Esther: when midrashic methodology leads to halachic leniency

This past weekend saw an overlap between the Daf Yomi calendar and our preparations for Purim, as the subject turned – albeit briefly – to analysing Esther’s conduct. While the discussion lasted only a couple of lines, its implications are enormous and form a central case study in a couple of chapters of Talmud Reclaimed.

The Talmudic passage in question is examining the sins for which a person is required to give up their life rather than commit. These consist of the three “cardinal” sins: murder, idolatry and adultery, as well as any sin which a person is being forced by a non-Jew to commit in public or at a time of religious oppression. The Talmud then questions this conclusion, basing its challenge on the narrative of Esther, who willingly married Achashverosh – a non-Jewish king – rather than surrendering her life, despite her participation in this marriage being a public sin. It proceeds to offer various solutions. What concerns us here, however, is the nature of the Talmud’s question, which is based on the premise that Esther was single at the time of her marriage to Achashverosh. According to this premise, she could not have been committing the sin of adultery, but rather the non-cardinal sin of intermarriage, with the aggravating factor that her marriage was very much a matter of public knowledge.

Tosafot examine the Talmud’s question in view of a Talmudic teaching from the first chapter of tractate Megillah (13a), which treats Esther as having been married to Mordechai before she wedded Achashverosh. Based on this teaching, they ask why the Talmud did not pose a greater question: surely Esther was not only marrying a non-Jew, but was also committing adultery – one of the three cardinal sins – for which the Talmud would expect her to have given up her life? Based upon his synthesis of these Talmudic passages, Rabbeinu Tam, often seen as the most creative of the Tosafists, proposes an original and far-reaching principle. He concludes that, since the Talmud's challenge in the primary passage was not concerned with the question of Esther committing adultery with Achashverosh, even though Esther was already married to Mordechai, we can deduce that a sexual relationship with a non-Jewish man does not constitute full adultery.

Citing as support his own innovative expansion of a separate Talmudic teaching, he proceeds to issue a practical legal ruling to the following effect: a married Jewish woman who has a sexual relationship with a non-Jewish man who later converts to Judaism, is permitted to marry him. While a married Jewish woman’s sexual relationship with a Jewish man would have prohibited the two from subsequently marrying, Rabbeinu Tam permitted marriage in the case of a non-Jewish convert on the basis of his deduction that adultery with a non-Jewish man does not constitute full adultery.

The significance here is twofold. First, the source teaching that Esther and Mordechai were married is an aggadic inference which many of the peshat commentators to the Megillat Esther do not understand to be literal. As the Rashba comments on this passage: “We do not pose questions from aggadic sources”. Secondly, even setting aside the fact that Esther’s marriage is an aggadic addition, it is still far from simple that it should be taken into account when interpreting the sugya in Sanhedrin.

This Talmudic interpretation of Rabbeinu Tam, and the legal ruling that it produces, is a classic example of the creative Tosafist methodology which presumes that disparate Talmudic passages should be read in tandem and then introduces interpretative and legal innovations in order to reconcile them. The Maimonidean-Geonic approach to this matter, by contrast, having identified the primary Talmudic passage which deals with this area of law, does not presume that the authors of these passages were necessarily in agreement with the authors of the separate aggadic teaching that Esther and Mordechai were married. The Kessef Mishneh commentary of Rav Yosef Karo on Rambam’s ruling wholly dismisses the possibility that he took the aggadic passage into account.

In terms of the question of which sins require people give up their lives rather than transgress, the primary passage in tractate Sanhedrin does not distinguish between a woman committing adultery with a Jewish or non-Jewish man. Similarly, in terms of whether participation in an adulterous relationship prohibits any future marriage between its two parties, the primary Talmudic sources do not disclose any distinction based upon the man’s religious status. If anything, they appear specifically to include all sorts of men in this law. These laws as codified by Rambam therefore make no distinction between Jewish and non-Jewish men.

