The Stabilization of Rabbinic Culture, 100 C.E. - 350 C.E. : Texts on Education and Their Late Antique Context

The Stabilization of Rabbinic Culture, 100 c.e.–350 c.e.

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The Stabilization of Rabbinic Culture, 100 c.e.–350 c.e. Texts on Education and Their Late Antique Context

marc hirshman

1 2009

3 Oxford University Press, Inc., publishes works that further Oxford University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education. Oxford New York Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto With offices in Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam

Copyright © 2009 by Oxford University Press Published by Oxford University Press, Inc. 198 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016 www.oup.com Oxford is a registered trademark of Oxford University Press All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Oxford University Press. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Hirshman, Marc G. The stabilization of rabbinic culture, 100 c.e.–350 c.e. : texts on education and their late antique context / Marc Hirshman. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-19-538774-2 1. Talmud—History. 2. Judaism—History—Talmudic period, 10–425. 3. Jewish learning and scholarship—History—To 1500. 4. Jewish religious education—History—To 1500. 5. Tannaim. 6. Amoraim. 7. Rabbinical literature—History and criticism. 8. Middle East—Religion. I. Title. BM501.H57 2009 296.09’01—dc22 2008045159

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

Preface

This book addresses a major issue in rabbinic Judaism in its late antique context. This is an inquiry into how this small group of, at most, a couple of thousand named scholars and rabbis of the fi rst five centuries of the common era, in Roman Palestine and Sasanid Persia, was able to secure and sustain a thriving national and educational culture. This accomplishment, loyalty to the national language and retention of a “ ‘significant national identity,’ ”1 was unique in the Roman Near East. “Eliezer HaQappar: This Is the Beit Midrash of Rebbe” reads the Hebrew inscription on the stone lintel found in the Golan Heights.2 It is a rare physical artifact, attesting to a Jewish study house of a sage well known to students of the rabbinic literature of late antiquity. The paucity of physical remains of late antique Jewish learning is in inverse proportion to the enormity of the oral teaching itself, committed to writing only in the Middle Ages. The contents of this oral teaching (legal and nonlegal alike) remain a staple of Jewish learning through modern times. My interest here is to trace and outline those ideals and practices of rabbinic learning, as presented in those relatively few late antique sources that chose to expatiate on the processes and ideals of learning. I have tried to avail myself of the impressive findings of modern Talmudic and midrashic scholarship and combine them with an effort to compare our knowledge of rabbinic learning with views on learning and knowledge in the regnant Greco-Roman,

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Christian, and Persian cultures of the period. Roman Palestine and Sasanid Persia were the settings for this impressive development of Jewish learning. These two great Jewish communities strove to exchange ideas and traditions, traversing the borders of vying empires, and at least for part of our period sustained a steady movement of scholars between the two centers. The sources we have brought together reveal an impressive shift in the goals and emphases of learning from the tannaitic period (c. 1–250 c.e. in Palestine) to the Amoraim of Babylonia (c. 250–500). Though the Talmud of the land of Israel and the aggadic midrash of the amoraic period are also replete with scattered references to learning, they do not contain the same sustained and developed sugyot, self-contained units of discourse, on the topic as those found in the tannaitic midrash collections and in the Babylonian Talmud. With that, one of the most fundamental aspects of the Jewish sages’ conception of learning as intrinsically a speech act, developed in the second chapter here, is shared by the scholars of both periods, Tannaim and Amoraim alike. Though oral learning was common in many ancient cultures, the Jewish approach has a very different theoretical basis and different aims (chapter 2). We are able in chapters 4 through 6 to see the evolution and institutionalization of Jewish learning as it progressed in Sasanid Babylonia. We see a marked shift from the anxiety of preserving an oral culture in the early Palestinian midrash (chapter 3) to the self-confident efflorescence of Babylonian Jewish culture. This flourishing was accompanied, as I and others have suggested, by a shift in emphasis to a more scholastic model of learning. At its core, though, the Jewish cultural thrust in the first centuries of the common era was a sustained effort to preserve the language of rabbinic culture in its most pristine form (chapter 4). This was done by the rabbis in a very conscious cultural conflict with their surrounding cultures (chapter 5). My aim in writing this book in English is twofold. I hope that this volume will serve as an introduction to a critical and idea-oriented reading of these classical Jewish texts for those who do not know Hebrew and Aramaic. Moreover, I wish to provide historians of late antiquity with a guide to essential issues and bibliography in Jewish culture of this foundational period to repay on a small scale the debt owed to the classicists for the superb works on classical culture and education in late antiquity. I have invested much time and effort in making these intricate sources available to the nonspecialist and hope that readers will find the sources both accessible and engaging. The core of the book was presented in February 2005 as a series of lectures at Yale University, where I was privileged to be the Stanley H. Arffa Visiting Scholar in Jewish Studies. It was an exhilarating three weeks, and I am most grateful to my hosts and friends, Ivan Marcus, chair of Jewish Studies, Steven

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Fraade, and Christine Hayes. Select chapters were given as lectures at Ben Gurion University, at the Department of Near Eastern Studies at the University of Chicago, and at the Shalom Hartman Institute. My colleagues’ comments and suggestions during and after a short series of seminars at the institute on this topic were very helpful, and I am grateful to David Hartman for the long tenure I enjoyed. A semester as a fellow at the Center for Advanced Judaic Studies of the University of Pennsylvania in the fall of 2007 was an ideal opportunity to refine and revise the manuscript. The Hebrew University’s Melton Centre for Jewish Education in the School of Education has been my academic home for the past twelve years. My colleagues and the entire staff are a welcome source of intellectual engagement and warm support. Our students have contributed their share, in classroom discussion and seminar papers. My colleague Michael Gillis joined me in presenting an early draft of chapter 5 some seven years ago at the excellent interdisciplinary conference “Paradigms of Learning” sponsored by the Center for Literary Studies here at the Hebrew University. I am honored to occupy the Mandel Chair in Jewish education, which has provided welcome assistance for this project. Finally, my weekly hevruta for Greek and Talmud with my friends and colleagues Debby Gera and David Satran has shown how rich and supportive the university environment can be. They both read and commented on preliminary drafts of the work. Jon Levenson, Daniel Pekarsky, Vivienne Burstein, and Jane Shapiro also gave me much-needed advice and criticism. Chapter 2 was published, in an earlier form, in the Ben Gurion University conference proceedings Study and Knowledge in Jewish Thought (2006), as was chapter 6 in Languages and Literature in Jewish Education: Studies in Honor of Michael Rosenak (2006). A Hebrew version of a portion of chapter 4 is to be found in the Meir Ayali memorial volume, Hayashan Yitchadesh (Tel Aviv 2005); a Hebrew version of chapter 7 appeared in Educational Deliberations: Studies in Education Dedicated to Shlomo (Seymour) Fox (2005). The staff at Oxford University Press, especially Cynthia Read and Jennifer Kowing, have done much to graciously bring greater precision and clarity to my manuscript. It has been a pleasure to work with them. I am also grateful to Adina Gerver and Yoni Pomeranz for preparing the indices. Family and friends give my life the joy, support, and stimulation that allow me to pay so much attention to the wisdom of the past. I hope they have shared some of its delights and pleasures. The book is dedicated to Edna, in love and friendship, with a prayer for peace, the sine qua non for all blessings: “ ‘And will give you peace’ (Numbers 6, 26): your entrance in peace, your exit in peace, peace with all people” (Sifre Numbers 42).

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A Note on Transliteration I have represented the Hebrew letter het (pronounced similar to Greek chi) for the most part with ch in the middle of words. Proper names that begin with het are rendered with H, since almost all the proper names mentioned in this book, save Rabbi Hoshaya and Hillel, that begin with an English H are actually a h·et, such as Rabbi Hanina (Chanina). Scriptural translations are generally based on the second edition of the Jewish Publication Society’s Hebrew-English Tanakh (1999).

Contents

1. Contours of Rabbinic Study: An Introduction, 3 2. Learning, Speech, and Thought in Late Antiquity, 17 3. Sifre Deuteronomy: The Precariousness of Oral Torah, 31 4. A Talmudic Primer on Education (Eruvin 53a–55a), 49 5. Cultures in Conflict (Avoda Zara 18b–19b), 65 6. Education and Accountability (Bava Batra 20b–22a), 83 7. Teaching with Authority: A Comparative View, 97 8. The Stabilization of Rabbinic Culture, 109 Appendix 1: A Survey of Secondary Literature on Education and Literacy in Rabbinic Literature, 121 Appendix 2: Portraits of Jewish Sages Engaged in Study, 127 Notes, 133 Bibliography, 169 Source Index, 175 Subject Index, 181

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The Stabilization of Rabbinic Culture, 100 c.e.–350 c.e.

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1 Contours of Rabbinic Study An Introduction

It was in late antiquity that learning Torah became the Jewish religious pursuit par excellence and constituted the cultural moorings of the nation.1 Adumbrated by centuries of advocacy from the Second Temple era,2 this primacy of learning was accomplished by, at most, a few thousand sages and rabbis,3 residing in Israel and Babylonia. Theirs was a predominantly, perhaps exclusively, oral culture that only centuries later was reduced to written anthologies. These anthologies, Mishna, Tosefta, Talmud, Midrash Halacha, and Midrash Aggada, 4 are marked by an effort to capture the intensity of the debate over issues of law and lore alike and are committed to presenting remarkable diversity of opinion, often without apparent resolution. An attempt to distill this debate and diversity and present a synthetic overview cannot do justice to its richness. In the following chapters, I have selected four extended collections of materials, mini-anthologies within those vast anthologies, that focus on learning and cultural preservation in late rabbinic antiquity. This approach has the advantage of highlighting those elements that ancient compilers saw as essential and determinative when they attempted to present a more comprehensive picture of their subject. These lengthy discussions will be framed by two chapters that deal intensely with two brief sources, spending more time on a comparative approach. What were the ideals and methods of education as they present themselves in these Jewish oral cultures that flourished in Roman Palestine and later in Sasanian Babylonia?

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How similar were they to the regnant cultures of the time? Were there modifications over the first 500 years of the first millennium? Scholarship on Greek and Latin education in late antiquity has made impressive strides over the last decades, benefiting from the ability to compare material evidence with the late antique authors who wrote extensively on education.5 It is marked by an attempt to move beyond the questions raised by H. Marrou’s definitive Histoire de l’education dans l’antiquité, first published in postwar France (1948).6 Sociological paradigms have been applied to try to discover whose interests were served by the educational systems.7 Moreover, recent excellent work has tried to identify the variegated educational thrusts in the different philosophical schools of late antiquity.8 Our knowledge of Persian education is much more limited, but we do have some texts that shed interesting light on their Babylonian rabbinic counterparts.9 Only one of the extended Talmudic texts deals at any length with elementary education (chapter 6), and even that text quickly shifts its focus to higher education. Our rabbinic texts are indeed the product of scholarly circles. Even when they focus on other sectors of society, they naturally return to their own context. This is strikingly true when they treat learning and education. We will try to focus on the educational ethos and ideology in our texts, bearing in mind the texts’ preoccupation with higher education. The sources for our study span well over the first half of the first millennium c.e. The textual and philological study of these sources, Midrash, Mishna, Tosefta, and Talmud, has brought those classics into a sharper focus than ever before. Scholarship has reached a level of precision that would certainly be the envy of the nineteenth-century founders of wissenschaftliche Studien, the academic study of Judaism. I will survey this progress briefly and then exemplify our reading of texts in this book, hoping thereby to make these texts accessible to the general student of late antiquity. Rich manuscript evidence, from Geniza fragments to complete manuscripts, is available to the modern scholar in digital databases, facsimile editions, and more dated microfilm collections. The earliest of the manuscripts of midrashic and Talmudic literature are from around the eleventh century. The Geniza fragments stem for the most part, but not exclusively, from a cache of documents found in the Egyptian Fustat synagogue storeroom and contain, among other documents, thousands of fragments and pages of Talmudic and midrashic literature, some of which predate by a couple of centuries the earliest manuscripts. The history of the medieval manuscripts has been correlated geographically and historically with the intellectual history of the scribes and scholars of each generation. We can trace the evolution of many of the texts

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we analyze in various manuscript traditions, Ashkenazic, Spanish, Italian, Byzantine, and “Eastern,” and achieve a more precise view of the different strands of the text, their development, and their provenance. We have a rich tradition of linguistic studies of rabbinic Hebrew and Aramaic, as well as new dictionaries and grammars. To be sure, our knowledge remains fragmentary, but the modern student of rabbinic literature has a wealth of critical tools at her or his disposal that permit a more textured reading of the classics. These stunning achievements have been accompanied by a growing methodological sophistication, employing the tools of cultural and literary theory, accompanied by a fairly skeptical historical posture. It has become popular and widespread to treat the rabbinic texts as representing, in historical terms, only the generation of their final editing. Beyond that, many have invoked Professor David Halivni’s theory that the anonymous sections of the Babylonian Talmud reflect their last stage of development,10 more grist for the mill of those who wish to date these oral rabbinic traditions to the time of their final editing. A critical and discriminating application of a century and a half of scholarly achievement will enable us to draw new conclusions concerning the aims and attitudes of the rabbinic sages, in their attempt to shape and preserve their oral culture. Our focus here will be on the history of those attitudes and ideals, and the mentality that shaped their approaches and their understanding of a culture of learning. We will use the new analytical approaches in order to nuance our view of the educational values and techniques underlying the rabbinic approaches. We will try to be sensitive to possible shifts in emphasis in the treatment of teaching and learning in the two great geographic centers of rabbinic Judaism, Palestine and Babylonia. The primary departure from previous studies, focused on Jewish education and surveyed in appendix 1, is marked by our attempt here to collect and analyze the most extensive and fully developed sugyot (self-contained thematic units of material) of rabbinic literature that treat the ideals of learning in late rabbinic antiquity. Since all of rabbinic literature is anthological11 and oral,12 modern scholars who wished to treat a certain subject took one of two paths. Either they generated their own anthologies by collecting disparate and diverse sayings, strewn throughout the vast corpus of rabbinic literature, or they confined themselves to a specific work. Both of these approaches have been applied liberally to various topics in rabbinic literature with varying degrees of success. But both approaches are necessarily limited and might very well miss the mark. The first does not give enough attention to the original or at least preserved settings of the statements. Though we can only surmise

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original settings, the statements of the sages have been transmitted in, at the very least, edited oral anthologies.13 These statements often are constructed in dialogue or dissent from their surrounding statements. Isolating them in a “modern” anthology detracts from the fuller meaning derived from seeing them “in situ,” as it were. The second approach, confining oneself to a single work, one limited corpus, does not do justice to the fact that a hallmark of rabbinic literature is the use and reuse of modular units in various literary settings. Without a very careful comparison of the material found in a certain work with its parallels in other works, one often will miss the specific nuance and import of the selection under analysis. The approach adopted here, and in my previous book, is to analyze those places in Talmudic and midrashic literature where a concerted effort was put forth by the ancient editors to preserve a large and focused amount of material on a particular subject. Here I have chosen four extensive treatments of learning, one in the tannaitic collection Sifre Deuteronomy, and three from the Babylonian Talmud, the great repository of oral teaching of the first five or six centuries of the common era. Not surprisingly the three extensive Babylonian sugyot devoted to the ideals and practice of learning show some overlap and common features. Two other chapters of this study, the second and the seventh, treat shorter passages that are fundamental to this study and to the understanding of rabbinic culture. The final chapter attempts to synthesize the findings of the individual studies into a coherent picture of the ideals and practice of learning and the preservation and dissemination of the culture, even attempting to draw some conclusions concerning differing emphases in amoraic Babylonia and tannaitic Palestine. The amoraic literature of roughly the last half of that period (250–500 c.e.) was produced variously in Palestine or Babylonia and often cited and reworked the earlier tannaitic traditions that are almost exclusively of Palestinian provenance. I have attempted to extrapolate the themes that weighed heavily on the minds of the early rabbinic sages when they considered the problem of education and learning.14 In appendix 1, I briefly survey the major secondary works on education in late antique rabbinic Judaism. This topic enjoyed popularity midway through the twentieth century, with numerous monographs, containing general surveys of ancient Jewish education, written in various languages through midcentury. In the latter part of the century scholarly attention turned to higher education in the yeshivot, academies or disciple circles of Palestine and Babylonia. Finally, the beginning of this century saw a renewed interest in the issue of literacy. These early studies, especially the pioneering work of Wilhelm Bacher, provide a strong foundation for our own work.

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An Introduction to Learning and Rabbinic Literature I’d like to read a number of sources, related to our theme of learning and education, but drawn from materials not treated in the upcoming chapters, to accustom the reader to the different kinds of rabbinic literature and at the same time provide the nonexpert with tools of reference for the discussion that follows. The tannaitic period, 1–250 c.e., named after the sages of the period called tannaim (= reciters), produced two types of collections or anthologies of oral law, which included also, to a varying extent, nonlegal material (= aggada). One type of collection was in the midrashic style (midrash = inquiry into scripture) and was structured around scripture and is called Midrash Tannaim. This type includes, among other works, Sifre on Deuteronomy, which is analyzed in chapter 3. The other type was the mishnaic style of learning oral law that was arranged by content or style but generally abstained from referring back to scripture. The two great tannaitic collections of this type of study are the Mishna itself and the supplementary parallel collection called Tosefta. The former was edited by Judah the Patriarch in the beginning of the third century c.e., and the Tosefta was edited by the middle of that same century. Let us study some examples from these great tannaitic collections, in both the mishnaic style and the midrashic style. One of the sixty original tractates of Mishna was Avot. This tractate is somewhat anomalous in that great legal compendium because its topics were similar to those of ancient Wisdom literature and did not deal straight on with legal issues, which typify the Mishna. The third chapter of the tractate contains an unusual depiction of dialogue between Rabban Yochanan b. Zakkai (last third of first century c.e.) and his five students. Though dialogue and debate are a hallmark of rabbinic literature in general, mAvot (= Mishna tractate Avot) restricts itself to pithy apothegms. We read in the eighth mishna of the third chapter, translated from the mishnaic Hebrew: Five students had Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai . . . he would recount their praise. R. [= Rabbi] Eliezer ben Hyrcanos—a limed cistern that does not lose a drop. R. Yehoshua—blessed is she who gave birth to him. R. Yose—hasid, a pious person. R. Shimon ben Netanel—a fearer of sin. R. Elazar ben Arach—a surging spring. Wonderful analyses of this passage have been offered, but let us suffice with the following insight. R Eliezer and R. Elazar are praised for their learning acumen, with their teacher employing metaphors of water: the first conservative,

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the latter surging and innovative. Another two pupils, R. Yose and R. Shimon, are praised for their spiritual achievements, pious and sin fearing. The praise of R. Yehoshua is generic and does not reveal to which category he belongs, or possibly he belongs to both. The mishna will go on to debate who was Rabban Yochanan’s favored student, the conservative R. Eliezer or the innovative R. Elazar. The tension between faithfully reproducing the oral tradition, on the one hand, and intellectual innovation, on the other hand, will resonate in all our sources. Probably the most dominant figures in the other fifty-nine tractates of Mishna and afterward in the Talmudic discussion of those mishnayot (plural of mishna) are R. Eliezer and his sparring partner, R. Yehoshua. R. Shimon ben Netanel is never mentioned again in the entire Mishna, and his spiritual partner R. Yose Hacohen appears only once! Let us move on to an example of the Tosefta. This great tannaitic work is structured like the Mishna, divided into tractates,15 though it does not treat four of those tractates at all. The Tosefta contains a sixth generation of tannaitic material, from the generation of the editor of the Mishna, R. Yehuda the Patriarch, which was not included in the Mishna. Though edited a generation later than the Mishna, around 250 c.e., the Tosefta may sometimes contain earlier formulations of laws than the Mishna, since the latter might have edited or reformulated the earlier law.16 Let us take an example from Tosefta Horayot. Tractate Horayot treats mistaken instructions (horaa) issued by the high priest or the high court (Sanhedrin) and by whom and how amends are made for the mistake. The final sections of the tractate in both the Mishna and Tosefta Horayot deal with three mishnayot, which include a prioritizing of aid offered to people in distress according to their genealogy and gender, with the priest at the top of the list. That being said, the last mishna ends with a proviso, “When? At a time when all are equal, but if it was a bastard student of the wise and a high priest ignoramus [am haaretz], the bastard student of the wise precedes the high priest ignoramus.” The mishna is insistent that learning trumps genealogy. The Tosefta Horayot, however, has a much more expansive ending dealing with the educated, from which I will draw selected passages. tHorayot 2,5 (= Tosefta Horayot chapter 2, halacha 5) reads as follows: 2,5 He, his father, and his master [rabo] are in captivity—he precedes his master, his master precedes his father, and his mother precedes them all. Which is his master? His master who taught him Torah, not his master who taught him a craft. Which? The one who opened for him first. R. Meir says, “His master who taught him wisdom [hochma] and not his master who taught him Torah [Bible].”17

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R. Yehuda says, “ the one from whom he learned most of his Talmud” [traditions of learning]. R. Yose says, “anyone who enlightened his eyes in his mishna” . . . 2,7 Whence [do we know] that one who teaches his friend mishna it is as if he fashioned/created [yazar] him, knitted him together [rakam]18 and brought him to the world . . . 2,8 A sage precedes the king. A sage who dies, we have none like him. A king who dies, all of Israel are fit for royalty. The passages adduced are complicated, and comparison with their citations and discussion in the later Talmud renders interesting results. For our purposes it suffices to say that the Tosefta here is far more expansive about the role of the teacher and the priority given him, while also recording the debate as to who is to be considered one’s master teacher.19 The position staked out by the Tosefta is that the teacher is really the one responsible for creating the human. This notion, that the teacher creates the human being, dovetails nicely with a mishna in a different tractate (mBava Metzia 2, 11), which accords the master priority over the parents, since the parents only brought the child into this world whereas “one’s master (rabo) brings one to the world to come.” Real life is learning, according to the Tosefta. We now move on to the other great tannaitic (1–250 c.e.) corpus, the Midrash. The Mechilta of R. Yishmael is a fine representative and is devoted to both legal and aggadic interpretation of a large portion of the book of Exodus. In the second chapter of the Mechilta’s tractate Vayassa, the manna (Exodus 16) is treated at length. We will first bring one of the verses and then selected interpretations in the Mechilta passage: And the Lord said to Moses, “I will rain down bread for you from the sky, and the people shall go out and gather each day that day’s portion [devar yom beyomo] that I may test them to see whether they follow My instructions [torati] or not (Exodus 16, 4).20 “that day’s portion”. . . Hence R. Elazar (of Modi’im)21 used to say: He who has what to eat today and says: “what will I eat tomorrow?” Behold he is lacking in faith. (For it is said): “That I may prove them, whether they will walk in my law (torati) or not” (Exodus 16, 4). R. Yehoshua used to say: A man studies two halakot (= laws or small units of mishna or tosefta) in the morning and two halakot in the

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the stabilization of r abbinic culture, 100 c.e.–350 c.e. evening and was busy at his work the whole day, it is considered as if he had fulfilled the entire Torah. R. Shimon b. Yochai used to say: The Torah was given to expound only to those who eat manna. A person is sitting and expounding and he does not know whence he will eat and drink, whence he will clothe and be covered?

If we begin with the last view of R. Shimon b. Yochai, we note that he is responding, as midrash always does, to a peculiarity in the text—what makes the manna a test of whether one is following in “my Torah”? Though one might simply say that this is a test of obedience, R. Shimon emphasized the phrasing “walking in my Torah,” rather than simply “listening to my voice or commandment.” His reading is that one who is secure financially and has basic needs provided can walk in the way of Torah, which for R. Shimon amounts to constant, undivided attention to learning. As we learn elsewhere, R. Shimon was guided by Deuteronomy 6, 5–8, and Joshua 1, 8, and believed that a person should spend all one’s time in incessant recitation of Torah, to the exclusion of all other activity, as far as possible. He is countered here by R. Yishmael, who says that walking in the Torah is observed by beginning and ending the day with a token recitation of the law (two units or laws), while the rest of the day is occupied by labor.22 Midrash revolves around interpretation of Torah. But the issue being debated by R. Yishmael and his pupil R. Shimon b. Yochai, here in the Mechilta, is the ideal relationship between sustenance and study. How much time and attention is to be accorded to each? Midrash explores the possible meanings of the words of scripture, often juxtaposing different or even possibly contradictory verses and interpretations. Both Mishna and Midrash permitted or even encouraged multiple opinions and diversity of thought. Here we witness R. Yishmael’s incorporation of the study of Torah into the normal flow of life while R. Shimon b. Yochai saw Torah as life itself. We have seen examples of Mishna, Tosefta, and tannaitic midrash, held by most to be oral compositions, with tannaitic midrash being a possible exception, redacted in third-century Palestine, all composed in Hebrew of the period. We have chosen selections that are germane to major issues of learning and education. We will now proceed to the three enormous compositions of the amoraic period (250–500 c.e.): the Talmud of the land of Israel, the aggadic midrashim, and their counterpart in Babylonia, the Babylonian Talmud. These works are composed in a mixture of Hebrew and Aramaic, with some dialectal differences between Western and Eastern Aramaic. We will exemplify the nature of these works with short passages relevant to rabbinic culture and learning.

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The Talmud of the land of Israel is often called in English the Palestinian Talmud, and in Hebrew the Jerusalem Talmud. The latter name was popular due to its deference to Jerusalem, though in historical terms the learning itself and composition took place in centers all over Palestine, save Jerusalem. This Talmud presents itself as a commentary on four of the orders of the Mishna, covering some thirty-nine of the sixty-three tractates. In the course of the commentary it includes baraitot, tannaitic literature that was not included in the Mishna, some of which can be found in the Tosefta or Midrash Tannaim. It also comprises sayings of the amoraim, sages both in Babylonia and in Palestine from 250 to 380 c.e., though the Babylonians are generally represented in the Jerusalem Talmud only by the first generations. There is also a measure of anonymous material, though it is less prevalent than in the Babylonian Talmud. Though the Palestinian Talmud mainly addresses matters of law, a full sixth of it deals with nonlegal aggadic midrash or tales. I bring a poignant but fairly simple section of this difficult work. We read in pKiddushin 1, 7 61a (= Palestinian Talmud tractate Kiddushin chapter 1, halacha 7 page 61 column a) the following account:23 We have learned there: “If they began (the bath) they don’t stop” (mShabbat 1, 2). When is the beginning of the bath? R. Zerikan in the name of R. Hanina, when he has loosened his belt. Rav said, when he has loosened his shoe. R. Yehoshua b. Levi was accustomed to listen to the parasha (section of scripture) of his son’s son every Friday. One time he forgot and entered to bathe in the public bath (demosiyon) of Tiberias. He was leaning on the shoulder of R. Hiyya bar Ba. He remembered (anhar)24 and left the bath house . . . R. Hiyya bar Ba said to him, “Didn’t you teach us thus, my master: ‘if they began (the bath) they don’t stop’ (mShabbat 1,2)?” He said to him, “Hiyya my son, do you make light (kal) of25 ‘whoever hears the parasha from his son’s son, it is as if he heard it from Sinai.’ ” What is the reason? “. . . and make them known to your children (sons)26 and your children’s children (son’s sons), the day you stood before the Lord your God at Horeb . . . (Deuteronomy 4, 9–10). It is as the day you stood at Horeb!” R. Hizkia bar Yirmia, R. Hiyya in the name of R. Yochanan, “If you can link a received tradition (shemua) back to Moses, link it back. But if not, take the first (attribution) first or the last last.”

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the stabilization of r abbinic culture, 100 c.e.–350 c.e. Gidul said, “anyone who says a received tradition in the name of the one who said it, should see himself as if the master of that received tradition is standing before him . . .”

The literary framing of this section seems to evolve from “listening (shema) to the parasha,” the biblical recitation of a grandson, to being scrupulous in reporting the identity of the tradent of the shemua (the heard or received tradition). Finally, one should visualize the tradent of a shemua, whenever one recites the tradition attributed to him. This short passage contains some of the foundational elements of ancient Jewish law and learning. Shemua, the heard tradition, received from prior generations, was given enormous weight in the legal system of oral tradition, as we will see in coming chapters. The insistence on tracing the authors of the particular shemua also had legal implications, as eventually a system evolved that valorized certain authorities. Finally, the demand to visualize the author seems to act as a check to recall if indeed it was from that particular master that the tradition was heard. If the legal tradition is past-oriented, the educational tradition is future-oriented, encouraging the grandparent to hear the grandson’s weekly rendition, presumably of what he had learned that week, possibly the weekly lectionary reading or parasha. This was tantamount to receiving the word at Sinai. This attention to education of the third generation parallels the three generations of ascription of a shemua into the past. The grandparent sees the grandchild reciting, as the speaker of a shemua is asked to reenvision the original sayer of the tradition. This is a fairly straightforward section of the Palestinian Talmud, repeated in two different tractates, in tractate Kiddushin and tractate Shabbat. Parallel repetitions of entire sections, parallel sugyot, are a phenomenon that characterizes many of the rabbinic compositions and has been studied intensely by modern scholarship. We will move on to aggadic midrash, since its provenance is also Palestine of the amoraic period (250–550 c.e.), like the Palestinian Talmud, but it is devoted entirely to nonlegal midrash, authored, for the most part, by those same sages who are quoted in the Palestinian Talmud when discussing law. The aggadic collection we will treat is Leviticus Rabbah, a homiletic midrash.27 It chooses select verses in Leviticus, interprets them with the aid of verses from the Hagiographa or Prophets for the most part, and continues to develop a homiletic theme from those verses.28 The challenge of the editor was to turn the emphatically legal disposition of Leviticus into moral, theological, and ethical statements. Again we choose a passage that has import for learning and education.

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Leviticus Rabbah chapter 3 opens with the verse from Leviticus 2, 1: “When a person [lit. soul—nefesh] presents a meal offering to the Lord . . . .” This is followed immediately by an opening, a proem [petichta], drawn from Ecclesiastes 4, 6: “Better is a handful of gratification than two fistfuls of labor which is pursuit of wind.” Eventually, after treating a number of topics, including learning and business pursuits, the connection is drawn between the handful mentioned in Ecclesiastes and the handful of the grain offering of Leviticus 2, 2, praising the modest gift of the poor, which consisted of a handful of grain to the Lord. The opening passage reads as follows: “When a person [lit. soul—nefesh] presents a meal offering to the Lord . . .” R. Yitzchak opened, “ ‘Better is a handful of gratification than two fistfuls of labor which is pursuit of wind’ (Ecclesiastes 4, 6). Better is one who recites two orders [of Mishna] and is fluent [ragil] than one who recites halachot [the entire Mishna?]29 but is not fluent, rather it is ‘a pursuit of wind’ [re’ut ruach] —his wish [re’utei]30 is to be called a son of laws [bar hilchan].31 Better is one who recites [shoneh] laws and is fluent than one who recites laws and “measure”32 [i.e.. tannaitic midrash] and is not fluent, rather it is a ‘pursuit of wind,’ he desires to be called a son of “mechala” [measure]. Better is one who recites laws and measure and is fluent than one who recites laws, measure and Talmud but is not fluent, rather it is a ‘pursuit of wind,’ he wishes to be called a son of ulpan [teaching]. We have here three different stages of higher learning as it was charted by our passage, and this probably reflects the curriculum of the time. Each level is crowned with a title, moving up from Mishna to Mechilta (Midrash) to Talmud. The exact nature of each stage is not entirely clear. I have suggested that it is a move from learning Mishna by heart, followed by learning legal midrash by heart, and finally mastery of the discussion and interpretation of the former, which is called Talmud. What this passage makes abundantly clear is the demand for fluency and full mastery of each stage before an attempt to move on. We will see, in the coming chapters of our book, passages from the Sifre and the Babylonian Talmud that emphasize the amount of effort exerted in order to ensure fluency. Let us now turn to the Babylonian Talmud, the last of the great anthologies of rabbinic literature that we have been surveying. We will choose a passage that again sheds light on the rabbinic cultivation of learning. The Babylonian Talmud is a comprehensive commentary and anthology, covering thirty-seven of the tractates of the Palestinian Mishna. Like its counterpart, the Talmud of the Land of Israel, it goes far beyond interpretation of

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the Mishna and contains extensive treatment of tannaitic baraitot, aggadic material, and amoraic dicta, that is, statements made by Palestinian and Babylonian sages of the third through fifth centuries c.e. A final and substantive layer of material is the anonymous discussion that plays a significant role in the Babylonian Talmud, or Bavli as we know it. The bulk of this anonymous layer, in Hebrew called the stam (Aramaic stama), is considered by modern scholarship to be the latest strata of material, though scholarship still debates the presence of the early stam, that is, anonymous material that is not of tannaitic origin but is coeval with or even precedes statements made by the amoraic sages (third to fifth centuries). David Halivni has developed much of the recent theory of the stam in the introductions to his monumental commentary on the Babylonian Talmud, Mekorot uMesorot, seven volumes to date.33 Our final example is drawn from bTaanit 7a–8a (= Babylonian Talmud tractate Taanit folio page 7, side a). This extended passage, a foretaste of later more detailed chapters on the passages from the Babylonian Talmud, moves easily between the blessings of rain, on the one hand, and rain as a metaphor for Torah, on the other hand. We read:34 Said Rav Yehudah: Great [gadol] is the day of rains as the day on which the Torah was given, as it is said (Deuteronomy 32, 2): “May my discourse [likchi] come down as the rain.” “Discourse” means the Torah as it said (Prov. 4, 2): “For I give you good instruction, do not forsake my teaching [torati].” Rava said: Greater than the day on which the Torah was given, for it is said: “May my discourse come down as the rain.” Who depends on whom? The lesser depends on the greater. Rava cast35 [one biblical text on another]: It is written “May my discourse come down as the rains” and then “My speech distill as the dew.” How so? If the student of the wise is decent [hagun], distill upon him as the dew, but if he is not, come down [orfeihu]36 on him, as the rain. It is taught in a baraita [tannaitic, non-mishnaic source]: R. Banaah used to say: If one studies Torah for its own sake [lishma] it becomes for him a potion [sam] of life, for it is said (Proverbs 3, 18): “She is a tree of life to those who grasp her”. . . but if one studies Torah not for its own sake, it becomes for him a potion of death, as it says (Deuteronomy 32, 2): “May my discourse come down as the rains” and ‘come down’ [yaarof ] means nothing but breaking one’s neck as

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it says (Deuteronomy 21, 4) “And they shall break [ve-arfu] the heifer’s neck.” The next section extols the virtues of learning with a study partner: Rabbah bar bar Hana said: Why have the words of Torah been compared to fire, as it is said, “Is not My word like fire” (Jeremiah 23, 29)? To tell you that just as fire does not burn alone, so the words of Torah will not last in an individual . . . Said Rav Nachman b. Isaac: Why have the words of the Torah been compared to a tree [wood]? . . . to tell you that just as a small wood sets fire to large ones, so too the small students of the wise sharpen the greater. And that is what Rebbe said: I learned much from my teachers, more from my colleagues and most of all from my pupils. This is a well-crafted reflection on various aspects of learning. The beginning and end of this composition constitute a series of comments comparing the day of rain to other great events in Jewish and world history (giving of Torah, creation, and day of resurrection). Within the section comparing Torah to rain and water, we are treated to a statement by Rava distinguishing between how one treats the proper student as opposed to the unworthy student.37 R. Banaah (mid-third century, last generation of Tannaim in Palestine) addresses the same scriptural verse as Rava but compares Torah to a potion of life or death, depending on how it is studied. The Torah is compared next to fire and timber, stressing the importance of learning in tandem or groups (attributed to Rabbah bar bar Hana and Rav Nachman, third-generation Babylonian amoraim, c. 300 c.e., and Rabbi Hama bar Hanina, a third-generation Palestinian amora). A host of comparisons of Torah to various and sundry liquids follows, stressing the need for humility. The artistry of the weaving of disparate sayings of Babylonian rabbis (entitled Rav) and Palestinian rabbis (entitled Rabbi or R.) into a coherent and convincing pastiche is a trademark of the Babylonian Talmud. The themes that were sounded were the character of the worthy student; the power of Torah, which can be deleterious if a student is unworthy; the importance of humilty;38 and the need to study with others rather than by oneself. Interspersed in the following two pages are a warning that learning is lost through inattention and that drought comes from neglect of Torah. Another developed discussion ensues, toward the end of the selection, concerning the need to review the oral teaching (between twenty-four and forty times!). The sequence is concluded finally, returning to Rava, who began two pages earlier, who speaks about the kind of relationship that should obtain between two scholars in the same town.

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This will suffice as an introduction to the kinds of sources we will encounter in the coming chapters. In the brief exemplary selections adduced here, the topics raised ranged from diverse approaches to learning (conservative or innovative), the relationship to one’s teacher, the importance of received tradition and its attribution to the third generation if possible, and the preference for learning with a partner or partners. Also raised were issues of the character of the student and the relationship of teacher to student and to colleague. Of the material we canvassed, only the very last source was a more extended treatment of our subject, indicative of the rich material to be analyzed in the following chapters.

2 Learning, Speech, and Thought in Late Antiquity

One of the most influential sayings of the sages of the tannaitic period is vetalmud Torah keneged kulam (the study of Torah is equivalent to all else; mPeah 1, 1 and parallels). In its context, the saying comes to privilege the commandment of studying Torah over all the other commandments. Its fame probably results from its inclusion in the daily liturgy, though a prayer book was not officially committed to writing until the post-Talmudic period, well into the Byzantine period. This passage was recited according to that later prayer book, immediately after the blessing over study, and thus shaped generations of Jewish consciousness. Learning Torah was, according to this, the supreme commandment. Those familiar with Talmudic literature know that this keneged kulam or keneged kol hamitzvot (equivalent to all the commandments) formula was not limited to study and was used to privilege a number of other commandments also, among them circumcision (tNedarim 2,1), living in the land of Israel (tAvoda Zara 4,3), Sabbath observance (pBerachot 1,5, 3c), and tzitzit (fringes; bShavuot 29a). The tendenz of the Mishna is highlighted by the fact that tractate Peah in the Tosefta, a parallel and supplemental collection redacted at least a generation later, has the same opening as the Mishna Peah but omits the section that contains the sweeping keneged kulam phrase. By so doing, the Tosefta relegates the commandment of Torah study to only one among many equal commandments, including charitable acts (peah, gemilut hasadim) and gifts to the priests (first fruits), and

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sacrifices (reayon).1 This “demotion” accentuates the differing priorities of these two collections, Mishna and Tosefta, and accords well with the closing chapter of Tosefta Peah, where we read that “charity and acts of loving-kindness are equivalent to all the commandments in the Torah” (tPeah 4,19). One can view this formula, keneged kulam, as hyperbole, a simple rhetorical flourish. But certainly the context here is influential if not determinative. The first chapter of the Mishna Peah, which may have served as the opening chapter of the entire mishnaic corpus,2 goes out of its way to valorize Torah study above all the other commandments. It does this in a tractate that focuses in great detail on one of the many forms of charity prescribed by the Torah. We can safely attribute this mishna to the school of thought in rabbinic culture that accorded primacy to Torah study. But there were, no doubt, other schools of thought within that culture, one of which, reflected in the last chapter of the Tosefta, placed a premium on deeds rather than study. Within that school of thought, it stands to reason that acts of charity and loving-kindness held the supreme position, rather than Torah study. In our next chapter we will return to this tension between the vita activa and the vita “talmudica.” In this chapter we will explore the context of this phrase of the fi rst mishna3 of the tractate of Peah, that invests Torah study with ultimate value. More specifically, we will try to evoke from this text and the parallel in the Tosefta how exactly Torah study was carried out. These results are compared to Porphyry’s depiction of Plotinus, the great third-century Neoplatonist. Plotinus’s stark philosophical figure provides a rich backdrop to the position taken in Tosefta text, which was being compiled orally in Palestine about the same time as Plotinus had begun, according to Porphyry, to produce written works (250–270 c.e.). 4 Finally, we will compare both of these positions with that of Origen, the Christian luminary and, according to Porphyry, Plotinus’s classmate. I will try to show three different valuations of the place of speech in these three contemporaneous authors, Plotinus, Origen, and the Tosefta. Peah is a tractate that is found in both the Mishna and the Tosefta. It treats the biblical commandment to desist from harvesting the corners (corner = Hebrew peah) of the field and allow the poor to reap that produce. Since the Bible did not specify the size or measurements of the corner, the mishna begins by stating that there is no defined measure for the corner. It goes on to list this commandment alongside other commandments that have no measure. Finally, the mishna enacts a minimum of one-sixtieth of one’s field. The opening mishna of Peah, to which we alluded above, reads as follows: These are things (devarim) that have no measure: the corner, first fruits, and the pilgrimage appearance, and acts of loving-kindness

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(gemilut hesed/hasadim) and study of Torah (Talmud Torah). These are things that a person eats of their fruits in this world and the principal remains for the world to come: honoring father and mother, acts of loving-kindness, bringing peace between a person and his friend, but study of Torah is equivalent (keneged) to them all (or above all). The first list in this mishna privileges a handful of commandments while maintaining an interesting equilibrium between gifts or actions for the needy and acts of piety to God, between active amelioration of societal needs and the life of learning. The second list weighs in more strongly with interpersonal commandments and then surprises by giving ultimate value to study of Torah. Thus, the mishna opens with gifts to the needy, which is the topic of the tractate, and pursues an agenda of interpersonal care but abruptly subverts it at the very end by giving study pride of place. This agenda comes into an even more interesting focus when compared with the parallel formulation in the Tosefta. We will bring the Tosefta text in its entirety. As noted earlier, the Tosefta is a parallel compilation of the oral law, similar to the Mishna. The Tosefta, as its name indicates, acts in its present state as a “supplement” to the Mishna and was redacted at the earliest a generation later than the Mishna in the mid-third century c.e. Yet, as recent scholarship has taken pains to point out, the later redactional date does not necessarily mean that the text and its formulation is a later version than that found in the Mishna.5 An earlier formulation might very well be preserved in a work that was compiled at a later date. This is the version preserved in the Tosefta Peah: 1. Things that have no measure: the corner, and the first fruits, and pilgrimage appearance, and acts of loving-kindness, and study of Torah. The corner has a minimum measure but no maximum measure. One who makes his entire field corner [peah] it is not corner. 2. For these things retribution is exacted from a person in this world, but the principal remains for the world to come: for idolatry, for illicit relations, for murder, but evil talk is equivalent [keneged kulam] to them all [or above all]. Merit has principal and has fruits as it says, “Say the righteous man . . . for such men eat the fruit of their actions” (Isaiah 3, 10). 3. Transgression has principal but has no fruits as it says “Woe to the wicked evil” (Isaiah 3, 11). If so, how do I uphold [mekayem] “they should eat the fruit of their ways etc.” (Proverbs 1, 31), a transgression that yields fruits has fruits, one that doesn’t yield fruits has no fruits.

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the stabilization of r abbinic culture, 100 c.e.–350 c.e. 4. A good thought, God [hamakom] blessed be He, refines it [alternate versions read: combines it with deed]. An evil thought, God does not refine it, as it says, “If iniquity you see in my heart, God will not hear” (Psalms 66, 18). How then do I interpret “Listen land, behold I will bring evil on this people the fruits of its thoughts” (Jeremiah 6, 14), rather, thought that yields fruits God combines with the deed, thought that doesn’t yield fruits God does not combine with the deed.

The first unit (“halacha”1)6 repeats the opening of the tractate in the Mishna but adds a clarification, interpreting the phrase “no measure” as meaning the minimum amount needed to constitute a contribution of corner. On the other hand, the Tosefta adds the clause that one cannot declare the entire field to be peah (corner). Of immediate interest to us is the second “halacha,” which is, in effect, the negative mirror image of the statement in the Mishna about studying Torah. We will bring them side by side to emphasize their complementarity. Mishna Peah 1,1b

Tosefta Peah 1,2a

These are the things of which a person eats of their fruits in this world and the principal remains for him in the world to come: honoring father and mother, and acts of loving-kindness, and bringing peace between a person and his friend, and study of Torah is equivalent to all else [keneged kulam].

2. For these things retribution is taken from a person in this world and the principal remains for the world to come: for idolatry, for illicit relations, for murder, and for evil talk equivalent to all else [keneged kulam].

The Tosefta supplies the negative counterpart to the Mishna, retaining the same three-plus-one structure. Whereas the Mishna was concerned with important positive commandments, the Tosefta enumerates in similar form the most heinous sins and asserts that it is evil speech that is the nastiest of all. The continuation of the Tosefta (“halachot” 2–4 above) lists two more pairs of opposites (merit/transgression; good/evil thought). It is reasonable to conjecture that at some point in time a version of this source included both our mishna (1,1b) and the Tosefta 1,2a as the first in a series of three pairs of opposites.7 This hypothetical source, which combined the Tosefta and Mishna into one, began with deeds, while each positive commandment finds a close negative counterpoint—illicit relations versus acts of loving-kindness(hesed),8

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bloodshed versus bringing peace, and evil speech versus studying Torah. The contrast of honoring parents with idolatry appears at first glance not to fit the pattern. But if one recalls that in late antiquity religion was first and foremost ta patria,9 those things practiced by one’s parent, idolatry seems to be not only a rebuff to the one God but also an abandonment of the ways of the parents. While the Mishna and Tosefta both privilege speech (learning and evil talk— equivalent to all), the Tosefta moves on to treat two other categories: thought and deed (machshava, maaseh; tPeah 1,4). The opening word of the Tosefta— “things”—was certainly influenced by the language of the Mishna, “these things.” The latter phrase is a common opening to a number of diverse laws in the Mishna. But it is worthwhile to note that the Tosefta might be playing intentionally on the ambiguity of devarim,10 which can include both things and words, especially since it reaches its apogee with speech. It would appear, then, that the act of talmud torah was understood in the Tosefta as the positive equivalent of the negative evil speech. Since the Tosefta here is meticulous about differentiating between speech, deed, and thought, it follows that Torah study is essentially a speech act. This is the fi rst of many sources that we will encounter where it becomes abundantly clear that for the Jewish sages of late antiquity, study was intrinsically and primarily a speech process—speaking Torah was the quintessential act of studying. This is not merely an educational stratagem of oral instruction or reading aloud, which have their counterparts in Greek and Latin sources.11 Nor is this the same as the dialectic method used so effectively by Socrates.12 The essential nature of Torah study is speech even when one is studying by oneself. We will, in the second half of this book, see passages from the Babylonian Talmud that vigorously advocate that learning be done aloud. Some of those passages were geared toward maximizing one’s capacity for memorization. Our goal in this chapter is to focus on the theme of Torah as speech and to locate this conception in the tannaitic literature of the first three centuries c.e. in the land of Israel. I hope to show that there are ample grounds to give credence to the theory that the sages saw Torah learning as intrinsically a speech process, rather than seeing speech as a stimulant for memory. The most obvious proof of tannaitic insistence on orality is the well-known paucity of references to books or scrolls of any kind (save the Bible, of course) in the rabbinic learning environment.13 Even scriptural study on Shabbat was done without benefit of the written text.14 Only when the need arose did one take a book in hand to check a reference (“if he needs to check something he takes it and checks”; tShabbat 13,1). This Tosefta describes three kinds of learning: “reading” [korin], “oral reciting” [shonin],15 and “expositing” [dorshin]. Only the first was done with an open book, and it was simply reading aloud. Korin is

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the standard verb for a public lectionary reading (mMegilla 3, 4 through 4, 6). This kind of reading reflects public ritual reading rather than study. In public study, even the scripture would have been committed to memory at a relatively young age and would be recited [shonin] rather than read.16 The recitation might be a kind of declamation or simply repetition of the material orally, while the last verb, dorshin, would imply some kind of interpretation or commentary. These latter two verbs seem to correspond fairly well to the descriptions of recitation and explanation (exegesis) in classical Greek education.17 If silent reading was not the preferred way for study, then the other two options were speech or contemplation. It is Torah as talk and speech that is emphasized in the Tosefta as opposed to Torah as a contemplative act. We find other ways of studying, but they are reserved for times when Torah talk is inappropriate. Two examples come to mind, though the one is recorded in amoraic literature. The first, we return to later, is R. Hiyya, who, while bathing in the bathhouse, “casts his eyes over the entire book of Psalms Haggada.” In the context of the story, R. Yishmael b. R. Yosi was offended that R. Hiyya did not recognize his presence and pay him the honor due to him. It is clear, then, that R. Hiyya was not holding a book in his hand but rather was using a memory technique to review this aggadic work.18 The other example is the Mishna’s decision that one who has been rendered impure by a specific type of impurity “says”19 in his heart [meharher belibo] but does not recite a blessing (mBerachot 3, 4). In the parallel in the Tosefta, R. Meir holds that in such a case one may read the Shema but without “making it audible to his [own] ears” (tBerachot 2, 12).20 These alternate ways of study or prayer were adopted only under duress,21 while in the main, study was oral recitation, certainly in public and probably also in private. Though it would seem that this predilection for oral recitation and reading aloud was common to the cultures of the Mediterranean societies, the rabbinic view of the spoken word goes, I hope to demonstrate, beyond the dictates of educational considerations or reading methods. We find a privileging of speech over deed and/or thought elsewhere in rabbinic literature. One of the main sources will be treated at length in our next chapter in the tannaitic midrash Sifre Deuteronomy. But it is important to note a much less cited text at Tosefta Arachin 2, 10 that says: See how much the Torah was more severe [distinguishing] between perpetrators of violence [chomsei chamas] and slanderers. For the rapist, the seducer and the perpetrator of violence pay fifty22 sela, but do not receive lashes, but one who slanders receives lashes and pays one hundred sela; the Torah was more severe with words than with the deed. It was said, “and when one strikes one’s father and mother

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he will surely die” (Exodus 21, 15) and it was said, “and when curses one’s father and mother he will surely die” (Exodus 21, 17), this is by stoning23 and this is by strangulation, the Torah was more severe with words than with deed . . . Slander and cursing are given more severe penalties than physical violation of the victims. There is a parallel to this Tosefta in the Mishna at mArachin 3, 5. Here the Mishna points out that according to biblical law (Deuteronomy 22, 19–29), one who falsely maligns the reputation of a woman pays a penalty of 100 sela, whereas one who seduces a woman pays 50 sela, and sums it up saying, “it turns out that one who says with his mouth is more severe than one who does the deed.” That mishna continues with the assertion that though the Jews had tested God ten times in the desert (Numbers 14, 22), it was “evil talk” (lashon hara) that sealed their fate in that desert. One is tempted to relegate this stance to rhetorical moralizing.24 Indeed, another source highlights the general insistence on liability only when a deed is performed. It remarks that “Scripture differentiated this commandment (idolatry) from all the other commandments in the Torah. For all the other commandments one is not liable until one says and does, but here it made one who says with his mouth like one who does the deed” (Midrash Tannaim Deuteronomy 17, 3). I think that the Mishna Arachim is rhetorical in the extreme, but its continuation with the sin in the desert leaves no doubt that this moralizing is of the essence and stakes out the position that sins of speech are of a higher order than sins of deed.25 God’s Torah was given to Israel orally and in a written copy. Even the written copy was imagined by the sages, echoing Psalms 29, 7, to be God’s fiery words inscribing themselves into the tablets.26 Torah study in rabbinic culture became an almost exclusively oral and audible affair. The phenomenon goes far beyond what we have seen to be the norm also in the Greco-Roman world. We saw earlier, for example, that even on the Sabbath there was an effort to sequester the written Torah and promote oral study. This too finds it analogy in the Greek philosophical tradition that valorized oral learning over written works. This tradition was vehemently advocated by Socrates and was avidly pursued by philosophical schools in late antiquity, though not necessarily for the same reasons.27 The heuristic comparison I should like to pursue, though, is the relationship of thought to speech in the rabbinic, Christian, and contemporary pagan philosophical schools. We will look briefly at some remarks of and about Plotinus, whose work was edited at about the same time as our Tosefta, in the middle to late third century c.e., and those of his contemporary Origen, and then return to consider what the study of Torah meant in rabbinic circles.

