Tamid and the evolution of the commandment to recite Shema

Yesterday’s Torah portion detailed a number of activities, such as lighting the menorah and offering the daily sacrifices, with which the daily Mishkan workload was scheduled to start and conclude. Several of these activities attract the description 'tamid', which means ‘constant’, a term which sits uncomfortably with the reality that these activities were performed only once or twice a day, in the morning and evening. This difficulty is highlighted by the observation of Rashi, at the start of our parashah, that regular daily events can attract the term tamid even if they are not continuous. Why should this be?

One explanation of Rashi's statement is that the use of the term tamid to describe regular but non-constant activities provides us with a fundamental insight into how the dynamics of these cyclical events are viewed from the Torah's perspective. The opening and closing ceremonies of the Mishkan’s daily routine were not intended merely to supply an element of solemnity or grandeur. Rather, they contextualise and grant legitimacy to everything that happens during the span of time that passes between them. By validating the various offerings that were brought throughout the day, the opening and closing activities can be seen to exert a constant influence and thereby justify the Torah's description of them as tamid. Judaism Reclaimed explores the significance and symbolism of each of these practices in this context.

The importance attached to how a unit of time is commenced and concluded does not just apply to the Mishkan procedures. As part of the Gemara’s discussion of the lechem hapanimprocedure, a comparison is drawn between the use of the word 'tamid' to describe the lechem hapanim, and the requirement that Torah never be absent from one’s mouth. The Gemara concludes that this commandment can be fulfilled even by studying a minimal amount of Torah each morning and evening.

This obligation to fix a regular time for Torah learning each morning and evening, is codified by Rambam and the Shulchan Aruch; it exists in addition to the general obligation to study Torah during any available time. The added dimension of these fixed study times is that they encase a person's mundane activities, imbuing them with the spirit of Torah study and thereby ensure "lo yamush" — that the Torah is never entirely removed from his mouth.

Talmud Reclaimed develops this idea further in a central case study which explores the origins of the commandment to recite Shema twice-daily. Building upon Rambam’s principle, that matters which are disputed among the sages do not belong to the body of transmitted laws received from Sinai, we note that there is a Talmudic argument (Berachot21a) as to whether the mitzvah of Shema is biblical or rabbinic in nature. This would seem to indicate that the commandment was not transmitted immutably from Moshe. On the other hand it does seem to be unanimously accepted in the Talmud that some passage of Torah must be recited, at the very least, each morning and evening.

The suggested resolution, which draws some support from the Pnei Yehoshua and Sha’agat Aryeh, is that the original Sinaitic requirement was that each person commence and conclude their day with the study of some passage of Torah. As seen above, by encasing one’s more mundane daily activities in between sessions of Torah study, this imbues religious and spiritual meaning to all of what one does in the interim period.

At some point, however, the Sinaitic tradition of a biblical commandment to recite words from the Torah twice daily would have been fixed by the Court so as to apply specifically to the first sentence (or perhaps the first paragraph) of the Shema, the second paragraph being added as a purely rabbinic commandment. As suggested by the Pnei Yehoshua, this is likely to be because of the passage of Shema containing a declaration of the unity of God and an acceptance of the yoke of heaven. Matters which the Sanhedrin of the day is likely to have wanted to inculcate further into the hearts and minds of the nation undergoing particular challenges.

While the sages and Sanhedrin enacted this decree to narrow down the previously undefined obligation to study Torah (at least) twice-daily, the blessings recited over Shema may reflect the commandment in its initial undefined form – focusing on the importance of Torah study rather than mentioning the unity of God and accepting His authority and mitzvot.

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Tefillin: a Sinaitic sign with an Egyptian origin?

While it is not uncommon to find numerous rationales being suggested for biblical commandments, the sheer range and diverse nature of the explanations offered for the mitzvah of Tefillin is quite remarkable. Tefillin is a highly valued ritual for the mystics – Talmud Reclaimed shows how the mitzvah was once a primary battleground between traditional Talmudic halachists and those who sought to integrate the Zohar’s teachings into mainstream Jewish practice. For many mystics, the practice of wearing two types of Tefillin – Rashi and Rabbeinu Tam – is not intended merely to ensure correct halachic practice, but rather to maximize the protective potential and divine energy flows that Tefillin are understood to promote.

