Discovering an Approach to Midrash
Learning to read midrash is a valuable skill for students of Tanakh.1Tanakh is the Hebrew acronym for the Jewish Bible. It stands for Torah (the Pentateuch), Nevi’im (Prophets) and Ketuvim (Scriptures). For teachers, it is of vital importance. And yet, our attempts to study midrash systematically are often stymied by the lack of a clear understanding on how to approach it.
Even people familiar with midrashic sources may have difficulty defining exactly what midrash is or seeing the connection between a particular midrash and the biblical text it discusses.2The term ‘midrash’ (plural – ‘midrashim’) will be defined shortly. Readers may also find certain midrashim disturbingly implausible, such as the talmudic description of the angel Gavriel affixing a tail to Queen Vashti (Megila 12b). Are statements such as this meant to be taken literally? If not, what are we to make of them?3For a discussion of these and related issues, see Part II of this book, in particular Chapter 8: Understanding the Narrative Expansion (the Midrashic Story).
Turning for guidance to the commentaries found in standard editions of midrash, we often find that they are essentially annotations rather than fully developed interpretations of midrashic texts. While invaluable for explaining difficult terminology and providing related sources, these commentaries often leave us with unanswered questions. Sometimes we come upon brief, illuminating interpretations within them, but thorough discussion of the midrashic message and methodology is rare.
Even commentaries offering extensive discussion may not completely meet our needs because they tend to approach midrash from the perspective of Jewish thought, or from a mystical world view. Thus, for example, the profound readings of midrash found in the works of the Maharal4Rabbi Yehuda Loew of Prague, sixteenth century. and the Hasidic masters typically seek a core concept at the heart of the midrash. Not surprisingly, this leads them to focus on specific elements within midrashic texts, leaving other aspects without interpretation. Within their particular intellectual framework, this omission is not problematic, but it may leave general readers with unresolved questions about the midrash as a whole.
Given the elusive nature of midrash and the absence of tools for analyzing it, we may find ourselves at a loss when attempting to grasp what midrash has to teach us. Even worse, we may mistakenly assume that we have plumbed the depths of a complex, subtle text just because it seems accessible and easy to translate.
Like many Tanakh teachers, I have wrestled with the problem of how to understand midrash, as it inevitably arises when midrash is used as an interpretive tool in the Tanakh classroom. Early in my career, I discovered that I could not really articulate the rationale behind my readings of midrash or offer students methodological tools for reading midrash independently. This gap in my pedagogical repertoire stood in sharp contrast to the clarity with which I was able to explain the conceptual and methodological tools I used in teaching later Bible commentary. As my teaching style matured, I began to feel that a hit-and-miss approach to midrash was no longer adequate.
During a two-year sabbatical with the Jerusalem Fellows program, I concentrated on deepening my understanding of midrash by studying the writings of the rishonim5The term rishonim refers to rabbinic authors from approximately the tenth to the sixteenth centuries. on midrash and agada, and by reading a wide range of academic works on the subject. My reading showed me that the analytical tools used by academics would enable me to think systematically about midrash, and offer categories and concepts that could be employed to translate Hazal’s6Hazal is a Hebrew acronym for Hahamenu zikhronam livrakha (our Sages of blessed memory) and refers to the rabbis of the talmudic period. mode of discourse into language my students would understand.7Yitzchak Heinemann’s Darkhei Haagada (Magnes Press, 1953) was of particular help in this respect. Reading his thoughtful, detailed analysis of Hazal’s methodology, I was often struck by his ability to describe elements within Hazal’s thought and language that were already familiar to me, but in terms that I had not encountered before. This led me to become aware of a great body of knowledge, largely unconscious, with which I was fortunate enough to have been inculcated. It was like learning the grammatical terms for my native language. This enabled me to teach the “language” to “non-native speakers.”
While I didn’t always agree with what Heinemann had to say, his overall approach was extremely beneficial to me. Because I am not an academic, I did not feel constrained to comply with all the conventions of academic discourse. This enabled me to adopt from the academic world those elements that enhanced my understanding of midrash without abandoning my sense of midrash study as unambiguously part of talmud Torah (Torah study).
