This Year, Throw Away Your Haggadah

Among the myriad laws of Pesach there is a rule that I find it very hard to persuade my congregants to accept! It is not some minutia of kitchen preparation, or even the amount of matzah they should eat at the Seder. Surprisingly enough, it is the requirement that they understand the story of the Haggadah while they read it. It seems such a simple idea – instead of struggling through the text, just about managing to get through it in the original, read the story in a contemporary English translation. Actually, the idea of reading the story of the Exodus in the vernacular is particularly interesting to a British rabbi, as it recorded in the name of the rabbis of the mediaeval rabbi of London. Now I use the word ‘contemporary’ with care, as there are many translations that are so out-of-date and archaic, that they are no use at all. One I saw recommends searching for Chametz with ‘a wax randle in the gloaming’, which, apart from the obvious spelling mistake, leaves the reader with the impression that he is about to engage in some wacky Victorian pantomime. Others are so full of ‘thees’ and ‘thous’ that they require translation themselves.

Why is so difficult to get those who are not fluent in Hebrew to read the story in a translation? Why would anyone choose to labour uncomprehendingly over the original text, syllable by syllable, instead of enjoying the drama and charm of the age-old story in a language that they can understand? Responses to this question vary. Some say, ‘we have always done it like this.’ Others feel compelled to use the Haggadah they received as a Bar Mitzvah present in the 1930s. Still others assume that it must be better to read it in Hebrew, even if they don’t understand it. At some level, I suppose they are right - for those who have a good grasp of Hebrew, it is preferable to read the Haggadah in the original; after all, Hebrew is the language of God and of the Torah and expresses nuances and concepts that cannot be fully translated into English. But these are entirely lost on the non-Hebrew reader. In fact, reading an unintelligible story loses more than nuances, it loses everything else too.

In reality, I think that there is more to this problem than Haggadot and Hebrew. It cuts to the heart of our own self-perception and attitude towards Judaism. Incredible as it may sound, for many people, part of the Seder experience seems to be the mystique of not understanding! Some people are actually troubled by the prospect of understanding and enjoying the procedure. Since their earliest recollections are of incoherent mumbling, this is how things must remain for evermore. Any endeavour to disturb this state of affairs is met with resistance. ‘It was good enough for my grandfather, so why isn’t it good enough for you?’ Surely some attempt to think through the long-term consequences of this attitude is called for. For whatever reason, previous generations were happy to accept that Judaism called for martyrdom – whether it was sitting through an unintelligible Seder, or tolerating lengthy, unrewarding Shul services. Younger people are simply unwilling and unprepared to do so. Worse still, many of us still expect youngsters to participate in this way and become frustrated with them when they refuse. It is hardly surprising that a generation that is well educated, advantaged and surrounded by exciting life alternatives, is also uninterested in a meaningless experience. Let us be honest – why would anyone participate willingly in a meaningless experience?

But the most destructive aspect of this is feeling comfortable with the unintelligible model. It permits us get away without a challenge - without allowing the real message of Pesach, and indeed of Judaism, to have any impact upon us. Happy with the meaningless, we have convinced ourselves that the experience has nothing to offer, and fulfilled our expectations by rendering it impotent; as such, it need not disturb our lives in any way at all. We have turned the Seder, without a doubt the most powerful educational tool in Judaism’s armoury, into a gun loaded with blanks. We have inoculated ourselves against the most exciting inspiration to creating a vibrant Jewish future that exists. It suits us to extract the teeth of the Seder by keeping it incomprehensible, for in that way, we will require no self-examination, no reconsideration of the way we impart Judaism to our children and certainly no modification of our Jewish lives.

This problem pervades every area of Jewish life, but at the Seder, the contrast between the reality and the ideal is most evident. Seder night this year is a perfect opportunity to begin the revolution. It is time to fully exploit the magic of the Seder - the original all-singing, all-dancing, multi-media inspiration. It is time to recognise that young Jews need meaningful Jewish experiences if they are to play any part in the Jewish future. It is time to turn the Seder back into a real event, with genuine communication between parents and children, and consign the mumble-through-the-text and dash-to-the-meal of the past to the waste bin of failed Jewish experiments. Throw away that old Haggadah.

Old Haggadot must be treated with respect. Please ask a rabbi how to dispose of them properly.

A version of this article first appeared on Jewish World Review

Win The Lottery Jewish Style

Beset by financial worries, Fred falls into a deep sleep after tossing and turning for half the night. He has a startling dream, in which he sees himself clutching a ticket for the National Lottery, waiting for the winning numbers to be announced. By the time the first four numbers have been called, all of which match those on his ticket, he is transfixed with anticipation, eager to discover whether he has won the jackpot. To his astonishment, as the last two numbers are revealed, Fred realises that he has become a multi-millionaire, wealthy beyond his wildest imagination. Just as he begins to contemplate the life of comfort ahead of him, he wakes up to harsh reality, bitterly disappointed to find that it was all a dream. Then Fred makes a decision – he promises God that should He turn this dream into a reality, then he will pledge one million pounds of his winnings to charitable causes. He is resolute in his promise and is convinced that God will help him to win next time he buys a ticket – after all, presumably God wants the million donated to charity!!

Does this seem if not a little humorous, vaguely familiar? Most of us have probably already spent several lottery jackpots…. in our minds!! We imagine the luxurious lifestyle such fabulous wealth could bring and calculate just how much we would need for our various purchases. We may even imagine ourselves using some of the money for charitable causes. Maybe we think that it is more likely that Divine providence will smile on us if we do.

