Moshe Isaacson
Background
Are there frameworks within which Hazal operate when engaging in storytelling, and, if so, can patterns within the rubrics of their tales be identified? Since at least the Geonic period,[1] readers of midrashim and talmudic aggadot (singular aggadah, a tale or lore), broadly and loosely defined as the non-legal material[2] produced by the sages from the first century CE through the close of the Talmud in roughly the sixth century, have answered in the affirmative, noting topoi, rules, and techniques common to many rabbinic aggadot.[3]
One such example of a common pattern found in many rabbinic stories can be referred to colloquially as “The good guys are really good and the bad guys are really bad.” While Tanakh often chooses to present characters as nuanced and multi-dimensional, portraying heroes with flaws and villains with some redeeming qualities, in rabbinic discussion those shades of gray are often erased in favor of a stress on seeing heroes in as positive a light as possible, while finding fault in villains over and above what is presented in the text. One such example is the rabbis’ expounding villainous Yishmael’s “sporting” behavior as being particularly sinful,[4] while exonerating heroic David’s tryst with Batsheva and subsequent assassination of Uriah by positing various legal loopholes.[5]
Modern scholarly analysis of aggadot was pioneered in Eretz Yisrael in the early twentieth century by scholars such as Joseph Heinemann[6] and Yonah Frankel,[7] who approached aggadot through the lens of literature. By applying this aperçu, talmudic tales could be classified by genre (epic, lyric, drama, etc.) and dissected to note commonly employed story structures, such as the “envelope” structure, in which a story begins and ends with similar thematic motifs. The baton for this scholarly work has since been carried by Professor Ofra Meir,[8] Rabbi Dr. Yonatan Feintuch,[9] and Dr. Jeffrey Rubenstein.[10] These scholars have sought to read and contextualize aggadot in their cultural milieu, note differences in how the two Talmudim approach the same story, and work to uncover historical layers embedded in the text.
A modern approach to aggadic analysis could begin by probing to understand the goal of the pericope. The reader may seek to evaluate if the story is pedagogical in nature; is it telling the audience a life lesson or truism? Is it exegetical? Does it seek to explain a perceived difficulty or lacuna in the Biblical text? Perhaps it is historical, serving to report on an event which occurred in the life of someone living in the post-biblical period.[11] Once a broad categorization of goals is established, subsequent exploratory questions can be asked. If the aggadah is historical, is this history realistic, or does it contain fantastical elements?[12] With a particular aggadah being well classified, comparative questions are able to be asked. For example, do all ‘truism’ aggadot contain a tripartite structure? and so on. For our purposes, it is to the domain of realistic, historical aggadot that we will seek to apply the tools of intertextual study.
Repeated Tropes
A method of literary analysis which is frequently applied to the study of Tanakh is identifying parallel material[13] – for example, many of the elements in the life of the prophet Samuel have thematic parallels to the life of Moshe.[14] This is known as intertextuality. By attempting to apply this same methodology to stories in the Talmud, we can uncover what seems to be another principle of aggadah – that many ‘historical aggadot’ in the Babylonian Talmud intentionally mine or pattern story elements after episodes in Tanakh, often in surprising and subtle ways.[15]
To demonstrate how this would work, consider the following abstraction of a story:
Traveling on the road together are two people. The first is someone who is admittedly not in God’s good graces, and the second is that first person’s devoted follower. For convenience, we’ll call the first person “Shunned” and the second “Follower.” Shunned tells Follower that the latter must desist from following and turn back. Follower insists that the two should go together. Shunned demurs and explains to Follower that his own (Shunned’s) situation is hopeless. Shunned offers other reasons to dissuade Follower, pointing out that following is not in Follower’s best interest. At some point, Shunned assumes a new name. As our story progresses, we discover that Follower ensures that hope for Shunned is not completely lost.
What story is this?
If your answer is the story of Ruth following her mother-in-law Naomi who is returning from Moab to Israel, you would be correct. If your answer is the story of Rabbi Meir following his wayward teacher Elisha ben Abuya,[16] better known as Aheir, you would also be correct.
The Sages taught: There was once an incident involving Aheir, who was riding on a horse on Shabbat, and Rabbi Meir was walking behind him to learn Torah from him. [Aheir] said to him: Meir, turn back, for I have already estimated according to the steps of my horse that the Shabbat boundary ends here. [Rabbi Meir] said to him: You, too, return back [i.e., to the correct path]. He said to him: But have I not already told you that I have already heard from behind the curtain: “‘Return, rebellious children,’ apart from Aheir?”[17]
When Hazal describe an assumed historical event, such as the tête-à-tête between Aheir and his student Rabbi Meir, it seems that they are choosing to utilize thematic elements from the story of Naomi and Ruth, without overtly gesturing towards the Biblical source material.[18]
Similar examples of stories in the Talmud containing thematic elements that are directly parallel to stories in Tanakh abound. Perhaps the most straightforward of these is the story of the gates of Nikanor as containing elements ‘borrowed’ from the tale of the prophet Jonah in Terei Asar. In his eponymous book, the prophet Jonah is traveling on a ship which is hit by a storm. It becomes clear that, to survive the storm, something needs to be cast overboard. In desperation to calm the storm, Jonah volunteers to be thrown into the sea. After the prophet is tossed to the waters, a creature swallows him, and the boat, with its passengers, is able to make it to safety. Eventually the ocean creature regurgitates the castaway. who is then able to arrive at the intended destination.