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Plotinus was surely one of the greatest philosophers of late antiquity. He spent most of his life in Rome, save a long period in Alexandria, where he and the church father Origen were said to have studied together under Ammonius.28 Plotinus’s student Porphyry portrays his teacher in a biography and also provides a definitive catalogue of Plotinus’s works. Interestingly, the work begins with Plotinus’s famous disparagement of anything that had to do with the body (“Plotinus seemed ashamed of [aischunomeno] being in the body”) and the philosopher’s objection to having a physical portrait made of him (“is it not enough to have to carry the image in which nature has encased us, without your requesting me to agree to leave behind me a longer lasting image of the image [eidolou eidolon]”).29 As we will see, there seems to be a parallel between this attitude to the body and Plotinus’s disregard for writing, to which we now turn. This is Porphyry’s description of how Plotinus composed his works: When Plotinus had written anything he could never bear to go over it twice; even to read it once was too much for him as his eyesight did not serve him well for reading. In writing he did not form the letters with any regard to appearance or divide his syllables correctly, and paid no attention to spelling. He was wholly concerned with thought [alla monon tou nou echomenos] and, which surprised us all, he went on in this way right up to the end. He worked out his train of thought from beginning to end in his own mind, and then he wrote it down, since he had set it all in order in his mind [eskepteto], he wrote as continuously as if he was copying from a book.30 Thought and contemplation were Plotinus’s preoccupation. In the same paragraph he is described as being able to keep up his part of a conversation while not diverting his concentration from the issue he was contemplating in his thought processes. This uncanny ability to seemingly sever his thought from ongoing speech is quite remarkable. Plotinus’s ultimate goal was “to be united [to enothenai],31 to approach the God who is over all things,”32 which he is said to have attained four times in his lifetime: “So to this god-like man above all, who often raised himself in thought, according to the ways Plato teaches in the Banquet, to the first and transcendent God, that God appeared who has no shape nor any intelligible form, but is throned above intellect and all the intelligible.”33 This mystical Neoplatonism sought union with God and divested itself of transient forms.34 Thought was the stepping-stone to union with that which was above it. Writing and speech were poor substitutes for contemplation or illumination. Plotinus’s view of Egyptian hieroglyphs was evinced by J. Rist to show Plotinus’s preference for images over “the descent into cursive script and the

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discursive thought” which “were a later development both in writing and in thought.”35 Plotinus’s description runs as follows: “Inscribing in their temples one particular image of one particular thing, they manifested the nondiscursiveness of the intelligible world, that is that every image is a kind of knowledge and wisdom and is subject of statements, all together in one and not discourse or deliberation.”36 Language in general and cursive writing in particular are a movement away from the One, the simple, and the ultimate. In a fascinating juxtaposition of Plato’s Theuth myth in the Phaedrus and Plotinus’s recounting of the hieroglyphs of Egypt, S. Rappe sees Plotinus’s position on the hieroglyphs as “recalling a unitary sign that fully reflected the wholeness of the object, a grammar without syntax that communicated the unabridged nature of what it described.”37 She goes on to distinguish between the limitations of writing as Plato saw them, the externalization of memory, with Plotinus’s view that “writing temporalizes the space of consciousness and translates the simultaneously present contents of consciousness as an extension within time.”38 With this brief overview of the preeminent philosopher, we will move onto his fellow student Origen and see the latter’s view of language and thought. Origen, the great Christian scholar who eventually took up residence in Caesarea in Palestine, reflected on the nature of biblical language in his first homily on Leviticus. There we read: As “in the Last Days,” the Word of God, which was clothed with the flesh of Mary, proceeded into this world. What was seen in him was one thing; what was understood was something else. For the sight of his flesh was open to all to see, but the knowledge of his divinity was given to the few, even the elect. So also when the word of God was brought to humans through the Prophets and Lawgiver, it was not brought without proper clothing. For just as there it was covered with the veil of flesh, so here with the veil of the letter so that indeed the letter is seen as flesh but the spiritual sense hiding within it is perceived as divinity.39 The Word of God comes to us, according to Origen, disguised, wrapped in a physical layer that needs to be stripped away in order to reveal the true spiritual message. An even more telling metaphor in the Homilies on Leviticus is adduced by M. J. Edwards as emblematic of Origen’s method: “Only when the surface, the mere letter of the written text is broken like the loaves before the feeding of the multitude, can the spirit emerge.”40 Origen, then, as opposed to Plotinus, sees the language of scripture as concealing spiritual instruction. The words need to be re-searched in order to allow them to give up their secrets.

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It is scripture, according to Origen, which when properly understood will lead a person to progress in spiritual elevation and possible mystical experience of God. 41 Divine words are essential but are perceived always to be pointing beyond themselves. They are a body that contains a soul. In fact, Origen warns, “We must, however, approach all the Scripture as one body, and not break or cut through the most vigorous and firm bonds in the harmony of its total composition” (Origen Com. Jn 10.107). 42 The nexus of speech and thought in late antiquity was given an extremely lucid account by Richard Layton, in his work on one of Origen’s later Alexandrian successors, Didymus the Blind. Layton beautifully describes Didymus’s view of divine language, saying Didymus “dismisses an anthropomorphic reading: God does not employ organs of speech, nor are divine utterances divisible into syllables. . . . Scripture, he judges, must refer to a capacity to receive impressions that contain linguistic significance which are not coded in normal speech.”43 Layton quotes a passage from Didymus’s commentary on Psalms where Didymus holds that “a concept is the product of the mind, the symbol of which is the utterance.”44 Didymus develops his position with an explicit quote of Aristotle’s On Interpretation. Speech is at best symbolic of the higher realm of thought. Now we may return to the rabbinic text in Tosefta Peah with which we opened this chapter and highlight the differences in approach. In Tosefta Peah, thought is inextricably linked to deed. Thought there means the intention to do a good deed. It does receive its own reward independent of the deed, but it is far from the contemplative ideal we saw in Plotinus. The highest goal is working with words and speech and using them properly. How did the Tosefta arrive at such a position? Speech was, according to the Jewish sages, the vehicle of both creation45 and revelation. One of the names of God in rabbinic times was “He who spoke and the world became.”46 Revelation was for them quintessentially a speech act, though some sages claimed that God’s words also had a visual dimension. 47 God’s fiery words could, according to them, be seen as well as heard. It appears, then, that speech was the creative act par excellence for the sages. Study demanded speech as the foundation of creativity. Dialogue or even monologue would take preference over contemplation for these sages. 48 Speaking words of Torah was participation in the very essence of God’s holiness. It is dialogue and debate that are the hallmark of rabbinic literature, but as we will see, also precise transmission of one’s teacher’s dicta. Since books were not written, the sage’s tradition that was not passed on to a student was lost to posterity. 49 Oral Torah is viable only to the extent that it is transmitted to one’s students.50 Another Tosefta passage at Ahilot 16,8

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(Zuckermandel p. 614) gives a good account of the processing of traditions and learning. It begins with a law concerning a priest who surveys a tract of land next to an area known to contain graves. Despite the potential for impurity in this neighboring land, he is allowed to eat his priestly food (teruma) or, according to another explanation, priestly food mixed with regular food (bedimo):51 One who surveys is allowed to eat bedimo. One who searches in the rubble is not allowed to eat bedimo. R. Yochanan’s students asked him, “The surveyor, may he eat?” He said to them, “He does not eat.” They said to him, “You taught us that he does eat.” He said to them, “You’ve spoken well. A deed that my hands have done and my eyes have seen, and I have forgotten. When [only] my ears have heard, how much more so?” It was not that he did not know52 but he wished to accelerate [lezarez]53 the students. Some say that it was Hillel54 the elder who was asked and not that he didn’t know, but he wished to accelerate the students. R. Yehoshua says, He who recites [hashoneh] but doesn’t labor [amel] is like a man who sows but does not reap; and one who learns Torah but forgets it is like a woman who gives birth and buries. R. Akiva says, Sing me constantly, minstrel.55 We have three generations of scholars reflecting on the evanescence of learning. Rabban Yochanan, whether his is a feigned loss of memory as the Tosefta would have it or not, stresses to his students that even seeing and doing do not necessarily indelibly etch a law into one’s memory. How much less can one rely on the single sense of hearing to guarantee that the learning will be remembered with accuracy. We should pay attention to the anonymous comment in the Tosefta that claims that Rabban Yochanan’s forgetfulness was an educational ploy. The same motif recurs when Rabban Yohanan forgets a procedural detail concerning the red heifer at tParah 4, 7. In the parallel to that account the Sifre on Numbers piska 123 changes the verb: Rabban Yochanan wished to “strengthen” (lechazek) his students.56 Would Rabban Yochanan really have staged his error and then dramatized it in order to encourage his students, as the Tosefta would have it? Or is Rabban Yochanan’s an honest error, which the Tosefta finds hard to accept? It is interesting that the anonymous Tosefta sees misspeaking as a legitimate form of testing students. R. Yehoshua, one of the premier students of Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai, reflects on his teacher’s comment and continues with a deceptively simple twotiered saying that encompasses recitation without “labor” and Torah learning

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without retention. One who works at retention but is not analytical enough or does not work with the material he or she has garnered has been fertile but leaves the crop beckoning for harvest. One who learns but does not retain the learning is fertile but for a moment and immediately, as it were, buries and eradicates that fertility. It would seem that the order is reversed. The fi rst statement should address memory and the next “working” with the memorized or recited material.57 Might the “labor” here be a reaction to the lack of practice in the previous anecdote, that leads to neglect and forgetfulness? I think that the traditional explanation that amel here means laboring in learning is the better explanation.58 The same phrase is used at Sifre Deuteronomy piska 343 and seems to indicate there also labor in learning and is opposed to neglect of learning.59 It would appear that R. Yehoshua accorded priority to memorization as the prerequisite for the next step of analysis, an issue we will address in coming chapters. Study begins with memorization/recitation and continues with labor or constant working with the text. This laboring at the text (amel) seems to imply analysis, though this is far from certain.60 Finally, R. Yehoshua’s student R. Akiva supplies the method for retention of memorized materials—one has to chant Torah constantly. Only chanting will help preserve learning and contribute to understanding. It might very well be, though, that R. Akiva is responding to the almost poetical form of R. Yehoshua’s comments with their colorful, if morbid similes. In that case R. Akiva might be advocating crisp, songlike formulations that are easily recalled.61 Torah study, then, is perceived quintessentially as speaking words of Torah, certainly when done in a group setting but also when one is alone.62 I want to distinguish here between the needs of memorization and the demand that Torah study be done by speech. We saw that Plotinus composed his works in his mind and memorized them without speaking. He was even capable of continuing to work on his thoughts while carrying on a dialogue with another person. The rabbinic paradigm we have seen develop here is different in the extreme from its Neoplatonic and Christian counterparts. Torah study demands first and foremost speech. It is done while talking aloud, save when the circumstances do not permit. This gives us insight also into a passage in the Palestinian Talmud (Berachot 1, 2, 3b) attributed to R. Shimon b. Yohai, a student of R. Akiva, that combines the two elements first mentioned in our Tosefta, Torah study and evil speech: For R. Shimon b. Yochai said, “Had I stood on Mt. Sinai in the hour when the Torah was given to Israel I would have asked of the

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Merciful that two mouths be created for the human; one that would labor in Torah, and the one to do all one’s needs.” He reconsidered [lit. returned] and said, “and what if one [mouth] the world can not survive [lit. stand] because of its slander [delatoria], had they been two how much more so?”63 Though the formulation of the passage is in Aramaic, generally an indication of a reworking of the tannaitic Hebrew, the sentiment fits R. Shimon’s welldocumented and unremitting demand that a person be engaged unceasingly in Torah study.64 For our purposes it is a striking commentary on our opening Tosefta. Torah study can be accomplished only through speech. But it is that very faculty that has been abused by humans to slander and speak ill of others, in both a social and a political context (delatoria).65 Though this motif of the tongue’s power that defies efforts to tame it is widespread in late antiquity,66 it again points to the steadfast link between study of Torah and speech. I would like, by way of conclusion, to reflect on the emphasis on study and speech in the rabbinic world as opposed to thought and contemplation in Plotinus’s world and Origen’s view of biblical language. David Dawson has called attention to the use of “the analogy of body and soul for text and meaning” in Philo and Origen.67 He also explored Origen’s relationship to body and scripture. He contends that neither Philo nor Origen base the ascent of the soul “on a simple repudiation of body.”68 I would like to explore this notion further in terms of both Plotinus and Origen. It would seem that there is a connection between Plotinus’s disdain for body and his disregard for writing. As we have seen, Plotinus did not allow his followers to create an image of himself. His goal was to contemplate the Platonic Forms and eventually the “One.” He eschewed secondary representations. Origen is a fine representative of what Averil Cameron has called the “deep-seated figurality of Christian discourse.”69 This figurality stems from a view that another scholar attributes to Origen: “Origen thinks of the text of scripture as the continuing embodiment of Christ.”70 Origen was also, according to his biographer, intent on ridding himself of the shackles of the body. He wished to liberate the soul and the spirit from the body of scripture. Indeed, for him Jesus’ assuming human form was explained in the following manner: Condescending occasionally to him who is unable to look upon the splendour and brilliancy of the Deity, he becomes as it were flesh, speaking with a literal voice, until he who has received him in such a form is able, through being elevated in some slight degree by the teaching of the Word, to gaze upon what is, so to speak, his real and preeminent appearance. (Against Celsus 4.15)71

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These words point to a more elevated, more distant, more important reality, beyond themselves. For at least some of the Jewish sages, the words of Torah were essentially divine. God’s words were part and parcel of God’s essence. This is why they are both represented as fire. The goal of the sage is to attach one’s self and to cleave to these divine words, the Torah.72 The sage memorizes the entire Torah, both written and oral, and carries on an unremitting monologue, dialogue, or simple recitation of the words. Thought takes place during verbal interaction with God’s words in scripture and with one’s colleagues’ renditions of God’s words. For at least one and probably by extension the majority of Jewish sages, the physical body was no prison but a full partner with the soul in the human’s attempt to live a religiously appropriate life.73 So too the words of scripture and the words of the oral law were not second-best, inadequate representatives of God’s will and essence. They were God’s faithful emissaries. It was in speech that God was revealed and those “concrete” words were to be interpreted in every possible manner. This view of language and speech distinguishes the rabbinic appreciation of speech from that of both Plotinus and Origen. While the latter would constantly attempt to get behind the letter, the rabbinic sages would first exhaust every possible understanding of the letter, including its most literal understanding. This would seem to be a distinct approach, different from both the philosophy and the rhetoric of late antiquity. Though many agreed in the ancient world that education was best achieved by dialectic and oral instruction, the ultimate goal for both Plotinus and Origen was to get behind and go beyond the word. For the rabbinic sages, understanding was consummated in speech.74 We will have an opportunity to return to this theme in future chapters. For now, it is enough that we have established that for the early rabbis learning was done through recitation and talk. Its object was full mastery of God’s word and full understanding of it. The understanding might be fanciful or simple, allegorical or peshat, but the goal was intimacy with the words of Torah. Their speech will be laconic, pithy in the extreme. The weight of tradition demanded concise formulations.

3 Sifre Deuteronomy The Precariousness of Oral Torah

In Tannaitic times, two different styles of learning prevailed, midrash and mishna.1 The one, mishna,2 focused on the study of the oral law independent of its scriptural basis. The tractates of Mishna were arranged either topically or according to some easy formulaic key. In chapter 2 we compared sources from two representative collections, Mishna and Tosefta of Peah, that conform on the whole to the mishnaic style of oral learning detached from scripture. Sometimes the Mishna and Tosefta do employ scriptural proofs, as we saw in the Tosefta selection in our previous chapter. That being said, the literary structure of these two works is emphatically arranged according to topic and is independent of scripture. The alternative style of learning concentrated on the study of the written law as the basis of the oral tradition. This approach was called midrash. We will turn now to the Sifre Deuteronomy, a tannaitic midrash on the book of Deuteronomy. I will try to fully elucidate chapters 41 and 48–49 of the Sifre to Deuteronomy and complement them with chapter 306. Chapter 41 treats Deuteronomy 11, 13 and serves as an introduction to Deuteronomy 11, 13–21, a section of Deuteronomy that was recited liturgically twice daily (Vehaya im shamoa). The mishna at Tamid 5,1 records a tradition that these scriptural verses were already part of the Temple liturgy and were recited immediately after Deuteronomy 6, 4–9, the Shema. The Tannaim considered the recitation of the Shema to be mandated by the Torah itself.3 This liturgical coupling of the two sections,

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Deuteronomy 6 and 11, well reflects the close linguistic parallel between them. In fact, Moshe Weinfeld has suggested that within the biblical setting these two sections seem “to form an inclusio . . . making Deut. 6, 4–11, 21 appear to be a continuous comprehensive sermon.”4 The Sifre to Deuteronomy, which will be the basis of our discussion in this chapter, has two modern translations into English5 and also is the object of an excellent monograph by S. Fraade, covering some major topics in the work.6 I have consulted R. Hammer’s translation, though I have diverged from it often in order to highlight terminology and structure. Fraade’s focus in his monograph on the rabbinic sage and revelation makes his work especially pertinent to our endeavor and will enable us to build on his findings.

Sifre “Chapter 41” Deuteronomy 11, 13–24 promises ample rain and rich harvests in return for obedience to God’s commandments, while threatening drought and exile if Israel strays. Finally, Israel is commanded: You shall put these words upon your heart and your soul and you shall bind them as a sign on your hand and as a frontlet on your forehead, and teach them to your children—reciting them when you stay at home and when you are away [lit. when you walk along the way], when you lie down and when you get up; and inscribe them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates—so that your days and the days of your children may be multiplied in the land that God swore to your fathers to give you, as long as there is a heaven over the earth.7 (Deuteronomy. 11, 18–21) Weinfeld asserts that Deuteronomy, like Proverbs, demanded “a constant awareness of the divine message.”8 It is then natural that Deuteronomy emphasizes teaching and institutes many ceremonial recitations on various occasions. Certainly, though, the “constant awareness” commanded in the preceding passage, if taken literally to the extreme, would demand an incessant never-ending recital of those “words” (the interpretation of the phrase “these words” is itself a matter of debate).9 Our text, called by the sages Vehaya im shamoa after its opening phrase, and specifically verses 13 and 18–21, closely parallels Deuteronomy 6, 6–9, and together they later became a liturgical unit. In these two biblical sections there are changes in the order of the phrases and also a shift, for the most part,10 to plural forms in the later biblical chapter. When the Mishna attempted

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to clarify why Deuteronomy 6 should precede Deuteronomy 11 in the liturgical recitation, it characterized Deuteronomy 6 as acceptance of the kingdom of heaven while Deuteronomy 11 was construed as acceptance of God’s commandments. The Mishna reads as follows: “Rabbi Yehoshua b. Korchah said, And why did ‘Shema’ precede ‘Vehaya im shamoa’? Rather, one should accept upon oneself kingdom of Heaven first and after that he will accept the yoke of commandments.”11 This is only one possible characterization of this new liturgical unit, which found other conceptualizations, as we will see.12 Deuteronomy’s insistence on education,13 and recitation of texts,14 is a fertile point of departure for considering rabbinic thoughts on learning in their own time. We will now turn to the Sifre’s sustained treatment of this cardinal text. Surprisingly, the Sifre introduces the education theme immediately at Deuteronomy 11, 13 and does not wait until it is explicitly demanded at 11, 18 (“teach them to your children”). “And it shall come to pass, if you shall listen [shamoa tishmeu] unto my commandments” (11, 13): Why was this said? Since it was said, “That you may learn them [ulmadetem] and observe [ushmartem] to do them” [laasotam] (5, 1), do I hear that they were not obligated in study [talmud] until they were obligated in deed [maaseh]? Scripture says [talmud lomar], “And it shall come to pass, if you shall listen unto my commandments” (11, 13), that tells [magid] that immediately they were obligated in study. The midrash seems to tacitly rely here on the continuation of 11, 13: “that I command you today.” Thus shamoa tishmeu, the commandment to “listen” or “obey,” is interpreted here as to “study”15 rather than uphold or observe the commandments. The commandment is understood as commencing immediately, the scriptural “listening” is interpreted to mean studying and begins “today.” The midrash arrives at this interpretation by contrasting our verse with Deuteronomy 5, 1, which uses a different verb for keeping or obeying (ushmartem) and links it there immediately with performance (laasotam). The absence of the word to perform (laasotam) in Deuteronomy 11 enables our midrash to achieve its objective of positing a commandment to study that is independent of action or performance. Thus, study of the law begins on the very day it is given, and this study is not contingent on imminent performance. It is this theme, talmud and maaseh, study and deed (or performance),16 that informs the entire chapter 41 and is developed in a concerted and conscious manner. This opening already alerts us to the fact that the Sifre is reading the biblical chapter as commanding the study of the commandments rather than their performance. This would seem to be a different interpretive tack than

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that taken by R. Yehoshua b. Korchah in the Mishna we cited previously.17 Deuteronomy 11 is not understood to speak of the acceptance of the yoke of commandments but rather of the obligation to study the commandments, again regardless of their immediate applicability. The rest of the opening paragraph of chapter 41 extends this exegesis to a variety of commandments that would take effect only in the very distant future (e.g., the Jubilee year, at least fifty years after the people’s settlement in Israel). Eventually, the obligation to study is applied to all of the commandments: Hence scripture says, “and it shall come to pass, if you shall listen to My commandments [which I command you this day],” to include the other commandments as well. “That you may learn them [ulmadetem] and observe [ushmartem] to do them” [laasotam] (Deuteronomy 5, 1): [This] tells [magid] that deed is dependent on study but study is not dependent on deed.18 We have seen that the Sifre here advocates that study both precedes deed and is also independent of deed. It has, as it were, a life of its own. This prioritizing of study over deed is continued in the next lines: And so we find that it [scripture]19 punished for study [talmud] more than for deed [maaseh], as it said, “Hear the word of the Lord, you children of Israel! For the Lord has a quarrel with the inhabitants of the land, because there is no truth, nor mercy, nor knowledge of God in the land” (Hosea 4, 1). “No truth,” no words of truth were said . . . “nor mercy,” no words of mercy were said. This verse in Hosea is expounded as dealing with study, words of truth and mercy, though it is certainly not a self-evident explanation. The nature of the proof of the severity of punishment for abandonment of study is not entirely clear. But I would suggest tentatively that the text seems to imply that God punishes Israel directly for abandonment of Torah, whereas for abandonment of commandments Israel is turned over into Esau’s hands. Two more verses are cited from Jeremiah 9, 11–12 and Amos 2, 4 reiterating the severity of leaving or rejecting God’s Torah. After establishing that study precedes deed, that study is independent of deed, and that one is punished more severely for neglecting study, this chapter of the Sifre turns to a famous meeting where this very issue was debated: “Which is greater, study or deed?” The answer would seem to be clear from the preceding material, but the discussion is both presented and framed in a most curious way:

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And it was already20 that R. Tarfon and R. Yosi Hagelili and R. Akiva were reclining in the house of Ares21 in Lydda. A question was asked: What is greater, study or deed [mi gadol talmud o maaseh]? Said R. Tarfon, Great is deed. R. Akiva says, Great is study. They all replied and said, Great is study for it leads [meivi lidei] to deed. R. Yosi Hagelili says, Great is study for it preceded dough22 by 40 years, the tithes by 50 and 4, the sabbatical years by 61, and the jubilees by 100 and 4.23 This great debate is to be found also in the philosophical tradition and is well documented in Aristotle24 and certainly has its place here in the sages’ circle in Lydda. Is it the study of God’s Torah that is paramount, as we saw in the preceding chapter? Or is it the fulfillment of the various commands recorded in that Torah and elsewhere that should be the Jew’s ultimate goal? R. Tarfon and R. Akiva square off. R. Tarfon, of priestly lineage, sides with the life of deed and action. R. Akiva comes down on the side of study. Note well that the opinion of the third sage, R Yosi, is deferred here until we get the “bridging” opinion of the anonymous “all,” who evidently participated in the discussion at the time. This compromise would seem to valorize deed, for the purpose of study is to bring one to action.25 This flies in the face of the opening of this chapter of Sifre, which claimed at the outset the independence and precedence of study. Here study is subordinated to action—study is a propaedeutic to action.26 I suggest that the editor of the Sifre left R. Yosi’s opinion for last expressly to preclude the possibility that the compromise position would prevail. For the editor, study is and remains paramount and independent of action. R Yosi is given the last word: “Great is study, etc.,” trumping as it were the voice of the chorus in the preceding passage. It is R. Yosi who notes that temporally study precedes action by many scores of years, and he ignores the possible claim that the role of study was simply a long-term preparation for fulfilling the commandments that lay so far off. Indeed, this tradition is quoted in the Palestinian Talmud, in the context of R. Abahu’s (late third-century Palestinian Amora), castigating his son for neglecting his studies in favor of doing charitable works. It reads there quite unequivocally: “They voted in the loft of the house of Ares in Lydda: study precedes deed” (pPesachim 3,7 30b).27 It is remarkable that the continuation of the decision—“for it brings to deed”—is omitted in the Yerushalmi. Most modern scholars who quote our passage in their treatment of the tension between study and deed omit R. Yosi!28

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the stabilization of r abbinic culture, 100 c.e.–350 c.e. The Sifre continues with the following statement: Just as it [scripture] punished for study more than the deed, likewise it gave reward for study more than deed, as it says, “And you shall teach them to your children, reciting them” (Deut. 11, 19), what does it say? “That your days may be multiplied, and the days of your children [upon the land].” And it says, “and He gave them the land of the nations . . . that they might keep His statutes and observe His laws” (Psalms 105, 44–45).29

The Sifre’s direction from the beginning of this chapter has been perfectly clear. Deuteronomy 11 is construed to be instructing Israel to devote itself to study, which precedes action, in time and in importance. The rewards and punishments for study are of a greater magnitude than those for performing the other commandments. The next section in this chapter of the Sifre asserts that studying even with a minor teacher (katan) is to be considered as if one studied with Moses and indeed with God. This is followed by an exegesis of the words “to love,” which asserts that all study should be done for the love of God and not in order to reap a reward, be it title, riches, or the afterlife. The chapter closes by returning to the major theme—study (talmud) versus deed (maaseh). Here we will find a most startling, though I believe, consistent denouement. The Sifre’s final exegesis in chapter 41 revolves around the words “To serve (leovdo) Him with all your heart (plural: levavchem) and all your soul.” Without missing a beat the Sifre asserts: “to serve him, this is study.” The Hebrew verb avd can mean to labor, to worship, to serve, or some permutation thereof . The Sifre will go on to explore other possibilities but will eventually come back to this interpretation. Thus the entire Vehaya im shamoa liturgical paragraph has been interpreted to mean that study alone will bring blessing or disaster, and it is study that defines the human’s relation to God and God’s relation to the human being. After explicating the text we will speculate as to what motivated this particular exegesis. This is the text in its entirety: And to serve Him (Deut. 11, 13): This is study. You say this is study or is it not rather labor [avoda]30? Behold it says “And the Lord God took the human, and put him into the Garden of Eden to work [leovda] it and to guard it” (Gen. 2, 15). Indeed what labor was there in the past and what guarding was there in the past? Behold you learn that “to work it” this is study and “to guard it” these are the commandments.

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Just as the service of the altar is called service [avoda], so is study called service [avoda].31 At this point, the Sifre goes on to offer an alternate explanation—that to serve is prayer—and works it out in a similar fashion to the preceding. R. Eliezer b. Yaakov then applies the verse to the temple service and sees it as an instruction to the priests to give the temple service their undivided attention (with “all their heart”). The concluding section, resumes the study/deed theme but has stymied modern and ancient interpreters:32 An other thing (interpretation): what does scripture teach “to serve him with all your heart and all your soul” (Deut. 11, 13 in plural)? Wasn’t it already said, “with all your heart and with all your soul” (Deut. 6, 5 in singular)? There for the individual, here for the community; there for study [talmud], here for deed [maaseh]. Since you have heard, do.33 You’ve done what is upon you, I’ll also do what is upon Me, “I’ll give the rain of your land in its season” (Deut. 11, 14). It is clear that the chapter ends as it began, contrasting study and deed, talmud and maaseh. But the crucial clause “there for study, here for deed” undermines the thrust of the entire chapter—reading vehaya im shamoa as indicating action rather than study. This anomalous finale requires explanation.34 We have noted already that the Mishna saw the vehaya im shamoa chapter (Deuteronomy 11) as teaching the acceptance of the observance of commandments. A similar exegetical move is to be found in a third tannaitic treatment of this question to be found in the Sifre to Numbers 115.35 There the order of recitation of the three paragraphs of Shema (Deuteronomy 6, 11 and Numbers 15) is also discussed. The order of the recitation is determined there by the explanation that the Shema paragraph entails both “acceptance of God’s kingdom” and “a diminishing of idolatry,”36 and therefore precedes Vehaya im shamoa (Deuteronomy 11) that comes “only to teach” (lelamed). According to this view, the Vehaya paragraph precedes the fringes paragraph (Numbers 15, 37ff.) because the former “applies” (noheget) day and night, whereas fringes are only a daytime custom. Interestingly, it is R. Shimon b. Yochai at Sifre Numbers who disputes this characterization of the three paragraphs and sees Shema as indicating study, Vehaya as teaching, and only the fringes paragraph as “doing.” Thus R. Shimon would view the recitation of both Shema and Vehaya as “academic” exercises rather than asserting a credal declaration of faith or instruction for keeping the commandments. The three different

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tannaitic sources, Mishna Berachot, Sifre Deuteronomy, and Sifre Numbers, contain strikingly different characterizations/interpretations of the three biblical passages that constitute the daily Shema recitation. We have the following three understandings of the import of the Vehaya (Deuteronomy 11) paragraph: (1) acceptance of Commandments (Mishna Berachot); (2) study (Sifre Deuteronomy); and (3) teaching (Sifre Numbers) I believe that these interpretations go beyond “simple” exegesis and are intended to shape the consciousness of those who prayed the Vehaya prayer daily. The acceptance of one or the other of these exegeses determined whether this recitation was a credal affirmation of study or of practice. We can now return to the final lines of Sifre Deuteronomy 41, which seemed inconsistent with the rest of the chapter. It might be that the finale of our chapter of Sifre Deuteronomy, though it continues the theme of study versus deed, is drawn from a comment on the Mishna rather than being an integral part of our midrash. It therefore aligns itself differently. An even more attractive explanation is that our source simply reflects a divergent view (as R. Shimon in Sifre Numbers) and is therefore included here in the last section, which is in effect a collage of alternate ways to interpret our section. It provides a counterpoint to the dominant theme of the entire chapter. Be that as it may, the Sifre’s concerted effort to understand Deuteronomy 11 as treating study and the insistent privileging of study over deed demands an explanation. Let us start with an exegetical point. Since on many occasions the Bible distinguishes between listening (shamoa) and doing,37 the sages might have taken a clue from the fact that Deuteronomy 11, 13–21, Vehaya im shamoa, makes no mention of the root asoh (to do), using only the verb for listening. Thus, for example, Deuteronomy 28, 1 has the exact same opening as Deuteronomy, 11, 13 (Vehaya im shamoa tishmeu) but continues, “to listen to the voice of God your Lord to keep and do all His commandments”! But it is abundantly clear that even if there is some exegetical trigger for reading Deuteronomy 11, 13–21 as study, our chapter is going out of its way to reinforce the theme of the priority of study and to anchor it firmly in that paragraph.38 This emphasis receives its most striking expression in the equation of temple service and study, which so troubled Urbach.39 One might see this as another instance of reorienting the religion in the post-Temple time. But it would have been more than sufficient to substitute prayer for temple service as is done in the alternate explanation. Why is the Sifre insistent on infusing this twice-daily liturgical passage with the theme of study rather than “commandments” as we saw in the Mishna? The first answer might be inferred from the end of the passage itself. Since the sages rightly saw Deuteronomy 11, 18–20 as a repetition of Deuteronomy 6,

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6–9, they saw one passage as dealing with instruction or study and the other with action. This answers the latter half of our section but again does not sufficiently account for the emphatic development of the priority of study theme. I think that the Sifre here reflects a debate that took place also over the first chapter of this liturgical unit, the Shema (Deuteronomy 6). As we saw earlier, the Mishna sees that first chapter as acceptance of the kingship of heaven. But we saw also that R. Shimon b. Yochai declined to interpret in this manner and preferred to see the Shema as indicating study. We know also, at least according to an amoraic passage, that R. Shimon did not interrupt his regular study in order to recite Shema. The anonymous Talmud there at pBerachot 1,2 3b understands R. Shimon’s position to be that both recitation of Shema and R. Shimon’s regular study were simply two different forms of recitation of Torah (shinun). 40 There was, according to this line of reasoning, no reason to stop recitation within the study framework for recitation in a liturgical framework. In another place we find the Talmud demanding that one stand to pray only after studying Torah. It would seem, then, that there were, among the sages, those who saw the recitation of Shema as an act of study rather than a declaration of fealty. It might very well be that the same debate took place concerning the second liturgical paragraph—vehaya im shamoa—Deuteronomy 11 that we have been discussing. The Sifre sees this paragraph as enjoining study. The Sifre would have the one reciting the paragraph focus on the obligation to study rather than the obligation toward fulfilling the commandments. This exegetical dynamic complements our findings in the first chapter, there in the genre of Mishna-Tosefta. Here the midrash is making a forceful argument for understanding the act of recitation of Vehaya as a fulfillment of the obligation to study. More important for our context is the clear message that it is study that is of paramount importance, overriding deed. The relegation of deed probably applies also to the other suggested interpretations of “service”—temple service and prayer are not on the same level as study. But no less than the Mishna-Tosefta genre, one has to examine the motive of midrash carefully. How much of the position staked out here in the Sifre is pure ideology, and how much stems from a close reading of the biblical text, which shaped the kind of exegesis that was pursued? As we move on to the next focal section of the Sifre, we will bear this stricture in mind.

Preserving Learning: Sifre “Chapter 48” Chapter 48 of the Sifre is in some ways a direct continuation of chapter 41. 41 Chapter 41 pinpoints the import of the entire paragraph of Vehaya im shamoa

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(Deuteronomy 11, 13–21), dwelling on the primacy of study. Chapter 48 begins with the succeeding scriptural verse (Deuteronomy 11, 22) and interprets its relation to the preceding paragraph: “For if you surely keep [shamor tishmaroon] all this commandment” (11, 22). Why was this said? Since it said, “And it shall come to pass, if you shall listen [shamoa tishmeu] unto my commandments” (11, 13): Do I hear that once a person has heard words of Torah he should sit and not recite [yishneh]? Scripture teaches [talmud lomar], “For if you surely keep” [shamor tishmaroon], Scripture tells [magid hakatuv] that just as a person must be careful with his money [sil’o] that it not be lost, so too he must be careful with his study [talmudo] that it not be lost. This opening is an exact stylistic replication of the opening of chapter 41, arriving at the precise meaning of the verse by comparing it to another verse. Proceeding on the assumption that the Torah does not repeat itself, 42 the sages searched in the opening of chapter 41 for the nuance that distinguished Deuteronomy 11, 13 from Deuteronomy 5, 1. Here, in chapter 48, the doubled verb “to keep” in Deuteronomy 11, 22 is understood in relation to Deuteronomy 11, 13 and is therefore interpreted as “keeping” or retaining that which was heard or learned already. This is a commandment to preserve the study that was detailed in the exegesis of Vehaya im shamoa. This same literary form, “why is this said, because it is said . . . ,” will appear later in the chapter and is a standard formula of the tannaitic midrash of the school of R. Yishmael. Chapter 48 is devoted entirely to an excursus on the importance of and the methods of preserving one’s learning. The editor took the words shamor tishmaroon (surely keep) and turned them into a title for an encyclopedia entry on preserving one’s learning. The editor’s clear intention to develop a thematic “encyclopedia entry” is demonstrated most clearly by the ample addition and importation of material germane to the theme, that, derives quite clearly from exegeses on other parts of the Bible, especially the book of Proverbs. S. Fraade has provided a fine running commentary on this chapter of the Sifre. 43 I will continue the inquiry into this pivotal chapter in rabbinic education. We will begin by outlining this educational “entry” in the Sifre and discuss its implications. In outline form the exegeses of shamor tishmaroon (you shall surely keep) in our chapter are as follows: 1. “Do I hear that once a person hears the words of Torah he may sit and not recite [yishne]? . . . a person must be careful with his study [betalmudo] that it not be lost” (Finkelstein ed., pp. 107–108).

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2. “Whence do you say that if a person heard a word of the words of Torah 44 and retains it [mekayimo], just as the first ones are retained [mitkayimim] so too the last ones are retained in his hand, as it said, shamor tishmiroon” (p. 112). 3. “Lest you should say ‘let the children of the elders recite [yishnu], the children of the rich [gedolim]45 recite [yishnu], the children of the prophets recite [yishnu],’ scripture teaches ki im shamor tishmaroon, it tells that all are equal in Torah” (p. 112). 4. “Lest you should say, ‘I will learn [lamed] the difficult scriptural section [parasha] and ignore the easy’ ”46 (p. 113)). The “chapter”47 continues with exegeses of the other parts of the verse: 5. “Do I hear that once a person has preserved [shomer] words of Torah he may sit and not do? Scripture teaches ‘to do it’ [laasota]” (p. 113). 6. “Lest you should say, ‘I will learn [lamed] Torah in order to be called a Sage, . . . in order that I will have length of days in the world to come, 48 scripture teaches ‘leahava’, to love, learn [lemod] in any event and honor will eventually come” (p. 113). The next “chapter” continues with exegesis of the latter part of the same verse: 7. “Lalechet bechol derachav: To walk in all His ways. These are the ways of God (hamakom): ‘God is merciful and gracious’ ” (Exodus 34, 6) (p. 114). 8. “ ‘uledovka bo’: to cleave to Him. How is it possible to cleave to God? Rather cleave to the Sages and their students . . . The expositors of Haggada say, if you wish to know Him who spoke and the world was created, learn Haggada, for in this way you know Him who spoke and the world was created and cleave to His ways.” Fraade has noted the structural parallel between citations 1 and 5, employing the same interpretive strategy and the same language (“he may sit”). 49 The words shamor tishmaroon50 are applied to memorizing and preserving51 rather than obeying, while the final word of the clause “to do it” is rightly understood as performing the commandments themselves. It is significant that all of these direct exegeses of Deuteronomy 11, 22 in chapters 48 and 49 of the Sifre are anonymous, while the bulk of the chapter is constituted by a great deal of additional material, most often of named sages. Each one of the six “direct” comments on Deuteronomy is enhanced and amplified by material “imported” from other exegetical contexts. This “supplementary”52 material is woven into

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chapter 48 in order to develop educational themes. The material is drawn from what seem to be collections of exegeses collected outside the context of commentary on Deuteronomy. To a large extent this additional material revolves around verses taken from Proverbs,53 developing that book’s didactic wisdom into concrete instructions for the tannaitic sages’ educational agenda. In terms of content, we see that the Sifre reads the clause shamor tishmaroon as enjoining (1) recitation or repetition in order to preserve learning, (2) orderly memorization and equal treatment accorded to both difficult and easy parts of the Torah, and (3) full participation in learning by all—all are equal in Torah. The supplementary material added to these exegeses goes a long way toward giving a complete manual on preserving one’s learning. To these thematic expansions we now turn. The “supplementary” material in this chapter of the Sifre Deuteronomy is usually introduced by the formula “and so it 54 says” (vechen hu omer). The first “supplementary” unit extends four full pages in the standard critical edition (Finkelstein ed., pp. 108–111). It is for all intents and purposes a collection of tannaitic exegeses on selected verses from various chapters of Proverbs, augmented by other scriptural citations. This reveals a very conscious effort to develop the main theme of approaches to learning,55 by splicing in apposite tannaitic comments that were not directly related to the verse in Deuteronomy. The opening exegesis of chapter 48, stressing the importance of reciting one’s learning, receives an extensive supplement that begins with exegesis of Proverbs 2, 4. There learning Torah is compared to guarding gold and glass (Job 28, 17): “difficult to acquire like gold and easy to lose like glass.”56 The next addition has R. Yishmael setting forth an illustrative tale or parable (mashal), illuminating another verse in Deuteronomy 4, 9: “Only take utmost care [hishamer lecha] and watch yourself [ushmor nafshecha].” It is unclear whether this addition is further exegesis to the verse from Job57 or draws on the double use of shamor both in our verse at Deuteronomy 11 and in Deuteronomy 4, 9. Be that as it may, R. Yishmael introduces a “new” metaphor for learning that will be picked up later in the Babylonian Talmud: A parable—To a king of flesh and blood who snared a bird and gave it in to the hand of his servant. He said to him, “Be careful with this bird for my son. If you lose it, don’t think that you’ve lost a bird worth an isar [= Roman as]58 but rather you’ve lost your life.” And so it says, “For it is not an empty thing for you” (Deuteronomy 32, 47). A thing that you say is empty indeed “it is your life” (ibid.). Learning demands constant vigilance; otherwise that learning will be lost, will simply fly away.59 The same image is found in Leviticus Rabbah 3, 1, also in the

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context of reviewing one’s learning, in an Aramaic proverb: tava chada zipara kefuta min meah parchayn (better one bound bird than a hundred in flight). This powerful image of the need to secure one’s learning and the dangers of it slipping away reinforced the sages’ demand for constant review to preserve learning. The verse at Deuteronomy 4, 9 warns against forgetting “the things that your eyes saw.” Whether R. Yishmael’s comments are restricted to the written Torah, or more likely especially to the oral Torah, they indicate anxiety over the difficulty of retaining knowledge even after it has come into one’s possession. This is a reiteration of the need for recitation and memorization, lest one’s learning take flight and be lost. This is significant, since our context is fundamentally midrashic study (see next paragraph). Does this imply that the study of midrash was also an oral affair?60 As the continuation of chapter 48 shows, the midrash here sees learning as a slow and deliberate accumulation of knowledge that demands constant review. Another parable, this time attributed to R. Shimon b. Yochai, follows hard on the heels of its predecessor: A parable: To two brothers who were collecting [mesagelim]61 after their father. One, when he has “accumulated” [mezaref ]62 a dinar, eats it; the other “accumulates” a dinar and puts it away—it turns out that he becomes wealthy in time. In a like manner, students of the sages study two or three things [devarim)] a day, two or three chapters[(perakim] a week, two or three sections [parashiyot] a month, it turns out that he becomes wealthy in time and about him it says, “one who gathers by hand will gain” (Proverbs 13, 11). The steady and measured accumulation of learning is the desired goal. The units of learning mentioned here are devarim, perakim, and parashiyot, most likely reflecting the division of the Sifre itself.63 The Sifre continues with a depiction of the industrious student as opposed to the indolent one, drawing in the main on verses from Proverbs. One who has acquired “a field or a vineyard” but does not labor therein is comparable to the student who does not tend to his learning. The Sifre describes the process of attrition and deterioration of knowledge: “In the end he will leave (out) two or three things in the section [parasha] . . . he will seek the opening of the section and won’t find it . . . when he sees that it did not “stand in his hand” [= remain],64 he sits and makes the pure impure and the impure pure and breaches the fence of the sages.” At first one overlooks a few details, but soon after one can no longer locate the “entrance” of the entire section. Finally one completely reverses the law. The Sifre seems to be describing a mastery of Jewish law through the study of the midrash on scripture (parasha).65

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If the last exegesis ended with a call for assiduity and constant vigilance, a new verse from Proverbs launches a highly stylized set of reflections on the nature of the pupil, especially in the initial stages. An opaque exegesis of Proverbs 27, 7: “One [nefesh]66 who is sated refuses honeycomb [nofe]); one [nefesh] who is hungry, any bitter is sweet” seems to render it as a call for the beginning student to learn everything offered (“One who is hungry”).67 The latter half of the verse (“the sated soul”) is turned in a positive direction by punning on nofet, demanding that the student be like a sieve (nafa) with the capacity to classify (mevarer [sort]) and to evaluate (mishkalam [their weight]). R. Yehuda provides two counterimages of the student: a sponge (who soaks it all up) or a compress (semiabsorbent: “what my teacher taught me is enough”). This pithy exchange of imagery succinctly captures the perennial debate in education: depth or breadth? Is the student to be evaluated by powers of analysis and discrimination (sieve) or by retentive capacities (sponge). This debate permeates all the strata of rabbinic literature, each with its own set of terms.68 If we have interpreted R. Shimon’s difficult opening correctly, he favors initial stages of breadth to be followed by the “sated” student with analysis and evaluation. The implied imagery of water (absorbent) is continued in three exegeses of Proverbs 5, 15, “drink water from your own cistern and fresh water from your own well.” These words are understood to bid the student to first exhaust the local knowledge before traveling afar, to learn only from “orthodox” sources. R. Akiva’s is the third rendering of the verse, encouraging the beginner that though the student starts out only on the receiving end (“cistern”), one day that student will “gush forth” (“well”) and have students.69 It might very well be that R. Shimon b. Menasya’s difficult opening was in fact an attempt to synthesize and refashion R. Akiva’s statement (part of which is quoted verbatim) and R. Yehuda’s sponge image.70 The culmination of this “supplement” is a panegyric on the ameliorative effects of Torah, comparing it to the salutary influences of water (continuing the exegesis to Proverbs 5, 16!), wine, oil, and finally honey. On the one hand, this ending recalls R. Shimon b. Menasiya’s opening on Proverb 2, 4 as Fraade pointed out, but even more interesting is the fact that this entire “supplement” began by comparing Torah to gold, glass, and silver and golden vessels. Those comparisons emphasized the care and vigilance needed, while the concluding comparisons are to the “fluid” rewards awaiting the vigilant: water, wine, oil, and honey. We have in some detail described and analyzed the longest unit of supplementary material in this chapter, and now we can selectively survey the other sources added to the exegetical rubric of this verse of Deuteronomy. The second exegesis of shamor tishmaroon enjoins the student to carefully safeguard each piece of learning. In this way both the first things learned and the last will be

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preserved. This lesson is augmented by a written quotation from the “Scroll of the Pious”:71 “One day you left me, one day I’ll leave you.”72 At pBerachot 9, 5, R. Shimon b. Lakish supplies a parable to elucidate this adage: “To two who were walking, the one from Tiberias, the other from Sepphoris and met each other at a tent (?).73 They hadn’t even parted when the one walked a mile and the other a mile, and they were then two miles apart.” This parable portrays the Torah as dynamic; when one moves a day from Torah, the inevitable result is a gap of two days. But the pithy form of the adage lends itself to another comparison. In this form, “a (or one) day you left me, a (or one) day I’ll leave you,” it seems closely related to Hillel’s saying: “If you come to my house, I’ll come to yours” (tSukkah 4, 3). Professor Lieberman suggested that Hillel’s apothegm is probably based on a popular saying, and I think that the same is true here. The thrust might simply be, if one day you left me then one day I’ll leave you, implying the same reciprocity as the Hillel saying. The metaphor is one of a relationship, or in tSukkah an actual home. Many scholars have shown the close ties of Hillel with the “Hasidim,” and this scroll of the Hasidim probably contained apothegms of Hillel and other Hasidim, pietists. The next additions (appended to exegesis 3 of Deuteronomy 11, 22) emphasize the importance of the individual in assuring that Torah never be forgotten. At different points in history, individuals single-handedly saved Torah from oblivion. This is followed immediately (exegesis 4) by an appeal to exhaust the entire range of curriculum and not show preference for the “more difficult” passages. The focus here is on the next phrase in the verse, “you shall surely keep all the mitzvot”—just as one is commanded to preserve the difficult learning, one has an equal command to preserve the “easier” learning. Both of these expansions (of sections 3 and 4) interestingly draw on exegeses of verses from other sections of Deuteronomy itself. Thus, after making the point that one should not discriminate between different parts of Torah, but one need master the entire Torah (mitzva, hamitzva, kol hamitzva). The branches of this learning are itemized here into three: midrash, halachot veaggadot. This same lesson is derived again from an allegorical reading of Deuteronomy 8, 11: “not on bread alone.” These two sections have proposed that not only is “everyone equal in Torah” but that the entire Torah is of uniform and equal importance! The final addition to the fourth exegesis is tantalizing. R. Shimon b. Menasya offers an exegesis of a verse from Proverbs 23, 16, wherein God is a party to the parental joy at a child’s learning. This is R. Shimon’s third exegesis of a verse from Proverbs in this chapter, two of them attached in some fashion to Proverbs 23. The final addition to chapter 48 continues the theme of eventual reward74 that accrues to the learner, calling on different verses in Proverbs to evince

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reward, longevity, honor, and riches, in this world and the next. This is disputed vigorously by R. Elazar b. Zadok, who demands that everything be done for its own sake and not for reward.75 The exegesis of the latter part of the verse spills over into what is now chapter 49 but in the best manuscript is simply a continuation of the preceding. Here theology reigns supreme, since the words being glossed are “to walk in all His ways and cleave to Him.” As I have shown elsewhere, the final section encapsulates a debate as to the best way to cleave to the divine. Is it cleaving to “scholars and their students” or “learning Haggada” that brings a person to knowledge of the Creator and a cleaving to his ways?76 Two verses in Deuteronomy provided the editor(s) of the Sifre with the opportunity to expatiate on the value of learning and the appropriate methods and approaches to successful learning. We noted that this is a deliberate and artfully constructed edifice, drawing liberally on exegeses of Wisdom literature, usually Proverbs, in order to develop or debate a point raised by direct exegesis of Deuteronomy. Much effort is spent on inculcating proper study habits: mastering a little at a time, first things first, and giving full attention to the entire Torah, regardless of ease or difficulty. Who was the intended reader or hearer of this midrash? On the one hand, we find repeated encouragement of the beginner (talmid metechilato).77 The student is encouraged to study a couple of things each day (110), not to discriminate between easy or hard material (113) or to move on without fully mastering what has already been studied (112). It is clear, however, that these instructions apply to a student who has already mastered reading. These chapters set down guidelines for the student who is ready to begin study of the oral law. That student is encouraged to first exhaust local resources (110), have complete respect even for the lowliest of teachers (86), and have equal respect for all branches of study (113). All of this is to be done for the love of learning rather than for personal aggrandizement (87). Study is preeminent, temporally preceding action, and is conceived of as a kind of holy “service.” The concluding passage, with which we just dealt, extends the “service” image (not metaphor) even further, since it is the power of study that is the key to “recognizing” God and enables one to cleave to God. The first opinion was that the closest one can get to God is to attach oneself to learned people. But the dorshei haggadot viewed learning and study of Haggada as the path to achieve nearness and eventually “attachment” to God. There is a difference between the path charted by the dorshei haggadot and Plotinus’s vision of becoming one with God through contemplation, as we saw in the fi rst chapter. But both perceive the possibility of achieving a closeness to God or the One through study.

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We will now move to another section of the Sifre, which shifts the focus from the learner to the teacher.

Teaching Torah: Sifre “Chapter 306” There is one more fairly extensive treatment of study in the Sifre, close to the end of the work. As opposed to the previous passages where an exegetical tour de force allowed the sages to turn Deuteronomy’s words into a manifesto on learning, these four pages are a straightforward disquisition on Moses’ parting poetic words: “May my discourse come down as rain, my speech distill as the dew, Like showers on young growth, Like droplets on the grass” (Deuteronomy 32, 2). “Discourse” (likchi) and “speech” (imrati) are understood to be words of Torah, and what follows in the Sifre rehearses some of what we saw earlier, assigning the metaphors of rain and dew to the salient effects of Torah. The Torah brings joy (semechim); it nurtures (megadelim) and even pampers (mefanekim) its students. Here, though, one sage, R. Eliezer, the son of R. Yosi the Galilean, adds a new motivating factor, claiming that words of Torah have the power to atone for all sin (Finkelstein ed., p. 337)—possibly shedding light on study as service as we saw earlier. One is instructed to continuously inspect (mefashpesh) one’s learning so that it does not rust.78 One should try to accrue or assemble words of Torah through general rules (pp. 336, 338). Finally, Torah study demands along with hard effort and exertion (amal, yegia) a certain amount of suffering (tzaar), taking Moses’ forty days of fasting as a paradigm for real learning. But this section of the Sifre follows the verse closely by aiming some of its sharpest advice to the teacher—the one who, like Moses, is delivering the words of Torah. It is here that the Sifre makes clear that though accruing Torah should be done through generating general principles, the teaching should always be in small increments of minute detail, not in big drops of rain but in small drops of dew (p. 336). Though learning necessarily involves sacrifice and suffering, the teaching should be as painless as possible, falling like dew on the listener. The beginning student is pictured as feeling himself being set upon by a demon (shade) and needs encouragement. That same teacher is instructed to adopt a self-image of someone who is dispensing something inexpensive.79 This final section, then, addresses the teacher along with the prospective student. The passages from Sifre Deuteronomy that we have examined in this chapter have taken a stand on (1) curriculum—every part of Torah is equally important; (2) students—all are equal in Torah; (3) aspects of pedagogy, as we have just discussed; and (4) the ultimate importance of study, which has

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been equated with the temple service and has the same expiatory properties. It is also an avenue to recognizing God. Distributed through three sections of the Sifre we have seen a fairly complete exposition of a theory of education, deftly intertwined into the words of Deuteronomy itself. The three chapters taken together reflect an ambience of anxiety over the possible disappearance of Torah. This can be overcome only by a democratization of learning along with equal attention to all facets of Torah. The true service of God is mastery of God’s word and the various commentaries on it. This manual on education was attached for the most part to creative exegesis of Deuteronomy 11 and seems to exhaust the key issues of learning. The Sifre has successfully diverted “listening to God’s words” of the daily liturgical recitation from obeyance to study. If successful, one who prays/recites this paragraph morning and evening will recall the importance of study and will call to mind this manual’s very careful and well-reasoned instructions on learning.

