Judaism II: Literature 9783170325838, 9783170325845, 9783170325852, 9783170325869, 3170325833

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Die Religionen der Menschheit Begründet von Christel Matthias Schröder Fortgeführt und herausgegeben von Peter Antes, Manfred Hutter, Jörg Rüpke und Bettina Schmidt Band 27,2

Burton L. Visotzky/Michael Tilly (Eds.)

Judaism II Literature

Verlag W. Kohlhammer

Translations: David E. Orton, Blandford Forum, Dorset, England.

Cover: The Duke of Sussex’ Italian Pentateuch (British Library MS15423 f35v) Italy, ca. 1441–1467. 1. Auflage 2021 Alle Rechte vorbehalten © W. Kohlhammer GmbH, Stuttgart Gesamtherstellung: W. Kohlhammer GmbH, Stuttgart Print: ISBN 978–3–17-032583–8 E-Book-Formate: pdf: ISBN 978–3–17-032584–5 epub: ISBN 978–3–17-032585–2 mobi: ISBN 978–3–17-032586–9 All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, microfilm/microfiche or otherwise—without prior written permission of W. Kohlhammer GmbH, Stuttgart, Germany. Any links in this book do not constitute an endorsement or an approval of any of the services or opinions of the corporation or organization or individual. W. Kohlhammer GmbH bears no responsibility for the accuracy, legality or content of the external site or for that of subsequent links.

Contents

Foreword . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Die Wissenschaft des Judentums . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 World War II and Vatican II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Jacob Neusner resets the agenda . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Martin Hengel, Judentum und Hellenismus (Judaism 5 The New Academy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Kohlhammer’s Die Religionen der Menschheit . . . .

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11 12 13 13 14 15 15

The Jewish Bible: Traditions and Translations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Emanuel Tov 1 The Transmission of Hebrew Scripture in Jewish Channels . . . . . . 2 The Traditional Hebrew Text of the Bible: The Masoretic Text . . . 2.1 The Medieval Masoretic Text and Its Forerunner, Proto-MT 2.2 The Scribes of the Proto-Masoretic Text and Their Practices 2.3 The Forerunners of the Proto-Masoretic Text . . . . . . . . . . 2.4 Key Characteristics of the Masoretic Text . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.5 The Masoretic Text Compared with the Other Texts . . . . . . 2.6 Traditional Judaism’s Relationship to Other Text Traditions 2.7 Comparing Details in MT to Other Text Traditions . . . . . . . 2.8 Variation in Editions of MT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Biblical Scrolls from the Dead Sea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 The Septuagint and the Other Greek Translations . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.1 The Septuagint . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.2 The Other Greek Translations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3 Targumim . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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18 19 20 24 26 28 32 34 35 36 40 44 44 50 51 54

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Jewish Literature in the Hellenistic-Roman Period (350 BCE–150 CE) Michael Tilly 1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1 Judaism and Hellenism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Historical and Legendary Texts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Fragments of Hellenistic-Jewish Historians . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Teachings in Narrative Form . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Teachings in Didactic Form . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Poetic Writings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Apocalyptic Literature Dead Sea Scrolls . . . . Philo of Alexandria . . Flavius Josephus . . . .

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Tannaitic Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Günter Stemberger 1 Mishnah and Tosefta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1 Mishnah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2 Tosefta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Tannaitic Midrashim . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1 General observations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2 The Mekhilta de-Rabbi Yishmael . . . . . . . . . . 2.3 The Mekhilta de-Rabbi Simeon ben Yohai . . . 2.4 Baraita de-Melekhet ha-Mishkan . . . . . . . . . . 2.5 Sifra . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.6 Sifre Numbers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.7 Sifre Zutta to Numbers and Deuteronomy . . . 2.8 Sifre Deuteronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.9 Midrash Tannaim (Mekhilta on Deuteronomy) 2.10 Seder ʿOlam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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79 84 85 87

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Amoraic Literature (ca 250–650 CE): Talmud and Midrash Carol Bakhos 1 Amoraim . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Disciple Circles and Study Halls . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 The Talmuds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.1 The Palestinian Talmud (The Yerushalmi) . . . . 3.2 The Babylonian Talmud (The Bavli) . . . . . . . . . 4 Midrash . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.1 Midrashic Compilations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.2 Genesis Rabbah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3 Lamentations (Eikhah) Rabbah . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.4 Song of Songs (Shir ha-Shirim) Rabbah . . . . . . 4.5 Leviticus Rabbah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.6 Pesikta de Rav Kahana . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.7 Ecclesiastes Rabbah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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89 89 95 100 100 102 106 108 109 114 116 117 119 119

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Rabbinic-Gaonic and Karaite Literatures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Burton L. Visotzky and Marzena Zawanowska 1 Rabbinic-Gaonic literatures (ca. 650–1050 CE) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2 Gaonic Mishnah and Talmud Commentaries, Introductions 1.3 Gaonic Law (Halakhah) and Custom (Minhag) . . . . . . . . . . 1.4 Midrash . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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122 123 125 126 128 130 131 132 133 135 135 137 138 139

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141 142 143 145

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150 152 153 153 154 154 157 158 160 163 164 166 168 170 171 171

Medieval Commentary, Responsa, and Codes Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jonathan S. Milgram 1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 The Geonim . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1 Commentary of the Geonim . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2 Responsa Literature of the Geonim . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3 Codes Literature of the Geonim . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 The Rishonim . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.1 Muslim Spain and North Africa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2 Northern Europe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.3 Christian Spain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 The Fifteenth to the Sixteenth Century: R. Joseph Caro and R. Moses Isserles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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1.5 Biblical exegesis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.6 Philosophy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.7 Medieval Mysticism . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.8 Piyyut . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9 Liturgy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.10 Polemic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Karaite Literature and its Genres (9th–11th c.) 2.1 Legal texts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2 Exegetical works . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3 Masorah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.4 Grammatical tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.5 Philosophical treatises . . . . . . . . . . . 2.6 Polemical texts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.7 Homilies and propaganda writings . . 2.8 Karaite liturgy and piyyutim . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Medieval Biblical Commentary and Aggadic Literature Rachel S. Mikva 1 Biblical Commentary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1 From Derash to Peshat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2 The Expansion of Meaning . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Aggadic Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1 Orality and the Open Book . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2 The »Problem« with Aggadah . . . . . . . . . . 2.3 Midrash Reimagined . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.4 Development of Narrative . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.5 Historiography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.6 Ethical Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.7 Anthologies and Collections . . . . . . . . . . .

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173 175 176 176 177 179 181 189 195 201

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8 Piyyut . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Elisabeth Hollender 1 Poetic Genres . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1 Piyyutim for the Shema . 1.2 Piyyutim for the Amidah 1.3 Further Piyyutim . . . . . . 2 History of Piyyut . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1 Pre-classical Piyyut . . . . . 2.2 Classical Piyyut . . . . . . . 2.3 Post-classical Piyyut . . . . 2.4 Andalusian Piyyut . . . . . . 2.5 Italian Piyyut . . . . . . . . . 2.6 Ashkenazic piyyut . . . . . 2.7 Other Piyyut Traditions . 3 Criticism and Rejection of Piyyut 4 Scholarly Research . . . . . . . . . .

Contents

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239 239 240 242 243 243 244 247 248 250 253 257 258 260

Jewish Liturgy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dalia Marx 1 The History of Jewish Prayer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1 Prayer in the Hebrew Bible: Spontaneous personal prayer and Psalms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2 Prayer in the Second Temple Period: The root sources of Jewish prayer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3 Prayer in the Rabbinic Era: Creation of prayer structure and primary content . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4 The Babylonian and Palestinian Talmuds and the Midrashic compilations of the Amoraic Era (ca. 220–550 CE) . . . . . . . . . 1.5 Prayer in the Gaonic Era: The First Prayer Books . . . . . . . . . . 1.6 The »Rishonim« Period—Formation of Local Liturgical Customs 1.7 The Ahronim: Influences of Printing and the Kabbalah upon Jewish Prayer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.8 Prayer in the Modern Era: from the eighteenth through the mid-twentieth centuries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9 Jewish Liturgy from the mid-20th century to today: Modernity and Post-Modernity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 The Structure of Jewish Liturgy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1 The Liturgy of the Shema . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2 The ʿAmidah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3 The Torah Service . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.4 Opening and Conclusion of Prayer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.5 Sabbath and Festival Prayers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.6 Home Liturgies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

263 264 264 266 268 270 272 274 278 281 286 289 290 292 294 295 296 297

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Contents

Jewish Mysticism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Elke Morlok 1 Sources and Major Topics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Current Discussion in Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Early Jewish Mysticism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.1 Merkavah Mysticism and Hekhalot Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2 Shiʿur Qomah (Measures of Stature) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.3 Sefer Yezirah (Book of Creation) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Medieval Jewish Mysticism and the Rise of Kabbalah . . . . . . . . . . . 4.1 Ḥ asidei Ashkenaz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.2 Kabbalah in Provence and the Sefer haBahir . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3 Kabbalah in Catalonia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.4 Kabbalah in Castile . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.5 The Zohar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.6 Abraham Abulafia (1240–after 1292) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.7 Joseph Gikatilla (1248–c. 1305) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.8 Theosophy and Theurgy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Renaissance and Early Modern Times . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.1 14th–16th Centuries – Spanish Expulsion to Safed Community 5.2 Isaac Luria, Ari (1534–1572) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.3 Sabbatai Zevi (1626–1676) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4 Jacob Frank (1726–1791) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 18th Century Kabbalah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.1 The »Besht« and the Upsurge of Hasidism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Kabbalah in the 20th and 21st Centuries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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299 302 304 304 308 309 311 311 313 316 318 319 320 322 323 324 324 326 327 328 330 330 331

Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1 Hebrew Bible . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2 New Testament . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3 Deuterocanonical Works and Septuagint 1.4 Old Testament Pseudepigrapha . . . . . . . 1.5 Dead Sea Scrolls . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.6 Philo of Alexandria . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.7 Flavius Josephus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.8 Rabbinical Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9 Classical and Ancient Christian Writings 2 Names . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Keywords . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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333 333 333 335 335 336 336 336 337 337 338 338 340

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Foreword

In the beginning, the Hebrew Bible was formed as an anthology of Jewish texts, each shaping an aspect of Jewish identity. As the Israelite community and its various tribes became two parts: a Diaspora and its complement, the community in the Land of Israel—competing interests formed a canon that represented their various concerns. Over time, the communities grew, interacted, and focused on local religious needs, all the while ostensibly proclaiming fealty to the Jerusalem Temple. Even so, some communities rejected the central shrine that the Torah’s book of Deuteronomy proclaimed to be »the place where the Lord chose for His name to dwell« (Deut. 12:5, et passim). Still other Jewish communities had their own competing shrines. Yet for all their dissentions, disagreements, and local politics, there was a common yet unarticulated core of beliefs and practices that unified the early Jewish communities across the ancient world.1 As the Second Temple period (516 BCE–70 CE) drew to a close, the biblical canon took its final shape, and a world-wide Jewish community—no longer Israelite—emerged as a moral and spiritual power.2 That canon, by definition, excluded certain Jewish texts, even as it codified others. And the political processes of the Persian and Hellenistic empires confined and defined the polities of their local Jews. From east to west, at the very moment in 70 CE when the centralized Jerusalem cult was reduced to ashes, Judaism, like the mythical phoenix, emerged. Across the oikumene, with each locale finding its own expressions, communities that had formed around the study of the biblical canon produced commentaries, codes, chronicles, commemorations, and compendia about Judaism. Some of these were inscribed on stone, others on parchment and paper, while still others were committed to memory. The devotion to this varied literature helped shape a Jewish culture and history that has persisted for two millennia. This three-volume compendium, Judaism: I. History, II. Literature, and III. Culture, considers various aspects of Jewish expressions over these past two millennia. In this Foreward, we the editors: an American rabbi-professor and an ordained German Protestant university professor, will discuss what led us to choose the chapters in this compendium. Obviously three volumes, even totaling a thousand pages,

1 The idea of a »common Judaism« remains debated but was introduced by Ed P. Sanders in his Judaism: Practice and Beliefs, 163 BCE–66 CE (London, 1992) and embraced as a scholarly consensus in Adele Reinhartz and Wayne McCready, eds., Common Judaism: Explorations in Second Temple Judaism, Minneapolis/MN, 2008. 2 See, inter alia, Timothy Lim, The Formation of the Jewish Canon, New Haven/CT, 2013.

12

Foreword

cannot include consideration of all aspects of a rich and robustly evolving twothousand-year-old Jewish civilization. And so, we will assay to lay bare our own biases as editors and acknowledge our own shortcomings and those of these volumes, where they are visible to us. To do this we need to have a sense of perspective on the scholarly study of Judaism over the past two centuries.

1

Die Wissenschaft des Judentums

Dr. Leopold Zunz (1794–1886) began the modern study of Judaism by convening his Verein für Cultur und Wissenschaft der Juden (the Society for the Culture and Critical Study of the Jews) exactly two hundred years ago, in late 1819 in Berlin.3 Although the Verein was small and lasted but five years before disbanding, it included such luminaries as co-founder Eduard Gans, a disciple of Hegel, as well as the poet Heinrich Heine.4 The scholarly Verein failed to gain traction in the larger Jewish community. Nonetheless, Zunz and his German Reform colleagues introduced an academic study of Judaism based upon comparative research and use of non-Jewish sources. Their historical-critical approach to Jewish learning allowed for what had previously been confined to the Jewish orthodox Yeshiva world to eventually find an academic foothold in the university. In that era, history was often seen as the stories of great men. Spiritual and political biographies held sway. Zunz accepted the challenge with his groundbreaking biography of the great medieval French exegete, »Salomon ben Isaac, genannt Raschi.« The work marked the end of the Verein and was published in the short-lived Zeitschrift für die Wissenschaft des Judentums.5 The monographic length of the article and its use of what were then cutting-edge methods ironically helped assure the journal’s demise. Further, the attempt to write a biography that might assay to peek behind the myth of the towering medieval figure, assured that the orthodox yeshiva scholars who passionately cared about Rashi would find the work anathema. Nevertheless, the study was a programmatic introduction not only to Rashi, but to the philological and comparative methods of Wissenschaft des Judentums. It would set a curriculum for critical study of Judaism for the next century and a half. Zunz solidified his methods and his agenda in 1832, when he published Die gottesdienstlichen Vorträge der Juden, historisch entwickelt (The Sermons of the Jews in their Historic Development).6 Here, Zunz surveyed rabbinic exegetical and homiletical literature, and by focusing on this literature, he conspicuously avoided both the study of the Talmud and Jewish mysticism. Zunz began his survey in the late books

3 Ismar Schorsch, Leopold Zunz: Creativity in Adversity, Philadelphia/PA, 2016, 29ff. 4 Both Gans and Heine subsequently converted to Christianity for the ease of cultural assimilation. Schorsch, ibid. 5 ZWJ (1823): 277–384; Schorsch, Zunz, 42. 6 Berlin, 1832. The work was translated into Hebrew by M. Zack and expanded by Ḥanokh Albeck as HaDerashot BeYisrael, reprinted many times by Bialik Publishing: Jerusalem.

3 Jacob Neusner resets the agenda

13

of the Hebrew Bible and continued to review the form and content of the genre up to German Reform preaching of his own day. His work was not without bias. Zunz separated what he imagined should be the academic study of Judaism from both the Yeshiva curriculum—primarily Talmud and legal codes—and from the Chassidic world, which had a strong dose of mysticism. Zunz’s acknowledgement of the mystic’s yearning for God came in his masterful survey of medieval liturgical poetry, Die Synagogale Poesie des Mittelalters.7 Indeed, Jewish mysticism only finally came to be acknowledged in academic circles a century later by the efforts of Gershom Gerhard Scholem (1897–1982). Leopold Zunz essentially set the curriculum for the academic study of Judaism until the horrible events of World War II irreparably changed the course of Jewish history and learning. Even so, Zunz’s agenda still affects Jewish studies to this day and has influenced the content choices of these volumes.

2

World War II and Vatican II

The world of Jewish academic study had its ups and downs in the century following Zunz. A year after his death, the Jewish Theological Seminary was founded in New York. It continues to be a beacon of Jewish scholarship in the western world. But the shift to America was prescient, as European Jewry as a whole suffered first from the predations of Czarist Russia, then from the decimation of World War I, and finally from the Holocaust of World War II. The absolute destruction that the Holocaust wrought upon European Jewry cannot be exaggerated. Much of what is described in these volumes came to an abrupt and tragic end. Yet following World War II, two particular events had a dramatic effect on the future of Judaism. Both have some relationship to the attempted destruction of Jewry in Germany during the war, yet each has its own dynamic that brought it to full flowering. We refer to the founding of the State of Israel in 1948 and the declaration of the Second Vatican Council’s Nostra Aetate document in 1965. The former has been a continual midwife for the rebirth of Jewish culture and literature both within and outside the Diaspora. Of course, there is an entire chapter of this compendium devoted to Israel. The Vatican II document, which revolutionized the Catholic Church’s approach to Jews and Judaism, is reckoned with in the final chapter of this work, describing interreligious dialogue in the past seventy years.

3

Jacob Neusner resets the agenda

A graduate of the Jewish Theological Seminary’s rabbinical school, Jacob Neusner (1932–2016) earned his doctorate with Prof. Morton Smith, who was a former Angli-

7 Berlin, 1855.

14

Foreword

can cleric and professor of ancient history at Columbia University.8 Although they broke bitterly in later years, Neusner imbibed Smith’s methodology, which served to undermine the very foundations of Zunz’s Wissenschaft curriculum. Neusner was exceedingly prolific and succeeded in publishing over 900 books before his death. Among these was his A Life of Yoḥanan ben Zakkai: Ca. 1–80 CE.9 This work was a conventional biography of one of the founding-fathers of rabbinic Judaism, not unlike Zunz’s much earlier work on Rashi. Yet eight years after the publication of the Yoḥanan biography, Neusner recanted this work and embraced Smith’s »hermeneutic of suspicion,« publishing The Development of a Legend: Studies in the Traditions Concerning Yoḥanan ben Zakkai.10 With this latter work, Neusner upended the notion of Jewish history as the stories of great men and treated those tales instead as ideological-didactic legends which exhibited a strong religious bias. He and his students continued to publish in this vein until they put a virtual end to the writing of positivist Jewish history. This revolution came just as Jewish studies was being established as a discipline on American university campuses. For the past half-century, scholars have been writing instead the history of the ancient literature itself, and carefully limning what could and could not be asserted about the Jewish past. Due to Neusner’s polemical nature, there has been a fault line between Israeli scholars and those in the European and American Diasporas regarding the reliability of rabbinic sources as evidence for the history of the ancient period, describing the very foundations of rabbinic Judaism.

4

Martin Hengel, Judentum und Hellenismus (Judaism and Hellenism)

Even as this monumental shift in the scholarly agenda was taking place, another significant change affected our understanding of Judaism. This transformation followed from the theological shift evinced by Vatican II and was apposite to the ending of what has been characterized as the Church’s millennial »teaching of contempt« for Judaism.11 European-Christian scholarship had, from the time of the separation of Church and Synagogue,12 characterized Christianity as the direct inheritor of Greco-Roman Hellenism while Judaism, often derogated as Spätjudentum, was portrayed as primitive or even barbarian. In 1969, Martin Hengel (1926–2009) wrote a pathbreaking work of

8 9 10 11

See Aaron W. Hughes, Jacob Neusner: An American Jewish Iconoclast, New York, 2016. Leiden, 1962. Leiden, 1970. The phrase was the title of the book by Jules Isaac in the context of Vatican II, idem, The Teaching of Contempt: The Christian Roots of Anti-Semitism, New York, 1964. 12 See James Dunn, The Parting of the Ways between Christianity and Judaism and their Significance for the Character of Christianity, London, 1991 and in response Adam Becker and Annette Yoshiko Reed, eds., The Ways that Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, TSAJ 95, Tübingen, 2003.

6 Kohlhammer’s Die Religionen der Menschheit

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heterodox scholarship exploring the Hellenistic background of Judaism and how it was a seed-bed for subsequent Christian Hellenism.13 Hengel himself was relying in part on Jewish scholars such as Saul Lieberman, who wrote in the decades before him of Greek and Hellenism in Jewish Palestine.14 Lieberman, however, wrote particularly of influences on the literature of the ancient rabbis and targeted his work to scholars of Talmudic literature. Hengel, a German Protestant scholar, wrote for scholars of New Testament, and achieved a much broader reach and influence. Finally, one hundred fifty years after Zunz gathered his Berlin Verein, Hengel granted Jewish studies and Judaism itself a seat at the table of Christian faculties, even as he felt that Jewish theology of the ancient period erred in rejecting Jesus.

5

The New Academy

Since Hengel, there has been a vast expansion of Jewish Studies in universities in North America and throughout the world. Today, there is nary a university without Jewish Studies. In part this waxing of Judaica was due to the theological shifts in the Catholic Church and Protestant academy. In part, especially in the US, the explosion of Jewish studies departments was due to a general move towards identity studies that began with women’s studies and African-American studies, expanded to include Jewish studies, and other ethnic and religious departments, majors, or concentrations. But Jewish Studies itself has changed in many profound ways. To wit, Christian scholars have also excelled in the field. At the time of this writing, the president of the Association for Jewish Studies, Prof. Christine Hayes of Yale University, is the first nonJew to lead the organization in its 51-year history. Similarly, Peter Schäfer served as Perelman professor of Judaic Studies at Princeton University for fifteen years, having previously served as professor for Jewish Studies at the Freie Universität Berlin (1983–2008). Both Schäfer and Hayes specialize in Talmud scholarship. By this focus, we highlight not so much the anomaly of a gentile studying Talmud, as it is a sign of the integration of Jewish Studies into the broader academy. Indeed, as early as 1961, the late Rabbi Samuel Sandmel served as president of the otherwise overwhelmingly Christian membership of the Society for Biblical Literature.

6

Kohlhammer’s Die Religionen der Menschheit

Since 1960, Kohlhammer in Stuttgart has published the prestigious series Die Religionen der Menschheit (The Religions of Humanity). While the series was originally conceived of as thirty-six volumes almost 60 years ago, today it extends to fifty

13 Martin Hengel, Judentum und Hellenismus: Studien zu ihrer Begegnung unter besonderer Berücksichtigung Palästinas bis zur Mitte des 2. Jahrhunderts vor Christus, WUNT 10, Tübingen, 1969. 14 Saul Lieberman, Greek in Jewish Palestine, New York, 1942 and idem, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine, New York, 1950.

16

Foreword

plus volumes, covering virtually all aspects of world-religions. That said, a disproportionate number of the volumes (often made up of multi-book publications) are devoted to Christianity. This is unsurprising, given Kohlhammer’s location in a German-Lutheran orbit. In the earliest round of publication, Kohlhammer brought out a one-volume Israelitische Religion (1963, second edition: 1982), which covered Old Testament religion. This also demonstrated Kohlhammer’s essentially Christian worldview. By separating Israelite religion from Judaism, it implies that Israelite religion might lead the way to Christianity; viz. that the Old Testament would be replaced by the New. Its author was Christian biblical theologian Helmer Ringgren. In 1994, though, Kohlhammer began to address the appearance of bias with its publication of a one-volume (526 pp) work Das Judentum, Judaism. Although it was edited by German Christian scholar Günter Mayer, (who specialized in rabbinic literature), and had contributions by Hermann Greive, who was also a non-Jew; the work featured contributions by three notable rabbis: Jacob Petuchowski, Phillip Sigal, and especially Leo Trepp. German born, Rabbi Trepp was renown as the last surviving rabbi to lead a congregation in Germany. In its current iteration, twenty-five years later, this edition of Judaism is a three-volume, 1000-page compendium with contributions by thirty experts in all areas of Judaism, from the destruction of the Second Temple and the advent of rabbinic Judaism, until today. We, the co-editors, are Dr. Burton L. Visotzky, Ph.D., a rabbi who serves as the Appleman Professor of Midrash and Interreligious Studies at New York’s Jewish Theological Seminary. The other co-editor is Dr. Michael Tilly, a Protestant minister, Professor of New Testament and head of the Institute of Ancient Judaism and Hellenistic Religions at Eberhard Karls University in Tübingen. Further, the individual chapter authors are a mix, albeit uneven, of men and women (our initial invitations were to the same number of women as men, but as will be apparent, the final number favors men over women). And there are more Jews than Christians writing for these three volumes, although we confess to not actually knowing the religion of each individual participant. Scholars from seven countries make up the mix, with a preponderance of North-Americans; there are also many Germans, Israelis and then, scholars from England, France, Austria, and Poland. We are not entirely sure what this distribution means, except perhaps that the publisher and one of the editors is German, the other editor is American, and the largest number of Jewish studies scholars are located in America and Israel. The relative paucity of Europeans indicates the slow recovery from World War II, even as we celebrate the reinvigoration of Jewish Studies in Europe. In this volume devoted to Literature, we survey the written production of the Jews over the past two millennia. This includes works that were transmitted orally, such as the earliest rabbinic compendia: the Mishnah and the Talmud, which were later inscribed in the Middle Ages (post 900 CE). The authors of each of these chapters are experts in their individual field and offer to the reader a basic introduction to the various works and the scholarly issues related to their study.

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It is not our intention to declare a canon of Jewish literature. Rather, we are attempting to survey the major books and the influence each has had upon the Jewish people. Some of the literature we survey represents distinct minorities within the broader Jewish world. Others are actually heterodox. But all told, they represent the broad range of Jewish thought and writing throughout the centuries.

The Jewish Bible: Traditions and Translations Emanuel Tov

1

The Transmission of Hebrew Scripture in Jewish Channels

What are Jewish and non-Jewish sources? TeNaKh = Torah (Pentateuch) + Neviʾim (Prophets) + Ketuvim (Writings) is the Jewish Scripture that has come down to us from antiquity in a complex way. Like other ancient compositions, it was first put into writing in antiquity on papyrus or skins of leather and subsequently copied, generation after generation, until the invention of printing. The process of the development between the stage of the first writing of the text until the stage of the printed text is named the transmission of the text, and that stage was very complex. There were many reasons for this complexity. The first stage of writing was preceded by a stage of oral transmission that often created several versions of the same event that were eventually committed to writing. The transmission was also complex because early scribes allowed themselves the freedom of changing the text in many large and small details. All these complications created slightly different copies of the same scriptural book. The traditional Jewish »Bible« as we know it today from Hebrew texts and modern translations represents one of the early text traditions to be described below. Textual criticism is the discipline that deals with the textual history of the Bible, but it sometimes also pertains to the history of the literary forms. There is no such thing as the »main text« of the Bible, since all the texts to be described below may be named »the Bible.« For practical purposes we may consider the traditional or Masoretic Text (MT, see § 2) the central text, since that is the sacred or authoritative text accepted by all streams of Judaism from the first century CE onwards (see below). It also has become the authoritative text of the Bible in its Hebrew form for the Protestant world, and it is the central text for the scholarly world. But the Septuagint (LXX, see § 4) is equally as much »the Bible« as the MT. That text, originally a Jewish translation of Hebrew Scripture, served subsequently as the sacred text of Christianity; until at a certain point it was replaced by the Latin Vulgate translation. The Dead Sea Scrolls do not have an authoritative status in the modern world, but for the Qumran community they were authoritative between the first century BCE until the end of their existence in 73 CE. The Samaritan Scripture (Samaritan Pentateuch, henceforth SP), based on ancient scrolls, is another Scripture text in Hebrew, limited to the Torah. In short, all forms of the Hebrew and translated Bible that were accepted as authoritative by a

2 The Traditional Hebrew Text of the Bible: The Masoretic Text

19

given community should be considered »Bible,« as each community accepted a different form of that Bible as authoritative. What then is the »Jewish Bible«? Before the first century CE, all forms of Hebrew and translated Scripture may be considered the »Jewish Bible,« but after that period the situation was changed due to the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE causing major changes in the use of the Scripture texts (see § 2.1.c below). From that time onwards, only a single text form was considered to be the Jewish Bible. This was the Masoretic Text, accepted by all streams of Judaism as the authoritative Jewish Bible. The Hebrew manuscripts of this tradition were augmented with a layer of vocalization and musical notes (teʿamim) between the eighth and eleventh century. The variety of the different forms of the Jewish Bible before the 1st century of the Common Era created a special situation. At that time the Jewish people, to some extent organized in different groups, mainly the Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes, held on to manifold forms of the Scripture books, but all of them were considered to be a Jewish Bible. Below we will describe the early proto-Masoretic scrolls from the Judean Desert as well as many other Judean Desert scrolls, mainly the Qumran scrolls. Initially also the Septuagint was considered a Jewish Bible in translation, produced in Greek, around 285 BCE for the Torah, and most of the other early Greek versions were Jewish as well. The Aramaic Targumim were Jewish par excellence. Even the source of the Samaritan Pentateuch originally served as a Jewish Bible until the Samaritans distanced themselves from the other Jews. We turn now to sort out this history of various biblical texts.

2

The Traditional Hebrew Text of the Bible: The Masoretic Text

The Masoretic Text (MT), whether in its consonantal form or its fuller, later form, is the commonly used version of the Hebrew Bible, considered authoritative by Jews for almost two millennia. In modern times, the MT is found all over. Even if one thinks that one does not know what MT is or where to find it, one cannot miss it, so to speak, because MT is found in multiple sources. All the printed editions of the Hebrew Bible and most of its modern translations present a form of MT. From the invention of the printing press, all editions of the Hebrew Bible have been based on a form of MT, with the exception of publications of the Samaritan Pentateuch or eclectic editions.1 The roots of MT and its popularity go back to the first century of the Common Era. Before that period, only the proto-rabbinic (Pharisaic) movement made use of MT, while other streams in Judaism used other Hebrew textual traditions. In other 1 Eclectic editions are modern Bible editions that reconstruct a scholar’s vision of the original text of the Hebrew Bible, such as the series The Sacred Books of the Old Testament, A Critical Edition of the Hebrew Text, Printed in Colors, with Notes, ed. Paul Haupt, Leipzig, 1893–1904.

20

The Jewish Bible: Traditions and Translations

words, before the first century of the Common Era, we witness a textual plurality among Jews, with multiple text forms conceived of as »Bible,« or Scripture, including the Hebrew source of the Septuagint (LXX) Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible, which began as the biblical text for Greek speaking Hellenistic Jews. Around the turn of the Common Era, the consonantal proto-MT text was accepted as an authoritative form of Hebrew Scripture by the proto-rabbinic movement, whereas other forms were accepted as authoritative by other groups. With the advent of Christianity in the first century CE, the LXX, which began as the biblical text for Greek speaking Hellenistic Jews, was accepted as holy writ by the new group of early Christians, and was concomitantly dropped by Greekspeaking Jews and ceased to be considered authoritative scripture by them. Somewhat earlier, the Samaritans created the version of the Torah known as the Samaritan Pentateuch, while the Qumran community, which had assembled texts of different types, ceased to exist. Thus, since the first century CE, the consonantal proto-MT and subsequently the full MT version of scripture, including all the books that are contained in it, was accepted as authoritative by all streams of the Jewish people. This text is the only text quoted in rabbinic literature (the small deviations are negligible) and Karaite works,2 and it is the only text used by organized Judaism for the past two millennia. The Samaritans embraced their own holy writ, the Pentateuch only (§ 2.5.a below).

2.1

The Medieval Masoretic Text and Its Forerunner, Proto-MT

MT includes five elements, of which the consonants and the elements around the text had been transmitted from previous generations (the proto-MT). The other elements were added later by the Masoretes: 1. The consonantal framework, i.e., the letters of the text without any additions; 2. Vocalization, i.e. the vowels that were added to the written text based on oral traditions. Written vocalization signs only started to appear in the eighth century, with the work of the Masoretes, though according to tradition they were already there as an oral tradition accompanying the written Torah. 3. Para-textual elements, i.e., elements added to the written text, such as KetivQere readings3 and the division of the text into paragraphs; 4. Accentuation (teʿamim or trope), the signs that added a musical dimension to the consonants and vowels. At the same time, the accents also indicated the relation between the words; 5. The Masorah, an apparatus of instructions for the writing and reading of the biblical text. The Masorah is a product of the early Middle Ages.

2 Karaite Judaism, as distinct from rabbinic Judaism, does not accept the oral tradition, and therefore not the Talmud. 3 For an explanation of the Ketiv–Qere procedure, see below, § 3.8.

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The principal component of MT, however, that of the letters, was in existence more than a thousand years before the complete MT. As noted above, scholars usually designate this consonantal base of the Masoretic Text as proto-Masoretic.4

2.1.1

Proto-MT and the Judean Desert Texts

Before the discovery of ancient scrolls in the Judean Desert (the Dead Sea Scrolls), scholars were not aware that MT existed in the same consonantal form as early as the last centuries BCE.5 But detailed comparisons of the various forms of the Judean Desert texts with the consonantal text of MT–putting aside the vocalization, accentuation, and other elements of MT dating to the medieval period–reveals that an ancient group of manuscripts from the Second Temple Period is virtually identical to MT. We find a striking difference between the Judean Desert scrolls from places other than Qumran and the Qumran scrolls, where most of the scrolls were found. The Qumran scrolls display textual diversity, while the twenty-five texts that were found in the Judean Desert at sites other than Qumran display almost complete identity (roughly 98% agreement) in consonants with the medieval Masoretic text (as reflected in the earliest complete version of MT, called the Leningrad Codex; see discussion below). The non-Qumran Judean Desert scrolls were found at both the earlier site of Masada (written between 50 BCE and 30 CE)6 and the later sites of Wadi Murabbaʿat, Wadi Sdeir, Naḥal Ḥever, Naḥal ʿArugot, and Naḥal Seʾelim, dating to the period of the Bar Kokhba revolt in 132–135 CE. The latter were copied between 20 and 115 CE. 4QGenb, officially labeled as a Qumran text probably deriving from one of the Judean Desert sites needs to be added to this group, as well as the recently opened En-Gedi scroll which agrees with codex L in all of its details. It is fair to say that we have access to only a very small percentage of proto-MT manuscripts. The virtual identity between the early scrolls and the medieval texts can be seen best in an examination of the well-preserved texts such as:7

4 The terms proto-rabbinic and rabbinic are used less frequently, although they actually describe the nature of MT and its forerunners more precisely. 5 These proto-MT texts were not the only texts found among the Dead Sea Scrolls. 6 Especially MasPsa and MasLevb. All the dates assigned to Judean Desert scrolls are based on paleographic arguments and carbon-14 dating. 7 For an analysis, see Ian Young, »The Stabilization of the Biblical Text in the Light of Qumran and Masada: A Challenge for Conventional Qumran Chronology?«, DSD 9 (2002): 364–90. Young records the number of variants from MT (Leningrad Codex) included in each text. He demonstrates the clear difference between the Qumran scrolls as somewhat remote from MT, and those from the other Judean Desert sites as identical to MT. See also Armin Lange, »The Textual Plurality of Jewish Scriptures in the Second Temple Period in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls,« in Qumran and the Bible: Studying the Jewish and Christian Scriptures in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Nora David and Armin Lange, CBET 57, Leuven, 2010, 43–96.

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The Jewish Bible: Traditions and Translations

• The Masada Psalms scroll copy a (MasPsa) dating to the end of the 1st century BCE, and containing one complete and two fragmentary columns. • The Masada Leviticus scroll copy b (MasLevb) dating to 30 BCE–30 CE, and containing five fragmentary columns. • The Psalms scroll from cave 5/6 in Naḥal Ḥever (5/6ḤevPs) dating to 50–68 CE, and containing twelve fragmentary columns. • The Murabbaʿat scroll of the Minor Prophets (MurXII) dating to ca. 115 CE and containing major parts of these books in 21 columns. • The En-Gedi scroll of Leviticus chapters 1–2, ascribed to the 1st–2nd century CE as shown by Segal et al.8 This last text was deciphered and published only in 2016, and although its evidence is fragmentary, it was the first time an ancient text agreed entirely with the consonantal medieval text. The other Judean texts of the same type differ in a few details, but never more than the medieval texts differ among each other. The categories of differences pertain to details of spelling, small linguistic differences, and minute content differences. Thus, the relationship between MT and the ancient Judean Desert texts is one of almost complete identity showing that the consonantal framework of MT changed very little over the course of one thousand years—the period between the scrolls and the earliest medieval codices.

2.1.2

The Socio-religious Background of the Judean Desert Texts

The biblical texts found in Judean Desert sites outside of Qumran always represent proto-MT and those found in Qumran never do (with the sole exception of one tefillin [phylactery], 8QPhyl I). The key to understanding the background of this sharp difference lies in the correlation between the texts and the socio-religious background of the archeological sites. Both the earlier site of Masada (scrolls written between 50 BCE and 30 CE) and the later Bar Kokhba sites (scrolls written between 20 BCE and 115 CE) in contradistinction with Qumran, were used by people (i.e. the Masada and Bar Kokhba freedom fighters) who closely followed the guidance of pre-rabbinic leaders in religious matters; thus they used exclusively the proto-Masoretic text embraced by that spiritual leadership.9 A close link between the Rabbis and the proto-Masoretic text is also reflected in the content of the tefillin (phylacteries) from the Judean Desert written in the MT style that reflect the instructions of the rabbis preserved in later rabbinic texts.

8 Michael Segal et al., »An Early Leviticus Scroll from En-Gedi: Preliminary Publication,« Textus 26 (2016): 1–30. 9 It is remarkable that these proto-MT scrolls were found in these unconnected sites. Some scholars suggest priestly influence on the leadership of the revolts.

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Although the Qumran texts display a wide textual variety, proto-MT does not appear there.10 2.1.3

The Origins of the Proto-MT

Many scholars suggest that after several centuries of textual plurality, a period of uniformity and stability can be discerned within Judaism at the end of the 1st century CE. However, the Qumran texts were hidden in caves, and SP (Samaritan Pentateuch) and LXX, both deviating much from MT, were cherished by non-rabbinic religious groups. At that time, the Hebrew and translated texts used within rabbinic Judaism only reflect MT. This situation is usually explained as reflecting a conscious effort to stabilize the Scripture text, and as the creation of a standard text for Palestine as a whole by the rabbinic Jewish leadership. In this context, the terms stabilization and standardization are often used. The difference between the sites is not chronological, but socio-religious.11 In other words, at the same time different groups made use of different texts, and this trend continued over time, but these groups either split off from Judaism (Christians and Samaritans) or disappeared (Qumran group), leaving the group that used proto-MT as the only remaining Jewish group. Thus, their version of Scripture became the only version left after the destruction of the Second Temple, and this version became the only version that was used by all streams of Judaism. 2.1.4

How the Proto-MT Was Created

In many ways, the origin of MT remains enigmatic. This text is far from being unified or consistent in its spelling and other editorial characteristics. Through the generations the MT scribes copied their scrolls faithfully, but these scrolls inherited an earlier tradition that was not always precise or consistent. The variation in the nature and quality of the texts that ended up being included strongly implies that there was no selection process of manuscripts for inclusion in the archetype of MT.12 There probably was only one candidate for inclusion in the archetype of MT for each text. The persons who created the archetype were, for the most part,

10 Nevertheless, some Qumran texts are close to MT (for example, 1QIsab, 4QJera,c), differing in up to 10% of their words from (proto-)MT. I have named these texts »MT-like« and they belong to the same larger text family that contains proto-MT. 11 Emanuel Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible, 3rd rev. and exp. ed., Minneapolis/MN, 2012, 174–80. 12 Thus Brevard S. Childs, Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture, London, 1979, 103: »The most obvious implication to be drawn from this history of the pre-stabilization period is that the subsequent status accorded MT did not derive necessarily from its being the best, or the most original, Hebrew text. Its choice as the canonical text was determined often by broad sociological factors and internal religious conflicts (cf. Geiger), and not by scholarly textual judgments.«

24

The Jewish Bible: Traditions and Translations

unaware of differences between scrolls and did not pay attention to the small details under scrutiny in this study,13 otherwise the specific MT text of Samuel, for instance, with its many errors as compared to the Qumran and LXX versions, would not have been included. In this corpus we find books of different types. Large books, such as Samuel, Kings, Jeremiah, and Psalms, consisting of several smaller scrolls, could coincidentally be combined from scrolls of a different textual nature. Thus, in only two of the five books of Psalms in MT14 the main divine appellation is elohim, while in the other three books it is YHWH. In this way also, Jeremiah 27–29 differs from the remainder of the book. The same processes happened in the creation of the archetype of the LXX, whose books differ much from one another. For example, the various segments of the books of Samuel-Kings are of a divergent nature.15 We note that in a corpus that developed over the course of such a long period, internal differences such as those in the LXX and MT are to be expected.

2.2

The Scribes of the Proto-Masoretic Text and Their Practices

The practices of the proto-MT scribes (including the scribes that preceded them) as well as those of the medieval scribes of MT are better known than that of other scribes. This happened not only because there are many more copies of the medieval MT than of any other text of Scripture, but also because proto-MT scribes as a group (i.e., not individually named scribes) are often mentioned in rabbinic literature (viz. Soferim). When focusing on the scribes, we refer to their general approach to the text that may be examined with the aid of such criteria as precision, number of mistakes, amount of scribal intervention in the text (corrections, additions and erasures in the text), and the approach to orthography. Included in this group are the scribes of the proto-MT scrolls, the scribes of the medieval scrolls and manuscripts, and the scribes of the texts preceding the proto-Masoretic texts. The scribes of the proto-MT texts from the Judean Desert are well known because they display individual features and they have been well studied. An important criterion that can be examined for the MT group and not for the other texts is to what extent the scribes changed the texts from which they were copied. This cannot be examined for most texts since we do not know their Vorlagen

13 See Emanuel Tov, »The Coincidental Textual Nature of the Collections of Ancient Scriptures,« in idem, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, Septuagint: Collected Essays, Vol. 3, VTSup 167, Leiden, 2015, 20–35. 14 Psalms 42–72 (book 2) and Psalms 73–89 (book 3). The book of Psalms is divided in five unequal parts, each of which was probably once copied on a separate scroll. Each »book« ended with a benediction, e.g. Ps 89:53. 15 See the study quoted in n. 13.

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25

(i.e., the texts that preceded them from which the scribes were copying), but for the proto-MT texts we think that we know a little more. After all, since these texts display the same text as the medieval MT, by implication they copied their Vorlagen precisely. 2.2.1

Precision Copying

Part of the explanation for the virtual lack of differences between the copies of MT in early times and through the centuries, may be found in rabbinic traditions regarding precision in the copying of scrolls: the existence of master copies of the Torah books in the Temple Court,16 and the correction procedure of scrolls according to these master copies. On the basis of these traditions, it may be postulated that the Judean Desert scrolls were in fact »corrected copies« that circulated in ancient Israel. 2.2.2

Rabbinic Traditions about the Use of Corrected Scrolls

The precision of the scribes of proto-MT is often mentioned in the rabbinic literature and this information exactly fits the scribes of proto-MT. On several occasions, rabbinic literature mentions a »corrected scroll« (sefer mugah).17 Furthermore, according to later rabbinic tradition, the Temple employed professional »correctors« whose task it was to safeguard precision in the copying of the text (b. Ketub. 106a):18 »Correctors (maggihim) of books in Jerusalem received their fees from the Temple funds.« This description implies that the correcting procedure based on the master copies in the Temple was financed from the Temple resources that thus approved of the copying procedure. This was the only way to safeguard the proper distribution of precise copies of Scripture. These scrolls must have been used throughout the land of Israel, for public reading as well as for instruction, public and private, as suggested by b. Pes 112a, where one of the five instructions of R. Akiba to his student R. Simeon was: »And when you teach your son, teach him from a corrected scroll.« Another such precise copy was the »Scroll of the King,« which accompanied

16 See y. Taan 4.68a and parallels, and see the discussion in Emanuel Tov, »The Text of the Hebrew/Aramaic and Greek Bible Used in the Ancient Synagogues,« in idem, Hebrew Bible, Greek Bible, and Qumran: Collected Essays, TSAJ 121, Tübingen, 2008, 171–88. The tradition about the presence of a master copy of the Torah in the Temple Court is not a historical fact, but is supported by similar evidence from ancient Egypt, Greece, and Rome. Furthermore, the textual unity described above has to start somewhere, and the assumption of a master copy is therefore necessary. 17 See Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible, 30; Saul Lieberman, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine, New York, 1962, 185–87. 18 Here and elsewhere the Babylonian Talmud preserved many valuable ancient customs about scribal traditions.

26

The Jewish Bible: Traditions and Translations

the king wherever he went. y. Sanh 2.20c and Sifre Deuteronomy 16019 tell us that this scroll was corrected to »the copy in the Temple Court in accordance with the court of seventy-one members.« The »Scroll of the King« may well be an imaginary scroll and its description may be equally imaginary, but the reality for which it accounts, namely a practice of correcting scrolls from master copies, fits the reality of the copies of proto-MT and the precision of its scribes. In my view, the Judean Desert texts that are closely related to MT may well have been corrected copies.

2.3

The Forerunners of the Proto-Masoretic Text

2.3.1

Precise Transmission of Inconsistent Spelling

The aforementioned precision with which the proto-MT text was copied is not contradicted by the inconsistency of MT in orthography (spelling). Since the generations prior to those of the proto-MT scribes created an inconsistent text in matters of spelling, it was precisely this inconsistent spelling that was transmitted exactly to the next generations. The lack of internal consistency within proto-MT pertaining to the insertion of the so-called matres lectionis, the vowel letters ‫( אהו"י‬aleph, heh, waw, yod) that were inserted gradually in the Hebrew language in the course of the centuries to assist readers, is visible in the following two areas: Differences between the relatively defective orthographic practice of the majority of the biblical books and the fuller orthography of the late books Chronicles, Ezra-Nehemiah, Qohelet, and Esther.

2.3.2

Internal differences within the various books

It is clear that for ancient scribes, consistency in the use of these vowel letters was not as important as it was in later centuries. The lack of unity in proto-MT is further shown by examples of inconsistency in the spelling of words appearing in the same context or belonging to the same grammatical category, and of unusual spellings. This inconsistency also characterizes the textual traditions of the Samaritan Pentateuch, the so-called Qumran Scribal Practice of many Qumran scrolls, and most individual Qumran scrolls. The following examples bring this inconsistency to light: Feminine plural ending -ot in the participle qtl(w)t, e.g. ‫שמר)ו(ת‬. A computer sampling shows that these forms are written with the full spelling of the final syllable in 22.4% of all instances in the Torah, while in 100% of them in the Writings (ketuvim).

19 Louis Finkelstein, Sifre on Deuteronomy. Critical Edition with Notes, New York/Jerusalem, 1969, 211.

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27

The spelling of words belonging to the same grammatical pattern appearing in one context. An example is Ezek 32:29 ‫ ירדי בור‬as opposed to v. 30 ‫( יורדי בור‬with the added letter waw). Many words appear in different spellings in the same context. An example is Judg 1:19 ‫ וירש‬compared with ‫ ויורש‬in the next verse. Unusual spellings such as: • ‫( מצתי‬usual form: ‫ )מצאתי‬in Num 11:11 • ‫( ההלכוא‬usual form: ‫ )אשר הלכו‬in Josh 10:24. We do not know anything about the forerunners of MT, because we have no written evidence. However, from MT we can extrapolate their existence, and they tell us something about the scribes of MT. The scribes of the MT texts precisely copied their texts as we can see from: 1. The fact that a large number of texts remained unchanged over the course of 2000 years; 2. The exact copying of scribal features (see below, 2.3.3 on Scribal Marks). At the same time, other features seem to contradict this image of precision, namely 3. Inconsistent spellings. 4. Frequent mistakes in MT in certain sections.20 Conditions (1) and (2) apply only if the scribes of MT started applying their rigid precision in copying a text that already contained the features described as (3) and (4). 2.3.3

Scribal Marks

The forerunners of the proto-MT scribes used several marks to communicate scribal information to later scribes. These practices were not invented by them for the copying of specifically biblical texts, but were used also in many of the biblical and nonbiblical texts found in the Judean Desert, including texts that did not have a Masoretic character. Despite the intention of the original scribes who made these marks, the scribes of MT sanctified the totality of the written surface of the texts they copied, and thus included these scribal marks, such as: Puncta Extraordinaria MT includes scribal dots under or above letters serving to denote letters that had been deleted by the scribes, as often occurring in the Dead Sea Scrolls. These dots were meant to delete details in the text because it was technically difficult to erase

20 The first chapters in 1 Samuel (when compared with the LXX and 4QSama) and in 2 Sam 22//Ps 18 and 2 Sam 23//1 Chron 11.

28

The Jewish Bible: Traditions and Translations

letters in a leather scroll, and these dots were not meant to be copied to the next scroll. Because of the extreme care taken in copying MT, the dots that appeared in the text from which the proto-MT text was copied were now included in the new copies through the medieval texts and our printed editions. These dots had to be reinterpreted by the Masoretic tradition and they were now considered doubtful letters. Named »special dots« (puncta extraordinaria) within the Masoretic tradition, these dots, above the letters, show the strength of that tradition in preserving the smallest scribal details. For example: Lot’s Older Daughter—MT has a dot over the waw of ‫»( ובקׄומה‬and when she arose«) in Gen 19:33, which refers to when Lot’s older daughter arose after cohabiting with her father. The rabbis suggest that the dot teaches that although the verse says, »he was not aware of her lying or rising« he was, in fact, aware of her rising. This makes his agreement to drink until intoxicated the next night much more problematic. The original meaning of the dot was simply to erase the letter and make the spelling defective, as it is with the description of the younger daughter rising in v. 35. Esau’s Kiss—Another example is the dots above the complete word ‫»( ׄוׄיׄשׄקׄהׄו‬and he kissed him«) in Gen 33:4, which refers to Esau’s kissing of Jacob after the latter returns to Canaan. The rabbis suggest that the kiss was pretended or even that Esau tried to bite Jacob. The dots more likely indicate that the word should be erased, although the original reason for this erasure is unknown. The word could have been lacking in another manuscript to which the text was compared. Inverted Nunim The so-called inverted nunim found in manuscripts and printed editions before and after Num 10:35–36, are actually misunderstood scribal signs for the removal of inappropriate segments, viz., the Greek letters antisigma [ Ͻ ] and sigma [ Ϲ ], known from Alexandria and the Qumran scrolls. The inverted nunim in this place indicated that these verses (the »Song of the Ark«) did not appear in their correct place.21 These examples highlight the method of the MT scribes who believed everything in the text needed to be copied »as is.« Since these details were not meant to be copied into a subsequent text, the fact that the MT scribes did so is important evidence for understanding their approach.

2.4

Key Characteristics of the Masoretic Text

Sometimes it is difficult to define even the simplest things in life. All scriptural texts are compared to MT, but we do not usually ask ourselves what MT itself is. Here I will proceed to describe some of the key characteristics of MT in the area

21 See ’Abot R. Natan A, 34; p. 51 in Schechter’s edition; cf. y. Pes 9.36d.

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29

of spelling and other features of the text. We focus on the external features of the text as distinct from their content. 2.4.1

Consistency in Spelling

Above, we focused on aspects of the inconsistent spelling of MT. Here we note that despite these inconsistencies, the Masoretic corpus should be taken as constituting one organic unit because in a number of features, early and late books reflect the same practice in contrast to other texts, mainly those found at Qumran. Thus, it is remarkable that the following words are consistently spelled defectively in MT starting with the proto-MT scrolls and this same defective spelling is found in the proto-MT scrolls as well: 1. 2. 3. 4.

/o/ sounds in ‫מאד‬, ‫כל‬, ‫משה‬,22‫כח‬, ‫כהן‬, ‫אלהים‬ /o/ sounds in the same word pattern:23‫קדש‬,‫אהל‬, ‫בקר חדש‬ the archaic form of the name of Jerusalem as ‫ירושלם‬24 /u/ sound in ‫נאם‬

Likewise, it is remarkable that the following words are always spelled with full spelling (plene): 1. 2. 3. 4.

‫ נביא‬in the singular. The word ‫מדוע‬.25 The pattern qatol (vowels a‒o), e.g., ‫טהור‬, ‫כבוד‬,26 ‫שלום‬.27 The full spelling of the name ‫ פינחס‬is notable.28

These spelling practices most likely were developed first for the writing of the Torah, and were adopted from there to the writing of the later books. 2.4.2

Diversity

The internal diversity in MT described above should not surprise us, since the other collections of the Hebrew and translated Bible, such as the LXX, Peshitta (the Syriac Bible translation) and the Targumim (the Aramaic Bible translations), also are not unified. This lack of unity of the scriptural corpora was created by the

22 23 24 25 26

With the exception of Dan 11:6; Exod 32:11; Lev 26:20 (all: ‫)כוח‬. The only exception is Dan 11:30 ‫קודש‬. With the exception of Jer 26:18; Esth 2:6; 1 Chron 3:5; 2 Chron 25:1. With the exception of Ezek 18:19. In MT, ‫ כבוד‬is almost always plene (177x). With suffixes or in the construct state, it is mainly defective (12x). 27 ‫ שלום‬is almost always plene (197x), but in twelve instances it is defective, mainly with suffixes. 28 ‫ פנחס‬in 1 Sam 1:3 is an exception.

30

The Jewish Bible: Traditions and Translations

combination of a large number of diverse scrolls in the archetype of each corpus. MT was no exception, showing internal diversity in the following practices: 1. Section divisions—named in MT »open section« (parashah petuhah), a space at the end of a line, and »closed section« (parashah setumah), a space in the middle of a line—occur frequently in all the Judean Desert fragments, non-biblical and biblical, the latter of Masoretic and non-Masoretic content. There is no rule regarding the length of a section demarcated by preceding and following section breaks; that depended much on the scribe’s understanding. The two extremes of frequent and infrequent section divisions can be seen in the Qumran scrolls as well as in MT. While most books in MT average one section unit per 7–10 verses, some books stand out having a substantially lower or higher percentage, when compared with other units in the same literary genre:29 Some books of Scripture stand out as having many more or many fewer divisions than other books in the same literary genre. Since the different paragraphing systems go back to the personalities of the scribes, the scribes of the MT books must have differed among themselves. 2. Dotted letters. In fifteen places, all the medieval manuscripts of MT denote dots above certain letters and words, and in one place (Ps 27:13) also below them. Ten of these instances are found in the Torah, four in the Prophets, and one in the Writings. Thus, the Torah contains significantly more scribal dots above letters than the other books. The background of this unusual distribution is unclear. Possibly the custom of canceling letters was essentially discontinued in the later Scripture books. 3. »A section division in the middle of a verse« (pisqa be-emtsa pasuq) (henceforth pbp). As a general rule, the section divisions in MT coincide with the ends of verses. Nevertheless, MT has 28 instances of pbp noted.30 The indication of a pbp signifies a break in content similar to that indicated at the end of a section. The occurrences of pbp are unevenly distributed in the Bible, since 65 percent of them (following the Aleppo codex) occur in one book, viz., Samuel.31 The high frequency of this phenomenon in Samuel probably implies that the textual tradition of this book was less stable than that of the other books, as do many of its differences from the LXX and the Qumran scrolls.

29 See the figures for codex L summarized in my Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert, STDJ 54, Leiden / Boston/MA, 2004, 153f. These statistics should be consulted for the data described in the next paragraphs. 30 E.g., in the Masora Parva (MP) to Gen 4:8. See also Gen 35:22. The MP to Gen 35:22 lists 35 such instances, indicated in some or all of the manuscripts and editions by a space the size of either an open or a closed section. The various sources give different numbers for pbp, see A. Ohr, »Pisqa be-emsa pasuq mahu?«, in idem, Essays in Biblical Research Presented to Eliyahu Auerbach in Honor of His Seventieth Birthday, Jerusalem, 1955, 31–42 (Hebrew). 31 See Shemaryahu Talmon, »Pisqah Be’emsa’ Pasuq and the Psalms Scroll from Qumran Cave 11 (11QPsa),« in idem: Text and Canon of the Hebrew Bible: Collected Studies, Winona Lake/IN, 2010, 369–82 with earlier literature. Also in the more extensive list of Ohr (see n. 30) the high percentage for Samuel (40 instances) remains the same.

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31

4. Spelling. The distribution of full and defective orthography shows some peculiarities of the individual books. The Torah and the book of Kings in MT reflect the most conservative (defective) orthography and also contain the greatest degree of internal consistency.32 In the Torah, this description applies especially to Exodus and Leviticus, in particular the Book of the Covenant (Exodus 21–23).33 Among the Minor Prophets, Amos is the most defective, and Jonah is the fullest spelling.34 The books with the fullest orthography in MT are Qohelet, Song of Songs, and Esther, followed by Ezra–Nehemiah and Chronicles. 5. Orthographic features of the Torah. Four archaic spellings and forms characterize the Torah as a whole: a) The Ketiv35 ‫הוא‬. The majority spelling (ketiv) of the third person single feminine pronoun in the Torah is accompanied by a Qere ‫וא‬ (pronounced hee).36 This possibly represents an early dialectal form in which the masculine and feminine forms (both: huʾ) were not distinguished.37 This form occurs mainly in the Torah. b) The Ketiv: na‛arā. The unusual Ketiv ‫ נער‬accompanied by a Qere  occurs twenty-two times in the Torah, as opposed to a single occurrence of ‫ נערה‬in Deut 22:19 (also occurring elsewhere in MT). c) The archaic pronominal suffix - (instead of with a vav) of the type of ‫ה‬‫ אה‬is much more frequent in the Torah (»his tent,« e.g., Gen 9:21) than in the later books. The fourteen instances in the Torah should be compared with thirtyseven in the remainder of the books.38 In addition, the unique spelling ‫לּה‬ also occurs eighteen times outside the Torah.39 d) The demonstrative pronoun ‫ל‬ for ‫ האלה‬occurs only in the Torah (8x),40 including three times in the phrase ‫( הערים האל‬Gen 19:25; Deut 4:42; 19:11) and twice in ‫( הארצת האל‬Gen 26:3, 4).

32 Francis I. Andersen and A. Dean Forbes, Spelling in the Hebrew Bible, BibOr 41, Rome, 1986, 312–18. 33 Thus Aimo Murtonen, »The Fixation in Writing of Various Parts of the Pentateuch,« VT 3 (1953): 46–53. This scholar also found differences between the various Pentateuchal sources. 34 For precise data, see Andersen/Forbes, »Spelling in the Hebrew Bible« and Aimo Murtonen, »On the Interpretation of the Matres Lectionis in Biblical Hebrew,« AbrN 16 (1973–74): 66–121. 35 For an explanation of the Ketiv–Qere procedure, see below, § 3.8. 36 This Qere occurs 120 times in the Torah as well as three times in the Prophets and Writings. There are eleven exceptions to this majority spelling in the Torah, e.g., in Gen 14:3; 20:5; 38:25. 37 Thus Steven E. Fassberg, »The Ketiv/Qere ‫הוא‬, Diagony and Dialectology,« in Diachrony in Biblical Hebrew, ed. Cynthia L. Miller-Naudé and Ziony Zevit, Winona Lake/IN, 2012, 171–80, with earlier literature. 38 For the data, see Ian Young, »Observations on the Third Person Masculine Singular Pronominal Suffix –H in Hebrew Biblical Texts,« HS 42 (2001): 225–42, 228 with earlier bibliography. 39 See Frank H. Polak, »The Interpretation of Kulloh/Kalah in the LXX: Ambiguity and Intuitive Comprehension,« Textus 17 (1994): 57–77. 40 Gen 19:8, 25; 26:3, 4; Lev 18:27; Deut 4:42; 7:22; 19:11. This word also occurs once with a different meaning in 1 Chron 20:8.

32

The Jewish Bible: Traditions and Translations

6. Mistakes in MT. Scribes err all the time, but when a book contains a high number of mistakes, this feature is to be considered as part of the scribal character of the book,41 as in the frequent scribal errors in the MT of 1–2 Samuel, as compared with the LXX and 4QSama.42 Such mistakes are rare in the Torah. Overall, compared with the other known texts, MT is generally the best text available. If we say »generally,« we mean that this is not the case in all words or all verses, nor in all books. Much depends on the views of this or that scholar, because who can determine what is the best text?

2.5

The Masoretic Text Compared with the Other Texts

We know that a variety of text forms existed in ancient Israel from the last centuries BCE onwards. In addition to the proto-MT texts (outside Qumran) we find several other text traditions among the 230 biblical texts found in Qumran. Most of these texts would have been considered authoritative Scripture texts at the time, yet if they had not been discovered in the caves of Qumran, many of them would not have been known to us. The only texts that have been transmitted consistently through the centuries were the texts that have been embraced by religious groups that continued into later times, that is, MT by Judaism, SP by the Samaritans and in Greek, the LXX by early Christianity.43 a. The Samaritan Pentateuch (SP) is the holy writ of the Samaritan community comprised solely of the Torah, the Pentateuch, from the second century BCE until today. The full text of SP, like MT, is known from medieval manuscripts dating to the ninth century CE onwards and undoubtedly goes back to ancient texts. The Israelite Samaritans, as they call themselves, are closely related to the Jews, but they do not identify as Jews and therefore the SP is not considered a Jewish text, or as I would say, not a Jewish text any more. Yet the Dead Sea Scrolls contain texts that are very similar to the SP, which demonstrates that this text type was also considered to be an authoritative Jewish text. These predecessors of the SP found at Qumran, named pre-Samaritan by scholars, share all the major features with SP. SP was created probably in the second century BCE by slightly rewriting one of these pre-Samaritan texts to reflect the importance of Mount Gerizim (see especially SP’s tenth commandment).

41 For examples, see Tov, Textual Criticism, 278 (1 Sam 1:24), 277 (1 Sam 20:30). 42 A long list of scholars from Otto Thenius and Julius Wellhausen in the nineteenth century to McCarter and Cross-Parry-Saley in modern times have discussed this phenomenon. Otto Thenius, Die Bücher Samuels, KEH 4, Leipzig, 1842, xxviii–xxix; Cross-Parry-Saley in Frank M. Cross et al., Qumran Cave 4.XII: 1–2 Samuel, DJD XVII, Oxford, 2005, 25–27. 43 In this context we could mention also the Latin Vulgate that has become the holy Scripture of the Catholic church, and the Peshitta that has become the holy Scripture of several Syriac churches, but neither text differs sufficiently from MT to be named a separate text tradition.

2 The Traditional Hebrew Text of the Bible: The Masoretic Text

33

The fact that the scrolls of SP were written in a form of the early Hebrew script gave them an appearance of originality, since all other manuscripts of Hebrew Scripture that were then known were written in the later, square script. However, this is no indication that SP reflects a more ancient text than its Jewish counterpart; a paleographical analysis of the specific version of the Hebrew script used by the Samaritans indicates that it dates from the Hasmonean period or later.44 b. LXX (Septuagint or Old Greek45 Translation)—The ancient Jewish translation of the Torah into Greek is named the Septuagint after the apocryphal story of seventy (two) translators producing the same translation (see the Letter of Aristeas, an ancient wisdom composition describing the creation of the Septuagint). As the LXX differs from MT in many details, it is clear that the translation was based on a different Hebrew text. (Parts of this text are sometimes preserved among the Dead Sea Scrolls.) The enterprise of rendering the Torah into Greek in the beginning of the third century BCE in Alexandria was a Jewish enterprise, created by Jews for gentiles and Jews alike. The Letter of Aristeas mentions King Ptolemy II Philadelphos (287–247 BCE) as the person who commissioned the translation. Although the letter itself is later than the events it describes, it possibly contains a kernel of history. This translation was probably used in Alexandria by Jews in their weekly ceremonial reading from the first century BCE onwards.46 The Jewish background of the Greek translation of the Torah is well established, while that of the post-Pentateuchal books is not, although these too undoubtedly reflect a Jewish translation in origin.47 Jews already began to see the LXX as problematic in the pre-Christian period, since it did not reflect the proto-MT text current in Palestine.48 This began a process of revision of the LXX towards the proto-Masoretic Text, reflected, for example, in such Jewish revisions as Theodotion (named kaige-Theodotion in modern

44 Richard S. Hanson, »Paleo-Hebrew Scripts in the Hasmonean Age,« BASOR 175 (1964): 26–42. 45 This term is often used because the traditional collection named »Septuagint« also includes revised translation units of earlier (»Old Greek«) translations, e.g. in 2 Kings (4 Kingdoms in the LXX). See below, § 4.1.j. 46 Philo refers to this custom in Alexandria. See Philo, Prob. 81–82: »In these they are instructed at all other times, but particularly on the seventh days. For that day has been set apart to be kept holy and on it they abstain from all other work and proceed to sacred spots which they call synagogues… Then one takes the books and reads aloud…« See further Philo, Hypoth. 7:13; Vit. Mos. 2:215. The existence of Greek Torah scrolls is also referred to by the rabbis in m. Meg 1.8. 4 Macc 18:10–18, possibly written in Egypt in the first century CE, expressly mentions the reading of the Law accompanied by readings taken from the Prophets, Psalms, and Writings. 47 Both issues are analyzed in detail in my study »Reflections on the Septuagint with Special Attention Paid to the Post-Pentateuchal Translations,« in Textual Criticism, 429–48. 48 See Emanuel Tov, »The Septuagint between Judaism and Christianity,« in Die Septuaginta und das frühe Christentum: The Septuagint and Christian Origins, ed. Thomas S. Caulley and Hermann Lichtenberger, WUNT 277, Tübingen, 2011, 3–25.

34

The Jewish Bible: Traditions and Translations

research), Aquila, and Symmachus, in this sequence. As these new translations became more popular, the LXX translation gradually fell into disuse among the Jews. The emergence of early Christianity made the split between Jews and the LXX a foregone conclusion. In the first century CE, when the NT writers quoted Scripture, they used the LXX or an early revision of the LXX that was close to MT, such as the (kaige)-Theodotion revision mentioned above. That was a natural development since the New Testament was written in Greek, and it was natural for its authors to quote from earlier Scripture written in the same language. As a result of its adoption by Christianity, the Jewish-Greek translation of the LXX was held in contempt by Jews, and was left to the church.49 The Christians accepted the LXX as it was, generally without changing its wording.50

2.6

Traditional Judaism’s Relationship to Other Text Traditions

Despite the desire to believe in MT as the sole text form of Scripture, the rabbis were long aware of other text forms, at least those of the SP and LXX. Nevertheless, from the rabbinic period and on, these texts have posed no threat to the supremacy of the Masoretic Text among Jews. LXX—The Greek Septuagint was mentioned in very few places in rabbinic literature, but those quotations were accompanied by descriptions that the translators intentionally changed the contents of Hebrew Scripture in their translation, concluding that therefore the LXX should be disregarded.51 (The rabbis never considered the possibility that the LXX was based on a different Vorlage.) The text of the LXX was not quoted in rabbinic literature as support for their halachic or aggadic deliberations, since no sources other than the Hebrew text was considered »Scripture.« When in rare occasions the rabbis quoted from a Greek translator, they quoted from the Jewish translator Aquila, not from Symmachus or Theodotion. SP—The rabbis describe the Samaritan Pentateuch as a falsification of the Jewish Torah (y. Sot 7.3; b. Sot 33b; b. San 90b) and its text was never quoted in rabbinic literature.

49 It has been suggested that in Byzantine times the LXX was used by Jewish circles. See Cameron Boyd-Taylor, »The Afterlives of the Septuagint: A Christian Witness to the Greek Bible in Jewish Byzantine,« in The Jewish-Greek Tradition in Antiquity and the Byzantine Empire, ed. James K. Aitken and James C. Paget, Cambridge, 2014, 135–51. 50 The Christians accepted the Jewish-Greek Scripture as such, as a rule, without inserting their dogmas into the translation. See my study »The Septuagint between Judaism and Christianity.« It should also be mentioned that at a later stage Jerome rejected the LXX as a base for the Scripture reading in the church, replacing it between 390 and 405 CE with a Latin translation (the »Vulgate«) that was more faithful to the Hebrew text (of MT) than the LXX, and that in due course came to replace the LXX within the Catholic church. 51 See b. Meg 9a and parallels.

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Targumim—The Targumim were often quoted in rabbinic literature, not as witnesses to possible differences between their text and MT, but for their exegesis. Vulgate and Peshitta—The evidence of the Latin Vulgate and the Syriac Peshitta,52 later to be sanctified in the Catholic and Syriac church traditions respectively, were beyond the horizon of rabbinic Judaism. In short, none of these texts or »versions« posed any challenge to the notion that within Judaism MT served as the only text of Hebrew Scripture. Organized Judaism from the Rabbinic period onwards always considered MT the only text of the Bible, and therefore, by implication, the »original text« of the Hebrew Bible.53 Qumran—In modern times, the Dead Sea Scrolls could have posed such a threat to MT, since they offer evidence of a relatively fluid textual tradition in antiquity. I do not know, however, of any official statement by any of the streams of Judaism concerning the implications of the biblical scrolls from the Judean Desert.54 On the other hand, the New Jewish Publication Society Tanakh translation (NJPS), although based on MT, also provides editorial notes on readings from the LXX and the scrolls when according to the editors of NJPS these sources may present a reading better than the one of MT.

2.7

Comparing Details in MT to Other Text Traditions

It is standard academic practice to compare the Masoretic Text to other text traditions. NJPS compares small details with other textual readings, while many scholars offer more extensive comparisons. Scholars have found thousands of small differences between MT and the LXX, SP, Dead Sea Scrolls, and all the other sources, and it is natural to try to form an opinion on the reading that is »better« or »more original«. Scholars express different views on the comparative value of MT and the other texts. Here are a few highlights of those comparisons. a. Quality. Roughly speaking, MT and its forerunner, proto-MT, is an excellent text, as exemplified below, especially for the Torah, and it is therefore no coincidence that this text has become the central text of Judaism. It has been copied very carefully from a certain point onwards, although we cannot pinpoint the exact moment. It probably preceded the time of our earliest evidence, namely the third century BCE. b. Early Mistakes. Before that time, the proto-MT was copied less precisely, and these imprecisions in content (e.g., mistakes in 1–2 Samuel) and spelling have been carefully preserved in the proto-MT scrolls and the medieval MT. 52 For further information, see Tov, Textual Criticism, 150–53. 53 See Lieberman, Hellenism, 20–27. 54 In my view wrongly so, because the proto-MT scrolls from the Judean Desert sites strongly support the ancient roots of the medieval Masoretic tradition and they therefore hold up the antiquity of that tradition.

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c. Torah without Harmonizations. The MT of the Torah lacks the frequent harmonizing additions of most other texts, especially the LXX, SP and the exegetical and liturgical texts.55 It also lacks the editorial additions of SP and the frequent changes inserted by exegetical texts like 4QRP (Revised Pentateuch).56 As a result, the preferential position of MT in the Torah is a remarkable feature of that text. d. Different Editions of Books—In several instances, the LXX and the MT seem to represent different editions (recensions) of the same book. In these cases, the LXX differs from MT not in small textual details, but in groups of related features that reflect a different stage in the literary development of the book than MT: the short (and somewhat different) text of Jeremiah—in this case LXX is joined by two Qumran scrolls‒, the short text of Ezekiel, the different text of Joshua, and sundry shorter or different texts. The LXX versions probably preceded those of MT in these cases. In other cases, the Hebrew texts underlying the LXX were in the nature of exegetical texts commenting upon MT (1 Kings, Esther, and Daniel). The MT in Sum. The upshot of this analysis is that MT is a mixed bag containing units that reflect a conservative tradition and those that do not, units that seem to be later than the LXX (Joshua, Jeremiah, Ezekiel), and units that are earlier than the Vorlage of the LXX (1 Kings, Esther, and Daniel). Each book of scripture was produced at a different time by a different scribe, reflecting his personal character.

2.8

Variation in Editions of MT

Although the vast majority of Bible editions present the consonantal text of MT with the Masoretic pointing, they actually differ from one another in many small details.57 Such differences occur either because these editions are based on different medieval Masoretic manuscripts or because modern editors have differing conceptions for how to represent these manuscripts.58

55 Harmonization is recognized when a detail in source A is changed to another detail in source A or in source B because they differ. Scribes adapted many elements in a verse to other details in the same verse, the immediate or a similar context, the same book, or in parallel sections elsewhere in Scripture. Found frequently in direct speech, they often pertain to small literary differences in formulation that were harmonized because of a formal approach to Scripture, according to which a God-inspired text should only include formulations that are perfectly in harmony with one another. This feature was developed in the Torah only, but usually not in MT, although there is enough occasion for harmonization elsewhere. To each of the five books of the Torah I devoted a separate study, summarized in »Textual Harmonization in the Five Books of the Torah: Summary,« in idem, ed., Textual Developments: Collected Essays, Vol. 4, VTSup 181, Leiden / Boston/MA, 2019, 172–92. 56 See my analysis in »2.1. Textual History of the Pentateuch,« in Lange/Tov, Textual History 1B, 3–21. 57 For examples, see Tov, Textual Criticism, 3–11. 58 For example, the Ketiv–Qere readings are presented in different ways. Some editions present a selection of variant readings. Editions differ in their coverage of the details of the Masorah.

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In modern times critical Orthodox scholars realized that it is difficult to speak about a single Masoretic Text, since the medieval text of MT is known in many almost—but not quite—identical manuscripts. These small complications were accepted as reality by Menahem Cohen, a specialist in the Masorah from Bar-Ilan University, and editor of Bar Ilan’s critical Mikraot Gedolot (Rabbinic Bible) series, HaKeter.59 2.8.1

The Leningrad and Aleppo Codices

Because the medieval texts differ very slightly among one another, scholars use ancient MT codices as a yardstick for comparison. The oldest source of MT is the Aleppo Codex (Keter Aram Tzova) from approximately 925 CE. While it is the closest text to the Ben Asher school of Masoretes, it survived in an incomplete form, as it lacks almost all of the Torah. For this reason, many scholars prefer to use the oldest complete manuscript of MT, namely the Codex Leningrad B 19A (codex L) from 1009 CE. 2.8.2

Scholarly Editions

MT is also in the center of scholarly critical editions (sometimes called scientific editions), which provide ancient variants to the text of MT, and these also correct the biblical text when no acceptable readings have been preserved. (These suggestions are named »emendations«). Remarkably, although in principle the critical editions remove our thinking from MT by discussing other versions in the apparatus, in practice they make MT even more central than before because they compete with each other in producing ever more precise versions of the Leningrad or Aleppo Codex. The Leningrad Codex is at the center of the Biblia Hebraica series,60 while the Aleppo Codex is the base for the edition of the Hebrew University Bible Project. 2.8.3

Translations: Ancient and Modern

Skilled persons have been translating the Bible for more than two millennia. With the exception of the LXX translation, some version of the (proto-)MT has been the basis of virtually every translation of the Hebrew Bible,61 whether those translations were Jewish or not. Since the proto-MT was the central Jewish text from the 59 Menahem Cohen, »The Idea of the Sanctity of the Letters of the Text and Textual Criticism,« Deoth 47 (1978): 83–101 (Hebrew). 60 The most well-known edition in this series is the Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia, ed. Wilhelm Rudolph and Karl Elliger;, Stuttgart, 1967–77, last printing to date: 1997. The Biblia Hebraica Quinta, ed. Adrian Schenker et al., Stuttgart, 2004–, is incomplete (eight volumes as of 2019). 61 In addition, several translations have been made of the Samaritan Pentateuch and the LXX.

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first century CE onwards, several ancient translations were based on that text, reflecting minor differences. This is the case for the Latin Vulgate translation, subsequently used by the Catholic Church, and the Syriac Peshitta subsequently used by the Syrian Orthodox Churches (although the latter deviates occasionally from the proto-MT). With some exceptions, especially in the Qumran Targum of Job from cave 11 and the Samaritan Targum, all the Targumim reflect the protoMT, and this is also the case for the early medieval Arabic translation (tafsir) of parts of Scripture by Saʿadia Gaon (882–942). Of the ancient translations, the Targumim especially came to be identified with Judaism since they reflected, more or less officially, the exegetical views of the rabbis on the Bible. Most of the (later) Targumim offered expanded readings, as opposed to translations. 2.8.4

Modern Translations

The influence of the Masoretic Text is so pervasive that most modern translations reflect that text, either exactly or approximately, even though access to alternative versions of the text is now readily available. NJPS The translation of the Jewish Publication Society (NJPS)62 is a good example of the trend of adhering to MT. More than most translations, the NJPS translation represents the exact text of MT except for those cases in which it considers MT textually corrupt (that is, resulting from an error). In such rare cases, the editors provide editorial notes.63 Even when claiming to represent MT, this ideal cannot always be achieved. Thus, when encountering textual problems, NJPS uses several techniques when not providing a straightforward translation of MT. For example, it often playfully manipulates the English translation of textually difficult words to create an acceptable meaning (see, e.g., Ezek. 10:2; Josh 10:39). NJPS produces a smooth translation by reversing the elements in the Ezekiel verse.64 The translation does not represent the difficulty of the Hebrew. In some especially difficult cases, NJPS includes Hebrew variants (non-MT readings) in the translation, against its principle of always representing MT; this also is accompanied by a textual note. A famous crux in the MT text is Cain’s missing speech—Gen 4:8. The Hebrew, wayomer qayin ʾel hevel ʾaḥiv (»Cain said to his brother Abel«) is not problematic by itself. But Cain’s actual words are not cited, so this

62 ‫ תנ"ך‬JPS Hebrew–English Tanach, The Traditional Hebrew Text and the New JPS Translation; 2nd ed., Philadelphia/PA, 1999. 63 See Tov, »Textual Criticism,« in The Jewish Study Bible, ed. Adele Berlin and Marc Z. Brettler, 2nd ed., Oxford/New York, 2014, 2149–52. 64 For similar examples in NJPS, see Josh 1:15; 5:2, 6; 10:4.

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becomes a textually difficult passage. The missing words, probably included in an earlier text but lost in transmission, are preserved in the ancient versions, as mentioned in a note in NJPS. The ellipsis in NJPS »Cain said to his brother Abel … and« reflects an unusual technique attempting to overcome this problem. The resulting translation is artificial, apparently close to MT, but in fact far removed from it. Remarkably, a few confessional translations, such as NIV,65 are closer to MT than NJPS, as they present a literal translation that transfers the linguistic or contextual problems of MT to the translation. Other Modern Translations Most modern translations deviate more from MT than NJPS, especially when the translators experienced difficulty with the text of MT. In such cases they adopt details from other textual sources. This practice is usually named an eclectic presentation of the text of the Hebrew Bible, that is, the modern translation chooses from among the textual sources the reading that best represents the presumably original reading, usually adopting readings found in the Septuagint, and in recent years, from the Dead Sea Scrolls as well. Nevertheless, MT is the main basis of these translations; when they adopt a reading from another source, they sometimes notify the reader in a note, but more often they do not. These modern translations thus amount to the reconstruction of the original text of the Bible in translation. Translators do not consider this procedure problematic; they feel they are translating MT and occasionally correct its text when to the best of their judgment they are reconstructing the best version imaginable. 2.8.5

Translation Fashions

An analysis of the textual background of the modern translations shows that we witness passing fashions in the translation of the biblical text. Different tendencies in the inclusion of non-Masoretic readings in the translations are visible throughout the decade. In the words of Stephen Daley: English translations from 1611 to 1917 reflect but few textual departures from MT, English translations from 1924 to 1970 reflect a consistently high number, and English translations from 1971 to 1996 reflect a mixed, generally moderate number of departures from MT.66

The Masoretic Text holds a central place among the textual witnesses of the Hebrew Bible, ever since it assumed this central status in all streams of Judaism in the first century CE.

65 The New International Version, Grand Rapids/MI, 1978. 66 Stephen C. Daley, The Textual Basis of English Translations of the Hebrew Bible, Supplements to the Textual History of the Bible, Vol. 2 Leiden: 2019, 429.

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The Jewish Bible: Traditions and Translations

Biblical Scrolls from the Dead Sea

Until the middle of the twentieth century, the Hebrew Bible was known from medieval Jewish codices that gave one-sided information on the content of the Bible, because at that time the only text that was current was the Masoretic Text (MT, for which see 2). The full spectrum of information on the Hebrew text of the Bible thus was not available, since in antiquity several additional forms were current in Israel. The MT is a rich text, enriched by several layers of data in the early Middle Ages (vowels, cantillation marks, and Masorah), and was the basis for an elaborate corpus of Jewish and non-Jewish Bible interpretation. Hundreds of Masoretic manuscripts were known, but the differences between them are so slight that all these manuscripts must be described as belonging to one large manuscript family. The idea that MT was the only surviving Hebrew text from antiquity came to an end in the middle of the twentieth century (1947) when a very large treasure trove of Hebrew scrolls was found in the Judean Desert, mainly at Qumran, dating from the period around the turn of the Common Era (250 BCE–70 CE for Qumran). The following were the major areas in which new gains were made when contrasted with the past: 1. The Bible text was written in scrolls, and not in codices, as in the Middle Ages (this was also known from rabbinic literature). 2. When the Dead Sea Scrolls were written, they contained single Bible books, although some scrolls contained all of the Minor Prophets and two or more books of the Torah. 3. The text of the Bible was unvocalized, written with spaces between the words. At that time the text was divided into paragraphs, like the Masoretic Text, but not into verses, since that division was initially oral. 4. Around the turn of the era the text of the Bible was known in many textual forms, usually described as »textual variety.« This situation differed completely from the situation from the first century CE onwards when MT was the only Hebrew text used. 5. While the Samaritan Pentateuch, another ancient text of the Hebrew Bible, was known from copies prepared from the early Middle Ages onwards, it was a surprise that early forerunners of that text, not yet sectarian, were found among the Qumran scrolls. (The Samaritan Pentateuch contains the text of the Torah written in a special version of the early Hebrew script, preserved for centuries by the Samaritan community. It is a Samaritan, sectarian text, but it goes back to a Jewish text, from which it differs very little in its consonantal form.) 6. It was a surprise to find among the Qumran scrolls texts that were written in a completely different Hebrew spelling system, such as the large Isaiah scroll. 7. It was also a surprise to find in the Judean Desert sites such as Masada, Wadi Murabbaʿat, Wadi Sdeir, and Naḥal Ḥever texts that are virtually identical with the consonantal text of the medieval Masoretic texts. These were named protoMasoretic by scholars. 8. All the textual peculiarities of MT beyond the letters were confirmed by the Dead Sea Scrolls: division into paragraphs (although not in the same places as

3 Biblical Scrolls from the Dead Sea

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MT), dotted letters, parenthesis signs known from the Masorah as »inverted nunim,« suspended letters, etc. The only feature of MT that has no equal in the early manuscripts is that of the Ketiv-Qere notations. By way of explanation, MT contains more than 1,500 instances in which tradition instructs the readers to abandon the texts that is written [Ketiv,] and to read instead the text indicated [Qere]. 9. Thousands of details in manuscripts (also known as »readings« or »variants«) not known previously help us to better understand the biblical text, often pertaining to matters of substance. 10.The scrolls provide much background information on the technical aspects of the copying of biblical texts and their transmission in the Second Temple period. 11.The reliability of the reconstruction of the Vorlage of the ancient translations, especially the LXX, is supported much by the Qumran texts, since several Hebrew texts or details in the texts foreshadow the text of the LXX (see § 4.). These are some of the major contributions of the new finds of the scrolls that we will now describe in some detail. The main site of biblical manuscripts in the Judean Desert is in the vicinity of Khirbet Qumran, some 15 km south of Jericho near the Dead Sea. There, remnants of some 950 biblical and non-biblical scrolls, once complete, were found in eleven caves. Excavations in 2017 revealed a twelfth cave, now empty because it had been looted, but probably it housed texts as well. The texts deposited in these caves probably had been collected by the members of the Qumran community who had previously held them within one of the community buildings. The community members used some or all of these texts, some privately and some in community gatherings, but we possess no information regarding the exact role of these texts in the daily life of the community over a period of almost two hundred years—from the time of the settlement probably around 100 BCE until the destruction of the site in 73 CE. The term library is often used for this collection, mainly for the texts found in cave 4, but it would probably be more appropriate to consider the caves as text-depositories. A striking feature among these manuscript finds is the large percentage of the Scripture scrolls, some 25% among the total scrolls found at Qumran. It is more difficult to calculate the statistics for the Judean Desert sites; if the Scripture scrolls are compared only with the literary texts, they comprise 65%. In absolute numbers, we now calculate the total number of the Qumran fragments as 950 and those of biblical books as 242. The Bible had a very central place in the Qumran community. Indeed, the community made a special effort to collect all the Scripture texts in their midst, as well as other compositions they considered authoritative. The calculation of 242 biblical scrolls includes the phylacteries (tefillin) and mezuzot. We count fragments of 210–212 biblical scrolls from Qumran together with 25 tefillin and 7 mezuzot.67

67 See Emanuel Tov, Revised Lists of the Texts from the Judaean Desert, Leiden / Boston/MA, 2010.

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The number of copies of the individual books shows the differing levels of interest of the Qumran covenanters in them. Note the exceptionally numerous copies of Genesis (23–24), Deuteronomy (32), Isaiah (21), and Psalms (36). The Qumran corpus also contained a large group of compositions that were directly based on Scripture (catalogued as follows in the Dead Sea Scrolls Reader):68 parabiblical texts (120 texts) and exegetical texts such as pesharim (sectarian exegetical commentaries), and general commentaries (34). Concerning the central place of Scripture in the community that lived in Qumran, we learn from the Rule of the Community (1QS 6:6) that one third of the night was spent in studying Scripture, and wherever ten people were present, a person well-versed in Scripture needed to be among them. It therefore does not surprise us that this community made an effort to bring as many copies of the Hebrew Bible to Qumran as possible. As a result, all the canonical books of the Old Testament are represented at Qumran with the sole exception of the Book of Esther. The lack of Esther, no doubt, should be attributed to coincidence.69 Among the Qumran scrolls, fragments of twelve biblical scrolls written in the paleoHebrew script have been found. The ancient Hebrew script was in use from the tenth century BCE until it was gradually replaced with the Aramaic or square script in the third century BCE, but afterwards it continued to be used. In any event, at a later time it is theorized that the ancient Hebrew script was revived because of nationalistic reasons and some biblical scrolls were written in that script. The writing in this script was preserved for the most ancient biblical books, the Torah and Job—note that the latter is traditionally ascribed to Moses (b. BB. 14b). Paleographical analysis suggests that these texts do not belong to the earliest group of Qumran scrolls. The first system used for dating scrolls was that of paleography (dating on the basis of an analysis of the handwriting), and this is still our major resource for dating. At the same time, at an early stage in the study of the scrolls, Carbon14 examinations of the leather and papyrus fragments became instrumental in determining their dates, usually supporting paleographical dating. The paleographical dates applied to the documents range from 250 BCE to 68 CE for the Qumran texts,70 from 50 BCE to 30 CE for the Masada texts, and from 20 BCE to 115 CE for the texts from Wadi Murabbaʿat, Wadi Sdeir, Naḥal Ḥever, and Naḥal Ṣeʾelim.

68 The Dead Sea Scrolls Reader, Volumes 1–2, ed. Donald W. Parry and Emanuel Tov, in association with Geraldine I. Clements, 2nd rev. and exp. ed., Leiden, 2014. 69 S. Talmon, »Was the Book of Esther Known at Qumran?«, DSD 2 (1995): 249–67 (with earlier literature) and J. Ben-Dov, »A Presumed Citation of Esther 3:7 in 4QDb,« DSD 6 (1999): 282–84, claimed that Esther was known to the covenanters. Talmon suggested that the Qumranites did not accept this book as canonical. 70 Many Qumran scrolls are earlier than those of the actual settlement at Qumran, which is 100–50 BCE until 73 CE, according to the revised chronology of Jodi Magness, The Archeology of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls, Grand Rapids/MI, 2002, 65. Presumably, when moving out to the desert, the Qumran inhabitants took with them scrolls that had been written at an earlier period. The peak period for scroll production coincided with the period of settlement at Qumran.

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The earliest Qumran biblical fragments postdate the authorship of the latest biblical books by several centuries. However, 4QDanc and 4QDane containing portions of the second part of the book, were probably copied between 125 and 100 BCE, not more than sixty years after the completion of the final editing stage of that book. As early as the DSS are, they are relatively late in the development of the Bible books, so that they do not contain testimony to several questions on which scholars would like to receive answers, such as the question whether Isaiah 40–66 was written by an author different from the one who composed Isaiah 1–39. Likewise, the DSS contain no answer to questions relating to the documentary hypothesis relating to the composition of the Pentateuch. The main interest in the biblical scrolls pertains to their content. The first striking fact is the dichotomy of the evidence from the Judean Desert. There is a basic difference between the scrolls found in Qumran and the ones found in the other sites in the Judean Desert, discussed above. It is a striking fact that all the 25 texts that were found in the Judean Desert at sites other than Qumran display almost complete identity with the medieval texts. Since the medieval manuscripts differ slightly from one another, it would be best stated that several of these Judean Desert scrolls are virtually identical with codex L(eningrad) of MT. This identity can be seen also in an examination of the En-Gedi scroll, agreeing with codex L in all of its details, see § 2.1.1. The consonantal framework of MT changed very little over the course of one thousand years. However, the Qumran texts are characterized by a broad variety of texts. It appears that scribes freely inserted changes in the text, thus creating slightly different, and sometimes much different, copies. The proto-Masoretic text does not feature in Qumran, as that derived from a different social milieu, that of the protorabbinic and later Pharisaic circles. Instead, in Qumran we find (1) Masoretic texts that are a little more removed from the strict Masoretic content. We name them »MT-like« such as 4QJera and 1QIsab. (2) There are a few texts that resemble the text that later became the basis of the Samaritan sect, the Samaritan Pentateuch. These texts are named pre-Samaritan texts and they do not yet contain the sectarian Samaritan readings. (3) Likewise, there are a few texts that resemble the Hebrew text from which the LXX was translated. (4) But most of the texts were free creations of scribes that cannot be grouped into any cluster. I have named them »nonaligned« or »independent.« The coexistence of the different categories of texts in the Qumran caves is noteworthy. The fact that these different texts were found in the same caves reflects a textual plurality at Qumran, and because several groups of texts could not have been written at Qumran, their textual plurality reflects a situation elsewhere in Israel between the 3rd century BCE and the 1st century CE. While no solid conclusions can be drawn about the approach of the Qumran sectarians to the biblical text, it is safe to say that they paid no special attention to textual differences such as those described here. For one thing, no specific text was preferred in their sectarian writings, and a composition like 4QTestimonia (4Q175) shows this situation eminently. In this composition, each of the biblical sections adduced reflects a different textual pattern: Exod 20:21 (a pre-Samaritan text combining MT Deut

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5:28–29 and 18:18–19 as in SP), Num 24:15–17 (undetermined character), and Deut 33:8–11 (very close to the non-aligned scroll 4QDeuth). Likewise, the Scripture quotations in the sectarian writings follow different textual forms. In view of this plurality, we ought to ask ourselves which copies carried authority, some or all, and for whom? For the Qumran community, the various Scripture texts were equally authoritative since, as far as we know, its members paid no attention to textual differences between these texts. Most likely, in the centuries for which the Dead Sea Scrolls provide evidence the biblical text was known in different ways not only in Qumran but in all of Israel. Bible manuscripts derived from individuals and religious groups. As far as we know, these groups embraced texts but did not shape them, that is, none of the groups mentioned above inserted their theological views into their Scripture manuscripts.

4

The Septuagint and the Other Greek Translations

4.1

The Septuagint

The Septuagint, also known as the LXX, is a Jewish-Greek translation of Jewish scripture that was prepared in Alexandria and Palestine. The Hebrew sources of the LXX differed from the other textual witnesses (the Masoretic Text [MT] and many of the Qumran texts), and this accounts for its great significance in biblical studies. The LXX is the main ancient witness that occasionally reflects compositional stages of books of the Hebrew Bible that differ from the MT and from other sources. Moreover, the LXX is important as a reflection of early biblical exegesis, Greek-speaking Judaism, and the Greek language. Finally, the LXX is also of major importance for understanding early Christianity since much of the vocabulary and some religious ideas of the New Testament are based on it. 4.1.1

Name and Nature

The name of the LXX reflects the tradition that seventy-two elders translated the Torah into Greek (thus Sof 1.7 and parallels, and the Letter of Aristeas, a late firstmillennium BCE Jewish wisdom composition that describes the origin of the LXX). In the first centuries CE this tradition was expanded to include all the translated biblical books, and finally it encompassed all the Jewish scriptures translated into Greek as well as several works originally composed in Greek. The translation of the Torah may reflect an official translation, as narrated in the Letter of Aristeas and Jewish sources, but it was not created by seventy-two individuals as narrated in these sources. The books of the Torah were probably rendered by five different translators. The subsequent biblical books were similarly translated by different individuals, although some of them translated more than one book.

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The collective name Septuagint(a) now denotes both the original translation of biblical Hebrew and Aramaic writings into Greek, and the collection of sacred Greek writings in their present, canonical form. Neither usage is completely accurate, since the collection contains original translations, late revisions (recensions) of those translations, and compositions originally written in Greek. For this reason, scholars usually use the term »Septuagint« for the collection of sacred Greek writings and Old Greek (OG) for the reconstructed original translation. The name is often put in quotation marks (»LXX«) when it is necessary to stress the diverse nature of the books included in the collection. 4.1.2

Scope

The »LXX« contains two types of books: 1. The Greek translation of the canonical Hebrew-Aramaic books. The translation of these books contributes significantly to biblical studies, in particular to the textual transmission and exegesis of the Bible. 2. Books not included in the collection of the Hebrew scripture and subsequently named Apocrypha (the »hidden« books) in Greek and sefarim ḥiṣoniyyim (»the outside books«) in Hebrew. These books, considered deuterocanonical in the Catholic Church, consist of two groups: a) A Greek translation of books, whose ancient Hebrew or Aramaic source has been lost or preserved only in part (e.g., Sirach and Baruch 1:1–3:8); and b) A few works originally composed in Greek (e.g., the Wisdom of Solomon). 4.1.3

Sequence of the Books

The books of the Hebrew Bible included in the LXX together with the so-called Apocrypha are arranged in a sequence different from that of the traditional Hebrew canon. Whereas its books are arranged in MT in three sections (Torah, Prophets, Writings), reflecting their acceptance at different stages as authoritative, the Greek arrangement reflects their literary genre. The Greek canon may be conceived of as having at least three and as many as five divisions: a) (1) Legal and (2) historical books; b) (3) Poetical and (4) sapiential books; c) (5) Prophetic books.71 71 The Greek tradition that places the Prophets at the end of the Greek canon is represented by codex B and many additional sources. The sequence of this tradition is usually presented as reflecting a Christian point of view. In this sequence, the Prophets, who according to Christian belief foretell the coming of Jesus, are placed immediately before the New Testament books. The minority tradition of codices A, S, and other sources possibly reflects either a late approximation to the Hebrew tradition or the original Greek arrangement, since S is the earliest manuscript containing the complete Greek Scripture.

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The Jewish Bible: Traditions and Translations

Original Form, Jewish Background, Place, and Date

Most scholars are now of the opinion that all LXX manuscripts derive from a single translation that was repeatedly revised to conform to the proto-MT. The alternative model, suggested by Kahle,72 assumes multiple translations without specifying the relation between these translations. Jewish Background The Jewish origin of the LXX, described in the Letter of Aristeas, rabbinic literature, and additional sources, is reflected in its terminology and exegesis. Several Hebrew words have been preserved in the LXX in their Hebrew or Aramaic form (at the time of the translation, Aramaic was more commonly spoken by Jews than Hebrew), such as Greek sabbata (Aram. shabta, Heb. shabbat, Sabbath) and pascha (Aram. pasḥa, Heb. pesaḥ, Passover). Jewish exegesis is visible wherever a special interpretation of the LXX is paralleled by rabbinic literature, for example in the Pentateuch. The Jewish background of the Greek translation of the Torah is well established, while that of the postPentateuchal books is not. Nevertheless, there is little doubt that Jews translated these books in the third and second centuries BCE. There probably were no gentiles in Egypt, Palestine, or elsewhere who would have had the skills to make such a transcultural translation or an incentive to do so. Place Although often described as the »Alexandrian version of the Bible,« an Alexandrian origin of the LXX is likely only for the Torah and some additional books. There is now a growing understanding that several books were produced in Palestine. Date According to the Letter of Aristeas, the Torah was translated in Egypt at the beginning of the third century BCE. The remaining biblical books were translated at different times. Most of the post-Pentateuchal books use the vocabulary of the Torah, and the translations of the Latter Prophets, Psalms, and Sirach also quote from that translation. The Prophets and several of the Hagiographa/Writings—the Greek versions of which were known to the grandson of Ben Sira at the end of the second century BCE—were likely translated at the beginning of that century or possibly earlier. It is difficult to date individual books because there is little explicit evidence.

72 Paul Kahle, »Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des Pentateuchtextes,« TSK 88 (1915): 399–439; repr. in idem, Opera Minora, Leiden, 1956, 3–37.

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4.1.5

47

Evidence

The LXX is evidenced in direct witnesses, such as early papyrus fragments and manuscripts, and indirect witnesses, such as the translations made from the LXX into Latin (the Vetus Latina), Syriac (Syro-Palestinian translations), Armenian, Coptic (Sahidic, Bohairic, Akhmimic), Georgian, Old Slavonic, Ethiopic, Gothic, and Arabic. 4.1.6

The Greek Language of the LXX

The LXX was written in the Hellenistic dialect of the Greek language, named koine, i.e. the dialect that was in general (»koine«) use by those who spoke and wrote in Greek from the fourth century BCE onwards to the Byzantine period. Research into the language of the LXX is important, since it forms the largest literary source written in this dialect. However, the study of the language of the LXX is complicated because of its many lexical and syntactic Hebraisms (unnatural elements in the target language). When the Greek translators could not express a Hebrew word adequately with an existing Greek word, they sometimes coined new words (»neologisms«). Examples are the verb sabbatizo (»to keep Sabbath«) for the Hebrew verb shavat (»to keep Sabbath,« related to the noun Shabbat), and proselytos (»proselyte«) for Hebrew ger (»stranger,« understood in its postbiblical meaning as »someone who joined the religion of the Israelites«). 4.1.7

Translation Character and Textual Analysis

The first translators had to develop translation styles. The general approaches of translators are usually expressed as »literal«, »wooden«, »stereotyped«, »faithful«, or »careful« and their opposites, »free«, »contextual«, or when exceedingly free, »paraphrastic.« Between these two extremes many gradations and variations may be discerned, from extremely paraphrastic (to the extent that the wording of the parent text is hardly recognizable) to slavishly faithful. For example, the characteristic Hebrew phrase in Gen 11:10 »Shem was 100 years old« (literally: Shem was a son of one hundred years) was translated Hebraistically into Greek as »a son of«. In natural Greek, a more appropriate phrase would have been chosen. The books of the LXX are characterized by different translation styles, probably based on the translator’s personal inclinations. An analysis of these styles is used in the text-critical analysis: If a translator represented his Hebrew text faithfully in small details, we would not expect him to insert changes in the translation. Therefore, when we find differences between the LXX and MT in relatively faithful translation units, they must reflect different Hebrew texts. On the other hand, if a translator was not faithful to his parent text in small details, he also could have inserted additional changes in the translation. These units (especially Joshua, Es-

48

The Jewish Bible: Traditions and Translations

ther, and Daniel) pose special challenges since in these cases it is more difficult to assess the nature of the Hebrew text behind the LXX. 4.1.8

The World of the Translators

Many renderings reflect the cultural environment of the translators, which consisted of elements of both the Palestinian and Egyptian societies. The Egyptian background is visible in some local technical terms (e.g. the nogsim [»taskmasters«] in the story of the Israelites in Egypt in Exod 3:7 and elsewhere, were rendered by ergodioktai, literally: »those who speed up the workers,« known from Egyptian papyri; the Hellenistic division of cities into nomoi (districts) is reflected in the LXX of Isa 19:2). Palestinian background is reflected in Jewish-Palestinian halakhic exegesis. For example, the »second tithe« in the LXX of Deut 26:12 (MT shenat hamaʿaser, »the year of the tithe,« read as shenit hamaʿaser, as if, »second, the tithe«) represents the rabbinic term maʿaser sheni (»second tithe«) against MT. The concept of the second tithe is not mentioned in the Bible, and the translator of Deuteronomy could have made this identification only if he was aware of Palestinian rabbinic exegesis. A qesitah (a monetary unit of unknown value) is rendered in Gen 33:19 (and subsequently in Josh 24:32 , and Job 42:11) as a »lamb« (amnos, amnas) in the LXX, Targum Onkelos, and the Vulgate. This explanation is also reflected in Gen. Rabba 79:7. Even in fixed and seemingly frozen renderings one sometimes recognizes the translator’s ideas. Thus, the translator of the Latter Prophets, who usually rendered YHWH tzevaʾot (literally: »the Lord of armies«) as kyrios pantokrator (»the Lord, ruler of all«) must have had a certain view of the Hebrew phrase. For him, tzevaʾot included not only a body of »angels« or »armies« but also encompassed everything in the universe. The translators often added religious background to verses in Hebrew Scripture. This phenomenon occurs especially in Esther and Proverbs. Probably the most characteristic feature of the LXX of Esther is the addition of a religious background to a book that lacks the mention of God’s name in MT. In several other places, the translators interpreted the context as referring to the Messiah. Thus MT »A star rises from Jacob, a scepter comes forth from Israel« in Num 24:17 is interpreted in the LXX as »A star shall come forth out of Jacob, and a man shall rise out of Israel.« A similar interpretation is reflected in the Aramaic Targumim. In other instances, the translators avoided a physical depiction of God. Thus, in Num 12:8 »and he beholds the likeness of the Lord« has been rendered as referring to the »glory of the Lord«. 4.1.9

Hebrew Source of the LXX

Among the ancient translations, the LXX holds pride of place for textual critics since it reflects a greater number of variants than all the other translations put together. Textual differences between the LXX and the other witnesses of the He-

4 The Septuagint and the Other Greek Translations

49

brew Bible, reconstructed as variants in the underlying Hebrew Vorlagen, are extant in all the books. They are especially remarkable in Samuel, since its Masoretic Text is often corrupt. The analysis of the character of the LXX in the various books indicates that they share only a limited number of features; it is therefore not appropriate to speak about a Septuagintal text-type, Septuagintal features, or the like. The main element shared by the Hebrew Vorlagen of the books of the LXX is that they were chosen to be rendered into Greek. The only textual feature recognizable in the LXX as a whole, is a large number of small harmonizing additions in the Torah similar to those of the SP and its forerunners found at Qumran (the so-called pre-Samaritan scrolls). Together with smaller textual variants created in the course of the textual transmission of the biblical books, the LXX reflects a sizeable number of editorial differences created in the course of the literary growth of the books. 4.1.10

The Greek Versions and Christianity

At one time, the LXX was considered to be inspired scripture by both Jews and Christians, but now is sacred only for the Eastern Orthodox Churches. The translation started off as a Jewish enterprise (see § 4.1.4), and was accepted by the early Christians when they were still part of Judaism. Western Christianity held on to the LXX as scripture until the time of the Vulgate, which assumed official status in the Western Church some time after its creation. At an earlier stage Judaism had changed its approach toward the Jewish-Greek translation, when Jews turned their back on the LXX in the pre-Christian period, and to an even greater extent after the rise of Christianity. Already in the first century BCE it was realized that the Greek translation did not reflect the Hebrew Bible current in Palestine, and at that time the process of revision of the OG toward the proto-Masoretic Text started to take shape. In the first century CE, when the NT writers quoted the earlier scripture, they used the wording of the LXX. That was a natural development since the NT was written in Greek, and under normal circumstances its authors would quote from earlier scripture written in the same language. At the same time, as a result of Jews abandoning the Jewish-Greek translation in the first centuries CE, that translation was held in contempt in its own environment (Sof 1.7 and parallels) despite its being a Jewish biblical version. Whether or not rabbinic Judaism officially rejected the LXX is unclear, but it was definitely disregarded since the rabbis did not quote from it. The LXX lost its central position in Judaism from the first century CE onward. Subsequently, this process was accelerated when that translation was used as the official source for scripture in the writings of early Christianity. Christians accepted the LXX generally without changing its wording. At the same time, they inserted some changes in the external features of scripture: Christian scribes adopted the codex instead of the scroll and they introduced abbreviations for the Greek divine names (ΚΣ [kyrios »Lord«], ΞΣ [theos »God«], and ΧΣ [christos »Christ«], etc.).

50

The Jewish Bible: Traditions and Translations

The LXX influenced the NT at various levels because early Christianity adopted the LXX as its scripture. The influence of the LXX is visible in the areas of the language, terminology, and theological foundations of the NT, as well as in its frequent quotations.

4.2

The Other Greek Translations

After the completion of the main Greek translation, several Greek translations were prepared in the form of revisions of the original translation, usually in the direction of the ever-changing Hebrew text. Most of these translations were Jewish, and the most known among them were those of Aquila, Symmachus, and Theodotion, referred to as the »Three.« Several elements from these three revisions have been preserved among the remnants of the Hexapla, in various papyrus fragments, in marginal notes in Hexaplaric manuscripts of the LXX, and in quotations by the church fathers. The Hexapla (or »sixfold« edition) was an edition of the Bible arranged in six columns by the church father Origen in the middle of the third century CE, and included the Hebrew text (1), its transliteration in Greek characters (2), Aquila (3), Symmachus (4), the »LXX« translation (5), and Theodotion (6). The chronological sequence of the »Three« was Theodotion (now named »kaige-Theodotion«), Aquila, Symmachus. 4.2.1

Kaige-Theodotion

Kaige-Theodotion is the modern name of an early anonymous revision of the OG, dating to the middle of the first century BCE, at first identified in the Greek Minor Prophets Scroll from Naḥal Ḥever. This text contains an early revision of the OG, and was named kaige in modern research. Barthélemy73 chose this name because one of its distinctive features is that the Hebrew word gam (»also«) is usually translated with kaige (»at least«) apparently in accordance with one of the thirtytwo rabbinic hermeneutical rules, or middot, of R. Eliezer ben Yose ha-Gelili named »inclusion and exclusion.« To what extent kaige-Theodotion followed rabbinic exegesis in other details as well (as claimed by Barthélemy) remains a matter of debate. A similar revision of the OG is also found in several segments of the »LXX« in Samuel-Kings, the B text of the »LXX« of Judges, and the »LXX« of Ruth and Lamentations and elsewhere. In antiquity, this anonymous revision was associated with Theodotion, who apparently lived at the end of the second century CE, and was probably from Ephesus. Because Theodotion’s translations belong to this group of revisions, the whole collection came to be known as kaige-Theodotion even though its various attestations are not uniform in character and accordingly different individuals may have been involved.

73 Dominique Barthélemy, Les devanciers d’Aquila, VTSup 10, Leiden, 1963.

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4.2.2

51

Aquila

Aquila’s revision dates to approximately 125 CE. He issued two different editions of his revision for some biblical books, but the relation between them is unclear. Aquila’s translation system is the most slavishly literal of the translators, creating a translation that is often not understandable without knowledge of the Hebrew source text. He believed that every letter and word in the Bible is meaningful, and therefore attempted to accurately represent every word, particle, and morpheme. For example, he translated the Hebrew sign of the direct object ʾet separately with syn (»with«) on the basis of the other meaning of ʾet (namely »with«). In his linguistic approach toward translation, Aquila paid much attention to the etymology of the Hebrew words, and this, more than any presumed rabbinic exegesis, characterizes his version. Some scholars think that Aquila is the »Onqelos the proselyte« mentioned in the Talmud (b. Meg 3a and elsewhere) as the author of the Targum of the Torah.74 However, although the names Aquila and Onqelos are similar, there is no evidence that the same person translated the Torah into Aramaic and revised the LXX. While both translations are exact, the amount of adherence to the MT of the Greek translation is greater than that of the Aramaic one. 4.2.3

Symmachus

Symmachus’s revision is usually dated to the end of the second century or the beginning of the third century CE. His background and religious affiliation is unclear. According to Epiphanius, Symmachus was a Samaritan who had become a proselyte. Eusebius and Jerome state that he belonged to the Jewish-Christian Ebionite sect. Some scholars think that Symmachus was Jewish, while others identify him with Somchos, a disciple of R. Meir, mentioned in b. Er 13b. Symmachus was very precise (his revision, like Aquila’s, was based on kaigeTheodotion), but, he also very often translated according to the context rather than representing the Hebrew words with fixed equivalents or stereotyped renderings.

4.3

Targumim

The most »Jewish« among the biblical translations are the Targumim, because they were created within the Jewish communities as the companion to Hebrew Scripture within the milieu of rabbinic Judaism. The meaning of the word targum is »explanation«, »commentary«, and »translation«, and later, specifically, »translation into Aramaic.« The term »targum« does not refer to any type of translation, but to translations that involve exegetical elements, and it has been limited to Aramaic

74 See Jenny R. Labendz, »Aquila’s Bible Translation in Late Antiquity: Jewish and Christian Perspectives,« HTR 102 (2009): 353–88.

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The Jewish Bible: Traditions and Translations

translations. These translations facilitated, in different degrees, the introduction of some or many exegetical elements including modernizations. Throughout the centuries, the Aramaic Targumim retained a more special status within the Jewish communities than all other translations because of their close relation to the rabbinic interpretation of Scripture. The medieval commentators often quoted from them, and they were printed in full in the Rabbinic Bibles alongside the Hebrew text. Targumim were made of each of the canonical books of the Bible (excluding Ezra, Nehemiah, and Daniel), sometimes more than one. Some of the Targumim were originally created orally and were committed to writing only at a later stage. From the outset, it seems surprising that Aramaic translations were made at all, since this language is so close to Hebrew. The usual explanation given is that the knowledge of Hebrew began to wane during the Second Temple period, at which point it was replaced by Aramaic, the vernacular language. It is not clear when the first Targumim were produced (tradition ascribes the first Targum to Ezra in the fifth century BCE). Manuscript evidence is early, as the Targum fragments found at Qumran are ascribed to the 2nd–1st centuries BCE (4QtgLev = 4Q156) and the 1st century CE (4QtgJob = 4Q157 and 11QtgJob). Some Targumim are free translations, while others are literal, and it is often assumed that the freer Targumim are earlier. At the same time, the literary crystallizations of these Targumim may point in a different direction: The Palestinian Targumim of the Torah are more free than the earlier Targum Onqelos. Some Targumim contain even elements deriving from the European culture of the 10th century.75 Text-critical value. The analyses of the translation character of all the Targumim focus on exegetical differences between the Targumim and MT, while the number of the variants reconstructed from the Targumim is extremely small and their reconstruction is not stable. For example, the 650 minor differences between MT and Targum Onqelos listed by Sperber76 are culled from different manuscripts of that Targum, so that their textual basis is uncertain. Many of them reflect contextual harmonizations and changes. For Targum Jonathan, Sperber provided even fewer examples. All the Targumim thus reflect the medieval form of MT (for 11QtgJob, see below). The early Qumran Targum 11QtgJob deviates slightly from all other textual witnesses of the book. Since the Qumran fragments provide the earliest evidence of any Targum, possibly the other Targumim also once deviated more from MT, but were subsequently adapted towards its text. Alternatively, the milieu that created 11QtgJob (not the Qumran community) followed different approaches from those taken in the milieu in which the other Targumim were created.

75 See, for example, Leeor Gottlieb, »Targum [Chronicles],« in Lange/Tov, Textual History, 1C, 676–81. 76 Alexander Sperber, The Bible in Aramaic Based on Old Manuscripts and Printed Texts, vol. IVa, Leiden, 1973, 265–375.

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4.3.1

53

Targumim to the Torah

Targum Onqelos Targum Onqelos is the best known of the Targumim and, according to b. Meg 3a, it was made by Onqelos the Proselyte, »under the guidance of R. Eliezer and R. Joshua.« As a rule, Onqelos follows the plain sense of Scripture, but in poetical sections it contains many exegetical elements. Scholars are divided in their opinions about the date of the present form and origin (Babylon or Israel) of Targum Onqelos (1st, 3rd, or 5th century CE). Nevertheless, even if its final literary form is relatively late, it was possibly preceded by a written or oral formulation similar to 4QtgLev (4Q156). Palestinian Targumim 1. Jerusalem Targum I = Targum Pseudo-Jonathan. Since the 14th century, this translation has been incorrectly named Targum Jonathan (probably based on an abbreviation ‫ת"י‬, wrongly explaining Targum Yerushalmi). This Targum also integrated elements from Targum Onqelos. Several scholars ascribe its final redaction to the 7th–8th centuries. 2. Jerusalem Targum II, III = The »Fragment(ary) Targum(im)«, so named because only fragments of this translation (these translations) have been preserved in manuscripts and printed editions. 3. Targumim from the Cairo Genizah. MS Vatican Neophyti 1 of the Torah, discovered in 1956 in a manuscript dating from 1504 or slightly later. According to its editor, the Targum contained in this manuscript originated in the 1st or 2nd century CE or earlier, while others ascribe the translation to the Talmudic period (4th or 5th century CE). 4.3.2

Targum to the Prophets

Targum Jonathan to the Prophets. The nature of Targum Jonathan varies from book to book, while it generally resembles Targum Onqelos in style, language, and approach. The Babylonian tradition ascribes it to Jonathan ben Uzziel, a pupil of Hillel the Elder. 4.3.3

Targumim to the Hagiographa

According to the story in t. Shab 13.2; b. Shab 115b; y. Shab 16.15c, the Job Targum already existed at the time of Gamaliel the Elder (first half of the 1st century CE), and an early source of this Targum was indeed found at Qumran (11QtgJob). 11QtgJob contains a literal translation. The printed version of the Job Targum differs from 11QtgJob. For Esther, two different Targumim, Targum rishon, »first Targum,« and Targum sheni, »second Targum,« are known, both of which are paraphras-

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tic and midrashic in nature. Targum-Canticles bears a similar character. TargumProverbs is closely related to the Syriac translation of the Peshitta and may have been translated from that text.

5

Summary

In sum, this chapter has depicted the complicated history of the biblical text throughout the past 2,300 years. This description would have been much more complex had all the facts been known, but most of the data from antiquity have been lost. The discovery of large treasury troves of biblical manuscripts in the 19th and 20th centuries reminds us how little we know about the history of the biblical text. Modesty is in order, but the Dead Sea Scrolls have helped us to understand the condition of the biblical text much better. Until the first century of the Common Era, the Jewish people used a variety of Bible texts, from which the Masoretic Text emerged in the first century CE as the majority text for all of Israel. However, for in-depth Bible study, all textual branches need to be taken into consideration. The biblical text has been transmitted in many ancient and medieval sources that are known to us from modern editions in different languages. We possess fragments of leather and papyrus scrolls that are at least two thousand years old in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek, as well as manuscripts in Hebrew and other languages from the Middle Ages. All these textual witnesses differ from one another to a greater or lesser extent. The analysis of these textual differences holds a central place within textual criticism. It is not only the differences among the various textual witnesses that require involvement in textual criticism. Textual differences of a similar nature are reflected in the various attestations of a single textual tradition of Hebrew–Aramaic Scripture, namely the parallel passages (e.g., Samuel and Kings compared with Chronicles) in the Masoretic Text, often described as the main textual tradition of Scripture. Such internal differences are visible in all attestations of MT, ancient and medieval, and even in its printed editions and modern translations since they are based on different sources. Possibly, one would not have expected differences between the printed editions of Hebrew–Aramaic Scripture, for if a fully unified textual tradition had been possible at any one given period, it would certainly seem to have been after the invention of printing. However, such is not the case since all printed editions of Hebrew–Aramaic Scripture, which actually are editions of MT, go back to different medieval manuscripts of that tradition, or combinations thereof, and therefore the editions also necessarily differ from one another. The Hebrew Bible is the Bible of the Jewish people, and it also became the holy writ of the Samaritans and Christians in all their denominations; therefore the study of the text of the Bible is not only concerned with Jewish sources, but also with a wide variety of Samaritan and Christian sources. All of them together bring us closer to a deeper knowledge of the words of the Bible, even if much remains unknown.

