Nachmanides Introduced the Notion that Targum Onkelos Contains Derash

Nachmanides Introduced the Notion that Targum Onkelos Contains Derash

By Israel
Drazin

People today read Targum
Onkelos
and search it for derash, halakhah, and homiletical
teachings. The following will show that the rabbis in the Talmuds and Midrashim
and the Bible commentators who used the Targum before the thirteenth
century recognized that the Aramaic translation only contains the Torah’s peshat,
its plain meaning, and not sermonic material. It will survey how the
pre-thirteenth century rabbis and scholars used Onkelos and how
Nachmanides changed the way the Targum was understood. It was only after
this Nachmanides change that other interpreters of Onkelos read derash
into this Targum. The article also introduces the reader to Onkelos
and explains why the Talmudic rabbis required that it be read and why many
Jews failed to observe this rabbinic requirement.
The Law
The Babylonian
Talmud and the later Jewish codes mandate that Jews read the Torah portion
weekly, twice in the original Hebrew and once in Targum Onkelos.[1]
Moses Maimonides and Josef Karo, whose law codes are regarded in many
circles as binding, felt that it is vital to understand the Bible text through
the eyes of its rabbinically accepted translation Targum Onkelos, and
many authorities agree that no other translation will do.[2]
This raises some questions.
What
is Targum Onkelos?
The word Targum
means “translation,” thus Targum Onkelos means a translation by Onkelos.
Targum Onkelos is a translation of the five books of Moses, from the
Hebrew into Aramaic. The rabbis placed their imprimatur upon Targum Onkelos[3]
and considered it the official translation. Although there are other
Aramaic translations[4]
and ancient Greek ones,[5]
and latter translations into other languages, Targum Onkelos is the most
literal. Yet despite being extremely literal, it contains over 10,000
differences from the original Hebrew text.[6]
The
Significance of Onkelos
Onkelos was
extolled by all the Bible commentaries. Rashi states that the Onkelos
translation was revealed at Mt. Sinai.[7] Tosaphot[8]
made a similar statement and contends that there are places in the Torah that
simply cannot be understood without the Onkelos translation.
Some people
consider these comments as hyperbolic or metaphoric – that the authors meant
that Onkelos is so significant that it is as if it were a divine gift
handed to Moses at Sinai. But whether literal or metaphoric, it is clear that these
sages are expressing a reverence for Onkelos not accorded to any other
book in Jewish history, a reverence approaching the respect they gave to the
Torah itself. This veneration continued and is reflected in the fact that for
many centuries every printed edition of the Pentateuch contained an Onkelos
text that was generally given the preferential placement adjacent to the Torah.
Why
did the rabbis require Jews to read Targum Onkelos?
It is significant
that the Talmudic dictum was written when there were many important exegetical
rabbinical collections, the Talmuds, Genesis Rabbah, Mekhilta,
Sifra,
and Sifrei, among others. Remarkably, the rabbis did not
require Jews to read these books, filled with interesting derash,
explanations written by the rabbis themselves. They only mandated the reading
of Onkelos when reviewing the weekly Torah portion.
Furthermore,
by the time the Shulchan Arukh was composed in the sixteenth century and
the Talmudic law was stated in it, most of the classical medieval biblical
commentaries, which included derash, were already in circulation. While
Joseph Karo, its author, suggests that one could study Rashi on a weekly basis
in place of the Targum, he quickly adds that those who have “reverence
for God” will study both Rashi and Onkelos. The explanation offered by
TAZ, a commentary on the Shulchan Arukh, is that while Rashi enables the
student to read the Bible and gain access to Talmudic and Oral Law insights, Onkelos
is still indispensable for understanding the text itself.
Thus, the
rabbis, who composed books containing midrashic interpretations, felt that it
was so important for Jews to know the plain meaning of the Torah that they
mandated that Jews read Targum Onkelos every week.[9] When
did people stop seeing that Onkelos contains the Torah’s plain meaning
and read derash into the wording of the Targum?
The Earliest Understanding of Targum Onkelos
There was no
problem understanding the intent of Targum Onkelos until the
thirteenth century, close to a millennium after it was composed. At that time,
Nachmanides was the first commentator to introduce the concept that people
should read Onkelos to find deeper meaning, meaning that went beyond the
plain sense of the text. These included mystical lessons, what Nachmanides
called derekh haemet, the true way.
The conclusion that Onkelos contains only the simple meaning of
the Torah is supported by an examination of how the ancients, living before the
thirteenth century, consistently and without exception, used Onkelos only
for its peshat. Although many of these Bible commentators were
interested in and devoted to the derash that could be derived from
biblical verses, and although they were constantly using Onkelos for its
peshat, they never employed the Targum to find derash or
to support their conclusion that the verse they were discussing contained derash.
This situation changed when for the first time Nachmanides mined the Targum to
uncover derash.[10]
Nachmanides used Onkelos to support his interpretation of the Torah.
This is significant since many of these
rabbinical commentators were far more interested in derash than in peshat.
If they felt that Onkelos contained derash, they would have
used this translation, which they extolled, as Nachmanides later did, to
support their midrashic interpretations of the Torah. The following are the
ancient sources.
Midrashim and Talmuds
The first
references to a Targum are in the Midrashim and the Babylonian Talmud. A
Targum is mentioned 17 times in the Midrashim[11]
and 18 times in the Babylonian Talmud.[12]
Each of the 35 quotes is an attempt to search the Targum for the meaning
of a word. Although these sources were inclined to midrashic explanations, they
never tried to draw midrashic interpretations from the Targum. Thus, the
Midrashim and the Babylonian Talmud understood that the Targum is a
translation and not a source for derash.
Die Masorah Zum Targum
Onkelos
A volume of
targumic traditions collected in Die Masorah Zum Targum Onkelos is said
to have been composed in the third century but was most likely written a couple
of centuries later,[13]
after the Talmuds. It also has no suggestion that Onkelos contains derash.
The book attempts to describe the Targum completely, but contains only
translational traditions about Onkelos. If the author(s) believed that Onkelos
has derash, he/they would have included traditions about it.
Saadiah Gaon
The works of
Saadiah Gaon, born in 882 C.E., also contain no indication that Onkelos has
derash.
Saadiah composed a translation of the Bible into Arabic and used Targum
Onkelos
extensively to discover the plain meaning of words. He never even
hinted that his predecessor’s work contains derash.[14]
This is significant since Saadiah emphasized the Torah’s plain meaning and
used Onkelos frequently in his Arabic translation.[15]
He quotes Onkelos on every page without attribution. His uses Onkelos
as a translation so extensively that if readers have difficulty
understanding Onkelos, they can look at the Saadiah translation and be
able to see what the targumist is saying.
Menachem ibn Saruq
Menachem ibn
Saruq, a tenth century Spanish lexicographer, was explicit on the subject. He
called Onkelos a ptr, a translation.[16]
Samuel ben Hofni Gaon
Samuel Ben Hofni Gaon headed the
Babylonian Academy at Sura in Babylonia during the years 997-1013 and wrote a
biblical commentary. He refers to Targum Onkelos on several occasions,[17]
uses the Targum to understand the meaning of words, and always treats it
as a literal translation without derash.
Rashi
No biblical commentator relied
more on Onkelos than Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki, better known as Rashi, born
in 1040. He extols Onkelos, as stated above, mentions the targumist by
name hundreds of times,[18]
and incorporates the targumic interpretation without attribution in hundreds of
other comments. He has a non-rigid blend of peshat and derash in
his commentary,[19] and
frequently quotes the Talmuds and Midrashim as the origin of his derash.
He never uses Onkelos as a source for his derash or treats the Targum
other than as a translation. It should be obvious that since Rashi relied on Onkelos,
whom he considered holy, for peshat, if he saw derash in the Targum
he would have said so.
Rashbam
Rashi’s grandson Samuel ben Meir
(also known as Rashbam, about 1085 – 1174) wrote his Bible commentary in large
measure to liberate people from derash and to show his disagreement with
Rashi’s frequent use of derash.[20]
He seldom mentions his sources, but draws from Onkelos with respect,
usually by name. In Genesis, for example, where Rashi is only named in
37:2, Onkelos is quoted in 21:16, 25:28, 26:26, 28:2, 40:11, and 41:45.
In Deuteronomy, to cite another example, Onkelos is mentioned in
4:28, 16:2, 16:9, 17:18, and 23:13. While he criticizes his grandfather with
and without attribution for his use of derash,[21]
and occasionally disagrees with Onkelos, he never rebukes the targumist
for using derash.[22]
Like his predecessors, he saw no derash in Targum Onkelos.
Abraham ibn Ezra
Abraham ibn Ezra (1089 -1164),
like Rashbam, was determined to distance himself from derash and
establish the literal meaning of the biblical text in his Bible commentaries,
as he states in his two introductions. He uses Onkelos frequently as a
translation, and only as a translation, to prove the meaning of words.
Ibn Ezra was the first to note
some few isolated instances of derash in the Targum. This first
observation of derash in Onkelos, I believe, is because derash
did not exist in the original Targum text.[23]
Various over-zealous well-meaning scribes embedded it at a later period,
probably around the time that Ibn Ezra discovered it. Ibn Ezra recognizes that Onkelos
purpose is to offer peshat because he states that the targumist is
following his (ibn Ezra’s) own method, the “straight (or right) way” of peshat
to interpret the Hebrew according to grammatical rules.[24]
Maimonides
Shortly
thereafter, Maimonides, born in 1138, supported part of his rationalistic
philosophy by using Onkelos. Maimonides recognized that the targumist
deviated frequently from a literal rendering of the biblical text to remove
anthropomorphism and anthropopathisms to avoid portraying God in a human
fashion, for this is “a fundamental element in our faith, and the comprehension
of which is not easy for the common people.”[25]
Maimonides never uses Onkelos for derash. 

