Midrash Aggadah Research Articles

Rabbis and Classical Rhetoric: Sophistic Education and Oratory in the Talmud and Midrash by Richard Hidary

Reviewed by: Rabbis and Classical Rhetoric: Sophistic Education and Oratory in the Talmud and Midrash by Richard Hidary Brandon Katzir Richard Hidary, Rabbis and Classical Rhetoric: Sophistic Education and Oratory in the Talmud and Midrash. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2018. 344 pp. ISBN: 9781107177406 Recent scholarship on the Second Sophistic has demonstrated the extent to which that period, in the first centuries of the common era, had a profound influence on rhetoric as a cultural practice. In particular, as Timothy Whitmarsh has noted, “[Oratory] was one of the primary means that Greek culture of the period, constrained as it was by Roman rule, had to explore issues of identity, society, family and power” (5). The Second Sophistic lays the groundwork for the Byzantine tradition, which itself had an enormous influence on the European rhetorical tradition. Yet, the literary cultures inspired by Roman Hellenism were not limited to Greek speakers. Classical Jewish texts like the Mishna, the Talmud, and various midrashim were composed or redacted in the same literary culture that gave rise to Philostratus’s Lives of the Sophists. Richard Hidary’s Rabbis and Classical Rhetoric argues that the Jewish culture which produced the Mishna was affected by the cultural and literary ferment of the Second Sophistic. Hidary observes that the Second Sophistic bears numerous similarities to its contemporary rabbinic movement. He notes, “the rabbis also pushed to uphold their own distinctive Jewish identity and pride in the face of Roman dominance and they too studied and taught inherited religious traditions from antiquity” (5). Like the Greek orators, the Talmudic sages “studied, codified, and lectured about their own past traditions and in a similar way used this as a strategy for upholding their culture and values” (6). The strength of Hidary’s approach lies in his nuanced examination of a range of rabbinical genres. Each of the chapters proceeds in a similar fashion: they begin by explaining the significance and structure of a particular genre of rabbinical writing followed by an explanation of how that genre intersects with rhetorical genres of the Second Sophistic. Hidary explores some rabbinical writing—such as aggadic midrashim, the Talmud Yerushalmi, the Talmud Bavli—as well as some lesser known genres, like the progymnasmata in rabbinical literature. He compares the role of lawyers in Roman and rabbinical courts, the heavenly court in rabbinical literature, and Plato’s heavenly court. Hidary offers a fresh perspective to each genre. Of particular interest is his analysis of Sabbath sermon, which, according to [End Page 340] Hidary, is the mainstay of rabbinical declamation and has its origins in the Second Temple period, which ended in 70 CE. Hidary argues that there is a formal connection between rabbinic homilies and the aggadic midrash. He observes that while some scholars have suggested that “works of midrash aggadah are transcripts of actual synagogue sermons,” most believe they are literary creations, even if they were perhaps sometimes read aloud. Each chapter of aggadic midrash begins with a proem which expounds upon a Biblical verse. Hidary notes that “the verse usually lacks an obvious connection to the Torah lectionary and thus raises the curiosity of the audience. The audience is kept in this state of suspense until the speaker finally manages to connect the opening verse with the first verse of the Torah lectionary, thus delivering his main point with a memorable punch line” (50). Hidary argues that the exordium is the model for the midrashic proem, pointing out that Aristotle “writes that the prooimion of epideictic speeches should begin with an unrelated subject and then transition into the main topic of the speech” (53). But Hidary emphasizes that while the rabbis’ rhetorical form may look Greek, their arguments are designed to demonstrate the superiority of the Jewish people and the Sinaitic revelation. Hidary draws a connection between the Hellenistic orators of the Second Sophistic who “turned to Attic oratory to revive Greek pride in the face of Western Roman political domination” and the rabbis who “[apply] the rhetorical technique of the Greeks to their teaching of Torah,” an application which was ultimately aimed at demonstrating “the perfection of Scripture” (77). The later chapters of Rabbis and Classical Rhetoric compare classical and rabbinic...

Producing fire and hybrids as seen by the Midrash Aggadah: Polemic etiological myths?