5 Summary

55

For Further Reading Aitken, James K., ed., T & T Clark Companion to the Septuagint, London, 2015. Beattie, Derek R.G. and Martin J. McNamara, eds., The Aramaic Bible: Targums in Their Historical Context, JSOTSup 166, Sheffield, 1994. Cross, Frank M. and Shemaryahu Talmon, eds., Qumran and the History of the Biblical Text, London/Cambridge/MA 1975. Fischer, Alexander A., Der Text des Alten Testaments: Neubearbeitung der Einführung in die Biblia Hebraica von Ernst Würthwein, Stuttgart, 2009. Flesher, Paul V. M. and Chilton, Bruce, The Targums: A Critical Introduction, Studies in the Aramaic Interpretation of Scripture 12, Leiden/Boston/MA, 2011. Karrer, Martin and Wolfgang Kraus, eds., Septuaginta Deutsch: Erläuterungen und Kommentare zum griechischen Alten Testament, Vols. I–II, Stuttgart, 2011. Lange, Armin and Emanuel Tov, eds., Textual History of the Bible, The Hebrew Bible, Vols. 1A–C, Leiden/Boston/MA, 2016–17. Penkower, Yitzhak, »The Development of the Masoretic Bible,« in The Jewish Study Bible, ed. Adele Berlin and Marc. Z. Brettler, Oxford, 2004, 2077–84. Tov, Emanuel, Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert, STDJ 54, Leiden / Boston/MA, 2004. Tov, Emanuel, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible, 3rd ed., rev. and enl., Minneapolis/MN, 2012. Tov, Emanuel, The Text-Critical Use of the Septuagint in Biblical Research, 3rd completely rev. and enl. ed., Winona Lake/IN, 2015. Ulrich, Eugene, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Developmental Composition of the Bible, VTSup 169, Leiden / Boston/MA, 2015.

Jewish Literature in the Hellenistic-Roman Period (350 BCE–150 CE) Michael Tilly

1

Introduction

1.1

Judaism and Hellenism

Following the conquests of Alexander the Great (356–323 BCE), for the majority of the population in the eastern Mediterranean, life was lived under the deep influence of Hellenism, with Greek culture affecting all areas of life: in language and literature, religion and philosophy, science and the arts, politics and economics, training and education. Hellenism first placed its stamp as a universal model for civilization on the upper strata of society, and its influence was far more apparent in the urban metropolises than in the hinterland. In the long run, however, no one was able to escape. Cultures quickly became intertwined on practically every level. People enthusiastically grasped the opportunities for personal education now made available to them, and the individual social mobility open to them. Depending on their individual position and personal circumstances, Jews in the mother country and in the Diaspora saw the clash between traditional ways of life and the dominant Greek culture as a threat, a challenge, or an enrichment.1 In the context of this diverse cultural encounter a rich Jewish literature developed, giving expression to a variety of Jewish positions from acculturation to demarcation. 1.1.1

Koine

In Greco-Roman antiquity, Koine Greek was the common language of commerce and the lingua franca throughout the eastern Mediterranean.2 This »Hellenistic Greek« rapidly spread from the waning years of the fourth century BCE on, quickly becoming the international means of communication. Special features of the common Greek language of the Hellenistic period are its tendency to simplify, harmonize, and clarify both morphology and syntax, as well as a noticeable increase in neologisms and loan words.

1 Cf. Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in Their Encounter in Palestine during the Early Hellenistic Period, Minneapolis/MN, 1991. 2 Cf. James K. Aitken and James C. Paget, eds., The Jewish Greek Tradition in Antiquity and the Byzantine Empire, Cambridge, 2014.

1 Introduction

57

Koine Greek is not only the language of the Greek translation of the Jewish scriptures, but also of much Jewish literature of the period. The numerous HellenisticJewish writings in Greek that have been preserved display a wide range of levels of linguistic sophistication. Local linguistic peculiarities, on the other hand, are relatively few and far between. 1.1.2

Texts and Traditions

The corpus of Jewish writings from Hellenistic-Roman times3 comprises different genres, styles, and linguistic levels: wisdom literature, legal, liturgical, poetic texts, historiography, secret knowledge, contemporary criticism, polemics, apologetics, philosophy, prophecies, oracles, and so-called »apocalyptic« literature—writings interpreting the course of history and unveiling the anticipated end of the world. Their functions consisted mainly in exhortation, consolation, reassurance, and consolidation of the Jewish community. There is often self-legitimation, criticism, and polemic in response to the issues of the time. All of these are of great historical value as documents of the different belief systems in ancient Judaism during the Hellenistic-Roman period.4 Some of these writings became an integral part of Christian collections of standard sacred scriptures. These »apocryphal« or »deuterocanonical« writings, mainly doctrinal in character, seem to have been handed down in the three centers of ancient Judaism: the Land of Israel, Egypt, and Babylonia (Iraq). At no point in time did Jewish authors lend them authority and take them as normative or sacred by tracing their content compellingly to the written Torah or by asserting their inspiration—either directly or guaranteed by an unbroken tradition. From Late Antiquity, another portion of the literature also was handed down, translated, revised, and supplemented exclusively by Christianity. This applies to the two most important Jewish authors of the epoch, Philo of Alexandria and Flavius Josephus, but also to religious literature which was initially acknowledged only within certain Jewish groups. Only modern-day manuscript discoveries (e.g. at Qumran) has made this literature accessible in an early textual form. Despite the lack of a clear definition of canon and also possibily due to prescribed readings in the synagogues, post-70 CE rabbinic Judaism showed a growing occupation with demarcating authoritative collections of writings.5 Because of their 3 Cf. James H. Charlesworth, The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, 2 vols., Garden City/NY, 1983, 1985; together with S. Delamarter, A Scripture Index to Charlesworth’s Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, London, 2002; Louis H. Feldman et al., Outside the Bible, 3 vols., Philadelphia/PA, 2013; Richard Bauckham et al., Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. More Noncanonical Scriptures, Grand Rapids/MI, 2013; Werner G. Kümmel and Hermann Lichtenberger, eds., Jüdische Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit, JSHRZ, Gütersloh, 1973–2017. 4 Cf. George W.E. Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature between the Bible and the Mishnah, Philadelphia/ PA, 1981; Michael E. Stone, ed., Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period, CRINT II/2, Assen et al., 1984. 5 Cf. Sid Z. Leiman, The Canonization of Hebrew Scripture, Transactions 47, Hamden, 1976.

58

Jewish Literature in the Hellenistic-Roman Period (350 BCE–150 CE)

lack of antiquity or an absence of prophetic inspiration (cf. 1 Macc 9:27) such books as Sirach were viewed as Sefarim Chizonim (»outside books«), which were not suitable for liturgical reading (cf. t. Yad. 2.13; y. Sanh. 28a, 17f.). Particularly because of their high regard for the Hebrew tradition, the rabbis did not hand down Hellenistic-Jewish literature; in rabbinic literature we find mainly isolated quotations (although in some cases seemingly treated as authoritative scripture by their introductory formula), as well as references and thematic allusions. Nonetheless, this literature had a role to play as part of the rich haggadic tradition in rabbinic schooling, in liturgical practice in the congregations, and in Jewish popular piety (cf. b. Git. 57B; b. Sanh. 100b).

2

Historical and Legendary Texts

The Third Book of Ezra (= LXX 1 Esdras)6 contains an independent compilation of biblical excerpts, which mainly come from parts of the Hebrew books of Ezra and Nehemiah (= LXX 2 Esdras). This book, which came into being in the Egyptian Diaspora in the second century BCE, contains an accurate but linguistically free Greek translation, which probably emerged earlier than the Greek version of 2 Esdras, which stays close to the Hebrew text. 3 Ezra presents a reinterpretation of materials from 2 Chr 35f. to Ezra 10 and Neh 7:72–8:3a in connection with the peculiar narrative of the »contest of the three servants« (Ezra 3:1–5:6), which is linked literarily with the reconstruction of the temple in Jerusalem. The book has pilgrimage festivals at the beginning and the end. Its two protagonists (Josiah and Ezra) are closely linked by the motif of the »rediscovery of the Torah of Moses,« which may explain the historical bridge from Josiah’s Passover to Ezra’s reading of the Torah in 3 Ezra. At 9:55 the narrative is interrupted in mid-sentence (»and they gathered ...«); it is generally assumed that the feast of Tabernacles of Neh 8:13–18 is meant. The First Book of Maccabees,7 which came into being between 140 and 63 BCE, gives an account of the background and course of the Maccabean uprising. In the style of the Chronicler and in the form of a series of stories, the book describes the conflict between the Judean Jews and the Hellenistic rulers, the heroic struggle of the three Maccabee brothers Judah, Jonathan, and Simon for the liberation of Judea from Seleucid dominance, and the rise of the Hasmonean dynasty up to the murder of Simon (175–135 BCE). Although there are no surviving text witnesses to the book, which was handed down only in the Christian tradition, the existence of a lost Hebrew original is

6 Cf. R. Hanhart, Esdrae Liber I, Septuaginta VIII,1, 2nd ed., Göttingen, 1991. 7 Cf. W. Kappler, Maccabaeorum Liber I, Septuaginta IX,1, 3rd ed., Göttingen, 1990; M. Tilly, 1 Makkabäer, HThKAT, Freiburg im Breisgau, 2015.

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suggested by its Hebraizing phraseology and diction and by the witness of St. Jerome (ca. 400 CE). At the center of the events narrated is the attempt by a segment of the Jerusalem aristocracy, with the support of the Syrian ruler Antiochus IV Epiphanes, to rescind the Torah as its constitution, to change the Temple state into a Hellenistic city, and to consolidate their own position of power (1:11–16). The First Book of Maccabees presents this failed coup by an aristocratic minority as a general religious persecution, at the same time equating the objectives of their religious opponents with those of the people as a whole. The Maccabee brothers and their opponents are constantly contrasted using stereotypes and polarization. The unknown author of the historical narrative focused on the assimilation efforts on the part of many of his compatriots, which he regarded as signs of religious and cultural decline, and so branded as illegitimate (cf. 1:11). In his Hasmonean-friendly account of the military and diplomatic events, he displayed how the Maccabee brothers succeeded in an anti-Hellenistic movement, defending against the violent efforts toward cultural and religious modernization within the Jerusalem upper classes. He stressed the political-national side of the action by citing a series of letters, alliance treaties, and decrees (e.g. 12:6–23). The opening, introductory part of the book (1:1–2:70) tells of the background to the uprising. The second part (3:1–9:22) deals with the military successes of the uprising and of the renewal of the Temple cult under the leadership of Judas. In the third part (9:23–12:53) there is an account of the consolidation of power and the founding of the high priesthood of the Hasmonean dynasty under Jonathan. The fourth part (13:1–16:24) is occupied with the Jews’ complete independence from the Syrians under the rule of Simon. A key function of 1 Maccabees consists in the internal political legitimation of the Hasmonean dynasty, which appealed to neither a royal (Davidic) nor a priestly (Zadokite) lineage. This work of propaganda can be seen as a literary effort to deal with the looming disintegration of the anti-Hellenistic following of the Maccabee brothers. The controversial Jewish dynasty was consistently represented as a house of religious zealots and fighters for Torah, temple, and cult. Judas Maccabeus appears as God’s instrument (3:18f. ). His brother Simon’s rise to power (13:1–9) was depicted as the fulfillment of the hopes of the pious rebels, even though it was a Hellenistic prince’s declaration of autonomy. After the failed attempt of the Hellenistic reformers to forcibly correct various fundamental stipulations of the Torah, further intellectual development of Judaism concentrated on the Torah itself. The Second Book of Maccabees8 also tells the story of conflict between the faithful inhabitants of Judea and the Seleucid kings from Antiochus IV Epiphanes to Demetrius I Soter. It is not, however, a continuation of the First Book of Maccabees, as it begins with the end of the rule of Seleucus IV Philopator (187–175 BCE) and goes

8 Cf. R. Hanhart and W. Kappler, Maccabaeorum Liber II, Septuaginta IX,2, 2nd ed., Göttingen, 1976; Daniel R. Schwartz, 2 Maccabees, CEJL, Berlin, 2008.

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on to offer an alternative account of the events described in 1 Macc 2:52–7:50. This work, originally written in Greek and also preserved only in the Christian tradition, represents a summary of the (lost) five-volume historical account of Jason of Cyrene (2:19–32). The book’s date is disputed. A possible window is from 124 BCE to the beginning of the first century CE. Linguistic peculiarities, the critical distance from Hasmonean rule, and the anti-Roman slant of the book point to its having come into being before 63 BCE. The audience of this account were the Alexandrian Jews, whose attention the author steered toward the fate of their brothers and sisters in the Land of Israel, and to the fortunes of the Temple as the focus of religious life. The beginning of the book contains one genuine (1:1–9) and one fictitious letter (1:10–2:18) from the Jews of Jerusalem to their brethren in the Egyptian Diaspora. Chapter 3 relates the background story of the failed sacking of the Temple by Heliodorus, which champions the inviolable sanctity of the sanctuary. The first main part (4:1–10:9) deals with the desecration of the Temple, religious persecution under the Seleucids, the victory of Judas Maccabee, and the resumption of sacrifices in accordance with the ancestral law. The second main part (10:10–15:36) offers an account of the defense of the Temple by the rebels. The book ends with a concluding note by the author (15:37–39). In the Second Book of Maccabees a prime concern was to glorify the Jerusalem Temple as a sign of the covenant faithfulness of God (10:1–9) . The message aligns with the Deuteronomistic model of history: if the people are guilty, they are punished by God; if they repent, they are saved. The failings of an individual bring culpability upon the community as a whole (4:16f.; 7:18; 10:4). At the same time, the narrator emphasizes how important it is that the righteous remain true to their religion (6:24–28). While the Jewish heroes resist Hellenization, the author writes in the style of the Hellenistic historians, unashamedly bringing in Greek notions of the underworld (6:23) and adopting a Hellenistic perspective—speaking several times of »barbarians« (2:21; 4:25; 10:4). The Second Book of Maccabees contains the first clear reference to creatio ex nihilo (7:28) and is one of the early witnesses to Jewish hope for the bodily resurrection of the pious (7:9, 11, 14, 23, 29, 36; 14:37–46). It is a lively testimony of Jewish faith, as well as being a model of Greek historiography and one of the most important sources of information on the Seleucid monarchy. The Third Book of Maccabees,9 in genre the etiology of an annual Diaspora festival, tells in Greek of the persecution of the Alexandrian Jews and their faith by a pagan king (Ptolemy IV Philopator, 221–204 BCE). It narrates their salvation through a divine miracle of deliverance, which saves the pious from being murdered in the Alexandrian hippodrome. The text’s references to 2 Maccabees (e.g. 2 Macc 3:1–40; 6:1–9; 9:3f. ) and numerous allusions to the Letter of Aristeas (see below; e.g. Arist 22–25; 83–91; 128–166; 184–186) as well as the narrowing of the geographical frame9 Cf. Robert Hanhart, Maccabaeorum Liber III, Septuaginta IX,3, 2nd ed., Göttingen, 1980.

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work indicate that the work was composed in Egypt toward the end of the first century BCE. The content of the book goes back to pre-Maccabean times and recounts events that are supposed to have taken place in 217 BCE. Its five-part structure complies with the principles of ancient drama and rhetoric. The festival legend is meant to be a way of strengthening faith in God’s help in times of distress. Throughout the work, the author emphasizes the equal fate of the Palestinian and the Egyptian Jews, in particular their faith as experienced and practiced. Third Maccabees is regarded as a cult etiology; in fact, however, the etiological element is only a medium for an internal Jewish controversy. The book re-examines Jerusalem’s claim to religious leadership in the Diaspora as well as at home and draws attention to the exemplary nature of Egyptian Judaism. The Book of Judith10 is found only in the LXX and the »old« translations that depend on it—in Latin, Syriac, etc. It was written toward the end of Persian rule. The novelistic didactic narrative is about the rescue of the city of Bethulia (i.e. Jerusalem) from the Assyrian army of Holofernes by young, rich, clever, brave, and godly Judith. Handed down in various forms of the Greek text, the book of Judith contains syntax and vocabulary elements that make it appear to be a translation of a Semitic original (as Jerome says in his preamble to the Latin translation of the Bible). However, it uses the LXX rather than the MT, and also uses stylistic figures that are not »translation Greek.« The present Greek text of Judith is an independent version of a lost Semitic model. Arguments in favor of a post-150 BCE date for the origin Greek Judith are— besides the borrowing of Hellenistic motifs (cf. 12:15–19)—echoes of Dan 2f. (Nebuchadnezzar’s dream), and the books of Maccabees. The narrator’s historical situation is probably the Hasmonean period. The Hebrew original points to the book’s having originated in Palestine. References to the book of Judith in Clement of Rome’s Epistle to the Corinthians (1 Clement, ca. 90 CE)11 provide a secure terminus ad quem for its present Greek version. The fictional narrative refers to the events shortly after the Babylonian Exile, looking back on the crisis under Antiochus IV. It is necessary to understand its references to older biblical books. These books are constantly reinterpreted for changing times. Individual figures, episodes, motifs, and stories (identity-creating threat-and-rescue stories in particular) are taken up and linked together as a historical construct with contrasting individual actors and scenes. Given the signs of fabrication in the designation of the ruler of the Neo-Babylonian Empire as king of the Assyrians in Nineveh (1:6), along with the imaginary geography and chronology, the narrative is presented from the outset as a parabolic condensation of events. Its speeches and prayers emphasize its didactic character.

10 Cf. Robert Hanhart, Iudith, Septuaginta VIII,4, Göttingen, 1979; Dov L. Gera, Judith, CEJL, Berlin, 2013. 11 1 Clem 55:3–5; 59:3f.

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In Judith, the narrator brings together features of great women of the biblical tradition. In her courageous rescue act she fulfills the will of God; by her programmatic name she becomes a type for all God-fearing Jews. The story of Judith’s resistance and her resolute faith in God is a literary expression of the conflict between the God of Israel and the anti-divine powers, in other words between the endangered Judeans and the foreign peoples and rulers around them. The book of Judith asserts the encouraging message that there is no need for the godly to despair as they persevere in the Jewish faith—even in troubled times. This time of tribulation could, instead, be interpreted as a test on the part of Almighty God, who can utilize anything, even things that are opposed to him, but never abandons his people to their enemies. Part of the Greek version of the book of Esther, namely the traditional text of the Septuagint, contains six additions, which vary in terms of form and content.12 These supplementary embellishments, totaling approximately 100 verses, use an edifying, novelistic style to enhance the religious content of the biblical book of Esther. They also correct the omission of any explicit mention of God in the book. • Addition A (dream vision of the Judean Mordechai and discovery of the conspiracy) before 1:1 (MT); • Addition B (text of the anti-Jewish decree of the Persian king) after 3:13 (MT); • Addition C (long prayers by Mordechai and Esther composed from different elements of biblical literature) after 4:17 (MT); • Addition D (detailed dramatic account of the course of Esther’s audience with the king, during which she pleads for the lives of her people) in place of 5:1–2 (MT); • Addition E (counter-decree of the Persian king to protect his righteous Jewish subjects) after 8:12 (MT); • Addition F (interpretation of Mordechai’s dream and authenticating signature to the Greek book of Esther) after 10:3 (MT). The additions to Esther probably came into being during the Second Temple period; Josephus already seems to have been familiar with them (Ant. XI 184–296). As the book of Esther enjoyed great popularity in ancient Judaism, a narrative pool of different haggadic units seems to have been created from which the individual strands of the tradition drew. The Greek version of the book of Daniel13 and the versions that depend on it include three major blocks of text not found in the Aramaic and Hebrew book: • Susanna; • Bel and the Dragon; • Prayer of Azariah; the three men in the fiery furnace. 12 Cf. Robert Hanhart, Esther, Septuaginta VIII,3, 2nd ed., Göttingen, 1983. The shorter A-text of Esther is attested by a number of early medieval manuscripts (Mss. 19, 93, 108, 319, 392). 13 Cf. Joseph Ziegler, Susanna, Daniel, Bel et Draco, Septuaginta XVI,2, Göttingen, 1999.

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All the texts have been preserved in the Christian transmission of the Septuagint, while not handed down in rabbinic tradition. As additions to the Greek book of Daniel, the two edifying narratives, the lament and the hymn, show with what freedom they were initially handed down.14 Whether these haggadic pieces go back to Semitic originals can no longer be determined. The story of the rescue of Susanna by Daniel is transmitted only in the two versions of the Greek book of Daniel. It tells of how a beautiful and godly woman is sexually harassed by two Jewish elders, and then falsely accused of adultery and sentenced to death. Young Daniel, imbued by the spirit of God, saves her by convicting the miscreants in skillful interrogation. The narrative is extant in an older version (SusLXX) and a younger one (SusTh). In SusLXX (ca. 125–75 BCE) it is found after ch. 12 in the »appendix« to the book of Daniel, while in SusTh (origin ca. 25 BCE—25 CE) it comes before Dan 1–12. The Susanna story is a »haggadic midrash« on Dan 1:1–6, which gives an account of Daniel’s and his friends’ education at the Babylonian court. Numerous factual and chronological difficulties are clarified in this expansion of the Daniel material. The didactic, parenetic narrative also contains motifs from popular tradition. The story takes place within a Jewish community with its own administration and jurisdiction. Unlike in Dan 1–12, here it is not foreign rulers that prove unlawful and ungodly, but the Jews’ own authorities. Discernible in the text of SusLXX is implied criticism of the governance and behavior of the ruling Hasmonean dynasty. The placing of the younger version of the Susanna narrative before Dan 1–12 in SusTh gives the narrative the character of a »childhood story.« The expansion of SusTh 1–6 situates the characters in a remote location and a back in the past. The new version SusTh reflects Palestinian Judaism’s changed historical situation visà-vis the origins of SusLXX, since the country came under direct Roman administration. In this period, neither politics nor jurisdiction was still in Jewish hands. The older authority-critical narrative in SusLXX is presented in SusTh as an edifying example story, the aim of which is to teach virtue and emphasize Daniel’s prophetic gift. The narrative of Daniel and Bel and the Dragon/Serpent is found only in the Greek Daniel. The text consists of three parts, the first of which has Daniel uncover the deceit of the priests of Bel (BelDr 1–22), while the second depicts his victorious fight against the dragon in Babylon (BelDr 23–27), and the third deals with his miraculous deliverance from the lions’ den (BelDr 28–42). BelDr is extant in two versions (LXX and Th). The fact that the non-Jewish ruler is portrayed positively suggests that the narrative emerged before the crisis under Antiochus IV (175–164 BCE). In the first two episodes, Daniel demonstrates the deficiencies of the divinity worshiped by the Babylonians. Indigenous cults are ridiculed. The image of Bel (i.e.

14 Cf. Michael Tilly, »Die Rezeption des Danielbuches im hellenistischen Judentum,« in Die Geschichte der Daniel-Auslegung in Judentum, Christentum und Islam, ed. Katharina A. Bracht and David S. du Toit, BZAW 371, Berlin, 2007, 31–54.

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Marduk) proves lifeless and powerless and is ultimately destroyed. The dragon can consume food but having eaten, it, too, dies. Foodstuffs and the ability to distinguish between beneficial and unhealthy foods also plays an important role on the narrative margin of the confrontation stories: the priests who secretly eat the gifts for Bel are judged and found guilty by Daniel. The lions that are supposed to devour Daniel spare him. Daniel is saved from starvation by the prophet Habakkuk and is presented as a model of faith, keeping Jewish food laws even in a non-Jewish environment under the continued pressures of assimilation. The narrative of BelDr illustrates the identity-forming significance of individual piety even in the Babylonian exile. In Dan 3, the prayers of Azariah and his friends are inserted between vv. 23 and 24 (MT) together with a short narrative about their miraculous fortunes in the fiery furnace. The 66-verse text, absent from the Hebrew and Aramaic book of Daniel, consists of an introductory remark about the praise of God by the three men (vv. 24f.) and a communal lament (vv. 24–45). The Prayer of Azariah interrupts the narrative context of the Aramaic text; the men suffer there precisely because of their uncompromising faith and therefore have no need of repentance and confession of sin. After a narrative transition (vv. 46–51) canticle of praise by the three men follows (vv. 52–90)—a hymn to the Creator God. The religious persecution under Antiochus IV is the assumed background to the Prayer of Azariah. The sacking of the city and the desecration of the Temple are interpreted as a just punishment. It is not the iniquities of foreign rulers that cause the suffering of the pious but the sins of the people of Israel itself, its failure to honor the covenant and its disregard for the Torah. All that is left for the pious, in the face of the impending calamity, is to seek refuge with the God of Israel, to hope in his saving covenant promise, and to pray to him continually. The Paraleipomena Jeremiou (The Things Omitted from Jeremiah = 4Bar)15 is an interpretive sequel to the book of Jeremiah which utilizes the promises in the history and proclamation of the prophet Jeremiah in interpreting and coping with their own experiences. The text, originally written in Greek and handed down only within the tradition of the Eastern churches, is preserved in one long and two short versions. The terminus a quo is the retrospect on the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE reflected in the account of the events of 587 BCE. The probable date of the work, which is addressed to a Jewish readership, is the first third of the second century CE. A Palestinian origin is likely in view of the work’s frequent Septuagintisms, the author’s exact knowledge of the topography of Jerusalem (cf. 3:10,15; 4:1; 5:9; 6:16), and his special interest in the Samaritans (8:1–9). The events narrated begin on the night of the conquest of Jerusalem by the Babylonians in 587 BCE. In a vision, God informs the prophet Jeremiah of the

15 Cf. Robert A. Kraft and Ann-Elisabeth Purintun, Paraleipomena Jeremiou, SBL.TT 1, Missoula/ MT, 1972; Jens Herzer, Die Paralipomena Jeremiae, TSAJ 43, Tübingen, 1994.

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imminent destruction of Jerusalem because of the sins of its inhabitants, giving him time to bury the temple objects and save his servant Abimelech (cf. Jer 38:7). The Babylonians conquer Jerusalem and Jeremiah follows a contingent of the people into exile, while his scribe Baruch remains in Jerusalem. Abimelech falls into a 66-year sleep. He and Baruch then meet again and try to communicate with Jeremiah in Babylon. The latter promises a return for the exiles, while calling on them to separate themselves from their non-Jewish environment. Finally, the Israelites return home to Jerusalem. The text ends with a description of the death of Jeremiah that shows evidence of major Christian revision (with use of christological expressions; cf. 9:13f.). In the Paraleipomena Jeremiou, the disaster of the destruction of the Temple is interpreted retrospectively as a judgment which the people brought upon themselves. On the other hand, the basic religious sentiment of the book is marked by unbroken trust in the present and future mercy and goodness of God. The history of the liberation of the people of Israel from captivity becomes a paradigm of the bodily resurrection in the Eschaton (6:3). The Vitae Prophetarum (Lives of the Prophets)16 contains legendary short biographies of the four major prophets, the twelve prophets of the so-called Minor Prophets, as well as seven prophets from the historical books (Nathan; Ahijah the Shilonite; Joad; Azariah; Elijah; Elisha; Zechariah ben Jehoiada). Manuscripts of the text are preserved only in Christian revisions and translations. If the collection of vitae is not to be regarded as genuinely Christian17 but based on an underlying—Semitic or Greek—Jewish writing, then the composition of this foundation of a Jewish »hagiography«18 probably came into being by the second century CE at the latest, as some of the traditions collected in the Vitae are also to be found in the extrabiblical Jewish writings of this period. These texts also display agreements with the short biographies popular in the Hellenistic-Roman sphere from the third century BCE onward. A witness to the reception of the biblical prophets in ancient Judaism, the Vitae prophetarum provides details of Palestinian geography not found in the biblical tradition. From this we may conclude that the author was a Palestinian Jew, possibly even an inhabitant of Jerusalem. Framed by a title and a concluding statement, the 23 short biographies of the biblical prophets generally follow a stereotypical structure. An indication of the name, origin, and home of the prophet is followed by details of the location of his grave, of the miracles and signs he performed, of his violent death, and of his announcement of the signs of the end-times. Such a contemporizing interpretation of the prophetic literature of revelation is notable because it views the biblical

16 Cf. Charles C. Torrey, The Lives of the Prophets, JBL.MS 1, Philadelphia/PA, 1946; Anna M. Schwemer, Studien zu den frühjüdischen Prophetenlegenden Vitae Prophetarum, 2 vols., TSAJ 49f., Tübingen, 1995/96. 17 Cf. David Satran, Biblical Prophets in Byzantine Palestine, SVTP 11, Leiden, 1995. 18 Cf. Michael E. Stone, »Prophets, Lives of the«, EncJud 13 (1972), 1149f.

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writing prophets no longer as bringing a socio-critical message relating to the present or the immediate future, but as announcing events far ahead. Their messages serve as predictions of eschatological processes and events planned by God in accordance with his salvation-historical purpose.

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Fragments of Hellenistic-Jewish Historians

The Fragments of Hellenistic-Jewish Historians19 are preserved incompletely in the Christian tradition. They may be regarded as early witnesses to the use of the Greek language and literary forms in ancient Judaism. All of these Jewish writings, quoted by Alexander Polyhistor in his compilation, »On the Jews,« and taken from there into the works of Eusebius of Caesarea and Clement of Alexandria, represent significant examples of the interdependence of a traditional way of life and Hellenistic culture. They aid the historical reconstruction of Jewish life and Jewish teachings of the era. They are important for early traditions of understanding and interpreting Jewish scriptures. The Jewish historian Eupolemos is an early witness to the use of the Torah in Greek translation. He wrote around 150 BCE, probably in Palestine (cf. 1 Macc 8:17f.; 2 Macc 4:11). In his »History of the Kings of Judah,« only five quotation fragments of which are extant,20 he used a Greek version of the books of Chronicles alongside the Hebrew text of the Bible, which is evident from frequent echoes of the Greek wording of these writings. Moreover, his chronology for the period between Adam and Moses seems to follow Greek tradition. Eupolemos the historian is to be distinguished from an anonymous Samaritan author under the name of Pseudo-Eupolemos. This work emerged in the second century BCE, in single fragment.21 The highlighting of the Samaritan sanctuary on Mount Gerizim and the reception of older legends of the patriarchs, in particular the naming of Abraham as the first inventor and teacher of astrology are notable in that fragment. In the mid-second century BCE, the Alexandrian Jewish writer Artapanos wrote a work »On the Jews,« three fragments of which survived.22 These fragments depict Abraham as the inventor of astrology, Joseph as the inventor of surveying, and Moses as a creator of religion and culture in Egypt. The latter, a midrash-like retelling of Ex 1–17, accentuates the principle of the superiority of Judaism over the Egyptian cultures.

19 Cf. Carl R. Holladay, Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish Authors. Volume I: Historians, SBL.TT 20, Chico/CA, 1983. 20 Cf. Eusebius, Praep Ev IX 26.1; 30.1 – 34.18; Clement, Strom I 141.4f. 21 Cf. Eusebius, Praep Ev IX 17.2–9. 22 Cf. Eusebius, Praep Ev IX 18.1; 23.1–4; 27.1–37.

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Two works were handed down together pseudepigraphically under the name of the popular Greek historian Hecataeus of Abdera (ca. 300 BCE). Each are preserved in two fragments,23 by two different Egyptian Jewish authors. The first assumes a non-Jewish position in his propagandistic description of Judaism around 100 BCE (mention is made of Moses, the Exodus, and the Babylonian Exile), while the second gives an apologetic discussion of the life of Abraham as the first monotheist and his relationship with the Egyptians.

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Teachings in Narrative Form

The Book of Tobit24 is theological wisdom with novelistic features. It presents a model Jewish life in the Diaspora in the form of a graphically shaped family history. The different forms of Greek texts of the book go back to at least one Semitic model, confirmed by the witness of Jerome and finds of Hebrew and Aramaic fragments in the Dead Sea25 caves. This heterogeneity confirms that the popular narrative material of the Tobit tradition existed in multiple forms in the earliest strata of its tradition; and the »redactional« activity of its tradents continued into the first century CE. The historical inconsistencies of the book of Tobit characterize fictional narrative. Its protagonist witnesses important events in Israel’s history across more than three centuries. While the recognition of the commandments in the »Book of Moses« (6:13; 7:11–13) and the prophetic books as authoritative Holy Scripture (14:4) points to the fourth century BCE as terminus a quo, the Maccabean age with its strictly anti-pagan attitude, for which there is no match in Tobit (13:11; 14:6f.), can be viewed as the terminus ante quem. It most probably came into being around 200 BCE in the eastern Diaspora. This is indicated by the motif of endogamy and the emphasis on food law observance as »exile« problems. The short superscription (1:1f.) is followed by an exposition which tells of the suffering of Tobit and Sarah, in two parallel storylines. The main part (4:1–14:1a) contains an account of the adventurous journey Tobias from Nineveh to Media, his matching and marriage with Sarah, as well as the healing of Tobit from his unmerited blindness. The epilogue (14:1b–15) sets the events in a salvation-historical sequence. The three key words, »truth,« »justice,« and »mercy,« function as starting points for a reinterpretation of the Torah emphasizing care of the poor, respect for one’s parents, brotherly love, and endogamy. The manifestation of God’s saving power and the reward of the righteous with wealth, posterity, and a long, happy life take place in the here-and-now. Messianic expectations are absent. Pagan ideas from medicine and magic are integrated into the Jewish world by the angel Raphael.

23 Cf. Josephus, Ant I 154–68; Ap I 183–205, 213f.; II 43; Clement, Strom V 113, 1f. 24 Cf. Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Tobit, CEJL, Berlin, 2013. 25 4Q196–4Q199 (Aram.); 4Q200 (Hebr.).

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The book shows that God hears the prayers of the Judeans deported to Mesopotamia, guiding them in their time of danger and sustaining them in their misfortune, if they remain faithful to him and keep his commandments. The Letter of Aristeas26 is a pseudepigraphal epistolary novel in elevated Greek. It presents an apology for Hellenistic Judaism, giving a legendary account of the emergence of a Greek translation of the Pentateuch. Its author, who professes to have been present at the events narrated, claims not to be Jewish, but he nonetheless comes from the upper echelons of Hellenized Alexandrian Judaism. The fictional account goes back to the second half of the second century BCE. This date is supported by the titles and formulaic phrases which are not attested in Ptolemaic documents until after 150 BCE (§§ 32, 37, 40 etc.), historical errors by the narrator (§ 9), and the emphasis on the author’s distance from the narrative time (§§ 28, 182). The Letter of Aristeas was known already to Philo of Alexandria (De vita Mosis II 25–44) and is extensively paraphrased by Josephus (Ant XII 11–118). The writing is similar in genre to contemporary Hellenistic »Mirror of Princes«, which represent the model image of a ruler and his rights, duties, and powers. Sources include biblical traditions (Ezek 40–48; Ezra 6–8; Neh 2; 8) as well as numerous Hellenistic texts. The documents quoted in the Letter of Aristeas are fabrications, the intention being to lend authenticity to the work. The Letter of Aristeas27 describes the circumstances of the translation of the Torah into Greek during the time of the Egyptian king Ptolemy II Philadelphos (282–246 BCE) and presents an idealized description of the city of Jerusalem and its Temple. The significance of the legendary depiction of the inspired translation of the Torah into Greek should not be overestimated, given the propagandistic religious and political stance of the writing. It is not the main focus of the account, either by text length or subject matter. The Letter of Aristeas is marked first and foremost by an apologetic concern to present Jewish commandments and the Jewish cult not only as inviolable and venerable, but also as sensible and reasonable. The anonymous Jewish writer viewed the commandments of the Torah as the ideal embodiment of the Hellenistic doctrine of virtue. His prime concern was to stress the cultic position of Jerusalem and the close relations between this city and the Alexandrian community. The Book of Jubilees28 claims to contain the account of the revelation to Moses on Sinai, communicated by an angel. In genre, it is a continuous narrative retelling of Gen 1 to Ex 20. 26 Cf. Moses Hadas, Aristeas to Philocrates, JAL, New York, 1951; A. Pelletier, Lettre d’Aristée à Philocrate, SC 89, Paris, 1962; Kai Brodersen, Aristeas: Der König und die Bibel, Stuttgart, 2008. 27 Cf. Henry St.J. Thackeray, »The Letter of Aristeas,« in An Introduction to the Old Testament in Greek, ed. Henry B. Swete, Cambridge, 1914, 531–606; Hadas, Aristeas to Philocrates; Rowland J.H. Shutt, »Letter of Aristeas,« in OTP 2, 1985, 7–34. 28 Cf. James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees, 2 vols., CSCO 510f., Leuven, 1989; idem, Jubilees, 2 vols., Hermeneia, Minneapolis/MN, 2018.

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Its full text has come down to us only in an Ethiopic version translated from the Greek. The discovery of Hebrew fragments of the book of Jubilees at Qumran, the oldest of which are dated to the last years of the second century BCE, shows that it was read there, and originally written in Hebrew. The author’s involvement in the crisis under Antiochus IV indicates that the emergence of the work can be confidently situated in Palestine in the second half of the second century BCE. Similarities in content with 1 Enoch 1–36 point to the fact that its author was at home in the priestly circles that were behind this part of the Enoch literature. Jubilees presents itself as a revelation given to Moses of the world order and the course of world history (1:26). The book divides salvation history into successive »jubilees« (periods of 49 years) by means of a symbolically charged scheme of sevens. Within this history, the connection between deeds and consequences seems to have been rendered inoperative, for the present, despite all pious efforts, was oppressive. The divine plan of history was an eschatological new creation and the dawn of the universal reign of God. The idea was a correspondence between paradise of long ago and eschatological salvation in the future. Yet Jubilees has little interest in future events. It seems much more interested in the perfect times of distant memory. So, it constantly inserts controversial provisions and customs into the time of Israel’s patriarchs. The hoped-for future time of salvation is presented as this-worldly, and within history. It is similar to writings that fall squarely within apocalyptic literature. References in Jubilees to the certainty of salvation have the function of tighteningup Torah observance. To understand its ethics, it is therefore necessary to appreciate the indissoluble connection between ethics and eschatology. For the author, the keeping of the Mosaic law was the condition for participation in the coming time of salvation. In Jubilees, securing the Jewish identity threatened by Hellenism, and answering the question of theodicy occurs less by depicting a radical reversal of earthly conditions than by reminding people of the lost time of perfection. The pious priestly milieu in which the book was written justified its anti-Hellenistic self-understanding, backed by the authority of Moses. The third or fourth-century CE Christian account of the prophet Isaiah’s ascension to heaven, Ascensio Isaiae, transmitted in Greek since Jerome, preserved in full only in the Ethiopic version, is described as the Martyrdom of Isaiah (Ascen. Isa. 1.1–2a, 6b–13a; 2.1–3.12; 5.1b–14).29 This Jewish »hagiography« with Christian interpolations and supplements was apparently authored in Hebrew in Palestine, by the first century CE at the latest. It fills in the missing information about the background and circumstances surrounding the death of the prophet. The parallels between the Dead Sea Scrolls and the martyrdom of Isaiah (dualism, designation of God’s opponent as Beliar, critique of the temple cult, wilderness typology) indicate that some of the traditions preserved were familiar to circles that produced the scrolls.

29 Cf. Robert H. Charles, The Ascension of Isaiah, London, 1900; Eugène Tisserant, Ascension d’Isaie, DEB, Paris, 1909; Jonathan Knight, The Ascension of Isaiah, Sheffield, 1995.

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The legendary martyrdom account tells of Isaiah’s proclamation to King Hezekiah and his son Manasseh, whose special wickedness (cf. 2 Kgs 21:16) and devotion to Beliar, Samael, and Satan caused him to persecute the prophets of God. The prophets withdraw to the rocky desert of Judea to live there in purity in accordance with the commandments of God. Based on his betrayal and accusation by the lying prophet Balkira, Isaiah is finally executed in a hollow tree trunk by being sawn in half, the narrator emphasizing his exemplary perseverance and resilience. The martyr story reassured and encouraged its Jewish addressees during an oppressive situation. A sequel to Gen 3–5 has been handed down as a Life of Adam and Eve (Latin)30 or Apocalypse of Moses (Greek).31 Both versions, which date from the third to the fifth century CE, display differences in form and content, but still draw from a common source, no longer extant. This source came into being no later than the beginning of the second century CE in a probably Greek-speaking Jewish Palestinian environment. The story unfolds the conflict between the fallen creation based on a haggadic development of the life of the first two humans after their expulsion from Paradise, with some flashbacks to the seduction of the first man and woman. It is especially interested in the end of the earthly life of Adam and Eve. The Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum, the »Book of Biblical Antiquities,« retells biblical history from the creation to the death of Saul.32 It is regarded as an important witness to the way scribes handled the biblical tradition in ancient Judaism. This work, falsely ascribed in the Middle Ages to Philo of Alexandria, was originally written in Hebrew, and later translated into Greek and from thence into Latin. Support for a Hebrew original is found in the fact that quotations from the Bible in the book almost never follow the LXX against the Masoretic textual tradition and that the Hebrew place names and personal names are retained. LAB is preserved in a series of Latin text witnesses from the 11th to the 15th century. The terminus a quo for the final version is generally thought to be the first century CE; whether it should be dated before or after the destruction of the temple in 70 CE is a matter of dispute. Palestine is assumed to be the place of composition. The author picks up numerous haggadic traditions that are also found elsewhere in ancient Jewish literature. He presents the relationship between the biblical text and such traditions in a heterogeneous way: with only certain sections of text given detailed attention; other passages are shortened or even omitted altogether. Pseudo-Philo makes clear that obedience to the law is always rewarded and breaches of the law are always punished. This strict moral causality does not, however, mean that the people of Israel must live in constant fear of being rejected by

30 Cf. Wilhelm Meyer, Vita Adae et Evae, ABAW.PP 14,3, Munich, 1878, 187–250. 31 Cf. Daniel A. Bertrand, La Vie grecque d’Adam et Ève, Paris, 1987. 32 Cf. Howard Jacobson, A Commentary on Pseudo-Philo’s Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum, 2 vols., AGJU 31, Leiden, 1996.

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their God. Rather, a further concern of the author conveys hope to his readers: all sins will be acknowledged and punished by God, but they will not bring an end to the covenant. Joseph and Aseneth,33 which bears features of the Hellenistic novel, contains a narrative solution to the problem found in the biblical Joseph novella: the son of Jacob marries the daughter of an Egyptian priest (cf. Gen 41:45–49), and gives a detailed account of how the latter converts to the God of Israel. The earliest text witnesses are Syriac manuscripts from the 6th century CE; the oldest extant Greek manuscripts date to the Middle Ages—in a (probably older) long text (ed. Burchard) and a short text (ed. Philonenko). Dating it to the early second century CE at the latest is suggested by the keen interest in proselytes (which dissipated after the war with Hadrian) as well as the numerous correspondences with contemporary Hellenistic novels. Joseph and Aseneth was written in Greek by an educated Alexandrian Jew (cf. 1:5; 4:10; 7:1). The events narrated consist of two units which are linked in 1:1 and 22:1 by means of chronological information from Gen 41:47, 53. In 1:1–21:21 the concern is the background history and course of the marriage between Aseneth and Joseph (enabled by her conversion). Then in 22:1–29:9 we read of the futile attempt of the firstborn of Pharaoh to win Aseneth by force and become king of Egypt. In its combination of love story and conversion drama, Joseph and Aseneth reflects the opportunities, threats, and potential for conflict of Jewish life in upper-class Alexandria. The boundaries between Jews and non-Jews are linked with the Jewish ethos of the fear of God as the fundamental standard.

5

Teachings in Didactic Form

The Book of Jesus Sirach (Greek tradition) or Ben Sira (rabbinic tradition) is a wisdom writing consisting of numerous individual proverbs.34 It contains statements on all areas of everyday life as well as reflections on wisdom, fear of God, theodicy, and salvation history. According to its own testimony, the book aims to teach wisdom and guide a young audience into right conduct of life. The full text is extant only in a Greek translation, which was handed down in two different text forms from an early date. The Sirach fragments from the Cairo Genizah and from the Judean desert comprise around 68% of its total volume. In the prologue to the Greek translation of the book, the unnamed grandson of Sirach, who belonged to the upper echelons in Jerusalem (cf. 38:24; 39:4, 10f.), says he came to Egypt from

33 Cf. Marc Philonenko, Joseph et Aséneth, SPB 13, Leiden, 1968; Christoph Burchard, Joseph und Aseneth, PVTG 5, Leiden, 2003. 34 Cf. Joseph Ziegler, Sapientia Iesu Filii Sirach, Septuaginta XII,2, 2nd ed., Göttingen, 1980; Pancratius C. Beentjes, The Book of Ben Sira in Hebrew, VTSup 68, Leiden, 1997; Richard J. Coggins, Sirach, Sheffield, 1998.

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Palestine in the 38th year of the reign of Ptolemy VIII Euergetes (170–116 BCE). If this calculation is made from the co-regency of the Ptolemaic king, the date corresponds to the year 132 BCE; if the date refers to the beginning of his sole-rule, then the year is 107 BCE. The Hebrew original was written by the translator’s grandfather, so probably in Jerusalem in the first quarter of the second century. The book is structured as a thematically arranged collection of wisdom proverbs which admonish the reader to a godly life (chs. 1–23), wisdom teachings concerning life in public (chs. 24–42), a praise of God in creation, history, and the present (chs. 42–50), as well as a hymn to Wisdom (ch. 51). There is a striking variety of forms of speech (proverb, didactic lecture, didactic poem, autobiographical notes, prayers of petition, hymnic sections, historical portraits); the individual verse units are shaped by alliteration, rhyme, chiasms, and inclusions. On one hand the work warns against the dangers of the Hellenistic lifestyle (9:1–9; 32:1–8), while on the other it reveals an unashamed acceptance of Greek culture (31:12–32:13). The book of Sirach is the only non-canonical book that the rabbis ever treated as though it were a canonical book (cf. t. Yad. 2.13; b. Hag. 13a). The high esteem in which it was held is evident in part in the fact that the sages quoted it using the same introductory formulas as for the authoritative holy scriptures. But in y. Sanh. 28a, 17, R. Aqiba includes it among the »outside« books, readers of which have no share in the world to come. The Wisdom of Solomon35 is seen (especially in chs. 7–9) as a eulogy to King Solomon (cf. 1 Kgs 3:12; 5:12f.; 10:6). This work, originally written in Greek and initially transmitted as anonymous, is a product of Hellenistic Diaspora Judaism which grew in a collective literary process, being ascribed to Solomon only at a later stage. It was not embraced by the rabbis and has been preserved only in manuscripts handed down in the Christian tradition. Although there are no direct indications of its date, its use of the Septuagint as well as apocalyptic literature suggests that the earliest the Wisdom of Solomon can have emerged is the third century BCE. Its widespread use by Christian writers points to a terminus ad quem in the second century CE. The linguistic and thematic contacts between the book and the work of Philo of Alexandria suggest that both come from the same environment and not far from each other. The most probable time of composition for the book is around the turn of the eras. Support for its emergence in the capital city of Egypt, besides its use of the Septuagint, comes from its references to the problems of the Exodus (e.g. 16:1–19:17), its polemic against Egyptian religion (e.g. 11:15; 12:27), as well as the broad philosophical education of the writer (e.g. 9:15). Three main parts of the hortatory wisdom may be distinguished: a fictional admonition by Solomon of old, which speaks of a righteous and godly way of life in an ungodly world (1:1–6:21), an extensive eulogy to Wisdom, which makes use— among other things—of motifs from Hellenized Egyptian Isis worship (6:22–9:17), 35 Cf. Joseph Ziegler, Sapienta Salomonis, Septuaginta XII,1, 2nd ed., Göttingen, 1980.

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and a song of praise to the saving power of God (9:18–19:22). The similarities between these three parts in terms of vocabulary, structure, stylistic devices, and basic theological ideas show that the Wisdom of Solomon is a cohesive work. Numerous references to biblical tradition (e.g. 11:5–8) and influences from Hellenistic culture and philosophical education (e.g. 4:2; 13:2; 17:5, 11), especially Stoic (e.g. 7:27) and Middle-Platonic (e.g. 9:15), are discernible in the text. The Wisdom of Solomon aimed to guide its Hellenistic-Jewish addressees in the Egyptian Diaspora to a pious, just, and godly life, characterized by grateful recognition of the God of Israel as Lord of the world and the Torah as an expression of his wisdom. It brings the comforting message that with the help of this wisdom, a both pious and rational lifestyle is possible—one which promises eternal fellowship with God. As the solution to theodicy and the acts-and-consequence connection, the Wisdom of Solomon is the first text to mention the idea of a post-mortem judgment, which rewards the righteous, the poor, and the persecuted and punishes the unrighteous and the ungodly. The pseudepigraphal Book of Baruch,36 compiled from separate parts, contains a prayer of repentance by the deportees within a narrative context, a didactic wisdom poem, as well as laments and songs of consolation for Jerusalem. These are handed down together in Greek, under the name of the scribe of the prophet Jeremiah (cf. Jer 36; 45). In Christian editions of the Septuagint, the book comes immediately after Jeremiah. The compendium, rich in scribal expertise, probably represents –in part (1:15–3:8)—a translation from the Hebrew. Its component parts reflect the needs of a Jewish community in late second-century BCE Syro-Palestine for self-assurance and comfort, and for the coming of a God-sent savior figure (4:22). The Epistle of Jeremiah,37 transmitted in the Septuagint as a separate writing and linked in the Vulgate with the book of Baruch (Bar 6), is concerned with the rejection of a caricatured (vv. 69f.) and pointless idolatry. The narrative setting of this letter, originally written in Hebrew or Aramaic (cf. 7Q2) but preserved only in translations, is the beginning of the Babylonian Exile. In its polemics against the Babylonian deities, in its warning to the exiles not to worship them, and in its demand for exclusive worship of the God of Israel is a reflection of the Jewish author’s resistance to the pressure of assimilation on the part of the mostly nonJewish environment in the eastern Diaspora of the third century BCE. The Fourth Book of Maccabees38 is in formal respect a speech, in genre respect a tragic-pathetic historiography. It proves to be a synthesis of Jewish piety and Helle-

36 Cf. idem, Baruch, Septuaginta XV, 2nd ed., Göttingen, 1976, 450–67. 37 Cf. idem, Baruch, Septuaginta XV, 2nd ed., Göttingen, 1976, 494–504. 38 Cf. Moses Hadas, The Third and Fourth Book of Maccabees, JAL, New York, 1953, 89–243; David A. de Silva, 4 Maccabees, Sheffield, 1998.

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nistic popular philosophy, the aim of which is religious education. Using historical examples, it seeks to show that pious judgment is sovereign over the passions. Written in Greek, the book was falsely ascribed by Eusebius (Hist Eccl III 10:6) to Flavius Josephus; it has been handed down in numerous Christian manuscripts of the Septuagint. The rabbis, however, did not acknowledge it. Suggested dates range from ca. 20 CE to 120 CE. A pre-70 CE composition draws support from the description of worship at the Temple (4:20; 14:9) and the official titles in use (4:2). Alongside linguistic pointers, the detailed reports of martyrdom and the quick Christian acceptance of the writing indicate that it emerged during or shortly after the Tumultus Judaicus (115–117 CE). The form and content of the book reflect its emergence in a Hellenistic metropolis in Egypt (Alexandria) or Syria (Antioch), where its linguistically sophisticated and rhetorically trained Jewish author was able to draw upon a broad contemporary repository of education. The book is divided into four sections. An introductory section (1:1–12) indicating the subject and its treatment is followed by the first main section, which defines and justifies the work’s central philosophical thesis (1:13–3:18). The second main section (3:19–17:6) uses 2 Macc 3–7 to give an account of the martyrdoms of Eleazar and the seven brothers and their mother. The concluding section (17:7–18:24) provides a summary and a doxology. The Fourth Book of Maccabees tries on the one hand to reconcile the biblical law with Greek life ideals by making Jewish life in compliance with the commandments of the Torah seem rationally justifiable. On the other hand, by means of its dramatic martyrdom portrayals it shows that the approval of the neighboring world cannot be gained by assimilation but only through steadfast perseverance and faithfulness to the commandments of God. The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs39 consists of twelve pseudepigraphal farewell speeches by the twelve sons of Jacob (cf. Gen 49). They contain stories from their lives that embellish or add to the biblical text, as well as ethical teachings and eschatological prophecies. In its present form the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs is a Christian writing and has been handed down only in church tradition (in some cases as an appendix to the Septuagint). With regard to older stages of tradition, different positions are held, which, given the lack of references to sabbath observance, circumcision or food laws, either view it as originally a Christian work40 or, given its specifically Hellenistic-Jewish language, style, motifs, and its wisdom characteristics, see it as going back to an underlying Jewish foundation.41

39 Cf. Marinus de Jonge, The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, PVTG I/2, Leiden, 1978; Howard C. Kee, »Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs,« in OTP 2, 775–828. 40 Cf. Marinus de Jonge, »Christian Influence in the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs,« NT 4 (1960), 182–235. 41 Cf. Jarl H. Ulrichsen, Die Grundschrift der Testamente der zwölf Patriarchen, AUU.HR 10, Stockholm, 1991.

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The historical allusions (Naphtali 5:8; Lev 14) point to the second century BCE as the time when such a Jewish base text came into being. With the exception of the Testament of Asher (the content of which stands alone in terms of its dealings with sinners) the writing as a whole was penned by a single hand. The original language is probably Greek, as may be indicated by linguistic borrowings from Greek translations of the Bible and the use of Hellenistic terms. The twelve discourses have a uniform structure. Its opening biographical section begins with the patriarch’s reference to his impending death and the assembling of his relatives. The farewell discourses proper link haggadic expansions and accounts of events from the life of the son of Jacob with warnings against temptations and vices, ethical admonitions and recommendations (e.g. chastity, mercy, truthfulness, maintenance of the order of creation). These lead to an outlook on the future and the eschatological wellbeing of the tribe in question, of Israel, or of humanity. Each text concludes with a note of the death and burial of the patriarch. The sons of Jacob are regarded as exemplary models and the personification of piety and virtue. The course of history is determined by the antagonism between God and his adversary Beliar. At its end stand God’s victorious intervention in world events and the resurrection of the righteous. As leaders of the people during the end-times there appear two messiah figures, from the priestly tribe (Levi 18) and the royal tribe (Judah 24). The aim of the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs is ethical instruction and warning of its addressees, to not fall away from the laws of God. Only their pious lifestyle can be the basis for receiving the promises of salvation in the end-times. The Testament of Job42 is a continuation of the biblical book of Job, which can be both ascribed to Jewish testamentary literature, and interpreted as narrative midrash. The originally Greek work has been transmitted only in the Christian tradition in Greek, Old Church Slavonic, and Coptic manuscripts. A key to determination of the terminus a quo (1st cent. BCE) is provided by a re-Hebraizing form of Job in the Septuagint. The reception of the Testament of Job by early Christian authors in the second century CE is the terminus ad quem. It is not possible to determine the exact place of origin (Egypt? cf. 28:7f.). The writing emerged within ancient Judaism, as suggested by the parenesis and the hymns, in particular the emphasis on genealogy, the warning against mixed marriages, and the Merkavah tradition.43 Although haggadic traditions of various origins were used, the stylistic and linguistic homogeneity of the Testament of Job shows it as a unified literary composition. Structural elements are connected by repeated use of phrases and words, as well as intratextual allusions and quotations.

42 Cf. Sebastian P. Brock, Testamentum Iobi, PVTG 2, Leiden, 1967, 1–59; Robert A. Kraft, The Testament of Job, SBL.TT 5, Missoula/MT, 1974; Russell P. Spittler, »Testament of Job,« in OTP 1, 829–68. 43 On the concept of the chariot throne of God (Merkavah) cf. Ezek 1 and see Ithamar Gruenwald, Apocalypticism and Merkavah Mysticism, AJEC 90, 2nd ed., Leiden, 2014.

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We meet all the characters of the biblical Job narrative in the Testament of Job; its framework chapters in particular are broadly developed. The main section of the book is divided into several narrative units. First, an account is given of Job’s pagan past and his conversion. Satan appears to Job and is granted authority over his possessions by God (6–8). Job praises his merits and abilities (9–15). Satan’s attacks bring about the loss of Job’s cattle, the deaths of his children, and Job’s own sickness (16–20). The care and suffering of his wife Sitis are given detailed description (21–26). Job’s piety and perseverance in suffering are rewarded by God (27). Job’s arguments with his friends, kings Eliphaz, Baldad, and Sophar, at the center of which is the meaninglessness of all earthly things, are given extensive attention (28–45). When Job’s inheritance is distributed, his three daughters receive no material goods like their seven brothers, but miraculous belts (46–51). The epilogue (52f.) describes the dying, death, and burial of Job and the ascension of his soul. The main themes of the Testament of Job are patience in suffering, charity toward the needy, and the acknowledgment of God as creator of the world and eschatological judge. The problem of theodicy, the central theme of the biblical book of Job, is not mentioned. The author’s prime concern is to provide an account of individual piety motivated by hopes of eschatological salvation. Job, the archetype of pious patience, becomes a prototype of the Jewish righteous person and witness to the faith, oppressed because of his confession, remaining faithful to it out of love for the God of Israel. The Hellenistic-Jewish exegete Demetrios44 is regarded as the oldest known witness to the existence of a Greek Torah translation. His exposition of the Torah is preserved in six fragmentary excerpts,45 written in Alexandria during the time of Ptolemy IV Philopator (221–204 BCE). He gives chronographically arranged explanations of »difficult« passages of the Bible. He relies throughout on a Greek version of the books of Genesis and Exodus, which he takes as a normative text, offering a comprehensive exegetical exposition. Assuming there has been no secondary alignment with the Septuagint, Demetrios used only the Greek forms of the biblical personal and place names. The system of time and year data presupposed by him– sometimes contradicts the Hebrew Bible, but coincides with Greek traditions. The Alexandrian Jewish Bible expositor Aristobulus46 (180–145 BCE), freely associates in his Greek reproduction of the content of the Torah, addressed to the Ptolemaic ruler. Aristobulus was familiar with the legend of a Greek translation of the Bible at the behest of Ptolemy II Philadelphos (282–246 BCE), given decades later in the Letter of Aristeas.

44 Cf. C.R. Holladay, Fragments I, 51–91. 45 Eusebius, Praep Ev IX 19.4; 21.1–19; 29.1–3, 15f.; Clement, Strom I 141,1f. 46 Cf. Carl R. Holladay, Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish Authors. Volume III: Aristobulus, SBL.TT 39, Chico/CA, 1995.

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The ancient exegete tried to show readers of his now fragmentary work47 that the Torah was consonant with Hellenistic philosophy of his day. With the aid of the allegorical method of interpretation, Aristobulus aimed to extract deeper meaning from the Pentateuch to prove its rational, ethical, and Hellenism-compatible character. The Hellenistic-Jewish exegete Aristeas48—not to be confused with the supposed author of the Letter of Aristeas composed a work »On the Jews.« Only a small fragment remains,49 preserved in the Christian tradition, containing an exposition of the book of Job. The Greek name forms show that its author quoted from the Greek text. The fragment witnesses traditional deuteronomistic theology; placing emphasis on the pious perseverance of Job—his steadfast endurance of suffering and his faithfulness to God even in the worst times of distress. It is possible that the addendum in the Septuagint version of Job (42.17 LXX) is dependent on the work of Aristeas; or both texts may go back to a common tradition.

6

Poetic Writings

Psalm 15150 is a composition based on 1 Sam (= LXX 1 Kgs) 16:1–13; 17:14; 2 Sam (= LXX 2 Kgs) 7:8; 2 Chr 29:6; Ps 78 (LXX 77), 70 and 89 (LXX 88), 20, which supplements the Psalter – which was already fixed in the second century BCE. The psalm is contained only in the Greek and Syriac psalter; a Hebrew version is found in 11QPsa, col. 28.1–5. These two independent text versions, originating in secondcentury BCE Judea, reflect this older (Hebrew) tradition. Eighteen compositions are handed down as Psalms of Solomon,51 originally written in Hebrew and translated into Greek by Jews of an anti-Hasmonean persuasion who, affected by the end of the Hasmonean dynasty, the taking of Jerusalem by Pompey, and the desecration of the temple precincts in 63 BCE, combined a pessimistic interpretation of history with incipient messianic hopes. The collection is pseudepigraphically ascribed to King Solomon and exists only in medieval Greek and Syriac manuscripts. It is not found in Jewish collections nor in Christian Bible codices.52 The allusions to local historical events (cf. 2:1–14:19ff.; 4:1) point to Jerusalem as the place of composition and to their origin in the second third of the first century BCE. Throughout the Psalms there is parallelismus membrorum, typical of Hebrew poetry. Their vocabulary and phraseology also go back to the language of the psalms and prophets of the Old Testament, with lament 47 48 49 50 51

Eusebius, Hist Eccl VII 32.16–18; Praep Ev VIII 10.1–17; XIII 12.1–16. Cf. Carl R. Holladay, Fragments I, 261–275. Eusebius, Praep Ev IX 25.1–4. Cf. Alfred Rahlfs, Psalmi cum Odis, Septuaginta X, 3rd ed., Göttingen, 1979, 339f. Cf. Robert B. Wright, The Psalms of Solomon, New York, 2007; Eberhard Bons and Patrick Pouchelle, The Psalms of Solomon: Language, History, Theology, EJL 40, Atlanta/GA, 2015. 52 The Psalms of Solomon are found in A. Rahlfs’s edition of the Septuagint, after Sirach.

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(4; 5; 7; 8; 9; 12; 17), thanksgiving (2; 13; 15; 16), and hymns (3; 6; 10; 11; 14; 18). Thematically, the compositions focus on the opposite fates of the righteous (1:5, 12) and the ungodly (2:26–31) according to their deeds; as well as the rule of the God of Israel. Because of their polemic against the wickedness and impurity of (Roman) nonJews, Sadducees, the priestly aristocracy, and the Hasmonean rulers (4:1; 7:2), the Psalms of Solomon are generally ascribed to »Pharisaic« circles. In Psalms 17 and 18 we find the oldest traces of a messianic tradition which combines the promise of the eternal covenant of the Davidic dynasty with the notion of the king’s anointing as divine election. The events of 63 BCE are retrospectively evaluated as a just punishment of Israel by its God. The poems in general are concerned with a current situation that was felt to be unfair and oppressive, by means of the instruction, edification, and exhortation of its pious Jewish addressees. It is not likely, however, that the Psalms of Solomon were used liturgically. The didactic wisdom poem of Pseudo-Phocylides53 contains doctrines for life, in the form of short single sentences with rules of ethical behavior. The pseudepigraphal composition of proverbs may be viewed as an example of a »cross-cultural tradition of didactic poetry«54 from the area of tradition of Hellenistic-Jewish antiquity. In 219 hexameters, in a total of 230 single-line verses in the Ionic dialect, we find numerous admonitions and rules for an exemplary good life. Literary authorization of the text is provided by pseudepigraphal connection with the didactic poet Phocylides of Miletus (mid-6th cent. BCE). The place of composition is generally thought to be Egypt or Alexandria (cf. § 102); the first century CE would appear to be the most probable period for its appearance. The proverbs combine traditions from the realm of Hellenistic/Greek popular ethics with biblical/Jewish content and motifs, while specifically Jewish identity features are not mentioned. Such a fusion testifies to the intensive cultural contact and interaction between Jews and Greeks, especially in the western Diaspora. Pseudo-Phocylides does not want to reveal his Judaism explicitly. Nonetheless, the Jewish scriptures in Greek are recognizable as his literary sources. In addition, numerous unmarked echoes and agreements in content with literary works by contemporary Greek ethicists may be discerned. This didactic poem propagated a moral teaching that transcended Jewish ethics and was compatible with the Hellenistic majority culture. This coupled with an anthropology derived from the biblical-Jewish creation tradition. Ezekiel the Tragedian55 is the author of a Greek Moses drama in iambic trimeters, preserved in fragments, under the title Exagogé.56 This work was composed in Alex-

53 54 55 56

Cf. Pieter W. van der Horst, The Sentences of Pseudo-Phocylides, SVTP 4, Leiden, 1978. Idem, »Pseudo-Phocylides Revisited,« JSP 3 (1988), 3–30, 15. Cf. Howard Jacobson, The Exagoge of Ezekiel, Cambridge/MA, 1983. Cf. Eusebius, Praep Ev IX 28f.; Clement, Strom I 155.1–156.2.

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andria between 250 and 100 BCE, on the basis of the Septuagint, converting parts of Exodus (1–24) and Numbers (10–33) into Greek drama. It is regarded as the oldest known dramatization of biblical material.

7

Apocalyptic Literature

Apocalyptic thought endeavored to reconcile the oppressive and chaotic present, with the certainty of the omnipotence and justice of God, and the expectation of salvation. The standpoint of the apocalypticist was shortly before, or in, the end phase of history.57 Apocalypticism followed from biblical prophecy by adopting important forms and content from it. But it placed these in a new context and gave them a new function. The essential difference between apocalyptic and prophecy is that prophecy was persuaded by the notion of history as the location of the saving intervention of God in world affairs, while apocalyptic assumed that salvation can come upon history only from the outside, when God puts a radical end to history. Apocalyptic also accepted ideas from biblical wisdom, and in dealing with the theodicy, addressed a wisdom problem. Wisdom was, however, interested in the edification of the world, while apocalyptic was interested in the future of the world. Apocalyptic writings, which appeared across the whole of the Hellenistic-Roman period, contain messages revealing a transcendent divine plan of salvation, and/or interpretations of the course of the world and revelations of its anticipated end using various modes of revelation. The most important are oracles, epiphanies, dreams, and ecstatic visions experienced while awake. Despair, fantasies of revenge, longings, and hopes of its authors are manifest in apocalyptic literature. In their function as »crisis literature« the apocalyptic texts generally reflect the ongoing conflict between a foreign power and one’s own powerlessness. The Greek Apocalypse of Baruch (ca. 2nd cent. BCE = 3Bar)58 tells of a heavenly journey by Baruch, scribe to the prophet Jeremiah, in which he witnesses the last judgment. A description of the heavenly temple is also given. The Jewish origin of this text, preserved only in a shortened Christian tradition, is disputed. Baruch is led by an angel through five heavenly spheres, where he sees the punishment of sinners and the reward of the righteous. The text is an example of the gradual fading of tense anticipation of the imminent end of the world; the new focus being on a transcendent heavenly world and judgment of the dead.

57 Cf. David Hellholm, ed., Apocalypticism in the Mediterranean World and the Near East, Tübingen, 1989; John J. Collins and Steven J. Stein, eds., The Encyclopedia of Apocalypticism, 3 vols., London, 2000–03; John J. Collins, ed., The Oxford Handbook of Apocalyptic Literature, Oxford Handbooks, Oxford, 2014. 58 Cf. Jean-Claude Picard, Apocalypsis Baruchi Graece, PVTG 2, Leiden, 1967, 61–96; Alexander Kulik, 3 Baruch, CEJL, Berlin, 2010.

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Apocalyptic theology is found in the Ascension of Moses, written at the beginning of the first century BCE.59 The work is testamentary literature, and is preserved in a Latin translation (of a Greek translation of the Hebrew or Aramaic original) in a single, incomplete manuscript. Moses the seer acts as the guarantor for the age and authenticity of the message. His farewell discourses to Joshua contain revelations concerning the fortunes of Israel in a historical overview up to the return from exile, as well as prophecies about the course of history until the end of the world and the dawn of the reign of God. Typical motifs of literary apocalypses are found throughout, such as the irrelevance of human deeds for the fortunes of life, transcendental eschatology, and the hope of God’s final judgment. The perspective of the fictional narrator overlaps with that of the actual author. The intervention of God adds to the reward of the people of Israel and the punishment of its enemies. The author put into words his hope of justice in the face of the oppression being experienced by him and his readers. The Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch60 attempts to reconcile the catastrophe of the destruction of the temple in 70 CE with the traditional understanding of history.61 The text is preserved in full only in the Syriac translation of an almost completely lost Greek text, which in turn is based on a lost Hebrew or Aramaic model. Baruch (cf. Jer 36) serves as a spokesperson to whom the impending end of the Jerusalem temple is revealed. The underlying idea is the typological correspondence between the destruction of the Solomonic temple in 587/86 BCE and the destruction of the Herodian temple in the year 70 CE. The book was probably written soon after this point. The destruction of the temple was an element in God’s plan of salvation from the outset. Furthermore, the destruction of the temple is triggered by the angels of God. As a result, it looks to be a punitive, corrective act by God against his guilty people. Preservation of the most important cult objects in the temple (6:7) shows that God’s salvific intent remains permanently in place despite this punishment. Finally, the future salvific significance of the earthly temple is transferred to its transcendent and preexistent counterpart. Its destruction is therefore not only a sign of the fulfillment of the will of God, but also a sign of and precondition for the anticipated time of salvation. In the main part of the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch time does not appear as a model of salvation but as an incipient period of disaster. The author emphasizes that God’s promises of salvation relate only to the coming universal salvation. The present situation, a dark intermediate period directly before the definitive turn of the ages, becomes the locus of probation for the righteous Jew. Chapters 72ff. speak of the coming of a Messiah who will judge all peoples. This leads to eternal life for the righteous but to death for the enemies of God. Signifi-

59 Cf. Johannes Tromp, The Assumption of Moses, SVTP 10, Leiden, 1993. 60 Cf. Sven Dedering, Apocalypsis Baruch, OTSy IV/3, Leiden, 1973, 1–50 (= 2Bar). 61 Cf. Matthias Henze, Jewish Apocalypticism in Late First Century Israel, TSAJ 142, Tübingen, 2011.

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cantly, the messianic age is not identical with the coming time of salvation but only a transitional stage on the way to the heavenly existence. The author of the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch aims to comfort and encourage his readers by impressing upon them that the righteous stand at the threshold of salvation (6:9). The catastrophe that has happened is expounded theologically being preordained by God. One’s misfortunes and current suffering should be borne positively and patiently; both can even be viewed as evidence that salvation is at hand. Fourth Ezra62 is a Jewish writing from the time after the destruction of the Jerusalem temple (70 CE), whose author picked up older apocalyptic traditions, interpreting them theologically. This interpretation is a mediation between theodicy and a call to Torah observance. The Latin text, preserved in full, goes back to a Greek translation of a no longer preserved Hebrew or Aramaic original. The Jewish Grundschrift was copied and revised by Christians, and supplemented by the addition of two preceding (5 Ezra) and two following (6 Ezra) chapters. This revision explains why all text editions and translations of the book begin at chapter 3. The fictional author of the book is the Jewish priest and Persian plenipotentiary Ezra (Ezra 7; Neh 8). The narrative time of the event is the 30th year after the fall of Jerusalem (557 BCE); the location is Babylon under the Persians. This fictional situation mirrors the actual situation of the ancient author and his addressees. 4 Ezra contains seven visions of the future of Israel and of the end of the world. The literary representation of his insights into the heavenly world can be subdivided into a dialogical part (visions 1–3) and a visionary part (visions or auditions 4–7). The fourth vision is accorded a bridging function. In 4 Ezra we meet key motifs of apocalyptic literature such as a dualism of aeons, a retributive end-time judgment, the question of divine justice, as well as considerations on the cause of sin and the sufferings of the righteous. For the author, creation and election are no longer valid orientation points for God’s future act of salvation. By emphasizing that there are righteous people who will attain salvation by virtue of their obedience to the law, he calls upon his addressees to wait confidently for the coming redemption and in this hope to act in strict accordance with the Torah. 4 Ezra invites its readers to identify with its protagonist, which leads them to the recognition that the evil nature of man and the unredeemed history of this world are integral components of a predetermined course of history. It makes it clear to them that the covenant promise is valid only for the age to come. The problem that then arises is how people can be motivated to behave responsibly; paradoxically combining the notions of (a) salvation that is to be attained exclusively through God’s grace and exclusively in the world to come with (b) the salvation which individual and self-motivated Torah observance is able to bring in this world. The hiddenness of God in world affairs reveals itself only to the righteous person whose assurance of election is based on the gift of the Torah and whose hope of

62 Cf. Albertus F.J. Klijn, Der lateinische Text der Apokalypse des Esra, TU 131, Berlin, 1983; Michael E. Stone, Fourth Ezra, Hermeneia, Minneapolis/MN, 1990.

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salvation is realized in faithfulness to the Torah. Only by keeping the God-given law can the righteous bring individual exemption from eschatological judgment. The Apocalypse of Abraham,63 a Christian-revised writing composed in Hebrew in Palestine at (or before) the beginning of the second century CE, contains a description of a heavenly journey by Israel’s patriarch. After abolishing idolatry, he is taken to the highest realms in the company of the angel Iaoel. There he views the heavenly hosts and finally the fiery throne of God, before which true Israel worship their eternal creator and protector. Abraham recognizes the predetermination of human fate and is told about the course and end of the history of the corrupt earthly world, and the world to come, reserved for the righteous. In this book of consolation, the current superiority of the ungodly peoples in historical affairs— evidenced especially in the destruction of the Herodian temple—stands in diametrical opposition to their future overthrow by the intervention of God. Ethiopic Enoch (= 1 Enoch)64 contains an extensive collection of apocalyptic traditions from a variety of times and origins. The work has come down to us completely only in a medieval translation from the Greek into the literary language of the Ethiopian church (Ge’ez).65 The discovery of Aramaic fragments of Enoch at Qumran66 suggests that the writing was probably originally written in Aramaic. 1 Enoch presents the biblical figure of the antediluvian patriarch Enoch (Gen 5:24) as an idealized bearer of revelation. The text is a assemblage of insights which Enoch gains during his cosmic journey and records for posterity. 1 Enoch is a collection of various pieces of text which were combined and handed down only later under the name of Enoch. Its final composition probably took place in the first century CE. The collection’s place of origin is Jerusalem or Judea. The most original components of the book, as the Qumran text discoveries suggest (4Q208), came into being before the crisis under Antiochus IV. The bulk of the text, however, dates from the second and first centuries BCE. Self-contained sections of text can be distinguished: the Book of the Angels/ Watchers (chs. 1–36), the Book of the Similitudes (chs. 37–71), the Astronomical Book (chs. 72–82), the Book of Dream Visions (chs. 83–90), and the Book of Admonitions (chs. 91–105). The first part of the book explains everything on earth by means of a continuation of Gen 6:1–4, as well as cosmographic revelations on the topography of the (current) world beyond. The Book of the Similitudes describes the reign of God and the coming judgment upon all sinners. In the second and third similitudes we encounter a redeemer figure repeatedly referred to as a »son of man« (cf. Dan 63 Cf. Geoge H. Box, The Apocalypse of Abraham, TED, 2nd ed., New York, 1919; Belkis Philonenko-Sayar, L’apocalypse d’Abraham, Sem. 31, Paris, 1981. 64 Cf. James D. VanderKam, Enoch and the Growth of an Apocalyptic Tradition, Washington, DC, 1984. 65 Cf. Michael A. Knibb, The Ethiopic Book of Enoch, 2 vols., Oxford, 1982. 66 Cf. Józef T. Milik, The Books of Henoch. Aramaic Fragments of Qumrân Cave 4, Oxford, 1976; Loren Stuckenbruck, The Book of Giants from Qumran, TSAJ 63, Tübingen, 1997.

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7:13), whose identity, however, cannot be unambiguously defined. In the Astronomical Book, Enoch is initiated into the orders of the heavenly world, which determine the orderings of the world here and now. The Book of Dream Visions presents a review of world history from primordial times up to the establishment of the reign of God. Primordial and end-times correspond with each other, while contrasting with world history. This part of the book contains priestly calendar and cult information, referring to the crisis under Antiochus IV (cf. ch. 90). The book is divided into ten consecutive time periods (the »Apocalypse of Weeks«). Enoch comforts the righteous by pointing to their post-mortem reward by the God of Israel; and depicts the punishment of sinners (ch. 103). This conception of a resuscitation of the dead as a precondition for eschatological judgment is one of the oldest witnesses to the idea of resurrection in Judaism. The linking of ethical and eschatological statements in 1 Enoch stresses the testing of the righteous, motivating them to perseverance and right behavior as the end of the world approaches. Although there is currently no way for the righteous to achieve salvation, he can prepare for a saving outcome from the final judgment by living in accordance with the commandments of the God of Israel. In this way, 1 Enoch served as theological orientation for its readers, especially regarding theodicy. The Enoch tradition gave a religious justification for priestly faith convictions, especially in contrast to dominant Hellenistic culture. Independent of Ethiopic Enoch (1 Enoch) is Slavonic Enoch (= 2 Enoch) , originally written in Greek, possibly already before 70 CE (there are frequent references to a functioning sacrificial practice and no reflection on the destruction of the temple). It was certainly completed in the course of the second century CE.67 The work describes a heavenly journey through the heavenly spheres as far as the divine throne and gives insights into the secrets of the world on the other side. The universalistic perspective of its author on the cult, wisdom, and ethics points to the final composition of this Jewish writing (handed down and repeatedly revised in Christianity) within a majority non-Jewish environment in the western Diaspora. The twelve books of the Sibylline Oracles68 are a collection, written in Greek, of Jewish and Christian fictional oracles from the lips of a mythical female figure as a bearer of revelation. In style the Sibyllines correspond to ancient epic poetry. The Sibylline Oracles were revised and expanded many times. A concluding redaction of the collected material probably took place in the early Middle Ages. The Sibyllines are preserved only in manuscripts by Christian scribes. Originally a religio-historical phenomenon from Greco-Roman culture,69 the oracles found distribution in the entire ancient Mediterranean world in orally transmitted sayings collections.

67 Cf. André Vaillant, Le Livre des secrets d’Hénoch, Paris, 1952. 68 Cf. Johannes Geffcken, Die Oracula Sibyllina, GCS 8, Leipzig, 1902. 69 In the Hellenistic-Roman period a »Sibyl« was a divinely inspired, peripatetic woman who went around in a state of ecstasy announcing future events.

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The popular genre was also adopted by Jewish authors and subsequently fixed in the biblical tradition when the Sibyl was identified with Noah’s daughter-in-law (3:826f.). The antiquity of the oracles underscored their special reliability. This interpretatio Iudaica of a pagan mythical figure makes sense in that the propaganda of the Sibyllines aimed to demonstrate to a non-Jewish audience, from a Jewish perspective, the inescapable consequences of their attachment to pagan polytheism and—in Books 4 and 5—of their support for the hated world power, Rome. The Jewish origin of the bulk of Books 3 to 5 is generally regarded as certain. In their present form the Jewish Sibyllines contain reworked older, non-Jewish traditions and numerous pronouncements from a Jewish source. These Jewish sub-collections come from different periods. It is considered likely that the third book of the Sibyllines dates to the third century BCE at the latest, while the fourth and fifth books relate to contemporary events from late-first and the beginning of the second century BCE. The place of origin of Books 3 to 5 is generally thought to be Egypt. The Jewish Sibyllines contain cryptic prophecies against non-Jewish peoples, in particular against the Ptolemaic and the Roman Empires. They express the hope of a future action by God in favor of his oppressed people and of the worldwide implementation of the commandments of the Torah. A periodization of the historical world age draws a wide arc from the Flood to the coming world conflagration.

8

Dead Sea Scrolls

Since 1947, a total of 900 fragmentary Jewish writings have been found in eleven caves near Khirbet Qumran, an ancient settlement on the northwest shore of the Dead Sea.70 These writings date from the third century BCE to before 70 CE and can be divided paleographically into an »archaic« group (ca. 250–150 BCE), a »Hasmonean« group (ca. 150–30 BCE), and a »Herodian« group (ca. 30 BCE–70 CE). It is possible that there is a link between the inhabitants of the settlement and the authors or owners of the scrolls. Among the manuscript discoveries—which are heterogeneous in content—are first of all, all the books of the Bible (except for Esther), copied or translated, and some religious writings in Hebrew or Aramaic that were previously known only in the Christian tradition. Also among the manuscript finds are commentaries on Canonical writings (pesharim), which interpret the present time through the prophetic books (e.g. Isaiah, Habakkuk, and Nahum). This interpretation was regarded as the text’s »real« meaning, which had always related to the community itself. Among the actual »sectarian writings« are the Rule of the Community, the War Scroll, the Temple Scroll, and the so-called Cairo Damascus Document. Besides 70 Cf. Roland de Vaux et al., Discoveries in the Judean Desert (39 vols.), Oxford, 1955–2002; Florentino García-Martínez, The Dead Sea Scrolls Translated, Leiden, 1994.

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paleographic and terminological similarities, there are agreements in content between these texts, such as the description of life in the community, reflection on its special place within Palestinian Judaism, and the mention of an authoritative teacher. The influence of Jewish apocalypticism on the sectarian scrolls is supported by the fact that there were also fragments from almost all parts of 1 Enoch, the book of Jubilees, and Daniel in the caves. The scrolls borrow themes, imagery, and motifs characteristic of apocalyptic literature such as dualistic thinking, the division of world time into individual epochs, the presentation of the present time as the endtime, the idea of an imminent catastrophic change of era, and a decisive battle between good and evil, as well as consciousness of the election of their own group, and their liturgical communion with heavenly beings. The sectarian scrolls depict a priestly sect with a special organizational form, whose life and piety were determined by the sharp contrast to the currently practiced Jerusalem temple cult and the cultic calendar used there. Its community of goods, its extraordinary efforts for purity even in everyday life, its eschatological orientation, and its anti-Hellenistic mentality were based on an expectation of an imminent Eschaton. Its dualistically structured apocalyptic understanding of judgment served to stabilize its community: the ungodly individual is punished in the final judgment and annihilated. There is, however, very little talk of the future salvation of the individual in the sectarian writings; at the top of all hopes of salvation stood the fellowship of the cultically pure priests of God. It was only within the exclusive circle of the pious and the righteous and only on the basis of a correct lifestyle that people saw themselves as safe from the threat of God’s wrathful judgment. Expulsion from one’s own community based on transgressions that threaten group identity meant irrevocable exclusion from eternal salvation.

9

Philo of Alexandria

The Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria (ca. 20 BCE–50 CE) endeavored to combine the narratives and directives of the Torah with ideas from contemporary Stoic and Platonic philosophy, without giving up the biblical-Jewish tradition or imagefree monotheism. Despite his thorough knowledge of Hellenistic philosophy, Philo was no outsider, shown through his election as the Alexandrian Jews’ spokesman for important diplomatic affairs. The works of Philo71 were handed down through Christianity—in Greek, Latin, and Armenian. In Judaism, by contrast, the Jewish philosopher of religion was soon to be forgotten following the demise of Alexandrian Judaism after the Kitos War

71 Cf. Leopold Cohn, Paul Wendland, and Siegfried Reiter, eds., Philonis Alexandrini opera quae supersunt, 7 vols., Berlin, 1896–1930; Francis H. Colson and George H. Whitaker, eds., Philo, 12 vols., LCL, London, 1929–62.

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(115–117 CE). Not a few of his works are lost. The writings of Philo that are preserved are not really consistent in terms of form and content. They can be divided into (1) commentaries on the Pentateuch, (2) philosophical treatises, and (3) historical writings.72 Philo’s systematic interpretations and applications of the law for Alexandrian Judaism view the Torah as composed by Moses under God’s direction (in its Greek version, regarded as inspired). It is not only Israel’s religious guide, but also as a blueprint of creation, as natural law, and as the source of all philosophy. These derive from a shared ancient repertoire of exegetical methods (allegory in particular), by means of which authoritative texts and traditions were afforded contemporary relevance and authority, in an apologetic manner. By linking the biblical material with Jewish beliefs and Greek ideas, they demonstrate their author’s efforts to recognize tradition while also revealing his concern to develop a counter-concept to pagan ideas like Middle Platonism, Stoicism, and neo-Pythagoreanism. A key theme for Philo was the dialectic between the transcendence and immanence of God. He mediated between Greek and biblical/Jewish thinking by accentuating the absolute difference between the perfect creator and an inadequate creation. He emphasized that the Torah equips and directs the rational human soul to rise from the banishment of the body and the emotions into the world of the divine Logos (the word is found over 1,300 times in Philo).

72 The commentaries on the Pentateuch include: Legum allegoriae I–III (Allegorical Exposition of the Holy Book of the Law; Gen 2:1–3:19); De cherubim (On the Cherubim; Gen 3:24; 4:1); De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini (On the Sacrifices of Abel and Cain; Gen 4:2–4); Quod deterius potiori insidiari soleat (The Worse is Wont to Attack the Better; Gen 4:8–15); De posteritate Caini (On the Posterity of Cain; Gen 4:16–25); De gigantibus (On the Giants; Gen 6:1–4); Quod Deus sit immutabilis (On the Unchangeableness of God; Gen 6:4–12); De agricultura (On Husbandry; Gen 9:20a); De plantatione (Concerning Noah’s Work as a Planter; Gen 9:20b); De ebrietate (On Drunkenness; Gen 9:21); De sobrietate (On Sobriety; Gen 9:24–27); De confusione linguarum (On the Confusion of Tongues; Gen 11:1–9); De migratione Abrahami (On the Migration of Abraham; Gen 12:1–6); Quis rerum divinarum heres sit (Who is the Heir of Divine Things?; Gen 15:2–18); De congressu eruditionis causa (On Congress for the Sake of Erudition; Gen 16:1–6); De fuga et inventione (On Flight and Finding; Gen 16:6–14); De mutatione nominum (On the Change of Names; Gen 17:1–22); De deo (On the Divine Name »Consuming Fire;« Gen 18:2); De somniis I-II (On Dreams; Gen 28:12ff.; 31:11ff.; 37; 40f.); De Abrahamo (On Abraham); De Iosepho (On Joseph); De decalogo (On the Decalogue); De praemiis et poenis (On Rewards and Punishments); Quaestiones et Solutiones in Genesim et Exodum (Questions and Answers on Genesis and Exodus). The philosophical treatises include: De opificio mundi (On the Creation of the World); De vita Mosis I-II (On the Life of Moses); De specialibus legibus (On Special Laws); De virtutibus (On the Virtues); Quod omnis probus liber sit (Every Good Man is Free); De vita contemplativa (On the Contemplative Life); De aeternitate mundi (On the Eternity of the World); De providentia (On Providence); De animalibus (On the Animal World). Classified as apologetic writings are: Apologia pro Iudaeis (Defense of Judaism); In Flaccum (Against Flaccus); Legatio ad Gaium (Legation to Caligula).

10 Flavius Josephus

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Flavius Josephus

Josephus was born in Jerusalem in 37/38 CE as the son of prominent parents in the priestly aristocracy. He died in Rome after 100 CE. His main literary objectives lay in the defense of Judaism and in the religious interpretation of the history of his people for the time after the destruction of the Second Temple (70 CE). Four of his works, in Greek, were written in the last decade of the first century CE.73 Earliest is his Jewish War (De bello Iudaico), in seven books, giving a detailed account of the war’s historical background and results, as a way of overcoming this national disaster and helping to prevent any repetition in the future. The original Aramaic version of the Jewish War is lost; the version we now have was written by Josephus in Greek with outside help. Next, Josephus wrote his extensive, Jewish Antiquities (Antiquitates Iudaicae). Writing in the style of contemporary historical writers and influenced by motifs from Stoic philosophy, he gives an account of Jewish history in twenty books. With a detailed retelling of the Torah and Prophets, as well as using other sources, he describes how Judaism developed from the creation of the world to the outbreak of the Jewish War in the year 66 CE. Josephus sets out how Jewish laws and customs came into being and who was responsible for them. Josephus wrote his autobiography (Vita) as a brief appendix to the Jewish Antiquities. Here, in earnest debate with his rival, the chronicler Justus of Tiberias, he tells of his priestly background, his personal journey, and his career to date (in particular his active participation in the Jewish War), in order to demonstrate his credentials as a historian and military general. In his last writing still extant, the ancient Jewish author wrote a passionate defense of Judaism presented in two books Against Apion (Contra Apionem), in which he defends himself against the dissembling malice of Jewish-hostile authors such as the Alexandrian grammarian Apion. Josephus accused them of grave errors: lack of agreement, lack of devotion to the truth, and the insufficient age of their sources. The work contains numerous valuable excerpts from the extensive writings of well-known ancient historians such as Manetho, Menander, and Berossus, whose work is preserved nowhere else. While Josephus soon fell out of favor in Judaism as a traitor, the early Christian church already showed great interest in the transmission of his works. In particular, the Church Fathers saw the Jewish War and its detailed description of the siege and destruction of Jerusalem in the year 70 CE as evidence for the predictions of Jesus about the end of the second temple (Mk 13:1f.). Josephus closely observed many events and recorded numerous authentic documents and sources. As a scion of the priestly Jerusalem elite, he offers reliable information from Jerusalem temple circles and shows how deep-seated was the interweaving of ancient Judaism with Hellenistic culture. He is one of the most 73 Cf. Benedictus Niese, Flavii Josephi opera, 7 vols., Berlin, 1885–95; Henry St.J. Thackeray and Ralph Marcus, Josephus, 10 vols., LCL, London, 1926–65.

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important witnesses for the elucidation of the understanding of Scripture, of the cultural and religious movements, political processes and events, as well as everyday Jewish life in Palestine and in the Diaspora in the first century CE. The present survey of the Jewish literature that came into being in the HellenisticRoman period shows that the texts preserved from the Land of Israel and the Diaspora both reflect the ongoing conflicts and congruences between the received biblical/Jewish tradition and contemporary Hellenistic culture. In addition, the texts presented here witness that precisely this cultural encounter produced highly diverse literary forms and content, which reflect the religious, cultural, and social heterogeneity of ancient Judaism. For Further Reading Ben-Eliyahu, Eyal, Yehudah Cohn, and Fergus Millar, Handbook of Jewish Literature from Late Antiquity 135–700 CE, Oxford, 2012. Böttrich, Christfried and Martin Rösel, eds., Die Apokryphen der Lutherbibel: Einführungen und Bibeltexte, Leipzig, 2017. Collins, John J., The Literature of the Second Temple Period, Oxford, 2004. Himmelfarb, Martha, Between Temple and Torah: Essays on Priests, Scribes, and Visionaries in the Second Temple Period and Beyond, TSAJ 151, Tübingen, 2014. Kister, Menahem, ed., Tradition, Transmission, and Transformation from Second Temple Literature through Judaism and Christianity in Late Antiquity, Leiden, 2015. Maier, Johann, and Josef Schreiner, eds., Literatur und Religion des Frühjudentums, Würzburg, 1973. Metzger, Bruce M., An Introduction to the Apocrypha, New York, 1977. Sæbø, Magne, ed., Hebrew Bible/Old Testament: The History of Its Interpretation, vol. I/1: Antiquity, Göttingen, 1996. Schürer, Emil, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, rev. and ed. by Geza Vermes, Fergus Millar and Matthew Black, 3 vols. in 4, Edinburgh, 1973–87. Simkovich, Malka Z., Discovering Second Temple Literature. The Scriptures and Stories That Shaped Early Judaism, Philadelphia/PA, 2018. Stone, Michael E., ed., Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period, Philadelphia/PA, 1984. Woschitz, Karl, Parabiblica: Studien zur jüdischen Literatur in der hellenistisch-römischen Epoche, Münster/Westf., 2005.

Tannaitic Literature Günter Stemberger

The first generations of the rabbinic movement, from the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in 70 CE up to the early third century are called tanna (plural: tannaim), derived from Aramaic tanna, Hebrew shanah, »to repeat, learn,« handing on the traditions by constant oral repetition. Tradition starts these early masters with Hillel and Shammai at the turn of the first century CE and their ›houses‹ or schools. They were followed by the masters of the town of Yavneh (Jamnia) after 70, among them most prominently Yoḥanan ben Zakkai, Rabban Gamaliel, rabbis Yishmael and Aqiva. The Tannaim continued through the generation of the rabbis of the Galilean town of Usha, after the Bar Kokhba-revolt (132–135 CE) with Simeon ben Gamaliel, R. Meir and R. Yehudah at their head, and culminated with Yehudah haNasi, simply called Rabbi, and his generation (ca. 200 CE).

1

Mishnah and Tosefta

1.1

Mishnah

The Mishnah is the first and most important literary product of the rabbinic movement, the first summary of its traditional teaching. This is the meaning of its name: ›teaching‹—more precisely teaching transmitted by oral recitation and repetition. 1.1.1

Contents

The Mishnah, a large work, in translation nearly a thousand pages, is a summary of rabbinic halakhah (halakh, »to go«, the way one has to follow, norm or law). It consists of six main divisions or ›orders‹ (seder, plural: sedarim), each of them divided into a number of tractates (massekhet, literally ›fabric‹ as the Latin textus; plural massekhtot). The first order, Zeraʿim, ›Seeds‹, deals in eleven tractates with laws pertaining to agriculture, among them: Peah, the ›corner‹ of the field which must be left for the poor (Lev 19:9f.; Deut 24:19ff.); Kilʾaim, ›mixed seeds‹, i.e. forbidden mixtures of seeds, but also of animals or textiles (Lev 19:19; Deut 22:9–11); Sheviʿit, ›the seventh year‹ in which fields must lie fallow (Exod 23:11; Lev 25:1–7), debts must be cancelled and indebted slaves must be freed (Deut 15); Maʿaserot, ›tithes‹, to be given to the Levites (Num 18:21–32), and Maʿaser Sheni, ›second tithe‹, to be consumed in

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Jerusalem or to be given to the poor (Deut 14:22–29; 26:12–15); Bikkurim, ›firstfruits‹, to be brought to the Temple in Jerusalem (Deut 26:1–11). Nearly all of these laws are in force only in the land of Israel (Deut 12:1); they form a kind of religious tax and social aid system. In the Mishnah they are preceded by tractate Berakhot, ›Benedictions‹, blessings to be recited not only over the fruit of the land, but more generally prayers, as above all the ›Eighteen Benedictions‹ (Shemoneh ʿEsreh) or ʿAmidah, daily to be recited while ›standing.‹ This first tractate is only loosely related to the main topic of the Seder, as the introduction of the Mishnah, it underlines its religious character. The second order, Moʿed, ›Appointed Times,‹ contains tractates dealing with the laws of Shabbat and, closely connected, ʿEruvin, ›Mixtures,‹ on the ›mixture‹ of courtyards or borders, allowing to carry things from one private domain to another or moving beyond the normal distance allowed on a Shabbat. Other tractates deal with the festivals of the year, Pesaḥ, Sukkah, Shavuot, Rosh ha-Shanah (›New Year‹), and Yom Kippur (the ›day of atonement‹), but also with the reading of the Esther Scroll (Megillah) on Purim or Taʿanit, ›Fasting‹, on special days as the Ninth of Av (in memory of the destruction of the Temple) or in times of drought. Whereas the first order is dedicated to the sanctification of the land, the second order rules the sanctification of the year, of time. The third order, Nashim, ›Women,‹ contains, among others, tractates on betrothal (Qiddushin), marriage contracts (Ketubbot), divorce (Gittin), but also on Levirate marriage (Yevamot: Deut 25:5–10), and the suspected adulteress (Sotah: Num 5:11–31), the last one is a tractate of no longer any practical relevance, if not completely imaginary.1 The fourth order, Neziqin, ›Damages,‹ deals with questions of Civil Law in tractate Neziqin, now divided in three ›gates‹ (Bavot), damages and their compensation, the hiring of workers and their wages, questions of property and documents. Other tractates are Sanhedrin on law courts and criminal law, Shevuʿot (›Oaths‹) and Horayot (erroneous ›Decisions‹), ʿAvodah Zarah (›Idolatry‹), but also the primarily ethical wisdom tractate ʾAvot (›Fathers‹), most likely added to the Mishna only much later.2 The fifth order, Qodashim, ›Holy Things,‹ contains tractates on ›Sacrifices‹ (Zevaḥim), ›Meal Offerings‹ (Menaḥot), and similar topics connected with the Temple cult, but also a tractate on ›Profane Slaughter‹ (Ḥullin), important for its rules about kosher food, and a description of the Temple (Middot, ›Measurements‹). The final order, Toharot, ›Purities,‹ deals with all sorts of ritual impurity, e.g. Negaʿim, (›Leprosy‹), Niddah, (›Menstrual Uncleanness‹), Zavim (persons with unclean genital emissions), and means of purification, as Miqvaʾot (›Immersion Pools‹), and the ashes of the Red Cow (Parah: Num 19) used for the preparation of the purification water needed after contact with a corpse.

1 Ishay Rosen-Zvi, The Mishnaic Sotah Ritual. Temple, Gender and Midrash, JSJSup 160, Leiden, 2012. 2 Günter Stemberger, »Mischna Avot. Frühe Weisheitsschrift, pharisäisches Erbe oder spätrabbinische Bildung?«, ZNW 96 (2005): 243–58.

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Origins

The redaction of the Mishnah is generally attributed to Yehudah ha-Nasi (ca. 165‒ 217) and his circle at the beginning of the third century in Sepphoris. But what exactly do we mean by »redaction?« The work certainly used pre-existing sources and traditions. Some think of the derivation of much of the mishnaic halakhah from the Bible. No doubt rabbinic halakhah has to a large extent its basis in biblical law. But not only are most of the halakhot formulated without any explicit reference to an underlying biblical text; there are also many halakhot which are completely independent of Scripture, although sometimes later connected with it. The Mishnah itself is conscious of its not uniform relationship with Scripture: (The laws about) the cancellation of vows are suspended in the air and unsupported. (The halakhot about) the Sabbath, feasts and the profaning of consecrated things are like mountains suspended by a hair, with little Scripture yet many halakhot. Civil law, temple service, purities and impurities, and incest (laws) have something to support them. They are the essence of the Torah (m. Ḥagigah 1:8).

The relationship of the Mishnah to Scripture does not, however, necessarily imply a historical continuity and a direct line of development from biblical times through to the Mishnah. But there are statements within the Mishnah itself and later rabbinic literature which have been used already by Rav Sherira Gaon in his famous letter of 987 CE to Jacob ben Nissim and the congregation of Kairouan in presentday Tunisia, in which he answered questions about the redaction of the Mishnah and other rabbinic writings.3 Based on Sherira, the traditional reconstruction of the pre-history of the Mishnah is that Yehudah ha-Nasi based himself on an earlier Mishnah redacted by R. Meir (fl. ca. 135‒170) who himself used the Mishnah of his teacher R. Aqiva (ca. 50/55‒135); still earlier would be a ›first Mishnah.‹ But wherever such a ›first Mishnah‹ is mentioned, it does not refer to a redacted corpus of halakhah, but simply to an earlier individual halakhic decision and practice. This is not to deny that earlier Mishnaic sources or even a ›first edition‹ of the Mishnah existed; some of them may have been used by the Tosefta,4 but in general we cannot recover them. Without any doubt, R. Meir and, before him, R. Aqiva contributed much to the development of the Mishnaic tradition; but it is nearly impossible to recover their personal teachings or their ipsissima verba. R. Yehudah and his co-

3 Benjamin M. Levin, ed., Iggeret Rav Scherira Gaon, Frankfurt, 1920, repr. Jerusalem, 1972; Margarete Schlüter, Auf welche Weise wurde die Mishna geschrieben? Das Antwortschreiben des Rav Sherira Gaon. Mit einem Faksimile der Handschrift Berlin Qu. 685 (Or. 160) und des Erstdrucks Konstantinopel 1566, Tübingen, 1993 (Aramaic text with German translation). 4 Part of the Tosefta »supplies the Mishnah’s sources… The Tosefta parallel is often identical with, or quite similar to, an older Mishnah, which was Rabbi’s source:« Shamma Friedmann, »The Primacy of Tosefta to Mishnah in Synoptic Parallels,« in Introducing Tosefta. Textual, Intratextual and Intertextual Studies, ed. Harry Fox and Tirzah Meacham, Hoboken/NJ, 1999, 99–121, 101. See also Judith Hauptman, »The Tosefta as a Commentary on an Early Mishnah,« in eadem, Rereading the Mishnah. A New Approach to Ancient Jewish Texts, TSAJ 109, Tübingen, 2005, 31–49.

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workers reformulated all the traditions they received in a relatively homogeneous style. But even if the literary pre-history of the Mishnah cannot be recovered, the growth of the material of the Mishnah can be traced with relative certainty, at least in its rough outlines, as has been demonstrated mainly by Jacob Neusner (1932‒ 2016). He tried to assign teachings of the Mishnah to possible origins before 70, to the period of Yavneh with R. Aqiva, and to the period of Usha with R. Meir, and then to the stage of the final redaction.5 The recovery of materials in the Mishnah which may go back to before 70, when the Temple still stood, is especially difficult. Traditionally, one sees the rabbis as the direct successors of the Pharisees; rabbinic halakhah might therefore be inherited from them. Unfortunately, the connection between the two groups is rather weak and even early rabbinic texts do not claim to continue the teaching of the Pharisees. It is only rather late that rabbis include the Pharisees among their spiritual ancestors.6 Much of rabbinic halakhah that goes back to before 70, rather belongs to the halakhic practice of what has been labelled ›common Judaism.‹7 The writings of Qumran are a rich source for the reconstruction of this common, but also of sectarian, halakhah of the Second Temple period, and for the pre-history of Mishnaic halakhah.8 Many tractates of the Mishnah depict rituals of the Temple, thus, e.g., Bikkurim 3:1–8 the offering of the first-fruits with the participation of king Agrippa, Yoma 1–7 the ritual of Yom Kippur, Tamid the daily offering, Parah 3 the burning of the Red Heifer, or Middot the measurements of the Temple. Many authors regard these passages as historically reliable texts, going back to the time when the Temple still stood. This may be the case for some passages, but most of these texts are rather reconstructions based on the interpretation of biblical texts or on rabbinic ideals. One has to be very careful when using these texts for the historic reconstruction of the Second Temple period.9 1.1.3

Purpose of the Mishnah

What was Rabbi’s aim when he redacted the Mishnah? Repetitions and contradictions within the book and, above all, the inclusion of opinions with which Rabbi does not agree, and discussions that do not always allow an easy conclusion about the halakhah, led many scholars to consider the Mishnah as a collection of sources or as a teaching 5 Jacob Neusner, Judaism: The Evidence of the Mishnah, 2nd ed., Atlanta/GA, 1988. 6 Jacob Neusner and Bruce Chilton, eds., In Quest of the Historical Pharisees, Waco/TX, 2007. 7 Ed P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, London, 1992, 45–279; idem, Comparing Judaism and Christianity: Common Judaism, Paul, and the Inner and the Outer in Ancient Religion, Minneapolis/MN, 2016; Günter Stemberger, »Was there a ›Mainstream Judaism‹ in the Late Second Temple Period?«, RRJ 4 (2001): 189–208. 8 Aharon Shemesh, Halakhah in the Making: The Development of Jewish Law from Qumran to the Rabbis, Berkeley/CA, 2009; Vered Noam, From Qumran to the Rabbinic Revolution. Conceptions of Impurity, Jerusalem, 2010 (Hebrew). 9 Naftali S. Cohen, The Memory of the Temple and the Making of the Rabbis, Philadelphia/PA, 2012.

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manual.10 These distinctions may be anachronistic, following modern criteria. As a matter of fact, the Mishnah was soon received as a law code although such a definition is beset with great difficulties. Apart from the reasons which led to the aforementioned categorisations, the collection contains many laws which could not be put into practice at the time of the Mishnah. Under Roman occupation and taxation it was nearly impossible to pay the tithes prescribed by the Bible or to keep the land fallow every seventh year—the Roman taxes had to be paid all the same. Without the Temple, most rituals described with such detail could not be carried out, the pilgrimage festivals (Pesaḥ, Shavuot and Sukkot) lost their context; the sacrifices regulated in the order Qodashim were nothing more than a memory of times long past, and many of the purification rites prescribed in the order Toharot could not be followed. A Jewish king and a highpriest no longer existed; an independent Jewish jurisdiction was feasible only on the lowest level of private arbitration. The Mishnah simply ignores the realities of its period. One may see it as preserving a legal system valid in the time of the Temple in view of a time to come when there would again be a Temple in an independent Jewish Palestine, in short, it seems to be an utopian text. But why should one put so much effort into an utopia? Was it only for its parts which could be practiced in the present? Or was the study of and legislation on these texts provoked by the claim of the rabbis to be not only the authoritative interpreters of the biblical texts at the basis of much of the Mishnah, but also the heirs of the former priesthood? Another question: On its surface, the Mishnah seems to be the general Jewish law, valid for all Jews. But what authority did the rabbis have? How could they impose their own view of proper Jewish behaviour on Jews not belonging to their inner circle? Not too long ago it was widely accepted that directly after 70 the rabbis took over the leadership of the Jewish people: »The zeal of the pious was subjected to the guidance of the rabbis… Whatever was laid down by the distinguished teachers was accepted as valid by the devout without further ado.«11 Today, most scholars accept the view that the rabbis for a long period were a small elitist circle of scholars with only few adherents; only in the later rabbinic period did they gradually acquire more influence and it took centuries until their teachings were accepted by a majority of the Jewish people. Thus many questions regarding the original purpose of the Mishnah cannot be satisfactorily answered. 1.1.4

Literary form, publication and authority of the Mishnah

The Mishnah is the basic text of the »oral Torah.« As such, it is considered to have been composed, transmitted and studied as a purely oral text. Its literary form certainly

10 Thus, e.g., Abraham Goldberg, »The Mishna – A Study Book of Halakha,« in The Literature of the Sages. First Part: Oral Tora, Halakha, Mishna, Tosefta, Talmud, External Tractates, ed. Shmuel Safrai, Assen, 1987, 211–51. 11 Emil Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 b.c. – a.d. 135), rev. and ed. Geza Vermes and Fergus Millar, vol. I, Edinburgh, 1973, 525.

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lends itself to be memorized. Recurring linguistic and narrative patterns, standard phrases and a certain linguistic rhythm, the formation of series, numerical sayings, shared keywords, and common stylistic properties, alliteration and rhyme and the frequent use of inclusio (e.g. Avot 1:2 »On three things the world stands«—1:18 »On three things the world is upheld«) make it easy to memorize the text.12 Rabbinic students had to memorize long passages of the Mishnah; this was part of the ritual of rabbinic study—written texts were not allowed in the classroom. This does not imply, however, that the whole work has been orally composed; this cannot be demonstrated. In b. Eruvin 54b the rabbis see the ›order of the Mishnah‹ (seder mishnah) in analogy to the transmission of the Torah by Moses to Aaron, the sons of Aaron and the elders. Moses taught everyone his passage and they then repeated it to the others so that finally everyone had heard every passage four times. Saul Lieberman deduced from this passage how the Mishnah was ›published‹ in purely oral form.13 The text is a late ideal presentation how mishnah (oral tradition, not the Mishnah) should be taught, but cannot be used for a historical reconstruction. In spite of the fabulous memory ascribed to people in the Orient, the rabbis time and again complain how much they forget. The oral transmission of the texts of Homer is frequently compared to that of the Mishnah, but it was always parallel to its transmission in writing and never required the degree of exactness that the Mishnaic text presupposes. Written copies must have existed from the very beginnings,14 although they would have been very few and not be used in the classroom; enormous efforts to memorize (parts of) the text always characterized the rabbinic movement. The text of the Mishnah soon became ›canonical;‹ already in the second half of the third century it was treated as authoritative and the main text of study and commentary in rabbinic circles. Its study and discussion in Palestine as well as in the second rabbinic centre, Babylonia, became the basis of the two Talmudim. 1.1.5

The text, its transmission and its commentary

The oldest surviving fragments of manuscripts of the Mishnah (9th to 10th centuries) have been preserved in the Genizah of the Ben Ezra-Synagogue in Cairo. The

12 Elizabeth Shanks Alexander, Transmitting Mishnah. The Shaping Influence of Oral Tradition, Cambridge, 2006; Jacob Neusner, The Memorized Torah: The Mnemonic System of the Mishnah, Chico/CA, 1985; Martin S. Jaffee, Torah in the Mouth: Writing and Oral Tradition in Palestinian Judaism 200 BCE–400 CE, Oxford, 2001; Abraham Walfish, »The poetics of the Mishnah,« in The Mishnah in Contemporary Perspective II, ed. Alan J. Avery-Peck and Jacob Neusner, Leiden, 2006, 153–89. 13 Saul Lieberman, »The Publication of the Mishnah,« in idem, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine, 2nd ed., New York, 1962, 83–99. 14 Against Yaacov Sussmann, »Tora she-beʿal pe – peshuta ke-mashmaʿa,« in Meḥqerei Talmud. Talmudic Studies III/1, ed. idem and David Rosenthal, Jerusalem, 2005, 209–384 (Hebrew). For a much later development see Neil Danzig, »From Oral to Written Talmud: On the Methods of Transmission of the Babylonian Talmud and its Study in the Middle Ages,« Bar-Ilan 30–31 (2006), 49–112 (Hebrew).

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oldest and most important complete manuscripts of the full text are codex Kaufmann A 50 (of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Budapest), and codex Parma De Rossi 138, both dated to the 11th century and later (partially) vocalized. There are facsimile editions of both manuscripts; transcriptions and photographs are available on the internet. The Mishnah was first printed in Naples in 1492 by Joshua Solomon Soncino, member of the famous Jewish family of printers, who later printed many Hebrew books in their home town Soncino in Northern Italy, and ever since. Today the most common, but not critical, edition is that of Ḥanokh Albeck, vocalized by Ḥanokh Yalon.15 The best English translation is that by Herbert Danby; a more recent one has been published by Jacob Neusner; a recent German translation is the work of Michael Krupp.16 As already mentioned, the Mishnah was soon commented upon in both Talmudim; yet parts of the Mishnah remained without Talmud. These received their earliest commentaries in the Geonic period, thus a commentary to Seder Toharot attributed to Hai Gaon (939‒1038), but probably the work of his students (11th century). Maimonides (1135–1204) wrote a commentary to the full Mishnah in Arabic (completed in 1168), but soon translated into Hebrew and included in the first edition of the Mishnah in 1492. The most popular commentary is that of Obadiah of Bertinoro (15th century), first published in Venice in 1548–49 and ever since in most editions of the Mishnah. Brief modern commentaries are included in all translations of the Mishnah; gloss-like commentaries are contained in the incomplete so-called ›Giessen Mishnah‹, a more literary-oriented commentary in Neusner’s ›History of the Mishnaic Law‹, an extensive Hebrew historical and sociological commentary in the still incomplete Mishnat Eretz Israel, edited by Shmuel and Zeev Safrai.17

1.2

Tosefta

The Aramaic tosefta means ›addition, supplement.‹ As a general term it may denote any additional teaching that supplements the Mishnah. More specifically, it is the name of a collection of such additional teachings, most commonly the rabbinic work known today under this name.

15 Ḥanokh Albeck, Shishah Sidre Mishnah, 6 vols., Jerusalem, 1952–58, repeatedly reprinted. 16 Herbert Danby, The Mishnah: Translated from the Hebrew with Introduction and Brief Explanatory Notes, Oxford, 1933, often reprinted; Jacob Neusner, The Mishnah. A New Translation, New Haven/CT, 1987; Dietrich Correns, Die Mischna, 2nd ed., Wiesbaden, 2018; Michael Krupp, Die Mischna, 6 vols., Frankfurt/Berlin, 2007–17. 17 The ›Giessen Mishnah‹, founded in 1912 by Georg Beer and Oscar Holtzmann, Gießen/Berlin, 1912–91 (45 of 63 tractates); Jacob Neusner, A History of the Mishnaic Law of: (Purities, 22 vols.; Holy Things, 6 vols.; Women, 5 vols.; Appointed Times, 5 vols.; Damages, 5 vols.), Leiden, 1974–85; idem, ed., The Law of Agriculture in the Mishnah and the Tosefta, transl., comm., theology, 3 vols., Leiden, 2005, is the work of his students; Shmuel Safrai and Zeev Safrai, Mishnat Eretz Israel, 23 vols. (orders Zeraʿim and Moʿed; tractates Ketubbot; Avot), Jerusalem, 2009–16. For more bibliography see Günter Stemberger, Einleitung in Talmud und Midrasch, 9th ed., Munich, 2011.

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Contents

The Tosefta is a halakhic work which corresponds in structure to the Mishnah. It has the same six orders and the same tractates, although the names sometimes slightly differ (e.g. Kippurim instead of the Mishnaic Yoma, both designations of the Day of Atonement). Only the tractates Avot, Tamid, Middot, and Qinnim have no equivalent in the Tosefta. Its language is the same as that of the Mishnah, Mishnaic Hebrew (I) with only single sentences in Aramaic.18 Its style is less stereotyped and strictly patterned than that of the Mishnah and more prolix; because of this more expansive style and many additional materials without any parallel in the Mishnah, the Tosefta is about sixty percent longer than its counterpart. These additional materials may be the reason why both parallel halakhic works have been transmitted side by side instead of choosing only the Mishnah. 1.2.2

Origins

B.Sanhedrin 86a attributes in the name of R. Yoḥanan the ›anonymous tosefta‹ (stam tosefta) to R. Neḥemiah. If this passage refers to our Tosefta, it attributes its anonymous sayings to a teacher of the generation of Usha, a generation later than the anonymous Mishnah. According to Rav Sherira, the actual author of the Tosefta is R. Ḥiyya bar Abba, a friend and student of Yehudah ha-Nasi; some medieval authorities add Ḥiyya’s contemporary R. Hoshayah as his co-author. According to this traditional position, the Tosefta has undergone the same stages of redaction as the Mishnah, only one generation later and in reaction to the preceding stage of the Mishnah. Some modern scholars also uphold this position, as, e.g., Abraham Goldberg, who dates the redaction of the Tosefta about 220–230.19 The purpose of the Tosefta according to this traditional view is, as the name of the work suggests, to offer a supplement to the Mishnah, lest the tannaitic material omitted in the Mishnah might get forgotten, or a first commentary to the Mishnah.20 Against this view, a number of authors see it as a problem that the Tosefta is never explicitly quoted in later rabbinic literature as might be expected if the Tosefta was really that early. The only explicit quotation in the Talmudim is in b.Yoma 70a, but textual variants do not permit a decision about whether the text here quoted really comes from our Tosefta and not from a similar collection of the same name. Another problem with the traditional view is the fact that the Amoraim of the Babylonian Talmud frequently discuss problems with whose solutions they

18 See Stefan Schreiner, »Languages of the Jews«, in volume III, 72–105. 19 Abraham Goldberg, »The Tosefta – Companion to the Mishna,« in Sh. Safrai, The Literature of the Sages I, 283–301: 283.294f. 20 In more recent research the Tosefta is sometimes also understood as a commentary and supplement to an earlier edition of the Mishnah (see above, n. 4, the references to Shamma Friedman and Judith Hauptman).