Joseph Bechor Schor
Joseph Bechor Schor (born around 1140) adopted the literal methodology of Rashbam.[26] However, he is not as consistent as Rashbam. He inserts homiletical comments along with those that are literal. He mentions Rashbam only twice by name but quotes Onkelos dozens of times to support his own definition of a word when his interpretation is literal. Although he used Onkelos and derash, he never states or even suggests that Onkelos contains derash [27] and never uses Onkelos to support his homiletical remarks.

Radak
David Kimchi
(known as Radak, about 1160 – 1235) wrote biblical commentaries using the
text’s plain sense in contrast to the homiletical elaborations that were
prevalent during his lifetime. He followed the methodology of ibn Ezra and
stressed philological analysis. He refers to Onkelos frequently and
always treats the Targum as a translation. He, like ibn Ezra,
occasionally inserted homiletical interpretations into his commentary from
midrashic legends to add zest and delight readers, but he never used Onkelos
for this purpose.

Conclusion from Reading the Ancient
Commentators

The consistent
history of all the commentators using Onkelos only for the plain
meaning of the Torah and never mentioning seeing derash in the Targum
is quite persuasive that no derash was in the original Onkelos
text. If any of the commentators who lived before the mid-thirteenth
century believed that Targum Onkelos contained derash, especially
those who delighted in or who were concerned with derash, they would
have said so. None but ibn Ezra did, and he called attention to only a very
small number of probably recent unauthorized insertions.
Where, then, did the derash
that many people today think that they see in Targum Onkelos come from?
First of all, I am convinced that most of the targumic readings that
individuals read as derash were really intended by the targumist as peshat,
the text’s simple meaning; people differ is what they see. Second, Ch. Heller
has shown us many examples where most, if not all, of the presently found derash
did not exist in the original Targum text.[28]
His findings are supported by the previously mentioned history showing that ibn
Ezra was the first to observe any derash at all in our Targum.
Nachmanides was the first Bible commentator to read derash into Onkelos
Nachmanides was
influenced by kabala, Jewish mysticism. He equated kabala with truth[29]
and felt[30] that
since Torah is truth, it must contain kabala. He stated that no one can attain
knowledge of the Torah, or truth, by his own reasoning. A person must listen to
a kabalist who received the truth from another kabalist, generation after
generation, back to Moses who heard the kabalistic teaching from God.[31]
He decided to disseminate this truth, or at least hint of its existence, and
was the first to introduce mystic teachings of the Torah into a biblical
commentary.[32]

He extended his
exegetical methodology into his interpretations of our Targum.[33]
He felt this was appropriate. Onkelos, he erroneously believed, “lived
in the age of the philosophers immediately after Aristotle,” and like the
philosopher was so interested in esoteric teachings that, though born a high
placed Roman non-Jew, he converted to Judaism to learn Torah and later teach
its secret lessons through his biblical translation.[34]
Examples of Nachmanides’
problematical interpretations of Onkelos
In a detailed separate study,
which is still in draft, I studied all the instances where Nachmanides interprets
Onkelos. I found that Nachmanides mentions Targum Onkelos in his Commentary
to the Pentateuch
while analyzing 230 verses. Most of his attempts to
see the targumist teaching homiletical lessons and mysticism seem forced. He
reads more into the Aramaic than the words themselves state.
There are 129 puzzling
interpretations of Onkelos in these 230 verses. This represents about 56
percent of the total 230. However, 55 of the 230 Nachmanidean comments are only
references to the Targum without any analysis. When these 55 comments
are subtracted from the total of 230, we are left with 175 times that
Nachmanides analyzes the Targum. The 129 problematical interpretations
represent about 75 percent of the 175 times that the sage discusses Onkelos and
uses it to support his interpretation of the biblical verse. The following are
seven examples.

1. Genesis 1:31 states: “And
God saw everything that He made, and, behold, it was very good (Torah: tov
meod
Onkelos: takin lachada).

This verse
describes the results of the sixth day of creation as “very good.” The Onkelos
translator, who prefers to clarify ambiguous biblical phrases with more
specificity (good is which way), renders it “well established,” implying that
the world was established firmly. He may have recalled Psalms 93:1, “the
world also is established that it can not be moved” and Psalms 96:10,
“the world also shall be established that it shall not be moved.”
Nachmanides
reads into the Onkelos words “well established” than the targumist is teaching
that creation contains evil, “the order (of the world) was very properly
arranged that evil is needed to preserve what is good.”[35]
This interpretation is a good homily, but is not the plain meaning of the
verse. It is problematical because “well established” does not suggest “containing
evil,” nor does it imply that evil is necessary to preserve what is good.
2. After creating man,
God, according to Genesis 2:7, “breathed into his nostrils the breath of
life, and man became a living being.” The bible uses nefesh for “breath”
and “being.” In later Hebrew, nefesh came to mean “soul,” a meaning it
did not have in the Pentateuch. Since the Hebrew “breath of life” does not
indicate how humans excel other creations, Onkelos alters the text and
clarifies that “man acquired the power of speech,” ruach memalela
(literally, “speaking breath”). Thus humans transcend animals by their
intelligence in general and their ability to speak, communicate, and reason in
particular. This is the Aristotelian concept, accepted by Moses Maimonides
(1138-1204), that the essence of a human is intelligence and people have a duty
to develop that intelligence.[36]

Nachmanides, the mystic, disagreed
with Maimonides, the rationalist, and interprets the biblical nefesh
anachronistically as “soul.” The Hebrew verse, he declares, alludes to the
superiority of the soul that is composed of three forces: growth, movement, and
rationality.[37] Onkelos,
he maintains, is reflecting this concept of the tri-partite soul and that the
rational soul that God breathed into man’s nostrils became a speaking soul. How
the two Aramaic words, literally meaning “speaking breath,” suggests this
elaborate tri-partite theology is problematical. Again, Nachmanides seemingly
desired to have Onkelos, which he admired, reflect his own idea even
though what he reads into the Targum is not its plain meaning.

3. Genesis 4:1 states that
when Eve gave birth to Cain, she exclaimed, “I have acquired a man with the
Lord.” Since this statement has an anthropomorphic sound, suggesting physical
help from God, our Targum adds qadam, “before (the Lord),”
thereby supplanting, or at least softening this implication of physical aid by
distancing God from the birth.

The term qadam
was inserted in Onkelos in verse 4, and in seventy other instances in Genesis
for the same reason as well as 585 additional times in the other volumes of Targum
Onkelos
to the Pentateuch.[38]
Nachmanides ignores the targumist’s frequent use of qadam to avoid
anthropomorphism[39] and its
plain meaning. He states that the correct interpretation of the biblical Hebrew
is that Eve said: “This son will be an acquisition from God for me, for when we
die he will exist in our place to worship his creator.” Nachmanides assures us
that this is Onkelos’ opinion as proven by the addition of the word qadam.
Thus, Nachmanides drew a conclusion from the Targum’s single word, a
word that is used over five hundred times for an entirely different purpose and
which cannot, by itself, connote and support his interpretation. Furthermore, qadam
does not have this meaning in the hundreds of other instances where it
appears.
4. In Genesis 17:17, Onkelos
changes a significant detail in the Aramaic translation. Abraham does not
“laugh” (Hebrew, vayitzchak) when he hears he will have a child in his
old age, but “rejoices” (Aramaic, vachadi). This alteration is not made
in 18:12 where Sarah “laughed” when she heard the same news. Rashi explains
that the couple reacted differently. Abraham trusted God and rejoiced at the
good news, while Sarah lacked trust and sneered; therefore God chastised her in
18:13.

