charm which illuminated the dry juridic discussions. All this forms an attractive whole, and everyone may feel the attraction; for the commentaries on the Bible, which can be read with pleasure and without mental fatigue, are intelligible to persons of most mediocre mind and cultivation. The words of a certain French critic upon another writer of Champagne, La Fontaine, might be applied to Rashi, though a comparison between a poet and a commentator may not be pressed to the utmost. “He is the milk of our early years, the bread of the adult, the last meal of the old man. He is the familiar genius of every hearth.”
For many centuries the Biblical commentaries held a position – and still hold it – similar to that of La Fontaine’s Fables. Few works have ever been copied, printed, and commented upon to the same extent. Immediately upon their appearance, they became popular in the strongest sense of the word. They cast into the shade the work of his disciples, which according to modern judgment are superior. Preachers introduced some commentaries of his into their sermons, and made his words the subject of their instruction; and Rashi was taught even to the children. The mass of readers assimilated the Halakic and Haggadic elements. Those who were not students, through Rashi got a smattering of a literature that would otherwise have been inaccessible to them; and the commentaries threw into circulation a large number of legends, which became the common property of the Jews. Rashi’s expressions and phrases entered into current speech, especially those happy formulas which impress themselves on the memory. His commentary is printed in all the rabbinical Bibles; it has become to the Jews inseparable from the text, and even Mendelssohn’s commentary, which has all of Rashi’s good qualities and none of his faults, did not succeed in eclipsing it. In short, it is a classic.
CHAPTER VII
THE TALMUDIC COMMENTARIES
The commentaries on the Bible, especially those on the Pentateuch, constitute a work for general reading and for devotion as well as for scientific study. Their general scope explains both their excellencies and their defects. On the other hand, the commentary on the Talmud is an academic work. It originated in the school of Rashi, and was elaborated there during a long time. The one is a popular work for the use of the masses, the other, a learned treatise for the use of students. The explanation of the Scriptures was written for the benefit of the faithful in popular, attractive, and comprehensible form; the explanation of the Talmud constituted matter for serious study in the academies. Or, rather, after the long, exhaustive, and often dry-as-dust Talmudic discussion, the master took pleasure in interrupting his instruction in the school to give his interpretation of Biblical passages.
This is the reason why the Talmudic commentaries,[94] which are, as it were, the summing-up of Rashi’s teachings, of his own studies, and of the observations of his pupils, have a more mature, more thoughtful character than the Biblical commentaries. They undoubtedly represent a greater amount of labor. It seems that Rashi himself made two or three recensions of his commentary, at least for many of the Talmudic treatises. Testimony to this fact is given by the variations of certain passages in the extant text and that cited by the ancient authors, notably the Tossafists. Moreover, the Tossafists explicitly mention corrections made by Rashi in his own work. The query naturally arises whether the corrections indicate that Rashi worked the entire commentary over and over again. The answer is no; for certain treatises remained incomplete, and others seem never to have been begun. Presumably, then, Rashi revised a treatise according to the needs of the occasion, as, for instance, when it came under his eyes in the course of instruction. However that may be, the work that we now possess is a mixture of the first and the last recension, though we cannot always tell which is the later and which the earlier.
Another fact explains the difference I have pointed out between the Biblical and the Talmudic commentaries. For the Biblical commentaries there had been no precedent, and if they possess the merit of originality, they also illustrate the errors of a man who tries his powers in a field of work devoid of all tradition. For the Talmudic commentaries, on the contrary, models were not lacking. The example of Gershom was sufficiently notable to evoke imitation, though his work was not so complete as to discourage it. We must not forget Rashi’s predecessors because he eclipsed them. This would be contrary to his intentions, since he frequently cites them, rendering value in return for value received. In fact, he knew well how to use their works to advantage. He submitted them to a judicial and minute examination, collecting all the material he needed furnished by the Geonim as well as by his immediate masters. It would be as inexact to assert that he only made a resume of their
works as to say that he worked along entirely original lines and relied solely upon his own resources. If we could compare his commentaries with previous commentaries (for some this comparison has been made), we should be forced into the admission that his part is smaller than one would suppose. The best proof of this fact is that the usual basis of his commentary for each treatise was the explanation of the master under whom he had studied it. He often cites the writings of his masters, to which he gives the title Yesod, “Foundation,” probably either collections made by the teachers themselves or notebooks edited by their pupils. As a result of the love of brevity which is one of Rashi’s marked characteristics, he does not quote in its entirety the source upon which he draws, but more frequently reproduces the sense rather than the exact words.
I must hasten to add that the Talmudic commentaries of Rashi’s masters were inadequate, and did not meet all needs. We can judge of the lacunae in them both from the commentaries that have been preserved and from the criticisms which Rashi frequently added as an accompaniment to his citations. Sometimes the commentaries were too diffuse, sometimes too concise; their language was obscure and awkward; no stress was laid upon explaining all details, and the commentaries themselves stood in need of explanation; they addressed themselves to accomplished Talmudists rather than to students. Rashi’s commentaries, on the contrary, could be understood by men of small learning-hence their influence and popularity. Moreover, the commentaries of his masters often contradicted one another, coming as they did from scholars who did not shrink from discussion. Rashi wished to put an end to these debates and introduce some unity into rabbinical tradition, and generally his purpose in refraining from a quotation of his predecessors was exactly to avoid an opening into the field of controversy. Finally, their commentaries, it seems, were not comprehensive; they bore upon only one or several treatises; whereas Rashi’s bore on all or nearly all the treatises of the Gemara.[95] With Rashi execution rose to the height of his conception.
Rashi availed himself so little of the work of his masters that he began by establishing a correct text of the Talmud and subjecting it to a severe revision. The mistakes of his predecessors oftenest arose from the faultiness of the texts, marred by ignorant copyists or presumptuous readers. What is more, the use to which the Talmud was put in the academies and the discussions to which it gave rise, far from sheltering it from alterations made by way of correction, modified it in every conceivable fashion, according to the views of the chiefs of the schools. Like every book in circulation, the Talmud was exposed to the worst changes, and this all the more readily, because at that time no one had a notion of what we call respect for the text, for the idea of the author. As rigidly as the text of the Bible was maintained intact in the very minutest details, so lax was the treatment of the Talmud, which was at the mercy of individual whim. Naturally, the less scrupulous and less clearsighted allowed themselves the most emendations. Accordingly, Rabbenu Gershom felt called upon to put a severe restriction upon such liberties. Though he succeeded in moderating the evil, it could not be suppressed retroactively. Rashi realized that corrections made wittingly were indispensable, and that it was necessary to clear the Talmudic forest of entangling briers. Moreover, as we learn from Rashi himself, Gershom had already undertaken the task. Rashi also tells us that he had Gershom’s autograph manuscript before him, not to mention other copies he was consulting and collating. Further testimony, apart from this internal evidence, is provided by Rashi’s references to texts parallel to the Talmud, among them the Tosefta. Sometimes he records two readings without giving either the preference, though as a rule the reasoning or the context shows that he leans one way or the other, so that his alterations, which are usually correct, do not necessarily represent the early text. When Rashi has good cause for deciding a point in a certain way, he does not pay attention to possible errors or contradictions on the part of the Talmudists. In other words, though his text may be the most rational, it is not always the most authentic.
Rashi exercised this criticism of the text to a wide extent, yet prudently. I have already mentioned what Isaac of Vienna said concerning the numerous erasures that covered an autograph manuscript of his.[96] Many readings that Rashi rejected might have been kept – in fact they sometimes were kept – by force of finesse and subtlety. His method affords a striking contrast to that of the Talmudist Hananel,[97] who either eliminates the phrases unacceptable to him or preserves them only by doing violence to the sense. Rashi, on the contrary, compared the different versions of difficult or suspicious passages and prefers the one not requiring a subtle explanation. It is only when no reading satisfies him that he assumes an interpolation or an error, in this event frequently resorting to the Responsa of the Geonim. Needless to say, he also paid heed to the revision of Gershom; but since he deemed that Gershom had himself preserved faulty readings, he took up the work again, despite Gershom’s prohibition. He realized that this careful and detailed critical revision of his predecessor, however ungrateful the soil might appear, was nevertheless fertile ground, and might serve as the solid basis of a thorough commentary.
He acquitted himself of the task with such success that his has become the official text, the “Vulgate,” of the Talmud. In fact, his disciples inserted into the body of the Gemara the greater part of his corrections or restitutions (but not all; and one does not always comprehend the reasons for their choice), which have now become an integral part of the text. Thus a single, definite, and official text was established – a thing of great value in assuring the stability of rabbinical tradition in France and Germany.
From what I have already said, the reader can gather how individual was Rashi’s method. The foundation for his commentaries, it is true, was provided by tradition and by the instruction he received from his masters. But over and above the circumstance that he preserved only what seemed fitting to him, is the fact that value attached rather to the setting given the material than to the material itself. Herein resides Rashi’s merit – and the merit is great. He was occupied not so much in extracting from the discussion of the Talmud the essential ideas, the principles indicating rules of practice, as in rendering the discussion comprehensible both in its entirety and in its details. He wrote a grammatical commentary which provides the exact meaning, not only of the opinions set forth, but also of the phrases and expressions employed. A Jewish scholar of our day, I. H. Weiss, who has accomplished much toward acclimatizing the scientific study of the Talmud in Eastern Europe, justly remarked – and what he says is a lesson to the rabbis of his country:
How many Talmudists are there nowadays who take pains to understand exactly the meaning of such and such a passage of the Talmud, or who are capable of explaining it grammatically? They do like the predecessors of Rashi, whose method it was to give an exposition of an entire discussion merely by simplifying its terms. They wrote consecutive commentaries, not notes; and they often failed to explain difficult words. Rashi, on the contrary, always definitely determined the meaning of the various terms.
He does this with a sure touch, and the precision of his explanations is all the more remarkable as he did not know – whatever one may say to the contrary – the Talmudic lexicon of Nathan ben Jehiel, of Rome, which was not brought to a conclusion until four years after Rashi’s death. It is a favorite trick of legend to establish relations between illustrious contemporaries, especially when their activities were exercised in the same field, and tradition has made Rashi the pupil of Nathan. The idea of such a relationship, however, is purely fantastic, the two rabbis probably not having ever known each other.[98]
Rashi carried the same spirit of exactness and precision into the whole of this work – qualities indispensable but difficult of attainment; for as A. Darmesteter well says:
Whoever has opened a page of the Talmud understands how necessary is a commentary upon a text written in Aramaic and treating of often unfamiliar questions in concise, exasperatingly obscure dialectics. The language, too, is obscure, and the lack of punctuation renders reading difficult to novices. No mark separates question from answer, digressions from parenthetical observations. The phrases form only a long string of words placed one after the other, in which one distinguishes neither the beginning nor the end of the sentences.
The difficulty presented by the obscurity of the style is increased by allusions to facts and customs which are no longer known and cannot always be guessed at. Now, thanks to Rashi’s commentary, a reader possessing a knowledge of the elements of the language and some slight knowledge of Jewish law, can decipher it without overmuch difficulty.