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should be familiar from the Tosefta. Do they not know it or do they not recognize it as a halakhic authority? Many authors do not lend too much value to the fact that the Tosefta is never (or at most once) quoted by name in later rabbinic literature. They rather point to the many parallels between the Tosefta and passages in other rabbinic works, frequently introduced by formulas like tanya (›it is taught‹) or tanu rabbanan (›our masters taught‹) that identify these passages as tannaitic traditions that were not received in the Mishnah, baraitot (plural of Aramaic baraita, ›external, outside‹ traditions, i.e. tannaitic traditions outside the Mishnah). Quotations from any rabbinic work except the Mishnah could be very loose; literal exactitude was not regarded as necessary when referring to a body of traditions not as authoritative as the Mishnah. Many authors also point to the difference between the Talmudim: Whereas the parallels in the Palestinian Talmud are normally rather close to the wording of Tosefta, the wording of passages in the Babylonian Talmud may differ substantially from that of its parallels in the Tosefta. Could it be that the redactors of the Palestinian Talmud had before them the (oral) text of the Tosefta and quoted it as an authoritative source of tradition, whereas the rabbis of the Babylonian Talmud knew only some traditions, not the work, of the Tosefta and did not attribute to it the same degree of authority? A more radical solution is proposed most prominently by Ḥanokh Albeck. For him, the frequent differences between Talmudic baraitot and their parallels in the Tosefta prove that the redactors of the Talmudim did not yet know the Tosefta. They rather quoted other collections of baraitot which, perhaps together with the Talmudim, later also became the sources of our Tosefta. The final redaction of the Tosefta therefore is to be dated to the end of the Amoraic period.21 A similar position, but much more refined, is presented by Yaakov Elman on the basis of his analysis of Tractate Pesaḥim. He regards many baraitot in the Bavli as independent of similar texts in the Tosefta, not taken from a Tosefta-like composition. This does not exclude an early date of the Tosefta which, however, cannot be demonstrated: If the Tosefta’s language points to an early date, that is either because it was reduced to written form at an early date but then neglected, or because its constituent components existed in writing and were not altered by its redactors ... In any case, early or late, the Tosefta was not known as such in Amoraic Babylonia.22

1.2.3

The Relationship between Tosefta and Mishnah

Despite so many arguments brought forward for the traditional dating of Tosefta as a redacted work, the later dating cannot be absolutely excluded. More important,

21 Ḥanokh Albeck, Introduction to the Talmud, Babli and Yerushalmi, Tel Aviv, 1969, 51–78 (Hebrew). 22 Yaakov Elman, Authority and Tradition: Toseftan Baraitot in Talmudic Babylonia, New York, 1994, 281.

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however, is the general agreement that at least the contents of the Tosefta and the redaction of at least blocks of its materials are from about the same period as the Mishnah. While it is an important task to study the Tosefta on its own and not only in comparison with the Mishnah, the relationship between the two works remains a basic question. For a full and detailed analysis of this relationship, a synopsis of both works including the variants of their manuscripts is still an urgent desideratum which up to now has been realized only in small part.23 Some passages of the Tosefta agree verbatim with the Mishnah or vary only slightly. Sometimes, the Tosefta offers authors’ names for anonymous sentences of the Mishnah or adds glosses and discussions. In other passages, Tosefta looks like a commentary to Mishnah-material which is not cited, and can hardly be understood without knowledge of the Mishnah; but there are also texts of the Mishnah which need the Tosefta for its understanding. The arrangement of parallel material sometimes differs considerably; there are cases where the Tosefta seems to have the more original arrangement. There is also much additional material without direct connection with materials common to both works. These and other differences (in spite of so much in common) are not evenly distributed across the whole work, but vary from tractate to tractate. Thus, an all-compassing explanation is unlikely. In the history of research, beginning with Moses S. Zuckermandel (1836–1917), the early editor of the Tosefta, there have been many different and contradicting interpretations of these literary phenomena. Zuckermandel assumed that the Tosefta was the Mishnah of the Palestinian Talmud whereas our Mishnah is a Babylonian version; when our Mishnah became the authoritative code, many parallel texts in the Tosefta were omitted which thus lost its former coherence.24 It is not possible to follow here the different versions of this theory developed by Zuckermandel over the decades of his research; important is his starting point not to regard the Tosefta as from the beginning dependent on our Mishnah. Others explained the Tosefta as a post-talmudic compilation of Talmudic and other baraitot, a theory still defended by some authors even today. More common were explanations which saw the origins of the Tosefta closer in time to the redaction of the Mishnah as efforts to collect all kinds of materials parallel to our Mishnah but also supplementing or even contradicting it, arranging these materials following the order of the Mishnah. Today there is an almost general agreement to regard the Tosefta as a redacted work as (slightly) later than the Mishnah. But there is a growing awareness of the fact that at least part of its text, parallel to the Mishnah or independent of it, derives from the second century and in many cases precedes the Mishnah—which in some cases may even react to the Toseftan version. This cautions us not to accept a simplistic one-sided solution regarding the Tosefta as a purely secondary

23 Albertina Houtman, Mishnah and Tosefta. A Synoptic Comparison of the Tractates Berakhot and Shebiit, TSAJ 59, Tübingen, 1996. 24 Moses S. Zuckermandel, Tosefta, Mischna und Boraitha in ihrem Verhältnis zueinander, 2 vols., Frankfurt, 1908–9, Supplement, 1910.

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work, but to deal with each passage of Mishnah and Tosefta separately and on an independent basis.25 1.2.4

The text of the Tosefta, its transmission and commentary

The only nearly complete manuscript of the Tosefta is in the Austrian National Library, Vienna codex hebr. 20, dated to the 13th or 14th century. Older (12th century) is codex Erfurt, now in the Staatsbibliothek Berlin, but incomplete—it breaks off in the middle of tractate Zevaḥim in the fifth order. Sometimes it is claimed that the text of this manuscript underwent an aggressive Ashkenazi revision, harmonizing it with parallels in the Babylonian Talmud; a more detailed analysis demonstrates, however, that it is much closer to Palestinian traditions and is based on an oriental textual tradition, its text not being inferior to that of the Vienna codex. Transcriptions of the manuscripts and fragments from the Genizah have been made accessible by Shamma Friedman and Leib Moscovitz on the website of Bar IlanUniversity (http://www.biu.ac.il/JS/tannaim). The Tosefta was first printed together with the Talmudic compendium of Alfasi in ed. Venice, 1521-22 on the basis of a manuscript close to that of Vienna. The edition most commonly used today is that by Moses Zuckermandel, who used as his basis codex Erfurt and from Zevaḥim 5:5 onward codex Vienna, but more generally an earlier print. Saul Lieberman has edited a critical edition based on the Vienna manuscript. By the time of his death he had completed it through the first three tractates of the order Neziqin. Equally still incomplete is the edition of Karl Heinrich Rengstorf, based on manuscript Erfurt, for the text missing there on Vienna: only the orders Zeraʿim and Toharot and a fascicle with tractate Yevamot have been published so far.26 The only as yet complete translation of the Tosefta is the work of Jacob Neusner; a German translation is in progress.27

25 The most important contribution in this regard is Shamma Friedman, Tosefta Atiqta. Pesaḥ Rishon. Synoptic Parallels of Mishna and Tosefta Analyzed with a Methodological Introduction, Ramat Gan, 2002 (Hebrew). See also Judith Hauptman, Rereading the Mishnah, TSAJ 109, Tübingen 2005, who perhaps generalizes too much the dependence of the Mishnah on the Tosefta; Robert Brody, Mishnah and Tosefta Studies, Jerusalem, 2014. 26 Moses S. Zuckermandel, Tosephta, Pasewalk, 1880, Supplement Trier, 1882, repr. with a supplement by Saul Lieberman, Jerusalem, 1970; Saul Lieberman, The Tosefta, 5 vols., New York, 1955–88; Karl Heinrich Rengstorf et al., eds., Rabbinische Texte. Erste Reihe: Die Tosefta. vols.: Toharot, Stuttgart, 1967; Zeraʿim, Stuttgart, 1983; Yevamot, Stuttgart, 1953; Reinhard Neudecker, Frührabbinisches Ehescheidungsrecht. Der Tosefta-Traktat Gittin, Rom, 1982; Hans Bietenhard, Der Tosefta-Traktat Sota. Hebräischer Text mit kritischem Apparat, Übersetzung, Kommentar, Bern, 1986. 27 Jacob Neusner, The Tosefta. Translated from the Hebrew. With a New Introduction, 2 vols., Peabody/MA, 2002; Karl Heinrich Rengstorf, Günter Mayer, and Michael Tilly, eds., Rabbinische Texte. Erste Reihe: Die Tosefta. Übersetzung und Erklärung, now up to 15 vols., Stuttgart, 1960–2019.

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The Tosefta was rarely studied and commented upon on its own; normally it was only in the context of the Mishnah or the Yerushalmi. Independent commentaries were written since the 17th century. Important traditional commentaries were composed by David Pardo (1718–1790) and, more recently, by Yeḥezqel Abramsky (1886–1976).28 There is as yet no modern commentary on the entire Tosefta, but there are some significant partial projects. The most important is Saul Lieberman’s Tosefta Ki-Fshuṭah on the first three orders and the three Bavot of Neziqin.29 It contains glosses up to extensive excursuses on individual passages. Similar, but less ambitious, is the commentary in the translation of the Stuttgart Tosefta, particularly important for the tractates where Lieberman is lacking. Jacob Neusner in his History of the Mishnaic Law (for Zeraʿim the work of his students) commented on all of the Tosefta in relation to the Mishnah, giving due attention to the major literary questions neglected in other commentaries, mainly in the order of Purities, much less so in later volumes.

2

Tannaitic Midrashim

2.1

General observations

The Tannaitic halakhic midrashim (also called halakhic midrashim) are expository midrashim on Exodus through Deuteronomy, interpreting their biblical text verse by verse and often word by word (the book of Genesis is most likely excluded because it contains nearly no texts from which to derive halakhah). Their main interest is the halakhah which they seek to derive from Scripture instead of proposing it independently as the Mishnah and the Tosefta do. As running commentaries they do not bypass the narrative parts of the biblical sections they comment upon and therefore are also strongly haggadic. They are characterized by a rather stereotyped exegetical terminology which clearly distinguishes them from later midrashim. Their language is Mishnaic Hebrew and the masters quoted in them are the same tannaim we encounter in Mishnah and Tosefta. These works are frequently quoted in these midrashim; therefore they must be somewhat later than the Mishnah, but still belong to the same period of rabbinic literature and are tentatively dated to the third or possibly as late as the early fourth century. The pioneering early scholar of these midrashim, David Hoffmann, divided them in two groups which he assigned to the schools of R. Aqiva and his contemporary R. Yishmael, based mainly on the names of the quoted rabbis, the technical terminology, and the exegetical method.30 R. Yishmael is quoted with the saying that

28 David Pardo, Sefer Ḥasde David, 4 vols., Jerusalem, 1970–77; Yeḥezqel Abramsky, Ḥazon Yeḥezqel, 6 vols. in 12 parts, Jerusalem, 2000–3. 29 Saul Lieberman, Tosefta Ki–Fshuṭah. A Comprehensive Commentary on the Tosefta, 10 vols. and Supplement to Moʿed, New York, 1955–88 (Hebrew). 30 David Hoffmann, Einleitung in die halachischen Midraschim, Berlin, 1887.

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»the Torah/Bible speaks in human language« and therefore has to be interpreted as every normal secular text. This opposes the approach attributed to R. Aqiva and his students who interpret all linguistic peculiarities, the doubling of certain terms, and individual particles and letters; and thus read the Bible like a secret code. According to these criteria, Hoffmann assigned the Mekhilta of R. Yishmael on Exodus and Sifre Numbers, beginning and end of Sifre Deuteronomy and the Midrash Tannaim on Deuteronomy to the school of R. Yishmael; the Mekhilta de-R. Simeon ben Yoḥai on Exodus, Sifra on Leviticus, Sifre Zutta on Numbers and Sifre Deuteronomy are attributed to the school of R. Aqiva. This classification developed by Hoffmann has been followed in subsequent research at least to some extent, but also considerably modified. Ḥanokh Albeck accepted the terminological differentiation of these midrashim, but attributed it not to the schools of Yishmael and Aqiva, but rather to the final editors. He also doubted the attribution of these midrashim to these schools since the dependence of the methods of these midrashim on the principles of these Tannaim cannot be really demonstrated.31 Louis Finkelstein basically accepted the thesis of Albeck, but insisted that we have to distinguish between the haggadic material common to both schools and the halakhic sections the core of which might really go back to the two schools.32 A thorough analysis of all traditions attributed to R. Yishmael by Gary Porton demonstrated, however, how problematic even these conclusions are. We cannot clearly distinguish between these schools and their exegetical methods: »It appears that the standard picture of Ishmael’s exegetical practices is, at earliest, an Amoraic construction.«33 The terminological differences between the two groups of midrashim, are, as already Albeck claimed, the work of the redactors and not of R. Yishmael and Aqiva and their disciples. The lively discussion of the halakhic midrashim over more than a century has verified the basic insights of David Tzvi Hoffmann, but has considerably refined and qualified them. If one wants to keep speaking of midrashim of the schools of R. Yishmael or Aqiva, one has to be aware of the purely pragmatic (not historical) nature of this nomenclature.34 Mekhilta de-R. Yishmael and Sifre Numbers clearly belong to one group (›Yishmael‹); the other group (›Aqiva‹) has to be differentiated: The Mekhilta de-R. Simeon ben Yoḥai, Sifra and Sifre Deuteronomy are very close to the Mishnah, whereas Sifre Zutta on Numbers and Deuteronomy is linguistically different and has hardly any contacts with the Mishnah.35 Taken together, the

31 32 33 34

Ḥanokh Albeck, Untersuchungen über die halakischen Midraschim, Berlin, 1927. Louis Finkelstein, »The Sources of the Tannaitic Midrashim,« JQR 31 (1940-41): 211–43. Gary G. Porton, The Traditions of Rabbi Ishmael, 4 vols., StJLA 19, Leiden, 1976–82: II, 7. On the place of these two »schools« in rabbinic hermeneutics see Azzan Yadin, Scripture as Logos. Rabbi Ishmael and the Origins of Midrash, Philadelphia/PA, 2004; idem, Scripture and Tradition: Rabbi Akiva and the Triumph of Midrash, Philadelphia/PA, 2015. For their continuing impact on Jewish understanding of the Torah see Abraham J. Heschel, Heavenly Torah: As Refracted through the Generations, New York, 2005; Jay M. Harris; How do we know this?: Midrash and the Fragmentation of Modern Judaism, Albany/NY, 1995. 35 Menahem I. Kahana, »The Halakhic Midrashim«, in Sh. Safrai, The Literature of the Sages. II, 3–105, 5.

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group of halakhic midrashim documents the rich exegetical activity of the tannaitic teachers besides their epochal work on Mishnah and Tosefta. They all have been taken up, although in different measure, in both Talmudim as well as in later midrashic literature; they have been excerpted in the earliest midrashic anthologies in the Middle Ages and quoted by many medieval authorities, although in the course of time only part of them has survived as integral works whereas others have been rediscovered only in the late 19th and the 20th centuries, reconstructed on the basis of later quotations or of manuscript fragments from the Cairo Genizah.

2.2

The Mekhilta de-Rabbi Yishmael

The Mekhilta is the early rabbinic commentary on parts of the book of Exodus. Its Aramaic name means ›rule, norm, measure‹, more specifically the derivation of the halakhah from Scripture according to certain rules, halakhic interpretation or also its results, a writing that contains a halakhic commentary. This development in the meaning is parallel to that of the Greek word kanōn, literally a ›measuring stick,‹ and then a rule of interpretation and finally the whole corpus of interpretations that follows such rules. In the Talmud, Mekhilta still does not designate the commentary on Exodus,36 but written notes on the halakhah. In the Gaonic period (7th to 11th centuries), Mekhilta designates the halakhic commentary on Exodus through Deuteronomy; thus still Maimonides in the twelfth century uses the term. Other texts use Sifre (›books‹) in the same comprehensive way. The first clear references to our midrash as Mekhilta de-R. Yishmael date from the eleventh century. The specification ›of R. Yishmael‹ does not indicate that R. Yishmael or his school were considered the authors of this midrash; it is derived from the fact that Yishmael is the first rabbi quoted in the midrash (tractate Pisḥa 2; Pisḥa 1 is an introduction); he is also the rabbi mentioned most frequently (more than 90 times). This is the common way of naming a book after its beginning in the Middle Ages. The addition of ›R. Yishmael‹ serves to distinguish this midrash from other writings equally called Mekhilta. 2.2.1

Contents and Structure

The Mekhilta (here and in the following always short for Mekhilta de-Rabbi Yishmael, as distinguished from the Mekhilta de-R. Simeon ben Yoḥai) comments only on part of the biblical book of Exodus. Its whole first part—the childhood of Moses, his call by God, his disputes with the Pharaoh and the story of the plagues is completely omitted. The commentary starts with Exod 12:1, the night of Pesaḥ, because its meal is of permanent halakhic importance. It then comments on the whole text up to 23:19, and then adds only two small further sections on the topic of the Sabbath (Exod 31:12–17; 35:1–3). The Mekhilta thus comments on only about

36 The parable of the lame and the blind, found in the Mekhilta, is quoted in LevRab 4:5 as »R. Yishmael taught«.

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twelve of forty chapters of the book of Exodus. It concentrates on the legal sections of the book, but within this large textual block of Exod 12–23 it does not omit the narrative parts which are very substantial: the whole story of how the Israelites left Egypt, their song once they had miraculously crossed the sea, their wanderings in the desert, and their repeated revolts against God and Moses, the giving of the Torah at Sinai etc. In reality, these are the major part of this biblical text. They all are most elaborately commented upon; thus the haggadic part of the Midrash is really much more extensive than the halakhah which dominated the original selection of chapters to be commented upon. Even more striking is the fact that several important legal sections are not dealt with. The directions for the construction of the covenantal tabernacle, the making of its furniture and utensils and the priestly vestments (Exod 25–28) were apparently commented upon in a separate work which may have corresponded to the Baraita de-melekhet ha-mishkan, the ›Baraita on the Construction of the Tabernacle‹, to be briefly described in a later section. The commentary on Exod 29, the consecration of the priests, apparently was also an independent work which later on under the title Mekhilta de-milluim was included in Sifra on Lev 8, although its technical terminology better fits the Mekhilta and the ›school of R. Yishmael.‹ In the original arrangement, the Mekhilta de-R. Yishmael was divided in nine tractates (massekhtot): 1. Pisḥa (Pesaḥ, Ex 12:1–13:16); 2. Beshallaḥ (›When he sent forth,‹ 13:17–14:31); 3. Shirta (›The song,‹ 15:1–21); 4. Wa-yassa (›He let them set out,‹ 15:22–17:7); 5. Amaleq (17:8–18:27); 6. Baḥodesh (›In the [third] month,‹ 19:1–20:26); 7. Neziqin (›Damages,‹ 21:1–22:23); 8. Kaspa (›Money,‹ 22:24–23:19); 9. Shabbeta (›Sabbath,‹ 31:12–17; 35:1–3). The names are taken, as common in antiquity, from the first (significant) word of the section. This division is exclusively based on content and not on the reading cycle of the synagogue. Only the printed editions introduced the division following the Babylonian annual Torah reading cycle, naming the first part of Amaleq Beshallaḥ, its second part (starting with 18:1) together with Baḥodesh as Yitro; Neziqin and Kaspa were combined as Mishpaṭim, while Shabbeta was divided into Ki-tissa and Wa-yaqhel. This may lead to confusion when looking up a quotation from the Mekhilta. 2.2.2

Character and Date

The attribution of the Mekhilta to the ›school of R. Yishmael‹ is based on its many passages which, literally or with the same content, in other rabbinic texts are quoted as teachings of R. Yishmael. The demarcation from midrashim of the other group is rather clear in the exegetical terminology: The Mekhilta, for example, regularly uses maggid, ›this says, tells,‹ instead of melammed, ›this teaches,‹ shomeaʿ ani, ›I might think‹ (literally ›I hear‹) instead of yakhol, ›Might it be possible?,‹ although this latter term is frequently introduced into the printed editions instead of the original terminology of the manuscripts. As to the method of interpretation in the haggadic parts (the aggadic sections are common to both schools), the demarcation is not quite as clear; but purely

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stylistic repetitions normally are not interpreted. Characteristic is also the statement attributed to R. Yonatan (Neziqin 15 on Exod 22:8): ›The first statement is said at the beginning and beginnings are not used for interpretations‹ (i.e., for the derivation of a rule other than the one stated explicitly). As regards the literary genesis of the Mekhilta, Jacob Lauterbach has offered a detailed reconstruction in the introduction to his edition of this midrash. For him, the Mekhilta is ›one of the older tannaitic works,‹ as may be seen in its early halakhah, many biblical legends not preserved elsewhere, and a still very simple interpretation of the Bible. He therefore attributes the core of the work to the school of R. Yishmael or at least to his students; but he also allows for ›more than one revision and several subsequent redactions.‹37 There is much to say for a prolonged history of redaction of the Mekhilta, but then we have to ask what still remains of the tannaitic core. A history of the redaction of the Mekhilta must proceed from its sources and a separate investigation of the halakhic and haggadic material. It also has to consider its relationship to its ›twin,‹ the Mekhilta de-Rabbi Simeon ben Yoḥai, as Menahem Kahana has done for tractate Amaleq.38 The single tractates of the Mekhilta are not quite uniform—some rabbis are quoted very frequently in some tractates, in others only rarely; certain rhetorical expressions are also very unevenly distributed over the work. Quotations from other rabbinic collections, mostly the Mishnah, introduced by the formula mikan amru ›on the basis [of this verse sages] said‹ are quite common in the Mekhilta, but very unevenly distributed. They are very frequent in tractates Pisḥa and Neziqin, whereas no single example is to be found in tractates Beshallaḥ, Shirta and Shabbeta. Since most of these passages are halakhic, they are not to be expected in Beshallaḥ and Shirta; astonishing, however, is their complete absence in Shabbeta with its thematic counterpart in Mishnah and Tosefta Shabbat. But it is still too early to draw definite conclusions from such observations. Some linguistic turns and phrases in the Mekhilta are not to be found in other early texts and thus call our attention. There are also certain thematic interests in the Mekhilta which one would expect only in a later period, statements regarding the liturgy, isolated orthographic remarks (in Wa-yassa 1) and perhaps also the names of some rabbis, never mentioned in other rabbinic works.39 But it would go too far to use such and similar observations for a radical late dating, as has been done by Ben Zion Wacholder, who proposes the origin of this midrash in the eighth

37 Jacob Z. Lauterbach, Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael: A critical edition on the basis of the MSS and early editions with an English translation, introduction and notes, 3 vols., Philadelphia/PA, 1933–35 (repr. in 2 vols. with introduction by David Stern, Philadelphia/PA, 2004), XIX and XXVI. 38 Menahem I. Kahana, The two Mekhiltot on the Amalek Portion. The Originality of the Version of the Mekhilta d’Rabbi Ishmaʿel with Respect to the Mekhilta of Rabbi Shimʿon ben Yohay, Jerusalem, 1999 (Hebrew). 39 Günter Stemberger, »Mekhilta de-R. Yishmael: Some Aspects of its Redaction,« in Envisioning Judaism: Studies in Honor of Peter Schäfer on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday, ed. Ra’anan Boustan, Klaus Herrmann, et al., Tübingen, 2013, 465–74.

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century in Egypt or somewhere else in North Africa, claiming that it uses the Babylonian Talmud and even later writings and alludes to Islamic rule.40 A number of passages in the Mekhilta remain problematic; but at least for the earliest core of the Mekhilta, a date in the third century still remains most probable. 2.2.3

The Text, its Transmission and Translations

The Mekhilta, or at least textual units (nearly) identical to passages of the Mekhilta, are to be frequently found in later rabbinic literature, although there are no explicit quotations. Many passages in both Talmudim clearly belong to the tradition of the Mekhilta; in the midrashim, too, many texts document the impact of the Mekhilta in rabbinic history. Medieval anthologies like the Yalqut transmit many excerpts of the Mekhilta and all great interpreters of the Bible, beginning with Rashi quote it time and again. Up to the present, the text of the Mekhilta is reprinted many times and thus documents its lasting importance for the Jewish understanding of the Bible. Manuscripts and printed editions The Mekhilta de-Rabbi Yishmael survives in two complete and two partial manuscripts and a great number of fragments from the Genizah of Cairo; their transcription is freely accessible on the website of Bar Ilan-University (http://www.biu.ac.il/ JS/tannaim/). A full transcription of all fragments from the Genizah has also been published by Menaḥem Kahana.41 The Oxford manuscript (Bodleian Library 151,2) contains several midrashim, among them the Mekhilta. The colophon at the end of the Pesiqta de-Rav Kahana indicates the year 1291; at about the same date the Mekhilta might have been copied, most likely in Italy. In spite of many mistakes and omissions due to homoioteleuton (similar endings of lines or passages) it is our best manuscript, in many cases agreeing with the readings of the fragments from the Genizah. The second complete manuscript belongs to the Bavarian State Library, Munich (Cod. hebr. 117,1), copied in 1433 in Italy. It is closely related to a partial Vatican manuscript, perhaps its Vorlage, again from Italy, which was the main region for the transmission of this midrash. The Mekhilta was printed for the first time in Constantinople in 1515 on the basis of a Sephardic manuscript now lost. A corrected and augmented reprint was published in 1545 in Venice. At present, two critical editions are used: Saul Horovitz

40 Ben Zion Wacholder, »The Date of the Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael,« HUCA 39 (1968): 117–44; for a discussion of his arguments see Günter Stemberger, »Die Datierung der Mekhilta,« Kairos 21 (1979): 81–118. 41 Menahem I. Kahana, The Genizah Fragments of the Halakhic Midrashim. Part I: Mekhilta d’Rabbi Ishmaʿel, Mekhilta d’Rabbi Shimʿon ben Yohay, Sifre Numbers, Sifre Zuta Numbers, Sifre Deuteronomy, Mekhilta Deuteronomy, Jerusalem, 2005, 1–152.

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took as his basis the Venice edition of 1545 and the manuscripts known to him for the critical apparatus; after his death the edition was completed by Abraham Rabin. Almost at the same time, Jacob Z. Lauterbach worked on his edition, a mixed text on the basis of manuscripts (the Vatican manuscript was still unknown to him) and a few fragments from the Genizah, to which he added his translation on facing pages.42 Ever since the publication of these editions a new edition following modern critical standards has been called for. A sample of such an edition is Kahana’s already mentioned edition of tractate Amaleq that offers on facing pages the text of the Mekhilta de-R. Yishmael and that of the Mekhilta de-R. Simeon bar Yoḥai.43 He pleads for a diplomatic transcription of the best manuscript as the base text (for this he has to switch between two manuscripts from the Genizah and the Oxford manuscript). Corrections to this text and all variants in other manuscripts and editions belong in the critical apparatus. Kahana’s edition covers only a small part of the Mekhilta (twelve pages of the Horovitz-edition); for the normal user the editions by Horovitz and Lauterbach have not yet been replaced. Translations Jakob Winter and August Wünsche produced an early German translation of the Mekhilta (based on the edition of Meir Friedmann, 1870). It is extremely literal and leaves central halakhic terms without translation. It is helpful for people who use it together with the Hebrew text, but not for the average reader. It has been replaced by the translation of Günter Stemberger. In English, there is the previously mentioned translation which Jacob Lauterbach added to his edition; it is rather free which is no problem since one can always look up the Hebrew text. A more recent English translation is the work of Jacob Neusner.44

2.3

The Mekhilta de-Rabbi Simeon ben Yoḥ ai

This second halakhic midrash on Exodus was frequently quoted until the 16th century, but since it was not printed, it soon got lost, until it was rediscovered in the 19th and 20th centuries. In the Middle Ages it is most frequently quoted as Mekhilta de R. Simeon (ben Yoḥai), but also as Mekhiltin de R. Aqiva or even as Mekhilta de saniya (›M. of the thornbush‹) since it begins with Exod 3.

42 Haim Saul Horovitz and Israel Abraham Rabin, Mechilta d’Rabbi Ismael cum variis lectionibus et adnotationibus, Frankfurt, 1931, repr. Jerusalem, 1960; Lauterbach, Mekilta. 43 Kahana, The two Mekhiltot. 44 Jakob Winter and August Wünsche, Mechiltha. Ein tannaitischer Midrasch zu Exodus, Leipzig, 1909 (repr. Hildesheim, 1990); Günter Stemberger, Die Mekhilta de-Rabbi Jishmaʿel. Ein früher Midrasch zum Buch Exodus, Berlin, 2010; Lauterbach, Mekilta; Jacob Neusner, Mekhilta Attributed to R. Ishmael. An Analytical Translation, 2 vols., Atlanta/GA, 1988.

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2.3.1

107

Text

Meir Friedmann collected quotations from this midrash in his edition of the Mekhilta de-R. Yishmael (1870). Most of them have been transmitted in the Midrash haGadol, a large midrashic anthology on the Pentateuch attributed to David ben Amram of Aden (13th or 14th century). David Hoffmann tried to reconstruct the midrash on the basis of the Midrash ha-Gadol and three fragments from the Genizah.45 This was a pioneering work in his time, but soon superseded by the discovery of new fragments, collected by Jacob N. Epstein (1878–1952). On this basis he prepared a new edition which after his death was completed by Ezra Z. Melamed.46 About two-thirds of this edition are based on fragments from the Genizah, the remainder (in small print) on quotations from the Midrash ha-Gadol. The use of this anthology is, of course, not without problems, as was recognized in further studies of his editing technique. Its author does not indicate its sources, divides them into small units and recombines them rather freely to a new textual mosaic. Even the Genizah fragments are of largely differing value. The largest fragment (MS Firkovitch II 268, St. Petersburg) with about half of the text of the midrash was identified by Menahem Kahana as »an inferior text written in thirteenth century Spain.«47 These and similar problems and, above all, the ongoing discovery of new Genizah fragments call for a new edition.48 An English translation including the Epstein-Melamed Hebrew text on facing pages is the work of David Nelson.49 2.3.2

Contents and Character

The fragmentary transmission of the midrash does not allow a definite judgment as to its original extension. What we have is the text to Exod 3:1f.7f.; 6:2; 12:1–24:10; 30:20–31:15; 34:12.14.18–26; 35:2. However, the beginning with Exod 3 is confirmed by the medieval quotation of the midrash as ›Mekhilta of the thornbush‹. It cannot be shown that the midrash commented on the whole text of Exodus at least up to Exod 6; it is likely that it commented only on single verses at the beginning of each synagogal reading. We also do not know the original division of the midrash.

45 David Hoffmann, Mechilta de-Rabbi Simon ben Jochai, Frankfurt, 1905; idem, Zur Einleitung in die Mechilta de Rabbi Simon ben Jochai, Frankfurt, 1906. 46 Jacob N. Epstein and Ezra Z. Melamed, Mekhilta d’Rabbi Simʿon b. Jochai. Fragmenta in Genizah Cairensi reperta digessit apparatu critico, notis, praefatione instruxit..., Jerusalem, 1955, cor. repr. Jerusalem, 1979. 47 Kahana, The Halakhic Midrashim, 73. 48 W. David Nelson, »Critiquing a Critical Edition: Challenges Utilizing the Mekhilta of Rabbi Shimon b. Yoḥai,« in Recent Developments in Midrash Research, ed. Lieve M. Teugels and Rivka Ulmer, Piscataway/NJ, 2005, 97–115. For new texts see Kahana, The Genizah Fragments, 153–86. 49 W. David Nelson, Mekhilta de Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai: Translated into English, with Critical Introduction and Annotation, Philadelphia/PA, 2006.

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Terminology and names of rabbis clearly classify this second Mekhilta as belonging to the ›school of R. Aqiva‹, as is underlined by the medieval quotation as Mekhiltin de R. Aqiva. Many anonymous statements in the midrash are elsewhere quoted in the name of R. Simeon, but this cannot be used as evidence of his authorship. The midrash is named after him because he is the first rabbi it cites. The Mekhilta de-R. Simeon frequently uses the Mishnah, but also the Tosefta and other halakhic midrashim. It is generally considered to be later than the Mekhilta de-R. Yishmael; for Menahem Kahana it is a conscious reworking of the first Mekhilta. Comparing the haggadic passages parallel in both Mekhiltot, Menahem Kahana recognizes in the Mekhilta de-R. Simeon »a more developed literary and theological nature… stylistic hyperbole, exegetical diffusion, a tendency to attribute anonymous midrashim to specific sages, and possibly even the attempt to artificially rewrite disputes. Some of the expositions exhibit a simplification of content bordering on popularization.«50 It is clear that the Mekhilta de R. Simeon is later than the other Mekhilta and probably also later than all other halakhic midrashim. But we still lack the criteria for a more precise dating of this work.

2.4

Baraita de-Melekhet ha-Mishkan

As already mentioned, the directions for the construction of the covenantal tabernacle (Exod 25–28) were not dealt with in the Mekhilta de-R. Yishmael. We find the commentary on these chapters in a separate work, Baraita de-melekhet ha-mishkan. This work in Mishnaic Hebrew, quoting only masters of the Tannaitic period, describes in fourteen chapters the construction of the tabernacle, the linen curtains and those made of goat’s hair, the dimensions and history of the ark, the placement of the tablets and Torah scrolls, the showbread table, the lampstand and all other items of the sanctuary. The work ends with remarks about the cloud of the divine presence in the tent and the place from which God spoke with Moses. The work does not exactly follow the sequence of the biblical text, but is rather organized according to subject. Some of its aspects resemble more the Mishnah than the other midrashim. The Mishnah’s concerns for matters of definition, classification, and specification is also characteristic of BMM (Baraita de-Melekhet ha-Mishkan); it is »an architectural treatise irrelevant to contemporary time or place«, which »may be imperfectly defined as ›mishnaic midrash‹«.51 Its editor Robert Kirschner emphasizes the difficulties of dating this work and the need to distinguish between the age of the materials and the time of their redaction, but he finally accepts the position

50 Kahana, The Halakhic Midrashim, 76. See also W. David Nelson, »Oral Orthography: Early Rabbinic Oral and Written Transmission of Parallel Midrashic Tradition in the Mekhilta of Rabbi Simon ben Yoḥai and the Mekhilta of Rabbi Ishmael,« AJSReview 29 (2005): 1–32, who prefers to understand the differences between the two Mekhiltot as the result of the oral culture within which these traditions developed. 51 Robert Kirschner, Baraita DeMelekhet ha-Mishkan: A Critical Edition with Introduction and Translation, Cincinnati/OH, 1992, 8.

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championed by Meir Friedmann more than a century ago that »BMM is a tannaitic work originating in the third or fourth century.«52 The Baraita has been transmitted in several manuscripts (the earliest from the 13th century) and several rather substantial fragments from the Genizah. It was first printed in Venice in 1602. Kirschner’s edition and translation replaces earlier editions. Nevertheless, Menahem Kahana pleads for a new edition with commentary, based on the fragments from the Genizah, supplemented by the first edition.53

2.5

Sifra54

In Palestinian texts the oldest Rabbinic interpretation of the book of Leviticus is called Torat Kohanim, ›law of priests,‹ just as the biblical book itself, because sacrifices and laws of cultic purity stand at its center. In the Babylonian tradition that became standard, the name of the midrash is Sifra (Aramaic ›the book‹). Most frequently this name is explained by the fact that in the old Jewish school system Leviticus was the first book with which instruction began. Against this explanation it has been argued that there is no evidence that the biblical book (and not just the midrash on it) was ever called Sifra. The name Sifra might rather refer to the fact that this halakhic midrash already in an early period was a written book. This explanation is attractive, but not without problems. Because of its exegetical method, its technical terminology, and the most prominent rabbis in this midrash, it is generally considered to belong to the ›school of R. Aqiva.‹ 2.5.1

Contents and Structure

In its present state of transmission, Sifra comments on all of Leviticus verse-byverse, often even word-by-word. Since the biblical book is almost fully legal, the midrash is also nearly exclusively halakhic and does not contain large haggadic sections as the other halakhic midrashim. There is good evidence that Sifra was originally like the other halakhic midrashim a midrash on only the main parts of Leviticus and was supplemented only at a later stage in order to comment on the full text of the biblical book. Sifra, as documented by the oldest manuscripts, originally consisted of nine large sections or tractates, called megillah (›scroll‹) or dibbura (›statement, speech‹): 1) 1:1–3:17 Wayyiqra (›he called‹) or Nedavah (›free-will offering‹). 2) 4:1–5:26 Ḥovah (›oblig52 ibid. 73. 53 Menahem I. Kahana, »Initial Observations regarding the Baraita deMelekhet haMishkan: Text, Redaction and Publication,« in Melekhet Mahshevet. Studies in the Redaction and Development of Talmudic Literature, ed. Aaron Amit and Aharon Shemesh, Ramat Gan, 2011, 55–67 (Hebrew). 54 This whole section is based on Günter Stemberger, »Leviticus in Sifra,« in idem, Judaica Minora, vol. II, TSAJ 138, Tübingen, 2010, 477–97 (first in Jacob Neusner and Alan J. Avery-Peck, eds., Encyclopaedia of Midrash. I: Biblical Interpretation in Formative Judaism, Leiden, 2005, 429–47).

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atory offering‹). 3) 6:1–7:38 Ẓaw (›command‹). 4) 10:8–12:8 Sheraẓim (›creeping animals‹). 5) 13:1–13:59 Negaim (›plagues, skin diseases‹). 6) 14:1–15:33 Meẓora (›Leper‹). 7) 16:1–20:27 Aḥaré mot (›After the death‹). 8) 21:1–24:23 Emor (›Say‹). 9) 25:1–27:34 Sinai. This division does not follow a reading cycle of the synagogue; only in the course of its textual transmission was it adapted to the division of Leviticus in the Babylonian reading order. The early division rather organizes the explanation of the biblical book in thematic units of about equal size which could be copied in nine scrolls (megillot). These units are named either after the first word(s) of its biblical text or the main topic of the section. Very soon a structure was imposed on the midrash, dividing each megillah into parashiyot (›sections‹), subdivided again into peraqim (›chapters‹). This original system was later misunderstood which led to considerable confusion up to today. At least some parts now to be found in the midrash originally did not belong to it. In the above list of the nine original megillot of Sifra, Lev 8:1–10:7 is not covered. These slightly more than two chapters of Leviticus are the only narrative text to be found in this book; they deal with the priestly consecration of Aaron and his sons and their inaugural service. Lev 8:33 calls this consecration milluim, the ›filling‹ of the hands of the priests with the oil of consecration. Accordingly, the midrash that dealt with these chapters, was called Mekhilta de-Milluim, Mekhilta of the Consecration. The name Mekhilta points to another origin of the midrash on these two chapters than that of the main part of Sifra. The topic of the consecration of the priests occurs also in Ex 29; this chapter is not interpreted in the Mekhilta de-R. Yishmael; the whole topic was rather dealt with in a separate midrash that takes Leviticus as its basic text, but includes the version of Exodus as well. This midrash was later inserted into Sifra. With the exception of a small section, this addition is already present in the oldest manuscript of Sifra. Another section, again called Mekhilta and thus pointing to a different origin from that of the rest of the midrash, was also added to Sifra. It is the commentary on Lev 18:6–23 and 20:9–21, laws dealing with forbidden sexual relations, mainly incest (in Rabbinic language ʿarayot). These laws apparently were not discussed in the main midrash on Leviticus because m.Ḥagigah 2:1 forbids one to expound them in public (›before three‹). They were commented upon in a separate small work, the Mekhilta de-Arayot. The copyist of Codex Assemani 66 found the text somewhere and added it to Sifra; only in the Venice edition (1609–1611) was it added to the printed text, now divided in two parts to fit the sequence of the biblical text. It is also clear that what now forms the introduction to the whole midrash, the chapter on the thirteen rules for the interpretation of the Torah that are attributed to R. Yishmael (the 13th may be Aqivan), does not belong to the original midrash, although all known manuscripts contain this text. The text is not really connected with the midrash that follows it. It seems to underline the special importance of this midrash on Leviticus that these rules of interpretation have been added here and not to some other midrash. It thus is clear that Sifra is not a unitary work, but composed of diverse materials. Sifra in the same way as the other halakhic midrashim began as a commentary not on the whole biblical book, but on only essential parts of it. The complete text of Sifra, as we now have it in our printed

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editions, and its division into fourteen sections in agreement with the parashiyot of the reading cycle of the Torah is basically that introduced by the Venice edition. 2.5.2

The Literary Program of Sifra

Even in its central parts, the literary program of Sifra is not uniform. There are at least three different types of materials that are easily distinguished from each other by their characteristic styles and their different linguistic protocols. A simple commentary on the biblical text may be considered the basic form of the midrash. As a rule, this text is anonymous; only rarely does it quote Rabbinic authorities. It analyzes the meaning of words and the halakhic relevance of a biblical verse, referring to comparable biblical texts and continuously asking what a biblical expression includes or excludes in order to define exactly what the biblical text demands. A second literary type very common in Sifra is a syllogistic commentary. It uses a sequence of questions and answers in order to test the logical possibilities and inner coherence of an interpretation. It employs a very limited repertory of stereotyped linguistic formulae; it frequently speaks in the first person singular and directly addresses the reader in the second person, thus developing an imagined dialogue between midrashist and his hearer/reader. Names of rabbis do occur, but are not frequent. More than any other type of text, this syllogistic commentary with its long and convoluted sequences of logical possibilities and their refutation or specification by the final appeal to a biblical text is the specific hallmark of the halakhic midrash and its later adumbration in the Bavli. A third group of texts in Sifra offers an interpretation of the biblical text in dialogue with texts or traditions quoted or known from Mishnah and Tosefta. We shall return below to this type of work. 2.5.3

The Unity of Sifra

The different literary structures found in Sifra can be read on a synchronistic level as different forms of expression of the authorship of Sifra or, alternatively, as a historical sequence that lets us understand the development of the midrash. A synchronistic analysis of Sifra has been proposed by Jacob Neusner. He is convinced that the text of Sifra we have »is what those original redactors gave us, more or less, and that variations in contents contributed by later copyists proved trivial.« This does not mean, however, that the whole text must have been written at a certain date. There may have been »a body of composers, working at an indeterminate time and place, all bound to a single protocol of generative conceptions and a distinctive protocol as to rhetoric and logic.«55

55 Jacob Neusner, Uniting the Dual Torah. Sifra and the Problem of the Mishnah, Cambridge, 1990, 3f. Cf. idem, Sifra in Perspective: The Documentary Comparison of the Midrashim of Ancient Judaism, Atlanta/GA, 1988, 36: »uniform and formally coherent character of the document.«

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For Neusner, the overarching concern of the authorship of Sifra is the union of the written and oral Torah, which is to be achieved by a thorough critique of the Mishnah and its system of logical classification of the reality. For long stretches Sifra cannot have been put together without the Mishnah; it destroys the Mishnah as an autonomous and freestanding statement, but this »is followed by the reconstruction of (large tracts of) the Mishnah as a statement wholly within, and in accord with, the logic and program of the written Torah in Leviticus.«56 The halakhah of the Mishnah is not the product of logic, but exclusively the product of exegesis of Scripture. Neusner’s understanding of Sifra offers a unified understanding of its three characteristic literary structures: Sifra responds to the completed texts of the Mishnah; the midrash is an answer to the Mishnah. But how do we explain the fact that Sifra very early became one of the basic texts of the same Rabbinic community that stood on the basis of the Mishnah? Was the polemic no longer understood or considered to be an irrelevant aspect of a midrash, valued above all for its interpretation of the biblical text and its large-scale integration of the Mishnah into this interpretation? Another possible explanation of the literary phenomena of Sifra takes the midrash as the product of several stages of development. The simple commentary that in an almost stenographic style notes the meaning of words, the applicability of halakhic norms, and for whom they are relevant, which normally is the first part of every interpretation of the biblical text in Sifra, may easily be detached from the other literary structures of the midrash and may be considered as the earliest layer of Sifra. This simple commentary covers the whole book of Leviticus. This does not prove that there ever was a unified simple commentary on the entire text of Leviticus. There may have been separate commentaries on different parts of the biblical book, but there seems to have been a general agreement that the first step in commenting upon the biblical book required accomplishing the task that the simple commentary performs. The authors of the simple commentary lived in a community of discourse common with that of the Mishnah. Thus even the earliest stratum of Sifra we can reach is certainly Rabbinic. If passages that contain names of Rabbinic authorities were part of this earliest stratum, it reached its literary form not earlier than in the decades following the Bar Kokhba-revolt.57 The many long passages in Sifra that may be defined as syllogistic stratum of the midrash, can be deleted without damage to the coherence of the remaining commentary; they are not an absolutely necessary component of the midrash. These passages are much more frequent in the earlier tractates of Sifra than in the rest. This suggests that at a certain time people began to revise and supplement the early simple commentary; at first they inserted such passages frequently, but

56 Neusner, Uniting, 1f. 57 Against the attempt of Louis Finkelstein, »The Core of the Sifra: A Temple Textbook for Priests,« JQR 80 (1989–90): 15–34, to date the first stratum of Sifra before 70.

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later they proceeded at greater speed and neglected some parts of the midrash nearly completely. Several explanations are possible for the many texts Sifra has in common with the Mishnah. Ronen Reichman defends the priority of Sifra over the Mishnah.58 He detects problems in the text of the Mishnah which have arisen because the redactor misunderstood his Vorlage in Sifra. But if we attempt directly to derive the text of our Mishnah from that of Sifra (as we know it today), too many questions remain. The redactors of the Mishnah certainly knew and used early stages of Sifra, but later stages of Sifra clearly knew the text of the Mishnah and extensively quoted it. Many parallels are introduced in Sifra by an explicit quotation formula—most commonly mikan amru »on the basis [of this verse sages] said;« other parallels are not introduced as quotations but nevertheless clearly presuppose the text of the Mishnah. Many small parallels between the Mishnah and Sifra occur at a very early stage of the redaction when both corpora were not yet completed. Other parallels may have entered Sifra later on; but the most prominent parallels introduced by quotation formulas certainly belong to the last stage of the literary development of the midrash. These parallels have not been introduced by the redactors responsible for the syllogistic commentary—these two text-groups never intersect and respond to quite different interests. Since the redactors of the Yerushalmi seem not yet to know this stratum, it should be dated to somewhere between the fifth century and the Vorlage of the earliest known manuscript, perhaps in the eighth century. Neusner saw the frequent quotations of and references to Mishnah as part of an extended polemic against the method of the Mishnah’s redactors, who preferred to stand aloof from the biblical text and to build their argument on pure reason. But if the stratum of Sifra that is dominated by citations from the Mishnah is the latest stage of its redaction, the intention of the men responsible for introducing Mishnaic material into Sifra might have been not polemical, but exactly the opposite. They intended to document the full agreement of Mishnah and midrash. Supplementing Sifra with texts of the Mishnah served to demonstrate the biblical foundations of the Mishnah. 2.5.4

The Text of Sifra, its Transmission and Translations.

Codex Assemani 66 of the Vatican library is the earliest rabbinic manuscript we have; unfortunately, the manuscript breaks off a few lines after the beginning of Behar Sinai (Lev 25). It was copied in the late ninth or early tenth century from different sources and vocalized according to the Babylonian Hebrew system. The copyist (or one of his unknown predecessors) may have assembled several sources— the main text of Sifra, the Mekhilta de-Milluim and the Mekhilta de-Arayot and

58 Ronen Reichmann, Sifra und Mishna. Ein literarkritischer Vergleich paralleler Überlieferungen, TSAJ 68, Tübingen, 1998.

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perhaps also some other texts—in order to obtain a continuous commentary on the whole book of Leviticus. Manuscript Vatican Ebr. 31, dated 1073 and copied perhaps in Southern Italy, represents a different textual tradition, close to some fragments of the Genizah and the Yemenite Midrash ha-Gadol. Of both Vatican manuscripts there exist facsimile editions; transcriptions of these and other manuscripts are available at the website of Bar Ilan University. The numerous Genizah fragments have not yet been systematically collected. Sifra was first printed in Constantinople 1523 (only a small part), then 1545 in Venice. The edition commonly used today is the work of Isaak Hirsch Weiss. Louis Finkelstein prepared a critical edition on the basis of all manuscripts, but only the first part up to Lev 5:26 was published.59 Jakob Winter has produced a very literal German translation of Sifra. Jacob Neusner did an English translation, based on Finkelstein and a traditional edition.60 The first medieval commentary on Sifra was written by Hillel ben Elyaqim (12th century), another by Abraham ben David of Posquières (1120–1198); Aaron Ibn Ḥayyim (died 1632 in Jerusalem) composed the extensive commentary Qorban Aharon in which he first inserted the full text of the Mekhilta de-Arayot. An impressive number of other traditional commentaries, many more on the Baraita of the thirteen middot of R. Yishmael which precede the midrash itself, are witness to the continuing importance of Sifra in Jewish traditional culture.

2.6

Sifre Numbers

Sifre, ›books,‹ is in the Babylonian Talmud the name of a halakhic commentary on the books of Exodus, Numbers and Deuteronomy. Since the Middle Ages it includes the midrashim on Numbers and Deuteronomy which, although belonging to different exegetical schools, were traditionally copied and later printed together. They frequently go under the name Sifre de-ve Rav, which originally meant ›school books,‹ but later was understood as referring to Rav, a younger contemporary of Yehudah ha-Nasi, or his school as redactors of these midrashim. 2.6.1

Contents and Structure

Sifre Numbers begins with Num 5:1, the first legal portion of Numbers. It completely omits larger narrative units as Num 13–14 (the story of the spies and their 59 Isaak Hirsch Weiss, Sifra, Vienna, 1862, repr. New York, 1947; Louis Finkelstein, Sifra on Leviticus according to Vatican Manuscript Assemani 66 with Variants from the Other Manuscripts, Genizah Fragments, Early Editions and Quotations by Medieval Authorities and with References to Parallel Passages and Commentaries, 5 vols. (I: Introduction; II: Chapters Nedavah und Ḥovah; III: Variants; IV: Commentary; V: Indices, Selected Studies in Midrash Halakha) New York, 1983–91. 60 Jakob Winter, Sifra. Halachischer Midrasch zu Leviticus, Breslau, 1938; Jacob Neusner, Sifra. An Analytical Translation, 3 vols., Atlanta/GA, 1988.

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exploration of the promised land, and the reaction of the Israelites to their report) and 16–17 (the revolt of Korah, Dathan and Abiram against Moses and Aaron), but includes other narrative parts. Its original structure was purely thematic and independent of the Babylonian annual synagogal order of reading, which in later manuscripts and prints determined the structure of the midrash. Modern editions divide the text into paragraphs that roughly correspond to the verse structure of the Biblical book. More traditional texts add the name of the respective reading section. 2.6.2

Character and Date

Sifre Numbers belongs to the so-called ›school of R. Yishmael‹, as is clear from its exegetical terminology, the names of the most frequently quoted rabbis, and many passages which in other rabbinic writings are attributed to R. Yishmael. It is thus close to the Mekhilta de-Rabbi Yishmael. But Sifre Numbers is not a uniform text. A long haggadic passage in the section Behaʿalotkha (§§ 78–106) on Num 10:29–12:16 (the wanderings in the desert, the punishment of the people who reject the manna and the quails, and the rebellion of Miriam and Aaron against Moses) is characterized by another terminology and different names of rabbis. Here, and evidently also in §§ 134–141 on Num 27:6–23 (the daughters of Zelophehad and their rights of inheritance and the installation of Joshua as Moses’ successor) the redactors evidently inserted texts from the ›school of R. Aqiva‹ and not simply common aggadic materials. Dagmar Börner-Klein tried to show that Sifre Numbers underwent several stages of redaction comparable to those of Sifra: at the beginning a simple commentary which later was supplemented by a logical-syllogistic stratum, the insertion of parallels from Mishnah and Tosefta, and the transfer of numerous passages from parallels in the rabbinic literature.61 It is hardly possible to determine how long such a process might have taken. At least for the original core of Sifre Numbers a date after the middle of the third century is most likely. 2.6.3

Text, Translation, and Commentaries

The most important textual witness is codex Vatican 32, copied in Italy in the tenth or early eleventh century; another full manuscript is Oxford Bodl. 150, dated about 1291. Transcriptions of the principal manuscripts are to be found on the website of Bar Ilan-University. The Genizah fragments have been collected by Menahem Kahana who also offers a list and brief description of all manuscripts.62 Kahana

61 Dagmar Börner-Klein, »Der Midrasch Sifre Numeri – Redaktion und Tradition«, in: eadem, Der Midrasch Sifre zu Numeri, übersetzt und erklärt, Stuttgart, 1997, 387–777: 771–77. 62 Kahana, The Genizah Fragments, 187–213; idem, Manuscripts of the Halakhic Midrashim. An Annotated Catalogue, Jerusalem, 1995, 89–94 (Hebrew).

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also published a full critical edition with commentary which replaces the edition by Hayyim S. Horovitz.63 Early commentaries include one by Hillel ben Elyaqim (12th century) who also quotes earlier commentaries as that of Hai Gaon, and a commentary attributed to Abraham ben David of Posquières.64 Jacob Neusner has translated the midrash into English; German translations have been published by Karl Georg Kuhn and Dagmar Börner-Klein.65

2.7

Sifre Zutta to Numbers and Deuteronomy

2.7.1

Sifre Zutta to Numbers

Sifre Zutta, ›the small Sifre‹, so called to distinguish it from Sifre Numbers, is frequently adduced in medieval quotations simply as Sifre or Zutta; Maimonides quotes it as Mekhilta. Its text is only fragmentarily preserved in medieval quotations, mainly in the anthologies Yalqut and Midrash ha-Gadol. There are also two fragments from the Genizah, one of them already used by Horovitz in his edition. Both fragments have been re-edited by Menahem Kahana.66 Horovitz was convinced that his edition included texts that might not have been part of the midrash, and also that his text is not complete. Saul Lieberman dedicated a full study to Sifre Zutta and added several quotations not yet used by Horovitz.67 Sifre Zutta probably began with Numbers 5:1 (as Sifre Numbers) and offered a running halakhic commentary on the whole book of Numbers. Together with Sifre Zutta to Deuteronomy it forms a subgroup within the midrashim of the ›school of R. Aqiva‹. It is to some extent close to Sifra, with which it has many parallels in content and terminology. Sifre Zutta also names a number of tannaim otherwise unknown and uses in its exegetical terminology forms not known from other midrashim. Sifre Zutta frequently differs in the halakhah from the Mishnah and never names Yehuda ha-Nasi or R. Natan, but renders their teachings anonymously. Lieberman regards this as polemical silencing of Rabbi. He attributed the midrash to Bar Qappara, a contemporary of Rabbi, and located its redaction in Lydda, far enough from Rabbi’s residence in Sepphoris, where Bar Qappara could freely vent his dissent.68 63 Menahem I. Kahana, Sifre on Numbers: An Annotated Edition, 3 parts in 4 vols. (text in vols. 1–2), Jerusalem, 2011–15 (Hebrew); Hayyim S. Horovitz, Siphre D’be Rab. Fasciculus primus: Siphre ad Numeros adjecto Siphre zutta, Leipzig, 1917, repr. Jerusalem, 1966. 64 Hillel’s commentary is included in the edition of Sifre by Shane Koleditzky, 2 vols., Jerusalem, 1983; Herbert W. Basser, ed., Pseudo-Rabad. Commentary to Sifre Numbers Edited and Annotated according to Manuscripts and Citations, Atlanta/GA, 1998. 65 Jacob Neusner, The Components of Rabbinic Documents. From the Whole to the Parts. XII. Sifré to Numbers, 3 vols., Atlanta/GA, 1998; Karl Georg Kuhn, Der tannaitische Midrasch Sifre zu Numeri übersetzt und erklärt, Stuttgart, 1959; Börner-Klein, Sifre. 66 Kahana, The Genizah Fragments, 214–26. 67 Saul Lieberman, Siphre Zutta (The Midrash of Lydda), New York, 1968, 6–10 (in Hebrew). 68 Lieberman, Siphre Zutta, 91–124.

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In his opinion Sifre Zutta is older than all other halakhic midrashim (early 3rd century). Most scholars today would refrain from identifying a specific rabbi as redactor of any rabbinic work; Lieberman’s positions are in part dependent on this attribution. But his general characterization of Sifre Zutta is still valid, in many details refined by Kahana’s comparison with Sifre Zutta on Deuteronomy and the recent analysis of Alexander Dubrau.69 The midrash has been translated by Dagmar Börner-Klein and Jacob Neusner.70 2.7.2

Sifre Zutta to Deuteronomy

Menahem Kahana has isolated from the commentary of the Karaite Yeshua ben Yehudah (11th century) on Deuteronomy (existent in manuscript) and other medieval works interpretations on about 95 verses of Deuteronomy which he at first identified as part of the Mekhilta to Deuteronomy (also called Midrash Tannaim), but later identified as Sifre Zutta because of its closeness to Sifre Zutta on Numbers in terminology, technique of interpretation and rabbinic names (eight names are known only from these two midrashim). As in the midrash on Numbers, here too parallels to the Mishnah differ much from the normal text of the Mishnah. There are still many open questions, but it seems clear that Kahana has discovered the remains of a third halakhic midrash on Deuteronomy.71 The division of tannaitic midrashim and exegesis into two schools obviously is very schematic; it presents the dominant schools, but there clearly existed more approaches.

2.8

Sifre Deuteronomy

2.8.1

Contents and Structure

Sifre Deuteronomy is a commentary on Deut 1:1–30 (the historical prologue); 3:23–29 (prayer of Moses); 6:4–9 (›Hear, o Israel‹); 11:10–26:15 (the legal core); 31:14 (Joshua as Moses’ successor); 32–34 (Moses’ song and blessing, as well as his death). Its central halakhic part is thus surrounded by long narrative and haggadic sections. Comparable to Sifre Numbers, it originally was structured in paragraphs corresponding to the biblical verses. Only later on the sequence of the Babylonian order of reading the Torah annually in the synagogue was imposed as secondary structure. 69 Menahem I. Kahana, Sifre Zuta on Deuteronomy. Citations from a New Tannaitic Midrash, Jerusalem, 2002, 42–68; Alexander Dubrau, Der Midrasch Sifre Zuta. Textgeschichte und Exegese eines spätantiken Kommentars zum Buch Numeri, Berlin, 2017. 70 Dagmar Börner-Klein, Der Midrasch Sifre Zuta, Stuttgart, 2002; Jacob Neusner, Sifré Zutta to Numbers, Lanham/MD, 2009; see also idem, Comparative Midrash. Sifré to Numbers and Sifré Zutta to Numbers, Lanham/MD, 2009. 71 Kahana, Sifre Zuta on Deuteronomy.

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Character and Date

Sifre Deuteronomy is not uniform. Its haggadic section at the beginning and end of the midrash differ from the central halakhic part (§§ 55–303 on Deut 11:10–26:15) which according to the usual criteria belongs to the ›school of R. Aqiva,‹ as is also demonstrated by frequent, often verbal parallels with Sifra. Some passages in this central part, quoted in other rabbinic texts as teachings of R. Yishmael, are later additions. Neusner’s attempt to understand Sifre on Deuteronomy as a coherent work with uniform rhetoric, thematic and logic, only in single cases interrupted by later additions, uses too simple criteria. These make it difficult to differentiate the halakhic midrashim from each other. They do not even allow one to separate sections of the midrash which because of their terminology are considered to belong to the ›school of R. Yishmael‹ from the remainder of Sifre Deuteronomy.72 As to the date of Sifre Deuteronomy, there may have been a longer history of redaction, but we still do not have the tools to reconstruct it. There are good reasons to date its essential redaction of the halakhic core, but also the not entirely uniform haggadic sections in the late third century.

2.8.3

Text and Commentaries

The midrash has been transmitted in several manuscripts, the most important among them Vatican 32 (11th century), which has already been mentioned, because it also contains Sifre Numbers. Parts of it have also been preserved in fragments from the Genizah; sometimes it is not clear whether they belong to Sifre Deuteronomy or to Midrash Tannaim.73 The midrash was first printed in Venice in 1545 together with Sifre Numbers. The edition now generally used is the work of Louis Finkelstein. It presents an eclectic text and has been criticized for it, but has not yet been replaced.74 There are a German translation by Hans Bietenhard and English translations by Reuven Hammer and Jacob Neusner.75 Early traces of the influence of this midrash may be found in the Targum Onqelos on Deuteronomy. It is frequently used in rabbinic literature and quoted in medieval anthologies, most prominently the Yalqut and Midrash ha-Gadol. Its

72 Jacob Neusner, Sifre to Deuteronomy. An Introduction to the Rhetorical, Logical, and Topical Program, Atlanta/GA, 1987. 73 Kahana, Genizah Fragments, 227–337; idem., Manuscripts, 97–107. 74 Louis Finkelstein, Siphre ad Deuteronomium H. S. Horovitzii schedis usus cum variis lectionibus et adnotationibus, Berlin, 1939, repr. New York, 1969. 75 Hans Bietenhard, Der tannaitische Midrasch Sifre Deuteronomium. Mit einem Beitrag von H. Ljungman, Bern, 1984; Reuven Hammer, Sifre. A Tannaitic Commentary on the Book of Deuteronomy, New Haven/CT, 1986; Jacob Neusner, Sifre to Deuteronomy. An Analytical Translation, 2 vols., Atlanta/GA, 1987.

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commentaries are the same as those to Sifre Numbers since both midrashim were transmitted together.76

2.9

Midrash Tannaim (Mekhilta on Deuteronomy)

Midrash Tannaim is the name that David Hoffmann gave to the halakhic midrash on Deuteronomy reconstructed by him. Others prefer to call it Mekhilta on Deuteronomy in order to underline its connection with the Mekhilta de-Rabbi Yishmael. David Hoffmann collected quotations from Midrash ha-Gadol on Deuteronomy which together with two Genizah fragments published by Solomon Schechter formed the basis of his edition; for the haggadic parts he relied on Sifre Deuteronomy and the Midrash ha-Gadol.77 In the century since this edition more fragments were discovered; many of them by Menahem Kahana who also re-edited all of them.78 There has also been a re-examination of the quotations from Midrash haGadol used by Hoffmann for his edition. All this should lead to a new edition of what remains of this midrash. Until such a new edition is achieved, Midrash Tannaim will remain the least reliable witness to the exegetical activity of the tannaim. It may be assumed that Midrash Tannaim covered the entire text of Deuteronomy, since a Genizah fragment documents the transition from Deut 11 to 12, i.e. from the haggadic to the halakhic part. On the basis of names of rabbis, terminology and exegetical method, Midrash Tannaim is considered to belong to the ›school of R. Yishmael‹. Its fragmentary and problematic state of preservation does not allow a clear judgment on its history and date of redaction.

2.10

Seder ʿOlam

The last work to be considered in the context of the literary production of the Tannaim is the Seder ʿOlam, which since the 12th century is called Seder ʿOlam Rabba, to distinguish it from the much later Seder ʿOlam Zutta. Seder ʿOlam is a midrash whose main, but not exclusive interest is chronographic. It covers the time from Adam to the end of the Persian period which it compresses into 54 years, or 34 years since the construction of the Second Temple. The second part of its concluding chapter provides the essential dates from Alexander the Great until Bar Kokhba, perhaps a summary of an earlier more comprehensive version. Tradition attributes the work to R. Yose ben Ḥalfota (circa 160). Chaim Milikowsky, the foremost modern specialist for Seder ʿOlam, regards R. Yose not as the 76 Herbert W. Basser, Pseudo-Rabad. Commentary to Sifre Deuteronomy edited and annotated according to manuscripts and citations, Atlanta/GA, 1994. For a modern analysis and interpretation of central passages see Steven D. Fraade, From Tradition to Commentary. Torah and Its Interpretation in the Midrash Sifre to Deuteronomy, Albany/NY, 1991. 77 David Hoffmann, Midrasch Tannaim zum Deuteronomium, 2 parts, Berlin, 1908–9, repr. Jerusalem, 1984. 78 Kahana, Genizah Fragments, 338–57; idem, Manuscripts, 108–11.

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author or redactor of the work, but for the tradent of an older non-rabbinic work used already by Josephus and only revised by R. Yose. It remains however possible that the work was edited only in the early third century, revised and supplemented even later. Seder ʿOlam is frequently regarded as the work having introduced the chronology ›since the creation of the world‹ which, however, is explicitly used only for the date of the flood. As a Jewish chronology it became generally accepted only in the eleventh century. The text of Seder ʿOlam has been transmitted in Genizah fragments and several manuscripts. It was first printed in Mantua in 1513 and frequently republished. Critical editions were published by Bernhard Ratner and Alexander Marx; the most recent and comprehensive edition and analysis (2013) is the work of Chaim Milikowsky, who in his unpublished dissertation (Yale 1981) also included an English translation. Another English translation was published by Heinrich W. Guggenheimer.79 As our survey of tannaitic literature shows, the rabbis in the first century of the rabbinic movement concentrated their efforts on the interpretation of the Torah and on a systematic presentation of Jewish law. Both fields were obviously closely related to each other. Mishnah and, less so, the Tosefta present Jewish law in apodictic form; its biblical foundation is hardly ever made explicit. But for most parts of the system it clearly exists, although transformed into a coherent, sometimes even abstract, construction of the world, time and space, as inspired by the Torah. Most of the same rabbis who contributed to this halakhic system, also were involved in the interpretation of the biblical text. But the editors of the tannaitic traditions decided to keep both fields apart, to compose a ›law code‹ comparable to non-Jewish collections of law, and separate from it, a series of partial commentaries on four of the five books of Moses. The book of Genesis and long coherent narrative sections of the other books did not receive their attention, at least not in the texts that have come down to us. But although the two fields—legislation and exegesis—originally were kept apart, many passages of the Mishnah, sometimes also of the Tosefta, were later integrated into the halakhic midrashim, thus demonstrating the unity of the dual Torah. Mishnah, Tosefta, and halakhic midrashim became the common basis of a full system of Jewish religious life in a world without Temple, not ignoring the Temple but integrating its memory into their religious world of study. For Further Reading Alexander, Elizabeth Shanks, Transmitting Mishnah. The Shaping Influence of Oral Tradition, Cambridge, 2006.

79 Bernhard Dov Ratner, Seder Olam Rabba. Die grosse Weltchronik, Wilna, 1897; idem, Einleitung zum Seder Olam, Wilna, 1894 (Hebrew), repr. together New York, 1966; Alexander Marx, Seder Olam (Kap. 1–10) herausgegeben, übersetzt und erklärt, Berlin, 1903; Chaim Milikowsky, Seder Olam, Critical Edition with Introduction and Commentary, 2 vols., Jerusalem, 2013 (Hebrew). Translations: Heinrich W. Guggenheimer, Seder Olam. The Rabbinic View of Biblical Chronology, Northvale/NJ, 1998; Luis-Fernando Girón-Blanc, Seder Olam Rabbah = El gran orden del universo, Estella, 1996.

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Cohn, Naftali S., The Memory of the Temple and the Making of the Rabbis, Philadelphia/PA, 2012. Elman, Yaakov, Authority and Tradition: Toseftan Baraitot in Talmudic Babylonia, New York, 1994. Hauptman, Judith, Rereading the Mishnah. A New Approach to Ancient Jewish Texts, TSAJ 109, Tübingen, 2005. Jaffee, Martin S., Torah in the Mouth: Writing and Oral Tradition in Palestinian Judaism 200 BCE–400 CE, Oxford, 2001. Kahana, Menahem I., »The Halakhic Midrashim,« in The Literature of the Sages. Second Part: Midrash and Targum, Liturgy, Poetry, Mysticism, Contracts, Inscriptions, Ancient Science and the Languages of Rabbinic Literature, ed. Shmuel Safrai, Zeev Safrai et al., CRINT 2/3/2, Assen, 2006. Meacham, Tirza and Harry Fox, eds., Introducing Tosefta. Textual, Intratextual and Intertextual Studies, Hoboken/NJ, 1999. Neusner, Jacob, Judaism: The Evidence of the Mishnah, 2nd ed., Atlanta/GA, 1988. Neusner, Jacob, Uniting the Dual Torah. Sifra and the Problem of the Mishnah, Cambridge, 1990. Shemesh, Aharon, Halakhah in the Making: The Development of Jewish Law from Qumran to the Rabbis, Berkeley/CA, 2009. Stemberger, Günter, Einleitung in Talmud und Midrasch, 9th ed., Munich, 2011 (the English edition of 1996, a reprint of 1991, is outdated).

Amoraic Literature (ca 250–650 CE): Talmud and Midrash Carol Bakhos

The corpus of classical rabbinic literature comprises written and oral traditions from the 1st to the 7th centuries, and is the product of several generations of rabbis: the tannaim (ca. 70–200 CE), the amoraim (ca. 200–500 CE), and the so-called stammaim (identified with the stam, anonymous voice), known from traditional chronologies as savoraim, ca. 500–650 CE.1 The amoraim (»expositors of tannaitic tradition,« »those who say«) lived in Palestine (The Land of Israel) and Babylonia (Iraq) and their teachings serve as the basis of both the Palestinian Talmud, also known as the Talmud Yerushalmi (the Jerusalem Talmud) and the Babylonian Talmud (known as the Bavli and often referred to simply as the Talmud). The amoraim also produced several compilations of aggadic/ narrative scriptural interpretation: Genesis Rabbah, Leviticus Rabbah, Pesikta de Rav Kahana, Lamentations Rabbah. These rabbis moreover are also mentioned in later collections of midrash such as Song of Songs Rabbah, compiled in the early 4th-6th century, and the earliest stratum of Tanḥuma-Yelammedenu, and even later rabbinic compilations.2 Ecclesiastes Rabbah (Kohelet Rabbah), compiled in the later 6th-7th centuries includes material not only from earlier midrashic sources but also from the Palestinian and Babylonian Talmuds.

1

Amoraim

The Amoraim (from the Hebrew and Aramaic amar, »to say, speak«), are the rabbis who lived from the early third to the sixth centuries in Palestine and Babylonia. Their teachings are central to the formation of both Talmuds and are included in midrashic corpora redacted in this period. The rabbis responsible for the Palestinian Talmud and amoraic compilations of midrash studied in towns and city centers such as Tiberias, Sephhoris, Lod (Diospolis), and Caesarea. There are five generations of Palestinian Amoraim and six generations of Babylonian Amoraim. Some of

1 The rabbis of the anonymous layer were first labeled the savoraim by Rav Sherira Gaon of the 10th century. See Benjamin Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Gaon, Frankfurt, 1920, repr. Jerusalem, 1972, 69f. However scholars taking David Weiss Halivni’s lead distinguish between the Stam and Savoraim. 2 Although the earliest stratum of Tanḥuma may be Amoraic, it is a Gaonic product and is treated in the chapter by Visotzky and Zawanowska in this volume.

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the prominent figures of the first generation Palestinian Amoraim include R. Joḥanan b. Napaḥa, one of the last students of R. Judah ha-Nasi (Judah the Prince). Rabbi Joḥanan in turn had many students, the most famous of which was his brother-inlaw, Reish Lakish, who rose to equal stature as one of »the two great authorities« (y. Berakhot 2c). Other important sages include Eleazar b. Pedat, R. Ammi, R. Assi, R. Joshua b. Levi, R. Jeremiah, and R. Zeira. Travel between the two centers of learning took place. R. Joḥanan, the first of the generation of Palestinian Amoraim, for example, was said to have studied with Rav and Samuel, the first generation of Babylonian Amoraim in Babylonia; and Rav studied for many years in Palestine with R. Judah Ha-Nasi. In order to transmit teachings between the two communities of learning, R. Zeira, Ulla, and Rabbah bar bar Hana (third generation of amoraim, ca. 300 CE) traveled frequently. It was not only rabbis who traversed geographic boundaries. Indeed, teachings and tales traveled across temporal and cultural lines, and were incorporated into the Talmuds in ways that might shed light on the cultural contexts of each Talmudic composition.3

2

Disciple Circles and Study Halls

In both Palestine and Babylonia, rabbinic schools were small and loosely structured groups of students who studied with individual sages in a study house (bet midrash), identified with the master’s name and in all likelihood within the master’s house. In Babylonia, the term for the master’s house is be rav »the house of the master« and be rav so-and-so, »the house of Master so-and-so.« The Palestinian Talmud also mentions the Assembly house (bet va’ad in Hebrew and be va’ada’ in Aramaic). In both Palestine and Babylonia during this period, rabbis are found in synagogues more so than in the tannaitic period. Their connection with synagogues in the amoraic period, however, was rather tenuous and grew over a long period of time. Disciples were free to move from one teacher to another. By the sixth century these master-disciple circles gave way to more organized rabbinic academies, yeshivot in Hebrew (pl., sing. yeshivah) and metivata in Aramaic (sing. metivta). According to geonic sources from the ninth to the tenth centuries, the amoraic period saw the establishment of two major centers of Jewish learning in Babylonia, Sura and Pumbedita, that flourished into the geonic period. Rav (Abba Arika), one of the most well-known amoraim, moved from Palestine to establish the rabbinic academy at Sura.4 Founded in the early mid-third century by Judah ben Ezekiel, the academy at Pumbedita (near present-day Falluja) flourished for centuries. Even when it moved to Baghdad in the ninth century it retained its

3 See n. 23 below, and especially the work of Richard Kalmin, notably his recent Migrating Tales. 4 Rav has special standing among the Babylonian Amoraim, for he alone can contradict a Tanna. Moreover, the Bavli traces his lineage back to King David.

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prominence for at least another two centuries. A tradition dating at the very latest to the ninth century about these schools, commonly known as »the two yeshivot/ metivata,« claims that they were established in 597 BCE when exiles accompanied King Jehoiachin of Judah. As Goodblatt observes, this avowal served two apologetic goals: to provide a »historical« explanation for the assertion that Babylonians’ rabbinic tradition was superior to that of the Palestinians; and it gave the schools an ancient pedigree comparable to that of the Babylonian Jewish Exilarchs (secular leaders of the community) who also traced their lineage back to Jehoiachin.5 The Iggeret (Epistle) of Rav Sherira Gaon (ca. 987 CE) provides the most detailed history of the pre-Islamic academies and credits the thriving of the two academies to the presence of Rav, and to Samuel who was located in Nehardea, south of Pumbedita.6 Goodblatt’s thorough assessment of medieval accounts in light of evidence found within the Babylonian Talmud leads to several conclusions regarding advanced instruction among Babylonian Amoraim. To begin with, the disciple circle seems to be the most common institutional setting for such instruction. The formulation be rav/be rav X goes back to the early third century, but terms such as kallah (conclave) and pirqa (chapter-gathering) begin to appear only later, at the close of the third to the fourth centuries and reflect a »greater degree of organizational complexity.« So too the title »head of the yeshivah/metivta« is untraceable before the fourth century.7 Goodblatt challenges the notion that the medieval academies of Sura and Pumbedita already flourished in the early Sasanian period and argues for recognizing that Babylonian Amoraic institutions were far less organizationally complex in the third and fourth centuries. To be sure, steps were taken in the Amoriac period that eventually led to the emergence of the well-established academies of Baghdad. Goodblatt’s analysis points to a gradual development of the Babylonian academies from the amoraic to the geonic periods, from disciple circles to hierarchic institutions that transcended any one teacher or disciple. The Talmuds recount many stories about the lives of amoraim and convey snippets of biographical detail. The Babylonian Talmud tells many stories about the rabbis and paints a picture of their insular world and of what was required of them to pursue the study of Torah, for example. Contemporary scholarship questions, if not outright rejects, their historicity, but nonetheless recognizes their historical import. That is to say, while the details may not be reliable for writing biographies, when treated with care and methodological consistency, they can tell us something about the culture and society of the time, such as their attitudes toward Jews in general, non-rabbinic Jews, non-Jews, women, and empires past and present.

5 David Goodblatt, »The History of the Babylonian Academies,« in The Cambridge History of Judaism IV: The Late Roman-Rabbinic Period, ed. Steven Katz, Cambridge, 2006, 822. See Paul Mandel’s discussion of the sage and the beit midrash in his The Origins of Midrash: From Teaching to Text, JSJSup 180, Leiden/Boston/MA, 2017, 171–221, esp. 182 n. 31 for useful bibliographic data on the subject. 6 Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Gaon. 7 Goodblatt, »The History«, 837.

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The Talmuds

The Talmuds (Talmud, Hebrew for learning, Gemara in Aramaic), which were produced in late antiquity, contain the authoritative religious and civil law of the Jews and form the basis of later rabbinic legal dicta. The Mishnah (Oral Law) serves as the basis for the Talmud. The explanation, qualification, and amplification of the Mishnah is at the heart of the Talmud. In general terms, the Talmud comprises the Mishnah and Gemara, the teachings and commentaries about the Mishnah. It would, however, be misleading to think that the Talmud is a narrow commentary on the Mishnah. To begin with, the Talmud includes discussions of other tannaitic material (baraitot), which are also part of the Bavli’s earliest layer. Furthermore, the gemara includes biblical exegesis, and narratives having very little to do with law (halakha). The Talmuds are thus not only compendia of law and legal interpretation but they, especially the Bavli, are treasure troves of moral and theological musings, sage advice (even a few medical cures), narratives, scriptural exegesis, and rabbinic accounts of the miraculous as well as the quotidian. Compared with the Palestinian Talmud, which is more focused on the Mishnah, the Bavli is more encyclopedic and contains a variety of literary genres. The Talmud is ostensibly organized according to the orders (sedarim) of the Mishnah: Zera‘im (Seeds or Agriculture), Mo‘ed (Appointed Times or Holidays), Nashim (Women), Neziqin (Damages or Torts), Kodashim (Holy Things), and Tohorot (Purities or Ritual Fitness), which are divided into tractates (massekhtot, sing. massekhet). Tractates are further subdivided into chapters and individual mishnayot. Anyone who is even somewhat acquainted with the Babylonian Talmud is well aware of the striking differences between the Palestinian (Yerushalmi) and Babylonian (Bavli) Talmuds. Legal discussions in the former are typically terse, about one or two paragraphs, and elliptical, whereas those of the Bavli tend to be highly intricate, far more developed and lengthy. The Bavli’s elaborate dialectical style of Aramaic argumentation takes up differing Amoraic opinions, and more often than not is inconclusive. The Palestinian Talmud is a much shorter work redacted about two centuries before the Bavli and came together within a Byzantine Roman milieu that included pagans and Christians. The Bavli developed within a Sassanid context among Zoroastrians, Manicheans, Mandeans, and Syriac Christians. Scholars pay a great deal of attention to the degree to which ambient religions and cultures, as well as social and political forces, help to explain halakhic discrepancies between the two Talmuds. Are the differences attributed to external factors or are they a consequence of internal textual processes? As scholars of the past two decades have amply demonstrated, the dichotomy is problematic, for it is notoriously difficult to disentangle the complex ways both internal and external factors contribute to the formulation of rabbinic ordinances and the development of exegesis. This is also true of the stories that each Talmud transmits. Both works preserve the sayings and traditions of the named sages, the Amoraim. Their statements and explanations of the Mishnah, putatively redacted by

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Judah ha-Nasi in the first quarter of the third century CE, are recorded and form the learning, discussions, and deliberations that took place in study circles and halls beit ha midrash (sing. Hebrew), be midrasha (sing. Aramaic). Both Talmuds also preserve anonymous material and herein lies one of the major differences. Whereas the anonymous material of the Palestinian Talmud is much like the amoraic sayings, the anonymous layer of the Bavli is extensive and displays the give and take dialectic described above. As Jeffry Rubenstein observes, If one removes the anonymous stratum of the Bavli and compares the Amoraic material with the Yerushalmi, the styles of the texts are quite similar… Fundamental differences between the Bavli and the Yerushalmi therefore should be attributed to the Stammaim,8

who reshaped the earlier amoraic material, by placing them in discursive, wellstructured frameworks. In other words, it is in this later layer of unattributed rabbinic tradition that we detect the Bavli’s greatest earmark: its highly stylized, lengthy, dialectical argumentation. Moreover, in reshaping earlier aggadic (nonlegal) traditions, the stammaitic redactional layer addresses a variety of cultural concerns. As noted above, comparison of how stories and exegetical traditions are transmitted in each Talmud, as in the comparison of halakhic rulings, affords scholars an opportunity to learn something about the rabbis living in northern Palestine in the 4th-5th century and Sassanid Mesopotamia in the 5th through 7th centuries CE.

3.1

The Palestinian Talmud (The Yerushalmi)

The latest sages mentioned in the Palestinian Talmud (PT) lived in the mid-fourth century and most scholars assume that its redaction followed soon thereafter. Although it is the product of sages living in northern Palestine, and probably redacted in Tiberias, it is known as the Talmud Yerushalmi, but since it was not produced in Jerusalem it is more accurate to refer to it as the Palestinian Talmud (PT). Indeed, as noted in Strack and Stemberger, The designation Yerushalmi is already occasionally found in the Geonim, regularly in R. Ḥananel of Kairouan (11th century), sometimes in Alfasi, and often in the medieval authors. It would certainly be wrong to apply this now almost universally adopted designation to the place of origin, since Jerusalem at that time was forbidden to the Jews. Perhaps that designation arose in Islamic times, when Jerusalem became the residence of the academy previously located at Tiberias.9

The Palestinian Talmud is also known as the Talmud of the Land of Israel, Talmud eretz Yisrael. In the responsa of Saʿadia Gaon and Hai Gaon it is referred to as Gemara

8 Jeffrey Rubenstein, The Culture of the Babylonian Talmud, Baltimore/MA, 2003, 4f. 9 Hermann L. Strack and Günter Stemberger, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash, Minneapolis/MN, 1992, 184. For a history of the study of the Palestinian Talmud, from Zecharias Fraenkel to Saul Lieberman, see Moshe Assis’s introductory essay »Talmud Yerushalmi,« in Kahana et al., Sifrut hazal, 225–59.

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de-Eretz Yisrael. Other references include Gemara de Bene Ma‘arava, »the Gemara of the people of the West,« or simply, »the Talmud of the West,« talmud de-ma‘arava. Reference is made to the teachings of rabbis affiliated with academies in Caesarea, Lydda (»the South«), other parts of the Galilee, and of course Babylonia, as noted above.10 Most scholars attribute the PT’s date of redaction to the first half of the fifth century, however based on the number of amoraic generations mentioned, archeological evidence, and historical considerations, others point to 360–70 CE as the PT’s terminus ad quem.11 While the Mishnah serves as its raison d’etre, the PT does not comment on the entirety of the Mishnah. It does not, for example, comment on chapters 21–24 of tractate Shabbat, chapter 3 of Makkot, tractates Avot and Eduyot, the entire order of Kodashim, nor does it comment on most of order Tohorot (part of Niddah is extant).12 It covers a total of thirty-nine tractates. There are many textual problems associated with the Palestinian Talmud, thus making it difficult to study. Moreover, the PT does not focus strictly on the Mishnah but rather provides tangential material, such as midrashic material. In fact, there are numerous parallel midrashim in PT and Genesis Rabbah.13 In addition to Hebrew and Aramaic, which are often used in non-legal contexts and in technical terminology, we find Greek and Latin loanwords in the PT. Unlike its Mesopotamian counterpart, the PT is laconic and conceptually limited, conveying in a less mediated manner the teachings of five generations of Amoraim active mainly in Lydda, Tiberias, Caesarea, and Sepphoris. As noted above, the more anonymous material in the PT seems to be amoraic. As Moscovitz argues, In light of the general absence of aggressive editorial intervention in the formulation and transmission of amoraic teachings, it may reasonably be assumed that the PT preserves the content of these teachings, if not their original wording, fairly accurately.14

Given the limited manuscripts of the Palestinian Talmud, the difficulty in determining the function and meaning of technical terms, and lack of familiarity with Palestinian Jewish Aramaic of PT, scholars shied away from studying it for its own sake, as well as using it for historical purposes. However, the past century has seen an

10 See Leib Moscovitz, »The Formation,« 665. 11 Ibid., partim. 12 As Jacob N. Epstein notes, Mevo’ot le-sifrut ha-amora’im: Bavli wi-Yerushalmi, Jerusalem/Tel Aviv, 1962, 332–34, Palestinian Amoraim nonetheless studied Kodashim and Tohorot. 13 See Hans-Jürgen Becker, Die großen rabbinischen Sammelwerke Palästinas. Zur literarischen Genese von Talmud Yerushalmi und Midrash Bereshit Rabba, TSAJ 70, Tübingen, 1999; idem, »Texts and History: The Dynamic Relationship between Yerushalmi and Genesis Rabbah,« in The Synoptic Problem in Rabbinics, ed. Shaye J.D. Cohen, Providence/RI, 2000, 145–58; and Chaim Milikowsky’s lengthy review of Becker’s monograph, »On the Formation and Transmission of Bereshit Rabba and the Yerushalmi: Questions of Redaction, Text-Criticism and Literary Relationships,« JQR 92 (2002): 521–67. For a discussion of parallels between the Yerushalmi and midrash aggadah, see Moshe Assis, »Talmud Yerushalmi,« 238f. 14 Moscovitz, »The Formation«, 672. See also his Ha-Terminologiyah shel ha-Yerushalmi, Ramat Gan, 2009.

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upsurge in its treatment. The publication of Michael Sokoloff ’s Dictionary of Palestinian Jewish Aramaic15 was certainly a boon to the field. As mentioned above, scholars consider both Talmuds as cultural documents that can contribute to our understanding of the social history of the Jews of the Graeco-Roman and Sassanian periods respectively.16

3.2

The Babylonian Talmud (The Bavli)

The most important rabbinic work, and arguably the greatest Jewish literary masterpiece, the Babylonian Talmud (the Bavli), is the product of the Jewish sages living in Sassanid Mesopotamia in the third through seventh centuries CE. Although the Palestinian Talmud includes material originating from Babylonia and vice versa, the Bavli relies more heavily on Palestinian material than PT does on Babylonian material. This material dates from the first three amoraic generations, when there was more regular contact between the two centers.17 The question of whether the editors of the Bavli were familiar with the Palestinian Talmud in its final form is an ongoing debate, as well as what factors–cultural or hermeneutical–contribute to differences between the two Talmuds.18 Palestinian Amoraim populate the pages of the Bavli alongside the Babylonian sages. Their teachings and traditions are indeed found on nearly every page. Given that the aggadic (non-legal) material in the Bavli has at its core material attributed to Palestinian rabbis, it is quite conceivable that the editors of the Babylonian Talmud may have had before them a version of the Yerushalmi or at least Palestini-

15 Michael Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Palestinian Jewish Aramaic of the Byzantine Period, Ramat Gan, 1990. 16 See for example the three-volume work edited by Peter Schäfer and Catherine Hezser, The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture, 3 vols., TSAJ 71, 79, 93, Tübingen, 1998–2002; Catherine Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine, TSAJ 66, Tübingen, 1997; and more recently Haim Lapin, The Rabbis as Romans: The Rabbinic Movement in Palestine, 100–400 CE, New York, 2012. 17 Moscovitz, »The Formation,« 675. Most of the Babylonian teachings in the PT are statements attributed to individual amoraim rather than lengthy sugyot. Rarely does one find an entire sugya of the Bavli in the PT. 18 See Martin Jaffee, »The Babylonian Appropriation of the Talmud Yerushalmi: Redactional Studies in the Horayot Tractates,« in The Literature of Early Rabbinic Judaism: Issues in Talmudic Redaction and Interpretation, ed. Alan J. Avery-Peck, Lanham/MD, 1989, 3–27, who argues that the editors of the Babylonian Talmud were in possession of PT in its final form. Alyssa Gray, A Talmud in Exile: The Influence of Yerhushalmi Avodah Zarah on the Formation of Bavli Avodah Zarah, Providence/RI, 2005, comes to a similar conclusion with respect to her analysis of Avodah Zarah. In fact, she makes a more forceful argument with respect to the relationship between PT and BT tractates of Avodah Zarah. See also her article, »Bavli sugya and its Two Yerushalmi Parallels: Issues of Literary Relationship and Redaction,« in How Should Rabbinic Literature Be Read in the Modern World?, ed. Matthew A. Krauss, Piscataway/ NJ, 2006, 35–77.

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an sugyot (pl. of sugya, discrete unit of discussion in the Talmud of a particular topic). As noted above, the Talmud comprises tannaitic and amoraic material as well as unattributed statements (stam). In its lengthy trajectory of transmission, the text of the Babylonian Talmud has come to include post-Talmudic commentary, thus raising the question for some whether we should even speak of the Talmud’s final redaction. Most scholars acknowledge that even though additions were made throughout the Middle Ages, as Kalmin notes, »the book’s basic contours were recognizable at a relatively early date.« He continues: The literature of the Geonim (late sixth to mid-eleventh centuries CE) and Rishonim (eleventh through fifteenth centuries CE) was a literature of commentary, and while some of this commentary made its way into the Talmud, these later additions did not fundamentally alter the basic character of the core text.19

The past half-century has yielded important work on the anonymous editorial layer of the Bavli. Active and innovative transmission of traditions is at the heart of recent studies of the Talmud.20 Furthermore, it is important to consider how earlier material is preserved in the Talmud. That is to say, the Talmud contains Second Temple material that is not distinguished from tannaitic sources, viz., the earliest rabbinic layer of the Talmud. In fact, the material is tailored to suit rabbinic purposes, telling us more perhaps about the rabbinic transmitters than about what is actually transmitted. If earlier material, that is, rabbinic material or non-rabbinic, pre-destruction of the Temple (70 CE), as well as amoraic material, is subject to the deliberate reworking of a final redactor who contextualizes and reshapes earlier sources, then to what extent is the Talmud the product of its final editors? This is a matter that continues to preoccupy scholars of the Talmud, who concern themselves with the identity, and socio-cultural context of the stammaim, and the characteristics of this final redacted layer.21 Scholars of the past decade or so also have taken a greater interest in probing the Bavli within its Iranian context. The Talmud’s legal traditions, narratives, and institutions are situated within Sassanian Persian culture, society and politics. In particular, Yaakov Elman’s contributions to this area of inquiry are profound, open-

19 Richard Kalmin, »The Formation,« 843. 20 For a lucid and thorough summary, see Vidas, Traditions and the Formation, esp. 3–12. 21 A great deal of literature addresses this question and related issues, e.g. Richard Kalmin, Sages, Stories, Authors, Editors, Atlanta/GA, 1994; Jeffrey Rubenstein, The Culture of the Babylonian Talmud; Vidas, Tradition and the Formation of the Talmud; Robert Brody, »The Contribution of the Yerushalmi to the Dating of the Anonymous Material in the Bavli«, in Melekhet Mahshevet: Studies in the Redaction and Development of Talmudic Literature, ed. Aron Amit and Aharon Shemesh, Ramat Gan, 2011, 27–37 (Hebrew); David Weiss Halivni, »Aspects of the Formation of the Talmud,« in Creation and Composition: The Contribution of the Bavli Redactors (Stammaim) to the Aggada, trans. and ed. Jeffrey Rubenstein, TSAJ 114, Tübingen, 2005, 339–60; and Shamma Friedman, Talmudic Studies: Investigating the Sugya, Variant Readings, and Aggada, New York/Jerusalem, 2010 (Hebrew).

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ing avenues to probe in unprecedented ways.22 Even skeptical scholars cannot ignore the need to consider the extent to which the Bavli is a product of its Mesopotamian milieu. Now, more than ever before, Talmud scholars are acquiring the requisite language tools such as Pahlavi and Syriac in order to investigate passages of the Bavli from a wider lens. This new direction in research on the Babylonian Talmud that draws connections between Talmudic narratives and legal discussions with other Mesopotamian sources, as well as considers broader contexts such as Syriac Christianity, and Zoroastrian literature, is a potentially rich vein of inquiry.23

4

Midrash

In addition to commentary on the Mishnah, the rabbis produced works of biblical exegesis, Midrash. In common parlance, midrash (Hebrew root drš, »to investigate, seek, search out, examine«) refers generally to interpretation of any text, sacred or secular, ancient or contemporary.24 In its strictest sense, however, it is a process of scriptural interpretation that characterizes classical rabbinic interpretation. It also refers to the vast and varied rabbinic compilations of the late antique and medieval periods that preserve oral traditions prior to their redaction. Midrash, both the process and the fruit of that process, grew out of an attempt to understand laconic or obscure biblical verses in order to make meaning out of scripture. Midrash is the means by which the rabbis made biblical ordinances relevant, taught moral lessons, told stories, and maintained the Jewish meta-narrative that shaped and continues to sustain the Jewish people. One of the characteristics of midrash is its intertextuality. To give one example, a particular verse in Torah is often unlocked by employing a verse, usually from the Writings, especially from Psalms or the Wisdom Literature.25 Through a chain of interpretations, the seemingly extraneous verse is connected to the verse under

22 Inter alia Yaakov Elman, »Contrasting Intellectual Trajectories: Iran and Israel in Mesopotamia,« in Encounters by the Rivers of Babylon: Scholarly Conversations Between Jews, Iranians and Babylonians in Antiquity, ed. Uri Gabbay and Shai Secunda, TSAJ 160, Tübingen, 2014, 7–105. 23 See for example, Geoffrey Herman, A Prince without a Kingdom: The Exilarch in the Sasanian Era, TSAJ 150, Tübingen, 2012; Shai Secunda, The Iranian Talmud; Richard Kalmin, Migrating Tales: The Talmud’s Narratives and Their Historical Context, Oakland/CA, 2014; Jason Mokhtarian, Rabbis, Sorcerers, Kings and Priests: The Culture of the Talmud in Ancient Iran, Oakland/CA, 2015; Gabbay and Secunda, Encounters; and Michal Bar Asher, Early Christian Monastic Literature and the Babylonian Talmud, New York, 2013. 24 Mandel’s The Origins of Midrash is one of the most recent extensive works published on the subject. See Oxford Online Bibliography, Bakhos, Midrash, and Visotzky, Midrash and Aggadah. 25 We often find Rabbi X pataḥ, that is he opened the verse, he explicated it, at times with another verse. As Paul Mandel has demonstrated, pataḥ does not necessarily link one verse with another homiletically, however, it is the case that one verse is often linked with another, whether thematically or semantically.

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discussion. This structure exemplifies a fundamental aspect of midrash, namely the desire to unite the diverse parts of the tripartite canon–Torah, Prophets, and Writings (Tanakh)–into a harmonious, seamless whole that reflects the oneness of God’s Word. Every verse is on the same temporal and semantic plane, with equal ability to reflect light and create intertextual meaning.

4.1

Midrashic Compilations

In addition to the Palestinian and Babylonian Talmuds, the rabbis of the amoraic period produced compilations of scriptural exegesis, aggadic midrashim. Whereas tannaitic corpora are mostly halakhic, amoraic midrashic compilations are almost entirely aggadic (narrative), and also are mostly of Palestinian provenance.26 Rabbinic compilations of the amoriac period are ordered either according to a verseby-verse exegesis (like tannaitic midrashim) or are best described as rabbinic miscellany, intermixing rabbinic Hebrew and Galilean Aramaic. The former type are aggadic exegetical compliations, and the latter type are often referred to as homiletic.27 However, scholars long ago abandoned the idea that these collections contain actual sermons delivered in synagogues, and scholars such as Richard Sarason, and more recently Burton Visotzky have called the homiletic structure into question.28 Premier examples of exegetical aggadic midrashim are Genesis Rabbah and Lamentations Rabbah, two of the Midrash collections on the books of the Bible. In addition to Leviticus Rabbah, there are also other compilations such as Peskita de Rav Kahana on selected passages or sections read on special Sabbaths or festal days, that have a different editorial arrangement.29 In these works, chapters comprise units that often cohere around a particular topic.

26 Among the tannaitic midrashim, the Mekhilta contains about as much aggadic material as it does halakhic. The amount of aggadic material in a tannaitic compilation depends on the Pentateuchal text under examination. For more on the Tannaitic Midrashim, see the essay by Günter Stemberger in this volume. 27 On the »literary homily« see David Stern, »Anthology and Polysemy in Classical Midrash,« in idem, The Anthology in Jewish Literature, New York, 2004, 108–42. 28 See Visotzky, »The Misnomers ›Petihah‹ and ›Homeletic Midrash‹ as Descriptions for Leviticus Rabbah and Pesikta DRav Kahana,« JSQ 18 (2011): 19–31. See Richard Sarason, »The Petihtot in Leviticus Rabbah: ›Oral Homilies‹ or Redactional Constructions?« JJS 33 (1982): 557–67, and Paul Mandel, »On ›Patah‹ and the Petihtah: A New Investigation,« in Higayon LYona: New Aspects in the Study of Midrash, Aggadah and Piyut in Honor of Professor Yona Fraenkel, ed. Joshua Levinson et al., Jerusalem, 2006, 49–82 (Hebrew); and Günter Stemberger, »The Derashah in Rabbinic Times,« in Preaching in Judaism and Christianity – Encounters and Developments, ed. A. Deeg et al., Studia Judaica 41, Berlin, 2008, 7–21. 29 The Midrash Rabbah, including the midrash on the five scrolls, was first published as a collection in Pesaro, Italy in 1519. It contains ten works (five on the Pentateuch and five on the Scrolls) that were composed in different centuries and locales and collected as a publishing decision.

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Whereas the earliest rabbinic interpretative texts are based on expounding biblical law, aggadic midrashim of the amoraic period deal primarily with the narrative portions of the Hebrew Bible. From the outset, it is important to note that the interpretations found in these collections have an oral history prior to the early medieval period that perhaps reaches as far back as several hundred years earlier than their putative date of redaction. Exegetical concerns, as manifest in the activities of Jewish interpreters, take on new form in redacted compilations of the later period. One can only speculate as to what prompted the interest in collating sage sayings, rabbinic discourses, and in general rabbinic scriptural interpretation. Possibly the decline of Palestine as the center of intellectual activity may have given rise to the need and interest in compiling such works. It may also be that Christian claims to the biblical heritage factored into the need to preserve rabbinic discourse in writing, but again, such statements are only suggestive, for the rabbis made no effort to state explicitly their priorities, concerns, and desiderata. We therefore have no way of knowing why the rabbis collected midrashim, discrete units of rabbinic musings, and teachings on legal and non-legal matters into massive volumes. We can, however, safely say the following: the compilations reflect an ordering based on scripture; scriptural verses serve as prooftexts; and even though we must shy away from depicting the »Rabbis« as a monolithic group, the compilations give, certainly on a prima facie level, the impression of concordance, despite the multiple contradicting and varying voices found within rabbinic literature. As Hirshman observes, »Rabbinic midrash of the classical period (1–5th century CE) is outspoken and thrives on presenting its ›new‹ interpretations as intimately connected to words and syntactical peculiarities of scripture.«30

4.2

Genesis Rabbah

Genesis Rabbah is a good example of an aggadic exegetical compilation. Here we find both simple and elaborate explanations of words and phrases of the verse at hand. Most parashiyot (chapters, parasha, sing.) contain a verse usually from the Writings, especially from Psalms or the Wisdom Literature, sometimes from the Prophets, but rarely from the Torah, that is seemingly extraneous but through a chain of interpretations is connected to the verse at the beginning of the section. So, for example, Gen Rab 32:2 on the second half of Gen 7:1 (»And the LORD said to Noah: ›Come, you and your entire household unto the ark; for you I have seen righteous before Me in this generation,‹«), opens: »For the LORD is righteous, He loves righteousness; the upright shall behold his face« (Ps 11:7). And how is Ps 11:7 related to Gen 7:1? 30 Marc Hirshman, »Aggadic Midrash,« in Safrai et al., The Literature of the Sages II, 107–32: 108. For an updated version of this article, see Hirshman and Kadari, »Midrash Aggadah,« in Kahana et al., Sifrut Hazal, 511–52 (Hebrew). See also Tamar Kadari, »Midreshei ha-aggadah ha-amoraim,« ibid., 297–350.

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The midrash continues: R. Tanḥuma in R. Judah’s name and R. Menahem in R. Eleazar’s said: No man loves his fellowtradesman (competitor), but a sage loves his fellow-tradesman. R. Ḥiyya loves his and R. Hoshaya loves his. The Holy One, blessed be He, also loves His [in the sense that God is righteous and loves those who are also righteous; in that respect they are God’s fellow-tradesmen]. Therefore, »For the LORD is righteous, He loves righteousness; the upright shall behold his face« (Ps. 11:7) applies to Noah, as it is written, »God said to Noah, ›Go into the ark, with all your household, for you alone have I found righteous before Me in this generation.‹«31

»Righteousness« is the philological linchpin that brings these disparate verses together. That is, the verse in Psalms is quoted to explicate Gen 7:1 by showing that God actually loves to see the righteous who like him are righteous and are thus God’s companions. Noah is singled out from among the people of his generation because of his righteousness. The three volume Midrash Bereshit Rabba,32 is based on the British Museum (London) MS Cod. Add. 27,169, but its critical apparatus includes most textual attestations, with the exception of recent Genizah discoveries. Despite some shortcomings—MS Vat. 30, instead of the British Museum manuscript should have been the basis for the edition in the opinion of Michael Sokoloff, and the editors overlooked MS Vat. 60—by most accounts the edition is rather impressive.33

4.3

Lamentations (Eikhah) Rabbah

Like Genesis Rabbah, Lamentations Rabbah is an exegetical midrashic collection. Known also as Eikhah Rabbati, and in earlier manuscripts as aggadat Eikhah or midrash kinot, it consists of 36 proems and five chapters (corresponding to the five chapters of the Book of Lamentations) of line-by-line exposition.34 Tannaitic sages 31 Gen Rab 30:9 explores why the verse states, »in his generation.« Is it to qualify or emphasize his righteousness? What does it mean to relativize his righteousness with respect to his generation? Had he lived in the time of Moses, how would Noah compare to him? 32 Edited by Julius Theodor and Ḥanokh Albeck, is the standard edition of Genesis (Bereshit) Rabba. Theodor began working on it in 1903, but Albeck, who also wrote an introduction, completed the three volumes in 1936, after Theodor’s death, 2nd rev. ed., Jerusalem, 1965. 33 See the introduction of Michael Sokoloff, The Genizah Fragments of Bereshit Rabba, Jerusalem, 1982 (Hebrew). 34 Printed editions of the Midrash Rabbah enumerate 34, however this ignores two that are unattributed (2b and 31b). Solomon Buber’s edition corrects this oversight. Some have noted that thirty-six is numerical value of eikhah in Hebrew. Whether this was deliberate or not remains uncertain. For a history of the textual transmission of Lam. Rab, which comes to us in two recensions, see Paul Mandel, »Between Byzantine and Islam: The Transmission of a Jewish Book in the Byzantine and Early Islamic Periods,« in Transmitting Jewish Textual Traditions: Orality, Textuality and External Diffusion, ed. Yaakov Elman and Israel Gershom, New Haven/CT, 2001, 74–106, and his dissertation »Midrash Lamentations Rabbati: Prolegomenon, and Critical Edition to the Third Parasha,« PhD diss., Hebrew University, 1997 (Hebrew). See also Carl Astor, »The Petihta’ot of Eicha Rabba«, PhD diss., Jewish Theological Seminary, 1995.

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as well as Palestinian amoraim living no later than the fourth century are cited. Given the use of Galilean Aramaic coupled with Greek and Latin phrases, as well as numerous parallels with the Palestinian Talmud, its redaction date is probably sometime in the fifth century.35 The proems constitute over a quarter of the work, but the rationale for their arrangement remains unclear. The thematic connection between the verses of each proem ranging from Jeremiah, Isaiah, Daniel, Ezekiel, Ecclesiastes, and Deuteronomy (even Lamentations), however, is not difficult to miss. They deal with destruction, mourning, and prophetic admonition. Whereas the Book of Lamentations deals with the destruction of the First Temple, Lamentations Rabbah is about the destruction of the 2nd Temple in 70 CE, and the aftermath of the Bar Kokhba revolt (132–135 CE). Historical events and figures such as Vespasian and Hadrian are mentioned. In addition to tales of tragedy, the collection includes stories of heroism and martyrdom, such as the well-known story from 2 and 4 Maccabees about the mother and her seven sons. This collection of midrashim readily lends itself to theological and literary studies.36 In particular the petiḥtot deal with the question of theology. Petiḥta 24 swells with the retribution theology of Deuteronomy and movingly portrays God’s own sorrow and heartache at the destruction of his people and Temple. As God, accompanied by his ministering angels with Jeremiah leading the way, sees his Temple in ruins, he weeps: ›Woe is Me for My house! My children, where are you? My priests, where are you? My lovers, where are you? What shall I do with you, seeing that I warned you but you did not repent?‹ The Holy One, blessed be He, said to Jeremiah, ›I am now like a man who had an only son, for whom he prepared a marriage-canopy, but he died under it.‹

The rabbis seek consolation in the image of an empathetic God who rebukes his people and at the same time helps them heal and gives them reason to hope. Lamentations Rabbah affords readers a portal into the potency of rabbinic rhetoric and throws light on rabbinic intellectual history. The mashal, a classic rabbinic analogical literary device, affords readers an opportunity to appreciate rabbinic cultural concerns and attitudes.37 Galit Hasan-Rokem’s folkloristic and feminist approach to stories in Lamentations Rabbah is a good example of some of the many ways in which the literary aspects of the collection serve to illuminate how rabbis of 5th century Byzantine Palestine made sense of their past and present.38

35 Scholarly estimates range from the seventh century to fourth century. See Strack/Stemberger, Introduction, 310. 36 See, e.g. Adam Gregerman, Building on the Ruins of the Temple, TSAJ 165, Tübingen, 2016. 37 See David Stern, Parables in Midrash, Harvard, 1991. 38 Galit Hasan-Rokem, Web of Life: Folklore and Midrash in Rabbinic Literature, trans. Batya Stein, Stanford/CA, 2000. On how the rabbis deal with devastating events in Lamentations Rabbah, see also Alan Mintz, Ḥurban: Responses to Catastrophe in Hebrew Literature, Stanford/CA, 1984.

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4.4

Song of Songs (Shir ha-Shirim) Rabbah

Song of Songs Rabbah is an exegetical midrash expounding the chapters of Song of Songs verse-by-verse. It is also referred to as Midrash Ḥazita and aggadat Ḥazita in medieval texts, references derived from the opening interpretations of Proverbs 22:29, »Ḥazitah ish mahir bimlakhto,« »Do you see a man skillful in his work?«39 As in the case with other amoraic midrashic collections, Song of Songs Rabbah was compiled somewhat later than the amoraic period, in the 4th to 6th centuries, and includes tannaitic material, as well as material found in the Palestinian Talmud, Genesis Rabbah, Leviticus Rabbah and Pesikta deRav Kahana.40 Song of Songs Rabbah provides insight into the ways in which the rabbis of late antiquity read Song of Songs as an allegory between God and Israel, and the relationship between rabbinic and the writings of the Church Fathers who promulgated allegorical and typological readings of the Old Testament.

4.5

Leviticus Rabbah

In addition to verse-by-verse collections of midrashim, such as Genesis Rabbah and Lamentations Rabbah, several collections, for example Leviticus Rabbah and Pesikta de Rav Kahana are arranged as chapters that cluster around a particular theme or topic. Recent scholarship has moved in the direction of reading them as literary works. Ofra Meir has argued Genesis Rabbah and Leviticus Rabbah share important formal connections.41 Composed around the late 5th century in the Galilee, Leviticus Rabbah (LR) is divided into thirty-seven sections (parashiyot). Chapters in LR seem to have some thematic unity, while others might be organized around a common scriptural verse or topic.42 LR 23 is a good example of a chapter that treats the topic of Jewish difference or distinctiveness. The theme is arguably Jewish separation from the nations. The chapter begins with the following unit:

39 The NRSV translates the verse »Do you see those who are skillful in their work,« but »ish,« (man) in the context of the rest of the midrash is gender specific. Ecclesiastes Rabbah is also referred to as Midrash Ḥazita. 40 For a discussion of new evidence regarding textual witnesses, three new partial manuscripts and four new Genizah fragments, and the current state of research on Song of Songs Rabbah, see Tamar Kadari, »Redaction and Exegesis: Rabbinic Literature and Its Intended Audience,« in Doresh Tov Le-‘amo: Preachers, Sermons and Homiletics in Jewish Culture, ed. Kimmy Caplan, Carmi Horowitz and Nahem Ilan, Jerusalem, 2012, 29–47 (Hebrew). For her online synoptic edition of Song of Songs Rabbah, see www.schechter.ac.il/midrash/ shir-hashirim-raba/ of the Schechter midrash project. 41 Ofra Meir, »The Process of Redaction in Genesis Rabbah and Leviticus Rabbah,« Te‘udah 11 (1996): 61–90 (Hebrew). 42 For an examination of many aspects of Leviticus Rabbah, see Burton Visotzky, Golden Bells.

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»Like the practice of the land of Egypt« (Lev. 18:3). Rabbi Isaac opened [expounded the verse]: »Like a rose among the thorns« (Song of Songs 2:2). Rabbi Isaac interpreted the verse as referring to Rebecca: »Isaac was forty years old when he took to wife Rebecca, daughter of Betuel the Aramean of Paddan-aram, sister of Laban the Aramean« (Gen. 25:20). Why does Scripture state »sister of Laban the Aramean«? Did it not already state »daughter of Betuel the Aramean«? And why does it state, »daughter of Betuel the Aramean«? Does it not already state, »sister of Laban the Aramean?« [why the superfluity?] Rather, the Holy One Blessed be He said, »Her father is a deceiver [ramai] and her brother is a deceiver and the people of her place are deceivers [rema’im], and this righteous one emerged from among them. She is like a rose among the thorns.« Rabbi Berekhiah in the name of Rabbi Simon makes the point in connection with this verse, »And Isaac sent away Jacob; and he went to Paddan-aram unto Laban, son of Bethuel the Aramean« (Gen 28:5), thus labeling them all as practicing deception [remma’ut]. All of them are deceivers.43

In this case the verse from afar is Song of Songs 2:2, »Like a rose among the thorns.« Through a series of word plays, allusions, and analogies, inter alia, the verse is linked to Lev 18:3, the verse being explicated. The verse expresses the unequivocal prohibition against Israelite assimilation: Like the practice of the land of Egypt which you dwelled in, you should not practice, and like the practice of the land of Canaan to which I am bringing you, you should not practice, and in their laws you should not go.

Given that Leviticus 18 articulates a host of sexual prohibitions, it is ironic that Song of Songs 2:2 is the intertext, thus conjuring up erotic images. The Israelites, positioned between their past in Egypt and their future in Canaan, must maintain their distinctiveness and thus avoid taking on the ways of their cultural surroundings. This is illustrated in the midrash where Rebecca is likened to the rose among the thorns. That is, she is surrounded by deceivers, remayim. By means of a play on Arami (Aramean) and ramai (deceiver), the rabbis also draw an analogy between the thorns and members of Rebecca’s family, her father, Betuel, and her brother, Laban. But they are not the only thorns; rather the entire town is full of deceivers. According to the midrash, Rebecca’s moral character sets her apart from her kin and townsfolk, from the other Arameans. Later units, 4 and 7, of the same parashah (chapter), draw on the analogy in this pericope to make a similar claim, but in those are instances with respect to Israelite distinctiveness. In fact, one may argue that R. Berekiah’s prooftext, Gen 28:5, »And Isaac sent away Jacob; and he went to Paddan-aram unto Laban, son of Betuel the Aramean,« already foreshadows that claim. In other words, Jacob/ Israel is now the rose among the thorns, and so, too, the Israelites in later units of the same chapter. An alternative reading implicates Jacob in rema’ut. Is the pericope about Jewish difference or should it be read ironically, perhaps as subverting the very notion of difference? Might it reflect

43 See Beth Berkowitz, Defining Jewish Difference From Antiquity to the Present, New York, 2012, 112–39, and for an alternative reading of the midrash, Carol Bakhos, »Reading Against the Grain: Humor and Subversion in Midrashic Literature,« in Narratology, Hermeneutics, and Midrash. Jewish, Christian, and Muslim Narratives from the Late Antiquity through to Modern Times, ed. Gerhard Langer et al., Göttingen, 2014, 71–80.

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uneasiness with the notion of distinction, an anxiety about difference? The midrash complexifies the notion of difference. The prooftext, however, is the linchpin, not only of our unit, but of the entire chapter, and must be read simultaneously along two vectors, one that hews to audience expectations, the other that upends, and devastates those expectations. That is to say, »And Isaac sent away Jacob; and he went to Paddan-aram unto Laban, son of Betuel the Aramean,« is a parody that at once supports the notion that Rebecca, and by extension the Israelites, are unlike the Arameans; and it simultaneously subverts that very notion. The midrash at once introduces and traduces the notion of distinction. The midrash continues: »All of them are deceivers.« But who constitutes »all?« All Arameans? Does all include Rebecca and Jacob, and by extension Israel and the Jews? LR 23:1 attempts to set Rebekah, Jacob and by extension the Jewish people morally apart from other nations, but simultaneously functions to undermine that notion of exceptionalism or distinction. To read it on one plane is to lose sight not only of the midrash’s literary richness, but also to limit its theological implications and to ignore rabbinic anxiety, and ambiguity about Jewish difference. This is echoed throughout the rest of chapter 23. In fact, LR 23:2 makes the claim that it is only because God vowed to take for himself a nation that Israel is redeemed, not because of its exceptionally virtuous behavior or its separation from ambient cultural trappings, but because of God’s choice to redeem them. The above reading of LR 23:1 assumes that the rabbis are well attuned to the various vectors on which the midrash operates–generally speaking: the overt and covert lines of communication. Cognizant of the ludic possibilities of the text, the rabbis were aware of the intertextual connections and ruptures that continually relativize the overt line of communication. In this sense, we draw attention to rabbinic self-reflexivity that is inherent to the rabbinic intertextual enterprise. Mordecai Margulies produced the classic critical edition of Leviticus Rabbah: Midrash Wayyiqra Rabbah: A Critical Edition Based on Manuscripts and Genizah Fragments with Variants and Notes.44 It provides variants in manuscripts and printed editions. The work sets the basic standards of a critical edition and includes notes, an introduction, and appendices. The online synoptic edition of Leviticus (Vayyiqra) Rabbah, produced by Chaim Milikowsky and Margarete Schlüter45 is an important online resource that allows the users of the critical edition to evaluate textual variants. The editors have made available manuscripts and manuscript fragments unknown to Margulies. The project benefits from recent findings over the past forty years.