Actually, our attitude to charitable causes is a good barometer of our spiritual well being. Judaism insists that our money and possessions are not actually ours, but the property of God that is on loan to us. In Hebrew, there is no way to say it is mine or it is yours. Instead, we say it is to me or it is to you. This indicates that our possessions are not truly ours, but merely associated with us; provided for our use, but still really God’s property. A great mediaeval Jewish thinker, Rabbenu Yonah, reminds us that in normal circumstances, when someone deposits an object or some cash with a friend, the recipient must care for it, but not use it. In contrast, God entrusts us with money and possessions, which we may use for our own purposes – indeed, we are supposed to use them for our needs. However, we must realise that as He is the true owner, God will only continue to entrust us with the money if we use it in accordance with His wishes. If we misuse the funds by lavishing more than necessary on ourselves, thereby neglecting the needs of others, we may find that the deposit is withdrawn.

The English word charity does capture the Jewish notion of generosity to the needy. Rabbi S. R. Hirsch, the 19th century German-Jewish leader, observes that the word charity denotes a dependence on the good will and sympathy of the benefactor; whether to contribute funds to a cause is entirely a matter of his own discretion. Not so the Jewish concept of tzedakah, which means not generosity, but righteousness. It is morally right and imperative that we donate a proportion of our income to appropriate causes; it is not a matter of personal choice, but an ethical absolute. This helps us to gain a sense of justice and to create a just society. We should view the opportunity to donate money to good causes not as an unwelcome drain on our resources, but as a chance to develop our moral sensitivities and a contribution to the achievement of goodness in the world by performing this vital mitzvah.

Let us return to Fred, the man who promises that he will make a large donation to tzedakah if God will enable him to win the lottery. Midrash Sh’mu’el, an anthology on Pirkey Avot, notes that even if Fred’s intention is genuine, there can still be no guarantee that God will fulfil his request. However, if he is not sincere, then God will certainly not allow him to win the jackpot. Better to remain poor than to be proven a liar!! I have a sneaking suspicion, that while many people manage on modest incomes, winning the jackpot would not give them access to more funds to distribute to tzedakah, because they would find plenty of new things on which to spend their extra money. Suddenly, the up-till-now undreamt of millions are ‘needed’ and no large sum is available for charitable causes. Put in Fred’s shoes, how many of us really would give that million to charity? I wonder. Maybe it’s better that we don’t win to avoid facing a challenge that we will fail?

King Solomon (Proverbs 10:2) tells us that righteousness saves us from death. This has many interpretations, but is generally understood to be a reference to what we call charity. Our tzedakah can literally save us from death. How so? We may suggest that one of the ways in which God determines our future is by assessing whether we are correctly using our lives and the resources that He has deposited with us. If we are, then we will be allowed to continue enjoying them, but if not, He may decide to withdraw them from us. Increase in our charitable activities can indeed prolong our lives.

When we stand before God this Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, we will declare that repentance, prayer and tzedakah remove the evil decree. (Musaf prayer) The truth is that we are already in the Shul, saying the prayers and repenting our misdeeds of the year past. Those two are necessary, but insufficient. We must also commit ourselves to greater generosity, more acts of kindness and perhaps most importantly, a revised attitude to the function of our own resources. Then we can be assured that we, together with all the Jewish people, will have the chance for a happier year ahead.

Shavuot And True Spirituality

Pesach has Matzah, Rosh HaShanah the Shofar and Sukkot the four species and the Sukkah, but Shavuot, which celebrates the revelation of the Torah at Mount Sinai, seems to be lacking in specific observances. It has been suggested that while the other festivals commemorate seminal historical moments through the observance of the Torah, Shavuot is about the Torah itself, and, as such, it needs no ceremony. Instead of the externality of ritual, Shavuot invites us to focus on the significance of the origin and ideology of the Torah system itself, and to admire its momentous impact on humanity. Sadly, perhaps as a result, it is the least understood and observed of the festivals.

In reality, the Torah does describe special observances for Shavuot, but they are restricted to the Temple era. One of them affords us a remarkable insight into the deeper meaning of Shavuot, as well as a glimpse of the Torah’s attitude to the use of the material world. Two distinctly shaped loaves of bread were brought to the Temple on Shavuot in a special celebration. This may seem of academic interest, except for the fact that most unusually, the Torah prescribes that they are baked from chametz – leaven, the villain of Pesach. Shavuot falls seven weeks after Pesach; the intervening forty-nine day period is known as the omer, during which the days that are counted in anticipation of the coming festival. It is understood that physical redemption, celebrated at Pesach, is only the start of a process that led to its goal – the revelation at Mount Sinai. As such, the spiritual journey starts with Pesach and climaxes at Shavuot. It is a matter of great interest that such vigorous efforts are required to remove chametz from the Pesach environment, yet the omer period concludes by placing leaven loaves in the Temple, the locus of Jewish spirituality.

This resolution of this discrepancy reveals a great deal about the significance that Judaism attributes to physical pleasure. Pesach, during which chametz is strictly forbidden, seems to represent the limitation of physical enjoyment, whereas Shavuot signifies its ultimate sanctification in the Temple itself. As such, the omer period, which bridges the gap between the two, offers an opportunity to develop from the radical position represented by Pesach to the more mature one offered by Shavuot. The extent of the role played by physical pleasure in religious life has been the subject of extensive theological debate throughout history. Some systems of thought adopt the position that religious achievement is only possible when it is divorced from material experience. Celibacy, cessation from normal life and even quite extreme ascetic acts are not uncommon amongst religious groups, which have concluded that these offer the only route to true spirituality. Judaism addresses this issue, but reaches a quite different conclusion. Abstinence is never an ideal, but in various forms, may sometimes be used as a very temporary device for achieving a higher goal.