Rarely superficial, Rashi explains the text simply yet thoroughly. He sifts his matter to the bottom. His reasoning is free from subtleties and violations of the sense. This characteristic comes out in bold relief when we compare Rashi with his disciples, the Tossafists, who carry their niceties to an excess. It would be wrong to hold Rashi responsible for the abuse later made of controversy; while, on the other hand, praise is owing to him for the happy efforts he made to unravel the texts, not only for the purpose of explaining their meaning, but also to indicate possible objections and reply to them in a few words. One must marvel at the clearsighted intelligence, the sureness, the mastery with which Rashi conveys the gist of a discussion as well as the value of the details, easily taking up each link in the chain of question and answer, pruning away superfluities, but not recoiling before necessary supplementary developments. In addition, rather than resort to forced explanations, he did not hesitate to avow that certain passages puzzled him, or that his knowledge was insufficient – a scruple not always entertained by his successors.
To determine the meaning of a text, Rashi frequently referred to parallel passages, contained not only in the Gemara itself, but also in other collections, such as the Tosefta, or the Halakic Midrashim.[99] Sometimes the Gemara cites them, or refers to them, at other times it makes no allusion whatsoever to them. In the latter case, it may be stated, Rashi, even when he does not say so explicitly, himself found the text for comparison and was inspired by it.
Moreover, on occasion, he points out general rules to which he conforms, some of them indicated in the Talmud itself, others provided by the Geonim, and others again evolved by himself in the course of his studies. Those who are competent to judge admire the precision with which he lays down these principles. By combining them, an excellent, although very incomplete, Talmudic methodology might be drawn up.
Some examples will give a better idea than a mere description of Rashi’s method. I will separate his commentary from the text of the Gemara by square brackets, so as to show how he inserts his commentary, and how perfectly he adapts it to the Gemara.
The following passages deal with the proclamation of the new moon, made by the supreme tribunal, upon the evidence of two persons who declare that they have seen the new moon.
Mishnah: If he is not known [if the tribunal does not know the witness, does not know if he is honest and worthy of confidence], they [the tribunal of his city] will send another person with him [to bear witness concerning the new moon before the great tribunal, which proclaims the new month]. At first, evidence concerning the new moon was accepted from any and every body; since the Boethusians[100] turned to evil [this is explained in the Gemara], it was decided that only the testimony of persons who were known would be taken.
Gemara: What does “another” signify? Another individual? Does it mean that a single person is thought [worthy of confidence in declaring the first night of the new moon]? Is it not taught in a Baraita: “It once happened that a man came [to the tribunal, on the Sabbath, in order to give evidence concerning the new moon], accompanied by his witnesses, to testify
concerning himself” [to declare him worthy of confidence]? Rab Papa replies: “Another” signifies “another couple of witnesses.” This explanation seems to be the true one; for otherwise what would these words signify: “If he is not known?” If this individual is not known? But does it mean that a single person is believed [in bearing witness in regard to the new moon]? In connection with this, do not the Scriptures use the word law [in the verse: For this was a statute for Israel, and a law of the God of Jacob[101]]? Here, then, “the witness” signifies “the couple” of witnesses; similarly the previous “another” signifies “another couple.” But is it quite certain that a single man is not enough? However, it is taught in a Baraita: “It once happened on a Sabbath that R. Nehoral accompanied a witness to give evidence concerning him at Usha” [at the time when the Sanhedrin had its seat in that city, and the new moon was proclaimed there]. R. Nehorai was accompanied by another witness, and if this witness is not mentioned, it is out of regard for R. Nehorai [for R. Nehorai is mentioned only that we may infer from his case that so prominent an authority inclined to leniency in the circumstances stated; but it is not fitting for us to appeal to the authority of his less important companion]. Rab Ashi replies: There was already another witness at Usha [who knew the one that was coming to give evidence], and R. Nehorai went to join him. If this is so, what is it that is meant to be conveyed to us? This: we might have thought in case of doubt [possibly this second witness might not be at home], the Sabbath must not be trangressed; we are thus taught that one should do it, etc. (Rosh ha-Shanah 22a bottom).
The following passage deals with the Lulab, which is used
at the celebration of the Feast of Tabernacles, and must be flawless.
Mishnah: A Lulab [referring to the palm branch; farther on it will be stated that the myrtle and the willow of the brook are dealt with separately] that has been stolen [is unfit; for it is said:[102] “And ye shall take you”: what belongs to you], or is dry [we demand that the ritual be carried out with care, in conformity with the words of Scripture:[103] “I will exalt Him “], is unfit. Coming from an Ashera [a tree adored as an idol; the Gemara gives the reason for the prohibition] or from a city given up to idolatry [for it is considered as burnt down, as it is said: “And thou shalt gather all the Spoil of it.”[104] Now, the Lulab should have the length of four palms, as will be said farther on,[105] and since it is destined to be given up to the flames, it no longer has the desired length, being considered as burnt], it is unfit. If its end is cut [it is unfit; for it is not “beautiful”], or if its leaves have fallen off [from the central stem, and are united only by a band like the broom, in French called “escoube.”[106] In this case, also, it is not “beautiful”], it is unfit. If its leaves are separated [attached to the stem, but at the top separated on each side, like the branches of a tree], it is good. R. Judah says: It should be bound [if its leaves are separated, they should be bound so that they are fixed to the stem as with other Lulabim]. The stony palm of the mountain – of – iron [the Gemara explains that these are palms] are good [they are Lulabim, although their leaves are very small and do not extend the length of the stem]. A Lulab having the length of three palms, so that it can be shaken [the Gemara explains: the stem should measure three palms, as much as the myrtle branch, and, in addition, another palm for shaking, for we require that the Lulab be shaken in the way told farther on (37b): “It is shaken vertically and horizontally,” so as to exorcise the evil spirits and evil shades), is good.
Gemara: The Tanna is brief in showing [that the Lulab is unfit] without distinguishing between the first day of the festival [the celebration of which is made obligatory by the Torah] and the second day [for which the ceremony of the Lulab is prescribed only by the Rabbis, Scriptures saying “on the first day”[102]]. It must certainly refer to the dry Lulab [it may be unfit, even from a rabbinical point of view, for since it is a rite instituted in commemoration of the Temple, we require that it be practiced with care], for we require that it be “beautiful,” and in this case the condition is not fulfilled. But so far as the stolen Lulab is concerned, I understand that it should not be used the first day, for in regard to the first day it is written: “And ye shall take you:” of what belongs to you; but why not the second day [whence does one know that one may not use it then?]? R. Johanan replies in the name of R. Simon ben Yohai: because then a regulation would be fulfilled through the commission of a transgression, for it is said [for we find a verse which forbids the fulfilment of a regulation through committing a transgression]: “And ye brought that which was stolen, and the lame, and the sick.”[107] The stolen animal is likened to the lame; and just as it is irremediably unfit [it can never be offered as a sacrifice, because its imperfection is perpetual], so the one that is stolen is irremediably unfit [we deduce from this verse that it can never more become of use, even if there has been a renunciation; that is, if we have heard the owner renounce the object by saying, for example, “Decidedly, I have lost this purse;” although in regard to the ownership of the animal, we said, in the treatise Baba Kama (68a), that the holder became the
possessor, if the first owner renounced it; however, he cannot offer it as a sacrifice upon the altar], whether this be before or after the renunciation. If before the renunciation, because the Torah says, “If any man of you bring an offering;[108] now, the stolen animal does not belong to him, but after the renunciation the holder becomes the possessor of it through the fact of this renunciation [why, then, does the prophet forbid its being used as an offering?]. Is it not exactly because this would be to fulfil [fulfill sic] a regulation by committing a transgression? R. Johanan says again in the name of R. Simon ben Yohai: what does this verse signify: “For I the Lord love judgment, I hate robbery for burnt offering”?[109] [for the burnt offering that you bring me, I hate the theft of which you make yourself guilty in stealing these animals, although everything belongs and always has belonged to Me]. Let us compare this case with that of a mortal king, who, passing before the house of a publican, says to his servants: “Give the toll to the publican.” They object and say: “But is it not to thee that all the tolls return?” To which the king replies: “May all travellers [sic] take an example from me and not escape the payment of toll.” In the same way God says: “I hate robbery for burnt offerings; may My children take an example from Me and escape the temptation to theft.”
It has likewise been shown [that the motive of the Mishnah in declaring the stolen Lulab unfit for use on the second day of the festival, is that It would be the fulfilment of a regulation through the commission of a transgression]. Rabbi Ammi says: etc., (Sukkah 29b).
From these two citations it is evident that Rashi does not shrink from complicated explanations, and that he does not comment on the easy passages. In the following quotation, the discussion is somewhat more difficult to follow.
Mishnah: A slave [non-Jewish] who has been made prisoner and ransomed [by other Jews] in order to remain a slave, remains a slave [this will be explained by the Gemara]; In order to be free, becomes free. R. Simon ben Gamaliel says: In the one case as in the other, he remains a slave.
Gemara: With which case do we concern ourselves? If it is before the renunciation of the right of possession [by the first master, who has bought him from the hands of the non- Jew], ransomed in order to become free, why should he not remain a slave? It is, then, after this renunciation. But, bought to be a slave, why should he remain a slave? [Understand: of his first master; why should he remain a slave, since there was a renunciation by which rights upon him as a slave have been renounced?]. Abaye says: The case under debate is always that In which the first owner has not yet renounced his rights upon the slave, and if the slave has been bought to remain a slave [on condition of being restored to his first master, or even upon condition of belonging to him who bought him], he remains the slave of his first master [the second, in fact, has not acquired him, for he knows that his master remains his master, until the master has given him up; he would, therefore, be stealing the slave]; if the slave is ransomed to become free, he is the slave neither of the first nor of the second; not of the second, since he ransomed the slave to set him free, nor of the first who possibly abandoned him and did not buy him back. R. Simon b. Gamaliel, on the other hand, says: In one case as in the other he remains a slave; in fact, he admits that just as it is a duty to ransom free men, so it is a duty to ransom slaves [it is not, therefore, to be supposed that the first master would have abstained from buying back his slave].
Raba says: We are always dealing with the case in which the first master has already renounced his right of possession. And if the slave has been ransomed in order to be a slave, he serves his second master [farther on the question will be asked, from whom the second master bought him]; if ransomed to be free, he serves neither his first nor his second master; not his second master, since he bought the slave to give him his liberty; and not the first, since he had already renounced the slave. R. Simon b. Gamaliel, on the other hand, says: In the one case as in the other he remains a slave [of his first master], according to the principle of Hezekiah, who said: Why is it admitted that he remains a slave in either case? So that it should not be possible for any slave whatsoever to deliver himself up to the enemy and thus render himself independent of his master.
