Torah of Wine, Water, & Milk — BT Ta’anit 7a (part 2) — #123

R. Chanina bar Pappa raised a contradiction: It is written, Bring water to the thirsty (Isaiah 21:14) and [elsewhere] it is written, All who are thirsty, go to water (Isaiah 55:1). If the student is worthy, Bring water to the thirsty, but if not, All who are thirsty, go to water. R. Chanina bar Chama raised a contradiction: It is written, Let your springs be dispersed outwards (Proverbs 5:16), and it is written, Let them be for you alone (Proverbs 5:17). If the students are worthy, Let your springs be dispersed outwards, but if not, Let them be for you alone. 

INTRODUCTION

In this next installment of a continuing conversation about Torah study (see TMT 120), the Rabbis turn to a new set of metaphors. Here we find the an oft-used metaphor: water. As with the metaphors of fire and trees (TMT 121) the Rabbis take us in unexpected directions that challenge  our presumptions. The two sages quoted in this pages are both “Chanina,” so I will refer to them by their full names.

COMMENTARY

R. Chanina bar Pappa and R. Chanina bar Chama both offer a set of verses that, on the surface, seem to contradict one another. A common interpretative technique of the Rabbis, when confronted with conflicting verses, is to apply each to a different situation and thereby maintaining the truth of each. In this case, however, R. Chanina bar Pappa and R. Chanina bar Chama are making use of that technique to construct an argument with the appearance of that mode of interpretation. They have each purposely found two verses that appear to contradict one another and assigned separate meanings to each. We will take each in turn.

R. Chanina bar Pappa brings two verses from Isaiah. “Bring water to the thirsty” suggests we should bring water (Torah learning) to the thirsty (students desirous of learning). The second verse seems to say the opposite: let one who is thirsty (for Torah learning) come to the water (the font of Torah: the scholar). The first verse would seem to imply that Torah scholars should go out looking for able, interested, worthy disciples, while the second verse can be interested to mean that Torah scholars should let eager students approach them. Should Torah scholars recruit disciples or wait to be approached by those eager to learn? 

R. Chanina bar Pappa solves the seeming contradiction by assigning the first verse to “worthy students” and the second verse to students who are not worthy. His message is: Go out and recruit worthy students; let all others seek you out. At first blush, this sounds like an elitist attitude. That view, in itself, may well be shaped by our age and society, in which education is often an elitist affair and “worthy” is too often associated with SAT scores and money (fortunately not exclusively so). However, let’s give R. Chanina bar Pappa the benefit of the doubt and consider another perspective. Surely, intelligence is an important factor in learning, but far from the only necessary quality, especially for Torah learning in his time. Desire to learn, and especially in the case of Torah learning, commitment to Torah, are equally important. What is more, in R. Chanina bar Pappa’s world, Torah scholars invested far more time and effort in their students than teachers invest in their students today. Often, a disciple lived with his master, eating at his table and learning with him all day. Scholars invested their resources, time, energy, and emotions in their students. Perhaps R. Chanina bar Pappa is saying that those with the potential to be Torah learning rock stars should be recruited because the Jewish people cannot afford to waste brilliant minds; others will find their to teachers if their desire is great enough, and allowing them to make the effort is an efficient way to measure their desire.

Following this model, R. Chanina bar Chama juxtaposes two sequential verses from Proverbs chapter 5. The first verse tells us that spring water should be brought to those who are thirsty, while the verse next verse says that those who are thirsty should come to the spring to drink. Translating that into a conversation about Torah scholars who dispense Torah learning and students who desire to learn, the first verse seems to say: Go out and bring Torah learning to those who want to learn. The second verse seems to say: Let those who want to learn come and find themselves a teacher. R. Chanina bar Chama does what his colleague does: he assigns to the first verse the meaning: spray the waters of Torah onto a worthy student. To those deemed  “unworthy,” he assigns the second verse, which now comes to mean: don’t share Torah learning with unworthy students. 