The current study analyzes several Midrashic sources that deal with the invention and discovery of fire and of the mule. It examines the narrative of the Midrashim, while comparing it with portrayal of the invention or source of these two elements in Greco-Roman mythology and culture. The rabbis did not openly voice their negative attitude to the mythological narrative concerning the discovery of fire or their reservations about crossbreeding in the Roman world. However, it seems that their homilies were polemical, aimed at presenting an alternative to the non-Jewish story. The Greek mythological narrative was rooted in a polytheistic world in which various mythological entities confronted each other, and fire figured in these confrontations. In contrast, in monotheistic Jewish thought, there is one God who grants fire to humankind with no restrictions or regret. The Jerusalem Talmud conveys the message that hybrids might be dangerous and harmful to humankind. The real-life existence of hybrid creatures that were particularly strong beasts led the ancients to assume that two animals of different species might bear other dangerous “monsters.” It is possible that the view of the Jewish sources is that crossbreeding is not merely a Jewish-religious prohibition but rather an environmental hazard. In fact, the two narratives are etiological stories. The story of Anah aims to explain an unclear verse describing the finding of the yemim and the story about the invention of fire explaining the meaning of the phrase “image of God” that sets aside human beings.

‘How shall we kill him? By sword, fire or lions?’: The Aramaic Targum and the Midrashic narrative on Haman’s gallows

The Midrashic literature and biblical translations focus majorly on the verses that describe the gathering in Haman’s house and the preparing of the gallows for Mordechai the Jew (Es 5:14). The goal of this study is to discuss the narrative shaped by the Targum and Midrashic sources and to examine both the realistic domain concerning methods of punishment that were suggested and the theological–educational meaning of the punishment and the type of tree chosen. Targum Rishon develops the contents of the conversation in Haman’s house as to how Mordechai should be executed. While according to the text, the suggestion to hang Mordechai appears to have been the only method agreed upon by all those present at the meeting, Targum Rishon includes several forms of killing and torture that were proposed and considered. While Targum Rishon presents the theological meaning of the choice to kill Mordechai specifically by hanging him from a gallows, a Midrash aggadah attempts to clarify the species of the tree used to prepare Mordechai’s gallows and comes to the surprising conclusion that it was a type of thorn tree. Regarding Haman’s search for a suitable beam on which to hang Mordechai, Midrash Abba Gorion relates that the beam was found in the king’s palace or, according to another opinion, the sawed beam found originated from Noah’s ark.Contribution: The Midrashic sources portray an entire scene that includes discourse, deliberations and choice in Haman’s house and in heaven. It seems that the authors of the Midrash and the Targum not only clarify the text and complement the story by adding missing realistic details, they also enrich the text with new meanings that serve their theological concepts.

