Ajs Review, Fall 1990

Front Matter Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 2 (Autumn, 1990) Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the...

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Front Matter Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 2 (Autumn, 1990) Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486891 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:35 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

Cambridge University Press and Association for Jewish Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to AJS Review.

http://www.jstor.org

AJS VOL. XV, NO. 2 FALL1990

TheJournalof the Associationfor JewishStudies

'EI OREIE

VolumeXV, Number2, Fall

1990 ASSOCIATION FOR JEWISH STUDIES CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS

AJS Review EDITOR:

Norman A. Stillman, State University of New York at Binghamton ASSOCIATE EDITORS:

Nehama Aschkenasy, University of Connecticut, Stamford Robert Goldenberg, State University of New York at Stony Brook Paula E. Hyman, Yale University Alfred L. Ivry, New York University Benjamin C. I. Ravid, Brandeis University S. David Sperling, Hebrew Union CollegeJewish Institute of Religion CORRESPONDING EDITOR:

Lloyd P. Gartner, Tel-Aviv University BOOK REVIEW EDITOR:

Gary A. Rendsburg, Cornell University EDITORIAL ASSISTANT

Susan O. Savitch The AJS Review (ISSN 0364-0094) is published twice annually by the Association for Jewish Studies. Manuscripts for consideration should be sent to Prof. Norman A. Stillman, Judaic Studies Program, State University of New York at Binghamton, Binghamton, N. Y., 13901. Books for review should be sent to Prof. Gary A. Rendsburg, Dept. of Near Eastern Studies, 360 Rockefeller Hall, Cornell University, Ithaca, N.Y. 14853-2502. ? 1990 by the Association for Jewish Studies MANUFACTURED

IN THE UNITED

STATES

OF AMERICA

AJSREVIEW THE JOURNALOFTHEASSOCIATION FORJEWISHSTUDIES VOLUMEXV, NUMBER2, FALL, 1990

Articles 151

EDWARD L. GREENSTIEN

The Formation of the Biblical Narrative Corpus 179

RICHARDKALMIN Saints or Sinners, Scholars or Ignoramuses? Stories About the Rabbis as Evidence for the Composite Nature of the Babylonian Talmud

207

JACOB LASSNER

The Covenant of the Prophets: Muslem Texts, Jewish Subtexts 239

ARNOLD EISEN

Divine Legislation as "Ceremonial Script": Mendelssohn on the Commandments

269

KEN FRIEDEN

New(s) Poems: Y. L. Teller's Lider fun der Tsayt(ung)

Book Reviews 291

Arye Maimon, in collaboration with Yacob Guggenheim. Germania Judaica. Vol. 3, 1350-1519 JOSEPH SHATZMILLER

293

R. Po-chia Hsia. The Myth of Ritual Murder: Jews and Magic in Reformation Germany. JOSEPH DAVIS

295

Michael Stanislawski. For Whom Do I Toil? Judah Leib Gordonand the Crisis of Russian Jewry.

299

CollectedStudies

305

Books Received

Publication of this volume of the AJS Review has been made possible by grants from the National Foundation for Jewish Culture, the Lucius N. Littauer Foundation, the S. H. and Helen R. Scheuer Family Foundation, and the Dorot Foundation. The Association is grateful for their support and encouragement.

The Formation of the Biblical Narrative Corpus Author(s): Edward L. Greenstein Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 2 (Autumn, 1990), pp. 151-178 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486892 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:35 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

Cambridge University Press and Association for Jewish Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to AJS Review.

http://www.jstor.org

THE FORMATIONOF THE BIBLICAL NARRATIVE CORPUS by EDWARD L. GREENSTEIN

Following the lead of Spinoza,' most of us have come to regard the sequence of Hebrew narrative from Genesis through Kings as a unified literary composition. It tells the story of Israel and its God from the creation of sky and land through the exile of Israel from its particular land. Although the anonymous narrator focuses on the fate of his people, he virtually always tries to identify with YHWH's point of view. For this reason, and possibly others, the narrator submerges his own identify and background.2 This essay was originally presented at "The Hebrew Bible in the Making," a conference held at the National Humanities Center, April 27-29, 1988. I am grateful to Professor Shemaryahu Talmon for inviting the paper; to my thoughtful respondents, Professors David Daiches and Regina Schwartz; to the several participants in the conference who made helpful suggestions; and to my colleague David Marcus, who provided food for thought and material in composing this paper.

1. Benedict de Spinoza, Theologico-Political Treatise (New York: Dover Books, 1951), chap. 8 (pp. 120-132). 2. Cf. Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative (Bloomington: University of Indiana Press, 1985), esp. pp. 89-90.

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Unlike his near-contemporary Herodotus, who begins his Histories by introducing himself and his explicit agenda, the Hebrew author speaks from a perspective as wide as the cosmos. He would seem to assume the authority of God and give voice to a divinely certified account of his people's his-

torical experienceto (one assumes)his own community. There is a broad consensus that the entire narrative took something like its present shape in the sixth to fifth centuries B.C.E.No one imagines that the author composed the whole from scratch, but when we begin to speculate on what exactly lay before the author and where those materials came from, we find a wide array of literary historical models. Some posit a process of several centuries, from as far back as the mid-second millennium to the fifth century.3 Others see intense literary activity toward the end of this period, utilizing documents of some antiquity, but composing the bulk of the work de novo.4Within this rough scheme lie a large variety of positions.5 Confronted by many alternatives, one might conclude that it is best to give up the search. Gunkel had warned decades ago: 3. Cf., e.g., E. A. Speiser, "The Biblical Idea of History in Its Common Near Eastern Setting," in The Jewish Expression, ed. Judah Goldin (New York: Bantam Books, 1970), pp. 1-17, esp. p. 8, who maintains that the Hebrew "canon" began to "emerge"-"no doubt in oral form at first"-in the mid-second millennium, "close to the age of the patriarchs." In his Anchor Bible Genesis (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1964), pp. 105-109, Speiser argued that the Genesis 14 tale about Abraham's warring is based on an early-second-millennium Akkadian source. Alexander Rof6, "The Story of Rebekah's Betrothal (Genesis 24)," Eshel Beersheva 1 (1976): 42-67, esp. p. 45 [in Hebrew], represents a more moderate position, according to which some biblical texts may have second-millennium origins, while others, like Genesis 24, may derive from the postexilic period. Shemaryahu Talmon, "Kingship and the Ideology of the State," in World History of the Jewish People, ed. Abraham Malamat and Israel Eph'al (Jerusalem: Massada, 1979), vol. 4/2, pp. 3-26, may not attribute historical Israelite sources to as far back as the second millennium B.C.E.,but he views the literary growth of biblical historiography as a centuries-long process (esp. p. 3). 4. Cf., e.g., John Van Seters, In Search of History: Historiographyin the Ancient Worldand the Origins of Biblical History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983). For an only somewhat more moderate view, cf. Klaus Koch, The Growth of the Biblical Tradition: The FormCritical Method, trans. S. M. Cupitt, 2nd ed. (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1969), who posits early oral traditions but holds that they were given written form only "relatively late" (pp. 84-85). The exilic Deuteronomist, writes Koch (p. 85), "had some sources at his disposal, but apparently only some." 5. For a survey of recent scholarship, see Douglas A. Knight, "The Pentateuch," and Peter R. Ackroyd, "The Historical Literature," in The Hebrew Bible and Its Modern Interpreters,ed. D. A. Knight and Gene M. Tucker (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1985), pp. 263-305; and cf. Simon J. De Vries, "A Review of Recent Research in the Tradition History of the Pentateuch," in Society of Biblical Literature 1987 Seminar Papers, ed. Kent H. Richards (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), pp. 459-502.

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It is clear that [becausewe don't know the historicalcircumstancesof the Hebrew sources' composition]a history of Hebrew literature,meaningan indicationof the chronologicalorder of the Old Testamentwritingsand an expositionof each writingin the light of the personalityof the authorof it, cannot possibly be written.6 Most of us, however, will not close the door altogether on the historical question. Too much is at stake. To say anything at all about ancient Israelite history, one must have some theory of how the Bible and its sources were formed. What world, or piece of a world, does the literature represent? Even to read the text as literature, one must have some idea of its historical setting.7 Certainly the historical dimension enriches the reading experience. Everyone who reads the Bible presupposes a historical context. Some are curious enough to ponder the historical development of the Bible carefully and articulate their views. In what follows, I shall describe some types of literary historical reconstruction. I shall try to indicate the sorts of evidence and argumentation that are adduced in support of the various models. I shall then tackle the question of the origins of the narratives that constitute the Bible's primary history (Genesis-Kings)8 by examining certain kinds of evidence in detail, assessing the power of different historical theories to handle such evidence. When I consider the various models by which the primary biblical narrative was formed, I think of the story of the blind men and the elephant.9 You will recall that each of five blind men approaches a different part of an elephant's anatomy. Perceiving only part of the elephant, each man draws a different conclusion as to the identity of what he encounters. I do not mean 6. Hermann Gunkel, What Remains of the Old Testamentand Other Essays, trans. A. K. Dallas (New York: Macmillan, 1928), p. 58 (= Reden und Aufsdtze [Gbttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1913], p. 30). 7. Cf. Sternberg, Poetics of Biblical Narrative, esp. p. 17. 8. David N. Freedman, "The Earliest Bible," in Backgroundsfor the Bible, ed. Michael P. O'Connor and D. N. Freedman (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1987), pp. 29-37; cf. S. R. Driver, An Introduction to the Literature of the Old Testament (Cleveland: Meridian Books, 1956), p. 4. 9. On theoretical models in biblical criticism, see Luis Alonso Sch6kel, "Of Methods and Models," Vetus TestamentumSupplements 36 (1985): 3-13; and my "Theory and Argument in Biblical Criticism," Hebrew Annual Review 10 (1987): 77-93 (slightly revised in my Essays on Biblical Method and Translation [Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989], pp. 53-68). Cf., too, Norman K. Gottwald, The Hebrew Bible: A Socio-Literary Introduction (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985).

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to imply that Bible scholars are blind, but I do suggest that the literary history of Hebrew narrative is at least as bulky and complex as an elephant and that without an explicit historical context we find ourselves in the dark. Although no model I know does full justice to the diverse data-to the entire elephant, as it were-each theory makes a reasonable hypothesis about some aspect of the phenomenon. Take first the classical form of the Documentary Hypothesis-the theory that a redactor compiled a text from preexisting documents.'0 Its subscribers respond most acutely to what they regard as unwarranted repetition and consistent variation. In the words of A. Lods: It will be understoodthat by carefulobservationof doublets,abruptchanges, differencesof vocabularyand style,referencesto earlieraccounts,it is possible to distinguishthe differenthandswhichhave helpedto producethe books as we read them today." The documentary model provides a straightforward solution to such data as: similar stories that appear at least twice, laws that occur in different places with distinctive vocabulary and sometimes variant content, and repetitive passages (that can be explained as conflations of discrete sources, such as the Genesis flood story). Lods saw evidence for the documentary model within the Bible itself, especially in the Chronicler's use of Samuel and Kings.'2 The so-called Deuteronomistic History was composed, in Lods's scheme, by editing sources such as those that lay behind the Torah narratives, and by adding both oral traditions from later history and primary documents from the royal court.'3 10. For recent evidence that this theory is alive and well, cf. Richard E. Friedman, Who Wrote the Bible? (New York: Summit, 1987). 11. Adolphe Lods, Israel from Its Beginnings to the Middle of the Eighth Century, trans. S. H. Hooke (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1932), p. 11. 12. Lods, loc. cit.; cf., e.g., H. H. Rowley, The Growthof the Old Testament, 3rd ed. (London: Hutchinson University Library, 1967), pp. 25-26. One may also compare the hypothesized use by the Torah's redactor of the Numbers 33 itinerary in providing a framework for the exodus and wilderness trek narratives; see Frank M. Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1973), pp. 308-317; cf. George W. Coats, "The Wilderness Itinerary," Catholic Biblical Quarterly 34 (1972): 135-152. 13. Lods, Israel from Its Beginnings, p. 13; cf., e.g., Julius A. Bewer, The Literature of the Old Testament, 3rd ed., rev. by Emil G. Kraeling (New York: Columbia University Press, 1962), esp. pp. 47-48; Jared J. Jackson, "David's Throne: Patterns in the Succession Story," Canadian Journal of Theology 11 (1965): 183-195, esp. 183-184.

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In this model composition is viewed as the redaction of conserved materials, each of which was put into fixed form-oral or written-shortly after the events it describes.14 "The Hebrew historiographer," writes Driver, "... is essentially a compiler or arranger of pre-existing documents." 5 This component of the model accounts for another, widely noted phenomenon in biblical narrative: the juxtaposition of diverse literary pieces. Sometimes, as in the truncated genealogy in Exod. 6:14-27, which begins with the tribe of Reuben and ends with the Levites Moses and Aaron, it looks as if an editor has incorporated the text from another document.16 In other places, such as Genesis 5, a putative source includes its own independent heading (verse 1).17 It is generally supposed that songs, some of which are attributed to specific sources, have been introduced wholesale from elsewhere and not newly composed for the present context.'8 Even lengthy narratives, such as 14. Cf. my "The State of Biblical Studies; or, Biblical Studies in a State," Essays on Biblical Method, pp. 3-27, esp. 5-10. 15. Driver, Introduction to the Literature of the Old Testament, p. 5. 16. Cf. my "Sources of the Pentateuch," in Harper's Bible Dictionary, ed. Paul J. Achtemeier (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1985), pp. 983-986, esp. 983-984. What looks like an editorial operation from a diachronic perspective may look like an artful compositional technique from a synchronic one. An excellent case in point is provided by the phenomenon of "resumptive repetition," which had been regarded by scholars as an editor's linking device, but has been considered a narrational strategy by Shemaryahu Talmon, "The Presentation of Synchroneity and Simultaneity in Biblical Narratives," in Studies in Hebrew NarrativeArt, ed. Joseph Heinemann and Shmuel Werses, Scripta Hierosolymitana 27 (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1978), pp. 9-26; and Burke O. Long, "Framing Repetitions in Biblical Historiography," Journal of Biblical Literature 106 (1987): 385-399. Although Long treats the "framing repetition" within a synchronic narratology, he allows that this reflects the particular "model" he adopts. Long acknowledges that within a literary historical model the very same phenomena could be explained as redactional work (see esp. p. 399). David Damrosch, in The Narrative Covenant:Transformationsof Genrein the Growthof Biblical Literature (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1987), has attempted to add a diachronic dimension to synchronic literary analysis. I do not, however, believe that one can go beyond this to merge a synchronic and diachronic paradigm, because in the end a critic must repeatedly decide whether to relate to a phenomenon as a primary or secondary object of interpretation; cf. my discussion of Damrosch's book, "On the Genesis of Biblical Prose Narrative," Prooftexts 8 (1988): 347-354. I discuss this problem, too, in my review of Adele Berlin's Poetics and Interpretation of Biblical Narrative, in AJS Review 12 (1987): 279-282. 17. So my "Sources of the Pentateuch," p. 983; cf. the more conservative approach taken in George W. Coats, Genesis with an Introductionto Narrative Literature (Grand Rapids: W. B. Eerdmans, 1983), p. 71. 18. Cf., e.g., Robert H. Pfeiffer, Introduction to the Old Testament (New York: Harper, 1941), p. 272; C. R. North, "Pentateuchal Criticism," in The Old Testamentand Modern Study, ed. H. H. Rowley (London: Oxford University Press, 1951), pp. 48-83, at p. 56; Rowley,

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the David story, are thought by proponents of this model to have been edited in.'9 The documentary model, then, comprises two main literary stages: the composition of primary sources and the editorial integration of those sources. Before proceeding, we should perhaps call attention to some parts of the elephant that the documentary model may have missed or misrepresented. One is the notorious incompleteness of many of the narrative documents.20 The conventional sources J, E, and P appear to many critics to be assemblages of commonly transmitted materials rather than extensive, unified texts.2' Another is that the integration of documents would need to be far more involved than the classical model allows. The wilderness itinerary, for example, as Coats has shown, transgresses the boundaries of the Tetrateuch and continues into Joshua.22 The conjunction of the Torah and Joshua would be expected to be the work of the Deuteronomist. Yet the reiteration of the laws concerning cities of refuge in Joshua 20 repeats not so much the formulation of Deuteronomy 19 as that of Numbers 35-a Priestly text.23 Growth of the Old Testament, pp. 36-41; Ernst Sellin-Georg Fohrer, Introduction to the Old Testament,trans. David E. Green (Nashville: Abingdon, 1988), pp. 149, 186-190; Richard E. Friedman, The Exile and Biblical Narrative: The Formation of the Deuteronomisticand Priestly Works (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1981), pp. 86, 90; idem, Who Wrote the Bible?, p. 85; Coats, Genesis, p. 67. On the discrete origin of the songs in Deuteronomy 32 and 33, respectively, see Umberto Cassuto, "The Song of Moses," in Biblical and Oriental Studies, trans. Israel Abrahams (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1975), vol. 1, pp. 41-46, esp. p. 45; and idem, "Deuteronomy Chapter XXXIII and the New Year in Ancient Israel," ibid., pp. 47-70. For the preexistence of the laws incorporated into Deuteronomy, for example, cf. Driver, Introductionto the Literature of the Old Testament, p. 90. 19. Cf., e.g, Lods, Israel, p. 13. 20. Cf., e.g., Friedman, Exile and Biblical Narrative, pp. 46-47, 80, with reference, too, to the work of F. M. Cross. 21. Cf., e.g., Hermann Gunkel, The Legends of Genesis, trans. W. H. Carruth (New York: Schocken, 1964), p. 130; North, "Pentateuchal Criticism," pp. 57, 59, 78-79; Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic, p. 293 and passim; Damrosch, Narrative Covenant,pp. 166, 172, who, following Gunkel, regards even J as a "school" transmitting "several separate scrolls." In an original and penetrating analysis of the Jacob "cycle," Zeev Weisman. From Jacob to Israel [Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1986), contends that the Jacob material stems essentially from the same corpus, corresponding to what source critics call "E." Although Weisman works (as a revisionist) within the documentary model, his "E" may resemble more the corpus of material as conceived by Gunkel. 22. Coats, "Wilderness Itinerary," p. 141. 23. For example, Num. 35:11 ff. and Josh. 20:1 ff. (but not Deut. 19:1 ff.) refer to the towns as "cities of refuge" ('are miqlat) where the fugitive must "stand before the assembly for judg-

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Most strikingly, Joshua, like Numbers, enjoins the fugitive to remain in the city "until the high priest's death."24Joshua's version of the law contains P with only a touch of D (cf., e.g., Deut. 19:6 and Josh. 20:5). Indeed, Kaiser maintains, with perhaps a touch of hyperbole, that "scholars are generally convinced that P plays the leading part in [Joshua 13-21]" altogether.25 In addition, the documentary model must assign songs, lists, and other, nonintegrated passages to the prehistory of the putative sources. If there is so substantial an amount of material that does not belong properly to the authors of the sources themselves, why should the material be assigned to the sources at all? The hypothetical redactor may have incorporated any or all of that material directly. The redactor may have been more of an author than the model supposes. Finally, within the prose of the narrative are numerous instances of archaic or poetic language and couplets in parallelism. Although a smattering of such verse units might well be interpreted as a stylistic property of classical Hebrew prose, such units frequently occur abruptly, intensively, leaving some readers with the impression that they reflect an alien source. A parade example is Gen. 7:1 b: nivqe'ukol ma'yenot tehom rabba, wa'arubbot hashamayim niftahu, "All the founts of the Great Deep burst, and the windows of the Sky opened" (cf. also 8:2). As Gunkel observed, the "ancient and highly poetic ... representation" of Gen. 7:1 lb "contrasts starkly" with ment." For delineation of the textual elements of P and D in Joshua 20, see Yehezkel Kaufmann, The Book of Joshua [Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1966), p. 229. Martin Noth, UberlieferungsgeschichtlicheStudien (Tiibingen: Max Niemeyer, 1967), pp. 189-190, had insisted that despite the presence of P material, the basis of Joshua 20 is still Deuteronomic, but his view has not held sway. John Gray, ed., Joshua, Judges and Ruth (London: Thomas Nelson & Sons, 1967), pp. 25-26, observes the intermixture of P and D in Joshua 20 and concludes that this chapter's "literary history ... is rather more complicated" than most of the book. But while Gray explains the similarities among Deuteronomy 4 and 19, Numbers 35, and Joshua 20-21 as the result of mutual influence in the course of transmission, J. Alberto Soggin, Joshua: A Commentary,trans. R. A. Wilson (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1972), p. 197, attributes the strong Priestly component in Joshua 20 to the heavy hand of a P redactor. Robert G. Boling, Joshua (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1984), p. 473, notes the parallels of Joshua 20 to both Numbers 35 and Deuteronomy 19, but he draws no conclusions. From Boling's criticism of Henry McKeating's dating of the city of refuge institution to the seventh century ("The Development of the Law on Homicide in Ancient Israel," Vetus Testamentum25 [1975]: esp. 53-55), one may infer that he regards the tradition as ancient and holds that the various biblical sources received a similar tradition. 24. Num. 35:25, Josh. 20:6. 25. Kaiser, Introduction to the Old Testament, p. 139; contrast, e.g., Noth, Uberlieferungsgeschlichtliche Studien, pp. 182-190.

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the "very prosaic" date-formula that precedes it.26 To many such passages as this seem more appropriate in an epic, like those from second-

millenniumUgarit. Approaching the elephant on its poetic quarter, Cassuto on the one hand and virtually the entire Albright "school" on the other view the conventional sources as later prose transformations of earlier epics-narratives transmitted orally in verse.27Cassuto found, for example, characteristics he associated with Canaanite epic in the so-called Priestly creation story in Genesis 1: poetic diction such as tehom, "the sea"; archaic formations such as hayyeto 'ereS, "wild animals";28 chiastic, parallelistic syntax, as in verse 5: "Elohim called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night."29 In the exodus narrative Albright identified (and partly reconstructed) what 26. Hermann Gunkel, Genesis, 7th ed. (G6ttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1966; first published 1910), p. 144; cf. John Skinner, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis, 2nd ed. (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1930), p. 164. On the antiquity of this usage of "windows of the sky," see Arnold B. Ehrlich, Mikrd ki-Pheschutd, vol. 1 (New York: Ktav, 1969; first published 1899), pp. 21-22. 27. Cf. e.g., Umberto Cassuto, "The Israelite Epic," in his Biblical and Oriental Studies, vol. 2, pp. 69-109; idem, "The Beginning of Historiography among the Israelites," ibid., vol. 1, pp. 7-16; William F. Albright, From the Stone Age to Christianity, 2nd ed. (New York: Anchor Books, 1957), pp. 66-68; idem, Yahwehand the Gods of Canaan (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1968), e.g., pp. 37-38, 46, 48, 52, 92; Frank M. Cross, Jr., "The Divine Warrior in Israel's Early Cult," in Biblical Motifs, ed. Alexander Altmann (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1966), pp. 11-30, esp. 14 with n. 8; idem, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic, e.g., p. 124 and passim; Patrick D. Miller, Jr., The Divine Warriorin Early Israel, Harvard Semitic Monographs 5 (Scholars Press, 1973), pp. 166-170; John S. Kselman, "The Recovery of Poetic Fragments from the Pentateuchal Priestly Source," Journal of Biblical Literature 97 (1978): 161-178. Gunkel, Legends of Genesis, p. 38, had already by 1905 identified poetic origins of passages and phrases in Genesis; cf. Albright's introduction to the Schocken edition of Gunkel, esp. p. viii. For a critical discussion and survey of scholarship on the question, see Charles Conroy, "Hebrew Epic: Historical Notes and Critical Reflections," Biblica 61 (1980): 1-30. Conroy does not attack the evidence of poetic fragments; for criticism of conclusions drawn from such evidence, cf. Shemaryahu Talmon, "The 'Comparative Method' in Biblical Interpretation-Principles and Problems," Vetus TestamentumSupplements 29 (1978): 320-356, esp. 352-355. 28. Quite interestingly, Gunkel, Genesis, p. 110, observes that the archaic expression hayyeto 'ereS is placed in the deity's quoted speech (Gen. 1:24) while the narrator uses the more prosaic hayyat ha'ares (v. 25). 29. Umberto Cassuto, A Commentaryon the Book of Genesis, trans. Israel Abrahams (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1961), pt. 1, esp. pp. 8-17. On this "poetic" verbal pattern in Ugaritic and biblical verse, see idem, "Biblical and Canaanite Literature," in his Biblical and Oriental Studies, vol. 2, pp. 16-59, at pp. 57-58; and see further Moshe Held. "The YQTL-QTL (QTLYQTL) Sequence of Identical Verbs in Biblical Hebrew and in Ugaritic," in Essays Presented to Abraham A. Neuman, ed. Meir Ben-Horin (Leiden: Dropsie College, 1962), 281-290.

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appeared to him as remnants of an earlier epic, e.g., "Trapped are they in the land (Egypt), the desert has barred them in" (Exod. 14:3).30 A number of scholars, operating in the tradition of Gunkel,3' see the present narrative as a joining together of earlier brief heroic sagas.32 The process is described by Koch: Previouslyindependentnarrativeunits from the early Israeliteperiod were graduallybuiltup into a seriesof sagas,and thenfinallybecamemeresections of a largerwrittenwork, suchas those foundin the firstpartof the Old Testament. The Jahwisticnarrativesor the priestlynarrativesarecomplextypesof this kind in which, with varyingdegreesof skillfulness,a numberof units originallyindependenthave been broughttogether.33 Coats provides an illustration by isolating various early legends within the Moses narrative-the heroic birth episode, Moses' entry into the household of the Midianite priest, Moses' stamina in defeating the Amalekites, Moses' role as national storyteller, the death report in which YHWH buries him.34 Another quality of epic narration is lengthy repetition. The principle on which epic verse is distinguished from narrative prose is this: lengthy repetition is characteristic of oral (sung) material and is not tolerated in prose (read) discourse.35On the basis of a few clues in 1 Samuel 17, Heda Jason

30. Albright, Yahwehand the Gods of Canaan, p. 37. 31. Cf., e.g., Gunkel, What Remains of the Old Testament, p. 62. 32. Cf., e.g., Bewer, Literature of the Old Testament, p. 65. 33. Klaus Koch, The Growthof the Biblical Tradition: The Form-Critical Method, trans. S. M. Cupitt, 2nd ed. (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1969), p. 24. 34. George W. Coats, "Moses Versus Amalek: Aetiology and Legend in Exod. 17:8-16." Vetus TestamentumSupplements 28 (1974): 29-41. 35. Cf. Bruce Kawin, Telling It Again and Again (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1972), p. 9. This principle should be regarded more as a guideline than a law. Gary Rendsburg has helpfully suggested to me that the Egyptian story of "The Shipwrecked Sailor," dated to ca. 2000 B.C.E.,might pose a challenge to the principle, as it is essentially a "prose" narrative in which one finds a few repetitive passages; see e.g., William K. Simpson, The Literature of Ancient Egypt (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1972), pp. 50-56. It may be, however, that this text serves to "prove" the "rule." Though written (and remarkably well preserved), the story contains telltale signs of an oral character, such as bursts of parallelism (e.g., "Wash yourself; place water on your fingers"; "For the speech of a man saves him, and his words gain him indulgence"; p. 51). Moreover, by contrast to, e.g., Ugaritic epic, the repetitions here are not entirely verbatim, as they involve both expansion and variation. They are, as Rendsburg observes, the sorts of repetition one finds routinely in biblical prose narrative.

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posits an epic behind the prose version of the Goliath story.36If there were in fact epiclike narratives behind some biblical texts, one can find evidence of the transformation. In Josh. 6:1 ff. Joshua instructs the priests and other Israelites on what to do in order to defeat Jericho. Beginning with verse 12, as in an epic, the text describes in similar language how the Israelites fulfilled Joshua's order. In verse 14, however, the prose narrative abbreviates; it makes short shrift of how the Israelites repeated on the second day what they did on the first; and then it skips to the climactic day seven. In an epic, of course, each day or pair of days would be treated to a complete account.37 The narrative of Elijah and his servant in 1 Kings 18:43-44 reduces the seven-day activity even further. It jumps from the first day to the seventh. Theoretically it is possible that the Elijah episode began as an epiclike narration. Of course, this does not prove that the present prose narratives evolved from earlier epics in verse. But a blind man who is most impressed by the elephant's repetitions and seven-day counting patterns may surmise that they did. Those who favor a history of oral transmission behind the present narratives can point to a large number of biblical passages which imply that one generation tells its story to the next (e.g., Exod. 12:24-27, 13:7-8, 14-15; Deut. 4:9-10, 6:6-7, 20-25, 32:7; Josh. 4:6-22, 22:24-28; Judg. 6:13; Ps. 44:2, 78:1-5; Isa. 38:19b).38Von Rad and others provide a cultic or other Sitz im Leben in which the oral narration might have taken place.39 Nevertheless, the blind man at the poetry quarter may still be extrapolating the wrong conclusion. If ancient Hebrew tradents were as conservative as many suppose they were, it is surprising that virtually all the once-epic narratives had to be transformed into prose. Despite the efforts of some to

36. Heda Jason, "The Story of David and Goliath: A Folk Epic?" Biblica 60 (1970): 36-70, esp. 37. 37. Cf. Murray H. Lichtenstein, "Episodic Structure in the Ugaritic Keret Legend" (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1979). 38. Cf. Koch, Growth of the Biblical Tradition, p. 82. Contrast the doubts raised in this regard in Geo Widengren, "Oral Tradition and Written Literature among the Hebrews in the Light of Arabic Evidence, with Special Regard to the Prose Narratives," Acta Orientalia 23 (1959): 201-262, esp. 229. 39. Gerhard von Rad, Theology of the Old Testament,trans. D. M. G. Stalker, 2 vols. (New York: Harper & Row, 1962), e.g., 1:4 and passim; cf. also, e.g., North, "Pentateuchal Criticism," p. 63, citing J. Pedersen; Bewer, Literature of the Old Testament, p. 75, n. 16; Cross, "Divine Warrior."

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make biblical prose narrative scan,40 poetic couplets in continuous biblical narrative are few and far between. The alleged remnants of verse that critics adduce may represent nothing more than stylistic features that had been normalized within the Hebrew prose discourse.41 Accordingly, there are those who approach the elephant and find neither the characteristics of lost epic nor a proliferation of sources. They find a relatively smooth surface, remarkably unified in both style and ideology. I am thinking primarily of models like those of Rendtorff or Van Seters.42By concentrating on the Abraham narratives in the Torah and the David story in the so-called Deuteronomistic History, Van Seters identifies not diverse composites but orderly literary progressions, each stage composed as an alternative or revision of the preceding one. Van Seters's image of the author is a Hebrew Herodotus, who, as some classicists suggest concerning the Greek Herodotus, varied his style and invented the sources from which he purportedly quotes.43 Like Lods, who pointed to Chronicles as a model for

40. Cf., e.g., Jacob M. Myers, TheLinguistic and Literary Form of the Book of Ruth (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1955); Duane L. Christensen, "Prose and Poetry in the Bible: The Narrative Poetics of Deuteronomy 1,9-18," Zeitschriftfir alttestamentliche Wissenschaft97 (1985): 179-189; for other references, see Conroy, "Hebrew Epic," esp. p. 6. 41. Cf. M. Z. Segal, Mevo' hammiqra' [Introduction to Scripture] (Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1967), vol. 1, pp. 35-36 (for a translation of most of this passage into English, see Alex Preminger and E. L. Greenstein, eds., The Hebrew Bible in Literary Criticism [New York: Frederick Ungar, 1968], pp. 189-190). In this context one may also understand the remarks of James L. Kugel, The Idea of Biblical Poetry: Parallelism and Its History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981), esp. pp. 85-87. On the option of ancient Hebrew prose writers to adopt repetitive styles, cf. Jacob Licht, Storytelling in the Bible (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1978), pp. 62-63. 42. Rolf Rendtorff, Das iiberlieferungsgeschichtlicheProblem der Pentateuch (Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1977); idem. "The Future of Pentateuchal Criticism," Henoch 6 (1984): 1-14; idem, The Old Testament: An Introduction (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1986); John Van Seters, Abrahamin History and Tradition(New Haven: Yale University Press, 1975); idem, In Search of History. A more radical version of the model that accounts for the composition of biblical narratives through repeated efforts of supplementation is that presented in N. H. Tur-Sinai, "Sifrut hammiqra'-mahi?" in his Hallashon vehassefer,sefer vol. (Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1959), pp. 3-57, esp. 51-56. Tur-Sinai imagines a diverse corpus of early brief stories, proverbs, songs, and laws, each reflecting an authentic tradition. These, he contends, were expanded and elaborated into full narratives and legal passages by scribal tradents. He bases this sketchy model on his hypothesis that virtually all the psalms and other poetic texts were composed as extensive expansions of short songs by the royal court bards concerning episodes in the lives of David and Solomon-a theory that seems quite bizarre by most standards. The present form of the primary biblical narrative Tur-Sinai attributes to redactors who selected and abridged material from numerous and lengthy sources (p. 51). 43. Esp. Van Seters, In Search of History, pp. 31-54 and passim.

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the Documentary Hypothesis, Van Seters invokes the Chronicler as another Hebrew historian who made up sources and traditions.44

One wonderswhetherVan Seterscould have derivedthe same conclusions had he first encountered the elephant in Genesis 1-11 or in the legal or poetic passages. And while the degree of homogeneity in thought and expression in the narrative material from Genesis through Kings is high indeed, Northwest Semitic epigraphic material, though sparse, does not exhibit radical changes in style over the course of centuries.45Compare, for example, the ninth-century Moabite inscription of Mesha with so-called Deuteronomistic prose on the one hand and the sixth-century Lachish letters on the other. Moreover, the Deuteronomistic theology that Van Seters would ascribe to a sixth-century writer is quite close to that of ninthcentury Moab.46 On account of the elephant's many-sidedness, I incline toward the many critics who see the final formation of the primary biblical narrative as a complicated process mixing diverse genres, many sources, oral and written, long and short. Like Job, who did not understand how the Leviathan was made, I do not pretend that I can unravel or reconstruct the creation of the remarkable history of Israel's covenant up to the Babylonian exile. I admit to my bias that the composition process was shorter rather than longer. I imagine, with McKenzie and others, that the process of consolidating Israel's literature began during the nationalistic revival period of Josiah.47

44. Cf. Licht, Storytelling in the Bible, p. 128: "freedom from the constraints of history is essential for the fashioning of long and complex stories." 45. On the difficulty in dating pre-exilic Hebrew prose narrative, cf. T. L. Thompson, review of Abraham in History and Traditionby J. Van Seters, Journal of the American Oriental Society 98 (1978): 79a; Talmon, "Kingship and the Ideology of the State," p. 3; Rof6, "Story of Rebekah's Betrothal." 46. On the similarities in language, style, historiography, and theology, cf., e.g., S. R. Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text and the Topographyof the Books of Samuel, 2nd ed. (London: Oxford University Press, 1913), p. xciii; E. Ullendorff, "The Moabite Stone," in Documents from Old Testament Times, ed. D. Winton Thomas (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1961), pp. 195-196; E. Lipiniski,"North Semitic Texts," in Near Eastern Religious Texts Relating to the Old Testament,ed. Walter Beyerlin (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1978), p. 238; John C. L. Gibson, Textbook of Syrian Semitic Inscriptions, vol. 1, Hebrew and Moabite Inscriptions (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), p. 71. 47. Cf., e.g., John L. McKenzie, "Reflections on Wisdom," Journalof Biblical Literature86 (1967): 1-9, at 8; Jack M. Sasson, Ruth: A New Translationwitha Philological Commentaryand a Formalist-Folklorist Interpretation (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979), pp. 250-251. For similarities between the story of Ruth, which Sasson dates to the Josianic era (pp. 240-252), and other "primary" biblical narratives, such as those of Joseph and David, see

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Just as Ashurbanipal, king of Assyria, attempted to collect and galvanize the literary tradition of historical Mesopotamia as an anchor against a world cut adrift, Josiah sponsored an Israelite religio-classical renaissance.48And like the author of the Assyrian epic of Tukulti-Ninurta, who imported material from southern Mesopotamia into his northern work,49 the early authors of the Josianic compositions, I suppose, included material, or sources, from northern Israel, too.50It was, as many aver, the exile itself that gave impetus to the final literary effort.5 I allow that the final writer(s) either incorporated or composed narratives that did not flourish in written form before the exile.52But whether the final author found the diversity of genre and material already present within his sources or whether he himself integrated them, I cannot decide.53 Overall, I do see many sinewsconceptual, thematic, and rhetorical-holding the elephant together. Ronald M. Hals, The Theology of the Book of Ruth (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1969), pp. 20-75. On the nature of Josiah's new nationalist program and its modeling of the past, see esp. Moshe Weinfeld, "Hit'orerut hattoda'a halle'umit beyi'ra'el bamme'a hashevi'it lifne sefirat hannogerim" [The emergence of nationalist consciousness in Israel in the seventh century B.C.E.], in 'Oz ledawid: qove? mehqarim battenakh [David Ben-Gurion Festschrift: studies on the Bible] (Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1964), pp. 396-420, esp. 401-403. 48. Cf. A. T. Olmstead, History of the Persian Empire (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1948), pp. 1-2. Cf. also Shmuel Yeivin, "Hagigim 'al zeman hibburam shel sifre nevi'im rishonim" [Thoughts on the time of composition of the Former Prophets], in 'Iyyunimbesefer melakhim [Studies in the Book of Kings], ed. B. Z. Luria (Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1985), pp. 415-418, who sees the period of Hezekiah as the most likely era in which Israel's traditions were consolidated; contrast Weinfeld (see preceding note). 49. Cf. Peter Machinist, "Literature as Politics: The Tukulti-Ninurta Epic and the Bible," Catholic Biblical Quarterly 38 (1976): 455-482. 50. Cf., e.g., Alan W. Jenks, The Elohist and North Israelite Traditions(Missoula: Scholars Press, 1977); H. L. Ginsberg, The Israelian Heritage of Judaism (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1982). On the literary and ideological relations between E and D as northern sources, see now Friedman, Who Wrote the Bible? 51. Cf., e.g., Koch, Growth of the Biblical Tradition, p. 85; Friedman, Exile and Biblical Narrative; and my "The Torah as She Is Read," Response 47 (Winter 1985): 17-40 (revised in my Essays on Biblical Method, pp. 29-51). 52. Cf., e.g., North, "Pentateuchal Criticism," esp. pp. 78-79. For a model of redaction that entails the incorporation of both written and oral material, see the account of Arab traditionists in Widengren, "Oral Tradition and Written Literature among the Hebrews," p. 239. 53. Critics who seek to distinguish editorial from original compositional techniques should bear in mind that what was accepted convention among editors might have been equally acceptable among authors; cf. my "An Equivocal Reading of the Sale of Joseph," in Literary Interpretationsof Biblical Narratives, ed. Kenneth R. R. Gros Louis with James S. Ackerman, vol. 2 (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1982), pp. 114-125, 306-310, esp. 117; and my "The Torah as She is Read," esp. pp. 20-25 (Essays, pp. 32 ff.). For this reason it is practically impossible to ascertain whether one is dealing with an editorial or compositional phenomenon; see above, n. 16.

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The impression that the elephant hangs together and displays a textural sameness is widely shared. The common explanation for this uniformity has been articulated by Bright: The David Biography(2 Sam. 12-20; 1 Kgs. 1-2), the othernarrativesof the Samuel-Saul-David cycles,and to a greatextentJE, exhibitgreatsimilarityof style. But this is explainedby the fact that all representthe classicnarrative prose of the Golden Age [of Solomon].54 A broad range of scholars attribute both the core narratives about David and the so-called J source to the late tenth century.55Some see the influence of the presumably traditional J stories in shaping the David narratives. Most recently, for example, Damrosch has contended that the classic stories about Eden, Cain and Abel, and the Flood served as paradigms for certain episodes in the so-called Succession Narrative.56 Brueggemann had taken the opposite position: the early J narratives generalize themes from the David story.57What lies behind these and other perspectives on the literary

54. John Bright, "The Date of the Prose Sermons of Jeremiah," in A Prophet to the Nations. Essays in Jeremiah Studies, ed. Leo G. Perdue and Brian Kovacs (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1984), pp. 193-212, at 204. 55. Cf., e.g., Pfeiffer, Introductionto the Old Testament,p. 357; Bewer, Literatureof the Old Testament, pp. 65-66; Cassuto, "Beginning of Historiography among the Israelites," p. 8; Jackson, "David's Throne," pp. 183-184; Gerhard von Rad, "The Beginnings of Historical Writing in Ancient Israel," in his The Problem of the Hexateuch and Other Essays, trans. E. T. Dicken (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1966), pp. 166-204; Hans Walter Wolff, "The Kerygma of the Yahwist," Interpretation 20 (1966): 131-158, esp. 134; Ronald Clements, Abraham and David.-Genesis 15 and Its Meaning for Israelite Tradition(Naperville, Ill.: Alec R. Allenson, 1967), esp. p. 21; Albright, Yahwehand the Gods of Canaan, p. 29; R. N. Whybray, The Succession Narrative (Naperville, Ill.: Alec R. Allenson, 1968), esp. p. 14; Walter Brueggemann, "David and His Theologian," Catholic Biblical Quarterly 30 (1968): 156-181, esp. 157; Otto Kaiser, Introductionto the Old Testament,trans. John Sturdy (Minneapolis: Augburg Publishing House, 1977), pp. 82-91; P. Kyle McCarter, Jr., "The Apology of David," Journal of Biblical Literature99 (1980): 489-504, esp. 495; Gottwald, Hebrew Bible, p. 137; De Vries, "Review of Recent Research," esp. pp. 500-501. David N. Freedman, "Early Israelite Poetry and Historical Reconstructions," in Symposia, ed. Frank M. Cross (Cambridge, Mass.: American Schools of Oriental Research, 1979), pp. 85-96, esp. 86-87, dates the putative prose transformations of the early Israelite epics to "the days of David and Solomon," and the JE literary compositions to the subsequent period. For critiques of this position, cf., e.g., N. E. Wagner, "Abraham and David?" in Studies on the Ancient Palestinian World,ed. John W. Wevers and Donald B. Redford (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1972), pp. 117-140; Van Seters, In Search of History. 56. Damrosch, Narrative Covenant, esp. pp. 153-155. 57. Brueggemann, "David and His Theologian."