4.6

Pesikta de Rav Kahana

Pesikta de Rav Kahana (PRK), dating from 350–500 CE, is arranged according to selected scriptural passages or sections read on special Sabbaths or festal days. Each

44 3 vols. Jerusalem, 1972. First published in 5 volumes between 1953 and 1960. 45 http://www.biu.ac.il/JS/midrash/VR. Ramat Gan, Bar-Ilan University, n.d.

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piska, »section,« has a unified theme that is appropriate to the scriptural reading of the day. Because it focuses on special readings, it avoids the problem that there was no unified Palestinian Torah reading cycle during the three to three and a half years it took them to read through the Pentateuch in any given synagogue. Comprising various sermons on diverse themes, PRK nonetheless maintains an underlying thread throughout the chapters, namely, the chosenness of Israel as God’s people, to whom God bestowed the gift of Torah. Moreover, PRK deals with biblical narratives and espouses fundamental rabbinic articles of faith; yet at the same time retells anecdotes about notable rabbis such as R. Aqiba (2nd cent., CE), R. Simeon bar Yohai (2nd cent., CE), R. Abbahu (3rd cent., CE), and their legendary lives. The bulk of these stories, sources of hagiography, illustrate virtuous, exemplary conduct, most especially their dedication to Torah. A comparison between the style and thematic content of tannaitic material and PRK draws attention to PRK’s distinct discourse, as Rachel Anisfeld has argued. The religious language used throughout PRK is intimate and seems to correspond with an attempt on the part of the rabbis to engage in a process of popularization akin to the process undertaken by Christian church leaders.46 Leviticus Rabbah and PRK have five chapters and multiple sub-sections shared in common which provides scholars with ample fodder to discuss the relationship between the two, that is, whether or not one adopted some or all the chapters from one source or vice versa.47 Moreover, scholars surmise that at least the core material of PRK is more or less contemporaneous with Leviticus Rabbah and hence conclude that the work should be dated to the fifth century.

4.7

Ecclesiastes Rabbah

Ecclesiastes Rabbah (Qohelet Rabbah), from the early medieval period, also referred to as Haggadat Qohelet, is one of the works included in the aggadic Midrash Rabbah collection.48 Like the so-called exegetical collections, it is ordered chapter by chapter and verse by verse and covers almost the entire book of Ecclesiastes. There is a wide range of scholarly views on its date of redaction, spanning four centuries. In the introduction to his critical edition and commentary, however, Hirshman 46 Rachel Anisfeld, Sustain me with Raisin-Cakes. 47 See Strack/Stemberger, Introduction to Talmud and Midrash, 315. See Visotzky, Golden Bells, ch. 3f. and see idem., »Misnomers.« 48 Although more rarely, it was also referred to as Midrash Ḥazita, taking its name from its opening proem. Song of Songs Rabbah also uses the same introductory exposition, »Do you see a man skillful in his work?« (Prov. 22:29). Marc Hirshman recently produced the first critical edition of Kohelet Rabbah. His edition includes variant readings, an introduction and commentary. Midrash Kohelet Rabbah 1–6, Critical Edition with Commentary and Introduction, Jerusalem, 2016. On the various names of the compilations, see chapter 2 of Hirshman’s introduction, 60–62. The midrashic compilation was first printed in Constantinople in 1520 and later printed in Pesaro. There are several extant manuscripts and fragments from the Cairo Genizah.

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convincingly argues for a 6th century, perhaps early 7th century dating, before the emergence of Islam. Scholars turn to Jerome’s familiarity with and use of fifteen Hebrew traditions found in Ecclesiastes Rabbah, which he learned from his »Hebrew teacher« to support the notion that a version of the compilation was in circulation. Indeed, Uzi Leibner’s geographic study offers the argument that there was a 3rd-4th century core to the extant corpus.49 In addition to the use of Mishnaic Hebrew, and Galilean Aramaic, the compilation includes a noteworthy number of Greek words. Ecclesiastes Rabbah draws on material from the earlier Palestinian midrashim. Proems from other aggadic compilations such as Lamentations Rabbah, texts from Genesis Rabbah, Leviticus Rabbah, and Song of Songs Rabbah account for about one-fifth of Ecclesiastes Rabbah. Moreover, scholars have noted the parallels between material in it and both the Palestinian and Babylonian Talmuds. However, the extent to which it is influenced by the Bavili is open to debate. Whereas many leading scholars, such as Kiperwasser, argue for a greater use of Bavli traditions, Hirshman maintains that if there is any engagement with Bavli traditions, it is with popular stories. Moreover, none of the expositions on verses Ecclesiastes attributed to Babylonian sages in the Bavli appear in what he believes is the Palestinian Ecclesiastes Rabbah.50 Scholars are interested in the relationship between Ecclesiastes Rabbah and an abbreviated version, Qohelet Zuta, which circulated in the medieval period. Kiperwasser argues that Qohelet Zuta is more original than Qohelet Rabbah, however Hirshman makes the opposite claim.51 Whereas scholars agree that both evolved from an early no longer extant midrash Kohelet, they disagree with respect to which is earlier.52

5

Conclusion

Amoraic works include the Palestinian and Babylonian Talmuds as well as the aggadic midrashim produced in Palestine between the 3rd and 6th centuries. This vast literature spans a broad geographic region and includes texts written in Hebrew and Aramaic with loanwords from Greek, as well as Middle Persian in the Bavli, making an appearance throughout the various corpora. It is exceedingly difficult to date our sources and even harder to use them as historical artifacts. And yet, the stories they convey and how they are conveyed, shed light on rabbinical teach-

49 50 51 52

See Appendices 3 and 4 of Hirshman’s introduction to his critical edition, 116–25 (Hebrew). On the relationship of the Bavli to Ecclesiastes Rabbah, see Hirshman, 18, 35–48 and 112–14. Hirshman, Kohelet Rabbah, 92–102. See Reuven Kiperwasser, »Toward a Redaction History of Kohelet Rabbah: A Study in the Composition and Redaction of Kohelet Rabbah 7:7,« JJS 61.2 (2010): 258–77 and »Structure and Form in Kohelet Rabbah as Evidence of Its Redaction,« JJS 58.2 (2007): 282–302, as well as the introduction to Hirshman’s critical edition, 18f.

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ings and values, and offer insight into cultural concerns and mores. They afford us an entre into differences between Babylonian and Palestinian Jewry, and attitudes toward Christianity and Imperial Rome. Amoraic literature explicates biblical passages and the Talmuds specifically amplify mishnaic statements. This is a vast treasure of rabbinic tales, biblical exegesis, and halakhic deliberations, of rabbinic narratives replete with insights into human nature and nurture. For Further Reading Anisfeld, Rachel, Sustain me with Raisin-Cakes: Pesikta Derav Kahana and the Popularization of Rabbinic Judaism, JSJSup 133, Leiden, 2009. Bakhos, Carol and M. Rahim Shayegan, eds., The Talmud in Its Iranian Context, TSAJ 135, Tübingen, 2010. Fonrobert, Charlotte E. and Martin S. Jaffee, eds., The Cambridge Companion to the Talmud and Rabbinic Literature, Cambridge, 2007. Hasan-Rokem, Galit, The Web of Life and Rabbinic Literature, Stanford/CA, 2000. Kahana, Menachem, Vered Noam, Menachem Kister and David Rosenthal, eds., Sifrut Hazal HaEretz Yisre’elit: Mevoʼot u-Meḥkạ rim (The Classic Rabbinic Literature of the Land of Israel: Introductions and Studies), vol. 1, Jerusalem, 2018 (Hebrew). Kalmin, Richard, »The Formation and Character of the Babylonian Talmud,« in The Cambridge History of Judaism IV: The Late Roman-Rabbinic Period, ed. Steven T. Katz, Cambridge, 2006, 840–76. Kraemer, David C., A History of the Talmud, Cambridge/New York, 2019. Moscovitz, Leib, »The Formation and Character of the Jerusalem Talmud,« ibid., 663–77. Rubenstein, Jeffrey, The Culture of the Babylonian Talmud, Baltimore/MA, 2003. Secunda, Shai, The Iranian Talmud: Reading the Bavli in Its Sasanian Context, Philadelphia/PA, 2013. Strack, Hermann L. and Günter Stemberger, eds., Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash, trans. Jacob Neusner and Markus Bockmuehl, Minneapolis/MN, 1992. Vidas, Moulie, Tradition and the Formation of the Talmud, Princeton/NJ, 2014. Visotzky, Burton, Golden Bells and Pomegranates: Studies in Midrash Leviticus Rabbah, TSAJ 94, Tübingen, 2003. Wimpfheimer, Barry Scott, The Talmud: A Biography, Lives of Great Religious Books, Princeton, 2018.

Rabbinic-Gaonic and Karaite Literatures Burton L. Visotzky and Marzena Zawanowska 1

1

Rabbinic-Gaonic literatures (ca. 650–1050 CE)

The seventh century CE was a time of tectonic shifts in the landscape of the great powers that ruled the Late Antique world and the Jewish communities in it. In the East, the Sassanian-Zoroastrian Empire fell to the conquests of Islam. Concomitantly, the eastern Mediterranean basin also came under Muslim sway, bringing an end to ByzantineChristian rule and initiating a contest for hegemony between Christianity and Islam that was a constant of the Middle Ages. The period ca. 650–1050 CE encompasses the era of these political and religious changes. The literature of the rabbis parallels the shifts in empire with its own changes in genre. The rabbis who composed this literature are referred to by the title Gaon (pl. geonim), an honorific given to the heads of the academies in the Land of Israel and Babylonia (i.e., Iraq).2 The Babylonian academies were centered in the towns of Pumbedita (modern day Fallujah) and Sura. Sura was also home to the nearby earlier Talmudic academy of Mata Mehasia. These academies moved to Baghdad at the end of the tenth century, while retaining their traditional names. Among the Geonim who will be mentioned below were leaders of Sura: Yehudai (ruled 857–61 CE), Amram (d. 875), Saʿadia (ca. 882/892–942), and Shmuel b. Ḥofni (d. 1034). Among the leaders of Pumbedita were Ahai of Shabha (680–752), Sherira (968–1006), and Hai (d. 1038). It should be noted that there were lesser known Geonim in Babylonia and in the Land of Israel (at Tiberias and Jerusalem, and perhaps Ramle) during this time. At the end of the era we see leaders in the North-African center of Kairawan such as Rabbenu Hananel b. Hushiel and Nissim ibn Shahin, who also held the title Gaon. Like their colleagues in Fustat, Egypt (Old Cairo), they subscribed to the teachings of the Gaonic academies of Babylonia and to a lesser degree to those of the Land of Israel.3 Our ability to read these Gaonic works is compromised by a curious fact of their transmission. The literature of the early rabbis was called Oral Torah, to distinguish it from the Written Torah or Hebrew Bible. But the Oral Torah was exactly that, 1 In memory of our dear colleague and friend Ilana Sasson. Burton L. Visotzky wrote the section on Rabbinic-Gaonic literatures. Marzena Zawanowska wrote on Karaite literature. 2 For the history of this period and of the Gaonate, see the chapter by Geoffrey Herman in volume I. For rabbinic literature of the period, see Simcha Assaf, The Era of the Geonim and their Literature: Lectures and Lessons, ed. Mordechai Margulies, Jerusalem, 1976 (Hebrew); and Brody, Geonim. 3 See Goitein, A Mediterranean Society.

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transmitted orally and not in any authoritative written form.4 While the reasons for this are complex,5 the practical outcome is an insecure transmission of these early rabbinic texts until their inscription, a process which began in earnest at the end of the Gaonic period.6 The survey of the rabbinic literature that follows is subject to the vicissitudes of time and memory.7

1.2

Gaonic Mishnah and Talmud Commentaries, Introductions

As the Babylonian Talmud coalesced into what is roughly its current form of six orders of Mishnah, along with Amoraic and later-Talmudic argumentation and discussion on select segments of that text,8 rabbis in Jewish Babylonia and elsewhere started to write introductions to the various Mishnaic and Talmudic tractates, and then longer commentaries on the Babylonian Talmud itself. These commentaries have been culled from various later Gaonic works such as Halakhot Gedolot (see below) or from fragments of works called »Secret Scrolls«9 that were not intended for publication, as well as from extended comments found among Gaonic responsa.10 In the twentieth century, these early commentaries were collected by Benjamin M. Lewin into a twelve-volume work titled, Otzar ha-Geonim: Thesaurus of the Gaonic Responsa and Commentaries following the order of the Talmudic Tractates.11 Among these commentaries, scholars enumerate the works of the Geonim Hai, and perhaps Natronai (Sura, late 9th c.), and later, both Saʿadia and Sherira. At the very end of the period, Rabbenu Hananel ben Hushiel wrote a commentary to the Babylonian Talmud now found in printed editions of the text. Rabbi Yonah ibn Janah (Andalusia, 11th c.) possibly wrote a grammatical commentary on the Talmud. 4 See, inter alia, Saul Lieberman, »The Publication of the Mishnah,« in idem, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine, New York, 1950, 83–99; and Yaakov Zussman, »Oral Torah: It is What it Says,« in Talmudic Studies 3, Dedicated to the Memory of Professor Ephraim E. Urbach, ed. Yaakov Zussman and David Rosenthal, Jerusalem, 2005 (Hebrew), 289–385. 5 Talya Fishman, »Guarding Oral Transmission: Within and Between Cultures,« Oral Tradition 25/1 (2010): 41–56. 6 Eadem, Becoming the People of the Talmud. 7 Neil Danzig, »From Oral Torah to Written Talmud: On the Methods of Transmission of the Babylonian Talmud and its Study in the Middle Ages,« Bar Ilan 30–31 (2006): 49–112 (Hebrew). 8 See the chapter by Carol Bakhos in his volume. 9 Such as that of Rabbenu Nissim ibn Shahin of Kairawan (see below). These fragments are either quoted in later medieval works or have been recovered from the Cairo Genizah, the ancient book depository that was a prodigious source of texts both literary and from daily life. Goitein, A Mediterranean Society 1, »Introduction« 1–42. For a popular treatment of the Genizah, see Adina Hoffman and Peter Cole, Sacred Trash: The Lost and Found World of the Cairo Genizah, New York, 2011. 10 Below, and see Simcha Assaf, The Era of the Geonim, 133ff. 11 Haifa and Jerusalem, 1928–43. As the title indicates, each was divided into a section of commentaries and of responsa.

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The Geonim also wrote general introductions to the Talmud. Saʿadia explicitly published an introduction to the Talmud in Arabic. Shmuel b. Hofni also produced an Arabic Introduction. Assaf suggests that Rav Sherira’s famous letter (see below) while a »history« of the transmission of the Mishnah and the rabbis, served as a useful introduction.12

1.3

Gaonic Law (Halakhah) and Custom (Minhag)

The Geonim served as adjudicators of Jewish law.13 They wrote responsa to halakhic questions as a method of guiding their flock and asserting influence beyond their immediate locale. Because these works were authored by specific rabbis, the earlier rabbinic anonymity for the editor of redacted collations such as the Mishnah and Talmud shifted in favor of works identified with their particular authors. 1.3.1

Halakhot Pesuqot and Halakhot Gedolot

The earliest collections by the Geonim rendered legal decisions about a broad range of Jewish practice. By and large, these were organized according to the tractates of the Babylonian Talmud and depended upon that work. A practical implication of this organizing principle was that these codes were more or less topical. The earliest of these codes was the Halakhot Pesuqot (Decided Laws), earlier attributed to Yehudai Gaon. Unfortunately, this attribution is now deemed untenable.14 Neil Danzig suggests that the work was compiled under the influence of Yehudai in the eighth century. Halakhot Pesuqot depends on an earlier Gaonic work, the She’iltot (Questions).15 Halakhot Pesuqot was adapted into a Hebrew version as Hilchot Re’u from its original Aramaic, and many Judeo-Arabic translations of this text have been found among Cairo Genizah manuscripts. Halakhot Gedolot (Great Laws) closely follows the format of Halakhot Pesuqot, but with differences of opinion on the law. Authorship of Halakhot Gedolot is generally accorded to the Babylonian sage Shimeʿon Kayyara. Unfortunately, we do not know very much about him. Later rabbis nickname him »of Basra,« a city in Iraq. His title Kayyara perhaps indicates he was involved in the wax trade. He draws on both the She’iltot and Halakhot Pesuqot in addition to the Babylonian Talmud. But the texts we have of Halakhot Gedolot are in a variety of different recensions, confusing our ability to discern the other sources of his opinions and even the date of the work. Common consensus suggests ninth century, sometime after Halakhot Pesuqot.

12 Assaf, op cit. 13 See the chapter by Milgram in this volume. 14 An excellent English discussion of the issues, based upon Neil Danzig’s, An Introduction to Halachot Pesukot, New York/Jerusalem, 1993, is found in Brody, Geonim, 213–30. 15 See below.

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Responsa

The primary means of Gaonic communication on Jewish law was writing answers to legal questions: responsa. This method was ubiquitous throughout the postTalmudic era and continues to this day. In the Gaonic period, rabbis also wrote treatises considering all aspects of a halakhic issue. Three of the more famous legalists of the period are discussed below. 1.3.3

Saʿadia

Saʿadia Gaon (early 10th c., Sura) is reported to have written treatises in Arabic, including a work on Talmudic methodology (preserved only in its Hebrew translation), as well as on the legal methodology of Rabbi Ishmael’s norms for interpreting Torah. His more direct responsa have been preserved in Hebrew and collected among various published volumes. Saʿadia’s influence carries far beyond his responsa to include biblical translation and commentary, liturgy, philosophy, polemical literature, etc. 1.3.4

Shmuel ben Hofni

Shmuel was the last Gaon of Sura and had less influence than his Pumbeditan counterparts. His extant responsa are few, but to assure their circulation he wrote in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Arabic. Shmuel covered family law, divorce, rituals such as phylacteries and fringes on garments, Sabbath law, food laws, taxes, and property rights. His son-in-law attested that Shmuel was versed in non-Jewish literature. This may be reflected in some of his legal writings, although he scrupulously follows Talmudic dictates and is concerned (perhaps in response to the Karaites) with providing biblical foundations for rabbinic law. 1.3.5

Hai ben Sherira

Hai was the son-in-law of Shmuel ben Hofni and ruled at Pumbedita, until his death at an advanced old age in 1038. Although he spent the first four decades of his life in his famous father Sherira’s shadow, he ultimately surpassed him in prominence and influence. Jews sent him legal questions from places as diverse as Andalusia, Turkey, Germany, France, North Africa, and India. His more than eight hundred extant responsa are found in virtually every collection of Gaonic materials published. He wrote on civil law (e.g. business transactions, torts), family law, rituals, and Jewish holidays. His treatises, which appear to have been written in Arabic, were soon translated into Hebrew, and merited commentaries written on them in the later Middle Ages. Hai also was familiar with non-Jewish works including Qur’ān and Ḥadīth, as well as Greek and Arabic works of philosophy. Still, he was a fairly conservative legalist, following Talmudic dictates and upholding Jewish customs unless they were in opposition to settled Jewish law. His philosophical stances were influenced by Islamic thinking, but particularly by the rabbinic works of Saʿadia. Hai was in

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regular correspondence with Hannanel and Nissim in Kairawan, who considered him (after their own fathers) their rabbi.16 1.3.6

Differing Customs between Babylonian and Palestinian Rabbinic Jews

There exist various recensions of annotated lists of the differences in custom between Babylonian and Palestinian rabbinic Jews. It is not clear whether the motive for collecting these lists of differences was to highlight »us« versus »them,« or whether Jews were attempting to retain some historic memory of what once were distinct customs but had become intermingled since the advent of Islam. This latter phenomenon often makes it impossible for scholars to discern the provenance of a rabbinic work from this era based on the customs mentioned within it. Two modern editions of this compilation were published by Mordecai Margulies (1938) and Benjamin M. Lewin (1942). Among the differences between the communities are: at what point an infant who has died is afforded proper burial (one day vs. one month); whether one stands or sits during recitation of the Shemaʿ prayer; whether one may make a benediction over wine if it has not been diluted with water (the common practice since antiquity). Another difference is whether the leader of prayers (cantor) faces the Torah ark or the congregation, a variance that has resonance in modern Jewish synagogues.

1.4

Midrash

The Gaonic era was a fruitful time for new genres of midrash (rabbinic biblical interpretation) to flourish. There were amalgams of work based upon Halakhah and Aggadah— these were edited according to the Babylonian Torah reading cycle—by which the entire Pentateuch was read in the course of one calendar year, by dividing up the Five Books into fifty-four discrete portions read in consecutive weeks throughout the lectionary year. In the earlier Talmudic era, the rabbis had collected midrash based on Genesis, Leviticus, Song of Songs, and Lamentations. Now in the Gaonic era, the entire Torah cycle would finally be accounted for, along with other new genres of midrash that not only explicated the Torah, but also collected tales of the early rabbinic sages.17 1.4.1

She’iltot

The She’iltot is an Aramaic collection of rabbinic laws built around the Babylonian annual Torah reading cycle, attributed to Ahai Gaon of Shabha.18 Each weekly portion discusses a legal issue loosely tied to that week’s Torah reading. There are from one to six homilies included in each of the weekly sections, so that among 16 »Hai ben Sherira,« Encyclopedia.com accessed Jan 4, 2019. 17 See the chapters of Bakhos and Mikva in this volume. 18 See Brody, Geonim, 202–15.

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the various editions of the She’iltot we can find between 171–192 of these halakhic homilies, each with their aggadic (non-legal) perorations. A given commandment is cited and a discussion of Talmudic sources illuminating it ensues. These discourses are aimed at a broad audience and each sub-section of the edited She’iltot ends with an invitation to the preacher to add his own aggadic homily. The She’iltot was a strong influence on Halakhot Pesuqot and Halakhot Gedolot, which while sharing content, were nevertheless organized quite differently. The She’iltot followed the course of the Torah readings while Halakhot Pesuqot and others followed the Talmud and focused on grouping materials around a given legal concept. Aside from the early Palestinian (Tannaitic) materials the Talmud made use of, the She’iltot shows a strong preference for Babylonian traditions. 1.4.2

Ve-hizhir

Sefer Ve-hizhir is a Hebrew work of the late Gaonic period. It is organized the same way as the She’iltot and borrows extensively from it. While the She’iltot has as many as six homilies per annual Torah portion, Ve-hizhir limits itself to three for each week’s lectionary. The work is so named because each portion begins with the phrase, »The Blessed Holy One warned (ve-hizhir) the Jews about…« and then fills in the topic discussed. The two-volume edition by Yisrael M. Freimann is fragmentary, beginning with Exod 7 and ending Num 4. Ve-hizhir regularly cites the Mishnah in its discussion of the laws in each portion, which the She’iltot does only on occasion. The emphasis on the Mishnah is likely a response to the Karaite schism. Ve-hizhir also adduces laws and customs from Palestinian tradition in addition to the Babylonian materials borrowed from the She’iltot.19 1.4.3

Tanḥ uma literature

There is a genre of rabbinic midrash called either Tanḥuma or Tanḥuma–Yelamdenu that dates primarily to the Gaonic period. It is called Tanḥuma after the name of the first rabbi cited in the text (a common method of titling manuscripts, particularly scrolls, but one that leads to confusion about actual authorship). The second title, Yelamdenu, comes from the frequent request, found in every chapter of the text: Yelamdenu rabbenu, which means, »teach us, our rabbi.« The request may have been an actual occurrence, but it was more likely a literary device. For each week’s annual Torah portion, a question asked is of a legal nature. The answer to the question is a direct quote from the Mishnah or a text of similar date and provenance—exactly as in Sefer Ve-hizhir. The organization around the annual-cycle lectionary indicates likely Babylonian origins for the Tanḥuma; while the drum-beat of Mishnaic quotation points to an anti-Karaite polemic.

19 Assaf, op cit., 161–63; Brody, ibid., 117, 214.

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The Tanḥuma midrashim appear in many different recensions, over a long manuscript history. The similarities cut across the varieties of Tanḥuma midrashim, but the differences among them indicate far greater divergence than can be theorized by recourse to manuscript or oral transmission variations. Tanḥuma–Yelamdenu was a clearly recognized format for composition of midrash, along with transmission of earlier traditions reformatted to the Tanḥuma style. Many different Tanḥuma texts have been published, including in texts that are part of Exodus and Numbers Rabbah, as well as recensions of Deuteronomy Rabbah. There are Tanḥuma texts for all five Books of Moses. As in the case of Ve-hizhir, there are reflexes of Palestinian Gaonic traditions found among the various Tanḥuma texts. What began in rabbinic Babylonia spread throughout the rabbinic world. The Tanḥuma’s iterations began in the early Gaonic period, while its latest recensions were created after the Gaonic period had ended.20 1.4.4

Midrash Kohelet Rabbah

Midrash Kohelet Rabbah was compiled during the Gaonic era. It quotes from the Palestinian and the Babylonian Talmud. But it is first quoted by name at the very end of the Gaonic era, by Rabbenu Hananel ben Hushiel and Rabbenu Nissim ibn Shahin of Kairawan. There are a couple of very close parallels with the She’iltot and certain Gaonic responsa.21 Kohelet Rabbah covers Ecclesiastes line by line but does so by using the verses of the biblical work as hooks, as it were, to hang a variety of earlier midrashim. The content is a strong exercise in rabbinic ideology that Marc Hirshman characterizes as an encyclopedia of rabbinic traditions.22 Perhaps the redactor of Midrash Kohelet Rabbah edited it in this manner to counter Karaite ideology. 1.4.5

Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer and Targum Ps. Jonathan

Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer (PRE) is a ninth-century retelling of the biblical narrative. While the midrash in some editions opens with two chapters recounting how the latefirst century Rabbi Eliezer came to study Torah, it is more likely that the original text began at what is now chapter three with the words, »Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus opened.« Mistaking the opening exposition with the actual author, early trans-

20 See Samuel Mirsky, »On the Identity of Midrash Tanhuma,« Sura 8 (1957–58): 93–119 (Hebrew); Allen Kensky, »A Critical Edition of Midrash Tanhuma Exodus: Portions Exodus through Beshallah,« PhD diss., Jewish Theological Seminary, 1991 (Hebrew); Marc Bregman, »Tanhuma Yelammedenu,« EncJud (2007), and for a recent summary of the scholarship see Matthew Goldstone, »You Must Rebuke Your Fellow! Midrash Tanhuma’s Subversion of Bavli Arakhin 16b,« HUCA 88 (2017): 89–112, esp. 89–94. 21 Marc Hirshman, Midrash Kohelet Rabbah 1–6, Jerusalem, 2016, 27–74. 22 Idem, »The Greek Fathers and the Aggada on Ecclesiastes: Formats of Exegesis in Late Antiquity,« HUCA 59 (1988): 137–64.

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mitters included a section borrowed from Avot DeRabbi Nathan version B (ch. 13)23 and placed it at the outset as a kind of preface. The midrash is otherwise wholly focused on the Torah text, beginning with the creation of the universe recounted in Genesis (PRE ch. 3) and retelling in expansive and archaizing Hebrew the Torah’s narratives, until ending abruptly with the story of the leprosy of Miriam (PRE ch. 54), found at Numbers 12. That it begins in Genesis and ends in the middle of Numbers indicates that the text was never completed. There are other, structural indicators of an incomplete text. PRE counts the ten descents God made to earth, but only manages to fill in details for the first eight. Further, PRE ingeniously links the Pentateuchal narrative to the blessings of the daily liturgy’s »Eighteen Benedictions.« Here, too, it stops short, covering only up to »healing the sick,« mid-way through the prayer. To date, no other text has been found to account for the missing ending. Current consensus assumes the author never completed it. Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer contains much that is unusual in rabbinic literature. In chapter ten, through associative thinking, he dilates on the story of Jonah—including a scene where the prophet, about to be swallowed by Leviathan, frightens him away by flashing his circumcision! PRE invokes food laws that are consonant with Karaite rulings, and mentions certain customs for the very first time, such as those relating to the Havdalah prayer recited at the end of the Sabbath. The dating of PRE may be solidly established in the Gaonic era, as in chapter 30, the author mentions Ayesha and Fatimah as the names of Ishmael’s wives. In the same chapter, in an apocalyptic prediction, he seems to allude to many other Islamic era events, including the ascent of the sons of Harun al-Rashid, who ruled in the early ninth century.24 PRE’s retelling of biblical narratives is strongly reminiscent of a contemporary Targum, or Aramaic rendering of the Torah, called [Pseudo-]Jonathan. Targum Jonathan is a misnomer, as the character Jonathan ben Uzziel is considered by the Babylonian Talmud (Megillah 3a) to have translated the Prophets and Hagiographa into Aramaic, but not the Torah. It is generally accepted that the abbreviation T”Y was rendered as Targum Yonatan (Jonathan) in error and should instead likely read Targum Yerushalmi, that is a Palestinian Targum on the Torah. Targum PseudoJonathan is the latest of the extant Targums and the most aggadically expansive. It stands separate from all earlier Targums in its language, prolixity, and ideology.25 1.4.6

Seder Eliahu

Seder Eliahu, also known as Tanna De-bei Eliahu, is in two parts: a longer first part (Seder Eliahu Rabbah, SER) and a shorter second part (Seder Eliahu Zuta). The legend of the mi-

23 See below. 24 See Eliezer Treitl, Pirke de-Rabbi Eliezer: Text, Redaction and a Sample Synopsis, Jerusalem, 2012 (Hebrew with an English summary vi–xvii). 25 Avigdor Shinan, The Embroidered Targum: The Aggadah in Targum Pseudo-Jonathan of the Pentateuch, Jerusalem, 1992, 176–84 (Hebrew). For more on Targum, see the chapter by Emanuel Tov in this volume.

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drash is that the prophet Elijah used to study with Rav ʿAnan. Once, Elijah subjected the rabbi to a moral test with bribery. He passed but did so by sending the would-be briber to another rabbi. Elijah punished Rav ʿAnan’s lapse by ceasing to appear to him. ʿAnan fasted in repentance and Elijah eventually consented to appear once more. The earlier teachings were ostensibly Seder Eliahu Rabbah, while the later were Seder Eliahu Zuta. This story appears in the Babylonian Talmud (Ketubot 106a). Scholars in the Middle Ages claimed SER was from the Talmudic era, given that a cycle of Elijah stories appear in the Talmud and the vast majority of them are also in SER. They assumed the Talmud used SER as its source. Yet internal evidence points to a ninth or tenth century recension of the Midrash. In SER ch. 30 there is reference to the nine centuries that have passed since the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple (in 70 CE). Further, the narrator (SER ch. 15, 16, SEZ ch. 2) speaks of meeting a man »who had Bible (Miqra) in hand, yet no Mishnah in hand.« Such a person was undoubtedly a Karaite. In those passages, disagreements between the Rabbanites and Karaites are discussed.26 What makes this otherwise anonymous midrash most unusual among rabbinic midrashim is that it is related as a first-person narrative. 1.4.7

Midrash Mishle

Midrash Mishle, the midrash on the biblical book of Proverbs, is a transitional work in the history of midrashic literature.27 While it contains lengthy aggadic narratives (e.g. on Joseph and his brothers, and separate stories on the deaths of Moses, Rabbi Akiba, Elisha ben Abuyah, and the death of Rabbi Meir’s sons), it also functions as a verse by verse commentary, attending to context, and so, anticipating later medieval commentaries.28 Like SER, Midrash Mishle has a sustained anti-Karaite polemic, including a passage (MM ch. 10 that reads: »one came before Him [God] with Bible in hand but no Mishnah. God turns His face away from him, whereupon the wardens of Gehenna overpower him like wolves of the steppe, fall upon him, and fling him into its midst«). In other words, for Midrash Mishle, Karaites can literally go to hell! The details of the anti-Karaite argument led the modern editor to suggest a mid-ninth century date for Midrash Mishle. 1.4.8

Avot DeRabbi Natan

This text is an aggadic commentary or expansion on the Mishnaic tractate Pirqe Avot. It collects stories from the classical rabbinic literature about the early sages mentioned there, thus serving as a kind of »Lives of the Saints« for rabbinic Jews. 26 For the Rabbanite vs. Karaite debate, see Marzena Zawanowska’s part of this chapter and Philipp Lieberman, »Jews and/under Islam 650–1000 CE,« in these volume I. 27 See Burton L. Visotzky, Midrash Mishle: A Critical Edition based on Vatican Ms. Ebr 44, New York, 1990 (Hebrew); and idem, The Midrash on Proverbs: Translated from the Hebrew, Yale Judaica Series 27, New Haven/CT, 1992. 28 For which, see the chapter by Rachel Mikva in this volume.

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Avot DeRabbi Nathan (ARN) is often included among printed editions of the Babylonian Talmud as a »minor-tractate,« that is, a group of short, post-talmudic Hebrew texts that circulated with the Talmud.29 The standard edition of ARN was published by Solomon Schechter in 1887 in a synoptic presentation, consisting of ARN-A and ARN-B.30 The two recensions share a great deal of common material, but the differences between them makes clear that these each had a separate circulation and perhaps origin from one another. While some scholars seek to assign one version to Babylonian transmission and the second to Palestinian, the evidence is not probative. ARN’s elaboration of Pirqe Avot serves as a kind of aggadic Tosefta or Talmud to that Mishnaic text, albeit with a post-Talmudic redaction. ARN is based on an early recension of Pirqe Avot, as it is unaware of the interpolation of »Gamalielite traditions« (Avot 1:16–2:7) into Pirqe Avot. Given that there are early Genizah fragments of ARN, its final redaction is probably to be dated no later than 8–9th century CE. This dating is commensurate with the theology and other ideas in the text.

1.5

Biblical exegesis

The Midrashim just discussed evince one kind of rabbinic interest in the Bible during the Gaonic period. But in addition to reading the biblical text through the lens of rabbinic ideology, they also studied the Bible for its own sake. This reflects Arabic, Muslim, textual studies, as well as the Karaite emphasis on Bible as the central text of the canon. We briefly discuss four types of Bible study among the rabbis: translation, commentary, fixing the precise text, and the study of its grammar. 1.5.1

Tafsīr and Commentary

Saʿadia Gaon (ca. 882–942) was a prolific writer and among his oeuvre we find two translations of the Torah into elegant classical Arabic.31 The first was limited to an Arabic rendering of the Pentateuchal text. The second was part of Saʿadia’s commentary. In both instances, his translation was somewhat less than literal, as he attends to earlier Aramaic Targums. His Arabic also makes use of Qur’ānic phrases. Saʿadia’s commentary takes the biblical narrative mostly, but not always, literally and he defends its historical accuracy. His interpretations are consistently in accord with rabbinic law. Saʿadia engages in polemic in his commentaries (more below). 29 Other of these so-called minor tractates such as Soferim or Semacḥot also stem from this time period. 30 Solomon Schechter, Aboth de Rabbi Nathan, Vienna, 1887, repr. New York, 1967 (Hebrew). And see Louis Finkelstein, Introduction to Tractates Aboth and Aboth de Rabbi Nathan, New York, 1950 (Hebrew); and Menachem Kister, Studies in Avot de-Rabbi Nathan, Jerusalem, 1998 (Hebrew). 31 Brody, Geonim, 301f., and idem., Saʿadia Gaon, Oxford, 2013, 58–73.

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There is evidence that Shmuel b. Hofni (d. 1034) also translated at least three books of the Pentateuch—and comparison shows that he did so independently of Saʿadia’s translations.32 Shmuel is less inclined to polemic and less likely than Saʿadia to take biblical expressions at face value. Famously, Shmuel asked, »If serpents were able to speak in biblical times, why do they no longer do so?« While both Saʿadia and Shmuel conform to the norms of rabbinic law, each will cast doubt upon or read aggadic (non-legal) texts metaphorically. 1.5.2

Masoretes

A great deal of care was given to clarifying the precise text of the Bible, especially the Torah. The rabbis who paid attention to the minutiae of the biblical text are called Masoretes (masters of tradition). For a long time, scholars debated whether these Masoretes were rabbinic Jews or Karaites.33 Current opinion leans towards the rabbinic community. The rabbis of Palestine were particularly versed in the details of biblical punctuation, orthography, and such. The text fixed by the Gaonic Masoretes is still read in synagogues to this day and is very close to Pentateuchal texts found among the Dead Sea Scrolls at Qumran a millennium earlier. Aaron ben Moses ben Asher composed his Masoretic tradition in mid-tenth century Tiberius. It remains the generally accepted Masoretic tradition for the Torah. His contemporary rival was also a Tiberian, named Ben Naphtali. Their disagreements are about vowels, accent marks, punctuation, and some consonantal spellings. Their exceptional attention to accurate transmission of the Torah text was a reflection of the same concerns among Karaites for the Torah and among Muslims for the Qur’ānic text. 1.5.3

Grammarians

The attention lavished upon the Hebrew Bible by its translators and the Masoretes necessarily was accompanied by a focus upon Hebrew grammar. Saʿadia composed a work in Arabic called The Book of the Eloquence of the Language of the Hebrews dealing with the Hebrew consonantal system, linguistics, noun forms, and verbal conjugations.34 Following Saʿadia, Menahem ben Saruq wrote a Hebrew dictionary in Cordoba, Spain. Menahem’s student, Judah ben David Hayyuj composed a grammar of Hebrew, while his colleague and fellow-student, Isaac ben Gikatilla, wrote in Lucena, near Cordoba. Isaac’s student became the premiere grammarian of the Gaonic era. 32 Brody, Geonim, 302–14, and for detail, Sklare, Samuel Ben Ḥ ofni Gaon. 33 For an accounting of the history of the biblical text and the Masoretes’ place in this tradition, see the chapter by Emanuel Tov in this volume. For the Karaites and their literature, see the part of this chapter written by Marzena Zawanowska. See also Brody, Geonim, 109. 34 Brody, Geonim, 320f.

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Merwan abu Walid ibn Janah, also known as Rabbenu Jonah (ca. 990–1055 CE), was born in Cordoba, but due to the predations of the Berbers upon the city, moved to Zaragoza in ca. 1012 CE. There he wrote both a dictionary of classical Hebrew and his magnum opus, the Arabic Kitāb al-ankih (Book of Minute Research) also known in Hebrew as the Sefer ha-Diqduq (Book of Grammar). Ibn Janah drew upon Arabic grammars and compared the systems of Arabic and Hebrew. His book firmly established the triliteral root system for Hebrew words and remains a classic of Hebrew grammar.

1.6

Philosophy

The Gaonic era was also a rich time for the beginnings of rabbinic philosophy. During this period, Muslims generally advanced rationalist thought under the Arabic rubric of Kalām. An aspect of Kalām that attracted rabbis was the Muʿtazilite school. Although the Muʿtazilites were in the minority in the Muslim world—where traditionalists reigned—their philosophy proved quite influential for Jewish expression.35 One of the earliest Gaonic thinkers of this ilk was David ben Merwan alMuqammis (d. 937 CE). Much of his work is lost to us, but we have fifteen out of twenty chapters of his philosophical work that centers on theology which is consonant with Mu’tazalite thought (as is the work of Saʿadia and later, Maimonides).36 Saʿadia is arguably the major rabbinic philosopher of this period. His work, Emunot ve-Deot (Beliefs and Opinions), was written in Arabic in 933 CE and it buttresses his Muʿtazilite thought by extensive use of biblical verses. These, in fact, vastly overshadow his reliance on more traditional rabbinic sources such as the Talmud. This may be one more nod to Saʿadia’s obsession with the Karaites. The substance of his thought is on the unity of the Godhead and Divine justice. Shmuel ben Hofni wrote on theology and, especially on the issue of abrogation or supersessionism. This was a topic that Jews first encountered addressing Christian arguments that they had replaced the Jews as Verus Israel (true Israel); and it came up again in Islamic claims to have subsumed both Judaism and Christianity. The Muʿtazilite claim that verses of the Qur’ān could be abrogated challenges the un-createdness of the book. For Shmuel, it showed the consistency of Torah, which

35 For Kalām see Haggai Ben-Shammai, »Kalām in Medieval Jewish Philosophy,« in History of Jewish Philosophy, ed. Daniel Frank and Oliver Leaman, Leiden, 1995: 115–48. See also Julius Guttmann, Philosophie des Judentums, Munich, 1933, trans. Philosophies of Judaism, New York, 1964, 69–94; more on Kalām and Mu’tazilite thought in Isaac Husik, A History of Medieval Jewish Philosophy, New York, 1958, s.v. »David ben Merwan al Mukammas,« 17–22, and s.v. »Saadia ben Yosef al-Fayyumi,« 23–47. See also Brody, Geonim, 286–94 (Mukammas and Saadia), 294–98 (Shmuel ben Hofni); Brody, Saadyah, 40–57; and on Jewish thought in general, see Ottfried Fraisse, »Jewish Philosophy and Thought« in these volumes: III, 106–38. 36 And see Sara Stroumsa, ed., Dāwūd Ibn Marwān Al-Muqammis’s Twenty Chapters (ʻishrūn Maqāla), Leiden, 1989.

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had no need of abrogation and therefore was not replaced by either Christianity or Islam.

1.7

Medieval Mysticism

By and large, the Karaites despised Gaonic mysticism.37 They were especially offended by Shiʿur Qomah mysticism, which measured the contours of God’s body. In Midrash Mishle (The Midrash on Proverbs) ch. 10, there is a curriculum of the mystical subjects studied by the rabbis.38 It includes Shiʿur Qomah, having God ask, »How do I stand from My [toe]nails to the top of My head? What is the measure of my hand’s span? What is the measure of My foot?« The Midrash goes on to have God proclaim, »Is this not My glory? Is this not My greatness? Is this not My might? Is this not the splendor of My beauty that My children recognize My glory by this measurement?« The Gaonic era was a time of great flowering of both old and new forms of Jewish mysticism. Some of it was theurgic, while other expressions of mysticism were exegetical. These latter contemplated biblical passages such as the creation of the world (maʿase bereshit), or the theophany in Exodus, Ezekiel 1 (vision of the chariot; maʿase merqavah); Isaiah 6; and Daniel 7.39

1.8

Piyyut

Some of the earliest post-biblical poetry (piyyut is the Hebrew cognate of the word poetry) was composed during the Gaonic era. At the very outset of the period liturgical poets such as Yannai, Yose ben Yose, and Elazar HaKalir composed in Hebrew for synagogue settings for holidays and commemorations, often focused on that’s day’s Torah lectionary.40 There is also a tradition of Aramaic acrostic poems which were anonymous and often were part of the Targum to the Torah on holidays and special Sabbaths.41 As the era continued, secular poetry was added to the collection of this medieval poetry. Much like one can find both secular and sacred poetry in the English works

37 For the Karaites, see Marzena Zawanowska in this chapter and Philipp Lieberman, »Jews and/under Islam,« in volume I. 38 See above. 39 For more detail on Jewish mysticism in this era, see the chapter on Jewish Mysticism by Elke Morlok in this volume. 40 See the chapter on Piyyut by Elisabeth Hollender in this volume. Also see, inter alia, Laura Lieber, Yannai on Genesis: An Invitation to Piyyut, Cincinnati/OH, 2010; Shalom Spiegel, The Fathers of Piyyut: Texts and Studies toward a History of the Piyyut in Eretz Yisrael, New York, 1996 (Hebrew); Joseph Yahalom, Poetry and Society in Jewish Galilee of Late Antiquity, Tel Aviv, 1999 (Hebrew). 41 Laura Lieber, Jewish Aramaic Poetry from Late Antiquity: Translations and Commentaries, Leiden, 2018.

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of John Donne (1572–1631), one may find the same among Hebrew poets of almost a millennium earlier. These poets, while cognizant of the long legacy of biblical Psalms and other poetry, also composed under the strong influence of Arabic poetry of their own era.42

1.9

Liturgy

Jewish prayer developed incrementally from the time of the Bible, through the Second Temple period, and into the period of earliest rabbis. Throughout this time there was a fluidity to Jewish prayer, which on one hand sought freedom of expression as the one who prayed poured out his or her heart. On the other hand, those who prayed sought the words to articulate their yearnings and a structure by which they could pray in community. During the Gaonic era, the rabbinic synagogue liturgy solidified, particularly as the rabbis essentially wrote out entire prayer-books as their responsa to legal questions.43 Two of the notable works are the Siddur (order [of prayer]) of Rav Amram Gaon and that of Rav Saʿadia Gaon, the latter’s in Arabic and Hebrew. These works included daily, Sabbath, and holiday liturgies, as well as the order for Passover eve, blessings for food, and other occasions.

1.10

Polemic

Above, it was noted that certain Gaonic era midrashim (Midrash Mishle, Seder Eliahu) seem to engage in polemic with the Karaite community. In the Midrash Mishle (the Midrash on Proverbs), the text goes so far as to imagine God sending them to hell. This is consonant with the ferocious invective that is found in Gaonic letters of the period.44 Legend has it, that the rabbanite community of Palestine pronounced an anathema against the Karaites on the Mount of Olives each Sukkot festival.45 Indeed, anti-Karaite polemic may be discerned in the biblical exegeses of the Rav Shmuel ben Hofni Gaon and Rabbenu Hai ben Sherira Gaon.46 Saʿadia Gaon was ferocious in his anti-Karaite polemic, which began with his excoriation of ʿAnan (whom he blamed for the schism).47 Saʿadia even went so far as to write a long,

42 See the anthologies of poetry from the very end of the Gaonic period by Raymond P. Scheindlin, Wine, Women, and Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life, Philadelphia/ PA, 1986; and idem., The Gazelle: Medieval Hebrew Poems on God, Israel, and the Soul, Philadelphia/PA, 1991. Each of these volumes contain both Hebrew texts and English translations with introduction and commentary. 43 See the chapter by Dalia Marx in this volume, and see Lawrence Hoffman, The Canonization of the Synagogue Service, Notre Dame/IN, 1979, which focusses on the Gaonic period. 44 Goitein, passim. 45 So ibn Daud, Sefer ha-Qabbalah (The Book of Tradition), itself an anti-Karaite work. See Philipp Lieberman, »Jews and/under Islam 650–1000 CE,« in volume I. 46 Brody, Saadyah, 24. 47 Brody, ibid., 31, 147.

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polemical poem against the Karaites (and likely, others), called by its opening stanza, Esa Meshali (I shall offer my parable).48 While the anti-Karaite polemics helped the rabbis refute Karaite exegesis, custom, and ideology, it also served to unify the rabbanite Jews around a common opponent, even as they had their own internal disputes. The rabbis debated with other Jews as well as the Karaites. There are ferocious polemics between the Babylonian and Palestinian rabbis over which group has the power to determine the Jewish calendar.49 A certain Pirqoy ben Baboy also argued against the Palestinian rabbis, while Saʿadia singled out Hiwi al-Balkhī as a particular target of his bile.50 For good measure, Saʿadia also railed against Christians, and probably the Muslims, too.51 If polemic was the rhetorical style of the era, Saʿadia Gaon was its dominant practitioner. 1.10.1

Iggeret Rav Sherira

In 986–87 CE, Rav Sherira, Gaon of Pumbeditha, wrote a responsum to an inquiry that came to him from one of the rabbinic leaders of the community of Kairawan (now in modern Tunisia), Rabbenu Jacob ben Nissim ibn Shahin. He asked Sherira about the origins and history of the Mishnah and the meaning of the disputes among the sages recorded therein.52 Sherira responded with a history of the entire Talmudic era, in an essay of almost 15,000 words. The transmission of The Epistle of Rav Sherira Gaon has come down in two distinct recensions and there has been debate over the decades as to which version is more original. One of the major differences among the versions is Sherira’s account of whether the Talmudic corpus was transmitted orally or in writing. By using manuscript fragments of the Epistle found in the Cairo Genizah, current scholarly consensus favors the version of the Epistle that speaks of oral transmission. Scholars assume this original version was later »hyper-corrected« in the age of transmission of inscribed texts of rabbinic literature. Sherira mostly quotes from the Babylonian Talmud but quotes once from the Talmud of the Land of Israel. He also quotes from written records of the Babylonian Talmudic academies and from oral traditions still circulating in Pumbeditha and Sura. His citations are generally regarded as accurate, and therefore are reliable early attestations of rabbinic textual traditions. Sherira’s attempt to trace an unbroken chain of rabbinic tradition from pre-Mishnaic times to the close of the Talmud-

48 On the poem see Brody, ibid., 151–54. 49 Brody, ibid., 2, and see Sacha Stern, Calendars in Antiquity, Oxford, 2012; idem, The Jewish Calendar Controversy of 921/2 CE, Leiden/Boston, 2019. 50 Pirqoy in Brody, Geonim, 113f. Hivi in Brody, Saadyah, 31. 51 Brody, ibid., 73. 52 Brody, Geonim, 20–25. For the two standard texts see Benjamin M. Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Gaon, Haifa, 1921, and an English translation by Nossom Rabinowich, The Iggeres of Rav Sherira Gaon, Jerusalem, 1988.

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ic period served as a response to Karaite claims that the rabbinic tradition, mired in dissention, cannot be the authentic patrimony of Judaism. The work remains essential for the history of almost a millennium of the earlier rabbinic literature.

1.10.2

Rabbenu Nissim ibn Shahin and Rabbenu Hananel ben Hushiel of Kairawan, Shmuel ibn Naghrela of Granada

We close this survey of the literature of the Gaonic rabbis with brief mention of the works of three essential figures who mark the transition of the rabbinate from Babylonia and Palestine to North Africa, and from there to Europe. These rabbis were contemporaries, all flourished at the very end of the Gaonic period and were alive at the deaths of the last great geonim Shmuel ben Hofni of Sura (d. 1034 CE) and Hai, son of the abovementioned Sherira of Pumbeditha (d. 1038 CE). The first two were actually study-partners in the city of Kairawan (modern Tunisia). Nissim’s father was the rabbi who asked the question of Sherira Gaon that led him to write his Epistle, mentioned above. Nissim (990–1062 CE) himself wrote a »Key to the Talmud« that linked disparate sections of the vast texts to one another for the purpose of study. He also kept a private journal, »the Secret Scroll,« which despite its racy title, was a collection of his observations on Jewish law and Talmudic passages. Finally, he became best known for writing a Judeo-Arabic collection of rabbinic narratives (aggadah) to serve as a book of consolation after hardship in the Jewish community.53 This »greatest hits« collection circulated widely in the Arabic speaking world and within Nissim’s lifetime was translated into Hebrew and circulated for centuries among European Jewry. His colleague Rabbenu Hananel (990–1053 CE) wrote a Talmud commentary that still appears on the printed page in traditional editions of the Babylonian Talmud. These two rabbis maintained ties with both the Geonim of Babylonia and the Land of Israel, and each used both literatures in their responsa and other works. They also served as a conduit for the opinions of the eastern Geonim to the Jews of the Maghreb. We end with Rabbi Shmuel ibn Naghrela (993–1056), who was from Andalusia and served as Nagid or leader of the rabbinic community of Grenada. In that role, he authored a work of law, Hilchot HaNagid.54 But Rabbi Shmuel was also famous as a liturgical poet, whose piyyutim are still used in Jewish worship.55 It should be noted that his leadership skills were such that he eventually served as vizier to the Berber king Habbus. Shmuel’s son, Yehosef, was briefly married to the daughter of Rabbenu Nissim of Kairawan.

53 Ed. Hayyim Z. Hirschberg, An Elegant Composition Concerning Relief after Adversity, Jerusalem, 1970 (Hebrew), trans. William Brinner, New Haven/CT, 1977. 54 Ed. Mordechai Margulies, Hilchot HaNagid, Jerusalem, 1972 (Hebrew). 55 See the editions and translations by Scheindlin, Wine, Women, and Death, and The Gazelle.

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These three rabbis saw North African Jewry decimated by the conflicts of Berbers, Zirids, Fatimids, and other Islamic pretenders of the era. Their students found shelter in Europe, where a new era of Jewry arose for the next millennium.

2

Karaite Literature and its Genres (9th–11th c.)56

Karaism, aimed at bringing the Jews back to the Written Torah, appeared as a separate branch within Judaism in the second half of the ninth, or even at the beginning of the tenth century CE in the area of Persia and Iraq, uniting adherents of various Jewish heterodox groups, as well as selected representatives of the gaonic establishment.57 The members of its most important messianic-Zionistic branch, known as the Mourners of Zion, moved to Palestine,58 where they established a leading Karaite community (whose members called themselves shoshannim; Heb. »lilies«) with a vibrant intellectual and spiritual center in Jerusalem where a Karaite »house of study« (dār li-ʼl-‘ilm) operated.59 Scholars active in this unique Bible academy were subjected to various influences and traditions: Jewish (Midrashic and Qumran literatures, Masoretic circles),60 Christian (Syriac Bible exegesis), and Muslim (Qur’ān exegesis, Muʿtazilī kalām, Shiʿite conceptions).61 Their marginal position within Jewish society together with a need to construct a new religious identity vis-à-vis the major monotheistic traditions made them draw from all these variegated sources.62 Their intellectual production combines many distinct elements testifying to a fruitful cultural encounter in the Middle Ages and beyond. The emergence of a thriving Karaite community in Jerusalem resulted in an intense, and never paralleled, cultural efflorescence of Karaite literary production (the so-called »Golden Age«) during the tenth and eleventh centuries, whose sudden end in 1099 was caused by the first Crusade and the conquest of Jerusalem.

56 This section was partially prepared within the framework of the research project, »The Karaites and Karaism as Portrayed in Medieval Rabbanite Sources. A Comparative Study and Translation of Judah Halevi’s Kuzari,« sponsored by the National Science Centre (NCN; grant Opus 10; no. 2015/19/B/HS2/01284) awarded to Dr. Marzena Zawanowska. 57 See Moshe Gil, »The Origins of the Karaites,« in Polliack, Karaite Judaism, 73–118. 58 On Palestino-centrism, asceticism, messianism, and scripturalism, see, e.g., Fred Astren, Karaite Judaism and Historical Understanding, Columbia/SC, 2004, 65–98. 59 On this »house of study,« see, e.g., Daniel Frank, Search Scripture Well: Karaite Exegetes and the Origins of the Jewish Bible Commentary in the Islamic East, EJM 19, Leiden, 2004, 1–32. 60 See, e.g., Yoram Erder, The Karaite Mourners of Zion and the Qumran Scrolls. On the History of an Alternative to Rabbanite Judaism, Turnhout, 2018; Meira Polliack, »Rethinking Karaism: Between Judaism and Islam,« AJS Review 30 (2006): 67–93. 61 See, e.g., Fred Astren, »Islamic Contexts of Medieval Karaism,« in Polliack, Karaite Judaism, 145–78; Yoram Erder, »The Karaites in the Gaonic Period and the Shῑʽa: Influences in Scriptural Interpretation,« Zion 4/83 (2018): 421–45 (Hebrew). 62 See Rina Drory, The Emergence of Jewish-Arabic Literary Contacts at the Beginning of the Tenth Century, Tel Aviv, 1988 (Hebrew).

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The history of Karaism prior to this event may be divided into three main stages. The intellectual activity of the early Karaites in the East, before the establishment of the Palestinian community center (9th c.), is considered a formative period in the movement’s development. It is followed respectively by the early (10th c.) and then late (11th c.) classical periods, when the Karaite community of the Mourners of Zion flourished in Jerusalem. Each one of these periods produced rich literature characterized by distinct features.63

2.1

Legal texts

Rejecting the binding nature of traditional Jewish Bible interpretations known as the Oral Torah, the Karaites needed to build a new legal system. Among the earliest texts associated with Karaism are Books of Precepts (Sifrē miṣvōt). They were composed by the forerunners and purported founders of the movement, still active in the Diaspora, ʿAnan ben David (8th c.) and Benjamin al-Nahāwandī (first half of 9th c.). Both these authors employed exegetic tools to derive religious legislation directly from Scripture, considering the entire Hebrew Bible as a legitimate source. Nonetheless, despite a general resemblance there are significant differences between the two. ʿAnan, who with time became considered the founding father of Karaism, wrote in Aramaic, the lingua franca of the Jewish Diaspora in Babylonia and the language of the Talmud. Moreover, he used traditional Jewish exegetical methods, and his rulings were not infrequently identical with that of the Rabbanites.64 As a result, he was criticized by both sides.65 The preserved parts of his code were published by Albert Harkavy.66 Benjamin used Hebrew for his literary expression. He is associated with a group called Baʿalē Miqrā’ (Heb. »the masters of Bible [study]«) and nascent Karaism as a person who contributed to its emergence and consolidation by taking a step further away from rabbinic legal tradition. Nevertheless, later Karaites harshly criticized his teachings and dissociated themselves from him.67 Only tiny excerpts of his Sēfer dīnīm (Book of Laws) have been preserved.68 His work is chiefly known from citations gleaned from later Karaite compositions.

63 On the representatives of each of these periods, see relevant entries in Norman Stillman et al., eds., Encyclopedia of Jews in the Islamic World, Leiden, 2010. 64 See Haggai Ben-Shammai, »Between Ananites and Karaites: Observations on Early Medieval Jewish Sectarianism,« Studies in Muslim-Jewish Relations 1 (1993): 19–29, esp. 20. 65 See Erder, The Karaite Mourners of Zion, 39–64; Samuel Poznański, »Anan et ses écrits,« REJ 44 (1902): 161–87; 45 (1902): 50–69, 176–203, esp. vol. 45 (1902): 191–203. 66 See Albert Harkavy, Likkute Kadmoniot II: Zur Geschichte des Karaismus und der Karäischen Literatur, St. Petersburg, 1903, 1–172. 67 See Erder, The Karaite Mourners of Zion, 64–74. 68 See Abraham Firkovitch, ed., Sefer Dinim le-Benjamin Moshe Nahawandi – Mas’at Binyamin, Koslov (Eupatoria), 1834.

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Daniel al-Qūmisī’s (end of 9th—beginning of 10th c.), another crucial figure in the early history of Karaism, composed in Hebrew. Five fragments of his halakhic work, Sēfer ha-miṣvōt (Book of Precepts), have been identified.69 An extensive Arabic code of laws written in the early classical period as a systematic commentary on the legal portions of the Torah, Kitāb al-anwār wa-ʼl-marāqib (The Book of Lights and Watchtowers), belongs to the same genre.70 Its author, Yaʿqūb al-Qirqisānī (first half of 10th c.), was a prolific Karaite writer and exegete, active in Iraq. Yet alQirqisānī’s code is much more than a Book of Precepts. It consists of thirteen parts (maqālah) which are further divided into smaller chapters. The first four parts provide a sort of introduction to the following nine parts, which systematically discuss religious precepts. The treated subjects are: 1. Chronological survey of Jewish sects; 2. Need for speculative inquiry in religious matters; 3. Survey of adverse religious sects and their views; 4. General principles enabling understanding of specific commandments; 5. Circumcision and Sabbath; 6. Decalogue Commandments, other than Sabbath; 7. New moon (mōlād) and first fruits; 8. Feast of the Weeks; 9. Other festivals; 10. Levitical uncleanness; 11. Forbidden and levirate marriages; 12. Forbidden meats, dresses, and seeds, as well as fringes; 13. Laws of inheritance. Another Karaite Book of Precepts was composed in late classical period by Levi ben Yefet ha-Levi (late 10th—early 11th c.), the son of the famous exegete, Yefet ben ʿElī (first half of 10th—early 11th c.). Despite that this legal code, composed in Arabic (dated 1006–1007), was widely used by later Karaite authors from Byzantium (especially Aaron ben Elijah of Nicomedia and Elijah ben Moses Bashyachi in 14th–15th c.) thanks to its Hebrew paraphrase prepared by Tobiah ben Moses hāāḇēl (»the mourner«; ca. 1070–1140), only small fragments of it have been published.71 The material preserved in manuscripts is disordered, but it is possible to infer that it deals with such subjects as: calendar and its determination, Sabbat, festivals and prayers, vows and oaths, alimentary restrictions and their rules, purity and impurity of human beings, animals and tools, forbidden relationships and marital laws, civil (monetary) laws. Levi ben Yefet also authored a treatise (preserved only in manuscripts) on halakhic differences between his father, Yefet ben ʿElī and Sahl ben Maṣliaḥ (second half of 10th c.). Another important halakhic composition of the late classical period that has not been published is Kitāb al-istibṣār fī ’l-fara’id (Book of the Examination of the Commandments; ca. 1036–1037) written by Yūsuf al-Baṣīr (c. 960/970–1040). The work is divided into nine large chapters (faṣl), subdivided into smaller units or sections (bāb), and deals with both halakhic and theological issues.72 From the 69 See Harkavy, Likkute Kadmoniot II, 189f., 192. 70 See Yaʿqūb al-Qirqisānī, Kitāb al-anwār wa-al-marākib. Code of Karaite Law, ed. Leon Nemoy, New York, 1939–43. 71 See Haggai Ben-Shammai, »A New Fragment of the Arabic Original Text of Sēfer ha-Miṣvot by Levi ben Yefet,« Annual of the Institute for Research in Jewish Law 11–12 (1984–86): 99–133 (Hebrew). 72 See David Sklare, »Yusuf al-Basir: Theological Aspects of His Halakhic Works,« in Daniel Frank, ed., The Jews of Medieval Islam: Community, Society, and Identity, Leiden, 1995.

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preserved manuscripts it follows that the sections deal with: 1. circumcision (and some theological issues, such as intuitive knowledge, ʿilm ḍarūrī); 2. Sabbath; 3. calendar and its determination; 4. aḇīḇ;73 5. festivals (esp. Passover); 6. forbidden foods; 7. death and inheritance; 8. impurity and purity; 9. incest (ʿarayōt) and levirate marriage (yibūm). This halakhic treatise is based upon the author’s responsa, which he subsequently edited as an independent work. The section including laws concerning festivals was translated into Hebrew by Tobiah ben Moses, under the title Sēfer ha-mōʿadīm (Book of Festivals), while the one concerning calendar was rendered into Hebrew as Ha-Dibūr bĕ-rĕ’ayat ha-yareaḥ (On the Observation of the Moon). In addition, al-Baṣīr authored a book on questions debated in Halakhah, Kitāb al-shukūk (Book of Doubts), responsa, and an epistle in which he polemicized on the matter of incest and forbidden marriages with his pupil, Yeshuʿah ben Yehudah (11th c.). Yeshuʿah wrote an influential halakhic work devoted to the subject, known in Hebrew as Sēfer ha-ʿarayōt (The Book of Incestuous Marriages). This important treatise, in which Yeshuʿah opposed the catenary theory of incest (rikūḇ), was translated into Hebrew by Jacob ben Simeon (in Byzantium in the 11th c.) and in this version greatly influenced later Karaite Halakhah. Only excerpts have been preserved and identified of the original Arabic text.

2.2

Exegetical works

The main bulk of medieval Karaite literature was exegetical.74 The indisputably most popular genre was running Bible commentary, which in the early classical period of Karaite exegetical tradition assumed a unique tripartite structure including the original Hebrew text of the biblical verses, followed by their translation into Arabic (interlinear and mostly faithful in terms of words’ order and overall structure), and commentary proper (in Arabic). This format underlined the interrelatedness of its three components, not only in terms of form (graphically), but also content (the interpretation being grounded on biblical verses has direct impact on the way they are rendered into Arabic).75 The first exegetical compositions written by authors associated with Karaism were composed in the ninth century. In these works it is possible to observe a

73 In the biblical sense of the stage of the ripening of barley, depending on which it was decided whether the spring came or not. It is a technical term, very important in Karaism and rabbanite-Karaite polemics, since in contrast to the Rabbanites who used pre-calculated calendar, the Karaites went out into the fields surrounding Jerusalem to check the aḇīḇ and on this basis their calendar was calculated (no pre-calculation, or fixed schemes). 74 See Meira Polliack, »Major Trends in Karaite Biblical Exegesis in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries,« in eadem, Karaite Judaism, 363–413. 75 See Meira Polliack, The Karaite Tradition of Arabic Bible Translation: A Linguistic and Exegetical Study of Karaite Translations of the Pentateuch from the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries CE, EJM 17, Leiden, 1997.

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gradual shift in the focus of the authors’ exegetical interest from the non-literal, de-contextualizing and atomizing tendencies typical of rabbinic midrash (dominant in Judaism of the time), towards the present, but largely marginalized, literal-contextual approach to Scripture.76 To this purpose, Karaite exegetes revived, consolidated, and refined old Jewish techniques, as well as introduced new methods of interpreting the Bible, inspired by or received a refreshing breath from Qur’ānic exegesis. The single most important representative of this early, formative period in the history of Karaite exegesis was Daniel al-Qūmisī. He may have been the first Jewish exegete to leave the midrashic model behind and write continuous Bible commentaries. In contrast to his successors, he used Hebrew out of belief that it was the holy language of revelation and thus the only one fit as a vehicle for explaining its meanings and discussing religious concepts. Save for the commentary on the Minor Prophets, only a small number of his exegetical compositions (on the Pentateuch, Psalms, Daniel, and Ecclesiastes) have been found and identified.77 Albeit al-Qūmisī’s commentaries still contain non-literal interpretations of biblical text, he made a clear distinction between them and its literal-contextual sense. While the latter usually opens his discussion of a given verse, the former are framed as an additional subjective layer of interpretation, the transition to which is clearly signalized by certain formulaic phrases (e.g. »and for me« or »and also in the exile«).78 Thanks to this functional differentiation and giving priority to the plainsense meaning, al-Qūmisī paved the way for the next generation of rationally, linguistically-contextually, and literarily-historically oriented Karaite biblical commentators and scholars active in the early classical period. To be sure, they also occasionally engaged in non-literal interpretations, provided that they were justified by the literary genre of a given book or sustained by a long-standing nonliteral interpretative tradition. The Karaite Bible scholars whose works survive are: Salmon ben Yerōḥam (10th c.), Sahl ben Maṣliaḥ, Yūsuf b. Nūḥ (second half of 10th c.), Yefet ben ʿElī, David ben Boʿaz (10th c.), Ḥasan ben Mashiaḥ, David ben Abraham al-Fāsī, and Yaʿqūb al-Qirqisānī. Save for the latter, all these Karaite exegetes and Bible scholars were active in Jerusalem and composed running Bible commentaries in Arabic. They made use of sophisticated exegetical methods and tools, as well as

76 See, e.g., Miriam Goldstein, »The Beginnings of the Transition from Derash to Peshat as Exemplified in Yefet ben ʿEli’s Comment on Psa. 44:24,« in Geoffrey Khan, ed., Exegesis and Grammar in Medieval Karaite Texts, Oxford, 2001, 41–64. 77 Itzchak D. Markon, ed., Pitron Shenem ʿAsar – Commentary on the Minor Prophets, Jerusalem, 1957 (Hebrew). For a list of al-Qūmisī’s surviving compositions, see Nehemia Gordon, »Does Scripture Really Only Have One Meaning? A Study of Daniel al-Qumisi’s Exegetical Approach in Pitron Shnem ʿAsar,« Tarbiẓ 76, 3/4 (2007): 385–414, esp. 337–39 (Hebrew). 78 For more on his innovative methods, see ibid. and Meira Polliack, »Historicizing Prophetic Literature: Yefet ben ʿEli’s Commentary on Hosea and Its Relationship to al-Qumisi’s Pitron,« in Joel Kramer and Michael Wechsler, eds., Pesher Nahum: Texts and Studies in Jewish History and Literature from Antiquity through the Middle Ages presented to Norman Golb, Chicago/IL, 2011, 149–86.

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incorporating the latest achievements of scholarship drawn from various scholarly disciplines (e.g., grammar, lexicography, philosophy, history, geography).79 Another characteristic feature of Karaite commentaries of the time is their comprehensive character. They include and discuss interpretations of earlier and contemporary exegetes. This tendency found expression in Yefet ben ʿElī’s compendium-like commentary on all the twenty-four books of the Hebrew Bible (the first such accomplishment in the history of Jewish Bible exegesis) wherein he preserved, and in this sense »canonized,« the best of earlier or contemporary Karaite interpretations. His work, however, goes far beyond summarizing as he selects and assesses materials, regularly voicing his own, often highly original interpretations. Irrespective of the above-mentioned similarities, each medieval Karaite commentator analyzes the biblical text from the vintage point of his own scholarly interests. Thus, Yaʿqūb al-Qirqisānī is interested in the legal implications of Bible interpretations, as well as in theoretical hermeneutics (he prefaced his famous commentary on the non-legal portions of the Torah, Kitāb al-riyāḍ wa-ʼl-ḥadāʼiq [The Book of Parks and Gardens], with a list of 37 exegetical principles discussing fundamental features of biblical style and setting forth general principles of Bible exegesis). Yūsuf b. Nūḥ’s commentaries are more language oriented, focusing on grammatical, morphological and lexicographic explanations of the biblical verses.80 Yefet ben ʿElī’s interpretations sporadically include comments of this nature, but he is more interested in linguistic-contextual, and historical-literary study of the biblical text. Accordingly, he developed the concept of the biblical author-redactor (mudawwin) employing it not only as a convenient analytical tool for literary analysis of the text, but also as means to explore the historicity of Scripture.81 Although Karaite exegetes of the early classical period contrived to elaborate a distinct exegetical tradition, they never totally abandoned their engagement with the medieval rabbinic legacy. Accordingly, their commentaries testify to a varying degree of interplay with it, especially in their use of midrashic sources.82

79 Relatively numerous studies have been devoted to Yefet. See, e.g., Ilana Sasson, The Arabic Translation and Commentary of Yefet ben ʿEli on the Books of Proverbs, EJM 67, Leiden, 2016; Michael G. Wechsler, The Arabic Translation and Commentary of Yefet ben ʿEli the Karaite on the Book of Esther, EJM 36, Leiden, 2008. Cf. Marzena Zawanowska, »Review of Scholarly Research on Yefet ben ›Eli and His Works,« REJ 173, 1/2 (2014): 97–138. 80 See Miriam Goldstein, Karaite Exegesis in Medieval Jerusalem. The Judeo-Arabic Pentateuch Commentary of Yusuf ibn Nuh and Abu al-Faraj Harun, TSME, 26, Tübingen, 2011. 81 On the innovative use of the exegetical concept of mudawwin, see Haggai Ben-Shammai, »On mudawwin – The Editor of the Books of the Bible in Judaeo-Arabic Exegesis,« in Joseph Hacker et al., eds., Rishonim ve-Achronim: Studies in Jewish History presented to Avraham Grossman, Jerusalem, 2009, 73–110 (Hebrew); Meira Polliack, »Karaite Conception of the Biblical Narrator (Mudawwin),« in Jacob Neusner and Alan J. Avery-Peck, eds., Encyclopaedia of Midrash, vol. 1, Leiden, 2005, 350–74; Marzena Zawanowska, »Was Moses the mudawwin of the Torah? The Question of Authorship of the Pentateuch According to Yefet ben ʿElī,« in Haggai Ben-Shammai et al., eds., Studies in Judaeo-Arabic Culture, Tel Aviv, 2014, 7*–35*. 82 See Ofra Tirosh-Becker, Rabbinic Excerpts in Medieval Karaite Literature, Jerusalem, 2011 (Hebrew).

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In the late classical period, Karaite Bible commentaries lost their comprehensive character, testifying to growing specialization of their authors in different scholarly disciplines. The most important scholars active in this period were Yūsuf al-Baṣīr, Abū al-Faraj Hārūn (who wrote an abridgement of Yūsuf b. Nūḥ’s commentary, the Talkhīṣ, as well as his own commentary, Kitāb al-tahdhīb [Book of Refinement]),83 ʿAlī ben Sulaymān (second half of 11th c.), and Yeshuʿah ben Yehudah. From the exegetical works of these commentators, only ʿAlī ben Sulaymān’s commentary on Genesis was published.84 The importance of the medieval Karaite exegetical corpus is difficult to overestimate. It had an enduring impact on later Jewish Bible exegesis as a whole (e.g., Yefet ben ʿElī’s interpretations greatly influenced Abraham Ibn Ezra). And yet, the vast majority of this unique corpus to date has been preserved in manuscripts, while its publication remains a major scholarly desideratum.

2.3

Masorah

The Karaite association with Masoretic circles was long the subject of scholarly debate. Although it is unlikely that the Masoretes were Karaites, Karaism emerged at the heart of mainstream Judaism within the circles of experts who were occupied with the study of the text of the Hebrew Bible, as opposed to those devoted to the study of other genres of rabbinic literature. Until the final rift between whose who acknowledged the revelatory and binding nature of the Oral Torah (later called Rabbanites) and its opponents (Karaites), there was one tradition, which even after the split preserved a common core. The Tiberian tradition of reading the Hebrew Bible was generally considered the most authoritative in the Middle Ages. Its system of vocalization signs became a standard for both Rabbanite and Karaite Jews, though in contrast to Rabbanites, Karaites considered it an integral part of the revealed text. It was carefully preserved and transmitted in Karaite copies (e.g., it is known that Maimonides used Karaite manuscripts) of the Bible. The Karaites also composed theoretical treatises on the proper pronunciation and cantillation of the scriptural text according to the Tiberian tradition. The most important work of this kind is Hidāyat al-qāri’ (Guide for the Reader) authored by Abū al-Faraj Hārūn (the first half of the 11th c.). It reflects a then stillliving oral tradition of reading the Bible, as do medieval Karaite transcriptions of the scriptural verses into Arabic that are often included in their Bible commentaries. Another work devoted to the subject—of which only a colophon has survived— is a list of »differences in reading (al-khulf fī al-qirā’a)« [the biblical text] between 83 This work was brought to scholarly attention by Aharon Maman in his »An unknown Work of Abū l-Faraj Harūn,« a paper presented at the 19th international conference of the Society for Judaeo-Arabic Studies (University of Antwerp, 1–4 July, 2019). 84 Solomon L. Skoss, The Arabic Commentary of Ali ben Suleiman the Karaite on the Book of Genesis, Philadelphia/PA, 1928.

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two Masoretic authorities, Ben Asher and Ben Naphtali, compiled by Levi ben Yefet ha-Levi. A treatise on the same topic (entitled Kitāb al-khilaf) was composed by a Masorete, Mishael ben Uzziel who might also have been a Karaite, though it is uncertain.85

2.4

Grammatical tradition

The medieval Karaites’ contribution to the study of the Hebrew language is undeniable.86 Their main concern was not to compose a Hebrew grammar for its own sake, but rather to use its study as a tool to arrive at a correct understanding of the biblical text through elucidation of its precise meanings. The roots of a distinct Karaite grammatical tradition were probably in the East (Iran) from where some anonymous fragments of early grammatical texts written in Judaeo-Persian have been preserved, dealing with specific problematic issues (masā’il). Later texts were composed, like most other Karaite works, in Judeo-Arabic, extensively using Arabic, but also Hebrew grammatical terminology.87 One of the most prominent scholars in the field was Yūsuf b. Nūḥ. The only known grammatical text attributed to him is called Diqduq or Nuqat diqduq (Notes Explaining Grammatical Difficulties). This work does not offer a comprehensive and systematically arranged study of the rudiments of the Hebrew grammar, but rather grammatical explanations of problematic points in the Hebrew Scriptures, arranged according to the order of biblical verses.88 Although it mostly deals with morphological questions, it occasionally also discusses syntactic, rhetorical, and exegetical issues. Characteristically for the Karaite writings of the time, Ibn Nūḥ anonymously quotes the opinions of other scholars. Another key figure in Karaite grammatical tradition is Abū al-Faraj Hārūn who wrote systematic works on Hebrew morphology and syntax, discussing general principles of the Hebrew language and treating their investigation as an independent scholarly discipline.89 The largest among them is his eight part al-Kitāb al-mushtamil ʿala al-uṣūl wa-l-fuṣūl fī al-lugha al-ʿibrāniyya (Comprehensive Book of

85 On the Karaites’ engagement with the Masora, see, e.g., Ilana Sasson, »Masorah and Grammar as Revealed in Tenth Century Karaite Exegesis,« JSIJ 12 (2013): 1–36. 86 Geoffrey Khan, »The Contribution of the Karaites to the Study of the Hebrew Language,« in Polliack, Karaite Judaism, 291–318. 87 Aharon Maman, »Medieval Grammatical Thought: Karaites versus Rabbanites,« Language Studies 7 (1996): 79–96 (Hebrew). 88 Geoffrey Khan, ed. and trans., The Early Karaite Tradition of Hebrew Grammatical Thought, Including a Critical Edition, Translation and Analysis of the Diqduq of Abū Yaʿqūb Yūsuf ibn Nūḥ on the Hagiographa, Leiden, 2000. 89 Geoffrey Khan, »Abū al-Faraj Hārūn and the Early Karaite Grammatical Tradition,« JJS 50 (1997): 314–34; Samuel Poznański, »Nouveaux renseignements sur Abou’l Faradj ben alFaradj et ses ouvrages,« REJ 56 (1908): 42–69.

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General Principles and Particular Rules of the Hebrew Language; dated 1026 CE).90 Its shorter version is called al-Kitāb al-kāfī fī al-lugha al-ʿibrāniyya (The Sufficient Book on the Hebrew Language).91 He also authored an introductory treatise on the Hebrew language, including a discussion of Karaite grammatical terminology, Kitāb al-madkhal ilā ʿilm al-diqduq fī ṭuruq al-lugha al-ʿibrāniyya (Book of Introduction into the Discipline of Careful Investigation of the Ways of the Hebrew Language). In contrast with Ibn Nūḥ’s Diqduq, Abū al-Faraj—who represents late classical period—rarely quotes or discusses alternative opinions. In addition, there are two different abridgements of al-Kitāb al-kāfī by the same anonymous author: a more concise, Kitāb al-ʿuqūd fī taṣārif al-lugha al-ʿibrāniyya (Book of Rules on the Grammatical Inflections of the Hebrew Language), and a less concise, al-Mukhtaṣar. Both grammatical treatises had been attributed to Abū alFaraj, until Nadia Vidro reconstructed and published Kitāb al-ʿuqūd, and demonstrated that it could not have been written by this author.92 The Karaite contribution to the study of the Hebrew language is not limited to the investigation of its grammar (morphology and syntax), but also lexicography. The most important Karaite author in this field was David ben Abraham al-Fāsī (10th c.), who authored a monumental dictionary of biblical Hebrew (and Aramaic), entitled Kitāb jāmiʿ al-alfāẓ (Dictionary; lit. »The Book of the Collection of Words«), also known as the Agron.93 It is arranged alphabetically (each letter is a separate chapter) and occasionally adduces comparative examples from Aramaic and Arabic. The work was later abridged by Levi ben Yefet ha-Levi, and again by ʿAlī ben Sulaymān. In the following centuries, the Karaite grammatical tradition thriving during the Golden Age declined and had little original contribution when works of early masters were translated into Hebrew, copied, and studied. As an example may be adduced a grammatical treatise Me’or ʿAyin (The Eye’s Light) probably composed in

90 Aharon Maman and Naser Basal studied different aspects of this work. See, e.g., Aharon Maman, »The Infinitive and the Verbal Noun According to Abū al-Faraj Hārūn,« in Meir Bar-Asher, ed., Studies in Hebrew and Jewish Languages Presented to Shelomo Morag, Jerusalem, 1996, 119–49 (Hebrew); Naser Basal, »Specification in the Syntactical Understanding of the Karaite Grammarian Abū al-Faraj Hārūn,« Peʿamim 90 (2002): 97–114 (Hebrew). 91 Geoffrey Khan, The Karaite Tradition of Hebrew Grammatical Thought in Its Classical Form: A Critical Edition and English Translation of Al-Kitāb Al-Kāfī Fī Al-Lugha al-ʿIbraniyya, 2 vols., StSLL 37, Leiden, 2003. 92 Nadia Vidro, Verbal Morphology in the Karaite Treatise on Hebrew Grammar Kitāb al-ʿUqūd fī Taṣārīf al-Luġa al-ʿIbrāniyya, EJM 51, Leiden, 2011; eadem, A Medieval Karaite Pedagogical Grammar of Hebrew: A Critical Edition and English Translation of Kitāb Al-ʻUqūd Fī Taṣārīf Alluġa Al-ʻIbrāniyya, Leiden, 2013. I am thankful to Dr. Nadia Vidro for generously sharing her research. 93 Solomon L. Skoss, ed., The Hebrew-Arabic Dictionary of the Bible, known as Kitāb Jāmiʿ al-Alfāẓ (Agron), of David ben Abraham al-Fāsī, the Karaite (tenth. Cent.), New Haven/CT, 1936–45. Cf. Aharon Maman, »The Lexical Element in David Alfasi’s Dictionary Definitions,« in Joshua Blau and Steven C. Reif, eds., Genizah Research after Ninety Years. The Case of Judaeo-Arabic, Cambridge, 1992, 119–25.

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the eleventh century in Byzantium, which was based chiefly on Abū al-Faraj’s works, and especially his al-Kitāb al-kāfī, but also Kitāb al-ʿuqūd.94

2.5

Philosophical treatises

Just like their Rabbanite counterparts, Karaite Jews in the Middle Ages adapted Arabic for their intellectual expression and remained under strong influence of the Islamic system of rationalist religious thought, known as the kalām, notably that of the Muʿtazilite school.95 The earliest exposition of Karaite religious thought (and at the same time of Muʿtazilī kalām in Hebrew) is found in an epistle or sermon attributed to Daniel al-Qūmisī.96 Its importance is also due to the fact that it is the first known Jewish attempt to formulate a set of articles of faith as a doctrinal determinant of religious affiliation, rather than religious praxis. It deals with paramount theological and doctrinal issues (e.g., monotheism, creatio ex nihilo). In the early classical period, most Karaite thought was included in exegetical works and halakhic compendia. Prominent examples of this tendency may be adduced from Yaʿqūb al-Qirqisānī’s Kitāb al-anwār, and Yefet ben ʿElī’s Bible commentaries. Both of them interweave discussions of philosophical issues into the fabric of their halakhic and exegetical works.97 It is only in the late classical period that we find separate, systematic, and comprehensive, compositions devoted to theological questions, although discussions of the subject were still embedded in exegetical and halakhic texts. An example of such work composed under the influence of Muslim religious thought— considered the first work to fully introduce kalām into Karaism—is the Kitāb alniʿma (the Book of Grace), written by Levi ben Yefet ha-Levi as a defense of Karaite Judaism on the basis of Muʿtazilite rational theology.98 Yet arguably the most famous Karaite thinker is Yūsuf al-Baṣīr, a younger contemporary of the gaon Shmuel ben Ḥofni, who drew inspiration from the latter in his attempt to create a Jewish version of the Baṣran brand of Muʿtazilism. In his extensive theological compendium entitled al-Kitāb al-muḥtawī (The Comprehensive

94 Meir Natanowich Zislin, ed. and trans., Meʾor ʿAyin (Svetoch Glaza), Tbilisi, 1975. For an alternative suggestion that this work was first composed in Arabic (probably in Jerusalem) and only later translated into Hebrew in Byzantium, see Amir Gaash, »The Karaite Grammatical Treatise Meʾor ʿAyin: A Hebrew Original or Translation from Arabic?,« Leshonenu 77 (2015): 327–38 (Hebrew). 95 It does not mean that they adapted it unanimously or without reserve. See Haggai BenShammai, »Major Trends in Karaite Philosophy and Polemics in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries,« in Polliack, Karaite Judaism, 339–62. Cf. Sabine Schmidtke and Gregor Schwarb, »Jewish and Christian Reception(s) of Muslim Theology,« IHIW 2 (2014): 1f. 96 Leon Nemoy, »The Pseudo-Qumisian Sermon to the Karaites,« PAAJR 43 (1976): 49–105. 97 Haggai Ben-Shammai, The Doctrines of Religious Thought of Abû Yûsuf Ya‘qûb al-Qirqisânî and Yefet ben ›Elî, 2 vols., Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1977 (Hebrew). 98 See Wilferd Madelung, »Muʿtazilī Theology in Levi ben Yefet’s Kitāb al-Niʿma,« IHIW, 2/ 1–2 (2014): 9–17.

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Book), he tried to harmonize the main Muʿtazilite principles with the Karaite creed.99 The book is written as an expansion of his Kitāb al-tamyīz (The Book of Discernment), and in both form (style, structure) and content greatly resembles Baṣran Muʿtazilite compositions on uṣūl al-dīn. It consists of forty chapters and discusses such subjects as: the unity, existence and attributes of God, divine justice versus human free will, reward and punishment, atoms and accidents. Already in the Middle Ages, it was translated into Hebrew as Sēfer ha-neʿimot (The Book of Graces) by Tobiah ben Moses. Another extant work of al-Baṣīr is his Kitāb al-tamyīz (The Book of Discernment), known also as al-Mansūrī.100 This much shorter (thirty-three chapters) and earlier work—a sort of compendium on the fundamentals of religion—treats the non-polemical issues addressed in the Muḥtawī, bearing some similarities to Saʿadia’s discussion in his Kitāb al-amānāt (Book of Beliefs). Just like Kitāb al-muḥtawī, this work was also translated into Hebrew (with some additions) under the title Mahkimat peti by Tobiah ben Moses. In both works (al-Muḥtawī and al-Tamyīz), al-Baṣīr mentions his other works, most of which are no longer extant.101 Yeshuʿah ben Yehudah, was a pupil of al-Baṣīr, who made additions and refinements to his master’s thought. His works defined Karaite theology for centuries. In an important philosophical treatise entitled Kitāb al-tawriya (Book of Concealment; dated 1046), he discussed inter alia whether the biblical commandments were all expounded in an unambiguous fashion or whether their real intent was concealed by allusive expressions. A final example of Karaite engagement with philosophy is Sahl ben Faḍl alTustarī (latter half of 11th c.), a prominent official at the Fatimid court in Egypt.102 He authored a treaties called Kitāb al-talwīḥ or al-talwīḥāt ila¯ al-tawḥ¯id wa l-ʿadl (Book Intimating God’s Unity and Justice) in which he criticized Aristotle’s Methaphysics, and Kitāb al-īmāʾ ilā jawāmiʿ al-taklīf ʿilman wa-ʿamalan (Book of Intimating the Ensemble of Theoretical and Practical Components of the Obligation Imposed by God). To him is also attributed, with some doubts, a work entitled al-Uṣūl al-muhadhdhabiyya (The Principles [of Faith dedicated to] al-Muhadhdhab). The Karaite philosophical achievements of the tenth and eleventh century, especially those of Yūsuf al-Baṣīr and Yeshuʿah ben Yehudah had an enduring impact through Hebrew translations on later Karaite thought which developed in Byzantium, especially of the so-called consolidating, or »encyclopedic« period (11th–13th c.).103 The Byzantine authors of the time (such as Judah Hadassi, the author of the famous Eshkol ha-kofer [Cluster of Henna Blossoms], dated 1148–1149, or Aaron ben 99 Georges Vajda, ed., Al-Kitāb al-Muḥtawī de Yūsuf Al-Baṣīr, Leiden, 1985. Vajda published also a number of articles devoted al-Baṣīr and his thought. See, e.g., idem, »Yusuf al-Basir,« REJ 137 (1978): 279–365. 100 See Sklare, »Yūsuf al-Baṣīr«. 101 For a list of these texts, see ibid., 256. 102 For more on him and his works, see Gregor Schwarb, »Sahl b. al-Faḍl al-Tustarī’s Kitāb al-Īmāʾ,« Ginzei Qedem: Genizah Research Annual 2 (2006): 61*–105*. 103 Zvi Ankori, Karaites in Byzantium: The Formative Years, 970–1100, New York/Jerusalem, 1959.

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Elijah who penned Etz hayyim [Tree of Life], dated 1369) focused on preserving, summarizing, and transmitting the achievements of the Golden Age of the Karaite intellectual culture in Jerusalem.104

2.6

Polemical texts

Positioning itself in opposition to main-stream Judaism, the Karaites found themselves on polemical grounds from the very beginning. As a result, their writings abound with polemical (and apologetic) statements.105 Nonetheless, they predominantly polemicized against concepts, views, and interpretations, and less frequently against specific people. An exception to this rule is a famous treatise directed against Saʿadia Gaon, Sēfer milḥmōt Adonai (Book of the Wars of the Lord), composed in Hebrew and probably also Arabic—though the latter version has not been found so far—by a well-known Karaite exegete and scholar, Salmon ben Yerōḥam.106 Its seventeen rhymed chapters offer a systematic critique of the Rabbanite Judaism—its specific halakhic rulings, pre-calculated calendar (based on astronomical computations and fixed schemes rather than observation of natural phenomena) and the anthropomorphic representations of the Deity abundant in rabbinic literature, etc. It is written in a series of acrostic poems (viz., the opening letters of each stanza form the Hebrew alphabet). It has been argued that Salmon’s answers to the Gaon were not entirely original, but rather taken from or inspired by those found in Yaʿqūb al-Qirqisānī’s Kitāb al-anwār.107 The work opens with three chapters devoted to the issue which lies at the heart of Karaite-Rabbanite controversy, namely the Oral Torah. It maintains that the (Written) Torah is perfect (cf. Ps. 19:8) and need not be complemented by tradition. In addition, had God given two Torah’s—the Written and the Oral—the latter should have remained in oral form, as it would have been an alteration of God’s words to have it written down. Furthermore, it indicates that the language of the Mishnah and its style, as well as internal contradictions and opposing views it includes, all prove that it is a human, not divinely inspired, composition. The subsequent chapters of the treatise deal respectively with: calendar (calculation of intercalation and postponements); setting two days of the beginning of a month (rosh ḥōdēsh) and two days of holiday in the exile; setting the Feast of the Weeks on Monday, Wednesday and Friday (with an explanation of the biblical expression »On the morrow after the Sabbath«; Lev 23:11); preparation of fire before Sabbath for the Sabbath; the question of an animal foetus that remains after the

104 On Karaite thought in Byzantium, see Daniel J. Lasker, From Judah Hadassi to Elijah Bashyatchi. Studies in Late Medieval Karaite Philosophy, JThPhSup 4, Leiden / Boston/MA, 2008. 105 Samuel Poznański, The Karaite Literary Opponents of Saadiah Gaon, London, 1908. 106 Israel Davidson, ed., Book of the Wars of the Lord: Containing the Polemics of the Karaite Salmon ben Yeruḥam against Saadia Gaon, Philadelphia/PA, 1934 (Hebrew). 107 Leon Nemoy, »The Milḥamōth ha-Shēm of Salmon ben Jeroham,« JQR n.s. 28,1 (1937), 91–94, esp. 92.

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slaughtering of its mother, and concerning the measurement of one sixtieth in food laws; impurity in the exile and the measurements »about the size of a lentil« for an insect, and »about the size of an olive« for an animal which died of natural causes (nĕvalah); legends of the rabbanite sages; personification (of God) which appears in (the rabbanite works) ’Otiyot de-Rabbi Akiva (The Alphabet of Rabbi Akiva), Book of Hēkhālōt ([Celestial] Palaces) and Shiʿūr qōmāh (Divine Dimensions). Another exception is Yūsuf al-Baṣīr’s polemical text directed against another Babylonian Gaon, Shmuel ben Ḥofni, entitled Kitāb al-naqḍ ʿala Shmuel ben Ḥofni rās al-mathība (The Book of Refutation of Shmuel ben Ḥofni, head of the Yeshivah), in which the author criticizes Shmuel’s arguments advanced in his ʿAshar masā’il (Ten Essays). A central issue in both works is the calendar, the bone of contention between Rabbanites and Karaites. Al-Baṣīr is believed to have written another polemical work devoted to this subject (and epitomized by ʿAlī ben Sulaymān), of which only a very small part has so far been found and identified by Nadia Vidro, called Kitāb [al-radd] ʿalā al-qā’ilīn bi-al-iʿtidāl (Response to Those Who Hold the Position of Using the Equinox in Calculating the Calendar). The Karaites also engaged in polemics against other religions, most notably Christianity and Islam. An example of a self-standing polemical treaties against Islam may be adduced from al-Baṣīr’s work in which the author undermines the concept of the inimitability of the Qur’ān (iʿjāz al-Qur’ān) using rational arguments. It has been suggested that this text, preserved in several manuscripts, was chiefly aimed at preparing the Jews—constituting sort of a manual—for majlis debates with Muslims, lest they get convinced by their opponents and convert to Islam.108 Another of al-Baṣīr’s polemical work, entitled Kitāb al-Iístiʿāna (Book of Seeking [Divine] Help), was likely directed against the well-known ninth-century Muslim exegete and historian, Abū Jaʿfar al-Ṭabarī.109 Further, medieval Karaites’ polemics were directed not only outwardly—against the Rabbanites, or Christians and Muslims—but also inwardly, against early representatives of their own movement, most notably its forerunners and alleged founders (i.e., ʿAnan ben David and Benjamin al-Nahāwandī).110 Only rarely did Karaite authors gave vent to their critical views in separate literary compositions, mostly limiting themselves to interspersing them within works devoted to other subjects (chiefly Bible commentaries). As a result, most of the Karaite polemical materials are scattered throughout texts treating other subjects and of many different genres such as: • missionary epistles, e.g., the one attributed to Daniel al-Qūmisī, in which he refutes rabbanite Judaism and its model of life, but also criticizes ʿAnan ben David;

108 David E. Sklare, »Responses to Islamic Polemics by Jewish Mutakallimun in the Tenth Century,« in The Majlis Interreligious Encounters in Medieval Islam, ed. Hava Lazarus‐Yafeh et al., Wiesbaden, 1999, 137–161. 109 For a list of other al-Baṣīr’s polemical texts, see Sklare, »Yūsuf al-Baṣīr,« 257f. 110 See above nn. 65, 67.

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• halakhic codes, e.g., Yaʿqūb al-Qirqisānī’s Kitāb al-anwār, where he surveys and critically assesses all branches of Judaism and Jewish sects, as well as enters into polemics against other religions; • exegetical compositions e.g., Daniel al-Qūmisī’s Commentary on the Twelve Minor Prophets, where he polemicizes chiefly against the rabbanites, but also Islam or in Yefet ben ʿElī’s commentaries, where the author argues against certain concepts of rabbanite Judaism in general, and Saʿadia in particular—but also against Christianity, Islam as well as earlier Karaite scholars and/or representatives of specific branches within Karaism such as Benjamin al-Nahāwandī, Abū ʿImran al-Tiflīsī, or the Tustaris, and various other sects like the Brahmins, as well as individual freethinkers such as Hivi of Balkh; • philosophical treaties, e.g., Yūsuf al-Baṣīr’s Kitāb al-muḥtawī, where he polemicizes against the Christians, the Muslim conception of the inimitability of the Qur’ān and the abrogation of the Mosaic Law, the Ashʿarites, the Dualists, the Magians, the Epicureans, as well as a number of other sects, and his Kitāb altamyīz, where he argues against Benjamin al-Nahāwandī’s concept of a mediating angel, and refutes anthropomorphic descriptions of the Deity as found in Shiʿur qomah—or Yeshuʿah ben Yehudah’s Kitāb al-tawriya in which he polemicizes against the Muslim conception of the inimitability of the Qur’ān and the abrogation of the Mosaic Law.

2.7

Homilies and propaganda writings

Karaism emerged as a missionary messianic movement. Little wonder, therefore, that among the oldest preserved Karaite texts are homiletical materials encapsulated in different literary genres, such as Bible commentaries, epistles and/or circulars, as well as outright sermons of which we do not know whether they were ever delivered in public. In these texts, the authors typically call for repentance and give pious counsels, using elaborate stylistic form (e.g., rhetorical questions, direct addresses to the audience) with constant reference to relevant scriptural passages. The earliest known text of this kind is a famous sermon attributed to Daniel alQūmisī in which he criticized the Diaspora model of Jewish life, calling for the return to the Jewish homeland in Zion.111 Another example of Karaite homiletics is found in Sahl ben Maṣliaḥ’s epistle to Jacob ben Samuel which bears a distinctly polemical tone, accusing the Rabbanites of not admonishing believers to repent. Moreover, many homiletical materials are included in Karaite exegetical works, such as Salmon ben Yerōḥam’s commentary on Lamentations.112

111 See above n. 96. On his propaganda activity, see Jacob Mann, »A Tract by an Early Karaite Settler in Jerusalem,« JQR 12 (1921–22): 257–98. 112 See Jessica Andruss, »Homilies of the Jerusalem Karaites,« paper presented at a conference New Perspectives on the History of Karaism (Académie Royale de Belgique et Université libre de Bruxelles, 13–16 May, 2019).

3 Conclusions

2.8

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Karaite liturgy and piyyutim

The scripturalist impulse of the tenth- and eleventh-century Karaites made them attempt to restore prayer to its original biblical form, instead of accepting rabbinic liturgical innovations.113 Despite their endeavor to draw their prayers uniquely from the Hebrew Scriptures—primarily the books of Psalms and Lamentations—the members of the Jerusalem community of the Mourners of Zion also composed religious poetry (piyyutim).114 In addition, they occasionally embedded lyrical passages in their exegetical works (e.g., Yefet ben ʿElī’s commentary on the Torah), or wrote them as separate compositions (e.g., lamentation on the destruction of Zion attributed to Yeshuʿah ben Yehudah).115 There is also an entire polemical treatise, Sēfer milḥamot Adonai, written in a poetical form by Salmon ben Yerōḥam. For all that, the more systematic textual evidence for the popularity of poetry in Karaite circles comes only from later periods when we first hear of Karaite »professional« poets such as Moses ben Abraham Darʽī (12th c. Egypt).116

3

Conclusions

Despite evident differences, there is a conceptual continuity between all the above Karaite literary genres which—at least to some extent—all center around Scripture. The Bible is the starting and ending point of Karaite intellectual inquiries, and the challenge of its proper understanding. Accordingly, it is possible to find polemical and exegetical materials in homilies, or philosophical, legal, and grammatical discussions in Bible commentaries. Similar continuity is discernible in the literature of the three main stages of the movement’s development (formative, early classical, and late classical periods), notwithstanding idiosyncratic features of works created in each one of them, as well as the individual character of each commentator. Another common denominator of almost all of this rich literary corpus, created by medieval Karaite intellectuals of the ninth thorough the eleventh centuries active in the realm of Islam, is that it was written in Judaeo-Arabic. Their unique

113 Daniel Frank, »Karaite Prayer and Liturgy,« in Polliack, Karaite Judaism, 559–89; Leon Nemoy, »Studies in the History of the Early Karaite Liturgy: The Liturgy of al-Qirqisānī,« in Studies in Jewish Bibliography, History and Literature in Honour of I. Edward Kiev, ed. Charles Berlin, New York, 1971, 305–32. 114 Haggai Ben-Shammai, »Poetic Works and Lamentations of Qaraite ›Mourners of Zion’ – Structure and Contents,« in Knesset Ezra: Literature and Life in the Synagogue, Studies Presented to Ezra Fleischer, ed. Shulamit Elizur et al., Jerusalem, 1994, 191–234 (Hebrew). 115 See Haggai Ben-Shammai, »A Unique Lamentation on Jerusalem by the Karaite Author Yeshuʿa ben Judah,« in Masʾat Moshe: Studies in Jewish and Islamic Culture Presented to Moshe Gil, ed. Ezra Fleischer et al., Tel Aviv, 1998, 93–102 (Hebrew). 116 Joachim Yeshaya, Poetry and Memory in Karaite Prayer. The Liturgical Poetry of the Karaite Poet Moses Ben Abraham Darʿī, KTSt 6, Leiden / Boston/MA, 2014.

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achievements were transmitted into Hebrew and preserved in Byzantium, which since the eleventh century became a new major center of Karaite scholarship.117 They found their reception in rabbanite literature too, especially among the representatives of the Spanish school of pshat exegesis (notably Abraham ibn Ezra) who were under strong influence of Karaite scholars of medieval Jerusalem. Irrespective of medieval Karaite scholars’ pronounced lack of interest in secular science per se, they significantly contributed to the development of its specific branches which they used in their intellectual inquiries (e.g., the grammar of Biblical Hebrew, literary approaches to—as well as historical reconstructions of—circumstances and events recounted in Scripture). Finally, it should be noted that all these notwithstanding, for too long the study of Karaism has been relegated to the margins of Jewish Studies. As a result, most of its literary output still remains in manuscripts spread in many different collections throughout the world. For Further Reading Brener-Idan, Athalya and Meira Polliack, eds., Jewish Bible Exegesis from Islamic Lands: The Medieval Period, Atlanta/GA, 2019. Brody, Robert, The Geonim of Babylonia and the Shaping of Medieval Jewish Culture, New Haven/ CT, 1998. Fishman, Talya, Becoming the People of the Talmud: Oral Torah as Written Tradition in Medieval Jewish Cultures, Philadelphia/PA, 2012. Goitein, Shlomo D., A Mediterranean Society: The Jewish Communities of the Arab World as Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Genizah, 5 vols. plus index., Berkeley/CA, 1967–93. Mann, Jacob, Texts and Studies in Jewish History and Literature, vol. 2: Karaitica, Philadelphia/ PA, 1935. Nemoy, Leon, ed. and trans., Karaite Anthology, New Haven/CT, 1952. Polliack, Meira, ed., Karaite Judaism: A Guide to its History and Literary Sources, Leiden, 2003. Sklare, David, Samuel Ben Ḥ ofni Gaon and His Cultural World: Texts and Studies, EJM 18, Leiden, 1996. Walfish, Barry Dov, and Mikhail Kizilov, Bibliographia Karaitica. An Annotated Bibliography of Karaites and Karaism, KTSt 2, Leiden, 2011.

117 Golda Akhiezer, »Byzantine Karaism in the Eleventh to Fifteenth Centuries,« in Robert Bonfil et al., eds., Jews in Byzantium: Dialectics of Minority and Majority Cultures, Leiden, 2011, 723–58.

Medieval Commentary, Responsa, and Codes Literature* Jonathan S. Milgram

1

Introduction

For Jewish history, the medieval period extended from the middle of the 7th century CE, with the Muslim conquest, to the middle of the seventeenth century, with the demise of the Sabbatean messianic movement.1 The period covered in this chapter, highlighting the primary works of three separate, but interrelated, genres of medieval legal literature—commentary, responsa, and codes—stretches from approximately the middle of the 8th century to the late 16th century. That is, from the appearance of the first work of rabbinic literature composed after the Babylonian Talmud (hereafter, Talmud), the She’iltot attributed to R. Achai of Shabcha (mideighth century), to the publication of what became the universal code of Jewish law, R. Joseph Caro’s Shulchan ʿAruch (1565). Commentary consisted of running interpretations to rabbinic texts—almost exclusively the Talmud (however, see below regarding Mishnah). Responsa (sing., responsum) were written queries posed to a rabbinic authority and the decisor’s ruling for the application of practical law. Codes were legal compendia listing laws in the abstract, derived from discussions (sugyot) in the Talmud, local custom, and legal precedent. However, at times, individual works stretch the limits of a specific genre. A line-by-line commentary to a talmudic text may feature an abstract legal conclusion resulting from the talmudic discourse, as typically would a code. In the midst of analyzing a practical query, the author of a responsum may engage in an aside commenting directly on a talmudic text, as would the author of a commentary. Finally, embedded in a code’s presentation of laws is the writer’s implied interpretation of the talmudic source, bridging code and commentary. Despite the, sometimes unavoidable overlap, the distinctions between genres will prove useful for our presentation. The most detailed descriptions below relate to talmudic commentary for an important reason. Invariably, how a medieval scholar interprets the

* I thank Yonatan Brafman, Gregg Stern, Burton Visotzky, and Barry Wimpfheimer for reading a draft of this essay, and Neil Danzig for discussing the complex issues involved in writing this chapter. I am especially indebted to Pinchas Roth for his comments and corrections. 1 Haim H. Ben-Sasson, »The Middle Ages,« in idem, ed., A History of the Jewish People, Cambridge, 1976, 385.

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Talmud affects the content of the other two genres. In responsa, the medieval rabbi adapts talmudic law to lived reality; in codes, the author categorizes talmudic law. The three genres, produced in lands as far flung as northern France and Egypt over a period spanning almost a millennium, are summarized here. The volume of representative works led this author to make difficult decisions about the inclusion and exclusion of specific compositions. This chapter only provides a glimpse, therefore, of each genre, the related people, periods, and places. Due to limitations of space and in order to link all of the materials under discussion, the decision was made to feature, almost exclusively, the medieval compositions that proved most influential to the author of Shulchan ʿAruch, R. Joseph Caro, and his preeminent glossator, R. Moses Isserles, as well as the classic work that received such dedicated treatment by them both, R. Jacob ben Asher’s, Arba‘ah Turim. And, certainly, the decision to highlight the works leading up to Shulchan ʿAruch is sound on historical grounds since Caro’s achievement set the Jewish legal agenda for the next halfmillennium. These include works from geonic Babylonia (6th-11th centuries CE) and, for the period of the Rishonim (10th-14th centuries CE), Muslim Spain and North Africa, northern Europe (France and Germany), and Christian Spain. The inevitable outcome was the silencing of voices, such as that of the Karaites who, having rejected classical Jewish law, did not play a role in its developing medieval narrative.2 Even the literary and legal expression of faithful rabbinic Jews whose works did not fit into the chronicles and chronology of specific legal developments— scholars from Italy, England, Provence, and Byzantium—were excluded. Finally, the significant critics and critiques of Caro’s project of codification, both in his time and in the centuries following, could not be addressed.3 For the centers mentioned, the primary objective of this essay is the identification of characteristics that distinguish the scholars of one land and period from the scholars of other lands and periods. Issues such as which scholars preferred to write running commentaries, how different sages dealt with the problem of conflicting legal material in the Talmud, and why some codes were authored in Aramaic and handled only practical law, while others were written in Hebrew and addressed all areas of (even inoperable) law, are among our topics. The attempt is made to highlight the relationships of scholars to one another and for the most well-known scholars, limited biographical details accompany the first mention of their names. Many of the scholars are known by Hebrew acronyms. The full name and acronym for each scholar is given at the first occurrence; thereafter, only the acronym is usually used (e.g. Rashi). The abbreviation »R.« preceding a name stands for »Rabbi.« Throughout, bibliographic references to editions of works are provided.

2 Michael Corinaldi, »Karaite Halakhah,« in An Introduction to the History and Sources of Jewish Law, ed. Neil S. Hecht et al., Oxford, 2002, 251–70. See the section on Karaite literature by Marzena Zawanowska in this volume. 3 Edward Fram, »Jewish Law from the Shulhan Arukh to the Enlightenment,« in Hecht, Introduction, 360–77.

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Medieval Jewish lore attempted to produce (at least) two histories of the tradition.4 The first is the Epistle of R. Sherira Gaon (986/987 CE), a responsum to R. Jacob ben Nissim ibn Shahin of Kairouan’s questions on the development of talmudic literature and the order of generations of sages until the Geonim.5 The second is the Andalusian Abraham Ibn Daud’s twelfth century work, Sefer Ha-qabbalah (The Book of Tradition), containing the legend of ›The Four Captives.‹ This ›origin myth‹ records the capture of four great early medieval scholars, redeemed by communities which they each later led, and the subsequent succession of the rabbinate in those centers.6 The field of medieval Jewish studies was transformed by the discovery of the Cairo Genizah in the late nineteenth century.7 The repository of the Ben Ezra Synagogue in Fustat, Old Cairo, was filled with hundreds of thousands of leaves of Jewish texts relevant to almost every sub-field of Jewish Studies, from the Bible until the nineteenth century. Certainly, the study of medieval codes, commentary, and responsa is all the richer due to the treasures discovered, as the bulk of the material dates from the tenth to the thirteenth centuries. Mention of the significance of texts found in the Cairo Genizah is made when relevant.

2

The Geonim

The Geonim functioned in Babylonia, roughly corresponding to modern day Iraq, from the middle of the 6th century CE until 1038 CE, coinciding with the death of the Gaon Hai ben Sherira. The two main academies (yeshivot; sing., yeshivah) in Geonic Babylonia, Sura and Pumbeditha, were each led by an academy head, or Gaon (singular for ›Geonim‹). In his Epistle, Rav Sherira Gaon made the case for the talmudic origins of the academies.8 According to his account, Sura was founded by Rav (d. 246/247) after leaving Palestine for Babylonia in 218/219 CE; Pumbeditha was founded in 258/259 by the students of Rav’s colleague, Shmuel (d. 253/254), after the destruction of Nehardea, the location of Shmuel’s academy during his lifetime. While the historicity of this claim has been a matter of scholarly debate,

4 Two are cited below when relevant. A third is Seder Tannaim we-Amoraim, ed. K. Kahan, Frankfurt-am-Main, 1935; and a fourth, Menachem Hameiri’s, Seder Hakkabalah published as History of the Oral Law and Early Rabbinic Scholarship by Rabbi Menahem ha-Meiri, ed. Shlomo Z. Havlin, Jerusalem/Cleveland, 1992 (Hebrew). 5 Benjamin M. Lewin, The Epistle of Rav Sherira Gaon, Haifa, 1921 (Hebrew); for English, see The Iggeres of Rav Sherira Gaon, ed. Nosson D. Rabinowich, Jerusalem, 1988. On the epistle see Robert Brody, The Geonim of Babylonia and the Shaping of Medieval Jewish Culture, New Haven/CT, 1998, 20–25. 6 Gerson Cohen, The Book of Tradition, Philadelphia/PA, 1967, 64–90. 7 For an overview, see Robert Brody, »The Cairo Genizah,« in Hebrew Manuscripts: A Treasured Legacy, ed. Binyamin Richler, Jerusalem/Cleveland, 1990, 112–33. 8 See Brody, Geonim, passim, and the section on geonic literature by Burton L. Visotzky in this volume.

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the assertion, in and of itself, is of singular significance: the Geonim saw themselves as a link in a long and unbroken chain of oral tradition stretching back to talmudic times and even beyond, ultimately to the original revelation at Mt. Sinai. The primary focus in the academies was oral study and transmission of the Talmud. The Gaon served as instructor, administrator of legal affairs for his jurisdiction of Jews, court judge, and author or editor of the works discussed below.

2.1

Commentary of the Geonim

For the most part, early Geonim did not author running commentaries to talmudic texts. The few exceptions are restricted to commentaries embedded in responsatype works, the Gaon giving a running commentary to a text at the request of the questioner (see below). Further notable exceptions include the Mishnah commentaries attributed to Saʿadia Gaon (d. 942) and a commentary to Mishnah Toharot attributed to Hai and other Geonim. A shift in writing commentaries took place in the later Geonic period, in Pumbeditha, where Sherira and his son Hai wrote commentaries to select tractates of the Talmud: Berakhot, Shabbat, Hagigah and Baba Batra (chapter 1–3).9 These were written primarily in Hebrew and passages presenting little or no difficulty were not commented on. The style reflects concern for the bottom-line legal outcome of the talmudic discussion, a trademark of the limited Geonic talmudic exegesis extant, and the commentaries known from Muslim Spain (see below).

2.2

Responsa Literature of the Geonim

The responsa literature (She’elot uteshuvot; literally, ›questions and answers‹) represents the most important historical source for the period. Writing responsa was the primary way that the Geonim kept up ties with, and exerted influence on, the Jewish world.10 The Muslim conquest (beginning in the seventh century CE) made Babylonia an important center for the Islamic empire—the sovereignty of which stretched from Spain and North Africa in the west and reached almost to India in the east—and brought most of world Jewry under one single political authority and cultural dominion. Trade routes enabled questions to be sent somewhat systematically—even if with great difficulty—from one end of the empire to the other and back. The responsa were mostly authored in a mixture of Hebrew and Aramaic, at times also including Arabic. Questions were often sent in batches, or in a quntres (quire), and came from communities outside of Babylonia wanting to (a) clarify a given point in the Talmud text or the relationship between contradictory texts or

9 Elazar Hurwitz, »Fragments of the Geonic Commentaries on Tractate Shabbat,« New York, 1986 (Hebrew). 10 Brody, Geonim, 185–88.

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(b) ask questions of practical law and minhag (local tradition). Textual emendations, based on interpretive grounds and textual evidence, were also offered.11 The survival of so many responsa (between 5,000 and 10,000)12—although only a fraction of the original number—verges on the miraculous. In addition to the potential perils of travel, mail in this period was not considered private and intermediaries between one point and another would open the letters and copy from them. Ironically, at times, this activity did its share to preserve responsa, even when letters did not get to their intended destination. Publishers of Geonic responsa depended completely on medieval, mostly European, manuscripts, until the publication of Albert Harkavy’s collection of Geonic responsa in 1887.13 Although unknown to Harkavy, his was the first collection of responsa based on Cairo Genizah fragments. Accordingly, his publications transformed the study of the Geonic period because of the outstanding condition in which the texts he used were preserved.14 As for interpretive methodology, Geonim did not engage in dialectic between talmudic discussions. The Talmud, the product of multiple generations of amoraim (sages living in Babylonia between the 3rd and 5th centuries CE), contains conflicting discussions on legal topics. Unlike later commentators (see below regarding the Tosafists), Geonim did not, generally or systematically, attempt to harmonize the contradictory material they confronted in the corpus of the Talmud. Rather, what was considered the dominant »course of the talmudic discussion« (sugya de-shemata)15 was used for legal decision making, perhaps due to its more thorough, persuasive or conclusive treatment of a topic. Other, conflicting accounts in the Talmud, were relegated to the status of secondary discussions and, for legal purposes, were ignored or rejected.16 Important collections of Geonic responsa include: B. M. Lewin’s, Otzar Hageonim in thirteen volumes, printed according to the order of talmudic tractates;17 Sh. Z. Havlin and I. Yudlov’s, Toratan shel geonim, in seven volumes;18 and Robert Brody’s, Responsa of Rav Natronai Gaon.19

2.3

Codes Literature of the Geonim

Geonic codes were composed in a mixture of Hebrew and Aramaic, often the Aramaic sections summarizing the discussions in the Talmud. The She’iltot (›Queries‹)

11 Uziel Fuchs, The Geonic Talmud, Jerusalem, 2017. 12 Brody, Geonim, 186. 13 Albert E. Harkavy, Zikhron la-Rishonim: Responsen der Geonim, vol. 4, Berlin, 1887; New York, 1965. 14 Brody, Geonim, 196. 15 Michael Sokoloff, Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic, Ramat Gan, 2002, 791. 16 Tsvi Groner, Legal Methodology of Hai Gaon, Providence/RI, 1985, 62f. 17 Haifa and Jerusalem, 1928–44. 18 Jerusalem, 1992–93. 19 Jerusalem, 1994.