Returning to the teaching of Tanakh with this new perspective, I was now able to make the most of midrash as an interpretive mechanism. Before my sabbatical, I had frequently employed midrash as Bible commentary without being able to show how the message had been derived from the midrash. Now, I was able to explain readings and present the basics of a methodology for approaching these texts.
Locating Midrash Within the Literature of Hazal
One positive outcome of my explorations was a newfound ability to construct a working definition of midrash. Interestingly, my academic excursion had led me full circle back to essentially the same definition of midrash I had been taught as a child: midrash is Hazal’s unique approach to the study of Tanakh.8Arriving at this definition was the outcome of a synthesis between my original understanding of midrash and some of the academic reading I had done. None of the academic works I read defined midrash in precisely this way. This definition became far more meaningful, however, when I realized that it had concrete implications for distinguishing midrash both from other areas within the literature of Hazal and from biblical commentary of later periods.
The first element in this definition – and the one most easily overlooked – is that a midrashic teaching, by definition, is always based on a biblical verse or topic, unlike other texts from the period of Hazal. This is the case whether the type of midrash is midrash halakha or midrash agada.9For the most part, when people use the term “midrash” in non-technical discussion, they are usually referring to midrash agada but the term “midrash” more accurately refers to both categories. Midrash halakha is the body of legal teachings derived from the Torah text through midrashic methodology. Midrash agada is the body of interpretive and homiletic teachings derived from the narrative portions of the Tanakh through similar techniques. Critically, what distinguishes both these categories from other halakhic and agadic (non-halakhic) teachings of Hazal is their necessary connection to the biblical text.
Midrash vs. Mishna
The ramifications of defining midrash as Hazal’s unique approach to the study of Tanakh become clearer when we contrast midrashic literature with the Mishna. While midrashic works are often organized to follow the order of the verses within the books of the Tanakh and extract meaning from the verses as they occur, the Mishna is encyclopedic in nature, organized loosely by topic. Generally, topics are discussed in terms of legal cases and the rulings that emerge from them. Biblical verses may be cited as prooftexts in the Mishna, but mishnaic method does not primarily involve mining the biblical text for its teachings.10Consider, for example, the difference in approach between the Sifre (a book of midrash halakha on Deuteronomy) and the mishnaic tractate Bikurim with regard to the mitzvah of first fruits. The midrash begins with the first verse of the commandment, Deuteronomy 26:1 and, following the order of the verses, extracts the halakhic teachings from each verse. Thus, for example, where Deuteronomy 26:2 states: “And you shall take of the first of all the fruits of the earth…” the Sifre comments: “You might [think that] all the fruits are obligated in [the commandment of] bikurim, [but we learn otherwise because] the biblical text says, ‘of the first, ’ and not ‘all the first….’”
In contrast, the Mishna in the first chapter of Tractate Bikurim starts from a different perspective, with the first mishna reading: “Some people bring first fruits and recite the required declaration; some bring first fruits but do not recite; and some do not bring first fruits...” While the midrash is tied to the biblical text, the Mishna is free to organize the material as it sees fit. In this case, that means starting the topic with who is obligated to bring first fruits rather than what types of fruit must be brought.
Because the Mishna is organized around legal topics, it includes relatively little discussion of the biblical narrative. In contrast, the obligation of midrash to the biblical text makes it address whatever the verses raise. In practical terms, this means that while the two broad categories of midrash halakha and midrash agada are in many ways distinct, the lines between them are often blurred. For example, a text of midrash halakha may introduce a midrashic story in the midst of its halakhic discussion if the verses being discussed give rise to the story.11For example Mekhilta d’Rabbi Yishmael, a midrash halakha on Exodus, contains many midreshei agada, one of which is discussed in Chapter 5. By the same token, books of midrash agada may contain halakhic elements.12See, for example, Genesis Rabba 46:11–13, which discusses halakhic aspects of circumcision. Thus, a defining characteristic of midrash – its necessary linkage with the biblical text – plays a role in determining how it is organized and what it addresses.13Interestingly, although the Talmud is based on the Mishna, it often digresses from the halakhic discussion into other areas and, in fact, contains many midrashim.