4 A Talmudic Primer on Education (Eruvin 53a–55a)

Certainly the most sustained and deliberate treatment of learning is preserved in the fifth chapter of the Babylonian Talmud’s tractate of Eruvin. The question arises there whether a word in the first mishna of that chapter is spelled with an aleph or an ayin. S. Lieberman writes concerning these types of questions in the Talmud: “Since in the entire Talmudic literature we do not find that a book of Mishnah was ever consulted in case of controversies or doubt concerning a particular reading we may safely conclude that the compilation was not published in writing.”1 In our passage, the first amoraic source invoked to resolve the question is a collection of debates between the “founding fathers” of the great Babylonian academies, Rav and Shmuel, founders of Sura and Nehardea, respectively, in the first of half of the third century. Each is reported to have cited a tannaitic tradition to support the aleph or ayin spelling, but the Talmud does not know which of the positions was supported by whom. Curiously, the text continues with three more debated biblical exegeses between the two sages, again without identifying who is the author of which exegesis. There is a clear formal, stylistic connection between the presentation of the exegetical debates and our spelling problem. But we will see that the parallel in the Palestinian Talmud has, in place of the exegetical debates, a collection of similar “spelling” problems in the Mishna that Rav and Shmuel debated, a far more appropriate expansion.2 This is passing curious, since Rav and Shmuel are Babylonian authorities, and one would expect that the more apposite

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editorial expansion would be found on “home turf,” as it were. But such is not the case. The next section in this sugya3 turns to a collection of five sayings attributed to R. Yochanan, the preeminent sage of Tiberias who passed away around 279 c.e. It is this collection that opens an impressive anthology of rabbinic views on learning that extends over two full double-sided (a and b) folio pages, culminating with another saying by the very same R. Yochanan. Before analyzing the passages in detail, it is important to sketch the outline of the four pages of this mini-tractate on learning. The composition can be divided into five major sections. The first comprises the five sayings of R. Yochanan. The second section is a treatise on language. The third section develops the theme of the importance of audible learning. The fourth section treats the qualities of the successful student, and the final one turns to the character traits of the accomplished teacher. It goes without saying that within these broad categories other issues present themselves, but these five are the major headings of this mini-tractate as I see it. Let us begin with the collection of R. Yochanan’s sayings. I recommend consulting the translation of the recent ArtScroll Schottenstein Talmud, though I have tried to translate as literally as possible, taking into account variant readings in the manuscripts. I will number the sayings to ease our reference to them and to distinguish between them and the ensuing discussion of these sayings of added named material or that of the anonymous Talmud, which I have marked by indentation. 1. R. Yochanan said, “Eighteen days I trained [gedalti]4 with R. Oshaya b. Ribbi and I learned only one thing from him in our Mishna: ‘How do we add to the perimeter [meaberin lit. add a wing or limb] of the cities?’ with an aleph.” Is this so? But didn’t 2. R. Yochanan say, “R Oshaya b’Ribi had twelve students5 and I trained eighteen days among them, and I learned the heart of each and every one and the wisdom of each and every one.” He learned the heart of each and every one and the wisdom of each and every one, but he did not learn gemara [received tradition]. If you wish say that from them [the students] he learned, but from him [R. Oshaya] he did not learn [gamar]. If you wish say he said only one thing in our Mishna. 3. And R. Yochanan said, “When we were learning Torah by R. Oshaya we were sitting four to a cubit.”

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Rebbe said, “When we were learning Torah by R. Elazar b. Shamua we used to sit six to a cubit.” 4. R. Yochanan said, “R. Oshaya b. Ribbi in his generation is like R. Meir in his generation. Just as R. Meir in his generation, his colleagues were unable to understand the extent of his thought, so too R. Oshaya, his colleagues were unable to understand the extent of his thought.” 5. R. Yochanan said, “The hearts of the first ones were as the entrance to the portico of the Temple [40 cubits high, 20 cubits wide]; and the hearts of the later ones were as the entrance to the great hall of the Temple [20 by 10];6 but we are like the full eye of a ‘penny’ [sidkit]7 needle.” The “first ones”: R. Akiva; the “later ones”: R. Elazar b. Shamua. There are those who say, the “first ones”: R. Elazar b. Shamua; the “later ones”: R. Oshaya b. Ribbi. We are like the full eye of a needle, Abaye said, we are like a peg in a wall for gemara (traditions). Rava said, “We are like a finger in wax for sevara (reasoning).” Rav Ashi said, “We are like a finger in a pit for forgetfulness.” It is fair to assume that we have here five reminiscences of R. Yochanan’s brief stay in Caesarea, while apprenticing with R. Oshaya.8 It is instructive to note that R. Oshaya is called “the father of the Mishna” on five occasions in the Palestinian Talmud. This epithet is given to him by a student of R. Yochanan.9 Thus it stands to reason that R. Yochanan went to Caesarea to sit at the feet of R. Oshaya and collect mishnaic traditions or explanations. His disappointment must have been great when all he garnered was the correct spelling of one mishna. Lest one mistakenly think that this shortfall was due to R. Yochanan’s limited abilities, we immediately hear that in that same two and a half weeks R. Yochanan was able to exhaust the entire wealth of learning of R. Oshaya’s twelve prime students. A more conservative interpretation might render that R. Yochanan was able to appreciate their wisdom, rather than exhaust it. Be that as it may, it is only at the fourth statement that we learn the R. Yochanan was in good company in his inability to learn more from R. Oshaya—no one in R. Oshaya’s generation could fathom the depths of his thinking. Finally, R. Yochanan makes explicit in his fifth statement that the capacity of his generation to absorb information is infinitesimal compared with that of previous generations. R. Yochanan uses a rare figure, the entrances into the Temple, to illustrate this diminished capacity of later generations. Interestingly, these same two

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illustrations are invoked in the beginning of the tractate of Eruvin and in the Tosefta. It would seem that R. Yochanan drew on a figure, a measurement, that was drawn from the material they had been studying. Beyond that, of course, the comparison of the heart of the scholar to the entrance to the holy is a compelling concretization of the rabbinic view of where the holy resides in their own times. This tradition, in which R. Yochanan learns from R. Oshaya the spelling of a mishna in Eruvin, is reported in a vastly different fashion in the parallel account in the Palestinian Talmud. There it is also preceded by a collection of apposite debates of Rav and Shmuel, all relating to problems of spelling in the Mishna. But the account there of R. Oshaya and R. Yochanan is terse and opaque: R. Yochanan in the name of R. Hoshaya: “we add a limb” [that is, meaberin with an aleph from the root evr, “limb”]. He raised his eyes and glared at him. He said to him, “Why are you looking at me? If you need, you laugh; if you don’t need, be off with you.” Thirteen years he would pass by and enter before his master [rabo] whom he did not need. This opaque passage is followed by a lengthy discourse on the importance of visiting and greeting one’s master regularly. S. Lieberman explains that the sentence beginning “If you . . .” is an apothegm based on Ben Sira 13, 6.10 Lieberman goes on to cite a parallel story in pSanhedrin 11,4 30b, where R. Oshaya is delighted by R. Yochanan quoting in his name. As Lieberman points out in a footnote, “looked at him” (veistakel bay) has a negative nuance in the Palestinian Talmud, meaning to glare at someone in anger or astonishment. Lieberman explains that R. Yochanan countered R. Oshaya’s displeasure by reminding him, through the apothegm, that on a previous occasion the master had been pleased. Another possible interpretation is that it is R. Oshaya who replies to R. Yochanan’s query and responds that if you need me, laugh, and if not, go away. The storyteller tells us that R Yochanan continued his deferential visits to R. Oshaya for another thirteen years, though he no longer was in need of his teacher’s instruction. The Palestinian Talmud continues with other sayings that develop the theme of deference due to one’s teacher. One might be tempted to try to establish whether there is a historical kernel common to the differing stories told in the Palestinian Talmud and its parallel in the Babylonian Talmud. This investigation, which might result in interesting but perforce tenuous results, would lead us away from our primary point of interest. What are the two Talmuds saying about learning? Though

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the tradition in the Talmud of the land of Israel is unclear, its punch line is quite unequivocal. R. Yochanan continued paying obeisance to his teacher many years after he no longer needed his instruction. What are the messages the Babylonian Talmud is transmitting with R. Yochanan’s five statements and the closing reflections of late Babylonian amoraim? R. Yochanan describes how crowded it was sitting at the feet of R. Oshaya. Either there were really only twelve students and the quarters were tight, or R. Oshaya’s classes drew many people, and therefore it was crowded—four to a cubit. Be that as it may, it is clear that in the eyes of the greatest rabbi of the next generation, R. Yochanan, it was quite impossible to fully understand R. Oshaya’s teaching. The generations had declined. The real profit in R. Yochanan’s visit was his ability to exhaust the learning of the scholars gathered around R. Oshaya.11 The closing statements by Abaye, Rava, and Rav Ashi in the bEruvin text continue the theme of the diminution of the generations by pinpointing the damage done to different areas of learning. These comments flow smoothly from R. Yochanan’s humble assessment of his own stature vis-à-vis previous generations. It is worth noting, though, that this deference holds true only toward previous generations. R. Yochanan’s boasting that in eighteen days he came to know the hearts and minds of all twelve scholars surrounding R. Oshaya seems self-congratulatory. It is then fascinating that two folio pages hence R. Yochanan is quoted, along with Rava the Babylonian, to complete this mini-tractate on learning by saying, “She is not in Heaven” (Deuteronomy 30, 12), “She (Torah) will not be found in the haughty”12 (bEruvin 55a). He is preceded by Rava, who gives another exposition of the verse “She is not in Heaven,” saying that Torah “will not be found in one who elevates his mind [magbia daato] over her”—evidently one who thinks that he or she is smarter than the Torah itself.13 Thus the lengthy two-folio discussion of learning is framed by statements of Rava and R. Yochanan that praise humility as the sine qua non of learning. The opening of this lengthy treatment of learning begins with deference to previous generations and ends after two pages with a call for humility. One who wants to enter the world of Torah must understand that the heart’s capacity to receive is far less than that of previous generations. Each of the Babylonian amoraim cites14 a different aspect of learning (closest to each one’s heart?) wherein they feel the backsliding from earlier generations. Abaye bemoans the loss of received traditions (gemara). Rava claims that it is the raw intellect, the ability to reason (sevara), that has dwindled. Finally, Rav Ashi, one of the last of the amoraim (died c. 427 c.e.), points his finger at the great nemesis of the oral tradition, forgetfulness. These Babylonians supply a commentary

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to R. Yochanan’s general plaint that the hearts of former generations were capacious, whereas the present generation suffers from an almost complete occlusion. These four sages, the leading figures in their respective generations from the mid-third century through the beginning of the fifth century, are clearly trying to inculcate a sense of modesty when facing previous generations. We will see that this theme repeats itself often in the coming sections. The next section is a compelling treatment of the role of language in learning, and most poignantly in oral learning. It opens with the Rav Yehuda’s assertion in the name of Rav that “the Judeans who were scrupulous [hikpidu] with their language [or tongues], their Torah was preserved in their hands; the Galileans who were not scrupulous with their language [their tongues], their Torah was not preserved in their hands.” Rav, who began the discussion of the mishna trying to determine the correct spelling, is now quoted in praising the Judean precision in language. This introduces a page of sayings and stories that revolve around the expression “scrupulous with language” and then deal with leshon chochma, “the language of wisdom,” which is cryptic language and wordplay. We will immediately see the distance between what seems to be the intent of Rav in his opening statement and the interpretation it is given by the anonymous Talmud, the stam. The stam plays a pivotal role in most sugyot, interpreting, arranging, and amplifying the received statements of the sages of the tannaitic and amoraic periods. I have in the following indented the stammaitic discussion, which interprets and amplifies the amoraic statements. Rav Yehuda said in the name of Rav, “The Judeans who were scrupulous with their language, their Torah was preserved in their hands; the Galileans who were not scrupulous with their language, their Torah was not preserved in their hands.” Does the matter depend on scrupulousness of language? Rather the Judeans were precise with language and laid down mnemonic signs,15 their Torah was preserved in their hands but the Galileans who were not precise with their language and did not lay down mnemonic signs, their Torah was not preserved in their hands. The Judeans learned from one master [rabbi], their Torah was preserved in their hands; the Galileans who did not learn from one master [rabbi], their Torah was not preserved in their hands. Ravina said: the Judeans who revealed the tractate, their Torah was preserved in their hands; the Galileans who did not reveal the tractate, their Torah was not preserved in their hands. The anonymous Talmud here, called the stam in Hebrew, is not willing to accept that fastidiousness with language can be determinative for retaining

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Torah. Rather, it suggests that “scrupulous with language” means that they were precise in their language (of study? see later discussion) and that they used memory aids to memorize the oral Torah. As a counterpoint to the stam’s attempt to broaden the scope of the tools necessary to anchor Torah, we are treated in the continuation of our sugya to the dominant position that defi nes scrupulousness with language more or less as a rich, colorful, and precise vocabulary and extends it and exemplifies it in all walks of life, rather than just learning! The stam advances two more recipes for Torah retention, the first of which is the demand that one learn from only one teacher. This is, according to the stam, a prerequisite for preserving Torah. We will examine this at greater length in the next chapter. Finally, Ravina, credited with being one of the editors of the Babylonian Talmud (d. 499 c.e.), advances a final distinction between the Judeans and the Galileans. Judeans “revealed the tractate” (galei masechta). Unfortunately, the exact meaning of galei masechta is elusive.16 Medieval commentators offered different explanations.17 One of the more attractive is an alternate explanation brought by Menahem haMeiri. This was that the Judeans would announce the tractate in advance, thus allowing people to prepare and facilitating a more fruitful study. Unfortunately, this explanation does not fit the only other usage of the term in the famous legend of the attempted deposition of Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel by R. Nathan and R. Meir at Horayot 13b.18 Their plot there was to surprise Rabban Gamliel by asking him on the spot to galei ukzin (to recite/teach) that last and difficult tractate of the mishna. Indeed, when they actually execute the plot, the term is replaced by the more common “come let the master ‘teach/recite’ ” [nitnei] ukzin. The Judeans’ reputation19 as scrupulous linguists brings R. Aba20 to suggest, in the continuation of our passage, that they should be approached to resolve our immediate question, whether meaberin in our mishna in Eruvin is with an aleph or an ayin.21 When approached, the Judeans reply that some learn it with an aleph and others with an ayin. The anonymous Talmud then asks, “ ‘The Judeans are scrupulous with their language,’ what is it? There was a Judean who said to his friends,22 ‘I have a cloak [talit] to sell.’ They said to him, ‘What is the hue [gavan] of your cloak?’ He said to them, ‘As a beet on the ground.’ ” This precision is then contrasted with a Galilean who was hawking goods but whose formulation and pronunciation were so imprecise that people could not tell whether he was selling wine (hamar), a donkey (hamar), or wool (amar)! It is significant, I think, that the examples of precise language are drawn from everyday commerce rather than the study hall. Precision in language here is envisaged (by the academic elite) as an attribute of the general culture and not just of the academic elite.

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It would be well at this point to reflect on which language was the object of this precision, Hebrew or Aramaic or both.23 The example brought for Judean precision is in Hebrew, while the Galilean’s wretched pronunciation is of an Aramaic word. Rav’s opening statement of praise itself is in Hebrew. I am tempted to attribute to Rav an unspoken preference for Hebrew. Judea was the heart of Hebrew speaking, so that some have posited that it was the massive destruction of Judea in the Bar Kochva revolt (132–135 c.e.) that led to its being slowly replaced by the more cosmopolitan Aramaic. Here the Judean who wishes to sell a garment is still portrayed as speaking Hebrew, and the “wise talk” treated in the next passage involves moving freely from Hebrew to Aramaic and vice versa.24 The next passages in this sugya focus on the usage of “language of wisdom” (leshon chochma, “cryptic, allusive language and wordplay,” etc.)25 and are introduced by stories about the maidservant in the patriarch’s household who was adept at such talk. It was this same or another maidservant in the patriarch’s house who, at bRosh Hashona 26b, was reported to be the source of the Rabbis’ knowledge of some difficult Hebrew words. She speaks a very high Hebrew. This section of wise-talk is concluded by three stories about one of the great tannaim, R. Yehoshua, who is “defeated” by “a woman, a boy and a girl.” The children indeed defeat R. Yehoshua by their skillful use of language, to which we now turn. The sudden appearance of women in this section of the sugya seems purposeful, and is reinforced when the most learned of women, Beruria, is invoked. First we will analyze the story of R. Yehoshua. The stories are introduced by R. Yehoshua’s less than modest declaration: “In all my days no human has defeated me (nitzchani) except for a woman, a little boy and a little girl.” This is a negative variation on the theme of humility that envelops the entire sugya. R. Yehoshua’s hubris, lack of humility, will bring about his defeat at the hands of those perceived by ancient society to be the weakest. These are the stories: Once I was being hosted [nitarachti] by an innkeeper.26 She made me beans. On the first day I dined and did not leave anything. The second day, I dined and did not leave anything. The third day she made it hot with salt. When I tasted27 it, I pulled back my hands from it. She said to me, “Why did you pull back your hands?” I said, “I’ve eaten already in the evening.” She said to me, “Then you should have pulled back your hands from the loaf [also]!”28 She said to me, “Did our sages not say, ‘we do not leave a corner [peah] in the pot but we do leave a corner on the plate?’ ” 29

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It is, as it were, once the great rabbi leaves the confines of the beit-midrash that he forgets the rabbinic canons of etiquette. His hostess teaches him, the hard way. Of course, R. Yehoshua was being polite and therefore dissembles, but the hostess shows this also to be ill-advised. If you were not hungry, you should not have begun the meal with the bread. She taught him to leave food, a tip, for the one who serves the meal. The next two stories focus more intensely on the use of language: Once I was walking along the way and the way passed through a field.30 A young girl said to me, “Is it not a field you are walking in?” I said to her, “Is this not a beaten31 path?” She said to me, “Beaten by robbers like you!” Once I was walking along the way and I saw a young boy who was sitting at the crossroads. I said to him, “My son, by which way do we go to the city?” He said to me, “This is long but short; and this is short but long.” I went by the short but long. When I reached the city, it was surrounded by orchards and gardens. I turned back. I said to him, “Did you say to me thus, ‘This is the short but long’?” He said to me, “But didn’t I say long?” I stood and kissed him on his head, and I said, “Happy are you Israel that you are all wise from your oldest to your youngest.” These stories have benefited from literary analyses by modern scholars.32 For our purposes, suffice it to say that in both there is a role reversal between the sage and the children. It is the sage who is rushing along his way, while it is the children who provide him with perspective. Indeed, elsewhere it is the old person who sits at the crossroad, giving people the benefit of his experience before they choose a path.33 In the first story R. Yehoshua is asked to consider the past before he progresses. In the second he is taught to slow down and consider well what is said before he moves along. Both children show him that he is not as attentive as he should be to words. Here again we see that wise language is not only in the hands of the sages and that care with language extends beyond Torah texts to everyday life. Merchants, maidservants, children, innkeepers, and, of course, the sages themselves are the guardians of pristine, if sometimes playful, speech. Careful, precise speech is portrayed in this sugya, as a broad cultural phenomenon that need shape society as a whole and certainly must be attended to by the rabbinic sage. The prominent role given to women, the maidservant of Rabbi’s house, the innkeeper, the child, and as we will see the renowned Beruria, is noteworthy. Was this a role that late antique rabbinic Judaism saw

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as important for women? If so, it reminds one of Quintilian’s emphasis on finding “nannies” who were well versed in grammar: “Above all see that the child’s nurse (nutricibus) speaks correctly. The ideal, according to Chryssipus, would be that she should be a philosopher.”34 The segue to the next topic in our sugya, the necessity of studying aloud, is another traveler story that introduces Beruria, the renowned female scholar,35 who upbraids a famous Galilean rabbi for using too many words when he asks her for directions. This story completes the section on language, and the following story about Beruria opens the new section on the importance of learning aloud: Beruria found a student who was reciting [garis] quietly. She kicked36 him. She said to him, “Isn’t it written, ‘ordered in all things, and sure’ (2 Samuel 23, 5)? If it is ordered in the 248 limbs of a person it is sure (or secure); if not, it is not secure in the heart.” It was taught: R. Eliezer b. Yaakov had a student who recited [shoneh] his learning [talmudo] quietly. After three years he forgot his learning [talmudo]. . . . Shmuel said to Rav Yehuda, “Wise guy, open your mouth and read [kere]; open your mouth and recite [shene] so that it will be preserved in your hand and you will live a long life, as it says, “For they are life unto those that find them, and health to all their flesh” (Proverbs 4, 22). Do not read “to those who find them [motzaeihem]” but rather “to those who take them out [motzieihem]” of their mouths. These are three of the seven statements in this section that advocate learning aloud. The three we have cited in full ostensibly represent both the tannaitic Palestinian milieu (the first two) and the Babylonian amoraic setting. The most interesting is Shmuel’s instruction to his student, where he demands that both reading and recitation be aloud. Does he mean both the study of the written Bible (which had to be read) and the study of mishna (which perforce had to be recited)? The roots of kere and shene might very well be the verb forms that mean, respectively, to read Bible (kere/mikra) and recite mishna (shene). Or does he mean reading and recitation of the written Bible? The former seems far more likely. So far we have seen three issues treated in these three pages of Talmud, bEruvin 53a–b, 54a. They include R. Yochanan’s visit to R. Oshaya, which ends with a very humble self-estimation of the “latter” day scholars; a long

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section on the importance of precise and rich language; and, finally, an appeal to learn aloud. We will move to the next two sections and then try to appreciate the Babylonian Talmud’s effort and tendenz in this extensive treatment of learning. This next section, devoted to the humility of the student of Torah, is a formal continuation of the previous section in that it takes up again the exposition of Proverbs 1 that was begun earlier. The second simile of Proverbs 1, 9, “she is as necklaces for your throat,” is understood to be a symbol of humility or discretion that behooves the student. R. Elazar said, “What is it that which is written, ‘as necklaces about your throat’? If a person likens oneself to a necklace that is loose around the neck, seen and not seen, his Torah will be preserved. If not, his Torah will not be preserved.” R. Elazar said, “What is it that which is written, ‘his cheeks are like a bed of spices’ (Song of Songs 5, 13)? If a person likens oneself 37 to a bed of spices, which everyone tramples or also to this spice with which all perfume themselves, his Torah will be preserved in his hand. If not, his Torah will not be preserved in his hand.” As is quite obvious, the three sections we have marked from the very beginning of the sugya contain the refrain of “preserving Torah in one’s hand.” Here Torah’s preservation depends on the student’s humility and availability. Moreover, the student of Torah should not flaunt his or her learning but should be available to all who approach him or her. Two more expositions of R. Elazar are now quoted. The next motif developed in this section is that a person has to liken oneself “to a desert that is trampled by all” in order that his or her Torah should be preserved. Having exhausted this theme, the section turns to the energy and motivation that need characterize the student of Torah in order to preserve one’s Torah. Rav Huna compares, via a verse from Psalms 68, the student of Torah to “an animal that crushes underfoot and eats.” R. Hiyya, an earlier sage than Rav Huna, continues with a simile of the fig tree, based on Proverbs 27, 18, “whenever one touches it one finds figs, so too the words of Torah, whenever one says them [or considers them] he finds flavor [or a reason (Heb. taam)]. The fig tree gives way to the doe in extended exposition of Proverbs 5, 19 attributed in two of the manuscripts to R. Shmuel bar Nachman in the name of R. Yonatan:38 What is that which is written, “a loving doe and a graceful mountain goat” (Proverbs 5, 19)? Why are the words of Torah compared to a doe? To tell you that just as a doe has a narrow womb and is beloved

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Proverbs’ extended simile of wisdom as being the intense and intimate love of a man for the wife of his youth is graphically and naturally applied by Rabbi Yonatan to the all-possessing love of Torah by the student. In his introduction to his magnificent commentary on Song of Songs, Origen pointed out that the Greek root eros is used in the Septuagint only in reference to loving wisdom: “Divine Scripture avoided the word ‘passion’. . . . Occasionally, however, though rarely, it calls the passion of love by its own name, and invites and urges souls to it; as when it says in Proverbs about Wisdom: ‘Desire her greatly’ ” (Proverbs 4, 6 and 4, 8). 40 It would seem that Rabbi Yonatan went beyond Origen in enlisting the explicit erotic simile in order to spur the student on to total infatuation with Torah. 41 The final requirements of the student of Torah, as played out in the subsequent passages, are ability to travel far and near to attain Torah, and careful attention to fully possess each word of Torah before moving on. This is described, again quite graphically, in terms of the hunt. We will explicate that image in the next chapter on tractate Avoda Zara, where this same passage also appears. To summarize this section, the student of Torah is asked to be humble but intense in his love of Torah, while careful to learn each bit of Torah and fully integrate it before moving on to another. This appeal is more passionate than its predecessor in the Sifre Deuteronomy, though both the Babylonian Talmud and the earlier tannaitic Sifre clearly share the motif of careful retention of learning. The final section of our mini-tractate in bEruvin, to which we now turn, moves its spotlight from the student to the teacher. Here, there is a demand made of the teacher to exhibit extraordinary patience, which exhibits itself in a never-ending willingness to repeat the lesson until it is fully internalized by the student. The section begins with a description of Moses’ learning and teaching of Torah and reaches its apogee in R. Pereida, who was accustomed to teaching his student the same material 400 times until it was fully retained:

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Our rabbis taught: What was the order of recitation [mishna]? Moses learned from the mouth of the Almighty. Aaron entered and Moses recited [shana] to him his chapter. Aaron got up [nistalek] and sat to the left of Moses. His children entered and Moses recited to them their chapter. His children got up—Elazar sat at the right of Moses and Itamar at the left of Aaron. . . . The elders entered and Moses recited to them their chapter. The elders got up and the entire people entered and Moses recited to them their chapter. It turns out that in the hand of Aaron there were four, in his sons’ hands three, in the elders’ hand two and in the people’s hand one. Moses got up [nistalek or went away] and Aaron recited to the people their chapter. Aaron got up [nistalek or went away]. . . . From here R. Elazar (b. Azarya)42 said: a person must recite to his student four times. If Aaron who learned from the mouth of Moses who learned from the mouth of the Almighty thus, how much more so a regular person from the mouth of a regular person? R. Akiva said, “Whence [do we know] that a person is obligated to recite to his student until he learns it? As it says ‘and teach it to the children of Israel’ (Deuteronomy 31, 19). Whence [do we know] until it is ordered in his mouth? Scripture teaches ‘place it in their mouths’ (Deuteronomy 31, 19). Whence [do we know] that he must show his ‘countenance’?43 ‘These are the laws you should place before them.’ ” (Exodus 21, 1) J. N. Epstein, the preeminent twentieth-century scholar of the Mishna, deemed the beginning of this passage to be an “aggadic-anachronistic” account that actually describes the order of recitation in the yeshivot of Rabban Gamliel of Yavneh (c. 100) and his son Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel. 44 Epstein adduces a passage in tSanhedrin 8, 1 that reads: “R. Elazar b. Zadok said, ‘When Rabban Gamliel would sit in Yavneh, father and another (emended to ‘his brother’) would sit to his right and the elders to his left.’ ” Epstein posits that the head of the yeshiva would teach first to his brother (his translator?), 45 then his “children,” then the “elders” (sages of the yeshiva), and finally to “all the people” (the “students”). He further postulates that even if the content were the same, the style differed for each group. It would seem, though, within the context of the sugya that the whole point is that one repeat the lesson exactly four times with little or no variation. Be that as it may, R. Akiva here takes the most stringent position that a teacher has to recite the lesson over and over

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again until it is learned. The Talmud goes on to tell the story of R. Pereida, a paragon of patience, who fully upholds R. Akiva’s dictum: R. Pereida had a student to whom he would recite [tane] four hundred times. One time they came to him and said, there is a matter of mitzvah [to be done]. 46 He taught [tana] him four hundred times but he did not learn [gamar]. He said to him, “What’s different, now?” He said to him, “From the time they said to him to the master ‘there is a matter of mitzva,’ my mind was distracted. Every hour I said, “Now the master will stand, now the master will stand.” He said to him, “Put your mind to it as at the beginning.” He taught him another 400 times. A small voice [bat kol] went out and said to him, “What is agreeable to you—that four hundred years will be added to your life or you and your generation will merit the world to come?” He said, “I want that I and my generation should merit the world to come.” The Holy One blessed be He said to them (!), “Give him this and the other.” Not only did R. Pereida exhibit extraordinary persistence and self-sacrifice, but he taught the student that nothing came before the student’s learning. The mitzva will wait until the lesson is fully learned—be it 400 or 800 times. The student has R. Pereida’s undivided attention, and that is what he is demanding from the student. The next statement after this exemplum returns to Deuteronomy 31, 19 and renders it in terms of developing mnemonic devices, literally signs [simanin] in order to remember. The closing section, as we noted, returns with two of the opening Amoraim of our mini-tractate, R. Yochanan and Rava, with their exhortations to be humble while studying Torah. It is remarkable that the editors of the Talmud felt compelled to devote two folio pages to the ideals and processes of learning. Even more striking, though quite understandable, is the focus on effective preservation of the oral law. This theme begins with cultivation of language, continues with an insistence on studying aloud, sketches the qualities of the exemplarly student, and culminates in the teacher’s willingness to recite and repeat until the lesson is absorbed. R. Pereida was the ultimate embodiment of this, but its earliest representative in our sugya is R. Akiva, who, according to the baraita, also demanded that the teaching continue until the lesson was fully learned. There are other themes we encountered along the way, such as tips for effective learning, the use of mnemonics, and provocative images to stimulate the learner. I should like to

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reflect now on the composition of these two folio pages. Where and how did they come about? It is certainly possible to divide these pages according to other criteria, but I suggest that we accept for the moment, at least for heuristic purposes, our proposed division into five large thematic sections. The first was R. Yochanan’s account of his stay with R. Oshaya. The second is about language and begins with a statement by Rav Yehuda in the name of Rav about the Judeans and ends with Beruria’s upbraiding of R. Yosi the Galilean. The third is about reciting aloud and begins with the story of Beruria and the student who studied quietly. The fourth section begins with R. Elazar and the traits one needs to study Torah and the joy Torah study offers. The final section opens with a baraita— “the order of the mishna”—and dilates on the responsibility of a teacher to his pupil. The sugya concludes with statements by R. Yochanan and Rava, the very same R. Yochanan and Rava who began the sugya on learning, with a warning against haughtiness. With the exception of the section on language, which is made up exclusively of statements from Palestinian rabbis, all the other sections have a mix of Palestinian and Babylonian sages. But most interesting is that toward the end of four of the five sections a statement of Rava’s is brought by way of summary or conclusion. It would seem, then, that this collection was probably edited or compiled by Rava or his students. The sugya demands a passion for learning accompanied by persistence and an almost angelic humility. The sugya is as remarkable for its omission. Though Rava himself bemoans the loss of sevara, intellectual reasoning, it is given but short shrift in these folio pages. The text is concerned with retention. Another interesting omission is the absence of the study partner (hevruta), so emphasized elsewhere (bTaanit 7a). 47 We will see in the next chapter that Rava has a special interest in education and might very well be responsible for collecting these sugyot about education in the Babylonian Talmud. This might explain also the appearance of Beruria and the positive role accorded women in language. Rava’s wife, the daughter of Rav Hisda, was known to be a learned woman and earned her husband’s admiration. 48

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5 Cultures in Conflict (Avoda Zara 18b–19b)

In three pages of tractate Avoda Zara, the Babylonian Talmud again goes out of its way to construct an extended discussion of learning. The tractate deals with practices forbidden because they are idolatrous or support idolatry. In the context of the mishna that forbids Jewish participation in building edifices that are likely to host idol worship, the Talmud goes on to contrast Jewish “leisure” time activities with those of the non-Jews. The jumping-off point this time is the first verse in Psalms (1, 1): “Happy is the person (ish) who has not walked in the counsel of the wicked, and has not stood in the path of sinners and has not sat in the company of the insolent but his desire is in the Lord’s Torah and he studies (NJPS) that teaching day and night.” The verse is first invoked in the Talmud’s treatment of the mishna, to explain why one should not frequent Greco-Roman places of entertainment like the stadium. Even when this entertainment involves neither blatant idolatry nor bloodshed, it is, according to the baraita, a “gathering of the insolent,” and time spent in those frivolous1 gatherings “leads to a nullification of Torah.” The baraita itemizes at least nine such forms of benign entertainment and spectacles, among them snakes and jugglers.2 Nullifying Torah is to be explained here as wasting time that might have been spent studying Torah.3 And this is the opening volley in this cultural tug-of-war. The Hebrew formulation is more emphatic, calling it bitul Torah, nullifying or negating Torah, lending more urgency to what might otherwise be perceived as a very mild prohibition.

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The opening gambit is to pit study of Torah against other forms of entertainment. This is a commonplace of rabbinic literature, usually contrasting rabbinic academies and synagogues with the theaters and circuses, as we will see later on. This provides the opportunity to reflect at length on the verse from Psalms and its call to desire Torah. At the very core of the three pages, we have a collection of seven or eight statements by Rava about learning, again in my view revealing his pivotal role in influencing education in his generation (mid-fourth-century Babylonia). The opening of our sugya, we have noted, disposes of the option that a Jew be allowed to enjoy pagan culture and is prohibited from attending the stadium and other forms of entertainment at the very least on the grounds that it a moshav letzim, a company of the scoffers, a gathering of ne’er-do-wells. After clarifying the extent of the prohibition by invoking other baraitot, the sugya moves on to three new interpretations of the first phrase of Psalms 1, 1 and indeed structures the entire two pages of this sugya on learning around the exegesis of Psalms 1, 1–3. Let us begin again with an overview of the structure of this extended disquisition on learning. It opens with four units devoted to Psalms 1, 1–2. The first of these treatments that deals with learning is paralleled and mirrored in the final passage of the disquisition, two pages later, itself a comment on Psalms 34, 13. This paralleling seems to provide a framework for this educational mini-tractate. 4 The comments that follow on these verses from the beginning of Psalms range from the prescriptive to a historical identification of the psalm with Abraham’s biography. A short interpretation of Psalms 112, 1 is interpolated, probably because of the common formulaic opening it shares with Psalms 1, “Happy is (the) Person . . . ,” and its use of “desire” in the fi rst verse. After that interpolation, an ironic anecdote is told about Rebbe, Rabbi Judah the Patriarch, and his two students who cannot agree about their next topic of study—Psalms or Proverbs. Rava’s seven statements come next, leading off with his reading of Psalms 1, 2. In a sly move, the sugya interweaves exegeses of Proverbs with the Psalms, providing an editorial rejoinder to the quandary of the story just related about Rabbi Judah and his two students, who had trouble choosing between those two books. Rava’s seven statements lead into another anecdote. While the first story, about Rabbi Judah, was of one teacher with two students, this next story is about the Babylonian amoraim Rav Hisda and Rava. The dilemma is whether a student should learn from more than one teacher. This story also involves the continued exegesis of Psalms 1, 3. The disquisition closes with assorted statements about how to divide study time, warning students from prematurely deciding the law, promising reward to those who devote themselves to Torah, and finally with a

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homily that stylistically mirrors the opening passage. This overview is meant to indicate the extent of the literary crafting of this mini-tractate on learning. It revolves around the first verses in the book of Psalms while availing itself also of a Babylonian collection of dicta and two stories. We will now turn to a detailed analysis of the passages. I will set the framing exposition of Psalms 1, 1–2 alongside the final paragraph of the disquisition, the bookends, as it were, of this treatise on learning Torah: R. Shimon b. Pazi expounded (darash), What is that which is written, “Happy is the person who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked”: he did not go to the theaters and the circuses; “and in the path of the sinner he did not stand”: he did not stand at the kunegion (wild-beast hunt); ‘and he did not sit in the company of the insolent’: he did not sit in on their machinations. Perhaps one may say, “Since I haven’t gone to the theaters and circuses and haven’t stood at the hunt and haven’t sat in on their machinations, I’ll go and occupy myself in sleep,” scripture teaches “but in the Lord’s Torah is his desire” (Psalms 1, 2).

R. Alexandri announced, “Who wants life? Who wants life?” Everyone gathered and went to him. They said to him, “Give us life, give us life.” He said to them, “Who is the person who desires life, loving to see days of good? Guard your tongue from evil, your lips from deceitful speech, shun evil and do good . . .” (Psalms 34, 13–15). Perhaps one may say, “Since I have guarded my tongue from evil and my lips from deceitful speech, I’ll go and occupy myself with sleep,” scripture teaches, “and do good, and there is no good but Torah as it says” (Proverbs 4, 2) . . .

As we have pointed out, the final section ends with a verse from Proverbs, whereas it began with Psalms, again echoing the first story in the disquisition where the students are divided over whether to learn Proverbs or Psalms. More important is the message of both framing exegeses. Their point is that it is not enough to refrain from either evil deeds or speech. One has to be actively engaged in Torah study.5 After this opening of Psalms 1, 1, the next homily is devoted to identifying Abraham as the one who neither walked in the counsel of the generation of the Tower of Babel, nor stood in the path of the wicked at Sodom, nor sat with the Philistines. This exegesis recapitulates one of the earlier themes—the dangers of insolence (lezanut). This is followed, interestingly, by an exposition of Psalms 112, 1, which shares its essential vocabulary with our Psalm: “Happy

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is the man who fears the Lord, of his commandments he is very desirous.” The opening and closing words are identical, yet Psalms 112 celebrates the commandments, while Psalms 1 celebrates Torah study. With this we have reached the core of our sugya—an opening baraita and story about Rebbe, the renowned patriarch who edited the authoritative recension of the Mishna in the early years of the third century. The story is followed by some ten statements of amoraim about learning, most of them attributed to the mid-fourth-century Babylonian sage Rava, and closes with another story, this time about Rava and Rav Hisda. The structure of the sugya as we have outlined it until now is as follows: a. b. c. d.

exegesis of Psalms 1, 1: ashrei ha-ish active study rather than “sleep” exegesis of Psalms 1, 1: Abraham Story about Rebbe, Psalms, or Proverbs: exegesis of Psalms 1, 2 10 amoraic statements on learning, beginning with an exegesis of Psalms 1, 2- majority of which attributed to Rava c’ Story about Rav Hisda and Rava- exegesis of Psalms 1, 3 b’ Section on division of learning and right age to render decisions (horaa) exegesis of Psalms 1,3b–4: Rava and his biography central a’ exegesis of Psalms 34, 13, mi ha-ish: active study rather than “sleep”

I will present this entire portion, from the story about Rebbe, in translation. The section draws its external framework from the continued exegesis of the first verses of Psalms: Psalms 1, 2, “but in the Lord’s Torah is his desire”: It was taught: Rebbe said, “A person does not learn Torah except in a place where his heart desires, as it says ‘but in the Lord’s Torah is his desire.’ ” [Story 1] Levi and R. Shimon b’Rebbe were reciting scripture verse by verse [paskei sidra]6 before Rebbe. The book was completed. Levi said, “Let him bring Proverbs.” R. Shimon b’Rebbe said, “Let him bring Psalms.” He coerced Levi and they brought Psalms. When they reached here, Rebbe interpreted that a person does not learn except in a place where his heart desires. Levi got up and said to him, “My master, you have given us permission to stand [to stop].”

cultures in conflict (avoda zar a 18b–19b) R. Avdimi bar Hama said, “Whoever is busy [osek] with Torah, the Holy One [blessed be He] fulfills his wishes, as it is says, ‘but in the Lord’s Torah is his desire.’ ” [Rava 1] Rava said, “Always should a person learn with desire, as it says, ‘but in the Lord’s Torah is his desire.’ ” [Rava 2] And Rava said, “In the beginning it (the Torah) is recorded under the name7 of the Holy One blessed be He, but in the end it is recorded under his own name [the learner], as it says, ‘but in the Lord’s Torah is his desire,’ and afterward ‘and in his Torah will he recite/meditate [yehegeh].’ ” [Rava 3] And Rava said, “Always should a person learn Torah and afterward recite/meditate [yehege], as it says, ‘but in the Lord’s Torah is his desire and in his Torah will he meditate.’ ” [Rava 4] And Rava said, “Let a person recite [ligros] all that he can find and even if he does not know what he is saying, as it says, ‘my soul is consumed [garsa] with longing for Your rules at all times’ (Psalms 119, 20) . . .”8 [Rava 5] Rava raised (a contradiction), “It is written: ‘Upon the highest places’ (Proverbs 8, 2) and it is written ‘along the way’ (ibid.): at the beginning at the high places and in the end along the way.” Ulla raised a (contradiction), “It is written: ‘drink water from your own cistern’ (Proverbs 5, 15) ‘running water from your own well’ (ibid.) at the beginning, ‘drink water from your own cistern’ but in the end ‘running water from your own well.’ ” [Rava 6] Rava said Rav Sehora said Rav Huna said, “What is that which is written, ‘Wealth may dwindle to less than nothing, but he who gathers little by little increases it’ (Proverbs 13, 11)? If a person makes

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the stabilization of r abbinic culture, 100 c.e.–350 c.e. his Torah many bundles, it diminishes; but if he collects little by little it increases.” [Rava 7] Rava said, “The rabbis know this thing but pass over it.” Rav Nachman bar Yitzchak said, “I did it and it was preserved in my hand.” Rav Shezvi said on behalf of R. Elazar b. Azariah, “What is that which is written, ‘A deceitful hunter never has game to roast, a diligent person has precious wealth’ (Proverbs 12, 27)?” Rav Sheshet said, “The deceitful hunter should be burned.” When Rav Dimi came he said, a parable: “Like a person who hunts birds. If he breaks the wings of the first, it9 is preserved in his hand; if not, it is not preserved in his hand.” Psalms 1, 3, “He is like a tree planted beside streams of water,” they say in the house of Yannai, “ ‘Like a tree planted [shatul]’ and not like a tree firmly planted [natua]: Anyone who learns Torah from one master will never see blessing.”

[Story 2] Rav Hisda said to them, to the Rabbis: “I wish to tell you something but I am afraid of you that you will leave me and go.”10 He told them, “Anyone who learns Torah from one master will never see blessing.” They left him and went to Rava. Rav Hisda took offense [hikpid]. He said to them, “What was stated refers to reasoning [sevara], but concerning received traditions [gemara] from one master is preferable, so that the formulations will not diverge. “On streams of water” ( Psalms 1, 3). R. Tanchum bar Hanilai said, “Always should a person divide his years into thirds, a third in Scripture, a third in Mishna, and a third in Talmud.” But does one know how long one will live? We mean his days. “It gives its fruits in its season” (Psalms 1, 3). [Rava 8] Rava said, “If it gives its fruit in its season, its leaves will not wilt. If not, about him and his teacher scripture says, ‘Not so the

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wicked, but they are like chaff which the wind drives away’ ” (Proverbs 1, 4). R. Abba said Rav Huna said Rav said, “What is that which is written, ‘she has felled many dead and the ones she killed are innumerable’ (Proverbs 7, 26)? ‘She has felled many dead’— this is a student who has not reached the level of giving legal decisions and does so; ‘and the ones she slayed are innumerable’—this is a student who has reached the level of giving legal decisions but does not.” Until how many [years]? R. Zera said until forty. But didn’t Rava give decisions [before that age]? There they were equals. “And his leaf will not wilt” (Psalms 1, 3). Rav Ada bar Ahava said Rav Himnuna said Rav said, “Whence [do we know] that even the conversation of the students of the sages needs study [talmud]? Scripture teaches: “and his leaf will not wilt and everything he does will be successful.” R. Yehoshua b. Levi said, “Anyone who is busy with Torah his possessions will succeed . . . ‘and everything he does will be successful (Psalms 1, 3).’ ” R. Alexandri, etc. . . . As we have noted, the external framework of this extended passage on education is based on the first four verses of chapter 1 of the book of Psalms. But there are other structures within this larger framework, such as the “bookends” discussed earlier. Another substructure, again acting as bookends, consists of the two stories that frame the majority of Rava’s statements about learning. We will begin with an analysis of the two stories and then move on to Rava’s statements. Both stories are preceded by exegeses of the opening verses of Psalms. The first exegesis states that one can learn only in a place that is one’s heart’s desire. The second exegesis that introduces the second story opines that as a tree that drinks from many streams is called shatul, transplanted rather than permanently planted (natua), so too a student should be transplantable and learn from more than one teacher. The first story has two students sitting in front of the one master. The second story has the students deciding to sit before two masters. The first story has the master deciding in favor of his son, one of the pupils. The second story has the student’s opting for the young son-in-law, Rava, of their master, Rav Hisda. The first story teaches, among other things, that the teacher has to be sensitive to the needs and desires of the pupil. The second story teaches that the master overcomes his own fears and feelings to share with his students a vital teaching, even if it might

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prove injurious to him. In the first story the student is coerced (and probably offended), and in the second the master is offended, while the students are granted their freedom. The first story ends with the student’s acerbic remark to his teacher. The second ends with the son-in-law’s (?) attempt to mollify his father-in-law.11 The first story is set in Israel, while the second is in Babylonia. Despite their settings, both stories are told essentially in Babylonian Aramaic, with the exception of the exegetical lead-in. We might contrast the coercion of the first story, two students sitting before the patriarch Rebbe, Rabbi Judah Hanasi, with the basic freedom enjoyed by Rav Hisda’s pupils. Rav Hisda himself was the head of the yeshiva of Sura. The two stories themselves, then, are instructive, and their comparison proves illuminating. I would like to focus now on the language of each of the stories. The unusual phrase paskei sidra12 appears only in the Babylonian Talmud, and there only seven times. Save one exception, the formula always has one or two sages who are paskei sidra before an elder sage. Three of the sources, including ours, are reports of this activity taking place before Rebbe, Rabbi Judah the Patriarch (bYoma 87a, bBava Batra 164b). The source in Bava Batra actually overlaps our source in that Shimon, Rebbe’s son (or Rav),13 is “reading” Psalms out of a book that we are told was written by R. Yehuda Hayata. Save the omission of Levi, this might very well have been the same recitation of Psalms. Each time the Aramaic phrase is used, it is a scholar or group of scholars (bYoma) before whom the activity is done, and it is done by someone who usually also bears the title Rabbi. In our earlier translation we followed Bacher, who defines it as reciting scripture verse by verse. The phrase is employed usually for reading in Ketuvim (Hagiographa—the third section of scripture), though once it is also used for reading in one of the prophets. Seder is the usual word for a section of scripture, and paskei then would be a verb for parsing into verses (psukei, places to stop or cut). This seems analogous to the “expressive reading” in Greco-Roman education, dividing the work into verses, and so on.14 There, in the Greco-Roman setting, the reading is followed by exegesis, and similarly in the seven examples before us in the Talmud, twice exegetical comments are made. In another instance, Rebbe responds emotionally to the verse read with a deep sigh. In short, this seems like an activity carried out also in the higher levels of education and is not just an elementary exercise. Rebbe’s explanation (peresh) is of a homiletical nature. On another occasion, bMoed Katan 16b, an exegetical question is raised while one rabbi was pasik sidra (in front of the other). Here in the Babylonian Talmud it is always used in reference to one or two students before a greater rabbi. The sole exception is the notice in bShabbat 116b where we are told that the custom in

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Nehardea was to paskei sidra bechtuvim, “to recite hagiographa verse by verse” on Shabbat afternoons.15 It would appear, then, that it was customary at least in the Babylonian settings for senior rabbis to review scripture with their students. In Nehardea, the study of Ketuvim was given a special time on Shabbat afternoon. Did similar practices take place in the land of Israel? It is true that our Babylonian sources portray Rebbe, the Israel patriarch, as engaged in these activities. More telling, though, is the fact that we have some Palestinian sources that have Rebbe reading Lamentations on Saturday afternoon before the ninth of Av (pShabbat 16,1 15c), though there the language is pashtin, which both Albeck and Bacher take to be a form of explanation rather than simple reading.16 Be that as it may, our passage in the Babylonian Talmud begins this section about learning with a vignette portraying the editor of the Mishna sitting and overseeing the recitation of scripture by his son and another pupil, while appending his own homiletic commentary. In the next story we have moved to the lectures of a great rabbi, Rav Hisda, presumably on a topic in the oral law, and the statement is given here without any reference to scripture. He quotes a tradition with some trepidation to the effect that one should learn from more than one teacher. If not, one will never see blessing, evidently in one’s studies. One is encouraged, then, not only to pursue one’s heart’s desire but also not to allow allegiance to stand in the way of pursuing knowledge. The tension in this story is alleviated by drawing17 the distinction between the teacher who is responsible for transmitting traditions (gemara) and the teachers who are to impart different modes of reasoning (sevara). The former should be inculcated by one teacher so that the traditions are reported in uniform language. Conversely, matters of reasoning (sevara) demand multiple perspectives and approaches. These two stories serve as a frame for a series of epigrammatic statements about learning, most of them attributed to Rava, all of them related to verses in either Psalms or Proverbs. This is followed by three more elaborate exegeses that reflect on the learner and the learning process. I list and paraphrase the epigrammatic statements without their exegetical underpinnings in order to accentuate their educational thrust: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

God fulfills the wishes of those who study (Rav Avdimi). One should always be motivated in learning (Rava). God’s Torah needs to be made into one’s own Torah (Rava). “Study” precedes “meditation” (yehegeh) (Rava). Recite (garos) even material you do not comprehend (Rava).

There is a move from external motivation to internal and then on to plain spoken maxims for shaping learning. One who is motivated will learn all that

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comes to hand and only afterward reflect on its meaning. These educational emphases strongly reflect the exigencies of oral study, constantly in search of and committing to memory “traditions” that might otherwise disappear. One of these statements requires even closer scrutiny. Rava says, “Always should one learn and then meditate (or speak [yehegeh]) as it says, ‘For in God’s Torah is his desire and in His Torah he will recite/meditate [yehegeh]’ [Psalms 1, 2].” It is this latter verb yehegeh that remains elusive. The biblical prooftext employs that same verb, and it is usually rendered either “studies/ meditates” or “recites.” Generally the root hgh carries a sense of oral recitation, uttering aloud.18 The Septuagint renders the verb here with the Greek meletesei, which also carries a sense of declaiming or reciting a speech. If, then, the usual meaning of hgh is speaking, what did Rava mean when he enjoined that one first memorize and then “speak”? Rashi, the great medieval commentator on the Bible and rabbinic literature, understands hgh here as “scrutinizing one’s study to compare one thing to another.” This would give the root hgh the sense of meditating or theorizing. This meaning became commonplace in the Middle Ages, when the noun higayon took on the meaning of “logic,” with an emphasis on thought rather than speech. If Rashi’s explanation is correct, we can view Rava as one of the first to use the root hgh in this newer sense of thought and reflection. It would seem that Rashi’s explanation is in fact correct as we have, in another tractate, a description of Rava’s own preparations when standing before Rav Hisda. There we learn (bSukkah 29a) that “Rava and Rami bar Hama when they were standing before Rav Hisda would run through the gemara19 [received traditions] together and afterward look into the sevara [logic or reasoning].” Indeed, there seems to be another precedent for this usage in the Jerusalem Talmud (pMegilla 1, 10 72b), attributed to R. Levi, where we read: “Noah hgh (derived?) Torah from within Torah. He said, ‘it was already said to me “as the greens of the grass I have given you all” (Gen. 9, 3)— why then did scripture multiply the clean (animals)?—for sacrifices.’ ” Here the verb clearly denotes a process of deduction.20 This would give us some confidence that Rava too advocates memorization before reflection and speculation. The Ashkenazic manuscript tradition of our text in Avoda Zara diverges significantly both in the order of the statements and in their formulation from the pristine Sephardic tradition we have translated here. In that Ashkenazic tradition, which employs an Aramaic rather than rabbinic Hebrew vocabulary in this passage, we read the following: Rava said, “Always let a person learn [gmr] even though he forgets, recite [grs] even though he does not know, as it says, ‘my soul is consumed [grs] with longing for Your rules at all times’ ” (Psalms 119, 20).