Perhaps the most significant example of this idea is the observance of Yom Kippur, when, since the pleasures of food and marital intimacy are proscribed, one ‘afflicts’ oneself by disengaging from the physical world. Yet the Torah requires us to abstain in this way for only one day near the start of each year; this serves as a way of reawakening our spiritual lives at the year’s outset. This is not the ideal, but a powerful kick-start to spiritual growth. The mystical thinkers hint to this notion in observing that Yom Kippur, which we are accustomed to considering the holiest day in the Jewish calendar, is somehow inferior to Purim, the day on which we rejoice and imbibe alcohol to excess. The observance of Yom Kippur may be essential, but its self-denying nature means that it can never be more than a powerful, yet short-term instrument. In contrast, Purim, when properly celebrated, enables the Jew to reach the heights of ecstasy using the most physical means at his disposal, and hence articulates a Weltanschauung much closer to the Torah’s ultimate model.

It seems that the human tendency to become immersed in material pleasure must be addressed by a temporary emphasis on its ephemeral nature and thus comparative insignificance. This is achieved by a strong, albeit brief involvement in spiritual-only pursuits.

The process that leads the Jew from Pesach to Shavuot is now clear. The requirement to abstain from chametz on Pesach is reflective of the nascent moments of Jewish nationhood that the festival commemorates. A group of ex-slaves with the potential for spiritual greatness, yet still beset by the mentality engendered by centuries of deprivation, was likely to abuse the newly accessible pleasures of the material world. Thus at the moment of their national genesis, it was necessary to forbid the consumption of chametz, which represents selfish use of the physical world. Yet the goal is not the rejection of physicality, but its integration into the Divine system. The seven weeks that elapse from Pesach to Shavuot enable a personal transformation to take place, hopefully culminating in a mature attitude to the use of the material world. All physical pleasures may be used - indeed must be used, but in a context and within a framework. These are defined by the Torah, the guidebook to the meaningful use of everything. This, the purpose of the Jewish mission, could not be given to the embryonic nation when they left Egypt, but by Shavuot, they were capable of understanding and implementing it.

This concept is represented by the two loaves of chametz that were the focus of the Divine service in the Temple on Shavuot. The two loaves are said to represent the twin passions that drive so much of human enterprise – material success and sexual satisfaction. These ambitions, so frequently eschewed by religious systems, are brought, as it were, right into the Temple on Shavuot, assuring us that the elevated use of every physical experience lies at the heart of true Jewish living.

A version of this article originally appeared in the Jewish Chronicle. It is republished with permission.

The World Of Midrash

Summary

The classical Rabbinical sources contain many types of non-legal passages, which will be broadly referred to as midrash in this study. The goals of midrash are varied and complex and consequently may be understood at a variety of levels. While for every midrash it is essential to find an explanation which is consistent with the views and intentions of Chazal, it is legitimate, and in some cases, essential, to offer a conceptual and philosophical interpretation, rather than a strictly literal one. An argument will be mustered from traditional sources for a non-literal approach to understanding some midrashim. The concerns raised by classical sources about literalism are discussed, as are the dangers of teaching midrashim to an audience which may misconstrue their meaning or be unable to properly appreciate them. The rationale behind such non-literal presentations is considered, as is the possibility of their classification.

Note

Non-legal material which appears in compilations, such as Midrash Rabbah and Midrash Tanchuma, is usually referred to as midrash, whereas similar material in the Talmud is often referred to as agadah or agadta. Sometimes, the word agadah is used to describe a wider range of material than the term midrash; midrash would be used to describe amplification of the Biblical story, whereas agadta would also refer to philosophical, medical and eschatological aphorisms in the Talmud. In this study, midrash will be used to cover the whole gamut of material intended by both terms.

Introduction

Midrashic interpretation is a specialised area of Jewish study, which demands skills which are different to those needed by halachic experts. When the great Rabbi Akiva, whose halachic influence is present on every page of the Talmud, attempts to explain a textual anomaly using a midrashic style, he is asked by his colleague Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, 'Akiva, what are you doing delving into agadah?' Rabbi Akiva is further advised to stop discussing this subject and return to the laws of leprous marks and tents.(1) Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah considers Rabbi Akiva an expert in halachah, but not in agadah.(2) Fortunately, many of the foremost Jewish authorities have written on this subject and we are able to draw on their thoughts in determining legitimate styles within midrashic analysis.

Whatever style of rendition we choose to adopt, we need to be aware of the dangers of stepping beyond the boundaries of interpretation which have been bequeathed to us by Torah tradition, as formulated by Chazal and by the writings of the greatest Jewish minds. We must always be cognisant of the fact that the notions expressed by midrash are a division of the Oral Tradition - that part of God's revelation to Moses at Sinai which is indivisibly linked to the Written Torah. It is a fundamental principle of Judaism that the ideas therein, while originally passed orally from generation to generation, are now encoded in the Talmud, various midrashic sources and the mystical literature. Thus the midrash, far from being mere stories, legends or fanciful images, in fact conveys the word of God as part of the Oral Torah. It is critical that we approach this unique form of Jewish literature with the trepidation and respect that it deserves as part of our holy legacy, and remain constantly aware of the risks of desecrating the revelation which its misinterpretation or trivialisation must imply.

The perils inherent in trivialising the content and meaning of midrash are mentioned in a number of key sources. A student who mocked the words of the sages was reduced to a pile of bones by the harsh gaze of Rabbi Yochanan.(3) The Talmud further tells us that 'anyone who mocks the words of the sages is punished by boiling excrement.(4) However, in considering the wide range of valid interpretations which the Torah text can hold, the Midrash Rabbah observes that 'even something which a student in the future would say before his teacher - all was communicated to Moses at Sinai.' (5) Whilst this source may appear to give carte blanche for any interpretation, we note that the Talmud observes that 'one who reveals interpretations of the Torah which are not consonant with the halachah' is amongst those who have no share in the afterlife.(6) We may assume that while a wider range of interpretations of midrash may be permissible, there are nonetheless limitations, as there are for all areas of Torah study.