Viewed through the perspective of peshat, this week’s parashah provides a far simpler psychological approach to understanding Tefillin:

“And it shall be to you as a sign upon your hand and as a remembrance between your eyes, in order that the law of the Lord shall be in your mouth, for with a mighty hand the Lord took you out of Egypt.” (Shemot 13:9)

This verse, which appears in the midst of many commandments intended to commemorate the Exodus, ties the mitzvah of Tefillin into the greater goal of recalling God’s miraculous rescue of our nation from Egypt. Is there anything specific to Tefillin that allows it to fulfil this function?

One fascinating idea that I read in an essay published several years ago in the Habura Pesach journal (which is currently being redacted, here) links Tefillin to symbolic practices in ancient Egypt which describes how

“In artistic depictions of subsequent campaigns, the Pharaoh is depicted adorned in sacred bracelets as he charges into battle against his enemies. These particular objects, often worn in the New Kingdom period by Pharaohs, were blessed in the names of various deities, especially Hathor who appeared in many stelae of Ramesside military propaganda as a protector of Pharaoh.

Secondly, another important area to look for parallels for Tefillin is on the head of the Pharaoh. In battle, Ramesses II was often depicted wearing the common ritual item known as the Uraeus, a talisman shaped like the snake goddess Wadjet. Commonly placed in both the Pharaonic headdress, known as the nemes, and the Pharaonic battle helmet, the kherpes, the Uraeus acted as a talisman representing the divine mission of the Pharaoh, acting as the emanation of the divine on the earth. These objects would act as conduits between the ruler and the deities of Egypt, ensuring continued divine favor for the country.”

If this is all true, Tefillin could be another manifestation of a perspective popularized recently by Rabbi Dr Joshua Berman’s Ani Maamin, which sees many aspects of biblical symbolism and phraseology as deliberately utilizing an Egyptian style in order to maximize the ability of the Torah to communicate its messages to those who would first receive it. There seems to be something deeply ingrained within human nature which motivates people to publicise their allegiances and political views – think Star of David necklaces and yellow hostage pins. In light of the historical evidence quoted above, the Israelites would most likely have reflected this by attaching symbols to their arm and head.

This insight into ancient Egyptian practice may also impact on another significant debate among Rishonim explored in Talmud Reclaimed. The primary topic of the first section of the book is to investigate which aspects of the Oral Law are understood to have been transmitted immutably from Sinai, and which would have been developed by the sages and Sanhedrin in subsequent generations.

The details of the mitzvah of Tefillin represents a fascinating example in this discussion,

Two manuscripts of Ibn Ezra's commentary on the book of Shemot have reached us. In what is believed to be the earlier commentary, Ibn Ezra presents two possible interpretations of the words "And it shall be for a sign upon your hand and for totafot between your eyes". The first, which is consistent with Rashbam's position, understands the words metaphorically, requiring the Exodus to be constantly remembered as if it were written on our heads and arms. The second possible interpretation - that these signs refer to the commandment to physically don tefillin - was adopted by the sages. Therefore, continues Ibn Ezra, the initial explanation was annulled.

In Ibn Ezra's second manuscript, however, which is understood to have been produced later in his life, he appears to have reconsidered this position, simply stating "that which the sages have transmitted to us – to write parshiyot – is the truth". This implies that he understands the commandment to don tefillin as the original “true” meaning of the verse rather than a later addition.

Rambam, meanwhile, does not display any doubt on the matter, stating emphatically in the full version of his 13 Principles of Faith that the design of tefillin that we wear today “is itself the design that God communication to Moshe”.

If the Egyptian context cited above is indeed relevant, it would seem likely that the biblical verse does refer to an actual act of wearing Tefillin as a sign upon the body – as the law was transmitted to us by the sages. We might add that, given the fact that the early Israelites would have been deeply immersed in Egyptian culture, the Torah’s text did not need to elaborate in great detail as to what the “Totaphot” consisted of. While this might lend support to Rambam’s position that Tefillin as an actual symbolic attachment was transmitted from Sinai, it still remains to be understood why he believes that its specific forms of black boxes would have been part of this original Sinaitic teaching.