It is objected: R. Simon b. Gamaliel [we have been taught] said to his colleagues: “Just as it is a duty to ransom free men, so it is a duty to ransom slaves.” This Baraita is to be understood according to Abaye, who takes it that there had been no renunciation [who applies the Mishnah to the case in which there has been previous renunciation; then the first paragraph of the Mishnah is motived by the abstention of the owner, who did not ransom his slave]: we thus explain to ourselves the expression “just as” [of R. Simon b. Gamaliel, for he does not suppose that the owner abstained, granted that it is a duty to ransom the slave]. But, according to Raba, who takes it that there has been renunciation [who applies the Mishnah to the case in which there was renunciation, and the first paragraph of the Mishnah is motived by the abstention of the owner, which is equivalent to a renunciation], this “just as” [of R. Simon b. Gamaliel, what does it signify?], since R. Simon b. Gamaliel bases his opinion upon the principle of Hezekiah [since the reason of R. Simon b. Gamaliel is the principle of Hezekiah: “so that the slave should not go and deliver himself up to the enemy”]. Raba replies, etc., (Gittin 37b).
What one least expects to find in a Talmudist is historic veracity. Yet it is not lacking in Rashi, either because he was guided by ancient and authentic traditions, or because he was inspired by his clear – sightedness, or – but this is apt to have been the case less frequently because he was well served by his power of divination. Rashi took good care not to confound the different generations of Tannaim and Amoraim, or the different rabbis in each. He knew the biographies of all of them, the countries of their birth, their masters and disciples, the period and the scene of their activity. Such knowledge was necessary not only in order to grasp the meaning of certain passages, but also in order to decide which opinion was final and had the force of law. Rashi also tried to understand, and in turn render comprehensible, the customs and the by-gone institutions to which the Talmud alludes. He gave information concerning the composition of the Mishnah and the Gemara, and the relations of the Mishnahs and the Baraitas. Because it contains all these data, Rashi’s commentary is still a very valuable historical document, and Jewish historians of our days continue frequently to invoke its authority.
Yet in spite of this scattered information, the commentary is marked by certain deficiencies which indicate a deficiency in his mental make-up. When he explains an historical passage of the Talmud, he is incapable of criticising [criticizing sic] it. Apart from the fact that he would not believe legend to be legend, nor the Gemara capable of mistakes, he had neither the knowledge nor the scientific culture requisite for an historian. To be convinced of this, it is necessary to read only the following passage, in which the Talmud characteristically relates the final events before the downfall of the Jewish State. As before, I reproduce the Gemara along with the commentary of Rashi; but in translating the Gemara I anticipate what Rashi says. It must be borne in mind that Rashi explains in Hebrew – in rabbinical Hebrew – text written in Aramaic.
R. Johanan says: what signifies this verse (Prov. xxviii. 14): “Happy is the man that feareth always [who trembles before the future and says to himself: provided that no misfortune befall me if I do such and such a thing], but he that hardeneth his heart shall fall into mischief”? For Kamza and Bar Kamza Jerusalem was destroyed; for a cock and a hen the Royal Tower[110] was destroyed; for the side of a litter (
(Resh Yod Samech Pe Qof)
called reitwage (?) in German, as is said in the
chapter “The mother and her young”:[111] If thou yokest the mule to the litter
me], Betar was destroyed. For Kamza and Bar Kamza [names of two Jews] Jerusalem was destroyed. A man whose friend was Kamza [the name of whose friend was Kamza] and whose enemy was Bar Kamza prepared a banquet. He said to his servant: “Go, invite Kamza.” The servant went to Bar Kamza. Finding him seated, the host said: “Since this man is (thou art) my enemy, why comest thou hither? Go, leave me.” The other replied: “Since I have come, let me remain here, and I will give the price of what I shall eat and drink.” “No,” he answered [I will not let thee remain here]. “I will give thee,” he [the other] insisted, “the half of the cost of the banquet.” “No.” “I will give thee the price of the entire banquet.” But he took him by the arm, and made him rise and go out. [The expelled man] said to himself: “Since the rabbis present at this scene did not protest, it must be that it pleased them. Very well! I shall go and eat the morsel [of calumny] upon them in the presence of the governor.” He went to the governor and said to Caesar: “The Jews are revolting against thee.” Caesar replied: “Who told it thee?” “Send to them,” replied the other, “a victim [to sacrifice it upon the altar; for we deduce from the repetition of the word “man” (in Lev. xvii.) that the non-Jews can offer voluntary sacrifices, like the Israelites]; thou wilt see if they sacrifice it.” Caesar sent a calf without a blemish, but in transit a blemish appeared on the large lip [the upper lip], others say on the lid of the eye (
[“tela,”[112] as in Is. xl. 22
which constitutes a blemish for us, but not for the Romans [they could offer it to their gods on the high places, provided it did not lack a limb]. The rabbis were in favor of sacrificing the animal in the interest of public peace. Rabbi Zechariah b. Eukolos objected: “It will be said that you offer imperfect victims upon the altar.” Then they wanted to kill [the messenger] so that he could not return and report what had happened. R. Zechariah objected: “It will be said that he who causes a blemish on a victim should be condemned to death” [it will be thought that because he caused a blemish on the victim, and because he thus trangressed [transgressed sic] the prohibition: “There shall be no blemish therein” (Lev. xxii. 21), he was put to death]. R. Johanan concluded: It is this complai sance of R. Zechariah b. Eukolos [who did not wish to put the messenger to death] which destroyed our Temple, burned our Sanctuary, and exiled us from the land of our fathers (Gittin 55b)
This passage is less historic than legendary in character; it forms part of the Haggadic element of the Talmud, In the explanation of the Haggadah Rashi has preserved its method, so wise, yet so simple. Others have attempted to be more profound in interpreting it allegorically. Rashi, with his fund of common sense, was nearer to the truth. His conception of the naive tales and beliefs was in itself naive. Moreover, before his time it was the legislative part of the Talmud that received almost exclusive attention. The rabbis occupied themselves with questions of practice and with making decisions, and they tried to unknot the entanglements of the discussions for the sake of extracting the norm, the definitive law. This is the case with Hananel, Rashi’s predecessor, as well as with Alfasi,[113] Rashi’s contemporary. Although, as we shall see, the French rabbi had studied the Talmud for the sake of practical needs, he adopted, so to speak, a more disinterested point of view. He did not pretend to write a manual of Talmudic law, but an uninterrupted running commentary for the use of all who wanted to make a consecutive study of the Talmud.
In the treatise Baba Batra (73a), the Gemara having
exhausted the few observations it had to present upon the Mishnah, which speaks of the sail of a vessel and its rigging, falls back upon some popular narratives, “Tales of the Sea.”
Raba said [all the facts that will be recounted are in illustration of the verse (Psalms civ. 24), “O Lord, how manifold are thy works!” Some of the facts show that the righteous are recompensed in the world to come, or they serve to explain the verses of Job that speak of large birds, of the Behemot, and of the large cetaceans; in fact, “even the simple conversations of the rabbis must be instructive”]: Some sailors reported to me what follows: “The wave which engulfs [which tries to engulf] a vessel seems to have at its head [seems to be preceded by] a ray of white fire [a white flame, which is a wicked angel]. But we beat it with rods (
(Alef Lamed Vav Vav Tav Alef
‘neither with a rod (
in the treatise Shabbat (63a)], which bear these words graven on them: ‘I am He who is, Yah, Eternal Zebaet, Amen, Selah’ [such is the lesson of the text[114] and then it is laid to rest” [from its agitation].
Raba recounts: Some sailors related to me that which follows: “Between one wave and another wave there are three hundred parasangs[115] [it is necessary to give us this detail, for later on it will be said that the one wave raised its voice to speak to the other; now, one can make oneself heard at a distance of three hundred parasangs], and the height of a wave is likewise three hundred parasangs. Once we were on a voyage, when a wave raised us [up to the heavens, higher than its own height; or the heat of the heavens is so great that it extends to a distance which one could traverse in nearly five hundred years, the distance of the heavens from the earth[116], so high that we saw the encampment [the dwelling] of a little star [of the smallest of stars]; it appeared so large to us, that one would have been able to sow on its surface forty measures of mustard seed [which is larger than other seeds], and if it had raised us more, we would have been burned by its fumes [by the heat of the star]. Then a wave raised its voice [that is, called, just as it is said, “Deep calleth unto deep” (Psalms xlii. 7); or it may mean angels placed over the stars] and said to its companion: ‘My companion, have you left something in the world which you have not swallowed up [for it had lifted itself so high, you might have thought it had sprung from the bed of the sea and had engulfed the world]? In that case I will go destroy it’ [on account of the sins of man] – It said [the one wave replied to the other]: ‘Behold the might of the Lord: I cannot by one thread [by the breadth of a thread] go beyond the sand ‘[that is to say: I cannot leave the bed of the sea]; thus it is said [it is the Gemara that cites this verse]: ‘Fear ye not me?’ saith the Lord. ‘Will ye not tremble at my presence, which have placed the sand for the bound of the sea by a perpetual decree, that it cannot pass it?'” (Jer. v. 22).
Raba says: Hormin appeared to me, the son of Lillit [Hormin with an “n,” such is the text which should be adopted, and which I get from my father; but I have learned from my masters that it should be read “Hormiz,” with a “z,” a word which means demon, as we see in Sanhedrin (39a) “the lower
half of thy body belongs to Hormiz[117], running along the edge of the wall of Mahuza [This account makes us realize the goodness of God who loves his creatures and does not permit evil spirits to injure them; it also teaches us that one must not risk oneself alone on a voyage]; at the same moment a horseman galloped by [without thinking of evil], and he could not catch up to him [for the demon ran so quickly, that the horseman could not think of overtaking him].
In conclusion I will give one more extract, from the last chapter of Sanhedrin (92b), which contains a vast number of curious legends.
Our rabbis taught: Six miracles occurred on that day [the day on which Nebuchadnezzar threw the friends of Daniel into the furnace]. These are: the furnace raised itself [for it was sunk in the ground, like a lime-kiln; on that day it raised itself to the surface of the ground, so that all could see the miracle]; the furnace was rent in two [a part of its walls was riven so that all could look in];
Qof, Samech Vav Resh Vav)
the phrase
(Kiddushin 82a); another reading
Mem Qof, Dalet Vav Samech Vav)
Vav Dalet Vav)
explanation taught me by R. Jacob ben Yakar; but my master[118] reads
What has been said up to this point indicates the position taken by Rashi with regard to the Halakah. Unlike Maimonides in his commentary of the Mishnah, he did not as a rule concern himself with the fixation of legal principles and practice, or with the definite solution of questions under controversy. He confined himself to his task of commentator and interpreter. The brevity he imposed upon himself made it an obligation not to enter into long and detailed discussions; for he would have had to dispose of varying opinions and justify his choice. He carried his principle to such an extent that it could be said of him, “Rashi is a commentator, he does not make decisions.”[120]
But there are numerous exceptions to the rule. Often Rashi deems it necessary to state a definite solution, either because it has been the subject of controversies on the part of his masters, or because it was difficult to separate it from the rest of the discussion, or because it served as the point of departure for another discussion. Finally, the explanation of such and such a passage of the Talmud presupposes the solution of a question, unless the solution changes with the explanation of the passage. When the question is left in suspense by the Talmud, Rashi usually determines it in the strictest sense; but when it receives contradictory solutions, he either falls back upon analogous cases or adduces rules of Talmudic methodology. Often, however, his conclusion is nothing else than a statement of the practice observed in his time.