Regrettably, it is common to find those who do not take midrash seriously. This may be a result of misunderstanding of the purpose of the midrash, or more likely a consequence of misguided instruction in their youth. This subject is starkly addressed by a number of sources. The Midrash Rabbah notes that 'when your students are young, hide the words of Torah from them, but once they grow and become scholars, reveal the secrets of Torah to them.' (7) We are concerned that a child who hears a simple and naive explanation of a midrash will remain attached to this level of interpretation as an adult. Unable to progress from his childhood perception of the midrash, he will consider it trivial and hardly worthy of adult consideration. This concept is underscored by the following fascinating Talmudic excerpt: 'Rabbi Simlaiy went to Rabbi Yochanan and said to him, "teach me agadah." He replied, "I have a tradition from my ancestors to teach agadah neither to Babylonians nor to Southerners, for they are arrogant and they have a limited perception of the Torah. You are both a Nehardaiyan(8) and you live in the south."'(9) Apparently, these groups did not learn Torah in the correct manner, and Rabbi Yochanan was concerned that they might explain the verses of the Torah in a peculiar fashion, or come to mock them.(10) The Sefer Chasidim of Rabbi Yehudah HeChasid(11) expands this notion to include children and observes, 'do not reveal a strange agadah to children, lest they say that there is nothing to it, and from there extrapolate to everything else.' This applies equally to ignoramuses and indeed to anyone whom we fear may mock the agadah. (12) Unfortunately, children are often taught midrash in such a way that when they reach adulthood, they are not equipped to consider the possibility of other layers of meaning which would enhance and mature their understanding. The consequences of this, eloquently expressed by the aforementioned sources, are painful and may never be fully rectified.

The Importance Of Agadah

The strength of feeling expressed in the above excerpts about the incorrect interpretation of midrashic sources leaves us in no doubt that the midrash, when expertly construed, is somehow vital to our Torah study and personal growth. Indeed, the Sifri notes that 'if you wish to recognise the one who spoke and brought the world into being, then learn agadah, for through it, you will recognise the one who spoke and brought the world into being and cleave to His ways. If you do what is incumbent upon you, then I will do what is incumbent upon Me.'(13) The Avot DeRebbi Natan compares the virtues of studying halachot and midrash: 'Anyone who has midrash in his hand, but not halachot, does not taste wisdom. Anyone who has halachot in his hand, but not midrash, does not taste the fear of sin.'(14) It is clear that the midrash is seen as a tool for reaching beyond the observance mandated by the halachah, into the dimension of human God-awareness. The Rambam, in the introduction to his commentary on the Mishnah, remarks, with respect to agadah in the Talmud, 'it is not appropriate to think that their worth is small and aim limited; rather they contain great wisdom, for within them are the most astonishing and delightful secrets. For when one examines them intelligently, one will find within them some of the greatest truth and one may reveal Godly things from them.'(15) Indeed, the Maharal of Prague, one of the truly great interpreters of midrash, advises the teacher of halachot that 'if during of a class on agadah, one exhorts the community to words (halachot) of Torah, they (agadot) draw the matter (halachot) into the hearts of the listeners, are accepted by them and remain with the people to guard and observe.'(16) The Gaon of Vilna, commenting on the verse 'I passed by the field of a lazy man and by the vineyard of a heartless man',(17) notes that the vineyard and its owner refer to 'the expert in agadot, for there lies concealed all the secrets of the Torah.'(18) In further praise of the value of midrash, he observes on the verse 'If your enemy is hungry, feed him bread; if he is thirsty, give him water to drink',(19) that agadot are called water, for they shatter the inclination for lust.'(20) (Presumably, in the same way that water slakes one's thirst). We are to understand that midrash and its correct exposition is a central pedagogical tool, which, when used properly, can further devotion to Torah observance, both in the legal sense and also in the arena of one's attachment to the Divine. It appears that the study of midrash, through its contemplation and internalisation, is an important route provided us by Chazal to an adult commitment to intellectual and emotional dedication to God and His Torah.

This notion is emphasised by what is perhaps the most significant source on the value of midrash and the like. Although we have not yet examined in detail the legitimate parameters of midrashic interpretation, we will assume here that conceptual explanation is generally the alternative to literalism. It is understood that King Solomon, the wisest of all men, was the master of the use of allegory and imagery. He was the author of Proverbs and Ecclesiastes, both works replete with aphorisms on life, man and God. His most famous opus, the Song of Songs, tells of an intense relationship between a man and his lover, which is universally agreed to be an allegory for the affinity between God and the Jewish people. These works can reasonably said to be the forerunners of the later midrashic style. It is in considering the contribution of King Solomon that the Midrash Rabbah notes:

'More than that Kohelet (King Solomon) was wise, he also taught knowledge to the people. He listened and investigated; he established many proverbs.'(21) 'He listened' - to the words of Torah and 'he investigated' - the words of Torah - by making 'handles'(22) for the Torah, for one finds that until Solomon arose, there was nothing comparable.(23) .... Rabbi Yosi said, '[It is comparable] to a large barrel filled with fruit, which had no handles, and it could not be carried. A clever man came along and made handles for it and people began to move it about using the handles. Similarly, before Solomon appeared, people were unable to understand the words of Torah, but once Solomon appeared, everyone began to appreciate the Torah.' .... Rabbi Chanina said, '[It is comparable] to a deep well filled with water; the waters were cool, sweet and good, but no-one was able to drink from them. Someone came along and tied some ropes together. He drew from the well and drank and then everyone started to draw water and drink from the well. Similarly, by linking one thing to another, one parable to another, Solomon plumbed the secrets of Torah.' As the verse says, 'The parables of Solomon the son of David, king of Israel.'(24) Through the parables of Solomon, he comprehended the words of Torah.(25)

If we apply this beautiful midrashic idea to the issue of parable and allegory in general, we conclude that Solomon invented a literary form which revolutionised Torah study and its accessibility to the common man. His contribution to the Biblical canon forms the prototype for a style of presentation used by Chazal, as well as inspiring and influencing other great Jewish thinkers throughout history.