If R. Chanina bar Pappa’s application of the verses from Isaiah sounded elitist, what are we to say about R. Chanina bar Chama’s application of the verses from Proverbs? Perhaps the first sage is warning Torah scholars to marshal their resources carefully and make considered decisions. Perhaps the second sage is revealing that his personal resources are more limited.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Does the notion of who is “worthy” serve us today? How else might we understand the meaning of each sage’s message?
2. The Talmud tells a story of a time when Rabban Gamliel, president of the Sanhedrin, was deposed for a short time and replaced by a young scholar who threw open its doors to welcome all who wanted to enter and learn. Does this dilute the quality of the learning? Does this benefit the society-at-large? How are the two concerns to be balanced?
3. How can we fulfill Bring water to the thirsty and Let your springs be dispersed — enlarge Torah learning today, given all the social and cultural exigencies that exist in our communities and our lives?

Torah in an Ugly Container — BT Ta’anit 7a (part 3) — #124

R. Chanina bar Idi said, “Why are the words of Torah compared to water, as it is written, All who are thirsty, go to water (Isaiah 55:1)? This is to tell you that just as water flows from a high place to a low place, so too are the words of Torah retained only by someone of humble spirit.” And R. Oshaya said, “Why are the words of Torah compared to these three liquids: water, wine, and milk, as it is written, All who are thirsty, go to water (Isaiah 55:1) and it is written, Come, buy food and eat; buy food without money, [buy] wine and milk without cost (Isaiah 55:1)? This is to tell you that just as these three liquids are stored only in the least of vessels, so too words of Torah are stored only in someone of humble spirit.”

 This is illustrated by a story about the daughter [of the Roman emperor] and R. Yehoshua b. Chananiah. She said to him, “Alas, glorious wisdom in an ugly vessel!” He said to her, “Does your father put wine in earthenware vessels?” She said to him, “What else should we put it in?” He said to her, “Your [father] who is so important, should put [his wine] in vessels of gold and silver.” She went and said to her father and he put [his] wine in vessels of gold and silver and it turned sour. They [the emperor’s servants] came and told him that the one had gone sour. [The emperor] said to his daughter, “Who told you to do this?” She said, “R. Yehoshua b. Chaniah.” He summoned [him] and said to to him, “Why did you say this?” [R. Yehoshua] said to [the emperor], “I said to her what she said to me.” [The emperor said], “Surely there are are good looking people who are learned!” [R. Yehoshua replied], “If they had been ugly they would have been more learned.”

Another explanation: Just as these three liquids can be spoiled by inattention, so too words of Torah can be forgotten through inattention

INTRODUCTION

This is the third in a series of issues of TMT exploring Torah learning (see TMT 121 and TMT 122). The Sages’ use of “water” as a metaphor for Torah in TMT 122 continues here. In the previous passage, which immediate precedes this one in the Talmud, two sages spoke those who are “worthy” and those who are “unworthy” to study Torah. The exclusionary and elitist taste that leaves in one’s mouth is now balanced out by a third R. Chanina whose teaching is a paean to humility, which he cites as a crucial attribute for retaining Torah learning.

COMMENTARY

R. Chanina bar Idi uses Isaiah 55:1, the same verse R. Chanina bar Pappa used (TMT 122) to teach an altogether different point. The phrase “go to water” suggests the well-observed physical phenomenon that water runs downhill, covering—and staying with—that which is at the lowest elevation. Following the metaphor, R. Chanina bar Idi interprets: Torah learning is best retained by one who, like water, runs downhill—i.e., who is humble.

R. Oshaya now becomes the third sage to quote the first half of Isaiah 55:1 in this section of Talmud. He expands the metaphor, however, by quoting also the latter half of the verse, which includes wine and milk in the list of available liquids God makes available to those in need and says “Come” to acquire them. R. Oshaya tells us that Torah is symbolized not only by water, but also by wine and milk. R. Oshaya does not focus on the attributes of water, wine, and milk and how they reflect the attributes of Torah or those who learn Torah (as we might expect) but rather observes that each of the three is stored in an inexpensive, common container—a “humble” vessel—just as Torah learning is best preserved in a “humble container.”