When contrasting this account with the tale in Yoma 38aof a man named Nikanor, many of the same thematic elements are discernable.
When Nikanor went to bring doors [for the Beit ha-Mikdash] from Alexandria in Egypt, on his return trip a wave arose from the sea to sink his ship. They took one door and threw it into the sea, but the sea did not rest from its storm. They wanted to throw in the other, but Nikanor stood and embraced it, saying, ‘Throw me in with it!’ The sea immediately calmed, but Nikanor was pained by the loss of the other [door]. When he reached the port in Akko,[19] the door was floating and emerging from beneath the walls of the boat. Some say a creature swallowed it and spat it out onto land.[20]
Shared elements include the storm-tossed ship, throwing someone overboard to enable those who remain on the ship to survive, the calming of the waters once something is thrown into them, and the swallowing and disgorging by a sea creature of that which was cast overboard, allowing the ship to reach its intended destination. In this aggadic tale, absent an overt reference to Jonah, the same principle of mining and embedding material from Tanakh into historical aggadot appears to be at work.
Ubiquitous Intertextuality
From a limited survey of the Bavli, this literary pattern can be detected in dozens of aggadot.
For example, the historical aggadah in Sanhedrin 39a appears to be an amalgam of the story of Shechem, Hamor, and Dina’s brothers (Genesis 34:8-18), along with the story of Daniel, the king’s advisors, and the lions (Daniel 6:12-25). In Genesis, Hamor proposes uniting his people with the Jewish clan. He is met with a requirement that all of his males be circumcised. In Daniel, the king directs Daniel the Jew to be thrown to the lions, where he is miraculously spared. In turn, his enemies are cast into the den and devoured by those same lions. All of these elements are found in the Bavli’s story.
The emperor said to Rabbi Tanḥum: Come, let us all be one people.[21] Rabbi Tanḥum said: Very well. But we, who are circumcised, cannot become uncircumcised as you are; you all circumcise yourselves and become like us.[22] The emperor said to Rabbi Tanḥum: In terms of the logic of your statement, you are saying well, but anyone who bests the king in a debate is thrown to the enclosure of wild animals.[23] They threw him [in]to the enclosure but the animals did not eat him [as God protected him].[24] A certain heretic said to the emperor: This incident, that they did not eat him, happened because they are not hungry. They then threw the heretic into the enclosure, and the animals ate him.[25]
Another story, found in Bava Kamma 117a, details an incident wherein Rav Kahana kills someone who is threatening a Jew. This puts him at risk of being killed by the government, so that he must flee the land. The ensuing story contains ample symbolism around the number seven – including seven years, seven rows, and seven pillows. Many aspects of this tale are reminiscent of Exodus 2:11-16, where Moshe, who kills an Egyptian acting threateningly towards a Jew, must, at the risk of his life, flee Egypt to the land of Midian. There Moshe meets Yitro – a man who has seven names[26] and seven daughters.[27]
Finally, the story of Judah and Tamar (Genesis 38) contains aspects which seem to be integrated into the famous incident of Rabbi Hiyya and his wife (Kiddushin 81b). In the Humash, Tamar tricks Judah into believing she is a prostitute; he offers her collateral in lieu of payment and they sleep together. Later, when she is found to be with child, she is in danger of being burned alive, and uses the collateral to prove her innocence.
Like the biblical Tamar, Rabbi Hiyya’s wife, perhaps for righteous reasons, such as to rekindle their relationship or receive the conjugal rights she is due, tricks her husband into believing she is a prostitute. He offers her a payment, and they sleep together. Thinking he is guilty of sin, Rabbi Hiyya seeks to place himself in a fiery oven. In order for his wife to prove the ruse was innocent, she produces signs:
Rabbi Hiyya bar Ashi was accustomed to say, whenever he would fall on his face in prayer: May the Merciful One save us from the evil inclination. One day his wife heard him. She said: After all, it has been several years since he has withdrawn from me. For what reason does he say this?