This also has potential implications for the analysis of Reb Chaim Brisk (opening pages of his famous Chiddushim al HaRambam) which takes on the assumption that Rambam did indeed combine these passages – just as Tosafot did – and proposes some wonderfully intricate solutions to explain how he nevertheless reached different legal conclusions. But that is the subject of another chapter altogether.

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Navigating the stormy seas of aggadah

Following dozens of pages of often complex and intricate legal analysis, Daf Yomi devotees might think they have earned some form of respite with the entertaining somewhat peculiar aggadic anecdotes recounted by Rabbah bar bar Channah. In truth, however, these aggadot present their own special set of challenges.

As Talmud Reclaimed comments in the chapter dedicated to contrasting the style, nature and purpose of aggadic and legal passages, these stories are so manifestly bizarre and exaggerated that they defy literal interpretation. They can only have been intended as parables that were drafted in such a manner as to impart some kind of deeper meaning. This leads the chapter into a broader analysis of the role of meshalim within Jewish learning and why the Talmud and midrashim have so often opted to present their teachings in the form of cryptic anecdotes rather than straightforward laws or advice.

Many of these stories, told by Rabbah bar bar Chana, describe seafaring adventures:

Rabbah [bar bar Chana] said: “Those who go down to sea told me that the wave which sinks a ship appears to have a fringe of white fire at its tip. But when one strikes it with a club upon which is engraved “Ehyeh asher Ehyeh…’, it subsides…”

Once we were going in a ship and we saw a certain fish. Sand settled on its back and a meadow sprouted upon it. We thought it was dry land and we went up and dwelled there and we baked and cooked on it. When its back became hot it turned over and, if not for the fact that the ship was nearby, we would have drowned.

The Vilna Gaon provides a systematic framework for showing how to interpret these tales and extract instructive messages from them. In short, the passage of a soul through this world is likened to a voyage across the sea. Seafarers do not intend to remain on sea for an extended period of time; the purpose of their trip is to acquire profitable merchandise which they can bring back home with them. So, too, is the soul’s journey through this world a voyage of limited duration, upon which it embarks with the intended purpose of acquiring merits to take with it to the World to Come. The ship corresponds to the body that transports the soul, while the waves that threaten the ship’s destruction are trials and tribulations that a person faces in this world.

arious challenges that tVhe seafarers face in these stories are identified as difficulties that people face in their lives. Thus in the first story the wave with white fire refers to the “burning” evil inclination that can sink the ship; this fire can only be overcome by drawing on the correct religious, spiritual or moral responses. In the second, the initially accommodating fish represents the superficial attraction of associating with the wicked, who lure people into their company. Reliance on such friendship, however, comes with the risk that it will ultimately disrupt one’s ability to bring back profitable merchandise. Indeed, it can even endanger a person’s life altogether.

Talmud Reclaimed notes how, in contrast to the legal rulings of the Talmud which remain fixed and binding for subsequent generations, the sages deliberately framed their aggadic teachings in a more flexible manner. This means that, even though such aggadot are often underpinned by one or more of the biblical injunctions, such as to love and fear God and to live a holy and ethical lifestyle, the specific methods through which these concepts are to be implemented can vary based on the era, society and set of character traits that people find themselves having to grapple with.

The question remains though as to how we are to determine the precise status, and therefore the authority and consequent credibility, of these flexible aggadic teachings. The very non-binding nature which allowed for their amendment and development in the post-Talmudic era also creates uncertainty as to their ability to act as an absolute guide to those seeking to follow the Torah’s teachings. Unlike clearcut laws, such as those concerning matzah or circumcision, which are fulfilled through specific actions, it is hard to determine the precise parameters of broader “aggadic” commandments such as loving and fearing God, walking in His ways and being honest and holy. This is not to say that they are less significant. Biblical verses from recently read portions emphasise the quintessential importance of these overarching laws:

What does the Lord your God ask of you, but that you fear the Lord your God, to walk in all His ways, to love Him and serve the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul, to observe the commandments and statutes of God?