The case for non-literalism

We have thus far considered the significance and impact of midrash. We must now investigate the acceptable parameters of its interpretation. We have already observed that care must be exercised in our attitude to these sources, but we will nonetheless observe that the spectrum of legitimate approaches is quite broad.

The Rambam tackles this subject in a number of places. In his introduction to Moreh HaNevochim, he uses the following verse as the starting point for his discussion: 'Like golden apples enmeshed in silver, so is an appropriately spoken word.'(26) He explains that the golden apples mentioned are covered in a silver mesh, so that the mesh follows the contours of the apples. From a distance, the apples appear to be made of silver, but on closer investigation, one observes the small spaces in the mesh, through which the golden apples may be seen underneath. So too, the appropriately spoken word, which may even seem attractive on the surface, on closer examination will yield a much deeper intent.(27) This is the paradigm for all study of midrash. Thus, according to the Rambam, the deeper, real meaning is never the superficial one, however appealing it may be. He refers again to this theme in the introduction to his commentary on the Mishnah, in which he notes, with reference to the midrash contained in the Talmud, that 'if one considers it at a simple (literal) level, one will see in it matters further removed from the intellect than anything.' He advocates a non-literal understanding of midrash, based on an allegorical or conceptual approach.(28) In the Moreh itself, the Rambam extends this principle into more halachic midrash. He quotes a Talmudic dictum based on a verse in Deuteronomy:(29) 'to teach us that should one hear something disgusting, one should stick one's finger in one's ear.'(30) He observes that no-one of reasonable intelligence would believe that the verse mentioned really refers to fingers and ears, nor that the Talmud actually requires us to put our fingers in our ears when we hear something horrible. Rather, it is a graphic and pleasing way to emphasise the importance of avoiding listening to inappropriate comments.(31)

From the viewpoint of the Rambam, it is quite clear that a non-literal reading, at least of some midrashim, is not only acceptable, but the only reasonable one. This view is supported by the Ramban in his commentary on the Song of Songs, where he writes, 'they [the Talmudic Rabbis] expressed this wisdom in midrashim and agadot in the form of parables and riddles, to obfuscate and conceal them. They sprinkled them here and there to obscure their locations. Someone who does not understand them and takes them superficially, does not consider the inner significance of their detail.'(32) In his famous disputation with the apostate Pablo Christiani, the Ramban was challenged to explain a source in Chazal which seems to indicate that the Messiah was already living at the time of the destruction of the second Temple. He responded by claiming:

there is a third book [of Torah literature] which is called midrash - that is to say, stories. .... As for this book, those who believe it, good, but those who do not, will not be harmed. There are those of our sages who say that the Messiah will not be born until close to the time when he will come and take us from this exile. Therefore, I do not believe in the book when it states that he was born already at the time of the destruction. Also, we call this the book of agadah .... which means they are merely comments which one relates to his friend.(33)

Despite the obvious relevance of these comments, it is important to note that they were made by the Ramban in the context of a fight about the validity of Judaism as a whole, when a great deal more than the correct interpretation of midrash was at stake. Hence there is some controversy as to whether they truly represent his view, or were tailored to meet exceptional circumstances.(34) Irrespective of this, it is clear that according to the Ramban, a literally true reading of the midrash is not the only possible one.

An even earlier text, the Mavo HaTalmud of Rabbi Shmuel HaNagid, can be mustered to support the view of the Ramban. He observes that one need only extract from the study of agadah what one is able to understand, whereas the rest need not be of concern.(35) We will surely observe that these sources do not mean to belittle the words of the midrash, but intend to demonstrate, by comparison to halachic material, that there is no dogma in its interpretation. It is clear that the statements of Chazal were made with intent, but that this intent may be unclear to the reader and certainly not the type of literal truth conveyed by the halachah. In contrast to the halachah, we are not bound to fully comprehend the midrash, and are at liberty to leave any difficulties or inconsistencies we find in it unexplained.

There are many other authorities who discuss the issue of literalism in midrash. They include Rabbi Avraham ben HaRambam,(36) the Shelah HaKadosh(37) and the Ramchal.(38) Each in his own way demonstrates that the true meaning behind many midrashim is not necessarily the literal, superficial one. In a later section, when discussing the possible categorisation of midrashim, we will mention these sources in more detail.

Before discussing possible justifications for the style of midrash, a little-understood idea must be explained. Literalism, in the context of our study, is not inextricably linked to truth. A midrash may be true, but not literal. Whatever, after consideration, we consider to be its correct interpretation, the midrash certainly conveys a true idea. As the Maharal indicates, 'there is not one exposition in the Talmud and midrashim, great or small, which does not express the profound meaning of the verse, according to its truth and when one delves into the meaning of the verse, one will find it.'(39) A simple comparison can be made to modern journalism in which sensational headlines are used to attract sales and give import to an idea. It is common to find statements in newspapers which are clearly not intended to be taken literally. We can imagine finding a disgraced politician described in a newspaper headline as a 'pig'. Were we to insist on a literal reading, we would dismiss it as false, for the subject is not actually a pig; he shares none of the physical characteristics of a pig. But this is a mistake - the author of the headline intended the reader to summon up a porcine image when thinking of the politician. Whatever negative ideas we associate with the pig - lack of integrity, dirtiness, etc. - this is what we are to bring to mind with reference to him. Hence the image of a pig is accurate, for at a metaphoric level, he is indeed a pig. But neither dismissing the headline as false, nor accepting it as literally true is appropriate, for it is true, but not literal. Once thing is clear - the impact of such allegory is immeasurable. This style of presentation has a much greater and long-lasting impression on the reader than any literally true comment could ever have.