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Rava said, “Let a person learn [gmr] and afterwards speculate [svr] as it says, ‘but in God’s Torah is his desire.’ ” On one level this divergent tradition encourages us to understand the Hebrew hgh as an equivalent of the Aramaic svr, confirming our earlier analysis. This Ashkenazic tradition employs the more common Babylonian pair of contrasting educational terms: gemara and sevara. The former, as we have pointed out, is received tradition, while the latter is speculation. It is this conceptual pair that a few lines hence is used to resolve the tension between Rav Hisda and Rava, between one teacher for gemara and many teachers for sevara. According to both the Asheknazic and the Sephardic manuscript traditions, the student is encouraged to recite (grs), regardless of the level of comprehension. The Aramaic verb grs has its roots in biblical Hebrew as the prooftext here clearly indicates. In the Bible it carries the primary sense of “to crush” or “to grind.” It made its way into Babylonian Jewish Aramaic and became one of the primary words indicating study. I would like to pin down its meaning a little more precisely in order to fully understand Rava’s statement. D. Goodblatt21 commented on the verb in the context of the famous Talmudic story of the attempt to depose Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel from his patriarchate. In order to both alert Rabban Shimon and prepare him for a confrontation surrounding material with which Rabban Shimon was unfamiliar, R. Yaakov b. Kudshai reviews the material aloud in Rabban Shimon’s upper chambers.22 R. Yaakov is said to have executed three types of learning: pashat, garas, vetana. Taking this cue, Rabban Shimon, thereupon, garas the material. As Goodblatt notes, the three verbs as a phrase appear only here, while the two verbs pashat and tana23 appear in sources of the land of Israel. Garas, as we have noted, is unique to the Babylonian Talmud. I would hypothesize that garas here is simply a gloss on pashat and was inserted between the common Palestinian phrase pashat and tanna. Goodblatt is unsure of the meaning of the three verbs together but understands garas to be “reciting orally and audibly.”24 In the Sephardic manuscript tradition of our source in Avoda Zara, I think that the grs probably means to memorize, and the statement means “learn or memorize whatever comes to hand even if you don’t understand it.” What intrigues me is how the root to “crush” or “grind” became the common Babylonian term for recitation or memorization. The Bible’s usage of grinding one’s teeth on gravel (Lamentations 3, 16) might be another indication of the use of the mouth in the learning process. Be that as it may, we should point out a close contemporary Persian parallel to Rava’s view that one should learn even without understanding. Jonas Greenfield, reviewing the teaching of the Sasanid tract on learning called the

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Herbedestan, characterized the learning as “master and disciple both recited them without understanding their sense. To memorize them well with their proper intonation was not an easy task and took much study.”25 The thrust of Greenfield’s article is to show that the specialized usage by Rava’s successor, Rav Nachman bar Yitzchak, of the Aramaic phrase ratin megusha, repeating with no understanding, shows his familiarity with that same nuanced usage as it is also in Syriac. There the verb retan described “various cultic acts of the Magians (Zoroastrians) such as the reading of Scripture, the recitation of prayers and the strange murmuring sound made before and during eating.”26 Greenfield concludes that the phrase referred to “a specific type of oral instruction in which the accent was placed on memorization of a text without comprehension of the context.”27 Though the phrase appears in a critique by Rav Nachman of those reciters (tannaim) who repeat with no understanding like the Magians, it is clear that both he and his predecessor, Rava, as we have seen earlier, view this as an important step in the learning process. In fact, Rav Nachman says of himself that he is “neither sage nor seer but I am a learner of traditions (gamarna) and an arranger (sadarna)” (bPesachim 105b).28 The next section of the sugya (beginning with Rava 5) is composed of a series of more complex exegeses that differ from preceding sections in that they begin with an exegetical question rather than with a statement followed by a prooftext. The first pair in the series begins by juxtaposing two seemingly contradictory verses, while the latter open simply with the direct question, “What is it that which is written in the verse . . . ?” The first pair is fairly cryptic but seems to describe the process by which the student moves from the difficult early stages to a later more accomplished position. At the beginning, things are remote (“the highest places”), but eventually they become accessible (“along the way”). At first the student is like a cistern, always receiving, but afterward he becomes like a spring giving off its own waters. The next pair treats method—how is one to go about learning? Rava quotes a series of his predecessors who advise that one has to learn a little at a time in order to assure that the learning will endure. Rava immediately appends his own remark, whose interpretation depends on a minute variation in the manuscripts, which might either be his congratulating the sages for following this advice or castigating them for neglecting it!29 The next exegesis of another difficult passage in Proverbs ends with a graphic albeit violent image of the urgency of “controlling” one’s learning; one has to “clip” (lit. “break”) the bird’s wings to assure that it does not fly away. We will devote the next few paragraphs to exploring the image and its antecedents. In Jewish sources, the parable appears first in a passage of the Sifre we have seen earlier, attributed to R. Yishmael, the great second-century sage.

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There, the servant is commanded by the king, who has just snared a bird and entrusted it to the slave for safekeeping, “Be mindful of this bird for my son.” The thrust of that parable appears to be the demand for vigilance on the one hand and the delicate, if not precarious, situation of holding a “life” in one’s hand.30 In the parable in our sugya in Avoda Zara, the bird represents the tendency of learning to “take flight,” to slip away at the first moment of inattentiveness. The image highlights the difficulty of mastering and retaining knowledge of Torah. As a later midrash puts it, “Better one bound bird rather than one hundred in flight.”31 Indeed, this later midrash accentuates the violence of our quotation—why speak of breaking wings rather than “tied up”? My guess is that Rav Dimi’s parable is drawn from hunting practices in the land of Israel. Birds could not be shot with an arrow because of dietary laws, so they had to be “trapped.” It would seem that this violent practice of breaking the wings might accord with dietary laws,32 but it would seem certainly to violate the commandment of refraining from “causing suffering to living creatures.” Moreover, I imagine that a good number of the trapped birds were used for sacrifices. It appears that a bird so maimed would be unacceptable for a sacrifice. The parable here comes to reinforce the theme of the precedence of garas, constant repetition to ensure that learning “lasts” and is secure. The image draws on the hunter’s practice to first secure his prey before he moves on to hunt more. The image of the bird well serves the sages’ concern over the retention of Torah, a central theme to this section. I think that it is helpful to contrast these applications of imagery of birds and learning with earlier usages in Greek literature. The most famous is found in Plato’s Theatetus: socrates Now see whether it is possible in the same way for one who possesses knowledge not to have it, as, for instance, if a man should catch wild birds—pigeons or the like—and should arrange an aviary at home and keep them in it, we might in a way assert that he always has them because he possesses them, might we not? theaetetus

Yes.

socrates And yet in another way that he has none of them, but that he has acquired power over them, since he has brought them under his control in his own enclosure, [197d] to take them and hold them whenever he likes, by catching whichever bird he pleases, and to let them go again; and he can do this as often as he sees fit. theaetetus

That is true.

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the stabilization of r abbinic culture, 100 c.e.–350 c.e. socrates Once more, then, just as a while ago we contrived some sort of a waxen figment in the soul, so now let us make in each soul an aviary stocked with all sorts of birds, some in flocks apart from the rest, others in small groups, and some solitary, flying hither and thither among them all. [197e] theaetetus

Consider it done. What next?

socrates We must assume that while we are children this receptacle is empty, and we must understand that the birds represent the varieties of knowledge. And whatsoever kind of knowledge a person acquires and shuts up in the enclosure, we must say that he has learned or discovered the thing of which this is the knowledge, and that just this is knowing. theaetetus

So be it.

[198a] Socrates Consider then what expressions are needed for the process of recapturing and taking and holding and letting go again whichever he please of the kinds of knowledge, whether they are the same expressions as those needed for the original acquisition, or others . . . socrates Continuing, then, our comparison with the acquisition [198d] and hunting of the pigeons, we shall say that the hunting is of two kinds, one before the acquisition for the sake of possessing, the other carried on by the possessor for the sake of taking and holding in his hands what he had acquired long before. And just so when a man long since by learning came to possess knowledge of certain things, and knew them, he may have these very things afresh by taking up again the knowledge of each of them separately and holding it—the knowledge which he had acquired long before, but had not at hand in his mind? theaetetus

That is true. 33

This dialogue carefully avoids using the central theme of Plato’s philosophy— his theory of forms. Moreover, Plato’s theory of “recollection” (anamnesis) is absent, as is the term itself. Indeed the “empty receptacle” and the “tabula rasa” that preceded it seem to imply the opposite. Plato is combating alternate theories of knowledge to his own. In that context, the metaphor of the aviary is deployed to explain misknowledge. How can one be in possession of knowledge yet be mistaken? Here Plato distinguishes between a general sort of “possessing” knowledge and having it “in one’s hand.” The problem Plato is confronting seems to be one of discernment and discrimination rather than

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retention. The Jewish sages are troubled by the inherent nature of knowledge to “take flight” but do not tackle, in using the metaphor, the epistemological problem of the certainty of knowledge and mistaken knowledge. Both traditions use the metaphor of “a bird in hand.” For the rabbis it bespeaks control, the ability to keep in hand the oral knowledge that so easily slips away. For Plato, in this context, it is an accessing of knowledge one already has. Though the metaphor is the same, it functions in different ways in Plato and the Talmud. Closer to the concern raised in Avoda Zara is Plato’s metaphor of the statues of Daedalus in the Meno 97d–98a.34 There we read: socrates It is because you have not observed with attention the images of Daedalus. But perhaps there are none in your country. meno

What is the point of your remark?

socrates That if they are not fastened up they play truant and run away; but, if fastened, they stay where they are. [97e] meno

Well, what of that?

socrates To possess one of his works which is let loose does not count for much in value; it will not stay with you any more than a runaway slave: but when fastened up it is worth a great deal, for his productions are very fine things And to what am I referring in all this? To true opinion. For these, so long as they stay with us, are a fine possession, [98a] and effect all that is good; but they do not care to stay for long, and run away out of the human soul, and thus are of no great value until one makes them fast with causal reasoning. And this process, friend Meno, is recollection, as in our previous talk we have agreed. But when once they are fastened, in the first place they turn into knowledge, and in the second, are abiding. And this is why knowledge is more prized than right opinion: the one transcends the other by its trammels. Here Plato is concerned with “tethering” right opinion by a process of reasoning. This process of reasoning (aitias logismôi) transforms right opinion into secure knowledge. Heuristically, it is instructive to compare Plato’s right opinion, reason, and knowledge to the Talmud’s gemara, sevara. Gemara is received traditions, and sevara35 is the process of analyzing and reasoning to which these traditions are subjected. It appears that a similar process is taking place in rabbinic literature to that in Plato. But I think that this apparent congruity is only on the surface. For the rabbis, received tradition was preeminent—it was not right opinion but rather right knowledge. Indeed, on rare occasions received traditions were corrected, emended, or even rejected, but this was

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the exception rather than the rule. The process of reasoning, sevara, was initiated to fully appreciate the tradition and fathom its implications. Indeed, as we saw earlier, the gemara/sevara divide was used to resolve the dilemma of one teacher or many. E. S. Rosenthal deftly demonstrated that the Roman and Jewish legal systems of late antiquity, respectively, were characterized by two approaches: the conservative, bent on preserving (perseverare), and the innovative (innovare).36 There is a deep divide between those who attempt to fathom the reasoning underlying the laws, imbued by confidence in the human intelligence to extrapolate, and those clinging fast to the law as it as been handed down. It seems likely that these different philosophical approaches to law would result in different emphases in training and education. It would seem that our sugya gives definite priority to rote memorization, followed only later by scrutiny and reflection. Is this a direct result of the exigencies of an oral tradition, or is this also a philosophical proclivity to tradition as opposed to analysis and extrapolation? Should the educational endeavor be geared toward sharpening the wit (sevara) or memorizing received tradition (gemara)? I imagine that each sage found the degree that suited his temperament. Rava, who is the dominant figure in our sugya, is unequivocal about the precedence of rote learning. He himself and his colleague Abaye were renowned in Talmudic times for their penetrating discussions (havayot Abaye ve Rava; at bSukka 28a) and are credited by modern scholarship with generating more abstract principles from the Talmudic case law.37 Be that as it may, as an educational approach Rava sides with the precedence of memorization, of collecting traditions. Only after the tradition has been fully internalized is one encouraged to continue on with “meditation.” It is, though, abundantly clear that for Rava the ultimate goal was to reflect and inquire into the learning that been stored up. In a curious but famous passage in the Babylonian Talmud (Bava Metzia 85b), the tension between gemara and sevara is illustrated with a different set of terms. There we read: Resh Lakish would mark the (burial) caves of the Rabbis. When he reached the cave of R. Hiyya, it was hidden from him. He became distressed. He said, “Did I not turn over [pilpalti (learn with acuity)] Torah like him”? A voice came out and said, “You turned over Torah like him, but you did not disseminate [lit. sprinkle? (ribatzta)] Torah like him.” When R. Hanina and R. Hiyya would quarrel, R. Hanina said to him: “With me you quarrel? For if the Torah were to be forgotten

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from Israel, I would restore it through my sharpness [pilpulai].” Said to him R. Hiyya, “With me you quarrel? What I do [assures] that Torah will not be forgotten from Israel. I sow flax and make nets, hunt deer and make many scrolls and I write five ‘fifths’ [books of Torah] and I go up to the city where this is no teacher of Bible for the children [makre dardeke] and I read to five children the five books [of Torah] and I teach six children the six orders [of Mishna] and I tell them, until I return read to one another [scripture] and recite to one another [Mishna] and so I do that Torah will not be forgotten from Israel.” Interestingly, the battle is waged over who it is that most effectively ensures the perpetuity of Torah. R. Hanina, an early third-century Palestinian sage, boasts that his acuity (pulpulai) is such that he can restore the Torah if forgotten. R. Hiyya, his contemporary, replies that restoration will not be necessary, since by his educational initiatives, Torah will never be forgotten. The prelude to this debate is Resh Lakish’s failed effort to compare himself to R. Hiyya. The heavenly voice is unequivocal in the recognition and praise it accords R. Hiyya’s efforts in disseminating Torah, thus tipping the scale in favor of R. Hiyya’s position, even before the debate between acuity and dissemination takes place. It is important, though, to note that the issue at stake in Avoda Zara is a theoretical approach to learning. Memorization precedes contemplation, breadth precedes depth. In Bava Metzia, the theme is acuity and depth as opposed to active educational efforts to disseminate learning. Underlying both themes, though, is the anxiety in rabbinic literature lest the Torah be forgotten (note that R. Hiyya’s efforts are directed to both oral and written Torah!). Thus priority goes to memorization and dissemination, and only after the “knowledge” is secure does one move on to incisive and penetrating debate. It is somewhat ironic that R. Hanina praises the restorative power of acuity rather than its innovative aspect. This, I think, is in accord with the conservative tendency of a putatively revealed oral law. If we were to return to our comparison with Plato, Torah study is a constant effort to collect and re-collect the divinely revealed Torah, oral and written. Plato’s own theory of recollection rests firmly, according to some scholars, on the theological doctrine of metempsychosis. One is constantly trying to recover knowledge of past lives. For the rabbinic view one is constantly perpetuating and recovering the divinely revealed Torah of bygone generations. In this revelatory scheme, gemara will always precede sevara. Yet in all three of our extended Babylonian discussions of learning, Avoda Zara, Bava Batra (our next chapter), and Eruvin, Rava’s voice, championing

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sevara, will ring loud and clear. It is least audible in Eruvin, since Eruvin is predominantly refashioned Palestinian aggada, rather than a full-fledged Babylonian production. D. Rosenthal succinctly summarized the regnant scholarly view that in the land of Israel there was a distinct preference for assembling traditions, while in Babylonia the predilection was for pilpul and acuity rather than amassed traditions.38 In our sugya in Avoda Zara and the one in Bava Batra, it is clear that Rava is the central figure in terms of both the numbers of his sayings and his role. For example, here in our sugya of Avoda Zara, prior to moving into excursuses on learning, there is a brief diatribe against “insolence” (lezanuta) composed of various sages’ statements against that behavior. Only Rava there is quoted not as an abstract apothegm but rather as an exhortation he delivered to his students—as if the narrator was attending Rava’s beit midrash. It might very well be Rava, and so it appears to me, who is to be credited with the sea change from an emphasis on gemara to an emphasis on sevara. Be that as it may, this extended discussion of Torah learning, probably stemming from Rava’s Babylonian school in Mahoza, began with the materials that recorded the early Palestinian disparaging of the diverse Roman forms of entertainment as constituting a nullification of Torah study. The next Palestinian move was to rule out rest and passivity and weigh in for Torah study. The materials that stood before the Babylonian redactor were a plea for constant attention to the rabbinic culture of learning. Rava’s seven or eight dicta act as a program to how one enters that world and the reward awaiting the patient student.

6 Education and Accountability (Bava Batra 20b–22a)

As opposed to other extended sugyot on education in the Babylonian Talmud that are inserted entirely en passant, the mishna at Bava Batra 2, 3 lends itself to the educational agenda of the talmudic discussion. That mishna declares that one is not permitted to protest the noise made by children in a neighboring home. This is stated in contrast to other zoning laws that allow neighbors to object to one opening a store in one’s residence, since the customer traffic is considered to be a nuisance. The mishna declares that along with the noise of children one might not protest the noise made by the hammer or the grindstone in a neighbor’s house. This context prompted one nineteenth-century critical scholar to posit that the children in question were child laborers helping in the neighbor’s manufacturing of utensils or vessels.1 But the mid-fourth-century Babylonian scholar Rava preferred to explain that the mishna’s reference to children was speaking about schoolchildren, and the question was whether a neighbor might protest elementary instruction taking place in the confines of one’s home, which, according to Rava, he may not. It is fitting that the extended educational sugya that follows essentially treats rules of governance enacted or perpetuated by Rava in his mid-fourth-century Babylonian community. In this context Rava also advanced his theories of education upon which these rules are based. The sugya begins with a debate between Rava and Abaye over the interpretation of the mishnaic clause relating to children and, in the wake of

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Rava’s commentary, launches into what it presents as the history of the founding of elementary education. This is followed by Rava’s own educational ordinances and eventually draws to a close with a long anecdote about the special privileges accorded or denied to advanced Torah scholars who come to another town for commercial purposes. Leaving aside for a moment the problem of the accuracy of the reconstructed “history” of education, the sugya as a whole is a rare glimpse into what would appear to be the actual workings of “municipal” legislation on education in Jewish Babylonia. The sugya begins with a debate between Abaye and Rava (c. 350 c.e.) as to how to interpret the mishna, in the course of which the Talmud (or Rava himself) cites a tradition in the name of Rav (c. 230 c.e.) crediting the high priest Yehoshua b. Gamla (c. 65 c.e.) with instituting elementary education in “every province and in every city.” Rav, as we have mentioned, is the towering early third-century c.e. founder of the Sura academy. He is reported in our sugya as issuing instructions to the person who was entrusted with teaching children in Rav’s community, Rav Shmuel bar Shilat. The sugya continues questioning Rava’s interpretation of the mishna, which viewed our mishna as a zoning dispensation in favor of setting up elementary teaching within one’s own home. Three baraitot, non-mishnaic tannaitic traditions, are quoted that appear to challenge Rava’s construal of the mishna’s ruling that one is always permitted to teach schoolchildren in one’s home. These seeming contradictions are resolved, though not with unimpeachable answers.2 Rava follows with five dicta that set down clear guidelines for implementing elementary education in his own region of Mahoza:3 1. Schoolchildren are not to be transported from city to city, but may be transported from synagogue to synagogue unless a river without a bridge intervenes. 2. For every twenty-five students a teacher of scripture (makre dardeke) is to be appointed. If there are forty, he receives an assistant 4 (resh duchna). 3. One does not replace the teacher of Scripture by another who is more knowledgeable lest he (?) become negligent. (Rav Dimi of Nehardea disagrees). 4. A teacher of Mikra who is learned (garis) but imprecise (la daik) is preferable to one who is not as learned but is precise. (Again Rav Dimi of Nehardea disagrees, opting for precision over breadth.) 5. A teacher of scripture, as a number of other professionals, is considered forewarned (and bears immediate responsibility for mistakes).

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After spending the next number of lines on the restriction of business competition by outsiders and neighbors, the sugya returns to the special status of elementary teachers where competition is encouraged: “the jealousy of scribes increases wisdom.” A special dispensation is granted to traveling salespeople (rochlin). They are allowed to come and peddle but not to set up shop permanently. This latter restriction is waived in the case of Torah scholars. Rava reappears in the sugya as one who granted this special status to two rabbis, Yoshia and Ovadia, so their learning (gersaihu) should not be disturbed. The sugya culminates with three more cases of itinerant salespeople, the last of whom is the very same Rav Dimi of Nehardea mentioned earlier (numbers 3 and 4), who has a nasty encounter with Rava’s student Rav Ada bar Abba. We will isolate three of the core units, the building blocks of this sugya, and analyze them independently. We will begin by revisiting the most famous section, the purported history of the innovation and implementation of elementary education. It is Rav, the founder of the great Babylonian yeshiva in Sura around 220 c.e., who praises Yehoshua b. Gamla, the high priest of 160 years earlier and credits him with instituting widespread elementary education. Needless to say, this source has been the object of numerous and exhaustive studies, with an excellent critical retrospective by D. Goodblatt:5 For Rav Yehuda said in the name of Rav, “But that man is remembered for good6 and Yehoshua b. Gamla is his name; for if it weren’t for him, the Torah would have been forgotten from Israel. At first, one who had a father, his father taught him;7 One who did not have a father, did not learn Torah. What did they expound?8 “You should teach them”: Teach them you [yourself]. They instituted to settle teachers of children in Jerusalem. What did they expound? “For from Zion will Torah go forth.” But still, one who had a father, his father would take him up and teach him; one who did not have father did not go up and learn. They instituted that they would settle them in every province and enroll them at the age of sixteen or seventeen. And when the master would get angry at him, he (the student) would give him a kick and leave. Until Yehoshua b. Gamla came and instituted that they would settle them in each and every state and in each and every city, and enroll them around six or seven years old.

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This is a most curious retrospective on the development of elementary education, and though it has been cited in every historical account, it bears a thorough literary analysis within the context of the sugya, to which we now turn. The opening formula “But that man . . . is remembered for good” appears four times in the Babylonian Talmud, with three of them attributed to Rav Yehuda in the name of Rav. In all three, the great founder of the Babylonian yeshiva in Sura, Rav, praises a person who saved Torah, or some part of it, from oblivion. In the one case reinterpretation of the book of Ezekiel saved it from being sequestered. In another application of the phrase, a sage is praised for endangering himself in order to give ordination, thus ensuring the continuity of the adjudication of cases involving fines. In our text, the high priest Yehoshua b. Gamla is praised for having saved Torah, presumably by the enactment attributed to him later in the text. Yehoshua is credited with setting the age for elementary education (six or seven) and for placing primary school teachers in every town. It is more than noteworthy that the Babylonian Talmud contains another two traditions, other than those cited earlier, about sages who prevented the Torah from being forgotten. In the one (bSukkah 20a) the claim is advanced that every time the Torah was forgotten (in Israel!), a Babylonian (Ezra the Scribe, Hillel the Elder, and R. Hiyya)9 would come and restore it. In the other instance (bBava Metzia 85b//bKetubot 103b), the very same R. Hiyya boasts that he single-handedly guarantees the perpetuity of Torah. He describes his system that starts with agriculture, weaving traps, trapping deer, slaughtering them, giving their flesh to orphans,10 and using their hides for parchment, and ends with his traveling to towns where there were no Bible teachers and “I teach the five books [of Moses] to five children, and six orders [of Mishna] to six children, and I say to them, ‘until I come back teach one another Bible and teach one another Mishna.’ ”11 It is fascinating, then, that the Babylonian Talmud preserves two traditions that credit effective elementary education with perpetuating Torah and preventing its being forgotten. Though both of these sources report on activities done or instituted in the land of Israel, it seems reasonable to propose that the Babylonians’ own sensitivity to primary education is shining through here. They are firm believers in primary education as the sine qua non of Torah study. It is not surprising that our sugya in Bava Batra continues with detailed instructions about the governance of primary education in “contemporary” Babylonia. Who was Yehoshua b. Gamla? Some modern scholars refuse to identify him with the high priest of the same name, mentioned by Josephus, who lived in the years preceding the destruction of the Second Temple. But the medieval biographical work Yichuse Tannaim veAmoraim, a little under a millennium

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ago, mounted a vigorous and persuasive defense for this identification.12 Goodblatt13 concurs with Morris, who was troubled by the fact that Yehoshua’s good friend, the historian Josephus, makes no mention of this historic enactment of elementary education. Others have tried to explain away this thundering silence.14 We will come back to this problem later on. For now, suffice it to say that it might very well be Yehoshua’s high priesthood that provides us with the key to unraveling this enigmatic reconstruction of the founding of elementary education. After this dramatic opening, the encomium to Yehoshua b. Gamla follows what appears to be a continuation of Rav’s opening statement and offers Rav’s own reconstruction of the proliferation of elementary education, that culminates in Yehoshua’s enactment. At the very beginning, each and every father bore the responsibility for teaching his child. Seeing that home schooling worked only where there was a father (or a father who could teach), instructors were placed in Jerusalem. Now this point is also problematic. How could one central location solve the problem for the entire land of Israel? Again, the source goes on, this solution relied too heavily on the father actively bringing the son to Jerusalem. Eventually a network of instructors was set up in every province. This seems reasonable, but what logic was there to begin education at sixteen or seventeen years of age? All of a sudden we seem to have shifted from elementary education to higher education! Finally, Yehoshua comes along and institutes an even more localized distribution of instructors and lowers the entrance age to six or seven, ostensibly on grounds of discipline. Two related suggestions might help explain the odd sequence of events in Rav’s reconstruction. It seems reasonable that Jerusalem was the first to institute a developed system of education.15 It had both the resources and the most natural clientele, the priests, who were traditionally the most educated. This local municipal solution proved attractive to the general populace,16 and eventually the solution was exported to the major provinces. If indeed the main clientele were the priests, it might be that the original intent was to prepare them for service in the temple a couple of years before they were of age: twenty years old. For practical reasons this eventually was turned into an extensive system of education designed to accompany the child from his early years until service in the Temple. It stands to reason that the high priest had a hand in this enactment. It was the children of priests, in terms of both their wealth and education, who peopled the classes, though they were probably joined early on by a smattering of other Jews who both pursued and could afford education. Sensing the imminent danger to Jerusalem and the priestly stronghold, Yehoshua b. Gamla might very well have, in a prescient manner, put into place an educational system that could survive an attack on the Temple.17 It is

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fascinating to note that in Jewish Alexandria of Philo’s time, “instruction in arts and sciences began at seventeen and lasted twenty years.”18 Rav’s reconstruction is immediately followed by his own instructions to the local elementary teacher, Rav Shmuel bar Shilat. The first addresses the minimum age for acceptance. Here it seems that the dynamic portrayed in the reconstruction, the lowering of the minimum age to six or seven from sixteen or seventeen, might have necessitated Rav’s instructing Rav Shmuel that he was not to accept anyone younger than age six: Rav said to Rav Shmuel bar Shilat, “Until age six do not accept. From then on, accept and stuff ’em like an ox.” And Rav said to Rav Shmuel bar Shilat, “When you strike the child, don’t strike him other than with a shoe-strap.19 Let the one who discusses,20 discuss. The one who does not discuss, let him be company of a sort for his friend.” The two passages together, Rav’s “history” and Rav’s own instructions to the elementary teacher Rav Shmuel, form a single unit that focuses on age and discipline. Rav places himself firmly in that tradition, prohibiting a “head start” and accepting children only from age six.21 He advocates a liberal attitude to the apparent nonlearner and advises a most limited measure of physical punishment. We know that the proper age to begin a child’s studies was debated in Roman circles. This we learn from Quintilian, among others. The first-century rhetorician writes the following: Some hold that boys should not be taught to read till they are seven years old, that being the earliest age at which they can derive profit from instruction and endure the strain of learning. . . . Those, however, who hold that a child’s mind should not lie fallow for a moment are wiser. . . . Still those who disagree with me seem in taking this line to spare the teacher rather than the pupil. . . . why should we despise the profit before the age of seven, small though it be?22 Rav then sides with Quintilian’s opponents, allowing the child to defer formal study at least until age six. The metaphor Rav employs—“stuff ’em like an ox”—might reveal a sense of uneasiness or defensiveness about deferring learning until that age, as if one were making up for lost ground by “stuffing” the material into the “older” pupil. It also carries a strong sense of rote learning that was certainly the staple of early learning. It is no less clear that Rav

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had a keen sense of socialization and tacit learning, allowing the quiet child to enjoy or provide company for the more active learners. The next core unit 23 consists of Rava’s directives on educational administration, quoted earlier, presumably issued for his town, Machoza. Machoza was a bustling, heavily populated commercial center with its own port.24 In terms of the literary composition, Rava’s directives seem to be a direct continuation of his opening statement, where he explained the mishna’s children as referring to elementary students and in the wake of Yehoshua b. Gamla’s enactment. Here Rava continues with the other consequences of that enactment, in effect fleshing out the details of what it means to set up truly “local” teachers. Children are not to be transported from city to city but might be moved from a (neighborhood) synagogue even if a river intervenes, only if there is a sturdy bridge available (not a “plank” bridge). Significantly, Rava touches upon other aspects of local education that neither Rav nor Yehoshua b. Gamla discussed. The first is the maximum number of pupils in each class. This certainly reflects the needs of a burgeoning community like Machoza. Maximum class size was twenty-five, with an assistant (reish duchna) being provided after that number25 until there were two full classes, where another teacher need be appointed. These detailed directives reflect what appears to be a thriving (local?) school system, which Rava is attempting to shape. This attempt should be viewed against the backdrop of Persian society of the time. First of all, as noted in appendix one, Towa Perlow called attention to a putative decree by the Persian king Ardashir Babegan, circa 230, that permits a synagogue and school in each town.26 It would certainly appear from Rava’s directive that neighborhood schools were available in his locality. Moreover, there is an important Zoroastrian work called the Herbedestan,27 which is thought to contain material from Sasanian Babylonia, though edited in post-Talmudic times.28 There we read a series of directives also dealing with distances to be traveled by the prospective student, explicitly mentioning females and minors who need be escorted to their studies. There is discussion there of the length of time one can absent oneself from home in order to study, a problem raised in another place in Talmudic discussion (bKetubot 62b–63a). There also, in bKetubot, Rava’s figure looms large. There, it is a tragic story about Rava’s student Rav Rechume, who would return home once a year on the eve of the Day of Atonement, which opens a series of stories dealing with the separation from wife and home for the purposes of study. This collection of stories closes with Rava’s own son returning, also on the eve of the Day of Atonement, curtailing his intended six-year absence to a mere three years. Rava is clearly displeased, and the disagreement prevents both father and son from eating

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the final meal before the long fast.29 Greenfield sees the standard period of study in the Herbedestan as three years.30 The Herbedestan on the whole seems very concerned with the responsibility to supervise one’s property and estate and that being the main inhibiting factor from attending the Herbedestan, the school of learning. Again, we have Rava’s plea to his students not to attend the academy at the crucial times of harvest (bBerachot 35b).31 Most intriguing is Rava’s position on the quality and nature of the instructor. Rava stakes out a position that valorizes breadth over precision in the elementary teacher and grants the elementary teacher a full measure of job security even if a more learned teacher is available. Each of these positions is contested by Rav Dimi of Nehardea:32 And Rava said, “That Teacher of Scripture to children who recites/ has learned [garis] but there is another who recites/has learned [garis] more, we do not remove him. What is the reason? Lest he be remiss [or slack].”33 Rav Dimi of Nehardea said, “How much more so will he learn;” What is the reason? “The jealousy of scribes increases wisdom.” And Rava said, “Those two teachers34 of Scripture to children. One who recites/has learned [garis] but is not precise [daik], and one who is precise but does not recite/has not learned, we appoint the one who has learned but is not precise, and the mistake will work itself out [lit. will leave on its own].” Rav Dimi of Nehardea said, “We appoint the one who is precise but has not learned, for a mistaken once entered remains [lit. enters], as it is written . . .” Garis tefei, learned more, here seems to indicate more extensive learning, as the medieval commentator Rashi would have it, or putting in more time (Menachem HaMeiri—another classical medieval commentator), but it might also be greater fluency. Garas can be used as a general term for learning but often has the more technical sense of learn aloud or recite.35 Rava seems to be concerned either that the new teacher will be overconfident, since he was chosen to replace his predecessor, or conversely that he will feel insecure and not apply himself.36 Rav Dimi seems to feel that he will be even more careful, since his own precedent serves as a warning. Rav Dimi, or the stam, buttresses his opinion with an aphorism: “The jealousy of scribes increases wisdom.”37 Interestingly, the oldest form of this aphorism is found in Ben Sira (early second century b.c.e.) 38, 26, where we

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read: “The wisdom of the sofer increases wisdom.” Rav Dimi may have adapted Ben Sira’s comment for our immediate context, treating a rivalry between teachers.38 But it might very well be that the aphorism in its original form is the more appropriate here—the wisdom of the sofer increases wisdom. Thus, the teacher who has learned more would be the preferred teacher. In the second disagreement with Rava, Rav Dimi (or again, very possibly the anonymous editor of the sugya) brings support for his preference for precision from a legend about Yoav and David. The story shows how a mistake as trivial as wrong vocalization can have tragic consequences. This is the story as brought in our passage: “For six months Yoav and all of Israel sat there until destroying all the males in Edom” (1Kings 11, 16). When he came before David, he asked him, “What was the reason you did thus, that you killed the males and left the females?” He said to him, “For it is written, ‘Wipe out the male [zachar] of Amalek’ ” (Exodus 17, 14). He said to him, “But we read the memory [zecher] of Amalek.” He said to him, “I (recall), male [zachar], he read to us.” He went and asked his teacher. He said to him, “How did you read to us?” He said to him, “ ‘Wipe out zchr 39 of Amalek.’ ” He took a saber and wanted to kill him. He said to him, “For what?” He said to him, “For it is written ‘Cursed be the one who is slack in the Lord’s work. Cursed be the one who keeps his sword from bloodshed’ ” (Jeremiah 48, 10). He said to him, “Leave that person [i.e., me] with the curse.” He said to him, “ ‘Cursed be the one who keeps his sword from bloodshed!’ ” This brutal tale shimmers with irony. Yoav has been remiss, according to David, and should have bloodied his sword also with the female Edomites. Yoav claims in defense that his elementary teacher misread the verse to him, and this is the source of the error. The story has three scenes, each with two characters and a verse at the center: Yoav and David (zecher/zachar), Yoav inquiring of his teacher (zchr), Yoav poised to punish his teacher (cursed, etc.). The final verse is double-edged. Because his teacher had erred (or had been deceptive) in God’s work, Yoav had come under the curse of having kept his sword from the blood of the Edomite women. His teacher begs that Yoav leave him in his cursed state, but Yoav, who had before kept his sword from blood, will no longer abide twice

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making the same mistake. We are not at all sure of the nature of the teacher’s slack or “deception.” Meiri, a thirteenth-century Provençal commentator, states categorically that both a teacher who errs in his girsa and one who is negligent come under the malediction. 40 R. Shimon b. Zemach Duran, a fifteenth-century commentator who was among those exiled from Spain, faults the teacher, following the Tosafists (twelfth- through fourteenth-century commentators), not with erring himself, but for not attending to the students’ recitation. 41 He should have corrected the student. This is an attractive interpretation, since the deceit would be in a teacher’s failure to fulfill his role properly. Even if the teacher instructs correctly but does not ensure the proper reception by the student, the teacher has been remiss. It might be, as I noted earlier, 42 that when Yoav came back he received a different reading than when he was young, and this would really constitute deception. Be that as it may, the story is evoked here ostensibly to support Rav Dimi’s position that mistakes are irreversible and costly. In fact, the text serves better as an introduction to Rava’s next statement that teaching is an occupation that carries with it an assumption that the teacher is cognizant and forewarned that he or she bears responsibility for errors in instruction. Our sugya seems constructed to give greater weight to Rav Dimi’s opinion. We will return to this problem when we meet Rav Dimi of Nehardea as the protagonist of the closing story in our sugya. The sugya continues with an extended discussion of Rav Huna’s ruling disallowing economic competition within the same street. Rav Yosef submits that even Rav Huna, who discouraged commercial competition, allowed educational competition at least in the elementary setting, invoking once again the aphorism that “the jealousy of Scribes increases wisdom.” This is another indication that the reasoning attributed to Rav Dimi’s position earlier is the accepted position in the generation prior to his own. The final portion of our sugya treats the exception granted to traveling salespersons, who were allowed to sell their wares. Within this category we are told that Rava made special allowances for sages who were also business people, so that, the Talmud explains, “they won’t be disturbed from their study/ recitation [gersaihu].” The sugya closes with a long story involving the same Rav Dimi of Nehardea and Rava who debated the traits of a teacher above. The story runs as follows:43 Rav Dimi of Nehardea brought dried figs in a boat. The Exilarch said to Rava, “Go out and see if he is a scholar [zurba derabbanan] and we will get a market for him.”44 Rava said to him to Rav Ada bar Abba, “Go out and test his metal [lit. have a look at his container].”

education and accountabilit y (bava batr a 20b–22a) He went out and he asked him, “An elephant that swallowed an Egyptian basket and emitted it through its anus, what is it?” He did not have it in hand. 45 He said to him, “The master is Rava?” He struck him on his sandal. He said to him, “Between me and Rava there is much. Perforce I am you master/Rabbi and Rava is the master/Rabbi of your master/Rabbi.” He did not get a market for him and his dried figs were lost. He came before Rav Yosef. He said to him, “Let the master see what he did to me.” He said to him, “He who did not tarry [concerning] the oppression of the king of Edom, will not tarry [concerning] your oppression— as it is written, ‘On the three sins of Moab but on the fourth I will not forego, for burning the bones of the king of Edom to lime’ ” (Amos 2, 1). The soul of Rav Ada bar Abba rested. Said Rav Yosef, “I punished him, since it was I who cursed him.” Rav Dimi said, “I punished him, since my dried figs were lost.” Abaye said, “I punished him, since he would say to them, to the rabbis, ‘While you chew on bones by Abaye, eat fat meat at Rava’s house.’ ” And Rava said, “I punished him, since he would say to the butcher, ‘I’ll take meat before Rava’s servant.’ ” Rav Nachman bar Yitzchak said, “I punished him.” And it makes sense that it was Rav Nachman bar Yitzchak who punished him, because of something that had once happened— that Rav Nachman bar Yitzchak was the head of the kallah (biannual month of study). Every day before he would enter the kallah he would run over the legal tradition [shemateta] with Rav Ada bar Abba and afterward enter the kallah. That day Rav Pappa and Rav Huna the son of Rav Yehoshua took him, Rav Ada bar Abba, because they had not been at the siyuma (concluding session). 46 They said to him, “Tell us the legal tradition [shmatita] of tithing the animal, how Rava said it.” He said to them, “Thus Rava said it.” In the meantime it became late in the day and he did not come. The rabbis said to Rav Nachman, “Arise for the day is late.” He said to them, “I’ll sit and watch for the deathbed of Rav Ada bar Abba.” In the meantime the word went out that his soul had rested.

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This is a complex and tragic story that closes out our sugya. Two suggestive links connect this story with the earlier Rav Dimi and Rava section: (1) revisiting and inverting the Edom motif (this time punishing those who degraded the king of Edom rather than demanding more killing), and (2) rehearsing again the liability of the teacher (this time it is Rav Ada who pays with his life). We have moved from laws of elementary education and competition at the level with which we began to the very delicate issues of economic and educational competition in the advanced academy. Rav Dimi’s encouragement of jealousy among elementary teachers resonates in Abaye’s displeasure with Rav Ada’s crass promotion of Rava’s academy over Abaye’s. The metaphor Rav Ada uses, fat meat in Rava’s house, is reified when Rava himself complains that Rav Ada demanded to be served first at the butcher before Rava’s attendant. Certainly, Rav Ada’s behavior with Rav Dimi displayed no small measure of arrogance, tapping his sandal and claiming to be his teacher. The legal conundrum Rav Ada threw at Rav Dimi appears in a parallel at bMenahot 69a as a question raised by Rami bar Hama, a close colleague of Rava’s. A complicated issue, 47 debated through the Middle Ages, the question seemed to be designed to ensure Rav Ada’s status over the newcomer. The newcomer lost his market, and the inquisitor lost his life. Rav Ada’s self-esteem is reflected both in his relationship with Rava, his teacher, and with the newcomer, Rav Dimi. His privileged position, as Rava’s leading student, to whom others turn to make up missed material, and Rav Nachman’s study partner before the public lectures of the kallah, certainly contributed to Rav Ada’s self-confidence. Each of the various rabbis claims responsibility, though not necessarily remorse, for punishing Rav Ada. The editor of the sugya opts for Rav Nachman’s version. 48 In a way it is the most benign critique of Rav Ada. His downfall came not through arrogance or self-esteem but because he was distracted from his usual course of study by two colleagues who “took” (naktuhu) him or grabbed him. His repetition of a missed final session for his colleagues makes him miss his preparatory session with Rav Nachman. It is tantalizing that the same verb (nakat) is used earlier in the contest of “taking” a market or making a market for Rav Dimi, which Rav Ada quashed. Rav Nachman, disappointed, exasperated, or simply stymied, cannot or does not want to believe that anything but death would cause Rav Ada to miss his appointment. We have met a similar motif in at least one other story, about Yehuda the son of Rabbi Hiyya (bKetubot 62b). As opposed to there, Rav Nachman’s response here is not characterized as an unfortunate or imprudent mistake. It is Rav Nachman who takes responsibility for punishing Rav Ada, who failed to come to their joint study. Despite Rav Ada’s numerous failings, the editor valorizes the opinion

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that punishment was meted out for missed study, even when the cause of the missed study was itself preoccupation with study, albeit with someone else. Our sugya opened with the luminous figure of Yehoshua b. Gamla, who, through his enactment, disseminated Torah throughout Israel at the most elementary level. The sugya closes with the presumptuous figure of Rav Ada, who fails to participate in preparing Rav Nachman for his public lecture. The sugya is the story, in some ways the history, of the sages’ insistence on public teaching and the heavy responsibility resting on the shoulders of those who undertake it, at any level. To be sure, these same sages award a privileged status to the scholar, even economic advantage. But that status is hard-won and carries with it the burden of being forever forewarned; a teacher is always liable for mistakes, and sometimes the consequences are devastating. We encounter here also the demand that the scholar be humble, if not diffident. Rav Ada’s self-absorption led to his downfall. Rava has equipped his fourth-century community on the Tigris River with both administrative guidelines for elementary education and a theory of education, holding that elementary mistakes will work themselves out in time and are not tragic. We might relate this to his effort to develop acuity, which would empower the student to monitor the received tradition and possibly make adjustments. Along with that, Rava was in favor of job security for the elementary teacher. This was disputed by Rav Dimi, who eventually, according to later tradition, become the head of the academy. There is no question that the entire sugya is permeated by the Babylonian sages’ dedication to elementary education and the enormous responsibility carried by the teacher, of young and old alike.

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7 Teaching with Authority A Comparative View

One can make a case that of all the famous legends in rabbinic literature that have left a permanent imprint on Jewish consciousness and shaped Jewish identity, the aggada of the Gentile who comes before Shammai and Hillel demanding to be taught the entire Torah while standing on one foot (bShabbat 31a) has achieved a special place. Rebuffed by Shammai for his insolence, the potential convert is accepted by Hillel and instructed, “What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow—the rest go and study [gemar].” Much scholarship had been devoted to the negative formulation of the Golden Rule, but I submit that Hillel’s negative answer is no more than a clever and witty reprisal to the potential convert’s impudent request to sum up the entire Torah. Hillel’s rejoinder is not to ask of others what you yourself would not want to be asked, and now go study in a proper fashion. In defense of the convert, we may note that the Epicureans were insistent on epitomizing their knowledge,1 and perhaps the potential convert had come from that sort of an educational approach. No less fascinating, albeit less well known, is the anecdote that precedes the more well known one we’ve just quoted. Actually this famous anecdote or story (chreia)2 about Hillel agreeing to summarize the entire Torah, is the second of three stories of Gentiles approaching Shammai and Hillel. All the stories share the common element of a potential convert who stipulates the terms under which he is prepared to be converted. In the last of the three,

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the convert asks to be converted under the condition that he be made the high priest. We will now address the first of these stories as it appears in the baraita in bShabbat 31a and compare it with two other versions. The first parallel version is found in the midrashic collection called Avot d’Rabbi Nathan, and the second in Midrash Rabbah on Ecclesiastes. Let us begin with the baraita3 as it presents itself in the Babylonian Talmud (Shabbat 31a):4 Our Rabbis taught: A case [masseh- a story?] of a Gentile who came before Shammai. He said to him: “How many Torahs do you have?” He answered: “Two—one written and one oral.” He said to him: “The written one—I believe you; the oral one— I do not believe you. Convert me on the condition that you teach me the Written Torah.” He scolded him and sent him off in rebuke. He came before Hillel—and he converted him The first day he taught him aleph bet gimel dalet and the next day he reversed it. He said to him, “But yesterday you didn’t say it thus?” He answered: “Didn’t you trust me [yesterday]?5 So too you should trust me about the Oral Torah.” We will begin with the query of the Gentile: “How many Torahs do you have?” The same question was addressed to Rabban Gamliel by Agnitus the “hegemon” (Sifre Deuteronomy section 351, Finkelstein ed., p. 408): “How many Torahs were given to Israel?” and in Midrash Tannaim (Hoffmann ed., p. 215) with another twist: “How many Torahs were given to Israel from Heaven?”6 Is this simply a naive question, pure curiosity and no more? Or is the Gentile in our source or Agnitus in the Sifre intimating derisively the inherent deficiency in a system with more than one Torah? Support for the latter interpretation can be found in other rabbinic passages where “Two Torahs” implies a breakdown in the system: “Since the students of Shammai and Hillel increased who had not sufficiently attended [their teachers], disagreement increased in Israel and they became two Torahs” (tHagiga 2.9; Lieberman ed., p. 384).7 Even more poignant is the parallel to that passage in Tosefta Sotah 14, 9, which is preceded by the statement “when the haughty increased, disagreement increased in Israel and there became two Torahs” (Lieberman ed., p. 237). The very notion of “Two Torahs” denotes confusion or a lack of unified authority. It is true that Roman law, as set down by the Institutes of Justinian (533 c.e.), differentiated between the oral law, that is to say custom, and written law or statute. This distinction can be traced to very early classical sources, but it is doubtful whether this is the same as the rabbinic distinction between the two Torahs. However,

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it is possible that a Gentile who recognized this bipartite division of Roman law might be interested as to whether a similar division exists in Judaism. Thus framed, the question is innocent rather than acerbic. In any event, the answer given both by Shammai and later by Rabban Gamliel is evasive and does not chart out the relationship between the two Torahs. Are they complementary? Do they deal with different subjects, or might they be one revelation delivered by different methods of transmission? Three Gentiles are portrayed as impertinent importuners in the three consecutive stories involving Shammai and Hillel in this page of the Babylonian Talmud tractate Shabbat.8 All three of the Gentiles set preconditions to their conversions. The first, as we have just seen, limits the material he is willing to engage—he is interested only in the written Torah. The second is prepared to study the whole Torah but wants an executive summary—while standing on one foot. He limits the time he is willing to devote. Finally, the third demands that he be granted both the highest pedigree and one of the highest offices—that of the high priest. It could be argued that of the three, our case, the first, is the most extreme. In our opening case, the Gentile declares that he does not believe the teacher and accepts only half of the teaching. Shammai’s response seems the more appropriate, while Hillel’s is “predictably” surprising and unconventional. Moreover, we should note that the conversion is said to precede the actual learning. Why doesn’t either of the great sages begin with learning prior to the conversion?9 Thorny preconditions notwithstanding, Hillel accedes to the wishes of the Gentile and converts him, despite the latter’s expression of disbelief.10 Here, as in the next and more famous story, Hillel’s argument is put forth in the Aramaic familiar to the Babylonian Talmud in a highly polished literary nugget. The Geniza’s version is even more lapidary: Now he read to him: aleph bei, and the next day he reversed it bei aleph. He said to him: “But yesterday you didn’t say it to me thus.” He answered: “But yesterday, wasn’t it me whom you trusted? Now trust me.” This Geniza reading emphasizes the chiastic structure—now/yesterday, yesterday/now—imitating structurally the message of the dependence of present knowledge upon the past. The main thrust of the “lesson” Hillel is teaching is the ultimate reliance of the student on the teacher, especially in the preliminary stages of study. Interestingly, this message is also epitomized in the Geniza’s name for the alphabet (aleph bei) that can be understood “teaching is in me” and when reversed “in me is teaching.”11 The beauty of the

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illustration lies in the fact that we know that teaching of the alphabet in both Jewish and Greco-Roman pedagogy was based on reversing the order of the letters to ensure the student’s mastery of them.12 T. Morgan has characterized the underlying “symbolic aspects” of this type of early instruction: “It prearranges the path of learning in such a way that the pupil must accept what the teacher tells him before he can think or articulate anything for himself.”13 But the Hillel story moves in another direction also. It wants to treat not only pupil-teacher relations but also the relationship of the oral law to the written. The very act of identifying letters and reading them aloud has its roots in an oral tradition to which Hillel is the heir.14 This might also be hinted literarily by the paranomosia, the wordplay, of apech (= he reversed) that resonates with peh (= mouth). By reversing the letters, Hillel shows that the written Torah is wholly dependent on the oral Torah as well. Entrance into the world of the Written Torah is by way of the lips of the teacher. We will now turn to the two parallels to this story, treating first the closer parallel in Avot de-Rabbi Nathan. This fascinating but elusive work contains ancient traditions from tannaitic times but certainly was redacted in postTalmudic times.15 The text reads as follows:16 What was the impatience of Shammai the Elder? A case [or story (maaseh)]: A certain person stood before Shammai and said to him: “My Master [rabi], how many Torahs have you?” “Two,” Shammai replied, “one written and one oral.” Said the person, “[About]17 the written one I believe you, the oral one I do not believe you.” Shammai rebuked him and dismissed him in a huff. He came before Hillel and said to him: “My Master [rabi], how many Torahs were given?” “Two,” Hillel replied, “one written and one oral.” Said the person, “[About] the written one I believe you, the oral one I do not believe you.” “My son,” Hillel said to him, “sit down.” He wrote aleph-bet for him. He asked him: “What is this?” “It is aleph,” the person replied. Said Hillel, “This is not aleph, but bet.” “What is that?” he said. The person answered, “bet.”

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“This is not bet,” said Hillel, “but gimmel.” Hillel said to him: “How do you know that this is aleph and this bet and this gimel? Only because thus our ancestors of old handed it down to us that this is aleph and this is bet and this gimmel. Even as you have taken this in [good] faith, so take this also in [good] faith.” The affinity of this version in ADRN (=Avot d’Rabbi Nathan) to that of the Babylonian Talmud is obvious enough, though the changes in ambience and style are noteworthy. The atmosphere pervading ADRN here is that of teacher and pupil. Shammai the Elder and Hillel are addressed with respect by the pupil, “my master,” and the student merits the endearing appellation “my son.” The impression at this point is that this is a Jew (called generically “person” [adam]) who has come for instruction, rather than a Gentile who wishes to convert, as in the Babylonian Talmud. Therefore Hillel’s demonstration and conclusion also are adapted to this “different audience.” When he writes out the letters, the student recognizes them and calls them by their right name, a name that Hillel contests. Hillel thus demonstrates to the person that his own knowledge is based on a “handed-down” tradition (masoret) from our early ancestors (avot rishonim). Though Hillel also enjoys venerability as a teacher, the thrust here is the antiquity and faithful transmission of the tradition, rather than the reliability of the teacher as in the Babylonian rendition. Education is a process of transmitting a tradition, and even writing itself has a tradition behind it. The final version of this story, in Midrash Qohelet, has marked changes from these first two. Midrash Qohelet Rabbah is considered a middle to late Palestinian midrash, redacted around the seventh century. There are differing opinions among scholars whether this work has been influenced by the Babylonian Talmud. Here is Qohelet Rabbah’s version of our story: “Better a patient spirit than a haughty spirit” (Qohelet 7, 8). A certain Persian came to Rav, and said to him: “Teach me Torah.” He said to him, “Say ‘aleph.’ ” He replied: “Who says that an aleph is read like this?” Rav said to him: “Say ‘bet.’ ” He replied: “Who says this is a bet?” He rebuked him and sent him off angrily. He went to Shmuel and said to him: “Teach me Torah.” He said to him, “Say ‘aleph.’ ” He replied: “Who says this is an aleph?” He said to him: “Say ‘bet.’ ” He replied: “Who says this is a bet?”