Rather than signifying a lack of importance, the non-binding and flexible nature of aggadic teachings result from the fact that the commandments and wisdom to which they relate are deliberately framed in a flexible manner. This flexibility enables them to apply in various ways as between different individuals, societies and eras.

The mass of ethical advice and profound wisdom which is contained within aggadic passages is overwhelming and often confusing. By emphasising the great importance of such passages, yet framing them in flexible and non-binding form, the Talmud informs us that what the Torah demands is genuine engagement and grappling with its ethical teachings and concealed wisdom. It is the process of constantly seeking to improve one’s character, to purify one’s motives and to refine one’s understanding of theological difficulties which the Torah demands with its injunctions to love and fear God, be holy and walk in His ways. With regard to aggadah as opposed to law, the importance of active and genuine involvement in this process may outweigh any particular result that it achieves.

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Are we all individuals? Judaism and character training

The Torah portions which we are currently reading contain Moshe’s parting words of wisdom to his beloved nation. Prominent within these speeches are several broad biblical injunctions such as loving and fearing God, doing what is good and upright, and walking in His Ways. These injunctions are understood by our sages as seeking to guide people’s behaviour, perspective and lifestyle rather than as pertaining to the performance or avoidance of specific actions.

Talmud Reclaimed explores these commandments as part of its chapter on the aggadic passages of Talmud. In contrast to the legal passages of Talmud which seek to produce clear and binding rules, aggadot focus instead on the moral and spiritual development of individuals within the nation. Recognising that each person possesses a unique character, mind and soul, guidance of this sort cannot be rigid and formulaic – rather it offers key principles that individuals should follow in order to maximise control over their behaviour and perfect their character traits.

The individualised nature of character training is evident in Rambam’s discussion of correct ethical conduct. He makes this point strongly in the opening chapter of Hilchot De’ot:

Each and every man possesses many character traits…… Some these traits a man is born with and are natural to him. others are consistent with his nature and will [therefore] be easier to acquire. Some traits he does not have from birth. He may have learned them from others, or gained them on his own. This may have come as a result of his own thoughts, or because he heard that this was a proper trait for him to attain…The early sages therefore instructed a man to evaluate his traits, to calculate them and to direct them along the middle path, so that he will achieve perfection.

The process set out by Rambam on the basis of aggadic sources requires each person to assess his or her own traits, in order to then determine how they can best be trained towards the optimum level. As the parallel discussion in his Shemonah Perakim shows, Rambam understood that this process was highly individualised. Depending on one’s original set of traits, and on the life circumstances in which one finds oneself, two different people might be advised to take quite contrasting courses of action.

Rambam proceeds to examine how to balance various combinations of character traits. Basing his position firmly on a collection of aggadic pronouncements, he identifies which contrasting traits one should seek to balance by taking the “middle path” (for example one should be neither excessively jestful nor overly depressed). He also identifies those sets of traits regarding which a person is “forbidden to follow the middle path”, – such as the need to distance oneself from pride and anger. Further pairs of traits, such as silence and being over-talkative, require a more subtle approach to determine how a people should conduct themselves. What stands out, however, is that people must tailor an individualised method for maximising the set of character traits that they possess within the circumstances in which they find themselves. Sometimes, as in the case of a nazir, it is advisable for one to lean temporarily away from one’s natural tendencies in order to achieve the correct character balance.

The need for flexibility when applying ethical and lifestyle rulings arises not only from the various combinations of traits that give each individual his or her quality of uniqueness. Sometimes the nuances and dynamics of a particular situation can impact on what is likely to be the correct course of action.

For example, on the one hand students of ethical teachings must know when to “distance oneself from a bad neighbour and not join up with the wicked”. On the other hand, they must also learn to “love people and bring them to the Torah”. What’s more, the very process of identifying a person as being wicked or a bad neighbour must be reconciled with the need to “judge every person favourably”.