Another troubling issue is the apparent contradiction between midrashic sources. However, it seems from the mystical literature that this is a misconception and that at deeper level, the two or more sides in the discussion in fact express different facets of a subject or a variety of possible manifestations thereof. This notion is discussed in detail by Rabbi E. E. Dessler in a letter to students in a Yeshivah, which he wrote while travelling by boat to America in 1948.(40) He quotes as an example the Talmudic notion of a two messiahs, one the scion of Joseph, the other the scion of David.(41) While superficially, it seems that the roles of these two figures contradict each other, Rabbi Dessler refers us to the writings of the Gaon of Vilna, who understands that the Messiah from Joseph will save the Jews from physical troubles, whereas the Messiah from David will rescue them from spiritual depravation.(42) By extension, if properly understood, all midrashim can be understood in this light; for the superficial disagreements really reveal the multifaceted attitude with which Chazal approach every subject.

The interaction between different layers of meaning in midrash is also worthy of consideration. We have seen that the Rambam compares the relationship between the simple reading of a verse and its deeper meaning to that between the mesh covering a golden apple and the apple itself.(43) This seems to mean that each layer of meaning must follow the same contours as every other. Hence each level of meaning offered in a midrash is essentially a different or a deeper perspective on the same issue. In his commentary on the Genesis story, the Abarbanel comments that:

this is the amazing thing about the Torah of God which distinguishes it from all other learned works and law books, for among them there are those which focus on revealed wisdom, but contain no mention of any other field of knowledge, and there are those which focus on the inner truth, but the external meaning is empty and devoid of content. But this Torah, brought by Moses, is not like that, rather the external manifestation is truthful and accurate, and that which is hinted at is supernal wisdom. .... The mystics explain every terrestrial matter as a projection of that which is celestial.(44)

Every dimension of meaning found by Chazal within a verse is linked to every other, building a complete picture of an idea, story or event, from simple to intensely mystical. The mechanism behind this is explained by the Ramchal in one of his mystical works:

In truth, the Torah may be explained in many ways - some according to the simple meaning and some totally divorced from the simple meaning, so much so that they seem alien when compared to the simple meaning, as they explain the words differently from the simple meaning. All of these explanations are true. This is because the Torah joins everything in a fundamental way. .... For everything was created in Torah.... Even though there may be many purposes or paths within a single thing, all of them come from a single root.(45)

It is sometimes very hard to discover the common theme in disparate Rabbinical aphorisms about a single subject. On many occasions, they seem to have very little to do with each other or appear to contradict each other entirely. Often, Rashi will quote one midrashic idea to explain a verse and then offer another, which seems to be unrelated. Nonetheless, the classic sources indicate that Torah study which is true to the original intentions of Chazal will attempt to find a linkage between these differing statements and thereby enable us to forge a broad understanding of a multifaceted theme. This should be born in mind when studying and teaching these important sources.

One small example may help to illustrate these ideas. In the Biblical story, when Jacob finally encountered his estranged brother Esau, after many years of animosity, we learn that 'Esau ran to meet him and hugged him; he fell on his neck and kissed him and they wept.'(46) The word vayishakeyhu - and he kissed him - is written in the Torah scroll with a dot above each letter. The Rabbis agree that this indicates something extraordinary about the word, but the precise nature of the peculiarity is subject to disagreement.(47) The first view offered is that on this occasion, despite the fratricidal rage which had previously characterised Esau's attitude to Jacob, his kiss was genuine. The other view is that despite the superficial camaraderie of the kiss, Esau intended not to kiss Jacob, but to bite him. Jacob's neck turned to marble and Esau's teeth were blunted. Hence they both wept; Jacob for his neck and Esau for his teeth.(48) In his Torah commentary, the Rebbe of Sokatchev cleverly uncovers from within Jacob's own prayer that he is frightened both of a physical assault from his brother, but also of a more subtle spiritual attack.(49) If so, there is no dispute as to how to treat the word vayishakeyhu at all, rather one opinion focuses on Esau's designs against Jacob's physical persona, the other against his spiritual persona. Esau decided not to attempt to kill Jacob and his family and in that respect, the kiss was genuine. On the other hand, he still intended to pollute him with his ideology and lifestyle, and in that respect, he came to bite Jacob, rather than to kiss him. Each view in the midrash, far from contradicting each other, actually enhance our overall picture of the event described. As for Jacob's neck turning to marble, this is an image designed to indicate that Jacob was able to resist Esau's spiritual advances. Although the attack was subtle, Jacob was prepared for it and completely impervious. Containers made from marble, in common with all types of stone, are not subject to ritual defilement.(50) So too, Jacob was not susceptible to Esau's attack in any way.(51)We see in this masterful exposition two themes which we have already mentioned - the importance of seeing different views of an event reported in the midrash as complementary, rather than contradictory and the non-literal, albeit truthful, rendition of its content.

Justification of non-literalism

We have already mentioned a simple justification for the presentation of conceptual ideas in midrashic, rather than literal form. It is clear that the impression given by an image can be stronger and more long-lasting than that of a simple idea. We have also noted the dangers of trivialising midrash and the long-term consequences that this may have. This is one of a number of concerns which the Rambam feels that Chazal were addressing when they decided to couch their ideas in this way:

They did this thing [wrote in allegorical style] for remarkable reasons. Firstly, to sharpen the minds of the students and to awaken their emotions. Secondly, to confuse the foolish people so that they will never have their emotions awakened .... for they are not intellectually able to understand the truth properly. .... Perhaps the verses contain supernal secrets, and when God wishes to removes the veil of foolishness from the heart of someone He chooses, then after he has struggled and accustomed himself to wisdom, he will understand according to his ability. .... Further, teaching to the simple people must be in the style of parables and riddles, in order to include women, youths and children, until they have developed their intellects, for then they will be able to contemplate and comprehend these secrets. .... And for these reasons, the sages arranged their words in allegorical presentations, which repel the mind of the fool, according to his view.(52)

