning of the phrase. Further efforts below will be devoted to making sense of this phrase. Another change that is evident in the manuscript tradition has to do with the phrase the harlot uses to refer to Elisha. Some witnesses speak of Elisha’s 114

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

name as going out from one end of the world to the other; others speak of it as going out over the whole world. Both expressions can be found in other contexts in rabbinic literature. Branch A manuscripts employ the latter formula, and this reading also occurs in Branch B manuscripts. Since the first formula might be a carryover from other sources that employ a related formula, it seems likely that the reading ‫ ששמך יצא בכל העולם‬is the better reading in this case.87 A final textual change concerns the way in which the harlot speaks of Elisha as an ‘‘other.’’ In some readings, she refers to him in the third person; in other readings in the second person. Some of the manuscripts that present this episode twice employ the distinction in order to differentiate between the two occurrences of the story. Either way, the harlot establishes Elisha’s new identity. The difference is stylistic: does she make the claim in an objective manner, or does she inform Elisha of his being an ‘‘other’’ in a dialogue? In examining the changes in the manuscript tradition, it becomes clear that literary considerations are the basis for the changes in the textual tradition. Thematic Considerations Why is there a story about Elisha’s encounter with a prostitute? A first assumption would be that his licentious behavior illustrates the claim that Elisha went into evil courses. Further consideration suggests a different purpose. To begin with, it should be noted that Elisha is not portrayed as having relations with the harlot. This is more than rabbinic prudishness: in other instances, rabbinic figures cross the line that Elisha is not portrayed as crossing. The point of the encounter is not sexual transgression but what emerges from the verbal exchange between them: the harlot is important for what she says. In order to appreciate her contribution to the development of and function in Elisha’s story, it should be noted that in the dialogue with the harlot, we have the only occurrence in this whole sugya of a reference to Elisha by his full name: Elisha ben Abuya. In all other instances he is called Aḥer. Also, the outcome of the dialogue with the harlot is that she affirms his being Aḥer; she mistakenly thinks he is Elisha ben Abuya, and concludes that he is an aḥer. In other words, the importance of this episode is not in his licentious behavior but in the establishment of his new identity, as Aḥer.

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This is the first episode following the celestial events that led Elisha to sin. For this reason it is important that in this episode Elisha’s new identity is affirmed. This affirmation completes the account of Elisha’s turn from sage to sinner. Why is the harlot introduced to establish his new identity? To answer this question, we should note the recurring use in this story of the verb ‫נפק‬, to go out.88 Of Metatron it is said, ‫אפקוהו‬, they took him out. The Hebrew equivalent of ‫ נפק‬is ‫יצא‬. The heavenly voice is described as going out: ‫יצתה בת קול‬. A symmetry is established between Metatron’s fate and Elisha’s. As suggested, this is one of the ways in which Elisha’s fate is determined as a consequence of his actions with Metatron. Elisha decides to go out and enjoy the world: ‫ליפוק וליתהני‬. His going into bad ways is described as ‫נפק אחר לתרבות רעה‬.89 Elisha is not only the ‘‘other’’: he is also the one who is outside. The ‘‘other’’ is portrayed as the one who has gone out.90 A movement may be described as going in and out, or perhaps from the center to the periphery and beyond. The center may be conceived of as Elisha’s heavenly ascent. Following such an understanding, Elisha would be portrayed as having gone all the way from the inner sanctum of the heavenly sanctuary to the outermost periphery of unholiness, the locus of the harlot.91 Alternatively, the world of Torah and the sages may be seen as the center. Moving outside it is moving to a world of not keeping the commandments. Either way, this unit elaborates on the meaning of going out, with reference to Elisha. This elaboration is important to an appreciation of the significance of Elisha’s encounter with the harlot, for it shows that the harlot does not fulfill a sexual role in the story. The preponderance of language describing ‘‘going out’’ in this sugya suggests that the harlot was introduced because she, too, goes out. She is on the outside, of society and of the proper ways of living, and because she is on the outside she can define who is ‘‘in’’ and who is ‘‘out.’’ In the targumic tradition, echoes of which are found in the midrashic tradition, a harlot is called ‫נפקא‬, literally: one who goes out.92 If Elisha is the one who went out, and in the process acquired the identity of the ‘‘other,’’ it is the harlot who affirms this. Thus seen, the primary purpose of the dialogue between the harlot and Elisha is not to convey Elisha’s sinfulness but to convey his otherness. If this interpretation is correct, the source does not record an actual transgression, and the role the harlot fulfills is related to issues of identity rather than to issues of proper living. The harlot’s function in establishing Elisha’s new identity is not limited 116

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

to her proclamation that he is Aḥer. The storyteller introduces the theme of Elisha’s identity by having the harlot make a reference to Elisha. She says, ‘‘Are you not Elisha ben Abuya, whose name has gone out in the whole world?’’—once again the verb ‫יצא‬, to go out. The repetition of this verb throughout the passage is not accidental. The change in Elisha’s identity is expressed in reference to his name in terms of going out; this meaning relates to his fame as a Torah scholar. However, in the present context, two innuendoes are introduced: from this point on, Elisha’s name will no longer go out in the sense of fame; it will go out, in a literal sense, for he will no longer be known by his own name. He will be Aḥer. The reference to Elisha’s name in terms of ‫ יצא‬is common to both textual versions of the harlot’s words. The version that reads ‫ששמך יצא בכל העולם‬ contains a further play on words. Just before the harlot episode, it states that Elisha considered himself rejected from the other world and therefore decided to enjoy this world. Mentioning Elisha’s name in terms of going out in the world may be an intended echo of the previous passage.93 Elisha changes identity, and his name is transformed. He goes out of one world and enters another. The harlot of course does not make these statements consciously or explicitly; nonetheless, the reader, who has just discovered that Elisha chose this world after having been excluded from the other, hears thematic echoes of the preceding lines in the story in the harlot’s words. In her interrogation of Elisha, she makes it understood that he has gone out of his former condition, lost his world, and become an ‘‘other.’’ Her words are well placed after the opening scene of the story cycle, and the storyteller uses them to complete the presentation of Elisha’s new identity. The echoes of the opening scene in the harlot’s words lend further support to the textual tradition that places this episode as a continuation of the opening scene. In the course of establishing Elisha’s new identity, what Elisha says is not recorded. His exchange with the harlot is symbolic and takes the form of an enigmatic gesture. The difficulty in understanding this gesture has led to the manuscript changes, according to which the event took place on the Sabbath. The first way to make sense of this gesture is by pointing out that pulling a radish from its bed is a literal expression of cutting plants. That the storyteller seems fully aware of this may be further indication of what was seen previously: that cutting plants is interpreted by him in more than one way. However, the gesture must have a meaning in the story not only in relation to the Pardes episode. In order to appreciate this gesture, it is helpful

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to have a look at another instance in which the expression ‫עקר פוגלא ממישרא‬, pulled a radish from its bed, occurs: Antoninus once said to Rabbi: It is my desire that my son Asverus should reign instead of me and that Tiberias should be declared a Colony. Were I to ask one of these things, it would be granted while both would not be granted. Rabbi thereupon brought a man, and having made him ride on the shoulders of another, handed him a dove bidding the one who carried him to order the one on his shoulders to liberate it. The Emperor perceived this to mean that he was advised to ask [of the Senate] to appoint his son Asverus to reign in his stead, and that subsequently he might get Asverus to make Tiberias a free Colony. [On another occasion] Antoninus mentioned to him that some prominent Romans were annoying him. Rabbi thereupon took him into the garden. Every day he picked, in his presence, a radish from its bed. Said [the Emperor to himself ] his advice to me is: Do away with them one at a time, but do not attack all of them at once.94 This dialogue between Antoninus and Rabbi takes the form of symbolic expressions. Rabbi answers Antoninus’ questions with specific gestures, which Antoninus then interprets. The Talmud explains this form of communication as allowing a high degree of secrecy, needed to protect Rabbi because of the counsel he offers. An alternative explanation is that this form of communication is particular to the communication of rabbis with figures who are outside their normal frame of reference. Thus, in communicating with gentiles or philosophers, there are different kinds of discourse, which resort to symbolic gestures.95 Even though there are various ‘‘rabbinicstyle’’ dialogues between Antoninus and Rabbi, there is nothing odd about portraying them as engaging in this type of symbolic exchange, typical of exchanges of rabbis with people from the outside.96 Pulling a radish from its bed, a symbolic gesture in this context, will aid in understanding what is told of Elisha, who is engaged in a symbolic exchange with the harlot in order to establish his new identity. Applying symbolic gestures may stem from the fact that the harlot, being on the outside and thus serving as a measure of societal boundaries, is related to as an outsider. A rabbi would thus be portrayed as having a symbolic exchange with her, as is found in other cases 118

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

where an exchange with an outsider is described.97 The purpose of ripping the radish from its bed is understood by the harlot, and by the reader, as referring to ripping Elisha ben Abuya out of the rabbinic hotbed.98 When he is said to cut the plants, what we are describing is the process whereby Elisha is ripped out from the rabbinic world.99 Uprooting the radish is thus another literary device employed by the authors to establish Elisha’s new identity as Aḥer.100 The Literary Pattern The suggestion that the harlot is significant not for her sexual associations but for the establishment of Elisha’s new identity can be supported by examination of other rabbinic stories involving rabbinic protagonists and harlots. Two other passages that report rabbinic visits to harlots will give us an insight into the storytelling norms as well as a better appreciation of the details of the Elisha story. It should be noted from the outset that there is no story about a rabbi who visits a prostitute; in the examples that follow, it is always a disciple who visits the harlot. This also applies to Elisha, who is a student, not a rabbi. The first story is found in Sifrei Numbers: Once upon a time there was a man who was very careful about the commandment of z] i]zit. He heard that there was a harlot in the towns by the sea, who took  gold pieces for her reward. He sent her  gold pieces and she appointed him a time. When his time came, he went and sat at the door of her house. Then came the maid and told her: ‘‘That man to whom you have given an appointment, behold, he sits at the door of the house.’’ Said she: ‘‘Let him come in.’’ When he went in, she had made up seven beds of silver and one of gold, and she was on the upper one, and between each bed there were seven benches of silver and the upper one was of gold. And between each one of them a silver ladder, and the upper one was of gold. When they were about to commit sin, his four fringes appeared to him like four witnesses and whipped his face. At once he withdrew and sat himself on the floor. She also withdrew and sat herself on the floor. She said to him: ‘‘By the Capitol of Rome! I will not let thee go until thou tellest me what blemish thou sawest in me.’’ Said he to her: ‘‘By God! I have not seen any blemish in thee; in the whole world there is no beauty like unto

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thine. But the Lord our God gave us a light commandment and He wrote twice concerning it, ‘I am the Lord your God, I am the Lord your God,’ [which means]: ‘I am the Lord your God’ who will reward; ‘I am the Lord your God’ who will punish.’ ’’ She said to him, ‘‘By God, I will not let thee go until thou write for me thy name, the name of thy city, and the name of thy school where thou studiest the Torah.’’ And he wrote down his name, and the name of his city, and the name of his school. She divided her money into three parts; one third she gave to the [Roman] Government, a third to the poor, and a third she took with her, and came and stood in the college of R. Hiyya. She said to him: ‘‘Master (Rabbi), make me a Jewess!’’ Said he to her, ‘‘Hast thou thine eye upon one of the disciples?’’ (Is that thy motive, then thou can not be received.) She took out the writing. Said the Rabbi to him: ‘‘Stand up, take possession of thy acquisition.’’ Those very bed-clothes which she had spread for an illicit purpose she now spread out for him lawfully. This is the reward [of the precept] in this world; and as for its reward in the world-to-come, I know not how great it is.101 Several points in this story are relevant to the present discussion. This story is not about an ordinary person but about an anonymous disciple. This becomes clear from the dialogue with R. Ḥiyya at the end of the story. The story culminates in the beit midrash. Since this is where the man seems to come from, it may be said that the story revolves between the beit midrash and the distant location, across the seas, where the prostitute is located. It is thus a story of moving from the center, located in the house of study, to the farthest regions, followed by a return to the center. The story makes it clear that temptation was overcome. Thus, there is no intercourse between the prostitute and the disciple. He goes to the limit but never crosses the forbidden threshold. The most important part of this story is the dialogue between the disciple and the harlot, which consists of a derasha on Numbers :, which is the verse the story is based on. The point of the story is that there is recompense that is expressed not only by the acquisition of the harlot herself but in terms of reward in the world-to-come. A second story is that told of R. Eleazar ben Durdya in Bavli Avoda Zara a:

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It was said of R. Eleazar b. Durdya that he did not leave out any harlot in the world without coming to her. Once, on hearing that there was a certain harlot in one of the towns by the sea who accepted a purse of denarii for her hire, he took a purse of denarii and crossed seven rivers for her sake. As he was with her, she blew forth breath and said: ‘‘As this blown breath will not return to its place, so Eleazar b. Durdya will never be received in repentance.’’ He thereupon went, sat between two hills and mountains and exclaimed: ‘‘O, ye hills and mountains, plead for mercy for me!’’ They replied: ‘‘How shall we pray for thee? We stand in need of it ourselves, for it is said, ‘For the mountains shall depart and the hills be removed!’’ (Isa. :). So he exclaimed: ‘‘Heaven and earth, plead ye mercy for me!’’ But they, too, replied: ‘‘How shall we pray for thee? We stand in need of it ourselves, for it is said, ‘For the heavens shall vanish away like smoke, and the earth shall wax old like a garment’ ’’ (Isa. :). He then exclaimed: ‘‘Sun and moon, plead ye for mercy for me!’’ But they also replied: ‘‘How shall we pray for thee? We stand in need of it ourselves, for it is said, ‘Then the moon shall be confounded and the sun ashamed’ ’’ (Isa. :). He exclaimed: ‘‘Ye stars and constellations, plead ye for mercy for me!’’ Said they: ‘‘How shall we pray for thee? We stand in need of it ourselves, for it is said, ‘And all the hosts of heaven shall moulder away’ ’’ (Isa. :). Said he: ‘‘The matter then depends upon me alone!’’ Having placed his head between his knees, he wept aloud until his soul departed. Then a bat kol was heard proclaiming ‘‘Rabbi Eleazar b. Durdya is destined for the life of the world-to-come! . . .’’ Rabbi [on hearing of it] wept and said: ‘‘One may acquire eternal life after many years, another in one hour!’’ Rabbi also said: ‘‘Repenters are not alone accepted, they are even called ‘Rabbi!’ ’’ From Rabbi’s concluding comment it is clear that R. Eleazar ben Durdya’s only rabbinic achievement was his repentance at his moment of death. The movement from center of holiness to the periphery of sin may not be present in this version, but the protagonist is ultimately referred to as Rabbi, thus placing him within the rabbinic framework. Here, too, the harlot is far removed: she is in ‫כרכי הים‬, in the towns by the sea. This may be an attempt to portray the harlot as being ‘‘out there.’’ It is significant that she makes a

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pronouncement that Eleazar ben Durdya can no longer repent. If this is a strange thing for a harlot to say, it should be recalled that harlots in rabbinic stories are more important for what they say than for what they do. Even in this story, it is not clear that ben Durdya has intercourse with the harlot. Rashi explains the Hebrew ‫ הרגל דבר‬as ‘‘beginning,’’ in other words: foreplay.102 For the purpose of this story, it is not significant that the hero knows all the world’s prostitutes intimately. The question is whether he is portrayed as having relations with the prostitute. If she makes her proclamation during foreplay, then he receives his great shock just before the ultimate moment of sin: before consummating his relations with the ultimate whore. Thus, perhaps once more, the protagonist does not have intercourse with the harlot. The harlot proclaims that ben Durdya can no longer repent, although it is not clear by what authority she makes such a proclamation. It is only clear that it is a valid proclamation. All the elements of nature cannot help him overcome this obstacle, yet when he breaks down and sobs to death, he seems to overcome the obstacle. This is clear from the fact that Rabbi proclaims him to be a ‫בעל תשובה‬, a repentant person. The story thus casts the harlot as the starting point for repentance. The consequence of his repentance is a heavenly voice that proclaims ben Durdya’s entrance into the world-to-come. A heavenly voice and entry into the world-to-come are thus related; here too, as in Elisha’s case, repentance is related to the entry to the world-to-come. In the story of ben Durdya, Rabbi makes a proclamation affirming the status previously declared by the heavenly voice. In this instance there are two statements by Rabbi, one concerning entry into the world-to-come, the other concerning the efficacy of repentance. Though not necessarily part of the literary pattern of harlot stories, Rabbi’s weeping and proclamation form another bridge between the story of Elisha and that of ben Durdya. In both stories, we are told that Rabbi wept when he heard that the hero had been admitted into the world-to-come. In the story of Elisha, Rabbi’s tears appear further along in the cycle and have no obvious connection to the harlot episode, but they fulfill the same function as Rabbi’s tears in the story of ben Durdya: they are a comment on the status of the hero in the world-to-come. I suggest that there is a common structure to these two harlot stories. The harlot is the one who is located on the outside. She is portrayed as a turning point, the furthest point removed from holiness. In these stories, she is 122

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

not a threatening or alluring figure. The stories tell of the encounter from the perspective of overcoming the potential temptation she represents.103 Thus, she is a partner in conversation, rather than a sexual partner. The successful change in behavior leads to a share in the world-to-come. In the second instance, the entry into the world-to-come is proclaimed by a heavenly voice.104 Against the background of these stories, what is told of Elisha is more logical. In view of the fact that in other harlot stories the protagonist does not seem to have intercourse with the harlot, and in view also of the fact that the story does not explicitly say that Elisha indeed had such intercourse, it seems likely that our story, too, is not portraying him as having intercourse with the harlot. As in other stories, the harlot is important for what she says; she is singled out for her wisdom and is not viewed as a sexual threat.105 The most instructive comparison is the story of ben Durdya, where the harlot’s words inspire his repentance. In Elisha’s case, the harlot’s words affirm Aḥer’s new identity, one that does not enable him to repent. In ben Durdya’s case, the heavenly voice announces the acceptance of the repentance and the admittance into the world-to-come. In Elisha’s case, the heavenly voice excludes him from repentance. Elisha correctly understands this as exclusion from the world-to-come as well. Consequently, his visit to the harlot is not the point from which the sinner returns but rather his point of no return. This is the reason the storyteller portrays Elisha as going to the harlot immediately after having been excluded from the world-to-come, reversing the process found in the other stories. In telling of Elisha’s visit to the harlot, the storytellers resort to conventional literary patterns and employ related motives. The story inverts the patterns and motives found elsewhere. In what way does this realization shed light on the value of the historical testimony in this passage? The Bavli says that Elisha went into evil ways. I suggested that this presentation stems from the Bavli’s understanding of ‫ קיצץ בנטיעות‬and expresses the Bavli’s view of Elisha as a wicked sinner. Following this understanding, there should be no difficulty in telling of Elisha’s visit to a harlot. The Bavli could compose its tales to suit its portrayal of Elisha. This analysis is significant not because it disproves anything told about Elisha but because it suggests what the Bavli’s true concerns were in telling of Elisha being in the company of the harlot. Moreover, there are no further witnesses to Elisha’s sinful behavior in this episode. This passage expresses wider norms of rabbinic storytelling, en-

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abling the storyteller to make a particular point. The point of the episode is not Elisha’s sinning but his identity. It can be concluded that what is told of Elisha in this story has more to do with the storytellers and their manner of making a point than it does with the historical portrait of Elisha ben Abuya and his actions.

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5 ELISHA AND RABBI MEIR

T E  cycle in the Bavli is composed of several subsections. Following the incident with the harlot, there are several interchanges between Elisha and R. Meir. In light of the creativity displayed by the storytellers up to this point, it is interesting to see how much of the information conveyed in these passages is based on history and how much is literary creation.

Elisha and R. Meir: The Dialogues At this point in the Bavli’s presentation, the language shifts from Aramaic to Hebrew, and there are shifts in the plot as well.1 There are three dialogues, one of which bears a tannaitic attribution, in the following section. These relate conversations between Elisha and R. Meir and narrate some elements that are combined with the image of Elisha the sinner: Aḥer asked Rabbi Meir, after he had gone forth into evil courses: ‘‘What is the meaning of the verse: ‘God hath made even the one as well as the other’ (Qoh. :)?’’ He replied: ‘‘It means that for everything that God created He created a counterpart. He created mountains, and created hills. He created seas, and created rivers.’’ He [Aḥer] said to him: ‘‘Akiva, your master, did not explain it thus, but rather:

125

‘He created righteous and created wicked. He created the Garden of Eden and created Gehinnom. Everyone has two portions, one in the Garden of Eden and one in Gehinnom. If the righteous man is found to merit it, he takes his own portion and his fellow’s portion in the Garden of Eden. If the wicked man is found guilty, he takes his own portion and his fellow’s portion in Gehinnom.’ ’’ R. Mesharsehya said: ‘‘What is the proof text for this? ‘Therefore in their land they shall possess double’ (Isa. :), and it says: ‘and destroy them with double destruction’ ’’ (Jer. :). Aḥer asked Rabbi Meir, after he had gone forth into evil courses: ‘‘What is the meaning of the verse: ‘Gold and glass cannot equal it; neither shall the exchange thereof be vessels of fine gold’?’’ (Job :). He answered: ‘‘These are the words of the Torah, which are hard to acquire like vessels of fine gold, but are easily destroyed like vessels of glass. By God, even as earthenware.’’ [Aḥer] said to him: ‘‘Akiba, your master, did not explain thus, but rather: ‘Just as a vessel of glass, though it be broken has a remedy, even so a scholar, though he has sinned, has a remedy.’ ’’ [Thereupon R. Meir] said to him: ‘‘Then, thou, too, repent!’’ He replied: ‘‘I have already heard from behind the veil: ‘Return, O backsliding children, except for Aḥer.’ ’’ Our Rabbis taught: Once Aḥer was riding on a horse on the Sabbath, and R. Meir was walking behind him to learn Torah from his mouth. Said [Aḥer] to him: ‘‘Meir, turn back, for I have already estimated by the paces of my horse that thus far extends the Sabbath limit.’’ He replied: ‘‘Thou too go back!’’ [Aḥer] answered: ‘‘I have already heard from behind the veil ‘Return, O backsliding children—except for Aḥer.’ ’’ These three passages constitute an independent section within the larger cycle of Elisha stories told in the Bavli. They are all in Hebrew, and all relate dialogues between Elisha and R. Meir. Elisha’s image in these passages is rather tame: he engages in Torah study, and is available for discussion with R. Meir. This is very different from the Elisha who kills Torah students and attempts to dissuade young scholars from studying Torah. The knowledge that this is Elisha the sinner is only provided by the introductory sentence, which locates the discussion between R. Meir and Elisha after he had strayed; 126

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

aside from that, nothing in the dialogues reveals that this passage concerns a sage who has gone astray. The third passage contains the only mention of an act that may be considered a sin: riding a horse on the Sabbath. It is also the only passage introduced with the customary opening formula of tannaitic sources: ‫תנו רבנן‬, our Rabbis taught. Does this mark it as a genuine record of Elisha’s transgression, captured in a tannaitic source? I suggest that this source is pseudo-tannaitic and should not be regarded as authentic. First of all, the reference to ‫מאחורי‬ ‫ הפרגוד‬relies upon the earlier part of the Bavli’s presentation, where Elisha is in heaven and hears a heavenly voice.2 Elisha’s use of the term ‫ פרגוד‬makes sense only in this context. Therefore, this passage must rely on the previous part of the talmudic story, which is obviously post-tannaitic. In addition, if it is to be assumed that this is a genuine tannaitic record, its manner of employing the bat kol is both unique and unparalleled. There are very few tannaitic heavenly voices.3 Both in the cases of the few tannaitic heavenly voices and in the amoraic instances of heavenly voices, the protagonist does not quote a bat kol to explain his actions. That Elisha quotes a heavenly voice to defend his actions suggests that the source is a secondary elaboration on the idea that a heavenly voice was sounded with regard to Elisha. If the source for the heavenly voice is the amoraic story in the earlier part of the Bavli’s discussion, this reference to the heavenly voice in the present dialogue must be regarded as secondary.4 Therefore, from the historical perspective, the tannaitic attribution seems not to be authentic. Having rejected the tannaitic ascription of the third incident leads to the conclusion that there are three amoraic passages told of Elisha. If this source creates a pseudo-tannaitic statement as part of its presentation of Elisha, the question is whether all that is told in these three dialogues is also a literary creation or whether there is a historically valid basis for these reports. Three questions can be asked from the historical perspective: () Does this represent a genuine record of transgression of the Sabbath by Elisha ben Abuya? () Did the dialogues take place between the two sages as reported? () Was there really a relationship between Elisha and R. Meir? Elisha and the Sabbath: Transgression and Repentance What, precisely, is the halakhic status of riding a horse on the Sabbath? If the sages wanted to portray Elisha as violating the Sabbath, they could

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have used a more serious affront. Riding a horse is a low-level prohibition, technically known as ‫שבות‬, shevut, based on rabbinic rather than biblical authority.5 This suggests looking for a logic other than halakhic to account for this description. The following tradition, recorded in Bavli Yevamot b, is significant in this present context: R. Eleazar b. Jacob stated, ‘‘I heard that even without any Pentateuchal authority [for their rulings the] Beth Din may administer flogging and [death] penalties; not, however, for the purpose of transgressing the words of the Torah but in order to make a fence for the Torah. And once it happened that a man rode on horseback on the Sabbath in the days of the Greeks, and he was brought before Beth Din and was stoned; not because he deserved this penalty, but because the exigencies of the hour demanded it.’’ This tradition reflects the fact that horseback riding on the Sabbath is not prohibited in the Torah. In another context, however, it is regarded as severe: ‫בימי יונים‬, in the days of the Greeks. Although Rashi suggests that this reference may be merely an indication of a particular period of religious laxness, I consider the combination of horseback riding on the Sabbath and the reference to the Greeks significant for the reconstruction of what is told of Elisha ben Abuya.6 Later in the Bavli’s presentation, in what I call Bavli II, Elisha is viewed in a Greek context. I suggest that the allusion to the Greeks in this passage, too, is a literary reverberation of the name Aḥer. An aḥer would be someone who acts in the manner of the other, that is, in the Greek manner by riding a horse on the Sabbath.7 The image of Elisha riding his horse on the Sabbath could be a consequence of his being an aḥer.8 The storyteller, I suggest, is not trying to make the point that Elisha was a great sinner who violated the Sabbath.9 The storyteller has him riding a horse because of his otherness. The image of Elisha riding a horse is powerful in and of itself, and its power is not limited to the occurrence of the episode on the Sabbath. Moshe Beer in his study of the rabbinic attitude to horseback riding demonstrates that rabbis as well as classical biblical heroes rode donkeys, not horses; the horse was a symbol of wealth and power, and riding it carried connotations of the acquisition of an identity that is outside and even in contrast to rabbinic identity.10 A striking example of this is to be found in the following story: 128

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Yaqim of Zeroroth was the nephew of R. Jose b. Joezer of Zeredah. Riding on a horse,11 he went before the beam on which he [R. Jose] was to be hanged, and taunted him: ‘‘See the horse on which my master has let me ride, and the horse upon which your Master has made you ride.’’ He replied: ‘‘If it is so with those who anger Him, how much more with those who do His will.’’ 12 Yaqim is an apostate who, having forsaken his Jewish roots, derides a Jew who is about to be martyred.13 This presents a clear contrast between the one who is ‘‘inside’’ and the one who has changed his identity and is outside the fold. The apostate is riding a horse, which signifies that he is an outsider.14 Elisha on his horse, with R. Meir at his feet, is an even stronger image. Leaving aside the fact that the incident occurs on the Sabbath, this image reveals a powerful relationship. In other situations, the master rides the horse and his servant walks.15 This relationship between them is cast in terms of Torah learning, which establishes its own norms; nonetheless, the image conveys a clear sense of hierarchy: Elisha is the master, and R. Meir is walking behind him in the manner of a servant. Careful attention to the details of the episode reveals that this initial power construction does not last long. Elisha’s first statement is: ‫עד כאן תחום שבת‬, the Sabbath limit extends this far. This phrase is an exact quote from the Mishna Eruvin :, which teaches: ‫אפילו עבד אפילו שפחה נאמנין לומר עד כאן תחום‬ ‫שבת‬, even a slave, even a maidservant are reliable to say thus far extends the Sabbath limit. When Elisha says this, he quotes a statement that a servant can make. I suggest that having Elisha quote the Mishna is intended to cast him precisely in such a role. In other words, the one who seems to be the master on top of the horse is really the servant. Thus the roles of R. Meir and Elisha begin to be reversed, and this opening scene leads to other activity by R. Meir, who is the active initiator of Elisha’s redemption.16 Following on this, it becomes even more obvious that the description of Elisha riding his horse is not meant to depict him as a sinner. This is most evident when the two sages reach the Sabbath boundary: they both refrain from crossing it.17 Had the storyteller wanted to emphasize Elisha’s sinfulness, he would have portrayed him as crossing the boundary, which, unlike horseback riding, would have constituted an actual infringement of the Sabbath. Not only does he not cross the Sabbath boundary, he prevents R. Meir from doing so. His attitude is thus one of care and respect, at least as far as

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R. Meir is concerned. The question is: what is the point of relating Elisha’s movement to the Sabbath boundary? If the story does not seek to portray him as a sinner, it must have a different point in mind. In order to understand what the Sabbath element adds to what has already been suggested by the description of Elisha astride his horse, we must return to the function of the harlot in the previous episode. As suggested, the harlot, as the one who is outside, enabled the establishment of clear boundaries, and of Elisha’s having definitely gone outside them. I suggest that a similar literary process is involved in the description of reaching the Sabbath boundary and that it is significant both for its symbolism of Elisha’s status and for the attempted process of his rectification. Elisha, the other, has gone out to the limit. The limit of the Sabbath is an expression of societal and religious limits. This passage tells the story of R. Meir’s efforts to reintegrate Elisha into society by helping him repent, and, ultimately, by enabling his entry into the world-to-come. The two sages are going as far as one is allowed to walk on the Sabbath. If they go any farther they will be outside the field where it is legitimate to walk. One who crosses this boundary on the Sabbath is denied permission to return and must remain outside.18 If Aḥer crosses this boundary he will be hopelessly beyond the field of legitimacy, and R. Meir too, unless he turns back. This border situation serves as a test case for the distance that Aḥer has traveled. R. Meir has walked up to the Sabbath boundary in what seemed to be a desire to learn Torah from Elisha, when, in fact, he tries to save Elisha from ultimate exclusion.19 At this point in the story, Aḥer warns R. Meir not to continue. It can be inferred that because of R. Meir, Elisha will not continue. R. Meir is the protective force that prevents Elisha from going too far. As the story develops, R. Meir is the one who takes the initiative for returning Elisha to the world-to-come. This is prefigured in the image of the two sages standing at the boundary of the Sabbath. I believe this passage is not meant to show Elisha’s sinfulness; rather, it illustrates and introduces the relationship between R. Meir and Elisha. The principle of Sabbath law indicates how far Aḥer has really gone. It is significant that we learn that he has not gone past the point of no return. Because of R. Meir, Elisha does not cross the forbidden threshold.20 Having reached the limit, Aḥer is called upon to repent. The moment when he stands on the threshold seems to be appropriate to issue a call for repentance. Elisha responds that a heavenly voice has declared that he cannot 130

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repent. As the story continues, R. Meir attempts to revoke the first heavenly voice by means of a new one and he drags Elisha into the beit midrash, or the synagogue. In light of the symbolism of the Sabbath boundary, the movement may be portrayed as follows: Elisha’s sins lead him from the center to the outermost limits (the Sabbath boundary); R. Meir issues a call for repentance and attempts to drag Elisha back from the periphery to the center (the synagogue). In presenting the initial version of Elisha’s going out, two possibilities were offered for where he went out from: one was the heavenly sanctuary, and the other was the normative world of the sages. In attempting to draw Elisha back in, R. Meir works on both fronts. The point that follows standing at the Sabbath boundary is that R. Meir attempts to drag Elisha back to the center of the rabbis’ world: the synagogue, or the schoolhouse. The following scene shows how R. Meir attempts to bring Elisha back to the heavenly center (the world-to-come).21 The Sabbath may have further significance in this episode. In some sources, such as the Mekhilta, Shabta, , the Sabbath is viewed as analogous to, and as expressive of, the world-to-come: That I am the lord who sanctifies you. In the future world, which is characterized by the kind of holiness possessed by the Sabbath of this world. We thus learn that the Sabbath possesses a holiness like that of the future world. And thus it says: ‘‘A Psalm; A Song of the Sabbath day’’ (Ps. :), referring to the world in which there is Sabbath all the time. The idea is summarized in the talmudic proverb, ‘‘Sabbath is a th part of the world-to-come.’’ 22 If the association of Sabbath and the world-to-come is active in the storyteller’s mind, this could be an expression of Elisha’s status in the world-to-come. Going out of the world-to-come would be reflected in going out of ‫תחום שבת‬, the Sabbath limit. R. Meir’s presence prevents this. That Elisha does not really go out suggests that he will ultimately enter the world-to-come. As it develops, this is the tale of bringing Elisha into the world-to-come in spite of the heavenly decree that excluded him. R. Meir plays a crucial role in Elisha’s redemption. This is the first scene in which the relations between the two sages are expressed. R. Meir’s presence with Elisha prevents him from crossing the forbidden threshold, and that this takes place on the

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day that foreshadows the world-to-come provides an appropriate opening for the tale of how R. Meir redeems Elisha. The story is not simply the story of Elisha’s sinfulness. It is the story of the beginning of his redemption, by means of his relationship with R. Meir. Returning to the question, does this episode constitute a genuine record of Sabbath violation by Elisha ben Abuya, my conclusion is negative. In light of other rabbinic sources and concepts, what is told of Elisha is too highly colored to be taken at face value. The description of horseback riding is a carryover from another tradition, and probably a reaction to his sobriquet, Aḥer. The real point of this passage is not Elisha’s presumed sin in riding a horse—a low-level violation of the Sabbath. Examination of the tradition reveals that the subject of the story is Elisha’s relations with R. Meir, which are characterized by the latter’s attempts to redeem Elisha. The story of the Sabbath limit thus reveals other concerns. On literary grounds, it is possible to offer an account of how this tradition was formed. Both the reference to the Sabbath itself and the reference to horseback riding can be seen as literary evolutions of motives existing elsewhere in rabbinic literature, which the storyteller has incorporated in his tale. Therefore, I am inclined to see this episode as fiction, rather than history. The Dialogues: How Factual the Report? If Bavli Ḥagiga is a literary creation, what is the nature of the dialogues between the two sages? Are they a record of actual teachings, or are the teachings invented to fit into the narrative framework? It is possible to doubt their authenticity by examining their contents and the relation of the dialogues to the surrounding story. If the two sages exchange ideas that are typically contextual of this source, this suggests a literary creation. An additional consideration is whether exegesis of the verses discussed in the dialogues can be traced to any other rabbinic context. If the exegesis reported is exclusive to the present context, is the report historically valid? Furthermore, are the traditions recorded genuine tannaitic teachings or should the theology expressed in these dialogues be bracketed by the literary limits and concerns of our story cycle? Two dialogues are particularly relevant to these considerations. The first dialogue of R. Meir and Elisha is the only source that records such an inter-

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pretive tradition of Qohelet :. There is no tradition attributed to R. Akiva in any other source, nor is there any other interpretation that correlates the righteous and the wicked, heaven and hell, in a similar manner.23 In and of itself, this does not discredit this tradition. However, the unusual theology of this derasha should be noted.24 This derasha, purportedly attributed to R. Akiva, teaches that one person can enjoy another person’s merits, and that, similarly, one person will suffer another person’s lot in hell.25 These ideas are virtually without any parallel in any other rabbinic traditions.26 The Geonic reaction to these teachings is significant. Rav Hai Gaon states unequivocally: ‘‘This is not true.’’ 27 This leads us to the consideration that these are not authentic rabbinic derashot but pseudo-teachings, placed in Elisha’s mouth as part of the development of the story.28 This derasha echoes the unique events that have just been learned about Elisha.29 He has just lost his share in the world-to-come, or he has been denied entry into heaven.30 Therefore, the teaching Elisha delivers in the name of R. Akiva is curiously autobiographical.31 The message of the heavenly voice is reflected in an exegetical rendering of this same principle later in the sugya, articulated by Elisha. This is the only way to account for the unusual theology of this derasha. If this is a theologoumenon specially created in order to be attributed to Elisha ben Abuya following his expulsion from the world-to-come, it is better appreciated. All the elements in this derasha can apply to Elisha. His characterization as wicked reflects the Bavli’s understanding of him.32 His share in either heaven or hell is precisely what the sugya will discuss. Most significantly, there is an expression of the unique theological understanding according to which one can lose a previous portion. This is precisely what happened to Elisha.33 That the derashot presented are intended to fulfill an autobiographical function is even more obvious with regard to the second derasha, because R. Meir immediately reacts to the autobiographical potential of the derasha by calling upon Elisha to repent. That this is a conscious attempt to cast this dialogue in a manner relevant to the life of Elisha ben Abuya may also be gathered from an examination of the relation of this tradition to parallel interpretations of the verse. Unlike the first dialogue, the second dialogue has parallels in rabbinic literature, one of which is a tradition delivered by Elisha himself in which the verse from Job is interpreted.34 It appears in Avot de Rabbi Natan (A), chapter :

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He used to say: ‘‘Like gold vessels, the words of the Torah are hard to acquire, and like glass vessels they are easy to wreck, as it is said, ‘Gold and glass cannot equal it, neither shall the exchange thereof be vessels of fine gold’ ’’ (Job :). Scripture compares gold to glass—even as gold vessels can be mended after they have been broken, the glass vessels cannot be mended when they are broken unless they are restored to their original state. If we accept the attribution of this tradition to Elisha ben Abuya, we can understand a bit more of how the storyteller worked.35 Even though there is an interpretative tradition of this verse in the name of Elisha ben Abuya, in the Bavli, only R. Meir and R. Akiva comment on it; Elisha is limited to conveying other people’s teaching. Nowhere in the Bavli’s presentation is Elisha portrayed as offering his own teachings, but this negation of his teachings is particularly striking in this derasha, which appears in a collection of sayings attributed to Elisha. In the present context, it is delivered by R. Meir, while Elisha himself offers an alternative teaching in the name of R. Akiva. The tradition of Elisha’s teachings here, as in the Pardes passage, served as the raw material for the construction of a passage involving Elisha.36 The biographical dimension is made evident in two ways. The first relates to the content of the derasha. The reference to the gain and loss of words of Torah may be taken as indicating Elisha, but Elisha’s teaching as it appears in Avot de Rabbi Natan is not the ultimate point of the dialogue. Interestingly, it is attributed to R. Meir,37 and rejected in favor of the better interpretation, ascribed to R. Akiva.38 The alternative interpretation is transparent in its autobiographical appeal, as is seen from R. Meir’s immediate reaction: ‘‘Then, thou, too, repent.’’ The autobiographical significance is not attached directly to Elisha’s original statement, but to a new statement that is meant to serve as a clear alternative to his own and is formulated in reaction to it. The autobiographical significance of the application of Elisha’s original statement to the present context finds expression in another way as well. An exclamation is inserted in the interpretation of the verse from Job that breaks the flow of the derasha: ‫ אפילו ככלי חרס‬,‫להים‬-‫הא‬, by God, even as earthenware. This addition is not part of the derasha and it does not help in understanding it. What it does do is to put the teaching in the context of the lives of the sages. The manner in which the teaching is contextualized depends upon the different textual traditions. The manuscript variants offer two ways for 134

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this phrase to be incorporated into the discussion: some witnesses attribute the phrase to R. Meir; others, to Elisha. Branch A manuscripts attribute the phrase to Elisha. Branch B manuscripts are divided. I prefer the Branch A reading in this instance, although both readings can be incorporated into the understanding of the purpose of this interjection. If it is to be assumed that the phrase is Elisha’s, it is understandable that some textual witnesses might have shifted it to R. Meir. In the dialogue, the speakers change, and the change in speaker is prefaced by the conventional ‫אמר לו‬, he said to him. If the interjection is attributed to Elisha, there are two consecutive applications of ‫ אמר לו‬attributed to the same speaker.39 The textual tradition of this passage is an attempt to get around this difficulty.40 Some witnesses combine Elisha’s second saying with the first, and create a continuum.41 Others omit the first ‫אמר לו‬, thereby creating the impression that these are the words of R. Meir. I believe this difficulty ultimately led to dropping the phrase in the printed version. Since this offers a reasonable explanation for the formation of the version, according to which R. Meir makes the exclamation in response to a particular textual difficulty, the alternative, and more problematic reading, seems preferable. According to the version that attributes the interjection to Elisha, he would be making R. Meir’s teaching relevant to his own life by saying how true this teaching, originally his own, is.42 In fact, the teaching should be phrased in a more extreme manner: the fragility of the words of Torah can be likened not only to glassware but to earthenware, which, like glass, cannot be repaired. Elisha thus interjects in a manner that indicates the relevance of R. Meir’s words to his own life, and his interjection has the additional function of preempting R. Meir’s later words calling upon him to return. They were formulated in reaction to the analogy to glassware, but he is more like earthenware, which cannot be repaired. In analyzing the dialogues between Elisha and R. Meir, one is struck by how relevant they are to Elisha’s life. This autobiographical relevance is not, in and of itself, sufficient proof of the lack of historical authenticity of the dialogues: after all, what could be more natural for the two sages than to talk of subjects of personal relevance? But the argument that this text is autobiographically relevant loses weight when it is seen in light of the literary and editorial processes at work. Not attributing a teaching directly to Elisha but instead shifting the traditions ascribed elsewhere to Elisha to R. Meir suggests a creative manipulation of tradition. Because R. Meir is presented as the

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one who is destined to save Elisha, he should have been the one to deliver the biographically relevant teachings. However, he does not; Elisha offers these teachings. This again indicates that this is a literary adaptation. The theological uniqueness of the first derasha further supports the suspicion that we are dealing with a literary fiction and not with a genuine record of conversations between two sages.43 All this makes me skeptical about ascribing the dialogues to the two sages—and that skepticism leads to the third of the questions raised earlier. Was there a known historical relationship between the two sages, and what was the nature of that relationship? Elisha and R. Meir: Master and Disciple? From various perspectives, I have cast doubt on the historical authenticity of what the Bavli relates concerning the encounters of R. Meir and Elisha ben Abuya. Did a relationship actually exist between them, or was the relationship itself a fabrication? If such a relationship existed, what was its nature? From the methodological point of view, if it is to be assumed that such a relationship existed, this would follow the long-standing scholarly method that seeks to find the historical kernel that is preserved within rabbinic legends. It may be true that some sort of relationship existed between the two, even if tradition enhanced its memory with invented details and dialogues. In principle, I do not object to the possibility that these texts record the memory of an actual relationship between the two sages: it might even offer further corroboration for the thesis that in his own days nothing shameful was attached to Elisha. Therefore, there would be no problem for R. Meir to learn from him. If it is to be assumed that beneath the invented stories lies a historical truth, that might offer further indirect testimony for the historical Elisha’s innocence. The most reasonable explanation for R. Meir’s relationship with Elisha is that no fault was attached to Elisha in his own time. Were it to be assumed that we have here the echo of a tannaitic reality, the testimony would reinforce other tannaitic witnesses that testify to his innocence. It is only when the image of Elisha ben Abuya changed, as a consequence of the Pardes passage, that R. Meir’s relationship with him was in question. This becomes clear in the continuation of the Bavli’s discussion. Nonetheless, though the report of the relationship that is said to have existed between the two sages fits well with my thesis, there is still room to 136

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question its authenticity. If, as I have suggested, much of the passage is a literary construction, why should we assume that it is based on some fundamental historical fact? On the contrary, having become well acquainted with the creative abilities of the storytellers, it is safer to suspect that everything they reported is a literary invention. It is not enough, however, merely to cast doubt on the rabbinic report. As with the other elements in this and the episodes previously analyzed, I should like to make suggestions concerning the literary associations that led to the formation of the passage. These associations served as building blocks for the storytellers. This brings into question why the story of R. Meir’s relationship with Elisha was invented. If the storytellers wanted to invent a relationship between Elisha and one of the sages, why choose R. Meir? The story of this relationship concerns R. Meir’s attempt to redeem Elisha, to save him from sin, and to bring him into the world-to-come. Within the context of the complete story cycle, R. Meir’s efforts to induce Elisha to repent are not essentially different from the claims the story makes concerning R. Meir’s intervention in the next world after his death. If the historical authenticity of the latter is doubted, the former is not necessarily more reliable. The question is not, why did R. Meir have a relationship with Elisha? Rather: why did the storytellers choose R. Meir as the hero whom they portrayed as attempting to redeem Elisha? 44 I suggest that the choice of R. Meir resulted from a simple literary association of the names by which the two sages are known in talmudic literature.45 Elisha is always referred to in the Bavli as Aḥer; R. Meir is said to be the one to whom tannaitic sources refer when quoting a ruling in the name of Aḥerim.46 Aḥerim (plural of Aḥer) is the obvious choice for the rabbi who attempted, and ultimately succeeded, in redeeming Aḥer.47 The possibility that the Bavli is aware of the question of the reference to R. Meir as Aḥerim will be relevant in the discussion as it continues, as will also the problematic nature of transmitting traditions in R. Meir’s name. The epithets of the two sages may have more significance than mere literary association and may reflect the concerns of the storytellers in the final episode of the cycle.48 If this suggestion is accepted, it could account for the reason a story was told concerning the relationship of these two sages, and it might support my thesis that all parts of this report are fictitious and that R. Meir’s relationship with Elisha is part of the Bavli’s fictional creation.49 As suggested earlier, the Bavli’s real interest in Elisha is to explore the pos-

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sibility of a sage losing his ultimate status, and to explore the saving power of the Torah. This theme is developed by creating a story that relates the loss of the sage Elisha’s share in the world-to-come and the subsequent developments that led to his admittance into the world-to-come. These are based in part on the sage’s Torah knowledge, but more importantly, on the sage’s continued associations with, and upon his belonging to, the collective of rabbinic society. In order to relate such a story, the storytellers have to establish a link between Elisha and the rabbinic world by means of which he can be redeemed. If they have to choose a sage who can form the link between the world of the sages and the figure who serves as a test case for their power, the choice of the appropriate sage might be based on play on words. Thus, Aḥerim redeems Aḥer.50 Punning on the sobriquets Aḥer and Aḥerim is significant for an appreciation of the nature of the literary activity surrounding the story. In Bavli I, the story of Elisha’s being an ‘‘other,’’ in that he is excluded from sonship, can only be told because the story finds its ultimate remedy. Elisha is a test case for the meaning of sonship because the ultimate outcome of the story is positive. Aḥerim’s role in the redemption of Aḥer is thus fundamental not only to the logic of the story but to the very possibility that the storytellers created such a story. If the choice of R. Meir as Elisha’s redeemer serves the logic of the Elisha story cycle, and enables it to be told, there is a point when it becomes clear how conscious the fictitious nature of the storytelling is.51 The storytellers chose their heroes based on their common sobriquets and created their stories in order to thrash out their theological as well as hermeneutical concerns. This kind of construction cannot be produced unconsciously.52 It is the product of a sophisticated creative consciousness. Having suggested that the relationship portrayed between Elisha and R. Meir might itself be fictitious, we should now explore the nature of this relationship as it is portrayed in the Bavli. Their relationship is commonly described as that of master and disciple. In what follows, I shall suggest that this is not necessarily the manner in which the Bavli portrays the relationship, though there are certain indications of a tendency to do so. This statement is also significant to appreciate the historical reliability of the tradition. If the relationship between the two sages is one of master and disciple, it is easier to understand why R. Meir might take risks to save his master. If, however, the master-disciple relation is not emphasized in the talmudic presentation, why is it that R. Meir, of all sages, went to such great lengths to save Elisha 138

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ben Abuya? The question might be answered if it is to be assumed that the storytellers found R. Meir most logical for this task because of the play on names. For later tradition, another logic had to be offered. This, as we shall see, was the logic of master-disciple relations.53 Within the story told of their relationship, there is no definite indication that Elisha was regarded by R. Meir as his teacher. Nowhere in these episodes do we find language typical of master-disciple relations. Elisha is not addressed as R. Meir’s master, nor is R. Meir referred to as Elisha’s disciple. In the first two episodes of the three under discussion Elisha asks R. Meir a question, presumably a leading question that is intended to prepare the ground for the alternative answer that Elisha delivers. But asking R. Meir for a commentary does not necessarily indicate that Elisha is a teacher; it might indicate the opposite. A closer look at the dynamics of these episodes further undermines the possibility that Elisha is R. Meir’s teacher. After R. Meir offers his interpretation to the two verses whose meaning Elisha has questioned, Elisha offers an alternative explanation, but in the name of R. Akiva. Had Elisha offered the explanation as his own, there might be justification to see him as R. Meir’s rabbi and to understand the opening question asked of R. Meir as a leading question. But Elisha’s role is limited to transmitting R. Akiva’s teaching: Elisha reaffirms the role of R. Akiva as the teacher, but he does not seem to compete for the same position. Also, Elisha refers to R. Akiva as ‘‘your teacher.’’ 54 The emphasis on the fact that R. Akiva was R. Meir’s teacher further undermines the possibility that Elisha is portrayed as R. Meir’s teacher.55 From the historical perspective it should be noted that the suggestion that Elisha was R. Meir’s teacher finds no expression in any talmudic tradition outside the story in Ḥagiga.56 There is no instance in which Elisha’s teachings, either in halakha or aggada, are narrated to R. Meir or through R. Meir.57 Had there been a master-disciple relationship, surely something would have been preserved. That nothing was preserved lends further strength to the suspicion that the relationship between the two is an invention of later writers and does not reflect a historical relationship.58 It is only in the third episode that the possibility is presented that R. Meir learned Torah from Elisha ben Abuya. This is offered as an explanation for why R. Meir followed Elisha up to the Sabbath boundary. If the suggestion is accepted that this is a literary creation based on rabbinic associations, it casts doubt on the historicity of the report. The narrator offers an explana-

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tion for why R. Meir would be with Elisha at the Sabbath boundary, when Elisha is presented as the ‘‘other,’’ who is riding his horse on the Sabbath. He followed to learn from him.59 The description is thus a necessary detail the storyteller must include in order to justify the literary situation already created. Even if it is to be assumed that a historical fact underlies this report, it should be noted that the episode does not designate Elisha and R. Meir as master and disciple. At most this is a report of an event that took place. That R. Meir learned from Elisha ben Abuya does not make the latter his master, nor are the exchanges between them clearly stated as being between master and disciple. Since this is a portrayal of an actual event and not of a longstanding relationship, and since the portrayal of such a relationship would be in contradiction to the emphasis of the first two episodes, the best explanation for why it is suggested that R. Meir learned from Elisha is that the storytellers had to contrive a plausible reason for the joint presence of Elisha, the ‘‘other,’’ and R. Meir at the Sabbath boundary. There is only one point in the Bavli’s presentation in which Elisha is referred to as R. Meir’s master. This is later and is attributed to R. Yoḥanan. Perhaps there are different stages in the formation of the story cycle. Just as the Yerushalmi took the relationship to be that of master and disciple, a later stage in the Bavli might have made a similar suggestion.60 In any event, R. Yoḥanan’s reference to Elisha as R. Meir’s master conflicts with the emphasis of the first two episodes, according to which R. Akiva is called Elisha’s master. It also strikes a different note from that of the sources in which signs of master-disciple relations are absent. It is my opinion that the designation of Elisha as R. Meir’s master grew out of the description of R. Meir following Elisha to learn Torah from him. In time, the description that was created to suit the needs of the storytellers became the source of the presentation of Elisha as R. Meir’s master. One final note concerning the third episode may be significant for the development of the notion that Elisha was R. Meir’s master. This episode is cast in accordance with patterns that exist elsewhere. Bavli Sota a states: ‘‘And Elisha came to Damascus’’ ( Kings :). Why did he go there? R. Johanan said: ‘‘He went to induce Geḥazi to repent, but he refused. He said to him, ‘Repent’; but he replied, ‘Thus have I received from

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thee that whoever sinned and caused others to sin is deprived of the power of doing penitence.’ ’’ The situation in this passage is similar to what is told of Elisha and R. Meir, although the differences are significant. In this passage Elisha the prophet goes after Geḥazi, calling on him to repent. The formula ‫ חזור בך‬figures here, just as in the story of R. Meir and Elisha ben Abuya, as a call for repentance.61 The appeal in this case is also rejected. The reasoning offered for the refusal to repent seems to be a solid one. The structure of the story is identical. In view of the fact that Geḥazi is viewed as one of the sinners who is excluded from the world-to-come, the function of this structure is understandable.62 It is designed to highlight the nature of great sinners and to keep them cast within the same framework. Repentance is the door through which a sinner can change his life, but great sinners are excluded in some way from repentance.63 Their refusal to repent may be justified, as in the case of Geḥazi.64 The call to repent may imply that repentance would be possible in spite of whatever limitations are presented; or, alternatively, the gates of repentance may be closed, and the appeal simply emphasizes the fact that the individual is a true sinner. Either way, the fundamental situation is similar. Given this similarity, it is possible that there is a pattern to the story and that it is suited to particular situations, such as Elisha and R. Meir. If this is a literary pattern, it should be noted that, from the rabbinic perspective, in the case of Elisha the prophet and Geḥazi, their relationship might be seen in terms of master and disciple. It is natural that the master should issue the call for repentance to his disciple. If such a literary type exists, it is interesting that in this story, R. Meir issues the call to Elisha ben Abuya. If this is taken as an inversion of the literary type, then it would be a case of a disciple issuing the call to his master. If so, this represents further testimony for master-disciple relations between Elisha and R. Meir. Although this may not have been the episode’s original intention, it may have been perceived so by later authors. Thus, there is one more clue that would have led to the understanding that master-disciple relations existed between Elisha and R. Meir in the Bavli.65

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Elisha and R. Meir in the Synagogue R. Meir’s attempts to save Elisha are the subject of the next several scenes. The following scene records R. Meir’s reactions when Elisha rejects his call for repentance: [R. Meir] prevailed upon him and took him to the schoolhouse. [Aḥer] said to a child: ‘‘Recite for me your verse.’’ [The child] answered: ‘‘There is no peace, saith the Lord, unto the wicked’’ (Isa. :). He took him to another synagogue. He [the child] said to him: ‘‘For though thou wash thee with nitre, and take thee much soap, yet thine iniquity is marked before Me, saith the Lord God’’ (Jer. :). He took him to another schoolhouse. He [the child] said to him: ‘‘And thou, that art spoiled, what doest thou, that thou clothest thyself with scarlet, that thou deckest thee with ornaments of gold, that thou enlargest thine eyes with paint? In vain dost thou make thyself fair, your lovers spurn thee, and are out for thine life’’ (Jer. :). He took him to thirteen schools, they quoted in similar vein. The last child of the thirteen said to him: ‘‘But unto the wicked God saith: ‘What has thou to do to declare my statutes, and to carry my covenant upon thy mouth’ ’’ (Ps. :). That child was a stutterer. It sounded to him as though he had said: ‘‘But to Elisha God saith.’’ He [Aḥer] took a knife, and cut him into thirteen pieces, and sent him to thirteen schoolhouses. Some say that he said to him: ‘‘Had I a knife in my hand I would have cut him up.’’ This passage forms another chapter in the relations of R. Meir and Aḥer that is linguistically distinct.66 The language of this passage is Aramaic, whereas the previous episodes were in Hebrew.67 R. Meir is not mentioned by name in this passage.68 Nonetheless, he is its hidden hero. It is he who takes the initiative of dragging Elisha from synagogue to synagogue. This passage records some form in which R. Meir acts on behalf of Elisha, for his redemption. How does this passage form part of the story of R. Meir’s attempts to redeem Elisha, and what is the purpose of the visits to the synagogues? In the opening episode, Elisha was led to sin as a consequence of the proclamation of the heavenly voice. This section follows Elisha’s assertion that he has been excluded from repentance by that same heavenly voice. R. Meir, 142

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whose plea for repentance was rejected, has to resort to another course in his efforts to save Elisha. Since the root of Elisha’s refusal to repent is the heavenly voice, R. Meir seeks a way of revoking the voice—that is, he seeks another heavenly voice that would nullify the first. In the sugya, there is no doubt that Elisha heard a heavenly voice. R. Meir does not suggest that Elisha is mistaken, but even if a heavenly voice has been heard, its content is not taken as final. In rabbinic sources, as well as in pagan and Christian antiquity, there is a form of divination that makes use of the recitations of Scripture by children.69 This form is also called ‫בת קול‬, the same term that designates the issuing of the heavenly voice in the story.70 Thus, children who recite their scriptural passage unwittingly reveal the voice of God.71 R. Meir then takes Elisha in search of a heavenly voice that would cancel the original voice, but such a heavenly voice fails to materialize. Time and again Elisha’s original exclusion is reaffirmed by a series of children. Each time Elisha emerges as a sinner. The final prophecy is the most painful: the stuttering child addresses Elisha by name. All the previous verses referred to Elisha’s sinfulness or to his inability to make himself any better, even if he tried. This seems to refer to his exclusion from repentance. The last child changes the topic of reproach: the wicked should not speak God’s statutes, that is, Torah. Up to this point in the sugya Elisha has been excluded from repentance and from the world-to-come but has kept his portion in the Torah. The last child strikes in a personal manner at the only thing left to Elisha, and this provokes his reaction. Within the context, Elisha’s reaction can be understood as a form of fighting against the heavenly voice, by killing, or wanting to kill, the messenger. Either way, Elisha is protesting his exclusion from Torah, and perhaps also against his exclusion as pronounced by the original bat kol. In context, it is not a crime committed out of hatred for the Torah; rather, it is a desperate act of battling against the superior strength of the heavenly voice. Far from expressing Elisha’s desire to be removed from Torah, it expresses his desire to overcome the limits set upon him by the heavenly voice. In its own way, it is a gesture of his desire to return to God. The point of the child-killing story is not to present Elisha’s sinfulness but to present his tragic position in relation to the heavenly voice. Still, he is reported to have murdered a child. There are two ways to interpret this story. In order to believe that Elisha actually killed a child, one would also have to

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believe in the original and subsequent heavenly voices that are annunciated by the thirteen children. Alternatively, killing the child can be considered independently of the context. The attempt to view the motive independently is methodologically faulty because it isolates one particular element out of a larger whole; the only way to examine the child-killing motive independently of the larger literary framework is to recall that it also appeared in Yerushalmi I. However, the appearance of the motive in this context constitutes an independent witness, whose historical merit has already been addressed. Subsequently, the question of relationship and influence of the two appearances of the child-killing motive will be considered. I propose that the form the motive takes in the Yerushalmi is primary, and its elaboration in the Bavli is secondary. For this reason the child-killing motif in the Bavli cannot be addressed from this perspective. It can only be appreciated for the manner in which it was recast by the Babylonian storytellers in their new and original literary creation. Once it is clear that this is a literary composition, the details of the report are relevant. Why does the storyteller suggest that Elisha and R. Meir entered thirteen synagogues? 72 Our sources mention the existence of thirteen synagogues in Tiberias.73 Given the geographic location of R. Meir in Tiberias, it would make sense to relate this episode to Tiberias, though the Bavli, unlike the Yerushalmi, does not give a location.74 But if this tradition is the basis for the story, the point here is that Elisha is taken into all possible synagogues and is consistently rejected. The number thirteen occurs significantly in various instances in the Bavli: as expressive of a great multitude, including a great number of orders of mishna, a great quantity of food, an outstanding number of times of asking forgiveness, an outstanding number of garments, a great number of years, and a great number of animals that are declared to be ritually inedible.75 Thus, when Elisha is taken into thirteen synagogues the point is that R. Meir goes as far as possible in order to revoke the heavenly decree, but does not succeed. One might suggest a further sense in which the number thirteen may be significant. Lee Levine has noted that the number thirteen is often used by rabbis to designate a period during which a student studies with his master.76 Taking Elisha through thirteen synagogues might thus allude to the fact that R. Meir, here functioning as Elisha’s teacher, has taken Elisha through a complete cycle in his failed attempt to revoke the heavenly decree.77 The various senses of thirteen all

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point in the same direction. R. Meir has made the utmost effort to revoke the heavenly voice, and has failed. Another question that arises in this context is the significance of sending the dismembered child to the thirteen synagogues. Liebes has pointed out the connection between this action and the story in Judges :, where the body of the concubine who was molested to death is divided into twelve pieces and sent to all the tribes of Israel.78 Much as the action of the mob at Giv’a is deemed to be revolting, so the message of the heavenly voice is revolting to Elisha; he is portrayed as expressing it in a manner that gives expression to his disdain for this act of God. There may be further significance to the literary allusion. The story of the concubine in Giv’a leads to the exclusion of the tribe of Benjamin from Israel (Judg. :): ‘‘Why has it happened in Israel that one tribe should this day be lost to Israel?’’ This sole instance of the severance of a part of Israel from its body is an apt allusion for the story of Elisha who was excluded from the sonship of Israelites. But also as in Judges, where the exclusion is overcome and the tribe of Benjamin is reintegrated in the body of Israel, Elisha, too, is reintegrated.79 This is the conclusion of the Bavli’s story of Elisha’s life on earth. The remainder of the story, dealing with Elisha’s afterlife, again reflects the Bavli’s ideological concerns more than its concern with historical facts.

Elisha, R. Meir, and the Sages: Making It in the Afterlife Following the failed call for repentance and the failed abrogation of the heavenly voice, R. Meir continues to attempt to exert his influence on Elisha’s fate in the afterlife: When Aḥer died they said: ‘‘Let us not judge him, and let us not bring him into the world-to-come. Let us not judge him, because he recited the Torah a lot, and let us not bring him into the world-to-come, because he sinned.’’ R. Meir said: ‘‘When shall I die, so that I shall cause smoke to rise from his grave.’’ When R. Meir died, smoke rose up from Aḥer’s grave. R. Yoḥanan said: ‘‘[Some] mighty deed to burn his master in the fire. There was one among us and we could not save him? If I were to take him by the hand, who would snatch him from me.’’ Said

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R. Yoḥanan: ‘‘When shall I die, so that I shall extinguish the smoke from his grave.’’ When R. Yoḥanan died, the smoke ceased from Aḥer’s grave. The public mourner began [his eulogy] concerning him thus: ‘‘Even the gatekeeper could not stand up to you, our master.’’ For the storytellers, events in the afterlife seem to be as real as any earthly event. The story easily crosses the boundary between this world and the next. That the storytellers speak of the afterlife with such familiarity testifies more to the literary nature of the stories than to the supernatural abilities of the storyteller. To express their ideas and ideologies, they tell stories in this world and in the next. But what, exactly, is the ideological meaning of this episode? This episode is the turning point in Elisha’s fate: he is brought into the world-to-come. Though the heavenly voice had long before barred him from repentance, he enters the world-to-come because the sages, in a process initiated by R. Meir, are able to overcome the divine decree.80 As has been suggested, Elisha is the test case for the power of the sages. By telling the story of a sage who lost and then regained his share in the world-to-come by virtue of the sages, the storytellers can highlight the power of the Torah and of the sages, a power that outweighs any transgression and is greater than heavenly decrees, probably greater than heavenly beings. Were it not for the happy ending, the story of Elisha could never have taken the shape it has in the Bavli. The Bavli can only tell of Elisha’s exclusion from repentance and the afterlife because his exclusion is ultimately overcome.81 It tells the story of his sins because, ultimately, his Torah is more powerful than his transgressions. I consider the present episode to be not only the happy end of a difficult tale but its raison d’être. This episode is not the solution to the problems narrated previously; rather, what preceded was told so that the events in the present episode can take place. The logic of this episode should be examined more closely. The sages can intervene on Elisha’s behalf because, after he dies, there is a stalemate in heaven that leaves him unable to enter either heaven or hell. There are two reasons for portraying a heavenly stalemate: first, it allows Elisha to be viewed in his full complexity, with the merit of his Torah opposed to his sinful actions; second, by presenting the heavenly stalemate, the sages can intervene in the heavenly proceedings. The story assumes that the rabbis know of the heavenly court’s decisions 146

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and are familiar with its procedures.82 Moreover, they are in a position to differ with the heavenly court and can prevail upon it. It is not obvious from the story whether the discussions in the afterlife are viewed as taking place within a heavenly tribunal or within a heavenly academy, where rabbis fit in more naturally, but whatever the location, the rabbis manage to break past the heavenly indecision and achieve Elisha’s temporary chastisement with a view to his ultimate redemption.83 From the heavenly perspective, total perfection is sought. Therefore, they cannot entertain the possibility of preferring Torah knowledge to religious observance. Only the rabbis, who are the carriers of the Torah, can proclaim that the value of the Torah outweighs the value of religious observance, and therefore act on behalf of Elisha and his final redemption. Elisha’s redemption takes place in two stages, which are related to two different sages. The first is Elisha’s entry into hell, as a purgatory that will later enable his entry into heaven. No time seems to be placed upon the period in purgatory.84 The sage responsible is R. Meir. In the two preceding episodes, R. Meir’s initiatives on Elisha’s behalf depended upon the response of another, either Elisha or God himself; in this episode, R. Meir can make the decision so that his efforts to redeem Elisha can finally be presented as successful. The second stage relates to taking Elisha out of hell. This is accomplished not by R. Meir but by R. Yoḥanan, who apparently takes Elisha out of hell before the appointed time, and criticizes R. Meir for allowing Elisha into hell; according to R. Yoḥanan, even a temporary sojourn in hell is not fitting for a member of the rabbinic group. R. Meir’s failure, according to R. Yoḥanan, may be seen as an extension of his failures in previous episodes, although R. Meir succeeds in moving past those failures. But R. Meir does not succeed in bringing Elisha’s complete redemption. R. Yoḥanan, who takes credit for Elisha’s redemption, stresses his own power, as well as Elisha’s belonging to the collective of rabbis.85 The ultimate ground for Elisha’s redemption is not the power of any particular rabbi but the power of the rabbis as a whole. This final episode in Elisha’s saga should be viewed in relation to the opening episode. Both episodes narrate events or discussions that take place on high. The first episode relates the exclusion of Elisha, the last relates his inclusion. One obvious relationship between the two episodes is in the use of fire. Metatron receives sixty fiery lashes. This ultimately leads to the final scene of the Elisha story, in which he is punished for his transgressions in

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fire. This is the same sort of measure-for-measure reaction that appeared in the opening episode, which plays upon the relations between the human (Elisha) and ‘‘the Angel,’’ of Qohelet :, which is assumed to be Metatron.86 The final scene may return to this theme, in the image of the gatekeeper, whom R. Yoḥanan overpowers.87 It is possible that the gatekeeper is also an angelic figure.88 If so, bringing Elisha into the world-to-come might be a return to the theme of relations between humans and angels. Most important, however, is the relationship between the decree of the heavenly voice in the opening scene and the final outcome of the Elisha story. The heavenly voice has played a part in all the episodes to this point, either directly or through the attempts to abrogate it. This is the first scene that does not mention the heavenly voice. Emphasizing the heavenly voice would make the sage’s redemption work more difficult, but in light of the story’s outcome the question of the validity of the heavenly voice is still relevant. The story does not assume that the heavenly voice was mistaken, or that Elisha erred in what he heard.89 Nonetheless, it is circumvented but remains valid. The story of the visit to the thirteen synagogues taught that heavenly voices are not the final word: though they ostensibly express the word of God, this word is open to reconsideration. Even though R. Meir failed in his attempts to procure an alternative heavenly voice, the principle behind his efforts was that heavenly voices are revocable. If the heavenly voice reveals a tenuous truth, it is not surprising that it is overcome. Yet in this final episode, when the sages at last gain Elisha’s entry into the world-to-come, their success does not depend on the abrogation of the heavenly voice. There is neither a conscious confrontation with the heavenly voice, nor the explicit need to overcome its message. The heavenly voice is simply ignored.90 That the final episode does not articulate its relationship to the heavenly voice is a skillful means of allowing the sages to determine Elisha’s fate in the afterlife. In the context of the dramatic change in Elisha’s fate, we now recognize that the literal truth of the heavenly voice remains. The bat kol says that Elisha is excluded from repentance. Elisha takes this to mean that he is also excluded from the world-to-come, and the story assumes this inference to be correct. However, because the heavenly voice did not issue that fate, when Elisha is brought into the world-to-come, this entrance does not contradict the words of the heavenly voice. Repentance generally saves sinners from the consequences of their sins, 148

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but the heavenly voice denies this to Elisha. In the final episode, he enters the world-to-come through another path, an alternative to repentance that affirms his status as a Torah scholar. The sages redeem Elisha. By exerting their power, or sharing their merit, the sages give Elisha redemption as an alternative to repentance. The heavenly voice remains true: Elisha does not repent, because, having found an alternative means of entry into the worldto-come, he does not need repentance.91 At this point in the examination of rabbinic stories, the history of ideas has come nearly full circle. The impetus for the Pardes passage, which fashions Elisha’s story, is found in the Tosefta, where he lacks the protection of a master in his visionary activities. The development of his story in reaction to the Pardes episode in the Talmud culminates at a point where he is dependent upon other sages for his redemption.92

Elisha: Torah vs. Deeds Elisha’s story has come to a close. According to the Bavli, his successful entry into the world-to-come provides the happy ending. Yet the Bavli continues to reflect upon him because he is an essential part of its ideological concerns. In the earlier part of the story, Elisha was the test case through which the value of Torah could be appreciated, juxtaposed against the sonship status an Israelite enjoys. But if the discussions following Elisha’s death are in some ways inconsistent with the opening scene of the story cycle, the emphasis has now shifted to a different ideological tension. Instead of tension between being an Israelite and being a Torah scholar, the tension is now between Elisha’s Torah learning and his religious observance. Throughout, although the story has focused on Elisha’s sinful behavior and his scholarly capacities, it has not expressly compared Elisha as a Torah scholar and as a sinner. In the final discussion, the main issue is the tension between Elisha’s Torah study and his sinful behavior.93 The heavenly stalemate is reached because of the conflicting pull of these two central values. The rabbinic choice to bring Elisha into the world-to-come, at any cost, affirms the status of the Torah as more significant than the religious transgressions that counterbalanced it in the heavenly deliberations. In the rabbinic form of expression, a religious value is often highlighted by contrasting it to another value. In this case, the story of the sage who sins can highlight the value of the Torah that he in-

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corporates. Once more, Elisha functions as a symbol for Torah, and his fate is expressive of the ideological priorities and values of the rabbinic world. His ultimate redemption expresses the understanding that the highest value is Torah. The preference of Torah to religious observance expresses rabbinic ideology, but it is not necessarily part of rabbinic pedagogy. The tension between the two values does not exist in a situation where a choice has to be made and the rabbis give instruction how to choose. It comes up in the context of choices made in heaven. In other words, the deliberations over this issue take place in the framework of assessing the value of something that has already taken place. There is no pedagogical lesson to be learned from saving Elisha by the power of his Torah. The reference to a deceased master and to the deliberations following his death enables the storytellers to work out an ideological issue without worrying about the practical implications of their position. This tension ties the final scene of the story of Elisha to the following talmudic discussion of his person and learning, even though it is no longer part of Elisha’s story proper: Aḥer’s daughter came before Rabbi. She said to him: ‘‘Master, support me.’’ He said to her: ‘‘My daughter, whose daughter are you?’’ She replied: ‘‘I am Aḥer’s daughter.’’ Said he: ‘‘Is his offspring still in the world? He shall have neither son nor son’s son among his people, nor any remaining in his dwellings’’ (Job :). She said to him: ‘‘Master, remember his Torah and do not remember his deeds.’’ A fire came and surrounded Rabbi’s bench. Rabbi wept and said: ‘‘If it be so on account of those who are dishonored by her, how much more so on account of those who are honored by her.’’ But how did R. Meir learn Torah at the mouth of Aḥer? Behold Rabba b. Bar Ḥana said that R. Yoḥanan said: ‘‘What is the meaning of the verse ‘For the priest’s lips should keep knowledge, and they should seek the Torah at his mouth, for he is an angel of the Lord of hosts?’ (Mal. :). If the teacher is like an angel of the Lord of hosts, they should seek the Torah at his mouth, but if not, they should not seek the Torah at his mouth.’’ Resh Lakish answered: ‘‘R. Meir found a verse and expounded it: ‘Incline thine ear, and hear the words of the wise, and apply thy heart unto my knowledge’ (Prov. :). It does 150

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not say, ‘unto their knowledge’ but ‘unto my knowledge.’ ’’ R. Ḥanina said, [he deduced it] from here: ‘‘Hearken, O daughter, and consider, and incline thine ear; forget also thine own people, and thy father’s house etc.’’ (Ps. :). The verses contradict one another! There is no contradiction: In the one case Scripture refers to an adult, in the other to a child. When R. Dimi came [to Babylon] he said: ‘‘In the west they say: Eat the date and throw the kernel away.’’ Rabba expounded: ‘‘What is the meaning of the verse: ‘I went down to the garden of nuts to look at the green plants of the valley?’ (Song of Sol. :). Why are the words of Torah likened to the nut? To tell you that just as the nut, though it be spoiled with mud and filth, yet are its contents not condemned, so a scholar, although he may have sinned, yet his Torah is not contemned.’’ This passage begins with the story of Aḥer’s daughter and Rabbi. Rabbi is portrayed as refusing to give alms to Aḥer’s daughter because of her father’s sins. It then continues with discussions of the amoraim regarding the permissibility of studying from a sinning master, a question that R. Meir’s behavior raises. At this point, it is clear that in the Bavli, Elisha represents an internal ideological dilemma. The issues are handled in terms of the distinction between Torah and religious observance. For this reason, Elisha is admitted into the world-to-come, his daughter is given alms, and R. Meir is justified in learning Torah from him. Why is a story told of Rabbi? From the chronological point of view, it should be noted that Rabbi lives in the generation between R. Meir and R. Yoḥanan, the heroes of the previous episode, yet this passage does not in any way indicate his awareness of the smoke on Elisha’s grave, or its ramifications. Once more, different episodes offer different emphases, in accordance with the point they seek to make. This story reaffirms more than the distinction between Torah and religious observance. Since there is no precedent for refusing to support children of sinners, the purpose of the discussion between Rabbi and Aḥer’s daughter can hardly be to prevail upon Rabbi to be charitable toward her.94 Its purpose is to make further statements concerning Elisha’s status. I suggest that the episode of Aḥer’s daughter allows the storytellers to reaffirm his entry into the world-to-come, and his ultimate redemption.

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Rabbi’s reaction to Aḥer’s daughter’s request for alms is to curse Elisha’s offspring in the words of Job: ‘‘He shall have neither son nor son’s son among his people, nor any remaining in his dwellings.’’ 95 Following Aḥer’s daughter’s distinction between Torah and action, a heavenly fire descends. The manuscript tradition reveals interesting changes at this point. According to some witnesses, the heavenly fire threatens to consume Rabbi.96 In others, the fire surrounds Rabbi’s school bench.97 In yet others, the fire scorches his bench.98 In still another version, Rabbi sees a column of fire.99 The variety of the seven different readings indicates a great deal of textual activity over a very difficult text. I suggest that the story’s primary reading is that the heavenly fire intends to consume Rabbi and that this reading was too powerful for some of the textual witnesses. The fact that both the reading and attempts to mitigate it are found in both textual families indicates a problem that is common to both. One emendation is to speak of the scorching of Rabbi’s school bench rather than of the burning of Rabbi himself; another speaks of surrounding Rabbi’s bench rather than of scorching it. The most removed witness simply mentions the vision of a column of fire. According to the suggested reading, the fire either threatens to consume Rabbi,100 or symbolically does so, by scorching or surrounding his bench.101 The meaning of this scorching is best understood in light of the previous mention of fire. Metatron received sixty fiery lashes because of Elisha. This in turn led to Elisha’s merits being burned. Following his death, smoke (implying fire) rises from Elisha’s grave as a sign of a redemption in progress. Finally, after Elisha is admitted into heaven, fire threatens to consume the rabbi who placed a curse on his progeny. Although chronologically, according to the previous episode, Elisha has not yet been admitted into heaven, we know from the perspective of the thematic development of the story that he has been redeemed. The threat to consume Rabbi is therefore understood as an affirmation of Elisha’s redemption, which itself was founded on the logic that Aḥer’s daughter proclaims. Now that Elisha has entered the world-tocome, the fire that previously consumed him is turned toward those who continue to exclude him. In this light, the passage goes one step beyond the preceding one in relating the unfavorable reactions to those who doubt Elisha’s ultimate salvation.102 That the heavenly fire testifies not only to the truth of the distinction made by Elisha’s daughter but to Elisha’s fate as well may be seen in the following passage: 152

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Rab Judah said in Rab’s name: ‘‘They wished to include another [Solomon], but an apparition of his father’s likeness came and prostrated itself [in supplication] before them, which, however, they disregarded. A heavenly fire descended and its flames licked their seats, yet they still disregarded it. Whereupon a heavenly voice cried out to them, ‘Seest thou a man diligent in his business? he shall stand before kings. He shall not stand before mean men’ (Prov. :). He who gave precedence to My house over his, and, moreover, built My house in seven years, but his own in thirteen, he shall stand before kings. He shall not stand before mean men.’ Yet they paid no attention even to this. Whereupon the heavenly voice cried out, ‘Should it be according to thy mind? He will recompense it, whether thou refuse, or whether thou choose; and not I etc.’ ’’ (Job :) 103 The subject of this passage is similar to that of Elisha’s story: the exclusion of a hero from the world-to-come, and his subsequent acceptance.104 The hero in this instance is King Solomon. Related motives appear in both stories: both have heavenly voices and heavenly fires as part of the communication between heaven and earth, in the context of the discussion rabbis are said to have regarding the fate of figures in the world-to-come. Indeed, these are the only instances of heavenly fires licking schoolhouse benches. In both stories, too, the proclamations of the heavenly voice are not taken as final.105 This is the only way to understand why the first heavenly voice concerning Solomon is ignored. The arrangement of the motifs is different in the two stories: one story tells of human rejection and divine approval, the other tells of heavenly rejection and human acceptance. Concerning Solomon, the heavenly fire is rejected, and the heavenly voice has the final word; concerning Elisha, the reverse is true. The heavenly voice, which opened the story cycle, is overcome, and Elisha’s redemption is affirmed by means of a heavenly fire, the last miraculous element in the story. The point of the parallel is not, however, to ascertain which miraculous element delivers the final truth but to illustrate the similarity of the treatment of a cluster of motifs that figure in a related thematic context. Though the stories adapt the motifs differently, they are related in their larger thematic concerns. Comparing the two stories provides a better appreciation of the purpose of the fire motif, which serves in both stories as Heaven’s way of affirming the status of a protagonist in the world-to-come. The fire descends to dissuade the sages from

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their mistaken perception that Solomon has no share in the world-to-come. I suggest that this is also the point in the descent of the heavenly fire with regard to Elisha. Having accounted for this episode’s function within the larger cycle of stories told of Elisha, the choice of Rabbi as one of the story’s characters must be explained. Why tell this story about Rabbi? 106 The answer lies in his response to the heavenly fire. Rabbi cries and utters a statement. There are several instances in the Bavli in which he cries.107 In all these instances, Rabbi cries at the realization of a sudden entry into the world-to-come,108 or in response to a proclamation about the protagonist’s status or power in the world-to-come.109 It is possible that his utterance carries a similar meaning in this final episode: Rabbi cries not only because he is impressed by the power of Torah. Seen in the context of the entire sugya, it may provide further affirmation of Elisha’s entry into the world-to-come. By crying about the value of Elisha’s Torah, he reaffirms what has just been learned, that Elisha ben Abuya has entered the world-to-come. Elisha is the opposite of other cases in which Rabbi cries: he does not merit the world-to-come because of brief repentance; rather, in a moment that leads to a lifetime of sinning, Elisha is excluded from the world-to-come. Unlike the other instances, Elisha is allowed entry into the world-to-come not because of a sudden final heroic act but by virtue of the Torah he studied, even if he did not honor it in his actions. Rabbi’s words and tears are thus an affirmation of the Torah and its value.110 Within the framework of the story, however, and in light of similar instances of Rabbi’s behavior, Rabbi’s words also seem to deliver the most important message: Elisha has been redeemed. These formulaic parallels to Rabbi’s behavior imply that Rabbi was chosen in order to highlight Elisha’s entry into the world-to-come. In the preceding episode Elisha is presented as a member of the rabbinic guild who is saved primarily because of his relationship with R. Meir: the rabbis save one who used to belong to them. In the present episode salvation comes in a different way: indeed, the rabbinic hero, Rabbi, is initially opposed to anything having to do with Elisha, and nowhere in this episode does he actively engage himself on Elisha’s behalf; he accepts the heavenly position that affirms Elisha’s value, but does not intervene on his behalf. Elisha is saved by his own Torah. Presumably, this relates more to the Torah he studied in his youth, before he sinned, than to his continued engagement in Torah study. Ultimately, he is redeemed not by being a member of 154

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a guild, in need of colleagial support, but because of the Torah he possesses. In this sense, the episode of Rabbi and Aḥer’s daughter advances the thematic progression of the story cycle. Here the value of the sinner’s Torah is more clearly articulated, both in distinction to his sinful behavior and as the power that ultimately saves him. The descent of the fire and Rabbi’s tears both affirm Elisha’s successful entry into the world-to-come. This is a fitting moment to take leave of Elisha. Bavli I makes no further mention of him. However, the themes that served the discussion of Elisha continue in the sugya by shifting the emphasis from Elisha to R. Meir. This development indicates how central R. Meir is to the story cycle. Because the relationship between the two sages formed the backbone of the story, the sugya can continue to develop, questioning how R. Meir learned Torah from Elisha. The question does not necessarily assume master-disciple relations between them, though R. Yoḥanan has already referred to Elisha as R. Meir’s master, but it assumes a relationship that is deeper than what was brought out in the dialogues in the earlier part of the story cycle. The question of the image of the ideal teacher is presented in interesting terms. The expectation of perfect behavior is grounded in a derasha that compares the master to an angel. This comparison is innocent enough and might be taken simply as an indication of the perfection expected of the master, but in the context of the sugya it carries special weight. Elisha’s troubles are the consequence of his relations with ‘‘the angel’’ of Qohelet :. Does the likening of the ideal rabbi to an angel play, once more, upon this motif ? 111 The story has taught that Elisha enters the world-to-come through the power of the sages. Perhaps this power is in opposition to angelic power.112 At the very least, it is a move necessitated by the fact that a member of the rabbinic collective got into trouble with the angel. This source indicates that the ideal rabbi is himself tantamount to an angel, and is therefore in possession of powers as great as those of an angel. The story opens and closes with relations of rabbis and angels. Its ultimate affirmation concerns the greatness of rabbis, who are likened to angels. The story, which told of the triumph of the rabbis in bringing Elisha into the world-to-come, may thus be recapitulated in this final analogy: R. Meir is justified in learning from Elisha because Torah is preferable to actions, and because rabbis are preferable to angels.