Midrash and Agada
This connection between midrash and the biblical verse also enables us to identify midrashic elements in the Talmud and distinguish them from agada, an area within the literature of Hazal with which midrash is sometimes confused.14The confusion between the two arises because many people use the word “midrash” as shorthand for the more accurate “midrash agada.” Although the two terms are frequently used interchangeably, “midrash” and “agada” are distinct categories. The general term agada refers to any area within the literature of Hazal that is not halakhic in nature. Included in this overall category are stories about the Rabbis, historiography, rabbinic proverbs, and, indeed, midrash agada. What distinguishes the specific category of midrash agada from agada is that midrash, by definition, is based in the biblical text. Midrash agada, a subset of agada, contains interpretations of the biblical text or uses the biblical text as a springboard for discussion. Agada, however, need not be linked to the biblical text, and can convey its teachings through other means.
Midrashic Purpose: the Broad Scope of Midrashic Inquiry
If we want to plumb the depths of midrash, we need to consider it in light of the larger body of classic Jewish writings. Not surprisingly, some of the elements that characterize midrash are also reflected in the larger rabbinic corpus15One such element, found throughout the literature of Hazal, is the use of simple, concrete examples to convey sophisticated ideas. The midrashic use of parables to clarify subtleties in the biblical text is an illustration of this element. Similarly, in the realm of agada, Hazal often teach complicated theological concepts through the medium of seemingly simple stories about the Rabbis. Halakhic teachings are also characterized by the use of concrete images to encapsulate complex categories. Thus, for example, in its discussion of compensation for damages (in Bava Kama), the Talmud uses images like “an ox that gored” or “a pit in the public domain” to represent different categories of liability. Each such image stands for a class of features that define a whole category and distinguish it from other categories. For more on this idea, see Susan Handelman’s discussion of binyan av in Slayers of Moses, State University of New York Press, 1982, chapter 3. as well as in later forms of biblical commentary.16Traditional Bible commentary, for instance, shares the reverence of midrash for the biblical text and its sensitivity to the nuances of biblical language. Nonetheless, in purpose, style, and methodology, midrash is unique.
To reach a better understanding of the difference in purpose between midrash and later biblical commentary, we must distinguish between interpretation (parshanut) and homiletics (darshanut) in the study of Tanakh. Interpretation is an attempt to explain the meaning of the text. The interpretive act demands that the reader17I am using ‘reader’ to refer both to Bible students, and commentators on the Bible throughout the ages. listen to the text in order to hear what it is saying; the careful reader works on letting meaning emerge from the text rather than on projecting meaning upon it. Homiletics, in contrast to interpretation, involves using the biblical text – very often against its plain sense – as a vehicle for conveying a predetermined concept or lesson. Connecting that lesson with a biblical source lends the homily authority and rhetorical force. Doing so, however, entails exploiting the biblical text to personal ends rather than trying to understand it on its own terms.
Interpretation is a complex matter, and the description of the interpretive process offered here doesn’t exhaustively describe or explain it. For our purposes, though, focusing on the distinction between interpretation and homiletics allows us to avoid the knotty problem of actually defining that slippery term “peshuto shel mikra” (the plain sense of the text), so often mistakenly perceived as the opposite of a midrashic reading.
Just how difficult it is accurately to define “the plain sense of the text” becomes clear through a comparison of readings offered by commentators on almost any given biblical verse. As one might expect, despite the purported goal of each commentator to explain the peshat (plain sense) of the verse, rarely are two readings alike. We can only conclude that an absolute, completely objective “plain sense of the text” does not exist (or that if it exists it is not accessible to us, which amounts to the same thing). Indeed, we cannot expect to arrive at the “plain sense of the text,” since we know that all readers bring a set of assumptions and preconceptions, often unconscious, to the act of reading; the unique mindset of each reader inevitably affects his understanding of the text. For this reason, much of the work of Bible study involves attempting to reconstruct the reasoning behind conflicting interpretations. Needless to say, the various commentators differ in their approaches to biblical grammar, the role of context in interpretation, and the nature of biblical conventions – to name just three factors that contribute to the interpretive act. Not surprisingly, then, they perceive the biblical text in such a diverse range of ways.