In another example, a Mishnah in the name of Rabbi Akiva strongly condemns frivolity and light-headedness as leading to immorality. In the Talmud, however, no less a personage than Eliyahu HaNavi reveals that two specific men had earned their share in the World to Come. Their merit? They were jesters who sought to cheer up those who were depressed.

We can see from these examples that the primary role of ethical aggadot is to remind us of both the importance of character training and the objectives that such training should seek to achieve. Ethical aggadot also provide innumerable examples of how the sages implemented them to the circumstances which prevailed in their own lives. While these examples seek to motivate, their status is markedly different to conclusions of legal passages of the Talmud which are strictly binding on all people regardless of the situation.

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From biblical bad guys to oral law role models

There is a conflict between biblical accounts of wrongdoing by figures such as Yehudah and King David, which criticise them, and parallel accounts in the Oral Tradition, which exonerate or even praise them. This conflict tends to generate lively discussion and strong opinions on either side. Devotees of peshat– the simple meaning of the text – argue fiercely for the primacy of the biblical text over subsequent aggadic reinterpretations, while their opponents point to Talmudic statements to the effect that a literal rendition of the text, unaccompanied by the context of Rabbinic teachings, is mistaken and therefore illegitimate.

Judaism Reclaimed grapples with this sensitive topic at the conclusion of its chapter on parashat Ki Teitze, which examines the functions and broader relationship between the Written Torah and the Oral Tradition. Our analysis starts with Ben Sorer Umoreh – the Wayward and Rebellious Son. The written law depicts in vivid detail how the delinquent youth is delivered to and denounced before the Court by his own parents before suffering a stony death. The oral law however presents a surprising alternative:

“R’ Shimon said: …it never happened and never will happen. Why then was this law written? — That you may study it and receive reward. R. Jonathan said: 'I saw [a Ben Sorer Umoreh] and sat on his grave'.”

Having examined several inherent difficulties presented by the Gemara’s presentation of this dispute, the essay progresses to its primary theme: the dissonance between the positions presented (here and elsewhere) by the written and oral components of the Torah. We use Rambam’s dual interpretation of “Eye for an Eye” as a key to resolving these inconsistencies. First, in his Commentary to the Mishnah and Mishneh Torah (“these interpretations are obvious from the study of the Written Law … and have been implemented in every single Jewish court from Moshe until today”) Rambam emphatically rejects the notion that the biblical ruling was ever intended to be implemented literally. When explaining this phrase in Moreh Nevuchim however, Rambam focuses only on the literal measure-for-measure disclosed by the biblical text: “the intention here is to explain the verses [of the Torah] not the words of the Talmud”).

What emerges is a hypothesis based on a two-tier didactic system of Jewish law and values. The first tier is the core divine wisdom contained within the Torah’s written text, while the second is the relative flexibility of the Oral Law to cater – within acceptable boundaries – to the realities and weakness of the human condition. This idea is developed further with the suggestion that the Written Torah represents God’s attribute of strict Justice (which demands a literal “Eye-for-an-Eye” etc) while the Oral Tradition moderates this in light of the frailties of human reality and on the basis of God’s attribute of mercy. (This has a parallel in the writings of Rav Kook, here).

Armed with this principle, the chapter progresses to apply it beyond the Torah’s legal passages. The Talmud teaches that the righteous are judged by God in a truer, more intimate way, “kechut hasa’arah” – in accordance with His attribute of justice. Putting all of this together, the biblical text discloses the very real sins of its heroes, but told from the harshly critical perspective of God’s attribute of justice by which they are held fully accountable for any slight misstep.

By contrast, the attempted justifications and excuses advanced in the Oral Tradition can perhaps be seen as describing the reality of these sins on a level in which the nation as a whole would perceive and relate to them. From this perspective, in the words of Shabbat 56a “Whoever says that King David sinned is surely mistaken”. This means that whoever reads the biblical account literally, failing to make an allowance for its critical agenda when judging the righteous, will be left with an inaccurate impression of what the Torah intended to convey.