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God and the Justification of R. Meir R. Meir’s ultimate justification transcends the relations of humans and angels. Following the question of the similarity of the ideal rabbi to an angel, the sugya offers two justifications for R. Meir’s learning from Elisha: first, there are several derashot that legitimate it; second, there is the proverbial wisdom that justifies his action.113 Two metaphors for eating fruit are introduced in order to justify Elisha’s actions. However, the ultimate justification is found in the next passage of the sugya, where the story moves from angels to God himself. Rabba b. Rav Shila met Elijah. He said to him: ‘‘What is the Holy One, blessed be He, doing?’’ He answered: ‘‘He utters traditions in the name of all the rabbis, but in the name of R. Meir he does not utter.’’ [Rabba asked him] ‘‘Why? Because he learned traditions at the mouth of Aḥer.’’ Said [Rabba] to him: ‘‘Of what difference is it to him? R. Meir found a pomegranate; he ate [the fruit] within it, and the peel he threw away!’’ [He answered:] ‘‘Now that you say [so], he does recite.’’ What does he say? ‘‘Meir my son says: ‘When a man suffers, to what expression does a bat kol give utterance? ‘‘My head is heavy, my arm is heavy.’’ If so, says Scripture, I grieve over the blood of the wicked, how much more so over the blood of the righteous that is shed.’ ’’ Throughout the story cycle the only missing character has been God himself. There was recourse to the angel, and permission was granted in heaven. There was an encounter with a heavenly voice, followed by the descent of a heavenly fire. The heavenly tribunal deliberated. But in all this, God, as an acting personality and as a literary character, is not present. I suggest that his appearance is withheld until the final episode in order to allow him to have the final say. Beyond all the ways in which Elisha and his Torah have been justified and redeemed, their ultimate redemption takes place in this final episode, by appealing to God himself. God is introduced into the story in the most typical rabbinic context: that of learning Torah. One of the hallmarks of the rabbinic view of God is his engagement in the study of Torah.114 Moreover, he engages in Torah study as practiced by the rabbis, meaning that he studies the words of the sages. One function of the description of God studying the words of the sages is 156

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to endow their teaching with an a posteriori legitimation, because God concurs with them, as his recitation of their teaching indicates.115 What is the meaning of God reciting in the name of all rabbis, except for R. Meir? This implies that R. Meir is outside the field of legitimacy because his teaching lacks divine approval and as a consequence of his association with Elisha ben Abuya. This presentation again suggests how significant the relationship between Elisha and R. Meir is. Having followed the course of R. Meir’s attempts at redeeming Elisha, the plot arrives at the point where R. Meir himself is in need of redemption in the eyes of heaven because of his association with Elisha. In discussing R. Meir’s status in the heavenly Torah study the story emphasizes his centrality to the story cycle and the significance of his relationship with Elisha. Like Elisha, R. Meir too is redeemed by another sage. R. Meir’s exclusion from divine mention is remedied by the conversation a later sage, Rabba b. Shila, has with Elijah. It can be assumed that the contents of this conversation are known to God, who seems to be silently following the conversation and acting accordingly. Rabba b. Shila offers a reasonable explanation for R. Meir’s actions, couched in terms of the metaphor of eating a pomegranate, which makes the distinction between Torah learning and religious observance. The point of the metaphor is that R. Meir was not affected by Elisha’s behavior. He learned his Torah, not his ways. God is won over by this argument. He immediately recites a tradition in R. Meir’s name.116 Though Elisha’s story has been completed and R. Meir is the subject of this episode, telling R. Meir’s story indirectly addresses Elisha as well; if R. Meir received something of value from Elisha, that would enhance the perception of Elisha. For God to recite in R. Meir’s name is therefore to admit that Elisha’s Torah is of value and that R. Meir was not mistaken in associating with him. Further, if God did not recite in R. Meir’s name, because of his association with Elisha, this would seem to be an intentional avoidance of the recitation of Elisha ben Abuya’s Torah. The point is obviously stronger if Elisha is seen as R. Meir’s master and not just as one who occasionally taught R. Meir.117 When the decision is reversed and God recognizes the possibility of a Torah that is unblemished by improper religious behavior, he reinstates Elisha as part of the heavenly Torah. If Elisha himself was redeemed previously, by being allowed to enter heaven, now his teaching is redeemed, by God reciting in R. Meir’s name. Thus the story cycle closes when God himself legitimatizes Elisha ben

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Abuya. What started out as an effort to exclude him from the world-tocome, because he confused the angel with God, ends when God accepts the rabbi who acted in an unangelic manner as part of the wider body of sages and Torah. In the tension between perfect behavior, as expressed in the analogy to the angel, and Torah study, as practiced by the rabbis, God himself endorses the rabbis and their Torah. That God may decide not to side with the angel may be one way of reading the proof text from Qohelet that underlies the formation of the story.118 A certain tension found in the proof text could be construed as the basis for the development of the story. In the proof text there are references to both God and the angel. At first, it appears that God sides with the offended angel 119 because of the permission given, presumably by God, for Metatron to act in a certain way toward Elisha. However, the proof text may also suggest a distinction between God and the angel; one may read the question, ‫להים על קולך‬-‫למה יקצוף הא‬, why should God be angered at your voice, not in the affirmative but as a rhetorical question that does not receive an affirmative answer. Why should God be angered? Indeed, he is not. Such a reading would lead to distinguishing between the perspectives of God and of the angel. God is not angered because of the angel. Ultimately, he accepts and legitimates the Torah of the sage who inflicted harm upon the angel. Ultimately, God sides with the sage. God’s acceptance of Elisha is an expression of the ultimate value of Torah that transcends all other values, including that of proper religious behavior. However, it might also be taken as an expression of divine compassion.120 This point emerges from an examination of R. Meir’s quote that is attributed to God. There are hundreds of statements attributed to R. Meir throughout rabbinic literature, so the choice of this particular statement is significant. In this statement, the wicked are juxtaposed with the just. Earlier in the Bavli’s presentation this juxtaposition was found in Elisha’s dialogue with R. Meir. Returning to this theme may echo the concern over the status of the righteous and the wicked—that is, Elisha’s status. What is said concerning the spilled blood of the wicked may be an instance of divine compassion, where God suffers along with executed sinners. Elisha is the sinner who is finally reinstated through the efforts of R. Meir. The redemption of Elisha through the power of the sages is not self-evident. God’s refusal to recite R. Meir’s teaching indicates that Elisha’s redemption through the power of Torah cannot be taken for granted. Even though a good argument was presented to 158

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justify R. Meir’s learning from Elisha, the choice of the quote attributed to God may indicate that the ultimate justification of Elisha and of R. Meir is not only a matter of rabbinic power and persuasion. One may suggest that God’s willingness to recite a tradition in R. Meir’s name, following Rabba b. Shila’s argument, is an expression of divine compassion for the wicked. Through compassion, God gives value and legitimacy even to the wicked, including Elisha.121 The choice of this quotation may close a circle that was opened at the beginning of the story cycle. Elisha’s story began with the special status of Israel, as expressed in the writing of their merits. His exclusion was related to the burning of his merits. The story cycle now ends with a reference to the divine reaction to the hanged sinner. If it is possible that such a person lacks merit, then the theme is the same as in the opening scene.122 Introducing God into the discussion broadens its focus from human merit to divine compassion for sinners. Initial references concern Elisha’s exclusion from the world-to-come as a consequence of his exclusion from Israelite sonship. Later, he enters the world-to-come through the power of the Torah and its sages. The past several episodes have emphasized the distinction between Torah and good deeds but have ignored the question of Elisha’s status as an excluded Israelite son. The words that are attributed to God may be relevant in this context, for they teach that even the greatest sinner enjoys divine compassion. Within the parameters of rabbinic thought, it is reasonable to assume that this divine compassion is the privilege of Israelites. To speak of divine identification with sinners may suggest the recognition that Elisha, the great sinner, is also part of Israel and therefore enjoys God’s compassion and identification.123 I must mention another aspect of the significance of the words attributed to God. He grieves over the blood of the wicked, and even more so for the blood of the righteous.124 I have suggested that the earliest reference to Elisha is found in Avot de Rabbi Natan, where reference to him is identical to that of early rabbinic martyrs. This tradition served as the basis for the Pardes tradition, which generated the image of Elisha as being wicked. Elisha’s reinstatement again touches on the theme of the martyrdom of the righteous. This is probably accidental, because by the time the story was edited, the historical memory of Elisha was long forgotten.125 It is interesting that in justifying Elisha, the sources come full circle to the earliest mention of him.

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The words attributed to God seem to imply that divine compassion brings Elisha’s redemption: God is responsible for the final legitimation of R. Meir, and consequently of Elisha. This implied meaning allows a reconsideration of what is told of Elisha and what the Bavli says about R. Akiva. Liebes has noted that a three-way relationship exists between God, the angels, and the sage in the Bavli’s presentation of both Elisha and R. Akiva.126 At first, one is justified in drawing a distinction between them. Whereas Elisha erred because of the angel, R. Akiva succeeded despite the angels. This contrast may be stressed by the text referring to R. Akiva: R. Akiva went up unhurt and went down unhurt; and of him Scripture says: ‘‘Draw me, we will run after thee’’ (Song of Sol. :). And R. Akiva too the ministering angels sought to thrust away; [but] the Holy One, blessed be He, said to them: ‘‘Let this elder be, for he is worthy to avail himself of My glory.’’ 127 R. Akiva’s successful ascent is seen in light of the threat posed by the angels. He is saved by God, who turns to the angels and affirms R. Akiva’s worth. The opening term ‫ואף‬, too, can be taken in contrast to Elisha. While the text contrasts the two sages, my analysis of Elisha’s story allows for the suggestion that, in a deeper sense, there is a parallel in what is told of both sages. In both instances a sage enters a precarious situation, where the association with the angels poses a threat. In Elisha’s case, what went wrong with the angels is not just a momentary threat but one that has grave consequences in his life. Just as R. Akiva is protected from the threat through God’s intervention, so also is Elisha ultimately redeemed by God himself. R. Akiva is protected because he is worthy; Elisha was allowed to enter heaven because of his Torah (that is, his own worth). One might suggest that the value of both sages serves as the basis upon which God actively intervenes or expresses himself on their behalf. From the perspective of God’s involvement on behalf of the Torah and its sages against angelic forces, both stories reveal a fundamental similarity. The final episode of the story cycle offsets the cycle as a whole. What was a story of human power is balanced by divine presence and compassion. That the human being succeeds in overpowering the heavenly decree is viewed differently after God himself is persuaded by a sound human argument. The story of heavenly and earthly conflict ends on a note of accord between the 160

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sages and God, who are united in their view of the Torah and the ultimate status of the sinning sage. The function of the final episode is very similar to the concluding note of another talmudic instance in which the sages overpower a heavenly voice. I refer to the celebrated passage in Bavli Bava Metzia b, commonly known as the story of Achnai’s stove. Following is the latter part of the story: Again he said to them: ‘‘If the halakha agrees with me, let it be proved from heaven.’’ Whereupon a heavenly voice cried out: ‘‘Why do you dispute with R. Eliezer, seeing that in all matters the halakha agrees with him.’’ But R. Yehoshua arose and exclaimed: ‘‘It is not in heaven’’ (Deut. :). What did he mean by this? Said R. Jeremiah: ‘‘That the Torah had already been given at Mount Sinai. We pay no attention to a heavenly voice, because Thou has long since written in the Torah at Mount Sinai: ‘After the majority must one incline’ ’’ (Exod. :). R. Nathan met Elijah and asked him: ‘‘What did the Holy One, Blessed be He, do in that hour?’’ He replied: ‘‘He laughed saying: ‘My sons have defeated me, my sons have defeated me.’ ’’ This passage develops in a manner very similar to that of the story of Elisha. In both stories a heavenly voice is sounded, but it is not taken as final in either story. The sages see themselves as possessing an authority by which they can contest the message of the heavenly voice. Thus, they reject the content of the bat kol. In the story of Achnai’s stove, the rejection of the heavenly voice is explicit: R. Yehoshua openly affirms that one does not accept the authority of the bat kol. In this sugya there is no explicit rejection. However, there is an implicit rejection in the structure of the sugya: if Elisha is excluded from the world-to-come, because of the heavenly voice, and if the sages enable his entry into the world-to-come, this means the heavenly voice has been overcome through the power of the sages. In both sugyot, following the main story, there is an encounter with Elijah. In both sugyot the rabbi who encounters him asks about God’s activities. An identical formula is used in both stories.128 In both stories, the purpose of this investigation is to affirm human power in heaven. In Bava Metzia, God accepts the rejection of the bat kol and proclaims himself defeated.129 This is an affirmation of rabbinic power stemming from the Torah, which is the source of the rabbis’ power. In this story, the argument offered by Rabba b. Shila brings about a

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change in heaven. God recites Torah in the name of R. Meir. As suggested, this is tantamount to a reinstatement of Elisha ben Abuya, which affirms the rabbinic overcoming of the heavenly voice. Both stories, too, are told in the context of the exclusion of a rabbi from the wider rabbinic circle. The story in Bava Metzia is told as part of the background to the excommunication of R. Eliezer; the story in Ḥagiga is told as part of the justification and of the integration of sages who were otherwise, in some way, outside: Aḥerim and Aḥer.130 The story of Achnai’s stove is often regarded as typical of rabbinic theology.131 It highlights the power of the Torah and its sages, expresses their relationship to God, and establishes clear relations between heaven and earth. One may go so far as to say that this story has become a charter for the rabbinic program of Torah study. The story of Elisha’s exclusion, and his consequent inclusion, in the world-to-come demonstrates how contextual and characteristic his story is within the ideology of talmudic storytellers. Elisha’s story resorts to themes and expresses concerns that lie at the heart of rabbinic thought. In spite of all that is told about him, the reader really knows nothing about Elisha personally. The figure of Elisha has been introduced by the storytellers in order to convey their world view. The fact is, Elisha ben Abuya’s story is not his own. It is the story of the rabbis, of the Torah, and of its values. The story of the sage who was the ‘‘other’’ is really the story of all sages.

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6 THE STORY OF YERUSHALMI II

M  of the Bavli’s report of the life of Elisha ben Abuya has shown that establishing the true concerns of the text is of primary importance, and the search for historical information is secondary. The life of the sage is often little more than a vehicle to express ideas that are significant for the sages and storytellers. In the Bavli, the significant idea is the place of Torah in the life of the sages; Elisha is simply a liminal figure who demonstrates the implications of what it means to engage in Torah study to the limit. By examining the relationship of Torah study to the sonship that an Israelite naturally enjoys and comparing this with the value of ritual observance, we arrive at a unique view of the quintessential nature of Torah. These broader concerns find expression while engaging and interpreting a problematic rabbinic text such as the Pardes episode. It may be concluded that there are three distinct levels that are relevant to the discussion: historical truth, the interpretation and the hermeneutics of previous texts and traditions, and the ideological concerns of the particular group telling the stories. My analysis suggests that the first level plays a minor role in shaping these rabbinic reports, and that, indeed, they may not provide historically reliable information. The second level is clearly more important, inasmuch as the rabbinic writings are heavily hermeneutic. But even the exegetical task the texts fulfill is determined by the ideological concerns of the sages and storytellers. In moving from the Bavli to the Yerushalmi, it is essential to keep all three

163

levels in mind. Can the Yerushalmi serve as a historically reliable source of information about Elisha? What agenda shapes the Yerushalmi’s presentation? Are there larger ideological concerns that find expression in the way stories about Elisha are told and in the way in which earlier texts are interpreted? A full appreciation of the Yerushalmi, as a text and as a historical witness, depends on the ability to uncover the broader ideological and thematic concerns that influence its presentation. The witness of the earlier part of the Yerushalmi has already been explained both from the historical perspective and from the perspective of hermeneutical function. In what is called Yerushalmi I, it seems that hermeneutics, the second level of interpretation, is most significant. Its historical reliability has been shown to be questionable. All the traditions in Yerushalmi I can be accounted for in terms of hermeneutics. As suggested earlier, these emerge from the different interpretations of the expression ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬. In Yerushalmi II, genuine historical reports are lacking, as are immediate hermeneutical concerns. As a result, the formative element in Yerushalmi II is the third level of inquiry that gives expression to the rabbis’ ideological concerns and gives form to what is told of Elisha and the way in which his relationship with R. Meir is portrayed.

Elisha and R. Meir: Master and Disciple The similarity between the Yerushalmi and the Bavli in the presentation of the story of the relationship between Elisha and R. Meir invites a detailed analysis. As a basis for that analysis the reader will profit by first having a grasp of what is essential to the Yerushalmi. Once the Yerushalmi’s thematic concerns are clear, it will be easier to assess its originality and its contribution to tradition and history, as well as its relation to the Bavli. Yerushalmi II must be treated as two distinct strata. The first, which forms the backbone of the discussion, is the story of Elisha and R. Meir. At first reading, the logic of the dialogues and plots is the same as the Bavli’s, as is its basic message, but closer scrutiny reveals that the Yerushalmi’s version has different dominant themes. The episodes involving R. Meir and Elisha in the Yerushalmi constitute an independent source. The second stratum in the Yerushalmi is a combination of various additions that interrupt the flow of the main story. Though some but not all of these interruptions are linked 164

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to the plot, they all share a common concern, which will emerge from an analysis of them as a unit. What follows is the R. Meir and Elisha story cycle presented as a self-contained continuous narrative, without the additions: R. Meir was sitting teaching in the beit midrash in Tiberias. Elisha, his master, passed by, riding on a horse on the Sabbath day. They came and said to him, ‘‘Look, your master is outside.’’ He stopped his teaching and went out to him. He said to him, ‘‘What were you expounding today?’’ [Meir] said to him, ‘‘And the Lord blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning’’ (Job :). Elisha said to him, ‘‘With what [verse] did you begin to expound it?’’ He said to him, ‘‘And the Lord gave Job twice as much as he had before’’ (Job :), for he doubled for him all his wealth. Elisha said, ‘‘Alas for the things that are lost and not found. Akiva, your master, did not explain it thus, but ‘And the Lord blessed the latter days of Job from [i.e., because of ] his beginning’ on account of the merit of the commandments and good deeds that he possessed in his former state.’’ [Elisha] said to him, ‘‘And what else have you been expounding?’’ He said to him, ‘‘Better is the end of a thing than its beginning’’ (Qoh. :). He said to him, ‘‘How did you begin to expound it?’’ He said to him, ‘‘[It applies] to a man who begot children in his youth and they died, then in his old age he started again. This is an application of ‘the end of a thing is better than its beginning.’ [It applies] to a man who did business in his youth and lost money, while in his old age he made a profit. This is an application of ‘the end of a thing is better than its beginning.’ [It applies] to a man who learned Torah in his youth and forgot it, while in his old age he learned and remembered it. This is an application of ‘the end of a thing is better than its beginning.’ ’’ [Elisha] said, ‘‘Alas for the things that are lost and not found. Akiva, your master, did not explain it thus, but, ‘The end of a thing is better than its beginning,’ so long as it is good from its beginning. And this applies to me . . .’’ He said to him: ‘‘And what else have you been expounding?’’ He said to him, ‘‘Gold and glass cannot equal it’’ (Job :). He said to him, ‘‘How did you begin to expound it?’’ He said to him, ‘‘The words of the Torah are hard to acquire like vessels of gold, but easy to lose like vessels of glass. Just as vessels of gold and glass, when they are broken,

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165

can be repaired, and become as they were, so a scholar who forgets his learning can turn and learn it as at the beginning.’’ He said to him: ‘‘Enough, Meir. Here is the Sabbath limit.’’ He said to him, ‘‘How do you know it?’’ He said to him, ‘‘From the steps of my horse which I am counting. He has gone two thousand cubits.’’ He said to him, ‘‘You have all this wisdom, yet you do not repent?’’ ‘‘I cannot,’’ he said. ‘‘Why not?’’ R. Meir said to him. Elisha said, ‘‘Once I was passing before the Holy of Holies riding upon my horse on the Day of Atonement, which happened to fall upon a Sabbath, and I heard a heavenly voice coming out of the Holy of Holies saying, ‘Return, children, except for Elisha ben Abuya, who knew my power, yet rebelled against me.’ ’’ Sometime later Elisha fell sick. They came and told R. Meir, ‘‘Behold, your master is ill.’’ He went, intending to visit him, and he found him ill. He said to him, ‘‘Will you not repent?’’ He said, ‘‘If sinners repent, are they accepted?’’ [Meir] replied, ‘‘Is it not written thus: ‘You cause a man to repent up to the point when he becomes dust’ (Ps. :), up to the time when life is crushed are repentant sinners received.’’ At that moment Elisha wept, then he departed and died. And R. Meir rejoiced in his heart, thinking ‘‘My master died in repentance.’’ When they buried him, fire came down from heaven and consumed his grave. They came and told R. Meir, ‘‘Behold your master’s grave has been set on fire.’’ He went, intending to visit it, and found it burning. What did he do? He took his cloak and spread it over him saying, ‘‘Pass the night’’ (Ruth :), stay in this world which is like the night, ‘‘and it shall be in the morning.’’ This is the world-to-come, which is all morning. ‘‘If he will redeem you, good, let him redeem you.’’ This is the Holy One, Blessed be He, of whom it is written: ‘‘The Lord is good to all, and his compassion is over all that he has made’’ (Ps. :). ‘‘And if it does not please him to redeem you, then, as the Lord lives, I will redeem you’’ (Ruth :). Then the fire was extinguished. They said to R. Meir, ‘‘If they ask you in that world, Whom do you intend to visit [first], your father or your master [What will you do]?’’ He said to them, ‘‘I will visit my master first, and after that, my father.’’ They said to him, ‘‘Will they listen to you?’’ He said to them, ‘‘Have we not been taught thus: ‘They save the casing of the scroll together with the scroll, the casing of the phylacteries together with the phy166

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lacteries’ (Mishna Shabbat :). They save Elisha Aḥer through the merit of his Torah.’’ This presents a complete cycle in the relationship between R. Meir and Elisha ben Abuya.1 This cycle is completely unrelated to the Pardes episode, or to the proof text from Qohelet, both of which influenced the discussion of Yerushalmi I. Elisha is referred to here only as Elisha and not as Aḥer.2 In this, too, the passage seems to differ from Yerushalmi I. The sobriquet Aḥer may very likely underlie this discussion as well; nonetheless, Elisha is explicitly referred to by his own name. This may indicate a more positive attitude toward him than what is found in Yerushalmi I. There are numerous similarities between this extended presentation and the text of the Bavli, but the two presentations differ somewhat in form. In the Bavli, different sections of the discussion contributed to the story, whereas in the Yerushalmi these sections are continuous. The seams that can be recognized in the Bavli have disappeared. The language is primarily Aramaic. There are no quotes or indications of beginnings of subsections. When its various additions are removed, the Yerushalmi’s narration can be recognized as a complete literary unit. The Yerushalmi does not include the opening part of the Bavli, from the vision of Metatron to the encounter with the harlot. It begins to parallel the Bavli with the dialogues between Elisha and R. Meir. These dialogues are ostensibly neutral teachings, though at least one of them is consciously related by the Yerushalmi to Elisha himself. They culminate when R. Meir turns to Elisha asking him to repent and Elisha refuses to do so because of a heavenly voice. This is followed by a description of Elisha’s dying moment, with R. Meir at his side, and the burial—two scenes that do not appear in the Bavli. R. Meir appears as Elisha’s redeemer even more clearly than in the Bavli. Moreover, R. Yoḥanan is absent from the Yerushalmi, thus making Elisha’s redemption exclusively the work of R. Meir. Finally, others talk to R. Meir, who affirms his certainty that Elisha entered the world-to-come. This is also lacking in the Bavli. From the thematic point of view, the two talmuds seem to be close: both portray the relationship between Elisha and R. Meir in the context of bringing Elisha into the world-to-come; both share the sense that Elisha’s end is a happy one; both express otherworldly concerns. The historical perspective is not significantly different in the two versions. Unless certain dialogues re-

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corded in the Yerushalmi are viewed as historically correct, there is almost no new material in the Yerushalmi. Even from the perspective that the source seems to be interested in, Elisha’s fate in the world-to-come, there does not seem to be a substantial difference between the sources. Only when the text is viewed from the perspective of the ultimate ideological concerns (the third level) do striking differences between the two talmuds begin to emerge. Approaching the Yerushalmi as an integrated literary unit presents a new meaning. The Yerushalmi is far more complete than the Bavli in its portrayal of the relations of the two sages. There are more episodes in which they interact: R. Meir is with Elisha during his life, at the moment of his death, at his burial, and even after his death. His striking concluding statement affirms that he will stay with Elisha even in the afterlife. The consistency and emphasis on the two sages puts their relationship into clearer focus than in the Bavli. This is further highlighted by the fact that throughout these episodes there are only two figures. In contrast to the Bavli, which relies on other figures to determine Elisha’s ultimate redemption, the Yerushalmi presents R. Meir as the sole agent of Elisha’s redemption.3 A formal analysis of the story as presented in the Yerushalmi is helpful in uncovering the storytellers’ true concerns and intents. This story can be divided into four unequal sections, each of which designates a particular phase in Elisha’s life, always in interaction with R. Meir. Except for an anonymous third-person-plural reference, the only two active heroes are Elisha and R. Meir. It can therefore be suggested that this story is not only about Elisha and his fate but also about his relationship with R. Meir. All sections of the story begin with an identical linguistic formula that serves as the opening phrase of a new scene. The various episodes are singled out not only through the circumstances of time but also by means of a linguistic expression that indicates the opening of a new phase of the cycle: ‫אתון ואמרין‬, they came and told. This third-person-plural presence repeatedly comes to R. Meir to inform him about Elisha, who is consistently referred to as ‫רבך‬, your master. Unlike the Bavli, which only once, in the words of R. Yoḥanan, refers to Elisha as R. Meir’s master, the Yerushalmi develops the image fully. It is the only way Elisha is referred to, it is present in every mention of their relationship, and it is a unifying literary element in the story cycle. The first time R. Meir is told about him, it is because Elisha is outside the beit midrash. R. Meir leaves the beit midrash, and the dialogues between 168

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the sages ensue. The second phase is Elisha’s illness, prior to his death. When he is informed, R. Meir reacts by calling on Elisha to repent. The third stage is at Elisha’s grave, after a heavenly fire descends on it. At this point, R. Meir acts as the agent who extinguishes the fire and consciously undertakes to redeem Elisha in the world-to-come. The final stage is in the dialogue, in which R. Meir is asked: In the world would he visit his father or his master first.4 His action here consists of a clear affirmation regarding Elisha’s being saved and entering the world to come. The way in which the structure of the story reenforces the stated relationship between the two as that of master and disciple, and not simply a faithful relationship between two scholars, may indicate that the ultimate concern of the story has to do with the very nature of master-disciple relations. The master has sinned, and the relationship with his disciple continues to death and beyond. By relating to an extreme situation, the storytellers can explore possible implications of this relationship in a manner that is not possible under normal circumstances. Beyond the question of Elisha’s fate and his entry into the world-to-come, the Yerushalmi highlights master-disciple relations and makes them the ultimate issue of this story cycle.5 Each of the four scenes in the development of the story cycle will be analyzed in terms of the dynamics of this relationship. The long opening scene, which incorporates the dialogues of the two sages, of course bears such a relationship to the Bavli that one might focus on the changes in the common material, or on the dialogues themselves. However, the story’s background, and its significance to master-disciple relations should begin the examination. The opening lines of the story cycle, unique to the Yerushalmi, set the stage for the development of the dynamics of master-disciple relations. R. Meir is sitting and teaching in the beit midrash, while Elisha is committing a sin outside. Both the nature of their activities, and their location, are in sharp contrast. R. Meir is in, Elisha out; one studies Torah, the other sins. The crucial moment is that in which an anonymous third party informs R. Meir of Elisha’s presence outside the beit midrash; this brings the two heroes close together but does not establish a contact between them. R. Meir is in the midst of delivering a Sabbath derasha and stopping would be highly unlikely, for ceasing Torah study represents a severe disregard for the value of Torah, especially in a public teaching situation.6 But if R. Meir continues teaching, there will be no contact between them. Uncharacteristically, there-

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fore, R. Meir chooses to stop his teaching in order to see Elisha. The image of R. Meir walking out of the beit midrash in order to be with Elisha contrasts strongly with the Bavli’s image of R. Meir who drags Elisha into the schoolhouse. In the Yerushalmi’s version, Elisha never enters the beit midrash, and it is R. Meir who comes out to meet Elisha.7 Why does R. Meir leave the beit midrash in order to greet Elisha? One possibility is that Elisha is his teacher. If a disciple goes to meet his teacher, it is ostensibly to learn Torah from him. Thus, perhaps the opening scene represents a recognition on R. Meir’s part of Elisha’s status as a teacher. If so, R. Meir considers what he has to learn from Elisha to be more significant than what he is in the midst of teaching. Alternatively, R. Meir might go out not in order to learn from Elisha but in order to pay Elisha the respect a disciple should show his master. Either way, R. Meir retains his feelings of being Elisha’s disciple. In fact, this situation serves as an example of a disciple’s ultimate faithfulness to his master. Regardless of his teacher’s behavior, R. Meir retains his feelings of loyalty, he continues to respect him, and he stays close to him, under all circumstances.8 The extreme gesture of walking out of a Sabbath derasha illustrates R. Meir’s continued regard for Elisha. This explanation enforces Elisha’s role as teacher, and maintains his position. Alternatively, the student might be seeking to reform his teacher. This explanation draws support from the fact that in the context of the dialogue, R. Meir calls upon Elisha to repent, a call that is repeated in the deathbed scene. Such motivation may already be present in R. Meir’s mind when he leaves the beit midrash: the possibility of convincing Elisha to repent might easily outweigh the significance of his Sabbath teaching. This would be a reversal of roles: R. Meir, who holds spiritual influence over Elisha, may be able to save his master. R. Meir’s behavior may thus be accounted for by a straightforward master-disciple relationship and by the inverse relationship. Indeed, this dual relationship may be the central message of the story. The perplexing opening scene introduces suspense and tension that will be developed in the course of the story. The dialogues that follow the encounter between the two sages increase the ambiguity of master-disciple relations that begin in the opening scene. Elisha asks R. Meir what he has been teaching (thereby acknowledging that his conversation with R. Meir interrupts his regular Sabbath derasha). This

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question not only establishes some continuity between R. Meir’s actions inside and outside the beit midrash but also redefines the relationship between the two scholars. Asking R. Meir to repeat his teachings briefly makes R. Meir the teacher, but when Elisha disapproves of R. Meir’s teaching he retains his status as the teacher and as the channel for true Torah wisdom. Following each of R. Meir’s discourses, Elisha offers a different interpretation, which from the manner in which the story unfolds seems to be the favored one. Even if R. Meir’s interpretations remained valid, they would not cancel out Elisha’s traditions. Thus, the final word in the story belongs to Elisha, who maintains his status as a teacher. It is important to note that in both the Bavli and the Yerushalmi, Elisha delivers teachings not in his own name but in the name of R. Akiva, who is also called R. Meir’s master in both talmuds. In the Yerushalmi version, R. Meir has two masters, one of whom serves as the vehicle for the teaching of the other. That Elisha does not deliver his own teaching is important from the historical point of view: these traditions do not reflect the authentic historical voice of Elisha ben Abuya. From the literary point of view, however, he is the authority, a status in no way lessened by his citing R. Akiva as R. Meir’s master; he makes his statements with the authority of the master, either himself or R. Akiva.9 The third dialogue has a different literary pattern. In the Yerushalmi, Elisha does not reply by quoting R. Akiva. This may simply be an omission: the parallel versions to the Yerushalmi, in Qohelet Rabba, Ruth Rabba, as well as Qohelet Zuta, maintain the literary pattern and Elisha quotes R. Akiva.10 However, in the Yerushalmi, R. Akiva’s teaching is not in the context of the story and is not applied to Elisha personally, whereas in the Bavli the implications of this derasha are spelled out. It is conceivable that the midrashim added the third teaching of R. Akiva to harmonize it with the established literary pattern. But the Yerushalmi in omitting Elisha’s third response does not mean to imply that R. Meir has the final say in this dialogue. The third teaching delivered by R. Meir refers to a scholar who forgets his teaching, implying Elisha, but Elisha replies, ‘‘Enough, Meir’’—a very clever double entendre, to be taken in the literal sense as a warning that they have reached the Sabbath boundary and also as an implied reprimand to R. Meir suggesting that his teaching is inappropriate. Stopping R. Meir demonstrates Elisha’s wisdom. R. Meir gasps and says, ‘‘You have all this wisdom.’’ In other

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words, Elisha is anything but a scholar who has forgotten his learning. For the third time, Elisha has established his own standing and reaffirmed both his wisdom and the proper bounds of his relationship with R. Meir. The opening episode obviously raises the possibility of role reversal between master and disciple. However, this possibility is not sustained. Rather, the image that emerges is that Elisha remains R. Meir’s master. The second scene takes place as Elisha is dying. It introduces repentance into the story cycle and facilitates the possibility of Elisha’s redemption. If there is a possibility that Elisha died repentant,11 it makes it easier for R. Meir to proclaim with certainty that Elisha will be redeemed in the world-tocome. From the perspective of the relations between master and disciple, it seems to be a successful reversal of the roles between the two. This is no longer the self-assured Elisha riding a horse and delivering traditions with authority. In this scene, Elisha is dying. On his deathbed, he is uncertain of the scope of repentance. In this situation, the teacher is clearly R. Meir, who, as in the previous episode, issues the call for repentance. He gives the assurance of its efficacy, and he delivers the derasha, supporting the possibility of repentance up to the very last conceivable moment. Although R. Meir continues to address Elisha as his master when he reflects on the fact that his master died repentant, in this scene, the roles of teacher and student have clearly been reversed. This role reversal becomes even clearer when considering the literary type of the episode. This episode takes place on Elisha’s deathbed. Anthony Saldarini has noted that this passage inverts the pattern common in rabbinic deathbed stories, where the teacher gives final words of instruction to his students; in this case, it is the student who gives the final words: Repentance is still possible.12 I have noted elsewhere that a common concern of rabbinic deathbed stories is the discussion of the protagonist’s status in the world-to-come.13 The moment of death indicates concern for the afterlife. In other stories, it is the teacher who proclaims the status in the world-tocome, either for himself or for those left behind. The significance of Elisha’s deathbed scene lies in its implications for his afterlife. Once again, the pattern of other deathbed scenes is inverted: R. Meir’s recognition of Elisha’s repentance sets the stage for the next episode, in which R. Meir promises Elisha entry into the world-to-come.14 It is the student who declares the ultimate status of his teacher.15 His joy at Elisha’s possible repentance leads to the affirmation of Elisha’s status in the world-to-come.16 Thus, in all respects 172

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this scene reverses patterns and conventions common to relations between teachers and disciples. Through this reversal, R. Meir emerges in the role of the teacher. The same may be argued for the third scene in the cycle, in which R. Meir’s authority as a Torah teacher is clearly established in his exegesis of a verse from the Book of Ruth, which he uses to make a proclamation that is suitable to the occasion. In all four scenes, R. Meir quotes scriptural or rabbinic passages. This is in keeping with his image as Torah scholar, and it affirms the ultimate message of the cycle, which is the position of R. Meir as Elisha’s teacher. R. Meir not only teaches; he also acts with authority. In the previous scene, R. Meir is confident and Elisha is skeptical. In this scene, Elisha is dead and therefore completely helpless when the heavenly fire consumes him; only R. Meir is in a position to act. This does not make him Elisha’s master per se, but it establishes him as the stronger and more powerful of the two. R. Meir redeems Elisha by placing his cloak over Elisha’s body.17 This gesture captures the authority and power by which R. Meir can redeem Elisha, thus ensuring his entry into the world-to-come. It is precisely this that a master is supposed to provide for his disciple: Once R. Eliezer fell ill, and R. Tarfon, R. Yehoshua, R. Eleazar ben Azariah, and R. Akiva came to visit him. R. Tarfon said to him, ‘‘Master, you are more precious to Israel than the orb of the sun, for the orb of the sun sheds light on this world, while you have enlightened both this world and the world-to-come.’’ R. Yehoshua said to him, ‘‘Master, you are more precious to Israel than the gift of rain, for rain grants life in this world, while you give it in this world and in the world-to-come.’’ R. Eleazar ben Azariah said to him, ‘‘Master, you are more precious to Israel than one’s father and mother, for father and mother bring one into this world, while you have brought us into this world and into the world-to-come.’’ 18 This passage is also a deathbed scene, which combines themes of death, entry into the world-to-come, and study of Torah. The master, by virtue of the Torah he teaches, enables his disciples’ entry into the world-to-come. Unlike earthly parents, who only give birth to life on earth, the master of Torah gives his disciples a birth into eternal life. This understanding should be recognized as a common one, and the story of Elisha and R. Meir should

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be viewed against this background. Just as the second scene of the cycle represents a reversal of common deathbed scenes, so the third scene reverses a central feature of master-disciple relations: the disciple takes upon himself the responsibility of bringing the master into the world-to-come. It is now clear that in the most fundamental way, R. Meir acts toward Elisha in a manner that reverses their roles. The conclusion that can be drawn collectively, from the second and third episodes, is that R. Meir functions as the master. He instructs, calls for repentance, provides protection, and acts as the means for the entry of the other into the world-to-come. The complexity of the relationship of the two sages cannot be appreciated without understanding the message of the fourth episode.19 This episode is different because it does not involve Elisha in any direct way. Though he is the subject, he is not one of its heroes. This episode is a dialogue between R. Meir and the same anonymous onlookers who have accompanied the reader throughout the story. They ask R. Meir who would take priority for him in the world-to-come: his father or his teacher. Because the question assumes Elisha’s entry into the world-to-come, the question is one of priority. This might indicate that the point of the fourth episode is not simply the declaration of Elisha’s entry into the world-to-come but the juxtaposition of father and master. Elisha unflinchingly answers the question: his teacher would take priority over his father.20 R. Meir’s certainty concerning Elisha’s redemption is justified by an analogy to saving the casing of a scroll from the fire on the Sabbath.21 The theme of saving something or someone from the fire thus forms a bridge between the third and fourth episodes: Elisha is the Torah casing and is therefore saved, possibly from the fire of hell, and brought into the world-to-come. But there is a shift in the source of power by which Elisha is saved. In the preceding episode, the power of R. Meir allowed him to proclaim that he would redeem Elisha in the world-to-come without depending on Elisha himself; the source of Elisha’s redemption lay in R. Meir and his power in the worldto-come. If R. Meir’s power is derived from his association with the Torah, then it is the power of a master of the Torah. If he chooses to redeem Elisha, it is because of his love for him, because of a sense of loyalty, and even because of the continued recognition of his role as a teacher. However, it is R. Meir’s power that is exerted, not Elisha’s. In the fourth episode the logic returns to Elisha’s merit as a Torah scholar, as the question and answer make clear. The onlookers ask R. Meir, ‘‘Will they listen to you?’’ The question 174

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places the emphasis on R. Meir as the one who can prevail on the heavenly order to bring Elisha into the world-to-come, but R. Meir’s response does not refer to his own power, as in the third episode; instead, he speaks of the merit of Elisha’s Torah. The affirmation of Elisha’s eligibility to the worldto-come relies not on R. Meir’s Torah but on the indestructible merit of his own Torah.22 His body, his person, his actions: these are all secondary to the essence of the Torah that he personifies. Torah seems to overpower not only Elisha’s wrongdoing but also his being. This is an affirmation of the primacy of Torah as well as its saving power.23 Elisha’s power vis-à-vis R. Meir’s is also affirmed. The full implications of the return to Elisha’s own power within the shifting dynamics of this master-disciple relationship can be understood after examining the meaning of the priority afforded to the teacher in relation to the father. Why does R. Meir give priority to Elisha? Is this merely an expression of extreme love? I think this is a cultural scale of values rather than personal preferences. It has already been noted that parents are seen as occupying a place inferior to that of the teacher, who brings his disciples into the world-to-come. The recognition that the rabbi enables his disciple to enter the world-to-come is the basis of halakhic formulations that give precedence to the teacher over the father, where there are questions of priority. One example appears in Mishna Bava Metzia ::24 His father’s lost property and the lost property of his teacher, that of his teacher has first place, because his father brought him into this world, but his teacher who taught him wisdom brings him thereby into the world-to-come. R. Meir’s choice is clearly a preference of the Torah and of otherworldly values over physical life, but at the same time we understand that he is acknowledging that Elisha was, and continues to be, his master. It is important to note that we have long forgotten R. Meir’s relationship with R. Akiva. From the unfolding of our story we are led to believe R. Meir had only one major master. Underlying the priority of the teacher is the recognition that by virtue of Elisha, R. Meir attains the world-to-come. What is the meaning of preferring Elisha to R. Meir’s father, based on his bringing of R. Meir into the world-to-come? The story seems to suggest the reverse, that it is R. Meir who has brought Elisha into the world-

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to-come, or has at least promised to do so. Surely, the application of this halakhic principle to a reverse situation is unusual. I suggest that this is the message of the story. In the transition from the third to the fourth episode, the story has returned to Elisha’s power. The meaning of this return can now be suggested. The fourth episode amounts to a recognition of the fact that all R. Meir’s power stems from Elisha’s teaching. Though R. Meir promises to bring Elisha into the world-to-come, his own entry is the result of what he has received from Elisha. If relations between master and disciple were temporarily reversed, the deeper truth that emerges now is that Elisha is the ultimate source of power and teaching. All that R. Meir does is a result of Elisha’s power. Episodes two, three, and four act out a dynamic similar to the complex one noted in the longer opening episode, in which a role reversal was suspected but the teacher’s status was finally affirmed, in spite of everything that had gone wrong with him. The same message emerges from the continuation of the story. Though Elisha seems to be a helpless sinner who is about to perish by heavenly flames and is badly in need of the redemptive intervention of his disciple, there is another level of interdependence of the two figures. This level, which comes to light at the end of the story cycle, highlights the complete dependence of the student upon his master: even if it seems otherwise, the inner awareness of the disciple is that all he has is the work of his master. This results in the realization that this is not only a story of the indestructible merit of the Torah, which even the most sinful behavior cannot spoil; it is also, more significantly, an expression of the extremes that masterdisciple relations can be taken to. More than devotion, faithfulness, and love, these episodes teach that at the kernel of the master-disciple relationship lies something that is indestructible, whatever the circumstances. The role and the power of the master of the Torah in the life of his disciple transcend not only the master’s behavior, but also anything that is manifest in the masterdisciple relationship. Even when the roles have been completely reversed and the disciple has become master to his own master, there is yet a deeper sense of indebtedness and dependence of the disciple upon his master. Ultimately, it is this power of the master that reigns, and all that the disciple does is by virtue of the power received from his master. Following this suggested interpretation, what is the meaning of the manner in which the story of Elisha’s relations with R. Meir is told? It should 176

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be realized that the story is a complete exploration of a theme that is of concern to the rabbis. It is difficult to ascribe historical truth to this story. Some readers might be tempted to isolate the third episode from the others and suggest that underlying the others is some historical occurrence. Such a method of reading misses the point of the story. This story cycle combines teaching, miracles, and dialogues in a whole that is intended to convey a message. If the point were only to describe Elisha’s fate, this would be interesting, but perhaps not sufficient justification for the creation of the story cycle. What justifies its creation is that it expresses concerns that are typical of a particular world: ideas and values of the sages. The figures of Elisha and R. Meir are stereotypes. As such, they test the ultimate meaning of being a disciple and explore the core of master-disciple relations. This testing takes place in the framework of the teacher who has walked out of the collective guild by ceasing to adhere to its practices. Yet, as we learn, there is really no walking away from the scholars’ guild: the Torah is eternal, and so are the relations it forms. This is what the story explains. The ideological concerns in the story cycle are not expressed through abstract statements or philosophical discourse. They are presented through stories about figures of the rabbinic guild, chosen to bring to light aspects of rabbinic ideology. Biography is not generated out of interest in the lives of individual rabbis, not even in an otherworldly context. It is generated by the larger cultural and ideological concerns, which are expressed by turning the lives of particular rabbis into types that exemplify larger cultural, intellectual, and religious concerns. Such is the Yerushalmi’s story of the relationship of Elisha and R. Meir.

Elisha and R. Meir: The Dialogues The story of Elisha’s relationship with R. Meir is a carefully thought out literary construction that conveys an ideological message. A relatively large part of the beginning of the story cycle consists of hermeneutical discussions between the two sages. In order to substantiate the reading of the text as a carefully crafted literary work, the hermeneutical discussions must be taken as part of the greater literary whole. If the report is not considered to be historical, the logic that led to the creation of these hermeneutical dialogues must be determined. Why were these particular biblical texts selected, and

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what is the significance of the offered interpretation to the logic of the story as a whole? I should like to begin with an examination of a dialogue between the two sages that does not appear in the Yerushalmi. It is recorded in Qohelet Rabba 25 and Qohelet Zuta. It is conceivable that it is a later addition to the series of dialogues.26 Nonetheless, it so strikingly fits the analysis of the Elisha and R. Meir story cycle that I offer it as further support for the reading suggested above. Between the second and third dialogue, the following derasha is inserted: He [Elisha] said to him: And what else have you been expounding? ‘‘May your God make the name of Solomon greater than your own’’ ( Kings :). He said to him: And what else have you been expounding [concerning it]? He replied: ‘‘From here we deduce that one is not envious of his own son, or of his own disciple.’’ He [Elisha] said: ‘‘Alas for the things that are lost and not found. Akiva, your master, did not explain it thus, but, ‘May your God make the name of Solomon greater than your name,’ by virtue of your name; ‘And may He make his throne greater than your throne’ (ibid.) by virtue of your throne.’’ 27 This derasha follows the pattern noted above. Following R. Meir’s ostensibly erroneous teaching, Elisha delivers a tradition of R. Akiva that offers the correct teaching. This derasha describes in a concise manner the dynamic suggested as the logic of the story cycle. The subject of the derasha is relations between master and disciple, in a situation in which the disciple seems to have outstripped his master. In context, R. Meir has certainly outstripped Elisha as far as religious virtue is concerned. Moreover, the situation is one in which Elisha is learning Torah from R. Meir. He thus seems to have become a master to his own master, and thereby to have gone beyond the parameters of wisdom first outlined by his own teacher. It is this point that R. Meir articulates in his teaching: the desire for Solomon’s name to be greater than David’s is taken as support for the legitimacy of the possibility that a son, or disciple, can be greater than his own father or master. This is a striking expansion of meaning from the proof text to the derasha. The proof text talks of the father-son relationship. That R. Meir’s teaching expands this to master-disciple indicates that the heart of the story’s concern has to do with the relationship between Elisha and R. Meir as master and disciple. If R. Meir 178

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has taken on the role of teacher to Elisha and has become greater than he, this is not only legitimate but justified by the proof text. The derasha is not a random verse but one that aptly describes the dynamics of master-disciple relations within which it is presented.28 However, Elisha retaliates. Following the same literary pattern employed in the other dialogues, he offers the true interpretation of the verse. It is based on the dual function of the Hebrew ‘‘‫מ‬,’’ and describes both a relationship of comparison, where one thing might be more than another, and a relationship of derivation, where one thing may derive its source from another. This is precisely what allows Elisha to counter R. Meir’s point. The greatness of the son, or disciple, is an extension of the merit of the father or master. Solomon’s name will be great by virtue of David’s name. Likewise, his throne will be great by virtue of David’s throne. Though great, the son or disciple always draws on the starting point of the father or master. Contextually, R. Meir derives his power from Elisha and cannot regard himself as divorced from Elisha’s merit—an echo here of the same term in the final episode of the story cycle. Thus, this derasha explicitly spells out the dynamics that are developed in the story cycle. It further indicates that the derashot that are brought in the context of the story are not neutral, but highly contextual. Of the three derashot that are included in the Yerushalmi, one parallels a teaching found in the Bavli and two are unique to the Yerushalmi. The common tradition is the third, which, as noted in the discussion of the Bavli, is based on an authentic teaching of Elisha’s, though in neither versions is it ascribed to him directly.29 That at least one of the remaining two derashot has autobiographical implications to Elisha’s life is obvious from Elisha’s recognition: ‘‘and this applies to me.’’ 30 The third teaching, which is an elaboration of Elisha’s own teaching, seems also to be addressed toward Elisha’s personal circumstances. This is learned from Elisha’s reaction: ‘‘Enough, Meir.’’ As has already been suggested, this refers to the call implied in R. Meir’s derasha as well as to the potential crossing of the Sabbath boundary. Only in the case of the first dialogue is the contextual significance not immediately evident. However, closer scrutiny reveals that this derasha is also highly contextual to the story, and highly relevant to the Elisha’s life. The derashot that the storyteller chooses to attribute to his heroes are part of the overall message and dynamic of the text. There are two verses that serve the derashot and are not the reworking of Elisha’s own teachings. They share a common word: ‫אחרית‬, literally: end. It

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can reasonably be suggested that these derashot are intentionally configured around verses that contain this word, because of the association of ‫ אחר‬and ‫אחרית‬.31 If this is correct, and the self-referential aspect is implied in the very choice of the verses, above and beyond the unpacking of the autobiographical potential of the derashot,32 this would indicate that though the Yerushalmi consistently refers to Elisha by name, it also recognizes his sobriquet Aḥer. The sobriquet Aḥer seems to be so established as to serve as the background for particular derashot, even when the hero is referred to as Elisha. It should be further noted that the word ‫ אחרית‬is significant in relation to the story of Elisha in the sense that it refers to the end, or the world-to-come.33 Elisha’s entry into the world-to-come is the subject of the story cycle, and it might be that not only the sage’s name but also the sugya’s concern for him with regard to the afterlife find expression through the midrashic play on the word ‫אחרית‬.34 Once it is recognized that the derashot have personal aspects, the potential personal application of the derasha that is formed around the word can be examined. The first derasha can be understood in a self-referential manner. Just as in the Bavli’s derashot the teaching of R. Meir was rejected in favor of R. Akiva’s, in this case there is also an autobiographical application of the derasha in the latter part of the teaching, and not in R. Meir’s words. R. Akiva teaches that one’s end is blessed by virtue of good actions in the beginning. This might be relevant to a sage who once possessed good actions, and then ceased to have them. If so, it should be noted that the successful end is related to former good deeds rather than to the power of Torah.35 The self-referential aspect of the second derasha is obvious.36 Even if the connection with the story of Elisha’s circumcision, which will be examined below, is a later addition to the text, the claim that something is good only when it is good from the beginning invites speculation concerning its applicability to the life of Elisha. Of course, the application of ‫ראשית‬, beginning, in the two derashot, is contradictory: in the first derasha the beginning is favorable; in the second, the source of eventual mishap is grounded in the faulty beginning. Nonetheless, both derashot can easily serve the autobiographical context of Elisha himself. The point seems to be more the intimation concerning Elisha’s beginning and end rather than taking a definite stand on the relation. In this case, it might be beneficial to look at R. Meir’s teaching. Unlike the other derashot, R. Meir offers not just one interpreta-

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tion that is rejected, but three. We cannot apply the reference to the death of children or to the loss of wealth to Elisha,37 but the reference to forgetting the Torah that was once studied may well be a reference to Elisha. This possibility becomes even more acute in the examination of the third derasha. There is no response in the name of R. Akiva in the Yerushalmi. His teaching does not address the sinful behavior of a Torah scholar, as in the Bavli.38 Rather, it addresses a situation in which a Torah scholar has forgotten his teaching. The derasha on Job  makes much more sense as one relating to the loss of the Torah than as a derasha on sin. Furthermore, since this derasha seems to be an elaboration of Elisha’s own teaching, the concern with forgetting the Torah is wholly in accord with the concerns he expresses in Avot de Rabbi Natan (Ver. A, chap. ). Could it be that the Yerushalmi raises the possibility that Elisha is a scholar who has forgotten his Torah? 39 Sinful behavior may be seen as a form or result of forgetting the Torah. However, it is my opinion that this struggle might fit well with the internal concerns of the Yerushalmi and need not be seen only in relation to sinful behavior. The Yerushalmi brings the traditions, already known to us from Bavli Kiddushin, concerning Elisha’s imperfect Torah knowledge and how this led him to sin. It might also resort to the image of the Torah scholar who has forgotten his Torah. As has been suggested, the story struggles with role reversal between Elisha and R. Meir. If Elisha is R. Meir’s great master, why must Elisha be taught? How is it that R. Meir is in possession of greater Torah knowledge than Elisha? Perhaps Elisha has forgotten his teaching. This might be R. Meir’s thought, as the storyteller suggests by attributing certain words to him. In the Yerushalmi, in both instances when the theme of forgetting of the Torah occurs, it is placed in R. Meir’s mouth.40 The storytellers may have incorporated this theme as part of teasing out the relationship between Elisha and R. Meir: if Elisha forgot his Torah, that might justify the role reversal and help explain the personal references that are the basis for both of R. Meir’s derashot. However, as the story teaches, this is not the case. Elisha’s rejection of R. Meir’s interpretation in the second derasha indicates that he has not forgotten his teachings. In the Yerushalmi, Elisha does not have a response on the third derasha, but R. Meir’s amazement at Elisha’s wisdom corrects the impression that Elisha is dumbfounded and has forgotten his Torah. Thus, the derashot on the theme of a Torah scholar who has forgotten his teachings may be integrated into the story cycle’s broader

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concern, the changing of roles in the relationship between master and disciple. Thus far, nearly all the known dialogues between Elisha and R. Meir have been accounted for. All the dialogues have turned out to be highly contextual and self-referential. This reduces the likelihood of real teachings or conversations, or excerpts from a larger body of teachings ascribed to Elisha. There is one final passage in midrashic literature that should be considered in this context. The passage is found in a late midrash, Midrash Mishlei to Proverbs :: R. Meir asked Elisha b. Abuya, his teacher: ‘‘Rabbi,’’ he said, ‘‘what does ‘But the adulteress hunteth for the precious life’ [mean]? He answered: ‘‘My son, a man who is common, if he is caught in sin, it is not a disgrace for him. Why? For he’ll say: ‘I’m a common man and I didn’t know the punishment Torah prescribes [for that sin].’ Whereas a ḥaver [a sage], if he is caught in sin, that’s a disgrace for him. Why? Because he is mixing things of purity with things that are impure. And the Torah which was precious to him he besmirches, because the hoi polloi will say: Hey! Look at that ḥaver who got caught in sin and degraded his Torah!’’ He (R. Meir) said to him (Elisha): ‘‘Rabbi what is the punishment for adultery in the coming future?’’ He answered: ‘‘My son, before you ask me about this matter come and see what is written below it, [‘can a man take fire in his bosom and his clothes not be burned? Or can one walk upon hot coals and his feet not be scorched?’] ‘So he that goeth to his neighbor’s wife, whosoever toucheth her shall not go unpunished’ (Prov. :–). It is said here, ‘shall not go unpunished,’ and it is said regarding the degradation [attendant upon a] false oath, ‘for [the Lord] will not leave unpunished’ (Exod. :). Just as there [the one who swears falsely forfeits] all his money, so here, he will not go unpunished [for] he will forfeit all his merit.’’ He said to him: ‘‘Rabbi, has he no remedy?’’ He answered: ‘‘My son, once I was sitting before my colleague ben Azzai and we were studying this issue. When we arrived at this verse he said to me: ‘Let him go and raise an orphan in his household and teach him Torah and teach him all the commandments, this will atone for him for the world to come, provided that he changes his ways and repents.’ ’’ I said to him: 182

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‘‘Rabbi where is the [Scriptural] evidence for this?’’ He said to me: ‘‘It is written, ‘If you return, O Israel, declares the Lord, return to Me’ (Jer. :). Why? For I am compassionate, declares the Lord. I do not bear a grudge for all time’’ (Jer. :). I said to him: ‘‘There is, in fact, another proof which is even better as it is said, ‘Return, O Israel, to the Lord your God, for you have fallen because of your sin’ (Hos. :). Even if you have denied God. And just as God accepts as penitent one who has denied Him, so God will immediately accept this adulterer in penance.’’ His student (R. Meir) responded and said to him: ‘‘Rabbi, don’t your ears hear what you are saying?! If God accepts those [sinners] in penance, so much more so [will He accept] you, for you have all this Torah! Why don’t you do penance?’’ This source seems to be a later literary composition not only by virtue of the dating of the midrash in which it is found but also because of the presentation of the text itself. It deviates from the literary patterns of all earlier sources. In this case, R. Meir asks the question, as opposed to all earlier sources, in which the initiative was Elisha’s.41 Nor is there any mention of R. Akiva as the teacher. This is the only source in which Elisha emerges as a teacher in his own right rather than as one who quotes R. Akiva, and because it is also the only instance in which R. Meir addresses Elisha as ‫רבי‬, my master, it represents a move away from the sophistication that characterized the Yerushalmi.42 These changes allow for reflection on the nature of storytelling in the Yerushalmi. It is conceivable that the storytellers in the Yerushalmi were aware of the fictitious nature of the relationship they were portraying. This emerges from reflection on a very simple, yet significant point: while the story cycle in the Yerushalmi might refer to Elisha, or use him to represent certain kinds of relationships, and even portray him in a somewhat favorable light, it refrains from quoting him directly. If, indeed, master-disciple relations were central to this unit’s concerns, Elisha should have been presented as delivering some of his own teachings. The claim that no teachings of his were available to the storytellers is hard to sustain. If they invented fictitious dialogues, they could have attributed Elisha’s part to himself rather than to R. Akiva. Moreover, there are statements attributed to Elisha that have been preserved in rabbinic literature; as noted, the third dialogue in the Yerushalmi seems to

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incorporate a genuine teaching of Elisha’s, though it refrains from ascribing it to him. Therefore, it is probable 43 that this is a deliberate attempt to avoid mention of Elisha’s Torah. If this unit intends to emphasize his continuing authority as a teacher, surely quoting his teaching would serve this purpose. This may constitute evidence of the conscious fictitious and literary nature of the stories. Stories can be told of the sage in the framework of wider cultural concerns, and his image can be cast accordingly. However, as far as direct attribution is concerned, his negative image continues to prevent direct quotes. There is a stronger sense of responsibility within the tradition when it comes to direct quotations. The difference between how Elisha is perceived by subsequent generations and how his image is presented in the stories is thus emphasized by not relating a teaching in his own name, even when this would be the very point of the story. The writers might be quite aware of their invention and creation and at the same time have a strong historical perception that keeps them from attributing known teachings to a sage whose image they have distorted. This complexity of consciousness that may apply to the storytellers in the Yerushalmi is wholly lacking in the passage from Midrash Mishlei. This passage crosses certain boundaries that the earlier storytellers were careful to avoid. Elisha delivers his own teachings, not just those of other rabbis. R. Meir turns to him directly and addresses him as his master. These changes are not so radical in and of themselves, but they do indicate that the later writers viewed at face value, and as historically reliable, a report that may have been created by former generations as conscious fiction. Once the master-disciple relationship has moved from fictitious to historical, it can be portrayed in a new way. The Midrash Mishlei passage bears further signs of having been written later. Elisha quotes a dialogue he had with ben Azzai. Most readers would agree that this is historically unlikely, since there are no other instances of conversations between these two sages. Their appearance together in the Pardes episode is probably what led this writer to portray them as engaged in joint study. When Elisha addresses R. Meir as ‫בני‬, my son, this is also a convention in later midrashim. Yet, although the Midrash Mishlei cannot be seen as preserving any authentic tradition of Elisha, it is nonetheless significant for an appreciation of the way in which traditions concerning him are employed. What is noteworthy is the manner in which any derasha attributed to Elisha is related 184

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to what is purported to be his biography. There is a mention of a sage who commits sins, thus mixing up pure matters with impure matters: the words of Torah and the reality of sin. In the rabbinic view, this is a perfect description of Elisha. Later, R. Meir is portrayed as asking Elisha to reflect on his own teaching and to draw the logical conclusion to repent. It is difficult to tell whether the choice of Elisha for these dialogues reflects any particular understanding of his sins. Two sins are mentioned in this passage: heresy and fornication, neither one of which has been explicitly mentioned in earlier sources. Is it possible that the description of Elisha’s visit to a harlot in the Bavli developed into a view of Elisha’s licentiousness that included fornication? 44 The Bavli also has an incident in which Elisha muses on the possibility of two powers in heaven, perhaps to indicate that Elisha had too much of a good thing, not that he was totally lacking in his acceptance of the existence of a divine power.45 The later images may have incorporated both aspects into the more general view of Elisha as a sinner. However, the mention of these two particular sins need not imply Elisha’s involvement in them. It may be that this late midrash includes these sins because it wanted to mention the most severe sins imaginable and compare them to Elisha, who is not as bad as the worst sinners, which is why he can repent. He is thus seen as a great scholar who sinned, though not necessarily the greatest sinner.

Rabbi and Elisha’s Daughters Following the story cycle of the relationship between Elisha and R. Meir, the Yerushalmi narrates an episode concerning Rabbi [Yehudah HaNasi] and Elisha’s daughters: Some time later, Elisha’s daughters went to receive alms from Rabbi. Rabbi decreed saying ‘‘Let there be none to extend kindness to him, nor any to pity his fatherless children’’ (Ps. :). They said to him: ‘‘Rabbi, do not look upon his deeds but on his Torah.’’ At that moment Rabbi wept and decreed that they should be provided for. He said, ‘‘If this one who labored in the Torah not for the sake of heaven, look what he begot, one who labors in the Torah for its own sake, how much more so.’’

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The story of Rabbi continues to develop a theme found in the preceding story cycle. The key phrase is enunciated by Elisha’s daughters: do not judge his deeds, judge his Torah. The Bavli’s strategy for saving Elisha in the Bavli relied on the distinction between his Torah knowledge and his sinful behavior. In the final scene of the story, the Yerushalmi also resorts to this strategy. But what, one asks, is the point of including the episode of Rabbi and Elisha’s daughters if it does not seem to contribute anything new? It is to a certain extent anticlimactic. The cycle of stories of Elisha and R. Meir seems to have come full circle: R. Meir is certain that Elisha will gain entrance into the world-to-come. From this perspective the story has a happy ending; Elisha has been saved. Is there any need for another incident? The matter is even more puzzling when it is realized that Rabbi is R. Meir’s disciple. From the point of view of the storytellers, how is it possible that Rabbi is unfamiliar with his own teacher’s position toward Elisha? How could Rabbi decree against Elisha’s daughters after his own teacher had redeemed Elisha? 46 In the Bavli, the story of Rabbi and Elisha’s daughter served the important function of divine confirmation of Elisha’s entry into the world-to-come, an approval that was necessary for settling the undecided question of Elisha’s status in the afterlife. In the Yerushalmi, there is no supernatural intervention in this episode, and the point of the story has to do not with Elisha himself but with his daughters, and the decision to support them financially. The story of Rabbi and Elisha’s daughters seems clearly to be separate from the stories involving Elisha and R. Meir, and it must be analyzed as such. These considerations will be important when examining the relationship between the Bavli and the Yerushalmi. If this story is an elaboration of an earlier literary tradition, its inclusion would be clearer, even if it makes no significant contribution to the unit as a whole, but the function of this story must still be accounted for within the larger framework of the Yerushalmi. The Yerushalmi’s version of the episode of Rabbi and Elisha’s daughters may contribute to the thematics of the Yerushalmi either through the words attributed to Elisha’s daughters or through Rabbi’s response.47 Elisha’s daughters do not seem to make any novel statements; the suggestion that their father should be judged according to his teaching and not according to his actions is already implied in R. Meir’s final words, although one must admit the point is more clearly articulated by Elisha’s daughters. However, their articulation of this principle fulfills a different function from R. Meir’s

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concluding argument in the story cycle: Elisha’s daughters argue for the separation of his Torah from his actions and for viewing him from the perspective of his Torah. It seems Rabbi is moved by Elisha’s daughters’ ability to express such high regard for the Torah.48 It is the same argument that was previously used to justify saving Elisha and gaining his entry into the world-tocome. From this episode’s perspective, the fact that his daughters are able to make such an argument is indication of his educational success. The daughters have extolled the highest cultural value, which succeeds almost as well as a magic formula, which allows for Elisha’s reintegration into society, as evidenced by the willingness to give charity.49 If R. Meir’s story gains Elisha entrance to heaven, the story of Elisha’s daughters allows for his memory, as well as his progeny, to be reintegrated into society, not just in heaven but on earth as well. Is there anything in the situation that deserves attention? The story tells of Elisha’s daughters; does this mean he had no sons? 50 This is interesting in the context of the intense relationship between Elisha and R. Meir. Although it is not explicitly stated, R. Meir seems to function as the son Elisha seems not to have had. His unconditional loyalty, his almost filial love and devotion, might make him more than a mere disciple. The derasha from Qohelet Rabba that likens a son and a disciple is also relevant in this context.51 The editor may have told the story of Elisha’s daughters in order to represent the full range of relations involving Elisha, proceeding from the relationship with his prized disciple to an episode relating to his daughters.52 Rabbi seems to provide the best reason for this episode: Elisha’s intentions. Rabbi distinguishes between perfect and imperfect intentions: doing for the sake of heaven, or not for the sake of heaven. This was not encountered previously in either the Bavli or the Yerushalmi, but it is a central motive in the part of the Yerushalmi yet to be discussed. The additions to the Yerushalmi develop the concept of proper and improper intentions in the study of the Torah. Including this motif in what seems to be an extraneous addition to an otherwise complete story cycle may indicate a story that expresses concerns other than those in the Elisha and R. Meir story cycle, possibly the work of a different editor. This, the final reference to Elisha in the Yerushalmi, is a suitable place for the integration of two otherwise independent streams of thought—one highlighting the master-disciple relationship, which proclaimed Elisha’s entry into the world-to-come by virtue of

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his Torah knowledge, the other, still to be developed, concentrating on questions of proper religious intention and in no way concerned with the particulars of the master-disciple relationship. The story of Rabbi and Elisha’s daughters, by attributing the thesis of the one theme to Elisha’s daughters, and the other to Rabbi, seems to be a synthesis of the two major components, of no importance as further proof for Elisha’s acceptance in the world-tocome, but significant as a clue to how the Yerushalmi was edited. In drawing together the two parts of the discussion, developing some of the themes of each part, it brings to a close the Yerushalmi’s presentation of the life and death of Elisha. The story of Rabbi, that appears as the final episode related to Elisha may serve as a counterpoint to an important incident in Elisha’s life that is the subject of the second stream in the Yerushalmi.

What Went Wrong with Elisha? I have pointed out that there are two interruptions in the story of R. Meir and Elisha; the first one integrated into the story, and the second not.53 The first is part of the derasha that Elisha delivers in the name of R. Akiva, which he applies to his own personal context. The second was clearly added by the editor. It should be noted that all the additional material is in Hebrew,54 while the cycle of stories of Elisha and R. Meir shifts between Aramaic and Hebrew.55 The linguistic analysis corroborates the literary analysis of two breaks in an otherwise tightly knit story cycle. Though only one is tied to the teachings Elisha delivers, both exhibit similar concerns. This is not to say that all the additions come from the same source, or that they are later than the dialogues of R. Meir and Elisha. The additions will be analyzed collectively in order to provide a better grasp of their common thematic concern. The common concern of all the additions is the attempt to account for what went wrong in Elisha’s life. Whereas the cycle of stories about Elisha and R. Meir focused on the relationship between them, the additions focus on Elisha’s sinfulness, and attempt to explain it. All the explanations to be examined have one common denominator: they are completely divorced from the Pardes episode and have nothing to do with a mystical understanding of the root of Elisha’s sins. The first addition is found after Elisha teaches that something is good in the end only if it was good in the beginning. Elisha applies this to himself: 188

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And this applies to me. My father, Abuya, was one of the important people in Jerusalem. When the day of my circumcision came, he invited all the important people of Jerusalem and sat them down in one room, with R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua in another room. When they had eaten and drunk they began stamping their feet and dancing. R. Eliezer said to R. Yehoshua, ‘‘While they are occupying themselves in their way, we will occupy ourselves in our way.’’ So they sat down and engaged in the study of the Torah, from the Pentateuch to the Prophets, and from the Prophets to the Writings. And fire fell from heaven and surrounded them. Abuya said to them, ‘‘My masters, have you come to burn my house down around me?’’ They said, ‘‘God forbid, but we were sitting searching around in the words of the Torah from the Pentateuch to the Prophets, and from the Prophets to the Writings, and the words were as joyful 56 as when they were given from Sinai, and the fire lapped them as it lapped them at Sinai.’’ . . . Abuya, my father, said to them, ‘‘My masters, if this is the power of the Torah, if this son of mine lives, I will dedicate this son of mine to Torah.’’ Because his intention was not for the sake of heaven, therefore it was not fulfilled in that man [i.e., Elisha]. This story emerges directly out of the Yerushalmi’s hermeneutical concerns when it attempts to exegete the ‫ראשית‬, the beginning, of Elisha. It is logical that it should begin at the earliest possible point. The story is an attempt to account for both the beginning and the end of Elisha, in the context of interpreting the two key words, ‫ ראשית‬and ‫אחרית‬. In fact, the Yerushalmi provides a full-scale biography of Elisha, from the womb to afterlife. It is important to recognize the type of storytelling that results from an exegetical impulse, and to assess the type of biographical information it provides. Had there not been the hermeneutical task of interpreting a verse, which itself was chosen because of the pun of ‫ אחר‬and ‫אחרית‬, this story would have not been created. In fact, the semblance of a complete biography, covering a full life span from birth to death, is a reflection of particular biblical expressions rather than of objective historical reporting. The point to be stressed is that biography, or storytelling, is not necessarily based on historical reliability or factual reporting; it is the consequence of an exegetical need, which freely adapts the life of rabbinic heroes to suit exegetical concerns. This is the result of the cultural order of priorities: loyalty is not applied to a particular

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life; rather, it is given to collective cultural values that assimilate the details of the life of individual heroes. The life of a rabbinic hero is viewed through the lens of Scripture. In order to make sense of a biblical verse as it is applied to a particular hero, the story of his life can be told and shaped accordingly. It is re-created and retold from the perspective of the greater cultural values, with exegesis among them. Thus, exegesis results in biography. This story bears no relation to anything examined so far.57 This is the first time R. Eliezer, R. Yehoshua, and Abuya are encountered in a text concerning Elisha. Perhaps the story is told concerning R. Yehoshua because he is one of the sages mentioned in Tosefta Ḥagiga, in the generation before Elisha. Matching R. Yehoshua with R. Eliezer is a natural association. The story is located in Jerusalem. It is possible that Elisha was born in Jerusalem, though the fact that later in the discussion the Yerushalmi portrays him as hearing a voice issuing forth from the Temple raises suspicions that this story is also anachronistic. Elisha’s father is impressed by the special powers made manifest by R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua and wants his son to be like them.58 This is understood as a misdirected intention.59 Elisha refers to himself in this story as one in whom the Torah was not fulfilled—presumably meaning that he did not fulfill the commandments and act in accordance with the Torah. Nevertheless, this expression again raises the possibility, which was suggested in the discussion of the third dialogue, that Elisha forgot his Torah. The point of the story is that something went wrong in the dedication of Elisha to the study of Torah. The fault lies with his father’s intention.60 Ostensibly, he was impressed by the powers manifested by the two sages and desired them for his son. He thus desired the Torah for the power it affords rather than for its own sake. It is interesting that both the Bavli and the Yerushalmi in attempting to make sense of the story of Elisha in their respective ways ultimately deflect Elisha’s responsibility. Whether it is an unintentional error that occurred on high, or the actions of his parents, responsibility is deflected from Elisha. Indeed, there is an almost tragic quality to the presentation of the sage who, almost in spite of himself, is forced to sin. At certain points both presentations not only account for what went wrong but evoke compassion for Elisha, the one who sinned almost in spite of himself. Perhaps it should be added that, according to this presentation, Elisha is a victim, or at least passive, with regard to both sin and redemption. The root of his sin lies in his father’s intentions, not in himself. Likewise, the source of his redemption 190

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lies with his disciple, rather than with himself. He is worked on by forces greater than himself, which ultimately lead him to redemption. The possibility that the root of Elisha’s failure is his father seems odd at first. What would be the point of speaking of Abuya’s intentions rather than of Elisha’s? There are two possible explanations. The first, as noted, is that this story attempts to deflect responsibility from Elisha in order to exonerate him. The second possibility is that this is a way of coming to terms with the threat that Elisha poses for the world of the rabbis. How can one who was so strongly anchored in the world of Torah defect? In order to remove the threat of his fate befalling anyone else, there must be an exceptional answer that applies specifically to this sage. Thus, the fault is not Elisha’s, but his father’s. Abuya’s faulty reason for dedicating his son to Torah is to blame. Once again, the force that shapes Elisha’s story is not historical but ideological. Because one has to come to terms with the figure of Elisha, his life is shaped to suit the needs of those who continue to tell his tale as it relates to key exegetical and ideological concerns of rabbinic thought. The distinction between ‫ לשמה‬and ‫שלא לשמה‬, for its own sake or for the sake of heaven vs. for purposes of personal gain, is one of the fundamental distinctions in rabbinic legal and religious thinking. It addresses prominent areas of the law, where there are questions of the definition of action in relation to intention. It is also a key factor in religious motivation and in shaping the religious ideal of the rabbinic world. The religious ideal of Torah study, as well as of general religious observance, regards the perfect action as one that is performed ‫לשמה‬, only for the sake of heaven. Elisha’s story makes use of a fundamental value distinction to account for his fate. Indeed, the story not only seeks to explain his life, it also strives to use it as an illustration of greater religious principles. The real issue is both cultural and educational and the primary categories concern proper and improper religious intention. In this context, Elisha is an example of these greater concerns. Once more, the individual life story is shaped in accordance with broader cultural and ideological considerations. The real hero of this story is not Elisha but the Torah. Its power is celebrated by R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua, and this is what impresses Abuya. The ideal of joyful Torah words is the happiest moment in the story. The human heroes of the story are the conduits of the Torah, which is celebrated, while the life of the individual is significant in this context only in relation to the Torah, and only to the degree that it adheres to the ideal of the Torah. The

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life of the particular sage, in this case Elisha, is only relevant as an example of some greater principle that pertains to the Torah. It can be retold to suit the broader principles of ideal Torah study because the sage and his life are totally dedicated to Torah. It is a troubling message, however, for it assumes that bad intentions will usually result in negative results. Addressing Elisha’s life from the perspective of imperfect intention answers the question of what went wrong with Elisha, but it also introduces the problem associated with faulty intentions. The conclusion to be drawn is that imperfect intentions must be avoided. The fault is so severe that it crosses the boundaries of generations: the father’s self-serving intentions will have detrimental consequences on the son’s life. Perhaps the storyteller believed that bad intentions should be avoided at all costs.61 However, the prevalent perspective is that study should be encouraged, even with imperfect intention, because in time, proper intention will prevail. In fact, this is the opinion recorded in the Yerushalmi on the page prior to this story (Yerushalmi Ḥagiga :c): R. Huna said, ‘‘Study Torah [even if it is] not for its own sake, for, out of [doing so] not for its own sake, you will come [to study it] for its own sake.’’ According to this view, Elisha’s story is difficult to comprehend. Not only is he not to blame, but it seems that if Abuya had consulted R. Yehoshua at the proper time, he might have approved of his motivation, even if it was less than perfect. How are we to make sense of the application of the category of ‫ לשמה‬to Elisha’s life? In the context of rabbinical preaching, certain vices are frequently exaggerated in order to highlight their intrinsic danger. Thus, though it is usual to teach that studying Torah with imperfect motivation is preferable to not studying Torah at all, at other times the severity of such imperfect intention might be emphasized. Telling Elisha’s life in this way would both handle the difficulties and serve as an occasion to highlight the negative value of imperfect intentions. Once again, the life of the sage is sacrificed in favor of the greater educational and religious concerns. A figure such as Elisha can serve as an example for certain teachings, ideals, and ideologies to be highlighted; from this story’s perspective, Elisha’s great cultural contribution lies in being

192

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an example of what faulty religious intention leads to, thus resulting in the teaching of the ideal religious intention. That this teaching is not the only possible rabbinic teaching stems not only from the frequent reiteration encouraging people to study Torah, no matter what their intentions. Within the larger framework of the present sugya in the Yerushalmi there is another position that is taken in regard to Rabbi and his comments to Elisha’s daughters. This story is the reverse of the story of the dedication of Elisha by his father. In both cases a father relates to the Torah from an imperfect perspective, which has an impact on his children. The story of the dedication views the faulty dedication as negative, leading to Elisha’s downfall. However, in the story of Rabbi and Elisha’s daughters, Rabbi states that Elisha engaged in Torah study with faulty motivation. This is not explicitly stated anywhere else in the Yerushalmi. It continues the theme of the dedication story but extends it to include Elisha’s intention. Some of the material introduced subsequently in the Yerushalmi results in similar conclusions, yet Rabbi’s statement is the only explicit reference to Elisha’s bad intention. In spite of Elisha’s faulty intention, Rabbi states that Elisha produced fine children, who have a high regard for the Torah. Rabbi applies an a fortiori principle, where one can learn from the imperfect example the value of the perfect example: in this case, Torah study; his statement supports the conventional position, encouraging Torah study at any cost, even with bad intentions. How does this relate to the story of Abuya’s dedication? It is possible that the voice that finds expression in the story and the voice that finds expression in Rabbi’s exclamation represent different rabbinic attitudes to imperfect intentions. Once more, Elisha is the example around whom different ideologies find expression. Alternatively, Rabbi might be viewed as the voice of synthesis who serves the function of integrating the various strands of the discussion. In this capacity, he also mitigates the severity of the dedication story, which casts Elisha in a particular light for didactic purposes. The statement attributed to Rabbi reaffirms the well-acknowledged principle of study at any price, under any circumstances. Whereas the result of imperfect intention on the part of Abuya was disastrous for Elisha, the result of Elisha’s own imperfect motivation is ultimately positive for his daughters. Thus, in order to appreciate the Yerushalmi and its ideology, it is necessary to analyze not only the dedication

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story but also the way the Yerushalmi limits this story and its theological implications. It has been suggested that Rabbi’s generalization that Elisha engaged in Torah study not for its own sake may sum up different elements in the Yerushalmi, and not just the dedication story. These elements appear in the second break in the Elisha–R. Meir story cycle. The traditions recorded all attempt to explain where Elisha ben Abuya erred: Why did all this happen to him? Once Elisha was sitting and studying in the plain of Gennesaret, and he saw a man climb to the top of a palm tree, take a mother bird with her young, and descend safely. The following day he saw another man climb to the top of the palm tree; he took the young birds but released the mother. When he descended a snake bit him and he died. Elisha thought, ‘‘It is written, ‘You shall let the mother go, but the young shall you take to yourself; that it may go well with you, and that you may live long’ (Deut. :). Where is the welfare of this man, and where his length of days?’’ He did not know that R. Ya’akov had explained it before him: ‘‘That it may go well with you’’ in the world-to-come, which is wholly good, ‘‘And that you may live long,’’ in the time which is wholly long. Some say because he saw the tongue of Rabbi Yehuda the Baker, dripping blood in the mouth of a dog. He said, ‘‘This is the Torah, and this its reward! This is the tongue that was bringing forth the words of the Torah as befits them. This is the tongue that labored in the Torah all its days. This is the Torah and this its reward! It seems as though there is no reward and no resurrection of the dead.’’ But some say that when his mother was pregnant with him, she passed by some heathen temples and smelled their particular kind of incense. And that odor pierced her body like the poison of a snake. My examination of this interpolation begins with the last example, because it is most similar to the dedication story. Even though this interpolation does not consciously elaborate upon the meaning of the verse ‘‘Better is the end of a thing than its beginning’’ (Qoh. :), it might be seen as accounting for Elisha’s end as a consequence of his faulty beginnings. In this case, the problem with Elisha is prenatal. Unlike the explanation related to his father, which assumed some degree of responsibility, the explanation involving his 194

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

mother finds the roots of Elisha’s fall in something that is completely involuntary—a recurring theme in the recitation of Elisha’s story. Elisha’s mother is not presented as intentionally entering pagan temples, but the inadvertent act of smelling incense has an effect on her unborn child.62 This explanation deflects responsibility from Elisha again. The explanation that wrong intent with regard to Torah study led Elisha not to keep the Torah establishes a clear relationship between the fault and its consequence. The present explanation does not work as well as an explanation of Elisha’s actions. Perhaps it is based on a harsher view of Elisha as a great sinner, which has to be accounted for by something that went wrong in his very essence. It is conceivable that underlying this explanation is his designation as Aḥer. I have suggested that even while the Yerushalmi calls Elisha by his proper name, it is aware of the fact that he is Aḥer. Perhaps in this example, Elisha, Aḥer, is viewed in a pagan context: his otherness lies in his pagan associations, which are an essential part of his being, quite beyond any conscious choice or understanding.63 Once again, the blame is shifted to his mother and her olfactory experiences.64 Gradually more members of Elisha’s family are introduced—his daughters, his father, and now his mother—though nothing is said about Elisha’s wife or his marital relations. Various family members are introduced only as they are necessary to illustrate particular questions, or because the storyteller deems the presence of certain characters useful. It is possible that they were created for these purposes. Besides the two explanations that divert responsibility to Elisha’s parents, the Yerushalmi also presents the two explanations from Bavli Kiddushin.65 The story that began as a mere hypothetical possibility in the Bavli has become a real event, with more details added: the story now has a location; the death of the man is caused by a snake bite; the events occur on separate days. According to Ruth Rabba and Qohelet Rabba, the stories involve transgressing the Sabbath as well: the one who died kept the Sabbath, while the one who came down safely did not.66 The Bavli also refers to R. Ya’akov as Aḥer’s grandson. Elisha thus had the bad fortune of not knowing a teaching that was only realized two generations later. In the Yerushalmi, emphasis is placed on the fact that, before Elisha’s time, R. Ya’akov taught the meaning of the promise of future life.67 Elisha would therefore be expected to know this teaching, so his lack of knowledge indicates to an even greater extent than in the Bavli that the source of his fall is his imperfect knowledge of the

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Torah. Whether it is bad intention in regard to Torah study or faulty Torah knowledge, in some way an imperfection attached to his Torah is the cause of his sinning.68 Elisha’s error is often perceived in terms of theodicy: Elisha has difficulties with classical biblical theodicy, and this leads him astray. This is true, but it should be noted that several elements in the text place the question of theodicy in a particular context. Elisha is portrayed as sitting and reciting while these events take place. I think it is significant that the story does not simply state that Elisha sees these events on particular occasions: he sees them while engaged in Torah study. The problem becomes related to Torah study or falsification of Scripture. The challenge is not one of theodicy as far as God’s ways may be questioned, or as far as God’s righteousness may be implicated; the problem is the veracity of the scriptural message. In the process of his study, the Torah scholar is caught by the difficulty that reality belies scriptural promises. Also, the solution to his problem is one that is internal to the process of Torah learning. R. Ya’akov taught what the true meaning of the verse is, and this amounts to a solution of the problem of theodicy. As much as God is thereby justified, it is also Scripture that finds its just interpretation. That the problem of theodicy is focused particularly with reference to the Torah can be seen in the other incident in this interpolation. The second explanation found in Bavli Kiddushin is included here with some changes: the anonymous great man is identified as R. Yehuda the Baker; the martyr’s tongue is not in a pig’s mouth but in a dog’s. These changes will subsequently be considered significant. In the present context, attention is drawn to one significant difference between the Bavli’s wording and the Yerushalmi’s. In the Bavli, Elisha challenges divine providence by means of a unique formula: ‫פה שהפיק מרגליות ילחך עפר‬, shall the mouth that uttered pearls lick the dust. This is a singular expression that is suitable to the occasion. In the Yerushalmi, the relevant expression is much more conventional: ‫זו תורה וזו שכרה‬, this is the Torah, and this its reward! 69 Casting the problem in these terms is not a relapse into conventional speech patterns. Rather, this particular formula helps highlight the frame of reference of the Yerushalmi’s presentation. Elisha’s question articulately touches on the status of Torah and its just recompense. Elisha does not simply question divine justice and the lack of fair retribution—he raises his question in relation to the Torah. The focus on the Torah is significant because it is also from this perspective that Elisha is viewed. If something has 196

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

gone wrong with Elisha, it must make sense in relation to the Torah. In some way, the source of the error must be associated with the Torah. The fact that a sage is said to have gone astray magnetizes all the potential difficulties associated with the Torah and its study as a means of accounting for such a singular occurrence. One explanation associates the problem of the errant sage with improper religious intent. Another explanation associates Elisha with the most fundamental problem of the truth of the Torah itself, as exhibited by the question of theodicy. In attempting to account for Elisha, the sages draw the most painful internal struggles associated with their understanding of Torah out of their own tradition. Elisha is understood in terms of these internal dynamics and struggles. In addition, he contributes, by example, to reinforcing rabbinic positions concerning Torah study. His example teaches that one should have proper intention while studying Torah, and that it is wrong to question the Torah’s promises. Ultimate falseness lies not in the wrong teaching but in the example Elisha provides. In the Yerushalmi, Elisha is a negative type who is cast as a rebel. This is the Yerushalmi’s way of responding to the theological and exegetical challenges that it attributes to Elisha. On the anthropological if not on the theological level, his bad example is an answer to the charges he makes against the Torah. It suggests that one who challenges the Torah in a certain way is bound to end up as a negative rebel. This image serves as a barrier that warns against the adoption of certain ideological positions. Thus, showing Elisha as a rebel and relating his rebellion to internal problems of Torah interpretation serves as a warning against certain hermeneutical and religious positions. Elisha’s image is both accounted for and made use of in the context of an internal discussion of the rabbis, having to do with their most precious tool, the Torah. Elisha is thus presented as the type of all that could go wrong in the study of the Torah, and as such he protects the interests of the rabbis who seek to safeguard the Torah from all error. The two traditions that parallel Bavli Kiddushin do not mention Elisha’s intention. The issue of improper intention is explicit only in the preceding passage, in the story of Elisha’s consecration. However, it may be that the Yerushalmi has understood these two episodes not only in the context of the problem of theodicy but also in the context of proper versus improper religious intention. The issue in both these passages is the existence, or lack thereof, of adequate recompense in relation to the Torah and its commandments. In both cases, Elisha’s disappointment stems from frustrated expec-

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tations of due recompense.70 If his sins are caused by frustrated hopes for reward, it can be concluded that Elisha seeks the reward; in other words, his actions and study are motivated by worldly considerations, not by proper religious motivation. It is possible that when Rabbi offers his characterization of Elisha, he is paraphrasing not only the consecration story but also the episodes that parallel Bavli Kiddushin.71 These two episodes may thus serve as examples of two imperfections associated with Elisha’s Torah learning: faulty motivation and faulty understanding that challenges the truth of the Torah’s message. What is the historical value of these interpolations brought in the course of the Yerushalmi’s version of the relationship between R. Meir and Elisha? My conclusion that these passages are devoid of historical worth should not be surprising. The fact that there are several explanations of what went wrong with Elisha is itself sufficient to conclude that no single explanation existed. In a sense, conflicting explanations cancel each other out. Though one could harmonize the different explanations and view them simultaneously, they all seem to have a similar aim: to make sense of how and why a sage would go astray. To this end, the Yerushalmi collected all the material it could and added its own contribution to the discussion. The different accounts are not historically valid reports but later reflections on Elisha. In any event, the two explanations that relate to Elisha’s parents do not mention Elisha himself. The other two traditions form a parallel to Bavli Kiddushin. In order to assume that these are historically reliable traditions, one would first have to prove that their appearance in the Yerushalmi precedes their use in Bavli Kiddushin. The discussion in the chapter that follows will suggest that the opposite is true. Thus, the material in the Yerushalmi is not in any way relevant to a historical reconstruction of the life of Elisha. Once again, the material presents more about the world of the rabbis and their ideology than about the historical Elisha ben Abuya.