By the same token, the line between interpretation and homiletics is far easier to draw in theory than in practice, as Nehama Leibowitz wryly noted in her tongue-in-cheek definition of the terms peshat (the plain sense reading of the text) and derash (a homiletical reading): “Peshat is what I say and derash is what you say.” Interpretation and homiletics are perhaps more accurately conceived of as opposite poles in a continuum. At the extremes, the distinction between the two categories is fairly clear but the lines blur toward the middle.18It is also worth noting that context and readers’ perceptions play a role in determining whether a statement has an interpretive or homiletical effect. Thus, a preacher might incorporate an interpretive statement in a homiletical text to strengthen his point; in that context, the interpretive statement will take on a homiletical coloration. By the same token, a reader might derive interpretive insight from a homiletical text, even though the text was composed with a purely sermonic agenda.
I would like to suggest, even so, that there is value in framing our discussion in terms of parshanut (interpretation) and darshanut (homiletics) rather than the more commonly used peshat and derash. This is because “the plain sense of the text” is commonly assumed to be a property of the biblical text, with each text having only one “plain sense.” Interpretation and homiletics, in contrast, are modes of text study and, as such, can be understood as descriptions of authorial intent. When we ask ourselves whether a commentator’s reading is interpretive or homiletical, what we are really asking is what he is attempting to do with the biblical text – explain it or exploit it – and not whether he has succeeded in doing so. This gives us the intellectual space to recognize a reading as interpretive even if we initially find it implausible. Recognizing the interpretive process even in a reading we disagree with enables us to examine not only the author’s underlying assumptions, but also our own.19For an interesting discussion of issues relating to the interpretive process, see Stanley Fish’s Is There a Text in This Class? Harvard University Press, 1980.
Jewish tradition accords legitimacy both to interpretation of the Tanakh and to homiletical teachings based on the Tanakh. Both styles of study are hallowed forms of talmud Torah, and each fills a niche within Torah scholarship. The Bible class (i.e., learning Tanakh and commentary) and the rabbinical sermon (i.e., the creative homiletics of a speaker) continue to coexist and thrive in Jewish communities where Torah study is taken seriously, as they have throughout Jewish history.
Midrash and Later Traditional Bible Commentary
For the most part, classic Bible commentary from Rashi (eleventh century) to the Netziv20Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin of Volozhin, author of Ha’amek davar among other works. (nineteenth century) assumes the task of interpreting the text, rather than offering a homiletical approach to it.21See, for example, Rashi’s programmatic statement in his commentary on Genesis 3:8 (“ vayishme’u…”) and the Rashbam’s on the necessity of explaining the plain sense of the text in his commentary on Genesis 37:2 (“eila...”) Also note the distinction the Ramban draws between the plain sense of the text and its mystical meaning in his commentary on Genesis 1:3 (“yehi ohr...”). We may assume that commentators who do not make programmatic statements of this sort also share the goal of explaining the plain sense of the text since they often argue the merits of their reading (or disagree with others’ readings) on the basis of the distinction between the plain sense of the text and a homily. Even in instances when biblical commentary of this type spills over into homiletics, the homily is usually an aside, parenthetical to the overall agenda of the commentator.
The midrashic agenda, in contrast, is far broader. Midrash explores the biblical text exhaustively, seeking both the plain sense of the text and its homiletical possibilities without distinguishing rigidly between them. This does not mean that Hazal were unaware of the distinction between interpretation and homiletics. They and the Bible commentators who followed them shared the understanding that while there are many ways of reading a text, there is a qualitative difference between explaining the text and projecting meanings onto it. Statements like ein mikra yotze midei peshuto22Yevamot 24a. See Rashi on these words. (The phrase appears in other places as well, such as Shabbat 63a and Yevamot 11b. An examination of the quote in the context of Shabbat 63a will show why the Yevamot citation is preferred.) (“a biblical verse does not lose its plain sense meaning”) attest to this. Indeed, the midrashic use of biblical verses often depends on Hazal’s assumption that the reader can distinguish between the plain sense of the verse and the use to which it is put in a midrash. That said, the purpose of midrash is to derive a maximal amount of teachings – homiletical as well as strictly interpretive – from each biblical verse as fully as possible, on the assumption that the Torah contains endless levels of meaning. This breadth of purpose is one source of the puzzlement felt by readers accustomed to the more narrowly focused agenda of classic Bible commentary, and leads them to conclude, mistakenly, that the midrashic agenda is largely homiletical rather than interpretive. Actually, the midrashic agenda encompasses both homily and interpretation.