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relations of J and the David story is the fact that they display extensive resemblances in style, detail, and theme. I would go further. The most outstanding feature of biblical narrative, from Genesis through Kings, is that between the Torah on one side and the so-called Deuteronomistic History (or Former Prophets) on the other there is a very high incidence of repetition-of stories, motifs, characters, names of persons and places, phrases, as well as ideology and themes. Indeed, I am struck by the fact that within this extensive narrative there is a relatively small corpus of narrative material. Any theory of the formation of the biblical narrative corpus must account for this fact: The narrator is all too often telling different versionsof the same story.58 I am not thinking only of similar episodes that keep recurring to the same cast of characters. In this category belong the much-discussed wifesister deception tales in Genesis59 and the story-types studied by Culley, such as the repeated punishments of the Israelites in the wilderness and the wonder-workings of Elijah and Elisha.60Here, too, one could list the twicetold stories of how David and Saul had close encounters in a cave6' and the like.62But I am speaking of similar narratives that relate to an entirely different set of figures, often a remote epoch away from each other. Many of these occur once (or more) in the Torah and then again in the Former Prophets (Joshua through Kings). A fairly oft-noted example is the parallelism between the Judah and Tamar story in Genesis 38 and the rape of Tamar episode in 2 Samuel 13.63

58. Cf. the impression of a sophisticated lay reader: "The Bible likes parallel stories with a difference"; Lore Segal, "II Samuel," in Congregation,ed. David Rosenberg (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1987), p. 108. 59. See now Susan Niditch, Underdogsand Tricksters.:A Prelude to Biblical Folklore (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1987), pp. 23-69. 60. Robert C. Culley, Studies in the Structure of Hebrew Narrative (Philadelphia and Missoula: Fortress/Scholars Press, 1976). The most salient parallels between the portrayals of Elijah and Elisha are conveniently summarized in Moshe Garsiel, The First Book of Samuel: A Literary Study of ComparativeStructures, Analogies and Parallels (Hebrew ed., Ramat-Gan: Revivim Publishing House, 1983; English ed., 1985), p. 22 (Hebrew ed.). 61. 1 Samuel 24 and 26; cf. Damrosch, Narrative Covenant, pp. 210-212. 62. For other examples, cf. James W. Flanagan, "Court History or Succession Document? A Study of 2 Samuel 9-20 and 1 Kings 1-2," Journal of Biblical Literature 91 (1972): 172-181; Garsiel, First Book of Samuel, p. 82 (Hebrew ed.) and passim; and Damrosch, Narrative Covenant, "The Growth of the David Story," pp. 182-260. 63. Cf. already Michael Heilprin, The Historical Poetry of the Ancient Hebrews (New York: Appleton, 1879), vol. 1, pp. 24-27, citing the work of A. Bernstein; and recently Gary A. Rendsburg, "David and His Circle in Genesis XXXVIII," Vetus Testamentum 36 (1986):

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In broad terms, the first deals with Judah and his sons, the second with David-traditionally Judah's greatest hero-and his sons.64 In each story the plot revolves around a woman named Tamar. In connection with each, two sons of the main protagonist die. In the end, two sons continue the story. The theme of the younger brother predominating over his elder brother figures in each.65 In both the abused woman Tamar never has sex again. As Blenkinsopp has observed, this is not the only Davidic association with Genesis 38.66 Judah married a bat ("daughter") of a Canaanite named Shua' (Gen. 38:2); her patronymic is, in an obviously contrived move, treated below like a proper name, Bat-shua' (v. 12). David, of course, married the woman who would be the queen-mother, Bat-sheva'. In 1 Chron. 3:5 the same woman is called Bat-shua'! As Blenkinsopp further notes, tying together the two women: "Both [Tamars] are later vindicated at a sheepshearing festival and both Bath-shuas lose their first child."67There is far too much coincidence to regard the two narratives as autonomous.68 The parallels between Israel's eponymous patriarch Jacob/Israel and

438-446. On the basis of several parallels, Rendsburg proposes that Genesis 38 was composed shortly after David's own lifetime as a satirical political allegory of David and his family. Several of the alleged parallels are not nearly as specific and precise as Rendsburg would like, however; the refusal of Onan to produce a son through Tamar in Genesis 38 is hardly comparable to the rape of David's daughter Tamar by Amnon, to take only one example. It therefore makes much more sense to me to understand the occasional parallels between the stories of Judah and David as the product of later, vague recollections of traditional stories about David; see further below. For similarities between Judah's unwitting liaison with Tamar en route to Timnah and Samson's pursuit of the woman from Timnah, see Yair Zakovitch, [The life of H.ayyeishimshon Samson] (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1982), p. 93. 64. Loren R. Fisher, "The Patriarchal Cycles," Alter Orient und altes Testament 22 (1973) [Cyrus H. Gordon Festschrift], pp. 59-65, at p. 64, suggests that Genesis 38 originally began a Judean epic about David. 65. Cf. Fisher, loc. cit. 66. Joseph Blenkinsopp, "Theme and Motif in the Succession History (2 Sam. 11:2 ff.) and the Yahwist Corpus," Vetus TestamentumSupplements 15 (1965): 44-57, esp. 52-53. 67. Ibid., p. 53. 68. A coincidence less central to the action of the stories, but a specific parallel between Judah and David nonetheless, is that Genesis 38 begins by observing, gratuitously it would seem, that Judah "went down from his brothers and turned to [camped by?] an Adullamite man" (v. 1) and that David sought refuge from Achish in the Cave of Adullam (1 Sam. 22:1). "His brothers," the text continues, " . . . went down to him there."

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David are more far-reaching.69 I shall discuss an additional example in detail below, but let me mention a few others briefly here. Jacob's eldest son, Reuben, slept with his concubine, Bilhah (Gen. 35:22), as David's oldest surviving son, Absalom, slept with his concubines (2 Sam. 16:22). The confrontation between Jacob and his blood-rival, Esau, as well as the clash between David and his blood-rival, Absalom, both take place at the same location, Mahanaim. Both Jacob and David must flee and live away from home before returning in triumph.70Jacob's son Joseph is ambushed by his brothers out where they are tending their sheep; and David's son Absalom is assassinated out in the field, as the sheep are shorn. On account of explicit hatred, Joseph's brothers would not speak to their uppity brother (Gen. 37:4), and Amnon's seething brother Absalom would not speak to him (2 Sam. 13:22). The fratricide of Amnon by Absalom's henchmen, as others have noted, resembles in both its paradigmatic action and some of its terminology the primeval murder of Abel by Cain.7' The Woman of Tekoa's parable about the murder (2 Sam. 14:6) locates the crime, as Gen. 4:8 does, in the "field" (sade). The aspect of the Amnon-Absalom episode in which a brother takes revenge for the rape of his sister also has a parallel in Genesis-the vengeance of Simon and Levi on Shechem for the rape of their sister Dinah (Genesis 34).72 Again, David's story runs along the same lines as that of Jacob.

69. For a summary of parallels between Joseph and David, cf. Garsiel, First Book of Samuel, p. 131. For a rather idiosyncratic but provocative reading of Genesis and the succeeding books as a parabolic representation of monarchic "interests and institutions," see Shammai Feldman, "Biblical Motives and Sources," Journal of Near Eastern Studies 22 (1962): 73-103. Few of the comparisons I discuss are found there. 70. For details and parallels with the second-millennium stories of Idrimi of Alalakh and the Egyptian Sinuhe, see Edward L. Greenstein and David Marcus, "The Akkadian Inscription of Idrimi," Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society 8 (1976): esp. 76-77; and cf. Giorgio Buccellati, "La 'carriera' di David e quella di Idrimi, re di Alalac," Bibbia e Oriente 4 (1962): 95-99. 71. Cf., e.g., Blenkinsopp, "Theme and Motif in the Succession History," pp. 51-52; Brueggemann, "David and His Theologian," p. 164; Damrosch, Narrative Covenant, pp. 153-154. 72. Zakovitch argues cogently that the story of Dinah's rape is shaped by the story of Tamar; see Yair Zakovitch, "Assimilation in Biblical Narratives," in Empirical Modelsfor Biblical Criticism, ed. Jeffrey H. Tigay (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1985), pp. 175-196, esp. 185-192.

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LeavingDavidfor thepresent,Mazarhas notedthatseveralstoriesin BothGenesis Judgesappearto be variantaccountsof storiesin Genesis.73 34, for example,and Judges9 deal with the Israelitetakeoverof Shechem.

to Zakovitchhas delineatedthe parallelsbetweenthe angel'sappearance

Gideon in Judges6 and the theophanyto Abrahamand Sarahin Genesis 18.74They include the phrase 'im na' mava'ti hen be'enekha, "If I find favor in your eyes" (Gen. 18:3, Judg. 6:17); a request that the visitor stay and eat; the visitor's acceptance of the invitation; service of a meat meal under a tree (Gen. 18:8, Judg. 6:19). The Gideon story also has clear associations with Jacob's struggle at the Jabbok75and the appearance of "the man of God" to Samson's parents in Judges 13,76 and the dialogue between Abraham and Sarah and the divine visitor(s) in Genesis 18 crops up again in the story of Elisha and the woman from Shunem (2 Kings 4). In both these latter narratives a desperate woman is promised a son following an act of hospitality. In both the woman waits hopefully in the entrance (petab; Gen. 18:10, 2 Kings 4:15). Both women react incredulously-Sarah doubles the earlier behavior of her husband by laughing (Gen. 18:12; cf. 17:17), and the Shunammite suspects the prophet may be teasing her (2 Kings 4:16). Both women are told they will give birth in one year (ka'et bayya,;Gen. 18:10, 2 Kings 4:16-17). In each story the narrative thread is picked up when the boy has grown (Gen. 21:8, 2 Kings 4:18). Between Genesis and Judges one also finds two

73. Benjamin Mazar, "The Historical Background of the Book of Genesis," Journal of Near Eastern Studies 28 (1969): 73-83. 74. Zakovitch, HIayyeishimshon, p. 58. 75. In his recent doctoral thesis on a dual reading of the Jacob and Gideon stories (Jewish Theological Seminary, 1988), my student Amnon Shapira delineates numerous striking parallels between Jacob and Gideon. Among them are these: both have seventy offspring, described as yose'e yerekho, "coming out of his loins [lit., thigh]" (Gen. 46:26, Judg. 8:30); both are younger/est brothers-the ?a'ir (Gen. 25:23, Judg. 6:15); both built proper altars and removed a pagan idol/altar (Gen. 35:2-4, Judg. 6:24-25); both encounter God/an angel of God "face to face" (panim 'elpanim; Gen. 32:31, Judg. 6:22); Jacob hides pagan idols "under the oak" (Gen. 35:4), while Gideon experiences a theophany "under the oak" (Judg. 6:11; cf. v. 19); Jacob moved on from Penuel (Gen. 32:32) to Sukkoth (33:17), precisely the provenance of the men Gideon vanquished in Judges 8 (see esp. vv. 8, 16-17; and cf. now Robert Alter, "Language as Theme in the Book of Judges" [published lecture of the Judaic Studies Program, University of Cincinnati, 1988], pp. 3-4); the alternative names of both have similar etymologies in the textYisra'el. "For you have striven with God and man and prevailed" (Gen. 32:29), and Yeruba'al: "Let Baal contend with him" (Judg. 6:32); Gideon fought the Amalekites (Judg. 6:3), who are descended from the nemesis of Jacob, his brother Esau (Gen. 36:12). 76. Zakovitch, "Assimilation in Biblical Narratives," pp. 192-196.

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versions of a story about a father who would offer up his child to the deity; Leach has shown that the narratives of the Binding of Isaac (Genesis 22) and Jephthah's daughter (Judges 11) can be taken as retrograde readings of one another.77 Many have observed the extensive and intricate similarities between the visitation to Lot in Sodom by the two messengers of God in Genesis 19 and the rape of the Levite's concubine at Gibeah in Judges 19.78Note, for example, the following parallels: Genesis 19

Judges 19

suru na' (v. 2)

lekha na' wenasura (v. 11)

"Pray,turn aside"

"Come pray, let us turn aside"

lo' ki varehovnalin (v. 2) "No, on the plaza we shall lodge"

raq barehov 'al talan (v. 20) "Only don't lodge on the plaza"

wayyifsar bam (v. 3)

wayyifsar bo (v. 8)

"He imploredthem"

"He imploredhim"

'anshe sedom nasabbu 'al habbayit (v. 4)

'anshe vene veliyya'al nasabbu habbayit (v. 22)

'et

"The men of Sodom encircled the

"Men without virtue encircled the

house"

house"

hosi'em 'elenu wenede'a 'otam (v. 5) "Bring them out to us that we may know them"

hose 'et ha'ish ... weneda'ennu(v. 22) "Bring the man out ... that we may

know him"

'al na' 'abay tare'u (v. 6)

'al 'ahay 'al tare'u na' (v. 23)

"Do not, pray, my brothers, do

"Do not, my brothers, do not, pray, do evil"

evil"

77. Edmund Leach, Genesis as Myth and Other Essays (London: Jonathan Cape, 1969), pp. 37-38. For further discussion of the comparison (and its limitations), see David Marcus,

Jephthahand His Vow(Lubbock:TexasTech Press, 1986),pp. 38-40. 78. Cf., e.g., Culley,Studiesin the Structureof HebrewNarrative,pp. 54-59. For further references, see Phyllis Trible, Texts of Terror:Literary-FeministReadings of Biblical Narratives

(Philadelphia:FortressPress, 1984),p. 90, n. 44.

170

hinne na' ii shete vanot ... kallov be'enekhem (v. 8)

EDWARD L. GREENSTEIN

wa'asu lahen

hinne vitti habbetula ufilagshehu ... wa'adulahem hatlov be'enekhem (v. 24)

"Here, pray, I have two daughters "Here is my maiden daughter and his concubine... Do to them as you ... Do to them as you please" please" The characters and respective contexts are quite different, but the two narratives share far more than a structural pattern. Their language is remarkably

alike. Yet some of the commonphrasesoccurin differentplacesin the story. The shared phrases do not correspond with the plot in a one-to-one fashion. We are not, it would seem, then, dealing merely with a shared storypattern or type-scene.79 Niditch has suggested that the Genesis story was secondarily derived from Judges 19 because the former is "self-contained"

and the latteris organicwithinits surroundingliterarycontext.8" We are, at the very least, dealing with two variations of what was once the same story, or a "family" of stories stemming from the same basic treasury of tales. This possibility is all the more probable in narratives in which the names

79. On which cf., e.g., David M. Gunn, "Narrative Patterns and Oral Tradition in Judges and Samuel," Vetus Testamentum24 (1974): 286-317; Ann M. Vater, "Story Patterns for a Sitz: A Form- or Literary Critical Concern?" Journalfor the Study of the Old Testament 11 (1979): 47-56; Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 1981), pp. 47-62. Cf. also the biblical topoi or folktale motifs delineated in James L. Crenshaw, Samson: A Secret Betrayed, a Vow Ignored (Altanta: John Knox Press, 1978), pp. 41-50. 80. Susan Niditch, "The 'Sodomite' Theme in Judges 19-20: Family, Community, and Social Disintegration," Catholic Biblical Quarterly 44 (1982): 365-378, esp. 376. One may further support the literary dependency of Genesis 19 on Judges 19 by noting that the expression "do what is good in your eyes" is far more poignant in Judges, where Israel's lawlessness is emblematized by the phrase "each man would do what is right in his [own] eyes" (Judg. 17:6, 21:25); cf. on this point Stuart Lasine, "Guest and Host in Judges 19: Lot's Hospitality in an Inverted World," Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 29 (1984): 37-54, esp. 40-41. Lasine reviews the controversy over which passage is chronologically prior and then argues from a literary perspective that the Judges story in its present context "depends" on the Genesis story in order to parody it. Lasine makes clear, however, that his synchronic treatment does not decide the historical issue: "By 'literary dependence' I mean that Judges 19 presupposes the reader's awareness of Genesis 19 in its present form" (p. 38). Similarly, when Edmund Leach, "Anthropological Approaches to the Study of the Bible during the Twentieth Century," in Leach and D. Alan Aycock, Structuralist Interpretations of Biblical Myth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), pp. 7-32, at p. 27, states that Judges 19 "is a direct copy of the story of Lot in Sodom," he refersto the impression of the reader encountering the final form of the text synchronically. As he says below and elsewhere, he takes biblical stories "at the same time without consideration of the order in which they appear" (p. 29).

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are more alike than the plot."'JeroboamI of Israelhad two sons, Abiyah and Nadab. The former died of illness in vicarious punishmentof his father'sreligiouspolicy (1 Kings 14:1-18);the latter died in a coup at the hands of Baasha for following his father'spolicy (1 Kings 15:25-28). The deathof Jeroboam'stwo sons in fairlyrapidsuccessionrecalls,as Gradwohl has observed,the explosivedeathof Aaron'stwo sons in Leviticus10.82The fact that the latterare namedNadab and Abihu can hardlybe coincidence. Clarifyingthe literaryrelationshipbetweenthese two diverseyet connected storiesposes a challengethat mustbe met in tryingto tracethe historyof the biblical prose corpus. These narrativesalso representa phenomenonone mightterma "drift" of personalnames betweenthe Torah and the FormerProphets.Another exampleis the priestlycharacterPhineas.In the Torahhe is the zealousson of the priest Eleazar,bringingdeath to Midianites(Num. 25:7-8, 31:6 ff.). In 1 Samuel he is a corruptson of the priest of Shiloh, Eli. One wonders whetherit is purecoincidencethat the priestwho succeedsEli'stwo corrupt sons is also called Eleazar.83The coincidence is compoundedwhen one notices that this Eleazar was the son of one Abinadab. In the Torah Eleazarbecamepriestinsteadof his late olderbrothersAbihuand Nadabwhose names when conflated produceAbinadab!84Betweenthe stories of Eli and Aaron, then, one finds both a similar sequenceof names and a roughlycommonplot-the chiefpriest'stwo (eldest)sons are not fit to serve in his place, so the priesthoodmoves outside the normalchain of succession.85 More often, of course, the names change but the stories repeat.Sometimesthis is obvious,as in the parallelismbetweenElijah'sflightto Horebin 81. It is possible that when we encounter similat proper names or identical extensive discourse (e.g., Exod. 32:4 and 1 Kings 12:28), we are dealing with compositional techniques employed in order to link narratives. However, as I have indicated above, I see no way to decide whether such matters of style reflect authorial intention or a common literary or traditional source. 82. Roland Gradwohl, "Das 'Fremde Feuer' von Nadab und Abihu," Zeitschrift fir alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 75 (1963): 288-296, esp. 293-295; cf. now Damrosch, Narrative Covenant, pp. 266-278. 83. Cf. Damrosch, Narrative Covenant, pp. 275-276. 84. Cf. my "Deconstruction and Biblical Narrative," Prooftexts 9 (1989): 43-71, at 62. 85. Damrosch, Narrative Covenant, pp. 188-191, shows extensive parallels between the ensuing ark narrative in Samuel and the Exodus narrative.

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EDWARD L. GREENSTEIN

1 Kings 19 and Moses' revelation experience on Horeb/Sinai.86 Similarly, Joshua recapitulates many episodes and motifs from the story of Moses: he mediates God's commands, sends out spies, ceremoniously leads the Israelites across the Jordan-which Josh. 4:23 explicitly compares to the crossing of the sea under Moses, encounters an angel in a manner reminiscent of the burning bush theophany to Moses (see Josh. 5:13-15 and compare Exod. 3:5), suffers the Israelites' complaints (Josh. 7:7), and holds out his spear in taking Ha-ai (Josh. 8:26) as Moses had held up his arms (with a little help from his friends) at the battle with Amalek (Exod. 17:12).87Synchronically, the parallels present Joshua, and then Elijah, in line with the figure of the great Moses. From a historical standpoint, however, we should not assume that the stories originated in connection with Moses. We shall return to this issue below. At this juncture I would like to illustrate an instance in which a narrative parallel is at first blush not so obvious. Nevertheless, it is for its greater subtlety perhaps even more suggestive. The extraordinary episode in Genesis 14 in which Abraham wars against an international military alliance bears several resemblances to the somewhat less distinguished battle fought by Joshua in chapter 10.88In both cases the hero enters the fray against a group of four/five kings in aiding another party-Lot in Genesis, the Gibeonites in Joshua. After Abraham's victory, he is met by the king of Salem, Melchizedek (Gen. 14:18). Is it pure coincidence that one of Joshua's

86. For details, see Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic, pp. 191-194; cf. H. M. Y. Gevaryahu, "'Eliyahu hannavi' bammiqra' uvemassoret yi'ra'el" [Elijah the prophet in the Bible and in Jewish tradition], in 'Iyyunimbesefer melakhim, ed. B. Z. Luria (Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1985), p. 118, who also notes that the comparison was made in the classical midrash Pesiqta Rabbati; George Savran, "1 and 2 Kings," in The Literary Guide to the Bible, ed. Robert Alter and Frank Kermode (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1987), pp. 162-163. 87. Cf. my "Joshua," in Encyclopedia of Religion, ed. Mircea Eliade (New York: Macmillan, 1987), vol. 8, p. 118. 88. For the general similarity between Genesis 14 and Deuteronomistic historiography, see Michael C. Astour, "Political and Cosmic Symbolism in Genesis 14 and in Its Babylonian Sources," in Biblical Motifs, ed. Alexander Altmann (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1966), pp. 65-112. For criticism of Astour's claim that Genesis 14 is Deuteronomistic, see J. A. Emerton, "The Riddle of Genesis XIV," Vetus Testamentum21 (1971): 403-439, at 404-405. Feldman, "Biblical Motives and Sources," pp. 94-95, compares the Genesis 14 warfare to Judg. 3:7-11 and the account of David's victory over the Arameans in 2 Sam. 8:3 ff., 10:6 ff. Van Seters, Abraham in History and Tradition, pp. 303-304, contends that although Genesis 14 is dependent on Deuteronomy, it is not the work of the Deuteronomist.

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adversaries is Adonizedek, king of Jerusalem? In Gen. 14:13 Abraham dwells in Elone Mamre, which Gen. 13:18 locates in Hebron. Another of Joshua's adversaries is the king of Hebron. Similar names crop up in similar narratives. The two texts describe the warfare in similar terms, too; compare Josh. 10:9-10 with Gen. 14:15: ... wayyavo''alehem.. . kolhallayla... wayyakkem... wayyirdefem He came upon them ... all night ... he smote them ... and he pursued them ... ... wayyehaleq'alehemlayla ... wayyakkemwayyirdefem He divided against them by night . . . he smote them ... and he pursued them ... In Gen. 14:10 the kings of Sodom and Gomorrah flee (wayyanusu)while the others take flight (nasu) to the mountains; in Josh. 10:16 the five hostile kings flee (wayyanusu)and hide in a cave. It is plausible that we are dealing here with superficial similarities of style and historiographic method alone. But Josh. 10:11 says that "YHWH threw down on them large stones from the sky." Although there is no parallel to this line in Genesis 14, there is a striking parallel in the next Abraham-related story about the city of Sodom. There we read in Gen. 19:24: "YHWH rained down on Sodom ... sulphur and fire ... from the sky." The constellation of details shared between the conflict of Joshua and the Abraham-Sodom-warfare connection may result from more than common style; they may somehow be associated on the tree of Hebrew narrative tradition. One may speculate that there once were in Israel certain well-known historical narratives whose "wires" got crossed in the course of their transmission. The elements of the traditional stories were jumbled, recombined, and transfigured to produce new narratives. For my last case study, I turn to another pair of stories concerning Jacob and David. Although overall their plots are substantially different, they share a large number of motifs and locations in common.89The stories treat the marriage of Jacob to two daughters of Laban and that of David to two daughters of Saul. In each narrative there is love between the protagonist and the younger daughter, who is (at least for a long time) barren. Each

89. Some of the parallels are noted in Garsiel, First Book of Samuel, pp. 142-143.

EDWARD L. GREENSTEIN

174

involves a deception, though the culprit differs. In each the younger daughter handles the teraphim. Here are most of the main parallels: Jacob

David

"Labanhad two daughters.The elder's "Here is my daughter, the elder one (gedola)name was Leah"(Gen. 29:16). (haggedola),Merab"(1 Sam. 18:17). "Jacobloved Rachel"(v. 18).

"Michal, daughter of Saul, loved David.. ." (v. 20).

Jacobworkedsevenyearsfor Rachel(v.

David must pay 100Philistineforeskins

18).

for Michal (v. 25).90

"I wouldrathergive herto you thangive her to anotherman" (v. 19).

"To you I give her as wife" (v. 17).

Laban substitutedLeah for Rachel (v.

Saul had already given Michal to anotherhusband(v. 19).

25). hava 'et 'ishti ki male'u yamay (v. 21)

... welo' male'u hayyamim (v. 26)

"Hand over my wife, for my time has been filled."

"The time had not been filled . . ."

"Have I not worked with you for Rachel?So why have you deceivedme

"Saul said to Michal: Why have you

(welama rimmitani)?(v. 25).

(19:17)

"ButRachelwas barren"(v. 31).

"But Michal, daughterof Saul, had no offspringuntil the day of her death"(2 Sam. 6:23).91'

"Rachelstole the teraphim"(31:19).

"Michal took the teraphim"(1 Sam. 19:13).

thus deceived me (lama ... rimmitini)?"

90. Damrosch, Narrative Covenant, pp. 200-201, draws a parallel between the trap Saul thought he was setting for David by demanding Philistine foreskins and the stratagem Simon and Levi used against the men of Shechem by demanding that they circumcise themselves. 91. Prof. Shemaryahu Talmon has pointed out to me that, strictly speaking, there is a thematic difference in biblical narrative between (temporary) barrenness and the curse of childlessness. On account of the culmulative evidence in support of the parallel between Rachel and Michal, however, I feel that the former's barrenness and the latter's childlessness are sufficiently comparable.

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"He [Jacob]fled (wayyivrab)-heand all who were with him" (v. 21).

He [David] went and fled (wayyivrab) and escaped"(v. 12).

"It was reported to Laban... that Jacob had fled" (v. 22).

"It was reportedto Saul:Here,David is at Naioth, in Ramah"(v. 19).

The common elements appear in often widely divergent sequences; accordingly, we do not have here two variations of a single type-scene. Yet we have far more than similarity in style. A theory of the origins of the narratives in the biblical corpus must account for a complex literary relationship such as this, in which fully worked out narratives with fundamentally different plots incorporate a large number of common motifs, character-relations, and wording. Stories such as the Jacob-Rachel and David-Michal narratives can hardly be attributed straightforwardly to different redactions of a single tradition, as in the documentary model. Nor is it credible that we find here two variations of a single orally transmitted tale. The action sequences are far too different. We might have two different combinations of conventional formulas, such as we encounter in epics. But that would not account for the specific and unique relationship that obtains between these two stories. I imagine a different history to these and many of the other story pairs we have identified between the Torah-and Genesis in particular-and the so-called Deuteronomistic History. I cannot say where all the narratives came from-no one could. We possess so little historical documentation. But I do suspect that there arose in ancient Israel various stories concerning the early kings, David of Judah and Jeroboam of Israel in particular. Elements of their stories served as the material of later narrators and writers. Some of these elements became recombined into new sequences; others became transformed through substitutions in details and other modifications. Thus, for example, the prophecy about the gruesome death of Jeroboam (1 Kings 14:7 ff.) was transferred, in slightly different form, to the declaration of doom to Ahab (1 Kings 21:19 ff.).92 More radically, the Judean perspective on Jeroboam's golden calves was shifted to shape the

92. Cf. John Gray, I & II Kings (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1963), p. 393, and Burke O. Long, 1 Kings with an Introductionto Historical Literature (Grand Rapids: W. B. Eerdmans, 1984), pp. 151, 156, 228, who view the similarities among these and other punishment prophecies as the common workings of the Deuteronomic redactor. On the fulfillment of prophetic oracles as a theme in Kings, cf. now Savran, "1 and 2 Kings," pp. 160-162.

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EDWARD L. GREENSTEIN

story of Aaron and the golden calf in Exodus32.93We have alreadynoted the strikingcorrespondencebetweenJeroboam'ssons and Aaron's(Nadab and Abihu).

likethosetold directlyabout the patriarchs, Thenarratives concerning the kings,seemto me-and manyothers,of course-to refersomehowto internationalrelations and inner-Israeliteaffairs.94Several scholars have

thepersonalandthepolitiof Davidintertwines observedthatthenarrative The little episode in cal stories within a Hebrewtheologicalframework.95 whichthe five "daughters"of Zelofhadinherithis propertyand establisha legal precedent(Num. 27:1-11) is a moreobviousexampleof a sociopoliti-

cal plotin theguiseof a domestictale.WeknowfromtheSamariaostraca andwouldsurmiseanywayfromotherbiblicalpassagesthatthesedaughters

Hadwesufficient townsin anareaof Manasseh.96 documentation, represent

we might find that a ratherlargeproportionof biblicalnarrativeis, as Joel Rosenbergsuggests,97political allegory. Wellhausenhad suggested something akin to the model by which I

in our biblicalcorpuswerecomposed. imaginethe earliestnarratives

93. Cf., e.g., Damrosch, Narrative Covenant, pp. 268 ff. Brevard S. Childs, The Book of Exodus (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1974), pp. 559-561, maintains that "the Deuteronomic editor of I Kings 12 ... was dependent on an existing story which he adjusted to suit his later polemic against Jeroboam" (p. 560). 94. Cf., e.g., Gunkel, Legends of Genesis; North, "Pentateuchal Criticism," adducing the work of J. Pedersen; Feldman, "Biblical Motives and Sources"; Wagner, "Abraham and David?" 95. Cf., e.g., Leach, Genesis as Myth and Other Essays, pp. 25-83; Joel Rosenberg, "I and II Samuel," in The Literary Guide to the Bible, ed. Robert Alter and Frank Kermode (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1987), pp. 122-145. 96. Cf., e.g., Martin Noth, Die israelitischen Personnamenim Rahmen der gemeinsemitischen Namengebung(Hildesheim: Georg Ohms, 1966; first published: Stuttgart, 1928), p. 242; see further Aaron Demsky, "The Genealogies of Manasseh and the Location of the Territory of Milcah Daughter of Zelophehad," Eretz-Israel 16 (1982): 70-75 [in Hebrew]. The Samaria ostraca attest the receipt/dispatch of merchandise from/to the localities of Hoglah and Noah, two of Zelofhad's "daughters." Scholars tend to view Hoglah, Noah, and the rest not as placenames but as designations of clans; cf., e.g., Yohanan Aharoni, The Land of the Bible, trans. A. F. Rainey, rev. ed. (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1979), p. 363. "Daughter," however, is, as is well known, the specific term for a town or village in the vicinity of a large town or city (e.g., Judg. 1:27). Moreover, Tirzah, the fifth "sister," is clearly a place-name-the royal residence of the early North Israelite kings (cf., e.g., 1 Kings 14:17; 15:21, 33; 16:8, 15, 23). Consequently, the "daughters" in all likelihood represent toponyms. 97. Joel Rosenberg, King and Kin: Political Allegory in the Hebrew Bible (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986). Rosenberg reads the Garden story and the Abraham cycle as "midrash" on 2 Samuel.

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It would appearthat legendfromits verynaturecausesthose who deal with it to strikeout variations,thatit cannotbe representedobjectivelyat all. Evenat the first act of reducingit to writingthe discoloringinfluencesare at work, withoutany violencebeingdone to the meaningwhichdwellsin the matter."9 I would place the source of the primary legends as we now find them in the early monarchy. The reasons that I do not view the patriarchal and other Pentateuchal narratives as primary are largely traditio-historical.99That is, among the earliest Hebrew writings in the Bible that we can date with much confidence, the so-called classical prophecies of the eighth and seventh centuries B.C.E. seem to know the following traditions: the catastrophic destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah (Hos. 11:8, Amos 4:11, Isa. 1:9, Zeph. 2:9); the exodus and sojourn in the wilderness (Hos. 2:7; Amos 2:10, 3:1; Isa. I1:16; Mic. 6:4-5); and the struggle between Jacob and Esau (Hos. 12:4-5, 13). Even the archaic poems such as Judges 5 and Exodus 15 add little to those traditions, only the march of YHWH and his people from the south and the occupation of Canaan.0ooAbraham is attested only in Judean texts from the period after the fall of the North (Isa. 29:22, Mic. 7:20, Jer. 33:26, and cf. the exilic texts Ezek. 33:24; Isa. 41:8, 51:1-3, 63:16). Seeing the patriarchal narratives as derivative might also explain the high incidence of doublets and type-scenes within them.'0' Sometime during the centuries from David until the Babylonian exile, the narrative corpus was formed. As I said above, I imagine the Josianic era as a suitable period for the composition of most of the narratives as we have them.102Because of the complexity of the corpus I could not with confidence develop a more precise and intricate reconstruction of the overall literary history. A flexible combination of models would seem to be in order. Yet the general pattern I have sketched

98. Julius Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel (New York: Meridian, 1957), pp. 360-361. 99. Cf. esp. Martin Noth, A History of the Pentateuchal Traditions, trans. Bernhard W. Anderson (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1981), pp. 47-48 and passim. 100. Cf., e.g., Miller, Divine Warrior in Ancient Israel, pp. 160-161. 101. This repetition of scenes has been noted, albeit in a different formulation, by Fisher, "Patriarchal Cycles." 102. Seeing as the narratives seem to include material from the North, which had been overrun by Assyria in 722 B.C.E., it is equally probable that King Hezekiah had begun the process of assembling and writing down traditional narratives, as well as composing new ones; cf., e.g., Ginsberg, Israelian Heritage of Judaism, esp. pp. 34-38; Yeivin, "Hagigim 'al zeman libburam shel sifre nevi'im rishonim."

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does account for the salient feature of the narratives I underscored above: the same names, motifs, language, and plots get recycled in various configurations. This is not the place to dwell on the aesthetic side of the biblical narrative corpus. I have defined my object here as the reconstruction of the literary history of the biblical narrative rather than an assessment and analysis of what it means. Let me content myself by saying that most of the stories that have been preserved and melded into a continuous, coherent tale have, by virtue of their drama and their reflection of popular concerns and anxieties,'03 become not only the authoritative accounting to the Hebrews or Judeans of their own history; they have become the core myth of a civilization two and a half millennia old. JewishTheologicalSeminary New York, N.Y.

103. On this, cf., e.g., Alan W. Miller, "Claude Levi-Strauss and Genesis 37-Exodus 20," in Shiv'im, ed. Ronald A. Brauner (Philadelphia: Reconstructionist Rabbinical College, 1977), pp. 21-52; and my "The Torah as She Is Read."

Saints or Sinners, Scholars or Ignoramuses? Stories about the Rabbis as Evidence for the Composite Nature of the Babylonian Talmud Author(s): Richard Kalmin Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 2 (Autumn, 1990), pp. 179-205 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486893 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:35 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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SAINTS OR SINNERS, SCHOLARS OR IGNORAMUSES? STORIES ABOUT THE RABBIS AS EVIDENCE FOR THE COMPOSITENATURE OF THE BABYLONIAN TALMUD by RICHARD KALMIN

As Jacob Neusner and others have argued, before talmudic stories can be evaluated as historical evidence we must ask who the original authors were, what were their motives, and who was their intended audience.' Even once we obtain the "original" version of a story, we do not necessarily have

I wish to thank Professors Baruch M. Bokser, Shaye J. D. Cohen, and Burton Visotzky of the Jewish Theological Seminary, who read earlier versions of this paper and offered several valuable suggestions.

1. See below, Bibliographical Note.

179

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access to the historical event which gave rise to the story. For perhaps accounts of the historical event have been colored, even distorted beyond recognition, by the needs, desires, and beliefs of the original authors. Or perhaps the stories they transmit are fabrications, invented by students or later editors with a particular goal in mind. In this paper, I examine the Talmud's portrayal of the characters and personalities of amoraim of the first through the fourth generation, for example Ray and Shmuel, R. Yohanan, Resh Lakish, and R. Elazar ben Pedat, Rabbah and Rav Yosef, and Abaye and Rava. I ask whether these amoraim are presented as saints or as sinners, as scholars or as ignoramuses, as friends and colleagues or as barely on speaking terms. My goal is to determine whether their portrayals aid us in identifying and describing some of the diverse sources that make up the Babylonian Talmud. I discover that talmudic accounts of their characters and personalities and the nature of their interactions contain contradictions that betray the existence of opposing sources. According to some sources, for example, Abaye is ignorant and incompetent while Rava is the greatest scholar of his generation. According to other sources, Rava is sinful and arrogant, cruel toward his contemporaries and disrespectful toward his teacher, in contrast to Abaye, who is a loyal and devoted disciple. According to my conclusions and the conclusions of other scholars, important aspects of the history of the amoraic period need to be reevaluated, since historians have tended to accept talmudic stories as reliable evidence once miraculous elements and later editorial accretions have been removed. This is not to say that every contradiction is proof of a distinct source. Yonah Fraenkel is very likely correct that many aggadic compositions must be examined purely as works of art.2 The purpose of many talmudic stories is not to advance a particular school's agenda or to promote the teachings of a particular master, but to teach a moral lesson, to make a statement about the nature of the world or God or the human predicament. As such, the character of the amoraic protagonist may be molded to fit the particular statement the author wishes to make. The same school or author, depending on the needs of the narrative, might portray the same rabbi in contradictory 2. See, for example, Yonah Fraenkel, "Sheelot Hermeneutiot be-Heker Sipur haAgadah," Tarbiz 47 (1978): 139-172. See also the response by E. E. Halevi, "Od al Genre Hadash ba-Sipurei ha-Agadah," Tarbiz 49 (1980): 424-428, and Fraenkel's rejoinder ("Teshuva," p. 429, there).

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terms. Patricia Cox, examining Eusebius's biography of Origen, makes the same point. Eusebius's Origen, she writes, is "Janus-faced," meaning that a unified, coherent personality does not emerge from Eusebius's account of the life of Origen because the actual, historical Origen is refracted through the lens of Eusebius and the requirements of his narrative and the audience for whom he is writing.3 On several occasions, however, the nature of the contradictions is such that the existence of opposing sources seems the most likely explanation. In the final analysis, every narrative and every contradiction needs to be evaluated on its own terms. Sources Are Not Systematically Altered Examination of cases in which Abaye and Rava definitely appear in each other's presence reveals that Rava occasionally defeats Abaye in argument, but almost as often Abaye has the last word. Rava defeats Abaye, for example, in stories which describe legal cases brought before Abaye for judgment, whereupon Abaye procrastinates and fails to deliver a prompt verdict. The litigants are told by a student of Rava to go before Rava, whose "knife is sharp," and Rava delivers a prompt, and correct, decision.4 Similarly, we find cases in which a student comes to Abaye with a halakhic question or a problem of interpretation, but Abaye is unable to answer. The student takes his question to Rava, who resolves the difficulty.5 Abaye defeats Rava, for example, in one case in which Abaye, Rava, Rav Zeira, and Rabbah bar Matna are described as "needing a leader."6They decide that the honor will fall to whoever makes a statement which withstands his colleagues' criticism. Abaye's opinion prevails and he wins the right to open the discussion.7 3. Patricia Cox, Biography in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), pp. 69-101. 4. Yevamot 122a (see Dikdukei Sopherim, n. yud, on Hullin 77a) and Hullin 77a. See also Baba Batra 22a. The student referredto in both instances is Rav Ada bar Ahava, for Rav Ada bar Matna is elsewhere described as a student of both Abaye and Rava, while Rav Ada bar Ahava was only a student of Rava. See Mordechai Yudelowitz, Mahoza.: Me-Hayei haYehudimbi-Zeman ha-Talmud (Jerusalem, 1947), p. 85, and Wilhelm Bacher, Die Agada der BabylonischenAmoraier(Frankfurt am Main, 1913), p. 115, n. 8, and see the discussion below. 5. Nazir 19b and Makkot 6a. 6. Horayot 14a. The phrase literally means they "needed a head." 7. Note that in the continuation of the story, Abaye does a poor job of concealing his happiness at having defeated his colleagues. The story does not reflect any clear-cut pro-Abaye or anti-Rava bias. See also Taanit 21b-22a, and see the discussion below.

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In another context, Abaye suggests how an impoverished scholar can legally improve his financial situation.8 Rava follows with an objection, in Abaye's presence; Abaye responds, and Abaye's view prevails. In a third context, in fact, Rava himself is portrayed as recounting a conversation he had with Abaye in which Abaye "surrounded [him] with proofs."9 Rava quotes Abaye's objection, his own response, and Abaye's refutation of his response.l0 We cannot assume that cases in which Abaye prevails over Rava reflect the point of view of Abaye and his school, or the point of view of editors favoring Abaye, while cases in which Rava prevails over Abaye reflect the perspective of Rava and his school, or of editors favoring Rava. The notion that students or editors will skew the sources in favor of a particular rabbi whenever they have the opportunity is difficult to maintain in the face of abundant evidence to the contrary. I concluded in an earlier study that statements by the overwhelming majority of fourth-generation amoraim are preserved in the Talmud primarily to the extent to which they have a bearing upon a handful of important amoraim." Statements by fourth-generation rabbis such as Rami bar Hama, Rav Huna bar Hinena, Mar Zutra b. d'Rav Nahman, and Rav Dimi MiNehardea are preserved primarily to the extent to which they bear upon amoraim such as Abaye and Rava. In other words, fourth-generation amoraim depend on Abaye and Rava for the preservation of their statements in the Talmud. And yet there is no evidence of an attempt on the part of Abaye or Rava or their disciples, or on the part of later editors favoring Abaye or Rava, to distort the nature of their interactions with most of their contemporaries. In one context, Rava judges a case and Rav Huna bar Hinena and Rav Huna b. d'Rav Nahman disagree with his decision.12 Rava publicly announces his opinion, and Huna bar Hinena

8. Baba Batra 174b. 9. Avodah Zarah 57b-58a. 10. See also Shabbat 7b, Eruvin 57b (twice), Ketubot 8la-b (see David Halivni, Mekorot u-Mesorot: Nashim [Tel Aviv: Dvir 1968], pp. 45-46), and possibly Ketubot 39a (see the discussion below) and Hullin 125b. 11. Richard Kalmin, The Redaction of the Babylonian Talmud, Amoraic or Saboraic? (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1989), pp. 54-65. See also Jacob Neusner, A History of the Jews in Babylonia (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1965-70), vol. 4, p. 74, n. 1, and pp. 287-289. 12. Avodah Zarah 57b-58a.

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and Huna b. d'Rav Nahman publicly announce their opposing opinion. Later on, Ray Nahman travels to Mahoza,'3 he and Rava discuss the matter, and Rava is surprised to learn that Ray Nahman agrees with Huna bar Hinena and Huna b. d'Rav Nahman, and that he, Rava, misunderstood his teacher. In another context, Huna bar Hinena judges a case, Rava objects in his presence, and the two sages publicly proclaim their contradictory opinions.14 The text provides no indication that either point of view prevails. In fact, later amoraic discussion takes notice only of the opinion of Huna bar Hinena in determining the halakhah, and completely ignores the opposing opinion of Rava.'s We see, therefore, that the sages through whom our sources are transmitted, or later editors on behalf of those sages, did not systematically distort the record of their interactions with most of their contemporaries. They did not, or could not, systematically alter the sources to make them appear infallible.'6 We see this even in their interactions with sages with whom they are portrayed as engaging in obvious conflict. For example, talmudic sources portray conflicts between Rava, on the one hand, and Huna bar Hinena and

13. See Tractate Abodah Zarah, ed. Shraga Abramson (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1957), p. 212, notes on line 18. See also Tosafot, s.v. Ikla, and Ritba, s.v. u-le-Inyan. My point is made even more decisively according to the reading of the printed edition. 14. Avodah Zarah 40a. 15. See also Shabbat 129a, Pesahim 58b, Bezah 6a, Ketubot 7 1b, Gittin 75a-b, Baba Kamma 6a and 42a, Baba Batra 21a (twice), Avodah Zarah 12a, 30a-b (the Munich manuscript reads Rav Papa instead of Rava) and 44b, Zevahim 96b, Menahot 35a (twice), Arakhin 22b, Niddah 24b, and possibly Yoma 72b. In these cases, Abaye's or Rava's statements are followed by opposing statements by Rav Dimi MiNehardea, Rabbah bar Ulla, and the Nehardeans. Several of these opposing statements contain explicit criticisms of the opinions of Abaye or Rava. And yet statements by these amoraim are included in the Talmud primarily to the extent to which they are transmitted in the proximity of opposing statements by Abaye or Rava. With regard to the Nehardeans, see David Goodblatt, "Local Traditions in the Babylonian Talmud," Hebrew Union College Annual 48 (1977): 187-194. The disciples of Abaye and Rava who transmitted these disputes did not alter them to make it appear as if their masters had the final word, nor did they remove the explicit criticisms of their masters' opinions. 16. For a discussion of the editorial techniques used by ancient authors, see F. Gerald Downing, "Compositional Conventions and the Synoptic Problem," Journal of Biblical Literature 107, no 1 (1988): 69-85. Downing shows (p. 70) that in the ancient world, "even the most highly literate and sophisticated writers employ relatively simple approaches to their 'sources.'" J. Hornblower, Hieronymus of Cardia (London and New York: Oxford University Press, 1981), p. 280, for example, writes that Diodorus Siculus "merely paraphrased or extracted, without addition or interpretation, except of the simplest kind."

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Huna b. d'Rav Nahman, on the other. In addition to the two confrontations described above, Huna bar Hinena makes an eruv on behalf of the exilarch," and Rava follows after him and uproots it. Elsewhere, Huna bar Hinena is about to publicly proclaim a law regarding vows,'s and Rava sharply objects in his presence. Rava once rejects Huna bar Hinena's argument with the words, "Someone who does not know how to explain tannaitic sources made this objection."'9 In another context, Rava quotes Ray Nahman and fails to remember essential details of his teacher's opinion, details which Huna bar Hinena and Huna b. d'Rav Nahman remember.20 According to some versions in another context, Rava berates Huna bar Hinena for transmitting false opinions in Ray Nahman's name.21 The talmudic record is unambiguous in portraying bitter opposition between Rava, on the one hand, and Huna bar Hinena and Huna b. d'Rav Nahman, on the other. It is also clear that statements by Huna bar Hinena and Huna b. d'Rav Nahman are included in the Talmud primarily to the extent to which they impinge upon Rava and a handful of other important amoraim. This evidence for the existence of conflict between Rava and his contemporaries thus comes to us through the eyes of Rava, or his students, or later editors who favored Rava. Nevertheless, this evidence by no means presents an unambiguous picture of Rava as the dominant scholar of his generation. Instead, it presents a picture of Rava confronted by imposing adversaries who were on several occasions more than a match for him. When they clash, neither one consistently emerges victorious. Once again, we see that the sages through whom our sources are transmitted, or later editors on behalf of those sages, did not systematically distort the record of their interactions with most of their contemporaries. Quite plausibly, an important factor in Rava's clashes with Huna bar Hinena and Huna b. d'Rav Nahman was competition over who was legitimate successor to Rav Nahman, a teacher common to all three. Other sources portray bitter clashes between Rava and his contemporaries, and it is hard to view as mere coincidence the fact that several of these clashes pit Rava against sages whose fathers were dominant figures in the preceding

17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

Eruvin 25b. Nedarim 23b. Eruvin 67b. Hullin 49b. Hullin 50a-b. See also Baba Batra 155a and Avodah Zarah 24a (and parallel).