Sufis in the Hasidic Mishkan

Sufis in the Hasidic Mishkan Aryeh Wineman (bio) Alongside the considerable place devoted to sacred space in Jewish traditional sources, one might detect also a questioning voice concerning the very idea of the mishkan (Tabernacle)—and in its wake, also of the Temple in Jerusalem. In his prayer at the dedication of the Temple, Solomon himself is reported as having asked, “But will God really dwell on earth? Even the heavens to their uttermost reaches cannot contain You, how much less this House that I have built!” (1 Kings 8:27). A midrashic passage has Moses ask the same basic question when commanded to build the Tabernacle, a question to which God responds simply with instructions about placing a number of boards in various directions so that God might then contract the divine presence to dwell in that space.1 Another midrashic passage raises the same apparent paradox of constructing a dwelling-place for God, whose presence is everywhere—evoking a resolution in the form of an analogy likening the Tent of Meeting to a cavern near the shore of the sea into which water rushes, while the amount of water in the entirety of the sea is in no way diminished.2 Implicit questions concerning the Tabernacle might be overheard also in the suggestion, voiced in a number of texts, that the command to erect the Tabernacle was occasioned by the sin of the Golden Calf (Exodus 32–33), even though in the text of the Torah that episode appears following the initial command to build the Tabernacle. A passage in Midrash Tanḥuma specifies that the command to build a Tabernacle was given on the tenth of Tishrei (along with the command to observe that day, Yom Kippur, each year as a day of seeking forgiveness), for on that day, God forgave the Israelites after the incident of the Golden Calf.3 A similar statement appears [End Page 110] in Seder Olam Rabbah,4 and a passage in Midrash Aggadah artistically delineates a series of correspondences between making the Golden Calf and the building of the Tabernacle.5 Together, those texts infer that if not for the Golden Calf episode, the command to build the Tabernacle would never have been given. In addition, some sources go even further, suggesting that the very idea of constructing a Tabernacle originated not with a divine command but with a request on the part of the Israelites themselves, either as an empirical sign of divine forgiveness or as insignia for their Sovereign as other peoples have.6 The rich and edifying body of interpretation of the biblical Tabernacle found in an array of post-biblical traditional texts might itself suggest that, over time, the very concept of sacred space had become somewhat problematic and called for creative embellishment. Was God’s desire to dwell in the lower world fulfilled in the building of the Tabernacle?7 And could the physical structure of the Tabernacle serve, in any other than a purely symbolic sense, as a dwelling-place for the divine presence? It has been suggested that the Book of Deuteronomy, with its recurrent reference to the single valid place for cultic worship as “the place where God causes the divine Name to dwell,” represents a more abstract retreat from the earlier, simpler conception of the Divine as actually dwelling in the Tabernacle.8 And in light of our own knowledge of the ancient Near East, we might ask: are the many chapters and verses in the Torah relating to the Tabernacle merely a purified reflection of ancient practices and conceptions ultimately rooted in pagan culture and its assumption that every god or goddess requires his or her own temple?9 Out of considerations perhaps not that remote from our own, the early Hasidic masters also wrestled in their own way with the very concept of the mishkan as a physical structure. With the premise that just as God transcends time, so too the mizvot emanating from God must likewise pertain to all time (past, present, and future), and must furthermore address every single individual, Yaakov Yosef of Polnoye, who authored the first printed Hasidic book, posed questions concerning the meaning of the...

Biblical Seductions: Six Stories Retold Based on Talmud and Midrash (review)

Reviewed by: Biblical Seductions: Six Stories Retold Based on Talmud and Midrash Alice Ogden Bellis Biblical Seductions: Six Stories Retold Based on Talmud and Midrash, by Sandra E. Rapoport. Jersey City, NJ: Ktav Publishing House, 2011. 638 pp. $29.50. Sandra Rapoport has been a practicing attorney specializing in sexual harassment among other areas of law, consultant to auction houses selling rare Hebrew books and manuscripts, and most recently Resident Scholar at Harvard University, where she completed the manuscript for Biblical Seductions while [End Page 206] lecturing and teaching classes in which she brought the characters of the Bible to life by using a combination of the biblical text and midrash. Rapoport’s definition of midrash is not narrow; it is not only the colorful and sometimes—to modern ears—strange legends the ancient rabbis developed (midrash aggadah) to answer various questions the biblical text raises. She uses the term broadly to include interpretations from the medieval and modern periods as well, from both Jewish and Christian scholars. Biblical Seductions is a fascinating reading of the stories of Lot and his daughters, Dinah and Shechem, Judah and Tamar, David and Bathsheba, Ammon and Tamar, and Ruth and Boaz, weaving together not only interpretations across the post-biblical centuries, but also commenting on the inter-textual connections between the stories. Rapoport is the most helpful in her discussion of the ancient and medieval Jewish midrash and commentators, since not all of this material is available to the general reader, even one who knows biblical Hebrew. One example out of the many that could be presented comes from the story of David and Batsheva (the Hebrew name of Bathsheba which Rapoport uses). Rapoport points out that contrary to popular belief the biblical text does not say that Bathsheba was bathing on her roof; it only says that David saw her bathing while he was standing on his roof. This fact puts a rather different spin on the story, for it means that the biblical text is not clear on how he saw her. It is interpreters who have inferred that she must have been on her roof, but she might have been inside her house and David saw her through a window. Another example of Rapoport’s insights relates to the question of whether Ruth and Boaz had sex on the threshing floor the night Ruth seduced him. Rapoport argues persuasively based on a difference in spelling in the Hebrew word translated as feet, but also used euphemistically for genitals (the absence of the letter yud in the second use of the word) and the interpretation of this difference in the midrash, that they did not. When Ruth came to the threshing floor to seduce Boaz she uncovered his margelotav, i.e. his genitals, but after their conversation, she spent the night at margelotav, its foot, i.e., the foot of his bed. Rapoport’s use of the modern commentary material is not comprehensive and sometimes gives greater weight to less important views, while virtually ignoring more significant perspectives. An example is her discussion of a Harvard B.A. thesis in the David and Bathsheba chapter which makes the argument that Bathsheba tried to seduce David. Rapoport spends several pages presenting and then shooting down the argument of this B.A. paper, when more sophisticated arguments for this idea are available in the scholarly literature. Similarly, she dismisses with one sentence the possibility that Shechem might not have raped Dinah, when there is a significant body of feminist [End Page 207] scholarly work with philological arguments to support such a view which she seems unaware of. Rapoport’s understanding of biblical Hebrew is clearly excellent. Yet she makes a number of statements that strike this reviewer as odd. For example, she suggests repeatedly that the Hebrew word vayehi indicates that something tragic is about to happen. This phrase, which is sometimes translated as “it happened that” and is really the beginning of a string of a particular type of past tense verb, is one of the most common words in the Bible, occurring 814 times. It would be hard to argue that in all or even a majority of the cases something...