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attributed to Ahai of Shabha, the first work produced after the composition of the Talmud is, perhaps, also the earliest code based on the Talmud.20 Divided into homilies in accordance with the weekly reading of the Torah, the She’iltot interweaves into its creative presentations21 the Talmud’s treatment of topics, always with the goal of reaching a legal conclusion. Each homily is divided into four parts: (1) a collection of rulings on a specific topic (e.g., Sabbath or holiday observance, the obligation to give charity, etc.); (2) the raising of a legal question based on the subject chosen; (3) a collection of additional talmudic material related in some general way to the subject; and (4) an answer to the original question, culminating in a legal ruling. The She’iltot’s atypical organization and format make it difficult to categorize. It’s identification here as a code is the result of the Sheiltot’s insistence on each unit arriving at a legal ruling. The She’iltot benefitted from a critical edition by S.K. Mirsky,22 the updating of which is a scholarly desideratum, as well as an exhaustive monograph on its manuscript traditions.23 There is no doubt that Halakhot Pesuqot (›Settled Laws‹) and Halakhot Gedolot (›Great Laws‹) are the two most important geonic codes. There is a close affinity between the works, although their relationship remains unclear. For example, there is much material which overlaps verbatim, even if sometimes appearing in different order. Both Halakhot Pesuqot and Halakhot Gedolot are divided into chapters on specific areas of practical rabbinic law such as the Sabbath, holidays, prayer and family purity. The individual laws are stated simply and succinctly. Usually the bulk of the material for a chapter is drawn from a single talmudic tractate with reference to parallel material. The order of the material in any given chapter is related to the order in the talmudic discussions, even if not totally dependent on it. It seems that the intention of each author was to distill the talmudic discussion by removing the dialectic found in the original Talmud text and simply stating the law that originated in the Talmud. One important difference between the works is that Halakhot Gedolot contains large quantities of non-legal materials, not found in Halakhot Pesuqot. Post-geonic medieval authorities attributed the authorship of Halakhot Pesuqot to Rav Yehudai Gaon, a scholar from Pumbeditha who was appointed the head of the Sura academy around the middle of the eighth century.24 Scholars justifiably question the authenticity of this attribution on the following grounds: the attribution is cited with reservations and it was not common for individual Geonim of this period to single handedly author works other than responsa (only with Saʿadia Gaon, some 175 years later, did this become more common). In addition, Halakhot Pesuqot contains references to Rav Yehudai Gaon in the third person as well as rulings that contradict his decisions elsewhere. For centuries the text of Halakhot

20 21 22 23 24

Gideon Libson, »The Age of the Geonim,« in Hecht, Introduction, 204. See Jason Rogoff, »Compositional Art of the She’iltot,« PhD diss., JTSA, 2008, 1–15. She’iltot de-Rav Ahai Gaon, 5 vols., Jerusalem, 1959–77 (Hebrew). Robert Brody, Textual History of the Sheiltot, New York/Jerusalem, 1991 (Hebrew). Brody, Geonim, 217–22.

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Pesuqot was only known through citations in later medieval rabbinic works. The first manuscript to be discovered, published by A. Schlosberg in 1886,25 was entirely in Hebrew (a translation of the original) and is known as Hilkhot Re’u, after the beginning of the text, a citation from Exodus 16:29.26 Only in the twentieth century was a manuscript containing the Hebrew and Aramaic original published by S. Sassoon.27 Subsequent finds from the Cairo Genizah enabled the publication of N. Danzig’s magisterial, Introduction to Halakhot Pesuqot.28 Although Halakhot Gedolot is also attributed to Rav Yehudai Gaon, perhaps due to confusion with Halakhot Pesuqot, Halakhot Gedolot is attributed to R. Shimon Qayyara as well. This attribution is more reliable. It was already found in Geonic sources and in the writings of Spanish and North African medieval scholars. Halakhot Gedolot was first printed in Venice (1548). The second version was printed in the nineteenth century, based on a Vatican manuscript. E. Hildesheimer published a critical edition in three volumes.29

3

The Rishonim

Among the major differences between the period of the Geonim and the classical period of the Rishonim (10th to 14th centuries), in addition to the shift in geographic center from Asia to Europe, was the move from studying the Talmud orally to studying it from written texts. Indeed, several factors—including technological developments—converged to bring about this monumental change.30 Other major developments during the period of the Rishonim (in all of the different centers of study; see below) included the publication of running commentaries to the Talmud and the expansion of the writing of codes. Furthermore, the development of the dialectical approach by the Tosafists—the goal of which was the harmonization of conflicting conclusions found in the Talmud—unquestionably transformed the study of the Talmud text and the writing of codes and responsa. During the classical period of the Rishonim, the distinctive characteristics of four separate legal (halakhic) cultures obtained (but not all are treated here, see above). They were: (1) Muslim Spain and North Africa (Sefarad); beginning in the tenth century and ending in the late twelfth century as a result of the Christian

25 Halakhot Pesuqot o Hilkhot Re’u, Versailles, 1886 (Hebrew). 26 Samuel Morell, Mechkar al sefer hilchot reu, PhD diss., JTSA, 1966 (Hebrew). 27 Salomon Sassoon, Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, Jerusalem, 1950 (Hebrew); idem and Neil Danzig, Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, Jerusalem, 1998 (Hebrew). 28 New York and Jerusalem, 1999 (Hebrew), esp. 175–80 for below. 29 Ezriel Hildesheimer, Sefer Halakhot Gedolot, Jerusalem, 1971–87. On the versions, see Brody, Geonim, 223f.; Danzig, Introduction, 180–242. 30 Neil Danzig, »From Oral Talmud to Written Talmud,« Bar Ilan 30–31 (2006): 49–110 (Hebrew); Talya Fishman, Becoming the People of the Talmud, Philadelphia/PA, 2011; Haym Soloveitchik, »The People of the Book—Since When?,« Jewish Review of Books (Winter, 2013): 14–18.

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Reconquista of the Iberian Peninsula and the corresponding violent revolts of the Muslim Almohades;31 (2) Northern Europe, broadly encompassing Northern France (north of the Loire valley) and Germany, known in the literature as Tzarfat and Ashkenaz, respectively.32 The activity in Northern Europe dates from the late tenth to the end of the thirteenth century with the deaths of R. Meir ben Baruch of Rothenburg (1293) as a prisoner in the fortress at Ensisheim33 and R. Mordechai ben Hillel (1298) in the Rintfleisch massacres. (3) Provence (France, south of the Loire valley) from ca. 1100 until the effects of the expulsion of Jews from French territories in 1306;34 and (4) Christian Spain (also Sefarad); beginning in the early 13th century with the writings of R. Meir Halevi Abulafia (Ramah) and concluding with the death of R. Nissim ben Reuven (Ran) in 1376.35 Each legal culture is labeled as such for a number of significant reasons including, but not limited to geographic location and [non-Jewish] governing religious and political body in that locality; common academies attended by the community’s sages; teacher-student relationships; and legal methodology. Accordingly, those who lived under Islam and whose methodology highlighted the practical legal outcome of textual analysis are treated as a discrete unit. Despite encompassing a large geographic area and not insignificant distinctions in outlook among its French and German constituents, Northern Europe is labeled here as its own legal culture.36 For example, in Germany (until the early thirteenth century)37 there was a preference for ruling in accordance with established practices transmitted generationally and a penchant for practical law, while in northern France the outcome of analysis of the Talmud was considered binding and more theoretical study was embraced. Leading German scholars were jurists who sat as members of courts, 31 Jonathan Ray, The Sephardic Frontier: The Reconquista and the Jewish Community in Medieval Iberia, Ithaca/NY, 2006. 32 Also included are Italy (Italia) and England (Anglia), not treated here. Hirsch J. Zimmels, »Scholars and Scholarship in Byzantium and Italy,« in The Dark Ages, ed. Cecil Roth, New Brunswick/NJ, 1966, 175–88; Isadore Twersky, »The Contribution of Italian Sages to Rabbinic Literature,« Italia Judaica (1983): 383–400; Pinchas Roth and Ethan Zadoff, »The Talmudic Community of Thirteenth-Century England,« in Christians and Jews in Angevin England, ed. Sarah Rees Jones et al., Woodbridge, VA, 2013, 184–203. 33 Simcha Emanuel, »Did Rabbi Meir of Rothenburg Refuse to Be Ransomed?«, JSQ 24 (2017): 23–38. 34 Shlomo Pick, »The Jewish Communities of Provence Before the Expulsion in 1306,« PhD diss., Bar Ilan University, 1996; Isadore Twersky, »Aspects of the Social and Cultural History of Provencal Jewry,« JWH 11 (1968): 185–207; Pinchas Roth, »Rabbinic Politics, Royal Conquest, and the Creation of the Halakhic Tradition in Medieval Provence,« in Regional Identities and the Cultures of Medieval Jews, ed. Javier Castaño et al., Liverpool, 2018, 173–91. 35 Leon A. Feldman, »R. Nissim ben Reuben Gerondi,« in Exile and Diaspora, ed. Aharon Mirsky et al., Jerusalem, 1991, 56–97. 36 Ephraim Kanarfogel, »From Germany to Northern France and Back Again: A Tale of Two Tosafist Centres,« in Regional Identities and Cultures of Medieval Jews, ed. Talya Fishman and Ephraim Kanarfogel, Oxford, 2018, 149–71. 37 Avraham (Rami) Reiner, »From Rabbenu Tam to R. Isaac of Vienna« in The Jews of Europe in the Middle Ages, ed. Christoph Cluse, Turnhout, 2004, 276 n. 11; and for below, 274f.

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whereas the preeminent rabbis in northern France were primarily intellectuals and teachers of Jewish law.38 The German legal tradition had a deeply ensconced aversion to resettling the land of Israel, as compared with the northern French promotion of mass immigration.39 Nevertheless, significant points of contact justify grouping Germany and northern France together. Primary for our purposes is the intellectual overlap between students and scholars. For example, the famous French commentator, R. Shlomo Yitzchaki (Solomon ben Isaac; Rashi), studied in the great German academies of Worms and Mainz before returning to his native Troyes to serve as communal leader. Beginning in the third decade of the twelfth century, young German scholars traveled to France to master the new methods of textual analysis spearheaded by Rashi’s grandson, the Tosafist R. Jacob ben Meir Tam (universally known as, Rabenu Tam). Upon their return to Germany, these scholars and their students integrated the tosafistic method into their legal works.40 The Jews of Spain under Christendom—who themselves eventually adopted and expanded the tosafist method while still preserving aspects of their Muslim Spanish predecessors’ approach—are also treated here as a separate halakhic culture.41 The early 14th century witnessed the meeting of east and west with the migration of the great German scholar, R. Asher ben Yehiel, or Rosh (inheritor of R. Meir ben Baruch of Rothenburg’s mantle of leadership) with his family to Spain.42 There Rosh met R. Solomon ben Avraham Aderet (Rashba), the most prominent rabbinic jurist on the Iberian peninsula of his time. Rosh became head of the Ashkenazi community in Toledo. It was in Spain that Rosh’s son, R. Jacob, penned Arba‘ah Turim (›Four Columns‹), an influential code of practical law that later served as the framework for R. Joseph Caro’s Shulchan ʿAruch (›Set Table‹).

3.1

Muslim Spain and North Africa

In Qayrawan, northern-central Tunisia of today, and what was to become the Jewish center for the region from the 9th–11th centuries, the academy (beit midrash) was headed by R. Jacob ben Nissim ibn Shahin (who inquired of R. Sherira, see above) and R. Hushiel.43 The study of Talmud was directed towards legal decision-making. Although scholars based their approaches heavily on those of the Geonim, significant independence in specific rulings is discernable.

38 Ephraim Kanarfogel, The Intellectual History and Rabbinic Culture of Medieval Ashkenaz, Detroit/MI, 2013, 38. 39 Ephraim Kanarfogel, »The Aliyah of ›Three Hundred Rabbis‹ in 1211,« JQR 76 (1986): 191–215. 40 Reiner, »Rabenu Tam,« 277–81. 41 Yitzhak Baer, History of the Jews in Christian Spain, Philadelphia/PA, 1961. 42 See Abraham H. Freimann, Harosh: Rabbi Asher ben Yehiel, Jerusalem, 1986 (Hebrew translation from German). 43 Menahem Ben-Sasson, The Emergence of the Local Jewish Community in the Muslim World, Jerusalem, 1996, 213 (Hebrew).

182 3.1.1

Medieval Commentary, Responsa, and Codes Literature

Commentary in Muslim Spain and North Africa

Although likely preceded by the commentary of R. Nissim ben Jacob (son of R. Jacob ben Nissim above) to select tractates of the Talmud,44 the commentary of R. Hananel ben Hushiel (d. 1055/56; son of R. Hushiel mentioned above), universally known as Rabenu Hananel, is the earliest known systematic commentary to most of the Talmud that has survived. Another somewhat contemporary commentary written in Muslim Spain by the luminary R. Shmuel Hanagid,45 for example, only exists in fragmentary form and seemingly focused on giving localized interpretations to specifically challenging talmudic discussions. And, while Shmuel Hanagid’s student, Isaac ibn Giyyat, may have written a comprehensive commentary to most of the Talmud, it is not extant and is only known from citations and lists of books found in the Cairo Genizah. By contrast, R. Hananel’s commentary to the talmudic orders of Moʽed (dealing with the Sabbath and holidays), Nashim (addressing laws of marriage and divorce), and Nezikin (handling torts and damages), and the tractates Berachot (blessings) and Hullin (on ritual slaughter of animals for consumption) are all in our possession. Like Rashi’s commentary (written some 75 years afterwards; see below) R. Hananel’s work has been studied since its composition some 1000 years ago. Unlike Rashi’s treatise, printed on the page of standard Talmud editions since the 15th century, R. Hananel’s commentary was known, for centuries, solely through the writings of others and made its way onto the standard printed page of Talmud only in 19th century. Thousands of fragments of R. Hananel’s commentary were found in the Cairo Genizah, attesting to the commentary’s popularity.46 According to the legend of ›The Four Captives,‹ R. Hananel’s father, R. Hushiel, was one of the four scholars ransomed, having come from the city of Bari (Southern Italy). He was rescued by the community of Qayrawan. He headed the academy there and his son, R. Hananel, was likely born there. It may be that R. Hananel was actually born in Bari, however, and then came to Qayrawan with his father. Eleventh-twelfth century Franco-German scholars refer to R. Hananel as »ish romi,« »the Roman,« even though they were aware of his presence in North Africa. One scholar attributes the epitaph to the popularity of R. Hananel’s commentary in early Italian centers of learning.47 Upon R. Hushiel’s death, R. Hananel inherited his father’s position. According to the legend’s chronology, the events took place between 950–960 CE. Based on other evidence, however, scholars argued that R. Hushiel’s arrival in Qayrawan was by free choice and took place ca. 1005.48 44 Shraga Abramson, Rav Nissim, Jerusalem, 1965, 93–149 (Hebrew). 45 Hilchot Hanaggid, ed. Mordechai Margulies, Jerusalem, 1962 (Hebrew); Israel Ta-Shma, Talmudic Commentary in Europe and North Africa: Part One: 1000–1200, Jerusalem, 2000 (Hebrew). 46 Yosaif Dubovick, »Rabenu Hananel and the Geonim of Babylonia,« PhD diss., Bar Ilan, 2015 (Hebrew). 47 Israel Ta-Shma, »Haperush hameyuchas lerabenu Gershom latalmud,« in idem, ed., Studies in Medieval Rabbinic Literature 1: Ashkenaz, Jerusalem, 2004, 5 n. 6 (Hebrew). 48 Shraga Abramson, Perush Rabenu Hananel Latalmud, Jerusalem, 1994, 68 (Hebrew).

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Although R. Hananel’s is a running commentary, unlike other authors of his time (such as R. Nissim), who heavily paraphrase the Talmud, R. Hananel only selectively paraphrases.49 The author walks the reader through the subject matter; he points to textual problems and resolves them; and he fills in blanks in the Talmud text with data and definitions in order to ease the student through the process of studying the terse and ambiguous text. Although in form R. Hananel’s approach to the Talmud is a clear departure from the Geonic written record (the latter did not author running Talmud commentaries), there is no doubt the content of his work represents substantive continuity with the interpretations of the Geonim. Often Geonic remarks seem to be the building blocks for R. Hananel’s comments. R. Hananel’s greatest innovation, then, may be the act of collecting, integrating and reworking many Geonic statements—especially those of Rav Hai Gaon—into a systematic, ordered, clear and flowing commentary. Another significant feature in his commentary is the use of the (earlier) Palestinian Talmud for clarifying the meaning of the (later) Babylonian Talmud’s text. R. Hananel did not rule in accordance with the Palestinian Talmud when it conflicted with the Babylonian Talmud, however.50 The extensive use of the Palestinian Talmud was also a significant departure from Geonic methodology. The commentary is composed mostly in Hebrew. Scholars suggest that the emphasis on Hebrew may be due to R. Hananel’s (or his family’s) Italian origins. An important characteristic of the commentary is that the author collected parallels from tannaitic literature and elsewhere in the Talmud. R. Hananel’s insistence on deriving legal conclusions in his commentary and, at times, his mention of the current practice to indicate what should be the appropriate conclusion in the Talmud, blur the lines between commentary and code. He himself acknowledged the tension when apologizing for veering from presenting just commentary. As described by ibn Daud, the »outstanding« student of R. Isaac Alfasi (Rif; see below), R. Joseph b. Meir Halevi ibn Migash51 (Ri Migash), authored commentaries to multiple tractates of the Talmud. However, only Baba Batra and Shevuʽot, originally in Hebrew, were published and well known (even shortly after the author’s passing).52 I. Ta-Shma argued for the earlier existence of a commentary to, at least, seven more tractates, probably originally authored in Arabic.53 Ri Migash’s method of interpretation distinguishes itself in that the author engages in a process of asking a question, giving an answer, followed by an objection, then by a proof, and so on, giving his own interpretation and concluding with a ruling in light of the legal directives of others. Ending with a decision is consistent with the general tendency among Geonic and North African commentaries. Ri Migash’s work repre-

49 50 51 52 53

Ta-Shma, Commentary, 1:39, 128, 125. Abramson, Rabenu Hananel, 68–78. Cohen, Book of Tradition, 85. Ta-Shma, Commentary, 1:176f. Israel Ta-Shma, »Yetzirato hasifrutit shel rabenu Yosef halevi ibn migash,« in idem (ed.), Studies in Medieval Rabbinic Literature, 2: Spain, Jerusalem, 2004, 15–31 (Hebrew).

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sents the end of an era of writing commentaries in Muslim Spain of a certain style, dependent as it was on Geonic compositions and methods.54 Significantly, Ri Migash’s contribution had a great influence on Maimonides, whose own teacher (his father) was Ri Migash’s student. Well known for contributions in multiple fields, Moses Maimonides (Rambam; 1138–1204), physician, philosopher and legal scholar, spent most of his career in Egypt. He authored commentaries to three orders of the Talmud; however, the full commentaries are not extant. The only comments known are primarily from the quotations of others and, regarding the authorship of Rosh Hashanah, there is scholarly disagreement.55 Maimonides’ commentary to the Mishnah originally published in Judeo-Arabic56 (a postclassical Arabic written by Jews in Hebrew characters), however, is available in its entirety; and most of the work is even extant in a manuscript copy in the author’s own hand.57 While as a matter of historical fact Maimonides’ work is the second known commentary to the entire Mishnah (the first was authored by R. Nathan Av Hayeshivah, a Palestinian sage of the 11th century), Maimonides’ commentary remains the oldest extant complete commentary to the Mishnah. Nathan’s commentary is not available in its entirety and the sections in our possession were highly altered over time. Maimonides listed four goals for his Mishnah commentary: (a) to expound each individual mishnah in light of all of the analyses presented in the Babylonian Talmud; (b) to give the legal conclusion for each mishnah interpreted, based on the entire talmudic tradition; (c) to introduce the beginner to the Talmud; (d) to place before the student or scholar all that is necessary for the easy study and repetition of the commentary’s contents. Also noteworthy are the author’s introductions,58 presenting not only the history of the oral law but also useful prefaces to some of the orders of the Mishnah. 3.1.2

Responsa from Spain and North Africa (Muslim period)

The earliest responsa literature, that of R. Moses b. Ḥanokh and his son R. Ḥanokh, dates from the middle of the tenth century. According to the legend of ›The Four Captives,‹ Moses b. Ḥanokh was redeemed by the inhabitants of Cordova, Spain, where he subsequently became a communal leader.59 Most of these responsa were 54 Israel Ta-Shma, Talmudic Commentary in Europe and North Africa, Part Two: 1200–1400, Jerusalem, 2004, 29 (Hebrew). 55 See Ta-Shma, Commentary, 1:190f.; Herbert Davidson, Moses Maimonides: The Man and His Works, Oxford, 2005, 140–46. 56 The most current edition with translation into Hebrew remains Yosef Kafah, Mishnah im Perush Harambam, Jerusalem, 1963 (Hebrew). 57 Salomon D. Sassoon, Mechkar Makif al ketav yado shel harambam, Jerusalem, 1990 (Hebrew); Talma Zurawel, »Maimonides’ Tradition of Mishnaic Hebrew,« Edah velashon XXV (2004): 2f. (Hebrew). 58 Ta-Shma, Commentary, 1: 185f., 189; Davidson, Maimonides, 149f. and 152–57. 59 Cohen, Book of Tradition, 63–69.

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collected by J. Müller in Teshuvot Geonei Mizrach uMaarav.60 The contents of the responsa represent important historical information for the social and economic structure of the early community in Muslim Spain.61 For other early scholars of the period, such as R. Isaac ibn Giyyat, little responsa literature has survived.62 About twenty responsa of R. Hananel b. Hushiel are in our possession.63 Rif authored some 400 responsa, most of which were written in Arabic (and were translated into Hebrew at an early stage) during the final years of his life in Spain.64 In the responsa, he goes out of his way to contradict the traditions of Spain, causing some controversy between himself and the leaders there.65 Over two hundred responsa of Ri Migash exist. In one edition, the editor collected all of the previously published responsa from several places in one volume.66 Maimonides’ responsa, many of which were originally authored in Arabic, were collected by J. Blau in a 4 volume set, and are presented with an accompanying parallel column providing Blau’s Hebrew translation.67 These are evidence of the wide range of questions sent to Maimonides; he settled disputes regarding divorce, inheritance, business partnerships, the status of Christians and Muslims in Jewish law, and more. The responsa also attest to Maimonides’ stature as a world-renowned legal decisor; questions were sent to him from places as far flung as Baghdad and southern France.68 3.1.3

Codes Literature from Spain and North Africa (Muslim Period)

Shmuel (ibn Naghrela) Hanagid, in addition to being a scholar of Jewish law, was a statesman and military man.69 He authored, Sefer Hilkheta Gavrata (›Book of Great Laws‹), primarily on the laws of daily religious practice.70 His student, Isaac ibn Giyyat wrote Halakhot Kelulot (›Complete Laws‹), presumably including a broad selection of topics; only a limited number of sections survived, including those relating to the Sabbath and holidays. R. Hananel ben Hushiel also wrote collections of rulings, most of which are not extant, and authored Sefer Hadinin (›Book of Rul-

60 Berlin, 1888; see Avraham Grossman, »Teshuvot Chachmei Sefarad HaRishonim shenishtamru bikhtav yad Monfefiore 98,« in Studies in the Talmud and Medieval Rabbinic Literature in Honor of Professor Haim Zalman Dimitrovsky, ed. Daniel Boyarin et al., Jerusalem, 2000, 274–82 (Hebrew); see also Joel Müller, Teshuvot Chachmei Tzarfat velutir, Vienna, 1881 (Hebrew). 61 Eliyahu Ashtor, The Jews of Moslem Spain, Philadelphia/PA, 1973–84, 237 and 431 n.15. 62 Simcha Assaf, Teshuvot hageonim, Jerusalem, 1927, 77–79 (Hebrew). 63 David Rosenthal, Osef haGenizah hakehirit begeneva, Jerusalem, 2010, 271–75 (Hebrew). 64 Wolf Leiter, Responsa of R. Isaac ben Jacob Alfasi, Pittsburgh/PA, 1954; 2003 (Hebrew). 65 Ta-Shma, Commentary, 1:153f. 66 Responsa of Rabenu Yosef Halevi ibn Migash, ed. Simcha Chasida, Jerusalem, 1991 (Hebrew). 67 R. Moses ben Maimon Responsa, ed. Jehoshua Blau, Jerusalem, 1957–86 (Hebrew). 68 For a useful English summary see Davidson, Maimonides, 290–95. 69 Ashtor, Moslem Spain, 2:41ff. 70 Ta-Shma, Commentary, 1:160–63.

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ings‹), of which only its colophon from the year 1067 survived in the Genizah.71 By contrast, the influential code of practical Jewish law by Rif, Sefer Halakhot Rabbati (›Book of Great Laws’; known as Halakhot), survived in its entirety and a medieval manuscript of the complete work was published by Shamma Friedman.72 Rif was from North Africa and lived there most of his life; his last 15 years were spent in Lucena, Spain until his death at age 90. Ibn Daud referred to Rif as »R. Isaac b. R. Jacob b. al-Fasi of Qal’at Hammad,« raising some difficulties as to whether ›al-Fasi‹ was Rif ’s family name or whether he was from Fez, Morocco (Qal’at Hammad was in Algeria). The publication of Halakhot was a turning point in the presentation of practical law.73 The code is not only grounded in talmudic law; its order runs parallel to the Talmud and its language is edited in a style closely corresponding to the Talmud’s. Rif ’s editorial achievement is so impressive that even to the trained eye, at first glance, it can be challenging to distinguish between the text of Rif ’s code and the text of the Talmud. Another editorial accomplishment was Rif ’s ability to summarize the key elements of the legal argument. He removed all material extraneous to the immediate legal discussion and provided a summary one-third the size of the Talmud text, always ending with a ruling. Rif ’s achievement resulted in his magnum opus replacing the study of the Talmud text itself in some quarters.74 As a work of practical law, Rif ’s code was written only for talmudic tractates with relevance for religious practice in Rif ’s time. It deals with the Sabbath and holidays, marriage and divorce, ritual slaughter of animals for consumption, and so on. When necessary, Rif skipped over entire chapters of Talmud in order to deal exclusively with the practical law. At times, he cited from different tractates than the one directly under discussion, in order to include all the talmudic discussions on one topic in the same place. Rif regularly ignored aggadic (non-legal, homiletical) material. When Rif cites the Palestinian Talmud’s discussion it seems these quotes were taken directly from comments by R. Hananel,75 on whose work Rif relied extensively and who, according to ibn Daud, was Rif ’s teacher (however, on the lack of historical evidence, see below). Rif seriously engaged and relied on the works of the Geonim. However, when he disagreed with their conclusions, he did not refrain from outright attacking, demonstrating his true independence as a legal decisor. As mentioned, according to ibn Daud, R. Hananel was Rif ’s teacher.76 This contention cannot be maintained on historical grounds. There is no evidence of

71 Shlomo D. Goitein, »A Colophon to R. Hai Gaon’s Commentary to Hagiga,« Kiryat Sefer 31:3 (1956): 368–70 (Hebrew); Nechemia Aloni, »Lekolofon leferush Masechet Chagiga shel Rav Hai Gaon,« Kiryat Sefer 32:3 (1957): 375f (Hebrew). 72 Sefer Halakhot Rabbati, ed. Shamma Friedman, Jerusalem, 1974 (Hebrew). 73 Leonard Levy, »The Decisive Shift: from Geonim to Rabbi Yitshak Alfasi,« in Tiferet Leyisrael: Jubilee Volume for Israel Francus, ed. Joel Roth et al., New York, 2010, 93–130. 74 Israel Ta-Shma, Rabbi Zerachia Halevi Baal Hamaor uvnei chugo, Jerusalem, 1992, 150 (Hebrew). 75 Ta-Shma, Commentary, 1:149. 76 Cohen, Book of Tradition, 84.

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Rif having been in Qayrawan, nor of R. Hananel being in Fez. Significantly, Rif often cites R. Hananel anonymously and integrates R. Hananel’s comments when arguing with him. Neither activity is representative of the typical treatment of a teacher’s work by a student and, in fact, Rif never refers to R. Hananel as his teacher. Ibn Daud’s superlatives regarding Rif ’s status as a rabbinic decisor, in contrast, should be taken as indicative of Rif ’s historical renown. Scholars assume that there were emendations made by Rif to his Halakhot over time.77 In his responsa, occasionally, he directs his students to make corrections to the Halakhot. These changes were not incorporated by all and, significantly, several versions of sections of Rif ’s Halakhot exist because one group of students incorporated certain emendations while another did not.78 Some emendations were only transmitted orally, as mentioned several times by Nachmanides in his, Sefer Milchemet Hashem (see below, »Christian Spain«). Rif ’s Halakhot is included in standard editions of Talmud. Hillel Hyman published a critical edition of Halakhot to the first part of tractate Pesachim.79 Maimonides revolutionized the codification of Jewish law with the publication of his Mishnehh Torah. Although conceptually organized into sections on specific laws (Laws of the Sabbath, Laws of Inheritance and so on) like the geonic codes discussed earlier, Mishnehh Torah remains the only code whose scope includes all of biblical and talmudic law. That is, it includes even the legal system’s inoperable elements and enactments.80 Furthermore, as Maimonides writes in his introduction, he intended his all-encompassing presentation of the law to be second only to the Bible itself, hence the name Mishnehh Torah (›second law‹ or ›repetition of the law‹), and to replace the study of the classical works of talmudic law:81 »A man may first read the Written Law and then read the present work. He will learn from it the entire Oral Law, and he will not need any further work besides the two.«82 A few decades after Maimonides’ death, the work also began to be called, Hayad hachazakah, »the mighty hand,«83 based on the work’s division into fourteen books; the numerical value of fourteen in Hebrew characters is made up of the letters yod and dalet, spelling yad, »hand,« in Hebrew.84 Although Maimonides can be placed as an intellectual great-grandson of Rif— Maimonides’ teacher, his own father, was a student of Ri Migash who in turn was

77 Israel Francus, »Early Lacunae and Corruptions in the Text of R. Isaac Alfasi’s ›Sefer Halakhot‹,« Tarbiẓ 47:1/2 (1978), 30–48 (Hebrew); Shalem Yahalom, »Hilufei mahadurot behilkhot harif,« Tarbiẓ 77:2 (2008), 239–69 (Hebrew). 78 Ta-Shma, Commentary, 1:151f. 79 Alfasi: Tractate Pesahim, ed. Hillel Hyman, Jerusalem, 1990 (Hebrew). 80 Twersky, Code, 188. 81 Shamma Friedman, »The Rambam and the Talmud,« Diné Israel 26–27 (2010): 221–39 (Hebrew). 82 Davidson, Maimonides, 197. 83 Boaz Cohen, »The Classification of the Law in Mishnehh Torah,« JQR 25,4 (Apr. 1935): 529 n. 41. 84 Davidson, Maimonides, 214.

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a student of Rif—and held Rif ’s Halakhot in the highest esteem,85 he departed significantly from Rif both in form and content. Not only did Maimonides organize his work conceptually and include all of Jewish law. He also wrote his work in what verges on pristine mishnaic Hebrew—even translating Aramaic legal terms into Hebrew. In a move that was viewed as controversial after Mishnehh Torah’s publication, for each case study he recorded only a single and final anonymous formulation of the law; that is, without citing his sources. Maimonides’ writing style is lucid, precise and concise. In each chapter the author strikes a balance between providing judicial generalizations and case law. With seeming pedagogic intention, at the beginning of chapters Maimonides defines concepts and terms, and only then presents cases in which he applies the definitions. The cases are drawn, almost exclusively, from talmudic examples and, although he departs significantly from talmudic presentation, at times there is a correlation between the order and numbering of the chapters in Mishnehh Torah and the corresponding chapters in the Mishnah.86 The first two of Mishnehh Torah’s fourteen books in manuscript form (Ms. Huntington 80) and proofread by Maimonides himself are housed in Oxford’s Bodleian Library and were published in an edition with extensive notes by Sh. Z. Havlin.87 In addition, select pages of Mishnehh Torah with marginal corrections, all in Maimonides’ own hand, were published by E. Hurvitz.88 Shamma Friedman uncovered a meaningful correlation between the corrections in the margins of these texts and the opinions of Rashi, although there is no prior evidence suggesting Maimonides knew of Rashi’s work.89 In recent decades three useful editions of Mishnehh Torah were published. The first is by Y. Kafaḥ; the text is based on Yemenite manuscripts90 and includes the editor’s extensive commentary and inquiry into the sources used by Maimonides. The next edition, Rambam Meduyak, is still in progress.91 In it, the editor, Y. Sheilat, corrects the standard printed text of Mishnehh Torah, with a preference for the Oriental manuscript tradition. Shabtai Frankel sponsored the publication of an edition that includes the classical commentators.92 Its text is based, primarily, on the printed edition. Frankel includes an index of variant readings and bibliographies for specific rulings. An erudite multi-volume commentary to Mish-

85 Twersky, Code, passim. 86 Shamma Friedman, »The Organizational Pattern of the Mishnehh Torah,« JLA 1 (1978): 37–41. 87 Mishnehh Torah leharambam: Madda veahavah, hasefer hamugah, Cleveland/OH 1997 (Hebrew). 88 Mishnehh Torah of Maimonides: Newly discovered handwritten pages of Rabbi Moshe Ben Maimon from the Cairo Genizah, New York, 1973, 4–44 (Hebrew) and »Additional Newly Discovered Handwritten Pages from Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon,« Hadarom 38 (1974): 9, 14–22 (Hebrew). 89 Shamma Friedman, »Klum lo nitznatz perush Rashi be-veit midrasho shel ha-Rambam?,« in Rashi: demuto vi-yetzirato, ed. Avraham Grossman and Sara Japhet, Jerusalem, 2009, 403–64 (Hebrew). 90 Mishnehh Torah, Kiryat Ono, 1983–95 (Hebrew). 91 Yitshak Sheilat, Rambam meduyak, Maale Adumim, 2004 (Hebrew). 92 Sefer Mishnehh Torah, Jerusalem/Bnei Brak, 1975–2001 (Hebrew).

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nehh Torah, the text of which is based on manuscripts, was published by Nachum Rabinovich.93 Yale University Press published, thus far, thirteen of the fourteen books in English translation.94

3.2

Northern Europe

Rabbinic activities in Northern Europe began in the early 11th century with the founding of the academy at Mainz by R. Gershom ben Judah (d. 1028), known as Rabenu Gershom Ma’or Hagolah (Illuminator of the Diaspora). Unlike commentary in Muslim Spain, which focused on the interpretation of Talmud for the purpose of fleshing out practical law, the northern European interpretative project included commenting on those parts of Talmud that were not of any practical import, including tractates from the orders of Kodashim and Toharot (dealing with matters of the Temple’s sacrifices and ritual impurity, respectively). It has long been known that Rashi, employing the term hachi garsinan (»thus we should read [the text]«), emended texts of the Talmud based on logical and interpretive criteria, even when he had no textual tradition to support the emendation.95 Recently, Vered Noam suggested that some of Rashi’s emendations are paralleled in Oriental Talmud texts to which Rashi may have had access.96 In the next generation, scholars known as the Tosafists, among them Rashi’s grandsons, engaged in a veritable revolution in the interpretation of the Talmud. The entire talmudic corpus was treated as if produced with a fundamental unity of legal conceptions. The outcome was an agenda of harmonizing the conflicting and contradictory talmudic discussions that occur throughout the talmudic corpus (which, historically, were the outcome of the Talmud having been produced by multiple generations of Sages over the course of several centuries and in more than one center). The project of the Tosafists, to be sure, affected the way Jewish legal analysis would be conducted for the next millennium. The implications of this methodology for practical law were evidenced both in the codes and the responsa authored by the second generation of Tosafists (see below). 3.2.1

Commentary in Northern Europe

R. Gershom was the principal halakhic authority of his time in the region.97 An outstanding interpreter of talmudic texts and legal scholar, he is best known for a number of edicts and a commentary to the Talmud that appears in the standard Vilna printing to some ten tractates, both attributed to him (however, see below). The commentary is the earliest known and available running commentary to the Talmud from northern 93 94 95 96

Mishnehh Torah larambam: Yad Peshutah, Maaleh Adumim, 1987 (Hebrew). New Haven/CT, 1949. Robert Brody, »Rashi as Textual Critic: A Clarification,« JSIJ 16 (2019): 1–10. »Early Version Traditions in Rashi’s Emendations to the Talmud,« Sidra 17 (2001–2): 109–50 (Hebrew). 97 See Avraham Grossman, Early Sages of Ashkenaz, Jerusalem, 1988, 106–31, 132–49 (Hebrew).

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Europe, although the extent to which authorship, in the strict sense of the word, can be attributed to R. Gershom, himself, is questionable.98 The commentary’s purpose is to achieve a clearer understanding of the Talmud’s text by paraphrasing parts of it and filling in gaps in the argumentation. Scholars suggest that the commentary is really an edited collection of »the commentaries of Mainz,« (›perushe magenza‹), as many of the parallels to these comments are called in other medieval works. The terminology and style of the work, as they stand in the most authentic textual witnesses, reflect an educational context of group study with citations in the name of »the teacher« as opposed to »the students,« and the like. According to I. Ta-Shma, these commentaries were likely composed and edited in the academies of Mainz from around the middle of the 11th century to the beginning of the 12th and were based on authentic comments or even an original, now lost, full-blown commentary by R. Gershom. The recovery of the original layer of the commentary is not possible, although, at times, it may be discernible on terminological grounds and is expressed by the term, »inyan acher,« or »another matter.« Significantly, there is no great concern in the commentary with the emendation of texts (as is evidenced in the later commentary of Rashi); nor is there any attempt at comparison with parallel talmudic material (the hallmark of the even later tosafist interpretive method). According to tradition, Rashi, whose Talmud commentary came to supersede all known commentaries that preceded it,99 was born in Troyes in 1040 and died there in 1105. Indeed, Rashi’s commentary benefited from early popularity and unprecedented dissemination: within a century of his death, his commentary had spread from the communities of France and Germany to Spain and Africa to Asia and Babylonia. Rashi studied in the academies of Mainz and Worms with three great scholars of his day, R. Jacob bar Yakar (his primary teacher), R. Isaac bar R. Judah, and R. Isaac Segan Leviyah. Around 1075 he returned to Troyes and opened his own academy. According to tradition he earned his living from winemaking, although this cannot be verified. Rashi’s commentary covered most, and perhaps even the entire, Talmud. However, it has not survived in its entirety. Most of Baba Batra is not extant; for tractates Nedarim, Nazir and Taanit,100 the commentary is inaccurately attributed to Rashi; regarding Moed Qatan there is uncertainty; and for Hullin there are several versions.101 Since the advent of the Babylonian Talmud’s printing in 1484, every edition of Talmud has been printed with Rashi’s commentary in the margin. Finally, there is a long standing scholarly debate revolving around the question of how many editions of his commentary Rashi wrote.102

98 Ta-Shma, Commentary, 1:36–40. 99 See the extensive study, Jonah Fraenkel, Rashi’s Methodology in his Exegesis of the Babylonian Talmud, Jerusalem, 1975 (Hebrew). 100 David Halivni (Weiss), Fragments of a Commentary on the Treatise Taanit, Jerusalem, 1959 (Hebrew). 101 Ta-Shma, Commentary, 1:40f. 102 For a summary see Grossman, The Early Sages of France, Jerusalem, 1996, 223–31 (Hebrew); Shamma Friedman, »Perushei Rashi latalmud—hagahot umahadurot,« in Rashi Iyunim biyetzirato, ed. Zvi Steinfeld, Ramat Gan, 1993, 147–76 (Hebrew).

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Rashi does not paraphrase the Talmud. He engages in his own unprecedented strategy. He cites words or phrases directly from the talmudic discussion (a lemma, in Hebrew: dibbur hamatchil) to direct the reader to the stage in the talmudic discourse on which he is commenting. Then, through the citations and his comments on them (at times the citations themselves serving as part of the comment), Rashi provides an organic commentary that flows in sync with the discourse and difficulties in the Talmud text itself. His commentary does not just smooth out difficulties and inconsistencies. Inevitably, at every stage, and always implicitly, Rashi draws his reader deeper into the Talmud text by reflecting the discussion’s literary and logical ebbs and flows in his comments. He invites the reader to participate actively in the complex playing out of the talmudic discussion’s argumentation.103 This means that Rashi does not qualitatively ease the student’s study of the text unless the student realizes the initial difficulties in the Talmud text itself (and this realization, at times, occurs only after reading Rashi’s comment).104 Rashi does not engage in comparative work. Unlike the Tosafists (see below), he only interprets the material at hand,105 determines one reading of the talmudic discussion, and develops his overall reading in that direction. Additional features in Rashi’s commentary include clarifying the meaning of difficult words in the text and indicating their old French equivalents; pointing to later places in the talmudic chapter or tractate that may be relevant to the current discussion; and an avoidance for issuing rulings in the commentary. Aaron Ahrend published a critical edition of Rashi’s commentary to Megillah and Rosh Hashanah.106 The intellectual activity of the next generation of north European scholars, the Tosafist school (Baalei Hatosafot, »authors of the additions«), should be labeled as nothing short of an interpretive revolution. Unlike Rashi, who developed a singular approach when commenting on each individual talmudic discussion, the Tosafists chose to view the same talmudic discussion from different interpretive angles and entertain multiple logical possibilities for the developing argumentation. A major feature of the method, and likely its most distinguishing characteristic, is the dialectical approach employed for the resolution of contradictions within the talmudic corpus. Although reminiscent of the talmudic analysis of the Mishnah, scholars consider the degree to which the approach may find its analog in the glossae affixed to collections of Roman and Canon law in the middle ages.107 The Tosafists’ approach to dealing with contradictory conclusions in the talmudic corpus stood in stark contrast to the earlier methods. Before the tosafistic inter103 Ta-Shma, Commentary, 1:40–56. 104 For a concrete example see Barry Wimpfheimer, The Talmud: A Biography, Princeton/NJ, 2018, 118–25. 105 However, on other talmudic discussions informing his localized comments, see Jonathan S. Milgram, »The Talmudic Hermeneutics of Medieval Halakhic Decision-Making,« JJS 65:1 (Spring, 2014): 88–112. 106 Jerusalem, 1998 and, 2004, respectively. 107 Kanarfogel, Intellectual History, 84–110.

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pretive movement, internal contradictions in the Talmud were certainly known and, at times, resolutions were offered. As noted earlier, for the Geonim for example, contradictory conclusions in the Talmud were able to coexist because longstanding traditions deemed some talmudic discussions dominant and authoritative while other—even if parallel—material was relegated secondary status. For the Tosafists, on the other hand, contradictions in the text of the Talmud could not coexist. Accordingly, the Tosafists distinguished themselves by concentrating their method on addressing talmudic contradictions and resolving them. Seemingly, they held steadfast to the presumption that law cannot admit contradiction. So, they engaged in a process of collection, comparison, and highlighting contradictions that placed parallel (or at least relevant) sources in conversation with one another. Through elaborate argumentation, the Tosafists offered a thesis, its antithesis and, finally, synthesis. They made conceptual distinctions between the contradictory material in one talmudic text and its counterpart in another in order to resolve the issues they raised. The Tosafists engaged in this intellectual endeavor not only to come to the most compelling understanding of the material but also—and perhaps primarily—to express the plurality of understandings available to the reader. By the year 1200, it would seem, the entire Talmud had been reinterpreted through the method described. At times, the interpretations suggested are presented as challenges to the comments offered by Rashi. As a result of the Tosafists’ reactions to Rashi, scholars debate whether the Tosafist movement was spawned by the writing of Rashi’s commentary. Furthermore, scholars disagree whether the origins of the Tosafist movement can be traced to France, beginning with the students of Rashi, or to Germany.108 Some ninety-five percent of the interpretive material in the works of the Tosafists is the product of Rashi’s grandson, R. Jacob ben Meir of Ramerupt, known as Rabenu Tam (1100–1171), and his nephew Rabbi Isaac of Dampierre, known as Ri Ha-Zaken (d. 1189).109 R. Tam developed the method and Rabbi Isaac applied it to the entire Talmud.110 In the texts of Tosafot, however, it is virtually impossible to separate the voices of the two. R. Isaac worked via reportatio (the official written report of a teacher’s instruction) through four main students: R. Baruch ben Isaac, R. Shimshon of Sens, R. Yehudah mi-Paris, and R. Elchanan (his son). Later, derivative versions of these Tosafot became the basis for most of the Tosafot which have appeared in printed Talmud editions since the advent of Jewish printing.111

108 Ephraim E. Urbach, Baalei Hatosafot, Jerusalem, 1955, 21f. (Hebrew); Ta-Shma, Commentary, 1:65; Haym Soloveitchik, Collected Essays II, Liverpool, 2014, 23–28. 109 Oral communication by Haym Soloveitchik, October 9, 1996; from his class, Introduction to the Literature of the Rishonim (Bernard Revel Graduate School, Yeshiva University). 110 Haym Soloveitchik, »The Printed Page of the Talmud,« in Printing the Talmud, ed. Sharon Lieberman Mintz and Gabriel M. Goldstein, New York, 2006, 40–42. 111 Marvin Heller, »Earliest Printings of the Talmud,« ibid., 62.

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3.2.2

193

Responsa in Northern Europe

Approximately one hundred responsa of R. Gershom are in our possession. Shlomo Eidelberg published 77 of them in one volume112 and other responsa were published previously by J. Müller.113 It is assumed that many anonymous responsa of the period were also authored by R. Gershom. Although R. Gershom dealt with all areas of Jewish law in his responsa, the majority were regarding monetary matters, pointing to the heightened economic activity of the Jews in the period in question. In his responsa, he refers to his teacher, R. Yehudah bar R. Meir ha-Cohen, better known as Leon or Liontin.114 The largest collection of Rashi’s responsa was edited by I. Elfenbein,115 although it is assumed that many of Rashi’s responsa were lost. In stark contrast to the responsa of R. Gershom, Rashi’s responsa deal, primarily, with matters of ritual law. While scholars debated the historical reasons for this difference, A. Grossman’s suggestion that this is due to the manner in which Rashi’s responsa were preserved and collected (appended to works dealing with ritual law by Rashi’s students and others) is most compelling.116 A collection of responsa of the Tosafists was published by I. Agus.117 Rabenu Tam’s Sefer HaYashar is made up of two parts, Novellae and Responsa. Each was edited and published separately.118 Although this work was not popular, R. Tam, himself, was quite well-known. For example, ibn Daud, the author of Sefer Ha-Qabbalah, seems never to have heard of Rashi, but knew of Rabenu Tam.119 The responsa in the volume are generally clear. The novellae, however, are difficult to understand and, in many places, only once one is already aware of R. Tam’s opinion elsewhere are the novellae comprehensible. This is due to the fact the novellae represent R. Tam’s notebook and were mangled by his students.120 Some contemporaries of R. Tam’s in Germany opposed the use of his dialectical approach for legal decision-making.121 Such is evidenced in the responsa (and novellae) of R. Eliezer bar Nathan of Mainz (Raavan), in his treatise, Even Haezer (arranged according to talmudic tractate).122 Within a short time, however, the French tosafistic meth-

112 The Responsa of Rabbenu Gershom Maor Hagolah, ed. Shlomo Eidelberg, New York, 1955 (Hebrew). 113 See Joel Müller, Teshuvot Chachmei Tzarfat velutir, Vienna, 1881 (Hebrew); Teshuvot Geonei Mizrach uMaarav, Berlin, 1888 (Hebrew). 114 Grossman, Ashkenaz, 80. 115 Israel Elfenbein, Responsa Rashi, with notes by Louis Ginzberg, New York, 1943 (Hebrew). 116 Grossman, France, 239–46. 117 Responsa of the Tosaphists, ed. Irving Agus, New York, 1954 (Hebrew). 118 Sefer ha-Yashar: Hiddushim, ed. Simon S. Schlesinger, Jerusalem, 1955 (Hebrew); Sefer haYashar: Teshuvot, ed. Ferdinand Rosenthal, Berlin, 1898 (Hebrew). 119 Cohen, Book of Tradition, 89. 120 Haym Soloveitchik, Collected Essays I, Liverpool, 2013, 14. 121 Reiner, »Rabenu Tam,« 278. 122 Sefer Raavan, ed. Shalom Albeck, Warsaw, 1904 (Hebrew).

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od’s imprint was even felt in the responsa and novellae of German scholars. A case in point is Raavan’s grandson, R. Eliezer ben Joel (Raviah) of Bonn, author of Sefer Avi haezri and Avi Asaf (the latter having mostly disappeared). This work is organized according to the order of talmudic tractates, includes both novellae and responsa, and benefitted from an outstanding (but incomplete) edition prepared by V. Aptowitzer,123 later supplemented by Shear Yashuv Cohen, and even later completed by D. Deblitski. The author cites heavily from the responsa written by R. Tam. The imprint of the French tosafistic approach reached its peak in Germany124 in Sefer Or Zarua,125 a work arranged by topics in the order of their appearance in the Talmud, authored by Raviah’s student R. Isaac ben Moses of Vienna. The author even travelled to study in the French academy of R. Judah Sir Leon (disciple of R. Isaac of Dampierre). The outstanding student of R. Isaac of Vienna was R. Meir of Rothenburg,126 likely the greatest talmudic authority in Germany of his generation. R. Meir was famously held captive at the castle in Ensisheim and died there. R. Meir wrote extensive responsa in many areas of Jewish law. The most recent edition, edited by S. Emanuel, brings to light 501 new responsa by R. Meir and his colleagues.127 One prominent student of R. Meir was R. Mordechai ben Hillel, who penned Sefer hamordechai (The book of Mordechai). In it the author follows the sequence of Rif’s Halakhot. More compendium than commentary, R. Mordechai’s goal was to write a supplement to Rif ’s work that included the opinions of scholars of the northern European school. He also quotes extensively from the works of scholars from different centers of learning.128 Individual critical editions to two tractates were published, Gittin by M. Rabinowitz129 and Kiddushin by J. Roth.130 An edition with reference to manuscript variants and notes to one dozen tractates was also published.131 3.2.3

Codes Literature in Northern Europe

Although the edicts attributed to R. Gershom, known as his takkanot, were not handed down historically in the form of a code, no discussion of legal thinking in the region would be complete without their mention.132 Among the edicts, the most famous in-

123 Victor Aptowitzer, Mavo lesefer Ravyah, Jerusalem, 1938 (Hebrew); S.Y. Cohen, Sefer Ravyah, Jerusalem, 1964 (Hebrew); David Deblitski, Sefer Ravyah, Bnei Brak, 1975–2000, 2005 (Hebrew). 124 Reiner, »Rabenu Tam,« 279. 125 See The Complete Or Zarua, ed. Avraham Marinberg and Shalom Klain, Jerusalem, 2001 (Hebrew). 126 Irving A. Agus, Rabbi Meir of Rothenburg, Philadelphia/PA, 1947. 127 Responsa of Rabbi Meir of Rothenburg and his Colleagues, ed. Simcha Emanuel, Jerusalem, 2012 (Hebrew). 128 See Menachem Elon, Jewish Law: History, Sources and Principles, vol. 3, Philadelphia/PA, 1994, 1249f. 129 Sefer Hamordechai lemasechet gittin, Jerusalem, 1990 (Hebrew). 130 Sefer Hamordechai lemasechet kiddushin, Jerusalem, 1990 (Hebrew). 131 Sefer Hamordechai hashalem, ed. Avraham Halpren and Hayyim HaCohen Schwartz, Jerusalem, 1982–2013 (Hebrew). 132 For a thorough discussion of the issues see Grossman, Ashkenaz, 132–34.

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clude the prohibitions against marrying more than one wife; divorcing a woman without her consent; and reading someone else’s mail.133 The statutes are listed in several works which have often been copied one from the other and the number of edicts (between 10 and 16) varies among the works. The evidence for the ordinances is from sources later than R. Gershom and not from works attributed to his students. Accordingly, the historical attribution to R. Gershom cannot be maintained. Among the famed students of R. Isaac of Dampierre who moved to the Land of Israel,134 was R. Baruch ben Isaac,135 author of Sefer Ha-Terumah (›The Book of the Offering‹). In this work of practical law, the student took the master’s method of dialectic and theoretical conclusions and came to practical decisions for a broad audience.136 He arranged his work topically, such as on the dietary and Sabbath laws. R. Moses of Coucy organized his code, Sefer Mitzvot Gadol137 (›Large Book of the Commandments‹; acronym, Smag) according to Maimonides’ enumeration of the biblical commandments (Sefer Hamitzvot; ›The Book of the Commandments‹). For each commandment he produced a discussion based on the Tosafot of his teacher, R. Judah of Paris. In disputes between Maimonides and the Tosafists—whether about legal conclusions or the enumeration of the commandments—R. Moses of Coucy generally sided with the Tosafists.138 The technicalities inherent to the massive work made it only accessible to scholars.139 An abridged version, Sefer Mitzvot Katan (›Small Book of the Commandments‹), was compiled by R. Isaac of Corbeil and became highly influential. With the death of R. Meir at Ensisheim and that of his student R. Mordechai ben Hillel in the Rintfleisch massacres of 1298, Jewish legal creativity in the region came to an end. In the aftermath of R. Meir’s demise, the man who was to become his most famous student, R. Asher ben Yehiel, moved to Spain with his family. That move began a new chapter in the history of Jewish legal thinking and production.

3.3

Christian Spain

The beginnings of a discernible approach in Christian Spain are found in the works R. Meir Halevi Abulafia (Ramah; 1175–1244). Ramah was a transitional figure in multiple fields, between the methods and concerns of the scholars in Muslim Spain and the ap-

133 Avraham Grossman, »The Historical Background to the Ordinances on Family Affairs Attributed to Rabbenu Gershom,« in Jewish History: Essays in Honour of Chimen Abramsky, ed. Ada Rapaport-Albert et al., London, 1988, 3–23. 134 See Kanarfogel, »Aliyah,« 191–215. 135 Simcha Emanuel, »Ish al mekomo mevoar shemo,« Tarbiẓ 69 (2000) (Hebrew): 423–40; Sefer ha-terumah, Warsaw, 1897 (Hebrew). 136 Yoel Friedemann, Sefer Haterumah of R. Baruch ben Isaac: Aims, Structure and Version, PhD diss., Hebrew University, 2013 (Hebrew). 137 Sefer Mitzvot Gadol, ed. Elyakim Schlesinger, Jerusalem, 1995–99; Jeffrey Woolf, »Maimonides Revised: The Case of Sefer Miswot Gadol,« HTR 90:2 (1997): 175–203. 138 Elon, Jewish Law, 3:1262. 139 Soloveitchik, »Printed Page,« 41.

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proaches developed in Christian Spain.140 The field of talmudic analysis was no exception. Ramah’s Talmud commentary, for example, presents itself in the classic style of Talmud commentaries by scholars of Muslim Spain: its goal is to reach a conclusion for practical law. At the same time, Ramah, who was based in Toledo (the capital of Castile), was the first sage in Christian Spain to make any use of the analyses of the Tosafists.141 The full integration of the Tosafist approach reached its peak, at least in Catalonia (northeast of Toledo), only later, with the Talmud commentaries of the famed poet, kabbalist and physician, Moses ben Nachman (Nachmanides), known as Ramban (d. 1275). In his rulings, however, he remained faithful to his Spanish legal heritage.142 Both he and his contemporary R. Jonah Gerondi, founded talmudic academies in the region during the first half of the thirteenth century: Ramban in his native Gerona, and R. Jonah in Barcelona. The methods of the French Tosafists were familiar to both. Ramban trained under Provencal scholars who had studied in Northern France; R. Jonah studied in Northern France.143 Certainly, the greatest student of Nachmanides and R. Jonah was Rashba (see below), who sat at the helm of Spanish Jewry after the death of Nachmanides for half a century. Rashba’s younger Ashkenazi contemporary, R. Asher ben Yehiel (Rosh), made an everlasting mark on Jewish legal developments in Spain. After the imprisonment and death of his teacher, R. Meir of Rothenburg, Rosh and his family escaped Ashkenaz and moved west, settling in Toledo. The intellectual environment in Castile was different, not only from that of Rosh’s native Ashkenaz, but even from the centers of Talmud study in Catalonia. In Castile, serious study of the Talmud with glosses of the Tosafists was not common. Jewish law was all but decided according to Maimonides’ Mishnehh Torah and the earlier Halakhot of Rif. Furthermore, the few students of Talmud who did, in fact, study the glosses of the Tosafists seriously, did so with inferior versions of the works. Upon his arrival in Castile, therefore, Rosh faced the challenge of refocusing the regnant legal methodology to Talmud and Tosafot and bringing more reliable versions of the Tosafists’ analyses to the attention of the community of learners. To be sure, Rosh’s activities and literary oeuvre had a permanent effect on the state of Jewish legal affairs. His son, R. Jacob ben Asher, later authored the work Arba‘ah Turim, which was heavily based on his father’s legal output. This work, in turn, served as the skeleton for R. Joseph Caro’s universally accepted code of Jewish law, Shulchan ʿAruch. 3.3.1

Commentary in Christian Spain

The earliest commentary on the Talmud known from Christian Spain was authored by Ramah. We have no information about the identity of his teachers144 and very little

140 Bernard Septimus, Hispano-Jewish Cutlure in Transition, Cambridge/MA, 1982. 141 Ta-Shma, Commentary, 2:15. 142 Ephraim Kanarfogel, »On the Assessment of R. Moses ben Nachman and his Literary Oeuvre,« Jewish Book Annual 51 (1993–94): 158–72. 143 Shalem Yahalom, Between Gerona and Narbonne, Jerusalem, 2012 (Hebrew). 144 Ta-Shma, Commentary 1:14, n. 8 and 2:13–16.

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information about his students. As stated, his Talmud commentary, in style and content, captures the transition from the classical commentary forms of Muslim Spain to the new modes of Christian Spanish commentary which evidenced northern European influence. The commentary was originally called Pratei Peratim (Details) and has been called »Yad Ramah« (the High Hand, or Hand of Ramah) since the 18th century. Baba Batra and Sanhedrin are available; the commentaries to other tractates, however, have been lost. The work is written in talmudic Aramaic and the author generally dialogues with himself. Ramah shows great independence in issuing rulings. In addition, Ramah makes regular use of the Palestinian Talmud and corrects the text of the Talmud in accordance with variants in works he had before him. As mentioned, the full integration of the approach of the French Tosafists reached its peak with the Talmud commentaries of Ramban. Ramban’s contribution to Talmud commentary came in several forms. As I. Ta-Shma notes, Ramban’s work defending Rif ’s positions in his Halakhot should be seen as commentary to the Talmud, due to the overarching concern with the precise interpretation of Talmud texts. Unlike Ta-Shma, however, I include Ramban’s supplements to Halakhot Rabbati—for areas of law not covered by Rif—below in the section on Codes. Ramban’s most famous defense of Rif is Sefer Milchemet Hashem (›The Battle of God,‹ known as Sefer Hamilchamot, ›The Book of Battles‹). There, Ramban unsparingly defends Rif ’s rulings against the severe critique of R. Zerachya Halevi (Provence, d. 1186), in his work, Sefer Hamaor (The Book of Enlightenment). Both Sefer Hamilchamot and Sefer Hamaor are printed together with Rif ’s Halakhot in standard Talmud editions. Ramban’s novellae to the Talmud145 are the first in a genre of commentaries to the Talmud continued by his students and their students. The work, as noted, is heavily influenced by the Tosafist methodology, but it is not a line-by-line commentary to the Talmud text.146 The author assumes a basic understanding of the Talmud text and focuses on highlighting new interpretations of aspects of the text in light of the comments of earlier authorities. Ramban also clarifies the fundamentals and concepts presumed by the text. And, while the great influence of the Tosafist approach is evident throughout the work, it is more in the style of questioning and related textual concerns than in adopting the conclusions offered by the Tosafists. Ramban often suggests alternate solutions to those proposed by the Tosafists. Ramban’s greatest student, and in his own day the most outstanding jurist in Christian Spain, was Shlomo ben Avraham ibn Aderet (Rashba). He authored novellae to many of the tractates of the Talmud, although not all of them are extant.147 His writing is in line with the general approach of his teacher. In Rashba’s work the reader will often find a retelling, elaboration, and explanation of Ramban’s understanding of the talmudic material in a more lucid explanatory style than that of Ramban himself.148 In addition, Rashba will choose one course among the several

145 146 147 148

Chidushei Haramban, ed. M. Herschler, Jerusalem, 1995 (Hebrew). Ta-Shma, Commentary, 2:35–39. Sefer Chidushei Harashba Hashalem, ed. A. Weingarten, Jerusalem, 1989 (Hebrew). Ta-Shma, Commentary, 2:58–60.

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proposed by the Tosafists and Ramban, and read the entire talmudic discussion on a given topic in light of the chosen approach. The commentary is written in a fluid and expanded style, (especially when compared to Ramban’s commentary). Critical editions with notes for tractates Megillah and Rosh Hashanah were published by H.Z. Dimitrovsky.149 R. Yom Tov ben Abraham Asevilli (i.e, from Seville), or Ritva, was among the stellar students of both Rashba and Rashba’s adversary, R. Aaron Halevi (Ra’ah).150 He authored novellae to most of the Talmud.151 Ritva’s own approach is heavily influenced by the method of Ramban. He cites the opinions of Ramban’s students—who were Ritva’s teachers—and adds his own interpretations, at times agreeing and others, disagreeing.152 He also engages the works of the Geonim, Rashi, R. Hananel, Rif, Rambam, and the Tosafists, paraphrasing the interpretations of his predecessors in his own words. At times, the effect is the clarification of an earlier opinion or approach. Ritva provides more of a running commentary than did his predecessors in Christian Spain, highlighting details of the talmudic discussion’s progression. Like Rashba, Ritva primarily engages the Tosafot texts that were used by Ramban. Accordingly, although the intellectual activities of Ritva and Rosh overlapped for some two decades, Ritva did not interest himself in the body of Tosafist writings edited by Rosh. Rosh’s prominent work of talmudic interpretation, Tosafot Harosh, currently available in fifteen volumes,153 was used in the Ashkenazi enclave in Toledo led by Rosh and his family, but was not disseminated to other centers.154 Rosh’s Tosafot were based on the earlier Tosafot of R. Isaac of Dampierre’s students (such as R. Shimshon of Sens) with some emendations, and are presented in a clearer style than the Tosafot in other collections. I. Ta-Shma argued that Rosh’s view of Tosafot was starkly different from the view of Ramban and his students. Rosh saw the Tosafist’s literary contribution as a closed canon for study. Ramban, however, viewed the intellectual output of the Tosafists as an adaptable collection and springboard for further development. Considered the last scholar writing in the tradition of Ramban and his students, R. Nissim bar Reuven (Ran) wrote novellae to the Talmud on some ten tractates.155 Some novellae to the Talmud attributed to him, however, are really the works of others.156 Originally from Gerona and later settling in Barcelona, Ran also wrote a commentary to Rif ’s Halakhot on fifteen tractates.157

149 Chidushei R. Shlomo ben Aderet al masechet Megillah, New York, 1956 (Hebrew); Chidushei R. Shlomo ben Aderet al masechet Rosh Hashanah, New York, 1961 (Hebrew). 150 See Ta-Shma, Commentary, 2:66–69 151 Chidushei haritva, Jerusalem, 1974 (Hebrew). 152 Ta-Shma, Commentary, 2:71–74. 153 Tosafot harosh al hashas, Jerusalem, 2018 (Hebrew). 154 Ta-Shma, Commentary, 2:81. 155 Chidushei haran, Jerusalem, 1990 (Hebrew). 156 Ta-Shma, Commentary, 2:87. 157 Mark Washofsky, »The ›Commentary‹ of R. Nissim b. Reuven Gerondi to the ›Halakhot‹ of Alfasi,« HUCA 60 (1990): 191–258.

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3.3.2

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Responsa of Christian Spain

A collection of Ramah’s responsa, Or Tzadikim (Light of the Righteous), was published in 1798–1799 in Salonica. Some responsa of Ramban were compiled by his younger colleague and student, R. Shmuel Hasardi, in his work Sefer Haterumot (The Book of Offerings).158 They all deal with matters of civil law.159 In spite of his strong inclination for the Tosafist method of Talmud study, Ramban remained faithful to the Spanish legal tradition in his legal decision making. Only some one hundred responsa survived even though it is highly likely many more were written. In modern times all the responsa available were published by Charles Chavel.160 Rashba authored over three thousand responsa, making him among the most prolific and influential Jewish legal decisors of all time.161 Many of the responsa were written to answer questions sent to Rashba by former students. I. Ta-Shma noted that in the responsa the reader can discern the personal tone of the academy head walking the student through the sources towards a legal conclusion. H.Z. Dimitrovsky prepared a critical edition of all of Rashba’s responsa based on all of the manuscripts available. However, only two volumes of this work (with notes and commentary) appeared before the editor’s death.162 Another edition, including all known responsa, was also published.163 Ritva’s responsa, collected and published by Y. Kappah,164 exhibit a strong dependence on the methods of Ramban.165 Approximately one thousand responsa of Rosh survived, attesting to his singular authority as representative of the Ashkenazi tradition in his generation. These were collected by I. Yudlov166 and S. Toledano.167 Despite the comforts afforded to Rosh in Spain after taking refuge there (see above), he at times critiques the religious practices of his new homeland, preferring to uphold the traditions of his native land.168 Less than one hundred responsa of Ran are extant.169 It is highly likely that many more responsa existed at one time.

158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169

Sefer Haterumot, ed. Aryeh Goldschmidt, Jerusalem, 1987 (Hebrew). Ta-Shma, Commentary, 2:35. Teshuvot Rabenu Moshe ben Nachman, Jerusalem, 1975 (Hebrew). Ta-Shma, Commentary, 2:56f. Responsa of Rashba, Jerusalem, 1990–2015 (Hebrew). Sheelot uTeshuvot haRaShBa, ed. A. Zeleznik, Jerusalem, 1997 (Hebrew). Rabenu Yom Tov ben Avraham Alashvili: Sheelot uTeshuvot, Jerusalem, 1958 (Hebrew). Ta-Shma, Commentary, 2:73. Sheelot uTeshuvot leRabenu Asher ben Yehiel, Jerusalem, 1993 (Hebrew). »Kamah Teshuvot chadashot shel haRosh,« Kovets al yad 12 (1994): 161–69 (Hebrew). Ta-Shma, Commentary, 2:84f. Leon A. Feldman, Sheelot uteshuvot haRaN, Jerusalem, 1984 (Hebrew).

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3.3.3

Codes Literature of Christian Spain

Ramban made a significant contribution to codes literature.170 These included two supplements to Rif ’s Halakhot for areas of law not covered by Rif, printed in standard editions of the Talmud: Hilchot Nedarim (›Laws of Vows‹) and Hilchot Bechorot vechallah (›Laws of Firstlings and Dough Offerings‹). Their composition is close in style to that of Rif himself. Ramban’s monograph, Torat Ha’adam (›The Law of Humans‹), discusses end of life issues and cites talmudic discussions and their interpretation from the Geonim through to Ramban’s own time. Finally, Ramban’s short book, Hilkhot Niddah, on the laws of family purity, is a focused study in which the laws are stated absolutely (save for some occurrences of dissenting opinion) and without attribution.171 Rashba’s primary work of codification, Torat habayit (›The Law of the House‹),172 deals with religious law pertaining to food (ritual slaughter, forbidden mixtures, etc.). The work has two parts. In Torat habayit haaroch (the long Torat habayit), Rashba examines the talmudic and post-talmudic sources in detail. In Torat habayit hakatzar (the short Torat habayit) he presents rulings without attribution. Scholars could consult the longer work and laypeople the shorter. The main critic of Rashba’s work was R. Aaron Halevi (Ra’ah), also a student of Ramban.173 He critiqued Rashba’s Torat habayit, entitled Bedek habayit (›Repair of the House‹). In turn, Rashba anonymously published Mishmeret habayit (›Defense of the House‹), responding to R. Aaron’s extensive criticism.174 Ritva authored, among other minor codificatory works, Hilkhot Berachot (›The Laws of Blessings‹).175 Rosh’s Piskei Harosh (›Rulings of Rosh‹) is a companion to Rif ’s Halakhot that has been included in printed editions of the Talmud since the advent of Jewish printing. Each of the work’s units is long and is composed in a mixture of Hebrew and Aramaic. The original sources with attribution are cited and explained.176 The goal of the work is to present the relevant talmudic literature along with the opinions of the Tosafists in light of Rif ’s conclusions, enabling a complete consultation of the sources from the Mishnah until the time of Rosh. Rosh wished to refocus the study of Jewish law as originating from the talmudic texts themselves, something which had been neglected by scholars in Toledo.177 Furthermore, Rosh seems to organize his work in this way, in part, to realize the approach of his teacher R. Meir of Rothenburg, who held that the law is according to Maimonides and Rif

170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177

See Elon, Jewish Law, 3:1242f. Charles Chavel, Kitvei Rabenu Moshe ben Nachman, Jerusalem, 1963 (Hebrew). See Elon, Jewish Law, 3:1273–75. See Ta-Shma, Commentary, 2:67. See Elon, Jewish Law, 3:1276f. Kitvei Haritva, ed. M. Yosef Blau, New York, 1956 (Hebrew). Elon, Jewish Law, 3:1252. Judah Galinsky, »Ashkenazim in Sefarad: Rosh and Tur on the Codification of Jewish Law,« JLA XVI (2006): 9.

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unless it is disputed by the Tosafists.178 The work functions as a code: in addition to Rosh collecting material, he issues rulings. R. Jacob ben Asher composed, Kitzur Piskei Harosh (›an abbreviation of the rulings of Rosh‹), a table of contents to and summary of his father’s Piskei Harosh. R. Jacob numbered the sections of his father’s work and, in a corresponding number, provided the reader with the bottom line of his father’s discussion.179 Presumably, the writing of Kitzur Piskei Harosh facilitated the study and accessibility of Rosh’s complex legal essays.180 Significantly, the writing of Kitzur Piskei Harosh may have been in preparation for authoring R. Jacob’s magnum opus, the highly influential code of practical law, Arba‘ah Turim.181 It’s four sections are: a) Orach Chayim (›the path of life‹), which deals with daily worship, the Sabbath and holidays; b) Yoreh Deʽah (›it will teach knowledge‹), that handles dietary laws and ritual slaughter, among other things; c) ʽEven Ha‘ezer (›the stone of the helper‹), that address the laws of marriage and divorce; and d) Choshen Mishpat (›the breastplate of law‹) which treats the laws of finances and damages. It is styled in part along the lines of the Spanish tradition, with Maimonides’ Mishnehh Torah at its center and, in part, along Ashkenazi lines with a collection of multiple opinions at the reader’s disposal.182 Organized by subject, the work was written in Hebrew and the author provides attributions for medieval sources. This method of presentation enabled both the novice to search through the compendium with relative ease and the qualified judge to evaluate cases based on the precedents given. The citation of talmudic sources is far less frequent. J. Galinsky suggests that by paralleling some aspects of Maimonides’ Mishnehh Torah, Spanish scholars might more readily be willing to have Arba‘ah Turim replace Mishnehh Torah for decision-making. R. Jacob presents a clear preference for the legal decisions of his father, Rosh, often concluding a section with his father’s opinion. It may be that R. Jacob reorganized much of his father’s oeuvre in order to make it more accessible. Arba‘ah Turim certainly proved to be a monumental contribution to the codification of Jewish law and later served as the basis for R. Joseph Caro’s Shulchan ʿAruch (see below).

4

The Fifteenth to the Sixteenth Century: R. Joseph Caro and R. Moses Isserles

By the beginning of the fourteenth century, the Jewish community of northern Europe was decimated. Its greatest leaders had been either massacred or exiled. By

178 179 180 181

Ta-Shma, Commentary, 2:83. Jacob Spiegel, Amudim betoldot hasefer haivri, Ramat Gan, 2005, 543f. (Hebrew). Galinsky, »Ashkenazim in Sefarad,« 12 n. 19. Israel Ta-Shma, »Rabenu Asher uvno R. Yaakov baal Haturim,« in idem, Studies in Medieval Rabbinic Literature 2, 176 (Hebrew). 182 Galinsky, »Ashkenazim in Sefarad,« 18–21.

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the middle of the fourteenth century, the region was further affected by the death of so many due to the Black Plague. The year 1391–1392 witnessed violence through mass riots and forced conversions in the Spanish kingdoms of Castile and Aragon and in the principality of Catalonia.183 A century later, in 1492, the Jews were expelled from Spain and dispersed all over the world. One refugee, R. Joseph Caro, left Spain as a little boy and after residing in several countries over a long period of time, relocated to the land of Israel where he eventually was a member of the rabbinic court of Safed. Caro authored Beit Yosef (›the House of Joseph‹) and Shulchan ʿAruch (›The Set Table‹). In the former, the author provided the community of scholars with a source book; in the latter, he brought to the community of laypeople a concise handbook. Beit Yosef serves as a supplement to Arba‘ah Turim.184 In his engaging style, Caro presents the talmudic origins of the laws discussed in Arba‘ah Turim (generally neglected by R. Jacob ben Asher); he explains the reasoning behind the multiple opinions cited. Caro clarifies the objections R. Jacob had regarding specific legal positions; adds more sources to those cited; and, finally, Caro gives his legal conclusion. Caro chose not to draw conclusions based on his own evaluation of the reasoning of earlier sages. Instead, he would look at the decisions of Rif, Rambam, and Rosh and determine the law based on majority rule. When one of these authorities did not give an express opinion, Caro turned to his second-tier of authorities— including Ramban, Rashba, Ran, Mordechai, and Semag—and decide in accordance with the majority. Finally, Caro acknowledged that communities should continue their own strict practices according to the historical understanding of the law in their communities, even if he promoted a more lenient view.185 Beit Yosef is printed in standard editions of Arba‘ah Turim. In addition, Caro authored Kesef Mishneh, a running commentary to Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah.186 After completing Beit Yosef, Caro authored, Shulchan ʿAruch (›The Set Table‹), a work succinctly providing Caro’s conclusions based on his analyses in Beit Yosef. Its structure was based on Arba‘ah Turim. Accordingly, its four parts match the four sections of Arba‘ah Turim (see above). The four parts are further divided into sections (simanim), which are then subdivided into paragraphs (seʽifim). Intended as a legal primer for young students, the book is divided into thirty sections in total since, originally, it was designed to be read in its entirety on a monthly basis. At times, statements of law are extremely concise, even when the earlier codes being cited provided some explanation. Imitating Maimonides’ approach, attributions and names of sources are omitted. Unlike Maimonides, Caro provides more than one opinion in his digest stating, »yesh omrim,« ›there are those who say.‹ Unlike Mai-

183 Benjamin Gampel, Anti-Jewish Riots in the Crown of Aragon and the Royal Response 1391–1392, Cambridge, 2016. 184 See Israel Ta-Shma, »Rabbi Joseph Caro and His Beit Yosef,« in Moreshet Sepharad, ed. Haim Beinart, Jerusalem, 1992, 2:192–206. 185 Elon, Jewish Law, 3:1312–40. 186 Moshe Assis, »Mashehu al Kesef Mishnehh,« Asufot 3 (1989): 275–322 (Hebrew).

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monides, who presents everything in one uniform style, Caro often maintains the original formulation of the work from which he is borrowing. Accordingly, the reader will find Hebrew, Aramaic, or a mixture of both in the statements of law in Shulchan ʿAruch. The work was first published in 1565 in Venice and immediately gained great popularity, but not preeminent authority. In addition, the work had its significant detractors. In the centuries following, as legal scholars chose to author their monographs in reaction to Caro’s work, Shulchan ʿAruch became more and more influential, eventually becoming the universally accepted code of Jewish law.187 Some of Caro’s responsa were published in Sefer Avkat Rochel (Leipzig, 1859). At the same time that R. Joseph Caro was compiling Beit Yosef, a younger contemporary in Poland, R. Moses Isserles (Rema) was writing a similar type of work on the Arba‘ah Turim; he called it Darkhei Moshe (›The Ways of Moses‹).188 However, once Caro’s work reached Poland, Isserles realized the greatness and superiority of Caro’s opus and decidedly changed the format and purpose of his work. Instead of a full-blown supplement to Arba‘ah Turim, Isserles decided to abbreviate his work. In it he would highlight aspects of what was missing from Beit Yosef: the opinions of more recent codifiers and commentators (Caro only cited classical works), specifically highlighting the areas in which the law had developed in a different direction within the Ashkenazi cultural milieu. Furthermore, Isserles’ method of decision making did not follow Caro’s adaptation of majority rule. Rather, Isserles applied a principle employed by Ashkenazi authorities, hilkheta kevatrai, »the law is in accord with the later authority.«189 Darkhei Moshe is printed in standard editions of Arba‘ah Turim.190 Responsa of Rema were published by A. Siev.191 R. Moses Isserles also authored glosses to Caro’s Shulchan ʿAruch. The work is called Mappah, or tablecloth, intended to be spread over Caro’s Shulchan ʿAruch. Like Caro, who extracted from his longer work, Beit Yosef, Isserles drew from Darkhei Moshe and appended his succinctly formulated conclusions to the rulings in Shulchan ʿAruch. His supplements to Shulchan ʿAruch, like his addenda to Beit Yosef, present the opinions of northern European scholars and the longstanding traditions of the Ashkenazi community. Unforeseen by the authors or their contemporaries, over time the Shulchan ʿAruch with its accompanying Ashkenazi glosses became the universally accepted code of Jewish religious practice. In a style that Isadore Twersky has labeled ›austere functionality,‹192 the Shulchan ʿAruch provides its audience just with the fixed

187 Isadore Twersky, »The Shulhan ʿAruk: Enduring Code of Jewish Law,« Judaism 16 (1967): 141–58; Joseph Davis, »The Reception of ›Shulhan Arukh‹ and the Formation of Ashkenazic Jewish Identity,« AJS Review 26:2 (2002): 251–76; R.J. Zwi Werblowsky, Joseph Karo: Lawyer and Mystic, London, 1962. 188 Asher Siev, The Rama, Jerusalem, 1957 (Hebrew). 189 Twersky, »Shulhan ʿAruk,« 146–48; Israel Ta-Shma, »The Law is in Accord with the Later Authority,« in idem, ed., Creativity and Tradition, Cambridge, 2006, 142–65. 190 For further details see Elon, Jewish Law, 3:1356–61. 191 Responsa of Rama, Jerusalem, 1970 (Hebrew). 192 Twersky, »Shulhan ʿAruk,« 153.

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and final laws, removed as the work is from even hints at theology or the inclusion of extra-legal material. Despite Caro’s strong mystical leanings, Shulchan ʿAruch is categorically different—and more legalistic—than even Mishnehh Torah or Arba‘ah Turim, Caro’s own most admired forerunners. In the end, functionality prevailed, and the course of history proved the Shulchan ʿAruch to be a lasting code of Jewish law. For Further Reading Brody, Robert, The Geonim of Babylonia and the Shaping of Medieval Jewish Culture, New Haven/ CT, 1998. Elon, Menachem, Jewish Law: History, Sources and Principles, Philadelphia/PA, 1994. Hecht, Neil S. et al., An Introduction to the History and Sources of Jewish Law, Oxford, 2002. Saiman, Chaim, Halakhah: The Rabbinic Idea of Law, Princeton/NJ, 2018. Soloveitchik, Haym, Collected Essays, Liverpool, 2013–2014. Twersky, Isadore, Introduction to the Code of Maimonides (Mishnehh Torah), New Haven/CT, 1980. Wimpfheimer, Barry, The Talmud: A Biography, Princeton/NJ, 2018.

Medieval Biblical Commentary and Aggadic Literature Rachel S. Mikva

In the Geonic era (ca. 600–1000 CE), diverse forms of Jewish literature began to proliferate and existing genres, like midrash (rabbinic interpretation), took on new shapes. This chapter explores the emergence of biblical commentary and the multiplication of aggadic (narrative) literary forms, tracing their development during the Middle Ages. The rise of Islam and circumstances in the Arabic-speaking world helped to catalyze innovations in Jewish scholarship. Muslim emphasis on Qur’anic study inspired increased interest in biblical exegesis, beyond its utility for distilling halakhah (Jewish law/praxis) and teasing out midrashic creativity. Muslim concern about describing God in anthropomorphic terms revived questions about their frequency in earlier midrash. A broader embrace of rationalism brought the teachings of philosophy to bear on biblical study. Advances in Arabic grammar and lexicography cultivated a scientific approach to Hebrew, and spurred competitive claims regarding the languages’ incomparable beauty. Collections of hadith, tafsir, poetry and stories provided models for a broad variety of anthological efforts.1 Polemical discourse also had an impact, with Jews responding to Muslim arguments that the rabbis had added their own teachings to the revealed Word, and that certain Jewish traditions violated the biblical text or rule of reason. The Karaites2, a Jewish schismatic group influenced by these currents of thought, added pressure from within.3 They produced exegesis that demonstrated expertise in linguistics, highlighted differences between literal and non-literal interpretations, and promoted a direct scripturalist reading that set aside rabbinic authority.4

1 Mark Cohen, »Medieval Jewry in the World of Islam,« in The Oxford Handbook of Jewish Studies, ed. Martin Goodman, New York, 2004, 193–218; David Stern, ed., The Anthology in Jewish Literature, Oxford, 2004. A hadith is a reported saying or practice of the Prophet Muhammad; tafsir is Qur’anic exegesis. 2 Leon Nemoy, Karaite anthology, »Introduction,« xiii–xxvi, New Haven/CT, 1952. 3 See Marzena Zawanowka’s contribution in this volume. 4 Hava Lazarus-Yafeh, Intertwined Worlds: Medieval Islam and Bible Criticism, Princeton/NJ, 1992, 19–49; Daniel Frank, Search Scripture Well: Karaite Exegesis and the Origins of the Jewish Bible Commentary in the Islamic East, EJM 19, Leiden, 2004.

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Medieval Biblical Commentary and Aggadic Literature

Biblical Commentary

This was the context in which biblical commentary (parshanut) first arose among the Geonim of Babylonia in the ninth century, subject to methods of critical and linguistic analysis different from earlier rabbinic hermeneutics. Moving away from more elaborate or fanciful interpretations found throughout Talmud and midrash, their exegesis focused on the plain sense or contextual meaning of the text—what came to be known in Hebrew as peshat. Their achievements shaped the course of exegesis throughout the Jewish world. We will briefly investigate the emergence of peshat among the Geonim and investigate its growing dominance in medieval biblical commentary, beginning with Rashi and his »school« in northern France during the eleventh and twelfth centuries. The work of his grandson, Rashbam, is often described as the pinnacle of peshat exegesis. Abraham Ibn Ezra, a prolific twelfth-century rabbi, was another important contributor to peshat commentary. His exegetical perspective was shaped in his native Spain, which had become the epicenter of Judeo-Arabic grammatical scholarship; after he was forced to leave, he then disseminated it throughout his travels in Christian Europe. The »plain sense« did not long suffice, however, and it became one stage in biblical hermeneutics that necessarily continued to evolve. Scholars around the Jewish world during the twelfth to fourteenth centuries began to integrate philosophy, narrative analysis, and mysticism within their readings of Scripture, expressed in biblical commentary and other writings. Exploring these developments through the work of Maimonides, Gersonides, David Kimḥi, and Naḥmanides, we observe that the plain sense continued to be of value, but was itself contingent on historical context and individual perspective. Commentators borrowed from and contested with earlier voices, multiplying possibilities of meaning and adding to the store of Jewish learning. By the fourteenth century, the various approaches could be categorized in a four-fold hermeneutical construct known by the acronym PaRDeS: respectively peshat, remez, derash, and sod, representing the plain sense, typology or allegory, midrash, and mystical interpretations. The Spanish scholar Baḥya ben Asher loosely applied a similar structure in his commentary; others were less explicit, but the foundational midrashic hermeneutic of multivocality had reestablished itself within medieval parshanut. Its centrality to the study of Scripture was evident in the publication of the second Rabbinic Bible in 1524, which printed the Masoretic text (and apparatus), Targum, and several commentaries side by side on the same page.5 Reprinted in a variety of permutations and eventually named Miqraʾot Gedolot, it became one of the most popular Jewish books in the Middle Ages,6 flourishing in

5 Daniel Bomberg, a Christian printer and publisher, was the driving force behind its publication. See B. Barry Levy, »Rabbinic Bibles, ›Mikra’ot Gedolot,‹ and Other Great Books,« Tradition 25:4 (Summer, 1991): 65–81. 6 Two relatively recent editions have been published in Hebrew: Torat Hayyim, Jerusalem, 1988 (Hebrew), on the Torah, and Mikra’ot Gedolot haKeter, Ramat Gan, 1992 (Hebrew), in the process of being published on the entire Bible. An adaptation/translation in English is also available for Exodus–Deuteronomy: Michael Carasik, trans., The Commentators’ Bible, Philadelphia/PA, 2005–11.

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an age of great summae and florilegia in Christian culture (including the popular exegetical collection, Glossa Ordinaria). After the expulsion of Jews from Spain in 1492, Jewish scholars spread across Europe and the Ottoman Empire. With diverse pedagogies, hermeneutical emphases, life experiences and cultural contexts, they perpetuated this collective conversation with the biblical text. Parshanut became a permanent fixture of Jewish learning.

1.1

From Derash to Peshat

In examining the rise of peshat, it is useful to start with the Geonim. Saʿadia (882–942) offered a clear guideline: the text should be interpreted according to the plain sense, unless it conflicts with one’s senses, reason, another verse, or rabbinic tradition (Emunot vʾDeot 7:2). Samuel ben Ḥofni (969–1034) validated this principle by linking it to the Talmudic dictum: »a biblical verse does not leave the realm of its peshat« (b. Shab. 63a; cf. b. Yev. 11b, 24a). It is not evident that his reading reflects the intent of the Talmudic passage, either in presuming that a verse can mean only the peshat, or that peshat in fact connotes the plain sense. Raphael Loewe argues that the essential notion conveyed by the root in Talmud is authoritative teaching.7 Alternatively, David Weiss Halivni maintains, »Peshat here means context.«8 Given the growing authority of Talmud, it is not surprising that Samuel ben Ḥofni would try to ground the peshat revolution in the voice of tradition. Peshat and derash did not emerge as methodologically distinct categories in Talmudic discourse, however, even though the terms exist within classical rabbinic literature; the roots are often used interchangeably in Amoraic texts to mean teach or explain.9 Nor did the sages suggest a preference for peshat interpretation—authoritative, contextual, or plain—over against derash. Images like the »hammer that shatters the rock (Jer 23:29)– just as the [the rock] is split into several pieces, so does a biblical verse convey several meanings« (b. Sanh. 34a) suggest a more all-embracing hermeneutic. Nonetheless, many elements later assigned to peshat as a hermeneutical category are found within Talmud and midrash. Despite the presumption that every detail in the biblical text bears significance, prompting atomistic readings that treat words and even letters as distinct units for exegesis,10 context is frequently considered in the determination of meaning and the plain sense is recognized as a possi-

7 Raphael Loewe, »The ›Plain‹ Meaning of Scripture in Early Jewish Exegesis,« Papers of the Institute for Jewish Studies London, vol. 1, ed. Joseph G. Weiss, Jerusalem, 1964, 140–85. 8 Halivni, Peshat and Derash, New York, 1991, 26. 9 Rimon Kasher, »The Interpretation of Scripture in Rabbinic Literature,« in Mikra: The Literature of the Jewish People in the Period of the Second Temple and the Talmud, vol. 1, Leiden, 1988, 553. 10 Burton Visotzky, »Jots and Tittles: On Scriptural Interpretation in Rabbinic and Patristic Literatures,« Prooftexts 8:3 (1988): 257–69.

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bility. Sensitivity to biblical language and style are evident in the sages’ comments that some biblical expressions are exaggerations, and some repetitions neither add to nor detract from the meaning of the text. Thus, as exegetes in Babylonia and northern France first began to highlight plain sense readings of Scripture, it did not seem like a radical departure from tradition. However, as they increasingly distinguished between derash as a homiletical reading and peshat as an analysis of the verse’s vocabulary, syntax, context, literary form and structure—and presented interpretations that were unmediated by tradition—they moved to the forefront of the peshat revolution.11 1.1.1

The Emergence of the Northern French School

Peshat in northern France arose through its own unique constellation of circumstances. Jewish scholars encountered challenges that were somewhat different than those faced by the Babylonian Geonim: Patristic writers had long claimed that Jews were blind to the meaning of Scripture, and broad hermeneutical license seemed to validate Christian allegorical reading. This was dangerous because they utilized such readings to justify supersession and render the Jewish covenant obsolete. French exegetes were partially exposed to Jewish learning from the Islamic world via North Africa and Spain through the dictionary of Menaḥem ben Saruq (c. 910–970) and grammatical work of Dunash ibn Labrat (920–990), which were written in Hebrew rather than Arabic. From the expansive curriculum of Rhineland rabbinic academies that dominated Ashkenazic (Franco-German) scholarship, they absorbed an interest in biblical study. After the devastation of German Jewish communities in the First Crusade (1096), northern France emerged as a major center for Jewish intellectual activity in the twelfth century; a critical mass of scholars contributed to the intellectual dynamism of the age. Part of the transformation was simply about the tremendous production of parshanut. There are ten commentaries on the Book of Job, for instance, written between 1070 and 1170.12 Many of these developments unfolded during the twelfth-century renaissance in Europe (sometimes referred to as the »long century,« 1050–1250), blossoming in the wake of philosophical and scientific learning, an increase in literacy, developments in agriculture and economics, and a period of relative peace and prosperity in Western Europe.13

11 Mordechai Cohen, »Reflections on the Conception of Peshuto shel Miqra at the Beginning of the Twenty-first Century«, in ‘To settle the plain meaning of the verse’: Studies in Biblical Exegesis, ed. Sara Japhet and Eran Viezel, Jerusalem, 2011, 5–58 (Hebrew); Edward Greenstein, »Medieval Jewish Commentaries,« in Back to the Sources, ed. Barry Holtz, New York, 1984, 212–59. 12 Avraham Grossman, Early Sages of Ashkenaz, 3rd ed., Jerusalem, 1981, 419f (Hebrew). 13 Elazar Touitou, Exegesis in Perpetual Motion: Studies in the Pentateuchal Commentary of Rabbi Samuel ben Meir, Ramat Gan, 2005, 11–45 (Hebrew); Sidney Packard, Twelfth-Century Europe, Amherst, 1973, 151.

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Seven scholars represent the most prominent voices of the Northern French school: Menachem b. Ḥelbo (1015–1085), Rashi (1040–1105), Joseph Kara (c. 1050–1130), Shemaiah (1060–1130), Rashbam (1080–1160), Eliezer of Beaugency (mid 12th c.), Joseph b. Isaac Bekhor Shor (late 12th c.).14 Here we will focus primarily on Rashi and his grandson, Rashbam. 1.1.2

Rashi (1040–1105)

Rabbi Shlomo Yitzḥaki, better known as Rashi,15 is described as the founder of peshat in northern France.16 His biblical commentary represented an early stage of the movement, with three-quarters of his comments still invoking classical rabbinic midrash, and peshat deployed more as a pedagogical gloss than a hermeneutical category. Nonetheless, he illuminated what an individual contextual reading might look like. Rashi wrote commentaries on the entire Hebrew Bible17 and his work was immediately popular; it remained foundational for Jewish commentary, with approximately 150 supercommentaries on his exegesis. In a rare methodological comment (ad Gen 3:8), Rashi acknowledged that there were numerous midrashim about God walking around in the Garden but, »I have come only [to present] the peshat of the verse, along with aggadah that resolves the words in a well-turned fashion (lit: »each word articulated according to its character,« see Prov 25:11).18 His primary objective was to explicate the text (peshat as gloss), and the aggadot he brought were traditional rabbinic teachings that responded to exegetical cruxes. On the first word of Genesis, Rashi wrote that the verse cries out for creative explication, and then presented well-established midrashic interpretations that resolve the linguistic difficulty: In the beginning of … what? There is no noun following the construct form, and tradition sometimes read it as, »With Torah, God created the heavens and the earth.«19 Yet Rashi provided a common-sense peshat as well, adjusting the grammar to yield, »At the beginning of the creation of the heavens and

14 Grossman, »The School of Literal Jewish Exegesis in Northern France,« in Sæbø, HB/OT I/ 2, 321–71. 15 Grossman, Rashi, London, 2014; Meyer Gruber, Rashi’s Commentary on Psalms, Leiden, 2004; Steven and Sarah Levy, JPS Rashi Discussion Torah Commentary, Philadelphia/PA, 2018. 16 Although Menaḥem b. Ḥelbo preceded him and was also inclined toward plain sense reading of Hebrew Bible, he never achieved the same status; much of his teaching is lost, preserved mostly in the writing of his nephew, Joseph Kara. 17 Extant material on Ezra-Nehemiah, Chronicles and the end of Job are likely the final product of his students. 18 Scholars argue about the precise meaning of this comment; see Sarah Kamin, »Rashi’s Exegetical Categorization with Respect to the Distinction Between Peshat and Derash,« Immanuel 11 (Fall, 1980): 15–32. 19 Robert Harris, »Medieval Jewish Biblical Exegesis,« in A History of Biblical Interpretation, vol. 2, ed. Alan Hauser and Duane Watson, Grand Rapids/MI, 2009, 145 f. explains the logic of the midrashic interpretation.

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the earth…«. Ultimately, both readings resolve the crux by teaching that the first words of Torah do not describe the first moment of creation. His exegesis of Moses killing the Egyptian taskmaster in Exod 2:11–12 provides a different example of this approach. Rashi asserted that the detail about Moses turning this way and that should be understood according to its plain sense: he looked to see if it was safe to strike the man without being observed. Yet a significant textual difficulty remained. It is not linguistic, but theological and moral: how could the prophet of God commit murder? As usual, Rashi did not explicitly identify the issue; in fact, the way one learns to study his commentary is repeatedly to ask: what is the exegetical crux to which Rashi’s discussion responds? In this instance, he related a midrashic tradition that the taskmaster had raped his victim’s wife. Realizing that the husband knew what had occurred, the Egyptian proceeded to beat the man nonstop. Moses prophetically understood what had transpired, and could also see that no descendant of the taskmaster would ever become a righteous proselyte. Thus the language of Moses turning this way and that and seeing there was no man also communicated that Moses looked into the past and the future and properly judged that the taskmaster merited a death sentence. (Cf. Tanḥuma Shemot 9) This background does not reflect the plain sense or contextual meaning, but it does resolve the problem of the passage »in a well-turned fashion.« In selecting and reframing aggadot, Rashi repeatedly reinforced the idea that rabbinic midrash is essential to explicating Scripture’s true meaning; Oral Torah is required to understand Written Torah. Nonetheless, Rashi’s commentaries on the Prophets and Writings generally incorporated less derash than his Torah commentary. It may simply be because less material was available, but his grandson (Rashbam) argued that Rashi’s commitment to peshat interpretation deepened over time. Perhaps to validate his own approach, Rashbam reported that his grandfather regretted not having more time to redo his commentary in light of »newer contextual readings being innovated daily« (ad Gen 37:2). Those who followed Rashi in northern France evinced a more singular commitment to peshat. One of his students, Joseph Kara offered a dramatic metaphor: A person who does not know the peshat and thus turns to derash can be compared to a person drowning in a river who might cast about, in desperation, for anything that he can find to save himself (ad 1 Sam 1:17). 1.1.3

Rashbam (1080–1160)

It is Rabbi Shmuel ben Meir (Rashbam),20 however, who was the most consistent peshat exegete of the northern French School. He admitted that it comprised only one level of meaning, and not even the most important one; instead, he called halakhah the »essence of Torah« (ad Exod 21:1). Yet Rashbam believed halakhic 20 Hanna Liss, Creating Fictional Worlds: Peshat-Exegesis and Narrativity in Rashbam’s Commentary on the Torah, Leiden, 2011; Martin Lockshin, Rashbam’s Commentary: An Annotated Translation, Genesis, Lewiston/NY, 1989; Exodus, Atlanta/GA, 1997.

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exegesis had already been completed by the Talmudic sages, so his purpose was to explicate the peshat and sometimes read it over against rabbinic praxis. One example was his insistence that the »deep peshat« of the verse, this shall serve you as a sign on your hand and a reminder on your forehead (Exod 13:9), is metaphorical, not a reference to phylacteries. Still affirming the ritual as obligatory because halakhah has the power to »uproot Scripture« (ad Exod 21:1, citing b. Sot. 16a), he believed the rabbis did not need to establish a biblical foundation for the practice. Martin Lockshin speculates that Rashbam, as a reputable Talmudist, felt at liberty to read Tanakh apart from its halakhic implications. In addition, the Karaite challenge to rabbinic authority did not exist in Northern Europe, so the danger of exposing a cleavage between Scripture and the praxis that relied upon it was lessened.21 Yet Rashbam still made an effort to demonstrate that rabbinic halakhah relied on midrash only when there was extraneous language in the biblical text that called out for additional interpretation (ad Gen 1:1, 37:2). With verses for which Rashi had already provided a peshat reading, Rashbam frequently did not comment. When presenting an interpretation contrary to his grandfather’s, he rarely remarked upon the difference. For example, Rashi quoted the hyper-literal midrashic reading of Israel saw the Egyptians dead on the shore of the sea (Exod 14:30), imagining that the sea miraculously spat them out so the Israelites would be assured that their enemy was dead (Cf. Mekhilta beShallah 6). In a creative way, it grappled with the strange wording of the verse. Rashbam, however (without noting Rashi’s comment), worked with the fluid syntax to yield a more straightforward reading: As Israel stood on the shore of the sea, they saw the sea turn back upon the Egyptians, drowning them, and thus saw the Egyptians dead. At the end of the commentary on Exodus, Rashbam urged readers to embrace his teachings and those of his grandfather, »to grasp what I have explained without letting go of the other« (cf. Eccl 7:18). Peshat interpretations could undercut Christian truth claims and polemic. In comments on Gen 49:10 and Exod 3:22, Rashbam specifically noted that peshat served to refute heretics; other comments may relate to Christian interpretation without being explicit (e.g. Gen 1:2, Exod 32:19). He generally stuck by his methodology, however, even when it had an opposite effect. For example, Rashbam asserted that three divine beings appeared to Abraham (Gen 18), one of whom was named JHWH, potentially facilitating associations with the Trinity. On a rare occasion, Rashbam deviated from the peshat, as when he asserted that the Torah of leprosy simply had nothing of value to teach on the literal level (ad Lev 13:2), or when he affirmed the rabbinic interpretation of »an eye for an eye« as monetary compensation (ad Exod 21:24). He wrote of explicating the text according to derekh eretz (the way of the world) or derekh hamikraʾot, the style in which Scripture communicates. The latter filter meant that he generally did not attach interpretive significance to his discerning observations

21 Martin Lockshin, »Tradition or Context: Two Exegetes Struggle with Peshat,« in Ancient Israel to Modern Judaism: Intellect in Quest of Understanding, ed. Jacob Neusner, Ernest Frerichs and Nahum Sarna, Atlanta/GA, 1989, 173–86.

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of parallelism, foreshadowing, rhetoric, etc.22 Rashbam focused on basic rational exegesis discovered through grammar, logic, context, biblical style, human experience and laws of nature. Although he never defined peshat, it is evident that he moved from Rashi’s tradition-infused gloss to a more developed hermeneutic. There is a striking similarity between the Christian Victorines in Paris and Rashbam in their championing the lost contextual meaning of the Bible, restoring the narrative, and treating multiple senses of Scripture. Hugh of St. Victor (c. 1097–1141) was expansive and systematic; in his Didascalion, he set the image of a building, with its foundation (literal), structure (allegorical) and color (tropological). Like Rashbam, he did not consider sensus literalis to be the »apogee of Scripture’s intention,« but he was committed to drawing it out.23 In embracing Scripture as an eternally relevant text capable of speaking anew in every age, peshat offered a rich expansion of meaning that suited the Zeitgeist. According to Eliezer Touitou, »The twelfth-century renaissance awakened an intoxicating enthusiasm in the ›intellectuals,‹ among whom Rashbam should be counted and for whom he wrote his commentary.« They believed they were »revealing wondrously new ways of understanding Scripture, ways that were not imagined by their predecessors.«24 These methods led to continuing innovation in biblical exegesis. Rashbam’s primary disciple, Eliezer of Beaugency, seemed as dedicated to peshat as his master. The work of another student, Joseph Bekhor Shor, anticipated new directions that signaled the eclipse of peshat. His recognition of parallelism, for instance, built on his teacher’s literary sensitivity—adding significance to style and reshaping contextual understanding.25 The concept of peshat itself was in perpetual motion. Before examining those new directions, it is important to discuss the foremost exemplar of the peshat school in the Spanish milieu. 1.1.4

Ibn Ezra (c. 1089–1164)

Rabbi Abraham Ibn Ezra was an accomplished religious and secular poet, mathematician, astronomer, astrologist, philosopher, grammarian, and biblical exegete.26 He

22 Idem, »Rashbam as a ›Literary‹ Exegete,« in With Reverence for the Word: Medieval Scriptural Exegesis in Judaism, Christianity and Islam, ed. Jane D. McAuliffe et al., Oxford, 2002, 83–91; Robert Harris, Discerning Parallelism: A Study in Northern French Medieval Jewish Biblical Exegesis, Providence/RI, 2004, ch. 5; Touitou, Exegesis in Perpetual Motion, 134–46. See e.g. Rashbam on Gen 1:1, 1:14, 28:12, 37:2, 41:2, 49:3. 23 Sarah Kamin, »Affinities between Jewish and Christian Exegesis in Twelfth-Century Northern France,« in Jews and Christians Interpret the Bible, ed. Sarah Kamin, Jerusalem, 1991, 16. See Michael Signer, »Restoring the Narrative: Jewish and Christian Exegesis in the 12th Century,« in McAuliffe, With Reverence, 70–82. 24 Touitou, Exegesis in Perpetual Motion, 244. 25 The »school« in Northern France declined after the twelfth century; see Ivan Marcus, »Why Did Medieval Northern Jewry Disappear?«, in Jews, Christians and Muslims in Medieval and Early Modern Times, ed. Arnold Franklin et al., Leiden, 2014, 99–117. 26 Isadore Twersky and Jay Harris, eds., Rabbi Abraham Ibn Ezra: Studies in the Writings of a Twelfth-Century Jewish Polymath, Philadelphia/PA, 1993.

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left Spain in 1140 for reasons that are not completely clear, and moved around Europe and North Africa for much of the rest of his life—bringing with him the storehouse of learning that had accumulated during the Spanish »golden age.« He introduced Jews in Italy, France, and England to Hebrew grammar, the decimal system, astronomy, and philosophy—becoming well-known for his staunch rationalism and novel peshat exegesis that covered much of the Tanakh. With frequent redrafting of his own material, there is both a long and a short commentary on seven books, some extant only in fragments. Ibn Ezra defined his method in an introduction to the Torah commentary, composed in rhyme: This is Sefer haYashar by Abraham the poet/ It is bound by the cords of grammar/ and made fit by the eye of reason/ and all who rely on it are happy.

Yashar, meaning »straight,« was a synonym of peshat for Ibn Ezra. His introduction continues to define five different types of exegesis, but only one yields the »point at the center of the circle,« i.e. the true rendering of Scripture. Christians were completely outside the circle; according to Ibn Ezra, they invented allegorical readings that had no rational basis. More dangerous, however, were Karaites, who were often outside the circle with patently anti-halakhic readings— but also sometimes on the perimeter and occasionally right on point. Consequently, their exegesis could easily lead people astray. Ibn Ezra was more delicate with his treatment of rabbinic interpretation. The Geonim could identify the »point,« but their insistence on weaving in philosophical and other discussions led them to the perimeter of the truth-seeking circle. Rabbinic scholars from Christian lands were close to the mark, but occasionally deviated by depending too much on derash. Of course, it was Ibn Ezra’s own method of exegesis that had the strongest truth claim according to his analysis: clarify the contextual reading based on grammar and reason. When it came to halakhah, however, Ibn Ezra affirmed rabbinic authority. If their reading could not be reconciled with the peshat, he argued that the sages linked authoritative tradition to a verse as a mnemonic device, but did not actually derive it from there (ad Exod 21:8). More often, he tried to reconcile their reading with the grammatical sense of the text. The way of peshat does not deviate on account of derash, for the Torah has seventy facets. But regarding instructions, statutes and laws, if we find two meanings for a verse, and one meaning aligns with the words of the sages of old, who were all righteous, we rely on their truth without doubt.27

This approach differed from Rashbam’s hermeneutic. In fact, Ibn Ezra was asked to peruse a commentary while living in England that was likely Rashbam’s, and it

27 Torah commentary, Introduction. Ibn Ezra defended rabbinic interpretation regarding phylacteries, for example, contesting those who read the verse metaphorically (ad Exod 13:9).

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prompted a sharp rebuke. One comment had maintained that there was evening and there was morning (Gen 1) did not, on a contextual level, teach that days begin in the evening; even so, as a rabbinic teaching it was nonetheless binding. However, Ibn Ezra believed that the rabbinic reading was the peshat, and that it had serious implications for proper observance of holy time. Publishing a response framed as a letter from Shabbat, Ibn Ezra cursed anyone who believed the comment, read it aloud or copied it down.28 He consistently strove to make peshat accord with the dictates of reason. He saw anthropomorphism as a natural way to express ideas about God metaphorically, and miracles as reasonable because God is capable of anything. Contrary to classical midrash, he declined to read significance into plene versus defective spelling, numerology, or redundant passages—arguing that God would not communicate in such obscure hints (ad Exod 1:7 short comm., ad Exod 18:21 long comm.). Similarly, stylistic elements are simply the garments of Scripture, without necessarily conveying meaning (ad Exod 20:1 long comm., Exod 23:20 short comm.); Torah is meant to be understood by all Israel. Believing that the Masoretes’ work in standardizing the text was impeccable, he frequently insisted that there was no need for emendation, and also rejected gymnastics that grammarians used to create exceptions to their own rules (Yesod Mora 1, long comm. ad Exod 6:3, 11:4). »The eye of reason« sometimes led Ibn Ezra to surprising positions. Disturbed by anachronisms in the text, he argued that they are later additions (ad Gen 12:6, 22:14, Deut 1:2, 3:11, 34:1.6). He recognized the author of Isaiah 40–66 as a later hand, not the eighth-century prophet from Jerusalem.29 Sometimes Ibn Ezra marked his more radical ideas by calling them a mystery or noting, »the intellectual person will understand.« Demonstrating a prescient historical consciousness, he recognized that certain aspects of antiquity could not be fully understood in his time (ad Gen 49:19, Exod 30:23). And, despite strongly worded challenges to previous commentaries, he demonstrated a degree of epistemological humility by identifying some of his own comments as clearly proven, others as mere opinion or conjecture. Reason occasionally led him away from the peshat, when he felt a philosophical allegory or metaphorical reading was the only way to make sense of a verse. In such cases, he indulged a bit of neo-Platonic cosmogony or anthropological wisdom that he viewed as embedded in the biblical text (e.g. ad Exod 3:15), although he was cautious lest it legitimate spiritualizing the commandments or undermining rabbinic authority. This philosophical bent was later amplified in the work of Maimonides and Gersonides (see below).

28 Igeret haShabbat, Introduction. See Zev Farber, http://thetorah.com/can-torah-contradicthalacha/. 29 In veiled language, ad Isa 40:1. See Uriel Simon, »Ibn Ezra Between Medievalism and Modernism: The Case of Isaiah XL–LXVI,« in Congress Volume. Salamanca, 1983, ed. John A. Emerton et al., VTSup 36, Leiden, 1983, 257–71.

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The Expansion of Meaning

The paragons of peshat exegesis in Europe, Rashbam and Ibn Ezra, also signaled new directions. It was not an abandonment of plain sense reading as much as an evolution of it. As Frank Kermode writes, The plain sense continually suffers change, and if it did not it would grow rigid and absurd…. [It] is always dependent on the understanding of larger wholes and on changing custom and authority.30

1.2.1

Moses Maimonides and Philosophy (1135–1204)

Rabbi Moses ben Maimon, known as Maimonides or Rambam, did not write a biblical commentary but exegesis pervades his philosophical and halakhic compositions; parts of his Guide for the Perplexed are devoted to thorny textual issues.31 Forced to flee Spain as a child in the wake of the Almohad invasion, he never left the Muslim milieu.32 Consequently, he was able to benefit from the broad curriculum of JudeoArabic learning, and remained focused on the reconciliation of Scripture and reason so central to philosophy within that culture. For Maimonides, philosophical allegory often was the peshat. He claimed that whenever observation or scientific knowledge contradicted the literal sense of the biblical text, it was the intent of Scripture to teach allegorically or esoterically. As knowledge continued to develop, so should understanding of Scripture (Guide II:25).33 Some of Maimonides’ exegesis built on familiar cruxes, as when he grappled with the grammatical strangeness of Genesis 1:1. He asserted that the first word, Bereshit, presents an ontological principle, not a chronological account; the heavens represent philosophical instruction about the celestial spheres, and the earth represents the sublunar world. Through the narrative of creation, Torah lays out an entire system of physics (Guide I: Introduction, II:30).34 Interpreting God’s instructions to Adam and Eve in the Garden, Maimonides excavated a fresh problem. He considered the exoteric meaning scandalous: how could God deny humanity knowledge of good and evil, but hold them morally accountable? Why would God forbid them to pursue knowledge, and declare the consequence of disobedience that they would acquire new powers of the intellect?

30 Kermode, »The Plain Sense of Things,« in Midrash and Literature, ed. Geoffrey Hartman and Stanford Budick, New Haven/CT, 1986, 180, 191. 31 Mordechai Cohen, Opening the Gates of Interpretation, Leiden, 2011. 32 The Almohads, a fanatical tribe of Muslim Berbers, offered Jewish residents the choice of conversion, exile, or death. See Herbert Davidson, Moses Maimonides: The Man and His Works, New York, 2004. 33 Warren Zev Harvey, »On Maimonides’ Allegorical Readings of Scripture,« in Interpretation and Allegory: Antiquity to the Modern Period, ed. John Whitman, Leiden, 2003, 181. 34 Sarah Klein-Braslavy, »The Creation of the World and Maimonides’ Interpretation of Gen I–V,« in Maimonides and Philosophy, ed. Shlomo Pines and Yirmiyahu Yovel, Dordrecht, 1986, 65–78.

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Maimonides’ exegesis argued that humanity was originally created with knowledge of truth and falsehood. After eating from the tree, they were reduced to subjective notions of good and bad that we recognize today. Created in the image of the divine, they were diminished by their transgression (Guide I:2). Maimonides often affirmed the exoteric and esoteric meaning of biblical passages, declaring them »apples of gold in settings of silver« (Prov 25:11).35 The external meaning contained wisdom for communal life, and the internal meaning contained wisdom that can guide people toward the truth (Guide, I: Introduction). His oeuvre became enormously influential, but also stimulated controversy. In 1232, the Rabbis of France declared a ban on anyone who studied philosophy, especially Maimonides’ Guide for the Perplexed or Mishnehh Torah: Book of Knowledge.36 They were concerned that philosophy would lead people away from observance. It nonetheless remained an important dimension within Jewish biblical exegesis. Maimonides’ descendants in North Africa incorporated philosophical exploration alongside Muslim Sufi theology in their biblical interpretation.37 Jacob Anatoli’s (1194–1256) Malmad haTalmidim, written in Naples, revealed ways in which philosophical ideas infused preaching during the period. Samuel Ibn Tibbon (1150–1230), Joseph Ibn Kaspi (1280–1345) and Levi ben Gershom (Gersonides or Ralbag, 1288–1344) wrote philosophically inclined commentaries in Provence, inspired by Maimonides and the teachings of Aristotle. Gersonides is perhaps the most well-known among these commentators. He explained difficult phrases and provided a periphrastic contextual commentary— modeling the reason-based traditions of peshat. But reason, for Gersonides, required philosophy, so he often launched into lessons that explored philosophical and ethical questions extracted from the text. To him, the truths of Bible aligned with the truths of philosophy, and his commentary sought to reveal the linkages.38 1.2.2

David Kimḥ i and Narrative (1160–1235)

Introducing his commentary on Joshua (commonly seen as a précis to his work on the Former Prophets), Provençal Rabbi David Kimḥi (Radak) presented elements of his methodology.39 His declared purpose was to clarify the words of the Bible ac-

35 Josef Stern, Problems and Parables of Law, Albany/NY, 1998, Ch. 4. 36 Dominican authorities burned these books after some Jews denounced them to the Church. See Raphael Jospe, »Faith and Reason: The Controversy Over Philosophy,« in Great Schisms in Jewish History, ed. Jospe and Stanley Wagner, Denver/CO, 1981, 73–117. 37 Paul Fenton, »The Post-Maimonidean Schools of Exegesis in the East: Abraham Maimonides, the Pietists, Tanḥum ha-Yerushalmi and the Yemenite School,« in Sæbø, HB/OT I/2, 433–55. 38 Menachem Kellner, Commentary on the Song of Songs: Levi ben Gerson, New Haven/CT, 1998; Robert Eisen, Gersonides on Providence, Covenant, and the Jewish People: A Study in Medieval Jewish Philosophy and Biblical Commentary, Albany/NY, 1995. Much of his commentary relies on his philosophical master work, Wars of the Lord. 39 Mordechai Cohen, »The Qimhi Family,« in Sæbø, HB/OT I/2, 396–415; idem, Three Approaches to Biblical Metaphor, Leiden, 2003; Naomi Grunhaus, The Challenge of Received Tradition: Dilemmas of Interpretation in Radak’s Biblical Commentaries, New York, 2013.

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cording to the traditions he received and that which he could intuit himself by the grace of God, explicating difficult verses and words that require grammatical analysis. He promised to mention the rabbinic sages when their teaching was required, and to quote their derashot for people who like such things. Radak began his literary career in the Kimḥi family tradition by writing grammar texts, and his biblical exegesis is full of philological detail and glosses that explain the peshat. However, his commentary also contains traditional and original midrashic readings, homily, theology, polemic, and philosophical speculation—an array of interpretive modes revealing his own passion for layers of meaning within the text. He had a gift for exploring metaphor’s suggestive power, attaching significance to the way Hebrew Bible told its story while remaining deeply grounded in the text—thus shifting the parameters of peshat. He also transformed midrashic tradition by drawing it into his own peshat method. Consider his comment on Jacob and Esau growing up. Gen. Rab. 63:9–10 and Rashi imagined that Jacob dwelling in tents (Gen 25:27) meant that he studied with Shem and Eber, devising a centuries-long proto-rabbinic teaching career for these ancient figures. Radak preserved the notion that »tents« implied indoor activity and thus Jacob was learned, but stated simply that Jacob studied with as many sages as he could; it recognized the plural of tents, while excising fanciful aspects of earlier midrashic tradition. Although Radak also ignored midrashic associations of Esau with idolatry, he asserted that the description of a cunning hunter, a man of the field (ibid.) portrayed a man preoccupied with affairs of this world—yielding textually plausible grounds for distinguishing the brothers’ characters. Radak had a special interest in the »inner life« of biblical characters—their qualities, motivations, and unstated thoughts.40 Whereas the midrash interpreted that after giving the blessing to Jacob, Isaac trembled when Esau entered the room because gehenna entered with him (Gen. Rab. 67:2 on Gen 27:33, also in Rashi); Radak offered, »He displayed a great trembling in front of Esau so he would not think that Isaac deliberately blessed Jacob and deceived Esau.« Classical rabbinic aggadot sometimes developed the »back story« of biblical narratives, but Radak did it far more often, establishing deeply human biblical figures whose lives thus spoke to later generations. He utilized psychological insights and intuitions about the figures’ internal reasoning to craft coherent portraits. Jacob, for instance, is presented as repeatedly fearful; Radak explicated contextual reasons, used them to elucidate other passages, and examined the consequences.41 The purpose of biblical stories, he believed, was moral education (ad Gen 16:6).42 Radak was not alone in integrating analysis of literary style and character motivation into the peshat. His contemporary, Joseph Bekhor Shor, was doing something similar in northern France. Both were likely influenced by the growing narrative

40 Ayelet Seidler, »The Inner Life of Biblical Protagonists in Radak’s Commentary«, Beit Mikra 57:1 (2012): 86–106 (Hebrew). 41 See comments on Gen 28:17.20; 32:4.25, 30; 42:4. 42 Frank Talmage, David Kimhi: The Man and the Commentaries, Cambridge, 1975, 22.