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generation. Such sages, by virtue of their superior lineage, would have had a natural claim to leadership within the rabbinic movement. For example, most of Rava's interactions with Mar Zutra b. d'Rav Nahman consist of quotations by Mar Zutra b. d'Rav Nahman of his father's positions as reported by Rabbanan in the presence of Rava. Each time, Rava responds angrily, "Haven't I already told you not to attribute worthless opinions to Ray Nahman!22This is what Ray Nahman said .. ."23 Similarly, Rava several times comments on statements by Rav Nahman bar Rav Hisda, and on all but one uncertain occasion24the comment is a sharply worded rejection of Nahman bar Hisda's opinion which translates roughly as, "What a stupid thing to say."25

Hostile Stories Betray the Existence of OpposingSources In the previous section, I argued against the notion that students or later editors systematically skew the sources in favor of a particular rabbi whenever they have the opportunity. As Jacob Neusner and others have argued, however, the transmitters of stories and/or the editors of the Talmud are not above occasional character assassination. Neusner and others point to the fact that several amoraim are the subjects of unflattering stories which they claim originated in circles hostile to these amoraim. In the following pages, Neusner's insight is confirmed and refined through analysis of stories told about several prominent amoraim of the first through the fourth generation. Talmudic narratives about the rabbis are shown to derive from a variety of sources, some hostile and others sympathetic, some portraying them as the greatest scholars of their generation, others portraying them as ignorant and arrogant. 22. I have paraphrased Rava's statement. The literal meaning is, "Haven't I told you not to hang empty bottles on Rav Nahman!" 23. Baba Batra 7a and 151b, and A vodahZarah 37b. In addition, Rava rejects Mar Zutra b. d'Rav Nahman's argument on Gittin 50a. Interestingly, the two amoraim are definitely in each other's presence only on Hullin 94b, in which context we find no hint of competition between them. See also Bezah 34b and Bekhorot 54b. 24. Horayot 10b (see Dikdukei Sopherim, n. heh). In that context, Rava simply objects against Ray Nahman bar Ray Hisda's view and follows with an alternative. 25. Ketubot 63b, Shevuot 12b, and Hullin 88b. In all three cases, Rava's comment is followed by a defense of Rav Nahman bar Rav Hisda's opinion by Rav Nahman bar Yizhak. In both instances, Rav Nahman bar Yizhak's argument prevails.

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Before substantiating these claims, however, it is necessary to say a few words about the criteria used in determining that stories derive from diverse sources. Since both favorable and unfavorable stories about an amora often come to us as part of the same document, the Babylonian Talmud, it is frequently impossible to discern the existence of opposing sources. We must be wary about imposing Western, twentieth-century values on the actions of ancient rabbis. In one context, for example, Rava refuses to surrender the property of Isur the convert, who is lying on his deathbed. Rava's plan is to take possession of the property when Isur dies. Rava wants to prevent his student, Ray Mari son of Isur, from taking possession of the property.26 Rava discusses several ways in which ownership of property is normally transferred, and explains why each method has no efficacy in the present instance. Rava's student, Ray Ika b. d'Rav Ami, suggests a way in which Ray Mari can take possession even without Rava's cooperation. Word reaches the dying Isur, who follows the suggestion of Ray Ika b. d'Rav Ami and transfers ownership to his son. Word of what happened reaches Rava, and he angrily denounces his students for causing him economic loss. Rava's conduct in this instance strikes us as reprehensible,27which might lead us to conclude that the story derives from circles hostile to Rava. More likely, the Talmud does not share our ethical standards in this matter. Rava is perfectly within his rights in holding on to Isur's property, since Ray Mari, born to Isur before he converted, has no claim to his father's inheritance according to Jewish law. Furthermore, it is not Rava's responsibility to tell Isur how he can transfer ownership to Ray Mari. Rava's students, in fact, can be faulted for using their halakhic knowledge to influence the course of a monetary dispute they have no business getting involved in.28 Our moral standards, therefore, are often quite different from those of the talmudic rabbis. What strikes us as a hostile source often turns out not to be when viewed from the perspective of the Talmud itself. Even the portrayal of behavior unattractive by the Talmud's standards, 26. Baba Batra 149a. 27. See Heinrich Graetz, Geschichte der Juden (1853-75; reprint ed., Leipzig: O. Leiner, 1873-1900), vol. 4, pp. 332-333, who criticizes Rava's actions in this story. See the material collected by Yudelowitz, Mahoza, pp. 68-70. Yudelowitz concludes that relations between Rava and his students were strained. 28. See Mishnah Avot 1:8. See also Ketubot 52b, where R. Yohanan castigates himself for giving halakhic advice to one of the parties in a monetary dispute, and thereby influencing the outcome of the case.

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however, cannot always be taken as evidence of a hostile source. In ancient as in modern times, a complex personality evokes a variety of different responses, even among those most sympathetic to him. In ancient as in modern times, a single individual might be spoken of, by the same people, in terms alternatingly reverential and harshly critical. This is not to say that we know enough about the psychology of talmudic rabbis to draw exact parallels between the modern and ancient periods. We certainly do not. It is simply to say that caution is necessary when determining whether or not a source is hostile on the basis of its portrayal of an individual sage. The same individuals who revere a rabbi for his outstanding scholarship might dislike him for his nasty temper, and might carefully preserve vivid descriptions of both aspects of his personality. The situation is not totally hopeless, however. Occasionally we are on firm ground in determining that a story derives from a hostile source. One clear indication of this fact is the imputation to a rabbi of character traits which within the rabbinic value system mark the person off as fundamentally flawed or inadequate. A rabbi might be portrayed as dishonest, ignorant, a transmitter of unreliable traditions, or as violating fundamental rabbinic precepts.29Another important clue that a story derives from a hostile source is the presence in the story of rabbis who have clear motivation for portraying an amora in unflattering terms (see below). Finally, if an amora's portrayal in one story conflicts with his portrayal in another story, the existence of opposing sources may be the most likely explanation. Obviously, our argument is considerably stronger when more than one of these factors coincide. The sources portray conflict, for example, between Ray, Shmuel, and Karna, important Babylonian amoraim of the first generation. When Rav and Shmuel are about to encounter one another for the first time, Shmuel sends his student, Karna, to test Rav's learning.30When Rav realizes he is being tested, he responds by cursing Karna, punning on his name: "May it be [God's] will that a horn [karna] come out of his eye." Shmuel, knowing that Rav is afflicted with a disease of the intestines, feeds him a meal which stimulates his bowels and then refuses to show him the way to a privy. Rav responds with a curse on Shmuel: "May the one who caused me this pain 29. See the discussion below. 30. Shabbat 108a. According to the printed editions, this story describes Rav's first appearance in Babylonia. See, however, Dikdukei Sopherim, n. bet.

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not raise up male children," and the narrator states that "so it was," that Rav's curse had its desired effect.3' Clearly, this story of Rav's first appearance in Babylonia represents a point of view hostile to Shmuel.32Shmuel instigates the conflict and Ray is his innocent victim. Rav's curses strike us, perhaps, as overly harsh retaliation, but to the transmitters of the story they are appropriate responses to the cruel treatment he receives at the hands of Shmuel and Karna. This story most likely derives from different channels than those which portray Rav and Shmuel as cooperative colleagues.33Perhaps a different point of view is reflected in contexts in which Shmuel rejects Rav's opinions, often in extremely harsh fashion,34 for the transmitters of this story might have denied Shmuel the opportunity to have the final word (see above). Most likely, the story of Rav's first meeting with Shmuel derives from different channels than those which portray Shmuel guarding Ray from serious halakhic errors, in one instance saving Rav's life in the process, and in the other advising Rav that they ought to look more deeply into a case before excommunicating an errant colleague." In the first instance,

31. On Baba Kamma80a-b, the anonymous editors attempt to resolve the tension between this story of the relationship between Ray and Shmuel and the picture of their relationship found elsewhere in the Talmud. The anonymous editors claim that later on in his career, Ray regretted his cursing of Shmuel and treated him with special respect. Modern scholars claim that Shmuel was attempting to cure Ray of his intestinal disease. See, for example, Aharon Hyman, Toldot Tannaim ve-Amoraim(London: Ha-Express, 1910), p. 1124. However, Rav's reaction, the conclusion of the story, and the fact that Shmuel initiates the offensive test of Rav's learning (see Baba Batra 22a) make this interpretation extremely unlikely. 32. For a story hostile to Rav, see A vodah Zarah 36a, where Rav claims that R. Simlai's quotation of R. Yehuda ha-Nasi (Rabbi) presents no difficulty to his opinion because R. Simlai's traditions are untrustworthy. Shmuel suggests that they send to Rabbi for verification of his opinion, and Rav "turns white [with embarrassment]." 33. See, for example, Berakhot 12a, Eruvin90a-b, Taanit 20b, Moed Katan 24a, Hagigah 14a, Yevamot 121a, Sanhedrin 24b, Avodah Zarah 31b, and Hullin 59a. One might reconcile these accounts with Shabbat 108a by arguing that Rav and Shmuel were harsh men who test one another and then put aside their differences and cooperate. 34. Shabbat 53a, Eruvin78a, and Moed Katan 12b. For additional evidence of the existence of tension between Rav and Shmuel, see Eruvin93b-94a. Rav turns his head in an expression of disagreement in response to Shumel's suggestion for repairing an eruv which has fallen down. Shmuel responds by proposing that Rav's own garment be used in repairing the eruv in the manner he suggested. Ritba and Meiri claim that Shmuel's comment was made in jest, but in light of the other stories we have examined in the course of this paper, it seems more likely that Shmuel's response should be taken at face value, as an expression of his anger at Rav's display of disagreement and as an attempt by Shmuel to assert himself in the face of his recalcitrant colleague. 35. Yevamot 121a and Hullin 59a.

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Shmuel explains to Ray how one tests meat to see if it is poisonous, and in the second instance, Shmuel's circumspection pays off when it turns out that the colleague erred in judgment, but did not willfully violate the law. Very likely, the stories of Shmuel instructing Ray were told by sages who wished to portray Shmuel as the superior scholar of his generation. These stories very likely derive from different sources than numerous other narratives which portray Ray as the greater of the two.36 A lengthy account of a clash between Ray Yehuda and Ray Nahman, important Babylonian amoraim of the second generation, provides still another perspective on the relationship between Ray and Shmuel.37Jacob Neusner correctly attributes this story to sources hostile to Ray Nahman. Neusner traces the origins of this hostility to Ray Nahman's close association with the court and family of the exilarch.38It is difficult to agree with Neusner on the latter point, however, because Nahman's relationship to the exilarch is referred to only once throughout the entire story, and the reference is not at all unfavorable. Nahman demands that Ray Yehuda appear before him in court, whereupon Yehuda goes to Rav Huna and asks if he should heed Nahman's summons. Huna answers that Nahman has overstepped his bounds, but Yehuda should go anyway so as not to offend the exilarch. There is nothing in this exchange which implies criticism or resentment toward Nahman on account of his connection to the exilarch. In general, Neusner's pioneering and important early work on the history of the Jews in Babylonia overemphasizes the role of the exilarch in determining the tenor of relationships between individual rabbis. One important factor not considered by Neusner is competition between the rabbis themselves, independent of the exilarch. Most likely, this competition is the motivating factor behind this story's unflattering portrayal of Nahman. Throughout the story, Nahman repeatedly displays his ignorance of the opinions of Shmuel. Nahman's ignorance displays itself in a lengthy series of improper actions, and each time, Yehuda quotes Shmuel against him. Nahman quotes two statements by Ray, but Yehuda counters each time by demonstrating that Rav's opinion is not applicable in the situation at hand. Most likely, this story derives from sources sympathetic to Yehuda and hostile to Nahman,

36. See, for example, Hullin 95b. 37. Kiddushin70a-b. 38. Neusner, History of the Jews in Babylonia vol. 2, pp. 61-75.

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since one of the story's central concerns is to demonstrate the superiority of Yehuda, the Pumbeditan, whose mastery of the teachings of the great Nehardean sage, Shmuel, contrasts sharply with the ignorance of Shmuel's Nehardean successor, Nahman. The story also attempts to explain away the curious fact of Nahman's superiority in the judicial realm, even over amoraim who were his academic superiors. His preeminence in the judiciary, claims the story, is not due to any merit on Nahman's part. On the contrary, only out of respect for the house of the exilarch did Nahman's contemporaries subordinate themselves to him even though he was their inferior from the standpoint of rabbinic learning. Finally, the story may be trying to show the importance of adherence to the opinions of both Rav and Shmuel, to show that knowledge of only the opinions of Rav will lead to the type of ignorant behavior exhibited by Nahman. This conclusion is surprising, in view of the fact that elsewhere, Nahman is well versed in the opinions of Shmuel, quoting him to a far greater extent, in fact, than he quotes the opinions of Rav.39This story, evidently, reflects a different view of Nahman and his relationship to Shmuel. Rav, Shmuel, and Rav Nahman are by no means the only sages concerning whom the Talmud contains a variety of perspectives which betray the existence of opposing sources. It also contains opposing views regarding the character of R. Elazar ben Pedat and his relationship to R. Yonahan, Palestinian amoraim of the second and third generations.40In two stories critical of R. Elazar, for example, Resh Lakish states an opinion and Elazar follows with an opposing view.41 Later on, Resh Lakish repeats his opinion in the presence of R. Yohanan, and Yohanan states the view expressed earlier by Elazar. Resh Lakish, angry at being publicly contradicted by his teacher, denounces Elazar for stating an opinion and failing to attribute it to its author, Yohanan. In another story critical of Elazar, the well-known account of Resh Lakish's conversion to the rabbinic way of life, Elazar is 39. See Hanokh Albeck, Mavo la-Talmudim(Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1969), pp. 298-300. See also Florsheim, "Ha-Yahasim bein Hakhmei ha-Dor ha-Sheni shel Amoraei Bavel," p. 282. 40. Compare Ronald Reuven Kimelman, "Rabbi Yohanan of Tiberias: Aspects of the Social and Religious History of Third Century Palestine" (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1977), pp. 131-137. 41. Ketubot 25b and Makkot 5b. For further evidence of tension between them, see Yevamot 72b and Menahot 93b. Compare Zevahim 5a. See also Baba Kamma 100a and Dikdukei Sopherim, n. bet, and Bekhorot 26b (the Munich, Florence, Vatican, and London manuscripts read R. Ilai instead of R. Elazar).

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portrayedas a studentwho continuallysupportsthe opinionsof his teacher, Yohanan.42Elazaris contrastedunfavorablyto Resh Lakish,who constantly challengeshis teacher,spurringhim on to greaterand greaterinsight.In the eyes of Yohanan,say the transmittersof this story, Elazaris an unsatisfactorysurrogatefor Resh Lakishafterthe latter'stragicdeath.Suchstories are difficultto reconcilewith other narrativeswhich portrayan extremely close relationshipbetweenYohananand Elazar,43 or whichshow Yohanan, afterhis death, appearingto Elazarin a dreamand supportinghis interpretations.44On anotheroccasion, Elazarstates a halakhicopinion, Yohanan follows with an objection,and Elazarsuccessfullyrefuteshis teacher'sargument. When Elazar observes his teacher's unhappinessat having been defeatedin argumentby his student, Elazar skillfullysoothes his injured pride.45 In anothercontext, Elazaris portrayedas a close disciple of Yohanan who knows how to interpretthe moods of his teacher.46Surelyit is no coincidencethat when Elazaralone comes in contactwith Yohanan,in all but two cases47their relationshipis harmoniousand Elazaris an exemplary student. By contrast,wheneverResh Lakishis also present,Elazar's actions are unbefittinga scholar or bring him censurefrom his teacher.48 Interestingly,one storywhichmakesno mentionof Resh Lakishrepeatsthe familiarchargeof plagiarismagainstElazar,who once againstates an opinion and fails to attributeit to its author,Yohanan.49Yohananis angrywith Elazar,but ultimatelyrejoiceswhen R. Yaakov bar Idi bringsabout their reconciliation.Yaakovbar Idi cleverlycomparesthe relationshipbetween Yohananand Elazarto that betweenthe biblicalheroesMoses and Joshua. The relationshipbetweenmasterand disciplein both instancesis so close that there is no need for the discipleto quote the masterby name, argues Yaakovbar Idi. Just as the ancientIsraelitesknew that everythingJoshua 42. Baba Mezia 84a. 43. Berakhot 5b, Yoma 53a, Hagiga 13a, and Baba Batra 7b. 44. Bekhorot 5a and 56a. 45. Ketubot Ill b. 46. Kiddushin31b. 47. Hullin 19b and Keritut 27a. 48. See Yevamot35b-36a, where R. Elazar comments on a statement by Resh Lakish and displays no ill will toward him. See below for my discussion of the relationship between Rava and Rav Yosef. Rava's conduct was an issue for Rav Yosef and/or his disciples (or later editors), but in statements attributed to Rava, we find no evidence of any tension between them. 49. Yevamot96b. See also Yer. Berakhot 2:1 (and parallels).

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said he heard from Moses, so too everything Elazar says derives from his teacher, R. Yohanan. In the one context where the familiar charge of plagiarism is raised and Resh Lakish is not present, therefore, the criticism against Elazar is dismissed and he and his teacher are reconciled. Thus, the various talmudic narratives dealing with the relationship between Yohanan and Elazar contain irreconcilable contradictions and most likely derive from diverse sources. Incidentally, the fact that the diverse sources independently confirm Elazar's habit of not attributing opinions to his teacher provides significant confirmation of its historicity. Several other sages are portrayed unfavorably when found in the presence of a particular amora, but come off much better when they appear in isolation or in the presence of a different amora. Close examination of each individual story is necessary before final conclusions are drawn, but a likely explanation is that stories about these amoraim derive from a variety of sources. We see this, for example, in the interactions between Rav and Rav Shila, R. Elazar and Shmuel, Rabbah and Mar Yehuda, Rava and Rav Papa bar Shmuel, Rava and Mar Zutra b. d'Rav Nahman, Rava and Rav Nahman bar Rav Hisda, and Rava and Rami bar Hama.50Rav Shila, for example, is portrayed unfavorably when in the presence of Rav, but comes off much better when Ray is not present or when Shmuel also figures in the story. Rav Papa bar Shmuel invariably judges or acts incorrectly whenever Rava appears in his presence or is mentioned in the same story. Rav Papa bar Shmuel judges a case, for example, Rava objects in his presence, and 50. With regard to Rav and Rav Shila, see Yoma20b and Sanhedrin44a, where Rav Shila appears in the presence of Rav and is portrayed unfavorably. See also Sanhedrin 109a. Compare Berakhot 49b, where Rav Shila quotes a statement by Rav. See also the references cited in Benjamin Kosowsky, Ozar ha-Shemot (Jerusalem: Ministry of Education and Culture and Jewish Theological Seminary, 1976-83), vol. 5, p. 1546. With regard to R. Elazar and Shmuel, see Eruvin74a and Hullin 11 b, where Shmuel appears in the presence of R. Elazar and in both cases is portrayed unfavorably. On Ketubot 77a, they appear in each other's presence and Shmuel harshly rejects R. Elazar's tradition. With regard to Rabbah and Mar Yehuda, see Eruvin 61b and Kiddushin 58a. See the references cited in Kosowsky, op. cit., p. 1036. With regard to Rava and Rav Papa bar Shmuel, see Rosh Hashana 27a and 34b, Baba Kamma 84a, Baba Mezia 60b and 109b, and Sanhedrin 26b. Compare Baba Batra 90b and Sanhedrin 17b. See the references cited in Kosowsky, vol. 4, p. 1226. With regard to Rava and Mar Zutra b. d'Rav Nahman, and Rava and Rav Nahman bar Rav Hisda, see the discussion above. In cases where Rava is not involved, reaction to the opinions of Mar Zutra b. d'Rav Nahman and Rav Nahman bar Rav Hisda follows no consistent pattern. Sometimes their opinions are rejected, other times they go unchallenged. See the references cited by Kosowsky, vol. 3, pp. 1035-1036 and 1104-1105.

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Ray Papa bar Shmuel, in order to save face, asserts that he actually intended to say what Rava says. Rava follows with one or two additional objections, and again Ray Papa bar Shmuel adjusts his position, claiming each time that he had intended to say what Rava says.5' Elsewhere, however, when Rava is not present, Ray Papa bar Shmuel comes off quite well, as a community leader and judge, and as a student of Ray Yosef and Ray Hisda. In these cases as well, the contradictory portraits most likely do not admit of reconciliation and are evidence of opposing sources. The famous story of Resh Lakish's conversion to the rabbinic way of life contradicts the portrait found elsewhere of Yohanan's interaction with Resh Lakish and provides further support for the claim that the Talmud's stories derive from a variety of sources. Elsewhere in the Talmud, Yohanan and Resh Lakish frequently relate to one another as colleagues. Their interaction typically begins with Yohanan and Resh Lakish stating contradictory views, for example regarding the correct interpretation of a tannaitic source. Yohanan follows with an objection against Resh Lakish and Resh Lakish responds (or vice versa), after which Yohanan objects again, Resh Lakish responds, and the two amoraim continue in this fashion until the sugya concludes. According to the story of Resh Lakish's conversion to the rabbinic way of life, by contrast, Resh Lakish is Yohanan's student from beginning to end.52 Yohanan claims that "when I stated an opinion, Resh Lakish would follow with twenty-four objections and I would respond with twentyfour responses, and in this manner learning was increased." The lengthy dialogues referred to by Yohanan are dialogues between a teacher and his student, and not dialogues between equals. Yohanan states his view, Resh Lakish objects as a student, and Yohanan resolves his objections. Throughout the story, Resh Lakish departs from this rigid pattern only once, opposing Yohanan in a halakhic dispute and confronting his teacher as an equal. As a result, however, a bitter argument breaks out between them, their relationship cannot stand the strain, and both end up dying tragic deaths. This story conflicts with the picture of their relationship reflected elsewhere in the Talmud, where Resh Lakish frequently confronts Yohanan as an equal. Clearly, the Talmud preserves contradictory views regarding the nature of the relationship between Yohanan and Resh Lakish. Most likely, these con51. Baba Kamma 84a. See Dikdukei Sopherim n. shin. 52. See Yonah Fraenkel, Iyyunim ba-Olamo ha-Ruhani shel Sippur ha-Agadah (Tel Aviv: Ha-Kibbutz ha-Meuhad, 1981), pp. 74-77.

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tradictory views do not admit of reconciliation and are evidence of opposing sources. 5 The Talmud's portrayal of the relationship between two important thirdgeneration amoraim, Rabbah and Ray Yosef, contains comparable incongruities. Throughout the Talmud, Ray Yosef is often portrayed as Rabbah's junior contemporary, and on occasion as his subordinate and student.54In several other contexts, the two appear as close and cooperative colleagues." Clearly, these images are easily reconciliable. The image of Rav Yosef as student or subordinate of Rabbah might derive from early in Yosef's career, before he attained scholarly maturity, while the image of the two as cooperative colleagues might derive from later in his career, after he reached a scholarly level which earned him consideration as Rabbah's colleague. Some passages, however, reflect a different perspective on their relationship. In one context, Rabbah and Yosef are described as candidates for the same position of communal responsibility.56At issue here is who is the superior scholar, whose method of learning is preferable. The Babylonian rabbis send "there," to Palestine, for a decision, and word is sent back that Yosef is preferable. Yosef declines, however, out of humility or due to an astrological prediction that he will rule for only two years and then die." Rabbah rules in his stead, his tenure lasting twenty-two years, and Yosef rules after him. According to this story, Yosef was the superior scholar, and it was his deci-

53. Compare Kimelman, "Rabbi Yohanan of Tiberias," pp. 20-23 and 127-131. 54. Eruvin 78a-b and 78b, and Kiddushin 58a. 55. Shabbat 119a, Eruvin 51a and 65b, Moed Katan 27b, Yevamot66b, Baba Mezia 70a, Hullin 46a, and Bekhorot 31a. See also Moed Katan 25b, Ketubot 106a, and Sanhedrin 17b. 56. Berakhot 64a. The traditional understanding of this story is that Rabbah and Rav Yosef were candidates for the office of head of the academy, but that understanding has been seriously called into question by recent scholarship. See David Goodblatt, Rabbinic Instruction in Sasanian Babylonia (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1975), especially pp. 1-59 and 263-285; and "Hitpathuyot Hadashot be-Heker Yeshivot Bavel," Zion 43 (1978): 14-38. Compare Yeshayahu Gafni, YahadutBavel u-Mosdoteha bi-Tekufat ha-Talmud(Jerusalem: Merkaz Zalman Shazar, 1976), pp. 79-104; "'Yeshiva' u-'Metivta'" Zion 43 (1978): 12-37: "He'arot le-Ma'amaro shel D. Goodblatt," Zion 46 (1981): 52-56; "Ha-Yeshiva ha-Bavlit le-Or Sugyat B.K. 117a," Tarbiz 49 (1980): 292-301; and "Hiburim Nestorianim ke-Makor le-Toldot Yeshivot Bavel," Tarbiz 51 (1982): 567-576. Compare also Moshe Beer, Rashut ha-Golah be-Bavel bi-Yemei ha-Mishna ve-ha-Talmud(Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1976), pp. 100-103. 57. See Dikdukei Sopherim, n. yud, on Berakhot 64a, and see Horayot 14a.

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sion to delay assumption of a position that was rightfully his."8This story is not easily reconciled with the picture we find elsewhere of his scholarly status vis-a-vis Rabbah. This story is most likely an attempt on the part of sages who favor Yosef to explain why Rabbah was chosen to rule ahead of Yosef. This happened not because Rabbah was the superior scholar, these disciples or editors claim; on the contrary, Yosef was superior, and it was his decision to delay the appointment."9The Talmud thus preserves contradictory views regarding the relative scholarly merits of Rabbah and Yosef which most likely derive from diverse sources. At this point in the discussion, we begin to focus again on Abaye and Rava, fourth-generation amoraim whose relationship was examined in detail in the opening sections of this paper. Rava's claim in two contexts60 that Rabbah and Yosef were unable to resolve a certain difficulty over a period of twenty-two years, and that only when Yosef became head was the matter resolved, is a clear echo of the story described above. Rava is clearly alluding to the twenty-two years that Rabbah ruled and suggesting that only when the appropriate person came into power could the matter be satisfactorily resolved. Rava, or whoever placed these sentiments into Rava's mouth, shares the view that Yosef was greater than Rabbah. It is understandable that Rava would hold such an opinion (or that such an opinion would be attributed to Rava), since he was a student of Yosef but not of Rabbah. The famous story of the death of Rabbah bar Nahmani, the thirdgeneration amora discussed above,6' clearly derives from circles friendly to Rabbah.62 Rabbah dies, according to this story, because God and the 58. Ray Yosef's concern about the astrological prediction perhaps strikes us as superstitious, but it would have seemed the height of rationality to many of the rabbis of the Talmud. See, however, Pesahim 113b. Ray Yosef's denial of responsibility perhaps strikes us as less than heroic, unbefitting a man called upon to play a critical role in the leadership of his people. To the rabbis, however, Rav Yosefs actions were not in the slightest cause for criticism. Talmudic rabbis went to great lengths to delay entrance to the world-to-come, and frequently went to great lengths to avoid public office, giving themselves more time for Torah study. 59. Compare Mordechai Yudelowitz, YeshivatPumbedita bi- Yemeiha-Amoraim (Tel-Aviv, 1935), pp. 21-22. 60. Ketubot 42b and Baba Kamma 66b. 61. Baba Mezia 86a. 62. See Baruch M. Bokser, "Rabbah bar Nahmani," in Encyclopedia of Religion, vol. 12, p. 181.

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scholars in heaven are deadlocked over an issue of ritual purity, and Rabbah's vote is necessary to decide the question. It was concluded above that several talmudic passages reflect the view that Yosef was superior to Rabbah. If this is the case, then the story of Rabbah's death provides further support for the claim that the Talmud contains a variety of contradictory sources. It is difficult to imagine that people who transmitted stories whose major point is Yosef's superiority to Rabbah also transmitted a story which views Rabbah as a figure of cosmic importance.63Furthermore, Abaye and "all of the rabbis" attend to Rabbah after his death,64but Yosef is nowhere to be found. As Rabbah's colleague and successor in Pumbedita, his absence from the story is striking. According to some versions, in fact,65 the story serves to legitimate Abaye, and not Yosef, as Rabbah's successor in Pumbedita. According to these versions, a message descends from heaven and falls upon the head of Abaye, designating him, and not Yosef, as Rabbah's successor. Very likely, whoever told the story of Rabbah's death disagrees with the view expressed earlier that Yosef was greater than Rabbah.66The Talmud preserves contradictory views regarding the scholarly status of Rabbah and Yosef which most likely derive from diverse sources. The relationship between Rava and Yosef also yields evidence of opposing viewpoints contained within our sources. I discussed above two statements attributed to Rava which reflect the view that Yosef was the greatest scholar of his generation. Several stories suggest that Yosef, and/or some of his students or later editors, did not return the compliment, that they had serious reservations about Rava's character. In a story reminiscent of the Talmud's account of Rav's initial meeting with Shmuel (see above), Rav Dimi MiNehardea comes to Mahoza to sell some produce.67Rava tells his disciple, Rav Ada bar Ahava, to test Rav Dimi's learning, using the same expression used by Shmuel when he sends Karna to test Rav. At the request of the exilarch, Rava wants to find out if Rav Dimi deserves a market privi63. Note, however, that on Moed Katan 28a, Rava is portrayed as speaking highly of Rabbah. Compare Ketubot 42b and Baba Kamma 66b. 64. Rava's presence there is almost certainly a scribal error, as Rabbinovicz in Dikdukei Sopherim, n. dalet, already observed. 65. See Dikdukei Sopherim, n. bet, and Yeshayahu Gafni, "'Yeshiva' u-'Metivta,'" p. 25, n. 64. 66. We must be wary, however, about placing too much weight on an argument from silence. 67. Baba Batra 22a.

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lege granted to sages. Dimi is unable to answer the question posed to him, whereupon Ada bar Ahava makes an insulting gesture toward him and refers to himself as the teacher of Dimi, and to Rava as "the teacher of your teacher." Dimi is not granted the special market privilege, and his produce spoils. Dimi goes before Yosef to complain, and Yosef assures him that just as God did not delay punishment on behalf of the king of Edom, so he will not delay in punishing those who wronged Rav Dimi.68This story most likely derives from sources hostile to Rava, sources which have an interest in portraying him in an unattractive light and in showing poor relations between Rava and his teacher, Rav Yosef. In another story critical of Rava, Rava sends a halakhic question to Yosef.69Yosef sends back a reply, and Rava issues a clarification, explaining that Yosef misunderstood his question. Yosef takes offense, complaining that Rava fails to show him proper respect. "If he doesn't need us," asks Yosef, "why does he send questions to us?" Rava learns that Yosef is offended and goes to him personally to make amends. Rava mixes Yosef's cup, like a student before his master, showing him that he, Rava, still considers himself to be Yosef's student. Yosef then quotes a series of biblical verses and asks Rava to explain them, like a teacher examining his student. Rava willingly plays the role of a student in order to mollify his insulted teacher, interpreting the scripture quoted by Yosef as a warning against the evil of too much pride. By interpreting scripture in this manner, Rava in effect confesses his sin and accepts the blame for offending his teacher.70 Yosef thus plays a prominent role in several stories critical of Rava. These stories provide an interesting contrast to several cases in which Rava is presented as reporting his interaction with Yosef, or quoting statements by Yosef, and providing no hint of any tension between them.7"Also inter68. The text goes on to say that Rav Ada bar Ahava died, suggesting that Rav Yosefs words were directed against Rav Ada bar Ahava rather than Rava. However, it is clear that the teacher, Rava, who sent his student to test a fellow sage and who no doubt made the final decision to deny Rav Dimi market privileges, is also responsible. Furthermore, the sentence informing us of Rav Ada bar Ahava's death very likely does not end the previous story but rather begins the following section. Accordingly, the text provides no indication that Rava is not the object of Rav Yosefs wrath. 69. Nedarim 55a. The long narrative on Nedarim 55a might be a combination of two stories, one of which is also found on Eruvin 54b. 70. For other stories involving Rav Yosef in which Rava is criticized, see Hullin 133a and the discussion of Ketubot 63a, below. 71. Ketubot 42b and 43a (twice), and Hullin 133a.

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esting is the fact that most or possibly all of the stories involving Yosef whicharecriticalof Ravatake placewhileRavais no longerYosef'sdisciple in Pumbedita.Verylikely,these storiesreflectthe view of sageswho viewed with great disfavor Rava's decision to move to a new locality and assert independenceof his master.Verylikely,they unfavorablycontrastedRava with Abaye,who makesbriefappearancesin most of thesestories.72Unlike Rava, Abaye remainedin Pumbeditahis entirelife, a loyal disciplefirst of Rabbah and later of Yosef. The Talmud preservescontradictoryviews regardingthe characterof Rava and his relationshipto Rav Yosef which most likely derive from diversesources. Support for this interpretationmight be found in another narrative which describes Rava's interactionwith Rav Yosef.73According to this story, Ravais in the habitof makingan extravagantgestureof humilityand submissionto Rav Yosef wheneverhe leaves Yosef'spresence.Yosef hears about it and says to Rava:"Mayit be [God's]will that your headbe elevated over the entire town." Yosefs blessing,when viewed in the context of Rava'sentirecareer,is perhapsdeliberatelyironic.The transmittersof this story know full well that Rava neverruledin Pumbedita.Perhapsthe story intends to contrast Rava's behavior while still a student, winning his master'sfavorand deservingof his blessing,with his behaviorafterhe broke with Yosefand movedto Mahoza.Perhapsthe implicationis that Rava,had he wished,could havestayedin Pumbeditaand ruledthe entirecity, thereby avoiding a painful break with his master. The claimthat storiesabout Ravareachedthe Talmudfrommorethan a single source is borne out by one passage of Palestinianorigin.74In this passage, Rava's statementis introducedby the following formula:"They said in the west [Palestine]that R. Yosi bar Hama and R. Zera, and some say Rava b. d'Rav Yosef bar Hama and R. Zera, said the following. . ." Rava'sstatement,also found in the Yerushalmi,is uniquein that it reached the BabylonianTalmudvia Palestine,as the statement'sintroductionmakes clear ("They said in the west .. .").75Confirmation of this claim is provided 72. Nedarim 55a, Baba Batra 22a, and Hullin 133a. 73. Yoma 53a-b. 74. Bezah 8b. See Yisrael Francus, Talmud YerushalmiMassekhet Bezah im Perush Ehad ha-Kadmonim Rabenu Elazar Azkari Ba'al Sefer Haredim (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1967), p. 40, n. 100. 75. Yer. Bezah 1:3. See Francus, op. cit., and Ephraim Urbach, Ha-Halacha, Mekoroteha ve-Hitpathutah (Yad la-Talmud, 1984), p. 214, who claim that this is the only statement by Rava preserved in the Yerushalmi.

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by the designation of Rava as Rava b. d'Rav Yosef bar Hama.76 In Palestine, it was not enough to refer to Rava as the author of a statement, for the name "Rava" there would more likely refer to one of several amoraim named R. Abba. In Palestine, it was necessary to identify him as Rava son of Ray Yosef b. d'Rav Hama.77Elsewhere in the Babylonian Talmud, Rava is referred to in this manner only in stories where some narrative purpose is filled by doing so. For example, if Rava is still a youth when the story is taking place, or if another rabbi wishes to humble or belittle him, Rava will be referred to as "the son of Rav Yosef b. d'Rav Hama.""78 Only in this one context, where the tradition comes to Babylonia via Palestine, is Rava referredto by his father's name even though no narrative purpose is served. This fact clearly aids us in identifying the Palestinian role in formulating the tradition, and supports my contention that traditions regarding Rava reached the Talmud from more than a single source. Very likely, Rava's appellation in another narrative aids us in detecting the presence of a hostile source. In this narrative, "the father of Rav Yosef b. d'Rava" sends his son to study with Rav Yosef, stipulating that the son stay away for six years.79The story is clearly critical of Rava for making excessive demands of his son, demands which lead to family strife when the son comes home ahead of schedule, unable to meet his father's expectations."8It is peculiar that Rava, one of the towering figures in the Babylonian Talmud, should be referredto as "the father of Rav Yosef b. d'Rava." By referringto Rava in this manner, the narrator shifts attention away from the father and onto his son, as if the actions of Rav Yosef b. d'Rava, an obscure amora who seldom appears in the Talmud,8' are of greater interest than the actions of the father. By referring to Rava in this manner, the narrator creates the impression that the son is the story's protagonist and the father part of the supporting cast. Once again, the name by which Rava is designated aids us in detecting the presence of a hostile source. Perhaps we find evidence that not everyone in Babylonia considered

76. Other talmudic rabbis are referred to in more than one way, which some scholars have taken as evidence of diverse sources. See, for example, David Halivni, Mekorot u-Mesorot. Shabbat (Jerusalem: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1982), p. 94, n. 2, for a discussion of the names R. Shimon and R. Shimon ben Yohai, and Rabbi and R. Yehuda ha-Nasi. 77. In the Yerushalmi (see above, n. 75), he is referred to as R. Abba bar Yosef. 78. See Eruvin 54a, Yevamot 122a, Nedarim 55a, and Hullin 43b and 77a. 79. Ketubot 63a. 80. See Fraenkel, lyyunim ba-Olamo ha-Ruhani shel Sippur ha-Aggadah, pp. 99-115. 81. See Kosowsky, Ozar ha-Shemot, pp. 877-878.

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Rava to be the dominant scholar of his generation in a passage which describes the students who study year-round in the houses of important rabbis.82According to this passage, the number of disciples studying with the dominant scholars in every generation steadily decreases as we move later in the amoraic period. More disciples studied with Rav than with Ray Huna, and more studied with Rav Huna than with Rabbah and Ray Yosef.83"When the rabbis left the house of Abaye," the text continues, "and some say the house of Rav Papa, and some say the house of Rav Ashi, two hundred rabbis remained, and they called themselves orphans of orphans."84 Most versions make no reference to Rava,85and it is quite possible that the omission is intentional. Perhaps whoever excluded Rava's name did not view him as worthy of inclusion alongside the other amoraim mentioned on the list. Perhaps this passage provides further evidence that stories about amoraim reflect a variety of perspectives and reached the Talmud from more than a single source. Stories which emphasize Abaye's deficiencies as judge and halakhic decisor, and which contrast Abaye unfavorably with Rava, were alluded to above."86These stories suggest strongly that some of the Talmud's sources were composed and transmitted by sages who wished to portray Abaye in an unfavorable light.87 I emphasize the phrase some of the Talmud'ssources, however, since the bulk of the Talmud's sources display no such animus toward Abaye. One illustration of this claim is provided by the relatively polite way in which Rava's objections against Abaye are phrased through-

82. Ketubot 106a. Gafni, "Hiburim Nestorianim ke-Makor le-Toldot Yeshivot Bavel," pp. 574-575, notes that Christian sources preserve a strikingly similar account of the gradual decline of the Nestorian academy at Nisibis (Nezivin). 83. Note the coupling of Rabbah and Rav Yosef, creating the impression that they presided over a single, unified house of study. See the discussion above. 84. Goodblatt, Rabbinic Instruction in Sassanian Babylonia, pp. 56-57, basing himself on the chronology of Rav Sherira Gaon, dates the core of this passage, the section dealing with Rav, Rav Huna, and Rabbah and Rav Yosef, to the middle third of the fourth century. Goodblatt views the concluding section as an attempt by students of Abaye, Rav Papa, and Rav Ashi to update the tradition so that mention would be made of their own teachers, whom they considered to be the greatest scholars of their generation. 85. Dikdukei Sopherim ha-Shalem, ed. Herschler, nn. on line 17, and n. 38. Note that a genizah fragment records Rava's name but not Abaye's. Note also that all versions omit reference to Shmuel, and see the discussion above. 86. Yevamot122a (see Dikdukei Sopherim, n. yud, on Hullin 77a), Baba Batra 22a, Makkot 6a, and Hullin 77a. 87. Compare Yudelowitz, YeshivatPumbedita, p. 41.

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out the Talmud. Nothing in Rava's reactions to Abaye compares to the harsh language used on several occasions by Shmuel in rejecting the

opinions of Rav, for example, or by Rav in rejectingthe opinions of Shmuel.88Significantly, a single individual, Rav Ada bar Ahava, is associated with many of the sources hostile to Abaye. Judging from the evidence of the Talmud, Ada bar Ahava was a zealous disciple of Rava who had an extremely low opinion of Abaye. Most of Ada bar Ahava's contemporaries, according to the talmudic portrait, did not share this opinion.89 They did not share the same intense desire to portray Abaye as Rava's inferior. It would be premature to conclude from the stories examined above that the Talmud grants little or no direct access to the statements of Rava and Abaye, Rabbah and Rav Yosef, Resh Lakish and R. Yohanan, and Rav and

Shmuel,but rathercontainscollectionsof opposingversionsof theirstatements transmitted with polemical intent by their disciples. It cannot yet be concluded that we have little besides tendentious accounts formulated by students or later editors. I say this because all of the evidence for polemical distortion examined above is found in the context of stories. Very likely, the authors and transmitters of talmudic stories, both halakhic and aggadic, often had free rein to engage in "creative historiography,"90to distort or

88. Shabbat 53a, Eruvin78a, Moed Katan 12b, Ketubot77a, Kiddushin44b, and Hullin I I lb. 89. See Berakhot 56a, according to which Abaye's students went on to become disciples of Rava after the death of Abaye. Because of the miraculous elements contained in the story, and because of its obvious character as propaganda (serving to legitimate Rava as successor to Abaye), it is difficult to evaluate this narrative as history. Nevertheless, the evidence of the Talmud supports Bar Hedia's claim that "Abaye will die and his metivta will go to you [Rava]." That is, most of Abaye's students went on to become students of Rava. Throughout tractates Berakhot, Pesahim, Bezah, Ketubot, Nedarim, Baba Mezia, Baba Batra, and Makkot, we find the following amoraim active as Abaye's students: Abba bar Marta, Rav Ada bar Matna, Rav Aha bar Manyumi, Rav Idi bar Abin, Rav Huna b. d'Rav Yehoshua, Rav Huna b. d'Rav Moshe bar Azrei, Rav Zevid, Rav Hiyya b. d'Rav Huna, Rav Hinena b. d'Rav Ika, Rav Tavyumi, Rav Yemar bar Shelamya, Rav Yaakov bar Abba, Rav Kahana, Rav Menashya bar G'da, Rav Mari b. d'Bat Shmuel, Rav Nihumi bar Zecharya, Rav Papa, Rav bar Rav Hanan, Rava bar Sharshom, Rav Rehumi, Rav Sheravya, and possibly Rav Avya. Of these students, all were also students of Rava with the exception of Abba bar Marta, Rav Idi bar Abin (but see Moed Katan 16a), Rav Menashya bar G'da, Rav Nihumi bar Zecharya, Rava bar Sharshom, and possibly Rav Aha bar Manyumi (however, see Nedarim 47b). I doubt that these students were disciples of both amoraim at the same time, for such students would have constituted a living link of communication between the schools of Abaye and Rava, and the Talmud preserves no evidence of such a link. 90. See Yizhak Heinemann, Darkhei ha-Aggadah (Jerusalem: Masada, 1949/50), pp. 4-7 and 15-95.

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invent facts to serve the purposesof their narrativeand the moral or religious lessonthey wishedto draw.The transmittersof halakhicstatementsin a strictlyacademicsetting,by contrast,may have workedundermorerigid constraints.9'They may have been more limitedwith regardto the types of additionsthey could make to the sourcesat their disposal.92 To reiterate,we haveexaminedthe Talmud'sportrayalof severalrabbis who flourishedbetweenthe first and the fourth amoraicgenerations,most notably Rav and Shmuel, R. Yohanan, Resh Lakish, and R. Elazarben Pedat, Rabbah and Rav Yosef, and Abaye and Rava. It was repeatedly found that talmudicaccountsof theircharactersand personalitiesand the nature of their interactionscontain contradictionswhich betray the existence of opposing sources. Accordingly,severalimportantaspects of the historyof the amoraicperiodneed to be reevaluated,since historianshave tended to accept talmudic stories as reliable evidence without critically evaluatingthe role of authors,tradents,andlatereditorsin coloring,distorting, and even fabricatingstories about the amoraim. JewishTheological Seminary New York,N.Y.