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7 BAVLI AND YERUSHALMI IDEOLOGY, LITERARY FORMATION, AND HISTORICAL INFLUENCE

M   the narration of the story of Elisha by the Bavli and the Yerushalmi shows that in order to appreciate the details of the stories, we must first recognize the broader ideological concerns that shape the narration. It is now clear that the storytellers are not interested in transmitting historically accurate information. They describe events concerning rabbinic heroes because this is their way of conveying ideology and transmitting to the reader what they deem to be most important. When examining the different versions of the life of Elisha ben Abuya, one should not seek the most reliable historical witnesses or look for traces of accurate historical information embedded in literary constructions. Rather, the particular features of individual reports should be understood in light of the principles that shape them. Having noted various changes between the Bavli and the Yerushalmi, the question is, in what way do these changes reflect the larger concerns of the respective narratives.1 Given that the stories are carefully crafted literary units, which episodes have been included and which have been omitted? In what way does the narration of events in both versions fit with the broader ideological purpose of the Bavli and the Yerushalmi cycles? Attempting to account for the details of the stories in light of their wider themes allows the unique concerns of each version to emerge clearly. This examination will require confronting the question of the historical development of the tradition. Once attention is paid to the different forms a motif takes in the Bavli and the Yerushalmi, the next question is the pri-

199

ority and elaboration of literary traditions. The literary examination of the changes between the Bavli and the Yerushalmi offers criteria to deal with the question of historical priority. From the literary perspective, it would highlight the ways in which traditions are elaborated by editors and storytellers. Recognition of an earlier and later form of a tradition would amount to opening a window into the workings and the elaborations of the suggested later source. My analysis of both the Bavli and the Yerushalmi has led to the conclusion that these are literary creations, not historical narratives. If, through literary analysis, the secondary nature of one of these versions can be proved, the understanding that this is a literary creation, and not a historical report, will be much stronger. As a literary creation the later version might conceivably have greater merit than the earlier sources; but as a historical witness, its testimony must be disregarded.2 An overview of the two versions of the life of Elisha is related to the ideological issues that govern the presentations in the Bavli and the Yerushalmi. Both versions use the story of Elisha to explore the ideological significance of one aspect of the sages’ most hallowed value, the Torah. They do this in different ways and for different reasons. The Bavli presents Elisha as the test case for the limit of the value of Torah, and through him it tests the meaning of the Torah when it is divorced from ritual observance. It also uses him as a way of exploring the conflict between the two most central values of rabbinic thought: Torah and Israel. By an ingenious method, the Bavli creates what seems to be the only instance of exclusion from sonship. This tests the value of Torah against the value of belonging to the collective of Israel. Establishing these situations enables the Bavli to explore the meaning of Torah, and the meaning of being a sage, in both their most radical and their purest forms. The tension between Torah study and ritual observance forms the backbone of the Bavli’s presentation and is an essential part of the storyteller’s message. In the Yerushalmi, though the motive is present, it is secondary to the major concern, master-disciple relations, with Elisha, again, as the test case. Elisha tests the meaning of identity. The exploration of identity has figured in recent discussions about Elisha, because of his sobriquet, Aḥer. The Bavli and the Yerushalmi explore different aspects of his identity. For the Bavli, it is his identity as an Israelite that is in question: can an Israelite’s identity be lost, and can the possession of Torah offset such a loss? This aspect of Elisha’s identity plays no part in the Yerushalmi’s presentation. The Yeru200 PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

shalmi highlights Elisha’s identity as a teacher, and questions how far such an identity can be guarded, and under what circumstances, if at all, it can be lost. Thus, for all their similarities, the two presentations ultimately focus on different ideological concerns. Recognizing these differing concerns leads to the question of how the details of the respective narratives are adapted to the ideological concern of the two presentations. These differences find expression, first of all, in the scope of the two versions. The Bavli’s discussion opens with the episode of the heavenly ascent, leading to Elisha’s decision to favor pleasures in this world, and to visit the harlot. Then come his dialogues with R. Meir. These are followed by the visit to the synagogues, the child-killing episode, the heavenly deliberations, and the descriptions of Elisha’s fate after death, including the visit of Elisha’s daughter to Rabbi. The sugya concludes with a discussion of the legitimacy of what R. Meir learned from Elisha. This is couched in terms of the analogy between the ideal rabbi and the angel and is ultimately answered in terms of a decision made by God himself legitimizing R. Meir and, indirectly, Elisha. The Bavli begins and ends in heaven: it starts with the story of what occurred during Elisha’s heavenly ascent and concludes with a report of the Torah recited by God on high. In between, we follow the earthly relationship of Elisha and R. Meir, yet this relationship is not the focus of the Bavli’s presentation. Were the Bavli to be relied on for historical information about Elisha ben Abuya, there would have to be a justification of the separation of the passages that record earthly occurrences from the overall scope of the story. The Yerushalmi makes the relationship between Elisha and R. Meir the center of its presentation. The story opens with the statement that Elisha is outside, and it concludes with the affirmation that he has been brought to the world-to-come. In this sense, it has a beginning and an end. The narrative of Elisha’s relations with R. Meir starts with the dialogues between the two sages. Nothing is said about a heavenly ascent, or about Elisha’s visit to the harlot or his visits to the thirteen synagogues. To the extent that the purpose of the visit to the synagogues in the Bavli was to abrogate the bat kol, the Yerushalmi need not mention this story, since it does not include the first bat kol story. Thus, both stories that pertain to the heavenly voice in the Bavli are missing in the Yerushalmi. It opens with the dialogues, and continues to tell of Elisha’s transgressions on the Sabbath. The story line is essentially the same as that of the Bavli, though the content of the dialogues differs.

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201

Both versions can be divided into two parts: Elisha in his lifetime, and Elisha’s afterlife. The Bavli reports a process consisting of various stages and involving different sages, leading to Elisha’s ultimate redemption. The Yerushalmi, concentrating on the relationship between Elisha and R. Meir, allows R. Meir to carry out the work of redemption, and it introduces a deathbed scene that prepares Elisha’s ultimate redemption. The Yerushalmi also adds proclamations made by R. Meir expressing his certitude of faith in Elisha’s ultimate redemption. Following the story of Elisha’s redemption, both talmuds include the story of his daughter(s), but with certain differences. The final part of the Bavli’s discussion, concerning the legitimacy of R. Meir’s learning from Elisha and ultimately receiving divine approval, does not appear in the Yerushalmi. The Bavli introduces Palestinian traditions to justify this study, but these are not found in the sugya in the Yerushalmi.3 It focuses on the relationship between Elisha and R. Meir, and does not need to justify it. The particular emphases of the two versions lead to some fundamental differences in the logic of the story. The Bavli starts with the heavenly voice, which excludes Elisha from sonship and consequently from the world-tocome. The struggle in the Bavli is to overcome the heavenly voice, which is also the purpose of Elisha’s visit to the synagogues—for failure to abrogate the heavenly voice would mean permanently excluding Elisha from the afterlife. Though the story aspires to bring Elisha into the world-to-come, it never does so at the expense of the heavenly voice that keeps Elisha from repentance. In order to bring him into the afterlife, another course must be charted. He is saved by the sages, but he does not repent. Since the Yerushalmi does not start from the same point, it makes mention of the heavenly voice only in passing, and it does not need to cancel the heavenly decree; in fact, it seems to be ignored. Instead, the Yerushalmi introduces Elisha’s deathbed scene, which not only calls on him to repent but also raises the possibility that he actually repents before he dies. In the Bavli, after R. Meir is told of the heavenly voice, he does not again call on his master to repent; in the Yerushalmi, even after Elisha informs R. Meir that a heavenly voice has barred him from repentance, R. Meir still continues to urge him to repent. In the Bavli the bat kol is respected, and ultimately avoided; in the Yerushalmi, the significance of the bat kol is diminished to the point of being ignored. The different emphasis of the two versions also accounts for the addi202 PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

tion of the deathbed scene in the Yerushalmi. For a storyteller who tests the meaning of sonship versus the status the Torah confers, repentance is not a significant factor. It cannot reestablish the broken bonds of sonship. But a storyteller who seeks to work out the meaning of the master-disciple relationship understands that repentance broadens the relationship and that showing the disciple as one who urges his master to repent further strengthens the theme of role reversal. And if repentance leads to the afterlife, the status of the disciple is further strengthened. Not only the attitude to the heavenly voice but also its meaning distinguishes the two versions. In the Yerushalmi, the significance of the heavenly voice does not consist of exclusion from sonship, only exclusion from repentance. In the Bavli, the exclusion from sonship is a basis for exclusion from repentance and from the world-to-come. The thrust of the Yerushalmi’s presentation is Elisha’s entry into the world-to-come, and therefore, any means by which Elisha can gain entry are deemed legitimate. To this end, Elisha can be portrayed as repentant, even though this goes against the content of the heavenly voice.4 The Yerushalmi’s story is not the story of one who has ceased to be a son and must be saved by virtue of being a sage; it is the story of a sinning master, who is helped by his disciple, by any means possible. The introduction of repentance in the Yerushalmi seems to be in double violation not only against the content of the heavenly voice, but also against the inner logic of the story it tells. Elisha’s story is one of a sage who is redeemed by his colleagues because of the Torah he mastered. This redemption is central to the Yerushalmi, as can be seen from the derasha on Ruth that R. Meir delivers, which makes it quite clear that Elisha is redeemed because of R. Meir. Therefore, there is a certain inconsistency in presenting an image of a repentant Elisha in this context.5 Of course, it may be argued that Elisha’s repentance prepares the way for R. Meir’s proclamation; the two paths may be intended to complement each other. When taken in context, however, the two notions are at odds; and if the Yerushalmi harmonizes the two notions, it seems to do so because of its concerns. It is not concerned with exclusion from repentance as an extension of exclusion from sonship. Rather, it is concerned with a particular relationship, and the life, or afterlife, of a particular hero. Its concerns center around a sinning master who must be saved by his disciple. In order to bring this about, it can use any means available. The shift in the Yerushalmi’s concerns, which in turn leads it to disregard the heavenly voice, can be seen in the Yerushalmi’s version of what the BAVLI AND YERUSHALMI 203

heavenly voice says. In the Bavli, the bat kol causes Elisha to take up sinful ways. In the Yerushalmi, the bat kol is a reaction to Elisha after he has sinned. For this reason, the Yerushalmi, in the interpolations of the Elisha–R. Meir cycle, has to explain what it was that led Elisha to sin. In the Bavli, the heavenly voice decrees Elisha’s exclusion from sonship, using the terse formula, ‫שובו בנים שובבים‬, return backsliding children. Since this formula precedes the story of Elisha, the Bavli adds ‫חוץ מאחר‬, except for Aḥer—a logical addition within the context. But the addition is not logical for the Yerushalmi, which calls for an expansion that functions as an explanation. The Yerushalmi adds: ‫שידע כחי ומרד בי‬, who knew my power yet rebelled against me.6 The heavenly voice is thus a reaction to Elisha’s sins rather than their cause. This addition is difficult. I have noted that according to both talmuds, Elisha has been portrayed as one who has been led into sin through error, almost in spite of himself. Though this might have aroused rebellion, the image of the rebellious Elisha is nonetheless more striking than that of the sinner who has been led to sin in a tragic way, in spite of himself.7 Elisha is portrayed as a rebel, which seems to go further than other images that have been examined.8 In order not to distinguish between the root of Elisha’s sins, which was inadvertent, and his ultimate nature, which was that of a rebel, the strong way in which the heavenly voice is transmitted in the Yerushalmi must be accounted for. A likely explanation is that the additional phrase in the Yerushalmi was added to an earlier tradition in order to make sense of it in a new context. The exclusion of Elisha by the heavenly voice only makes sense in the context of the complex story the Bavli weaves, relating to the error that occurred on high. Out of such a context, the exclusion has to be interpreted as punishment for previous sins, which must obviously be so severe as to warrant prevention from repentance. It follows that Elisha is cast as a rebel 9 in order to justify his being excluded from repentance.10 The bat kol’s primary message is that Elisha is a rebel and is excluded from repentance. That repentance is the key to the Palestinian understanding of the content and calling of the bat kol can be demonstrated by noting an important addition in Qohelet Rabba and Ruth Rabba to the verse attributed to the bat kol. In the Bavli and the Yerushalmi, the bat kol quotes Jeremiah :, where the call for repentance is combined with the designation as children. In the midrashic sources, an additional biblical verse is attributed to the heavenly voice: it is Malachi :, where God calls Israel to return to him, and prom204 PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

ises his reciprocal return.11 Adding a second biblical verse to the text of the heavenly voice is in accordance with the tendency to expand its content, in this instance by expanding a laconic statement that makes the message of the bat kol significantly longer, and, furthermore, emphasizes the Yerushalmi’s one-dimensional understanding of the bat kol ’s content as signifying only repentance. The introduction of the deathbed scene and the possibility that Elisha did, in fact, repent, thus fit with the Yerushalmi’s understanding of the bat kol ’s message. If exclusion from repentance is merely a form of punishment for wicked or rebellious behavior, the heavenly voice ought not be taken too seriously. Since the exclusion from repentance is a punishment for wickedness, were Elisha to repent, he could overcome the decree of the heavenly voice. The basic understanding of the heavenly voice in relation to repentance enables the Yerushalmi to disregard its content and to propose that, ultimately, Elisha did repent. The circumstances under which the heavenly voice appears in the Yerushalmi show further signs of its being later than the Bavli’s version. In the Bavli, Elisha is not a sinner when the heavenly voice is heard, whereas in the Yerushalmi, he must be a sinner in order to warrant the heavenly voice. His sinfulness finds expression in the circumstances under which the heavenly voice is heard. Elisha is riding his horse on Yom Kippur, which is also the Sabbath, and passes by the Holy of Holies where he hears the heavenly voice. (It is curious that the Yerushalmi fails to mention that he is eating a ham sandwich at the same time.) As noted in my discussion of the Bavli, horseback riding is a minor transgression, which is why the Yerushalmi adds Yom Kippur, passing by the Holy of Holies, and the Sabbath transgression, to evoke a feeling of great sinfulness. Still, the choice of horseback riding remains problematic as an act typical of a great rebel, even on Yom Kippur. It seems that the image of the rebel Elisha astride his horse is a carryover from another scene in the Yerushalmi: the story of Elisha and R. Meir (in both talmuds), in which the horseback-riding motif is an integral part. The fact that Elisha could count the horse’s steps in order to determine the Sabbath boundary served as a sign of his great wisdom in the Yerushalmi. It may therefore be assumed that the motif originated in this context and was later carried by the Yerushalmi into the context of hearing the bat kol. There is a tendency to expand in the Yerushalmi. Elisha’s sin is expanded from Sabbath to Yom Kippur, his horseback riding is expanded from a mere occurrence to the very circumstance under which the heavenly voice is sounded. BAVLI AND YERUSHALMI 205

The different concerns of the editors lead to different theological nuances in the two versions. In the Bavli, Elisha is redeemed by his fellow rabbis, because he has no merit of his own by which he can be redeemed. This is illustrated by the image of Metatron, who burns Elisha’s merits. In contrast, the Yerushalmi refers to his merits more than once, and R. Meir’s concluding statement centers around saving Elisha by the merit of his Torah. In my analysis of the Yerushalmi, I suggested that the dialogues are autobiographical. The first derasha speaks of the merit of mitzvot Elisha possessed in his youth. If it is correct to relate this derasha to Elisha’s life, it would have further reference to the concept of Elisha’s merit.12 This theological emphasis is consistent with the manner in which the Yerushalmi views Elisha’s situation: for the Yerushalmi, he is the sinner, and the Yerushalmi’s struggle is with enabling him to enter the world-to-come, for which the Yerushalmi employs all means available. The merit that Elisha might have, either from his youth or from his Torah study, is a means of achieving this end. As with repentance, the introduction of the concept of merit creates a certain inconsistency with the main theme in both the Yerushalmi and the Bavli, when Elisha is saved by his peers. This inconsistency is the result of the particular way in which Elisha’s problem was conceived, and the Yerushalmi’s attempt to overcome it. It is possible that there is a relationship between the emphasis of each of the talmuds and their respective reference to God. Both repentance and merit, which are featured in the Yerushalmi, emphasize human action. Even though R. Meir serves as Elisha’s protector and promises to save him in the next world, Elisha’s redemption must still depend on finding the good points in his own religious behavior. The Bavli has a different emphasis: it, too, mentions Elisha’s Torah, but neither merit nor repentance figures in its discussion. Interestingly, in the Bavli, Elisha is dependent on both R. Meir and R. Yoḥanan, but the final word in the story is left to God, and it is God who ultimately vindicates Elisha, even if indirectly, and also R. Meir.13 Some of the differences between the Bavli and the Yerushalmi are less theologically charged but still reflect the storytellers’ broader concerns. In the Bavli, it takes three generations for Elisha’s redemption to be completed. The Yerushalmi, intent on the theme of master-disciple relations, cannot stretch out the dates to three generations. If the point of the story is to demonstrate that Elisha was saved by R. Meir, this must be accomplished during R. Meir’s lifetime. A process that spanned several generations in the Bavli 206 PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

is therefore condensed in the Yerushalmi to a series of episodes centering around the figures of the master and his disciple. Another instance of the details of the story conforming to the guiding concept is found in the possibility that Elisha forgot his Torah. This possibility emerged from the dialogues in the Yerushalmi, even if not expressly articulated. In contrast, in the Bavli, there is no trace of this notion. In the Bavli, the Torah is Elisha’s link with the sages and the source of his identity; therefore, forgetting the Torah would mean closing the door to his salvation. The Yerushalmi, where the theme is master-disciple relations, can show that even if the master forgets his Torah, his disciple will support him. Indeed, the possibility of forgetting the Torah might be thought of as adding another dimension to the Yerushalmi’s portrait of Elisha: as the Yerushalmi struggles with role reversal between the two sages, it must account for this role reversal and the reason why Elisha needs to learn from R. Meir. The possibility that Elisha forgot his Torah is a plausible explanation for this role reversal. The differences in ideological concerns of the two versions of the story prompt an inquiry into the story’s historical development: is it possible that one of the versions precedes the other? I suggest that the Bavli’s version of the story is earlier than the Yerushalmi’s.14 It may even be possible to suggest a date for the composition of the Bavli’s version, which would make it reasonable that the Yerushalmi’s elaboration was based on the Bavli’s. Multiple considerations lead me to suggest the Bavli as the origin of the Elisha story cycle. Even though the Bavli should be read as a continuous sequence of events, it is clear that it is composed of individual units, as can be seen in the frequent shifts of language from Aramaic to Hebrew and from Hebrew to Aramaic. On occasion, the Bavli includes introductory formulas, such as ‫תנו רבנן‬, to introduce individual subsections, and it introduces authorities whose questions and discussions form part of the flow of the Bavli’s presentation. This is very different from the Yerushalmi, where the presentation is a seamless, flowing literary narrative that results in a complete, integrated presentation. The language used is consistently Aramaic.15 The units that are independent in the Bavli are merged into a narrative flow that results in a literary framework incorporating the dialogues and conversations.16 Even those parts that are not vital to the Bavli’s presentation, such as the story of Rabbi’s daughters, are related to the main part of the story. The Bavli merely narrates the story of Rabbi’s daughter,17 whereas the Yerushalmi relates it to the rest of BAVLI AND YERUSHALMI 207

the story by introducing the connecting formula, some time later. Thus, the Yerushalmi is a harmoniously integrated and unified whole. This difference in the two texts allows for only one explanation: it is inconceivable that such a text would be divided into separate units without a literary or ideological view. One has to conclude that the Yerushalmi’s version integrates sections of the story cycle that were presented distinctly at an earlier stage.18 Eliminating the traces of independent subsections may leave indicators. There is at least one instance in the Yerushalmi in which there are traces left by the editor seeking to integrate disparate sources. This is the transition from the second to the third dialogue in the Bavli, where each dialogue has an opening statement and a focus. In the Yerushalmi, the merging of different traditions has led to the conflation of stories. The bat kol appears twice in the Bavli, only once in the Yerushalmi. The result is a merging of traditions. When Elisha says to R. Meir, ‘‘Enough, Meir,’’ he is responding both to the call for repentance in the second dialogue and to the problem of the Sabbath boundary in the third. As a result of this conflation of what were originally two independent episodes, one phrase has been given a double meaning in order to serve both contexts.19 The level of detail found in the Palestinian sources is further indication that the Yerushalmi is later than the Bavli. This is also true concerning the relation of the midrashim and the Yerushalmi, where the midrashim provide additional color and detail.20 Thus, tradition seems to provide more detail in the course of developing narrative traditions. For example, R. Meir teaches in the beit midrash while Elisha rides his horse outside. There is also a tendency to place stories in cities, such as Tiberias or Jerusalem. Contradictions in the logic of the story are another clue in determining which is the original version. The Yerushalmi betrays a certain theological inconsistency in introducing the notion of repentance into a story that is based on the redemption of a sage by his compatriots. A stronger case in point is the reference to R. Akiva in the dialogues between Elisha and R. Meir. In the Bavli, Elisha tells R. Meir that his master, R. Akiva, taught differently, and proceeds to transmit R. Akiva’s teaching. But the Bavli does not suggest a master-disciple relationship between Elisha and R. Meir: when Elisha tells R. Meir what R. Akiva taught, he is doing so as a fellow student.21 This straightforward description becomes a problematic relationship in the Yerushalmi’s version. Because Elisha is portrayed as R. Meir’s master, he should be the source of the teaching R. Meir receives. Yet there is a reference 208 PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

to R. Akiva as being R. Meir’s master, which seems to imply that R. Meir has two masters. Nothing further is mentioned in the Yerushalmi about this double relationship, nor is the inconsistency resolved in the course of the story. The most reasonable explanation is that this is a carryover from an earlier version, such as the Bavli.22 At this point, consideration should be given to the nature of the relationship between Elisha and R. Meir in the two talmuds. In the Bavli, there is a record of the fact that R. Meir learned from Elisha, while in the Yerushalmi, Elisha is R. Meir’s master. A comparison of these two descriptions leads to questioning which is the more likely direction in the evolution of this tradition. It seems logical to assume that, once the master-disciple relationship is established, it would be difficult to disregard. It is more likely that the relationship between the two sages represents a later stage in the formation of the traditions. Moreover, a comparison of the two talmuds suggests that the Yerushalmi expands on a bit of information found in the Bavli. The Bavli’s description of the incident in which R. Meir follows Elisha on the Sabbath in order to learn Torah from him seems to be the basis for the Yerushalmi’s description, which proceeds to deduce that a master-disciple relationship exists between the two. This elementary description is elaborated on in the explanation of what R. Meir was doing before he followed Elisha, and why he followed him. It stands to reason that the Yerushalmi’s development of the story evolved as an expansion on the information contained in the Bavli. The relationship between R. Meir and Elisha is at the heart of both versions. I have emphasized my reading of these stories as literary creations rather than as historical accounts of true events and relationships. If this is the case, why would a tale be told specifically about R. Meir rather than about any other sage? The ability to answer this question is significant not only for upholding my thesis but also for the reconstruction of relations between the Bavli and the Yerushalmi. It has been suggested that R. Meir was chosen to be the sage who tries to redeem Elisha because of the similarity between their respective appellations, Aḥer and Aḥerim. The Bavli refers to Elisha throughout as Aḥer; Yerushalmi II refers to him only by his proper name, never Aḥer. If the reference to Elisha as Aḥer is unique to the Bavli, this is a further indication of the story’s formation in a Babylonian context. It is only when Elisha is known as Aḥer that the pun underlying the tale of his relationship with R. Meir was created.23 The examination of the logic of the two stories as a key to determinBAVLI AND YERUSHALMI 209

ing which is the earlier creation leads to a further consideration, that is, the different treatments of the declaration of the heavenly voice. The Bavli respects its content; the Yerushalmi, disregarding the inconsistency in the plot, ignores it. Because the Bavli respects the heavenly voice, it tells of R. Meir’s very limited success.24 Even Elisha’s redemption takes several generations. R. Meir plays an important role in the story, but it is not the decisive role. His success in redeeming Elisha requires the help of R. Yoḥanan, and both sages effect only posthumous change. In contrast, in the Yerushalmi, R. Meir is overwhelmingly successful. He quenches the fire during his lifetime and does not need to die in order to have an effect on Elisha. In this case, R. Meir’s power is displayed not at his own death but at the death of his master. He proclaims that he will save Elisha, and the Yerushalmi introduces no other sage to come to his aid. Thus, in the Yerushalmi, R. Meir’s story is a complete success.25 The image of R. Meir who accomplishes Elisha’s redemption singlehandedly might postdate that of his partial success.26 On the ideological level, if the Problemstellung of the Bavli is examined in relation to the Yerushalmi, which level of ideological concern is primary? Both stories deal with questions of identity. The Bavli struggles with the permanence of the identity of an Israelite, as expressed in terms of sonship, while the Yerushalmi struggles with the permanence of the status of a teacher in relation to a disciple. The issue posed by the Bavli seems to be more fundamental than that posed by the Yerushalmi. The plot of the Bavli concerns Elisha’s successful entry into the world-to-come. It is only after his fate is determined in the world-to-come, because of his status as an Israelite, or because of the alternative power of the Torah, that his image in the masterdisciple relationship can be presented. Further support for the originality of the Bavli’s version is found in the reference to Rabbi in both stories. In the Bavli, it is through Rabbi that divine approval is granted for Elisha’s ultimate redemption. Chronologically, Rabbi is placed in the interim generation between R. Meir and R. Yoḥanan, the active heroes of Elisha’s redemption. His crying echoes other instances where he cries when a protagonist successfully gains entry into the worldto-come. Rabbi is thus well placed both thematically and chronologically in the Bavli. In the Yerushalmi, the story of Rabbi and Elisha’s daughters seems superfluous to the central theme of the relations of Elisha and R. Meir, who has successfully announced Elisha’s redemption. Rabbi’s crying makes more sense in the context of the Bavli, where he reacts to the descent of the heav210

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

enly fire, as opposed to the Yerushalmi, where it is a reaction to the successful argument made by Elisha’s daughters. Crying as a reaction to a position taken by God is in accordance with other instances unique to the Bavli in which Rabbi is said to cry. Rabbi’s crying in the Yerushalmi is the only instance outside the Bavli in which he cries. If it is assumed that the motif came from Babylonian storytelling patterns, this one instance in the Yerushalmi would make sense as a further example of the Yerushalmi’s elaborating upon previously existing traditions. One further indication that the Yerushalmi’s version of the story of Rabbi is later than the Bavli’s is the nature of the situation Elisha’s daughter(s) respond to. In the Bavli, Rabbi states that Elisha should have no living offspring. Elisha’s daughter responds to this by making the distinction between Torah and action, which wins divine approval. Rabbi’s point is not made very well. He seems to be condemning Elisha’s progeny, declaring that they should not exist. However, this is of little consequence, because they already do. Elisha has children because God looks at his Torah, not his deeds. Nonetheless, there is a certain lack of clarity concerning Rabbi’s intention: what does he seek to achieve in making his statement? This is made clear in the Yerushalmi, where Rabbi makes a very practical statement, forbidding giving alms to Elisha’s daughters. Their response leads him to cancel his decree. Rabbi’s action is thus perfectly understandable in the Yerushalmi. If the Bavli’s version precedes the Yerushalmi, a reworking of the text can be expected. In this case, the Yerushalmi clears up an ambiguity that exists in the earlier version of the episode. I suggest that the Yerushalmi’s dependence on the Bavli can be supported by more than thematic considerations. There are also examples of linguistic influence of one version on the other that can best be explained as traces of the Bavli’s version in the Yerushalmi’s adaptation. In the Bavli, Elisha hears the heavenly voice ‫מאחורי הפרגוד‬.27 This suggests the heavenly Temple. However, in the Yerushalmi, the context of the heavenly voice is no longer the celestial Temple, since the Pardes is not related to a heavenly ascent. The Yerushalmi has received the tradition of the heavenly voice but finds a different location for it. In the Yerushalmi, Elisha hears the voice coming from the Holy of Holies.28 It seems that this is an elaboration of the ‫מאחורי הפרגוד‬ tradition found in the Bavli.29 There is no need to relate a heavenly voice to the Holy of Holies. Even though there are other instances of a heavenly voice coming from the Holy of Holies,30 it need not be circumscribed to the

BAVLI AND YERUSHALMI

211

Temple. If the heavenly voice comes from the Holy of Holies this is most likely an attempt to make sense of the expression ‫מאחורי הפרגוד‬. The earthly Temple, which may originally have served as the model for the Temple on high, replaces the heavenly Temple.31 This substitution is fraught with difficulty, as is seen in both the Yerushalmi and the parallel versions. The suggestions that Elisha actually lived while the Temple was standing, and that he was already an established sinner, are both unlikely and highly anachronistic.32 Furthermore, Elisha has no business in the Temple. It makes sense to present him as hearing a voice coming from behind the heavenly veil, but he must be located outside the Temple itself. In some versions he is presented as passing behind the Holy of Holies. This reading is a reflection of the suggested original phrase: ‫מאחורי‬ ‫הפרגוד‬. We thus have R. Nissim’s reading of the Yerushalmi as ‫אחורי בית‬ ‫קדש הקודשים‬, behind the Holy of Holies.33 This reading is also supported by Ruth Rabba.34 That the whole presentation of Elisha in the Yerushalmi is problematic is made clear by the way Qohelet Rabba reworks the tradition: Elisha hears the heavenly voice while he rides his horse behind the Western Wall of the Temple.35 This is obviously an attempt to overcome the anachronistic description of Elisha as a great sinner even then. The twists and turns of the tradition and its parallels are best explained as carryovers of a problematic version that made sense in the context of the Bavli but not in the context of the Yerushalmi. The result is concrete linguistic traces of the original version of the Babylonian story in the reworkings of the Yerushalmi. Other changes in the two versions of the heavenly voice make better sense if it is recognized that the Yerushalmi is later than the Bavli. This would account not only for the expansion of the formula attributed to the heavenly voice but also for the logic of exclusion from repentance.36 It seems likely that the original formula was more terse, and that the later version is longer.37 The same holds true for the description of Elisha riding his horse on the Sabbath when he hears the heavenly voice: this, too, seems to be an expansion of the Bavli’s original description. As suggested previously, this event served as the nucleus for the formation of the story in the Yerushalmi. It also encouraged multiple reports of such sinful activity. The extension of horseback riding from the Sabbath to the Day of Atonement should also be understood along similar lines. All these expansions make sense as later accretions to the tradition, which gradually produces an image of Elisha as a great sinner and a rebel.38 Finally, from the theological point of view, different meanings are 212

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

to be attached to the heavenly voice in the two versions. The Bavli plays on exclusion from the status of sonship normally enjoyed by an Israelite, while the Yerushalmi relates to the heavenly voice as only excluding Elisha from repentance. It is common that sophisticated passages in rabbinic literature become less so over time, especially as they are reworked. Having suggested that in all other respects, the description of the heavenly voice in the Yerushalmi is later than the voice in the Bavli, this may be another example of a complex message losing its subtlety when it is reworked. Perhaps the most obvious indication that the Bavli’s version came first can be found by reversing assumptions. If it is assumed that the Yerushalmi precedes the Bavli, it would be difficult to explain why certain details were not included in the Bavli. There are some fine points in the Yerushalmi that could have benefited the Bavli: for example, the Yerushalmi’s derasha on the verse in Ruth articulates the nature of events concerning Elisha, which are seen in terms of redemption; the Bavli might have found such a derasha very useful. Similarly, the analogy to scrolls and phylacteries might have provided the Bavli with another strategy for making its point. The absence of these motifs from the Bavli is best explained by the suggestion that they are later accretions to the tradition. On the other hand, I am unable to point to any instance in which the text of the Bavli might be viewed as an attempt to make sense of an enigmatic or vague expression found in the Yerushalmi. Furthermore, certain difficulties would arise were it to be assumed that the Yerushalmi influenced the Bavli. One such difficulty centers around who brought about Elisha’s redemption. If the Bavli is given precedence, it is understandable why R. Yoḥanan is omitted in favor of R. Meir, Elisha’s disciple, in a story concerned with master-disciple relations; but if the Yerushalmi’s version had been based on R. Meir’s success, we would have to assume that R. Yoḥanan’s disciples, in order to extol their master, had to change the earlier source.39 The completion of redemption was removed from the hands of the disciple and shifted several generations. In order to show their master’s powers they had to downplay those of R. Meir by having R. Yoḥanan criticize R. Meir. Though this may be possible, I consider the opposite direction of evolution of the traditions to be more likely. In my examination of the relationship between Yerushalmi and Bavli Ḥagiga, I conclude that all signs point to the originality of the Bavli’s version. A similar conclusion is reached when exploring the relationship between Yerushalmi Ḥagiga and Bavli Kiddushin. This material is found in

BAVLI AND YERUSHALMI

213

additions to the backbone of the Yerushalmi, which parallels Bavli Ḥagiga, where the relationship between Elisha and R. Meir is discussed. In response to the question of what went wrong with Elisha, two of the four answers given by the Yerushalmi parallel Bavli Kiddushin. When considering the relationship between the Palestinian sugya and its Babylonian counterparts, the question is whether the Palestinian material broke into two distinct sugyot in the Bavli, or the Yerushalmi’s discussion is composed of two distinct sources that represent different Babylonian traditions. Literary analysis of the Yerushalmi shows that each of these sugyot parallels a different strand of the Yerushalmi. The parallel to Bavli Kiddushin, which breaks the literary flow of the R. Meir and Elisha narrative, is introduced in the middle of the sugya and poses a question that is independent of this story’s concerns. The sugya in Bavli Kiddushin illustrates the way in which the report concerning Elisha can develop out of the talmudic discussion. The stages in the formation of the sugya are discernible, as it becomes clear how Rav Yosef adds up various ideas to arrive at a view of Elisha. These discernible marks are not present in the Yerushalmi. Just as it is possible to trace the evolution of the tradition in Bavli Ḥagiga, which results in a unified and integrated story in the Yerushalmi, the same is true of Bavli Kiddushin. Much of the vividness and concreteness of the story as found in the Yerushalmi depends on details that are not present in the sugya in Kiddushin. What is a hypothetical possibility in the Bavli becomes an actual story in the Yerushalmi. Surely, if the tradition had evolved from the record of a real event, it would not have degenerated into a hypothetical possibility that is raised in order to answer a question encountered in the sugya. However, the reverse is probable. What starts out as a theoretical possibility to account for the transgressions of Aḥer evolves into the narration of an actual event. The event is then given a time and place and is narrated as a real-life occurrence. Another clear example of adding details concerns the identity of the martyred sage whom Elisha meets. In Kiddushin, there is a reference to an anonymous ‘‘great man’’ and no further details are provided. The Yerushalmi identifies this ‘‘great man’’ as R. Yehuda the Baker and it expands the details of the earlier anonymous report.40 A final consideration can be brought in favor of the Bavli. If Babylonian traditions reached the Yerushalmi, there is no difficulty in the Yerushalmi’s offering more reasons for Elisha’s sinning than the Bavli. The Yerushalmi collects all the material available. It offers some of its own responses to the 214

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

question and brings some of the answers it finds in other sources. In this context it may be noted that the Yerushalmi’s answers concentrate on the sins of Elisha’s parents, while the other answers brought by the Yerushalmi are those found in Bavli Kiddushin. The interjections to the story cycle thus contain Babylonian material alongside the indigenous Yerushalmi responses.41 If, on the other hand, it is suggested that all the material originated in Palestinian sources, why is the particular thematic concern of the Yerushalmi absent from the Bavli? There is nothing in the Bavli indicating concern for the parental origins of Elisha’s sins.42 The theme that is of such concern to the Yerushalmi, engaging in Torah study other than for the sake of heaven, is completely absent from the Bavli. Had the Bavli inherited such concerns from its origins, it would surely have incorporated them into the discussions. The conclusion is that the parallels between the Bavli and the Yerushalmi are best explained as the incorporation of Babylonian materials into the Palestinian sugya.43 In sum, this analysis indicates that the Yerushalmi is a synthetic source that ties together and attempts to integrate various materials that originate in different Babylonian sugyot and are characterized by different themes. If the Yerushalmi sugya is seen as an amalgam of the two Babylonian sugyot, one must consider the time frame. The traces of the formation of the sugyot found in the Bavli make it possible to suggest the date of the formation of the Babylonian material more precisely. In the discussion of the Bavli, I suggested that the heavenly voice that excludes Elisha from sonship plays on a formula attributed in earlier sources to the heavenly voice. The statement is recorded in the name of R. Yonatan, a first-generation Palestinian amora; the expansion of the formula is likely to come from second-generation amoraim or later. The heroes of the Bavli’s story appear in the second generation of Palestinian amoraim. The Bavli tells of the redemption of Elisha during a certain time span, which begins with R. Meir and ends with R. Yoḥanan, who accomplishes his final redemption. This is the only mention of R. Yoḥanan in the sugya. Except for the fact that miraculous powers are attributed to him in other talmudic stories, there is no reason to include him in the story of Elisha’s redemption.44 The mention of R. Yoḥanan might provide a clue as to the circle in which the story was assembled.45 It was a circle that venerated R. Yoḥanan; therefore, it is possible that the story was assembled by his disciples, which would leave ample time for the story to travel to Palestine and to be reworked according to different concerns.46

BAVLI AND YERUSHALMI

215

I do not suggest that at this point the sugya achieved its final form. Although the Babylonian sugya mentions Babylonian amoraim of the fourth and fifth generations, a distinction can be drawn between the formation of the plot and hermeneutical expansions and accretions, which, as already shown, seem to be later additions to an earlier text. Thus, Rav Mesharshia (fifth generation) offers exegetical support for Elisha’s teaching.47 Similarly, Rava and Rav Dimi (fourth generation) discuss the exegetical basis for the distinction between a sage and his teaching. The main sugya may have been formed by the time of R. Yoḥanan’s disciples, and subsequently added on to.48 The latest authority mentioned in the Bavli, leaving aside the hermeneutical interjections, is Rabba bar Shila, a fourth-generation amora. If the sugya is dated as late as this sage, it would still be chronologically possible to assume the sugya’s influence on the Yerushalmi. However, this is the one part of the Bavli for which there is no parallel in the Yerushalmi.49 The Yerushalmi seems unconcerned about the problem of R. Meir’s learning from Elisha, perhaps because it took the relationship for granted and, moreover, wanted to present the master-disciple relationship without casting any doubt on it. It may also be possible, however, that the discussion of the legitimacy of R. Meir’s studies with Elisha is a later addition to the Babylonian sugya. It appears at the end of the story as a kind of afterthought that takes place after Elisha has been redeemed and brought into the world-to-come. It is designed to make sense of the preceding story. This part of the Bavli has a concentration of later authorities. The nature of the relationship of Elisha and R. Meir is also presented in a manner that is not necessarily consistent with the earlier parts of the story. R. Meir is portrayed as having learned Torah or traditions, ‫גמר תורה‬-‫גמר שמעתא‬, from Elisha. This seems to be a reference to a more extensive relationship than the transmission of R. Akiva’s teachings, which is recorded in the dialogues. All these considerations suggest that the latter part of Bavli Ḥagiga might be an addition, and for that reason does not have a parallel in the Yerushalmi. Therefore, I suggest that the core of the Babylonian sugya was formed by second- or third-generation amoraim, and it is this core that is elaborated on in the Yerushalmi. The Babylonian sugya receives various additions after this point and takes its final form in the fourth to fifth generations. The possibility that certain parts of the Bavli are additions to a mostly complete sugya is significant for an appreciation of another aspect in which the two talmuds differ. With the exception of the discussions over proof 216

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

texts, the Bavli has not offered any controversy. The story has been presented virtually unanimously and anonymously. The child-killing motif was softened by a second opinion, which is the only case where the Bavli’s version of Elisha is not unanimous. This is a sign that the Bavli’s version was presented by a storyteller, or a group of storytellers. The hallmark of rabbinic literature is missing: there is no debate, and debates over proof texts seem secondary, later, additions to the story.50 In contrast, the Yerushalmi emerges as a composite document. Though it is not a record of discussions of the sages in the beit midrash, it bears the mark of an editor who draws on all available sources and presents the different opinions as alternative possibilities, very much in a manner typical of talmudic presentation. The Yerushalmi does not reach the same degree of uniformity and inner consistency as the Bavli.51 The difference between the two is the difference between the work of a storyteller, who with great consistency creates a story that suits his needs, and an editor who skillfully pieces together all available materials into a literary narrative. This fundamental distinction in the nature of the presentation of the two talmuds again highlights the primacy of the Bavli and the Yerushalmi’s dependence upon it. The recognition of the basic nature of the Bavli’s writing also confirms my suggestions about the dating of the core story and the introduction of certain additions at a later point. In examining Bavli Kiddushin from the perspective of its date of composition, it is clear that this sugya is not primarily concerned with Elisha ben Abuya. The sages mentioned are either tannaitic or third-generation amoraim; the application of the problem of just retribution to the figure of Elisha is done by Rav Yosef, a third-generation Babylonian amora. This dating is consistent with my suggestion concerning the formation of Bavli Ḥagiga. If the sugyot were composed by the third generation of Babylonian amoraim, they could then travel to Palestine and be incorporated in the discussions in the Yerushalmi. That Rav Yosef ’s teaching appears in an interjection to the basic story in the Yerushalmi might suggest it is later also. Thus, it is conceivable that a time gap in the formation of the Babylonian sugyot is reflected in the existence of two distinct parts of the Yerushalmi. The historical relationship of the presentation of the story of Elisha in the two talmuds leads to an examination of the ideological tendencies of the two editors. The ideological concerns of the editors find expression not only through what is accepted but also through what is omitted. If the editor

BAVLI AND YERUSHALMI

217

of the Yerushalmi was working with extant materials to which he gave new form, one must ask what materials he had before him that he rejected. The most important omissions are the story of the heavenly ascent, the issuing of the heavenly voice, and Elisha’s subsequent sins.52 In other words, anything related to the mystical understanding of the Pardes is lacking in the Yerushalmi. Other elements present in the Bavli and absent in the Yerushalmi are related to the omission of the opening episode. First is the re-formulation of the meaning and context of the sounding of the heavenly voice. In the Bavli, it is sounded in the context of a heavenly ascent. In the Yerushalmi, it is shifted to the earthly Temple. The question of why the heavenly voice called forth required the expansive gloss that accounts for the exclusion from repentance in terms of rebellion. This expansion and shift of meaning in the heavenly voice are consequences of omitting the opening scene that describes the ascent. The story of the visit to the thirteen synagogues is also missing in the Yerushalmi. Although there is no evidence that this story was known to the Yerushalmi, the Yerushalmi is familiar with so much of the Bavli that this omission must be considered, especially since it is an episode that forms a part of the relationship of Elisha and R. Meir, the focus of the Yerushalmi’s presentation. It is possible that the Yerushalmi did not realize that this episode involves R. Meir, who is not mentioned by name but is referred to as ‫תקפיה‬, describing him as forcing Elisha into the beit midrash. This is a possibility that cannot be ruled out. On the other hand, a full understanding of the significance of this episode might also have required its omission by the Yerushalmi. The purpose of the visit to the synagogues is to abrogate the original decree issued by the heavenly voice; having omitted the opening episode, the editors had to omit the synagogue episode.53 Among the differences between the Bavli and the Yerushalmi, there are particular derashot exchanged between Elisha and R. Meir. The first derasha in the Bavli does not appear in the Yerushalmi but is replaced by two other derashot.54 In my analysis of the Bavli, I found that the first dialogue reflected concern with the occurrences on high and with the burning of Elisha’s merits. If the Yerushalmi fails to include this story, it obviously has no reason to reflect on it. Instead, it offers more suitable derashot for its presentation of the dialogues. As suggested, the Yerushalmi’s derashot make a pun of Elisha’s

218

PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

sobriquet. Therefore, they may have been invented by local storytellers, as more suitable than the Bavli’s first dialogue. Still another element that appears in the Bavli but not the Yerushalmi may also be related to the omission of the opening scene: the comparison of the rabbi to the angel. This is particularly significant for the Bavli, which emphasizes the angel in Qohelet :. The whole discussion of the legitimacy of R. Meir’s learning from Elisha is missing in the Yerushalmi. Since the Yerushalmi takes for granted that Elisha is R. Meir’s teacher, it seems plausible that the omission of this question does not stem from the reference to the angel but is simply an indication that it was of little concern to the Yerushalmi. As has been suggested, this part of the Bavli may have been formed at a later stage, after the major part of the sugya had already traveled to Palestine. It is difficult to explain the omission of the opening scene on the grounds that the mystical parts of the story are later additions to the Bavli, after it had already influenced the Yerushalmi. This explanation is unlikely in view of the fact that the location of the heavenly voice ‫ מאחורי הפרגוד‬seems to be presumed by the Yerushalmi, which transforms ‫ מאחורי הפרגוד‬into the Holy of Holies. Although the expression ‫ מאחורי הפרגוד‬occurs in the dialogues, to which there are parallels, and not in the story of the heavenly ascent, the expression is puzzling without that story. The dialogues are based on an understanding of the heavenly ascent, in which the heavenly voice is heard.55 This leads to a consideration of why the Yerushalmi does not include the story of the heavenly ascent. Was it omitted in order to suppress mystical ideas? Louis Ginzberg has noted that the Yerushalmi does not recognize Metatron, but this does not seem sufficient reason for omitting the story of the heavenly ascent.56 The Yerushalmi could have told its tale by substituting another angel, or by referring to an anonymous angel, as in the proof text from Qohelet. Therefore, the question remains: What is the meaning of the omission of the mystical elements from the Yerushalmi? The most powerful suggestion is that the Yerushalmi opposes mystical visions, such as those reported in Bavli Ḥagiga. Such opposition is not surprising in and of itself, because this is the starting point of Jewish mysticism. The foundation text of Jewish mysticism, the mishna in Ḥagiga :, attempted to limit mystical speculations such as those reported in the story of Elisha’s heavenly ascent. Halperin has noted that the Bavli exhibits a mystical understand-

BAVLI AND YERUSHALMI

219

ing of the sugya in Ḥagiga.57 If such materials are seen as being imported to Palestine, it is not surprising that they are not well received. The Yerushalmi mitigated the prohibition on expounding the works of creation in public on the grounds that this was only one of two opinions.58 However, in the same discussion, it upheld the prohibition of engaging in the study of the merkava. Perhaps the Babylonian material had no meaning for the Palestinian writers. More likely, this is a case of active suppression.59 If so, this may be a concrete illustration of the different attitudes toward mysticism in the two talmuds. The Yerushalmi may be faithful to the older, mishnaic tradition and for this reason may have shunned those parts of the Elisha story that crossed the boundaries of forbidden speculation. This may not be the only explanation, however, for this and other omissions. The Bavli’s explanation is based on a derasha of Qohelet :, which emphasizes Elisha’s unintentional error and portrays the appearance of the heavenly voice as a reaction to the theurgic damage Elisha causes. From a theological standpoint, taken out of context and divorced from the Bavli’s hermeneutical concerns, this passage is quite difficult. What makes sense as an attempt to combine heavenly vision and religious laxity does not make sense as a theological report. Why should Elisha be punished when he has committed no sin, and why should he be excluded from repentance? These lead to another way of telling the story. Instead of exclusion based on the inadvertent consequences of inflicting suffering on the angelic realm, the Yerushalmi presents the story in more conventional terms: the heavenly voice comes as a specific form of punishment for a great sinner. Theologically, this is much more palatable. The Bavli may be less concerned with good theology than with good exegesis and meeting its hermeneutical challenge; the Yerushalmi opted for good theology and changed the Elisha story, omitting the first part of the Bavli’s presentation from the Yerushalmi not because of the mystical element but because of its more common theological positions. Finally, it is possible that the Yerushalmi simply did not need the earlier part of the Elisha story, as found in the Bavli. The heavenly ascent was narrated to make sense of the enigmatic phrase ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬, and to account for the proof text from Qohelet. The Yerushalmi, having already provided a different interpretation of Elisha’s sin and of the meaning of Qohelet :, may just have thought that the earlier part of the Bavli’s presentation was unnecessary. Therefore, it concerned itself only with the relations between Elisha and R. Meir. This possibility assumes the priority of Yerushalmi I to 220 PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

Yerushalmi II, a subject still to be discussed. Though the possibility that the Yerushalmi suppresses the mystical dimension may be supported by these texts, it is not the only way of accounting for the relations between the texts and should therefore only be viewed as a possibility. The possibility that the Yerushalmi relied on its previous presentation for the interpretation of the phrase ‫ קיצץ בנטיעות‬leads to consideration of the relationship between Yerushalmi I and Yerushalmi II, on one hand, and to the Bavli, on the other. The formal existence of two distinct Palestinian discussions of Elisha is significant both from a thematic perspective and from the perspective of the formation of the sugyot. From the thematic point of view, the two sugyot have different concerns. Yerushalmi I concentrates on Elisha’s sins, Yerushalmi II is concerned with his relations with R. Meir, and the two parts convey two different images of Elisha. In Yerushalmi I he is opposed to the Torah and its scholars; in Yerushalmi II he plays an active part in their world and shows no opposition to them. In Yerushalmi I such horrible deeds are attributed to him that they should lead to his total rejection by the sages; in Yerushalmi II he has a relationship that revolves around Torah study with at least one rabbinic figure and therefore to some extent he continues to be a part of the world of the sages. The two discussions should be viewed as distinct units, both formally and thematically. If this is the case, it is possible that one sugya is earlier than the other. Following this sequence, Yerushalmi I would seem to be earlier than Yerushalmi II. It has been suggested that Yerushalmi II is an elaboration of two sugyot that originated in Babylonia. If so, a further distinction emerges between the two parts of the Yerushalmi’s discussion of Elisha. The first part is the original discussion of Elisha ben Abuya; the second part is the Palestinian adaptation of Babylonian materials. If Yerushalmi I is the Yerushalmi’s original discussion of Elisha ben Abuya, what relationship does it have to the Bavli? There appear to be traces of Yerushalmi I in the Bavli. If this is true, there is a clear chronological sequence of the three sugyot. Yerushalmi I is the earliest, and it influenced the Bavli, which developed its own view of Elisha while reworking traditions originating in Yerushalmi I. This reworked image of Elisha found expression in Yerushalmi II. Setting up such a chronology of the sugyot is important for the evaluation of the historical testimony of the sugyot, for an appreciation of their development, and for an understanding of the unique ideological contribution of each stage in the formation of the Elisha legends. This would

BAVLI AND YERUSHALMI

221

account for the totally different image of Elisha found in the two adjacent Palestinian sugyot and for the lack of contact between them.60 In order to assess the possibility that Yerushalmi I influenced the Bavli, some similarities between the two sugyot should be noted. The first motif that is common to both sugyot is the child-killing. In Yerushalmi I, Elisha is described as an almost methodical child killer. Killing young Torah scholars is a sign of revolt against the Torah and it highlights his image as a sinner. In the Bavli, one particular Torah student is killed. This takes place within the framework of a particular story, and as a reaction to a particular situation; it does not express Elisha’s wickedness. It is a revolt not against the Torah but against the heavenly voice that announces Elisha’s exclusion. Clearly, Elisha in this description is a more sympathetic figure who evokes the reader’s compassion.61 In the Yerushalmi the motif is rather rudimentary and lacks any elaboration. The Bavli locates the motif within a particular context. Theoretically, the incident in the Bavli might have led the Yerushalmi to extrapolate a generalization.62 The alternative possibility is that the Bavli employs a previous motif and anchors it in the story of Elisha, which softens his image. However, instances in which later sources fill in details to generalizations found in earlier sources are not sufficient to determine the direction of influence; the function and context of the respective sources have to be considered. The Yerushalmi makes sense as a direct reaction to ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬, in the plural; it appears as a commentary on this phrase—hence the reference to the killing of more than one Torah scholar. Its location and its general nature are logical in this context. To account for the motif in the Yerushalmi, it is not necessary to assume any influence from another source. Once this understanding of ‫ קיצץ בנטיעות‬becomes a tradition, it can be incorporated into the context of the Bavli’s version of the story, where it is no longer intended as an explanation of ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬. The opposite is less likely, since there is nothing within the Bavli’s logic or interpretative tasks that would lead it to employ such a motif. Moreover, within the Bavli itself there is a reaction to this description. If the motif originated in the Bavli, for whatever reason, it is unlikely that it would be disputed by those who say Elisha did not kill the child. The fact that the Bavli tells a story and immediately presents a dissenting view suggests that it is incorporating an older tradition. Therefore, in this case, examining the context of both talmuds suggests the priority of the form the motif takes in the Yerushalmi. It stands to reason that the child-killing motif first appeared in the Yerushalmi 222 PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

as a commentary on ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬, and was then mitigated in the context of the Bavli’s reworking of Elisha’s image. Yerushalmi I brings two other traditions concerning Elisha’s sinful behavior, neither of which finds obvious expression in the Bavli. It is possible that the child-killing motif is the earliest interpretation of the Yerushalmi. Not only does it appear first among three interpretations, but the other two reduce its harshness by ascribing less serious sins to Elisha—accordingly, Elisha killed spiritually, not physically, by leading students away from their studies, or by causing others to sin. If these are later possibilities, that might account for the fact that they are not echoed in the Bavli, though they, too, may be reflected in the Bavli. As noted, in Yerushalmi I, Elisha is portrayed as forcing labor on the Sabbath with regard to the ‫רשויות‬, domains, of the Sabbath. It has further been noted that the Bavli’s discussion is based on the existence of ‫שתי רשויות‬, two powers. This discussion is highly playful and does not reflect a concern for Elisha’s theological positions. This may be a coincidence, yet to the extent that the priority of Yerushalmi I is favored, the possibility that this is a further indication of the Bavli’s ability to play with earlier traditions cannot be definitely excluded. In any event, the theme of Sabbath violation may have entered the Bavli’s discussion from the Yerushalmi, even though the form may be different. Perhaps even the theme of Elisha’s entering the beit midrash was chosen from this context by the Bavli. In its new context, Elisha’s entry is not part of his sinful activities but part of R. Meir’s attempt to save him. If it is possible that the Bavli was aware of the materials found in Yerushalmi I, it is striking that all the motifs are transformed in the Bavli and all instances of harshness are humanized. The child-killing tradition, and perhaps all three traditions encountered in Yerushalmi I, may have their echoes in Bavli I.63 The common denominator in all three traditions is not Elisha’s sinfulness but the saga of a much more sympathetic person. The point of the traditions in Yerushalmi I is that Elisha causes others to sin. None of this is expressed in the Bavli, where Elisha himself sins but never leads others to do so, and, on the contrary, prevents others from sinning. The differences in emphasis, and the different images of Elisha in the Yerushalmi, would all be accounted for if the proposed chronological distinction between the Yerushalmi sugyot is agreed on. The original Palestinian view of Elisha was far harsher, and portrayed Elisha as a greater sinner. The Babylonian traditions softened his image significantly and viewed his BAVLI AND YERUSHALMI 223

sins as inadvertent, so that he remained part of the world of the sages. This image of Elisha returned to Palestine and found expression in Yerushalmi II. This accounts for the image of Elisha in Yerushalmi II, which is much mellower than in Yerushalmi I, and explains why Yerushalmi II almost abrogates Elisha’s responsibility for his own sins and presents him as a victim of parental wrongdoing who is made to sin in spite of himself. These explanations agree with the mellower image of Elisha in the post-Bavli versions of the story. Nonetheless, Elisha is designated a rebel in Yerushalmi II, and his wrongdoings on the Sabbath and Yom Kippur are multiplied. Perhaps in this sense, Yerushalmi II’s image of Elisha is a synthesis of the harsher image of Yerushalmi I and the kinder image of the Bavli. Alternatively, Elisha is cast as a great rebel because the Yerushalmi must account for the radical statement that excludes him from repentance. In other words, Elisha is cast as a rebel for hermeneutical reasons, while his overall image is consistent with that in the Bavli. Perhaps the different views of Elisha find expression in the way he is named in both sugyot. Yerushalmi I starts off as an explanation of the sobriquet Aḥer, identifying Aḥer with Elisha ben Abuya. In Yerushalmi II, he is never called Aḥer, and is consistently referred to as Elisha. Since Yerushalmi I is formed as a comment on the Pardes passage, it does not refer to Elisha independently. However, the different names found in both sugyot are consistent with the different image of the sage in the two Palestinian sugyot. There are different concerns that characterize the three sugyot. My analysis suggested that none of the three is historically accurate. The texts show differences with regard to the the hermeneutic and ideological dimensions. Yerushalmi I is primarily concerned with hermeneutics; it seeks to clarify the expression ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬, and the proof text from Qohelet : but it has no larger ideological concerns. It assumes a context of Torah study and the supreme value of the Torah and its commandments. To the extent that Elisha is represented as opposing Torah study, his image is cast in an ideologically charged context, but no particular issue is worked out in this sugya. Its concern is only to make sense of the Pardes passage, and it therefore offers three relatively terse factual reports about Elisha, without any elaboration. That none of its comments on the Pardes or on ‫ קיצץ בנטיעות‬allows for a mystical understanding emphasizes the fact that in Palestinian sources there is a reticence toward this subject.

224 PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

The Bavli and Yerushalmi II are controlled by different principles. Both form lengthy, elaborate stories that, typical of the world of the sages, are occasions for working out complex ideological issues. The mellower and less radical image of Elisha found in these presentations may be related to their levels of concerns. The hermeneutical level is confronted by the stark expression ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬, which leads it to depict Elisha as a great sinner. When the hermeneutical gives way to broader ideological concerns, one consequence may be a view of Elisha that is less harsh. He is then cast in light of wider ideological concerns and is to a certain extent freed from the force of the hermeneutical level. The Bavli handles the ideological dimension at the same time as it brilliantly tackles the exegetical challenge; Yerushalmi II is concerned only with the ideological dimension and makes no contribution to the hermeneutics. Thus, the two sugyot that make up the Yerushalmi have their own distinct concerns. Yerushalmi I is interested in the hermeneutical challenges provided by the Pardes passage, and in this context it concentrates on Elisha’s sins and relates them to the Pardes passage. Yerushalmi II is interested only in the ideological dimension. It tells the story of R. Meir and Elisha to convey ideological principles without reference to the concerns of Yerushalmi I, perhaps because Yerushalmi II is based on Yerushalmi I. Alternatively, it may indicate simply that it is a later addition. The earlier the text, the greater its concern for the hermeneutical dimension and the closer it is to the earlier and formative texts. The later the text, the more independent it may be of earlier discussions and the freer it is to develop its own ideology. Thus, the Yerushalmi offers two distinct sugyot, characterized by different concerns, and providing two different images of Elisha. l In trying to discover the real Elisha ben Abuya, I had recourse to several critical methodologies. First was historical criticism of the sources. This entailed separating tannaitic from amoraic reports of Elisha. I used a literary analysis to distinguish between what might be a historical report of Elisha ben Abuya and what might be a literary work created around his figure. I eliminated reports that indicated influence of previous texts, particularly enigmatic textual expressions that require interpretation and thereby engender further reports and stories. My purpose was to find a historical nucleus that is inde-

BAVLI AND YERUSHALMI 225

pendent of the formative tannaitic passage of the Pardes episode. Through such a process of elimination I attempted to arrive at historical reports of Elisha ben Abuya that are free of subsequent elaboration and invention. As a result of this process, my conclusions are twofold. From the negative perspective, I did not find any amoraic source reporting Elisha’s sinful activities that is free of the influence of the formative Pardes passage. I consider all reports of Elisha ben Abuya’s heretical beliefs, sinful behavior, and religious transgressions suspect as being later elaborations of earlier texts. My study of the Pardes passage raised the possibility that it did not intend to implicate Elisha ben Abuya in any specific way and that it was not concerned with providing historical information about him. If the formative text is not significant in its historical testimony, and if all the so-called testimonies are elaborations and secondary reactions to this formative text, there are no remaining reports about Elisha ben Abuya in amoraic sources that are unequivocally reliable. This does not amount to positive proof of Elisha’s religious virtue, but it casts serious doubt on the possibility of constructing a positive historical report of his life based on amoraic sources. Since these are the main sources available, at the very least caution is required in the formulation of positive conclusions about his life. It now seems obvious that any future attempt at reconstructing the life of the historical Elisha ben Abuya will have to confront the critical questions posed by my study. One can no longer choose reports the writer fancies to be historically reliable. Even if my own conclusions are not accepted, my work has established critical parameters that must guide future discussion. The questions I have raised necessitate a greater degree of care and attention to critical considerations when one deals with Elisha. Future research will have to account for the reasons that certain traditions are considered reliable, and what notion of the formation and evolution of the Elisha traditions underlies the acceptance of a particular report. However, I can also state my conclusions in a more positive form. As analysis has advanced, we have come to know not only Elisha ben Abuya but also the nature of rabbinic storytelling. We have come to recognize the freedom, creativity, and ingenuity that characterize the rabbinic writers. We have seen how the image of the sage is projected, by means of which greater ideological concerns are developed. In telling Elisha’s story, the rabbinic writers show virtually no concern for historical accuracy or reliable reporting. Their concerns are ideological. The image of the individual rabbi is 226 PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

assumed within the larger rabbinic collective. Indeed, the collective often shapes it in accordance with its own ideological preoccupations and needs. This understanding of the nature of rabbinic storytelling is significant both in itself and for an appreciation of the historical Elisha. It illuminates how the rabbinic sources work and what should be expected when reading them. How the sources are approached will determine what is to be searched for. Therefore, an awareness of the ideological dimension of rabbinic storytelling should govern any attempt to retrieve historical information from rabbinic sources. More specifically, the recognition that the reports concerning Elisha ben Abuya are not only exegetically inspired but also ideologically motivated further undermines their reliability. Once the inner workings and the development within these traditions are recognized, the implicit trust placed in the reports of the rabbinic sources is weakened. Is the result only heightened skepticism, or can we nevertheless proceed? Where explicit testimonies are ideologically and exegetically determined, reports that are not colored by these considerations must be found. In this context, the best witnesses, of course, would be from outside the rabbinic framework, but these are not available. There is a total lack of such sources to document Elisha’s life. Elisha ben Abuya is a strictly rabbinic figure, and rabbinic sources must be relied on in any attempt to discover the historical person. This requires finding witnesses in the rabbinic literature that are free of the hermeneutical and ideological considerations that shape the image of Elisha. There are, in fact, several such witnesses in the tannaitic sources. My suspicion that the Pardes passage influenced Elisha’s subsequent image encourages a preference for the earlier, pre-Pardes traditions, which are more faithful in preserving his historical image. These are not only closer in time to Elisha, they are also free from ideological concerns. They conform to the suggestion made in the Introduction that unwitting witnesses may provide more reliable information than sources that consciously relate the life of a sage and may be tainted by ideological concerns. Several such sources have come to our attention in the course of this study. The first and perhaps most important such witness was found in the list of three students, which, according to my reconstruction, served as the raw material for the formation of the Pardes passage. Read in context, there is nothing incriminating about the report of the calamity that is associated with Elisha ben Abuya. What is reported is identical to what is reported of R. Akiva. Drawing the comparison would lead to the conclusion that Elisha BAVLI AND YERUSHALMI 227

ben Abuya also died a martyr’s death. If this is the earliest mention of Elisha ben Abuya, which all later sources are in some way dependent on, it deserves special attention. It may be that the parallel it draws between R. Akiva and Elisha ben Abuya indicates a completely different view of Elisha from what later generations came to recognize. Further witnesses were encountered along the way. Most significant was the inclusion of Elisha ben Abuya in the fourth chapter of Avot. Inasmuch as this tradition did not seek to say anything about Elisha ben Abuya but only to record his tradition, it is the most reliable witness. If it is correct to conclude that inclusion in Avot is a sign of recognition and merit, then this tannaitic witness matches that of the earlier source, of Yavnean origin. The earlier sources are not interested in telling Elisha’s story; they take his existence for granted. Though they do not provide any information about the sage, they reflect an attitude toward him that is so different from that found in later sources that it can falsify the testimony of the later sources. Thus I prefer the evidence of the earlier, unintentional witnesses that do not really set out to tell Elisha’s story, as opposed to the later attempts actually to tell his story. I prefer them precisely because all the later sources are telling stories. Though the earlier contemporary sources do not tell us much about Elisha, they are free of the ideological embellishments that make the later sources historically unreliable. That the tannaitic sources do not provide biographical information on their heroes is no surprise. This is an expression of the collective nature of the literature, in which the voice of the individual is assimilated into larger, communal concerns. The life of an individual rabbi is not significant; his example and his teaching are significant, but not his life per se. In the case of Elisha, not only is there a lack of information about his personal life, there is even a lack of information about his becoming a sage. Thus, one of the most basic questions for tradition history, who were Elisha ben Abuya’s teachers, must go unanswered.64 This indicates to what extent we are dealing with a sage who was a historically minor figure. Because he was so little known, his image could embark on a new career after his own day. Where historical information is lacking, tradition fills the gap according to its own needs and concerns. The stories that are told of Elisha can be told because no real historical record exists. The positive impression of the key witness, Elisha’s saying in Mishna Avot, can easily be overridden. Impressions cannot stand up to the power of the tale told by later generations. Because nothing 228 PART ONE: ELISHA BEN ABUYA

is known of the real Elisha, just as nothing is known of so many of his contemporaries, his image can be shaped according to the hermeneutical needs and ideological tendencies of later writers. Therefore, to a great extent it is not possible to tell any positive story about the historical Elisha ben Abuya. The collective nature of tradition does not allow his unique face to emerge through the veil of tradition. We are only able to cast doubt, and perhaps even historically falsify, the tales that later generations tell of him. The only thin clue to the real historical Elisha ben Abuya lies in the haunting allusion to the calamity that is associated with his sight, as well as with the sight of R. Akiva. Could it be that both rabbis met the same fate? Could it be that the historical Elisha ben Abuya was a martyr? Could it be that owing to the nature of the literature and its internal processes, the memory of this event was wiped away, and Elisha came to be known to later generations as an archheretic? The possibility is haunting, but there is nothing more that can be said.

BAVLI AND YERUSHALMI 229

8 RABBI ELEAZAR BEN ARACH SYMBOL AND REALITY

U E  A, who has been the subject of research for the past  years, R. Eleazar ben Arach has drawn very little attention. Abraham Geiger addressed himself to the sources describing R. Eleazar ben Arach more than a century ago, and to the best of my knowledge, no other work has attempted to shed light on the figure of R. Eleazar ben Arach. Geiger used the critical-historical approach to deal with the mystery of his life but failed to awaken a fitting response.1 Present-day scholarship on this subject is virtually the same as it was prior to Geiger’s study. The attempt to understand the life and character of R. Eleazar ben Arach demonstrates the difficulties inherent in talmudic biography. There are almost no sayings of this sage, for all the praise heaped on him by his teacher, who extolled him over and above his colleagues.2 On the other hand, extraordinary anecdotes about him are scattered throughout the sources. Any attempt to understand these sources involves the delicate interface of story, history, hermeneutics, and ideology, all of which are characteristic of rabbinic literature. The anecdotes told of R. Eleazar ben Arach, though in the guise of factual historical reports, often cross over to another dimension. Unlike the stories told of Elisha ben Abuya, the stories told of R. Eleazar are not replete with miraculous and supernatural features. This might lend them a more historically accurate air; however, as we shall see, some of the stories told of R. Eleazar, especially in the post-tannaitic sources, are unreasonable. Though not legendary, they nonetheless seem contrived, and

233

they raise suspicions of having been related for some hidden purpose. In the case of Elisha ben Abuya, an attempt was made to read historical ‘‘fact’’ and supernatural legend as part of one ideological statement. In the case of R. Eleazar ben Arach, there will be an attempt to read apparently historical narrative and puzzling reports in a broader framework as a way of uncovering another layer of meaning attached to this sage, which will suggest that he bears symbolic significance within rabbinic literature. This symbolic dimension should be viewed as the framework that lends meaning to all the rabbinic sources that relate to him.

R. Eleazar ben Arach: The Everflowing Spring The classical source concerning R. Eleazar ben Arach appears in Mishna Avot :.3 This is a tannaitic source, and because it relates Rabban Yoḥanan b. Zakkai’s description of R. Eleazar ben Arach, it may be viewed as a contemporary source. Indeed, Rabban Yoḥanan b. Zakkai’s words may have been reworked in accordance with shifting ideological concerns. However, the core of Mishna Avot : can reasonably be assumed to go back to a saying of Rabban Yoḥanan b. Zakkai. Most significantly, this source is basic for all other tales about R. Eleazar ben Arach. The ideonic concerns expressed in this passage serve as the hermeneutical trigger for the tales told of the sage in later sources: Five disciples had Rabban Yoḥanan b. Zakkai, and these are they: R. Eliezer b. Hyrcanos, and R. Yehoshua b. Ḥananiah, and R. Jose the Priest, and R. Shimon b. Nataniel, and R. Eleazar ben Arach. Thus he used to recount their praise: ‘‘R. Eliezer b. Hyrcanos is a plastered cistern which loses not a drop; R. Yehoshua b. Ḥananiah: happy is she that bare him; Jose the priest is a saintly man; Simeon b. Nataniel is fearful of sin; Eleazar b. Arach is an everflowing spring.’’ He used to say: ‘‘If all the Sages of Israel were in one scale of the balance, and Eliezer b. Hyrcanos in the other, he would outweigh them all.’’ Abba Shaul said in his name, ‘‘If all the Sages of Israel were in one scale of the balance, and with them Eliezer b. Hyrcanos, and Eleazar b. Arach was in the other, he would outweigh them all.’’

234 PART TWO: RABBI ELEAZAR BEN ARACH

This mishna is of two minds in identifying R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai’s most outstanding disciple. Was it R. Eliezer b. Hyrcanos or R. Eleazar ben Arach? The difference of opinion may indicate a genuine disagreement in the tradition concerning the words of Yoḥanan b. Zakkai. But more than historical uncertainty seems to lie behind this controversy. Perhaps the opinion that viewed R. Eleazar ben Arach as the outstanding disciple was influenced by the following mishna: He said to them: ‘‘Go forth and see which is the good way to which a man should cleave.’’ R. Eliezer said, ‘‘A good eye.’’ R. Yehoshua said, ‘‘A good companion.’’ R. Jose said, ‘‘A good neighbor.’’ R. Simeon said, ‘‘One that sees what will be.’’ R. Eleazar said, ‘‘A good heart.’’ He said to them: ‘‘I approve the words of Eleazar b. Arach more than your words, for in his words are your words included.’’ 4 The agreement that R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai expressed with the words of R. Eleazar ben Arach may have contributed to the formulation of the version in which he outweighs all the other sages: if their words are included in his, it follows that he outweighs them all.5 At the same time, it seems that the formulations praising two different sages are divided on a matter of principle and do not stem from the complications of transmission and redaction alone. The juxtaposition of R. Eliezer b. Hyrcanos and R. Eleazar ben Arach constitutes a confrontation between two different types of sages and two approaches to the study of Torah: one is the plastered cistern that does not lose a drop but preserves the tradition that is transmitted from one generation to the next; R. Eliezer took pride in never saying anything that he had not heard directly from his teacher.6 According to this ideal, the sage who studies Torah contains the traditions of his teachers without changing anything. On the other hand, R. Eleazar ben Arach is described as the everflowing spring, one in whom everything wells up inside. He is an innovator drawing on creative force and argumentative power to enhance his learning.7 The sage who engages in the study of Torah is likened to a spring, ever flowing with torrents of water.8 The two conflicting reports of R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai’s words reflect an ideological divide that persisted for generations and found the following expression:

SYMBOL AND REALITY 235

R. Yoḥanan said: ‘‘On the following point there is a difference of opinion between R. Shimon b. Gamliel and the Rabbis. One view is that ‘‘Sinai’’ [i.e., a scholar well versed in the law communicated from Mount Sinai] is superior to one who uproots mountains [i.e., a keen dialectician]. And the other view is that the one who uproots mountains is superior. R. Yosef was a ‘‘Sinai’’; Rabbah was an ‘‘uprooter of mountains.’’ An enquiry was sent up to Palestine: ‘‘who of these should take precedence?’’ 9 They sent them word in reply: ‘‘A well-read scholar is to take precedence, for it has been said: ‘All are dependent on the owner of the wheat.’ ’’ 10 ‘‘Sinai’’ refers to the transmission of the Torah received at Sinai from one generation to the next. An ‘‘uprooter of mountains’’ is one who shatters the mountain—that is, shatters the wisdom that was revealed at Sinai.11 One approach is that of transmission, which preserves and conserves, while the other approach highlights depth and acumen. It should be noted that the image of uprooting mountains signifies the argumentative force but does not necessarily provide for innovation. From other sources it is learned that this method starts as argumentation and culminates in innovation.12 If the difference of opinion concerning the words of R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai indeed reflects fundamentally different approaches to the study of Torah, we are in a position to identify the circle that gave rise to the praise heaped on R. Eleazar ben Arach. An examination of the variants of this tradition in Avot de Rabbi Natan, suggests that the praise of R. Eleazar ben Arach (the everflowing spring) originated in the academy of R. Akiva. The tradition is formulated in the following manner in Avot de Rabbi Natan: He used to say: ‘‘If all the sages of Israel were in one scale of the balance and Eliezer ben Hyrcanos were in the other scale he would outweigh them all.’’ Abba Shaul says in the name of Rabbi Akiva, that he used to say in [Yoḥanan’s] name that [Yoḥanan] really used to say: ‘‘If all the sages of Israel were in one scale of the balance, and Eliezer ben Hyrcanos with them, the finger of R. Eleazar ben Arach would outweigh them.’’ 13 The tradition cited in the name of Abba Shaul is attributed here to R. Akiva.14 It is stronger yet than that of the Mishna, because it includes an explicit de236 PART TWO: RABBI ELEAZAR BEN ARACH

nial of the alternative tradition and emphasizes R. Eleazar ben Arach’s ability to tip the scales by just a finger alone.15 Version A of Avot de Rabbi Natan describes R. Eleazar ben Arach in the following manner: ‘‘Eleazar b. Arach is called overflowing stream and everflowing stream whose waters ever flow and overflow, confirming the statement, ‘Let the springs be dispersed abroad, and courses of water in the streets’ ’’ (Prov. :).16 Although R. Akiva is not mentioned by name in this text, it seems that it, too, came from his academy, as can be learned from the following homily by R. Akiva: R. Akiva says: ‘‘Scripture says, ‘Drink waters out of thine own cistern’ (Prov. :). At the outset your cistern cannot bring forth a drop of water of its own, except only that which is already in it; so also a disciple at the outset contains nothing but that which he has learned. ‘And running waters out of thine own well’ (ibid.) he is like a well. Just as a well distills living water from all sides, so do disciples come and learn from him, as it is said: ‘Let thy springs be dispersed abroad (Prov. :).’ ’’ 17 It seems that the link between the two sources is not limited to the verse ‘‘Your springs will gush forth’’ alone. R. Akiva juxtaposes a cistern and a well. The cistern contains only what is put in it while the well provides fresh water. This is the essential contrast between a cistern and a well. Consequently, many disciples come and drink from the well. The following story, told of R. Eliezer, further supports this: Rabban Yoḥanan ben Zakkai said to Eliezer: ‘‘Expound to us something from the teachings of the Torah.’’ He answered: ‘‘I will tell you a parable. What am I like? I am like a well which cannot give forth more water than one put in it.’’ Rabban Yoḥanan ben Zakkai said to him: ‘‘I will tell you a parable. To what can this man be likened? To a well that bubbles up and produces water of itself. Similarly, you can expound more teachings of the Torah than were spoken to Moses on Sinai.’’ 18 In this story, R. Eliezer is portrayed as the opposite of the way he saw himself. The innovative ideal has conquered the ideal of the all-absorbing plastered cistern.19 This reversal is founded on the contrast between the cistern and SYMBOL AND REALITY 237

the well.20 The conquest of the cistern is achieved because it starts out as a pit and ultimately becomes a well. It seems that the description of R. Eliezer expounding more than what Moses heard from God at Mount Sinai, as well as the description of R. Eleazar ben Arach as the everflowing spring, are influenced by the ideal formulated in R. Akiva’s academy.