One day, while he was studying in his garden, she adorned herself and repeatedly walked past him. He said: Who are you? She said: I am Haruta, a well-known prostitute, returning from my day at work. He propositioned her. She said to him: Give me that pomegranate from the top of the tree as payment. He leapt up, went, and brought it to her, [and they engaged in intercourse].
When he came home, his wife was lighting a fire in the oven. He went and sat inside it. She said to him: What is this? He said to her: Such and such an incident occurred. She said to him: It was I. He paid no attention to her, until she gave him signs. He said to her: I, in any event, intended to transgress. [The Gemara relates:] All the days of that righteous man he would fast for the transgression he intended to commit, until he died by that death.
Again, salient and critical elements of this historical tale, including the ruse of a righteous woman posing as a prostitute and her revelation of this through personal objects, seem to replicate or draw upon many key story points from the biblical story of Tamar and Judah.
Once this framework is established, variations on the theme can be employed in a number of creative ways, such as inverting the outcome of the talmudic story in contrast to the biblical story, or positioning the trope within the rabbinic tale as exceeding the source material.
A brief example of the “exceed” story-type assumes an awareness that, in Tanakh, non-Jewish kings expect their wise court Jews to be able to interpret dreams. This is true of both Joseph and Daniel.[28] This biblical pattern is exceeded, though nowhere mentioned, when King Shapur seeks to have the first generation Amora, Shmuel, not simply interpret a previous dream, but foretell what dream the king will have in the future.
King Shapur of Persia said to Shmuel: You Jews say that you are extremely wise. If that is so, tell me what I will see in my dream. Shmuel said to him: You will see the Romans come and take you into captivity and force you to grind date pits in mills of gold. He thought the entire day about the images described to him by Shmuel, and that night he saw it in his dream.[29]
In such an example, the talmudic authors play with a trope found in Tanakh; but rather than merely utilizing the material, the aggadah assumes a familiarity with the original story such that the new story can be implicitly contrasted by either taking the conclusion in the opposite direction from the original or, as in this case, positing an outcome that is greater than, or exceeds in some way, its antecedent biblical referent.
In Continuation
It is my hope that this essay has identified an area ripe for investigation. There do indeed appear to be storytelling frameworks which can be identified in several of the Bavli’s historical aggadot. Hazal plumbed the rich tapestry of Tanakh, and uncovered timeless patterns which they refashioned and wove into their talmudic tales in subtle and surprising ways. I look forward to detailing in the future more of the several dozen intertextual examples I have been able to uncover. More research is required to understand the extent of this approach, such as when, and perhaps why, it is employed, what differences there may be between tanna’itic midrashim,[30] stories found in the Mishnah, those in the Talmud of the Land of Israel, the Bavli, and much more. My hope is that this sketch of the basic framework will pique the interest of others, and I welcome further dialog on this topic.[31]
[1] See Introduction to the Talmud attributed to Shmuel ibn Nargillah; Cf. R. Hai Ga’on; Otzar Ha’Ge’onim, Hagigah p.59; and the Letter Concerning Aggadot by R. Avraham ben Rambam.
[2] There is of course much material in the talmudim, which while not necessarily halachic in nature, may fall outside the bounds of what is normally considered aggadah, such as medical or scientific information. That the Tana’im themselves identified a difference between aggadic and legal material in their discussions can be seen from statements such as in Hagigah 14a:
Come and hear [the following teaching of a different baraita]: One throne is for judgment and one is for righteousness; this is the statement of Rabbi Akiva. Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya said to him: Akiva, what are you doing occupying yourself with the study of aggadah? [This is not your field of expertise.] Take your words to the topics of plagues and tents. [Meaning, it is preferable that you teach the halakhot of the impurity of leprosy and the impurity of the dead, which are within your field of expertise.]
[3] Perhaps the beginnings of a systematic approach to such rules of aggadah can be see in the Beraita of The 32 Midot of Aggadah, where, for instance, the use of mashal (parable) is limited for aggadic purposes to Nevi’im and Ketuvim, with certain explicit exceptions. R. Avraham ben Rambam offers a psychological approach to select aggadot, such as seeing dream remediation as arguing for self reflection and repentance. Rabbi Judah Loew (known as Maharal), in his work on aggadah, Be’er Ha-Golah, argues that supernatural or fantastical tales are to be read metaphorically rather than literally, and are encoding deep spiritual truths. Like others, he notes that many numbers used in aggadot are topological, such as the number 60 representing fullness or completion.
[4] Genesis Rabbah 53:11, commenting on Genesis 25:9.
[5] Shabbat 56a. Cf. Z. H. Chajes, trans. R. Jacob J. Schachter, The Student’s Guide Through the Talmud (Yashar Books, 2009), 162-171, for copious additional examples.
Another curious pattern to note is how often aggadot about certain characters are introduced by a rabbinic figure with the same name as the character, e.g., in y. Sukkot 5:1 we find a story about Jonah as stated by “Rabbi Jonah.”
