New Residence, New Misery. The Talmudist
AND SO WE WANDERED through the countryside the way the Israelites had wandered through the deserts of Arabia, without knowing where, when, or how we would find a place to make a new home. Finally, we arrived at a village that was owned by two lords. The part belonging to one was already leased; the other part couldn’t be leased because the other lord had not yet built a house. Weary of traveling around in winter with his whole family, my grandfather decided on the spot to lease this still unbuilt house and all that went with it. While the house was being constructed, we would make do. Thus we stayed in a barn for a time. Meanwhile, the other leaseholder did everything he could to prevent us from settling into this place. [58] Nothing he tried worked. The building was finished; we moved in and began to organize our affairs.
Here, unfortunately, nothing seemed to go right for us. Not only were we plagued with setbacks, but my mother, who had a lively disposition and liked being active, found little to do and grew bored. Coupled with her worries about whether we would have enough to eat, the problem of boredom drove my mother into a melancholic state, from which she ultimately plunged into outright insanity. She remained this way for several months. Nothing helped. Finally, my father came up with the idea of taking her to Novhardok, where there was a famous doctor who specialized in healing such mental illnesses.
I don’t know what mode of therapy this expert used, being too young at the time to ask or even to want to ask about it. But I can say this much with certainty. His treatment was successful, as it was with most patients of my mother’s type. My mother went home refreshed and healthy, [59] and she didn’t suffer a relapse.
Just after this episode, I was sent to Iwenez,1 fifteen miles away from where we lived. It was there that I began to study the Talmud.
For our people, the study of the Talmud is the primary mark of an educated upbringing. Wealth, outstanding physical abilities, and talents of all kinds may be valuable and to some extent respected, but nothing, in our view, surpasses the worth of a good Talmudist. He has the first claim to all the offices and honors in the community. When he enters a gathering, all rise to greet him, whatever his age and class, and he is given the best seat. He is the common man’s spiritual guide, lawmaker, and judge. Whoever fails to show such scholars sufficient reverence is, according to dictum of Talmudists, damned for all eternity. The common man is not allowed to do the slightest thing [60] that has not been judged by a scholar to be consistent with the law. Religious customs, permitted and forbidden foods, marriage and divorce—all these matters are not only defined by an enormous number of rabbinical laws, but also through rabbinical judgment, which derives answers for specific cases from these general laws.
A rich merchant, leaseholder, or professional man who has a daughter will do everything he can to attract a good Talmudist as his son-in-law. No matter if the Talmudist is misshapen, sickly, or otherwise ignorant. He stands above all others. According to the standard arrangement, the future father-in-law of such a cynosure must pay the phoenix’s parents a negotiated sum at the time of the engagement, along with the dowry meant for the daughter, and he must initially provide the bride and her husband with food, clothing, and shelter. During this time, the couple gets the interest from the money set aside for the dowry, and the learned son-in-law continues his studies [61] at his father-in-law’s expense. Afterward, the Talmudist gains full control of the dowry. He may be promoted to a scholarly office, or he can spend his whole life in erudite indolence. In either case, the woman takes care of running the household and all other economic responsibilities. She will be satisfied if, in exchange for all her labor, she can share to some degree in her husband’s fame and his future blessedness.
The Talmud is studied as unsystematically as the Holy Scripture. The language of the Talmud is a mixture of various Oriental languages and dialects. In fact, instances of Greek and Roman also occur. There is no dictionary in which one can look up all of the expressions and phrases that the Talmud contains. Worse still: Because the Talmud doesn’t have the marks that denote vowels in Hebrew and Aramaic, one doesn’t even know how the words that aren’t pure Hebrew should be read. Like the language of the Holy Scripture, that of the Talmud is learned simply [62] through frequent translating. This is what makes up the first level of Talmudic study.
For a while, the teacher guides the student through translations. Eventually, the student begins to read and interpret the Talmud on his own. The teacher assigns a section of the Talmud that contains a unifying logic, and the student must explain the section within a certain time limit. Either the student is familiar with the terminology of the section from previous reading, or else the teacher, acting as a dictionary, clarifies the words and phrases. But the student himself must explain the content and whole logic of the assigned section. This is the second level of Talmudic study.
The two commentaries often included in the text serve mainly as guides. One of them was written by Rabbi Salomon Isaak, a man of great philological learning, broad ranging and thorough [63] Talmudic insight, and uncommon precision in laying out ideas. The other appeared under the title Thosphot (addenda) and was coauthored by many rabbis.2 Its genesis is quite remarkable. A number of the most prominent rabbis decided to study the Talmud together, with each of them choosing part of the Talmud and studying that part until he had it memorized and felt he had understood it completely. Then the rabbis would come together and study the Talmud as a group, proceeding in the order of its parts. As soon as they had read the first part aloud, thoroughly explained it, and corrected it using the internal logic of the Talmud, a rabbi would point to a part in his section that appeared to contradict the part under discussion. Immediately thereafter, a different rabbi would point to a passage in the part he had mastered, which, because of a distinction or condition not expressed in the first part, seemed capable of resolving the contradiction. [64] The resolution of such a contradiction would occasionally lead a third rabbi to discover another contradiction, which a fourth would then attempt to resolve. This process would go on until the part that came first had, by consensus, been explained and clarified.
The Talmud is a large and sprawling work consisting of many heterogeneous parts that define the same object in different ways, so it is easy to see why great intelligence is necessary to arrive at its governing principles. These principles can be used, if one is consistent in one’s methodology, to reach many correct conclusions.
In addition to the two commentaries mentioned above, there are many others. They pursue many matters even further, and some even correct those two. Every rabbi who is sharp enough should be seen as a living Talmudic commentary.
But what demands the greatest mental effort is preparing a summary from the Talmud or [65] a code of the laws it yields. This requires not simply intelligence, but also the most systematic mind. Here Maimonides has no equal, as can be gathered from his code Jad Hachasaka.
The third and final level of Talmudic study is that of disputation: an endless argument about the book without any aim or goal. Acumen, eloquence, and impertinence are of decisive importance here. This mode of study was once a common practice at advanced Jewish schools, but in our time it has become much less widespread. It is a kind of Talmudic skepticism, and, as such, it runs largely counter to practical, systematic study. [66]
1 Present-day Ivyanets near the Valozhyn region of Belarus, where the leading yeshiva of the nineteenth century, Etz Hayyim, was founded a generation later by Rabbi Hayyim Itzkovich in 1803.
2 Rabbi Shelomo (Solomon) Yitzhaki (1040–1105), the foremost Jewish medieval commentator, is generally known by his acronym Rashi. The Tosafists flourished in the following century and included Rashi’s students and descendants. Maimon’s description of their work is brief but precise and probably the first such description in German.