R. Akiva as an Everflowing Spring The affinity between R. Eleazar ben Arach and R. Akiva can also be discovered in the depiction of R. Akiva himself: ‘‘When R. Akiva died, the springs of wisdom ceased.’’ 21 In light of this image used for R. Akiva, it is easier to understand the tradition attributed to him suggesting that the everflowing spring is weighed against all the other disciples. The following story from Avot de Rabbi Natan helps reach a better understanding of the difficulties underlying R. Akiva’s activities and the possible role of R. Eleazar ben Arach: What were the beginnings of Rabbi Akiva? It is said: When he was forty years of age he had not yet studied a thing. One time he stood by the mouth of a well. ‘‘Who hollowed out this stone?’’ he wondered. He was told: ‘‘It is the water which falls upon it every day, continually.’’ It was said to him: ‘‘Akiva, hast thou not heard, ‘The waters wear away the stones?’ ’’ (Job :). Thereupon Rabbi Akiva drew the inference with regard to himself: If what is soft wears down the hard, all the more shall the words of the Torah, which are as hard as iron, hollow out my heart, which is flesh and blood! Forthwith he turned to the study of Torah. He went together with his son and they appeared before an elementary teacher. . . . The teacher wrote down aleph bet for him and he learned it; aleph taw, and he learned it; the Book of Leviticus, and he learned it. He went on studying until he learned the whole Torah. Then he went and appeared before Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Yehoshua. ‘‘My masters,’’ he said to them, ‘‘reveal the sense of Mishna to me.’’ When they told him one halakha he went off to be by himself. ‘‘This aleph,’’ he wondered, ‘‘why was it written? That bet, why was it writ-

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ten? This thing, why was it said?’’ He came back and asked them and reduced them to silence. Rabbi Simeon ben Eleazar says: ‘‘I shall tell thee a parable. To what may this be likened? To a stonecutter who was hacking away in the mountains. One time he took up his pickax and went and sat on the mountain and began to chip tiny pebbles from it. Now some men came by and asked him, ‘What art thou doing?’ ‘I am uprooting the mountain,’ he replied, ‘and shall cast it into the Jordan.’ ‘Thou canst not uproot the whole mountain,’ they said to him. But he continued hacking away until he it hit upon a big rock. He crawled under it, broke it loose and uprooted it, and cast it into the Jordan; and he said to it: ‘Not here is thy place but there.’ This is what Rabbi Akiva did with (the instruction of ) Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Yehoshua.’’ Rabbi Tarfon said to him: ‘‘Akiva, of thee the verse says: ‘He dams up the sources of the streams so that hidden things may be brought light’ (Job :): things concealed from men Rabbi Akiva didst bring forth to light.’ ’’ 22 In this account, R. Akiva studied with two different teachers. The first apparently taught him the entire written law. Next, R. Akiva studied the oral law with R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua.23 He sat and asked them to begin with an explanation of the Mishna’s inner logic. This request is unusual, because R. Akiva had not yet studied the proper text of the Mishna. It seems it is influenced by the continuation of the story. R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua tell him a single law: the body of the law and its factual content. R. Akiva was not satisfied with this level of study, so he studied on his own and delved into deeper meanings of the law. He reviewed the study curriculum from the most basic stage, the alphabet, and attempted to understand the deeper meanings and reasons of everything he studied. This method of study was considered revolutionary. The metaphor of the stonecutter chiseling away at the mountain is exactly the same as the metaphor of the uprooter of mountains. R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua are portrayed as ‘‘Sinai,’’ uprooted by R. Akiva’s acuity and perceptiveness. ‘‘Uprooting Sinai’’ constitutes a radical turning point in the study method of R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua: ‘‘This is what Rabbi Akiva did with (the instruction of ) Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Yehoshua.’’ This method of study receives R. Tarfon’s blessing.24

SYMBOL AND REALITY 239

In the stonecutter metaphor, what is the significance of casting a rock into the Jordan? Obviously, a stonecutter does not uproot an entire mountain, and certainly does not cast the shattered rock to the river. It seems that in the present case, the parable should be explained in light of its referent.25 The stonecutting description is based on a well-known metaphor for perspicuity in intellectual study. Casting the rock into the Jordan also seems to be based on the concept of flowing water, which symbolizes both innovative force and intellectual acumen.26 Both the analytic and the innovative forces are reflected in the image of casting a rock into the water. This story has two water images. It begins with a look into a well and ends with the casting of a rock into the Jordan.27 Is this a literary adaptation of the principle that emanated from R. Akiva’s academy, that Torah study begins with repetition and later becomes creativity and innovation? In the story, these are the stages by which R. Akiva acquired his own Torah knowledge. It may be that the literary structure of this source, the progression from well to flowing water, is also a reflection of these stages.28 This source demonstrates the tension that existed between two conceptually different approaches to the study of Torah. The proponents of the ‘‘Sinai’’ tradition were R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua; in contrast, R. Akiva is depicted as a radical ‘‘uprooter of mountains.’’ 29 Within a certain circle of sages, this tension between R. Akiva and his teachers was apparently sensed, and the revolution implied in R. Akiva’s method was appreciated. The tradition transmitted in the name of R. Akiva, according to which R. Eleazar ben Arach is the outstanding disciple of R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai, should be understood in light of this appreciation. R. Eleazar serves as an alternative model to R. Akiva’s personal teachers, and his character legitimizes R. Akiva’s innovative and revolutionary methods. The ideal upheld by R. Akiva is not that of his immediate teachers but rather that of his spiritual ‘‘uncle.’’ 30

R. Eleazar ben Arach as Ideal Role Model in R. Akiva’s Academy Both R. Akiva and R. Eleazar ben Arach are described as flowing springs. Was there a relationship between them? Both sages are characterized as having the talent of innovation and creative ability in Torah study. The few existing teachings in the name of R. Eleazar ben Arach indicate similar lines of thought to the teachings of R. Akiva. They address issues of halakha that 240 PART TWO: RABBI ELEAZAR BEN ARACH

do not seem to be ideologically charged in a particular way. It is reasonable, therefore, to assume that the record of R. Eleazar ben Arach’s teaching preserved in these sources is reliable. In two places R. Eleazar cites biblical authority for rabbinic law: ‘‘R. Eleazar ben Arach said: From this did the rabbis learn that the sanctity of hands is from the Torah.’’ 31 A second teaching in his name suggests that a rabbinic ordination concerning performing a levirate marriage is grounded in a biblical verse.32 The tendency to find biblical basis for halakhot rather than to view them as rabbinic innovation is also present in the teachings of R. Akiva, and might indeed be considered a characteristic feature of his method of interpretation and learning.33 If this is the case, there is an important intellectual affinity between R. Akiva and R. Eleazar ben Arach. The everflowing spring is not only an innovator; it also grounds the innovations in biblical authority, so that the Bible is the ultimate source of the everflowing spring. To the extent that this path of learning is characteristic of the historical R. Eleazar ben Arach and is then continued by R. Akiva, one can conclude that R. Akiva considered himself a follower of this sage’s path in Torah study.34 This similarity relates to the two sages personally. If R. Akiva consciously followed a path taken by R. Eleazar ben Arach, he perhaps saw him as a role model and a spiritual ideal. That R. Eleazar ben Arach functioned as such an ideal type in R. Akiva’s academy, because of his particular path in learning Torah, will become evident from the following sources. An examination of storytelling patterns involving R. Eleazar ben Arach and R. Akiva reveals such striking similarities that it leads to the consideration that the different stories emerged from the same circle. The following story tells of the sages’ efforts to console R. Yoḥanan ben Zakkai after the death of his son: When Rabban Yoḥanan ben Zakkai’s son died, his disciples came in to comfort him. Rabbi Eliezer entered, sat down before him and said to him: ‘‘Master, by thy leave, may I say something to thee?’’ ‘‘Speak,’’ he replied. Rabbi Eliezer said: ‘‘Adam had a son who died, yet he allowed himself to be comforted concerning him. . . . Thou, too, be thou comforted.’’ Said Rabban Yoḥanan to him: ‘‘Is it not enough that I grieve over my own, that thou remindest me of the grief of Adam?’’ Rabbi Yehoshua entered and said to him: ‘‘By thy leave, may I say something to thee?’’ ‘‘Speak,’’ he replied. Rabbi Yehoshua said: ‘‘Job

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had sons and daughters, all of whom died in one day, and he allowed himself to be comforted concerning them. Thou, too, be thou comforted . . .’’ Rabban Yoḥanan to him: ‘‘Is it not enough that I grieve over my own, that thou remindest me of the grief of Job?’’ 35 Rabbi Eleazar ben Arach entered,36 sat down before him, and said to him: ‘‘I shall tell thee a parable: to what may this be likened? To a man with whom the king deposited some object. Every single day the man would weep and cry out, saying ‘Woe unto me! When shall I be quit of this trust in peace?’ Thou too, master, thou hadst a son: He studied the Torah, the Prophets, the Holy Writings, he studied Mishna, halakha, aggada, and he departed from the world without sin. And thou shouldst be comforted when thou hast returned thy trust unimpaired.’’ Said R. Yoḥanan to him: ‘‘R. Eleazar, my son, thou hast comforted me the way men give comfort!’’ 37 Four of R. Yoḥanan ben Zakkai’s disciples try to console him after the death of his son. He says that they only add to his grief. R. Eleazar ben Arach is the last to enter. Without requesting permission to speak, he launches into his speech on his own, and alters the tactic of consolation. Instead of referring to a biblical precedent, R. Eleazar ben Arach speaks of R. Yoḥanan’s personal experience in the education of his son and his expectations and hopes for him. In the story’s concluding statement, R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai turns to R. Eleazar ben Arach and says, ‘‘You have comforted me.’’ I propose that the structure, and perhaps the content, of this story are consistent with traditions of stories from R. Akiva’s academy. Another example of a story that has the same structure describes how R. Akiva and his colleagues visited R. Eliezer when he was ill: Once R. Eliezer fell ill, and R. Tarfon, R. Yehoshua, R. Eleazar ben Azariah, and R. Akiva came to visit him. R. Tarfon said to him, ‘‘Master, you are more precious to Israel than the orb of the sun. . . .’’ R. Yehoshua said to him, ‘‘Master, you are more precious to Israel than the gift of rain. . . .’’ R. Eleazar ben Azariah said to him, ‘‘Master, you are more precious to Israel than one’s father and mother. . . .’’ R. Akiva said to him, ‘‘Master, precious are chastisements.’’ 38 The structure of this story is identical to that of the consolation story. The disciple to speak last changes the rhetoric that the previous speakers have 242 PART TWO: RABBI ELEAZAR BEN ARACH

shared. The continuation of the story shows that his words were accepted. This, and other stories, bear out a consistent trend to place R. Akiva as the last speaker in the series.39 The same narrative structure, in which the last speaker alters the subject matter, also appears in stories about other sages,40 but the concluding formula is unique to R. Akiva: ‘‘Akiva, you have consoled us.’’ Interestingly, R. Akiva is the only disciple who is said to have consoled his teachers; there is no other source when this is said of another disciple.41 This formula follows R. Akiva consistently.42 R. Eleazar ben Arach is described according to the format that is also characteristic of stories of R. Akiva: the last speaker changes the direction of the discussion, and the reaction to his speech is that he has succeeded where others did not.43 The content of this last source may also indicate the influence of R. Akiva’s teaching. Unless R. Eleazar ben Arach’s words are taken as mere rhetoric, he expresses the idea that death is possible without sin. The parable, as an autonomous unit of meaning, conveys an active death wish that stems from a yearning for spiritual wholeness. It emphasizes the statement that it accompanies by adding the realization that not only did R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai return his trust safely, he harbored wishes to do so all along.44 The possibility of the ideological affinity between these statements and R. Akiva’s thought deserves further attention: it appears that the style, and perhaps the content, of the story bear the imprint of R. Akiva’s academy.

R. Eleazar ben Arach and the Exposition of the Merkava One of the few tannaitic sources pertaining to R. Eleazar ben Arach reports his engagement in the study of the merkava. This seems at first glance to be a tannaitic witness to the study curriculum and the spiritual interests of this sage, but closer examination leads to understanding this report as a further instance of the fashioning of his image in the school of R. Akiva. The report is from the second chapter of Tosefta Ḥagiga: . A story of R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai, who was riding upon an ass, when R. Eleazar b. Arach, who was driving the ass behind him, said to him, ‘‘Rabbi, teach me one section of the works of the chariot.’’ He said to him, ‘‘Have I not said to you from the beginning that they do not teach SYMBOL AND REALITY 243

the chariot with one person, unless he is a sage able to understand from his own knowledge?’’ He said to him, ‘‘Let me now discuss before you.’’ He said to him, ‘‘Speak on.’’ R. Eleazar b. Arach began and expounded concerning the works of the chariot. R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai got down from his ass and wrapped himself in his tallith. The two of them sat down on a stone underneath the olive tree and he discussed before him. He stood up and kissed him on the head and said, ‘‘Blessed is the Lord God of Israel who has given a son to Abraham our Father who knows how to understand and to expound the glory of his Father in Heaven. Some expound well and do not perform well, some perform well and do not expound well. Eleazar b. Arach expounds well and performs well. Blessed are you Abraham our Father, that Eleazar b. Arach has come forth from your loins, who knows how to understand and expound the glory of his Father in Heaven.’’ . R. Yose b. R. Yehudah says, ‘‘R. Yehoshua discussed [the chariot] before R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai, R. Akiva before R. Yehoshua, and Ḥananiah b. Ḥachinai before R. Akiva.’’ 45 This report seems straightforward enough: it is already known that R. Eleazar ben Arach was R. Yoḥanan ben Zakkai’s student, and this appears to be a report of the learning process in which the two sages were engaged. Also, one assumes, the relatively small number of traditions in R. Eleazar ben Arach’s name would make him an unlikely candidate for fabricated stories, so the initial tendency is to accept this report at face value. But a small detail suggests conflict between the two reports: the first report is that R. Eleazar ben Arach lectured on the merkava before R. Yoḥanan ben Zakkai; in the second, R. Yehoshua is presented as R. Yoḥanan ben Zakkai’s disciple. What is the relationship between these two reports? Is there a contradiction, and what is the significance of the mention of the individual rabbis in this context? If R. Eleazar ben Arach had indeed lectured before R. Yoḥanan ben Zakkai, why was he not chosen for the tradition list in the second unit? The Bavli (Ḥagiga b) sensed this discrepancy and tries to explain it by saying, ‘‘One who discoursed himself, and others discoursed before him, he counts; one who discoursed himself, but others did not discourse before him, he does not count.’’ 46 According to the Bavli, it is necessary to distinguish between a report and a list of tradition: R. Eleazar ben Arach engaged

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in the study of the merkava but did not form part of its tradition. The Bavli does not explain why, although some sources that discuss the absence of R. Eleazar ben Arach from Yavneh might be used to answer this question. From the perspective of smoothing out difficulties in the text, the Bavli’s explanation is satisfactory. That this contradiction remains troubling might be seen from the ‘‘original’’ solution to the contradiction, which is found in the chain of transmission at the opening of Sefer Tagin, according to which R. Eleazar ben Arach was R. Yehoshua’s teacher.47 Modern scholarship has referred to the Tosefta with a combination of trust and suspicion. Neusner draws upon the apparent contradiction in order to anchor the authenticity and antiquity of the tradition relating to R. Eleazar ben Arach; he substantiates the historical claim of part of the source and rejects the remainder.48 Other scholars have chosen to cast doubt on the historical veracity of both parts.49 This places two possibilities before us: we can accept the historical witness of this source in its entirety, allowing for some form of harmonization, probably along the lines of the Bavli; or we can examine the source to attempt to find different reports that have varying degrees of credibility. Once the possibility of discrediting the historical validity of the report is raised, however, we must determine why such a story would be told, if it does not reflect real events. One possible explanation may lie in R. Eleazar ben Arach’s position in R. Akiva’s academy. If he was a role model, these reports are more easily understood. What is the relationship of the Tosefta passage to R. Akiva’s school? The passage just quoted, as well as the Pardes passage, form part of what Halperin has called the ‘‘mystical collection.’’ For several reasons it seems probable that that collection emerged from R. Akiva’s school: R. Akiva occupies a central position in the collection as the sage who bridges the two parts; he is also the sage who is at the heart of the tradition list in the second unit, all the figures in the list being significant either as sources for R. Akiva’s knowledge or as links in the chain of tradition.50 Once the tradition list has gone past the direct relationship with R. Akiva, it ends. This obvious interest in R. Akiva, which makes him the true hero and center of the collection, points clearly to his followers as authors. It should be mentioned that the Yerushalmi in its discussion of the mishna (Ḥagiga :, a) attributes the injunction against expounding upon the biblical passages relating forbidden sexual relations and the story of creation

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to R. Akiva. R. Yishmael dissented and only agreed with the limitations imposed on the discussion of the merkava.51 If this mishna is the product of R. Akiva’s academy, the same may hold true for the Tosefta.52 In light of other instances in which R. Eleazar ben Arach served as an ideal type in R. Akiva’s academy, I suggest that his inclusion in the ‘‘mystical collection’’ fulfills a similar purpose. According to this source, R. Eleazar ben Arach merited praise because he followed the warning in the mishna quoted in the Tosefta: ‘‘unless he was wise and understood on his own accord.’’ R. Eleazar ben Arach not only represents a sage who complies with the instructions of the Mishna, he is also a prime example of ‘‘wise and understood on his own accord.’’ If the image of the everflowing spring applied to R. Eleazar ben Arach symbolizes the capacity to draw Torah forth from within oneself, then he can be considered as the sage most qualified to discuss the merkava, because he meets the specified criterion as one who can draw the understanding from within. It is my conviction that the formulation of this passage is based on the image of R. Eleazar ben Arach as a self-renewing spring, hence he was chosen as the exemplar of ‘‘wise and understood on his own accord’’ in the school that held his ideal of learning to be the highest form. As suggested in the analysis of the ‘‘mystical collection,’’ mystical activity must be founded on legitimate exegetical activity, and it must involve the study of Torah without attempting to be visionary. Both R. Akiva and R. Eleazar ben Arach share the tendency to seek biblical grounding for rabbinic innovations. The particular combination of biblical grounding and internal creativity are well suited to the overall message of the ‘‘mystical collection.’’ R. Eleazar ben Arach is a hero of mystical activity precisely because his type of innovation is consistent with the primary focus that leads to mystical experience in R. Akiva’s academy: the biblical text. It can now be understood why R. Eliezer is not mentioned in the ‘‘mystical collection.’’ Even the parallel versions that attempt to include R. Yoḥanan ben Zakkai’s other students in the study of the merkava fail to mention him.53 If studying the merkava requires understanding that comes forth from within, this can hardly apply to R. Eliezer, who was portrayed as a transmitter rather than an innovator.54 The one best suited for such a role is R. Eliezer’s counterpart, R. Eleazar ben Arach. From the historical perspective, it is possible that R. Yehoshua was R. Akiva’s teacher, as recorded in the second unit of the ‘‘mystical collection,’’ but from the point of view of the intellec246 PART TWO: RABBI ELEAZAR BEN ARACH

tual ideal that was upheld in R. Akiva’s academy as the condition to study the merkava, R. Eleazar ben Arach is the ideal.

R. Eleazar ben Arach’s Place Among the Sages of Yavneh The story of consoling Rabban R. Yoḥanan ben Zakkai concludes with an additional distinction between R. Eleazar and his colleagues that is significant in reconstructing his biography: When they left his presence, Rabbi Eleazar said: ‘‘I shall go to ‘Dimsith,’ 55 a beautiful place with beautiful and delightful waters.’’ But they said: ‘‘We shall go to Yavneh, where there are scholars in abundance who love the Torah.’’ Because he went to Emmaus, a beautiful place with beautiful and delightful waters, his name was made least in the Torah. Because they went to Yavneh, where there are scholars in abundance who love the Torah, their names were magnified in the Torah.56 This passage may provide an important element in R. Eleazar ben Arach’s biography. Following the destruction of the Temple, the sage went to Emmaus. The purpose of this report is to explain why he did not achieve great fame. In fact, it explains why no sayings by R. Eleazar ben Arach, R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai’s most outstanding disciple, have reached us, and why he is not among the sages of Yavneh. The teachings of R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai were handed down via R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua. The absence of the other disciples is no surprise.57 However, because R. Eleazar ben Arach received so much praise and enjoyed unique status in R. Akiva’s academy, his literary absence must be accounted for. The source being discussed seeks to address the discrepancy between R. Eleazar ben Arach’s idealized status and the lack of any teachings in his name. This source, which I believe comes from R. Akiva’s academy, explains that R. Eleazar ben Arach broke away from the centers of Torah study of his own free will and therefore did not receive the appropriate recognition. The story does not level any criticism against him, nor does it diminish the quality of his teaching.58 It only provides an explanation for the surprising omission of his name from the sages of Yavneh. The value of the tradition that is embedded in this source must be determined. Clearly, the source is not unbiased, and it is tendentious and polemiSYMBOL AND REALITY 247

cal. Can the report of R. Eleazar ben Arach going to Emmaus be accepted as historically reliable? Obviously, a biased source might preserve the memory of a historical fact. However, the text is so clearly consistent with a given school’s ideals that the question arises whether these ideals also affect its reliability. R. Eleazar ben Arach is said to have gone to the waters of Emmaus. Might Emmaus have been chosen as R. Eleazar ben Arach’s destination because of his image as a source of water? The ‘‘everflowing spring’’ went to the delightful waters? 59 One cannot answer this question unequivocally. This is the meeting point between historical fact and legend.60 In any event, even if this source records a historical fact, it still cannot tell us anything about Eleazar’s motivation for going to Emmaus or about his teaching there.61

Rabbinic Criticism of the ‘‘Everflowing Spring’’ Before analyzing post-tannaitic references to R. Eleazar ben Arach, there is a mishna (Avot :) that is germane: R. Nehorai said: ‘‘Wander afar to a place of Torah; and say not that it will follow after thee or that thy companions will establish it in thy possession; and lean not upon thine own understanding.’’ Any reading of rabbinic sayings that sees them as referring to a specific sage or person is problematic.62 Nonetheless, a comparison of the traditions about R. Eleazar ben Arach, which have already been considered, to the mishna in the name of R. Nehorai will be illuminating. In this mishna, all the elements R. Nehorai mentions are foreign to R. Eleazar ben Arach, and the descriptions of him stress qualities that are contrary to this mishna. R. Nehorai advises removing oneself to a place of Torah, not to a place without Torah. By not going to such a place, one assumes that the Torah, or his comrades who study Torah, will pursue him. The final statement, ‘‘lean not on thine own understanding’’ (‘‘Be not wise in thine own eyes’’) can be taken as the antithesis of the sage who understands his own knowledge.63 The significance of these elements coming together in traditions relating to R. Eleazar ben Arach must be clarified. Is it mere coincidence, or were the traditions about R. Eleazar ben Arach adapted in light of this mishna, or does the mishna perhaps react to these traditions? 248 PART TWO: RABBI ELEAZAR BEN ARACH

Understanding R. Nehorai’s mishna in light of the stories told about R. Eleazar ben Arach presumes that one who removes himself to a place of Torah already possesses the Torah. Since R. Nehorai’s warning can be understood as encouraging Torah study and as an attempt to prevent geography from preventing it, I tend not to read the words as a reaction to stories already told about R. Eleazar.64 Nevertheless, it is precisely in this context that the Talmud discusses the words of R. Nehorai. Moreover, in order to make the criticism less harsh than might be implied in the mishna, R. Nehorai is identified with R. Eleazar ben Arach.65 Even if R. Nehorai did not have R. Eleazar ben Arach in mind, future generations criticized R. Eleazar on the basis of R. Nehorai’s words. Subsequent adaptations of the tradition about R. Eleazar range from those leveling criticism against him to those rallying to his defense by justifying the symbolic value attached to his name. Later sources clearly refer less to the real R. Eleazar ben Arach than to the interpretive method and intellectual approach he represents. These later traditions about R. Eleazar ben Arach should be understood in light of the different views on the ideal method of study: ‘‘Surely oppression turneth a wise man into a fool and causes the gift of the heart to be lost’’ (Eccles. :).66 R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai had five disciples, and as long as he lived they sat before him. When he died, they went to Yavneh. R. Eleazar b. Arach, however, joined his wife at Emmaus, a place of good water and beautiful aspect. He waited for them to come to him, but they did not come. Since they failed to do so, he wanted to go to them, but his wife did not let him. She said, ‘‘Who needs whom?’’ He answered, ‘‘They need me.’’ She said to him, ‘‘In the case of a water receptacle [another reading: bread] 67 and mice, who is accustomed to go to what he seeks? Do the mice go to the vessel or does the vessel come to the mice?’’ He listened to her and remained there until he forgot his learning. After a while, they came to him and asked, ‘‘Which should be eaten along with a relish, in a reclining position, wheat bread or barley bread?’’ But he was unable to answer. R. Eliezer and R. Jose explained ‘with a relish’: two articles of food combined together.’’ 68 This story has echoes of the story in Avot de Rabbi Natan, but this adaptation is much more extreme. The fact that R. Eleazar ben Arach went to SYMBOL AND REALITY 249

Emmaus is the single fact linking the two traditions. It is clear from this story that R. Eleazar ben Arach is R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai’s outstanding pupil, otherwise there would be no reason to expect his colleagues to come to him. The story says explicitly that they are in need of him. In light of R. Eleazar ben Arach’s initial greatness, the innovation in this story is the fate of his Torah. If there are no traditions in his name, it is not only because his name was demoted because he went to Emmaus; it is also due to the fact that he forgot his learning. The whole story revolves around this loss of learning. If there is blame, it is for his wife, to whom he goes at Emmaus, and who advises him not to return to his colleagues.69 This passage may have implications beyond what it says about the absence of traditions in R. Eleazar’s name—that is, the nature of the symbolic content associated with R. Eleazar individually and with the intellectual method of Torah study that he represents. This story is presented as a homily to the verse, ‘‘And causes the gift of the heart to be lost.’’ The ‘‘heart’’ motif that was present in the tannaitic sources resurfaces here. According to this presentation, R. Eleazar ben Arach possesses a ‘‘good heart,’’ in accordance with his own words in Mishna Avot, and this enables him to receive the Torah as a gift because of the power of his innovative interpretations.70 But bestowing this gift seems to be subject to one condition, and when he abandons his colleagues, his heart (the gift) is taken from him. When the heart is lost, the sage is left with nothing. The assumption is that one who relies on the heart (the gift) lacks the concrete tradition of the plastered cistern. Having lost his innovative power, he forgets his learning. This is the criticism of the approach of the everflowing spring. A close look at the story reveals additional important details. First, there are two versions of the dialogue between R. Eleazar b. Arach and his wife. The more easily interpreted version is the one in which R. Eleazar is the bread and the sages are the mice; this is echoed at the end of the story, where the one who is compared to bread cannot distinguish between wheat bread and barley bread, meaning that Eleazar has lost his identity and his knowledge. Comparing the sages to mice demonstrates his wife’s contempt for them; they are intended to eat the bread, but R. Eleazar has no bread to feed them. The advantage of this reading is that a single metaphor is used in both scenes. The changes within the metaphor reflect the transformation that takes place in R. Eleazar ben Arach’s learning. Despite the desire to preserve the narrative flow, it is the more difficult 250 PART TWO: RABBI ELEAZAR BEN ARACH

version, Qohelet Rabba, that preserves nuances that are crucial to understanding the story. ‫ חמת‬is the Hebrew name for Emmaus, which is the site of springs and baths; but ‫ חמת‬is also a small receptacle for water.71 The mice are supposed to drink R. Eleazar ben Arach’s water, but it is no longer from a flowing spring; at this point there is only a small amount of water in a tiny receptacle. Not only is R. Eleazar no longer compared to an everflowing spring, he is much smaller than the plastered cistern that also contains water. When the flow of water stops, this is what remains. The image of a receptacle of water as applied to R. Eleazar ben Arach may be intended to counter the contemptuous reference to the sages as mice, but the image of the mice also contains a hint of forgetting one’s learning. A tannaitic tradition states that one of the five things that cause learning to be forgotten is ‘‘eating what the mouse leaves behind.’’ 72 Similarly, the disciples of R. Eleazar ask him: ‘‘Why does a dog know its owner while a cat does not?’’ He answered them: ‘‘If he who eats something of that from which a mouse has eaten loses his memory, how much more so the animal which eats the mouse itself ?’’ 73 If R. Eleazar ben Arach is that from which ‘‘mice’’ are to eat, he will surely end up forgetting his own Torah.74 The dialogue between the sages and R. Eleazar ben Arach should also be understood in light of earlier sources: If a man entered a house afflicted with leprosy, bearing his garments on his shoulder and his sandals and rings in his hands, he and they forthwith become unclean; but if he was clothed with his garments and had his sandals on his feet and his rings on his hand, he forthwith becomes unclean but they remain clean, unless he stayed there time enough to eat a half-loaf of bread, wheaten bread and not barley bread, and while in a reclining position and eating the bread with a relish.75 R. Eleazar ben Arach is questioned about this mishna.76 The rabbis ask if the mishna referred to wheat bread or barley bread to define the necessary duration of time. R. Eleazar ben Arach cannot answer this question, which can only mean that he does not know an explicit mishna. His memory loss is not

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mere forgetfulness, but a total blank regarding the mishna itself. The correct answer is wheat bread. It has already been demonstrated that ‘‘Sinai’’ is preferable to the ‘‘uprooter of mountains’’ because ‘‘all need the merchant of wheat.’’ 77 The one who knows the mishna is the wheat merchant. R. Eleazar’s not knowing the answer means that he does not know the mishna. Metaphorically, he is not a wheat merchant. When the waters of the spring cease to flow, complete barrenness follows. The concluding statement contains a hint as to why he forgot his learning, which completes the adaptation of the story and may even be an integral part of it. This possibility is especially strong in the version comparing R. Eleazar to bread, but it can also be seen in the other version. The wheat bread is to be eaten with a relish, an addition to the bread. According to the first image, if R. Eleazar ben Arach is the bread, then the rabbis are the relish. Since he distanced himself from the sages, he could not fulfill the mishna demanding that the bread and relish be eaten together. Ultimately, he was left without bread, and he forgot the mishna that he knew. Even if the bread is not taken to represent R. Eleazar, which is a difficult way to read the text, the linguistic explanation that relish (‫ )לפתן‬is made of two foods combined together (‫ )לפותים‬has a similar meaning.78 The rabbis ask R. Eleazar ben Arach about eating bread eaten with a relish. When he does not know how to respond, it is clear that he has lost his connection with the rabbis. This is a complex and subtle literary unit that makes use of previous motifs, and a full understanding of it depends on an appreciation of its literary dimension. The degree of literary adaptation and wit in this source indicates an ideologically based adaptation rather than a historical text. The purpose of this text is to express the weakness of the everflowing spring. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the life of R. Eleazar ben Arach; he has only become the symbol of a certain approach that gave rise to the stories told of him. The main theme in this ideology-ridden story is how R. Eleazar ben Arach forgot his learning. In the course of this fictional presentation, however, the storyteller draws on ideas found in actual teachings of R. Eleazar ben Arach. The following saying is ascribed to R. Eleazar ben Arach in a tannaitic source: ‘‘ ‘In a book’ (Deut. :)—From here R. Eleazar ben Arach taught that eventually the Torah will be forgotten.’’ 79 In another tradition the following is ascribed to R. Eleazar ben Arach: ‘‘And let not a single thing of Torah be forgotten.’’ 80 252 PART TWO: RABBI ELEAZAR BEN ARACH

Concern with forgetting Torah seems to have engaged R. Eleazar ben Arach.81 As we have seen at various points throughout this study, later traditions invert teachings of earlier authorities and thereby construct new historical facts. The critique of R. Eleazar ben Arach’s method of Torah study resorts to this method. The negative outcome of his method of Torah study is that it leads to forgetting Torah—a source of anxiety for R. Eleazar himself.82 The information about R. Eleazar’s forgetting Torah is derived through the same process by which the fate of the sages who entered Pardes was established. Criticism of a certain spiritual activity is expressed by telling a negative tale about a sage that inverts one or more of his sayings. What the sage originally feared has befallen him, owing to his having taken a wrong spiritual path. Eleazar ben Arach forgets his Torah in the same way that Elisha ben Abuya cuts the shoots, which eventually is taken to refer to his becoming a sinner. In both cases the tale is shaped by ideological concerns and not by historical memory. There is an affinity between the story in Qohelet Rabba and the story the Talmud tells of R. Eleazar ben Arach: R. Eleazar b. Arak visited that place [Diumsath]. He was attracted to them, and [in consequence] his learning vanished. When he returned, he arose to read in the Scroll [of the Torah]. He wished to read, ‫[ החדש הזה לכם‬This month shall be unto you, etc.] [Instead of which] he read ‫[ החרש היה לבם‬Their hearts were silent]. But the scholars prayed for him and his learning returned. And it is thus that we learned, R. Nehorai said: ‘‘Be exiled to a place of Torah.’’ 83 This tradition differs from that in Qohelet Rabba on two points: R. Eleazar ben Arach’s stay in Diumsath was temporary, and he did not remain there until he died; and forgetting his learning was temporary, and at the end of the story his Torah returns to him.84 In spite of this important difference, both traditions present R. Eleazar ben Arach as being affected by the same problem. This, too, seems to be a parody on him, based on elements from tannaitic sources. The most blatant expression of his forgetting his knowledge is his inability to read a verse from the Bible aloud. It is not the oral law, the Mishna, that he forgets, but the very ability to read the alphabet, which is why he fails to read the verse correctly.85 It is clear that the misread verse was chosen carefully, as was also the mistake attributed to R. Eleazar ben Arach, SYMBOL AND REALITY 253

to convey the desired meaning.86 Like the homily in Qohelet Rabba about losing the heart that is a gift, this story also demonstrates that R. Eleazar ben Arach had lost his heart, ‘‘‫החרש היה לבם‬.’’ Of the good heart that R. Eleazar ben Arach drew upon, only deafness remained. Innovation (the new) is replaced by deafness (‫)חרש—חדש‬.87 Now that his heart is silenced, he can no longer innovate. The parody is therefore based on the recognition that the essence of this sage is linked to innovation, and it sets out to demonstrate the inherent danger. R. Eleazar ben Arach regains his knowledge when the sages plead for mercy on his behalf. This stage of the story seems to make conscious use of R. Nehorai’s saying, ‘‘that thy companions will establish it in thy possession’’—meaning, your friends have to uphold your learning by pleading for mercy. The author obviously understood R. Nehorai’s words as referring to R. Eleazar ben Arach personally, and went further to adapt the story about R. Eleazar ben Arach in light of R. Nehorai’s words.88 Although the two traditions, of Qohelet Rabba and the Bavli, are not related but are two completely different stories, they have a curious affinity. Both accounts are subtle literary compositions, which make use of plays on words and allusions to different parts of the tradition. In both, R. Eleazar ben Arach is said to have forgotten all his knowledge, and mention is made of his relations with his colleagues. The existence of two independent but parallel sources indicates the development of a description that was common in the amoraic period.89 This description reflects a contemporary intellectual interest in the methods of Torah study, and it only employs R. Eleazar ben Arach as a symbol.

In Praise of the Everflowing Spring If the descriptions of R. Eleazar ben Arach really reflect an intellectual debate, it can be expected that the other side of the debate also finds expression in the sources. Indeed, the continuation of the passage in the Bavli reads: And his name was not R. Nehorai but R. Neḥemia, whilst others state, his name was R. Eleazar b. Arach, and why was he called R. Nehorai? Because he enlightened [manhir] the eyes of the Sages in halakha.90

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The affinity between R. Nehorai and R. Eleazar ben Arach increases. How is this to be understood? One possibility is that R. Nehorai’s statement assumes autobiographical value. It is understood in light of a true event and expresses the wisdom that the sage acquired following that event.91 Of course, only the Bavli’s story is possible in this case, because it was adapted to R. Nehorai’s tradition. However, there is a second possibility for understanding the identification. Identifying R. Eleazar ben Arach with R. Nehorai proves how far removed later tradition is from the historical perspective.92 This approach amounts to a counterclaim against all the nonhistorical adaptations previously mentioned. The claim is that R. Eleazar ben Arach was a famous sage. If he was, why are there no traditions in his name? Because his traditions were handed down under another name, which expresses his relationship with other rabbis.93 This sage studied, transmitted traditions, and enlightened other sages. According to this reading, R. Nehorai’s teaching is evidence for the lack of authenticity of all the stories about R. Eleazar ben Arach. This technique of identifying figures is customary in the biblical exegesis of the sages.94 It is rarely applied to the world of the sages themselves. The need to defend R. Eleazar ben Arach and the method he represents is the catalyst for the use of this technique. The process of freely adapting stories relating to the sage is checked by this radical midrashic technique which takes the nonhistorical assumptions of the stories to new extremes. Being detached from historical fact paradoxically is helpful in returning to a more balanced perspective on R. Eleazar ben Arach. In later midrashim there are more moderate attempts to deal with the problem of R. Eleazar ben Arach’s forgetting his knowledge: ‘‘Take care with an elder who forgot his Torah,’’ R. Nehorai says: ‘‘This is R. Eleazar ben Arach, who forgot his Torah involuntarily, and Elijah returned it to him.’’ 95 In this late adaptation, R. Nehorai speaks of R. Eleazar ben Arach directly, but there is no mention of his forgetting his learning after going to a place with beautiful water. R. Eleazar ben Arach is now an old man who has forgotten his knowledge involuntarily, not because he had an appetite for worldly pleasures. Forgetting what was learned against one’s will is parallel to ‫תקפה עליו משנתו‬, his learning became too much for him, in Mishna

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Avot :. As opposed to forgetting of one’s free will or out of an appetite for worldly pleasures, there is also a phenomenon of forgetting against one’s will, perhaps as a consequence of studying Torah too much. The process of justification that began with blaming his wife reaches its ultimate expression in the statement that R. Eleazar ben Arach never even stopped his Torah study. Forgetting his knowledge of Torah becomes something that takes place within the academy, part of the framework of the study of Torah and of its very nature. Hence the reinstatement of his learning was accomplished by Elijah.96 Since the act of forgetting was against his will, Elijah returns it to him, even without his weeping, or the plea for mercy from the sages. At this late stage of the reworking of the story, the discussion centers on the personal fate of this sage. His symbolic status is not relevant in this context. One aggadic tradition about R. Eleazar ben Arach is not connected with the problem that has been discussed: ‘‘Whatever he does prospers’’ (Ps. :), that all require his counsel. Such a one was R. Eleazar ben Arach who provided counsel that proved successful and beneficial. They asked him: ‘‘Are you a prophet?’’ He replied: ‘‘I am not a prophet or the son of a prophet, but this I learned from my teachers: ‘every counsel that is for the sake of Heaven will be fulfilled.’ ’’ 97 In light of the scarcity of traditions in the name of R. Eleazar ben Arach, it may be claimed that his greatness is diverted to the field of counseling. Yet this source, too, seems to be influenced by the image of R. Eleazar ben Arach as an everflowing spring, and it is this image that created the present tradition. Psalms : reads: ‘‘He is like a tree planted beside streams of water, which yields its fruit in season, whose foliage never fades, and whatever it produces thrives.’’ Success belongs to one who is planted by streams of water. This leads to the comparison of success to the overflowing stream.98 Advice is compared to water: ‘‘The advice in a man’s heart is deep waters, but a man of understanding can draw them out’’ (Prov. :). In this verse, advice is related to waters, and is located in the heart. These are typical attributes of R. Eleazar ben Arach. An interesting comparison is to be found in the beraita Qinyan Torah : in telling the virtues of one who engages in the study of the Torah for its own sake: ‘‘From him people enjoy counsel and wisdom, 256 PART TWO: RABBI ELEAZAR BEN ARACH

understanding and strength. . . . The secrets of the Torah are revealed to him. He becomes like a steadily strengthening fountain, and like an unceasing river.’’ Providing counsel and becoming like a flowing fountain are joined together in what could be understood as a related process. Thus, the image of R. Eleazar ben Arach, giving advice, is not an alternative to the image of the Torah scholar; being portrayed as providing advice stems from his image as a source of water.99

R. Eleazar ben Arach: Historical Reality Still, after this survey of the manner in which R. Eleazar ben Arach’s image is influenced by ideological tendencies starting from tannaitic times, what is really known about him? It is difficult to isolate a historical core in all the legends. There is perhaps one fact that might be recognized as historical. While it is possible that he actually went to Emmaus, this source, too, is not devoid of an ideological agenda. There is another tradition that may help shed light on the historical facts of the fate of R. Eleazar ben Arach, which has the great advantage of being unintentional and devoid of an obvious intellectual agenda. In the course of a halakhic discussion on the status of a woman awaiting a levirate marriage, R. Yehoshua tells R. Akiva: ‘‘It is unfortunate that you were not around in the time of R. Eleazar b. Arach to give an answer of this sort!’’ 100 The author of Sefer Yoḥasin already inferred from this tradition that R. Eleazar ben Arach died before his colleagues.101 With the exception of the sayings of R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai, this is the only contemporary tradition about him. It could stand alongside the tradition describing his going to Emmaus. However, that would require assuming that while he was in Emmaus, R. Eleazar took part in the discussions of the sages, and only his death prevented him from continuing. There is no basis for this assumption. Therefore, I propose that we see R. Yehoshua’s remark as a tradition that preserves a highly significant historical fact about R. Eleazar ben Arach: he died before his colleagues, apparently at a young age. There is no way of knowing whether he died before, during, or after the rebellion. In any event, the fact that he did not participate in the discussions with the sages of Yavneh has absolutely SYMBOL AND REALITY 257

no ideological significance. After R. Eleazar was singled out in R. Akiva’s academy as the ideal of Torah study, it was necessary to justify his absence. The story of his going to Emmaus seems to have been invented at an advanced stage of the tradition, when there was no recollection of his death at an early age. There was an ideological need to explain that the absence of R. Eleazar ben Arach from the circle of the sages at Yavneh was due to distance. This tradition developed into sub-traditions, which drew on the words of R. Nehorai and told of how the sage forgot his learning. The different stages of the stories about him reflect ideological considerations. The true facts might be much simpler. So far as methodology is concerned, I have analyzed these traditions much in the same way that I analyzed the traditions concerning Elisha ben Abuya. Because the reports of the lives and happenings of the two sages are highly tendentious, to discover what might have been the historical reality of their lives requires finding the witness who is not engaged in the ideological discussion that reshapes the sage’s life story. The same two considerations that informed the investigation of Elisha ben Abuya also guide the assessment of the traditions concerning R. Eleazar ben Arach, and both lead to favoring the testimony of the incidental mention of R. Eleazar ben Arach in Tosefta Nedarim. The first is that this is a tannaitic source, which is probably also contemporary. More significantly, R. Eleazar is mentioned in passing, and the source is free of any ideology. As I have pointed out before, the testimony of the unintentional witness is preferable to a testimony that attempts to account for the fate of the sage. However, there is an important difference between the evolved biographies of R. Eleazar ben Arach and Elisha ben Abuya: I propose that the stories about R. Eleazar ben Arach began to circulate only after his premature death had been forgotten, whereas traditions about Elisha ben Abuya arose shortly after his own time. The fate of R. Eleazar ben Arach emerged as part of an ideological struggle that dealt with a particular question related to his life. In the case of Elisha ben Abuya, what is told about him is part of a literary creation, and it is only when this literary dimension is misunderstood that multiple reconfigurings of his life occur. Thus, the life story of the one sage is generated by a historical gap, while the story of the other is motivated by literary ambiguity.

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The Two Sages: Forms of Generating Rabbinic Memory In the most basic sense, the biographies of both Elisha ben Abuya and R. Eleazar ben Arach are similar. Both sages share a projected biography that imposes greater cultural concerns on their personal lives. Because of his identification with a particular form of learning, stories are told of R. Eleazar ben Arach, and because of his status as a Torah scholar, Elisha ben Abuya can serve as a testing ground for the limits of the Torah. Both sages share a certain loss of personal identity, as well as an identification with Torah as their ultimate form of personal identity. What makes this possible is that so little is known of either sage from the historical point of view. To sum up what I have found to be reliable historical information concerning R. Eleazar ben Arach: he lived, died, and interacted with other sages. Similarly, about Elisha ben Abuya, if the critical perspective is adopted, we know next to nothing. It is only through their deaths that both subjects become better known. There is a faint trace connecting Elisha’s death and calamity, but beyond this incidental contemporary source, there is little information that would help reconstruct his life. It was precisely this absence of historical information that led later traditions to use the figures of the two sages so creatively. Just as the midrash seeks to fill in the gaps left open in the biblical story, so, too, the rabbinic storytellers fill in the gaps in the knowledge of the lives of these virtually unknown sages. It might even be suggested that what impels the sources to present the rabbinic heroes in this form is the desire to give more information than could be found in the earlier tradition. The memory of both sages in rabbinic culture is the outcome of a formative literary passage. For R. Eleazar, it is the mishna in Avot that compares him to a flowing source. For Elisha, it is the Tosefta that tells of his cutting the plants. In both cases, what motivates tradition is not only the need to fill in the gaps in the historical knowledge but also the reference to formative rabbinic texts. A particular rabbinic dictum becomes the basis for the sage’s biography, either because of its inherent power, as in the case of R. Eleazar ben Arach, or because its enigmatic quality continues to fascinate rabbinic imagination, as in the case of Elisha ben Abuya. For both sages, the biographies grow out of base texts, which then continue to have an afterlife in the form of the biography of the sages. In a sense, the life stories of the two heroes are more the life stories of the relevant texts and the power they exercised SYMBOL AND REALITY 259

over rabbinic culture than the life stories of the actual sages. The historical person was displaced by the textual phrase that characterizes him and by his ideological association with Torah. His biography has thus become a hermeneutical biography. The ideological significance of both sages develops in different ways within the literature. I am not referring to the fact that R. Eleazar ben Arach is a hero, while Elisha ben Abuya is an antihero; from my perspective, the difference between the two sages is not as great as might be imagined. Since the most important characteristic of both is the relationship to the Torah, the gap between them is diminished. In the final analysis they are both good, because they are identified with Torah. As has been learned, the differences between good and evil are obliterated in light of the emergence of the greatest value of all, the Torah, as a value that is shared by both sages. What distinguishes the use of the figures of both sages is the degree to which their lives have become symbolic within rabbinic culture, though in different ways.102 The stories told of R. Eleazar quite clearly see him as a symbol, so powerful that references to him appear not only in the exegetical contexts in which previous traditions mention him, and where later tradition can amplify earlier notions, but also as a symbol that stands apart from previous context and exegesis. He stands at the heart of a debate concerning the value of a certain method of Torah learning. New stories continue to be told of him as an expression of this symbolic association. When the purpose of the rabbinic sources is to evaluate this method of Torah learning, the natural point of reference is R. Eleazar ben Arach. One cannot say that R. Eleazar ben Arach functions as a model for emulation. He is not explicitly presented as one who ought to be followed. The texts do not seem to have a pedagogical aim in presenting his unique features. Rather, the stories about him have an ideological purpose: he is a symbol that justifies rather than invites. Within rabbinic sources, Elisha ben Abuya functions in a manner both similar and different. As with R. Eleazar, he does not serve a pedagogically oriented discussion. His figure is not used to dissuade would-be sinners. There is no need for Elisha to teach that fornication, murder, or transgressing the Sabbath are undesirable. Unlike R. Eleazar ben Arach, however, Elisha ben Abuya is not a symbol within rabbinic culture: indeed, there is almost no mention of him in rabbinic sources.103 He functions as a symbol only within the very limited framework of the few sugyot that relate to him. 260 PART TWO: RABBI ELEAZAR BEN ARACH

Whereas R. Eleazar ben Arach has become identified with a problem that cuts across the literature, Elisha is mentioned only while expounding on a particular sugya. Only then does Elisha’s symbolic value come through.104 With the sole exception of Bavli Kiddushin, all rabbinic sources about Elisha are found in commentaries on the formative Pardes passage. His image does not carry over into other rabbinic passages. The sage who sins does not become a symbol for a possibility the sages need to struggle with. It is only in the particular sugya that he is used as a symbol. Thus, in Bavli Kiddushin, the image of Elisha is grafted onto classical issues of theodicy; similarly, in Bavli Ḥagiga, Elisha is associated with an ideological struggle over the relationship of Torah and mitzvot. However, though identifying Elisha with an ideological concern gives him a symbolic dimension, Elisha himself has not become a symbol, nor has he become identified with a theological problem. He does not even function as a symbol for sages who sin, or for the possibility that sages may be drawn into a sinful way of life. Rather, once it is established ‘‘historically’’ that Elisha was a sinner, he can be drawn into different sugyot to help thrash out their ideological concerns. In discussions of theodicy, for example, the figure of Elisha can be used as the raw material necessary for the sugya’s discussion, simply because he sinned. In the same way, in the sugya in Ḥagiga he becomes useful for ideological issues. In both cases, Elisha portrays a problem in a particular story, and from that story’s perspective, he serves as an example. However, he does not become a symbol within the culture. That Elisha remains a person and does not become equated with an issue may be demonstrated by the personal interest taken in him in the talmudic discussion. The talmudic sugyot maintain an interest in Elisha the person and do not refer to him only for his symbolic potential. They exhibit a concern for what happened to him, and for his fate in the afterlife. Even though it is a literary construction and not the real person that they relate to, the focus of their attention on Elisha remains personal. In the final analysis, for the rabbis, Elisha remains a human being. In contrast, R. Eleazar ben Arach interests the sages more for what he represents than for himself. He functions as a symbol because he represents a classical ideal. Elisha ben Abuya never attains such symbolic status, probably because he did not represent something worthwhile. The interest in him does not exceed the interest in accounting for what went wrong with one of the sages, and therefore it finds no echo in a wider ideological context.

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261

While the stories told of Elisha ben Abuya serve an ideological purpose, they owe a large part of their formation to the process of rabbinic hermeneutics. Had so many enigmatic elements not joined together around the Pardes episode, the story of Elisha could never have been told. Whereas the internal rabbinic careers of both sages stem from particular rabbinic utterances that relate to them, the history of these utterances differs one from the other. For R. Eleazar, the key utterance has shaped a symbol that functions within ideologically charged contexts; for Elisha, although the hermeneutical dimension is controlled by greater ideological concerns, it remains fixed in the confines of the particular sugya and in the interest in the personal life of the rabbinic hero.105 What is told of R. Eleazar ben Arach necessitates little hermeneutic effort because it is straightforward enough to allow for his symbolic career to flourish. On the other hand, because what is told of Elisha ben Abuya is enigmatic, it generates a wide range of interpretative positions that serve different ideological concerns. Both because of this variety and because of the hermeneutical dimension governing the reports of Elisha ben Abuya’s life, his story remains contained, both within the literary bounds of the sugyot and within the scope of interest in his personal life. The result of this analysis is that what is similar and what is different about the two sages is a product of the formative texts that address them. The identification of both sages with aspects of the Torah and the existence of key rabbinic texts that mention them allow for the evolution of stories that provide a face to the otherwise anonymous sages. Where the key text is transparent, the story of the sage is detached from its original literary context so that he can serve a broader ideological purpose and his image can function as a symbol. Where the formative statement is opaque, the stories told of the sage keep him tied to a limited literary context in what seems to be an ongoing effort to get at the man through the key texts that shape his memory.106

Biography and Interpretation: Understanding the Rabbinic Story The most interesting result of this study of the two sages is the role that hermeneutic activity plays in shaping the stories told of them. The ideological concerns of the stories cannot be related to as the sole element that governs

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their formation. These are intimately linked to the processes of interpretation, which are the backbone of the literary activity. It is through the act of interpreting previous traditions that these stories were formed. The intense interpretative activity that was discerned in the sources leads to certain reflections on the role of interpretation in rabbinic storytelling in general, and in the biographical tales in particular. From the perspective of centuries of believing readers, the discussion of the last several decades concerning the historical unreliability of rabbinic sources comes as an upheaval in consciousness. Classical readers, including a large portion of modern researchers with classical epistemological foundations, approach these texts with an eye to finding in them true historical reports of events that happened and words that were spoken. To be sure, the classical perspective always entertained a certain critical distance toward the sources. Thus, certain aggadic, miraculous, and legendary features of the literature have been suspect, from geonic times to modern research. However, the essential epistemological stance was one of implicit trust in the fundamental accuracy of rabbinic reports. The relatively recent claim that what was said in the texts may not have been said, and that what happened in the texts may not really have happened, threatens this fundamental trust. The claim that rabbinic sources serve rabbinic ideology, though accounting for the data, still does not account for the integrity and internal logic of the storytellers. What allowed them to be free to create their stories according to their ideological needs? 107 If I assume, as Fraenkel does, that the point of storytelling is to convey a religious outlook, and not necessarily to relay historically accurate information, I must still ask: What allowed the storytellers the liberty to cast the rabbinic figures in the light they wanted? Fraenkel and Neusner both point to the analogy of the treatment of biblical heroes in rabbinic literature.108 The implied argument is that, just as the rabbis had the liberty to cast biblical heroes in the image they desired, so were they free to give any desired form to rabbinic heroes. The analogy is perfectly valid, but it calls for further reflection. When the rabbis gave certain attributes to biblical heroes, they engaged in interpretation. Yet, the act of interpretation can be applied to a person or a situation as much as to a text. Rabbinic culture is a culture of interpretation. The grand cultural oeuvres are great tomes of interpretation. Whether the rabbis comment upon the Bible or the Mishna, their primary mode of intellectual and spiritual activity

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is interpretation. This being true, it seems reasonable that when dealing with contemporary figures, they should still be engaged in the act of interpretation. The cases of Elisha ben Abuya and R. Eleazar ben Arach are transparent in that they present base texts, and their interpretation generates stories about them. But it also seems that the type of activity found in the stories of these two rabbis is not limited to instances of the interpretation of specific texts. In a culture of interpretation, events are not included in a text in order to be narrated precisely. They are interpreted, and any historical fact is subject to interpretation. What interests the rabbis more than historical facts is the meaning for their religious lives, of facts, events, and personalities. The difficulty attendant on the study of history from rabbinic sources is not simply a consequence of the lack of historical consciousness; it is a consequence of a communal cultural consciousness of interpretation. The rabbis, as the interpreters of the raw material at their disposal—biblical verses, rabbinic dicta, lives, and events—saw everything they read in the light of their particular concerns, ideologies, and religious outlooks. It is through interpretation that the raw material was transformed into what had meaning for the rabbis.109 The novelty of rabbinic writing stands out in contradistinction to positivist modern methods of writing history. However, in recent literary, historiographical, and philosophical discussions, doubts have been cast on the possibility of writing an objective history, or an objective biography. Every writing of history entails a choice,110 and every writing of biography involves an act of interpretation.111 Reflections on the meaning of writing history have raised the category of interpretation as significant for understanding historical writing.112 The rabbis provide an excellent example of how history and biography are shaped in an interpretative culture. Without appreciating the fundamental role that interpretation plays in rabbinic culture, the root of the fundamental ahistoricity of rabbinic culture cannot be appreciated. Interpretation is the key to rabbinic culture, and therefore to its historiography, storytelling, and biography. The role of interpretation in the writing of biography may not be unique to the rabbis. At the end of her fascinating discussion of biography in late antiquity, Patricia Cox-Miller attempts to make sense of the activities of ancient biographers. This need stems from the gap between the writing of history and the writing of biography, a gap that was already conscious and well 264 PART TWO: RABBI ELEAZAR BEN ARACH

perceived in antiquity. In her conclusion, she describes the ancient biographers in terms of dreams: ‘‘A dream, we could say, names that realm of inner space, the interior geography of myth, where daemonic figures present themselves. It is here that fact and fantasy meet and intermingle, and it is this dreaming that the biographer ‘judges’ when he names the dream’s movements with images that give interpretative expression to the dialogue within the dreamer’’; thus, ‘‘A biography is the biographer’s interpretative judgment of his own dream.’’ 113 For the rabbis, interpretation encompasses texts, people, and ideas. A hero of a rabbinic biography is not dreamed, in the sense that Cox-Miller describes, because there are not complete biographies of rabbinic heroes. No rabbi exemplifies an ideal or a dream. Therefore, no exclusive attention is devoted to any rabbinic hero. Nonetheless, the activity of Roman and Christian biographers and the activity of rabbinic storytellers have this in common: the act of interpretation. Facts presented in the telling of a life are to be judged not for their historical accuracy but for their interpretative vitality, which is the most central activity of rabbinic culture.

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CONCLUSION: COLLECTIVE TORAH CULTURE AND INDIVIDUAL RABBINIC BIOGRAPHY

W   the study of rabbinic biography aware of the achievements of previous scholarship. The question we posed was whether dealing with marginal figures, like a rabbi who had become the ‘‘other,’’ might result in the emergence of a more personal profile. At the end of the journey, I am prepared to present not only my conclusions regarding the study of the biography of the sages examined but also the implications this study has on the religious world view of rabbinic culture. My findings with regard to rabbinic biography are similar to those reached in previous studies on the subject. We are unable to present a historically accurate life of either Elisha ben Abuya or R. Eleazar ben Arach. More significantly, very little can be said about either sage as a historical figure. We can only address the manner in which their memory has been shaped in rabbinic literature, because the image and memory of both sages are shaped by the concerns of the literature and of the collective culture. Writing a biography and telling stories do not serve as religious examples. Stories told of both sages do not fulfill a didactic purpose; they are not presented as examples to be imitated or avoided, nor do the stories fulfill the functions that stories might in the context of paideia, because they are not intended to provide either historically accurate information on a rabbinic hero or an example that calls for emulation. More significantly, the lives are not viewed as lives. Rather, they are anecdotes and story cycles built around particular themes. The significance of the memory of these rabbinic heroes

267

is to be found not in the story of their lives but in the ideonic context in which stories about them are narrated. The key to the role both sages play in these stories lies in the ideological dimension that shapes and governs the stories. The figures of the sages are presented in the context of working out ideological issues pertinent to the rabbinic world, creatively cast by storytellers and editors in accordance with individual ideological concerns. R. Eleazar ben Arach serves the discussion of differing methods of Torah study; Elisha ben Abuya expresses the sense of identity achieved through the mastery of Torah, both in relation to the sonship an Israelite enjoys and in the context of master-disciple relations. But none of these ideological issues is presented as instructional: the stories about Elisha ben Abuya are not told in order to illustrate that we must refrain from visiting harlots, killing children, or desecrating the Sabbath. They are told in the context of developing a broader ideological issue that is characteristic of the sages and their world view. If the ideological dimension controls these stories, I should like to offer a reflection as to why the shaping of lives of rabbis might take a particular direction, rather than the more expected direction of example and religious edification. Rabbinic literature primarily aims to teach religious behavior. It does so through the promulgation of halakha, religious law, which controls virtually all aspects of everyday life and establishes a norm of religious behavior. Therefore, teaching religious life and practice is accomplished by means of the dissemination of halakhic teaching. It may be superfluous to amplify the teachings given within the halakhic body by telling a story relating to rabbinic heroes. I obviously do not refer here to the ma’aseh, the precedent, based on the actions of rabbinic figures, which establishes a norm of behavior and then becomes part of halakha.1 Rather, I refer to stories of rabbis who illustrate commonly accepted norms of behavior. Given the prominence and centrality of the halakhic enterprise, such stories have a far less central role to play, than within traditions that are not centered around seminal legal works. This basic trait of rabbinic literature enables the stories of its heroes to assume a different nature. One of the controlling features of rabbinic culture is that the voice of the individual merges into the greater whole. In the Introduction, I suggested that no rabbi is sufficiently individualized to merit a biography, nor would the life of a sage be conceived as a life in which God expresses his presence to others. These points may be augmented in light of the preceding statement concerning halakha: if the 268 CONCLUSION

central cultural guiding force is the halakha, which is a communal effort, or more widely the Torah, then no individual life has a message worthy of standing on its own in the face of the greater collective concerns. No life can instruct beyond the collective pale. The force that shapes and gives meaning to lives is the Torah. However, in the stories we examined, it is not the Torah as a norm that gives meaning to the lives of sages; the meaning lies in the interpretation of the life of the sage as it is shaped by the Torah. If the stories told of rabbis and the records of their lives are not constructed to generate or reinforce the norm, we must seek their purpose. What emerges from this study is that the stories of both R. Eleazar ben Arach and Elisha ben Abuya should be seen as a form of working out ideological concerns that are central to rabbinic culture, primarily the Torah. R. Eleazar ben Arach is important as a type of Torah student, not in his individual life or even in the historical example he set in the study of the Torah, but as a reflection of a fundamental tension that lies at the heart of the rabbis’ most significant activity, Torah study. The point is even clearer with respect to Elisha ben Abuya: he is significant not because he ceased to study Torah, or continued to study Torah, but because through his person storytellers can work out fundamental issues that pertain to the significance of Torah in the world of the sages. Both the centrality of the Torah and details of the life of the beit midrash emerge from the different parts of this study. One theme that has been encountered repeatedly is the master-disciple relationship. The logic of the ‘‘mystical collection’’ was organized around this theme. R. Akiva’s successful entry into Pardes was grounded in his relations as a disciple, and the failure of the other three sages was rooted in their lack of such relations.2 The story of Elisha ben Abuya and R. Meir is a clear example of the master-disciple relationships in talmudic storytelling. This may be true of both versions of the story but particularly of the Yerushalmi, in which master-disciple relations are the central theme. There are other forms of relations associated with Torah study. Even though the story of R. Eleazar ben Arach mentioned his relations with R. Yoḥanan ben Zakkai, it did not make master-disciple relations its main point.3 However, in the course of telling about R. Eleazar ben Arach we encountered stories that concern relations between Torah students. Thus, it is fair to claim that the texts concentrate on Torah and themes related to its study, particularly, relations that accompany the study of Torah. This again leads us to reflect on the writers of these stories and their inCOLLECTIVE CULTURE AND INDIVIDUAL BIOGRAPHY 269

tended audiences. Had example and story served the straightforward purpose of educating and convincing through the force of example, it could be maintained that the rabbis tell their stories in order to spread their teachings. The natural audience for rabbinic writings may have been the general public, and the stories may have been an efficient means of education and indoctrination. However, once it is realized that the stories do not have a practical educational aim in mind but are, on the contrary, intended to present ideological concerns that are relevant to the status of the Torah, the audience becomes clear. Because the sources analyzed in this study share the centrality of Torah as an overriding ideology, one must recognize that they were created by and for Torah scholars and that they reflect the thoughts and ideology of a particular class of scholars, meant for internal dissemination. The works come from the beit midrash, the rabbinic study hall, and not from the beit knesset, the public house of assembly and prayer where all the people came together.4 There are no teachings or religious examples in the sources analyzed that could be seen as an attempt to spread a certain ideal to the public at large. Nothing indicates that these stories are related to an audience that lies beyond the beit midrash; the ideological struggles are rabbinic struggles, and they take place in the beit midrash. This helps emphasize that the purpose of these texts is not to educate in the conventional sense. They represent an ideological position that is intended to help certain ideological claims become accepted, but they are not popular means of disseminating rabbinic teachings. They are tough, calculated ideological presentations. Their combat is not over religious observance, but over the Torah, its place, and its application. This results in a clearer understanding of the type of religion learned about when rabbinic records are examined. We do not learn of individuals and their religious experience. These are absorbed in the collective process of Torah learning that constitutes the central religious value of a class of scholars who engage in its study. Before drawing conclusions about the type of Judaism that these records express, we must consider who composed them and for what purpose. Having traveled this far, I can suggest that they represent the Judaism of the beit midrash, within the confines of which Torah is the central controlling value that overshadows all aspects of religious reflection. A far-reaching expression of the primacy of the Torah is found in the attitude to individuality and identity that underlies the stories.5 These stories about the rabbis are told freely, with little concern for historical accuracy. 270 CONCLUSION

The figure of an individual rabbi enables the storytellers to make their ideological point, regardless of who the rabbi was or what he may have done. What is the self-understanding of such a literary practice? To a large extent, it is similar to the understanding of the midrashic authors, who employ biblical figures for their own ideological ends and construct them in their own image. As I have already suggested, what happens to inherited rabbinic tradition in the hands of the editors is similar to what the midrashic authors did to inherited biblical material. Biblical heroes receive particular traits in the midrash, traits that are often radically different from their biblical representation in that they express rabbinic attitudes, concerns, and ideologies. The same is true of the rabbinic recasting of rabbinic heroes: they are viewed in a transformed light, as rabbinic literature evolves. The proximity in time is no guarantee that the treatment a rabbinic figure receives within rabbinic tradition will be any different from the treatment that a biblical character receives from the same authors. When we assume that rabbinic stories should convey historical information and that the record of activities of rabbinic heroes should be reliable, we are projecting our own cultural standards on the authors. Because our culture values historical accuracy, we assume that temporal proximity equates with reliable reporting. But rabbinic culture does not share this concern: tradition exists in order to be recast, not in order to be honored for its authenticity. Expecting rabbinic reports to be historically reliable is equivalent to the peshat method of biblical interpretation. When looking at the rabbis, what we need to realize is that a substantial portion of their creation conforms to what is referred to as derash. The sense of philological and historical responsibility that informs certain hermeneutical methods is not paramount in rabbinic writings. Their hermeneutical sense is one that involves creativity in the handling of received tradition. It views interpretation as a creative act. Rabbinic authors do not hand tradition down, they constantly create it. The analogy to the midrashic treatment of biblical heroes also supplies a clue to understanding the sort of mind that engages in such creative manipulation. Midrashic authors exhibit great freedom in the treatment of their biblical subjects because, in a sense, they own them. The Bible is given to them to interpret. Because they view the Bible as a living teaching rather than as a document whose interpretation calls for a sense of historical accuracy, the rabbis can recast the biblical message in accordance with their own religious needs. Indeed, the rabbis are so identified with the Bible as to have

COLLECTIVE CULTURE AND INDIVIDUAL BIOGRAPHY

271

completely assimilated it for their own concerns. Because they ‘‘own’’ the Bible, and because its text and heroes are so much an essential part of their being, they can retell the Bible as part of their own world. I suggest that a similar process also accounts for the creative utilization of rabbinic figures in the process of rabbinic storytelling. I stated in the Introduction that one expression of the collective nature of rabbinic literature is that the life of the individual rabbi is sacrificed for the sake of the collective. The rabbi comes from within the collective enterprise that shapes his memory according to its ideological concerns. The collective describes what is to be told about an individual rabbi, because his memory is a part of the collective engagement in Torah and does not stand alone. For this reason, stories can be told about rabbis with full liberty and with little attention to their historical accuracy. Ultimately, the identity of the individual rabbi is determined not by his personal life and memory but by his association with the Torah. That the lives and memories of rabbis are significant for this association emerges from all parts of this study. R. Eleazar ben Arach is not treasured for his unique personality; he is remembered for a particular type of identification with the Torah, as a flowing source, which generates its own fictional biography. He is so united to a particular association of Torah that the stories told of his life cease to be his own life and become the life of the aspect of Torah study with which he is identified. Elisha ben Abuya’s story also ceases to be his own. It becomes the story of Torah tested to the limit. It is as Torah that he is viewed, and as Torah that he is saved. According to the storytellers, his identification with Torah supersedes his own personality and actions. He is Torah, and thrashing out the implications of this statement is the point of the stories told about him. The same emerges from the analysis of the Pardes passage. The end of the three students is disastrous because they ultimately enter it as individuals, lacking the protection of and, ultimately, identification with Torah. They are not protected by a Torah master who guides them, and their activity is not a part of Torah. R. Akiva is victorious not by virtue of his own greatness but by virtue of his identification with Torah. If we are unable to determine the truth about the rabbis’ personalities and lives but must see them only as expressions of a collective endeavor, whose teaching is it that we engage in when we study rabbinic works? Is the Judaism we study that of R. Akiva, R. Eleazar ben Arach, and Elisha ben Abuya? The preceding discussion suggests a negative answer to this ques272 CONCLUSION

tion. The startling conclusion is that we cannot identify whose Judaism we are studying, because this Judaism does not have a name. We can speak of editors and storytellers. But who are they? Whose theology are we engaged in when we refer to them? It is here that we touch the heart of rabbinic religion. It is an anonymous religion, where the most central heroes hide in the obscurity of editorial creativity. Whatever shape the religion is given by its named authorities, whatever R. Akiva may have contributed personally to the development of its tradition, is known only through the garb of the collective project, which is expressed in the anonymous screen covering rabbinic literature as a whole.6 I do not doubt that rabbinic religion was shaped by individuals, with great rabbinic figures among them. However, the ultimate hero of rabbinic culture is the Torah. Any rabbinic authority who is identified is significant because of his association with the Torah. The great anonymous portion of tradition, both in the process of transmission and in the process of editing, conveys the sense of the collective nature of the project of Torah study, in which the individual voice is lost in the sound of the Torah. Neusner may very well be correct in describing the rabbi as Torah incarnate.7 The individual teacher offers his life and memory to the collective that engages in the study of Torah. Therefore, what we know of our heroes hinges on their identification with Torah. We might go as far as to say that when we study the rabbinic texts, the religion we are studying is the religion of Torah. Perhaps this is the deep sense in which we cannot really speak in a significant way about rabbinic biography. It is not only that the life of the individual rabbi is not a unit of reflection and consideration. More profoundly, the individual rabbi only exists inasmuch as he is an expression of Torah. He lacks a personal biography. There is a particular religious dimension that finds expression through the literary and hermeneutical processes carried out by anonymous authors. In analyzing the nature of the creative processes that characterize this literature, I suggest that an appreciation of the nature of the creative process holds the key to a better understanding of its religious sense. To this end, let us first consider the image of tradition that emerges from the sources. Perhaps the most striking feature that we have encountered consistently, without ever consciously articulating it, is how ‘‘unreliable’’ tradition really is. If we entertained the notion that tradition was a process of faithfully transmitting received teachings, what this study has demonstrated is how different COLLECTIVE CULTURE AND INDIVIDUAL BIOGRAPHY 273

the actual workings of rabbinic literature are from such a notion of tradition. In fact, one might present the sense of tradition that is characteristic of the sources analyzed as a series of misunderstandings, if not distortions, of earlier traditions. Underlying the Pardes passage was the Yavnean tradition, which was recast, even if not misunderstood, in the Pardes passage. The story of the four who entered Pardes has certainly been misunderstood. What was initially a typological list that made no pretense to report the actual events of particular sages, was understood historically. This ostensibly historical report engendered speculation and interpretation that have a history of their own. Thus, the Yerushalmi, in commenting on the Pardes passage, developed the image of Elisha the child murderer. The Bavli, in elaborating on this tradition, created the story that took the sting out of the nasty report and cast Elisha in a situation designed to evoke compassion for him. The Bavli’s recreation set the stage for additional invention in what I call Yerushalmi II. Similarly, the traditions concerning R. Eleazar ben Arach all stem from a formative text, which engenders stories designed to tease out the meaning of Torah study with which he is identified. To a significant extent, the oral nature of tradition accounts for its great flexibility. What seem to be historical misunderstandings might actually be the outcome of the processes of oral transmission and interpretation. Consider the Pardes passage as a case in point. The author of the Tosefta was certainly well aware of the complex literary structure of the ‘‘mystical collection’’ and of its polyphonic use of different rabbinic literary genres. The ‘‘mystical collection’’ is a literary creation that should be appreciated in its entirety. We could appreciate it because we encountered it in written form and could study the relationship between its different components and uncover its structure. Both talmuds employed a different method of reading the Pardes passage, which was dissociated from its broader literary framework. Individual phrases were commented on. The interpretation of the smaller units yielded a type of historical information, incommensurate with the original character of the source. This type of reading applied to the source the reading conventions for talmudic literature, which comment on small literary units without attempting to uncover larger literary structures. In large measure, this reading method is due to the oral nature of the enterprise: it is far easier to comment on small passages that are preserved in oral form than it is to uncover their concealed literary structures. This type of reading seems suitable to the recording and interpretation of legal materials. 274 CONCLUSION

However, a passage like the ‘‘mystical collection’’ shows the limitations of this method. I suggest that at least some of the talmuds’ interpretations are not based on selectivity or intentional ignoring of the message as a whole; rather, the whole is simply not perceived in its entirety. Later readers do not perceive what was shaped by the earlier framers of the literature. Still, this does not account for all senses of dynamism within tradition. In other instances, the shaping of received tradition is a conscious act performed on earlier sources to suit a different understanding. The mitigating of the child-killing traditions associated with Elisha, or the development of the R. Eleazar ben Arach traditions, are good examples of conscious transformations of received materials. When earlier materials are not appreciated for their original statement, and when new statements replace older ones through interpretation, we encounter tradition in a very dynamic mode. Tradition is constantly creating and reconfiguring its heroes. Materials received earlier within the tradition are not treated as venerable sources whose integrity must be respected but instead become building blocks for the formulation of a new ideological framework. The received tradition either sets the problem, which the new stage of tradition attempts to solve, or provides the raw material for a new formulation of tradition that suits the ideological needs of later writers. In a constant movement of freely recasting the contents of tradition, it reshapes itself. But it does so with an eye to both the present and the future rather than to the past, to which it does not exhibit a sense of loyalty. This type of re-creation, typical of the rabbinic texts examined, finds conscious articulation in the idealization of R. Eleazar ben Arach. This sage, who is esteemed for being a flowing source, is an image of tradition moving forward and redefining itself. The inner workings of rabbinic tradition give concrete expression to a particular ideology of Torah study. What emerges from all the sources analyzed is the very sense of creativity that characterizes the ideal of Torah study that was associated with R. Eleazar ben Arach. If the sages individually belong to the greater collective of Torah, the movement of retelling the stories of their lives is an expression of the creation of Torah. It is here that we also discover the inner religious significance of this literature. In the final analysis, it is clear that in order to arrive at an understanding of the rabbinic sources we must enter into their hermeneutical and literary processes. In reading rabbinic traditions we retrace, re-create, and relive COLLECTIVE CULTURE AND INDIVIDUAL BIOGRAPHY 275

an intellectual path of transformation undertaken by the writers of this literature. The discovery of the inner movement of tradition’s self re-creation enables us to partake in a creative process that is at the heart of rabbinic religion. The individual storyteller and editor is engaged in a creative act, through which tradition is reborn and faces future challenges. This type of ideological manipulation of received tradition is part of a religious practice. It is as Torah that the traditions are studied, and it is because of the dynamic aspect of Torah that they can be recast. Therefore, the act of making tradition takes on a religious significance and should ultimately be viewed as part of the writers’ religious experience. Creating tradition anew is a form of becoming part of tradition while simultaneously identifying with it. This seems to be the essence of the deep logic underlying the anonymity of the authors and their ability to hide their personalities within the collective enterprise. The individual writer is not personally seeking his own emotional or intellectual fulfillment: he is joined in a collective process of creation, of making the Torah. This constitutes his key religious activity and forms a major component of his religious experience. The writer thus becomes Torah, in its dynamic and creative sense, which cuts across generations and comes to expression in a dynamic culture that is constantly re-creating its Torah. This identification with Torah is a selfeffacement that enables the identification of the rabbi, or the author, with Torah itself. The individual writer is anonymous not only because of the cultural conventions of writing but also because of the collective sense of authorship. I suggest the deeper meaning of the fact that we do not know the identity of the writers is that their religious mode was such that they, as personalities, ceased to exist. Their religious life was one of identification with Torah, to the degree that only their contribution within the framework of Torah is what counted. I obviously do not mean that rabbis lost their personalities, or that the tradition does not record interest in the particular details of the lives of its heroes. What I suggest is that when it comes to Torah, the individual is united with the greater whole. In this manner, tradition is reconfigured, its heroes are recast, and its authors still remain anonymous. What accounts for this process is that the primary religious expression does not lie in any particular details found in the literature; it lies in the process of the creation of the Torah itself.