“The Same Fate Is in Store for the Righteous and the Wicked:” Form and Content in Midreshei Aggadah

Abstract Over the years, scholars have adopted two parallel approaches to studying midrash aggadah. One approach, investigates questions relating to the compilations themselves, and the other approach focuses on the composition of the smaller, nuclear, midrashic units. The petiḥta or proem has been studied extensively by adherents of both approaches. In this paper, I argue that a flexible model is the one most appropriate for describing the petiḥta: a model which simultaneously utilizes both approaches. In the course of this paper, I studied one derasha, a petiḥta, and its subsequent evolution in several different compositions (Leviticus Rabbah; Tanḥuma Aharei Mot; Tanḥuma Va-Etchanan). By conducting that comparative study of the derasha, I achieved a fuller understanding of it both in terms of the proem as a product of oral discourse and in terms of the proem’s literary redaction within the context of the midrashic compositions. Ultimately, a better understanding of the petiḥta’s formulation and its Sitz im Leben contributes to our understanding of its contents and allows us to reveal the message that either the darshan or the redactor was attempting to convey.

Abraham in Islamic and Jewish Exegesis

AbstractJewish and Muslim exegetical narratives on the shared forefathers (known as midrash aggadah and al‐anbiyā ’/isrā’iliyyāt) have long been recognized as a meeting point of Judaism and Islam. Early studies of the forefathers, Abraham in particular, strove to ‘prove’ that much of what appeared in the Islamic exegetical materials derived from the traditions that predated Islam, mainly Judaism. More recent scholarship has abandoned such a reductionist approach for a more moderated view. Studies of the Jewish and Muslim exegetical material on Abraham show that while scholars continue to trace the historical development of the Muslim exegetical narratives, they also look to uncover the inner meaning of the narratives themselves. This article traces the shift from the purely reductionist treatment of the Muslim and Jewish exegetical narratives to the more nuanced approach, especially as it applies to Abraham. Four categories of Abrahamic motifs are singled out here: Abraham and his sacrifice of his son, Abraham and his relationship with Sarah, Abraham and his later visit to Ishmael, and narratives relating to Abraham’s birth and early life.

A Short History of the People Israel from the Patriarchs to the Messiah

This article addresses recent arguments that question whether “Judaism,” as such, existed in antiquity or whether the Jewishness of the Second Temple period should be characterized in primarily ethnic terms. At stake is the question of whether it is appropriate to speak of Judaism as an abstract system or religion in this early period. An appeal to the under-used collections of Midrash Aggadah provides the context for new insights, focused around a pericope in Leviticus Rabbah that is preoccupied with this very question. This parashah goes well beyond the ethnicity/ religion binary, producing instead a rich variety of paradigms of Jewish identity that include moral probity, physical appearance, relationship to God, ritual life, political status, economics, demographics, and sexual practice.