91. See Albert I. Baumgarten, "Rabbi Judah I and His Opponents," Journalfor the Study ofJudaism 12, no. 2 (1981): 141-142, and the literature cited in n. 28 there. 92. The work of David Halivni, Shama Friedman, and others in separating the additions of the anonymous editors from amoraic legal dicta may contradict this suggestion. See David Halivni, Mekorot u-Mesorot: Nashim and Mekorot u-Mesorot: Yoma-Hagigah (Jerusalem: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1975); Mekorot u-Mesorot: Shabbat; and Mekorot u-Mesorot: Eruvin-Pesahim(Jerusalem: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1982); and Shama Friedman, Perek ha-Isha Rabbah ba-Bavli (Jerusalem: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1978). However, we will not be in a position to fully appreciate the work of the anonymous editors in altering their amoraic sources until the discrete analyses of individual sugyot have been systematically analyzed and the full range of anonymous editorial activity catalogued and described. See Kalmin, Redaction of the Babylonian Talmud,pp. 66-94, for a systematic analysis of the anonymous editorial commentary based on statements by the latest amoraim mentioned in the Talmud.

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Note Bibliographical A comprehensivebibliographyon the crucialsubjectof the use of talmudic stories as evidencefor historyand biographycannot be providedin the context of the present paper. See, however, Bacher, Die Agada der BabylonischenAmoraer,pp. 34 and 114-115, who reconcilesconflicting talmudicaccountsof the interactionbetweenRay and Shmueland between Abaye and Rava by claimingthat each of these relationshipswas a peculiar combination of closeness, collegiality, and intense competition. See also Moshe D. Herr, "The Historical Significanceof the Dialogues Between Jewish Sages and Roman Dignitaries,"and Shmuel Safrai, "Tales of the Sages in the PalestinianTraditionand the BabylonianTalmud,"Scripta Hierosolymitana22 (1971): 209-232. Safrai acknowledgesdifferencesin variousversionsof aggadot,but they are "two accountsof the same event" (p. 210). Safraiassumesthat "generally,too, the namesof the Sages ... are not confusedin these narrativeshandeddown by tradition,nor arethe relations betweenthem inconsistentwith respectto the times"(ibid.). See also Graetz, Geschichteder Juden, vol. 4, pp. 258, 266-267, and 329-331; Urbach, Ha-Halacha,pp. 192-216; Joshua Schwartz,"TensionBetween PalestinianScholarsand BabylonianOlim in Amoraic Palestine,"Journal for the Study of Judaism 11 (1980): 78-94; and Yoel Florsheim, "HaYahasim bein Hakhmei ha-Dor ha-Sheni shel Amoraei Bavel," Zion (1986):285-293. Florsheimassumesthat talmudicnarrativescan be combined together to form coherent biographies.Contradictorysources are explainedas derivingfrom differentperiodswithin an amora'slife. Jacob Neusner, by contrast,arguesconvincinglythat at times the contradictions do not admit of reconciliation.See, for example, Neusner, Historyof theJewsinBabylonia,vol. 3, pp. 50-94, and vol. 4, pp. 73-82 and 85-124, and TheRabbinicTraditionsAboutthe PhariseesBefore70 (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1979), especially pp. 184-341. See also Baruch M. Bokser, "Wonder-Workingand the RabbinicTradition:The Case of Hanina ben Dosa," Journalfor the Study of Judaism16, no. 1 (1985):42-92, and the referencescited on p. 43, n. 2. See also Gafni, "HiburimNestorianim,"pp. 574-575, who analyzes stories about Babylonian rabbis and discovers motifs also presentin Nestorianliterature.Gafni arguesthat theseparallels "do not necessarilyattest to contact" betweenthe two communities,but might be motifs absorbedindependentlyinto the two literatures.At least some of the biographicalinformationpreservedin the Talmudconcerning

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Babylonian amoraim, therefore, cannot be accepted at face value as historical fact. See also Daniel Sperber, "On the Unfortunate Adventures of Rav Kahana: A Passage of Saboraic Polemic from Sasanian Persia," in Irano-Judaica, ed. Shaul Shaked (Jerusalem: Ben-Zvi Institute, 1982), pp. 83-100. Sperber argues persuasively that the story is a pro-Babylonian polemic and cannot be accepted as evidence for conditions in Palestine during the time of R. Yohanan. Compare Gafni, "Ha-Yeshiva he-Bavlit la-Or Sugyat B.K. 117a," pp. 292-301. See also Fraenkel, Iyyunim ba-Olamo ha-Ruhani shel Sippur ha-Agadah. On p. 8, Fraenkel writes that he is not interested in the ancient rabbinic stories for the historical and biographical information they contain, but rather as sources for the rabbis' answers to eternal human questions. Whether or not such and such really happened to Hillel or R. Akiba is, for the purposes of Fraenkel's study, irrelevant. See also Fraenkel, "Bible Verses Quoted in Tales of the Sages," Scripta Hierosolymitana 22 (1971): 89, n. 23, who writes: "It must be stated that in principle one should not rely on parallels in a literary analysis of talmudic stories, but look for the intrinsic unity in every story. That is also why the general image of a sage can differ from one story to the next, which is natural if different narrators told the stories, and there is no need for any artificial harmonization." See also Anthony J. Saldarini, "The Adoption of a Dissident: Akabya ben Mahalaleel in Rabbinic Tradition," Journal of Jewish Studies 33 (1982): 547-556. Saldarini observes that the story of Akabya's excommunication in Mishnah Eduyot 5:6-7 fits the purposes of the editors of the Mishnah. Whatever historical kernel may be contained within the story, he concludes, is unrecoverable. See also William Scott Green, "What's in a Name? The Problematic of Rabbinic 'Biography,"' in Approaches to Ancient Judaism. Theory and Practice, ed. William Scott Green (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1978), pp. 77-94; "Context and Meaning in Rabbinic 'Biography,'" in Approaches to Ancient Judaism: VolumeII, ed. William Scott Green (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1980), pp. 97-111; and "Storytelling and Holy Man: The Case of Ancient Judaism," in Take Judaismfor Example, ed. Jacob Neusner (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983), pp. 29-43. See also Baumgarten, "Rabbi Judah I and His Opponents," pp. 135-172. See also Zipporah Kagan, "Divergent Tendencies and Their Literary Moulding in the Aggadah," Scripta Hierosolymitana 22 (1971): 151-170. Kagan finds that the versions of the story of the early years of R. Eliezer ben Hyrcanus' life divide into two groups. One group is "earlier and more authentic. The Aggadah in Group A was told close to the

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time when the events took place and for that reason it preserved a more realistic view of the figures, the plot, and numerous details. The Aggadah in Group B ... was composed at a later time than the historical event" (p. 168). Finally, see Richard Kalmin, "The Talmudic Story: Aggadah as History," Proceedings of the Tenth World Congress of Jewish Studies (forthcoming).

The Covenant of the Prophets: Muslim Texts, Jewish Subtexts Author(s): Jacob Lassner Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 2 (Autumn, 1990), pp. 207-238 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486894 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:35 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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THE COVENANTOF THE PROPHETS: MUSLIM TEXTS, JEWISH SUBTEXTS by JACOB LASSNER

For severalyears I have been tryingto analyzeMuslimhistoricalthinking and the mannerin which it affectedperceptionsof the Jewishpast-a past whichMuslimsfullyappropriatedas partof theirown historicalexperiences and world-view. Put somewhat differently,I have been trying to understandthe processby which a heritagecommon to both monotheistic faiths could and did become a bone of contention as well as a basis of mutualunderstanding.This linkagebetweenMuslimself-reflectionand the creationof a largermonotheisthistoriographyis crucialto the formationof Muslimattitudestoward"the other,"the polemicaldiscourseagainstJews and Judaism,and, more generally,Muslim-Jewishrelationsthroughoutthe MiddleAges. The presentstudy is culled from a projecton Muslimuses of the Jewishpast.'

1. An earlier study derived from this larger project is my "Muslim Uses of the Jewish Past: Ancient Themes and the Formation of Attitudes Towards the People of the Book," which was presented to the American Academy of Jewish Research in 1987.

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Concerning Texts and Readers

What follows is the tale of an Arabic text and two communitiesof readers:one the medievalcommunityof learnedMuslims,the other,various personsknowledgeablein Jewishsourcesbut not necessarilybelievingJews. The studyis also a tale of two interpretiveefforts:the firstlocatesin the text a subtle but sharp Muslim polemic against the People of the Book; the second suggestsa Jewishsubtext,that is, a readinginformedby rabbinicas well as Muslimsources.The largerintentionis to explorethe polemicaluse of the Jewishpast by Muslims;the possiblereactionof Jews to this appropriationof theirown history;and finally,the complexlinks betweenancient Jewishthemes and medievalMuslim literature. The case in point is the accountof the originsof Muhammad'smission, in particular,the versioncited by Ibn Isahq, the foremostof his medieval A rankingscholarof traditions,Ibn Ishaqhad beencompelled biographers.2 to leave his native Medina.The qualityof his scholarship,if not his orthodoxy and public behavior, had been seriously questionedby his learned opponents,principallyMalik b. Anas and Hishamb. 'Urwah.The former accusedhim of falsifyingwrittenhistoryby tamperingwith historicaltraditions, the latterof scandalizingthe historicalfraternityby falselyquotinga most knowledgeablefemale informant. The evidence in both instances seemsto have been inconclusive,and in the case of the informant,who was NeverthecoincidentallyIbn 'Urwah'swife, it was entirelycircumstantial.3 left the in exile and traveled about Ibn less, Ishlq holy city self-imposed Iraq and Iranbeforeseekingthe patronageof the Abbasidcaliphsin the 750s of the commonera.4Havingobtainedit, he sat at the courtof the newlyestab2. D. ca. A.H. 150/767 c.E. See Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2d ed. (hereafter cited as EI2), s.v.

"Ibn IshaIk."

3. Yaqfit, Irshad, 6:400 ff.; Ibn Hajar, Tahdhib,9:41 ff. 4. See J. Fiick, Mubammad ibn Ishdq. The intr. to A. Guillaume, The Life of Muhammad, pp. xiv-xlvii; also his "A Note on the Sira of Ibn Isbhq," Bulletin of the School of Oriental and Arabic Studies (University of London) (hereafter cited as BSOAS) 18 (1956): 1-4; J. Horovitz, "The Earliest Biographies of the Prophet and Their Authors," Islamic Culture2 (1928): 22-50, and al-Waqidi: The Dream of 'Atika and the Raid to 164-182, 495-526; J. Jones. "Ibn Nakhla in Relation to the ChargeIs1.q of Plagiarism," BSOAS 22 (1959): 41-5 1; J. Robson, "Ibn Use of Isnad," Bulletin of the John Rylands Library 38 (1955-56): 449-465; W. M. Is•iq's Watt, "The Materials Used by Ibn Ish1q, in Historians of the Middle East, ed. B. Lewis and P. Holt; R. Sellheim, "Prophet, Calif and Geschichte. Die Muhammad-Biographie des Ibn Ishiq," Der Islam (1967).

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lishedrulingfamilyand, continuinghis scholarlycareer,composedthe SFrat Rasal Allah, perhapsthe quintessentialbiographyof Muhammadand his times.5 The highly tendentioustext, which Ibn Ishaq presentedto the Abbasid caliph,providedhistoricalevidencenecessaryto legitimizethe claimsof the Abassids by linkingthem and their age to the Prophetand the early community of Islam.6More pertinentto any discussionof Jewishthemes and Muslimsourcesis the author'sattemptto legitimizethe Prophethimselfby linking Muhammad,the last of God's messengers,with the galaxy of prophetic figureswho precededhim. In such fashion, a distant monotheistic past was integratedwith more recentIslamiceventsto form a singlesacred history. Moving backwardthroughtime, the Abbasidcaliph, Muhammad, and the earlierprophets formed one chain; the Abbasid polity, the community, or ummah,of Mubammad'sage, and the Bana Isra'il,or ancient Israelites,formed another. Elementsof the Strahthus becamepart of the wide-rangingdiscoursethat linkedclosely the toleratedPeopleof the Book and the political factions of a hegemonicMuslim community. The passagesof the Strahthat interestus hererepresentthe segmenton the origins of Muhammad'smission, an accountwhich is roughlydivided into threeepisodes:God's preparationsfor the mission;the actualmoment of Mubammad'srevelation;and the confirmationthat Mubammadwas indeeda Prophetin the long line of prophetssent by God to ministerto the needsof His subjects.For the benefitof readerslackingaccessto the original sources, a combinationof loose translationand summaryis provided.7 Text

[A.] WhenMuhammad,the Messengerof God, reachedthe ageof forty, 5. The text is preserved in the version of Ibn Hishim originally published in 3 vols. by F. Wiistenfeld (G6ttingen, 1858-60). The edition cited here is the Beirut edition of T. 'A. Sa'd (4 vols. in 2, n.d.). 6. The tendentious nature of the text is explored in detail by Sellheim (see above, n. 4). He argues strongly for a pro-'Abbisid anti-'Alid bias. Note, however, the reservations of U. Rubin, who calls attention to the prominent position of 'All in the Strah. See his "Prophets and Progenitors in the Early Shi'a Tradition,"JerusalemStudies in Arabic and Islam 1(1979): 41-65. The favorable rendering of 'Ali does not detract from the text's pro-'Abbdsid bias (see J. Lassner, Islamic Revolution and Historical Memory, American Oriental Society Series 66 [1986], p. 16 n. 32 and more generally pp. 1-33). 7. Ibn Hisham, 1:215-223.

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God sent him out of compassionfor all of mankind.God had previously made a covenant with every prophet whom He had sent before him. He enjoinedthem to believe in Muhammad,affirmthe truth [of his mission], and assisthim againstthose who would [later]opposehim. Moreover,God requiredof them that they should transmitthis [the substanceof the agreement]to all thosewho wouldhavefaithin themand assertthe truth [oftheir propheticmissions].The ancientprophetsthen transmittedthis as required of them. [Concerningthis] God said to Muhammad(herethe authorquotes Qur'an3:75):"Behold,God exactedan agreementfrom the prophets,saying, 'What I have given you is revealedin Book and wisdom. Afterward therewill come unto you a messengerto confirmwhat you have previously received.You shall affirmyour faith in him and assisthim. (God said:)Do you accept and take upon yourselvesthe burden(iSr)I have chargedyou with (that is, the thiqalthat I have imposed upon you)?' They said: 'We accept.'WhereuponGod said:'Swearand I shall bearwitness.'" Ibn Ishaq then goes on to explainthat in such fashionGod made a covenantwith all [the prophets]to affirmthe truthof Muhammad['smission]and assisthim againstthose who would [later]oppose him. The prophetsthentransmitted this [the substanceof the agreement]to all those who had faith in them and asserted the truth of their missions from among the people of the two [revealed]books, that is, the biblical community. The Sfrah then indicates9[B.] that Mubammadfirst experiencedhis prophecythroughtrue visionswhichcame to him as he slept and [C.] when the angelGabrielcameto him with the gift of God (that is, propheticvocation) while Muhammadwas all by himself at [Mount] Hira''0duringthe month of Ramadan.[D.1] Mubammadhad gone to Hira' to prayin seclusion, as he was wont to do for one month of everyyear when he practiced On this occasionGabriel the pre-Islamicreligiousdevotionsof tabannuth."I cameto Muhammadas he slept, and, followingan awesomeexperience,the

8. The bracketed explanation of iSr represents the gloss of a later commentator. 9. Ibn Hishim, 1:218 ff. 10. A mountain some three mil (six kilometers) from Mecca. See Ydqfit, Mujam (Wiistenfeld), 2:228; also Wiistenfeld's Chroniken der Stadt Mekka, 1:426, 493; 3:447; 4:332. 11. The nature of these devotions and the etymology of the word was a source of concern to medieval Arabic philologists and modern scholars as well. For a review of the scholarship and a convincing explanation of the term, see M. J. Kister, "Al-Tabannuth:An Enquiry into the Meaning of a Term," BSOAS 31 (1968): 223-236.

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Prophetawoke as if revealedwords had been writteninto his heart.Upon awakening,the Prophetwalkedabout the mountainand heardvoices calling out to him from every stone and bush, "O Muhammad,you are the Messengerand I am Gabriel."Muhammadthen witnesseda second awesome experience.After being overcomefor some time, the Prophetfinally came to his senses. Returning home, he related the dramatic story of Gabriel's visitation to his wife, Khadijah,who then went to her learned cousin Waraqah b. Nawfal, to ascertain the significanceof what had occurred.12

[D.2] Waraqahhad previouslyconvertedto Christianityand thus read scripture.Moreover,he studied [oral traditions]from those who followed the Torahand the Gospel. When Khadijahrelatedto her kinsmanwhatthe Messengerhad told her, that which he had seen and heard, Waraqah exclaimed,"Holy! Holy! By God, if you have told me the truth, O Khadijah, verilythe great angel Gabriel [or revelation]'3who [or that] used to come to Moseshas come to Muhammad.Muhammadis indeedthe Prophet of this religiouscommunity.So tell him to remainsteadfast."[D.3] Having learned of Waraqah'scomments, Muhammadreturnedto the center of Mecca.Therehe encounteredhis wife'skinsmanand, at the latter'srequest, personallyinformedhim of whathad transpired,as if to makesurethat this had indeedbeen the long-awaitedmoment.Waraqahthen replied,"Indeed, you are the [expected]Prophetof this religiouscommunity,"and, repeating what he had previouslysaid to Khadijah,he exclaimed,"The great angel Gabriel [or revelation]who [or that] used to come to Moses has come to you. You will surelybe called a liar, subjectedto harm,expelled,and confronted on the field of battle"-this last commentan indicationthat not everyonewould accept him. What did these passagessignify for Muslimreaders?The surfacemeaning seemsclearenough.The storyof Mubammad'scall to prophethoodand the measurespreviouslyinitiated by God in support of his mission are intendedto demonstratethe legitimacyof Muhammad'scalling-this, by linkinghim directlywith the greatprophetsof the past. A closerreadingof the text indicatesthat the openingand closingpassagesalso serveas a com12. Ibn Hisham, 1:222-223; also EI2, s.v. "Waraka," citing in addition to the Strah, Tabari, Annales, 1:1147-52; Ibn Sa'd, Tabaqdt (Sachau et al.), 1:58, 130; Ibn Athir, Usd, 5:88; Ibn Idbah (Cairo, 1325 A.H.), 6:317; ISfahdini,Aqhant (Bulak) 3:14-15. 13. Arabic namas = Greek nomos. H.ajar,

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mentary on Qur'an 3:75, that enigmatic verse on the Covenant of the Prophets which puzzled Muslim scholars and gave rise to many strained interpretations. Finally, after some reflection, the story told by Ibn Ishlq is recognizable as a polemic against the more current People of the Book, monotheists who, unlike Waraqah, do not recognize the truth of Muhammad's mission, even though it was revealed to them by way of their own sacred traditions. That is, this truth was received by way of their own prophets, spiritual leaders who themselves learned of Muhammad and his mission directly from God. The substantive arguments and the rhetorical strategies of this polemic require elaboration.

Explication Readers of the Strah would not have been surprised that the Almighty had singled out Muhammad and put a good deal of thought into his mission before sending him at the age of forty "out of compassion for all of mankind." Those acquainted with Muslim scripture were well aware that Muhammad was to be the last of God's prophets; the last to reveal His word; the last chance to provide mankind with an effective universal messenger. Given the importance of this mission, Allah was not about to rely solely on Muhammad's persuasiveness (which could be taken for granted)14 nor on the good intentions of his audience (which could not). To ensure Muhlammad's future success, God thought it necessary to summon all the prophets that He intended to send before Muhammad and to request of them that they pave the way for the latter's prophethood in a binding covenant with God Himself, an act which foreshadowed Muhammad's universal appeal. The expression "all of mankind"" which appears in the very first phrase of Ibn Ishbq's account should have been sufficient to alert even the dullest reader that it was not God's ultimate intention to send Muhammad with a message that was limited to his own kinsmen among the Arabs of Quraysh, and that the geographical parameters of his assignment were not restricted 14. See, for example, Ibn Hishim, 2:90-91, where Muhammad's opponents reject a plan to exile him for fear that he will, by his eloquence, win over the tribesmen in whose midst he would be forced to dwell. 15. Kdfatan li'l-nds.

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to his nativeMecca,or eventhe Arabianpeninsula.16 The universalscope of Muhammad'smission, indicatedby the words "all of mankind,"explains the need for extensivepreparationsinvolvingthe whole rangeof prophets who precededhim. By revealingtheirfaith in Muhammad'sinevitablecoming and by affirmingthe truthof his futurerevelation,Moses and the other prophetsof the Bani Isra'ilshould have paved the way for his acceptance amongthe latter-dayJews(and Christians).Ibn Ishbqmakesno such explicit claim, but most readers of this text, whether medieval or modern, Muslim or non-Muslim,would have concludedthat this must have been God's intentionwhen He enjoinedthe (Israelite)prophetsto enter into a covenantwith Him. Bearingthe Jewsin mind,the samereaderswouldthen have been left to ponder why the Jewish tribes of Arabia, unlike their ancientprophets,spurnedMubammad,rejectedhis mission,and in certain instanceswent so far as to betrayhim. Moreover,the Jews,howeverlimited their subsequentcapacityfor politicalopposition,continuedwhereverand wheneverto rejectthe legitimacyof the Prophetand his true revelationby clingingto currentbeliefs and attitudes. Given the thrustof this traditionin the Strah,its readerscould not easily assumethatthe continuedintransigenceof the Jewswas basedentirelyon an absenceof knowledgeor on some misconceptioninheritedfrom the past. The Jews' own prophets,fulfillinga sacredoath to God, no less, had not only believedin the comingof Muhammadand the legitimacyof his revelation, but had actuallytransmittedthese convictionsto their coreligionists. If, indeed,the Jews continuedto rejectMubammad,it was not likely to be ignorancewhich compelledthem, it was intransigenthypocrisy-the same hypocrisywhich had been manifestingitself among people of their faith since the time of Moses, who was himselfsubjectedto maliciousgossip and rejectedby those who consideredthemselvesbelievers.The opposition to Moses, a theme developed at length in both the Hebrew Bible and the Qur'an,'7is an egregiouscase of a self-criticalJewishtraditionbeingturned forcefullyagainst the Jews by others. The Strahmakes it clear, albeit indirectly, that the rejection of Muhammad was parallel to the welldocumentedrejectionof Moses. Or put somewhatdifferently,the rejection 16. The question of Mulammad's changing intentions at the various stages of his career remains of vital importance. Later commentators ascribed to Muhammad a global mission from the outset. 17. For example, Qur'an 2:83, 20:85-89, 33:69, 61:5.

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of Mubammadwas the rejectionof the propheticfaith, that is, the authentic faith which the faithful among the ancient Israeliteshad practiced-and whichcurrentJews,emulatingtheirhypocriticalancestors,claimedas their own but did not actuallyrevere.Such was the natureof hypocritesin contrast to their prophets." Some may feel that this broad-rangingexplicationrepresentsa rather elasticreadingof the SFrah,and that the suggestedinterpretationof the segmenton Muhammad'smission,namely,that it was a subtlepolemicagainst the People of the Book, and, more particularly,againstthe Jews, is more than Ibn slighttext is capableof yielding.However,the testimonyof Ish.q's and its commentarysupportsthe linkagebetweenthe Prophet the Qur'an and his predecessors,and it was this claimedlinkagebetweenmonotheistic prophetsand communitieswhich gave rise to anti-Jewish(and also antiChristian)polemics.Indeed,a wide varietyof Muslimsourcesmakeit clear that, in the best of all worlds,the monotheistswouldbe seen as a singlecommunity with unifyingtraditionsdeeply rooted in an-ancientpast. For the followersof Mubammad,Islam was not a new departure,an entirelynew religionto be offeredmankind.From the outset of prophecytherewas only one true faith, albeita faithrevealedthroughdifferentauthenticrevelations and in differentlanguages.The faithof Moses,the Hebrewlawgiver,wasthe faith of Islam.Or, put somewhatdifferently,Moses and the faithfulamong the Israelitessubmittedthemselvestotally to God, in accordancewith the wider meaningof the Arabic verb aslamaand the verbalnoun isldm.This distinction between Islam, meaning the system of beliefs and practices expoundedby Mubammad,and a more broadly definedislam, practiced by earliermonotheistsin accordancewith the authenticrevelationof their prophets,is suggestedin the Qur'anandconfirmedby a widevarietyof texts that inform scripture,the Strahof Ibn Is1hq among them.'9 18. Note Ibn Hishdm, 2:125 ff., for a specific linkage between the Jews of Medina and the hypocrites (mundfiqan),former polytheists who paid lip-service to Muhammad and Islam. One might indeed argue that it was the political linkage between the hypocrites and the Jews that was of the greatest concern for the Prophet and as much as anything condemned the Jews to their faith: extermination or exile. A full reevaluation of the Prophet's political relations with the Jews is long overdue. 19. On the development of the term Islam, see EI2;also D. H. Baneth, "What Did Muhammad Mean When He Called His Religion 'Islam'? The Original Meaning of Aslama and Its Derivatives," Israel Oriental Studies 1 (1971): 183-190; H. Ringgren, Islam Aslama and Muslim (Uppsala, 1949), reviews previous scholarship; M. Bravmann, The Spiritual Background of Early Islam (Leiden, 1972), pp. 7-26.

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From the perspectiveof the Isrd'ilfyat,the body of Muslim traditions dealingwith the Jewishpast,20the ancientprophetswere themselvesMuslims, or, given the broaderapplicationof the term, perhapsmore correctly proto-Muslims.For example,when Solomon, who is regardedin Muslim traditionas a prophet,completedthe Templein Jerusalem,he set off with his retinueto pay homageto God in the sacredland (araxal-haram).2'Lest one be confused,the referenceis not to someplacein the Kingdomof Israel, but to Mecca-in Muslimeyes, the older and more veneratedsanctuary.22 In Mecca,Solomonperformedthe requiredritualpractices.23 Then,in these most appropriatesurroundings,he revealedto his peoplethe glad tidingsof Muhammad'sfuture mission, informingthem that Muhammadwould be "the Lord and Seal of the Prophets,"that is, the greatestand last of them. Moreover,he explainedto his followersthat proof of this futureoccurrence and of Muhammad'sexaltedstatuswas already"fixed"in theirholy scripture.24 One could hardlyhaveexpectedless of Solomon.If we areto believethe text of the Strah,he, as a monotheisticprophet,would have been obligated futuremission; by the specialcovenantwith God to supportMuInammad's that is, Solomon was obligedto affirmMuhammad'slegitimacyto his own Israelitefollowers.As if this werenot ampleproof of Solomon'sisldm,then later on, when he sought to bringBilqis,the non-IsraeliteQueenof Sheba, 20. This term is used by Muslim writers to cover the extended narratives and incidental commentary that complement summary information on biblical events and personages mentioned in the Qur'an. It also refers to the didactic treatment of biblical events and personages not mentioned in Muslim scripture. Some of this material, if not a good part of it, was introduced in Islamic texts by way of Jewish sources. I am currently engaged in a study of this process of cultural transmission. For the pertinent secondary literature, see EI2, s.v. "Isrf'iliyyat" and "Banfi Isra'il"; the bibliography of W. M. Thackston, Jr., The Tales of the Prophets ofalKisd't (Boston, 1978); also F. Sezgin. Geschichte des Arabischen Schrifttums (Leiden, 1967), 1:305-307. 21. Referring to the Arabic tale of Sulayman and Bilqis, the Queen of Sheba. The most detailed account, which is based partially on the qur'Anicstory (27:15-44), is that of Tha'labi, 'Ard'is (Beirut, 1985), pp. 311 ff. I am currently preparing a lengthy study of this tale. An annotated translation of the 'Ard'is is being readied by W. M. Brinner of the University of California, Berkeley. 22. Although in later Mamlfik and Ottoman usage, the term al-Haramayn occasionally refers to Jerusalem and Hebron, there is no confusion here as to the author's intention. According to Muslims, it was Abraham who first established the sanctuary at Mecca. See El2, s.v. "alHaramayn," "Makka." 23. Tha'labi, 'Ara'is, p. 311 (qurban and mansik). 24. Ibid. (muthbatfi zabitrihim).

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back to monotheism, he enjoined her to come to him as a Muslim in a letter whose salutation is identical to that later used by Mulhammadin his diplomatic correspondence.25There is, to be sure, a double-entendre in calling upon Bilqis to become a Muslim. It signifies the personal submission (islam) of the phallic Bilqis to Solomon the man, as well as her total submission to God. A woman, halfjinn and half human, Bilqis had previously decapitated her sleeping husband after getting him drunk on their wedding night.26Disposing of him in this brutal fashion, she was able to seize his half of a divided kingdom that she had been forced to share. Bilqis was not one to be trifled with, nor was she without considerable resources. She was, as the Qur'an puts it, "given something of everything."27But as God's prophet, Solomon was more than her equal. Even her precious throne, the symbol of her temporal power and an object protected by the most elaborate security, was not safe from the prophet. With God's help it was delivered to him in the twinkling of an eye-this, according to some Muslim commentaries, so that he could take possession of it in accordance with Muslim law. For, once converted to Islam, or recognizing Muslim suzerainty, Bilqis would have been entitled to regain her property.28Her ingenious ploys exhausted and her tactics proven useless, she realized that Solomon was the victor and capitulated. Accepting God through recognition of Solomon's prophetic vocation, she finally comes to the prophet and exclaims, "We have become Muslims."29 Keeping in mind a broadly defined islam widely shared by the earlier monotheists, we can now return to the story of Muhammad's mission in the Strah. After describing how God safeguarded Mulhammad's future by enjoining the earlier prophets to commit themselves on his behalf, the text turns to the moment of revelation, then to Khadijah's suspicion that her husband is, as she put it, "the prophet of this religious community," and ultimately to Waraqah's declarations confirming Muhlammad's newly revealed status. For Waraqah was quick to recognize that the angel Gabriel (or the revelation), who (or which) had previously come to Moses, had now

25. Ibid., p. 314. The reference is to the Basmala: "In the name of God, the Merciful and Compassionate." See EI2, s.v. "Basmala." 26. Ibid., p. 313. 27. Qur'in 27:23. 28. Tha'labi, 'Ard'is, p. 318, quoting a "majority" of unnamed authorities. 29. Ibid., pp. 320, 321.

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come to Muhammad, having anticipated this development based on his reading of biblical scripture and his familiarity with oral tradition. So the narrative of the Strah leads us to believe; in any case this is what the author wants us to believe.30 The medieval reader who understood the broad meaning of the Covenant of the Prophets would not have had any difficulty understanding the intent of Waraqah's declaration to Khadijah and his later, almost identical statement to Muhammad. The specific mention of earlier visits by the angel to Moses, or of revelations previously received by Moses, is an obvious attempt to link Muhammad to the prophets of the past and to Moses in particular, thus uniting the opening and closing episodes of the larger tradition while at the same time bringing the book on prophecy to a close. This was consistent with the Muslim view already expressed in the Qur'an that Muhammad was the Lord and Seal of the Prophets.3' That there should be a direct link between the two lawgivers, Moses, the first of God's prophets according to rabbinic tradition, and Muhammad, the last of God's prophets according to Muslim tradition, comes as no surprise. The two are juxtaposed time and again in the Arabic literature on the ancient Israelites. The Qur'an itself indicates, albeit somewhat indirectly, that the Prophet Muhammad regarded Moses as a predecessor who had foretold his future mission to the Israelites and had indicated that it was (Mul.ammad's) in duly recorded the sacred scripture of the Hebrew Bible.32There is strong evidence to suggest that certain qur'anic passages are in large part the inspiration for Ibn Ish•q's discussion of the Prophet's mission, particularly the middle section of suirah3, the segment of the Qur'an dealing with the family of Amram, Moses' father. As we have pointed out, one verse from this sfirah is, in fact, woven into the fabric of Ibn Islhiq's narrative, which then serves as a commentary on it. The verse on the covenant (3:75), which is repeated here, reads: Behold,God exactedan agreementfromthe prophetssaying: What I have given you is revealedbook and wisdom

30. Ibn Hishim, 1:322. 31. Arabic khatam al-nabfyrn and sayyid al-anbiyd'. This conception of Muhlammad's honored position among the monotheistic prophets is explicitly stated in the Qur'an and was, from the outset, part of Muslim religious thought. See Qur'an 33:40. 32. Qur'an 3:75 (81).

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JACOBLASSNER Afterwardthere will come unto you A messengerto confirmwhat you have previouslyreceived You shall affirmyour faith in him [that is, in his coming] And [thus] assist him Do you accept and take upon yourselvesthe BurdenI have chargedyou with? They said: We accept WhereuponGod said: "Swearand I shall bear witness."

The informed reader of the STrahundoubtedly knew scripture by heart; the medieval Muslim tradition of learning placed great emphasis on rote learning. There would have been no problem for him to conjure up successive passages of the Qur'an, or for that matter the entire segment in which the relevant verse is found. The appearance of this verse in Ibn Ish•q's tale would have triggered the reader's memory and supplied him with the larger context as a matter of course. Basing himself on a broad reading of the entire suirahand its commentaries, such a reader would surely have understood that it was Ibn Ishaq's intention to reaffirm what speakMul.ammad, in that elsewhere had Jews God's said word, Christians) (and ing concerning siurahand indeed in the other siurahsas well. That is, that they, meaning the hypocritical descendants of the ancient Israelites, resist public recognition of what they know in their hearts. For example, Qur'an 3:72 speaks of a faction that deliberately twists the Holy Text (Kitab) in order to confuse true believers who might reckon their false interpretation as part of scripture. "They say that it is God's [Word], but it is not God's. So they speak falsely of God while knowing better." Thus Jews in particular are accused of preferring distorted scriptural interpretations (by the rabbis) to the authentic words of prophets. In any case, this is how the verses were understood by Muslim exegetes who singled out the Jews (Yahfd) of Arabia for blame. Specifically mentioned are Ka'b al-Ashraf and Huyyay b. Akhtab, wellknown opponents of the Prophet who paid dearly for their opposition.33 To be sure, the argument against the People of the Book is not stated explicitly by Ibn IshIq. The author utilizes instead a strategy of indirect discourse, wherein coded evidence is placed before the reader, who is then

33. For example, Tabari, Jami' (Cairo, 1984), 3:323-324; and more sharply in Rizi, Tafsrr (Cairo, 1985), 4:117-120. For Ka'b and HIuyayy, see the standard histories of the period.

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asked to sort it out and draw conclusions where none are specified. This was consistent with the manner in which medieval Muslims were obliged to interpret their own history, and, more generally, to read texts. Reading was an intricate game that encouraged combining historical and textual memory with strong powers of observation and reason. In such fashion, Muslims were able to discover the truth without the intrusive presence of the author. Sometimes the texts were so deliberately opaque that it required a major effort to decode the evidence, even for the most learned scholars. But upon discovering the truth after considerable effort, the reader, smugly satisfied with his intellectual triumph, was likely to defend it with tenacity. In time, such personal truths became conventional wisdom and were subsequently transmitted among generations of Muslims.34 Given the range of difficult traditions medieval readers could encounter, the story of Mulhammad'smission in the Strah seems at first fairly straightforward. The argument against the People of the Book generated by Ibn Islhq's explication of Qur'an 3:75 is easily accessible even though the verse itself is highly problematic and subject to much discussion and conflicting interpretation. But various exegetes who may have understood the text as it is translated and explicated here may also have thought that the charge was not sufficiently wide. In any event, there are interpretations that make it possible to state more directly the case against the Jews (and Christians) for readers who might not fully grasp the indictment. Referring to the qur'anic verse, they contend that the Covenant of the Prophets referred not to the prophets or to the prophets alone, but to their followers. This interpretation, that the followers of God's prophets were similarly asked to sign a binding oath, is shared by a number of authorities.35However, it is rooted in a grammatical note that is without ideological focus. Thus, at first glance, the change occasioned by this interpretation may appear rather slight to those interested in polemics. But the qur'anic verse states only that the prophets took the pledge. It obviously implied that, having committed themselves to God, the prophets carried out their obligation. There is, however, no specific indication of this in the Qur'an itself. No wonder Ibn

34. The rhetorical strategies of medieval Muslim polemicists are described in Lassner, Islamic Revolution and Historical Memory, esp. pp. 1-33. 35. An extensive summary of the early exegesis to this verse is found in Tabari, Jcmi', 3 (pt. 1): 329-335. The view that the oath was taken by the ancient Israelites is found on pp. 331 ff.; see also Ra'zi, Tafsir, 4:125-133.

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Ishaq found it necessary to add a postscript stating that the covenant was indeed enforced, and then identifies the People of the Book as the recipients of the prophetic message. However, even here there is uncertainty of blame, for it is not made absolutely clear that the Band Isra'il truly understood what was intended for them, only that they had heard it from their prophets. Despite the best of intentions, the prophets may have been lacking when they transmitted their message. The new interpretation, that the followers of the prophets also took the oath, renders these doubts superfluous. By making the Israelites a direct party to the covenant, the new interpretation eliminates any possibility of misunderstanding about Muhammad and his mission. God is, after all, the quintessential communicator. Seeking greater clarity regarding those taking this pledge, one of the exegetes contends that the expression "Covenant of the Prophets" should be read as "Covenant of the Children of the Prophets, meaning the Banu Isra'il," that is, the Children of Israel.36Specified by name, on this occasion the Jews (and also Christians) are revealed as direct recipients of the truth concerning Mulhammad'ssacred vocation ( a truth which they were obliged to affirm in a special oath of their own). Were there any doubt left as to the gist of these statements, the exegete cites still another view making it absolutely clear that the People of the Book consciously and maliciously distorted their revelation in order to deny and the Muslims. For it is Muh.ammad reported that the term "prophets" in the qur'anic verse is used mockingly (if not with a touch of sarcasm), and when properly understood, refers more broadly to the Israelites, who used to say, "We have a better claim to be prophets [i.e., to understand prophecy] than Muhammad, since we are the People of the Book and the prophets were from among us." Ibn Ishaq's account is consistent with this sense of broadened responsibility for the Banfi Isra'il. The basic thrust of his polemic was no doubt understood in this way by Muslim readers, so that, when necessary, this account of the Sirah and others like it could have been used as a weapon in the discourse against the Jews. Is Therea Jewish Subtext? Might others have looked at this text somewhat differently? A second 36. Baydawi, Anwar (Leiden, 1846), p. 163. Perhaps the sharpest condemnation of the Jews that utilizes this verse is that of Rizi. See n. 35 above.

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and even closer reading of the material encourages us to consider a more complex and problematic literary history to the interpretation of Qur'an 3:75. The comments of the STrahand the exegetes seem to suggest a possible Hebrew subtext, that is, a reading of the STrahinformed by rabbinic as well as Muslim literature. This line of inquiry presupposes possible connections between Hebrew and Arabic sources and raises several interesting, albeit difficult, questions about the transmission and integration of Jewish themes in early Islamic traditions,37the identity and aims of possible transmitters, the specific identity of presumed communities of readers who would have known Jewish as well as Arabic sources, and finally, the nature of the discourse that would have been suggested by the supposed "Jewish" readings. These are queries that can only give rise to highly speculative responses. Nevertheless, the discussion engendered by these broad-ranging questions is important to this and, indeed, any investigation of Muslim polemics, as well as to the larger subject of cultural borrowing among the Peoples of the Book. For the sake of argument, let us pursue at this point a line of inquiry which suggests that Jewish texts may have influenced the composition of Muslim sources. One might begin by asking what there is in the aforementioned Arabic accounts that reflects Jewish material. Absorbing the STrah'sstory of the origins of Muhammad's mission and, more specifically, the episode of God's covenant with the ancient prophets, a learned or perhaps even somewhat knowledgeable reader of Jewish sources would have been struck by the remarkable similarities in the careers of Moses and Muhlammad, great lawgivers whose lives were generally marked by many interesting if not intentional concurrences.38In particular, the presumed subtext would have been highlighted by a statement that already appears in the first line of the account, namely, the reported age at which Muhammad began his prophetic vocation. Ibn Ishiq begins by telling us that Muhammad was forty when God sent him out of compassion for all of mankind. The statement would have recalled still another Muslim tradition, namely, that Moses was forty when he came upon the burning bush in the wilderness, the event that was to mark for him the beginning of God's calling. Thus, it is strongly suggested that reaching forty and accepting the responsibilities of prophecy go hand in 37. A theoretical paper on these considerations is in progress. 38. A comprehensive study of Moses in the Islamic tradition is worthy of the most serious attention. Indeed, it is rather astounding that such a study has not yet been undertaken.

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hand.39One should not assume, however, that either prophet was actually in his forty-first year when chosen by God. The age of forty is rather a symbol of full maturity. Forty should be more correctly rendered as "fortyish" and understood in the cultural context of a time when accomplished men of that age earned the full respect of society (what used to be called middle age before changing life-styles rendered that category offensive to male and female sensibilities alike). Reflecting on life's cycle, the Qur'an, in another passage, speaks about the significance of reaching forty, when a man is most powerful and therefore fully able to appreciate God's beneficence. The passage strongly suggests a convergence of emotional maturity and physical prowess, qualities respected in those who aspire to leadership and the responsibilities that go with it. At least that is how the medieval exegetes seem to have understood the verse.40 Addressing the origins of this conception, a scholar recently proposed that the age of forty attributed to the Prophet was a topos recalling the classical notion of akme.4' In selecting Mulhammadfor prophethood at that age, God invoked an ancient and time-honored precedent, that of choosing a man at the perfect balance of his physical and intellectual powers; that balance which was for the Greeks and Romans the very essence of maturity. As a matter of course, one should respect the possibility of classical origins, for Greco-Roman culture had a strong residual influence in the Near East long after its champions lost political control of the region. But if the concept as it appears here is at all derived from a pre-Islamic topos, it could well have been absorbed more directly from a Semitic or, to be more precise, Jewish tradition, where forty is also generally understood to be the age of maturity. Among the many examples, a pithy maxim from the Babylonian Talmud suggests that it took Moses forty years to learn the mind of his Master, explaining thereby a previous failure to carry out a task for lack of understanding God's wish.42 Given the close relationship between Muhlammad and Moses in the

39. A. Rappoport, Myth and Legend of Ancient Israel (New York, 1966), 2:377-378. 40. Qur'an 46:15. Regarding the exegesis of this verse, see, for example. Tabari, Jcdmi',13 (pt. 2), 15-17. 41. L. Conrad, "Abraha and Mubammad: Some Observations Apropos of Chronology and Literary Topoi in the Early Arabic Historical Tradition," BSOAS 50 (1987): 227-240, esp. 230-237. 42. BT Abodah Zarah 5b.