Nachmanides
states that Onkelos’ rendering in 17:17 is correct because the word tzachak
also means “rejoice,” and Abraham and Sarah’s reactions, he contends, were the
same, proper “rejoicing.”
Actually, as
defined by ibn Shoshan and others, tzachak is an outward expression, a
“laugh,” and not an inner feeling of contentment. Bachya ben Asher mentions the
Aramaic rendering, but he does not mention Nachmanides. He recognizes, contrary
to Nachmanides, that tzachak does not mean “rejoice,” but “laugh.” He
states that the targumist made the change to “rejoices” because in the context
in which the word appears here it should be understood as an expression of joy.
This example, while not expressing a theology, as in the first three instances,
also shows Nachmanides insisting by a forced interpretation that the targumist
is understanding the Torah as he does.
5. Onkelos
replaces the Torah’s “Is anything too wondrous for the Lord,” in Genesis
18:14, with “Is anything hidden from before the Lord.” The Hebrew “wondrous” is
somewhat vague and is seemingly not exactly on point with the tale of Sarah’s
laughter. The Aramaic explains the text and relates that Sarah’s laughter,
mentioned in the prior verse, although it was not done openly, was not “hidden”
from God. This is also the interpretation of Saadiah, Rashi, Chazkunee, ibn
Ezra, Radak, etc. Thus, in short, all that the targumist is doing is clarifying
the text, a task he performs over a thousand times in his translation.
However,
Nachmanides states that Onkelos uses “hidden” in the translation to teach a
mystical lesson. Nachmanides, as generally happens, does not explain the
lesson, but the explanation is in Bachya ben Asher and Recanati. Bachya writes
that God added the letter hay to Abram’s name, turning it into Abraham,
and “the letter hay alludes to God’s transcendental powers”; thus God
gave Abraham the power to have a son. Abraham, he continues, exemplified the
divine attribute of mercy and Isaac the divine attribute of justice, and now
both attributes would exist on earth. It is difficult if not impossible to read
this Nachmanidean mystical interpretation of Onkelos into the word
“hidden.”[40]
6. Genesis
21:7 quotes Sarah’s excited exclamation of joy:[41]
“Who (meaning which person) would have said to Abraham” that I would give birth
at the advanced age of ninety. The Targum renders her statement as a
thankful praise of God:  “Faithful is He
who said to Abraham,” and avoids the risk of the general population reading the
translation and misunderstanding Sarah’s reaction as one of surprise, for she
should not have been surprised. God had assured Abraham that he would have a
son a year previously.[42]
Thus, by making the change, the Targum shows that she is not only not
surprised, but is thankful that God fulfilled His prior promise.
Nachmanides
interprets the Torah’s “Who would have said to Abraham” to mean that everyone
will join Abraham and Sarah and rejoice with them over Isaac’s birth because it
is such a “surprise”; the possibility of the birth would never have occurred to
anyone. He writes that Onkelos’ rendition is “close” to his
interpretation of a community celebration. Actually as we stated, Onkelos
“Faithful is He who said to Abraham” is quite the opposite. Rather than
focusing on the people and the unexpected event, the targumist deviated from the
Hebrew text to avoid depicting Sarah being surprised. His Aramaic version
concentrates on God, not the community, and how the divine promise was
fulfilled.
7. Genesis
22:2 recounts God commanding Abraham to take his son Isaac to “the land of
Moriah” and offer him there as a sacrifice. Mount Moriah was traditionally
understood to be the later place of the Jerusalem Temple[43]
and the targumist therefore renders “Mount Moriah” as “the land of worship” to
help identify the area for his readers. This is a typical targumic methodology;
the Targum changes the name of places mentioned in the Bible and gives
its later known name.[44]
Nachmanides
contends that Onkelos is referring to a midrashic teaching that was
recorded years after the targumist’s death in Pirkei d’R. Eliezer:[45]
God pointed to the site and told Abraham that this is the place where Adam,
Cain, Abel, and Noah sacrificed, and the site was named Moriah because Moriah
is derived from the word mora, “fear,” for the people feared God there
and worshipped Him.
There are
several problems with Nachmanides’ analysis. First, as we already pointed out,
our targumist frequently updates the name of a site to help his readers
identify its location[46]
and this is a reasonable consistent explanation of the targumic rendering.
Second, the words “land of worship” do not suggest the elaborate midrashic
story that is not recorded until long after the death of the targumist. Third,
the story is a legend; there is nothing in any text to indicate that God had
such a conversation with Abraham or that the ancestors sacrificed in this area;
and it is contrary to the targumist’s style to incorporate legends into his
translation.
Summary
Thus,
if the Bible commentators before Nachmanides saw derash in Onkelos
we would have expected them to say so, but none did until Abraham ibn Ezra and
he was probably referring either to recent scribal additions to the original Targum
or he was expressing his opinion that his view of peshat on certain
verses differed with those of the targumist. Nachmanides was the first to read derash
and mysticism into the Targum just as he was the first to read
mysticism into the Torah itself. We offered some examples that show the
difficulties of his methodology.

Nachmanides’
introduction of the notion that Onkelos contains mysticism may be the
reason why rabbis,[47]
who respected Nachmanides’ teachings, began for the first time to search the Targum
for derash.
Dr. Israel
Drazin is the author of thirty-three books, including twelve on Targum Onkelos.
His website is
www.booksnthoughts.com.
This article appeared previously on
www.oqimta.org.il.

[1] Babylonian Talmud, Berakhot 8a, b, Maimonides’
Mishneh Torah, Laws of Prayer 13:25, and Shulchan Arukh, Orach Chayim,
The Laws of Shabbat 285, 1. The requirement is not in the Jerusalem Talmud
because Targum Onkelos did not exist when this Talmud was composed. See
I. Drazin, Journal of Jewish Studies, volume 50, 1999, pages 246-258,
where I date Onkelos to the late fourth century, based on the
targumist’s consistent use of late fourth century Midrashim.
[2] Although some authorities, such as the Shulchan
Arukh
, discussed below, say that a person can fulfill the rabbinic
obligation by reading Rashi.
[3] Babylonian Talmud, Megillah 3a.
[4] The two other complete Jewish Aramaic translations
are Targum Pseudo-Jonathan and Targum Neophyti.
[5] The Septuagint, composed about 250 BCE, and the
translation by Aquila, composed about 130 CE.
[6] There are many reasons for the targumic changes, such
as to clarify passages, to protect God’s honor, to show respect for Israelite
ancestors, etc. These alterations were not made to teach derash, as will
be shown below. The differences between peshat and derash is a
complex subject. Simply stated, peshat is the plain or simple or obvious
meaning of a text. Derash is the reading of a passage with either a
conscious or unconscious intent to derive something from it, usually a teaching
or ruling applicable to the needs or sensibilities of the later day, something
the original writer may have never meant.
[7] S.v, m’charef, Babylonian Talmud,  Kiddushin 49a.
[8] S.v. shnayim, Babylonian Talmud, Berakhot
8a, b.
[9] They may have also been implying that one cannot understand
their derash unless they first understood the Torah’s peshat.
[10] Our view that Onkelos was written without derash
is also supported by the following interpretation of the Babylonian Talmud,
Megillah 3a. The Talmud recalls a
tradition that the world shuttered when Targum Jonathan to the Prophets
was written. Why, the Talmud asks, did this not occur when Targum Onkelos was
composed? Because, it answers, Onkelos reveals nothing (that is, it
contains no derash), whereas Targum Jonathan reveals secrets (by
means of its derash).
[11] See M. M. Kasher, Torah Shelemah 24
(Jerusalem, 1974), pages 225-238, and J. Reifman, Sedeh Aram (Berlin,
1875), pages 12-14. The mention of a Targum in the Midrashim and Talmuds
are not necessarily references to Onkelos; the wording in these sources
and Onkelos frequently differ.
[12] See Kasher, supra pages 155-161 and Reifman, supra,
pages 8-10.
[13] See edition by A. Berliner (Leipzig, 1877). See I.
Drazin, JJS 50.2, supra, and note 15, for a summary of the
scholarly comments on this volume.
[14] See my study of Saadiah Gaon and Onkelos in
the introduction to Onkelos on the Torah: Leviticus, pages xvii-xxii.
[15] Perushei Rav Saadiah Gaon, in Torat Chaim,
Mossad Harav Kook, Jerusalem, 1986, and Daf-Chen Press, Jerusalem, 1984. The
uses of Onkelos are indexed in Genesis in the 1984 volume on page
471. See E. I. J. Rosenthal, “the Study of the Bible in medieval Judaism,” Studia
Semitica
, Cambridge, 1971, pages 244-271, especially pages 248 and 249
regarding Saadiah.
    Saadiah established Hebrew
philology as a prerequisite for the study of the literal sense of the Bible and
he used rabbinic interpretations in his translation only when it complied with
reason. He stated at the end of his introduction to the Pentateuch that his
work is a “simple, explanatory translation of the text of the Torah, written
with the knowledge of reason and tradition.” He, along with ibn Ezra and
Onkelos
, as we will see, included another meaning only when the literal
sense of the biblical text ran counter to reason or tradition. His failure to
mention that Onkelos contains derash does not prove indisputably
that he saw no derash in the commentary. However, since he copied Onkelos
interpretations so very frequently in his Arabic translation, it is likely that
if he saw derash in Onkelos he would have mentioned it.
[16] In his Sefer Machberet Menahem (H. Filipowski,
editor), London and Edinburgh, 1854, pages 14a, 16b 17a, 17b, 20a, and others.
[17] Peirush Hatorah L’Rav Shmuel ben Hofni Gaon,
Mossad Harav Kook, Jerusalem, 1978, index on page 111.
[18] See the listing in Perushei Rashi al Hatorah
by Charles B. Chavel, Mossad Harav Kook, Jerusalem, 1982, pages 628 and 629.
For Rashi’s struggle against derash, see, for example, his commentary to
Genesis 3:8. While Rashi believed he interpreted Scriptures according to
its peshat, ibn Ezra criticized him: “He expounded the Torah
homiletically believing such to be the literal meaning, whereas his books do
not contain it except once in a thousand (times),” Safah Berurah, editor
G. Lippmann, Furth, 1839, page 5a. See also S. Kamin, Rashi’s Exegetical
Categorization with Respect to the Distinction Between Peshat and Derash