276 CONCLUSION

APPENDIX: BAVLI ḤAGIGA I HEBREW TEXT AND VARIATIONS

A   all the Bavli’s manuscripts and early printed editions reveals great changes in the manuscript traditions in the Bavli’s story cycle concerning Elisha ben Abuya. The differences between the printed edition and the manuscript tradition are significant enough that the printed version cannot be used as the base text, even if it is emended by manuscript readings. Such a method would produce a hopelessly eclectic text that would mostly reflect my own tendencies rather than representing any particular manuscript tradition. My analysis of the readings of the various manuscripts in the sugya leads to the conclusion that there is not one single, definitive text of the sugya on which to base this discussion.1 Moreover, the choice of a particular manuscript involves a stemmatic analysis of the manuscript traditions. The following tentative results emerge from such an analysis.2 Manuscripts Munich  and Vatican  often share readings that are unique to them and single them out as a particular branch. The Geniza fragment Cambridge TS F(). has readings that are similar to both these manuscripts and therefore should be viewed as part of this branch; I refer to this as manuscript family Branch A. All other manuscripts belong to another branch, which I call Branch B. Most printed versions are based on this branch. The manuscripts that constitute this family are Munich , Oxford , London (British Museum) , Göttingen , and Vatican . Also included as readings for this second branch are a fragment from the Graf of Pappenheim’s library, no. , manuscripts Parma  and Vatican  of Haggadot Hatalmud, the first version of Ein 277

Ya’akov, Constantinople , and the Guadalajara  printed version of the talmud. The division between the branches is not absolute and there are often shared readings between manuscripts of different branches. There are several instances in which, for example, the London manuscript or Vatican  concurs with Branch A manuscripts.3 There are no pure Branch B manuscripts. Because of the mutual influence between the branches and because, also, no single manuscript can be preferred unequivocally, I have chosen Munich  as my base text. This is one of the older and better manuscripts of Branch B.4 However, I have not attempted to reproduce the manuscript in its entirety, including errors. Where its readings seem inferior to other Branch B manuscripts, I emended the readings. Munich  is thus the basis for what might be termed an eclectic version of Branch B manuscripts. In all instances of deviation from its readings, I footnoted my changes and noted both the reading of Munich  and the authority for the alternative reading. I have listed textual variants from the two branches separately. I have noted only those changes that might affect the understanding of the text and my discussion. I want to make it clear that I have not undertaken a scientific edition of the text.5 I am interested in producing a working text that is faithful to the manuscript tradition, rather than a definitive version of the text itself.6 Therefore, I only recorded changes that may be significant for the interpretation of the text, and to my discussion.7 The following are the sigla used to mark the various manuscripts: A—Munich . V—Vatican . O—Oxford . L—London . C— Göttingen . M—Munich . R—Vatican . G—Geniza fragment Cambridge, T.S. F(). . G—Geniza fragment, Oxford ,. G—Geniza fragment, Cambridge T-S , . P—Pappenheim . H—Haggadot Hatalmud, Parma  (). I—Haggadot Hatalmud, Vatican . E—Ein Ya’akov, Salonika, . S—Spanish print, Guadalajara, . D—printed edition, Pesaro, . D—printed edition, Venice . The textual variations are recorded in Hebrew. Their English equivalents have been made available as the discussion occasioned. I present the textual variants in two separate apparati, each of which reflects another textual branch of the Bavli. The first apparatus, signaled by lower-case letters, represents Branch A readings; the second, using upper-case letters, represents Branch B. Discussions of the textual variants, as well as textual witnesses beyond the manuscripts, are appended in arabic-numbered footnotes to the Hebrew text. 278 APPENDIX

‫בבלי חגיגה טו ‪,‬א—טו ‪,‬ב‬ ‫אחר קצץ בנטיעות‪ ,‬ועליו הכתוב אומר אל תתן את פיך לחטיא את בשרך ואל תאמר לפני המלאך כי‬ ‫שגגה היא למה יקצף הא—להים על קולך וחבל את מעשה ידיך‪.‬‬ ‫מאי חזא? חזא מטטרון דאיתיהיבא ליה רשותא חדא שעתא ביומא למיתב ומיכתב זכוותא דישדאל‪.‬‬ ‫‪1a‬‬

‫אמר גמירי דלמעלה לא עמידה ‪ 2A‬ולא ישיבה‪ ,‬לא קנאה ולא תחרות‪ ,‬ולא עורף ולא עיפוי‪ .‬שמא חס‬ ‫ושלום שתי רשויות יש? אפקוה למטטרון מחיוה שיתין פולסי דנורא‪ B.‬איתיהיבא ליה רשותא‬ ‫למיקלינהי ‪ Cb‬לזכוותא דאחר‪ D.‬יצתה בת קול ‪ c‬ואמרה שובו בנים שובבים חוץ מאחר‪ E.‬אמר‪ :‬הואיל‬ ‫ואיטריד ליה ההוא גברא מאידך עלמא‪ F,‬ניפוק ‪ G‬וניתהני בהאי עלמא‪ d.‬נפק‪ 3‬לתרבות רעה‪.‬‬ ‫‪ .a‬חדא שעתא ביומא למיתב ‪ :M‬חסר‪ :G .‬תלת שעות‪. . .‬‬ ‫‪ .b‬למיקלינהי ‪ :MR‬למעקר‪ :G ,‬למקלע‪.‬‬ ‫‪ .c‬יצתה בת קול‪ :MR ,‬נוסף‪ :‬מאחורי הפרגוד‪.‬‬ ‫‪ .d‬הואיל ואיטריד ליה ההוא גברא וכו' ניפוק וניתהני ‪ :MR‬הואיל )השתא הואיל—‪ (R‬ולית ליה‬ ‫תקנה‪ ,‬ליזיל וליתהני‪.‬‬ ‫‪ .A‬לא עמידה ‪ LVD‬ליתא‪.‬‬

‫‪I‬‬

‫‪I‬‬

‫‪ .B‬שיתין פולסי דנורא ‪ ,V G D‬נוסף‪ :‬אמרי ליה מאי טעמא כי חזײתיה ולא קיימתיה מקמיה‪.‬‬ ‫‪ .C‬למיקלינהי ‪ D D I‬למימחק‪.‬‬ ‫‪ .D‬לזכוואתא דאחר ‪ G‬לזכואתא דאחור‪.‬‬ ‫‪ .E‬חוץ מאחר ‪ ,OEHIS‬נוסף‪ :‬שידע כבודי ומרד בי; ‪ G‬שיצא לתרבות רעה‪.‬‬ ‫‪ .F‬מאידך עלמא ‪ OLVEHISD .AC‬מההוא עלמא‪.‬‬ ‫‪ .G‬ניפוק ‪ OHI‬ליתא‪ L ,‬ליזיל‪.‬‬

‫‪. This reading is also echoed in Arugat Habosem, ed. Ephraim E. Urbach (Jerusalem,‬‬ ‫‪), : .‬‬ ‫‪. The reading is also confirmed by Perek Ma’asim, , M. Higger, Masechtot Zeirot‬‬ ‫‪(New York, ), p. .‬‬ ‫‪. All other witnesses, including M, which belongs to‬יצא לתרבות רעה ‪. A reads here‬‬ ‫רעה ‪. The only exception is V, which reads:‬נפק אחר לתרבות רעה ‪Branch A manuscripts, read:‬‬ ‫‪. A’s reading has been adjusted according to all the other witnesses. In addi‬נפק לתרבות‬‫‪ is also typical of‬נ‪.‬פ‪.‬ק ‪tion to keeping to the consistent use of Aramaic, the use of the verb‬‬ ‫‪this story.‬‬

‫‪APPENDIX 279‬‬

‫אשכח ‪ 4‬זוכה ‪ 5H‬תבעה‪ .‬אמרה ליה‪:‬לאו אלישע בן אבויה את‪ ,‬ששמך יצא בכל העולם ‪ Ie‬כולו? עקר פוגלא‬ ‫ממישרא‪ Jf,‬ויהב לה‪ .‬אמרה‪ :‬אחר הוא‪.‬‬

‫‪Kg‬‬

‫שאל אחר את ר' מאיר לאחר שיצא לתרבות רעה‪ ,‬מאי דכתיב גם את זה לעומת זה עשה האלקים? אמר‬ ‫ליה‪ :‬כל שברא הקב"ה—ברא כנגדו‪ .‬ברא הרים—ברא גבעות‪ .‬ברא ימים—ברא נהרות‪ .‬אמר לו‪:‬‬ ‫עקיבא רבך לא כך אמר‪ ,‬אלא‪ :‬ברא צדיקים—ברא רשעים‪ .‬ברא גן עדן—ברא גיהנם‪ .‬כל אחד ואחד יש‬ ‫לו שני חלקים‪ ,‬אחד בגן עדן ואחד בגיהנם‪ .‬זכה צדיק—נטל חלקו וחלק חברו בגן עדן‪ .‬נתחײב רשע—‬ ‫נטל חלקו וחלק חברו בגיהנם‪.‬‬ ‫אמר רב משרשיא מאי קראה‪ ,‬לכן בארצם משנה ײרשו‪ ,‬וכת' ומשנה שברון שברם‪.‬‬ ‫שאל אחר את ר' מאיר לאחר שיצא לתרבות רעה‪ ,‬מאי דכתיב לא יערכנה זהב וזכוכית ותמורתה כלי‬ ‫פז? אמר לו‪ :‬אלו דברי תורה שקשין לקנותן ככלי זהב וככלי פז‪ ,‬ונוחין לאבדן ככלי זכוכית‪ ,‬הא—להים‬ ‫‪ .e‬ששמך יצא בכל העולם שהלך שמך מסוף ]העולם[ ‪G‬‬ ‫‪ .f‬פוגלא ממישרא פוגלא מארעא ‪ ;M‬פוגלא בשבתא ‪.R‬‬ ‫‪ .g‬אמרה אחר הוא ליתא ‪ .M‬אמרה ליה אחר אתה ‪.R‬‬ ‫‪ .H‬אשכח זונה אזל אשכח זונה ‪ ;OCI‬נפק אשכח זונה ‪(OCLAPHI)D‬‬ ‫‪ .I‬ששמך יצא בכל העולם ‪ ;(LPI) CL‬בכל הארץ ‪ ;ES‬מסוף העולם ועד סופו ‪ ;(H) OVI‬ליתא‬ ‫‪.(OCA)D‬‬ ‫‪ .J‬פוגלא ממישרא ‪ ;(O) L‬פוגלא בשבתא )‪ ;(AC‬פוגלא ממישרא בשבתא ‪ ,CVESD‬וכן הוגה בין‬ ‫השיטין ב‪.(LPHI) L‬‬ ‫‪ .K‬אחר הוא ‪ ;(PI) OCLES‬אמרה ליה אחר אתה ‪.(OCLAH) V‬‬

‫‪. As noted in the discussion of this passage, in certain manuscripts it appears in two‬‬ ‫‪different places in the story cycle. In recording manuscript changes, I referred to manu‬‬‫‪script changes found in the second location within parenthesis.‬‬ ‫‪, which is crossed out, and‬לההיא איתתא ‪. In L, which is the base text in this episode,‬‬ ‫‪. L’s reading is unique both among the versions that report the‬זונה ‪written by a later hand:‬‬ ‫‪ may be designed to‬ההיא אתתא ‪harlot incident here and among those that report it later.‬‬ ‫‪ may be designed to contrast‬ההיא אתתא ‪avoid express mention of the harlot. Alternatively,‬‬ ‫‪, Aḥer himself, in the previous line of the story. In the second harlot story,‬ההוא גברא ‪with‬‬ ‫‪, but it is‬זונה ‪ with‬ההיא אתתא ‪. This reading may be an amalgamation of‬לההיא זונה ‪IP read‬‬ ‫‪.‬ההוא זונה ‪more likely that it is an echo of Branch A manuscripts’ reading:‬‬

‫‪280 APPENDIX‬‬

‫אפילו ככלי חרס‪ Lh.‬אמר לו‪ :‬עקיבא רבך‪ Mi‬לא כך אמר אלא‪ ,‬מה כלי זכוכית‪ ,‬אף על פי שנשבר יש לו‬ ‫תקנה‪ ,‬אף תלמיד חכם אף על פי שסרח יש לו תקנה‪ .‬אמר לו‪ :‬אף אתה חזור בך‪ .‬אמר לו‪ :‬כבר שמעתי‬ ‫מאחרי חפרגוד‪ 6‬שובו בנים שובבים חוץ מאחר‪.‬‬ ‫תנו רבנן מעשה באחר שהיה רוכב על הסוס בשבת‪ ,‬והיה ר' מאיר מהלך אחריו ללמוד תורה מפיו‪ .‬אמר‬ ‫לו‪ :‬מאיר חזור לאחורך‪ Nj,‬ששיערתי בעיקבי סוסי עד כאן תחום השבת‪ .‬אמר לו‪7‬ואף אתה חזור בך‪.‬‬ ‫אמר לו‪ :‬כבר שמעתי מאחרי הפרגוד ‪ 8‬שובו בנים שובבים חוץ מאחר‪.‬‬ ‫תקפיה ועייליה לבי מדרשא‪ .‬אמר ליה לינוקא פסוק לי פסוקיך‪ k.‬אמר ליה‪ :‬אין שלום אמר ה' לרשעים‪.‬‬ ‫עײליה לבי כנישתא אחריתי‪ .‬אמר ליה‪ :‬כי אם תכבסי בנתר ותרבי לך בורית נכתם עונך לפני‪ ,‬נאם ה'‬ ‫צבאות‪ .‬עײליה לבי כנישתא אחריתי‪ ,‬אמר ליה‪ :‬ואת שדוד מה תעשי כי תלבשי שני כי תעדי עדי זהב‬ ‫כי תקרעי בפוך עיניך לשוא תתיפי‪ ,‬מאסו בך עגבים נפשך יבקשו‪ .‬עײליה לתליסר כנישאתא‪ ,‬פסקו‬ ‫ליה כי האי גונא‪ .‬ינוקא דסוף תליסר אמר ליה‪ :‬ולרשע אמר א—להים מה לך לספר חקי‪ ,‬ותשא בריתי‬ ‫‪ .h‬הא—להים אפילו ככלי חרס אמר לו האלקים אפי' ככלי חרס שאין בהן ממש ‪.MR‬‬ ‫‪ .i‬אמר לו עקיבא רבך אלא עקיבא רבך ‪.M‬‬ ‫‪ .j‬אמר לו מאיר חזור לאחורך כיון שהגיע לתחום שבת אמר לו וכו' ‪.MRG‬‬ ‫‪ .k‬אמר ליה לינוקא פסוק לי פסוקיך שמעיה לההוא ינוקא דקרי ‪.MRG‬‬ ‫‪ .L‬הא—להים אפילו ככלי חרס ‪ :AOC‬אמר לו הא—להים אפילו ככלי חרס ‪ ;LEHS‬בתוספת‪ :‬שאין בהן‬ ‫ממש ‪.V‬‬ ‫‪ .M‬אמר לו עקיבא רבך אבל עקיבא רבך ‪.ES‬‬ ‫‪ .N‬אמר לו מאיר חזור לאחורך כיון שהגיע לתחום שבת אמר לו וכו' ‪.VES‬‬

‫‪, from a heavenly voice, in‬מבת קול ‪. I have deviated here from A’s reading. AV read‬‬‫‪, behind the veil, found in all other witnesses, in both families. The‬מאחרי הפרגוד ‪stead of‬‬ ‫‪mention of the heavenly voice is designed to relate this story to the issuing of the heav‬‬‫‪enly voice in the opening scene of the story cycle. Branch A manuscripts achieve the‬‬ ‫‪ to the story of what the heavenly voice‬מאחורי הפרגוד ‪same result by adding the words‬‬ ‫‪says. Both Branch A’s reading in the former context and manuscripts AV’s reading in the‬‬ ‫‪present context are designed to harmonize the different parts of the story. The reference‬‬ ‫‪, as AV would suggest, is probably one more‬בת קול ‪ here, rather than to a‬מאחרי הפרגוד ‪to‬‬ ‫‪way of punning on Elisha’s sobriquet.‬‬ ‫‪. These last two words are lacking in ACD. I have completed them following the tes‬‬‫‪timony of all other manuscripts. Though the meaning of the text is not changed, the text‬‬ ‫‪does read more smoothly.‬‬ ‫‪. The textual witnesses here are identical to those of the previous mention of the term,‬‬ ‫‪several lines above.‬‬

‫‪281‬‬

‫‪APPENDIX‬‬

‫עלי פיך‪ .‬ההוא ינוקא מגמגם בלישניה הוה‪ .‬אישתמע ליה כמאן דקאמר‪ 1‬ולאלישע אמר א—להים‪ .‬שקל‬ ‫סכינא קרעיה לתליסר קירעי ושדריה לתליסרי בי מדרשי‪ .‬איכא דאמרי אמר ליה‪ Om:‬אי הואי סכינא‬ ‫בידאי‪ ,‬קרעתיה‪.‬‬ ‫כי נח נפשיה אמרי‪ P‬לא מידן נידיניה‪ Qn,‬ולא לעלמא דאתי נתייה‪ Ro.‬לא מידן נידיניה‪ Sp‬דגרס‬

‫‪Tq‬‬

‫באוריתא טובא‪ ,‬ולא לעלמא דאתי נתייה‪ Ur‬משום דחטא‪ .‬אמר ר' מאיר‪ :‬מתי אמות ואעלה עשן מקברו‪.‬‬ ‫כי נח נפשיה דר' מאיר סליק קוטרא מקיבריה דאחר‪ .‬אמר ר' יוחנן‪ :‬גברותא למיקלא בנורא רביה‪ .‬חד‬ ‫הוה בן ולא מצינן לאצוליה‪ .‬אי אינקטיה ביד מאן מרמי ליה מין‪ .‬אמר ר' יוחנן‪ :‬מתי אמות ואכבה עשן‬ ‫מקברו‪ .‬כי נח נפשיה דר' יוחנן פסק קוטרא מקיבריה דאחר‪ .‬פתח עליה ההוא ספדנא‪ :‬אפילו שומר‬ ‫הפתח לא עמד לפניך רבינו‪.‬‬ ‫ברתיה דאחר אתאי לקמיה דרבי‪ .‬אמרה ליה‪ :‬רבי פרנסני‪ .‬אמר לה‪ :‬בתי‪ ,‬בת מי את? אמרה ליה‪ :‬ברתיה‬ ‫דאחר אנא‪ .‬אמר‪ :‬עדין יש מזרעו בעולם‪ ,‬לא נין לו ‪ Vs‬ולא נכד בעמו‪ ,‬ואין שריד במגוריו‪ W.‬אמרה לו‪:‬‬ ‫‪ .l‬אישתמע ליה כמאן חסר ‪.MRG‬‬ ‫‪ .m‬איכא דאמרי אמר ליה וכו' חסר ‪ ;M‬נוסף—לתליסר קירעי ופלגתך לתליסר בי מדרשא ‪ ,R‬ב ‪G‬‬ ‫מקוטע‪.‬‬ ‫‪ .n‬מידן נידיניה לידון לידײניה ‪ .R‬חסר ‪.M‬‬ ‫‪ .o‬נתײה לײתיה ‪ .R‬חסר ‪ ,M‬יתי ‪.G‬‬ ‫‪ .p‬מידן נידיניה לידון דײניה ‪ ,R‬לידן לידײניה ‪ ,M‬מידן דינה ‪.G‬‬ ‫‪ .q‬דגרס דעסק ‪ ;M‬דאיעסק ‪.R‬‬ ‫‪ .r‬לעלמא דאתי נתײה ליתי ‪ ,M‬לײתיה ‪.R‬‬ ‫‪ .s‬לא נין לו נוסף—והכתיב ‪) M, R‬בגליון(; והלא כת' ‪.G‬‬ ‫‪ .O‬איכא דאמרי אמר ליה וכו' נוסף—לתליסר קירעי )ליתא ב‪ (O‬ושדרתיך )שדרתיה ‪ (V‬לתליסר בי‬ ‫מדרשי ‪.OVH‬‬ ‫‪ .P‬אמרי ‪ I‬שמעי למלאכי דהוו אמרי ‪ ;O‬שמעי דקאמרי ‪ ;V‬שמע דקא אמרי ‪.I‬‬ ‫‪ .Q‬נידיניה ‪ ;AOCHI I‬לידײניה ‪.LPES‬‬ ‫‪ .R‬נתײה ‪ ;AOHI I‬ליתיה—ליתײה ‪.CLPES‬‬ ‫‪ .S‬מידן נידיניה ‪ ;ACVHI‬לידײניה ‪.LPES‬‬ ‫‪ .T‬דגרס דגמר ‪ ,LI‬דעסק ‪.ES‬‬ ‫‪ .U‬לעלמא דאתי נתײה ‪ ;A‬ליתי—ליתײה ‪ ;CLPSEHI‬חסר ‪.OV‬‬ ‫‪ .V‬לא נין לו נוסף—והכתיב ‪.OEIS‬‬ ‫‪ .W‬ואין שריד במגוריו חסר ‪.OLVEHS‬‬ ‫רבי‪ ,‬זכור תורתו ואל תזכור מעשיו‪ .‬באה אש וסיבבה ספסלו של רבי‪ Xt.‬בכה רבי ואמר‪ :‬ומה למיתגנין‬ ‫בה כך‪ ,‬למשתבחין בה על אחת כמה וכמה‪.‬‬ ‫ור' מאיר היכי גמר תורה מפומיה דאחר‪ ,‬והאמר רבה בר בר חנה אמר ר' יוחנן‪ ,‬מאי דכתיב כי שפתי‬ ‫כהן ישמרו דעת ותורה יבקשו מפיהו‪ ,‬כי מלאך ה' צבאות הוא‪ ,‬אם דומה הרב למלאך ה' צבאות יבקשו‬

‫‪282 APPENDIX‬‬

‫תורה מפיהו‪ ,‬ואם לאו אל יבקשו תורה מפיו? אמר ריש לקיש‪ :‬ר' מאיר קרא אשכח ודרש‪ ,‬דכתיב הט‬ ‫אזנך ושמע דברי חכמים‪ ,‬ולבך תשית לדעתי‪ .‬לדעתם לא נאמר אלא לדעתי‪ .‬ר' חנינא אמר מהכא‪,‬‬ ‫שמעי בת וראי והטי אזנך ושכחי עמך ובית אביך‪ .‬קשו קראי אהדדי‪ .‬לא קשיא—הא בגדול הא בקטן‪.‬‬ ‫כי אתא רב דימי אמר‪ :‬אמרי במערבא אכול‪ 9‬תוחלא ושדי שיחלא לבר‪ .‬דרש רבא‪ ,‬מאי דכתיב אל גנת‬ ‫אגוז ירדתי לראות באבי הנחל—למה נמשלו דברי תורה באגוז‪ ,‬לומר לך מה אגוז זה אף על פי‬ ‫שמלוכלך בטיט ובצואה אין מה שבתוכו נמאס‪ ,‬אף תלמיד חכמים אף על פי שסרח אין תורתו נמאסת‪.‬‬ ‫אשכחיב רבה בר רב שילא לאליהו‪ ,‬אמר ליה‪ :‬מאי קא עביד קודשא בריך הוא? אמר ליה‪ :‬קאמר‬ ‫שמעתא מפומא דכולהו רבנן‪ ,‬ומפומיה דר' מאיר לא קאמר‪—u.‬אמאי?—משום דגמר שמעתא מפומיה‬ ‫דאחר‪ .‬אמר ליה‪ :‬ומאי נפקא ליה מינה‪ ,‬ר' מאיר רמון מצא‪ ,‬תוכו אכל קליפתו זרק?—השתא דקאמרת‬ ‫קאמר‪ .‬מאי קאמר? מאיר בני אומר‪ :‬בזמן שאדם מצטער בת קול‪ Yv‬מה לשון אומרת—קלני מראשי קלני‬ ‫מזרועי‪ .‬אם כך אמר הכתוב ‪ Zw‬מצטערני ‪ AAx‬על דמן של רשעים‪ ABy,‬קל וחומר על דמן של צדיקים‬ ‫שנשפך‪.‬‬ ‫‪ .t‬באה אש וסיבבה ספסלו של רבי ירדה אש מן השמים ובקש לשרוף את ר' ‪ ;M‬באותה שעה חזא ר'‬ ‫עמודא דנורא ‪.R‬‬ ‫‪ .u‬קאמר שמעתא—לא קאמר גריס שמעתא—לא גריס ‪.MR‬‬ ‫‪ .v‬בת קול שכינה ‪ ;MR‬חסר—‪.G‬‬ ‫‪ .w‬אמר הכתוב חסר—‪.MR‬‬ ‫‪ .x‬מצטערני מצטער אני ‪ ;MG‬מצטער ‪.R‬‬ ‫‪ .y‬דמן של רשעים נוסף—שנשפך ‪.MR‬‬ ‫‪ .X‬באה אש וסיבבה ספסלו של רבי ירדה אש מן השמים וביקשה לשרוף את ר' ‪ ;CLS‬ירדה אש מן‬ ‫השמים וסבבה ספסלו של ר' ‪ ;OEID‬והיבהיבה ספסלו ‪ ;V‬וסכסכה ספסלו ‪.D‬‬ ‫‪ .Y‬בת קול ‪ .A‬שכינה ‪ ;CLPEHS‬חסר—‪.OVG‬‬ ‫‪ .Z‬אמר הכתוב ‪ ;G‬אמר הב"ה ‪ ;O‬אמר המקום ‪ ;P‬אמר ‪ ;LES‬הקב"ה ‪ ;CD‬חסר—‪.V‬‬ ‫‪ .AA‬מצטערני ‪ ;G‬מצטער אני ‪ ;OCL‬מצטער ‪.VES‬‬ ‫‪ .AB‬דמן של רשעים נוסף ‪ :‬שנהרגין ‪ ;OL‬שנשפך ‪.VPES‬‬

‫‪.‬כול ‪. In A:‬‬

‫‪APPENDIX 283‬‬

NOTES

INTRODUCTION

. I am not assuming that we can necessarily arrive at the ipsissima vox of the individual rabbi, yet we can try to uncover the most original, or earliest, form of a particular tradition, before its editorial transformations. On the relation between the earliest form of a tradition and the original words of the speaker, see Kalmin, Sages, Stories, Authors, and Editors in Rabbinic Babylonia, p. . . One expression of the collective nature of rabbinic tradition is the sense of authorship. See S. Stern, ‘‘The Concept of Authorship in the Babylonian Talmud’’; also, A. Weiss, Leḥeker Hatalmud, p. ff. In speaking of the rabbinic enterprise as a collective venture, I do not necessarily assume that the Talmud, or rabbinic literature, is the work of a unanimous group of writers or editors. Kalmin’s study Sages, Stories demonstrates the ways in which talmudic materials should be recognized for their diversity. The recognition of a range of sources and schools also provides Kalmin with a method for extracting historical information from talmudic materials. This kind of source-literary-historical criticism in no way undermines my more essential claim that rabbinic activity is a collective enterprise. Quite the contrary. When the diversity of schools, geographical regions, and time periods is taken into account, one is struck by how similar the cultural concerns are in different generations. Whatever homogenizing effect subsequent redactors had on earlier material, their influence seems true to the nature of the collective rabbinic enterprise. . By rabbinic culture, I refer to a common intellectual agenda that finds literary expression in works that span several hundred years. Though there are obvious developments in theology as well as law, there is nonetheless a common and continuous preoccupation that lends an air of unity to the literature. It is this unity that

285

is the basis for rabbinic culture. I assume that early and late rabbinic heroes, as well as storytellers and editors, in spite of enormous changes in detail, all share certain common cultural concerns and belong to the same cultural enterprise. . For a recent recapping of this issue, see Neusner, ‘‘Evaluating the Attribution of Sayings,’’ p. . . In addition to Stern’s article, see Strack and Stemberger, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash, p. , ff. . The difficulties attendant upon approaching rabbinic sources historically are the counterpart of the rabbinic concept of history. The rabbis were concerned not so much with real-life events as with the projected values that find expression through those events. For a recent summary of the literature concerning the rabbis’ attitude to history, see Taran, ‘‘The Jewish War in Talmudic Literature,’’ pp. –. . See Neusner, Reading and Believing: Ancient Judaism and Contemporary Gullibility, esp. p.  n. . . Numerous studies have questioned the reliability of rabbinic sources as historical witnesses. The Fragestellung is formulated in different ways by different scholars. Defining the problem in terms of the tension between literature and history, Yonah Fraenkel demonstrates that rabbinic reports and tales are carefully crafted literary units, which therefore should not be taken as historical testimony at all. See Fraenkel, Darchei Ha’Aggada Ve’Hamidrash, p. , and Fraenkel, ‘‘Hermeneutic Problems in the Study of the Aggadic Narrative,’’ p. . A recent nuanced response to Fraenkel’s extreme position, from the historical perspective, is Baumgarten, ‘‘Rabbinic Literature as a Source for the History of Jewish Sectarianism in the Second Temple Period,’’ pp. –. . For a methodological discussion of how rabbinic sources can serve as a source of historical information only after their literary dimension has been properly accounted for, see Friedmann, ‘‘La’aggada HaHistorit BaTalmud HaBavli,’’ p. ff. . This is Fraenkel’s reading of rabbinic stories; see Fraenkel, ‘‘Hermeneutic Problems,’’ p. , and Fraenkel, Darchei Ha’Aggada, p. . Neusner, In Search of Rabbinic Biography, p. , makes a similar point. For him, storytellers convey how an individual exemplifies virtues held in common; the story thus serves as an example of perfect behavior and fulfills a didactic purpose. . Baumgarten, p. ff., notes that what might be historical concerns of the rabbis are dealt with through the prism of interpersonal relations: that is, though we must recognize the interpersonal dimension of rabbinic storytellers, we should not completely rule out some form of historical interest on their part. . For a bibliographical survey of the question of the historical reliability of the sources from the perspective of the Tendenz of the literature, both ideological and political, see Kalmin, ‘‘Stories About the Rabbis and the Composition of the Bavli,’’ pp. –. See also Kalmin’s ‘‘Aggada as History’’ and ‘‘Talmudic Portrayals of Relationships Between Rabbis: Amoraic or Pseudepigraphic.’’ On the tendencies that

286 NOTES TO PAGES 2–4

make rabbinic storytelling historically unreliable, see also: Goldenberg, ‘‘History and Ideology in Talmudic Narrative’’; and Neusner, ‘‘Methodology in Talmudic History,’’ p. . . Neusner, ‘‘Beyond Historicism, After Structuralism,’’ p. . . Ibid., p. . . Green, ‘‘History Fabricated,’’ p. ; Green, ‘‘Story Telling and Holy Man,’’ p. . . Neusner, ‘‘Beyond Historicism,’’ p. . . ‘‘Methodology in Talmudic History,’’ p. ff. Neusner’s suggestion is not without its difficulties. Historical anthropology seeks to uncover the lives of real people in common life settings, and its methodology was developed with particular reference to the writing of the history of the Middle Ages, a period characterized by a split between the high learned culture and popular culture. Methods of historical anthropology constitute an attempt to uncover the voice of the masses instead of relying on the writings of the elite (see Gurevich, Historical Anthropology of the Middle Ages, pp. –). When we apply the reasoning of historical anthropology to rabbinic writings, we often overlook the fact that rabbinic literature is an elite literature that does not reflect the voice of the masses any more than it reflects the voice of an individual rabbi. Nonetheless, this method of writing history still provides an important complement to the traditional method. . See Fraenkel, ‘‘Bible Verses Quoted in Tales of the Sages.’’ . The literary dimension of the text may be intimately related to its hermeneutical task. Reference to the interpretative function of the text does not preclude reference to its literary dimension. . For a critique of the use of a single methodology and a call for the application of various methodologies in different contexts, see Kalmin: ‘‘The Modern Study of Ancient Rabbinic Literature,’’ pp. –. . In many instances, of course, tradition may invent stories of sages and use them as though they were historically valid. The religious significance of such texts for the believing community is thus historical, even though its factual basis may be historically erroneous. However, in some of the texts to be examined, I believe we encounter self-conscious literary creations. At various points in this study I claim that, because the authors are aware of the fictitious nature of their literary creations, the tales they tell bear religious significance for them in a manner different from what first impressions might suggest. . The significance of this point clearly depends on the general assessment of rabbinic literature. If rabbinic sources are simply literary creations, as some would maintain, then there is nothing exceptional about these two figures. However, to the extent that rabbinic literature contains some degree of historical information, then the stories told of these two figures might be seen as more imaginative and creative than those told of some better-known rabbinic figures.

NOTES TO PAGES 4–8 287

. I am not suggesting that one cannot glean information about social structures, institutional frameworks, or sociopolitical and economical facts that are relevant to a construction of Jewish history in the talmudic period from rabbinic sources, but I do consider it essential to approach the rabbinic texts with the complexity they deserve. It is conceivable that, just as the application of a particular reading method to certain well-known texts suggests that historical facts may be different from what has commonly been accepted, so other facts of rabbinic life might come under question as a result of closer textual reading. This is the most serious matter facing critics who are skeptical of the historical value of rabbinic records. Given the literary and ideological nature of the sources, is there anything that can be learned about talmudic history from a historically positivist perspective? Kalmin’s Sages, Stories and Baumgarten’s article both try to tackle some aspects of this problem. See also, Boyarin, ‘‘Hamidrash VeHama’asé,’’ p. . . I am not the first to appreciate the tensions in Torah study, but I do wish to stress the implications of the phenomenological analysis to the historical appreciation of Torah study. Other scholars have already noted some of the different forms of Torah study current within rabbinic Judaism. See, e.g., Heschel, Theology of Ancient Judaism, : ff. . Oral Tradition as History, p. . See also esp. pp. ff, ff. Vansina’s discussion is particularly relevant to rabbinic literature, which is fundamentally an oral tradition. However, one cannot globally classify rabbinic culture as an oral culture, in the ethnographic and anthropological senses, as discussed by Vansina. Rabbinic culture is an elite culture that has both a written and an oral tradition. Understanding the dynamics of oral cultures is nonetheless helpful in appreciating rabbinic sources. I find the major difference to be in the role of interpretation in the different societies. In oral cultures, the transmission of traditional material involves an act of interpretation; in cultures with a written tradition, a written document needs interpretation and in that way it generates a new act of transmission. While ideology (delivering a message) and interpretation (cf. Vansina, p. ) compliment each other, the generating force, and its consequences, differ in these cultures. In this sense, rabbinic culture may be closer to written cultures. . Ibid., p. . . Ibid., p. . . On aspects of correspondence between the writing of history and the writing of hagiography, see Harvey, Asceticism and Society in Crisis, p. . . This touches on the nature of gospel as literary genre. For a discussion of this question, see Burridge, What Are The Gospels? Over the course of the last century scholarship has moved between seeing the gospels as a kind of biography and seeing them as a unique literary creation that does not resemble other known literary genres. The theological Tendenz of the latter position, strongly upheld by Rudolph Bultmann (‘‘Evangelien’’), is obvious. According to this position, gospel writing would

288 NOTES TO PAGES 8–11

be the product of the particular religious understanding of the messianic, and therefore salvific, activity of Jesus. The question of lack of gospels in rabbinic literature would be a much weaker question, since obviously no salvific claim is attached to any particular rabbi. I follow Burridge in assuming gospel writing to be a form of biography; what I am asking is why we have no instances of rabbinic biography. . This is certainly true for New Testament Gospels as a whole. Individual gospels may show varying degrees of interest in the full story of the life of Jesus. In the history of research, this fact has been related to the very definition of the gospel genre and its relations to other literary genres such as the biography. For a survey of the subject, see The Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. D. N. Freedman (New York: Doubleday, ), s.v. Gospel Genre, vol. , pp. –. . This point has been the subject of discussion. Alexander, in ‘‘Rabbinic Biography and the Biography of Jesus,’’ p. , says that the reason for the lack of anything equivalent to gospel writing in rabbinic literature is that no rabbi has a status equivalent to the status of Jesus for the Gospel writers. The central rabbinic focus is the Torah, whereas the Gospels’ focus is Jesus. (See also, Smith, Tannaitic Parallels to the Gospels, p. .) However, Alexander remains unsatisfied with this answer, because early Christian hagiography is not limited to the life of Jesus. Why then, are there no lives of rabbis? He points out that the question is particularly interesting in view of the fact that writing the lives of religious figures is not dependent on contemporary Roman practices but ultimately follows biblical precedent. A more extensive treatment of this question is found in Neusner, Why No Gospels in Talmudic Judaism? At certain points in his discussion, Neusner offers the same answer as Alexander (see pp. ff., , ). Yet while not attempting to explain the question directly, Neusner in his discussion of rabbinic authorship as collective writing as opposed to the individual authors of the Gospels touches on the nature of rabbinic literature (see p. ff.). Neusner’s discussion seems to relate the collective nature of the rabbinic enterprise to the centrality of Torah for the rabbis and therefore does not emphasize that as an explanation for the lack of hagiography in rabbinic literature. What Neusner seems to offer as a correlative fact to the centrality of Torah in rabbinic culture is seen as the main reason for the absence of hagiography from rabbinic literature. . In later forms of Jewish writing there are hagiographical treatises that constitute a genre known as praises (‫)שבחים‬. Examples of this genre may be found in the praise of such figures as the Ari or the Ba’al Shem Tov. . See Avot :– (mishna with commentary by Ḥ. Albeck, Jerusalem–Tel Aviv, ; numberings of statements in Avot vary from edition to edition). Of course, the ability to make such a statement depends on the manuscript evidence of the tractate, which fluctuates greatly. See Sharvit, ‘‘Nuschaoteha Uleshonah shel Masechet Avot,’’ pp. –. See also, Stemberger, ‘‘Die Innerrabinische Überlieferung von ‘Mischna Abot.’ ’’ Hillel traditions are found in Avot :–; :–. . Such a study requires the existence of a large corpus of statements that are

NOTES TO PAGES 11–12 289

attributed to a particular sage as well as a significant number of stories that are told about him. It would naturally be more suited to figures with an active public life, where not only their teachings but also their actions and policies help to draw the profile. Perhaps a more fruitful way of bringing to light the nuances that distinguish one sage from another is by analyzing controversies. In a given controversy, when two positions, and therefore two personalities, are juxtaposed, we find helpful points of demarcation. It is not surprising that some scholars have chosen this route in their attempt to study the figures and schools in rabbinic literature. See, e.g., Marmorstein, The Old Rabbinic Doctrine of God, : –, and Heschel, Theology of Ancient Judaism, : ff. In this study, I shall occasionally make similar moves. By attempting a phenomenology of different intellectual or spiritual options, I create some type of meta-controversy through which I attempt to grasp the concerns typical of rabbinic Judaism. . See Neusner, Reading and Believing, p. , and Neusner, In Search of Talmudic Biography, p. ff; also Green, ‘‘History Fabricated,’’ pp. –, and Green, ‘‘Story Telling and Holy Man,’’ p. . Green in Story Telling, p. , suggests that social realities support the collective nature of the literature, which in turn precludes the formation of true biography. For an evaluation of the accomplishments of the Neusner school, see Schäfer, ‘‘Research into Rabbinic Literature,’’ p. ff. . Neusner, In Search of, p. . . Neusner, Reading and Believing, p. . . Green, ‘‘What’s in a Name?’’, pp. –; the quoted passage is on p. . . Asceticism and Society in Crisis, p. xiii. . Ibid., pp. xvi, . . Note, for example, the reference to certain individuals as holy. To take one example, Rabbi Judah the Patriarch is often called ‫רבינו הקדוש‬, our holy master. . Some of the treatments of the life of Elisha ben Abuya have been just that. As I shall note later, the clearest example of this is Back’s work on Elisha’s life, and it illustrates the methodological pitfalls to be avoided. . This point is well made in Green, ‘‘What’s in a Name?’’ . See the studies collected in New Directions in Biography, esp. the conclusions, pp. –, in the contribution by Shoichi Saeki, ‘‘The Curious Relationship Between Biography and Autobiography in Japan.’’ . See the article by Saeki. . The term group biography usually applies to a biography that intertwines the lives of several heroes, but in the context of a collective culture that shapes the lives of its heroes vis-à-vis wider controlling cultural principles, every biography is in a sense a ‘‘group biography.’’ The literature only tells of the individual as a part of the larger group to which he belongs. . See Edel, ‘‘Biography and the Science of Man’’; see also, Novarr, The Lines of Life: Theories of Biography, –, p. .

290 NOTES TO PAGES 12–17

. In this I share in the conclusions reached independently by Fraenkel and by the Neusner school. For a critique of Fraenkel’s position as a global position, see Kalmin, ‘‘The Modern Study of Ancient Rabbinic Literature,’’ pp. –. See also, Hasan-Rokem, Rikmat Ḥayim, pp. , . The texts to be examined maintain Fraenkel’s position. On the relationship between the synagogue and the beit midrash, from historical and archaeological perspectives, see Urman, ‘‘The House of Assembly and the House of Study.’’ CHAPTER 1

. This has been done to a large extent by Assaraf, L’Hérétique, pp. –. . The difficulties are seen most clearly with regard to the Yerushalmi Talmud. The Yerushalmi tells of Elisha’s circumcision in Jerusalem, as well as his riding his horse on the Day of Atonement behind the Temple’s Holy of Holies. On the other hand, he is depicted by the Yerushalmi as present in Tiberias in the days of R. Meir. The proponents of the historical reading of the text must offer some explanation that will harmonize the apparent difficulties of reconstructing a chronology of the life of Elisha based on these facts. For a criticism of the historical reliability of the texts, see Grätz, Gnosticismus und Judentum (), p. . For defenses of the historical reliability of the material, see Back, Elischa ben Abuja-Acher (), pp. , ; and Ginzberg, ‘‘Elisha ben Abuyah’’ (), p. . See also, Büchler, ‘‘Die Erlösung Elisha b. Abujahs aus dem Höllenfeuer,’’ pp. , , ,  n. , , who justifies the essential historical reliability of the stories; also, Herford, ‘‘Elisha ben Abuja,’’ pp. –. On the absence of any mention of Elisha ben Abuya outside rabbinic sources, see Ayali, ‘‘Die Apostasie des Elischa ben Abuya,’’ p.  (a Hebrew version of Ayali’s paper appeared in Maḥanaim, n.s. , : –). This fact was noted by Smolenskin in ‘‘Am Olam,’’ p. n. . Fischel, Rabbinic Literature and Greco-Roman Philosophy, p. . . Iyun Tefela, pp. –. . Bin Gorion, ‘‘Erech Acher BeSifrut Yisrael,’’ (), commented on its fantastic quality. . The report of child-killing has long been the hardest to accept. The most common strategy, though not the one taken by Krochmal, is to interpret the killing as a spiritual killing, by way of giving wrong spiritual direction. See Dubsch, ‘‘Elisha ben Abuya and Rabbi Meir’’ (), p. ff.; Brill, Mevo HaMishna (), p. ; Landsberg, Ḥikrei Lev (), p. ; G. Stroumsa, ‘‘Aḥer: A Gnostic’’ (), p. . Lilienblum, ‘‘Mishnat Elisha ben Abuya’’ (), p. , suggests that killing children was intended as a metaphor to illustrate prevention from Torah study. Grätz, Gnosticimus und Judentum, p. , offers a slightly different explanation: killing is a way of expressing deliverance unto the hands of the Romans. Reines, Torah Umusar (), p. n. , sees the speaking of ‫לשון הרע‬, calumny, as a form of killing. Assaraf, p. ,

NOTES TO PAGES 17–23

291

says it is the children’s enthusiasm that is killed. Other scholars simply dismiss the report as fantasy, lacking all historical validity; see Back, Elischa, p. ff.; also Rubin, Yalkut Shelomo (), p. n. . See also Lilienblum, p. . . Smolenskin, p. ; Lilienblum, pp. –; Brill, p. ; I. H. Weiss, Dor Dor ve’Dorshav, : ; B. Z. Bacher, Aggadot HaTannaim, pp. –; Finkelstein, Akiva: Scholar, Saint, and Martyr, p. , and Introduction to the Treatises, p. . For a recent discussion of Lilienblum’s work, see Y. Friedlander, pp. –. Krochmal is particularly original in his application of Elisha’s statements in Avot de Rabbi Natan (ADRN) to the tensions between Elisha and R. Akiva; see pp. ff., ff. . The relevant discussions begin with Elisha’s statement in Avot and are expanded to include his teachings in ADRN as well. Of particular interest in this context is Back’s attempt to analyze the different parables brought by Elisha in ADRN as indicative of different points in his autobiographical development; see Back, p. . . Finkelstein, Akiva, p. . . Bacher, p. ; he refers to Weiss, p. , as the source for this reading but I am unable to locate the reference in Weiss’s discussion. This method is also applied to other sages who entered the Pardes and is not limited to Elisha. Grätz, p.  n. , applies this method with regard to Ben Zoma also. . Already Jellinek, Elischa Ben Abuja Gennant Acher (), p. ; M. D. Hoffman, Toledot Elisha ben Abuyah (), pp. –; Bin Gorion, p. . . Assaraf, p. ff. Liebes, The Sin of Elisha, p. , accepts a particular tradition of R. Akiva found in the dialogues with R. Meir as necessarily reliable because it could not have been formulated in any other context but that of R. Akiva’s view of Elisha. This methodology can thus serve to validate the talmudic traditions themselves. See also Liebes, pp. , . This method of reading applies to the whole fourth chapter of Liebes’s book. . Finkelstein, Introduction, p. . Liebes, p. , points out that using the distinction between Torah and good deeds as a form of justifying Elisha in the Talmud is in fact contrary to Elisha’s own teachings. . The concluding teachings of chap.  of ADRN (A), regarding learning Torah in one’s youth and in one’s old age, are thematically identical to the teachings reported in Elisha’s name. From the thematic perspective, the concern for the relation of Torah and actions reported in both versions of ADRN as Elisha’s teaching is not unique. . Beginning with Grätz. For a typical example of the assumption that Elisha was an apostate see G. Stroumsa’s discussion. . See Dubsch. The methodology that Dubsch uses to arrive at this striking conclusion is interesting. Since there are so many unsatisfactory explanations offered in the sources, one must seek a more rational explanation that is not clearly articulated. Dubsch relies on the very nature of rabbinic material as the basis for his claim. Brill,

292 NOTES TO PAGES 23–26

p. , also suggested a Christian association, based on Elisha’s sobriquet, Aḥer. Neumark, Toledot Haphilosphia Beyisrael, p. , arrived at a similar conclusion by identifying Metatron, whom Elisha momentarily mistakes for another god, with Christ. Heimann, Toledot Tannaim Va’Amoraim, p. , claims that the heretical books that fell out of Elisha’s lap were Christian works and he paraphrases the story of Elisha’s mother having heathen offerings in terms of Christianity. But the fact that proponents of Elisha’s Christian identity marshal different, unrelated, proofs betrays the weakness of the theory. Assaraf, p. ff., echoes the Christian claim; see also, Neher, ‘‘Le Voyage mystique des quatre,’’ pp. –. I. H. Weiss, Dor Dor, p. , argues against the Christian view. . See Siegfried, Philo von Alexandria (), p. ff.; Ginzberg, p. ; Assaraf, pp. ff., ff., ff.; M. D. Hoffman, pp. , ff.; Landsberg, p. ff. . On the relation to Elkasai, see Dubsch, p.  n. ; on the relation to Persian dualistic thought, see Löwi, Bikoret Hatalmud, p. . Fischel, p. ff., does not suggest that Elisha was an Epicurean but he does think that the stories concerning Elisha should be understood in light of Epicurean material and should be viewed as a casting of Elisha in Epicurean light. Note also Moore’s attempt to understand the key phrase concerning Elisha, ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬, in terms borrowed from Plato’s philosophy; see Moore, Judaism, : . . As, e.g., Ginzberg, who attempts to discredit the Bavli on scholarly grounds. . This selection is characteristic of the treatment of Elisha from the earliest post-talmudic stage. See the presentation Elisha receives in the hands of R. Nissim Gaon, Ḥibur Yafé Mehayeshua, pp. ‫י–ח‬. What can be justified for didactic purposes cannot be justified for the purposes of historical research. . See Back, p. ; also the argumentation offered by Siegfried, p. , and I. H. Weiss, p. . See further, Büchler, p. ; Kaminka, Meḥkarim, p. . Grätz, Gnosticism, p. , is aware of the possibility of libel spread by ideological opponents; nonetheless, he seems to prefer to integrate the report of Elisha’s visit to the harlot into his gnostic reading of Elisha rather than dismiss it as libel spread by opponents. . A notable exception within earlier scholarship is Ginzberg. Ginzberg prefers the testimony of the Bavli to that of the Yerushalmi because the figure of Metatron does not appear in Palestinian sources and must therefore be a later invention. Although some, e.g., Stroumsa, pp. –, and Rowland, The Open Heaven, p. , have argued with Ginzberg’s point, from the methodological perspective it is significant. A particular text is preferred on literary grounds rather than on what to the writer seems reasonable. Present-day writers continue to make choices; the proponents of the mystical or gnostic Elisha rely upon the testimony of the Bavli and have to discredit the Yerushalmi, but the discrediting is done on more sophisticated grounds than those current in the nineteenth century. A good example of this is Rowland, The Open Heaven, p. ff. See also the discussion of Liebes, below. . One example might be Stroumsa’s reading of the sources. Stroumsa, essen-

NOTES TO PAGES 26–27 293

tially following Grätz, assumes Elisha to be a gnostic. His key witness is the Bavli. He then proceeds to read the sources in the Yerushalmi in light of this understanding, even though nothing explicit is said in the Yerushalmi concerning Elisha’s supposed gnosticism; thus the charge that Elisha killed young students is understood to refer to missionary activities in the name of Elisha’s new acquired faith. See Stroumsa, p. . . Assaraf (p. ff.) attempts to portray Elisha as a reactionary of Sadducean origins and at the same time a gnostic. On a smaller scale, Liebes (p. ) suggests that the different versions of the heavenly voice found in the two talmuds represent a progression in Elisha’s perception of the event. Though Liebes takes the Bavli as his key text, he does not hesitate to rely on the Yerushalmi when that is the only way he can make a point; see p. . . For a search for one particular event that is agreed upon by all sources, see Back, p. ff. For Back it is the fact that Elisha rode a horse on the Sabbath. See also the lecture by Rosental, ‘‘Elisa Ben Abuia’’ (), p. . For Ayali, p. , it is the very fact that Elisha sinned. . The context of Jellinek’s writing, which is an introduction to a play relating to Uriel Dacosta, further highlights this point. . The latest though by no means atypical example of this type of reading is found in Assaraf, p. . The historically authentic statement is that Elisha believes in two powers; everything around this nucleus is the work of the editor. . Krochmal, p. ; Smolenskin, p. ; Hoffman, p. . . Rosental, p. . . Rubin, p. ; Büchler, p. ; Rowland, pp. , . Rowland’s reading is obviously intended to preserve the historical integrity of the story. . Bin Gorion, p. , understands the heavenly voice as a mantic technique relying on the unintentional speech of children. He deals with the supernatural dimension without violating the logic of rabbinic literature on the whole, even though he alters the meaning of the relevant passage in Ḥagiga. . It could be argued, though I am reluctant to do so, that this understanding of the Elisha story informs some of the talmudic manuscripts’ understanding of this passage. See below, Chapter , n. . This understanding is expressly voiced in the Middle Ages by the Karaite Yehuda Hadassi. See Eshkol Hakofer (), p. a. See also, Smolenskin, p. ; Krochmal, p. ; Büchler, p. ff. . Hoffman, p. ff. . Variously, Büchler, p. ; Hoffman, p. ; Krochmal, p. . Also Landsberg, p. , on the symbolic use of the fire-quenching story told of R. Meir. . The disregard is not limited to the fantastic. Scholars who are concerned with the question of Elisha’s sin might not be interested in the story of his relations with R. Meir (a typical example of this can be found in Grätz, p. ). In any event, historical concern with the text singles out certain elements and ignores others, which

294 NOTES TO PAGES 27–29

of course means a partial reading of the text. A complete reading might allow other concerns to surface. . This criticism pertains not only to the proponents of historical reconstructions of Elisha’s life; the Epicurean parallels offered by Fischel rely on a similar methodology. Items of the text are isolated from the larger context in order to highlight the supposed comparison. Particularly striking in Fischel’s approach is the disregard for proof texts that are relegated to a subordinate level of the text. Fischel’s method of reading, which essentially relates to particular motifs rather than to the text in its entirety, is ultimately founded on the methodological presuppositions current among writers who have approached Elisha historically and have attempted to distinguish historical fact from accrued legend. See, e.g., Fischel, p.  n. . . Bin Gorion, pp. –. . Ibid., p. . Others besides Bin Gorion have raised the possibility that the rabbis used Elisha as a peg upon which to hang various heretical positions. On the symbolic function of Elisha, see Segal, Two Powers in Heaven, p. . See also, Gruenwald, ‘‘The Problem of Anti-gnostic Polemic,’’ p. . I discuss this possibility later on in Chapter . . The concern for the exegetical dimension of the text has come into the discussion only in the past fifteen to twenty years. It is virtually nonexistent in most of the earlier discussions, though a notable exception is Hoffman, who exhibits exegetical sensitivity. Of the modern writers on Elisha, Rowland is perhaps the most sensitive to the exegetical dimension; see his discussion, p. ff. . Liebes, The Sin of Elisha. For a critique of Liebes, see Rubenstein, pp. –. . See p. ff. Even though Liebes claims that the Bavli’s superiority is only literary and does not provide us a key to the historical Elisha, his argument seems to imply also an acceptance of some degree of historical reliability to this version. The Bavli’s commentary is taken to be better because it is related to the Pardes incident; this connection also allows Liebes to accept the Bavli’s interpretation of Elisha’s sin according to his own reading. The Bavli’s advantage of being dependent on the Pardes passage thus authenticates its understanding of Elisha’s sin. I find this conclusion gratuitous. The Bavli may relate to the Pardes episode and still provide a completely novel, and historically incorrect, understanding of Elisha’s sin. The fact that it offers an integrated reading of the sugya does not authenticate its position concerning Elisha’s sin. As interpretations go, it is conceivable that the more disjointed commentary of the Yerushalmi might be closer to historical fact. Literary integrity is not absolute proof of authenticity or reliability and may constitute the work of later editors. In order to rely on this version for an understanding of Elisha’s sin, we are obliged to assume not only greater literary integrity but also some measure of historical factuality. Though Liebes offers literary arguments, a claim for historical authenticity seems to underlie the literary claim. See also his discussion page , for a similar shift from the literary to the historical.

NOTES TO PAGES 29–31 295

. The same sort of sliding between historical fact and literary fiction is seen in Assaraf ’s treatment of Elisha. On the one hand, Assaraf accepts Elisha as no more than a literary montage (pp. , , , ); on the other hand, he relies on the sources to arrive at some very far-reaching historical conclusions. His overall discussion is in fact amazingly naïve in its uncritical acceptance of the historical reliability of any statement found in either talmud. Had he taken his discussion seriously, p. ff., he might not have written much of what preceded it. . Reines, Torah Umusar, pp. –, employs psychological language to describe Elisha, but he does not describe the internal psychological processes that Elisha experiences. . Of course, this is not completely unprecedented. Some of the nineteenthcentury presentations of Elisha, such as Krochmal’s, that focused on the tension in his relations with R. Akiva also paid attention to his psychological attitudes. However, these were brought to bear on his political placement within the reconstructed Judaism of the time and were not a source of interest in and of themselves. What singles out Liebes’s treatment is the exclusive attention to attitude, and therefore to psychological processes, that provide the logic for the unfolding of Elisha’s story. . Ayali’s discussion appears in an issue of Kairos devoted to the subject of apostasy and Jewish identity, so also for W. S. Green’s essay, ‘‘Otherness Within,’’ which constitutes a sketchy discussion of Yerushalmi Ḥagiga. Green’s essay appears in a volume entitled To See Ourselves as Others See Us. The choice of Elisha ben Abuya for a discussion of identity and otherness is once more obvious. Finally, one should note the subtitle of Assaraf ’s book, Elicha ben Abuya ou l’autre absolu. Although Assaraf ’s discussion does not elaborate a theory of otherness, the choice of subtitle indicates a potential theoretical context in which Elisha is to be discussed. See also Arthur Green, ‘‘Sabbath and Temple.’’ My reading of the story, unlike Green’s, assumes that Elisha did not cross the forbidden boundary, and I do not see the story as relevant to matters of identity, as Green suggests. . W. S. Green’s essay has the sophistication of setting aside the historical discussion in favor of the theoretical consideration of how societies play out the limits of their own self-definition. In this sense, his is perhaps the only discussion in the literature that completely sidesteps the attempt to portray Elisha historically. All other attempts, even when highlighting the literary aspects of the texts, still rely to some extent on its historical backbone. . Assaraf, p. ff. In fact, the roots of co-opting the figure of Elisha for ideological purposes go back to talmudic literature, as the present work suggests. Sara Stroumsa has recently shown how Maimonides applies the figure of Elisha ben Abuya to suit his own needs. See S. Stroumsa, ‘‘Elisha ben Abuya and Muslim Heretics in Maimonides’ Writings.’’ . See my discussion of Bavli Ḥagiga I. Interestingly, Smolenskin, p. , takes

296 NOTES TO PAGES 31–32

R. Yoḥanan’s battle on behalf of Elisha as proof of the fact that Elisha was no sinner at all. . Ed. Philipowsky (Frankfurt, ), p. ff. . Brill, p. ; Rosental, p. . . See Back, p. . It is worthwhile reflecting on the difference between the function of the explanations for Elisha’s sinful behavior offered in the Talmud and the function of those same explanations in works such as Back’s. In Back’s work, the talmudic sources are incorporated into a story that allows us to sympathize with Elisha and to understand what led him to leave tradition. In the Talmud, no sympathetic note is sounded. The purpose of the talmudic explanations is to account for how ‘‘one of us’’ could have moved out, and what could have led to it. They do not attempt to understand, justify, or exonerate. . A good example of this is Rubin’s discussion, in the note that spans pages –. All of Elisha’s immoral behavior is simply dismissed in favor of what Rubin considers to be the core historical fact. Rubin’s gnostic reading of Elisha affords him both a good reason and a known parallel for the accretion of malicious reports; Elisha is unjustly accused of immoral behavior just as other gnostics were. Perhaps the sole exception is Liebes’s treatment, precisely because Liebes treats the Bavli as story more than as history. The standards of suitable mystical approach that emerge out of Liebes’s presentation function as a condemnation of Elisha as a mystic. See Liebes, pp. ff., ff. . Compare Assaraf with Finkelstein’s related, though far less fully elaborated, claim concerning Elisha’s Shammaitic affiliations. See Finkelstein, Introduction, p. . . Moshe Rossman’s recent study of the Ba’al Shem Tov, Founder of Hasidism, faced a similar challenge. The novelty of Rossman’s thesis, however, stems from his ability to introduce hitherto unknown evidence concerning the Ba’al Shem Tov from Ukranian archival materials. These sources are privileged, precisely because they are free of any of the ideological tendencies that tint all the Jewish sources. See Rossman’s assessment of the degree of reliability of his sources, p. . I have to construct a hierarchy of reliability by means of internal analysis of the rabbinic sources alone. . This description must be qualified by the fact that the major tannaitic source, the Pardes episode, was read as delivering a message similar to that of the amoraic sources that interpreted it, and therefore as supporting their testimony. CHAPTER 2

. ADRN (A) ; translation from Judah Goldin, The Fathers According to Rabbi Natan (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, ), p. . . ADRN (B) ; translation from Anthony J. Saldarini, The Fathers According to Rabbi Nathan Version B (Leiden: E. J. Brill, ), p. .

NOTES TO PAGES 33–38 297

. See Finkelstein, Introduction, p. . Note also that the adjacent statements in ADRN mention the sight of biblical books and not the vision of individual prophets. This tannaitic tradition assumes that what one sees in a dream is familiar. It is conceivable that Bavli Berachot b–b also allows for the sight of unfamiliar figures in a dream; yet the meaning of the seeing of Yishmael, Pinhas, Huna, Hanina, etc., seems to hinge on the associations evoked by their names, or various consonants, rather than on a familiarity with a historical person. Indeed, Rashi, a s.v. Nes Na’asa Lo, claims that the names are seen in written form and do not signify seeing actual persons. This might be true of the figure of Pinhas as well, even though Rashi associates the sight of Pinhas with the historical person. However, in light of the manner in which Huna, Hanina, etc., are significant, I suggest that Pinhas is also significant for the ‘‘Peh’’ (P) in his name, rather than for any particular association with the historical person. Later tradition seems to have understood seeing Pinhas as the seeing of the historical person; cf. ‘‘Hupat Eliyahu,’’ Ozar Midrashim, ed. Y. D. Eisenstein (New York, ), p. . Concerning Yishmael, one might have to draw a distinction between the original statement and the later editorial gloss. The original statement refers to Yishmael as a name that bears meaning, rather than as a person; it is only the later gloss that attempts to draw a distinction between the more specific use of Yishmael and the conventional rabbinic use of his name to designate an Arab nomad, which seems to suggest seeing Yishmael as a historical person. . As indicated in the version of this tradition in Bavli Berachot b, where R. Akiva is omitted and Rabbi Yehudah the Patriarch is included. . See, e.g., Rubin, Yalkut Shelomo, p. n. Such an association is itself problematic. I know of no other case in which sin is referred to as ‘‘calamity.’’ Usually, calamity is the consequence of sin, not a reference to sin itself; see, e.g., Sifrei Deut. . . R. Yishmael’s possible martyrdom is found, at best, only in late sources. See Midrash Ele Ezkera, Bet Hamidrash, ed. A. Jellinek, : , and cf. Grätz, History of the Jews, : . In all likelihood, the reading of Version B shifts the ‘‘calamity’’ to R. Yishmael in order to allow for a different association with the sight of R. Akiva. Version B thus seems secondary to Version A. . See Finkelstein, Introduction, pp. –. Finkelstein believes that this part of ADRN is organized around the sages who entered the Pardes. He claims that in the earliest arrangement of ADRN the teachings of Elisha ben Abuyah were set forth first, and only as a consequence of the Pardes story did he lose this priority of place. If this is the early logic of arrangement of the tractate, there is further evidence that the author of ADRN did not know of any sin associated with Elisha ben Abuya. Though Finkelstein’s suggestion generally supports my argument, I cannot rely on it because my construction of the relations between the ADRN passage and the Pardes incident undermines the basis of his argument. . Elisha’s traditions, recorded in ADRN, are not echoed in the classical literature at all. It is interesting that the only context in which Elisha’s teachings are quoted

298 NOTES TO PAGES 38–39

occurs in Yemenite midrashic compilations. See Midrash Hagadol to Deut. :, as well as Yalkut Midreshei Teiman, ed. A. Wertheimer (Jerusalem, ), p. . . The absence of any reference to Elisha in the halakhic midrashim does not necessarily indicate censorship. There may simply not have been any relevant traditions of his that were incorporated. As in the case of various other sages, his creativity may have been in the area of aggada, not halakha. See further below, Chapter , my discussion of Mishna Avot. . Attempts to find biographical significance in this statement have already been discussed, as well as my reservations with regard to this method of study. . Various writers have wrestled with this problem. The most obvious possibility is that the statement reflects Elisha before he sinned. If his teaching is included, this is a sign either of the inherent value of the teaching or of the status Elisha once enjoyed, of which a fond memory persisted even after he sinned. This is the direction taken by B. Z. Bacher, Aggadot HaTannaim, p. . Finkelstein, Introduction, p. , employs a similar rationale with regard to the statements found in ADRN. See also, Liebes, The Sin of Elisha, p. , but also his counterproposal, p. , that Elisha’s statements in ADRN are not fully valid from the traditional perspective and were included by the editor of ADRN owing to his lack of knowledge of Elisha’s true intent. Other ways of dealing with the inclusion of Elisha in Avot rely upon the talmudic story about him. Since the ultimate outcome of Elisha’s story is positive, at least to a degree, some writers have suggested that his inclusion in Avot supports the report of the ending. Thus, Brill, Mevo HaMishna, p. , explains his inclusion in Avot by referring to the story of Elisha’s repentance in the Yerushalmi. Alternatively, he suggests that the sage mentioned in Avot is different from the one who is the subject of all the negative reports. This suggestion highlights the radical difference between the testimony of Avot and the later reports. Some have seen a connection with the story of Elisha’s dialogues with R. Meir: thus, in the traditional rabbinical vein, the idea is expressed in the name of Maharam Galanti (see Sefer Kaftor VaFerach Al HaAggadot, Amsterdam, , p. a), that the merit of Elisha’s preventing R. Meir from violating the Sabbath enabled him to be mentioned in Avot. This mention is viewed as a reward for the good that Elisha was able to do even though he was a sinner. Some have suggested that opinions of Elisha ben Abuya were not unanimous. I. H. Weiss, Dor Dor VeDorshav, p. , suggests that different perceptions of Elisha existed; among those who viewed Elisha favorably he includes R. Meir, who maintained a relationship with Elisha, and the author of ADRN, who preserved his teachings. See also, Kaminka, Meḥkarim, p. . Neusner, Judaism and Story, p. , similarly suggests that the authorship of ADRN rejected the reports of Elisha’s apostasy. (Neusner also, however, raises the possibility of my explanation.) The theory that there were different opinions of Elisha also holds true for his mention in Avot. If we do not adopt the chronological distinction that underlies the discussion, between earlier and contemporary sources on the one hand and later elaborations of the image of Elisha on the

NOTES TO PAGES 39–40 299

other, Weiss’s suggestion that the different images of Elisha reflect different views of this sage is a very sensible one. Thus, rather than account for the different sources in terms of Elisha’s life, as do some of the writers just mentioned, the sources are accounted for in terms of the perception of Elisha by others. Of course, in trying to account for how those different perceptions were formed, we are once more pushed to the consideration of the person of Elisha. It has also been suggested that including Elisha in Avot testifies to the rabbis rather than to Elisha personally. Heimann, Toledot Tannaim Va’Amoraim, : , sees in Elisha’s inclusion in Avot a sign of the purity of heart of the sages: not only did they not resent Elisha, they included him in Avot. Finally, Herford’s account, ‘‘Elisha ben Abuja’’ (p. ), should be noted. Both Heimann and Herford must assume that what was recorded about Elisha goes back before he sinned, and their explanations shift the focus of attention from the personality of the tradent to editorial considerations. Herford accounts for the inclusion of Elisha in Avot in light of his understanding of the meaning of Avot, which is similar to mine: Avot is an expression of the collective nature of the study of Torah; the sages, collectively, have expounded upon the Torah, and Rabbi’s inclusion of Elisha in Avot highlights the collective nature of Torah study. The Torah is the work of many contributors, including many different types. Even Elisha, who is known to have been a sinner, has a place in this collective enterprise in that he advanced Torah knowledge. Herford’s suggestion is brilliant inasmuch as it avoids the contradictory testimonies concerning Elisha. According to Herford, Elisha’s mention in Avot does not contradict the reports of his sinful behavior; on the contrary, it is precisely against the background of these reports that the inclusion of Elisha in Avot should be understood. Though I share Herford’s emphasis upon the communal nature of the Torah enterprise, I do not share his factual acceptance of the talmudic stories that characterizes his article as a whole, or the claim that Elisha could have been commemorated as a sinner in Avot. I maintain that mention in Avot constitutes an honorable mention, not just acknowledgment of contribution as part of a greater collective. Reines, Torah Umusar, pp. –, brings in an interesting critical perspective: the sayings in Avot and ADRN were connected to Elisha’s name because he is an example of the subject matter, as can be learned from the various stories told about him. Reines criticizes Bacher’s naïveté, in suggesting that this is a record of Elisha’s teachings before he sinned. He thinks that the teachings are fictitious and were appended to Elisha’s name because he was a good example of the subject matter. This line of reasoning allows Reines to short-circuit the problem of preserving the name of the wicked Elisha within tradition. . My argument is not affected by a consideration of the stages of composition and redaction of Mishna Avot. I cannot see a chronological possibility of Elisha’s making his statements at an early stage, thereby entering the mishna, and only subsequently sinning. It is difficult to offer a clear time frame for Elisha’s purported sins

300 NOTE TO PAGE 40

(see Back, p. ). Whatever time frame is suggested, Elisha’s sin precedes Rabbi Yehudah the Patriarch. An alternative suggestion, that Elisha was inserted into the mishna at a later point, does not help. Unless it is assumed that he is inserted by someone who conceived the purpose of the chapter differently and treasured Elisha’s teaching as unique and worthy of preservation, in spite of his sin, nothing is gained by suggesting some later interpolation in the mishna. My suggestion emerges from a description of the nature of the chapter as a whole. My impression of the chapter is uniform and does not yield to distinctions of stages of formation that would alter the significance of the present witness. That the inclusion of Elisha within Avot can be understood in this manner is clear from the discussion in Sefer Yuḥasin, p. . The point is made explicitly by Smolenskin, p. . See also, Kaminka, MeḥKarim, : . In the context of the discussion about bringing Elisha into the world-to-come, both talmuds make mention of Rabbi Yehuda the Patriarch. The Bavli tells how he learns by means of a heavenly fire that Elisha is in some way accepted by heaven. The figure of Rabbi is not really essential to either story’s elaboration, but it does not seem likely that the stories were told in order to justify his including of Elisha in the mishna, or that they form the justification for his choosing to do so. That the redaction of Avot may be even later than Rabbi Yehuda the Patriarch only strengthens my argument. It may be that as late as C.E.  nothing negative was associated with Elisha ben Abuya. See Stemberger, ‘‘Die Innerrabinische Überlieferung von ‘Mischna Abot.’ ’’ . I wish to thank David Weiss Halivni for this insight, which contributes greatly to my thesis. . The classical commentators state that Shmuel was accustomed to reciting this verse. See R. Ovadia of Bertinoro’s commentary. See also Menahem Haran, The Biblical Collection, p. . Haran cites an additional instance of a sage quoting an earlier verse as his own maxim. This is the case of Levitas of Yavneh, quoting in Avot : a verse from Ben Sira :. In that case, however, as Haran suggests, it is conceivable that the quote circulated orally, and hence its origin was forgotten. . Some versions of this mishna have attempted to expand the statement to include some novel element. See Hirshman, ‘‘Shmuel Ha-katan.’’ . It seems reasonable to assume that Rabbi Jose b. Yehuda Ish Kefar Habavli, who is cited immediately following Elisha ben Abuya, is the same Rabbi Yose b. Yehuda mentioned elsewhere. . Weiss Halivni’s claim that R. Yonatan does not appear anywhere in the mishna because no mishna existed from the school of R. Yishmael, along with his sole mention in this instance, strengthens this thesis. See Weiss Halivni, Midrash, Mishnah, and Gemara, p. . . R. Shimon, mentioned in Mishna , has already been mentioned in : and :. R. Meir, mentioned in Mishna , has had a tradition recited in his name in :. R. (Yehuda the Patriarch), mentioned in Mishna , is mentioned in the first mishna

NOTES TO PAGES 40–42

301

of the second chapter. These statistics are based on the commonly accepted text of Avot. The complicated textual transmission of Avot, as expressed in the manuscript tradition, would require changing the figures, though not the thesis itself. See Sharvit, pp. –. . Chapter : mentions Ḥanina ben Tradion, who is mentioned in Ta’anit : but without a tradition; :, Ḥalafta ish Kefar Ḥanania; :, Ḥanina ben Dosa, who is also mentioned in Berachot :, though one could dispute whether this would be considered a statement attributed to him; :, Eleazar HaModai. If single occurrences of the names of sages are considered, then only two such cases are to be found in the third chapter. In :, Rabban Gamliel son of Rabbi, is mentioned. . Teachings on the importance of learning Torah as a child are delivered by other rabbinic authorities as well; prior to Elisha’s teachings in ADRN (A) , this theme is stressed by other sages. . Furthermore, one might note that in some of the manuscripts of Mo’ed Qatan Elisha is referred to as Rabbi. This is true of mss. London , Munich , Columbia X-T, Vatican  and . See also, Weiss Halivni, Mekorot Umasorot, Seder Mo’ed, p.  n. . This is also true of the reference to Elisha in ADRN (B) . Clearly, this is in contrast to the Yavnean testimony, considered above, which lists him as a disciple rather than as a sage, i.e., as one who was not an ordained rabbi. Some later sources seem to have been able to tolerate reference to Elisha ben Abuya as a rabbi. . Such repression could take place simply by attributing Elisha’s teachings to other rabbinic figures. The process of emending the manuscript tradition in order to eradicate Elisha’s name can be witnessed in ms. British Museum , where the manuscript reads ‫אלישע‬, and where a later hand crosses out the ‫ ישע‬of his name and writes on top instead ‫עזר‬, thus emending the name to ‫אליעזר‬. . This seems to be the position of M. B. Lerner, who discusses this text in his dissertation, ‘‘The Book of Ruth in Aggadic Literature and Midrash Ruth Rabba.’’ Lerner also confirmed orally that he considers this tradition to be tannaitic. . See ibid., : . . Ibid., : , suggests that the references to Tiberias as well as the concluding ‫ קל וחומר‬are later editorial additions. Since no text exists for comparison, it cannot be known whether this is an anachronistic description or a later interpolation. Lerner’s suggestion, if correct, would increase the reliability of the text by removing anachronistic mention from its primary level; Lerner’s reference to a tannaitic style suggests that he views this passage as an authentic tannaitic record. Nonetheless, Lerner, : , takes for granted that this text speaks of Elisha in his youth. The possibility that, if it is an authentic text, it offers a testimony that opposes the conventional view of Elisha, does not enter his considerations. If one considers this passage to be authentic, one would have to account for the reason why it is only preserved as an addition to one of the manuscripts of Ruth Rabba. The clearest answer is that because of the stories of sinful behavior Elisha’s image was repressed, and his teachings

302 NOTES TO PAGES 42–45

are not delivered in his own name. See below, Chapter , n. . This passage would thus be a survivor of the attempts to repress positive memory of Elisha. . In its original form, as Lerner would have it. . I have dealt with this passage extensively in my ‘‘Four Entered Paradise Revisited.’’ For various aspects of the argument that follows I refer the reader to this article. In the present context I shall limit myself to the minimum necessary for the present discussion of Elisha ben Abuya. . I follow the London manuscript of the Tosefta in omitting the names of the four at this point. See discussion below, n. . . Tosefta Ḥagiga :–. I consider the Tosefta to be the original context in which this passage was formed and shall therefore base my discussion upon this version. The detailed reasoning behind this choice can be found in my ‘‘Four Entered Paradise Revisited,’’ pp. –. . See Scholem, Jewish Gnosticism, pp. –, and A. Morray-Jones, ‘‘Paradise Revisited,’’ p.  n.. . See Scholem, Jewish Gnosticism, p. . Scholem chooses as his base text the version of the story found in Bavli Ḥagiga b. The Bavli evidently understood this passage as a historical record, since it adds R. Akiva’s admonition to the other sages as part of the record. My suggestion can only be made following the choice of the Tosefta as the base text. . It is possible that underlying the two suggestions is a different reading of the key term, which appears in the Hebrew as ‫לפרדס‬. This can be translated as either ‘‘the orchard’’ or ‘‘an orchard.’’ The former translation is more consistent with Scholem’s understanding, designating the Pardes as a known location for mystical activity; the second reads better with Urbach’s approach, that this is simply a parable. To a certain extent, a fundamental difference in describing the place of mysticism in ancient rabbinic Judaism hinges on the manner of vocalizing the unvocalized original. . Urbach, ‘‘The Traditions About Merkava Mysticism.’’ . Schäfer, ‘‘New Testament and Hekhalot Literature.’’ A similar interpretation was offered at the same time by Christopher Rowland, although Rowland allows for the particularly mystical dimension as well; for him it is a parable of four types of Torah students, where much of the danger involved in certain kinds of overengagement in Torah study stems from the areas of ma’aseh bereshit (‘‘the work or study of creation’’) and ma’aseh merkava. See Rowland, The Open Heaven, pp. –. Rowland’s suggestion assumes that both ma’aseh bereshit and ma’aseh merkava are areas of mystical reflection. I have recently argued against seeing ma’aseh bereshit as part of Jewish mysticism. See my article ‘‘Is Ma’aseh Bereshit Part of Ancient Jewish Mysticism?’’ . Halperin, The Merkabah in Rabbinic Literature. Note that Halperin is unable to suggest what is in fact the precise meaning of the original story (see pp. –). See also, Halperin, The Faces of the Chariot, p. .

NOTES TO PAGES 47–49 303

. Among those who have developed Urbach’s position are Yonah Fraenkel, who elaborates upon Urbach’s thesis while retaining his basic understanding that this parable refers to the study of the merkava. Fraenkel’s interpretation of the Pardes parable, which differs from Urbach’s, has been delivered orally (Institute of Jewish Studies, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Dec. , ), but has not been published. Notable among Scholem’s followers are Gruenwald, Apocalyptic and Merkavah Mysticism, who closely follows Scholem, and Liebes, The Sin of Elisha, who accepts Scholem’s basic premise that Pardes designates an ascent to heaven but develops his own direction in the interpretation of the story. New arguments for Scholem’s position have recently been offered by Morray-Jones in his two-part article, ‘‘Paradise Revisited.’’ My detailed critique of Morray-Jones can be found in my earlier work. James Davila, ‘‘The Hodayot Hymnist and the Four Who Entered Paradise,’’ has attempted to support Morray-Jones’s position based on his analysis of a Hodayot hymn. Davila’s discussion assumes Morray-Jones’s position, and builds upon it. However, the decision concerning the primary version of the Pardes passage, whether in the Tosefta or in the Hekhalot, must first be established independently of the Hodayot passage. The Hodayot passage is too vague to serve as an arbiter between MorrayJones’s position and my own. It is an allegory that can be variously interpreted. The Hodayot hymn does not unequivocally provide the same narrative sequence found in the Pardes passage. Even according to Davila’s reading, one must admit that whereas in the Hodayot text there is a menace to the garden, in the Pardes passage the orchard actually suffers harm. This difference is significant, since this is the only definite point of association between the Hodayot hymn and the Tosefta’s text. All other points of contact rely on Morray-Jones’s suggestion but cannot, in and of themselves, support them. Even here, some significant differences exist between the Hodayot text and the Hekhalot version of the Pardes passage. Most significantly, as Davila himself notes, p. , the hymn does not relate to the celestial temple. The understanding that pardes refers to the celestial temple underlies Morray-Jones’s reading. Davila, p. , rightly raises the possibility that his reading might be reconciled with my own. As I have argued above, the polemics of the ‘‘mystical collection’’ involve an appropriation of the language of the other. Thus, it might have been conceivable that the Pardes passage appropriates, in a polemical vein, language used by earlier mystics, traces of which might be found in the Hodayot hymn. However, as it stands, I fail to find such language in the hymn; its own concerns seem to me to be different not only from the tannaitic version of the Pardes but also from the later developments of the tradition in the Hekhalot. Therefore, I cannot subscribe to Davila’s suggestion of compromise. In the present context I should also like to correct three misunderstandings of my position by Davila. () Davila, p. , argues against my claim (‘‘Four Entered Paradise Revisited,’’ p. ) that the various terms describing vision in Tosefta Ḥagiga are not technical mystical terms, from Schäfer’s concordance. This argument is ir-

304 NOTE TO PAGE 49

relevant. My claim refers to rabbinic literature and not to the Hekhalot literature. () Davila argues against my interpretation of Tosefta : from Tosefta :. From the latter source, he concludes that the meaning of ‫הציץ‬, according to my analysis, is to engage in exegetical study, and he asks why, if so, did this bring disaster upon the students. However, one cannot assign a fixed allegorical meaning to the term ‫הציץ‬. In interpreting it one must be sensitive both to the literary genre and to the unfolding of the logic of the ‘‘mystical collection.’’ Thus, in the context of the typological list (:) it is exclusively negative, while in the parable (:; not allegory) it can be condoned, within certain limits. The problem of the different values assigned to ‫הציץ‬ confronts the reader of the Tosefta independently of my thesis. One can only reconcile this difficulty if one realizes that the later stage of the ‘‘mystical collection’’ attempts to make sense of the Pardes passage by further clarifying the difference between R. Akiva and his colleagues. This clarification must not be taken as assigning a fixed meaning to ‫הציץ‬. The use of the term shifts from unit to unit, as does the value attached to it. () The need to distinguish between R. Akiva and his colleagues finds various expressions in the ‘‘mystical collection.’’ The need to differentiate between them stems from the use of different genres in the collection. The typological list presents all four sages as belonging within one list. The parable in : attempts to establish the difference between them. The attempt to present R. Akiva as different finds expression also in : where different language is used with regard to R. Akiva. In my analysis, I pointed to the ways in which the shifts in language, as well as the use of different literary genres, present R. Akiva as different from the others. Davila’s claim, p. , that when the Tosefta states that ‘‘four entered prds’’ (his emphasis), this includes R. Akiva as well, misses the point. Were this a historical reference, his argument would be meaningful. But it is the opening formula of a typological list, and R. Akiva must be included in this opening formula. This is a literary requirement of the genre. What is significant is that, in every other instance in what follows, R. Akiva is presented as different. . The unit comprises Tosefta Ḥagiga :–. Unit numbers in the following discussion follow this division of the Tosefta passages. . See, e.g., the story of the sages who stayed awake all night in Bnei Brak, told at the beginning of the Passover Haggada. . Halperin, The Merkabah, p. . . The translation is based on Halperin, ibid. The quote is taken from Mekhilta de-Rabbi Yishmael Pisḥa , ed. Hayyim S. Horowits and Yisrael A. Rabin, –; d ed. (Jerusalem: Bamberger and Wahrmann, ), p. . . On the centrality of this tension to the very nature of biblical prophecy, see Muffs, Love and Joy, pp. –. . Urbach’s analysis (‘‘The Traditions,’’ p. ) relies on the London manuscript and the Palestinian Talmud’s omission of the names of the four from the opening statement. That this seems to be the preferred reading is strengthened by the con-

NOTES TO PAGES 49–50 305

formity of this passage to other instances of enumeration and typology in rabbinic literature. The Erfurt ms. of the Tosefta omits the typological structure from the opening phrase, thereby creating the (false) impression that this is the record of an actual event. In this it follows Shir Hashirim Rabba :. . Mekhilta de-Rabbi Yishmael Pisḥa, § , ed. Jacob Lauterbach,  vols. (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, ), : –, with changes. . Towner, The Rabbinic ‘‘Enumeration of Scriptural Examples,’’ has noted the important hermeneutic function of the enumeration lists in the Mekhilta. . The four sons passage in the Passover Haggada has been interpreted in light of the Pardes story. See the commentary of the fourteenth-century exegete Rashba]z (Shimon b. Zemah Duran), quoted in Haggada Shleima (Menahem M. Kasher; Jeru] salem, ), p. ; (in Hebrew). . The typology of three prophets also serves an evaluative function, and can also be seen as consisting of two extreme positions (Jeremiah and Elijah) and a middle position (Jonah). . Mishna Avot :–. . The Palestinian Talmud reverses the fates of Ben Azzai and Ben Zoma. This is reflected also in the London manuscript of the Tosefta, which follows the order of calamities as in the Tosefta and not the order of sages in the Palestinian Talmud. This may indicate the London manuscript’s attempt to adjust the Tosefta’s version to that of the Palestinian Talmud. The reversal of fates might still be less significant, if it is understood that Ben Zoma died a natural death and did not go insane. Such an understanding might emerge from Unit . If Ben Zoma and Ben Azzai both died, the different ways of presenting their fates would be a consequence of the need to fill in the middle positions with different possibilities. The variety would be more linguistic than substantive, however. For an interesting byproduct of the reversal of traditions, see Midrash Mishlei to Proverbs :. The verse that originally applied to Ben Zoma has been split in two, and made to apply to both sages. . We should also remember the tradition concerning Ben Azzai’s martyrdom, which obviously conflicts with the Pardes story and may have affected the parallel traditions concerning the respective fates of Ben Azzai and Ben Zoma; see Lam. Rabba :.. Rowland has attempted (The Open Heaven, pp. –) to read the version of Ben Azzai’s fate found in the Pardes story in light of this tradition. We should note that a reconciling of the two statements in the manner that Ben Azzai deserved to die as a consequence of the Pardes story, while his actual death took place at a later point (as in Genesis , where eating of the Garden’s tree leads to a death sentence), is most unlikely. The Pardes passage is a self-contained literary unit. As we see from Unit , the sequence of events is carried out within a short space of time, thus highlighting the obvious consequences of entering the Pardes. The recognition of the typological, rather than historical, nature of this source is the key to the reconciliation of the

306 NOTES TO PAGES 51–52

interpretation two ambiguous expressions in each butofalso conflicts concerning of Ben Azzai’s fate. This is obviously partof ofthe mypassages assessment thison deexactly whatashappened to Ben Zoma. This is a matter that the different sourcetermining as a literary creation, I shall suggest below. (seemeaning n.  above). course, this discrepancy may have led to at.traditions If this is dispute indeed the of theOf expression ‫נפגע‬. fate topassage anothershould sage. Concerning passage .tributing The ideaone thatsage’s the Pardes be viewed as Ben a listAzzai’s of typesdeath, is notthe new. may contradict other traditions that report he died a martyr’s death (see n. list above). Fischel, Rabbinic Literature and Greco-Roman Philosophy, p. ff., referred to the .the ADRN (A) . of types. However, this was done without the recogin terms of representation . particular See my ‘‘Four Entered Paradise Revisited,’’ . nition of the rabbinic genre to which the text p. conforms. Fischel referred the ‘‘mystical collection,’’ R. Akiva is protected through his own associato this list. as aIntypology of Epicureans. master,most R. Yehoshua. See ibid. .tion Forwith this areason, typological lists relate to ideal types, not to actual perSee Morray-Jones, , who realizes some the prophets significance of putting sonalities.. Except for the Pardes p. passage itself, the list of of three is the only the two lists together. exception to this rule. Although this list is organized differently, around the number Suggesting that strictly the editor of the ‘‘mysticalform collection’’ putother a creative and edithree, and. it does not adhere to the typological found in sources, on previous traditions a fundamental distinction between still itstorial mainmark concern, as in other sources, makes is the three possible attitudes toward the the status of the material found the Tosefta and other materials regarded prophet’s role, between God and in Israel, and not thethe historical persons.that Theare three as raw material for the through creation.the It ismidrashic assumed that the ‘‘mystical is a stylprophets it lists are created, process, to suit thecollection’’ needs of the izedTo literary artifact more about isitstaken framers than about the people or typology. the extent thatthat thisteaches midrashic creation seriously by its authors, it relates to. By rabbinic contrast, information. the raw material is seen ifasit‘‘reliable’’ teaching, this isthe theteachings equivalent of historical However, can be sugcould have been available in to athe editor of the I assume gestedwhich that the historical information typological list ‘‘mystical is derivedcollection.’’ in ways other thatcollation the traditions that are suggested as the basis forfacts, the formation of disregard the Pardes pasthan the and presentation of known historical one might sage arecomponent not themselves the fruit of editorial elaboration creativity that postdate the ‘‘factual’’ of a typological list and consider it asor a pure typology, in thethe Pardes passage. This does not amountitto assuming that the related teachers actuspite of apparently historical information contains. made their statement historically; rather, possibilities the statement in their name .ally Although I tend to believe that the various mentioned in thisexisted prior to redaction the documents which are found, and process did typological listthe were createdof merely in order toinfill in thethey literary pattern of this the typothe transmission these without teachings: I assume thatparthe later logicalnot list,substantially which gave affect the overall message of of danger distinguishing of other ADRNreaders received materials early stage in tradition history, ticulareditors dangers, maythese prefer to find afrom moreandetailed presentation of the and that these materials could have been transformed by the editor of suggest the ‘‘mystical dangers attendant upon unwanted visionary activity. A different reading may collection’’ three other typesaofgeneration dangers. or two later. If future research shows that the statements that considered raw suggests material afor the Pardes subjectfrom to the kind of (a)are Ben Azzai’s death danger to thepassage personwere that stems thesame direct active creativity found inactivity. the Tosefta, the basis for mytoargument contact witheditorial the Divine throughasvisionary This could be taken mean thatwould suffer. gazing might ‘‘overload’’ a person energetically and cause his death. This undesirable . My assumption, thatinsayings serve asa. the basis of stories that type of danger is methodological narrated in several other stories Bavli Ḥagiga has recently found the work of (b)are Bencreated Zoma’saround insanitythem, indicates a different typeaofdifferent danger:expression the mental in inability J. Neusner his Judaism and Story.might The type of relationship that Neusner presents to contain what isinseen. Mental instability further be linked to error. That error than the kind of sophisticated literary which I point. is oneisoffar thesimpler dangers accompanying the mystical vision is creativity clear fromtothe Bavli. AcFurther details canofbeElisha foundisinfounded ‘‘Four Entered Revisited,’’ pp.of–. cording to.Bavli a, the story on an Paradise erroneous perception This is also the only the caseBavli’s where expansion the proof text brought in passage, the Pardes passage heavenly . proceedings. Similarly, on the Pardes b, with other known interpretations of the verse. For theforother three sages, I makesaccords clear allusion to the speakers of lies, indicating a concern error. (The foundversion no relationship between the application of thetoproof texts and other known Hekhalot’s of the story shifts erroneous perception the inability to contain usagesofofthe those texts.see The meaning of these verses is created within the local context the fullness energy; Scholem, Jewish Gnosticism, p. .) The possibility that and does notinrely known midrashic traditions. Ben Zoma’s story the on Tosefta relates to the danger of error hinges on the interpre-

NOTES PAGES53 54–56 NOTE TO PAGE 307 309

tation of Unit  and its relations to Unit . It may be argued that Ben Zoma’s speculation is mistaken, even though I have argued the contrary. The mistaken teaching, reported in Unit , the fruit of unguided individual mystical gazing, may be related to the mental dangers of unseemly gazing, which Ben Zoma represents in the Pardes passage. Whether or not Ben Zoma teaches incorrectly, he represents the danger of the mental and intellectual effects of visionary activity. (c) The teaching to be drawn from Elisha ben Abuya’s example depends upon the interpretation of the phrase ‘‘cut the shoots.’’ The suggestion that guides my presentation, that it has no realistic reference, makes it harder to suggest a particular type of danger that is intended by the typological list. The understanding found in the amoraic sources, that Elisha ceased to observe the commandments, cannot be completely ruled out as part of the meaning of the Pardes passage. This would represent another form of danger in the typological list: a danger to religious observance, because engaging in unseemly gazing leads to harm in the classical religious sense. The Bavli provides a brilliant explanation of how such harmful effects develop. Alternatively, the reference to cutting the shoots might suggest that unseemly gazing is harmful not only to the person looking but to the subject of his vision as well. This is elaborated in the Bavli’s presentation, according to which the danger alluded to in the typological list concerns God or the heavenly realm and not just the person engaged in visionary activity. It is interesting to note that there are clear instances of all types of danger in the Bavli. While dividing into categories including energetic, mental, and practical has its appeal, I prefer a less loaded reading of the typological list. The point of the list is to suggest that different types of danger may result from inappropriate gazing. It offers its specifics in the framework of a presentation of certain sages, and through an inversion of their teachings. The details of the typological list are filled out not by the typology itself but by another process that leads to the creation of this composite source. I prefer to assume that for the creator of the Pardes passage, the details of the typological list are not intended to convey different types of danger; rather, the list as a whole conveys the message of danger, while its details convey another message, that unguided students go against their own teachings by engaging in visionary practices. . Even Scholem’s understanding of the passage as narrative must resort to some parabolic features when it comes to explaining this phrase. See Jewish Gnosticism, p.  n. , and p. , addenda to that note. . For a fuller discussion of the mixture of genres in the Pardes passage, see my ‘‘Four Entered Paradise Revisited,’’ pp. –. . The fate of Ben Zoma presents a possible discrepancy within the ‘‘mystical collection.’’ The understanding in Unit  that he went mad seems to contradict the understanding that he died, found in Unit . However, this depends not only on the

308 NOTES TO PAGE 54

interpretation of two ambiguous expressions in each of the passages but also on determining exactly what happened to Ben Zoma. This is a matter that the different traditions dispute (see n.  above). Of course, this discrepancy may have led to attributing one sage’s fate to another sage. Concerning Ben Azzai’s death, the passage may contradict other traditions that report he died a martyr’s death (see n.  above). . ADRN (A) . . See my ‘‘Four Entered Paradise Revisited,’’ p. . . In the ‘‘mystical collection,’’ R. Akiva is protected through his own association with a master, R. Yehoshua. See ibid. . See Morray-Jones, p. , who realizes some of the significance of putting the two lists together. . Suggesting that the editor of the ‘‘mystical collection’’ put a creative and editorial mark on previous traditions makes a fundamental distinction between the status of the material found in the Tosefta and the other materials that are regarded as raw material for the creation. It is assumed that the ‘‘mystical collection’’ is a stylized literary artifact that teaches more about its framers than about the people or the teachings it relates to. By contrast, the raw material is seen as ‘‘reliable’’ teaching, which could have been available to the editor of the ‘‘mystical collection.’’ I assume that the traditions that are suggested as the basis for the formation of the Pardes passage are not themselves the fruit of editorial elaboration or creativity that postdate the Pardes passage. This does not amount to assuming that the related teachers actually made their statement historically; rather, the statement in their name existed prior to the redaction of the documents in which they are found, and this process did not substantially affect the transmission of these teachings: I assume that the later editors of ADRN received these materials from an early stage in tradition history, and that these materials could have been transformed by the editor of the ‘‘mystical collection’’ a generation or two later. If future research shows that the statements that are considered raw material for the Pardes passage were subject to the same kind of active editorial creativity as found in the Tosefta, the basis for my argument would suffer. . My methodological assumption, that sayings serve as the basis of stories that are created around them, has recently found a different expression in the work of J. Neusner in his Judaism and Story. The type of relationship that Neusner presents is far simpler than the kind of sophisticated literary creativity to which I point. . Further details can be found in ‘‘Four Entered Paradise Revisited,’’ pp. –. . This is also the only case where the proof text brought in the Pardes passage accords with other known interpretations of the verse. For the other three sages, I found no relationship between the application of the proof texts and other known usages of those texts. The meaning of these verses is created within the local context and does not rely on known midrashic traditions.