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in our passagein the Strah,eventhe most Qur'an,and moreparticularly attentuated linkagebetweenthe two prophetsmeritslookinginto. Hence, several other traditions about these prophets and their respective life-cycles require consideration here. Elaborating on the biblical verse "And Moses was 120 years [i.e., at the time of his death],"43the Sifre, an ancient rabbinic commentary, links the great lawgiver of the Hebrews with three talmudic sages, each of whom bore impeccable credentials for expounding Mosaic law.44Like Moses, Hillel the Elder, Jochanan ben Zakkai, and Rabbi Akiba all died at 120, but, more pertinent to the current discussion, the Sifre indicates that in each case their life-cycles were divided into equal components of forty years. After emerging from Babylonia at the age of forty, Hillel reportedly studied forty years with scholars (of the law), and in the last segment of his life, he maintained (the community of) Israel. Similarly, Jochanan ben Zakkai spent the last two periods of his life engaged, respectively, in study and in communal leadership, this after he had devoted the first forty years to practical concerns. And finally there was Akiba. Unlettered during the formative period of his life, he spent the next forty years in scholarship before capping his career as a leader of his people. The prototype for these expounders of God's law was, of course, Moses himself. According to the text, he had spent forty years in Egypt, a similar time in Midian, and then, as did his learned successors, he devoted the final segment of his illustrious career to leading the people Israel. If it is correct to speak of a topos regarding the Arabic text, and if the topos was indeed derived from Jewish tradition, the likely significance of specifying Muhammad's age is not to provide random information, nor to suggest only that he was possessed by a disposition that fully integrated body and mind. Rather, the use of the Jewish topos would have served to legitimize the Prophet by juxtaposing him with Moses and linking their careers, a theme that pervades Islamic texts dealing with prophecy and, as we have seen, this segment of the Strah in particular. As Waraqah b. Nawfal put it: "The Great Angel [or revelation] that used to come to Moses has come to Muhammad." Muhammad, the last and greatest of God's prophets according to Islamic tradition, and Moses, the first and greatest according to Jewish sources, both embarked on major adventures upon reaching the

43. Deut. 34:7. 44. Sifre Deut. 429.

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ripe age of forty. In each instance, the change constituted an irreversible break with an earlier environment. After slaying the Egyptian taskmaster, Moses was compelled to flee to the land of Midian, where he sojourned for another forty years away from family, home, and the comforts of the Pharaoh's household. Then, beginning a third cycle of forty years, he led a disparate band of people from Egypt and, upon receiving the revelation at Sinai, fashioned them into God's community. For Muhammad, reaching the age of forty marked the beginning of his mission and a difficult encounter with his Meccan kinsmen, the oligarchs of Quraysh, an encounter which led to his exodus and to the formation of an Islamic community under his leadership.45 At first glance, one might wish to dismiss these parallels as a coincidence in life-cycles generated by a familiar convention or topos. But it is precisely such coincidences that would have had special importance for readers familiar with both Hebrew and Arabic texts. Indeed, these traditions linking Moses and Muhammad might very well have given rise to other associations based on other comparable traditions in Muslim and Jewish sources, for example, accounts concerning the birth and death of MuIhammad and Moses, that is to say, the first and final moments of their life-cycles.46Can it also be mere coincidence that the two great messengers were born and died on the same day of the same month according to rabbinic and Muslim traditions respectively?To be sure, the traditions regarding the dates of birth and death are not directly suggested by the Strah's account of Muhlammad's mission; still, for a readerjuxtaposing the life-cycles of the Muslim prophet and the great Hebrew lawgiver, they would surely have come to mind. Medieval readers who had committed a vast literature to memory were able to compare in detail all sorts of similar and disparate texts, and were, in addition, skilled at detecting the many nuances that these texts conveyed. Such a reader might be likened to a human computer. Once "life-cycle" entered his consciousness, the relevant traditions stored in his abundant memory came to light.47 45. Prior to the hijrah there was no discrete Muslim community, only individual Muslims who were identified by their tribal affiliations. The move to Medina created an Islamic ummah, or community, that theoretically transcended blood affiliations and replaced them with religious ties. The ummahof Medina thus came to include diverse individuals and groups similar in certain respects to the heterogeneous community that followed Moses out of Egypt. 46. E. Mittwoch, "Muhammad's Geburts-und Todestag," Islamica 2 (1927): 397-401. 47. For the response of medieval readers, see Lassner, Islamic Revolution and Historical Memory, pp. 19-31.

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Jews would have been well aware that, according to the rabbis, Moses had been born on the seventh of Adar and had died on the very same date (completing thereby his third cycle of forty years).48Similarly, many if not most Muslim authorities agree that the Prophet Muhammad was born on Monday, the twelfth of Rabi' I, and, to complete his cycle, died on the very same day of the very same month in his seventh decade. Muhlammad'scircumstances were not coincidental, but were governed by a predetermined scheme-at least that is suggested by medieval Muslim scholars. They report that the Prophet himself revealed to his companion Bilal, "I was born on that day [Monday], was sent on my mission that day, and shall die [as fated] on that day."49 Speaking further of events in the life-cycle, Hebrew and Arabic sources indicate that both Moses and Muhlammad were born fully circumcised.50 The point of the Jewish tradition, if I understand it correctly, is not that Moses was born without a foreskin, as some infants are, but that he was born ritually clean. As a result, he did without the usual Jewish berith milah, a ceremony that traditionally takes place on the eighth day following birth, marking the entry of the child into the community of believers in accordance with a precedent established during Abraham's covenant (berith) with God.5" The emblematic use of circumcision, so central to Jewish identity, is critical to several stories of Moses' career. Placed beside the river in order to avoid the certain death that had been decreed for every newborn Hebrew male, Moses was subsequently discovered by Pharaoh's daughter. According to the rabbis, the sign of the Abrahamic covenant on Moses' body, namely, the absence of a foreskin, immediately alerted her to the child's origins.52Nevertheless, she brought him to her father's household, where he 48. BT Megillah 13b, Sotah 12b, Kiddushin38a, and numerous other references. Tradition had it that the righteous die on the day of their birth. See for example BT Kiddushin38a; and also BT Rosh Ha-Shanah I la for the importance of the month of Nisan in this connection. 49. A summary of the views of various Muslim scholars on the birth and death of Muhammad can be found in Suhayli, Rawd (ed. Wakil) 3:143 ff.-a commentary on the Strah of Ibn Hisham. 50. BT Sotah 12a, Abot de-Rabbi Nathan (ed. Schechter), 12 (hereafter cited as ARN), and later Midrash Exodus Rabbah 1:20; Deut. 11:9. Note that other biblical personages were similarly described as having been born circumcised. In all, thirteen were said to have been so born, including Balaam, by ARN, which provides a list and scriptural support for this contention. The medieval exegete Rashi, commenting on Gen. 30:11, indicates the same for Gad, the son of Jacob. See also L. Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews (New York, 1925), 7:268 n. 318. The Muslim tradition concerning Mulammad is cited in (Cairo, 1302 A.H.), 1:231. Diytrbakri, Ta'rfkh 51. Gen. 17:11-12. 52. BT Sotah 12b; Exodus Rabbah 1.24. See also Ginzberg, Legends, 7:399 n. 51.

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was raised among the (unclean) Egyptians."53 The immaculate circumcision was thus a sign of his true identity as well as his future calling. When, on the eve of departing Egypt, the Israelites were instructed to partake of the paschal lamb, only the circumcised were allowed to do so. The circumcision of the Israelites is taken for granted, but not that of their household slaves and protected clients. Therefore, it was decreed that (uncircumcised) slaves and clients had to undergo the ritual.54The collective body of those who were circumcised was then subjected to a single law, in effect forming the community that Moses was to lead out of Egypt, the very community that was later to receive the covenant at Sinai and whose descendants were to form the nucleus of the people and polity of Israel."5In such fashion, a rite de passage practiced globally by the most disparate of peoples and reflecting universal concerns from the beginning of time was appropriated and given specific Jewish meaning in historical accounts familiar to all Jews and those acquainted with Jewish tradition. As do Jews, Muslims date their ritual of circumcision to the time of Abraham,56 but, surprisingly enough, the Arabic legal term for circumcision, khitcn, does not appear in the Qur'an, nor is there any firm evidence in that text that the ritual was prescribed for the believers. Words stemming from the root kh-t-n are, of course, quite common in Classical Arabic;"5 indeed the medieval lexicons give kh-t-n the full semantic range that it receives in other Semitic languages, but in none of these other languages do words stemming from equivalent roots indicate circumcision. The root h-t-n does give rise to words signifying various forms of family associations or rituals, it indicates protection and clientage, but apparently not the ritual of removing the foreskin.58 The only text linking h-t-n with circumcision remains the enigmatic biblical story of Moses' return to Egypt, a journey he undertook in order to champion the cause of his people.59 Sent by God to threaten Pharaoh with the death of his firstborn son, lest

53. Whether or not the Egyptians actually practiced circumcision has been a matter of controversy since ancient times. For our purposes, it only matters that the rabbis in given traditions believed that this was the case. 54. Exod. 14:43-48. 55. Exod. 14:49. 56. EI2, s.v. "Khitin." 57. See, for example, Ibn Mangfir, Lisdn, s.v. "kh-t-n." 58. See the various lexicons of the Semitic languages. 59. Exod. 4:24-26.

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the Egyptiansnot releaseIsrael from the land, Moses camped along the way. When,inexplicably,God soughtto kill his chosenemissary,Zipporah, Moses'wife,respondedimmediatelyto the dangerouscourseof events.Taking a flint, she cut off the foreskinof her son and, touchinghis feet with it, exclaimed,"For you are mybatanof blood."God then let Mosesgo, whereupon she said, "A batanof blood as regardscircumcision."The meaningof theseextremelydifficultpassagesand of batanin this particularcontexthas been the source of lengthy commentariesand tortuous explanationsever since ancienttimes.60These includemoderninterpretationsrootedin early anthropology.Accordingly,the circumcisionof Moses' son was the equivalent of khitanamongthe Arabs,and both ritesweresaid to stem froma fertility ritualperformedat pubertyby the most ancientSemitesin preparation for connubium.The loss of the foreskinredeemedthe life of the husbandto-be (Heb. hatan;Ar. khatan)from some demonicspiritor force, guaranteeing therebyfuturereproductivepowers leadingto many offspringand, hopefully,many males. Howeverappealingthis interpretationmay be to scholarsstill enamoredof obscureSemiticorigins,thereis no directevidence to support any of these connections.No new solution based on a bold etymologicalclaimis suggestedhere;althoughthose givento speculatefreely may be inclinedto cite this text if only to raiseonce againa possibletie, however remote, between a Muslim practiceand an opaque Jewish text about Moses, who unlikehis son, had the good fortuneto be bornfullycircumcised. More important to our discussion is the Arabic text which quotes as havingsaidthat he (too) was bornfullycircumcised"thanks Mulhammad to the grace of my Lord."6' We are promptedto ask what precisemeaning this tradition suggested to Muslim readers, and what history, if any, informedthis particularaccount. The absence of a qur'anicreferenceto khitannotwithstanding,it is likely, if not probable,that circumcisionwas practicedamongthe Meccansand otherArabsin the lifetimeof the Prophet. In any case, that was the perceptionof medievalMuslims.62 The earliest law codes discussthe ritualin greatdetail,some authoritiesdeclaringit to be 60. An excellent summary of the literature but a not very convincing explanation of the passages can be found in J. Morgenstern, "The 'Bloody Husband' (?) (Exod. 4:24-26) Once Again," Hebrew Union College Annual 34 (1963): 35-71. 61. Diydrbakri, Ta'rfkh, 1:231; Suhayli, Rawd, 3:150. 62. E12, s.v. "Khitdn."

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obligatory, others merely recommended.Current customs vary: young Muslim boys are ordinarilycircumcisedbetween the ages of seven and twelve,sometimesyounger,sometimesolder,but, in any event,the reference is to years, not days. As regardsthe circumcisionof infants, some legal opinionsof the MiddleAges allow, even recommend,but ultimatelydo not requirethat the ritualbe performedeightdaysafterbirth.Others,less favorably inclinedto infant circumcision,questionthe proprietyof followinga custom observedby the Jews.Whenall the evidenceis weighed,thereis no proof that infant circumcisionwas practicedamong the early Muslims. Indeed,there is reason to surmisethat in the formativeyears of Islam the ritualwas conductedafterthe adventof puberty.63 In anycase, Muslimchildrenpreparedto enterinto a stateof ritualpurity,fullyconsciousand aware of what was about to take place, and no anticipatedrewardwas likely to replace the enormous feelings of uneasinessleading up to the event. No doubt, disturbingmemoriesof circumcisionpersistedthrough adult life. One mightthereforeconjecturethat God's generosityin the Arabicaccount was occasionedby an author'sdesireto spareMuhlammadthe psychicdiscomfort that he, the author,if not indeedall Muslimboys, felt duringthe ceremony-a trauma not consciously shared by week-old Jewish infants who are mildlysedatedby wine.It is the Jewishfatheror grandfatherwho is likely to be most uncomfortableat the time of the ceremony. Clearly,circumcisionwas for Muslimsnot so emblematica practiceas it was for Jews, whose very identity as Jews was tied to it. Nor was it so informed by history, as in Jewish sources. And yet, even if one were to acceptthe highlyconjecturalpsychoanalyticreadingthat is suggestedhere, the traditionof the Prophet'semergencefromhis mother'swombwithouta foreskincan still be informedby historicallydefinedconcerns-at least for highlyliterateMuslims.As with the immaculatecircumcisionof Moses, the Arabictext links purityand identityto legitimacy.Muslimsourcesindicate that this miraclewas nothingless than a sign of propheticcallingand list a line of Messengers,includingMoses, as having been, in this respect,rebirth sine proeputionwas no less cipients of God's grace. Mulhammand's than a dramaticstatementaffirminghis place among God's chosen emis-

63. It is reported that 'Abdallah b. al-'Abbas claimed to have been circumcised at the time of the Prophet's death. Since Ibn 'Abbas was reportedly born three years before the hijrah, that would have made him thirteen at the time of his circumcision.

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saries, the monotheisticprophets.64As in the Jewish sources previously cited,circumcisionis linkedin this Muslimtraditionto specificeventsof historical,or, to be morecorrect,metahistoricalimportance.In this instance,a Muslimborrowingfrom the olderJewishtradition,even if it was an indirect borrowing,should be seriouslyconsidered. As a rule, one ought to be carefuland draw distinctionsin analyzing linkagesthat deal with experiencesof the life-cycle.For example,one is less impressedthat rabbinicand Muslimsourcesspeak of easy pregnanciesfor Aminah, the motherof Mubammad,and Jochebed,the motherof Moses, and of a great luminescencethat emanatedfrom the luckywomeneitherin pregnancyor at birth-these seem to be topoi of a universalnature, and many such comparisonscould be cited.65Moregenerally,the impositionof symmetryon importantevents of the life-cycleis both familiarand timehonored.Some skepticsmight thereforerequireadditionalevidencebefore considering,let alone conceding,a possibleJewishsubtexttying Muhammad, Moses, and the Covenantof the Prophets.Certainly,more evidence should be requiredof those wishing to argue that Jewish sourcesdirectly inform the text of the Strah,that is, that Jewishthemeswere deliberately recasthereto servethe needsof Muslimclaimsthat Mubammadwas a legitimate monotheisticprophet. There is the presumptionof additionalevidence-to argue for more wouldsurelybe pushingthe text-in yet anotherwell-knownrabbinictradition. However indirectly, Ibn Isbaq's account of the Covenant of the Prophetsrecallsthe role playedby the Israeliteprophetswhenthe revelation was given by God to Moses at Sinai.The referencehereis to a passagein the MidrashTanhuma,a rabbinictractthat was compiledin Islamictimes (it is even possible that the redactorof the Tanhumawas a contemporaryof Ibn Ishaq).66Despitethe late dateclaimedby modernscholarsfor the recension 64. The biblical figures mentioned include: Adam, Seth, Noah, Shem, Jethro (Shu'ayb, who is elsewhere identified by Muslims as Jeremiah), Lot, Joseph, Solomon, the mysterious Idris (identified by Muslims with Enoch and also Elijah), Zechariah (probably identified by Muslims as the father of John the Baptist and not the Israelite king), and of course Moses-all figures from the Hebrew Bible. In addition, there are John (the Baptist) and, to be sure, Jesus. There are, all told, thirteen biblical figures, as in the rabbinic tradition of ARN. See above, n. 50. To these are added the Arab prophets: Hangalah, Salih, Hfid, and Muh.ammad. 65. For example, Ibn Hishdm, Strah, 1:146 ff.; BT Sotah 12a, 13a. These were, of course, understood as miraculous events legitimizing the future prophets. 66. Several texts fall under this loose rubric. See Encyclopaedia Judaica, s.v. "Tanhiuma Yelammedenu." The passages quoted here are from the Warsaw edition that was republished in Israel. The passages are not found in the body of Buber's edition.

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of the Jewishtext, it may contain, in this case as in others,echoes of more ancientJewishsourcesthat were known and presumablydiscussedamong Jewsin Islamiclands.One thereforeought to considerwhetherthe midrash might have influencedreadersof the Strah who were knowledgeablein Jewishsources,or, exercisinglicenseto speculatefreely,even imaginethat material from the Tanhumamight have informed directly the Arabic account of the Covenantof the Prophets. The midrash reports, "That which all the prophetswere destined to Sincereaders prophesy[in eachgeneration]theyreceivedat MountSinai."''67 of the Hebrewtext mightnot havequiteunderstoodhow prophetswho were yet to grace this world could have receivedtheir revelationsalong with Moses, the sourcepointsout, "Theseare [not actuallythe prophetsbut] the souls (of the prophets)that will one day be created."After biblicalprooftexts are cited in orderto confirmthis statement,the Tanhumagoes on to widen the group receivingdirectauthorityat Sinai, as did variousMuslim exegetes in widening the group that entered into the Covenant of the Prophets.As the authorput it, "The prophetswere not alone [in receiving theirprophecyat Sinai].Each [andeveryone] of the sagesthat was and was destinedto be (also receivedhis authorityat Sinai). For it is written,'These wordsthe Lordspoke to all your assembly.'"68In suchfashionthe Midrash Tanhumavalidatesthe entire chain of religiouspersonaethat transmitted God's word in authoritativefashionfrom Moses down to the sages, that is, from Moses to the veneratedrabbisof the Talmud.Werethere any doubts about the authorityof the rabbisand theirteachings,whathas beentermed normativeJudaism,the link betweenMoses'revelationat the mountainand what was concurrentlyrevealedto his successors,or, if you prefer,the souls of his successors,shouldhave beenampleproof that the livingtraditionwas legitimate.The mirrorimage of this account is well known and found in variousrabbinicsources.Describingthe revelationat Sinai, thesetexts indicate that, in additionto the writtenword,Mosesreceivedthe OralLawlater propoundedby the talmudicsages. In either case, the point is the same, In this namely,to validatean entirereligioustraditionand its recipients.69 67. Tanhuma,1:280. The bracketed words are added from the later version of Exodus Rabbah 28:6. 68. Deut. 5:19. 69. The earliest formulation of this position central to rabbinic Judaism is perhaps PT Peah 2.6.

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sense, the Tanhuma(and other rabbinicsources)functionsfor Jews in the same manneras the text of the Strahand the exegesisto the qur'anicverse on the Covenantof the Prophetsfunction for Muslims. As with the previoustraditionslinkingMoses and Muhammadto events of theirlife-cycles,it is difficult,if not impossible,to claima directparallel betweenJewishand Arabicsources.The accountssimplydo not meshcleanly. Still, however vague, the similaritiesbetween the Hebrew and Arabic texts compelus to ask whetherthe commentaryof Ibn Islhaqandthe qur'anic exegeteson sfirah3:75,writingsthat validateMuhammadas successorto the ancientmonotheisticprophets,could have been informedby the loosefittingstatementof the MidrashTanhuma,a text validatingthe authorityof the rabbis as successorsto Moses, and to the elders and the prophetsof ancientIsrael.To begin, one must ask whetherthe Arabictexts werebased directlyon the Tanhumaor, to be more precise,on some no longerextant traditionsupon which the midrashwas itself based. As regardsthe aforementionedpassages of the Strah, the evidenceof directculturalborrowingthe Jewishsourcesis so tenuousthat one wouldbe well advisednot to makeany suchclaim.Wecan find no basisfor maintaining that the midrashdirectlyinfluencedthe compositionof the Strahand otherworksgivingexplanationto Qur'an3:75.An indirectlink basedon an unknowncommon sourceseems more likely, but in this case such a claim only servesto explainthe obscureby the moreobscure.However,in discussing cultural influence more widely, proof of deliberateborrowingis not always crucial.The reader'sperceptionthat the Muslim text is related in some way to Jewishtraditioncan itself becomea "fact"of importance,and it is this "Jewishreading"of the text that also occupiesour concern.It could even be arguedthat the real questionis not whetherone could haverecalled JewishsourceswhilereadingIbn account.Thiswouldcertainlyhave been possible, if not probable,ifIsh.q's one knew these sources. Rather, we are obliged to ask whetherreaderslearnedin Judaicamighthave been familiar with the Qur'anand the Strah. If so, who were they?And relatedto this question,what meaningwould thesereadershavegivento the Arabictexts? What would they have seen as the thrust of the Muslim accounts? Therecan be no doubtthat, as regardsthe accountof the Prophet'smission, Muslimsfully understoodthe anti-Jewishpolemicof the Strahandthe qur'anicpassage around which this polemic was woven. It is nevertheless also apparentthat the vast majorityof Muslimswould not haverecognized, let alone understood,much, if anything,of the Jewish themes that might

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have informed these traditions. One notes, for example, considerable discussion among Muslim authorities concerning the age at which the Prophet began his vocation. Suhayli's commentary on the Strah and the extensive footnotes that accompany al-Wakil's edition indicate that the debate was lively. Some scholars held, following the majority opinion of Ibn 'Abbas, that the Prophet's mission began on his fortieth birthday. Others, arguing against this generally accepted view, say that he was several months past forty, or even forty-two or forty-three.70However, there is no direct reference or even hint in this discussion to any link with Moses and the onset of his sojourn in Midian at the very same age. The subject of Muhammad's birth and death, previously discussed, is also raised here by Suhayli, albeit in a tangential comment concerning Muhammad's prophetic vocation. Again, there is not the slightest recognition of parallel rabbinic traditions concerning Moses. As regards the Covenant of the Prophets, Suhayli is even less forthcoming. Given the wide range of qur'anic exegesis available to him, he chooses to focus only on the grammatical issues suggested by 3:75. The medieval commentators are certainly aware of the ideological context of this very difficult verse, namely, its polemical thrust. Whatever difference marks their opinions, they all see Qur'an 3:75 as reflecting the legitimacy of Muhammad and his predecessors among the ancient prophets.71There is, however, no trace in their extended discussion of a midrashic analogue. They do not cite here comparable stories of Moses or any other Hebrew prophet. If one thinks that the Arabic tradition might have been informed by Jewish sources, a troublesome question comes to mind. How does one explain the failure of very learned Muslims to recognize even the most obvious echoes of a rabbinic subtext? Any reference linking the careers of Moses and Muhammad would surely have strengthened the very case that is in fact the rationale for Ibn Ishtq's account, for it would bring proof that Muhammad ends the authentic chain of prophecy in which Moses was considered a linchpin-a fact suggested ever so clearly by Waraqah b. Nawfal, a man who read scripture and was also familiar with the oral traditions of the People of the Book. Some might be inclined to view the omission of more specific references to Moses as a case of faded historical memory. Medieval Muslim

70. See above. n. 49. 71. See, for example. Tabari, Jdmi', 3:329 ff.

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chroniclershad occasionaldifficultiesretrievinghistoricaland even philological interpretations.Indeed,this shortsegmentof the Strahcontainstwo glosses explainingtermsthat confusedcontemporaryreaders:the qur'anic a reliiSr,which is glossed with thiqal,meaning"burden,"and tahbannuth, gious observance of pre-Islamictimes, which remained elusive despite several glosses and attempts by numerous authorities to explain it.72 Howeverconvenient,if not facile, an argumentbased on faded memoryis not likely to convincemany readers.For unlikethe chroniclers,scholarsof the religiousscienceswereapt to preservethe interpretiveeffortsof previous generations.One is forced to concludethat if thereis in this case a Jewish subtext of any kind, Muslim readerslacking a Jewish backgroundwere oblivious to it. What might this absence of knowledge suggest to highly skeptical moderncritics?That Muslimtexts echo moreancientsourcesis beyonddispute, but in this case (deliberatelychosenbecauseit is so ambiguous),there may be scholars who will feel uncomfortablewith the suggestion of a "Jewish"reading,let alone the direct borrowingby Muslims from a preor any otherrabbinictext. Given Islamicsource,be it the MidrashTanhuma elusiveaccountsand loose-fittinganalogues,it can be argued,andwithconsiderablevigor, that too much is made here of hypotheticalsubtexts.Some scholarsmay indeed wish to arguethat this interpretiveeffort based on a "Jewish"reading of the Strah reflects a tendentiousnessthat says more about modernauthorsthan medievaltexts. To be sure, thereis alwaysthe possibility of reading too much into very problematicIslamic traditions. Often the ability to see throughwalls is requiredwhen analyzingopaque accounts.Thereis a danger,nevertheless,that ambitiousand overlyimaginativereaderswill erectdensebarrierswherenone exist in orderto penetrate them in searchof elegant truths.In sum, the wider interpretationwhich I have suggestedmay be forced. And yet, the rabbinicmaterialis so symmetricalwith the structureof Ibn Ishlaq'saccountthat readersknowledgeable in Judaica,medievalas well as modern,no doubt would have seen a subtext whetheror not Hebrewand/or Aramaicparallelscame to be imbedded in the Strah and the exegesis to Qur'dn3:75. Becausereadersare alwayspartnersin creatingmeaning,it is entirelyproperto ask how this text might have spoken to those learnedin the Jewishtradition,and relatedto that, who the likely readerswere. 72. See M. J. Kister, BSOAS 31 (1968): 223-336; also above, n. 11.

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TheReaderLearnedinJewishTradition The ability to perceive a relationshipbetween Jewish and Muslim sourceswas no doubtlimitedto specificgroupsof readers.Thesemighthave included learned Jewish converts;practicingJews, directly or indirectly familiarwith Muslimtexts;perhapssome Christianconvertswho had some acquaintancewith Jewishsources;and the most intriguingpossibilityof all, learnedJewishconvertsto Christianitywho then convertedto Islam,bringing with themboth a strongknowledgeof Jewishsourcesandelementsof an anti-Jewishbias. Perhapsthe strongestcase for readersknowledgeablein both Jewish and Arabicsourcescan be made for learnedJewswho convertedto Islam. For the early converts,the familiarthemes that had percolatedinto the directlythroughthe Qur'in, or indirectlythroughothersources, Israd'rlyat, must have providedgreat comfort, especiallyfor new Muslims who had residualsympathiesfor their formerfaith and brethren.For these former Jews, there was no need to feel guilt over abandoningthe religionof their forefathers.Indeed,in accordancewith Muslimthinking,they had reestablished the authenticlink with the ancientIsraelites.True,they gave up an abrogatedMosaic law for God's current(Islamic)legislation,but the very broad outlinesof theirancienthistorywereretainedalong with the veneration of its religiouspersonae.Even the Hebrewscripturewas regardedby some Muslimsas authentic,subjectof courseto new interpretation.Moreover, in many ways the religiousinstitutionsof Islam closely paralleled,at least structurally,those of Judaism-more so than was the case regarding Judaismand Christianityor Islamand Christianity.Therecan be no doubt that Muslimslearnedmuch about things Jewishfrom convertsand others knowledgeablein ancientsources.Indeed,medievalMuslimsdiscussedthe deep penetrationof Jewishscriptureand postbiblicalaccountsin theirown veneratedtradition.There was a lively and spiriteddebate that at times encouragedthe study of things Jewish, a debate which also involved the Prophet,who was made to say: "Narratetraditionsabout the Israelites. There is no harm in that."73 One wonders,however,whetherJewishthemesmay have also informed Muslimwritingsas partof a quieterenterprise,that is, an internaldiscourse

73. For an extensive summary of these issues, see M. J. Kister, "'lHadditha'an bant isrd'ila wa-la Fharaja'A Study of an Early Tradition," Israel Oriental Studies 2 (1972): 215-239.

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amongJewishconvertsseekingreassuranceand comfortin not yet familiar and Moseswith surroundings.For theseconvertsthe linkingof MuIhammad referencesto rabbinicsources,no matterhow oblique,wouldnot havebeen seen as a formalpolemicagainsttheirformerbrethren,but as an attempted bridgebetweentheirnew religiousstatusand old familialand religiousties. Before pursuingthis line of inquiry,a good deal more would have to be knownaboutthe socialandintellectualdynamicsof conversion,particularly duringthe ascendanceof Islam.In anycase,werethereindeedsustaineddiscussions among early Jewishconvertsor, beyond that, a learneddialogue betweenthem and their formerreligiouscompatriots,the discoursewould not have been easilyaccessibleto the largerMuslimcommunity,evenwhen it penetratedthe mainstreamof Muslimliterature.If the Arabic passages previouslydiscussedare a reflectionof this sort of dialogue,andthat is a significantif, it wouldhardlybe surprisingthat the textswerereadquitedifferently by Jews or Jewishconvertsand by MuslimswithoutJewishlearning. This may explainthe referencesto Moses that are presumedmissingin the learnedcommentaryon the Strah.It may also explainthe more positively identifiablegleaningsfromJewishsourcesthat aboundin otherArabictexts but are,nevertheless,undetectedor at leastnot commenteduponby Muslim scholars.For most Muslimslackedthe requisitelinguistic,philological,and cultural backgroundto acquire a working knowledge of most classical Jewishsourcesat first-hand.As a result,MuslimscitedJewishtexts without readingthem and made referenceto Jewishsourceswithout knowingthat they had done so. To be sure, the very same Jewishthemes that servedthe interestsof Jewishconvertscould have bolsteredMuslimpolemicsagainstthose who would not abandonwhat they consideredthe true faith of their ancestors. For the inheritorsof a proudpast who remainedJewish,the messageof the was laden with potentialdanger.Stung by accusationsthat they Isra'Fllydt had falsifiedtheir own holy writ, the spiritualdescendantsof the ancient Israelitesno doubt worriedthat theirdenialof Muhammad'sprophecywas givenwidecirculationin Muslimscriptureandin the writtenand oral literature that commentedupon it. More specifically,they were likely to have been concernedlest the Isrd'lTyatand more formaltreatisesof a polemical natureadverselyaffect intercommunalrelationsand so disturbthe general senseof stabilitythatJewsderivedfromtheirprotectedstatusunderMuslim law. Worse yet, in given circumstances,the Isrda'lryatmight induce the faintheartedto abandontheir faith in favor of Islam. Althougha good deal has beenwrittenabout polemicsand a numberof

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treatises have been preserved, the larger picture of the Jewish response remains blurred.74The extant documents, few and far between, are marked by a narrow geographical distribution. There is, for example, little if any hard evidence pertaining to the onset of Islamic hegemony in SyriaPalestine and Iraq, the time-honored regions of Jewish settlement in the Fertile Crescent. One thing appears likely, however. In dealing with Muslims, Jews would have been inclined to be circumspect. One could argue that, as a rule, Jewish responses to Muslim criticism, however shrill, were not a defense of the faith for the benefit of the hegemonic community, but more likely were intended for internal consumption.75 In any event, the frequent use of quotations in Hebrew and the writing of Arabic in Hebrew script must have deflected the impact of the ideological counterthrust when and if non-Jews were inclined to take interest. Given these linguistic constraints, few, other than Jewish converts, had the capacity to comprehend fully and thus explain thoroughly how Jews reacted to Muslim views. There is no indication that learned Muslim scholars acquired the skills to absorb Jewish texts in the original, nor is there evidence that the Jews were inclined to hang all their linen in public. An exception is Sa'd b. Manfir b. Kammfinah, scientist, philosopher, and a leading pillar of the Jewish community in thirteenth-century Baghdad. Writing in Arabic, the author discusses in cool analytical fashion, and in order of their appearance on the stage of world history, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Thus the title of his treatise: An Examination into the

74. In many respects, the most convenient point of departure remains the study of MuslimJewish polemics by M. Steinschneider: Polemische und apologetische Literatur in arabischer Sprache (Leipzig, 1877). The subject is certainly in need of a new and systematic review. For numerous studies that have appeared since Steinschneider's path-breaking work, see S. W. Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews (2nd ed.), 5:82-94, 326-338. See also the more recent summary of M. Perlmann, "The Medieval Polemics Between Islam and Judaism," in Religion in a Religious Age, ed. S. D. Goitein (Cambridge, Mass., 1973). The residual strength of medieval Muslim polemics against the Jews is truly impressive. It is a subject that is similarly in need of a critical study. 75. An exception can perhaps be made for Islamic Spain, where Jewish-Muslim relations were subject to somewhat different conditions. The elevated profile of Spanish Jewry may explain the sharp and sustained Muslim attack on the Jews and Judaism and the Jewish response. For a survey of these developments, see M. Perlmann, "Eleventh-Century Andalusian Authors on the Jews of Granada," Proceedings of the AmericanAcademyfor Jewish Research 18 (1949): 269 ff.

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In the li'l-milal al-thaldth).76 Inquiriesof Three Faiths (Tanqihal-abhadth fourth chapter of this truly remarkable work on comparative religion, Ibn Kammfinah takes on the Muslim claims that Jews (and Christians) had falsified their scripture in order to deny the legitimacy of Mu1hammad'sprophetic vocation. Citing chapter and verse from the Qur'dn, and referring also to learned Muslim tomes and authors, he firmly rejects the Muslim position on tahriffandtabdil, that is, the falsification of sacred texts and their interpretation, an error for which Jews are particularly culpable. As a Jew from Baghdad, he is always respectful, whether he speaks of the Prophet, Islam, or Christianity. Nevertheless, his conclusions are clearly and forthrightly stated. There is nothing in the revealed scripture of the Jews which foretells the coming of Muhlammad. Hence, the accusations against the author's coreligionists are groundless.76 To have stated this view would hardly have been remarkable. What is different about this work is that it seems intended also for a non-Jewish audience. That is clearly suggested by its tone and structure. One notes also in this respect that of five extant manuscripts, two are written in Arabic rather than Hebrew script. In any case, the TanqThwas not a document destined for Jewish eyes alone. However respectful the tone of Ibn KammCfnah'srejoinder, the frank discussion of Islamic beliefs, while invoking the Qur'an and other Muslim writings, created a stir among the Muslim mobs of Baghdad. The local authorities, religious and civil alike, were pressed to take action. In this instance, the rioting populace demanded no less than death. Reluctant to act, the chief Muslim judicial authority found himself prevented from taking his place at the mosque. The civil administrator of Baghdad, reading quite acurately the mood of his Muslim constituents, promised that Ibn Kammufnahwould be silenced with death by fire. He had no intention, however, of carrying out the gruesome execution. Instead, he prepared a large leather crate in which he smuggled Ibn Kammfinah out of the city and then delivered him safe and sound to al-Ijillah, where the learned rabbi's son

76. Sa'd b. ManparIbn Kammana's Examination of the Inquiries into Three Faiths: A Thirteenth Century Essay in ComparativeReligion, ed. M. Perlmann, University of California Publications in Near Eastern Studies, no. 6 (Berkeley, 1967). Trans. as Ibn Kammana's Examination of the Inquiries into the Three Faiths (Berkeley, 1971). 76. Tanqih, 67 ff.

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served the ruling Ilkhinid administration. There Ibn Kammunah died, never to recover from his ordeal." The sharp Muslim response to Ibn Kammfinah, if correctly reported, is particularly instructive; for the Mongol conquerors then ruling Baghdad were Buddhists who had not yet embraced Islam, and minorities continued to constitute a large segment of the city's populace. It was only in the years subsequent to the catastrophic Mongol invasion that the demographic balance in Baghdad reportedly tilted decisively in favor of the true faith. In the wake of the Mongol sack of Baghdad, an event likened by Muslims to Nebuchadnezzar's conquest of Jerusalem, Muslim concerns about the efficacy of their faith may have conflicted with the toleration usually shown to Jews.78In these circumstances, Ibn Kammfinah's spirited and, more particularly, public defense of the People of the Book was seen as an affront to Muslim sensibilities and thus occasioned a highly charged response. WayneStateUniversity Detroit, Mich.

77. Ibn al-Fuwati, (Baghdad, 1932), pp. 441 ff. This account and a brief descriplife and works is found in Perlmann's introduction to the Arabic text. tion of Ibn Kammfinah's .Hawadith 78. Ibn al-Athir, Kamil (Beirut, 1966), 12:358.

Divine Legislation as "Ceremonial Script": Mendelssohn on the Commandments Author(s): Arnold Eisen Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 2 (Autumn, 1990), pp. 239-267 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486895 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:36 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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DIVINE LEGISLATION AS "CEREMONIAL SCRIPT": MENDELSSOHN ON THE COMMANDMENTS by ARNOLD EISEN

My aim in this essay is to analyze a section of Moses Mendelssohn's Jerusalemlargely ignored by previous readers.The treatise has generally beenrecognizedas epochalin the historyof modernJudaism,and Altmann, Guttmann, Rawidowicz, and Rotenstreichhave therefore focused quite understandablyon that which made it so:' the novel political theory set forth in part 1, or the controversialassertionnear the start of part 2 that Judaism"knowsof no revealedreligion"in the commonsenseof that term, its uniquenessconsistingonly in the "divinelegislation"revealedto the Jews at Sinai.2Only Heinemannhas made a seriousattemptto unravelMendels1. Alexander Altmann, Moses Mendelssohn. A BiographicalStudy (Philadelphia, 1973), pp. 514-552; see also Altmann's introduction and commentary to Moses Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, trans. Allan Arkush (Hanover, N.H., 1983). Julius Guttmann, "Mendelssohn's Jerusalem and Spinoza's Theologico-Political Treatise," in Studies in Jewish Thought, ed. Alfred Jospe (Detroit, 1981), pp. 361-386. Simon Rawidowicz, "The Philosophy of Jerusalem," in Studies in Jewish Thought, vol. 2 [Hebrew] (Jerusalem, 1971), pp. 70-117. Nathan Rotenstreich, "Mendelssohn and the Political Idea," in Jubilee Volume in Honor of Mordecai Kaplan [Hebrew] (New York, 1953), pp. 237-248.

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sohn's tortuous explanation of the "divine legislation" as "a kind of living script," and his often excellent account is marred by explicit Orthodox apologetic and utter reverence for Mendelssohn, both of which prevent him from seeing just how radical a theory of the commandments Jerusalem sets forth.3 Mendelssohn coyly terms most of the section devoted to this theory a "digression."4 Altmann notes charitably that it contains not only "some flights of speculation" but "the least substantiated of all [the] theories Mendelssohn ever advanced."' I shall argue that speculative or not, unsubstantiated or not, the theory of the mitzvot as a symbolic script is certainly no digression. It is rather the cornerstone of Mendelssohn's entire redefinition of Judaism, a passage of extraordinary relevance to contemporary discussion of symbol and commandment, and-to my mind-the most intrinsically interesting section of what Altmann rightly calls "this strange, powerful and unique book, the Jerusalem."6

Language, Alphabet,and the "Shasta of the Gentoos" The passage on the commandments follows directly upon Mendelssohn's well-known pronouncement that he "recognize[s] no eternal truths other than those that are not merely comprehensible to human reason but can also be demonstrated and verified by human powers. .... I consider this an essential point of the Jewish religion and ... a characteristic difference between it and the Christian one."7 Mendelssohn's argument in the essay 2. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, pp. 89-90. I have employed both the Arkush translation and the German original, found in Gesammelte Schriften: Jubilaumsausgabe, vol. 8 (Stuttgart, 1983), pp. 99-204. 3. Isaak Heinemann, Ta'amei ha-Mitzvot in Jewish Literature, vol. 2 [Hebrew] (Jerusalem, 1956), pp. 9-46. My differences with Heinemann will become clear in what follows. See also the brief and often simplistic treatment by Michael Morgan, "History and Modern Jewish Thought: Spinoza and Mendelssohn on the Ritual Law," Judaism 30 (1981): 467-478. Finally, see the valuable discussion by Amos Funkenstein, who like the present author finds Mendelssohn's theory of signs in Jerusalem "the most original and fertile part of the book." Amos Funkenstein, "The Political Theory of Jewish Emancipation from Mendelssohn to Herzl," in Deutsche Aufklarung und Judenemanzipation(Tel Aviv, 1979), pp. 18-22. This paper bears the imprint of discussions with Funkenstein and with my students Zachary Braiterman, James Hyman, and Arthur Kiron, to all of whom I am grateful. 4. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, p. 104. 5. Altmann, Mendelssohn, pp. 545-546. 6. Ibid., p. 552. 7. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, p. 89.

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reaches a turning point with this declaration, in two senses. First, it marks the move from political theory to theology, from redefinition of the relation between church and state to redefinition of the meaning of Jewish observance. Second, the statement contains a critique of Christianity which indicates that Mendelssohn has gone on the offensive-attacking on his own "turf" the anonymous Christian author whose pamphlet had provoked Mendelssohn to write Jerusalem in the first place.8 The "Searcher for Light and Right" had challenged Mendelssohn's oft-voiced contention that ecclesiastical bodies had no right to employ coercion of any sort, including excommunication. Mendelssohn had addressed this challenge in part 1 with a novel theory of contract exhaustively treated in the scholarly literature.9 That out of the way, he turns to the Searcher's more personal challenge. Mendelssohn's opposition to religious coercion, wrote his critic, clearly contradicted Jewish law. "How, then, can you, my dear Mr. Mendelssohn, remain an adherent of the faith of your fathers?" Perhaps he was not; perhaps he had "now come closer to the faith of the Christians ... thanks to which we have escaped coercion and burdensome ceremonies [lIistigenZeremonien], and thanks to which we no longer link the true worship of God either to Samaria or Jerusalem, but see the essence of religion, in the words of our teacher, wherever the true adorers of God pray in spirit and in truth."'0 It is this challenge which Mendelssohn seeks to answer in part 2 of Jerusalem-chiefly with a concept of "ceremonies" which both detaches them from all coercion and renders them meaningful rather than "burdensome." Mendelssohn's defense of the commandments is the heart of his treatise, just as the commandments, in his view, were the heart of the religion which Jerusalem symbolized. The Searcher had "cut [him] to the heart," Mendelssohn confesses, in reviving the calumny that a Jew could not at one and the same time maintain Enlightenment tolerance and Jewish commitment. Mendelssohn's defense was rendered all the more difficult by the fact that the Searcher's notion of Judaism was "taken to be correct even by many of my coreligionists."" More than political theory was called for to refute him, then, more even than the easy answer that if the foundations of Judaism were destroyed by Enlightenment, Christianity--"built upon Judaism"8. For the polemical background, see Altmann, Mendelssohn. 9. See in particular the essays by Guttmann and Rotenstreich cited above. 10. Cited by Mendelssohn in Jerusalem, pp. 86-87. 11. Ibid., p. 85.

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would surelycollapse as well.'2 Mendelssohnmustjoin the issue head-on with a definitionof Judaismthat satisfiesthe universalistcriteriaof rational religion while defendingthe need for "ceremonies."He has to rejectthe Searcher'seither/orin favorof a both/and:a trueworship,of utmostsignificanceto its practitioners,whichholds nonethelessthat truereligioncan be found "whereverthe true adorersof God pray in spirit and in truth." Hence the well-known division of Judaism into "eternal truths" addressedto reason and common to all humanity;"historicaltruths"witnessedto by miracleand transmittedthroughtradition;and, finally,divine laws which "referto, or legislation[g6ttlicheGesetzgebungen]-ceremonial are basedupon, eternaltruthsof reason,or remindus of them,androuseus to ponderthem."'3Judaism,unlikeChristianity,knew of no revealedreligion, no symbolic books (symbolischeBacher), no articles of faith, no religiousoaths. Its quintessence,if one existedat all, was well-capturedby Hillel'sadmonitionto the paganwho askedto be taughtthe entirelawwhile standingon one foot. "Lovethy neighboras thyself... all the rest is commentary.Now go and study."'4 Mendelssohn'sargumentto this point has an all-too-obviousflaw. If all truths essentialto human happinessare universallyaccessible,why is the divine legislationgiven the Jews at all necessary?If Christiansget to the same destinationby a far less "burdensome"route, why not take it? Conversely,if the "ceremoniallaw"reallyis helpful(let alone indispensable)to the Jewsin achievingfull knowledgeof God, how can Mendelssohnprofess the equal opportunityof all humanbeingsto know and servethe deity?It is the old problemof chosennessin a newguise. Furtherexplanationis clearly required,and it comes in the passagewith which this essay is concerned. The argumentadvancesin threedistinctsteps, with two giant leaps inbetween.In the first step, a very rabbinicMendelssohnexpoundsuponthe advantagesof oral over writtenTorah and on the dangersof transforming the former into the latter. Oral teaching,he explains,always retainsthe potential for imperceptibleadjustmentto "changesof time and circumstance."Thisflexibilityis conferredby its freedomfromthe "rigidforms"of writtencharacterswhich "must always remainthe same."Unfortunately, Mendelssohncomplains,the world has come to overemphasizethe written 12. Ibid., p. 87. 13. Ibid., p. 99. 14. Ibid., pp. 100-102.

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word. "Everything is dead letter; the spirit of living conversation has vanished." From this patent generalization Mendelssohn leaps to an extravagant conclusion: "hence it has come to pass that man has almost lost his value to his fellow man." Indeed, most people can no longer even understand how a person could "educate and perfect himself without a book.""' More is at stake here than meets the eye. Indeed, that is true of Jerusalem as a whole. Radical innovations are presented as simple expositions of timehonored tradition. Carefully packed argument, likewise, is often couched in casual prose which belies-in part by the exaggeration the author allows himself-the utter seriousness of his purpose. The passage just quoted does more than adumbrate the elegiac theme of innocence lost which will soon prove crucial to Mendelssohn. It does more even than hint at the prominent if oblique call in Jerusalem for a new sort of Jewish learning, now that the status of texts as such has so dramatically altered. More important, Mendelssohn in this passage introduces the idea, the metaphor, upon which his entire theory of the commandments rests: script. He is poised to argue that the inferiority of the written to the spoken word, and the dangers posed by writing, have necessitated the turn to a new sort of "script" written not in characters but in actions. The reference to speech and writing at this point recalls (and recasts) three previous passages in Jerusalem which should be reviewed briefly before proceeding. In the first, an explicit critique of Hobbes, Mendelssohn points out that language itself distinguishes (as Hobbes did not) between right and duty, power and obligation. It is a distinctive feature of all moral truths, he continues, that "as soon as they are brought to light, they become so much a part of the spoken language and so connected with man's everyday notions that they become evident even to ordinary minds."l6 Note the emphasis upon "spoken language" and "everyday notions." Mendelssohn adheres as always to his conviction that God has distributed widely the means necessary to divine knowledge and human felicity. He blends a Rousseauian faith in the "noble savage" with skepticism that science and enlightenment have significantly advanced the moral achievement of humanity.'7 This thrust becomes clearer still when Mendelssohn, arguing against the 15. 16. 17. human

Ibid., pp. 102-104. Ibid., p. 36. See ibid., pp. 94-96, for the famous dispute with Lessing on the question of whether progress toward perfection is inevitable.