Find out more about Talmud Reclaimed: Philosophy and Theology in the Torah at www.TalmudReclaimed.com

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Baba Batra: are derashot genuine sources of Biblical law?

The Daf Yomi cycle this weekend reached Chezkat HaBatim – a chapter of Talmud with a reputation for its complexity as well as its fundamental Talmudic principles. One passage with a particularly important implication appears right at the start of the chapter and is cited as part of the analysis of derashot (hermeneutical deductions) in an early chapter of Talmud Reclaimed.

What is the true nature of these textual derivations which are so ubiquitous throughout the Mishnah, Talmud and Midrash? Do they represent genuine attempts to decode and uncover divine intent woven into the Torah’s text or are they more accurately regarded as “asmachtot” – rhetorical devices used to consolidate and recall laws already known via the tradition or pre-decided by the Sanhedrin?

This question has already been debated fiercely by great rabbinic scholars.

At one end of the spectrum we have the Malbim, who maintained that all rabbinic interpretations were aimed at revealing a concealed and profound depth to the Torah’s text. To this end, Malbim compiled and elucidated an impressive list that includes literally hundreds of intricate nuances within the grammar, syntax and linguistics of biblical Hebrew which, he argued, have guided the sages’ extraction of legal details from the Torah. The Malbim’s position can draw support from the apparent meaning of Talmudic text which appears to legislate details of biblical law on the basis of such derashot.

A notable example from the beginning of the third chapter of Baba Batra seeks to identify a source for the law that three years’ possession of land creates a presumption in favour of ownership. Rabbi Yochanan reports in the name of those who belonged to the Sanhedrin in Usha that this law was derived from the case of a goring ox, whose legal status – and responsibility for its owners to guard it – is altered after three instances of goring.

If this derivation was simply intended to serve as a rhetorical device or memory aid, it would be sufficient that the source and derivative both possessed the same broad legal principle: that a series of three is deemed to represent or generate a change of legal status. Numerous highly detailed and technical objections are raised, however, to the comparison between the case of the ox and that of land possession.

Ultimately the Talmud’s presumptions are upheld: those who derive the three-year presumption from the goring ox would indeed be bound by such details. The other sages however, who relied on a different source, did not consider that the details of the three-year land possession presumption was influenced by details of the ox-goring derivation. Thus the proposed scriptural source for rabbinically-legislated details of Torah law can directly be seen to influence the nature and application of those details.

In opposition to the Malbim, other rabbinic scholars such as Rabbi Dovid Tzvi Hoffman, Rabbi Jose Faur and Rav Yitzchak Rabinowitz in his Dorot Rishonim have argued that derashot are not a genuine source of knowledge. Rather, they are seen as fulfilling a pedagogical purpose in that they help to associate pre-established laws with the Torah’s text. In support of this position are lengthy lists of derashot which seem contradictory and the great degree of flexibility and discretion seemingly accorded to the sages in formulating such hermeneutical readings.

Talmud Reclaimed cites numerous case studies and arguments in support of each of these contrasting positions, noting in the process how they can both legitimately claim to be strongly sourced within the Talmud. In light of the strength of the arguments boosting each of these positions, the book attempts to plot a middle path which integrates elements of them both.

Drawing upon several examples, we suggest that the numerous examples that we explore in the book highlight the extent of rabbinic discretion in implementing these principles, it would seem that derashot cannot be seen as a rigid set of divine instructions that bind the rabbinic legislators to formulate specific details. Instead, they may be best approached as looser indications from within the text, guiding the sages in how to make use of their discretion when establishing these details of Torah law. Ultimately, however, the authority to legislate these details lies with the Sanhedrin, which can choose how to make use of the interpretative and hermeneutical principles to produce such laws. Those principles merely establish certain parameters and guidance to the Sanhedrin.

Also posted to Facebook, here.