(Doctorial Theses), Jerusalem, 1978; M. Banitt, Rashi, Interpreter of the
Biblical Letter
, Tel Aviv University, 1985; and Y. Rachman, Igeret Rashi,
Mizrachi, 1991.
[19] Rashi said that he was offering peshat. He
meant that his commentary frequently contains derash that seemed to him
to reflect the plain meaning of the Torah.
[20] M. I. Lockshin, Rabbi Samuel ben Meir’s Commentary
on Genesis
, Jewish Studies, The Edwin Mellen Press, 1989. See especially
Rashbam to Genesis 37:2 and 49:16 where he criticizes his grandfather
with strong language.
[21] Lockshin, supra, pages 391-399, notes that
Rashi’s Torah Commentary is the primary focus of Rashbam’s own commentary. Of
some 650 periscopes of interpretation in the latter’s commentary to Genesis,
only about 33 percent concern issues not relevant to Rashi. Of the remaining
two-thirds, in only about 18 percent does Rashbam feel Rashi is correct, and in
just over 48 percent he is in disagreement with him, consistently criticizing
him for substituting derash for peshat, exactly what Rashi
declared he would not do. With this sensitivity to and opposition to derash,
it is very telling that he did not sprinkle even one drop of his venom on the
targumist.
[22] See Genesis 25:28, for example, where Rashbam
issues the accolade: “the plain meaning of scripture is the one offered by the
Targum.” It is significant to note that although Rashbam railed against the
insertion of derash into a biblical commentary, his own commentary was
frequently adulterated, as was Targum Onkelos, by the improper
insertions of derash by later hands. See, for example, Deuteronomy
2:20, 3:23, 7:11, and 11:10 in A. I. Bromberg, Perush HaTorah leRashbam,
Tel Aviv, 5725, page 201, note 25; page 202, note 111; page 206, 7, note 9; and
page 210, note 3.
[23] Ch. Heller’s and D. Revel’s were also convinced that
the original text of Onkelos did not have derash. However, they
did not recognize that Nachmanides was the first commentator to argue the
opposite. The first is in A Critical Essay on the Palestinian Targum to the
Pentateuch
, NY, 1921, pages 32-57. The second is in Targum Yonatan al
Hatorah
, New York, 5685, page 5. See also Bernard Grossfeld in “Targum
Onkelos, Halakhah and the Halakhic Midrashim
,” in D.R.G. Beattie and M.
McNamara (editors), The Aramaic Bible , 1994,  pages 228-46.
[24] In his epigram preceding one of the recessions of his
commentary on the Pentateuch, ibn Ezra writes that he intends to mention by
name only those authors “whose opinion I consider correct.” He names Onkelos
frequently. In his commentary to Numbers, for example, the Targum is
cited in 11:5 where he gives another interpretation, but respectfully adds, “he
is also correct,” and in 11:22 he comments, “it means exactly what the Aramaic
targumist states.” See also 12:1; 21:14; 22:24; 23:3; 23:10; 24:23 and 25:4.
Asher Weiser, Ibn Ezra, Perushei Hatorah, Mossad Harav Kook, 1977.
    While he treats Onkelos
respectfully, ibn Ezra uses the strongly derogatory terms “deceivers” or
“liars,” for the derash-filled Targum Pseudo-Jonathan to Deuteronomy
24:6. See D. Revel, Targum Yonatan al Hatorah, New York, 5685, pages 1
and 2.   
[25] The “fundamental element” that Onkelos
addresses is the avoidance of a literal translation of most anthropomorphic and
anthropopathic phrases. See the listing in Moses Maimonides, The Guide of
the Perplexed
, translated and with an introduction by Shlomo Pines, The
University of Chicago Press, 1963, volume 2, pages 656 and 658, and 1:28 for
the quote.
    Maimonides based his
interpretation of negative commands 128 and 163 in part upon our Targum.
Maimonides, The Commandments, translated by Charles B. Chavel, The
Soncino Press, 1967, pages 116, 117 and 155, 156. This was not because Onkelos
deviated from the plain meaning to teach halakhah. Command 128 forbids
an apostate Israelite to eat the Passover offering. Onkelos translates
the biblical “no alien may eat thereof” as “no apostate Israelite” (Exodus
12:43). The targumist may have thought this was the necessary meaning because Exodus
12:45 and 48 state that a sojourner and an uncircumcised Israelite could not
eat this sacrifice; thus the earlier verse must be referring to someone else.
Command 163 prohibits a priest from entering the Sanctuary with disheveled,
untrimmed hair.  Maimonides notes that
Onkelos
translates Leviticus
10:6’s “Let not the hair of your heads go loose” as “grow long.” Again, the
targumist may have thought that this was the verse’s simple sense because it is
the language used by the Torah itself in Numbers 6:5 and because when
one loosens one’s hair it becomes longer. Indeed, Rashi states explicitly that
the peshat of “loose” in this instance is “long.”
[26] He is believed to have been a student of Rashbam’s
brother Rabbeinu Tam. See the source in the next note.
[27] J. Nebo, Perushei Rabbi Josef Bechor Schor al
Hatorah
, Mossad Harav Kook, 1994, page 11, Schor went beyond Targum
Onkelos
in his concern about biblical anthropomorphisms and his attempts to
whitewash the patriarchs.
[28] See note 23.
[29] Genesis 6:13, 18; 31:42; 33:20; 35:13; and
others.
[30] This could be seen as a kind of syllogism. Torah is
truth. Kabala is truth. Thus, Torah “must” contain Kabala.
[31] Ramban, Writings and Discourses, translated
and annotated by Charles B. Chavel, Shilo, 1978, page 174.
[32] Ramban, Commentary on the Torah, translated
and annotated by Charles B. Chavel, Shilo Publishing House, Inc., 1971, volume
1, XII. Chavel points out that the extensive kabalistic influences on future
generations can be traced to Nachmanides.
[33] This is my original idea. It is based on several
facts. First, we know that he was the first to read Kabala in the Torah words
and phrases. Second, we know that he had enormous respect for Onkelos;
he referred to Onkelos about 230 times in his Bible commentary; although
he criticized others, he treated Onkelos with great respect, even
reverence. He considered Onkelos to be generally expressing the
truth. Thus it is reasonable to assume that he applied the same syllogism to Onkelos
that he applied to the Torah. Finally, we know of no one before him who
read mysticism into the targumist’s words.
[34] Ramban, Writings and Discourses, supra, pages
75-76. Nachmanides’ error in dating Targum Onkelos “immediately after
Aristotle” was not his only historical mistake. He believed that the Talmud’s
implied dating of Jesus at about 100 years before the Common Era was correct. See
Judaism on Trial
, editor H. Maccoby, Associated University Presses, Inc.,
1982, pages 28 and 29.       
[35] The Midrash Genesis Rabbah 9:5, which
is the source of this teaching, mentions “death” and 9:9 “the evil inclination
in man” as examples of seemingly bad things, which are good from a non-personal
world-wide perspective. Bachya ben Asher, the student of Nachmanides’ student
Rashba, who was also a mystic, mentions 9:9, but not the Targum. He did
not see this idea in Onkelos.
[36] Guide of the Perplexed 1:1. The Greek term psyche
had a similar developmental history as the Hebrew nefesh. T. Cahill, Sailing
the Wine-Dark Sea,
Doubleday, 2003, writes on page 231.
            Psyche
was, to begin with, a Greek word for “life,” in the sense of individual human
life, and occurs in Homer in such phrases as “to risk one’s life” and “to save
one’s life.” Homer also uses it of the ghosts of the underworld – the weak,
almost-not-there shades of those who once were men. In the works of the early
scientist-philosophers, psyche can refer to the ultimate substance, the
source of life and consciousness, the spirit of the universe. By the fifth
century B.C., psyche had come to mean the “conscious self,” the
“personality,” even the “emotional self,” and thence it quickly takes on,
especially in Plato, the meaning of “immortal self” – the soul, in contrast to
the body.
[37] Bachya ben Asher also mentions the parts of the soul,
but not the Targum, again not seeing Nachmanides’ idea in Onkelos.
[38] See the five books by I. Drazin on Targum Onkelos
published by Ktav Publishing House. Each contains a listing of the deviations
by the targumist from the Hebrew original.
[39] In my discussion of Genesis 46:4, I show that
Nachmanides was convinced that Onkelos never deviates to avoid
anthropomorphisms.
[40] Bachya mentions neither Nachmanides nor Onkelos,
again not seeing the Nachmanidean interpretation in the Targum.
[41] The “joy” is mentioned in the Targum to verse
6.
[42] Genesis 17:19.
[43] See II Chronicles 3:1.
[44] Rashi gives an additional reason why “Mount Moriah”
is rendered “the land of worship.” He connected “Moriah” to “myrrh,” which was
an ingredient of the sacrificial incense and an important part of the Temple
worship. Rashi states that this is the targumic interpretation. Rashi may be
explaining why the site was called Moriah, which would not be derash,
but the plain sense of the word. Nachmanides interpretation goes far beyond a
simple definition. See Genesis Rabbah 55:7, Exodus 30:23ff, and
Babylonian Talmud, Keritut 6a.
[45] Chapter 31.
[46] This occurs twenty-three times in Genesis
alone.
[47] There are many books that explain the derash that
they see in Onkelos. The most widely known is Netina Lager by
Nathan Adler (Wilna, 1886). Others include Biure Onkelos by S. B.
Schefftel (Munich, 1888), and Chalifot Semalot  and Lechem Vesimla by B. Z. J.
Berkowitz (Wilna, 1874 and 1843).  Modern
writers using this method include Y. Maori, who generally focuses on the Peshitta
Targum,
Rafael Posen who writes a weekly column for a magazine distributed
in Israeli synagogues. One can find listings in B. Grossfeld’s three volumes A
Bibliography of Targum Literature
, HUC Press, 1972.