Where R. Chanina bar Pappa and R. Chanina bar Chama were concerned with whether students are worthy to learn Torah or not (TMT 122), R. Chanina bar Idi and R. Oshaya are focused on the importance of humility in the enterprise of acquiring—and retaining—Torah learning.

The Talmud illustrates R. Oshaya’s point with a famous story about R. Yehoshua, a tanna who, (according to many stories) interacted with numerous Roman nobles. R. Yehoshua was not a candidate for the cover of GQ. The emperor’s daughter wonders how he could be considered a vaunted scholar given what a plain, and even ugly, man he is. R. Yehoshua responds in way that accords perfectly with R. Oshaya’s teaching: wine is kept in cheap earthenware vessels. He challenges the emperor’s daughter to store them in silver and gold containers, which turn the wine sour. Her father, no doubt displeased by the destruction of a good deal of his wine cellar, asks R. Yehoshua why he instructed his daughter to have the wine rebottled in silver and gold. R. Yehoshua, we can imagine, shrugs as he says, “I just told her what she told me.” This allows the emperor to ask the question hanging in the air: Does this mean a good looking person could not be a Torah scholar? Surely not, R. Yehoshua responds, but without the distractions that come with good looks, such a person would be an even better Torah scholar.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Which do you value more—beauty or erudition? Why? Which trait is more important to you personally—your looks or your intelligence? Why?
2. Is there a way in which humility and learning go hand in hand? If so, why? Does humility promote learning, and even more, the retention of learning, as R. Chanina bar Idi claims, or do humble people have fewer egotistical distractions to interfere with learning?
3. Human beauty is a subject discussed in every age and in every society. How is it valued? How ought it be valued? Do you think the answer to the question #1 above is different for people who are considered (or view themselves as) beautiful or good looking, than it is for people who are not?

Torah of Fire and Firewood — BT Ta’anit 7a (part 1) — #122

Rabbah bar Bar Chanah said, “Why are the words of Torah compared to fire? As it is said, Is not My word like fire, says Adonai (Jeremiah 23:29). This is to say: Just as fire does not burn alone [without fuel], so too words of Torah are not retained [by one who studies] alone.” This is what R. Yose bar Chanina said: “What is the meaning of the verse: A sword is on the lonely and they shall be fools (Jeremiah 50:36)? A sword is on the enemies of Torah scholars who occupy themselves with Torah all alone. What is more, they will become stupid, as it is said, they shall become fools. And not only that, but they will fall into sin: It is written here, and they shall be fools, and it is written elsewhere, Because we have been foolish and because we have sinned (Numbers 12:11). If you wish, you can prove it from this: The princes of Tzo’an [Tanis] have been fools…which will lead Egypt astray (Isaiah 19:13).” 

 Rav Nachman bar Yitzhak said, “Why are the words of Torah compared to a tree, as it is said, It is a tree of life to those who grasp it (Proverbs 3:18)? This is to say: Just as a small piece of wood can ignite a larger piece of wood, so too younger students of Torah can sharpen the minds of older ones.” This is what R. Chanina said: “I have learned much from my teachers, and from my colleagues even more than from my teachers, but from my students I have learned more than from all of them.”

INTRODUCTION

The Rabbis revel in metaphors, as do we all. In addressing the value of Torah learning, they employ the metaphors of fire and firewood, but then make an unexpected shift to articulating surprising messages about how we should engage in Torah learning and who our best teachers may turn out to be.

What does it mean that Torah is like fire—but not because of it has power? What does it mean that Torah is like a tree—but not because of it is strong and grows?