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practice of requiring that oaths be sworn to this or that belief, notes that "the perceptions of internal sense" are far from stable. Many things for which I would die today may not be certain to me tomorrow. "How much confusion and indistinctiveness are bound to remain in the signification of words." Mendelssohn pleads that his readers not accuse him of skepticism, but immediately pleads guilty to that "disease of the soul," remarking on the difficulty even close friends have in truly communicating one with the other. Religious propositions clothed centuries ago "in words, in so-called symbols" [sogenanntenSymbolen] cannot be relied upon to convey precise and shared meaning. Oral transmission at least carries its own commentary, explicit or not. Written language is apparently clear but actually opaque. How then swear to it? Coercion in matters of belief was therefore both pointless (people could lie) and utterly meaningless.'8 We are now able to understand Mendelssohn's denial that eternal truths were revealed at Sinai. Not only would it have been unfair for God to give some people a truth withheld from others. More important, eternal truths cannot be revealed in "word and script," but only in "nature and thing." We grasp them immediately, or by reasoning from such unmediated intuitions.'9 They cannot be made to fit inside "words or written characters which always remain the same, for all men and all times, amid all the revolutions of language, morals, manners, and conditions."20 Hence God's recourse to the "living script" of the commandments, and the rabbis' related reluctance to commit the Oral Law to writing. Hence too Mendelssohn's lament at the passing of traditional discipleship, the overreliance upon books. Step two of the argument plunges Mendelssohn into the "digression" proper, a speculation on the origins of language that unquestionably recalls Rousseau's Discourse on Inequality. Mendelssohn had translated that essay into German some thirty years earlier,21 and the problem-a staple of

18. Ibid., pp. 66-68. Rawidowicz points out that Mendelssohn himself expresses elsewhere the view attributed by him to a "skeptic" who, if a teacher of religion were to raise the dead, would "still know no more about eternal truth than I did before." Ibid., p. 98. See Rawidowicz, "Philosophy of Jerusalem," p. 91. 19. Mendelssohn thus takes the famous midrash about God's revelation at Sinai coming in seventy languages simultaneously to mean that the revelation was beyond language altogether. 20. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, p. 102. 21. Altmann, Mendelssohn, pp. 48-49, 545. See also Moses Mendelssohn, "Uber die Sprache," in Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 6:2, pp. 3-23.

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Enlightenmentdebate22-had preoccupiedhim ever since. Rousseau, like Hobbes, Vico, and others, had been puzzled by the origins of language, pointing out the "inconceivabledifficultiesand the infinitetime which the first inventionof languagemust have cost." Essentiallyit was a problemof chickenand egg:peopleneededspeechin orderto think,but neededto think in orderto discoverthe art of speech.No less important,speechwas neither necessarynor possible without society, yet society could not exist without speech.23Mendelssohnescapesfromthe circleby positingthatconceptsand signs developedmore or less concurrently,whilewordscame lateron. Signs were thus necessaryeven before social interaction,becauseone could not make one's own way throughthe worldwithoutthem. The inventorof the concept, Mendelssohnreasons(hererecallingHobbes),firstnotedthe common characteristicsof the objects before him-say, three trees-and then "attach[ed]them to perceptiblesigns," i.e., to whateversignifiedtree for him. He did so not only in orderto communicatehis thoughtsto othersbut "also to hold fast to them himself."24 The formerneed is self-evident.The latteraccordswith common associationistpsychology,accordingto which thoughts are promptedby other thoughts or sense perceptionslinked to them in the memory.MendelssohnimplicitlyrejectsRousseau'scontention that "generalideas can come into the mind only with the aid of words,and the understandinggraspsthemonly throughpropositions."25 He also seems to draw, as Rousseau does not, upon a thinker(cited in Rousseau'sown notes) who contendedthat nothingof humanhappinesswould be lost if the "crowdandconfusionof so manylanguages"had beenreplacedby explanation through"signs,movements,and actions."26Rousseauseemsto equate

22. Vico wrote that concerning "the origin of languages and letters ... there are as many opinions as there are scholars who have written on the subject." See Giambattista Vico, The New Science (Ithaca, N.Y., 1968), p. 138 (bk. 2, chap. 4, par. 428). See pp. 138-153. For Hobbes's views, see Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan(Harmondsworth, 1968), pp. 100-109 (pt. 1, chap. 4). On Mendelssohn's debt to Hobbes, see Funkenstein, "Political Theory,"' pp. 18-19. 23. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, "Discourse on the Origin and Foundations of Inequality," in The First and Second Discourses (New York, 1964), pp. 119, 121, 126. 24. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, pp. 104-107. I say "more or less" because Mendelssohn allows for what we might call "pre-concepts" preceding their attachment to signs. Thus Mendelssohn writes (p. 105) that without signs "man can scarcely remove himself one step from the sensual"-the "scarcely" allowing for the thought process preceding signs. 25. Rousseau, Discourses, p. 124. 26. Ibid., p. 220, citing Isaac Vossius, De Poematum Cantu et Viribus Rythmi (Oxford, 1673).

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speech with words, and (like Vico) to consider spoken and written words as two parts of a single development.27 Mendelssohn does not. His immediate point, once more, is skeptical in its bent. Concepts are inherently elusive, and must have been even more so when they first came into human use. The common characteristic of treeness or color or justice which I discerned yesterday may escape me today. I need a reminder in order to raise the concept to consciousness from my (subconscious) inventory. "Wise Providence" therefore attaches "abstract characteristics" to "perceptible signs [sinnliches Zeichen] which . .. at once recall and illuminate" them.28At first the signs were things themselves-like Swift's Lilliputians, one carried around a chair to talk about a chair-or objects which-like the physician's snake-represented them. In the next stage these became images and then abstract lines, until finally the human race developed hieroglyphs and alphabets. One wonders, even before considering the problematic leap from writing to idolatry that Mendelssohn posits next, whether his warning that we cannot "force our concepts without disfiguring them" into "words and characters which invariably present the same rigid forms"29 was intended to encompass "words and characters" equally, speech as well as writing. If the translation of concept to language, treeness to the word "tree," is always inexact and inadequate, distortion will occur even without script itself. Writing will only make a bad situation worse. Hence Mendelssohn's tolerance of such all-too-human error, including the error of idolatry, and his refusal to attempt to eradicate it through coercion. Or, Mendelssohn may have believed that oral discussion, precisely because it is open to the tricks of memory, offers a significant advantage over writing. It confers a fluidity on concepts themselves, enhanced over time by the changing usage and meaning of the words used in speech to transmit the concepts. Those changes ironically serve truth, which is ungraspable by more direct means in any event. Speech allows for constant change in our concepts and facilitates that 27. Vico, New Science, p. 138. In a passage of great importance to Mendelssohn, Vico defends his contention that scholars err if they regard the origin of letters as a question separate from the origin of languages by noting that "'character'. . means idea, form, model; and certainly poetic characters came before those of articulate sounds," i.e., alphabetic characters. Scholars had failed to understand "how the first nations thought in poetic characters, spoke in fables, and wrote in hieroglyphs." 28. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, p. 105. 29. Ibid., p. 102.

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change. Both of these implications are present in the text, I believe. One begins to see just how indispensable Mendelssohn's abstract and problematic "deviation into byways" is to the defense of the commandments which he is about to propose. We approach that purpose in the third step of the argument. The progress from things to images to hieroglyphs to alphabet had obvious beneficial effects, Mendelssohn observes, but it also provoked misunderstanding and abuse, chiefly because signs were mistaken for what they were meant to signify. Animals once used to denote moral qualities such as courage came to be taken as embodiments of divine powers. Priests connived in this development, to be sure, but the main culprit was the human proclivity not to admit to ignorance about the ultimate causes of things. In any case, the world was soon dominated by superstition and idolatry. Mendelssohn can thus explain why idolaters overwhelmingly worshipped animals rather than men. He further confirms his suspicions on this score through a fascinating exegesis of Hindu mythology ("now read for yourselves in the Shasta of the Gentoos") in which he makes good symbolic sense of an apparently outrageous tale of monsters, tortoises, and elephants. He also conducts a marvelous thought experiment in which he imagines how the tribal chief brought back to England by Captain Cook might have misunderstood the worship of the congregation of deists in Dessau. Both exercises demonstrate "how easily such symbols and hieroglyphics could lead one into error," all the while exhibiting remarkable understanding and even tolerance of that error, which the rabbis of his day (and ours!) would have dismissed as simple idolatry. We should "take care not to regard everything from one's own parochial point of view, lest one should call idolatry what, in reality, is perhaps only script."30 It is not my concern here to evaluate Mendelssohn's theory of language and alphabets, steeped as it is in Enlightenment speculation in which I am not expert. Suffice it to note that the sympathetic treatment of Hinduism and other putative idolatry probably marks a revolution in the history of Jewish thought, not unrelated to the change in the conception of commandment now to follow. The leap from script to idolatry, which Altmann justifiably finds so unsubstantiated, prepared the ground for Mendelssohn's

30. Ibid., pp. 105-115. Quotation on p. 113. "Gentoos" and "shastas" were common eighteenth-century terminology for Hindus and their sacred writings.

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"surmise about the purpose of the ceremonial law." Namely: that while animals and images and even numbers could be mistaken for that which they symbolized, actions could not. God had therefore given the Jews symbolic actions which would "continually ... call attention to sound and unadulterated ideas of God and his attributes."3' The claim is patently problematic. Actions can be "idolized" too, i.e., rendered the means or occasion for invoking or coercing divine spirits. As Mendelssohn well knew, they could also be reduced to rote habit devoid of any symbolic role whatever.32 The deeper problems with the theory, however, cannot be grasped without a digression of our own. For the tales of Omai of the South Seas and the "Shasta of the Gentoos" point us to the principal source of Mendelssohn's discussion-Maimonides' Guidefor the Perplexed. This text also served as the principal object of attack in Spinoza's Tractatus, long recognized as a formative influence upon Jerusalem. Omai and the Gentoos are the historical embodiment of the Sabians made famous by Maimonides' Guide and of the rampant superstition attacked by Spinoza in the Tractatus-albeit idolaters rendered gentle and rather sympathetic in the wash of Mendelssohn's tolerance. If we wish to make sense of the ceremonial script, therefore, and particularly of these climactic pages in Mendelssohn's "digression," we need to follow Mendelssohn's complex borrowings and divergences from Maimonides and Spinoza. We need, in other words, to place him, to this extent at least, in the history of ta'amei hamitzvot.:the provision of reasons, or meanings, for the commandments.

From Commandmentto Ceremonyto Script The position which Mendelssohn stakes out in Jerusalem follows directly from the twofold challenge posed to him by the Searcher. First, traditional Judaism had practiced and even demanded coercion in matters of religion, for example decreeing the death by stoning of all who violated the Sabbath. If Mendelssohn found such coercion unacceptable, he had stepped outside the religious framework of his ancestors. Second, the laws of Moses were mere "burdensome ceremonies." True "adorers of God" did not need and

31. Ibid., pp. 117-118. 32. Ibid., pp. 72-73, and see the final part of the present essay.

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could not use them, for "the observance of divine commandments from fear of punishment attached to them is slavery, which ... can never be pleasing to God."33 Mendelssohn had to refute the former claim (accepted, we note, by both Maimonides and Spinoza) or find his reason in contradiction to his faith-a possibility so repugnant that he breaks off in mid-sentence when he comes to acknowledge it.34 However, if he succeeded in showing that Judaism could not coerce observance but only elicit it through persuasion, rebuttal of the Searcher's second charge became all the more imperative. Jews who stood convinced that the commandments were a burden and only that would surely cast them off when given a chance. Mendelssohn was arguing that they should have that chance, probably foreseeing that in fact they soon would have it. Ta'amei ha-mitzvot had thus become of unprecedented importance. Unless there were sound reasons for observing the commandments, Jews were unlikely to maintain such observance voluntarily. Yet if the situation facing the Jews in Mendelssohn's day was unprecedented, the second challenge posed by the Searcher was not. Jews had been responding for centuries to the charge that their commandments were mere burdensome ceremonies. Moreover, the particularly modern formulation of this challenge had been put forth a century before the Searcher-and with far more cogency-by Spinoza. If God could no longer be conceived in personal, let alone anthropomorphic terms, and revelation came only through reason, "divine law" could refer only to that which "regards the highest good, in other words, the true knowledge of God and love." God could not be a lawgiver in the traditional sense. Commandments were therefore "divine" not by virtue of their source but by virtue of their object. "He alone lives by the Divine law who loves God not from fear of punishment, or from love of any other object .. . but solely because he has knowledge of God, or is convinced that the knowledge and love of God is the highest good." The "means demanded by this aim" might be called the "commands of God," but not "the performance of ceremonies-that is, actions in themselves indifferent ... or actions symbolizing something profitable for salvation ... [or] actions of which the meaning surpasses human understanding." These things, instituted as "symbols of something good, are mere shadows which cannot be reckoned among actions that are the offspring, as it were, or fruit

33. Ibid., pp. 84-87. 34. Ibid., p. 85.

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of a sound mind and of intellect. There is no need for me to go into this in more detail."35 Mendelssohn did have such a need, of course. Hence Jerusalem, and particularly the extended discussion of mitzvot with its digression about alphabets and Hindus. Mendelssohn could have omitted the entire discussion if his only concern had been the Searcher's first challenge: the legitimacy of ecclesiastical coercion. Immediately after the discussion of mitzvot, he rebuts that challenge with the Spinozist notion that Jewish law had originally been political, the constitution of a state-and every state legitimately employed coercion. The Sabbath-breaker was stoned because he offended against the state as much as against God. The two were at that point indivisible. Mendelssohn only adds, as against contemporary proponents of ecclesiastical coercion, that the Mosaic constitution was unique. Its model no longer applied. As against the Searcher, he argues that Judaism since the Jewish state's destruction had known of no penalty other than the sinner's remorse.36The latter claim is of course highly dubious. As Altmann writes, Our concern, however-and, I it "does not fully correspond to the facts.""37 Mendelssohn's-lies elsewhere. believe, The point of Jerusalem's second part is to refute Spinoza's argument (soon to be repeated by Kant)38that the law was not only irrelevant to true faith but a hindrance. "The natural light of reason," wrote Spinoza, "does not demand anything which it is itself unable to supply, but only such as it can very clearly show to be good, or a means to our blessedness."39Mendelssohn has to show that even if reason did not actually demand the Jewish means to divine instruction-God had given the commandments only to Israel, and would not deny the rest of humanity a necessary instrument of salvation-nonetheless the ceremonies were "clearly ... good," a "means to 35. Benedict de Spinoza, A Theological-Political Treatise (New York, 1951), chap. 4, pp. 59-62. 36. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, pp. 128-131. 37. Altmann, notes to Jerusalem, p. 232. Rawidowicz tries to defend Mendelssohn by portraying him, quite unconvincingly, as naive with regard to the import of his words. See Rawidowicz, "Philosophy of Jerusalem," p. 108. 38. Immanuel Kant, Religion Within the Limits of Reason Alone (New York, 1960). Kant cites Mendelssohn, and misreads him in a fashion which can only be intentional, on p. 154. 39. Spinoza, p. 61. I focus on Maimonides in the present essay rather than Spinoza because Mendelssohn's relation to the Tractatushas been treated exhaustively in Guttmann, "Mendelssohn's Jerusalem," nicely supplemented by Morgan, "History and Modern Jewish Thought." See notes 1 and 3 above.

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our blessedness." Not surprisingly, he turns for guidance in this exercise to the supreme rationalist of Jewish tradition, Maimonides, who had devoted a large section of his masterwork to the rational explication of the commandments-and had become, for his pains, both the principal villain of Spinoza's treatise and the subject of enormous rabbinic controversy. The "digression" of Jerusalem thus leads directly to one of the most important and long-lasting currents in the history of Jewish thought-and Jewish polemic. We might usefully begin with Maimonides' own defense of the punishment meted out to the Sabbath-breaker. Observance of the day of rest was intended to further "the belief in a true opinion-namely, the creation of the world in time," as well as to instill "the memory of the benefit God bestowed upon us by giving us rest 'from under the burdens of the Egyptians.'" Hence its establishment so firmly that violation incurred the penalty of death. "You know from what I have said that opinions do not last unless they are accompanied by actions that strengthen them, make them generally known, and perpetuate them among the multitude."40 Maimonides proceeds to elaborate three purposes for the commandments: the furtherance of "correct opinion" about God (termed the "welfare of the soul"); the abolition of wrongdoing in society; and "the acquisition by every human individual of moral qualities that are useful for life in society" (the last two purposes comprising "the welfare of the body"). A precious few individuals could learn correct divine opinion in detail. For the majority, it was enough to know of God's existence and oneness, to love and fear the Lord. To this knowledge the mitzvot were meant to guide us. All the commandments, Maimonides insists, could be comprehended in this fashion, at least in principle, even those which had proven recalcitrant to centuries of attempted explanation.41 The too, as Twersky puts it, were "messages which must be deciphered.ukkim and decoded."42 The principal method adopted for explaining the least decipherable commandments, particularly sacrificial worship, was historicist: God wished to

40. Moses Maimonides, The Guide of the Perplexed, trans. Shlomo Pines, vol. 2 (Chicago, 1963), bk. 2, chap. 31. 41. Ibid., bk. 3, chaps. 25-49. The heart of the discussion comes in chaps. 27-29. 42. Isadore Twersky, Introduction to the Code of Maimonides (New Haven, 1980), p. 386. On Maimonides' approach as a whole to ta'amei ha-mitzvot, both in the Mishneh Torahand the Guide, see Twersky, pp. 371-459.

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uproot the idolatrous ways then dominant in the world, and could do so only gradually, having decided that human nature would remain unalterable. Sacrifices were a bow to the influence of the "Sabians," in the attempt to extirpate them and their ways. Other prohibitions also could be explained as accommodations to or interdictions of the ways of an idolatrous world. In this manner it came about that "the memory of idolatry was effaced"-so much so that the means to that effacement at times seemed pointless-and "the grandest and true foundation of our belief-namely, the existence and oneness of the deity-was firmly established."43 The extent of Mendelssohn's borrowing should be apparent. Like Maimonides, he presents the commandments as an ingenious pedagogy intended to accomplish, through indirection, what could not be achieved in any other way. Like Maimonides, he devotes a substantial portion of his argument to a digression concerning the "Sabians," even dwelling, as Maimonides did, upon Hindus in particular, by way of explanation for God's recourse to the commandments. His account combines the same two elements: historical and intellectual-moral. Like Maimonides, finally, he draws a distinction between the knowledge of God accessible to all human beings and the higher degree of knowledge available to only a few, thereby finding a variegated role for the commandments amid the broad access to God afforded by reason. But there the borrowing ends. In fact, if we look more carefully, we find that in each case Mendelssohn is forced to veer away from Maimonides in a crucial respect that seriously undermines the coherence of his own theory. Take, for example, Mendelssohn's climactic statement of the rationale for the mitzvot-built, like Maimonides' explanation, upon a text from the early chapters of Deuteronomy. "In everything a youth saw being done, in all public as well as private dealings, on all gates and on all doorposts, in whatever he turned his eyes or ears to, he found occasion for inquiring and reflecting, occasion ... to seek the instruction which his master considered him capable of absorbing and prepared to receive."44Maimonides could hardly quibble with this. The passage that Mendelssohn exposits directly 43. Maimonides, Guide, pp. 518, 527 (bk. 3, chaps. 29, 32). On the notion of accommodation, see Twersky, Code, pp. 389-391, and Amos Funkenstein, Theology and the Scientific Imaginationfrom the Middle Ages to the Seventeenth Century (Princeton, 1986), chap. 4. 44. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, p. 119. For Maimonides' use of Deuteronomy 4:5-8, see Twersky, Code, pp. 381-385.

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follows the proclamation of God's unity and oneness in the daily prayers, and Maimonides too believed that the main point of the commandments was (in Mendelssohn's words) "to explain, enlarge, limit and define more precisely" the fundamental doctrines of Jewish faith.45 Maimonides might also have assented to Mendelssohn's statement that the "ceremonial script" was needed to "define more precisely what, for wise intentions and with wise moderation, remained undetermined in the written law."46 This seems a truism. Oral law applies eternal divine decrees to changing human circumstances. But Mendelssohn's intent here, I believe, is far from traditional. To fathom it we must recall his warning that doctrines and convictions cannot be committed to words or script, "into which we cannot force our concepts without disfiguring them." Maimonides was, of course, far from such skepticism. For him the mitzvot served as symbols or reminders of truths which he could and did state propositionally. He was so certain of his formulations that he codified them and demanded assent under penalty of law. God had, after all, revealed those truths, through Moses the prophet, at Sinai. For Mendelssohn "much confusion and indistinctness are bound to remain in the signification of words."47God could not and did not reveal truths in words, at Sinai or anywhere else. The subject of prophecy, significantly, does not arise in Jerusalem. We learn eternal truths through reason's immediate apperceptions and the rational work leading to and from those moments of "revelation." Hence the need for a divine pedagogy even more indirect than the one which Maimonides had imagined. Not only did students differ in their capacity to appropriate meaning from the commandments. More important, that meaning itself would necessarily differ from time to time, place to place, and person to person. The ceremonies did not, as Maimonides would have 45. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, p. 119. 46. Ibid., p. 102. Heinemann does not parse the explanation of the mitzvot in part 2 of Jerusalem in light of the skepticism concerning language evinced there and even more so in part 1, with the result that Mendelssohn emerges from his reading as a thoroughly traditional figure urging us to seek out the meaning of observance in order to fill it with proper intention. The text, I believe, is far more nuanced, and its import more radical even than Mendelssohn himself may have realized. One certainly cannot say, with Heinemann (Ta'amei ha-Mitzvot, p. 22) that Mendelssohn "believed in the Oral Law with perfect faith, and as we have mentioned, considered this faith among the fundamental principles of Judaism." The entire thrust of Mendelssohn's essay is to make such a statement about belief in doctrine and fundamental principles virtually meaningless. 47. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, p. 66.

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it, take us to truth so much as provide an occasion for its coming within range of our intuitive grasp. That being the case, there could not be one single meaning to a commandment, let alone one single correct meaning. The meaning lay in what those who practiced it grasped, with the help of their communities and teachers, from the set of behaviors mandated by the Torah.48 These meanings would presumably fall within a certain range defined (and limited) by the very few principles Maimonides had put forward as essential for all to know: God's existence, unity, and power. God had, after all, ordained this set of behaviors with the intention of stimulating this process of arriving at this set of meanings, and the process had "worked" with a fair degree of success for centuries. The relative constancy of the framework would thus keep the various truths variously arrived at within a common and enduring boundary. But in no way could a particular commandment be said to lead to a particular truth or have only a single meaning attributed to it. Pluralist to the core, Mendelssohn endorsed a rather radical version of the rabbinic dictum, "these and these are the words of the living God."49 The framework itself would shift as oral tradition modified the observance of the commandments, and the meaning of the principles grasped with the help of those ceremonies would also be open to discussion rather than a fit subject for oaths or credos. Hence Mendelssohn's failure to call his script "symbolic," a word which for him connoted precisely the sense of propositional utterance which the mitzvot did not make. Maimonides' attempt to codify belief was in his view a grave error. Second, while Mendelssohn certainly shared Maimonides' conviction that students varied as to their capacity, so that the same words of the Torah would be grasped differently by students of differing ability and the same commandments would give rise to differing levels of understanding, Mendelssohn leveled the difference between masses and elite. The knowledge of each person, being the gift of a gracious God, was entirely adequate to his or her salvation and felicity. This leveling was made possible by Mendelssohn's apparent conviction that even the greatest of minds cannot know all that much about God. He forever counseled humility in this regard, and therefore tolerance. If there is little that we can or need to know, that little can in 48. Heinemann claims (but fails to demonstrate) that Mendelssohn relies here on the educational theory articulated by Rousseau in Emile. See Heinemann, Ta'ameiha-Mitzvot, pp. 29, 43. 49. Mendelssohn himself quotes the dictum in Jerusalem, p. 101.

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principle be grasped by almost everyone, and errors of apprehension should be corrected but forgiven. Mendelssohn read Psalm 19, the key proof-text for this section of the argument, to say that the instruction of the heavens comes with "no teaching, no words, without their voice being heard." The elite could not achieve certain knowledge of what the heavens teach, for apprehension of ultimate reality always comes through intuitions beyond language. The diffusion of this nonverbal instruction was "as universal as the beneficent influence of the sun."50 It reached, therefore, even to idolaters. The point of Maimonides' digression into the ways of the Sabians is to account for God's recourse to the commandments: a simple opposition of error to truth, evil to good, in keeping with rabbinic tradition. For Mendelssohn the situation is far more complex.5' On the one hand, he too needs to invoke idolatry-and relate it tenuously to the development of language-in order to account for the commandments. The divine legislation makes sense only given the history of mankind which Mendelssohn constructs. On the other hand, Mendelssohn believes that God's grace extends from one end of the earth to the other. His two examples of idolaters-Omai at the Dessau temple and the Hindu scriptures-are brought to show how often we misunderstand idolatry, confusing its symbols with the message to which they are meant to point. That message, Mendelssohn argues, is not only acceptable to Jews and other rational believers, but noble. When we attack other religions as pagan, the fault perhaps lies with us. We have misunderstood them.52 However noble this argument, Mendelssohn's case is painfully weak. It is one thing to say that a language composed of images could lead to worship of animals-if the images were those of animals, and if these images were used to represent moral qualities that over time became transmuted into divinities. It is another thing to say that most images or hieroglyphs would have that result-let alone that a language of written characters would do so. Canaan, Greece, and Rome-the idolatrous cultures of most

50. Ibid., p. 126. The Jewish Publication Society, closer to the text's apparent meaning, translates, "There is no utterance, there are no words, whose sound goes unheard," and cites the alternative reading of the final phrase, "their sound is not heard." Tanakh (Philadelphia, 1985), p. 1126. 51. On Mendelssohn's ambivalent relation to idolatry in the text, see Guttmann, "Mendelssohn's Jerusalem," pp. 370-377. 52. Hence the dispute with Lessing cited in note 17 above.

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concern to Jewish tradition-all had alphabets. Mendelssohn tries to rescue his case with the sudden claim that "we have seen how ... our alphabetical script makes man too speculative." We have, of course, seen nothing of the sort-and anyway speculation is not idolatry. What is more, Mendelssohn cannot invoke the unique Mosaic constitution in order to explain the original force of the commandments in a world given over to idolatry, and then argue that in the absence of this constitution (and of idolatry!) the mitzvot are no less relevant, their purpose having been all along to lead us to eternal truths. He cannot-on the face of it, at least-have it both ways. The Guide, in sum, holds the key to Mendelssohn's reply to the Searcher, but at every turn the doors which Maimonides opens are not doors through which Mendelssohn can walk. Mendelssohn's skepticism about the reliability of language undermines the notion of commandments as pointers to truth. His democratic conviction that access to God is universal clashes head-on with Maimonides' elitism. This same conviction, finally, neutralizes his own antipathy to idolatry and calls into question any explanation of the commandments as devices to uproot it. True, Maimonides believed that God's strategy to rid the world of idolatry had been largely successful by his own day; Mendelssohn might well have reasoned that in the intervening centuries the process must have reached its conclusion. Even so, however, the gap between his own view and that of Maimonides is too great to be bridged. Confronted by a real-life pagan, Mendelssohn would no doubt have invited him or her to tea and conversation so as to uncover the rational truth behind the pagan's odd symbolic expression. Maimonides would have meted out a different fate-in keeping with a system of thought far more internally consistent than the one evinced in Jerusalem. Consistency could not be Mendelssohn's strong point, nor Maimonides his sole model, as he strove to mark out a new path to observance lying somewhere between Maimonides' certainty and Spinoza's apostasy. We have seen the difficulties attendant on that effort. It is time to give an account of its achievement. CeremonialScript as "Plausibility Structure" The heart of that achievement lay in Mendelssohn's wrestle with the emergent modern context for halakhic observance: voluntarist, individual, 53. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, p. 118.

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and thus dependent to a large degree upon rational argument, rather than communally coerced in a culture dominated by traditional authority. Mendelssohn realized, I believe, that the very preconditions which made this new sort of observance possible and necessary also worked counter to the effort of persuasion in which he was engaged. How could people be brought to surrender autonomy once it had been gained? (This is, of course, the question at issue in part I of Jerusalem, answered there with a very democratic notion of the social contract.) Equally important, why would Jews undertake a regimen that relied on spoken words, personal example, and indirect pedagogy as they moved to enter a culture that was increasingly impersonal and bureaucratic, transmitting knowledge through the more efficient (and so rational) means of the printed word? Hence the enormous lengths to which Mendelssohn goes in his effort at persuasion, involving nothing less than a theory and history of language. Hence too the principal flaw of that theory, taken on its own terms: how would a variety of ceremonies, mediated by a still greater variety of interpretations-the latter changing from time to time, place to place, and even person to person-yield eternal truths that are "legible and comprehensible at all times and places"?54 In other words, could the community and authority which Mendelssohn intended to safeguard survive the voluntarism and personalism which he introduced into observance? Rotenstreich, puzzling over this gap between the small set of truths at which all aim and the variety of means used to achieve them, speculates that Mendelssohn must have believed that our highest ideas are essentially independent of the societies and cultures which we inhabit.55Eternal truths are, after all, independent of language, and language is a sociocultural product. To a degree, I think, he is correct. Mendelssohn did hold that all people, regardless of language, irrespective of symbols, have access to the one God who created them all. But this only begs the question. The contradiction is fully exposed when, in the passage quoted above, Mendelssohn contrasts "words and script" understandable only at one point in time and space with "things and concepts inscribed in the soul"-this after a long discussion of language in which he finds "concepts" and "words" well-nigh inseparable! What good does it do to limit the range of possible meanings for the mitzvot

54. Ibid., p. 126. 55. Rotenstreich, "Mendelssohn and the Political Idea," p. 246.

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with sentences like "the Lord our God is One" when the meaning of all such words is opaque, and will vary from one speaker to another? The problem is irresolvable; Mendelssohn may or may not have realized this, and accepted the danger as a price he was prepared to pay for a more voluntarist and rationalist mode of observance. I would argue, however, that in return for this risk (and the inconsistencies noted earlier) he gained a great deal indeed. Precisely because the mitzvot could not be defined in propositional terms, their performance made possible a sort of Jewish meaning not previously available. Note, first, that Mendelssohn urges each Jew to endow the acts required of all Jews with highly personal significance. The character of observance is thereby transformed. One is not doing X in order to signify Y, X being the same for all individuals in all centuries, Y being a truth available to philosophers (and some non-Jewish believers) by other means. Rather, X in the ideal case is inseparable from the signification which each person or community attaches to it. The act comes laden with meaning. Each of us must enact our own relation to the tradition, and such enactment, Mendelssohn reasons, should generate ever-fresh commitment. The problem with alphabetical script is that it displays knowledge "too openly on the surface; it spares us the effort of penetrating and searching, and creates too wide a division between doctrine and life."56Ceremonial script by contrast should vitalize observance by forcing the individual to share in the creation of its significance, all the more so if that significance changes from time to time as one proceeds through life along the path which the commandments mark out. This variance will be over and above the subtle changes introduced almost imperceptibly by any developing oral tradition. Mendelssohn can thus define Judaism in terms of revealed legislation and not revealed truth without detracting (in his own mind) from the importance of the religion. The legislation is, after all, God-given rather than arbitrary, eternal rather than transitory-precisely like the eternal truths revealed to reason. The medium of Torah is, as it were, its message. The mitzvot, again, are not symbols for something else but a veritable language in themselves, a way of conversation with God and human fellows.57 56. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, p. 118. 57. Morgan points out that to Mendelssohn the mitzvot were not symbolic of particular truths but associated with them in our minds, as a checkered deerstalker hat and magnifying glass are associated with the character Sherlock Holmes. Yes and no: the latter association is far less equivocal than any Mendelssohn would recognize between mitzvah A and truth B. See Morgan, "History and Modern Jewish Thought," p. 477.

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Mendelssohnhas shiftedthe weightin religionfromone sort of languageto another, from thought to practice.Torah is not wisdom but the way one walks in order to acquire it.58

Such a theory,third,well suitedMendelssohn'saim of persuadingJews, in the absenceof coercion,to undertakethe regimeninitiatedat Sinai.The point, alreadyalludedto above, bearsexpansion.Mendelssohn,like Maimonides, believed Jews obligated by the Sinaitic covenant. Unlike Maimonides,however,he could not expectJewsto takeon the burdenof observance in the context of integralcommunitiesendowedwith the ability to coerceobservanceif it was not otherwiseforthcoming.Hencethe decidedly individualistthrustof Mendelssohn'srationalefor the commandments,as opposed to Maimonides'emphasis on the welfare of both "soul" and "body"-the lattersignifyingsocietal welfare."Collectivefelicity"is mentioned in Jerusalemonly in two parentheticalreferences.In one of them Mendelssohn calls its attainment, along with "personal felicity," the "direct"and "ultimate"purposeof the commandments.He then adds that the mitzvot"arealso, in largepart,to be regardedas a kindof script."59 This is astonishing:the explanationto which Mendelssohnhad devotedhis long digressionis now made secondary("also, in large part"),while the end to whichthe scriptis saidto be the means-truth; i.e., "welfareof the soul"-is nowjoined to anotherend--"collectivefelicity"-virtuallyfor the firsttime. The reason for Mendelssohn'semphasison the individualat every other point in the essay, I believe, lies in the very premiseof Jerusalem;public Jewishspace and time were shrinking.In the modernsociopoliticalorder which Mendelssohnknew was emerging,Jews would have to rely less and less on publicJewishgates and doorpostsin whichto transmittheiruniversal and historical truths. The public space in which they walked would henceforthbe German,or English,or French-witness part I of Jerusalem. In a situationof voluntaryobservance,the meaningattachedto observance would have to be highly personal. This of courseraisesthe questionof what wouldhold the religiouscommunitytogetherin such circumstances.Heretoo, if I am correct,Mendelssohn was quite prescient,anticipatingthe position of figuresin the "his58. Heinemann makes this point well in Ta'amei ha-Mitzvot, p. 17. I believe I do not impute too much prescience to Mendelssohn when I attribute to him the awareness that the meanings of mitzvot would become highly individualized in the emergent modern era, and observance itself far less standard. 59. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, pp. 119, 128.

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torical school" such as ZechariahFrankel and Solomon Schechter.He argued,in effect, that even in the past Jews had not agreedon either the meaningof the commandmentsor the precisedefinitionof eternaltruth,and properlyso. The rabbishad been unwillingto allow codificationsof meaning and truthsuch as the one proposedby Maimonides.The lack of uniformity would increasein the future.No matter,however:what uniteda community was not uniformityin belief but commonalityin practice.If Jews shareda ritualcalendarand a set of sacredtexts, if they were bound by the same dietaryrestrictionsand collectivelyrememberedthe same historical truths,they would surviveas a communitydespitethe (inevitable)absence of sharedpropositionalbeliefs.Eternaltruthwould be presentamongthem to the degreethat theirceremoniesstimulatedits apperception.Pace Spinoza, one could not conceivea rationalfaithin the absenceof suchceremonies. Indeed,they wereessentialto the achievementof that faith-witness Spinoza's own insistencethat the sovereigncoerce observanceof whateverceremonies were deemed necessaryto the maintenanceof the civil religion;60 witness,too, Spinoza'stestimonyto the role of circumcisionin sustaining the Jews, "so importantthat I could persuademyself that it alone would preservethe nation for ever."69 Lestone thinkthis readingof Mendelssohnan anachronismconceivedin the imageof MordecaiKaplan,recallMendelssohn'sletterto his friendand discipleHerzHomburg,writtensoon afterthe publicationof Jerusalem.The mitzvotmay have lost muchof theirusefulnessas pointersto truth,he concedes, but they are still neededin orderto unify "truetheists"in theircontinuing battle against "polytheism,anthropomorphism,and ecclesiastical authority."62Here, in private,Mendelssohnis far less sanguineabout the universaldiffusionof truereligion.The "truetheists"areof coursethe Jews, and they are a distinctminority.Commandmentsarenecessaryif the minority is to carryon its age-oldmission.Whatelse could unitethem?Surelynot beliefs!The Jews, like any people, neededa common behaviorallanguage, all the moreso whenthe languagewhichthey spokeno longerdistinguished them from their neighbors.The importanceof the commandments,in a word, was sociological. 60. Spinoza, Treatise, pp. 245-256. 61. Ibid., p. 56. 62. Mendelssohn, Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 13, pp. 132-134. The letter is conveniently available in full as an addendum to the Hebrew translation of Jerusalem (Ramat Gan, 1977), pp. 226-228.

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Two furtherimplicationsareapparentin thistheory.First,Mendelssohn is advocatinghalakhicreform,and not alwaysobliquely.Preservethe mitzvot, he pleads, by reopeningthem to the changeswhich inevitablyaccompany an oral tradition. Like most reformers,Mendelssohnclaims not to innovate.He hopes, rather,to returnJewsto the originalintentof theirlaw, which accordingto traditionwas writtendown only with regretand under duress.And, like many who hope to attractthe waywardhome, Mendelssohn holds out a vision explicitlyat odds with the realitywhich they had rejected.The elegiactone of Jerusalem,the recurrentappealto an ideal left unrealized,serve to underlineMendelssohn'sdissatisfactionwith the regimen of mitzvahthen in place. He could not abrogatethe law-only God could do that, at a secondSinai-but he could and did contrastthe original intent of the law with its presentcondition. This in turn could not be done, given the polemicalcontext in which Mendelssohn wrote, without sharpening his criticism of Christianity.63 Attentive readerscannot fail to observe the differencebetweenJudaism, with its living script and personalistmeaning, and Christianity,with its "doctrinalopinions" and "saving truths."Nor could they fail to see the irony barelyconcealedin Mendelsson'sprotestthat "I at least havenothing new to advanceagainst the faith of the Christians."64 In this regardthere was no need for novelty. The facts spoke clearlyenough. The searcherfor rationalreligionwould choose neitherChristianitynor Samaria,but Jerusalem. Here, at the end of the essay'stortuouspath, it is well to summarizethe account of the commandmentswhich Mendelssohnhas provided. 1. God acted at Sinai to redeema world sunk into idolatryby granting one nation, the Jews, a kind of scriptnot easily mistakenfor that whichit signified.It would consist of actions ratherthan of images or words. 2. The performanceof the ceremonialscript,in the commonwealthover which God was sovereign,had the force of law. Everythinga youth saw or heard would lead to correctapprehensionof eternal and historicaltruth. Reality, in contemporaryidiom, would serve as a supremelyeffective

63. Compare Heinemann, Ta'amei ha-Mitzvot, pp. 42-43, who notes that the critique applied particularly to Protestantism, which had devalued "ceremonies" relative to the Catholic Church. 64. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, pp. 88-89.

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"plausibilitystructure"designedby God for the achievementof ultimate felicity.65 3. The ideal never came to realization,however. Immediatelyafter Sinai, the Israelitesbuilt theirgolden calf. God turnedeven that crimeto a lesson in love and fearof Him, but in the courseof timethe Israelitesstrayed still farther.From the time of SamuelGod had to share authorityin their commonwealthwith an earthly sovereign.Then, when all else failed, He destroyedthe commonwealthaltogetherand sent the Jews into exile.66 4. This left them with "ceremonies"ratherthan the originaladmixture of civil, criminal,and "ritual"laws;it left the ceremonies,too, withoutany powerof enforcement.The legislationwas, however,still capableof fulfilling its originalpedagogicpurposeto the degreethat it markedJews'gates and doorposts, therebydefininga communityset apart from all others. 5. The modernera promisedto offer the conditionsfor a purersort of diasporaobservance,purer because the commandmentswould be undertaken entirelyvoluntarily,and becausethe environmenthad been freed of the blandishmentsof idolatry.The times, however,requiredthat Jews be persuadedto observethe mitzvotand indeedhad renderedsuch persuasion more difficult than ever before. Moreover,this purerbackdropto observance presumedthe successof Emancipation,whichin turndependedupon the fashioningof a Judaismappropriateto the new order. Mendelssohn's Jerusalemis both theory and polemic. He needs to define a new sort of Judaismand to pleadfor it beforeJewsand Gentilesalike. Hence,perhaps, the twice-quotedrefrainwhich concludesthe treatise:"Love truth! Love peace!"(Zechariah8:19).67 These are the wordswith which the shaliahtzibur,at the high point of the High Holy Day service,concludeshis prayer that he be found worthy to representhis congregation.68 65. The phrase is of course Peter Berger's. See The Sacred Canopy (Garden City, 1969) and The Heretical Imperative (Garden City, 1980). 66. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, pp. 120-122, 132-134. 67. Mendelssohn cites the verse on pp. 101 and 139 of Jerusalem. His disciple Naphtali Herz Wessely had issued his famous pamphlet Divrei Shalom va-Emet [Words of peace and truth] the year before, in 1782, the title based on Esther 9:30. 68. Like Heinemann and unlike Morgan I find great consistency among the three explanations which Mendelssohn provides for the commandments: historical (idolatry), intellectualmoral (the achievement of felicity), and sociological (the preservation of Jewish community). I am not convinced by Mendelssohn's putative history of language, nor am I satisfiedparticularly given the lack of examples-that ceremonies actually lead one to truth. But that would be difficult to demonstrate in any event. One should note that except for the theory of

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Mendelssohn'saudience was quite different,of course, and for it he fashioneda vehicle well suited to his new theory of the commandments,a new form for Jewishthought-the essay. He usedthat form to illustratethe new sort of Jewishlearningwhich he and his fellow Enlightenerssoughtto promote,one which (like Mendelssohn'sBible translation)puts traditional insights into a new idiom and introducesinto traditionallearninggeneral knowledgesuch as the voyage of CaptainCook. If we take Mendelssohn seriously,we must wonder what lies behind the cantankerousand transparentlyfacile argumentthat people no longerlearn from people but only from books-this from the pen of a man who has writtenmorewordsthan anyonewould care to readin a month,in the midstof an essaycraftedwith such carethat it marksa turningpoint in the historyof Jewishthought.The point, I believe, is this. If a Jew no longer had the ability to "follow his teacher,to watch him, to observehis actions,"etc., and was left only with the wise man's books; if abstractionhad supplantedexperience-let the abstractionbe the sort whichpointedout the dangersin its own enterprise. Let the wise man's book demonstratethe need for experience.Mendelssohn'sessayin this senserunsparallelto JudahHalevi'suse of a philosophical form to argueagainstrelianceupon the philosophicalroad to truth,as the substanceof the essayparallelsHalevi'semphasisin the Kuzariuponthe life of commandmentrather than "religion within the limits of reason alone."Mendelssohnoffereda new sort of instruction,compatiblewith and furtheredby the new readingof mitzvot that he sought to convey. It is hardly surprisingthat a conception so complicatedfailed to win adherents.Severalof Mendelssohn'schildrenand disciplesunderstoodhim to say that since rational truth was universal,one set of symbolicobservances was as good as another. Why then be Jewish if Christianitywas entirelyadequate,and carriedwith it enormouspracticalbenefits?Abraham Geiger and other reformers,invokingMendelssohnat every turn, misread him to say that commandments,being symbols,wereentirelyinstrumental to the achievementof a few eternal,propositionaltruths.69Logically,then, the ceremonial script, Mendelssohn's account is highly traditional. On the history of ta'amei ha-mitzvot, see especially Ephraim Urbach, The Sages [Hebrew] (Jerusalem, 1975), pp. 320-347; and Heinemann, Ta'ameiha-Mitzvot, vol. 1. Mendelssohn's explanations for particular commandments in his Be'ur are utterly traditional-at one point (Exod. 23:19) even counseling obedience to a law we cannot understand! See Heinemann, vol. 2, pp. 27-31. 69. For Geiger's views, see, most conveniently, Max Wiener, ed., Abraham Geiger and Liberal Judaism (Philadelphia, 1962), pp. 113-118, 170-172, 283-293.