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complexity and prominence of story in European and Arabic literatures. Within Christian hermeneutics, there were also indications of peshat understanding of metaphor and exegetical attention to »authorial« intention.43 The twelfth-century renaissance helped to catalyze these trends, as well as the philosophical turn described above, as new ways of thinking embedded themselves in biblical commentary. Kimḥi’s influence was long-lasting. Naḥmanides and Abarbanel drew on his work; he was cited by Christian scholars Raymond Martini and Bernard Gui in the thirteenth century. During the Reformation, prominent Christian Hebraists admitted that they learned much about biblical Hebrew from him, and his work influenced the Luther Bible and King James English translation.44

1.2.3

Naḥ manides and Mysticism (1194–1270)

Born in Catalonia, Rabbi Moses ben Naḥman (Naḥmanides or Ramban) was a prolific scholar—a Talmudist, philosopher, kabbalist, exegete, poet, and physician.45 As a communal leader, he is most remembered for his futile attempts to broker a compromise in the Maimonidean controversy (1232), and for his remarkable defense of Judaism in the Barcelona Disputation (1263).46 The latter earned him three hundred dinars paid by King James I. for a job well done, and unceasing pressure by the Dominicans to punish him for defaming Christianity. Ultimately, he had to flee Spain and spent the remainder of his life in the Land of Israel. It was there that he completed his Torah commentary, an expansive work that was the first popular exegesis to integrate kabbalistic teaching. In his introduction, he cautioned that these secrets were for the initiated only, but it inevitably led to their widespread dissemination. Some of Naḥmanides’ kabbalistic comments were presented as if they were peshat: levirate marriage was a metaphor for transmigration of the soul (Gen 38), for example, and the pillar of cloud that led the Israelites through the wilderness referred to the Shekhinah. In the latter case, he noted that God is called JHWH in association with the pillar that guides them by day (Exod 13:21), and Elohim in connection with the pillar that guards them at night (Exod 14:19). These, in turn, were understood in kabbalistic terms to represent the sefirotic attributes of judgment and mercy united in the immanent presence of the Divine.47

43 E.g., the writings of Gilbert de la Porrée. See Robert Benson and Giles Constable, with Carol Lanham, eds., Renaissance and Renewal in the Twelfth Century, Toronto, 1991, 195. 44 Cohen, »The Qimhi Family,« 414. See Stephen G. Burnett, Christian Hebraism in the Reformation Era (1500–1660), Leiden, 2012. 45 Charles Chavel, Ramban: Commentary on the Torah, 5 vols., New York, 1971–76. 46 Robert Chazan, Barcelona and Beyond: The Disputation of 1263 and Its Aftermath, Berkeley/CA, 1992. 47 Sefirot are emanations of the Divine in Kabbalah. See Eliot Wolfson, »By Way of Truth: Aspects of Naḥmanides’ Kabbalistic Hermeneutic,« AJS Review 14:2 (Oct. 1989): 131–35.

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Generally, Naḥmanides viewed mystical exegesis and peshat as two separate layers of meaning, although they frequently illuminated each other. Describing Moses striking the rock twice at Kadesh (ad Num 20:1ff.) as »one of the great secrets among the mysteries of the Torah,« he carefully unpacked the language of the passage to identify the prophet’s sin as lack of faith in unification of the masculine and feminine potencies of the divine, where the theosophic process above corresponded to events below. The contextual meaning concretized and amplified the esoteric one. He believed that the sages understood esoteric lore and sometimes used midrashic teachings as containers of mystical instruction.48 While it does include numerous kabbalistic conjectures, the bulk of Naḥmanides’ commentary adapted and responded to prior French and Spanish interpreters. In his introduction, he asserted that Rashi’s commentaries would be his guiding light in peshat and derash explications; for Ibn Ezra he had »open rebuke and hidden love.« In fact, he built upon and argued with both of them, as well as Maimonides, Radak, and others. He excoriated Maimonides for reducing Abraham’s encounter with the angelic visitors to a vision, and announced it was forbidden to believe such contradictions of Scripture (ad Gen 18:1). He challenged Ibn Ezra’s explanation of the reason Esau despised his birthright (ad Gen 25:34) as counter to the text and reason. The latter instance highlights another feature of Naḥmanides’ work. As the first Spanish scholar to study the French Tosafist Talmudic method, it appears that he applied this type of systematic dialectical analysis to biblical exegesis. In the context mentioned above, he took each of Ibn Ezra’s assertions and offered an alternative explanation. After dismembering his predecessor’s comment in this fashion, he presented his own interpretation. In engaging this host of interlocutors, Naḥmanides utilized all their hermeneutics—peshat and derash as well as more contemporary philosophical and literary methods—and then added his kabbalistic perspective. He asserted that the rabbinic dictum, »A verse should not lose its peshat,« did not mean that it was restricted to it; rather, Scripture communicates the literal and the figurative, and »both are true.«49 Although Naḥmanides embraced these multiple ways of reading, he did not explicitly invoke a four-fold exegesis. That awaited the work of Baḥya ben Asher, who did much to popularize and explain Naḥmanides’ kabbalistic interpretations as well. 1.2.4

Baḥya ben Asher and Four-fold Exegesis (c. 1255–1340)

In the introduction to his Torah commentary, Spanish scholar Baḥya ben Asher50 remarked that some exegetes pursue »the way of peshat,« while others long for 48 Wolfson, »By Way of Truth,« 148–50 (See ch. 22). 49 Chavel, Rambam’s Book of Commandments with Ramban’s Comments, Jerusalem, 1981, 128 (Hebrew). 50 Chavel, Rabbeinu Baḥya on the Torah, Jerusalem, 1959–60 (Hebrew).

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»the way of the midrash« and the philosophers elect »the way of reason.« A fourth way, an elevated highway that provides perspective to comprehend both »root and branches,« he named »the way of the Lord.« It represented kabbalistic learning that can be traced back to Naḥmanides. Baḥya’s explicit method was to engage all four of these exegetical strategies and to demonstrate the inexhaustible depths of meaning revealed in Torah. Although not officially part of the construction, he also mentioned the ethical value of Torah teachings and frequently invoked »the way of ethics.« Few comments include all these layers, but he often addressed more than one. Regarding Moses striking the rock at Kadesh (Num 20), for example, he first brought a midrash that it was the rock—a miraculous water source that traveled with the Israelites, alternatively called well, rock, stone, or spring (with citations for each). He then related contextual interpretations by Rashi, Maimonides, and R. Ḥananel (11th c. Kairouan) about the nature of Moses’ sin: striking instead of speaking to the rock, growing angry with the congregation, or insinuating that he and Aaron (rather than God) would bring forth the water. Finding each of these lacking in some measure, he expanded upon a kabbalistic teaching similar to the one Naḥmanides cited. Later commentators did not emulate Baḥya’s approach, but he popularized thinking about diverse layers of meaning in mutual relationship. In parts of the Zohar (a mystical narrative commentary on the Torah), the idea of a four-fold exegesis took on the now familiar acronym PaRDeS, representing peshat, remez (lit. »hint« = allegory), derash, and sod (lit. »secret« = Kabbalah). Christian exegesis, with its tradition of literal, allegorical, moral, and eschatological reading that traces back to Augustine in the fifth century, may have influenced the four-fold structure—but the categories are not identical and the embrace of polyphony, with a Scripture that reveals multiple possibilities of meaning, was a deep-seated value in classical rabbinic culture.51 When the multivocal Rabbinic Bible was published in the early 16th century, it simply reinforced the notion that the best reading of the text was through encounter with a collection of sages and their diverse perspectives. Methodological eclecticism in parshanut became widespread and Jewish biblical commentary continued to be produced in great abundance, in almost every community where Jews lived. These exegetes emphasized differing approaches that reflected their own personality and historical context in unique ways, but all were variations on the framework established by the birth of parshanut. Scores of scholars wrote supercommentaries. Isaac Arama (1420–1494), one of the last Spanish exegetes before the expulsion of the Jews, wrote a commentary that tried to make philosophy accessible by framing it in homiletical form and integrating classical rabbinic teaching, including aggadah; the combination served as a sermonic model. Even as Isaac Abarbanel (1437–1508) critiqued earlier commentaries for brevity that diminished the complexity of Hebrew Bible, he utilized the structure of his

51 Gershom Scholem, On the Kabbalah and its Symbolism, New York 1969, 56–62; Moshe Idel, »Kabbalistic Exegesis,« in Sæbø, HB/OT I/2, 457f.

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predecessors. His commentary was innovative in its pedagogical approach, which recorded questions at the outset of each section, and in considering historical and political issues—not surprising given his long experience as a representative in the royal courts of Portugal, Spain, and Italy.52 Ovadiah Sforno (Italy, 1475–1550) opted for a more peshat-oriented approach, sifting among his predecessors to present the most persuasive reading, and adding from his scientific knowledge to explicate a passage or indicate the reason behind a commandment. Within this approach, he embedded ideas of a universal humanism that signaled a bridge toward modernity. In one sense, the peshat revolution was short-lived. But in opening the door to independent engagement with text and discovering the new meanings that might be innovated daily, it still shapes Jewish study of Scripture.

2

Aggadic Literature

»Aggadah« (Heb: haggadah) is a fluid term; in this chapter, it delineates Jewish prose literature that is substantively related to Scripture, but not necessarily exegetical.53 Although drawn from the Hebrew root meaning »tell« and translated above as »narrative,« aggadah does not always take the form of story. It may contain admonitions to ethical conduct, theological reflection, historiography, polemic, satire, exegesis, thematic lists, numerology, and other material. Aggadah is often broadly defined as anything that is not halakhic, but »no set of legal institutions or prescriptions exists apart from the narratives that locate it and give it meaning.«54 Thus, some of the literature under discussion addresses halakhic themes within creative homiletical, narrative, ethical, or theological frameworks. These frameworks provide the flavor of aggadah, illuminating concepts that shape the Scriptural understanding, imagination, and worldview of rabbinic Judaism. After introducing two historical dynamics that affected redaction and reception of the material, this chapter describes significant trends alongside works that exemplify their characteristics—but it can address only a fraction of the richly-textured polymorphous aggadic creativity of the age.55 Five developments receive particular attention: innovation within familiar forms of midrash, advancement of

52 Eric Lawee, Isaac Abarbanel’s Stance Toward Tradition: Defense, Dissent and Dialogue, Albany/ NY, 2012, 38. 53 Marc Hirshman, »Aggadic Midrash,« in The Literature of the Sages, vol. 2, ed. Shmuel Safrai et al., CRINT 2/3/2, Assen, 2006, 113. 54 Robert Cover, »The Supreme Court, 1982 Term; Forward: Nomos and Narrative,« Harvard Law Review 97:4 (1983): 4; cf. Joseph Heinemann, »The Nature of the Aggadah,« in Hartman/Budick, Midrash and Literature, 51. 55 For brief descriptions of numerous rabbinic texts, see Hermann L. Strack and Günter Stemberger, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash, Minneapolis/MN, 1992; Günter Stemberger, Midrasch: Vom Umgang der Rabbinen mit der Bibel, Munich, 1989.

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narrative, historiography, ethical literature, and anthologies. Reflecting changing circumstances and influences, together with fidelity to rabbinic tradition, the compositions gave voice to an expansive range of aggadic religious writing.

2.1

Orality and the Open Book

Historical processes of textualization and reoralization complicate analysis.56 Much of the literature was composed under anonymous or collective authorship, and circulated with an »open book« ethos. Unlike Latin texts, which were generally reproduced in monastic scriptoria or cathedral schools, Jewish books were most often copied for private use; copyists thus felt free to edit the material to serve their own purposes or perspectives. A history of intertextual association encouraged continuing »conversation« between text and tradition, between author(s) and readers. Sections were sometimes disseminated before a work was completed and then edited in subsequent iterations. Often, material was designed to be orally reenacted, with the synagogue and study-house as primary venues for reoralization; each performance of the text could reshape it—including future written iterations. These elements make it difficult to pinpoint a date of redaction or base text; material also moved between Jewish cultures across Europe, North Africa and the Middle East, muddying clues that might identify a place of origin. Accordingly, information about time and place of redaction is provisional. Dynamic textual traditions for most of the works are presumed—many with multiple recensions, and almost all building in some fashion on earlier sources.

2.2

The »Problem« with Aggadah

There were tensions around aggadah. Geonim attempted to circumscribe its authority by declaring that one may not derive rules from aggadah. They tried to clarify its anthropomorphic material as metaphorical. Hai Gaon (998–1038) wrote in a comment on b. Hag 14a, for instance, »Know that aggadic sayings are not like received tradition; they are simply what an individual expresses… They are not decisive statements and that is why we do not rely on them … They are no more than perhapses.«57 56 Israel Ta-Shma, »The ›Open‹ Book in Medieval Hebrew Literature,« and Malchi Beit-Arie, »Transmission of Texts by Scribes and Copyists: Unconscious and Critical Interferences,« Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library 75:3 (1993): 17–24, 33–52; Elizabeth Shanks Alexander, »The Orality of Rabbinic Writing,« in The Cambridge Companion to the Talmud and Rabbinic Literature, ed. Charlotte Fonrobert and Martin Jaffee, Cambridge/MA, 2007, 38–57; Yaakov Elman and Israel Gershoni, eds., Transmitting Jewish Traditions: Orality, Textuality, and Cultural Diffusion, New Haven/CT, 2000. 57 Benjamin M. Lewin, Compendium of the Geonim: Responsa of the Babylonian Geonim and their Interpretation in Order of the Talmud, 13 vols. Haifa, 1928–62, 4:60 (Hebrew).

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These concerns unfolded amidst the growing influence of rationalism and the harsh glare of Christian, Karaite, and Muslim polemic ridiculing aggadic passages that were fanciful or counter to their theologies. After the rise of peshat in biblical commentary, »when a far more logically rigorous and coherent style of exposition had come into vogue, the Aggadah was rapidly becoming a source of confusion, consternation, and embarrassment for many Jews.«58 By the Middle Ages, many of the foremost thinkers felt pressed to give an accounting of aggadic tradition. Naḥmanides was forced to defend it in the Barcelona disputation; he asserted that aggadot were stories people tell one another, no more binding than the sermons of a bishop.59 Maimonides described three groups: those who took aggadah literally and accepted it, those who took it literally and rejected it, and those who properly understood the material as poetical conceits (Guide for the Perplexed 3:43).60 Nonetheless, aggadic literature proliferated and innovations abounded. Despite concerns about how Jews and non-Jews might (mis)understand imaginative stories and readings of Scripture, aggadah remained an essential discourse for religious literature—enabling complexity and ambiguity, deepening the abiding relevance of Bible and tradition, providing succor (and entertainment) in adversity, and moving the hearts of the people. In the words of an early rabbinic midrash, »If you want to know the Creator of the World, study aggadah, for through it you will come to know God and cleave to God’s ways« (Sif. Dev.11:22).

2.3

Midrash Reimagined

Many aggadic writings continued to utilize classic frameworks popularized in Amoraic period (3rd–5th cent) midrash, and borrowed from their content, but adapted the material in diverse ways. 2.3.1

Midrash-Commentary Hybrids

One approach to concerns about aggadah was to tame its more »excessive« qualities and ground exegesis in grammatical analysis. Several midrashim, primarily from the ninth through twelfth centuries (when peshat was gaining in popularity), read as midrash-commentary hybrids. Midrash Mishlei, a ninth-century composition from the Mediterranean area, explicates much of the Book of Proverbs in this fashion— although it occasionally inserts original and traditional rabbinic narrative, riddles, and mystical themes. Its substantive concern for context and philology implicitly 58 Marc Saperstein, Decoding the Rabbis: A Thirteenth-Century Commentary on the Aggadah, Cambridge/MA, 1980, 1. 59 Charles Chavel, Rabbenu Moshe ben Naḥman, Jerusalem, 1973, 308 (Hebrew). Robert Chazan addresses how to interpret Naḥmanides’ comments, Barcelona and Beyond: The Disputation of 1263 and its Aftermath, Berkeley/CA, 1992, 142–57. 60 Judah Goldin, »The Freedom and Restraint of Aggadah,« in Hartman/Budick, Midrash and Literature, 60; Isaac Heinemann, Ways of the Aggadah, Jerusalem, 1970 (Hebrew).

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rebutted Karaite critique; it also explicitly championed rabbinic instruction and polemicized against Karaism.61 Midrash Lekaḥ Tov similarly explicates the Pentateuch and Five Scrolls. Composed by Rabbi Tobias b. Eliezer in the Balkans shortly after the First Crusade (1096), the aggadic elements are largely adapted from the Babylonian Talmud, Tannaitic and Amoraic midrash, and early mystical material, although some interpretations are original. Along with grammatical and contextual comments, the author repeatedly insisted that »Torah speaks in the language of human beings,« explaining biblical anthropomorphisms as parables and metaphors.62 2.3.2

Halakhah-Aggadah Hybrids

Even Geonim who argued that one could not derive rules from aggadah still selected and shaped aggadot to encourage halakhic observance, ground it in religious values, and advance the rabbinic curriculum. The Sheʾiltot, authored or edited by Rabbi Aḥai of Shabḥa (680–752), was most likely a literary redaction of sermons in Babylonian Aramaic. Like some midrashic literature, it is organized by weekly portions of the annual Torah reading cycle—but its discussion is largely related to halakhah. The format has four parts: introductory discussion of a theme, a related legal question, aggadic expansion on the theme, and resolution of the query. Discussion of Gen 6:11, for example—The earth became corrupt before God; the earth was filled with lawlessness—addresses robbery and theft with legal and ethical reflections.63 Unfortunately, the aggadah has been lost for many passages. This type of hybrid remained central to homiletical teaching in the Geonic and Medieval periods. Tanḥuma-Yelammedenu represents an entire category of midrashic literature, including Midrash Tanḥuma on the Pentateuch, Pesiqta Rabbati, and substantial portions of Exodus Rabbah, Numbers Rabbah and Deuteronomy Rabbah (see 2.7). Primarily composed in Hebrew and perhaps reflecting the triennial cycle familiar from Palestinian custom, the standard pericope begins with the formula, »yelammedenu rabbenu« (let our master teach us), and sets forth a halakhic question. A citation from the Mishnah offers a preliminary answer, followed by aggadic elaboration that imaginatively weaves distant verses together with the theme of the weekly Torah portion, and halakhic discussion. There are variations on the structure, but they consistently blend legal and non-legal traditions. Midrash Tanḥuma exists in two primary recensions, one likely redacted in Geonic Babylonia and one that circulated in a European context, now called Tanḥuma Buber after the scholar who first published a manuscript of it (MS Oxford Neubauer 154). Pesiqta Rabbati, like other pesiqta literature, is organized around the lectionary for

61 Burton L. Visotzky, Midrash Mishle (1990 Hebrew); idem, The Midrash on Proverbs, New Haven/CT, 1992. 62 Solomon Buber, Midrash Lekaḥ Tov, Vienna, 1884 (Hebrew). 63 Samuel Mirsky, She’iltot of R. Aḥai Gaon, vols. 1–5, Jerusalem, 1982 (Hebrew). Sections of the She’iltot were translated into Hebrew in Sefer Vehizhir.

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holy days and special Sabbaths. Apocalyptic in tone, this work incorporates a mix of rabbinic hagiography, biblical and post-biblical legend, social commentary and exegetical play.64 Weekly study lists for the Mishnah have been found in the Cairo Genizah, raising the possibility that they were designed to link with the Torah lectionary. Homiletical hybrids like the Sheʾiltot and Tanḥuma-Yelammedenu literature attest to preachers’ efforts to tie halakhah to Scripture, and to use aggadah to capture the hearts of the community—promoting the rabbinic agenda at a time when Karaism threatened rabbinic hegemony in Jewish society.65 2.3.3

Additional new directions

Some innovations in midrashic literature were more modest, but they illuminate the expanding variety of aggadic literature. Aggadat Bereshit, with twenty-eight homilies on Genesis fitting the triennial lectionary, borrows from Tanḥuma Buber but focuses on aggadah. Each pericope has three sections, with comments on the weekly Torah portion, on a prophetic passage (generally the haftarah), and on Psalms. Its unique structure led some scholars to speculate whether this tenthcentury text reflected a Psalms recitation cycle in some European contexts.66 A medieval collection of material on Psalms, Midrash Tehillim (also known as Shokher Tov), is organized exegetically, with narrative and homiletical discussion. Multiple manuscripts and recensions cover Pss 1–118, while the remainder are extant only in the printed edition and borrow heavily from Yalkut Shimoni (see 2.7); they were likely attached later to fill the gap for lost or incomplete material.67 Midrash Shmuel (Samuel) similarly collects interpretations on a book not previously represented in the midrashic library. Bereshit Rabbati is a homiletical work on Genesis by Rabbi Moshe haDarshan (the Preacher) or his disciples. Redacted in eleventh-century Narbonne, it exhibits a broad range of sources: the Babylonian and Palestinian Talmuds, various Targumim and midrashim, as well as Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha. Moshe haDarshan was quoted in Rashi, Tosafot, Arbarbanel, and extensively in Christian author Raymond Martini’s thirteenth-century polemic, Pugio Fidei, but some quotes are not found in the extant midrash.68 64 Marc Bregman, The Tanḥuma-Yelammedenu Literature: Studies in the Evolution of the Versions, Piscataway/NJ, 2003 (Hebrew with English abstract); John Townsend, Midrash Tanḥuma (S. Buber Recension), 3 vols., Hoboken/NJ, 1989–2003; Rivka Ulmer, Pesiqta Rabbati: A Synoptic Edition, repr., Lanham/MD, 2008; William Braude, Pesikta Rabbati, 2 vols., New Haven/CT, 1968. 65 Burton L. Visotzky, »The Literature of the Rabbis,« in From Mesopotamia to Modernity, ed. idem and Daniel Fishman, Boulder/CO, 1999, 92. 66 Lieve Teugels, Aggadat Bereshit, Leiden, 2001. 67 Solomon Buber, Midrash on Psalms, Vienna, 1891 (Hebrew); William Braude, The Midrash on Psalms, New Haven/CT, 1959. 68 Ḥanokh Albeck, Midrash Bereshit Rabbati of Rabbi Moshe haDarshan, Jerusalem, 1940 (Hebrew); Saul Lieberman, »Raymund Martini and His Alleged Forgeries,« Historia Judaica V (1943): 87–102.

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Occasionally, a single work could substantially reshape Jewish thought. Around the time that Naḥmanides introduced kabbalistic thinking into his commentary, Moshe de Leon (1240–1305, Spain) assembled a mystical narrative commentary on Torah called the Zohar. He presented it as the teaching of a second-century miracle worker, Rabbi Shimon bar Yoḥai, but some suspected its real author from the outset. This kabbalistic allegorical reading of Torah captured the medieval Jewish imagination. Its original teachings recast the narratives of Torah as a garment: fools look only at the robe, the intelligent examine the body that carries it, and those who are wise see the soul that comprises its true essence (3:152a). Many censured the work for encouraging superstition and potentially supplanting actual praxis with its kabbalistic reflection. Nonetheless, the Zohar’s power to reinvigorate Jewish spirituality advanced the kabbalistic movement and embedded core ideas within mainstream rabbinic prayer and practice.69

2.4

Development of Narrative

Geonic literature revealed a growing interest in narrative, comparable to developments in Arabic and European composition.70 Classical rabbinic midrash already incorporated exegetical narratives or »darshanic stories,« and the rediscovery of Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha exposed the community to a new host of creative tales. Subsequent material demonstrated increasing narrative sophistication and independence of story, even as it remained tethered to the biblical text. The phenomenon appeared first in Jewish communities under the aegis of Islam, and spread in unique ways throughout the Jewish world. As noted with medieval commentators like Radak, understanding of Scripture began to be driven by questions of storyline and character, but the rhetoric of aggadah also drew biblical narratives into new contexts. The authority of Scripture interpreted by accepted hermeneutical rules and received tradition, ascribed to a Divine source, is distinct from the rhetorical power of a story to compel the imagination. Aggadic literature of the period often did both, fashioning synergies of exegesis and storytelling. 2.4.1

Narrative Midrash

A unique example of narrative midrash is Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer, which retells Torah’s tales with multiple expansions and digressions. Fifty-four chapters in its printed form, the text begins with the teachings of Rabbi Eliezer b. Hyrcanus to establish 69 Daniel Matt, The Zohar, 9 vols., Stanford/CA, 2004–16; Zohar: The Book of Enlightenment, Mahwah/NJ, 1983. 70 Ofra Meir, »The Darshanic Story in Early and Late Midrash«, Sinai 86 (1980): 246–66 (Hebrew); Jacob Elbaum, »Between Editing and Composition: On the Nature of Late Midrashic Literature«, Proceedings of the Ninth World Congress of Jewish Studies (1988): 3:57–62 (Hebrew); Joseph Dan, The Hebrew Story in the Middle Ages, Jerusalem, 1974 (Hebrew).

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its putative first-century »author,« but it is a Geonic work likely composed in eighth- or ninth-century Palestine.71 Numerous clues point to the time and place of redaction, including knowledge regarding the rise of Islam and familiarity with Geonic-era Jewish customs. Ending after exposition of Miriam’s leprosy (Num 12), the text may be a fragment or perhaps was planned as a larger work. Additional structural layers are also incomplete: it mentions God’s ten descents to earth but details only eight of them, and weaves in themes from the ʿAmidah prayer rubric but incorporates only the first eight of eighteen blessings. Influenced by Arabic storytelling traditions, Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer adapts much of its material from Targum, Talmud, and earlier midrashim, but it is not an anthology. Rather, the narrative is artfully crafted as a single thread, interspersed with theological treatises on questions like the virtues of charity, models of repentance, and the consequences of eating from the tree of knowledge of good and evil. It explores etiologies of Jewish praxis, such as women’s observance of Rosh Ḥodesh (the new moon) and traditions of Elijah at circumcision ceremonies. At times explicit about exegetical concerns, Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer also integrates more elaborate narrative motifs and mythic elements, ultimately rendering a new »story« with its own pedagogical purposes.72 2.4.2

Minor Midrashim

Relatively short midrashim focusing on a brief biblical narrative or thematic link were composed in large numbers during the medieval period, and their extant manuscripts are sufficient in number to demonstrate the great popularity of the genre.73 Generally lumped together as »minor midrashim« based on their length, they comprise a broad variety of works composed over five hundred years in different regions. They are mystical, homiletical, »historical,« apocalyptic and theological. There are frame-stories and unitary tales, with adaptations of classical midrash, folk traditions, and Arabic influences. Some have a tenuous connection to exegesis, while others are careful lemmatic analyses. Not all minor midrashim illustrate the narrative turn in the Geonic/Medieval periods, but the texts discussed below illuminate several emerging modes of story-centric aggadah.

71 Chapters 1–2 appear to have been added later, and do not exist in some redactions. 72 Rachel Adelman, The Return of the Repressed: Pirqe de-Rabbi Eliezer and the Pseudepigrapha, Leiden, 2009; Lewis Barth, Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer: Electronic Text Editing Project, http://www.usc. edu/projects/pre-project; Jacob Elbaum, »Rhetoric, Motif and Subject Matter: On the Fashioning of Story in Pirqe de-Rabbi Eliezer,« Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Folklore 13–14 (1991–92): 99–126 (Hebrew). There is a Latin version by Vorstius with elaborate commentary (1644), indicating interest of non-Jews. 73 Adolph Jellinek, Bet ha-midrasch, Leipzig, 1853–57, Wien, 1873–77, repr. Jerusalem, 1967; Judah David Eisenstein, ed., Otzar midrashim, New York, 1915; repr. Bnei Brak, 1990; Solomon and Abraham Wertheimer, Midrashim from the Genizah – Batei Midrashot, 2nd ed., Jerusalem, 1968 (Hebrew).

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Midrash vaYosha explicates the Song at the Sea (Exod 15:1–18) and events of the exodus from Egypt leading up that that climactic moment. With two primary recensions, the earlier version (11th or 12th c., Ashkenaz) is a rather conventional adaptation of exegetical traditions likely linked to the synagogual recitation of the song on the seventh day of Passover. Its substantial manuscript variants attest to a continuing relationship between written transmission and reoralization. The later recension, however (12th–13th c., in an Arabic-speaking milieu), manifests the qualities of a literary redaction—a relatively stable text with remarkable development of narrative, character, emotion, dialogue, irony and drama. For example, both versions read the first-person statement, Yah is my strength and my song (Exod 15:1) as if Moses is recounting the miracles that repeatedly saved his life. They relate a non-biblical tradition that Jethro threw Moses in a pit for seven years, where Zipporah secretly sustained him. The Ashkenazic text simply lists it among his life-threatening experiences, while the later redaction adds an elaborate tale of a tree, magically sprouted from the staff God first entrusted to Adam, that Jethro used to test suitors for his daughters. With compelling detail, it describes the emotions of the characters and crafts a story that explains why Jethro imprisoned Moses, how Zipporah managed to keep her actions secret, and how she manipulated her father into letting him go.74 Story is even more prominent in Midrash Aseret haDibrot, which uses the framework of the Ten Commandments to transmit a collection of tales that often have little connection to exegesis. It includes material from Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, Talmud and midrash, Jewish and international folklore—with shifting quantities and selection in extant manuscripts. The stories vary in quality and tone. Some display loose stitching of story motifs together, while others demonstrate welldeveloped literary aesthetics; some piously portray women and men of great courage and devotion, while others reveal the basest instincts of humanity with biting satirical flair. Although there appears to be an ethical dimension to the work, storytelling lies at its heart. Like Midrash vaYosha, this text was redacted in the Muslim milieu (possibly 10th-century Persia) but has an earlier European recension more akin to classical midrash.75 Many minor midrashim elected a thematic frame rather than an exegetical one, e.g. odd spellings, tales of the ten tribes, teachings grouped by number, letters of the alphabet. The Alphabet of ben Sira provides an unusual example. Redacted in the late Geonic period in a Muslim context, it was a parody of Talmud and midrashic tradition, »a kind of academic burlesque… that included vulgarities, absurdities, and the irreverent treatment of acknowledged sancta.«76 Deploying the preternatu-

74 It has parallels in Islamic »tales of the prophets« literature. Rachel Mikva, Midrash vaYosha. A Medieval Midrash on the Song at the Sea, TSMJ 28, Tübingen, 2012, 86–104. 75 Anat Shapira, Midrash on the Ten Commandments, Jerusalem, 2005 (Hebrew); Joel Rosenberg, »Midrash on the Ten Commandments,« in Stern/Mirsky, Rabbinic Fantasies: Imaginative Narratives from Classical Hebrew Literature, 91–119. 76 Norman Bronznick, »The Alphabet of Ben Sira,« ibid. 168.

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rally wise child folk motif, there are maxims and stories (including alphabetical acrostics) in which ben Sira demonstrates his brilliance. Some parts may have been too risqué for many copyists, such as ben Sira’s provocative birth narrative that is missing in numerous manuscripts.77 2.4.3

Absorption of foreign material and original Jewish stories

Eli Yassif identifies stages of narrative development in this period: after integrating narrative consciousness into material that demonstrated continuity with Jewish sources, texts began to absorb foreign material and eventually also transmitted original Jewish stories.78 An Elegant Composition Concerning Relief After Adversity furnishes a complex example of the intermediate stage. Composed in Judeo-Arabic by Rabbi Nissim ben Jacob (990–1062), head of a rabbinic academy in Kairouan, it adapts many of its tales from Talmud and midrash but others can be traced to outside sources. One passage is similar to a Qur’anic narrative in which Moses accompanies a heavenly servant of Allah, agreeing not to ask any questions (Sura 18:65–82). The apparent injustice of the servant’s actions overwhelms Moses’ patience, however, and he probes their meaning. The servant obliges but then insists that they part company. Although the Jewish version changes the hero to Rabbi Joshua b. Levi, identifies the servant as Elijah, and addresses class injustice in its details, it shares the Qur’anic objective to reassure readers about Divine justice even when it does not seem evident. The author described the stories as rabbinic and may well have encountered them already »translated« to Jewish contexts, yet the literary form appears modeled on Islamic »Books of Comfort after Disaster.« Nissim ostensibly composed the book for his father-in-law during a period of mourning. It was soon translated into Hebrew and circulated widely, helping to inspire Hebrew belletristic writing.79 Foreign material was frequently Judaized in its Hebrew renditions. For example, Jacob ben Eleazar (12–13th c. Toledo) transformed Ibn al-Muqaffa’s Kalilah wa-Dimnah, a collection of animal fables, so that it served to reinforce Scripture’s role in transmitting wisdom.80 Conversely, original Jewish narratives often reflected foreign influences. Thus Judah al-Ḥarizi’s (1165–1225) Sefer Taḥkemoni adopted the Arabic maqamat rhymed-prose form. Weaving in biblical verses to punctuate his insights, the author used proverbs, riddles, love poems, fables and satire in crafting his fifty-part story cycle, a mixture of fiction and travelogue from his home in Spain through Egypt and Bab-

77 Eli Yassif, Stories of Ben Sira, Jerusalem, 1984 (Hebrew); Dagmar Börner-Klein, Das Alphabet des Ben Sira, Wiesbaden, 2007 (Hebrew and German). 78 Eli Yassif, »Hebrew Prose in the East: Its Formaton in the Middle Ages and Transition to Modern Times«, Pe’amim 26 (1986): 56–60 (Hebrew). 79 William Brinner, An Elegant Composition Concerning Relief After Adversity, New Haven/CT, 1977; Yassif, The Hebrew Folktale, Bloomington/IN, 1999, 245–370. 80 Alan Verskin, »The Theology of Jacob ben El’azar’s Hebrew Version of Ibn al-Muqaffa’s Kalilah wa-Dimnah,« REJ 170:3–4 (July–Dec. 2011): 465–75. The 8th-century Arabic work is an adaptation from earlier Sanskrit material.

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ylon.81 Immanuel of Rome (1265–1330) adapted the maqamat for his Maḥberot, the last of which details his Dante-esque journey through paradise and hell.82 The development of narrative sensibilities impacted the forms and purposes of aggadah far beyond works that might be considered primarily narrative in focus. Growing interest in story was a driving force in the remarkable expansion of medieval Jewish writing.

2.5

Historiography

Many of the stories that seemed worth telling in the Geonic and Medieval periods were biblical ones. Anonymous authors retold brief episodes as short stories, freed from close exegetical connection. They often embellished so freely on the lives of famous biblical characters that Abraham Ibn Ezra was moved to write in his long commentary (ad Exod 2:22): Don’t believe what is written in The Chronicles of Moses. I will tell you a general principle: One should not rely on any book the prophets did not write, or the sages did not receive via tradition, because there are things within it that contradict correct understanding. So, too, with Sefer Zerubbabel, Eldad haDani, and similar works.

The stakes were heightened regarding these texts because they were often received as historical; even the most fantastic feats in The Chronicles of Moses might be read as the prophet’s »biography.«83 Biblical narratives were imaginatively retold in a variety of historiographical texts, including sweeping chronicles like Sefer Josippon (10th-century Italy), Sefer haQabbalah (12th-century Spain), and Sefer Zikhronot (14th-century Ashkenaz). Although they incorporate scriptural interpretation and aggadah, they fall outside the purview of this chapter. Some genres of historiographical material, however, fall more squarely in the realm of aggadic literature—even though they, too, were often received as factual accounts. 2.5.1

Apocalypse84

Sefer Zerubbabel (The Book of Zerubbabel), a seventh-century apocalypse in which Metatron leads Zerubbabel through a tour of history and the world-to-come, popu81 David Segal, The Book of Tahkemoni: Jewish Tales from Medieval Spain, Portland/OH 2001. 82 Umberto Cassuto and Angel Sáenz-Badillos, »Immanuel (ben Solomon) of Rome,« EncJud 9: 740f. 83 Ivan Marcus, »History, Story and Collective Memory: Narrativity in Early Ashkenazic Culture,« in The Midrashic Imagination, ed. Michael Fishbane, Albany/NY, 1993, 255. Eldad haDani may have troubled Ibn Ezra due to the narrator’s non-normative halakhah. 84 John Reeves, Trajectories in Near Eastern Apocalyptic, Atlanta/GA, 2005, and »Sefer Zerubbabel: The Prophetic Vision of Zerubbabel ben Shealtiel,« in Old Testament Pseudepigrapha: More Noncanonical Scriptures, vol. 1, ed. Richard Bauckham, James Davila, and Alexander Panayotov, Grand Rapids/MI, 2013, 448–66; Martha Himmelfarb, »Sefer Zerubbabel,« in Stern/Mirsky, Rabbinic Fantasies, 67–90.

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larized apocalyptic narrative as found in many Geonic and medieval Jewish texts.85 By the time of Saʿadia Gaon, its major motifs had become authoritative. For example, Saʿadia called the legend of Armilos, a powerful anti-Jewish king destined to be defeated by the Messiah son of David, an »ancestral tradition«—a term generally reserved for authoritative Talmudic teachings (Beliefs and Opinions 8). Ibn Ezra may have been put off by its more inventive elements, such as Armilos’ outlandish biography and physical appearance, and the feats performed by Hefzibah, mother of the messiah, with her staff of wonders. Its many variants employed a pseudo-biblical style similar to pseudepigraphic literature of the Second Temple period. They substituted classical prophecy’s social vision with predictions of a cataclysmic end to history, depicting the hero’s profound despair living in a broken world and the eschatological hope for wholeness and justice. Apocalyptic writing proliferated in Jewish, Christian, and Muslim literature, with many shared motifs, characters and sequences. The trend is likely rooted in the bitter seventh-century wars between Byzantium and the final Sassanian rulers for possession of the Levant, followed by Islam’s rapid conquest of the region. 2.5.2

Exempla, Hagiography and Martyrology

Exempla, short narratives presented as factual and designed to inspire listeners to behave accordingly, can be found throughout classical rabbinic literature. They frequently involved the sages as main characters. Hagiography is similar, albeit directed more to idealize rabbinic leadership as spiritually powerful, righteously guided and divinely elected. Those lives that ended in tragedy established precedent for martyrology which, in the Middle Ages, included stories of countless Jews caught in the peril between empires during the Crusades or murdered as despised minorities. The rhetorical power of these genres is didactic, teaching the community how to live and die. Avot dʾRabbi Natan is a commentary on and elaboration of the Mishnah tractate, Avot. It incorporates material going back to the tannaim, but likely reached its final form (with two major recensions) in the eighth or ninth century.86 With tales of the sages, folklore, and ethical teachings, it conveyed the values of the rabbinic worldview and curriculum. Hagiographic material was also transmitted through folktales and novellas; in North Africa these stories were often tinged with magic, such as the common theme of saints’ burial sites shielding Jewish neighborhoods.87 The medieval collection Midrash Eileh Ezkarah (These I Will Remember) recounts the deaths of ten tannaitic sages »for sanctification of the Name,« the rabbinic

85 E.g. Secrets of Rabbi Shimon bar Yoḥai, Prayer of Rabbi Shimon bar Yoḥai, Signs of the Messiah, Midrash vaYosha, Lekaḥ Tov Num 24, Zohar 3:173b (Hebrew). 86 Menahem Kister, Studies in Avot de-Rabbi Nathan: Text, Redaction and Interpretation, Jerusalem, 1998 (Hebrew). 87 Issachar Ben-Ami, »Judeo Arabic Folktales in North Africa,« Jewish Folklore and Ethnology Review 14:1–2 (1992): 7f.

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term for martyrdom. The ten martyrs are listed in Lam. Rab. 2:2, and a narrative about their deaths appears in Hekhalot Rabbati (an early mystical-gnostic text), but martyrdom was generally not glorified in rabbinic Judaism. During the Middle Ages, however—especially in the wake of the First Crusade—these tales took on more characteristics of Christian martyrology and comprised the paradigmatic narrative for the murder of the pious.88 Sefer Ḥasidim (The Book of the Pious) was the major ethical work produced by Ḥasidei Ashkenaz, a group of Jewish pietists in twelfth- and thirteen-century Germany. Attributed to Judah heḤasid, it was more a collective endeavor and attests to the open-book ethos. It contains philosophical and mystical material but primarily sought to inculcate heightened ethical consciousness through its approximately four hundred exempla, parables, and homilies—expanding the requirements established in Bible and rabbinic tradition. With a focus on everyday ethics, it also provides a trove of information about the religious and cultural landscape of Jewish life in Ashkenaz.89

2.6

Ethical Literature

To designate some texts as »ethical« suggests that other midrashim had no moral purpose, but that is misleading. Aggadah by its very nature was designed to inspire a life of goodness, meaning and devotion; much of rabbinic literature stressed these dimensions through homiletical instruction. The uniqueness of ethical literature was its explicit didactic message that became the organizing focus of the collection. Tanna dʾbei Eliyahu likely had a long and complex redaction history between the third and ninth centuries, and it includes material from the Babylonian Talmud with this name.90 The midrash is organized in topical rather than exegetical fashion, narrated in the first person. With biblical interpretation, parables, prayers, sentences, anti-Karaite polemic, and personal experiences, it promotes lessons from the lives of the ancestors, faithful observance of the commandments, and appreciation for the values embedded within them. In its current form, there are two sections, Seder Eliyahu Rabbah and Seder Eliyahu Zuṭa. The legend of the book’s origin, derived from b. Ket. 105b–106a and appended as a preface, is itself an object lesson. Elijah the prophet ostensibly dictated the teachings to R. ʿAnan (3rd-century Babylonia), until the sage accidentally gave the appearance of favoritism in a legal case. These teachings comprise the Rabbah section. Elijah ceased to visit until R.

88 David Stern, »Midrash Eleh Ezkerah, or The Legend of the Ten Martyrs,« in idem/Mirsky, Rabbinic Fantasies, 143–65. A long medieval poem detailing these martyrdoms was also added to the Yom Kippur Musaf service. 89 Princeton University Sefer Hasidim Database, https://etc.princeton.edu/sefer_hasidim/; Yassif, Hebrew Folktale, 283–96; Ivan G. Marcus, Piety and Society: The Jewish Pietists of Medieval Germany, Leiden, 1981. 90 E.g., b. Shab. 13a, b. Pes. 94a, 112a, b. Ket. 80b, b. Nid. 73a.

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ʿAnan underwent transformative repentance, at which point Elijah returned and transmitted the Zuṭa material.91 A number of short midrashim (see 2.4.2) emphasize ethical instruction. Midrash Temurah, for example, addresses reversals in the world to construct an ethical-aggadic perspective on Divine justice and human behavior. Ethical-didactic literature also developed outside the boundaries of midrash. Making use of stories, fables, exempla, epigrams and Scriptural validation to drive home their points, all ethical writers employed aggadic forms; the enterprise was embedded in multiple genres and expanded significantly in the Geonic and Medieval periods, including systematic works, ethical wills, story collections, and poetry. Many of these forms emulated contemporaneous Arabic ethical literature.92 Devoted to theology and metaphysics as well as praxis, one’s inner life was considered central to a life well lived.

2.7

Anthologies and Collections

Numerous works discussed in previous sections assembled material from earlier sources, leading some scholars to minimize the creative dimension of medieval aggadic literature and to characterize it as »mere technical arrangement, which seems to have involved nothing more than a hackneyed conglomeration of passages from various sources.«93 In each period of rabbinic literature, however, redactors utilized earlier materials while also exerting an editorial control that revealed their own creativity, context and purposes. Yet there was a distinct drive in the medieval period to create anthologies and other collections of aggadic texts, as well as commentaries and indices to help people find their way through the continually growing literature. Many factors popularized these trends. A broad tendency toward anthologization was evident in halakhic literature and the beginning of systematic Jewish writing. Multiple centers of Jewish learning required reference material; books were still expensive and sometimes not available. Homilies remained popular for sermonizing, and there was a desire to »reclaim« aggadah so it would not be swallowed up by halakhic primacy or peshat mentality. 2.7.1

Anthologies

Midrashic anthologies appeared all over the Jewish world in the Middle Ages, generally through independent efforts. Yalkut Shimoni is perhaps the best known of the 91 William Braude and Israel Kapstein, Tanna debe Eliyyahu: The Lore of the School of Elijah, Philadelphia/PA, 1981. 92 Joseph Dan, »Ethical Literature,« EncJud 6: 525–31; Amyn Sajoo, ed., Companion to Muslim Ethics, London, 2010. 93 Jacob Elbaum summarizing common scholarly opinion (which he then disputes), »Yalqut Shim’oni and the Medieval Midrashic Anthology,« in Stern, Anthology in Jewish Literature, 159.

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comprehensive aggadic collections. It was the work of Rabbi Shimon haDarshan of Frankfurt in the mid-thirteenth century, and became quite popular beginning in the fifteenth century. One of its editorial tendencies is to leave aside esoteric material, perhaps indicative of homiletical tastes in the author’s environs. Organizing aggadot from the Talmuds and a broad range of midrashic literature (totaling more than fifty works), it covers the entire Hebrew Bible. Sources are cited for most quotations, including some midrashim that are otherwise lost. A recently rediscovered index for the text indicates its utility as a reference book for aggadah (MS Moscow-Ginzburg 1420/7, 15th-c. Italy-Ashkenaz).94 Only slightly later, Rabbi Makhir b. Abba Mari edited Yalkut haMekhiri in Spain or Provence. It focuses primarily on the prophetic books, plus Psalms, Proverbs, and Job. He wrote in his introduction to Psalms that midrash and aggadah were scattered about in a variety of texts, making them hard to find, especially since people spent most of their time studying halakhah. He sought to make these valuable teachings accessible again. Scholars in Yemen produced a significant number of midrashim in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. They were infused with philosophical flavor—keeping full-throated allegorical readings at a distance when they threatened normative praxis, but incorporating substantial Aristotelian and neo-Platonic reflection on the nature of God, humanity, prophecy and the sciences. Yemenite Jews were ardent collectors of books and they also produced many anthologies. The most important is Midrash haGadol on the Pentateuch, compiled by David Adani in the fourteenth century. It is comprehensive in its scope and, unlike other Yemenite midrash, it is in Hebrew rather than Judeo-Arabic. Organized according to the lectionary, it introduces each weekly section with a brief rhymed verse asking Divine permission for the interpretive task and seeking the redemption of the Jewish people, followed by an original proem. The remainder primarily assembles earlier exegesis from Talmud, midrash, Geonim, Alfasi, and Maimonides, with thoughtful knitting of the parts. Although Adani did not identify his sources, he was meticulous in quoting them, and scholars sometimes use his text to reconstruct lost works or to make sense of a text that was garbled in transmission.95 After the expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492, respected Talmudist Jacob Ibn Habib (d. 1516) resettled in the Ottoman Empire and published En Yaaqov, collecting all the aggadic material in the Babylonian Talmud (plus some Palestinian Talmud), along with commentary and indices for its study. His commentary is also anthological, with insights from Rashi, Tosafot and others, including a thirteenth-century commentary on aggadic portions of the Talmud by Rabbi Isaac ben Yedaiah.96 En Yaaqov was in

94 Dov Hyman, Sources of Yalkut Shimoni, Jerusalem, 1965, 1974 (Hebrew); Dov Hyman, Yitsḥaḳ N. Lerer and Yitsḥaḳ Shiloni, eds., Yalkut Shimoni on Torah, 9 vols., Jerusalem, 1973–92 (Hebrew). 95 Yitzhak Tzvi Langerman, Yemenite Midrash: Philosophical Commentaries on the Torah, New York, 1996; Mordechai Margulies, Midrash haGadol, 10 vols., Jerusalem, 1997 (Hebrew). 96 Saperstein, Decoding the Rabbis, 21.

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part a response to the halakhic distillations that meant people would no longer need to study Talmud to know the law, and the aggadic reflection that provides the heart and soul of Talmudic wisdom could be lost. Also, while Ibn Habib did not object to philosophy, he felt its treasures were sometimes too intellectual to sustain faith, especially in time of crisis. He invited future generations to create an ongoing dialogue with the sages’ aggadic teachings; many people added commentary and aggadot of their own, sometimes removing parts of Ibn Habib’s own work. As a result, En Yaaqov became a genre more than a fixed text.97 2.7.2

Midrash Rabbah and Medieval Collections98

Related to anthological projects of the Middle Ages, there were also visible efforts to collect works according to genre, without much editorial reconstruction. Familiar today as a substantial collection of midrash on the Pentateuch and Five Scrolls, Midrash Rabbah is actually a collection of ten disparate books. Genesis Rabbah and Leviticus Rabbah were the oldest, redacted in the Amoraic period, and the interpretations of the Five Scrolls were redacted between the fifth and eighth centuries (although Esther Rabbah also contains medieval passages). Deuteronomy Rabbah is composed of thematic discussion that address legal questions, like Tanḥuma-Yelammedenu literature, and likely took shape in the Geonic era. There is an alternative redaction, which circulated in the Sephardic milieu, now identified as Deuteronomy Rabbah-Lieberman edition.99 In addition to halakhic discussion, e.g., whether it is permissible for a single judge to adjudicate a case or for the Torah to be written in a language other than Hebrew, the midrash incorporates substantial aggadah, such as the dramatic resistance to Moses’ death found in purely aggadic texts. Exodus Rabbah and Numbers Rabbah each appear to combine two different works, with exegetical interpretations on the first part and more discursive pericopes for the remainder, assembled in the medieval period. Numbers Rabbah includes mystical material on the first seven chapters, and the second part is nearly identical to Midrash Tanḥuma on Numbers. Numerous manuscripts testify to medieval efforts to collect midrashim. MS Parma 1240 (written in 1270), for example, copied thirteen midrashim including several of the »rabbahs.« A relatively late Sephardic manuscript assembled a short version of Genesis Rabbah, plus the halakhic midrashim Mekhilta, Sifra, Sifre Numbers, Sifre Deuteronomy—calling the collection Midrash Ḥakhamim. Other manuscripts collected stories. MS Oxford 135, from thirteenth-century Northern France, brought together numerous narrative-type texts—Alphabet of Ben Sira, Midrash Aseret haDibrot,

97 Marjorie Lehman, The En Yaaqov: Jacob Ibn Habib’s Search for Faith in the Talmudic Corpus, Detroit/MI, 2012. 98 Marc Bregman, »Midrash Rabbah and the Medieval Collector Mentality,« in Stern, Anthology in Jewish Literature, 196–208. 99 Saul Lieberman, Midrash Deuteronomy Rabbah, 3rd ed., Jerusalem, 1974 (Hebrew).

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Midrash vaYosha, The Chronicles of Moses, Mishlei Sendebar, Parables of Berachiah haNaqdan—plus an otherwise unknown collection of sixty-one stories which Eli Yassif titled Sefer haMaasim.100 Collectanea and genre-sensitive manuscripts did not display the same creativity that anthological efforts did, but they testified to the ongoing importance of midrash and aggadah in the life of the Jewish community. Combined with the other developments reviewed above, the textual trail tells a remarkable story of innovation and imagination that nurtured deep engagement in the inexhaustibly fertile soil of Scripture. For Further Reading Harris, Robert A., »Jewish Biblical Exegesis in the Middle Ages: From Its Beginnings through the Twelfth Century,« in The New Cambridge History of the Bible. vol. 2, ed. Richard Marsden and Ann Matter, Cambridge, 2012, 596–615. Kalman, Jason, »Medieval Jewish Biblical Commentaries and the State of Parshanut Studies,« Religion Compass 2 (2008): 1–25. Raveh, Inbar, Feminist Rereadings of Rabbinic Literature, trans. Kaeren Fish, Lebanon/NH, 2014. Sæbø, Magne, ed., Hebrew Bible/Old Testament: The History of its Interpretation, vol. I/2, Göttingen, 2000, ch. 25, 31–34. Stern, David and Mark Jay Mirsky, eds., Rabbinic Fantasies: Imaginative Narratives from Classical Rabbinic Literature, repr., New Haven/CT, 1998. Strack, Hermann and Stemberger, Günter, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash. Minneapolis/ MN 1992. Ta-Shma, Israel, »Rabbinic Literature in the Middle Ages: 1000–1492,« in The Oxford Handbook of Jewish Studies, ed. Martin Goodman et al., Oxford, 2002, 219–40. Walfish, Barry D., »Medieval Jewish Interpretation,« in The Jewish Study Bible, ed. Adele Berlin and Marc Z. Brettler, 2nd ed., New York, 2014, 1891–1915.

100 Eli Yassif, »Sefer haMa’asim«, Tarbiẓ 53:3 (Spring, 1984): 409–30 (Hebrew).

Piyyut Elisabeth Hollender

Piyyut, derived from the Greek ποίησις (English: poetry), is the Hebrew term both for the genre of liturgical poetry in synagogue worship and in paraliturgical contexts, and for the individual works in this genre (plural: piyyutim). Little is known of the genre’s origins. Given the considerable passage of time, older liturgical poetry like the psalms in temple worship could only serve as conceptual models. Nor can the fragments of hymnic texts found at Qumran, which like piyyut have a language all their own, properly be viewed as direct precursors of synagogue poetry, although less direct connections have been argued. It may be assumed that a need for an aesthetic form of worship in the area between intentionally spontaneous and improvised prayer and the need for fixed texts led to the introduction of texts in verse and liturgical poetry.1 This tension between fixed and variable texts in Jewish liturgy was maintained from the 5th century on by liturgical poetry that could be used alongside statutory prayers on Sabbaths, festivals and holy days as a vehicle for fuller expression to the topics of the day than would be possible by the insertion of benedictions. Taking up the Bible readings of the day and retelling them in poetic language against the background of their familiar interpretation, liturgical poetry is closely woven into the linguistic and thematic fabric of worship. It picks up elements of the statutory prayer, reformulating them, in apparent compliance with the requirement of free formulation of prayer. The two most important aspects that come to Jewish worship by means of liturgical poetry, however, are variation—depending on the day—which differs by region and even locality, and the aspect of ornamentation by linguistic artistry. Poetry as formed language is an aesthetic element, enhancing worship with sensory experience. Together, its musical presentation and the special language and poetic devices used to shape it highlight the poetry of worship. Restricting the use of liturgical poetry to special days and for the adornment only of specified liturgical moments contributes to this experience of a special, aesthetic moment in worship. But the aesthetic character also subjects liturgical poetry to changing

1 The last word in the debate whether the first piyyutim served as free repetition of the ʿAmidah by precentor or were inserted into a recitation of the fixed prayer, has yet to be written. For a summary of the most important arguments see Ruth Langer, »Revisiting Early Rabbinic Liturgy: The Recent Contributions of Ezra Fleischer«, Prooftexts 19 (1999): 179–94, and the exchange between Ezra Fleischer and Ruth Langer in Prooftexts 20 (2000): 380–87.

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preferences in Jewish communities, which require adaptation to the tastes of the given time and place. This produces the need for continual renewal of liturgical poetry within all the Jewish traditions. This is balanced, on the other hand, by the tendency for rituals to be fixed in form and the desire to see cherished works from the past passed on. The tension between innovation and conservation ensures that the genre has a complex history with regional variations. Supplementing the daily, weekly, or annually repeated prayers, which are very similar to one another in the traditional rites, liturgical poetry also offers the possibility of variation. Even before the oldest surviving written piyyutim, leaders of synagogue prayers inserted poetic passages—not yet fixed—into their prayers. Although forms and conventions continued to develop, initially this was occasional composition, written for a particular event and not necessarily fixed in writing or handed down after the »performance.« In particular, the prayer leader’s recitation of the ʿAmidah, prescribed for congregational prayer, was a good way of capturing the full attention of those at prayer when the familiar fixed prayer could no longer do so. It is possible that prayer leaders did not view this repetition as a verbatim recitation of a fixed text but rather combined the prescribed content and concluding formulas of the berakhot (blessings) with their own, free wording.2 When pressure for prayer uniformity also affected repetition by the prayer leader, the poetic part became an additional insertion, and conventions became rules for the genre. So poetic recitations became piyyutim, literary works that were fixed in writing and repeatable—and a tradition began which enables description of the long history of piyyut. In 1972, Ezra Fleischer presented a division of the history of the genre which to a great extent remains valid today: • • • •

pre-classical piyyut (up to the 6th cent. CE) classical piyyut (late 6th–7th cent. CE) post-classical piyyut (8th–10th cent. CE) Sephardic piyyut (from 10th cent. CE), divisible into Andalusian piyyut (10th–12th cent. CE), and piyyut from Christian Spain (13th–15th cent. CE), with variants on the margins of the Iberian Peninsula • the Italo-Ashkenazic school of piyyut (9th–14th cent. CE), divisible into southItalian piyyut (9th cent.), Italian piyyut (10th–14th cent. CE), Ashkenazic piyyut (11th–14th cent. CE)3 • Also worthy of mention are Romaniote piyyut (12th–14th cent. CE),4 Karaite liturgical poetry (12th–17th cent.),5 and North-African piyyut (15th–19th cent.),6 as well

2 See the chapter on Jewish Liturgy by Dalia Marx in this volume. 3 Ezra Fleischer, Hebrew Liturgical Poetry in the Middle Ages, Jerusalem, 1972 (Hebrew). 4 Leon J. Weinberger, »Greek, Anatolian and Balkan Synagogue Poets,« in Texts and Responses. Studies Presented to N. Glatzer, ed. Michael A. Fishbane and Paul R. Flohr, Leiden, 1975, 108–19. 5 Joachim Yeshaya, Poetry and Memory in Karaite Prayer. The Liturgical Poetry of the Karaite Poet Moses ben Abraham Dar͑ī, Karaite Texts and Studies, Leiden/Boston/MA, 2014; Riikka Tuori, »Karaite Zěmīrōt in Poland-Lithuania,« PhD diss., Helsinki, 2013. 6 Ephraim Hazan, Hebrew Poetry in North Africa, Jerusalem, 1995 (Hebrew).

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as the poetic tradition in Yemen, active up to the 16th century,7 and Hebrew poetry in the Ottoman Empire, some of which was used liturgically, and some para-liturgically. The new interest in the oriental piyyut evident in 21st-century Israel has led to texts being written down once again, so that contemporary piyyut is a new category.

1

Poetic Genres

Types of liturgical poetry are distinguished according to their function and place within worship, and as the genre has developed, formal rules for individual types have been subject to alteration.8 Initially, in Late Antiquity, separate forms were developed for the various moments in the liturgy that could be embellished, linked to conventions regarding content. The wording of the various statutory prayers suggested basic themes which were then developed in piyyut, often in tandem with the various Bible readings of the day. These were interpreted with reference to the basic liturgical theme or provided examples for a more detailed presentation of the basic theme. Alongside the most important prayers (Shema‘ and ʿAmidah) in morning prayer on Sabbaths and holy days, special moments in the various holiday liturgies are also embellished with piyyutim. The various liturgical traditions differ as to which genres are preferred, both in terms of use and in terms of the active, continual production of new piyyutim. The following descriptions are intended only to provide basic information on the individual poetic types, with reference to the variants practiced at different times and places.

1.1

Piyyutim for the Shemaʿ

In morning worship, the »Hear O Israel« prayer is surrounded by three benedictions. The poetic embellishment of this complex is called yotser, which relates to the name of the first berakhah (blessing) before the Shemaʿ in the morning, which is called yotser or, »Creator of Light.« The yotser composition is documented in classical piyyut, but it was only later that it became the most important and most common form of liturgical poetry. Yotserot were composed for festivals and special Sabbaths. Alongside the four special Sabbaths before Pesach, these include some of the Sabbaths between Pesach and Shavuot, Shabbat Bereshit after Simḥat Torah, on which the first Torah reading is repeated, as well as others. In addition, yotserot were composed for special days in a man’s life, such as circumcision and marriage. Since classical times, yotser compositions have consisted of up to seven parts (Yotser, Ofan, Me‘orah, Ahavah, Zulat, Mi Kamokha, Geulah), which are named after key words

7 Mishal Messouri-Kaspi, Hebrew Poetry from Yemen, Tel Aviv, 1991 (Hebrew). 8 A full study of changes in a particular type is available, for instance, in Ezra Fleischer, The Yoẓer: Its Emergence and Development, Jerusalem, 1984 (Hebrew).

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in the benedictions to which they are attached. These reference points are distributed over the three initial benedictions. The individual parts were treated differently in the different liturgical traditions. Formal rules, in particular in relation to strophic form and the use of rhyme patterns and acrostics, are distinguished between (1) classical and Italo-Ashkenazic piyyut and (2) Sephardic piyyut, which influenced later schools. The situation is similar as regards prescribed topics: In classical and Italo-Ashkenazic piyyutim, the holy day for which a piyyut was composed often determined its content, and seasonal themes were interpreted—like creation for the yotser, worship of God by angels and humans in the ofan, and redemption in the geulah—in the context of the day’s Torah readings. In Sephardic compositions, on the other hand, there are fewer references to the Torah reading and piyyutim seem almost interchangeable in the annual cycle.

1.2

Piyyutim for the ʿAmidah

For the various forms of ʿAmidah (»the standing prayer«) there are different forms of poetic embellishment, each of which relates to the form of the ʿAmidah.9 In late-antique Palestine, the qedushah, the hallowing of the divine name by the biblical verses Isa 6:3 and Ezek 3:12, by which earthly worship was linked to the heavenly, was the climax of the liturgy, which was inserted after the third berakhah in Shaḥarit (the morning service) on Sabbaths and holy days, as well as on Rosh haShanah and Yom Kippur in Musaf (the added service), Minḥah (afternoon), and Neila (at the end of Yom Kippur). The ʿAmidah in ʿAravit (the evening service) does not contain a qedushah.10 ʿAmidot that contain this insertion were decorated by compositions that come to a climax in the connection to the qedushah, the qedushta’ot. This is probably the oldest form of qerovot.11 Here, only the first three berakhot were adorned with piyyutim. This breaks the desired symmetry of the composition, but it provided options for new arrangements and internal symmetry that no longer sought a one-to-one relationship with the liturgy but a connection with the sacred meaning of the texts. While the first two berakhot are embellished with one piyyut each, between the first reference to the third berakhah in the third piyyut and the direct transition to the qedushah, a number of further piyyutim are inserted. This carefully composed structure leads from simple piyyutim for the first two berakhot to the liturgical-hymnic 9 On the various forms see Ezra Fleischer, Hebrew Liturgical Poetry in the Middle Ages, Jerusalem, 1972, repr. 2007, 138–40 (Hebrew); Ismar Elbogen, Jewish Liturgy. A Comprehensive History, transl. Raymond Scheindlin, Jerusalem/Philadelphia/PA, 1993, 37–54, 225–26. 10 In the Babylonian rite the ʿAmidah always contains the qedushah as well. On the history and content of the insertion see Elbogen, Jewish Liturgy, 54–62. Cf. also Ezra Fleischer, »leNusaḥa-qadum shel qedushat ha-a͑ mida,« Sinai 63 (1968): 229–41 (Hebrew); Ezra Fleischer, »letefutsatan shel qedushot ha-a͑ mida ve-ha-yotser be-minhagot ha-tefila shel bney erets Israel,« Tarbiẓ 38 (1969): 255–85 (Hebrew); Ezra Fleischer, Eretz-Israel Prayer and Prayer Rituals, Jerusalem, 1988, 19–78 (Hebrew). 11 See Ezra Fleischer, »le-qadmoni’ut ha-qedushta, qedushta qedem Yannai’it le-yom Matan Tora,« HaSifrut 2 (1970): 390–414, esp. 390f. n. 4 (Hebrew).

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climax of the worship of God by humans and angels. The resulting asymmetry was balanced by symmetry in smaller units, especially in the individual piyyutim of the composition.12 Qedushta’ot are typical of classical piyyut, and examples are also found in pre-classical and post-classical piyyut, in Andalusian piyyut, and occasionally in early Ashkenazic piyyut. In line with the 18 berakhot of the regular Palestinian ʿAmidah, 18-qerovot were composed for the liturgy on special weekdays, such as Rosh Ḥodesh, Ḥanukkah, Purim, fast days and such, which contain a short piyyut for each berakhah. The individual parts are similar in structure and relate to the content of the berakhah. Longer pieces can be inserted to address the theme of the day. Numerous, mostly anonymous 18-qerovot13 were preserved in the Cairo Genizah, even though the genre was no longer active after the classical piyyut. The Italian and Ashkenazic rites, however, preserves, for instance, the 18-qerovah of Elazar birabbi Qallir for Purim. For the Maʿariv and Minḥah worship services on Sabbaths and festivals, each of the seven berakhot of the shortened ʿAmidah was enhanced with a piyyut. There being seven piyyutim, the compositions in the classical piyyut are called shivʿatot (literally: sevens).14 Similar piyyutim were also composed for Musaf services on the special Sabbaths before Pesach. On individual fast days and holy days, additional piyyutim could be inserted into the piyyutim for the ʿAmidah, forming categories of their own; they may have come into being independently of the qerovot. The oldest attested type of piyyut is the Seder ʽAvodah for Yom haKippurim.15 The atonement service in the temple is remembered on that day, in which the high priest sent a goat bearing the sins of Israel into the wilderness and slaughtered another goat as a sacrifice. A detailed description of this process can be found in Mishnah Yoma. As a poetic development of this theme, inserted in the ʿAmidah, Sidre Avodah bring remembrance of the temple ritual into the service.16 This replacement function may have contributed to the dissemination of poetic insertions in worship services. The oldest preserved Sidre ʿAvodah come from the pre-classical

12 See Ezra Fleischer, »beḥinot be-tahalikh͑ aliyat he-ḥaruz ba-shira ha-ivrit ha-qeduma,« Meḥqarey Yerushalayim be-sifrut Ivrit 1 (1981): 237 (Hebrew). For a thorough study of the poetic genre and all its parts, see Shulamit Elizur, Sod meshalshei qodesh: the Qedushta from its origins until the time of Rabbi Elʽazar Berabbi Qillir, Jerusalem, 2019 (Hebrew). 13 Cf. the editions by Avi Shmidman in http://www.qerovot18.com/. 14 See Fleischer, Liturgical Poetry, 182–98, and the examples of the various types of shiv‘atot given there. 15 For texts and translations as well as an introduction to the genre, see Michael D. Swartz and Joseph Yahalom, ʿAvodah. An Anthology of Ancient Poetry for Yom Kippur, University Park/ PA, 2005. 16 See also Michael D. Swartz, »Ritual about Myth about Ritual: Towards an Understanding of the ʿAvodah in the Rabbinic Period,« Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy 6/1 (1997): 135–55; Michael D. Swartz, »Judaism and the Idea of Ancient Ritual Theory,« in Jewish Studies at the Crossroads of Anthropology and History, ed. Ra’anan S. Boustan, Oren Kosansky and Marina Rustow, Philadelphia/PA, 2011, 294–317; Michael D. Swartz, »Liturgy, Poetry, and the Persistence of Sacrifice,« in Was 70 CE a Watershed in Jewish History? ed. Daniel R. Schwartz and Zeev Weiss, Leiden, 2012, 393–412.

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period of piyyut. The genre was active into the Middle Ages in various Diaspora communities, although classical examples were maintained in the maḥzor (festival prayer book), which were not replaced by later compositions. Sidre ›Avodah begin with a description of the creation, before summarizing the history of humanity and the history of Israel—from Genesis up to the exodus from Egypt and the erection of the tabernacle. The presentation of the sacrifice and the sendingout of the scapegoat are related in detail only after this background story. The close relation between the Mishnah and the piyyutim is clearly visible, although the piyyutim make use of considerably more artistic language and refer back to the wording of the Mishnah only in the description of the action of the high priest in the Holy of Holies. Qinot (singular qinah) are lamentations for the 9th of Av, which lament the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple. They are woven into the ʿAmidah, different combinations arising for the various services. Qinot have been composed in all poetic traditions since classical piyyut; there are no fixed formal rules. Already classical paytanim composed highly structured qinot alongside highly narrative qinot. The various forms persist alongside each other, and at the end of the 12th century a new form was introduced, namely Zionide laments, whose meter and rhyme relate to the Sephardic model, »Zion, do you not ask« by Judah b. Samuel ha-Levi. Qinot frequently borrow content and wording from the book of Lamentations, the rabbinic exegesis of which—in Lamentations Rabbah, for instance—was a further source for narrative, also serving as inspiration in terms of language. The generic term Seliḥah (plural: Seliḥot), meaning »forgiveness,« points to its function as prayers of repentance. These have references or allusions to the suffering of Israel—which is generally attributed to its sins—and therein are prayers for divine forgiveness and salvation. As in pre-classical and classical qinot, thematic and formal subgenres developed, which were passed on in the various liturgical traditions. Seliḥot are almost always strophic, and three- and four-line verse forms are especially popular. All types of linguistic embellishment can be applied. From the 10th century on, alongside general laments about persecution and oppression, seliḥot attract inserted reports about contemporary persecutions, bringing remembrance of them into the liturgy.17 Seliḥot are inserted in the liturgy on fast days and in the month of Elul, and also recited in special paraliturgical forms in the synagogue. The custom in North African and Middle Eastern communities to hold seliḥot services in the evenings or at night was maintained into modern times and has contributed considerably to recent popular interest in piyyutim.

1.3

Further Piyyutim

In the Middle Ages, additional moments in worship were identified that could be embellished with piyyutim. In the Sephardic domain in particular, the reshut devel-

17 There are also special reminders in qinot of the Rhineland persecutions of 1096, which in some cases have been preserved in today’s liturgy, cherishing the memory of the martyrs.

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oped as a flexible genre that could be placed before various statutory prayers, in which the prayer leader asks permission to present a prayer on behalf of the congregation and bring it before God as representative of the individual petitioners. The content of the reshut in each case is oriented to the statutory prayer in question. In this way, pieces in which the prayer-leader plays a leading role, such as barkhu, nishmat, and qaddish, are given special emphasis. In Ashkenaz, reshuyot (pl.) were composed for special Torah readings, in particular for the first and last reading of the annual cycle and for the reading of the groom, but also for the specially highlighted reading of the Decalogue with Aramaic translation on Shavuot, which completed an apparently older set of Aramaic alphabetical piyyutim introducing the Targum of each of the Ten Commandments.18 Also in Ashkenaz, Maʽarivim were composed to embellish the Shemaʿ in the evening service at the beginning of festivals, introducing the special theme of the day in its first service. Another Ashkenazic innovation were short qedushot for Musaf-services, beginning with the word Elohekhem, used mainly on special Sabbaths, like those of life-cycle-events. They embellished services that did not contain other piyyutim, a proof that poetry served to confirm the elevated status of liturgical occasions. In addition, in various traditions piyyutim were inserted at other moments in the liturgy which clearly mainly had the function of aesthetic enhancement of the service, but which may in individual cases have served as a way of involving the congregation. Life-cycle festivals offered the opportunity to embellish the service, using specially composed poetic pieces in paraliturgical contexts as well, and for benedictions at festival meals.

2

History of Piyyut

The long history of liturgical poetry may be divided into individual strands, which are often geographically linked. Only a broad-brush description is possible here. However, we shall set out some individual authors in more detail, to give an impression of the variability of the genre.

2.1

Pre-classical Piyyut

From the reception history of piyyutim written in Byzantine Israel in the late 6th and early 7th centuries CE, a division of time into periods emerged which calls the few surviving piyyutim composed before this time »pre-classical.« This was a period of development for poetic techniques as well as forms and conventions. It is strik18 Although alphabetic acrostics were common in piyyut, only these piyyutim are ever called alfabetin, showing that they were defined by their form. For an edition, see Michael Sokoloff and Joseph Yahalom, Jewish Palestinian Aramaic Poetry from Late Antiquity, Jerusalem, 1999 (Hebrew), see also the translations in Laura Lieber, Jewish Aramaic Poetry from Late Antiquity. Translations and Commentaries, Leiden, 2018.

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ing that the basic forms, those of the qedushta especially, were already available, although there were variants in terms of the number of piyyutim and the placing of certain forms. The rhyming found in all piyyutim from the 6th century onwards was not yet fully developed at this time; alongside unrhymed lines there were some with rhyming words, as well as the first rhymed piyyutim. Acrostics, which are among the key ornamental elements of piyyutim in later times, were employed considerably more sparingly, and most early poets did without name acrostics, so these piyyutim cannot be attributed. The first poet we know by name is Yose b. Yose.19 Nothing is known of the circumstances of this 5th-century paytan, although it may be assumed that he was a prayer leader (ḥazan) of a congregation in Byzantine Palestine. Unlike later poets, he used no name acrostics. His existence is documented by medieval manuscripts which added headings to his works indicating the author’s name, and by mentions of his works and his name in the writings of Rav Saʿadia Gaon and other early authors. Some of his piyyutim are included in the Ashkenazic new year liturgy, and a Seder ʽAvodah for Yom Kippur was also used in Sepharad. Other works have been discovered in the Cairo Genizah. In his piyyutim, Yose b. Yose refers to expositions known from early midrashim, and to biblical exegesis, which does not feature in this form in early midrashim. This has triggered debate as to whether piyyutim always go back to textual (written) models, reformulating midrashim poetically, or whether they also contain expositions of their own, so that the paytanim were not only poets and prayer leaders but also scholars.

2.2

Classical Piyyut

The establishment of forms and the signing of names in piyyutim in the 6th century mark the beginning of the time of classical piyyut in Byzantine Israel.20 A number of works from that time reached Italy and Ashkenaz, while many more were discovered in the Cairo Genizah. It is assumed that in this period poets began to write down and transmit their works systematically. Nonetheless, even at the beginning of this period, piyyut was still »occasional poetry,« as paytanim would write several compositions for the same occasion, evidently being under pressure to present new piyyutim each year. After Yose b. Yose, Yannai was the next paytan known by name. His dating to the late 6th century can again only be deduced from circumstantial evidence. In medieval Ashkenaz he was known to have written qerovot (qedushta’ot) for each individual week section (seder) of the Palestinian lectionary, lasting around three

19 Edited by Aharon Mirsky, Piyyute Yose ben Yose, Jerusalem, 1991 (Hebrew). 20 See Wout van Bekkum, »Jewish and Christian Hymnody in the early Byzantine Period,« in The Jewish-Greek Tradition in Antiquity and the Byzantine Empire, ed. James K. Aitken and James C. Paget, Cambridge, 2014, 261–78.

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and a half years.21 Use of the triennial lectionary made adoption into other Jewish traditions almost impossible, and so, just one qedushta by Yannai was used in the Middle Ages in Ashkenaz. That was for Shabbat ha-Gadol, i.e. for a holiday and not dependent on the continuous reading of Torah. Yannai became known as a result of the discovery of the Cairo Genizah, when texts were first found on a palimpsest that could be ascribed to him because of a name acrostic. Menahem Zulay’s systematic search for Yannai’s piyyutim resulted in the edition of parts of more than 140 qedushta’ot. The known oeuvre has now risen to more than 170 qedushta’ot. For some weekly readings, remains of several qedushta’ot by Yannai are known. This indicates that there was interest in the poet, not simply in piyyutim for special occasions. Yannai signed his qedushta’ot with his name acrostic, without a patronymic. He used end-rhyme almost continuously, and as a result this poetic element became quickly established in Hebrew poetry. The forms of the various piyyutim of the qedushta are fully developed in his work; it is clear that he adopted an existing poetic tradition. It is also striking that Yannai used poetic language with its own, often shortened word forms, which developed further in later generations of paytanim. Unlike Yannai, several piyyutim by Elazar birabbi Qillir/ Qallir (popular name haQalliri) were widespread in Ashkenaz and are still represented in the maḥzor to the present day. The Cairo Genizah, however, has handed down an abundance of other piyyutim by this prolific poet, not all of which have yet been edited and prepared for publication.22 The name of this paytan is puzzling: he sometimes signs the patronymic as »Qallir« and sometimes as »Qillir«; the name is not of Semitic origin. The terms ‫ יהודיה‬and ‫ הודיה‬in various of his acrostics are unclear; they were later interpreted as names of family members, perhaps sons.23 The place name »Qiryat Sefer« given in some individual acrostics cannot be identified geographically; all we know for sure is that he lived in Byzantine Israel. The contents of his piyyutim point to the conclusion that he experienced the Persian conquest of 614 CE and died close to the Byzantine Reconquest of 629. The high number of preserved works suggests a lengthy period of poetic creativity. Piyyutim by Qallir are preserved for all festival days in the Jewish calendar, as well as special Sabbaths. For many holidays several of his qedushta’ot have been

21 Menahem Zulay, ed., Piyyute Yannai, Berlin, 1938 (Hebrew), an annotated edition is also now available: Zvi Meir Rabinowitz, Maḥzor Piyyute Rabbi Yannai le-Tora u-la-Moʿadim, Tel Aviv, 1985–87 (Hebrew). See also English translations in Laura Lieber, Yannai on Genesis, Cincinnati/OH, 2010. 22 A critical edition is in preparation. The first work to have appeared so far is: Shulamit Elizur, ed., Rabbi Elazar birabbi Qillir: Piyyutim le-Rosh ha-Shana, Jerusalem, 2014 (Hebrew). See also her editions Qedushat va-Shir. Qedushta’ot le-arbaʿa ha-parashiyot le-Rabbi Elazar birabbi Qillir, Jerusalem, 1988 (Hebrew); be-Toda ve-Shir. Shivʿatot le-arbaʿa ha-parashiyot le-Rabbi Elazar birabbi Qillir, Jerusalem, 1991 (Hebrew); Rabbi Elazar birabbi Qillir. Qedushta’ot le-yom matan Torah, Jerusalem, 2000 (Hebrew). 23 Cf. Ezra Fleischer, »Iyyunim Qilliriyim,« Tarbiẓ 50 (1981): 282–302 (Hebrew).

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handed down, so that it seems that new piyyutim were composed each year. As two versions of the 18-qerovah for Purim are preserved in the Cairo Genizah, both of which Shulamit Elizur thinks are authentic; it may be assumed that Elazar birabbi Qillir himself collected his piyyutim in written form and recycled them—at least in revised form.24 Alongside multiple qedushta’ot for the holidays, qedushta’ot can confidently be ascribed to the four special Sabbaths before Pesach, Shiv‘atot for festivals and also for the Sabbaths of the penitential period before Rosh haShanah, 18-qerovot for Purim and Ḥanukkah, qinot for 9th Av, Seliḥot for Elul and for the ten days between Rosh haShanah and Yom Kippur, as well as a variety of piyyutim for the high holy days. As the piyyutim handed down in Europe show, Elazar birabbi Qallir composed linguistically highly accomplished piyyutim full of allusions to the rabbinic interpretive tradition, often shaped additionally by complex rhymes and other structural embellishments. His poetry is quoted in illustration of the »incomprehensibility« of piyyut, which results from the allusions to rare words or unusual phrases.25 In the first piyyutim of the qedushta’ot, he combines a variety of allusions that are difficult to decipher because of the cryptic language. Shulamit Elizur, however, argues that in the last years of his working life he changed his style, composing piyyutim—preserved only in the Cairo Genizah—which are far less complex in language and content. Among the most beautiful of his late works are piyyutim intended for the Sabbaths in Elul, the time of preparation for the High Holidays. The vocabulary they use is clearly biblical in orientation, and they make few references to midrashim and when they do so the references are very clear. It is noticeable that these piyyutim seem to play with sound, so that the aesthetic moves from the intellectual challenge to the acoustic experience. Unfortunately, there is no contemporary documentation to indicate why this change took place; so there is no way of proving the presumption that more easily understood piyyutim were used for the sake of publication.26 At the same time, not long after Elazar birabbi Qillir, other poets too were working in Israel, including Yehudah,27 Simon bar Megas,28 Joḥanan haKohen b. Yoshua,29 and

24 Shulamit Elizur, »‘Ve-ya’ahov Uman’ – qerova qillirit le-Purim be-itsuv murḥav’,« Tarbiẓ 64, (1995): 499–521 (Hebrew). 25 See Joseph Yahalom, »’Ats kotsets’ Gishot ve-‘emdot be-sheelat signon ha-piyyut ve-leshono,« Jerusalem Studies in Hebrew Literature 1 (1981): 167–81 (Hebrew). For a discussion of the deliberate impenetrability of Qallirian piyyutim, see Shulamit Elizur, »Le-Gilguley ha-ḥidatiyut be-fiyyut ha-mizraḥi, me-reshito ›ad ha-meah ha-12,« Pe’amim 59 (1994): 14–34 (Hebrew). 26 For a reconstruction of Elazar birabbi Qallir’s poetic development and analysis of his way to compose qedushta’ot, see Shulamit Elizur, Sod meshalshei qodesh: the Qedushta from its origins until the time of Rabbi Elʽazar Berabbi Qillir, Jerusalem, 2019 (Hebrew). 27 Wout van Bekkum, ed., Hebrew Poetry from Late Antiquity. Liturgical Poems of Yehudah. Critical Edition with Introduction and Commentary, AGJU 43, Leiden, 2018. 28 Joseph Yahalom, »Piyyute Shimon bar Megas,«, Jerusalem, 1984 (Hebrew). 29 Nahum Weisenstern, »Piyyute Yoḥanan haKohen bar Yoshuʿa,« PhD. diss., Jerusalem, 1984 (Hebrew).

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Pinhas haKohen.30 Very few of their works made it to Europe, and they are known almost exclusively from the Cairo Genizah. Those named were productive poets, although their oeuvre does not come close to the quantity produced by Elazar birabbi Qillir. They were masters of the classical genre, developing special features of their own, but they clearly never reached the level of popularity achieved by Qallir. As far as manuscripts from the Cairo Genizah can be reconstructed, there was a personally identifiable tradition for these poets as well.

2.3

Post-classical Piyyut

In the centuries following the Arab conquest, piyyut remained a productive genre and numerous prayer leaders wrote their own piyyutim to embellish worship. Some of these authors were widely represented in the Cairo Genizah, like Samuel haShilishi b. Hosha’na, who was a member of the Sanhedrin in Jerusalem in the 10th century.31 His yotserot for all of the Sabbaths of the year are characterized by both creative and readable language, with skilled references to rabbinic literature, which make his texts both artistic and easy to understand. One of the outstanding figures in Hebrew poetry of this era was Saʿadia Gaon, who was important for other branches of Hebrew literature and philosophy. Born in al-Fayyum, Egypt in 882, he completed the majority of his studies in Tiberias. He later moved to Babylon, and in 928 was appointed gaon of the academy of Sura in Baghdad. His own liturgical poetry probably originates from his time in Israel, and it is in this context that his reverse dictionary, Agron, should be viewed.32 Among his piyyutim was a cycle of yotserot for the weekly Torah readings and a monumental composition in ten parts for Yom Kippur which is philosophical in character. Saʿadia was a classicist who continued the enigmatic style that already existed in Qallir. His piyyutim are very complicated, particularly linguistically, partly because of their use of rare biblical paronomasia. His piyyutim also contain singleword allusions to rabbinic literature. The audience for whom he composed these piyyutim were highly educated; and it is possible that they were widely used. It is striking that the two poetic invocations which he adopts in his version of the Jewish prayer book (Siddur Rav Saʿadia Gaon) are quite different in style and intelligible to an audience familiar with the liturgically used part of the Bible. Babylonia too was a center of Hebrew poetry at this time, as well as Israel, although geonim like Yehudah and Pirqoi ben Baboi made explicit statements against piyyutim, not wanting to interrupt prayers with other texts inserted between or in the course of the benedictions. The Babylonian paytanim are also known 30 Shulamit Elizur, Piyyute Rabbi Pinḥas haKohen, Jerusalem, 2004 (Hebrew). 31 Joseph Yahalom and Naoya Katsumata, Yotserot of Rabbi Samuel the Third: A Leading Figure in Jerusalem of the Tenth-Century, Jerusalem, 2014 (Hebrew). 32 Edited by Menahem Zulay, haAskola hapaytanit Shel Rav Saʿadya Gaon, Jerusalem, 1964. For more on Saʿadia, see the chapter on Gaonic and Karaite Literature in this volume.

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mainly from the Cairo Genizah. In the 10th century, three generations of the alBaradani family were prayer leaders in Baghdad, composing piyyutim of their own. The first of them, Joseph al-Baradani, left more than 400 piyyutim, notable for their linguistic and textual references to the Bible.33

2.4

Andalusian Piyyut

After the Islamic conquest of Spain and the establishment of Islamic states on the Iberian Peninsula, in the 9th-12th centuries an intellectual society developed, especially in Andalusia, in which Muslims, Jews, and Christians alike participated. This is therefore said to be a »golden age.« The term was first used in reference to secular Hebrew poetry of the time, but it has influenced discourse about a society in which Jews were able to participate as courtiers in high courtly culture. For Jews, the Arab culture that surrounded them was a cultural challenge, to which various reactions were possible and necessary. For one thing, Jews adopted Arabic as a language of culture and participated keenly in the achievements of the sciences, for example medicine, geography, and astronomy. Hebrew remained the main language of poetry, and many poets made clear and explicit recourse to biblical language.34 Alongside secular poetry for which Jewish Andalusia is particularly well known, liturgical poetry underwent crucial development here. Among the most important Andalusian paytanim are authors who composed little or no secular poetry that has been preserved, such as Joseph ibn Abitur (10th cent.), who worked as a scholar at the yeshiva in Cordoba. He was expelled in a dispute about its leadership, and moved to Egypt, where he lived for almost 40 years. Some of his more than 600 piyyutim seem to have been composed in Cordoba, but he also wrote numerous new piyyutim for the use of the Jewish Shami (Syrian) community in Fustat, who observed the Palestinian rite. His most famous work is a maʽamad for Yom Kippur, which includes piyyutim for all the day’s services, so that in addition to a complete yotser, there were also complete qerovot for all five of the day’s services, including a full Seder ʽAvodah. Besides this form, which later Andalusian poets adopted, he also introduced other innovations, including piyyutim for Nishmat, which defined the rules for the form and content of the genre. Many of his piyyutim, including the hoshaʽanot, were adopted into the Sephardic rite and handed down in Spain as well as in the Cairo Genizah.35 Although it may be assumed that he knew the quantitative meter introduced into Andalusian Hebrew poetry by Dunash ben Labrat, he did not use it in his liturgical poetry. However,

33 Tova Beeri, The Great Cantor of Baghdad. The Liturgical Poems of Joseph Ben Hayyim al-Baradani, Jerusalem, 2002 (Hebrew). 34 Rina Drory has argued that the use of Hebrew for poetry in Sepharad was based on a functional division of languages that assigned beauty to Hebrew. See Rina Drory, Models and Contacts: Arabic Literature and Its Impact on Medieval Jewish Culture, Leiden, 2000, 169–77. 35 There is still no edition of his piyyutim, but Joseph Yahalom and Naoya Katsumata are currently preparing an edition of the yotserot, including the full maʿamad for Yom Kippur.

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the occasionally lyrical style of his piyyutim diverges from his great predecessor Saʿadia Gaon and takes up elements of Spanish Hebrew poetry in the 10th century. The influence his piyyutim had on Spanish-Jewish poets of succeeding generations clearly shows that piyyutim were transported beyond the borders of individual communities and countries, in step with the aesthetic preferences of the time. Like ibn Abitur, other 10th and 11th-century poets developed the poetic forms further, and individual parts of yotser composition attracted special attention in Sepharad. They were separate from each other to the extent that poets did not write complete compositions but individual piyyutim, developing detailed forms even for those types, which in earlier times were written as short pieces. Among these were: the me’orot, ahavot, and mi-kamokhah piyyutim, but also reshuyot, which became increasingly important. In line with the wide range of form options, poets could develop their own preferences, especially for individual genres, evident, for instance, in Isaac ibn Ghiyyat, many of whose ofanim, me’orot and ahavot are preserved.36 Well-known Andalusian authors of secular Hebrew poetry also composed piyyutim, among them Solomon ibn Gabirol, Moses ibn Ezra, and Judah b. Samuel haLevi, as well as Abraham ibn Ezra.37 They adopted parts of the style developed for secular poetry into liturgical poetry, such as biblically influenced language, some rhyme patterns and strophic forms. They linked strophes by a shared concluding line repeated throughout the whole poem (girdle poem), and similar poetic techniques. The quantitative meter developed from Arabic models, on the other hand, remained the preserve of secular poetry, along with personal religious poetry not used liturgically, for which Solomon ibn Gabirol (ca. 1021–1057) became famous. Among his especially interesting liturgical poems are lyrical reshuyot which seem to break through the formal and thematic requirements of the genre and reveal a special relationship between poet/prayer leader and God. His monumental philosophical poem Keter Malkhut (»king’s crown«) later found its way into the liturgy and is still recited on Yom Kippur in Sephardic congregations. The best-known poet of this period was Judah b. Samuel ha-Levi (1075–1141), whose fame is based on his philosophical main work Kuzari, as well as on his secular poetry. However, with 350 piyyutim, just under half of his poetic oeuvre is liturgical. It was supposed that with increasing age he turned away from secular subjects and to liturgical poetry; but this is difficult to prove. It may, however, be assumed that the religiously motivated emigration to Israel towards the end of his life led to

36 Iris Blum, »Piyyute haOfan, haAhava vehaMeora beMorashto shel Rabbi Yitsḥaq Ibn Giat,« unpublished dissertation, Ramat Gan, 2012 (Hebrew). 37 While the number of translated Sephardic piyyutim is comparatively small, several good translations of their secular poetry exist, among them Peter Cole, The Dream of the Poem. Hebrew Poetry from Muslim & Christian Spain, 950–1492, Princeton/NJ, 2007, and especially the translations of Raymond P. Scheindlin, Wine, Women, & Death. Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life, Philadelphia/PA et al., 1986; The Gazelle. Medieval Hebrew Poems on God, Israel, and the soul, Philadelphia/PA, 1991; The Sound of the Distant Dove: Judah Halevi’s Pilgrimage, Oxford, 2007; Vulture in a Cage: Poems by Solomon Ibn Gabirol, Brooklyn/NY, 2016.

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religious themes becoming more important in his oeuvre. Judah haLevi composed piyyutim for almost all feast and fast days, making use of all active genres in Sepharad, including qerovot, the various parts of yotser composition, seliḥot, and qinot. Besides piyyutim on set topics, he also composed piyyutim that are not tied to a particular weekly reading. His most famous work in the Jewish liturgy, however, was not written as a piyyut: the »great Zionide« Tsion halo tishali (Zion, why do you not ask of the well-being of your prisoners?) is recited as a lament in numerous rites on 9th Av, but was written as a personal, not a liturgical lament. Its transformation into a liturgical lament seems to have taken place in the Rhineland in the 12th century. Numerous contrafacts were later written which further extended the poet’s fame. Already in the late 13th century, there are notes in Ashkenazic manuscripts that report that Judah haLevi composed this lament in Jerusalem. This gave rise in the 16th century to development of the legend of his death at the hand of an Arab horseman jealous of his religious sincerity. Already in his lifetime, many of his piyyutim were used in Andalusia and also were exported far afield. There is evidence of them in North African and Middle Eastern rites, as well as in Provence and in medieval rites in France and Ashkenaz, where some of his qinot continued to be used into modern times. Piyyutim by Judah haLevi were adopted in Karaite liturgy, too. When the Hamburg Jewish Temple issued a new prayer book in 1819, dropping the piyyutim customary in Ashkenaz, it replaced them with Sephardic piyyutim, most of them by Judah haLevi. Abraham Ibn Ezra (1089–1167), a little younger than Judah haLevi, is known mainly for his Bible commentaries, but also for his interest in scientific questions. He also is one of the great poets of the Andalusian tradition, in both the secular and the liturgical domains. Many of his piyyutim were used in various Sephardic rites, and some found their way into other traditions. His special significance for piyyut comes from his journeys through various European countries, after leaving Spain because of the Almohad persecution of Jews, and his efforts to spread JewishAndalusian culture in these countries. After becoming acquainted with classical piyyutim in Italy, especially those of Elazar birabbi Qillir, he gave a detailed critique of this form of poetry in his commentary on Ecclesiastes 5:1. His arguments in relation to its incomprehensibility and grammatical errors were still used centuries later in criticism of the recitation of piyyutim in worship. Ibn Ezra strove to make the aesthetics of Spanish-Hebrew poetry well known in Italy and other places in his travels; attempting to establish it as a model for local poetry. This was successful in Italy, although recent research has shown that this was a long process, triggered by Ibn Ezra but lasting for several decades more after his departure.

2.5

Italian Piyyut

In the course of liturgical influences from Israel on the (southern) Italian communities in the Early Middle Ages up to the Arab conquest of Israel, numerous classical piyyutim reached Italy. Works by Elazar birabbi Qillir formed a part of the Italian maḥzor (liturgy), prompting other paytanim in imitation. The first documented texts

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date to the 9th century in southern Italy. There a new style developed which shows both agreements and deviations from classical models in form, language, and content.38 There are reports of the first named Italian paytanim, Shefatia b. Amitai, his son Amitai and a poet named Zevadya by Aḥimaʿaṣ b. Palti’el (born 1017) in a poetic family chronicle, which also contains episodes on the composition of piyyutim.39 Amitai b. Shefatia interpreted the classical piyyutim available to him and used this analysis to create his own style. It reveals strong influences of classical paytanut in many areas, while in others it reveals deviations that were taken up by later Italian paytanim and form key characteristics of the Italian (and Ashkenazic) poetic school.40 Among his formal innovations are the detailed acrostics in which he refers to himself as »the little one,« naming family members and inserting wish formulas, a form of acrostic which was adopted by other poets of the Italian-Ashkenazic poetic school that is found neither in classical piyyut nor in Sephardic poetry.41 With respect to strophic forms and linguistic style, Amitai deviated from his classical models, and here the local poetic tradition with asymmetric verses is visible. He shows a readiness to use loan words and elements from various stages of the Hebrew language that probably comes from multilingualism. In addition, Amitai was also one of the first poets to write three-part compositions using yotser, ofan, and zulat, in which the ofanim were significantly longer and more structured than for Qallir, for instance. This model became established in Italy and Ashkenaz, where the other parts of yotser composition were not used until the late 12th century. Several of Amitai’s yotserot cannot be assigned to any particular weekly reading; as themes for the yotser he often chose the creation, for the ofan the angelic liturgy, and for the zulat the redemption. This thematic allocation reflects a tendency in classical yotserot, which however was not rigidly observed until the Italian school of poets. Although some of his seliḥot were also handed down in Ashkenaz, Amitai became famous for his piyyutim for the wedding of his sister Cassia. The qedushta for this occasion is unfortunately known only in incomplete form, as the last piece of this multi-part composition, which follows human life from birth to death, with an emphasis on wedding and marriage, has been handed down without its conclusion. Amitai was apparently the first poet to compose a yotser for the Sabbath in the wedding week, in which he describes the creation as preparation for the wedding of the first human couple,

38 Cf. Ezra Fleischer, Hebrew Liturgical Poetry in the Middle Ages, Jerusalem, 1975 (Hebrew), 423–73 on forms and general characteristics of Italian-Ashkenazic paytanut; idem, »Aspects in the Poetry of the Early Italian Paytanim,« haSifrut 30–31 (1981): 131–67 (Hebrew); idem, »Hebrew Liturgical Poetry in Italy: Remarks Concerning its Emergence and Characteristics,« Italia Judaica 1 (1983): 415–26. 39 Robert Bonfil, History and Folklore in a Medieval Jewish Chronicle. The Family Chronicle of Aḥimaʿaz ben Paltiel, Leiden, 2009, 226–355; see also the introductory study there. 40 Cf. Zunz, Literaturgeschichte, 166–68, 256; it is incorrectly dated to the late 11th century. Edited in the appendix of Benjamin Klar, Megillat Aḥimaaẓ, Jerusalem, 1973 (Hebrew); Yonah David, ed., Shire Amitai, Jerusalem, 1975 (Hebrew). 41 Cf. Fleischer, »Aspects in the Poetry,« 139.

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ascribing a function in the wedding festivities to everything in creation. This model became very popular in Ashkenaz, and there are at least 16 piyyutim of this kind. It is striking that no piyyutim by Amitai have been handed down for occasions for which classical piyyutim already existed in Italy. Here we see the first documentation of piyyutim in the annual cycle. This led—in the Italian and Ashkenazic rites—to each maḥzor being used long-term as a largely stable collection of festival piyyutim over an extensive geographic area. Variation—which existed up to this point among individual communities, leading to new compilations each year because of the ongoing production of new piyyutim—is replaced by the annual repetition of piyyutim.42 New piyyutim are written only for positions for which there is as yet no fixed form, or for positions where more than one piyyut can be recited, like hoshaʽanot, seliḥot, and qinot. The replacement of piyyutim by new ones became so rare that when it occurred, a justification in narrative form was required.43 Solomon b. Juda haBavli44 (Rome or Lucca, ca. 950) rejected Amitai’s simple and clear style and tried to revive the more complicated principles of classical paytanut. He created an enigmatic style which compared favorably with classical piyyutim in linguistic difficulty. In terms of form, he mainly returned to classical rhyme, a distinctive feature of his compositions. On the other hand, he adopted some of Amitai’s innovations, which remained characteristic for school of poets influenced by Solomon haBavli. Thus, for instance, he did not return to the classical form of name acrostics but used long wish formulas and names of family members. Solomon haBavli reached his goal to write enigmatic piyyutim like Elazar birabbi Qallir with linguistic tools and very subtle allusions to midrashim. His language is considerably more complex than Amitai’s, and alongside rare terms from biblical vocabulary and rabbinic language he also uses Greek loan words and »retroforms« from Aramaic, which was well known through the Targumim. Language also serves to obfuscate simple statements, as the goal of the »classical« paytan is enigmatic piyyutim, texts whose intellectual aesthetics lies in the fact that the obvious is never said and the educated are given ever new challenges, as mainly well-known content is described in a new form and with previously unused expressions. By means of his yotser on Pesach, Solomon haBavli introduced a new form of yotserot which was imitated many times in succeeding centuries. Each strophe of the complex composition, which contains some additional pieces besides the three usual piyyutim, is based on a verse from the Song of Songs. In line with the allegorical interpretation of the Song of Songs, the piyyut describes the relationship between God and his people Israel.

42 On the Italian maḥzor cf. Peter S. Lehnardt, »Iyyunim behithavuta shel haAskola haPaytanit be-Italia«, Ph.D. diss., Beer Sheva, 2006 (Hebrew). 43 Joseph Yahalom and Benjamin Leffler, »‘Mi lo yirakha Melekh’ Silluq Qalliri Avud leRosh haShana,« in Studies in Hebrew Poetry and Jewish Heritage in Memory of Aharon Mirsky, ed. Ephraim Hazan and Joseph Yahalom, Ramat Gan, 2006, 127–58 (Hebrew). 44 Ezra Fleischer, Piyyute Shlomo haBavli, Jerusalem, 1973 (Hebrew).

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The first imitator of this model was Meshullam b. Qalonymos (Lucca, late 10th cent.), whom medieval commentaries already refer to as a disciple of Solomon haBavli. The formal distinctions between the two works are minimal. At some points in the composition Meshullam diverges from Solomon haBavli’s model in the verse divisions, achieving greater symmetry as a result. Meshullam b. Qalonymos turns from the complicated and enigmatic style of his predecessor and from his own analysis of classical piyyutim comes to a no less complex but still more accessible style. Building on already well-known piyyutim he finds new ways of presenting well-known content without over-burdening the grammatical creativity of his audience and their familiarity with midrashic literature. This form of Italian paytanut, influenced by classical Palestinian poetry, was continued by poets on into the 12th century. The piyyutim of Eliyahu b. Shemayah of Bari (11th cent.) and Menahem b. Mordecai haParnas of Otranto—a little-known, relatively late member of this school—show this. Italian paytanut of this style came to an end when in the late 12th and 13th centuries Italian poets—partly under the influence of Abraham ibn Ezra—turned to Sephardic models and subjected themselves to his criticism of »Qalliric« style.

2.6

Ashkenazic piyyut

Liturgical poetry had already reached the Rhineland from Italy with the first medieval emigrants, and there, members of the Qalonyminid family, as well as other scholars, composed piyyutim. From the end of the 10th century it is possible to speak of the Ashkenazic piyyut. The most important of the early Ashkenazic poets is Simon bar Isaac (died ca. 1020), who lived in Mainz around the turn of the millennium and was a student of Meshullam bar Qalonymos.45 Little is known of Simon b. Isaac’s life. His grandfather Avun seems to have lived in Le Mans, France, and narrative sources report that Simon b. Isaac had immigrated to Mainz, where he had married a wife from one of the important families of the city. He is one of the few early Mainz scholars who remained long in the memory and is mentioned in the Memorbuch, which mentions both his piyyutim and his efforts on behalf of the community. Simon b. Isaac is the first Ashkenazic poet to be of importance for the reconstruction of the history of the Ashkenazic maḥzor. His sources come from various traditions, as he both referred to the works of Elazar birabbi Qallir and Solomon haBavli and even knew some of the works of Amitai b. Shefatyah. Simon b. Isaac also produced innovations, only some of which were adopted by later Ashkenazic authors. He was the last poet in the Rhineland to write qedushta’ot. His work is of great importance for the poetic content of the feast day services in Ashkenaz, as, alongside other piyyutim, he composed both a yotser and a qedushta for the second day of Rosh haShanah, Pesach, and Shavuot. At this point in time there were already fixed qedushta’ot by Elazar birabbi Qillir for the first day in

45 His piyyutim were edited by Abraham Meir Habermann, ed., Piyyute Rabbi Shimʿon bar Yitsḥaq, Berlin/Jerusalem, 1938 (Hebrew).

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each case, for all liturgically important days of Sukkot, for the four Sabbaths before Pesach, and for some other liturgical dates. But he wrote no piyyutim for the second days of the holidays, which were not celebrated in Israel. Simon b. Isaac also wrote a yotser for the Sabbath of the week of the wedding following the model set by Amitai, and was the first Ashkenazic poet to compose a reshut for Shabbat Ḥatan, a four-part piyyut in which God, the Torah, scholars, and the community are asked to have the bridegroom now read from the Torah.46 By the end of the 13th century Ashkenazic poets had written a total of 13 reshuyot for the bridegroom and two reshuyot for his shushbinim (groomsmen called upon to read the Torah along with the bridegroom). Simon b. Isaac’s innovation became an indispensable part of the liturgy on Shabbat Ḥatan, from which later poets also derived the opportunity to compose reshuyot for the first and last readings from a Torah scroll at the beginning and end of the liturgical year on the holiday of Simḥat Torah (called respectively: Ḥatan haTora and Ḥatan Bereshit).47 Working at almost the same time in Limoges and Anjou, was Provence-born Joseph b. Samuel Tov Elem (ca. 980–1050). Contacts have been proven between Joseph Tov Elem and another poet, Eliyahu the Elder of Le Mans, and there has been discussion as to whether the paytan Benjamin b. Samuel, popular in France and Byzantium, was his younger brother. Joseph Tov Elem evidently acted as spokesperson and leader of his generation who wanted to strengthen the organization of the communities. This earned him a fixed place in the poetic tradition of his time in northern France. He was an extremely prolific poet.48 It is notable that like some other European poets, alongside yotserot for holidays, he also wrote several qedushta‘ot for the Shabbat ha-Gadol for the first, second, and seventh days of Pesach, and for Shavuot. Many of his piyyutim were used in the northern French rite and have also been handed down in some western Ashkenazic manuscripts. In these rites they primarily occupy positions taken in Ashkenaz by piyyutim of Simon b. Isaac. There is no doubt that the piyyutim of the Mainz poet were also known in northern France; so the decision of the French scholar, who lived a few decades later, to write for the same occasions, and the acceptance of his works in regional rites, is noteworthy. In the mid-11th century the rite was still open enough to replace the works of highly regarded poets when there were strong reasons to do so,

46 Reshuyot for the bridegroom’s reading of the Torah are known already from Joseph al-Baradani of Baghdad (10th cent.) and from Joseph ibn Abitur (10th cent.), who left Spain to travel via Egypt to Baghdad and Damascus (cf. Tova Beeri, »Reshit haYitsira haPaytanit beBavel: Piyyute R. Ḥ ayyim alBaradani,« HUCA 68 (1977): 1–33 (Hebrew); Ezra Fleischer, »Beḥinot beShirato shel Yosef Ibn Abitur,« Asufot 4 (1990): 167–77 (Hebrew); they are not part of the Palestinian or Italian heritage of the Ashkenazic payṭanim (on this cf. also Fleischer, Shirat haQodesh, 472). It is possible that the three poets of the late 10th cent. In Ashkenaz (Simon b. Isaac), Baghdad (Joseph alBaradani), and Egypt (Joseph ibn Abitur) independently of each other, saw the possibility of preparing the bridegroom’s path for the Torah reading with appropriate poetry. 47 On this cf. also Fleischer, Shirat haQodesh, 472. 48 A list of his works with short descriptions is given in Zunz, Literaturgeschichte, 129–38. There is, as yet, no published edition of his collected piyyutim, but many are contained in the critical edition of the Ashkenazic maḥzor.

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such as the important position of Joseph Tov Elem. Pressure to use the piyyutim of established poets, even when this placed clear restraints on regional poets in the choice of liturgical positions for which they could write piyyutim, was greater in Ashkenaz than in northern France, where Benjamin b. Samuel also composed qedushta‘ot.49 As a poet, Joseph Tov Elem was influenced both by the Italian school of poetry as represented by Solomon haBavli and Meshullam b. Qalonymos, as well as by Sephardic poets. In turn, his piyyutim influenced poets in the Rhineland, like Meir b. Isaac Shaliaḥ Tsibbur, who worked in Worms, though he may have come originally from the north of France. His work reveals the cultural contacts between the medieval Jewish communities in Europe particularly clearly, perhaps partly because he himself migrated to northern France from Provence and was therefore active in more than one Jewish culture. Numerous Ashkenazic scholars known for their rabbinic writings also composed piyyutim, including Solomon b. Isaac (Rashi) and Gershom b. Judah Me’or haGolah, along with other less well-known figures. Piyyut was clearly part of the scholarly repertoire, even if the fixing of piyyutim in the various rites reduced the constant need for new texts. Eleventh and 12th-century Ashkenaz saw the creation of a few new piyyut genres. In the festival liturgy, poetic embellishments of the ʿAmidah in the evening service (Ma‘ariv) were inserted, as well as Aramaic introductions to the recitation of the Decalogue on Shavuot. In addition, an especially short form (often only a few lines long) was created as an embellishment of the recitation of the Trishagion (Isa 6:3) in the additional prayer on Sabbaths and holidays (Musaf-Qedushah). But the majority of Ashkenazic piyyutim of the 11th and 12th centuries followed well-known genres, identifying additional days when piyyutim can be recited (Rosh Ḥodesh, other special Sabbaths, minor feast days), or were intended for positions at which more than one piyyut could be recited (especially seliḥot and qinot). It is striking that for life-cycle celebrations on the Sabbath (e.g. Shabbat Ḥatan, Shabbat Brit Milah), more than one piyyut was composed in each case, so that variation remained a feature. Later manuscripts offered the opportunity to choose from a number of parallel compositions. Although numerous Ashkenazic poets were active in the 11th and 12th centuries, the oeuvres of only a few of them are available to researchers in print.50 Some

49 On Benjamin b. Samuel cf. Ezra Fleischer, »Azharot leR. Binyamin (ben Shmuel Paytan),« Qoveẓ ʿal Yad N.S. 11 (1985): 3–75 (Hebrew). 50 Abraham Meir Habermann, »Piyyute Rabbenu Ephraim bar Yitsḥaq meRegensburg,« Yediʿot haMakhon leḤ eqer haShira haʿIvrit bIrushalayim 4, (1938): 119–95; idem, »Piyyute R. Yosef bar Yitsḥaq meOrleans,« Tarbiẓ 9 (1938): 323–42; idem, ed., Piyyute Rashi, Jerusalem, 1941; idem, ed., Seliḥot uPizmonim shel Gershom bar Yehuda Meor haGola, Jerusalem, 1944; idem, »Piyyute R. Barukh miMagentsa,« in Yediʿot haMakhon leḤ eqer haShira haʿIvrit bIrushalayim 6 (1945): 45–160; idem, »Piyyute Rabbi Ephraim bar Yaʿaqov miBonna,« ibid. 7 (1958): 215–302 (all in Hebrew); Alan F. Lavin, »The Liturgical Poems of Meir Bar Isaac. Edited with an Introduction and Commentary», PhD diss., Jewish Theological Seminary, 1984, Microfilm, UMI 8415007; Hans-Georg von Mutius, Ephraim von Regensburg: Hymnen und Gebete, Hildesheim, 1988; idem, Ephraim b. Jakob von Bonn: Hymnen und Gebete, Hildesheim, 1989; Isaac Meiseles, Shirat haRoqeaḥ. Piyyute Rabbi Elʿazar miWormeiza, Jerusalem, 1993; idem, Shirat Rabbenu Tam. Piyyute Rabbi Yaʿaqov ben Rabbi Meir, Jerusalem, 2012 (Hebrew).

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individual qinot and seliḥot are available in liturgical printings and in some cases in critical editions, but in general the best source for the poetical activities in Ashkenaz in this period is still Leopold Zunz’s extensive list of poets and their works.51 Unknown piyyutim are still being found in manuscripts. It must also be assumed that numerous piyyutim were recited in one or two local synagogues or were for other reasons not copied into the preserved manuscripts, so that there is no way of reconstructing the full extent of the medieval production of piyyutim. A new genre developed in the 12th century which became typical of Ashkenaz because of its history of transmission, even though it formed only a small proportion of the overall Ashkenazic output of paytanim: namely piyyutim in memory of the persecutions of 1096 and other medieval persecutions.52 These were adopted into the liturgy of the feast days, including Yom Kippur, as seliḥot, and as qinot on 9th Av, and even as zulatot on the Sabbaths between Pesach and Shavuot, a season which now became established as a time of remembrance for the persecutions of 1096. The continuing presence of these piyyutim on into modern times is a feature of the image of the Ashkenazic piyyut as poetry of lament and repentance, referring to medieval persecutions. A look also at piyyutim not adopted in the printed rites shows that almost all of the 12th- and 13th-century poets also had a considerable proportion of other piyyutim in their portfolios, especially for life-cycle festivals, but also for other liturgical moments, whose poetic embellishment was dropped or homogenized in the late medieval and early modern period.53 The variation and continuous renewal engendered in other rites by means of the replacement of piyyutim by new works take a back seat in Ashkenaz. Despite their proximity in time and place, and despite their prominence in the Ashkenazic maḥzor, the poets of the 12th century quite often deviate from the complex style preferred by Solomon haBavli and Simon b. Isaac, composing texts in simpler language with direct allusions to traditional literature. In terms of both content and form, in some genres these poets tend to resort to the models of Amitai and other Italian poets, instead of taking their orientation from the early Ashkenazic style, which had just become established. From the middle of the 12th century, increasingly Sephardic influences become visible in the Ashkenazic paytanut, partly by the introduction of quantitative meter in liturgical poetry, and partly by forms of rhyme and verse influenced by girdle-poems. Additionally, in the 13th century there are contrafacts of some Sephardic piyyutim which confirm the presence of Sephardic liturgical culture in Ashkenaz.

51 Zunz, Literaturgeschichte. For the Tosafists of the 12th and 13th centuries, Kanarfogel, The Intellectual History, often gives more detailed information than Zunz in the footnotes, although his work presents only scholars operating in various areas—prayer leaders who contributed piyyutim only to the literary heritage of Ashkenaz are not included. 52 The piyyutim relating directly to these events are published in Fraenkel/Gross, Hebräische liturgische Poesien. A more detailed collection is available in Abraham Meir Habermann, Sefer Gezerot Ashkenaz uTsarfat, Jerusalem, 1945 (Hebrew). 53 Kanarfogel, Intellectual History, 405.

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On into the late 13th century, numerous piyyutim were written in Ashkenaz, while the number of compositions handed down from the 14th century is considerably smaller. Very few Ashkenazic piyyutim have been preserved from the time of the persecutions of 1348/49.

2.7

Other Piyyut Traditions

Poetic embellishment of worship through local piyyutim was also a feature in other Jewish communities. The oldest paytanim in Byzantium were influenced by the classical paytanut, whose works continued to reach Byzantium until the Islamic conquest. Constant exchange with Italy led to medieval Byzantium (the Romaniote communities) also experiencing poetic developments, including the Sephardization of the piyyut from the 13th century onwards. As in Italy and Ashkenaz, the Romaniote maḥzor was also fixed in relation to piyyutim, which directed the productivity of local poets to certain genres.54 Because of the use of printed Sephardic maḥzorim in Romaniote communities not many of these piyyutim were handed down. However, in the early modern period piyyutim still in use were collected in separate manuscripts, often together with paraliturgical poetry. From the 15th century onwards— at least for paraliturgical occasions—Judeo-Greek and bilingual piyyutim were also composed which show the acculturation of Romaniote Jews to their environment.55 With the immigration of Sephardic Jews at the end of the 15th century, the poetic culture in the Ottoman Empire also changed. The Sephardic communities brought their own piyyutim with them, and they set new aesthetic standards. In addition, the influence of the Ottoman cultural environment became more clearly in evidence, in paraliturgical poetry in particular. The most famous poet of Ottoman Judaism was Israel Najara (1555–1625), who wrote a large number of piyyutim, which were distributed over a wide area.56 The paraliturgical occasions on which

54 There is little explicit research on the medieval Byzantine poets, but there is a first overview in Leon J. Weinberger, »Greek, Anatolian and Balkan Synagogue Poets,« in Texts and Responses. Studies Presented to N. Glatzer, ed. Michael A. Fishbane and Paul R. Flohr, Leiden, 1975, 108–19; idem, »Hebrew Poetry from the Byzantine Empire: A Survey of Recent and Current Research,« Bulletin of Judeo-Greek Studies 3 (1988): 18–20. See also editions by Leon J. Weinberger, Anthology of Hebrew poetry in Greece, Anatolia and the Balkans, Cincinnati/OH, 1975 (Hebrew); Romaniote Penitential Poetry, New York, 1980 (Hebrew); »Seliḥa lefi Torat haSod beMaḥzor Romania,« Bitsaron 7–8 (1980): 10–13 (Hebrew); Early Synagogue Poets in the Balkans, Cincinnati/OH, 1988 (Hebrew); Rabbanite and Karaite Liturgical Poetry in South-Eastern Europe, Cincinnati/OH, 1991 (Hebrew). 55 Joseph Matsas, »Jewish Poetry in Greek,« Sefunot 15 (1981): 237–66 (Hebrew); Elisabeth Hollender and Johannes Niehoff-Panagiotidis, »Mahzor Romania and the Judeo-Greek Hymn ἕνας ὁ κύριος. Introduction, Critical Edition, and Commentary,« REJ 170/1–2 (2011): 117–71. 56 Tova Beeri, ed., Yisrael Najara. Selected Poems, Tel Aviv, 2015 (Hebrew); eadem, »Israel Najara: A Beloved and Popular Poet,« in The Poet and the World, ed. Joachim Yeshaya, Elisabeth Hollender and Naoya Katsumara, SJ 107, Berlin, 2019, 59–76.