COMMENTARY

Two metaphors for Torah are offered: fire and firewood. Rabbah bar Bar Chanah, quoting a verse from Jeremiah, compares Torah to fire, but not to the end we might expect: providing light or warmth, or as a symbol of power. Rather, he makes the point that a flame alone—without fuel to sustain it—is quickly extinguished. The fuel for Torah learning is a study partner. Taking the metaphor a step further, R. Yose bar Chanina cites a verse from Jeremiah that warns that foolish Babylonian magicians (badim) are in danger (symbolized by the sword). R. Yose reads badim as coming from the same root as bod’dim, meaning “alone.” In this way, he interprets the verse to characterize those who study alone as “enemies of Torah scholars.” It is not that studying by oneself makes one stupid (or: foolish), but rather that studying with a chevruta partner is far superior: someone who will ask you questions, challenge your ideas, share their ideas and interpretations sharpens your mind and, together with another, many more ideas will be generated. R. Yose suggests yet another danger in studying alone: falling into sin. He offers as proof two verses. A verse from Numbers includes both the terms “foolish” and “sin,” thereby  supporting a connection. A verse from Isaiah says the foolish actions of the princes of Tanis led Egypt astray, i.e., into sin. R. Yose does not tell us to which sins those who study Torah alone are particularly susceptible, but perhaps he believes that our connections with others engaged in Torah keep us on a straight path in life. Like Rabbah bar Bar Chanah, R. Yose's purpose is to encourage us to find a study partner. 

Rav Nachman bar Yitzhak offers another metaphor for Torah—the tree, which he grounds in a famous verse from Proverbs that is recited following a public Torah reading: It is a tree of life to those who grasp it; whoever holds on to it is happy (Proverbs 3: 18). Like Rabbah bar Bar Chanah, he pivots in a surprising direction. We might expect him to tell us that, like a tree, Torah is living, growing and strong, or that it provides people with metaphorical shade and comfort. Instead, Rav Nachman notes that a small piece of firewood (a young scholar) can ignite a large piece of firewood (an older, more knowledgable and accomplished) scholar. We are accustomed to thinking that elders possess store piles of wisdom and knowledge they impart to the young, but Rav Nachman flips this assumption on its head. He affirms that young scholars have bright, new ideas that can sharpen the minds of their teachers and elders, because older scholars are fully capable of generating new ideas.

This section is capped off with a famous teaching of R. Chanina that inverts a classic presumption that teaching flows from teachers to students. In the best of all possible worlds, it is a dynamic, two-way street: you learn plenty from your teachers, but more from your colleagues because you sit together and challenge one another, and even more from your students because they ask more questions and challenge you with bright, new ideas.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Who are the teachers from whom you have learned the most? Why were they your best teachers? If you are a teacher, what have you learned from your students?
2. Many of us grew up in an educational setting in which partner learning was not only not encouraged, but even forbidden (“Keep your eyes on your own paper!”). Consider this  teaching: Yehoshua b. Perachyah said: Find yourself a teacher, acquire for yourself a study partner, and judge each person for merit (Pirkei Avot 1:6) The Jewish way of learning is with a partner, a reciprocal give and take. How might you find yourself a study partner or small group for Jewish learning or another type of learning in which you engage?
3. How do you understand this teaching: "The Sages said: Whenever [students of Torah] would sit, involved in words of Torah, they would seem as though they are vengeful of one another, and when they part, they would seem as though they were lovers from their youth.”  (Avot d'Rabbi Natan 1:1)

The Company We Keep, The Choices We Make — BT Sanhedrin 106a — #121

[Bilaam] saw the Kenites and he declaimed his parable (Numbers 24:21). Bilaam said to Yitro, “Kenite! Were you not with us [when we offered] that counsel [to kill the baby boys of the Hebrew]? Who assigned you to sit among the ‘mighty ones of the world’?” This is what R. Chiyya bar Abba said in the name of R. Simai, “Three were involved in offering that counsel, and these are they: Bilaam, Job, and Yitro. Bilaam, who advised [Pharaoh to drown the baby boys] was slain. Job, who remained silent, was condemned to suffering. And Jethro, who fled, merited that his descendants should sit in the Chamber of Hewn Stone [as members of the Sanhedrin], as it is said, The families of the scribes that dwelled at Jabez: the Tirathites, the Shimeathites, the Sucathites; these are the Kenites who came from Hammath, father of the house of Rechab (1 Chronicles 2:55), and it is written, The descendants of the Kenite, the father-in-law of Moses, went up from the city of palms, etc. (Judges 1:16).”