The word ‘midrash’ (from the root d-r-sh) also plays a role in creating this impression. The root d-r-sh, which conveys meanings like ‘seek,’ ‘ask,’ and ‘investigate,’ is also the basis for the word derasha (homily, sermon). As might be expected, the association of the word ‘midrash’ with ‘derasha’ could easily lead one to conclude that midrashic literature is made up of derashot (homilies).
In fact, however, the two primary styles of Tanakh study – the interpretive and the homiletical – are found side-by-side within midrashic literature. The interpretive midrash, like the classic Bible commentary succeeding it historically, usually focuses on a difficulty in the biblical text for the purpose of resolving it. This may involve explaining the meaning of a word, phrase, verse, or story and/or its connection to other elements in the biblical text. In contrast, the homiletical midrash, like the rabbinical sermon, plays with the possibilities inherent in the seemingly simple language of the Tanakh to teach, preach, or discuss concepts that do not necessarily rise organically out of a reading of the biblical text.23As noted above, interpretation and homiletics are poles of a continuum. The same may be said for interpretive and homiletical midrashim. Although classifying midrashim helps us understand them, we should always be aware that interpretive midrashim may be used homiletically, and homelitical midrashim may have interpretive aspects.
Midrashic Style
Because midrashim do not come neatly labeled by type or genre, only a thorough understanding of the text enables a reader to know whether a midrash is interpretive or homiletical.24This point was brought home to me very dramatically in a lesson I was teaching on the David-Avigayil story (I Samuel 1:24). Preparing the material for the class, I had come across the following brief midrashic comment in Yalkut Shimoni (Volume 2:134): R. Simon said: ‘He is Naval, he is Lavan. Just as Lavan was a trickster, Naval was a trickster.’ I noted the word play on the names of the two characters and the connection made between their personalities. However, since I generally choose interpretive midrashim in teaching a biblical text, and had mentally categorized this midrash as homiletical, I omitted it from the list of sources my students would be asked to study in preparation for the class. Imagine my surprise when a student piped up with: “You know, this guy Naval really reminds me of Lavan.” I showed the class the source in Yalkut Shimoni and asked her to elaborate. With the help of the rest of the students, she produced a beautifully detailed comparison of the Yaakov-Lavan story and chapter 24 of Samuel.
Among the similarities they noted are that both stories are set in a pastoral setting. The plots of both stories revolve crucially around the flocks and wealth of the wicked character. In both cases, the righteous character of the story provides a service for which the wicked character does not wish to pay. Both stories place women in a conflict of loyalties between the righteous and wicked characters: Rahel and Leah have to choose between righteous husband and wicked father, Avigayil between wicked husband and righteous incumbent king.
The contrast between the stories was no less illuminating than the comparison. Both contrast and comparison gave us much food for thought in our analysis of the chapter.
It is impossible to say whether R. Simon meant to imply as much as we derived from his brief comment, but my failure to see the interpretive potential of this source showed me very clearly the dangers of automatically assuming that a midrash is homiletical. Understanding midrash demands that we learn a mode of discourse very different from the one in which we are accustomed to read Bible commentary.
Many of the classic Bible commentators use language that is considerably more succinct than that of Western philosophical or literary works. Nonetheless, even the most laconic of the Bible commentators convey their readings in prose form, building their arguments in the straightforward, linear style that generally characterizes Western non-fictional writing.