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the stabilization of r abbinic culture, 100 c.e.–350 c.e. He [Shmuel] irritated [or pulled] his [the man’s] ear, and he cried out, “My ear, my ear!” Shmuel said to him: “Who said this was your ear?!” He answered: “The whole world knows this is my ear!” He said: “So too here the whole world knows this is an aleph and this is a bet.” The Persian was immediately silenced, and was accepted by him [Shmuel]. Thus “Better a patient spirit than a haughty spirit” (Qohelet 7, 8): Good is patience, that Shmuel was patient with the Persian, whereas Rav was strict.

The changes in the story are striking. The fact that the story told in the Babylonian Talmud about Hillel and Shammai, Palestinian teachers of the first century c.e., is transferred in an ostensibly Palestinian source to the great third-century founders of the Babylonian academies, Rav and Shmuel, is fascinating. As the venue changes, so does the interlocutor. A Persian approaches these Babylonian sages with a request to be taught Torah. Interestingly, the Palestinian Talmud Berachot 6, 2, 10b also records another question that “a Persian” asked Rav. This can be seen as evidence for the literary phenomenon that a pristine Palestinian source records an event in Babylonia about Rav. In our story we ask ourselves if this Persian who asks to be taught Torah is an uneducated Jew or a Gentile candidate for conversion to Judaism. There is some support for either interpretation. In the story in the Palestinian Talmud about Rav alluded to earlier, a Persian asks Rav: “Since I do not know the proper blessing over bread, when I eat I simply say, ‘Blessed is He who created this bread,’ do I fulfill my obligation?” Rav rules there that he does indeed fulfill his obligation of blessing God for his food. In that story, then, “a Persian” probably denotes a Jew who is barely acquainted with everyday Jewish observance. On the other hand, a story about Shmuel and a certain Persian in the Palestinian Talmud (Shabbat 16, 8, 15d) is unambiguous in its using the same name, “a Persian,” for a Gentile Persian.18 The conclusion of our story in Midrash Qohelet indeed conveys the concern lest the Persian resort to his “original ways,” a phrase often used of converts.19 The other very significant difference between the version in Midrash Qohelet and the other two sources is the absence of the opening question of “how many Torahs.” This omission has the effect of transferring the weight of the story from a creedal skepticism to a pure educational skepticism. The Persian in our last story queries his teacher even about the basics: the ABCs of learning. Rav is cast as Shammai’s counterpart, a strict teacher with no

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patience for the Persian’s insolent questioning. Shmuel, on the other hand, neither rebukes him nor is angered but rather “calms his spirit” by physically accosting the Persian! Shmuel’s point is to teach the Persian that language is possibly only a convention, or at the very least something that is agreed upon by “the whole world.” As everyone calls the ear an ear, so too everyone knows that an aleph is an aleph. This story, like the others, is the product of fine literary crafting replete with Aramaic alliteration and paranomosia. The Persian’s opening request is alpheni auraya (teach me Torah). Both words begin with an aleph, and the Aramaic word itself for teaching/learning comes from the root alf/ylf . Rav begins at the beginning, teaching the alphabet, the starting point of classical Jewish education.20 This is remarkable for two reasons. First, this need not have been the case, as we will discuss later, in a predominantly oral culture. Second, according to this source, even adult, “late” learners began their careers with the alphabet—at least according to the stories in rabbinic literature. Thus, a similar story is told of Rabbi Akiva, who also begins his learning alongside his son by learning the alphabet. The story is recounted in Avot d’Rabbi Nathan (version A, chap. 6): He and his son went to the teachers of children [melamedei tenokot]. He said to him: “My master [rabbi], teach me Torah!” Rabbi Akiva held the top of the slate [luach] and his son the top of the slate. He wrote for him aleph bet and he learned it, aleph tav and he learned it, the book of Leviticus [Torat Kohanim] and he learned it. He kept learning until he had learned the entire Torah. He went and sat before R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua. He said to them, “My masters, explain to me [pitchu li taam]21 a mishna.” They taught him a halacha.22 He went and sat by himself and said, “This aleph, why was it written, this bet why was it written, why was this davar [thing or word] said?” He went back and asked them and stymied them.23 The learning process depicted in both of these stories begins with the writing, learning, and memorization of the letters of the alphabet, written on a slate in various combinations and diverse sequences (aleph-tav, also called at-bash).24 Both stories deal with adult learners, but our sources are clear that this was the standard for primary education for children. This insistence on reading is all the more remarkable if we are to recall that Talmudic culture is self- consciously oral. The capability to read letters and also to read the written Torah did serve liturgical ends. But in effect, as was shown earlier, written

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texts, with the possible exception of aggadic midrash, were rarely to be found in the academies and were consulted only if a quotation proved elusive (tShabbat 13, 1). The norm, or at least the ideal, was to commit written scripture to memory. If the sugya we analyzed in chapter 5 (bAvoda Zara 18b–19b) reflects either actual practice in Rabbi Judah the Patriarch’s time or in the time of the Babylonian redactors of the sugya, we do have an indication that a book was brought in to service small study groups, read, and interpreted. That might well have been standard practice. Returning to our story in Qohelet Rabbah, the Persian attacks the instruction at the very first opportunity. The motif of querying the letters themselves, we have seen, is attributed to no less a figure than R. Akiva. An apocryphal tradition in Christianity, the infancy story of Thomas, cited by T. Perlow in another context, attributes the same talent to the precocious infant Jesus. The following account which is immediately preceded by a nasty encounter the young Jesus, all of five years old, is said to have had with locals after which his father “took him by the ear and pulled it hard.” Now a certain teacher, Zacchaeus by name . . . came near to Joseph and said to him, “You have a clever child, and he has understanding. Come, hand him over to me that he may learn letters and I will teach him with the letters all knowledge, and to salute all the older people and honor them as grandfathers and fathers, and to love those of his own age.” And he told him all the letters from Alpha to Omega clearly with much questioning. But he looked to Zacchaeus the teacher and said to him: “How do you, who do not know the Alpha according to its nature, teach others the Beta. Hypocrite, first if you know it, teach the Alpha, and then we shall believe you concerning the Beta.” Then he began to question the teacher about the first letter and he was unable to answer him.25 Jesus goes on to explicate the form of the alpha, and his teacher is perplexed on hearing “so many allegorical descriptions of the first letter being expounded.” This unique ability seems to be understood best against the background of mystical usages and interpretations of letters. But there is another rabbinic parallel where a child’s ability, this time R. Akiba’s teachers in their youth, R. Yehoshua or R. Eliezer or again R. Akiva himself, to turn the alphabet into a meaningful acrostic also is seen as showing his potential and is viewed as an indication of future greatness.26

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These parallels are instructive but also serve to highlight the difference between the Persian’s question and that of these other sources. His question is not one of the import or significance of the letters, questions R. Akiva was said to have raised in the account of his own fi rst stages of learning. Rather, the Persian’s query is epistemological: Who says that what you say to be an aleph is indeed such? How do you know that to be the case? Rav has no patience for such a question, while Shmuel chooses to prove his stance by analogy, almost empirically. Shmuel “crops”27 the Persian’s ear, or according to the version in the printed editions holds him (achadei) by his ear. The Aramaic word for ear, audnei, also begins with an aleph, and the version of the printed texts has the alliteration of achadei beaudnei. Shmuel might have infl icted a modicum of pain on any part of the body, but the ear is chosen to strengthen the importance of hearing as the cornerstone of Torah learning. The foundation of learning Torah is the acceptance of the tradition handed down by the teacher. Indeed, hearing in Hebrew often carries with it the sense also of accepting. 28 But the force of Shmuel’s argument is that the letters of the alphabet, as the names of one’s limbs, are known and accepted by all. In this manner, Shmuel prevented the backsliding of this Persian. But why did Shmuel pick up on the Persian’s own words, “the whole world29 knows,” preferring this formulation over the themes struck in the parallels— the teacher’s authority and the authority of tradition? Furthermore, only in this rendition does the motif of two Torahs disappear, replaced simply by “teach me Torah.” Why did the narrator of this story about Rav and Shmuel see fit to omit this detail, if in fact the other two versions were known to that narrator?30 In our first two sources the challenge was directed to the foundation of rabbinic Judaism—the veracity of the oral law. The teacher is at best a link in the chain of tradition. The main point is that one should not believe simply what is presently and physically before one’s eyes, the writing, but should understand that behind that writing is also an oral tradition. Oral tradition, as it were, “trumps” written tradition. Our third version in Qohelet Rabbah is free of that thorny problem of the relationship of the two Torahs. The attack here is on the epistemological basis of the teacher’s knowledge. Here the answer of consensus is sufficient, especially since we are no longer dealing with the theological moorings of the entire religion. These three versions of the chreia,31 a short anecdote with a moralizing punchline, of Hillel and Shammai have emphasized and respectively focused on three different but complementary underpinnings of the educational enterprise: reliance on the teacher, on tradition, and on consensus. It is fascinating to note the role played by the alphabet in the essentially oral Talmudic culture.

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Children and adults, Jews and converts alike began their education with rote memorization of the letters of the alphabet. It is instructive to compare our findings concerning the version of Midrash Qohelet with M. Nussbaum’s characterization of the teacher-pupil relationship in the philosophical schools of late antiquity. One of the dominant metaphors for the teacher-pupil relationship was that of the doctor and patient. So, for example, among the Epicureans it was said that a student was required to “as it were give himself over to the hands of the leaders and to rely on them alone.”32 Extreme obeisance was paid to the teacher whose figure was viewed as almost divine.33 Nussbaum claims that this attitude of the exclusivity and the holiness of the teacher’s instructions was particular to the Epicurean school but was not true of the Stoics or of those who followed Aristotle. It was precisely the Epicureans who considered other methods of instruction to be corrupt and warned against the common course of instruction, the paideia, as inherently fraudulent. The Epicureans stressed repetition in learning, oral learning, and memorization for three reasons: One, it is more effective when parrying one’s questioner to have the entire corpus of learning committed to memory. Two, memorization gives one command over the entire corpus and the ability to see the whole picture synoptically. Finally, repetition and memorization are vital for the internalization of the teachings in the depths of the student’s soul, so that the student continues to ponder the teachings even while sleeping. This sketch of the place of the teacher in the Epicurean system of late antiquity and their approach to learning sheds much light both on the role of teacher, as we have seen earlier, and more particularly on the bitter battle the Jewish sages waged with opponents they dubbed Epicureans. One cannot be sure that indeed this epithet was used precisely or whether it simply became a catch-all term for antagonistic late antique philosophies. We do know that one rabbinic source was familiar with the Epicurean notion of the world operating automaton, with no heavenly guidance.34 But as J. Goldin pointed out in a very suggestive article, the Mishna at Avot 2, 4 reads, according to the fine Kaufmann manuscript: “R. Eliezer says, ‘Be diligent in learning what to respond to an Epicurean.’ ” R. Eliezer was famous for his mastery of ancient traditions, boasting that he never said anything he had not heard first from his teachers. This particular instruction in Avot essentially combats the Epicureans with their own rules of engagement and is phrased in the same pithy apothegm as Epicurus himself did in his. A lengthy quotation from a recent and important work on teachers and texts in antiquity will highlight the resemblance of R. Eliezer’s dictum and the Epicureans:

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Veritas, brevitas: epitomes . . . Epicurus himself provided the warrant for later epitomizers by reissuing and restating his thirty-seven book treatise in a number of shorter versions. These were not mere popularizations aimed at outsiders, but documents for people who were already acquainted with Epicurus’s philosophy. As such, they were designed chiefly for study purposes within the school, for review and for memorization. According to Cicero, every Epicurean worthy of the name has committed to memory the Kyriai Doxai of Epicurus.35 The Epicurean insistence on brevity36 and memorization37 finds its exact counterparts in classical rabbinic teaching. It would seem that though these two schools of thought were fundamentally and bitterly divided over their ideas about God and the world, they both aspired to a complete internalization and memorization of the teachings, accompanied by the ability to thwart any intellectual challenger.38 Our findings here are consonant with studies of other facets of rabbinic Judaism. We have found close parallels in form and content both to Greco-Roman materials and to Christian materials. Debate rages in academic circles today concerning the degree to which rabbinic Judaism reshaped itself under the influence of Christianity. It is not at all surprising to see the same story told of both the infant Jesus and R. Akiva. It is a curious but reasonable proposition that bitter philosophical enemies like the Jewish sages and the Epicureans shared, as we have seen some very basic tenets of their educational agenda.39 Though rabbinic learning was an exclusively oral affair, the first stages were based on an exhaustive rote learning of the alphabet and reading of scripture. On that basis the students went on to cultivate listening, memory, and perspicacity. We have seen in this chapter that the same story is utilized in different versions to emphasize different aspects or components of the learning situation. Each source chose to privilege either the authority of the teacher or that of the tradition or, finally, the special status of consensus. Rabbinic thought, for the most part, though not totally, eschewed the role played by divine inspiration in their own times. For the Jewish sages, authority rested firmly on tradition, trust, and consensus. Through that authority the sages taught their students.

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8 The Stabilization of Rabbinic Culture

We have taken the heart of rabbinic culture, its prioritization of study, and analyzed the major segments of rabbinic literature that chose to expatiate on the subject. The story that has been revealed in these four major collections and two isolated texts is instructive, and I will try to summarize the findings in this chapter. I will begin with the narrower subject of Jewish education and finish with the long-term cultural implications. A comprehensive history of education for the Talmudic period demands that every relevant text be subjected to the same (or more intense) philological and literary scrutiny, along the lines of the texts we have met here. Scholarship in the last decades has been marked by an urgent attempt to draw broad conclusions based on very limited sources. It is natural for the humanist to strive to share great ideas with one’s readership. But great ideas culled from ancient literature require patient cultivation, constant probing, rethinking, and reformulation. The ability to say something new, important, and thought-provoking about our ancient sources demands marshaling impressive philological talents combined with great erudition and imagination. It is a daunting task. We should not be disappointed by what appears to be circumscribed and sometimes pedantic or limited research. Even now, it will take years of vorstudien, preliminary studies, before we can arrive at new synthetic presentations of the important ideas embedded in the vast rabbinic corpus. With that caveat in mind, we can make our claims about the texts surveyed

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here that seem to indicate certain themes that occupied the sages and their anthological editors. I wish by way of summary to suggest the contours of those themes. The shift in emphasis from tannaitic to amoraic concerns suggests the degree of stabilization that rabbinic culture underwent in this 250-year span. It appears from those texts we have chosen from the tannaitic collections, edited by the end of the third century c.e. in the land of Israel, that the community was deeply troubled by the possible dissipation, disappearance, or simply forgetting of Torah. In the Sifre on Deuteronomy, learning is turned into liturgy, in its most primary sense.1 Learning is the paramount service of the Lord, and its rewards are far beyond that of performing the other commanded deeds. Even when the Sifre addresses analytical capacity (“the sieve”), it does so in the context of “sorting out words of Torah and their weight: X prohibits while Y permits” (sec. 48, Finkelstein ed., p. 110). This is immediately followed by the ideal student, who is compared to the “sponge—he soaks it all in.” The educational approach that is outlined in the Sifre Deuteronomy is emphatic in its efforts to, almost physically, preserve the words of Torah. One is to secure each word of Torah one at a time, first things first. Each one who preserves Torah might very well be the one responsible for rescuing the Torah from oblivion, as R. Akiva and Shafan did in their day. Assiduous collecting of traditions will turn the avid student from a mere receptacle to a brimming spring. The heart of this tannaitic enterprise of learning is salvaging, identifying, and preserving traditions. It is of more than passing interest to note the processes of education this early Midrash on Deuteronomy chose to describe. The talented student can distinguish between one “who prohibits” and one “who permits” (sec. 48, p. 110, and again p. 113), a Mishna-like formulation. Clarity (davar barur [p. 113]) is the ability to assign the right legal position to its holder. On the other hand, the slow process of accruing learning (sec. 48, pp. 108–109) envisages studying two or three parshiyot a month, clearly reflecting the units found in Midrash, scriptural legal exegesis, rather than the Mishna, which knows no such division into parshiyot. This, too, repeats itself when the midrash urges one not to give preference to the “harder” parasha over the easier (p. 113). This duality—an advocacy of mishna-like study, the authorship of legal positions, and midrash—seems to be captured in the Sifre’s own summary: “learn midrash, laws (= mishna) and haggadot” (p. 113). This would seem to indicate that at least in the Sifre’s view the two approaches, learning attached to scripture (midrash) and learning detached from scripture (mishna), were part and parcel of the curriculum suggested by the Sifre. By the time of the Sifre’s editing, probably in the middle to late third century, both styles of learning were in vogue and were encouraged, evidently at one and the same time.2

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The theme of the paramount importance of study that we met in the Sifre Deuteronomy, we encountered also in the Mishna Peah, valorizing learning over all the other deeds. In our analysis of that source we tried to show that the study of Torah, as portrayed there, was quintessentially speaking Torah. One talked Torah. When the Tosefta Peah lists the worst crimes, and caps them with evil talk, it is dutifully mirroring the extraordinary weight given to Torah study over and above all the other commandments. Shaping human speech was the ultimate goal of this education, both in terms of style, which will be developed more in amoraic times, and primarily in terms of content. Learning was conceived of as an oral speech act. This conception is in perfect accord with what modern biblical scholarship understands to be the import of the two central verses, Deuteronomy 6, 7: “Recite them [vedibarta] when you stay at home and when you are away, when you lie down, and when you get up” (NJPS), and Joshua 1, 8: “Let not this Book of the Teaching (Torah) cease from your lips, but recite it [vehagita bo] day and night.”3 The words of Torah were repeated incessantly—this was quintessential learning. The educational theory behind this will be played out a bit more in amoraic times but will not receive the full treatment that Greco-Roman rhetoricians accorded it. The Tosefta Peah discussed “thought” as a distinct category from learning and speech and did so only in the limited context of “intention” when performing good or evil actions. Thinking Torah, as opposed to recitation, was done only when speech was restricted, as in the bathhouse or at impure locations. Speculation, rather than speech, might also have been an approach adopted in mystical learning. 4 The characterization of learning that emerges between the lines of the Mishna and Tosefta Peah, speaking Torah is learning Torah, is given a fuller and more colorful depiction in the Babylonian sugya in Eruvin to which we now turn. It is true that the theme of oral recitation indeed cuts across both Babylonian and Palestinian texts, and this emerges clearly from the bEruvin sugya that intertwines Palestinian traditions with Babylonian dicta on the subject. The two folio pages on learning are marked by statements of Babylonian sages at the outset (Abaye, Rava, Rav Ashi) and Rav’s praise of the people of Judea, who were careful with their language. That extended treatment in bEruvin culminates with statements by Rav Hisda on mnemonics and his son-in-law, Rava, about humility. There is also a very long anecdote of Rava’s attempt to pacify his teacher Rav Yosef on the eve of Yom Kippur, by a scriptural exegesis that emphasizes humility. Leading up to that story are dicta of Rav and Shmuel, the latter bidding his student Rav Yehuda to “open his mouth.” Learning is audible and demands constant repetition, at least four times per lesson. Rabbi Pereda is the hero, undaunted by having to repeat

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the same lesson hundreds of times. The outstanding feature of that sugya in bEruvin is the recurrent theme of patience, but even more so humility. It was those virtues that were the heart of the educational endeavor according to that sugya. Humility occupies a central role in the Bible with Moses, who is styled a paragon of humility—more modest than anyone on earth (Numbers 12, 3). It continues through the apothegms in Mishna Avot and tannaitic literature. But it is striking that when the editor of the sugya in bEruvin composed a tract on education, humility was given “pride” of place. It is character that determines the success of learning. There is an ancient Sasanid proverb that says, “Character is not deceiving others; Wisdom is not deceiving oneself.”5 This Hellenistic-like emphasis on self-knowledge is absent from our bEruvin text. In bEruvin, humility and perseverance constitute the rabbinic recipe for real learning. This certainly accords well with and even facilitated a system that demanded deference to the recited text and an indefatigable effort to maintain it in one’s memory. We did point out that a very similar note was struck earlier in that same tractate (Eruvin 13b) in the famous passages on deciding Jewish law. There also Beit Hillel is given priority because of their character traits, their meekness.6 We will return to this theme in our final reflections. The passage in bEruvin is illuminating also in its valorization of language. I think that in this aspect our Babylonian sugya has not diverged from its Palestinian antecedents. Rav, that pivotal figure who bridges tannaim and amoraim, the land of Israel and Babylonia, maintains that the preservation of Torah depends entirely on language: the Judeans who were careful with their (Hebrew) language preserved the Torah. It is the anonymous and later Babylonian sages who find Rav’s stance incredible and adduce three or four other or additional prerequisites (a single teacher, precision, mnemonics, and “explaining” or “declaring in advance” [galei] the tractate). The stam, the anonymous voice of the bEruvin sugya, has culled some attributed positions that appear later in the sugya and elsewhere (Rav Hisda’s insistence on mnemonics, for example) and inserted them at the outset as a gloss to offset Rav’s one-sided view of language as the key to learning.7 It would seem to me that Rav stands firmly in the tradition of the Israel sources that view learning in terms of speech, and therefore his position is that precise speech is the heart of the endeavor. The most intriguing aspect of the Talmud’s development of Rav’s position is the attribution of precise speech to women and children and their empowerment to the extent that they are able to baffle the sages and have them at their mercy outside the academy. Why is the sugya so intent on praising the high level of the general culture of speech in Judea, praising the linguistic achievement of women, children, and merchants at the expense of great sages like R. Yehoshua and R. Yosi the Galilean? One can speculate, but

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at the very least, this source insists upon a continuity of precise speech in the academy and that of the surrounding culture. It is fascinating that this sugya in bEruvin emphasizes the regional factor over differences of gender or age. The women and children of Judea are heirs to proper speech to an extent greater than the scholars of Galilee. This is reminiscent of Quintilian’s highlighting of the pivotal role played by the early speech the child hears from governesses and servants. It is essential that their speech be proper because that is the child’s earliest exposure. Quintilian is focusing on the household while the sugya in bEruvin is celebrating a regional punctiliousness in language. The next two sugyot in bAvoda Zara and bBava Batra are firmly constructed around the imposing figure of Rava, the great mid-fourth-century sage in Mahoza.8 We noted that even the bEruvin sugya opens and closes with Rava and contains an extensive anecdote about him and his teacher Rav Yosef. But in these two sugyot of bAvoda Zara and bBava Batra, Rava dominates and provides the main input. We have a series of seven of his collected statements on learning in bAvoda Zara and five of his directives on primary education in bBava Batra. In both sugyot, stories are told about Rava, and in bAvoda Zara we even have a quotation directed to the students sitting at his feet. From our study it would appear that these two pivotal sugyot on learning stem from Rava’s academy, and the third, bEruvin, which we treated earlier, will have been stamped also, if more lightly, with Rava’s imprint. Let us begin with Rava’s role in the sugya in bAvoda Zara, move on to bBava Batra, and conclude with Rava’s conception of learning. Very early on in the sugya, Rava is portrayed as appealing to “the rabbis”: “I beg of you not to scoff [titlozezu or possibly “fool around”] lest suffering come upon you” (bAvoda Zara 18b). Later on, the students flock to his classes after hearing his father-in law, Rav Hisda, teaching that it is preferable to learn from more than one teacher. Finally, toward the end of the sugya we hear, from an anonymous question, that Rava began adjudicating (hora’a) before the usual age of forty. Thus interspersed between the various dicta, many of them attributed to Rava, we have short scenes from Rava’s own academy. In bBava Batra it is clear that the heart of the sugya, after Rav’s opening, is constructed around Rava’s instructions on how to arrange primary education, presumably in Mahoza. Two of the dicta contain a theoretical debate with Rav Dimi of Nehardea. Later we hear of the economic dispensations Rava offers scholars, and finally the tragic story at the end of the sugya that begins with Rava’s being asked by the exilarch to check the credentials of that same Rav Dimi of Nehardea. The condescending attitude displayed by Rava’s assistant, Rav Ada, to Rav Dimi of Nehardea spells disaster. As each scholar reflects on

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the death of Rav Ada, we hear that Rav Ada was wont to extol the learning in Rava’s academy while deriding that of Abaye’s academy. This sugya is then replete with sketches of Rava’s academy and teachings. Rava too encourages vast rote learning and memorization. In bAvoda Zara he advocates broad and voracious learning even without full understanding, holding that “meditation” follows study. This is also his position in bBava Batra, preferring a teacher with broad but imprecise learning to one who is more precise but knows fewer traditions. If indeed the explanation of that latter stance is Rava’s own (rather than “the stam”), it follows that Rava believes in the self-corrective power of reasoning (sevara) and consequently “the mistake will work itself out.” Rava’s name is inextricably linked with the power of sevara, both in these two sugyot and even in the first sugya in bEruvin. There we found Rava glossing R. Yohanan’s humble perception of his own powers with Rava’s sense of the lesser powers of his own generation in matters of sevara. Sevara, reasoning, and hagiya, reflecting on the learning, are clearly the highest form of learning for Rava. Rava himself is portrayed in another sugya (bSukka 29a) as “running through the received tradition” (merahatei gemara) with a colleague before their teacher Rav Hisda and only afterward “speculating in reasoning” (meayenei besvara). It is Rava who says that “the reward of a tradition [shemaata] is sevara” (bBerachot 6a). Rava’s emphasis on the power of reasoning is such that even his formulation of the questions one will be asked “when one is brought to (fi nal) judgement” reflects this strong predilection (bShabbat 31a): Were you trustworthy in commerce (masa umatan)? Did you fi x times for Torah? Were you occupied with procreation? Did you look forward to salvation? Did you “turn over and over” (pilpalta)9 in wisdom? Did you understand one thing from another? The three questions that address learning, in Rava’s view, demand, first, regularity, but the supreme achievement is pilpul and deduction. It is the exercise of the powers of reasoning that Rava sets as the ideal life of the learned mind. Rava is not the first to move in this direction, but it was his molding of the educational agenda that was decisive. His father-in-law, Rav Hisda, was also renowned for his acuity (pilpulei), as opposed to his contemporary Rav Sheshet, who was famous for his fund of traditions (matnitei). It is reported in bEruvin 67a that Rav Hisda’s “lips would quiver from matnitei of Rav Sheshet,” while Rav Sheshet’s “entire body would quiver from pilpulei of Rav Hisda.” The different emphases in learning, breadth versus depth, can be traced from

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tannaitic literature through amoraic literature and are well reflected in pairs of terms that appear in various sources. Thus, many interpret that Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai’s favored students each represented one of these paths: the innovative R. Elazar b. Arach (the brimming spring) versus the archconservative R. Eliezer (limed cistern that does not miss a drop).10 In the final sugya in Horayot, where a hierarchy of individual importance in learning is generated, the terminology in the Palestinian Talmud pits the Sodran11 versus the Pilpalan—the one who “arranges the learning” as opposed to the “acute thinker.” The parallel Babylonian Talmud of Horayot characterizes those same two types of scholars as Sinai (one who is a repository of traditions) and the other oker harim (one who uproots mountains, possibly even Sinai itself, presumably through powers of reasoning). A fi nal pair resonating with this tension is gemara, received tradition, versus sevara, reasoning. Scholars have, mainly on the basis of the sugya in Horayot, identified a Palestinian predilection for breadth and accumulation of sources, while the Babylonians tended toward depth and powers of reasoning.12 Our findings here indicate that there were different emphatic trends within the Babylonian academy also, and that it would seem that Rava’s influence was decisive. It stands to reason that Rava, who was so intensely involved in formulating rules and procedures for education, left his imprint on the development of study. It would follow that the course of study after Rava would move in a more theoretical, speculative direction. This might be related to the stunning difference between the Babylonian Talmud and the earlier rabbinic literature. It was Rava’s emphasis on reasoning and his shaping of educational norms that precipitated the need to record (if orally) the steps of reasoning, inferences, and questions, rather than just the bottom line of the law. It is true that even our early tannaitic literature, especially tannaitic midrash, records argument and debate (e.g., mPesahim chap. 6; mEduyot chap. 6), but it is the distinct exception to the rule. R. Hanina boasted, according to the story told in bKetubot 103b (= bBava Metzia 85b), that he could restore the entire Torah, if lost, through his powers of his pilpulai. That is to say that his reasoning could regenerate the contents of the entire oral Torah.13 Whether this reflects the perspective and terminology of the Babylonian storyteller and/or is an accurate reflection of R. Hanina’s own stance, it is striking that the story is told in terms of preventing Torah from being lost or forgotten. Acuity of reason is the best insurance policy against oblivion. According to this view, only it, as opposed to rote learning, can secure the perpetuity of Jewish knowledge. R. Hiyya’s answer to R. Hanina’s position is that R. Hiyya’s indefatigable efforts to disseminate learning, will prevent Torah and Mishna from being forgotten.

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This basic divide between approaches to learning certainly precedes Rava. But if our findings in these ancient, extended treatments of learning are conclusive, it is Rava who shapes the future of rabbinic literature, specifically that of the Babylonian Talmud. It was after Rava that sevara occupied the privileged position in rabbinic learning. It is as if the anxiousness of the Tannaim over the possible “forgetting” of the Torah had been overcome, once and for all. A century before Rava, Rav, one of the founders of Babylonian yeshivot, is quoted by his student Rav Yehuda three times employing the phrase “indeed remembered for good is that person and x is his name; were it not for him . . . .” Each one of the people, including Yehoshua b. Gamla in our sugya in bBava Batra, was responsible for preserving Torah or some aspect of it.14 The hundred years between Rav and Rava saw a flourishing of both academies and, no less important, it would seem, elementary education. The Sasanid regime proved a congenial environment for the deepening of Torah study,15 so much so that the anxiety over the disappearance of Torah was quieted but was replaced by another concern. Rav Ashi bemoans forgetfulness in general (bEruvin 53a), but this is possibly in the face of the challenge of having to comprise both the gemara of Abaye and the sevara of Rava. By Rava’s time, the Babylonian yeshivot were firmly established, and it was Rava who decisively steered the course of learning to reflection as the primary goal. His statement, agra deshmateta sevara: the reward of the traditional saying is reasoning, reflection (bBerachot 6b), seems to be an indication of his ultimate goal, though the key word shmateta, does lend itself to different interpretations. This picture resolves, I think, the apparent disparity noted between the tannaitic and early amoraic emphasis on gemara, on rote memorization of the received tradition, and the shape of the Babylonian Talmud as we know it. Rava’s role in advancing more abstract thinking and conceptualization has been long recognized and has received ringing endorsement and solid proof in a learned study by Leib Moscovitz.16 When we couple Rava’s own approach to learning with his conscious effort to shape educational institutions and theories (bBava Batra and bAvoda Zara), we have the key to understanding the development of the Talmud afterward, with its strong emphasis on dialectics and conceptualization. One should also comment on the difference in our sugya of Bava Batra between Rav’s instructions to Rav Shmuel bar Shilat, who was responsible for elementary education, to the extensive directives issued by Rava a century and more later. This would seem to reflect a burgeoning of elementary school attendance. Of course it might only be happenstance that Rava’s directives to his school “district” were preserved whereas Rav’s were not, but it stands to reason that Rava’s instructions and the debates on some of the issues reflect a

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newborn need for regulating a relatively new phenomenon. Elementary schools would then have begun to proliferate during or a bit before Rava’s time, at least in his own area of Babylonia. One need take note of T. Perlow’s important citing of a decree by the Sasanid dynasty permitting one synagogue and one school in each town, though that reference requires further substantiation.17 The cumulative picture that emerges from all the sources we have touched on is one of according ultimate value to education while democratizing it and making it available to all, rich and poor, children of the learned and children of the ignorant. As we saw in bEruvin, part of the goal was shaping the language of society at large, teaching all elements of society to be exact and colorful in their use of language. This demand cut across gender lines and age differences. This is not formal rhetorical training but rather close attention to the precision and descriptive powers of everyday language. One was instructed to teach with an economy of language, as we noted in our last chapter, and also, as far as possible, use the same language and formulation in which one was instructed. For this reason there is a preference for a single teacher who inculcated the traditions to be memorized, while one should develop one’s powers of reasoning (sevara) by being exposed to many teachers (bAvoda Zara and parallels). Interestingly, these extensive passages on learning that we have scrutinized neglect almost entirely the theme of serving one’s teacher (shimush) and attending to his many needs in order to learn both from his behavior and from his teaching in informal settings.18 Another item that is a hallmark of traditional study in our own time but receives almost no attention in these sugyot is the need for studying with a study partner (h· evruta).19 This is stated already in mAvot 1, 6 but is highly developed in bTaanit 7a: “Torah cannot survive in an individual by oneself.” This theme has a faint echo in the famous baraita in bEruvin 54b concerning the procedure attributed to Moses for teaching. But there also the emphasis is far more on the necessity to recite and repeat rather than on h· evruta, on study partners. Another fleeting gesture in this direction is in one of the versions of the final story in the Bava Batra sugya where Rav Nachman cannot do without the assistance of Rav Ada in preparing himself for the pirka. There again the emphasis is not on h· evruta per se but on Rav Nachman’s need to rehearse before his public lecture. These behind-the-scenes depictions of scholars preparing for lectures and advanced students preparing to meet their teachers afford a rare view into the world of late antique Jewish learning. One of the most telling, in terms of the themes presented here, is the account of Rava and Rami bar Hama at bSukka 29a. In the context of a discussion of what type of study is appropriate in the festival booth, the sukka, we read that Rava distinguishes between scripture and Mishna,20 which can be studied

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in the sukka, and tannoye,21 which evidently requires more concentration and should be done outside the temporary dwelling. The anonymous Talmud suggests that recitation (migras) is to be done in the sukka, whereas speculation or learning in depth (iyyune) is better done outside the sukka. It is then noted that “Rava and Rami bar Hama when standing before Rav Hisda would [first]22 run over [merahate] the received tradition [gemara] with one another and afterward speculate in reasoning [meayinei besvara].” Here we saw Rava practicing what he preached (at bAvoda Zara). One first fi xes the received tradition in one’s head and only then goes on to delve into the reasoning lying behind the received tradition. Here it is done in partnership with Rami bar Hama. There is a tradition in bRosh Hashona 18a (and parallel in bYevamot 105a), with a faint reflection in bAvoda Zara 54b, that Rava lived only forty years. Most manuscripts read there Rabbah,23 Abaye’s uncle, rather than Rava, Abaye’s counterpart. The context would also favor the Rabbah reading. Rava’s contribution to the development of Jewish learning and Jewish thought is so decisive that it would be even more amazing if all this were accomplished in a short period of time. His towering figure dominates the passages of the Babylonian Talmud devoted to learning. It was Rava’s influence on the nature of the Talmud and even more so on the entire Jewish educational enterprise that remain a lasting legacy. It was to his careful creation of educational policy that future generations owed the cultivation of memory and intellect so characteristic of Talmudic society. Finally, the role the sages accorded to character traits as a sine qua non for learning is most remarkable. As we saw, the sugya in bEruvin gave numerous graphic images of the humility demanded of the student of Torah and pictured the student as literally downtrodden—as a garden trampled by visitors, as a pendant that is seen but not seen, and so on. The same sugya begins with an oblique declaration of R. Yochanan’s humility vis-à-vis earlier generations and ends with his and Rava’s explicit remarks that Torah is not to be found in the haughty (“she is not in Heaven”). In that same context we discussed how not only for learning but also for legal decisions, it was humility that tipped the scales in favor of Beit Hillel. Since the schools of both Shammai and Hillel were considered God’s living Torah (bEruvin 13b), but they were pitted against one another on numerous basic issues, it was character that was decisive. The emphasis on humility in Eruvin takes on even greater interest because of its combination with excellence or purity or precision in language. We know that Christianity had made a virtue out of plain, simple talk, “sermo humilis.”24 The sugya in bEruvin charts a course for humility in character but virtuosity of speech. If one is dealing in divine language, there is no room for

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a lackadaisical attitude. Speech has to be precise and colorful, even fanciful. It is the main medium of learning. It is interesting that the extensive treatment of learning in the tannaitic Sifre is far less emphatic about character. Each one is encouraged to see himself as a potential R. Akiva or Hillel. Again it would seem that the Sifre is pervaded by a sense of imminent loss or disappearance of Torah, and it is engaged in an effort to make learning as accessible as possible. Dissemination of Torah was at the heart of the Sifre’s quest. The Babylonian amoraic literature on learning that we have reviewed brings negative examples of sages whose lack of humility brings them to defeat or worse. Thus, R. Yehoshua, who boasted that no one bested him, is brought low by children.25 One wonders whether his proclaiming that “I’ve never been bested by anyone save a woman, a boy and a girl” is an expression of humility or arrogance. Rav Ada bar Aba pays with his life with what Rava and others consider to be Rav Ada’s arrogant behavior. Humility has a long history in Judaism, as we said earlier, beginning with scripture’s elaborate praise of Moses’ humility (Numbers 12, 3).26 What I find intriguing is the possible link between humility and the two major approaches to learning, gemara and sevara. R. Eliezer, praised by his teacher as the limed cistern that loses not even a drop (mAvot 2, 8), is reported to claim that “he never said anything that he had not heard from the mouth of his teachers” (bSukkah 28a). This would seem to be the ultimate conservative in every sense. He is a position of remarkable deference to one’s teachers and to tradition (gemara). Humility seems to be a natural concomitant of this position, though here too we find R. Eliezer portrayed as boasting of the wealth of traditions he had learned from his teachers, albeit “only as a dog lapping up the sea” (bSanhedrin 68a). On the other hand, the quest for incisive reflection (sevara) might lead to an overweening sense of self importance, of the developed intellect, such as we saw in R. Hanina’s reputed ability to restore the entire Torah through his keen intellect and reasoning, pilpulai (bBava Metzia 85b = bKetubot 103b). As Rava worked to reshape Jewish learning and its goals, to steer it toward speculative reasoning, he insisted on combining it with a renewed sense of modesty. Torah will not be found in heaven, among the haughty, nor will the law be decided according to them. Hillel also was singled out for his humility. Rava had not reinvented the wheel by stressing humility. What he does represent is its application to a new realm of learning. If humility had been the hallmark of one who either delivered God’s word (the prophet) or quoted one’s teacher’s saying (the tradent like R. Eliezer), it was now also to be the ideal of the independent, razor-sharp

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mind. Acuity is a blessing, but without being tempered by humility, it can never be ideal Jewish learning, Torah. It appears, then, that 400 years of hellenization and the twin Palestinian catastrophes, the destruction of the Temple in 70 c.e. and the Bar Kochva revolt sixty-two years later, engendered a deep sense of anxiety among the rabbis and sages as to the sustainability of their culture. The opening of the Tosefta in Eduyot gives eloquent expression to this anxiety and is partially echoed in chapter 48 of the Sifre Deuteronomy, which we have examined. The tone is set in both works by the quotation from the verse in Amos 8, 12: “People shall wander from sea to sea and from north to east to seek the word of the Lord, but they shall not find it.” The Tosefta, in the historiographic set piece at the beginning of tEduyot, locates anxiety at postdestruction Yavne. The Sifre has no mention of Yavne and paints a scene of scholars combing the country to find answers to a legal question. The mid-second-century sage Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai, who is reported to have survived the Bar Kochva devastation, objects to this notion and claims that the proper understanding of the anxiety of the verse in Amos is that the tradition of attributions will be confused. One will no longer know which sage it was who prohibited and who permitted. Here there is a modicum of reassurance, claiming that the traditions will not be entirely lost. This formulation in the Sifre would indicate that by the mid-third century at the very least,27 there is a large extant body of oral tradition, which a group of sages is struggling to sustain and perpetuate in an orderly and precise fashion. The success of their effort, not necessarily in terms of precision but certainly in terms of vitality, is attested by the flourishing of the scholasticism of the third through fifth centuries in Palestine and Babylonia alike. By the mid-fourth century the Babylonians had constructed an intense system and theory of education, ranging from the entry age and distribution of elementary schools to economic benefits accorded to noted scholars. Rabbinic literature of late antiquity gives a vivid description of an indigenous culture and language staving off complete hellenization and passing on this culture to a diaspora community, where it flourished for the next millennium—a truly remarkable accomplishment.

Appendix 1 A Survey of Secondary Literature on Education and Literacy in Rabbinic Literature

This appendix will briefly survey the major secondary works on education in late antique rabbinic Judaism. This is a scholarly topic that enjoyed popularity midway through the twentieth century. Numerous monographs, containing general surveys of ancient Jewish education, were written in various languages through midcentury. In the latter part of the century, scholarly attention turned to higher education in the yeshivot, academies or disciple circles of Palestine and Babylonia. Finally, the beginning of the twenty-first century saw a renewed interest in the issue of literacy. I will briefly canvass this secondary literature. One of the most prolific and incisive of the late nineteenthcentury scholars was Wilhelm Bacher, whose prodigious works include a multivolume annotated collection of the Aggada of the sages and a very important survey of the vocabulary and process of the transmission of the Tradition (Tradition und Tradenten). His essay “Das altjüdische Schulwesen”1 appeared at the beginning of the twentieth century and, like all his work, is marked by thoroughness and a firm mastery of the sources. He opens elegantly with the Jewish sages’ own contrasting of the Greco-Roman theater and circus with the rabbinic beit midrash (house of study) and beit kenesset (house of assembly). These, respectively, are the cultural icons of the two societies in the post-Temple era of the second century c.e. Bacher rightly points out that these institutions, the theater and the circus on the one hand and the synagogue and academy on the

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other hand, actually existed in physical proximity in some of the more hellenized cities of Palestine. As an addendum to his opening, I would like to note that the rabbis chose to pit the two against each other specifically on the level of popular culture. It would have been possible to contrast the philosophical academies of late antiquity with the rabbinic yeshivot (academies) or disciple circles. But the contrast is made of places frequented by “the masses.”2 This point will be raised in a different section by Bacher as he tries to argue for the wide dissemination of scriptural knowledge among the Jews Bacher moves on to a historical reconstruction of the growth of Jewish education, drawing on late biblical sources and rabbinic accounts. He sees Ezra’s reading of the Torah before the people (Nehemiah 8, 1–8) on 1 Tishre 445 as “the birthday of ancient Jewish education.”3 It is in the late biblical books, of the Persian period, that the word talmid (student) first appears (1 Chronicles 25, 8). The author of 2 Chronicles 17, 7 attributes to King Jehosaphat a royal commission that was charged with circulating through the cities of Judea and teaching Torah. Bacher sees this as a confirmation of Ezra’s accomplishment attributed anachronistically to an earlier time. 4 Bacher goes on to intertwine mishnaic and Talmudic evidence regarding Second Temple education with that of the late biblical sources. The well-worn phrase of the “People of the Great Assembly”— “raise up many students” (mAvot 1, 1)—takes on new meaning when seen in the light of the 2 Chronicles passage and becomes, according to Bacher, “the primary or foundational idea” (Grundgedanken) of ancient Jewish education. Bacher attempts to harmonize two famous Talmudic passages, amending one of them, and thus locates the proliferation of primary education in the Hasmonean period, rather than the 60s of the fi rst century c.e. as the Babylonian Talmud (Bava Batra 21a) would have it. We analyzed this source in chapter 6. The rest of the essay treats, with greater brevity, issues of educational organization (p. 61), ages of the students (p. 64), techniques of teaching and learning (p. 66), the paedagogus—the one who is responsible for bringing the child to school (usually mothers but sometimes grandparents; p. 68), private tutors (p. 69), salary (pp. 70–71), discipline (p. 72), the school day, recesses, and other details. He ends the essay by returning to the Bible and a reading of Psalms 119 and its celebration of learning. Ancient Jewish education, he claims, was instrumental in shaping the Jewish people’s soul (Volkseele) (p. 80) and in instilling it with a propensity for learning (den Trieb zu lernen). Bacher’s own passion for learning informs his essay, and though one can, and many did, dispute some of the historical or philological points, the essay remains a sensible and learned survey of the basic sources and features of ancient Jewish education. Towa Perlow, in her L’éducation et l’enseignment chez les Juifs a l’époque talmudique (Paris, 1931), characterizes Bacher’s contribution

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as “suggestif mais incomplet” (p. 11). Since Perlow dismisses most of her predecessors as apologetically motivated and uncritical, her reserved approval of Bacher is noteworthy. Her own contribution, in a well-defined study of the Talmudic sources of the third and fourth centuries of the common era, attempts to be historically critical. She offers a reasoned and measured assessment of the historical growth of elementary Jewish education, affirming the existence of elementary schools in the large cities by Mishnaic times (second through third centuries c.e.; p. 28). She notes an explosion of Talmudic sayings on the importance of elementary education from the third century and notes the correlation also in Babylonia with an edict by Ardashir-Babegan that permitted establishing a synagogue and a school in every city (pp. 31–32). Her adducing a New Testament apocryphal parallel to the descriptions of the ancient Jewish systematic teaching of letters is enlightening. In another chapter she cites from a secondary source an epitaph of an eight-year-old child who was the chef, the leader of the synagogue (p. 78). Perlow’s compelling usage of nonrabbinic material is illuminating, though these examples fairly well exhaust their usage in the monograph. Perlow is acutely aware of the limits the sources place on her topic, not always treating in detail important subjects, such as methods of instruction (p. 50). On the whole this is a responsible collection of the more important sources that treat education in the third and fourth centuries. Her emphasis on cultivation of memory (p. 54ff.) and the ultimate goal of shaping the learner’s religious character (p. 19 ff., 73ff.) is surely on the mark. There is a short section devoted to the teaching of a profession or a craft, another on the lack of physical education, and, strikingly, a section on women’s education in rabbinic literature. Appended to the work is a list of some twenty-five diverse and significant terms that relate to education. The appendix is interesting in and of itself but serves also to highlight the fact that the author’s own approach does not do justice to the philological aspects of the study. This work remains, seventy years later, a stimulating and thought-provoking effort to characterize the goals and thrusts of third- and fourth-century Talmudic education. Nathan Morris’s book The Jewish School is an ambitious attempt to fully describe the origins, organization, and theories of the Jewish school of late antiquity. The author deftly collects widely scattered material and compares it liberally with both “modern” educational theory and educational practices and theories of Greek and Roman literature. It is a highly readable and instructive account and is balanced in its judgments. Morris divided his work into six large topics, covering the beginnings of education, organization, curriculum, theory and methods, education to labor, and the world of the child. He sees the rabbinic endeavor as “past oriented,” a people reeling from the political

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devastations of the first two centuries and furtively trying to turn education into the centerpiece of survival. One need not accept this overarching theory, though many do actually agree with it, to mine the book for an enormous amount of material, well presented and compared cursorily to Greco-Roman material. The book is marred somewhat by the author’s zealousness to show how progressive or effective the rabbinic methods of instruction were. This tendency is mitigated by an appeal to historical context, especially when dealing with a topic like discipline.5 It remains the best overview, though two similar works followed it in the next two decades.6 T. Morgan’s insight, in terms of classical education in antiquity, certainly holds true in the ancient Jewish sphere also: “The infrequency, the vagueness and the inconsistency of our references to places of education, numbers and ages of pupils, methods of teaching and the structure of the “school day,” if any, are in sharp contrast with the wealth of relatively precise and consistent information we have about the content of education.”7 Shmuel Safrai’s essay “Education and the Study of Torah” (1976)8 presents a vivid picture of education in Palestine during the first few centuries of the common era. He deftly weaves disparate sources into a clear and concise picture. This is certainly the richest, most succinct presentation of the issue in English. It covers many of the standard sources adduced by Bacher in his German essay seventy years earlier but adds others as well. Safrai relies on traditions of the Babylonian Talmud and tannaitic sources quoted there to build his reconstruction, a classical approach, though not popular today among contemporary historians. Safrai notes there the dearth of studies on higher education of the period. This lacuna was quickly fi lled by excellent studies by D. Goodblatt,9 and I. Gafni10 regarding the Babylonian Yeshivot and H. Shapira’s recent Hebrew University dissertation (2001) on the beit midrash. Safrai himself focuses almost exclusively on the sources themselves, only occasionally engaging earlier studies. In that same year, H. Z. Dimitrovsky edited Exploring the Talmud, a volume devoted to the topic of education that was the first in a projected series of anthologies of classic articles on Talmudic subjects.11 As Dimitrovsky points out in his learned introduction to the volume, the essays reflect more than a hundred years of scholarship employing different methods and standards. The collection is a valuable contribution to the study of education in the rabbinic period and provides an evocative overview of some of the more important subjects, such as conceptions of education, the roles of rabbis and teachers, the nature of the teaching process, and depictions of the schools and academies. The most exhaustive, somewhat critical collection and analysis of the many and diverse sources regarding education in the Talmudic age is definitely

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M. Aberbach’s Hebrew collection of essays entitled Jewish Education in the Period of the Mishna and the Talmud (Jerusalem, 1982). These are discrete essays written over fifteen years and published in an American Hebrew journal, Shivilei Hahinuch. The main sections of the book cover the following topics: “The Development of Jewish Education (from the Babylonian exile through the third century of the Christian era),” “The ‘Hebrew’ Teacher in the Talmudic Period,” “Master-Disciple Relations” (the longest section, pp. 93–212), “The Paedaegogus in the Midrash,” “Discipline and Punishment in the Biblical and Talmudic Period,” “Bad Traits of the Students in the Talmudic Era,” “Educating to the Love of Israel,” and “Teaching Values through Torah Education.” The 300-page volume is an excellent collection of the disparate material on these subjects, only occasionally consulting modern critical assessments of these sources. It is by far the most detailed view of these aspects of antique education. Two of these sections have appeared in shorter, less detailed versions in English, but through them one can get a sense of how the author approached his subject.12 Aberbach has made a substantial contribution by assembling the material, subjecting it to a close reading and drawing intermittently on previous studies and comparative material. Important contributions to the study of medieval Jewish education include those of S. Assaf,13 S. Goitein’s early studies culminating in his magisterial book A Mediterranean Society,14 and more recently I. Marcus15 and E. Karnafogel.16 The Second Temple period that precedes the Talmudic age still awaits a comprehensive work, but in the meantime, suggestive work has been done by E. Bickerman17 and M. Hengel18 on the Greco-Roman context of Second Temple Judaism. Most noteworthy is A. Mendelson’s work on Philo and secular education.19 Excellent comparative work can be found in H. Gregory Snyder’s Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World,20 bringing together material from the philosophical schools, Qumran, Christians, and more. His findings concerning the role of the text in the various schools and traditions are illuminating and shed light on the rabbinic materials treated here. Moreover, recent attention has put a spotlight on the orality of rabbinic culture. Significant contributions have been made by M. Jaffee21 and Y. Elman;22 most recently, the noted Talmudic scholar Y. Sussman23 authored a definitive 175-page article proving, once and for all, the orality of rabbinic literature. This trend was anticipated forty-five years ago by B. Gerhardsson’s important volume, Memory and Manuscript: Oral and Written Transmission in Rabbinic Judaism.24 The final important contribution to the study of Jewish education in late antiquity is C. Hezser’s study Jewish Literacy in Late Antiquity.25 Hezser devotes a long chapter to education, reviewing some of the prominent sources and literature. Her most significant contribution has been a complete

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integration of the most recent studies in Greco-Roman education and literacy, and most of all sharp attention to the scant physical evidence and archaeological remains available for Jewish schooling. She has also appended an exhaustive bibliography. This small but rich library of scholarly attention to the topic of Jewish education in late antiquity has served us well in the previous pages. Two aspects of our study distinguish it from our predecessors. First are the great strides made in the critical study of rabbinic sources. Second is the focus of our research on the ideals of education as the sources present them in those passages where a concerted effort was made to consider the ideals of learning and education. What were the salient features and goals of ancient learning as they are expressed in these mini-tractates on learning? It is to that task that we devoted this volume.