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religious poetry was used enabled continuous creativity; the aim was not to displace established piyyutim from the liturgy, but there was far greater freedom of form than would have been possible in liturgical use. The first Karaite paytan, Moses Darʽi, lived in Egypt in the 12th century. He developed a unique form of piyyutim for use in Karaite worship; it failed, however, to establish itself.57 In the 13th century, Aaron b. Joseph the Elder reformed Karaite liturgy in Constantinople and added Sephardic piyyutim as well as works of his own. A widely disseminated Karaite poetic creativity did, however, start to emerge later, and in the 16th and 17th centuries in particular, Karaite authors in Poland-Lithuania wrote numerous zemirot (religious songs) which were used in the liturgy and for paraliturgical occasions.58 They followed forms and specifications derived from rabbanite piyyutim, which they received from the Ottoman Empire. In later centuries, personal laments—especially, but not exclusively, for women—were also written in Karaim, the Turkic language used by the Karaites.59 There were also some translations from Hebrew into Karaim. Most of the other Jewish communities were directly influenced by the Sephardic tradition, including Provence, which saw itself to some extent as the periphery of a Sephardic center, but it also created poetic forms of its own.60 As in Sepharad, here too both qedushta’ot and individual piyyutim from yotser compositions were re-written, as well as Sidre ‘Avodah, seliḥot and qinot. There are notable contrafacts of well-known Sephardic piyyutim, like the great Zionide of Judah haLevi, referred to above. Paytanim were also active in a number of North African communities, especially in Morocco and Algeria. The immigration of Sephardic Jews in the late 15th century then influenced the selection of piyyutim in the various North African rites, as well as the newly written piyyutim; poetic creativity can be found in these communities to the present day.61 In Yemen also, Sephardic piyyut was handed down, influencing poetic productivity of its own which remains active today.62

3

Criticism and Rejection of Piyyut

As early as Gaonic times, we find the first voices rejecting piyyutim because they interrupted prayer. In other regards, too, there is criticism of piyyutim, focusing

57 58 59 60

Yeshaya, Poetry and Memory. Riikka Tuori, »Karaite Zěmīrōt in Poland-Lithuania,« PhD diss., Helsinki, 2013. For more on Karaite literature, see the chapter by Marzena Zawanowska in this volume. Benjamin bar Tikva, Genres and Topics in Provençal and Catalonian Piyyut, Beer Sheva, 2009 (Hebrew); idem, Piyyute R. Yitsḥaq haSeniri, Ramat Gan, 1996 (Hebrew). 61 Ephraim Hazan, haShira haʿIvrit biTsfon Afriqa, Jerusalem, 1995; idem, haShira haʿIvrit beAlgeria. Mahadura Madaʿit, Lud, 2009 (both Hebrew); Haim Zafrani, haShira haʿIvrit beMaroqo, ed. Yosef Tobi, Jerusalem, 1984 (Hebrew). 62 Yosef Tobi, ed., Shirim. Abraham ben Ḥ alfon, Tel Aviv, 1991 (Hebrew); idem, ed., Shirim. Shalom Shabazi, Tel Aviv, 2012 (Hebrew).

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not just on halakhah but on aspects of form and content. For example, Abraham Ibn Ezra’s criticism of the Qarillic piyyut in his commentary on Ecclesiastes 5:1, which attacks the linguistic creativity and consequent incomprehensibility of the piyyutim.63 Criticism of piyyutim had an effect on the liturgy in the modern era, and changes to the liturgy were brought in, most of them relating to piyyutim. Eliyahu b. Slomon Zalman, the »Gaon of Vilna« (1720–1797) required his students to recite piyyutim only on the High Holy days in the fall, and this remains the practice to the present day in Lithuanian orthodoxy. As the orthodox congregations in Israel follow the Lithuanian rite, the reciting of piyyutim on other days is restricted to Hasidic communities in Israel, in addition to Orthodoxy following the German and Polish rites in the Diaspora. Most congregations significantly reduced the number of piyyutim, although the first moves toward a reinstatement of piyyutim are visible among Ger Hasidim and in a few congregations in the United States. Since the Hamburg Temple prayer book of 1819, piyyutim have also been affected by liturgical reform in liberal congregations. While classical and Ashkenazic piyyutim were still being replaced by Sephardic piyyutim in Hamburg, later generations, wishing to make worship more accessible by replacing Hebrew with the national language, saw in the complicated Hebrew style of the piyyutim reason to ban them almost entirely from worship services. Orthodox congregations responded with modern translations into the vernacular, replacing the explanations and JewishGerman paraphrases that had hitherto often been printed together with the piyyutim.64 Michael Sachs, at any rate, saw his added compositions and translations, which followed the German aesthetics of his day, as a possible replacement for the piyyutim themselves.65

63 A collection of voices raised against piyyut was published by Abraham Alexander Wolff in Literaturblatt des Orients (issues 23–26) under the talmudic pseudonym Aniam ben Shemida. See also Abraham Alexander Wolff, ʿAteret Shalom veEmet. Die Stimmen der ältesten glaubwürdigsten Rabbinen über die Pijutim, Leipzig, 1857. Objections to this and quotations arguing for the use of piyyutim are found in the anonymous Kinath Shalom Weëmeth. Eifer der Wahrheit und des Friedens! Die Stimmen der ältesten, glaubwürdigsten Rabbienen über die Pijutim; eine Gegenschrift wieder das kürtzlich herausgekommene Werk des Aniam Ben Schemida genannt Angthereth Schalom Weëmeth, Leeuwarden, 1842. 64 Already in 1805, the first edition of the maḥzor of Heidenheim appeared with translation (in Hebrew characters); this maḥzor was reprinted several times, and during his lifetime, Heidenheim prepared a number of revisions, including a 1832 edition, in which the German translation was printed in Hebrew letters, together with commentary in Hebrew. A few years later, all editions of his prayer book contained German translations in Latin characters. Of the many maḥzorim with German translation cf. e.g.: Wolf Heidenheim, Sefer Qerovot hu Maḥzor lekhol haShana, Rödelheim, 1805 (Hebrew); David Friedländer, ed. and trans., Gebete der Yuden oif das ganze Yahr. Übersetzt und mit erklärenden Anmerkungen versehen (in Hebrew script), Berlin, 1786; Hajjim haLevi Arnheim, Seder ʿAvoda baLev, Leipzig, 1840 (Hebrew); Julius Fürst, Seder Yotserot lekhol Shabbatot haShana, Leipzig, 1852 (Hebrew). 65 Michael Sachs, Festgebete der Israeliten, Berlin, 1855. The edition has been reprinted several times, most recently in 1988 in Tel Aviv.

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Considerably fewer piyyutim, meanwhile, were recited in orthodox congregations as well, as the translated Dutch maḥzor, which contains only piyyutim used in at least one Dutch congregation, shows.66 The few texts that resisted such efforts include late insertions into the worship such as »Adon Olam,« ascribed to Solomon ibn Gabirol, which can be recited at various points in the rite. It is now mostly sung, following the Ashkenazic rite, at the end of Sabbath eve prayers, and in the Sephardic rite at the end of the Sabbath. »Adon Olam« seems to have been written as a personal prayer and only found its way into the liturgy in the 14th century. Its popularity has been helped by the fact that it can be sung to manifold different tunes. Just as popular is »Lekha Dodi,« a hymn used in very many communities to greet the Sabbath. This was written in the 16th century, by Solomon Alkabetz, who was influenced by Lurianic Kabbalah. Unlike most of the piyyutim which are led by the prayer leader, these pieces are sung in unison by the congregation, which has no doubt contributed to their enduring popularity. The piyyutim’s function of embellishing worship with a musical presentation of poetry is now being adopted in many liberal congregations by selected Israeli songs, which again are sung at the end of the service by the whole congregation. At the same time, a renaissance of oriental piyyut can be observed, especially in Israel. Both phenomena show that the continuous renewal that is defining the place of piyyutim in almost all regional traditions, persists as an active principle in modern times. Aesthetic adaptation to the culture of the respective environment is facilitating the popularity of the genre outside the synagogue as well.

4

Scholarly Research

At a very early stage in Wissenschaft des Judentums, piyyut became one of the topics which scholars such as Leopold Zunz devoted themselves, initially with an overview of the situation in mind.67 In the various collections of Sephardic poetry published in the following decades, some in translation, there have always been piyyutim alongside personal religious compositions. Following the discovery of the Cairo Genizah and the numerous piyyutim contained in it, research moved in a new direction, as it was now possible to study unknown texts and authors from Middle Eastern communities. The ongoing scholarly publication of unidentified piyyutim and the growing corpus of them are leading to major shifts in relation to the early surveys conducted by Zunz and Israel Davidson.68 Pre-classical, classical, and postclassical Eastern piyyut were barely known before the opening-up of the Cairo Genizah, but they now constitute the majority of known and studied piyyutim. Critical

66 ’Atirat Jitschak. Het Smeken von Jitschak, ed. A. W. Rosenberg, trans. I. Dasberg, transl. of the piyyutim Wout J. van Bekkum, Amsterdam, 1983–98. 67 Leopold Zunz, Die synagogale Poesie des Mittelalters, Berlin, 1855; idem, Die Ritus des synagogalen Gottesdienstes, geschichtlich entwickelt, Berlin, 1859; idem, Literaturgeschichte. 68 Israel Davidson, Thesaurus of Medieval Hebrew Poetry, New York, 1924–33 (Hebrew).

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editions of the works of individual authors with commentaries listing links in content between the piyyutim and traditional Jewish texts such as the Bible and rabbinic literature, continue to form a large proportion of field research. In addition, there are studies of the development of poetic forms, into the development of piyyut as an essential part of Jewish liturgy, and increasingly also studies on performance and the place of liturgical poetry in Jewish culture. Interest in Sephardic piyyut has often languished in the shadow of secular poetry from the Iberian peninsula, so that here too, editions of the piyyutim of individual authors shape the field. An exception is Provençal liturgical poetry, a comparative study of which has been published.69 Given the varied rites of Diaspora communities, there has still been no attempt at a critical edition of a Sephardic maḥzor in its various forms, unlike for the Ashkenazic rite.70 Scholarly interest in the edition of texts continues as a prerequisite for further research into the genre and the individual texts. Furthermore, there is increasing interest in the transmission of paytanic material, including the compilation of collections that do not necessarily follow the liturgical year. As the majority of the well-known piyyutim continue to be analyzed mainly in line-by-line commentaries, which concentrate on linguistic features and parallels in content, the genre presents numerous opportunities for scholarly work in literature, liturgy, and culture. For Further Reading71 Carmi, T., ed. and trans., The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse, Harmondsworth, 1981. Fraenkel, Avraham and Abraham Gross, eds., Hebräische liturgische Poesien zu den Judenverfolgungen während des Ersten Kreuzzugs, MGH – Hebräische Texte aus dem mittelalterlichen Deutschland 3, Wiesbaden, 2016. Hollender, Elisabeth, Liturgie und Geschichte: Der aschkenasische Machsor und jüdische Mobilität im Mittelalter – Ein methodologischer Versuch, Arye Maimon-Institut für Geschichte der Juden: Studien und Texte 10, Trier, 2015. Kanarfogel, Ephraim, The Intellectual History and Rabbinic Culture of Medieval Ashkenaz: Expanding Horizons and Innovating Traditions, Detroit/MI, 2012, 375–443. Lieber, Laura, Jewish Aramaic Poetry from Late Antiquity, Leiden / Boston/MA, 2018. Lieber, Laura, A Vocabulary of Desire: The Song of Songs in the Early Synagogue, Leiden, 2014. Lieber, Laura, Yannai on Genesis, New York, 2010.

69 Benjamin Bar Tikva, Genres and Topics in Provençal and Catalonian Piyyut, Beer Sheva, 2009 (Hebrew). 70 Daniel Goldschmidt, Maḥzor leYamim haNoraim. Lefi Minhage Bne Ashkenaz lekhol ʿAnfehem, Jerusalem, 1970; idem, Maḥzor Sukkot, Shemini ʿAtseret veSimḥat Tora. Lefi Minhage Bne Ashkenaz lekhol ʿAnfehem, ed. Jonah Fraenkel, Jerusalem, 1981; Jonah Fraenkel, Maḥzor Pesaḥ. Lefi Minhage Bne Ashkenaz lekhol ʿAnfehem, Jerusalem, 1993; idem, Maḥzor Shavuʿot. Lefi Minhage Bne Ashkenaz lekhol ʿAnfehem, Jerusalem, 2000. 71 This bibliography samples works in English and German. The majority of scholarly works in the field are in Hebrew and are not listed here.

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Petuchowski, Jacob J., Theology and Poetry. Studies in the Medieval Piyyut, London /Boston/MA, 1978. Swartz, Michael D. and Joseph Yahalom, Avodah. An Anthology of Ancient Poetry for Yom Kippur, University Park/PA, 2005. Weinberger, Leon J., Jewish Hymnography. A Literary History, London/Portland/OH, 1998. Yeshaya, Joachim, Poetry and Memory in Karaite Prayer. The Liturgical Poetry of the Karaite Poet Moses Ben Abraham Darʿī, Karaite Texts and Studies, KTSt 6, Leiden / Boston/MA, 2014. Zunz, Leopold, Literaturgeschichte der synagogalen Poesie, Berlin, 1865; repr. Hildesheim, 1966.

Jewish Liturgy Dalia Marx

Prayer is a multifaceted human phenomenon, and Jewish liturgy and its prayers are no exception. We may compare Jewish prayer to a garden which remains the same, no matter what the season. At times the garden is clear and wafting with scent, at times it is washed with rains, at times it stands empty, and at times it is crowded. Different people experience the garden in different ways: botanists will discern the flora within, zoologists the fauna, philosophers will seek a corner in which to sit in contemplation, while pairs of lovers will see seek the hidden corner. Whom among these captures the essence of the garden? Were they to try to appreciate every dimension of the garden, they could not succeed. Thus it is with prayer. Each person who enters within its gates experiences it uniquely, in ways that will not be repeated. For some it is a conversation with God, for others it is a connection to the Jewish people and its past. Multitudes who pray see a communal moment with the congregation praying as one. There are those who seek repose for their souls, while others seek struggle. Some pour out their hearts in submission, while others pray in bitterness and anger. The hearts of some are moved to pray for the solace to be found in the familiar words or the transcendent music. Indeed, it is impossible to say the same prayer twice. The text may be fixed, but those who recite it differ from one another. Even the individual supplicant changes subtly from one time to the next. The acknowledgement of the multifacted nature of prayer is essential to understanding it. In this essay, we seek to consider many of those facets. If one wishes to understand the Jews, to learn about their faith and desires, their hopes and fears, then one must open their prayer books. Traditional Jews come into daily contact with the philosophies expressed in the liturgy and no less the language, style, and imagery hidden therein. But even those Jews who style themselves secularists encounter the traditions and inheritance of Judaism in the liturgy of the life-cycle. Despite the fact that there is no systematic theology current among the Jewish people, it does not mean that theological thought is absent1. The prayer books are the locus wherein questions of faith, the reality of God and God’s connection to humanity, find expression. The prayer book is not an elitist text. It relates to all and is known to Jews better than any other text, for it is used daily. We will begin with the history of Jewish prayer, following which we turn to its structure.

1 See Ottfried Fraisse, Jewish Philosophy and Thought, in these volumes: III, 106–38.

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Jewish Liturgy

The History of Jewish Prayer

In this section we will briefly trace the lengthy process by which Jewish prayer came to be codified. Yet this is not a precise description, for Jewish liturgy never achieved a single unique expression—various communities in various eras created versions of the prayers. With the onset of printing we witness a process of consolidation of the prayer formulae. In the two centuries since the advent of Reform Judaism, there has been a reverse process of increasing the diversity of liturgical expressions.

1.1

Prayer in the Hebrew Bible: Spontaneous personal prayer and Psalms

Here we briefly consider prayer in the Bible. We may divide incidences of verses occurring in prayer into four categories: a) Description of an act of worship without the actual words of the prayer. For example, Moses’ prayer on the cessation of the fire that had smitten the complaining Israelites, »The people cried out to Moses, and Moses prayed to God, so the fire abated« (Num 11:2). b) Description of an act of worship with the actual words of the prayer. An example would be Moses’ prayer on behalf of Miriam, »God, please, heal her, please« (Num 12:13). A segment of these prayers are by known figures, forefathers, kings, and prophets; while a segment are by commoners. c) Prayers and psalms with no specific author. So, most of the Psalms, in particular many of the final 60 psalms of the Book of Psalms, which seem to have a performative aspect and were used for public celebration before the redaction of the book. d) Instructions for fixed liturgies. So the instruction, »Thus shall you bless the children of Israel. Say to them…« (Num 6:23), that was said to the priests, for what is called the Priestly Benediction (Num 6:24–27). e) Along with the instruction to the priests to bless the people, we can find three instances general instructions for ceremonial employment of a liturgical or paraliturgical biblical text. The command to recount the exodus from Egypt appears four times in the Torah, e.g. »You shall tell your children on that day, saying, ›It was because of what God did for me when I went forth from Egypt‹« (Exod 13:8). The majority of prayers in the Bible are event specific. Some were offered spontaneously at a moment of need, or alternatively to express gratitude. Because these prayers are the result of a specific moment that gave rise to them, there was no desire that they be fixed for generations to come. Nevertheless, the majority follow a common basic paradigm which is, in whole or part: addressing God, mention of the merits of the ancestors, praise of God, a request, the reason for the request, and an offering of the reason why God should affirmatively answer the prayer.

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The Psalms differ from these individual prayers in that at least part of them are designed to be performed in connection with an established ceremony, such as the sacrificial offering. In a number of places in the Bible it appears that these liturgies were tasked to the Levites in the Temple service. So, in 1 Chr 23:30, we read of the Levites, commanded »to be present early each morning to praise and extol (lehallel) the Eternal, and at evening, too.« We may perhaps infer from this verse of a formal framework in which the Levites sang halleluiah morning and evening. Yet we are unable to discern exactly which text they sang. We also can learn about body-language during prayer. When Solomon prayed at the dedication of the Temple it is said of him, The king turned about and blessed the whole congregation of Israel, with the entire congregation standing…When Solomon finished praying to God all of this prayer and supplication, he stood up from the altar before which he had been kneeling, and spread out his hands toward the heavens (1 Kgs 8:14, 54).

From Solomon’s words you can hear about the physical dimension of the prayer, for he prays that the prayer not just be heard »in this House,« (1 Kgs 8:31), but that even the congregants outside might face the Temple »and pray to this place« (1 Kgs 8:35). We also can learn more about the performative dimension of public prayer in the biblical era from the use of musical instruments during the singing of liturgical Psalms. In Neh 12:27 we read, The Levites were sought out in all their places and brought to Jerusalem for the dedication of the city wall to celebrate a joyful dedication, with thanksgiving and song accompanied by cymbals, harps, and lyres.

The use of music was to encourage joyful celebration and perhaps even religious ecstasy. Institutional worship in the biblical era was first and foremost that of the sacrificial cult. At least for the period of the First Temple, the offering of sacrifices was done in silence. The only evidence of speech during the performance of the sacrifices is that of the High Priest’s confession on the Day of Atonement (Lev 16:21). Perhaps we could add the Priestly Blessing mentioned above, but there is no mention of when the priests would pronounce that benediction. Prayer was secondary, even marginal to the sacrificial offering. Moshe Greenberg counted ninety-seven instances of prayer in the Bible. Of these, thirty-eight were recited by lay people, another fifty-nine by kings and prophets. These prayers are distributed throughout the Bible and are to be found in an array of contexts. In addition to this listing we must add the one-hundred-fifty Psalms of the Book of Psalms, and a few other psalms outside of that collection.2 We have no way of knowing what the personal prayers of individuals looked like in the biblical era, nor how widely spread was the phenomenon. Yet it is reasonable

2 Moshe Greenberg, Biblical Prose Prayer as a Window to the Popular Religion of Ancient Israel, Berkeley/CA, 1983, 7.

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to assume that individuals turned to God in prayer, and that such prayers resembled those recorded in the Bible.

1.2

Prayer in the Second Temple Period: The root sources of Jewish prayer

The Second Temple Period (from the return to Zion in 538 BCE, through the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE) was the incubation period for Jewish liturgy as we know it. The scarce nature of the sources we have allow us to tentatively sketch the outlines of prayer in this era. These sources are from different situations and are of differing genres, among which are: a) late biblical texts, b) the literature of the Dead Sea Scrolls, c) the Apocrypha, d) Hellenistic-Jewish literature, e) testimonies found in rabbinic literature and f) Christian sources. a) Late Biblical Texts—including Daniel, Ezra, Nehemiah, Chronicles. These include many liturgical matters. We hear for the first time (Dan 6:11) of the custom to formally pray three times daily, although this might be Daniel’s private custom and not more widely spread. We also hear of forms of confessional, tied to the practice of fasting or mourning, e.g. At the time of the evening offering I arose from my fast; still in my torn garment and robe. I bowed my knees and spread my palms to the Eternal my God (Ezra 9:5).

Immediately following (Ezra 9:6) is a vigorous confession of guilt, »I said, ›My God, I am shamed and mortified to even raise my face to You, for our sins are multiplied above our very head, and our guilt has grown up to the heavens‹.« This prayer reveals a basic stance of guilt and lack of self-worth, resembling that of Daniel (9:7), »Yours, Eternal, is the righteousness, while our faces are shamed this very day.« It seems that the destruction of the First Temple and the subsequent exile caused such a strong trauma that it undermined the Jewish individual’s sense of self. This extends beyond the specific individual so that we can observe a nexus between the collective sins of the people to the exile itself in Nehemiah’s confession (Neh 1:4–11). These, then, are prayers that depend upon the goodness of God, rather than upon the merits of the people (as exemplified by Dan 9:18, which has entered the received liturgy): Not by virtue of our righteousness do we put our supplications before You, but because of your abundant love.

Further, the book of Nehemiah provides the first description of public reading of the Torah, before the men and women who had gathered to hear it. It provides details of the platform upon which the reading was done (»a tower of wood«), where Ezra and the dignitaries gathered; and of the benediction that was recited before the reading and the response of the assembly,

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Ezra blessed (praised) the great Eternal God and the people responded ›Amen! Amen!‹ With upraised hands. They prostrated themselves to God and bowed their heads to the ground (Neh 8:6).

b)

c)

d)

e)

The source tells of the roles of the people, among them Levites, who translated (explicated) the Torah to the people. The Literature of the Dead Sea Scrolls—among which are liturgical manuscripts discovered among the scrolls at Qumran. These are the earliest texts we possess of the daily, Sabbath, and holiday prayers having a semblance of fixed formula. There are prayers at Qumran for given occasions, including circumcision, the Priestly Blessing for the Jewish people, blessings of purification, and for weddings. In addition, at Qumran there were found many psalms, among them the »Scroll of Thanksgiving,« which includes thirty psalms recounting both individual stirrings of the heart, as well as communal faith. While the worldview of these texts is often that of the apocalyptic sectarian, the prayers themselves reflect the broader ethos of the era. Such texts were read within the milieu of Qumran, but not necessarily composed there. Recalling the separatism of the Qumran covenanteers, in particular their opposition to the Second Temple, we still can use their prayers as a window into that generation and how they related to their liturgy. The Apocrypha contain many versions of prayer formulae, for example the additions to Greek Esther which are replete with long prayers put into the mouths of Mordechai and Esther. The Book of Judith also has a selection of prayers, including one for retribution (Jdt 9:2–14). We are informed that Judith timed her prayer to correlate with the time of the Temple sacrifices. The Book of Tobias offers a number of prayers, including a prayer for salvation that Tobias recites on the night of his marriage to Sarah. There are additional psalms in this literature that appear to have been publicly recited. An example would be the litany at the end of Ben Sira, the topic and language of which has entered the traditional Jewish liturgy. Ben Sira 51:12 (Hebrew text) begins: »Give thanks to the Eternal for He is good; for His love endures forever. Give thanks to the God of praises; for His love endures forever. Give thanks to the guardian of Israel; for His love endures forever.« The structure of this psalm resembles that of the Bible with its chorus (cf. Ps 136), giving thanks to the creator God, the redeemer of His people, Who gathers in His oppressed, Who builds His city, etc. Hellenistic-Jewish literature—the historian Josephus and Philo of Alexandria who lived within the Hellenistic oikumene, illuminate the prayers and customs of the synagogues in their era. Each refers to personal prayers, even though they are in fixed formulae. Many observe the words of Josephus, »twice daily at the beginning of the day and when we turn to sleep, all are obligated to offer witness (martyreō) to their God for the gifts that He gave them following their exodus from Egypt« (Antiquities IV:212). This is taken by some scholars as testimony to the recitation of the Shema in the evening and the morning, wherein the Exodus is also recounted. Testimonies Found in Rabbinic Literature—The rabbinic sages offer testimony regarding the prayers and psalms that were recited while the Temple stood.

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These testimonies may not be historically reliable in the accepted sense, they may represent the rabbis vision rather than what actually happened in the Temple; but they may transmit ancient traditions from Temple times. For example, in the Mishnah Tamid 5:1, (a tractate which may have been redacted earlier than the remainder of the Mishnah), there is testimony regarding recitation of the Shema in the Temple following the daily morning sacrifice. Before it was offered the priests went to the Court of Hewn Stone and blessed the populace: The appointed priest would say to them, ›Pronounce one blessing;‹ and they would pronounce it. They recited the Ten Commandments (Ex 20), Shema (Deut 6), VeHayah im Shemoaʿ (Deut 11), Vayomer (Num 15). He would say, ›Bless the populace with three blessings,‹ (Num 6:24–26).

If this testimony reflects actual practice at the end of the Second Temple period, we see public recitation of the Shema with all three paragraphs plus attendant blessings, as an accepted practice. Similarly, it is reported that the priests daily recited the Ten Commandments, a custom long moribund and no longer part of current practice. f) Christian sources can also teach us about prayer practices in the Jewish community of the first century CE, particularly regarding the formulae of prayer in the era of Jesus. Personal prayer, such as that of Mary (Luke 1:46–55), draws its inspiration from Psalms and especially the prayer of Hannah (1 Sam 2:1–10), and has entered Christian liturgy. More famous is the Lord’s Prayer (Matt 6:9–13 and also Luke 11,2-4). Some scholars have shown similarities between this text and Jewish prayers, such as the Kaddish. During the Second Temple Period, and in particular from the Hasmonean period onward, we see an explosion of prayers. Some of these seem to be fixed for certain occasions, some daily. Yet we do not find explicit evidence for fixed communal prayers in this period, with the exception of Qumran. Phrases and ideas which drive rabbinic prayers first appear here, for instance the emphasis on repentance from sin, confession and theodicy, the centrality of Zion, Israel’s chosenness, and the like. The forms, literary expressions, and themes of Second Temple prayer form the link that connects biblical and rabbinic prayer. It is clear that individuals prayed, read Torah in communal settings, at times in parallel with the Temple sacrificial service. Still, the essential religious worship of this period is connected to the Temple, within the priestly orbit, and the sacrificial cult, prayer was secondary to the Temple sacrifices. We should also recall that the rise of the synagogue took place in this period, which caused an increased focus upon Torah reading and study.

1.3

Prayer in the Rabbinic Era: Creation of prayer structure and primary content

At the beginning of Mishnah tractate Avot (1:2), there is a tradition attributed to Simeon the Just, »The world rests on three pillars: On Torah, on [the Temple]

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Service, and on Loving deeds.« With the destruction of the Temple, one of those pillars collapsed, viz. the Temple service and its attendant sacrifices which could no longer be offered. The rabbis solved this problem by substituting prayer for sacrifices. The Talmud asks regarding the verse, »To love the Eternal your God, and to serve God with all your heart« (Deut 11:13), »›What, then, is the service of the heart?‹ and replies ›You must say it is prayer‹« (b. Taan 2a). According to this approach, prayer is not merely a replacement for sacrifice, but the required response to the biblical command. Even though prayer may well have been the natural successor to animal sacrifice, it is not clear to what extent public prayer had spread among the masses in this period. It was during the rabbinic period that the formats of prayer still used today were shaped: the central prayers and their contents (even if not necessarily the precise wording), the order of prayers, and their appropriate times. This was what is sometimes called the revolution of the rabbis, that is, the democratization of the liturgy. There was no longer a need for the priesthood to serve God. Rather any Jewish male (although not female) could serve as prayer leader. It helps to divide this era into two: the Tannaitic period—made up of the sages of the Mishnah (viz. from the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE up to the publication of the Mishnah ca. 220 CE)—and the Amoraic period (third through sixth centuries CE) in which the rabbis of the Talmud flourished. We turn now to offer an outline of the liturgies in these two eras. The literature of the Tannaim, especially the Mishnah, is the primary textual locus where Jewish liturgy is systematically considered. The very first tractate of the Mishnah opens with the question (m. Ber. 1:1), »When is the Shema recited during evenings?« We can understand this straightforwardly—that everyone knows what is meant by »recitation of the Shema,« its content and the parameters for recitation, and the fact that it must be recited in the evening—so that all that remains to be clarified is the precise time of the evening recitation. Or we can understand this as polemical—which is to say the requirement to recite the Shema is a given of the liturgy and the only decision open for question is in the mere details of recitation. Either way of understanding testifies to the importance of the Shema and the liturgy within the rabbinic community. No less important is the continuation of the Mishnah (ibid.), »From the hour that the priests enter to eat of the Terumah (see Num 18:11–20) offering.« This text ties the liturgical practice of reciting the Shema to the daily round of the Temple Service through its invocation of priestly praxis. The Mishnah Berakhot considers the three essential Jewish liturgical practices: the recitation of the Shema (chapters 1–3), the ʿAmidah prayer (chapters 4–5), and other prayers, among them prayers for eating and occasional prayers (chapters 6–9). Neither the Mishnah nor the Tosefta Berakhot prescribe the precise formula for a given prayer, but they do provide necessary information regarding their framework, timing, phenomenology, e.g. the necessity of intention during prayer— that is, the requirement for focused attention.

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The Babylonian and Palestinian Talmuds and the Midrashic compilations of the Amoraic Era (ca. 220–550 CE)

One of the important new contributions in the era is the creation of the prayer formula, viz, »Blessed are you O Eternal, Our God, king of the world…« which opens and/or closes rabbinic blessings and serves as the bedrock of Jewish liturgy. Every prayer-act requires this formula. The Shema for example, is made up of three Pentateuchal paragraphs (Deut 6:4–9; Deut 11:13–20; Num 15:37–41), but what transforms it into liturgy is the envelope of blessings beforehand and following. The same is true for Torah reading and the recitation of a prophetic lection. Around the third century CE, discussions took place regarding each of the sections of the wording of the blessing, and the conclusion was the inauguration of this formula, well known to this very day. Regarding the opening »Blessed,« the Tosefta Berakhot (1:9) counsels, »Every benediction must begin with ›Blessed‹ except for a benediction that is juxtaposed with another benediction.« Regarding mention of God’s name and kingship, »Rav said, ›Any benediction that does not mention God’s name has no standing as a benediction.‹ While Rabbi Yoḥanan said, ›Any benediction that does not mention God’s kingship, has no standing as a benediction.‹« (b. Ber. 40b). So too, the decision to formulate the benediction in the plural (»our God«), even when the prayers are said by an individual. The blessing formula crystallized gradually by connecting the expressions, which were, in the words of Joseph Heinemann, »common liturgical property.«3 Note how the blessing begins with an address to God in second person, »blessed are You« (cf. Ps 119:12; 1 Chr 29:10), yet concludes with third person language, revealing that the blessing is a conglomeration of several sources. The connection between the recitation of the Shema and the ʿAmidah prayer— the two earliest and most essential units of Jewish liturgy—is anything but simple. First is the creation of a liturgy that could serve Jewish needs in all locales and conditions, even during work; and then recognizing the requirement that the prayer of the ʿAmidah, as its name suggests, be performed standing while facing Jerusalem. The distinction between these units, however, is captured in the Mishnah (m. Ber. 2:4), »Workmen may recite [the Shema] while atop a tree or a stone wall; which they are not permitted to do for recitation of the ʿAmidah.« In order to co-join these two sections of the liturgy, the Amora Rabbi Yoḥanan encouraged those who pray to juxtapose the recitation of the Shema to that of the ʿAmidah. He inquired (b. Ber. 4b), »Who will merit the World to Come?« and replied, »One who juxtaposes [prayers for] redemption [following the paragraphs of the Shema] with the ʿAmidah of evening prayers.« Little is known about the actual apparatus of prayer during this era: how diffuse the practice was, how Jews actually prayed, and how it appeared to others. Here

3 Heinemann, Prayers, 56.

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and there a window is opened to understanding the phenomenon of prayer through the rabbis’ eyes. The phenomenology of prayer may be observed through a discussion about the ʿAmidah. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi states (y. Ber. 4.1, 7a and parallels), »The [rabbis] learned [about the performance of] the ʿAmidah from the Patriarchs;« whereas the anonymous rabbinic opinion was (ibid.), »the ʿAmidah is inferred from [correspondence to] the daily sacrificial offering.« The difficulty here is that in the Temple there were two daily offerings, in the morning and the late afternoon; while Jewish tradition appointed three daily [ʿAmidah] prayers, although the status of the Ma’ariv is somewhat ambiguous. Yet the desire of the rabbis to equate the system of two daily sacrifices with three daily prayers clearly displays their motivation to see the synagogue and its prayers as a replacement for the Temple and its sacrificial service. This discussion regarding the antecedents of the rabbis’ prayer yields two disparate approaches in understanding the phenomenon of prayer: one privileging a spiritual approach associated individually with each one of the Patriarchs, the other a measured and precise performance of substitution for the sacrificial cult. We can add yet a third approach to these two, found in the Talmud Yerushalmi (ibid.) in the name of Rabbi Shmuel son of Nahmani, associating the prayer with the changes in nature during the course of the day with the assumption that these awaken people to prayer. This approach assumes that prayer has within it a natural, human component, not necessarily particular to Jews. We do not know exactly when rabbinic prayer was first written down, as it seems the rabbis vociferously opposed this practice. In the early third century Tosefta (Shab 13:4) we find, »one who writes down prayers is like one who burns a Torah!« While this was said in the context of saving written prayers from a conflagration on Sabbath (it was preferred not to have written documents that cannot be saved from fire). Some believed that this warning is directed toward zealous groups, but it may indicate a deeper aversion than simply committing such texts to paper. It may even include fixing the formula of such liturgies. Prayer should then be seen as a part of the Oral Torah, in particular the Aggadah, which was not inscribed until a much later period. Speculation regarding the codification of the prayer formulary brings us to a debate between the views of two great scholars of Jewish liturgy in the twentieth century: Joseph Heinemann and Ezra Fleischer. Heinemann contended that from its very outset prayer was multifaceted. The structure and content of prayer, the number and order of the blessings were determined, yet there was no single original text fixed by any central authoritative body of rabbis. For Heinemann each prayer leader was free to formulate his prayer as he saw fit, within certain known parameters. He theorized that the canonization of the prayers into fixed formulae was gradual and only coalesced in the Gaonic era (ca. 8th–11th century). In contrast, Fleischer held that the liturgy was created in a revolutionary fashion, ex nihilo, in the court of Rabban Gamaliel in Yavneh at the end of the first century CE. The composition of the liturgy included a fixing of its formula. Over time, changes entered the liturgy, which explains the differences among various community’s prayer books. Yet to Fleischer these share a common origin.

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In this era two separate recensions of the liturgy began to coalesce in the two centers of Jewish life: The Land of Israel and Jewish Babylonia (Iraq). The process ripened in the era of the Gaonim.

1.5

Prayer in the Gaonic Era: The First Prayer Books

This era begins around the time of the Muslim conquest of the Land of Israel in the seventh century and concludes with the death of Rabbi Hai Gaon, ca. 1038. In this era that the first prayer books were created. The earliest manuscripts of the Jewish liturgy also can be dated to this period. A shift in the balance between the two centers of the Jewish world also took place, as Babylonia became more authoritative and central, as the Land of Israel diminished in stature, although still functioned, until the Crusades that took place beginning at the end of the 11th century. Although the idea that Jews should recite one hundred blessings daily appears in the Talmud, (b. Men. 43b); nevertheless, the Talmud does not transmit what those one hundred benedictions should be. As a result, communities turned to the Gaonim, the heads of the Babylonian rabbinic academies (yeshivot), with requests that they detail exactly what those one hundred benedictions should be. In a legal responsum by Rav Natronai ben Hilai, who was the Gaon of the academy of Sura in the mid-9th century, he wrote to the community of Lucena in Muslim Spain, listing those one hundred benedictions. Rav Natronai listed them from the time of ones rising until retiring to sleep at night, also noting the prayers for eating, and such. These are the earliest instructions for a prayer book. Following this, Rav Amram (d. ca. 875), responded to a similar legal inquiry that had been sent to him. His reply was in essence the first complete prayer book that has come into our hands. Over generations, copyists changed and hyper-corrected the text in accordance with their own liturgical customs, so that there isn’t sufficient evidence to reconstruct the liturgy as it was in the Gaonic era. In contrast, the prayer book of Rav Saʿadia Gaon (d. 942) of Egypt, coming half a century later than that of Rav Amram, is the first liturgical collection that has survived in a complete and relatively early manuscript. The explications and discussions there are in Judeo-Arabic. If the earlier rabbinic era had been the time of the greatest creativity in the format and content of the liturgy; the Gaonic era (ca. 609–1038), particularly in Babylonia, was the time for canonization of the liturgy. As an example, early morning blessings appear in the Talmud (b. Ber. 60b) as personal blessings to be recited during the performance of routine activities in the home upon rising (e.g. opening ones eyes upon awakening yields the blessing for »opening the eyes of the blind«). These are among a fluid listing of the kinds of prayers that the rabbis thought each Jew was obligated to recite. Rav Natronai introduces these blessings: When a person wakes from sleep he is forbidden to recite even one blessing before he washes his hands, [as it is said] »Prepare to meet your God, O Israel« (Am 4:12). Therefore, when a person awakens from sleep he should attend to himself and prepare by washing his hands, face, and feet, and recite [the blessings] in the order indicated. Because he

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cannot pray without washing, he will then be preparing himself to pray as part of the ablution. Therefore, he should recite, »Blessed/praised are You O Eternal our God, King of the Universe, Who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us regarding washing of the hands« (Responsum of Rav Natronai, O”H 9).

This responsum expresses the ritualization of the morning prayers as opposed to the teachings of the Babylonian Talmud. Rav Natronai first requires ritual washing of hands, feet and face in preparation for recitation of blessings, further requiring the proper benediction for ritual hand-washing. Second, these blessings are to be said in rapid succession, no longer moored to the morning activities they describe. Third, it is not clear that these blessings are to be recited at home, as the Talmud text advocates. In the prayer book of Rav Amram, which dates somewhat later than Natronai’s responsum, these blessings are explicitly resituated in the synagogue, to be recited by the lector, »It is the custom of the Jews in Sepharad, which is Spain, for the prayer-leader to do so in order to fulfill the obligation of those who do not know [how to recite these blessings at home].« And to do so at the hour »when each individual is obligated to recite them« (fol. 2). This reveals that the Gaonim wished to oversee and define the performance of these prayers. Although prayer is a ritual obligation for each individual, it was possible to fulfill that obligation by responding »Amen« to the prayer-leader when he recited them in the synagogue. The liturgical customs of the Babylonians, as we can see from the Gaonic prayer books, halachic decisions, and texts from the Cairo Genizah, were more fully crystallized than that of their compatriots in the Land of Israel. The differences among the Babylonian variations are generally minor compared to those among the Palestinian ones. The sources extant regarding the Palestinian customs »have come to us in virtual anonymity… while the characteristic pragmatism they display adds to the difficulty of identifying their salient features.«4 We do not possess an authoritative collection from Palestine comparable to the prayer books or legal compendia of the Babylonians. Perhaps this is attributable to the greater diversity and openness to pluralism among the Jews of the Land of Israel, so that the Palestinian liturgy was never monolithic. The one composition that shows the world-view of the Palestinian Gaonate, even though it was under some Babylonian influence, is Tractate Sofrim (ca. 7th-8th century), which contains, inter alia, instruction regarding prayer and Torah reading. However, the greatest flexibility in Palestinian prayer is to be found in liturgical poetry, piyyut. This poetry does not merely exist as ornamentation for the prayer, but rather substituted parts of prose-prayers with poetry, often on a weekly basis. This piyyut interwove the topics of the liturgical blessings with the weekly Torah readings, and even events in the life of the congregation, into complex poetic structures. Sefer HaHilukim, a work from the Gaonic era, notes dozens of variations in custom between the Palestinian and Babylonian communities. Among these are eighteen 4 Erlich, The Daily ʿAmidah, 6.

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differences regarding prayer and ceremony. For example, the Jews of the Land of Israel were accustomed to reciting three benedictions for a wedding; while the Babylonians recited seven. From the recitation of the daily ʿAmidah prayer, Babylonians include nineteen benedictions, while the Palestinian daily prayer has only eighteen. In Babylonia, the fourteenth blessing—to rebuild Jerusalem and the one regarding the Messiah—was separated into two distinct benedictions. This underscores the Babylonians’ preference for order and fixity in prayer, in that each benediction has a unique topic. The Babylonian Gaonim were fervently opposed to any benediction that did not find its origins in the Babylonian Talmud, whereas in the Land of Israel there is comfort with the inclusion of non-Talmudic benedictions. Further, Palestinian prayer is characterized by an abundance of psalms and liturgical poems, with additions of supplications and appeals, and lengthy collections of scriptural verses (e.g. the prayer for the Song at the Sea, which is part of the morning service in the Palestinian rite). It should also be noted that the Torah reading cycles in the Land of Israel were diverse, and varied between 137 to 175 weeks to complete public reading from Genesis through Deuteronomy. In Babylonia there was a unified custom to read through the entire Torah in the course of one year, concluding on the festival of Simḥat Torah (the joy/celebration of Torah) that was ordained in Babylonia as the day following The Eighth Day of Assembly (which follows the week-long Fall festival of Sukkot). Most of what we know regarding Palestinian customs comes through study of the Cairo Genizah documents. These are manuscripts that accumulated for centuries in the used Hebrew book depository in the Ben Ezra synagogue of Fustat (Old Cairo). Among the manuscripts there are ten thousand (!) pray-book fragments. Despite the often poor condition of these fragments, their value is priceless for the study of the liturgical history of the Jews. They reveal a rich and multifaceted picture of the variations among Jewish prayer books in the Middle Ages, many of which are unknown from any other source. Although most of the material in the Genizah reflects Babylonian custom, it nevertheless bears important witness to the Palestinians’ customs as well; which otherwise receded from view during the gradual disappearance of the Palestinian Jewish community. Without the Genizah materials, we would know very little about the Palestinian world of that time. But we cannot overlook the testimonies that the Genizah also offers regarding the Babylonian Jewish community’s customs; information above and beyond what we knew from the otherwise extant prayer books and Gaonic literature.

1.6

The »Rishonim« Period—Formation of Local Liturgical Customs

The period designated as the »Rishonim« began in the 11th century and concludes with the advent of printed prayer books at the beginning of the 16th century. This marks the emergence of local customs. Just as local authorities had turned to the Gaonim of Babylonia in the previous era, now as the grip of Babylonian Jewry

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weakened, and Palestinian Jewry largely disappeared or dislocated, communal customs grew; emphasizing the autonomy of these various other centers of Jewish life. In the Gaonic period there was rabbinic oversight of liturgical custom, its language and traditions. During the »Rishonim« period, this trend strengthened. As Stephan Reif comments, Creativity concentrated more on the choice of biblical texts, the development of rites de passage and the elaboration of the synagogal customs. The precise shape of each word, the number of such words per prayer and the order in which everything was recited became the major issues and each rite jealously sought to protect its characteristic elements in these respect from encroachment by competitors.5

Though the influence of the Babylonians diminished in general, their influence on Jewish prayer nevertheless grew. As the geographic footprint of the medieval Jewish community widened, local customs were created. In retrospect these can be divided into two groups: those of the Sephardic Jews of Spain and Portugal, along with the customs of Egypt, and eastern lands such as Yemen. The other group were from Ashkenaz: central European lands and east of them. Most of the Jewish population lived in these areas during the period under discussion. We need but add the customs of Roman and Provençal Jewry to complete our mapping. Each center had its own dynamic in the development of liturgy, but each shared two central ingredients: a) The basic structure of the prayers that were created in the earlier rabbinic period and concretized during the Gaonic era. b) Local characteristics which manifested themselves in the »softer« parts of the liturgy such as Psalms and liturgical poetry and minor variations of the formulation of the prayers. Both were subject to mutual influences due to Jewish migration, as well as manuscript variations. In his seminal 1859 work, Der Ritus des synagogalen Gottesdienstes, Leopold Zunz counted nineteen Sephardic and oriental customs essentially similar to those practiced in Islamic countries, and twenty-four from Christendom. More such customs could be added here and there. We turn to briefly sketch the primary customs created in this period. The Roman (Italian) Rite is the closest to the lost customs of the Land of Israel. The Jewish community of Rome, one of the oldest in the Diaspora, had ties with Palestine in the Gaonic period, as can be seen in its choice of liturgical poems and in the language of a number of its prayers (e.g. the early morning liturgy). There are many manuscripts and fragments reflecting this rite, as well as legal compilations on liturgical subjects. For example, the thirteenth century work Shibbolei HaLeqet by Tzidkiah ben Abraham the Physician discusses prayers and customs at length. The Italian tradition served to transmit customs that had originated in the Land of Israel with the expansion of Jewish settlement in northern Italy and their migration northward towards the Rhine, to what we call Ashkenaz. At the same

5 Reif, Judaism and Hebrew Prayer, 155.

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time, the influence of the Babylonian Gaonim was evident in the liturgical creations of Ashkenazic communities in Worms, Mainz, and Regensburg. The predations of the Crusaders from the end of the eleventh century among the Jewish communities of the Rhineland resulted in emigration to France, and to what is currently Austria and Poland. It brought early Ashkenazic custom to an abrupt end. The most important work for understanding the Franco-German liturgy is the Mahzor Vitry, compiled by Simha ben Shmuel of Vitry. He apparently was a disciple of Rabbi Solomon ben Isaac (d. 1105), better known by the acronym Rashi. The comprehensive edition of this prayer book was completed at the end of the thirteenth century. Mahzor Vitry includes the laws, customs, prayers, and liturgical poetry for the entire year. It explicates all of these, quotes at length from the teachings of the earlier Gaonim, and in spirit seems related to the BabylonianSephardic inheritance. It also displays Italian influences, and perhaps even those of Provence This is the earliest complete liturgical text reflecting Ashkenazic custom. It is not clear how extensively it reflects early French Jewish reality, or the German custom which itself was influenced by Italian-Byzantine rites. We should recall that Rashi, of course, although French, had received his training in the rabbinic academies of Worms and Mainz. Beginning in the thirteenth century these communities argued about the correct and appropriate formula for their prayers. Ashkenazic liturgy was, in fact, specific to locale and even particular congregations. Israel Ta-Shma argues that this follows directly »from the decentralized nature of the government—both general and ecclesiastical—in Germany…leading to the local and popular, and therefore more creative, developments.«6 The popular character of the Ashkenazic custom was expressed by the growth of psalms and petitionary prayers regarding personal and communal needs (prayers with the formulae« »may it be Your will« and »O Merciful One«). By the end of the twelfth and throughout the thirteenth centuries, two new movements appeared that were based upon Jewish mysticism. These influenced Jewish liturgies for centuries to come, even up to today. First, the Ḥasidei Ashkenaz (The German Pietists) arose in the Rhineland valley. The Kalonymus family were among the founders of Ḥasidei Ashkenaz movement, notably Rabbi Samuel the Pious and his son, Judah the Pious (Yehudah HaḤasid, d. 1217). The latter was the author of the Sefer Ḥasidim. Their primary activities were commentaries on the liturgy, and the punctilious counting of words and letters, stemming from their belief in the mystical significance of the received liturgy. This compulsive attention stands in contrast to the more relaxed attitude to prayer formularies in earlier times, especially in the Land of Israel. Many of these exegeses were written by the disciple of Rabbi Judah, Rabbi Eleazar of Worms (1176–1238), in his work Sefer HaRokeah (lit. the Pharmacopoeia). Another essential for the Ḥasidei Ashkenaz was the matter of spiritual intention (kavvanah). While this was not a novel idea, their emphasis on its necessity for 6 Israel Ta-Shma, Early Ashkenazic Prayer, Jerusalem, 2003, 6 (Hebrew).

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acceptable prayer brought it into bold relief. This made the role of the lector or prayer leader much more important, requiring him to be expert, knowledgeable, and accepted by the community. The increasing harassment of the Jews of Ashkenaz by their Christian neighbors forced the Ḥasidei Ashkenaz to flee eastward. It is difficult to estimate their numbers among the broader populace, but they had wide influence upon the general public, as we will see. One of the earliest prayer books we have in hand is that of Rabbi Moses ben Maimon (Rambam, d. 1204). Maimonides (as he is known in English) was educated in Spain, fled persecution there to North Africa, and settled in Egypt. His prayer book is part of his much larger legal work, the Mishnehh Torah. Maimonides usually follows the Babylonian Gaonim in matters pertinent to prayer, but also takes his own personal, novel approach on occasion. An example of this is his annulment the prayer leader’s repetition of the ʿAmidah (rabbinic eighteen benedictions). This legal decision was not generally accepted. Maimonides legal views had particular influence on the Yemenite Jewish community. Their warm embrace of his views is well reflected in their prayer book, Hatiklal. Maimonides son, Rabbi Abraham (d. 1237) followed his father’s views. He was deeply influenced by neo-Platonic philosophy on one hand, and by Muslim mysticism on the other (much as the Ḥasidei Ashkenaz were influenced by Christian mysticism). These views are reflected in his work Sefer HaMaspiq. We have noted how the rabbis of Spain and Portugal attended to the opinions of the Babylonian Gaonate regarding matters of the prayer book. Thus, the teachings of Rav Natronai Gaon and Rav Amram Gaon served as the basis for the Sefardic liturgy from this era onward. Yet it also absorbed influences from the surrounding milieu. An example of this would be the assimilation of liturgical poetry originating in the Golden Age of Spain. In any case, we cannot speak of a monolithic Spanish liturgical custom, for in a period of 600 years—up to the very expulsion of the Jews in 1492—and through the upheavals of various governments and religions in Spain, variations of Spanish custom expanded, and new forms emerged even during the re-conquest of Spain by the Catholics. Sadly, we do not have any liturgical manuscript remnants from Spain dating before the 14th century. But we may infer from legal texts about liturgical customs, such as that of Rabbi Solomon ben Abraham Aderet (Rashbam, d. at the onset of the 14 century). Even earlier, we have the Sefer HaIttim of Rabbi Judah of Barcelona (d. early 12th century), as well as commentaries on the prayer book such as that of David ben Joseph Abudirham from 1340, which explicate the text of the prayers and note different liturgical customs. Abudirham distinguishes not only Sefardic, but also French, German, and Provençal approaches. His commentaries affected the development of the Sefardic liturgy. Second, the permeation of Kabbalistic ideas into Sefardic prayer marked an important trend. The kabbalistic school of Gerona, encouraged by Rabbi Moses ben Nahman (Ramban, d. 1270), and further, the appearance of The Zohar at the end of the 13th century marked this awakening . As pressure upon Sefardic Jewry increased unabatedly until it met its end with the expulsion, the Kabbalah also increased its influence upon the liturgy.

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As Stefan Reif wrote, »It was only after they left the land that hosted them for some six hundred years that they eventually opted for a more unified form of liturgy that allowed mysticism a more central role, not only for their own reconstituted communities but also for many others which they come to dominate.«7 With the expulsion from Spain in 1492 and the dispersion of those Jews, they conquered many places liturgically, such as North Africa, Aleppo, and the Balkans. This concludes our short survey of mostbasic liturgical rites from the Middle Ages through the advent of printing in the West. We should mention other individual customs, such as those found in Jacob ben Judah of London’s Eitz Hayyim, which reviews the practices of thirteenth century English Jewry before their expulsion. We should also mention the customs of Provence, whose Jews combined the practices of the French and Sefardic communities. We can thus observe a dynamic of synthesizing local custom on one hand with that of individual communities on the other. David Abudirham contended in his commentaries that he had never seen two identical prayer books. This was an era of significant plurality even as there was consolidation and canonization. From the Palestinian and especially the Babylonian centers, their customs spread throughout the Jewish world. Each community’s circumstances led to the development of their liturgy. For instance, the crusades in Ashkenaz gave birth to the lengthy memorial prayers recited on Yom Kippur and the three pilgrimage festivals. Similarly, the recitation of the Kaddish which entered prayer books already in the Gaonic era became a prayer recited by those in mourning as an aftermath of the Crusades.

1.7

The Ahronim: Influences of Printing and the Kabbalah upon Jewish Prayer

The demographics of Jewry changed repeatedly as the result of both forced and willing migrations. This resulted in the breakdown and subsequent establishment of new communities which were hybrids of Jews from differing places of origin. The establishment of the institutionalized roles of rabbis, cantors, and other functionaries in synagogues, joined with the new attention being paid to the physical appearance of synagogue buildings and their architectural décor, contributed to the formalization of ceremony and custom. In this chapter Jewish liturgy which novel practices were undertaken. The premiere example of this was the institution of the pre-Sabbath, Kabbalat Sabbath service, shaped in its current form in the assemblies of Kabbalists in 16th century Safed and subsequently adopted throughout the Diaspora. Two influences must be considered regarding this period: the first of which is the advent of printing—and a subset of this would be the legal compendium the Shulhan Arukh. The second is the increasing influence of the Kabbalah.

7 Reif, Judaism and the Hebrew Prayer, 205.

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The printing of prayer books in the realms of Ashkenaz and Italy in the 16th century allowed for cheaper and more plentiful copies of these works to be available to a broader public. Now not only congregations and wealthy people had access to prayer books that had been copied from manuscript, but more and more Jews could own a prayer book. The highest authority in the creation of these prayer books were printers who were craftsmen, not necessarily rabbis, nor scholars. The presses were responsible for the formatting of the text and all else related to the contents, commentaries, and instructions to worshippers. The editors of the prayer books attended to what they thought to be the correct text. These choices, in turn, influenced the acceptance of certain prayers as authoritative for many generations. As a result of the spread of knowledge and the ability to examine the text and custom of various prayer books, the level of community involvement increased, as did their desire to participate in decisions. Another result of the shift to printing was the unification of liturgical custom through the choices of certain liturgies over others. Publishers wanted their prayer books to be both user-friendly and inexpensive to print, and often reduced the scope of accompanying prayers, meditations, and liturgical poems. Nor did each community produce its own unique prayer book, which resulted in further consolidation of customs, with occasional notes regarding different communities’ practice. This led to the sporadic loss of local rites. The multiplicity of ancient customs was replaced by an awe of the printed word, wherein no word of letter could be changed. Communities of means could spread their rite, while weaker, far-flung congregations were forced to make do with prayer books of other communities. A typical example of this phenomenon can be seen among Yemenite Jewry, which because of its geographical isolation did not print its own prayer books until the nineteenth century. Thus, they were split into those congregations that used the local Yemenite liturgical formulae (called in Judeo-Arabic: baladi), and those that followed Sefardic custom, by virtue of that prayer book having reached Yemen. In addition to the prayer books, which contained daily, weekly and yearly liturgy there were also compilations of prayers for particular occasions, e.g. the Passover Haggadah, as well as translations, philosophical commentaries, and Kabbalistic, alongside philological works. Printing also facilitated the assimilation of new ideas into the prayer books, following the principle that once such an idea has entered the liturgy, it tended to stay. This was especially true of kabbalistic ideas. At the same time, printing also made the prayer book more vulnerable to outside censorship. If in the past the congregation depended upon the cantor to lead and fix the prayer formulae orally; now the text of the liturgy was open for outsiders to read. Converts and church officials could access the liturgy, and then prohibit or demand censorship of given phrases that they deemed offensive or even confiscate prayer books. So, a prayer such as the one that praises God »Who did not make me a Gentile« was reformulated to read, »Who made me an Israelite.« An important vehicle for the implementation of Jewish liturgical custom and ritual was Rabbi Joseph Karo’s (1488–1575) legal work the Shulhan Arukh (lit. a set table). The popular work was published in Venice in 1565 and achieved an almost canonical status. This was possible because in addition to the legal opinions of

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Karo, who was born in Spain and died in Safed, the notes of Rabbi Moses Isserles (Rama, 1530–1572) of Poland were added, in his words, »to spread a tablecloth over the set table.« Isserles’ notes represented the Ashkenazic viewpoint on each legal matter. The first section of the Shulhan Arukh deals with the laws and customs of prayer and religious rituals from awakening to retiring at night, as well as for Sabbath and Festivals. It is called Orah Hayyim (lit. the path of life). The rulings of the Shulhan Arukh became authoritative for many generations, in part because it was a multivocal, multicultural Jewish expression. Its presentation in print made cooperation on custom possible between the Sefaradic and Ashkenazic Jews. Although mystical approaches were part of Jewish liturgy in earlier periods, these represented elitist, hermetic movements. Now there was an expansion of influence with kabbalistic study achieving a substantial place within prayer books, which became saturated with kabbalistic references. Further, there was a transformation within the Jewish world that facilitated this, from the purely scholastic and philosophical systematic to the more religiously personal and romantic … the renewed interest in the soul, the after-life and the cosmic spheres and the growing belief that human prayer have a direct effect on all these.8

If the aim of the Kabbalah is to deepen religious feelings, it is only natural that the kabbalists paid great attention to the realm of prayer—the explicit religious expression in the Jewish community. The spread of Sefardic liturgy and the appearance of the Zohar supported kabbalistic customs taking root within the liturgy. The fullest expression of this phenomenon came with the spread of Lurianic Kabbalah, from the school of Rabbi Isaac Luria (1534–1572), who was known as the Holy AR”I (an acronym for his Hebrew name and honorific, with a pun, as it literally means: lion). He dwelt in Safed for a short period and there developed the religious praxis that is named for him. Luria wrote little, but the works of his disciple, Rabbi Hayyim Vital, bear extensive witness to his liturgy. The teachings of Luria, born of an Ashkenazic father and a Sefardic mother, expressed the yearning for the completion of the creation and the repair (tikkun) of the world. It found a place in the hearts of his contemporaries, the offspring of the Spanish expulsion, who lived with a sense of brokenness. One of his innovations was the recitation of meditations (kavvanot) before the actual blessings and performance of various commandments. The aim of these meditations was to influence the Upper worlds and to promote the unity of the Divine, that it might shower benign goodness upon the world and in particular upon Israel’s redemption. This led them to recite Unity-prayers (yihudim) that aimed to rejoin the Divine sephirot that had separated one from another. Another rite that the kabbalists of Safed performed was midnight vigils (Tikkunei Hatzot) which were nightly study and prayer upon particular occasions (sometimes daily). The greatest of the novelties of the kabbalists that was accepted in all parts of the Jewish community (even though there was some opposition) was the Kabbalat

8 Reif, Judaism and the Hebrew Prayer, 242-243.

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Sabbath, or welcoming the Sabbath liturgy, recited before the evening service when the congregation gathered on Friday nights. Although this rite contains no liturgical blessings, per se, nor any ritual legal status, it found a place in the hearts of the Jews as the most popular of the weekly prayer cycle. Gershom Scholem has argued that Lurianic Kabbalah, »is the last religious movement in Judaism the influence of which became preponderant among all sections of Jewish people and in every country.«9 Traces of Kabbalah are found in one form or another in all prayer books today; in particular in prayer books following the customs of the AR”I, which include his explications and meditations on prayer. Further, the traumas caused by the Sabbatean movement, based on the teachings of Shabbetai Tzvi (1626–1676), who led a religious movement based upon Kabbalistic thought, declared himself the messiah, and eventually converted to Islam. It shook the Jewish world, and nevertheless did not diminish the mark of Kabbalah upon the prayer book. We should also note the phenomenon of private-personal supplications (t’hines) for women, collected in Yiddish. These prayers included occasions around the Jewish calendar and spoke to women’s experiences: such as Sabbath candle lighting, ritual immersion, separation of dough for Challah. As such, these supplications were recited at home, privately, but there were some t’hines that were meant to be recited in the synagogue. The collection of these supplications (Amsterdam, 1648) is the earliest known to us.

1.8

Prayer in the Modern Era: from the eighteenth through the mid-twentieth centuries

The current era has brought with it major shifts in every aspect of Jewish liturgy. We will consider Hasidic prayer in Eastern Europe, the changes in liturgy in Western Europe, including those of the Reform movement, as well as what is happening in the Mizrahi (oriental) and Sefardic communities. As we have seen, acceptance of the rites of the AR”I include the recitation of Kavvanot (intentions) and Yihudim (unifications) for each blessing formula. These rites demand that each liturgical act combines to a Gestalt intended to repair the world’s broken structure. Any departure from these rites is considered inimical to the entire cosmos. Obviously, such a demanding regimen is not suitable for the broader community, but was instead the portion of a chosen segment, the Kabbalists. It was Hasidism that brought the Kabbalah to a broader populace. The Hasidic movement arose in eastern Ukraine and spread throughout eastern Europe at the outset of the modern era, in the mid-eighteenth century. Bringing Kabbalah to the public domain was the aim of the founder of Hasidism, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov (1698–1760). The movement appealed to those who were neither scholars nor schooled in the minutiae of kabbalistic mysteries. The popularization

9 Scholem, Major Trends, 285.

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of the practical aspects of Kabbalah, especially those related to liturgy, was among its accomplishments. »The theoretical world of Kabbalah remained closed to the broader community, even as the practical aspects, its daily practice and behaviors, were accepted and spread. In general, the theory behind the action was ignored, as they neither knew or understood it—the practice itself was what was important and contributed its part.«10 Compared to the strong emphasis given to the importance of Torah study and on learnedness, Hasidism was aimed at the simple man (indeed, this movement was comprised mostly of men) and his enthusiasm to serve God, at the expense of dialectic and academic achievement. Hasidim organized around »courts,« with each court led by a Tzadik (lit. Righteous one), also called Admo”r (an acronym for Adoneinu, Morenu, v’Rabbenu = »our liege, teacher, and master«), a role often passed down dynastically. The role of the Tzaddik deviated from a rabbinic role in that the Tzadik was imagined not only to be the supreme spiritual authority, but even an intermediary between the Hasid and God. Hasidim added the innovations of the AR”I’s liturgy transmitted by his dischiple Rabby Hayyim Vital, which was essentially and added them to the Ashkenazic rite. This rite is often referred to as Sefarad (bot to confuse with the Sefaradic rite). There is no one unified Hasidic formulary, but each prayer book has its own idiosyncrasies in its presentation of the Hasidic liturgy. Much more than novelty in the language of prayer, however, was the novelty in the way that Hasidim prayed. They emphasized the importance of intention in prayer, as well as devotion and enthusiasm, body language, wordless melodies and dance, the seclusion in nature of the one who prays, and paradoxically, the necessity of prayer in community. The customs of the Hasidim and their prayers aroused an opposition to them called »Misnagdim« (lit. opposers), who forced them out of established synagogues. They erected their own »Shtiebelach« (lit. small houses), that sprang up in villages and served as both synagogues and community centers for the Hasidim. Over time, these Hasidic communities were firmly established, although the distinction between Hasidic and »classical« Ashkenazic prayer never abated. An example is the addition of the phrase in the Kaddish prayer added to the Hasidic formula: »may messianic redemption flower and the Messiah draw nigh.« This addition follows the Sefardic formula, and ignited controversy in Ashkenazic congregations. The disagreement was less one of theology than about loyalty to tradition and formulation. In western Europe, emancipation, which beginning at the end of the eighteenth century made Jews into citizens of their countries, largely undermined the power of a specific Jewish community to impose sanctions and exact requirements of individuals through the threat of excommunication and ostracism. Many Jews moved to the cities and were influenced by the ideas of the enlightenment, including the supremacy of reason and the importance of historical research and philology. 10 Hallamish, Kabbalah, here translated by B.L. Visotzky, 10.

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In earlier periods there had been scholars who studied the liturgy using philological tools, but now there was a methodological shift. Benjamin Zeev Wolf of Heidenheim (1759–1832) edited publication of daily and holiday prayer books based upon research of manuscripts and other early works, beginning in 1800. He also wrote his own prayers, added German translations and explanations to the prayers and liturgical poetry. He anticipated scientific Jewish studies and served as an example for such approaches to Jewish liturgy. Following him was Isaac Baer Zeligmann (1825–1897) who published the Ashkenazic prayer book Avodat Yisrael (lit: Jewish worship) in 1868, based on the researches of his predecessor. This prayer book sought to present a refined and precise edition including guidelines, commentaries, and explanations of the history of prayer and its language. In his introduction, Baer detailed the Jewish legal background of the liturgy and the rules of ritual behavior in the synagogue appropriate to prayer. This prayer book served as an example for many other western European prayer books, in large measure to this very day. Baer’s work was deeply influenced by the scholarship of Wissenschaft des Judentums (lit. science of Judaism), a movement active in western Europe in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It sought to study the historical roots of the Jews. Rabbi Yom Tov Lipman (Leopold) Zunz (1794–1886) is considered the founding father of this movement that dealt with liturgical reading of the Torah, sermons, the various liturgical formulae used by the Jews, employing modern research tools. Samuel David Luzatto (1800–1865) of Italy, who was also influenced by the spirit of the Enlightment, published a modern edition of the prayer book following the Italian rite, as well as an anthology of medieval Jewish poetry. Isaac Moses (Ismar) Elbogen (1874–1943), in turn, continued the work of Zunz, and was the first to publish a systematic introduction to Jewish liturgy. In addition to the commitment to create precise and eloquent prayer books, this era in Germany was a hothouse for the development of three movements of modern Judaism: Reform, modern Orthodox, and the precursor of the Conservative movement (which reached maturity in the United States). These movements differed from one another regarding Jewish law and liturgy, but they shared the attention given to the esthetics of the synagogue, its prayer books, dress codes, and the respectful manner in which services were led. Jews looked at Christian worship, in particular Protestant, and were influenced by its decorum. This was essentially a cultural and not a religious influence, which turned the synagogue into a place of orderly and decorous prayer, where rabbis and cantors donned ceremonial robes and where prayers were accompanied by an organ (at least in the non-Orthodox synagogues), all as signs of their European respectability. Reform Judaism was first and foremost a liturgical revolution, more than theological or legal. It attempted to transform the prayers and the synagogue world. The changes that were made by the reformers were deliberate and conscious, and these included not only changes for accuracy or minor additions, but also deletions due to ideological and theological reasons. The first Reform prayer book was published in Berlin in 1817, and it included minor changes in the prayers, such as the omission of segments of liturgical poetry. Rabbi Abraham Geiger (1810–1874) a

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leader of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, was the central figure in the German Reform movement. The two prayer books he edited captured the changes in Reform liturgy. Geiger’s first prayer book (1854) included select theological and ideological changes; targeting those prayers regarding the in-gathering of the exiles and those calling for restoration of the sacrificial system. He diminished statements about the chosenness of the Jews, lessened the number of liturgical poems, and repetitions in the prayers. His German translation was even more radical than his edits of the traditional Hebrew text. The second edition (1870) was more extreme in its changes to the liturgy. In either case, his own theology was much more extreme than that of the prayer books, which he adjusted to be acceptable to the broader community. Geiger’s prayer books testify to the non-monolithic nature of Reform liturgy, which was dependent on who was editing them and for which congregations. These differing manifestations of Reform were of degree rather than kind, »Reform from within«11 was in part due to the organization of congregations into a »united communities« (Einheitsgemeinden), which included both Orthodox as well as Liberal factions.« The Reform congregation that split from the »united communities« in Berlin allowed itself a more extreme liturgy, even while those departing Orthodox communities continued to observe the traditional liturgy. The central Orthodox leader of that era was Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808–1880), who energetically battled Reform, even as he professed a synthesis between Torah and modernity. He himself was sometimes called a »reformer,« inasmuch as he cared about the esthetics of his synagogue, where an all-male choir sang. Hirsch, who opposed changes in the liturgy, composed his own prayer book commentary in which he often was critical of customs he thought smacked of magic. Simultaneously there arose in Germany leadership from whose teachings Conservative Judaism would grow. Rabbi Zacharias Fraenkel (1801–1875), born in Prague, became the head of the rabbinical seminary in Breslau, which at first was associated with the Reform. But it split from the Reform following a rabbinic conclave in 1845, at which Hebrew language was determined to be recommended, rather than required as an element in the prayer book. Indeed, Germany was at once the cradle of Reform, Conservative, and ideological Orthodox streams in modern Judaism. The glaring differences among them found explicit expression in the United States, where there was no »united community,« as was the case in Germany, and allegiance to a given movement was an individual decision. Reform flourished there, and following it, Conservative Judaism, independently from Orthodoxy. As we have seen, emigration and demographic changes affected liturgical customs. The waves of immigration to the United States serve as an excellent example of the phenomenon. The earliest North American synagogues were Sefardic, but in the nineteenth century German Jews brought Reform ideas about prayer with them. Rabbi Isaac Mayer Wise (1819–1900) attempted in his prayer book called Minhag Amerika (lit. the American rite) that would be appropriate for the entire 11 Petuchowski, Prayerbook Reform, 31–43.

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American Jewry, and would replace the antiquated and varied older customs, much as there were liturgies for other communities of the Diaspora. But eventually the moderate reforms reflected in Mayer-Wise’s prayer book did not enjoy the same success as Rabbi David Einhorn’s (1809–1878) prayer book ʾOlat Tamid (lit. the perpetual sacrifice), which took a more extreme Reform view. This prayer book, first penned in German, served as the model for the American Reform’s Union Prayer Book, which went through many editions between 1892–1940. It served as the prayer book of the Reform movement for almost eight decades. It reflected what is now called »classical Reform,« eliminating prayers for the restoration of Zion, mentions of the messiah, and bodily resurrection of the dead, while diminishing mentions of Jewish chosenness and the like. The Conservative Movement grew in the United States from positivist-historical scholarly roots. It considered Jewish law obligatory but evolving; and this ideology is reflected in its prayer books. Rabbi Morris Silverman (1894–1972) edited such a prayer book in 1946, which was essentially traditional, but had a number of small novelties such as references to the Sabbath sacrificial service being in past tense, rather than present. The Reconstructionist Movement, founded by Rabbi Mordechai M. Kaplan (1881–1983) split from the Conservative movement and published its own Sabbath and holiday prayer books during the 1940’s. Their approach to prayer was rationalist and avoided language of prayer that seemed anti-rationalist, such as the notion that God might withhold rain as a punishment. The reconstructionists refrained from any mention of the choseness of the Jews. Although this movement had a radical theology, their liturgy was more traditional than that of the Reform. It is difficult to identify a distinctly American Orthodoxy (with some exceptions such as preaching in English). But mention should be made of the Sefardic prayer book edited by Rabbi DeSola Pool (1885–1970), and its Ashkenazic counterpart by Rabbi Philip Birnbaum (1904–1988) in the mid twentieth century. The orthodoxy that was a small portion of American Jewry grew in the aftermath of World War Two and the emigration of Jews from Europe. Ultra-orthodoxy also gained a foothold in the United States, especially the Hasidic movement of the Chabad Lubavitch. One of the factors that separated Orthodox from ultra-Orthodox prayer was the Sefardic-Israeli pronunciation found in many modern orthodox congregations. This was a nod both to modernity as well as to Zionism, in contrast to the purely Ashkenazic traditions found among the Ultra-orthodox. Even as the ideological debates in Western Europe following the Emancipation raged, in Eastern Europe, Hasidic and Ashkenazic liturgies persisted. It appears as though ideological conflicts had less influence among them. The Jews of Eastern Europe, and similarly Sefaradic and Mizrahi Jews, did not have major changes in their liturgies. The Sefardic communities of North Africa, the Mediterranean world, and even in China made use of prayer books that the exiles from Iberia brought with them. The Kabbalah’s influence was notable here and was added to by local leadership. Rabbi Joseph Hayyim (1835–1909) of Baghdad, called »HaBen Ish Hay« compiled commentaries, liturgical poetry, prayers and supplications for many occasions (some of which remain unpublished). His liturgy was deeply influenced by

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the customs of the AR”I, and his influence was primary among the Jews of Iraq, Persia, Syria, and the Land of Israel. It is fair to say that among the Sefardic and Mizrahi congregations there was not an ideological negativity towards modernity, as there was in parts of Europe. Consequently, there was no flowering of institutional reform of the liturgy. Although there were strong disagreements about the formulation of given prayers, most of the changes in the prayer book were organic and deliberate.

1.9

Jewish Liturgy from the mid-20th century to today: Modernity and Post-Modernity

The fateful events of the twentieth century—the Holocaust and the founding of the State of Israel had no comparable historic equivalent during the past two millennia. Despite this, there is comparatively little direct engagement with them in modern prayer books, especially Orthodox. This is in contrast to the tragic events of the Middle Ages, notice of which merited inclusion in the liturgy, such as the destruction wrought by the Crusaders in Ashkenazic communities and the shift in the kaddish prayer for recitation by mourners. There are exceptions to this phenomenon, such as the prayer for the State of Israel and a prayer for the welfare of Israeli soldiers, which has been adopted in most prayer books This reluctance to engage in liturgical creativity reflects a circling of the wagons among broad sectors of the contemporary Jewish community confronted with modernity, secularism, and liberalization of Judaism. This reluctance is most apparent in regard to innovation in liturgy as compared with that of earlier generations. The innovations among the non-orthodox movements are at times in use only by the communities which created them. The concentration of progressive movements shifted to the United States with the great waves of immigration from Germany and Eastern Europe. But the destruction of European Jewish communities and their very slow and partial recovery postWorld War Two, strengthened the American Jewish community even further. In the 1960’s the Havurah movement joined the other strands of American Judaism. The Havurot were prayer groups without institutional support, mostly made up of young academics and political activists, who led their prayers democratically eschewing rabbis and cantors. This was followed by the Renewal Movement in the U.S., led by Rabbi Zalman Schechter-Shalomi (1924–2014), which emphasized the universal aspects of Judaism with stress on mysticism and divine encounter. Changes have occurred in all the non-orthodox prayer books, although it appears that the most substantial are in the Reform liturgy. While classical Reform had down-played the nationalist dimensions of Jewish prayer, newer Reform liturgies have subsequently emphasized Jewish peoplehood, and the importance of Zion, as the root of the Jewish nation, as well as the modern locus of the Jewish State. Hebrew was gradually restored to the prayer books and in general Reform liturgies in the U.S. and Europe turned more traditional. This was true of Israeli Reform liturgy from the outset, where the prayers for the resto-

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ration of Zion remained in their traditional place. The Israeli Reform prayer book, HaʿAvodah Shebalev (lit. The Service of the Heart, 1982) included positivist Zionist expressions, in some cases even more than those of the traditional liturgies. The forthcoming Israeli Reform prayer book is even more traditional, yet at the same time more radical in its inclusion of multiple theological viewpoints, ideologies, and literatures. And so does T’fillat HaAdam (The Prayer of The Human, 2020), the new Israeli Reform Siddur. While in the United States most of the affiliated Jews belong to one of the three main branches: Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox; in Israel the division, until recently, was between the secular and the religious Jews, i.e. orthodox and ultraorthodox. The ethos of early Zionism was socialist and the waves of immigration from Eastern Europe and even the orient and Maghreb were also essentially secular, either by choice or resulting from pressure by the existing establishment. Compared to the abandonment of religion by the Ashkenazim, among the Mizrahi and Sefardic Jews there was a greater willingness to embrace aspects of the tradition. Immigration to Israel by Jews from various places into mixed or close neighborhood communities necessitated and facilitated synthesis of prayers suitable for these people who had come from such differing backgrounds. Until recently, secular Jews entrusted their Jewish identity in the hand of the Orthodox minority, but this is changing as more and more Israelis feel empowered and opiniated to take charge of the spiritual aspects of their lives. The Kibbutzim had this attitude since the early decades of this communal-egalitarian way of life. Their secular ideology has not contradicted the Jewish identity of the leadership. Thus, in the latter half of the twentieth century there grew among them a sort of secular liturgy, as it were, for the calendar year and for life-cycle ceremonies. An example of this is the creation new forms of the »mourners’ Kaddish«, which has been refocused upon humanity rather than God! Recent decades have witnessed prodigious changes in liturgy, without precedent in Jewish history, since the destruction of the Second Temple. Feminism has brought women to the fore in liturgical revisions12, especially in non-orthodox denominations. Women have emerged in leadership positions as rabbis and prayer-leaders. Feminism has affected the formularies of the prayers, for example, the insertion of the names of the four matriarchs (Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah) alongside those of the patriarchs mentioned in the ʿAmidah prayer. The development of liturgies for women’s experiences, such as the onset of menses, its end, fertility treatments, birthing, adoption, miscarriage and even abortion. The most radical changes, subject to the greatest debate, are those referred to as »God language«, namely a shift to the inclusion of feminine or non-gendered references to God during prayer. All of these shifts are primarily to be found among the progressive branches of Judaism, first in the U.S. and then later in Israel and the Diaspora, but now, -Orthodox Jews also consider and practice some of them. 12 See Gwynn Kessler, »Judaism, Feminism and Gender,« in these volumes: III, 169–97.

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Forty-five years after the ordination of the first Reform rabbi in the U.S. (1972) many Modern-Orthodox explore greater equality for women and in some Orthodox institutions even ordain women. Both proponents and opponents understand that this will bring reconsideration of the liturgy (e.g. the blessing thanking God »Who has not made me a woman«) as well as new arenas of women’s participation in the service (e.g. recitation of the mourners’ Kaddish). Feminism has also influenced the more traditionalist streams. For instance, virtually in every branch of Judaism there is some form of Bat Mitzvah ceremony for girls, whether it means being called to the Torah and wearing the Tallit (prayer-shawl) and phylacteries; or whether it simply means a party in the bosom of the family or classmates. Feminism even affects groups that wish to shun it and its revelations. An example would be women’s gatherings where the ceremony of separating the dough of challah, takes place under the guidance of orthodox rebbitzins who encourage these women to pray for their personal wants and the needs of their families. These occasional gatherings emphasize the private and the personal. These phenomena are sign-posts for post-modern religiosity: the creation of prayers for occasional communities and the shift from the national-communal to the private and personal in prayer. New Age ideology coupled with a consumer oriented approach led to an interest in religious and spiritual experiences outside of traditional Jewish institutions. Sacred singing events, broad public participation outside of synagogue settings for High Holiday gatherings. Prayers held at the shores of Tel Aviv and the Pacific coast provided these spiritual experiences. These occasions did not demand regular attendance, payment of dues, or further volunteerism in the congregation. Today many Jews are exposed to prayer as part of life-cycle events, bar or bat mitzvahs and weddings. More and more these events are tailored to the specific needs of the participating families and celebrants, including the liturgical dimensions. Technological advances have also affected Jewish prayer. The internet has enabled rapid distribution of texts and ceremonies through e-networks and social media. Texts that were once expensive and slow are now circulated with the touch of a button. Such texts circulate and are easily revised. The »Open Siddur Project«, for example, lead by Aharon Varady of Cincinnati, provides new and old prayers from all denominations; scans rare prayer books, and attends to translating texts to make them accessible to the broadest general readership. In a way, the internet has freed Jews from the institution of printing and returned the community, as it were, to the era of manuscript circulation, when a much greater variety of liturgical formulae were evident. While bound and printed prayer books are not likely to disappear any time soon, many now say their daily prayers using texts on mobile devices. The very community of those praying has become more fluid, through the use of live-streaming of services that allows the participation of those not physically present. Faced with this growing openness, there are signs of greater self-isolation of the ultra-orthodox and some parts of the orthodox Jewish community, for example, growing stringencies toward the separation of men and women. It seems there is no precedent to the encounter of different Jewish groups taking place in the State of Israel. The recognition of liturgical diversity in recent years

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is welcomed by many as an opportunity rather than a difficulty, as in the case of the multifarious penitential services in which the liturgical poetry of a broad range of communities is sung by all. An example of institutionalized pluralism in prayer settings may be observed in the »Invitation to Piyyut« movement (started in 2005), which shares the liturgical poetry of the various streams of Judaism along with professional commentary to and background for each prayer. Conversely to this popularization of liturgical poetry is the use of secular poetry and lyrics in prayer settings. Non-orthodox prayer books in Israel and now even in the Diaspora, quote popular songs as part of the modern liturgy. At the margins of this survey, one must add the effects on liturgy caused and intensified by the Covid 19 crisis. Due to the social distancing regulations, many people participate in religious services from home via zoom or in smaller groups in open air and many new prayers were composed. Due to the circumstances, rabbinic and communal leaders had to rapidly address the unprecedented situation. Time will tell how and to what extent the pandemic has affected the liturgy and the prayer experience of Jews as well as people of other faiths.

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The Structure of Jewish Liturgy

Daily prayer consists of three services: morning, afternoon, and evening. On Sabbath, New Moons (the beginning of a new lunar-Hebrew month), and holidays there is the addition of a fourth prayer (Amidah), called Mussaf (lit. additional), which corresponds to the additional sacrifice that was offered when the Jerusalem Temple stood. In Mussaf, the particular sacrifice that was offered that day is acknowledged. On Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement), there also is a section narrating the order of the Temple service and the actions of the High Priest (leading to communal atonement). On Yom Kippur there is also a fifth service, recited at the end of the day, called »Neʿilah« (lit. Closing). On Rosh HaShanah (the New Year), the extra service includes biblical verses relating to Kingship, Remembrance, and the Shofar (ram’s horn). During that portion of the service, the ram’s horn is sounded. On Shmini Atzeret (lit. The eighth Day of Assembly, following immediately upon the festival of Sukkot) which symbolizes the onset of the rainy season, prayers for rain are added. And on Passover, which begins the dry season, prayers for dew are recited. Individual prayer is structured in a fashion similar to congregational prayer, with the exception of those prayers called »sacred matters,« which require a quorum of ten adults for recitation (traditionally, from Bar Mitzvah age for Orthodox, Bar or Bat Mitzvah age for Jews who count women to the quorum). Reading from the Torah scroll and recitation of the Kaddish are among these »sacred matters«. The structure and content of the benedictions follows.

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Morning

Afternoon

Evening

Morning blessings Verses of Hymns/Psalms

Opening

The liturgy of theShema

Opening Shema and blessings

Amidah

Amidah

Private petitionary prayer

Private petitionary prayer

Amidah

Torah reading (Monday & Thursday) Concluding Prayers

2.1

Concluding Prayers

Concluding Prayers

The Liturgy of the Shema

The biblical verse, »Hear (Shemaʿ) Israel! The Eternal our God, the Eternal is alone!« (Deut 6:4), is at the center of the complex of the Shema and its blessings. It is the closest expression there is to a credo in Judaism. It is the best-known liturgy in Judaism. The Shema and its blessings consist of three biblical passages, enveloped by rabbinic blessings before and after. The process by which these biblical paragraphs and blessings were chosen is not known, but the Mishnah testifies that it was recited daily by the priests in the Second Temple period.13 Indirect evidence suggests that the broader public also participated. These public blessings open with the prayer-leader’s call to pray (»Praise God, Who is blessed«), with a congregational response. The portions of the Shema The first paragraph (Deut 6:4–11) opens with the verse quoted above, following which a phrase is inserted into the biblical recitation, »Blessed be the name of His glorious kingdom forever.« This was the phrase recited in the Temple when God’s ineffable name (the Tetragrammaton) was pronounced on Yom Kippur (m. Yoma 3:9, 4:1, 6:2). This response is said silently during the year, except on Yom Kippur when it is said aloud. The biblical portion continues then with the command to »love the Eternal your God, with all your heart, with all your being, and with all your strength« (Deut 6:6). Although the Bible does not specify the nature of this commandment, the rabbis inferred the commandments to don phylacteries (»you shall bind them as a sign upon your arm and they shall be totems on your forehead« [Deut 6:8]); to affix a mezuzah (»you shall inscribe them upon the doorposts [mezuzot] of your house and gate«) (ibid.); as well as the obligation to recite the paragraph of the Shema morning and evening (»you shall recite them to your children and speak of them when you sit in your house, when you walk on the way, 13 See above 1.2.

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when you lie down and when you rise up« [Deut 6:7]). The totality of the demands these commandments is what also made it an appropriate text in a martyrological context, as well as a central part of the death-bed confessional (cf. b. Ber. 61b). In comparison with the commandments and demands of the first paragraph, that adress whom is reciting the prayer in the second person singular (»You shall… «), the second section of the »Shema« (Deut 11:13–21), is more conditional: »It shall come to pass if you obey these commandments, you shall eat and be satisfied« (Deut 11:13–14). Of course, the punishments if the Jews do not observe the commandments also follow. The second section reiterates many of the ideas in the first, but in plural address (»and you all shall place these words upon your hearts and yourselves; binding them as a sign upon your arms, and as marks on your foreheads« [Deut 11:18]). The third paragraph (Num 15:37–41) includes the commandment regarding ritual fringes (tzitzit), the point of which is recognition of the remainder of the commandments and the covenant between God and God’s people (»I am the Eternal your God Who took you out of the land of Egypt…« [Num 15:41]). The blessings surrounding the Shema The blessings that envelope the Shema are similar in content in the morning and evening, although formulated differently. The first of those blessings (»Who creates light« in the morning, and »Who brings on evening« at night-time) is both universal and cosmic, acknowledging God’s grace and the gift of God’s creation. As part of the recitation of the Shema in the morning there is an additional paragraph, the Kedushah, based upon passages from Isa 6:3 and Ezek 3:12. Further, there is an alphabetical acrostic poem which perhaps displays the fullness of creation. The second benediction is particularistic and extols God’s love for the Jewish people and the gifts God has bestowed upon it: the Torah and commandments. This blessing leads directly to the Shema and the biblical passages, such that the command to love God appears to be a response to God’s love for the people Israel. Following the biblical paragraphs of the Shema is a benediction/blessing on redemption, which recalls the grace of God redeeming his people through the Exodus from Egypt, and the covenant that obtains between God and the people (»True and certain…«). In the evening service there is an additional benediction/blessing requesting care and protection at night (»Cause us to lie down in peace«). This benediction/blessing is sometimes referred to as the »elongated redemption benediction/blessing.« As opposed to the blessing that refers to redemption from Egypt, this one is personal. The first paragraph of the Shema is found at least four times during daily prayers. It is recited morning and evening in addition to during the »Shema at bedtime,« as well as the early morning prayers preceding the daily service. It is also pronounced during the Sabbath Torah service, in the extra (mussaf) service, as well as on other occasions (e.g. death-bed confessional, or spontaneously at times of danger) as a means of protection.

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Jewish Liturgy

The ʿAmidah

The ʿAmidah prayer, also known as The Eighteen Benedictions, or as the rabbis call it, simply ›The Prayer‹, is the central portion of all formal Jewish services. Today it consists of nineteen benedictions. According to the Mishnah, Rabban Gamaliel (1–2nd cent) ordained that »each day one should pray eighteen,« even though the other sages did not agree with his determination, and offered more flexible positions regarding the obligation (m. Ber. 4.3). The Babylonian Talmud (b. Ber. 28a) reports, »Shimeon HaPakuli arranged eighteen benedictions before Rabban Gamaliel in Yavneh.« Talmudic scholars debate the meaning of this statement, whether it refers to the precise formulation of these benedictions or their number and general content. While the weekday ʿAmidah consists of nineteen benedictions, on Sabbath and holidays there are but seven benedictions/blessings, and on Rosh HaShanah there are nine in the mussaf service. The opening three benedictions/blessings as well as the closing three benedictions/blessings are the same for all occasions (although there are small changes in their recitation dependent upon the season of the year). The middle benedictions/blessings change, as this chart demonstrates:

Opening benedictions/ blessings

Middle benedictions/ blessings

Closing benedictions/ blessings

Patriarchs

Knowledge

Temple Service

Mighty Acts

Repentance

Thanksgiving

Sanctification (Kedushah)

Forgiveness

Peace

Redemption Healing Yearly Sustenance Ingathering of Exiles Restoration of Justice Anti-Heretics Righteous Jerusalem Davidic Messiah Hear our Prayer On Sabbath and Festivals Sanctification of the Day

In all the Palestinian versions of the ʿAmidah prayer there were eighteen benedictions, while in Babylonia the fourteenth benediction/blessing was split in two;

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offering separate prayers for the rebuilding of Jerusalem and the coming of the Davidic Messiah. This number is now found in all prayer books, further evidence of the occlusion of Palestinian custom. The rabbis emphasized the dialogical nature of the prayer, by which the petitioners stand before God, who is »as close to all God’s creations as a mouth to the ear« (y. Ber. 9:1, 13a). The prayer is built on the protocol of a conversation. They maintained that the opening three benedictions/blessings are in praise of God, the middle ones are requests, while the final three are thanksgiving. Rabbi Haninah (b. Ber. 34a) characterizes this as, »The opening [benedictions/blessings] are like a slave offering praises to his master, the middle like that slave asking for a reward from the master, and the final [benedictions/blessings] resemble the servant who has received a reward and departs upon his way.« In fact, the liturgical genre is not quite so categorically divided, as there are praises mixed among the requests, and requests mixed in with thanksgiving, etc. One of the reasons adduced for this is because the middle grouping of prayers is not offered on Sabbath, when such requests are deemed inappropriate. Yet the »sanctification of the day« blessing, offered in their stead, is comprised of requests. Some suggest that the middle benedictions are not meant to be replaced by that one benediction/blessing, but rather that the »sanctification of the day« became expanded over time. The Opening Benedictions/Blessings The Opening Benedictions/Blessings in the ʿAmidah are blessings of praise. They begin with mention of the three patriarchs and their special relationship to God (in non-orthodox communities in recent decades the four matriarchs have been added, as well). The next berakhah mentions God’s mighty acts in nature, in particular, bringing rain and bodily resurrection of the dead. This concludes with sanctification of God’s name, built around Isaiah’s Trisagion, as in recitation of the Shema in the morning. This Kedushah also includes verses of Scripture that recount angelic praise of the Creator and the cosmic chorus that offers God praise. The Middle Benedictions/Blessings These are entirely requests of God. One can discern a progression within them that has been called the narrative of redemption. They begin with personal needs (knowledge, forgiveness, etc.) turn to national needs (ingathering of exiles, restoration of just judges, etc.), and perhaps even a description for how this might occur. The grant of knowledge would lead the individual to repent, the repentance would lead to asking for forgiveness etc. Once the individual is prepared than the land can absorb the exiles, which requires a rule of justice. Following the expulsion of the evil ones (heretics), the righteous would merit God’s love, thus Jerusalem shall be restored so that the Messiah may reign there. Some see this as a messianic narrative, while others believe it actually precludes messianism; for all the other

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conditions prayed for must needs be met before there can be any messianic expectation. The explication of these benedictions depends upon the beliefs and opinions of the worshippers, and their religious temperament. The last of these Middle Berakhot invites God to hear our prayer a summary of all the preceding requests. The redemption narrative concludes with the next benediction, on the Temple Service, which asks for a restoration of the sacrificial cult in its proper place. The benediction/blessing that has undergone the widest range of revisions, some at the hands of censors, some external, others internal, is the benediction against heretics. According to the Talmud it was added to the liturgy at a later time. It is a malediction against delators and apostates. It may originally have been aimed at early Christians and then became more generally directed against unnamed enemies. In many non-orthodox prayer books it is aimed at »evil« rather than evildoers themselves. The Closing Benedictions/Blessings The Closing three Benedictions/Blessings are recited in every service. The first of them, »Temple Service«, was formulated as early as the Second Temple period, and then became a petition for its restoration. It is followed by the Thanksgiving benediction, which was also part of the High Priest’s liturgy, thanking God for all the good God has bestowed. Traditionally, the »Priestly Blessing« (Num 6:24–27) is recited at this point. In many places, those who trace their lineage to the priesthood (Kohanim) recite this benediction in a special ceremony called »uplifting the hands« (in the Diaspora this is done only on festivals). The benediction that concludes the ʿAmidah is the prayer for peace, exemplifying the notion »great is peace, for it contains all blessings« (Leviticus Rabbah 9:9). In the old Palestinian rite, liturgical poetry was added to the ʿAmidah on Sabbath, holidays, and other occasions. These poems are called kerovot (lit. drawing near). They were concluded with the traditional benedictory formulae. The text of the ʿAmidah in contemporary prayer books is fixed, even if there are minor differences among the various rites and denominations. As well, there are minor changes depending upon the season of the year, e.g. special mention of rain at the outset of the rainy season during the benediction on »mighty acts,« as well as an insertion in the prayer for »yearly sustenance.« On holidays, intermediate days of those festivals, and new moons, a section is added to the »Temple Service« section. The Shema could be recited anywhere and in any position, but the ʿAmidah was only to be recited standing and facing Jerusalem. Traditionally, in the morning and afternoon services, it is recited silently, and the prayer-leader then repeated it aloud, at which occasion the Sanctification or kedushah section was also added.

2.3

The Torah Service

Public reading from the Torah was the chief activity in the ancient synagogue. The Bible has evidence of public reading from the Torah, dating back to the time of the

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restoration to Zion, »Ezra the priest brought the Torah before the congregation, men and women and all who could understand, on the first day of the seventh month. He read from it« (Neh 8:2–3). Flavius Josephus and Philo of Alexandria, as well as Roman writers of their generation, testify to the practice of reading Torah in the synagogue, at the end of the Second Temple period. This served as a framework for public instruction to the broader community. Reading with cantillation is already attested in the rabbinic period. The Tiberian Masoretes placed sigla above or below words in the eighth to tenth century CE, giving rise to various tunes for reading. Ritual reading of the Torah takes place on Mondays, Thursdays, on Sabbath, holidays and other designated days. According to the Mishnah (Megillah 4:1–3), three people read from the Torah on Mondays, Thursdays and Sabbath afternoons. On New Moons and the intermediate days of Festival four read; on holidays five, on Yom Kippur six, and on Sabbath seven. On Sabbaths and holidays a prophetic portion was also read. According to the Mishnah, the first reader recited the opening benediction for the Torah reading, and the final reader recited the closing Benediction/Blessing. After some time, it became the practice for each person who ascended to the Torah to recite the blessings, while a reader recites from the scroll. This allowed a larger number of people to be honored with »ascent to the Torah.« Because the lingua franca was then Aramaic, the reading was translated into that language (perhaps alluded to in Nehemiah). The custom of Aramaic translation continued for centuries after it ceased to be the common language and is still the custom in some Yemenite communities. According to the Palestinian rite, the Torah cycle from Genesis through Deuteronomy was completed approximately every three and one-half years; while in Babylonia the cycle for reading the Pentateuch was one year. Thus, in Babylonia there was an annual holiday (Simḥat Torah, appended to Sukkot) celebrating the completion and restarting of the public Torah cycle. The Palestinian Torah sections were shorter, but perhaps in exchange there they also had public sermons and liturgical poetry added regarding the section being read that Sabbath or holiday. Eventually the Palestinian reading cycles fell by the wayside and today Jews all read through the Torah on an annual cycle. In addition to weekly Torah readings, there is, as mentioned above on Shabbat and festivals, a prophetic portion chanted. This is not a serial reading through the books of the prophets as is done with the Pentateuch, but rather selections chosen through some content association with the Torah reading for that Sabbath or holiday. As a result, differing communities may have different prophetic readings on a given week.

2.4

Opening and Conclusion of Prayer

Most changes in the liturgy throughout the ages have been made around the edges, either at the start or end of the service. The Mishnah (m. Ber. 5:1) already notes that »the early pietists« would delay an hour »before prayer so that they could

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achieve the proper intention.« This preparation for the legally binding sections of the prayers took place primarily in the morning service. So this liturgy begins with the above mentioned morning prayers, mentioned in the Babylonian Talmud (m. Ber. 60b) and mostly focused on thanksgiving for the miracles of awakening. Symbolic Torah study was then added to this segment of the liturgy, along with readings about the Temple sacrifices, liturgical poems, and supplications. What had been a household practice was expanded and moved to the synagogue. Immediately following these morning benedictions there are »verses of praise,« accomplished largely through citations of biblical Psalms, notably the final six Psalms in the biblical collection. The entire section is enveloped with berakhot, likely added in the Gaonic era. In the concluding section of the liturgy, following the ʿAmidah, there is the Tahanun, a penitential supplication, recited individually even during congregational prayer. Following this supplication or Torah reading there is a third »kedushah« pronouncing the trisagion with accompanying Aramaic translation. The Aleinu Leshabeah, added to the daily liturgy in the Middle Ages, originated in High Holiday liturgy. It concludes the daily service and is followed by Mourners’ Kaddish, and in the morning by a daily Psalm (a specific one for each day of the week). Apart from these units, one finds various hymns, psalms and supplications are found in the different rites.

2.5

Sabbath and Festival Prayers

Sabbath and festival prayers are not that different from daily services, except some parts are missing such as the supplicatory prayers and the like. We mentioned that the Sabbath ʿAmidah contains but seven berakhot, and that there is an extra (mussaf) ʿAmidah on these days. The introductory verse of hymns is longer, and there are extra liturgical poems and prayers on these special days. There are longer Torah readings and a prophetic portion is read. In addition, on Sabbaths and Festivals special melodies are employed, and services are conducted in a more relaxed fashion than weekdays. On holidays ordained in the Torah: viz. Rosh HaShanah, Yom Kippur, and the three pilgrimage festivals (Sukkot, Passover, and Shavout), seven benedictions make up the ʿAmidah. On each of these days, along with New Moons (also mentioned in the Torah), there are special Torah readings and an additional (mussaf) ʿAmidah. On the pilgrimage festivals, Hanukkah, and New Moons: the Hallel Psalms (113–118) are recited. Each special day in the Jewish calendar is characterized by some unique prayer. So, on Sukkot when congregants take up the Lulav (palm, myrtle, and willow branches bound together) and Etrog (citron), liturgical poetry called Hosha ʿnot (Save Us!) are recited. On Passover evening the Haggadah is read, and on Shavout (Pentecost) there are special poems honoring the Torah, for it is the holiday celebrating the giving of the Torah, and many stay up that night engaged in study. On each of the pilgrimage festivals, one of the biblical scrolls is recited: Song of Songs on Passover, Ruth on Shavout, and Ecclesiastes on Sukkot.

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On Purim and Hanukkah (and some who also do so on Israeli Independence Day and on Yom Yerushalayim) the regular daily ʿAmidah is said with certain additions called »for the miracles.« On Purim the Scroll of Esther is read with benedictions before and after it. On Hanukkah lights are lit (oil and some use wax candles) for the eight days of the holiday. There are yet other special days in the Jewish calendar such as T’U BeShevat (the 15th of the Hebrew month of Shevat), the new year for trees. In recent decades special environmental ceremonies are held, blessings for fruits of the Holy Land are recited, and sometimes trees are planted. Four fast days demark the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple. On the 10th Tevet (marking the beginning of the siege of Jerusalem); 17th Tammuz (the walls of Jerusalem were breached); 9th Av (the First and Second Temples destroyed); and 3rd Tishri (commemorating the murder of the Governor of Judea, Gedaliah ben Ahikam, and the end of Jewish sovereignty). On these days the Torah is read, and appropriate liturgical poetry recited. In recent times, particularly in Israel, there are special dates commemorated such as 26th Nisan (Holocaust Memorial Day); 4th Iyyar (Memorial Day for Israeli soldiers and those who were killed by terrorist acts), 5th Iyyar (Israeli Independence Day). It is appropriate to note that these para-religious celebrations of Israeli civil religion, they normally take place not in synagogues, but in formal and informal educational settings, and in government ceremonies. Finally, we note the communal celebrations such as the Mimouna celebrated by Moroccan Jewry and other such events.

2.6

Home Liturgies

In addition to the liturgies of the synagogue, there are rituals and prayers enacted in the home. Among these are prayers before and after meals; and at the lighting of Sabbath and Festival candles, these latter are usually recited by women some of whom add supplications (either traditional t’hines or personal). Sabbath meals are a rich locus of rituals including blessing of the children (based upon the Priestly Blessing), Sanctification of the Day (Kiddush) over wine, recitation of the biblical poem (Prov 31:10–31), »A Woman of Valor,« traditionally recited by husbands. At the end of the Sabbath meal, it is customary to sing table hymns. At the end of Sabbath a special ceremony is performed to separate between the Sabbath and the week days, called Havdalah. In this context we also should mention the conclusion of each day with the recitation of the Shema at bedtime, and in the mornings Jews rise with words of gratitude, »I thankfully acknowledge You, everlasting and living King, for compassionately restoring my soul within me with, abundant is Your faith«

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For Further Reading Elbogen, Ismar, Jewish Liturgy: A Comprehensive History, trans. Raymond Scheindlin, Philadelphia/PA et al., 1993. Erlich, Uri, The Daily ʿAmidah: Variant Readings of the Prayer-book found in the Cairo Genizah; Their Sources and History, Jerusalem, 2013. Friedland, Eric, Were Our Mouths Filled with Song: Studies in Liberal Jewish Liturgy, Cincinnati/OH, 1997. Greenberg, Moshe, Biblical Prose Prayer as A Window to the Popular Religion of Ancient Israel, Berkeley/CA, 1983. Hallamish, Moshe, Kabbalah in Liturgy, Halakhah and Customs, Ramat-Gan, 2000 (Hebrew). Heinemann, Joseph, Prayer in the Talmud: Forms and Patterns, trans. Richard Sarason, Berlin, 1977. Hoffman Lawrence, The Canonization of the Synagogue Service, Notre Dame/IN, 1979. Idem, Beyond the Text: A Holistic Approach to Liturgy, Bloomington/IN, 1987. Idem, ed., My People’s Prayer Book: Traditional Prayers, Modern Commentaries, vol. 1–10, Woodstock/VT, 1997–2005. Petuchowski, Jakob Josef, Prayerbook Reform in Europe: The Liturgy of European Liberal and Reform Judaism, New York, 1968. Reif, Stefan C., Judaism and the Hebrew Prayer: New Perspectives on Jewish Liturgical History, Cambridge, 1993. Scholem, Gershom, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism, New York, 1954.

Jewish Mysticism Elke Morlok

1

Sources and Major Topics

No general theory regarding the nature of Jewish mysticism has emerged even after more than a generation of scholarship. This term rather indicates many esoteric trends and concepts within a huge range of historical periods, geographic areas, and literary genres.1 The Hebrew Bible is a source of reflection and inspiration for virtually all branches of Jewish Mysticism and esotericism, which might be considered as a mainly exegetical encounter and an innovative combination of Jewish tradition with various philosophical and speculative trends. One of the most important concepts of biblical religion to impact Jewish mysticism is the experience of prophecy and revelation. Biblical texts relating the revelations to the patriarchs or the people of Israel as a whole at Sinai, and the prophetic inspirations and visions of Ezekiel, Daniel and other prominent figures in the Bible serve as the basis for many of the multi-faceted mystical traditions of Judaism throughout the ages. The Zohar (see below), for example, is organized as a commentary on the Torah and contains many descriptions of the divine that correspond to descriptions of prophetic revelation found in the Hebrew Bible. Despite the lack of precise definition, two salient approaches to the academic study of this corpus have been the historical and the phenomenological. The first one, as exemplified by Gershom Scholem and his followers, has as its primary concern the evolution of Jewish mysticism within a historical framework. The historical perspective asks how Jewish mystics have had an impact on the intellectual, social, and religious history of the Jews within different periods and by which circumstances they were influenced. The second, phenomenological approach tries to uncover the structures of the religious experience that have informed the beliefs and practices described in mystical texts and compares them to similar phenomena in other religious schools. In this examination of mystical texts, these two methods are welded together, as the phenomenological approach has to take into consideration the historical context, wherein the specific expression of the phenomenon

1 Moshe Idel, Kabbalah.

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takes shape and unfolds. In order to analyze this textual corpus adequately, it will be illuminated by a variety of approaches.2 The relationship of Jewish mysticism and history, and the discussion about the continuity or rupture of Jewish mysticism within Jewish history is of special interest.3 Another central aspect is the demand in mystical texts to live a pious life, imitating the inner divine life of the ten sefirot (divine attributes or modes of action) and their balance between mercy (raḥamin/ḥesed) and judgment (din). The mystic continuously accommodates to this ideal. Although the effects of Babylonian, Greek, Gnostic and Neoplatonic thought are pivotal in shaping the doctrine of the sefirot, it is no »less interesting to see the constant elements in this process of becoming better, or better, the continuity of this becoming,« as Alexander Altmann formulated it in 1935.4 The means of this process and the focus of its orientation is biblical exegesis, which is intrinsically connected to the contemplative ideal and a life of piety. As Altmann continues »it always seeks to comprehend itself from a starting position in the Bible and to legitimize itself exegetically. The source of mysticism is […] the piety of the believing individual to whom revelation was granted but for whom this gift has now become the object of contemplation.«5 God is radically »actualized« in Jewish mysticism and realized through ritual performance, the true source of mystical inspiration. In this unio mystica, we find no »diffusion of the I in the universe, nor any suspension of the will on the Nothing; rather it reveals its Jewishness in the fusion of contemplation and responsible act, in leading all speculation back to the ground of Torah.«6 Jewish mystics are exegetes who strive to legitimize their own unique experience in terms of biblical precedents; and search for an intimate union with the divine (devequt, adherence).7 One of the main contributions of the founder of the academic research on Jewish mysticism, Gershom Scholem (1897–1982), is the broadening of the parameters of the intellectual history of the Jews from late antiquity to the modern period.8 Scholem introduced and described a canon of texts that discuss similar topics as

2 Elliot R. Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism: a Philosophical Overview,« in History of Jewish Philosophy, ed. Daniel H. Frank and Oliver Leaman, London/New York, 1997, 450-493, here 450, whose article I follow in many of the discussions below. I also use Hartley Lachter, »Introduction: Reading Mysteries. The Origins of Scholarship on Jewish Mysticism«, in Jewish Mysticism and Kabbalah. New Insights and Scholarship, ed. Frederick E. Greenspahn, New York/London 2011, 1-29. 3 Moshe Idel, »Some Concepts of Time and History in Kabbalah,« in Jewish History and Jewish Memory. Essays in Honor of Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi, ed. Elisheva Carlebach et al., Hannover/ London, 1998, 153–88; idem, »‘Higher than Time’: Observations on Some Concepts of Time in Kabbalah and Hasidism,« in Time and Eternity in Jewish Mysticism. That Which is Before and That Which is After, ed. Brian Ogren, Leiden/Boston/MA, 2015, 179–210; Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism,« 451. 4 Alexander Altmann, The Meaning of Jewish Existence: Theological Essays, 1930–1939, ed. Alfred Ivry, Hannover/London, 1991, 71. 5 Ibid., 72. 6 Ibid., 76. 7 Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism,« 452. 8 Ibid.

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the classical philosophical treatises of Aristotelian and Neoplatonic background on metaphysics, epistemology, psychology and cosmology.9 Even if he dichotomized the intellectual currents of mysticism and philosophy in too simplistic a fashion,10 one should keep in mind his understanding of mystical sources as the deepest recesses of religious consciousness and the re-appearance of the long-suppressed mythical dimension of Judaism. »… [T]he old God whom Kabbalistic gnosis opposed to the God of the philosophers proves, when experienced in all His living richness, to be an even older and archaic one.«11 Due to Scholem’s bifurcation of mysticism and philosophy, he introduced such distinctions as symbol versus allegory into the research of the mystical corpora,12 which are today expanded and further specified.13 The relationship between philosophy and mysticism has been a fiercely debated issue in scholarship in Jewish mysticism since its beginning,14 but in the last decades the lived situation of the philosopher and the mystic and their mutual influence have been put into the focus of comparative research.15 According to the testimonies of thirteenth century kabbalists from different branches (e.g. Moses of Burgos and Abraham Abulafia), the mystic stands intellectually above the philosopher. Although mystical tradition may exceed the bonds of philosophical discourse, a disentanglement (both historical and ideational) of the threads of philosophy and mysticism seems impossible when examining the texture of Jewish mysticism.16 The claim of being an esoteric knowledge prevented the transmission of these texts to the masses and the common avenues of religious worship, ritual, or study

9 Gershom Scholem, Major Trends, 23–32, which is based on his Hilda Stich Stroock Lectures, delivered in 1938 at the Jewish Institute of Religion, New York. 10 Eliezer Schweid, Judaism and Mysticism According to Gershom Scholem: A Critical Analysis and Programmatic Discussion, trans. David. A. Weiner, Atlanta/GA, 1985, 41–45, 117–32. 11 Gershom Scholem, On the Kabbalah and Its Symbolism, trans. Ralph Manheim, New York, 1969, 119. 12 Frank Talmage, »Apples of Gold: The Inner Meaning of Sacred Texts in Medieval Judaism,« in Jewish Spirituality: From the Bible Through the Middle Ages, ed. Arthur Green, New York, 1986, 313–55. 13 Gerold Necker, »Hans Blumenberg’s Metaphorology and the Historical Perspective of Mystical Terminology,« in JSQ 22,2 (2015): 184–203; idem, »Lebenswelten kabbalistischer Terminologie: Tiqqun in der Frühen Neuzeit,« Trumah 24 (2018): 119–37. 14 Georges Vajda, Jehuda ben Nissim ibn Malka: Philosophe Juif Marocain, Paris, 1954; Alexander Altmann, Studies in Religious Philosophy and Mysticism, Ithaca/NY, 1969; Boaz Huss »Mysticism versus Philosophy in Kabbalistic Literature,« Micrologus 9 (2001): 125–35. 15 Moshe Idel, »The World of Angels in Human Form,« in Studies in Philosophy, Mysticism, and Ethical Literature Presented to Isaiah Tishby on His Seventy-Fifth Birthday, ed. Joseph Dan and Joseph Hacker, Jerusalem, 1986, 1–66 (Hebrew); Yehudah Liebes, »Rabbi Solomon Ibn Gabirol’s Use of the Sefer Yetzirah and the Commentary on the Poem ›I love Thee‹,« Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought 6, 3–4 (1987): 73–123 (Hebrew); Elliot R. Wolfson, »Merkavah Traditions in Philosophical Garb: Jehuda Halevi Reconsidered,« Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 57 (1991): 179–242. 16 Wolfson »Jewish Mysticism,« 453.

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(although certain phrases became part of the daily ritual). Most often, however, the transmission of the mystical content and the relevant exegetic methods was kept within the circles of »secondary elites«17 and conferred orally from master to disciple.18 The term »Kabbalah« (from the Hebrew q-b-l, to receive) is used to designate different forms of Jewish esotericism in the Middle Ages, both »tradition« and »that which is received«. One of the main topics of the conveyed esoteric truths were the inner workings of the divine world, pictured as a highly dynamic organism consisting of ten sefirot, proves the deeply theosophical orientation of medieval Kabbalah. The second major element of this literature is its emphasis on intense religious experience, whose particular forms vary between heavenly ascent, vision of the divine, angelification/transformation, mystical union or even acoustic communal experience.19 The »ecstatic experience« in the linguistic branch is distinguished from other forms by its claim that special techniques of meditation were required to induce the desired union between human and divine intellect.20 Such techniques involve recitation and/or combination of the letters of the divine names and bear a strong resemblance to magical practices. But also, certain bodily movements are involved in order to reach the state of ecstasy. Texts of theurgic (magical) sort are referred to as practical Kabbalah, whereas the other corpus is called theosophical or speculative Kabbalah.21 However, important theosophical elements are often found in the first category, especially on charms, amulets, incantations or other formulae, so that the study of this literature reveals doctrinal information about the nature and names of the deity and angels/demons, the origin and nature of the soul, the fate of heavenly creatures etc. Therefore, any clear distinction between mysticism and magic, as well as between esoteric knowledge of the godhead (theosophy) and an intense religious experience of union with the divine (ecstasy), is an unjustifiable reduction of this rich material, which took its forms within different historical periods.

2

Current Discussion in Research

In recent scholarship there is an ongoing discussion on the term »Jewish Mysticism«, especially since the publication of Boaz Huss’ The Question about the Existence

17 Moshe Idel, »Kabbalah and Elites in 13th Century Spain,« Mediterranean Historical Review 9,1 (1994): 5–19. 18 Moshe Idel, »Transmission in 13th Century Kabbalah,« in Transmitting Jewish Traditions; Orality, Textuality, and Cultural Diffusion, ed. Yaakov Elman and Israel Gershoni, New Haven/ CT, 2000, 138–65. 19 Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism,« 454. 20 Moshe Idel, Studies in Ecstatic Kabbalah, Albany/NY, 1988. 21 Gershom Scholem, Kabbalah, Jerusalem, 1974, 182f.

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of Jewish Mysticism.22 Huss shows how the term »Jewish Mysticism« has been influenced by both a national Zionist ideology and a political agenda in early academic research on this corpus, e.g. in the studies of Martin Buber and Gershom Scholem. Huss claims that both scholars tried to demonstrate the universal character of a »mystical experience« based on a romanticized idealistic perspective of »Western mysticism« or orientalism, including a certain post-colonial notion.23 It includes modern theological presuppositions of the West and assumes that doctrines and practices related to a direct experience of the divine are central components of such a literary corpus. However, this is not the defining element of many kabbalistic schools, as Huss explains. There is a large variety of types and schools of Kabbalah and some of them present very different theories and practices which deal with speculations concerning the structure of the divine realms, the nature of human beings and their power to affect the divine and the lower realms, and the significance of Jewish history and Jewish ritual. While modern scholarship is aware that »Jewish mysticism« is used as a functional term, its field of research must be augmented, also including features presented in Sufism, Hinduism, Buddhism and other mystical traditions as well as contemporary trends.24 However, the classical categorizations of Jewish mysticism as introduced by Scholem in his Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism (Jerusalem 1941) are still valid in academic research. The book follows a chronological order with certain subcategories according to various schools and teachers, in addition to geographic regions. After an introduction titled General Characteristics of Jewish Mysticism, the lectures divide the corpora of Jewish mystical literature into 1) Merkavah Mysticism and Jewish Gnosticism, 2) Hasidism in Medieval Germany, 3) Abraham Abulafia and the Doctrine of Prophetic Kabbalism, 4) The Zohar, 5) Isaac Luria and His School, 6) Sabbateanism and Mystical Heresy and 7) Hasidism. Scholem added numerous source editions, monographs and articles on various topics of Jewish mysticism, following his intended program for the establishment of a scholarly field in Jewish mystical literature.25 With Moshe Idel’s Kabbalah: New Perspectives (New Haven 1988) we face a new turn in Kabbalah research as Idel identifies two major currents in the vast field of kabbalistic literature: the theosophic-theurgic trend and the ecstatic school of

22 Boaz Huss, The Question About the Existence of Jewish Mysticism: The Genealogy of Jewish Mysticism and the Theologies of Kabbalah Research, Jerusalem, 2016 (Hebrew). 23 Cf. the current scholarly discussion on Edward Said’s book Orientalism, New York, 1978, and the post-colonial appropriation of oriental images. 24 Jonathan Garb, Modern Kabbalah as an Autonomous Domain of Research, Los Angeles/CA, 2016; idem, Shamanic Trance in Modern Kabbalah, Chicago/IL, 2011. 25 As expressed in his letter to Ḥayyim Naḥman Bialik, July 12th, 1925, printed in Gershom Scholem, Judaica 6. Die Wissenschaft vom Judentum, ed. Peter Schäfer, Frankfurt am Main, 1997, 55–67. On the realization of this program by himself and his students see Peter Schäfer and Joseph Dan, eds., Gershom Scholem’s Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism 50 Years After, Tübingen, 1993.