INTRODUCTION

Yitro (Jethro, Moses’ father-in-law) plays a pivotal role in the life of Moses. Moses, realizing he is kin to the people enslaved by his grandfather (Pharaoh) in whose palace he grew up, and having killed a taskmaster who beat those true kin, flees to Midian, a fugitive with a price on his head. Yitro offers Moses shelter and calm from the storm that has engulfed his life and offers him what he most needs—love and family. Moses marries Jethro’s daughter Tzipporah. Perhaps thanks to Yitro’s protection, when Moses encounters God at the burning bush, he has both the wherewithal to recognize God and the peace of mind to hear, and eventually accept, God’s commission.

Yitro plays a pivotal role in the life of the Israelites, as well. He joins Israel after they cross through the Sea of Reeds and brings Moses’ wife Tzipporah and children Gershom and Eliezer to him. When they meet, Yitro observes that Moses is worn to a frazzle serving as the sole judge for the entire nation. He sagely counsels Moses to share the burden with others by instituting a hierarchical system of leadership (Exodus 18:13–27).

Where this a cinematic or stage production based solely on the Book of Exodus, although Yitro plays an enormously important role in the life of Moses and the Jewish people, he would command few lines. The Rabbis, however, imagine yet another heroic role played by Yitro: he was one of three close advisors to Pharaoh at the time the plan to kill Hebrew baby boys was hatched. The Jerusalem Talmud (Sotah 5:8, 20c-d) identifies Job and Bilaam as the other two.

One more thing: Tradition (derived from 1 Chronicles 2:55) holds that the Kenites, descendants of Yitro, converted to Judaism and became revered Torah scribes. In the ancient world, scribes were far more than human typewriters or copy machines. They taught and interpreted sacred texts. As great Torah scholars, this tradition holds, Yitro’s descendants would be admitted to membership in the Sanhedrin, which convened in the Chamber of Hewn Stone in the Temple.

COMMENTARY

The passage is part of a longer discussion of the pagan prophet, Bilaam, whom Israel encounters on the last leg of their 40-year journey to the Promised Land. Facing the Israelites encamped on the steppes of Moab, Bilaam “saw the Kenites” (Numbers 24:21). This peculiar phrase affords a launching pad for a surprising conjecture that Yitro was present with Israel, not only at that moment, but was also among Pharaoh’s inner circle of advisors at the time the scheme to kill the Hebrews’ baby boys was hatched more than 40 years earlier. Bilaam, recognizing Yitro on the steppes of Moab, recalls the last time they were together when, along with Job, they advised Pharaoh concerning how to deal with the threat of the burgeoning population of Hebrews. Bilaam further asks: How did you, Yitro, rise to the position of “the mighty ones” who sit on the  Sanhedrin? In other words, why will your descendants merit such extraordinary distinction? (Yes, the story moves from present to past to future in swift succession.)