NOTES TO PAGES 54–56 309

. Some witnesses of Ver. A relate to him the quality of wisdom, as in Ver. B. See Schecter’s note , ad loc. . Genesis Rabba :. . ADRN (B) ; translation based upon Saldarini, Fathers, . . See Fischel, Rabbinic Literature, pp. –. In light of their particular understanding, the Hekhalot traditions have directly elaborated on this tradition. See Schäfer, Synopse zur Hekhalot Literatur, § . . These are not expressed by identical terminology in the two texts. In ADRN, the verb is ‫ ;טרף נפשו‬in the Pardes, it is ‫פגע‬. If ‫ טרף נפשו‬relates to death, the editor of the Pardes may have had to refrain from using this verb, because he has already spoken of Ben Azzai’s death, and therefore introduced the more vague ‫נפגע‬. . One indication that the Pardes story is dependent on this parable may also be that both parables in Unit  refer to what a ‘‘man’’ must do (precisely the same term as in Ben Zoma’s statement). Note that in Unit , mention of an unnamed ‘‘man’’ who controls his looking removes R. Akiva again from the area of looking. It is not said expressly that R. Akiva looked; rather, this was implied by the reference to a ‘‘man.’’ . See Bacher, Die Agada der Tannaiten, : . Could a man’s vineyard refer to his wife? Compare Bereshit Rabba :. One should note that the consequences of such actions, if they are only moral transgressions, may be drastic. Does this indicate that for Ben Zoma the vineyard is not a mere vineyard? . The proof text concerning Elisha’s activity does not seem to relate to the cutting of the shoots, at least not in the literal sense, but to the sin that stems from desire, in the opening part of the verse. Both talmuds relate the proof text to their understanding of cutting the shoots. Finding a reference to cutting the shoots in the proof text would require relating to the conclusion of the verse and seeing the cutting of the shoots as the destruction of one’s handiwork. This would entail reading this part of the verse as describing Elisha’s actions, not God’s, and is obviously problematic. . ADRN (A) ; translation from Goldin, Fathers, p. . . This may be another reason for changing the vineyard into an orchard. The editor seeks to present the orchard as the opposite of the Torah. Since the vineyard relates to the Torah, as it does in Elisha’s saying, the editor transforms it into an orchard, which has the opposite association. . ADRN (B) ; translation from Saldarini, Fathers, p. . Of all traditions I have used, this is the only anonymous one. However, I need not rely exclusively upon its appearance in ADRN. Its tannaitic origins are authenticated by the parallel in Bereshit Rabba :, which is introduced by the formula ‫תני ר’ חייא‬, indicating that it quotes a tannaitic baraita. . The text from Proverbs  that appears in Elisha’s words is related in Bereshit Rabba, in a later tradition, to Adam, the subject of the last-quoted passage in ADRN. . The plain sense of the verse relates to using the mouth to sin, by making vows

310

NOTES TO PAGES 56–60

that are not kept. Of the various ways to interpret this verse with regard to Elisha in talmudic literature, none incorporates the plain sense of the verse. . ADRN (A) . CHAPTER 3

. This does not include the manner in which tannaitic sources are cited in the Bavli, where the original Elisha ben Abuya is replaced by Aḥer. See Berachot a. Tosefta Sanhedrin § , ed. Zuckermandel, p. , is not a reference to Aḥer. . I refer to the London ms., which omits the mention of the names of the four sages in the opening line. . However, this does not apply to the halakhic tradition in Mo’ed Qatan a, discussed above. . Of course, it might simply indicate the Yerushalmi’s preference for the use of personal names. Not using the sobriquet Aḥer in the Yerushalmi is striking in comparison to the Bavli, but it is obviously not conclusive of the Yerushalmi’s view of Elisha. . I suggest that the Yerushalmi was indeed aware of Babylonian materials, which would also account for the use of the sobriquet Aḥer in the aforementioned derashot. According to the last point raised in the discussion, the Babylonian influence on the Yerushalmi’s version of the Pardes passage would be even more far reaching, unless it is assumed that the sobriquet was created in Palestine, was then exported to Babylon, and was curiously expunged from later Palestinian sources, thus leaving only one reference to the sobriquet. This is not very likely. I take up the question of the transfer of materials from Babylon to Palestine, and back, later in this discussion. . Two other approaches should also be mentioned. Some writers have tried to find a biblical basis, or precedent, in light of which the sobriquet Aḥer may be understood. M. Hoffman, Toledot, p. , raises the possibility of the precedent from Genesis :, which according to the commentary by Nachmanides offers a precedent for calling someone Aḥer when not wanting to mention the name. Reines, Torah Umusar, p. n. , suggests a parallel to  Samuel :. The point of this reference is that Elisha was changed into a different person. Another approach is that the sobriquet Aḥer should be viewed as Elisha’s way of referring to himself. The first to make this suggestion was Hoffman, Toledot, p. . He was followed by Landsberg, Ḥikrei Lev, p. . This understanding is later expressed in the works of Liebes and G. Stroumsa. The self-reference sees something positive in the name. For Stroumsa, ‘‘Aḥer: a Gnostic,’’ p. ff., and Liebes, ‘‘Tsaddiq Yesod Olam,’’ p. , Elisha boasts of being an ‘‘other’’ in a gnostic sense of otherness. Liebes retains the basic approach to the name Aḥer but expands it in his different approach to Elisha, in The Sin of Elisha. Elisha considers himself to be an ‘‘other’’ as part of his hubris and rebellion against God in

NOTES TO PAGES 60–63

311

the name of justice; see Liebes, p. . In order to assume either theory, one has to accept the factuality of the Bavli’s report and assume that Aḥer already related to himself this way. My presentation of the development of the sources precludes this possibility. Therefore it is only meaningful to discuss how Elisha came to be known to later tradition, particularly in the Bavli, and what the causes were that led to the formation of the sobriquet. . J. Levi, Bikoret HaTalmud (Wien, ), p. . The traditional explanations emphasize either the change in Elisha, or his being different from other sages; both explanations assume that Aḥer was formed with some substantive message concerning Elisha in view. My research suggests that Aḥer was developed in order to single Elisha out, since it was felt, based upon the Pardes passage, that he was wicked. The reference to him as Aḥer is intended to avoid express mention of his name and to emphasize his sinfulness. According to either of the possibilities, it is his static nature as a sinner that is emphasized, not the dynamic process of transformation that he underwent. . See Yalon, Pirkei Lashon, p.  ff. . A difficulty pointed out by Landsberg, p. . . As already noted by Stroumsa, p. . . Offered by the Maharsha. . Hoffman, p. . . Green, ‘‘Otherness Within,’’ p. ; see also, Ayali, ‘‘Die Apostasie des Elischa ben Abuya,’’ p. . . See Back’s discussion, Elischa ben Abuya-Acher, p.  n. . . Later, in the discussion of R. Eleazar ben Arach, in Chap. , an example of this type of orthographic change will be discussed, with reference to the written Torah. . On the cosmic associations of the Torah, see Moore, Judaism, : –. . Could the great care over the writing of ‫אחד‬, and the prevention of any error, underlie the masoretic tradition, according to which the daleth of ‫ אחד‬in Deuteronomy : is enlarged? The Ba’al Haturim suggests this is also the meaning of the large resh in Exodus :. . Parallel in Shir HaShirim Rabba :. See also, Devarim Rabba :. . The following is a very partial list, indicating only how typical this phenomenon is throughout the different layers of rabbinic literature: Mishna Demai :; Bikkurim :; Tosefta Shabbat :; Pesaḥim :; Bavli Shabbat a, b; Yerushalmi Berachot : b; Pe’ah : d; Mekhilta Vayehi ; Sifra Tazri’a :; Bereshit Rabba :. The juxtaposition of ‫ כתוב אחר‬and ‫כתוב אחד‬, as a reference to two contrasting verses, is standard. In our sugya in the Yerushalmi, there are two examples of this linguistic pattern, ‫אדם אחד—אדם אחר ;בית אחד—בית אחר‬. See also, Yerushalmi Berachot : b: ‫ה’ אחד—אדון אחר‬. . One should note how easily the process can be reversed, and Elisha would be called ‫אחד‬, even if this reversal is due to scribal error. See Schäfer, Synopse, § .

312

NOTES TO PAGES 63–67

. N. Krochmal, Moreh Nevuchei HaZeman, p. , draws on this baraita in his discussion of gnosticism and relates the ‫ דרך אחרת‬as well as the sobriquet ‫ אחר‬to gnosticism. I point only to the formal parallel between the sources and do not assume any direct link between them. Lieberman has studied this passage along with other passages relating to ‫ דרך אחרת‬in his ‘‘Light on the Cave Scrolls.’’ Following Lieberman’s analysis, it is difficult to establish a relationship between ‫ אחר‬and ‫ דרך אחרת‬and to see Elisha as a heterodox Jew because the heterodox practices referred to here are more stringent than usual. This hardly fits with the image of the sinning antinomian Elisha. . See Yalon, Pirkei Lashon, p. . See also the reading of G (Geniza fragment, Oxford ,) in the opening episode of Bavli I. . I discuss this point in Chap. , n. . . See my article, ‘‘Is Ma’aseh Bereshit Part of Ancient Jewish Mysticism?’’, p. . . See also, ibid., p. , for a further possibility of association of these motives in the Bavli. . Green, p. , has noted that the Yerushalmi should be viewed as consisting of two originally independent segments, but he attempts to read them as a piece. See also Rubenstein, p. . . See also, Neusner, From Literature to Theology in Formative Judaism, p. . Neusner, in the context of studying Ruth Rabba, characterizes the passage as one that is parachuted down, from previously worked out materials, because of the relation to the proof text, and he addresses the question of whether these materials fit in with a larger statement made in Ruth Rabba or whether their association with Ruth Rabba is incidental to the proof text, and no more. His discussion on p.  seems to me to suggest that he thinks this material ought to fit into the larger concerns of the document. Elsewhere, however (The Midrash Compilations of the Sixth and Seventh Centuries, vol. , Ruth Rabbah, p. ), he lists this passage as not relevant to the logic of the whole. According to my analysis, the story cycle conforms remarkably to the logic Neusner presents as the message of Ruth Rabba, p. ff. The story of the outsider, and the power of Torah in relation to the outsider, is precisely Elisha’s story. . Bavli Kiddushin b. The sugya is also brought at the end of Bavli Ḥullin, a. However, an examination of the manuscripts suggests that its appearance there is secondary. Since the earlier part of Bavli Kiddushin appears in this concluding sugya of Bavli Ḥullin, its continuation was imported there as well, but manuscript evidence indicates that this was done at a late stage. The discussion of Aḥer is missing in all manuscripts, namely: Hamburg , Munich , Vatican  and , and Leningrad Firkovitch /. It appears only in the various printed editions (the earliest is Pesaro, ), as well as in Ein Ya’akov and Haggadot Hatalmud. Of these late textual witnesses, only one testifies to the reading attested in all manuscripts as well as in early printed editions of Bavli Kiddushin: ‫דגברא רבה‬. All other witnesses offer the

NOTES TO PAGES 67–74

313

same reading found only in the Vilna print: ‫דחוצפית המתורגמן‬. To the extent that this reading seems to be a later change introduced in the textual tradition, the insertion of the sugya at the end of Ḥullin would probably be related. . The Yerushalmi does not seem to be aware of this family relationship. It assumes a different chronological relation between the sages, with R. Yaakov preceding Elisha chronologically. . From the way in which the sugya unfolds, it is evident that R. Yaakov did not formulate his teaching in response to the events of his grandfather. He is the first source and therefore stands independently in the formation of the sugya, into which Aḥer is introduced at a later stage. . Could it be that the ascription of this derasha to Elisha’s grandson is also designed to rehabilitate him in some manner? According to this presentation, his grandson continues to contribute to ongoing rabbinic discussion. Elisha’s progeny and their inclusion in society are the subject of the episode narrated in both talmuds concerning Rabbi and Elisha’s daughter(s). The statement that his grandson was a teacher, in whose teaching lay the key to the questions that plagued Elisha, may thus be significant for the issue of the ultimate reintegration of Elisha into rabbinic society. Of course, it is also possible that this case is presented by the talmudic storytellers purely for the sake of irony: Elisha’s own grandson delivers the teaching that would have saved his grandfather. If it is not assumed that some ideological gain is made by establishing a family link between Elisha and R. Yaakov, or that it is told simply to increase the irony, then it can be concluded that the Bavli preserves the memory of an actual family relationship. Following my methodological guidelines, where no obvious ideological or literary gain can be discerned, I tend to accept the unwitting testimony of talmudic sources. . This seems to be the correct inference from Elisha’s statement about the mouth that ‘‘formerly uttered pearls.’’ Presumably the reference is to words of Torah. Rabbinic references to a ‘‘great man’’ always relate to the status of the great man with regard to Torah study. . All manuscripts and printed editions of Bavli Kiddushin read ‘‘great man,’’ with no name; the Vilna edition alone identifies the great man as Ḥu]zpit the Translator, and this identification is also found in the late witnesses that bring this passage at the end of Bavli Ḥullin (referred to there as Rabbi Ḥu]zpit). The subsequent identification of the ‘‘great man’’ with Ḥu]zpit is secondary. The Yerushalmi identifies the martyr as R. Yehuda the Baker. The Maharsha, Kiddushin ad loc., still has to rely upon the Yerushalmi for an identification of the ‘‘great man.’’ I am unable to account for why the ‘‘great man’’ would be identified with Ḥu]zpit; there is no other association of Ḥu]zpit with this term. Ḥu]zpit does appear in rabbinic lists of martyrs, which, though late in terms of rabbinic literature, is obviously much earlier than the emendation of the textual tradition. See Eicha Rabba :; Midrash Psalms :. It may be that Ḥu]zpit is chosen as the ‘‘great man’’ because he is a little-known sage. In numer-

314

NOTES TO PAGES 74–75

ous instances the expression ‘‘great man’’ is used with regard to secondary rabbinic figures—calling somebody a ‘‘great man’’ virtually establishes that (see in particular Bavli Bava Batra a)—but the term ‘‘great man’’ is sometimes applied to great figures of rabbinic literature (Bavli Avoda Zara b, a; Zevaḥim a; Nidda a; the expression is particularly typical of the Bavli). In any event, ‘‘great man’’ is virtually always used with regard to a recognized personality. This example is unique because the reference to ‘‘great man’’ is anonymous, the ambiguity having been resolved by later generations. Except for the fact that a martyr who is not a major rabbinic figure is involved, I cannot account for the naming of Ḥu]zpit; there is no tradition that Ḥu]zpit’s body was dismembered, which might have led to this identification, since the source mentions the sight of a dismembered tongue. Perhaps the figure of the translator was chosen because of the reference to the mouth that uttered pearls: it is the meturgeman (translator) who actually brings forth the words of Torah. It is possible that identifying the ‘‘great man’’ as Ḥu]zpit in the Vilna edition of Kiddushin is due to the influence of the sugya in Ḥullin. However, this still does not account for the identification. . It should be noted that the position taken concerning the existence of a world-to-come is also what distinguishes those who are ‘‘in’’ from those who are ‘‘out’’ in other cases. See ADRN (A) . It is an ironic twist of events, when it is considered that the earliest contemporary mention of Elisha, in ADRN, may have related to Elisha in precisely these terms. . This fact is important to remember in assessing the different images of Elisha’s Torah. As will be seen, the sources are divided on the question of how perfect or imperfect Elisha’s Torah is. . For other instances of avoidance of direct reference to the pig, see Bavli Shabbat b. . Interestingly, the Yerushalmi, which does not refer to Elisha as Aḥer, places the tongue in a dog’s mouth rather than a pig’s mouth—perhaps because the pun is less successful when Elisha is related to by his own name. Alternatively, the image may be too powerful; if so, it calls for mitigation. That might also account for the version in Ḥullin, according to which the tongue is placed on a garbage heap. . On the association of ‫ אחר‬and ‫דבר אחר‬, see Ginzberg, ‘‘Elisha ben Abuyah,’’ p. . . As I shall suggest, this term is of great significance for the storytellers of Ḥagiga. . The sugya in Kiddushin does not discuss Elisha’s fate in the world-to-come, only his lack of faith in the afterlife, but it is conceivable that for this sugya, one who lacks in belief of the world-to-come will not enter it. Compare Mishna Sanhedrin :. . It is obviously counterproductive to reconcile the two sugyot in terms of a progression of events, as the Maharsha attempts. The only way in which the two

NOTES TO PAGES 76–77

315

completely independent sugyot can be related to each other is by pointing to the thematic and structural similarities they share. . See my ‘‘Testaments in Rabbinic Literature,’’ pp. –, . . This was seen earlier by Liebes, p. . . Bavli Ḥagiga b. . This is the reading of all manuscripts, with the exception of the printed version, which emends to ‘‘from his mouth.’’ . The commentators are obviously sensitive to this point. Rashi paraphrases the question in relation to the preceding discussion: Why did this Torah not protect him? Thus the answers given by the sugya are not definitions or explications of the name or actions of Aḥer but a description of a force powerful enough to counteract the positive effects of Torah study. Accordingly, Rashi assumes the reading of heretical books to have preceded and therefore possibly to have led to Aḥer’s following evil ways, even though this is not explicitly stated. Such an interpretation becomes necessary when one attempts to read the Bavli in its entirety. . Here I take issue with Green, p. , who attempts to account for Elisha’s otherness by means of all that is known from talmudic sources concerning the sage. In my opinion, stories that were created as reactions to other elements in the Pardes passage cannot be employed to ascertain what constitutes otherness in this culture. Therefore, Elisha’s sinning is not necessarily relevant to a discussion of identity and otherness. The fact that Bavli II is created as an explanation of his sobriquet makes this sugya particularly relevant to a discussion of identity and otherness. . If, in fact, there is an early sugya that already refers to Elisha as Aḥer, without assuming he was a sinner, this would help our understanding of Bavli I. In Bavli I, a heavenly voice relates to Elisha as Aḥer, and excludes him from repentance, before he had committed any sin. It might simply be said that Bavli I relates to Elisha in the conventional manner. On the level of the plot, however, his designation as Aḥer would make little sense; he had not yet sinned, so why should he be called Aḥer? Moreover, how would he have recognized himself as Aḥer at this point in the story? Liebes’s suggestion, pp. –, that Elisha is the one who actively applied a nonspecific heavenly voice to himself, seems forced. Yet if other traditions existed that accounted for Elisha’s otherness not in terms of sin but in another manner, the reference to Elisha as Aḥer by the heavenly voice is more easily understood. Elisha would be Aḥer not because of his sins but on other grounds. If Bavli II preceded Bavli I, the reference to Elisha as Aḥer and the logic of the story in Bavli I would make better sense. . This was not possible in the case of Bavli Kiddushin, which simply used the sobriquet Aḥer without accounting for it and without being visibly shaped by it. . In fact, this is the only occurrence of the expression ‫זמר יווני‬, Greek song, in the Talmud or elsewhere in rabbinic literature. We do not have reference to a prevalent prohibition, nor is there any instance in which the person of Aḥer is equated

316

NOTES TO PAGES 78–80

with some known evil. On the contrary, here a particular evil is tailored to suit the description of Elisha as an ‘‘other.’’ This must be borne in mind when this source is seen in the context of a discussion of Greek acculturation. See Goldstein, ‘‘Jewish Acceptance and Rejection of Hellenism,’’ p. . . However, see the Maharsha’s reservation with regard to Rashi’s commentary and his preference for the interpretation having been used. . See Tosefta Shabbat : and Sifrei Bamidbar Piska . . This point is made previously by the Maharsha. Various modern writers have suggested that Elisha engaged in missionary activity on behalf of his favored belief (see Stroumsa, p. ). In order to present Elisha as a missionary, one would have to combine the information found in the present source, relating his reading heretical works, with the information found in Yerushalmi I, according to which Elisha enticed students away from the study of Torah. Alternatively, Elisha’s killing of young students would have to be understood as a reference to such corrupting influence, as does Stroumsa (ibid.). The suggested methodology merges information and thereby creates new historical structures that do not appear in the sources. This sort of synthetic reading of the sources blurs the unique emphasis of each source and fails to take into account the forces that led to the formation of each source, seeing in them all reliable historical reports. . This would provide a good answer to the opening question, as paraphrased by Rashi: Why did his Torah not protect him? The logical response is that, rather than study Torah, Elisha read heretical books. . Consequently, it is pointless to draw any historical information from this source concerning the legitimacy or illegitimacy of the private reading of apocryphal works. See Louis Ginzberg, ‘‘Some Observations on the Attitude of the Synagogue Towards the Apocalyptic-Eschatological Writings,’’ p. . Not only can this source not provide us with information concerning the historical Elisha ben Abuya, but it also cannot be cast in terms of what is prohibited or permitted, since its concern is cultural otherness, and not the boundaries of permitted reading. . In the context of this interpretation, the Yerushalmi does not exhibit any understanding as to what the Pardes itself is. Schäfer’s reconstruction of the Yerushalmi’s sense of the Pardes in relation to the Torah, based on the Elisha passage, assumes a uniform interpretation that can be reconstructed. But this is precisely what the Yerushalmi lacks and what enables its interpretation of the Elisha passage. See Schäfer, ‘‘New Testament and Hekhalot Literature,’’ pp. –. . See Liebes, p. ff. Rubenstein, p. , suggests that the reference to Elisha ‘‘seeing’’ the student(s) constitutes an interpretation of the Tosefta’s ‘‘gazed.’’ I am not convinced by this suggestion. The Aramaic ‫חמי‬, ḥamei, is standard and does not seem to echo the Tosefta’s ‫הציץ‬, heFziFz. . This seems to be the meaning of the phrase ‫רבי תורה‬, rabei Torah, in this context, in light of the following discussion. For another sense of ‫ רבי תורה‬with reference

NOTES TO PAGES 80–82

317

to masters of Torah, see Otiot deRabbi Akiva, Ver. A, Batei Midrashot, ed. Wertheimer, p. . . See also, Liebes, p. ; Halperin, The Merkabah, p.  n. . . The source of such an understanding is biblical. Landsberg, p. , points to Psalms :—‫אשר בנינו כנטיעים‬. . It should be noted that the parallel tradition in Bavli Shabbat b is not as explicit about the use of ‫ נטיעה‬to designate a child. The fact that this linguistic usage is particular to Palestinian sources might account for this understanding of Elisha’s sin being limited to the Yerushalmi. . Yerushalmi Mo’ed Qatan : c. . In light of my reading, such an interpretation would be inconceivable in the original Tosefta version. The Tosefta contrasted legitimate Torah activity with the Pardes, which is its opposite: worldly pleasure. To understand ‘‘cutting the shoots’’ in reference to the Torah would be to introduce legitimate Torah activity into the second part of the Tosefta while stating that Elisha did wrong in this context. In light of this literary analysis, I cannot accept a reading that views the Pardes as a form of legitimate Torah-related activity. For this reason as well, I cannot accept Schäfer’s reading of the Pardes story, which relies on this passage in the Yerushalmi for its interpretative clue. See Schäfer, ‘‘New Testament and Hekhalot Literature,’’ pp. –. . The formula ‫ולא עוד‬, moreover, indicates that this act is viewed as harsher than the first. I think it unlikely that the Yerushalmi understood removing scholars from their studies to be a greater sin than killing them. The likely meaning of ‘‘moreover’’ refers to where Elisha’s activities took place. In the first passages, Elisha kills Torah scholars; in the second, he enters the beit midrash and causes damage within. In this sense, the activity reported in the second passage is more extreme than that reported in the first. . See the two interpretative possibilities brought in Midrash Tannaim to Deuteronomy :. See further, Vayikra Rabba :. . See also Halperin, The Merkabah, pp. –. This is evidenced by the reversal of fates of Ben Azzai and Ben Zoma, which is unique to the Yerushalmi and to Shir HaShirim Rabba. Nevertheless, this version does not copy the Yerushalmi, it embellishes it. It may also show traces of the Bavli’s version of the Pardes passage: it incorporates the names of the sages into the opening statement, thereby presenting it as a historical account and omitting the elements of the typological list that are found in the Tosefta and in the Yerushalmi. Because it is constructed as a narrative of a historical event, it has R. Akiva explaining why he succeeded where others failed. This is clearly a later addition, based on the historical understanding of the source. See my article ‘‘Four Entered Paradise Revisited,’’ pp. –. . See Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic, p. , s.v. ‫;מילה‬ Daniel Sperber, Magic and Folklore in Rabbinic Literature, pp. –. . The magician is also the outsider. See Ricks, ‘‘The Magician as Outsider,’’ pp.

318

NOTES TO PAGES 82–84

–. As we shall see, particularly in Bavli I, Elisha is the outsider. Here, too, Elisha is portrayed as being outside the field of the schoolhouse, and drawing the students outside. . This kind of mitigation is paralleled by the Bavli’s mitigation of the childkilling traditions, which we shall see below. That later sources mitigate earlier reports indicates that the development of Elisha’s image is not exclusively in the direction of progressively greater wickedness. Cf. Back, p.  n. . . The parallel to the image of Jesus the magician is obvious. See Smith, Jesus the Magician, esp. pp. –, where the casting of the opponent as a magician is seen in a comparative context. In view of this parallel, we may consider the possibility that this image is an obvious way of dealing with the dangerous ‘‘other’’ by casting him as a magician. However, unlike Jesus and Apollonius of Tyana, Elisha does not have disciples, nor does he figure at the center of a religious group, so the charge of being a magician carries no social ramifications. This would indicate that the source is best accounted for on exegetical grounds in relation to the proof text from Qohelet and the earlier tradition of the Yerushalmi. . Davila, ‘‘The Hodayot Hymnist,’’ p. , has suggested an interesting analogy between this text and his reading of the Hodayot hymn. . The particular case of violating the Sabbath and the concern for carrying objects between different domains cannot be accounted for on hermeneutical grounds. Obviously, some details must be provided to explain how Elisha led others into sin. There is a possibility that the choice of transgression is itself symbolic of Elisha’s situation. In my analysis of the Bavli, I suggest that the description of Elisha walking up to the Sabbath limit offers symbolic expression for his status as a sage who walks up to the limit of legitimacy and is in turn incorporated into the bounds of society. The violation of carrying something from the private to the public domain is symbolic of Elisha’s own situation, having moved himself from one realm to another and having joined forces with the ‫רבים‬, the many. Alternatively, it is symbolic of what this source suggests Elisha attempted to do: remove Jews from one domain to another. I raise this possibility with regard to the Yerushalmi with far less certainty than with regard to Bavli, because the conscious fictitious element and the elaborate literary composition of the Bavli are not present in Yerushalmi I, which gives the impression that its authors understood they were writing history rather than telling tales. It is important to note that the story of Sabbath transgression is one of a completed and successful violation, whereas in the Bavli, Sabbath transgression is prevented. . ADRN (B), ; see also, Bereshit Rabba :, without reference to the vineyard. . See Bereshit Rabba :. . Devarim Rabba :. . This source was used with only partial success by Halperin, The Faces of the Chariot, p. . . Pesikta de Rav Kahanna :.

NOTES TO PAGES 84–87

319

. See further instances in Bereshit Rabba : and Yerushalmi Yebamot :, p. a. CHAPTER 4

. I should again like to acknowledge my enormous debt to Rabbi Y. Hutner, head of the Institute for the Complete Israeli Talmud, for his invaluable assistance in very generously making available to me a record of all relevant variant readings in the text of the Bavli. I should also like to thank Steven Wald, who is working on a scientific edition of the second chapter of Bavli Ḥagiga, for his great assistance in analyzing, conceptualizing, and presenting the textual aspects of the sugya. . The talmudic text does not actually make mention of God at this point. I find no better translation for the Hebrew ‫חס ושלום‬. . On the Bavli’s mystical understanding of the Pardes material, see Halperin, The Merkabah, pp. –. . The length of the quote varies in the manuscript tradition. However, it is well known that the rabbis often exegete an entire verse and that the length of a quote in a rabbinic source does not necessarily determine what part is utilized by the derasha; turning to the latter part of the verse to understand the formation of the derasha is therefore not dependent on accepting one particular textual witness. Liebes, The Sin of Elisha, p. , correctly understands the formation of the story in relation to the proof text; see also Assaraf, L’Hérétique, p. . Bowker’s proposition, The Targums and Rabbinic Literature, p. , that the point of the story is to serve as a warning against ascribing too great a position to Metatron fails to take into account the exegetical function of the story. The exegetical dimension makes Bowker’s suggestion superfluous. Similarly, Alexander, ‘‘The Historical Setting of the Hebrew Book of Enoch,’’ p. , sees the story as a polemic against ancient Jewish gnostics who elevated Metatron into a second power. Significantly, he does not consider this story to have been constructed to serve exegetical needs but thinks it rather as hung on a peg, according to the needs of the editor; see Alexander, ‘‘ Enoch and the Talmud,’’ p. . A recognition of the exegetical and ideological workings of the story in its entirety leads me to reject this line of explanation—which is echoed, as is virtually anything ever said in the literature concerning Elisha ben Abuya, by Assaraf, p. . . The reference to ‘‘the angel,’’ without further identification, is taken to be Metatron. This is consistent with other cases where an unspecified angel is taken to be Metatron (see Bavli Sanhedrin b). However, it is not a hermeneutic rule that all references to unidentified angels are associated with Metatron: Genesis : and Zecheriah : could have drawn such rabbinic interpretation but do not do so. Rabbinic interpretation of Qohelet : can draw other identifications of the angel, and is not limited to Metatron; see Vayikra Rabba :.

320 NOTES TO PAGES 89–90

. See Segal, Two Powers in Heaven. It is immaterial what led Elisha to his mistaken conclusion. Later tradition seems to find the fact that Metatron is given permission to sit to be insufficient grounds for error. It therefore portrays Metatron as being crowned and the object of worship. This elaboration unwittingly also functions as a way of reducing the gravity of Elisha’s error, a yet finer error of celestial perception. See Arthur Green, The Crown of God in Early Jewish Mysticism, pp. , . . I do not think, contra Rubenstein, p. , that the punishment of Metatron echoes God’s anger, expressed in that verse. Similarly, the suggestion (ibid.) that the bat kol echoes the biblical ‘‘and do not say’’ seems to me far-fetched. This part of the verse is applied to Elisha’s mistaken speech, and not to God’s purposeful voice, in order to teach Elisha that he is mistaken. See Tosafot and Rabbenu Ḥananel ad loc.; also, R. Hai Gaon, OFzar HaGeonim, Ḥagiga, p. . This traditional understanding has been contested by Liebes; see his arguments, pp. , –. I believe my presentation adequately answers Liebes’s various challenges. . G, which reads ‫למקלע‬, may represent a hybrid of the two textual traditions. . Neither expression is typical, and I have not been able to locate a rabbinic parallel to either expression. Its formation is a unique expression in the context of the story. In contrast, the phrase that appears in the printed version might have a parallel. See Bavli Megilla a. . Rubenstein, p. , suggests that the Yerushalmi should also be understood in light of a measure-for-measure principle. However, the Yerushalmi offers no wordplays to highlight this logic, at least not as far as Elisha’s sins are concerned. Following common rabbinic conventions, I prefer to recognize a strict measure-for-measure logic where it is articulated by means of conscious linguistic devices. . The description of the burning of Elisha’s merits could thus relate both to the biblical proof text and to the rabbinic expression ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬. . To this we might add the possibility that also the issuing forth of a divine voice may be grounded in the key proof text. Perhaps the verse was read not only as ‘‘God being angered at your voice,’’ but ‘‘God, in his anger, being angry through the voice that he issues for you.’’ In light of the thick interpretation the story offers for the proof text, the connection between ‫קולך‬, kolecha, your voice, and ‫בת קול‬, bat kol, heavenly voice, seems at least a possibility. A further possibility of playing on this verse might occur in the final part of the story cycle, even though it may be reasonably argued that the final part of the story is no longer conscious of the proof text. When God refuses to recite teachings of Torah in R. Meir’s name, he is in fact angry at his voice, because of his association with Elisha. . This fact may also be substantiated by the proof text in Qohelet. If the reference to heavenly voice is also part of the hermeneutical process, it relates to the biblical statement that God is angered by means of a voice. The heavenly voice would then be God’s reaction, and not that of the angel. On this fundamental point, regardless of its exegetical underpinnings, I differ from Liebes, who reads a large part

NOTES TO PAGES 90–91

321

of the story as the revengeful and deceitful activities of Metatron. Concomitantly, this interpretation makes it unnecessary to speak of rivalry or jealousy in relations between humans and angels as the background for the Elisha story. Liebes’s understanding of Metatron’s jealousy is only supported by the Karraite Yehuda Haddasi’s paraphrase of the story in Eshkol Hakofer, p. a. . These words appear in all manuscripts. They form part of Elisha’s speech, and there is no basis for regarding them as a later editorial insertion, as Steinsaltz suggests in his Hebrew commentary to Ḥagiga, p. . The suggestion is also made by Segal, Two Powers, p.  n. , and by Alexander, ‘‘ Enoch and the Talmud,’’ p. . In the discussion, I shall propose that the expression ‫ שמא חס ושלום‬constitutes a literary convention and should be appreciated in light of other applications of the phrase. ‫ חס ושלום‬was omitted by some reworkings of the text in the Hekhalot; see Schäfer, Synopse, § . . This is not the only possibility. Another is the desecration of the holy name. Mishna Avot : teaches that with regard to the desecration of God’s name, the distinction between intentional and unintentional actions does not apply. The flogging of Metatron might be seen as a case of ‫חילול השם‬. . See Mishna Avot : and Bavli Bava Metzia b. See also, Bamidbar Rabba : and Tanḥuma Buber Vayikra ; the last source uses the formula in the broadest sense. . See, e.g., Bavli Yoma b; Sukka a; Nazir b. If the basis for Elisha’s error is a teaching that lacks a biblical proof text, an interesting contrast is suggested between him and R. Akiva. R. Akiva’s success is explained in the continuation of the Bavli, a, as being based on his successful exegetical abilities. R. Akiva is able to distinguish between God and the angels by means of making a proper derasha. In contrast, Elisha mistakes Metatron for God, based upon a teaching, ‫גמירי‬, that lacks a scriptural basis. The possibility that R. Akiva’s success has an exegetical basis reechoes the basic message of the ‘‘mystical collection.’’ . The suggestion that statements attributed to the tannaim are fictitious figures heavily in the argument that follows. On the subject of fictitious tannaitic teachings, see Jacobs, ‘‘Are There Fictitious Baraitot in the Babylonian Talmud?’’ See further, Milikowsky, ‘‘Gehenna and ‘Sinners of Israel,’ ’’ p. n. . I personally favor the possibility that this is a planted fictitious teaching, although there is no clear proof. For further instances of fictitious teaching, see the discussion of the derasha on Qohelet : in Chap. . . This is the Bavli’s primary understanding of ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬, but there may be other meanings for the phrase. Liebes, p. , has suggested that ‘‘cutting the shoots’’ refers to the harm inflicted upon Metatron. This point is based on the logic that if Pardes is an epithet for heaven, the angels are viewed as plants that grow in heaven. I have not been able to find such a notion in any other rabbinic source. In any event, it seems unlikely that the expression ‫ קיצץ בנטיעות‬is responsible for the incident with

322 NOTES TO PAGES 91–92

Metatron, because only one angel is mentioned, whereas the plural form, ‫נטיעות‬, should have led to a description of harm inflicted on many angels. Compare the continuation of the sugya concerning R. Akiva, where the angels are mentioned in the plural. The proof text from Qohelet therefore seems a much more likely source for the description of the incident with the angel. A further instance of play upon ‫ קיצץ בנטיעות‬can be found in the story of Elisha and the harlot. . That the sobriquet Aḥer governs the presentation of the Bavli can also be seen by the frequent punning on the sobriquet. The heavenly voice is issued ‫הפרגוד מאחורי‬, in what seems to be a deliberate editorial pun. See further below, Chap. , n. . . Compare the contrary notion in tractate Gan Eden veGehinnom, Bet haMidrasch, ed. A. Jellinek (rep. Jerusalem, ), : . . According to all textual witnesses, the problem concerns the sight of the seated angel. Alexander, ‘‘ Enoch and the Talmud,’’ pp. –, attempts to draw a distinction between two recensions of the story. According to the earlier recension, which Alexander finds in ms. Munich , the problem might not be Metatron’s sitting but rather his glorious appearance (p. ); Alexander offers no textual support for this suggestion. My study, which is based on a survey of all the manuscripts, including the two studied by Alexander, reveals that the element of sitting is common to both manuscript families and should be taken as the heart of the story. The notion also appears in Munich , and Alexander’s attempt to disregard this element is forced: that the tradition that Elisha quotes relates to standing as well as sitting, and is thus self-contradictory, is beside the point. The storyteller was interested in only a part of this quote, hence he ignored the implication of other parts. Since explicit reference to standing is only secondary in the manuscript tradition (V G D), no express contradiction is created by the mention of standing. . G is fragmented here; what we have of it reads ‫תלת שעות‬, namely, three hours, but this reading is the only witness to the possibility that the writing of merits takes three hours a day. The combination of Metatron and three hours is found in other texts, and it is likely that it entered this textual tradition from there. See  Enoch : (The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha), ed. James H. Charlesworth (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, ), : . This textual tradition is, however, significant for the reconstruction of the Branch A reading of the text. It seems reasonable to assume that the three hours did not replace one hour, but rather no mention of time at all. Therefore, there are two Branch A manuscripts that deviate from the reading of one hour a day, and the one deviation, that of ms. M, makes room for the formation of the other. If so, M’s reading may not be just its own omission, but may represent the reading of Branch A manuscripts. Omission of ‘‘one hour a day’’ in the printed editions would also be best explained as reflecting this textual tradition rather than as a later emendation. It may therefore be that Branch A manuscripts account for Elisha’s error by relating the event as something other than a regular occurrence, an event for which Elisha could not be expected to be prepared.

NOTES TO PAGES 93–94 323

. The elimination of Elisha’s merits is part of a measure-for-measure reaction to the havoc he creates on high. This can be seen by the choice of verbs employed: the reading according to which Elisha’s merits are burned establishes a relationship to the fiery lashes that Metatron received; the reading according to which his merits are erased is obviously intended to contrast with the recording of Israel’s merits. The reading that his merits are uprooted does not seem to figure as part of this logic but probably echoes the phrase ‫קיצץ בנטיעות‬, which it captures in terms of uprooting Elisha’s previous merit. . One might go so far as to claim that Metatron is taken out so that the corresponding action can happen to Elisha. The Hekhalot literature shows that the story of Metatron could have been told without the element of taking out (see Schäfer, Synopse, § ). However, the theme of taking out is part of a cluster of motives that this story shares with others and it may therefore be independent of the concerns of Elisha’s story. Compare Bavli Yoma a. . It should be noted that in attempting to account for the name Aḥer, the Maharsha relates it to the prohibition of making other gods, ‫אלהים אחרים‬, which he sees Elisha doing when he reflects on two powers in heaven. He is an ‘‘other’’ because he believes in ‘‘other’’ gods. The Maharsha assumes this story to be accurate historically, and thus sees it as an etiology of the sobriquet Aḥer. From my perspective, there is a different reconstruction of the formation of this passage, although the Maharsha’s reading of Elisha’s story in terms of intentional and unintentional behavior, and the meaning of the wiping away of Elisha’s merits, is close to mine. . See my ‘‘God and Israel as Father and Son in Tannaitic Literature,’’ pp. –. . The Yerushalmi describes Elisha as a sinner at the time of the sounding of the heavenly voice, but in the Bavli, Elisha becomes a sinner as a result of hearing the heavenly voice. The Yerushalmi adds to the expression of the bat kol the following description of Elisha: ‫שידע כבודי ומרד בי‬, who knew My glory and rebelled against me. This textual addition has been carried over from the Yerushalmi into some of the Bavli’s manuscripts. It is found in manuscripts OEHIS (the reading of GS ‫שיצא לתרבות רעה‬, can be understood as either past or future tense; the fragment ends here). No Branch A manuscript records this change, and of the complete Ḥagiga manuscripts, only O, which is often characterized by insertions, brings this expansion, which is contrary to the Bavli’s logic and should not be regarded as part of its textual tradition. It may be that the same theological problem that prompted the Yerushalmi to expand upon the original formula led these textual witnesses to incorporate the Yerushalmi’s addition in the text of the Bavli. . See Sifrei Devarim ; Yerushalmi Ketubot :, d; Tractate Semachot :; Bavli Berachot b; Bereshit Rabba :; Eicha Rabba :; Shemot Rabba :. See also, Mishna Nidda :; Bavli Ḥagiga b; Bavli Sanhedrin b. . See also the heavenly voice issued concerning R. Eleazar ben Arach in an earlier part of the Bavli’s discussion, b. One could draw the analogy that the pur-

324 NOTES TO PAGES 94–96

pose of both heavenly voices is similar and that both proclaim the hero’s status in the world-to-come. . Most textual witnesses refer to the afterlife, at this point, as ‫ההוא עלמא‬, that world. AC, however, refer to it as ‫אידך עלמא‬, the other world. Perhaps this tradition records further playfulness in relation to Elisha’s being an ‘‘other,’’ which means being excluded from the ‘‘other’’ world. . Petiḥa, section . Compare also, Pesikta de Rav Kahana, :, Mandelbaum p. , where only the verse from Jeremiah is included. The term bat kol is, however, lacking in this parallel. Attributing Jeremiah : to a heavenly voice occurs also in Vayikra Rabba :, in a version recorded in the Oxford manuscripts as well as in the printed edition. There, however, the declaration of the heavenly voice has more the effect of stating a reward than calling for repentance. . This would account for the negative quality of the heavenly voice. Typically, heavenly voices promise reward. Occasionally, they also put the hero in his place (see, e.g., Bavli Shabbat b). On the whole, however, they are of a positive nature. Not only do they not exclude people, it can also be argued that they do not announce punishment, but reward (see Pesaḥim b, which is the closest to a punishment a heavenly voice comes, and even here it is arguable whether this is a case of punishment announced by a heavenly voice). If the basic text of the heavenly voice in the Bavli relies on an existing call for repentance, it is reasonable to assume that it is the storyteller that adds ‘‘except for Aḥer.’’ This makes Liebes’s suggestion, p. , unnecessary. . Halperin, The Merkabah, p. . . Ed. Friedman, p. . . In addition to the two examples quoted, see also: Shir HaShirim Rabba :,; Qohelet Rabba :,; Shmot Rabba :, :; Bamidbar Rabba :, :; Pirkei de Rabbi Eliezer, chap. . . The first parable is taken from Shir HaShirim Rabba :; the second is from Shir HaShirim Rabba :. . See Katz’s article, ‘‘Though He Sinned He Remains an Israelite,’’ in which he discusses the use of a talmudic statement by later halakhic authorities. The only reference I found to Elisha as an ‘‘other,’’ in terms of conversion to an outside religion, is in the margin of the Parma  manuscript of Haggadot HaTalmud to Ḥullin a (which as I pointed out is itself a very late text). The marginal gloss reads: ‫אלישע בן‬ ‫( אבויה נקרא אחר על שנשתמד‬Elisha ben Abuya is called Aḥer because he converted [out of Judaism]). This gloss belongs to the later history of the image of Elisha ben Abuya. See also the description of Elisha in R. Nissim Gaon’s Ḥibur Yafé Mehayeshua, ed. Hirschberg, p. ‫ט‬. . Qinyan Torah (Avot chap. ), Mishna . . See the following examples in the Bavli: Berachot b, b; Ta’anit a; Mo’ed Qatan a; Ketubot b; Avoda Zara b, a, a, and others.

NOTES TO PAGES 97–100 325

. This mishna is missing in the Kauffman and Cambridge manuscripts. Even if this is a later addition to the text, it reflects the logic of the mishna. See Milikowsky, p.  n. . . Paul and Palestinian Judaism, pp. ff.,  ff. . Bavli Sanhedrin b. . On approaches to Israel and its unconditional status, see Urbach, The Sages, : ff. . I am uncertain how to view the role of repentance in this context. If one can be excluded from Israel, then repentance would lead to reentry. Repentance can also be related to the Torah, because it is required to atone for breaking the precepts of the Torah. Elisha would be a case of one who had the Torah and entered the worldto-come without repenting for his sins. The singular occurrence of these motives, which are garbed in story form, makes it hard to extrapolate abstract notions from these sources. . Max Kadushin lists Torah and Israel as two of the four cardinal rabbinic value concepts; Kadushin, The Rabbinic Mind, p. . To give but one example, out of hundreds, of the centrality of these two concepts one may look at the discussion of what is the first value within the process of creation: the Torah or Israel. See Berashit Rabba :. . Elisha is the one most commonly associated with gnosticism, but other members of the list of the four who entered Pardes have also been viewed as gnostics, presumably from a particular understanding of the Pardes passage. See Finkelstein, ‘‘Ben Zoma’s Paradoxes,’’ p. . . See R. Hai Gaon, OFzar HaGeonim, Ḥagiga, p. . . Grätz, Gnosticismus und Judentum, p.  ff. . See: Friedlander, Die Vorchristliche Jüdische Gnosticismus, p. ff.; Rubin, Yalkut Shelomo, p. ; N. Krochmal, Moreh Nevuchei HaZeman, p. ; I. H. Weiss, Dor Dor veDorshav, pp. –; YaVetz, Toledot Yisrael, p. ff.; Herford, Christianity in Talmud and Midrash, p. ; Landsberg, Ḥikrei Lev, p. ff.; Scholem, ‘‘Jaldaboath Reconsidered,’’ p. ; Efrat, Haphilosophia Hayehudit Ha’atika, p. ; Margaliot, ‘‘Elisha ben Abuya,’’ pp. –; Schubert, Die Religion des Nachbiblischen Judemtums, pp. –; Pearson, ‘‘Freidländer Revisited,’’ p. ; Pearson, Gnosticism, Judaism, and Egyptian Christianity, p. ; G. Stroumsa, ‘‘Aḥer: A Gnostic’’; Liebes, ‘‘Tsaddiq Yesod Olam,’’ p. ; Assaraf, p. . Herford, who calls Elisha an archgnostic, points out that nowhere is Elisha called a min, heretic. This is of particular interest in view of the fact that some of what is presented as evidence of Elisha’s gnosticism relies on his associations with minim. Herford does not take this to indicate that Elisha was not viewed as a min, but rather that minim are not gnostics. To Herford’s observation might be added the logic of the Yerushalmi, according to which Elisha should be saved just as the casing of the scroll is saved along with the scroll. This would be invalid if Elisha were considered a min. Cf. Tosefta Shabbat :. Margaliot suggests

326 NOTES TO PAGES 100–104

the identification of Elisha with the disciple of Simon Magus. Interestingly, he renders the phrase ‫ קיצץ בנטיעות‬in the plural, thus making it possible to refer to gnostics as a movement. This subtle, yet essential, change indicates how far scholarship has gone to find evidence for gnosticism in the story of Elisha. I should note that Liebes later withdrew his gnostic understanding of Elisha ben Abuya and substituted it with his original notion concerning the hubris that characterized Elisha’s mystical ascent, which ultimately led to his downfall. See Liebes, Elisha, p. . . Back, Elischa ben Abuja-Acher, follows Jellinek (), though Jellinek may not have been aware of the gnostic understanding of Elisha, since his work preceded that of Grätz. Bin Gorion offers the most balanced presentation of Elisha ben Abuya from the methodological point of view. His approach is synthetic, inasmuch as it incorporates all the scholarship up to his time. His omission of the gnostic thesis, of which he was obviously aware, is most significant, even though he does not give a detailed explanation of why he rejects it. . Two Powers in Heaven, p.  ff. . ‘‘The Problem of Anti-gnostic Polemic in Rabbinic Literature,’’ pp. –. See also, Alexander, ‘‘Comparing Merkavah Mysticism and Gnosticism,’’ p.  n. , where he correctly observes that before leaping to the conclusion that Elisha’s heresy was gnosticism, the Elisha traditions should be subjected to careful form and literarycritical analysis. Gruenwald’s position is echoed by Yamauchi, ‘‘Jewish Gnosticism?’’, p. . In spite of lack of any evidence in historical records, Yamauchi continues to entertain the theoretical possibility that gnosticism drew from Jewish sources by way of unnamed rabbis who became apostates. . See Rowland, The Open Heaven, p. . But also see his article, ‘‘The Vision of the Risen Christ in Rev. , ff.,’’ pp. –, where he suggests that a climate infected by gnostic ideas accounts for the theological moves made by Elisha as well as for the development of one primitive Christology. . The clearest express rejection of the gnostic understanding of Elisha is Reines’s presentation in Torah Umusar. This work is not usually referred to in the literature. . See Jellinek, p. ff.; Back, p. ; Siegfried, Philo von Alexandria, p. ; Grätz, Gnosticismus und Judentum, pp. , ; Heimann, Toledot Tannaim Va’Amoraim, part , p. . . See Kimelman, ‘‘Birkat Ha-minim and the Lack of Evidence for an AntiChristian Jewish Prayer in the Late Antiquity,’’ pp. –. . The reading in mss. Vatican  and JTS mic.  is ‫האשה‬, the woman, rather than ‫אלישע‬. The Constantinople printed edition also reads ‫האשה‬. The quote is missing in the Oxford  ms. It appears only in the Pesaro printed edition. The most likely explanation is that by similarity of sound ‫ האשה‬was corrupted into ‫אלישע‬. Interestingly, in , without having the manuscript evidence before him, R. T. Herford conjectured this to be the case: in Christianity in Talmud and Midrash, p. , he

NOTES TO PAGES 104–5 327

notes that it is uncommon to refer to Elisha rather than to Elisha ben Abuya. The association between Elisha and R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua, mentioned in the same context, is also unlikely because Elisha had no real contact with them. Herford suggests that the list of heretics in Qohelet Rabba : is an abbreviated list that refers to the fuller stories found in Qohelet Rabba :, where there is a story about a woman and R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua. The text therefore makes most sense in this context. Though I agree with Herford and his reasoning, we must remember that in the Yerushalmi’s treatment of Elisha ben Abuya, he is always referred to as Elisha, not Elisha ben Abuya. It is thus conceivable that this list could be a paraphrase of the Yerushalmi’s story, a parallel version of which is narrated in Qohelet Rabba :. Were we to seek to account for the Pesaro version on grounds other than scribal error, we might recognize that the list in Qohelet Rabba : is a summary of various heretical incidents reported in the same document. Even though the story of Elisha ben Abuya is not narrated as a story relating to heretics, a later editor might have found a common denominator between it and other stories, such as the story of riding a horse on the Sabbath. Elisha is said to have ridden a horse on the Sabbath, as is Ḥanania, R. Yehoshua’s nephew, in the aforementioned passage in Qohelet Rabba :. The similar action might have led to viewing Elisha as a heretic. The contrast with R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua would be based on their appearance in his birth story, also found in the same passage in Qohelet Rabba. Some writers have suggested that the latter part of the list in Qohelet Rabba : is a later addition. (See Kimelman, ‘‘Birkat Ha-minim and the Lack of Evidence,’’ p.  n. , and Irshai, ‘‘Ya’akov of Kefar Niburaia,’’ p.  n. .) If so, this addition might be the work of someone familiar with other traditions found in the same volume. This reconstruction is necessary only in attempting to interpret the Pesaro version, however. In view of the other witnesses, and of the easy account of the corruption of the text, the suggestion of a scribal error seems preferable. . This was later to be viewed as a thought rather than a verbal utterance. See the rendering of the Elisha story in the Hekhalot tradition. See Schäfer, Synopse, § . The emphasis on thought need not necessarily change our reading of the source, though it does suggest an understanding that the root of Elisha’s error is in his mistaken concept. The verbal expression of Elisha’s error is a direct consequence of the proof text in Qohelet. . Reference to two powers appears in other contexts in relation to the sight of God. There is something misleading about the divine vision, and the two-power formula serves as a topos that defines what might go awry with the vision of the divine. See Mekhilta Baḥodesh, chap. . The correct teaching finally prevails. This is the message of the Mekhilta passage as well as of the Ḥagiga story. . The most obvious textual variant is found in all printed editions since the Venice edition, although it is absent in the earlier Pesaro edition of the printed Tal-

328 NOTES TO PAGE 106

mud. This variant is an addition according to which Metatron is accused of not having risen at the sight of Elisha, as he ought to have done so that Elisha would not draw a false conclusion. The fault thus lies with Metatron himself. This later addition is typical of the way in which explanatory glosses enter the text. In the course of studying this text, the question of the unfairness toward Metatron was raised, and solved by making him responsible. That this tradition is indeed a later accretion to the tradition is proved by the fact that of all the Talmud manuscripts, it only occurs in V, a relatively late manuscript, and in G. The virtually unanimous testimony of all manuscripts is that this passage is not part of the original story. (The Maharsha’s query, Ḥidushim to a, highlights that this textual version serves as an alternative to the explanation offered by Rabbenu Ḥananel and the Tosafot.) It should be noted that Liebes bases his whole interpretation of the Elisha story on this reading. Liebes understands that Metatron should have risen not in order to prevent Elisha from erring but in order to honor Elisha, the mystic, and from this he draws far-reaching conclusions concerning the interpretation of the story as a whole, and ultimately concerning the nature of talmudic mysticism. Yonah Fraenkel, in a public lecture delivered at the th World Congress of Jewish Studies in Jerusalem in , made the point that once the manuscript evidence is taken into account, Liebes’s structure can no longer stand. Yavetz, Toledot Yisrael, p. , suggests an understanding similar to Liebes’s but without the mystical emphasis. It is possible that in the manuscript tradition, a less obvious answer might be offered as justification of Metatron’s punishment. In the Munich  ms., the permission given to Metatron refers only to the writing of Israel’s merits, and does not include the permission to sit. If this omission is intentional, it might convey the idea that Metatron exceeded the limits of the permission granted to him by sitting while recording Israel’s merits. Because this unwarranted sitting led Elisha astray, Metatron’s punishment would be justified. . Herford, Christianity in Talmud and Midrash, pp. –, has pointed out the fallacy of readings that rely on this source for an understanding of a second God while ignoring the conclusion of the episode; nonetheless, he still concedes that Elisha may have entertained dualistic beliefs. . The fact that Metatron is taken out does not mean that Elisha no longer witnesses the events on high. From the storyteller’s perspective, Elisha views everything that occurs on high, and his vision or awareness is not limited to this side of the heavenly veil. This answers one of the questions posed by Liebes, pp. , . . The Open Heaven, p. . . This wording, typical of the Bavli’s literary patterns, proved too tenuous for the Hekhalot literature. The Bavli’s ‫ שמא‬was changed to ‫ודאי‬, certainly. Speaking normally, one would not preface the statement of two powers with ‫ודאי‬. The wording inadvertently testifies to the original reading of ‫שמא‬, which gave rise to ‫ודאי‬. See

NOTES TO PAGE 106 329

Schäfer, Synopse, § . Rowland, The Open Heaven, p. , sees in this ‫ ודאי‬a confirmation of previous suspicions of Elisha. This suggestion is unnecessary, in view of the shift from ‫ שמא‬to ‫ודאי‬. . Liebes, p. , has offered several possibilities for interpreting the two-powers statement in a way that is appropriate to the story and does not reveal a belief in the two-power heresy. It seems to me that the simple distinction between Elisha’s mistaken musings and the subsequent clarification enacted by the whipping of Metatron allows for the preservation of the common usage of the two-power statement and makes other interpretations unnecessary. . It is not found in any other tannaitic source, or in the Yerushalmi, and it is virtually absent from Palestinian midrashim. It appears once in Vayikra Rabba :, where it conforms to the pattern found in the Bavli. Later uses show some variation of the literary pattern. See Eicha Zuta, ver b. ; Midrash Psalms :. . Bavli Megilla b. . Pesaḥim a; Sanhedrin a. . Horayot a; Menaḥot b; Vayikra Rabba :. . Employing a derasha is not limited to the sources involving a heavenly voice. The derasha can also be attributed to human beings—see Pesaḥim a. It seems significant that the cases in which a derasha is not part of the formula are those in which the rhetorical formula functions as being paraphrased from a biblical verse and is therefore already part of a derasha—see Megilla b. The case in Sanhedrin a may be different, though an adjacent derasha exists there as well. . Bavli Horayot a. . See Rabbenu Ḥananel and Tosafot ad loc. Compare Aruch Hashalem s.v. PLS (). . For this reason, even if Elisha admitted his error, it would be of no consequence. The damage had been done. . The burning of Elisha’s merits need not imply a theurgic understanding of the meaning of the fulfillment of commandments, though such an understanding would help clarify the meaning of the wiping of Elisha’s merits; any positive effect in heaven of Elisha’s commandments has been offset by the great harm he caused to Metatron. But removing Elisha’s merits also makes sense as the opposite of the writing of Israel’s merits and thus need not assume a theurgic understanding of the commandments. . This parallel was noted previously by Lieberman, ‘‘Metatron, the Meaning of His Name and His Functions,’’ pp. –. . Otiot de Rabbi Akiva, OFzar Midrashim, p. . . The Open Heaven, p. . . Some writers (see note  above) have suggested that this story is designed as a polemic against Metatron, but as I argue there, the purpose of the story is not in and of itself polemical but exegetical. The presentation of Metatron may, how-

330 NOTES TO PAGES 107–10

ever, reflect a different view of the angel than that current in mystic circles, and could therefore be considered polemical in this sense. . See, e.g., Bavli Berachot b. Many instances are found in aggadic discussions, both in tannaitic and in later midrashim. If the tradition of Bavli II, that Elisha was reading heretical books, precedes the description of Bavli I, it may also be the source for mentioning the two-power heresy. If Elisha is reading heretical books, these are the kinds of thoughts he would have. However, even if this is so, these thoughts are recast in a novel way and are not presented as out-and-out heresy. The association with heretical books would be, at most, a part of the stock of themes the storyteller draws from. . Note Bavli Yoma a, where there is a similar cluster of motives. There, Gabriel is taken out and later brought back in. . The point has been made by Reines, Torah Umusar, p. . . Rowland, The Open Heaven, p. , points to Elisha’s preventing R. Meir from sinning as indication that his own sinning is particular to his own fate. . Compare Shemot Rabba :. . See Fischel, Rabbinic Literature, p.  n. . Fischel is sensitive to the possibility that the occurrence of the episode on the Sabbath might be a later addition. . Compare, however, Bavli Kiddushin b, where the harlot receives a pomegranate, after somebody has with great effort climbed to the top of the tree. Presumably, R. Ḥiya b. Ashi can climb to the top of the tree, while the harlot cannot. But the harlot can easily pluck a radish herself. Since Elisha encounters the harlot at random, it cannot be assumed that the dialogue takes place in his private radish patch. The story in Kiddushin has different concerns and is therefore of a different type from the harlot stories that I analyze below. . For parallels to ‫יצא שמך בכל העולם‬, see Bamidbar Rabba :. See also Shir HaShirim Zuta :. For the names going from one end of the world to the other, see Bavli Yevamot a, though the expression there employs the verb ‫הלך‬, and thus reads: ‫ששמך הולך מסוף העולם ועד סופו‬. In this source, this verb is employed only in G. If different expressions employ different verbs, this would lend further support to the reading: ‫יצא שמך בכל העולם‬. The other formulation in the manuscript tradition might be a carryover from stories that employ a related, though different, formula. . I have already noted the use of the verb in Bavli Kidushin. . In those manuscripts where it occurs, the second occurrence of the harlot episode is prefaced by ‫נפק‬. This reading has entered the printed version, even though it places the episode in the earlier of the two locations. As a result, there is another instance of ‫נפק‬. Though the verb makes sense in the later one, relating to Elisha’s leaving the beit midrash, it does not really make sense in the earlier reference. It cannot be said that he went out of heaven. . In the Tosefta, the sage who is explicitly said to be ‘‘outside’’ is Ben Zoma. Indirectly, this suggests that in the Tosefta nothing was known of Elisha’s otherness

NOTES TO PAGES 110–16

331

as a form of going out. Had such an understanding existed, it would have referred to Elisha, not to Ben Zoma. . On the relation of Pardes to the heavenly Temple, see Morray-Jones, ‘‘Paradise Revisited,’’ p. ff. Though I reject Morray-Jones’s thesis regarding the original version of the Pardes passage, his insight may still be relevant for the Bavli. Since the Bavli understands the Pardes in terms of a heavenly ascent, the possibility of a heavenly Temple is relevant to an understanding of this ascent. See also, Neher, ‘‘Le Voyage mystique des quatre,’’ p. . Note in this context the use of ‫מאחורי הפרגוד‬, which supports the relation of the present story to the heavenly Temple. The ‫ פרגוד‬is the heavenly counterpart of the veil that separates the holy and the Holy of Holies in the Temple. On harlots and the Temple, compare also what is told of Titus who brought a harlot into the Holy of Holies (see Sifre Deut. ; Bavli Gittin b, and parallels). In the course of desecrating the Temple, Titus tears the Temple veil. The term used in these sources, however, is not ‫ פרגוד‬but ‫פרוכת‬. On this story, see Hasan-Rokem, ‘‘Within Limits and Beyond: History and Body in Midrashic Texts.’’ . See Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic, p.  s.v. ‫נפקת בר‬, and Bereshit Rabba :. Compare also, Mishna Kelim ,. . It could be argued that the other textual version is similarly subtle. In speaking of his name going out from the end of the world, one might claim to find a clue to the world’s end, that is, to Elisha’s exclusion from the world-to-come. Still, I find the allusion more transparent and a little less forced according to what seems to be the primary version. . Bavli Avoda Zara a. Assaraf, p. , is the only writer to have appreciated the significance of this passage for the interpretation of the Elisha story. However, his conclusions are another matter. . The rules of conversations with foreigners deserve further investigation. The major factor that governs verbal exchanges seems to be the interpretation of Scripture. Thus, the gentile counterpart to the conversation is presented as conversing with the rabbi, on the latter’s turf. The exegetical function of dialogues with foreigners raises questions concerning their historicity. For a historical approach to such dialogues, see Herr, ‘‘The Historical Significance of the Dialogues Between Jewish Sages and Roman Dignitaries.’’ What characterizes the situations in which symbolic, rather than verbal, exchanges take place, is that they do not fulfill a hermeneutical function. See, e.g., Eicha Rabba :. On this text, see Hasan-Rokem, ‘‘Perspectives of Comparative Research of Folk Narratives in Aggadic Midrashim.’’ For examples of symbolic gestures, see Bavli Ḥagiga b. Also compare Sanhedrin b (uncensored editions), the mistake in the understanding of the symbolic gesture with regard to Jesus. . Where Antoninus and Rabbi talk in ‘‘rabbinic style,’’ the sources are concerned with issues that touch upon the interpretation of biblical passages. See, e.g., Bavli Sanhedrin b. In the present context there is no hermeneutical concern, and

332 NOTES TO PAGES 116–18

therefore the storyteller can comfortably present them as having a symbolic exchange. This kind of exchange might be designed to establish or to highlight a distance or a difference in status between the rabbis and those they talk with. Whereas verbal contact establishes some fundamental equality that allows for a joint conversation, symbolic exchange might remove the rabbinic heroes one degree from such direct exposure. It is not surprising that this kind of symbolic exchange often figures in competitive contexts, where the rabbinic, or Jewish, wisdom is highlighted. . If this suggestion is correct, then despite the fact that the story says that Elisha went out and became an other, the storytellers continue to portray him in the manner befitting a rabbinic hero. This is the Bavli’s ultimate message. . This still does not explain why he hands the radish to the harlot. Possibly plucking the radish fulfills the function suggested, while handing it to the harlot is a form of payment. I find this suggestion uncompelling, however, for the reason noted previously: the harlot could have ripped the radish from the bed herself. I prefer to see his handing her the radish symbolically as well. The symbolic equivalent of this presentation might be that Elisha hands himself over to the harlot, or to the way of life she represents. . I have already suggested in the preceding discussion that one referent of this enigmatic expression is Elisha himself. . According to this suggestion, the harlot is aware of Elisha’s message and does not mistake him for someone else. The versions that report the event as taking place on the Sabbath allow for a double play on words: on one level, the harlot assumes her client is another person, because he violates the Sabbath; on another level, because Elisha has become a sinner, he is another person. . Piska . A parallel version is found in Bavli Menaḥot a. I have analyzed this story in great detail in my ‘‘Mi]zvat Zi] ] zit, Hazona Vehasipur Hadarshani.’’ . There are not enough parallels in the literature to determine unequivocally whether ‫ הרגל דבר‬refers to sexual consummation or any form of sexual engagement. The only other use of the expression is in Bavli Sukka b. The context might indicate that full sexual relations are involved, but here, too, the expression also implies foreplay, or any form of sexual activity. This might be Rashi’s understanding as well. He emphasizes the lack of respect implied in behavior unfitting to the wearing of phylacteries. The expression occurs in Tosefta Pisḥa :, according to the London ms. Other witnesses have ‫הרגל דבר אחר‬, which would be the explicit way of referring to sexual relations. If a distinction is drawn between the two phrases, Rashi’s interpretation receives more credence. . This attitude to prostitutes seems typical of rabbinic stories. The prostitute is more of an occasion to demonstrate the power of overcoming temptation than a threat of succumbing to it. References to prostitutes in rabbinic stories are characterized by an attitude of self-assuredness. See, e.g., Bavli Pesaḥim b and Avoda Zara b, both told of the same sage.

NOTES TO PAGES 119–23 333

. One can hardly draw a sweeping generalization concerning the pattern of harlot stories based on these two instances. According to my analysis, the Elisha story follows a related pattern, which, in its reverse, lends further support to the pattern. A fourth story is probably the clearest case of combining these motives. It is found in Tanna Devei Eliyahu Zuta, chap. , ed. Friedmann, p. . This story has almost all the motifs that form the literary pattern. I have omitted this text because of its late date, which probably accounts for its tone and some of its motifs, which differ from those found in earlier rabbinic sources. Note, for example, the image of the student who remains single all his life, and contrast it to the happy conjugal end of the Sifre’s story. . This may hold true for some biblical harlots as well. Raḥab is significant for what she has to say, in Yehoshua . The biblical text does not even consider the significance of lodging with her. This image of Raḥab, and of the prostitute in other rabbinic passages, is similar to descriptions such as the chain of prophets that originates from Raḥab, the harlot (see Sifrei Deut. , ed. Finkelstein, p. –). This view of the harlot has to be kept in mind when considering the rabbinic attitude to prostitution. See Bronner, ‘‘Aggadic Attitudes Toward Prostitution.’’ CHAPTER 5

. The shifts in language within the Bavli’s presentation should not lead to analyzing the passages individually at the expense of disregarding the greater literary whole. Fraenkel, Darchei HaAggada Ve’Hamidrash :  n. , insists that one of the three dialogues should be considered as an independent literary unit. Though not stated explicitly, this claim is partly based on the fact that the unit is in a different language from most of the Bavli’s presentation, Hebrew rather than Aramaic. I think that the shifts in language should be seen in light of the relevant conventions. On this, see Neusner, Language as Taxonomy. The rules Neusner suggests, pp.  and , apply to the Elisha–R. Meir dialogues. Because they are presented as teachings of tannaitic sages, or as baraitot, they are cast in Hebrew, but this does not mean that they constitute an independent literary unit. Neusner’s rules do not account for the story of Rabbi and Elisha’s daughter, which also forms part of this cycle. . This is obviously true for the second dialogue as well. . See Qinyan Torah (Avot ), ; Tosefta Sota :–; Mekhilta Amalek , ed. Horowitz-Rabin, p. ; Sifrei Deut. . Most tannaitic uses of ‫ בת קול‬do not refer to a heavenly voice. . I suggest that the heavenly voice is not known from any tannaitic source or from any source prior to the Bavli. The relations between the mention of the heavenly voice in the Bavli and the Yerushalmi will become important in the comparative examination of the traditions found in the two talmuds.

334 NOTES TO PAGES 123–27

. The low-grade prohibition of horseback riding on the Sabbath has served some of Elisha’s apologists; see A. Krochmal, Iyun Tefila, p. , also the lecture by Rosental, Elisa Ben Abuia, p. . That Elisha is engaged in low-level sinning does not indicate that he was a minor sinner. Rather, it indicates that there is some other logic to account for the manner in which the storyteller portrays him. . This point can only be made according to the Bavli’s version of this tradition. The parallel in Yerushalmi Ḥagiga : a records the incident without mention of the Greek component. Gilat, Studies in the Development of the Halakha, p. , suggests that according to the Yerushalmi, horseback riding is a Torah prohibition. If Gilat’s point is conceded, it might be claimed that the record of Elisha’s horseback riding is a testimony to his sins, and that he is a sinner. But since it is clear that the Bavli does not consider horseback riding a prohibition from the Torah, we can therefore consider the meaning of the story as told in the Bavli according to its understanding elsewhere. However, even concerning the Yerushalmi, I have serious doubts about Gilat’s thesis. Gilat, p.  n. , quotes Yerushalmi Ḥagiga (ibid.) as giving the impression that the severity of the horseback riding prohibition, presumably on biblical authority, led to the stoning of the rider. However, he fails to quote the Yerushalmi’s express statement there that this was done only on rabbinic authority and not on biblical authority. On p.  n. , Gilat suggests that ascribing this prohibition to rabbinic authority comes from the Yerushalmi’s discussion and is not part of the tannaitic level of the passage, even in the Bavli. Even if this is conceded, however, the Yerushalmi’s position is that horseback riding is a shevut prohibition; this point is obscured when Gilat quotes the Yerushalmi. On p. , Gilat himself quotes Lieberman, Tosefta Kifeshuta, : , which argues that riding is not to be considered a Torah prohibition, even according to the Yerushalmi. He also quotes the Bereshit Rabba : passage (see in my following discussion) as if the story occurred on the Sabbath, which is contrary to most manuscripts. For these reasons, I find his argument that riding on the Sabbath is a Torah prohibition tenuous and certainly no basis for the interpretation of the Yerushalmi. Consequently, Gilat’s suggestion concerning the halakhic status of riding on the Sabbath should not be included in the discussion of the development of the tradition between the Bavli and the Yerushalmi. . Compare the interesting report of Damascius: ‘‘Zeno, an Alexandrian born a Jew, renounced in public the nation of the Jews in the way usual among them, driving the white ass through their so-called synagogue on the day of rest’’ (M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, p. ). It is interesting that this is reported as a customary way of renouncing Judaism. Zeno’s actions are based not on considerations of halakhic severity but on the public show of difference. . Concerning the description of Elisha on the horse, in ADRN (A) , there is a tradition of Elisha’s in which he resorts to a parable of horseback riding. However, I do not think the description of Elisha on top of the horse is a creative elaboration

NOTES TO PAGE 128 335

of this tradition. The parable addresses someone who has Torah but no good deeds. Taken independently, this is an accurate description of Elisha, but the point of the parable is that the horse throws off the rider. Nothing of the sort is told about Elisha. . For this reason, I cannot accept the reading offered by Fraenkel, Darchei Ha’Aggada, : . To really make the point that Elisha is described as a great sinner, Fraenkel has to supplement the Bavli’s presentation, which, certainly according to Fraenkel, should be taken as a closed independent literary unit, with additional information provided by the Yerushalmi. On the other hand, Fraenkel attempts to read this episode as a self-standing literary work, without reference either to what precedes it or to what follows it (:  n. ). This forces him to represent the Sabbath transgression as a case of severe contempt, as a result of which Elisha would be excluded from repentance. (For a discussion of horseback riding as a form of contempt for the sages, see also Liebes, The Sin of Elisha, p. .) I also disagree with his opinion that this passage constitutes an independent literary unit: Elisha explains his actions, and his exclusion from repentance, when he says, ‘‘I have already heard from behind the veil’’—a clear reference to the opening scene. I cannot account for the exclusion from repentance within the bounds of this episode. Fraenkel attempts to do so by superimposing the Yerushalmi’s understanding of the heavenly voice on the Bavli’s presentation while ignoring the narrative development within the Bavli itself. As I shall suggest below, this episode is also open to the continuation of the story cycle, inasmuch as it forms a link in a chain of episodes relating to R. Meir and Elisha. . Beer, ‘‘The Attitude of the Sages Toward Riding Horses.’’ Beer suggests (p. ) that the Jew who was killed for riding a horse on the Sabbath was a Hellenized Jew. . Some textual witnesses of Bereshit Rabba (‫ )דת‬add here ‫בשבתא‬, on the Sabbath. This is a parallel development to the case of ripping the radish from its bed, which was also transferred to the Sabbath. In both cases, the symbolic value of the action is replaced by classical religious transgression. . Bereshit Rabba, :. Compare Assaraf, L’Hérétique, p. . . Yaqim is commonly identified with the high priest Alcimus. See Encyclopedia Judaica, : . . Green, ‘‘Otherness Within,’’ p. , has made the point that the horse, a symbol of being outside, serves in Elisha’s case as a vehicle for keeping the Sabbath and thus expresses the complexity of Elisha’s situation. . See, e.g., the rules pertaining to charity for the former rich, Tosefta Peah :. . The theme of role reversal in the relationship of the two sages is the backbone of the Yerushalmi’s presentation. For the Bavli, this seems to be its strongest expression. . The point is clarified by several textual witnesses that make the point explicit. Fraenkel, Darchei, : , attempts to portray Elisha as one who would like to cross the boundary. He deduces this from the fact that Elisha tells R. Meir to return, which

336 NOTES TO PAGES 128–29

Fraenkel suggests implies Elisha’s intention to cross the boundary himself. Otherwise, Fraenkel claims Elisha should have suggested that they stop there and continue learning Torah, rather than that R. Meir return. However, this suggestion fails to take into account the need to issue a call for return, which would then be reciprocated by R. Meir toward Elisha. Fraenkel completely disregards this reciprocity. . See Mishna Eruvin :. . Compare Fraenkel, Darchei, : . . It is possible that he is standing on the boundary and does not belong in either place, which makes it impossible to classify him clearly as either ‘‘in’’ or ‘‘out.’’ This would correspond to the difficulty the heavenly court has in establishing his status in the world-to-come, in the Bavli’s story. Since he belongs nowhere, he cannot really go anywhere, and is thus suspended between heaven and hell. Only when the sages relate to him as one of their own is the door opened for him to start the process that will lead him to heaven. . This storyteller, unlike in the Yerushalmi, leaves the final job of saving Elisha to R. Yoḥanan. R. Meir begins a process that is completed by R. Yoḥanan. Could it be that R. Meir’s having gone to the limit with Aḥer, in order to learn from him, enables him only to begin the process, which someone else must complete? . Bavli Berachot b; compare Bereshit Rabba :. See also, Pesikta Rabbati, Addition A, chap. ; Pirkei de Rabbi Eliezer, chap. ; Tanna Devei Eliyahu, chap. . . The closest derasha to this teaching is in Pesikta de Rav Kahana, Bayom Hashemini , ed. Mandelbaum, pp. –, ET, ed. This is the only interpretation of Qohelet : that refers to the existence of righteous and wicked. Later in the passage, heaven and hell are also mentioned, but this is unrelated to the proof text from Qohelet and no connection is made between the two pairs of opposites. It is precisely this connection that gives the derasha in Ḥagiga its unique character. Finally, the theological tenor of the passage in the Pesikta is the opposite of that found in Ḥagiga. Whereas in the Bavli the righteous inherit the lot of the wicked, in the Pesikta the righteous atone for the wicked, so it hardly seems likely that an original tannaitic derasha that served as the basis for the dialogue in Ḥagiga has made its way into the Pesikta. It does not even seem probable that the Pesikta echoes the original tannaitic teaching, constituting only the earlier part of the teaching delivered by Elisha, which was then expanded in the Bavli’s presentation. That the righteous are antithetical to the wicked can emerge as a commentary to Qohelet : by simple juxtaposition with :. In any event, as Fraenkel, p. , notes, this passage is typical of the dichotomous world view of the rabbis. That dichotomies exist is not really the point of the derasha. . The division of the world into righteous and wicked is conventional; almost stereotypical. See, e.g., Bereshit Rabba :. What is unique about this derasha is that the typological division of men into righteous and wicked is translated as a statistical constant, according to which the world always maintains an even relationship

NOTES TO PAGES 130–33 337

between righteous and wicked, which serves as the basis for shifting lots in the afterlife. . In view of the biographical significance of this derasha, as well as its unusual theology, it is doubtful that it is part of R. Akiva’s authentic tradition. Liebes, p. , has made the point that if the purpose of the dialogues, here as well as in the Yerushalmi, is to bring Elisha to repent, why does R. Meir himself not quote R. Akiva’s teachings, and why are they always left to Elisha? The answer is that these are not authentic teachings that R. Meir might have known. The dialogues in both talmuds follow a literary pattern that presents Elisha as a conduit for R. Akiva’s teachings. The reason is most likely because the storytellers did not want to quote a tradition in Elisha’s name, because of his reputation. If the R. Akiva traditions are fabricated, why should he have been chosen? The most obvious answer is that he is the only one whom Elisha would call ‘‘your master’’ in talking to R. Meir. This allows Elisha a kind of supremacy in regard to R. Meir. More significantly, it allows the storyteller to introduce an ‘‘authoritative’’ teaching into the story, since it goes back to R. Meir’s own teacher. The possibility that R. Akiva is chosen because of the contrast between R. Akiva and Elisha ben Abuya in the Pardes episode is possible but less likely. . The only partial parallel I was able to locate is Midrash Tehilim :. It is debatable whether this midrash relies upon the Bavli’s derasha. Though it uses the identical proof text from Isaiah :, it does so to justify the wicked’s inheritance of the lot of the righteous in hell, rather than the reverse as in the Bavli. I tend to consider this midrash an independent reaction to Isaiah : that does not match up to the full description of the Bavli’s dialogue. The linguistic expression ‫חלקו וחלק חבירו‬, his share as well as his friend’s, is also unique in aggadic usage. Of course, the talmudic sugya itself seems to take these ideas as normative teaching, as is indicated by the fact that Rav Mesharshiya, a late amoraic rabbi, provides a proof text for R. Akiva’s pseudo-teaching. . See OtFzar HaGeonim, Ḥagiga, vol.  (Jerusalem, ), p. . This source also includes Rabbenu Ḥananel’s claim that these are unauthoritative teachings. The only way this teaching can be saved is in a case of affecting others, when a person bears the consequences of his influence on others. See also Yavetz, Toledot Yisrael, p. . Thus saving this teaching introduces an idea that is different from what it seeks to convey. . The obvious implication of such a suggestion is that there is nothing to be learned about rabbinic theology from this passage. The witness of the passage to rabbinic theology only emerges from an analysis of the meaning of the entire story cycle. Individual components, such as the derashot under discussion, cannot reveal anything of a normative theological value. It is curious that all the parallels that Volz, Die Eschatologie der Jüdischen Gemeinde im Neutestamentlichen Zeitalter, offers to the passage are found in apocryphal literature, and none is taken from rabbinic litera-

338 NOTES TO PAGE 133

ture; see Volz, pp. , ,  n. . Urbach, The Sages, : , makes a good attempt at reading the passage within the frame of conventional rabbinic belief in free will, but he fails to take account of the unique theology of this derasha. . However, I do not think that this derasha echoes a dualism expressive of the two-power theory. According to my reading, since Elisha does not uphold a dualistic belief in God, there is no point in such a repetition. The point of the derasha concerns the status of the righteous in relation to the wicked and the possibility of losing one’s share in the world-to-come. . On the applicability of the terms heaven and hell to the future of Elisha, see the continuation of the discussion in the Bavli. . The autobiographical element in the dialogues was noted already by the Maharsha, ‫ד"ה שאל אחר‬. . This characterization is expressed by the verses attributed to the children. One should note that the child whom Elisha kills explicitly calls him a ‫רשע‬, a wicked man. Even though the image of Elisha in the Bavli is very human, and there are no significant reports of sinful activity by him, his essential characterization is that of a ‫רשע‬, and this characterization is the basis for the distinction drawn later in the story between his actions and his Torah learning. For such a distinction to be significant, Elisha must first be viewed as a ‫רשע‬. It should be recalled that the typological list in the Tosefta cast Elisha in the role of the ‫רשע‬. . The existence of a pointed biographical dimension to these derashot testifies to their having been created for the sake of the story. Therefore, they do not record a conversation that actually took place. A theoretical counterargument, that it is natural for matters of personal relevance to come up in the conversation between the two sages, might suggest that their relevance testifies to their authenticity. I do not entertain such a notion. It certainly would not apply to the Yerushalmi, in which the conversation between the sages develops from a report of what R. Meir had previously taught in the synagogue. It should be noted that in the Bavli it is Elisha who prevails in the dialogue; his words could not be the straightforward expression of R. Meir’s attempts to influence him. If these dialogues are assumed to be reliable witnesses, conflicting motifs would characterize the different dialogues. The first dialogue would be characterized by Elisha’s becoming entrenched in his position; the second dialogue would amount to an invitation to repentance. Beyond the difficulty in ascribing conflicting motifs to Elisha, it should be noted that the teachings are delivered not in Elisha’s name but in R. Akiva’s. This suggests that the stories have been developed with a particular point of view and are not simple reports of a conversation that took place. This is particularly true when the teaching quoted was originally Elisha’s. Finally, the impossible theology of the derasha in the first dialogue makes it unlikely that this is a record of a real conversation between the sages. . Kister, ‘‘Avot de-Rabbi Nathan,’’ p. , suggests that the last three traditions in chap.  of ADRN (A) are an infiltration of earlier material, such as that found

NOTES TO PAGE 133 339

in Sifrei Devarim , and therefore do not form a part of Elisha’s teaching. Kister’s analysis does not take into account the special problem attached to the transmission of Torah teachings in the name of Elisha ben Abuya, nor does he discuss the question of why it is that ADRN has preserved Elisha’s teachings. In this instance, it is easy to account for the shifting of authorship from Elisha to other sages. One particularly glaring example of this process occurs in Pirkei Derech Ertez, additions to Seder Eliyahu Zuta, chap.  (ed. Friedmann, p. ), where Elisha’s tradition is brought in the name of R. Ishmael ben Elisha. It seems that the need to change the author of this statement did not completely obliterate the name of its original tradent, thus yielding the particular ascription. Compare also the omission of Elisha’s teaching from Avot in certain textual traditions on account of the evil character of the author. See Sharvit, ‘‘Nuschaoteha,’’ p. ; see also Back, Elischa ben Abuja-Acher, pp. –, in note; Weiss, Dor Dor, p.  n. . In addition, if the source of the ADRN tradition is in the Sifrei, why is this teaching attributed to R. Meir in the Bavli, while a different tradition is offered by R. Akiva? Again, the likelihood that ADRN preserved the original ascription of authorship is suggested. In any event, notwithstanding Kister’s doubts about this tradition, he proceeds, based on the reported dialogues with R. Meir, to view this tradition as authentic (see esp. note ). Obviously, the existence of a parallel in Sifrei is not overpowering. The considerations that will be raised concerning creative employment of the original Elisha material seem to me to be as significant for the verification of the tradition in ADRN as they are for a reconstruction of the formation of the dialogues. . It is sufficient to relate the beginning of this derasha to Elisha. The latter half may be corrupt owing to various changes in the tradition related to the secondary uses of this derasha in both talmuds. Kister, p. , does not reach a clear conclusion concerning a reliable textual witness to this tradition. . Reines, Torah Umusar, pp. –, exhibits methodological sophistication when he says that the attribution of sayings to Elisha in Avot and ADRN was done in light of the stories that were told of him. He deals with the different evidence of the early sayings and the late stories by assuming that the sayings are intentionally attributed to Elisha in order to serve a didactic purpose. He sees one body of texts as primary and as forming the other body of texts. My methodology is the opposite. The converse relation to what I propose, namely, that the Bavli is the source of ADRN, seems unlikely. The Bavli does not relate the teachings to Elisha personally. In view of his portrayal as a sinner, it hardly seems likely that someone would give him credit for teachings previously associated with R. Meir or R. Akiva. (Assaraf ’s suggestion, p. , that traditions of other sages were ascribed to Elisha makes no sense.) The only reasonable reconstruction is that ADRN is the source for the author’s elaborations in the Bavli. . The same teaching appears anonymously in Sifrei Deut. , and is followed