Rabbinic Texts and History of Late-roman Palestine (review)

Reviewed by: Rabbinic Texts and History of Late-roman Palestine Joel Gereboff Rabbinic Texts and History of Late-roman Palestine. Edited by Martin Goodman and Philip Alexander. Pp xv + 410. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Cloth. $115.00. Scholars working on the late Roman Empire of the second through the seventh centuries, especially those who focus on the Roman East and Palestine in particular, have not generally made use of the rich corpus of rabbinic writings. When they do draw on this literature, they often are not up to date with current specialized research discussing the dating, provenance, and genres of these sources. The present volume, along with an accompanying collection, Jewish Literature from Late Antiquity (135-700 C.E.): A Handbook, edited by Ben-Eliyahu, Cohn, and Millar, contains revised [End Page 450] versions of papers presented at a conference held in March 2007 at the British Academy. Collectively these papers provide rich guidance to non-specialists regarding key developments in the scholarship on rabbinic sources, their authors, and their social-cultural contexts that should result in their greater employment in studies of the late Roman Empire. The volume consists of three sections. Part 1, "The Issues," contains five essays on several basic topics. Philip Alexander offers an overview on, "Using Rabbinic Literature as a Source for the History of Late-Roman Palestine: Problems and Issues." The Roman historian, Fergus Millar discusses "The Palestinian Context of Rabbinic Judaism." The section ends with reprints of an exchange between Peter Schafer and Chaim Milikowsky from the mid 1980s on the character of rabbinic texts—whether one can speak in all cases of these "documents" as ever having achieved a fixed "edited" version or whether in many cases the texts remain fluid, largely transmitted orally, resulting in multiple recensions. The section ends with an update of the debate by Schafer and Milikowsky which explains the former's advocacy of synoptic presentations of the multiple manuscripts of a given "document" while Milikowsky continues to argue that he "sees no evidence of any significant recensional variation in any of the classic works of midrash, neither those included in the corpus of midrash halakhah nor those included in the corpus of midrash aggadah" (p. 86). The respective positions give rise to alternative views on how historians ought to use these texts. The issue of the character, formulation and redactional history of rabbinic "documents" is taken up in more detailed manner in the essays of part 2 of this volume. Current scholarship on ten different rabbinic texts or genres of texts, for example, Targum, Piyyut, forms the content of part 2. Chapters begin with brief summaries of the contents, manuscripts, dating, language, printed editions, and translations of key works that are generally seen as rabbinic, though some of these texts may come from marginal elements of the emerging rabbinic "movement." All of the chapters underscore the importance of attending to the literary nature of the documents. Most of the chapters then go on to illustrate the type of historical data one might glean from a careful use of the particular document. For example, Ronen Reichman argues briefly for the value of case stories in Tosefta for historical research. Gunter Stemberger notes the limitations of halakic midrashim for historians of the Roman Empire—these texts are largely inner focused and are best suitable for commenting on the relationships between rabbis and their special interests and views, for understanding early rabbinic approaches to Scripture and its interpretation. While they offer much less regarding "the political, economic and social history of Palestine in the tannaitic and early amoraic periods" (p. 133), some information on aspects of Roman administration [End Page 451] and daily life may be gleaned from them. Other documents covered in part 2 include the Mishnah, the Talmud Yerushalmi, the use of the Babylonian Talmud for Late-Roman Palestine, literary structures and historical reconstruction using the Amoraic Midrash, Leviticus Rabbah, Piyyutim, Targum, the Epistle of Sherira Gaon, and Hekhalot literature. Together these chapters provide non-specialists, including beginning students in rabbinic studies, with critical information on the literary character, transmissional and redactional history of these texts, and valuable insights into the types of historical information one can...

Beyond the Verse: Midrash Aggadah as Interpretation of Biblical Narrative

The 1980s saw the introduction of postmodern literary theory into the field of rabbinic literature, in particular into the study of midrash, which began to be explored as anticipating or aligning with many of the claims of modern literary theorists. This new interest intersected oddly at times with the prevailing historicist mode of inquiry. For many scholars, the notion of textual indeterminacy supported the idea of the interpreter of the text as essentially an “eisegete,” who reads the text from his or her own historically embedded perspective, rather than as an exegete, who at least attempts to find out what the text “really means.” Thus, scholars who embraced this new perspective often rejected an inquiry into midrash as biblical interpretation in the classic sense of the word. “No one believes anymore,” someone pointed out to me after a session on midrash in a conference during the mid-1980’s, “that texts have meaning.”