In our encounters with the kinds of stories and images midrash employs to communicate information, we find ourselves in a literary universe light years away from that of later Bible commentary. Midrashic style is characterized by the dense, concise, figurative language Hazal use to convey the complex understandings they uncover in the biblical text. Among the vehicles employed for the midrashic message are parable, story, and word-play. Each of these literary devices is misleadingly simple; a true appreciation of them requires careful consideration. The skills we use to analyze linear arguments are inadequate for the task of extracting the Rabbis’ subtle, highly sophisticated messages from the figurative language in which they are clothed.
Some examples might be the statement in Genesis Rabba 85:2 that Potiphar’s wife attempted to seduce Yosef “for the sake of Heaven.”25See Chapter 14 Exodus Rabba 3:1 tells us that God called to Moshe using his father’s voice.26See Chapter 10. Sanhedrin 107a portrays David as contemplating idol worship.27See Chapter 15. And Exodus Rabba 3:4 compares God to a common maidservant.28See Chapter 12. Texts such as these, taken at face value rather than read closely, may lead us to think that Hazal could not possibly be conveying interpretive readings of the type found in later Bible commentary. In the absence of guiding principles on how to approach texts of such opacity, readers may find themselves at a loss, locked out of the midrashic discourse.
Once we have learned the Rabbis’ language, though, and understand how it operates, midrashic style ceases to be an impediment to understanding. In effect, it even sensitizes us to the power of the biblical text, and provides a link between the more diffuse modern language we use for discussing ideas and the stark linguistic density of the Tanakh, so heavily laden with meaning.
Midrashic Methodology
The uniqueness of midrash is manifested not only in its broad agenda and distinctive style, but also in its methodology. Although classic Bible commentary is remarkably sensitive to nuances in the language of the Tanakh, only in midrash are the interpretive and homiletical possibilities of biblical language stretched to the fullest extent. This is due to Hazal’s unique view of language as a whole, and to the special significance they perceive in the Holy Tongue and in biblical language. In keeping with biblical theology, they maintain intense respect for the word, according it independent reality and even power over the physical world. Taken together with the religious obligation to understand the Tanakh as fully as possible, their sanctification of language compels the Rabbis to explore every conceivable combination and permutation within the linguistic universe of the Tanakh.
At the same time, Hazal treat language with astonishing flexibility, allowing themselves virtually absolute freedom to engage with it as they see fit.29Yitzchak Heinemann, in Darkhei Haagada, points out that while Greek hermeneutics is governed by the notion of logos, the organizing principle for both language and the world, Hazal’s approach is not constrained in the same manner. The smallest possible meaningful unit in the Greek hermeneutic is the word, and its meaning is dependent upon the larger context within which it appears. In the linguistic universe of Hazal, however, even the letter is not the smallest meaningful unit. (See Menahot 29b for the story of Moshe in the bet midrash of Rabbi Akiva which begins with Moshe’s question about the purpose of the crowns he is affixing to the letters of the Torah. God answers that the as-yet-unborn Rabbi Akiva will expound upon them.) This is not to say that logos and context play no role in Hazal’s interpretation of the Tanakh, but rather that meaning may be construed both within and outside the bounds of these categories. Given that Hazal’s search for meaning is not of necessity restricted to the plain sense of the text, and given the openness with which they approach the language of the Tanakh, the wide-ranging nature of their readings may seem arbitrary – even anti-methodological – to the uninitiated.
Careful analysis of midrash, however, shows that the Rabbis are profoundly thoughtful and respectful in their reading of the biblical text, even though some of the mechanisms used in midrash are hard to recognize as methodology for a reader unfamiliar with them. On one hand, midrashic methodology uses a variety of close reading techniques to analyze the biblical text,30The Rabbis describe some of these techniques formally in different lists of ‘rules by which the Torah is interpreted’ (middot she’haTorah nidreshet bahen). For a complete discussion of these rules and how the different lists relate to one another, see Rabbi Moshe Ostrovsky, Hamiddot she’haTorah nidreshet bahen, Jerusalem, 1981. on the assumption that each word in the Tanakh is intentionally chosen and charged with significance. The arrangement of words and phrases within a verse and across the narrative are seen as purposeful, as are cases of apparent repetitiveness or missing details. Every aspect of the text counts in Hazal’s search for meaning. On the other hand, some midrashic insights are a matter of free association, play on words, or subtle alterations made in the grammar or punctuation of the biblical text, mechanisms many readers may have difficulty seeing as methodological. These “un-methodological” methodologies, though, are completely reasonable from Hazal’s perspective; a reader initiated into the rabbinical mindset begins to see their reason too. After all, if language has a reality of its own, words and other elements of language are objects to be studied, manipulated, taken apart and put back together again in order to be understood, just as physical phenomena are explored, poked, prodded and speculated about by the scientific mind in its specialized quest for meaning.