A flawed reconstruction of the Tannaitic study hall

A couple of people sent me this Kotzk-blog article in recent days that summarises a primary theme from Rabbi Binyamin Lau’s The Sages: the apparent friction between creative and conservative elements within the Tannaitic study hall. The blog prides itself on “uncompromising truth and intellectual independence”, a mission statement which I see as an invitation to challenge its uncritical tribute to Rabbi Lau’s account.

Chapter 46 of Judaism Reclaimed, which critiques this section of The Sages, notes that the theory Rabbi Lau (pictured, right) presents is not original research. Rather it closely adheres to a history of the sages compiled centuries ago by the Jewish-German historian Heinrich Graetz. Unfortunately for his readers, not only does Rabbi Lau fail to mention Graetz’s work, but he is also either unaware of or unwilling to engage with a comprehensive and scathing critique of Graetz’s work which takes up over 200 pages of Rabbi S. R. Hirsch’s Collected Writings (Vol. 5).

A significant element of Graetz’s account is his attempt to demonstrate that the hermeneutical creativity of the oral tradition was an innovation on the part of Hillel; an innovation which led to conflict between different groups of sages. Graetz’s suggestion, which runs counter to traditional Judaism’s view that the hermeneutical rules are of Sinaitic origin, is reproduced uncritically by Rabbi Lau who writes in his introduction:

“It was in the beit midrash of Shemaya and Avtalyon that exegesis achieved a new form. There the scholars learned how to expound verses analytically by comparing, juxtaposing, and combining texts…Hillel introduces the practical application of the exegetical principles in the land of Israel…ushers in an exciting period of creativity in developing the Oral Law…”

According to the Graetz-Lau theory, Shammai represented the old and more static traditions while Hillel championed creativity in hermeneutical interpretation and halachic development. Shammai was strict and inflexible while Hillel was lenient and innovative. This apparent tension is then imaginatively threaded through subsequent generations of Tannaitic sages, reaching its peak with the debate between Rabbi Eliezer (“the Shammaite”) and his colleagues concerning the oven of Achnai.

As our chapter shows, Rav Hirsch advances considerable challenges to the Graetz-Lau theory and its depiction of the methodology of interpreting the Torah as being a major battleground between the schools of Hillel and Shammai (and their followers in subsequent generations). Rav Hirsch’s comprehensive research demonstrates, for example, how of 280 recorded disputes between Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai, 245 of them are entirely unrelated to hermeneutical methodology. Of the remaining 35 disputes, we do not find a single example of Beit Shammai disputing the validity of a hermeneutical principle advanced by Beit Hillel; he typically accepts the validity of the interpretative rule but counters with an argument against its specific application in the scenario under discussion. If anything, the reverse is true: a Baraita in Yevamot (16a) describes how school of Shammai offered 300 dialectic arguments to support their contention over a detail of levirate marriage. These arguments nevertheless failed to dislodge Beit Hillel from their loyalty to an ancient tradition. This is also consistent with the Talmud’s comment a couple of pages earlier that it was the school of Shammai that exhibited keener halachic reasoning.

Rather than debating the legitimacy of halachic innovation versus tradition – a theory made possible only by the selective presentation of Tannaic sources – the proliferation of disputes between these two great academies was attributed by a Tosefta to students not having properly absorbed the ideas set forth by their founding sages.

Rabbi Eliezer, presented by Graetz and Rabbi Lau as a rigid Shammaite traditionalist who vigorously rejected the interpretative methodologies (or “inane deliberations”) of his colleagues, is shown to have availed himself of interpretative or logical methods of extracting halachah on no fewer than 63 separate instances. Some of the most complex hermeneutical methods are even said by the Talmud to have been championed by him.

In the infamous Akhnai debate, a dispute over whether a certain type of oven can contract ritual defilement, grows in intensity. Rabbi Eliezer repeatedly succeeds in summoning supernatural affirmations of the correctness of his position. Rabbi Yehoshua dismisses these proofs and famously declares that “it [the Torah’s interpretation] is not in Heaven.” Rabbi Eliezer’s persistent refusal to concede the argument in favour of the majority view leads to his excommunication.