340 NOTES TO PAGE 134

by another tradition found in ADRN (B) , which is ascribed in the Sifrei to Rabbi Ishmael. The different ascriptions, or anonymity, cannot be taken as indicative of any particular attitude to Elisha; such changes in the names of rabbinic tradents are commonplace. Conversely, if the descriptions of Elisha’s sins were historically valid, it seems unlikely that someone would take an anonymous or authored statement from another source and attribute it to Elisha. . Schechter notes that the text of ADRN is difficult and obviously corrupt. I assume that the continuation of ADRN, which mentions the issue of the ‫תקנה‬, correction of the broken words of Torah, is influenced by the Bavli’s discussions of this verse. Of the dialogues ascribed to Elisha and R. Meir in all sources, this is the only one that has a basis in Elisha’s own teachings. The chances of contamination from the talmudic and midrashic sources is serious. If it is to be assumed that the continuation of the derasha in ADRN is really one of Elisha’s teachings, then some of the ideas expressed by R. Akiva were in fact first uttered by Elisha. This would further highlight the purpose of this unit to employ these teachings for their biographical implications rather than to convey Elisha’s actual teachings. It would also further highlight the way in which Elisha’s teachings are not transmitted in his own name, presumably because he is a sinner, but are attributed to other sages. If R. Meir is viewed as Elisha’s disciple, not transmitting Elisha’s teachings in his own name is all the more poignant. . A milder case of two consecutive statements made by the same master, though not in the framework of a dialogue, is found below in the words of R. Yoḥanan. . I prefer this construction of the textual evolution of the passage to Melamed’s suggestion, based upon M’s reading, that ‫ אלא‬evolved into ‫א"ל‬. See Melamed, Midreshei Halakha Shel HaTannaim BaTalmud HaBavli, p.  n. . . Manuscripts MES. . According to the alternate version, R. Meir would be commenting on how true the teaching is, with an eye to Elisha. However, the effect of the interjection is more powerful when coming from Elisha. . Added to these considerations is the fact that the second and third dialogues rely on the story of the issuing of the heavenly voice that excludes Elisha from repentance. The historical validity of the exegetical discussions can only be upheld if a distinction is drawn between the exegetical part and the autobiographical part, which would have to be taken as later, and reliant upon supernatural events. I prefer to see the passage as a literary whole and thus as totally fictitious. . Reines, Torah Umusar, p. , suggests that R. Meir is the one who speaks of Israel’s unconditional status of sonship (see Sifrei Devarim, Piska ; ). The unconditional acceptance of Elisha, who had lost his status as a son, would thus be very much in accord with his teachings. If the historical account is true, this point would

NOTES TO PAGES 134–37

341

be well made. However, if there is doubt on the veracity of the historical report, this represents a beautiful association of ideas, which does not amount to an explanation of a historical reality. See also, Schwartz, ‘‘Elisha ben Avuyah in Our Midst,’’ p. . . Assaraf, p. , virtually makes the point, yet fails to appreciate its significance for the historical value of the material. . With the exception of the Mishna, which does not refer to Aḥerim. . For R. Meir as Aḥerim, see Bavli Horayot b. Later writers account for the formation of the name Aḥerim in light of R. Meir’s relations with Elisha; see Tosafot to Sota a, s.v. ‫ד"ה אחרים‬. I suggest the inverse relationship might underlie the formation of the Bavli’s story. . The type of punning that underlies this association occurs throughout the story. Thus Elisha teaches there is no ‫ אחור‬above (compare to Elisha himself being called ‫ ;אחור‬see Yalon, Pirkei Lashon, p. . See also my article ‘‘Is Ma’aseh Bereshit Part of Ancient Jewish Mysticism?’’, pp. –); the heavenly voice is sounded ‫מאחורי‬ ‫( הפרגוד‬this might account for the use of this expression; if so, this would support the priority of the Bavli’s version of the story over the Yerushalmi’s). R. Meir is not walking along with Elisha to learn from him, but rather, ‫ ;אחריו‬Elisha tells R. Meir: ‫חזור‬ ‫לאחורך‬, thus setting the stage for R. Meir’s appeal for Elisha’s repentance (cf. Fraenkel, Darchei, : ). Perhaps one should also note that R. Meir drags Elisha to another synagogue, ‫בי כנישתא אחריתי‬. Finally, R. Meir asks Elisha ‫לאחר שיצא לתרבות רעה‬. If the authors are making puns, it is not beyond them to choose the hero of the story for similar punning associations. . This would obviously invalidate certain types of questions presented in the history of research. See, e.g., Hoffman’s discussion of whether the mention of Elisha in Mishna Avot is part of R. Meir’s mishna; D. Hoffman, HaMishna Harishona Uplugta DeTannai, p. . . Other ‘‘redemption’’ stories are also told of R. Meir. See Bavli Avoda Zara a. . Another window to the conscious fictional character of these rabbinic stories is opened in the discussion in Chapter . . On the question of the measure of consciousness that rabbis exhibit while transforming the legal meaning of Scripture, see Halbertal, Interpretative Revolutions in the Making, pp. –. . To a great extent, the common perception of the relationship between Elisha and R. Meir as master and disciple is influenced by the Yerushalmi, which constitutes a later stage in the development of the tradition. What holds true for the Yerushalmi does not necessarily apply to the Bavli. . Compare Bereshit Rabba :, where a similar literary pattern exists. In that case there is an anonymous apostate, ‫משומד‬, who questions two disciples of R. Yehoshua concerning the meaning of a verse and then proceeds to report R. Yehoshua’s teaching, which his disciples did not know. If the two stories follow the same literary pattern, it could be said that the function of informing the disciples of their master’s

342 NOTES TO PAGES 137–39

teaching is given to the outsider. Elisha and the apostate fulfill a similar function. A literary equivalence between the stories would support the suggestion that when Elisha reports R. Akiva’s teachings, he is not doing so as R. Meir’s master. . Indeed, according to the Bavli it would make little sense to represent Elisha as R. Meir’s teacher, on a par with R. Akiva. The Bavli’s presentation of the story of the heavenly ascent, in Ḥagiga b, portrayed R. Akiva as the master who guides the other three students. If Elisha is portrayed in that context as a student, it is more likely to portray him later in the discussion as one who passes on traditions he heard from R. Akiva, rather than as a teacher on a par with R. Akiva. . See also, Assaraf, pp. –. . The suggestion, mentioned in the Tosafot, that wherever R. Meir is referred to as Aḥerim he is relaying a teaching of Elisha’s, is one answer to this question, but not one that can be accepted on historical grounds. The rabbinic explanation for why R. Meir is called Aḥerim is to be found in Bavli Horayot b, and it makes the Tosafists’ answer superfluous. . One could, of course, argue that later tradition censured the mention of Elisha from its halakhic discussions because he fell into ill repute. However, it has been seen that at least in one instance, in Bavli Mo’ed Qatan, the memory of his halakhic teaching was preserved. The most reasonable explanation for the scarcity of teachings in his name is that no traditions in his name were known, much as in the case of R. Eleazar ben Arach. Had R. Meir been a disciple of Elisha’s, surely the state of affairs would have been different. . The Yerushalmi’s elaboration of the story suggests that R. Meir wants to save Elisha. . I suggest (Chap. ) that this sugya was edited by disciples of R. Yoḥanan. This would account for R. Yoḥanan’s appearance in the story of Elisha and R. Meir (cf. Büchler, p. ). If the sugya was not only edited by R. Yoḥanan’s disciples, but created by them, that could explain the inconsistencies in the portrayal of the relationship of Elisha and R. Meir. . See a further, somewhat similar, case in Devarim Rabba :. . This is a literary structure commonly employed by storytellers, and not, as Assaraf, p. , suggests, a result of R. Yoḥanan’s editorial activity. . Another case concerns Jerobeam. See Bavli Sanhedrin b. . Later tradition establishes a more intimate link between these two figures than the sharing of a common literary pattern. Elisha ben Abuya is taken to be a reincarnation of Geḥazi. See Seder HaDorot (Zhitomir, ), part , p. . . One cannot rely on such a clue as concrete historical evidence. This information emerges as part of a possible literary pattern in the passage that may have shaped how subsequent generations viewed the relationship of the two sages. . Thematically it continues the tale of R. Meir’s attempt to save Elisha. From the perspective of plot there are some difficulties in this sequence of events. R. Meir

NOTES TO PAGES 139–42 343

would have to assail Elisha on top of his horse and drag him into the schoolhouse. Also, it is unlikely that the children would be in the schoolhouse on the Sabbath. . This is probably due to the fact that the previous passages engaged in biblical exegesis and therefore were presented as authoritative. The third episode, though not exegetical, is cast in Hebrew, possibly as an extension of the first two episodes. . For that matter, neither is Elisha. The only reference to Elisha by name is found in the prophetic utterance of the child whose stuttering causes the suggestion of Elisha’s name. The sobriquet Aḥer may be punned upon in this paragraph through the frequent reference to ‘‘other’’ synagogues, ‫אחריתי‬. Are these synagogues for the ‘‘other,’’ or from which Elisha has become an ‘‘other’’? . See Halevy, HaAggada HaHistorit-Biyografit, pp. –, as well as references cited by the authors in note . This type of divination may take two related forms: the accidental overhearing of the words of the children, or the intentional search for a bat kol by querying the child about the verse he is reciting. These different mantic approaches seem to underlie the textual variations between Branch A and Branch B manuscripts. Branch A manuscripts report an accidental overhearing; Branch B manuscripts report an active seeking out. Midrash Mishlei to Proverbs : also portrays Elisha as hearing the bat kol accidentally. For additional textual observations on this passage, see Kister, ‘‘Od Perur Laleksikon HaTalmudi,’’ pp. –. . This type of bat kol was used by some modern writers as an explanation of the heavenly voice that was issued to Elisha in the first place. Such an understanding is already indicated by Midrash Mishlei :. Note that in this version of the Elisha story, only this heavenly voice is referred to, and not the conventional one. . See Lieberman, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine, p. ; Krauss, Talmudische Archäologie, : –; Gerhardsson, Memory and Manuscript, p. ; Kuhn, Offenbarungsstimmen im Antiken Judentum, p. ff. See also, Trachtenberg, Jewish Magic and Superstition, p. . Bin Gorion, p. , has pointed to Bavli Bava Batra b, with reference to children and prophecy. . On the number thirteen, see Jacobs, ‘‘The Numbered Sequence,’’ pp. – , though his discussion does not help us elucidate the meaning of thirteen in our passage. . See Bavli Berachot a and b. In this source, Rabbis Ami and Asi are referred to in the context of synagogues in Tiberias. In the Qohelet Rabba version of the story, according to mss. Oxford  and Vatican , Elisha sends the torn body to ‫אתליסר‬ ‫מדרשי דטבריא‬, to the thirteen schoolhouses in Tiberias. The relation between thirteen and Tiberias is clear. Qohelet Rabba’s story of Elisha is influenced by the Bavli. Its association supports the suggestion that the number of synagogues is derived from the number of synagogues in Tiberias. The tradition about Rabbis Ami and Asi may be significant for the dating of the story cycle. See below, Chap.  n. . This source is also significant for a possible explanation of the great variety within the manuscript tradition. In most manuscripts

344 NOTES TO PAGES 142–44

there is some fluctuation between ‫בית כנסת‬, beit knesset (synagogue), and ‫בית מדרש‬, beit midrash. The only manuscripts to maintain consistent reference to one of the two, the schoolhouse, are MG. All other manuscripts contain at least one inconsistency. The consistent readings seem to be an attempt to smooth out the difficulties in the text rather than the original reading. I do not think this is a case of Branch A manuscripts retaining the better, or more consistent, reading, nor do I think this is a reflection of the varying functions of the synagogue in rabbinic times. (Cf. Urman, ‘‘The House of Assembly and the House of Study: Are They One and the Same?’’). The formation of the checkered reading is best understood in light of the passage from Berachot which indicates that Tiberias had thirteen synagogues, as distinct from places of study; the function of study and prayer are thus clearly distinguished in this tradition. This story uses the number thirteen, and therefore leads to the mention of thirteen synagogues. However, given the distinction between synagogue and beit midrash, it also calls for the kind of activity that should take place in the beit midrash. The shift to the beit midrash to hear the heavenly voice in the mouth of the children is therefore natural. If the choice was between the two institutions, the favored reading would be synagogues, in light of the passage from Berachot; C nearly presents such a reading with consistency, and mentions the beit midrash only in the last occurrence. My student Menashe Zipori has pointed out that the visits to the ] synagogues presumably take place on the Sabbath, since it is a direct continuation of the previous episode. Children do not learn on the Sabbath, however, and this consideration may explain some of the textual edginess regarding the location of this episode. Compare the previous analysis of Shir HaShirim Rabba :, where the children are present in both institutions. . The Yerushalmi is explicit about the exchanges between R. Meir and Elisha taking place in Tiberias. In the Bavli the location is not mentioned. The reference to thirteen synagogues is the only possible geographical clue. . See Bavli, Berachot a, a; Yoma b; Mo’ed Qatan a; Bava Batra b; Ḥullin b. . ‘‘R. Simeon B. Yohai and the Purification of Tiberias,’’ p. . . The theme of role reversal between master and disciple is central to the Yerushalmi’s presentation, but it does not figure as significantly in the Bavli’s account. . The Sin of Elisha, p. . Bin Gorion, p. , has suggested  Samuel : as a parallel. I do not see the significance of this reference. . One further instance of allusion to biblical texts in the story of Elisha may occur when he says to the child that if he had had a knife in his hand, he would have cut him up. This is reminiscent of Balaam’s words in Numbers :. Is this a conscious allusion? If so, similarity in the situation of the two heroes should be considered. Both are blocked by God on their desired path. Both vent their frustration toward God’s agent. Note that Balaam is one of the four who are excluded from a share in the world-to-come, in Mishna Sanhedrin :. In this he resembles Elisha.

NOTES TO PAGES 144–45 345

. For additional instances of sages facilitating entry into the world-to-come, see Bavli Sotah b; Tractate Kalla : Higger, p. . See also, Büchler, p. . I do not agree with Büchler’s suggestion, p. , that bringing an individual into the world-to-come takes place through the vicarious suffering of the rabbis. In this case, they are willing to take upon themselves the sufferings that Elisha deserves. The story tells that the rabbis have the power to affect otherworldly proceedings through the power of their Torah, not through their vicarious suffering. . This is similar to other reports of problems within the history of tradition. For example, we only hear of forgetting the Torah from the perspective of the ultimate recovery of lost information, as in the stereotypical formula ‫שכחום וחזרו ויסדום‬, they had forgotten them, and they reinstituted them. This is typical of the reference to forgetting the Torah. A weaknesses or a problem related to tradition is acknowledged only because of an ultimate triumph over the problem. . Some writers (e.g., Büchler, p. ) have suggested that the deliberations concerning Elisha’s fate took place among the rabbis and not in a heavenly tribunal. Although I believe the meaning of the talmudic story is different according to all manuscript readings, one might push the reading of Branch A manuscripts, which discuss judgment procedures in the third person rather than the first, to support such an interpretation. Some Branch B witnesses testify to a third-person reading. The readings are not consistent within the manuscripts, and with the exception of A, all manuscripts show some shift from first to third person. For this reason, I do not think the change is significant. I believe that both versions should be taken as reports of a heavenly discussion, and not of earthly deliberations. Some manuscripts make small additions in an attempt to deal with the question of how this information was gathered: O is explicit about the discussion taking place among angels. It is possible, according to I, that Elisha himself hears these deliberations upon his death. For a parallel use of ‫ אמרי‬to describe the deliberations of the heavenly court, see Bavli Bava Metzia a. . The understanding that this is a report of proceedings of a heavenly tribunal allows for greater continuity between the different parts of the Bavli’s presentation. Segal, Two Powers, p. , has pointed out that the opening scene, in which Metatron records Israel’s merits, takes place at a heavenly tribunal. The reason for the lack of clarity stems from the use of the third person plural, which is common to talmudic expression; it was used also in the Metatron passage. The gatekeeper might suggest that the view is one of a heavenly academy. This would account for R. Yoḥanan’s ability to enter unannounced, bringing Elisha along with him. On rabbis in the heavenly academy, see, e.g., Bavli Gittin b; Bavli Bava Metzia a; and Rawidovich, Iyunim Bemaḥshevet Yisrael, pp. –. . On different notions of Gehenna in rabbinic sources, see Milikowsky, ‘‘Gehenna’’; on Gehenna as purgatory, see p. ff. It may be that the story cycle em-

346 NOTES TO PAGES 146–47

bodies some of the different understandings that Milikowsky presents. It is obvious that Elisha’s presence in Gehenna is viewed as a purgatory, even if it is not confined by a clear time limit; however, in the previous mention of hell, in the derasha attributed to R. Akiva earlier in the dialogues, no time limit was mentioned, as though hell were permanent. . On the ascription of special powers to R. Yoḥanan, see also Bavli Bava Metzia a and Berachot b. It is interesting that R. Yoḥanan’s portrayal as possessing supernatural powers figures particularly in the Bavli. Urbach, The Halakha, p.  n. , suggests that the ascription of redemption to R. Yoḥanan is founded on his particular character and his positive relations with others. I prefer to see in the ascription to R. Yoḥanan a clue to the circle from which the passage originated. I am not convinced that of all talmudic sages, R. Yoḥanan alone possessed the necessary compassionate personality traits to redeem Elisha ben Abuya. . The measure-for-measure relationship may be more extensive. In the opening episode, Metatron is excluded because of Elisha and is then punished by fire, but he subsequently regains entry. The story of Elisha follows a similar pattern: first he is excluded, and the process of bringing him back involves punishment by fire. The reference to fire is explicit in the story as told in the Yerushalmi. Although fire is explicitly mentioned only in the next episode in the Bavli, with reference to Rabbi, it seems fairly obvious that the smoke that rises from Aḥer’s tomb points to the fire by which he is punished. Compare Büchler, pp. –. . Rashi understands the gatekeeper as the gatekeeper of hell. I prefer to read it as a reference to the gatekeeper of heaven. Up to this point, Elisha has been denied access somewhere. The focus should be on the successful entry into heaven rather than on the successful removal from hell. This understanding seems to be implied by Ruth Zuta’s reworking of this passage. See the fragment published by A. Marmorstein, ‘‘Der Midrasch (‫ )שני כתובים‬von die Widersprüchen in der Bibel,’’ p. : ‘‘‫לכשיבא יום הדין אני נוטל בידו ומכניסו לגן עדן‬, When the day of judgment comes, I shall take him by the hand and bring him into heaven.’’ The only other case in rabbinic literature in which a gatekeeper is mentioned refers to preventing unwanted people from entering the beit midrash. See Bavli Berachot a. On this figure see also, Safrai, ‘‘The Decision According to the School of Hillel in Yavneh,’’ pp. –. Following Safrai’s discussion, it is possible that the gatekeeper is a strictly Babylonian literary figure. If heaven is viewed as an academy, it might well have a gatekeeper, in the same way that Babylonian storytellers portrayed earlier tannaitic academies. For an understanding of the gatekeeper who prevents entry, not exit, see also, R. Nissim Gaon, Ḥibur Yafé Mehayeshua, p. ‫י‬. However, R. Nissim Gaon sees the gatekeeper as the one who prevents entry not to heaven but to God. On the image of the gatekeeper of hell, see also Lieberman, ‘‘Al Ḥata’im VeOnsham,’’ p. n. . As previously stated, it is R. Yoḥanan’s power that is emphasized here. This would accord with an understand-

NOTES TO PAGES 147–48 347

ing that R. Yoḥanan struggles with an angelic being. The Geonim see R. Yoḥanan and R. Meir as effective through prayer and supplication rather than through their own power. See R. Nissim Gaon, and Rabbenu Ḥananel’s paraphrase of R. Meir’s words. . This figure is mentioned nowhere else in rabbinic literature. His identity is a matter of conjecture. See also, Liebes, p. . . Compare Hoffman, p. . . It is not only the sages who ignore the heavenly voice. The heavenly council that deliberates after Elisha’s death also ignores the voice. Their considerations for not admitting Elisha into the world-to-come are based on the fact that he sinned. According to the opening episode, his exclusion was not the consequence of sin but rather what led him to sin; therefore, if the heavenly council had remembered the heavenly voice, at least as far as Elisha understood it, it could not have admitted him into heaven. One might argue, as Rabbenu Ḥananel does, that the exclusion by the heavenly voice was based on its prior knowledge that Elisha was going to sin. Rabbenu Ḥananel’s reading is another way of making sense of an apparent injustice, but it goes against the logic of the story. A more likely way of reconciling the two episodes is that Elisha’s understanding of the heavenly voice was partial, and that in spite of the sages’ activities, the heavenly voice remains intact. Other details in the opening scene also contradict the concluding scene. In the opening scene, Elisha’s merits are burned; in the final scene, the value of his Torah is considered. The two perspectives could be reconciled by claiming that the value of his Torah is something other than merit. Unlike the Yerushalmi, the term ‘‘merit’’ does not appear in the Bavli with reference to Elisha’s Torah. If the value of his Torah relates to knowledge, this is not lost. All that remains of commandments is their merit, which can be burned; but Elisha retains his Torah knowledge. Similarly, one might suggest that Elisha’s Torah is significant not as a source of merit but as a source of identity. Having engaged in Torah study, Elisha is part of the collective of Torah students, and this identity provides him with the means for others to save him. Alternatively, it may be argued that only the merit of his commandments was annulled. Nonetheless, at face value, the two statements are contradictory. (Liebes’s solution, p. , that Elisha’s merits were not really canceled but only appeared to be, is unacceptable.) These apparent contradictions cannot be explained by suggesting that the story evolved in stages. Even if it did, the integrity of the complete edited cycle must still be accounted for. It is obvious that the needs of the story at different points dictate what aspects should be emphasized and what aspects should be ignored, but the storytellers are careful to avoid explicit contradictions. Moreover, as we shall see, the acumen of the storytelling can be determined by the manner in which apparent contradictions are overcome, as new emphases are discovered in an earlier passage in light of the development of a later passage. . Note that, although this final episode emphasizes Elisha’s entry into the world-to-come by virtue of his Torah, it does not address his reintegration into Israel,

348 NOTES TO PAGES 148–49

from which he was excluded. This is another way in which the concluding episode is oblivious of all the concerns of the opening episode. See, however, the discussion of the quote from Mishna Sanhedrin, below. . The point would obviously be more powerful if he is dependent not just on the sages but on his disciple, as the Yerushalmi will teach us. . It is particularly interesting that the tension between Torah study and proper religious observance characterizes Elisha’s own teachings. See the first four teachings, ascribed to Elisha in ADRN (A) . It is conceivable that the choice of Elisha as the sage through whom the relationship of Torah study and religious observance can be teased out is a conscious play on his statements. If so, the Bavli might be elaborating upon Elisha’s statements in a manner reminiscent of the playful creativity of the ‘‘mystical collection.’’ However, both the ‘‘knowledge’’ that Elisha sinned and his description as a Torah scholar are readily available in the Bavli from the Pardes passage. That Elisha should be portrayed as the very ideal against which he preaches might therefore be as accidental as it is interesting. Compare Finkelstein, Introduction, p. , and Reines, pp. –. . This story is not echoed in any classical halakhic discussion of laws of charity. It seems to be a contrived incident, introduced to express some particular notions that cannot serve as precedent for conventional halakhic behavior. This seems to have been grasped intuitively by the halakhic tradition. . The quote from Job : may echo Elisha’s exclusion from sonship, referring not only to his progeny but also to their belonging to the people, a subject that was a theme of the earlier part of the story cycle. That the quote from Job should be understood as a curse rather than as a query from a biblical verse is borne out by the textual witnesses that do not introduce the verse from Job with the formula ‫והכתיב‬, has it not been written. Without this formula, Rabbi is to be understood as pronouncing a curse. Rabbi’s curse is mitigated by the introduction of ‫והכתיב‬, which simply presents Rabbi as querying the contradiction between the biblical verse and reality. I suspect this formula was introduced in order to mitigate the unexplained harshness of Rabbi’s curse. However, it may be that the two manuscript traditions are divided over the addition of ‫והכתיב‬. If so, this would be a Branch A reading, which then entered some of the Branch B manuscripts. However, the fact that this addition appears in M’s margins might point to a gradual process of introducing this formula as a way of softening the Rabbi’s harsh words. . This version is attested in both branches. It appears in M, on the one hand, and in CLS. . AOEID. . VD. . R. . Compare the descent of the heavenly fire earlier in the same chapter in Ḥagiga b, as a consequence of R. Eleazar ben Arach’s expounding the merkava. The manu-

NOTES TO PAGES 149–52 349

script tradition shows the same kind of variation as in this story. Even if that fire scorches, rather than surrounds, I do not think it carries the same meaning as in this story. The fire does not surround or scorch R. Eleazar ben Arach himself or some metonymical expression of himself; it surrounds or scorches the trees. Therefore, the heavenly fire should be taken as an approving expression of the divine presence. In the case of Rabbi, the fire is menacing: it surrounds him, either directly or symbolically, which is not a sign of approval. If the point of the first fire had been to affirm Aḥer’s daughter’s words, it should have surrounded her. Surrounding Rabbi serves as an affirmation of Aḥer’s daughter’s words, by threatening him. . There are various rabbinic passages that a Rabbi’s bench represents him metonymically. See, e.g., Shir Hashirim Rabba :. On Katedra deMoshe, see two works by Safrai: In Times of Temple and Mishna, p. ; and ‘‘Jesus and the Hasidic Movement,’’ p. . . Once we recognize that the story unfolds thematically rather than chronologically, the disruption of the temporal sequence, to which Rubenstein points, p.  n. , should no longer be seen as a difficulty, and certainly it should not be relied on for the establishment of a later date for the Bavli, as Rubenstein suggests. This still does not account for the choice of R. Yehuda HaNasi as the hero of this episode. Rabbi is R. Meir’s disciple, and could thus chronologically be presented alongside Elisha’s daughter, but I question Rubenstein’s second suggestion that reference to Rabbi is designed to lend official Patriarchal approval to the vindication of Elisha. . Bavli Sanhedrin b. . On this tradition and its parallels, see Lieberman, ‘‘Notes on Chapter I of Midrash Qohelet Rabba,’’ pp. –. . In the Solomon story this is true also of the heavenly fire. The fire scorches the benches but it is not viewed as decisive, and the sages are courageous enough to ignore the divine threat. . One possibility, according to which this might account for Rabbi’s inclusion of Elisha ben Abuya in the mishna, seems unlikely. . These instances are not found in other literary works, except for the parallel to the Elisha story in the Yerushalmi, which will be examined below. This is a literary feature particular to the Bavli. . Bavli Avoda Zara b, a, a, though the story of Elisha is the inverse of the pattern found in these passages, where Rabbi cries because a protagonist was able to enter the world-to-come because of one hour, ‫שעה אחת‬. Elisha is excluded from the world-to-come because of the permission granted to Metatron to sit for one hour. . Bavli Ḥullin b. On the association of Rabbi and the world-to-come see also Ketubot b. . From the perspective of chronological development, the Bavli cannot portray Rabbi as expressly recognizing Elisha’s entry into the world-to-come, since this is only accomplished in a later generation by R. Yoḥanan. Even though the episode

350 NOTES TO PAGES 152–54

of Rabbi and Aḥer’s daughter presupposes the knowledge of Elisha’s redemption, which preceded this incident, it cannot articulate it, because chronologically Elisha has not yet been redeemed. This might also account for the shifting of the typical formula affirming entry into the world-to-come to the formula extolling the value of Elisha’s Torah. . Rubenstein, p. , suggests that the Bavli has a chiastic structure. He highlights these references to the angel as part of the sugya’s chiasmus. . See the previous discussion of the figure of the gatekeeper, and compare it with Liebes, p. . . The first derasha of Resh Lakish may already rely on God’s perspective to justify R. Meir. This is reflected in the emphasis on ‘‘my knowledge.’’ However, God’s participation is reserved for the final act. . See Rawidovitch, Iyunim, pp. –. The rabbinic claim that God engages in Torah study casts a special light on the thesis of the Tosefta, which I examined in the first chapter: Through Torah study one is summoned to be in the presence of God, as was R. Akiva. Compare Mishna Avot :. . See Bavli Gittin b, where the authority of R. Eviatar is established by virtue of God having recited in his name. . This tradition of R. Meir is found in Mishna Sanhedrin : and Bavli Sanhedrin a. There are some variations between our reading and the parallels. Most witnesses bring R. Meir’s teaching here as the speech of the ‫שכינה‬, divine presence, as in Sanhedrin. Some witnesses omit the reference to ‫ שכינה‬as the subject of the divine statement. The most interesting reading is that of A, which attributes the divine speech to ‫ בת קול‬rather than to ‫ ;שכינה‬A’s reading closes the circle opened by the issuing of the bat kol in the opening episode, and it also creates an interesting play between ‫ בת קול‬and ‫קלני‬. A has previously introduced the ‫בת קול‬, where other witnesses made no mention of it, in order to create greater continuity within the story. Thus ‫ מאחורי הפרגוד‬became for A, ‫מבת קול‬. However, in view of the omission of ‫שכינה‬ from some of the witnesses, the question is why this text would read differently from the text in Sanhedrin. It can be easily explained that if ‫ שכינה‬were missing, copyists would supplement it, based on their familiarity with Sanhedrin. It is more difficult to account for the omission of ‫שכינה‬. This does not substantiate A’s reading, but it does emphasize the possibility that the quotation may have been transformed in the present context and that its transformation may be designed to adapt the quotation to its context. . As noted, such a view is expressed in the sugya by R. Yoḥanan. Concerning the earlier part of the sugya, different readings can be offered. Perhaps the later parts take the master-disciple relationship for granted. . What follows must remain conjectural, since it cannot be said with any certainty that the proof text from Qohelet continues to be operative at this point in the cycle. Exploring its implications to the concluding episode may be overstretching

NOTES TO PAGES 155–58

351

its scope. If the final part of the story cycle echoes elements from the opening scene, one could also suggest that reference to R. Meir learning from Elisha, ‫גמר‬, might echo the term used for the teaching that got Elisha into trouble in the first place: ‫גמירי‬. . Compare the Septuagint’s translation of ‫—המלאך‬πρὸ προσώπου τοῦ θεοῦ. . That Elisha’s redemption involved divine compassion is implied by the Yerushalmi’s reference to Psalm :. However (as I note in the following chapter), the Yerushalmi may only be employing the first part of the verse. See below, Chapter . See also Sefer Yuḥasin’s reference to God in the paraphrase of this episode as ‫בעל הרחמים‬, master of compassion (ed. Philipowsky, p. ). . Lorberbaum, ‘‘Imago Dei: Rabbinic Literature, Maimonides, and Nahmanides,’’ p. , suggests the choice of quote is designed to appeal to God’s own needs, as taken care of by R. Meir, thus indicating that there is no flaw in his teaching. I don’t think this suggestion fits well with the logic of the story cycle. . The point is not expressed outright, but since this uses a previously existing tradition in a secondary literary context, the lack of an exact reference to merit in the source quoted does not exclude the possibility that this statement echoes themes that were worked out in earlier parts of the story cycle. . It should be noted that R. Meir is called ‘‘my son’’ in this context. This is not an unusual epithet, when it is God who recites Torah in the name of a human sage (see, e.g., Bavli Gittin b). Nonetheless, in the context of the story, Elisha’s exclusion from sonship may be balanced by the reference to R. Meir, and possibly indirectly to Elisha as well, as ‘‘my son.’’ Compare the reference to Elisha as ‘‘my son,’’ Schäfer, Synopse, § . This reintegration into Israel requires divine intervention, and it may be understood as closing a circle that began in the opening episode when a heavenly voice excludes Elisha from sonship and Elisha understands this to imply exclusion from the world-to-come. This is overcome with the help of the sages and the power of Torah, but reintegration into Israel might call for the active involvement of the same forces that issued the original heavenly voice—hence God’s role in the concluding episode. However, if God is seen as superior to the heavenly voice, as will be suggested below, then God must reintegrate Elisha where the heavenly voice previously excluded him. . In Sanhedrin it is clear that both the statement that God suffers for the spilled blood of the wicked and the kal vaḥomer that follows it are either R. Meir’s conclusion from his previous statement or the conclusion of the editor, relying on R. Meir’s statement. The phrase is related in the third person and is not attributed directly to God. This may be an instance of changes introduced in R. Meir’s words in the context of the storytelling in Ḥagiga. According to most witnesses, the statement that God suffers for the spilled blood of sinners is attributed directly to God, unlike the parallel in Sanhedrin. In addition, the kal vaḥomer may also be part of God’s speech— manuscript witnesses vary between first- and third-person speech. M offers a reading where everything is attributed to God in the first person and forms one continuous

352 NOTES TO PAGES 158–59

statement. Attributing all or part of the statement directly to God highlights divine commiseration with the suffering of sinners. . While I believe the storytellers were aware of the fictional and ideological dimensions of their creation, underlying this creation is their image of Elisha the sinner. . Liebes, p. . . Bavli Ḥagiga b. . Not all talmudic encounters with Elijah contain this question. Often the sages ask him Torah-related questions that do not refer personally to God or to his actions at any given moment (see Bavli Megillah b; Yevamot a; Bava Metzia a). In addition to the two sugyot being compared, there is only one more instance of a rabbi asking Elijah about God’s activities. This is in Gittin b. Here, too, the human power on high is reaffirmed, inasmuch as God recites human Torah, including rabbinic controversies. However, in this source the divine decree is not overturned by a human being. . Paradoxically, having affirmed his defeat, the point is that God is not defeated, since the argument by which God’s children defeat him stems from his Torah; but the heavenly voice is clearly defeated. I consider the divine defeat as limited in scope, and suggest that we should draw a distinction between the heavenly voice and God, because in a roundabout way God emerges victorious in this defeat. The distinction between God and the heavenly voice accounts for the ease with which it is disregarded both in Elisha’s case and in the story of Achnai’s stove, as well as in other instances. The heavenly voice is part of a complex of heavenly phenomena that are incorporated in the passage from Bavli Sanhedrin b, all of which are heavenly but nonetheless distinct from God himself. For this reason, it is significant that God is introduced personally in the concluding episode of the Elisha cycle. . In the one case, God’s final image is that of a smile, in spite of the ramifications of this smile for R. Eliezer; in the other, God is suffering, though this is a moment of reintegration of someone who had been excluded. These distinctions are local and do not express a wider ideological concern. . See Silberg, Kach Darko Shel Talmud, pp. –; Elon, Jewish Law, :–; Englard, ‘‘The Oven of Achnai: Various Interpretations of an Aggada.’’ CHAPTER 6

. Neusner, The Midrash Compilations of the Sixth and Seventh Centuries, vol. , Ruth Rabbah, pp. –, fails to see that this is a full story cycle. By listing the source as different stories that contribute to a point, he misses the literary logic of the source. . The final mention of Elisha Aḥer in the last line of the cycle is suspicious. Besides being the only use of the sobriquet Aḥer in all of Yerushalmi II it is also the only known instance of such double mention in all the sources relating to him. The

NOTES TO PAGES 159–67 353

reasonable explanation is that that word Aḥer was inserted by a later hand which inadvertently neglected to delete the word Elisha. This suggestion is supported by the fact that in all quotes of the Yerushalmi, the passage refers to Elisha and not to Elisha Aḥer. This includes Tosafot Ḥagiga a, ‫"ה שובו בנים שובבים‬, as well as Yalkut HaMakiri ] to Psalm , p. . Aḥer does not appear in the parallel texts in Qohelet and Ruth Rabba. For other instances of the probable addition of Aḥer to the name Elisha, see Schäfer, Synopse, § . See also, R. Nissim Gaon, Sefer Hamafteaḥ, in Abramson, R. Nissim Gaon, p. . . Only after the story of R. Meir and Elisha is completed does the Yerushalmi bring a reference to Rabbi’s attitude to Elisha. In the Bavli, Rabbi is mentioned after R. Meir has acted, when Elisha is still very much the subject of discussion. . This time without ‫אתון‬, since it is not a report of a particular event concerning Elisha. . Rubenstein, p. , interprets the Yerushalmi as struggling with the problem of the relationship of Torah and the sinning sage, as does the Bavli. I agree that this is indeed the theme of the Bavli, but in the Yerushalmi the relationship of Torah and the sinful sage recedes to the background. Related to the different readings of the Yerushalmi is also the different relationship proposed between the Yerushalmi and the Bavli. To a certain extent, Rubenstein’s reading is a function of his reading the Yerushalmi in its final redacted form, as opposed to my reading, which presents the Yerushalmi in its different strata. . See, e.g., Mishna Avot : and numerous other occurrences. . Nonetheless, both versions share the basic description that Elisha is without. . Travers Herford saw this as the main point of the Elisha stories. See his article, ‘‘Elisha ben Abuja,’’ p. . . It may be argued that Elisha’s failure to teach in his own name is another aspect of role reversal in the story cycle. Downplaying his ability to teach in his own name goes hand-in-hand with presenting him as a student, rather than a teacher. Though this contributes to Elisha’s image, I do not believe it was so intended. That Elisha does not teach in his own name is either the result of lack of authentic traditions or, more likely, an attempt to refrain from directly quoting the sage who is said to have gone astray. (See above, Chapter , n. .) . In this instance, Qohelet Zuta is dependent upon the Bavli rather than on the other Palestinian versions of the story. . That Elisha dies repentant is only a possibility. The story itself does not definitively claim that Elisha repented; it only raises the possibility. The reworking of the story in Midrash Mishlei : denies Elisha’s repentance. It should also be noted that the suggestion that Elisha repented reflects a later stage in the editing of the sugya. The report of Elisha’s possible repentance is the only lapse into Hebrew in the entire master-disciple cycle. Later interpolations into the story are all in Hebrew, and a later hand may have introduced the concept of Elisha’s repentance in order

354 NOTES TO PAGES 168–72

to facilitate the understanding of how Elisha was saved. Without this addition, the original story would simply have had R. Meir suggest, once more, that Elisha should repent, affirming that it is never too late. However, R. Meir’s plea would have gone unanswered in this case as well. . Saldarini, ‘‘Last Words and Deathbed Scenes in Rabbinic Literature,’’ p. . . See my ‘‘Testaments in Rabbinic Literature: Transformations of a Genre,’’ pp. –. . Compare Midrash Mishlei : where the causal relation between repentance and R. Meir’s support in the future is highlighted. Notwithstanding, R. Meir saves Elisha even though Elisha does not repent. . Since the moment just before Elisha’s death was used to teach, and to allow for the possibility of repentance, the proclamation of R. Meir’s guarantee that Elisha will be redeemed is deferred until the third scene, after his death. . This affirmation takes place in the next episode. The possibility that Elisha repented prepares the ground for the following scene, which does not necessarily depend on the possibility of repentance. Even if the affirmation of Elisha’s repentance is taken to be a later addition to an earlier story, this would not affect the thesis of inverted master-disciple relations. . The act of placing the cloak over Elisha is an expression of redemption and is directly related to the proof text in Ruth, where she requests (Ruth :) that Boaz spread his cloak over her, because he is her redeemer. This verse then leads to :, which R. Meir cites, where Boaz promises to redeem Ruth. Possibly, also, the Yerushalmi employs a play on words in choosing R. Meir’s garment: R. Meir’s cloak, ‫גולתיה‬, may be intended to echo the key word in this episode: ‫גואל‬, redeemer. The reference to R. Meir as a redeemer is less far reaching theologically, because the original biblical meaning of the term ‫ גואל‬relates to a human redeemer. See Sarna, On the Book of Psalms, p. . Following the biblical analogy, redemption is a saving from a particular situation rather than an all-embracing expression of salvation. In this case, R. Meir would redeem Elisha from hell’s fire. . Sifrei Deut. . . The fourth episode is the third in mss. Vatican  and Oxford  of Qohelet Rabba. . In ms. Vatican  of Qohelet Rabba, as well as in the printed edition, in Qohelet Zuta and in Ruth Rabba, the order of father and teacher is reversed. I rely here on the text of the Yerushalmi. The change in the version of the midrashim can easily be understood as a reaction to a statement that is deemed too powerful. Moreover, the halakhic logic that serves as justification for the precedence of rabbi over father might break down in this case, in which it is the disciple who facilitates his master’s entry into the world-to-come. These difficulties notwithstanding, the point of the Yerushalmi’s exposition is missed when the order is reversed. . The proof is taken from a mishna that discusses the Sabbath and the permis-

NOTES TO PAGES 172–74 355

sion to save certain objects from destruction on the Sabbath. Is the implicit reference to the Sabbath intended as a counterpoint to the description of Elisha who violates the Sabbath? One textual witness of Ruth Rabba relates the distinction between Torah and good deeds to the well-known proverb from Avot : distinguishing a container from what it contains (see Lerner, ‘‘The Book of Ruth,’’ p. ). The distinction between the vessel and its contents is analogous to the distinction between the casing and the scroll. In both cases, the Torah is the internal essence, while the commandments are only an external container. The analogy of a sage to a scroll figures in other cases in the Yerushalmi. Neusner, ‘‘Is the God of Judaism Incarnate?’’, p. , emphasizes that the analogy is a material legal comparison and not merely a symbolic metaphor. For other aggadic uses of this halakhic principle, see Tanḥuma Vayera  and Tanḥuma Buber Bereshit . In this context, the analogy is not to the Torah but to the zaddik and to those who are attached to him. . Rubenstein, p. , seems to suggest the opposite. In his presentation, Elisha’s own merits and R. Meir’s are mingled together. I find no textual support for Elisha’s merit living on in R. Meir. . Vatican mss.  and  of Qohelet Rabba contain the following reading: ‫מצילין אלישע בן אבויה בזכות תורתו ואבא בדיל בריה‬, Elisha ben Abuya is saved by the merit of his Torah, and a father for the sake of his son—another analogy between father and master. In this instance, however, the analogy is an outcome of the question just asked of Elisha: Whom would you visit first? This question is understood as though both Elisha and R. Meir’s physical father are in need of redemption. If so, R. Meir saves his father, while Elisha is saved by the merit of his own Torah. Some modern writers have understood the Yerushalmi this way. See Büchler, p. , whose reading of the Yerushalmi hinges on transposing the word ‫ למבקרא‬and reading it as ‫למקרבא‬. Such a reading is attested in Tosafot Ḥagiga a as well as in Yalkut HaMaFkiri to Psalm . But even if it reads ‫למקרבא‬, the meaning would not be fundamentally altered; ‫למקרבא‬ relates to whom R. Meir would want to get close to, i.e., visit. It would not refer to bringing someone into the world-to-come. Compare, however, Bereshit Rabba :. . See also Tosefta Horayot :. . In their better witnesses, mss. Vatican  and Oxford . . There are several additions to the basic story in the Qohelet Rabba version in the manuscript tradition. The tradition of Yerushalmi I, according to which Elisha instructs the Romans how to cause Jews to violate the Sabbath, as well as Bavli I’s story of Elisha and the children in the beit midrash, both find expression, even if in slightly altered form, in Qohelet Rabba. It is therefore conceivable that this derasha is another instance of interpolation of the Qohelet Rabba text. . Textual version of ms. Oxford , with verses cited in full. . The verse is obviously chosen for its relevance to the master-disciple situation at hand. One cannot deduce from this derasha anything concerning the actual historical circumstances, let alone the scriptural reading that took place ‘‘historically.’’

356 NOTES TO PAGES 175–79

Compare Lieberman, ‘‘Tanna Hecha Kai,’’ p. ; also, Fraenkel, Darchei Ha’Aggada, p. , as well as literature cited p.  n. . . In the Bavli and the Yerushalmi, the teaching is attributed to R. Meir. In the midrashic parallels to the Yerushalmi, the literary pattern has also been applied to the third dialogue. This led to splitting Elisha’s teaching or a variation of it, some of the teaching being attributed to R. Meir, some of it being expressed by R. Akiva. It can also be noted that in the second derasha, part of R. Meir’s teaching, concerning learning Torah in one’s youth and in old age, echoes themes expounded on by Elisha ben Abuya both in Avot and in Avot de Rabbi Natan. However, this does not seem to be a case of creatively reworking Elisha’s teachings in the mouth of R. Meir, as is found later in the story. . One could argue that the original story did not have the self-referential aspect, which was added later. This is found in the derasha in Devarim Rabba, ed. Lieberman, p. , without the personal reference to Elisha. One teaching is brought in the name of R. Meir, and the other is brought anonymously. This source clearly depends on the Yerushalmi and its parallels, but it indicates that this derasha can exist independently of its autobiographical implications. Further support for the possibility that this derasha can exist outside the autobiographical context is to be found in the way it is quoted by R. Yehuda Bar]zeloni in his commentary on Sefer Ye]zira (Yehuda b. Barzilai HaBar]zeloni, Perush Sefer YeFzira, Berlin, ), p. : ‫א"ל ר"ע רבך‬ ‫ מעשים רעים בראשיתו‬,‫לא כך אמר אלא כל מי שיש בידו מעשים טובים בראשיתו מטיבין לו באחריתו‬ ‫מריעין לו באחריתו‬. ‘‘He said to him: R. Akiva, your master, did not say so, but whoever has good deeds in his beginning, receives good in his end.’’ The point of this derasha is identical to the first. The application of R. Akiva’s teaching to Elisha’s life need not be made expressly, as in the Yerushalmi, and can be implied, as in the Yerushalmi’s first derasha, and as this version suggests. See also the inverse derasha attributed to R. Meir, in the same dialogue, in the Ruth Rabba version of the story. The derasha recorded in R. Yehuda Bar]zeloni’s commentary might serve as a response to such a derasha. . This point was seen by M. Hoffman, Toledot, p. . Hoffman’s eye for exegetical play is the saving grace of his work. . It goes without saying that once the source is construed as an artificial literary device, and the derashot are a part of this creation, it becomes impossible to reconstruct anything of the tannaitic form of a Sabbath derasha from this source. Compare Büchler, ‘‘Die Erlösung Elisha,’’ p. , and Kister, ‘‘Avot de Rabbi Nathan,’’ p.  n. . . The association of ‫ אחרית‬and the world-to-come is not a classical midrashic topos. See, however, Otiot De Rabbi Akiva, OFzar Midrashim, p. . . As noted earlier (Chap. ), the word ‫אחור‬, in the sense of the ultimate future, might be related to the formation or the significance of the sobriquet ‫אחר‬. . In the Bavli Elisha is saved by virtue of his Torah. The same message emerges

NOTES TO PAGES 179–80 357

from the later scenes in the Yerushalmi, but the mention of good deeds introduces a new theme and takes away from the exclusive stress upon the Torah he possesses. This might agree with the introduction of repentance into the Yerushalmi, a theme that is not present in the Bavli. Indeed, in Ruth Rabba : and Qohelet Rabba : mention is made not only of good deeds but of repentance that Elisha possessed in the beginning. The mention of repentance as part of former merit seems to be a later addition that was introduced to adapt this derasha to the story’s attempt to present Elisha as repentant. Thus, even if he did not repent at a particular point, he repented at the beginning. The shift in emphasis from exclusive attention to Elisha’s Torah to the inclusion of other aspects of religious virtue may be related to the Yerushalmi’s slightly different view of Elisha’s Torah. . Perhaps its artificiality is also. Yavetz, Toledot Yisrael, p. , makes the point that this could hardly be a teaching of R. Akiva’s because he was a latecomer whose beginnings were certainly not ideal. . Though in the history of scholarship this has been done. See Hoffman, Toledot, p. ; Rubin, Yalkut Shelomo, p. ; Smolenskin, p. n. . Qohelet Rabba in the manuscript tradition, and Qohelet Zuta, are similar to the Bavli in referring to a sinful scholar rather than a forgetful one. . To the best of my knowledge, the only writer to raise this possibility is Reines, Torah Umusar, p. . It should be noted in this context that the Yerushalmi refers several times to the ‫יגיעה‬, toil of Torah study, particularly in Rabbi’s concluding statement. Could this emphasis on the effort serve as an alternative to the ‫ידיעה‬, the actual knowledge, which is in some way impaired? More probably the effort is related to reward, and appears in reward-related contexts, whereas the discussion of saving Elisha refers to his knowledge. If Elisha actually forgets his Torah, he is portrayed like Eleazar ben Arach. The more conventional portrayal would have the two sages complementing each other’s imperfections, with one forgetting his teaching, the other forgetting his observance. Even if the Yerushalmi does entertain the notion that Elisha forgot his Torah, this too must be seen within the complex web of masterdisciple relations. While the content of the dialogues might suggest that it is Elisha who has forgotten his Torah, the story line, where Elisha proclaims, ‘‘Alas for the things that are lost and not found,’’ suggests that it is not Elisha but R. Meir who has forgotten it. . This point does not work for Ruth Rabba, where it is Elisha who speaks of a scholar who has forgotten his Torah. If, in other cases, it is R. Akiva’s teaching, expressed by Elisha, that is the biographically relevant point to Elisha, then this would create a valid reference to his forgetting the Torah. Both Ruth Rabba’s division of R. Meir’s teaching into two in order to preserve the literary form of the whole and Qohelet Rabba’s introduction of the Bavli’s version at this point tend to make Elisha’s response doubtful, an artificial introduction whose sole purpose is to preserve the pattern of the first two derashot. Unlike the Bavli, the midrashic version does not

358 NOTES TO PAGES 180–81

attempt to make plain the personal implications of this derasha to Elisha’s life. The compact and doubly intended phrase in the Yerushalmi: ‘‘Enough, Meir,’’ lends further weight to the possibility that the midrashim have each deviated from the original version of the story, which did not include a response on Elisha’s behalf. It therefore seems there is no ‘‘authoritative’’ response attributed to Elisha to the effect that he forgot his Torah. It should also be noted that R. Meir, both here and in the Bavli, is expressing a tradition that appears in ADRN as originally belonging to Elisha. This is the only instance of R. Meir’s reporting a tradition of Elisha’s. However, this is not done consciously, but as a result of editorial creativity. . Bin Gorion, p. . . There is a regular pattern in this midrash. Each exchange is prefaced by the description of R. Meir turning to Elisha and addressing him as his teacher. Elisha, in turn, opens his response in all cases by addressing R. Meir as ‫בני‬, my son. This is true also in the final dialogue, which is not included. In addition, it should be noted that R. Meir is also referred to as ‫תלמידו‬, Elisha’s disciple. In fact, the concluding moral of the passage in Midrash Mishlei relates to the fortune of having good disciples, such as R. Meir. The whole presentation of master-disciple relationship lacks the sophistication of the Yerushalmi. The relationship is straightforward, and R. Meir calls upon Elisha to repent. The play on the very nature of the relationship, which was suggested as the thematic backbone of the Yerushalmi, is completely lacking in this case. . Unless the Yerushalmi is seen as totally dependent on the Bavli, and lacking direct access to Elisha’s teaching. In that case, the argument would have to be pushed back to the Bavli. . This source also refers to his forfeiting of all merits because of fornication. In the Bavli, loss of merit and fornication are juxtaposed, but the sequence there is the reverse: the visit to the harlot follows the burning of Elisha’s merits. . Compare the synopsis of this story in Eshkol Hakofer a, where Elisha is spoken of in terms of ’‫כפר בה‬, one who denies God’s existence. Hoffman, Toledot, p. , has raised the question of how Elisha, an unbeliever, would believe the heavenly voice. His question underscores the degree to which the story is told in terms of traditional faith. The lack of belief is not part of the story, however. . I do not think one can answer this question by discovering a grain of truth in the episode of Rabbi and Elisha’s daughter while recognizing the story of R. Meir as a literary creation. The episode with Rabbi also serves the ideological needs of the storytellers, and to assume that this episode preserves the facts would force researchers to deal with the problem of Rabbi’s refusing to support sinners’ children. According to the present episode, if Elisha did not have the power of Torah to protect him, Rabbi would be justified in denying charity to Elisha’s offspring. This is without any parallel in the literature. It therefore seems unlikely that such an odd halakhic position would constitute historical truth. . The verse attributed to Rabbi is different from the one included in the Bavli.

NOTES TO PAGES 183–86 359

Hoffman, Toledot, p. , has suggested that the continuation of the verse is ‫בדור אחר‬ ‫ימח שמם‬, let their name be wiped out in another [aḥer] generation. The choice of verse would fit well with the Yerushalmi’s tendencies to employ verses that play upon Elisha’s sobriquet. . Since the Yerushalmi does not report any miracle in this passage, as did the Bavli, the only thing that can move Rabbi is Elisha’s daughters’ argument. Manuscripts Oxford  and Vatican  of Qohelet Rabba and the reading of G in Ruth Rabba (ed. Lerner, p. ) attribute a quote from Mishna Avot : to the daughters: ‘‘Do not look at the container but at that which is in it.’’ By using a mishnaic quote, they can be admired not only for their argument but also for their talmudic erudition. . Compare the effects of the same argument upon God himself, in the final episode in the Bavli. . Bavli Kiddushin referred to R. Ya’akov as the son of Aḥer’s daughter. I have raised the possibility above (p.  n. ) that underlying this report is a valid historical testimony. . Note also the addition to R. Meir’s words in the Vatican ms. of Qohelet Rabba, above n. . . Rabbi’s concluding formula: ‫ראו מה העמיד‬, look what he begot, could conceivably be stretched to include disciples as well as offspring. The verb that describes producing disciples is the same verb employed here. See Avot :. However, if Rabbi’s exclamation refers to R. Meir, it does so only by power of editorial association, since this is the concluding statement pertaining to Elisha. The particular unit of the story does not in any way include R. Meir in its intended scope. . For a literary reading of the entire sugya in its final redacted form, see Rubenstein. My separation of the sugya into different strata mirrors my interest in pursuing the quest for the historical Elisha alongside a literary analysis of the original rabbinic stories, as opposed to their final redacted form. . Except for one brief quote in Aramaic in the story of Elisha’s consecration that is attributed to R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua. . For a more detailed linguistic analysis, see below, Chap. , n. . . Leib Moskowitz suggests that perhaps ‘‘were high and shining’’ might be a more appropriate translation. See Greenfield, ‘‘Lexicographical Notes II.’’ . Ginzberg, Jewish Encyclopedia, : , points out that Elisha was trained to be a scholar, which may be deduced from the consecration story. According to Ginzberg, Elisha’s teaching in Avot reflects his own experience. Because of the complex development of tradition leading to the present source, I find it hard to relate the two statements. Could the statement concerning learning Torah as a child have led to telling a story highlighting the fact that Elisha started out his Torah studies as a child? . We might reflect on the possibility that the two sages who are placed sepa-

360 NOTES TO PAGES 187–90

rately from the others are in some way ‘‘other.’’ However, this is a positive otherness. Elisha’s otherness, because of the imperfect intention attached to him, is undesirable. It must be stated that no term indicating otherness is attached to the story of R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua. . One might capture this faulty intention in terms of the different capacities of fire as portrayed in the Yerushalmi. Abuya is threatened by the fire as a consuming agent; he is informed that the fire has another dimension, a gladdening life-giving force, and he desires this force. However, the outcome of his faulty desire is that his son, Elisha, ultimately is subject to the consuming aspect of the fire, after he dies. In the Yerushalmi, fire appears both at the beginning and at the end of Elisha’s life—his life cycle is framed by fire. The menacing fire that appeared around his birth finally consumes him when he dies. From this perspective, R. Meir’s extinguishing of the consuming fire is equivalent to R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua’s proclamation that their fire is life-giving. In both cases, Torah is presented as the alternative to the consuming fire. In the Bavli, all aspects of fire were consuming. Both Metatron and Elisha were punished by means of fire (and smoke): the burning of Elisha’s merits, and the threat of burning Rabbi. Only in the story of Elisha’s dedication is there a more positive aspect of fire. The Yerushalmi also employs different verbs to describe this fire: ‫ הקיפה‬rather than ‫ סיבבה‬and ‫מלחכת‬. On the different qualities of fire in rabbinic literature, see two works by Ḥoshen, ‘‘Semiotics as a Religious Question,’’ and ‘‘The Fire Symbol in Talmudic Exegesis,’’ p. . . Was this story created not only as an explanation of what went wrong with Elisha but also as a play on his name ‫ בן אבוהי‬- ‫ ?בן אבויה‬Compare Back, p. ; Assaraf, p. . . Such a position might be articulated in Bavli Berachot a, according to Rashi’s understanding of that source. . Compare this with the description of Esau’s prenatal nature, in Bereshit Rabba :. Esau is pictured as wanting to come out of his mother’s womb when she passes in front of pagan temples. He himself is evil, and therefore desires the pagan association. Elisha, on the other hand, is an unwitting victim of his mother’s contact with paganism. . The understanding that the name Aḥer has pagan associations has already been suggested in the literature. See Gruenwald, ‘‘The Problem of Anti-gnostic Polemic,’’ p. . . In Ruth Rabba and Qohelet Rabba, his mother asks to eat, not only to smell. This makes the contact with the idolatrous material more substantial and it removes the question of her involuntary contact with idolatry. Might this echo the proof text: Do not let your mouth lead your flesh into sin? The same question might be asked concerning the dedication story. Interestingly, the image of sinning through wanton eating has been transferred from Elisha (Tosefta) to his mother (Ruth Rabba). . In Yalkut HaMaFkiri’s version of the Yerushalmi this interpolation is inte-

NOTES TO PAGES 190–95

361

grated by being attributed to Elisha and is narrated in the first person, but the text rapidly reverts to third person—a clear indication that this is an interpolation in the story cycle. . Desecrating the Sabbath may be a carryover from Elisha’s story, to what he is said to have seen. See also Fischel, Rabbinic Literature, p.  n. . . The words ‘‘before him’’ do not appear in the quotes of the Yerushalmi in Tosafot Ḥagiga and Yalkut HaMaFkiri. Ruth Rabba seems to reconcile the problem of the dating of R. Ya’akov and the need to make the derasha available to Elisha also by attributing it to R. Akiva, who taught the matter in public. Elisha had to know. His lack of knowledge, or ignoring the proper teaching, is at the very least negligent. R. Akiva also teaches in Qohelet Rabba but not in public. The change to R. Akiva obviously develops the already existing relationship between the figures of R. Akiva and Elisha ben Abuya. The Oxford ms. of Qohelet Rabba suggests that the sage was actually R. Ya’akov b. Idi. . Rubenstein, p. , correctly observes that the image of Elisha who is ignorant of a rabbinic teaching is in tension with the image of Elisha who masters the Torah fully and knows Aqiban traditions of which R. Meir is not cognizant. This would further indicate that we are dealing here with an autonomous tradition that did not emerge as an organic part of the Yerushalmi’s story cycle. . In the Venice printed edition this phrase appears twice, thus further accentuating the significance of the particular expression. The Leiden ms. of the Yerushalmi indicates that the second occurrence was introduced by a scribal comment, made by a different hand, in the margins of the text. The versions of the Yerushalmi recorded in Tosafot Ḥagiga a, and in Yalkut HaMaFkiri, Psalm , p. , lack this second mention. Both Qohelet Rabba and Ruth Rabba lack this formula altogether. For other uses of the formula, see Bavli Berachot b; Menaḥot b; tractate Semaḥot :. On the stereotypical uses of this topos, see Fischel, p.  ff. . The matter is not mentioned in the Bavli. There are no explicit theological conclusions drawn by Elisha, though they are implied. What is implied in the Bavli is made explicit in the Yerushalmi. . This point could emerge from Bavli Ḥagiga I as well. After having his merits burned and concluding that he is excluded from the world-to-come, Elisha decides at least to enjoy worldly pleasures. The conclusion can be drawn that he is unwilling to keep the commandments unless he has fair recompense, and therefore he does not keep them for the sake of Heaven. CHAPTER 7

. I refer here only to Bavli I in relation to the Yerushalmi. It should be noted that there is no parallel to any of the themes of Bavli II in the Yerushalmi. This lends further support to my analysis of Bavli II as an independent unit.

362 NOTES TO PAGES 195–99

. This methodology is the exact opposite of that practiced throughout most of Elisha studies. For many writers, the fact that different sources report the same event, albeit with differences and variations, testifies to the historical foundation underlying such a report. I suggest that such an argument may be true if the witnesses are known to be independent of each other. However, once a literary dependence of one source can be established, the historical witness of the later source is negated and the relationship between the two sources remains a subject for literary exploration. . Nor in other Palestinian sources. The closest parallel to one of the derashot is Kalla Rabbati :. . This is not without precedent. When the rabbis reject the intervention of a heavenly voice in their discussion, in Bavli Bava MetFzia b, they are doing much the same thing. However, in this case, the Yerushalmi does not completely reject the heavenly voice. It almost seems as though the Yerushalmi is not fully cognizant of its significance. . In my reading of the Yerushalmi the possibility arose that there was an imperfection, or perhaps that Elisha forgot his Torah, but this still does not account for the introduction of repentance. If Elisha is saved by R. Meir’s power, it does not matter that his own Torah is not perfect. Compare, however, the concluding phrase: Elisha is saved by the merit of his Torah. . That the Yerushalmi constitutes an expansion of the Bavli’s phrase was noted by Liebes, The Sin of Elisha, p. . . Liebes, p. , correctly observes that Elisha’s response to R. Meir’s call for repentance, ‘‘I can not,’’ hardly suits a rebel. This underscores the fact that the overall portrayal of Elisha in the Yerushalmi is not one of a rebel. This rebellious image only appears in the expanded wording of the heavenly voice. . Some writers have seen Elisha as a rebel in the Bavli as well (see Fraenkel, Darchei, p. , and Liebes, p. ). Some of the textual witnesses in the Bavli do make this suggestion, but this textual tradition seems to be influenced by the Yerushalmi, and does not do justice to the logic of the Bavli. Elisha is a sinner in the Bavli, but he is not a rebel. . Perhaps Elisha’s image as a conscious rebel is linked to the larger concerns in the Yerushalmi. What characterizes a rebel is his willful and intentional sinfulness. Such intentional behavior blends in with the Yerushalmi’s discussion. The problem with Elisha might thus consistently be related to issues of proper, improper, and full intention. It is interesting to note that the image of the rebel develops along with the detachment from the supernal context, which, according to the Bavli, leads Elisha to sin. The mystical or heavenly perspective enables the Bavli to show greater compassion and understanding toward Elisha and takes the sting out of his sinfulness. By contrast, the Yerushalmi only refers to an earthly perspective that generates the image of the willful rebel. . Classically, one who causes others to sin is prevented from the possibility

NOTES TO PAGES 200–204 363

of repentance. See Mishna Avot :; Tosefta Kippurim :. An easy way to explain Elisha’s exclusion from repentance, and a natural outcome of the presentation of Yerushalmi I, would have been that he caused others to sin. But the expansion in the text of the heavenly voice does not seem to rely on the image of Elisha who leads others into sin: in other words, the stories of Yerushalmi I do not seem to account for the message of the heavenly voice in Yerushalmi II. . A similar combination of these two verses occurs in another midrashic tradition in the opening of Eicha Rabba, section . Compare Pesikta de Rav Kahana :, Mandelbaum p. , where only the verse from Jeremiah is included. It may be that a similar process of expansion occurs in both midrashim. Alternatively, the textual tradition of Eicha Rabba influenced that of Ruth Rabba. . Further reference to his merits is found in the derasha of Qohelet Zuta, where, according to my autobiographical reading, they are sufficient not just for himself but for R. Meir also. . In the Bavli, it is only proper that God should have a say in Elisha’s redemption, because the source of Elisha’s error is an erroneous understanding of God. There are, of course, instances in which repentance also necessitates divine intervention, because repentance seems unfeasible given the gravity of sins involved. Such is the case of Manasseh. See, e.g., Pesikta de Rav Kahanna, Shuva , p. . Had repentance been a more significant theme in the Yerushalmi, the sugya might have charted a similar course. However, in view of Elisha’s exclusion from repentance by a heavenly voice, it is difficult to envision God in relation to repentance in either talmudic sugya. . Obviously, I do not assume that the final edited text of the Bavli underlies the story of the Yerushalmi. Nonetheless, a version of the Elisha story similar to that found in the Bavli must have existed early enough to influence the Yerushalmi’s version. . I refer to the language of the storyteller. The language of the source shifts back and forth from Hebrew to Aramaic. However, the shift into Hebrew occurs in the following cases: () in comments and paraphrases of biblical verses; () in the two interruptions to the main story line, where the language shift further supports the literary distinction between two levels within the sugya; () in quoting previous sources: thus, when quoting phrases, as from the Bavli, the original Hebrew is maintained. This linguistic analysis helps corroborate both the division of the sugya into two distinct layers and the dependence of the Yerushalmi on the Bavli. The only lapse into Hebrew that is not accounted for by these categories is the report of Elisha crying on his deathbed and R. Meir’s suggestion that Elisha repented. Because this report follows the biblical exegesis in Hebrew, it may be that the storyteller simply forgot to return to Aramaic; however, this is the only case of such inconsistency. In view of the otherwise clear patterns of linguistic usage, the phrase ‫באותה שעה בכה אלישע ונפטר‬ ‫ והיה רבי מאיר שמח בלבו ואומר דומה שמתוך תשובה נפטר רבי‬,‫ ומת‬may be considered a later

364 NOTES TO PAGES 205–7

addition to an earlier story. This addition would then be dated when the earlier story was edited, with the incorporation of the secondary interruptions in Hebrew. If so, the original story did not tell of Elisha’s possible repentance. Thus, the original version of the Yerushalmi is closer to the Bavli in presenting Elisha’s redemption without suggestion of repentance. In addition, R. Meir’s second call for repentance receives no reaction. Both considerations may have led a later hand to introduce the notion of repentance in the Yerushalmi, thus changing its inherent logic. Thematically, the earliest form of the Yerushalmi may be the more consistent. . R. Meir follows Elisha when he is riding the horse, in order to learn Torah from him. This is clearly communicated in the Bavli, but it does not come through in the Yerushalmi at all, though the same situation is narrated. . In the singular. Once the Yerushalmi is accepted as being a later elaboration, the shift from one daughter to several may fit the pattern. See also, Fischel, Rabbinic Literature, p.  n. . . I do not think the Bavli brings together sources that existed independently at an earlier stage. In my opinion, it is as much a literary creation as the Yerushalmi. To claim otherwise would be to assume that the Bavli gathered earlier sources concerning Elisha and integrated them into a literary whole. My analysis suggests that this is highly unlikely. The composition of the story in the Bavli contains markers of units and subsections that were created as part of the text and are a distinct part of the Bavli’s narrative style. It seems that the Bavli did not so much make a point of creating the impression of disjunction as it simply did not go to great lengths to give its creation the air of unity. Possibly in the composition of the Bavli’s version, certain markers were left in relation to subsections, but it is unlikely that the Bavli would have taken an integrated version, such as the Yerushalmi’s, and deliberately broken it up. . The merging of the independent passages into a more integrated literary whole also causes some of the subtleties to be lost. When he rides the horse, the play on Elisha’s status as master or servant disappears in the Yerushalmi, which has spread the episode’s motifs over the tale. . See, for example, the story of the man climbing the tree. In the midrashim, this occurs on the Sabbath. . As already pointed out, in the Bavli, Elisha is referred to only once as R. Meir’s teacher, and this is attributed to R. Yoḥanan. Unlike the Yerushalmi, the narrator never refers to Elisha as R. Meir’s master. . The manner in which master-disciple relations are presented can serve as a gauge for the development of the traditions. As noted, Midrash Mishlei offers a more advanced stage in the presentation of master-disciple relations. The same might be true for Qohelet Zuta, where there is a reference to both master and disciple, in the context of a theoretical statement. My analysis suggests that this has autobiographical significance.

NOTES TO PAGES 207–9 365

. There is a possible objection to this argument. In explaining the derashot, which the Yerushalmi reports as part of dialogues between Elisha and R. Meir, I suggested that they make a pun on the name Aḥer. It is obvious that the Yerushalmi is also aware of Elisha’s sobriquet. However, it seems that when telling a story based on the words Aḥer and Aḥerim, it is not sufficient that the name Aḥer be known as background. It must be the predominant way in which the sage is referred to. This cannot be said of the Yerushalmi, which never employs the sobriquet when telling Elisha’s tale. It should further be pointed out that some of the details of the traditions concerning Elisha might be the result of a pun on his sobriquet. It makes better sense that this type of pun originates in the context in which Elisha is known as Aḥer. . Indeed, it can be argued that in the Bavli, R. Meir fails more than he succeeds. He fails to prevail upon Elisha to repent. He fails in procuring an alternate heavenly voice. Further, as R. Yoḥanan points out, his success after Elisha’s death is partial. . To emphasize R. Meir’s success, the Yerushalmi omits the story of the visit to the thirteen synagogues, which is a story of failure. . Rubenstein, p. , has argued that the mention of R. Yoḥanan in the Bavli is a case of a doubling of a motif, which would indicate a later date than the Yerushalmi. This seems difficult. The introduction of R. Yoḥanan into the story stems from an appreciation of the deep logic in the Bavli’s story and of the difficulties involved in overcoming the heavenly decree. It seems improbable that, had the Bavli been aware of what Rubenstein suggests is the earlier version of the Yerushalmi’s story, according to which R. Meir succeeded in saving Elisha, it would have changed the story to one of partial success just to double the motif, or to praise R. Yoḥanan. The difference between the Bavli and the Yerushalmi should be taken as a reflection of the role the heavenly voice plays in each story. In the Bavli, the heavenly voice is the root of Elisha’s sins and therefore cannot be totally overcome by R. Meir. Büchler, p. , raises the possible distinction between the Bavli, in which Elisha is punished in the fires of hell, and the Yerushalmi, which says he was punished by divine fire. If this distinction is valid, it could fit into the suggested pattern of development. The heavenly fire might be a way of not referring to the earlier version of a sage who entered hell. . On the association of ‫ מאחורי הפרגוד‬and ‫אחר‬, as the Bavli knows him, see above, Chap. , n. . This is consistent with the suggested model of development. . This may agree with other instances in the Yerushalmi where the Holy of Holies is the source for a person to be removed or excluded from the larger group. See Yerushalmi Sanhedrin : a concerning Do’eg. Do’eg is one of the figures excluded, although he was ultimately reincluded in the world to come. Bavli Ḥagiga may be aware of the relation between Elisha and Do’eg. Following the lengthy presentation of Elisha’s story, there is a reflection on Do’eg’s fate. The correspondence between the two figures may be implied.

366 NOTES TO PAGES 209–11

. As Liebes, p. , has already suggested. I consider the opposite direction of influence to be unlikely, that the earthly Temple was transposed by the Bavli to the heavenly Temple. The many anachronisms and historical difficulties in the Yerushalmi’s version make it unlikely that the story’s original context was formed in the Yerushalmi. If the Yerushalmi’s reading is accepted at face value, it must be assumed that Elisha is at least one hundred years old when he is riding his horse and meets R. Meir. On the other hand, in the Bavli, there is no problem of a heavenly voice ‫ מאחורי הפרגוד‬in the context of a heavenly ascent. I therefore agree with Liebes on this point and reject the contrary suggestion made by Halperin in The Merkabah, p. , and in The Faces of the Chariot, p. . Halperin’s position was suggested, on other grounds, by Büchler, p.  n. . . See Mekhilta Amalek, ; Bavli Sotah a. . Halperin, The Merkabah, p.  n. , has pointed out there are no occurrences of ‫ מאחורי הפרגוד‬in a heavenly sense in the Yerushalmi, and that this usage is characteristic of the Bavli. . The suggestion that Elisha passes where the Temple once stood is an attempt to overcome the anachronistic description, but is unconvincing. See Büchler, p. ; Ginzberg, p. . . See Abramson, R. Nissim Gaon, p. . Note that R. Nissim calls Elisha aḥor, behind—in other words, a play on words of the epithet to the hearing of the voice behind the Holy of Holies. This reading is also reported in Tosafot Ḥagiga a, though the text is not quoted there. Yalkut HaMaFkiri to Psalm  reads ‫לפני‬, as does the Yerushalmi. . Ed. Lerner. In the printed version: ‘‘behind the synagogue.’’ This variant is typical of the changes in the tradition that attempt to overcome the anachronistic description of Elisha’s living at the times of the Temple. . According to the manuscript tradition. Only the printed version includes a similar reading to Ruth Rabba’s: ‘‘behind the Temple.’’ While this version has transformed the Temple to its ruins, it nonetheless retains traces of the original expression, for it says that Elisha passes behind the Western Wall. In Qohelet Zuta this is also changed, in order to be more logical, and Elisha simply passes by, ‫סמוך‬, the Western Wall. . As noted previously, in view of how Elisha is presented in Yerushalmi I, as one who causes others to sin, it might have been expected that his exclusion from repentance is based on his bad influence on others. However, this is not the reason offered for his exclusion. The expanded formula of the heavenly voice, when Elisha is cast as a rebel, demonstrates the dependence of Yerushalmi II on the Bavli. Had the story in the Yerushalmi been earlier, it might have resorted to the argument furnished in Yerushalmi I. . One should note, however, that the Yerushalmi’s version of the heavenly voice also shortens the quotation from Jeremiah, and omits the description of the

NOTES TO PAGES 211–12 367

children as backsliding. Along with the extension of the formula, those parts that did not seem necessary to the Yerushalmi’s storytellers were omitted. This makes the formula, as it appears in the Yerushalmi, even further removed from the original form of the heavenly voice, in the teaching of R. Jonathan. In order to suggest a development in the phrasing of a central formula, it need not be assumed that the texts existed in their final edited form. The examination of the formula is therefore a good test for the development of tradition. . While this is part of the development of Elisha’s image, it must be remembered that Yerushalmi I is the least favorable toward Elisha. The harshening of his image in the reworking of the Babylonian material may also be influenced by what I shall suggest to be the earlier view of Elisha, as presented in Yerushalmi I. Perhaps an additional instance of expansion is to be found in Elisha’s words to R. Meir in the Yerushalmi: ‘‘Alas for the things that are lost and not found.’’ This expansion echoes themes that are specific to the Yerushalmi, like the forgetting of Torah. . Assaraf, p. , gets around the problem by saying that R. Yoḥanan is the author of the story in the Yerushalmi, which is why he fails to mention himself. In the course of its transmission, his disciples make room for him in the story. I do not concur with Assaraf, because everything that appears in the Yerushalmi cannot be ascribed to R. Yoḥanan, even if it is conceded that he is the editor. . I can account for this identification only as a reference to a martyred Torah scholar. The term ‘‘great man’’ is not associated with this sage in any other source. See also above, Chapter , n. . In Bavli Kiddushin the martyr’s tongue is in a pig’s mouth; the Yerushalmi changes it to a dog’s mouth, perhaps to mitigate the horror Elisha saw. The version at the end of Bavli Ḥullin simply refers to garbage. The Yerushalmi is obviously closer to Bavli Kiddushin than Ḥullin is. Despite the shift in the choice of animals, the basic image is retained. I have noted earlier (Chap. , n. ) that the version at the end of Ḥullin is secondary. That the original tradition referred to a pig might be suggested by the pun played upon pig and upon Elisha’s sobriquet; this pun can only be applied to the Bavli, where Elisha is Aḥer. . I assume this material to be a creation of the Yerushalmi, since there is no parallel for it elsewhere. On linguistic grounds, note also the expression ‫ גדולי ירושלים‬in the dedication story. The use of this term conforms to the manner in which Friedman describes the Yerushalmi’s use of the expression ‫ ;גדולי הדור‬see Friedman, ‘‘Gedolei Hador Ugedolei Olam.’’ . See Bavli Ḥagiga b—‫כל דנקי אגב אמיה‬. The question does not need do be viewed in this context. Indeed, Rashi reads it differently. However, one who is aware of the Yerushalmi might find a possible parallel. Note that it cannot be more than an echo of the theme explicitly discussed in the Yerushalmi; no names are given in this passage, and only the proximity to the discussion concerning Elisha suggests that it pertains to him. . Here, too, certain linguistic formulations are evidence of a later reworking of

368 NOTES TO PAGES 212–15

the tradition—for example, the words attributed to Elisha when he sees the tongue of the martyred sage. The Bavli has the expression ‫פה שהפיק מרגליות‬, which is a unique expression; the Yerushalmi uses the more common expression, ‫זו תורה וזו שכרה‬. The move from the unique to the conventional seems to have a chronological significance. . However, wondrous powers are generally attached to masters of Torah of this period and cannot be limited to particular individuals. See Neusner, The WonderWorking Lawyers of Talmudic Babylonia, pp. , , and  ff. . Compare Assaraf, p. ff. Note that the question concerning the comparison of the ideal teacher and the angel is based on a tradition that is ascribed to R. Yoḥanan. However, this may be a later part of the sugya and the original sugya may have ended with the successful redemption of Elisha. . In speaking of R. Yoḥanan’s disciples, it should be assumed that Babylonian disciples were involved in this presentation of the master. A Palestinian formation of the sugya need not be assumed. The image of R. Yoḥanan who possesses supernatural powers is characteristic of Babylonian sources. Furthermore, Yoma a, which has been discussed as a parallel sugya, addresses questions of Babylonian taxation and employs similar literary motives. It is also attributed, at least in part, to R. Yoḥanan. See Halperin, The Merkabah, p. , and Urbach, ‘‘Concerning Historical Insight into the Account of Rabba bar Naḥmani’s death,’’ pp. –. The question at hand ultimately hinges on the meta-problem of the meaning of attributions in rabbinic literature. In principle, I agree with Halperin, who dates the sugya to fourth-century Babylon (The Merkabah, p. ), but I find the grounds upon which he bases his dating insufficient. He finds a parallel to the expression ‫מחיוהו שיתין פולסי דנורא‬, they whipped him with sixty fiery lashes, in Bavli Yoma a, which he suggests dates from that time, hence this story also. His argument is problematic for two reasons. First, one cannot draw conclusions about dates from the occurrence of a stereotyped literary expression used in various contexts. Second, dating the Yoma passage as fourth century relies on emending the text to omit the reference to R. Yoḥanan. Both the literary conventions of storytelling and the conventions of ascribing names to stories and traditions preclude being able to date the story. . As suggested earlier (Chap. , n. ) from the theological standpoint, Rav Mesharshia takes seriously a teaching that was never designed to be serious. This would be further indication of the gap between the original formation of the story and its later accretions. . The tradition of thirteen synagogues in Tiberias refers to R. Ami and R. Asi, third-generation amoraim; therefore, dating the sugya in the third generation might also account for the reference to thirteen synagogues. See above, Chapter , n. . If the tradition concerning these two sages was contemporary, that might indicate when the story cycle was composed and reinforce the status R. Yoḥanan is accorded in the story. Such a dating might still allow for the formation of the sugya in stages, and for the words of R. Yoḥanan to be later than some earlier parts of the sugya.

NOTES TO PAGES 215–16 369

. Rabba bar Shila does not appear anywhere in the Yerushalmi. It is therefore unlikely that a story told of him would be known. . Do those who hear this story differentiate between it and the record of a debate in the beit midrash? Are they aware that this is fiction and is therefore different from discussions in the beit midrash? . In order to avoid any misunderstanding, I wish to clarify that I am referring to the entire Yerushalmi sugya. I noted previously that one portion of the Yerushalmi, the story cycle of Elisha and R. Meir’s relationship, is more integrated from the literary and linguistic perspective than the Babylonian story. . Rubenstein, p. , suggests that the Bavli is later than the Yerushalmi because it mentions the heavenly voice three times, as opposed to the Yerushalmi, which mentions it only once. In this argument he relies on the nature of Babylonian storytelling, which routinely doubles and triples elements. I do not find this argument persuasive enough to stand up to the accumulated argument favoring the opposite direction of influence. Manuscript evidence points to explicit mentions on only two occasions of the heavenly voice. However, the story of the visit to the thirteen synagogues relates to a form of the heavenly voice. The fact that the heavenly voice figures in three different contexts suggests that the Bavli is not simply repeating the theme but is carrying the theme throughout its discussion. Because the Bavli presents the heavenly voice as the cause of Elisha’s sins, it returns to it in three different contexts as the plot develops. Since the Yerushalmi omits the opening scene, for reasons that will be suggested below, even the single reference to the heavenly voice is awkward. . Though the story appears in the manuscripts of Qohelet Rabba, this seems to be a later addition that is influenced by the Bavli. See Kister, ‘‘Od Perur,’’ p.  n. . . Liebes, p. , has used this difference to support his claim that it cannot be assumed that the Bavli in its current form was known to the Yerushalmi. This may be correct. The source for Yerushalmi II may have been the Bavli in some earlier form, not in its final form; as has been suggested, the Bavli’s story continued to develop past the point at which materials arrived in Palestine. However, the argument from the existence of different derashot is not convincing. The omission of the Bavli’s first derasha may be related to other omissions, and may therefore be ideological. . The Branch A manuscripts of the Bavli’s version of the heavenly ascent also include the expression ‫מאחורי הפרגוד‬. This further weakens the possibility of the expression’s having originated in some other context. The possibility of a third, nonmystical context in which the heavenly voice was heard seems unlikely. Unless one can demonstrate the existence of such a possibility, I prefer to account for the expression ‫ מאחורי הפרגוד‬by means of the existing material. . ‘‘Elisha ben Abuyah,’’ p. . This objection to Ginzberg’s point has already been raised by G. Stroumsa, ‘‘Aḥer,’’ p. , and by Segal, Two Powers, p.  n. . . The Merkabah, pp. –. . Yerushalmi Ḥagiga : a.