R. Zevin, R. Ovadia Yosef, Pras haRav Kook and a Minor Case of Censorship

R. Zevin, R. Ovadia Yosef, Pras haRav Kook and a Minor Case of
Censorship
by Jacob D.
At the
end of R. Zevin’s introduction to his Sofrim u-Sefarim [1] we read –
In R.
Zevin’s footnote we see that one of the works that he wanted to review but
didn’t yet get to was R. Ovadia Yosef’s two volumes of Yabia Omer. As someone
who enjoys R. Zevin’s pen immensely (both his style and substance, especially
the way he analyzes books and their authors) [2], and as someone that studies
from R. Ovadia Yosef’s prolific halakhic literature quite often, I was curious
to know if R. Zevin ever ended up writing a review on any ​of ​R. Ovadia
Yosef’s works. For this I turned to R. Zevin’s grandchildren.[3] In a phone
conversation with R. Nahum Zevin (of Kiryat Eliyahu,Haifa) I was told that
although he has some unpublished R. Zevin material, ​and also existing are​
some highly critical book reviews that R. Zevin felt should remain unpublished,[4]
he doesn’t think anything was written about R. Ovadia Yosef.
In R.
Ovadia Yosef​’s​ Yabia Omer we find among the numerous approbations this –
Not
exactly an approbation but an explanation why the work deserved the R. Kook
prize ​of​ Torah literature for the year 571​5​ (1955). I have no doubt that
although R. Zevin signs his name along with two other judges​,​ the explanation
was penned by R. Zevin himself​​. From the three periods before​ these​ few
sentences ​​it seemed to me that more had been written than the few lines which
were ​printed in the ​book. I wanted to find the rest of the story​ (although I
wasn’t expecting a full review essay because R. Zevin wrote in his  Sofrim u-Sefarim published in 1959 that he
hadn’t gotten around to reviewing this work)​ and I spoke with the department
in the Tel Aviv municipality that handles these prizes (see here).
They said ​that ​they don’t have any additional information or documents that
pertain to this but ​that ​I should contact the Tel Aviv city archive (here) and they should be able to help. After speaking with the kind staff of that
archive I receive an email with two documents and a short message-
אנו שולחים לך סריקה של ההחלטה על הענקת הפרס לרב עובדיה יוסף וכן
סריקה של מכתבו של ראש העיר חיים לבנון לרב עובדיה המודיע לו על זכייתו ומברך אותו
עליה. אין בידינו נימוקים מפורטים יותר
בברכה,
רבקה פרשל-גרשון
הארכיון העירוני
By now I
kind of gave up, and forgot about the matter.
A short
while later I get a call from my friend Israel Mizrahi of Judaicaused.com (and the Musings of a Jewish Bookseller blog). He
tells me that I’m not going to believe it but in a recent shipment from Israel
of some old books he found a little booklet printed for one years Pras haRav
Kook. Upon opening it he sees that it was the booklet printed in the year
571​5​ (Summer 1955)​,​ the year that Yabia Omer was awarded the prize​​!

​For a
small fee I purchased the booklet ​and although I found ​it​ quite
interesting​,​ unfortunately nothing really more had been written about Yabia
Omer that hadn’t been​ ​printed in the book. Nothing really​ I say​, aside for
one small surprise.

In the beginning of the
little piece written about Yabia Omer we read-
 ​רגילים לחשוב שהתורה
הלכה ונתדלדלה מהעדה הספרדית, ירד קרנה ופנה זיוה הודה והדרה. ולא היא. על כל פנים
לא באותה מידה שחושבים
These
​last seven​ words​-
על כל פנים לא באותה מידה שחושבים
may seem
offensive to the level of Sephardic scholarship at that time and were therefore
censored out of​ ​ Yabia Omer volume one. Interestingly they were printed in
Yabia Omer volume two. This is consistent in the numerous later editions of the
books as well, including the latest re-typset edition (5775-2015).
We now
learn that Artscroll’s “The Festivals in Halacha” was ​​not the
​only, nor the ​earliest case of R. Zevin censorship (see here).​
It should
be mentioned that in R. Ovadia Yosef’s first volume of responsa Teshuvot Hazon
Ovadia, he receives a nice close to page long approbation by R. ​Zevin, but
still not the full review essay I was hoping for.
​[​​​​1​]​ I thank Eliezer Brodt for finding me the full three volume set. This set
doesn’t turn up in used bookstores too often​​. It’s an exception from most of
R. Zevin’s other books that have been reprinted many times over.​ I remember
the special morning I received his email informing me that he found them like
yesterday.​
​[​2​]​ ​R. Zevin’s ​Ishim ve-Shitot​ includes ten long essays on more famous Torah
personalities ​​,​ and ​his ​three volumes of Sofrim u-Sefarim​ includes about
a hundred and seventy-five (!) short essays​.
​​[​3​]​ I had previously spoken to one grandson Eliyahu who’s an attorney living in Tel
Aviv about having Sofrim u-Sefarim added to Hebrewbooks.org. In the course of
our conversations Eliyahu mentioned that he heard Hebrewbooks.org had already
scanned and posted some of R. Zevins’s other books, and that was
done without permission. He asked me to send them a message that the family
will take legal action if the issue isn’t straightened out. Upon Hebrewbooks
hearing that​,​ they seemed uninterested in dealing with the family to obtain
permission to keep the books on their site​,​ and all of R. Zevin’s
books were instantly removed. Also included in the books removed was the essay
whose true author is still in question about Yeshiva boys serving in the
Israeli Army. See my comment here and see
this post here.
[4] That
came to me a little bit as a surprise because in the three volumes worth of
essays that R. Zevin chose to publish in his Sofrim u-Sefarim, we do find some
highly critical reviews. See for example in volume one (Geonim, Rishonim,
u-Teshuvot)​​ his review on the third volume of Teshuvot Yaskil Avdi by R.
Ovadia Hedaya (pg. 258), and in volume two (Pesakim, Pirushim, ve-Hidushim), a
highly critical review of R. Aryeh Pomoranchik’s first volume of Torat Zera’im
(pg. 221)​.​​ Also in this same volume a pretty serious charge leveled
(delicately) ​at his friend and colleague R. Yehezkel Abramsky’s Hazon Yehezkel
Hullin (pg. 114). However, upon looking through some old issues of Ha-Tzofeh
from the 1930’s and 40’s (where most of the material in Sofrim u-Sefarim first
appeared, ​see ​here​​)​,​ I was able to come across some of the 
extremely critical reviews that R. Zevin chose not to publish in his
books. None of the reviews that R. Zevin published in his books were nearly as
critical as these.
See Ha-Tzofeh
Fri. Aug 5th 1938
and Ha-Tzofeh
Fri. Sep. 27th 1940



Announcement of new works of Rishonim

Announcement of new works of Rishonim
By Eliezer Brodt
מגנזי אירופה,
כרך ראשון, ההדיר והוסיף מבואות: שמחה עמנואל, הוצאת מקיצי נרדמים, 512 עמודים.
I am very happy to announce the publication of an important work which I have been eagerly waiting for, Professor Simcha Emanuel of the Hebrew University’s Talmud department’s volume of texts from the “European Genizah” (volume one). This volume was just printed by Mekitzei Nirdamim and is being sold by Magnes Press.