Rabbi Lau’s account views this event as part of an ongoing ideological rift between the schools of Shammai -- which rigidly clings to received tradition -- and Hillel, thought to be more creative and flexible in its hermeneutical interpretations of the Torah. He labels the strong stand taken by Rabbi Eliezer (the “Shammaite’’) in the Achnai episode a “classic example” of rigid adherence to tradition. In doing so, he fails to recognize that the debate is entirely irrelevant to the question of tradition versus creativity; Rabbi Eliezer does not ground his case in received tradition, nor does Rabbi Yehoshua respond with interpretative innovation based on hermeneutical rules. Rather, all parties to the dispute agree on the basic halachic principles governing the ritual impurity of vessels and are involved in a relatively minor disagreement as to how the halachah can be most logically applied to a specific circumstance. Importantly, the Gemara describes how “Rabbi Eliezer advanced all the arguments in the world”—hardly the behaviour of someone clinging doggedly to transmitted dogma.

The special significance of the Achnai case really lies in Rabbi Eliezer’s rejection of majority rule as the proper basis on which to resolve halachic disputes. The powerful implications of this rejection lead Ramban to comment that, had the Sanhedrin been fully functioning at this juncture, Rabbi Eliezer would have been tried as a Zaken Mamre (Rebellious Elder).

Readers with an interest in the history of the Tannaitic study hall are strongly recommended to include the writings of Rav Hirsch – a scholar who truly straddled the worlds of Talmudic and academic Judaism – in their attempts to reconstruct this fascinating period of Jewish history.

First posted to Facebook 16 December 2021, here.

Ketubot: virginity claims and Talmudic wisdom

This coming weekend, Daf Yomi enthusiasts will perhaps breathe a sigh of relief as they conclude the notoriously difficult tractate of Yevamot. The new terrain that they will exchange it for, however, presents the modern Talmudic student with a very different challenge.

What are we to make of sets of laws so firmly entrenched in societies so different to those in which we live? Of husbands taking their brides to court over claims that they were not virgins at the time of their wedding? Of different claims, counterclaims and virginity tests that a Beit Din may have to rule between?

As well as reflecting social attitudes and practices which are difficult to relate to in the twenty-first century, few of the laws that we analyse in this chapter are even remotely applicable in Jewish law today. Notwithstanding this, it is not only Daf-Yomists who will be wrestling with Ketubot in the coming months. The tractate lies right at the heart of pretty much any Yeshiva curriculum, with its intricate web of virginity claims and financial counter-claims being pored over and vigorously debated by all serious budding rabbinic scholars.

My upcoming book, tentatively titled Talmud Reclaimed, therefore uses this opening chapter of Ketubot as a classic case study with which to probe the nature, function and purpose of modern-day Talmud study.

First, I attempt to distinguish the core, immutable elements of Talmudic law which are understood to have been transmitted from Sinai from those aspects which would have been legislated and formulated by later sages and Courts. This latter category, according to Rambam, represents a secondary category of law, and is open to being amended by a legitimately formed Sanhedrin.

The reason why we still study the laws of Ketubot in their current form, therefore, is that no Court or set of sages since Ravina and Rav Ashi has been widely accepted as qualified to alter their teachings since the Talmudic era concluded. Nevertheless, it is valuable to be able to identify which teachings belong to each category: which Talmudic laws are understood to have been transmitted part of God’s instruction to Moshe in the desert and which are likely only still being studied because of the freezing of our oral tradition due to continued exile.

Secondly, I examine the profound wisdom which is woven into the Talmud’s treatment of these remote (and to some even offensive) legal debates. Key Talmudic axioms which affect all areas of Jewish law and important elements of Jewish legal philosophy are subtly threaded through the Talmudic tapestry of this treasured tractate.

It is primarily for this purpose, rather than its strange story line and depiction of women, that Yeshiva students will continue to regard Ketubot as a serious source of Talmudic wisdom.

First posted to Facebook 6 July 2022, here.

How does the Torah empower judges to interpret its laws?

