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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.



Menachem Kellner – Who is the Person Whom Rambam Says Can be ‘Consecrated as the Holy of Holies’?

Who is the Person Whom Rambam Says Can be
‘Consecrated as the Holy of Holies’?
By Menachem Kellner

Menachem Kellner is Professor of Jewish Thought at the University of Haifa. Author of several dozen articles on Jewish philosophy, Kellner has written/edited fourteen books, including, most recently, Maimonides’ Confrontation With Mysticism (London: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2006).

This is his first contribution to the Seforim blog.

Rabbi Aryeh Leibowitz’s learned and interesting article in the most recent issue of Tradition (“The Pursuit of Scholarship and Economic Self-Sufficiency: Revisiting Maimonides’ Commentary to Pirkei Avot,” Tradition 40.3 (Fall 2007): 31-41) contained a passage which really surprised me, even though, perhaps, it should not have. (A PDF of this article is only available to online/print subscribers of Tradition.)

In his article, Leibowitz discusses Maimonides’ position vis-à-vis the appropriateness of scholars receiving communal funds. In doing so, Leibowitz surveys the Maimonidean sources, including the well-known statement of Maimonides in his Mishneh Torah in hilkhot Shemittah ve-Yovel. Leibowitz in his discussion of this particular source, however, appears to have made a common mistake. As this mistake has broad implications, it is necessary to set the record straight on Maimonides’ true meaning.

Leibowitz weakens his own argument by apparently not realizing that Rambam in Hilkhot Shemittah (13:13) is not talking about Jews in particular, let alone talmidei hakhamim. The passage in question is one of the clearest examples of universalism to be found in the Mishneh Torah. It may be that because that universalism goes against the grain of so much of what passes for Torah Judaism today that it is so easily missed.

Before turning to what Rambam says, let it be noted that he divided his Mishneh Torah into fourteen books. The seventh book of the fourteen is itself divided into seven sections (and is the only book divided into precisely that number of sections). This seventh section is itself divided into thirteen chapters. The thirteenth of these chapters is itself divided into thirteen paragraphs (halakhot) in the printed editions.[1] Thus, the thirteenth halakhah of the thirteenth chapter of the seventh section of the seventh book of the Mishneh Torah marks the precise mid-point of that work.

The number thirteen is, of course, significant in Judaism generally, but has special significance for Rambam. Not only did he promulgate thirteen principles of Judaism, but in “Laws of Circumcision,” 3.9 he emphasizes the fact that the word “covenant” (brit) is found precisely thirteen times in the account of Abraham’s circumcision (Gen. 17).[2]

The number seven is significant in many human societies, and not just in Judaism (Judah Halevi to the contrary – see Kuzari 2.20); according to Leo Strauss (1899-1973) it is of particular significance to Rambam.[3] I am in general no enthusiast for Straussian numerology, but this case seems too contrived not to have some significance.

Let it be further noted that for Rambam the halakhot of shemittah and yovel have messianic significance (Hilkhot Melakhim 11.1). I have proven (to my complete satisfaction at least) that according to Rambam the distinction between Jew and Gentile will lose all significance by the time the messianic era reaches fruition.[4]

So, what precisely does Rambam write in this special place in the Mishneh Torah? Here are his words:

Not only the Tribe of Levi, but each and every individual human being, whose spirit moves him and whose knowledge gives him understanding to set himself apart in order to stand before the Lord, to serve Him, to worship Him, and to know Him, who walks upright as God created him to do,[5] and releases himself from the yoke of the many foolish considerations which trouble people — such an individual is as consecrated as the Holy of Holies, and his portion and inheritance shall be in the Lord forever and ever. The Lord will grant him adequate sustenance in this world, the same as He had granted to the priests and to the Levites. Thus indeed did David, peace upon him, say, O Lord, the portion of mine inheritance and of my cup, Thou maintainest my lot (Ps. 16:5).[6]