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Abraham Abulafia, which is also named »linguistic« or »prophetic.« With a strong emphasis on the quest for mystical experience rather than theosophical gnosis, Idel highlights the centrality of the term and praxis of »devequt« as unio mystica based on an intermingling of theurgic interpretations and mystical conceptions stemming from various textual traditions in the zoharic-lurianic corpora and the Geronese, Abulafian and Safedian schools.26 He stresses the need for a phenomenological and comparative approach to kabbalistic literature and its contextualization within the history of religion. In contrast to Scholem, modern scholars like Moshe Idel,27 Yehudah Liebes,28 Elliot Wolfson,29 and Daniel Abrams30 regard Kabbalah as a later development of mythical and mystical elements found in the Bible and rabbinic literature, not dependent on Gnostic sources.

3

Early Jewish Mysticism

3.1

Merkavah Mysticism and Hekhalot Literature

Among the main sources for the later development of Jewish mysticism are the so-called »Hekhalot-literature« (hekhal, palace, temple) and the Merkavah speculations (merkavah, chariot; see Ezek. 1:8 and 10), vaguely dated to late antiquity, maybe even the times of the Talmud or earlier up to the medieval era, generally 200–800 CE. This corpus has been redacted over a period of several centuries and describes in detail the ascent of an individual through the heavenly realms, culminating in a vision of the luminous form on the throne located in the seventh heaven/palace.31 At the gates between the different levels, the ascendant has to pass several tests, closely connected to the presentation of divine names. The motifs are based on earlier traditions about the heavenly ascent of Enoch, which is also found in the Dead Sea Scrolls, Gnostic material and the Pseudepigrapha of the Hebrew Bible.32

26 27 28 29 30

Idel, New Perspectives, 58. See below for details on these terms and schools. Ibid. Yehudah Liebes, Studies in the Zohar, Albany/NY, 1993. Wolfson, Through a Speculum. Daniel Abrams, »Phenomenology of Jewish Mysticism: Moshe Idel’s Methodology in Perspective,« Kabbalah. Journal for the Study of Jewish Mystical Texts 20 (2009): 7–146. 31 Major parts of these texts haven been translated, commented upon and edited in a modern synoptic edition by Peter Schäfer. See his editions Synopse zur Hekhalot-Literatur, Tübingen, 1981; Genizah-Fragmente zur Hekhalot-Literatur, Tübingen, 1984; Hekhalot-Studien, Tübingen, 1988; Übersetzung der Hekhalot-Literatur. 4 vols, Tübingen, 1989–95. 32 Gershom Scholem, Jewish Gnosticism, Merkabah Mysticism and the Talmudic Tradition, New York, 1965.

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Based on the textual editions there emerged a number of research projects on: • early Jewish magic literature in Late Antiquity from the Cairo Genizah33 • on the Maʽaseh Merkavah (Account of the Chariot) and the specific notion of the yeridah (descent)34 • a detailed look at a selection of Hekhalot-texts35 • martyrology • the Enochic traditions and their angelic context36 • early Jewish Magic and its concepts37 • Sefer haRazim (the Book of Secrets) and Sefer Shimmush Tehillim (Book on the Usage of the Psalms).38 Although this corpus is highly debated in scholarship, the following books are considered as the »core group:« • • • • • •

Hekhalot Rabbati (The Greater Palaces)39 Hekhalot Zutarti (The Lesser Palaces)40 Sefer Hekhalot41 Massekhet Hekhalot (Treatise of the Palaces)42 Merkavah Rabba (The Great Chariot) Shiʽur Qomah (Measure of the Height)43

33 Peter Schäfer and Shaul Shaked, eds., Magische Texte aus der Kairoer Genizah, 3 vols., Tübingen, 1994–99. 34 Annelies Kuyt, The ›Descent‹ to the Chariot. Towards a Description of the Terminology, Place, Function and Nature of the Yeridah in Hekhalot Literature, TSAJ 45, Tübingen, 1995; the ›descenders‹ and their identity are dealt with in James Davila, Descenders to the Chariot: The People Behind the Hekhalot Literature, Leiden, 2001. 35 Peter Schäfer, The Hidden and the Manifest God: Some Major Themes in Early Jewish Mysticism, Albany/NY, 1992; see also idem, The Origins of Jewish Mysticism, Tübingen, 2009; Joseph Dan, The Early Kabbalah, New York, 1986. 36 Andrei Orlov, The Enoch-Metatron Tradition, TSAJ 107, Tübingen, 2005; idem, Yahoel and Metatron. Aural Apocalypticism and the Origins of Early Jewish Mysticism, TSAJ 169, Tübingen, 2017. 37 Yuval Harari, Jewish Magic before the Rise of Kabbalah, Detroit/MI, 2017. 38 Ed. Mordechai Margalioth, Jerusalem, 1966; Bill Rebiger, Sefer Shimmush Tehillim. Buch vom magischen Gebrauch der Psalmen, TSAJ 137, Tübingen, 2010; idem, Sefer ha-Razim I und II. Das Buch der Geheimnisse I und II, Band 2: Einleitung, Übersetzung und Kommentar, TSAJ 132, Tübingen, 2009. 39 Schäfer, Synopse, §§ 81–306. 40 Rahel Elior, Hekhalot Zutarti, Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought, Supplement 1, Jerusalem, 1984 (Hebrew); Schäfer, Synopse, §§ 335–74, 407–26, 496–98. 41 This is also named The Book of Palaces, or Hebrew Book of Enoch or 3 Enoch and published by Scholem as Maʽaseh Merkavah (Work/Account of the Chariot); Scholem, Jewish Gnosticism, 103–17; Schäfer, Synopse, §§ 544–96; Hugo Odeberg, 3 Enoch or the Hebrew Book of Enoch, repr., New York, 1973; Schäfer, Synopse, §§ 1–80. 42 Klaus Herrmann, Massekhet Hekhalot. Traktat von den himmlischen Palästen, TSAJ 39, Tübingen, 1994. 43 Martin S. Cohen, The Shiʽur Qomah: Liturgy and Theurgy in Pre-Kabbalistic Jewish Mysticism, Lanham/MD, 1983.

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In addition, one has to consider Re’uyot Yeḥezqiel (Visions of Ezekiel),44 Hekhalot fragments (or Cairo Genizah Fragments),45 fragments on Physiognomy, Chiromancy, and Metoposcopy. The first use of the technical term merkavah to refer to Ezekiel’s vision of the enthroned Glory is found in Ben Sira (49:8). Reports of heavenly ascents in Jewish and Christian apocalyptic literature from the second century BCE to the third century CE are very close to the praxis described in these texts.46 Scholem, Gruenwald, and Himmelfarb argued that Merkavah mysticism is mainly a result of Jewish apocalypticism.47 Liturgical fragments from Qumran as well as the Angelic Liturgy and the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice from there are important links in the chain of mystical tradition in the pre-rabbinic Jewish world.48 The motifs discussed in these sources bear a striking resemblance to the main issues of the Hekhalot literature.49 The relationship between Merkavah mysticism and certain passages of rabbinic literature, in which rabbinic authorities like Yoḥanan ben Zakkai and his disciples engage in this form of exegesis in order to produce paranormal states of consciousness similar to those reported during the theophany at Sinai,50 is very hard to define. An obvious thematic connection between the Sinaitic revelation and Ezekiel’s is found in rabbinic homiletical literature.51 Exegetical Midrashic activity might be viewed as a means to re-experience the revelation of the deity at Sinai. Although we have to distinguish between the exegetical efforts of the rabbis and the experiential mysticism of the Hekhalot corpus, it is too simplistic to divide between the two as passive homiletical speculation and active mystical ascent.52 We cannot remove all forms of ecstasy and mysticism from the rabbinic figures

44 Published by Ithamar Gruenwald, »Re’uyot Yeḥezqiel,« Temirin: Text and Studies in Kabbalah and Hasidism 1 (1972): 101–40 (Hebrew). 45 E.g. the Ozhaya text, published by Ithamar Gruenwald, »New Fragments from the Hekhalot Literature,« Tarbiẓ 38 (1968/9): 356–64 (Hebrew); cf. Schäfer, Genizah Fragmente, 103–5. 46 Wilhelm Bousset, »Die Himmelsreise der Seele,« in Archiv für Religionswissenschaft 4 (1901): 136–69, 229–73; Alan F. Segal, Two Powers in Heaven: Early Rabbinic Reports about Christianity and Gnosticism, Leiden, 1980. 47 Scholem, Major Trends, 43; Ithamar Gruenwald, Apocalyptic and Merkavah Mysticism, Leiden, 1980; Martha Himmelfarb, »Heavenly Ascent and the Relationship of the Apocalypses and the Hekhalot Literature«, Hebrew Union College Annual 59 (1988): 73–100. 48 John Strugnell, »The Angelic Liturgy at Qumran – 4QSerek Sīrot ›Ōlat Hassabat,« Congress Volume, VTSup 7, Leiden, 1960, 318–45; Joseph M. Baumgarten, »The Qumran Sabbath Shirot and Rabbinical Merkavah Traditions,« RdQ 13 (1988): 199–214. 49 Lawrence H. Schiffman, Reclaiming the Dead Sea Scrolls: The History of Judaism, the Background of Christianity, the Lost Library of Qumran, Philadelphia/Jerusalem, 1994, 351–60. 50 David Halperin, The Merkavah in Rabbinic Literature, New Haven/CT, 1980, 107–40. 51 Ira Chernus, Mysticism in Rabbinic Literature, Berlin, 1982; David Halperin, The Faces of the Chariot: Early Jewish Responses to Ezekiel’s Vision, TSAJ 16, Tübingen, 1988, 17–23, 141–49, 289–322. 52 Joseph Dan, »The Religious Experience of the Merkavah,« in Jewish Spirituality from the Bible through the Middle Ages, ed. Arthur Green, New York, 1986, 289–307, esp. 292.

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interested in the chariot.53 However, the common interest in the mystical nature of exegesis in general and the exegesis on the vision of Ezekiel could narrow the gap between exegetical and experiential forms of Merkavah speculation. The fictional protagonists of the ascent texts in the Hekhalot literature are rabbinic figures like Ishmael, Akivah and Neḥunya ben haQanah, but the precise historical and social context of the authors of these texts are not at all clear.54 The first explicit references to Hekhalot compositions appear in geonic material and the first account on mystical techniques for ascending appears in Hai ben Sherira Gaon (939–1038).55 Some recent scholars have reiterated the claim of 19th century research to emphasize the influence of Islamic mysticism on Jewish mysticism in general and on the Merkavah visions in particular.56 In addition to specific Sufi techniques, similar various ancient gnostic and philosophic concepts from Isma’ili sources have been detected. The southern Italian milieu for the cultivation and the transmission of the Hekhalot texts and the presence of the material in an Islamic and Christian-Byzantine context also should be considered.57 A synoptic presentation demonstrates that this corpus is made up of clearly defined textual units. It shows discrete texts in the corpus, but the manuscript evidence indicates that the boundaries of the texts are fluid and have been crystallized in so-called »macroforms«. The smaller literary units within these macroforms, called microforms, may comprise autonomous traditions that were woven together into the fabric of the macroforms to become part of a literary tradition of a distinct textual unit.58 As some units remained fluid until copied either in the Orient (Genizah fragments) or in the Occident (in German manuscripts or Italian copies of them), it is particularly important to note the significant role of the medieval German Pietists who may have had a great hand in shaping these texts.59 According to the terminology in some principal texts, the approach to the throne is called yeridah laMerkavah (descent to the chariot). This paradoxical expression has been considered by Scholem as indicating an act of ascending.60 Others 53 54 55 56 57

58 59 60

Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism,« 457. Schäfer, Hidden and Manifest God, 160. Scholem, Major Trends, 49. David S. Ariel, »The Eastern Dawn of Wisdom: The Problem of the Relation Between Islamic and Jewish Mysticism,« in Approaches to Judaism in Medieval Times, vol. 2, ed. David R. Blumenthal, Chico/CA, 1985, 149–62. Amos Goldreich, »The Theology of the Iyyun Circle and a Possible Source of the Term ›Achdut Shava‹,« Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought 6, 3–4 (1987): 141–56 (Hebrew); Moshe Idel, The Mystical Experience in Abraham Abulafia, Albany/NY, 1988; idem, »The Kabbalah and Byzantium – Preliminary Remarks,« in Jews in Byzantium. Dialectics of Minority and Majority Cultures, ed. Robert Bonfil et al., Leiden, 2011, 659–708. In Schäfer, Synopse, one can easily comprehend these macro- and microforms; see also idem, Hekhalot-Studien, 8–16. Schäfer, Übersetzung, xxxiii–xxxiv. Scholem, Jewish Gnosticism, 20 n.1, 47; Kuyt, Descent.

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have claimed that the last part of the ascent through the seven heavens consists of a descent in the seventh palace. The mystic stands in front of the divine Glory and utters the appropriate praises with the angels, before he is placed on the throne or alongside of it and undergoes a deifying vision, according to the classic example of an apotheosis of the human in 3 Enoch.61 The enthronement of the mystic signifies his elevation to an angelic status: that of Metatron; and he occupies a throne alongside the divine Glory. In this vision, the mystic might see what is ordinarily hidden from human perception and the adjuration of an angel requires that the adjurer himself becomes angelic through ritual mortification and purification, as in the Sar-Torah material.62

3.2

Shiʿur Qomah (Measures of Stature)

From the standpoint of redaction, we could speak of Shiʽur Qomah traditions that have been incorporated into Hekhalot literature.63 From a phenomenological perspective however it is compulsory to separate the two currents. The texts deal with the graphic description of the various limbs of the enthroned divine figure, the yoẓer bereshit (demiurge or creator), in terms of ineffable names and unfathomable dimensions.64 The secrets are revealed by Metatron, named as »great angel« or »angel of the divine countenance«.65 The title »great angel of testimony« intensifies his function as witness and informer.66 The demiurgic status of Metatron as being »like his master«, exegetically linked to Exod 23:21 (My name is in him) or even as »lesser YHWH (YHWH qaṭan)« (3 Enoch in allusion to b. Sanh. 38b) is fiercely debated in recent scholarship.67 However, it is safe to assume a significant influence of this figure from the Shiʽur Qomah texts on medieval philosophical, pietistic and kabbalistic sources—both Christian and Jewish.68 The measurements of the divine limbs are extraordinary and impossible to imagine from a human perspective. One of the standard measures of the creator

61 Moshe Idel, »Enoch is Metatron,« Immanuel 24/25 (1990): 220–40. 62 Michael Swartz, »Like the Ministering Angels: Ritual and Purity in Hekhalot and Magical Literatures,« AJS Review 19 (1994): 135–67. 63 Schäfer, Hidden and Manifest God, 162. 64 Cohen, Shiʽur Qomah, 99–109. 65 Ibid., 124–28. 66 Ibid., 125f. 67 Ibid., 132f.; Moshe Idel, »Enoch is Metatron«; Elliot R. Wolfson, »Metatron and Shʽiur Qomah in the Writings of Hasidei Ashkenaz,« in Mysticism, Magic and Kabbalah in Ashkenazi Judaism, ed. Karl-Erich Grözinger and Joseph Dan, Berlin/New York, 1995, 60–92; Daniel Boyarin, »Is Metatron a Converted Christian?,« in Ancient Judaism 1 (2013): 13–62; Schäfer, Origins; Yakir Paz, »Metatron is not Enoch: Reevaluating the Evolution of an Archangel,« JSJ 50 (2019): 1–49. 68 Wolfson, Speculum. For an examination of acoustic elements in early Metatron traditions see Orlov, Yahoel and Metatron.

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is given with 236.000 parasangs,69 or even 2.360.000.000 parasangs.70 This number is exegetically equivalent to the expression we-rav koaḥ (full of power) in Ps 147:5, whose numerical value equals 236.71 It has been suggested that to interpret the bizarre names and incomprehensible measurements is an indication of the fundamental paradox of mystical experience in this work: the measurable God is immeasurable and the visible God is invisible.72 The convergence of letter symbolism and anthropomorphism is one of the markers of Jewish theosophic speculation: the limbs of God are constituted of Hebrew letters.73

3.3

Sefer Yezirah (Book of Creation)

The dating of this little treatise ranges between the 3rd to the 9th century CE.74 It consists of less than 2,000 words and should be regarded as a composite of distinct literary strands, combined in a complex redactional process. It discusses the creation of the cosmos by means of the 22 letters of the Hebrew alphabet (divided into three groups of 3 »mothers,« 7 »doubles,« and 12 »simples«) and the »ten ineffable sefirot. « It is unclear what the ten sefirot exactly are in this context, but it would seem that they refer to entities in the divine realm that are incomprehensible by the human mind, yet nonetheless represent the mysterious nature of God and serve as his tools in the creative process, the material stuff of reality.75 The focus on the ten sefirot and the letters of the Hebrew alphabet in Sefer Yezirah had a major impact on later Jewish Mysticism and Kabbalah. The symbolism of the ten sefirot is reemphasized in an innovative and powerful way in the kabbalistic texts that begin to emerge in Southern France in the late 12th century. In recent scholarship, Tzaḥi Weiss explores anew the history of this work and through scrutiny of the text’s evolution, traces its origins to the seventh century CE.76 He refers its context to Jews who lived far from rabbinic circles and were familiar with the teachings of Syriac Christianity. Starting with Saʿadia Gaon (882–942),77 anonymous commentators and laypeople regarded Sefer Yezirah as a mystical, mythical, or magical treatise. They were thus significantly differing from the common rabbinic view in that period of the text as a philosophical and scientific work. Examined against the backdrop of this new historical context, Sefer Yezirah provides a unique aperture to little-known Jewish intellectual traditions of late 69 70 71 72 73 74

Cohen, Shiʽur Qomah, 31f. Ibid., 155f. n. 80; cf. Otiyyot de Rabbi Akiba, ed. Wertheimer, 1980, 2:370. Scholem, Major Trends, 365 n. 86; Cohen, Shiʽur Qomah, 104, 107. Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism«, 463. Ibid. Nehemia Allony, »The Time of Composition of Sefer Yetzirah,« Temirin. Texts and Studies in Kabbalah and Hasidism 2 (1981): 41–50 (Hebrew). 75 Gershom Scholem, »The Name of God and the Linguistic Theory of the Kabbalah,« Diogenes 79 (1972): 59–80, here 71–76. 76 Tzaḥi Weiss, Sefer Yeṣirah and Its Context, Philadelphia/PA, 2018. 77 Ed. Josef Kafikh, Jerusalem, 1970, 33.

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antiquity and the early Middle Ages which, despite their distance from the rabbinic canon, played a vital role in the development of medieval Jewish learning and culture. The primary concern of Sefer Yezirah is cosmology and cosmogony and therefore it belongs to the rabbinic traditions of Maʽaseh Bereshit. But some parts also belong to Merkavah mysticism. The text is extant in three redactional versions: a short version, a long version, and that which is incorporated in Saʿadia’s commentary.78 All versions speak about the divine creativity in 32 paths of wisdom that comprise the ten primordial ciphers and the 22 Hebrew letters. Although it is generally accepted that in the first part the term sefirot has to be understood as numbers, it has been suggested to understand them also as anthropomorphic descriptions of the divine in the imaginative visualization of the mystic–dynamic potencies that collectively make up the habitation of the deity.79 Others understand them as the ten depths in which God created the world, which consist of the beginning, the end, goodness, evil, height, depth, east, west, north and south.80 A third explanation refers to the spirit of the living God (voice, spirit, speech), the spirit from water, fire, height, depth, east, west, north and south.81 This might be a conflation of two traditions: one of the four spiritual elements and the other of the six cosmic dimensions. It comprises also God’s sealing of each of the six dimensions with a permutation of the three-letter name YHW82 and might have been combined in order to explain the enigmatic nature of the ten sefirot. Letter symbolism is prevalent in the second part of the work, and each of the letters is said to have an impact on three ontological levels: space, time, and the microcosm (life or soul). This composite nature of reality corresponds to both letter combination and the human body. The 231 gates of permutation resemble the limbs of the human body and demonstrate the correlation between letters and anthropomorphic form.83 The central role of letter symbolism is evident in all branches of medieval Jewish mysticism, including German Pietism (Ḥasidei Ashkenaz), the ecstatic school of Abraham Abulafia, and the theosophic-theurgic branch of Kabbalah.

78 Ithamar Gruenwald, »A Preliminary Critical Edition of Sefer Yetzira,« Israel Oriental Studies 1 (1971): 132–77, here 133f. (Hebrew). 79 Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism«, 464f.; Heinrich Graetz, Gnostizismus und Judentum, Krotoschin, 1846, 110–15; Shlomo Pines, »Points of Similarity between the Exposition of the Doctrine of the Sefirot in the Sefer Yetzira and a Text of the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies,« Proceedings of the Israeli Academy of Sciences and Humanities 7 (1989): 62–242. 80 Gruenwald, »Preliminary Critical Edition«, 143. 81 Ibid., 144–46. 82 Ibid., 146. 83 Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism,« 466.

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4.1

Ḥ asidei Ashkenaz

311

In the 9th to 11th centuries, Merkavah traditions were transferred from the Babylonian milieu to Europe, most likely through Italy.84 The material later was preserved, redacted and transmitted by a Pietistic group in the Rhineland known as the Ḥasidei Ashkenaz or German Pietists.85 This movement was active from roughly 1250–1350 and had a profound impact on the kabbalistic circles in Spain in the later part of the 13th century, especially the linguistic branch of Kabbalah.86 The main figures of this group stem from the Kalonymide family, starting with Judah ben Samuel heḤasid (mid 12th century), son of Rabbi Samuel ben Kalonymus of Speyer; and his disciple, Eleazar ben Yehudah of Worms, who died between 1223 and 1232. The group not only preserved the older Merkavah traditions, but also developed its own theosophy combining Hekhalot mysticism, magic, Saʿadia Gaon’s philosophy, and the writings of Shabbatai Donnolo (b. 913) and Juda ben Barzilai (11th- 12th century), the two most important commentators on Sefer Yezirah. In addition, they also included Jewish Neoplatonism, especially that of Abraham ibn Ezra (c. 1092–1167).87 The Ḥasidei Ashkenaz placed specific emphasis on ascetic renunciation and ethical discipline. Fasts, abstinence, physical pain and discomfort, even valorization of martyrdom were all considered as tools to enable mystical imagination and illumination, especially in the form of the visualization of the Shekhinah or Divine Presence. Many scholars believe that the tribulations of the Crusades and the ascetic practices of the surrounding Christian monastic communities had an impact on the particular form of religious and mystical piety of the Ḥasidei Ashkenaz. Sefer Ḥasidim (Book of the Pietists) is of special scholarly interest. It compiles the basic teachings of this group and applies them to the day-to-day religious life in Ashkenaz. The book is preserved in two versions, one published in Bologna in 1538, based on a manuscript now lost. It consists of 1176 paragraphs that are defectively numbered. A much longer version appeared in Berlin 1891, based on an undated Ashkenazi Hebrew manuscript from around 1300.88 This text is twice as long as Bologna. Written anonymously in northern France or Germany, but attributed to Judah ben Shmuel heḤasid, it was widely circulated, in a large number of manuscripts, and had a deep impact on the distinctive religious practices in the

84 Joseph Dan, The Esoteric Theology of the German Pietists, Jerusalem, 1968, 16–20 (Hebrew); Scholem, Kabbalah, 33. 85 Kuyt, Descent. 86 Daniel Abrams, »The Literary Emergence of Esotericism in German Pietism,« Shofar 12,2 (1994): 67–85 (Hebrew); idem, »From Germany to Spain: Numerology as a Mystical Technique,« in JSJ 47 (1996), 85–101. 87 Dan, Esoteric Theology, 20–29, 39f., 114–16; Lachter, »Introduction«, 4. 88 Catalogued as Parma, Biblioteca Palatina, H 3280, De Rossi 113, based on a lost manuscript.

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Rhineland and elsewhere. With its specific interest in Jewish ethics (musar), it reflects on the moral discourses of its time and contains valuable information on religious instruction and social living.89 The status of women, Jewish-Christian relations, Halakhic issues also are discussed in this œuvre. Due to its segmentary composition, possible multiple readings and its assumption of the reader as a »performer« to complete the work left as »semi-finished«, the book has been defined with Umberto Eco as »open text« or »open book.«90 The doctrine of the divine Glory (kavod) was at the center of their teachings and related to the problem of directing one’s prayer to the deity.91 The ontic status of the Glory was either perceived accessible as a created light extrinsic to God (Saʿadia), emanated from and attached to God (Donnolo and Ibn Ezra), or the visible form of the Glory was conceived as an image within the prophet’s or mystic’s mind (Hai Gaon as transmitted by Ḥananel ben Ḥushiel).92 The Pietists mostly waver between the second and the third option.93 Following Nathan ben Yeḥiel of Rome (1035c. 1110), Eleazar distinguished between an upper and a lower Glory, the first one being an amorphous light (called Shekhinah) or great splendor (hod haGadol) and the second one assuming different anthropomorphic forms. It was assumed that one might pray to the visible Glory, which is an image, as God is present in that image.94 Eleazar appropriates the anthropomorphic images from Shiʽur Qomah not to the creator himself, but to the form the mystic creates in his imagination,95 which according to Wolfson signifies a shift of the proportions of the Glory from the Godhead to the mystic’s consciousness. However, the main circle of the Kalonymide Pietists preserved and developed an esoteric tradition that applied the measurements to the Glory itself. Another aspect was the identification of the Glory with the Tetragrammaton and the possibility to imagine the letters of this name as an anthropos, most explicitly stated in Sefer haNavon.96 These passages blur in their interpretation of Ezra 1:26 the distinction between the divine Glory and the angelic being, which is simultaneously the anthropomorphic manifestation of the divine.97 In Pietistic writings, the study of the chariot was understood as speculating on the divine names, especially the 89 Ivan G. Marcus, Sefer Hasidim and the Ashkenazic Book in Medieval Europe, Philadelphia/PA, 2018, 1–9. 90 Ibid., 4f. 91 Scholem, Major Trends, 111–16; Abrams, »The Shekhina prays before God: A New Text Toward the Theosophic Orientation of the German Pietists and Their Method for the Transmission of Esoteric Doctrines,« Tarbiẓ 63 (2004): 509–32 (Hebrew). 92 Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism«, 467. 93 Dan, Esoteric Theology, 129–43. 94 On the unique exegetical approach that the German Pietists developed to liturgy and prayer see Joseph Dan, »The Emergence of Mystical Prayer,« Studies in Jewish Mysticism, ed. idem and Frank Talmage, Cambridge/MA, 1982, 85–120. 95 Sefer haShem, MS British Museum 737, fol. 373b; Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism«, 467. 96 Joseph Dan, Studies in Ashkenazic Hasidic Literature, Ramat Gan, 1975, 119f., 153f., 169 (Hebrew); idem, Esoteric Theology, 135f. 97 Wolfson, Speculum, 255–63.

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Tetragrammaton.98 The knowledge of the chariot involved a mystical praxis of contemplation by which the mystics ascended on high.99 Eleazar mentions a series of rituals and purifications as prelude to the study and mention of the divine name.100 These mystics cultivated the technique of reciting divine and angelic names, in order to induce a state of prophecy or ecstasy, even a transformation of the mystic himself.101 Of specific interest was the usage of the feminine imagery and the description of the chariot in the structure of a nut according to Song of Songs 6:1 (»I went down to the garden of nuts«), preserving an ancient esoteric tradition.102 Asi Farber showed that the male-female polarity was part of the »original text.« She distinguishes between the »exoteric« side of Pietist ideology which suppresses sexual images, and the »esoteric« one that describes aspects of the divine in such terms. The latter was not fully committed to writing but rather transmitted orally.103 The feminine glory or the Shekhinah might be identified as the diadem on God’s head, prayer, the divine voice, the king’s daughter, the bride sitting on the left of the groom, the tenth kingship or the tenth sefirah.104 Moshe Idel has argued that the elevation of the crown has decidedly theurgic connotations and bears a close similarity to older midrashic and kabbalistic motifs.105 In addition, Elliot Wolfson stressed the pronounced theurgic elements in the Pietists’ treatment of the commandments.106 The Pietists draw the theurgic conclusion, that by the performance of the 613 commandments, one unites the two names of God or the Glory. We should therefore assume that the theosophy and theurgy of the German Pietists bear a striking similarity to the emerging kabbalistic doctrines in Provence and Northern Spain, indicating a common heritage and a mutual exchange between Pietists and kabbalists.

4.2

Kabbalah in Provence and the Sefer haBahir

In the 1180’s a text emerged in Provence region of southern France that represents a defining moment in the history of Jewish mysticism.107 This text is known

98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107

Wolfson, Speculum, 234–47. Perush haMerkavah, MS Paris BN 850, fol. 49b. Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism«, 469. Moshe Idel, »On Angels and Biblical Exegesis in Thirteenth-Century Ashkenaz,« in Scriptural Exegesis – The Shapes of Culture and the Religious Imagination; Essays in Honour of Michael Fishbane, ed. Deborah A. Green and Laura S. Lieber, Oxford, 2009, 211–44. Asi Farber, The Concept of the Merkavah in Thirteenth-Century Jewish Esotericism: Sod ha‘Egoz and Its Development, PhD diss., Hebrew University Jerusalem, 1986 (Hebrew). Farber, Concept, 101–23. Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism,« 470; Lachter, »Introduction,« 5. Idel, New Perspectives, 160f. Wolfson, »The Mystical Significance of Torah Study in German Pietism,« JQR 84,1 (1993): 43–77; idem, Speculum, 288–306. This thesis has recently been put into question by Avishai Bar Asher, »Lab-Grown Historiography: The Imaginary Sources of the Bahir and the Historical Reconstruction of The Origins of Kabbalah,« Zion 84,4 (2019): 489–522 (Hebrew).

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as Sefer haBahir or »The Book of Brightness/Splendor« (Job 37:21), written in the style of an ancient rabbinic Midrash on the first chapters of Genesis (ascribed to Rabbi Neḥunya ben haQanah, fl. around 100 CE). It was probably derived from a repository of ancient Jewish theosophic theologumena that have been preserved in a fragmentary form and contain even earlier literary strata,108 believed to reflect ancient Near Eastern Jewish traditions.109 An exact determination what proportions of the Bahir were derived from ancient tradition and what was the innovation and addition of authors living in 12th century Europe remains a question. The main elements include an image of God in a male-female polarity and a theurgical understanding of the halakhic practices, which in a positive sense may increase the stature of the divine structure and in the case of one’s failure, weaken it. The most significant feature of the Bahir is its focus on the ten sefirot as the ten luminous emanations of God that symbolically reveal the inner divine life. The sefirot thus become living symbols, derived from standard biblical and rabbinic images that represent the unknowable and ineffable secrets of God. By embracing the paradox of a symbolic system of ten divine emanations that represent that, which is impossible to represent, the Bahir takes a decisive step that changes Jewish mysticism. Around this time, we also find traditions that associate esoteric speculation with a number of important rabbis in southern France. Abraham ben Isaac of Narbonne (1110–1179), Abraham ben David of Posquières (1125–1198), also known as Rabad, and Jacob Nazir of Lunel (d. late 12th century) are known to have endorsed kabbalistic and mystical teachings, though little more than a few scattered hints to that affect have been preserved in their own treatises. Isaac the Blind (Sagi Nahor; ca. 1160–ca. 1235), son of Abraham ben David, lived in Narbonne and was the first author of a kabbalistic text including the sefirotic emanations, his commentary on Sefer Yezirah.110 Most of Isaac the Blind’s teachings were disseminated orally to his students, and only this commentary and his »mystical intentions« on the ʿAmidah (18 benedictions)111 are regarded as his own compositions. His commentary is a notoriously difficult text that discusses the sefirot mentioned in Sefer Yezirah in a theosophical manner. The historical relationship of Bahir and Isaac the Blind is not secure, however, in recent scholarship, we assume that the Bahir was composed in its influential version by Isaac and his students and we might assume a so-called

108 Gershom Scholem, Origins of the Kabbalah, ed. R. J. Zwi Werblowsky, trans. Alan Arkush, Princeton/NJ, 1987, 49–198; Idel, New Perspectives, 128–36, 156–82; and Daniel Abrams, The Book Bahir: An Edition based on the Earliest Manuscripts, with an Introduction by Moshe Idel, Los Angeles/CA, 1994 (Hebrew); Lachter, »Introduction«, 5-6. 109 Ronit Meroz, »The Book Bahir: The Middle Eastern Origins of Kabbalah,« Journal for the Study of Sephardic and Mizrahi Jewry (Feb. 2007): 39–56. 110 Mark Sendor, The Emergence of Provençal Kabbalah. Rabbi Isaac the Blind’s Commentary on Sefer Yetzirah, PhD diss., Harvard University, 1994. 111 Moshe Idel, »On Rabbi Sagi Nahor’s Mystical Intention of the Eighteen Benedictions,« in Massu’ot: Studies in Kabbalistic Literature and Jewish Thought, ed. Michael Oron and Amos Goldreich, Jerusalem, 1994, 25–52 (Hebrew).

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Keter (crown)

(understanding)

okhmah (wisdom)

Din (judgment)

esed (mercy)

Binah

(splendor)

Ne a (eternity)

Hod (majesty) Yesod (foundation) addiq

Malkhut (kingdom) Shekhinah Sefirotic Tree

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»Provençal stratum« of this treatise.112 One important contribution found in Isaac’s commentary is the concept that the sefirot emanate from an absolutely unknowable and recondite aspect of God known as Ein Sof, or »without end« (not part of the sefirotic system). He also elaborates on the specific colors of the sefirot and their significance within the theosophic system.113 The second sefirah Ḥokhmah (wisdom) is divided into two aspects, and the term haskel (thought) was introduced into the divine system. The upper part of the divine system is divided into Ein Sof (infinite), thought (maḥshavah), and speech (dibbur), out of which the process of emanation is initiated. The Bahir, a fairly cohesive textual unit, which names the ten divine powers as ma’amarot (sayings), shows a clear reference to the traditional rabbinic notion of the ten logoi, by which the world was created.114 It uses two main pictures depicting these potencies: a tree (ilan) and an anthropomorphic figure.115 The book interprets the notion of humans created in God’s image (Gen. 1:26) in terms of the divine body, whose limbs correspond to the human body. As such humans may influence the upper divine body by proper or improper action.

4.3

Kabbalah in Catalonia

In the beginning of the 13th century, Kabbalah went over Spain when the students of Isaac the Blind began spreading his teachings in Gerona, Catalonia, where between 1210 and 1260 a center developed with considerable authority.116 For the first time, books on Kabbalah were composed that were designed to bring these ideas to a wider audience. Among the most important individuals from this period are Judah ibn Yaqar (Nahmanides’ teacher), Ezra ben Shlomo (d. 1238 or 1245), Azriel of Gerona (early 13th century), and Moses ben Naḥman, also known as Nahmanides (1194–1270), a participant of the famous Barcelona-disputation in 1263. In an intriguing letter sent to his students in Gerona, Isaac the Blind urges them to stop composing books on Kabbalah, for fear that these ideas could be spread to individuals who would not take them seriously, making them »the subject of jokes in the marketplace.« He forbade the dissemination of exoteric compositions of Kabbalah because, as he wrote, »a book which is written cannot be hidden in a cupboard.« Isaac declined an invitation to visit Gerona, 112 Haviva Pedaya, »The Provençal Stratum in the Redaction of Sefer ha-Bahir,« Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought 9,2 (1990): 139–64. 113 Moshe Idel, »Kabbalistic Prayer and Colours,« in Approaches to Judaism in Medieval Times. vol. 3., ed. David Blumenthal, Chico/CA, 1988, 17–28. 114 Sefer HaBahir, ed. Margalioth, Jerusalem, 1951, repr. 1978, § 141–70. 115 See ibid., §§ 95, 119 and §§ 82, 168, 172. Cf. Elliot R. Wolfson, »The Tree That Is All: JewishChristian Roots of a Kabbalistic Symbol in Sefer ha-Bahir,« Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy 3 (1993): 31–76. See for further research and illustration the project of Jeffrey H. Chajes on the visual presentations of these »maps of God« in manuscript material: http://ilanot.haifa.ac.il/site/ (access 10.10.2018). 116 Gershom Scholem, HaQabbalah beGerona, Jerusalem, 1964; idem, Origins, 365–475; Lachter, »Introduction«, 6.

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sending instead his nephew, Rabbi Asher ben David, in order to instruct the circle in Gerona as to the proper modes of mystical speculation.117 Within the center of Gerona, the sefirotic system became a more or less fullyfledged, however with highly creative individual approaches. Despite Isaac the Blind’s criticism of the literary activities of the Gerona Kabbalists, treatises on Kabbalah continued to circulate and soon reached other communities in Spain. The most important kabbalistic works of this circle were written by Rabbi Azriel. They represent an important step in the systematization of kabbalistic symbolism and its application to various aspects of Jewish religious life. Rabbi Azriel, like other Gerona Kabbalists, was well educated in philosophy, and due to his mastery of that subject, many philosophical terms were incorporated into Jewish mysticism. These often scholastic and unemotional terms became powerful and cherished symbols of an inner spiritual quest, laden with new layers of mystical significance. Some of the most profound and penetrating expressions of pre‑Zoharic Kabbalah are to be found in Rabbi Azriel’s harmonious blend of philosophy and mysticism found in his commentary to Talmudic legends and his shorter thematic treatises. Nahmanides was known as philosopher, kabbalist, biblical exegete, poet, and physician. In homage to his native town, he was also referred to as Rabbenu Moses Gerondi. His disciples included the leading halakhists of the following generation, such as Solomon b. Abraham Adret. There is reason to believe that after the death of Jonah b. Abraham Gerondi in 1264, Nahmanides acted as chief rabbi of Catalonia until his emigration to Israel. While Scholem was of the opinion that the sole purpose for his esoteric representation was to attract readers and devote their attention to these secrets,118 Idel believes that he represents a kabbalistictrend of preservation, restraint, and secrecy.119 The influence of Nahmanides at this time was undoubtedly essential for the legitimization of Kabbalah in the Spanish Jewish communities of Catalonia, Aragon and Castile. Nahmanides inserted into his non-kabbalistic Bible commentary a number of esoteric passages, »according to the true path« (ʽal pi derekh haEmet),120 which contained veiled and guarded kabbalistic allusions. His commentary on the Torah is among the most important, and kabbalists as well as non-kabbalists regard the mystical dimension in it as esoteric to the extreme. The coded, ciphered manner of his statements together with his repeated warnings about the need for guidance in order to understand them properly give the impression that he wished to preserve kabbalistic teachings as an esoteric, elitist knowledge, not available to the public.121

117 Rabbi Isaac the Blind’s epistle was published by Gershom Scholem in Jacob Fichman, ed., Sefer Bialik, Tel Aviv, 1934, 141–62 (Hebrew). 118 Scholem, Origins, 385. 119 Moshe Idel, »Rabbi Moshe ben Naḥman: Kabbalah, Halakhah and Spiritual Leadership,« Tarbiẓ 64 (1995): 535–80 (Hebrew); Haviva Pedaya, Nahmanides: Cyclical Time and Holy Text, Tel Aviv, 2003 (Hebrew). 120 Moshe Halbertal, By Way of Truth: Nahmanides and the Creation of Tradition, Jerusalem, 2006 (Hebrew); Nina Caputo, Nahmanides in Medieval Catalonia. History, Community and Messianism, Notre Dame/IN, 2007. 121 Oded Israeli, »Tradition and Creativity,« REJ 177,1–2 (2018), 37–73, here 38.

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Kabbalah in Castile

In the middle of the 13th century, Kabbalah spread to Jewish communities in Castile, which became the most important center of Jewish esoteric thought during that period. Jacob ben Jacob haKohen (mid-13th century) and his brother Isaac became known for their Gnostic teaching of a demonic realm within God (the »other side«, sitra aḥra) from which evil in the world originates. They elaborated in detail on this set of »sefirot of impurity« that parallel the pure sefirot of God.122 Their pupils, Moses of Burgos (c. 1230/1235—c. 1300),123 as well as Todros ben Joseph Abulafia (1220–1298), were significant rabbinic and political leaders of the Castilian Jewish community who wrote influential kabbalistic treatises. Moses of Burgos was the teacher of Isaac ibn Sahula (b. 1244), author of the famous poetic fable Meshal haQadmoni (1281), as well as a kabbalistic commentary on the Song of Songs. From the 1270’s through the 1290’s a number of important and lengthy kabbalistic books within the theosophic-theurgic branch of Kabbalah were written by Joseph Gikatilla (1248–1325) and Moses de Leon (1240–1305). These two figures were among the most prolific of the medieval kabbalists, and many of their compositions, such as Gikatilla’s Shaʽare Orah »Gates of Light,« went on to become seminal works in the history of Jewish mysticism.124 This period of remarkable kabbalistic literary productivity took place during the controversy over the study of Aristotelian philosophy, especially as it took shape in the philosophical works of Moses Maimonides and the »controversies«125 among his successors.126 Several scholars even regard the emergence of kabbalistic literature as a reaction to Maimonides and his philosophical claims, especially with regard to esoteric matters like the socalled »secrets of the Torah« (sitrei torah).127 Both camps share the assumption that there is a deeper, hidden esoteric meaning of biblical and rabbinic texts beyond the literal surface, which might be revealed by a small intellectual elite. However, such knowledge is »dangerous« for the masses, therefore, kabbalistic writings have to conceal the results of their exegetical investigations. Only a very small group of initiated may decipher such secrets and transmit them orally from master to disciple.128

122 Gershom Scholem, »The Traditions of R. Jacob and R. Isaac, sons of R. Jacob ha-Kohen,« Madda’e haYahadut 2 (1926–28): 165–293 (Hebrew); idem, »Sitra Aḥra; Good and Evil in the Kabbalah,« in On the Mystical Shape of the Godhead, New York, 1991, 56–87. 123 Gershom Scholem, »R. Moshe of Burgos, Disciple of R. Isaac,« Tarbiẓ 4 (1932/3): 207–25 (Hebrew); Lachter, »Introduction«, 7. 124 Elke Morlok, Rabbi Joseph Gikatilla’s Hermeneutics, TSME 25, Tübingen, 2011. 125 Daniel Jeremy Silver, Maimonidean Criticism and the Maimonidean Controversy, 1180–1240, Leiden, 1965. 126 On the deep impact of Maimonidean thought on kabbalistic literature see Moshe Idel, »Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed and the Kabbalah,« Jewish History 18 (2004): 197–226. 127 Scholem, Origins, 7. 128 Idel, »Transmission«; Elliot R. Wolfson, Abraham Abulafia – Kabbalist and Prophet: Hermeneutics, Theosophy and Theurgy, Los Angeles/CA, 2000, 38–93.

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4.5

319

The Zohar

During the 1290’s in Castile, a kabbalistic commentary on the Torah began to circulate that would have a transformative impact on Judaism in general and the West in particular. Scholars are still uncertain about the complex interactions in the process of collecting, writing, and redacting the material between various kabbalists and kabbalistic circles.129 This commentary was composed in Aramaic pseudepigraphically in the name of important Rabbis from the time of the Mishnah in the second century CE. The most prominent Rabbi mentioned in this collection of kabbalistic writings is Rabbi Shimon bar Yoḥai, the charismatic, messianic hero of the zoharic narrative.130 By the end of the 13th century, these texts came to be known by numerous names, but the one that stood the test of time was Sefer haZohar, or »The Book of Splendor.« A careful reading of the text of the Zohar—which, in printed form, is almost two thousand pages in length—reveals a pronounced influence of Hekhalot and Merkavah imagery, the treatises of the Ḥasidei Ashkenaz, the kabbalists of Provence, Gerona and Castile, as well as some famous medieval Jewish thinkers and philosophers such as Judah Halevi and Moses Maimonides. Moreover, a number of foreign words of Spanish origin are found in the text. This has led scholars to the conclusion that most if not all of the Zohar was composed in Castile toward the last decades of the 13th century. The earliest citation of a passage from the Zohar literature is found in Isaac ibn Sahula’s Meshal haQadmoni from a part of the Zohar called the Midrash haNeʽelam. It is only in the later 1290’s and early 1300’s that we find Jewish scholars citing the Zohar with any consistency. Gershom Scholem argued that the Zohar was written in its entirety by Moses de Leon. This position has been questioned by Yehudah Liebes, who has argued that the Zohar is in fact the product of a group of Spanish kabbalists from the late 13th century in which Moses de Leon is a prominent or perhaps even leading figure, but which also includes Joseph Gikatilla, Todros Abulafia, Isaac ibn Abu Sahula, Joseph of Hamadan, and others. The Zohar represents in many ways the culmination of a century of intense kabbalistic creativity and productivity that began in Provence in the late 12th century and ended in Castile in the late 13th to early 14th century. The long, rambling, poetic discussion of the Zohar engages with everything from the emergence of the ten sefirot from the inner reaches of God and Ein Sof (lit. Infinite; transcendent 129 Yehudah Liebes, »How the Zohar was Written,« in idem, Studies in the Zohar, Albany/NY, 1993, 85–138; Boaz Huss, The Zohar. Reception and Impact, Oxford, 2016, 36–111; Ronit Meroz, »The Writing of the Zoharic Sitrei Tora – R. Ya’akov Sha”s and His Co-writers,« Kabbalah 22 (2011): 253–81; Daniel Abrams, »The ›Zohar‹ as Palimpsest – Dismantling the Literary Constructs of a Kabbalistic Classic and the Turn to the Hermeneutics of Textual Archeology,« Kabbalah 29 (2013): 7–60; Eitan Fishbane, The Art of Mystical Narrative: A Poetics of the Zohar, New York, 2018; Lachter, »Introduction,« 7-9. 130 Ronit Meroz, The Spiritual Biography of Rabbi Simeon bar Yochay. An Analysis of the Zohar’s Textual Components, Jerusalem, 2018 (Hebrew).

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aspect of the divine), the mysteries of creation, the process of revelation, the mystical meaning of the commandments, contemplations on the gendered and highly erotic interactions of the sefirot—expressed in particular in the desire for the Shekhinah, the tenth and lowest of the ten sefirot, to return to her male counterpart and be re-assimilated into God. The authorship of the Zohar argues, in keeping with trends in Kabbalah from earlier in the 13th century, that it is by means of the actions of Jews in the physical world—especially though the performance of commandments and the study of Torah—that the sefirot can be unified and the upper and lower realms can be perfected. These concepts are delivered in a highly cryptic style that presumes that the reader is familiar with many of the main principles of Kabbalah, as well as the biblical and rabbinic literatures. The Zohar ciphers its kabbalistic message in a highly complex set of symbols that are in turn said to be only the uncovering of mysteries that are all contained within the words and even the individual letters of the Torah.

4.6

Abraham Abulafia (1240–after 1292)

Abraham Abulafia propagated a kind of Kabbalah that, in addition to many of the typical theosophical motifs, focused on meditative techniques and recitation of divine names, letter permutation, numerical symbolism of Hebrew letters, and acrostics, all designed to bring one to a state of ecstatic union with God and to attain prophetic revelation. The goal of this mystical and prophetic experience is to untie the »knots« binding the soul to the body and the world, i.e. unite the human with the divine intellect.131 This moment of union (devequt) is called »prophecy«, therefore this branch is also called »prophetic Kabbalah«. Modern scholars have referred to this school as ecstatic Kabbalah in so far as it aimed at producing a state of mystical ecstasy, where the boundaries between self and God are overcome.132 According to his own testimony, Abulafia wrote 26 books of prophecy based on his mystical experiences. Abulafia traveled widely and may have had messianic pretensions. He attempted to have an audience with Pope Nicholas III in 1280 possibly in order to pronounce himself the messiah. In the 1280’s Solomon ben Abraham ibn Adret of Barcelona (c. 1235–1310) led an attack against him and had Abulafia and his works banned because of his claims that his writings were equal to those of the biblical prophets, enabling the reader to reach a state of ecstasy or prophesy. Abulafia was a prolific writer who in addition to his prophetic works—of which only one, Sefer haOt (Book of the Letter), survived—wrote numer-

131 Moshe Idel, Studies in Ecstatic Kabbalah, Albany/NY, 1988, 4–11; Lachter, »Introduction«, 7. 132 Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism,« 480. Adam Afterman has argued that in contrast to Scholem’s analysis (Origins, 199–364), the ideal of communion and union is not yet developed in the Bahir. Adam Afterman, »And They Shall Be One Flesh:« On the Language of Mystical Union in Jewish Mysticism, JJTP.S 26, Leiden, 2016, 130–31.

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ous books on topics such as Maimonides’ Guide for the Perplexed,133 commentaries on Sefer Yezirah, and instructions meditative techniques enacted via language.134 Abulafia’s linguistic techniques to attain a prophetic state, called »Wisdom of Letter-Combination« (Ḥokhmat haZeruf), also involve special breathing exercises and bodily postures.135 This wisdom is identified as »path of the names,« as the true account of the chariot (Maʽaseh Merkavah, referring to Merkavah as derived from the root r-k-b meaning »to combine«). A striking parallel between Abulafia’s system of letter-combination and Eleazar of Worms’ concepts has been detected by Moshe Idel.136 Remarkably, Abulafia gives preference to the auditory-linguistic mode over the visual. However, according to Wolfson the culminating stage of the via mystica is a vision of the letters of the divine names, especially the Tetragrammaton, originating in the intellectual and imaginative powers. These letters are simultaneously visualized as anthropos, gazing at which is akin to beholding the divine form as constituted in one’s imagination.137 The vision results from the conjunction of the human with the divine intellect. This is either described as the form of the letters or that of the anthropos, both of which are personified as »Metatron« by Abulafia. The possibility of envisioning the letters as an anthropos is an interesting parallel between Abulafia and the German Pietists, rooted however in ancient Jewish esotericism.138 With Abulafia’s specific theory of language as an alternative to philosophical speculation, he created a complex system of linguistic techniques in order to attain divine wisdom and reach a state of prophecy. His writings contain several polemic passages against the theosophic kabbalists; for Abulafia the sefirot are the separate intellects in the cosmological chain. Contemplation of them results in intellectual overflow that facilitates the attainment of prophetic experience, which is characterized as comprehension of the divine names. He claims that language contains a structure that conveys the true form of reality and the mystic is able to recreate that original status of the Hebrew language after deconstructing it into its smallest units, the atoms of language.139 For Abulafia the deconstruction of the biblical text into its smallest units serves as the most important focal point for the mystical experience, in order to create a meaning sometimes infinite, composing a new narrative in order to penetrate into the deepest layer of the biblical text and reveal its »true« sense. Abulafia’s teacher Barukh Togarmi introduced Abulafia into these

133 134 135 136

Idel, »Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed«. Moshe Idel, Language, Torah, and Hermeneutics in Abraham Abulafia, Albany/NY, 1989. Idel, Studies in Ecstatic Kabbalah, 13–54. Idel, New Perspectives, 97–103; idem, The Mystical Experience in Abraham Abulafia, Albany/ NY, 1988, 14–24. 137 For a detailed analysis of Abulafia’s esotericism see Moshe Idel, Abraham Abulafia’s Esotericism: Secrets and Doubts, Berlin, 2020. 138 Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism,« 481–82. 139 Idel, »Jacques Derrida«; Elliot R. Wolfson, »Assaulting the Border: Kabbalistic Traces in the Margins of Derrida,« JAAR 70,3 (2002): 475–514.

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techniques; and his commentary on Sefer Yezirah may be regarded as the starting point for this kind of exegesis.140 No other writer composed as many commentaries on Maimonides’ Guide as Abulafia and via Maimonides, on Islamic thinkers such as Al-Farabi and Ibn Sina. Their concept of the active intellect as the last of the ten separate intellects in the cosmological chain entered kabbalistic lore. We should assume a much wider dissemination of Abulafia’s writings on the Guide than other authors’.141 His activist approach caused a significant acceleration of the dissemination of kabbalistic thought among Jews and Christians and its remnants are still strongly felt in Western intellectual history. However, also in Palestine ecstatic Kabbalah had an important influence on the history of Jewish mysticism. In northern Palestine, one circle combined Abulafian theories with Sufi ideas. These combinations were likely to have influenced two important theosophic kabbalists, Isaac of Acre and Shem Tov Ibn Gaon, who assimilated ecstatic Kabbalah with their theosophic traditions.142 In the 16th century Abulafian concepts began to have effect on some major kabbalists in Safed, such as Salomon Alqabetz, Moshe Cordovero, Elijah da Vidas and Ḥayyim Vital, the most influential representative of Lurianic Kabbalah.

4.7

Joseph Gikatilla (1248–c. 1305)

In his later period, after being involved in the ecstatic linguistic school of Abraham Abulafia, Joseph Gikatilla composed an encyclopedic book based on the system of the divine attributes named Shaʽare Orah (Gates of Light), through which the mystic may ascend from Malkhut to Keter and unite with the highest crown. Gikatilla describes in an ascending order the exegetical way through the biblical texts and its correspondence with the sefirotic matrix. The mystic, his soul, may return to the root of all being, the Tetragrammaton and strip off the written biblical text from all its garments, with the correct knowledge of such correspondences between text, sefirotic matrix and contemplative exegetical performance.143 In this dynamic process the biblical text is perceived as a woven structure of divine names, with the Tetragrammaton on top.144 The parallel structure of the ontological and linguistic realms enables the kabbalist to recognize the intrinsic connection between the divine and the human world, and to enact the divine overflow from above, down to the earthly sphere. In order to attain such an intimate connection between text and reader, Gikatilla creates a text which enables an integrative kind of hermeneutics via its usage of symbol (siman) as an entry token.145 Gikatilla’s transition from the ecstatic to the theosophic-theurgic branch of Kabbalah, similar to that of his

140 141 142 143 144 145

Ms Paris, BN, 70, fol. 1a–6b; Idel, Studies in Ecstatic Kabbalah, 40f., 99, 106. Idel, »Maimonides Guide of the Perplexed and Kabbalah«. Idel, Studies in Ecstatic Kabbalah, 112–22; Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism,« 482. Morlok, Gikatilla’s Hermeneutics; Lachter, »Introduction,« 7. Ibid., 172–209. Ibid., 232–38.

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contemporary Moses de Leon, is of special interest in Kabbalah scholarship as it indicates the various interactions of medieval kabbalistic genres; both with Aristotelian and Pythagorean writings (in his first phase, Ginnat Egoz, Garden of the Nut) and later a deeper connection to Neoplatonic thought as exemplified in Gates of Light. Christian Kabbalists like Pico della Mirandola, Johannes Reuchlin and Christian Knorr von Rosenroth (1636–1689) heavily relied on Gikatilla’s system.146

4.8

Theosophy and Theurgy

The divine sefirot are visualized in the form of an anthropos, which is further developed, e.g. in Sefer Maʽarekhet haElohut (The structure of the divine) in the late 13th, early 14th century.147 Based on the correspondence between human and divine limbs, the kabbalists assign a central role to fulfilling the commandments.148 Fulfilling means strengthening the corresponding limbs above, while neglecting causes a blemish in the divine structure. Josef of Hamadan defines »limb strengthening limb« as »when one’s limbs are complete and one maintains all the limbs of the Torah, namely the 613 mitzvot (commandments), one thereby maintains all the limbs of the chariot [the sefirot] and strengthens them.«149 The main concern is neither the glorification of the structure of the limbs nor their dignity, but purity or impurity.150 A further identification is added: the Torah in its mystical essence equals the divine edifice (binyan elohi), a term employed by Ezra of Gerona, or the »holy and pure supernal form«, according to the locution of Joseph of Hamadan.151 This includes that each of the laws corresponds to a particular limb in the supernal Adamic form, which is at the same time the Torah. The tight connection between kabbalistic theurgy and the anthropomorphic structure of the Torah as the divine form becomes evident in Joseph of Hamadan’s Sefer Ta‘amei HaMitzvot.152 A similar view is repeated by Menachem Recanati, an Italian kabbalist at the beginning of the 14th century:

146 Ibid., 20, 49, 55, 162, 308–12. 147 Ed. Jerusalem, 1963, ch. 10: 134b, 142b–144a; English translation in Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism«, 472. 148 Altmann, Studies in Religious Philosophy, 14–16. 149 Menachem Meier, A Critical Edition of the ›Sefer Ta‘amey Ha-Mizwoth‹ Attributed to Isaac Ibn Farhi/Section I – Positive Commandments/with Introduction and Notes, PhD diss., Brandeis University, 1974, 428; Daniel Matt, »Ayin: The Concept of Nothingness in Jewish Mysticism,« in Essential Papers on Kabbalah, ed. Lawrence Fine, New York/London, 1995, 67–108, here 84; Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism«, 472f. 150 Idel, New Perspectives, 185. A similar passage is found in R. Asher ben David’s Sefer haYiḥud, composed at the end of the 13th cent. 151 Scholem, On the Kabbalah, 44–46; Moshe Idel, »The Concept of the Torah in Hekhalot Literature and Its Metamorphoses,« Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought 1 (1981): 58–84 (Hebrew). 152 Ed. Meier, 58.

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The commandments are one entity, and they depend upon the supernal chariot […] each and every commandment depends on one part of the chariot. It follows that God is not something intrinsic to the Torah, nor is the Torah outside of God […] Thus, the kabbalists say that the Holy One, blessed be He, is the Torah.153

We frequently find in kabbalistic treatises the ascription of anthropomorphic characters to the sefirot followed by the caveat that this anthropomorphism should not be taken literally nor imply a belief in God’s corporeality.154

5

Renaissance and Early Modern Times

5.1

14th–16th Centuries – Spanish Expulsion to Safed Community

After the blossoming of kabbalistic activity in the 13th century on the Iberian Peninsula, Kabbalah began to spread throughout Western Europe, North Africa and the Middle East. Treatises such as Maʽarekhet haElohut in the early 14th century, along with the commentary on the Torah by Baḥya ben Asher and the sermons or Drashot of Joshua ibn Shu’aib (first half of the 14th century), served to disseminate Kabbalah to wider audiences. Menahem Recanati wrote a popular kabbalistic commentary on the Torah and a book on the mystical meaning of the commandments in 14th century Italy.155 Menahem Ziyyoni of Cologne and Avigdor Kara became influential authorities in matters of Jewish mysticism in German lands, while Isaiah ben Joseph of Tabriz spread kabbalistic thinking to Persia and Nathan ben Moses Kilkis wrote his Even Sappir (Sapphire Stone) in Constantinople. There are two important works written sometime in the second half of the 14th century, Sefer haPeli’ah and Sefer haQanah, discussing the kabbalistic meaning of the commandments. Both argue that Jewish law and tradition can only be properly understood according to the kabbalistic teachings, and that both the philosophical and literalist interpretations of Judaism are misguided.156 A similar sentiment is expressed in the writings of Shem Tov ibn Shem Tov, who attacked the philosophical teachings of Maimonides

153 Sefer Ta‘amei haMizwot, ed. Simha Bunim Lieberman, London, 1962, 2a–b. On the development of the identification of the divine with the Torah and the similarity between »there is nothing outside the Torah« and Derrida’s famous »rien de hors du texte«, see Moshe Idel, »Jacques Derrida and Kabbalistic Sources,« in Judeities: Questions for Jacques Derrida, ed. Bettina Bergo, Joseph D. Cohen and Raphael Zagury-Orly, New York, 2007, 111–30. 154 Wolfson, »Jewish Mysticism«, 474. 155 Moshe Idel, Rabbi Menahem Recanati. The Kabbalist, Jerusalem, 1998 (Hebrew). 156 On both treatises see Michal Oron, The Sefer haPeli’ah and the Sefer haQanah. Their Kabbalistic Principles, Social and Religious Criticism and Literary Composition, PhD diss., Hebrew University Jerusalem, 1980 (Hebrew); Lachter, »Introduction,« 9-10.

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in his Sefer haEmmunot (Book of Beliefs) and blamed them for the growing trend of Jewish conversion to Christianity in Spain in the late 14th century.157 Kabbalistic literary activity began to decline in Spain during the 15th century leading up to the expulsion of the Jews in 1492. Though there were famous kabbalists still living in Spain during the mid to late 15th century, many began to emigrate even before the expulsion. The exile of the Spanish Jewish community mediated the expansion of kabbalistic texts and concepts to many centers around the Mediterranean. In Italy there were active schools of kabbalists in the late 15th century.158 In North Africa during the late 15th and early to mid 16th centuries, Abraham Sabba, Joseph Alashqar, Mordecai Buzaglo and Shimon ibn Lavi were active teachers and writers. By the late 1530’s, Safed had become the most relevant center for kabbalists.159 Joseph Karo (1488–1575), a Spanish exile who grew up in the vibrant Jewish communities of Adrianople and Salonika in Greece, became one of the most prominent rabbinic figures of all time. He moved to Safed in 1536.160 There, Karo composed his legal code, the Shulkhan Arukh (The Ordered Table), and served as the head of the Beit Din, the Jewish court. Karo was also an accomplished kabbalist who recorded a series of visions and revelation that he received from a maggid or angelic voice in an autobiographic diary entitled Maggid Meisharim.161 Solomon ben Moses Alqabetz (1505–1576),162 the author of the famous Jewish liturgical poem Lekha Dodi, still sung on Friday nights during the Kabbalat Shabbat service, along with his sonin-law and student Moses ben Jacob Cordovero (1522–1570), also moved from Greece to Safed around this time. Cordovero, who studied with Karo, went on to have an extremely productive career as both a teacher and a writer. He composed extensive systematic presentations of kabbalistic terminology, such as his Pardes Rimmonim (Garden of the Pomegranates), a multi-volume commentary on the Zohar entitled Or Yaqar (Precious Light)163 and many other books, especially on kabbalistic ethics like his Tomer Devorah (The Palm Tree of Deborah). He also attracted as his students a number of individuals who would have a decisive impact on the dissemination of kabbalistic ideas to the broader Jewish public.164

157 Yaacob Dweck, The Scandal of Kabbalah. Leon Modena, Jewish Mysticism, Early Modern Venice, Princeton/NJ, 2011, 109–17. 158 Moshe Idel, Kabbalah in Italy, 1280–1510, New Haven/CT, 2007. 159 Jeffrey H. Chajes, »City of the Dead: Spirit Possession in Sixteenth Century Safed,« in Spirit Possession in Judaism. Cases and Contexts from the Middle Ages to the Present, ed. Matt Goldfish, Detroit/MI, 2003, 124–58. 160 Zwi Werblowsky, Joseph Karo: Lawyer and Mystic, Oxford, 1962; Michael Fishbane, The Exegetical Imagination: On Jewish Thought and Theology, Cambridge, 1998, 126–31, 137–42, 144–50. 161 Marvin J. Heller, The Seventeenth Century Hebrew Books. An Abridged Thesaurus, BSJS 41, Leiden, 2011, 623. 162 Bracha Sack, The Secret Teaching of R. Shlomo haLevi Alqabetz, PhD diss., Brandeis University, 1977. 163 Bracha Sack, The Kabbalah of Rabbi Moshe Cordovero, Beer Sheva, 1995 (Hebrew). Cf. also Yosef ben-Shlomo, Torat haElohut shel Rabbi Moshe Cordovero, Jerusalem, 1965 (Hebrew). 164 Lawrence Fine, Physician of the Soul, Healer of the Cosmos: Isaac Luria and His Kabbalistic Fellowship, Stanford/CA, 2003, 1.

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Jewish Mysticism

Isaac Luria, Ari (1534–1572)

Although he spent only a few years in the city of Safed, Isaac Luria had a tremendous impact on the community of Safed kabbalists that transformed the future history of Jewish mysticism. He was one of the most extraordinary and influential mystical personalities of the Jewish tradition.165 Luria studied briefly with Cordovero when he arrived in Safed in 1570, but after the latter’s death about six months later, Luria soon became the preeminent kabbalist of the community, whose personality made a deep impression and provided the grist for a rich legendary tradition, preserved in two collections: Shivḥe haAri (In Praise of the Ari) and Toldot haAri (The Life of Ari). Luria’s meteoric rise was not by virtue of his literary production, since he seems to have written little if anything. Rather, the power of his impact on the kabbalists of Safed was through his charismatic personality and the depth and creativity of his concepts, which he taught orally and sought not to be revealed in written documents. Despite his intense concern to restrict his teachings to a small circle of initiates, his thought eventually gave way to the production of a very extensive number of manuscripts and printed publications, the so-called Kitve haAri (Lurianic Writings). Not long after Luria’s death, hundreds of stories of his spiritual powers, his ability to perform magical acts, to determine the origin of a person’s soul or »soul root,« to read a person’s fate by the lines on their forehead and other such miraculous tales began to circulate. Luria’s students, especially Ḥayyim Vital (1542–1620), went on to write voluminous compositions based on their master’s teachings. Other disciples were Josef Ibn Tabul (d. 1545), Israel Sarug and Moses Yonah. The writings of Vital and other students quickly propagated Lurianic Kabbalah throughout the Jewish communities of North Africa and Europe. These scholars fashioned highly sophisticated, philosophically oriented treatises and were more interested in the metaphysical than the practical aspects of Lurianic teaching. Although there has been much debate about the precise nature of the relationship between Lurianic Kabbalah and Sabbateanism (see below), it is obvious that Nathan of Gaza (1643/4–1680), the main propagandist and religious ideologue of the Sabbatian movement was thoroughly familiar with Lurianic theosophy and mythology.166 Luria’s kabbalistic teachings were often presented as interpretations of the Zohar, though his symbolism of the ten sefirot becomes significantly more complex with multiple ranks and permutations. Luria expanded upon a number of central elements already present in one form or another in Zoharic Kabbalah, such as: • the coming of the Messiah, • the process of creation through ẓimẓum or divine self-contraction before the emanational flow from Ein Sof was initiated,167 165 Ibid; Lachter, »Introduction,« 10-11. 166 Idel, New Perspectives, 259. 167 Shaul Magid, »Origin and Overcoming the Beginning: ›Zimzum‹ as a Trope of Reading in Post-Lurianic Kabbala,« in Beginning/Again. Toward a Hermeneutics of Jewish Texts, ed. Aryeh Cohen and idem, New York, 2002, 163–214.

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• shevirat haKelim or the »shattering of the vessels« that took place at a certain stage in the process of creation, when the created vessels were too weak to receive the divine light and broke, • the tiqqun or restoration of divine light or »sparks« through Jewish deeds and religious practice, creating a messianic concept which is on a higher, purified level than the cosmos before creation, • kavvanah or mystical intention necessary for the proper practice of mitzvot and prayer.168 Like the Zohar itself, Luria’s Kabbalah contains bold and complex imagery regarding the inner dynamics of the divine realm of the sefirot, and the potential for Jewish acts to rectify—or destroy—the order of the universe in its relation to God. The two motifs of ẓimẓum (divine contraction) and tiqqun (cosmic repair) exercised a fascinating attraction not only on the Jewish world, but also on intellectual trends and literary genres outside the Jewish tradition.

5.3

Sabbatai Zevi (1626–1676)

By the middle of the 17th century, Kabbalah, especially in the form taught by the disciples of Isaac Luria, was widely disseminated throughout the Jewish world. The strong messianic inclination of Lurianic thinking, coupled with a numerous of traumatic political events—most notably the Chmielnicki massacres of 1648, which destroyed hundreds of Jewish communities throughout Eastern Europe—contributed to the enormous popularity of the messianic movement that developed around the charismatic figure Sabbatai Zevi.169 Born in Smyrna (Izmir, Turkey) to a wealthy merchant family in 1626, Zevi stood out early in life as a talented student. At the age of 15, he left the yeshiva and embarked on a path of solitary study and meditation. He became an avid kabbalist known for his bold tendency to pronounce the divine name, the Tetragrammaton, aloud publicly in 1648. In addition, he performed strange acts and invented bizarre rituals. According to historical reports, he also seems to have been afflicted with severe manic depression, and during his manic periods he would engage in weird deliberate violations of the commandments, including in one instance, marrying himself to a Torah scroll. Throughout the 1650s he wandered through Greek, Thrace, Turkey, and Egypt, before he settled in Jerusalem in 1662. In the spring of 1665 Zevi arrived in Gaza, on his way back from Cairo to Jerusalem, where he met Nathan of Gaza (1643–1680), a charismatic kabbalist and renowned healer of the soul, who had experienced a revelation with the image of the messiah Sabbatai Zevi engraved upon the Throne of Glory—several months

168 For a concise presentation of the main concepts of Lurianic teachings see Scholem, Major Trends, ch. 7. 169 Scholem, Sabbatai Sevi; Moshe Idel, Messianic Mystics, New Haven/CT, 1998, 183–211; Lachter, »Introduction«, 11-12.

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prior to their meeting. Nathan managed to convince Zevi to accept the truth of his messianic destiny and provided him with conceptual tools for the legitimization, which now became the only criterion of being a member of this »mixed multitude.«170 Soon, the movement won over many of the local rabbis in Europe, Palestine, the Ottoman Empire, and especially Jerusalem. Aside from Jesus, Zevi was the only Jewish messiah whose gospel gained sufficient momentum to break through the confines of a particular social group or a specific geographical milieu. For a brief period, Sabbateanism seemingly captured the entire Jewish world and all strata of Jewish society—Jews in the Orient and the Occident and all cultural and social backgrounds.171 As the news spread to the Jewish communities of Europe traumatized by disaster and primed for messianic redemption in the form of a grand kabbalistic tiqqun, the Sabbatian movement gained many adherents, including a number of highly respected rabbis. In the summer of 1666, Zevi was brought before the Turkish Sultan. The historical testimonies of what exactly happened in that meeting are unclear, but the result is obvious—Sabbatai Zevi converted to Islam. This devastating event brought the movement to a catastrophic end, but many followers continued to believe in Zevi’s messianic mission. For them, the conversion of their messiah was regarded as a profound kabbalistic mystery that simply needed time to unfold. They were still convinced of his messianic identity, but generally held their belief in secret and are referred to as crypto-Sabbatians. This group developed a complex system of kabbalistic interpretation of the life and actions of Zevi. The role of women in this movement and their share in the messianic task is of special interest for scholarship.172 Adherents to the Sabbatian doctrine persisted for several generations, and some small numbers exist even today. Another small group of Jews at the time of Zevi’s conversion converted to Islam themselves, establishing a secret sect known as the Donmeh, who outwardly practiced Islam, but clandestinely preserved a variant of Sabbatian Kabbalah.173

5.4

Jacob Frank (1726–1791)

Jacob Frank was born in 1726 in Berzanie, Podolia, into a family with strong Sabbatean background. He grew up in the Danubian principality of Moldavia and Wallachia. During his travels in Turkey as a textile merchant, he acquired the nickname

170 Pawel Maciejko, The Mixed Multitude. Jacob Frank and the Frankist Movement, 1755–1816, Philadelphia/PA, 2011, 1–20, here 4. 171 Pawel Maciejkow, Sabbatian Heresy. Writings on Mysticism, Messianism, and the Origins of Jewish Modernity, Waltham/MA, 2017, 1. 172 Ada Rapoport-Albert, Women and the Messianic Heresy of Sabbatai Zevi, 1666–1816, Oxford, 2011; eadem, Hasidic Studies: Essays in History and Gender, Liverpool, 2018. 173 Marc David Baer, The Dönme: Jewish Converts, Muslim Revolutionaries, and Secular Turks, Stanford/CA, 2010; Lachter, »Introduction,« 12.

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329

Frank/Frenk.174 In the early 1750s Frank, who boasted of his ignorance of the Talmud, began preaching a variation of Sabbatian theology in small secret gatherings in the Podolia region. Frank’s followers believed that they were obligated to break free from the restraints of Jewish law and transgress it consciously. They outwardly adhered to Jewish law, but participated in orgies, which they believed to be religious acts. Podolia’s rabbis forced Frank to leave the region and tried his followers in rabbinical courts, where many confessed to breaking marriage vows and engaging in sexually promiscuous behavior. A ḥerem (excommunication) was proclaimed against members of the group, provoking a wave of persecution against them. In the face of persecution from the organized Jewish community, group members sought protection from the Catholic church, telling the local Catholic bishop that they rejected the Talmud and recognized only the Zohar. They also told Catholic authorities that they recognized the messiah as part of the Trinity, although they did not clarify that they considered Zevi, rather than Jesus, to be the messiah. In the late 1750s, Frank returned to Podolia, claiming to be a direct successor of Zevi and assuring his adherents that he had received revelations from God. These revelations called for Frank and his followers to convert to Christianity, which was to be a transition stage to a future »messianic religion« (in which Frank was the messiah). In 1759, the Frankists began negotiations with Polish Catholic officials to undergo a mass conversion to Christianity, in Lvov. The baptism of more than 500 Frankists, including Frank himself, was celebrated in the local churches, with members of the Polish nobility acting as godparents. The newly baptized adopted the names of their godfathers and godmothers, and ultimately joined the ranks of the Polish nobility. However, they clashed with church officials when they continued to intermarry only among themselves and to hold Frank in reverence, calling him »the holy master.« Frank was arrested in Warsaw in 1760 and brought before to the Church’s tribunal on the charge of feigned conversion to Catholicism and the spreading of a pernicious heresy. The tribunal convicted Frank as a teacher of heresy and imprisoned him in a monastery for 13 years. While Frank was in prison, his influence only increased, with his followers viewing him as a martyr. Many remained in contact with him, and he told them salvation could be gained only by following a mixture of Christian and Sabbatean beliefs. After his release from prison in 1772, Frank lived for 14 years in the Moravian town of Brünn, where he was surrounded by sectarians and »pilgrims« who came to visit him. Frank repeatedly traveled to Vienna, where he for a time succeeded in gaining the favor of Joseph II, the Holy Roman Emperor. However, he ultimately was forced to leave Austria and moved to a small German town near Frankfurt am Main, where he assumed the title of Baron of Offenbach and lived as a wealthy nobleman, receiving money from his Polish and Moravian adherents, who made frequent pilgrimages his court. After Frank’s death in 1791, his daughter Eve became the »holy 174 Maciejko, Mixed Multitude, 12.

330

Jewish Mysticism

messianic maiden« and the leader of the sect.175 However, as the number of pilgrims and their funds decreased, Eve fell into debt, dying in 1816. The Frankists scattered in Poland and Bohemia gradually assimilated with the surrounding Catholic population.176

6

18th Century Kabbalah

An intriguing school of kabbalists developed in Jerusalem in the mid 18th century at the Bet El Yeshiva under the leadership of the Yemenite kabbalist Shalom Mizrahi Sharabi, who specialized in Lurianic Kabbalah, with a particular emphasis on contemplative prayer. Members of the Bet El Yeshiva, which continued to be active for two hundred years until the building was destroyed by an earthquake in 1927, dedicated themselves to rigorous regimens of prayer and study. Sharabi and his school came to be esteemed as the main authorities of Kabbalah for Jews living in the Muslim world, and Sharabi himself acquired a reputation as a kabbalist almost as famous as Isaac Luria.177

6.1

The »Besht« and the Upsurge of Hasidism178

In the middle of the 18th century a new social phenomenon in the Jewish world began to take root in Poland-Lithuania, centered around the kabbalistic traditions and teaching of Israel b. Eliezer Baʽal Shem Tov, a charismatic figure, of whom many hagiographic tales soon developed.179 The Hasidic movement, as it came to be called, emphasized a democratic religious ideal wherein spiritual achievement is attainable through sincerity, piety, and delightful worship. That is not to say that the movement did not have an intellectual aspect as well—thousands of Hasidic books and treatises were composed in the first few generations of the movement, most of which are infused with kabbalistic concepts and images. As the Hasidic wave gained wide popularity in Eastern Europe throughout the 18th and 19th centu175 Ada Rapoport-Albert, »Sabbateanism,« in Jewish Women: A Comprehensive Historical Encyclopedia, 20 March, 2009; (access 1.12. 2019). 176 Gershom Scholem, »Frank, Jacob, and the Frankists,« EncJud 7 (²2007): 182–92; Jonatan Meir, »Jacob Frank: The Wondrous Charlatan,« Tarbiẓ 80 (2012): 463–74 (Hebrew). 177 Pinchas Giller, Shalom Shar’abi and the Kabbalists of Beit El, Oxford, 2008; Lachter, »Introduction,« 12. 178 A new, excellent volume on this late phase of Jewish mysticism, which is in scholarship treated as a separate field of study, has been published recently: David Biale et al., eds., Hasidism: A New History, Princeton/NJ, 2018; Lachter, »Introduction,« 12-13. 179 See Ada Rapoport-Albert, »Hasidism After 1772: Structural Continuity and Change,« in eadem, ed., Hasidism Reappraised, Oxford, 1998, 76–140; eadem, »Hagiography with Footnotes: Edifying Tales and the Writing of History in Hasidism,« History and Theory 27 (1988): 119–59.

7 Kabbalah in the 20th and 21st Centuries

331

ries, many elements of the Kabbalah became widely known to the general Jewish public. Hasidic masters would often integrate kabbalistic symbols into their sermons and teachings for their communities. Starting in Podolia, the Baal Shem Tov (abbreviated »Besht«) became famous as a magic healer and wonder-worker—the name signifies »Master of the Good Name,« and indicates the kabbalistic notion of the power of divine names. Some of his most influential students included Jacob Joseph of Polonnoye, who wrote Toledot Ya’akov Yosef in 1780, which was the first written articulation of Hasidism, and Dov Baer of Mezeritch (d. 1772), who became the leader of the second generation of Hasidic Rabbis. Dov Baer’s followers included renowned leaders of Hasidic communities and authors of influential Hasidic works, such as Shneur Zalman of Lyady, and Levi Isaac of Berdichev. Some became the heads of dynasties that grew over time to include thousands of followers. Groups still active today are such as Chabad Lubavitch180 and Breslov, founded by the well-known Naḥman of Breslov (1772–1810).181

7

Kabbalah in the 20th and 21st Centuries

In addition to the many Hasidic Rabbis and disciples of the Beit El Yeshiva who were still active into the 20th century, individuals such as Yehudah Ashlag (1884–1954) and his disciple and brother-in-law Yehudah Zevi Brandwein (1903–1969) continued to develop and disseminate kabbalistic texts and ideas. Ashlag, who was born in Warsaw but moved to Jerusalem in 1920, authored many texts and commentaries on the works of earlier kabbalists, e.g. the famous Maʽalot haSullam (1945–60), a commentary and translation of the Zohar in 22 volumes, completed by his brother-in-law after his death. Brandwein also wrote commentaries on the compositions of Moses Cordovero and Isaac Luria, as well as a complete library of Lurianic Kabbalah in 14 volumes.182 Abraham Isaac Kook (1865–1935), chief rabbi of Mandatory Palestine and founding thinker of religious Zionism, was also an enthusiastic kabbalist who sought to turn his mystical teaching into social and political action by a broader Jewish public.183 For Further Reading Biale, David et al., eds., Hasidism: A New History, Princeton/NJ, 2018. Essential Papers on Kabbalah, ed. Lawrence Fine, New York/London, 1995.

180 Jonatan Meir and Gadi Sagiv, eds., Habad Hasidism: History, Theology and Image, Jerusalem, 2016 (Hebrew). 181 Arthur Green, Tormented Master: The Life and Spiritual Quest of Rabbi Nahman of Bratslav, JSS 9, Tuscaloosa/AL, 1979. 182 On further developments Jonatan Meir, Rehovot haNahar. Kabbalah and Exotericism in Jerusalem (1896–1948), Jerusalem, 2011 (Hebrew); Lachter, »Introduction,« 13. 183 Yehudah Mirsky, Rav Kook: Mystic in a Time of Revolution (Jewish Lives), New Haven/CT, 2014.

332

Jewish Mysticism

Fine, Lawrence, Physician of the Soul, Healer of the Cosmos: Isaac Luria and His Kabbalistic Fellowship, Stanford/CA, 2003. Huss, Boaz, The Zohar. Reception and Impact, Oxford, 2016. Idel, Moshe, Kabbalah: New Perspectives, New Haven/CT, 1988. Matt, Daniel, ed., The Zohar. Pritzker Edition. 12 vols., Stanford/CA, 2004–17. Rapoport-Albert, Ada, Women and the Messianic Heresy of Sabbatai Zevi, 1666–1816, Oxford, 2011. Schäfer, Peter, Synopse zur Hekhalot-Literatur, TSAJ 2, Tübingen, 1981. Scholem, Gershom, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism, New York, 1956. Scholem, Gershom, Sabbatai Sevi: The Mystical Messiah, 1626–1676. With a New Introduction by Yacob Dweck, Princeton/NJ, 2016. Wolfson, Elliot R., Through a Speculum That Shines. Vision and Imagination in Medieval Jewish Mysticism, Princeton/NJ, 1994.

Index

1

Sources

1.1

Hebrew Bible

Genesis 1:1 211, 215 1:2 211 1:26 316 3:8 209 4:8 38 6:11 224 7:1 132–133 11:10 47 12:6 214 16:6 217 18 211 18:1 219 19:25 31 19:33 28 22:14 214 25:20 136 25.27 217 25:34 219 26:3–4 31 27:33 217 28:5 136 33:4 28 33:19 48 37:2 210–211 38 218 49:10 211 49:19 214 Exodus 1–17 66 1:7 214 2:11–12 210 2:22 230 3 106 3:1f. 107 3:7 48

3:7f 107 3:15 214 3:22 211 6:2 107 6:3 214 11:4 214 12:1–24:10 107 12:1–13:16 103 12:1 102 13:7–14:31 103 13:8 264 13:9 211 13:21 218 14:19 218 14:30 211 15:1–21 103 15:1–18 228 15:1 228 15:22–17:7 103 16:19 179 17:8–18:27 103 18:1 103 18:21 214 19:1–20:26 103 20 268 20:1 214 20:21 43 21–23 31 21:1–22:23 103 21:2 211 21:8 213 21:24 211 22:8 104 22:24–23:19 103 23:11 89 23:20 214 23:21 308

25–28 103, 108 29 103, 110 30:20–31:15 107 30:23 214 31:12–17 102–103 32:19 211 34:12 107 34:14 107 34:18–26 107 35:1–3 102–103 35:2 107 Leviticus 5:26 114 8:1–10:7 110 8:33 110 13:2 211 16:21 265 18:3 136 18:6–23 110 19:9 f. 89 19:19 89 20:9–21 110 23:11 168 25:1–7 89 Numbers 5:1 114, 116 5:11–31 90 6:23 264 6:24–27 264, 294 6:24–26 268 10:29–12:16 115 11:2 264 12 227 12:8 48 12:13 264

334

Index

15:37–41 270, 291 18:21–32 89 19 90 20 220 20:1ff. 219 24:15–17 44, 48 27:6–23 115

1 Kings 8:14 265

Deuteronomy 1:1–30 117 1:2 214 3:11 214 3:23–29 117 4:42 31 5:28–29 44 6 268 6:4–11 290 6:4–9 117, 270 6:4 290 11 268 11:10–26:15 117–118 11:13–21 269, 291 11:13–20 270 12:1 90 14:22–29 90 15 89, 268 18:18–22 44 19:11 31 22:9–11 89 24:19–21 89 25:5–10 90 26:1–11 90 26:12–15 90 26:12 48 31:14 117 32–34 117 33:8–11 44 34:1 214 34:6 214

2 Chronicles 35f. 58

Joshua 10:39 38 24:32 48 1 Samuel 1:17 210 2:1–10 268

2 Kings 21:16 70 1 Chronicles 23:30 265

Ezra 1:26 312 3:1–5:6 58 6–8 68 7 81 9:5 266 10 58 Nehemiah 1:4–11 266 2 68 7:72–8:3a 58 8 68, 81, 267, 295 8:6 267 8:13–18 58 8:2f. 295 12:27 265 Esther Esth 62 1:1 62 3:13 62 4:17 62 5:1–2 62 8:12 62 10:3 62 Job 37:21 42:11

314 48

Psalms 11:7 132–133 19:8 168 27:13 30 113–118 296 147:5 309

Proverbs 22:29 135 25:11 209, 216 31:10–31 297 Ecclesiastes 5:1 250, 259 7:18 211 Song of Solomon 2:2 136 Isaiah 1–39 43 6:3 240, 255, 291 19:2 48 40–66 43, 214 Jeremiah 23:29 207 27–29 24 36 73, 80 38.7 65 Lamentations 6:1 313 Ezekiel 3:12 240, 291 10:2 38 40–48 68 Daniel Dan 62 1–12 63 1:1–6 63 2f. 61 3 64 3:23–24 64 3:46–51 64 3:52–90 64 6:11 266 7:13 83 9:7 266 9:18 266

335

1 Sources

1.2

New Testament

Matt 6:9–13 268 Mark 13:1–2 87

1.3

Luke 1:46–55

268

Deuterocanonical Works and Septuagint

Jdt 61–62 Jdt 1:6 61 Jdt 9:2–14 267 Jdt 12:15–19 61 1 Macc 58 1 Macc 1:1–2:70 59 1 Macc 1:11–16 59 1 Macc 2:52–7:50 60 1 Macc 3:1–9:22 59 1 Macc 3:18f. 59 1 Macc 8:17f. 66 1 Macc 9:23–12:53 59 1 Macc 9:27 58 1 Macc 12:6–23 59 1 Macc 13:1–9 59 1 Macc 13:1–16:24 59 2 Macc 59 2 Macc 1:1–2:18 60 2 Macc 2:21 60 2 Macc 3–7 74 2 Macc 3:1–40 60 2 Macc 4:1–10:9 60 2 Macc 4:11 66 2 Macc 4:16f. 60 2 Macc 4:25 60 2 Macc 6:1–9 60 2 Macc 6:23 60 2 Macc 6:24–28 60 2 Macc 7:9–36 60 2 Macc 7:18 60 2 Macc 7:28 60 2 Macc 9:3f. 60 2 Macc 10:1–9 60 2 Macc 10:4 60 2 Macc 10:10–15:36 60 2 Macc 14:37–46 60 2 Macc 15:37–39 60 4 Macc 73 4 Macc 1:1–12 74 4 Macc 1:13–3:18 74 4 Macc 3:19–17:6 74 4 Macc 4:2 74 4 Macc 4:20 74 4 Macc 14:9 74

4 Macc 17:7–18:24 74 Ps 151 77 Sir 45–46, 58, 71 Sir 1–23 72 Sir 9:1–9 72 Sir 24–42 72 Sir 31:12–32:13 72 Sir 32:1–8 72 Sir 38:24 71 Sir 39:10–11 71 Sir 39:4 71 Sir 42–50 72 Sir 49:8 306 Sir 51 72 Sir 51:12 267 Bar 73 Bar 1:1–3:8 45 Bar 1:15–3:8 73 Bar 4:22 73 Bar 6 73 Tob 67 Tob 1:1–2 67 Tob 4:1–14:1a 67 Tob 6:13 67 Tob 7:11–13 67 Tob 13:11 67 Tob 14:1b–15 67 Tob 14:4 67 Tob 14:6f. 67 Wis 72 Wis 1:1–6:21 72 Wis 4:2 73 Wis 6:22–9:17 72 Wis 7–9 72 Wis 7:27 73 Wis 9:15 72–73 Wis 9:18–19:22 73 Wis 11 73 Wis 11:5–8 73 Wis 11:15 72 Wis 12:27 72 Wis 13:2 73 Wis 16:1–19:17 72 Wis 17:5 73

336

1.4

Index

Old Testament Pseudepigrapha

Ascen. Isa 69 Ascen. Isa 1–2a 69 Ascen. Isa 2.1–3.12 69 Ascen. Isa 5.1–14 69 Ascen. Isa 6b–13a 69 1 En 82–83, 85 1 En 1–36 69, 82 1 En 37–71 82 1 En 72–82 82 1 En 83–90 82 1 En 91–105 82 2 En 83 3 En 308 Jub 68–69, 85 Jub 1.26 69 2 Bar 80–81 3 Bar 79 4 Bar 64–65 4 Bar 3.10 64 4 Bar 4.1 64 4 Bar 5.9 64 4 Bar 6.16 64 4 Bar 6.3 65 4 Bar 8.1–9 64 4 Bar 9.13–14 65 4 Ezra 81 Apoc. Ab. 82 Arist 68 Arist 22–25 60 Arist 83–91 60

1.5

Dead Sea Scrolls 11QPsa 77 11QtgJob 52–53 4QJer 43 4QSama 32 4QtgJob 52 4QtgLev 52

1QIsa 43 1QS 6:6 42 4QGenb 21 4QDeut 44 4QDan 43 4Q175 43 4Q208 82

1.6

Arist 128–166 60 Arist 184–186 60 As. Mos. 80 Ezek. Trag. 78 Jos. Asen. 71 Jos. Asen. 1.1 71 Jos. Asen. 1.5 71 Jos. Asen. 4.10 71 Jos. Asen. 7.1 71 Jos. Asen. 22.1 71 Jos. Asen. 22.1–29.9 71 Pss. Sol. 77 Pss. Sol. 2.1–14.20 77 Pss. Sol. 4.1 78 Pss. Sol. 7.2 78 Pss. Sol. 17–18 78 Sib. Or. 83–84 Sib. Or 3.826–827 84 T. 12 Patr 74–75 T. Ash. 75 T. Job 75–76 T. Job 6–8 76 T. Job 9–15 76 T. Job 16–20 76 T. Job 21–26 76 T. Job 27 76 T. Job 28–45 76 T. Job 28.7–8 75 T. Job 46–51 76 T. Job 52–53 76

Philo of Alexandria

Mos 2.25–44

68

337

1 Sources

1.7

Flavius Josephus

Ant IV 212 267 Ant XI 184–296 62

1.8

Ant XII 11–118

68

Rabbinical Sources

m. ʾAbot 1.2 94 m. ʾAbot 1.18 94 m. Avot 1.2 268 m. Ber. 1.1 269 m. Ber. 1–3 269 m. Ber. 2.4 270 m. Ber. 4–5 269 m. Ber. 4.3 292 m. Ber. 5.1 295 m. Ber. 6–9 269 m. Ber. 28a 292 m. Bik. 3.1–8 92 m. Ḥagigah 1.8 91 m. Ḥagigah 2.1 110 m. Meg. 4.1–3 295 m. Parah 3 92 m. Tamid 5.1 268 m. Yoma 1–7 92 m. Yoma 3.9 290 b. Ber. 4b 270 b. Ber. 34a 293 b. Ber. 40b 270 b. Ber. 43b 272 b. Ber. 60b 296 b. Ber. 61b 291 b. Er. 13b 51 b. Er. 54b 94 b. Git. 57b 58 b. Hag. 13a 72 b. Hag. 14a 222 b. Ketub. 105b–106a 25, 149, 232 b. Meg. 3a 51, 53, 148 b. Pes. 112a 25 b. Sanh. 34a 207 b. Sanh. 38b 308 b. Sanh. 86a 96 b. Sanh. 90b 34 b. Sanh. 100b 58 b. Shab. 63a 207 b. Sot. 16a 211 b. Sot. 33b 34 b. Taʿanit 2a 269 b. Yev. 11b 207 b. Yev. 24a 207

b. Yoma 70a 96 y. Ber. 2c 123 y. Ber. 9.1a 293 y. Ber. 9.13a 293 y. Sanh. 2.20c 26 y. Sanh. 17 72 y. Sanh. 28a 58, 72 y. Sot. 7.3 34 tg. Onq. 48 Gen. Rab. 122, 127, 131, 135, 235 Gen. Rab. 32.2 132 Gen. Rab. 63.9f. 217 Gen. Rab. 67.2 217 Gen. Rab. 79.7 48 Lev. Rab. 122, 131, 135, 235 Lev. Rab. 9.9 294 Lev. Rab. 23.1 137 Lev. Rab. 23.2 137 Lam. Rab. 122, 131 Lam. Rab. 2.2 232 Deut. Rab. 235 Eccl. Rab. 122 Exod. Rab. 235 Num. Rab. 235 Pesiq. Rab. Kah. 122 Pirqe R. El. 3 148 Pirqe R. El. 30 148 Pirqe R. El. 54 148 S. Eli. Rab. 15 149 S. Eli. Rab. 16 149 S. Eli. Rab. 30 149 S. Eli. Zut. 2 149 Sif. Dev. 11.22 223 Sifra 1:1–3:17 109 Sifra 4:1–5:26 109 Sifra 6:1–7:38 110 Sifra 10:8–12:8 110 Sifra 13:1–13:59 110 Sifra 14:1–15:33 110 Sifra 16:1–20:27 110 Sifra 21:1–24:23 110 Sifra 25:1–27:34 110 t. Shab. 13.4 271 t. Yad 2.13 58, 72

338

1.9 1 Clem

2

Index

Classical and Ancient Christian Writings 61

Hist Eccl III 10:6

74

Names

Aaron Ben Moses ben Asher 151 Abarbanel, Isaac 218, 220 Abba Arika 123 Abraham ben David of Posquières (Rabad) 114, 116, 314 Abraham ibn Daud 175 Abraham ibn Ezra 163, 206, 212–215, 230–231, 249–250, 253, 311–312 Abū Jaʿfar al-Ṭabarī 169 Abulafia, Abraham 301, 303–304, 310, 320, 322 Abulafia, Meir Halevi (Ramah) 180, 196, 199 Adani, David 234 Aderet, Solomon ben Avraham (Rashba) 181, 196–200, 202, 277, 317, 320 Ahai Gaon of Shabha 141, 173, 178, 224 Akiva ben Joseph (Rabbi Akiba) 25, 72, 89, 91, 100–101, 106, 108–109, 115–116, 118, 138, 149, 307 Albeck, Ḥanokh 101 Alexander Polyhistor 66 al-Fasi, Isaac ben Jacob (Rif) 126, 183, 185–187, 194, 196–198, 200, 202, 234 Alkabetz, Solomon ben Moses 260, 325 Amram Gaon 141, 154, 272–273, 277 ʿAnan ben David 158, 169 Anatoli, Jacob 216 Antiochus IV Epiphanes 59 Aristobulos 76–77 Artapanos 66 Asevilli, Yom Tov ben Abraham (Ritva) 198–200 Asher ben Yehiel (Rosh) 181, 195–196, 198–202, 289 Ashlag, Yehudah 331 Baḥya ben Asher 206, 219 Benjamin al-Nahāwandī 158, 169–170 Birnbaum, Philipp 285 Buber, Martin 303 Caro, Joseph 173–174, 181, 196, 201–202, 204, 325 Clement of Alexandria 66 Clement of Rome 61 Cordovero, Moses ben Jacob 322, 325–326

Daniel al-Qūmisī 159, 161, 166, 169–170 Dar’i, Moses 258 David ben Amram 107 David ben Joseph Abudirham 277 Dov Baer of Mezeritch 331 Dunash ibn Labrat 208, 248 Einhorn, David 285 Elazar birabbi Qallir 153, 241, 245–247, 250, 253 Elbogen, Isaac Moses (Ismar) 283 Eleazar ben Pedat 123 Eleazar of Worms 276 Eliezer bar Nathan of Mainz (Raavan) 193 Eliezer ben Hyrcanus 226 Eliezer ben Joel of Bonn (Raviah) 194 Eliezer of Beaugency 209, 212 Elijah ben Solomon Zalman (Vilna Gaon) 259 Elijah da Vidas 322 Elisha ben Abuyah 149 Eupolemos 66 Eusebius of Cesarea 66 Flavius Josephus 57, 74, 120, 267, 295 Fraenkel, Zacharias 284 Geiger, Abraham (Rabbi) 283 Gerondi, Jonah 196 Gershom ben Judah (Rabenu Gershom, Maʿor Hagolah) 189, 255 Gikatilla, Joseph 318–319, 322 haDarshan, Moshe 225 haDarshan, Shimon 234 Hadrian (Roman Emperor) 71, 74 Hai ben Sherira (Hai Gaon) 95, 116, 126, 141–142, 144, 154, 156, 175–176, 183, 222, 272, 307 Hananel ben Hushiel 141–142, 145, 147, 156, 182–183, 185–186, 198, 312 Ḥananel of Kairouan 126 Hecataeus of Abdera 67 Hengel, Martin 14–15 Hillel the Elder 89 Hirsch, Samson Raphael 284 Hiwi al-Balkhī 155 Ḥiyya bar Abba 96 Hoffmann, David 100–101

2 Names ibn Gabirol, Salomo 249, 260 Idel, Moshe 304, 313, 317, 321 Immanuel of Rome 230 Isaac ibn Ghiyyat 185, 249 Isaac ibn Sahula 319 Isaac of Acre 322 Isaac of Dampierre (Ri Ha-Zaken) 192, 194–195, 198 Israel ben Eliezer (Baʽal Shem Tov, Besht) 281, 330–331 Israel Najara 257 Jacob ben Asher 174, 196, 201–202 Jacob ben Jacob haKohen 318 Jacob ben Meir (Rabbenu Tam) 181, 192–194 Jacob ben Nissim ibn Shahin 91, 155, 175, 181 Jacob ibn Habib 234 Jason of Cyrene 60 Jehoiachin (King of Judah) 124 Jonathan ben Uzziel 53 Joseph Bekhor Shor 209, 212, 217 Joseph ben Meir Halevi ibn Migash (Ri Migash) 183, 185 Joseph Hayyim of Baghdad (HaBen Ish Hay) 285 Joseph ibn Kaspi 216 Joseph Kara 210 Joshua ben Levi 123 Judah al-Ḥarizi 229 Judah ben Samuel haLevi 249–250 Judah ben Samuel heḤasid 311 Judah ben Shmuel heḤasid 311 Judah of Barcelona 277 Kaplan, Mordechai 285 Kimḥi, David (Radak) 206, 216–217, 219, 226 Kook, Abraham Isaac 331 Levi ben Gershom (Gersonides) 206, 214, 216 Levi ben Yefet ha-Levi 159, 164–166 Liebermann, Saul 15 Luria, Isaac (AR”I) 280–282, 286, 303, 322, 327, 330 Luzzatto, Samuel David 283 Makhir ben Abba Mari 234 Martini, Raymond 218, 225 Mayer-Weiss, Isaac 284 Meir ben Baruch of Rothenburg 180–181, 194–196, 200 Meir ben Isaac Shaliaḥ Tsibbur 255 Menaḥem ben Saruq 208

339 Merwan abu Walid ibn Janah (Rabbenu Jonah) 152 Mishael ben Uzziel 164 Mordechai ben Hillel 180, 194–195 Moses ben Maimon (Maimonides, Rambam) 95, 102, 116, 152, 163, 184–185, 187–188, 195, 200–202, 206, 214–215, 223, 234, 277, 318–319 Moses ben Nachman (Nachmanides, Ramban) 187, 196–200, 202, 206, 218–219, 223, 226, 317 Moses de Leon 226, 318–319, 323 Moses ibn Ezra 249 Moses Isserles (Rama) 174, 203, 280 Moses of Coucy 195 Naḥman of Breslov 331 Nathan ben Yeḥiel of Rome 312 Natronai Gaon 272, 277 Neḥunya ben haQanah 307 Neusner, Jacob 13, 92 Nissim bar Reuven (Ran) 180, 198–199, 202 Nissim ben Jacob 182 Nissim ibn Shahin 141, 145, 147 Obadiah of Bertinoro 95 Philo of Alexandria 57, 68, 70, 72, 85, 267, 295 Phocylides of Miletus 78 Pirqoi ben Baboi 247 Pool, DeSola 285 Ptolemy II Philadelphos 33 Qayyara, Shimon 179 R. Abbahu 138 R. Ammi 123 R. Assi 123 R. Gershom 190, 193–194 R. Hoshayah 96 R. Jeremiah 123 R. Meir 89, 91 R. Neḥemiah 96 R. Shmuel 175 R. Yishmael 89, 103 R. Yoḥanan 96, 123 R. Yonatan 104 R. Zeira 123 Rabban Gamaliel 89 Rav ʿAnan 149 Recanati, Menachem 323–324 Saʿadia Gaon 38, 126, 141–144, 150–152, 154–155, 167–168, 170, 176, 178, 207, 244, 247, 249, 272 Sahl ben Maṣliaḥ 159, 161, 170 Salmon ben Yerōḥam 168, 170–171

340

Index

Samuel ben Ḥofni 141, 207 Samuel ibn Tibbon 216 Schechter, Solomon 119 Scholem, Gershom 13, 299–301, 303–304, 306–307, 317, 319 Sepharad/Sephardim 253 Sforno, Ovadiah 221 Shammai 89 Shem Tov ibn Gaon 322 Sherira Gaon 91, 124, 141–144, 155–156, 175–176 Shimon bar Yoḥai (Rashbi) 138, 226, 319 Shimshon of Sens 198 Shlechter-Shalomi, Zalman 286 Shlomo Yitzchaki (Rashi) 12, 14, 105, 174, 181–182, 188–193, 198, 206, 209–212, 217, 219, 225, 234, 255, 276 Shmuel ben Hofni 143–144, 151–152, 154, 156, 166, 169 Shmuel ben Meir (Rashbam) 206, 209–213, 215 Shmuel ben Nahmani 271 Shmuel Hanagid 182, 185 Shmuel ibn Naghrela 156 Silverman, Morris 285

3

Simeon ben Gamaliel 89 Simeon ben Yoḥai 101–102, 104 Simon bar Isaac 253 Soncino, Joshua Solomon 95 Tobiah ben Moses 159 Tobias ben Eliezer 224 Tzidkiah ben Abraham 275 Vital, Ḥayyim 280, 322, 326 Yannai (Paytan) 153, 244–245 Yaʿqūb al-Qirqisānī 159, 161–162, 166, 168, 170 Yefet ben ʿElī 159, 161–163, 166, 170–171 Yehoshua ben Levi 271 Yehudah bar Meir ha-Cohen 193 Yehudah ha-Nasi 89, 91–92, 123 Yehudai Gaon 141, 143, 178–179 Yishmael ben Elisha 100–102, 104, 115, 118 Yoḥanan ben Zakkai (Ribaz) 14, 89, 306 Yonah ibn Janah 142 Yose ben Ḥalfota 119 Yose ben Yose 153, 244 Yūsuf al-Baṣīr 159, 163, 166–167, 169–170 Zeligmann, Isaac Baer 283 Zevi, Shabbatai 281, 327–328 Zunz, Leopold 12–13, 15, 256, 260, 275

Keywords

Aggadah 34, 58, 62–63, 70, 75, 100–101, 103, 108, 122, 128, 131–132, 139, 145–146, 148–149, 205, 210, 220–226, 232–234, 236, 271, 296 Aggadat Bereshit 225 Aleppo Codex 30, 37 ʿAmidah 227, 238–242, 255, 269, 274, 277, 289, 296–297, 314 Amoraim 96, 122–125, 127–129, 131–132, 134, 139, 177, 224 Apocalypticism 79–80, 85, 231 Apocrypha 45, 226, 266–267 Aramaic 52, 158, 255 Arba`ah Turim 174, 181, 196, 201–203 Aristotelianism 234, 301, 323 Ashkenaz/Ashkenazim 180–181, 196, 198–199, 208, 228, 232, 238, 240–241, 243–245, 250–251, 254, 256–257, 260–261, 311 Avot dʾRabbi Natan 231 Babylonia 123, 174

Babylonian Exile 61 Baghdad 124, 141, 247–248 Bar Kokhba Revolt 21, 134 Baraita/Baraitot 97–98, 125 Baraita de-melekhet ha-mishkan 108 Barcelona 316, 320 Beit Midrash 181 Berakha/Berakhot 238–241, 292–293, 295–296 Bereshit Rabbati 225 Cairo Genizah 53, 71, 94, 102, 105–107, 109, 114–116, 118–120, 175, 177, 179, 182, 186, 241, 244–248, 260, 274, 305 Canon 11, 17, 45, 57, 131, 150, 198, 300, 310 Chabad Lubavitch 331 Christianity 14, 18, 20, 23, 32, 44, 49–50, 57, 63, 125, 130, 132, 140–141, 179, 181, 207–208, 211, 213, 218, 220, 223, 231–232, 306, 311 Commentaries 11, 42, 84, 95, 111, 142, 144, 150, 160, 162–163, 166, 170, 173–176, 179,

3 Keywords 196, 205–206, 208–210, 220, 233, 277, 299, 324 Conservative 283–285, 287 Cordoba 248 Creatio ex nihilo 60, 166 Cult 11, 59, 68, 80, 85, 90, 265, 268, 271, 294 Damascus Document 84 Dead Sea Scrolls 18, 21, 27, 32, 35, 39–40, 42, 44, 54, 69, 151, 266–267, 304 Diaspora 11, 13, 56, 58, 60–61, 67, 72–73, 78, 88, 158, 170, 261, 285, 294 Eikha Rabbati 133 En Yaaqov 234 En-Gedi Scroll 21–22 Eretz Israel 88 Eschaton 65, 85 Esotericism 299 Essenes 19 Exegesis 44–46, 48, 112, 125, 130–132, 160–161, 163, 176, 205–207, 212–213, 215, 226–227, 300 Flavius Josephus 87 Fustat 248 Galilee 127 Gaon/Geonim 126, 129, 141, 143, 156, 174–178, 184, 200, 205–208, 213, 222, 224, 226–227, 230–231, 233–234, 258 Gemara 125 Gerona 316–317 Gnosis 304 Guide for the Perplexed 215 Ḥadīth 144 Halachot Gedolot 142–143, 146, 178–179 Halachot Pesuqot 143, 146, 178–179 Halakhah 89, 91–92, 100, 102–104, 112, 125, 140, 145, 179, 181, 205, 224–225, 234, 312 Hallel 296 Ḥasidei Ashkenaz (German Pietists) 232, 276, 310–311, 313, 319, 321 Hasidism 259, 281, 303, 330 Hasmonean 33, 58–61, 78, 84, 268 Havurah Movement 286 Ḥazan 244 Hebrew 13, 18–19, 23, 26, 40, 42, 47, 52, 58, 69, 100, 131, 164–165, 206, 297, 309 Hebrew Bible 11, 13, 19–20, 23–25, 30–31, 35, 37, 39–40, 42, 44–45, 49, 54–55, 76, 132, 141, 151, 158, 162–163, 209, 217, 220, 234, 299, 304 Hekhalot 305–308, 319 Hellenism 14, 56, 60, 69

341 Holocaust/Shoah 13 Idolatry 90 Iggeret 124 Islam 141, 180, 185, 205, 216, 223, 226, 231, 257, 307, 322 Israel (State) 13 Jerusalem 126 Jewish Studies 14–15 Jewish Theological Seminary of America (JTSA) 13, 16 Judah ben Samuel haLevi 242 Judeo-Arabic 206 Kabbalah 218–220, 260, 281, 301–304, 308–309, 313, 316–320, 322, 324–327 Kabbalat Shabbat 278, 281 Kaddish 278, 286, 296 Kairawan 91, 141, 145, 155–156, 181–182, 187, 229 Kalām 152, 166 Kallah 124 Karaism 20, 117, 146, 148–149, 152–154, 157–158, 160–163, 165, 167, 174, 205, 213, 223, 225, 238, 250, 258 Ketiv—Qere 20, 41 Koine 47 Leningrad Codex 21, 37 Letter of Aristeas 33, 44, 46, 60, 68, 76–77 Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum 70 Maccabees 58–60 Mahzor Vitry 276 Maimonidean controversy 218 Mainz 190 Masada 21–22, 40, 42 Mashal 134 Masorah 20, 37, 40, 151, 163, 214, 295 Masoretic Text 19–30, 32, 37–40, 43–44, 46–49, 52, 54, 61–62, 70 Mekhilta 107 Mekhilta de-Arayot 110, 113 Mekhilta de-Milluim 110, 113 Mekhilta de-R. Yishmael 102–105, 108, 110, 115 Merkavah 75, 303–304, 306–307, 310–311, 319, 321 Messiah 48, 78, 80, 231, 274, 293, 326, 328 Metatron 308, 321 Midrash Aseret haDibrot 228 Midrash Eileh Ezkarah 231 Midrash ha-Gadol 107, 114, 116, 118–119, 234 Midrash Lekaḥ Tov 224

342 Midrash/Midrashim 63, 75, 100–102, 104–106, 108, 111–113, 116, 122, 127, 130–132, 139, 145–147, 150, 161, 205–207, 209–210, 214, 217, 219, 223–228, 232–236, 253, 313 Midrash Mishlei 223 Midrash Rabbah 235 Midrash Tanḥuma 224 Midrash Tehillim 225 Midrash vaYosha 228 Minhag 177 Miqraʾot Gedolot 206 Mishnah 16, 89, 100, 102, 104, 108, 112–113, 115–117, 120, 125, 127, 130, 140, 142–143, 146, 149, 155, 168, 176, 184, 191, 224–225, 231, 242, 319 Mishneh Torah 187–188, 196, 202, 277 Modern Orthodox 283 Mount Gerizim 32, 66 Mourners of Zion (Avele Zion) 157–158, 171 Mysticism 12–13, 153, 206, 276, 278 Naḥal Ḥever 21–22, 40, 42, 50 Nehardea 124, 175 New York 13 NJPS (New Jewish Publication Society of America Tanakh) 35, 38–39 Nostra Aetate 13 Orah Hayyim 280 Oral Torah 141 Oral Traditions 122 Orthodox 12, 259 Paraleipomena Jeremiou 64–65 Parshanut 206–208, 220 Paytan/Paytanim 242, 244–245, 248, 250–251, 254, 256–258 Peshat 206–208, 210–220, 223, 233 Pesiqta Rabbati 224 Pharisees 19, 43, 78, 92 Pirqa 124 Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer 226–227 Piyyut/Piyyutim 171, 237–244, 246–254, 256–260 Platonism 73, 85–86, 214 Poetry 205, 237–238 Prayer 237–239 Prayer book 242, 247, 250, 263, 272–274, 277, 279–281, 283–286, 293–294 Psalm 237, 265 Pumbedita 123–124, 141, 144, 155, 175–176, 178 Qinah/Qinot 242

Index Qoh. Rab. 122 Qumran 18–24, 26, 29–30, 32, 35, 38, 40–44, 49, 52–53, 57, 69, 82, 84, 92, 151, 157, 237, 267–268, 306 Qur’ān 144, 150–151, 157, 161, 169–170, 205, 229 Rabbinic Academies 123, 208, 276 Rabbinic Literature 20, 46, 58, 91, 96–97, 100, 105, 122, 173, 207, 231–232, 247, 266 Reform 12–13, 264, 281, 283–285, 287–288 Responsa 126, 142–144, 173–179, 184 Rintfleisch Massacres 180, 195 Rishon/Rishonim 129, 174, 179 Romaniotes 238, 257 Rule of the Community (Qumran) 42, 84 Sabbateanism 303, 326, 328–329 Sacrifice 265 Sadducees 19, 78 Safed 326 Samaritans 19–20, 23, 32–33, 64 Samaritarian Pentateuch 18–20, 23, 26, 32, 34, 40, 43 Scribe (Sofer/Soferim) 18, 23–27, 30, 43 Second Vatican Counsel 13–14 Seder Eliyahu Rabbah 232 Seder Eliyahu Zuṭa 232 Sefer HaHilukim 273 Sefer Ha-qabbalah 175 Sefer Ḥasidim 232 Sefer haZoar 319 Sefer Zerubbabel 230 Sefirot 300, 302, 309–310, 313–314, 317–318, 321–322, 324, 326–327 Seleucid 58–60 Seliḥah/ Seliḥot 242 Sepharad/Sephardim 179, 238, 240, 242, 244, 249–251, 256–258, 260–261 Septuagint (LXX) 18–20, 23–24, 29, 32–34, 37, 39, 41, 43–51, 61–64, 68, 70, 72–75, 77 She’iltot 143, 146–147, 173, 177, 224–225 Shekhinah 311–312, 320 Shemaʿ 239, 243, 269–270, 290–291, 293–294, 297 Shibbolei HaLeqet 275 Shiʽur Qomah 305, 312 Shoah/Holocaust 13 Shokher Tov 225 Shulchan ʿAruch 173–174, 181, 196, 201–203, 278–279, 325 Stammaim 122, 126, 129 Stoicism 73, 85–87 Study House (Bet Midrash) 123

3 Keywords Sugya/Sugyot 129, 173 Sura 123–124, 141, 144, 175, 178, 247 Symmachus 51 Synagogue 237 Tafsir 205 Talmud 12, 15–16, 95, 97–99, 102, 125–126, 141, 145, 149, 155, 174, 176–179, 181, 191–192, 194, 196, 200, 206–207, 234–235, 269, 272–274 Talmud Bavli 96–97, 99, 105, 111, 114, 122–126, 128–129, 131, 139, 142–143, 148–150, 173, 225, 234, 292 Talmud Yerushalmi 97–98, 100, 113, 122–123, 125–127, 131, 134, 139, 148, 197, 225, 234, 271 Tanakh 18 Tanna dʾbei Eliyahu 232 Tannaim 89, 100, 122, 125, 129, 131, 133, 138, 224 Tanḥuma (-Yelamdenu) 122, 146–147, 224–225, 235 Targum/Targumim 19, 29, 38, 48, 51–53, 148, 153, 206, 227 Teffilin (Phylacteries) 22, 41 Temple (Jerusalem) 11, 16, 19, 21, 23, 41, 52, 60, 62, 64, 87, 89, 92, 119, 129, 149, 154, 207, 231, 266–268, 287, 289–290, 294–295, 297 Temple Scroll (Qumran) 84 Tetragrammaton 290, 321–322

343 Theodicy 73, 76, 79, 268 Theodotion 50 Torah 130 Tosafists 179, 189–193, 197–198, 201 Tosefta 91, 95–100, 102, 104, 108, 111, 115, 120, 150, 192, 195–196, 270 Translation 19, 44, 49 Ultra-Orthodox 285 Usha 89, 92, 96 Vitae Prophetarum 65 Vocalization 19–21, 163 Vulgate 73 Wadi Murabbaʿat 21, 40, 42 War Scroll (Qumran) 84 Wisdom Litterature 33, 44, 57, 67, 71–74, 79 Wissenschaft des Judentums 12, 260, 283–284 World War II 13 Worms 190 Yalkut haMekhiri 234 Yalkut Shimoni 225, 233 Yefet ben ʿElī 159 Yehuda ha-Nasi 126 Yeridah laMerkavah 307 Yeshivah/Yeshivot 123, 175 Yotser/Yotserot 239, 247–253 Zionism 303, 331 Zohar 220, 226, 277, 280, 299, 303, 317, 326, 329, 331 Zoroastrianism 141