Gemara recounts a story told by R. Chiyya bar Abba attributed to R. Simai. Bilaam, Job, and Yitro were members of an elite group of advisors to Pharaoh. Bilaam devised the scheme to drown the baby boys; as punishment, he was slain (Joshua 13:22). We are to understand this as God’s justice. Job remained quiet. In consequence of his failure to speak out against the plan, he was afflicted with otherwise unjustifiable suffering (Job, chapter 1). Yitro flees—we are to understand that, having opposed the plan, he is no longer safe in Egypt. His reward is that his descendants merit membership in the Sanhedrin. Two proof texts are brought: 1 Chronicles 2:55 establishes that great scribes are among Yitro’s descendants, the Kenites. Judges 1:16 connects the Kenites to Moses’ father-in-law, whom we know to be Yitro. The three typological responses of the three pagan prophets provide food for thought. In a dangerous situation where lives are a stake, we find three routes: (1) Reinforce and affirm the murderous instincts of the barbarous leader, conjuring a plan to kill his perceived enemies, a sin of commission (Bilaam); (2) Silently acquiesce, the sin of omission of a by-stander (Job); and (3) Oppose evil although it presents immediate danger, but enjoy a shining reputation as a hero (Yitro). A parallel to this story is found in BT Sotah 11a.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Do Yitro’s descendants enjoy membership in the Sanhedrin more as a reward for Yitro’s meritorious conduct, or do they earn it by converting and becoming Torah scholars?
2. How does the passage speak to the moral obligations of advisors to powerful leaders to exert their influence in the face of their evil schemes and policies?
3. In life, from the time we are children in a playground, we face the choice of cooperating in what is morally wrong, standing quietly on the sideline, or voicing opposition. On what occasions have you chosen each of these responses? What choice would you make today?

God, Cosmic Nursemaid — BT Sotah 11b — #120

R. Avira expounded: Israel was redeemed from Egypt on account of the righteous women of that generation. When they went to draw water, the Holy One for their sake caused so many small fish to be scooped up into their pitchers that only half of what they drew up was water and the other half fish. They would then heat two pots, one with hot water and the other with fish, both of which they brought to their husbands in the field. There the women washed their husbands, anointed them, fed, them, and gave them to drink. Then, lying secluded between mounds in the fields, they responded to their men. After that, they returned to their homes. When the time for giving birth came, they went into the fields and gave birth under an apple tree, as it is said, Under an apple tree I roused you; there your mother was in labor with you, there was she in labor and brought you forth (Song of Songs 8:5). Then from the heights of heaven the Holy One sent an angel, who cleansed the infants and massaged their bodies as a midwife does to make a child look beautiful. Then God selected for each of them two breast-shaped stones, one filled with honey and the other with oil, as it is said, And God made him suck honey out of the crag and oil out of the flinty rock (Deuteronomy 32:13). When the Egyptians became aware of these infants, they came to slay them. But then another miracle occurred: the infants were swallowed up by the ground. At that, the Egyptians brought oxen and plowed the area where they had disappeared. But as soon as the Egyptians left, the infants burst forth out of the ground like grass in the field. As the infants grew up, they came running to their homes in flocks. Later, when God revealed himself at the Reed Sea, these infants [now grown] were the first to recognize God, for they said, This is my God (Exodus 15:2).

INTRODUCTION

The story of Israel’s redemption from slavery in Egypt raises many questions, large and small. Among those addressed in the story above is one strikingly large and broad, and one rather small and narrow. The larger question can be expressed this way: Given that it took God 400 years to come to Israel’s rescue, why did God finally decide to save Israel? The smaller question is prompted by a single verse in the Song of the Sea (Exodus, chapter 15), the song of redemption sung by the Israelites after they crossed the Sea of Reeds and saw the Egyptians cut off by the returning waters from any ability to recapture them. The second verse of the song says, This is my God. How could any Israelites utter those words? When had any of them seen God so that they could recognize God in the Reed Sea?

COMMENTARY

R. Avira makes a surprising and radical claim: All Israel were redeemed from Egypt on the merit of the women of that generation. Why? Because the women actively sought to promote the generation of new lives. How? The women drew up fish from the Nile (with God’s assistance), cooked a sumptuous, high-protein meal, and brought it to their husbands who were toiling for Pharaoh in the fields. There they did far more than feed their husbands. They thoroughly seduced them, washing them and massaging them with oil. Their husbands responded as we might expect, making love to their wives right there in the field and impregnating them. 

Given Pharaoh’s decree to kill baby boys, the women returned to the field to deliver in secret (a marvelous verse from Song of Songs here). God served as midwife to the women and nursemaid to their babies. An angel (angels are often understood in the Bible to be physical manifestations of God in our world) performed the duties of a midwife, cleaning and massaging the newborns. God, as nursemaid, provided rocks shaped like breasts to dispense honey and oil to nourish the infants (again, a great verse from Deuteronomy is brought here).