New texts from Rishonim are high up on my list of favorite publications, all the more so when they are edited by Professor Simcha Emanuel. Professor Emanuel is considered one of the today’s greatest experts in Rishonic literature. He has produced numerous special works [such as this recent work, this, this and my favorite] and articles of both texts and material about them for quite some time. [Many of which are available here] All of which are of very high quality, showing an incredible breadth and depth in the material at hand. One area of specialty of his is finding long lost works; this new volume continues this trend. Starting with an important introduction to the background and importance of the Genizah, it includes numerous newly discovered texts of Rishonim, with introductions and background of their importance and proof of identification.
Here are the Table of Contents of this special work:

For a sample e mail me at
Eliezerbrodtatgmail.com.
The book can be purchased via Magnes
Press
or through me at: Eliezerbrodtatgmail.com.
Also take note of a special sale of numerous
titles at Magnes Press.
Copies of this work will be arriving
at Biegeleisen shortly.



Please note

The Seforim Blog is proud to provide a platform for freewheeling debate in a productive spirit. We do not moderate comments, because there has been no need. While tongues sometimes get sharp, we believe that overall the mood in the comments section has been in the spirit of comaraderie, with our readers and commenters sharing the bonds of a common interest and love of Jewish learning.
Recently, to our dismay, the comments section has been transformed to something else. We cannot accept a situation where every post becomes a mean-spirited argument. We have waited and tolerated this long enough, hoping to see whomever should consider themselves addressed by this post come to this realization on their own and use their considerable scholarly talents wisely and cease dragging the Seforim Blog down.
Please view this as a polite but firm request and a warning. If nothing changes soon, then unfortunately we will have to revoke the commenting privileges of whomever is responsible. 
Sincerely,
The Seforim Blog administrators.



Review of James A. Diamond, “Maimonides and the Shaping of the Jewish Canon” (2014) by Menachem Kellner

Review of James A. Diamond, “Maimonides and the Shaping of the Jewish
Canon”
(2014)
by Menachem Kellner
Menachem Kellner
is Chair of the Department of Philosophy and Jewish Thought at Shalem College,
Jerusalem, and the Wolfson Professor Emeritus of Jewish Thought at the
University of Haifa, where, among many other posts, he served as Dean of
Students and Chair of the Department of Maritime Civilizations, and founding
director of Be-Zavta, a program in Jewish enrichment. His most recent book is Menachem Kellner: Jewish Universalism,
edited by Hava Tirosh-Samuelson and Aaron Hughes in Brill’s Library of Contemporary
Jewish Philosophers, and is available here.
Bar-Ilan University Press is about to publish his next book, Gam Hem Keruyim Adam: Ha-Nokhri be-Einei
ha-Rambam
.
This is
Professor Kellner’s second contribution to the
Seforim blog
. His previous essay, “Who is the Person Whom Rambam Says Can
be ‘Consecrated as the Holy of Holies’?” was published in 2007 and is available
here.
In People of the Book: Canon, Meaning, and
Authority
(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997) Moshe Halbertal
distinguishes between normative and formative canons. Texts which are canonical
in the normative sense are obeyed and followed; they provide the group loyal to
the text with guides to behavior and belief. Formative canonical texts, on the
other hand, are “taught, read, transmitted, and interpreted … they provide
a society or a profession with a shared vocabulary” (p. 3).
In his brave new
book, Maimonides and the Shaping of the
Jewish Canon
(New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014), James A.
Diamond, the Lebovic Professor of Jewish Studies at the University of Waterloo
(link),
sets out to prove that “at virtually every critical turn in Jewish
thought, one confronts Maimonidean formulations in one way or another” (p.
263). Diamond’s claim is actually much stronger than that. He sets out to prove
that the collected works of Rambam, alongside the Bible, Talmud, and Zohar
“comprise the core spiritual and intellectual canon of Judaism” (p.
266).
Diamond makes
his argument through a series of case studies, each one focusing on a different
thinker: Ramban, Ritva, Abravanel, ibn Gabbai, Spinoza, Hermann Cohen, Neziv,
and finally Rav Kook. These chapters constitute “a discussion of the long
and continuing history of exegetical entanglements with Maimonidean
thought…” (p. 26).
Diamond sets the
stage with two chapters on Rambam himself, in which he makes a subtle and
sophisticated argument to the effect that Rambam set the agenda for the future
of Jewish thought by providing an “inextricable link between philosophy,
law, and narrative” (p. 11).
In these two
chapters Diamond continues the methodological breakthroughs of his two previous
books on Rambam, Maimonides and the
Hermeneutics of Concealment
(Albany: SUNY Press, 2002) and Converts, Heretics, and Lepers: Maimonides
and the Outsider
(Noted Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 2007). The first
book has literally changed the face of academic Maimonidean studies and
deserves to be much better known outside of the academy. The book exemplifies a
sophisticated methodology for reading the Guide
of the Perplexed
. This approach may be characterized as follows: Diamond
takes Rambam at his word – to wit, that he was writing a book of biblical and
rabbinic exegesis – and cleverly and closely follows Rambam’s exegesis of his
sources. It takes a person of rare abilities to do this as well as Diamond
does; he is blessed with an impressive mixture of native literary abilities
combined with extensive reading of rabbinic sources and rigid training in law
and philosophy (he was originally a lawyer before realizing that life could be
much more interesting with a PhD in philosophy). Prof. Diamond’s reading of
Rambam’s exegesis of his sources is extremely convincing. Diamond also follows
my wife’s safe advice. She constantly reminds me: remember to tell your
students, Rambam was also a rabbi
(and not just a philosopher).
Diamond’s second
book consists of a series of extraordinarily close readings of core texts of
Rambam’s, readings which illuminate the delicate and multilayered interplay
between philosophical and religious ideas in his thought. As in his previous
work, Diamond convincingly illustrated the way in which Ramabam carefully
chooses, subtly interprets, and circumspectly weaves together rabbinic
materials to address philosophers and talmudists alike, each in their own
idiom.
In his first two
books, Diamond takes a linguistic pebble and throws it into the sea of Rambam’s
thought, following the ripples where they lead: verses connect to verses and to
rabbinic glosses upon them, which in turn lead to further exegetical and
philosophical ripples. In this, his third book, he uses the same subtle and
learned method to analyze the ways in which eight prominent post-Maimonideans
from the Thirteenth Century through the Twentieth engage Rambam’s thought, in
order to break away from it, or break it away from its medieval context to
adapt it to the ages in which they lived (p. 5).
Diamond’s claim
is stronger than the oft-noted influence of Rambam on radically different
thinkers. Indeed, there is hardly a Jewish thinker who does not claim to
represent Rambam in his or her world – as I often say, the two greatest
misrepresenters of Rambam in the 20th century were the Rebbe of
Lubavitch and the Rebbe of (Yeshayahu) Leibowitz. We have recently been treated
to a new-agish Rambam by Micah Goodman (Maimonides
and the Book That Changed Judaism: Secrets of the Guide for the Perplexed
)
and (once again!) to a Kabbalistic Rambam in Mevikh Maskilim (!) by Rabbi Shlomo Toledano. In the chapters of
this book James Diamond does more than show how various thinkers have
appropriated Rambam to their needs – he demonstrates how Rambam was a formative
influence on the Jewish self-perceptions of a wide variety of central Jewish
thinkers.
In the first of
these chapters, on Ramban (“Launching the Kabbalistic Assault”),
Diamond shows how Ramban’s theology 
“can only be fully appreciated in its counterexegesis, reaction to,
and reworking of Maimonides’ own theology and philosophical exegesis” (p.
69). Fully aware of what Rambam was doing, Ramban sought to present an
alternative vision of Judaism (just as I have argued elsewhere, Rambam himself
sought to present an alternative vision of Judaism to that which found
expression in Halevi’s Kuzari). Thus,
for example, for Ramban “Jewish history inheres in Abraham’s biography
both physically and metaphysically, to be played out by his biological
descendants, [while] for Maimonides Abraham’s life provides a manual on how to
qualify as his ideological offspring” (p. 74). In this typically
beautifully written and densely packed sentence, Diamond presents one of the core
differences between the Judaisms of Rambam and of Ramban. Students of the two
rabbis will see here hints at Ramban’s view of Torah stories as prefiguring
Jewish history (itself a cunning subversion of a classic Christian trope) and
at Rambam’s opposed essential lack of interest in history per se (even Jewish
history) and his construal of Judaism as a community of true believers, defined
by ideology, not by descent.
This is just one
of the many ways in which James Diamond teases out the essential differences
between Rambam and Ramban. I would like to stress that as much as Ramban was
clearly aware of these differences (as brilliantly elucidated by Diamond), and
as much as he rejected Rambam’s picture of Judaism, Voltare- like he still
defended Rambam’s right to be wrong. It would be wonderful if today’s rabbinic
leadership would take a “musar
haskel
” from Ramban’s behavior in this matter.
Rabbi Yom Tov
Ishbili (Ritva) belonged to Ramban’s school, and I would like to think that one
of the lessons he learned from Ramban was to defend Rambam without agreeing
with him, as he does in Sefer ha-Zikkaron,
closely analyzed by Diamond in chapter four, “Pushing Back the  Assault.” Diamond detects in Ritva an
“ideological retreat from Nahmanideanism toward Maimonideanism” (p.
88). This “retreat” is not a rejection of the world of Ramban,  but, rather, an attempt to salvage
“rationalism and reserve a space for it alongside Kabbalah within Jewish
practice and belief” (p. 113).
In chapter five
we are presented with a Don Isaac Abravanel “who struggled with
Maimonides’ thought throughout his prolific career” (p. 116); a specific
locus of that struggle was Rambam’s account of the Akedah. Abravanel, it has famously been reported, used to end
lectures on Rambam in Lisbon with the statement: “these are the views of
Rabbenu Moshe, but not those of Moshe Rabbenu.” Here again, we see an
attempt to keep Rambam within the fold, without denying the challenges he
presents to more conservative interpretations of Judaism. It is one of the most
important contributions of Diamond’s book that time and again he shows us how
medieval thinkers rejected much of what Rambam taught, without denying that he
taught it. Comparing the approaches of Ramban, Ritva, and Abravanel to the
furor surrounding the so-called Slifkin affair and the writings of many
contemporary rabbis, makes one almost believe in the decline of the
generations.
The chapter
which I personally found most interesting was about Meir ibn Gabbai, the
Sixteenth Century kabbalist, largely because he is the figure treated by
Diamond about whom I knew the least. Chapter Six, “The Aimlessness of
Philosophy” examines ibn Gabbai’s Avodat
ha-Kodesh
, one of the most popular works of pre-Lurianic Kabbalah. This
kabbalistic digest is “inextricably intertwined with a withering critique
of  Maimonidean rationalism” (p.
138), further evidence for  Moshe Idel’s
claim  that Rambam was a “negative
catalyzer” for kabbalistic conceptions. Ibn Gabbai’s world was thus one
“where Maimonides’ thought inspired fierce rejection, while ironically at
the same time providing  a fertile
repository of ideas, exegesis, and terminology for the advancement of
kabbalistic thought and interpretation” (p. 137).
Rambam was so
important for a figure like ibn Gabbai that the latter felt forced to accept
the widespread legend concerning Rambam’s 
alleged “conversion” to Kabbalah at the end of his life. That
this legend was so widespread, and that ibn Gabbai and many others contributed to
spreading it, is powerful support for the thesis of Diamond’s book about the
centrality of Rambam in forming the Jewish canon. Rambam is so important and
central a figure, that a Kabbalist cannot allow him to remain outside the fold.
I will leave
discussions of the last four chapters of Maimonides
and the Shaping of the Jewish Canon
(on Spinoza, Hermann Cohen, Neziv, and
Rav Kook) to specialists in modern Jewish thought. To this reader, at least,
they appeared every bit as insightful and illuminating as the six chapters
outlined here. One comment, however begs to be made. Diamond’s concluding
chapter deals with a twentieth century writer one rarely sees, if ever,
mentioned alongside Maimonides — Franz Kafka. Intriguingly, Diamond’s argument
is that even a contemporary, secular, Jewish diarist, thinker, and novelist is
both made possible and understood better when read against the grain of
Maimonides. In this case  Diamond argues that Kafka, the pessimistic
prophet of gloom and alienation in the modern age, takes Maimonides’ negative
theology to its logical extreme and leaves us with a sobering thought
  especially in a post-Shoah age. If Maimonides’ “theology of
negation ends in the breakdown of both intellect and language,” then perhaps it
also “can all too easily lead to a theology of brokenness and alienation, and
to the parables of Kafka.”