The legitimacy of the sages and Sanhedrin to rule upon and interpret Torah law has been a point of controversy for over 2,000 years. Josephus describes for us the deep divide between the priestly-aristocratic Sadducees, who did not follow received traditions, and the Pharisees with their oral tradition.

Rabbi D. Z. Hoffman argued that this debate over transmitted tradition and judicial interpretation of the Torah was only a small part of a bigger societal rift which was caused by the introduction of Hellenist influences into the Jewish world:

By relieving [the Jews] of all obligations placed on the people by the Sophrim, they [the Sadducees] permitted a freer life and thus were more appealing to the great and powerful than the strict Phariseeism. [The Highest Court pp174-5]

Taking a step back, what can we understand from the Torah’s text itself about what it envisages to be its legitimate mode of interpretation?

We read in last week’s parashah how, in the aftermath of the splitting of the sea, God communicated a set of laws for the nation to observe. These laws, which are traditionally understood to encompass Shabbat and civil laws, appear to have occupied the people greatly. When Yitro visits the nation he observes that they were coming to Moshe “from morning until evening” in order to receive legal guidance and judgment.

Regardless of how clear and comprehensive any legal teaching may be, it will always in practice generate novel cases and borderline scenarios that trigger legitimate debate as to the correct application of the law. Torah law, like all other legal systems, therefore required a system of judicial determination in order to clarify and develop the divine law and assist its application to new situations. Near the start of the 40-year sojourn in the desert, Yitro oversaw the establishing of a hierarchical judicial system for this very purpose: to clarify and rule upon new or complex legal challenges:

And they shall judge the people at all times, and it shall be that any major matter they shall bring to you, and they themselves shall judge every minor matter…

And they would judge the people at all times; the difficult case they would bring to Moses, but any minor case they themselves would judge.

At this early stage in Jewish legal history, the presence of an authenticated prophet with a divine hotline meant that there was no question as to the authority or accuracy of the laws which were being taught and clarified at the top of this system.

Later on the Plains of Moav, however, with Moshe contemplating his own imminent death and the nation’s turbulent transition from a miraculous desert existence to a sovereign nation in Israel, it was apparent that a significant judicial adjustment would be required. At this point, Moshe presented the divine command for a supreme court of Jewish law—a Beit Din HaGadol which would replace him at the top of the desert hierarchy. Instead of difficult cases being brought to him, as had been the practice up until this point, they would now be sent to the Sanhedrin in its chambers at the Mikdash.

If a matter is impossible for you in judgment, between blood and blood, between judgment and judgment, or between affliction and affliction, words of dispute in your cities, then you shall rise and go up to the place the Lord, your God, chooses. And you shall come to the kohanim-levi’im and to the judge who will be in those days, and you shall inquire, and they will tell you the words of judgment.

In the absence of Moshe’s clear divine mandate to define and elucidate the commandments, this supreme court needed to be unambiguously invested with biblical authority to rule:

And you shall do according to the word they tell you, from the place the Lord will choose, and you shall observe to do according to all they rule for you. According to the law they rule for you and according to the judgment they say to you, you shall do; you shall not stray from the word they tell you, either right or left. And the man who acts intentionally, not obeying the kohen who stands there to serve the Lord, your God, or to the judge. That man shall die, and you shall abolish evil from Israel.

On this basis, the Torah is understood to have invested this court, which replaces Moshe as the supreme legal authority, with standing both to transmit the known body of laws and to issue rulings which can further clarify and define the Torah’s meaning and legal details.

According to Rambam’s understanding, the court has jurisdiction to rule and legislate concerning any of the finer details of biblical law that were not taught explicitly at Sinai (see further in my third essay in this Judaism Reclaimed sample - https://judaismreclaimed.com/sample/). This is seemingly a consequence of the verse framing the court’s role as “If a matter is impossible (ki yipoleh) for you in judgment” – laws which are clearly contained within the transmitted meaning of the text would appear to lie beyond the court’s jurisdiction. With regard to other details of law, however, a properly constituted Sanhedrin is granted a power of hora’ah (asher yorucha) through which they can interpret and define terms of the Torah’s text in order to legitimately clarify and determine details of Torah law.