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one should retain the mitzvot still capable of performing that function and discard the rest. Symbol was symbol, after all, while truth was truth. Mendelssohn, as we have seen, never understood the mitzvot as symbols in this sense. Nor did he favor essentialist definitions of Judaism in terms of a small number of "truths." Samson Raphael Hirsch, believing like Mendelssohn that the legislation which bound Jews was divine and therefore irrevocable, read Mendelssohn to say that the commandments could be explained as symbols-and went on to provide an elaborate detail-by-detail deciphering of the code. The more opaque the ritual, the more tendentious Hirsch's explanation-and Hirsch insisted that his was the only correct deciphering, contrary perushim notwithstanding.70 One wonders whether Mendelssohn would have been at all surprised by these developments. Who more than he knew the difficulty in making clear one's intent to contemporaries and posterity? Who better than he could write a text on the dangers of writing, or hammer home the fact that the meaning of words changes when they are heard in a different historical or personal context? And yet, in a larger sense, others have chosen to walk the tortuous path which Mendelssohn first laid out, in two senses. Hirsch and Geiger, Krochmal and Rosenzweig, Kaplan and Heschel, Rav Kook and Soloveitchikhave all worked their way through the problem of justifying the commandments in a setting characterized by voluntarist observance and rationalist epistemology. They have done so by drawing, as Mendelssohn did, on traditional texts in the genre of ta'amei ha-mitzvot, and by employing notions of symbol and symbolic action proposed by Gentile contemporaries, whether these be Kant, Hegel, Schelling, Durkheim, or Dewey. The effort continues. It would seem to bear out both Mendelssohn's conviction that meaning would need to be ever reinvented in the modern period, and his notion of how that reinvention should proceed. Mendelssohn, however, stood in a second tradition-the "secular" or philosophical investigation of ritual and religion-and here too his heirs in 70. See, for example, Hirsch's long and belabored explanation of the prohibition on seething a kid in its mother's milk. The Pentateuch, Translatedand Explained by Samson Raphael Hirsch, vol. 2 (London, 1967), at Exodus 23:19. For his symbolic theory of the commandments, see especially Samson Raphael Hirsch, The Collected Writings,vol. 3, Jewish Symbolism (New York, 1984).

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that tradition,now found in the disciplinesof the social sciences,can be seen to walk the path which he discerned.I will brieflymention three lines of inquirywhichseemto me particularlyusefuland particularlyrelevantto the reading of Jerusalem.

Take, first, Mary Douglas's attemptsin a seriesof works to show that Durkheim'sessentialinsight about the source of human thought in social groupswas correct.Whateverelse one makesof PurityandDangeror related works,one can acceptDouglas'sclaimthat at leastin partthe meaningof pollutionand purificationritualsvarieswith the sort of body politic which those rituals,again at least in part, serveto symbolize.It follows that in an individualistsetting religiousritualscould have no such meaning.Indeed, Douglas writesthat "we modernsoperatein many differentfields of symbolic action," our ritualsgenerating"a lot of little sub-worlds,unrelated" I take it one to another,ratherthan a "symbolicallyconsistentuniverse."79 that this is preciselythe problemwhich Mendelssohnrecognized.My sense of what I do when I do a particularritualdiffersfromthe senseof my ancestors, becausethe contextof meaningin whichit figuresis not the only one in which I move, and is not necessarilysharedby those who share my life. VictorTurnerarguesthat ritualfunctionsdifferentlywhenit is regarded as work (or commandment)than it does when conceivedas play. In the latter case ritual is situatedin a separatesphereof life markedoff from work by the category "leisure"and by the spaces designatedfor leisure-time enjoyment.Ritual in our industrialsocietieshas long lost the characterof the obligatory,the taken-for-granted,and has moved to the status of the optional.This changeis, of course,coincidentwiththe move fromcommunal to individualor at best subcommunalmentionedabove.72It seemsto me intuitivelycorrectto add that activityin the realmof leisure,of play,cannot withoutcontradictionbe regardedas essentiallyfixedor unchangingor obligatory. What then to do with mitzvah? Mendelssohn,we mightsay, soughtto get aroundthis problemby fixing the commandmentsbut licensingeach individualJew to "play"with their meanings.His dilemmais well capturedin the fact that he adoptedthe word

71. Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger (London, 1966), p. 62. 72. Victor Turner, Process, Performance and Pilgrimage: A Study in Comparative Symbology (New Delhi, 1979), chap. 1.

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"ceremony"-used by Spinoza, the Searcher, and other detractors of Judaism-but tried to give it the force of mitzvah.73Indeed, at another itself,as distinctfromlaw, to voluntarism point, he linked"commandment" and intent.74This strategycannotwork. Ceremonyadorns;commandments obigate.The social scientificcategoryof ritualis no less problematic,usually presuming(as in Turner)a kind of action that runscounterto routine.This too illustratesthe problemwhich Mendelssohnfaced. Persuasion,however eloquent,cannot competewith the powerful"plausibilitystructure"of the modernstate, and commandment,howevervitalizedwith meaning,is either routine,fixed,or it is not mitzvah.Muchis alwayslost in translation,evenif much is sometimesgained. In lightof Douglas andTurner,finally,considerCliffordGeertz'sobservation that whereasreligiousritual once servedto fuse ethos and worldview, the way we live in the worldwiththe way we see the world,modernlife is characterizedby leaps back and forth between or among a variety of perspectives-religious,aesthetic,scientific,commonsense.75The pathosof Mendelssohn'sJerusalemto my mind lies above all else in the disparity between his idealizedpicture of the mitzvot and the reality to which he soughtto adaptit. How poor werethe resourcesof the ceremoniesto shape Jewishconsciousness,whencomparedwith the secularlearningand society into which Mendelssohnplunged with such enthusiasm!How firm the resolverequiredto adhereto the mitzvoteven whileimmersedin Enlightenment debatesover language!And how differentthe "truths"suggestedby the mitzvotfromthose readilyavailableelsewhere,if indeedthose "truths" remained untouched by the now-Gentile gates and doorposts through whichthey too hadto pass!Wearebackonce againat the problemof "plausibilitystructure"that has bedeviledall of modernJewishthought,and will likely do so for some time to come. Mendelssohn'sstudent Isaac Euchel, eulogizing his teacher in a Life publishedin 1788,a meretwo yearsafter Mendelssohn'sdeath, wrote that 73. Funkenstein notes that Thomas Aquinas divided divine law into moralia, caerimonialia, and judicialia and believed the second group to entail "the recognition that everything man has, he has from God as first and last principle." Funkenstein, Theology, p. 240. The rabbis would have approved of that sentiment, but could not have accepted the threefold division, or indeed the rendering of mitzvot as ceremonies. 74. Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, pp. 45, 114. 75. Clifford Geertz, "Religion as a Cultural System," in The Interpretation of Cultures (New York, 1973), pp. 87-125. See in particular p. 119.

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"one seekingwisdomwill seek it in his books. One seekingfaith will take it from his utterances.A soul longingto choose the uprightpath will walk in his footsteps."76Mendelssohn,to the contrary,had knownand taughtthat books are a periloussourceof wisdom,that utterancesareincomprehensible withoutcontextand commentary,and that footsteps(in the modernworld, at least)are almostimpossibleto replicate.All the morereason,then,for an objectiveset of behaviorswhichcan both shapecollectivelife and occasion the fashioningof individualmeanings. Jerusalem,rife with inconsistencies,underminedby the wild "surmise" on whichits theoryof commandmentrests,resolutelyrefusingto provideor even suggest particularmeanings for particularobservances,77does not come close to solving the problemwhich it identifies.But it does identify this problemto a remarkabledegree,pointing to a path betweenMaimonidesand Spinozawhichotherswouldsoon expandwithprofit.Given what we should reasonablyexpect from a book, Mendelssohnwould say, we could not reasonablydemandany more of his. Wisdom,after all, is found not in books but in lives. StanfordUniversity Stanford,Calif.

76. Quoted in Altmann, Mendelssohn, pp. 758-759. 77. This is, to my mind, a weak point in the theory. On the other hand, how could Mendelssohn argue the variability of meanings to observances and then do anymore than suggest meanings that he personally had found compelling? Mendelssohn in fact does the latter in the Be'ur, quite traditionally. Here he offers only a theoretical "surmise" (p. 117), avoiding the danger that he will dissuade his readers from observance because his particular rationales are unconvincing. For Maimonides' awareness of this danger, and his choice to explicate particular mitzvot nonetheless, see Twersky, Code, p. 418.

New(s) Poems: Y. L. Teller's "Lider fun der Tsayt(ung)" Author(s): Ken Frieden Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 2 (Autumn, 1990), pp. 269-289 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486896 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:36 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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NEW(S) POEMS: Y. L. TELLER'S LIDER FUN DER TSAYT(UNG) by KEN FRIEDEN Y. L. Teller's poetry underwent radical transformations in the 1930s, and its shifting forms were representative of the age. Influenced by the introspectivists, Teller excluded proper names, identifiable places, and definite time from his early poems. By the end of the decade, however, he had developed a style that drew heavily from news reports. The relationship between poetry and journalism became a matter of dispute in American Yiddish literature during these years, when Arn Glants-Leyeles and Yankev Glatshteyn were among the leading poets who dirtied their hands with newsprint.' Research leading to the completion of this essay was supported by grants from the National Endowment for the Humanities, the American Council of Learned Societies, the Memorial Foundation for Jewish Culture, and the Yad Hanadiv/Barecha Foundation. Avraham Novershtern provided helpful advice during the final stages of writing and revision. 1. In the 1930s, Glants-Leyeles contributed frequent articles to Der tog, while Glatshteyn wrote cultural and political essays for Der morgnzhurnal.Glatshteyn employed the pseudonym "Itskus" until his virulent poem "Good Night, World" was reprinted in this newspaper on May 8, 1938, and he subsequently introduced the Sunday column "Prost un poshet" under his actual name.

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In 1930, at the age of eighteen, Teller published his first book of poems, Simboln, and also began his career as a journalist. Teller's second collection of poems, Miniaturn, appeared in 1934, while he was writing frequent articles for Der morgn zhurnal on topics as diverse as American Nazi groups, Yeshiva College, and sex crimes in New York. Until this point Teller's poetry still showed no trace of his worldly employment. The moment of truth for his poetic and journalistic careers came in April 1937, when he set sail for Europe. During visits to Poland, Germany, and Austria in May 1937 and January-February 1939, he witnessed international crises and began to integrate these experiences into his verse. The decisive period in Teller's literary activity stretched from 1937 until he published his third and last book of poems, Liderfun der tsayt, in 1940. These new poems were simultaneously news poems: they were fun der tsayt-of the time or age, and also fun der tsaytung-from the newspaper. While Teller did not print his poems in newspapers, instead sending them to Inzikh and other journals, he drew inspiration from his work as a journalist. The author never simply wrote poems about world events, but allowed his two modes of expression to interact. In any case, Teller was an unconventional newspaper writer whose diverse stories sometimes resembled fiction more than factual accounts; they often relied on interviews with anonymous sources and were occasionally referred to as "travel scenes" or "impressions." These narrative intertexts are relevant to the interpretation of Teller's poems. Teller gave Leyeles a copy of Lider fun der tsayt with this inscription:

To A. Leyeles-

'

Knowingfull well that

. -

.

Without Fabius Lind our poetic path would

have been gloomier.

__

Y. L. Teller,Nov. 5, 1940.2

\ Gc 2. This book is in the private collection of Ken Frieden.

K,. Ah

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The dedication does not convey empty praise. Leyeles's Fabius Lind, published in 1937, attracted and heartened Teller; its combination of a personal tone with political contents found resonant echoes in Teller's Liderfun der tsayt. One month after Teller inscribed his book of new poems to Leyeles, the older poet reviewed it favorably in Der tog. Leyeles wrote: "Y. L. Teller is a poet, a modern poet, and at the same time-a journalist.... It sometimes happens that journalistic elements steal their way into poetry-which is no misfortune.... None of this was understood just 20-25 years ago. The poets themselves were very naive."3 Leyeles's review alludes to changing literary theories and practices during the previous decade: the journalistic context of Teller's Liderfun der tsayt had been anticipated by the writings of Glatshteyn, Leyeles, and others. For example, based on his trip to Poland in 1934, Glatshteyn produced the travel narratives Ven Yashiz geforen (1938) and Ven Yash iz gekumen (1940). Even more striking is his novel Emil un Karl (1940), which deals with the fate of two children in Nazi Vienna. Because Glatshteyn had no direct experience of Vienna in the late 1930s, his descriptions necessarily rely on newspaper reports. Specifically, Glatshteyn's novel Emil un Karl probably borrowed details from a series of articles by Teller concerning a Jewish family that fled from Nazi Vienna.4 By no means did influence flow in only one direction. Two sections of Leyeles's Fabius Lind are especially relevant to Teller's third book: "Mornings and Nights" and "To You-To Me." Many of these poems bear traces of Leyeles's close association with Der tog. For instance, the poem "War" opens with an epigraph that quotes an unnamed source concerning Filippo Tommaso Marinetti: "PoetMarinetti,fatherof futurism, also went off to Ethiopia to enhancethe glory of Mussolini'sarmy."5

3. A. Giants [Leyeles], in Der tog, December 11, 1940; excerpted in Yehuda Leyb Teller, Durkh yidishn gemit: Lider (Tel Aviv, 1975), p. 238. 4. See Teller's articles in Der morgn zhurnal, November 21-24, 28, 30, and December 1, 1938. 5. A. Glants-Leyeles, "Milkhome," in Fabius Lind (New York, 1937), p. 92.

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Following a poetic reflection on the futurists' talk of "the function of the pen," Leyeles concludes: Listen,poets,listen: Have no part in these fires, no share in murder; Just scrub, scour, and reveal The true, the pure word.6 This final plea distills Leyeles's persistent attitude toward poetry and politics in the early 1930s. The poetic voice explicitly demands that poems remain unspoiled by political power, and the title "War" also names the poet's literary battle. This does not prevent Leyeles from citing, as the epigraph to another poem, "a correspondence from Moscow in an American newspaper." While the quotation deals favorably with the Soviet FiveYear Plan (1928-32), the poetic voice is skeptical: Evenmorewill I blessthe newsof the Plan When in sun-filledhomes Contentmentreplacesthe harshnessof days, Coveringover the harsherweeks.7 Leyeles doubts political solutions, but he does not exclude the political dimension from his poetry. The incorporation of current news reports signaled an expansion of scope for the waning introspective school. The poems in Leyeles's Fabius Lind repeatedly allude to historical places and dates, bearing titles such as "Biro-Bidzhan," "Portrait 1933," and "Moscow Night, End of December 1934."8 Most striking is the long meditation provoked by the Sacco and Vanzetti case, entitled "America 1927." Like many related poems, including Moyshe-Leyb Halpern's "SaccoVanzetti"9 and Yankev Glatshteyn's "Sacco and Vanzetti on Monday,"'0 6. Ibid., p. 93. 7. "Trilionike vor," ibid., p. 234. 8. For a translation of "Moscow Night, End of December 1934," see Benjamin Harshav and Barbara Harshav, eds., American Yiddish Poetry (Berkeley, Calif., 1986), pp. 153-155. 9. Moyshe-Leyb Halpern, Moyshe Leyb Halpern (New York, 1934), vol. 1, pp. 57-58. For translations of "Sacco-Vanzetti," see Harshav and Harshav, American Yiddish Poetry, pp. 437-439, and Irving Howe, Ruth R. Wisse, and Khone Shmeruk, eds., The Penguin Book of Modern Yiddish Verse (New York, 1987), pp. 212-214. 10. Yankev Glatshteyn, Kredos (New York, 1929), pp. 52-63.

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Leyeles's poem responds to the trial and execution of a "good shoemaker" and a "poor fish-peddler." One part even takes on the persona of the condemned, in dialogue with the warden and executioner. This political direction may not have been the height of Leyeles's poetic career, yet-in conjunction with the work of Moyshe-Leyb Halpern and Yankev Glatshteyn-it apparently encouraged the young Teller in his poetic development. Teller's first two books of poems owe profound debts to Glatshteyn. There are even thematic parallels, as between Teller's "Wild Song" and Glatshteyn's "In Smoke."'' The former exemplifies the tone of Teller's 1934 volume: I willtakeyou wild,like frost, And draw forth sweat From your flesh. We will drift Throughblindingfumes And you will soak me in Like smoke. Night will rush past With clouds and riversOver us, flocks With barrencries.12 Here language refracts a sexual fantasy through dreamy, symbolic intensifiers. Di Yunge had anticipated this kind of private poetic voice, while the Inzikhistn introduced the experimentalism associated with free verse and irreal imagery. Teller's early poems merge subjective emotions and natural figuration, while keeping an absolute distance from contemporary politics. Teller's collection of Lider fun der tsayt, in contrast, is permeated by references to political crises. Starting with "No-Man's-Land" ("Keynems11. Glatshteyn's poem "In roykh" forms part of In zikh: A zamlung introspektivelider (New York, 1920), pp. 59-60, and YankevGlatshteyn (New York, 1921), pp. 50-51. 12. "Vild gezang," in Teller, Durkh yidishn gemit: Lider, p. 58; this translation is my own. For another English translation of "Wild Song," see Harshav and Harshav, American Yiddish Poetry, pp. 517-519. A Hebrew translation is contained in Y. L. Teller, Mivkhar shirim, trans. Dan Miron (Tel Aviv, 1986), p. 93.

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land"), a sequence of poems deals with the aftermath of tragic occurrences. The present analysis deals briefly with "Jews of Brisk Speak" and "Hitler's March into Vienna," and concentrates on two other poems that approach tragedies in Jewish history: "Jud Siiss Oppenheimer During His First Visit to Professor Sigmund Freud" and "Sigmund Freud at the Age of EightyTwo." The difference between these texts comes into sharp focus in the light of the author's newspaper work. In some cases, contemporary events are necessary background for the poems, while in others the imaginative recreation attains an independent status. Teller reached Warsaw before the pogrom in Brisk (Brest-Litovsk) of May 13, 1937. Although he did not himself witness the destruction, he subsequently visited the town and gave his report to Der morgn zhurnal. Teller describes Brisk as he saw it on May 18: "The streets have been cleaned up, but the shops still stand with knocked-out windows, with torn-down doors. The shops look like large dark caves. If you go inside, you still see overturned tables, broken chairs, spilled flour, torn merchandise."'3He also records his meeting with a tearful woman and her daughter, whose apartment is empty except for "a broken table and some crates that are being used as chairs." The mother describes what happened: "They stole everything.... But worst of all is that"-and she points to her daughter,a girl who is sittingon a crate in the darkroom. She is disheveled and staresstraightaheadwith vacanteyes. "Theshkotsimchasedherandtore her dress.Suddenlythey saw how theirfriendsacrossthe way wererobbinga largewarehouse.So theyranoverthereand leftmy daughter.ButsinceThursday she won't wash herselfor comb her hair. .. . 'I don't want to wash. For whom should I wash, for the shkotsim?'"'4 Influenced by the conventions of both fiction and sensationalistic reporting, Teller never employed a merely factual approach; he always dealt with personal experiences, attitudes, or reactions. The course of his journalism suddenly turned, however, when his human-interest stories became part of efforts to grasp an overwhelming historical calamity, the intensification of

13. Der morgn zhurnal, May 31, 1937, p. 3. The general title of two articles ran: "Groyl fun der Brisker pogrom vert geshildert in tsvey korespondentsies tsum Morgn zhurnal";the subtitle for Teller's article was "Sheliekh fun Morgn zhurnal bazukht Brisk bald nokh di geshenishn." 14. Ibid., p. 8.

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anti-Semitism. His poetic development was also marked by mounting tension between personal perception and historical events. Teller's poem "Jews of Brisk Speak" is a collective monologue, assuming as its implicit point of reference the days after the Brisk pogrom.'5 In the first-person plural, the townspeople describe their efforts to repair the pogrom damage: Weclimbup on ladders With nails betweenour teeth And patch the broken frames. (16-18) The speakers also discuss their anxiety about wounds that may not heal so readily. One of the most vivid stanzas refers to a traumatized girl like the one described in Teller's news report: Somewoundsstill fester. The widow's daughter Will rush to boiling water At the sight of a man. (30-33) With sexual violence the unspoken assumption, Teller conveys a girl's sense of being impure and of needing to be cleansed whenever a man looks at her. Rather than merely repeating the journalistic language, the image-of a disturbed, compulsive reaction-reverses Teller's account of a girl who refuses to wash after narrowly escaping rape. In another case, Teller's poem portrays a man who is ashamed of his failure to resist the pogrom: "Yankl Stelmakh will never forgive / The cowardice of his oaken [dembene]hands" (34-35). These lines stand in a close relationship to Teller's newspaper description of a man who comments ruefully: "I have hands, I have shoulders, I have strength-but where was I when the goyim raged? I hid indoors.... I, Yankl Oak [demb], went into hiding."'6 Teller combines his 15. "Brisker yidn redn," in Y. L. Teller, Liderfun der tsayt (New York, 1940), pp. 38-39, and Durkh yidishn gemit: Lider, pp. 100-101. Translations are my own, cited from the original by line alone. For an English translation of the entire poem, entitled "The Jews of Brisk," see Howe et al., Penguin Book of Modern Yiddish Verse,pp. 658-662. A Hebrew translation is contained in Teller, Mivkhar shirim, pp. 117-118. 16. Der morgn zhurnal, May 31, 1937, p. 8.

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diverseimpressionsand interviewsby writinga collectivemonologuethat gives voice to the stunnedJewishcommunityof Brisk.His perspectivewas no longer that of an individualwriter at home in New York, but had expandedto include that of distant pogrom victims. The most extraordinaryof the six sections that compose Teller'sLider fun der tsaytis the cycle of six poemsentitled"Psychoanalysis."By making SigmundFreudthe subjectof these poems, Tellerimplicitlychallengesthe great interpreterto explain the catastrophesof the Jewish people in the twentiethcentury.Tellerhad studiedpsychologyat ColumbiaUniversity, and even visited Freud in Viennaduringhis travelsof May 1937.~7Teller conveys somethingof this encounterin the first of his "Psychoanalysis" poems, publishedin October 1937: "Jud Silss OppenheimerDuring His First Visit to ProfessorSigmundFreud."'"The personaof Jud Saissechoes Yehuda Leyb Teller'schosen Englishname: Judd. At the same time, the author displaces his actual meeting onto a fantasy session between this notoriousJewishpersonageand Freud.Ratherthanemploythe first-person pronoun,then, Tellerveils the autobiographicalaspect by generalizinghis recentencounter.The groupportraitmergesa multitudeof past andpresent Jews, staging a scene of collective psychoanalysisin which Teller'ssilent Freud listens to an outcry of the Jewishpeople in their exilic condition. Jud Siiss Oppenheimer(1698/99-1738) was a court Jew and financial adviserto the dukeof Wiirttemberg.In 1925,Lion Feuchtwangerpublished a popularhistoricalnovel,JudSfiss,basedon his life;an Englishtranslation appearedthe nextyear,with an AmericaneditionentitledPowerin 1927.In anti-Semiticpropaganda,Jud Saissbecame a symbol of ruthlessJewish practices.

17. Yael Feldman inaccurately states that Teller visited Freud in 1938; see "Y. L. Teller and the Tradition of Yiddish Imagism" [Hebrew], Moznaim 57 (September 1983): 36. Teller refers to his visit of the previous year in Der morgn zhurnal, March 14, 1938, p. 3. 18. "Jud Siiss Oppenheimer af zayn ershtn bazukh baym Professor Sigmund Freud," first printed in the journal In zikh, October 1937, pp. 91-92; collected in Lider fun der tsayt, pp. 47-48, and Durkhyidishn gemit, pp. 109-111. Translations are my own, cited from the original by line alone. I have consulted the rendering by Benjamin and Barbara Harshav in American YiddishPoetry, pp. 521-523. A shorter version of the poem, entitled "Family Speaks Its Mind Before Professor Sigmund Freud," was collected in the posthumous volume Durkh yidishn gemit, p. 112, and translated in Howe et al., Penguin Book of Modern Yiddish Verse, pp. 662-664. A Hebrew translation by Dan Miron is contained in Teller's Mivkhar shirim, pp. 122-124.

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Teller's figure of Jud SGssbroadens the analytic session with Freud, from the outset, by mentioning the Wandering Jew. That'syou-the WanderingJew. From Esau'slullaby, from the Gentiles'legend. And I am your nephew-Jud Siiss Oppenheimer. You prophet,who see far, see clearly,and see through, Will probablysay that I-am not I, That the one who burns for balls and shikses Is not-Jud Sfiss. (1-7) In this opening stanza, Teller's persona Jud Siss identifies Freud as a representative of the legendary Wandering Jew (der eybiker yid), and describes himself as a close relative. Thus the psychoanalysis of Jud Suisssuggests an analysis of centuries of European Jewish life. The identity of Jud Siiss immediately comes into question when he anticipates Freud's observation that "I-am not I." The unconscious or collective desires of Jud Siiss do not conform to his more conscious decisions; he emerges as a symbol of assimilation and the flirtation with Western culture and financial power. The persona of Jud Sfiss proceeds to unfold his collective case history: My lineage:tradersin wheatandbarley Who stealthilyplaced false weights Onto the scales.... Talmudstudentswho encircledthemselveswith barbedwire, And-with fetteredstepsLike prisonersin an inner court, Skippedinside a circle of negativecommandments.... Flattererswho carriedthe Torah scrolls In processionsto the bishop, Combedthe dust with their beards, And crawledbackwards Towardhim who bears the cross. All of them-mild shadow-people From the Gamzu tribe. (12-14, 18-21, 23-29)

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After every mishap, the proverbial Gamzu commented: Gam zu le-tova, "Even this is for the best." According to Jud Sfiss, his ancestors have been willing to cheat, flatter, and imprison themselves within the commandments for the sake of survival. They were "mild shadow-people" who sought to be inconspicuous. Jud Sfiss shows a great deal of scorn and self-irony, combined with bewilderment. After painting this portrait he concludes: And I am Gamzu'sdescendant. He was a timid Jew. And now he stirs up riots in my dreams, Steals my voice for blasphemies, And wants to claim his pound of flesh., (30-34) Gamzu returns to haunt his rebellious heir, as Jud Saiss inhabits Teller's poem. The poetic voice denounces both the dishonesty and the passivity he perceives in Jewish life; repressed desires rise up against the Gamzu tradition. Unable to merely continue in the line of his ancestors, Teller's Jud Saiss also recalls Shakespeare's vengeful Shylock. Following the continual waves of anti-Semitism, Jud Siss proclaims a break in the tradition of acceptance. The eighteenth-century personality next takes on Teller's perspective in 1937, anachronistically or emblematically referring to twentieth-century pogroms in Kishinev, Proskurov, and Brisk: In the wee hourswitha Gentilegirl, He [Gamzu]conjuresup my violated sisters (Kishinev,Proskurov,Brisk), And my limbs rage to rape. (35-38) Even apart from this anachronism, Jud Siiss sounds like the poetpsychologist Teller when he comments: "The still-unspoken syllable terrifies me, / That which I never yet have guessed" (39-40). Freud's "talking cure" traced mental illnesses to unacknowledged thoughts, wishes, traumas, longings. Thus the poem, analogous to a psychoanalysis process of free association, strives to overcome resistances and facilitate expression of what has been repressed. Until this point, the mock-psychoanalytic interview places Sigmund

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Freud in a position to interpret Jud Siiss. The timeless character of this imaginary encounter emerges as Teller's Jud Siiss depicts Freud as a medieval miracle-worker: "They say that at night / You mix herbs in boiling water" (45-46). Here and at the start of the poem, Jud Siiss addresses Freud as the Wandering Jew, associating psychoanalysis with myths of the Jew "in Gentile legend" (2). In his first visit to Freud, then, Jud Sfiss turns the tables and begins to analyze the professor, figured as a medieval healer. Later identifying Freud with the biblical Joseph, who interpreted Pharaoh's dreams as prophesying famine, the poem asks Freud to play the prophetic role he always refused: The dreamis gnawingat me, As the sea devoursthe land. You who see clearly,see through, Take me like grains in your fist, Or like an egg againstthe light.... Interpreterof dreams. Draw from me a stalk. Try me Like barleyat a fair. (41-44, 51-54) Interpretation is itself an issue in Teller's poems: they invoke Freud as the master of dreams who should be able to discover the meaning of cultural phenomena. In the Nazi period, however, Jud Siiss can no longer rest content with knowledge of the origins and ancestry of "civilization and its discontents." This persona poem calls on the father of psychoanalysis to explain this moment of crisis, or at least to interpret the violent way in which "I," the Wandering Jew's nephew and Gamzu's grandson, feel compelled to respond. Through the imagined voice of Jud Sfiss Oppenheimer, Teller probes the interrelationships between himself, Freud, and Judaic traditions. This poem is Teller's invocation to the vanquished Freud at the same time that it merges the Viennese Freud with the legend of the Wandering Jew. A latter version of the poem asserts that "we are of one lineage."'9 Teller apparently 19. See Yehuda Leyb Teller, "Family Speaks Its Mind Before Sigmund Freud," in Durkh yidishn gemit, p. 112, line 16.

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identifies with the characters in his poem, and brings them together in an effort to come to terms with anti-Semitic destruction. Not until almost a year after his actual meeting with Freud, on the occasion of the Anschluss, did Teller produce newspaper articles about Freud and the Jews in Vienna. The New York Yiddish newspapers followed the news from Vienna with banner headlines, and emphasized the Jews' precarious position. On March 13, 1938, the front-page headline of Der morgn zhurnal ran: "HITLER PROCLAIMS AUSTRIA'S ANSCHLUSS WITH GERMANY." The next day the headline announced: "AUSTRIA BECOMES A STATE IN HITLER'S EMPIRE / HITLER BEGINS TO IMPLEMENT DECREES AGAINST THE JEWS OF AUSTRIA." On March 15, the headline concentrated entirely on the Jews' situation: "ANTI-JEWISH LAWS ARE PROCLAIMED IN AUSTRIA." The next day brought the news: "AUSTRIAN JEWS ARE DEPRIVED OF CITIZENSHIP." The synopsis in large type includes the (incorrect) report that "Famous Scholar Freud [is] Among those Arrested." The article, not by Teller, begins: "Vienna, Tuesday-The entire force of the Nazi catastrophe that has occurred in Austria has fallen upon the Jews. The Nazis have never before shown such brutality in Germany itself as they now do to the Jews of Austria." And the far-right column contains a photograph of Freud with the caption: "Dr. Sigmund Freud / Famous Jewish Scholar Arrested in Vienna." The story goes on to refer to the "82-year-old famous Jewish psychiatrist, Professor Sigmund Freud, who is so ill that his family had withheld from him the news concerning the Nazification of Austria."20 Such reports led Glants-Leyeles to publish an essay in Der tog on March 19, with the title: "Sigmund Freud under Hitler's Swastika."21 They no doubt also inspired Teller to write the poem "Sigmund Freud at the Age of EightyTwo." Immediately following the Anschluss with Germany, Der morgn zhurnal printed an article by Teller entitled "The Jewish Community of Vienna, Which Now Stands in the Shadow of Hitlerism."22Teller did not witness the Nazis' arrival, and he could only invoke salient, representative images: "The

20. Der morgn zhurnal, March 16, 1938, p. 6. In fact, Freud was eighty-one. 21. A. Giants, "Sigmund Freud unter Hitlers svastika," Der tog, March 19, 1938, pp. 3 and 7. 22. Y. L. Teller, "Di yidishe kehile in Vin vos shteyt itst untern shotn fun hitlerizm," Der morgn zhurnal, March 14, 1938, p. 3.

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boots of the storm troopers tread upon the streets of Vienna. Austrian women already walk arm-in-arm with the conquerors. Swastikas flutter above all the buildings." The remainder of the article recalls the history and current state of the Jewish community in Vienna. Teller describes Chassidic courts alongside anti-Semitism and poverty under the Schuschnigg regime. Several aspects of Teller's portrait are also present in a contemporary poem he wrote, "Hitler's March into Vienna." His newspaper article refers to Vienna's traditional role as leading city of Galicia, Hungary, and Bohemia: "Jewish students, bookkeepers with tsvikers af der noz and with leather purses under their arms, dreamed of studying at the University of Vienna." Similarly, the poem calls Vienna the "dream-city of Galician students / With tsvikers af der noz."23The news account describes the second district, Leopoldstadt: "That area is from older times, from ghetto times.... The signs-a mixture of loshn koydesh and daytshmerish."These signs also haunt the poem, creating "fumes of daytshmerish, Torah, and trade" (17). Even more striking is the poem's subsequent image: "Alleys with grotesque lights and shadows / Search for the Wailing Wall" (18-19). This allusion to the Jerusalem koysl-maarovi corresponds to a sentence in the newspaper account: "The streets and alleys in this area are medieval, and wander up and downhill, as if they were searching for the Wailing Wall."24The parallels attest to the close interaction between the author's poetic and prose writing. Yet it is impossible to determine whether the poem or the news report was written first; it is as true to say that the poem contains journalistic elements as that the news report contains poetic elements. In other words, the language of the two juxtaposed texts is continuous rather than diametrically opposed. Toward the end of the same article, Teller recalls his visit to Berggasse during May 1937. I remembera day in the officeof ProfessorSigmundFreud.A smallman,with a stone-grayface, with cleverJewisheyes and a vest buttonedup to his tie. The greatpsychologist,the greatexperton the soul, the seer [choze]of human depths. He droppeda remarkabout Vienna:"It is a city whose senses are

23. "Hitlers araynmarsh keyn Vin," in Liderfun der tsayt, pp. 31-33, and in Durkh yidishn gemit, pp. 94-95, lines 45-46. Henceforth cited by line alone. The word tsvikers apparently refers to pince-nez. 24. Der morgn zhurnal, March 14, 1938, p. 3.

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already completely dulled. Such a condition borders on madness."Nazi rule-that is the madnessthat hungover Viennalike a nightmareeven a year ago. Later in the week of the Anschluss, Teller wrote another article for Der morgn zhurnal: "Freud a Thorn to the Nazis in Vienna as was Einstein in Berlin."25The article expresses Teller's reactions to news that Freud's house had been searched by the Nazis and that he had been arrested. The Nazis claimed to be searching for "weapons" in the psychoanalyst's home; Teller ironically comments that "Freud's works are the greatest weapons against Hitlerism. Whoever is familiar with Freud's interpretation of mental life can easily understand the apparent riddle of Hitler." Teller then attempts a brief psychoanalytic explanation of Hitler and Nazism. The last in this series of articles appeared when news arrived that Freud had escaped Austria and had arrived safely in London. Der tog marked the event with an editorial on June 7, 1938, together with an essay by GlantsLeyeles: "Sigmund Freud's Revenge."26The following day, in Der morgn zhurnal,Teller also returned to this subject: "Sigmund Freud, Driven Out of Vienna by the Nazis."27Teller begins his article with a paragraph suggesting the way in which a future biographer will conclude his "description of Freud's last years": "Unable to stand the air in Hitlerized Vienna, Professor Freud left the city on June 4, 1938 .. . He left Vienna without financial means and with a study on the Bible in the light of psychoanalysis." The article continues in Teller's own voice: ViennaneverappreciatedSigmundFreud.... Freudneverdevotedhimselfto politicalactivity;he almostnevercameout with a politicalstatement .... The most patheticthing in the dispatchesabout Freud'sdeparturefrom Vienna was the remarkthat lately he had avoidedwalkingon the streetsof Vienna becausehe was afraidthat someonemightcall him names[zidlen].Freudand fear-they don't go together.All of psychoanalysisis the scienceof courage. ... The great, bold spirit, SigmundFreud, was afraid to go out onto the 25. Y. L. Teller, "Freud a dorn di Nazis in Vin vi Einstein iz geven in Berlin," Der morgn zhurnal, March 17, 1938, p. 3 and 10; the identical essay was reprinted in the same newspaper on the following day, possibly as the result of an editorial error. 26. A. Giants, "Sigmund Freuds nekome," Der tog, June 7, 1938, p. 6. 27. Y. L. Teller, "Sigmund Freud vemen Nazis hobn fartribn fun Vin," Der morgn zhurnal, June 8, 1938, p. 7.

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streets of Vienna!... It seems that the barbarismon the Viennesestreetsis morehorriblethanthe barbarismwhichFreuddiscoveredin the mythologyof ancientpeoples. Several details in Teller's "Psychoanalysis" cycle draw from these observations, especially in regard to the elements of name-calling and fear. Other significant points of contact are the remarks concerning Freud's apolitical stance and his "study on the Bible."28 Soon after Freud's eighty-second birthday, Teller published the poem entitled "Sigmund Freud at the Age of Eighty-Two."29He now imagines Freud one year following their meeting, after the Nazis had invaded Vienna. The occasion was less Freud's birthday (on May 6, 1938) than the Anschluss two months earlier, and the subsequent harassment and persecution of Austrian Jews.30 Teller leaves New York behind in order to imagine the situation and mental state of Sigmund Freud at the time of Hitler's march into Austria. The opening strikes a dreamy, irreal note, employing rhythmic lines that alternate between pentameter and tetrameter, iambs and troches. This metrical irregularity, in a sequence of one-line sentences, gives the impression of troubled fragmentation. Birdsscreamwith Mama'svoice. Papa throws himselfbeneaththe wheels. A frog crawlsout of the young boy's hair. Do you recall the dreamof little Sigmund? (1-4) Alluding to both Freud's childhood and his professional case studies, the poem prepares the scene of the Nazis' arrival. The first line hints at an anxiety dream that Freud retells in The Interpretationof Dreams (1900): "It was quite vivid and showed my beloved mother with a peculiarly calm, sleep-

28. Teller alludes to Der Mann Moses und die monotheistischeReligion [1937-39], collected in Gesammelte Werke, vol. 16 (London, 1950), pp. 101-246. 29. "Sigmund Freud tsu tsvey un akhtsik yor," first published by Inzikh, June 1938, pp. 142-143; collected in Teller, Lider fun der tsayt, pp. 54-55, and Durkh yidishn gemit, pp. 118-120. Translations are my own, compared with "Sigmund Freud at the Age of EightyTwo," in Harshav and Harshav, American Yiddish Poetry, pp. 529-533. 30. For an account of the Nazis' entry into Freud's house, see Ernest Jones, The Life and Work of Sigmund Freud (New York, 1957), vol. 3, pp. 218-219.

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ing facial expression, being carried into the room and placed onto the bed by two (or three)people with birds' beaks."3' Freud recalls that he dreamed this at the age of seven or eight, influenced by depictions of Egyptian gods with bird beaks in the Philippson Bible. Teller significantly begins his poem of an historical trauma, then, by referring to the anxious "dream of little Sigmund." The distance between Freud's dream (1863-64) and his interpretation is reproduced in the gap between Freud's published interpretation (1900) and Teller's allusion (1938). With five succinct words, Teller suggests that now, at the age of eighty-two, Freud is thrown back to his childish nightmares. Even if he has learned to interpret phobias, such as in the case of Little Hans32-to which Teller alludes in the subsequent lines-Freud cannot escape a partial return to an almost childish helplessness and fear. The poem next describes the aging master, initially from the standpoint of his rational self-control: Now, at the age of eighty-two, His nights are dry and clear And grate with silence. Sleep has been purified; The complexessmokedout. Everyfear is shackled. Everyfright is bolted up. (5-11) Through his self-analysis, Freud has presumably worked through his own neuroses and resolved his unconscious conflicts. In connection with the anxiety dream he relates, the middle-aged Freud even comments that he has not had any dreams of this kind for decades. As the poem asserts, "To subjugate oneself is more / Than Charcot's hypnosis" (51-52). This paraphrases a Freudian view: hypnosis cannot cure underlying conflicts, which instead demand more thorough treatment by the psychoanalytic "talking cure." 31. Translated from chap. 7, sec. D, of Sigmund Freud's Die Traumdeutung,in the Gesammelte Werke,vol. 2/3 (London, 1942), p. 589. Compare Miron's comments in his introduction to Teller's Mivkhar shirim, p. 51. 32. See Sigmund Freud, "Analyse der Phobie eines ffinfjdihrigenKnaben" (1909), in Gesammelte Werke,vol. 7 (London, 1941), pp. 243-377. The first English translation was published in Freud's Collected Papers, trans. Alice Strachey and James Strachey (London, 1925).

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Teller's poem questions basic Freudian assumptions. Psychoanalysis, as Freud envisioned it, is largely ahistorical, apolitical, and relatively unconcerned with cultural differences. "Sigmund Freud at the Age of EightyTwo" shows the limitations of this attitude, in light of the Nazis' rise to power. Beyond self-control, other forces threaten destruction. Butin the eavesof nightlyrest Rustlesthe fear of death. Like birds in flight, like wind among the trees, Everyonehas graspedit: Patriarchs,warriors,and holy men. (12-16) Even Freud's methods cannot abolish the noxious aspects of human experience, such as the dark impulses Freud called thanatos. While Freud himself chose to associate his young science with Greek myths, Teller situates the more primordial fears in a biblical context, referringto the last days of Isaac, beguiled by his son Jacob. Not even Rebekahdidthe blindIsaactrust; Wisely did the aging Jacob speak, And tears filled up his eyes When he wantedto enlivenhis old thigh With the touch of Joseph'syoung hand. (17-21) These biblical references to Isaac and Jacob place the aged Freud in narrative contexts that underline the weakness associated with old age. "Joseph's young hand" is also the hand and power of the biblical dream interpreter with whom Freud sometimes identified.33 In this instance, Freud encounters a danger that is far more specific than the universal struggle against death. According to Teller's fantasy, based on reports that Freud was afraid to leave his home lest he be called names, the appearance of the Nazis in Vienna forces upon Freud a new recognition. Teller's Freud has been sheltered from the political news, yet he senses the disaster when he looks out from his window.

33. See Die Traumdeutung,chap. 6, sec. H, in Gesammelte Werke, vol. 2/3, p. 488n.

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It is not death.To traildeathboldly He has alreadylearned To gird up his loins, Lockinghis knees in armor. It is somethingelse, and just as old. By day he peeredout from his window, Saw the salutinghands. The Swastika.He smelledwith his shrewdnose The old bad blood In young Aryan louts. (22-31) The poetic voice explodes the narrow, psychoanalytic world-view by imagining Freud's predicament in Vienna. This encounter with Nazism epitomizes the crisis of world Jewry in the twentieth century. Teller tries to imagine Freud's state of mind between March and May 1938, confronted by a force of evil that is directed against him precisely as a Jew. The reference to "young Aryan louts" (yunge arier-shkotsim) provides direction for the remainder of the poem: in Teller's imagination, Freud's gaze has alighted on the Nazi youths who were brought to Vienna in trainloads to salute Hitler's triumphal march. The subsequent lines of the poem represent Freud's reactions. He reverts to traditional, often pejorative epithets, repeatedly employed by Jews in reference to Gentiles. As if to counter the anti-Semitic cliches leveled against the Jews, Freud returns to stereotypical Hebrew and Yiddish words of separation and scorn: Shkotsim.In Hebrew-Jiidisch-Yiddish Those whose name he bears have Chewedthe word like matse, kneadedit like khale, Braidedit like a candle for havdoleOrl, Esau, Goy. (32-35) Teller's Freud-despite his enlightened science of psychoanalysis and his Viennese culture-can only fall back on an archaic litany that separates him from non-Jews. Apart from this language of scorn, the poem insists on

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numerous contacts between Judaic origins and Freud in Vienna. Referring to Freud's psychoanalytic theories, Teller writes that As Adamnamedthe animals,he namedeverymalice, Wrote his own commentary On Cain and Abel and the bindingof Isaac. But now, like the Patriarchwho relishedhis son's fresh catch, He appreciatesthe simple Hebrew-Yiddish: Orl, Esau, Goy. (36-41) Freud's psychological "commentary" (literally his "Rashi," an eygenem Rashi) provides novel explanations for Cain's hostility and Abraham's near-sacrifice. He is like the aging Isaac who blesses Jacob instead of the firstborn Esau, thus intensifying-at least in a rabbinic tradition-the archetypical dichotomy between Jews and non-Jews. With the return of anti-Semitism, Teller's Freud reappropriates the ancient terms by which Jews have separated themselves from inhospitable surroundings. The poem ends with Freud the rationalist expressing his hatred of the Nazis: SigmundFreudat the age of eighty-two Climbs out of the Swastikas,repeats: Haman. Orl, Esau. Goy. (53-56) Even the self-analyzed Freud, with his "complexes smoked out," rises to the occasion with a vigorous response to the Nazi intruders. Teller projects upon Freud a radical turn that is analogous to the new tone of Teller's poetry. Early in 1941, in connection with Teller's third book of poems, Shmuel Niger referred to the change that was occurring in Yiddish letters: "Those who demand relevance from poetry, who want the poet to get involved in politics, and who maintain that he must react-at least to major, extraordinary events of the time-can have no complaints with today's Yiddish poets. With the exception of Mani Leyb, all of them write Poems of the Age [Liderfun der tsayt] or simply occasional poems [tsayt-lider]."34An entire

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generation of poets gave expression to its traumatic encounter with the return of anti-Semitic violence. Recurring phrases, motifs, images, and experiences associate Teller's poetry and journalism. Teller was intensely aware of the growing antiSemitism and made it a primary theme of his verse and prose. He particularly identified with the educated, assimilated Jews of Vienna, of whom Freud was the foremost representative. In his efforts to grasp the meaning of recent events, he invoked the interpreter Freud, at the same time questioning whether-under present circumstances-Freud would have to modify his psychoanalytic outlook. Freud's apolitical posture had become increasingly untenable; Teller wrote poems that drew the political crises inward, to their center. Teller's literary work in the late 1930s is an extreme case of the interdependence of journalism and poetry. Numerous poems relate directly to articles published in Der morgen zhurnal between 1937 and 1939; even more effective are the poems in the "Psychoanalysis" cycle, which convey the historical and journalistic background indirectly. Ephraim Auerbach acknowledged that Teller was occasionally successful in Lider fun der tsayt, but he objected that journalism rarely benefits poems: "The journalistic reality is much stronger than journalistic poetry, and therefore, it seems to me, poetry must distance itself from journalism with ten years of fantasy, in order to be able to look into it afterwards with eyes that see deeper, and glimpse eternity in events."" Sometimes an actual phrase or image recurs in poetic and journalistic texts, but Teller was most original and successful when events gave rise to highly mediated inspirations. Teller's Lider fun der tsayt demonstrates the benefits and hazards of a poet's close dependence on historical occurrences. On the one hand, Teller was able to reestablish the link between Jewish literature and history that had been challenged by the introspectivists; on the other hand, his verse was sometimes overburdened by the immediacy of its response.36Auerbach suggests that poetic imagery can add little to the sensational effect created by factual reports. Yet Teller accomplishes imaginative transformations of 34. Der tog, March 9, 1941. Quoted from the collection of critical appreciations in Teller, Durkh yidishn gemit, p. 237. 35. Ephraim Auerbach, "Af der vogshol," Der morgn zhurnal, December 10, 1940, p. 4. 36. See Miron's introduction to his edition of Teller's poems, Mivkhar shirim, pp. 16 and 60.