Appendix 2 Portraits of Jewish Sages Engaged in Study

I thought that it would be of interest to assemble some ancient literary portraits of the Jewish sages with some reference to non-Jewish sages of antiquity. How would a sculptor or a painter 2,000 years ago have portrayed the great Jewish sages of the first century, Hillel and Shammai? What would the portrait of Rabbi Akiva of the next century, or R. Yohanan of the century after, look like? R. Yochanan’s contemporary, the great Platonist Plotinus, scoffed, as we saw in chapter 2, at those who wanted to make an image of what he thought was already but an image.1 Yet we do have ancient representations of him, one of which might have inspired Augustine. Would the Jewish sages have been portrayed in a fashion reminiscent of Rodin’s Thinker, deep in contemplation? Or possibly more like Ghirlandaio’s pensive Saint Jerome, seated at his desk, book open and pen in hand? The dearth of Jewish plastic arts in the first centuries of the common era is more than compensated by the wealth of verbal sketches of the Sages, and these can be compared neatly to similar sketches in pagan and Christian literature. Take, for example, a self-portrait of Rabbi Hiyya, which we noted en passant in the second chapter. This great sage offended R. Yishmael, son of R. Yosi, since the latter felt that he had not been shown due deference by R. Hiyya while they were relaxing in the bathhouse. R. Hiyya excused himself, claiming that not only had he not noticed R. Yishmael’s entrance, but he swore that he was not even cognizant of the fact that he himself was bathing.

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R. Hiyya was engrossed, he says, in study: “I ran my eyes [ashgerat einai] through the entire aggadic book of Psalms” (pKilaim 9, 3,32b). This unusual phrase appears in another place in the Palestinian Talmud, the great corpus of oral law edited in the Galilee before the close of the fourth century c.e. The phrase has been rightly interpreted to be a memory exercise, envisaging a written text in the “mind’s eye.”2 Both the interpretation and the portrait are a product of the unusual venue of the account. Though the bathhouse did often serve in late antiquity as an intellectual gathering place,3 Jewish law restricted the oral recitation of Torah or the use of written sacred rolls in such places. 4 Since one did not speak works of Torah in the bathhouse, unless some legal question regarding the bath arose,5 R Hiyya re-viewed his learning of the aggada, the nonlegal interpretations of the book of Psalms. Though the Mishna contains a law regarding one who reads a scroll of the law on Shabbat while perched on a wall (mEruvin 10:3), only rarely does one find depictions of an individual Jewish scholar seated alone reading scripture. One such account is that of the great R. Yochanan seated “before the Babylonian synagogue in Sepphoris reading scripture [karei], oblivious to the local ruler [archon] who was passing by” (pBerachot 5, 1, 9a). A century later, in his fourthcentury portrayal of Ambrose, Augustine describes those very brief respites that Ambrose, bishop of Milan, enjoyed when not ministering to the crowds: When he was reading, his eyes ran over the page and his heart perceived the sense, but his voice and tongue were silent. He did not restrict access to anyone coming in, nor was it customary even for a visitor to be announced. Very often when we were there, we saw him silently reading and never otherwise. After sitting for a long time in silence (for who would dare to burden him in such intent concentration) we used to go away. . . . We wondered if he read silently perhaps to protect himself in case he had a hearer interested and intent on the matter, to whom he might have to expound the text being read if it contained difficulties, or who might wish to debate some difficult questions. If his time were used up in that way, he would get through fewer books than he wished. Besides the need to preserve his voice, which used easily to become hoarse, could have been a very fair reason for silent reading. As is clear from Augustine’s diverse explanations for Ambrose’s habit of reading silently,6 this practice was, according to H. Chadwick, “uncommon, not unknown.”7 Recent scholarship has argued that this was not quite as uncommon as previously assumed but was still not the norm.8 As we have seen, rabbinic culture was vehemently opposed to silent study, and this probably

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accounts for the lack of any such portrait in rabbinic literature. It would seem that contemporary Persian culture also emphasized loud recitation.9 We do, though, find a handful of accounts of individual sages studying by themselves. These portraits generally are to be found in rabbinic accounts of mystical speculation. We will note two briefly. The first comes from the Tosefta. Its motif is similar to our first story: a teacher walking along the road10 is not greeted by his student who is coming from the opposite direction. The teacher, R. Yehoshua, asks his student, Ben Zoma: From where to where Ben Zoma [me-ayin ule-ayin]?11 He said, “I was looking [zofeh] into the matters of creation and there is nothing between the upper waters and the lower waters but even a handbreadth, as it says ‘and a wind from God sweeping [merachef ] over the water’ (Gen. 1,2) and it says ‘Like an eagle who rouses his nestlings, sweeping down [yerachef ] to his young’ (Deut. 32, 11). Just like the this eagle circles its nest touching but not touching, so too there is nothing between the upper waters and the lower waters but even a handbreadth.” (tHagiga 2, 6, Lieberman ed., pp. 382–383) Ben Zoma’s mystical speculation comprised an explanation of matters of creation by means of a linguistic tally between verses of scripture—a most common exegetical practice. He was so engrossed in his exegetical speculation that he was oblivious to the approach of his teacher, R. Yehoshua. The story ends ominously with R. Yehoshua’s pronouncement—“Ben Zoma is already outside”—quickly followed by the narrator’s “There were but few days until Ben Zoma was gone.” One may wonder whether R. Hiyya’s self-absorption in the aggada of Psalms might also have been a quasi-mystical experience.12 Another mystical study session is attributed to Ben Zoma’s colleague Ben Azzai in the fifth-century collection of aggadic midrash, Leviticus Rabbah.13 There we read: Ben Azzai was sitting and expounding and fi re was raging around him. R. Akiva went to him and said to him, “Since I’ve heard that you are a master of aggada, that you sit and expound and the fire rages around you, perhaps you were involved in the chambers of the chariot?” He said to him, “I was sitting and linking the words of Torah with the Prophets and Hagiography and the words were as pleasant as when they were given at Sinai and they were joyous and behold their elemental giving at Sinai was from fi re as it says ‘and the mountain was ablaze with flames to the very skies.’ ” (Deut. 4, 11)

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These two stories of Ben Zoma and Ben Azzai are unusual in depicting a Jewish sage of antiquity engaged in study (of scripture) in solitude. The mystical nature of this enterprise necessarily limited the audience14 and more than explains this study in solitude. The vast majority of images of Sages engaged in study are of discourse carried on, often in small groups, in the most diverse physical settings, from the markets to the fields, over meals, and, of course, in the study house.15 A few examples will suffice: R. Liya and the scholars [hevraya]16 were sitting before an inn at evening. They said, “Is it [permissible] to say words of Torah?” He said to them, “Were it daytime, we could see what is in front of us, but now it is prohibited.” (pBerachot 3, 5, 6d) Rabbi Liya and others held the opinion that one may speak words of Torah only in a place that is assuredly clean and suitable. Another similar vignette is found in the great aggadic midrash on Genesis, Genesis Rabbah (fifth-century Palestine): Dalma [= drama, a story]: R. Hama bar Ukva and the rabbis were sitting and were disputing—what did Scripture see to give the genealogy of the wicked (genealogy of Ishmael, considered by the Rabbis to be wicked, at Gen. 25, 12)? R. Levi passed by. They said, “Here is the master of the tradition (shemateta), let’s ask him.” (GenR 62, 5) A more formal discourse in yet another informal setting is depicted in the following passage from the Tosefta:17 Maaseh [a deed or a case]: R. Tarfon was reclining in the shade of a dovecote18 at Mincha on Shabbat [afternoon]. They brought before him a pail of cool water. He said to his students, “One who drinks water to quench one’s thirst, what does one bless?” They said to him, “Teach us, our master” [yelamdenu rabbeinu]. He said to them, “ ‘[Blessed is the One] who creates souls and their wants.’ ” He said to them, “I’ll ask?” They said to him, “Teach us, our master.” He said to them, “It says ‘and they sat to eat bread and they raised their eyes etc.’ (Gen. 37, 25)—isn’t it usual for Arabs to carry pelts and stench and sulfur? But that righteous person [Joseph] was placed among precious things.” (tBerachot 4, 16) The source continues with two more homilies on the fate of the righteous and is followed by a third question about Judah’s winning the monarchy. This

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entire account is remarkable in the contrast between the informal setting and the formality of the discourse.19 This story about R. Tarfon is interrupted by another vignette, only to be resumed. This new vignette contains yet another account of sages discussing the theme of Judah’s ascent to the monarchy: Maaseh [a deed, a case]: of four elders [zekenim] who were sitting in R. Yehoshua’s portico, Elazar b. Mattiah, Hananiah b. Khinai, Shimon b. Azzai and Shimon the Timni, and they were occupied with what R. Akiva had taught [shanah] them—“why did Judah merit monarchy? Because he confessed in [the matter of] Tamar.” They added on their own. The source then reverts to R. Tarfon and his students and continues the inquiry in Judah’s ascent to the monarchy. In the Babylonian setting we have this startling picture of Rav Hanan of Nehardea, who pays a visit to Rav Kahana in Pum Nahara, and he saw him sitting and reciting [garas] and an animal was standing before him. He said to him, “Does not the master think that one is not allowed to be alone with an animal?” He said, “I was not paying attention.”20 (bKiddushin 81b) Rav Kahana, immersed in his recitation, is oblivious to the presence of the animal standing before him. This is what a sage did when sitting alone—he focused on oral recitation to the exclusion of everything that was outside of the learning. That same Babylonian Talmud, echoing faithfully an earlier report in the Mechilta, reports that the compelling question of the Sabbath’s deferral in the face of life-threatening circumstances was raised while R. Yishmael, R. Akiva, and R. Elazar b. Azariah “were walking along the way and Levi Hasadar and R. Yishmael the son of R. Elazar b. Azariah were walking behind them” (bYoma 95a, Mechilta d’R. Yishamel Tisa 1). Another immensely important question, whether study or deed has precedence, was raised before R. Akiva and other sages while they were “reclining in the loft of the house of Aris of Lydda” as we saw in chapter 3 (Sifre Deuteronomy 41).21 We have numerous other descriptions of sages and students studying on rooftops, near rivers, and in the markets, scenes familiar to students of ancient Mediterranean and Persian societies. The ideal of constant study in multifarious venues can be glimpsed in R. Yaakov’s22 radical statement in the Mishna Avot (3, 7): “One who walks along the way and is reciting [veshoneh] and stops his recitation and says ‘what a beautiful tree,’ ‘what a beautiful furrow,’ scripture accords it to him as if he is liable with his life.” Study was a process of

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unending repetition and ubiquitous recitation that transpired in almost very possible venue, even when alone. It was certainly dialogic and vocal when in small groups, whether they were formal or informal, whether within the confines of the synagogue or schoolhouse or anywhere at all. We do have an unusually graphic depiction of study in bHorayot 13b. This is the Babylonian Talmud’s account of a power struggle in the Palestinian academy, we noted in chapter five. The contentious setting does not detract from the general depiction of the scholar who studies—recitation and repetition are the heart of the enterprise whether one is walking alone or meeting in a group. We have another poignant description of young scholars receiving instruction from their father as to how to prepare themselves for their lesson with their teacher: Rav Meshareshya said to his sons, “When you want to enter and learn [migmar] before your teacher, recite [garsu] your tannaitic traditions [matnita] and enter before your teacher; and when you sit before him look at his mouth as it is written, ‘let your eyes see your teacher’ (Isaiah 30, 21); and when you recite [traditions (shemaata)]23 recite [garsitun, garsu] along a river of water, so that as the waters flow, so will your traditions.” (bHorayot 12a) As Albeck points out, Rav Meshareshya himself is portrayed as sitting by the river Papa with the rabbis.24 Rav Meshareshya is a fifth-generation Babylonian Amora, a pupil of Rava (c. 350), and a teacher of Rav Ashi (died c. 427). As we have tried to prove, Rava played a pivotal role in shaping Jewish learning. The Palestinian Talmud depicts certain sages as so enraptured with their learning that they were oblivious to their own whereabouts or that of their possessions (pBerachot 5,1, 9a). R. Shimon b. Lakish is said to have crossed the Sabbath boundary by accident, since he was so engrossed in his Torah recitation (menahagu25 be-oraita sagin). The Talmud sees this behavior as confirming another verse, this time from Proverbs 5, 19: “Be infatuated by love of her always.”26 This, then, is the portrait of the late antique Jewish student and scholar alike. They were engaged in recitation and discussion. We tried to show that this portrait is not based solely on what was perceived to be pedagogical expedience but is rooted deeply in their theological understanding of what is the very meaning of learning Torah. It is a culture of speech, perpetuated and preserved by discussion and conversation.

Notes

preface 1. See David Kennedy’s review of Fergus Millar’s book (see note 2), “Greek, Roman and Native Cultures in the Roman Near East,” in J. H. Humphrey, ed., The Roman and Byzantine Near East, vol. 2, Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series 31 (Portsmouth, 1999), 86. This claim is persuasively argued by David Goodblatt, Elements of Ancient Jewish Nationalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 209, who cites Kennedy and concludes that our period was one of “modification and change in the contents of Jewish national identity” (210). 2. See F. Millar, The Roman Near East 31 BC–AD 337 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1993), 382.

chapter 1 1. See David Goodblatt, Elements of Ancient Jewish Nationalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006) where he reframes the issue of Jewish nationalism, in dialogue with Doron Mendels and Seth Schwartz. My work here, I believe, supports Goodblatt’s thesis that this aspect of Jewish nationalism, cultural transmission, underwent modification in the late Second Temple period and rabbinic periods, rather than experiencing total collapse. I would posit a stronger rabbinic culture in the predestruction period on the basis of the early tannaitic anxiety concerning retaining Torah learning, but that needs further investigation. 2. See E. Bickerman, The Jews in the Greek Age (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1988), 161–176.

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3. The number of sages who flourished in the fi rst five centuries is a much-debated point. See David Stern, “Anthology and Polysemy in Classical Midrash,” in David Stern, ed., The Anthology in Jewish Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 137 n. 52. 4. Excellent recent surveys of these works can be found in Shmuel Safrai et al., eds., The Literature of the Sages, pt. 2 (Assen: Royal Van Gorcum/Fortress Press, 2006); Steven T. Katz, ed., The Cambridge History of Judaism, vol. 4 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). The best companion volume or manual on rabbinic literature remains H. L. Strack and G. Stemberger, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash, trans. M. Bockmuehl (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress Press, 1992). 5. Especially T. Morgan, Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998) and R. Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2001). 6. Y. Lee Too, “Writing the History of Ancient Education,” in Y. L. Too, ed., Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 1–21. 7. Ibid., 10–16. 8. H. Gregory Snyder, Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World: Philosophers, Jews and Christians (London: Routledge, 2000). 9. The Herbedestan and Nerangestan, vol. 1, ed. and trans. Firoze M. Kotwal and Philip G. Kreyenbroek, Studia Iranica (Paris: Association pour l’avancement des études iraniennes, 1992); S. Shaked, trans., “Denkard VI,” in Aturpat-I Emetan’s The Wisdom of the Sasanian Sages, Persian Heritage Series (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1979). 10. Halivni’s most recent formulation is in his article “Aspects of the Formation of the Talmud” [in Hebrew], Sidra 20 (2005): 69–117. Now, Sources and Traditions on Baba Batra [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 2007). 11. See most recently Stern, ed., The Anthology in Jewish Literature (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004). 12. On rabbinic orality, see Martin Jaffee, Torah in the Mouth: Writing and Oral Tradition in Palestinian Judaism, 200 BCE–400 CE (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001). 13. Though Halivni (n. 10) favors speaking of the “closure” of the Talmud rather than its editing, the largely aggadic sections, which are not the major focus of his study, are clearly edited, as I hope to have shown in the coming pages. 14. Two very important midrashic works contain invaluable material on learning: Avot d’Rabbi Nathan and Seder Eliyahu. As recent study has shown (especially M. Kister’s recent Studies in Avot de-Rabbi Nathan [Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi, 1998], ix), certainly the Avot d’Rabbi Nathan and, I would argue also, Seder Eliyahu, contain tannaitic material, but in their present form were clearly edited in post-Talmudic times. They have been the object of many studies in their own right. Mention should be made of English essays by J. Goldin in his collected studies, Studies in Midrash and Related Literature (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1985), 3–120; A. Saldarini, Scholastic Rabbinism (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1982);

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and most recently J. Wyn Schofer, Making of a Sage: A Study in Rabbinic Ethics (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2005). The sixth chapter of Avot, Perek Kinyan Torah, it would seem, deserves to be read along with those works. We will have recourse to the Mishna Avot itself, especially regarding Rabban Yochanan and his students in light of Goldin’s suggestive essay “A Philosophical Session in the Tannaite Academy,” in Studies in Midrash and Related Literature, 57–76. A. Tropper’s learned analysis of the Mishna Avot as an exemplar of the intellectual currents of the Second Sophistic contains very helpful analyses of the structure, style, and content of the work. See A. Tropper, Wisdom, Politics, and Historiography: Tractate Avot in the Context of the Graeco-Roman Near East (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). 15. Both Mishna and Tosefta organize the tractates into six groups called orders (seder or erech). 16. A position championed recently by Shamma Friedman in a volume called Tosefta Atikta [in Hebrew] (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 2003. See also his article in English, “The Primacy of Tosefta to Mishna in Synoptic Parallels,” in H. Fox and T. Meacham, eds., Introducing Tosefta (Hoboken, N.J.: KTAV, 1999), 99–121. 17. On the variants here and at tBava Metzia 2, 30, see Lieberman, Tosefta Ki-fshutah IX–X, p. 168, lines 76–77. H . ochma would, according to him, mean Talmud here. 18. After NJPS (New Jewish Publication Society) translation of Psalms 139, 15. 19. On the issue of parents and teachers, see G. Blidstein, “Master and Parent: Comparative Aspects of A Dual Loyalty,” in A. J. Avery-Peck and J. Neusner, eds., The Mishna in Contemporary Perspective, pt. 1 (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 254–266. In a very stimulating essay, “The Student Self in Late Antiquity,” in David Brakke, Michael Satlow, and Steven Weitzman, eds., Religion and the Self in Antiquity (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005), 234–251, Edward Watts makes the important observation that most youthful students at a more advanced level had to travel to the great centers of learning and thus, in fact, the teachers became in some manner surrogate parents (pp. 236–237). 20. The translation is according to NJPS. I have revised Lauterbach’s translation, J. Z. Lauterbach, Mekilta de-rabbi Ishmael (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1933), vol. 2, p. 103, also giving emphasis to other manuscript and Geniza readings. 21. I have added this reading according to the Geniza fragment, as recorded in M. Kahana, The Geniza Fragments of the Halakhic Midrashim (Jerusalem: The Magnes Press, The Hebrew University, 2005), 69. 22. These two sages argue this point also in the Sifre Deuteronomy 42, about the verse in Deuteronomy 11, 14: “You shall gather in your new grain and wine and oil.” The midrash queries there why this verse was at all necessary and responds that were it not for this verse, I might take the verse of Joshua 1, 8 literally: “Let not the book of Teachings [Torah] cease from your lips,” and recite Torah perpetually to the exclusion of all other labor. The verse in Deuteronomy is interpreted there by R. Yishmael: “The custom of the land, spoke the Torah,” meaning that one behaves according to the normal course of life. R. Shimon there responds, “This has no

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end—if one harvests at harvest time, and ploughs at ploughing time and threshes during the heat and winnows when the wind blows, when will one learn Torah?” 23. The standard scholarly edition of the Palestinian Talmud is the new edition of the Academy of the Hebrew Language, Talmud Yerushalmi, with an introduction by Yaacov Sussmann (Jerusalem, 2001), from which I have translated. The entire selection appears also in pShabbat 1, 2, 3a to be read with S. Lieberman’s comments in HaYerushalmi Kiphshuto (Jerusalem: Darom, 1934), 20–21. 24. Maybe a more literary equivalent would render: “it dawned on him” because the root nahar also means light. 25. Literally, “is it easy in your eyes?” 26. The repetition of “son” here is to emphasize the literary crafting. I have made an effort in both translation and my own writing to respectfully tone down the gender bias of the sources, while being faithful to their time and formulations. 27. See David Stern’s recent reflections on this term in Anthology in Jewish Literature, 109, and Galit Hasan Rokem, who, in her recent work Tales of the Neighborhood (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 9, describes Leviticus Rabbah, as the “so-called homiletical midrash.” 28. On the nature of aggada and its collections, see M. Hirshman, “Aggadic Midrash,” in Safrai et al., Literature of the Sages, 107–132; M. B. Lerner, “The Works of Aggadic Midrash and the Esther Midrashim,” in Safrai et al., Literature of the Sages, 134–174. 29. M. Margulies in his critical commentary Midrash Wayyikra Rabbah (New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America 1993), 55, interprets this: “decided law.” 30. The essence of midrash aggada is eliciting a new meaning from the words of scripture, even by the most playful means. Here the Hebrew word re’ut (pursuit) is understood to be its Aramaic cognate, which means desire. 31. Margulies understands this to be one who controls Mishna and baraitot. 32. The word “measure,” midda, is the Hebrew translation of Mechilta, the tannaitic midrash we saw earlier. “Measure” might mean canons of reasoning, but this does not seem to suit the context. 33. First four volumes were published by the Jewish Theological Seminary (New York, 1968–1982); next three volumes were published by Magnes Press (Jerusalem, 1993–2007). 34. I have benefited from Henry Malter’s critical edition and translation, The Treatise Ta’anit of the Babylonian Talmud (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1967), 78–89, but I usually use the NJPS translation of the scriptural verses cited in the Talmud and also have diverged from Malter’s translation frequently. 35. Here Malter’s translation reads “points out an incongruity.” I have tried to be more literal. 36. Here the text is punning on orfeihu, which also means to break one’s neck, as in Deuteronomy 21, 4, which relates to the egla arufa, a calf whose neck is broken. 37. This motif of the worthy student reappears here in three more nonconsecutive homilies attributed to third- and fourth-generation teachers from the land of Israel (R. Zera, Hanina bar Papa, R. Aha/Hama bar Hanina).

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38. Including a famous story where R. Yehoshua teaches the emperor’s daughter that wine is preserved only in the most humble of vessels, and so too the Torah. The nexus of physical beauty, wealth, humility, and wisdom occupies ancient thought both in rabbinic literature (compare Kinyan Torah mAvot 6:8) and in Greco-Roman philosophy (see E. Halevi, HaAggada Hahistorit Biografit [Tel Aviv, 1975]), 326–327, citing Diogenes Laertius 2, 33, and others.

chapter 2 1. Literally translated “seeing,” this is a reference to Exodus 22, 14–17 and parallels. The pilgrim to the Temple is commanded there not “to be seen” empty-handed. This reayon commandment is understood by the rabbis to refer either to literally being seen, making the pilgrimage, or to the olah (offering) brought when making the thrice-yearly pilgrimage. See mHagiga 1, 1–3. 2. The internal arrangement of the sixty tractates, subdivided into six orders of Mishna, is according to length, beginning with the longest tractates, according to numbers of chapters. Peah is an exception. If, indeed, tractate Berachot, which is now first, was appended to another order, as it is in the Munich manuscript of the Babylonian Talmud, then Peah might very well have been chosen as the first tractate of the Mishna. This would explain its elaborate opening and its privileging of study in general. On the order of the tractates, see J. N. Epstein, Mavo LeNusach Hamishna, 2nd ed. (Jerusalem: Magnes/Dvir, 1964), 988. 3. I employ the conventional usage of “Mishna” with a capital to refer to the entire work, while lowercase “mishna” is used to indicate the subdivisions of each chapter in a particular tractate. 4. See A. H. Armstrong’s Plotinus (Cambridge: Loeb Classics, 1966/1989), introduction, p. vii. 5. Argued most forcefully by Shamma Friedman, Tosefta Atiqta (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 2002). 6. The word “halacha” in lowercase refers to the smallest subdivisions of the chapter of Tosefta and is equivalent to “mishna” in the lowercase. 7. At stake is whether this hypothesized original source was the text from which the Mishna quoted, and thus the Tosefta retains the older formulation, or whether the Tosefta has constructed a new, evenly balanced source on the basis of the mishna and simply deleted the “well-known” mishna from the supplementary material. 8. Note the unusual use of hesed in incestuous relations of a brother and sister at Leviticus 20, 17. Here, the Tosefta might be playing on that usage. 9. See R. Macmullen, Paganism in the Roman Empire (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1981), 2–3. 10. Davar in Hebrew functions much the same as logos in Greek. 11. Reading aloud was the norm in Roman times, with exceptions as noted in Augustine’s remarks on Ambrose in appendix 2. For bibliography, see H. Gregory Snyder, Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World: Philosophers, Jews and Christians (London: Routledge, 2000), 30–31 and p. 236 n. 74. See also chapter 1, note 12.

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12. I owe this clarification and intensification of the point to a comment made by David Martinez of the University of Chicago. 13. This entire subject has been exhaustively reviewed with his usual meticulousness by J. Sussman, “Torah Shebeal Peh, Peshuta Kemashmaa,” in Mehqerei Talmud III, Studies in Memory of E E. Urbach (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 2005), 209–384. All agree that there were informal written notes, but these had the status of “private notes”; see S. Lieberman, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1962), 87ff., 203–208. 14. Compare Philip Rousseau’s interpretation of the Life of Antony in his essay “Antony as Teacher in the Greek Life,” in T. Hagg and P. Rousseau, eds., Greek Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), 91: “ ‘he held fast to all of them, and memory took for him the place of books . . .’ ” The least this implies is that Antony respects the scriptures and commits them to memory; but it is in this alone that his freedom from “books” (which may mean other books) resides. I thank David Satran for calling this article to my attention. 15. This is Lieberman’s suggestion, Tosefta Ki-fshutah (New York: JTS, 1962), pt. 3, page 202. 16. M. Jaffee, Torah in the Mouth: Writing and Oral Tradition in Palestinian Judaism, 200 BCE–400 CE (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 67 and 184 n. 16 presents a different view. C. Hezser, Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 468– 469, rightly points to some exceptional occasions of private study that involved reading (korin) from a scroll, among them tShabbat 1.13. See further tShabbat 1, 11 that permits reading from scripture until the night of Shabbat. S. Lieberman (Tosefta Ki-fshutah, pt. III, pp. 9–10) aligns this with mShabbat 16, 1, wherein reading was opposed, since it might cause “desuetude of the house of study” (bitul beit hamidrash). We might be witnessing here the early attempts to solidify the status of the public study house rather than an ideological commitment to oral recitation of scripture. 17. See H. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, trans. G. Lamb (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1981 (paperback reprint of 1956 edition), 165–166. 18. See S. Naeh’s remarks in his article “The Craft of Memory . . .” [in Hebrew], in Mehqarei Talmud 3: Studies in Memory of E. E. Urbach (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 2005), 543–589. Compare the use of the verb skeptomai in the description of Plotinus’s method of contemplation, cited on the next page. 19. Meharher belibo. According to M. Moreshset, A Lexicon of the New Verbs in Tannaitic Literature [in Hebrew] (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 1980), the verb hirher in rabbinic Hebrew evidently came directly from the Aramaic (Daniel 4, 2), and I follow his translation. This would then be the equivalent of a silent speech. 20. There are different interpretations here about whether it is the blessings that are thought but not recited or the Shema itself; see Tosefta Ki-fshutah, part I, pp. 20–21 and n. 12. 21. Note the continuation of the Tosefta 2, 13—“in the time of danger.”

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22. I have emended the text, which reads “five” according to S. Lieberman, Tosefet Rishonim (Jerusalem: Bamberger & Wahrman, 1938), vol. 1, 276. The word “fifty” appears in the Vienna manuscript and the first edition. R. David Pardo, in his commentary on the Tosefta, H . asdei David (Jerusalem: Wagshal, 1995, ad locum), discusses the problematic inclusion of thieves. 23. The Mechilta of Rabbi Yishmael discusses these passages and decides that one who strikes a parent is put to death by strangling whereas one who curses is stoned. See Mechilta Nezikin 5 (Lauterbach, ed., pp. 42–43, 47–49). Stoning was considered the more violent death. 24. Indeed, Nachmanides in his commentary on Ketubot 40b sees this as asmakta bealma—a literary flourish to support an idea and no more. 25. Compare Epistle to James chapter 3 (I am thankful to David Martinez for this reference), and J. Marcus, “The Evil Inclination of the Epistle of James,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 44 (1982): 616–620. 26. See M. Hirshman, “Theology and Exegesis in Midrashic Literature,” in J. Whitman, ed., Interpretation and Allegory (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 116–117. 27. See S. Rappe, Reading Neoplatonism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 235. 28. I quote from the Loeb edition, Plotinus, vol. 1, edited by A. H Armstrong, 2nd ed. 1989, chap. 1, p. 11. 29. But see M. Miles’s comments in Plotinus Plotinus on Body and Beauty: Society, Philosophy and Religion in Third-Century Rome (Oxford: Blackwell, 1999), 90ff. 30. Ibid., chap. 8, p. 29. See P. Cox’s analysis of this passage and comparison to Socrates in her classic work, Biography in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 116–117. Her analyses of the biographies of Origen and Plotinus have been foundational for my work here. 31. Literally “to thrust in or upon.” 32. Plotinus, chap. 23, p. 71. 33. Ibid., chap. 23, pp. 69. 34. See J. M. Rist, Plotinus: The Road to Reality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967), chap. 16. 35. F. M. Schroeder, “Plotinus and Language,” in L. P. Gerson, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Plotinus (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 347. 36. Ibid., 346, citing the Enneads V.8.6.6–9. 37. Rappe, Reading Neoplatonism, xi. 38. Ibid. 39. Homilies in Leviticus, trans. G. Barkley (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1990), 29. 40. M. J. Edwards, Origen against Plato (Burlington, Vt.: Ashgate, 2002), 135, paraphrasing Homilies on Leviticus 4.10. The same image is used in his Homilies on Genesis 12, trans. Ronald. E. Heine (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1982), 182–183, as noted by Patricia Cox Miller in her essay on Origen’s hermeneutics, “Poetic Words, Abysmal Words: Reflections on Origen’s

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Hermeneutics,” in Charles Kannengiesser and William Petersen, eds., Origen of Alexandria (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1988), 171. 41. Origen, like Plotinus, describes his mystical longing for the “Bridegroom’s” presence. See Miller, “Poetic Words, Abysmal Words,” 174, citing the fi rst homily on the Song of Songs. 42. Cited by David Dawson in his important essay “Soul and Body of Text: Philo and Origen,” in J. Whitman, Interpretation and Allegory (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 103. 43. Richard Layton, Didymus the Blind and His Circle in Late-Antique Alexandria (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2004), 138. 44. Ibid., 139. 45. See George Foot Moore, Judaism (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1927), vol. 1, pp. 415–416. 46. A. Marmorstein, The Old Rabbinic Doctrine of God (1927; reprint, New York: KTAV, 1968), 89, who claims that “this ancient name” is to be found already in “Sumero-Babylonian” literature. Moore, Judaism, vol. 3, p. 126 n.146, saw the Sumerian connection as “superfluous,” while E. E Urbach, The Sages, trans. I. Abrams (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1987), chap. 9, n. 42, says that the comparison was based on a mistranslation of the Sumerian document. See also mAvot 5, 1. 47. See D. Hoshen, “Torat Hazimzum” [in Hebrew], Daat 34 (1995): 34–60, who cites Genesis Rabbah 4, 2 (Theodor-Albeck, p. 26): “Creation (maaseh bereishit) came to teach about the giving of the Torah and it turned out learning from it.” 48. It might be that some rabbinic mystical speculation was more akin to Plotinus’s model—as the material we cited in the fi rst chapter—especially the description of ben Azzai at tHagiga 2, 6, where ben Azzai is oblivious to encountering R. Yehoshua. Ben Azzai explains that he had been “looking” (speculating?) at maaseh bereishit (acts of creation). 49. See R. Eliezer’s comments at bSanhedrin 68a: “I’ve depleted my teachers not even as a dog lapping at the sea”; Shmuel haKatan “took the keys with him” (Semachot 8). 50. Compare the extraordinary image the Babylonian Talmud attributes to R. Eliezer on his deathbed, when he bemoans how little his students have availed themselves of his learning: “My two arms are like two scrolls of Torah being rolled up” (bSanhedrin 68a). The sage literally embodies the oral Torah. 51. The meaning of bedimo is disputed—either it means a mixture of priestly and nonpriestly food, or it is simply another name for teruma, food given to the priest that must be eaten in purity. See Albeck’s comments to mAhilot 16, 3–4. 52. Our text reads: “It was not that he knew . . . ,” but the parallel story in tParah 4, 7 reads as I have translated here. I think that this is the meaning of our text also, even though it and the next line about Hillel lack the double negation. 53. M. Moreshet, A Lexicon of New Verbs in Tannaitic Literature [in Hebrew] (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan, 1980), 157, cites Lieberman, Tosefet Rishonim, vol. 3, p. 226, where parallels have both to “strengthen” and to “sharpen.” The basic meaning of the word is to quicken –and may be translated here as “stimulate.”

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54. Hillel was not a priest, which would demand a change in the wording of the text. See Pardo, H . asdei David ad locum. 55. Following Lieberman, Tosefet Rishonim (Jerusalem: Bamberger & Wahrman, 1939), vol. 2, p. 146. Compare Jaffee, Torah in the Mouth, 72. 56. A secondary variant in the Sifre reads lechaded (to sharpen). 57. bSanhedrin 39a attributes the two statements to different rabbis, but our text is primary. Moreover, the word “review” (hozer) is substituted for the less frequent “labor” (amel) even though the next section brings a prooftext that uses the root aml! E. Halevi, Haagaddah Hahistorit: Biographit (Tel Aviv, 1975), 340, wants to see shoneh and amel as equivalent to Aristotle’s didaskalias and askeseos, a suggestion that merits further inquiry. 58. Compare also mAvot 4, 10, where the opposite of amal is batel (to desist). 59. That text also has difficult points of interpretation. See Steven Fraade, From Tradition to Commentary: Torah and Its Interpretation in the Midrash Sifre to Deuteronomy (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1991), 46 and notes 94 and 99, pp. 207–209. M. Kahana published a fragment of the Mechilta to Deuteronomy cited by Fraade that is parallel to the Sifre, and there the text employs the verb asak (to occupy oneself) rather than amel. See M. Kahana, “Dappim min hamechilta . . .” [in Hebrew], Tarbiz 57 (1988): 179, 194. Though the Mechilta reads more smoothly, amel seems a more original reading than asak. 60. Jaffee, Torah in the Mouth, interprets labor “to master their contents” (p. 72). I find myself in disagreement with his translation and analysis of Rabban Yohanan’s kal vachomer. 61. See N. Morris, The Jewish School (London: Eyre and Spotteswoode, 1937), 140–144. My colleague Deborah Gera pointed out the similarity between the singing of Homer and this singing of Torah, in line with Bickerman’s position brought above. 62. See mAvot 4,2 and 4,6. 63. Deborah Gera calls my attention to Iambulus in Diodorus Siculus 2. 56, who describes a utopia where everyone has two tongues and can speak to two people at the same time. E. Halevi points to Euripides Hippolytus 928, speaking of two voices, one for justice (dikaian) and one for necessity (HaAggada HaHistorit-Biographit, 518–519). 64. Compare his comments at Sifre Deuteronomy 42 (Finkelstein ed., p. 90), where he states the ideal that Israel’s labors are done by others to allow Israel full-time study. 65. See S. Krauss, Grieschische und Lateinische Lehnwörter in Talmud, Midrasch und Targum (Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1964), vol. II, 203–204: “Angeberei.” 66. See the Epistle of James chapters 3–5 and commentaries ad locum. 67. D. Dawson, “Soul and Body of Text: Philo and Origen,” in J. Whitman, ed., Interpretation and Allegory: Antiquity to the Modern Period (Brill: Leiden, 2000), 93. 68. Ibid., 107. 69. Averil Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric of the Empire (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 53. In “Address of Thanksgiving,” Gregory Thaumaturgas says, “Words are nothing other than images of what is going on in our souls . . . ,” trans. M. Slusser (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University Press, 1998), 92.

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70. Edwards, Origen against Plato, 146. 71. Quoted in ibid., 138. 72. See Sifre Deuteronomy 49 (Finkelstein ed., p. 115), and our comments in the next chapter. 73. See recently Jonathan Schofer, “The Beastly Body in Rabbinic SelfFormation,” in David Brakke, Michael Satlow, and Steven Weitzman, eds., Religion and the Self in Antiquity (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005), 204–206. 74. bHagiga 3a has a fascinating story about Yochanan b. Gudgeda’s two mute grandchildren, whose lips would quiver while they sat before Rebbe. Eventually Rebbe prayed on their behalf, and it turned out they had mastered their studies. In this extreme case, I think the Talmud is emphasizing their ability to form the words with their lips even though no sound emerged. The story is brought to question the general ruling that one who is mute is exempt from learning.

chapter 3 1. The classic work on the two styles is J. Z. Lauterbach, “Midrash and Mishna,” in his collected works, Rabbinic Essays (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1951). The discovery of the Qumran library summoned a reassessment of these two genres. See A. Goldberg, “HaMidrash Hakadum veHamidrash Hameuchar” [in Hebrew], Tarbiz 50 (1981): 94–106. D. W. Halivni is of the opinion that the mishna style was an innovation of the second-century sages, promoted by R. Akiva and his followers. See Halivni, Midrash, Mishna and Gemara (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1986), 38–65. The definitive essay on the collections of midrash Halacha is now M. Kahana, “The Halakhic Midrashim,” in S. Safrai et al., eds., Literature of the Sages, pt. 2 (Assen: Royal Van Gorcum, 2006), 3–105. 2. The terminology itself was debated by the sages as to what constitutes “mishna.” See, in brief, D. Zlotnik, The Iron Pillar—Mishna (Jerusalem: Ktav/Bialik Institute, 1988), 11, quoting bKiddushin 49a. Two mid-second-century c.e. rabbis debate whether mishna means halachot, that is laws, or midrash. A. Rosenthal formidably surveyed the usage of the terms in his long essay “Torah shebeal Peh veTorah MiSinai” [in Hebrew], Mehqerei Talmud II (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1993), 455–460. 3. See tBerachot 3,1. 4. M. Weinfeld, Deuteronomy 1–11 (New York: Doubleday, 1991), 448, 446. 5. R. Hammer, Sifre on Deuteronomy (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1986); J. Neusner, Sifre (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987). 6. Steven Fraade, From Tradition to Commentary: Torah and Its Interpretation in the Midrash Sifre to Deuteronomy (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1991). 7. Translation follows M. Weinfeld, Deuteronomy 1–11, 430. 8. Ibid., 341. 9. Ibid., 340. 10. The repetition of the “your staying at home etc.” clause is in the singular in Deuteronomy 11, though everything surrounding it is in the plural. See Weinfeld, 448.

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11. mBerachot 3,2, translated from Kaufmann Manuscript, Facsimile (Jerusalem: Makor, 1968), 3. 12. See now M. Benovitz, “Shinun: Recitation of the Shema in the Teaching of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai” [in Hebrew], Sidra 20 (2005): 25–56. 13. The root lmd (learn/teach) appears only in this, the last of the Five Books of Torah. 14. See Weinfeld’s comments on the Gilgal tradition at Joshua 3–5 as being “the birthplace of religious education and dramatization of salvation history” (p. 329). 15. This indeed is how R. David Pardo, the great sixteenth-century commentator on the Tosefta and the Sifre, takes it. 16. Hammer prefers “performance.” 17. pBerachot 2,1, 4a has an amora, R. Ila, asserting, “the first [paragraph] is for the individual, the second for the group [zibur]; the first for talmud the second for maaseh.” His first distinction echoes the change from singular to plural, as we noted. In the second distinction he curiously reverses the position of the Sifre. 18. In the Finkelstein critical edition of the Sifre, which Hammer followed in his translation, a new paragraph begins with Deuteronomy 5, 1: “You may learn them and observe to do them,” that was quoted above. However, the Vatican 32 manuscript of the Sifre continues the discussion with no sign of interruption. Indeed, it is best, I think, to see this return to the exegesis of Deuteronomy 5, 1 as a summary of the issue that was broached in the first lines. 19. The word anash (punished) has no antecedent, but there is an oft-used phrase anash hakatuv (scripture punished; e.g., mMakkot 1, 7; Sifre Numbers 125 Horovitz ed., Jerusalem: Wahrmann, 1966, pp. 160–161). 20. The Sifre Deuteronomy (and other tannaitic literature) uses the word (u) kevar to introduce accounts of rabbis gathering or traveling together (sections 38, 43, 118) and also for the accounts of two Roman officials journeying to Israel (344, 357). 21. See Lieberman, Tosefta Ki-fshutah pt. III, p. 29–30 n. 35. 22. Setting aside a portion of the dough is ordained by scripture to be one of the priestly gifts. 23. I have translated directly from the Vatican manuscript, though the point still holds according to Finkelstein’s edition and Hammer’s translation. 24. See Halevi, Parshiot Baagaddah (Tel Aviv, 1975), 400–403, who cites the Nicomachean Ethics 1105b and other Greco-Roman sources closer to the rabbinic period. 25. These same words appear in a sorite in Sifre Deuteronomy 161; talmud brings to maaseh, maaseh brings to fear! 26. See Thomas P. Sherman, S.J., “Human Happiness and the Role of Philosophical Wisdom in the Nicomachean Ethics,” International Philosophical Quarterly 42 (2002): 467–492, for an interesting analysis of Aristotle’s view of the role of wisdom in practical behavior. 27. The word kodem can mean temporal precedence or also precedence in value. See S. Lieberman, Hayerushalmi Kiphshuto (New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1995), 325. At bKiddushin 40b, R. Yosi is separated from the

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main baraita of R. Tarfon and the elders! Urbach (The Sages, trans. I. Abrahams [Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1987], 607) identifies R. Akiva as the main proponent of the priority of study but understands the Lydda decision as correctly interpreting his position. My understanding of our passage has both R. Akiva and R. Yosi espousing the ultimacy of study, and certainly, in our context, study is independent of action. This is also R. Abbahu’s understanding (or possibly the “anonymous” talmud in pHagiga 1, 7, 76c) where R. Abbahu castigates his son for doing good deeds rather than studying by quoting the decision in beit arim in Lydda. The rabbis of Caesarea demur, saying that that holds only when there is someone else to do the deed. 28. Fraade, From Tradition to Commentary, 241 n. 80; Urbach, The Sages, 607; S. Safrai, In Times of Temple and Mishnah [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1996), 144–149. 29. The last prooftext is taken by Pardo to be another proof for the rewards of study. Hammer took this as the lesser reward of action. The matter requires further study. 30. Or, alternately and preferably, “temple service,” that was simply called avoda. 31. Urbach, The Sages, 967 n. 4, is troubled by this exegesis: “this exposition is difficult, for it is impossible to tell why ‘to serve it’ means study of the Torah and not the service of the sacrifice.” But see A. Aderet, From Destruction [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1990), 92–93, who places this source in the context of the rehabilitation of the religion after the destruction of the Temple. 32. See Fraade, From Tradition to Commentary, 90–91 n. 77. 33. I have translated the end according to the Vatican version. 34. The Vatican manuscript has a much different version that reads as follows: “R. Eliezer b. Yaakov says, to serve Him with all your [plural: levavchem] heart and all your [plural: nafshechem] soul [three letter abbreviation. vav kof nun, vehalo kevar neemar? And wasn’t it already said] with all your [singular: levavecha] heart and all your [singular: nafshecha] soul, there for the individual, here for the community, there for study here for deed. Since you heard, do etc.” 35. This is the subject of M. Benovitz’s recent article, “Shinun: Recitation of the Shema in the Teaching of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai.” 36. R. David Pardo ad locum adduces this from the words “God is One.” 37. Exodus 22, 23; Leviticus 26, 14; Deuteronomy 6, 3; Deuteronomy 27, 10. 38. See Sifra Bechukotai parasha 1, where the same emphasis on study is read into the words “walk in my laws,” this time using terminology of the Akiva school: “this teaches (melamed) that God (hamakom) desires that Israel be laboring (amelim) in Torah.” 39. See above, note 31. 40. See now Benovitz, “Shinun,” 25–56. David Hartman lectured on the same topic at the First Conference on Rabbinic Thought at the University of Haifa in 1989. 41. The chapter division varies in the different manuscripts. The best manuscript of the Sifre Deuteronomy, Vatican 32, does not number the divisions (though it does on three occasions summarize the number of baraitot) and usually

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marks the division according to the end of the verse in Deuteronomy (sileq pasoka). See M. Kahana, Manuscripts of the Halakhic Midrashim: An Annotated Catalogue [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1995), 97–98 and n. 7. 42. Even R. Yishmael, who held the opinion that the Torah was expressed in “human language” and might therefore repeat a word in the same manner that people sometime repeat themselves, would look for exegetical import in wholesale repetition. See D. Z. Hoffman, Leheqer Midreshei Hatannaim [in Hebrew] (Tel Aviv, 1928), 7–9. 43. Fraade, From Tradition to Commentary, 105–119. He comments in a different place also on chapter 49 (pp. 92–93); see note 41 for why I have collapsed them into one discussion. Now see S. Naeh’s incisive comments, which begin also with this text, “The Craft of Memory . . .” [in Hebrew], in Y. Sussmann and D. Rosenthal, eds., Mehqerei Talmud III 543–589. 44. The translation follows the Vatican manuscript. 45. Gedolim is literally “great” but often carries the meaning of “wealthy.” 46. The last exegesis is brought under the heading of the words shamor tishmaroon but is actually an exegesis of the continuation of the verse “all the commandments”—easy and difficult alike. 47. The printed edition divides the verse into two chapters (48 and 49), with the latter chapter beginning with the words lalachet bechol derachav; Finkelstein followed this division, though it is absent in the two leading manuscripts. Fraade followed Finkelstein’s lead and analyzed chapter 48 as a discrete unit. 48. In From Tradition to Commentary, Fraade noted the close parallel of the first part of our exegesis (“almost identical interpretation”; 257 n. 211) in chapter 41 but underplayed the striking difference in the conclusion there: “whatever you do, do only from love” and here “honor will eventually come”! This colors chapter 48 in a very peculiar shade. 49. Fraade notes “a return to the theme and rhetoric of the very first section . . . very same exegetical strategy” (From Tradition, 117). In chapter 5 on bAvoda Zara, we will see that the Talmud employed the same literary strategy to frame its discussion of learning, using an even more graphic phrase, etgalgel besheina (I’ll occupy myself in sleep). 50. LXX reads here ean akoue akousete, probably translating a vorlage with shamoa tishmaoo(n) rather than shamor tishmaroon. 51. See Gregory Thaumaturgus’s comments on memorizing Roman law, which are “neither compared nor learned by heart without exhausting effort,” in St. Gregory Thaumaturgus: Life and Works, trans. M. Slutter (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America, 1998), p. 92 and n. 2. 52. By supplementary I mean that it consists of exegeses of a verse or verses other than the immediate context (in this case Deuteronomy 11) and was “imported” here to fi ll out the educational theses. This additional material is at least as old as, if not older than, the exegeses of Deuteronomy, which are the framework of the chapters and the book.

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53. One can only speculate on the origins of this material. Was it drawn from a running “commentary” on Proverbs? Is it a compilation of occasional comments on learning and Torah that naturally used Wisdom sayings from Proverbs? These questions, as yet, have no satisfactory answer. Indeed, though Finkelstein divided the unit into two (at p. 109), thus emphasizing the literary inclusion of honey (pp. 109 line 11 through p. 111 line 16 [see Fraade, From Tradition, p. 109: “a circular subunit”]), the manuscript does not have such a division, and the overall literary construction awaits elucidation. 54. I take this to refer to scripture as the subject. 55. O. Meir has shown a similar editorial process in the amoraic Genesis Rabbah. See “The Redaction of Genesis Rabba and Leviticus Rabba” [in Hebrew], in M. Friedman and M. B. Lerner, ed., Teuda 11, Studies in the Aggadic Midrashim (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1996), 61–90. T. Kaddari, “On the Redaction of Shir HaShirim Rabbah” (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University, 2004), proves this to be very much the case in that midrash. 56. The last clause of the verse from Job, utemurata kelei paz (nor exchanged for vessels of fine gold) is left dangling; was R. Yishmael’s parable intended to serve as a comment on this clause? 57. See Finkelstein’s commentary ad locum (p. 108). 58. See D. Sperber, Roman Palestine: Money and Prices (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 1974), 29, 105. There he cites Matthew 10, 29, where two sparrows are worth an isar, while Luke 12, 6, has five sparrows for two isar. 59. The Mechilta (Beshallah chap. 7; Lauterbach ed., p. 249) has the same image, but there the concern is not to crush the sparrow. A similar usage to that of the Mechilta is in Genesis Rabbah chapter 19. Parallels to Plato’s image in the Theaetetus will be taken up in a later chapter, where the image of the bird takes a surprising twist. 60. As noted in chapter 1, this is the position advanced in tShabbat 13,1. 61. See M. Moreshet, A Lexicon of the New Verbs in Tannaitic Hebrew [in Hebrew] (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan, 1980), 239. 62. Literally, to accumulate small change and eventually convert it into the larger coin—the dinar. One who earned less than 200 dinar a year was below the poverty level and was entitled to charity; see mPeah 8, 8. 63. See J. N. Epstein, Introduction to Tannaitic Literature [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Magnes/Dvir, 1957), 615, on Sifre to Numbers. See also S. Naeh, “The Structure and the Division of Torat Cohanim (B)” [in Hebrew], Tarbiz 69 (2000): 61–66; and Naeh, “Craft of Memory,” n. 25 and n. 200. The claim at n. 200 that this kind of a division reflects memory issues, since “old manuscripts in antiquity were not divided according to hierarchy,” I find unconvincing inasmuch as many compositions, even if composed orally and only later written down, need have some structure (witness Plotinus). 64. See Tosefta Hullin 10, 5, for this unusual phrase. 65. The section also describes the degeneration in that one who does not review will exchange the views of one rabbi for another—another possible indication of the absence of a written text to which one might refer.