We see delineated here several classic explanations for the choice of style in midrash. In the order mentioned by the Rambam, they are: a) intellectual and emotional stimulation of the student, b) preventing the fool access to the true meaning, c) acknowledgement of the need for effort and trust in God to succeed in study and d) opportunity to provide different layers of meaning suitable for students of varied abilities. The Ramchal(53) elaborates on the need to obscure the ideas to ensure that they are only available to a worthy student. He recognises the problem of reprobates gaining access to the esoteric parts of the Torah. This could only happen were the ideas therein too easily available, so to prevent this from occurring, they were couched in obscure terms. They would remain essentially a closed book without the keys to unlock their meaning and these would not be available to everyone. For while the midrashim themselves, and even the mystical literature would be accessible, the keys to their comprehension would only be taught by a scholar to someone worthy to hold them. Indeed, the various admonitions in the literature concerning their wrongful explanation are aimed at those who attempt to understand midrash without the proper keys. This contrasts drastically with a worrying modern trend in which so called 'teachers of mysticism' instruct all manner of people in what is loosely termed kabbalah. It is held up as a panacea for all of us and consequently taught to ignorant people, who are often hardly versed in the basics of Judaism. This clearly contradicts the intention of the sages who wrote down these ideas and can only lead to misunderstanding, confusion and frustration.

The leitmotif of investing effort in Torah study to properly reap its spiritual and intellectual rewards is a common one in the Rabbinical and later literature. There is, as we have seen, a considerable likelihood of misunderstanding midrash through superficial analysis, whether by accident or design. This danger may be more acute in the sphere of midrash than that of halachah as the concepts therein are often more complex, less clearly defined and more far-reaching in their theological ramifications. Thus we understand the need for additional layers of obfuscation in the literature and also the extra stress placed on careful and wise analysis of it by the Rambam and the Ramchal. Nonetheless, we should not think that halachah can be distilled from the sources all that easily. The prophet Isaiah proclaims, 'And it will happen that he will eat butter because of the abundance of milk, for everyone who is left in the land will eat butter and honey'.(54) On this, the Gaon of Vilna makes a most apposite comment: 'eat butter and honey - agadot are compared to honey and halachot to butter, for they can only be extracted [from their sources] with effort and serious study.'(55) Both agadah and halachah demand expertise and dedication, each of a different nature, to achieve proper results.

Categorisation of midrash

We have recognised the validity of non-literal interpretation in midrash and have attempted to justify their style of presentation. In the final section of this study, we will tackle the issue of midrashic classification. A number of important authorities endeavour to categorise the midrashic sources. We refer back to the Rambam's introduction to the Moreh HaNevochim. In it, he notes that there are two types of metaphor used in the writings of the prophets. In the first, each detail of the story has an individual, albeit allegorical purpose. Midrashim of the second type convey a general meaning, although it may not be possible to detect specific meaning in each of its details.(56) This simple demarcation may not be in agreement with the opinion of the Maharal and others of his ilk, who are most insistent that every detail in every metaphor which appears in the classic Jewish texts conveys specific and carefully planned meaning.

The Rambam's son, in his Maamar al odot Drashot Chazal,(57) offers a broader system of categorisation. He firstly splits the relevant material into two groups. The first he calls drashot - expositions, which he roughly subdivides into five sections: a) those to be understood literally, b) those which have both inner and outer levels of meaning, c) those which may not have an inner meaning, but are nonetheless hard to comprehend, d) those which offer explanations which make understanding the relevant verses more agreeable and e) those which are not intended to be understood literally. The second he calls midrashim which explain events, and these he subdivides into four groups: a) straightforward true stories, b) dreams, c) stories which are not intended to be understood literally and d) real events whose description is shrouded in parable or riddle. The first of these, which we have called straightforward true stories, have one of four possible purposes: i) the derivation of a law, ii) the derivation of a desirable (or undesirable) character trait or piece of information, iii) inspiration to enhanced trust in God or iv) the description of an amazing event. Just in case this system is not complicated enough, the writer notes that a midrash may exhibit the characteristics of just one of these types, or a combination of two or more of them!

The Shelah HaKadosh offers a briefer description of the system of midrashim. In his introductory essay to the subject of agadah, Darchey HeAgadot VeHaDrashot,(58) he claims that there are three types of agadah: a) sources which exaggerate the details of the story, just as people do when speaking to each other, b) completely accurate, but miraculous events, which are intended to display God's might to His devotees and c) sources which extract every possible meaning from the text. Within this third category, he observes that one will find explanations which are very close to the simple meaning of the text and those with midrashic meanings, which seem hardly linked to the meaning of the text at all.

The final breakdown of midrash types offered here comes from the Ramchal, in his aforementioned essay.(59) He observes three types of agadta: a) those expressed as metaphor or parable, b) those presented in obscure terms and which thus require additional information to explain the limits of their applicability and c) those which are clothed in trivial terminology and are therefore liable to be dismissed without a thought in the absence of proper guidance. He further points out that the Rabbinical literature also contains allusions to important concepts through the medium of popular science. There are three threads of interpretation which one may identify: a) direct and literal interpretation, b) traditional explanation and c) multifaceted interpretation which demonstrates the genius of the Divine.