Leibowitz translates the beginning of this passage as follows: “Not only the Tribe of Levi, but every single individual from among the world’s inhabitants whose spirit moves him…” (p. 32) and the penultimate sentence as follows: “Behold this person has been totally consecrated…” He then goes on to say:

Maimonides is not stating that this individual, who has dedicated his life to God, can rely on financial support from the community; rather Maimonides is stating that that such an individual can also sustain himself on less and will reap the benefits of heightened spirituality and increased divine assistance. (p. 33)

In an erudite footnote to this sentence Leibowitz makes it abundantly clear that he has missed a crucial point here: Rambam is not talking about Jews, be they talmidei hakhamim supported by the community or not.[7] He is talking about (unconverted) Gentiles who, through their devotion to God, become “as consecrated as the Holy of Holies.” Rambam here is talking about God’s support of all human beings who consecrate themselves; he could hardly imagine that this sentence would be turned into an argument in support of kollelim!

Why do I say this? The operative term in our passage is kol ba’ei olam. In every other place in the Mishneh Torah where Rambam uses this expression the context makes it clear that he means human beings as such, in contradistinction to Jews specifically.[8] In none of these places could the term mean proselytes or Noachides. There is no reason in the world to think that davka here Rambam had a more restrictive meaning in mind.

The expression “each and every individual human being” translates the Hebrew, kol ba’ei olam. This expression finds its classic use in a debate between the school of Rabbi Akiva, who maintained that the Torah was revealed to the Jews alone, and the school of Rabbi Ishmael, who insisted that the Torah was ultimately meant to reach kol ba’ei olam, “each and every individual human being.”[9] Here there can be no doubt but that the expression literally means all human beings (as opposed to Jews, native or converted).[10]

The expression is best-known to most contemporary Jews from a text which Rambam himself may or may not have known the liturgical poem (piyyut) unetaneh tokef.[11] The poem is based on Mishnah Rosh Ha-Shanah 1.2, which in turn is based on Ps. 38:15. It is a safe bet that most Jews who recite this passage on the yamim nora’im do not realize that the clear intent of these texts is all human beings, not Jews. Rambam, on the other hand, certainly knew it.[12]

The entire debate – ably analyzed by Rabbi Leibowitz – over whether Rambam’s statement at the end of Shemittah ve-Yovel represents a retreat from his strictures against compensation for Torah study is thus based upon a demonstrable misunderstanding of Rambam.[13]