The Interpretive Midrash as a Window on Tanakh
Midrash is far too vast and complex a body of Torah to be studied using only one approach. Even when a methodology for analyzing a particular category of midrash can be suggested, it would be highly presumptuous to assume that any given midrash can be reduced to a single meaning, however deep.
As a teacher who has come to the world of midrash through Tanakh study, I have always been most interested in midrash agada that interprets the biblical narrative, as opposed to midrash halakha or homiletical midrash agada. In this book, I have limited my inquiry to a very particular area: a methodology for analyzing interpretive midrash agada. I have chosen to explore two genres within the category of interpretive midrash agada: the mashal (midrashic parable) and the narrative expansion (midrashic story).
Each of the readings presented in this book attempts to reconstruct the reasoning behind midrashic commentary on biblical narrative with the goal of conveying a sensitivity, inspired by Hazal, to the language and meanings of the Tanakh, as well as a reverent appreciation for the language and teachings of Hazal. I have tried to justify my readings by grounding them in a close reading of rabbinical language and by presenting, with greatest possible clarity, the assumptions guiding my readings of these texts. Ultimately, however, the interpretive act, unlike the mathematical proof, requires a leap on the part of the person engaged in interpretation, one that may or may not be seen as plausible by others.31As anthropologist Clifford Geertz said, “You either grasp an interpretation or you do not, see the point of it or you do not, accept it or you do not” (The Interpretation of Cultures, Fontana Press, 1993, p. 24).
Studying midrash has been, and continues to be, a source of deep religious inspiration for me. I hope the reader will likewise be moved by these readings to even greater respect for the midrashic mind. May the intellectual process involved serve to reinforce the spiritual and religious awe evoked in any act of Torah study.
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About the Structure of This Book
Chapters 1–7 of this book focus on the mashal (parable) genre. These chapters present a step-by-step methodology for reading the mashal – something akin to a template. The rationale for this template is laid out in Chapter 1: Understanding the Mashal; Chapter 2 presents its structure. My hope is that the readings offered in this section will demonstrate how Hazal use stories of their own making to interpret the biblical narrative.
The tools acquired in analyzing the mashal lay the groundwork for understanding chapters 8–17, which deal with the narrative expansion (midrashic story). Along the way, we will grapple with issues that inevitably arise when studying midrash, such as the question of midrashic factuality, and the freedom in Hazal’s use of biblical verses in their readings of the Tanakh.
Several of the midrashim selected will be familiar to readers; some may be completely new. I have deliberately chosen texts from the volumes of midrashim that might be found on the average Jewish bookshelf rather than from more obscure sources. I have also opted for standard traditional editions of midrashic texts over more recently produced academic editions. My motivation is the wish to remain focused on techniques for deriving messages from midrash rather than on issues of textual emendation.
That said, the reader is advised that the standard editions of midrash are not always the ones most faithful to the historically reliable manuscripts. In the case of the examples analyzed here, the differences between the standard editions and the best scholarly editions did not seem critical to me, but it is always interesting and often worthwhile to make the comparisons.32In a number of places, I refer readers to an alternate version of a midrash and/or point out some of the differences between the version I analyze and other versions.
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A Note on Translations
Translating biblical and midrashic texts has been something of a technical headache, as might be expected. I chose not to rely upon existing translations (although I have in certain cases checked my “home-made” translations against others).
Much has been said and written about what is lost by reading literature in translation. When it comes to the study of Torah, the problem of translation is immeasurably more acute, because the sanctity of the texts we are trying to understand is fundamentally untranslatable.