This complex swathe of sources leave us in no doubt that the legitimate parameters for midrashic analysis are broad, although, as we have seen, not unlimited. Many sources are clearly and indisputably intended to be rendered literally, others are certainly allegorical, and still others are subject to a number of possible interpretations. One of the hardest things to determine is the boundaries between the different categories, as many, perhaps the majority of sources, fall into this third category. Two observations should be made here. The first is that the importance of mesorah - tradition - should not be underestimated. Judaism has always been a great advocate of a mode of practice and interpretation based on that of the previous generation, who in turn received it from earlier generations. We trust in our heritage, and in issues such as these, where the boundaries between acceptable and unacceptable interpretation as well as the guidelines governing literal and non-literal exposition are often unclear, we can and should, where possible, rely on the guidelines of analysis which it has bequeathed us. The second observation is that the underlying question which often besets the student of any particular midrash, may, as a result of this lengthy study, cease to be significant. This question - is a midrashic source meant to be understood literally or non-literally - will fade as the student recognises that whatever interpretation he finds suitable, (provided that it is a legitimate one as qualified by the classic sources), it express profound and important concepts. Hence, literal or not, perhaps it no longer matters - for the source is true and valuable regardless.

Conclusion

Midrash is a complex and beautiful style of literature which has been devised with awesome ability by the great sages of Israel. It can teach us esoteric concepts, enhance our trust in God, reveal the secrets behind the Biblical stories and impress upon us our obligations and duties to a degree unmatched by other material. Indeed, in this context we can understand a comment of the Gaon of Vilna on the verse, 'Thus My people shall be exiled because they lack knowledge, its honoured ones shall die from hunger and its multitude shall be dried out from thirst.'(60) The Gaon understands the last phrase of this verse to refer to the public who thirst for the words of agadah.61 It is the present author's personal experience that a carefully chosen midrash, with an inspiring and conceptual explanation behind it, is one of the most potent tools available to the modern Jewish teacher. It is unparalleled in its ability to draw the hearts of our people towards God and His holy Torah. It is hoped that this small contribution to the subject will facilitate heightened understanding of the function of midrashim and create a broader appreciation of their remarkable flexibility and potential.

(1) Talmud Bavli, Sanhedrin 67b
(2) Commentary of Rashi, loc. cit.
(3) Talmud Bavli, Sanhedrin 90a
(4) Talmud Bavli, Gittin 57a
(5) VaYikra Rabbah 22:1
(6) Talmud Bavli, Sanhedrin 99a
(7) Shir HaShirim Rabbah 1:2
(8) An important Jewish town in Babylon.
(9) Talmud Yerushalmi, Pesachim ch. 5, halachah 3
(10) Korban HaEidah, loc. cit.
(11) Sefer Chasidim 297
(12) Ibid.
(13) Sifri, Deuteronomy 11:22, s.v. uldovkah bo
(14) Avot DeRebbi Natan 29:7
(15) HaKdamah LePirush HaMishnah, Mosad HaRav Kook edition, section 7

(16) Netivot Olam vol. 2, Netiv HaTochachah, ch. 3, s.v. vehitbaer lecha
(17) Proverbs 24:30
(18) Commentary of Gaon of Vilna, loc. cit.
(19) Proverbs 25:21
(20) Commentary of Gaon of Vilna, loc. cit.
(21) Ecclesiastes 12:9
(22) The word izain in this verse means to listen, or to make ear-like. The 'ear' can also refer
to a handle for a container. Hence the midrash understands the verse to refer to the fact that Kohelet made 'handles' for the Torah.
(23) Until the time, nothing functioned as this 'handle' to enable the common person to
understand the Torah.
(24) Proverbs 1:1
(25) Shir HaShirim Rabbah 1:8
(26) Proverbs 25:11
(27) Moreh HaNevochim, Kapach edition, Petichah, s.v. amar hechacham
(28) Vide note 15
(29) Deuteronomy 23:14
(30) Talmud Bavli, Ketubot 15a
(31) Moreh HaNevochim, Kapach edition, section 3, ch. 3, s.v. aval arbaat
(32) Kitvey Ramban, Kook edition, vol. 2, intr. to commentary on Song of Songs, p. 479
(33) Ibid., vol. 1, ViKuach, pp. 307, 308
(34) Ibid., p. 308, footnotes s.v. shehaadam magid lechavero
(35) Mavo HaTalmud, end Talmud Bavli, Brachot, p. 45b s.v. vehadagah hu
(36) Milchamot HaShem, Kook edition, Maamar al odot Drashot Chazal
(37) Darchey HeAgadot VeHaDrashot, Torah SheBaal Peh, start of Ein Yaakov, vol. 1
(38) Maamar al Agadot Chazal, start of Ein Yaakov, vol. 1. See also Aharon Feldman, The Juggler and the King (Israel: Targum Press 1990) pp. 203-211
(39) Beer HaGolah, Beer 3, p. 44, s.v. umayatah. The whole of Beer 3, as well as much of Beer HaGolah itself, is dedicated to explaining this theme.
(40) Michtav MeEliyahu, vol. 3, p. 353
(41) Talmud Bavli, Sukkah 52a
(42) Even Shleimah 11:6
(43) Vide note 27
(44) Commentary of Abarbanel to Genesis 2:4, s.v. vaasher aaminhu
(45) Adir BaMarom p. 6
(46) Genesis 33:4
(47) BeReishit Rabbah 75:9
(48) Playing on the similarity of the words lenashko (to kiss him) and lenashcho (to bite him)
(49) See Genesis 32:12 and commentary of Ohr HaChaim, loc. cit.
(50) Rambam, Yad, Hilchot Keilim 1:6
(51) Shem MiShmuel, BeRereishit vol. 2, vayishlach, 5676, s.v. vayaratz esav
(52) Vide note 15
(53) Vide note 38
(54) Isaiah 7:22
(55) Commentary of Gaon of Vilna loc. cit.
(56) Vide note 27, ibid., s.v. veda ki hameshalim
(57) Vide note 36
(58) Vide note 37
(59) Vide note 38
(60) Isaiah 5:13
(61) Commentary of Gaon of Vilna loc. cit.

A version of this article appeared some years ago in L'Eylah.