Notes:
[1] Rambam did not number the specific halakhot in the Mishneh Torah; unfortunately for the elegance of the point I am making here, the best mss. count our halakhah as the 12th, not 13th. My thanks to Rabbi Shalomi Eldar for pointing this out to me.
[2] Isaac Abravanel discusses various other reasons for Maimonides’ use of precisely thirteen principles in Rosh Amanah chapter ten.
[3] Strauss, “How to Begin to Study the Guide of the Perplexed,” in trans. Shlomo Pines, Guide of the Perplexed (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963), pp. xi-lvi, p. xiii. Further on the significance of the number seven in Maimonides see Joel Kraemer, “Moses Maimonides: An Intellectual Portrait,” in Kenneth Seeskin (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Maimonides (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 11-57, especially pp. 20 and 42.
[4] See my discussion in Maimonides on Judaism and the Jewish People (Albany: SUNY Press, 1991).
[5] I wonder if this expression ought to be read as an implied critique of notions of original sin? Such notions are not only native to Christianity, but also attracted a number of (post-Maimonidean, Kabbalistic) Jewish figures. For a recent study on expression of original sin in Jewish exegesis, see Alan Cooper, “A Medieval Jewish Version of Original Sin: Ephraim of Luntshits on Leviticus 12,” Harvard Theological Review 97:4 (2004): 445-460. For some studies on the notion among Jewish philosophers, see Daniel J. Lasker, “Original Sin and Its Atonement According to Hasdai Crescas,” Da’at 20 (1988): 127-35 (Hebrew), and Devorah Schechterman, “The Doctrine of Original Sin and Commentaries on Maimonides in Jewish Philosophy of the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries,” Da’at 20 (1988): 65-90 (Hebrew).
[6] I cite the translation of Isaac Klein, Book of Agriculture (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1979), p. 403.
[7] In that footnote (no. 11), Leibowitz cites medieval authorities who take Maimonides to be talking about Jews and also an essay by a Rabbi Steven Weisberg who understood Maimonides to making a point about “an elevated state of utopian existence for a God-fearing Jew, rather than an operative point of law” (emphasis added).
[8] Actually, my Bar-Ilan “responsa project” database found them; I just pushed the buttons. In any event, the places are: “Repentance,” 3.3 and 6.3,”Tefillin,” X.11, “Sanhedrin,” 12.3, and “Kings,” 8.10. See further Ya’akov Blidstein, “The Promulgation of Religion as an Aim of War in Maimonides’ Teachings,” in Avriel Bar-Levav (ed.), Shalom Vi-Milhamah Bi-Tarbut Ha-Yehudit (Jerusalem: Merkaz Zalman Shazar, 2006): 85-97 (Hebrew). On p. 86, note 7 Professor Blidstein points out that the expression is “beloved of Rambam, and he uses it to denote humanity, generally in a spiritual or cultural context.”
[9] This debate was made the subject of a penetrating study by Marc (Menachem) Hirshman, Torah Lekhol Ba’ei Olam: Zerem Universali be-Sifrut ha-Tana’im ve-Yahaso le-Hokhmat he-Amim (Torah for the Entire World: A Universalist Stream in Tannaitic Literature and its Relation to Gentile Wisdom) (Tel Aviv; Ha-Kibbutz Ha-Meuhad, 1999). The book’s main findings were presented in English in idem., “Rabbinic Universalism in the Second and Third Centuries,” Harvard Theological Review 93:2 (2000): 101-15.
[10] A scan of the one hundred ninety one citations of this expression in the Bar-Ilan Responsa Project database of rabbinic literature shows that in the vast majority of cases it means human beings simply, and in many places it is used in explicit contradistinction to Jews.
[11] For a useful discussion of what is actually known about the poem (as opposed to what we have all been taught about Rabbi Amnon), see Ivan G. Marcus, “Kiddush HaShem in Ashkenaz and the Story of Rabbi Amnon of Mainz,” in Isaiah M. Gafni and Aviezer Ravitzky (eds.), Sanctity in Life and Martyrdom: Studies in Memory of Amir Yekutiel (Jerusalem; Zalman Shazar Center for Jewish History, 1992), 131-147 (Hebrew); Menahem Shmelzer, “Sefer Or Zarua and the Legend of Rabbi Amnon,” in Adri K. Offenberg (ed.), Bibliotheca Rosenthaliana: Treasures of Jewish Booklore: Treasures of Jewish Booklore Marking the 200th Anniversary of the Birth of Leeser Rosenthal, 1794-1994 (Amsterdam University Press, 2003), available online; David Golinkin’s discussion online; as well as Jacob J. Schacter’s lecture, “U-Netaneh Tokef Kedushat Ha-Yom: Medieval Story and Modern Significance” (sources [PDF]).
[12] My latest book is an extended discussion of the implications of Rambam’s universalism. See Maimonides’ Confrontation With Mysticism (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2006).
[13] For a very important discussion of the historical background to Rambam’s attack on Torah scholars who accept community funds in his commentary on Avot, see Mordechai A. Friedman, “Rambam, Zuta, and the Muqaddams: A Story of Three Bans,” Zion 70 (2005): 473-528 (Hebrew). This article supports Rabbi Leibowitz’s overall point by showing the specific historical back ground to Rambam’s spirited attack on those who accept (let alone demand) money for Torah study. On the subject in general I would also like to draw attention to: Ephraim Kanarfogel, “Compensation for the Study of Torah in Medieval Rabbinic Thought,” in Ruth Link-Salinger (ed.), Of Scholars, Savants, and Their Texts: Studies in Philosophy and Religious Thought: Essays in Honor of Arthur Hyman (New York: Peter Lang, 1989), 135-47.