In all these cases Rashi’s authority carries great weight; so much so, in fact, as to overbalance that of Alfasi and Maimonides. Frequent appeal was made to it by casuists of a later date, and it would have been invoked still oftener had his Decisions been gathered together, like those of the Spanish and German rabbis, instead of having been scattered through a large number of compilations.
* * * * *
By reason of these and other qualities the Talmudic commentaries of Rashi without doubt outweigh his Biblical commentaries. I should be inclined flatly to contradict the opinion ascribed to Jacob Tam, Rashi’s grandson: “So far as my grandfather’s commentary on the Talmud is concerned, I might do as much, but it would not be in my power to undertake his commentary upon the Pentateuch.” The Biblical commentary is not always absolutely sure and certain, and the defects are marked. The Talmudic commentary remains a model and indispensable guide. Although numerous Biblical commentaries have been composed with Rashi’s as a standard and in order to replace it, no one has dared provide a substitute for his Talmudic commentary. From an historical point of view, the value of the Talmudic commentary is no less great. At the same period, in three countries, three works were composed which complemented one another and which came to form the basis of Talmudic studies. At the time when Rashi commented on the Talmud, Nathan ben Jehiel[121] composed the Talmudic lexicon, which is still used to a great extent, while Isaac Alfasi in his Halakot codified all the Talmudic regulations. Of the three works the first was the most celebrated. The exaggerated statement was made of Rashi, that “without him the Talmud would have remained a closed book.”[122] And Menahem ben Zerah[123] said: “There was no one so illuminating, and so concise as Rashi in the commentary he wrote as if by Divine inspiration. Without him, the Babylonian Talmud would have been forgotten in Israel.” The echo of this enthusiastic opinion is heard in the words of the Hebrew scholar H. L. Strack, a Christian, and the modern Jewish scholar A. Darmesteter. The one says: “Rashi wrote a commentary which the Jews hold in extraordinarily high regard and which all must concede is of the greatest value.” Darmesteter wrote: “Suppress the commentary of Rashi, that masterwork of precision and clearness, and even for a trained Talmudist, the Talmud becomes almost enigmatical.”
Can more be said? The commentary has become, in brief, The Commentary, the Commentary par excellence, Konteros
(Gommentarius).
CHAPTER VIII
THE RESPONSA
In the previous chapter we saw that Rashi, though chiefly concerned with the mere explanation of the Talmud, nevertheless intrenched sometimes upon the domain of practice. It must not be forgotten that at that epoch the life of the Jews was based upon, and directed by, rabbinical jurisprudence and discipline. The study of the Talmud was taken up for the sake of finding in it rules for the daily conduct of existence. Apart from certain questions purely theoretic in character and having no practical application, Talmudic studies, far from being confined to the school, responded to the needs of life and were of real, vital interest. But since the Talmud is not allcomprehensive, the rabbis in drawing inspiration from its rules, from precedents it had already established, and from analogous instances contained in it, were justified in rendering decisions upon new points arising out of circumstances as they occurred. Thus, measures are cited passed by Rashi upon the payment of taxes, Christian wine, the Mezuzah, phylacteries, etc. These measures
resulted not so much from his own initiative as from the requests preferred to him by his disciples, or by other rabbis, or even by private individuals.
The Responsa addressed by rabbinical authorities to individuals or to communities who had submitted difficult cases and questions to them for solution, constitute a special genus of post-Biblical literature. Not to mention their legislative value, how precious they are as documents in proof of the fact that no distances were too long, no obstacles too great to prevent the people from obtaining the opinion of a scholar! They even sent special messengers to him, when there were no favoring circumstances, such as a fair at the rabbi’s place of residence, or a journey to be undertaken thither for other reasons than the purpose of the consultation. Thus lively relations were established among the Jews of the most widely separated countries; and an active correspondence went on between scholars of Babylon, Northern Africa, Spain, France, Germany, and Italy.
The circle of Rashi’s connections, however, was limited to France and Lorraine. His chief correspondents were his teachers and their disciples.[124] It was only after Rashi’s day, when communication between the Christian and the Moslem worlds became more frequent, that rabbinical authorities were appealed to from all the corners of Europe and Africa.
Though his correspondents were not so widely scattered, the subjects touched upon by Rashi in his Responsa are very varied in character. He was consulted on the meaning of a Biblical or a Talmudic passage, on the text of the liturgy, on rules of grammar, on Biblical chronology, and, especially, on new cases arising in the practice of religion. These Responsa, inspired, so to speak, by actualities, by the come and go of daily affairs, introduce the reader to the material and intellectual life of the Jews of the time, besides furnishing interesting information concerning the master’s method.
One of the questions most frequently agitated regarded wine of the Gentiles, the drinking of which was prohibited to the Jews because it was feared that the wine had been employed for idolatrous libations. Cases of this kind turned up every day, because the Jews occupied themselves with viticulture[125] and maintained constant communication with the Christians. Rashi showed himself rather liberal. Though, of course, forbidding Jews to taste the wine, he permitted them to derive other enjoyment from it, the Christians not being comparable to the pagans, since they observed the Noachian laws. Rashi’s grandson, Samuel ben Meir, explicitly states in Rashi’s name that the laws set forth by the Talmud against the Gentiles do not apply to the Christians.
The brother of Samuel, Jacob Tam, tells us that Rashi forbade the payment of a tax by using a sum of money left on deposit by a Christian. This decision, Jacob Tam adds, was intended to apply to the whole kingdom and, in fact, was accepted throughout France. This testifies not only to the great authority Rashi enjoyed, but also to the uprightness, the honesty of his character. Another of his qualities becomes apparent in a second Responsum treating of the relations between Jews and Christians. They carried on trade with each other in wheat and cattle. Now, the Mishnah forbids these transactions. “When this prohibition was promulgated,” wrote Rashi, “the Jews all dwelt together and could carry on commerce with one another; but at present, when we are a minority in the midst of our neighbors, we cannot conform to so disastrous a measure.” Rashi, it is therefore evident, knew how to take into account the needs of the moment, and accommodate rules to conditions.
Relations, then, between the Jews and their fellow citizens were cordial. The horizon seemed serene. But if one looked closer, one could see the gathering clouds slowly encroaching upon the calm sky, clouds which were soon to burst in a storm of bloody hate and murderous ferocity. Although the change came about imperceptibly and the Jews enjoyed the calm preceding the tempest, despite this and despite themselves, they entertained a smothered distrust of the Christians. For instance, they used ugly expressions to designate objects the Christians venerated. The Christians responded in kind. The ecclesiastical works of the time are full of insults and terms of opprobrium aimed at the Jews. If one reads the narrative of the Crusades, during which the blood of innocent massacred Jews flowed in streams, one must perforce excuse, not so much real hostility toward the Christians, as the employment of malicious expressions directed against their worship. The feeling that existed was rather the heritage of tradition, the ancient rivalry of two sister religions, than true animosity. As for tolerance, no such thing yet existed. It was difficult at that time for people to conceive of benevolence and esteem for those who professed a different belief. The effect of the First Crusade upon the inner life of the communities was to create anomalous situations within families, necessitating the intervention of rabbinical authorities. The Responsa of Rashi dealing with martyrs and converts no doubt sprang from these sad conditions. A woman, whose husband died during the persecution, married again without having previously claimed her jointure from the heirs of her dead husband; but she wanted to insist on her rights after having contracted the new union. Rashi, in a Responsum, the conclusions of which were attacked after his death by several rabbis, declared that the claim of the woman was entitled to consideration.
The echo of the Crusades is heard in other instances. I have already spoken of the liberal, tolerant attitude[126] assumed by Rashi in regard to the unfortunates who deserted the faith of their fathers in appearance only, and sought refuge in that of their persecutors. He excused the hypocrisy of these weak beings, who accepted baptism only externally and in their hearts remained Jews.
In general, so far as questions in regard to lending on interest, to giving testimony, and to marriage relations were concerned, Rashi held the apostate to be the same as the Jew. He was once asked if the testimony of an apostate was valid in law. “It is necessary,” he replied “to distinguish in favor of those who follow the Jewish law in secret and are not suspected of transgressing the religious precepts which the Christians oblige them to transgress outwardly. At bottom they fear God. They weep and groan over the constraint put upon them, and implore pardon of God. But if there is a suspicion that they committed transgressions without having been forced to do so, even if they have repented with all their heart, and all their soul, and all their might, they cannot bring evidence ex post facto concerning facts which they witnessed before they repented.”
Rashi, then, was indulgent above all toward those who had been converted under the compulsion of violence, and who sincerely regretted their involuntary or imposed apostasy. On one occasion, he was asked if the wine belonging to such unfortunates should be forbidden, though they had proved their return to the Jewish faith by a long period of penitence. Rashi replied: “Let us be careful not to take measures for isolating them and thereby wounding them. Their defection was made under the menace of the sword, and they hastened to return from their wanderings.” Elsewhere Rashi objects to recalling to them their momentary infidelity. A young girl was married while she and her bridegroom were in the state of forced apostasy. Rashi declared the union to be valid, for “even if a Jew becomes a convert voluntarily, the marriage he contracts is valid. All the more is this true in the case of those who are converted by force, and whose heart always stays with God, and especially, as in the present case, if they have escaped as soon as they could from the faith they embraced through compulsion.”
Since internal union is the surest safeguard against persecution from without, Rashi earnestly exhorted his brethren to shun intestine strife. “Apply yourselves to the cultivation of peace,” he once wrote. “See how your neighbors are troubled by the greatest evils and how the Christians delight in them. Concord will be your buckler against envy and prevent it from dominating you.” In a community, doubtless that of Chalons- sur-Saone, in Burgundy,[127] there were two families that quarrelled [quarreled sic] continually. The community had intervened to stop the strife, but one of the two families declared in advance that it would not submit to its decision. A member of the other family, irritated, reproached one of his enemies with having been baptized. Now Rabbenu Gershom, under penalty of excommunication, had forbidden people to recall his apostasy to a converted Jew. Rashi was asked to remove this prohibition; but he declined, not wishing to intervene in the internal administration of a strange community. “What am I that I should consider myself an authority in other places?… I am a man of little importance, and my hands are feeble, like those of an orphan. If I were in the midst of you, I would join with you in annulling the interdiction.” From this it is evident that the strongest weapon of the rabbinical authorities against the intractable was, as in the Church, excommunication; but that sometimes individuals asserted, and even swore in advance, that they would not yield to the decree against them. Rashi considered that this oath, being contrary to law, was null and void.