First posted on Facebook 5 February 2023, here.

A Rosh Hashanah showdown in the Holy Land

Anyone witnessing the wide-eyed panic of Israeli shoppers in the Machane Yehuda market last week would have been quickly reminded of the fact that a two-day celebration in the Holy Land is a relatively rare occurrence. While Jews living in the Diaspora are accustomed to repeating festive days on account of an ancient calendrical doubt whose results remain enshrined in Jewish law, this phenomenon was never instituted for Jews in the Land of Israel – except that is for Rosh Hashanah.

Or was it?

In the course of my recent research into the formation and authority of the Babylonian Talmud, I came across a fascinating passage contained in the Me’or Hakattan commentary of Rabbi Zerachyah Halevy. Reviewing the Rif’s codification of the Talmudic ruling that Rosh Hashanah must be observed for two days – even in the land of Israel – Rabbi Zerachyah notes that this law was not observed in Israel throughout the Geonic era.

The calendar had always been within the jurisdiction of the original Sanhedrin that sat in the land of Israel, an institution which ceased to exist only with the migration of Jews to Bavel in the fourth century. Perhaps for this reason, the attempt by Babylonian sages to impose a second day of Rosh Hashanah upon the community in Palestine was resisted so strongly, even though this ruling was apparently formalised within the Babylonian Talmud. Rabbi Zerachyah recounts how Rav Hai Gaon attempted unsuccessfully to convince Palestinian communities to observe a second day of the festival in accordance with his understanding of the Babylonian Talmud, but that they had only finally acquiesced to the two-day observance rule in “recent” times at the persuasion of rabbis from Provence. [Rabbi Zerachyah lived circa 1115 to 1186. Rav Hai Gaon lived from 939-1038 CE.]

Ran in his commentary to this ruling of the Rif points out that both sides of this dispute could be seen as legitimate interpretations of the Babylonian Talmud which only rules concerning an era in which the Sanhedrin fixed the calendar according to witnessed sightings of the new moon. Nevertheless, the matter evidently evolved into a question of authority between the Babylonian Geonim and their understanding of the Talmud and the Palestinian community who wished to maintain their tradition of celebrating for one day only.

A further ancient practice of the Palestinian-influenced communities which ceased at around this point was the triennial cycle of Torah reading. The triennial cycle was the practice in Israel, whereas in Babylonia the entire Torah was read in the synagogue in the course of a single year. As late as 1170, Benjamin of Tudela recounted how Egyptian congregations took three years to read the Torah.

It would seem that Babylonian authority over communities in Palestine was a sore and contentious point. During the early generations of Amoraim, scholarship and academies in the land of Israel had rivalled and perhaps even eclipsed those of Bavel, with its sitting Sanhedrin and Yerushalmi Talmud which was produced by Rabbi Yochanan in the 4th century. Subsequent religious persecution led to a significant wave of migration to Bavel and with it the inclusion of numerous Palestinian voices and rulings in the Babylonian Talmud. Nevertheless, Jews in the land of Israel for centuries to come did not fully accept the notion that they were bound by the conclusions of the Babylonian Talmud rather than its Palestinian counterpart. They seem to have maintained that the two Talmuds bore equal legal force, since each represented a legitimate representation of the same underlying oral tradition. This was the situation until the establishment of the caliphate in Baghdad in the eighth century, when Abassid Babylonia became the centre not only of Arabic but also of Jewish culture. From then on, the influence of the Babylonian Talmud gradually began to overwhelm that of the Palestinian Talmud.

Ultimately, the Crusades thoroughly weakened the Jewish community in the land of Israel. This, coupled with a sustained campaign on the part of students of the Rif, appears to have ended whatever resistance had remained to the universal acceptance of the Babylonian Talmud as an exclusive binding source of Jewish law. However, the existence of a precise historical point at which it could be deemed “universally accepted by all of Israel”, as Rambam maintains in his introduction to Mishneh Torah, is a matter which might be subject to some debate.

First posted to Facebook 28 September 2022, here.