Did Maimonides
indeed shape the Jewish canon alongside Bible, Talmud, Midrash, and Zohar? Each
reader of this remarkable book will have to make up her or his mind on this
issue. What cannot be denied is that each such reader will finish the book
enriched, enlightened, and challenged.



R. Yitchak Al-fasi’s Anti-Qaraite Legislative Activity

R. Yitchak Al-fasi’s
Anti-Qaraite Legislative Activity
By Tzvi H. Adams
R. Yitchak Al-fasi (1013 – 1103) lived in North
Africa and Spain during the Golden Age of Qaraism. It is quite natural that we
find many instances of anti-Qaraite legislation in his writings.
Below are four such cases:
1) R. Al-fasi had the shofar blown on Shabbos
Rosh HaShanah in his beth din in Fez, Morocco. (See
discussion here: here). This
ruling and practice baffled many later authorities as it seems to contradict
the Talmud Rosh HaShanna 29b. R. Zerachiah Ha-Levi wrote about R. Al-fasi’s
opinion – וזה אחד מן המקומות המתמיהים הנמצאים בהלכות  (המאור הקטן ר”ה פ”ד).

When we consider that the Qaraites (of whom existed a large community in Fez)
did not blow a shofar at all on this holiday because such blowing is not
clearly written in the Torah, it is understandable why R. Al-fasi would desire
to have shofar blowing take place. Refraining from blowing the shofar would be
like surrendering to Qaraite views. We should also recall that Rosh HaShanah
can fall out on Shabbos as often as five times in ten years.
Aaron ben Elijah (1328-1369), a prominent
Qaraite theologian wrote:

The Rabbanites draw an analogy between the Day
of Trumpeting and the Day of Atonement which precedes the Year of the Jubilee,
of which it is written: Then shalt thou sound the horn of trumpeting in
the seventh month… on the Day of Atonement
(Lev. 25:9). They say
just as this trumpeting was done with horn, so also must the trumpeting on the
Day of Trumpeting have been done with a horn. (However), we have already
explained…. The Day of Trumpeting, therefore,
signifies nothing but the raising of the voice in song and praise, inasmuch as
there is no mention of a horn in connection with it. Moreover, why should we
draw an analogy between a thing which is obligatory every year, and one which
is obligatory only once in fifty years, the year of the
Jubilee?…                   
(from Leon Nemoy’s Karaite Anthology (1980) pg 173)