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66. Nefesh has a primary meaning of “throat.” 67. I am following the Vatican manuscript as opposed to the Finkelstein edition. Fraade divides this into two homilies (“E” and “F”: p. 109 and n. 169) on the basis of the same Vatican manuscript, but because of R. Akiva’s usage further on (n. 69), it is better to take the entire sentence, “The student at the beginning did not learn anything, ‘One who is hungry any bitter is sweet,’ he had nothing but what he learned,” as glossing the beginner who is hungry and has nothing of his own, as R. Akiva uses it further on. The second half of R. Shimon’s statement has the advanced student classifying and weighing the words of Torah and explains that “the sated soul” must become a sieve (nafa), an explanation that subverts the contrary aspect of this part of the verse in the original context. 68. See the concluding chapter, “The Stabilization of Rabbinic Culture.” 69. R. Akiva’s formulation here uses the same language as the opening “opaque” homily (at n. 67) attributed to the later R. Shimon b. Menasya and helps to clarify it. R. Akiva said, “Just as a cistern at the beginning can’t bring forth a drop of water on its own, it has only what is in it; so the student at the beginning did not learn anything [kol davar usually means “everything,” but here, like kelum davar, means “something”], had nothing but what he learned.” 70. R. Akiva, R. Yehuda’s teacher, preceded R. Shimon b. Menaseya by two generations. 71. On this scroll, which is quoted only twice in rabbinic literature, see S. Safrai, “Teaching of the Pietists in Mishnaic Literature,” Journal of Jewish Studies 16 (1965): 25–27 and n. 53, which can be corrected according to our source. 72. Again following the elegant lapidary form of the saying in the Vatican manuscript tradition: yom azavtani, yom e’ezveka. Yom can also be translated simply “(a) day”. 73. Compare M. Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic of the Byzantine Period (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 1990), 334; M. Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumin, the Talmud Babli and the Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature (New York: Judiaca Press, 1985), 855: “dwelling, tent.” 74. This promise of reward is remarkable, since it glosses the word “to love”: one should learn in any event, and eventually reward will come. This is a passing strange understanding of love. 75. See Lieberman’s emendation and understanding of this statement in Hayerushalmi Kiphshuto, 159–160, and compare Fraade, From Tradition, 118 and notes. 76. M. Hirshman, “What Is the Place of Aggada and Who Were the Baalei Aggada” [in Hebrew], in Y. Sussman and D. Rosenthal, eds., Mehqerei Talmud 3 (Jerusalem: The Magnes Press, 2005), 205–206; and Hirshman, “Torah in Rabbinic Thought: The Theology of Learning,” in S. Katz, ed., The Cambridge History of Judaism, vol. 4 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 899–924. 77. Finkelstein, ed., pp. 109, 110, 111, 338, 339. 78. Mefashpesh is a verb possibly derived from the noun pishpesh “a flea or small insect”; see Tur-Sinai’s comment on Ben Yehuda’s entry, p. 5283). This is delightfully applied in the Sifre—just as rain falls on the grass and mefashpesh them so that

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they do not have worms, so one should mefashpesh in words of Torah so they not be forgotten (Finkelstein, ed., p. 336). 79. Tizal understood as zol = “cheap,” rather than “drip.”

chapter 4 1. S. Lieberman, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1962), 87ff. (italics in original). See also J. N. Epstein’s thorough discussion of our mishna in Eruvin in his Mavo Lenusach Hamishna [in Hebrew], 2nd ed. (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1954), vol. 1, pp. 8–10. Also A. Goldberg, A Commentary to Mishna Tractate Eruvin [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1986), 134–135. 2. On Rav and Shmuel’s exegetical debates in the Babylonian Talmud, see now E. Segal, From Sermon to Commentary: Expounding the Bible in the Babylonian Talmud (Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfred Laurier University Press, 2005). Scholarship has focused on the Babylonian Talmud’s reworking of Palestinian narratives. See recently the interesting collection of essays by various authors in J. Rubenstein, ed., Creation and Composition: The Contribution of the Bavli Redactors (Stammaim) to the Aggada (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005). 3. An Aramaic term, translated by Neusner and others as “pericope,” which generally indicates a self-standing developed unit of material in the Talmud, whose length may vary from several lines to a number of folio pages. 4. Or “apprenticed”—see the discussion further on. 5. Munich manuscript 95 reads: scholars (talmidei hachamim), rather than plain talmidim (students). Vatican manuscript, 109 and Oxford Opp. Add 23 read like the printed edition. 6. See mMiddot 3, 7 and 4, 1, cited in bEruvin 2a. 7. Sidki were inexpensive items, “nickel and dime”: the eye of a small or inexpensive needle. 8. On R. Oshaya and Caesarea, see my short article “The Aggada of Caesarea,” in K. Holum and A. Raban, eds., Caesarea Maritima (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 469–475. 9. R. Elazar (pKiddushin 1, 3 60a); R. Shimon b. Lakish (pBava Kamma 4, 6 4c); Ulla bar Yishmael (pYevamot 3, 3 4d): see Hyman, Toledot Tannaim VeAmoraim, vol. 3, p. 971, who claims that Ulla was a direct student, as opposed to Z. Fraenkel in his introduction to the Palestinian Talmud [in Hebrew], p. 120. 10. S. Lieberman, Hayerushalmi Kiphshuto, p. 289 and n. 2. 11. Both cognitive and affective? Do “heart and wisdom” indicate different kinds of learning, as Rashi would have it, acuity and breadth of knowledge? This would anticipate Abaye and Rava’s statements below. It might be that by “heart and wisdom” the totality of R. Yochanan’s grasp is portrayed. 12. I take note of T. Ilan’s stricture in Integrating Women into Second Temple History (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), chap. 6, “Beruriah Has Spoken Well,” that the final half of R. Yochanan’s statement here is that Torah is not to be found “over the seas—will not be found in merchants and peddlers,” constitutes “a taming” of the

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“revolutionary impulse that had raised its head in the center of the talmudic passage” (p. 188). 13. Compare J. Neusner’s treatment of Rava in A History of the Jews in Babylonia (Leiden: Brill, 1970), vol. 4, p. 164. In general, Neusner’s treatment of schools in volumes 4 and 5 presents excellent materials. 14. Critical interpretation might view the three amoraim as simply providing alternate metaphors and the “stammaitic” redactor as differentiating between three kinds of learning, gemara, sevara, and shichecha, but the use of gemara and sevara should be related to their use by these amoraim in other tractates to which we will return. We will see that Rava is almost wholly identified with sevara. 15. M. Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan, 2002), translates the first phrase, “they infer (the exact pronunciation) of the terms” (p. 627) but further on (p. 806) he translates the entire sentence: “(the Judeans who) are exact in their phraseology and formulate mnemonics.” The literal translation of the last phrase is “signs (simanei) are laid down.” See now Neil Danzig’s comprehensive essay, “From Oral Talmud to Written Talmud: On the Methods of Transmission of the Babylonian Talmud and Its Study in the Middle Ages” [in Hebrew], Bar Ilan 30–31 (2006): 101–102 n. 208 and literature cited there. 16. Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic, 287: “study the Oral law.” The sugya seems to be looking for techniques of study that contributed to preserving Torah, by which they probably meant specifically the oral law. Total neglect of study seems unlikely here. 17. Rashi bring two explanations. The first, that they taught others, and the second, that they fully explained the passages. My guess would be that the expression might reflect the original meaning of massechet as tractatus, a weaving term, and the expression might have been to unfurl the material. 18. On the story itself and previous scholarship, see J. Rubenstein, Talmudic Stories (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999), 177ff. 19. On the supposed differences between Galilean and Judean Jewry, see M. Goodman, “Galilean Judaism and Judean Judaism,” in W. Horbury, W. D. Davies, and J. Sturdy, eds., The Cambridge History of Judaism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), vol. 3, pp.597–617. He touches on our source in passing, citing the usage of the expression “foolish Galilean” (p. 603). 20. Oxford manuscript: Yochanan; Vatican manuscript has “said R.” with no name appended; so too the Munich manuscript. See Dikduke Soferim ad locum, note vav. 21. He adds also the same question concerning mBechorot 6,6: akuzo, which is not listed among the debates of Rav and Shmuel over spelling in pEruvin chap. 5, mentioned above. 22. Manuscripts read friend (chavrei) or friends (chevraya). 23. I am indebted to Shlomo Naeh for raising this issue. 24. See F. Millar’s incisive remarks on Hebrew in the Bar Kochva revolt, The Roman Near East 31 BC–AD 337 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993) 373, and his citation of M. Bar-Asher in n. 27. A. Tropper’s suggestion that “perhaps

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publishing Avot in Hebrew may be viewed as a classicizing activity akin to atticism, since, by the third century, the language no longer served as a widespread vernacular” (p. 150), brings forward the desuetude of the language, but this seems to be a bit early. But see his excellent monograph, Wisdom, Politics, and Historiography: Tractate Avot in the Context of the Graeco-Roman Near East (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), especially pp. 149–150 on our topic and Rabbi Judah the Patriarch’s affinity for Hebrew and Greek as opposed to Aramaic. See also M. Rubin, “The Language of Creation or the Primordial Language: A Case of Cultural Polemics in Antiquity,” Journal of Jewish Studies 49 (1998): 306–333. Most recently, see M. Bar-Asher, “Mishnaic Hebrew: An Introductory Survey,” in S. Safrai et al., eds., Literature of the Sages (Assen: Royal Van Gorcum and Fortress Press, 2006), pt. 2, 568. 25. See S. Lieberman, Greek in Jewish Palestine, 2nd ed. (New York: Philip Feldheim, 1965), 21–23, who points to a similar phenomenon in Greco-Roman culture and to the fact that the rabbis also played word games in Greek. This section and the following story about R. Yehoshua are analyzed in S. Valler and S. Razabi, Sichot Hulin baTalmud HaBavli (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 2007), 121–130. As is clear, the bottom line of my interpretation is different in the extreme from theirs (p. 130), at least in part due to the weight given to the larger context. Compare also S. Valler, “Women’s Talk, Men’s Talk, Eruvin 53a–54a,” Revue des Études Juives 163 (2003): 421–445, where she analyzes in depth the examples of wise talk in our sugya. 26. The phrase nitarachti ezel usually refers to the host or hostess rather than the place. So here I take the Greek loanword achsanya to mean the hostess rather than the inn. 27. Vatican manuscript 109 reads: laateti (I devoured). 28. Ms. Munich 95 adds here a caustic reply by the woman: “perhaps you left peah for the rest”—punning on his “not leaving” anything the two prior times. Peah would be the contribution to the poor here, the one serving the meal. 29. The version here is based on Oxford manuscript 23, that diverges slightly from the printed editions. 30. The manuscripts diverge—the Munich manuscript reads only “in a field,” whereas the Vatican manuscript has “along a way in a field.” The parallel in Lamentations Rabba reads simply “walking along the way” (baderech). 31. The Hebrew has a fine pun on the root kvs (conquered) that is also used in terms of a road that has been “pressed.” 32. Inaugurated by J. Fraenkel’s treatment of the stories in his classic essay, “Hermeneutic Questions” [in Hebrew], Tarbiz 47 (1978): 139–172, reprinted in his collected essays, The Aggadic Narrative: Harmony of Form and Content [in Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Hakkibutz HaMeuchad, 2001), 12–15. 33. See Ecclesiastes Rabbah 1, 14 where the same motif is employed, but it is an elderly man sitting at the crossroads. Scholars (M. Sachs, Beitraege zur Sprache- und Altertumsforschung [Berlin: Veit und Comp, 1852], 53) have pointed to a similar instance in Xenophon, Memorabilia II, 1, which speaks of two women, Virtue and Vice, each suggesting her path.

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34. Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, book 1.1.4, trans. H. E. Butler, Loeb Classics (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1921), 21. 35. See Tal Ilan, Integrating Women into Second Temple History (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), chap. 6, “Beruriah Has Spoken Well,” 175–189. See now D. Hoshen, Beruria the Tannait (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 2007). 36. All the dictionaries concur. Sokoloff adduces also bShavuot 30a, bShabbat 156a, and adds “as a rebuke” (p. 198). 37. For the same expression meisim atzmo (make [lit. place] oneself like), compare bShabbat 12b and the well-known legal rule ein adam meisim atzmo rasha (bYevamot 25b et al.). 38. This is the reading of the Vatican and Oxford manuscripts. The Munich manuscript reads in the name of R. Yochanan, a common variant to Yonatan. 39. See parallels in bYoma 29a, where R. Zera applies this to Esther and a different application at bBava Batra 16b. 40. Origen, The Song of Songs, Commentary and Homilies, translated and annotated by R. P. Lawson (Westminster, Md.: Newman Press, 1957), 31. 41. This aspect was forcefully presented in Ari Elon, Alma Di, Shdemot 113–114. 42. This addition is according to Vatican and Oxford manuscripts. 43. Leharot lo panim: Rashi explains as trying one’s utmost to show a reason for one’s words and not appealing simply to authority. 44. J. N. Epstein, Prolegomena ad Litteras Tanniticas [in Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Magnes Press, 1957), edited by E. Z. Melamed, p. 187 and n. 74. 45. Ibid., n. 75. The meturgaman (translator) would pass along the teacher’s comments in a loud voice. 46. Translation follows the Munich and Vatican manuscripts. 47. The Palestinian term hevraya is not to be found. 48. See A. Hyman, Toldoth Tannaim Ve’Amoraim [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Kirya Neamana, 1964), vol. 3, p. 1056.

chapter 5 1. Letzim and the new rabbinic form, letzanut, seem to have a range from scoffing to frivolity, or ridiculing, poking fun at someone or something. 2. See Emmanuel Friedheim, Rabbinisme et Paganisme en Palestine romaine (Leiden : Brill, 2006), 217 n. 789. He cites Saul Lieberman, “The Persecution of Religion,” in Salo W. Baron Jubilee Volume (Jerusalem: American Academy for Jewish Research, 1975), 244. See now Z. Weiss, “The Jews and the Roman Games in Palestine,” in J. H. Humphrey, ed., The Roman and Byzantine Near East (Portsmouth, RI: Supplement Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1999), vol. 2, pp. 23–49, especially 43–49. 3. I am taking it as a contraction of the more explicit phrase bitul talmud torah, nullifying the study of Torah (e.g., bSanhedrin 44b and many others), though the more radical sense, nullifying the Torah itself (e.g., bMenahot 99b) is not entirely out of the question.

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4. In a number of our sugyot we have seen this kind of enveloping of the aggadic sugya, concluding with material reminiscent of the opening. 5. This contrasts with the last mishna of Makkot, which accords great weight to refraining from sin. There the issue is following the commandments, whereas here it is the overarching commandment of studying Torah. 6. The translation follows W. Bacher, Erchei Midrash Amoraim (Tel Aviv, 1923), 241, and was accepted by M. Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan, 2002), 800 (see citations there to Epstein and Bacher). 7. I have followed the NJPS translation of the phrase al shem, at Genesis 48, 6. 8. See now Neil Danzig’s excellent article, “From Oral Talmud to Written Talmud: On the Methods of Transmission of the Babylonian Talmud and Its Study in the Middle Ages” [in Hebrew], Bar Ilan 30–31 (2006): 78 and n. 101. 9. Manuscripts diverge here: Munich 95 reads “they all,” Paris 1337 reads “the first,” and the pristine JTSL rab. 15 writes “the second” between the lines. 10. The Paris manuscript adds kafyuha: they coerced him (it?). This is the version also in the margin of the JTSL manuscript; see p. 34 and Abramson’s notes on p. 162. This would place this story into an even stronger parallel structure with the first story, where the same verb was used. 11. The manuscript tradition leaves some doubt as to whether the statement that teaches that one learns the gemara from one teacher whereas the sevara (the reasoning) should be learned from many teachers is to be attributed to Rava or Rav Hisda. 12. The material was collected and analyzed by W. Bacher, Die exegetische Terminlogie des Jüdischen Traditions Literatur (repr., Hildesheim: G. Olms, 1965), part 2, pp. 135–136. 13. According to Hamburg manuscript 165. 14. See H. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, trans. G. Lamb (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1958), 166–167. 15. See B. Z. Bacher, Erchei Midrash Amoraim [in Hebrew], trans. A. Z. Rabinowitz (Tel Aviv, 1923), 241. 16. C. Albeck, “Introduction to Bereshit Rabbah” in Midrash Bereshit Rabba, ed. J. Theodor and Ch. Albeck (Jerusalem: Wahrmann Books[in Hebrew], 1965), vol 3, p. 40; W. Bacher, Erchei Midrash Amoraim, 267–268. 17. The story and its variant readings in the manuscripts allow for this resolution to be attributed to either the son-in-law Rava or Rav Hisda or even the anonymous Talmudic narrator. My own preference, as I indicated, is to view this as Rava’s attempt to return the students to his father-in-law. 18. See F. Brown, S. R. Driver, and C. A. Briggs, Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1953), 211: “moan, growl, utter, speak, muse,” but in our Psalms reference: “meditate”! This was so much so that a nominal form of the verb became a synonym for a cantor in the medieval poetry; see H. Yalon, Studies in the Hebrew Language (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1974), 259ff. 19. Vatican 134 reads: “run through it after him,” an interesting but lone witness.

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20. Did this usage derive from the biblical homonym hgh, which is rendered by the BDB (note 18) ‘removing’, as removing dross from silver, etc., a process of winnowing? 21. D. Goodblatt, “On the ‘Rebellion’ against Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel II” [in Hebrew], Zion 49 (1984): 354. So, too, Sokoloff in his Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic, 303: “to study by means of oral recitation.” 22. See B. Gerhardsson, Memory and Manuscript: Oral Tradition and Written Transmission in Rabbinic Judaism and Early Christianity (Uppsala: C. W. K. Gleerup, 1961), 118 n. 3. 23. C. Albeck, in his introduction to Bereshit Rabba, vol. 3, p. 40, interprets pst to be “elucidation.” So, too, Bacher, before him, in his Erchei Midrash Amoraim. It is tempting, in our context, to see pst as the first reading and tny as the second time over, but this might be overly literal. 24. See Gerhardsson, Memory and Manuscript, 118: “He expounded, gave the text, repeated it, gave the text and repeated it.” Gerhardsson’s pioneering and important work here seems to miss the mark on the translation of garas. In some versions, “recited and repeated” is repeated. Sokoloff, Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic, translates, “he explained it (and) studied it again and again” (p. 942). For a recent treatment of the story and scholarly literature, see J. Rubinstein, Talmudic Stories (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999), 176–211, whose translation of the terms follows the interpretation of Pseudo-Rashi, while the variants on p. 211 seem to follow dikduke soferim. The Yemenite Midrash Hagadol to Exodus 23, 8 (Margulies, ed., pp. 697–698) adds iyen ba (= he looked into it). 25. See J. Greenfield, “Ratin Megusha,” in H. Z. Dimitrovsky, ed., Exploring the Talmud, vol. 1, Education (New York: Ktav, 1974), 275. See chapter 6 for further description of this important Zoroastrian text and exploration of the parallels between it and Rava’s work. I am indebted to Professor Yaakov Elman for steering me toward this work. 26. Ibid., 272. 27. Ibid., 276. 28. The pristine Columbia x893 manuscript of Pesachim reads: “I am neither a repeater (tanaa) nor a sage.” The printed additions added yechidaa (singular). 29. The root avd (to do or uphold) is distinguished from the root avr (to transgress) by a very slight stroke of the quill—the difference between dalet and resh is minuscule (‫)ד ר‬, as one can see here even in their printed forms. 30. This second aspect is aptly illustrated in Midrash Qohelet Zuta’s (4, 5, Buber ed., p. 125) application of the parable to Ezekiel’s response to God, when asked whether the dry bones will live. Ezekiel responds to God: “You know.” The parable there has a person holding a bird in hand and querying his friend whether the bird will live or die. To which the friend replies: “It is in your hand”! 31. Ecclesiastes Rabbah chapter 4 (probably quoting Leviticus Rabbah ch. 3). Our manuscripts of Leviticus Rabbah do not have this parable. 32. See Siddur Rashi 583.

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notes to pages 78–85

33. I have availed myself of the text in the Perseus Project based on Plato in Twelve Volumes, vol. 12, trans. Harold N. Fowler (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1921). 34. Here again I have used the digital form in the Perseus Project based on Plato in Twelve Volumes, vol. 3, trans. W. R. M. Lamb (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1967). 35. See C. Albeck’s classic discussion of the terms in his Mavo LaTalmudim (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1969), 3–7. 36. E. S. Rosenthal, “Tradition and Innovation in the Halakha of the Sages” [in Hebrew] Tarbiz 63 (1994): 321–375. The article was published posthumously. 37. See L. Moscovitz’s excellent analysis in his Talmudic Reasoning: From Casuistics to Conceptualization (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 349 and nn. 13 and 14. 38. See D. Rosenthal, “Traditions of the Land of Israel and Their Path to Babylonia” [in Hebrew] Cathedra 92 (1999): 7–48, especially 30–35.

chapter 6 1. Z. M. Pineles, Darka shel Torah (Vienna, 1861), 125. 2. This and the fact that the mishna does not specifically mention schoolchildren was the grounds for Pineles’s interpretation above (n. 1). Now see David Halivni’s Sources and Traditions on Baba Bathra [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 2007), 34–35, which also cites Pineles and provides an interesting analysis of some of the tensions in our sugya. 3. On Mahoza, the winter capital of the empire, see G. Herman, “The Exilarchate in the Sasanian Era” [in Hebrew] (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2005), 207ff. 4. Compare the assistant in ancient Sumerian schools described by Samuel Kramer and cited by James Crenshaw, Education in Ancient Israel: Across the Deafening Silence (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 148. 5. See D. Goodblatt’s meticulous study and summary of previous literature, “The Talmudic Sources on the Origins of Organized Jewish Education” [in Hebrew], Studies in the History of the Jewish People and the Land of Israel 5 (1980): 83–103. On the general problem of Second Temple history as recorded in the Babylonian Talmud, see R. Kalmin, Jewish Babylonia between Persia and Roman Palestine (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 61–85, and his comment on specifically priestly traditions on p. 82, which is apposite in our case. 6. S. Lieberman, Greek in Jewish Palestine (New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1965), 70 n. 23, states that the epithet “remembered for good” was generally applied to people who were still alive but cites our text at bBava Batra 21a as an exception. It is clear that, in all three of Rav’s statements, it is used to praise the dead. 7. Plutarch reports that Cato taught his son himself (chap. 20). See J. Carcopino, Daily Life in Ancient Rome (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1940), 103.

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8. M. Sokoloff, Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramiac (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan, 2002), 354. 9. This Babylonian perspective, though ostensibly espoused by a Palestinian amora, contrasts neatly with the indigenous Israel tradition in the Sifre (chap. 48, p. 112) that credits Shafan the scribe and R. Akiva with preventing the Torah from being forgotten. 10. This act of charity is missing in the Hamburg and Munich manuscripts and in one of the witnesses of bKetubot. 11. I have translated the text of the Hamburg 165 manuscript of Bava Metzia. 12. Erchei Tannaim ve Amoraim of R. Yehuda b’r Kalonimos b’r Meir of Speyer, ed. M. Y. Blau (Brooklyn, 1994), 183–187. 13. See Goodblatt, “The Talmudic Sources,” pp. 92–93. 14. For example, S. Safrai quoted by Goodblatt, ibid., 93. 15. W. Bacher first suggested this in his seminal article “Das altjüdische Schulwesen,” Jahrbuch fur Jüdische Geshcichte und Literatur 6 (1903): 57, placing the emphasis on Jerusalem as the hauptstadt, and followed by a move to the periphery (bezirke). He does not raise the priestly issue, since he goes on to substitute Yehoshua b. Perachia for Yehoshua b. Gamla. He contends that it is “historically improbable” (geschichtlichen Unwahrscheinlichkeit) that Yehoshua b. Gamla would institute such a plan on the eve of the great war. He lists other reasons for doubting this tradition, but his healthy skepticism is not sufficient to turn a historically improbable text into a more dubious emendation. His skepticism is applauded by M. Hengel in his brief excursus on “The Jewish School” in Judaism and Hellenism (London: SCM Press, 1974), 82. But even the improbable sometimes occurs in history—often extreme times call forth innovative solutions. B. Gerhardsson does not deem this account improbable (Memory and Manuscript: Oral Tradition and Written Transmission in Rabbinic Judaism and Early Christianity [Uppsala: C. W. K. Gleerup, 1961], 59). Nathan Morris, in his reasoned and thoughtprovoking work The Jewish School (London: Eyre and Spotteswoode, 1937), also decries the “curious lack of historical perspective” (p. 19) of those who accept this tradition as history. He does, though, make a very important and decisive distinction between “compulsory education” and making education available to a wider audience in the general society. 16. When I presented this solution in class, Amiel Schleicher sharpened the priestly side of the solution. It is noteworthy that here the term beit sefer (school) does not appear, as opposed to the laconic report in pKetubot 8,8 32c, which asserts that Shimon b. Shetach enacted that “children go to beit sefer.” It seems to be the case that in Roman education of this period, formal “schools” were not prevalent. It was generally a teacher who gathered around him a circle of students, often teaching in a rudimentary lean-to off the forum. See S. Bonner, Education in Ancient Rome (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977), 115–117. 17. See the debate above, note 15, about the improbability of Yehoshua’s enactment. 18. See Crenshaw, Education in Ancient Israel, 13.

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19. The dictionaries translate “thong.” Krauss, Talmudische Archaologie, translates “strap.” The Aramaic arketa demesana is Onkelos’s translation for the biblical Hebrew serokh naal at Genesis 14, 23—also considered by modern scholars to be somewhat thicker than the “thread” in the verse. We need to know more about Persian footwear, but it appears that Rav is limiting the severity of corporal punishment, as Rashi interprets it. 20. This is the manuscript reading. The printed edition reads “one who reads.” 21. The baraita at mAvot 5, 21 speaks of beginning Bible study at five years of age. Though it might also relate to a formal educational setting, it seems more to be a guideline for curriculum, and need not be seen as contradictory to Rav. The parallel in bKetubot 50a has Abaye, three generations after Rav, stating that his nursemaid taught him that: “six years old for Bible”! The Tosafists were troubled by the six or seven in the “history,” which seems to be best understood to mean approximately or around the age of six or seven. The Tosafot suggests that six is for a healthy child and seven for a weaker one. 22. Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, Bk, I, 1 15–19 (Loeb ed. and translation, H. E, Butler, Cambridge 1921), 27–29. 23. Three baraitot intervene here and are drawn upon to question the mishna’s ruling that instructors of children may teach with immunity and impunity in their homes. It is clear that these baraitot fundamentally differ with the mishna, but they are resolved by the anonymous Talmud, twice answering that the baraitot treat teachers of Gentile children and therefore they do not enjoy immunity. This theoretical answer would be interesting if it reflected a historical reality, but this is more than dubious. See also Lieberman’s suggestive comment at Tosefta Ki-fshutah, pts. IX–X, p. 332. 24. See B. Z. Eshel, Jewish Settlements in Babylonia during Talmudic Times [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1979), 141–143; A. Oppenheimer, Babylonia Judaica in the Talmudic Period (Wiesbaden: L. Reichert Verlag, 1983), 179–193. 25. The text is not unequivocal, reading: “If there are forty we appoint a reish duchna and support him from the municipality.” 26. Towa Perlow, L’Éducation et L’Énseignment chez les Juifs a l’Époque Talmudique (Paris: Librarie Ernest Leroux, 1931), 32 cites as her source Shanama, Le Livre des Rois par Abou’lkasim Firdousi, traduit et commente par Jules (Paris: Mohl, [1866?] 1877), vol. 5, p. 367, a citation I have yet to locate in that edition. This is a tantalizing reference, though the source is fairly late and hardly unimpeachable as a historical resource. 27. The Herbedestan and Nerangestan, vol. 1, Herbedestan by Firoze M. Kotwal and Philip G. Kreyenbroek (Paris: Peeters, 1992). One of the translations suggested for the Persian title by S. Shaked there is “house of learning” (p. 15—equivalent then to the Hebrew beit midrash). I am grateful to my friend Professor Yaakov Elman, who directed me to this work. 28. See J. Greenfield, “Ratin Megusha,” reprinted in H. Z. Dimitrovsky, Exploring the Talmud : Education (New York: Ktav, 1976), vol. 1, p. 274; The Herbedestan and Nerangestan, vol. 1, introduction.

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29. This collection of stories has been studied in depth by many scholars; English treatments include D. Boyarin, Carnal Israel: Reading Sex in Talmudic Literature (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 134–166. 30. See Greenfield, “Ratin Megusha,” 275. 31. See M. Beer, The Babylonian Amoraim: Aspects of Economic Life [in Hebrew], 2nd ed. (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 1982), 70–74. 32. The post-Talmudic composition Sheiltot deRav Aha 142 has a significantly different version of this passage, and though it appears to be a reworking of the original, it is instructive. I will bring the salient passages here in translation: “That teacher of Scripture to children, that one better than he was found, we do not remove him. If so the other will also say, ‘if they will fi nd better than me they’ll remove me’ and he doe not put his mind to it. Rav Dimi said, how much more so will he put his mind to it, the jealousy of scribes etc. . . . And Rava said those teachers of Scripture to children, one gamir and the other garis.” The Sheilta has substituted gamir (“who has learned,” usually in the sense of received traditions) for “precise learning.” It is possible that the Sheiltot understood garis as I later suggest, in terms of fluency rather than overall knowledge. 33. “Slack” is Sokoloff’s translation (A Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic, 1096), and it is the literal rendering of the verb in various contexts. See also M. Moreshet, A Lexicon of the New Verbs in Tannaitic Literature [in Hebrew] (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 1980), 350–351. The etymology of “remiss” is close to that sense also. Which of the two teachers might become remiss remains a matter of interpretation. 34. Hamburg manuscript 165 reads beitrei, written as one word without a yod after the beit. See now S. Friedman’s important study on the nature of the traditions in Hamburg manuscript in “The Talmudic Narrative about Rav Kahana and Rabbi Yohanan (Bava Kamma 117a–b) and Its Two Textual Families,” [in Hebrew] Bar Ilan 30–31 (2006): 409–490. 35. For the former, see bBerachot 8a, bShabbat 33b, and many others. For the latter, see bTaanit 24b, bNedarim 41a, bBava Metzia 86a, and our treatment above of Beruria at Eruvin 53b. See also Gerhardsson, Memory and Manuscript, p. 118 n. 4 and p. 127, where he translates “recite.” 36. See the Sheilta quoted above, note 32. 37. See E. E. Urbach, The Halacha [in Hebrew] (Givatayim: Yad Latalmud, 1984), 71. 38. So M. Z. Segal in his Hebrew commentary on Ben Sira, 3rd printing (Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1972), 255. 39. The manuscript leaves the word unpointed, after pointing the first two occurrences. This allows at least two interpretations. In one, the teacher repeated the errant reading, and Yoav (or David) was incensed. No less attractive is the possibility that this time the teacher read correctly, denying his original error. This might better explain the verse of doing God’s work with deception, obviating the problem raised by the Tosafists. 40. Beit Habehira, ed. A. Sofer (Jerusalem: Kedem, 1956), 128. 41. Magen Avot to Pirke Avot 4, 16. 42. See note 39.

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43. The story of Rav Nachman’s disappointment with Rav Ada is preserved in two distinct traditions as shown elegantly in a lecture by Paul Mandel at a Bar Ilan Talmud Conference (May 2006). I have translated the tradition according to the pristine Hamburg 165 manuscript, which records only one version that begins with the words “because of the deed (or story [maaseh]) that was done.” The other manuscripts, Paris 1337, Firenze II I 9–7, Munich 95, and Escorial G- 1–3, all record an additional story, alongside that of the Hamburg manuscript, though its placement in the sugya shifts, and the introductory language also varies, usually a sign of a later addition. Be that as it may, in the other story, Rav Nachman invites Rav Ada to attend his public lecture, the pirka. Rav Ada tarries, and Rav Nachman is urged to begin his remarks but is unsuccessful. Evidently the offense was deep, as Rav Nachman goes on to say, “Let it be (Thy) will that Rav Ada should ‘lie down’ (= die, in another version: pass away).” The insistence of a usually senior rabbi that other rabbis attend the pirka in spite of its more popular nature is well documented. See I. Gafni, The Jews of Babylonia in the Talmudic Era: A Social and Cultural History [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Mercaz Zalman Shazar, 1990), 209–210, citing bBerachot 28b, where Rav Yosef cross- examines Rav Avia as to why he was absent from Rav Yosef’s pirka. See especially his note 128 with other instances and the measures taken to ensure collegial attendance at the pirka. The tradition translated above is also found in these other versions, and we have then a divided tradition over whether the rift occurred in the context of the pirka or the kallah—the latter setting also, according to Gafni, a fairly public lecture (p. 226). 44. See Beer, Babylonian Amoraim, 222–224, who explains this to mean that the scholar is allowed to sell without competitors. Now see Herman, “The Exilarchate in the Sasanian Era,” 276–278, and his analysis of the parallel story about Rav. 45. I.e., he did not know the answer. 46. On this term siyuma, see D. Rosenthal, “Rabbanan d’siyuma uvenei siyumei,” Tarbiz 49 (1980): 52–61. 47. Rami bar Hama is famous for his keen mind rather than his vast knowledge. The parallel in bMenahot continues for a page and leaves the question unresolved. The story, like the sugya itself, bears the stamp of Rava, who continues in the tradition of Rav Hisda, privileging acuity. See also R. Kalmin, Sages, Stories, Authors and Editors in Rabbinic Babylonia (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994), 5–6, and his appendix 2, pp. 223–226, and on Rami in a different context (pp. 7–8). Kalmin sees our text as accounting “theologically for the premature death of a scholar, and polemicizes against the practice of cross-examining scholars newly arrived” (p. 7). 48. See R. Kalmin’s judicious discussion of variants here in Sages, Stories, Authors and Editors in Rabbinic Babylonia, 223–226, and his more general discussion in the introduction, pp. 5–7 and notes.

chapter 7 1. See Martha Nussbaum, The Therapy of Desire (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1994), 129–133.

notes to pages 97–99

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2. Chreia is a classical literary genre wherein a short story ends with or embodies a maxim. See below note 31. 3. The end of the baraita, an ostensibly tannaitic source, is formulated in later Babylonian Aramaic and certainly cannot be taken to be Hillel’s own formulation. See E. S. Rosenthal, “Halachic Tradition and the Innovation of Halacha in the Teachings of the Rabbis” [in Hebrew] Tarbiz 63 (2004): 324; and P. S. Alexander, “Jesus and the Golden Rule,” in J. H. Charlesworth et al., eds., Hillel and Jesus (Minneapolis: Fortess Press, 1997), 364–369. 4. I have slightly emended the text according to Munich manuscript 95. E. S. Rosenthal, “Halachic Tradition,” cited the text according to a Geniza fragment T-S F. (2) fr. 11: “Once a Gentile came before Shammai. He said to him: ‘ How many Torahs do you have?’ He answered: ‘Two. One written and one oral.’ He said to him: ‘The written one—I believe you. The oral one—I don’t believe you. Convert me in order that you can teach me the written Torah.’ He pushed him away with a builder’s measuring rod that was in his hand. He came before Hillel—and he converted him. At first he read to him: aleph bet . . . , and the next day he reversed it. He said to him: ‘But yesterday you didn’t say it thus to me.’ He answered: ‘Didn’t you trust me yesterday? So now you should trust me.’ ” 5. “Yesterday” is added in only one of the manuscripts (Oxford), but also in the Geniza; see below. 6. See A. Rosenthal’s comprehensive article “The Oral Torah and Torah from Sinai: Halacha and Deed” [in Hebrew] in M. Bar Asher and D. Rosenthal, eds., Mehqerei Talmud 2 (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1993), pp. 448ff. and especially notes 5 and 11. 7. Note the interesting parallel explanation of the second-century Christian apologist Justin Martyr concerning the proliferation of Greek philosophies in his Dialogue with Trypho, chap. 2: “ . . . why philosophy has become many-headed.” 8. See Y. Fraenkel, The Aggadic Narrative: Harmony of Form and Content [in Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 2001), 296 n. 10: “In the Babylonian Talmud . . . various stories of ‘Hillel’s converts’ have been composed and edited together, but they are fundamentally different stories, and one must treat each one separately” (my translation). Though their origins might have been different, the fact that the stories have been collected and edited together also lends credence to attending to them as a unit. 9. Might this reflect the view, found elsewhere (e.g., bHagiga 13a), that teaching Torah to Gentiles was prohibited? 10. The spirit of the story runs counter to the famous baraita at bYevamot 47a that demands that a potential convert be cross-examined and accept the precepts prior to conversion. This might be another one of those stories that are in counterpoint to halacha, a phenomenon Shmuel Safrai documented in his Hebrew article “The Relation of Aggadah to Halacha,” in A. Oppenheimer and A. Kasher, eds., From Generation to Generation: From the End of the Biblical Period to the Sealing of the Talmud—A Collection of Studies in Honor of Yehoshua Efron (Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1995), 215–234.

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11. Other readings have “aleph-bet.” 12. On reversing the order in Greco-Roman education, see S. Bonner, Education in Ancient Rome (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977), 168; in Jewish education, E. Ebner, Elementary Education in the Tannaitic Period (New York: Bloch Publishing), 76. 13. T. Morgan, Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 92–93. 14. Noted en passant by M. Kister, Studies in Avot de-Rabbi Nathan [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Hebrew University and Yad Itzhak ben Zvi, 1998), 261. 15. Ibid., ix: “The origins of ADRN apparently lie in the end of the tannaitic period, but its extant versions could hardly be dated before the end of the Amoraic period (at the very earliest!). On the basis of the dating of Geniza fragments and some other evidence, it is, however, difficult to date the versions later than the eighth/ninth century. Thus this (essentially Palestinian) work should apparently be dated between these termini (terminus a quo: post-Talmudic; terminus ad quem: eighth century).” 16. I have, with exceptions, followed J. Goldin, The Fathers According to Rabbi Nathan (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1955), 80, though I have added key Hebrew words from the original in brackets in italics. It is worth noting that the order of the cases in ADRN version B differs from the Bavli and ADRN version A (Goldin’s translation is of version A). ADRNB begins with the high priest story. 17. Goldin gives a less literal translation here: “The written one I am prepared to accept . . .” 18. “[What is the law] for himself and for an Israelite? Let us hear from this: Shmuel was received [as a guest] by a Persian. The lamp went out. The Persian went and wanted to light it. Shmuel turned his face away. But when he saw [the Persian] working on his documents [shetarotav], he [Shmuel] knew that it was not for him alone that he had lit the lamp and Shmuel turned his face back.” 19. See Mechilta d’Rabbi Yishmael Kaspa 20 (Lauterbach ed., vol. 3, p. 163), pAvoda Zara 2:2, 41a, and bGittin 45b, among others. On the origin and correct orthography of the phrase, see M. B. Lerner, “HaSeor Shehba” [in Hebrew] Leshonenu 53 (1989): 287–290. 20. See Meir Ish-Shalom’s luminous comments in his introduction to his edition of the Mechilta, chap. 6, pp. xxxiii–xl. 21. A difficult phrase, unique to ADRN and medieval midrash (Eldad Hadani 22, according to Bar-Ilan Responsa database)—lit. “open for me a reason” in mishna. 22. Presumably, here as elsewhere, the smallest unit of mishna. 23. Heemidan bedvarim. See A. Schremer’s discussion of the Aramaic equivalent of this phrase in which he supports J. Fraenkel’s suggestion that the meaning of the phrase is to pose a question to which the other has no response; A. Schremer, “Akshe lei veukmei” [in Hebrew] Tarbiz 66 (1997): 403–415, and especially p. 409, which deals with our source. 24. A(leph)T(av) B(et)aSH(in). See C. Hezser, Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 76, 83–84, and previously A. Epstein, Kadmoniot

notes to pages 103–107

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HaYehudim (Jerusalem: Mossad Harav Kook, 1957), vol. 2, p. 179. See also the illuminating remarks of Hillel Newman in “Hieronymus and the Jews” [in Hebrew] (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University, 1997), 47. Rabbi Akiva goes on in the ADRN passage to ponder the essence of each letter. Now see David Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 242–243. 25. New Testament Apocrypha, ed. W. Schneemelcher, English translation ed. by R. McL. Wilson (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 445. 26. Genesis Rabbah 1, 10, within the context of a long midrashic disquisition on why the world was created with the Bet of Bereishit. 27. M. Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic of the Byzantine Period (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 1990), 470. 28. Compare, for example, the two variant Aramaic translations of Deuteronomy 6, 4, “Hear O Israel”: Hear or Accept! 29. It is notable that this Aramaic phrase is not to be found in Palestinian Aramaic, which prefers kol ama (the entire nation or people). Kulei alma used here in Midrash Qohelet is a standard phrase in the Babylonian Talmud (though the very rare usage of kol ama is preserved at bMoed Katan 8a in the Columbia manuscript, but is quoting a Palestinian eulogy). 30. Of course, one cannot rule out that the same story really happened twice and happened in this particular way. The literary polishing of the story is clear, but can we be sure that the Hillel account was known to our author? 31. See H. Fischel’s illuminating work Rabbinic Literature and Greco-Roman Philosophy: A Study of Epicurea and Rhetorica in Early Midrash (Leiden: Brill, 1973); his invaluable anthology, Essays in Greco-Roman and Related Talmudic Literature, ed. Henry A. Fischel (New York: KTAV, 1977); and his essay on our topic, “Studies in Cynicism and the Ancient Near East: The Transformation of a Chria,” in Religions in Antiquity: Essays in Memory of Erwin Ransdall Goodenough, ed., J. Neusner (Leiden: Brill, 1968), 372–411. 32. Nussbaum, Therapy of Desire, 130–132. 33. Nussbaum cites a story from Plutarch where a student would clasp Epicurus’s knees in the manner that was common for suppliants praying to their gods. Compare the story in Midrash Song of Songs Rabbah 1, 3: “The beit midrash [house of study] of R. Eliezer was crescent shaped and there was one stone there and it was designated for sitting. Once R. Yehoshua entered and he began kissing that rock and said: This rock is like Mount Sinai and the one who sat on it like the ark of the covenant.” The famous apothegm of R. Elazar b. Shammua is apposite: “. . . the fear of your teacher (should be) like the fear of Heaven” (mAvot 4, 2). 34. Yalkut Shimoni to Proverbs section 953. 35. H. Gregory Snyder, Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World: Philosophers, Jews and Christians (London: Routledge, 2000), 53–54. 36. bPesachim 3a: One should always recite to (yishneh) one’s student in a brief way (derech kezara). 37. See above, chapters 3 and 4. See especially Sifre Deuteronomy 34 on the verse “ ‘and you shall teach them to your children’—the teaching should be sharp in

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your mouth, so that whenever anyone asks you something you do not stutter but say it straightaway.” 38. See, most recently, A. Tropper, Wisdom, Politics, and Historiography: Tractate Avot in the Context of the Graeco-Roman Near East (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 185–188, who suggests that both Mishna Avot and Epicurus’s Kyriai Doxai “performed the same function in the same manner within their respective settings . . . sayings collections which described the world view of a school” (188). 39. Compare Tropper, Wisdom, Politics, and Historiography, 188, n. 106.

chapter 8 1. This aspect has been well treated concerning Mishna Avot by B. T. Viviano, Study as Worship: Aboth and the New Testament (Leiden: Brill, 1978), especially 110–157. 2. Compare D. Halivni, Mishna, Midrash and Gemara (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1986), 59–65. 3. See M. Fishbane, The JPS Bible Commentary: Haftarot (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2002), 416, and the comment there on the idea of “perpetual study,” and again n. 14 on page 494 that refers to Fishbane’s treatment of this verse in his Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986), 147–151. The Qumran community also understood this verse as perpetual study; see Rule of Discipline 6, 6. The sect also had possession of something it called “the book of Hagi/Hagu.” See also S. Fraade’s entry in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman and James C. VanderKam (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), vol. 1, p. 327. 4. See the vignettes of sages engaged in mystical speculation in appendix 2. 5. See S. Shaked, trans., “Denkard VI,” in Aturpat-I Emetan’s The Wisdom of the Sasanian Sages (Boulder, Colo.: Westview, 1979), 5. 6. I am thankful to M. Fisch, who called my attention to the parallel. A student pointed out to me that since the “heavenly voice” had declared that “both these and those,” that is, the words of Beit Hillel and the words of Beit Shammai, were equally divine, another criterion had to be found for preferring the one over the other. 7. It is not certain that the anonymous voice, the stam, has the benefit of all of the attributed material, but in the large majority of cases this is more than likely. This point has been championed most vigorously by D. Halivni in his monumental commentary Meqorot uMesorot, though other scholars are insistent that some of the anonymous material of the Talmud does not originate in the latest strata of redaction as Halivni would have it. 8. See most recently Yaakov Elman’s important work on Rava and Mahoza, in the context of Persian society, on the one hand, and Rava’s affinity with schools of learning in the land of Israel. Y. Elman, “A Tale of Two Cities: Mahoza and Pumbedita” [in Hebrew], in D. Golinkin et al., eds., Torah Lishma: Essays in Jewish Studies in Honor of Professor Shamma Friedman (Jerusalem: Bar Ilan University Press,

notes to pages 113–117

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JTSA, Schechter Institute, 2007), 3–38; Elman, “Rava and Palestinian Systems of Midrash Halakha” [in Hebrew], in I. Gafni, ed., Center and Diaspora (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center for Jewish History, 2004), 217–242; and older bibliography cited, particularly Z. Dor, Torat Eretz Yisrael BeBavel (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1971). Finally, S. Lieberman, Tosefta Ki-fshutah, pts. IX–X (Jerusalem: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 2001), p. 331, line 16. 9. I have translated according to M. Moreshet, Lexicon Hapoel (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 1980), 280, who follows H. Yalon, Pirkei Lashon (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1971), 89–93, seeing its basic meaning as “revolving” (hitgalgel) or “doing over and over.” Yalon (p. 90) sees our source as demanding constant working with wisdom rather than acuity. Even if he is correct, and in this case I have my reservations, the final question—“Did you understand one thing from another?”—certainly focuses on acuity and sharpness. 10. R. Eliezer is reported to declare that he never said anything that he had not heard from his teachers (bSukka 28a)! 11. On a later usage, see Israel M. Ta Shma, Studies in Medieval Rabbinic Literature, [in Hebrew] vol. 3, Italy and Byzantium (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2004), 180, 242–243, 272, 290, 292. 12. D. Rosenthal, “Traditions from Israel and Their Path to Babylonia” [in Hebrew], Cathedra 92 (1999): 30–35. See also L. Jacobs, The Talmudic Argument (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 7–9. 13. This is reminiscent of R. Tarfon’s praising R. Akiva, that the latter could interpret scripture and the result would accord with tradition (shemua) at Sifra Dibbura deNedava 4, 4. 14. R. Yehuda b. Bava kept the laws of fines alive (bSanhedrin 13b), while Hanania b. Hizkia b. Garon saved the book of Ezekiel from being suppressed (bHagiga 13a). 15. See R. Brody, “Judaism in the Sasanid Empire: A Case Study in Religious Coexistence,” in S. Shaked and A. Netzer, eds., Irano-Judaica II (Jerusalem: Ben Zvi Institute,1990), 52–62; and the article by I. Gafni in that same issue, “Expressions and Types of ‘Local Patriotism’ among the Jews of Sasanid Babylonia,” 63–71. Gafni fundamentally agrees with Brody, as opposed to the position held by M. Beer (p. 53 n. 2). 16. L. Moscovitz, Talmudic Reasoning: From Casuistics to Conceptualization (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 354. 17. T. Perlow, L’éducation et l’enseignement chez les Juifs à l’époque talmudique (Paris: E. Leroux, 1931), 32. 18. See especially M. Aberbach, “The Relations between Master and Disciple in the Talmudic Age,” in H. Z. Dimitrovsky, ed., Exploring the Talmud (New York: Ktav, 1976), 202–208. Most telling is the Tosefta’s attributing the root cause of the proliferation of disputes to the increase in the students of Shammai and Hillel, “who had not served (shimshu) enough” (tSanhedrin 7, 1). 19. In the meantime, see A. Buchler, “Learning and Teaching in the Open Air in Palestine,” Jewish Quarterly Review, n.s., 4 (1913–1914): 490, reprinted in

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Dimitrovsky, Exploring the Talmud, 341; M. Beer, “On the Havura . . .” [in Hebrew], Zion 47 (1982): 178–185. 20. All the manuscripts save one (Oxford Add.) have these words in Hebrew (Mikra and Mishna), as opposed to the more reflective study that is unanimously called tannoye. See the next note. All these variants have been cited from the Lieberman database. 21. Three manuscripts (Munich 95, JTSA 1608, and Vatican 134) add the word Talmud: tannoye talmuda (to recite Talmud). That same Vatican manuscript reads “run over after him in the gemara,” but this seems to be a less original reading. 22. This clarifying word is added in the Ms. British Library Harl. 5508 (400). 23. On the confusion in the manuscripts between Rava and Rabbah, see S. Friedman, “Ktiv Hashemot Rabbah veRava baTalmud HaBavli,” Sinai 110 (1992): 140–164. 24. See E. Auerbach’s classic essay, “Sermo Humilis,” in Literary Language and Its Public in Late Latin Antiquity and in the Middle Ages, trans. R. Manheim (1958; reprint Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1965), 25–81. This essay was brought to my attention by David Stern, who then published some remarks on it in his Midrash and Theory (Evanston, Ill.: Northwestern University Press, 1996), 70–71. His point is different from the one we are making here. 25. This story is paralleled in Palestinian literature. Here, I am emphasizing its setting in a sugya bracketed by explicit statements on humility. 26. I have traced the connection of humility (anava) and its relationship to prophecy and later to the holy spirit in rabbinic literature in a short essay, “Anav veTalmid,” in M. Hirshman and T. Groner, eds., Machshevet Hazal, Proceedings of the First Conference Haifa University, 1990, 59–65. I am sure that I have been influenced over the last six years by R. Lewis’s research on humility, which can now be read in his excellent “ ‘And Before Honor, Humility’ (Proverbs 15: 33): The Ideal of Humility in the Moral Language of the Sages” (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2008). 27. I tend to accept the attribution to the mid-second-century tradent.

appendix 1 1. Wilhelm Bacher, “Das altjüdische Schulwesen.” The essay appeared in Jahrbuch für Jüdische Geschichte und Literatur 6 (1903): 48–81. 2. M. D. Herr, “Synagogues and Theatres (Sermons and Satiric Plays)” [in Hebrew], in S. Elizur et al., eds., Knesset Ezra: Literature and Life in the Synagogue (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 1994), 118, rightly concludes his essay with the prayer of R. Nechuniah ben Hakaneh as explained in pBerachot 4, 2, 7d, where the sage gives thanks that his portion is among those who sit in the beit midrash and beit knesset and is not among those who sit in theaters and circuses. Herr’s interpretation of the parallel phenomenon of political satire in theater and midrash alike is thought- provoking, though I am not in agreement with his interpretation of the key source of Yosi Meonaya. Recent trends in historical scholarship are skeptical of the extent to which the rabbis had impact on the masses. See, for example, Seth

notes to pages 122–125

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Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society 200 B.C.E –640 C.E. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001), 238–239. 3. Bacher, “Das altjüdische Schulwesen,” 54: “der Geburtstag des altjüdischen Schulweis betrachtet warden.” 4. Ibid., 56. 5. N. Morris, The Jewish School (London: Eyre and Spotteswoode, 1937), 170. 6. N. Drazin, History of Education from 515 B.C.E. to 220 C.E. (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1940). Drazin is a bit more expansive in detailing some of the contents of Jewish learning and is highly critical of Morris’s view that writing was not taught in the elementary school (p. 85); E. Ebner, Elementary Education in Ancient Israel during the Tannaitic Period 10–220 C.E. (New York: Bloch, 1956), presents what he says is “a greater array of source material than has hitherto been presented. This is of particular importance, since the information we possess is altogether scant and of a fragmentary nature” (p. 5). 7. T. Morgan, Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 32. 8. In S. Safrai and M. Stern, eds., Compendia Rearum Iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum: The Jewish People in the First Century (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1974), 945–970. 9. D. Goodblatt, Rabbinic Instruction in Sasanian Babylonia (Leiden: Brill, 1975). 10. I. Gafni, The Jews of Babylonia in the Talmudic Era: A Social and Cultural History [in Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Merkaz Zalman Shazar, 1990), 177–236. 11. H. Z. Dimtrovsky, ed., Exploring the Talmud (New York: Ktav, 1976. 12. Three essays were reprinted in Dimitrovsky, Exploring the Talmud: “Educational Institutions and Problems during the Talmudic Age,” 343–356 (originally printed in Hebrew Union College Annual 37 [1966]: 107–120); “The Relationship between Master and Disciple,” 202–225; and “The Change from a Standing Position to a Sitting Posture by Students after the Death of Rabban Gamliel,” 277–289. See also “The Development of the Jewish Elementary and Secondary School System during the Talmudic Age,” in Studies in Jewish Education 3 (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1988), 290–301. The fi rst essay mentioned in this note has a more detailed philological analysis of the word ulpana; the second and fourth essays are shorter versions of his Hebrew book. 13. S. Assaf, Meqorot Letoledot Hachinuch BeYisrael, republished and updated by S. Glick (Jerusalem: JTS Press, 2006). 14. S. Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, vol. 2 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972). 15. I. Marcus, Rituals of Childhood: Jewish Culture and Acculturation in Medieval Europe (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1996). 16. E. Karnafogel, Jewish Education and Society in the High Middle Ages (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1992). 17. E. Bickerman, Jews in the Greek Age (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1988). 18. M. Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism (London: SCM Press, 1974).