[6] See his The Aggadah and its Development, Hebrew (Keter 1974).
[7] Yonah Fraenkel, Iyyunim be-Olamo shel Sippur ha-Aggadah (Ha-Kibbuz Ha-Meuhad, 1992), Midrash Ve-Aggadah (The Open University, 1996), among others.
[8] Pericopes in the Poetics of Rabbinic Stories, Hebrew (Sifriat Poalim, 1993).
[9] Face to Face, Hebrew (Maggid Books, 2018).
[10] Talmudic Stories: Narrative Art, Composition and Culture (Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999), Rabbinic Stories (Paulist Press, 2002), Stories of the Babylonian Talmud (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2010), and The Land of Truth: Talmud Tales, Timeless Teachings (Jewish Publication Society, 2018).
[11] It is possible to further subdivide this category into the realistic tales that the authors present as facts which definitely transpired, and those which contain more fantastical elements, such as the legends of Rabbah bar Bar Hannah. Our current focus will be on the former.
[12] Such as the legends of Rabbah bar Bar Hannah.
[13] On the application of literary analytical techniques to Tanakh, see Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (Basic Books, 2011); Shimon Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art in the Bible (T & T Clark, 2004); Adele Berlin, Poetics and Interpretation of Biblical Narrative Eisenbraun’s, 1994); Yairah Amit, Reading Biblical Narratives (Fortress Press, 2001); and the epochal work by Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative (Indiana University Press, 1987), among many others.
[14] See Midrash Shohar Tov 1:3; Yalkut Shimoni, Yirmiyahu 292. For additional parallels see Yehuda Kil, Da’at Mikra, I Samuel, introduction. For more on the idea of stories in Nakh as patterned after those in the Humash see Judy Klitsner, Subversive Sequels in the Bible (Maggid, 2019). The Christian bible is of course replete with examples of stories and motifs based on the Pentateuch.
[15] While this phenomenon is known as intertextuality, this particular application has, to my knowledge, not been identified previously. Cf. Daniel Boyarin, Intertextuality and the Reading of Midrash, (Indiana Press, 1990).
[16] Y. Hagigah 2:1, b. Hagigah 15a-b.
[17] Ibid. The Gemara there discusses how Elisha ben Abuya’s name was changed to Aheir. Cf. Devora Steinmetz, “Interpretation and Enactment: The Yerushalmi Story of Elisha ben Abuyah and the Book of Ruth,” AJS Review Vol. 40, No. 2 (November 2016).
[18] It is true that further on in the Yerushalmi (ibid.) there is an aggadic derash on Ruth 3:13; however, there Rabbi Meir seems to equate himself with Boaz, not Ruth.
[19] According to some girsa’ot the port was Yaffo.
[20] All translations from Sefaria.org.
[21] Cf. Genesis 34:16 states, “Let us all be one people.”
[22] Ibid. 15-16.
[23] Cf. Daniel 6:13.
[24] Ibid. 23.
[25] Ibid. 25.
[26] Exodus Rabbah 27:7; Mekhilta, Yitro, Amalek 1; Tanhuma, Shemot 11. Rashi (Exodus 18:1) lists them as Re’u’el, Yeter, Yitro, Hovav, Hever, Keini, and Puti’el.
[27] Exodus 2:16.
[28] The many thematic shared elements of the Joseph story which resurface in the story of Daniel have long been noted by midrashim and scholars alike. See the introduction to Da’at Mikra on Esther (Mosad HaRav Kook, 1990), as well as Rav Yo’el Kahn, Tzafnat Mordechai (Targum, 1995)..
Cf. Esther Rabbah 7:7; Midrash Abba Gurion 11b; Midrash Panim Aheirot B, 64; Yalkut Shimoni, remazim 1053-59.
Cf. Sandra Berg, The Book of Esther (Scholars Press, 1979), 124-137, and Aaron Koller, Esther in Ancient Jewish Thought (Cambridge University Press, 2014), 79-82, with footnotes, supra note 13.
[29] Berakhot 56a
[30] I note, as more of a curiosity than anything else, that the story of Rabbi Akiva’s impoverished wife selling the locks of her hair (Nedarim 50a, Ketubot 62b) seems to have a parallel in the non-canonical (Christian?) Testament of Job, wherein the eponymous Job’s wife sells her hair to the Satan to avoid starvation. This parallel was noted by Rabbi Levi (Louis) Ginzberg in his Legends of the Jews, Book V, 387, n. 29.
[31] With thanks to Rabbi Aryeh Klapper and Rabbi Dr. Shlomo Zuckier for their helpful feedback, and to Rabbanit Dr. Tamar Ron Marvin for improving this essay immeasurably.
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