Read more on the Qaraite halacha here
2) R. Al-fasi was a key player in the
transition of the evening prayer from reshut to chova:
Summary: Since the close of the Talmud, the
accepted halacha had been תפילת ערבית רשות.
Towards the end of the tenth century the custom solidified amongst Qaraites to
pray only twice a day. To create a social divide, Rabbanite authorities
responded by requiring every Rabbanite follower to pray three times each day.
By attending synagogue three times a day one affirmed his allegiance to the
Rabbanite camp; also by praying more often than Qaraites, Rabbanites
distinguished themselves as being more holy and religious. The Franco-German
sages, distant from the Qaraite-Rabbanite scene, upheld the original halacha of
תפילת ערבית רשות.
Explanation: All early Gaonim ruled aravit
is optional (עיין בראשונים ברכות פרק תפלת השחר).
In early Qaraite times there were different views as to how many times a day
one should pray. Anan ben David, the early sectarian schismatic, believed that
only two prayers should be said: “Anan rejected the maariv – service, as being
only a Rabbinic innovation (See Brochos 27b), and prescribed two daily services
only in accordance with the times on which the Temidim were sacrificed” (Jacob
Mann, “Anan’s Liturgy and his half-yearly cycle of the reading of the law”, Karaite
Studies
(1971) edited by Philip Birnbaum pg. 285). R. Saadya Gaon
(882- 942), who had many interactions with Ananites, responded by requiring
Rabbanites to pray three times- he made maariv mandatory (chova).
This was only the opinion of the Ananites;
other sectarian Qaraite-like groups had other views as to the number of daily prayers
required. Later, in the mid-tenth century, R. Sherira Gaon (906-1006)
maintained the early gaonic psak that maariv
is reshut, but
wrote that one who does not daven maariv is a “poretz
geder
” (here).
Late in R. Sherira’s lifetime and in subsequent
years, the view among Qaraites was solidifying that only two daily prayers were
required. The Qaraite scholar, Levi ben Yefet, writes in his Sefer
ha-Miswot
(latter half of the 10th century),II pp.  501-502:
הדבור
בכמה זה השער- כבר נתחלפו בו ואשר עליו ההמון, כי הנה שתי תפלת בכל יום בקר וערב
שנאמר “ולעמוד בבקר בבקר להודות ולהלל ליוי וכן לערב”,… אשר יהיה זולת אלה הוא
נדבה…
ואמרו
מקצת חכמים כי חובה גם היא…ואלה הג’ תפלותיהם אשר זכר אותם דוד ע”ה “ערב ובקר
וצהרים אשיחה…” …. והקרוב עמי כי אלה הכתובים לא יורו על חיובה…
Shortly thereafter, R. Al-fasi (1013 – 1103)
further enforced the tri-daily prayer system by stating “והאידנא
נהוג עלמא לשוייה כחובה”. A Jew who belonged to the Rabbanite camp
distinguished himself from the Qaraites by attending synagogue three times a
day. I am preparing a lengthy paper on this topic – “The Transition of Aravit
from Reshut to Hova
a Rabbanite Response to Qaraism”.
3) R. Al-fasi participated in the anti-Qaraite
transition of minor fast days from being voluntary to mandatory.
Though the Gaonim and R. Chananel (990-1053)
explicitly say that not eating on the three minor fast days is the individual’s
choice (as per the Talmud’s ruling RH 18b- אין שמד ואין
שלום – רצו – מתענין, רצו – אין מתענין), R. Al-fasi chose to overlook this detail
about fast days in his halachic writings. The purpose of this intentional
omission was almost certainly to separate Rabbanites from the Qaraite community
who did not observe the Rabbanite fasting calendar.
Briefly, here is the sugya
in Rosh HaShannah 18b:
אמר ר”ש
חסידא מאי דכתיב (זכריה ח) כה אמר ה’ צבאות צום הרביעי וצום החמישי וצום השביעי
וצום העשירי יהיה לבית יהודה לששון ולשמחה קרי להו צום וקרי להו ששון ושמחה בזמן
שיש שלום יהיו לששון ולשמחה אין שלום צום אמר רב פפא הכי קאמר בזמן שיש שלום יהיו
לששון ולשמחה, יש (גזרת המלכות) שמד צום, אין (גזרת המלכות) שמד ואין שלום רצו
מתענין רצו אין מתענין
אי הכי ט”ב נמי אמר רב פפא שאני ט’ באב
הואיל והוכפלו בו צרות
The Gaonim:
– בזמן
הזה, בדורות הללו, שאין שמד ולא שלום, רצו מתענין לא רצו אין מתענין…. הילכך שלושת
צומות, מי שאינו
רוצה לצום אין בכך כלום
ואינו מחוייב בהן. (תשובות הגאונים גנזי
קדם ח”ג עמ’ 43)
R. Chananel:
שיש שלום
– כלומר כל זמן שבית המקדש קיים יהיה לששון ולשמחה. יש שמד – צום.  אין שמד
ואין שלום –  כגון עתה בזמן הזה, רצו מתענין רצו אין מתענין. וכיון שאם רצו
שלא להתענות בהן אין חובה עליהן
, לפיכך אין שלוחין יוצאין בהן.
(רבינו חננאל – ראש השנה יח, ב)
הרב
ברג’לוני ז”ל כתב מ”ט קבעום האידנא חובה? מפני שהם דברי קבלה … (שערי תשובה
סימן עז)

By the time of Ramban (1194–c. 1270) and later
authorities mandatory fasting was well established in Spain. (Rashba, though,
is an exception- he still considered the fasts optional.)
About the practice of the Qaraites, Levi ben
Yefet, writes in his Sefer ha-Miswot (latter half of the
10th century),III pg 452: Levi be writes
“צום הרביעי וצום החמישי וצום השביעי” וגו’. … והוא
העשירי מן החדש העשירי… והוא היום אשר סמך בו נבוכדנצאר על ירושלם והצר עליה
ובנה עליה דיק, שנאמר “ויהי בשנה התשיעית למלכו בחדש העשירי בעשור לחדש בא
נבכדנאצר מלך בבל וכל חילו” וגו’
והיום השני – והוא יום פתיחת המדינה, והוא היום התשיעי מן החדש הרביעי
שנאמר “בחדש הרביעי בתשעה לחדש ויחזק הרעב בעיר ולא היה לחם לעם הארץ ותבקע
העיר”.
והצום השלשי – הוא היום השביעי מן החדש החמישי מפני כי אמר בו
“בחדש החמישי בשבעה לחדש היא שנת תשע עשרה שנה למלך נבוכדנצר בא נבוזראדן רב
טבחים עמד לפני מלך בבל בירושלם, וישרוף את בית יוי”.
והצום הרביעי – הוא היום העשירי מזה החדש הה’ שנאמר “ובחדש
החמישי באחד לחדש” וגו’. והגרמתו וגם הגרמת היום הז’ הוא שריפת בית יוי מפני
כי אמר אחרי כל אחד מהם ” וישרוף את בית ה’ 
שני פעמים.
והצום הה’ – הוא יום כד’ מן החדש השביעי שנאמר “וביום עשרים
וארבעה לחדש נאספו בני ישראל בצום ובשקים” וגו’.
… ויש באלה הצומות חלוף. מהם בין הרבנים ובין הקראים, ומהם בין
הקראים ובין העננים,…
הדבור בצומות אשר יצומו אותם הרבנים … והוא יום
יז’ בתמוז ויום ט’ באב, ויום עשרה בטבת… ואולם לא נצום אותם עמהם…
Dr. Isaac Gottlieb summarizes (here):
The Karaite calendar does not take note of our
holidays of Hanukkah, Tu-b’Shvat… because these days are not mentioned in the
written Torah. Three of the four fast days associated with the destruction of
the First Temple are observed in Karaite tradition, but on different days from
us: the “fast of the fourth month,” which we observe on the 17th of Tamuz, they
mark on the 9th of Tamuz (cf. II Kings 25:3-4); instead of the Ninth of Av the
Karaites fast on the 7th and the 10th of Av (II Kings 25:8; Jer. 52:12-13);
instead of the Fast of Gedaliah, which we observe on the 3rd of Tishre, the
Karaites fast on the 24th of Tishre (Neh. 9:1). The fast on the 10th of Tevet
is the only one which they observe on the same date (Jer. 52:4-5). They do not
observe the Fast of Esther but celebrate Purim for two days, and on leap years
they only observe it in the first month of Adar.
Rabbi David Bar-Hayim’s view is that the
transformation from optional to mandatory fasting occurred because later
rishonim believed they lived in time of שמד
– hence fasting was obligatory. More recent authorities only cited the words of
these late rishonim and that perspective became the norm. Here is his
discussion of this topic: “The Four
Fasts and their Halakhic Status Today”.
Rabbi Bar-Hayim suggests that the situation
today (the political climate – war vs. peace) is not different than that of the
Gaonim and R. Chananel – אין שמד ואין שלום. 
This assessment has practical halachic implications. I suspect, though, that
the transformation was not only because of ‘wartimes versus peaceful times’ but
was also political and anti-Qaraite.
Rambam also omits this Talmudic leniency of רצו מתענין רצו אין מתענין. The Halachot
digest of R. Al-fasi and Mishnah Torah of Rambam were both intended
to replace Talmud study for the lay population. By ignoring the leniency of
permissibility of skipping the minor fasts, these sages made sure their general
readers would assume fasting is obligatory- thereby segregating them from the
Qaraite communities who did not fast on Rabbanite fast days.
The language used by R. Y Barzillai, “קבעום האידנא חובה”, is similar to that employed by R.
Yitzchak Al-fasi and others – “והאידנא נהוג עלמא לשוייה
כחובה” – in explaining why, in the eleventh century, Jews were
required to pray the evening prayer every night (עיין
ברכות פרק תפלת השחר). This may hint at the same reason for
change- to separate Rabbanites from Qaraites. See Case#2.
Furthermore, Sma”k 96 (R. Yitchak Corbeil- 13th
century France) and Kolbo Laws of Taanith (Provence
14th century) cite the Gemara רצו מתענין רצו אין מתענין
. These authors only cite practical matters- it is clear they still considered
the minor fasts optional. The great R. Tam was asked if a pregnant woman needs
to fast on the minor fasts. He responded by citing the Talmud – that these
fasts are optional (cited in Hagaath Maimoni Laws of Taanith 5).

These European sages lived far from Qaraites and therefore had no need to
respond to sectarian practices.
My suggestion – that the transformation of the
three minor fasts from being optional to mandatory was a reaction to Qaraism –
is novel and requires some more investigation and research…והמשך יבוא.
4) R. Yitchak Al-fasi, and his teacher, R.
Chananel, created a six hour waiting requirement between meat and dairy in the
early eleventh century – thereby limiting the social participation of
Rabbanites with Qaraites. This was not the common practice in Judaism until
their new legislation. I elaborated on this in “Waiting Six Hours for Dairy- A
Rabbanite Response to Qaraism” –  here.