Even in the fields, however, danger lurked. Pharaoh’s secret police became aware of the infants and came searching. God arranged for the earth to swallow them up and conceal them. The Egyptians plowed the earth in their frantic attempt to discover them with no success. When the children had grown sufficiently to no longer be threatened by Pharaoh’s decree, they went running back to their homes. These children, raised by God as their metapelet—their nanny or foster mother—were the Israelites who, at the Reed Sea, recognized God and sang, “This is my God!”

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Consider the contrast between the earth swallowing up the infants to protect them, and the story of Korach and his minions (Numbers chapter 16), who were punished for rebelling by being swallowed up by the earth. Do you think the Talmud intends us to compare the two stories? If so, what is gleaned or learned by considering them side by side?
2. If Israel was redeemed on the merit of the women of the generation that left Egypt, does that imply that prior generations were deemed unworthy of being saved, or that people enslaved, abused, and persecuted must prove themselves worthy of rescue before God is moved to intervene? For those who consider God a being, as well as those who do not consider God a being, or do not believe God is capable of intervening in history or contravening the laws of physics (i.e., making miracles), could this statement be construed as suggesting that  persecuted people must prove themselves worthy of rescue? How else might this be understood?
3. Midrash Pesikta Rabbati 21:6 (see passage below) says that Torah’s assertion that God spoke with the people at Mount Sinai “face to face”  (Dt. 5:4) was not a singular event. At signal moments, God appears to people in the guise they most need: at the Reed Sea, God appeared as a warrior, at Mount Sinai, as a wizened sage. What images of God appeal to you, and when do you call on them?

R. Levi said: God faced [Israel] in many guises. To one [God] appeared standing, and to one seated; to one as a young man, and to one as an old man. How so? At the time the Holy One blessed be God appeared at the Reed Sea to wage war for His children and to requite the Egyptians, [God] faced them as a young man since war is waged best by a young man, as it is said, Adonai is a warrior, Adonai is [God’s] name (Exodus 15:3). —Pesikta Rabbati 12:6

Godzilla the Frog — BT Sanhedrin 67b — #119

[Aaron held out his arm over the waters of Egypt] and the frog came up and covered the land of Egypt (Exodus 8:2). R. Elazar said, “It was one frog that bred prolifically and filled the entire land of Egypt.” This is the subject of a tannaitic dispute: R. Akiba said, “It was one frog and it filled the entire land of Egypt.” R. Elazar b. Azariah said to him, “Akiba, what have you to do with aggadah? Stop your [homiletical] explanations and go to Nega’im (skin diseases) and Oholot (purities of tents)! There was one frog—it croaked to all the others and they came.”

INTRODUCTION

We are accustomed to the notion that Rabbinic Judaism is an interpretative tradition. The Rabbis’ raison d'être was to promulgate direction, meaning, and wisdom grounded in the texts they inherited. But reading and interpreting Jewish texts was not a rabbinic innovation. Even before the Rabbis, biblical writers read and responded to the texts in their possession. As Judy Klitsner deftly explains in Subversive Sequels in the Bible, Jonah responds to the basic assumptions about prophets, God, and a doomed population implicit in the Flood story. The tale of the midwives in Exodus is a polemic against the failure of city-states as described in the tale of the Tower of Babel. The stories of Sarah and Rebekah address the cut-out version of women in the first three chapters of Genesis.