Rashi, guided by the same feelings, was pitiless in his condemnation of those who fomented trouble, who sowed discord in families, sometimes in their own households. A man, after having made promise to a young girl, refused to marry her and was upheld in his intrigues by a disciple of Rashi. Rashi displayed great severity toward the faithless man for his treatment of the girl, and he was not sparing even in his denunciation of the accomplice. Another man slandered his wife, declaring that she suffered from a loathsome disease, and through his lying charges he obtained a divorce from her. But the truth came to light, and Rashi could not find terms sufficiently scathing to denounce a man who had recourse to such base calumnies and sullied his own hearth. “He is unworthy,” Rashi wrote, “to belong to the race of Abraham, whose descendants are always full of pity for the unfortunate; and all the more for a woman to whom one is bound in marriage. We see that even those who do not believe in God respect the purity of the home, – and here is a man who has conducted himself so unworthily toward a daughter of our Heavenly Father.” After indicating what course is to be pursued in case of divorce, Rashi concluded: “But it would be better if this man were to make good his mistake and take back his wife, so that God may take pity on him, and he may have the good fortune to build up his home again and live in peace and happiness.”
The Responsa, providing us, as we have seen, with interesting information concerning Rashi’s character, are no less important for giving us knowledge of his legal and religious opinions. As a result of the poise of his nature, and in the interest of order, he attached great importance to traditional usages and customs. Innovations are dangerous, because they may foment trouble; to abide by custom, on the contrary, is the surest guarantee of tranquillity [tranquility sic]. In casuistical questions not yet solved, he did not adopt as his principle the one prevailing with so many rabbis, of rendering the strictest decision; on the contrary, in regard to many matters, he was more liberal than his masters or his colleagues. Nevertheless, he congratulated those whose interpretation in certain cases was more severe than his own. In his scrupulous piety, he observed certain practices, although he refused to set them up as laws for others, since, one of his disciples tells us, he did not wish to arrogate to himself the glory of instituting a rule for the future. He contented himself with saying: “Blessed be he who does this.” Since he stuck to the rigid observance of religion, and feared to open the door to abuses, he advised his pupils not to give too much publicity to certain of his easy interpretations of the Law.
If he did not approve of laxity, he had still less sympathy with the extreme piety bordering on folly of those whom he called “crazy saints.” Enemy to every exaggeration, he blamed those who, for example, imposed upon themselves two consecutive fast days. Once when the Fast of Esther fell on a Thursday, a woman applied to Rashi for advice. She told him she was compelled to accompany her mistress on a trip, and asked him whether she might fast the next day. Rashi in his Responsum first recalled the fact that the Fast of Esther was not mentioned either in the Bible or in the Talmud, and then declared that the over- conscientious Jews who fast on Friday in order to make a feast day follow close upon a fast day, deserve to be called fools who walk in darkness.[128]
Finally, although Rashi was very scrupulous in matters of religion, he was tolerant toward faults and failings in others. Sinners and, as I have shown, even apostates found grace with him. He liked to repeat the Talmudic saying to which, in generalizing it, he gave a new meaning, “An Israelite, even a sinful one, remains an Israelite.”
There is little to say concerning the style of Rashi’s Responsa. In the setting forth and the discussion of the questions under consideration, his usual qualities are present – precision, clearness, soberness of judgment. But the preambles – sometimes a bit prolix – are written after the fashion prevailing among the rabbis of the time, in a complicated, pretentious style, often affecting the form of rhymed prose and always in a poetic jargon. With this exception, the Responsa do not betray the least straining after effect, the least literary refinement. The very fact that Rashi did not himself take the precaution to collect his Responsa, proves how little he cared to make a show with them, though, it is true, the custom of gathering together one’s Responsa did not arise until later, originating in Spain, and passing on to Germany. As I shall immediately proceed to show, it was Rashi’s disciples who collected the Responsa of their master and preserved them for us, at least in part.
CHAPTER IX
WORKS COMPOSED UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF RASHI
After having passed in review the works which are the result of Rashi’s own labor and which have come down to us in the shape in which they emerged from his hands, or nearly so, several works remain to be described that present a double character; they did not spring directly from Rashi’s pen, but were written by his pupils under his guidance, or, at least, as the result of his inspiration and influence. They have reached us in altered form, amplified, and sometimes improved, sometimes spoiled by various authors. The confusion reigning in these works has contributed toward an inexact appreciation of their function. From the first they were meant to be compilations, collections of rules, rather than works having a specified object.
To point out the fact once again, Rashi’s pupils became his collaborators; and, it must be added, they established a veritable cult of their master. They neglected nothing concerning him; they carefully noted and piously recorded his slightest deed and gesture, on what day they had seen him, under what circumstances, how he felt that day, and how he conducted himself at the table. When a case similar to some previous one arose, they contented themselves with referring to the former and reproducing the discussion to which it had given rise.
It is to this veneration, bordering on religious devotion, that we owe the preservation of Rashi’s Responsa and Decisions. Some entered into the collections of the Babylonian Geonim, – a fact which shows how highly people regarded the man who was thus ranked with the greatest rabbinical authorities, – but most of them formed the basis of several independent works: the Sefer
ha-Pardes (Book of Paradise), the Sefer ha-Orah (Book
of Light?), the Sefer Issur-we-Heter (Book of Things
Prohibited and Things Permitted), and the Mahzor Vitry.
The first work was edited at the beginning, the last, at the end, of the nineteenth century, and part of the second was introduced into the first by the editor of the first. The whole of the second has just been published by Mr. Solomon Buber. The third work, which offers many resemblances to the Mahzor Vitry,
is still in manuscript; but Mr. Buber has recently promised us its publication in the near future, as well as a Siddur,
or ritual, of Rashi, related to the Mahzor Vitry and to a
Sefer ha-Sedarim.
In all these collections it is sometimes difficult to determine what is Rashi’s handiwork, or which of his pupils is responsible for certain passages. The composition of the works is, in fact, original and merits brief characterization.
The Sefer ha-Pardes, though commonly attributed to Rashi
himself, cannot possibly have been his work, since it contains rules, decisions, and Responsa made by several of his contemporaries, and even by some of his successors. Among others are additions by Joseph Ibn Plat or his disciples (second half of the twelfth century). But in respect of one of its constituent elements, it was a creation of Rashi’s. It was formed, in fact, by the fusion of two collections. The author of the one containing the customs of the three cities of Speyer, Worms, and Mayence, must have been one of the Machirites; while the author of the other, comprising Rashi’s practices and Responsa, must have been his disciple Shemaiah.[129]
The Sefer ha-Pardes is a widely-read book, and it has been used, sometimes under other titles, by the greater number of legal compilations made in France and Germany. It passed through various redactions, and the one now extant is not the most complete.
The Sefer ha-Orah, the redaction of which is sometimes
attributed, though wrongly so, to Nathan haMachiri, is a compilation of several works, which seem to have been written in Spain at the beginning of the fourteenth century. It consists of two principal elements; the first, German in origin, is similar to the Pardes now extant; the second is the work of the Spaniard, Judah ben Barzillai, of Barcelona (twelfth century). It is, of course, in the first that one finds fragments of works which date back to the disciples of Rashi.
The Mahzor Vitry is a more or less homogeneous work. It contains rules of jurisprudence and of religious practice, Responsa by Rashi, by his predecessors, and by his contemporaries, prayers and liturgic poems, “Minor” Talmudic treatises, the whole divided into chapters following the yearly cycle, and bearing upon the various circumstances of life. The work contains many additions due to Isaac ben Durbal, or Durbalo, who visited the countries of Eastern Europe and was the disciple of Rabbenu Tam (about 1150). He is wrongly considered to be the redactor of the Mahzor Vitry. The author of the work is,
without doubt, Simhah ben Samuel, of Vitry, a disciple of Rashi (about 1100), who availed himself, moreover, of the works of other pupils of the master.
The Mahzor Vitry is of great importance not only for the historian of Rashi, but also for the historian of Franco – Jewish culture and literature at that time. The same may be said of the Sefer ha-Pardes. Yet this material must be used with the utmost caution; for it has come to us in a sad condition, disfigured by the compilers and copyists, who introduced elements from various sources and different epochs. The original works disappeared during the persecutions and autos-da-fe which
followed one another in France and Germany. The redactions now extant come from Spain and Italy.
These short analyses may give an idea of the collections not yet edited; for they all stand in relation one with the other, and are in great part formed of the same elements and derived from the same material.
CHAPTER X
POETRY ATTRIBUTED TO RASHI
Almost immediately upon the birth of liturgical poetry in the time of the Geonim, an illustrious representative arose in the person of Eleazar ha-Kalir,[130] who came to exercise a profound influence upon his successors, and in Rashi’s day this poetry attained a high degree of development. That was the time when Jews, instead of merely listening to the officiating minister, commenced to accompany him with their voices in antiphonal chants.
Like most of the rabbis of his time, Rashi wrote liturgical poems, the number of which Zunz, with more or less surety, places at seven. Three are still preserved in some rituals. According to Luria, Rashi composed more than this number.
It is fair to question whether a Talmudist is fashioned to be a poet, and whether it is possible for love of discussion and dialectics to accord with poetic sensibility and imagination. Indeed, the liturgical poetry of the Jews of France and Germany has not the least artistic value. It shows neither concern for originality, nor knowledge of composition, and the poets were strangers to the conception of art and beauty. Moreover, they imposed upon themselves rather complicated rules, the most simple forms adopted being rhyme and acrostic. Sometimes they accomplished veritable feats of mental gymnastics, whose merit resided in the mere fact that a difficulty was overcome. Too often a play upon words or alliteration takes the place of inspiration, and ideas give way to factitious combinations.
These defects disappear in a translation, which is all the more acceptable for the very reason that it does not reproduce the vivid coloring of the original. The following, recited on the Fast of gedaliah (
Rashi uses certain Midrashim in it which describe the throne of God and the heavenly court. Such poetry as there is – and there is some – is overlaid and submerged by the slow development of the thought and the painfully detailed enumerations, strongly reminiscent of the Bible. It should be said that the language of Rashi is far simpler than that of his contemporaries.
Before yet the clouds were gathered in a canopy, Before yet the earth was rounded as a sphere, Thou didst prepare seven in Thy abode: The sacred Law, the splendid throne, the backslider’s return, Paradise in all its beauty, and insatiable hell, The atonement place for sacrificial offerings, And the resplendent name of him who delays to come because of all our sins.
Two thousand years before our globe were these, Set as jewels in the sky, whence earthward gleamed their light;
In the realms above they ready stand round Him enthroned between the Cherubim.
Firm established is the heavenly throne for the King supreme Whose glory is shed upon all within His presence: By His right hand the Law engraved with flaming letters He caresses like a child beloved.
Toward the south lies the ever-fragrant Garden, Hell with its ever-burning flames to the north, Eastward Jerusalem built on strong foundations, In the midst of it the sanctuary of God, And in the sanctuary the altar of expiation, Weighted with the corner-stone of the world, Whereon is graven the Messiah’s holy name Beside the great Ineffable Name.