This approach bears the potential to shed light on peculiarities and ambiguities from within the written text itself, which uses King David as a gold standard against which subsequent kings – even the righteous Hezekiah and Josiah – are measured. Were David truly the adulterous murderer implied by a simple reading of the text, it would hardly be an accolade to write of these kings that they “followed in all of his paths”. This more balanced approach may also help us to understand subsequent prophetic pronouncements of Divine endorsement of the Davidic dynasty through which King David has become inextricably linked with the very idea of a future utopian Messianic era in Jewish thought.

First posted to Facebook 26 August 2020, here.

Mountainous mystery: was the Torah actually received on Shavuot?

On what day was the Torah given? On what date do we celebrate the festival of Shavuot? Seemingly simple questions, yet ones for which the Torah’s text provides no clear answer.

In a fascinating passage, Rabbi S. R. Hirsch notes that Shavuot is unique among all biblical festivals in that no calendar date is prescribed for it – rather, it is observed seven weeks from the omer offering. Combining a selection of Talmudic traditions and calculations, he demonstrates that the Torah was most likely understood to have been given on the 51st day after the Exodus. Thus the 50th day from the omer is in fact the day BEFORE the Lawgiving (which the Torah identifies as having taken place on the sixth or seventh day of the third month).

On this basis, the day that is elevated to a festival is NOT the day of the Sinai revelation, but rather the final day of counting leading up to that great day. This indicates that the ‘festival of Matan Torah’ does not relate to the actual giving of the Torah; it celebrates our making ourselves worthy of receiving it. Jewish tradition depicts the nation as having undergone a significant transformation during this seven-week period (7 itself is a number understood to symbolise a purifying process). This transformative process, which culminated in them camping, united, at the base of Mount Sinai, it what we celebrate as a festival. It is the conclusion of this same seven-week period which both determines the date of the celebration, and accounts for the name “Shavuot” by which the festival is commonly known.

As we also examine in Judaism Reclaimed, the Lawgiving itself was in no way concentrated on that day at Sinai – the Torah was transmitted in the course of 40 years. Some of its most important features may only have been taught to the people on the Plains of Moav decades later. Both R’ Hirsch and Rambam emphasise that the primary significance of the Sinaitic spectacle was “in order that the people hear when I speak to you, and they will also believe in you forever”. Rambam understood that the people somehow participated in Moshe's prophecy to an extent that authenticated and legitimised all of his Lawgiving over the subsequent decades. In this way, perhaps, the entire Torah can be said to have ‘originated from Sinai’.

On a separate note, another favourite Jewish-school-Shavuot teaching which Judaism Reclaimed addresses vividly depicts God holding Mount Sinai above the nation and threatening it with destruction if it fails to accept the Torah. Maharal asks why this menacing threat was necessary in light of the Jews’ faithful utterance of “na’aseh venishma” (“we shall do and we shall listen”). His suggested answer is that the timing of this threat was intended to impart a clear message that the Torah’s laws are absolute and binding. It was thus required to reinforce the Jews’ faithful acceptance so that they should not imagine that their voluntary acceptance of the Torah could at any time be subject to reversal.

But can we relate this midrashic teaching in any way to the Torah’s actual description of events at Sinai?

While the nation’s declaration of “na’aseh venishma” is widely quoted, it is normally done so without the immediately preceding words: “And he took the Book of the Covenant and read it within the hearing of the people, and they said, "All that the Lord spoke we will do and we will hear."” A midrash Mechilta, along with other commentaries (see also Devarim 28:69), identify this “Book of the Covenant” as being none other than the fearsome litany of rebukes and curses enumerated in parashat Bechukotai – described by the Torah as one of the final passages transmitted at Sinai.

Might the vivid midrashic depiction of the mountain being held threateningly above the nation’s heads be an allusion to the significance of the tochachah passage of rebuke at Sinai? If so, it could then be construed as an embodiment of the message that our relationship with God and the Torah is premised not on our fickle and fluctuating feeling and fortunes but on an accepted sacred duty – and privilege – which we, as Jews, bear and carry with us throughout our lives.