Problematic or peculiar biblical texts afford the Rabbis an opening to exert their opinions and authority, and to address larger social and political issues. This agenda is reflected in a brief and enigmatic conversation concerning an oddity in the story of the  plagues on Egypt. Seven days after Moses turns the Nile to blood, God instructs Moses to warn Pharaoh about the coming plague of frogs: The Nile shall swarm with frogs, and they shall come up and enter your palace, your bedchamber and your bed, the houses of your courtiers and your people, and your ovens and your kneading bowls (Exodus 7:28). Yet when Aaron holds his arm out over the Nile, Torah strangely says, and the frog [singular] came up [singular] and covered [singular] the land of Egypt. It seems apparent that the term “frog” intends the species or category or collective, not a single frog, but the singular noun and verbs open the door to creative interpretation.

COMMENTARY

How should Torah’s reference to one frog (Exodus 8:2) emerging from the Nile River and covering the entire land of Egypt, be interpreted and what is at stake? At the time of this conversation, two distinct approaches to midrash had emerged: The School of R. Ishmael held that “Torah speaks in the language of people,” which includes the sorts of quirks and inconsistencies of everyday speech. The School of R. Akiba, in contrast, held that nothing is superfluous; every letter and grammatical or syntactic anomaly is intended by God to convey meaning. In addition, the passage points out the distinction between Midrash Halakhah (midrashic techniques serve to formulate legal rulings) and Midrash Aggadah (midrash serves to shape homiletical messages).

How, in this context, should one understand “frog” in the singular? The Babylonian sage R. Elazar b. Pedat attempts to resolve the peculiar use of the singular by asserting that God caused one frog to breed prolifically in fulfillment of the prophesy in Exodus 7:28. This comment recalls a fascinating disagreement between second century tanna’im, R. Akiba and his younger contemporary R. Elazar b. Azariah. R. Akiba claims that Torah employs the singular “frog” to assert that the plague consisted of one giant Godzilla frog of epic proportion that covered the entire land of Egypt. R. Elazar b. Azariah responds that R. Akiba ought not delve into aggadah (homiletical interpretations of text) but rather stick to his primary wheelhouse, halakhah. He offers two examples more appropriate for R. Akiba’s forays into Midrash Halakhah:  two tractates that deal with arcane matters of ritual impurity: Nega’im (discusses skin afflictions that affect people’s bodies, clothing, and homes) and Oholot (discusses the circumstances in which a corpse conveys ritual impurity to objects under the same roof). R. Elazar b. Azariah then offers his own explanation of one frog: the original frog summoned all the frogs of Egypt to emerge from the water and overrun the land.

One might be tempted to  presume that what is at stake is whether or not to interpret “frog” in the singular literally, but a deeper issue is whether the approach of the School of Ishmael or the School of Akiba is more appropriate. Unfortunately, we don’t have R. Akiba’s application of his aggadah, only his colleague’s rejection of his approach. We might well consider what else R. Akiba might have said. 

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Might the story reflect a policy disagreement within the Study House between those who favored vesting leadership in a small coterie of distinguished scholars and those who sought to open the doors to all, as BT Berakhot 27-28 recounts? Could opposing sides be expressing their opposition as a “plague” on the Bet Midrash?
2. What else might R. Akiba have had in mind in asserting that the plague consisted of one gigantic frog? Consider the passage on the right from a sermon delivered by Rabbi Israel H. Levinthal of the Brooklyn Jewish Center on the second day of Pesach in 1942.

“Here is the one plague that explains the other plagues that afflict humanity today. It is the one frog that is responsible for the other big and little frogs that have suddenly appeared to curse and afflict all peoples and all lands. it is the one danger that must be destroyed, if peace is ever to be the hope of the world. Japan may be conquered, Italy may be defeated, but if the one frog—Hitlerized Germany—remains, then all is lost for humanity. Vanquish and annihilate the one poisonous frog—the Nazi regime—and all the other frogs will speedily disappear, and the ideals now sought to be trampled on and crushed will once more appear triumphant in the lives of all mankind.” — Rabbi Israel H. Levinthal

1. Could the disagreement between R. Akiba and R. Elazar b. Azariah concern the nature of toxic leadership? When a society heads in a dangerous direction, is the cause one toxic leader (or small cabal) who casts a long shadow over the entire society, or a charismatic initiator who summons many others to follow along?