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enduring significance in his poems dealing with Sigmund Freud and Jud Siiss. Beyond merely employing journalistic details in his poems, he incorporates Freud into an elaborate mythology, a reworking of Jewish history. Even where verse and prose employ identical verbal constructions, the context alters their meaning. Moreover, only a relatively small number of Teller's news articles have echoes in his poetry; a strict principle of selection was at work. And in some cases the poetic text had priority: Teller did not write a prose account of his first visit to Freud until five months after he published his poem on Jud Siiss during his first visit to Freud. As poet and journalist, Y. L. Teller produced some of the most incisive and committed American-Yiddish writing in the period leading to the Second World War. While other New York poets reacted to history in general terms, Teller created directly and indirectly from his unusual travels in 1937 and 1939. Teller cultivated a style of news reporting that focused on individual perceptions, and simultaneously wrote poetry that was increasingly based on subjective voices under the impression of catastrophe. Disparate literary forms came together in Liderfun der tsayt, and collided with such force that-perhaps for lack of any clear means to reconcile the tsayt with the lider, or the times and timelessness-this book in effect marked the end of Teller's poetic career at the age of twenty-eight. EmoryUniversity Atlanta, Ga.

Review: [untitled] Author(s): Joseph Shatzmiller Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 2 (Autumn, 1990), pp. 291-293 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486897 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:36 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

Cambridge University Press and Association for Jewish Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to AJS Review.

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BOOK REVIEWS Arye Maimon, in collaboration with Yacob Guggenheim. Germania Judaica. Vol. 3, 1350-1519. Tiibingen: J. C. B. Mohr & Paul Siebeck, 1987. xxx, 769 pp. This extraordinary publication, done under the auspices of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, originated in Berlin in the winter of 1903. That year the newly established Society for the Advancement of Jewish Studies decided to undertake a geographic-historical dictionary in which all significant information about the Jewish life and inhabitants of each and every German locality would be assembled. Inspired by the encyclopedic Gallia Judaica, published by Henry Gross only a few years earlier, the undertaking was intended to cover all of German Jewish history from Roman times until 1815. It was expected that it would be realized in three stages. The first volume was scheduled to reach the year 1238, when Frederick II issued a general privilege to the Jews of the empire; the second was expected to reach the year 1500; while the third was to take care of the rest. Quite expectedly things did not happen as they were scheduled. Only the first part, in two volumes (published in 1917 and 1934), lived up to the original plan. The second part (published in two volumes by Zvi Avneri in 1967) only reached the Black Death, while the third one, now on our desks, only reached the year 1519. Whether there will be a fourth, fifth, or even a sixth part to this monumental effort is not clear from the introduction to this new publication. In the meantime, we have to await the publication of the two other volumes of this part, one of which will bring the dictionary to the letter Z and the other with articles on Germany and the various "Lands." 291

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Unlike the Gallia, a one-man enterprise concerned principally with Hebrew documents, the Germania Judaica was envisioned from the very beginning as a collective work, realized by many hands. Indeed almost every Jewish historian of the first half of our century was invited to participate in the project. Arye Maimon and his collaborator, Yacob Guggenheim, continued in this tradition: They extended invitations not only to specialists in Judaica but to many "generalists" (local archivists, professors, and erudites), with the result that much of the information assembled comes from "external" sources relating to Jews. Some of these documents come from published works, others directly from archives. No stone, it would seem, was left unturned. As for Hebrew material, in print or in manuscript, its use was facilitated by the access the editors had to the magnificent collections in the National Library of Jerusalem. The materials on the lives and writings of Jewish scholars are presented here, as in previous volumes of the Germania Judaica, in the last part of each article. The editors established a scheme in which questions concerning fiscal aspects of Jewish life were to be followed by evidence about Jewish economic activity, about political and legal status, about taxation and self-government, or about Jewish-Christian relations. This rigid scheme could have been deployed only in the case of big cities (e.g., Augsburg, Bamberg, Erfurt, Cologne, or, especially, Frankfurt a/Main) where enough source material exists. For dozens and hundreds of other localities, in which a Jewish presence existed only sporadically, there was no way to adhere to the scheme; the authors did not have enough data in their arsenal for more than one paragraph or two. The most significant change, most welcome to my mind, in this volume of the GermaniaJudaica is the material concerning demography. We knew already that the Jewish communities of Germany were reduced severely in size in the hundred and fifty years following the Black Death. With the hard information meticulously assembled by these different authors, we are now able to count, calculate, and achieve a clearer notion of what this demographic decline was all about. Another quantitative question concerns the information about Jewish moneylending-an aspect vital to the understanding of Jewish history but rather unamenable to straightforward counting. As for Jewish scholarly achievements-a subject dear to many scholars-it is much simpler now, I believe, to understand the limitation and actual decline of Jewish scholarship in this period. Precarious social and economic conditions, as revealed in most of the evidence, seem to have played the greatest role. The story of the GermaniaJudaica project should serve as an example to

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all. The project had to survive two world wars. On two occasions almostcompleted articles were lost, one confiscated by the Nazis. Many authors did not see their work in print, and the editors had to update manuscripts written, at times, a generation and more beforehand. Zvi Avneri and Arye Maimon, who had participated as authors in the first part of the project (known then, in Germany, as Hans Lichtenstein and Herbert Fischer respectively), believed it their duty-once conditions in Israel permitted -to go on and finish what had been started when Moritz Steinschneider (1816-1907) was still alive. Avneri was able to read the last galley proofs of the second part just a few years before he passed away; Maimon dedicated the last years of his life entirely to the undertaking. In achieving their aim they presented us with a magnificent encyclopedic tool, one which will make our work in Jewish studies much easier and more exciting. JosephShatzmiller Universityof Toronto Toronto, Ont.

R. Po-chia Hsia. The Myth of Ritual Murder: Jews and Magic in Reformation Germany. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988. 248 pp. German Jewry suffered a series of blood libels in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. Then, after about 1540, the libel declined in Germany. In The Myth of Ritual Murder, Hsia weaves an extraordinary variety of sources-archival records, ballads, theological treatises, plays, legal codes, extorted confessions-into vivid, detailed reconstructions of five German blood libel cases between 1470 and 1570, a series of stories full of pain but also hope. This is an outstanding work of research, reconstruction, and interpretation, and Hsia's conclusions are important for an understanding of both medieval and modern anti-Judaism and anti-Semitism. Hsia places the ritual murder accusations within both a religious and a political context. In the context of religion, Hsia sees blood libels as acts of Christian piety; he sees their rise as part of the general rise of lay urban piety in the late Middle Ages. Jewish "blood magic" was a threat to the Christian community; the Jews' supposed murder of an innocent boy repeated the Crucifixion. By punishing the Jews, the community avenged the Crucifixion, and reensured its salvation from the powers of evil. From this point of view, the crucial factor in the libel's decline was the Protestant Reformation. In

Review: [untitled] Author(s): Joseph Davis Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 2 (Autumn, 1990), pp. 293-295 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486898 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:36 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

Cambridge University Press and Association for Jewish Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to AJS Review.

http://www.jstor.org

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all. The project had to survive two world wars. On two occasions almostcompleted articles were lost, one confiscated by the Nazis. Many authors did not see their work in print, and the editors had to update manuscripts written, at times, a generation and more beforehand. Zvi Avneri and Arye Maimon, who had participated as authors in the first part of the project (known then, in Germany, as Hans Lichtenstein and Herbert Fischer respectively), believed it their duty-once conditions in Israel permitted -to go on and finish what had been started when Moritz Steinschneider (1816-1907) was still alive. Avneri was able to read the last galley proofs of the second part just a few years before he passed away; Maimon dedicated the last years of his life entirely to the undertaking. In achieving their aim they presented us with a magnificent encyclopedic tool, one which will make our work in Jewish studies much easier and more exciting. JosephShatzmiller Universityof Toronto Toronto, Ont.

R. Po-chia Hsia. The Myth of Ritual Murder: Jews and Magic in Reformation Germany. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988. 248 pp. German Jewry suffered a series of blood libels in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. Then, after about 1540, the libel declined in Germany. In The Myth of Ritual Murder, Hsia weaves an extraordinary variety of sources-archival records, ballads, theological treatises, plays, legal codes, extorted confessions-into vivid, detailed reconstructions of five German blood libel cases between 1470 and 1570, a series of stories full of pain but also hope. This is an outstanding work of research, reconstruction, and interpretation, and Hsia's conclusions are important for an understanding of both medieval and modern anti-Judaism and anti-Semitism. Hsia places the ritual murder accusations within both a religious and a political context. In the context of religion, Hsia sees blood libels as acts of Christian piety; he sees their rise as part of the general rise of lay urban piety in the late Middle Ages. Jewish "blood magic" was a threat to the Christian community; the Jews' supposed murder of an innocent boy repeated the Crucifixion. By punishing the Jews, the community avenged the Crucifixion, and reensured its salvation from the powers of evil. From this point of view, the crucial factor in the libel's decline was the Protestant Reformation. In

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the Reformed conception of Christianity, evil and Judaism were not to be defeated by "works-piety" or by countermagic, but by the rejection of all "Papist and Jewish lies," including the blood libel itself. But Hsia also sees ritual murder accusations as power struggles between imperial and local German authorities. The German Habsburgs, unlike their Spanish cousins, were conspicuously supportive of the Jews. Ritual murder cases became tests of the limits of imperial power. Viewed in this way, the decline of the libel may be linked to Habsburg success in imposing standard legal procedures, especially limits on the use of torture, and the "revolutionary" (p. 193) extension of the Roman principle of equity to include the Jews. Late medieval Germany, Hsia argues, had a "unified discourse," in which theological works confirmed rumors, and ballads confirmed laws. Thus confirmed, the blood libel became "knowledge." But in the sixteenth century, "popular" and "elite" cultures increasingly took separate paths. Reformation theology and imperial law books both had new "discourses." The blood libel ceased to be religious or legal "knowledge"; it became a mere legend. One of the book's weaknesses is its very sparse attention to Jewish sources and scholarship. For example, Hsia mistakenly bases his discussion of Jewish perceptions of the blood libel ("in the Jewish discourse on ritual murder, word magic was used to ward off blood magic") on the modern forgery, Nifla'ot ha-Maharal. How did Jews perceive the blood libel? In the memoirs of Josel of Rosheim, a Jew active in fighting the blood libel, whose own relatives were among its victims, we find that the blood libel is never called a "blood" libel at all. It is called the "bastard libel," 'alilat mamzer. The Jews believed that they were blamed when Christian parents murdered their own bastard children. Hsia touches on the question of infanticide. Andreas Osiander, a Reformer who argued that the blood libel was a myth, suggested that "perhaps . . . negligent parents were responsible: the children could have fallen on knives" (p. 142). Children do not, of course, "fall on knives"; but the murder of children was a repressed, unspeakable reality. The myth of ritual murder mediates a conflict between an idealized image of children and the fact of extreme brutality toward them. "Concomitant with the decline of ritual murder cases in 1540," Hsia discovers (p. 155), "cases of child murders began to be publicized in Germany."

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Hsia also points out that as the blood libel declined, witch trials increased. Women, not Jews, were now seen as the representatives of the demonic in the community. Jewish accounts of the blood libel also assume that often it was purely a cynical pretext. The Jews would naturally denigrate their antagonists' religiosity; but I think that Hsia errs equally in underestimating the role that active deceit and sheer cruelty played in ritual murder accusations. Hsia's book suggests a liberal interpretation of Reformation history. The sixteenth-century German Jews and their Lutheran and Habsburg allies were successful in their lobbying efforts against myth and prejudice. But the ambiguous heritage of German liberalism requires the author to look beyond his story's optimistic conclusion. The memory of the Holocaust lies heavy over any study of German anti-Semitism. Hsia cautiously evokes that memory in the book's first pages, bringing an example of the deep-seated anti-Semitism of even enlightened eighteenth-century Germans. The Reformation, Hsia writes, did not "eradicate the long tradition of Christian anti-Judaism.... [Rather] Lutheran pastors concentrated their attack ... on Jewish injury to the Christian moral economy. The image of the Jewish moneylender eventually replaced that of the Jewish magician" (pp. 147-148). Hsia also notices the perpetuation of anti-Jewish myths, including the blood libel, by the Counter-Reformation church and in German folk culture. We should also notice the split between Habsburg legal and Lutheran religious reforms. Lutheranism at an early stage disengaged itself from the movement for political reform. Hsia's story has two heroes; that these two heroes were at cross-purposes, were indeed enemies, suggests a weakness crucial for later history. JosephDavis HarvardUniversity Cambridge,Mass.

Michael Stanislawski. For Whom Do I Toil? Judah Leib Gordon and the Crisis of Russian Jewry. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988. 263 pp. For Whom Do I Toil?is a somewhat puzzling title for this incisive study of the nineteenth-century Russian Jewish poet Judah Leib Gordon. It

Review: [untitled] Author(s): Allan Arkush Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 2 (Autumn, 1990), pp. 295-298 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486899 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:36 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

Cambridge University Press and Association for Jewish Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to AJS Review.

http://www.jstor.org

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Hsia also points out that as the blood libel declined, witch trials increased. Women, not Jews, were now seen as the representatives of the demonic in the community. Jewish accounts of the blood libel also assume that often it was purely a cynical pretext. The Jews would naturally denigrate their antagonists' religiosity; but I think that Hsia errs equally in underestimating the role that active deceit and sheer cruelty played in ritual murder accusations. Hsia's book suggests a liberal interpretation of Reformation history. The sixteenth-century German Jews and their Lutheran and Habsburg allies were successful in their lobbying efforts against myth and prejudice. But the ambiguous heritage of German liberalism requires the author to look beyond his story's optimistic conclusion. The memory of the Holocaust lies heavy over any study of German anti-Semitism. Hsia cautiously evokes that memory in the book's first pages, bringing an example of the deep-seated anti-Semitism of even enlightened eighteenth-century Germans. The Reformation, Hsia writes, did not "eradicate the long tradition of Christian anti-Judaism.... [Rather] Lutheran pastors concentrated their attack ... on Jewish injury to the Christian moral economy. The image of the Jewish moneylender eventually replaced that of the Jewish magician" (pp. 147-148). Hsia also notices the perpetuation of anti-Jewish myths, including the blood libel, by the Counter-Reformation church and in German folk culture. We should also notice the split between Habsburg legal and Lutheran religious reforms. Lutheranism at an early stage disengaged itself from the movement for political reform. Hsia's story has two heroes; that these two heroes were at cross-purposes, were indeed enemies, suggests a weakness crucial for later history. JosephDavis HarvardUniversity Cambridge,Mass.

Michael Stanislawski. For Whom Do I Toil? Judah Leib Gordon and the Crisis of Russian Jewry. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988. 263 pp. For Whom Do I Toil?is a somewhat puzzling title for this incisive study of the nineteenth-century Russian Jewish poet Judah Leib Gordon. It

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echoes, of course,the title of one of Gordon'smost famouspoems. But, as Stanislawskihimselfshows, this "broodingand poignant"poem, whichhe wrote in 1871,does not reallyepitomizeits author'sbasic outlook on life. Frequentlymisconstrued,it is in fact "but the most successfulof Gordon's periodicponderingson the meaningof his life, on the frustrationhe felt as a lonely campaignerfor a moderatereformin the life and cultureof the Jews of Russia."For WhomDo I Toil?makesit quiteclear,however,thatGordon spent far less of his time broodingabout his frustrationsthan campaigning for reform.A title that bettersummedup his life mightthereforehavebeen borrowedfromanotherof Gordon'sfamouspoems:"Awake,My People!" As this lucidlyand vividlywrittenbook demonstrates,Gordon'sactivities as an educator,a communalfunctionary,a publicist,and a poet were verylargelydirectedto rousingRussianJewryfromwhat he perceivedto be its self-destructivebackwardness.Among other things, he preparedtextbooks for state-run Jewish schools, pioneered in the establishmentof modernschools for RussianJewishwomen, championedHaskalahin the RussianJewishpress,and, most memorably,wrotesatiricalpoemsaimedat underminingthe authorityof the traditionalrabbinate.Gordon's deepest desirewas to see RussianJewsfollow in some, but not the moreextreme,of the footstepsof theirWesterncoreligionists.The best modelWesternJewry had to offer was, he believed,that of moderatereform,the kind that was propoundedby ZachariasFrankeland exemplifiedby the BreslauJewish TheologicalSeminary. But why only moderatereform?What was the source and nature of Gordon's enduringcommitmentto a fairly traditionalform of Judaism? Moshe This was a question eventuallyposed by his friend-turned-critic, Lilienblum.As Stanislawskinotes, Lilienblummaintainedthat he could not find a single poem in Gordon'sentireoeuvrethat praisedanythingJewish. Nor, he complained,did Gordon ever say anythingthat would inspirethe young to stay within the Jewishfold. The ultimatesourceof Gordon'sfaith is difficultto locate.In spite of his deep attractionto thingsGerman-Jewish,he had, it seems,no philosophyof Judaism,indeed, no noticeableinclinationto philosophyat all. Nor does one find in his writingsany traceof a pious sensibility,anythingevincinga fearor a love of God. Gordon'sGod is very,veryremote.In his epic poems, for instance,protagonistsin extremedifficultiesfrequentlycall upon Him, but He neverresponds.It seemsthat Gordonhad an especiallyintensedistaste for the idea of particularprovidence. The closest thing to a theology, in Gordon's writings, is an affirmation of

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a more generalsort of divineprovidence.In a manifestoentitled"Houseof Jacob,Come Let Us Walk,"Gordonunequivocallyidentifiedthe traditional idea of redemptionwith the Jews' attainmentof salvationthroughselfimprovementand integrationinto European society. This was not, as Stanislawskiobserves, "simply an attempt to secularizethe process and meaningof redemption,"but a "radicalidentificationbetweenGod's will and WesternEuropeanmores,betweenIsaiah'sprophecyand the promises of the Enlightenment." While this manifestomay have indicatedthat Gordon was, as Stanislawskiputs it, ponderingprofoundproblems,it cannotbe said that he presented, here or elsewhere,any profoundsolutionsto them. It is impossible to discernthe source of Gordon'sfaith in providentialsupportfor human progress.Nor is it possible,on the basis of his writings,to understandwhy this kind of faith in providenceshould have led to a call for moderateand not radicalreform. Whateverthe source of Gordon's fundamentalbeliefs, he adheredto them steadfastly,even in the aftermathof the pogromsof 1881.In the most interestingchaptersof his book, Stanislawskishows how he struggledto uphold his vision of the futureduringthe early 1880s,at a time when some of his erstwhileallieswereabandoningany hope for the improvementof the situationof the Jews in Russia. In spite of all that had happened,he continued to believe and to argue that Russian Jewry could be saved not throughemigrationto America,colonizationin Palestine,or socialistpolitics, but through a cleansingand rejuvenationof Judaismitself. Ultimately,however,even Gordon began to have severedoubts about the tenabilityof his position. By the mid-1880s,Stanislawskitells us, his faith was all but shattered.He found that confidence"in the inevitable victory of righteousness and reason was . . . difficult, if not impossible, to

sustain."Hoveringon the brink of despair,he asked himself,once again, "For whom and for what shouldI toil?"It is with an eye to this last bout of neardespair,it seems,that Stanislawskichose the title for his book. Yet, as Stanislawskihimselfproceedsto tell us, Gordon still had an answerto this question.To the end of his life, he "refusedto succumb;he persistedin his irremediablefidelityto a vision of Westernhumanismblendedwith Jewish dignity."He remained"convincedto the end that his hoped-forsynthesis was possible."Withoutpubliclyacknowledginghis privatedoubts, he continued to argueresolutely-if somewhatintermittently-that the Haskalah had not failed, that its programwas still intact. It is preciselybecauseGordon retainedto the end at least some of his

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faith in his earlier ideals that Stanislawski succeeds in achieving one of his principal goals in writing For Whom Do I Toil? He helps to remind us that the Haskalah was not swept away by the pogroms of 1881, and that well after the events of that year there were still Jewish thinkers in Russia who, in his words, "insisted on the need for the Jews to reform themselves in a moderate, Western fashion." In doing so, he has made a significant contribution to the disentanglement of history from ideology. AllanArkush State Universityof New York at Binghamton Binghamton,N.Y.

Collected Studies Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 2 (Autumn, 1990), pp. 299-303 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486900 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:36 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

Cambridge University Press and Association for Jewish Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to AJS Review.

http://www.jstor.org

COLLECTEDSTUDIES Aharon Mirsky, Avraham Grossman, and Yosef Kaplan, eds. Exile and Diaspora: Studies in the History of the Jewish People Presented to Professor Haim Beinart on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday. Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi and the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1988. 598 pp. (Hebrew). CONTENTS: Yosef Kaplan, "Haim Beinart and the Historiography of the Conversos." Izhak Avishur, "Literary Models in the Historiographical Descriptions of the Conquest of Canaan in the Bible and Their Background in the Literature of the Ancient Near East." Hanoch Reviv, "The Runaway Slaves of Shimei ben Gera and the Problem of Their Extradition." Nahman Avigad, "The Seals of Neriahu the Prince." Ephraim Stern, "Two Phoenician Glass Seals from Tel Dor." Haim Tadmor, "The Relation of the Jewish People to the Land of Israel in the Light of the Babylonian Exile and the Return to Zion." Aharon Oppenheimer, "From Qurtava to Aspamya." Moshe David Herr, "A Problem of Periodization: The Second Temple and the Mishna and Talmud Periods in Jewish History." Avraham Grossman, "Between Spain and France-Relations between the Jewish Communities of Muslim Spain and France." Nathan Spiegel, "Plotinus and Jewish Thought in Medieval Spain." Raphael ha-Levi Loewe, "'Shinanim Shaananim' by R. Shelomo Ibn Gabirol." Aharon Mirsky, "Sephardi Poems from the 'Divine Service' in Bahya Ibn Pakuda's HIovotHa-Levavot." Shelomo Pines, "Nahmanides on Adam in the Garden of Eden in the Context of Other Interpretations of Genesis, Chapters 2 and 3." Yisrael M. Ta-Shma, "Ashkenazi Hasidism in Spain: R. Jonah Gerondi-the Man and His Work." 299

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Shelomo Eidelberg, "Antoni Glfick-Selig: An Apostate in the Cistercian Monastery of Salem." Chen Merchavia, "Pugio Fidei-An Index of Citations." Ben-Zion Degani, "Ramon Lull-A New Approach to Missionizing?" Yom-Tov Assis, "The Jews of Barcelona in Maritime Trade with the East." Menahem Ben-Sasson, "Sources for the History of the Jewish Communities in Spain in the Fourteenth Century." Joseph Yahalom, "Poetry as an Expression of Spiritual Reality in the Late Sephardi Piyyut." Joseph Shatzmiller, "Shelomo Ibn Verga and the Expulsion of the Jews from England." Avraham Gross, "R. Yehuda KhalaZ in Tlemcen: Judeo-Iberian Culture in North Africa." Abraham David, "On the History of the Sholal Family in Egypt and Eretz Israel at the End of the Mameluke Period and the Beginning of the Ottoman Period, in the Light of New Documents from the Geniza." Simon Shtober, "The Chronologies of the Muslim Kingdoms in Sambari's Chronicle Divrei Yoseph."Moshe Idel, "An Unknown Sermon by Shelomo Molkho." Robert Bonfil, "Who Was the Apostate Ludovico Carreto?" Daniel Carpi, "Ordinances of the Community of Venice, 1591-1607." Isaiah Tishbi, "New Information on the 'Converso' Community in London According to the Letters of Sasportas from 1664/1665." Joseph R. Hacker, "Raphael Levi, Alimed Bashi, Mehemed Bashi, Louis de Bizance-The Transmutations of a Jew from Istanbul in the Seventeenth Century." Yosef Kaplan, "Bans in the Sephardi Community of Amsterdam in the Late Seventeenth Century." Nissim Yosha, "The Philosophical Background of Sabbatian Theology-Guidelines towards an Understanding of Abraham Michael Cardoso's Theory of the Divine." R. J. Z. Werblowsky and Menashe R. Lehman, "The Sephardi Diaspora in Izmir: Half a Century after Sabbatai Sevi." Yael Beinart Kaplan, "A Bibliography of the Writings of Haim Beinart."

Yisrael Gutman, Ezra Mendelsohn, Jehuda Reinharz, and Chone Shmeruk, eds. The Jews of Poland Between Two World Wars. Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England/Brandeis University Press, 1989. xi, 575 pp. Ezra Mendelsohn, "Introduction: The Jews of Poland between CONTENTS: Two World Wars-Myth and Reality." Ezra Mendelsohn, "Jewish Politics in Interwar Poland: An Overview." Gershon C. Bacon, "Agudat Israel in Interwar Poland." Edward D. Wynot, "The Polish Peasant Movement and the Jews, 1918-1939." Moshe Mishkinsky, "The Communist Party of

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Poland and the Jews." Abraham Brumberg, "The Bund and the Polish Socialist Party in the Late 1930s." Yisrael Gutman, "Polish Antisemitism Between the Wars: An Overview." Antony Polonsky, "A Failed Pogrom: The Demonstrations in Lw6w, June 1929." Emanuel Melzer, "Antisemitism in the Last Years of the Second Polish Republic." Jerzy Tomaszewski, "The Role of Jews in Polish Commerce, 1918-1939." Frank Golczewski, "The Problem of Sunday Rest in Interwar Poland." Shaul Stampfer, "Marital Patterns in Interwar Poland." Samuel D. Kassow, "Community and Identity in the Interwar Shtetl." Ephraim E. Urbach, "The History of Polish Jews after World War I as Reflected in the Traditional Literature." David E. Fishman, "The Musar Movement in Interwar Poland." Ben-Zion Gold, "Religious Education in Poland: A Personal Perspective." Chone Shmeruk, "Hebrew-Yiddish-Polish: A Trilingual Jewish Culture." Shmuel Werses, "The Hebrew Press and Its Readership in Interwar Poland." Hanan Hever, "From Exile-without-Homeland to Homeland-without-Exile: A Guiding Principle of Hebrew Fiction in Interwar Poland." Dan Miron, "Uri Zvi Grinberg's War Poetry." Abraham Novershtern, "Yung Vilne: The Political Dimension of Literature." Michael C. Steinlauf, "Mark Arnshteyn and Polish-Jewish Theater." Eugenia Prokop6wna, "The Sabbath Motif in Interwar Polish-Jewish Literature." Magdalena M. Opalski, "Wiadomsci Literackie: Polemics on the Jewish Question, 1924-1939." Artur Eisenbach, "Jewish Historiography in Interwar Poland." Lucjan Dobroszycki, "YIVO in Interwar Poland: Work in the Historical Sciences." Jack Kugelmass and Jonathan Boyarin, "Yizker Bikher and the Problem of Historical Veracity: An Anthropological Approach."

Alan J. Avery-Peck, ed. New Perspectives on Ancient Judaism. Vol. 4. The Literature of Early Rabbinic Judaism: Issues in Talmudic Redaction and Interpretation. Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1989. 151 pp. CONTENTS: Martin S. Jaffee, "The Babylonian Appropriation of the Talmud Yerushalmi: Redactional Studies in the Horayot Tractates." Richard Kalmin, "The Stam and the Final Generations of Amoraim: Assessing the Importance of Their Relationship for Study of the Redaction of the Talmud." David Kraemer, "The Beginning of the Preservation of Argumentation in Amoraic Babylonia." Avram I. Reisner, "The Character and Construction of a Contrived Sugya: Shevuot 3a-4a." Michael L. Chernick,

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"Contemporary Talmudic Studies: The Continuing Agenda." Jacob Neusner, "The Political Economy of Religion: The Case of Jews' Economies and the Economics of Judaism." Paul Virgil McCracken Flesher, "Slaves, Israelites, and the System of the Mishnah." Irving J. Mandelbaum, "The Purpose of the Laws of Diverse-Kinds." Sandra R. Shimoff, "Shepherds: Hellenism, Sectarianism, and Judaism." Dixon Slingerland, "Chrestus: Cristus?"

Gloria L. Cronin and L. H. Goldman, eds. Saul Bellow in the 1980's: A Collection of Critical Essays. East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 1989. vii, 328 pp. CONTENTS: Judie Newman, "Bellow's Sixth Sense: The Sense of History." Daniel Fuchs, "Bellow and Freud." L. H. Goldman, "Saul Bellow and the Philosophy of Judaism." Allan Chavkin, "Bellow and English Romanticism." Molly Stark Wieting, "The Symbolic Function of the Pastoral in Saul Bellow's Novels." Ada Aharoni, "Women in Saul Bellow's Novels." H. Porter Abbot, "Saul Bellow and the 'Lost Cause' of Character." Ben Siegel, "Saul Bellow and the University as Villain." Jo Brans, "The Dialectic of Hero and Anti-Hero in Rameau's Nephew and Dangling Man." Michael O. Bellamy, "Bellow's More-or-Less Human Bestiaries: Augie March and Henderson the Rain King." Gloria L. Cronin, "Henderson the Rain King.:A Parodic Expos6 of the Modern Novel." Mariann Russell, "White Man's Black Man: Three Views." Susan Glickman, "The World as Will and Idea: A Comparative Study of An American Dream and Mr. Sammler's Planet." Ellen Pifer, "Two Different Speeches: Mystery and Knowledge in Mr. Sammler's Planet." Matthew C. Roudan6, "Crie de Coeur. The Inner Reality of Saul Bellow's The Dean's December." Michael G. Yetman, "Toward a Language Irresistible: Saul Bellow and the Romance of Poetry." Stephen L. Tanner, "The Religious Vision of More Die of Heartbreak." Gerhard Bach, "The Dean Who Came In from the Cold: Saul Bellow's America of the 1980's."

Daniel J. Elazar, ed. The New Jewish Politics. American Jewish Policy Agenda Resource Book No. 1. Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs/Center for Jewish Community Studies. Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1988. vii, 76 pp.

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CONTENTS: Daniel J. Elazar, "The New Jewish Politics." Irving Louis Horowitz, "The Politics of Centrism." Jonathan S. Woocher, "Are American Jews Becoming Conservatives and Should They?" Seymour Martin Lipset and Earl Raab, "The American Jews, the 1984 Elections, and Beyond." Michael J. Malbin, "Jewish PACS: A New Force in Jewish Political Action." Marshall J. Breger, "For Ourselves and for Others: Defining Jewish Interests." David M. Pollock, "How New York Jews Vote: Myths and Realities." Daniel J. Elazar, "The Jewish Context of the New Jewish Politics."

Louis H. Feldman and Gohei Hata, eds. Josephus, the Bible, and History. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1989, 473 pp. Louis H. Feldman, "Introduction." Sid Z. Leiman, "Josephus and the Canon of the Bible." Louis H. Feldman, "Josephus' Jewish Antiquities and Pseudo-Philo's Biblical Antiquities." Eugene Ulrich, "Josephus' Biblical Text for the Books of Samuel." Andr6 Pelletier, "Josephus, the Letter of Aristeas, and the Septuagint." Isaiah M. Gafni, "Josephus and I Maccabees." Joseph Sievers, "The Role of Women in the Hasmonean Dynasty." Ben Zion Wacholder, "Josephus and Nicolaus of Damascus." Giinther Baumbach, "The Sadducees in Josephus." Clemens Thoma, "The High Priesthood in the Judgment of Josephus." Valentin Nikiprowetzky, "Josephus and the Revolutionary Parties." Shimon Applebaum, "Josephus and the Economic Causes of the Jewish War." Heinz Kreissig, "A Marxist View of Josephus' Account of the Jewish War." Raymond R. Newell, "The Forms and Historical Value of Josephus' Suicide Accounts." Zeev Safrai, "The Description of the Land of Israel in Josephus' Works." Benjamin Mazar, "Josephus Flavius and the Archaeological Excavations in Jerusalem." Louis H. Feldman, "A Selective Critical Bibliography of Josephus." CONTENTS:

Books Received Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 2 (Autumn, 1990), pp. 305-309 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486901 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:36 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

Cambridge University Press and Association for Jewish Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to AJS Review.

http://www.jstor.org

BOOKS RECEIVED Amit, D., Y. Hirschfeld, and J. Patrich, eds. The AqueductsofAncient Palestine: Collected Essays. Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 1989. 335 pp. (Hebrew). Allenblum, Roni. On Your Walls, 0 Jerusalem: TouristItineraries. Seek the Peace of Jerusalem Series. Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 1988. 112 pp. (Hebrew). Aschkenasy, Nehama. Eve's Journey: Feminine Images in Hebraic Literary Tradition.Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1986. xv, 269 Pp. Attal, Robert, and Joseph Avivi. Registres Matrimoniauxde la Communaute Juive Portugaise de Tunis aux XVIIIe et XIXe siecles. Oriens Judaicus Series IV, vol. 2. Jerusalem: Institut Ben-Zvi, 1989. 327 pp. Bailey, Lloyd R. Noah: The Person and the Story in History and Tradition. Studies on Personalities of the Old Testament. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1989, xi, 244 pp. Bar-On, Dan. Legacy of Silence: Encounters with Children of the Third Reich. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1989. x, 338 pp. Bauman, Zygmunt. Modernity and the Holocaust. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1989. xiv, 224 pp. Beller, Steven. Vienna and the Jews 1867-1938: A Cultural History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. x, 271 pp. Black, Eugene C. The Social Politics of Anglo-Jewry 1880-1920. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1988. xi, 428 pp. Boksenboim, Yacov, ed. Minutes Book of the Jewish Communityof Verona. Vol. 1, 1539-1584. Vol. 2, 1584-1600. Sources of the History of Italian Jews. Tel Aviv: Chaim Rosenberg School of Jewish Studies, 1989. 390 pp. and 357 pp. (Hebrew). 305

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Boyarin, Daniel. Sephardi Speculation: A Study in Methods of Talmudic Interpretation. Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 1989. 189 pp. (Hebrew). Cohen, Amnon. Economic Life in OttomanJerusalem. Cambridge Studies in Islamic Civilization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. vii, 179 pp. Cohen, Norman M. Jewish Bible Personages in the New Testament.Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1989. xii, 163 pp. Damrosch, David. The Narrative Covenant: Transformationsof Genre in the Growth of Biblical Literature. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1987. x, 352 pp. Dan, Joseph, ed. Binah. Vol. 1, Studies in Jewish History. Vol. 2, Studies in Jewish Thought. New York: Praeger, 1989. xii, 193 pp. and xiii, 249 pp. Danzger, M. Herbert. Returning to Tradition: The ContemporaryRevival of Orthodox Judaism. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989. x, 374 pp. De Gruchy, John. Dietrich Bonhoeffer.:Witness to Jesus Christ. The Making of Modern Theology. London: Collins Publishers, 1988. x, 308 pp. Detweiler, Robert. Breaking the Fall: Religious Readings of Contemporary Fiction. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1989. xviii, 198 pp. Eckardt, A. Roy. Black-Woman-Jew: Three Wars for Human Liberation. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989. 229 pp. . For Righteousness' Sake: Contemporary Moral Philosophies. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987. xi, 365 pp. Fishbane, Michael. The Garmentsof Torah:Essays in Biblical Hermeneutics. Indiana Studies in Biblical Literature. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989. xi, 155 pp. Fuchs, Esther. Israeli Mythogynies: Women in Contemporary Hebrew Fiction. SUNY Series in Modern Jewish Literature and Culture. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987. vii, 147 pp. Gershoni, Haim. Israel: The Way It Was. New York: Herzl Press and Cornwall Books, 1989. 190 pp. G6rg, Manfred. Beitrage zur Zeitgeschichte der Anfdnge Israels: Dokumente-Materialien-Notizen. Agypten und Altes Testament, vol. 2. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1989. 225 pp. Green, Arthur. Devotion and Commandment:The Faith of Abraham in the Hasidic Imagination. Gustave A. and Mamie W. Efroymson Memorial Lectures. Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1989. 99 pp. Gutman, Yisrael. The Jews of Warsaw, 1939-1943.: Ghetto, Underground, Revolt. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989. xviii, 487 pp.

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Hamilton, Jeffries M., and Jeffrey S. Rogers. A Grammar for Biblical Hebrew Handbook. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1989. iv, 104 pp. Hazan, Ephraim, ed. The Piyyutim of Rabbi Musa Bujnahof Tripoli.Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 1989. 251 pp. (Hebrew). Heidegger, Martin. Hegel's Concept of Experience. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1989. 155 pp. Herzstein, Robert Edwin. Waldheim: The Missing Years. New York: Paragon House, 1989. 317 pp. Horsley, Richard A. Jesus and the Spiral of Violence: Popular Jewish Resistance in Roman Palestine. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1987. xi, 355 pp. Humphreys, W. Lee. Joseph and His Family: A Literary Study. Studies on Personalities of the Old Testament. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1988. xiv, 230 pp. Johnson, Roger A. Rudolf Bultmann: InterpretingFaithfor the Modern Era. The Making of Modern Theology. London: Collins Publishers, 1987. 346 pp. Kasher, Aryeh. Canaan, Philistia, Greece and Israel: Relations of the Jews in Eretz-Israel with the Hellenistic Cities (332 BCE-70 CE). Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 1988. 357 pp. (Hebrew). Kittel, Bonnie Pedrotti, Vicki Hoffer, and Rebecca Abts Wright. Biblical Hebrew. A Text and Workbook. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989. xxiii, 429 pp. Klein, Ralph W. Ezekiel: The Prophet and His Message. Studies on Personalities of the Old Testament. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1988. xi, 206 pp. Konvitz, Milton R., ed. The Legacy of Horace M. Kallen. Rutherford, N.J.: Herzl Press, 1987. 131 pp. LaCocque, Andre. Daniel in His Time. Studies on Personalities of the Old Testament. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1988. xvii, 240 pp. Lesch, Ann Mosely, and Mark Tessler. Israel, Egypt and the Palestinians: From Camp David to Intifada. Indiana Series in Arab and Islamic Studies. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989. xiv, 298 pp. Levenson, Jon D. Sinai & Zion: An Entry into the Jewish Bible. New Voices in Biblical Studies. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1987. x, 227 pp. Levi, Primo. The Mirror Maker: Stories and Essays. New York: Schocken Books, 1989. xi, 176 pp. Levy, Yossi. Jerusalem in the First and Second Temple Periods: Tourist

308

BOOKS RECEIVED

Itineraries. Seek the Peace of Jerusalem Series. Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 1988. 124 pp. (Hebrew). Lewin, Abraham. A Cup of Tears: A Diary of the Warsaw Ghetto. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989. vi, 310 pp. McKane, William. Selected Christian Hebraists. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. 268 pp. Mann, Vivian B., ed. Gardensand Ghettos: The Art of Jewish Life in Italy. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989. xx, 354 pp. Mirsky, Aharon, Avraham Grossman, and Yosef Kaplan, eds. Exile and Diaspora: Studies in the History of the Jewish People Presented to Professor Haim Beinart on the Occasion of His SeventiethBirthday. Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi 1988. 598 pp. (Hebrew). Moore, Donald J. The Human and the Holy: The Spirituality of Abraham Joshua Heschel. New York: Fordham University Press, 1989. viii, 215 PP. Morag, Shelomo. Babylonian Aramaic: The Yemenite Tradition;Historical Aspects and Transmission, Phonology, the Verbal System. Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 1988. x, 389 pp. (Hebrew). Moreen, Vera Basch. Iranian Jewry's Hour of Peril and Heroism: A Study of Babdi Ibn Luff's Chronicle(1617-1662). American Academy for Jewish Research Texts and Studies, vol. 6. New York: American Academy for Jewish Research, 1987. xv, 247 pp. Murtonen, A. Hebrew in Its West Semitic Setting: A ComparativeSurvey of Non-Masoretic Hebrew Dialects and Traditions. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1988. xiv, 473 pp. Neusner, Jacob. The Ecology of Religion: From Writing to Religion in the Study of Judaism. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1989. 315 pp. Judaism and Its Social Metaphors: Israel in the History of Jewish ---. Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. xiv, 258 pp. Newby, Gordon Darnell. A History of the Jews of Arabia: From Ancient Times to Their Eclipse Under Islam. Studies in Comparative Religion. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1988. xii, 177 pp. Olshen, Barry N., and Yael S. Feldman, eds. Approaches to Teaching the Hebrew Bible as Literature in Translation. Approaches to Teaching World Literature. New York: Modern Language Association of America, 1989. x, 156 pp. Peled, Yoav. Class and Ethnicity in the Pale: The Political Economy of Jewish Workers' Nationalism in Late Imperial Russia. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1989. xii, 171 pp.

BOOKS RECEIVED

309

Prital, David, ed. In Search of Self: The Soviet Jewish Intelligentsia and the Exodus: A Collection of Articles. Jerusalem: Mount Scopus Publications, 1983. 282 pp. Ramras-Rauch, Gila. The Arab in Israeli Literature. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989. xx, 227 pp. Rifkin, Jeremy. Time Wars: The Primary Conflict in Human History. New York: Henry Holt, 1987. vi, 263 pp. Rotenberg, Mordechai. Re-Biographing and Deviance: Psychotherapeutic Narrativism and the Midrash. New York: Praeger Publishers, 1987. x, 221 pp. Roth-Hano, Renee. Touch Wood: A Girlhood in Occupied France. New York: Four Winds Press, 1988. 297 pp. Schatzmiller, Joseph. Shylock Reconsidered: Jews, Moneylending, and Medieval Society. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990. viii, 255 pp. Seow, C. L. A Grammarfor Biblical Hebrew. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1989. xii, 308 pp. Silberstein, Laurence J. Martin Buber's Social and Religious Thought:Alienation and the Quest for Meaning. Reappraisals in Jewish Social and Intellectual History. New York: New York University Press, 1989. xviii, 358 pp. Stillman, Norman A., and Yedida K. Stillman. Samuel Romanelli: Travailin an Arab Land. Judaic Studies Series. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1989. xiii, 222 pp. Walker, Martin. The Waking Giant: Gorbachev'sRussia. New York: Pantheon Books, 1988. xxviii, 315 pp. Weisser, Michael R. A Brotherhoodof Memory: Jewish Landsmanshaftenin the New World. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1989. xv, 303 pp. Willenberg, Samuel. SurvivingTreblinka.Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989. 210 PP. Williamson, Ronald. Jews in the Hellenistic World:Philo. Cambridge Commentaries on Writings of the Jewish and Christian World 200 BC to AD 200. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. xii, 314 pp. Wylen, Stephen M. Settings of Silver: An Introduction to Judaism. New York: Paulist Press, 1989. vii, 397 pp. Zeitlin, Irving M. Jesus and the Judaism of His Time. Cambridge, Mass.: Polity Press, 1989. viii, 204 pp.

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