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19. A. Mendelson, Secular Education in Philo of Alexandria, Monographs of the Hebrew Union College 7 (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1982). 20. H. Gregory Snyder, Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World (London: Routledge, 2000). 21. M. Jaffee, Torah in the Mouth: Writing and Oral Tradition in Palestinian Judaism 200 BCE–400 CE (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). 22. Y. Elman, ed., Transmitting Jewish Traditions: Orality, Textuality, and Cultural Diffusion (New York: Yale University Press, 2000). 23. Y. Sussman, “Torah Shebeal Peh: Peshuta Kemashmaa . . . ,” in Y. Sussman and D. Rosenthal, eds., Mehqerei Talmud III: Talmudic Studies Dedicated to the Memory of Professor Ephraim E. Urbach (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 2005), 209–384. 24. Reprinted with a foreword by J. Neusner along with another work of B. Gerhardsson’s, Tradition and Transmission in Early Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998). 25. C. Hezser, Jewish Literacy in Late Antiquity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001).

appendix 2 1. Margaret Miles distinguishes between two types of images and claims, correctly, it appears, that the strong anti-body imagery in Porphyry’s account of Plotinus is more Porphyry than Plotinus. See Margaret Miles, Plotinus on Body and Beauty: Society, Philosophy and Religion in Third-Century Rome (Oxford: Blackwell, 1999). 2. pShabbat 7,2 9b. See S. Naeh, “Boreh Niv Sephataim,” Tarbiz 63 (1994): 185–218. 3. See Y. Eliav, “The Roman Bath as a Jewish Institution,” Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period 31 (2000): 416ff., and especially the bibliography in note 6. M. Jacobs, “Romische Thermenkultur im Spiegel des Talmud Yerushalmi,” in P. Schaefer, ed., Talmud Yerushalmi and Greco-Roman Culture (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 219–311. 4. See bBerachot 24a. 5. mAvoda Zara 3,4; and Masechet Derech Eretz. 6. Augustine, Confessions VI, iii (3), trans. Henry Chadwick (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), 93. This passage is cited by P. Brown, Augustine of Hippo, rev. ed. (London: Faber and Faber, 2000), 75. See M. Calinescu’s comments on this passage in “Orality in Literacy: Some Historical Paradoxes of Reading,” Yale Journal of Criticism 6 (1993): 182–183. Special note is taken of the difficulty of silent reading before it became customary to separate words in Greek and Latin writing. 7. Chadwick, Augustine, Confessions, 93 n. 5. 8. Frank D. Gillard, “More Silent Reading in Antiquity: Non Omne Verbum Sonabat,” Journal of Biblical Literature 119 (1994): 689–696. 9. See J. Greenfield, “Ratin Megusha,” in H. Z. Dimitrovsky, ed., Exploring the Talmud, vol. 1, Education (New York: Ktav, 1976), 275. 10. Istarta: Hebrew loanword from Greek or Latin strata.

notes to pages 129–131

167

11. See S. Lieberman’s illuminating comments on this passage and its parallels in “How Much Greek in Jewish Palestine” in his collected studies Texts and Studies (New York: KTAV, 1974), 230–234 (reprinted from Alexander Altmann, Biblical and Other Studies [Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1962], 137–141). Lieberman relates this question to Akavya ben Mahalaleel’s statement in mAvot 3, 1: “Know whence thou comest and whither thou art going.” There, too, the Kaufmann manuscript of the Mishna reads me-ayin ul-eayin. This might be rendered not as usual “whence to where,” but also, possibly, “from nothing to nothing.” 12. See M. Hirshman, “Aggadic Midrash,” in S. Safrai et al., eds., Literature of the Sages (Assen: Van Gorcum, 2006), 112–113. 13. Compiled in Palestine. I quote here according to the Geniza fragment preserved in M. Margulies, Midrash Wayyikrah Rabbah (Jerusalem: Wharmann Books, 1972), vol. 5, pp. 60–61. 14. Mishna and Tosefta Hagiga, chap. 2. 15. See S. Krauss, “Outdoor Teaching in Talmudic Times,” The Journal of Jewish Studies 1 (1948): 82–84, and A. Buchler, “Learning and Teaching in the Open Air in Palestine,” Jewish Quarterly Review, n.s., 4 (1913–1914), 485–491, reprinted in H. Z. Dimitrovsky, ed., Exploring the Talmud (New York: Ktav, 1974), 333–342. 16. On the hevraya, see M. Beer, “On the Hevraya in the Talmudim” [in Hebrew], Bar Ilan 20–21 (1983): 76–95. 17. This is preceded by a maaseh that involves R. Akiva and Rabban Gamliel, “who were reclining in Jericho.” Both of these “stories” or cases revolve around a situation where eating or drinking calls forth a discussion of the appropriate blessing. In the first story, R. Akiva rushes to bless in accordance with the opinion of the sages, knowing full well that Rabban Gamliel held a different opinion. In our story, R. Tarfon uses the occasion to teach the law and goes on to discuss other nonlegal issues. This latter format—a simple legal question followed by homilies on scripture—became a standard form in Palestine and resulted in the Tanhuma-Yelamdenu literature and in Babylonia in the post-Talmudic book of R. Acha called the Sheiltot. 18. The parallel at Mechilta d’Rabbi Yishmael Vayeh.i chap. 5 (Lauterbach ed., chap. 6, pp. 235–237) locates the dovecote in Yavneh. This is further standardized in the parallel in Mechilta d’Rashbi (p. 51) to the “vineyard at Yavneh.” 19. We do know that Rabban Gamliel, one of the patriarchs, was accustomed to open the session in the academy with the statement “ask.” Sifre Deuteronomy 16 (Finkelstein ed., p. 26). 20. Rashi at bShabbat 95a explains the expression used here, lav adatai, as “I didn’t remember” but quotes also Rashi’s own teacher’s interpretation, who understands the terms to mean “I don’t agree.” My translation is supported also by M. Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 2002), 347, who translates it “unaware.” Rashi too explains the phrase this way at bBerachot 26a.

168

notes to pages 131–132

21. Both the Mechilta above and the Sifre are tannaitic commentaries on Exodus and Deuteronomy, respectively, edited in Palestine by the mid-third century c.e. 22. According to the Kaufmann manuscript reading. 23. See parallel at bKeritot 6a and Sokoloff, Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic, 303. 24. C. Albeck, Mavo LaTalmudim (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1969), 414. 25. The difficult form, menahagu, is taken by M. Kosovsky, Concordance to the Talmud Yerushalmi [Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities/Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1993], vol. 5, p. 711 and [Jerusalem: 1984], vol. 3, p. 25) to derive from hgh, which in biblical Hebrew means to recite and on the basis of Joshua 1, 8 was understood by the sages to enjoin constant recitation of the words of Torah: “Let not this book of the Teaching cease from your lips, recite it day and night” (NJPS). 26. Ironically, it is the learned apostate Elisha b. Avuya who reminds R. Meir, his former pupil, in the middle of their Sabbath excursion and Torah dialogue that it was time to turn back because they had reached the Sabbath boundary; pHagiga 2,177b. Elisha, who is riding a horse, has counted its paces and measured the 2,000 cubits. His solicitude for his pupil’s religious welfare is commendable, but his ability not to be completely absorbed in the Torah talk between them is highlighted when compared to R. Shimon ben Lakish.

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Barkley, G. transl. Origen’s Homilies on Leviticus, 1–16, The Fathers of the Church, vol. 83. Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1990. Schneelmelcher, W., ed., New Testament Apocrypha, Eng. transl., R. McL. Wilson, Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991. GRECO - ROMAN LITERATURE

Armstrong, A. H. Plotinus, vol. 1. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1966. Butler, H. E., transl., The Institutio Oratoria of Quintilian, Bk. I. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1921. Fowler, Harold N. transl., Plato’s Theaetetus, vol. 7. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press; London: Heinemann, 1921. Lamb, W.R.M., transl., Plato’s Meno, vol 2. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1967. SASANID LITERATURE

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Halivni, David. Sources and Traditions: A Source Critical Commentary on the Talmud Tractate Baba Bathra. Jerusalem: The Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2007. Harris, William V. Ancient Literacy. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1989. Hengel, Martin. Judaism and Hellenism. London: SCM Press, 1974. Herman, Geoffrey. “The Exilarchate in the Sasanian Era.”[In Hebrew] Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2005. Hezser, Catherine. Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001. Hock, Ronald. “Homer in Greco-Roman Education.” In Dennis R Macdonald, ed., Mimesis and Intertextuality in Antiquity and Christianity, 56–77. Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press, 2001. Jaeger, Werner. Paideia. 3 vols. Translated by Gilbert Highet. New York: Oxford University Press, 1943–1945. Jaffee, Martin S. Torah in the Mouth: Writing and Oral Tradition in Palestinian Judaism, 200 BCE–400 CE. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001. Kahana, M. “The Halakhic Midrashim” in S. Safrai, Z. Safrai, J. Schwartz, P. J. Tomson, eds., The Literature of the Sages: Second Part, 3–105. Assen: Royal Van Gorcum and Fortress Press, 2006. Kalmin, Richard. Sages, Stories, Authors and Editors in Rabbinic Babylonia. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994. ———. Jewish Babylonia between Persia and Roman Palestine. New York: Oxford University Press, 2006. Lauterbach, J. Z., ed. Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael. 3 vols. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1976. Lieberman, Saul. Hellenism in Jewish Palestine. New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1962. Lieberman, Saul. Tosefta Ki-fshutah, parts I–IX. New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, repr. 2001. Marrou, Henri. A History of Education in Antiquity. Translated by G. Lamb. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1958. Miles, Margaret Ruth. Plotinus on Body and Beauty: Society, Philosophy and Religion in Third-Century Rome. Oxford: Blackwell, 1999. Millar, Fergus. The Roman Near East 31 BC–AD 337. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1993. Morgan, Teresa. Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Morris, Nathan. The Jewish School. London: Eyre and Spotteswoode, 1937. Moscovitz, Leib. Talmudic Reasoning: From Casuistics to Conceptualization. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002. Naeh, S. “Omanut Hazikaron, Mivnim shel Zikaron Vetavniot shel Text Besifrut Hazal.” In Y. Sussmann and D. Rosenthal, eds. Mehqerei Talmud III: Talmudic Studies Dedicated to the Memory of Professor Ephraim E. Urbach, vol. 2, 519–589. Jerusalem: The Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2005. Neusner, Jacob. A History of the Jews in Babylonia. 5 vols. Leiden: Brill, 1965–1970.

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Perlow, Towa. L’Éducation et L’énseignment chez les Juifs a l’époque Talmudique. Paris: Librarie Ernest Leroux, 1931. Rosenthal, A. “Torah Sheal Peh Vetorah Misinai- Halacha Umaaseh,” in M. Bar-Asher and D. Rosenthal, eds., Mehqerei Talmud II, Talmudic Studies Dedicated to the Memory of Professor Eliezer Shimshon Rosenthal, 448–489. Jerusalem: The Hebrew University Magnes Press, 1993. Rosenthal, D. “Masorot Eretz-Yisraeliot Vedarkan Lebavel,” Cathedra 92 (1999): 7–48. Rousseau, Philip. “Antony as Teacher in the Greek Life,” In Tomas Hagg and Philip Rousseau, eds., Greek Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity, 89–109. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000. Rubenstein, Jeffrey L., ed. Creation and Composition: The Contribution of the Bavli Redactors (Stammaim) to the Aggada. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005. Safrai, Shmuel. “Education and the Study of Torah.” In S. Safrai and M. Stern, eds., CRINT, The Jewish People in the First Century, 945–970. Assen and Amsterdam: Van Gorcum, 1976. Schofer, Jonathan Wyn. The Making of a Sage: A Study in Rabbinic Ethics. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2005. Shaked, Shaul, trans. “Denkard VI” in Aturpat-I Emetan’s The Wisdom of the Sasanian Sages. Boulder, Colo.: Westview, 1979. ———. Dualism in Transformation: Varieties of Religion in Sasanian Iran. London: School of Oriental Studies, University of London, 1994. Snyder, H. Gregory. Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World: Philosophers, Jews and Christians. London: Routledge, 2000. Sokoloff, Michael. A Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic. Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 2002. Sokoloff, Michael. A Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic of the Byzantine Period. Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 1990. Sussmann, Y. “ ‘Torah Shebeal Peh’ Peshuta Kimashmaa- Kocho shel Kotzo shel Yod.” In Y. Sussmann and D. Rosenthal, eds., Mehqerei Talmud III: Talmudic Studies Dedicated to the Memory of Professor Ephraim E. Urbach, 209–385. Jerusalem: The Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2005. Too, Yun Lee, ed. Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity. Leiden: Brill, 2001. Tropper, Amram. Wisdom, Politics, and Historiography: Tractate Avot in the Context of the Graeco-Roman Near East. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. Urbach, Ephraim E. The Sages. Translated by I. Abrams, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1987. Viviano, B. T. Study as Worship: Aboth and the New Testament. Leiden: Brill, 1978.

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Source Index

Pentateuch Genesis 1:2 129 2:15 36 9:3 74 25:12 130 37:25 130 48:6 152n7 Exodus 16:4 9 17:14 91 21:1 61 21:15 23 21:17 23 22:14–17 137n1 22:23 144n37 34:6 41 Leviticus 2:1 12 20:17 137n8 26:14 144n37 Numbers 12:3 112, 119 14:22 23 15 37 Deuteronomy 4:9 42, 43

4:11 129 5:1 33, 34, 40, 143n18 6 32 6:3 144n37 6:4 161n28 6:4–9 31 6:6–9 32, 38–39 6: 5–8 10 6:7 111 8:11 45 11 32 11:12 45 11:13 31, 33, 36, 40 11:14 37, 135n22 11:13–21 31, 38, 40 11:13–24 32 11:18–20 38 11:19 36, 161n37 11:22 40, 41, 42 21:4 136n36 22:19–29 23 27:10 144n37 28:1 38 30:12 53 31:19 61 32:2 14, 47 32:11 129 32:47 42

Prophets Joshua 1:8 10, 111, 135n22, 168n25 2 Samuel 23:5 58 1 Kings 11:16 91 Isaiah 3:10 19 3:11 19 30:21 132 Jeremiah 6:14 20 9:11–12 34 48:10 91 Amos 2:1 93 2:4 34 8:12 120 Hosea 4:1 34 Writings Psalms 1 68 1:1 65–66, 68

176

source index

1:1–2 66, 67 1:1–3 66 1:2 68, 74 1:3 66, 68, 70, 71 1:3b–4 68 29:7 23 34:13 66, 68 34:13–15 67 66:18 20 68:11 59 105:44–45 36 112:1 66, 67–68 119:20 69, 74 119 122 139:15 135n18 Proverbs 1:4 72 1:9 59 1:31 19 2:4 42, 44 4:2 14, 67 4:6 60 4:8 60 4:22 58 5:15 44, 69 5:16 44 5:19 59, 60, 132 7:26 71 8:02 69 12:27 70 13:11 43, 69 15:33 164n26 23:16 45 27:7 44 27:18 59 Job 28:17 42 Song of Songs 5:13 59 Lamentations 3:16 75 Ecclesiastes 4:6 13 7:8 101, 102 Daniel 4:2 138n19

Nehemiah 8:1–8 122 I Chronicles 25:8 122 II Chronicles 17:7 122 Mishna Berachot 3:2 33, 143n11 3:4 22 Peah 1:1 17, 18, 19 8:8 146n62 Shabbat 16:1 138n15 Eruvin 10:3 128 Pesachim chap. 6 115 Megilah 3:4–4:6 22 Hagiga 1:1–3 137n1 2:1 167n14 Bava Metzia 2:11 9 Bava Batra 2:3 83 Makkot 1:7 143n19 3:16 152n4 Eduyot chap. 6 115 Avoda Zara 3:4 166n5 Avot 1:1 122 1:6 117 2:4 106 2:8 119 3:1 167n11 3:7 131 3:8 7 4:2 141n62, 161n33

4:6 141n62 4:10 141n58 4:16 157n41 5:1 46 5:21 156n21 Bechorot 6:6 149n21 Arachin 3:5 23 Tamid 5:1 31 Middot 3:7 148n6 4:1 148n6 Tosefta Berachot 2:12 22 2:13 138n21 3:1 142n3 4:16 130 Peah 1:1–4 17–21, 111 4:19 18 Shabbat 1:11 138n16 1:13 146n60 13:1 21, 104 Sukkah 4:3 45 Hagiga 2167n14 2:6 129, 140n48 2:9 98 Sotah 14:9 98 Bava Metzia 2:30 135n17 Sanhedrin 7:1 163n18 8:1 61 Eduyot 1:1 120 Horayot 2:5 8

source index Nedarim 2:1 17 Avoda Zara 4:3 17 Hullin 10:5 146n64 Arachin 2:10 22 Parah 4:7 27, 140n52 Ahilot 16:8 27 Mechilta of R. Yishmael Beshallah 7 146n59 Vayassa, 2 9 Veyehi, 5 167n18 Tisa, 1 131 Nezikin 5 139n23 Kaspa 20 160n19 Mechilta of Rashbi p. 51

167n18

Sifra Bechukotai, 1 144n38 Dibbura deNedava, 4:4 163n13 Sifre Numbers 115 123 145

37 27 143n19

Sifre Deuteronomy 16 34 41 42 48

167n19 161n37 31, 33, 34, 36–40, 131 135n22, 141n64 31, 39–47, 155n9, 110, 119, 120 49 31, 142n72 161 143n25 306 31, 47–48

343 351

28 98

Midrash Tannaim Deuteronomy Hoffman edition 17:3 23 p. 215 98 Palestinian Talmud Berachot 1:2 3b 28–29, 39 1:5 3c 17 2:1 14a 143n17 3:5 5d 130 4:2 7d 164n2 5:1 9a 128, 132 6:2 10b 102 9:5 45 Kilaim 9:3 32b 128 Shabbat 1:2 3a 136n23 7:2 9b 166n2 16:1 15c 73 16:8 15d 102 Eruvin 5:1 52 Pesachim 3:7 30b 35 Megilla 1:10 72b 74 Hagiga 2:1 77b 168n26 Yevamot 3:3 4d 148n9 Ketubot 8:8 32c 155n16 Kiddushin 1:3 60a 148n9 1:7 61a 11 Bava Kama 4:6 4c 148n9 Sanhedrin 11:4 30b 52

177

Avoda Zara 2:2 41a 160n19 Horayot 3:5 115 Babylonian Talmud Berachot 6a 114 6b 116 8a 157n35 24a 166n4 26a 167n20 28b 158n43 35b 90 Shabbat 12b 151n37 31a 97, 98, 114 33b 157n35 95a 167n20 116b 72 156a 151n36 Eruvin 2a 148n6 13b 112, 118 53a 116 53a–55a 49–63, 111, 114, 117, 118 53b 157n35 54b 117 67a 114 Pesachim 3a 161n36 105b 76 Yoma 29a 151n39 87a 72 95a 131 Sukka 20a 86 28a 80, 163n10, 119 29a 74, 114, 117 Rosh Hashona 18a 118 26b 56 Taanit 7a 63, 117

178

source index

7a–8a 14 24b 157n35 Moed Katan 8a 161n29 16b 72 Hagiga 3a 142n74 13a 159n9, 163n14 Yevamot 25b 151n37 47a 159n10 105a 118 Ketubot 62b 94 62b–63a 89 103b 86, 155n10, 115, 119 Nedarim 41a 157n35 Gittin 45b 160n19 Kiddushin 40b 143n27 49a 142n2 81b 131 Bava Metzia 85b 80–81, 86, 115, 119 86a 157n35 Bava Batra 16b 151n39 20b–22a 83–95, 113, 114, 116 21a 154n6, 122 117a–117b 157n34 164b 72 Sanhedrin 13b 163n14 39a 141n57 44b 151n3 68a 119, 140n49–50 Shavuot 29a 17 30a 151n36 Avoda Zara 18b 113

18b–19b

65–82, 103, 113, 114, 116, 117, 118

54b 118 Horayot 12a 132 13b 55, 132 14a 115 Menahot 99b 151n3 69a 94, 158n47 Keritot 6a 168n23 Genesis Rabbah 1:10 161n26 4:2 140n47 19 146n59 62:5 130

Avot d’Rabbi Nathan ver. A, chap. 6

98, 100–102, 103

Midrash Hagadol Exodus 23:8

153n24

Midrash Qohelet Zuta 4:5

153n30

Sheiltot deRav Aha 142

157nn32, 36

Eldad Hadani 22

160n21

Yalkut Shimoni Leviticus Rabbah Margulies, pp. 60–61, 129 3:1 13, 42 3 153n31

Proverbs 953 161n34 Epicurus

Ecclesiastes Rabbah

Kyriai Doxai

1:14 150n33 4 153n31 7:8 98, 101–102, 104, 106, 161n29

Justinian

Song of Songs Rabbah

Dialogue with Trypho chap. 2 159n7

1:3

161n33

Institutes

107, 162n38

98

Justin Martyr

Origen Minor Tractate Derech Eretz 166n5 Minor Tractate Semachot 8

140n49

Against Celsus 4:15 29 Commentary on John 10:107 26 Commentary on Song of Songs 31 60

source index Plato

Saint Augustine

Qumran

Theatetus 197c–198d 77–78 Meno 97b–98a 79

Confessions VI:iii (3) 128, 166n6

Rule of Discipline 6:6

Xenophon

New Testament

Memorabilia 2:1:23 150n33 Ben Sira 13:6 52 38:26 90–91

Matthew 10:29 146n58 Luke 12:6 146n58

Quintilian Institutio Oratoria 1:1:4 58, 113, 151n34 1:1:15–19 88, 156n22

179

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Subject Index

Abaye, 51, 53, 80, 83–84, 93, 111, 114, 116, 118, 148n11, 156n21 Aberbach, M., 124–125, 163n18, 165n12 Abraham, 66–68 Abramson, S., 152n10 academies (yeshivot), 6, 49, 61, 66, 72, 84–86, 90, 94–95, 102, 104, 112–116, 121–122, 124, 167n19 See also yeshivot, Babylonian curriculum, 13 action vs. study. See deeds vs. study Aderet, A., 144n31 adjudication. See horaa adult students. See students, adult advantages for scholars, economic. See scholars, economic advantages for age to begin education. See education, age to begin aggada, 3, 7, 9, 10, 11, 12, 14, 22, 41, 46, 61, 82, 104, 121, 128–130, 134n13, 136nn28, 30, 137n38, 146n55, 147n76, 148nn2, 8, 150n32, 152n4, 159nn8, 10,

167n12. See also Midrash, aggada Agnitus, 98 Akiva, Rabbi, 27, 28, 35, 44, 51, 61, 62, 103–105, 107, 110, 119, 127, 129, 131, 142n1, 144nn27, 38, 147nn67, 69, 70, 155n9, 161n24, 163n13, 167n17 Akiva, school of, 144n38 Albeck, C., 73, 132, 140n47, 152n16, 153n23, 154n35, 168n24 Alexander, P. S., 159n3 Alexandria, 24, 26, 88, 140n43 alphabet, teaching the, 99–107, 123 Ammonius, 24 amoraic period, vi, 6, 10, 12, 14, 54, 58, 110, 111, 160n15 analytic capacity, 28, 110 anamnesis. See Plato, anamnesis animal imagery. See educational metaphor anonymous. See stam ha-talmud anthologies, 3, 5, 6, 134nn3, 11 anxiety. See Rabbinic anxiety Aristotle, 26, 35, 106, 141n57, 143n26

182

subject index

Armstrong, A. H., 137n4, 139n28 Assaf, S., 125, 165n13 attribution of rabbinic sayings. See Rabbinic sayings, attribution Auerbach, E., 164n24 authority. See teachers, authority of authority, of tradition. See tradition, authority of Avery-Peck, A. J., 135n19 Avot d’Rabbi Nathan, 134n14 Avot, tractate, 7, 38,106, 112, 135n14, 150n24, 162nn1 Babylonia vs. Israel. See Israel vs. Babylonia Bacher, W., 121–123, 124,152n6, 152n12, 152n15, 73, 153n23, 155n15, 164n1, 165n3 Bar Kochva revolt, 56, 120, 149n24 baraita, 11, 14, 63, 84, 136n31, 159n3 Bar-Asher, M., 149n24, 159n6 Barkley, G., 139n39 bathhouse as intellectual gathering place, 128, 166n3 restrictions on study in, 11, 22, 111, 127, 128 bathing. See bathhouse bedimo, 27, 140n51 Beer, M., 157n31, 158n44, 163n15, 164n19, 167n16 beit kenesset. See synagogue beit midrash (house of study), v, 57, 82, 121, 124, 130, 138n16, 156n27, 161n33, 164n2 beit sefer. See school Benovitz, Moshe, 143n12, 144nn35, 40 Beruria, 56–58, 63, 148n12, 151n35, 157n35. See also women Bickerman, E., 125, 133n2 (Chapter 1), 141n61, 165n17 Bildstein, G., 135n19

birds. See educational metaphor, bird imagery bitul Torah (nullification of Torah), 65, 138n16, 151n3 Blau, M.Y., 155n12 Bockmuehl, M., 134n4 Bonner, S., 155n16, 160n12 Boyarin, D., 157n29 Brakke, David, 135n19, 142n73 brevity, 107, 161n36 Briggs, C. A., 152n18 Brody, R., 163n15 Brown, F., 152n18 Brown, P., 166n6 Buber, S. 153n30 Buchler, A., 163n19, 167n15 Calinescu, M., 166n6 Cameron, Averil, 29, 141n69 Carcopino, J., 154n7 Carr, David, 161n24 Cato, 154n7 character, 15, 50, 112, 118–119, 123. See also character traits; student, ideal character traits acuity, 80–82, 95, 114, 115, 120, 148n11, 158n47, 163n9. See also pilpul, education, goals of arrogance, 56, 94, 119. See also character trait, humility energy, 59 humility, 53, 54, 56, 58, 59, 60, 62, 95, 111–112, 114, 118, 119, 137n38, 164n25, 164n26 impatience, 100–103, 105, 112 indolence, 43 industriousness, 43 meekness, 112 motivation, 59, 73 patience, 60, 62, 82 perseverance, 112 of students, 125 of teachers, 92–94

subject index Charlesworth, J. H., 159n3 children, 11, 32, 36, 41, 56, 57, 61, 78, 81, 83–90, 103, 106, 112, 113, 117, 119, 154n2, 155n16, 156n23, 157n32, 161n37, 165n15. See also elementary education chreia, 97, 105, 159n2, 161n31 chria. See chreia Christian apocrypha, 104 Christianity, 25, 28, 29, 104, 107, 118, 125, 127, 141n69 Chryssipus, 58 circus. See Greco-Roman, entertainment clarity. See davar barur class size, 84, 89, 156n25 competition, educational, 85, 92, 94 consensus, 105, 107 converts to Judaism, 97–102, 106, 159n4, 159n8 Cox, P. See Miller, P. Cox credit for Torah. See Torah, credit for Crenshaw, James, 154n4, 155n18 Cribiore, R., 134n5 culture. See Greco-Roman, entertainment; popular culture curriculum. See academies (yeshivot), curriculum education, curriculum; elementary education, curriculum Danzig, Neil, 149n15, 152n8 davar barur (clarity), 110 Dawson, David, 29, 140n42, 141nn67–68 decision rendering. See horaa decisions, legal. See horaa decline of the generations, 53–54 deduction, 74, 114 deeds vs. speech, 19, 20, 22–23 deeds vs. study, 17–20, 33–39, 46, 62, 110–111, 131, 144n27, 144n29 desire, 60, 65–69, 71, 73–75, 136n30 God’s, 144n38 Didymus the Blind, 26

183

Dikduke Soferim, 153n24 Dimitrovsky, H. Z., 124, 153n25, 156n28, 163n18, 164n19, 165nn11, 12, 166n9, 167n15 Diodorus Siculus, 141n63 discipline, 88, 122, 123, 125, 156n19 dissemination. See Torah, dissemination of Dor, Z., 163n8 Drazin, N., 165n6 Driver, S.R., 152n18 Duran, Rabbi Shimon b. Zemach, 92 Ebner, E., 160n12, 165n6 education age to begin, 85–88, 113, 119, 120, 122, 124, 156n21 competition. See competition, educational compulsory, 155n15 curriculum, 13, 45, 47, 66, 70, 110, 123, 156n21, 165n6. See also learning, division of; elementary education, curriculum; academies (yeshivot), curriculum depth vs. breadth, 44, 81, 114–115, 118. See also sevara vs. gemara education, goals of, 43, 80, 111, 116, 117, 119, 123, 126. See also character traits, acuity; pilpul; reflection elementary. See elementary education girls and women, 56, 89, 123. See also Beruria, children, women Greek and Latin. See Greco-Roman in increments, 47 Jewish, history of, 122 location of. See study, location of medieval, 125, 165nn15–16 oral. See orality policy, 118 primary. See elementary education process. See learning process reward of the learner, 45–46. See also reward; study, rewards for

184

subject index

education (continued) rote. See learning, by rote Sasanid Persia. See Sasanid Persia, education scholarly, 4 socioeconomic class, 87, 117 theory, 48, 95, 111, 120, 123 travel to acquire, 60, 84, 89 educational metaphor animal that crushes things underfoot, 59 bird imagery, 42, 43, 70, 76–79, 146n59, 153n30 cistern, 7, 44, 69, 76, 115, 119, 147n69 doe, 59–60 dog lapping up the sea, 119, 140n49 ear, 102, 105. See also hearing, importance of fig tree, 59 hunting, 77, 78 pendant, 118 receptacle. See Plato, tabula rasa sieve, 44 sponge, 44, 110 spring, 7, 76, 110, 115 student as garden, 118 tree, 14, 15, 70–71 water imagery, 7, 15, 44, 47, 69–70, 76, 132 educational philosophies, Epicurean, 106–107 Edwards, M. J., 25, 139n40, 142nn70–71 elementary education, 4, 83–95, 103, 113, 116, 120, 122, 165n6. Also see school competition. See competition, educational curriculum, 165n6. See also education, curriculum guidelines, 84 history of, 84–87, 116–117, 122, 123 importance of, 86 proliferation. See elementary education, history of

role of priests, 87, 155nn15–16. See also Yehoshua b. Gamla teachers, 84–87, 90, 91, 103, 156n23, 157n32 Eliav, Y., 166n3 Elizur, S., 164n2 Elman, Y., 125, 162n8, 166n22 Elon, Ari, 151n41 Emetan, Aturpat-I, 112, 162n5 Enneads, 139n36 Epicureans, 106–107 Epicurus, 107 epistemological questions. See questions, epistemological Epstein, A., 160n24 Epstein, J. N., 61, 137n2, 146n63, 148n1, 151n44 equality of all people in Torah, 41, 42, 45 of all sections of the Torah, 45 errors. See teachers, errors; students, errors Eshel, B. Z., 156n24 Euripides, 141n63 exegesis, 22, 38–42, 44–46, 48, 49, 66–68, 71, 72 fathers, 85, 87, 132. See also school, in the home fear. See teachers, fear of figurality, 29 Finkelstein, L., 142n72, 143nn18, 23, 145n47, 146nn53, 57, 147nn67, 77, 148n78 Fischel, Henry A., 161n31 Fishbane, M., 162n3 fluency. See memorization, fluency Fowler, Harold N., 154n33 Fox, H., 135n16 Fraade, Steven, 32, 40, 41, 141n59, 142n6, 144nn28, 32, 145nn43, 47–49, 146n53, 147nn67, 75, 162n3 Fraenkel, J., 150n32, 159n8, 160n23

subject index Fraenkel, Z., 148n9 Friedheim, Emmanuel, 151n2 Friedman, Shamma, 135n16, 137n5, 157n34, 164n23 Gafni, I., 124, 158n43, 163nn8, 15, 165n10 gemara (received tradition), 50–51, 53, 119, 149n14. See also sevara vs. gemara gemara vs. sevara. See sevara vs. gemara Geniza fragments, 4, 99, 135n21, 159n4, 160n15 Gentiles, 97–99, 101–102, 156n23, 159nn3, 9 Gera, Deborah, 141nn61, 63 Gerhardsson, B., 125, 153nn22, 24, 155n15, 157n35, 166n24 Gerson, L. P., 139n35 Gillard, Frank D., 166n8 goals of education. See education, goals of Goitein, S., 125, 165n14 Goldberg, A., 142n1, 148n1 Golden Rule, 97 Goldin, J., 106, 134n14, 160nn16–17 Golinkin, D., 162n8 Goodblatt, David, 75, 85, 87, 124, 133n1 (Preface), 133n1 (Chapter 1), 153n21, 154n5, 155n13–14, 165n9 Goodman, M., 149n19 Greco-Roman education, 4, 20, 72, 88, 100, 111, 123, 126, 150n25, 160n12 entertainment, 65–67, 121, 150n25, 164n2, 166n3. See also popular culture Greek literature, 77 Greenfield, J., 75, 90, 153nn25–27, 156n28, 157n30, 166n9 Gregory Thaumaturgas, St., 141n69, 145n51 Groner, T., 164n26

185

Hagg, T., 138n14 hagiya. See reflection Halevi, E., 137n38, 141nn57, 63, 143n24 Halivni, David, 5, 14, 134nn10, 13, 136n33, 142n1, 154n2, 162nn2, 7 Hammer, R., 32, 142n5, 143nn16, 18, 23, 144n29 Hanina, Rabbi, 11, 80–81, 115, 119 Hartman, David, 144n40 Hasan-Rokem, Galit, 136n27 hearing, importance of, 102, 105, 107 Heine, Ronald E., 139n40 hellenization, 112, 120 Hengel, M., 125, 155n15, 165n18 Herbedestan, 75–76, 89–90, 156n27–28 Herman, G., 154n3, 158n44 hevraya (scholars), 130, 167n16 hevruta. See study partner Hezser, C., 125–126, 138n16, 160n24, 166n25 Hirshman, M., 136n28, 139n26, 147n76, 148n8, 164n26, 167n12 Hiyya, Rabbi, 22, 59, 80–81, 86, 94, 115, 127–129 Hoffman, D.Z., 145n42 horaa (adjudication), 8, 68, 113 age of, 68, 71. See also education, age to begin mistaken, 8 Horayot, tractate, 8 Hoshen, D., 140n47, 151n35 house of assembly. See synagogue house of study. See beit midrash humility. See also character trait, humility and the sevara vs. gemara debate, 119 Moses as paragon of, 112, 119 Humphrey, J. H., 133n1 (Preface), 151n2 Hyman, A., 148n9, 151n48 idolatry, 65 Ilan, Tal, 148n12, 151n35 innovation vs. preservation. See preservation vs. innovation

186

subject index

insolence. See letzanut internalization, 80, 106–107 Ish-Shalom, Meir, 160n20 Israel vs. Babylonia, 72, 73, 75, 82, 86, 102, 112, 115, 120, 155n9

Kosovsky, M., 168n25 Kotwal, Firoze M., 134n9, 156n27 Kramer, Samuel, 154n4 Krauss, S., 141n65, 156n19, 167n15 Kreyenbroek, Philip G., 134n9, 156n27

Jacobs, L., 163n12 Jacobs, M., 166n3 Jaffee, Martin, 125, 134n12, 138n16, 141nn55, 60, 166n21 James, Epistle of, 139n25, 141n66 Jastrow, M., 147n73 Jerusalem, 85, 87, 155n15 Jesus, 29, 104, 107, 159n3 Jewish education. See education Josephus, 86, 87 Judah ha-Nasi, v, 7, 8, 15, 51, 66, 68, 72, 73, 104, 142n74, 150n24 Judah ha-Nasi, students of, 66 Judah the Patriarch, R. See Judah ha-Nasi

Lamb, W. R. M., 154n34 Lauterbach, J.Z., 135n20, 139n23, 142n1 Lawson, R. P., 151n40 Layton, Richard, 26, 140nn43–44 learned vs. precise, 84, 90 learning, 66, 68, 75, 76, 97, 132 aloud. See study, aloud division of, 66, 70, 110. See also academies (yeshivot), curriculum; education, curriculum; elementary education, curriculum; love of, 41, 46, 59–60, 132, 145n48, 147n74 from more than one teacher, 66, 71, 73, 74, 75, 112, 113, 117, 152n11 mystical. See mysticism precise, 157n32 preservation of, 40–48, 59. See also memorization process, 73, 110, 124 regularity in, 114 by rote, 80, 88, 105–107, 115, 116. See also memorization styles of, 7, 31, 110–111. See also teaching, styles Lee Too, Y., 134nn6–7 legal tradition. See tradition, legal leisure time, 65 Lerner, M. B., 136n28, 160n19 letzanut, 66, 67, 82, 151n1. See also character traits Lewis, R., 164n26 Lieberman, Saul, 45, 49, 52, 98, 129, 135n17, 136n23, 138nn13, 15–16, 139n22, 140n53, 141n55, 143nn21, 27, 147n75, 148nn4, 10, 149n25,

Kadari, T., 146n55 Kahana, M., 135n21, 141n59, 142n1, 145n41 kallah (biannual month of study), 93, 94, 158n43 Kalmin, R., 154n5, 158nn47, 48 Kannengiesser, Charles, 140n40 Karnafogel, E., 125, 165n16 Kasher, A., 159n10 Katz, Steven T., 134n4, 147n76 keneged kol ha-mitzvot, 17 Kennedy, David, 133n1 (Preface) key roots gmr (learn), 50, 62, 74–75, 76. See also learning grs (recite). See recitation hgh (mediate or reflect), 74, 75, 80, 114, 116, 153n20, 168n25. See also meditation, recitation, reflection svr (know through logic), 75 Kister, M., 134n14, 160n14 knowledge, 81 vs. opinion, 79

subject index 151n2, 154n6, 156n23, 163n8, 167n11 literacy, 6, 121, 125–126, 166nn6, 25 liturgy. See study as liturgy logic (higayon), 74 love of Torah. See learning, love of Macmullen, R., 137n9 Mahoza, 82, 84, 89, 113, 154n3, 162n8 makre dardeke. See teachers, of Scripture Malter, H., 136n34 Marcus, I., 125, 165n15 Marcus, J., 139n25 Margulies, M., 136n29, 153n24, 167n13 Marmorstein, Arthur, 140n46 Marrou, H., 4, 138n17, 152n14 Martinez, David, 138n12 masoret, 101 Meacham, T., 135n16 meditation vs. memorization. See memorization vs. meditation meditation vs. study. See study vs. meditation meekness. See character trait, meekness Meir, O., 146n55 memorization, 80–81, 105–107, 116, 123. See also learning, by rote fluency, to promote, 13, 157n32 vs. meditation, 80–81 need for review, 15, 40, 43, 107 use of mnemonics, 54, 62, 111, 112 Menahem haMeiri, 55, 90, 92 Mendels, Doron, 133n1 (Chapter 1) Mendelson, A., 125, 166n19 metaphor. See educational metaphor midrash, 10, 31, 43 aggada, vi, 3, 9–10, 12, 104, 130, 136n30, 146n55. See also aggada halacha, vi, 3, 7, 9, 11 midrash and mishna, 31, 110 tannaim. See midrash halakha Miles, M., 139n29, 166n1

187

Millar, Fergus, 133nn1, 2 (Preface), 149n24 Miller, P. Cox, 139nn30, 40, 140n41 mishna and midrash. See midrash and mishna mistakes. See horaa, mistaken; students, errors; teachers, errors; mnemonics. See memorization, use of mnemonics modesty. See character traits, modesty Moore, George Foot, 140nn45–46 Moreshet, M., 138n19, 140n53, 146n61, 157n33, 163n9 Morgan, T., 100, 124, 134n5, 160n13, 165n7 Morris, Nathan, 87, 123–124, 141n61, 155n15, 165nn5–6 Moscovitz, L., 116, 154n37, 163n16 Moses, 112, 117, 119 motivation. See character traits, motivation mysticism, 111, 129, 162n4 Naeh, S., 138n18, 145n43, 146n63, 149n23, 166n2 Nahmanides, 139n24 negligence. See teachers, errors Nehardea, 72, 113 Neoplatonism, 24, 28. See also Plato Netzer, A., 163n15 Neusner, J., 135n19, 142n5, 149n13, 161n31, 166n24 Newman, Hillel, 161n24 nullification of Torah. See bitul Torah number of teachers. See learning, from more than one teacher Nussbaum, Martha, 106, 158n1, 161nn32–33 opinion vs. knowledge. See knowledge vs. opinon Oppenheimer, A., 156n24, 159n10 oral law vs. written law, 98, 159n4, 99, 100, 105

188

subject index

orality, v, vi, 3, 5, 6, 10, 21, 22, 23, 26, 27, 28, 100, 103, 105, 106, 111, 120, 125, 134n12, 166nn6, 21–22 and asceticism, 24, 29 and spelling, 49 and understanding, 30 Origen, 18, 23, 24, 25, 26, 29, 30, 60 pagan culture. See Greco-Roman, entertainment; popular culture paired study. See study partner parable. See educational metaphor paranomosia, 100, 103. See also wordplay Pardo, R. David, 139n22, 143n15, 144nn29, 36 partner, for study. See study partner paskei sidra, 72–73. See also recitation patience. See character traits, impatience Peah, tractate, 18, 137n2 period. See amoraic period, Second Temple period, tannaitic period Perlow, Towa, 89, 104, 117, 122–123, 156n26, 163n17 perpetual study. See study, perpetual perseverance. See character trait, perseverance Persia, Sasanid, vi, 5, 75–76, 112, 116, 117, 163n15 education, 4, 75–76, 89, 129 Peterson, William, 140n40 petichta, 13 Phaedrus. See Plato, Phaedrus Philo, 29, 88, 125, 166n19 philology, of rabbinic texts, 4. See also Geniza fragments pilpul, 81–82, 114–115, 119. See also character traits, acuity; education, goals of Pineles, Z. M., 154n1 pirka, 117, 158n43 Plato, 24, 25, 77–79, 81, 146n59 anamnesis, 78

Phaedrus, 25 tabula rasa, 78 theory of forms, 78 Theuth myth, 25 Plotinus, 18, 23, 24, 25, 28, 29, 30, 46, 127, 166n1 Plutarch, 154n7, 161n33 policy, educational. See education, policy popular culture, v, 22, 55, 65–66, 112–113, 122, 129, 133n1 (Preface), 150n25. See also Greco-Roman, entertainment Porphyry, 18, 24, 166n1 precise language, 54–56, 57, 111, 112–113, 117, 118–120 and children, 56, 112, 117. See also children and women, 57–58, 63, 112, 117. See also women precise learning. See learning, precise precise vs. learned. See learned vs. precise preservation of Torah, 81, 110, 112, 119. See also education, goals of; Torah, forgetting; Rabbinic anxiety preservation vs. innovation, 80–81 preservation vs. restoration, 81 priests. See elementary education, role of priests primary education. See elementary education process. See learning process prophecy, 164n26 prophets, 25, 41, 119 Pseudo-Rashi, 153n24 punishment, 94–95 corporal, 88, 156n19. See also discipline questions, epistemological, 79, 105 Quintilian, 58 Qumran, 125, 142n1, 162n3

subject index Rabbinic anxiety, 43, 48, 81, 116, 120, 133n1 (Chapter 1). See also forgetting Torah, preservation of Torah over retaining knowledge, 43, 116, 133n1 (Chapter 1) over the disappearance of Torah, 43, 48, 81, 110, 116 Rabbinic sayings, attribution of, 11–12, 16, 112, 120, 162n7, 136n37 Rabbinic texts editing of, 5–8, 134nn13–14, 159n8 philology of, 4 Rappe, S., 25, 139n27 Rashi, 74, 90, 149nn11, 17, 167n20 Rashi, Siddur, 153n32 ratin megusha. See recitation, without understanding Rav, 49, 54, 56, 63, 71, 84–88, 89, 101–103, 111, 112, 113, 116, 149n21, 156nn19, 21 Rava, 14, 15, 51, 53, 63, 66, 68–71, 73–76, 80–85, 89–95, 111, 113–119, 132, 148nn2, 11, 149nn13–14, 152n17, 157n32, 158n47, 162n8 Razabi, S., 150n25 reading expressive. See paskei sidra silent, 22, 128, 138n19, 142n74, 166nn6, 8. See also study, silent reasoning, 70, 73, 74, 114, 115, 117, 118, 119, 152n11. See also sevara Rebbe. See Judah ha-Nasi received tradition. See tradition, received recitation, 69, 73–74, 75, 77, 90, 112, 117, 118, 129, 131, 132, 157n35. See also paskei sidra of Scripture. See paskei sidra without understanding, 76. See also memorization reflection, 74, 80, 114, 116, 164n20. See also sevara; education, goals of; study, reflective

189

reflective study (tannoye). See study, reflective (tannoye) regularity in learning. See learning, regularity in repetition, 106, 111, 117, 132 resh duchna, 84 restoration vs. preservation. See preservation vs. restoration restrictions on study, geographic. See bathhouse, restrictions on study in retention of Torah. See preservation of Torah review. See memorization, need for review reward, 110, 114, 116. See also education, reward of the learner; study, rewards for Rist, J., 24–25, 139n34 Roman Palestine, vi, 5 Rosenthal, A., 142n2, 159n6 Rosenthal, D., 82, 147n76, 154n38, 158n46, 159n6, 163n12, 166n23 Rosenthal, E. S., 80, 154n36, 159nn3–4 rote. See learning, by rote Rousseau, Philip, 138n14 Rubenstein, Jeffrey L., 148n2, 149n18, 153n24 Rubin, M., 150n24 Sachs, M., 150n33 Safrai, S., 124, 134n4, 136n28, 144n28, 147n71, 150n24, 155n14, 159n10, 165n8, 167n12 Saldarini, A., 134n14 Satlow, Michael, 135n19, 142n73 Schaefer, P., 166n3 Schiffman, Lawrence H., 162n3 Schneemelcher, W., 161n25 Schofer, Jonathan, 142n73 scholars, economic advantages for, 92, 95, 113, 120

190

subject index

school, 117, 122–124, 132, 141n61, 149n13, 154n4, 155nn15–16, 165n6. See also elementary education attendance, 116 class size, 84, 89, 156n25 districts. See school, system in the home, 156n23. See also fathers system, 87, 89, 116, 120, 165n12. See also elementary education schools of higher education. See academies (yeshivot) Schottenstein Talmud, 50 Schremer, A., 160n23 Schroeder, F.M., 139n35 Schwartz, Seth, 133n1 (Chapter 1), 164n2 scoffers. See letzanut Scroll of the Pious, 45 Second Temple period, 3, 122, 125, 133n1 (Chapter 1), 148n12, 151n35, 154n5 Seder Eliyahu, 134n14 Segal, E., 148n2 Segal, M. Z., 157n38 self-knowledge, 112 Septuagint, 60, 74, 145n50 service. See study, as service; teachers, service of sevara, 63, 114, 116, 117, 119, 149n14sevara vs. gemara, 70, 73, 74, 75, 79–82, 114–116, 118–119, 149n14, 152n11 connection to humility, 119 Shaked, S., 134n9, 156n27, 162n5, 163n15 Shanama, 156n26 Shapira, H., 124 Shema, 31, 32, 33, 37, 38, 39, 48 shemateta. See legal tradition shemua, 11–12 Sherman, Thomas P., 143n26 Shimon b. Yochai, R., 10, 28, 29, 37, 39, 43 shimush, 117, 163n18 shinun. See memorization, need for review Shmuel, 49, 58, 101–103, 148n2, 149n21

silence. See study, silent; reading, silent siyuma (concluding session), 93 sleep, 67, 68, 106 Slusser, M., 141n69, 145n51 Snyder, H. Gregory, 125, 134n8, 137n11, 161n35, 166n20 socioeconomic class. See education, socioeconomic class Socrates, 21, 23, 139n30 sodran vs. pilpalan, 115 Sofer, A., 157n40 Sokoloff, M., 147n73, 149nn15–16, 151n36, 152n6, 153nn21, 24, 155n8, 157n33, 161n27, 167n20, 168n23 speculate, 75, 119 speech. See also deeds vs. speech; precise language; study, of Torah as speech vs. thought, 24, 26, 110 Sperber, D., 146n58 stam ha-talmud (anonymous), 5, 14, 54, 55, 112, 162n7 Stemberger, G., 134n4 Stern, David, 134nn3, 11, 136n27, 164n24 Stern, M., 165n8 Strack, H. L., 134n4 student. See also teachers, teacherstudent relationship ideal, 110. See also character, character traits students. See also character traits, of students; children adult, 103 aloud, 58, 129 beginners, 46, 47 character traits, 44. See also character traits correcting, 92 errors, 92 worthiness, 15, 136n37 study. See also deeds vs. study and closeness to God, 46 and the Temple Service, 36, 37, 38 as liturgy, 110, 162n1

subject index as service, 46, 110 house of. See beit midrash location of, 60, 68, 71, 89 of Torah as speech, 111, 112 partner, 15, 63, 117 perpetual, 162n3 reflective (tannoye), 118, 164n20, 164n21. See also reflection rewards for, 110. See also education, reward of the learner; reward silent, 22, 128. See also reading, silent vs. meditation, 73–74, 80, 113. See also key roots, hgh Sura, 72, 84, 85. See also yeshivot, Babylonian Sussman, Y., 125, 136n23, 138n13, 145n43, 147n76, 166n23 symbolism. See educational metaphor synagogue, 66, 84, 89, 117, 121, 123, 128, 132, 164n2 Ta Shma, Israel M., 163n11 tabula rasa. See Plato, tabula rasa talk, evil, 111 talmid (student), 122 talmud and maaseh. See deeds vs. study tannaitic period, vi, 7, 9, 17, 21, 31, 54, 58, 100, 110, 133n1 (Chapter 1), 160nn12, 15, 165n6 teachers. See also character traits, of teachers; elementary education, teachers; teachers, errors authority of, 105, 107. See also teachers, teacher-student relationship deference toward, 52, 53 errors, 8, 84, 91–92, 95, 114 fear of, 161n33. See also teachers, teacher-student relationship repetition by, 60, 61, 62. See also repetition role of, 9, 92, 106, 124 of Scripture (makre dardeke), 84, 90, 157n32

191

service of, 117, 163n18 teacher-student relationship, 106, 125, 165n12 trust, 98–99, 101. See also teachers, teacher-student relationship value of imitating, 117 teaching. See also alphabet, teaching the; learning process; teachers, of Scripture methods, 161n36 styles, 61, 111. See also learning, styles of Temple, destruction of, 38, 86, 120, 121, 133n1 (Chapter 1), 144n31 theaters and circuses. See Greco-Roman, entertainment Theodor, J., 140n47, 152n16 theory. See education, theory; Plato, anamnesis, theory of forms Theuth myth, of Plato. See Plato, Theuth myth Thomas, Infancy of, 104 thought vs. speech. See speech, vs. thought time, 65, 66. See also leisure time; bitul Torah; learning, division of Torah credit for, 69. See also education, reward of the learner; reward; study, rewards for dissemination of, 80–81, 95, 115, 119 forgetting, 15, 26, 27–28, 40, 43, 45, 48, 51, 53, 58, 63, 74, 80–81, 85–86, 110, 115, 116, 118–120, 147n78, 155n9. See also preservation of Torah; Rabbinic anxiety, over retaining knowledge; Rabbinic anxiety, over the disappearance of Torah love of. See learning, love of Tosefta, 3, 7, 8, 11, 19 tradition authority of, 105, 107 legal, 93, 116, 130, 132

192

subject index

tradition (continued) received, 50, 51, 53, 70, 73, 74, 79, 95, 116, 118, 119, 152n11. See also gemara, sevara vs. gemara rewards for, 114, 116 transmission of, 101, 121 trapping. See educational metaphor, hunting Tropper, A., 135n14, 149n24, 162n38, 162n39 trust. See teachers, trust ulpana, 165n12 Urbach, E. E., 38, 140n46, 144nn27–28, 31, 157n37 Valler, S., 150n25 VanderKam, James C., 162n3 Viviano, B. T., 162n1 water. See educational metaphor, water imagery Watts, Edward, 135n19 Weinfeld, Moshe, 32, 142nn4, 7–10, 143n14 Weiss, Z., 151n2 Weitzman, Steven, 135n19, 142n73 Whitman, J., 139n26, 140n42, 141nn67–68

Wilson, R. McL., 161n25 women, 57–58, 63, 112, 117, 119, 123. See also Beruria; precise language and women; education, girls and women wordplay, 54, 56, 100, 150n25. See also paranomosia examples of, 21, 136n30, 137n8 worship. See study as liturgy writing, 125, 165n6, 166n21 written law vs. oral law. See oral law vs. written law Wyn Schofer, J., 135n14 Yalon, H., 152n18, 163n9 Yavneh, 61, 120, 167n18 Yehoshua b. Gamla, 84–87, 89, 95, 154n5 Yehuda b’r Kalonimos b’r Meir of Speyer, R., 155n12 Yehuda ha-Nasi, R. See Judah ha-Nasi yeshivot, Babylonian, 6, 72, 82, 85, 86, 102, 124. See also academies (yeshivot) Yochanan, R., 11, 27, 50–54, 58, 62, 63, 114, 118, 127, 128, 148nn11–12, 149n20, 151n38, 157n34 Zlotnik, D., 142n2 Zoroastrian, 76