In the centre [center sic] before Him who is the source of all blessings stands Repentance,
The healing balm for the suffering and afflicted soul, Appointed to remove each blemish, array the repentant in unsoiled garments,
And pour precious oil on the head of sorrowing sinners. Thus we all, both old and young, appear before Thee. Wash off our every taint, our souls refine from every sin. Backsliding children, we come to Thee as suppliants, Seeking Thee day by day with humble, urgent prayers. Account them unto us as blood and fat of offerings, Like sacrificial steers and rams accept our contrite words. O that our sins might be sunk in abysmal depths, And Thy brooding infinite mercy bring us near to Thee.
In the first part of this poem the imagination displayed cannot be said to call forth admiration either by reason of fertility or by reason of brilliance. Any ordinary student of the Talmud and the Midrash might have produced it. Nevertheless Rashi awakens a certain sort of interest, it may even be said that he touches the emotions, when he pours out all his sadness before God, or rather – for his grief is impersonal – the sadness of the Jew, the humble sinner appealing to the mercy of God. When his feelings rise to their most solemn pitch, their strong pulsations visible through the unaccustomed poetic garb, the cloak of learned allusions drops of itself, and emotion is revealed under the strata of labored expressions. All the poems by Rashi belong under the literary form called Selihot, penitential
psalms, recited on fast days.
What has been said of the first specimen quoted applies equally to the next (
the Day of Atonement. It would have been more effective, had there been less emphasis and a more consecutive development of the thought.
… Of all bereft we appear before Thee, — Thine is the justice, ours the sin, — Our faces flushed with shame we turn to Thee, And at Thy gates we moan like doves.
Vouchsafe unto us a life of tranquil joy, Purge us of our stains, make us white and pure. O that our youthful faults might vanish like passing clouds! Renew our days as of old,
Remove defilement hence, set presumptuous sins at naught; The purifying waters of truth sprinkle upon us, For we confess our transgressions, we rebellious, faithless children.
* * * * *
O that a contrite spirit, a broken, repentant heart Be acceptable to Thee as the fat of sacrifices! Accomplish for the children Thy promise to the fathers. From Thy celestial abode hearken unto us who cry to Thee! Strengthen the hearts of those inclined to pay Thee homage, Lend Thy ear unto their humble supplication. Yet once more rescue Thy people from destruction. Let Thy olden mercy speedily descend on them again, And Thy favored ones go forth from judgment justified, — They that hope for Thy grace and lean upon Thy loving-kind ness.
The final specimen (
tearful contrition. The last lines even rise to unusual beauty when they point down a shining vista of happy, serene days.
At morn we order our prayers, and wait to offer them to Thee. Not sacrificial rams we bring to Thee, but hearts contrite and tender.
O that the tribute of our lips might plead our cause, When suppliants we stand before Thy threshold, watching and waiting.
The early dawn awakens us, and our faces are suffused with shame.
Our hearts beat fast, we whisper softly, hoarse and weary with calling on Thee.
We are cast down, affrighted, — Thy judgment comes. To Thy teaching we turned deaf ears,
And unto evil were seduced.
Rebellious were we, when Thou camest to guide us aright, And now we stand abashed with lowered eyes.
Our ruin Thou didst long past see — Is Thy fiery wrath still unappeased?
We sinned in days agone, we suffer now, our wounds are open, Thy oath is quite accomplished, the curse fulfilled. Though long we tarried, we seek Thee now, timid, anxious, –we, poor in deeds.
Before we perish, once more unto Thy children join Thyself. A heavenly sign foretells Thy blessing shall descend on us. Brute force is shattered, and with night all round about, Thy affianced spouse, loving, yearning, Calls on Thy faithfulness; she pleads with her eyes, and asks, is still she Thine,
Is hers Thy love for aye?
The uniformity and monotony of this poetry, it must be admitted, weary the reader. The author never goes beyond a narrow circle of ideas, and general ideas at that. It is impossible to make out whether the allusions are to contemporaneous events, the persecutions connected with the First Crusade, for instance, or whether they refer to the ancient, traditional wrongs and sufferings. Nowhere is Rashi’s poetry relieved by a touch of personal bias. It cannot be denied, however, that the poems testify to a fund of sincerity and enthusiasm, and that is noteworthy in a period of literary decadence, when it often happens that sincerity of sentiment fails by a good deal to find sincere expression for itself. Esthetic inadequacy should by no means be taken as synonymous with insincerity. Rashi proves, that without being an artist one can be swayed by emotion and sway the emotions of others, particularly when the dominant feeling is sadness. “The prevailing characteristic of Rashi’s prayers,” says Zunz, the first historian of synagogue poetry as well as the first biographer of Rashi, “is profound sadness; all of them are filled with bitter plaints.” Finally, if the Selihot by Rashi fall far short of our idea and our ideal of poetry, they at least possess the interest attaching to all that relates to their illustrious author.
BOOK III
THE INFLUENCE OF RASHI
CHAPTER XI
FROM RASHI’S DEATH TO THE EXPULSION
OF THE JEWS FROM FRANCE
The preceding chapters show how voluminous and varied was Rashi’s work. And yet we are far from possessing everything he wrote; a number of texts have disappeared, perhaps are lost forever. But this fertility is not Rashi’s sole literary merit. If the excellence of a work is to be measured not only by its intrinsic value, but also by its historical influence, by the scientific movement to which it has given the impulse, by the literature which it has called into being, in short, by its general effect, no work should receive a higher estimate than that of Rashi, for, it may be said without exaggeration, no other work was ever the occasion of so much comment and discussion, and none exerted an influence so far reaching and enduring. From the moment of their appearance his writings spread rapidly, and were read with enthusiasm. After profoundly affecting his contemporaries, Rashi continued to guide the movement he had started. His influence upon rabbinical literature is comparable only with that of Maimonides. Indeed, it was more wholesome than his. The Talmudic codex established by Maimonides aimed at nothing less than to shut off the discussions and to give the oral law firm, solid shape. Rashi, on the contrary, safeguarded the rights of the future, and gave his successors full play. Again, not having introduced into his work philosophic speculations, he was shielded against criticism, and his renown was therefore more immaculate than that of the author of the Mishneh Torah, who had to undergo furious attacks.
Rashi dominates the entire rabbinical movement in France and Germany. Generally, the influence of a writer wanes from day to day; but as for Rashi’s, it may he said to have increased by force of habit and as the result of events, and to have broadened its sphere. Limited at first to French, Lotharingian, and German centres [centers sic] of learning, it soon extended to the south of Europe, to Africa, and even to Asia, maintaining its force both in the field of Biblical exegesis and of Talmudic jurisprudence.
Since it is impossible to mention all the authors and works following and preceding Rashi, it must suffice to point out some characteristic facts and indispensable names in order to bring into relief the vitality and expansive force of his achievement, and to show how it has survived the ravages of time, and, what is more, how it has overcome man’s forgetfulness – edax tempus,
edacior homo. We shall see that Rashi directed the course of the later development at the same time that he summed up in his work all that had previously been accomplished.
“The example of a man as revered as Rashi for his piety, his character, and his immense learning was bound to make a profound and lasting impression upon his contemporaries. His descendants and his numerous disciples, pursuing with equal zeal the study of the Talmud and that of Scriptures, took as their point of departure in either study the commentaries of their ancestor and master, to which they added their own remarks, now to enlarge upon and complete the first work, now to discuss it, refute it, and substitute new views. Thus arose the Tossafot, or additional glosses upon the Talmud, and thus in the following generations arose new commentaries upon the Pentateuch or upon the entire Bible, in which the rational spirit evoked by Rashi assumed a more and more marked and exclusive form.”[131]
Finally, Rashi’s influence was not confined either within the walls of the Jewries or within the frontiers of France, but it radiated to foreign lands and to ecclesiastical circles.
I
It may be said without exaggeration that Rashi’s Talmudic commentary renewed rabbinical studies in France and in Germany. It propagated knowledge of the Talmud there and multiplied the academies. In fact, schools were founded in all localities containing Jewish communities no matter how insignificant; and it is difficult for us to obtain any idea of the number and importance of these “Faculties,” scattered over the length and breadth of Northern France, which thus became a very lively centre [center sic] of Jewish studies and the chief theatre [theater sic] of the intellectual activity of the Occidental Jews. Its schools eclipsed those of the Rhenish countries and rivalled [rivaled sic] in glory those of Spain.
What in the first instance contributed to the success of the movement begun by Rashi, is the fact that he moulded [molded sic] numerous disciples – in this more fortunate than Maimonides, who was unable to found a school and who sowed in unploughed land. It was only with the lapse of time that his work little by little made its way, while Rashi through his teaching exerted an absolutely direct and, as it were, living influence. Rashi’s authority was such that Troyes became the chief centre [center sic] of studies. Many pupils flocked to it and there composed important works, casting into sure and permanent form the intellectual wealth they had gathered while with their master. They put the finishing touches to his work and labored to complete it, even during his life, and as though under his protection.
I have already spoken of Simhah ben Samuel de Vitry, author of the liturgical and ritual collection, Mahzor Vitry.[132]
Among other disciples not so well known are Mattathias ben Moses, of Paris, Samuel ben Perigoros, Joseph ben Judah, and Jacob ben Simson (1123), who lived at Paris or Falaise and wrote Responsa at the dictation of his master, and, besides commentaries, a Mahzor, and an astronomic work. He was in turn the master of Jacob Tam.
Judah ben Abraham, of Paris, aided by suggestions from his master, wrote a ceremonial for the Passover. In carrying out his task, he availed himself of the notes of his older fellow disciple Simhah, and his collaborator was Shemaiah, who had already worked on Rashi’s commentary on Ezekiel. Besides, Shemaiah made additions to Rashi’s Talmudic commentaries, and composed several commentaries under his guidance. He also collected and edited Rashi’s Decisions and Responsa, serving, as it were, as Rashi’s literary executor. Moreover, he was a relative of Rashi’s, though the degree of kinship is not known, the evidence of authors upon the subject being contradictory. Some maintain he was Rashi’s grandson, or son-in-law, or the son- in-law of his sister; according to others – and this seems more exact he was the father-in-law of a brother of Jacob Tam.
At all events, it was Rashi’s relatives who contributed most to his renown. “In regard to his family Rashi enjoyed unexampled good fortune,” says Zunz. “It was not only through his disciples, but also through his family that the founder of rabbinical literature in France and Germany established his reputation, spread his works, and added to the lustre [luster sic] of his name.” A fact which no doubt helped to assure the direction of the studies made by Rashi’s descendants, is that they possessed the manuscripts written and corrected by their ancestor; and these autographs were veritable treasures at a time when books were rare and copies inexact.
One of Rashi’s sons-in-law, Judah ben Nathan,[133] was a scholarly and highly esteemed Talmudist. At the suggestion of his father-in-law, he completed Rashi’s commentaries and continued the work after Rashi’s death, using as his chief aid the oral explanations he had received from him. The son of Judah, Yomtob, was also a good Talmudist.