First posted to Facebook 27 May 2020, here.

Anachronistic Avot and time-travelling Talmudists

One burgeoning genre of divrei Torah which appears to be enjoying increasing popularity in recent years perceives revered biblical figures – typically the Avot – as having been bound by Biblical and Talmudic law, and then proposes ingenious resolutions as to why certain laws appear not to have been fully observed. This style of dvar Torah, which allows brilliant yeshiva students to draw upon their well-honed Talmudic reasoning even when studying the written Torah, can be traced back to a verse in yesterday’s reading:

“Because Abraham listened to My voice, and kept My charge, My mitzvot, My chukkot, and My Torot."

How are we to understand the meaning of mitzvot, chukkot and Torot?

Rashi, drawing on an aggadic passage, suggests that this means that Avraham observed – presumably with the aid of prophecy – not only the Torah’s Biblical commandments, but even later Rabbinic restrictions such as Eruv Tavshilin. The primacy accorded to Rashi in Torah interpretation has led to this position being viewed as mainstream or even unanimous. At a recent event I heard a learned rabbi introducing his dvar Torah with the words: “Everyone know that the Avos kept the whole Torah…”. He proceeded to examine how Avraham could have married Hagar, an Egyptian princess, despite the Torah’s later prohibition against such a relationship (perhaps, he suggested, Avraham had the status of a convert and was therefore not bound by this rule).

While this approach is certainly pursued by a number of commentators and has caught the popular imagination in recent times, it was not always seen as so mainstream. While the above speaker was confident that “everyone knows the Avos kept the whole Torah”, there was a time when this was quite openly disputed. A quick survey of traditional commentaries to this verse shows that Sforno, Chizkuni, Rashbam – and even Ramban in his “derech hapeshat” – all interpreted these terms to refer only to commandments and character traits which had been revealed to Avraham up until this point. Radak goes further, showing how the aggadic source which Rashi draws upon does not mean that Avraham observed all Rabbinic and Biblical ordinances which would only be legislated (and bear relevance) millennia later. Rather it teaches that Avraham acted strictly and set careful boundaries within those specific laws which he did observe.

This in turn leads us to more profound underlying questions, which are explored in Judaism Reclaimed and Talmud Reclaimed: What function and benefit might there be in the observance of various forms of mitzvot which had not yet been commanded – particularly observances which were only later commanded to commemorate national events which had not yet taken place (for example the Avot were said to have eaten matzot on Pesach). And how many of these finer details of Talmudic law are understood to have been transmitted from Sinai and which are likely to have been developed by later Sanhedrin-type courts? (see further www.TalmudReclaimed.com).

One style of Aggadah which would seem to bolster this genre of apparently anachronistic divrei Torah involves later Talmudic attempts to recast biblical episodes as relating to delicate details of Talmudic debate. In its chapter on Aggadah, Talmud Reclaimed cites a passage from Sanhedrin 19b which interprets an episode from the book of Shmuel as a prime example.

The subject of this passage is a promise made by Shaul to give his daughter, Michal, in marriage to David for the price of 100 Philistine foreskins. Shaul subsequently reneges on his promise, while David continues to demand that Shaul permit him to marry Michal. While the biblical storyline appears to revolve around palace intrigue, alliances and jealousies, the Talmud rereads it entirely as an intricate legal debate as to whether marriage can be formalized through forgiveness of a loan in combination with the provision of an object of some value.

After highlighting a number of other similar Aggadic accounts, Rabbi Yisrael Moshe Hazan (Iyyei HaYam #187) argues that such Aggadic traditions date back to an era when the Oral Tradition was not generally written down. Attaching intricate legal rulings and debates to popular biblical passages served therefore as a memory aid to recall these complex Talmudic principles.

It is striking that for many this situation is now turned on its head, with Talmudic scholars often only acquainted with biblical passages and verses that are cited in Talmudic discourse – along with the accompanying Aggadic interpretation.

First posted on Facebook 19 November 2023, here.