370 NOTES TO PAGES 216–20

. Rowland, The Open Heaven, p. , suggests the Metatron episode was omitted in order to avoid speculation concerning the angel. . Compare above notes , . . See Kister, ‘‘Od Perur,’’ p.  n. . . Liebes, p. , suggests the priority of the motif in the Bavli. A similar suggestion was made by Bin Gorion, p. . . Perhaps the theme of glass vessels in Yerushalmi I is echoed in the dialogues of R. Meir and Elisha. However, in this case, there is a derasha attributed to Elisha himself, and preserved in ADRN, as an authentic source for this tradition. . The suggestion that R. Akiva was Elisha’s teacher cannot be supported historically. The Bavli’s addition of a warning phrase attributed to R. Akiva, in Ḥagiga b, creates the impression that R. Akiva is a master, guiding three disciples, among whom is Elisha ben Abuya. Elisha’s quoting of R. Akiva’s teachings to R. Meir creates the impression that he was his student, but both instances reflect later reworkings and creations and cannot be viewed as historically reliable. If Elisha ben Abuya is of the same generation as Ben Azzai and Ben Zoma, he might well have studied with them from the same masters. The point is that tradition does not enable us to ascertain even this much about the life of the real Elisha ben Abuya. CHAPTER 8

. Geiger, ‘‘Die Reinheit der Hände und Elasar ben Arach.’’ Geiger wished to identify R. Eleazar ben Arach with Eliezer b. Ḥanoch, who had been banished, as the Mishna says (Eduyot :), because he denied the biblical authority of ‘‘sanctity of hands.’’ This affords Geiger an explanation of the discrepancy between the praise he received from his teacher (Mishna Avot :) and the lack of any teachings in his name to have survived. The subsequent tradition blurred the ‘‘historical’’ fact by offering the story that this sage forgot all the Torah he ever knew. Before reaching this solution, Geiger accepted the reliability of the account telling of R. Eleazar ben Arach’s forgetfulness, and considered the praise in Mishna Avot as a biased statement that originated in the circle of R. Yehudah HaNasi and was aimed against R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai. Geiger’s later formulation does not discuss the reliability of the tradition in Avot :. For his earlier statements, see ‘‘Jochanan ben Sakkai und Elieser ben Hurkan,’’ pp. –. . The present study examines all the sayings by R. Eleazar ben Arach and all the traditions about him. Excluded from this discussion are the sayings attributed to R. Eleazar ben Arach in Pirkei de R. Eliezer. R. Eliezer and R. Eleazar ben Arach belonged to the same circle of disciples, hence there are a number of pseudepigraphic quotations attributed to R. Eleazar ben Arach in that source. . On this mishna, and for some comments about R. Eleazar ben Arach, see Goldin, ‘‘Mashehu Al Beit Midrasho Shel Rabban Yoḥanan b. Zakkai,’’ p. ff. From

NOTES TO PAGES 220–34

371

the present study it emerges that many of the traditions that Goldin accepted as attributed to R. Eleazar ben Arach were, in fact, not his. Because of this, the Stoic influence that Goldin identified in the academy of R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai must be reexamined in order to determine whether this philosophical influence was unique to this academy. . Avot :. The mishna continues in a similar vein, phrased in the negative, concerning which bad qualities should be avoided. . We find the same wording in Pesikta de Rav Kahana: ‘‘I prefer the words of [ . . . ]’’, spoken by R. Yoḥanan Zakkai on a different subject altogether, that of the differentiation between Israel and the gentiles. However, the ending ‘‘for in his words your words are included’’ is missing. The parallel in the Bavli attributes the teaching to R. Neḥunya b. Hakanah and not to R. Eleazar ben Arach (Bava Batra b). . Bavli Berachot b. See Gilat, The Teachings of R. Eliezer ben Hyrcanos, p. . See also, Heschel, Theology of Ancient Judaism, : ff. Against this understanding, see Rosenthal, ‘‘Tradition and Innovation in the Halakha of the Sages,’’ pp. – . But see also Shapiro and Fisch, ‘‘Pulmusei Habatim.’’ Note also the analogy of R. Eliezer’s teaching to the ocean in his deathbed speech. See Bavli Sanhedrin a, and ADRN (A) . The analogy to the sea may be a reference to a closed body of water, in contrast to the image of flowing water to which R. Eleazar ben Arach is likened. . The metaphor of an everflowing spring is also found in the context of wisdom and revelations. See Ben Sira :ff.;  Ezra :. See also the Hodayot hymn, QHa :–, discussed by Davila in his ‘‘The Hodayot Hymnist.’’ The rabbinic use of the metaphor can be seen as an extension of these texts, inasmuch as the innovation that R. Eleazar ben Arach represents can also be presented as such a combination. Compare also the definition of property laws as a welling spring (Mishna Bava Batra :). . In ADRN another water image describes one of five sages. Shimon b. Netaniel is an oasis in the desert that holds its water (ADRN Ver. A , Goldin, p. ; Ver. B, , Saldarini, p. , with reference to Yehoshua ben Ḥanania). I believe this image refers not simply to Shimon b. Netaniel’s ability to contain all his learning (it differs from the image describing R. Eliezer b. Hyrcanos) but also to the impact the Torah has upon Shimon b. Netaniel. The mishna mentioned above called him sin-fearing. The metaphor emphasizes the influence of the Torah on his life, which is like the influence of water on plants in the desert. Shimon b. Netaniel preserves his learning, and it bears fruit within him, even under difficult conditions (in the ‘‘desert’’); cf. Mishna Avot :, :. . Compare Dikdukei Sofrim ad loc.: which of them is preferable. . Bavli Horayot a and parallels. . The image of splitting a mountain is also found in the homilies to the verse ‘‘My word is like fire, declares the Lord, and like a hammer that shatters rock’’ (Jer.

372 NOTES TO PAGES 235–36

:). The tannaitic sources explain this verse as a description of the multifarious and even conflicting meanings of the divine word (see, e.g., Mekhilta Baḥodesh, chap. , Lauterbach, p. ). Uprooting mountains and shattering rocks both suggest profound understanding: just as one who delves into the different meanings of a verse discovers the different fragments of the same rock, so does one who delves deeply into the study of Mishna take apart what was given at the same mountain, Mount Sinai. However, there may be a fundamental difference between the two images. An uprooter of mountains takes the mountain apart by force; this is an interpretative effort that leads to innovation and profundity, hence the high value placed on the uprooter of mountains. Shattering the rock, on the other hand, especially in light of the tannaitic uses of the verse from Jeremiah, seems to be a divine act, generated by God who gave a multifaceted and contradictory Torah. One who studies the interpretations of the Torah does not innovate or create them. The appreciation of the commentator’s position and of original creative power is then expressed precisely in the talmudic metaphor. See also, Mack, ‘‘Seventy Aspects of the Torah,’’ pp. – . Mack treats the sources that utilize Jeremiah : as relevant to the problem of interpretation; however, in all the sources that he presents, the derashot emphasize the inherent wealth and multiplicity of the divine word rather than the power of human interpretation. This might be the precise difference between this group of sources and the next group of sources that he presents, concerning the forty-nine faces by which the Torah is expounded. For the use of the image of shattering a mountain as a metaphor for the phenomenon of controversy, see: Tosefta Yevamot, :; Bavli Yevamot b and cf.: Yerushalmi Berachot , , c; Midrash Tehillim , ; also, Yalkut Re’uveni, Hukkat. For a discussion of these sources, see my ‘‘Controversy in the World of the Sages,’’ p. ff. For an additional use of this metaphor, see PseudoPhilo :, in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, ed. Charlesworth, :. . See, e.g., Bavli Termurah a. R. Ḥiyya and R. Ḥaninah rely on two different methods to prevent the forgetting of Torah among the Jews: one spreads pilpul, dialectical argumentation, and the other relies on transmission and preservation (Bavli Bava Metzia b). . ADRN (B) . . For other cases in which Abba Shaul speaks in the name of R. Akiva, or comments on his traditions, see: Tosefta Kilayim :; Tosefta Ahilot :. Geiger also tried to fathom the significance of Abba Shaul’s words. Because Abba Shaul was the baker in Rabbi’s house (Bavli Pesaḥim a), Geiger inferred that the words of Abba Shaul served R. Yehudah HaNasi’s interests. . See the quote of the conclusion of the mishna, without any reference to the tradition, taken out of context from the main part of the story, Mekhilta de R. Shimon b. Yohai, Mishpatim, :, p. . . ADRN (A) , Goldin translation, p. . . Sifre Deut. , following ms. Vatican .

NOTES TO PAGES 236–37 373

. ADRN (B) . . The reference to Sinai has also been transformed in later sources, in light of the ideal of innovation. See Pesikta Rabbati, , trans. W. Braude, p. . . The image of the well in this context is the counterpart of the image of the flowing spring in a different context. Since R. Eleazar ben Arach was already compared to a spring, the characterization of R. Eliezer was expanded through the use of wordplay on wellspring (‫באר‬-‫)בור‬. . Yerushalmi Sotah :, c. See also, Tosefta Sotah :: ‘‘When R. Akiva died, the arms of Torah were taken away, and the springs of wisdom ceased.’’ On the image ‘‘arms of Torah,’’ see the story of R. Eliezer’s death in Bavli Sanhedrin a. Perhaps the compound phrase ‘‘arms of Torah and springs of wisdom’’ refers to the two facets of the study of Torah—transmission and innovation. The Mishna offers a different version of R. Akiva’s death: ‘‘When R. Akiva died the glory of the Law ceased’’ (Sotah :); in Palestinian variants, ‘‘The homily makers (darshanin) have ceased.’’ On darshanim and the force of innovation it requires, see the discussion of Tosefta Ḥagiga below. With reference to water metaphors, see further Shir HaShirim Rabba :,. R. Akiva is contrasted to R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua. I am not certain whether this source is aware of the way in which it applies water metaphors. To the extent that it is, the Torah of the two sages is likened to the sea. In contrast, R. Akiva refers to his Torah in terms of an aqueduct carrying water. Presumably, the latter does not cause the water to diminish, because it comes from a source. If so, this might be another example of the juxtaposition of the closed body of water and the spring, which is an everflowing source. The contrast between R. Akiva and R. Eliezer, and R. Yehoshua is consistent with the portrayal of these sages. If the point of the statement in Shir HaShirim Rabba is that R. Akiva, unlike his predecessors, has not diminished his masters’ teaching at all, then this statement might be intentionally paradoxical. As will be seen below, R. Akiva’s path is that of innovation. He does not diminish his masters’ teaching because he draws the Torah forth in a creative process. This is an expression of humility, however, rather than a different path. If the passage in Shir HaShirim Rabba is not related to the larger issue of water symbolism, R. Akiva’s statement should be taken at face value and is not paradoxical. . ADRN (A) . The parallel in Ver. B, chap. , presents the same general plot but omits any mention of the relationship with R. Yehoshua and R. Eliezer, and it is R. Eliezer who praises R. Akiva for his new insights. Cf. the portrayal of R. Eliezer in this version, Ver. B, . . In ADRN (B) R. Akiva has only one teacher, and no mention is made of R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua. The story tells how R. Akiva studied Scripture, Targum, Midrash, Halakha, and Aggada, arcane speech, and parables. It seems that the expression ‘‘the entire Torah’’ in ADRN (A) is confined to the written Torah alone and does not include the study of the oral Torah. If his studies with his teacher had included the study of oral Torah as well, then his request to study with R. Eliezer and

374 NOTES TO PAGES 237–39

R. Yehoshua would have been to understand the meaning of the Mishna only, not to study its content. Their lesson, when they taught him a single halakha, would have been quite useless. . Note that R. Akiva’s method of study receives the approval of another disciple of R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai, R. Tarfon, as opposed to R. Akiva’s teachers, R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua. See, e.g., Tosefta Ḥagiga, , . . This parable, unlike many rabbinic parables, does not resort to a fixed literary type. On the fixed literary types of rabbinic parables, see my ‘‘God and Israel as Father and Son in Tannaitic Literature,’’ pp. –. This parable is not self-standing; it is formed with an eye to its referent and as such is artificial. . Cf. Rabbi Akiva’s wording, Sifra, Tazri’a, : (c): ‘‘You dive into mighty waters and dredge up another sherd in your hand!’’ (Neusner, Sifra: An Analytical Translation, vol. , Tazria, p. ). . In this part of the story, ADRN (B) replaces the well with a cistern. I believe that the ‘‘well’’ fills the function of the ‘‘cistern’’ in Sifre Deut. , since it is contrasted to the flowing river. It cannot be ruled out that this biographical description of R. Akiva is based on his own saying about the study of Torah as a well (ibid.). The possibility of composing biographical sketches of sages based on their own sayings repeats itself periodically in the present work (see the later discussion of R. Eleazar ben Arach below). The play on words with ‫באר‬, both ‘‘well’’ and ‘‘interpretation,’’ makes the well image especially fitting for the description of the study of Torah and its interpretation. . R. Akiva makes the inference from the well to his own heart. The simple meaning of chiseling the heart relates to the chiseling of the evil impulse (see, e.g., Pesikta de Rav Kahana, Shuva ). It is also possible that the reference to the heart is significant in the context of creative and innovative Torah study. Just as the stonecutting metaphor is applied in a twofold manner, so is the verse ‘‘like a hammer that shatters rock.’’ On the verse in relation to the evil impulse, see Bavli Kiddushin b. This also includes an image of iron alongside the image of stone, as in the double imagery in the story of R. Akiva in ADRN. That both uses of the verse originate in R. Ishmael’s school is especially interesting in light of the suggestion that the description of R. Akiva as an uprooter of mountains originated in his own academy. . See in this context R. Yehoshua’s description of R. Akiva’s chair as Mount Sinai: Shir HaShirim Rabba :,. The analogy to Mount Sinai could be understood as emphasizing R. Akiva’s powers of innovation as he reveals new meanings of the Torah, just as at Mount Sinai. In the context of the preceding passages, however, the metaphor of Mount Sinai seems to again signify the conservative aspect of the Sinai tradition. . A fascinating indication of the appreciation of R. Eleazar ben Arach in association with R. Akiva can be found in R. Ḥayim Vital’s Sefer HaḤezyonot (Jerusalem, ), p. . This kabbalistic diary relates the overshadowing presences that

NOTES TO PAGES 239–40 375

are said to play a role in R. Ḥayim Vital’s spiritual evolution. These include, first, R. Eleazar ben Arach (who is described only as R. Joḥanan ben Zakkai’s student), then R. Eleazar ben Shamu’a, a direct disciple of R. Akiva’s, and finally R. Akiva himself. The list of overshadowing presences seems to be constructed in such a way as to culminate in R. Akiva, leading up to him through figures associated with him. R. Eleazar ben Arach’s presence in this list is significant. This text of Sefer HaḤezyonot was discussed by Menaḥem Kalus in a paper delivered at the annual meeting of the Association of Jewish Studies, December . . Sifra Mezora :a. Geiger, :, interpreted this as R. Eleazar speaking in the name of the sages, though he disagreed with them, and he came to the far-reaching conclusion that Eleazar b. Arach doubted the authority for ‘‘sanctity of hands.’’ I see no reason for such an extreme reading, a reading that underlies Geiger’s entire structure. In all the other cases in the Bavli and the Sifra where the formula ‘‘from this did the rabbis learn’’ is found, there is no basis for the assumption that the speaker is in disagreement with these sages. . Yerushalmi Yevamot :, c; Yerushalmi Kiddushin :, d; see also, Tosefta Nedarim : and Tosefta Kifeshuta, ibid. . See Heschel, Theology, : ff; : , where he cites sources for this phenomenon. To these the following can be added: Yerushalmi Rosh Hashana :, b: ‘‘Rabbi Akiva said: the water libation is a Torah precept’’; Tosefta Shekalim :, and see textual variants, ibid. It may be necessary to understand other aspects of R. Akiva’s teaching as part of a method that does away with the accepted distinctions within the Torah and views the whole Torah as a single unit. Therefore, an inference can be drawn from a teaching learned by Moshe at Sinai, ‫הלכה למשה מסיני‬, and one can even understand the meaning of a law delivered by him there. See: Mishna Nazir :; Bavli Nidah a. To the story in the Bavli compare Mishna Nidah :. If the story’s concluding remark is a later addition, it suggests that R. Akiva expounds the meaning of a halakha LeMoshé MiSinai in the entire Torah. . See also Lieberman’s suggestion: Tosefta Kifeshuta, Nedarim, p. . . Two other disciples repeat the same argument, and they are also refuted by R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai. . The continuation, ‘‘As soon as Rabban Yoḥanan saw him, he said to his servant: ‘‘Take my clothing and follow me to the bathhouse, for he is a great man and I shall be unable to resist him,’’ is a later addition to the story. Not only does this addition interrupt the narrative flow, its content is impossible, since R. Yoḥanan was in mourning and therefore was forbidden to bathe. . ADRN (A), tr. Goldin, chap. , pp. –. . Sifre Deut., Hammer, Piska , p. . . Consciously in the consolation story in Bavli Mo’ed Qatan b, where R. Akiva employs the same reasoning as the other sages. In other contexts, see: Mekhilta, opening to Masekhta de-Shabbata, trans. Lauterbach, p. ; Sifre Deut.

376 NOTES TO PAGES 241–43

, trans. Hammer, p. ; Sifra Emor :d; see also, Bavli Yevamot a, but cf. Yerushalmi Yevamot :, a. . For instance: Shir HaShirim Rabba , , . . There is one reference to R. Yishmael consoling someone (see Mekhilta, Masekhta de-Nezikin, , Lauterbach, p. ), but the formula there is, ‘‘Rabbi, you have consoled me.’’ R. Yishmael’s consolation is accepted in his capacity as a rabbi, not as a disciple. . Sifre Deut. , Hammer, pp. –; Bavli Rosh Hashana a; Yerushalmi Rosh Hashana :, b; Midrash Tehillim, end of Psalm . The story in Tosefta Ḥullin, : is based on the description of the disciple who enters last and consoles his teacher. Although the formula does not appear there explicitly, it is implied from the comparison with what is said about the other disciples. . Note that in the mishna where R. Eleazar ben Arach is the last speaker (Avot :), he does not change the form of the rhetoric. His speech is perceived as superior to that of the others because it encompasses their speeches, but his words are said in the same spirit. . See, about the trust, Goldin, ‘‘Mashehu al,’’ p. ff. On the death of the innocent, see Urbach, The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs, pp. ff, –. A death wish, albeit in a different ideological context, is attributed to R. Akiva in Bavli Berachot b; cf. Sifre Deut. , and see also, Flusser and Safrai, ‘‘Nadab and Abihu in the Midrash and in Philo’s Writings,’’ pp. –. In later generations, see Heschel, ‘‘R. Naḥman of Kosov,’’ p. . . Chapter :–. I have argued for the Tosefta as the original version of this source in my article ‘‘Four Entered Paradise Revisited,’’ pp. –. . The strain of the Bavli’s answer is seen in the continuation of the discussion, with regard to Ḥanania b. Ḥachinai. . However, note that R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai is omitted from this list. See Y. Eisenstein, OFzar Midrashim (New York ), p. . . Neusner, Development of a Legend, p. . . See, e.g., Halperin The Merkabah, pp. –, who assumes that the story is part of a series of anecdotes in which the protagonists change according to who tells the story. Although I do not agree with this reading, it is important to note that his analysis undermines the historical validity of the stories. . See ‘‘Four Entered Paradise Revisited,’’ p. . . The proposal has recently been made that R. Akiva and R. Yishmael also disagreed about the merkava and that this entire mishna is from R. Akiva’s academy. This proposal was made by Menaḥem Kahana at the Conference for the Study of Kabbalah, . . In ‘‘Four Entered Paradise Revisited,’’ p. , I suggest that the Tosefta is closely modeled on the order of the prohibitions found in the Mishna. The Tosefta also captures the Mishna’s central distinction between exegetical and visionary activity. The

NOTES TO PAGES 243–46 377

central position of R. Akiva within the ‘‘mystical collection’’ could easily be understood if both the Tosefta and the Mishna emerged from the same school, that of R. Akiva. . See Bavli Ḥagiga b and Yerushalmi Ḥagiga : a. . See above, n. . See also Sifre Deut. , trans. Hammer, p. , and Albeck’s comments in his Bereshit Rabbati, p. . However, this did not prevent later mystical tradition from ascribing itself to R. Eliezer. See the various instances listed in Schäfer’s Konkordanz zur Hekhalot Literatur, : . See further, Dan, The Ancient Jewish Mysticism, p.  ff. . That is, public baths, from the Greek δημόσιον. . ADRN (A) –. R. Eleazar ben Arach in Emmaus also appears in Ver. B, which is identical for the most part to Ver. A. However, Ver. B locates the story on the road leaving Jerusalem and not leaving the consolation visit. . On these sages, see, Alon, The History of the Jews in Eretz Israel in the Period of the Mishnah and the Talmud, : –. See also, Y. ben Shalom, ‘‘Events and Ideologies of the Yavneh Period,’’ p. . . In my opinion, the point of this source is not the opposition between the appetite for material pleasures and enthusiasm for Torah study; its sole purpose is to explain why R. Eleazar b. Arach is not included among the sages of Yavneh. . I prefer this link between the two references to water to the interpretation that contrasts the beautiful waters of Emmaus to the evil waters (Avot : ), fallacious opinions. See Goldin, ‘‘Mashehu al,’’ p. . . See the words of R. Eleazar ben Arach, ‘‘Know how to answer to an unbeliever, ‫( ’’אפיקורוס‬Mishna Avot :). This is the only time the term appears in the tractate. Does it reflect the contact between the sage and his foreign surroundings at Emmaus? . See Alon, : –; cf. Urbach, ‘‘HaYehudim BeArtzam Bitekufat HaTannaim,’’ p. ; Klein, ‘‘R. Josué à Emaus.’’ . In tracing the methodological history of the study of Elisha ben Abuya, we noted that numerous writers saw in his statement in Avot : a reference to R. Akiva. For a wider context of the autobiographical background of rabbinic sayings, see Melamed, ‘‘Ḥayei Ha Tannaim Uma’amareihem Bepirkei Avot,’’ esp. pp. – on R. Nehorai and R. Eleazar ben Arach. The example of Elisha b. Abuya is the only one Malamed cites as an illustration of a saying attributed to one sage being directed toward another sage. From suggestions throughout this book, it emerges that it is possible for some of the aggadot that Melamed understands as the basis for the sayings of the sages to be considered subsequent literary adaptations. . The fact that ‘‘Be not wise in thine own eyes’’ is a quote from the Bible (Prov. :) is especially intriguing, and is probably not accidental in this context. . The plain sense of ‘‘Be not wise in thine own eyes’’ is directed toward one who

378 NOTES TO PAGES 246–49

thinks himself wise, not toward one who is wise and has an understanding of Torah. For this understanding of R. Nehorai’s mishna, see the end of Sifre Zuta, p. . . Bavli Shabbat b. . My translation of the verse, in a syntax closest to the Hebrew, and to the understanding that seems to be the basis of the present derasha. . Yalkut Shimoni, Eicha Remez , quoted from the Tanḥuma (on the verse brought at the beginning of the homily, Eccles. :). . Eicha Rabba :, , with corrections based on Oxford ms. /. The first two lines of the story are missing in this manuscript, as well as in ms. Vatican ., which is identical to ms. Oxford. . The present adaptation cannot be seen as part of a broader trend: the ‘‘evil woman’’ is not a literary type characteristic of Midrash Qohelet. The character of the woman in this midrash is determined by the verses it refers to. Cf. :, in a homily on :. . On Moshe receiving the Torah as a gift, following a lengthy process of forgetting the Torah, see: Tanḥuma Ki-Tissa ; Tanḥuma Buber, ibid. ; Shemot Rabba :. . See Genesis :, ‘‘bread and a skin of water,’’ ‫ ;לחם וחמת מים‬cf. the collocation of bread and a receptacle, ‫חמת‬, in this story. Rabbinic sources indicate that other liquids were also kept in such a receptacle (see under ‫חמת‬, Ben Yehuda dictionary, Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, , : ). I believe that in the present case ‫ חמת‬is a water receptacle. The mention of Emmaus as a place of waters is stated explicitly in the story, and I think only this reading highlights the story’s literary wit. . Bavli Horayot b. . Bavli Horayoth a. And see Dikdukei Sofrim, which has R. Eleazar b. R. Zadok. . Obviously, there is not an exact parallel between R. Eleazar ben Arach and the food a mouse eats. The present adaptation relies on a combination of motifs of eating mice and forgetfulness. . Mishna Nega’im : . . The question put by the sages to R. Eleazar ben Arach imitates a recognizable type of test question, designed to determine the level or knowledge of the person being asked. Commonly asked questions are those relating to halakhot at meals (see, e.g., questions on the blessings: Bavli Berachot a; or the question how one should break bread: Bavli Sanhedrin b). This story is unusual because the question is not about customs of eating but a quotation of a mishna dealing with the definition of what constitutes a meal. . I believe this story is based on this description of the wheat merchant. This reading does not require the assumption that the redaction of the Bavli preceded that of Qohelet Rabba. Although two sources from the Bavli are used to explain the

NOTES TO PAGES 249–52 379

source in Qohelet Rabba, this does not predetermine the issue of the stages of redaction of the sources. For the different possibilities, see Hirshman, ‘‘Midrash Qohelet Rabbah,’’ pp. ,  n. . . As bread alludes to one who knows Mishna, it may be asked if this is a fitting image for R. Eleazar ben Arach, who was previously described as the everflowing spring. In order to support this reading the claim would have to be made that this image was taken up to explain the end: because R. Eleazar ben Arach was seen as one who does not know the Mishna, he is compared to bread. . Sifrei Deut. . This tradition appears only in the Vatican  ms. of the Sifrei and in Rabbenu Hillel’s commentary. Finkelstein suggests that this tradition was not originally part of the Sifrei but entered the manuscript tradition possibly from Midrash Tannaim. The alternative position might be that this derasha is a part of the Sifrei that was omitted from other manuscripts of the Sifrei because of the difficulty in understanding it. Finkelstein further suggests that the derasha is derived from the reference to the priests and levites, who preserve a written version of the Torah, thus indicating its loss from the rest of Israel. He inserts the words ‫מלפני הכהנים‬ ‫ הלוים‬into the text in order to account for R. Eleazar ben Arach’s derasha. In light of the larger view of R. Eleazar ben Arach’s teaching, another understanding might be that the verse refers to the manner in which the king is instructed to learn and keep the Torah; he does this by writing the words of the Torah in a book. This occasions a comment from the sage who espouses the idea that the Torah has to be internalized, to flow from the heart. If the Torah is kept as a book, it will inevitably be forgotten. The comment is made on this verse rather than on any of the other references to the Torah as book because the subject of the verse is the preservation and study of the Torah. The flowing fountain does not criticize the notion of the written Torah in and of itself, but when divorced from the power of the flowing heart, the ultimate consequence will be the forgetting of the Torah. In Midrash Tannaim, R. Eleazar ben Arach’s derasha is brought as a comment on the words ‫ ]וכתב לו[ את משנה‬and not on the words ‫על ספר‬, as in the Sifrei. Initially, R. Eleazar’s comment does not seem to make sense. This has led Hoffman, in his notes to Midrash Tannaim, to emend the reading, and to suggest that R. Eleazar ben Arach speaks of the Torah’s changing, rather than the Torah’s being forgotten. The suggested reading, ‫להשתנות‬, echoes the text under discussion: ‫משנה התורה‬. R. Eleazar ben Arach would then be delivering a message similar to Rabbi, who follows him, and who speaks of the change of the Torah’s script. Perhaps another reading would eliminate the need for emending the text: if R. Eleazar ben Arach refers only to the word ‫את משנה‬, as the text in Midrash Tannaim suggests, then we might have here a reference to the Mishna, rather than to the Torah, which is the plain-sense referent of the verse. Needless to say, singling out one part of a verse as possessing autonomous meaning is typical of rabbinic midrash. In the context of dealing with Torah, the subject of the verse, it is conceivable that a derasha might be formulated concerning the

380 NOTES TO PAGE 252

Mishna, the cornerstone of the oral Torah. According to this suggestion, R. Eleazar ben Arach extends the act of the writing of the Torah to encompass the writing down of the Mishna. Committing the key text of the oral Torah to writing can only take place because of the fear that Torah might be forgotten. R. Eleazar ben Arach, who lived several generations prior to the Mishna’s redaction, might be uttering a prophetic midrashic utterance concerning the eventual forgetting of the Torah that will lead to the writing down of the Mishna. He may even be condemning such a phenomenon as being itself an expression of the forgetting of Torah. This, too, might be understood in light of R. Eleazar ben Arach’s particular method of Torah study: the sage who views the study of Torah as the outpouring of a spring must view the encapsulation of the oral Torah in the form of a written book as tantamount to forgetting the flowing, living Torah. Were we to assume that such a version of R. Eleazar ben Arach’s saying underlies the story in Midrash Qohelet, the resonances between the two texts would be complete. In response to R. Eleazar’s position that the writing of the Mishna is tantamount to the forgetting of the Torah, a tale is told of the sage who espoused the method of the flowing fountain yet ended up forgetting the most fundamental of all, the Mishna. . ADRN (A), end of chap. . . Perhaps the fear of forgetting is more pronounced for the path of study represented by R. Eleazar ben Arach. The preservation of Torah is not simply the preservation of information; it is the preservation of the openhearted, full-flowing method of innovation that characterizes the sage. This might more easily be lost. . Corresponding to the two paths of study, conservative transmission of tradition vs. creative innovation, are two paths for overcoming the threat of forgetting the Torah. See Bavli Ketubot b. R. Eleazar ben Arach’s response to the criticism expressed through the stories told of him would be to reverse the motifs, as does R. Ḥanina, in Bavli Ketubot. . Bavli Shabbat b. . The motif of forgetting and then remembering knowledge is common in the Bavli, and the conclusion of this story is consistent with a broader trend found in the Bavli. It is difficult for the Babylonian Talmud to accept a situation of forgotten learning, so the learning almost always returns. On the other hand, in Qohelet Rabba there is a real fear of forgotten learning. The number of sources in this compendium dealing with this problem is much greater than in any other midrash. In accordance with this anxiety, no attempt was found to dull the meaning of R. Eleazar ben Arach’s forgetting his learning. It persists until the end of the story. In each corpus, the conclusion is consistent with that corpus’s characteristic tendency. For the motif of forgetting learning in the Bavli, see the formula: ‘‘they had forgotten them, and they reinstituted them’’ (Shabbat a and many parallels: Temurah a; Ketubot b; Sukkah a; and see also Shabbat b). For the appearance of this motif in Qohelet Rabba, see: :, ; :; :; :, ; :. The only place in Qohelet Rabba in which the

NOTES TO PAGES 252–53

381

learning is remembered is in :; see also :. Geiger (‘‘Jochanan ben Sakkai,’’ p. ) accepted the Qohelet Rabba tradition as more reliable than that of the Bavli and saw this as another example of the greater reliability of Palestinian sources. The degree of reliability of both sources seems to me identical: there are two narrative adaptations, each exemplifying the literary context in which it appears, and since neither adaptation is historically valid, it is pointless to try to extract historical information from them. . On the alphabet as the basis of the study of Torah, compare the story of R. Akiva learning with his son. . See also the Maharsha on this story. . For the only other homily with a similar meaning of month, ‫חדש‬, in the sense of ‘‘innovation,’’ see Pesikta Rabbati, : a, renew your deeds. . I believe that the compatibility of the story with R. Nehorai’s tradition explains why R. Eleazar ben Arach regained his learning as a result of the plea for mercy by the sages. There may be more fitting ways to describe how his learning returned to R. Eleazar ben Arach, but they are not consistent with the ‘‘description’’ of R. Nehorai. See Yalkut Shimoni Qohelet, , for other endings to the story; the possibilities there are the weeping of the sage and the community, or Elijah’s active interference. . See further, Chap.  above, where I noted that even though the sugyot in Ḥagiga and Kiddushin tell different tales in order to account for Elisha’s sinning, they share a common narrative structure. . Shabbat b. I quote from this source only because the appearance of R. Eleazar ben Arach is understood in context. The passage itself may originate in Bavli Eruvin b. . Thus, for instance: Sefer HaYoḥasin, pp. –. . This may be precisely the difference between the two phrasings. . Note that the wording ‘‘he enlightened the eyes of the sages in halakha’’ may be a stereotypical phrase based on a previous formulation, as can be learned from the sugya in Eruvin. . See Heinemann, Darkhei HaAggadah, p.  ff. . Y. Eisenstein, Sefer HaMa’asim, in OFzar Midrashim (New York, ), p. . . Cf. above, n. . . Midrash Tehillim :. . This still does not account for casting success in terms of giving advice. Could it be that ‫ יעשה‬is rendered as ‫יעצה‬, playing upon the similar sound of the letters sin and zaddik? Note that the previous verse reads ‘‘the teaching of the Lord is his delight, and he studies that teaching day and night’’ and this man shuns the company of the insolent. It would seem, then, that this source has no relation to the descriptions of R. Eleazar ben Arach’s forgetting his knowledge of Torah. Giving advice does not replace R. Eleazar ben Arach’s Torah knowledge, but is a result of it.

382 NOTES TO PAGES 253–56

. See also, Mishna Avot :: ‫מרבה עצה—מרבה תבונה‬, the more counsel, the more understanding, and cf. the description of R. Eleazar b. Arach as a sage who understood, ‫מבין‬, on his own accord, in Tosefta Ḥagiga. . Tosefta Nedarim :. . Sefer HaYohasin, pp. –. It should be noted that this source does not contain any of the traditions telling of R. Eleazar ben Arach’s going to Emmaus. R. Eleazar forgot his knowledge from drinking wine. Brill also suggests the early death of R. Eleazar as an alternative to forgetting the Torah (Mevo HaMishna, p. ); though he himself prefers the explanation, which I reject, that the three disciples of R. Yoḥanan b. Zakkai—Jose the Priest, Shimon b. Netaniel, and Eleazar b. Arach— dealt in mysticism, and that for this reason there are almost no halakhic traditions in their names. This explanation is echoed in Moore, Judaism, : . . For other contexts in which the name of a person can function as a symbol, see Neusner, Symbol and Theology in Early Judaism, p. . In a broader context, Hayden White has shown how names of individuals are shorthand devices for designating texts, and that these names are configurations of formalized consciousness. This is certainly true of these cases. See White, Tropics of Discourse, p. . . In this I differ with Bin-Gorion, who was the first to suggest that Elisha functioned as a symbol of heresy (see Bin-Gorion, p. ). He suggested that Elisha’s symbolic role for the rabbis is an alternative to a historical acceptance of the testimony of the sources. Though I do not think that Elisha functions as a symbol for all evil in talmudic sources, I appreciate Bin Gorion’s perception, made nearly a century ago, and I find it amazing that this perception, which was the fruit of careful critical analysis, was not echoed by later writers, who continued to treat the texts as historical records. . Segal, Two Powers in Heaven, p. , suggests that the story of Elisha’s encounter with Metatron functions as an etiology for certain kinds of heresies. Though Segal does not clearly identify Elisha as a symbol, his suggestion nevertheless affords him such status. However, even if Segal’s thesis is accepted, Elisha’s image in the literature does not become a symbol. It is only within a very localized discussion that his figure takes on symbolic significance. . The interest in Elisha’s personal life is most obvious in Ḥagiga. The discussion in Kiddushin, too, can be taken as an expression of personal interest in him, because it is interested in what happened to him. However, since memories about him are so vague, he is easily grafted on to the theological problem the sugya struggles with. . One might conceive of an additional category in light of which ancient literature develops images of heroes and antiheroes. Hyam Maccoby in his examination of the development of the Judas story, Judas Iscariot and the Myth of Jewish Evil, offers what might be considered a methodological parallel to the study of Elisha ben Abuya. Both studies examine the image of the villain, the outsider, in a critical perspective. Interestingly, scholarship concerning both figures, particularly in the

NOTES TO PAGES 257–62 383

nineteenth century, has attempted various apologies and justifications (see Maccoby, p. ). In the history of scholarship similar moves have been suggested concerning both figures: cf. Maccoby, p. , with Finkelstein, Introduction, p. . Both studies attempt to find a reliable witness that is not colored by Tendenz and that is not ideologically informed (cf. Maccoby, p. ). A striking similarity also exists between my study and Maccoby’s concerning the proposed changes in the image of the hero being discussed. Maccoby writes of Judas in terms of a myth (see p. ) that exists outside any particular text and has its own life and development. The direction of development is clear and one-directional: Judas becomes an increasingly negative, evil figure. He fulfills a function: he is the opposer who is necessary for the advancement of the plot of the crucifixion (see p. ). The category of myth that Maccoby uses to describe the development of the Judas story is one step removed from the symbol that I use in regard to R. Eleazar ben Arach, and further removed from the way in which I understand the development of stories about Elisha ben Abuya. The root of the difference is that the figure of Elisha emerges from an act of interpretation and therefore remains grounded in its primary literary context. Elisha does not fulfill a need. The rabbis have no literary or theological reason to tell the story of a rabbi who went astray. They have a text, and it is in the act of interpretation that the image emerges of the rabbi who sins. For this reason, unlike Judas, Elisha is never identified with evil. Furthermore, because Elisha’s image develops through a process of interpretation, it has multiple, and sometimes conflicting, directions, as opposed to the unidirectional development that Maccoby describes for the Judas ‘‘myth.’’ . The question is obviously less pressing if it is not assumed that the ancient writers were answerable to a historical sense of reliability. As Neusner correctly notes, when approaching ancient sources, we must not commit the anachronism of assuming that our concerns were also theirs. See Reading and Believing, p. , n. . . Fraenkel, Darchei Ha’Aggada, p. ; Neusner, Reading and Believing, p. . . The primacy of the interpretative act may be expressed not only in the way the biographies of Elisha ben Abuya and R. Eleazar ben Arach take shape but also in the content of the stories told of them. It is possible to present the story of Elisha as a story of interpretation, if it is related to the interpretation of events rather than texts. This point was made recently by Schwartz, ‘‘Elisha ben Avuyah in Our Midst,’’ p. . In all stories told of Elisha, his sinning is the result of mistaken interpretation. Whether it is the sight of Metatron when seated or the sight of the tongue of a great man being dragged by a pig, Elisha is portrayed as interpreting some aspect of reality. The problem with Elisha is that his interpretation is erroneous: he incorrectly concludes that there are two powers in heaven, or that there is no reward or resurrection. In the former case, the conclusion is patently false; in the latter case it is false because it exhibits an ignorance of the true interpretation of Scripture. Either way, Elisha’s story can be presented as the conflict for the true interpretation of reality

384 NOTES TO PAGES 263–64

and as an affirmation that only the correct scriptural interpretation holds the key to the correct interpretation of reality. Thus, both what is told of Elisha ben Abuya and the way in which the stories develop depend on the common cultural factor of interpretation. . This claim is made most clearly by White, whose name has become virtually synonymous with this issue; see White, Tropics of Discourse. An examination of rabbinic storytelling practices in light of White’s theory of writing history would be most revealing; see esp. chap.  of White’s work. . See Heilbrun, ‘‘Is Biography Fiction?’’ For a review of various literary theories of biography that also touches on the relationship between historical fact and literary creation, see Novarr, The Lines of Life: Theories of Biography, –. . See Bulhof, ‘‘Imagination and Interpretation in History.’’ . Cox-Miller, Biography in Late Antiquity, p. . Cox’s conclusion leads naturally to her later work on dream interpretation, Dreams in Late Antiquity. In rabbinic sources the interpretation of dreams resorts to identical hermeneutic methods as the interpretation of the Torah. Dreams offer one more context for the displaying of the same hermeneutic abilities. See: Lieberman, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine, pp. –; Afik, ‘‘Ḥazal’s Perception of the Dream.’’ See also, Niehoff, ‘‘A Dream Which Is Not Interpreted Is Like a Letter Which Is Not Read,’’ and Niehoff, ‘‘Associative Thinking in the Midrash.’’ CONCLUSION

. For different uses of ‫מעשה‬, see Melamed, ‘‘HaMa’aseh BaMishna KeMakor LaHalakha.’’ New values often enter the tradition by means of an example or a precedent. The stories I analyzed are not of this type. . This thesis was adumbarated in my presentation of the Pardes passage. It is spelled out in greater detail in my ‘‘Four Entered Paradise Revisited.’’ . In an oral presentation, delivered at Ben Gurion University of the Negev, Be’er Sheva, on December , , Yona Fraenkel suggested that this story, too, poses proper master-disciple relations as its ultimate concern. . A very general message does, of course, emerge from all these stories, one that might also be significant for a wider audience: Torah study is vital. However, the concerns of these texts seem to be far more precise and their elaboration far more sophisticated than would be necessary for such a general message. . In this context, see also S. Stern, ‘‘The Concept of Authorship in the Babylonian Talmud.’’ . I would subscribe to this statement even while acknowledging the ability to recognize specific units of tradition that precede the final redaction of the sources, as Kalmin has demonstrated in his Sages, Stories. Even if we can recognize identi-

NOTES TO PAGES 264–73 385

fiable sources that were not fully homogenized by later editors, this merely lets us push the anonymous and collective nature of the literature one step back. It does not fundamentally change the nature of the literature. . See, e.g., Neusner, ‘‘Is the God of Judaism Incarnate?’’, p. . APPENDIX

. This conclusion concurs with Steve Wald’s interim conclusions about the state of talmudic manuscripts in the second chapter of Ḥagiga. . These results may, of course, have to be modified once talmudic research presents a more complete relationship of the various manuscripts of Ḥagiga. These results were reached also by Kister, ‘‘Od Perur’’ and by A. Schremer, ‘‘The Manuscripts of Tractate Moed Katan,’’ Sidra  (): – (in Hebrew). Schremer had, in part, other manuscripts for Mo’ed Qatan. As far as the manuscripts that Ḥagiga and Mo’ed Qatan have in common, my conclusions match his. . Rather than list all the changes, I present several examples. Perhaps most important is the omission of ‫ בשבתא‬from the London manuscript’s narration of the harlot story. See further ‫ ליזיל‬rather than ‫ ליפוק‬in the London manuscript, as in Branch A, in the phrase ‫ליזיל וליתהני מהאי עלמא‬, a. See also the reading ‫ לידייניה‬in b, which is recorded in Munich  as well as London, Pappenheim, Spanish print, and Ein Ya’akov, as opposed to ‫נידייניה‬, which is characteristic of other Branch B manuscripts. In the final part of the Bavli’s discussion (Bavli II), the words ‫ אמר ליה‬are added before the claim that Elisha sang Greek songs, thus making this part of the previous dialogue between Shmuel and Rav Yehuda. This addition is made in Branch A manuscripts (not including the Geniza fragment), as well as in the London manuscript. Readings where Vatican  concurs with Branch A manuscripts include bringing the story of the harlot only in the first occurrence, and not the second, as indicated in all other Branch B manuscripts. As to linguistic particulars, note the expression ‫ קרעיה לתליסר קרעי‬in the story of the killing of the child, b. There are other additions to the text that are common to Branch A and are also recorded in Branch B manuscripts, such as the addition of ‫ כיון שהגיע לתחום שבת‬in the story of Elisha and R. Meir’s walk in a, which appears in Branch A manuscripts and also in Vatican , as well as in Ein Ya’akov and the Spanish print. . Its dating according to the card catalogue of the Institute for Microfilmed Hebrew Manuscripts of the Jewish National and Hebrew University Library is – c. If correct, this would be the oldest of the complete manuscripts of Ḥagiga. . Here and there in the footnotes I cite quotes from rishonim, but I have made no systematic effort to detail the textual variants as they recorded them. . For this reason I do not use any of the shortened forms of words that are found in the manuscript, nor do I list instances in which manuscripts spell out what appears in other manuscripts in short form. Similarly, if the manuscript errs in the

386 NOTES TO PAGES 273–78

quotation of a biblical verse, as it does for instance in the case of Qohelet :, reading ‫ מעשי‬instead of ‫מעשה‬, I cite the correct form. . For this reason I shall not record some of the changes that are most important from the perspective of one interested in the stemmatic analysis of the manuscripts. For example, the two stemma employ different terms to designate the death of Elisha. Branch A reads ‫ ;שכיב‬Branch B employs ‫נח נפשיה‬. Although such a difference is significant for the classification of the linguistic traditions and for the stemmatic division of the manuscripts, since both versions convey the same meaning, I do not note this type of change.

NOTE TO PAGE 278 387

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401

INDEX

Abba Shaul, , , n Achnai’s stove, – Adam, ,  ADRN, see Avot de Rabbi Natan Aḥitofel, , ,  Akavya ben Mahalalel,  Akiva, Rabbi: in Avot de Rabbi Natan, f, , –, n; biblical basis sought for halakhot by, , ; calamity associated with, , , ; death of, n; in dialogues between Elisha ben Abuya and Rabbi Meir, –, ff, , , , f, , –, n, n, n; on distinctions within the Torah, n; distinguishing from other rabbis, ; Eleazar ben Arach as role model in academy of, –, ; and Elisha ben Abuya, , , , , –, n; as everflowing spring, –, n; exegetical abilities as reason for success of, n; as Rabbi Meir’s teacher, , –, n; and the ‘‘mystical collection,’’ –, n, n; in Pardes passage, f, , f, n, n; as radical turning point in Torah study, –; successful entry into Pardes of, , , n; Torah study of, –, n; as ‘‘uprooting Sinai,’’ f, n,

n; visiting Rabbi Eliezer when he was ill, –; in Vital’s Sefer HaḤezyonot, n; and Rabbi Ya’akov, n; and Yoḥanan ben Zakkai on Eleazar ben Arach, –, n Alexander, Philip S., n, n, n, n, n Ami, Rabbi, n, n Amoraic literature: bat kol in, ; Elisha ben Abuya’s teachings not appearing in, , ; and historical account of Elisha ben Abuya, ; and the Pardes passage, , n; reliability regarding Elisha ben Abuya, . See also Post-Tannaitic literature Angels: Rabbi Akiva succeeding despite, ; of Qohelet :, –, , ; rabbis compared with, . See also Metatron Antoninus, , n Asi, Rabbi, n, n Assaraf, Albert: on Antoninus story and Elisha ben Abuya, n; on Elisha ben Abuya as a Christian, n; on Elisha ben Abuya as a gnostic, , n; on Elisha ben Abuya as a reactionary, , n; on Elisha ben Abuya as killing children, n; on Elisha ben Abuya as other, n; historical approach of, ,

403

n; on ideology in portrayal of Elisha ben Abuya, ; and relationship of Elisha ben Abuya and Rabbi Meir, n; on Rabbi Yoḥanan, n Avoda Zara, , n Avot: as catalogue of rabbinic statements, ; collective culture depicted in, , n; on desecration of God’s name, n; on Eleazar ben Arach, –, , n; Elisha ben Abuya in, –, , n, n, n; and Elisha ben Abuya’s sobriquet, ; Elisha ben Abuya’s teaching in, n; honorific function of, –, ; as most reliable source on Elisha ben Abuya,  Avot de Rabbi Natan (ADRN): on Rabbi Akiva, f, , –, n; parables of Elisha ben Abuya in, n; on ‘‘cutting the plants,’’ ; on Eleazar ben Arach, –; on Elisha ben Abuya and early rabbinic martyrs, ; Elisha ben Abuya associated with calamity in, –, , ; on Elisha ben Abuya on forgetting the Torah, –; on Elisha ben Abuya on Job :, –, n, n, n, n; Elisha ben Abuya’s apostasy as rejected in, n; and Elisha ben Abuya’s sobriquet, ; on the four sages, –, ; Krochmal on, n; and the Pardes passage, –, n, n; and teachings attributed to Elisha ben Abuya, n Ayali, Meir, , n

Ba’al Shem Tov, n Babylonian Talmud, see Bavli, the Bacher, Benjamin Zeev, , n Back, Samuel, , , f, n, n, n, n Balaam, , n Bar]zeloni, Yehuda, n Bat kol (heavenly voice): in Achnai’s stove story, –; in the Bavli, f, , , , –, , , , n, n, n; in children’s recitation of Scripture, , n; in dialogue between

404 INDEX

Elisha ben Abuya and Rabbi Meir, f; and Eleazar ben Arach, n; on Elisha ben Abuya as Aḥer, , n; Elisha ben Abuya excluded from repentance by, , , –, –, –, , f, n; Elisha ben Abuya excluded from world-to-come by, , , , , , n; Elisha ben Abuya excluded in two ways by, –, ; and Elisha ben Abuya’s redemption, ; functions in rabbinic literature, ; God distinguished from, n; Jeremiah : quoted by, , , ; to Moshe, ; negative quality of, n; rationalistic readings of, ; and Solomon, ; in tannaitic literature, , n; Torah contrasted with, , n; in the Yerushalmi, , –, , , –, , , n, n, n, n Baumgarten, Albert, n, n Bava Metzia, –, , n Bavli, the: Achnai’s stove story, –; additions to, –, ; Avoda Zara, , n; bat kol (heavenly voice) in, f, , , , –, , , , n, n, n; Bava Metzia, – , , n; as beginning and ending in heaven, ; on cause of Elisha ben Abuya’s sinfulness, –, –; childkilling motif in, , ; as composed of individual units, , n; debate as absent in, ; on Eleazar ben Arach and Rabbi Nehorai, ; on Eleazar ben Arach and the merkava, –; on Eleazar ben Arach forgetting the Torah, ; on Elisha ben Abuya as accepted in heaven, n; on Elisha ben Abuya as gnostic, –; on Elisha ben Abuya as rebel, n; Elisha ben Abuya as test case for limit of value of Torah in, ; on Elisha ben Abuya becoming a sinner, , , n; on Elisha ben Abuya’s daughters and Rabbi, –, , –, –; on Elisha ben Abuya’s negative behavior, –, –, –; on Elisha ben Abuya’s redemp-

tion, ; and Elisha ben Abuya’s sobriquet, ff, –, –, , –, , , , , n, n; fire as portrayed in, n; forgetting and remembering as motif in, n; God’s action emphasized in, , n; Ḥullin, n; identity as question in, ; ideological concerns of, –; introductory formulas in, ; language shifts in, , n; latest authority mentioned in, ; on Rabbi Meir learning Torah from Elisha ben Abuya, , ; Mo’ed Qatan, –, n, n, n, n; and the Pardes passage, , , , , , n, n, n, n, n; scholars deciding between Yerushalmi and, n, n; sonship as issue in, , ; Torah’s place in life of the sages as significant idea of, ; on Torah study versus religious observance, , , n; on unfamiliar figures in a dream, n; on visionary activity, n; Yerushalmi compared with, –; and Yerushalmi I, –; and Yerushalmi II, –, , , n, n; Yerushalmi’s version as later than, , –, n. See also Bavli Ḥagiga; Bavli Kiddushin Bavli Ḥagiga: on cause of Elisha ben Abuya’s sin, ; on Elisha ben Abuya and Rabbi Meir, –; Elisha ben Abuya associated with ideological struggle in, ; personal interest in Eleazar ben Arach, Rabbi, n. See also Bavli Ḥagiga I; Bavli Ḥagiga II Bavli Ḥagiga I, –; on Elisha ben Abuya and the harlot, , –; on Elisha ben Abuya as archetype of tension between Torah learning and religious observance, ; on Elisha ben Abuya as gnostic, – ; on Elisha ben Abuya’s exclusion from Israel, –; exegetical dimension of, –; Hebrew text and variations, – ; as post-tannaitic source on Elisha ben Abuya, – Bavli Ḥagiga II: on Elisha ben Abuya’s other-

ness, –, ; as later addition, , ; as post-tannaitic source on Elisha ben Abuya,  Bavli Kiddushin: on causes of Elisha ben Abuya’s sin, , –, , f; dating of, ; on Elisha ben Abuya and the harlot, n; on Elisha ben Abuya seeing tongue of great man dragged by a pig, –, , n, n; Elisha ben Abuya’s image grafted onto issues of theodicy in, ; on Elisha ben Abuya’s imperfect Torah knowledge, , ; personal interest in Elisha ben Abuya, n; and Yerushalmi Ḥagiga, , – Beer, Moshe, , n Ben Azzai, Simeon: in Avot de Rabbi Natan, , , ; Bacher on Elisha ben Abuya and, ; Elisha ben Abuya as studying with, n; and Elisha ben Abuya in Midrash Mislei, , ; as gazing and perishing, , –, , ; in Pardes passage, , , –, f, n, n, n, n; saintliness associated with, ; Yerushalmi reverses fate of Ben Zoma and, , n, n Benjamin, tribe of,  Ben Zoma, Simeon: in Avot de Rabbi Natan, , , –, , n; Elisha ben Abuya as studying with, n; as gazing and being smitten, , –, , ; in Pardes passage, , , –, , n, n, n, n; as the sage outside in Tosefta, n; vineyard parable, –; Yerushalmi reverses fate of Ben Azzai and, , n, n Bereshit Rabba, –, n, n, n, n, n, n, n Bin Gorion, –, , n, n, n, n, n Biography: critical biography, ; group biography, , n; hagiography, – , –, n; interpretation in writing of, –; rabbinic biography, –, , – Bowker, John, n

INDEX 405

Brill, Jacob, , , n, n, n Büchler, Adolph, n, n, n, n Bultmann, Rudolph, n Burridge, Richard A., n

Children: Elisha ben Abuya as child killer, , –, –, , –, f, n, n, n; recitation of Scripture by, , n Concubine in Giv’a,  Cox-Miller, Patricia, –, n Critical biography, 

Damascius, n Davila, James, n, n Devarim Rabba, n Dimi, Rav,  Do’eg, , , , n Dubsch, Mordechai, n

Edel, Leon,  Eduyot,  Efrat, Israel,  Eicha Rabba, , n, n, n Elazar HaKappar,  Eleazar ben Arach, Rabbi, –; absence of traditions in name of, , , , , n, n; advice given by, –, n; anecdotes about, –; in Avot, –, n; in Avot de Rabbi Natan, –; biblical basis sought for halakhot by, , ; biography compared with that of Elisha ben Abuya, –; bread as image for, , n; comforting Rabbi Yoḥanan on death of his son, ; early death of, , n; and Eliezer ben Hyrcanos representing two approaches to Torah study, –, ; as everflowing spring, –, f, , , , n; as forgetting his Torah, , –, –, n, n; on forgetting the Torah, –, n; formative literary passage in memory of, , ; Geiger on, , n; as going to Emmaus, – , –, –, n; good heart

406 INDEX

of, , ; and heavenly fire, n; and the heavenly voice, n; hermeneutic dimension in literature on, ; historic reality of, –; ideology in traditions regarding, , –, f; as marginal figure in rabbinic world, –; and master-disciple relationship, ; and the merkava, –, n; in the ‘‘mystical collection,’’ ; and Rabbi Nehorai, –, –; as outside the collective, ; rabbinic criticism of method of study of, –; rabbinic defense of method of study of, –; regaining his learning, –, f, n; as role model in Rabbi Akiva’s academy, –, ; among the sages of Yavneh, – , ; stories about circulating after premature death had been forgotten, ; as symbol in rabbinic culture, –, ; viewed as ideal rabbinical scholar, , ; in Vital’s Sefer HaḤezyonot, n; Yoḥanan ben Zakkai on, – Eleazar ben Azariah, Rabbi, , ,  Eleazar ben Durdya, Rabbi, – Eliyahu, , f, n Eliezer ben Ḥanoch, n Eliezer ben Hyrcanos, Rabbi: and Achnai’s stove, f; Rabbi Akiva and colleagues visiting him when ill, –; Rabbi Akiva contrasted with, , n; Rabbi Akiva studying with, f; comforting Rabbi Yoḥanan on death of his son, ; and Eleazar ben Arach representing two approaches to Torah study, –; excommunication of, ; and heavenly fire at circumcision of Elisha ben Abuya, f, n, n; Herford on Elisha ben Abuya and, n; and ‘‘Sinai’’ tradition of Torah study, ; and study of the Merkavah, ; teachings of Yoḥanan ben Zakkai handed down by, ; Yoḥanan ben Zakkai on Eleazar ben Arach and, – Elisha ben Abuya, – as Aḥer (other): as aḥor, –; and apostasy, , n; the Bavli always

referring to Elisha as, , , ; Bavli Ḥagiga I on, –, n, n; Bavli Ḥagiga II on, , –, ; biblical precedent for, n; development of the sobriquet, –; and eḥad, –; and Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Yehoshua, n; as Elisha’s way of referring to himself, n; as exclusion from Israel, –; harlot bestowing the sobriquet, , , , –; and horseback riding on the Sabbath, ; as influencing other negative descriptions of Elisha, ; and Rabbi Meir as Aḥerim, –, , n; and other gods, –, n; as outside the collective, ; and pagan associations, , n; and seeing tongue of great man dragged by a pig, ; sinful behavior associated with, , n; sources relevant to, ; and traditional others, ; Yerushalmi Ḥagiga I on, , ; and Yerushalmi Ḥagiga II, , , , , , n; Yerushalmi referring to Elisha by name, –, ; Rav Yosef referring to Elisha as,  and Rabbi Akiva: Akiva as teacher of, n; comparing the two, –, ; tensions between, ,  biography compared with that of Eleazar ben Arach, – calamity associated with, –, , , –, ,  causes of error of, –; father in sinfulness of, –; mother in sinfulness of, –, n; parental origin of sins of,  circumcision of, , – as cutting the shoots: in Bavli Ḥagiga I, ; and Eleazar ben Arach forgetting his Torah, ; as motivating traditions about Elisha, ; as not keeping the commandments, , ; in Pardes passage, f, , , n; and pulling the radish from its bed, –; as severance from Israel, –; in Yerushalmi Ḥagiga I, , –

after death: deathbed scene of, , – , –, ; entering the world to come without repenting, , , –, –, –, n; grave burning, , , , n; in hell, , n; smoke rising from grave of, , –, f error of: on theodicy, , f, , – , ; on two powers in heaven, , –, n; as unintentional, –,  exclusion from: Israel, –, , n, n; repentance, –, , , –, –, , , f, n, n; sonship, –, , , , ff, , , n, n, n; Torah, ; the world-to-come, , , –, –, , , , f, n, n as martyr, f and Rabbi Meir, –; dialogues between, –, –, n; and Elisha’s Sabbath transgression, – ; Rabbi Meir as disciple of, –, , –, –, , , n, n; Rabbi Meir calling on him to repent, , , –, , , n, n; Rabbi Meir functioning as son of, ; Rabbi Meir in redemption of, –, –, –, , , , –, f, , –, n, n, n, n; Rabbi Meir learning Torah from, f, f, , ; in Rabbi Meir’s redemption, – ; role reversal between, –, , ; visiting thirteen synagogues, f, –,  and Metatron: in Bavli Ḥagiga I, , – , n; and Elisha’s alleged gnosticism, –; Elisha’s merits burned by, –, , , , , , n, n, n, n, n; and Elisha’s sobriquet, , – progeny of: daughters and Rabbi, –, –, , , –, –, n, n; Rabbi Yaakov as grandson

INDEX 407

of, –, , n, n, n, n, n as Rabbi: as legitimate rabbinic authority, , n; as marginal figure in rabbinic world, –, ; in Mo’ed Qatan, , n; as outside the collective, ; as strictly rabbinic figure,  redemption of: God in, –, , n, n; Rabbi Meir in, –, –, –, , , , – , f, , –, n, n, n, n; sages in, –, – , , , n; Torah in, –, , , –, , , –, , , n, n, n, n; Rabbi Yoḥanan in, , , , n, n, n, n, n and Sabbath violation: Brill on Elisha’s transgressions as not involving, ; counseling the Romans on how to cause, , , , n; horseback riding on the Sabbath, , –, f, –, , , n, n; preventing Rabbi Meir from, , , –, n, n, n; in rabbinic reports, ; in story of man taking bird from top of a tree, , n; uprooting the radish on the Sabbath,  sayings of: in biographical context, – ; hidden agenda in, ; scarcity of, , , n scholarship on, –; methodological considerations in study of, –; positivist credulity of previous scholarship on, ; rehabilitation attempts for, – ; two scholarly approaches to, –; uncritical biographies, n sources on: absence of mention outside rabbinic sources, , , n; Avot, –, , n, n, n; Avot de Rabbi Natan, –, , ; Bavli and Yerushalmi versions compared, –; Bavli Ḥagiga I, –; Bavli Ḥagiga II, , –; Bavli Kiddushin,

408 INDEX

–; Mo’ed Qatan, –, n; the Pardes passage, –; post-tannaitic sources, –; rabbinic sources, –, –, n; tannaitic sources, –; Yerushalmi II, – stories about: as arising soon after his time, ; fire in life cycle of, n; formative literary passage in memory of, ; hermeneutic dimension in, , n; ideology in, f, , f; supernatural phenomena in, , – ; as symbol in, , f, –, , n, n, n teachers of, , n Torah study of: on absorbing the Torah, –; dedicated to Torah study by his father, f, n; as forgetting the Torah, –, , , n, n; on forgetting the Torah, –; seeing tongue of great man dragged by a pig, –, , n, n; on studying at different ages, , n; as test case of limit of value of, , ; Torah learning versus religious observance, –, , n vices ascribed to, ; as apostate, , n; as causing others to sin, , –, , n, n; as child killer, , –, –, , –, f, n, n, n; as a Christian, , n; evil courses chosen by, , , f, f, , n; fornication, , n; as a gnostic, , , , –, n, n, n, n, n; and Greek culture, , , , , f, , , n, n; harlot visited by, , , – , , , n, n, n; and heretical books, , , , , , n, n, n, n; horseback riding on Yom Kippur, , , ; Judas Iscariot compared with, n; as a magician, , – , n, n; and minim, f, n; as missionary, n, n;

as rebel in the Bavli, n; as rebel in Yerushalmi, , , , n; as removing students from Torah study, , , –, n, n Eruvin,  Esau, n Eshkol Hakofer, n

Finkelstein, Louis, f, n, n, n, n Fire, –; Elisha ben Abuya’s grave burning, , , , n; in Elisha ben Abuya’s life cycle, n; in Metatron’s punishment, , , –, , n; smoke rising from grave of Elisha ben Abuya, , –, f. See also Heavenly fire Fischel, Henry, , , n, n, n Fraenkel, Yonah: on dialogues between Elisha ben Abuya and Rabbi Meir, n; on dichotomous world view of the rabbis, n; on Elisha ben Abuya as sinner, n; on Elisha ben Abuya crossing Sabbath boundary, n; on Liebes on Elisha ben Abuya and Metatron, n; on master-disciple relationship in Eleazar ben Arach story, n; on rabbinic stories, , n, n, n Friedländer, Moritz, 

Galanti, Maharam, n Geḥazi, , – Gehenna, , n Geiger, Abraham, , n, n, n Gilat, Yitzhak, n Ginzberg, Louis, , n, n, n God: in Elisha ben Abuya’s redemption, – , , n, n; as grieving for the blood of sinners, , n; heavenly voice distinguished from, n; in Rabbi Meir’s justification, – Goldin, Yehuda, n Gospels, –, , n, n, n Grätz, Heinrich, , , f, n, n, n

Green, William Scott, n, n, n, n Group biography, , n Gruenwald, Ithamar, , n

Hagiography, –, –, n Hai Gaon, Rav,  Halperin, David, f, , n, n, n, n Ḥananel, Rabbenu, n, n Ḥanina, Rabbi, n, n Harvey, Susan Ashbrook,  Heavenly fire: and Eleazar ben Arach expounding the merkava, n; at Elisha ben Abuya’s circumcision, ; Elisha ben Abuya’s grave burning, , , , n; and Rabbi and Elisha ben Abuya’s daughter, , , ; as sign that Elisha ben Abuya is accepted in heaven, n; and Solomon, , n Heavenly voice, see Bat kol Heimann, Aharon, , n, n Hekhalot, n, n, n Herford, Robert Travers, , n, n, n, n, n Hillel,  Ḥiya b. Ashi, Rabbi, n Ḥiyya, Rabbi,  Hodayot, n Hoffman, David Zvi, n, n Hoffman, Moshe David, n, n, n Holy of Holies, , , –, , n, n Horseback riding, –, n Ḥullin, n, n Huna, , n Ḥu]zpit the Translator, n Ishmael, Rabbi, son of Yohanan ben Baroka,  Ishmael, Rabbi, son of Yose,  Israel: Benjamin excluded from, ; Elisha ben Abuya’s exclusion from, –, , n; Elisha ben Abuya’s reintegration

INDEX 409

into, n; Metatron writing the merits of, f, , ; in orchard parables, ; and Torah as foci of rabbinic literature, , , n

Jellinek, Adolph, , , n Jeremiah :, , , , , n Jeremiah :, n Jerusalem Talmud, see Yerushalmi, the Jesus, as a magician, n Job :, , n Job :, , – Jose ben Joezer of Zeredah,  Jose the Priest, Rabbi, , , n Judah the Patriarch (Yehuda HaNasi), Rabbi, , –, , n, n, n Judas Iscariot, n Judges :, 

Kadushin, Max, n Kahana, Menaḥem, n Kalmin, Richard, n, n Katz, Jacob, n Kister, Menaḥem, n, n Krochmal, Abraham, –, f, , n, n Krochmal, Nachman, , n

Landsberg, Yehuda, , n Lerner, Myron Bialik, n, n Levine, Lee,  Levitas of Yavneh, Rabbi,  Lieberman, Saul, n Liebes, Yehuda: on the Bavli and the Yerushalmi, n; on burning of Elisha ben Abuya’s merits, n; on childkilling motif, n; on ‘‘cutting the shoots,’’ n; on dialogues between Elisha ben Abuya and Rabbi Meir, n; on dismembered child story and Judges :, ; on Elisha ben Abuya and Metatron, n, n; on Elisha ben Abuya as gnostic, , n; on Elisha ben Abuya’s response to Rabbi Meir’s call for repentance, n; on Elisha ben Abuya’s sobriquet, n, n; on Elisha ben

410

INDEX

Abuya’s statements in Avot de Rabbi Natan, n; on Elisha ben Abuya’s twopower statement, n; on God, the angels, and the sage, ; on justification of Elisha ben Abuya, n; on Metatron’s punishment, n; methodology of, –, n, n, n, n, n; on Pardes passage, n Lilienblum, Moshe Lieb, , n Lorberbaum, Yair, n

Maccoby, Hyam, n Mack, Ḥananel, n Maharsha, the, n, n, n, n, n Margaliot, E., , n Master-disciple relationship: as central theme of Yerushalmi, –, , , , , ; and Eleazar ben Arach’s story, ; Elisha ben Abuya and Rabbi Meir, –, , –, –, , , n, n; master enabling students’ entry into world-to-come, ,  Meir, Rabbi: as Aḥerim, –, , n, n; Rabbi Akiva as teacher of, , –, n; the Bavli on Elisha ben Abuya and, –; calling on Elisha ben Abuya to repent, , , –, , , n, n; centrality to Elisha ben Abuya story cycle, ; cited in Avot, n; dialogues with Elisha ben Abuya, –, –, n; in redemption of Elisha ben Abuya, –; Elisha ben Abuya protecting from violating the Sabbath, , , –, n, n, n; Elisha ben Abuya’s burning grave extinguished by, , , , n, n; at Elisha ben Abuya’s deathbed, , –, –; as Elisha ben Abuya’s disciple, –, , –, –, , , n, n; in Elisha ben Abuya’s redemption, –, –, –, , , , –, f, , –, n, n, n, n; and Elisha ben Abuya’s Sabbath transgression, –; and Elisha ben Abuya visiting thirteen

synagogues, f, –, ; functioning as son of Elisha ben Abuya, ; God as angry at voice of, n; God calling ‘‘my son,’’ n; God in justification of, –; God reciting a tradition of, , n; learning Torah from Elisha ben Abuya, f, f, , ; redemption required by, ; role reversal with Elisha ben Abuya, –, , ; scholars on teachings delivered to Elisha ben Abuya by, ; on sonship, n; status in the heavenly academy, ; and Yehuda HaNasi and Elisha ben Abuya’s daughters, ; Yerushalmi II on Elisha ben Abuya and, f, –,  Mekhilta, , f, , n, n Melamed, Ezra Zion, n, n Merkava: Eleazar ben Arach and the exposition of, –, n; and the Pardes passage,  Mesharshia, Rav, , n Metatron: Bavli identifying unspecified angel with, , n; as Christ, n; Elisha ben Abuya’s encounter with, , , –, –; Elisha ben Abuya’s merits burned by, , , , ; gnostics on, n; God and, ; as human figure, ; punishment of, , , –, – , , n, n, n, n, n, n; as sitting, –, n, n; as taken out, , , n; two permissions given to, –; Yerushalmi not recognizing, , , n, n Midrash Mishlei, , –, n, n, n, n Midrash Tannaim, n Midrash Tehilim, n Milikowsky, Ḥayim, n Minim, f, n Mo’ed Qatan, –, n, n, n, n Moore, George Foot, n Morray-Jones, Christopher R. A., n, n Moshe (Moses), , n Moskowitz, Leib, n

‘‘Mystical collection,’’ f, –, , , , –, n

Nehorai, Rabbi, –, , –, n Neumark, David, n Neusner, Jacob: on Avot de Rabbi Natan and Elisha ben Abuya’s apostasy, n; on biblical heroes and rabbinic figures in rabbinic literature, ; on collective nature of rabbinic texts, , n, n, n, n; on didactic purpose of rabbinic stories, n; on Eleazar ben Arach and the merkava, ; on gospels as lacking in rabbinic literature, n; and language shift in dialogues of Elisha ben Abuya and Rabbi Meir, n; on the rabbi as Torah incarnate, ; on Ruth Rabba, n; on sayings as basis of rabbinic stories, n; on the Torah and its casing, n; on Yerushalmi II story cycle, n Nissim Gaon, Rav, , n, n

Orchard parables, – Palestinian Talmud, see Yerushalmi, the Pardes passage, –; and amoraic sources, , n; and Avot de Rabbi Natan’s arrangement, n; the Bavli and, , , , , , n, n, n, n; and Ben Zoma’s vineyard passage, –, n; broader concerns in interpretation of, ; on Elisha ben Abuya cutting the shoots, –; Elisha ben Abuya’s image changing as consequence of, , , , ; and Elisha ben Abuya’s sobriquet, f, , , , , n; enigmatic components of, – ; explanations of Elisha ben Abuya’s sinfulness as divorced from, ; as formative literary passage in memory of Elisha ben Abuya, ; genre of, –; and gnosticism, n; and heavenly ascent, , n, n; in ‘‘mystical collection,’’ , ; as not concerned

INDEX

411

with historical information, ; postTannaitic sources influenced by, ff; as self-contained literary unit, n; symbolism of, ; Talmud’s development of Elisha ben Abuya story in reaction to, ; and Tanna de Bei Eliyahu, ; tradition of early rabbinic martyrs as basis for, ; as typological list, –, , , n; and Yavnean tradition on Elisha ben Abuya, , ; and Yerushalmi, , –, , , , n Pearson, Birger,  Pesikta de Rav Kahana, n, n, n, n Pinhas, n Post-tannaitic literature: on Eleazar ben Arach, –; on Elisha ben Abuya, –; guidelines for examining, – Praises, n Proverbs, , 

Qohelet :: the angel in, –, , ; Bavli Ḥagiga I citing, , n; and cutting the shoots, –, ; and Elisha ben Abuya’s error as unintentional, , ; and Elisha ben Abuya’s exclusion from Israel, ; Rabbi Meir cycle as unrelated to, ; in the Pardes passage, , ,  Qohelet :,  Qohelet :, , , n Qohelet Rabba: on Eleazar ben Arach’s dialogue with his wife, –, ; on Elisha ben Abuya and Rabbi Meir as master and disciple, , , , n, n, n; and Elisha ben Abuya as forgetful, n, n; on Elisha ben Abuya as heretic, , n; on Elisha ben Abuya as repenting, n; on Elisha ben Abuya hearing the heavenly voice, ; on Elisha ben Abuya in thirteen synagogues, n, n; on Elisha ben Abuya’s daughters and Rabbi, n; and Elisha ben Abuya’s mother as cause of his sinfulness, , n; on forgotten learning, n; Malachi : cited in, ; and Ruth Rabba on Elisha ben Abuya

412

INDEX

in Tiberias, ; on Rabbi Ya’akov, n; and Yerushalmi II,  Qohelet Zuta: additional dialogue between Elisha ben Abuya and Rabbi Meir in, ; on Elisha ben Abuya hearing the heavenly voice, n; Elisha ben Abuya quoting Rabbi Akiva in, , n; on Elisha ben Abuya’s merits, n; on masterdisciple relationship, n, n; on repentance of Elisha ben Abuya, n; and Yerushalmi I, ; and Yerushalmi II, 

Rabba bar Shila, f, , , n Rabbinic culture: collective nature of, , , –; conversations with foreigners, –, n, n; Elisha ben Abuya as threat to, ; interpretation in, , –; oral and written tradition in, n; rabbinic literature given unity by, , n; in shaping narration of an individual life, –; Torah as supreme value in, –, , ,  Rabbinic Judaism: as anonymous, ; as collective enterprise, , ; Torah study as central to, . See also Rabbis Rabbinic literature: audience of, , n; biblical heroes in, –; collective nature of, , , , , , –, , n; as commentary, ; debate as hallmark of, ; editorial process in, f, ; on Elisha ben Abuya, –, –, n; gospels lacking in, –, n, n; hagiography lacking in, –, n; halakha promulgated in, –; harlot stories in, –, n; heavenly voices in, ; hermeneutical dimension of, , –, n; historical approach to, –, n; historical unreliability of, –, –; ideological purpose of, , , , –, , –, ; Judaism of the beit midrash as represented in, ; literary dimension of, –, n; master-disciple relationship in, ; multilayered nature of, ; orchard parables in, –; personal writings lacking

in, ; primary aim as teaching religious behavior, ; rabbinic biography, –, , –; rabbinic culture giving unity to, , n; sages in, ; as stories, –, ; stratification of, ; Torah and Israel as foci of, , , –, n. See also Amoraic literature; Tannaitic literature Rabbis: distinguishing, ; the ideal rabbi, ; as Torah incarnate, . See also Master-disciple relationship; Rabbinic culture; Rabbinic literature; Torah study Raḥab, n Rashi, , , n, n, n, n, n, n Rava,  Reines, Chaim Zeev, n, n, n, n, n, n, n, n Repentance: of Eleazar ben Durdya, –; Elisha ben Abuya entering the world to come without repenting, , , –, –, –, n; Elisha ben Abuya excluded from, –, , , –, –, –, , f, , n, n; function of, ; Geḥazi’s refusal of, –; Rabbi Meir calling on Elisha ben Abuya to repent, , , –, , , n, n; in the Yerushalmi, , n Rossman, Moshe, n Rowland, Christopher: on Elisha ben Abuya preventing Rabbi Meir from sinning, n; on Elisha ben Abuya’s expression to Metatron, ; on exegetical dimension, n; on gnostic interpretations of Elisha ben Abuya, , –, n, n; on the heavenly voice, , n; on Metatron’s omission in the Yerushalmi, n; on Pardes passage, n; on Yerushalmi and Bavli, n Rubenstein, Jeffrey L.: on chiastic structure of the Bavli, n; on dating of the Bavli, n, n, n; on Elisha ben Abuya cutting the shoots, n; on Elisha ben Abuya’s and Rabbi Meir’s merits, n; on Elisha ben Abuya’s Torah knowledge, n; on measure-

for-measure principle in Yerushalmi, n; on Torah and the sinning sage in the Yerushalmi, n Rubin, Shelomo, , n Ruth Rabba: on Elisha ben Abuya and Rabbi Meir as master and disciple, , n, n; on Elisha ben Abuya as a great rabbi, –, n; on Elisha ben Abuya as repenting, n; on Elisha ben Abuya hearing the heavenly voice, , n; on Elisha ben Abuya’s daughters and Rabbi, n; and Elisha ben Abuya’s mother as cause of his sinfulness, , n; Malachi : cited in, ; on Torah and good deeds, n; on Rabbi Ya’akov, n; and Yerushalmi II, , , n Ruth Zuta, n

Sabbath, the: Elisha ben Abuya and violation of, f, , , , , –, –, , , n, n, n, n; and the world-to-come,  Safrai, Shmuel, n Saldarini, Anthony J.,  Samuel ben Nahman, Rabbi, – Sanders, Ed Parish, f Sanhedrin :–, –, n Schäfer, Peter, –, n, n Schechter, Solomon, n Scholem, Gershom, , , n, n, n Schremer, Adiel, n Schubert, Kurt,  Schwartz, G. David, n Sefer Yuḥasin, , n Segal, Alan, , n, n, n Shimon, Rabbi, n Shimon ben Nataniel, Rabbi, , , n, n Shir HaShirim Rabba, , , , n, n Shmuel HaKatan, ff Siegfried, Karl,  Sifrei Deuteronomy (Devarim), n, n, n

INDEX

413

Sifrei Numbers (Bemidbar), – Simeon ben Eleazar, Rabbi,  Simon Magus, n Smolenskin, Peretz, , , n, n Solomon, –, f, n Stroumsa, Guy, , n, n, n, n, n Stroumsa, Sara, n

Talmuds, see Bavli, the; Yerushalmi, the Tanna de Bei Eliyahu, , n Tannaitic literature: bat kol in, , n; chronological proximity to historical Elisha ben Abuya, ; dialogues of Elisha ben Abuya and Rabbi Meir, , ; Elisha ben Abuya in, –; pre-Pardes traditions in, –; reliability concerning Elisha ben Abuya,  Tarfon, Rabbi, , , n Theodicy, , f, –,  Tiberias, , , n, n, n Titus, n Torah: Rabbi Akiva on distinctions within, n; as central value in rabbinic culture, –, , , ; Elisha ben Abuya excluded from, ; Elisha ben Abuya on fragility of words of, – ; heavenly voice contrasted with, , n; and Israel as foci of rabbinic literature, , , –, n; and its casing, , n; precision of text of, ; religious life as one of identification with, ; Tosefta contrasting worldly pleasure with fulfilling the commandments of, –, n. See also Torah study Torah study: Achnai’s stove story as charter for, ; Rabbi Akiva’s radical change in, –; in biographies of Elisha ben Abuya and Eleazar ben Arach, f; and burning of Elisha ben Abuya’s merits, n; as central to rabbinic Judaism, ; collective nature of, –, n; Eleazar ben Arach and Eliezer ben Hyrcanos representing two approaches to, – ; Eleazar ben Arach forgetting his Torah, , –, –, n; Eleazar ben

414

INDEX

Arach on forgetting the Torah, –, n; Elisha ben Abuya as forgetting the Torah, –, n, n; Elisha ben Abuya as killing Torah scholars, –, , n, n, n, n; Elisha ben Abuya as removing students from, , , –, n, n; Elisha ben Abuya as test case of limit of value of, , ; Elisha ben Abuya on absorbing the Torah, –; Elisha ben Abuya on forgetting the Torah, –; Elisha ben Abuya on studying at different ages, , n; Elisha ben Abuya’s father dedicates him to, f, n; and Elisha ben Abuya’s problem with theodicy, –; in Elisha ben Abuya’s redemption, –, , , –, , , –, , , n, n, n, n; God engaging in, –, , n; imperfect intention in, –, –; Rabbi Meir learning Torah from Elisha ben Abuya, f, f, , ; Pardes passage as allegory of, , n; rabbinic criticism of Eleazar ben Arach’s method of, –; rabbinic defense of Eleazar ben Arach’s method of, –; in rabbinic Judaism, ; versus religious observance, , –, – , , , n, n; tensions within, , n; as theme in Avot, ; visionary activity contrasted with, –,  Tosefta: on Ben Azzai, ; on Ben Zoma, n, n; on Eleazar ben Arach, –, ; on Elisha ben Abuya as wicked, n; on Elisha ben Abuya cutting the shoots, , n; and Elisha ben Abuya’s crime, ; on Rabbi Meir as Aḥerim, n; and Mishna’s distinction between exegetical and visionary activity, n; the ‘‘mystical collection,’’ f, –, , , , –, n; on pronunciation of the divine name, ; on spiritual gluttony in falling away from the Torah, . See also Pardes passage Towner, Wayne Sibley, n Tradition, –, –

Typological lists, –, , , n, n

Urbach, Ephraim E., ff, n, n, n, n

Vansina, Jan, , n Vayikra Rabba,  Vital, Ḥayim, n Volz, Paul, n Wald, Steven, n Weiss, Isaac Hirsch, , , n, n Weiss Halivni, David, n White, Hayden, n

Yaakov, Rabbi: in Avot, ; as Elisha ben Abuya’s grandson, –, , n, n, n, n, n; and theodicy, ; on ultimate compensation, –, f Yamauchi, Edwin M., n Yannai, Rabbi, , n Yaqim of Zeroroth, , n Yavetz, Ze’ev,  Yehoshua ben Ḥananiah, Rabbi: and Achnai’s stove, ; Rabbi Akiva contrasted with, , n; Rabbi Akiva studying with, f; apostate questioning disciples of, n; comforting Rabbi Yoḥanan on death of his son, –; and Eleazar ben Arach and the merkava, ff; and Eleazar ben Arach’s early death, ; and heavenly fire at Elisha ben Abuya’s circumcision, f, n, n; Herford on Elisha ben Abuya and, n; and ‘‘Sinai’’ tradition of Torah study, ; teachings of Yoḥanan ben Zakkai handed down by, ; visiting Rabbi Eliezer when he was ill, ; Yoḥanan ben Zakkai on, ,  Yehuda HaNasi (Judah the Patriarch), Rabbi, , –, , n, n, n Yehuda the Baker, Rabbi, , , , n Yerushalmi, the: bat kol (heavenly voice)

in, , –, , , –, , , n, n, n, n; the Bavli compared with, –; Bavli’s version as earlier than, , –, n; Ben Azzai and Ben Zoma’s fates reversed in, , n, n; biography of Elisha ben Abuya in, ; child-killing motif in, , , ; contradictory accounts of Elisha ben Abuya in, n; deathbed scene in, , –, ; on Elisha ben Abuya and Rabbi Meir’s relationship, , n; on Elisha ben Abuya becoming a sinner, , n; on Elisha ben Abuya leading students away from the Torah, n, n; Elisha ben Abuya portrayed as rebel in, , , n; on Elisha ben Abuya’s bad behavior, –, –; on Elisha ben Abuya’s redemption, ; on Elisha ben Abuya’s repentance, , n, n; and Elisha ben Abuya’s sobriquet, –, , , , n, n, n; and Elisha ben Abuya’s supposed gnosticism, n; fire as portrayed in, n; on God in redemption of Elisha ben Abuya, n; Green on two segments of, n; heavenly ascent omitted in, , –; on horseback riding, n; human action emphasized in, ; ideological concerns of, –; integrated presentation of, –, , n; on intention in Torah study, , –, ; legitimacy of Rabbi Meir learning from Elisha ben Abuya omitted in, ; linguistic consistency of, , n; master-disciple relationship as central theme of, –, , , , ; material omitted from, –; Metatron not appearing in, , , n, n; mystical elements omitted in, – ; on Pardes passage, , –, , , , n; scholars deciding between Bavli and, n; tendency to expand of, ; thirteen synagogues episode omitted in, , . See also Yerushalmi Ḥagiga I; Yerushalmi Ḥagiga II Yerushalmi Ḥagiga I, –; and the Bavli,

INDEX

415

–; child-killing motif in, –; on Elisha ben Abuya causing others to sin, ; and Elisha ben Abuya’s sobriquet, , ; glass vessels as theme in, n; hermeneutics as concern of, , ; as post-tannaitic source on Elisha ben Abuya, ; relationship to Yerushalmi II, – Yerushalmi Ḥagiga II, –; and the Bavli, –, , , n, n; distinct strata of, ; on Elisha ben Abuya and Rabbi Meir, f, –, ; on Elisha ben Abuya as rebel, ; Elisha ben Abuya referred to as Elisha in, , , , , , n; on Elisha ben Abuya’s daughters and Rabbi, –, , , –, –; ideology as concern of, , ; as mitigating Elisha ben Abuya’s responsibility, ; as post-tannaitic source on Elisha ben Abuya, –; and Qohelet Rabba, ; relationship to Yerushalmi I, –; and Ruth Rabba, ; source for, n; on tension between Torah knowledge and religious observance, ; on

416

INDEX

what went wrong with Elisha ben Abuya, – Yishmael, Rabbi, f, , , n, n, n, n, n Yoḥanan, Rabbi: as absent in Yerushalmi II, ; in Elisha ben Abuya’s redemption, , , , n, n, n, n, n; on Rabbi Meir as Elisha ben Abuya’s disciple, , , , n, n; on smoke rising from Elisha ben Abuya’s grave, –; taking Elisha ben Abuya out of hell, f, n, n Yoḥanan ben Nuri, Rabbi, ,  Yoḥanan ben Zakkai, Rabban: disciples comforting him on death of his son, – , n; and Eleazar ben Arach and the merkava, –; and Eleazar ben Arach as the everflowing spring, –; Geiger on Eleazar ben Arach and, n; Stoic influences in academy of, n Yom Kippur, , ,  Yonatan, Rabbi, , , , n Yose bar Ḥalafta, – Yosef, Rav, f, , , 

CONTRAVERSIONS jews and other differences

Gabriella Safran, Rewriting the Jew: Assimilation Narratives in the Russian Empire Galit Hasan-Rokem, Web of Life: Folklore in Rabbinic Literature Charlotte Elisheva Fonrobert, Menstrual Purity: Rabbinic and Christian Reconstructions of Biblical Gender James A. Matisoff, Blessings, Curses, Hopes, and Fears: Psycho-Ostensive Expressions in Yiddish, second edition Benjamin Harshav, The Meaning of Yiddish Benjamin Harshav, Language in Time of Revolution Amir Sumaka’i Fink and Jacob Press, Independence Park: The Lives of Gay Men in Israel Alon Goshen-Gottstein, The Sinner and the Amnesiac: The Rabbinic Invention of Elisha ben Abuya and Eleazar ben Arach Bryan Cheyette and Laura Marcus, eds., Modernity, Culture, and ‘the Jew’ Benjamin D. Sommer, A Prophet Reads Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah – Marilyn Reizbaum, James Joyce’s Judaic Other