The other son-in-law, Meir ben Samuel (about 1065-1135), was originally from the little town of Rameru,[134] which through him and his sons became an important intellectual centre [center sic] for more than a half century. Meir was a distinguished scholar whom his sons sometimes cite as an authority. He wrote Responsa in association with his master and father-in-law. As I have already stated, Meir ben Samuel married a daughter of Rashi, Jochebed, by whom he had four sons and a daughter, Miriam, the wife of Samuel of Vitry. One of the sons, Solomon, has been known to us for only about twelve years, although he had a reputation as a Talmudic and Biblical scholar, chiefly the latter, having received the surname of “father of grammarians.” His reputation, however, was eclipsed by that of his three brothers, who have poetically been called the three vigorous branches of the tree of which Rashi was the trunk. These were Samuel ben Meir, surnamed Rashbam, Jacob ben Meir, surnamed Jacob Tam, or Rabbenu Tam, and finally Isaac ben Meir, surnamed Ribam. The last, who lived without doubt at Rameru and there composed Tossafot,[135] died during the life-time of his father, leaving seven young children. He did not equal his brothers either in knowledge or renown.
Samuel ben Meir (about 1085-1158) studied under his grandfather. As we have seen[136] he discussed exegetic questions with Rashi, and went so far as to express opinions in his presence concerning points of casuistry. On Rashi’s death, it seems, he assumed the direction of the school at Troyes; but he was more prominently identified with the academy which he, following in the steps of his master, founded at Rameru, and which soon became prosperous. It was at Rameru, too, that he wrote his valuable Talmudic commentaries.[137] Among his pupils are said to have been Isaac ben Asher ha-Levi, of Speyer, and Joseph Porat ben Moses, known also as Don Bendit. Samuel ben Meir’s was a bold, independent spirit. In some instances he sacrificed a Talmudic explanation for the sake of one that seemed more natural to him. In addition he had a fair amount of scientific and philosophic knowledge, and he was very productive in the field of literature.
But Rashbam’s authority, if not his knowledge, was exceeded by that of his younger brother Jacob. Jacob Tam, born about 1100, was still a very young child when Rashi died. He studied under the guidance of his father, on whose death he assumed the direction of the academy of Rameru in his father’s place. Then he went to Troyes, where he was surrounded by numerous pupils, some from countries as distant as Bohemia and Russia. One of his best known disciples was Eliezer ben Samuel, of Metz (died about 1198), author of the Sefer Yereim (Book of the Pious).
Other pupils of his mentioned were Moses ben Abraham, of Pontoise, to whom he wrote in particularly affectionate terms, and Jacob of Orleans, a scholar held in high regard, who died at London in 1189 in the riot that broke out the day of Richard I’s coronation. A year later, in 1190, the liturgical poet and Biblical commentator Yomtob de Joigny died at York. It seems that Jacob Tam, like his successors, had to suffer from the popular hate and excesses. In fact he tells how, on one occasion, on the second day of Pentecost (possibly at the time of the troubles resulting from the Second Crusade), he was robbed and wounded, and was saved from death only through the intervention of a lord. The end of his life was saddened by the auto-da-fe of Blois, at which numerous Jews suffered martyrdom. He perpetuated the memory of that occasion by instituting a fast day. He died in 1171, universally regretted for his clear and accurate intellect, his piety, uprightness, amiability, and modesty. His contemporaries considered him the highest rabbinical authority, and he was consulted by persons as remote as in the south of France and the north of Spain. He possessed a remarkably original, broad yet subtle intellect, and his writings display keen penetration and singular vigor of thought. He devoted himself chiefly to Biblical exegesis; but in this domain he obtained a reputation less through the purely exegetical parts than through the critical work in which he defended the grammarian Menahem against the attacks of Dunash.[138] His liturgical compositions and the short poems with which he sometimes prefaced his Responsa show that he was a clever poet, an imitator of the Spaniards. Abraham Ibn Ezra while on his rovings in France was one of his correspondents.
However, Jacob Tam, or, to call him by his title of honor, Rabbeun Tam, – in allusion to Gen. xxv. 27, where Jacob is described as “tam,” a man of integrity – owed his renown to his Talmudic activity, which he exerted in an original line of work though he was not entirely free from the influence of Rashi. If he was not the creator of a new sort of Talmudic literature, he was at least one of its first representatives. Either because he considered the commentaries of his grandfather impossible to imitate, or because he could not adapt himself to their simplicity and brevity, he took pleasure in raising ingenious objections against them and proposing original solutions. These explanations joined to his Decisions and Responsa were collected by him in a work called Sefer ha-Yashar (Book of the
Just), of which he himself made two redactions. The one we now possess was put together – rather inaccurately – after the death of the author according to the second recension. The Sefer
ha-Yashar was used a great deal by later Talmudists. It may be said to have inaugurated the form of literature called Tossafot.
As the word signifies, the Tossafot are “additional notes,” “Novellae,” upon the Talmud. They display great erudition, ingenuity, and forcible logic, and they represent a prodigious effort of sharp analysis and hardbound dialectics. The authors of the Tossafot, the Tossafists, were marvellously [marvelously sic] skilful [skillful sic] at turning a text about and viewing it in all its possible meanings, at discovering intentions and unforeseen consequences. Their favorite method was to raise one or more objections, to set forth one or more contradictions between two texts, and then to propound one or more solutions, which, if not marked by simplicity and verisimilitude, none the less bear the stamp of singularly keen insight. In their hands the study of the Talmud became a sturdy course in intellectual gymnastics. It refined the intellect and exercised the sense of logic. Yet it would be a mistake to see in the Tossafot nothing but the taste for controversy and love of discussion for the sake of discussion. The Tossafists, even more than Rashi, sought to deduce the norm, especially the practical norm, from the Talmudic discussions, and discover analogies permitting the solution of new cases. Thus, while Rashi’s commentary is devoted to the explanation of words, and, more generally, of the simple meaning of the text, the Tossafot enter into a searching consideration of the debates of the Talmud. Moreover, Rashi composed short but numerous notes, while the Tossafists wrote lengthier but less consecutive commentaries. At the same time one of Rashi’s explanations is a fragment of the Tossafot explanation. Thus, the commentary of the Tossafists exists in abridged form, as it were, in germ, in the commentary of Rashi. Rashi was the constant guide of the Tossafists. His commentary, “the Commentary,” as they called it, was ever the basis for their “additions.” They completed or discussed it; in each case they made it their point of departure, and his influence is apparent at every turn. The species of literature called Tossafot is not only thoroughly French in origin, but, it may said, without Rashi it would never have come into existence. The authors of the Tossafot are as much the commentators of Rashi as they are of the Talmud.[139] The Tossafot bear the same relation to his Talmudic commentary as the Gemara to the Mishnah. Like the Amoraim in regard to the Tannaim, the Tossafists set themselves the task of completing and correcting the work of the master; for, despite their veneration for Rashi, they did not by any means spare him in their love of truth.
The first Tossafists, both in point of age and worth, were not only the disciples, but also, as we have seen, even the descendants of Rashi. “We drink,” said R. Tam, “at the source of R. Solomon.” One of the most celebrated Tossafists was a great-grandson of Rashi, Isaac ben Samuel (about 1120-1195) surnamed the Elder, son of a sister of R. Tam and grandson, on his father’s side, of Simhah, of Vitry. Born without doubt at Rameru, he attended the school of his two uncles, Samuel ben Meir and Jacob Tam. When Jacob Tam left for Troyes, Isaac ben Samuel took his place. Later he founded a school at Dampierre,[140] where, it is said, he had sixty pupils, each of whom knew one of the treatises of the Talmud by heart. Through his departure, Rameru lost its importance as a centre [center sic] of study. He collected and co-ordinated various explanations growing out of Rashi’s commentaries. Thus he established the foundations for the Tossafot, on every page of which his name appears.
He was the teacher of the most learned Talmudists of the end of the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth century. His son and collaborator Elhanan, a highly esteemed rabbi, died before him, some say as a martyr. Among his disciples are said to have been Baruch ben Isaac, originally from Worms, later resident of Ratisbon, author of the Sefer ha-Terumah (Book of the
Heave-Offering), one of the first and most influential casuistic collections (about 1200); Isaac ben Abraham, called the Younger to distinguish him from his master, whom he succeeded and who died a little before 1210; and the brother of Isaac, Samson of Sens (about 1150-1230), whose commentaries, according to the testimony of Asheri, exercised the greatest influence upon the study of the Talmud. He was one of the most illustrious representatives of the French school, and his authority was very great. His usual abiding place was Sens in Burgundy, but about 1211 he emigrated to Palestine in the company of some other scholars. He met his death at St. Jean d’Acre.
By this time Champagne had proved too contracted a field for the activity of so many rabbis. Flourishing schools arose in Ile-de- France and Normandy; and it is related that at Paris, in the first half of the twelfth century, lived the scholarly and pious Elijah ben Judah, who carried on a controversy about phylacteries with his kinsman Jacob Tam. But the most celebrated Tossafist of Paris without reserve was Judah Sir Leon, born in 1166 and died in 1224, a descendant of Rashi. The school of Paris having been closed after the expulsion of 1181, Judah went to study at Dampierre under the guidance of Isaac and his son Elhanan. Among his fellow-disciples, besides the rabbis already mentioned, were Samson Sir of Coucy, Solomon of Dreux, Simon of Joinville, Abraham ben Nathan, of Lunel, and others. In 1198 Philip Augustus recalled the Jews he had expelled, and the community again prospered. Judah re-established the school, which soon assumed the first place in the list of academies. Among his numerous pupils mention is made of Moses ben Jacob, of Coucy, brother-in-law of Samson and ‘author of the famous Sefer
Mizwot Gadol (Great Book of Precepts), abbreviated to Semag, which shows the mingled influence of the Mishneh
Torah of Maimonides and of the Tossafot of the French masters; Isaac ben Moses, of Vienna, who carried into Austria the methods and teachings of his French masters, surnamed Or
Zarua after the title of his work, a valuable ritual compilation; and Samuel ben Solomon Sir Morel,[141] of Falalse (about 1175-1253), whose most celebrated pupil was Meir of Rothenburg, the greatest authority of his country and his time, known for his dramatic end as well as for his great intellectual activity (1225-1293).
The successor of Judah Sir Leon was Jehiel ben Joseph, or Sir Vives, of Meaux. At this time the school is said to have counted three hundred pupils. In the disputation of 1240,[142] Jehiel ben Joseph together with Moses of Coucy, Samuel of Falaise, and another less well-known rabbi, Judah ben David, of Melun, represented the Jews. A Christian source calls Jehiel “the cleverest and most celebrated of all the Jews.” When he left for Palestine in 1260 the school of Paris was closed not to be opened again.
Jehiel left behind him in France two important disciples, his son-in-law, Isaac ben Joseph, of Corbeil (died in 1280), who in 1277 published the “Columns of Exile,” also called Sefer
Mizwot Katan (Little Book of Precepts), abbreviated to Semak, a religious and ethical collection, which enjoyed great vogue; and Perez ben Elia, of Corbeil (died about 1295), who mentions Isaac as his master also. Perez visited Brabant and Germany, where he maintained relations with Meir of Rothenburg. Among his pupils there was Mordecai ben Hillel, an authority highly esteemed for his decisions, who died a martyr at Nuremberg in 1298. Another master of his was Samuel ben Shneor, of Evreux (about 1225), a much-quoted Tossafist, who studied under the guidance of his elder brother Moses, editor of the “Tossafot of Evreux,” largely used for the present printed editions of the Tossafot. In the second half of the thirteenth century, Eliezer of Touques compiled the Tossafot of Sens, of Evreux, etc., adding his own explanations on the margin. His work forms the chief basis for our present Tossafot to the Talmud.