Functional Interpretation and Biblical Theology: Reflections on Judaism as a Civilization in Relation to Scriptural Hermeneutics

Functional Interpretation and Biblical Theology:Reflections on Judaism as a Civilization in Relation to Scriptural Hermeneutics Benjamin D. Sommer (bio) In the twenty-sixth chapter of Judaism as a Civilization, Mordecai M. Kaplan lays out a program for what he calls the "functional interpretation" of the Bible and other classic Jewish texts. The issues with which Kaplan wrestles in this chapter, and in other passages in this work that contain discussions of the Bible and rabbinic literature, are common to virtually all modern scholars who attempt to read the Bible as scripture rather than as a mere artifact. (By this I mean those who view it not just as a fascinating anthology of Northwest Semitic texts from the Iron Age but as literature that carries weight and perhaps even authority for contemporary religious communities.) In this article I examine Kaplan's program of functional interpretation in light of some work by biblical scholars who hold this concern in common with Kaplan. In so doing I hope to see the ways in which Kaplan's model of functional interpretation does and does not aid a contemporary Jewish reader who wants to reclaim the Bible as sacred without renouncing the critical faculties that separate us from our medieval and ancient coreligionists—that is, those medieval Jews who believed (and, [End Page 143] in many communities, continue to believe) that the Torah contains the stenographically recorded words of God to Israel at Sinai. An important caveat must precede my analysis. My topic is functional interpretation as presented in Judaism as a Civilization, not Kaplan's biblical interpretation in general. A full examination of Kaplan's biblical hermeneutics would not limit itself to this one work but would take into account later texts. Moreover, it would attend especially to the wealth of unpublished sermons Kaplan delivered from his pulpit. Indeed, a particularly fascinating question for students of Kaplan would be to explore whether his post-1934 sermons did or did not hew to the program he laid out in the twenty-sixth chapter of his most seminal work. Such questions go beyond the scope of this article, which is not concerned with the historical rabbi, teacher, and scholar Mordecai Kaplan but with one especially seminal work he wrote. Kaplan gives a clear summary of what he means by "functional interpretation": Functional reinterpretation is concerned with man's yearning to find himself in a universe that is friendly to his highest purpose, to fulfill the most valued potentialities of his nature and to achieve a social order that is founded on justice and peace. These yearnings are as constant as human nature. If it is our purpose to continue any particular heritage, we can do so by reconstructing mentally the aspirations implied in its teachings and institutions. Every tradition is rich in these aspirations, for it could not have become one without them. By rendering these implications explicit, we supply momentum to all social and spiritual endeavors which have as their aim the unhampered and complete self-fulfillment of the individual and the increasing measure of cooperation among individuals and groups. This type of interpretation consists chiefly in disengaging from the mass of traditional lore and custom the psychological aspect which testifies to the presence of ethical and spiritual strivings. The effect of discovering the psychological element in a tradition is that the tradition ceases to be regarded as something to be accepted or rejected. A third alternative presents itself, that of employing it as a symbol for a spiritual desideratum in the present. Which desideratum it shall be can best be determined by choosing from among the implications and consequences of the tradition the one relevant for our day.1 The core of the functional method of interpretation, then, is that it renders implications explicit, that is allows us to disengage the psychological elements of the texts at hand from a mass of lore and custom. At first blush, there seems to be little new or distinctive in this particular type of interpretation. After all, it is the goal of all interpretation to render implications explicit. Midrash halakhah and midrash aggadah read [End Page 144] closely to find whole worlds of law and lore...

R. Moses the Preacher and the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs

R. Moses the Preacher in eleventh-century Narbonne was the compiler of an early example of the genre of biblical commentary to which the laterYalqut Shim'onibelongs, the anthology drawn from a wide range of rabbinic sources.Bereshit Rabbati(henceforth,BR),Midrash Aggadah, andBemidbar RabbahtoBemidbarandNasoare the surviving remnants of this work.