A Spanish proverb has it that a translation may be either faithful or beautiful but not both. For the purposes of this book, beautiful translation would have proved deficient, since much of our interpretive work hinges on precisely the kind of ambiguity or nuance that would be destroyed in the attempt to produce a flowing or elegant rendition. My preference, then, has been the faithful translation over the beautiful one. The choice is not a simple one, since the more literal the translation, the less it does justice to the aesthetic qualities of the original. To compensate for the aesthetic deficiencies of these translations, I recommend that readers take advantage of the original texts of the midrashim, which are reproduced in the appendix.
Acknowledgements
Writing this book has been an educational experience. Among the things I have learned is just how many wonderful people I know.
First and foremost, I would like to express the deepest gratitude to my dear friend, Professor Susan Handelman, without whom this book would never even have been attempted. With characteristic warmth and tenacity, she pushed, pulled, prodded and cajoled every step of the way, constantly exhorting me to “Write it down!”
Not the least of her gifts to me was an introduction to Dr. Ora Elper who has become a valued friend and an indispensable editor. Ora’s impressive editorial skills, professionalism, and formidable intelligence were always offered with tact and gentle good humor. This book would not be what it is without her and I am very grateful.
Tzvi Mauer of Urim Publications has been everything a publisher should be. It has been a pleasure working with him and his excellent staff.
Most of this book was written in the Judaica Reading Room of the National Library on the Givat Ram Campus of Hebrew University. I am greatly indebted to its impeccably professional staff. Alisa Allon, Elona Avinezer, Zipora Ben Abou, and Ruth Flint have created a warm home-away-from-home for the numerous scholars and students who frequent it. I would also like to thank Dena Ordan, one of the “regulars” at the library, for helping me learn to use my laptop and for introducing me to many of the wonderful scholars at the Reading Room. My friends Chana Slutzkin and Robin Eaton provided both pleasant companionship and much appreciated transportation on my almost daily trips to the library.
Several people read portions of the book at various stages and I benefited significantly from their input. I would like to thank Meir Baruch, Rabbi Dr. Joshua Berman, Adi Bougich, Rabbi Dr. Gavriel Cohen, and Tyra Lieberman for their thoughtful, perceptive comments. My friend and hevruta, Batya Gallant, offered both constructive criticism and warm personal support throughout. I would like to express my particular appreciation to Rabbi Shalom Carmy for taking the time to read my manuscript despite the fact that he did not know me personally. His suggestions were indispensable, and they were offered with generous encouragement. I also cannot thank Rabbi Zev Leff enough for his kind willingness to read my manuscript. His gracious haskama is an adornment to this book.
My sisters, Jeanette Baruch and Channie Rappaport, provided much needed moral support during the lengthy process of writing this book, as did my dear friends Miriam Triebitz, Miriam Shaul, and Ruth Pinkenson Feldman.
I have been privileged to learn Torah from many wonderful teachers. Some have been truly exceptional, like Dr. Avraham Zalkin. As my mentor in the Jerusalem Fellows program, he was a formative influence in helping me develop the approach to midrash taken in this book. Among other things, he guided my reading and directed me to some of the special teachers and thinkers in Jerusalem. A true yakir Yerushalayim, he is a role model in every sense of the word.
The most important teachers in my life have been my many students. I have been blessed with the privilege of teaching Torah in Jerusalem and have been fortunate to have students from all walks of life. To them I owe not only intellectual and spiritual lessons, but also the extraordinary gift of being a teacher.
My children, Shmuel Moshe, Avigayil, and Baruch Nechemiah have been a continual source of joy and pleasure. Their maturity and forbearance while I was writing this book were greatly appreciated. Their supportiveness made everything easier.
Aharon aharon haviv. My husband, David, has supported me in every way imaginable from the earliest days of our marriage. At every crossroads in my teaching career, he has lovingly cheered me on, encouraging me always to grow. This book could never have been written without him. Appreciation, gratitude, and love are not easily conveyed in a public acknowledgement. David evokes them all, in abundance.