As always with redactions and compilations, these mentioned here are a sign of the discontinuance of studies, worn threadbare by two centuries of intense activity. Decadence, moreover, was brought about more rapidly, as we shall see, by the misfortunes that successively befell the Jews of France.
II
Rashi’s influence was no less enduring and no less wholesome in the province of Biblical exegesis. An idea of the impression he made may be gained from the fact that more than fifty super- commentaries were written on his commentary on the Pentateuch, to explain or to complete it, to defend it, and occasionally to combat it. But Rashi’s influence was productive of still more than this. It called into being original works superior even to his own. His disciples shook off the yoke of Talmudic and Midrashic tradition that had rested upon him. But even when they surpassed him, it was nevertheless his influence that was acting upon them and his authority to which they appealed.
Samuel ben Meir, diffuse as were his Talmudic commentaries, was admirably brief in his commentary on the Pentateuch, which is a model of simplicity and accuracy, and is marked by insight and subtlety. It is possibly the finest product of the French exegetic school. It sets forth general rules of interpretation, as, for instance, that the Bible should be explained through itself and without the aid of the Haggadic or even Halakic Midrash. Literal exegesis, said Samuel ben Meir, is more forceful than Halakic interpretation. He so resolutely pursued the method of Pesbat, that Nahmanides felt justified in declaring he sometimes overdid it. The same admirable qualities exist in Rashbam’s commentaries on the Prophets and the Hagiographa, in which he everywhere turns to excellent account the works of his ancestor, sometimes merely referring to them, but also combating Rashi’s explanations, though in this case he does not mention Rashi.
Eliezer of Beaugency and Moses of Paris (middle of the twelfth century) were doubtless among the disciples of Samuel ben Meir. Moses of Paris, in turn, had a pupil by the name of Gabriel.
Occasionally Rashbam did not disdain the Midrash. But the same cannot be said of his friend and collaborator Joseph ben Simon Kara (born about 1060-1070, died about 1130-1140), a nephew and disciple of Menahem ben Helbo, and the friend if not the disciple of Rashi, to whom he acknowledges himself indebted. He wrote additions to Rashi’s commentaries, and on Rashi’s advice wrote a part of his Biblical commentaries, several of which have been published. They enjoyed great vogue, and in certain manuscripts they are set alongside of, or replace, Rashi’s commentaries. They fully deserve the honor; for, in fact, Joseph Kara surpasses Rashi and rivals Rashbam in his fair-minded criticism, his scrupulous attachment to the literal meaning, and his absolutely clear idea of the needs of a wholesome exegesis, to say nothing of his theological views, which are always remarkable and sometimes bold. He frankly rejected the Midrash, and compares the person making use of it to the drowning man who clutches at a straw. Contrary to tradition he denies that Samuel was the author of the Biblical book bearing his name.
Side by side with Joseph Kara belongs his rival and younger contemporary Joseph Bekor-Shor, doubtless the same person as Joseph ben Isaac, of Orleans, who was a disciple of Rabbenu Tam, and must, therefore, have lived in the middle of the twelfth century. His commentary on the Pentateuch, which has been published in part, is frequently cited by later exegetes, and its reputation is justified by its keen insight and its vein of odd originality. Joseph Bekor-Shor had felt the influence of the Spaniards, but he had yielded to the attractions of Talmudic dialectics, which he had acquired at a good school, although, like his master, he cites, in connection with the Bible, a certain Obadiah.
Quae secutae sunt magis defieri quam narrari possunt. In
the works of the second half of the twelfth century this fault becomes more and more perceptible, and signs of decadence begin to appear. Moreover, the writings at this time were very numerous, fostering, and, in turn, stimulated by, anti-Christian polemics. The greater number of the Tossafists study the Bible in conjunction with the Talmud. Citations are made of explanations or Biblical commentaries by Jacob of Orleans, Moses of Pontoise, Isaac the Elder, Isaac the Younger, Judah Sir Leon, Jehiel of Meaux, and Moses of Coucy. All these rabbis wrote Tossafot to the Bible as well as to the Talmud. This comparative study of Bible and Talmud was continued for some time, untill [until sic] at the beginning of the thirteenth century intellectual activity was exhausted. Original works were replaced by a large number of compilations, all related to one another, since the authors copied without scruple and pillaged without shame.
Chief among these works, which bear the general title of Tossafot to the Torah and some of which have been printed, are Hazzekuni, by Hezekiah ben Manoah (about 1240), Gan[143] (Garden), by Aaron ben Joseph, (about 1250), Daat Zekenim (Knowledge of the Ancients), in which many exegetes are cited (after 1252), Paaneah Razah (Revealer
of the Mystery), by Isaac ben Judah ha-Levi (about 1300), Minhat Yehudah (Offering of Judah), by Judah ben Eliezer (or Eleazar), of Troyes (1313), Hadar Zekenim (Glory of
the Ancients; beginning of the fourteenth century), and Imre
Noam (Pleasant Words), by Jacob of Illescas (middle of the fourteenth century).
All these works were more or less inspired by Rashi, and some, such as Hazzekuni, might be called super-commentaries to Rashi. But these disciples were not true to the spirit of the master. They gave themselves up to the Haggadah more than he did, and also to a thing unknown to him, Gematria and mystical exegesis. Thus this French school, which for nearly a century had shone with glowing brilliance, now threw out only feeble rays, and abandoned itself more and more to the subtleties of the Midrash, to the fancifulness of the Gematria. It almost consigned to oblivion the great productions in rational exegesis, always excepting Rashi’s commentaries, the popularity of which never waned, as much because of the author’s renown as because of his concessions to the Midrash.
It remained for a Christian exegete to free rational exegesis from the discredit into which it had fallen. The ecclesiastical commentators even more than the authors of the Biblical Tossafot were steeped in allegorism and mysticism; but among them were some who cultivated the interpretation of the literal meaning of Scriptures, and even appealed to Jewish scholars for explanations’. Unfortunately, Rashi’s works, written in a language unintelligible to the Christians, could not in any degree influence a general intellectual movement.
However, exception must be made of the celebrated Franciscan monk Nicholas de Lyra (born about 1292, died in 1340), author of the Postillae perpetuae on the Bible which brought him the
title of doctor planus et utilis. Nicholas de Lyra
possessed knowledge rare among Christians, knowledge of the Hebrew language, and he knew Hebrew so well that he was thought to be a converted Jew. In his works, polemical in character, he comes out against the mystical tendencies in the interpretations of the rabbis, and does not spare Rashi, even attributing to him explanations nowhere existing in Rashi’s writings. But these criticisms of his, as he himself says, are “extremely rare.” Moreover he does not refrain from accepting for his own purposes a large number of Midrashim borrowed from Rashi. It was from Rashi’s commentaries, in fact, that he learned to know rabbinical literature – only to combat it. On one occasion he said, “I usually follow Rabbi Solomon, whose teachings are considered authoritative by modern Jews.” He sometimes modified the text of the Vulgate according to the explanations of the rabbi, and his commentary on the Psalms, for instance, is often only a paraphrase of Rashi’s. For this reason Nicholas de Lyra was dubbed, it must be admitted somewhat irreverently, simia
Salomonis, Rashi’s Ape. Nevertheless, he exercised great influence in ecclesiastical circles, comparable to that of Rashi among the Jews. His commentary was called “the common commentary.” Possibly it was in imitation of Nicholas’s work that the name glosa hebraica (the Hebrew commentary), or
simply glosa, was bestowed upon Rashi’s work by a
Christian author of the thirteenth century, who, if not the famous scholar and monk Roger Bacon, must have been some one of the same type. Another Christian exegete of the same period, William of Mara, cites Rashi’s commentary under the title of Perus. The admiration felt for Nicholas de Lyra, which now seems somewhat excessive, is expressed in the well-known proverb: Si
Lyra non lyrasset, totus mondus delirasset. A modification
of the proverb, si Lyra non lyrasset, Lutherius non
saltasset, is not an exaggeration; for the works of the Franciscan monk were soon translated into German, and they exercised a profound influence on the leader of the Reformation when he composed the translation of the Bible, epoch-making in the history of literature as well as of religion. It is known that Luther had large knowledge of the Hebrew and a strong feeling for it, a quality he owed to Nicholas de Lyra and, through him, to the Jewish exegetes, although his scornful pride would never permit him to concede that “Rashi and the Tossafists made Nicholas de Lyra and Nicholas de Lyra made Luther.”
At the time when Rashi’s influence was thus extended to Christian circles, the Jewish schools called into being by his work and his teachings fell into decay on account of the persecutions that shook French Judaism to its foundations and almost deprived it of existence. This shows how firmly intellectual activities are bound up with temporal fortunes – a truth manifested in the period of growth and maturity and illustrated afresh in the period of decadence.
Even after the First Crusade, the situation of the jews of France had remained favorable. It did not perceptibly change as a result of the various local disorders marking the Second Crusade. Nevertheless, the second half of the twelfth century witnessed the uprise of accusations of ritual murder and piercings of the host. Popular hatred and mistrust were exploited by the greedy kings. Philip Augustus expelled the Jews from his domain in 1181, though he recalled them in 1198. Yet the example had been set, and the security of the Jews was done for. The lords and bishops united to persecute them, destroy their literary treasures, and paralyze their intellectual efforts. They found the right king for their purposes in St. Louis, a curious mixture of tolerance and bigotry, of charity and fanaticism. “St. Louis sought to deprive the Jews of the book which in all their trials was their supreme consolation, the refuge of their souls against outside clamor and suffering, the only safeguard of their morality, and the bond maintaining their religious oneness – the Talmud.” In 1239 an apostate, Nicholas Donin, of La Rochelle, denounced the Talmud to Gregory IX. The Pope ordered the seizure of all copies, and an investigation of the book. In France the mandate was obeyed, and a disputation took place at Paris. Naturally, the Talmud was condemned, and twenty – four cartloads of Hebrew books were consigned to the flames. The auto-da-fe of 1242 marks the decadence of an
entire literature, the ruin of brilliant schools, and the check to the movement so gloriously inaugurated by Rashi. All the living forces of French Judaism were deeply affected.
But the fall was neither complete nor sudden. It was not until 1306 that the Jews were exiled from France by Philip the Fair, and a hundred thousand persons had to leave the country in which their nation had long flourished and to whose prosperity they had materially contributed.
The expulsion of 1306 withdrew French Judaism to the provinces directly attached to the crown. In vain were the Jews recalled in 1315 “at the general cry of the people.” Only a very few profited by the tolerance shown them. After that their existence was troubled by riots, and broken in upon by expulsions. The schools, of old so flourishing, fell into a state of utter decay.